Confessio Amantis or Tales of the Seven Deadly Sins By John Gower, 1330-1408 A.D. Prologus Torpor, ebes sensus, scola parua labor minimusque Causant quo minimus ipse minora canam: Qua tamen Engisti lingua canit Insula Bruti Anglica Carmente metra iuuante loquar. Ossibus ergo carens que conterit ossa loquelis Absit, et interpres stet procul oro malus. Of hem that writen ous tofore The bokes duelle, and we therfore Ben tawht of that was write tho: Forthi good is that we also In oure tyme among ous hiere Do wryte of newe som matiere, Essampled of these olde wyse So that it myhte in such a wyse, Whan we ben dede and elleswhere, Beleve to the worldes eere 10 In tyme comende after this. Bot for men sein, and soth it is, That who that al of wisdom writ It dulleth ofte a mannes wit To him that schal it aldai rede, For thilke cause, if that ye rede, I wolde go the middel weie And wryte a bok betwen the tweie, Somwhat of lust, somewhat of lore, That of the lasse or of the more 20 Som man mai lyke of that I wryte: And for that fewe men endite In oure englissh, I thenke make A bok for Engelondes sake, The yer sextenthe of kyng Richard. What schal befalle hierafterward God wot, for now upon this tyde Men se the world on every syde In sondry wyse so diversed, That it welnyh stant al reversed, 30 As forto speke of tyme ago. The cause whi it changeth so It needeth nought to specifie, The thing so open is at ije That every man it mai beholde: And natheles be daies olde, Whan that the bokes weren levere, Wrytinge was beloved evere Of hem that weren vertuous; For hier in erthe amonges ous, 40 If noman write hou that it stode, The pris of hem that weren goode Scholde, as who seith, a gret partie Be lost: so for to magnifie The worthi princes that tho were, The bokes schewen hiere and there, Wherof the world ensampled is; And tho that deden thanne amis Thurgh tirannie and crualte, Right as thei stoden in degre, 50 So was the wrytinge of here werk. Thus I, which am a burel clerk, Purpose forto wryte a bok After the world that whilom tok Long tyme in olde daies passed: Bot for men sein it is now lassed, In worse plit than it was tho, I thenke forto touche also The world which neweth every dai, So as I can, so as I mai. 60 Thogh I seknesse have upon honde And longe have had, yit woll I fonde To wryte and do my bisinesse, That in som part, so as I gesse, The wyse man mai ben avised. For this prologe is so assised That it to wisdom al belongeth: What wysman that it underfongeth, He schal drawe into remembrance The fortune of this worldes chance, 70 The which noman in his persone Mai knowe, bot the god al one. Whan the prologe is so despended, This bok schal afterward ben ended Of love, which doth many a wonder And many a wys man hath put under. And in this wyse I thenke trete Towardes hem that now be grete, Betwen the vertu and the vice Which longeth unto this office. 80 Bot for my wittes ben to smale To tellen every man his tale, This bok, upon amendment To stonde at his commandement, With whom myn herte is of accord, I sende unto myn oghne lord, Which of Lancastre is Henri named: The hyhe god him hath proclamed Ful of knyhthode and alle grace. So woll I now this werk embrace 90 With hol trust and with hol believe; God grante I mot it wel achieve. If I schal drawe in to my mynde The tyme passed, thanne I fynde The world stod thanne in al his welthe: Tho was the lif of man in helthe, Tho was plente, tho was richesse, Tho was the fortune of prouesse, Tho was knyhthode in pris be name, Wherof the wyde worldes fame 100 Write in Cronique is yit withholde; Justice of lawe tho was holde, The privilege of regalie Was sauf, and al the baronie Worschiped was in his astat; The citees knewen no debat, The poeple stod in obeissance Under the reule of governance, And pes, which ryhtwisnesse keste, With charite tho stod in reste: 110 Of mannes herte the corage Was schewed thanne in the visage; The word was lich to the conceite Withoute semblant of deceite: Tho was ther unenvied love, Tho was the vertu sett above And vice was put under fote. Now stant the crop under the rote, The world is changed overal, And therof most in special 120 That love is falle into discord. And that I take to record Of every lond for his partie The comun vois, which mai noght lie; Noght upon on, bot upon alle It is that men now clepe and calle, And sein the regnes ben divided, In stede of love is hate guided, The werre wol no pes purchace, And lawe hath take hire double face, 130 So that justice out of the weie With ryhtwisnesse is gon aweie: And thus to loke on every halve, Men sen the sor withoute salve, Which al the world hath overtake. Ther is no regne of alle outtake, For every climat hath his diel After the tornynge of the whiel, Which blinde fortune overthroweth; Wherof the certain noman knoweth: 140 The hevene wot what is to done, Bot we that duelle under the mone Stonde in this world upon a weer, And namely bot the pouer Of hem that ben the worldes guides With good consail on alle sides Be kept upriht in such a wyse, That hate breke noght thassise Of love, which is al the chief To kepe a regne out of meschief. 150 For alle resoun wolde this, That unto him which the heved is The membres buxom scholden bowe, And he scholde ek her trowthe allowe, With al his herte and make hem chiere, For good consail is good to hiere. Althogh a man be wys himselve, Yit is the wisdom more of tuelve; And if thei stoden bothe in on, To hope it were thanne anon 160 That god his grace wolde sende To make of thilke werre an ende, Which every day now groweth newe: And that is gretly forto rewe In special for Cristes sake, Which wolde his oghne lif forsake Among the men to yeve pes. But now men tellen natheles That love is fro the world departed, So stant the pes unevene parted 170 With hem that liven now adaies. Bot forto loke at alle assaies, To him that wolde resoun seche After the comun worldes speche It is to wondre of thilke werre, In which non wot who hath the werre; For every lond himself deceyveth And of desese his part receyveth, And yet ne take men no kepe. Bot thilke lord which al may kepe, 180 To whom no consail may ben hid, Upon the world which is betid, Amende that wherof men pleigne With trewe hertes and with pleine, And reconcile love ayeyn, As he which is king sovereign Of al the worldes governaunce, And of his hyhe porveaunce Afferme pes betwen the londes And take her cause into hise hondes, 190 So that the world may stonde apppesed And his godhede also be plesed. To thenke upon the daies olde, The lif of clerkes to beholde, Men sein how that thei weren tho Ensample and reule of alle tho Whiche of wisdom the vertu soughten. Unto the god ferst thei besoughten As to the substaunce of her Scole, That thei ne scholden noght befole 200 Her wit upon none erthly werkes, Which were ayein thestat of clerkes, And that thei myhten fle the vice Which Simon hath in his office, Wherof he takth the gold in honde. For thilke tyme I understonde The Lumbard made non eschange The bisschopriches forto change, Ne yet a lettre for to sende For dignite ne for Provende, 210 Or cured or withoute cure. The cherche keye in aventure Of armes and of brygantaille Stod nothing thanne upon bataille; To fyhte or for to make cheste It thoghte hem thanne noght honeste; Bot of simplesce and pacience Thei maden thanne no defence: The Court of worldly regalie To hem was thanne no baillie; 220 The vein honour was noght desired, Which hath the proude herte fyred; Humilite was tho withholde, And Pride was a vice holde. Of holy cherche the largesse Yaf thanne and dede gret almesse To povere men that hadden nede: Thei were ek chaste in word and dede, Wherof the poeple ensample tok; Her lust was al upon the bok, 230 Or forto preche or forto preie, To wisse men the ryhte weie Of suche as stode of trowthe unliered. Lo, thus was Petres barge stiered Of hem that thilke tyme were, And thus cam ferst to mannes Ere The feith of Crist and alle goode Thurgh hem that thanne weren goode And sobre and chaste and large and wyse. Bot now men sein is otherwise, 240 Simon the cause hath undertake, The worldes swerd on honde is take; And that is wonder natheles, Whan Crist him self hath bode pes And set it in his testament, How now that holy cherche is went, Of that here lawe positif Hath set to make werre and strif For worldes good, which may noght laste. God wot the cause to the laste 250 Of every right and wrong also; But whil the lawe is reuled so That clerkes to the werre entende, I not how that thei scholde amende The woful world in othre thinges, To make pes betwen the kynges After the lawe of charite, Which is the propre duete Belongende unto the presthode. Bot as it thenkth to the manhode, 260 The hevene is ferr, the world is nyh, And veine gloire is ek so slyh, Which coveitise hath now withholde, That thei non other thing beholde, Bot only that thei myhten winne. And thus the werres thei beginne, Wherof the holi cherche is taxed, That in the point as it is axed The disme goth to the bataille, As thogh Crist myhte noght availe 270 To don hem riht be other weie. In to the swerd the cherche keie Is torned, and the holy bede Into cursinge, and every stede Which scholde stonde upon the feith And to this cause an Ere leyth, Astoned is of the querele. That scholde be the worldes hele Is now, men sein, the pestilence Which hath exiled pacience 280 Fro the clergie in special: And that is schewed overal, In eny thing whan thei ben grieved. Bot if Gregoire be believed, As it is in the bokes write, He doth ous somdel forto wite The cause of thilke prelacie, Wher god is noght of compaignie: For every werk as it is founded Schal stonde or elles be confounded; 290 Who that only for Cristes sake Desireth cure forto take, And noght for pride of thilke astat, To bere a name of a prelat, He schal be resoun do profit In holy cherche upon the plit That he hath set his conscience; Bot in the worldes reverence Ther ben of suche manie glade, Whan thei to thilke astat ben made, 300 Noght for the merite of the charge, Bot for thei wolde hemself descharge Of poverte and become grete; And thus for Pompe and for beyete The Scribe and ek the Pharisee Of Moises upon the See In the chaiere on hyh ben set; Wherof the feith is ofte let, Which is betaken hem to kepe. In Cristes cause alday thei slepe, 310 Bot of the world is noght foryete; For wel is him that now may gete Office in Court to ben honoured. The stronge coffre hath al devoured Under the keye of avarice The tresor of the benefice, Wherof the povere schulden clothe And ete and drinke and house bothe; The charite goth al unknowe, For thei no grein of Pite sowe: 320 And slouthe kepeth the libraire Which longeth to the Saintuaire; To studie upon the worldes lore Sufficeth now withoute more; Delicacie his swete toth Hath fostred so that it fordoth Of abstinence al that ther is. And forto loken over this, If Ethna brenne in the clergie, Al openly to mannes ije 330 At Avynoun thexperience Therof hath yove an evidence, Of that men sen hem so divided. And yit the cause is noght decided; Bot it is seid and evere schal, Betwen tuo Stoles lyth the fal, Whan that men wenen best to sitte: In holy cherche of such a slitte Is for to rewe un to ous alle; God grante it mote wel befalle 340 Towardes him which hath the trowthe. Bot ofte is sen that mochel slowthe, Whan men ben drunken of the cuppe, Doth mochel harm, whan fyr is uppe, Bot if somwho the flamme stanche; And so to speke upon this branche, Which proud Envie hath mad to springe, Of Scisme, causeth forto bringe This newe Secte of Lollardie, And also many an heresie 350 Among the clerkes in hemselve. It were betre dike and delve And stonde upon the ryhte feith, Than knowe al that the bible seith And erre as somme clerkes do. Upon the hond to were a Schoo And sette upon the fot a Glove Acordeth noght to the behove Of resonable mannes us: If men behielden the vertus 360 That Crist in Erthe taghte here, Thei scholden noght in such manere, Among hem that ben holden wise, The Papacie so desguise Upon diverse eleccioun, Which stant after thaffeccioun Of sondry londes al aboute: Bot whan god wole, it schal were oute, For trowthe mot stonde ate laste. Bot yet thei argumenten faste 370 Upon the Pope and his astat, Wherof thei falle in gret debat; This clerk seith yee, that other nay, And thus thei dryve forth the day, And ech of hem himself amendeth Of worldes good, bot non entendeth To that which comun profit were. Thei sein that god is myhti there, And schal ordeine what he wile, Ther make thei non other skile 380 Where is the peril of the feith, Bot every clerk his herte leith To kepe his world in special, And of the cause general, Which unto holy cherche longeth, Is non of hem that underfongeth To schapen eny resistence: And thus the riht hath no defence, Bot ther I love, ther I holde. Lo, thus tobroke is Cristes folde, 390 Wherof the flock withoute guide Devoured is on every side, In lacke of hem that ben unware Schepherdes, whiche her wit beware Upon the world in other halve. The scharpe pricke in stede of salve Thei usen now, wherof the hele Thei hurte of that thei scholden hele; And what Schep that is full of wulle Upon his back, thei toose and pulle, 400 Whil ther is eny thing to pile: And thogh ther be non other skile Bot only for thei wolden wynne, Thei leve noght, whan thei begynne, Upon her acte to procede, Which is no good schepherdes dede. And upon this also men sein, That fro the leese which is plein Into the breres thei forcacche Her Orf, for that thei wolden lacche 410 With such duresce, and so bereve That schal upon the thornes leve Of wulle, which the brere hath tore; Wherof the Schep ben al totore Of that the hierdes make hem lese. Lo, how thei feignen chalk for chese, For though thei speke and teche wel, Thei don hemself therof no del: For if the wolf come in the weie, Her gostly Staf is thanne aweie, 420 Wherof thei scholde her flock defende; Bot if the povere Schep offende In eny thing, thogh it be lyte, They ben al redy forto smyte; And thus, how evere that thei tale, The strokes falle upon the smale, And upon othre that ben grete Hem lacketh herte forto bete. So that under the clerkes lawe Men sen the Merel al mysdrawe, 430 I wol noght seie in general, For ther ben somme in special In whom that alle vertu duelleth, And tho ben, as thapostel telleth, That god of his eleccioun Hath cleped to perfeccioun In the manere as Aaron was: Thei ben nothing in thilke cas Of Simon, which the foldes gate Hath lete, and goth in othergate, 440 Bot thei gon in the rihte weie. Ther ben also somme, as men seie, That folwen Simon ate hieles, Whos carte goth upon the whieles Of coveitise and worldes Pride, And holy cherche goth beside, Which scheweth outward a visage Of that is noght in the corage. For if men loke in holy cherche, Betwen the word and that thei werche 450 Ther is a full gret difference: Thei prechen ous in audience That noman schal his soule empeire, For al is bot a chirie feire This worldes good, so as thei telle; Also thei sein ther is an helle, Which unto mannes sinne is due, And bidden ous therfore eschue That wikkid is, and do the goode. Who that here wordes understode, 460 It thenkth thei wolden do the same; Bot yet betwen ernest and game Ful ofte it torneth other wise. With holy tales thei devise How meritoire is thilke dede Of charite, to clothe and fede The povere folk and forto parte The worldes good, bot thei departe Ne thenken noght fro that thei have. Also thei sein, good is to save 470 With penance and with abstinence Of chastite the continence; Bot pleinly forto speke of that, I not how thilke body fat, Which thei with deynte metes kepe And leyn it softe forto slepe, Whan it hath elles al his wille, With chastite schal stonde stille: And natheles I can noght seie, In aunter if that I misseye. 480 Touchende of this, how evere it stonde, I here and wol noght understonde, For therof have I noght to done: Bot he that made ferst the Mone, The hyhe god, of his goodnesse, If ther be cause, he it redresce. Bot what as eny man accuse, This mai reson of trowthe excuse; The vice of hem that ben ungoode Is no reproef unto the goode: 490 For every man hise oghne werkes Schal bere, and thus as of the clerkes The goode men ben to comende, And alle these othre god amende: For thei ben to the worldes ije The Mirour of ensamplerie, To reulen and to taken hiede Betwen the men and the godhiede. Now forto speke of the comune, It is to drede of that fortune 500 Which hath befalle in sondri londes: Bot often for defalte of bondes Al sodeinliche, er it be wist, A Tonne, whanne his lye arist, Tobrekth and renneth al aboute, Which elles scholde noght gon oute; And ek fulofte a litel Skar Upon a Banke, er men be war, Let in the Strem, which with gret peine, If evere man it schal restreigne. 510 Wher lawe lacketh, errour groweth, He is noght wys who that ne troweth, For it hath proeved ofte er this; And thus the comun clamour is In every lond wher poeple dwelleth, And eche in his compleignte telleth How that the world is al miswent, And ther upon his jugement Yifth every man in sondry wise. Bot what man wolde himself avise, 520 His conscience and noght misuse, He may wel ate ferste excuse His god, which evere stant in on: In him ther is defalte non, So moste it stonde upon ousselve Nought only upon ten ne twelve, Bot plenerliche upon ous alle, For man is cause of that schal falle. And natheles yet som men wryte And sein that fortune is to wyte, 530 And som men holde oppinion That it is constellacion, Which causeth al that a man doth: God wot of bothe which is soth. The world as of his propre kynde Was evere untrewe, and as the blynde Improprelich he demeth fame, He blameth that is noght to blame And preiseth that is noght to preise: Thus whan he schal the thinges peise, 540 Ther is deceipte in his balance, And al is that the variance Of ous, that scholde ous betre avise; For after that we falle and rise, The world arist and falth withal, So that the man is overal His oghne cause of wel and wo. That we fortune clepe so Out of the man himself it groweth; And who that other wise troweth, 550 Behold the poeple of Irael: For evere whil thei deden wel, Fortune was hem debonaire, And whan thei deden the contraire, Fortune was contrariende. So that it proeveth wel at ende Why that the world is wonderfull And may no while stonde full, Though that it seme wel besein; For every worldes thing is vein, 560 And evere goth the whiel aboute, And evere stant a man in doute, Fortune stant no while stille, So hath ther noman al his wille. Als fer as evere a man may knowe, Ther lasteth nothing bot a throwe; The world stant evere upon debat, So may be seker non astat, Now hier now ther, now to now fro, Now up now down, this world goth so, 570 And evere hath don and evere schal: Wherof I finde in special A tale writen in the Bible, Which moste nedes be credible; And that as in conclusioun Seith that upon divisioun Stant, why no worldes thing mai laste, Til it be drive to the laste. And fro the ferste regne of alle Into this day, hou so befalle, 580 Of that the regnes be muable The man himself hath be coupable, Which of his propre governance Fortuneth al the worldes chance. The hyhe almyhti pourveance, In whos eterne remembrance Fro ferst was every thing present, He hath his prophecie sent, In such a wise as thou schalt hiere, To Daniel of this matiere, 590 Hou that this world schal torne and wende, Till it be falle to his ende; Wherof the tale telle I schal, In which it is betokned al. As Nabugodonosor slepte, A swevene him tok, the which he kepte Til on the morwe he was arise, For he therof was sore agrise. To Daniel his drem he tolde, And preide him faire that he wolde 600 Arede what it tokne may; And seide: "Abedde wher I lay, Me thoghte I syh upon a Stage Wher stod a wonder strange ymage. His hed with al the necke also Thei were of fin gold bothe tuo; His brest, his schuldres and his armes Were al of selver, bot the tharmes, The wombe and al doun to the kne, Of bras thei were upon to se; 610 The legges were al mad of Stiel, So were his feet also somdiel, And somdiel part to hem was take Of Erthe which men Pottes make; The fieble meynd was with the stronge, So myhte it wel noght stonde longe. And tho me thoghte that I sih A gret ston from an hull on hyh Fel doun of sodein aventure Upon the feet of this figure, 620 With which Ston al tobroke was Gold, Selver, Erthe, Stiel and Bras, That al was in to pouldre broght, And so forth torned into noght." This was the swevene which he hadde, That Daniel anon aradde, And seide him that figure strange Betokneth how the world schal change And waxe lasse worth and lasse, Til it to noght al overpasse. 630 The necke and hed, that weren golde, He seide how that betokne scholde A worthi world, a noble, a riche, To which non after schal be liche. Of Selver that was overforth Schal ben a world of lasse worth; And after that the wombe of Bras Tokne of a werse world it was. The Stiel which he syh afterward A world betokneth more hard: 640 Bot yet the werste of everydel Is last, whan that of Erthe and Stiel He syh the feet departed so, For that betokneth mochel wo. Whan that the world divided is, It moste algate fare amis, For Erthe which is meynd with Stiel Togedre may noght laste wiel, Bot if that on that other waste; So mot it nedes faile in haste. 650 The Ston, which fro the hully Stage He syh doun falle on that ymage, And hath it into pouldre broke, That swevene hath Daniel unloke, And seide how that is goddes myht, Which whan men wene most upryht To stonde, schal hem overcaste. And that is of this world the laste, And thanne a newe schal beginne, Fro which a man schal nevere twinne; 660 Or al to peine or al to pes That world schal lasten endeles. Lo thus expondeth Daniel The kynges swevene faire and wel In Babiloyne the Cite, Wher that the wiseste of Caldee Ne cowthen wite what it mente; Bot he tolde al the hol entente, As in partie it is befalle. Of gold the ferste regne of alle 670 Was in that kinges time tho, And laste manye daies so, Therwhiles that the Monarchie Of al the world in that partie To Babiloyne was soubgit; And hield him stille in such a plit, Til that the world began diverse: And that was whan the king of Perse, Which Cirus hyhte, ayein the pes Forth with his Sone Cambises 680 Of Babiloine al that Empire, Ryht as thei wolde hemself desire, Put under in subjeccioun And tok it in possessioun, And slayn was Baltazar the king, Which loste his regne and al his thing. And thus whan thei it hadde wonne, The world of Selver was begonne And that of gold was passed oute: And in this wise it goth aboute 690 In to the Regne of Darius; And thanne it fell to Perse thus, That Alisaundre put hem under, Which wroghte of armes many a wonder, So that the Monarchie lefte With Grecs, and here astat uplefte, And Persiens gon under fote, So soffre thei that nedes mote. And tho the world began of Bras, And that of selver ended was; 700 Bot for the time thus it laste, Til it befell that ate laste This king, whan that his day was come, With strengthe of deth was overcome. And natheles yet er he dyde, He schop his Regnes to divide To knyhtes whiche him hadde served, And after that thei have deserved Yaf the conquestes that he wan; Wherof gret werre tho began 710 Among hem that the Regnes hadde, Thurgh proud Envie which hem ladde, Til it befell ayein hem thus: The noble Cesar Julius, Which tho was king of Rome lond, With gret bataille and with strong hond Al Grece, Perse and ek Caldee Wan and put under, so that he Noght al only of thorient Bot al the Marche of thoccident 720 Governeth under his empire, As he that was hol lord and Sire, And hield thurgh his chivalerie Of al this world the Monarchie, And was the ferste of that honour Which tok the name of Emperour. Wher Rome thanne wolde assaille, Ther myhte nothing contrevaille, Bot every contre moste obeie: Tho goth the Regne of Bras aweie, 730 And comen is the world of Stiel, And stod above upon the whiel. As Stiel is hardest in his kynde Above alle othre that men finde Of Metals, such was Rome tho The myhtieste, and laste so Long time amonges the Romeins Til thei become so vileins, That the fals Emperour Leo With Constantin his Sone also 740 The patrimoine and the richesse, Which to Silvestre in pure almesse The ferste Constantinus lefte, Fro holy cherche thei berefte. Bot Adrian, which Pope was, And syh the meschief of this cas, Goth in to France forto pleigne, And preith the grete Charlemeine, For Cristes sake and Soule hele That he wol take the querele 750 Of holy cherche in his defence. And Charles for the reverence Of god the cause hath undertake, And with his host the weie take Over the Montz of Lombardie; Of Rome and al the tirandie With blodi swerd he overcom, And the Cite with strengthe nom; In such a wise and there he wroghte, That holy cherche ayein he broghte 760 Into franchise, and doth restore The Popes lost, and yaf him more: And thus whan he his god hath served, He tok, as he wel hath deserved, The Diademe and was coroned. Of Rome and thus was abandoned Thempire, which cam nevere ayein Into the hond of no Romein; Bot a long time it stod so stille Under the Frensche kynges wille, 770 Til that fortune hir whiel so ladde, That afterward Lombardz it hadde, Noght be the swerd, bot be soffrance Of him that tho was kyng of France, Which Karle Calvus cleped was; And he resigneth in this cas Thempire of Rome unto Lowis His Cousin, which a Lombard is. And so hit laste into the yeer Of Albert and of Berenger; 780 Bot thanne upon dissencioun Thei felle, and in divisioun Among hemself that were grete, So that thei loste the beyete Of worschipe and of worldes pes. Bot in proverbe natheles Men sein, ful selden is that welthe Can soffre his oghne astat in helthe; And that was on the Lombardz sene, Such comun strif was hem betwene 790 Thurgh coveitise and thurgh Envie, That every man drowh his partie, Which myhte leden eny route, Withinne Burgh and ek withoute: The comun ryht hath no felawe, So that the governance of lawe Was lost, and for necessite, Of that thei stode in such degre Al only thurgh divisioun, Hem nedeth in conclusioun 800 Of strange londes help beside. And thus for thei hemself divide And stonden out of reule unevene, Of Alemaine Princes sevene Thei chose in this condicioun, That upon here eleccioun Thempire of Rome scholde stonde. And thus thei lefte it out of honde For lacke of grace, and it forsoke, That Alemans upon hem toke: 810 And to confermen here astat, Of that thei founden in debat Thei token the possessioun After the composicioun Among hemself, and therupon Thei made an Emperour anon, Whos name as the Cronique telleth Was Othes; and so forth it duelleth, Fro thilke day yit unto this Thempire of Rome hath ben and is 820 To thalemans. And in this wise, As ye tofore have herd divise How Daniel the swevene expondeth Of that ymage, on whom he foundeth The world which after scholde falle, Come is the laste tokne of alle; Upon the feet of Erthe and Stiel So stant this world now everydiel Departed; which began riht tho, Whan Rome was divided so: 830 And that is forto rewe sore, For alway siththe more and more The world empeireth every day. Wherof the sothe schewe may, At Rome ferst if we beginne: The wall and al the Cit withinne Stant in ruine and in decas, The feld is wher the Paleis was, The toun is wast; and overthat, If we beholde thilke astat 840 Which whilom was of the Romeins, Of knyhthode and of Citezeins, To peise now with that beforn, The chaf is take for the corn, As forto speke of Romes myht: Unethes stant ther oght upryht Of worschipe or of worldes good, As it before tyme stod. And why the worschipe is aweie, If that a man the sothe seie, 850 The cause hath ben divisioun, Which moder of confusioun Is wher sche cometh overal, Noght only of the temporal Bot of the spirital also. The dede proeveth it is so, And hath do many day er this, Thurgh venym which that medled is In holy cherche of erthly thing: For Crist himself makth knowleching 860 That noman may togedre serve God and the world, bot if he swerve Froward that on and stonde unstable; And Cristes word may noght be fable. The thing so open is at ije, It nedeth noght to specefie Or speke oght more in this matiere; Bot in this wise a man mai lere Hou that the world is gon aboute, The which welnyh is wered oute, 870 After the forme of that figure Which Daniel in his scripture Expondeth, as tofore is told. Of Bras, of Selver and of Gold The world is passed and agon, And now upon his olde ton It stant of brutel Erthe and Stiel, The whiche acorden nevere a diel; So mot it nedes swerve aside As thing the which men sen divide. 880 Thapostel writ unto ous alle And seith that upon ous is falle Thende of the world; so may we knowe, This ymage is nyh overthrowe, Be which this world was signified, That whilom was so magnefied, And now is old and fieble and vil, Full of meschief and of peril, And stant divided ek also Lich to the feet that were so, 890 As I tolde of the Statue above. And this men sen, thurgh lacke of love Where as the lond divided is, It mot algate fare amis: And now to loke on every side, A man may se the world divide, The werres ben so general Among the cristene overal, That every man now secheth wreche, And yet these clerkes alday preche 900 And sein, good dede may non be Which stant noght upon charite: I not hou charite may stonde, Wher dedly werre is take on honde. Bot al this wo is cause of man, The which that wit and reson can, And that in tokne and in witnesse That ilke ymage bar liknesse Of man and of non other beste. For ferst unto the mannes heste 910 Was every creature ordeined, Bot afterward it was restreigned: Whan that he fell, thei fellen eke, Whan he wax sek, thei woxen seke; For as the man hath passioun Of seknesse, in comparisoun So soffren othre creatures. Lo, ferst the hevenly figures, The Sonne and Mone eclipsen bothe, And ben with mannes senne wrothe; 920 The purest Eir for Senne alofte Hath ben and is corrupt fulofte, Right now the hyhe wyndes blowe, And anon after thei ben lowe, Now clowdy and now clier it is: So may it proeven wel be this, A mannes Senne is forto hate, Which makth the welkne to debate. And forto se the proprete Of every thyng in his degree, 930 Benethe forth among ous hiere Al stant aliche in this matiere: The See now ebbeth, now it floweth, The lond now welketh, now it groweth, Now be the Trees with leves grene, Now thei be bare and nothing sene, Now be the lusti somer floures, Now be the stormy wynter shoures, Now be the daies, now the nyhtes, So stant ther nothing al upryhtes, 940 Now it is lyht, now it is derk; And thus stant al the worldes werk After the disposicioun Of man and his condicioun. Forthi Gregoire in his Moral Seith that a man in special The lasse world is properly: And that he proeveth redely; For man of Soule resonable Is to an Angel resemblable, 950 And lich to beste he hath fielinge, And lich to Trees he hath growinge; The Stones ben and so is he: Thus of his propre qualite The man, as telleth the clergie, Is as a world in his partie, And whan this litel world mistorneth, The grete world al overtorneth. The Lond, the See, the firmament, Thei axen alle jugement 960 Ayein the man and make him werre: Therwhile himself stant out of herre, The remenant wol noght acorde: And in this wise, as I recorde, The man is cause of alle wo, Why this world is divided so. Division, the gospell seith, On hous upon another leith, Til that the Regne al overthrowe: And thus may every man wel knowe, 970 Division aboven alle Is thing which makth the world to falle, And evere hath do sith it began. It may ferst proeve upon a man; The which, for his complexioun Is mad upon divisioun Of cold, of hot, of moist, of drye, He mot be verray kynde dye: For the contraire of his astat Stant evermore in such debat, 980 Til that o part be overcome, Ther may no final pes be nome. Bot other wise, if a man were Mad al togedre of o matiere Withouten interrupcioun, Ther scholde no corrupcioun Engendre upon that unite: Bot for ther is diversite Withinne himself, he may noght laste, That he ne deieth ate laste. 990 Bot in a man yit over this Full gret divisioun ther is, Thurgh which that he is evere in strif, Whil that him lasteth eny lif: The bodi and the Soule also Among hem ben divided so, That what thing that the body hateth The soule loveth and debateth; Bot natheles fulofte is sene Of werre which is hem betwene 1000 The fieble hath wonne the victoire. And who so drawth into memoire What hath befalle of old and newe, He may that werre sore rewe, Which ferst began in Paradis: For ther was proeved what it is, And what desese there it wroghte; For thilke werre tho forth broghte The vice of alle dedly Sinne, Thurgh which division cam inne 1010 Among the men in erthe hiere, And was the cause and the matiere Why god the grete flodes sende, Of al the world and made an ende Bot Noe5 with his felaschipe, Which only weren saulf be Schipe. And over that thurgh Senne it com That Nembrot such emprise nom, Whan he the Tour Babel on heihte Let make, as he that wolde feihte 1020 Ayein the hihe goddes myht, Wherof divided anon ryht Was the langage in such entente, Ther wiste non what other mente, So that thei myhten noght procede. And thus it stant of every dede, Wher Senne takth the cause on honde, It may upriht noght longe stonde; For Senne of his condicioun Is moder of divisioun 1030 And tokne whan the world schal faile. For so seith Crist withoute faile, That nyh upon the worldes ende Pes and acord awey schol wende And alle charite schal cesse, Among the men and hate encresce; And whan these toknes ben befalle, Al sodeinly the Ston schal falle, As Daniel it hath beknowe, Which al this world schal overthrowe, 1040 And every man schal thanne arise To Joie or elles to Juise, Wher that he schal for evere dwelle, Or straght to hevene or straght to helle. In hevene is pes and al acord, Bot helle is full of such descord That ther may be no loveday: Forthi good is, whil a man may, Echon to sette pes with other And loven as his oghne brother; 1050 So may he winne worldes welthe And afterward his soule helthe. Bot wolde god that now were on An other such as Arion, Which hadde an harpe of such temprure, And therto of so good mesure He song, that he the bestes wilde Made of his note tame and milde, The Hinde in pes with the Leoun, The Wolf in pes with the Moltoun, 1060 The Hare in pees stod with the Hound; And every man upon this ground Which Arion that time herde, Als wel the lord as the schepherde, He broghte hem alle in good acord; So that the comun with the lord, And lord with the comun also, He sette in love bothe tuo And putte awey malencolie. That was a lusti melodie, 1070 Whan every man with other low; And if ther were such on now, Which cowthe harpe as he tho dede, He myhte availe in many a stede To make pes wher now is hate; For whan men thenken to debate, I not what other thing is good. Bot wher that wisdom waxeth wod, And reson torneth into rage, So that mesure upon oultrage 1080 Hath set his world, it is to drede; For that bringth in the comun drede, Which stant at every mannes Dore: Bot whan the scharpnesse of the spore The horse side smit to sore, It grieveth ofte. And now nomore, As forto speke of this matiere, Which non bot only god may stiere. Explicit Prologus Incipit Liber Primus Naturatus amor nature legibus orbem Subdit, et vnanimes concitat esse feras: Huius enim mundi Princeps amor esse videtur, Cuius eget diues, pauper et omnis ope. Sunt in agone pares amor et fortuna, que cecas Plebis ad insidias vertit vterque rotas. Est amor egra salus, vexata quies, pius error, Bellica pax, vulnus dulce, suaue malum. I may noght strecche up to the hevene Min hand, ne setten al in evene This world, which evere is in balance: It stant noght in my sufficance So grete thinges to compasse, Bot I mot lete it overpasse And treten upon othre thinges. Forthi the Stile of my writinges Fro this day forth I thenke change And speke of thing is noght so strange, 10 Which every kinde hath upon honde, And wherupon the world mot stonde, And hath don sithen it began, And schal whil ther is any man; And that is love, of which I mene To trete, as after schal be sene. In which ther can noman him reule, For loves lawe is out of reule, That of tomoche or of tolite Welnyh is every man to wyte, 20 And natheles ther is noman In al this world so wys, that can Of love tempre the mesure, Bot as it falth in aventure: For wit ne strengthe may noght helpe, And he which elles wolde him yelpe Is rathest throwen under fote, Ther can no wiht therof do bote. For yet was nevere such covine, That couthe ordeine a medicine 30 To thing which god in lawe of kinde Hath set, for ther may noman finde The rihte salve of such a Sor. It hath and schal ben everemor That love is maister wher he wile, Ther can no lif make other skile; For wher as evere him lest to sette, Ther is no myht which him may lette. Bot what schal fallen ate laste, The sothe can no wisdom caste, 40 Bot as it falleth upon chance; For if ther evere was balance Which of fortune stant governed, I may wel lieve as I am lerned That love hath that balance on honde, Which wol no reson understonde. For love is blind and may noght se, Forthi may no certeinete Be set upon his jugement, Bot as the whiel aboute went 50 He yifth his graces undeserved, And fro that man which hath him served Fulofte he takth aweye his fees, As he that pleieth ate Dees, And therupon what schal befalle He not, til that the chance falle, Wher he schal lese or he schal winne. And thus fulofte men beginne, That if thei wisten what it mente, Thei wolde change al here entente. 60 And forto proven it is so, I am miselven on of tho, Which to this Scole am underfonge. For it is siththe go noght longe, As forto speke of this matiere, I may you telle, if ye woll hiere, A wonder hap which me befell, That was to me bothe hard and fell, Touchende of love and his fortune, The which me liketh to comune 70 And pleinly forto telle it oute. To hem that ben lovers aboute Fro point to point I wol declare And wryten of my woful care, Mi wofull day, my wofull chance, That men mowe take remembrance Of that thei schall hierafter rede: For in good feith this wolde I rede, That every man ensample take Of wisdom which him is betake, 80 And that he wot of good aprise To teche it forth, for such emprise Is forto preise; and therfore I Woll wryte and schewe al openly How love and I togedre mette, Wherof the world ensample fette Mai after this, whan I am go, Of thilke unsely jolif wo, Whos reule stant out of the weie, Nou glad and nou gladnesse aweie, 90 And yet it may noght be withstonde For oght that men may understonde. Upon the point that is befalle Of love, in which that I am falle, I thenke telle my matiere: Now herkne, who that wol it hiere, Of my fortune how that it ferde. This enderday, as I forthferde To walke, as I yow telle may,- And that was in the Monthe of Maii, 100 Whan every brid hath chose his make And thenkth his merthes forto make Of love that he hath achieved; Bot so was I nothing relieved, For I was further fro my love Than Erthe is fro the hevene above, As forto speke of eny sped: So wiste I me non other red, Bot as it were a man forfare Unto the wode I gan to fare, 110 Noght forto singe with the briddes, For whanne I was the wode amiddes, I fond a swote grene pleine, And ther I gan my wo compleigne Wisshinge and wepinge al myn one, For other merthes made I none. So hard me was that ilke throwe, That ofte sithes overthrowe To grounde I was withoute breth; And evere I wisshide after deth, 120 Whanne I out of my peine awok, And caste up many a pitous lok Unto the hevene, and seide thus: "O thou Cupide, O thou Venus, Thou god of love and thou goddesse, Wher is pite? wher is meknesse? Now doth me pleinly live or dye, For certes such a maladie As I now have and longe have hadd, It myhte make a wisman madd, 130 If that it scholde longe endure. O Venus, queene of loves cure, Thou lif, thou lust, thou mannes hele, Behold my cause and my querele, And yif me som part of thi grace, So that I may finde in this place If thou be gracious or non." And with that word I sawh anon The kyng of love and qweene bothe; Bot he that kyng with yhen wrothe 140 His chiere aweiward fro me caste, And forth he passede ate laste. Bot natheles er he forth wente A firy Dart me thoghte he hente And threw it thurgh myn herte rote: In him fond I non other bote, For lenger list him noght to duelle. Bot sche that is the Source and Welle Of wel or wo, that schal betide To hem that loven, at that tide 150 Abod, bot forto tellen hiere Sche cast on me no goodly chiere: Thus natheles to me sche seide, "What art thou, Sone?" and I abreide Riht as a man doth out of slep, And therof tok sche riht good kep And bad me nothing ben adrad: Bot for al that I was noght glad, For I ne sawh no cause why. And eft scheo asketh, what was I: 160 I seide, "A Caitif that lith hiere: What wolde ye, my Ladi diere? Schal I ben hol or elles dye?" Sche seide, "Tell thi maladie: What is thi Sor of which thou pleignest? Ne hyd it noght, for if thou feignest, I can do the no medicine." "Ma dame, I am a man of thyne, That in thi Court have longe served, And aske that I have deserved, 170 Some wele after my longe wo." And sche began to loure tho, And seide, "Ther is manye of yow Faitours, and so may be that thow Art riht such on, and be feintise Seist that thou hast me do servise." And natheles sche wiste wel, Mi world stod on an other whiel Withouten eny faiterie: Bot algate of my maladie 180 Sche bad me telle and seie hir trowthe. "Ma dame, if ye wolde have rowthe," Quod I, "than wolde I telle yow." "Sey forth," quod sche, "and tell me how; Schew me thi seknesse everydiel." "Ma dame, that can I do wel, Be so my lif therto wol laste." With that hir lok on me sche caste, And seide: "In aunter if thou live, Mi will is ferst that thou be schrive; 190 And natheles how that it is I wot miself, bot for al this Unto my prest, which comth anon, I woll thou telle it on and on, Bothe all thi thoght and al thi werk. O Genius myn oghne Clerk, Com forth and hier this mannes schrifte," Quod Venus tho; and I uplifte Min hefd with that, and gan beholde The selve Prest, which as sche wolde 200 Was redy there and sette him doun To hiere my confessioun. This worthi Prest, this holy man To me spekende thus began, And seide: "Benedicite, Mi Sone, of the felicite Of love and ek of all the wo Thou schalt thee schrive of bothe tuo. What thou er this for loves sake Hast felt, let nothing be forsake, 210 Tell pleinliche as it is befalle." And with that word I gan doun falle On knees, and with devocioun And with full gret contricioun I seide thanne: "Dominus, Min holi fader Genius, So as thou hast experience Of love, for whos reverence Thou schalt me schriven at this time, I prai the let me noght mistime 220 Mi schrifte, for I am destourbed In al myn herte, and so contourbed, That I ne may my wittes gete, So schal I moche thing foryete: Bot if thou wolt my schrifte oppose Fro point to point, thanne I suppose, Ther schal nothing be left behinde. Bot now my wittes ben so blinde, That I ne can miselven teche." Tho he began anon to preche, 230 And with his wordes debonaire He seide tome softe and faire: "Thi schrifte to oppose and hiere, My Sone, I am assigned hiere Be Venus the godesse above, Whos Prest I am touchende of love. Bot natheles for certein skile I mot algate and nedes wile Noght only make my spekynges Of love, bot of othre thinges, 240 That touchen to the cause of vice. For that belongeth to thoffice Of Prest, whos ordre that I bere, So that I wol nothing forbere, That I the vices on and on Ne schal thee schewen everychon; Wherof thou myht take evidence To reule with thi conscience. Bot of conclusion final Conclude I wol in special 250 For love, whos servant I am, And why the cause is that I cam. So thenke I to don bothe tuo, Ferst that myn ordre longeth to, The vices forto telle arewe, Bot next above alle othre schewe Of love I wol the propretes, How that thei stonde be degrees After the disposicioun Of Venus, whos condicioun 260 I moste folwe, as I am holde. For I with love am al withholde, So that the lasse I am to wyte, Thogh I ne conne bot a lyte Of othre thinges that ben wise: I am noght tawht in such a wise; For it is noght my comun us To speke of vices and vertus, Bot al of love and of his lore, For Venus bokes of nomore 270 Me techen nowther text ne glose. Bot for als moche as I suppose It sit a prest to be wel thewed, And schame it is if he be lewed, Of my Presthode after the forme I wol thi schrifte so enforme, That ate leste thou schalt hiere The vices, and to thi matiere Of love I schal hem so remene, That thou schalt knowe what thei mene. 280 For what a man schal axe or sein Touchende of schrifte, it mot be plein, It nedeth noght to make it queinte, For trowthe hise wordes wol noght peinte: That I wole axe of the forthi, My Sone, it schal be so pleinly, That thou schalt knowe and understonde The pointz of schrifte how that thei stonde." Betwen the lif and deth I herde This Prestes tale er I answerde, 290 And thanne I preide him forto seie His will, and I it wolde obeie After the forme of his apprise. Tho spak he tome in such a wise, And bad me that I scholde schrive As touchende of my wittes fyve, And schape that thei were amended Of that I hadde hem misdispended. For tho be proprely the gates, Thurgh whiche as to the herte algates 300 Comth alle thing unto the feire, Which may the mannes Soule empeire. And now this matiere is broght inne, Mi Sone, I thenke ferst beginne To wite how that thin yhe hath stonde, The which is, as I understonde, The moste principal of alle, Thurgh whom that peril mai befalle. And forto speke in loves kinde, Ful manye suche a man mai finde, 310 Whiche evere caste aboute here yhe, To loke if that thei myhte aspie Fulofte thing which hem ne toucheth, Bot only that here herte soucheth In hindringe of an other wiht; And thus ful many a worthi knyht And many a lusti lady bothe Have be fulofte sythe wrothe. So that an yhe is as a thief To love, and doth ful gret meschief; 320 And also for his oghne part Fulofte thilke firy Dart Of love, which that evere brenneth, Thurgh him into the herte renneth: And thus a mannes yhe ferst Himselve grieveth alther werst, And many a time that he knoweth Unto his oghne harm it groweth. Mi Sone, herkne now forthi A tale, to be war therby 330 Thin yhe forto kepe and warde, So that it passe noght his warde. Ovide telleth in his bok Ensample touchende of mislok, And seith hou whilom ther was on, A worthi lord, which Acteon Was hote, and he was cousin nyh To him that Thebes ferst on hyh Up sette, which king Cadme hyhte. This Acteon, as he wel myhte, 340 Above alle othre caste his chiere, And used it fro yer to yere, With Houndes and with grete Hornes Among the wodes and the thornes To make his hunting and his chace: Where him best thoghte in every place To finde gamen in his weie, Ther rod he forto hunte and pleie. So him befell upon a tide On his hunting as he cam ride, 350 In a Forest al one he was: He syh upon the grene gras The faire freisshe floures springe, He herde among the leves singe The Throstle with the nyhtingale: Thus er he wiste into a Dale He cam, wher was a litel plein, All round aboute wel besein With buisshes grene and Cedres hyhe; And ther withinne he caste his yhe. 360 Amidd the plein he syh a welle, So fair ther myhte noman telle, In which Diana naked stod To bathe and pleie hire in the flod With many a Nimphe, which hire serveth. Bot he his yhe awey ne swerveth Fro hire, which was naked al, And sche was wonder wroth withal, And him, as sche which was godesse, Forschop anon, and the liknesse 370 Sche made him taken of an Hert, Which was tofore hise houndes stert, That ronne besiliche aboute With many an horn and many a route, That maden mochel noise and cry: And ate laste unhappely This Hert his oghne houndes slowhe And him for vengance al todrowhe. Lo now, my Sone, what it is A man to caste his yhe amis, 380 Which Acteon hath dere aboght; Be war forthi and do it noght. For ofte, who that hiede toke, Betre is to winke than to loke. And forto proven it is so, Ovide the Poete also A tale which to this matiere Acordeth seith, as thou schalt hiere. In Metamor it telleth thus, How that a lord which Phorce
s 390 Was hote, hadde dowhtres thre. Bot upon here nativite Such was the constellacion, That out of mannes nacion Fro kynde thei be so miswent, That to the liknesse of Serpent Thei were bore, and so that on Of hem was cleped Stellibon, That other soster Suriale, The thridde, as telleth in the tale, 400 Medusa hihte, and natheles Of comun name Gorgones In every contre ther aboute, As Monstres whiche that men doute, Men clepen hem; and bot on yhe Among hem thre in pourpartie Thei hadde, of which thei myhte se, Now hath it this, now hath it sche; After that cause and nede it ladde, Be throwes ech of hem it hadde. 410 A wonder thing yet more amis Ther was, wherof I telle al this: What man on hem his chiere caste And hem behield, he was als faste Out of a man into a Ston Forschape, and thus ful manyon Deceived were, of that thei wolde Misloke, wher that thei ne scholde. Bot Perse
s that worthi knyht, Whom Pallas of hir grete myht 420 Halp, and tok him a Schield therto, And ek the god Mercurie also Lente him a swerd, he, as it fell, Beyende Athlans the hihe hell These Monstres soghte, and there he fond Diverse men of thilke lond Thurgh sihte of hem mistorned were, Stondende as Stones hiere and there. Bot he, which wisdom and prouesse Hadde of the god and the godesse, 430 The Schield of Pallas gan enbrace, With which he covereth sauf his face, Mercuries Swerd and out he drowh, And so he bar him that he slowh These dredful Monstres alle thre. Lo now, my Sone, avise the, That thou thi sihte noght misuse: Cast noght thin yhe upon Meduse, That thou be torned into Ston: For so wys man was nevere non, 440 Bot if he wel his yhe kepe And take of fol delit no kepe, That he with lust nys ofte nome, Thurgh strengthe of love and overcome. Of mislokynge how it hath ferd, As I have told, now hast thou herd, My goode Sone, and tak good hiede. And overthis yet I thee rede That thou be war of thin heringe, Which to the Herte the tidinge 450 Of many a vanite hath broght, To tarie with a mannes thoght. And natheles good is to hiere Such thing wherof a man may lere That to vertu is acordant, And toward al the remenant Good is to torne his Ere fro; For elles, bot a man do so, Him may fulofte mysbefalle. I rede ensample amonges alle, 460 Wherof to kepe wel an Ere It oghte pute a man in fere. A Serpent, which that Aspidis Is cleped, of his kynde hath this, That he the Ston noblest of alle, The which that men Carbuncle calle, Berth in his hed above on heihte. For which whan that a man be sleyhte, The Ston to winne and him to daunte, With his carecte him wolde enchaunte, 470 Anon as he perceiveth that, He leith doun his on Ere al plat Unto the ground, and halt it faste, And ek that other Ere als faste He stoppeth with his tail so sore, That he the wordes lasse or more Of his enchantement ne hiereth; And in this wise himself he skiereth, So that he hath the wordes weyved And thurgh his Ere is noght deceived. 480 An othre thing, who that recordeth, Lich unto this ensample acordeth, Which in the tale of Troie I finde. Sirenes of a wonder kynde Ben Monstres, as the bokes tellen, And in the grete Se thei duellen: Of body bothe and of visage Lik unto wommen of yong age Up fro the Navele on hih thei be, And doun benethe, as men mai se, 490 Thei bere of fisshes the figure. And overthis of such nature Thei ben, that with so swete a stevene Lik to the melodie of hevene In wommanysshe vois thei singe, With notes of so gret likinge, Of such mesure, of such musike, Wherof the Schipes thei beswike That passen be the costes there. For whan the Schipmen leie an Ere 500 Unto the vois, in here avys Thei wene it be a Paradys, Which after is to hem an helle. For reson may noght with hem duelle, Whan thei tho grete lustes hiere; Thei conne noght here Schipes stiere, So besiliche upon the note Thei herkne, and in such wise assote, That thei here rihte cours and weie Foryete, and to here Ere obeie, 510 And seilen til it so befalle That thei into the peril falle, Where as the Schipes be todrawe, And thei ben with the Monstres slawe. Bot fro this peril natheles With his wisdom king Uluxes Ascapeth and it overpasseth; For he tofor the hond compasseth That noman of his compaignie Hath pouer unto that folie 520 His Ere for no lust to caste; For he hem stoppede alle faste, That non of hem mai hiere hem singe. So whan they comen forth seilinge, Ther was such governance on honde, That thei the Monstres have withstonde And slain of hem a gret partie. Thus was he sauf with his navie, This wise king, thurgh governance. Wherof, my Sone, in remembrance 530 Thou myht ensample taken hiere, As I have told, and what thou hiere Be wel war, and yif no credence, Bot if thou se more evidence. For if thou woldest take kepe And wisly cowthest warde and kepe Thin yhe and Ere, as I have spoke, Than haddest thou the gates stoke Fro such Sotie as comth to winne Thin hertes wit, which is withinne, 540 Wherof that now thi love excedeth Mesure, and many a peine bredeth. Bot if thou cowthest sette in reule Tho tuo, the thre were eth to reule: Forthi as of thi wittes five I wole as now nomore schryve, Bot only of these ilke tuo. Tell me therfore if it be so, Hast thou thin yhen oght misthrowe? Mi fader, ye, I am beknowe, 550 I have hem cast upon Meduse, Therof I may me noght excuse: Min herte is growen into Ston, So that my lady therupon Hath such a priente of love grave, That I can noght miselve save. What seist thou, Sone, as of thin Ere? Mi fader, I am gultyf there; For whanne I may my lady hiere, Mi wit with that hath lost his Stiere: 560 I do noght as Uluxes dede, Bot falle anon upon the stede, Wher as I se my lady stonde; And there, I do yow understonde, I am topulled in my thoght, So that of reson leveth noght, Wherof that I me mai defende. My goode Sone, god thamende: For as me thenketh be thi speche Thi wittes ben riht feer to seche. 570 As of thin Ere and of thin yhe I woll nomore specefie, Bot I woll axen overthis Of othre thing how that it is. Mi Sone, as I thee schal enforme, Ther ben yet of an other forme Of dedly vices sevene applied, Wherof the herte is ofte plied To thing which after schal him grieve. The ferste of hem thou schalt believe 580 Is Pride, which is principal, And hath with him in special Ministres five ful diverse, Of whiche, as I the schal reherse, The ferste is seid Ypocrisie. If thou art of his compaignie, Tell forth, my Sone, and schrif the clene. I wot noght, fader, what ye mene: Bot this I wolde you beseche, That ye me be som weie teche 590 What is to ben an ypocrite; And thanne if I be forto wyte, I wol beknowen, as it is. Mi Sone, an ypocrite is this,- A man which feigneth conscience, As thogh it were al innocence, Withoute, and is noght so withinne; And doth so for he wolde winne Of his desir the vein astat. And whanne he comth anon therat, 600 He scheweth thanne what he was, The corn is torned into gras, That was a Rose is thanne a thorn, And he that was a Lomb beforn Is thanne a Wolf, and thus malice Under the colour of justice Is hid; and as the poeple telleth, These ordres witen where he duelleth, As he that of here conseil is, And thilke world which thei er this 610 Forsoken, he drawth in ayein: He clotheth richesse, as men sein, Under the simplesce of poverte, And doth to seme of gret decerte Thing which is litel worth withinne: He seith in open, fy! to Sinne, And in secre ther is no vice Of which that he nis a Norrice: And evere his chiere is sobre and softe, And where he goth he blesseth ofte, 620 Wherof the blinde world he dreccheth. Bot yet al only he ne streccheth His reule upon religioun, Bot next to that condicioun In suche as clepe hem holy cherche It scheweth ek how he can werche Among tho wyde furred hodes, To geten hem the worldes goodes. And thei hemself ben thilke same That setten most the world in blame, 630 Bot yet in contraire of her lore Ther is nothing thei loven more; So that semende of liht thei werke The dedes whiche are inward derke. And thus this double Ypocrisie With his devolte apparantie A viser set upon his face, Wherof toward this worldes grace He semeth to be riht wel thewed, And yit his herte is al beschrewed. 640 Bot natheles he stant believed, And hath his pourpos ofte achieved Of worschipe and of worldes welthe, And takth it, as who seith, be stelthe Thurgh coverture of his fallas. And riht so in semblable cas This vice hath ek his officers Among these othre seculers Of grete men, for of the smale As for tacompte he set no tale, 650 Bot thei that passen the comune With suche him liketh to comune, And where he seith he wol socoure The poeple, there he woll devoure; For now aday is manyon Which spekth of Peter and of John And thenketh Judas in his herte. Ther schal no worldes good asterte His hond, and yit he yifth almesse And fasteth ofte and hiereth Messe: 660 With mea culpa, which he seith, Upon his brest fullofte he leith His hond, and cast upward his yhe, As thogh he Cristes face syhe; So that it seemeth ate syhte, As he al one alle othre myhte Rescoue with his holy bede. Bot yet his herte in other stede Among hise bedes most devoute Goth in the worldes cause aboute, 670 How that he myhte his warisoun Encresce. And in comparisoun Ther ben lovers of such a sort, That feignen hem an humble port, And al is bot Ypocrisie, Which with deceipte and flaterie Hath many a worthi wif beguiled. For whanne he hath his tunge affiled, With softe speche and with lesinge, Forth with his fals pitous lokynge, 680 He wolde make a womman wene To gon upon the faire grene, Whan that sche falleth in the Mir. For if he may have his desir, How so falle of the remenant, He halt no word of covenant; Bot er the time that he spede, Ther is no sleihte at thilke nede, Which eny loves faitour mai, That he ne put it in assai, 690 As him belongeth forto done. The colour of the reyni Mone With medicine upon his face He set, and thanne he axeth grace, As he which hath sieknesse feigned. Whan his visage is so desteigned, With yhe upcast on hire he siketh, And many a contenance he piketh, To bringen hire in to believe Of thing which that he wolde achieve, 700 Wherof he berth the pale hewe; And for he wolde seme trewe, He makth him siek, whan he is heil. Bot whanne he berth lowest the Seil, Thanne is he swiftest to beguile The womman, which that ilke while Set upon him feith or credence. Mi Sone, if thou thi conscience Entamed hast in such a wise, In schrifte thou thee myht avise 710 And telle it me, if it be so. Min holy fader, certes no. As forto feigne such sieknesse It nedeth noght, for this witnesse I take of god, that my corage Hath ben mor siek than my visage. And ek this mai I wel avowe, So lowe cowthe I nevere bowe To feigne humilite withoute, That me ne leste betre loute 720 With alle the thoghtes of myn herte; For that thing schal me nevere asterte, I speke as to my lady diere, To make hire eny feigned chiere. God wot wel there I lye noght, Mi chiere hath be such as my thoght; For in good feith, this lieveth wel, Mi will was betre a thousendel Than eny chiere that I cowthe. Bot, Sire, if I have in my yowthe 730 Don other wise in other place, I put me therof in your grace: For this excusen I ne schal, That I have elles overal To love and to his compaignie Be plein withoute Ypocrisie; Bot ther is on the which I serve, Althogh I may no thonk deserve, To whom yet nevere into this day I seide onlyche or ye or nay, 740 Bot if it so were in my thoght. As touchende othre seie I noght That I nam somdel forto wyte Of that ye clepe an ypocrite. Mi Sone, it sit wel every wiht To kepe his word in trowthe upryht Towardes love in alle wise. For who that wolde him wel avise What hath befalle in this matiere, He scholde noght with feigned chiere 750 Deceive Love in no degre. To love is every herte fre, Bot in deceipte if that thou feignest And therupon thi lust atteignest, That thow hast wonne with thi wyle, Thogh it thee like for a whyle, Thou schalt it afterward repente. And forto prove myn entente, I finde ensample in a Croniqe Of hem that love so beswike. 760 It fell be olde daies thus, Whil themperour Tiberius The Monarchie of Rome ladde, Ther was a worthi Romein hadde A wif, and sche Pauline hihte, Which was to every mannes sihte Of al the Cite the faireste, And as men seiden, ek the beste. It is and hath ben evere yit, That so strong is no mannes wit, 770 Which thurgh beaute ne mai be drawe To love, and stonde under the lawe Of thilke bore frele kinde, Which makth the hertes yhen blinde, Wher no reson mai be comuned: And in this wise stod fortuned This tale, of which I wolde mene; This wif, which in hire lustes grene Was fair and freissh and tendre of age, Sche may noght lette the corage 780 Of him that wole on hire assote. Ther was a Duck, and he was hote Mundus, which hadde in his baillie To lede the chivalerie Of Rome, and was a worthi knyht; Bot yet he was noght of such myht The strengthe of love to withstonde, That he ne was so broght to honde, That malgre wher he wole or no, This yonge wif he loveth so, 790 That he hath put al his assay To wynne thing which he ne may Gete of hire graunt in no manere, Be yifte of gold ne be preiere. And whanne he syh that be no mede Toward hir love he myhte spede, Be sleyhte feigned thanne he wroghte; And therupon he him bethoghte How that ther was in the Cite A temple of such auctorite, 800 To which with gret Devocioun The noble wommen of the toun Most comunliche a pelrinage Gon forto preie thilke ymage Which the godesse of childinge is, And cleped was be name Ysis: And in hire temple thanne were, To reule and to ministre there After the lawe which was tho, Above alle othre Prestes tuo. 810 This Duck, which thoghte his love gete, Upon a day hem tuo to mete Hath bede, and thei come at his heste; Wher that thei hadde a riche feste, And after mete in prive place This lord, which wolde his thonk pourchace, To ech of hem yaf thanne a yifte, And spak so that be weie of schrifte He drowh hem unto his covine, To helpe and schape how he Pauline 820 After his lust deceive myhte. And thei here trowthes bothe plyhte, That thei be nyhte hire scholden wynne Into the temple, and he therinne Schal have of hire al his entente: And thus acorded forth thei wente. Now lest thurgh which ypocrisie Ordeigned was the tricherie, Wherof this ladi was deceived. These Prestes hadden wel conceived 830 That sche was of gret holinesse; And with a contrefet simplesse, Which hid was in a fals corage, Feignende an hevenely message Thei come and seide unto hir thus: "Pauline, the god Anubus Hath sent ous bothe Prestes hiere, And seith he woll to thee appiere Be nyhtes time himself alone, For love he hath to thi persone: 840 And therupon he hath ous bede, That we in Ysis temple a stede Honestely for thee pourveie, Wher thou be nyhte, as we thee seie, Of him schalt take avisioun. For upon thi condicioun, The which is chaste and ful of feith, Such pris, as he ous tolde, he leith, That he wol stonde of thin acord; And forto bere hierof record 850 He sende ous hider bothe tuo." Glad was hire innocence tho Of suche wordes as sche herde, With humble chiere and thus answerde, And seide that the goddes wille Sche was al redy to fulfille, That be hire housebondes leve Sche wolde in Ysis temple at eve Upon hire goddes grace abide, To serven him the nyhtes tide. 860 The Prestes tho gon hom ayein, And sche goth to hire sovereign, Of goddes wille and as it was Sche tolde him al the pleine cas, Wherof he was deceived eke, And bad that sche hire scholde meke Al hol unto the goddes heste. And thus sche, which was al honeste To godward after hire entente, At nyht unto the temple wente, 870 Wher that the false Prestes were; And thei receiven hire there With such a tokne of holinesse, As thogh thei syhen a godesse, And al withinne in prive place A softe bedd of large space Thei hadde mad and encourtined, Wher sche was afterward engined. Bot sche, which al honour supposeth, The false Prestes thanne opposeth, 880 And axeth be what observance Sche myhte most to the plesance Of godd that nyhtes reule kepe: And thei hire bidden forto slepe Liggende upon the bedd alofte, For so, thei seide, al stille and softe God Anubus hire wolde awake. The conseil in this wise take, The Prestes fro this lady gon; And sche, that wiste of guile non, 890 In the manere as it was seid To slepe upon the bedd is leid, In hope that sche scholde achieve Thing which stod thanne upon bilieve, Fulfild of alle holinesse. Bot sche hath failed, as I gesse, For in a closet faste by The Duck was hid so prively That sche him myhte noght perceive; And he, that thoghte to deceive, 900 Hath such arrai upon him nome, That whanne he wolde unto hir come, It scholde semen at hire yhe As thogh sche verrailiche syhe God Anubus, and in such wise This ypocrite of his queintise Awaiteth evere til sche slepte. And thanne out of his place he crepte So stille that sche nothing herde, And to the bedd stalkende he ferde, 910 And sodeinly, er sche it wiste, Beclipt in armes he hire kiste: Wherof in wommanysshe drede Sche wok and nyste what to rede; Bot he with softe wordes milde Conforteth hire and seith, with childe He wolde hire make in such a kynde That al the world schal have in mynde The worschipe of that ilke Sone; For he schal with the goddes wone, 920 And ben himself a godd also. With suche wordes and with mo, The whiche he feigneth in his speche, This lady wit was al to seche, As sche which alle trowthe weneth: Bot he, that alle untrowthe meneth, With blinde tales so hire ladde, That all his wille of hire he hadde. And whan him thoghte it was ynowh, Ayein the day he him withdrowh 930 So prively that sche ne wiste Wher he becom, bot as him liste Out of the temple he goth his weie. And sche began to bidde and preie Upon the bare ground knelende, And after that made hire offrende, And to the Prestes yiftes grete Sche yaf, and homward be the Strete. The Duck hire mette and seide thus: "The myhti godd which Anubus 940 Is hote, he save the, Pauline, For thou art of his discipline So holy, that no mannes myht Mai do that he hath do to nyht Of thing which thou hast evere eschuied. Bot I his grace have so poursuied, That I was mad his lieutenant: Forthi be weie of covenant Fro this day forth I am al thin, And if thee like to be myn, 950 That stant upon thin oghne wille." Sche herde his tale and bar it stille, And hom sche wente, as it befell, Into hir chambre, and ther sche fell Upon hire bedd to wepe and crie, And seide: "O derke ypocrisie, Thurgh whos dissimilacion Of fals ymaginacion I am thus wickedly deceived! Bot that I have it aperceived 960 I thonke unto the goddes alle; For thogh it ones be befalle, It schal nevere eft whil that I live, And thilke avou to godd I yive." And thus wepende sche compleigneth, Hire faire face and al desteigneth With wofull teres of hire ije, So that upon this agonie Hire housebonde is inne come, And syh how sche was overcome 970 With sorwe, and axeth what hire eileth. And sche with that hirself beweileth Welmore than sche dede afore, And seide, "Helas, wifhode is lore In me, which whilom was honeste, I am non other than a beste, Now I defouled am of tuo." And as sche myhte speke tho, Aschamed with a pitous onde Sche tolde unto hir housebonde 980 The sothe of al the hole tale, And in hire speche ded and pale Sche swouneth welnyh to the laste. And he hire in hise armes faste Uphield, and ofte swor his oth That he with hire is nothing wroth, For wel he wot sche may ther noght: Bot natheles withinne his thoght His herte stod in sori plit, And seide he wolde of that despit 990 Be venged, how so evere it falle, And sende unto hise frendes alle. And whan thei weren come in fere, He tolde hem upon this matiere, And axeth hem what was to done: And thei avised were sone, And seide it thoghte hem for the beste To sette ferst his wif in reste, And after pleigne to the king Upon the matiere of this thing. 1000 Tho was this wofull wif conforted Be alle weies and desported, Til that sche was somdiel amended; And thus a day or tuo despended, The thridde day sche goth to pleigne With many a worthi Citezeine, And he with many a Citezein. Whan themperour it herde sein, And knew the falshed of the vice, He seide he wolde do justice: 1010 And ferst he let the Prestes take, And for thei scholde it noght forsake, He put hem into questioun; Bot thei of the suggestioun Ne couthen noght a word refuse, Bot for thei wolde hemself excuse, The blame upon the Duck thei leide. Bot therayein the conseil seide That thei be noght excused so, For he is on and thei ben tuo, 1020 And tuo han more wit then on, So thilke excusement was non. And over that was seid hem eke, That whan men wolden vertu seke, Men scholde it in the Prestes finde; Here ordre is of so hyh a kinde, That thei be Duistres of the weie: Forthi, if eny man forsueie Thurgh hem, thei be noght excusable. And thus be lawe resonable 1030 Among the wise jugges there The Prestes bothe dampned were, So that the prive tricherie Hid under fals Ipocrisie Was thanne al openliche schewed, That many a man hem hath beschrewed. And whan the Prestes weren dede, The temple of thilke horrible dede Thei thoghten purge, and thilke ymage, Whos cause was the pelrinage, 1040 Thei drowen out and als so faste Fer into Tibre thei it caste, Wher the Rivere it hath defied: And thus the temple purified Thei have of thilke horrible Sinne, Which was that time do therinne. Of this point such was the juise, Bot of the Duck was other wise: For he with love was bestad, His dom was noght so harde lad; 1050 For Love put reson aweie And can noght se the rihte weie. And be this cause he was respited, So that the deth him was acquited, Bot for al that he was exiled, For he his love hath so beguiled, That he schal nevere come ayein: For who that is to trowthe unplein, He may noght failen of vengance. And ek to take remembrance 1060 Of that Ypocrisie hath wroght On other half, men scholde noght To lihtly lieve al that thei hiere, Bot thanne scholde a wisman stiere The Schip, whan suche wyndes blowe: For ferst thogh thei beginne lowe, At ende thei be noght menable, Bot al tobreken Mast and Cable, So that the Schip with sodein blast, Whan men lest wene, is overcast; 1070 As now fulofte a man mai se: And of old time how it hath be I finde a gret experience, Wherof to take an evidence Good is, and to be war also Of the peril, er him be wo. Of hem that ben so derk withinne, At Troie also if we beginne, Ipocrisie it hath betraied: For whan the Greks hadde al assaied, 1080 And founde that be no bataille Ne be no Siege it myhte availe The toun to winne thurgh prouesse, This vice feigned of simplesce Thurgh sleyhte of Calcas and of Crise It wan be such a maner wise. An Hors of Bras thei let do forge Of such entaile, of such a forge, That in this world was nevere man That such an other werk began. 1090 The crafti werkman Epius It made, and forto telle thus, The Greks, that thoghten to beguile The kyng of Troie, in thilke while With Anthenor and with Enee, That were bothe of the Cite And of the conseil the wiseste, The richeste and the myhtieste, In prive place so thei trete With fair beheste and yiftes grete 1100 Of gold, that thei hem have engined; Togedre and whan thei be covined, Thei feignen forto make a pes, And under that yit natheles Thei schopen the destruccioun Bothe of the kyng and of the toun. And thus the false pees was take Of hem of Grece and undertake, And therupon thei founde a weie, Wher strengthe myhte noght aweie, 1110 That sleihte scholde helpe thanne; And of an ynche a large spanne Be colour of the pees thei made, And tolden how thei weren glade Of that thei stoden in acord; And for it schal ben of record, Unto the kyng the Gregois seiden, Be weie of love and this thei preiden, As thei that wolde his thonk deserve, A Sacrifice unto Minerve, 1120 The pes to kepe in good entente, Thei mosten offre er that thei wente. The kyng conseiled in this cas Be Anthenor and Eneas Therto hath yoven his assent: So was the pleine trowthe blent Thurgh contrefet Ipocrisie Of that thei scholden sacrifie. The Greks under the holinesse Anon with alle besinesse 1130 Here Hors of Bras let faire dihte, Which was to sen a wonder sihte; For it was trapped of himselve, And hadde of smale whieles twelve, Upon the whiche men ynowe With craft toward the toun it drowe, And goth glistrende ayein the Sunne. Tho was ther joie ynowh begunne, For Troie in gret devocioun Cam also with processioun 1140 Ayein this noble Sacrifise With gret honour, and in this wise Unto the gates thei it broghte. Bot of here entre whan thei soghte, The gates weren al to smale; And therupon was many a tale, Bot for the worschipe of Minerve, To whom thei comen forto serve, Thei of the toun, whiche understode That al this thing was do for goode, 1150 For pes, wherof that thei ben glade, The gates that Neptunus made A thousend wynter ther tofore, Thei have anon tobroke and tore; The stronge walles doun thei bete, So that in to the large strete This Hors with gret solempnite Was broght withinne the Cite, And offred with gret reverence, Which was to Troie an evidence 1160 Of love and pes for everemo. The Gregois token leve tho With al the hole felaschipe, And forth thei wenten into Schipe And crossen seil and made hem yare, Anon as thogh thei wolden fare: Bot whan the blake wynter nyht Withoute Mone or Sterre lyht Bederked hath the water Stronde, Al prively thei gon to londe 1170 Ful armed out of the navie. Synon, which mad was here aspie Withinne Troie, as was conspired, Whan time was a tokne hath fired; And thei with that here weie holden, And comen in riht as thei wolden, Ther as the gate was tobroke. The pourpos was full take and spoke: Er eny man may take kepe, Whil that the Cite was aslepe, 1180 Thei slowen al that was withinne, And token what thei myhten wynne Of such good as was sufficant, And brenden up the remenant. And thus cam out the tricherie, Which under fals Ypocrisie Was hid, and thei that wende pees Tho myhten finde no reles Of thilke swerd which al devoureth. Fulofte and thus the swete soureth, 1190 Whan it is knowe to the tast: He spilleth many a word in wast That schal with such a poeple trete; For whan he weneth most beyete, Thanne is he schape most to lese. And riht so if a womman chese Upon the wordes that sche hiereth Som man, whan he most trewe appiereth, Thanne is he forthest fro the trowthe: Bot yit fulofte, and that is rowthe, 1200 Thei speden that ben most untrewe And loven every day a newe, Wherof the lief is after loth And love hath cause to be wroth. Bot what man that his lust desireth Of love, and therupon conspireth With wordes feigned to deceive, He schal noght faile to receive His peine, as it is ofte sene. Forthi, my Sone, as I thee mene, 1210 It sit the wel to taken hiede That thou eschuie of thi manhiede Ipocrisie and his semblant, That thou ne be noght deceivant, To make a womman to believe Thing which is noght in thi bilieve: For in such feint Ipocrisie Of love is al the tricherie, Thurgh which love is deceived ofte; For feigned semblant is so softe, 1220 Unethes love may be war. Forthi, my Sone, as I wel dar, I charge thee to fle that vice, That many a womman hath mad nice; Bot lok thou dele noght withal. Iwiss, fader, nomor I schal. Now, Sone, kep that thou hast swore: For this that thou hast herd before Is seid the ferste point of Pride: And next upon that other side, 1230 To schryve and speken overthis Touchende of Pride, yit ther is The point seconde, I thee behote, Which Inobedience is hote. This vice of Inobedience Ayein the reule of conscience Al that is humble he desalloweth, That he toward his god ne boweth After the lawes of his heste. Noght as a man bot as a beste, 1240 Which goth upon his lustes wilde, So goth this proude vice unmylde, That he desdeigneth alle lawe: He not what is to be felawe, And serve may he noght for pride; So is he badde on every side, And is that selve of whom men speke, Which wol noght bowe er that he breke. I not if love him myhte plie, For elles forto justefie 1250 His herte, I not what mihte availe. Forthi, my Sone, of such entaile If that thin herte be disposed, Tell out and let it noght be glosed: For if that thou unbuxom be To love, I not in what degree Thou schalt thi goode world achieve. Mi fader, ye schul wel believe, The yonge whelp which is affaited Hath noght his Maister betre awaited, 1260 To couche, whan he seith "Go lowe," That I, anon as I may knowe Mi ladi will, ne bowe more. Bot other while I grucche sore Of some thinges that sche doth, Wherof that I woll telle soth: For of tuo pointz I am bethoght, That, thogh I wolde, I myhte noght Obeie unto my ladi heste; Bot I dar make this beheste, 1270 Save only of that ilke tuo I am unbuxom of no mo. Whan ben tho tuo? tell on, quod he. Mi fader, this is on, that sche Comandeth me my mowth to close, And that I scholde hir noght oppose In love, of which I ofte preche, Bot plenerliche of such a speche Forbere, and soffren hire in pes. Bot that ne myhte I natheles 1280 For al this world obeie ywiss; For whanne I am ther as sche is, Though sche my tales noght alowe, Ayein hir will yit mot I bowe, To seche if that I myhte have grace: Bot that thing may I noght enbrace For ought that I can speke or do; And yit fulofte I speke so, That sche is wroth and seith, "Be stille." If I that heste schal fulfille 1290 And therto ben obedient, Thanne is my cause fully schent, For specheles may noman spede. So wot I noght what is to rede; Bot certes I may noght obeie, That I ne mot algate seie Somwhat of that I wolde mene; For evere it is aliche grene, The grete love which I have, Wherof I can noght bothe save 1300 My speche and this obedience: And thus fulofte my silence I breke, and is the ferste point Wherof that I am out of point In this, and yit it is no pride. Now thanne upon that other side To telle my desobeissance, Ful sore it stant to my grevance And may noght sinke into my wit; For ofte time sche me bit 1310 To leven hire and chese a newe, And seith, if I the sothe knewe How ferr I stonde from hir grace, I scholde love in other place. Bot therof woll I desobeie; For also wel sche myhte seie, "Go tak the Mone ther it sit," As bringe that into my wit: For ther was nevere rooted tre, That stod so faste in his degre, 1320 That I ne stonde more faste Upon hire love, and mai noght caste Min herte awey, althogh I wolde. For god wot, thogh I nevere scholde Sen hir with yhe after this day, Yit stant it so that I ne may Hir love out of my brest remue. This is a wonder retenue, That malgre wher sche wole or non Min herte is everemore in on, 1330 So that I can non other chese, Bot whether that I winne or lese, I moste hire loven til I deie; And thus I breke as be that weie Hire hestes and hir comandinges, Bot trewliche in non othre thinges. Forthi, my fader, what is more Touchende to this ilke lore I you beseche, after the forme That ye pleinly me wolde enforme, 1340 So that I may myn herte reule In loves cause after the reule. Toward this vice of which we trete Ther ben yit tweie of thilke estrete, Here name is Murmur and Compleignte: Ther can noman here chiere peinte, To sette a glad semblant therinne, For thogh fortune make hem wynne, Yit grucchen thei, and if thei lese, Ther is no weie forto chese, 1350 Wherof thei myhten stonde appesed. So ben thei comunly desesed; Ther may no welthe ne poverte Attempren hem to the decerte Of buxomnesse be no wise: For ofte time thei despise The goode fortune as the badde, As thei no mannes reson hadde, Thurgh pride, wherof thei be blinde. And ryht of such a maner kinde 1360 Ther be lovers, that thogh thei have Of love al that thei wolde crave, Yit wol thei grucche be som weie, That thei wol noght to love obeie Upon the trowthe, as thei do scholde; And if hem lacketh that thei wolde, Anon thei falle in such a peine, That evere unbuxomly thei pleigne Upon fortune, and curse and crie, That thei wol noght here hertes plie 1370 To soffre til it betre falle. Forthi if thou amonges alle Hast used this condicioun, Mi Sone, in thi Confessioun Now tell me pleinly what thou art. Mi fader, I beknowe a part, So as ye tolden hier above Of Murmur and Compleignte of love, That for I se no sped comende, Ayein fortune compleignende 1380 I am, as who seith, everemo: And ek fulofte tyme also, Whan so is that I se and hiere Or hevy word or hevy chiere Of my lady, I grucche anon; Bot wordes dar I speke non, Wherof sche myhte be desplesed, Bot in myn herte I am desesed: With many a Murmur, god it wot, Thus drinke I in myn oghne swot, 1390 And thogh I make no semblant, Min herte is al desobeissant; And in this wise I me confesse Of that ye clepe unbuxomnesse. Now telleth what youre conseil is. Mi Sone, and I thee rede this, What so befalle of other weie, That thou to loves heste obeie Als ferr as thou it myht suffise: For ofte sithe in such a wise 1400 Obedience in love availeth, Wher al a mannes strengthe faileth; Wherof, if that the list to wite In a Cronique as it is write, A gret ensample thou myht fynde, Which now is come to my mynde. Ther was whilom be daies olde A worthi knyht, and as men tolde He was Nevoeu to themperour And of his Court a Courteour: 1410 Wifles he was, Florent he hihte, He was a man that mochel myhte, Of armes he was desirous, Chivalerous and amorous, And for the fame of worldes speche, Strange aventures forto seche, He rod the Marches al aboute. And fell a time, as he was oute, Fortune, which may every thred Tobreke and knette of mannes sped, 1420 Schop, as this knyht rod in a pas, That he be strengthe take was, And to a Castell thei him ladde, Wher that he fewe frendes hadde: For so it fell that ilke stounde That he hath with a dedly wounde Feihtende his oghne hondes slain Branchus, which to the Capitain Was Sone and Heir, wherof ben wrothe The fader and the moder bothe. 1430 That knyht Branchus was of his hond The worthieste of al his lond, And fain thei wolden do vengance Upon Florent, bot remembrance That thei toke of his worthinesse Of knyhthod and of gentilesse, And how he stod of cousinage To themperour, made hem assuage, And dorsten noght slen him for fere: In gret desputeisoun thei were 1440 Among hemself, what was the beste. Ther was a lady, the slyheste Of alle that men knewe tho, So old sche myhte unethes go, And was grantdame unto the dede: And sche with that began to rede, And seide how sche wol bringe him inne, That sche schal him to dethe winne Al only of his oghne grant, Thurgh strengthe of verray covenant 1450 Withoute blame of eny wiht. Anon sche sende for this kniht, And of hire Sone sche alleide The deth, and thus to him sche seide: "Florent, how so thou be to wyte Of Branchus deth, men schal respite As now to take vengement, Be so thou stonde in juggement Upon certein condicioun, That thou unto a questioun 1460 Which I schal axe schalt ansuere; And over this thou schalt ek swere, That if thou of the sothe faile, Ther schal non other thing availe, That thou ne schalt thi deth receive. And for men schal thee noght deceive, That thou therof myht ben avised, Thou schalt have day and tyme assised And leve saufly forto wende, Be so that at thi daies ende 1470 Thou come ayein with thin avys. This knyht, which worthi was and wys, This lady preith that he may wite, And have it under Seales write, What questioun it scholde be For which he schal in that degree Stonde of his lif in jeupartie. With that sche feigneth compaignie, And seith: "Florent, on love it hongeth Al that to myn axinge longeth: 1480 What alle wommen most desire This wole I axe, and in thempire Wher as thou hast most knowlechinge Tak conseil upon this axinge." Florent this thing hath undertake, The day was set, the time take, Under his seal he wrot his oth, In such a wise and forth he goth Hom to his Emes court ayein; To whom his aventure plein 1490 He tolde, of that him is befalle. And upon that thei weren alle The wiseste of the lond asent, Bot natheles of on assent Thei myhte noght acorde plat, On seide this, an othre that. After the disposicioun Of naturel complexioun To som womman it is plesance, That to an other is grevance; 1500 Bot such a thing in special, Which to hem alle in general Is most plesant, and most desired Above alle othre and most conspired, Such o thing conne thei noght finde Be Constellacion ne kinde: And thus Florent withoute cure Mot stonde upon his aventure, And is al schape unto the lere, As in defalte of his answere. 1510 This knyht hath levere forto dye Than breke his trowthe and forto lye In place ther as he was swore, And schapth him gon ayein therfore. Whan time cam he tok his leve, That lengere wolde he noght beleve, And preith his Em he be noght wroth, For that is a point of his oth, He seith, that noman schal him wreke, Thogh afterward men hiere speke 1520 That he par aventure deie. And thus he wente forth his weie Alone as knyht aventurous, And in his thoght was curious To wite what was best to do: And as he rod al one so, And cam nyh ther he wolde be, In a forest under a tre He syh wher sat a creature, A lothly wommannysch figure, 1530 That forto speke of fleisch and bon So foul yit syh he nevere non. This knyht behield hir redely, And as he wolde have passed by, Sche cleped him and bad abide; And he his horse heved aside Tho torneth, and to hire he rod, And there he hoveth and abod, To wite what sche wolde mene. And sche began him to bemene, 1540 And seide: "Florent be thi name, Thou hast on honde such a game, That bot thou be the betre avised, Thi deth is schapen and devised, That al the world ne mai the save, Bot if that thou my conseil have." Florent, whan he this tale herde, Unto this olde wyht answerde And of hir conseil he hir preide. And sche ayein to him thus seide: 1550 "Florent, if I for the so schape, That thou thurgh me thi deth ascape And take worschipe of thi dede, What schal I have to my mede?" "What thing," quod he, "that thou wolt axe." "I bidde nevere a betre taxe," Quod sche, "bot ferst, er thou be sped, Thou schalt me leve such a wedd, That I wol have thi trowthe in honde That thou schalt be myn housebonde." 1560 "Nay," seith Florent, "that may noght be." "Ryd thanne forth thi wey," quod sche, "And if thou go withoute red, Thou schalt be sekerliche ded." Florent behihte hire good ynowh Of lond, of rente, of park, of plowh, Bot al that compteth sche at noght. Tho fell this knyht in mochel thoght, Now goth he forth, now comth ayein, He wot noght what is best to sein, 1570 And thoghte, as he rod to and fro, That chese he mot on of the tuo, Or forto take hire to his wif Or elles forto lese his lif. And thanne he caste his avantage, That sche was of so gret an age, That sche mai live bot a while, And thoghte put hire in an Ile, Wher that noman hire scholde knowe, Til sche with deth were overthrowe. 1580 And thus this yonge lusti knyht Unto this olde lothly wiht Tho seide: "If that non other chance Mai make my deliverance, Bot only thilke same speche Which, as thou seist, thou schalt me teche, Have hier myn hond, I schal thee wedde." And thus his trowthe he leith to wedde. With that sche frounceth up the browe: "This covenant I wol allowe," 1590 Sche seith: "if eny other thing Bot that thou hast of my techyng Fro deth thi body mai respite, I woll thee of thi trowthe acquite, And elles be non other weie. Now herkne me what I schal seie. Whan thou art come into the place, Wher now thei maken gret manace And upon thi comynge abyde, Thei wole anon the same tide 1600 Oppose thee of thin answere. I wot thou wolt nothing forbere Of that thou wenest be thi beste, And if thou myht so finde reste, Wel is, for thanne is ther nomore. And elles this schal be my lore, That thou schalt seie, upon this Molde That alle wommen lievest wolde Be soverein of mannes love: For what womman is so above, 1610 Sche hath, as who seith, al hire wille; And elles may sche noght fulfille What thing hir were lievest have. With this answere thou schalt save Thiself, and other wise noght. And whan thou hast thin ende wroght, Com hier ayein, thou schalt me finde, And let nothing out of thi minde." He goth him forth with hevy chiere, As he that not in what manere 1620 He mai this worldes joie atteigne: For if he deie, he hath a peine, And if he live, he mot him binde To such on which of alle kinde Of wommen is thunsemlieste: Thus wot he noght what is the beste: Bot be him lief or be him loth, Unto the Castell forth he goth His full answere forto yive, Or forto deie or forto live. 1630 Forth with his conseil cam the lord, The thinges stoden of record, He sende up for the lady sone, And forth sche cam, that olde Mone. In presence of the remenant The strengthe of al the covenant Tho was reherced openly, And to Florent sche bad forthi That he schal tellen his avis, As he that woot what is the pris. 1640 Florent seith al that evere he couthe, Bot such word cam ther non to mowthe, That he for yifte or for beheste Mihte eny wise his deth areste. And thus he tarieth longe and late, Til that this lady bad algate That he schal for the dom final Yive his answere in special Of that sche hadde him ferst opposed: And thanne he hath trewly supposed 1650 That he him may of nothing yelpe, Bot if so be tho wordes helpe, Whiche as the womman hath him tawht; Wherof he hath an hope cawht That he schal ben excused so, And tolde out plein his wille tho. And whan that this Matrone herde The manere how this knyht ansuerde, Sche seide: "Ha treson, wo thee be, That hast thus told the privite, 1660 Which alle wommen most desire! I wolde that thou were afire." Bot natheles in such a plit Florent of his answere is quit: And tho began his sorwe newe, For he mot gon, or ben untrewe, To hire which his trowthe hadde. Bot he, which alle schame dradde, Goth forth in stede of his penance, And takth the fortune of his chance, 1670 As he that was with trowthe affaited. This olde wyht him hath awaited In place wher as he hire lefte: Florent his wofull heved uplefte And syh this vecke wher sche sat, Which was the lothlieste what That evere man caste on his yhe: Hire Nase bass, hire browes hyhe, Hire yhen smale and depe set, Hire chekes ben with teres wet, 1680 And rivelen as an emty skyn Hangende doun unto the chin, Hire Lippes schrunken ben for age, Ther was no grace in the visage, Hir front was nargh, hir lockes hore, Sche loketh forth as doth a More, Hire Necke is schort, hir schuldres courbe, That myhte a mannes lust destourbe, Hire body gret and nothing smal, And schortly to descrive hire al, 1690 Sche hath no lith withoute a lak; Bot lich unto the wollesak Sche proferth hire unto this knyht, And bad him, as he hath behyht, So as sche hath ben his warant, That he hire holde covenant, And be the bridel sche him seseth. Bot godd wot how that sche him pleseth Of suche wordes as sche spekth: Him thenkth welnyh his herte brekth 1700 For sorwe that he may noght fle, Bot if he wolde untrewe be. Loke, how a sek man for his hele Takth baldemoine with Canele, And with the Mirre takth the Sucre, Ryht upon such a maner lucre Stant Florent, as in this diete: He drinkth the bitre with the swete, He medleth sorwe with likynge, And liveth, as who seith, deyinge; 1710 His youthe schal be cast aweie Upon such on which as the weie Is old and lothly overal. Bot nede he mot that nede schal: He wolde algate his trowthe holde, As every knyht therto is holde, What happ so evere him is befalle: Thogh sche be the fouleste of alle, Yet to thonour of wommanhiede Him thoghte he scholde taken hiede; 1720 So that for pure gentilesse, As he hire couthe best adresce, In ragges, as sche was totore, He set hire on his hors tofore And forth he takth his weie softe; No wonder thogh he siketh ofte. Bot as an oule fleth be nyhte Out of alle othre briddes syhte, Riht so this knyht on daies brode In clos him hield, and schop his rode 1730 On nyhtes time, til the tyde That he cam there he wolde abide; And prively withoute noise He bringth this foule grete Coise To his Castell in such a wise That noman myhte hire schappe avise, Til sche into the chambre cam: Wher he his prive conseil nam Of suche men as he most troste, And tolde hem that he nedes moste 1740 This beste wedde to his wif, For elles hadde he lost his lif. The prive wommen were asent, That scholden ben of his assent: Hire ragges thei anon of drawe, And, as it was that time lawe, She hadde bath, sche hadde reste, And was arraied to the beste. Bot with no craft of combes brode Thei myhte hire hore lockes schode, 1750 And sche ne wolde noght be schore For no conseil, and thei therfore, With such atyr as tho was used, Ordeinen that it was excused, And hid so crafteliche aboute, That noman myhte sen hem oute. Bot when sche was fulliche arraied And hire atyr was al assaied, Tho was sche foulere on to se: Bot yit it may non other be, 1760 Thei were wedded in the nyht; So wo begon was nevere knyht As he was thanne of mariage. And sche began to pleie and rage, As who seith, I am wel ynowh; Bot he therof nothing ne lowh, For sche tok thanne chiere on honde And clepeth him hire housebonde, And seith, "My lord, go we to bedde, For I to that entente wedde, 1770 That thou schalt be my worldes blisse:" And profreth him with that to kisse, As sche a lusti Lady were. His body myhte wel be there, Bot as of thoght and of memoire His herte was in purgatoire. Bot yit for strengthe of matrimoine He myhte make non essoine, That he ne mot algates plie To gon to bedde of compaignie: 1780 And whan thei were abedde naked, Withoute slep he was awaked; He torneth on that other side, For that he wolde hise yhen hyde Fro lokynge on that foule wyht. The chambre was al full of lyht, The courtins were of cendal thinne, This newe bryd which lay withinne, Thogh it be noght with his acord, In armes sche beclipte hire lord, 1790 And preide, as he was torned fro, He wolde him torne ayeinward tho; "For now," sche seith, "we ben bothe on." And he lay stille as eny ston, Bot evere in on sche spak and preide, And bad him thenke on that he seide, Whan that he tok hire be the hond. He herde and understod the bond, How he was set to his penance, And as it were a man in trance 1800 He torneth him al sodeinly, And syh a lady lay him by Of eyhtetiene wynter age, Which was the faireste of visage That evere in al this world he syh: And as he wolde have take hire nyh, Sche put hire hand and be his leve Besoghte him that he wolde leve, And seith that forto wynne or lese He mot on of tuo thinges chese, 1810 Wher he wol have hire such on nyht, Or elles upon daies lyht, For he schal noght have bothe tuo. And he began to sorwe tho, In many a wise and caste his thoght, Bot for al that yit cowthe he noght Devise himself which was the beste. And sche, that wolde his hertes reste, Preith that he scholde chese algate, Til ate laste longe and late 1820 He seide: "O ye, my lyves hele, Sey what you list in my querele, I not what ansuere I schal yive: Bot evere whil that I may live, I wol that ye be my maistresse, For I can noght miselve gesse Which is the beste unto my chois. Thus grante I yow myn hole vois, Ches for ous bothen, I you preie; And what as evere that ye seie, 1830 Riht as ye wole so wol I." "Mi lord," sche seide, " grant merci, For of this word that ye now sein, That ye have mad me soverein, Mi destine is overpassed, That nevere hierafter schal be lassed Mi beaute, which that I now have, Til I be take into my grave; Bot nyht and day as I am now I schal alwey be such to yow. 1840 The kinges dowhter of Cizile I am, and fell bot siththe awhile, As I was with my fader late, That my Stepmoder for an hate, Which toward me sche hath begonne, Forschop me, til I hadde wonne The love and sovereinete Of what knyht that in his degre Alle othre passeth of good name: And, as men sein, ye ben the same, 1850 The dede proeveth it is so; Thus am I youres evermo." Tho was plesance and joye ynowh, Echon with other pleide and lowh; Thei live longe and wel thei ferde, And clerkes that this chance herde Thei writen it in evidence, To teche how that obedience Mai wel fortune a man to love And sette him in his lust above, 1860 As it befell unto this knyht. Forthi, my Sone, if thou do ryht, Thou schalt unto thi love obeie, And folwe hir will be alle weie. Min holy fader, so I wile: For ye have told me such a skile Of this ensample now tofore, That I schal evermo therfore Hierafterward myn observance To love and to his obeissance 1870 The betre kepe: and over this Of pride if ther oght elles is, Wherof that I me schryve schal, What thing it is in special, Mi fader, axeth, I you preie. Now lest, my Sone, and I schal seie: For yit ther is Surquiderie, Which stant with Pride of compaignie; Wherof that thou schalt hiere anon, To knowe if thou have gult or non 1880 Upon the forme as thou schalt hiere: Now understond wel the matiere. Surquiderie is thilke vice Of Pride, which the thridde office Hath in his Court, and wol noght knowe The trowthe til it overthrowe. Upon his fortune and his grace Comth "Hadde I wist" fulofte aplace; For he doth al his thing be gesse, And voideth alle sikernesse. 1890 Non other conseil good him siemeth Bot such as he himselve diemeth; For in such wise as he compasseth, His wit al one alle othre passeth; And is with pride so thurghsoght, That he alle othre set at noght, And weneth of himselven so, That such as he ther be nomo, So fair, so semly, ne so wis; And thus he wolde bere a pris 1900 Above alle othre, and noght forthi He seith noght ones "grant mercy" To godd, which alle grace sendeth, So that his wittes he despendeth Upon himself, as thogh ther were No godd which myhte availe there: Bot al upon his oghne witt He stant, til he falle in the pitt So ferr that he mai noght arise. And riht thus in the same wise 1910 This vice upon the cause of love So proudly set the herte above, And doth him pleinly forto wene That he to loven eny qwene Hath worthinesse and sufficance; And so withoute pourveance Fulofte he heweth up so hihe, That chippes fallen in his yhe; And ek ful ofte he weneth this, Ther as he noght beloved is, 1920 To be beloved alther best. Now, Sone, tell what so thee lest Of this that I have told thee hier. Ha, fader, be noght in a wer: I trowe ther be noman lesse, Of eny maner worthinesse, That halt him lasse worth thanne I To be beloved; and noght forthi I seie in excusinge of me, To alle men that love is fre. 1930 And certes that mai noman werne; For love is of himself so derne, It luteth in a mannes herte: Bot that ne schal me noght asterte, To wene forto be worthi To loven, bot in hir mercy. Bot, Sire, of that ye wolden mene, That I scholde otherwise wene To be beloved thanne I was, I am beknowe as in that cas. 1940 Mi goode Sone, tell me how. Now lest, and I wol telle yow, Mi goode fader, how it is. Fulofte it hath befalle or this Thurgh hope that was noght certein, Mi wenynge hath be set in vein To triste in thing that halp me noght, Bot onliche of myn oughne thoght. For as it semeth that a belle Lik to the wordes that men telle 1950 Answerth, riht so ne mor ne lesse, To yow, my fader, I confesse, Such will my wit hath overset, That what so hope me behet, Ful many a time I wene it soth, Bot finali no spied it doth. Thus may I tellen, as I can, Wenyng beguileth many a man; So hath it me, riht wel I wot: For if a man wole in a Bot 1960 Which is withoute botme rowe, He moste nedes overthrowe. Riht so wenyng hath ferd be me: For whanne I wende next have be, As I be my wenynge caste, Thanne was I furthest ate laste, And as a foll my bowe unbende, Whan al was failed that I wende. Forthi, my fader, as of this, That my wenynge hath gon amis 1970 Touchende to Surquiderie, Yif me my penance er I die. Bot if ye wolde in eny forme Of this matiere a tale enforme, Which were ayein this vice set, I scholde fare wel the bet. Mi Sone, in alle maner wise Surquiderie is to despise, Wherof I finde write thus. The proude knyht Capane
s 1980 He was of such Surquiderie, That he thurgh his chivalerie Upon himself so mochel triste, That to the goddes him ne liste In no querele to beseche, Bot seide it was an ydel speche, Which caused was of pure drede, For lack of herte and for no nede. And upon such presumpcioun He hield this proude opinioun, 1990 Til ate laste upon a dai, Aboute Thebes wher he lay, Whan it of Siege was belein, This knyht, as the Croniqes sein, In alle mennes sihte there, Whan he was proudest in his gere, And thoghte how nothing myhte him dere, Ful armed with his schield and spere As he the Cite wolde assaile, Godd tok himselve the bataille 2000 Ayein his Pride, and fro the sky A firy thonder sodeinly He sende, and him to pouldre smot. And thus the Pride which was hot, Whan he most in his strengthe wende, Was brent and lost withouten ende: So that it proeveth wel therfore, The strengthe of man is sone lore, Bot if that he it wel governe. And over this a man mai lerne 2010 That ek fulofte time it grieveth, Whan that a man himself believeth, As thogh it scholde him wel beseme That he alle othre men can deme, And hath foryete his oghne vice. A tale of hem that ben so nyce, And feigne hemself to be so wise, I schal thee telle in such a wise, Wherof thou schalt ensample take That thou no such thing undertake. 2020 I finde upon Surquiderie, How that whilom of Hungarie Be olde daies was a King Wys and honeste in alle thing: And so befell upon a dai, And that was in the Monthe of Maii, As thilke time it was usance, This kyng with noble pourveance Hath for himself his Charr araied, Wher inne he wolde ride amaied 2030 Out of the Cite forto pleie, With lordes and with gret nobleie Of lusti folk that were yonge: Wher some pleide and some songe, And some gon and some ryde, And some prike here hors aside And bridlen hem now in now oute. The kyng his yhe caste aboute, Til he was ate laste war And syh comende ayein his char 2040 Two pilegrins of so gret age, That lich unto a dreie ymage Thei weren pale and fade hewed, And as a bussh which is besnewed, Here berdes weren hore and whyte; Ther was of kinde bot a lite, That thei ne semen fulli dede. Thei comen to the kyng and bede Som of his good par charite; And he with gret humilite 2050 Out of his Char to grounde lepte, And hem in bothe hise armes kepte And keste hem bothe fot and hond Before the lordes of his lond, And yaf hem of his good therto: And whanne he hath this dede do, He goth into his char ayein. Tho was Murmur, tho was desdeign, Tho was compleignte on every side, Thei seiden of here oghne Pride 2060 Eche until othre: "What is this? Oure king hath do this thing amis, So to abesse his realte That every man it myhte se, And humbled him in such a wise To hem that were of non emprise." Thus was it spoken to and fro Of hem that were with him tho Al prively behinde his bak; Bot to himselven noman spak. 2070 The kinges brother in presence Was thilke time, and gret offence He tok therof, and was the same Above alle othre which most blame Upon his liege lord hath leid, And hath unto the lordes seid, Anon as he mai time finde, Ther schal nothing be left behinde, That he wol speke unto the king. Now lest what fell upon this thing. 2080 The day was merie and fair ynowh, Echon with othre pleide and lowh, And fellen into tales newe, How that the freisshe floures grewe, And how the grene leves spronge, And how that love among the yonge Began the hertes thanne awake, And every bridd hath chose hire make: And thus the Maies day to thende Thei lede, and hom ayein thei wende. 2090 The king was noght so sone come, That whanne he hadde his chambre nome, His brother ne was redi there, And broghte a tale unto his Ere Of that he dede such a schame In hindringe of his oghne name, Whan he himself so wolde drecche, That to so vil a povere wrecche Him deigneth schewe such simplesce Ayein thastat of his noblesce: 2100 And seith he schal it nomor use, And that he mot himself excuse Toward hise lordes everychon. The king stod stille as eny ston, And to his tale an Ere he leide, And thoghte more than he seide: Bot natheles to that he herde Wel cortaisly the king answerde, And tolde it scholde be amended. And thus whan that her tale is ended, 2110 Al redy was the bord and cloth, The king unto his Souper goth Among the lordes to the halle; And whan thei hadden souped alle, Thei token leve and forth thei go. The king bethoghte himselve tho How he his brother mai chastie, That he thurgh his Surquiderie Tok upon honde to despreise Humilite, which is to preise, 2120 And therupon yaf such conseil Toward his king that was noght heil; Wherof to be the betre lered, He thenkth to maken him afered. It fell so that in thilke dawe Ther was ordeined be the lawe A trompe with a sterne breth, Which cleped was the Trompe of deth: And in the Court wher the king was A certein man this Trompe of bras 2130 Hath in kepinge, and therof serveth, That whan a lord his deth deserveth, He schal this dredful trompe blowe Tofore his gate, and make it knowe How that the jugement is yove Of deth, which schal noght be foryove. The king, whan it was nyht, anon This man asente and bad him gon To trompen at his brother gate; And he, which mot so don algate, 2140 Goth forth and doth the kynges heste. This lord, which herde of this tempeste That he tofore his gate blew, Tho wiste he be the lawe and knew That he was sikerliche ded: And as of help he wot no red, Bot sende for hise frendes alle And tolde hem how it is befalle. And thei him axe cause why; Bot he the sothe noght forthi 2150 Ne wiste, and ther was sorwe tho: For it stod thilke tyme so, This trompe was of such sentence, That therayein no resistence Thei couthe ordeine be no weie, That he ne mot algate deie, Bot if so that he may pourchace To gete his liege lordes grace. Here wittes therupon thei caste, And ben apointed ate laste. 2160 This lord a worthi ladi hadde Unto his wif, which also dradde Hire lordes deth, and children five Betwen hem two thei hadde alyve, That weren yonge and tendre of age, And of stature and of visage Riht faire and lusty on to se. Tho casten thei that he and sche Forth with here children on the morwe, As thei that were full of sorwe, 2170 Al naked bot of smok and scherte, To tendre with the kynges herte, His grace scholden go to seche And pardoun of the deth beseche. Thus passen thei that wofull nyht, And erly, whan thei sihe it lyht, Thei gon hem forth in such a wise As thou tofore hast herd devise, Al naked bot here schortes one. Thei wepte and made mochel mone, 2180 Here Her hangende aboute here Eres; With sobbinge and with sory teres This lord goth thanne an humble pas, That whilom proud and noble was; Wherof the Cite sore afflyhte, Of hem that sihen thilke syhte: And natheless al openly With such wepinge and with such cri Forth with hise children and his wif He goth to preie for his lif. 2190 Unto the court whan thei be come, And men therinne have hiede nome, Ther was no wiht, if he hem syhe, Fro water mihte kepe his yhe For sorwe which thei maden tho. The king supposeth of this wo, And feigneth as he noght ne wiste; Bot natheles at his upriste Men tolden him how that it ferde: And whan that he this wonder herde, 2200 In haste he goth into the halle, And alle at ones doun thei falle, If eny pite may be founde. The king, which seth hem go to grounde, Hath axed hem what is the fere, Why thei be so despuiled there. His brother seide: "Ha lord, mercy! I wot non other cause why, Bot only that this nyht ful late The trompe of deth was at my gate 2210 In tokne that I scholde deie; Thus be we come forto preie That ye mi worldes deth respite." "Ha fol, how thou art forto wyte," The king unto his brother seith, "That thou art of so litel feith, That only for a trompes soun Hast gon despuiled thurgh the toun, Thou and thi wif in such manere Forth with thi children that ben here, 2220 In sihte of alle men aboute, For that thou seist thou art in doute Of deth, which stant under the lawe Of man, and man it mai withdrawe, So that it mai par chance faile. Now schalt thou noght forthi mervaile That I doun fro my Charr alihte, Whanne I behield tofore my sihte In hem that were of so grete age Min oghne deth thurgh here ymage, 2230 Which god hath set be lawe of kynde, Wherof I mai no bote finde: For wel I wot, such as thei be, Riht such am I in my degree, Of fleissh and blod, and so schal deie. And thus, thogh I that lawe obeie Of which the kinges ben put under, It oghte ben wel lasse wonder Than thou, which art withoute nede For lawe of londe in such a drede, 2240 Which for tacompte is bot a jape, As thing which thou miht overscape. Forthi, mi brother, after this I rede, sithen that so is That thou canst drede a man so sore, Dred god with al thin herte more: For al schal deie and al schal passe, Als wel a Leoun as an asse, Als wel a beggere as a lord, Towardes deth in on acord 2250 Thei schullen stonde." And in this wise The king hath with hise wordes wise His brother tawht and al foryive. Forthi, mi Sone, if thou wolt live In vertu, thou most vice eschuie, And with low herte humblesce suie, So that thou be noght surquidous. Mi fader, I am amorous, Wherof I wolde you beseche That ye me som ensample teche, 2260 Which mihte in loves cause stonde. Mi Sone, thou schalt understonde, In love and othre thinges alle If that Surquiderie falle, It may to him noght wel betide Which useth thilke vice of Pride, Which torneth wisdom to wenynge And Sothfastnesse into lesynge Thurgh fol ymaginacion. And for thin enformacion, 2270 That thou this vice as I the rede Eschuie schalt, a tale I rede, Which fell whilom be daies olde, So as the clerk Ovide tolde. Ther was whilom a lordes Sone, Which of his Pride a nyce wone Hath cawht, that worthi to his liche, To sechen al the worldes riche, Ther was no womman forto love. So hihe he sette himselve above 2280 Of stature and of beaute bothe, That him thoghte alle wommen lothe: So was ther no comparisoun As toward his condicioun. This yonge lord Narcizus hihte: No strengthe of love bowe mihte His herte, which is unaffiled; Bot ate laste he was beguiled: For of the goddes pourveance It fell him on a dai par chance, 2290 That he in all his proude fare Unto the forest gan to fare, Amonges othre that ther were To hunte and to desporte him there. And whanne he cam into the place Wher that he wolde make his chace, The houndes weren in a throwe Uncoupled and the hornes blowe: The grete hert anon was founde, Which swifte feet sette upon grounde, 2300 And he with spore in horse side Him hasteth faste forto ride, Til alle men be left behinde. And as he rod, under a linde Beside a roche, as I thee telle, He syh wher sprong a lusty welle: The day was wonder hot withalle, And such a thurst was on him falle, That he moste owther deie or drinke; And doun he lihte and be the brinke 2310 He teide his Hors unto a braunche, And leide him lowe forto staunche His thurst: and as he caste his lok Into the welle and hiede tok, He sih the like of his visage, And wende ther were an ymage Of such a Nimphe as tho was faie, Wherof that love his herte assaie Began, as it was after sene, Of his sotie and made him wene 2320 It were a womman that he syh. The more he cam the welle nyh, The nerr cam sche to him ayein; So wiste he nevere what to sein; For whanne he wepte, he sih hire wepe, And whanne he cride, he tok good kepe, The same word sche cride also: And thus began the newe wo, That whilom was to him so strange; Tho made him love an hard eschange, 2330 To sette his herte and to beginne Thing which he mihte nevere winne. And evere among he gan to loute, And preith that sche to him come oute; And otherwhile he goth a ferr, And otherwhile he draweth nerr, And evere he fond hire in o place. He wepth, he crith, he axeth grace, There as he mihte gete non; So that ayein a Roche of Ston, 2340 As he that knew non other red, He smot himself til he was ded. Wherof the Nimphes of the welles, And othre that ther weren elles Unto the wodes belongende, The body, which was ded ligende, For pure pite that thei have Under the grene thei begrave. And thanne out of his sepulture Ther sprong anon par aventure 2350 Of floures such a wonder syhte, That men ensample take myhte Upon the dedes whiche he dede, As tho was sene in thilke stede; For in the wynter freysshe and faire The floures ben, which is contraire To kynde, and so was the folie Which fell of his Surquiderie. Thus he, which love hadde in desdeign, Worste of all othre was besein, 2360 And as he sette his pris most hyhe, He was lest worth in loves yhe And most bejaped in his wit: Wherof the remembrance is yit, So that thou myht ensample take, And ek alle othre for his sake. Mi fader, as touchende of me, This vice I thenke forto fle, Which of his wenynge overtroweth; And nameliche of thing which groweth 2370 In loves cause or wel or wo Yit pryded I me nevere so. Bot wolde god that grace sende, That toward me my lady wende As I towardes hire wene! Mi love scholde so be sene, Ther scholde go no pride a place. Bot I am ferr fro thilke grace, As forto speke of tyme now; So mot I soffre, and preie yow 2380 That ye wole axe on other side If ther be eny point of Pride, Wherof it nedeth to be schrive. Mi Sone, godd it thee foryive, If thou have eny thing misdo Touchende of this, bot overmo Ther is an other yit of Pride, Which nevere cowthe hise wordes hide, That he ne wole himself avaunte; Ther mai nothing his tunge daunte, 2390 That he ne clappeth as a Belle: Wherof if thou wolt that I telle, It is behovely forto hiere, So that thou myht thi tunge stiere, Toward the world and stonde in grace, Which lacketh ofte in many place To him that can noght sitte stille, Which elles scholde have al his wille. The vice cleped Avantance With Pride hath take his aqueintance, 2400 So that his oghne pris he lasseth, When he such mesure overpasseth That he his oghne Herald is. That ferst was wel is thanne mis, That was thankworth is thanne blame, And thus the worschipe of his name Thurgh pride of his avantarie He torneth into vilenie. I rede how that this proude vice Hath thilke wynd in his office, 2410 Which thurgh the blastes that he bloweth The mannes fame he overthroweth Of vertu, which scholde elles springe Into the worldes knowlechinge; Bot he fordoth it alto sore. And riht of such a maner lore Ther ben lovers: forthi if thow Art on of hem, tell and sei how. Whan thou hast taken eny thing Of loves yifte, or Nouche or ring, 2420 Or tok upon thee for the cold Som goodly word that thee was told, Or frendly chiere or tokne or lettre, Wherof thin herte was the bettre, Or that sche sende the grietinge, Hast thou for Pride of thi likinge Mad thin avant wher as the liste? I wolde, fader, that ye wiste, Mi conscience lith noght hiere: Yit hadde I nevere such matiere, 2430 Wherof min herte myhte amende, Noght of so mochel that sche sende Be mowthe and seide, "Griet him wel:" And thus for that ther is no diel Wherof to make myn avant, It is to reson acordant That I mai nevere, bot I lye, Of love make avanterie. I wot noght what I scholde have do, If that I hadde encheson so, 2440 As ye have seid hier manyon; Bot I fond cause nevere non: Bot daunger, which welnyh me slowh, Therof I cowthe telle ynowh, And of non other Avantance: Thus nedeth me no repentance. Now axeth furthere of my lif, For hierof am I noght gultif. Mi Sone, I am wel paid withal; For wite it wel in special 2450 That love of his verrai justice Above alle othre ayein this vice At alle times most debateth, With al his herte and most it hateth. And ek in alle maner wise Avantarie is to despise, As be ensample thou myht wite, Which I finde in the bokes write. Of hem that we Lombars now calle Albinus was the ferste of alle 2460 Which bar corone of Lombardie, And was of gret chivalerie In werre ayein diverse kinges. So fell amonges othre thinges, That he that time a werre hadde With Gurmond, which the Geptes ladde, And was a myhti kyng also: Bot natheles it fell him so, Albinus slowh him in the feld, Ther halp him nowther swerd ne scheld, 2470 That he ne smot his hed of thanne, Wherof he tok awey the Panne, Of which he seide he wolde make A Cuppe for Gurmoundes sake, To kepe and drawe into memoire Of his bataille the victoire. And thus whan he the feld hath wonne, The lond anon was overronne And sesed in his oghne hond, Wher he Gurmondes dowhter fond, 2480 Which Maide Rosemounde hihte, And was in every mannes sihte A fair, a freissh, a lusti on. His herte fell to hire anon, And such a love on hire he caste, That he hire weddeth ate laste; And after that long time in reste With hire he duelte, and to the beste Thei love ech other wonder wel. Bot sche which kepth the blinde whel, 2490 Venus, whan thei be most above, In al the hoteste of here love, Hire whiel sche torneth, and thei felle In the manere as I schal telle. This king, which stod in al his welthe Of pes, of worschipe and of helthe, And felte him on no side grieved, As he that hath his world achieved, Tho thoghte he wolde a feste make; And that was for his wyves sake, 2500 That sche the lordes ate feste, That were obeissant to his heste, Mai knowe: and so forth therupon He let ordeine, and sende anon Be lettres and be messagiers, And warnede alle hise officiers That every thing be wel arraied: The grete Stiedes were assaied For joustinge and for tornement, And many a perled garnement 2510 Embroudred was ayein the dai. The lordes in here beste arrai Be comen ate time set, On jousteth wel, an other bet, And otherwhile thei torneie, And thus thei casten care aweie And token lustes upon honde. And after, thou schalt understonde, To mete into the kinges halle Thei come, as thei be beden alle: 2520 And whan thei were set and served, Thanne after, as it was deserved, To hem that worthi knyhtes were, So as thei seten hiere and there, The pris was yove and spoken oute Among the heraldz al aboute. And thus benethe and ek above Al was of armes and of love, Wherof abouten ate bordes Men hadde manye sondri wordes, 2530 That of the merthe which thei made The king himself began to glade Withinne his herte and tok a pride, And sih the Cuppe stonde aside, Which mad was of Gurmoundes hed, As ye have herd, whan he was ded, And was with gold and riche Stones Beset and bounde for the nones, And stod upon a fot on heihte Of burned gold, and with gret sleihte 2540 Of werkmanschipe it was begrave Of such werk as it scholde have, And was policed ek so clene That no signe of the Skulle is sene, Bot as it were a Gripes Ey. The king bad bere his Cuppe awey, Which stod tofore him on the bord, And fette thilke. Upon his word This Skulle is fet and wyn therinne, Wherof he bad his wif beginne: 2550 "Drink with thi fader, Dame," he seide. And sche to his biddinge obeide, And tok the Skulle, and what hire liste Sche drank, as sche which nothing wiste What Cuppe it was: and thanne al oute The kyng in audience aboute Hath told it was hire fader Skulle, So that the lordes knowe schulle Of his bataille a soth witnesse, And made avant thurgh what prouesse 2560 He hath his wyves love wonne, Which of the Skulle hath so begonne. Tho was ther mochel Pride alofte, Thei speken alle, and sche was softe, Thenkende on thilke unkynde Pride, Of that hire lord so nyh hire side Avanteth him that he hath slain And piked out hire fader brain, And of the Skulle had mad a Cuppe. Sche soffreth al til thei were uppe, 2570 And tho sche hath seknesse feigned, And goth to chambre and hath compleigned Unto a Maide which sche triste, So that non other wyht it wiste. This Mayde Glodeside is hote, To whom this lady hath behote Of ladischipe al that sche can, To vengen hire upon this man, Which dede hire drinke in such a plit Among hem alle for despit 2580 Of hire and of hire fader bothe; Wherof hire thoghtes ben so wrothe, Sche seith, that sche schal noght be glad, Til that sche se him so bestad That he nomore make avant. And thus thei felle in covenant, That thei acorden ate laste, With suche wiles as thei caste That thei wol gete of here acord Som orped knyht to sle this lord: 2590 And with this sleihte thei beginne, How thei Helmege myhten winne, Which was the kinges Boteler, A proud a lusti Bacheler, And Glodeside he loveth hote. And sche, to make him more assote, Hire love granteth, and be nyhte Thei schape how thei togedre myhte Abedde meete: and don it was This same nyht; and in this cas 2600 The qwene hirself the nyht secounde Wente in hire stede, and there hath founde A chambre derk withoute liht, And goth to bedde to this knyht. And he, to kepe his observance, To love doth his obeissance, And weneth it be Glodeside; And sche thanne after lay aside, And axeth him what he hath do, And who sche was sche tolde him tho, 2610 And seide: "Helmege, I am thi qwene, Now schal thi love wel be sene Of that thou hast thi wille wroght: Or it schal sore ben aboght, Or thou schalt worche as I thee seie. And if thou wolt be such a weie Do my plesance and holde it stille, For evere I schal ben at thi wille, Bothe I and al myn heritage." Anon the wylde loves rage, 2620 In which noman him can governe, Hath mad him that he can noght werne, Bot fell al hol to hire assent: And thus the whiel is al miswent, The which fortune hath upon honde; For how that evere it after stonde, Thei schope among hem such a wyle, The king was ded withinne a whyle. So slihly cam it noght aboute That thei ne ben descoevered oute, 2630 So that it thoghte hem for the beste To fle, for there was no reste: And thus the tresor of the king Thei trusse and mochel other thing, And with a certein felaschipe Thei fledde and wente awey be schipe, And hielde here rihte cours fro thenne, Til that thei come to Ravenne, Wher thei the Dukes helpe soghte. And he, so as thei him besoghte, 2640 A place granteth forto duelle; Bot after, whan he herde telle Of the manere how thei have do, This Duk let schape for hem so, That of a puison which thei drunke Thei hadden that thei have beswunke. And al this made avant of Pride: Good is therfore a man to hide His oghne pris, for if he speke, He mai lihtliche his thonk tobreke. 2650 In armes lith non avantance To him which thenkth his name avance And be renomed of his dede: And also who that thenkth to spede Of love, he mai him noght avaunte; For what man thilke vice haunte, His pourpos schal fulofte faile. In armes he that wol travaile Or elles loves grace atteigne, His lose tunge he mot restreigne, 2660 Which berth of his honour the keie. Forthi, my Sone, in alle weie Tak riht good hiede of this matiere. I thonke you, my fader diere, This scole is of a gentil lore; And if ther be oght elles more Of Pride, which I schal eschuie, Now axeth forth, and I wol suie What thing that ye me wole enforme. Mi Sone, yit in other forme 2670 Ther is a vice of Prides lore, Which lich an hauk whan he wol sore, Fleith upon heihte in his delices After the likynge of his vices, And wol no mannes resoun knowe, Till he doun falle and overthrowe. This vice veine gloire is hote, Wherof, my Sone, I thee behote To trete and speke in such a wise, That thou thee myht the betre avise. 2680 The proude vice of veine gloire Remembreth noght of purgatoire, Hise worldes joyes ben so grete, Him thenkth of hevene no beyete; This lives Pompe is al his pes: Yit schal he deie natheles, And therof thenkth he bot a lite, For al his lust is to delite In newe thinges, proude and veine, Als ferforth as he mai atteigne. 2690 I trowe, if that he myhte make His body newe, he wolde take A newe forme and leve his olde: For what thing that he mai beholde, The which to comun us is strange, Anon his olde guise change He wole and falle therupon, Lich unto the Camelion, Which upon every sondri hewe That he beholt he moste newe 2700 His colour, and thus unavised Fulofte time he stant desguised. Mor jolif than the brid in Maii He makth him evere freissh and gay, And doth al his array desguise, So that of him the newe guise Of lusti folk alle othre take; And ek he can carolles make, Rondeal, balade and virelai. And with al this, if that he may 2710 Of love gete him avantage, Anon he wext of his corage So overglad, that of his ende Him thenkth ther is no deth comende: For he hath thanne at alle tide Of love such a maner pride, Him thenkth his joie is endeles. Now schrif thee, Sone, in godes pes, And of thi love tell me plein If that thi gloire hath be so vein. 2720 Mi fader, as touchinge of al I may noght wel ne noght ne schal Of veine gloire excuse me, That I ne have for love be The betre adresced and arraied; And also I have ofte assaied Rondeal, balade and virelai For hire on whom myn herte lai To make, and also forto peinte Caroles with my wordes qweinte, 2730 To sette my pourpos alofte; And thus I sang hem forth fulofte In halle and ek in chambre aboute, And made merie among the route, Bot yit ne ferde I noght the bet. Thus was my gloire in vein beset Of al the joie that I made; For whanne I wolde with hire glade, And of hire love songes make, Sche saide it was noght for hir sake, 2740 And liste noght my songes hiere Ne witen what the wordes were. So forto speke of myn arrai, Yit couthe I nevere be so gay Ne so wel make a songe of love, Wherof I myhte ben above And have encheson to be glad; Bot rathere I am ofte adrad For sorwe that sche seith me nay. And natheles I wol noght say, 2750 That I nam glad on other side; For fame, that can nothing hide, Alday wol bringe unto myn Ere Of that men speken hier and there, How that my ladi berth the pris, How sche is fair, how sche is wis, How sche is wommanlich of chiere; Of al this thing whanne I mai hiere, What wonder is thogh I be fain? And ek whanne I may hiere sain 2760 Tidinges of my ladi hele, Althogh I may noght with hir dele, Yit am I wonder glad of that; For whanne I wot hire good astat, As for that time I dar wel swere, Non other sorwe mai me dere, Thus am I gladed in this wise. Bot, fader, of youre lores wise, Of whiche ye be fully tawht, Now tell me if yow thenketh awht 2770 That I therof am forto wyte. Of that ther is I thee acquite, Mi sone, he seide, and for thi goode I wolde that thou understode: For I thenke upon this matiere To telle a tale, as thou schalt hiere, How that ayein this proude vice The hihe god of his justice Is wroth and gret vengance doth. Now herkne a tale that is soth: 2780 Thogh it be noght of loves kinde, A gret ensample thou schalt finde This veine gloire forto fle, Which is so full of vanite. Ther was a king that mochel myhte, Which Nabugodonosor hihte, Of whom that I spak hier tofore. Yit in the bible his name is bore, For al the world in Orient Was hol at his comandement: 2790 As thanne of kinges to his liche Was non so myhty ne so riche; To his Empire and to his lawes, As who seith, alle in thilke dawes Were obeissant and tribut bere, As thogh he godd of Erthe were. With strengthe he putte kinges under, And wroghte of Pride many a wonder; He was so full of veine gloire, That he ne hadde no memoire 2800 That ther was eny good bot he, For pride of his prosperite; Til that the hihe king of kinges, Which seth and knoweth alle thinges, Whos yhe mai nothing asterte,- The privetes of mannes herte Thei speke and sounen in his Ere As thogh thei lowde wyndes were,- He tok vengance upon this pride. Bot for he wolde awhile abide 2810 To loke if he him wolde amende, To him a foretokne he sende, And that was in his slep be nyhte. This proude kyng a wonder syhte Hadde in his swevene, ther he lay: Him thoghte, upon a merie day As he behield the world aboute, A tree fulgrowe he syh theroute, Which stod the world amiddes evene, Whos heihte straghte up to the hevene; 2820 The leves weren faire and large, Of fruit it bar so ripe a charge, That alle men it myhte fede: He sih also the bowes spriede Above al Erthe, in whiche were The kinde of alle briddes there; And eke him thoghte he syh also The kinde of alle bestes go Under this tre aboute round And fedden hem upon the ground. 2830 As he this wonder stod and syh, Him thoghte he herde a vois on hih Criende, and seide aboven alle: "Hew doun this tree and lett it falle, The leves let defoule in haste And do the fruit destruie and waste, And let of schreden every braunche, Bot ate Rote let it staunche. Whan al his Pride is cast to grounde, The rote schal be faste bounde, 2840 And schal no mannes herte bere, Bot every lust he schal forbere Of man, and lich an Oxe his mete Of gras he schal pourchace and ete, Til that the water of the hevene Have waisshen him be times sevene, So that he be thurghknowe ariht What is the heveneliche myht, And be mad humble to the wille Of him which al mai save and spille." 2850 This king out of his swefne abreide, And he upon the morwe it seide Unto the clerkes whiche he hadde: Bot non of hem the sothe aradde, Was non his swevene cowthe undo. And it stod thilke time so, This king hadde in subjeccioun Judee, and of affeccioun Above alle othre on Daniel He loveth, for he cowthe wel 2860 Divine that non other cowthe: To him were alle thinges cowthe, As he it hadde of goddes grace. He was before the kinges face Asent, and bode that he scholde Upon the point the king of tolde The fortune of his swevene expounde, As it scholde afterward be founde. Whan Daniel this swevene herde, He stod long time er he ansuerde, 2870 And made a wonder hevy chiere. The king tok hiede of his manere, And bad him telle that he wiste, As he to whom he mochel triste, And seide he wolde noght be wroth. Bot Daniel was wonder loth, And seide: "Upon thi fomen alle, Sire king, thi swevene mote falle; And natheles touchende of this I wol the tellen how it is, 2880 And what desese is to thee schape: God wot if thou it schalt ascape. The hihe tree, which thou hast sein With lef and fruit so wel besein, The which stod in the world amiddes, So that the bestes and the briddes Governed were of him al one, Sire king, betokneth thi persone, Which stant above all erthli thinges. Thus regnen under the the kinges, 2890 And al the poeple unto thee louteth, And al the world thi pouer doubteth, So that with vein honour deceived Thou hast the reverence weyved Fro him which is thi king above, That thou for drede ne for love Wolt nothing knowen of thi godd; Which now for thee hath mad a rodd, Thi veine gloire and thi folie With grete peines to chastie. 2900 And of the vois thou herdest speke, Which bad the bowes forto breke And hewe and felle doun the tree, That word belongeth unto thee; Thi regne schal ben overthrowe, And thou despuiled for a throwe: Bot that the Rote scholde stonde, Be that thou schalt wel understonde, Ther schal abyden of thi regne A time ayein whan thou schalt regne. 2910 And ek of that thou herdest seie, To take a mannes herte aweie And sette there a bestial, So that he lich an Oxe schal Pasture, and that he be bereined Be times sefne and sore peined, Til that he knowe his goddes mihtes, Than scholde he stonde ayein uprihtes,- Al this betokneth thin astat, Which now with god is in debat: 2920 Thi mannes forme schal be lassed, Til sevene yer ben overpassed, And in the liknesse of a beste Of gras schal be thi real feste, The weder schal upon thee reine. And understond that al this peine, Which thou schalt soffre thilke tide, Is schape al only for thi pride Of veine gloire, and of the sinne Which thou hast longe stonden inne. 2930 So upon this condicioun Thi swevene hath exposicioun. Bot er this thing befalle in dede, Amende thee, this wolde I rede: Yif and departe thin almesse, Do mercy forth with rihtwisnesse, Besech and prei the hihe grace, For so thou myht thi pes pourchace With godd, and stonde in good acord." Bot Pride is loth to leve his lord, 2940 And wol noght soffre humilite With him to stonde in no degree; And whan a schip hath lost his stiere, Is non so wys that mai him stiere Ayein the wawes in a rage. This proude king in his corage Humilite hath so forlore, That for no swevene he sih tofore, Ne yit for al that Daniel Him hath conseiled everydel, 2950 He let it passe out of his mynde, Thurgh veine gloire, and as the blinde, He seth no weie, er him be wo. And fell withinne a time so, As he in Babiloine wente, The vanite of Pride him hente; His herte aros of veine gloire, So that he drowh into memoire His lordschipe and his regalie With wordes of Surquiderie. 2960 And whan that he him most avaunteth, That lord which veine gloire daunteth, Al sodeinliche, as who seith treis, Wher that he stod in his Paleis, He tok him fro the mennes sihte: Was non of hem so war that mihte Sette yhe wher that he becom. And thus was he from his kingdom Into the wilde Forest drawe, Wher that the myhti goddes lawe 2970 Thurgh his pouer dede him transforme Fro man into a bestes forme; And lich an Oxe under the fot He graseth, as he nedes mot, To geten him his lives fode. Tho thoghte him colde grases goode, That whilom eet the hote spices, Thus was he torned fro delices: The wyn which he was wont to drinke He tok thanne of the welles brinke 2980 Or of the pet or of the slowh, It thoghte him thanne good ynowh: In stede of chambres wel arraied He was thanne of a buissh wel paied, The harde ground he lay upon, For othre pilwes hath he non; The stormes and the Reines falle, The wyndes blowe upon him alle, He was tormented day and nyht, Such was the hihe goddes myht, 2990 Til sevene yer an ende toke. Upon himself tho gan he loke; In stede of mete gras and stres, In stede of handes longe cles, In stede of man a bestes lyke He syh; and thanne he gan to syke For cloth of gold and for perrie, Which him was wont to magnefie. Whan he behield his Cote of heres, He wepte and with fulwoful teres 3000 Up to the hevene he caste his chiere Wepende, and thoghte in this manere; Thogh he no wordes myhte winne, Thus seide his herte and spak withinne: "O mihti godd, that al hast wroght And al myht bringe ayein to noght, Now knowe I wel, bot al of thee, This world hath no prosperite: In thin aspect ben alle liche, The povere man and ek the riche, 3010 Withoute thee ther mai no wight, And thou above alle othre miht. O mihti lord, toward my vice Thi merci medle with justice; And I woll make a covenant, That of my lif the remenant I schal it be thi grace amende, And in thi lawe so despende That veine gloire I schal eschuie, And bowe unto thin heste and suie 3020 Humilite, and that I vowe." And so thenkende he gan doun bowe, And thogh him lacke vois and speche, He gan up with his feet areche, And wailende in his bestly stevene He made his pleignte unto the hevene. He kneleth in his wise and braieth, To seche merci and assaieth His god, which made him nothing strange, Whan that he sih his pride change. 3030 Anon as he was humble and tame, He fond toward his god the same, And in a twinklinge of a lok His mannes forme ayein he tok, And was reformed to the regne In which that he was wont to regne; So that the Pride of veine gloire Evere afterward out of memoire He let it passe. And thus is schewed What is to ben of Pride unthewed 3040 Ayein the hihe goddes lawe, To whom noman mai be felawe. Forthi, my Sone, tak good hiede So forto lede thi manhiede, That thou ne be noght lich a beste. Bot if thi lif schal ben honeste, Thou most humblesce take on honde, For thanne myht thou siker stonde: And forto speke it otherwise, A proud man can no love assise; 3050 For thogh a womman wolde him plese, His Pride can noght ben at ese. Ther mai noman to mochel blame A vice which is forto blame; Forthi men scholde nothing hide That mihte falle in blame of Pride, Which is the werste vice of alle: Wherof, so as it was befalle, The tale I thenke of a Cronique To telle, if that it mai thee like, 3060 So that thou myht humblesce suie And ek the vice of Pride eschuie, Wherof the gloire is fals and vein; Which god himself hath in desdeign, That thogh it mounte for a throwe, It schal doun falle and overthrowe. A king whilom was yong and wys, The which sette of his wit gret pris. Of depe ymaginaciouns And strange interpretaciouns, 3070 Problemes and demandes eke, His wisdom was to finde and seke; Wherof he wolde in sondri wise Opposen hem that weren wise. Bot non of hem it myhte bere Upon his word to yeve answere, Outaken on, which was a knyht; To him was every thing so liht, That also sone as he hem herde, The kinges wordes he answerde; 3080 What thing the king him axe wolde, Therof anon the trowthe he tolde. The king somdiel hadde an Envie, And thoghte he wolde his wittes plie To sette som conclusioun, Which scholde be confusioun Unto this knyht, so that the name And of wisdom the hihe fame Toward himself he wolde winne. And thus of al his wit withinne 3090 This king began to studie and muse, What strange matiere he myhte use The knyhtes wittes to confounde; And ate laste he hath it founde, And for the knyht anon he sente, That he schal telle what he mente. Upon thre pointz stod the matiere Of questions, as thou schalt hiere. The ferste point of alle thre Was this: "What thing in his degre 3100 Of al this world hath nede lest, And yet men helpe it althermest?" The secounde is: "What most is worth, And of costage is lest put forth?" The thridde is: "Which is of most cost, And lest is worth and goth to lost?" The king thes thre demandes axeth, And to the knyht this lawe he taxeth, That he schal gon and come ayein The thridde weke, and telle him plein 3110 To every point, what it amonteth. And if so be that he misconteth, To make in his answere a faile, Ther schal non other thing availe, The king seith, bot he schal be ded And lese hise goodes and his hed. The knyht was sori of this thing And wolde excuse him to the king, Bot he ne wolde him noght forbere, And thus the knyht of his ansuere 3120 Goth hom to take avisement: Bot after his entendement The more he caste his wit aboute, The more he stant therof in doute. Tho wiste he wel the kinges herte, That he the deth ne scholde asterte, And such a sorwe hath to him take, That gladschipe he hath al forsake. He thoghte ferst upon his lif, And after that upon his wif, 3130 Upon his children ek also, Of whiche he hadde dowhtres tuo; The yongest of hem hadde of age Fourtiene yer, and of visage Sche was riht fair, and of stature Lich to an hevenely figure, And of manere and goodli speche, Thogh men wolde alle Londes seche, Thei scholden noght have founde hir like. Sche sih hire fader sorwe and sike, 3140 And wiste noght the cause why; So cam sche to him prively, And that was where he made his mone Withinne a Gardin al him one; Upon hire knes sche gan doun falle With humble herte and to him calle, And seide: "O goode fader diere, Why make ye thus hevy chiere, And I wot nothing how it is? And wel ye knowen, fader, this, 3150 What aventure that you felle Ye myhte it saufly to me telle, For I have ofte herd you seid, That ye such trust have on me leid, That to my soster ne my brother, In al this world ne to non other, Ye dorste telle a privite So wel, my fader, as to me. Forthi, my fader, I you preie, Ne casteth noght that herte aweie, 3160 For I am sche that wolde kepe Youre honour." And with that to wepe Hire yhe mai noght be forbore, Sche wissheth forto ben unbore, Er that hire fader so mistriste To tellen hire of that he wiste: And evere among merci sche cride, That he ne scholde his conseil hide From hire that so wolde him good And was so nyh his fleissh and blod. 3170 So that with wepinge ate laste His chiere upon his child he caste, And sorwfulli to that sche preide He tolde his tale and thus he seide: "The sorwe, dowhter, which I make Is noght al only for my sake, Bot for thee bothe and for you alle: For such a chance is me befalle, That I schal er this thridde day Lese al that evere I lese may, 3180 Mi lif and al my good therto: Therfore it is I sorwe so." "What is the cause, helas!" quod sche, "Mi fader, that ye scholden be Ded and destruid in such a wise?" And he began the pointz devise, Whiche as the king told him be mowthe, And seid hir pleinly that he cowthe Ansuere unto no point of this. And sche, that hiereth how it is, 3190 Hire conseil yaf and seide tho: "Mi fader, sithen it is so, That ye can se non other weie, Bot that ye moste nedes deie, I wolde preie of you a thing: Let me go with you to the king, And ye schull make him understonde How ye, my wittes forto fonde, Have leid your ansuere upon me; And telleth him, in such degre 3200 Upon my word ye wole abide To lif or deth, what so betide. For yit par chaunce I may pourchace With som good word the kinges grace, Your lif and ek your good to save; For ofte schal a womman have Thing which a man mai noght areche." The fader herde his dowhter speche, And thoghte ther was resoun inne, And sih his oghne lif to winne 3210 He cowthe don himself no cure; So betre him thoghte in aventure To put his lif and al his good, Than in the maner as it stod His lif in certein forto lese. And thus thenkende he gan to chese To do the conseil of this Maide, And tok the pourpos which sche saide. The dai was come and forth thei gon, Unto the Court thei come anon, 3220 Wher as the king in juggement Was set and hath this knyht assent. Arraied in hire beste wise This Maiden with hire wordes wise Hire fader ladde be the hond Into the place, wher he fond The king with othre whiche he wolde, And to the king knelende he tolde As he enformed was tofore, And preith the king that he therfore 3230 His dowhtres wordes wolde take, And seith that he wol undertake Upon hire wordes forto stonde. Tho was ther gret merveile on honde, That he, which was so wys a knyht, His lif upon so yong a wyht Besette wolde in jeupartie, And manye it hielden for folie: Bot ate laste natheles The king comandeth ben in pes, 3240 And to this Maide he caste his chiere, And seide he wolde hire tale hiere, He bad hire speke, and sche began: "Mi liege lord, so as I can," Quod sche, "the pointz of whiche I herde, Thei schul of reson ben ansuerde. The ferste I understonde is this, What thing of al the world it is, Which men most helpe and hath lest nede. Mi liege lord, this wolde I rede: 3250 The Erthe it is, which everemo With mannes labour is bego; Als wel in wynter as in Maii The mannes hond doth what he mai To helpe it forth and make it riche, And forthi men it delve and dyche And eren it with strengthe of plowh, Wher it hath of himself ynowh, So that his nede is ate leste. For every man and bridd and beste, 3260 And flour and gras and rote and rinde, And every thing be weie of kynde Schal sterve, and Erthe it schal become; As it was out of Erthe nome, It schal to therthe torne ayein: And thus I mai be resoun sein That Erthe is the most nedeles, And most men helpe it natheles. So that, my lord, touchende of this I have ansuerd hou that it is. 3270 That other point I understod, Which most is worth and most is good, And costeth lest a man to kepe: Mi lord, if ye woll take kepe, I seie it is Humilite, Thurgh which the hihe trinite As for decerte of pure love Unto Marie from above, Of that he knew hire humble entente, His oghne Sone adoun he sente, 3280 Above alle othre and hire he ches For that vertu which bodeth pes: So that I may be resoun calle Humilite most worth of alle. And lest it costeth to maintiene, In al the world as it is sene; For who that hath humblesce on honde, He bringth no werres into londe, For he desireth for the beste To setten every man in reste. 3290 Thus with your hihe reverence Me thenketh that this evidence As to this point is sufficant. And touchende of the remenant, Which is the thridde of youre axinges, What leste is worth of alle thinges, And costeth most, I telle it, Pride; Which mai noght in the hevene abide, For Lucifer with hem that felle Bar Pride with him into helle. 3300 Ther was Pride of to gret a cost, Whan he for Pride hath hevene lost; And after that in Paradis Adam for Pride loste his pris: In Midelerthe and ek also Pride is the cause of alle wo, That al the world ne may suffise To stanche of Pride the reprise: Pride is the heved of alle Sinne, Which wasteth al and mai noght winne; 3310 Pride is of every mis the pricke, Pride is the werste of alle wicke, And costneth most and lest is worth In place where he hath his forth. Thus have I seid that I wol seie Of myn answere, and to you preie, Mi liege lord, of youre office That ye such grace and such justice Ordeigne for mi fader hiere, That after this, whan men it hiere, 3320 The world therof mai speke good." The king, which reson understod And hath al herd how sche hath said, Was inly glad and so wel paid That al his wraththe is overgo: And he began to loke tho Upon this Maiden in the face, In which he fond so mochel grace, That al his pris on hire he leide, In audience and thus he seide: 3330 "Mi faire Maide, wel thee be! Of thin ansuere and ek of thee Me liketh wel, and as thou wilt, Foryive be thi fader gilt. And if thou were of such lignage, That thou to me were of parage, And that thi fader were a Pier, As he is now a Bachilier, So seker as I have a lif, Thou scholdest thanne be my wif. 3340 Bot this I seie natheles, That I wol schape thin encress; What worldes good that thou wolt crave, Axe of my yifte and thou schalt have." And sche the king with wordes wise Knelende thonketh in this wise: "Mi liege lord, god mot you quite! Mi fader hier hath bot a lite Of warison, and that he wende Hadde al be lost; bot now amende 3350 He mai wel thurgh your noble grace." With that the king riht in his place Anon forth in that freisshe hete An Erldom, which thanne of eschete Was late falle into his hond, Unto this knyht with rente and lond Hath yove and with his chartre sesed; And thus was all the noise appesed. This Maiden, which sat on hire knes Tofore the king, hise charitees 3360 Comendeth, and seide overmore: "Mi liege lord, riht now tofore Ye seide, as it is of record, That if my fader were a lord And Pier unto these othre grete, Ye wolden for noght elles lete, That I ne scholde be your wif; And this wot every worthi lif, A kinges word it mot ben holde. Forthi, my lord, if that ye wolde 3370 So gret a charite fulfille, God wot it were wel my wille: For he which was a Bacheler, Mi fader, is now mad a Pier; So whenne as evere that I cam, An Erles dowhter now I am." This yonge king, which peised al, Hire beaute and hir wit withal, As he that was with love hent, Anon therto yaf his assent. 3380 He myhte noght the maide asterte, That sche nis ladi of his herte; So that he tok hire to his wif, To holde whyl that he hath lif: And thus the king toward his knyht Acordeth him, as it is riht. And over this good is to wite, In the Cronique as it is write, This noble king of whom I tolde Of Spaine be tho daies olde 3390 The kingdom hadde in governance, And as the bok makth remembrance, Alphonse was his propre name: The knyht also, if I schal name, Danz Petro hihte, and as men telle, His dowhter wyse Peronelle Was cleped, which was full of grace: And that was sene in thilke place, Wher sche hir fader out of teene Hath broght and mad hirself a qweene, 3400 Of that sche hath so wel desclosed The pointz wherof sche was opposed. Lo now, my Sone, as thou myht hiere, Of al this thing to my matiere Bot on I take, and that is Pride, To whom no grace mai betide: In hevene he fell out of his stede, And Paradis him was forbede, The goode men in Erthe him hate, So that to helle he mot algate, 3410 Where every vertu schal be weyved And every vice be received. Bot Humblesce is al otherwise, Which most is worth, and no reprise It takth ayein, bot softe and faire, If eny thing stond in contraire, With humble speche it is redresced: Thus was this yonge Maiden blessed, The which I spak of now tofore, Hire fader lif sche gat therfore, 3420 And wan with al the kinges love. Forthi, my Sone, if thou wolt love, It sit thee wel to leve Pride And take Humblesce upon thi side; The more of grace thou schalt gete. Mi fader, I woll noght foryete Of this that ye have told me hiere, And if that eny such manere Of humble port mai love appaie, Hierafterward I thenke assaie: 3430 Bot now forth over I beseche That ye more of my schrifte seche. Mi goode Sone, it schal be do: Now herkne and ley an Ere to; For as touchende of Prides fare, Als ferforth as I can declare In cause of vice, in cause of love, That hast thou pleinly herd above, So that ther is nomor to seie Touchende of that; bot other weie 3440 Touchende Envie I thenke telle, Which hath the propre kinde of helle, Withoute cause to misdo Toward himself and othre also, Hierafterward as understonde Thou schalt the spieces, as thei stonde. Explicit Liber Primus Incipit Liber Secundus Inuidie culpa magis est attrita dolore, Nam sua mens nullo tempore leta manet: Quo gaudent alii, dolet ille, nec vnus amicus Est, cui de puro comoda velle facit. Proximitatis honor sua corda veretur, et omnis Est sibi leticia sic aliena dolor. Hoc etenim vicium quam sepe repugnat amanti, Non sibi, set reliquis, dum fauet ipsa Venus. Est amor ex proprio motu fantasticus, et que Gaudia fert alius, credit obesse sibi. Now after Pride the secounde Ther is, which many a woful stounde Towardes othre berth aboute Withinne himself and noght withoute; For in his thoght he brenneth evere, Whan that he wot an other levere Or more vertuous than he, Which passeth him in his degre; Therof he takth his maladie: That vice is cleped hot Envie. 10 Forthi, my Sone, if it be so Thou art or hast ben on of tho, As forto speke in loves cas, If evere yit thin herte was Sek of an other mannes hele? So god avance my querele, Mi fader, ye, a thousend sithe: Whanne I have sen an other blithe Of love, and hadde a goodly chiere, Ethna, which brenneth yer be yere, 20 Was thanne noght so hot as I Of thilke Sor which prively Min hertes thoght withinne brenneth. The Schip which on the wawes renneth, And is forstormed and forblowe, Is noght more peined for a throwe Than I am thanne, whanne I se An other which that passeth me In that fortune of loves yifte. Bot, fader, this I telle in schrifte, 30 That is nowher bot in o place; For who that lese or finde grace In other stede, it mai noght grieve: Bot this ye mai riht wel believe, Toward mi ladi that I serve, Thogh that I wiste forto sterve, Min herte is full of such sotie, That I myself mai noght chastie. Whan I the Court se of Cupide Aproche unto my ladi side 40 Of hem that lusti ben and freisshe,- Thogh it availe hem noght a reisshe, Bot only that thei ben in speche,- My sorwe is thanne noght to seche: Bot whan thei rounen in hire Ere, Than groweth al my moste fere, And namly whan thei talen longe; My sorwes thanne be so stronge Of that I se hem wel at ese, I can noght telle my desese. 50 Bot, Sire, as of my ladi selve, Thogh sche have wowers ten or twelve, For no mistrust I have of hire Me grieveth noght, for certes, Sire, I trowe, in al this world to seche, Nis womman that in dede and speche Woll betre avise hire what sche doth, Ne betre, forto seie a soth, Kepe hire honour ate alle tide, And yit get hire a thank beside. 60 Bot natheles I am beknowe, That whanne I se at eny throwe, Or elles if I mai it hiere, That sche make eny man good chiere, Thogh I therof have noght to done, Mi thought wol entermette him sone. For thogh I be miselve strange, Envie makth myn herte change, That I am sorghfully bestad Of that I se an other glad 70 With hire; bot of other alle, Of love what so mai befalle, Or that he faile or that he spede, Therof take I bot litel heede. Now have I seid, my fader, al As of this point in special, Als ferforthli as I have wist. Now axeth further what you list. Mi Sone, er I axe eny more, I thenke somdiel for thi lore 80 Telle an ensample of this matiere Touchende Envie, as thou schalt hiere. Write in Civile this I finde: Thogh it be noght the houndes kinde To ete chaf, yit wol he werne An Oxe which comth to the berne, Therof to taken eny fode. And thus, who that it understode, It stant of love in many place: Who that is out of loves grace 90 And mai himselven noght availe, He wolde an other scholde faile; And if he may put eny lette, He doth al that he mai to lette. Wherof I finde, as thou schalt wite, To this pourpos a tale write. Ther ben of suche mo than twelve, That ben noght able as of hemselve To gete love, and for Envie Upon alle othre thei aspie; 100 And for hem lacketh that thei wolde, Thei kepte that non other scholde Touchende of love his cause spede: Wherof a gret ensample I rede, Which unto this matiere acordeth, As Ovide in his bok recordeth, How Poliphemus whilom wroghte, Whan that he Galathee besoghte Of love, which he mai noght lacche. That made him forto waite and wacche 110 Be alle weies how it ferde, Til ate laste he knew and herde How that an other hadde leve To love there as he mot leve, As forto speke of eny sped: So that he knew non other red, Bot forto wayten upon alle, Til he may se the chance falle That he hire love myhte grieve, Which he himself mai noght achieve. 120 This Galathee, seith the Poete, Above alle othre was unmete Of beaute, that men thanne knewe, And hadde a lusti love and trewe, A Bacheler in his degree, Riht such an other as was sche, On whom sche hath hire herte set, So that it myhte noght be let For yifte ne for no beheste, That sche ne was al at his heste. 130 This yonge knyht Acis was hote, Which hire ayeinward als so hote Al only loveth and nomo. Hierof was Poliphemus wo Thurgh pure Envie, and evere aspide, And waiteth upon every side, Whan he togedre myhte se This yonge Acis with Galathe. So longe he waiteth to and fro, Til ate laste he fond hem tuo, 140 In prive place wher thei stode To speke and have here wordes goode. The place wher as he hem syh, It was under a banke nyh The grete See, and he above Stod and behield the lusti love Which ech of hem to other made With goodly chiere and wordes glade, That al his herte hath set afyre Of pure Envie: and as a fyre 150 Which fleth out of a myhti bowe, Aweie he fledde for a throwe, As he that was for love wod, Whan that he sih how that it stod. This Polipheme a Geant was; And whan he sih the sothe cas, How Galathee him hath forsake And Acis to hire love take, His herte mai it noght forbere That he ne roreth lich a Bere; 160 And as it were a wilde beste, The whom no reson mihte areste, He ran Ethna the hell aboute, Wher nevere yit the fyr was oute, Fulfild of sorghe and gret desese, That he syh Acis wel at ese. Til ate laste he him bethoghte, As he which al Envie soghte, And torneth to the banke ayein, Wher he with Galathee hath seyn 170 Acis, whom that he thoghte grieve, Thogh he himself mai noght relieve. This Geant with his ruide myht Part of the banke he schof doun riht, The which evene upon Acis fell, So that with fallinge of this hell This Poliphemus Acis slowh, Wherof sche made sorwe ynowh. And as sche fledde fro the londe, Neptunus tok hire into honde 180 And kept hire in so sauf a place Fro Polipheme and his manace, That he with al his false Envie Ne mihte atteigne hir compaignie. This Galathee of whom I speke, That of hirself mai noght be wreke, Withouten eny semblant feigned Sche hath hire loves deth compleigned, And with hire sorwe and with hire wo Sche hath the goddes moeved so, 190 That thei of pite and of grace Have Acis in the same place, Ther he lai ded, into a welle Transformed, as the bokes telle, With freisshe stremes and with cliere, As he whilom with lusti chiere Was freissh his love forto qweme. And with this ruide Polipheme For his Envie and for his hate Thei were wrothe. And thus algate, 200 Mi Sone, thou myht understonde, That if thou wolt in grace stonde With love, thou most leve Envie: And as thou wolt for thi partie Toward thi love stonde fre, So most thou soffre an other be, What so befalle upon the chaunce: For it is an unwys vengance, Which to non other man is lief, And is unto himselve grief. 210 Mi fader, this ensample is good; Bot how so evere that it stod With Poliphemes love as tho, It schal noght stonde with me so, To worchen eny felonie In love for no such Envie. Forthi if ther oght elles be, Now axeth forth, in what degre It is, and I me schal confesse With schrifte unto youre holinesse. 220 Mi goode Sone, yit ther is A vice revers unto this, Which envious takth his gladnesse Of that he seth the hevinesse Of othre men: for his welfare Is whanne he wot an other care: Of that an other hath a fall, He thenkth himself arist withal. Such is the gladschipe of Envie In worldes thing, and in partie 230 Fulofte times ek also In loves cause it stant riht so. If thou, my Sone, hast joie had, Whan thou an other sihe unglad, Schrif the therof. Mi fader, yis: I am beknowe unto you this. Of these lovers that loven streyte, And for that point which thei coveite Ben poursuiantz fro yeer to yere In loves Court, whan I may hiere 240 How that thei clymbe upon the whel, And whan thei wene al schal be wel, Thei ben doun throwen ate laste, Thanne am I fedd of that thei faste, And lawhe of that I se hem loure; And thus of that thei brewe soure I drinke swete, and am wel esed Of that I wot thei ben desesed. Bot this which I you telle hiere Is only for my lady diere; 250 That for non other that I knowe Me reccheth noght who overthrowe, Ne who that stonde in love upriht: Bot be he squier, be he knyht, Which to my ladiward poursuieth, The more he lest of that he suieth, The mor me thenketh that I winne, And am the more glad withinne Of that I wot him sorwe endure. For evere upon such aventure 260 It is a confort, as men sein, To him the which is wo besein To sen an other in his peine, So that thei bothe mai compleigne. Wher I miself mai noght availe To sen an other man travaile, I am riht glad if he be let; And thogh I fare noght the bet, His sorwe is to myn herte a game: Whan that I knowe it is the same 270 Which to mi ladi stant enclined, And hath his love noght termined, I am riht joifull in my thoght. If such Envie grieveth oght, As I beknowe me coupable, Ye that be wys and resonable, Mi fader, telleth youre avis. Mi Sone, Envie into no pris Of such a forme, I understonde, Ne mihte be no resoun stonde 280 For this Envie hath such a kinde, That he wole sette himself behinde To hindre with an othre wyht, And gladly lese his oghne riht To make an other lesen his. And forto knowe how it so is, A tale lich to this matiere I thenke telle, if thou wolt hiere, To schewe proprely the vice Of this Envie and the malice. 290 Of Jupiter this finde I write, How whilom that he wolde wite Upon the pleigntes whiche he herde, Among the men how that it ferde, As of here wrong condicion To do justificacion: And for that cause doun he sente An Angel, which about wente, That he the sothe knowe mai. So it befell upon a dai 300 This Angel, which him scholde enforme, Was clothed in a mannes forme, And overtok, I understonde, Tuo men that wenten over londe, Thurgh whiche he thoghte to aspie His cause, and goth in compaignie. This Angel with hise wordes wise Opposeth hem in sondri wise, Now lowde wordes and now softe, That mad hem to desputen ofte, 310 And ech of hem his reson hadde. And thus with tales he hem ladde With good examinacioun, Til he knew the condicioun, What men thei were bothe tuo; And sih wel ate laste tho, That on of hem was coveitous, And his fela was envious. And thus, whan he hath knowlechinge, Anon he feigneth departinge, 320 And seide he mot algate wende. Bot herkne now what fell at ende: For thanne he made hem understonde That he was there of goddes sonde, And seide hem, for the kindeschipe That thei have don him felaschipe, He wole hem do som grace ayein, And bad that on of hem schal sein What thing him is lievest to crave, And he it schal of yifte have; 330 And over that ek forth withal He seith that other have schal The double of that his felaw axeth; And thus to hem his grace he taxeth. The coveitous was wonder glad, And to that other man he bad And seith that he ferst axe scholde: For he supposeth that he wolde Make his axinge of worldes good; For thanne he knew wel how it stod, 340 That he himself be double weyhte Schal after take, and thus be sleyhte, Be cause that he wolde winne, He bad his fela ferst beginne. This Envious, thogh it be late, Whan that he syh he mot algate Make his axinge ferst, he thoghte, If he worschipe or profit soghte, It schal be doubled to his fiere: That wolde he chese in no manere. 350 Bot thanne he scheweth what he was Toward Envie, and in this cas Unto this Angel thus he seide And for his yifte this he preide, To make him blind of his on yhe, So that his fela nothing syhe. This word was noght so sone spoke, That his on yhe anon was loke, And his felawh forthwith also Was blind of bothe his yhen tuo. 360 Tho was that other glad ynowh, That on wepte, and that other lowh, He sette his on yhe at no cost, Wherof that other two hath lost. Of thilke ensample which fell tho, Men tellen now fulofte so, The world empeireth comunly: And yit wot non the cause why; For it acordeth noght to kinde Min oghne harm to seche and finde 370 Of that I schal my brother grieve; It myhte nevere wel achieve. What seist thou, Sone, of this folie? Mi fader, bot I scholde lie, Upon the point which ye have seid Yit was myn herte nevere leid, Bot in the wise as I you tolde. Bot overmore, if that ye wolde Oght elles to my schrifte seie Touchende Envie, I wolde preie. 380 Mi Sone, that schal wel be do: Now herkne and ley thin Ere to. Touchende as of Envious brod I wot noght on of alle good; Bot natheles, suche as thei be, Yit is ther on, and that is he Which cleped in Detraccioun. And to conferme his accioun, He hath withholde Malebouche, Whos tunge neither pyl ne crouche 390 Mai hyre, so that he pronounce A plein good word withoute frounce Awher behinde a mannes bak. For thogh he preise, he fint som lak, Which of his tale is ay the laste, That al the pris schal overcaste: And thogh ther be no cause why, Yit wole he jangle noght forthi, As he which hath the heraldie Of hem that usen forto lye. 400 For as the Netle which up renneth The freisshe rede Roses brenneth And makth hem fade and pale of hewe, Riht so this fals Envious hewe, In every place wher he duelleth, With false wordes whiche he telleth He torneth preisinge into blame And worschipe into worldes schame. Of such lesinge as he compasseth, Is non so good that he ne passeth 410 Betwen his teeth and is bacbited, And thurgh his false tunge endited: Lich to the Scharnebudes kinde, Of whos nature this I finde, That in the hoteste of the dai, Whan comen is the merie Maii, He sprat his wynge and up he fleth: And under al aboute he seth The faire lusti floures springe, Bot therof hath he no likinge; 420 Bot where he seth of eny beste The felthe, ther he makth his feste, And therupon he wole alyhte, Ther liketh him non other sihte. Riht so this janglere Envious, Thogh he a man se vertuous And full of good condicioun, Therof makth he no mencioun: Bot elles, be it noght so lyte, Wherof that he mai sette a wyte, 430 Ther renneth he with open mouth, Behinde a man and makth it couth. Bot al the vertu which he can, That wole he hide of every man, And openly the vice telle, As he which of the Scole of helle Is tawht, and fostred with Envie Of houshold and of compaignie, Wher that he hath his propre office To sette on every man a vice. 440 How so his mouth be comely, His word sit evermore awry And seith the worste that he may. And in this wise now a day In loves Court a man mai hiere Fulofte pleigne of this matiere, That many envious tale is stered, Wher that it mai noght ben ansuered; Bot yit fulofte it is believed, And many a worthi love is grieved 450 Thurgh bacbitinge of fals Envie. If thou have mad such janglerie In loves Court, mi Sone, er this, Schrif thee therof. Mi fader, yis: Bot wite ye how? noght openly, Bot otherwhile prively, Whan I my diere ladi mete, And thenke how that I am noght mete Unto hire hihe worthinesse, And ek I se the besinesse 460 Of al this yonge lusty route, Whiche alday pressen hire aboute, And ech of hem his time awaiteth, And ech of hem his tale affaiteth, Al to deceive an innocent, Which woll noght ben of here assent; And for men sein unknowe unkest, Hire thombe sche holt in hire fest So clos withinne hire oghne hond, That there winneth noman lond; 470 Sche lieveth noght al that sche hiereth, And thus fulofte hirself sche skiereth And is al war of "hadde I wist":- Bot for al that myn herte arist, Whanne I thes comun lovers se, That woll noght holden hem to thre, Bot welnyh loven overal, Min herte is Envious withal, And evere I am adrad of guile, In aunter if with eny wyle 480 Thei mihte hire innocence enchaunte. Forthi my wordes ofte I haunte Behynden hem, so as I dar, Wherof my ladi may be war: I sai what evere comth to mowthe, And worse I wolde, if that I cowthe; For whanne I come unto hir speche, Al that I may enquere and seche Of such deceipte, I telle it al, And ay the werste in special. 490 So fayn I wolde that sche wiste How litel thei ben forto triste, And what thei wolde and what thei mente, So as thei be of double entente: Thus toward hem that wicke mene My wicked word was evere grene. And natheles, the soth to telle, In certain if it so befelle That althertrewest man ybore, To chese among a thousend score, 500 Which were alfulli forto triste, Mi ladi lovede, and I it wiste, Yit rathere thanne he scholde spede, I wolde swiche tales sprede To my ladi, if that I myhte, That I scholde al his love unrihte, And therto wolde I do mi peine. For certes thogh I scholde feigne, And telle that was nevere thoght, For al this world I myhte noght 510 To soffre an othre fully winne, Ther as I am yit to beginne. For be thei goode, or be thei badde, I wolde non my ladi hadde; And that me makth fulofte aspie And usen wordes of Envie, Al forto make hem bere a blame. And that is bot of thilke same, The whiche unto my ladi drawe, For evere on hem I rounge and gknawe 520 And hindre hem al that evere I mai; And that is, sothly forto say, Bot only to my lady selve: I telle it noght to ten ne tuelve, Therof I wol me wel avise, To speke or jangle in eny wise That toucheth to my ladi name, The which in ernest and in game I wolde save into my deth; For me were levere lacke breth 530 Than speken of hire name amis. Now have ye herd touchende of this, Mi fader, in confessioun: And therfor of Detraccioun In love, of that I have mispoke, Tel how ye wole it schal be wroke. I am al redy forto bere Mi peine, and also to forbere What thing that ye wol noght allowe; For who is bounden, he mot bowe. 540 So wol I bowe unto youre heste, For I dar make this beheste, That I to yow have nothing hid, Bot told riht as it is betid; And otherwise of no mispeche, Mi conscience forto seche, I can noght of Envie finde, That I mispoke have oght behinde Wherof love owhte be mispaid. Now have ye herd and I have said; 550 What wol ye, fader, that I do? Mi Sone, do nomore so, Bot evere kep thi tunge stille, Thou miht the more have of thi wille. For as thou saist thiselven here, Thi ladi is of such manere, So wys, so war in alle thinge, It nedeth of no bakbitinge That thou thi ladi mis enforme: For whan sche knoweth al the forme, 560 How that thiself art envious, Thou schalt noght be so gracious As thou peraunter scholdest elles. Ther wol noman drinke of tho welles Whiche as he wot is puyson inne; And ofte swich as men beginne Towardes othre, swich thei finde, That set hem ofte fer behinde, Whan that thei wene be before. Mi goode Sone, and thou therfore 570 Bewar and lef thi wicke speche, Wherof hath fallen ofte wreche To many a man befor this time. For who so wole his handes lime, Thei mosten be the more unclene; For many a mote schal be sene, That wolde noght cleve elles there; And that schold every wys man fere: For who so wol an other blame, He secheth ofte his oghne schame, 580 Which elles myhte be riht stille. Forthi if that it be thi wille To stonde upon amendement, A tale of gret entendement I thenke telle for thi sake, Wherof thou miht ensample take. A worthi kniht in Cristes lawe Of grete Rome, as is the sawe, The Sceptre hadde forto rihte; Tiberie Constantin he hihte, 590 Whos wif was cleped Ytalie: Bot thei togedre of progenie No children hadde bot a Maide; And sche the god so wel apaide, That al the wide worldes fame Spak worschipe of hire goode name. Constance, as the Cronique seith, Sche hihte, and was so ful of feith, That the greteste of Barbarie, Of hem whiche usen marchandie, 600 Sche hath converted, as thei come To hire upon a time in Rome, To schewen such thing as thei broghte; Whiche worthili of hem sche boghte, And over that in such a wise Sche hath hem with hire wordes wise Of Cristes feith so full enformed, That thei therto ben all conformed, So that baptesme thei receiven And alle here false goddes weyven. 610 Whan thei ben of the feith certein, Thei gon to Barbarie ayein, And ther the Souldan for hem sente And axeth hem to what entente Thei have here ferste feith forsake. And thei, whiche hadden undertake The rihte feith to kepe and holde, The matiere of here tale tolde With al the hole circumstance. And whan the Souldan of Constance 620 Upon the point that thei ansuerde The beaute and the grace herde, As he which thanne was to wedde, In alle haste his cause spedde To sende for the mariage. And furthermor with good corage He seith, be so he mai hire have, That Crist, which cam this world to save, He woll believe: and this recorded, Thei ben on either side acorded, 630 And therupon to make an ende The Souldan hise hostages sende To Rome, of Princes Sones tuelve: Wherof the fader in himselve Was glad, and with the Pope avised Tuo Cardinals he hath assissed With othre lordes many mo, That with his doghter scholden go, To se the Souldan be converted. Bot that which nevere was wel herted, 640 Envie, tho began travaile In destourbance of this spousaile So prively that non was war. The Moder which this Souldan bar Was thanne alyve, and thoghte this Unto hirself: "If it so is Mi Sone him wedde in this manere, Than have I lost my joies hiere, For myn astat schal so be lassed." Thenkende thus sche hath compassed 650 Be sleihte how that sche may beguile Hire Sone; and fell withinne a while, Betwen hem two whan that thei were, Sche feigneth wordes in his Ere, And in this wise gan to seie: "Mi Sone, I am be double weie With al myn herte glad and blithe, For that miself have ofte sithe Desired thou wolt, as men seith, Receive and take a newe feith, 660 Which schal be forthringe of thi lif: And ek so worschipful a wif, The doughter of an Emperour, To wedde it schal be gret honour. Forthi, mi Sone, I you beseche That I such grace mihte areche, Whan that my doughter come schal, That I mai thanne in special, So as me thenkth it is honeste, Be thilke which the ferste feste 670 Schal make unto hire welcominge." The Souldan granteth hire axinge, And sche therof was glad ynowh: For under that anon sche drowh With false wordes that sche spak Covine of deth behinde his bak. And therupon hire ordinance She made so, that whan Constance Was come forth with the Romeins, Of clerkes and of Citezeins, 680 A riche feste sche hem made: And most whan that thei weren glade, With fals covine which sche hadde Hire clos Envie tho sche spradde, And alle tho that hadden be Or in apert or in prive Of conseil to the mariage, Sche slowh hem in a sodein rage Endlong the bord as thei be set, So that it myhte noght be let; 690 Hire oghne Sone was noght quit, Bot deide upon the same plit. Bot what the hihe god wol spare It mai for no peril misfare: This worthi Maiden which was there Stod thanne, as who seith, ded for feere, To se the feste how that it stod, Which al was torned into blod: The Dissh forthwith the Coppe and al Bebled thei weren overal; 700 Sche sih hem deie on every side; No wonder thogh sche wepte and cride Makende many a wofull mone. Whan al was slain bot sche al one, This olde fend, this Sarazine, Let take anon this Constantine With al the good sche thider broghte, And hath ordeined, as sche thoghte, A nakid Schip withoute stiere, In which the good and hire in fiere, 710 Vitailed full for yeres fyve, Wher that the wynd it wolde dryve, Sche putte upon the wawes wilde. Bot he which alle thing mai schilde, Thre yer, til that sche cam to londe, Hire Schip to stiere hath take in honde, And in Northumberlond aryveth; And happeth thanne that sche dryveth Under a Castel with the flod, Which upon Humber banke stod 720 And was the kynges oghne also, The which Allee was cleped tho, A Saxon and a worthi knyht, Bot he believed noght ariht. Of this Castell was Chastellein Elda the kinges Chamberlein, A knyhtly man after his lawe; And whan he sih upon the wawe The Schip drivende al one so, He bad anon men scholden go 730 To se what it betokne mai. This was upon a Somer dai, The Schip was loked and sche founde; Elda withinne a litel stounde It wiste, and with his wif anon Toward this yonge ladi gon, Wher that thei founden gret richesse; Bot sche hire wolde noght confesse, Whan thei hire axen what sche was. And natheles upon the cas 740 Out of the Schip with gret worschipe Thei toke hire into felaschipe, As thei that weren of hir glade: Bot sche no maner joie made, Bot sorweth sore of that sche fond No cristendom in thilke lond; Bot elles sche hath al hire wille, And thus with hem sche duelleth stille. Dame Hermyngheld, which was the wif Of Elda, lich hire oghne lif 750 Constance loveth; and fell so, Spekende alday betwen hem two, Thurgh grace of goddes pourveance This maiden tawhte the creance Unto this wif so parfitly, Upon a dai that faste by In presence of hire housebonde, Wher thei go walkende on the Stronde, A blind man, which cam there lad, Unto this wif criende he bad, 760 With bothe hise hondes up and preide To hire, and in this wise he seide: "O Hermyngeld, which Cristes feith, Enformed as Constance seith, Received hast, yif me my sihte." Upon his word hire herte afflihte Thenkende what was best to done, Bot natheles sche herde his bone And seide, "In trust of Cristes lawe, Which don was on the crois and slawe, 770 Thou bysne man, behold and se." With that to god upon his kne Thonkende he tok his sihte anon, Wherof thei merveile everychon, Bot Elda wondreth most of alle: This open thing which is befalle Concludeth him be such a weie, That he the feith mot nede obeie. Now lest what fell upon this thing. This Elda forth unto the king 780 A morwe tok his weie and rod, And Hermyngeld at home abod Forth with Constance wel at ese. Elda, which thoghte his king to plese, As he that thanne unwedded was, Of Constance al the pleine cas Als goodliche as he cowthe tolde. The king was glad and seide he wolde Come thider upon such a wise That he him mihte of hire avise, 790 The time apointed forth withal. This Elda triste in special Upon a knyht, whom fro childhode He hadde updrawe into manhode: To him he tolde al that he thoghte, Wherof that after him forthoghte; And natheles at thilke tide Unto his wif he bad him ride To make redi alle thing Ayein the cominge of the king, 800 And seith that he himself tofore Thenkth forto come, and bad therfore That he him kepe, and told him whanne. This knyht rod forth his weie thanne; And soth was that of time passed He hadde in al his wit compassed How he Constance myhte winne; Bot he sih tho no sped therinne, Wherof his lust began tabate, And that was love is thanne hate; 810 Of hire honour he hadde Envie, So that upon his tricherie A lesinge in his herte he caste. Til he cam home he hieth faste, And doth his ladi tunderstonde The Message of hire housebonde: And therupon the longe dai Thei setten thinges in arrai, That al was as it scholde be Of every thing in his degree; 820 And whan it cam into the nyht, This wif hire hath to bedde dyht, Wher that this Maiden with hire lay. This false knyht upon delay Hath taried til thei were aslepe, As he that wolde his time kepe His dedly werkes to fulfille; And to the bed he stalketh stille, Wher that he wiste was the wif, And in his hond a rasour knif 830 He bar, with which hire throte he cutte, And prively the knif he putte Under that other beddes side, Wher that Constance lai beside. Elda cam hom the same nyht, And stille with a prive lyht, As he that wolde noght awake His wif, he hath his weie take Into the chambre, and ther liggende He fond his dede wif bledende, 840 Wher that Constance faste by Was falle aslepe; and sodeinly He cride alowd, and sche awok, And forth withal sche caste a lok And sih this ladi blede there, Wherof swoundende ded for fere Sche was, and stille as eny Ston She lay, and Elda therupon Into the Castell clepeth oute, And up sterte every man aboute, 850 Into the chambre and forth thei wente. Bot he, which alle untrouthe mente, This false knyht, among hem alle Upon this thing which is befalle Seith that Constance hath don this dede; And to the bed with that he yede After the falshed of his speche, And made him there forto seche, And fond the knif, wher he it leide, And thanne he cride and thanne he seide, 860 "Lo, seth the knif al blody hiere! What nedeth more in this matiere To axe?" And thus hire innocence He sclaundreth there in audience With false wordes whiche he feigneth. Bot yit for al that evere he pleigneth, Elda no full credence tok: And happeth that ther lay a bok, Upon the which, whan he it sih, This knyht hath swore and seid on hih, 870 That alle men it mihte wite, "Now be this bok, which hier is write, Constance is gultif, wel I wot." With that the hond of hevene him smot In tokne of that he was forswore, That he hath bothe hise yhen lore, Out of his hed the same stounde Thei sterte, and so thei weren founde. A vois was herd, whan that they felle, Which seide, "O dampned man to helle, 880 Lo, thus hath god the sclaundre wroke That thou ayein Constance hast spoke: Beknow the sothe er that thou dye." And he told out his felonie, And starf forth with his tale anon. Into the ground, wher alle gon, This dede lady was begrave: Elda, which thoghte his honour save, Al that he mai restreigneth sorwe. For the seconde day a morwe 890 The king cam, as thei were acorded; And whan it was to him recorded What god hath wroght upon this chaunce, He tok it into remembrance And thoghte more than he seide. For al his hole herte he leide Upon Constance, and seide he scholde For love of hire, if that sche wolde, Baptesme take and Cristes feith Believe, and over that he seith 900 He wol hire wedde, and upon this Asseured ech til other is. And forto make schorte tales, Ther cam a Bisschop out of Wales Fro Bangor, and Lucie he hihte, Which thurgh the grace of god almihte The king with many an other mo Hath cristned, and betwen hem tuo He hath fulfild the mariage. Bot for no lust ne for no rage 910 Sche tolde hem nevere what sche was; And natheles upon the cas The king was glad, how so it stod, For wel he wiste and understod Sche was a noble creature. The hihe makere of nature Hire hath visited in a throwe, That it was openliche knowe Sche was with childe be the king, Wherof above al other thing 920 He thonketh god and was riht glad. And fell that time he was bestad Upon a werre and moste ride; And whil he scholde there abide, He lefte at hom to kepe his wif Suche as he knew of holi lif, Elda forth with the Bisschop eke; And he with pouer goth to seke Ayein the Scottes forto fonde The werre which he tok on honde. 930 The time set of kinde is come, This lady hath hire chambre nome, And of a Sone bore full, Wherof that sche was joiefull, Sche was delivered sauf and sone. The bisshop, as it was to done, Yaf him baptesme and Moris calleth; And therupon, as it befalleth, With lettres writen of record Thei sende unto here liege lord, 940 That kepers weren of the qweene: And he that scholde go betwene, The Messager, to Knaresburgh, Which toun he scholde passe thurgh, Ridende cam the ferste day. The kinges Moder there lay, Whos rihte name was Domilde, Which after al the cause spilde: For he, which thonk deserve wolde, Unto this ladi goth and tolde 950 Of his Message al how it ferde. And sche with feigned joie it herde And yaf him yiftes largely, Bot in the nyht al prively Sche tok the lettres whiche he hadde, Fro point to point and overradde, As sche that was thurghout untrewe, And let do wryten othre newe In stede of hem, and thus thei spieke: "Oure liege lord, we thee beseke 960 That thou with ous ne be noght wroth, Though we such thing as is thee loth Upon oure trowthe certefie. Thi wif, which is of faierie, Of such a child delivered is Fro kinde which stant al amis: Bot for it scholde noght be seie, We have it kept out of the weie For drede of pure worldes schame, A povere child and in the name 970 Of thilke which is so misbore We toke, and therto we be swore, That non bot only thou and we Schal knowen of this privete: Moris it hatte, and thus men wene That it was boren of the qweene And of thin oghne bodi gete. Bot this thing mai noght be foryete, That thou ne sende ous word anon What is thi wille therupon." 980 This lettre, as thou hast herd devise, Was contrefet in such a wise That noman scholde it aperceive: And sche, which thoghte to deceive, It leith wher sche that other tok. This Messager, whan he awok, And wiste nothing how it was, Aros and rod the grete pas And tok this lettre to the king. And whan he sih this wonder thing, 990 He makth the Messager no chiere, Bot natheles in wys manere He wrote ayein, and yaf hem charge That thei ne soffre noght at large His wif to go, bot kepe hire stille, Til thei have herd mor of his wille. This Messager was yifteles, Bot with this lettre natheles, Or be him lief or be him loth, In alle haste ayein he goth 1000 Be Knaresburgh, and as he wente, Unto the Moder his entente Of that he fond toward the king He tolde; and sche upon this thing Seith that he scholde abide al nyht And made him feste and chiere ariht, Feignende as thogh sche cowthe him thonk. Bot he with strong wyn which he dronk Forth with the travail of the day Was drunke, aslepe and while he lay, 1010 Sche hath hise lettres overseie And formed in an other weie. Ther was a newe lettre write, Which seith: "I do you forto wite, That thurgh the conseil of you tuo I stonde in point to ben undo, As he which is a king deposed. For every man it hath supposed, How that my wif Constance is faie; And if that I, thei sein, delaie 1020 To put hire out of compaignie, The worschipe of my Regalie Is lore; and over this thei telle, Hire child schal noght among hem duelle, To cleymen eny heritage. So can I se non avantage, Bot al is lost, if sche abide: Forthi to loke on every side Toward the meschief as it is, I charge you and bidde this, 1030 That ye the same Schip vitaile, In which that sche tok arivaile, Therinne and putteth bothe tuo, Hireself forthwith hire child also, And so forth broght unto the depe Betaketh hire the See to kepe. Of foure daies time I sette, That ye this thing no longer lette, So that your lif be noght forsfet." And thus this lettre contrefet 1040 The Messager, which was unwar, Upon the kingeshalve bar, And where he scholde it hath betake. Bot whan that thei have hiede take, And rad that writen is withinne, So gret a sorwe thei beginne, As thei here oghne Moder sihen Brent in a fyr before here yhen: Ther was wepinge and ther was wo, Bot finaly the thing is do. 1050 Upon the See thei have hire broght, Bot sche the cause wiste noght, And thus upon the flod thei wone, This ladi with hire yonge Sone: And thanne hire handes to the hevene Sche strawhte, and with a milde stevene Knelende upon hire bare kne Sche seide, "O hihe mageste, Which sest the point of every trowthe, Tak of thi wofull womman rowthe 1060 And of this child that I schal kepe." And with that word sche gan to wepe, Swounende as ded, and ther sche lay; Bot he which alle thinges may Conforteth hire, and ate laste Sche loketh and hire yhen caste Upon hire child and seide this: "Of me no maner charge it is What sorwe I soffre, bot of thee Me thenkth it is a gret pite, 1070 For if I sterve thou schalt deie: So mot I nedes be that weie For Moderhed and for tendresse With al myn hole besinesse Ordeigne me for thilke office, As sche which schal be thi Norrice." Thus was sche strengthed forto stonde; And tho sche tok hire child in honde And yaf it sowke, and evere among Sche wepte, and otherwhile song 1080 To rocke with hire child aslepe: And thus hire oghne child to kepe Sche hath under the goddes cure. And so fell upon aventure, Whan thilke yer hath mad his ende, Hire Schip, so as it moste wende Thurgh strengthe of wynd which god hath yive, Estward was into Spaigne drive Riht faste under a Castell wall, Wher that an hethen Amirall 1090 Was lord, and he a Stieward hadde, Oon Thelo
s, which al was badde, A fals knyht and a renegat. He goth to loke in what astat The Schip was come, and there he fond Forth with a child upon hire hond This lady, wher sche was al one. He tok good hiede of the persone, And sih sche was a worthi wiht, And thoghte he wolde upon the nyht 1100 Demene hire at his oghne wille, And let hire be therinne stille, That mo men sih sche noght that dai. At goddes wille and thus sche lai, Unknowe what hire schal betide; And fell so that be nyhtes tide This knyht withoute felaschipe Hath take a bot and cam to Schipe, And thoghte of hire his lust to take, And swor, if sche him daunger make, 1110 That certeinly sche scholde deie. Sche sih ther was non other weie, And seide he scholde hire wel conforte, That he ferst loke out ate porte, That noman were nyh the stede, Which myhte knowe what thei dede, And thanne he mai do what he wolde. He was riht glad that sche so tolde, And to the porte anon he ferde: Sche preide god, and he hire herde, 1120 And sodeinliche he was out throwe And dreynt, and tho began to blowe A wynd menable fro the lond, And thus the myhti goddes hond Hire hath conveied and defended. And whan thre yer be full despended, Hire Schip was drive upon a dai, Wher that a gret Navye lay Of Schipes, al the world at ones: And as god wolde for the nones, 1130 Hire Schip goth in among hem alle, And stinte noght, er it be falle And hath the vessell undergete, Which Maister was of al the Flete, Bot there it resteth and abod. This grete Schip on Anker rod; The Lord cam forth, and whan he sih That other ligge abord so nyh, He wondreth what it myhte be, And bad men to gon in and se. 1140 This ladi tho was crope aside, As sche that wolde hireselven hide, For sche ne wiste what thei were: Thei soghte aboute and founde hir there And broghten up hire child and hire; And therupon this lord to spire Began, fro whenne that sche cam, And what sche was. Quod sche, "I am A womman wofully bestad. I hadde a lord, and thus he bad, 1150 That I forth with my litel Sone Upon the wawes scholden wone, Bot why the cause was, I not: Bot he which alle thinges wot Yit hath, I thonke him, of his miht Mi child and me so kept upriht, That we be save bothe tuo." This lord hire axeth overmo How sche believeth, and sche seith, "I lieve and triste in Cristes feith, 1160 Which deide upon the Rode tree." "What is thi name?" tho quod he. "Mi name is Couste," sche him seide: Bot forthermor for noght he preide Of hire astat to knowe plein, Sche wolde him nothing elles sein Bot of hir name, which sche feigneth; Alle othre thinges sche restreigneth, That a word more sche ne tolde. This lord thanne axeth if sche wolde 1170 With him abide in compaignie, And seide he cam fro Barbarie To Romeward, and hom he wente. Tho sche supposeth what it mente, And seith sche wolde with him wende And duelle unto hire lyves ende, Be so it be to his plesance. And thus upon here aqueintance He tolde hire pleinly as it stod, Of Rome how that the gentil blod 1180 In Barbarie was betraied, And therupon he hath assaied Be werre, and taken such vengance, That non of al thilke alliance, Be whom the tresoun was compassed, Is from the swerd alyve passed; Bot of Constance hou it was, That cowthe he knowe be no cas, Wher sche becam, so as he seide. Hire Ere unto his word sche leide, 1190 Bot forther made sche no chiere. And natheles in this matiere It happeth thilke time so: This Lord, with whom sche scholde go, Of Rome was the Senatour, And of hir fader themperour His brother doughter hath to wyve, Which hath hir fader ek alyve, And was Salustes cleped tho; This wif Heleine hihte also, 1200 To whom Constance was Cousine. Thus to the sike a medicine Hath god ordeined of his grace, That forthwith in the same place This Senatour his trowthe plihte, For evere, whil he live mihte, To kepe in worschipe and in welthe, Be so that god wol yive hire helthe, This ladi, which fortune him sende. And thus be Schipe forth sailende 1210 Hire and hir child to Rome he broghte, And to his wif tho he besoghte To take hire into compaignie: And sche, which cowthe of courtesie Al that a good wif scholde konne, Was inly glad that sche hath wonne The felaschip of so good on. Til tuelve yeres were agon, This Emperoures dowhter Custe Forth with the dowhter of Saluste 1220 Was kept, bot noman redily Knew what sche was, and noght forthi Thei thoghten wel sche hadde be In hire astat of hih degre, And every lif hire loveth wel. Now herke how thilke unstable whel, Which evere torneth, wente aboute. The king Allee, whil he was oute, As thou tofore hast herd this cas, Deceived thurgh his Moder was: 1230 Bot whan that he cam hom ayein, He axeth of his Chamberlein And of the Bisschop ek also, Wher thei the qweene hadden do. And thei answerde, there he bad, And have him thilke lettre rad, Which he hem sende for warant, And tolde him pleinli as it stant, And sein, it thoghte hem gret pite To se so worthi on as sche, 1240 With such a child as ther was bore, So sodeinly to be forlore. He axeth hem what child that were; And thei him seiden, that naghere, In al the world thogh men it soghte, Was nevere womman that forth broghte A fairer child than it was on. And thanne he axede hem anon, Whi thei ne hadden write so: Thei tolden, so thei hadden do. 1250 He seide, "Nay." Thei seiden, "Yis." The lettre schewed rad it is, Which thei forsoken everidel. Tho was it understonde wel That ther is tresoun in the thing: The Messager tofore the king Was broght and sodeinliche opposed; And he, which nothing hath supposed Bot alle wel, began to seie That he nagher upon the weie 1260 Abod, bot only in a stede; And cause why that he so dede Was, as he wente to and fro, At Knaresburgh be nyhtes tuo The kinges Moder made him duelle. And whan the king it herde telle, Withinne his herte he wiste als faste The treson which his Moder caste; And thoghte he wolde noght abide, Bot forth riht in the same tide 1270 He tok his hors and rod anon. With him ther riden manion, To Knaresburgh and forth thei wente, And lich the fyr which tunder hente, In such a rage, as seith the bok, His Moder sodeinliche he tok And seide unto hir in this wise: "O beste of helle, in what juise Hast thou deserved forto deie, That hast so falsly put aweie 1280 With tresoun of thi bacbitinge The treweste at my knowlechinge Of wyves and the most honeste? Bot I wol make this beheste, I schal be venged er I go." And let a fyr do make tho, And bad men forto caste hire inne: Bot ferst sche tolde out al the sinne, And dede hem alle forto wite How sche the lettres hadde write, 1290 Fro point to point as it was wroght. And tho sche was to dethe broght And brent tofore hire Sones yhe: Wherof these othre, whiche it sihe And herden how the cause stod, Sein that the juggement is good, Of that hir Sone hire hath so served; For sche it hadde wel deserved Thurgh tresoun of hire false tunge, Which thurgh the lond was after sunge, 1300 Constance and every wiht compleigneth. Bot he, whom alle wo distreigneth, This sorghfull king, was so bestad, That he schal nevermor be glad, He seith, eftsone forto wedde, Til that he wiste how that sche spedde, Which hadde ben his ferste wif: And thus his yonge unlusti lif He dryveth forth so as he mai. Til it befell upon a dai, 1310 Whan he hise werres hadde achieved, And thoghte he wolde be relieved Of Soule hele upon the feith Which he hath take, thanne he seith That he to Rome in pelrinage Wol go, wher Pope was Pelage, To take his absolucioun. And upon this condicioun He made Edwyn his lieutenant, Which heir to him was apparant, 1320 That he the lond in his absence Schal reule: and thus be providence Of alle thinges wel begon He tok his leve and forth is gon. Elda, which tho was with him there, Er thei fulliche at Rome were, Was sent tofore to pourveie; And he his guide upon the weie, In help to ben his herbergour, Hath axed who was Senatour, 1330 That he his name myhte kenne. Of Capadoce, he seide, Arcenne He hihte, and was a worthi kniht. To him goth Elda tho forth riht And tolde him of his lord tidinge, And preide that for his comynge He wolde assigne him herbergage; And he so dede of good corage. Whan al is do that was to done, The king himself cam after sone. 1340 This Senatour, whan that he com, To Couste and to his wif at hom Hath told how such a king Allee Of gret array to the Citee Was come, and Couste upon his tale With herte clos and colour pale Aswoune fell, and he merveileth So sodeinly what thing hire eyleth, And cawhte hire up, and whan sche wok, Sche syketh with a pitous lok 1350 And feigneth seknesse of the See; Bot it was for the king Allee, For joie which fell in hire thoght That god him hath to toune broght. This king hath spoke with the Pope And told al that he cowthe agrope, What grieveth in his conscience; And thanne he thoghte in reverence Of his astat, er that he wente, To make a feste, and thus he sente 1360 Unto the Senatour to come Upon the morwe and othre some, To sitte with him at the mete. This tale hath Couste noght foryete, Bot to Moris hire Sone tolde That he upon the morwe scholde In al that evere he cowthe and mihte Be present in the kinges sihte, So that the king him ofte sihe. Moris tofore the kinges yhe 1370 Upon the morwe, wher he sat, Fulofte stod, and upon that The king his chiere upon him caste, And in his face him thoghte als faste He sih his oghne wif Constance; For nature as in resemblance Of face hem liketh so to clothe, That thei were of a suite bothe. The king was moeved in his thoght Of that he seth, and knoweth it noght; 1380 This child he loveth kindely, And yit he wot no cause why. Bot wel he sih and understod That he toward Arcenne stod, And axeth him anon riht there, If that this child his Sone were. He seide, "Yee, so I him calle, And wolde it were so befalle, Bot it is al in other wise." And tho began he to devise 1390 How he the childes Moder fond Upon the See from every lond Withinne a Schip was stiereles, And how this ladi helpeles Forth with hir child he hath forthdrawe. The king hath understonde his sawe, The childes name and axeth tho, And what the Moder hihte also That he him wolde telle he preide. "Moris this child is hote," he seide, 1400 "His Moder hatte Couste, and this I not what maner name it is." But Allee wiste wel ynowh, Wherof somdiel smylende he lowh; For Couste in Saxoun is to sein Constance upon the word Romein. Bot who that cowthe specefie What tho fell in his fantasie, And how his wit aboute renneth Upon the love in which he brenneth, 1410 It were a wonder forto hiere: For he was nouther ther ne hiere, Bot clene out of himself aweie, That he not what to thenke or seie, So fain he wolde it were sche. Wherof his hertes privete Began the werre of yee and nay, The which in such balance lay, That contenance for a throwe He loste, til he mihte knowe 1420 The sothe: bot in his memoire The man which lith in purgatoire Desireth noght the hevene more, That he ne longeth al so sore To wite what him schal betide. And whan the bordes were aside And every man was rise aboute, The king hath weyved al the route, And with the Senatour al one He spak and preide him of a bone, 1430 To se this Couste, wher sche duelleth At hom with him, so as he telleth. The Senatour was wel appaied, This thing no lengere is delaied, To se this Couste goth the king; And sche was warned of the thing, And with Heleine forth sche cam Ayein the king, and he tho nam Good hiede, and whan he sih his wif, Anon with al his hertes lif 1440 He cawhte hire in his arm and kiste. Was nevere wiht that sih ne wiste A man that more joie made, Wherof thei weren alle glade Whiche herde tellen of this chance. This king tho with his wif Constance, Which hadde a gret part of his wille, In Rome for a time stille Abod and made him wel at ese: Bot so yit cowthe he nevere plese 1450 His wif, that sche him wolde sein Of hire astat the trowthe plein, Of what contre that sche was bore, Ne what sche was, and yit therfore With al his wit he hath don sieke. Thus as they lihe abedde and spieke, Sche preide him and conseileth bothe, That for the worschipe of hem bothe, So as hire thoghte it were honeste, He wolde an honourable feste 1460 Make, er he wente, in the Cite, Wher themperour himself schal be: He graunteth al that sche him preide. Bot as men in that time seide, This Emperour fro thilke day That ferst his dowhter wente away He was thanne after nevere glad; Bot what that eny man him bad Of grace for his dowhter sake, That grace wolde he noght forsake; 1470 And thus ful gret almesse he dede, Wherof sche hadde many a bede. This Emperour out of the toun Withinne a ten mile enviroun, Where as it thoghte him for the beste, Hath sondry places forto reste; And as fortune wolde tho, He was duellende at on of tho. The king Allee forth with thassent Of Couste his wif hath thider sent 1480 Moris his Sone, as he was taght, To themperour and he goth straght, And in his fader half besoghte, As he which his lordschipe soghte, That of his hihe worthinesse He wolde do so gret meknesse, His oghne toun to come and se, And yive a time in the cite, So that his fader mihte him gete That he wolde ones with him ete. 1490 This lord hath granted his requeste; And whan the dai was of the feste, In worschipe of here Emperour The king and ek the Senatour Forth with here wyves bothe tuo, With many a lord and lady mo, On horse riden him ayein; Til it befell, upon a plein Thei sihen wher he was comende. With that Constance anon preiende 1500 Spak to hir lord that he abyde, So that sche mai tofore ryde, To ben upon his bienvenue The ferste which schal him salue; And thus after hire lordes graunt Upon a Mule whyt amblaunt Forth with a fewe rod this qweene. Thei wondren what sche wolde mene, And riden after softe pas; Bot whan this ladi come was 1510 To themperour, in his presence Sche seide alowd in audience, "Mi lord, mi fader, wel you be! And of this time that I se Youre honour and your goode hele, Which is the helpe of my querele, I thonke unto the goddes myht." For joie his herte was affliht Of that sche tolde in remembrance; And whanne he wiste it was Constance, 1520 Was nevere fader half so blithe. Wepende he keste hire ofte sithe, So was his herte al overcome; For thogh his Moder were come Fro deth to lyve out of the grave, He mihte nomor wonder have Than he hath whan that he hire sih. With that hire oghne lord cam nyh And is to themperour obeied; Bot whan the fortune is bewreied, 1530 How that Constance is come aboute, So hard an herte was non oute, That he for pite tho ne wepte. Arcennus, which hire fond and kepte, Was thanne glad of that is falle, So that with joie among hem alle Thei riden in at Rome gate. This Emperour thoghte al to late, Til that the Pope were come, And of the lordes sende some 1540 To preie him that he wolde haste: And he cam forth in alle haste, And whan that he the tale herde, How wonderly this chance ferde, He thonketh god of his miracle, To whos miht mai be non obstacle: The king a noble feste hem made, And thus thei weren alle glade. A parlement, er that thei wente, Thei setten unto this entente, 1550 To puten Rome in full espeir That Moris was apparant heir And scholde abide with hem stille, For such was al the londes wille. Whan every thing was fulli spoke, Of sorwe and queint was al the smoke, Tho tok his leve Allee the king, And with full many a riche thing, Which themperour him hadde yive, He goth a glad lif forto live; 1560 For he Constance hath in his hond, Which was the confort of his lond. For whan that he cam hom ayein, Ther is no tunge it mihte sein What joie was that ilke stounde Of that he hath his qweene founde, Which ferst was sent of goddes sonde, Whan sche was drive upon the Stronde, Be whom the misbelieve of Sinne Was left, and Cristes feith cam inne 1570 To hem that whilom were blinde. Bot he which hindreth every kinde And for no gold mai be forboght, The deth comende er he be soght, Tok with this king such aqueintance, That he with al his retenance Ne mihte noght defende his lif; And thus he parteth from his wif, Which thanne made sorwe ynowh. And therupon hire herte drowh 1580 To leven Engelond for evere And go wher that sche hadde levere, To Rome, whenne that sche cam: And thus of al the lond sche nam Hir leve, and goth to Rome ayein. And after that the bokes sein, She was noght there bot a throwe, Whan deth of kinde hath overthrowe Hir worthi fader, which men seide That he betwen hire armes deide. 1590 And afterward the yer suiende The god hath mad of hire an ende, And fro this worldes faierie Hath take hire into compaignie. Moris hir Sone was corouned, Which so ferforth was abandouned To Cristes feith, that men him calle Moris the cristeneste of alle. And thus the wel meninge of love Was ate laste set above; 1600 And so as thou hast herd tofore, The false tunges weren lore, Whiche upon love wolden lie. Forthi touchende of this Envie Which longeth unto bacbitinge, Be war thou make no lesinge In hindringe of an other wiht: And if thou wolt be tawht ariht What meschief bakbitinge doth Be other weie, a tale soth 1610 Now miht thou hiere next suiende, Which to this vice is acordende. In a Cronique, as thou schalt wite, A gret ensample I finde write, Which I schal telle upon this thing. Philippe of Macedoyne kyng Two Sones hadde be his wif, Whos fame is yit in Grece rif: Demetrius the ferste brother Was hote, and Perse
s that other. 1620 Demetrius men seiden tho The betre knyht was of the tuo, To whom the lond was entendant, As he which heir was apparant To regne after his fader dai: Bot that thing which no water mai Quenche in this world, bot evere brenneth, Into his brother herte it renneth, The proude Envie of that he sih His brother scholde clymbe on hih, 1630 And he to him mot thanne obeie: That may he soffre be no weie. With strengthe dorst he nothing fonde, So tok he lesinge upon honde, Whan he sih time and spak therto. For it befell that time so, His fader grete werres hadde With Rome, whiche he streite ladde Thurgh mihty hond of his manhode, As he which hath ynowh knihthode, 1640 And ofte hem hadde sore grieved. Bot er the werre were achieved, As he was upon ordinance At hom in Grece, it fell per chance, Demetrius, which ofte aboute Ridende was, stod that time oute, So that this Perse in his absence, Which bar the tunge of pestilence, With false wordes whiche he feigneth Upon his oghne brother pleigneth 1650 In privete behinde his bak, And to his fader thus he spak: "Mi diere fader, I am holde Be weie of kinde, as resoun wolde, That I fro yow schal nothing hide, Which mihte torne in eny side Of youre astat into grevance: Forthi myn hertes obeissance Towardes you I thenke kepe; For it is good ye take kepe 1660 Upon a thing which is me told. Mi brother hath ous alle sold To hem of Rome, and you also; For thanne they behote him so, That he with hem schal regne in pes. Thus hath he cast for his encress That youre astat schal go to noght; And this to proeve schal be broght So ferforth, that I undertake It schal noght wel mow be forsake." 1670 The king upon this tale ansuerde And seide, if this thing which he herde Be soth and mai be broght to prove, "It schal noght be to his behove, Which so hath schapen ous the werste, For he himself schal be the ferste That schal be ded, if that I mai." Thus afterward upon a dai, Whan that Demetrius was come, Anon his fader hath him nome, 1680 And bad unto his brother Perse That he his tale schal reherse Of thilke tresoun which he tolde. And he, which al untrowthe wolde, Conseileth that so hih a nede Be treted wher as it mai spede, In comun place of juggement. The king therto yaf his assent, Demetrius was put in hold, Wherof that Perse
s was bold. 1690 Thus stod the trowthe under the charge, And the falshede goth at large, Which thurgh beheste hath overcome The greteste of the lordes some, That privelich of his acord Thei stonde as witnesse of record: The jugge was mad favorable: Thus was the lawe deceivable So ferforth that the trowthe fond Rescousse non, and thus the lond 1700 Forth with the king deceived were. The gulteles was dampned there And deide upon accusement: Bot such a fals conspirement, Thogh it be prive for a throwe, Godd wolde noght it were unknowe; And that was afterward wel proved In him which hath the deth controved. Of that his brother was so slain This Perse
s was wonder fain, 1710 As he that tho was apparant, Upon the Regne and expectant; Wherof he wax so proud and vein, That he his fader in desdeign Hath take and set of non acompte, As he which thoghte him to surmonte; That wher he was ferst debonaire, He was tho rebell and contraire, And noght as heir bot as a king He tok upon him alle thing 1720 Of malice and of tirannie In contempt of the Regalie, Livende his fader, and so wroghte, That whan the fader him bethoghte And sih to whether side it drowh, Anon he wiste well ynowh How Perse after his false tunge Hath so thenvious belle runge, That he hath slain his oghne brother. Wherof as thanne he knew non other, 1730 Bot sodeinly the jugge he nom, Which corrupt sat upon the dom, In such a wise and hath him pressed, That he the sothe him hath confessed Of al that hath be spoke and do. Mor sori than the king was tho Was nevere man upon this Molde, And thoghte in certain that he wolde Vengance take upon this wrong. Bot thother parti was so strong, 1740 That for the lawe of no statut Ther mai no riht ben execut; And upon this division The lond was torned up so doun: Wherof his herte is so distraght, That he for pure sorwe hath caght The maladie of which nature Is queint in every creature. And whan this king was passed thus, This false tunged Perse
s 1750 The regiment hath underfonge. Bot ther mai nothing stonde longe Which is noght upon trowthe grounded; For god, which alle thing hath bounded And sih the falshod of his guile, Hath set him bot a litel while, That he schal regne upon depos; For sodeinliche as he aros So sodeinliche doun he fell. In thilke time it so befell, 1760 This newe king of newe Pride With strengthe schop him forto ride, And seide he wolde Rome waste, Wherof he made a besi haste, And hath assembled him an host In al that evere he mihte most: What man that mihte wepne bere Of alle he wolde non forbere; So that it mihte noght be nombred, The folk which after was encombred 1770 Thurgh him, that god wolde overthrowe. Anon it was at Rome knowe, The pompe which that Perse ladde; And the Romeins that time hadde A Consul, which was cleped thus Be name, Paul Emilius, A noble, a worthi kniht withalle; And he, which chief was of hem alle, This werre on honde hath undertake. And whanne he scholde his leve take 1780 Of a yong dowhter which was his, Sche wepte, and he what cause it is Hire axeth, and sche him ansuerde That Perse is ded; and he it herde, And wondreth what sche meene wolde: And sche upon childhode him tolde That Perse hir litel hound is ded. With that he pulleth up his hed And made riht a glad visage, And seide how that was a presage 1790 Touchende unto that other Perse, Of that fortune him scholde adverse, He seith, for such a prenostik Most of an hound was to him lik: For as it is an houndes kinde To berke upon a man behinde, Riht so behinde his brother bak With false wordes whiche he spak He hath do slain, and that is rowthe. "Bot he which hateth alle untrowthe, 1800 The hihe god, it schal redresse; For so my dowhter prophetesse Forth with hir litel houndes deth Betokneth." And thus forth he geth Conforted of this evidence, With the Romeins in his defence Ayein the Greks that ben comende. This Perse
s, as noght seende This meschief which that him abod, With al his multitude rod, 1810 And prided him upon the thing, Of that he was become a king, And how he hadde his regne gete; Bot he hath al the riht foryete Which longeth unto governance. Wherof thurgh goddes ordinance It fell, upon the wynter tide That with his host he scholde ride Over Danubie thilke flod, Which al befrose thanne stod 1820 So harde, that he wende wel To passe: bot the blinde whiel, Which torneth ofte er men be war, Thilke ys which that the horsmen bar Tobrak, so that a gret partie Was dreint; of the chivalerie The rerewarde it tok aweie, Cam non of hem to londe dreie. Paulus the worthi kniht Romein Be his aspie it herde sein, 1830 And hasteth him al that he may, So that upon that other day He cam wher he this host beheld, And that was in a large feld, Wher the Baneres ben desplaied. He hath anon hise men arraied, And whan that he was embatailled, He goth and hath the feld assailed, And slowh and tok al that he fond; Wherof the Macedoyne lond, 1840 Which thurgh king Alisandre honoured Long time stod, was tho devoured. To Perse and al that infortune Thei wyte, so that the comune Of al the lond his heir exile; And he despeired for the while Desguised in a povere wede To Rome goth, and ther for nede The craft which thilke time was, To worche in latoun and in bras, 1850 He lerneth for his sustienance. Such was the Sones pourveance, And of his fader it is seid, In strong prisoun that he was leid In Albe, wher that he was ded For hunger and defalte of bred. The hound was tokne and prophecie That lich an hound he scholde die, Which lich was of condicioun, Whan he with his detraccioun 1860 Bark on his brother so behinde. Lo, what profit a man mai finde, Which hindre wole an other wiht. Forthi with al thin hole miht, Mi Sone, eschuie thilke vice. Mi fader, elles were I nyce: For ye therof so wel have spoke, That it is in myn herte loke And evere schal: bot of Envie, If ther be more in his baillie 1870 Towardes love, sai me what. Mi Sone, as guile under the hat With sleyhtes of a tregetour Is hidd, Envie of such colour Hath yit the ferthe deceivant, The which is cleped Falssemblant, Wherof the matiere and the forme Now herkne and I thee schal enforme. Of Falssemblant if I schal telle, Above alle othre it is the welle 1880 Out of the which deceipte floweth. Ther is noman so wys that knoweth Of thilke flod which is the tyde, Ne how he scholde himselven guide To take sauf passage there. And yit the wynd to mannes Ere Is softe, and as it semeth oute It makth clier weder al aboute; Bot thogh it seme, it is noght so. For Falssemblant hath everemo 1890 Of his conseil in compaignie The derke untrewe Ypocrisie, Whos word descordeth to his thoght: Forthi thei ben togedre broght Of o covine, of on houshold, As it schal after this be told. Of Falssemblant it nedeth noght To telle of olde ensamples oght; For al dai in experience A man mai se thilke evidence 1900 Of faire wordes whiche he hiereth; Bot yit the barge Envie stiereth And halt it evere fro the londe, Wher Falssemblant with Ore on honde It roweth, and wol noght arive, Bot let it on the wawes dryve In gret tempeste and gret debat, Wherof that love and his astat Empeireth. And therfore I rede, Mi Sone, that thou fle and drede 1910 This vice, and what that othre sein, Let thi Semblant be trewe and plein. For Falssemblant is thilke vice, Which nevere was withoute office: Wher that Envie thenkth to guile, He schal be for that ilke while Of prive conseil Messagier. For whan his semblant is most clier, Thanne is he most derk in his thoght, Thogh men him se, thei knowe him noght; 1920 Bot as it scheweth in the glas Thing which therinne nevere was, So scheweth it in his visage That nevere was in his corage: Thus doth he al his thing with sleyhte. Now ley thi conscience in weyhte, Mi goode Sone, and schrif the hier, If thou were evere Custummer To Falssemblant in eny wise. For ought I can me yit avise, 1930 Mi goode fader, certes no. If I for love have oght do so, Now asketh, I wol praie yow: For elles I wot nevere how Of Falssemblant that I have gilt. Mi Sone, and sithen that thou wilt That I schal axe, gabbe noght, Bot tell if evere was thi thoght With Falssemblant and coverture To wite of eny creature 1940 How that he was with love lad; So were he sori, were he glad, Whan that thou wistest how it were, Al that he rounede in thin Ere Thou toldest forth in other place, To setten him fro loves grace Of what womman that thee beste liste, Ther as noman his conseil wiste Bot thou, be whom he was deceived Of love, and from his pourpos weyved; 1950 And thoghtest that his destourbance Thin oghne cause scholde avance, As who saith, "I am so celee, Ther mai no mannes privete Be heled half so wel as myn." Art thou, mi Sone, of such engin? Tell on. Mi goode fader, nay As for the more part I say; Bot of somdiel I am beknowe, That I mai stonde in thilke rowe 1960 Amonges hem that Saundres use. I wol me noght therof excuse, That I with such colour ne steyne, Whan I my beste Semblant feigne To my felawh, til that I wot Al his conseil bothe cold and hot: For be that cause I make him chiere, Til I his love knowe and hiere; And if so be myn herte soucheth That oght unto my ladi toucheth 1970 Of love that he wol me telle, Anon I renne unto the welle And caste water in the fyr, So that his carte amidd the Myr, Be that I have his conseil knowe, Fulofte sithe I overthrowe, Whan that he weneth best to stonde. Bot this I do you understonde, If that a man love elles where, So that my ladi be noght there, 1980 And he me telle, I wole it hide, Ther schal no word ascape aside, For with deceipte of no semblant To him breke I no covenant; Me liketh noght in other place To lette noman of his grace, Ne forto ben inquisitif To knowe an other mannes lif: Wher that he love or love noght, That toucheth nothing to my thoght, 1990 Bot al it passeth thurgh myn Ere Riht as a thing that nevere were, And is foryete and leid beside. Bot if it touche on eny side Mi ladi, as I have er spoken, Myn Eres ben noght thanne loken; For certes, whanne that betitt, My will, myn herte and al my witt Ben fully set to herkne and spire What eny man wol speke of hire. 2000 Thus have I feigned compaignie Fulofte, for I wolde aspie What thing it is that eny man Telle of mi worthi lady can: And for tuo causes I do this, The ferste cause wherof is,- If that I myhte ofherkne and seke That eny man of hire mispeke, I wolde excuse hire so fully, That whan sche wist in inderly, 2010 Min hope scholde be the more To have hir thank for everemore. That other cause, I you assure, Is, why that I be coverture Have feigned semblant ofte time To hem that passen alday byme And ben lovers als wel as I, For this I weene trewely, That ther is of hem alle non, That thei ne loven everich on 2020 Mi ladi: for sothliche I lieve And durste setten it in prieve, Is non so wys that scholde asterte, Bot he were lustles in his herte, Forwhy and he my ladi sihe, Hir visage and hir goodlych yhe, Bot he hire lovede, er he wente. And for that such is myn entente, That is the cause of myn aspie, Why that I feigne compaignie 2030 And make felawe overal; For gladly wolde I knowen al And holde me covert alway, That I fulofte ye or nay Ne liste ansuere in eny wise, Bot feigne semblant as the wise And herkne tales, til I knowe Mi ladi lovers al arowe. And whanne I hiere how thei have wroght, I fare as thogh I herde it noght 2040 And as I no word understode; Bot that is nothing for here goode: For lieveth wel, the sothe is this, That whanne I knowe al how it is, I wol bot forthren hem a lite, Bot al the worste I can endite I telle it to my ladi plat In forthringe of myn oghne astat, And hindre hem al that evere I may. Bot for al that yit dar I say, 2050 I finde unto miself no bote, Althogh myn herte nedes mote Thurgh strengthe of love al that I hiere Discovere unto my ladi diere: For in good feith I have no miht To hele fro that swete wiht, If that it touche hire eny thing. Bot this wot wel the hevene king, That sithen ferst this world began, Unto non other strange man 2060 Ne feigned I semblant ne chiere, To wite or axe of his matiere, Thogh that he lovede ten or tuelve, Whanne it was noght my ladi selve: Bot if he wolde axe eny red Al onlich of his oghne hed, How he with other love ferde, His tales with myn Ere I herde, Bot to myn herte cam it noght Ne sank no deppere in my thoght, 2070 Bot hield conseil, as I was bede, And tolde it nevere in other stede, Bot let it passen as it com. Now, fader, say what is thi dom, And hou thou wolt that I be peined For such Semblant as I have feigned. Mi Sone, if reson be wel peised, Ther mai no vertu ben unpreised Ne vice non be set in pris. Forthi, my Sone, if thou be wys, 2080 Do no viser upon thi face, Which as wol noght thin herte embrace: For if thou do, withinne a throwe To othre men it schal be knowe, So miht thou lihtli falle in blame And lese a gret part of thi name. And natheles in this degree Fulofte time thou myht se Of suche men that now aday This vice setten in a say: 2090 I speke it for no mannes blame, Bot forto warne thee the same. Mi Sone, as I mai hiere talke In every place where I walke, I not if it be so or non, Bot it is manye daies gon That I ferst herde telle this, How Falssemblant hath ben and is Most comunly fro yer to yere With hem that duelle among ous here, 2100 Of suche as we Lombardes calle. For thei ben the slyeste of alle, So as men sein in toune aboute, To feigne and schewe thing withoute Which is revers to that withinne: Wherof that thei fulofte winne, Whan thei be reson scholden lese; Thei ben the laste and yit thei chese, And we the ferste, and yit behinde We gon, there as we scholden finde 2110 The profit of oure oghne lond: Thus gon thei fre withoute bond To don her profit al at large, And othre men bere al the charge. Of Lombardz unto this covine, Whiche alle londes conne engine, Mai Falssemblant in special Be likned, for thei overal, Wher as they thenken forto duelle, Among hemself, so as thei telle, 2120 Ferst ben enformed forto lere A craft which cleped is Fa crere: For if Fa crere come aboute, Thanne afterward hem stant no doute To voide with a soubtil hond The beste goodes of the lond And bringe chaf and take corn. Where as Fa crere goth toforn, In all his weie he fynt no lette; That Dore can non huissher schette 2130 In which him list to take entre: And thus the conseil most secre Of every thing Fa crere knoweth, Which into strange place he bloweth, Where as he wot it mai most grieve. And thus Fa crere makth believe, So that fulofte he hath deceived, Er that he mai ben aperceived. Thus is this vice forto drede; For who these olde bokes rede 2140 Of suche ensamples as were ar, Him oghte be the more war Of alle tho that feigne chiere, Wherof thou schalt a tale hiere. Of Falssemblant which is believed Ful many a worthi wiht is grieved, And was long time er we wer bore. To thee, my Sone, I wol therfore A tale telle of Falssemblant, Which falseth many a covenant, 2150 And many a fraude of fals conseil Ther ben hangende upon his Seil: And that aboghten gulteles Bothe Deianire and Hercules, The whiche in gret desese felle Thurgh Falssemblant, as I schal telle. Whan Hercules withinne a throwe Al only hath his herte throwe Upon this faire Deianire, It fell him on a dai desire, 2160 Upon a Rivere as he stod, That passe he wolde over the flod Withoute bot, and with him lede His love, bot he was in drede For tendresce of that swete wiht, For he knew noght the forde ariht. Ther was a Geant thanne nyh, Which Nessus hihte, and whanne he sih This Hercules and Deianyre, Withinne his herte he gan conspire, 2170 As he which thurgh his tricherie Hath Hercules in gret envie, Which he bar in his herte loke, And thanne he thoghte it schal be wroke. Bot he ne dorste natheles Ayein this worthi Hercules Falle in debat as forto feihte; Bot feigneth Semblant al be sleihte Of frendschipe and of alle goode, And comth where as thei bothe stode, 2180 And makth hem al the chiere he can, And seith that as here oghne man He is al redy forto do What thing he mai; and it fell so That thei upon his Semblant triste, And axen him if that he wiste What thing hem were best to done, So that thei mihten sauf and sone The water passe, he and sche. And whan Nessus the privete 2190 Knew of here herte what it mente, As he that was of double entente, He made hem riht a glad visage; And whanne he herde of the passage Of him and hire, he thoghte guile, And feigneth Semblant for a while To don hem plesance and servise, Bot he thoghte al an other wise. This Nessus with hise wordes slyhe Yaf such conseil tofore here yhe 2200 Which semeth outward profitable And was withinne deceivable. He bad hem of the Stremes depe That thei be war and take kepe, So as thei knowe noght the pas; Bot forto helpe in such a cas, He seith himself that for here ese He wolde, if that it mihte hem plese, The passage of the water take, And for this ladi undertake 2210 To bere unto that other stronde And sauf to sette hire up alonde, And Hercules may thanne also The weie knowe how he schal go: And herto thei acorden alle. Bot what as after schal befalle, Wel payd was Hercules of this, And this Geant also glad is, And tok this ladi up alofte And set hire on his schuldre softe, 2220 And in the flod began to wade, As he which no grucchinge made, And bar hire over sauf and sound. Bot whanne he stod on dreie ground And Hercules was fer behinde, He sette his trowthe al out of mynde, Who so therof be lief or loth, With Deianyre and forth he goth, As he that thoghte to dissevere The compaignie of hem for evere. 2230 Whan Hercules therof tok hiede, Als faste as evere he mihte him spiede He hyeth after in a throwe; And hapneth that he hadde a bowe, The which in alle haste he bende, As he that wolde an Arwe sende, Which he tofore hadde envenimed. He hath so wel his schote timed, That he him thurgh the bodi smette, And thus the false wiht he lette. 2240 Bot lest now such a felonie: Whan Nessus wiste he scholde die, He tok to Deianyre his scherte, Which with the blod was of his herte Thurghout desteigned overal, And tolde how sche it kepe schal Al prively to this entente, That if hire lord his herte wente To love in eny other place, The scherte, he seith, hath such a grace, 2250 That if sche mai so mochel make That he the scherte upon him take, He schal alle othre lete in vein And torne unto hire love ayein. Who was tho glad bot Deianyre? Hire thoghte hire herte was afyre Til it was in hire cofre loke, So that no word therof was spoke. The daies gon, the yeres passe, The hertes waxen lasse and lasse 2260 Of hem that ben to love untrewe: This Hercules with herte newe His love hath set on Eolen, And therof spieken alle men. This Eolen, this faire maide, Was, as men thilke time saide, The kinges dowhter of Eurice; And sche made Hercules so nyce Upon hir Love and so assote, That he him clotheth in hire cote, 2270 And sche in his was clothed ofte; And thus fieblesce is set alofte, And strengthe was put under fote, Ther can noman therof do bote. Whan Deianyre hath herd this speche, Ther was no sorwe forto seche: Of other helpe wot sche non, Bot goth unto hire cofre anon; With wepende yhe and woful herte Sche tok out thilke unhappi scherte, 2280 As sche that wende wel to do, And broghte hire werk aboute so That Hercules this scherte on dede, To such entente as she was bede Of Nessus, so as I seide er. Bot therof was sche noght the ner, As no fortune may be weyved; With Falssemblant sche was deceived, That whan sche wende best have wonne, Sche lost al that sche hath begonne. 2290 For thilke scherte unto the bon His body sette afyre anon, And cleveth so, it mai noght twinne, For the venym that was therinne. And he thanne as a wilde man Unto the hihe wode he ran, And as the Clerk Ovide telleth, The grete tres to grounde he felleth With strengthe al of his oghne myght, And made an huge fyr upriht, 2300 And lepte himself therinne at ones And brende him bothe fleissh and bones. Which thing cam al thurgh Falssemblant, That false Nessus the Geant Made unto him and to his wif; Wherof that he hath lost his lif, And sche sori for everemo. Forthi, my Sone, er thee be wo, I rede, be wel war therfore; For whan so gret a man was lore, 2310 It oghte yive a gret conceipte To warne alle othre of such deceipte. Grant mercy, fader, I am war So fer that I nomore dar Of Falssemblant take aqueintance; Bot rathere I wol do penance That I have feigned chiere er this. Now axeth forth, what so ther is Of that belongeth to my schrifte. Mi Sone, yit ther is the fifte 2320 Which is conceived of Envie, And cleped is Supplantarie, Thurgh whos compassement and guile Ful many a man hath lost his while In love als wel as otherwise, Hierafter as I schal devise. The vice of Supplantacioun With many a fals collacioun, Which he conspireth al unknowe, Full ofte time hath overthrowe 2330 The worschipe of an other man. So wel no lif awayte can Ayein his sleyhte forto caste, That he his pourpos ate laste Ne hath, er that it be withset. Bot most of alle his herte is set In court upon these grete Offices Of dignitees and benefices: Thus goth he with his sleyhte aboute To hindre and schowve an other oute 2340 And stonden with his slyh compas In stede there an other was; And so to sette himselven inne, He reccheth noght, be so he winne, Of that an other man schal lese, And thus fulofte chalk for chese He changeth with ful litel cost, Wherof an other hath the lost And he the profit schal receive. For his fortune is to deceive 2350 And forto change upon the whel His wo with othre mennes wel: Of that an other man avaleth, His oghne astat thus up he haleth, And takth the bridd to his beyete, Wher othre men the buisshes bete. Mi Sone, and in the same wise Ther ben lovers of such emprise, That schapen hem to be relieved Where it is wrong to ben achieved: 2360 For it is other mannes riht, Which he hath taken dai and niht To kepe for his oghne Stor Toward himself for everemor, And is his propre be the lawe, Which thing that axeth no felawe, If love holde his covenant. Bot thei that worchen be supplaunt, Yit wolden thei a man supplaunte, And take a part of thilke plaunte 2370 Which he hath for himselve set: And so fulofte is al unknet, That som man weneth be riht fast. For Supplant with his slyhe cast Fulofte happneth forto mowe Thing which an other man hath sowe, And makth comun of proprete With sleihte and with soubtilite, As men mai se fro yer to yere. Thus cleymeth he the bot to stiere, 2380 Of which an other maister is. Forthi, my Sone, if thou er this Hast ben of such professioun, Discovere thi confessioun: Hast thou supplanted eny man? For oght that I you telle can, Min holi fader, as of the dede I am withouten eny drede Al gulteles; bot of my thoght Mi conscience excuse I noght. 2390 For were it wrong or were it riht, Me lakketh nothing bote myht, That I ne wolde longe er this Of other mannes love ywiss Be weie of Supplantacioun Have mad apropriacioun And holde that I nevere boghte, Thogh it an other man forthoghte. And al this speke I bot of on, For whom I lete alle othre gon; 2400 Bot hire I mai noght overpasse, That I ne mot alwey compasse, Me roghte noght be what queintise, So that I mihte in eny wise Fro suche that mi ladi serve Hire herte make forto swerve Withouten eny part of love. For be the goddes alle above I wolde it mihte so befalle, That I al one scholde hem alle 2410 Supplante, and welde hire at mi wille. And that thing mai I noght fulfille, Bot if I scholde strengthe make; And that I dar noght undertake, Thogh I were as was Alisaundre, For therof mihte arise sklaundre; And certes that schal I do nevere, For in good feith yit hadde I levere In my simplesce forto die, Than worche such Supplantarie. 2420 Of otherwise I wol noght seie That if I founde a seker weie, I wolde as for conclusioun Worche after Supplantacioun, So hihe a love forto winne. Now, fader, if that this be Sinne, I am al redy to redresce The gilt of which I me confesse. Mi goode Sone, as of Supplant Thee thar noght drede tant ne quant, 2430 As for nothing that I have herd, Bot only that thou hast misferd Thenkende, and that me liketh noght, For godd beholt a mannes thoght. And if thou understode in soth In loves cause what it doth, A man to ben a Supplantour, Thou woldest for thin oghne honour Be double weie take kepe: Ferst for thin oghne astat to kepe, 2440 To be thiself so wel bethoght That thou supplanted were noght, And ek for worschipe of thi name Towardes othre do the same, And soffren every man have his. Bot natheles it was and is, That in a wayt at alle assaies Supplant of love in oure daies The lief fulofte for the levere Forsakth, and so it hath don evere. 2450 Ensample I finde therupon, At Troie how that Agamenon Supplantede the worthi knyht Achilles of that swete wiht, Which named was Brexei5da; And also of Crisei5da, Whom Troilus to love ches, Supplanted hath Diomedes. Of Geta and Amphitrion, That whilom weren bothe as on 2460 Of frendschipe and of compaignie, I rede how that Supplantarie In love, as it betidde tho, Beguiled hath on of hem tuo. For this Geta that I of meene, To whom the lusti faire Almeene Assured was be weie of love, Whan he best wende have ben above And sikerest of that he hadde, Cupido so the cause ladde, 2470 That whil he was out of the weie, Amphitrion hire love aweie Hath take, and in this forme he wroghte. Be nyhte unto the chambre he soghte, Wher that sche lay, and with a wyle He contrefeteth for the whyle The vois of Gete in such a wise, That made hire of hire bedd arise, Wenende that it were he, And let him in, and whan thei be 2480 Togedre abedde in armes faste, This Geta cam thanne ate laste Unto the Dore and seide, "Undo." And sche ansuerde and bad him go, And seide how that abedde al warm Hir lief lay naked in hir arm; Sche wende that it were soth. Lo, what Supplant of love doth: This Geta forth bejaped wente, And yit ne wiste he what it mente; 2490 Amphitrion him hath supplanted With sleyhte of love and hire enchaunted: And thus put every man out other, The Schip of love hath lost his Rother, So that he can no reson stiere. And forto speke of this matiere Touchende love and his Supplant, A tale which is acordant Unto thin Ere I thenke enforme. Now herkne, for this is the forme. 2500 Of thilke Cite chief of alle Which men the noble Rome calle, Er it was set to Cristes feith, Ther was, as the Cronique seith, An Emperour, the which it ladde In pes, that he no werres hadde: Ther was nothing desobeissant Which was to Rome appourtenant, Bot al was torned into reste. To some it thoghte for the beste, 2510 To some it thoghte nothing so, And that was only unto tho Whos herte stod upon knyhthode: Bot most of alle of his manhode The worthi Sone of themperour, Which wolde ben a werreiour, As he that was chivalerous Of worldes fame and desirous, Began his fadre to beseche That he the werres mihte seche, 2520 In strange Marches forto ride. His fader seide he scholde abide, And wolde granten him no leve: Bot he, which wolde noght beleve, A kniht of his to whom he triste, So that his fader nothing wiste, He tok and tolde him his corage, That he pourposeth a viage. If that fortune with him stonde, He seide how that he wolde fonde 2530 The grete See to passe unknowe, And there abyde for a throwe Upon the werres to travaile. And to this point withoute faile This kniht, whan he hath herd his lord, Is swore, and stant of his acord, As thei that bothe yonge were; So that in prive conseil there Thei ben assented forto wende. And therupon to make an ende, 2540 Tresor ynowh with hem thei token, And whan the time is best thei loken, That sodeinliche in a Galeie Fro Romelond thei wente here weie And londe upon that other side. The world fell so that ilke tide, Which evere hise happes hath diverse, The grete Soldan thanne of Perse Ayein the Caliphe of Egipte A werre, which that him beclipte, 2550 Hath in a Marche costeiant. And he, which was a poursuiant Worschipe of armes to atteigne, This Romein, let anon ordeigne, That he was redi everydel: And whan he was arraied wel Of every thing which him belongeth, Straght unto Kaire his weie he fongeth, Wher he the Soldan thanne fond, And axeth that withinne his lond 2560 He mihte him for the werre serve, As he which wolde his thonk deserve. The Soldan was riht glad with al, And wel the more in special Whan that he wiste he was Romein; Bot what was elles in certein, That mihte he wite be no weie. And thus the kniht of whom I seie Toward the Soldan is beleft, And in the Marches now and eft, 2570 Wher that the dedli werres were, He wroghte such knihthode there, That every man spak of him good. And thilke time so it stod, This mihti Soldan be his wif A Dowhter hath, that in this lif Men seiden ther was non so fair. Sche scholde ben hir fader hair, And was of yeres ripe ynowh: Hire beaute many an herte drowh 2580 To bowe unto that ilke lawe Fro which no lif mai be withdrawe, And that is love, whos nature Set lif and deth in aventure Of hem that knyhthode undertake. This lusti peine hath overtake The herte of this Romein so sore, That to knihthode more and more Prouesce avanceth his corage. Lich to the Leoun in his rage, 2590 Fro whom that alle bestes fle, Such was the knyht in his degre: Wher he was armed in the feld, Ther dorste non abide his scheld; Gret pris upon the werre he hadde. Bot sche which al the chance ladde, Fortune, schop the Marches so, That be thassent of bothe tuo, The Soldan and the Caliphe eke, Bataille upon a dai thei seke, 2600 Which was in such a wise set That lengere scholde it noght be let. Thei made hem stronge on every side, And whan it drowh toward the tide That the bataille scholde be, The Soldan in gret privete A goldring of his dowhter tok, And made hire swere upon a bok And ek upon the goddes alle, That if fortune so befalle 2610 In the bataille that he deie, That sche schal thilke man obeie And take him to hire housebonde, Which thilke same Ring to honde Hire scholde bringe after his deth. This hath sche swore, and forth he geth With al the pouer of his lond Unto the Marche, where he fond His enemy full embatailled. The Soldan hath the feld assailed: 2620 Thei that ben hardy sone assemblen, Wherof the dredfull hertes tremblen: That on sleth, and that other sterveth, Bot above all his pris deserveth This knihtly Romein; where he rod, His dedly swerd noman abod, Ayein the which was no defence; Egipte fledde in his presence, And thei of Perse upon the chace Poursuien: bot I not what grace 2630 Befell, an Arwe out of a bowe Al sodeinly that ilke throwe The Soldan smot, and ther he lay: The chace is left for thilke day, And he was bore into a tente. The Soldan sih how that it wente, And that he scholde algate die; And to this knyht of Romanie, As unto him whom he most triste, His Dowhter Ring, that non it wiste, 2640 He tok, and tolde him al the cas, Upon hire oth what tokne it was Of that sche scholde ben his wif. Whan this was seid, the hertes lif Of this Soldan departeth sone; And therupon, as was to done, The dede body wel and faire Thei carie til thei come at Kaire, Wher he was worthily begrave. The lordes, whiche as wolden save 2650 The Regne which was desolat, To bringe it into good astat A parlement thei sette anon. Now herkne what fell therupon: This yonge lord, this worthi kniht Of Rome, upon the same niht That thei amorwe trete scholde, Unto his Bacheler he tolde His conseil, and the Ring with al He scheweth, thurgh which that he schal, 2660 He seith, the kinges Dowhter wedde, For so the Ring was leid to wedde, He tolde, into hir fader hond, That with what man that sche it fond Sche scholde him take to hire lord. And this, he seith, stant of record, Bot noman wot who hath this Ring. This Bacheler upon this thing His Ere and his entente leide, And thoghte more thanne he seide, 2670 And feigneth with a fals visage That he was glad, bot his corage Was al set in an other wise. These olde Philosophres wise Thei writen upon thilke while, That he mai best a man beguile In whom the man hath most credence; And this befell in evidence Toward this yonge lord of Rome. His Bacheler, which hadde tome, 2680 Whan that his lord be nihte slepte, This Ring, the which his maister kepte, Out of his Pours awey he dede, And putte an other in the stede. Amorwe, whan the Court is set, The yonge ladi was forth fet, To whom the lordes don homage, And after that of Mariage Thei trete and axen of hir wille. Bot sche, which thoghte to fulfille 2690 Hire fader heste in this matiere, Seide openly, that men mai hiere, The charge which hire fader bad. Tho was this Lord of Rome glad And drowh toward his Pours anon, Bot al for noght, it was agon: His Bacheler it hath forthdrawe, And axeth ther upon the lawe That sche him holde covenant. The tokne was so sufficant 2700 That it ne mihte be forsake, And natheles his lord hath take Querelle ayein his oghne man; Bot for nothing that evere he can He mihte as thanne noght ben herd, So that his cleym is unansuerd, And he hath of his pourpos failed. This Bacheler was tho consailed And wedded, and of thilke Empire He was coroned Lord and Sire, 2710 And al the lond him hath received; Wherof his lord, which was deceived, A seknesse er the thridde morwe Conceived hath of dedly sorwe: And as he lay upon his deth, Therwhile him lasteth speche and breth, He sende for the worthieste Of al the lond and ek the beste, And tolde hem al the sothe tho, That he was Sone and Heir also 2720 Of themperour of grete Rome, And how that thei togedre come, This kniht and he; riht as it was, He tolde hem al the pleine cas, And for that he his conseil tolde, That other hath al that he wolde, And he hath failed of his mede: As for the good he takth non hiede, He seith, bot only of the love, Of which he wende have ben above. 2730 And therupon be lettre write He doth his fader forto wite Of al this matiere as it stod; And thanne with an hertly mod Unto the lordes he besoghte To telle his ladi how he boghte Hire love, of which an other gladeth; And with that word his hewe fadeth, And seide, "A dieu, my ladi swete." The lif hath lost his kindly hete, 2740 And he lay ded as eny ston; Wherof was sory manyon, Bot non of alle so as sche. This false knyht in his degree Arested was and put in hold: For openly whan it was told Of the tresoun which is befalle, Thurghout the lond thei seiden alle, If it be soth that men suppose, His oghne untrowthe him schal depose. 2750 And forto seche an evidence, With honour and gret reverence, Wherof they mihten knowe an ende, To themperour anon thei sende The lettre which his Sone wrot. And whan that he the sothe wot, To telle his sorwe is endeles, Bot yit in haste natheles Upon the tale which he herde His Stieward into Perse ferde 2760 With many a worthi Romein eke, His liege tretour forto seke; And whan thei thider come were, This kniht him hath confessed there How falsly that he hath him bore, Wherof his worthi lord was lore. Tho seiden some he scholde deie, Bot yit thei founden such a weie That he schal noght be ded in Perse; And thus the skiles ben diverse. 2770 Be cause that he was coroned, And that the lond was abandoned To him, althogh it were unriht, Ther is no peine for him diht; Bot to this point and to this ende Thei granten wel that he schal wende With the Romeins to Rome ayein. And thus acorded ful and plein, The qwike body with the dede With leve take forth thei lede, 2780 Wher that Supplant hath his juise. Wherof that thou thee miht avise Upon this enformacioun Touchende of Supplantacioun, That thou, my Sone, do noght so: And forto take hiede also What Supplant doth in other halve, Ther is noman can finde a salve Pleinly to helen such a Sor; It hath and schal ben everemor, 2790 Whan Pride is with Envie joint, He soffreth noman in good point, Wher that he mai his honour lette. And therupon if I schal sette Ensample, in holy cherche I finde How that Supplant is noght behinde; God wot if that it now be so: For in Cronique of time ago I finde a tale concordable Of Supplant, which that is no fable, 2800 In the manere as I schal telle, So as whilom the thinges felle. At Rome, as it hath ofte falle, The vicair general of alle Of hem that lieven Cristes feith His laste day, which non withseith, Hath schet as to the worldes ije, Whos name if I schal specefie, He hihte Pope Nicolas. And thus whan that he passed was, 2810 The Cardinals, that wolden save The forme of lawe, in the conclave Gon forto chese a newe Pope, And after that thei cowthe agrope Hath ech of hem seid his entente: Til ate laste thei assente Upon an holy clerk reclus, Which full was of gostli vertus; His pacience and his simplesse Hath set him into hih noblesse. 2820 Thus was he Pope canonized, With gret honour and intronized, And upon chance as it is falle, His name Celestin men calle; Which notefied was be bulle To holi cherche and to the fulle In alle londes magnified. Bot every worschipe is envied, And that was thilke time sene: For whan this Pope of whom I meene 2830 Was chose, and othre set beside, A Cardinal was thilke tide Which the papat longe hath desired And therupon gretli conspired; Bot whan he sih fortune is failed, For which long time he hath travailed, That ilke fyr which Ethna brenneth Thurghout his wofull herte renneth, Which is resembled to Envie, Wherof Supplant and tricherie 2840 Engendred is; and natheles He feigneth love, he feigneth pes, Outward he doth the reverence, Bot al withinne his conscience Thurgh fals ymaginacioun He thoghte Supplantacioun. And therupon a wonder wyle He wroghte: for at thilke whyle It fell so that of his lignage He hadde a clergoun of yong age, 2850 Whom he hath in his chambre affaited. This Cardinal his time hath waited, And with his wordes slyhe and queinte, The whiche he cowthe wysly peinte, He schop this clerk of which I telle Toward the Pope forto duelle, So that withinne his chambre anyht He lai, and was a prive wyht Toward the Pope on nyhtes tide. Mai noman fle that schal betide. 2860 This Cardinal, which thoghte guile, Upon a day whan he hath while This yonge clerc unto him tok, And made him swere upon a bok, And told him what his wille was. And forth withal a Trompe of bras He hath him take, and bad him this: "Thou schalt," he seide, "whan time is Awaite, and take riht good kepe, Whan that the Pope is fast aslepe 2870 And that non other man by nyh; And thanne that thou be so slyh Thurghout the Trompe into his Ere, Fro hevene as thogh a vois it were, To soune of such prolacioun That he his meditacioun Therof mai take and understonde, As thogh it were of goddes sonde. And in this wise thou schalt seie, That he do thilke astat aweie 2880 Of Pope, in which he stant honoured, So schal his Soule be socoured Of thilke worschipe ate laste In hevene which schal evere laste." This clerc, whan he hath herd the forme How he the Pope scholde enforme, Tok of the Cardinal his leve, And goth him hom, til it was Eve, And prively the trompe he hedde, Til that the Pope was abedde. 2890 And at the Midnyht, whan he knewh The Pope slepte, thanne he blewh Withinne his trompe thurgh the wal, And tolde in what manere he schal His Papacie leve, and take His ferste astat: and thus awake This holi Pope he made thries, Wherof diverse fantasies Upon his grete holinesse Withinne his herte he gan impresse. 2900 The Pope ful of innocence Conceiveth in his conscience That it is goddes wille he cesse; Bot in what wise he may relesse His hihe astat, that wot he noght. And thus withinne himself bethoght, He bar it stille in his memoire, Til he cam to the Consistoire; And there in presence of hem alle He axeth, if it so befalle 2910 That eny Pope cesse wolde, How that the lawe it soffre scholde. Thei seten alle stille and herde, Was non which to the point ansuerde, For to what pourpos that it mente Ther was noman knew his entente, Bot only he which schop the guile. This Cardinal the same while Al openly with wordes pleine Seith, if the Pope wolde ordeigne 2920 That ther be such a lawe wroght, Than mihte he cesse, and elles noght. And as he seide, don it was; The Pope anon upon the cas Of his Papal Autorite Hath mad and yove the decre: And whan that lawe was confermed In due forme and al affermed, This innocent, which was deceived, His Papacie anon hath weyved, 2930 Renounced and resigned eke. That other was nothing to seke, Bot undernethe such a jape He hath so for himselve schape, That how as evere it him beseme, The Mitre with the Diademe He hath thurgh Supplantacion: And in his confirmacion Upon the fortune of his grace His name is cleped Boneface. 2940 Under the viser of Envie, Lo, thus was hid the tricherie, Which hath beguiled manyon. Bot such conseil ther mai be non, With treson whan it is conspired, That it nys lich the Sparke fyred Up in the Rof, which for a throwe Lith hidd, til whan the wyndes blowe It blaseth out on every side. This Bonefas, which can noght hyde 2950 The tricherie of his Supplant, Hath openly mad his avant How he the Papacie hath wonne. Bot thing which is with wrong begonne Mai nevere stonde wel at ende; Wher Pride schal the bowe bende, He schet fulofte out of the weie: And thus the Pope of whom I seie, Whan that he stod on hih the whiel, He can noght soffre himself be wel. 2960 Envie, which is loveles, And Pride, which is laweles, With such tempeste made him erre, That charite goth out of herre: So that upon misgovernance Ayein Lowyz the king of France He tok querelle of his oultrage, And seide he scholde don hommage Unto the cherche bodily. Bot he, that wiste nothing why 2970 He scholde do so gret servise After the world in such a wise, Withstod the wrong of that demande; For noght the Pope mai comande The king wol noght the Pope obeie. This Pope tho be alle weie That he mai worche of violence Hath sent the bulle of his sentence With cursinge and with enterdit. The king upon this wrongful plyt, 2980 To kepe his regne fro servage, Conseiled was of his Barnage That miht with miht schal be withstonde. Thus was the cause take on honde, And seiden that the Papacie Thei wolde honoure and magnefie In al that evere is spirital; Bot thilke Pride temporal Of Boneface in his persone, Ayein that ilke wrong al one 2990 Thei wolde stonden in debat: And thus the man and noght the stat The Frensche schopen be her miht To grieve. And fell ther was a kniht, Sire Guilliam de Langharet, Which was upon this cause set; And therupon he tok a route Of men of Armes and rod oute, So longe and in a wayt he lay, That he aspide upon a day 3000 The Pope was at Avinoun, And scholde ryde out of the toun Unto Pontsorge, the which is A Castell in Provence of his. Upon the weie and as he rod, This kniht, which hoved and abod Embuisshed upon horse bak, Al sodeinliche upon him brak And hath him be the bridel sesed, And seide: "O thou, which hast desesed 3010 The Court of France be thi wrong, Now schalt thou singe an other song: Thin enterdit and thi sentence Ayein thin oghne conscience Hierafter thou schalt fiele and grope. We pleigne noght ayein the Pope, For thilke name is honourable, Bot thou, which hast be deceivable And tricherous in al thi werk, Thou Bonefas, thou proude clerk, 3020 Misledere of the Papacie, Thi false bodi schal abye And soffre that it hath deserved." Lo, thus the Supplantour was served; For thei him ladden into France And setten him to his penance Withinne a tour in harde bondes, Wher he for hunger bothe hise hondes Eet of and deide, god wot how: Of whom the wrytinge is yit now 3030 Registred, as a man mai hiere, Which spekth and seith in this manere: Thin entre lich the fox was slyh, Thi regne also with pride on hih Was lich the Leon in his rage; Bot ate laste of thi passage Thi deth was to the houndes like. Such is the lettre of his Cronique Proclamed in the Court of Rome, Wherof the wise ensample nome. 3040 And yit, als ferforth as I dar, I rede alle othre men be war, And that thei loke wel algate That non his oghne astat translate Of holi cherche in no degree Be fraude ne soubtilite: For thilke honour which Aaron tok Schal non receive, as seith the bok, Bot he be cleped as he was. What I schal thenken in this cas 3050 Of that I hiere now aday, I not: bot he which can and may, Be reson bothe and be nature The help of every mannes cure, He kepe Simon fro the folde. For Joachim thilke Abbot tolde How suche daies scholden falle, That comunliche in places alle The Chapmen of such mercerie With fraude and with Supplantarie 3060 So manye scholden beie and selle, That he ne may for schame telle So foul a Senne in mannes Ere. Bot god forbiede that it were In oure daies that he seith: For if the Clerc beware his feith In chapmanhod at such a feire, The remenant mot nede empeire Of al that to the world belongeth; For whan that holi cherche wrongeth, 3070 I not what other thing schal rihte. And natheles at mannes sihte Envie forto be preferred Hath conscience so differred, That noman loketh to the vice Which is the Moder of malice, And that is thilke false Envie, Which causeth many a tricherie; For wher he may an other se That is mor gracious than he, 3080 It schal noght stonden in his miht Bot if he hindre such a wiht: And that is welnyh overal, This vice is now so general. Envie thilke unhapp indrowh, Whan Joab be deceipte slowh Abner, for drede he scholde be With king David such as was he. And thurgh Envie also it fell Of thilke false Achitofell, 3090 For his conseil was noght achieved, Bot that he sih Cusy believed With Absolon and him forsake, He heng himself upon a stake. Senec witnesseth openly How that Envie proprely Is of the Court the comun wenche, And halt taverne forto schenche That drink which makth the herte brenne, And doth the wit aboute renne, 3100 Be every weie to compasse How that he mihte alle othre passe, As he which thurgh unkindeschipe Envieth every felaschipe; So that thou miht wel knowe and se, Ther is no vice such as he, Ferst toward godd abhominable, And to mankinde unprofitable: And that be wordes bot a fewe I schal be reson prove and schewe. 3110 Envie if that I schal descrive, He is noght schaply forto wyve In Erthe among the wommen hiere; For ther is in him no matiere Wherof he mihte do plesance. Ferst for his hevy continance Of that he semeth evere unglad, He is noght able to ben had; And ek he brenneth so withinne, That kinde mai no profit winne, 3120 Wherof he scholde his love plese: For thilke blod which scholde have ese To regne among the moiste veines, Is drye of thilke unkendeli peines Thurgh whiche Envie is fyred ay. And thus be reson prove I may That toward love Envie is noght; And otherwise if it be soght, Upon what side as evere it falle, It is the werste vice of alle, 3130 Which of himself hath most malice. For understond that every vice Som cause hath, wherof it groweth, Bot of Envie noman knoweth Fro whenne he cam bot out of helle. For thus the wise clerkes telle, That no spirit bot of malice Be weie of kinde upon a vice Is tempted, and be such a weie Envie hath kinde put aweie 3140 And of malice hath his steringe, Wherof he makth his bakbitinge, And is himself therof desesed. So mai ther be no kinde plesed; For ay the mor that he envieth, The more ayein himself he plieth. Thus stant Envie in good espeir To ben himself the develes heir, As he which is his nexte liche And forthest fro the heveneriche, 3150 For there mai he nevere wone. Forthi, my goode diere Sone, If thou wolt finde a siker weie To love, put Envie aweie. Min holy fader, reson wolde That I this vice eschuie scholde: Bot yit to strengthe mi corage, If that ye wolde in avantage Therof sette a recoverir, It were tome a gret desir, 3160 That I this vice mihte flee. Nou understond, my Sone, and se, Ther is phisique for the seke, And vertus for the vices eke. Who that the vices wolde eschuie, He mot be resoun thanne suie The vertus; for be thilke weie He mai the vices don aweie, For thei togedre mai noght duelle: For as the water of a welle 3170 Of fyr abateth the malice, Riht so vertu fordoth the vice. Ayein Envie is Charite, Which is the Moder of Pite, That makth a mannes herte tendre, That it mai no malice engendre In him that is enclin therto. For his corage is tempred so, That thogh he mihte himself relieve, Yit wolde he noght an other grieve, 3180 Bot rather forto do plesance He berth himselven the grevance, So fain he wolde an other ese. Wherof, mi Sone, for thin ese Now herkne a tale which I rede, And understond it wel, I rede. Among the bokes of latin I finde write of Constantin The worthi Emperour of Rome, Suche infortunes to him come, 3190 Whan he was in his lusti age, The lepre cawhte in his visage And so forth overal aboute, That he ne mihte ryden oute: So lefte he bothe Schield and spere, As he that mihte him noght bestere, And hield him in his chambre clos. Thurgh al the world the fame aros, The grete clerkes ben asent And come at his comandement 3200 To trete upon this lordes hele. So longe thei togedre dele, That thei upon this medicine Apointen hem, and determine That in the maner as it stod Thei wolde him bathe in childes blod Withinne sevene wynter age: For, as thei sein, that scholde assuage The lepre and al the violence, Which that thei knewe of Accidence 3210 And noght be weie of kinde is falle. And therto thei acorden alle As for final conclusioun, And tolden here opinioun To themperour: and he anon His conseil tok, and therupon With lettres and with seales oute Thei sende in every lond aboute The yonge children forto seche, Whos blod, thei seiden, schal be leche 3220 For themperoures maladie. Ther was ynowh to wepe and crie Among the Modres, whan thei herde Hou wofully this cause ferde, Bot natheles thei moten bowe; And thus wommen ther come ynowhe With children soukende on the Tete. Tho was ther manye teres lete, Bot were hem lieve or were hem lothe, The wommen and the children bothe 3230 Into the Paleis forth be broght With many a sory hertes thoght Of hem whiche of here bodi bore The children hadde, and so forlore Withinne a while scholden se. The Modres wepe in here degre, And manye of hem aswoune falle, The yonge babes criden alle: This noyse aros, the lord it herde, And loked out, and how it ferde 3240 He sih, and as who seith abreide Out of his slep, and thus he seide: "O thou divine pourveance, Which every man in the balance Of kinde hast formed to be liche, The povere is bore as is the riche And deieth in the same wise, Upon the fol, upon the wise Siknesse and hele entrecomune; Mai non eschuie that fortune 3250 Which kinde hath in hire lawe set; Hire strengthe and beaute ben beset To every man aliche fre, That sche preferreth no degre As in the disposicioun Of bodili complexioun: And ek of Soule resonable The povere child is bore als able To vertu as the kinges Sone; For every man his oghne wone 3260 After the lust of his assay The vice or vertu chese may. Thus stonden alle men franchised, Bot in astat thei ben divised; To some worschipe and richesse, To some poverte and distresse, On lordeth and an other serveth; Bot yit as every man deserveth The world yifth noght his yiftes hiere. Bot certes he hath gret matiere 3270 To ben of good condicioun, Which hath in his subjeccioun The men that ben of his semblance." And ek he tok a remembrance How he that made lawe of kinde Wolde every man to lawe binde, And bad a man, such as he wolde Toward himself, riht such he scholde Toward an other don also. And thus this worthi lord as tho 3280 Sette in balance his oghne astat And with himself stod in debat, And thoghte hou that it was noght good To se so mochel mannes blod Be spilt for cause of him alone. He sih also the grete mone, Of that the Modres were unglade, And of the wo the children made, Wherof that al his herte tendreth, And such pite withinne engendreth, 3290 That him was levere forto chese His oghne bodi forto lese, Than se so gret a moerdre wroght Upon the blod which gulteth noght. Thus for the pite which he tok Alle othre leches he forsok, And put him out of aventure Al only into goddes cure; And seith, "Who that woll maister be, He mot be servant to pite." 3300 So ferforth he was overcome With charite, that he hath nome His conseil and hise officers, And bad unto hise tresorers That thei his tresour al aboute Departe among the povere route Of wommen and of children bothe, Wherof thei mihte hem fede and clothe And saufli tornen hom ayein Withoute lost of eny grein. 3310 Thurgh charite thus he despendeth His good, wherof that he amendeth The povere poeple, and contrevaileth The harm, that he hem so travaileth: And thus the woful nyhtes sorwe To joie is torned on the morwe; Al was thonkinge, al was blessinge, Which erst was wepinge and cursinge; Thes wommen gon hom glade ynowh, Echon for joie on other lowh, 3320 And preiden for this lordes hele, Which hath relessed the querele, And hath his oghne will forsake In charite for goddes sake. Bot now hierafter thou schalt hiere What god hath wroght in this matiere, As he which doth al equite. To him that wroghte charite He was ayeinward charitous, And to pite he was pitous: 3330 For it was nevere knowe yit That charite goth unaquit. The nyht, whan he was leid to slepe, The hihe god, which wolde him kepe, Seint Peter and seint Poul him sende, Be whom he wolde his lepre amende. Thei tuo to him slepende appiere Fro god, and seide in this manere: "O Constantin, for thou hast served Pite, thou hast pite deserved: 3340 Forthi thou schalt such pite have That god thurgh pite woll thee save. So schalt thou double hele finde, Ferst for thi bodiliche kinde, And for thi wofull Soule also, Thou schalt ben hol of bothe tuo. And for thou schalt thee noght despeire, Thi lepre schal nomore empeire Til thou wolt sende therupon Unto the Mont of Celion, 3350 Wher that Silvestre and his clergie Togedre duelle in compaignie For drede of thee, which many day Hast ben a fo to Cristes lay, And hast destruid to mochel schame The prechours of his holy name. Bot now thou hast somdiel appesed Thi god, and with good dede plesed, That thou thi pite hast bewared Upon the blod which thou hast spared. 3360 Forthi to thi salvacion Thou schalt have enformacioun, Such as Silvestre schal the teche: The nedeth of non other leche." This Emperour, which al this herde, "Grant merci lordes," he ansuerde, "I wol do so as ye me seie. Bot of o thing I wolde preie: What schal I telle unto Silvestre Or of youre name or of youre estre?" 3370 And thei him tolden what thei hihte, And forth withal out of his sihte Thei passen up into the hevene. And he awok out of his swevene, And clepeth, and men come anon: He tolde his drem, and therupon In such a wise as he hem telleth The Mont wher that Silvestre duelleth Thei have in alle haste soght, And founde he was and with hem broght 3380 To themperour, which to him tolde His swevene and elles what he wolde. And whan Silvestre hath herd the king, He was riht joiful of this thing, And him began with al his wit To techen upon holi writ Ferst how mankinde was forlore, And how the hihe god therfore His Sone sende from above, Which bore was for mannes love, 3390 And after of his oghne chois He tok his deth upon the crois; And how in grave he was beloke, And how that he hath helle broke, And tok hem out that were him lieve; And forto make ous full believe That he was verrai goddes Sone, Ayein the kinde of mannes wone Fro dethe he ros the thridde day, And whanne he wolde, as he wel may, 3400 He styh up to his fader evene With fleissh and blod into the hevene; And riht so in the same forme In fleissh and blod he schal reforme, Whan time comth, the qwike and dede At thilke woful dai of drede, Where every man schal take his dom, Als wel the Maister as the grom. The mihti kinges retenue That dai may stonde of no value 3410 With worldes strengthe to defende; For every man mot thanne entende To stonde upon his oghne dedes And leve alle othre mennes nedes. That dai mai no consail availe, The pledour and the plee schal faile, The sentence of that ilke day Mai non appell sette in delay; Ther mai no gold the Jugge plie, That he ne schal the sothe trie 3420 And setten every man upriht, Als wel the plowman as the kniht: The lewed man, the grete clerk Schal stonde upon his oghne werk, And such as he is founde tho, Such schal he be for everemo. Ther mai no peine be relessed, Ther mai no joie ben encressed, Bot endeles, as thei have do, He schal receive on of the tuo. 3430 And thus Silvestre with his sawe The ground of al the newe lawe With gret devocion he precheth, Fro point to point and pleinly techeth Unto this hethen Emperour; And seith, the hihe creatour Hath underfonge his charite, Of that he wroghte such pite, Whan he the children hadde on honde. Thus whan this lord hath understonde 3440 Of al this thing how that it ferde, Unto Silvestre he thanne ansuerde, With al his hole herte and seith That he is redi to the feith. And so the vessel which for blod Was mad, Silvestre, ther it stod, With clene water of the welle In alle haste he let do felle, And sette Constantin therinne Al naked up unto the chinne. 3450 And in the while it was begunne, A liht, as thogh it were a Sunne, Fro hevene into the place com Wher that he tok his cristendom; And evere among the holi tales Lich as thei weren fisshes skales Ther fellen from him now and eft, Til that ther was nothing beleft Of al his grete maladie. For he that wolde him purefie, 3460 The hihe god hath mad him clene, So that ther lefte nothing sene; He hath him clensed bothe tuo, The bodi and the Soule also. Tho knew this Emperour in dede That Cristes feith was forto drede, And sende anon hise lettres oute And let do crien al aboute, Up peine of deth that noman weyve That he baptesme ne receive: 3470 After his Moder qweene Heleine He sende, and so betwen hem tweine Thei treten, that the Cite all Was cristned, and sche forth withall. This Emperour, which hele hath founde, Withinne Rome anon let founde Tuo cherches, which he dede make For Peter and for Poules sake, Of whom he hadde avisioun; And yaf therto possessioun 3480 Of lordschipe and of worldes good. Bot how so that his will was good Toward the Pope and his Franchise, Yit hath it proved other wise, To se the worchinge of the dede: For in Cronique this I rede; Anon as he hath mad the yifte, A vois was herd on hih the lifte, Of which al Rome was adrad, And seith: "To day is venym schad 3490 In holi cherche of temporal, Which medleth with the spirital." And hou it stant of that degree Yit mai a man the sothe se: God mai amende it, whan he wile, I can ther to non other skile. Bot forto go ther I began, How charite mai helpe a man To bothe worldes, I have seid: And if thou have an Ere leid, 3500 Mi Sone, thou miht understonde, If charite be take on honde, Ther folweth after mochel grace. Forthi, if that thou wolt pourchace How that thou miht Envie flee, Aqueinte thee with charite, Which is the vertu sovereine. Mi fader, I schal do my peine: For this ensample which ye tolde With al myn herte I have withholde, 3510 So that I schal for everemore Eschuie Envie wel the more: And that I have er this misdo, Yif me my penance er I go. And over that to mi matiere Of schrifte, why we sitten hiere In privete betwen ous tweie, Now axeth what ther is, I preie. Mi goode Sone, and for thi lore I woll thee telle what is more, 3520 So that thou schalt the vices knowe: For whan thei be to thee full knowe, Thou miht hem wel the betre eschuie. And for this cause I thenke suie The forme bothe and the matiere, As now suiende thou schalt hiere Which vice stant next after this: And whan thou wost how that it is, As thou schalt hiere me devise, Thow miht thiself the betre avise. 3530 Explicit Liber Secundus Incipit Liber Tercius Ira suis paribus est par furiis Acherontis, Quo furor ad tempus nil pietatis habet. Ira malencolicos animos perturbat, vt equo Iure sui pondus nulla statera tenet. Omnibus in causis grauat Ira, set inter amantes, Illa magis facili sorte grauamen agit: Est vbi vir discors leuiterque repugnat amori, Sepe loco ludi fletus ad ora venit. If thou the vices lest to knowe, Mi Sone, it hath noght ben unknowe, Fro ferst that men the swerdes grounde, That ther nis on upon this grounde, A vice forein fro the lawe, Wherof that many a good felawe Hath be distraght be sodein chance; And yit to kinde no plesance It doth, bot wher he most achieveth His pourpos, most to kinde he grieveth, 10 As he which out of conscience Is enemy to pacience: And is be name on of the Sevene, Which ofte hath set this world unevene, And cleped is the cruel Ire, Whos herte is everemore on fyre To speke amis and to do bothe, For his servantz ben evere wrothe. Mi goode fader, tell me this: What thing is Ire? Sone, it is 20 That in oure englissh Wrathe is hote, Which hath hise wordes ay so hote, That all a mannes pacience Is fyred of the violence. For he with him hath evere fyve Servantz that helpen him to stryve: The ferst of hem Malencolie Is cleped, which in compaignie An hundred times in an houre Wol as an angri beste loure, 30 And noman wot the cause why. Mi Sone, schrif thee now forthi: Hast thou be Malencolien? Ye, fader, be seint Julien, Bot I untrewe wordes use, I mai me noght therof excuse: And al makth love, wel I wot, Of which myn herte is evere hot, So that I brenne as doth a glede For Wrathe that I mai noght spede. 40 And thus fulofte a day for noght Save onlich of myn oghne thoght I am so with miselven wroth, That how so that the game goth With othre men, I am noght glad; Bot I am wel the more unglad, For that is othre mennes game It torneth me to pure grame. Thus am I with miself oppressed Of thoght, the which I have impressed, 50 That al wakende I dreme and meete That I with hire al one meete And preie hire of som good ansuere: Bot for sche wol noght gladly swere, Sche seith me nay withouten oth; And thus wexe I withinne wroth, That outward I am al affraied, And so distempred and esmaied. A thousand times on a day Ther souneth in myn Eres nay, 60 The which sche seide me tofore: Thus be my wittes as forlore; And namely whan I beginne To rekne with miself withinne How many yeres ben agon, Siththe I have trewly loved on And nevere tok of other hede, And evere aliche fer to spede I am, the more I with hir dele, So that myn happ and al myn hele 70 Me thenkth is ay the leng the ferre, That bringth my gladschip out of herre, Wherof my wittes ben empeired, And I, as who seith, al despeired. For finaly, whan that I muse And thenke how sche me wol refuse, I am with anger so bestad, For al this world mihte I be glad: And for the while that it lasteth Al up so doun my joie it casteth, 80 And ay the furthere that I be, Whan I ne may my ladi se, The more I am redy to wraththe, That for the touchinge of a laththe Or for the torninge of a stree I wode as doth the wylde Se, And am so malencolious, That ther nys servant in myn hous Ne non of tho that ben aboute, That ech of hem ne stant in doute, 90 And wenen that I scholde rave For Anger that thei se me have; And so thei wondre more and lasse, Til that thei sen it overpasse. Bot, fader, if it so betide, That I aproche at eny tide The place wher my ladi is, And thanne that hire like ywiss To speke a goodli word untome, For al the gold that is in Rome 100 Ne cowthe I after that be wroth, Bot al myn Anger overgoth; So glad I am of the presence Of hire, that I all offence Foryete, as thogh it were noght, So overgladed is my thoght. And natheles, the soth to telle, Ayeinward if it so befelle That I at thilke time sihe On me that sche miscaste hire yhe, 110 Or that sche liste noght to loke, And I therof good hiede toke, Anon into my ferste astat I torne, and am with al so mat, That evere it is aliche wicke. And thus myn hand ayein the pricke I hurte and have do many day, And go so forth as I go may, Fulofte bitinge on my lippe, And make unto miself a whippe. 120 With which in many a chele and hete Mi wofull herte is so tobete, That all my wittes ben unsofte And I am wroth, I not how ofte; And al it is Malencolie, Which groweth of the fantasie Of love, that me wol noght loute: So bere I forth an angri snoute Ful manye times in a yer. Bot, fader, now ye sitten hier 130 In loves stede, I yow beseche, That som ensample ye me teche, Wherof I mai miself appese. Mi Sone, for thin hertes ese I schal fulfille thi preiere, So that thou miht the betre lere What mischief that this vice stereth, Which in his Anger noght forbereth, Wherof that after him forthenketh, Whan he is sobre and that he thenketh 140 Upon the folie of his dede; And of this point a tale I rede. Ther was a king which Eolus Was hote, and it befell him thus, That he tuo children hadde faire, The Sone cleped was Machaire, The dowhter ek Canace hihte. Be daie bothe and ek be nyhte, Whil thei be yonge, of comun wone In chambre thei togedre wone, 150 And as thei scholden pleide hem ofte, Til thei be growen up alofte Into the youthe of lusti age, Whan kinde assaileth the corage With love and doth him forto bowe, That he no reson can allowe, Bot halt the lawes of nature: For whom that love hath under cure, As he is blind himself, riht so He makth his client blind also. 160 In such manere as I you telle As thei al day togedre duelle, This brother mihte it noght asterte That he with al his hole herte His love upon his Soster caste: And so it fell hem ate laste, That this Machaire with Canace Whan thei were in a prive place, Cupide bad hem ferst to kesse, And after sche which is Maistresse 170 In kinde and techeth every lif Withoute lawe positif, Of which sche takth nomaner charge, Bot kepth hire lawes al at large, Nature, tok hem into lore And tawht hem so, that overmore Sche hath hem in such wise daunted, That thei were, as who seith, enchaunted. And as the blinde an other ledeth And til thei falle nothing dredeth, 180 Riht so thei hadde non insihte; Bot as the bridd which wole alihte And seth the mete and noght the net, Which in deceipte of him is set, This yonge folk no peril sihe, Bot that was likinge in here yhe, So that thei felle upon the chance Where witt hath lore his remembrance. So longe thei togedre assemble, The wombe aros, and sche gan tremble, 190 And hield hire in hire chambre clos For drede it scholde be disclos And come to hire fader Ere: Wherof the Sone hadde also fere, And feigneth cause forto ryde; For longe dorste he noght abyde, In aunter if men wolde sein That he his Soster hath forlein: For yit sche hadde it noght beknowe Whos was the child at thilke throwe. 200 Machaire goth, Canace abit, The which was noght delivered yit, Bot riht sone after that sche was. Now lest and herkne a woful cas. The sothe, which mai noght ben hid, Was ate laste knowe and kid Unto the king, how that it stod. And whan that he it understod, Anon into Malencolie, As thogh it were a frenesie, 210 He fell, as he which nothing cowthe How maistrefull love is in yowthe: And for he was to love strange, He wolde noght his herte change To be benigne and favorable To love, bot unmerciable Betwen the wawe of wod and wroth Into his dowhtres chambre he goth, And sih the child was late bore, Wherof he hath hise othes swore 220 That sche it schal ful sore abye. And sche began merci to crie, Upon hire bare knes and preide, And to hire fader thus sche seide: "Ha mercy! fader, thenk I am Thi child, and of thi blod I cam. That I misdede yowthe it made, And in the flodes bad me wade, Wher that I sih no peril tho: Bot now it is befalle so, 230 Merci, my fader, do no wreche!" And with that word sche loste speche And fell doun swounende at his fot, As sche for sorwe nedes mot. Bot his horrible crualte Ther mihte attempre no pite: Out of hire chambre forth he wente Al full of wraththe in his entente, And tok the conseil in his herte That sche schal noght the deth asterte, 240 As he which Malencolien Of pacience hath no lien, Wherof the wraththe he mai restreigne. And in this wilde wode peine, Whanne al his resoun was untame, A kniht he clepeth be his name, And tok him as be weie of sonde A naked swerd to bere on honde, And seide him that he scholde go And telle unto his dowhter so 250 In the manere as he him bad, How sche that scharpe swerdes blad Receive scholde and do withal So as sche wot wherto it schal. Forth in message goth this kniht Unto this wofull yonge wiht, This scharpe swerd to hire he tok: Wherof that al hire bodi qwok, For wel sche wiste what it mente, And that it was to thilke entente 260 That sche hireselven scholde slee. And to the kniht sche seide: "Yee, Now that I wot my fadres wille, That I schal in this wise spille, I wole obeie me therto, And as he wole it schal be do. Bot now this thing mai be non other, I wole a lettre unto mi brother, So as my fieble hand may wryte, With al my wofull herte endite." 270 Sche tok a Penne on honde tho, Fro point to point and al the wo, Als ferforth as hireself it wot, Unto hire dedly frend sche wrot, And tolde how that hire fader grace Sche mihte for nothing pourchace; And overthat, as thou schalt hiere, Sche wrot and seide in this manere: "O thou my sorwe and my gladnesse, O thou myn hele and my siknesse, 280 O my wanhope and al my trust, O my desese and al my lust, O thou my wele, o thou my wo, O thou my frend, o thou my fo, O thou my love, o thou myn hate, For thee mot I be ded algate. Thilke ende may I noght asterte, And yit with al myn hole herte, Whil that me lasteth eny breth, I wol the love into my deth. 290 Bot of o thing I schal thee preie, If that my litel Sone deie, Let him be beried in my grave Beside me, so schalt thou have Upon ous bothe remembrance. For thus it stant of my grevance; Now at this time, as thou schalt wite, With teres and with enke write This lettre I have in cares colde: In my riht hond my Penne I holde, 300 And in my left the swerd I kepe, And in my barm ther lith to wepe Thi child and myn, which sobbeth faste. Now am I come unto my laste: Fare wel, for I schal sone deie, And thenk how I thi love abeie." The pomel of the swerd to grounde Sche sette, and with the point a wounde Thurghout hire herte anon sche made, And forth with that al pale and fade 310 Sche fell doun ded fro ther sche stod. The child lay bathende in hire blod Out rolled fro the moder barm, And for the blod was hot and warm, He basketh him aboute thrinne. Ther was no bote forto winne, For he, which can no pite knowe, The king cam in the same throwe, And sih how that his dowhter dieth And how this Babe al blody crieth; 320 Bot al that mihte him noght suffise, That he ne bad to do juise Upon the child, and bere him oute, And seche in the Forest aboute Som wilde place, what it were, To caste him out of honde there, So that som best him mai devoure, Where as noman him schal socoure. Al that he bad was don in dede: Ha, who herde evere singe or rede 330 Of such a thing as that was do? Bot he which ladde his wraththe so Hath knowe of love bot a lite; Bot for al that he was to wyte, Thurgh his sodein Malencolie To do so gret a felonie. Forthi, my Sone, how so it stonde, Be this cas thou miht understonde That if thou evere in cause of love Schalt deme, and thou be so above 340 That thou miht lede it at thi wille, Let nevere thurgh thi Wraththe spille Which every kinde scholde save. For it sit every man to have Reward to love and to his miht, Ayein whos strengthe mai no wiht: And siththe an herte is so constreigned, The reddour oghte be restreigned To him that mai no bet aweie, Whan he mot to nature obeie. 350 For it is seid thus overal, That nedes mot that nede schal Of that a lif doth after kinde, Wherof he mai no bote finde. What nature hath set in hir lawe Ther mai no mannes miht withdrawe, And who that worcheth therayein, Fulofte time it hath be sein, Ther hath befalle gret vengance, Wherof I finde a remembrance. 360 Ovide after the time tho Tolde an ensample and seide so, How that whilom Tiresias, As he walkende goth per cas, Upon an hih Montaine he sih Tuo Serpentz in his weie nyh, And thei, so as nature hem tawhte, Assembled were, and he tho cawhte A yerde which he bar on honde, And thoghte that he wolde fonde 370 To letten hem, and smot hem bothe: Wherof the goddes weren wrothe; And for he hath destourbed kinde And was so to nature unkinde, Unkindeliche he was transformed, That he which erst a man was formed Into a womman was forschape. That was to him an angri jape; Bot for that he with Angre wroghte, Hise Angres angreliche he boghte. 380 Lo thus, my Sone, Ovide hath write, Wherof thou miht be reson wite, More is a man than such a beste: So mihte it nevere ben honeste A man to wraththen him to sore Of that an other doth the lore Of kinde, in which is no malice, Bot only that it is a vice: And thogh a man be resonable, Yit after kinde he is menable 390 To love, wher he wole or non. Thenk thou, my Sone, therupon And do Malencolie aweie; For love hath evere his lust to pleie, As he which wolde no lif grieve. Mi fader, that I mai wel lieve; Al that ye tellen it is skile: Let every man love as he wile, Be so it be noght my ladi, For I schal noght be wroth therby. 400 Bot that I wraththe and fare amis, Al one upon miself it is, That I with bothe love and kinde Am so bestad, that I can finde No weie how I it mai asterte: Which stant upon myn oghne herte And toucheth to non other lif, Save only to that swete wif For whom, bot if it be amended, Mi glade daies ben despended, 410 That I miself schal noght forbere The Wraththe which that I now bere, For therof is non other leche. Now axeth forth, I yow beseche, Of Wraththe if ther oght elles is, Wherof to schryve. Sone, yis. Of Wraththe the secounde is Cheste, Which hath the wyndes of tempeste To kepe, and many a sodein blast He bloweth, wherof ben agast 420 Thei that desiren pes and reste. He is that ilke ungoodlieste Which many a lusti love hath twinned; For he berth evere his mowth unpinned, So that his lippes ben unloke And his corage is al tobroke, That every thing which he can telle, It springeth up as doth a welle, Which mai non of his stremes hyde, Bot renneth out on every syde. 430 So buillen up the foule sawes That Cheste wot of his felawes: For as a Sive kepeth Ale, Riht so can Cheste kepe a tale; Al that he wot he wol desclose, And speke er eny man oppose. As a Cite withoute wal, Wher men mai gon out overal Withouten eny resistence, So with his croked eloquence 440 He spekth al that he wot withinne: Wherof men lese mor than winne, For ofte time of his chidinge He bringth to house such tidinge, That makth werre ate beddeshed. He is the levein of the bred, Which soureth al the past aboute: Men oghte wel such on to doute, For evere his bowe is redi bent, And whom he hit I telle him schent, 450 If he mai perce him with his tunge. And ek so lowde his belle is runge, That of the noise and of the soun Men feeren hem in al the toun Welmore than thei don of thonder. For that is cause of more wonder; For with the wyndes whiche he bloweth Fulofte sythe he overthroweth The Cites and the policie, That I have herd the poeple crie, 460 And echon seide in his degre, "Ha wicke tunge, wo thee be!" For men sein that the harde bon, Althogh himselven have non, A tunge brekth it al to pieces. He hath so manye sondri spieces Of vice, that I mai noght wel Descrive hem be a thousendel: Bot whan that he to Cheste falleth, Ful many a wonder thing befalleth, 470 For he ne can nothing forbere. Now tell me, Sone, thin ansuere, If it hath evere so betidd, That thou at eny time hast chidd Toward thi love. Fader, nay: Such Cheste yit unto this day Ne made I nevere, god forbede: For er I sunge such a crede, I hadde levere to be lewed; For thanne were I al beschrewed 480 And worthi to be put abak With al the sorwe upon my bak That eny man ordeigne cowthe. Bot I spak nevere yit be mowthe That unto Cheste mihte touche, And that I durste riht wel vouche Upon hirself as for witnesse; For I wot, of hir gentilesse That sche me wolde wel excuse, That I no suche thinges use. 490 And if it scholde so betide That I algates moste chide, It myhte noght be to my love: For so yit was I nevere above, For al this wyde world to winne That I dorste eny word beginne, Be which sche mihte have ben amoeved And I of Cheste also reproeved. Bot rathere, if it mihte hir like, The beste wordes wolde I pike 500 Whiche I cowthe in myn herte chese, And serve hem forth in stede of chese, For that is helplich to defie; And so wolde I my wordes plie, That mihten Wraththe and Cheste avale With tellinge of my softe tale. Thus dar I make a foreward, That nevere unto my ladiward Yit spak I word in such a wise, Wherof that Cheste scholde arise. 510 This seie I noght, that I fulofte Ne have, whanne I spak most softe, Per cas seid more thanne ynowh; Bot so wel halt noman the plowh That he ne balketh otherwhile, Ne so wel can noman affile His tunge, that som time in rape Him mai som liht word overscape, And yit ne meneth he no Cheste. Bot that I have ayein hir heste 520 Fulofte spoke, I am beknowe; And how my will is, that ye knowe: For whan my time comth aboute, That I dar speke and seie al oute Mi longe love, of which sche wot That evere in on aliche hot Me grieveth, thanne al my desese I telle, and though it hir desplese, I speke it forth and noght ne leve: And thogh it be beside hire leve, 530 I hope and trowe natheles That I do noght ayein the pes; For thogh I telle hire al my thoght, Sche wot wel that I chyde noght. Men mai the hihe god beseche, And he wol hiere a mannes speche And be noght wroth of that he seith; So yifth it me the more feith And makth me hardi, soth to seie, That I dar wel the betre preie 540 Mi ladi, which a womman is. For thogh I telle hire that or this Of love, which me grieveth sore, Hire oghte noght be wroth the more, For I withoute noise or cri Mi pleignte make al buxomly To puten alle wraththe away. Thus dar I seie unto this day Of Cheste in ernest or in game Mi ladi schal me nothing blame. 550 Bot ofte time it hath betidd That with miselven I have chidd, That noman couthe betre chide: And that hath ben at every tide, Whanne I cam to miself al one; For thanne I made a prive mone, And every tale by and by, Which as I spak to my ladi, I thenke and peise in my balance And drawe into my remembrance; 560 And thanne, if that I finde a lak Of eny word that I mispak, Which was to moche in eny wise, Anon my wittes I despise And make a chidinge in myn herte, That eny word me scholde asterte Which as I scholde have holden inne. And so forth after I beginne And loke if ther was elles oght To speke, and I ne spak it noght: 570 And thanne, if I mai seche and finde That eny word be left behinde, Which as I scholde more have spoke, I wolde upon miself be wroke, And chyde with miselven so That al my wit is overgo. For noman mai his time lore Recovere, and thus I am therfore So overwroth in al my thoght, That I myself chide al to noght: 580 Thus for to moche or for to lite Fulofte I am miself to wyte. Bot al that mai me noght availe, With cheste thogh I me travaile: Bot Oule on Stock and Stock on Oule; The more that a man defoule, Men witen wel which hath the werse; And so to me nys worth a kerse, Bot torneth on myn oghne hed, Thogh I, til that I were ded, 590 Wolde evere chyde in such a wise Of love as I to you devise. Bot, fader, now ye have al herd In this manere how I have ferd Of Cheste and of dissencioun, Yif me youre absolucioun. Mi Sone, if that thou wistest al, What Cheste doth in special To love and to his welwillinge, Thou woldest flen his knowlechinge 600 And lerne to be debonaire. For who that most can speke faire Is most acordende unto love: Fair speche hath ofte brought above Ful many a man, as it is knowe, Which elles scholde have be riht lowe And failed mochel of his wille. Forthi hold thou thi tunge stille And let thi witt thi wille areste, So that thou falle noght in Cheste, 610 Which is the source of gret destance: And tak into thi remembrance If thou miht gete pacience, Which is the leche of alle offence, As tellen ous these olde wise: For whan noght elles mai suffise Be strengthe ne be mannes wit, Than pacience it oversit And overcomth it ate laste; Bot he mai nevere longe laste, 620 Which wol noght bowe er that he breke. Tak hiede, Sone, of that I speke. Mi fader, of your goodli speche And of the witt which ye me teche I thonke you with al myn herte: For that world schal me nevere asterte, That I ne schal your wordes holde, Of Pacience as ye me tolde, Als ferforth as myn herte thenketh; And of my wraththe it me forthenketh. 630 Bot, fader, if ye forth withal Som good ensample in special Me wolden telle of som Cronique, It scholde wel myn herte like Of pacience forto hiere, So that I mihte in mi matiere The more unto my love obeie And puten mi desese aweie. Mi Sone, a man to beie him pes Behoveth soffre as Socrates 640 Ensample lefte, which is write: And for thou schalt the sothe wite, Of this ensample what I mene, Althogh it be now litel sene Among the men thilke evidence, Yit he was upon pacience So sett, that he himself assaie In thing which mihte him most mispaie Desireth, and a wickid wif He weddeth, which in sorwe and strif 650 Ayein his ese was contraire. Bot he spak evere softe and faire, Til it befell, as it is told, In wynter, whan the dai is cold, This wif was fro the welle come, Wher that a pot with water nome Sche hath, and broghte it into house, And sih how that hire seli spouse Was sett and loked on a bok Nyh to the fyr, as he which tok 660 His ese for a man of age. And sche began the wode rage, And axeth him what devel he thoghte, And bar on hond that him ne roghte What labour that sche toke on honde, And seith that such an Housebonde Was to a wif noght worth a Stre. He seide nowther nay ne ye, Bot hield him stille and let hire chyde; And sche, which mai hirself noght hyde, 670 Began withinne forto swelle, And that sche broghte in fro the welle, The waterpot sche hente alofte And bad him speke, and he al softe Sat stille and noght a word ansuerde; And sche was wroth that he so ferde, And axeth him if he be ded; And al the water on his hed Sche pourede oute and bad awake. Bot he, which wolde noght forsake 680 His Pacience, thanne spak, And seide how that he fond no lak In nothing which sche hadde do: For it was wynter time tho, And wynter, as be weie of kinde Which stormy is, as men it finde, Ferst makth the wyndes forto blowe, And after that withinne a throwe He reyneth and the watergates Undoth; "and thus my wif algates, 690 Which is with reson wel besein, Hath mad me bothe wynd and rein After the Sesoun of the yer." And thanne he sette him nerr the fer, And as he mihte hise clothes dreide, That he nomore o word ne seide; Wherof he gat him somdel reste, For that him thoghte was the beste. I not if thilke ensample yit Acordeth with a mannes wit, 700 To soffre as Socrates tho dede: And if it falle in eny stede A man to lese so his galle, Him oghte among the wommen alle In loves Court be juggement The name bere of Pacient, To yive ensample to the goode Of pacience how that it stode, That othre men it mihte knowe. And, Sone, if thou at eny throwe 710 Be tempted ayein Pacience, Tak hiede upon this evidence; It schal per cas the lasse grieve. Mi fader, so as I believe, Of that schal be no maner nede, For I wol take so good hiede, That er I falle in such assai, I thenke eschuie it, if I mai. Bot if ther be oght elles more Wherof I mihte take lore, 720 I preie you, so as I dar, Now telleth, that I mai be war, Som other tale in this matiere. Sone, it is evere good to lere, Wherof thou miht thi word restreigne, Er that thou falle in eny peine. For who that can no conseil hyde, He mai noght faile of wo beside, Which schal befalle er he it wite, As I finde in the bokes write. 730 Yit cam ther nevere good of strif, To seche in all a mannes lif: Thogh it beginne on pure game, Fulofte it torneth into grame And doth grevance upon som side. Wherof the grete Clerk Ovide After the lawe which was tho Of Jupiter and of Juno Makth in his bokes mencioun How thei felle at dissencioun 740 In manere as it were a borde, As thei begunne forto worde Among hemself in privete: And that was upon this degree, Which of the tuo more amorous is, Or man or wif. And upon this Thei mihten noght acorde in on, And toke a jugge therupon, Which cleped is Tiresias, And bede him demen in the cas; 750 And he withoute avisement Ayein Juno yaf juggement. This goddesse upon his ansuere Was wroth and wolde noght forbere, Bot tok awey for everemo The liht fro bothe hise yhen tuo. Whan Jupiter this harm hath sein, An other bienfait therayein He yaf, and such a grace him doth, That for he wiste he seide soth, 760 A Sothseiere he was for evere: Bot yit that other were levere, Have had the lokinge of his yhe, Than of his word the prophecie; Bot how so that the sothe wente, Strif was the cause of that he hente So gret a peine bodily. Mi Sone, be thou war ther by, And hold thi tunge stille clos: For who that hath his word desclos 770 Er that he wite what he mene, He is fulofte nyh his tene And lest ful many time grace, Wher that he wolde his thonk pourchace. And over this, my Sone diere, Of othre men, if thou miht hiere In privete what thei have wroght, Hold conseil and descoevere it noght, For Cheste can no conseil hele, Or be it wo or be it wele: 780 And tak a tale into thi mynde, The which of olde ensample I finde. Phebus, which makth the daies lihte, A love he hadde, which tho hihte Cornide, whom aboven alle He pleseth: bot what schal befalle Of love ther is noman knoweth, Bot as fortune hire happes throweth. So it befell upon a chaunce, A yong kniht tok hire aqueintance 790 And hadde of hire al that he wolde: Bot a fals bridd, which sche hath holde And kept in chambre of pure yowthe, Discoevereth all that evere he cowthe. This briddes name was as tho Corvus, the which was thanne also Welmore whyt than eny Swan, And he that schrewe al that he can Of his ladi to Phebus seide; And he for wraththe his swerd outbreide, 800 With which Cornide anon he slowh. Bot after him was wo ynowh, And tok a full gret repentance, Wherof in tokne and remembrance Of hem whiche usen wicke speche, Upon this bridd he tok this wreche, That ther he was snow whyt tofore, Evere afterward colblak therfore He was transformed, as it scheweth, And many a man yit him beschreweth, 810 And clepen him into this day A Raven, be whom yit men mai Take evidence, whan he crieth, That som mishapp it signefieth. Be war therfore and sei the beste, If thou wolt be thiself in reste, Mi goode Sone, as I the rede. For in an other place I rede Of thilke Nimphe which Laar hihte: For sche the privete be nyhte, 820 How Jupiter lay be Jutorne, Hath told, god made hire overtorne: Hire tunge he kutte, and into helle For evere he sende hir forto duelle, As sche that was noght worthi hiere To ben of love a Chamberere, For sche no conseil cowthe hele. And suche adaies be now fele In loves Court, as it is seid, That lete here tunges gon unteid. 830 Mi Sone, be thou non of tho, To jangle and telle tales so, And namely that thou ne chyde, For Cheste can no conseil hide, For Wraththe seide nevere wel. Mi fader, soth is everydel That ye me teche, and I wol holde The reule to which I am holde, To fle the Cheste, as ye me bidde, For wel is him that nevere chidde. 840 Now tell me forth if ther be more As touchende unto Wraththes lore. Of Wraththe yit ther is an other, Which is to Cheste his oghne brother, And is be name cleped Hate, That soffreth noght withinne his gate That ther come owther love or pes, For he wol make no reles Of no debat which is befalle. Now spek, if thou art on of alle, 850 That with this vice hast ben withholde. As yit for oght that ye me tolde, Mi fader, I not what it is. In good feith, Sone, I trowe yis. Mi fader, nay, bot ye me lere. Now lest, my Sone, and thou schalt here. Hate is a wraththe noght schewende, Bot of long time gaderende, And duelleth in the herte loken, Til he se time to be wroken; 860 And thanne he scheweth his tempeste Mor sodein than the wilde beste, Which wot nothing what merci is. Mi Sone, art thou knowende of this? My goode fader, as I wene, Now wot I somdel what ye mene; Bot I dar saufly make an oth, Mi ladi was me nevere loth. I wol noght swere natheles That I of hate am gulteles; 870 For whanne I to my ladi plie Fro dai to dai and merci crie, And sche no merci on me leith Bot schorte wordes to me seith, Thogh I my ladi love algate, Tho wordes moste I nedes hate; And wolde thei were al despent, Or so ferr oute of londe went That I nevere after scholde hem hiere; And yit love I my ladi diere. 880 Thus is ther Hate, as ye mai se, Betwen mi ladi word and me; The word I hate and hire I love, What so me schal betide of love. Bot forthere mor I wol me schryve, That I have hated al my lyve These janglers, whiche of here Envie Ben evere redi forto lie; For with here fals compassement Fuloften thei have mad me schent 890 And hindred me fulofte time, Whan thei no cause wisten bime, Bot onliche of here oghne thoght: And thus fuloften have I boght The lie, and drank noght of the wyn. I wolde here happ were such as myn: For how so that I be now schrive, To hem ne mai I noght foryive, Til that I se hem at debat With love, and thanne myn astat 900 Thei mihten be here oghne deme, And loke how wel it scholde hem qweme To hindre a man that loveth sore. And thus I hate hem everemore, Til love on hem wol don his wreche: For that schal I alway beseche Unto the mihti Cupido, That he so mochel wolde do, So as he is of love a godd, To smyte hem with the same rodd 910 With which I am of love smite; So that thei mihten knowe and wite How hindringe is a wofull peine To him that love wolde atteigne. Thus evere on hem I wayte and hope, Til I mai sen hem lepe a lope, And halten on the same Sor Which I do now: for overmor I wolde thanne do my myht So forto stonden in here lyht, 920 That thei ne scholden finde a weie To that thei wolde, bot aweie I wolde hem putte out of the stede Fro love, riht as thei me dede With that thei speke of me be mowthe. So wolde I do, if that I cowthe, Of hem, and this, so god me save, Is al the hate that I have, Toward these janglers everydiel; I wolde alle othre ferde wel. 930 Thus have I, fader, said mi wille; Say ye now forth, for I am stille. Mi Sone, of that thou hast me said I holde me noght fulli paid: That thou wolt haten eny man, To that acorden I ne can, Thogh he have hindred thee tofore. Bot this I telle thee therfore, Thou miht upon my beneicoun Wel haten the condicioun 940 Of tho janglers, as thou me toldest, Bot furthermor, of that thou woldest Hem hindre in eny other wise, Such Hate is evere to despise. Forthi, mi Sone, I wol thee rede, That thou drawe in be frendlihede That thou ne miht noght do be hate; So miht thou gete love algate And sette thee, my Sone, in reste, For thou schalt finde it for the beste. 950 And over this, so as I dar, I rede that thou be riht war Of othre mennes hate aboute, Which every wysman scholde doute: For Hate is evere upon await, And as the fisshere on his bait Sleth, whan he seth the fisshes faste, So, whan he seth time ate laste, That he mai worche an other wo, Schal noman tornen him therfro, 960 That Hate nyle his felonie Fulfille and feigne compaignie Yit natheles, for fals Semblant Is toward him of covenant Withholde, so that under bothe The prive wraththe can him clothe, That he schal seme of gret believe. Bot war thee wel that thou ne lieve Al that thou sest tofore thin yhe, So as the Gregois whilom syhe: 970 The bok of Troie who so rede, Ther mai he finde ensample in dede. Sone after the destruccioun, Whan Troie was al bete doun And slain was Priamus the king, The Gregois, whiche of al this thing Ben cause, tornen hom ayein. Ther mai noman his happ withsein; It hath be sen and felt fulofte, The harde time after the softe: 980 Be See as thei forth homward wente, A rage of gret tempeste hem hente; Juno let bende hire parti bowe, The Sky wax derk, the wynd gan blowe, The firy welkne gan to thondre, As thogh the world scholde al to sondre; Fro hevene out of the watergates The reyni Storm fell doun algates And al here takel made unwelde, That noman mihte himself bewelde. 990 Ther mai men hiere Schipmen crie, That stode in aunter forto die: He that behinde sat to stiere Mai noght the forestempne hiere; The Schip aros ayein the wawes, The lodesman hath lost his lawes, The See bet in on every side: Thei nysten what fortune abide, Bot sette hem al in goddes wille, Wher he hem wolde save or spille. 1000 And it fell thilke time thus: Ther was a king, the which Namplus Was hote, and he a Sone hadde, At Troie which the Gregois ladde, As he that was mad Prince of alle, Til that fortune let him falle: His name was Palamades. Bot thurgh an hate natheles Of some of hem his deth was cast And he be tresoun overcast. 1010 His fader, whan he herde it telle, He swor, if evere his time felle, He wolde him venge, if that he mihte, And therto his avou behihte: And thus this king thurgh prive hate Abod upon await algate, For he was noght of such emprise To vengen him in open wise. The fame, which goth wyde where, Makth knowe how that the Gregois were 1020 Homward with al the felaschipe Fro Troie upon the See be Schipe. Namplus, whan he this understod, And knew the tydes of the flod, And sih the wynd blew to the lond, A gret deceipte anon he fond Of prive hate, as thou schalt hiere, Wherof I telle al this matiere. This king the weder gan beholde, And wiste wel thei moten holde 1030 Here cours endlong his marche riht, And made upon the derke nyht Of grete Schydes and of blockes Gret fyr ayein the grete rockes, To schewe upon the helles hihe, So that the Flete of Grece it sihe. And so it fell riht as he thoghte: This Flete, which an havene soghte, The bryghte fyres sih a ferr, And thei hem drowen nerr and nerr, 1040 And wende wel and understode How al that fyr was made for goode, To schewe wher men scholde aryve, And thiderward thei hasten blyve. In Semblant, as men sein, is guile, And that was proved thilke while; The Schip, which wende his helpe acroche, Drof al to pieces on the roche, And so ther deden ten or twelve; Ther mihte noman helpe himselve, 1050 For ther thei wenden deth ascape, Withouten help here deth was schape. Thus thei that comen ferst tofore Upon the Rockes be forlore, Bot thurgh the noise and thurgh the cri These othre were al war therby; And whan the dai began to rowe, Tho mihten thei the sothe knowe, That wher they wenden frendes finde, Thei founden frenschipe al behinde. 1060 The lond was thanne sone weyved, Wher that thei hadden be deceived, And toke hem to the hihe See; Therto thei seiden alle yee, Fro that dai forth and war thei were Of that thei hadde assaied there. Mi Sone, hierof thou miht avise How fraude stant in many wise Amonges hem that guile thenke; Ther is no Scrivein with his enke 1070 Which half the fraude wryte can That stant in such a maner man: Forthi the wise men ne demen The thinges after that thei semen, Bot after that thei knowe and finde. The Mirour scheweth in his kinde As he hadde al the world withinne, And is in soth nothing therinne; And so farth Hate for a throwe: Til he a man hath overthrowe, 1080 Schal noman knowe be his chere Which is avant, ne which arere. Forthi, mi Sone, thenke on this. Mi fader, so I wole ywiss; And if ther more of Wraththe be, Now axeth forth per charite, As ye be youre bokes knowe, And I the sothe schal beknowe. Mi Sone, thou schalt understonde That yit towardes Wraththe stonde 1090 Of dedly vices othre tuo: And forto telle here names so, It is Contek and Homicide, That ben to drede on every side. Contek, so as the bokes sein, Folhast hath to his Chamberlein, Be whos conseil al unavised Is Pacience most despised, Til Homicide with hem meete. Fro merci thei ben al unmeete, 1100 And thus ben thei the worste of alle Of hem whiche unto wraththe falle, In dede bothe and ek in thoght: For thei acompte here wraththe at noght, Bot if ther be schedinge of blod; And thus lich to a beste wod Thei knowe noght the god of lif. Be so thei have or swerd or knif Here dedly wraththe forto wreke, Of Pite list hem noght to speke; 1110 Non other reson thei ne fonge, Bot that thei ben of mihtes stronge. Bot war hem wel in other place, Where every man behoveth grace, Bot ther I trowe it schal hem faile, To whom no merci mihte availe, Bot wroghten upon tiraundie, That no pite ne mihte hem plie. Now tell, my Sone. Fader, what? If thou hast be coupable of that. 1120 Mi fader, nay, Crist me forbiede: I speke onliche as of the dede, Of which I nevere was coupable Withoute cause resonable. Bot this is noght to mi matiere Of schrifte, why we sitten hiere; For we ben sett to schryve of love, As we begunne ferst above: And natheles I am beknowe That as touchende of loves throwe, 1130 Whan I my wittes overwende, Min hertes contek hath non ende, Bot evere it stant upon debat To gret desese of myn astat As for the time that it lasteth. For whan mi fortune overcasteth Hire whiel and is to me so strange, And that I se sche wol noght change, Than caste I al the world aboute, And thenke hou I at home and oute 1140 Have al my time in vein despended, And se noght how to ben amended, Bot rathere forto be empeired, As he that is welnyh despeired: For I ne mai no thonk deserve, And evere I love and evere I serve, And evere I am aliche nerr. Thus, for I stonde in such a wer, I am, as who seith, out of herre; And thus upon miself the werre 1150 I bringe, and putte out alle pes, That I fulofte in such a res Am wery of myn oghne lif. So that of Contek and of strif I am beknowe and have ansuerd, As ye, my fader, now have herd. Min herte is wonderly begon With conseil, wherof witt is on, Which hath resoun in compaignie; Ayein the whiche stant partie 1160 Will, which hath hope of his acord, And thus thei bringen up descord. Witt and resoun conseilen ofte That I myn herte scholde softe, And that I scholde will remue And put him out of retenue, Or elles holde him under fote: For as thei sein, if that he mote His oghne rewle have upon honde, Ther schal no witt ben understonde. 1170 Of hope also thei tellen this, That overal, wher that he is, He set the herte in jeupartie With wihssinge and with fantasie, And is noght trewe of that he seith, So that in him ther is no feith: Thus with reson and wit avised Is will and hope aldai despised. Reson seith that I scholde leve To love, wher ther is no leve 1180 To spede, and will seith therayein That such an herte is to vilein, Which dar noght love and til he spede, Let hope serve at such a nede: He seith ek, where an herte sit Al hol governed upon wit, He hath this lyves lust forlore. And thus myn herte is al totore Of such a Contek as thei make: Bot yit I mai noght will forsake, 1190 That he nys Maister of my thoght, Or that I spede, or spede noght. Thou dost, my Sone, ayein the riht; Bot love is of so gret a miht, His lawe mai noman refuse, So miht thou thee the betre excuse. And natheles thou schalt be lerned That will scholde evere be governed Of reson more than of kinde, Wherof a tale write I finde. 1200 A Philosophre of which men tolde Ther was whilom be daies olde, And Diogenes thanne he hihte. So old he was that he ne mihte The world travaile, and for the beste He schop him forto take his reste, And duelte at hom in such a wise, That nyh his hous he let devise Endlong upon an Axeltre To sette a tonne in such degre, 1210 That he it mihte torne aboute; Wherof on hed was taken oute, For he therinne sitte scholde And torne himself so as he wolde, To take their and se the hevene And deme of the planetes sevene, As he which cowthe mochel what. And thus fulofte there he sat To muse in his philosophie Solein withoute compaignie: 1220 So that upon a morwetyde, As thing which scholde so betyde, Whan he was set ther as him liste To loke upon the Sonne ariste, Wherof the propretes he sih, It fell ther cam ridende nyh King Alisandre with a route; And as he caste his yhe aboute, He sih this Tonne, and what it mente He wolde wite, and thider sente 1230 A knyht, be whom he mihte it knowe, And he himself that ilke throwe Abod, and hoveth there stille. This kniht after the kinges wille With spore made his hors to gon And to the tonne he cam anon, Wher that he fond a man of Age, And he him tolde the message, Such as the king him hadde bede, And axeth why in thilke stede 1240 The Tonne stod, and what it was. And he, which understod the cas, Sat stille and spak no word ayein. The kniht bad speke and seith, "Vilein, Thou schalt me telle, er that I go; It is thi king which axeth so." "Mi king," quod he, "that were unriht." "What is he thanne?" seith the kniht, "Is he thi man?" "That seie I noght," Quod he, "bot this I am bethoght, 1250 Mi mannes man hou that he is." "Thou lyest, false cherl, ywiss," The kniht him seith, and was riht wroth, And to the king ayein he goth And tolde him how this man ansuerde. The king, whan he this tale herde, Bad that thei scholden alle abyde, For he himself wol thider ryde. And whan he cam tofore the tonne, He hath his tale thus begonne: 1260 "Alheil," he seith, "what man art thou?" Quod he, "Such on as thou sest now." The king, which hadde wordes wise, His age wolde noght despise, Bot seith, "Mi fader, I thee preie That thou me wolt the cause seie, How that I am thi mannes man." "Sire king," quod he, "and that I can, If that thou wolt." "Yis," seith the king. Quod he, "This is the sothe thing: 1270 Sith I ferst resoun understod, And knew what thing was evel and good, The will which of my bodi moeveth, Whos werkes that the god reproeveth, I have restreigned everemore, As him which stant under the lore Of reson, whos soubgit he is, So that he mai noght don amis: And thus be weie of covenant Will is my man and my servant, 1280 And evere hath ben and evere schal. And thi will is thi principal, And hath the lordschipe of thi witt, So that thou cowthest nevere yit Take o dai reste of thi labour; Bot forto ben a conquerour Of worldes good, which mai noght laste, Thou hiest evere aliche faste, Wher thou no reson hast to winne: And thus thi will is cause of Sinne, 1290 And is thi lord, to whom thou servest, Wherof thou litel thonk deservest." The king of that he thus answerde Was nothing wroth, bot whanne he herde The hihe wisdom which he seide, With goodly wordes this he preide, That he him wolde telle his name. "I am," quod he, "that ilke same, The which men Diogenes calle." Tho was the king riht glad withalle, 1300 For he hadde often herd tofore What man he was, so that therfore He seide, "O wise Diogene, Now schal thi grete witt be sene; For thou schalt of my yifte have What worldes thing that thou wolt crave." Quod he, "Thanne hove out of mi Sonne, And let it schyne into mi Tonne; For thou benymst me thilke yifte, Which lith noght in thi miht to schifte: 1310 Non other good of thee me nedeth." This king, whom every contre dredeth, Lo, thus he was enformed there: Wherof, my Sone, thou miht lere How that thi will schal noght be lieved, Where it is noght of wit relieved. And thou hast seid thiself er this How that thi will thi maister is; Thurgh which thin hertes thoght withinne Is evere of Contek to beginne, 1320 So that it is gretli to drede That it non homicide brede. For love is of a wonder kinde, And hath hise wittes ofte blinde, That thei fro mannes reson falle; Bot whan that it is so befalle That will schal the corage lede, In loves cause it is to drede: Wherof I finde ensample write, Which is behovely forto wite. 1330 I rede a tale, and telleth this: The Cite which Semiramis Enclosed hath with wall aboute, Of worthi folk with many a route Was enhabited here and there; Among the whiche tuo ther were Above alle othre noble and grete, Dwellende tho withinne a Strete So nyh togedre, as it was sene, That ther was nothing hem betwene, 1340 Bot wow to wow and wall to wall. This o lord hadde in special A Sone, a lusti Bacheler, In al the toun was non his pier: That other hadde a dowhter eke, In al the lond that forto seke Men wisten non so faire as sche. And fell so, as it scholde be, This faire dowhter nyh this Sone As thei togedre thanne wone, 1350 Cupide hath so the thinges schape, That thei ne mihte his hand ascape, That he his fyr on hem ne caste: Wherof her herte he overcaste To folwe thilke lore and suie Which nevere man yit miht eschuie; And that was love, as it is happed, Which hath here hertes so betrapped, That thei be alle weies seche How that thei mihten winne a speche, 1360 Here wofull peine forto lisse. Who loveth wel, it mai noght misse, And namely whan ther be tuo Of on acord, how so it go, Bot if that thei som weie finde; For love is evere of such a kinde And hath his folk so wel affaited, That howso that it be awaited, Ther mai noman the pourpos lette: And thus betwen hem tuo thei sette 1370 And hole upon a wall to make, Thurgh which thei have her conseil take At alle times, whan thei myhte. This faire Maiden Tisbee hihte, And he whom that sche loveth hote Was Piramus be name hote. So longe here lecoun thei recorden, Til ate laste thei acorden Be nihtes time forto wende Al one out fro the tounes ende, 1380 Wher was a welle under a Tree; And who cam ferst, or sche or he, He scholde stille there abide. So it befell the nyhtes tide This maiden, which desguised was, Al prively the softe pas Goth thurgh the large toun unknowe, Til that sche cam withinne a throwe Wher that sche liketh forto duelle, At thilke unhappi freisshe welle, 1390 Which was also the Forest nyh. Wher sche comende a Leoun syh Into the feld to take his preie, In haste and sche tho fledde aweie, So as fortune scholde falle, For feere and let hire wympel falle Nyh to the welle upon therbage. This Leoun in his wilde rage A beste, which that he fond oute, Hath slain, and with his blodi snoute, 1400 Whan he hath eten what he wolde, To drynke of thilke stremes colde Cam to the welle, where he fond The wympel, which out of hire hond Was falle, and he it hath todrawe, Bebled aboute and al forgnawe; And thanne he strawhte him forto drinke Upon the freisshe welles brinke, And after that out of the plein He torneth to the wode ayein. 1410 And Tisbee dorste noght remue, Bot as a bridd which were in Mue Withinne a buissh sche kepte hire clos So stille that sche noght aros; Unto hirself and pleigneth ay. And fell, whil that sche there lay, This Piramus cam after sone Unto the welle, and be the Mone He fond hire wimpel blodi there. Cam nevere yit to mannes Ere 1420 Tidinge, ne to mannes sihte Merveile, which so sore aflihte A mannes herte, as it tho dede To him, which in the same stede With many a wofull compleignynge Began his handes forto wringe, As he which demeth sikerly That sche be ded: and sodeinly His swerd al nakid out he breide In his folhaste, and thus he seide: 1430 "I am cause of this felonie, So it is resoun that I die, As sche is ded be cause of me." And with that word upon his kne He fell, and to the goddes alle Up to the hevene he gan to calle, And preide, sithen it was so That he may noght his love as tho Have in this world, that of her grace He miht hire have in other place, 1440 For hiere wolde he noght abide, He seith: bot as it schal betide, The Pomel of his swerd to grounde He sette, and thurgh his herte a wounde He made up to the bare hilte: And in this wise himself he spilte With his folhaste and deth he nam; For sche withinne a while cam, Wher he lai ded upon his knif. So wofull yit was nevere lif 1450 As Tisbee was, whan sche him sih: Sche mihte noght o word on hih Speke oute, for hire herte schette, That of hir lif no pris sche sette, Bot ded swounende doun sche fell. Til after, whanne it so befell That sche out of hire traunce awok, With many a wofull pitous lok Hire yhe alwei among sche caste Upon hir love, and ate laste 1460 Sche cawhte breth and seide thus: "O thou which cleped art Venus, Goddesse of love, and thou, Cupide, Which loves cause hast forto guide, I wot now wel that ye be blinde, Of thilke unhapp which I now finde Only betwen my love and me. This Piramus, which hiere I se Bledende, what hath he deserved? For he youre heste hath kept and served, 1470 And was yong and I bothe also: Helas, why do ye with ous so? Ye sette oure herte bothe afyre, And maden ous such thing desire Wherof that we no skile cowthe; Bot thus oure freisshe lusti yowthe Withoute joie is al despended, Which thing mai nevere ben amended: For as of me this wol I seie, That me is levere forto deie 1480 Than live after this sorghful day." And with this word, where as he lay, Hire love in armes sche embraseth, Hire oghne deth and so pourchaseth That now sche wepte and nou sche kiste, Til ate laste, er sche it wiste, So gret a sorwe is to hire falle, Which overgoth hire wittes alle. As sche which mihte it noght asterte, The swerdes point ayein hire herte 1490 Sche sette, and fell doun therupon, Wherof that sche was ded anon: And thus bothe on o swerd bledende Thei weren founde ded liggende. Now thou, mi Sone, hast herd this tale, Bewar that of thin oghne bale Thou be noght cause in thi folhaste, And kep that thou thi witt ne waste Upon thi thoght in aventure, Wherof thi lyves forfeture 1500 Mai falle: and if thou have so thoght Er this, tell on and hyde it noght. Mi fader, upon loves side Mi conscience I woll noght hyde, How that for love of pure wo I have ben ofte moeved so, That with my wisshes if I myhte, A thousand times, I yow plyhte, I hadde storven in a day; And therof I me schryve may, 1510 Though love fully me ne slowh, Mi will to deie was ynowh, So am I of my will coupable: And yit is sche noght merciable, Which mai me yive lif and hele. Bot that hir list noght with me dele, I wot be whos conseil it is, And him wolde I long time er this, And yit I wolde and evere schal, Slen and destruie in special. 1520 The gold of nyne kinges londes Ne scholde him save fro myn hondes, In my pouer if that he were; Bot yit him stant of me no fere For noght that evere I can manace. He is the hindrere of mi grace, Til he be ded I mai noght spede; So mot I nedes taken hiede And schape how that he were aweie, If I therto mai finde a weie. 1530 Mi Sone, tell me now forthi, Which is that mortiel enemy That thou manacest to be ded. Mi fader, it is such a qwed, That wher I come, he is tofore, And doth so, that mi cause is lore. What is his name? It is Daunger, Which is mi ladi consailer: For I was nevere yit so slyh, To come in eny place nyh 1540 Wher as sche was be nyht or day, That Danger ne was redy ay, With whom for speche ne for mede Yit mihte I nevere of love spede; For evere this I finde soth, Al that my ladi seith or doth To me, Daunger schal make an ende, And that makth al mi world miswende: And evere I axe his help, bot he Mai wel be cleped sanz pite; 1550 For ay the more I to him bowe, The lasse he wol my tale alowe. He hath mi ladi so englued, Sche wol noght that he be remued; For evere he hangeth on hire Seil, And is so prive of conseil, That evere whanne I have oght bede, I finde Danger in hire stede And myn ansuere of him I have; Bot for no merci that I crave, 1560 Of merci nevere a point I hadde. I finde his ansuere ay so badde, That werse mihte it nevere be: And thus betwen Danger and me Is evere werre til he dye. Bot mihte I ben of such maistrie, That I Danger hadde overcome, With that were al my joie come. Thus wolde I wonde for no Sinne, Ne yit for al this world to winne; 1570 If that I mihte finde a sleyhte, To leie al myn astat in weyhte, I wolde him fro the Court dissevere, So that he come ayeinward nevere. Therfore I wisshe and wolde fain That he were in som wise slain; For while he stant in thilke place, Ne gete I noght my ladi grace. Thus hate I dedly thilke vice, And wolde he stode in non office 1580 In place wher mi ladi is; For if he do, I wot wel this, That owther schal he deie or I Withinne a while; and noght forthi On my ladi fulofte I muse, How that sche mai hirself excuse, If that I deie in such a plit. Me thenkth sche mihte noght be qwyt That sche ne were an homicide: And if it scholde so betide, 1590 As god forbiede it scholde be, Be double weie it is pite. For I, which al my will and witt Have yove and served evere yit, And thanne I scholde in such a wise In rewardinge of my servise Be ded, me thenkth it were a rowthe: And furthermor, to telle trowthe, Sche, that hath evere be wel named, Were worthi thanne to be blamed 1600 And of reson to ben appeled, Whan with o word sche mihte have heled A man, and soffreth him so deie. Ha, who sawh evere such a weie? Ha, who sawh evere such destresse? Withoute pite gentilesse, Withoute mercy wommanhede, That wol so quyte a man his mede, Which evere hath be to love trewe. Mi goode fader, if ye rewe 1610 Upon mi tale, tell me now, And I wol stinte and herkne yow. Mi Sone, attempre thi corage Fro Wraththe, and let thin herte assuage: For who so wole him underfonge, He mai his grace abide longe, Er he of love be received; And ek also, bot it be weyved, Ther mihte mochel thing befalle, That scholde make a man to falle 1620 Fro love, that nevere afterward Ne durste he loke thiderward. In harde weies men gon softe, And er thei clymbe avise hem ofte: Men sen alday that rape reweth; And who so wicked Ale breweth, Fulofte he mot the werse drinke: Betre is to flete than to sincke; Betre is upon the bridel chiewe Thanne if he felle and overthrewe, 1630 The hors and stikede in the Myr: To caste water in the fyr Betre is than brenne up al the hous: The man which is malicious And folhastif, fulofte he falleth, And selden is whan love him calleth. Forthi betre is to soffre a throwe Than be to wilde and overthrowe; Suffrance hath evere be the beste To wissen him that secheth reste: 1640 And thus, if thou wolt love and spede, Mi Sone, soffre, as I the rede. What mai the Mous ayein the Cat? And for this cause I axe that, Who mai to love make a werre, That he ne hath himself the werre? Love axeth pes and evere schal, And who that fihteth most withal Schal lest conquere of his emprise: For this thei tellen that ben wise, 1650 Wicke is to stryve and have the werse; To hasten is noght worth a kerse; Thing that a man mai noght achieve, That mai noght wel be don at Eve, It mot abide til the morwe. Ne haste noght thin oghne sorwe, Mi Sone, and tak this in thi witt, He hath noght lost that wel abitt. Ensample that it falleth thus, Thou miht wel take of Piramus, 1660 Whan he in haste his swerd outdrowh And on the point himselve slowh For love of Tisbee pitously, For he hire wympel fond blody And wende a beste hire hadde slain; Wher as him oghte have be riht fain, For sche was there al sauf beside: Bot for he wolde noght abide, This meschief fell. Forthi be war, Mi Sone, as I the warne dar, 1670 Do thou nothing in such a res, For suffrance is the welle of Pes. Thogh thou to loves Court poursuie, Yit sit it wel that thou eschuie That thou the Court noght overhaste, For so miht thou thi time waste; Bot if thin happ therto be schape, It mai noght helpe forto rape. Therfore attempre thi corage; Folhaste doth non avantage, 1680 Bot ofte it set a man behinde In cause of love, and that I finde Be olde ensample, as thou schalt hiere, Touchende of love in this matiere. A Maiden whilom ther was on, Which Daphne hihte, and such was non Of beaute thanne, as it was seid. Phebus his love hath on hire leid, And therupon to hire he soghte In his folhaste, and so besoghte, 1690 That sche with him no reste hadde; For evere upon hire love he gradde, And sche seide evere unto him nay. So it befell upon a dai, Cupide, which hath every chance Of love under his governance, Syh Phebus hasten him so sore: And for he scholde him haste more, And yit noght speden ate laste, A dart thurghout his herte he caste, 1700 Which was of gold and al afyre, That made him manyfold desire Of love more thanne he dede. To Daphne ek in the same stede A dart of Led he caste and smot, Which was al cold and nothing hot. And thus Phebus in love brenneth, And in his haste aboute renneth, To loke if that he mihte winne; Bot he was evere to beginne, 1710 For evere awei fro him sche fledde, So that he nevere his love spedde. And forto make him full believe That no Folhaste mihte achieve To gete love in such degree, This Daphne into a lorer tre Was torned, which is evere grene, In tokne, as yit it mai be sene, That sche schal duelle a maiden stille, And Phebus failen of his wille. 1720 Be suche ensamples, as thei stonde, Mi Sone, thou miht understonde, To hasten love is thing in vein, Whan that fortune is therayein. To take where a man hath leve Good is, and elles he mot leve; For whan a mannes happes failen, Ther is non haste mai availen. Mi fader, grant merci of this: Bot while I se mi ladi is 1730 No tre, but halt hire oghne forme, Ther mai me noman so enforme, To whether part fortune wende, That I unto mi lyves ende Ne wol hire serven everemo. Mi Sone, sithen it is so, I seie nomor; bot in this cas Bewar how it with Phebus was. Noght only upon loves chance, Bot upon every governance 1740 Which falleth unto mannes dede, Folhaste is evere forto drede, And that a man good consail take, Er he his pourpos undertake, For consail put Folhaste aweie. Now goode fader, I you preie, That forto wisse me the more, Som good ensample upon this lore Ye wolden telle of that is write, That I the betre mihte wite 1750 How I Folhaste scholde eschuie, And the wisdom of conseil suie. Mi Sone, that thou miht enforme Thi pacience upon the forme Of old essamples, as thei felle, Now understond what I schal telle. Whan noble Troie was belein And overcome, and hom ayein The Gregois torned fro the siege, The kinges founde here oghne liege 1760 In manye places, as men seide, That hem forsoke and desobeide. Among the whiche fell this cas To Demephon and Athemas, That weren kinges bothe tuo, And bothe weren served so: Here lieges wolde hem noght receive, So that thei mote algates weyve To seche lond in other place, For there founde thei no grace. 1770 Wherof they token hem to rede, And soghten frendes ate nede, And ech of hem asseureth other To helpe as to his oghne brother, To vengen hem of thilke oultrage And winne ayein here heritage. And thus thei ryde aboute faste To gete hem help, and ate laste Thei hadden pouer sufficant, And maden thanne a covenant, 1780 That thei ne scholden no lif save, Ne prest, ne clerc, ne lord, ne knave, Ne wif, ne child, of that thei finde, Which berth visage of mannes kinde, So that no lif schal be socoured, Bot with the dedly swerd devoured: In such Folhaste here ordinance Thei schapen forto do vengance. Whan this pourpos was wist and knowe Among here host, tho was ther blowe 1790 Of wordes many a speche aboute: Of yonge men the lusti route Were of this tale glad ynowh, Ther was no care for the plowh; As thei that weren Folhastif, Thei ben acorded to the strif, And sein it mai noght be to gret To vengen hem of such forfet: Thus seith the wilde unwise tonge Of hem that there weren yonge. 1800 Bot Nestor, which was old and hor, The salve sih tofore the sor, As he that was of conseil wys: So that anon be his avis Ther was a prive conseil nome. The lordes ben togedre come; This Demephon and Athemas Here pourpos tolden, as it was; Thei sieten alle stille and herde, Was non bot Nestor hem ansuerde. 1810 He bad hem, if thei wolde winne, They scholden se, er thei beginne, Here ende, and sette here ferste entente, That thei hem after ne repente: And axeth hem this questioun, To what final conclusioun Thei wolde regne Kinges there, If that no poeple in londe were; And seith, it were a wonder wierde To sen a king become an hierde, 1820 Wher no lif is bot only beste Under the liegance of his heste; For who that is of man no king, The remenant is as no thing. He seith ek, if the pourpos holde To sle the poeple, as thei tuo wolde, Whan thei it mihte noght restore, Al Grece it scholde abegge sore, To se the wilde beste wone Wher whilom duelte a mannes Sone: 1830 And for that cause he bad hem trete, And stinte of the manaces grete. Betre is to winne be fair speche, He seith, than such vengance seche; For whanne a man is most above, Him nedeth most to gete him love. Whan Nestor hath his tale seid, Ayein him was no word withseid; It thoghte hem alle he seide wel: And thus fortune hire dedly whiel 1840 Fro werre torneth into pes. Bot forth thei wenten natheles; And whan the Contres herde sein How that here kinges be besein Of such a pouer as thei ladde, Was non so bold that hem ne dradde, And forto seche pes and grith Thei sende and preide anon forthwith, So that the kinges ben appesed, And every mannes herte is esed; 1850 Al was foryete and noght recorded. And thus thei ben togedre acorded; The kinges were ayein received, And pes was take and wraththe weived, And al thurgh conseil which was good Of him that reson understod. Be this ensample, Sone, attempre Thin herte and let no will distempre Thi wit, and do nothing be myht Which mai be do be love and riht. 1860 Folhaste is cause of mochel wo; Forthi, mi Sone, do noght so. And as touchende of Homicide Which toucheth unto loves side, Fulofte it falleth unavised Thurgh will, which is noght wel assised, Whan wit and reson ben aweie And that Folhaste is in the weie, Wherof hath falle gret vengance. Forthi tak into remembrance 1870 To love in such a maner wise That thou deserve no juise: For wel I wot, thou miht noght lette, That thou ne schalt thin herte sette To love, wher thou wolt or non; Bot if thi wit be overgon, So that it torne into malice, Ther wot noman of thilke vice, What peril that ther mai befalle: Wherof a tale amonges alle, 1880 Which is gret pite forto hiere, I thenke forto tellen hiere, That thou such moerdre miht withstonde, Whan thou the tale hast understonde. Of Troie at thilke noble toun, Whos fame stant yit of renoun And evere schal to mannes Ere, The Siege laste longe there, Er that the Greks it mihten winne, Whil Priamus was king therinne; 1890 Bot of the Greks that lyhe aboute Agamenon ladde al the route. This thing is knowen overal, Bot yit I thenke in special To my matiere therupon Telle in what wise Agamenon, Thurgh chance which mai noght be weived, Of love untrewe was deceived. An old sawe is, "Who that is slyh In place where he mai be nyh, 1900 He makth the ferre Lieve loth": Of love and thus fulofte it goth. Ther while Agamenon batailleth To winne Troie, and it assailleth, Fro home and was long time ferr, Egistus drowh his qweene nerr, And with the leiser which he hadde This ladi at his wille he ladde: Climestre was hire rihte name, Sche was therof gretli to blame, 1910 To love there it mai noght laste. Bot fell to meschief ate laste; For whan this noble worthi kniht Fro Troie cam, the ferste nyht That he at home abedde lay, Egistus, longe er it was day, As this Climestre him hadde asent, And weren bothe of on assent, Be treson slowh him in his bedd. Bot moerdre, which mai noght ben hedd, 1920 Sprong out to every mannes Ere, Wherof the lond was full of fere. Agamenon hath be this qweene A Sone, and that was after sene; Bot yit as thanne he was of yowthe, A babe, which no reson cowthe, And as godd wolde, it fell him thus. A worthi kniht Taltabius This yonge child hath in kepinge, And whan he herde of this tidinge, 1930 Of this treson, of this misdede, He gan withinne himself to drede, In aunter if this false Egiste Upon him come, er he it wiste, To take and moerdre of his malice This child, which he hath to norrice: And for that cause in alle haste Out of the lond he gan him haste And to the king of Crete he strawhte And him this yonge lord betawhte, 1940 And preide him for his fader sake That he this child wolde undertake And kepe him til he be of Age, So as he was of his lignage; And tolde him over al the cas, How that his fadre moerdred was, And hou Egistus, as men seide, Was king, to whom the lond obeide. And whanne Ydomeneux the king Hath understondinge of this thing, 1950 Which that this kniht him hadde told, He made sorwe manyfold, And tok this child into his warde, And seide he wolde him kepe and warde, Til that he were of such a myht To handle a swerd and ben a knyht, To venge him at his oghne wille. And thus Horestes duelleth stille, Such was the childes rihte name, Which after wroghte mochel schame 1960 In vengance of his fader deth. The time of yeres overgeth, That he was man of brede and lengthe, Of wit, of manhod and of strengthe, A fair persone amonges alle. And he began to clepe and calle, As he which come was to manne, Unto the King of Crete thanne, Preiende that he wolde him make A kniht and pouer with him take, 1970 For lengere wolde he noght beleve, He seith, bot preith the king of leve To gon and cleyme his heritage And vengen him of thilke oultrage Which was unto his fader do. The king assenteth wel therto, With gret honour and knyht him makth, And gret pouer to him betakth, And gan his journe forto caste: So that Horestes ate laste 1980 His leve tok and forth he goth. As he that was in herte wroth, His ferste pleinte to bemene, Unto the Cite of Athene He goth him forth and was received, So there was he noght deceived. The Duc and tho that weren wise Thei profren hem to his servise; And he hem thonketh of here profre And seith himself he wol gon offre 1990 Unto the goddes for his sped, As alle men him yeven red. So goth he to the temple forth: Of yiftes that be mochel worth His sacrifice and his offringe He made; and after his axinge He was ansuerd, if that he wolde His stat recovere, thanne he scholde Upon his Moder do vengance So cruel, that the remembrance 2000 Therof mihte everemore abide, As sche that was an homicide And of hire oghne lord Moerdrice. Horestes, which of thilke office Was nothing glad, as thanne he preide Unto the goddes there and seide That thei the juggement devise, How sche schal take the juise. And therupon he hadde ansuere, That he hire Pappes scholde of tere 2010 Out of hire brest his oghne hondes, And for ensample of alle londes With hors sche scholde be todrawe, Til houndes hadde hire bones gnawe Withouten eny sepulture: This was a wofull aventure. And whan Horestes hath al herd, How that the goddes have ansuerd, Forth with the strengthe which he ladde The Duc and his pouer he hadde, 2020 And to a Cite forth thei gon, The which was cleped Cropheon, Where as Phoieus was lord and Sire, Which profreth him withouten hyre His help and al that he mai do, As he that was riht glad therto, To grieve his mortiel enemy: And tolde hem certein cause why, How that Egiste in Mariage His dowhter whilom of full Age 2030 Forlai, and afterward forsok, Whan he Horestes Moder tok. Men sein, "Old Senne newe schame": Thus more and more aros the blame Ayein Egiste on every side. Horestes with his host to ride Began, and Phoieus with hem wente; I trowe Egiste him schal repente. Thei riden forth unto Micene, Wher lay Climestre thilke qweene, 2040 The which Horestes moder is: And whan sche herde telle of this, The gates weren faste schet, And thei were of here entre let. Anon this Cite was withoute Belein and sieged al aboute, And evere among thei it assaile, Fro day to nyht and so travaile, Til ate laste thei it wonne; Tho was ther sorwe ynowh begonne. 2050 Horestes dede his moder calle Anon tofore the lordes alle And ek tofor the poeple also, To hire and tolde his tale tho, And seide, "O cruel beste unkinde, How mihtest thou thin herte finde, For eny lust of loves drawhte, That thou acordest to the slawhte Of him which was thin oghne lord? Thi treson stant of such record, 2060 Thou miht thi werkes noght forsake; So mot I for mi fader sake Vengance upon thi bodi do, As I comanded am therto. Unkindely for thou hast wroght, Unkindeliche it schal be boght, The Sone schal the Moder sle, For that whilom thou seidest yee To that thou scholdest nay have seid." And he with that his hond hath leid 2070 Upon his Moder brest anon, And rente out fro the bare bon Hire Pappes bothe and caste aweie Amiddes in the carte weie, And after tok the dede cors And let it drawe awey with hors Unto the hound and to the raven; Sche was non other wise graven. Egistus, which was elles where, Tidinges comen to his Ere 2080 How that Micenes was belein, Bot what was more herd he noght sein; With gret manace and mochel bost He drowh pouer and made an host And cam in rescousse of the toun. Bot al the sleyhte of his tresoun Horestes wiste it be aspie, And of his men a gret partie He made in buisshement abide, To waite on him in such a tide 2090 That he ne mihte here hond ascape: And in this wise as he hath schape The thing befell, so that Egiste Was take, er he himself it wiste, And was forth broght hise hondes bounde, As whan men han a tretour founde. And tho that weren with him take, Whiche of tresoun were overtake, Togedre in o sentence falle; Bot false Egiste above hem alle 2100 Was demed to diverse peine, The worste that men cowthe ordeigne, And so forth after be the lawe He was unto the gibet drawe, Where he above alle othre hongeth, As to a tretour it belongeth. Tho fame with hire swifte wynges Aboute flyh and bar tidinges, And made it cowth in alle londes How that Horestes with hise hondes 2110 Climestre his oghne Moder slowh. Some sein he dede wel ynowh, And som men sein he dede amis, Diverse opinion ther is: That sche is ded thei speken alle, Bot pleinli hou it is befalle, The matiere in so litel throwe In soth ther mihte noman knowe Bot thei that weren ate dede: And comunliche in every nede 2120 The worste speche is rathest herd And lieved, til it be ansuerd. The kinges and the lordes grete Begonne Horestes forto threte To puten him out of his regne: "He is noght worthi forto regne, The child which slowh his moder so," Thei saide; and therupon also The lordes of comun assent A time sette of parlement, 2130 And to Athenes king and lord Togedre come of on accord, To knowe hou that the sothe was: So that Horestes in this cas Thei senden after, and he com. King Menelay the wordes nom And axeth him of this matiere: And he, that alle it mihten hiere, Ansuerde and tolde his tale alarge, And hou the goddes in his charge 2140 Comanded him in such a wise His oghne hond to do juise. And with this tale a Duc aros, Which was a worthi kniht of los, His name was Meneste
s, And seide unto the lordes thus: "The wreeche which Horeste dede, It was thing of the goddes bede, And nothing of his crualte; And if ther were of mi degree 2150 In al this place such a kniht That wolde sein it was no riht, I wole it with my bodi prove." And therupon he caste his glove, And ek this noble Duc alleide Ful many an other skile, and seide Sche hadde wel deserved wreche, Ferst for the cause of Spousebreche, And after wroghte in such a wise That al the world it oghte agrise, 2160 Whan that sche for so foul a vice Was of hire oghne lord moerdrice. Thei seten alle stille and herde, Bot therto was noman ansuerde, It thoghte hem alle he seide skile, Ther is noman withseie it wile; Whan thei upon the reson musen, Horestes alle thei excusen: So that with gret solempnete He was unto his dignete 2170 Received, and coroned king. And tho befell a wonder thing: Egiona, whan sche this wiste, Which was the dowhter of Egiste And Soster on the moder side To this Horeste, at thilke tide, Whan sche herde how hir brother spedde, For pure sorwe, which hire ledde, That he ne hadde ben exiled, Sche hath hire oghne lif beguiled 2180 Anon and hyng hireselve tho. It hath and schal ben everemo, To moerdre who that wole assente, He mai noght faille to repente: This false Egiona was on, Which forto moerdre Agamenon Yaf hire acord and hire assent, So that be goddes juggement, Thogh that non other man it wolde, Sche tok hire juise as sche scholde; 2190 And as sche to an other wroghte, Vengance upon hireself sche soghte, And hath of hire unhappi wit A moerdre with a moerdre quit. Such is of moerdre the vengance. Forthi, mi Sone, in remembrance Of this ensample tak good hiede: For who that thenkth his love spiede With moerdre, he schal with worldes schame Himself and ek his love schame. 2200 Mi fader, of this aventure Which ye have told, I you assure Min herte is sory forto hiere, Bot only for I wolde lere What is to done, and what to leve. And over this now be your leve, That ye me wolden telle I preie, If ther be lieffull eny weie Withoute Senne a man to sle. Mi Sone, in sondri wise ye. 2210 What man that is of traiterie, Of moerdre or elles robberie Atteint, the jugge schal noght lette, Bot he schal slen of pure dette, And doth gret Senne, if that he wonde. For who that lawe hath upon honde, And spareth forto do justice For merci, doth noght his office, That he his mercy so bewareth, Whan for o schrewe which he spareth 2220 A thousand goode men he grieveth: With such merci who that believeth To plese god, he is deceived, Or elles resoun mot be weyved. The lawe stod er we were bore, How that a kinges swerd is bore In signe that he schal defende His trewe poeple and make an ende Of suche as wolden hem devoure. Lo thus, my Sone, to socoure 2230 The lawe and comun riht to winne, A man mai sle withoute Sinne, And do therof a gret almesse, So forto kepe rihtwisnesse. And over this for his contre In time of werre a man is fre Himself, his hous and ek his lond Defende with his oghne hond, And slen, if that he mai no bet, After the lawe which is set. 2240 Now, fader, thanne I you beseche Of hem that dedly werres seche In worldes cause and scheden blod, If such an homicide is good. Mi Sone, upon thi question The trowthe of myn opinion, Als ferforth as my wit arecheth And as the pleine lawe techeth, I woll thee telle in evidence, To rewle with thi conscience. 2250 The hihe god of his justice That ilke foule horrible vice Of homicide he hath forbede, Be Moi5ses as it was bede. Whan goddes Sone also was bore, He sende hise anglis doun therfore, Whom the Schepherdes herden singe, Pes to the men of welwillinge In erthe be among ous here. So forto speke in this matiere 2260 After the lawe of charite, Ther schal no dedly werre be: And ek nature it hath defended And in hir lawe pes comended, Which is the chief of mannes welthe, Of mannes lif, of mannes helthe. Bot dedly werre hath his covine Of pestilence and of famine, Of poverte and of alle wo, Wherof this world we blamen so, 2270 Which now the werre hath under fote, Til god himself therof do bote. For alle thing which god hath wroght In Erthe, werre it bringth to noght: The cherche is brent, the priest is slain, The wif, the maide is ek forlain, The lawe is lore and god unserved: I not what mede he hath deserved That suche werres ledeth inne. If that he do it forto winne, 2280 Ferst to acompte his grete cost Forth with the folk that he hath lost, As to the wordes rekeninge Ther schal he finde no winnynge; And if he do it to pourchace The hevene mede, of such a grace I can noght speke, and natheles Crist hath comanded love and pes, And who that worcheth the revers, I trowe his mede is ful divers. 2290 And sithen thanne that we finde That werres in here oghne kinde Ben toward god of no decerte, And ek thei bringen in poverte Of worldes good, it is merveile Among the men what it mai eyle, That thei a pes ne conne sette. I trowe Senne be the lette, And every mede of Senne is deth; So wot I nevere hou that it geth: 2300 Bot we that ben of o believe Among ousself, this wolde I lieve, That betre it were pes to chese, Than so be double weie lese. I not if that it now so stonde, Bot this a man mai understonde, Who that these olde bokes redeth, That coveitise is on which ledeth, And broghte ferst the werres inne. At Grece if that I schal beginne, 2310 Ther was it proved hou it stod: To Perce, which was ful of good, Thei maden werre in special, And so thei deden overal, Wher gret richesse was in londe, So that thei leften nothing stonde Unwerred, bot onliche Archade. For there thei no werres made, Be cause it was bareigne and povere, Wherof thei mihten noght recovere; 2320 And thus poverte was forbore, He that noght hadde noght hath lore. Bot yit it is a wonder thing, Whan that a riche worthi king, Or other lord, what so he be, Wol axe and cleyme proprete In thing to which he hath no riht, Bot onliche of his grete miht: For this mai every man wel wite, That bothe kinde and lawe write 2330 Expressly stonden therayein. Bot he mot nedes somwhat sein, Althogh ther be no reson inne, Which secheth cause forto winne: For wit that is with will oppressed, Whan coveitise him hath adressed, And alle resoun put aweie, He can wel finde such a weie To werre, where as evere him liketh, Wherof that he the world entriketh, 2340 That many a man of him compleigneth: Bot yit alwei som cause he feigneth, And of his wrongful herte he demeth That al is wel, what evere him semeth, Be so that he mai winne ynowh. For as the trew man to the plowh Only to the gaignage entendeth, Riht so the werreiour despendeth His time and hath no conscience. And in this point for evidence 2350 Of hem that suche werres make, Thou miht a gret ensample take, How thei her tirannie excusen Of that thei wrongfull werres usen, And how thei stonde of on acord, The Souldeour forth with the lord, The povere man forth with the riche, As of corage thei ben liche, To make werres and to pile For lucre and for non other skyle: 2360 Wherof a propre tale I rede, As it whilom befell in dede. Of him whom al this Erthe dradde, Whan he the world so overladde Thurgh werre, as it fortuned is, King Alisandre, I rede this; How in a Marche, where he lay, It fell per chance upon a day A Rovere of the See was nome, Which many a man hadde overcome 2370 And slain and take here good aweie: This Pilour, as the bokes seie, A famous man in sondri stede Was of the werkes whiche he dede. This Prisoner tofor the king Was broght, and there upon this thing In audience he was accused: And he his dede hath noght excused, Bot preith the king to don him riht, And seith, "Sire, if I were of miht, 2380 I have an herte lich to thin; For if the pouer were myn, Mi will is most in special To rifle and geten overal The large worldes good aboute. Bot for I lede a povere route And am, as who seith, at meschief, The name of Pilour and of thief I bere; and thou, which routes grete Miht lede and take thi beyete, 2390 And dost riht as I wolde do, Thi name is nothing cleped so, Bot thou art named Emperour. Oure dedes ben of o colour And in effect of o decerte, Bot thi richesse and my poverte Tho ben noght taken evene liche. And natheles he that is riche This dai, tomorwe he mai be povere; And in contraire also recovere 2400 A povere man to gret richesse Men sen: forthi let rihtwisnesse Be peised evene in the balance. The king his hardi contienance Behield, and herde hise wordes wise, And seide unto him in this wise: "Thin ansuere I have understonde, Wherof my will is, that thou stonde In mi service and stille abide." And forth withal the same tide 2410 He hath him terme of lif withholde, The mor and for he schal ben holde, He made him kniht and yaf him lond, Which afterward was of his hond And orped kniht in many a stede, And gret prouesce of armes dede, As the Croniqes it recorden. And in this wise thei acorden, The whiche of o condicioun Be set upon destruccioun: 2420 Such Capitein such retenue. Bot forto se to what issue The thing befalleth ate laste, It is gret wonder that men caste Here herte upon such wrong to winne, Wher no beyete mai ben inne, And doth desese on every side: Bot whan reson is put aside And will governeth the corage, The faucon which that fleth ramage 2430 And soeffreth nothing in the weie, Wherof that he mai take his preie, Is noght mor set upon ravine, Than thilke man which his covine Hath set in such a maner wise: For al the world ne mai suffise To will which is noght resonable. Wherof ensample concordable Lich to this point of which I meene, Was upon Alisandre sene, 2440 Which hadde set al his entente, So as fortune with him wente, That reson mihte him non governe, Bot of his will he was so sterne, That al the world he overran And what him list he tok and wan. In Ynde the superiour Whan that he was ful conquerour, And hadde his wilful pourpos wonne Of al this Erthe under the Sonne, 2450 This king homward to Macedoine, Whan that he cam to Babiloine, And wende most in his Empire, As he which was hol lord and Sire, In honour forto be received, Most sodeinliche he was deceived, And with strong puison envenimed. And as he hath the world mistimed Noght as he scholde with his wit, Noght as he wolde it was aquit. 2460 Thus was he slain that whilom slowh, And he which riche was ynowh This dai, tomorwe he hadde noght: And in such wise as he hath wroght In destorbance of worldes pes, His werre he fond thanne endeles, In which for evere desconfit He was. Lo now, for what profit Of werre it helpeth forto ryde, For coveitise and worldes pride 2470 To sle the worldes men aboute, As bestes whiche gon theroute. For every lif which reson can Oghth wel to knowe that a man Ne scholde thurgh no tirannie Lich to these othre bestes die, Til kinde wolde for him sende. I not hou he it mihte amende, Which takth awei for everemore The lif that he mai noght restore. 2480 Forthi, mi Sone, in alle weie Be wel avised, I thee preie, Of slawhte er that thou be coupable Withoute cause resonable. Mi fader, understonde it is, That ye have seid; bot over this I prei you tell me nay or yee, To passe over the grete See To werre and sle the Sarazin, Is that the lawe? Sone myn, 2490 To preche and soffre for the feith, That have I herd the gospell seith; Bot forto slee, that hiere I noght. Crist with his oghne deth hath boght Alle othre men, and made hem fre, In tokne of parfit charite; And after that he tawhte himselve, Whan he was ded, these othre tuelve Of hise Apostles wente aboute The holi feith to prechen oute, 2500 Wherof the deth in sondri place Thei soffre, and so god of his grace The feith of Crist hath mad aryse: Bot if thei wolde in other wise Be werre have broght in the creance, It hadde yit stonde in balance. And that mai proven in the dede; For what man the Croniqes rede, Fro ferst that holi cherche hath weyved To preche, and hath the swerd received, 2510 Wherof the werres ben begonne, A gret partie of that was wonne To Cristes feith stant now miswent: Godd do therof amendement, So as he wot what is the beste. Bot, Sone, if thou wolt live in reste Of conscience wel assised, Er that thou sle, be wel avised: For man, as tellen ous the clerkes, Hath god above alle ertheli werkes 2520 Ordeined to be principal, And ek of Soule in special He is mad lich to the godhiede. So sit it wel to taken hiede And forto loke on every side, Er that thou falle in homicide, Which Senne is now so general, That it welnyh stant overal, In holi cherche and elles where. Bot al the while it stant so there, 2530 The world mot nede fare amis: For whan the welle of pite is Thurgh coveitise of worldes good Defouled with schedinge of blod, The remenant of folk aboute Unethe stonden eny doute To werre ech other and to slee. So is it all noght worth a Stree, The charite wherof we prechen, For we do nothing as we techen: 2540 And thus the blinde conscience Of pes hath lost thilke evidence Which Crist upon this Erthe tawhte. Now mai men se moerdre and manslawhte Lich as it was be daies olde, Whan men the Sennes boghte and solde. In Grece afore Cristes feith, I rede, as the Cronique seith, Touchende of this matiere thus, In thilke time hou Pele
s 2550 His oghne brother Phocus slowh; Bot for he hadde gold ynowh To yive, his Senne was despensed With gold, wherof it was compensed: Achastus, which with Venus was Hire Priest, assoilede in that cas, Al were ther no repentance. And as the bok makth remembrance, It telleth of Medee also; Of that sche slowh her Sones tuo, 2560 Ege
s in the same plit Hath mad hire of hire Senne quit. The Sone ek of Amphioras, Whos rihte name Alme
s was, His Moder slowh, Eriphile; Bot Achilo the Priest and he, So as the bokes it recorden, For certein Somme of gold acorden That thilke horrible sinfull dede Assoiled was. And thus for mede 2570 Of worldes good it falleth ofte That homicide is set alofte Hiere in this lif; bot after this Ther schal be knowe how that it is Of hem that suche thinges werche, And hou also that holi cherche Let suche Sennes passe quyte, And how thei wole hemself aquite Of dedly werres that thei make. For who that wolde ensample take, 2580 The lawe which is naturel Be weie of kinde scheweth wel That homicide in no degree, Which werreth ayein charite, Among the men ne scholde duelle. For after that the bokes telle, To seche in al this worldesriche, Men schal noght finde upon his liche A beste forto take his preie: And sithen kinde hath such a weie, 2590 Thanne is it wonder of a man, Which kynde hath and resoun can, That he wol owther more or lasse His kinde and resoun overpasse, And sle that is to him semblable. So is the man noght resonable Ne kinde, and that is noght honeste, Whan he is worse than a beste. Among the bokes whiche I finde Solyns spekth of a wonder kinde, 2600 And seith of fowhles ther is on, Which hath a face of blod and bon Lich to a man in resemblance. And if it falle him so per chance, As he which is a fowhl of preie, That he a man finde in his weie, He wol him slen, if that he mai: Bot afterward the same dai, Whan he hath eten al his felle, And that schal be beside a welle, 2610 In which whan he wol drinke take, Of his visage and seth the make That he hath slain, anon he thenketh Of his misdede, and it forthenketh So gretly, that for pure sorwe He liveth noght til on the morwe. Be this ensample it mai well suie That man schal homicide eschuie, For evere is merci good to take, Bot if the lawe it hath forsake 2620 And that justice is therayein. For ofte time I have herd sein Amonges hem that werres hadden, That thei som while here cause ladden Be merci, whan thei mihte have slain, Wherof that thei were after fain: And, Sone, if that thou wolt recorde The vertu of Misericorde, Thou sihe nevere thilke place, Where it was used, lacke grace. 2630 For every lawe and every kinde The mannes wit to merci binde; And namely the worthi knihtes, Whan that thei stonden most uprihtes And ben most mihti forto grieve, Thei scholden thanne most relieve Him whom thei mihten overthrowe, As be ensample a man mai knowe. He mai noght failen of his mede That hath merci: for this I rede, 2640 In a Cronique and finde thus. Whan Achilles with Telaphus His Sone toward Troie were, It fell hem, er thei comen there, Ayein Theucer the king of Mese To make werre and forto sese His lond, as thei that wolden regne And Theucer pute out of his regne. And thus the Marches thei assaile, Bot Theucer yaf to hem bataille; 2650 Thei foghte on bothe sides faste, Bot so it hapneth ate laste, This worthi Grek, this Achilles, The king among alle othre ches: As he that was cruel and fell, With swerd in honde on him he fell, And smot him with a dethes wounde, That he unhorsed fell to grounde. Achilles upon him alyhte, And wolde anon, as he wel mihte, 2660 Have slain him fullich in the place; Bot Thelaphus his fader grace For him besoghte, and for pite Preith that he wolde lete him be, And caste his Schield betwen hem tuo. Achilles axeth him why so, And Thelaphus his cause tolde, And seith that he is mochel holde, For whilom Theucer in a stede Gret grace and socour to him dede, 2670 And seith that he him wolde aquite, And preith his fader to respite. Achilles tho withdrowh his hond; Bot al the pouer of the lond, Whan that thei sihe here king thus take, Thei fledde and han the feld forsake: The Grecs unto the chace falle, And for the moste part of alle Of that contre the lordes grete Thei toke, and wonne a gret beyete. 2680 And anon after this victoire The king, which hadde good memoire, Upon the grete merci thoghte, Which Telaphus toward him wroghte, And in presence of al the lond He tok him faire be the hond, And in this wise he gan to seie: "Mi Sone, I mot be double weie Love and desire thin encress; Ferst for thi fader Achilles 2690 Whilom ful many dai er this, Whan that I scholde have fare amis, Rescousse dede in mi querele And kepte al myn astat in hele: How so ther falle now distance Amonges ous, yit remembrance I have of merci which he dede As thanne: and thou now in this stede Of gentilesce and of franchise Hast do mercy the same wise. 2700 So wol I noght that eny time Be lost of that thou hast do byme; For hou so this fortune falle, Yit stant mi trust aboven alle, For the mercy which I now finde, That thou wolt after this be kinde: And for that such is myn espeir, As for my Sone and for myn Eir I thee receive, and al my lond I yive and sese into thin hond." 2710 And in this wise thei acorde, The cause was Misericorde: The lordes dede here obeissance To Thelaphus, and pourveance Was mad so that he was coroned: And thus was merci reguerdoned, Which he to Theucer dede afore. Lo, this ensample is mad therfore, That thou miht take remembrance, Mi Sone; and whan thou sest a chaunce, 2720 Of other mennes passioun Tak pite and compassioun, And let nothing to thee be lief, Which to an other man is grief. And after this if thou desire To stonde ayein the vice of Ire, Consaile thee with Pacience, And tak into thi conscience Merci to be thi governour. So schalt thou fiele no rancour, 2730 Wherof thin herte schal debate With homicide ne with hate For Cheste or for Malencolie: Thou schalt be soft in compaignie Withoute Contek or Folhaste: For elles miht thou longe waste Thi time, er that thou have thi wille Of love; for the weder stille Men preise, and blame the tempestes. Mi fader, I wol do youre hestes, 2740 And of this point ye have me tawht, Toward miself the betre sawht I thenke be, whil that I live. Bot for als moche as I am schrive Of Wraththe and al his circumstance, Yif what you list to my penance, And asketh forthere of my lif, If otherwise I be gultif Of eny thing that toucheth Sinne. Mi Sone, er we departe atwinne, 2750 I schal behinde nothing leve. Mi goode fader, be your leve Thanne axeth forth what so you list, For I have in you such a trist, As ye that be my Soule hele, That ye fro me wol nothing hele, For I schal telle you the trowthe. Mi Sone, art thou coupable of Slowthe In eny point which to him longeth? My fader, of tho pointz me longeth 2760 To wite pleinly what thei meene, So that I mai me schrive cleene. Now herkne, I schal the pointz devise; And understond wel myn aprise: For schrifte stant of no value To him that wol him noght vertue To leve of vice the folie: For word is wynd, bot the maistrie Is that a man himself defende Of thing which is noght to comende, 2770 Wherof ben fewe now aday. And natheles, so as I may Make unto thi memoire knowe, The pointz of Slowthe thou schalt knowe. Explicit Liber Tercius Incipit Liber Quartus Dicunt accidiam fore nutricem viciorum, Torpet et in cunctis tarda que lenta bonis: Que fieri possent hodie transfert piger in cras, Furatoque prius ostia claudit equo. Poscenti tardo negat emolumenta Cupido, Set Venus in celeri ludit amore viri. Upon the vices to procede After the cause of mannes dede, The ferste point of Slowthe I calle Lachesce, and is the chief of alle, And hath this propreliche of kinde, To leven alle thing behinde. Of that he mihte do now hier He tarieth al the longe yer, And everemore he seith, "Tomorwe"; And so he wol his time borwe, 10 And wissheth after "God me sende," That whan he weneth have an ende, Thanne is he ferthest to beginne. Thus bringth he many a meschief inne Unwar, til that he be meschieved, And may noght thanne be relieved. And riht so nowther mor ne lesse It stant of love and of lachesce: Som time he slowtheth in a day That he nevere after gete mai. 20 Now, Sone, as of this ilke thing, If thou have eny knowleching, That thou to love hast don er this, Tell on. Mi goode fader, yis. As of lachesce I am beknowe That I mai stonde upon his rowe, As I that am clad of his suite: For whanne I thoghte mi poursuite To make, and therto sette a day To speke unto the swete May, 30 Lachesce bad abide yit, And bar on hond it was no wit Ne time forto speke as tho. Thus with his tales to and fro Mi time in tariinge he drowh: Whan ther was time good ynowh, He seide, "An other time is bettre; Thou schalt mowe senden hire a lettre, And per cas wryte more plein Than thou be Mowthe durstest sein." 40 Thus have I lete time slyde For Slowthe, and kepte noght my tide, So that lachesce with his vice Fulofte hath mad my wit so nyce, That what I thoghte speke or do With tariinge he hield me so, Til whanne I wolde and mihte noght. I not what thing was in my thoght, Or it was drede, or it was schame; Bot evere in ernest and in game 50 I wot ther is long time passed. Bot yit is noght the love lassed, Which I unto mi ladi have; For thogh my tunge is slowh to crave At alle time, as I have bede, Min herte stant evere in o stede And axeth besiliche grace, The which I mai noght yit embrace. And god wot that is malgre myn; For this I wot riht wel a fin, 60 Mi grace comth so selde aboute, That is the Slowthe of which I doute Mor than of al the remenant Which is to love appourtenant. And thus as touchende of lachesce, As I have told, I me confesse To you, mi fader, and beseche That furthermor ye wol me teche; And if ther be to this matiere Som goodly tale forto liere 70 How I mai do lachesce aweie, That ye it wolden telle I preie. To wisse thee, my Sone, and rede, Among the tales whiche I rede, An old ensample therupon Now herkne, and I wol tellen on. Ayein Lachesce in loves cas I finde how whilom Eneas, Whom Anchises to Sone hadde, With gret navie, which he ladde 80 Fro Troie, aryveth at Cartage, Wher for a while his herbergage He tok; and it betidde so, With hire which was qweene tho Of the Cite his aqueintance He wan, whos name in remembrance Is yit, and Dido sche was hote; Which loveth Eneas so hote Upon the wordes whiche he seide, That al hire herte on him sche leide 90 And dede al holi what he wolde. Bot after that, as it be scholde, Fro thenne he goth toward Ytaile Be Schipe, and there his arivaile Hath take, and schop him forto ryde. Bot sche, which mai noght longe abide The hote peine of loves throwe, Anon withinne a litel throwe A lettre unto hir kniht hath write, And dede him pleinly forto wite, 100 If he made eny tariinge, To drecche of his ayeincomynge, That sche ne mihte him fiele and se, Sche scholde stonde in such degre As whilom stod a Swan tofore, Of that sche hadde hire make lore; For sorwe a fethere into hire brain Sche schof and hath hireselve slain; As king Menander in a lay The sothe hath founde, wher sche lay 110 Sprantlende with hire wynges tweie, As sche which scholde thanne deie For love of him which was hire make. "And so schal I do for thi sake," This qweene seide, "wel I wot." Lo, to Enee thus sche wrot With many an other word of pleinte: Bot he, which hadde hise thoghtes feinte Towardes love and full of Slowthe, His time lette, and that was rowthe: 120 For sche, which loveth him tofore, Desireth evere more and more, And whan sche sih him tarie so, Hire herte was so full of wo, That compleignende manyfold Sche hath hire oghne tale told, Unto hirself and thus sche spak: "Ha, who fond evere such a lak Of Slowthe in eny worthi kniht? Now wot I wel my deth is diht 130 Thurgh him which scholde have be mi lif." Bot forto stinten al this strif, Thus whan sche sih non other bote, Riht evene unto hire herte rote A naked swerd anon sche threste, And thus sche gat hireselve reste In remembrance of alle slowe. Wherof, my Sone, thou miht knowe How tariinge upon the nede In loves cause is forto drede; 140 And that hath Dido sore aboght, Whos deth schal evere be bethoght. And overmore if I schal seche In this matiere an other spieche, In a Cronique I finde write A tale which is good to wite. At Troie whan king Ulixes Upon the Siege among the pres Of hem that worthi knihtes were Abod long time stille there, 150 In thilke time a man mai se How goodli that Penolope, Which was to him his trewe wif, Of his lachesce was pleintif; Wherof to Troie sche him sende Hire will be lettre, thus spekende: "Mi worthi love and lord also, It is and hath ben evere so, That wher a womman is al one, It makth a man in his persone 160 The more hardi forto wowe, In hope that sche wolde bowe To such thing as his wille were, Whil that hire lord were elleswhere. And of miself I telle this; For it so longe passed is, Sithe ferst than ye fro home wente, That welnyh every man his wente To there I am, whil ye ben oute, Hath mad, and ech of hem aboute, 170 Which love can, my love secheth, With gret preiere and me besecheth: And some maken gret manace, That if thei mihten come in place, Wher that thei mihte here wille have, Ther is nothing me scholde save, That thei ne wolde werche thinges; And some tellen me tidynges That ye ben ded, and some sein That certeinly ye ben besein 180 To love a newe and leve me. Bot hou as evere that it be, I thonke unto the goddes alle, As yit for oght that is befalle Mai noman do my chekes rede: Bot natheles it is to drede, That Lachesse in continuance Fortune mihte such a chance, Which noman after scholde amende." Lo, thus this ladi compleignende 190 A lettre unto hire lord hath write, And preyde him that he wolde wite And thenke hou that sche was al his, And that he tarie noght in this, Bot that he wolde his love aquite, To hire ayeinward and noght wryte, Bot come himself in alle haste, That he non other paper waste; So that he kepe and holde his trowthe Withoute lette of eny Slowthe. 200 Unto hire lord and love liege To Troie, wher the grete Siege Was leid, this lettre was conveied. And he, which wisdom hath pourveied Of al that to reson belongeth, With gentil herte it underfongeth: And whan he hath it overrad, In part he was riht inly glad, And ek in part he was desesed: Bot love his herte hath so thorghsesed 210 With pure ymaginacioun, That for non occupacioun Which he can take on other side, He mai noght flitt his herte aside Fro that his wif him hadde enformed; Wherof he hath himself conformed With al the wille of his corage To schape and take the viage Homward, what time that he mai: So that him thenketh of a day 220 A thousand yer, til he mai se The visage of Penolope, Which he desireth most of alle. And whan the time is so befalle That Troie was destruid and brent, He made non delaiement, Bot goth him home in alle hihe, Wher that he fond tofore his yhe His worthi wif in good astat: And thus was cessed the debat 230 Of love, and Slowthe was excused, Which doth gret harm, where it is used, And hindreth many a cause honeste. For of the grete Clerc Grossteste I rede how besy that he was Upon clergie an Hed of bras To forge, and make it forto telle Of suche thinges as befelle. And sevene yeres besinesse He leyde, bot for the lachesse 240 Of half a Minut of an houre, Fro ferst that he began laboure He loste all that he hadde do. And otherwhile it fareth so, In loves cause who is slow, That he withoute under the wow Be nyhte stant fulofte acold, Which mihte, if that he hadde wold His time kept, have be withinne. Bot Slowthe mai no profit winne, 250 Bot he mai singe in his karole How Latewar cam to the Dole, Wher he no good receive mihte. And that was proved wel be nyhte Whilom of the Maidenes fyve, Whan thilke lord cam forto wyve: For that here oyle was aweie To lihte here lampes in his weie, Here Slowthe broghte it so aboute, Fro him that thei ben schet withoute. 260 Wherof, my Sone, be thou war, Als ferforth as I telle dar. For love moste ben awaited: And if thou be noght wel affaited In love to eschuie Slowthe, Mi Sone, forto telle trowthe, Thou miht noght of thiself ben able To winne love or make it stable, All thogh thou mihtest love achieve. Mi fader, that I mai wel lieve. 270 Bot me was nevere assigned place, Wher yit to geten eny grace, Ne me was non such time apointed; For thanne I wolde I were unjoynted Of every lime that I have, If I ne scholde kepe and save Min houre bothe and ek my stede, If my ladi it hadde bede. Bot sche is otherwise avised Than grante such a time assised; 280 And natheles of mi lachesse Ther hath be no defalte I gesse Of time lost, if that I mihte: Bot yit hire liketh noght alyhte Upon no lure which I caste; For ay the more I crie faste, The lasse hire liketh forto hiere. So forto speke of this matiere, I seche that I mai noght finde, I haste and evere I am behinde, 290 And wot noght what it mai amounte. Bot, fader, upon myn acompte, Which ye be sett to examine Of Schrifte after the discipline, Sey what your beste conseil is. Mi Sone, my conseil is this: Hou so it stonde of time go, Do forth thi besinesse so, That no Lachesce in the be founde: For Slowthe is mihti to confounde 300 The spied of every mannes werk. For many a vice, as seith the clerk, Ther hongen upon Slowthes lappe Of suche as make a man mishappe, To pleigne and telle of hadde I wist. And therupon if that thee list To knowe of Slowthes cause more, In special yit overmore Ther is a vice full grevable To him which is therof coupable, 310 And stant of alle vertu bare, Hierafter as I schal declare. Touchende of Slowthe in his degre, Ther is yit Pusillamite, Which is to seie in this langage, He that hath litel of corage And dar no mannes werk beginne: So mai he noght be resoun winne; For who that noght dar undertake, Be riht he schal no profit take. 320 Bot of this vice the nature Dar nothing sette in aventure, Him lacketh bothe word and dede, Wherof he scholde his cause spede: He woll no manhed understonde, For evere he hath drede upon honde: Al is peril that he schal seie, Him thenkth the wolf is in the weie, And of ymaginacioun He makth his excusacioun 330 And feigneth cause of pure drede, And evere he faileth ate nede, Til al be spilt that he with deleth. He hath the sor which noman heleth, The which is cleped lack of herte; Thogh every grace aboute him sterte, He wol noght ones stere his fot; So that be resoun lese he mot, That wol noght auntre forto winne. And so forth, Sone, if we beginne 340 To speke of love and his servise, Ther ben truantz in such a wise, That lacken herte, whan best were To speke of love, and riht for fere Thei wexen doumb and dar noght telle, Withoute soun as doth the belle, Which hath no claper forto chyme; And riht so thei as for the tyme Ben herteles withoute speche Of love, and dar nothing beseche; 350 And thus thei lese and winne noght. Forthi, my Sone, if thou art oght Coupable as touchende of this Slowthe, Schrif thee therof and tell me trowthe. Mi fader, I am al beknowe That I have ben on of tho slowe, As forto telle in loves cas. Min herte is yit and evere was, As thogh the world scholde al tobreke, So ferful, that I dar noght speke 360 Of what pourpos that I have nome, Whan I toward mi ladi come, Bot let it passe and overgo. Mi Sone, do nomore so: For after that a man poursuieth To love, so fortune suieth, Fulofte and yifth hire happi chance To him which makth continuance To preie love and to beseche; As be ensample I schal thee teche. 370 I finde hou whilom ther was on, Whos name was Pymaleon, Which was a lusti man of yowthe: The werkes of entaile he cowthe Above alle othre men as tho; And thurgh fortune it fell him so, As he whom love schal travaile, He made an ymage of entaile Lich to a womman in semblance Of feture and of contienance, 380 So fair yit nevere was figure. Riht as a lyves creature Sche semeth, for of yvor whyt He hath hire wroght of such delit, That sche was rody on the cheke And red on bothe hire lippes eke; Wherof that he himself beguileth. For with a goodly lok sche smyleth, So that thurgh pure impression Of his ymaginacion 390 With al the herte of his corage His love upon this faire ymage He sette, and hire of love preide; Bot sche no word ayeinward seide. The longe day, what thing he dede, This ymage in the same stede Was evere bi, that ate mete He wolde hire serve and preide hire ete, And putte unto hire mowth the cuppe; And whan the bord was taken uppe, 400 He hath hire into chambre nome, And after, whan the nyht was come, He leide hire in his bed al nakid. He was forwept, he was forwakid, He keste hire colde lippes ofte, And wissheth that thei weren softe, And ofte he rouneth in hire Ere, And ofte his arm now hier now there He leide, as he hir wolde embrace, And evere among he axeth grace, 410 As thogh sche wiste what he mente: And thus himself he gan tormente With such desese of loves peine, That noman mihte him more peine. Bot how it were, of his penance He made such continuance Fro dai to nyht, and preith so longe, That his preiere is underfonge, Which Venus of hire grace herde; Be nyhte and whan that he worst ferde, 420 And it lay in his nakede arm, The colde ymage he fieleth warm Of fleissh and bon and full of lif. Lo, thus he wan a lusti wif, Which obeissant was at his wille; And if he wolde have holde him stille And nothing spoke, he scholde have failed: Bot for he hath his word travailed And dorste speke, his love he spedde, And hadde al that he wolde abedde. 430 For er thei wente thanne atwo, A knave child betwen hem two Thei gete, which was after hote Paphus, of whom yit hath the note A certein yle, which Paphos Men clepe, and of his name it ros. Be this ensample thou miht finde That word mai worche above kinde. Forthi, my Sone, if that thou spare To speke, lost is al thi fare, 440 For Slowthe bringth in alle wo. And over this to loke also, The god of love is favorable To hem that ben of love stable, And many a wonder hath befalle: Wherof to speke amonges alle, If that thee list to taken hede, Therof a solein tale I rede, Which I schal telle in remembraunce Upon the sort of loves chaunce. 450 The king Ligdus upon a strif Spak unto Thelacuse his wif, Which thanne was with childe grete; He swor it scholde noght be lete, That if sche have a dowhter bore, That it ne scholde be forlore And slain, wherof sche sory was. So it befell upon this cas, Whan sche delivered scholde be, Isis be nyhte in privete, 460 Which of childinge is the goddesse, Cam forto helpe in that destresse, Til that this lady was al smal, And hadde a dowhter forth withal; Which the goddesse in alle weie Bad kepe, and that thei scholden seie It were a Sone: and thus Iphis Thei namede him, and upon this The fader was mad so to wene. And thus in chambre with the qweene 470 This Iphis was forthdrawe tho, And clothed and arraied so Riht as a kinges Sone scholde. Til after, as fortune it wolde, Whan it was of a ten yer age, Him was betake in mariage A Duckes dowhter forto wedde, Which Iante hihte, and ofte abedde These children leien, sche and sche, Whiche of on age bothe be. 480 So that withinne time of yeeres, Togedre as thei ben pleiefieres, Liggende abedde upon a nyht, Nature, which doth every wiht Upon hire lawe forto muse, Constreigneth hem, so that thei use Thing which to hem was al unknowe; Wherof Cupide thilke throwe Tok pite for the grete love, And let do sette kinde above, 490 So that hir lawe mai ben used, And thei upon here lust excused. For love hateth nothing more Than thing which stant ayein the lore Of that nature in kinde hath sett: Forthi Cupide hath so besett His grace upon this aventure, That he acordant to nature, Whan that he syh the time best, That ech of hem hath other kest, 500 Transformeth Iphe into a man, Wherof the kinde love he wan Of lusti yonge Iante his wif; And tho thei ladde a merie lif, Which was to kinde non offence. And thus to take an evidence, It semeth love is welwillende To hem that ben continuende With besy herte to poursuie Thing which that is to love due. 510 Wherof, my Sone, in this matiere Thou miht ensample taken hiere, That with thi grete besinesse Thou miht atteigne the richesse Of love, if that ther be no Slowthe. I dar wel seie be mi trowthe, Als fer as I my witt can seche, Mi fader, as for lacke of speche, Bot so as I me schrof tofore, Ther is non other time lore, 520 Wherof ther mihte ben obstacle To lette love of his miracle, Which I beseche day and nyht. Bot, fader, so as it is riht In forme of schrifte to beknowe What thing belongeth to the slowe, Your faderhode I wolde preie, If ther be forthere eny weie Touchende unto this ilke vice. Mi Sone, ye, of this office 530 Ther serveth on in special, Which lost hath his memorial, So that he can no wit withholde In thing which he to kepe is holde, Wherof fulofte himself he grieveth: And who that most upon him lieveth, Whan that hise wittes ben so weyved, He mai full lihtly be deceived. To serve Accidie in his office, Ther is of Slowthe an other vice, 540 Which cleped is Foryetelnesse; That noght mai in his herte impresse Of vertu which reson hath sett, So clene his wittes he foryet. For in the tellinge of his tale Nomore his herte thanne his male Hath remembrance of thilke forme, Wherof he scholde his wit enforme As thanne, and yit ne wot he why. Thus is his pourpos noght forthi 550 Forlore of that he wolde bidde, And skarsly if he seith the thridde To love of that he hadde ment: Thus many a lovere hath be schent. Tell on therfore, hast thou be oon Of hem that Slowthe hath so begon? Ye, fader, ofte it hath be so, That whanne I am mi ladi fro And thenke untoward hire drawe, Than cast I many a newe lawe 560 And al the world torne up so doun, And so recorde I mi lecoun And wryte in my memorial What I to hire telle schal, Riht al the matiere of mi tale: Bot al nys worth a note schale; For whanne I come ther sche is, I have it al foryete ywiss; Of that I thoghte forto telle I can noght thanne unethes spelle 570 That I wende altherbest have rad, So sore I am of hire adrad. For as a man that sodeinli A gost behelde, so fare I; So that for feere I can noght gete Mi witt, bot I miself foryete, That I wot nevere what I am, Ne whider I schal, ne whenne I cam, Bot muse as he that were amased. Lich to the bok in which is rased 580 The lettre, and mai nothing be rad, So ben my wittes overlad, That what as evere I thoghte have spoken, It is out fro myn herte stoken, And stonde, as who seith, doumb and def, That all nys worth an yvy lef, Of that I wende wel have seid. And ate laste I make abreid, Caste up myn hed and loke aboute, Riht as a man that were in doute 590 And wot noght wher he schal become. Thus am I ofte al overcome, Ther as I wende best to stonde: Bot after, whanne I understonde, And am in other place al one, I make many a wofull mone Unto miself, and speke so: "Ha fol, wher was thin herte tho, Whan thou thi worthi ladi syhe? Were thou afered of hire yhe? 600 For of hire hand ther is no drede: So wel I knowe hir wommanhede, That in hire is nomore oultrage Than in a child of thre yeer age. Whi hast thou drede of so good on, Whom alle vertu hath begon, That in hire is no violence Bot goodlihiede and innocence Withouten spot of eny blame? Ha, nyce herte, fy for schame] 610 Ha, couard herte of love unlered, Wherof art thou so sore afered, That thou thi tunge soffrest frese, And wolt thi goode wordes lese, Whan thou hast founde time and space? How scholdest thou deserve grace, Whan thou thiself darst axe non, Bot al thou hast foryete anon?" And thus despute I loves lore, Bot help ne finde I noght the more, 620 Bot stomble upon myn oghne treine And make an ekinge of my peine. For evere whan I thenke among How al is on miself along, I seie, "O fol of alle foles, Thou farst as he betwen tuo stoles That wolde sitte and goth to grounde. It was ne nevere schal be founde, Betwen foryetelnesse and drede That man scholde any cause spede." 630 And thus, myn holi fader diere, Toward miself, as ye mai hiere, I pleigne of my foryetelnesse; Bot elles al the besinesse, That mai be take of mannes thoght, Min herte takth, and is thorghsoght To thenken evere upon that swete Withoute Slowthe, I you behete. For what so falle, or wel or wo, That thoght foryete I neveremo, 640 Wher so I lawhe or so I loure: Noght half the Minut of an houre Ne mihte I lete out of my mende, Bot if I thoghte upon that hende. Therof me schal no Slowthe lette, Til deth out of this world me fette, Althogh I hadde on such a Ring, As Moises thurgh his enchanting Som time in Ethiope made, Whan that he Tharbis weddid hade. 650 Which Ring bar of Oblivion The name, and that was be resoun That where it on a finger sat, Anon his love he so foryat, As thogh he hadde it nevere knowe: And so it fell that ilke throwe, Whan Tharbis hadde it on hire hond, No knowlechinge of him sche fond, Bot al was clene out of memoire, As men mai rede in his histoire; 660 And thus he wente quit away, That nevere after that ilke day Sche thoghte that ther was such on; Al was foryete and overgon. Bot in good feith so mai noght I: For sche is evere faste by, So nyh that sche myn herte toucheth, That for nothing that Slowthe voucheth I mai foryete hire, lief ne loth; For overal, where as sche goth, 670 Min herte folwith hire aboute. Thus mai I seie withoute doute, For bet, for wers, for oght, for noght, Sche passeth nevere fro my thoght; Bot whanne I am ther as sche is, Min herte, as I you saide er this, Som time of hire is sore adrad, And som time it is overglad, Al out of reule and out of space. For whan I se hir goodli face 680 And thenke upon hire hihe pris, As thogh I were in Paradis, I am so ravisht of the syhte, That speke unto hire I ne myhte As for the time, thogh I wolde: For I ne mai my wit unfolde To finde o word of that I mene, Bot al it is foryete clene; And thogh I stonde there a myle, Al is foryete for the while, 690 A tunge I have and wordes none. And thus I stonde and thenke al one Of thing that helpeth ofte noght; Bot what I hadde afore thoght To speke, whanne I come there, It is foryete, as noght ne were, And stonde amased and assoted, That of nothing which I have noted I can noght thanne a note singe, Bot al is out of knowlechinge: 700 Thus, what for joie and what for drede, Al is foryeten ate nede. So that, mi fader, of this Slowthe I have you said the pleine trowthe; Ye mai it as you list redresce: For thus stant my foryetelnesse And ek my pusillamite. Sey now forth what you list to me, For I wol only do be you. Mi Sone, I have wel herd how thou 710 Hast seid, and that thou most amende: For love his grace wol noght sende To that man which dar axe non. For this we knowen everichon, A mannes thoght withoute speche God wot, and yit that men beseche His will is; for withoute bedes He doth his grace in fewe stedes: And what man that foryet himselve, Among a thousand be noght tuelve, 720 That wol him take in remembraunce, Bot lete him falle and take his chaunce. Forthi pull up a besi herte, Mi Sone, and let nothing asterte Of love fro thi besinesse: For touchinge of foryetelnesse, Which many a love hath set behinde, A tale of gret ensample I finde, Wherof it is pite to wite In the manere as it is write. 730 King Demephon, whan he be Schipe To Troieward with felaschipe Sailende goth, upon his weie It hapneth him at Rodopeie, As Eolus him hadde blowe, To londe, and rested for a throwe. And fell that ilke time thus, The dowhter of Ligurgius, Which qweene was of the contre, Was sojournende in that Cite 740 Withinne a Castell nyh the stronde, Wher Demephon cam up to londe. Phillis sche hihte, and of yong age And of stature and of visage Sche hadde al that hire best besemeth. Of Demephon riht wel hire qwemeth, Whan he was come, and made him chiere; And he, that was of his manere A lusti knyht, ne myhte asterte That he ne sette on hire his herte; 750 So that withinne a day or tuo He thoghte, how evere that it go, He wolde assaie the fortune, And gan his herte to commune With goodly wordes in hire Ere; And forto put hire out of fere, He swor and hath his trowthe pliht To be for evere hire oghne knyht. And thus with hire he stille abod, Ther while his Schip on Anker rod, 760 And hadde ynowh of time and space To speke of love and seche grace. This ladi herde al that he seide, And hou he swor and hou he preide, Which was as an enchantement To hire, that was innocent: As thogh it were trowthe and feith, Sche lieveth al that evere he seith, And as hire infortune scholde, Sche granteth him al that he wolde. 770 Thus was he for the time in joie, Til that he scholde go to Troie; Bot tho sche made mochel sorwe, And he his trowthe leith to borwe To come, if that he live may, Ayein withinne a Monthe day, And therupon thei kisten bothe: Bot were hem lieve or were hem lothe, To Schipe he goth and forth he wente To Troie, as was his ferste entente. 780 The daies gon, the Monthe passeth, Hire love encresceth and his lasseth, For him sche lefte slep and mete, And he his time hath al foryete; So that this wofull yonge qweene, Which wot noght what it mihte meene, A lettre sende and preide him come, And seith how sche is overcome With strengthe of love in such a wise, That sche noght longe mai suffise 790 To liven out of his presence; And putte upon his conscience The trowthe which he hath behote, Wherof sche loveth him so hote, Sche seith, that if he lengere lette Of such a day as sche him sette, Sche scholde sterven in his Slowthe, Which were a schame unto his trowthe. This lettre is forth upon hire sonde, Wherof somdiel confort on honde 800 Sche tok, as she that wolde abide And waite upon that ilke tyde Which sche hath in hire lettre write. Bot now is pite forto wite, As he dede erst, so he foryat His time eftsone and oversat. Bot sche, which mihte noght do so, The tyde awayteth everemo, And caste hire yhe upon the See: Somtime nay, somtime yee, 810 Somtime he cam, somtime noght, Thus sche desputeth in hire thoght And wot noght what sche thenke mai; Bot fastende al the longe day Sche was into the derke nyht, And tho sche hath do set up lyht In a lanterne on hih alofte Upon a Tour, wher sche goth ofte, In hope that in his cominge He scholde se the liht brenninge, 820 Wherof he mihte his weies rihte To come wher sche was be nyhte. Bot al for noght, sche was deceived, For Venus hath hire hope weyved, And schewede hire upon the Sky How that the day was faste by, So that withinne a litel throwe The daies lyht sche mihte knowe. Tho sche behield the See at large; And whan sche sih ther was no barge 830 Ne Schip, als ferr as sche may kenne, Doun fro the Tour sche gan to renne Into an Herber all hire one, Wher many a wonder woful mone Sche made, that no lif it wiste, As sche which all hire joie miste, That now sche swouneth, now sche pleigneth, And al hire face sche desteigneth With teres, whiche, as of a welle The stremes, from hire yhen felle; 840 So as sche mihte and evere in on Sche clepede upon Demephon, And seide, "Helas, thou slowe wiht, Wher was ther evere such a knyht, That so thurgh his ungentilesce Of Slowthe and of foryetelnesse Ayein his trowthe brak his stevene?" And tho hire yhe up to the hevene Sche caste, and seide, "O thou unkinde, Hier schalt thou thurgh thi Slowthe finde, 850 If that thee list to come and se, A ladi ded for love of thee, So as I schal myselve spille; Whom, if it hadde be thi wille, Thou mihtest save wel ynowh." With that upon a grene bowh A Ceinte of Selk, which sche ther hadde, Sche knette, and so hireself sche ladde, That sche aboute hire whyte swere It dede, and hyng hirselven there. 860 Wherof the goddes were amoeved, And Demephon was so reproeved, That of the goddes providence Was schape such an evidence Evere afterward ayein the slowe, That Phillis in the same throwe Was schape into a Notetre, That alle men it mihte se, And after Phillis Philliberd This tre was cleped in the yerd, 870 And yit for Demephon to schame Into this dai it berth the name. This wofull chance how that it ferde Anon as Demephon it herde, And every man it hadde in speche, His sorwe was noght tho to seche; He gan his Slowthe forto banne, Bot it was al to late thanne. Lo thus, my Sone, miht thou wite Ayein this vice how it is write; 880 For noman mai the harmes gesse, That fallen thurgh foryetelnesse, Wherof that I thi schrifte have herd. Bot yit of Slowthe hou it hath ferd In other wise I thenke oppose, If thou have gult, as I suppose. Fulfild of Slowthes essamplaire Ther is yit on, his Secretaire, And he is cleped Negligence: Which wol noght loke his evidence, 890 Wherof he mai be war tofore; Bot whanne he hath his cause lore, Thanne is he wys after the hond: Whanne helpe may no maner bond, Thanne ate ferste wolde he binde: Thus everemore he stant behinde. Whanne he the thing mai noght amende, Thanne is he war, and seith at ende, "Ha, wolde god I hadde knowe]" Wherof bejaped with a mowe 900 He goth, for whan the grete Stiede Is stole, thanne he taketh hiede, And makth the stable dore fast: Thus evere he pleith an aftercast Of al that he schal seie or do. He hath a manere eke also, Him list noght lerne to be wys, For he set of no vertu pris Bot as him liketh for the while; So fieleth he fulofte guile, 910 Whan that he weneth siker stonde. And thus thou miht wel understonde, Mi Sone, if thou art such in love, Thou miht noght come at thin above Of that thou woldest wel achieve. Mi holi fader, as I lieve, I mai wel with sauf conscience Excuse me of necgligence Towardes love in alle wise: For thogh I be non of the wise, 920 I am so trewly amerous, That I am evere curious Of hem that conne best enforme To knowe and witen al the forme, What falleth unto loves craft. Bot yit ne fond I noght the haft, Which mihte unto that bladd acorde; For nevere herde I man recorde What thing it is that myhte availe To winne love withoute faile. 930 Yit so fer cowthe I nevere finde Man that be resoun ne be kinde Me cowthe teche such an art, That he ne failede of a part; And as toward myn oghne wit, Controeve cowthe I nevere yit To finden eny sikernesse, That me myhte outher more or lesse Of love make forto spede: For lieveth wel withoute drede, 940 If that ther were such a weie, As certeinliche as I schal deie I hadde it lerned longe ago. Bot I wot wel ther is non so: And natheles it may wel be, I am so rude in my degree And ek mi wittes ben so dulle, That I ne mai noght to the fulle Atteigne to so hih a lore. Bot this I dar seie overmore, 950 Althogh mi wit ne be noght strong, It is noght on mi will along, For that is besi nyht and day To lerne al that he lerne may, How that I mihte love winne: Bot yit I am as to beginne Of that I wolde make an ende, And for I not how it schal wende, That is to me mi moste sorwe. Bot I dar take god to borwe, 960 As after min entendement, Non other wise necgligent Thanne I yow seie have I noght be: Forthi per seinte charite Tell me, mi fader, what you semeth. In good feith, Sone, wel me qwemeth, That thou thiself hast thus aquit Toward this vice, in which no wit Abide mai, for in an houre He lest al that he mai laboure 970 The longe yer, so that men sein, What evere he doth it is in vein. For thurgh the Slowthe of Negligence Ther was yit nevere such science Ne vertu, which was bodely, That nys destruid and lost therby. Ensample that it hath be so In boke I finde write also. Phebus, which is the Sonne hote, That schyneth upon Erthe hote 980 And causeth every lyves helthe, He hadde a Sone in al his welthe, Which Pheton hihte, and he desireth And with his Moder he conspireth, The which was cleped Clemenee, For help and conseil, so that he His fader carte lede myhte Upon the faire daies brihte. And for this thing thei bothe preide Unto the fader, and he seide 990 He wolde wel, bot forth withal Thre pointz he bad in special Unto his Sone in alle wise, That he him scholde wel avise And take it as be weie of lore. Ferst was, that he his hors to sore Ne prike, and over that he tolde That he the renes faste holde; And also that he be riht war In what manere he lede his charr, 1000 That he mistake noght his gate, Bot up avisement algate He scholde bere a siker yhe, That he to lowe ne to hyhe His carte dryve at eny throwe, Wherof that he mihte overthrowe. And thus be Phebus ordinance Tok Pheton into governance The Sonnes carte, which he ladde: Bot he such veine gloire hadde 1010 Of that he was set upon hyh, That he his oghne astat ne syh Thurgh negligence and tok non hiede; So mihte he wel noght longe spede. For he the hors withoute lawe The carte let aboute drawe Wher as hem liketh wantounly, That ate laste sodeinly, For he no reson wolde knowe, This fyri carte he drof to lowe, 1020 And fyreth al the world aboute; Wherof thei weren alle in doubte, And to the god for helpe criden Of suche unhappes as betyden. Phebus, which syh the necgligence, How Pheton ayein his defence His charr hath drive out of the weie, Ordeigneth that he fell aweie Out of the carte into a flod And dreynte. Lo now, hou it stod 1030 With him that was so necgligent, That fro the hyhe firmament, For that he wolde go to lowe, He was anon doun overthrowe. In hih astat it is a vice To go to lowe, and in service It grieveth forto go to hye, Wherof a tale in poesie I finde, how whilom Dedalus, Which hadde a Sone, and Icharus 1040 He hihte, and thogh hem thoghte lothe, In such prison thei weren bothe With Minotaurus, that aboute Thei mihten nawher wenden oute; So thei begonne forto schape How thei the prison mihte ascape. This Dedalus, which fro his yowthe Was tawht and manye craftes cowthe, Of fetheres and of othre thinges Hath mad to fle diverse wynges 1050 For him and for his Sone also; To whom he yaf in charge tho And bad him thenke therupon, How that his wynges ben set on With wex, and if he toke his flyhte To hyhe, al sodeinliche he mihte Make it to melte with the Sonne. And thus thei have her flyht begonne Out of the prison faire and softe; And whan thei weren bothe alofte, 1060 This Icharus began to monte, And of the conseil non accompte He sette, which his fader tawhte, Til that the Sonne his wynges cawhte, Wherof it malt, and fro the heihte Withouten help of eny sleihte He fell to his destruccion. And lich to that condicion Ther fallen ofte times fele For lacke of governance in wele, 1070 Als wel in love as other weie. Now goode fader, I you preie, If ther be more in the matiere Of Slowthe, that I mihte it hiere. Mi Sone, and for thi diligence, Which every mannes conscience Be resoun scholde reule and kepe, If that thee list to taken kepe, I wol thee telle, aboven alle In whom no vertu mai befalle, 1080 Which yifth unto the vices reste And is of slowe the sloweste. Among these othre of Slowthes kinde, Which alle labour set behinde, And hateth alle besinesse, Ther is yit on, which Ydelnesse Is cleped, and is the Norrice In mannes kinde of every vice, Which secheth eases manyfold. In Wynter doth he noght for cold, 1090 In Somer mai he noght for hete; So whether that he frese or swete, Or he be inne, or he be oute, He wol ben ydel al aboute, Bot if he pleie oght ate Dees. For who as evere take fees And thenkth worschipe to deserve, Ther is no lord whom he wol serve, As forto duelle in his servise, Bot if it were in such a wise, 1100 Of that he seth per aventure That be lordschipe and coverture He mai the more stonde stille, And use his ydelnesse at wille. For he ne wol no travail take To ryde for his ladi sake, Bot liveth al upon his wisshes; And as a cat wolde ete fisshes Withoute wetinge of his cles, So wolde he do, bot natheles 1110 He faileth ofte of that he wolde. Mi Sone, if thou of such a molde Art mad, now tell me plein thi schrifte. Nay, fader, god I yive a yifte. That toward love, as be mi wit, Al ydel was I nevere yit, Ne nevere schal, whil I mai go. Now, Sone, tell me thanne so, What hast thou don of besischipe To love and to the ladischipe 1120 Of hire which thi ladi is? Mi fader, evere yit er this In every place, in every stede, What so mi lady hath me bede, With al myn herte obedient I have therto be diligent. And if so is sche bidde noght, What thing that thanne into my thoght Comth ferst of that I mai suffise, I bowe and profre my servise, 1130 Somtime in chambre, somtime in halle, Riht as I se the times falle. And whan sche goth to hiere masse, That time schal noght overpasse, That I naproche hir ladihede, In aunter if I mai hire lede Unto the chapelle and ayein. Thanne is noght al mi weie in vein, Somdiel I mai the betre fare, Whan I, that mai noght fiele hir bare, 1140 Mai lede hire clothed in myn arm: Bot afterward it doth me harm Of pure ymaginacioun; For thanne this collacioun I make unto miselven ofte, And seie, "Ha lord, hou sche is softe, How sche is round, hou sche is smal] Now wolde god I hadde hire al Withoute danger at mi wille]" And thanne I sike and sitte stille, 1150 Of that I se mi besi thoght Is torned ydel into noght. Bot for al that lete I ne mai, Whanne I se time an other dai, That I ne do my besinesse Unto mi ladi worthinesse. For I therto mi wit afaite To se the times and awaite What is to done and what to leve: And so, whan time is, be hir leve, 1160 What thing sche bit me don, I do, And wher sche bidt me gon, I go, And whanne hir list to clepe, I come. Thus hath sche fulliche overcome Min ydelnesse til I sterve, So that I mot hire nedes serve, For as men sein, nede hath no lawe. Thus mot I nedly to hire drawe, I serve, I bowe, I loke, I loute, Min yhe folweth hire aboute, 1170 What so sche wole so wol I, Whan sche wol sitte, I knele by, And whan sche stant, than wol I stonde: Bot whan sche takth hir werk on honde Of wevinge or enbrouderie, Than can I noght bot muse and prie Upon hir fingres longe and smale, And now I thenke, and now I tale, And now I singe, and now I sike, And thus mi contienance I pike. 1180 And if it falle, as for a time Hir liketh noght abide bime, Bot besien hire on other thinges, Than make I othre tariinges To dreche forth the longe dai, For me is loth departe away. And thanne I am so simple of port, That forto feigne som desport I pleie with hire litel hound Now on the bedd, now on the ground, 1190 Now with hir briddes in the cage; For ther is non so litel page, Ne yit so simple a chamberere, That I ne make hem alle chere, Al for thei scholde speke wel: Thus mow ye sen mi besi whiel, That goth noght ydeliche aboute. And if hir list to riden oute On pelrinage or other stede, I come, thogh I be noght bede, 1200 And take hire in min arm alofte And sette hire in hire sadel softe, And so forth lede hire be the bridel, For that I wolde noght ben ydel. And if hire list to ride in Char, And thanne I mai therof be war, Anon I schape me to ryde Riht evene be the Chares side; And as I mai, I speke among, And otherwhile I singe a song, 1210 Which Ovide in his bokes made, And seide, "O whiche sorwes glade, O which wofull prosperite Belongeth to the proprete Of love, who so wole him serve] And yit therfro mai noman swerve, That he ne mot his lawe obeie." And thus I ryde forth mi weie, And am riht besi overal With herte and with mi body al, 1220 As I have said you hier tofore. My goode fader, tell therfore, Of Ydelnesse if I have gilt. Mi Sone, bot thou telle wilt Oght elles than I mai now hiere, Thou schalt have no penance hiere. And natheles a man mai se, How now adayes that ther be Ful manye of suche hertes slowe, That wol noght besien hem to knowe 1230 What thing love is, til ate laste, That he with strengthe hem overcaste, That malgre hem thei mote obeie And don al ydelschipe aweie, To serve wel and besiliche. Bot, Sone, thou art non of swiche, For love schal the wel excuse: Bot otherwise, if thou refuse To love, thou miht so per cas Ben ydel, as somtime was 1240 A kinges dowhter unavised, Til that Cupide hire hath chastised: Wherof thou schalt a tale hiere Acordant unto this matiere. Of Armenye, I rede thus, Ther was a king, which Herupus Was hote, and he a lusti Maide To dowhter hadde, and as men saide Hire name was Rosiphelee; Which tho was of gret renomee, 1250 For sche was bothe wys and fair And scholde ben hire fader hair. Bot sche hadde o defalte of Slowthe Towardes love, and that was rowthe; For so wel cowde noman seie, Which mihte sette hire in the weie Of loves occupacion Thurgh non ymaginacion; That scole wolde sche noght knowe. And thus sche was on of the slowe 1260 As of such hertes besinesse, Til whanne Venus the goddesse, Which loves court hath forto reule, Hath broght hire into betre reule, Forth with Cupide and with his miht: For thei merveille how such a wiht, Which tho was in hir lusti age, Desireth nother Mariage Ne yit the love of paramours, Which evere hath be the comun cours 1270 Amonges hem that lusti were. So was it schewed after there: For he that hihe hertes loweth With fyri Dartes whiche he throweth, Cupide, which of love is godd, In chastisinge hath mad a rodd To dryve awei hir wantounesse; So that withinne a while, I gesse, Sche hadde on such a chance sporned, That al hire mod was overtorned, 1280 Which ferst sche hadde of slow manere: For thus it fell, as thou schalt hiere. Whan come was the Monthe of Maii, Sche wolde walke upon a dai, And that was er the Sonne Ariste; Of wommen bot a fewe it wiste, And forth sche wente prively Unto the Park was faste by, Al softe walkende on the gras, Til sche cam ther the Launde was, 1290 Thurgh which ther ran a gret rivere. It thoghte hir fair, and seide, "Here I wole abide under the schawe": And bad hire wommen to withdrawe, And ther sche stod al one stille, To thenke what was in hir wille. Sche sih the swote floures springe, Sche herde glade foules singe, Sche sih the bestes in her kinde, The buck, the do, the hert, the hinde, 1300 The madle go with the femele; And so began ther a querele Betwen love and hir oghne herte, Fro which sche couthe noght asterte. And as sche caste hire yhe aboute, Sche syh clad in o suite a route Of ladis, wher thei comen ryde Along under the wodes syde: On faire amblende hors thei sete, That were al whyte, fatte and grete, 1310 And everichon thei ride on side. The Sadles were of such a Pride, With Perle and gold so wel begon, So riche syh sche nevere non; In kertles and in Copes riche Thei weren clothed, alle liche, Departed evene of whyt and blew; With alle lustes that sche knew Thei were enbrouded overal. Here bodies weren long and smal, 1320 The beaute faye upon her face Non erthly thing it may desface; Corones on here hed thei beere, As ech of hem a qweene weere, That al the gold of Cresus halle The leste coronal of alle Ne mihte have boght after the worth: Thus come thei ridende forth. The kinges dowhter, which this syh, For pure abaissht drowh hire adryh 1330 And hield hire clos under the bowh, And let hem passen stille ynowh; For as hire thoghte in hire avis, To hem that were of such a pris Sche was noght worthi axen there, Fro when they come or what thei were: Bot levere than this worldes good Sche wolde have wist hou that it stod, And putte hire hed alitel oute; And as sche lokede hire aboute, 1340 Sche syh comende under the linde A womman up an hors behinde. The hors on which sche rod was blak, Al lene and galled on the back, And haltede, as he were encluyed, Wherof the womman was annuied; Thus was the hors in sori plit, Bot for al that a sterre whit Amiddes in the front he hadde. Hir Sadel ek was wonder badde, 1350 In which the wofull womman sat, And natheles ther was with that A riche bridel for the nones Of gold and preciouse Stones. Hire cote was somdiel totore; Aboute hir middel twenty score Of horse haltres and wel mo Ther hyngen ate time tho. Thus whan sche cam the ladi nyh, Than tok sche betre hiede and syh 1360 This womman fair was of visage, Freyssh, lusti, yong and of tendre age; And so this ladi, ther sche stod, Bethoghte hire wel and understod That this, which com ridende tho, Tidinges couthe telle of tho, Which as sche sih tofore ryde, And putte hir forth and preide abide, And seide, "Ha, Suster, let me hiere, What ben thei, that now riden hiere, 1370 And ben so richeliche arraied?" This womman, which com so esmaied, Ansuerde with ful softe speche, And seith, "Ma Dame, I schal you teche. These ar of tho that whilom were Servantz to love, and trowthe beere, Ther as thei hadde here herte set. Fare wel, for I mai noght be let: Ma Dame, I go to mi servise, So moste I haste in alle wise; 1380 Forthi, ma Dame, yif me leve, I mai noght longe with you leve." "Ha, goode Soster, yit I preie, Tell me whi ye ben so beseie And with these haltres thus begon." "Ma Dame, whilom I was on That to mi fader hadde a king; Bot I was slow, and for no thing Me liste noght to love obeie, And that I now ful sore abeie. 1390 For I whilom no love hadde, Min hors is now so fieble and badde, And al totore is myn arai, And every yeer this freisshe Maii These lusti ladis ryde aboute, And I mot nedes suie here route In this manere as ye now se, And trusse here haltres forth with me, And am bot as here horse knave. Non other office I ne have, 1400 Hem thenkth I am worthi nomore, For I was slow in loves lore, Whan I was able forto lere, And wolde noght the tales hiere Of hem that couthen love teche." "Now tell me thanne, I you beseche, Wherof that riche bridel serveth." With that hire chere awei sche swerveth, And gan to wepe, and thus sche tolde: "This bridel, which ye nou beholde 1410 So riche upon myn horse hed,- Ma Dame, afore, er I was ded, Whan I was in mi lusti lif, Ther fel into myn herte a strif Of love, which me overcom, So that therafter hiede I nom And thoghte I wolde love a kniht: That laste wel a fourtenyht, For it no lengere mihte laste, So nyh my lif was ate laste. 1420 Bot now, allas, to late war That I ne hadde him loved ar: For deth cam so in haste bime, Er I therto hadde eny time, That it ne mihte ben achieved. Bot for al that I am relieved, Of that mi will was good therto, That love soffreth it be so That I schal swiche a bridel were. Now have ye herd al myn ansuere: 1430 To godd, ma Dame, I you betake, And warneth alle for mi sake, Of love that thei ben noght ydel, And bidd hem thenke upon mi brydel." And with that word al sodeinly Sche passeth, as it were a Sky, Al clene out of this ladi sihte: And tho for fere hire herte afflihte, And seide to hirself, "Helas] I am riht in the same cas. 1440 Bot if I live after this day, I schal amende it, if I may." And thus homward this lady wente, And changede al hire ferste entente, Withinne hire herte and gan to swere That sche none haltres wolde bere. Lo, Sone, hier miht thou taken hiede, How ydelnesse is forto drede, Namliche of love, as I have write. For thou miht understonde and wite, 1450 Among the gentil nacion Love is an occupacion, Which forto kepe hise lustes save Scholde every gentil herte have: For as the ladi was chastised, Riht so the knyht mai ben avised, Which ydel is and wol noght serve To love, he mai per cas deserve A grettere peine than sche hadde, Whan sche aboute with hire ladde 1460 The horse haltres; and forthi Good is to be wel war therbi. Bot forto loke aboven alle, These Maidens, hou so that it falle, Thei scholden take ensample of this Which I have told, for soth it is. Mi ladi Venus, whom I serve, What womman wole hire thonk deserve, Sche mai noght thilke love eschuie Of paramours, bot sche mot suie 1470 Cupides lawe; and natheles Men sen such love sielde in pes, That it nys evere upon aspie Of janglinge and of fals Envie, Fulofte medlid with disese: Bot thilke love is wel at ese, Which set is upon mariage; For that dar schewen the visage In alle places openly. A gret mervaile it is forthi, 1480 How that a Maiden wolde lette, That sche hir time ne besette To haste unto that ilke feste, Wherof the love is al honeste. Men mai recovere lost of good, Bot so wys man yit nevere stod, Which mai recovere time lore: So mai a Maiden wel therfore Ensample take, of that sche strangeth Hir love, and longe er that sche changeth 1490 Hir herte upon hir lustes greene To mariage, as it is seene. For thus a yer or tuo or thre Sche lest, er that sche wedded be, Whyl sche the charge myhte bere Of children, whiche the world forbere Ne mai, bot if it scholde faile. Bot what Maiden hire esposaile Wol tarie, whan sche take mai, Sche schal per chance an other dai 1500 Be let, whan that hire lievest were. Wherof a tale unto hire Ere, Which is coupable upon this dede, I thenke telle of that I rede. Among the Jewes, as men tolde, Ther was whilom be daies olde A noble Duck, which Jepte hihte. And fell, he scholde go to fyhte Ayein Amon the cruel king: And forto speke upon this thing, 1510 Withinne his herte he made avou To god and seide, "Ha lord, if thou Wolt grante unto thi man victoire, I schal in tokne of thi memoire The ferste lif that I mai se, Of man or womman wher it be, Anon as I come hom ayein, To thee, which art god sovereign, Slen in thi name and sacrifie." And thus with his chivalerie 1520 He goth him forth, wher that he scholde, And wan al that he winne wolde And overcam his fomen alle. Mai noman lette that schal falle. This Duc a lusti dowhter hadde, And fame, which the wordes spradde, Hath broght unto this ladi Ere How that hire fader hath do there. Sche waiteth upon his cominge With dansinge and with carolinge, 1530 As sche that wolde be tofore Al othre, and so sche was therfore In Masphat at hir fader gate The ferste; and whan he com therate, And sih his douhter, he tobreide Hise clothes and wepende he seide: "O mihti god among ous hiere, Nou wot I that in no manere This worldes joie mai be plein. I hadde al that I coude sein 1540 Ayein mi fomen be thi grace, So whan I cam toward this place Ther was non gladdere man than I: But now, mi lord, al sodeinli Mi joie is torned into sorwe, For I mi dowhter schal tomorwe Tohewe and brenne in thi servise To loenge of thi sacrifise Thurgh min avou, so as it is." The Maiden, whan sche wiste of this, 1550 And sih the sorwe hir fader made, So as sche mai with wordes glade Conforteth him, and bad him holde The covenant which he is holde Towardes god, as he behihte. Bot natheles hire herte aflihte Of that sche sih hire deth comende; And thanne unto the ground knelende Tofore hir fader sche is falle, And seith, so as it is befalle 1560 Upon this point that sche schal deie, Of o thing ferst sche wolde him preie, That fourty daies of respit He wolde hir grante upon this plit, That sche the whyle mai bewepe Hir maidenhod, which sche to kepe So longe hath had and noght beset; Wherof her lusti youthe is let, That sche no children hath forthdrawe In Mariage after the lawe, 1570 So that the poeple is noght encressed. Bot that it mihte be relessed, That sche hir time hath lore so, Sche wolde be his leve go With othre Maidens to compleigne, And afterward unto the peine Of deth sche wolde come ayein. The fader herde his douhter sein, And therupon of on assent The Maidens were anon asent, 1580 That scholden with this Maiden wende. So forto speke unto this ende, Thei gon the dounes and the dales With wepinge and with wofull tales, And every wyht hire maidenhiede Compleigneth upon thilke nede, That sche no children hadde bore, Wherof sche hath hir youthe lore, Which nevere sche recovere mai: For so fell that hir laste dai 1590 Was come, in which sche scholde take Hir deth, which sche may noght forsake. Lo, thus sche deiede a wofull Maide For thilke cause which I saide, As thou hast understonde above. Mi fader, as toward the Love Of Maidens forto telle trowthe, Ye have thilke vice of Slowthe, Me thenkth, riht wonder wel declared, That ye the wommen have noght spared 1600 Of hem that tarien so behinde. Bot yit it falleth in my minde, Toward the men hou that ye spieke Of hem that wole no travail sieke In cause of love upon decerte: To speke in wordes so coverte, I not what travaill that ye mente. Mi Sone, and after min entente I woll thee telle what I thoghte, Hou whilom men here loves boghte 1610 Thurgh gret travaill in strange londes, Wher that thei wroghten with here hondes Of armes many a worthi dede, In sondri place as men mai rede. That every love of pure kinde Is ferst forthdrawe, wel I finde: Bot natheles yit overthis Decerte doth so that it is The rather had in mani place. Forthi who secheth loves grace, 1620 Wher that these worthi wommen are, He mai noght thanne himselve spare Upon his travail forto serve, Wherof that he mai thonk deserve, There as these men of Armes be, Somtime over the grete Se: So that be londe and ek be Schipe He mot travaile for worschipe And make manye hastyf rodes, Somtime in Prus, somtime in Rodes, 1630 And somtime into Tartarie; So that these heraldz on him crie, "Vailant, vailant, lo, wher he goth]" And thanne he yifth hem gold and cloth, So that his fame mihte springe, And to his ladi Ere bringe Som tidinge of his worthinesse; So that sche mihte of his prouesce Of that sche herde men recorde, The betre unto his love acorde 1640 And danger pute out of hire mod, Whanne alle men recorden good, And that sche wot wel, for hir sake That he no travail wol forsake. Mi Sone, of this travail I meene: Nou schrif thee, for it schal be sene If thou art ydel in this cas. My fader ye, and evere was: For as me thenketh trewely That every man doth mor than I 1650 As of this point, and if so is That I have oght so don er this, It is so litel of acompte, As who seith, it mai noght amonte To winne of love his lusti yifte. For this I telle you in schrifte, That me were levere hir love winne Than Kaire and al that is ther inne: And forto slen the hethen alle, I not what good ther mihte falle, 1660 So mochel blod thogh ther be schad. This finde I writen, hou Crist bad That noman other scholde sle. What scholde I winne over the Se, If I mi ladi loste at hom? Bot passe thei the salte fom, To whom Crist bad thei scholden preche To al the world and his feith teche: Bot now thei rucken in here nest And resten as hem liketh best 1670 In all the swetnesse of delices. Thus thei defenden ous the vices, And sitte hemselven al amidde; To slen and feihten thei ous bidde Hem whom thei scholde, as the bok seith, Converten unto Cristes feith. Bot hierof have I gret mervaile, Hou thei wol bidde me travaile: A Sarazin if I sle schal, I sle the Soule forth withal, 1680 And that was nevere Cristes lore. Bot nou ho ther, I seie nomore. Bot I wol speke upon mi schrifte; And to Cupide I make a yifte, That who as evere pris deserve Of armes, I wol love serve; And thogh I scholde hem bothe kepe, Als wel yit wolde I take kepe Whan it were time to abide, As forto travaile and to ryde: 1690 For how as evere a man laboure, Cupide appointed hath his houre. For I have herd it telle also, Achilles lefte hise armes so Bothe of himself and of his men At Troie for Polixenen, Upon hire love whanne he fell, That for no chance that befell Among the Grecs or up or doun, He wolde noght ayein the toun 1700 Ben armed, for the love of hire. And so me thenketh, lieve Sire, A man of armes mai him reste Somtime in hope for the beste, If he mai finde a weie nerr. What scholde I thanne go so ferr In strange londes many a mile To ryde, and lese at hom therwhile Mi love? It were a schort beyete To winne chaf and lese whete. 1710 Bot if mi ladi bidde wolde, That I for hire love scholde Travaile, me thenkth trewely I mihte fle thurghout the Sky, And go thurghout the depe Se, For al ne sette I at a stre What thonk that I mihte elles gete. What helpeth it a man have mete, Wher drinke lacketh on the bord? What helpeth eny mannes word 1720 To seie hou I travaile faste, Wher as me faileth ate laste That thing which I travaile fore? O in good time were he bore, That mihte atteigne such a mede. Bot certes if I mihte spede With eny maner besinesse Of worldes travail, thanne I gesse, Ther scholde me non ydelschipe Departen fro hir ladischipe. 1730 Bot this I se, on daies nou The blinde god, I wot noght hou, Cupido, which of love is lord, He set the thinges in discord, That thei that lest to love entende Fulofte he wole hem yive and sende Most of his grace; and thus I finde That he that scholde go behinde, Goth many a time ferr tofore: