V. THE PART IS DERIVED FROM THE WHOLE, THE IMPERFECT FROM THE PERFECT. (continued 3)

¶ and þer of comeþ þat þouȝ a man delite hym in preysyng of his renoun. he ne may nat in no wise bryngen furþe ne spreden his name to many manere peoples. He ought, therefore, to be satisfied with the glory he has acquired at home. ¶ And þerfore euery maner man auȝte to ben 1548 paied of hys glorie þat is puplissed among hys owen neyȝbores. But of how many personages, illustrious in their times, have the memorials been lost through the carelessness and neglect of writers. ¶ And þilke noble renoun shal be restreyned wiþ-inne þe boundes of o maner folk but how many a man þat was ful noble in his tyme. haþ þe 1552 nedy and wrecched forȝetynge of writers put oute of mynde and don awey. But writings do not preserve the names of men for ever. ¶ Al be it so þat certys þilke writynges profiten litel. þe whiche writynges longe and derke elde doþ aweye boþe hem and eke her autours. But perhaps you suppose that you shall secure immortality if your names are transmitted to future ages. but 1556 ȝe men semen to geten ȝow a perdurablete whan ȝe þenke þat in tyme comyng ȝoure fame shal lasten. If you consider the infinite space of eternity you will have no reason to rejoice in this supposition. ¶ But naþeles yif þou wilt maken comparisoun to þe endeles space of eternite what þing hast þou by whiche þou 1560 maist reioysen þe of long lastyng of þi name. If a moment be compared with 10,000 years, there is a proportion between them, though a very small one. ¶ For if þer were maked comparysoun of þe abidyng of a moment to ten þousand wynter. for as myche as boþe þo spaces ben endid. ¶ For ȝit haþ þe moment some 1564 porcioun of hit al þouȝ it a litel be. But this number of years, multiplied by whatever sum you please, vanishes when compared with the infinite extent of eternity. ¶ But naþeles þilke self noumbre of ȝeres. and eke as many ȝeres as þer to may be multiplied. ne may nat certys be comparisound to þe perdurablete þat is een[de]les. There may be comparison between finite things, but none between the infinite and finite. ¶ For of 1568 þinges þat han ende may be mad comparisoun [but of thinges that ben with-owtyn ende to thinges þat han ende may be maked no comparysoun]. Hence it is, that Fame (however lasting), compared with eternity, will seem absolutely nothing. ¶ And for þi is it al þouȝ renoun of as longe tyme as euer þe lyst to þinken 1572 were þouȝt by þe regard of eternite. þat is vnstauncheable and infinit. it ne sholde nat oonly semen litel. but pleinliche ryȝt nouȝt. But yet you do good from no other view than to have the empty applause of the people, foregoing the pleasures of a good conscience in order to have the insignificant praises of other people. ¶ But ȝe men certys ne konne don no þing aryȝt. but ȝif it be for þe audience of poeple. 1576 and for ydel rumours. and ȝe forsaken þe grete worþinesse of conscience and of vertue. and ȝe seken ȝoure gerdouns of þe smale wordes of strange folke.

This silly vanity was once thus ingeniously and pleasantly rallied. ¶ Haue now here and vndirstonde in þe lyȝtnesse of whiche 1580 pride and veyne glorie. how a man scorned[e] festiualy and myrily swiche vanite. A certain man, who had assumed the name of a philosopher through a love of vain-glory, was told by a man of humour that he could prove he was a philosopher by bearing patiently the injuries offered him. somtyme þere was a man þat had[de] assaied wiþ striuyng wordes an oþer man. ¶ þe whiche nat for vsage of verrey vertue. but for proude 1584 veyne glorie had[de] taken vpon hym falsly þe name of a philosopher. ¶ þis raþer man þat I speke of þouȝt[e] he wolde assay[e] where he þilke were a philosopher or no. þat is to seyne yif he wolde han suffred 1588 [* fol. 15.] lyȝtly in pacience þe wronges *þat weren don vnto hym. After counterfeiting patience for a while, the sophist said to the other, ‘You must surely confess that I am a philosopher.’ ¶ þis feined[e] philosophre took pacience a litel while. and whan he hadde receiued wordes of outerage he as in stryuynge aȝeine and reioysynge of 1592 hym self seide at þe last[e] ryȝt þus. ¶ vndirstondest þou nat þat I am a philosophere. ‘I might have believed it,’ said the other, ‘had you held your tongue.’ þat oþer man answered[e] aȝein ful bityngly and seide. ¶ I had[de] wel vndirstonden [yt]. yif þou haddest holden þi tonge 1596 stille. What advantage is it to great and worthy men to be extolled after death? ¶ But what is it to þise noble worþi men. For certys of swyche folk speke .I. þat seken glorie wiþ vertue. what is it quod she. what atteiniþ fame to swiche folk whan þe body is resolued by þe deeþ. atte 1600 þe last[e]. If body and soul die, then there can be no glory; nor can there be when he (to whom it is ascribed) does not exist. ¶ For yif so be þat men dien in al. þat is to seyne body and soule. þe whiche þing oure resoun defendiþ vs to byleuen þanne is þere no glorie in no wyse. For what sholde þilke glorie ben. for he of 1604 whom þis glorie is seid to be nis ryȝt nouȝt in no wise. But if the soul is immortal when it leaves the body, it takes no thought of the joys of this world. and ȝif þe soule whiche þat haþ in it self science of goode werkes vnbounden fro þe prisoun of þe erþe wendeþ frely to þe heuene. dispiseþ it nouȝt þan alle 1608 erþely occupaciouns. and beynge in heuene reioiseþ þat it is exempt from alle erþely þinges [as wo seith / thanne rekketh the sowle of no glorye of renoun of this world]. 1612

Who so þat Let him who seeks fame, thinking it to be the sovereign good, look upon the broad universe and this circumscribed earth; and he will then despise a glorious name limited to such a confined space. wiþ ouerþrowyng þouȝt only sekeþ glorie of fame. and weniþ þat it be souereyne good ¶ Lete hym loke vpon þe brode shewyng contreys of þe heuen. and vpon þe streite sete of þis erþe. and 1616 he shal be ashamed of þe encres of his name. þat may nat fulfille þe litel compas of þe erþe. ¶ O what coueiten proude folke to liften vpon hire nekkes in ydel and dedely ȝok of þis worlde. Will splendid titles and renown prolong a man’s life? ¶ For al þouȝ 1620 [þat] renoune y-spradde passynge to ferne poeples goþ by dyuerse tonges. and al þouȝ grete houses and kynredes shyne wiþ clere titles of honours. In the grave there is no distinction between high and low. ȝit naþeles deeþ dispiseþ al heye glorie of fame. and deeþ wrappeþ 1624 to gidre þe heye heuedes and þe lowe and makeþ egal and euene þe heyest[e] to þe lowest[e]. Where is the good Fabricius now? ¶ where wonen now þe bones of trewe fabricius. Where the noble Brutus, or stern Cato? what is now brutus or stiern Caton þe þinne fame ȝit lastynge 1628 of hir ydel names is markid wiþ a fewe lettres. Their empty names still live, but of their persons we know nothing. but al þouȝ we han knowen þe faire wordes of þe fames of hem. it is nat ȝeuen to knowe hem þat ben dede and consumpt. Fame cannot make you known. Liggiþ þanne stille al vtterly vnknowable 1632 ne fame ne makeþ ȝow nat knowe. and yif ȝe wene to lyuen þe lenger for wynde of ȝoure mortal name. whan o cruel day shal rauyshe ȝow. þan is þe secunde deeþ dwellyng in ȝow. It will be effaced by conquering Time, so that death will be doubly victorious. Glosa. þe first deeþ he clepiþ 1636 here þe departynge of þe body and þe soule. ¶ and þe secunde deeþ he clepeþ as here. þe styntynge of þe renoune of fame.3 3 The next three chapters are from the Camb. MS.

BVt ‘But do not believe,’ said Philosophy, ‘that I am an implacable enemy to Fortune. for-as-mochel as thow shalt nat wenen quod she 1640 þat I bere vntretable batayle ayenis fortune // This inconstant dame sometimes deserves well of men, when she appears in her true colours. yit som-tyme it by-falleth þat she desseyuable desserueth to han ryht good thank of men // And þat is whan she hire self opneth / and whan she descouereth hir frownt / 1644 and sheweth hir maneres par-auenture yit vndirstondesthow nat þat .I. shal seye // And what I say may perhaps appear paradoxical. it is a wondyr þat .I. desyre to telle / That is, that adverse fortune is more beneficial than prosperous fortune. and forthi vnnethe may I. vnpleyten my sentense with wordes for I. deme þat contraryos fortune 1648 profiteth more to men than fortune debonayre // The latter lies and deceives us, the former displays her natural inconstancy. For al-wey whan fortune semeth debonayre than she lyeth falsly in by-hetynge the hope of welefulnesse // but forsothe contraryos fortune is alwey sothfast / whan she 1652 sheweth hir self vnstable thorw hyr chaungynge // That deceives us, this instructs us; that, by a fallacious show of good, enslaves the mind; this, by the knowledge of her fickleness, frees and absolves it. the amyable fortune desseyueth folk / the contrarye fortune techeth // the amyable fortune byndeth with the beaute of false goodys the hertes of folk þat vsen hem / the 1656 contrarye fortune vnbyndeth hem by þ^e knowynge of freele welefulnesse // The one is wavering and incapable of reflection, the other is staid and wise through experience of adversity. the amyable fortune maysthow sen alwey wyndynge and flowynge / and euere mysknowynge of hir self // the contrarye fortune is a-tempre and restreynyd 1660 and wys thorw excersyse of hir aduersyte // Lastly, prosperous fortune leads men astray. Adversity teaches them wherein real happiness consists. at the laste amyable fortune with hir flaterynges draweth mys wandrynge men fro the souereyne good // the contraryos fortune ledith ofte folk ayein to sothfast goodes / 1664 and haleth hem ayein as with an hooke / It renders us no inconsiderable service in enabling us to recognize our true friends. weenesthow thanne þat thow owhtest to leten this a lytel thing / þat this aspre and horible fortune hath discoueryd to the / the thowhtes of thy trewe frendes // For-why this ilke fortune 1668 hath departyd and vncoueryd to the bothe the certeyn vysages and ek the dowtos visages of thy felawes // whan she departyd awey fro the / she took awey hyr frendes and lafte the thyne frendes // At what price would you not have bought this knowledge in your prosperity? now 1672 whan thow were ryche and weleful as the semede / with how mochel woldesthow han bowht the fulle knowynge of this // þat is to seyn the knowynge of thy verray freendes // Complain not, then, of loss of wealth, since thou hast found infinitely greater riches in your true friends. now pleyne the nat thanne of Rychesse 1676 .I.-lorn syn thow hast fowndyn the moste presyos kynde of Rychesses þat is to seyn thy verray frendes.

THat This world, by an invariable order, suffers change. þ^e world with stable feith / varieth acordable chaungynges // Elements, that by nature disagree, are restrained by concord. þat the contraryos qualite of elementȝ 1680 holden amonge hem self aliaunce perdurable / þat phebus the sonne with his goldene chariet / bryngeth forth the rosene day / þat the mone hath commaundement ouer the nyhtes // whiche nyhtes hesperus the eue sterre hat browt // 1684 The sea is thus kept within its proper bounds. þat þ^e se gredy to flowen constreyneth with a certeyn ende hise floodes / so þat it is nat l[e]ueful to strechche hise brode termes or bowndes vp-on the erthes // þat is to seyn to couere alle the erthe // This concord is produced by love, which governeth earth and sea, and extends its influence to the heavens. Al this a-cordaunce of thinges 1688 is bownden with looue / þat gouerneth erthe and see / and hath also commaundementȝ to the heuenes / If this chain of love were broken all things would be in perpetual strife, and the world would go to ruin. and yif this looue slakede the brydelis / alle thinges þat now louen hem to gederes / wolden maken a batayle contynuely 1692 and stryuen to fordoon the fasoun of this worlde / the which they now leden in acordable feith by fayre moeuynges // Love binds nations together, it ties the nuptial knot, and dictates binding laws to friendship. this looue halt to gideres poeples Ioygned with an hooly bond / and knytteth sacrement of maryages 1696 of chaste looues // And loue enditeth lawes to trewe felawes // Men were truly blest if governed by this celestial love!’ O weleful weere mankynde / yif thilke loue þat gouerneth heuene gouerned[e] yowre corages /

By this she Philosophy now ended her song. hadde endid hire songe / whan the swetnesse 1700 of hire ditee hadde thorw perced me þat was desirous of herkninge / I was so charmed that I kept a listening as if she were still speaking. and .I. astoned hadde yit streyhte myn Eres / þat is to seyn to herkne the bet / what she wolde seye // At last I said, O sovereign comforter of dejected minds, how much hast thou refreshed me with the energy of thy discourse, so that I now think myself almost an equal match for Fortune and able to resist her blows. so þat a litel here after .I. seyde thus // O thow 1704 þat art souereyn comfort of Angwissos corages // So thow hast remounted and norysshed me with the weyhte of thy sentenses and with delit of thy syngynge // so þat .I. trowe nat now þat .I. be vnparygal to the strokes of fortune / as 1708 who seyth. I. dar wel now suffren al the assautes of fortune and wel deffende me fro hyr // I fear not, therefore, thy remedies, but earnestly desire to hear what they are. and tho remedies whyche þat thow seydest hire byforn weren ryht sharpe Nat oonly pat .I. am nat agrysen of hem now // but .I. desiros 1712 of herynge axe gretely to heeren tho remedyes // P. When I perceived that, silent and attentive, you received my words, I expected to find such a state of mind in you, or rather, I created in you such an one. than seyde she thus // þat feelede .I. ful wel quod she // whan þat thow ententyf and stylle rauysshedest my wordes // and .I. abood til þat thow haddest swych habyte 1716 of thy thowght as thow hast now // or elles tyl þat .I. my self had[de] maked to the the same habyt / which þat is a moore verray thinge // What remains to be said is of such a nature that when it is first tasted it is pungent and unpleasant, but when once swallowed it turns sweet, and is grateful to the stomach. And certes the remenaunt of thinges þat ben yit to seye / ben swyche // þat fyrst 1720 whan men tasten hem they ben bytynge / but whan they ben resseyuyd with-inne a whyht than ben they swete // But because you say you would now gladly hear, with what desire would you burn if you could imagine whither I am going to lead you? but for thow seyst þat thow art so desirous to herkne hem // wit[h] how gret brennynge woldesthow 1724 glowen / yif thow wystest whyder .I. wol leden the // B. Whither is that, I pray? whydyre is þat quod .I. // P. To that true felicity, of which you seem to have but a faint foretaste. to thilke verray welefulnesse quod she // of whyche thynge herte dremeth // But your sight is clouded with false forms, so that it cannot yet behold this same felicity. but for as moche as thy syhte is ocupied and distorbed / by 1728 Imagynasyon of herthely thynges / thow mayst nat yit sen thilke selue welefulnesse // B. Show me, I pray, that true happiness without delay. do quod .I. and shewe me / what is thilke verray welefulnesse / .I. preye the with-howte tarynge // P. I will gladly do so at your desire, but I will first describe that false cause (of happiness), so that you may be better able to comprehend the exact model. þat wole .I. gladly don quod she / 1732 for the cause of the // but .I. wol fyrst marken the by wordes / and I wol enforcen me to enformen the // thilke false cause of blysfulnesse þat thow more knowest / so þat whan thow hast fully by-holden thilke false 1736 goodes and torned thyne eyen to þat oother syde / thow mowe knowe the clernesse of verray blysfulnesse //]

ÞO fastned[e] Philosophy, with a serious air, and appearing to recollect herself, and to rouse up all her faculties, thus began. she a lytel þe syȝt of hir eyen and wiþdrow hir ryȝt as it were in to þe streite sete of hir 1752 þouȝt. and bygan to speke ryȝt þus. All the cares and desires of men seek one end—happiness. Alle þe cures quod she of mortal folk whiche þat trauaylen hem in many manere studies gon certys by diuerse weies. [* fol. 15 b.] ¶ But naþeles þei enforced hem *to comen oonly to on 1756 ende of blisfulnesse True happiness is that complete good which, once obtained, leaves nothing more to be desired. [And blysfulnesse] is swiche a goode þat who so haþ geten it he ne may ouer þat no þing more desiire. It is the sovereign good, and comprehends all others. It lacks nothing, otherwise it could not be the supreme good. and þis þing for soþe is þe souereyne good þat conteiniþ in hym self al manere goodes. to þe whiche goode 1760 yif þere failed[e] any þing. it myȝt[e] nat ben souereyne goode. ¶ For þan were þere som goode out of þis ilke souereyne goode þat myȝt[e] ben desired. Happiness is, therefore, that perfect state, in which all other goods meet and centre. Now is it clere and certeyne þan þat blisfulnesse is a perfit estat by þe congregacioun 1764 of alle goodes. It is the object which all men strive after. ¶ þe whiche blisfulnesse as I haue seid alle mortal folke enforcen hem to geten by dyuerse weyes. A desire of the true good is a natural instinct, but error misleads them to pursue false joys. ¶ For-whi þe couetise of verray goode is naturely y-plaunted in þe hertys of men. ¶ But þe 1768 myswandryng errour myslediþ hem in to fals[e] goodes. Some, imagining the supreme good to consist in lacking nothing, labour for an abundance of riches; others, supposing that this good lies in the reverence and esteem of their fellow men, strive to acquire honourable positions. ¶ of þe whiche men some of hem wenen þat souereygne goode is to lyue wiþ outen nede of any þing. and traueilen hem to ben habundaunt of rycchesse. 1772 and some oþer men demen. þat souerein goode be forto be ryȝt digne of reuerences. and enforcen hem to ben reuerenced among hir neyȝbours. by þe honours þat þei han ygeten There are some, again, who place it in supreme power, and seek to rule, or to be favoured by the ruling powers. ¶ and some folk þer ben þat halden þat 1776 ryȝt heyȝe power to be souereyn goode. and enforcen hem forto regnen or ellys to ioignen hem to hem þat regnen. There are those who fancy fame to be the height of happiness, and seek by the arts of war or peace to get renown. ¶ And it semeþ to some oþer folk þat noblesse of renoun be þe souerein goode. and hasten hem to 1780 geten glorious name by þe artes of werre or of pees. Many there are who believe nothing to be better than joy and gladness, and think it delightful to plunge into luxury. and many folke mesuren and gessen þat souerein goode be ioye and gladnesse and wenen þat it be ryȝt blisful [thynge] to ploungen hem in uoluptuous delit. Some there are who use these causes and ends interchangeably, as those who desire riches as a means of getting power; or who desire power in order to get money or renown. ¶ And 1784 þer ben folk þat enterchaungen þe causes and þe endes of þise forseide goodes as þei þat desiren rycchesse to han power and delices. Or ellis þei desiren power forto han moneye or for cause of renoun. In all they do they have a particular end in view. ¶ In þise þinges 1788 and in swyche oþer þinges is tourned al þe entencioun of desirynges and [of] werkes of men. ¶ As þus.

Nobility and popular favour are sought after by some in order to become famous. ¶ Noblesse and fauour of poeple whiche þat ȝiueþ as it semeþ a manere clernesse of renoun. By others, wives and children are only desired as sources of pleasure. ¶ and wijf and 1792 children þat men desiren for cause of delit and mirinesse. Friendship must not be reckoned among the goods of fortune, but among those of virtue, for it is a very sacred thing. ¶ But forsoþe frendes ne shollen nat ben rekkened among þe goodes of fortune but of vertue. for it is a ful holy manere þing. All else are desired either for the power or pleasure they afford. alle þise oþer þinges forsoþe 1796 ben taken for cause of power. or ellis for cause of delit. The goods of the body fall under the same predicament. ¶ Certis now am I redy to referen þe goodes of þe body to þise forseide þinges abouen. Strength and a good stature seem to give power and worthiness. ¶ For it semeþ þat strengþe and gretnesse of body ȝeuen power and 1800 worþinesse. Beauty and swiftness give glory and fame; and health gives delight. ¶ and þat beaute and swiftenesse ȝeuen noblesse and glorie of renoun. and hele of body semeþ ȝiuen delit. In all these happiness alone is sought. ¶ In alle þise þingus it semeþ oonly þat blisfulnesse is desired. What a man most wishes for, that he esteems the supreme good, which, as we have defined, is happiness. ¶ For-whi þilke þing þat euery 1804 man desireþ moost ouer alle þinges. he demiþ þat be þe souereyne goode. ¶ But I haue diffined þat blisfulnesse is þe souereyne goode. for whiche euery wyȝt demiþ þat þilke estat þat he desireþ ouer alle þinges þat 1808 it be þe blisfulnesse. Thou hast now before thee a view of human felicity (falsely so called), that is, riches, honours, power, glory, and delight, which last Epicurus considered as the sovereign good. ¶ Now hast þou þan byforne [thy eyen] almost al þe purposed forme of þe welfulnesse of mankynde. þat is to seyne rycchesse. honours. power. glorie. and delitȝ. þe whiche delit oonly considered 1812 Epicurus Iuged and establissed. þat delit is þe souereyne goode. for as myche as alle oþer þinges as hym þouȝt[e] by-refte awey ioie and myrþe from þe herte. I now return to the inclinations and pursuits of mankind. ¶ But I retourne aȝeyne to þe studies of meen. 1816 of whiche men þe corage alwey rehersiþ and seekeþ þe souereyne goode of alle be it so þat it be wiþ a derke memorie [but he not by whiche paath]. Their minds are bent upon the chief good, and are ever seeking it with a darkened understanding, like a drunken man, who cannot find his way home. ¶ Ryȝt as a dronke man not nat by whiche paþe he may retourne 1820 home to hys house. Do they go astray who strive to keep themselves from want? ¶ Semeþ it þanne þat folk folyen and erren þat enforcen hem to haue nede of no þing

By no means. No state is happier than that in which a man is above want, and independent of others. ¶ Certys þer nys non oþer þing þat may so weel perfourny [* fol. 16.] blisfulnesse as an estat plenteuous *of alle 1824 goodes þat ne haþ nede of none oþer þing. but þat it is suffisant of hym self. vnto hym self. Are they guilty of folly that seek esteem and reverence? and foleyen swyche folk þanne. þat wenen þat þilk þing þat is ryȝt goode. þat it be eke ryȝt worþi of honour and of 1828 reuerence. No; for that is not contemptible for which all men strive. ¶ Certis nay. for þat þing nys neyþer foule ne worþi to ben dispised þat al þe entencioun of mortel folke trauaille forto geten it. Is not power to be reckoned amongst desirable goods? ¶ And power auȝt[e] nat þat eke to be rekened amonges goodes Why not? For that is not an insignificant good which invests a man with authority and command. what ellis. 1832 for it nys nat to wene þat þilke þing þat is most worþi of alle þinges be feble and wiþ out strengþe and clernesse of renoun auȝte þat to ben dispised. Fame also is to be regarded, for everything excellent is also shining and renowned. ¶ Certys þer may no man forsake þat al þing þat is ryȝt excellent 1836 and noble. þat it ne semeþ to be ryȝt clere and renomed. We hardly need say that happiness is not an unjoyous and melancholy state, for in the pursuit of the smallest matters men seek only pleasure. ¶ For certis it nediþ nat to seie. þat blisfulnesse be anguissous ne dreri ne subgit to greuances ne to sorwes. syn þat in ryȝt litel þingus folk seken to 1840 haue and to vsen þat may deliten hem. Hence it is that mankind seek riches, &c., because by them they hope to get independence, honour, &c. ¶ Certys þise ben þe þinges þat men wolen and desyren to geten. and for þis cause desiren þei rycches. dignites. regnes. glorie and delices ¶ For þerby wenen þei to han suffisaunce 1844 honour power. renoun and gladnesse. However varied their desires, happiness is their sole pursuit. ¶ þanne is it goode. þat men seken þus by so many dyuerse studies. In whiche desijr it may lyȝtly be shewed. how grete is þe strengþe of nature. However various men’s opinions are respecting happiness, all agree in pursuing it as the end of their actions and desires. ¶ For how so þat 1848 men han dyuerse sentences and discordyng algates men accordyn alle in lyuynge þe ende of goode.

IT likeþ me I will now sing of Nature’s laws, by which the universe is governed. to shew[e] by subtil songe wiþ slakke and delitable soun of strenges how þat nature myȝty enclineþ 1852 and flitteþ gouernementȝ of þinges ¶ and by whiche lawes she purueiable kepiþ þe grete worlde. and how she bindynge restreineþ alle þingus by a bonde þat may nat be vnbounden. [j] The Punic lion submits to man, and dreads the keeper’s lash; yet, if he once taste blood, his savage instincts revive, and his keeper falls a victim to his fury. ¶ Al be it so þat þe liouns of 1856 þe contree of pene beren þe fair[e] cheines. and taken metes of þe handes of folk þat ȝeuen it hem. and dreden her sturdy maystres of whiche þei ben wont to suffren [betinges]. yif þat hir horrible mouþes ben bi-bled. 1860 þat is to sein of bestes devoured. ¶ Hir corage of tyme passeþ þat haþ ben ydel and rested. repaireþ aȝein þat þei roren greuously. and remembren on hir nature. and slaken hir nekkes from hir cheins vnbounden. 1864 and hir maistre first to-teren wiþ blody toþe assaieþ þe woode wraþþes of hem. ¶ þis is to sein þei freten hir maister. [ij] If the caged bird though daintily fed, gets a sight of the pleasant grove where she was wont to sing, she will spurn her food, and pine for the beloved woods. ¶ And þe Iangland brid þat syngiþ on þe heye braunches. þis is to sein in þe wode and 1868 after is inclosed in a streit cage. ¶ al þouȝ [þat] þe pleiyng besines of men ȝeueþ hem honied[e] drinkes and large metes. wiþ swete studie. ¶ ȝit naþeles yif þilke brid skippynge oute of hir streite cage seeþ þe 1872 agreable shadewes of þe wodes. she defouleþ wiþ hir fete hir metes yshad and sekeþ mournyng oonly þe wode and twitriþ desirynge þe wode wiþ hir swete voys. [iij] The sapling, bent down by a mighty hand, will resume its natural position as soon as the restraining force is removed. ¶ þe ȝerde of a tree þat is haled adoun by myȝty 1876 strengþe bowiþ redely þe croppe adoun. but yif þat þe hande of hym þat it bente lat it gon aȝein. ¶ An oon þe crop lokeþ vp ryȝt to heuene. [iiij] Though the sun sets in the western main at eve, yet by a secret path he takes his wonted journey toward the east. ¶ þe sonne phebus þat failleþ at euene in þe westrene wawes retorniþ aȝein 1880 eftsones his cart by a priue paþe þere as it is wont aryse. All things pursue their proper course, obedient to the source of order. ¶ Alle þinges seken aȝein in to hir propre cours. and alle þinges reioisen hem of hir retournynge aȝein to hir nature ne noon ordinaunce nis bytaken to 1884 þinges but þat. Hence, throughout the world entire stability is found, for all things, having fulfilled their appointed course, return from whence they came. þat haþ ioignynge þe endynge to þe bygynnynge. and haþ makid þe cours of it self stable þat it chaungeþ nat from hys propre kynde.

*CErtis also [* fol. 16 b.] O earthly animals, you have an indistinct perception of your beginning, and you have ever the true end of felicity in view, but your natural instincts are perverted by many errors.ȝe men þat ben erþeliche bestes dremen 1888 alwey [yowre bygynnynge] al þouȝ it be wiþ a þinne ymaginacioun. and by a maner þouȝt al be it nat clerly ne perfitly ȝe looken from a fer til þilk verray fyn of blisfulnesse. and þerfore þe naturel entencioun 1892 ledeþ ȝow to þilk verray good ¶ But many manere errours mistourniþ ȝow þer fro. Can men obtain the end they have in view by the means they usually employ in the pursuit of happiness? ¶ Considere now yif þat be þilke þinges by whiche a man weniþ to gete hym blysfulnesse. yif þat he may comen 1896 to þilke ende þat he weneþ to come by nature If riches and honours and the like make men happy, so that they shall want for nothing, then happiness may be procured by these acquisitions. ¶ For yif þat moneye or honours or þise oþer forseide þinges bryngen to men swiche a þing þat no goode ne faille hem. ne semeþ faille. ¶ Certys þan wil I graunt[e] 1900 þat þei ben maked blisful. by þilke þinges þat þei han geten. But if these things cannot make good what they promise, if there still be something to be desired, then they are delusions, and the felicity after all is a counterfeit. ¶ but yif so be þat þilke þinges ne mowe nat perfourmen þat þei by-heten and þat þer be defaute of many goodes. ¶ Sheweþ it nat þan clerely þat fals 1904 beaute of blisfulnesse is knowe and a-teint in þilke þinges. ¶ First and forward þou þi self þat haddest haboundaunces of rycchesses nat long agon. In your prosperity were you never annoyed by some wrong or grievance? ¶ I axe ȝif þat in þe haboundaunce of alle þilk[e] rycchesses 1908 þou were neuer anguissous or sory in þi corage of any wrong or greuaunce þat by-tidde þe on any syde.

B. I must confess that I cannot remember ever being wholly free from some trouble or other. ¶ Certys quod I it remembreþ me nat þat euere I was so free of my þouȝt. þat I ne was al-wey in anguyshe of 1912 somwhat. P. That was because something was absent which you did desire, or something present which you would fain be quit of. þat was þat þou lakkedest þat þou noldest han lakked. or ellys þou haddest þat þou noldest han had. B. That’s quite true. ryȝt so is it quod I þan. P. Then you did desire the presence of the one and the absence of the other? desiredest þou þe presence of þat oon and þe absence of þat oþer. 1916 B. I confess I did. I graunt[e] wel quod .I. P. Every man is in need of what he desires. for soþe quod she þan nediþ þer somwhat þat euery man desireþ. B. Certainly he is. ȝe þer nediþ quod I. P. If a man lack anything can he be supremely happy? ¶ Certis quod she and he þat haþ lakke or nede of a wyȝt nis nat in euery way suffisaunt to hym self. B. No. no quod .I. 1920 P. Did you not in your abundance want for somewhat? and þou quod she in alle þe plente of þi rycchesse haddest þilke lak of suffisaunce. B. What then if I did? ¶ what ellis quod .I. P. It follows that riches cannot put a man beyond all want, although this was what they seemed to promise. ¶ þanne may nat rycchesse maken þat a man nis nedy. ne þat he be suffisaunt to hym self. and 1924 þat was it þat þei byhyȝten as it semeþ. Money may part company with its owner, however unwilling he may be to lose it. ¶ and eke certys I trowe þat þis be gretly to consydere þat moneye ne haþ nat in hys owen kynde þat it ne may ben by-nomen of hem þat han it maugre hem. B. I confess that’s true. ¶ I by-knowe 1928 it wel quod I P. It ought to be confessed when every day we see might prevailing over right. ¶ whi sholdest þou nat by-knowen it quod she. whan euery day þe strenger folke by-nymen it fram þe febler maugre hem. From whence springs so much litigation, but from this, that men seek to recover their own of which they have been unjustly deprived? ¶ Fro whennes comen ellys alle þise foreine compleintes or quereles of 1932 pletyngus. ¶ But for þat men axen aȝeine her moneye þat haþ be by-nomen hem by force or by gyle. and alwey maugre hem. B. Nothing is more true. ¶ Ryȝt so it is quod I. P. Then a man needs the assistance of others in order to keep his riches. þan quod she haþ a man nede to seken hym foreyne helpe by 1936 whiche he may defende hys moneye. who may say nay quod .I.

If he had no money to lose he would not stand in need of this help? ¶ Certis quod she and hym nediþ no helpe yif he ne hadde no moneye þat he myȝt[e] leese. B. That is beyond all doubt. ¶ þat is doutles quod .I. P. Then the very reverse of what was expected (from riches) takes place? For riches add to a man’s necessities. þanne is þis þing turned in to þe contrarie 1940 quod she ¶ For rycchesse þat men wenen sholde make suffisaunce. þei maken a man raþer han nede of foreine helpe. Tell me how do riches drive away necessity? Are not rich men liable to hunger, thirst, and cold? ¶ whiche is þe manere or þe gise quod she þat rycches may dryuen awey nede. ¶ Riche folk 1944 may þei neiþer han hungre ne þrest. þise ryche men may þei feele no colde on hir lymes in wynter. You will say that the rich have wherewithal to satisfy these wants. ¶ But þou wilt answere þat ryche men han y-nouȝ wher wiþ þei may staunchen her hunger. and slaken her þrest 1948 and don awey colde. By riches indigence may be alleviated, but they cannot satisfy every want. ¶ In þis wise may nede be conforted by rycchesses. but certys nede ne may nat al outerly be don awey. Even if gaping and greedy necessity be filled with riches, yet some cravings will remain. for þouȝ þis nede þat is alwey gapyng and gredy be fulfilled wiþ rycchesses. and axe 1952 any þing ȝit dwelleþ þanne a nede þat myȝt[e] ben fulfilled. A little suffices for nature, but avarice never has enough. ¶ I holde me stille and telle nat how þat litel þing suffiseþ to nature. but certys to auarice ynouȝ ne suffiseþ no þinge. If riches, then, add to our wants, why should you think that they can supply all your necessities? [* fol. 17.] *¶ For syn þat rychesse ne may nat 1956 al don awey nede. but rychesse maken nede. what may it þanne be þat ȝe wenen þat rychesses mowen ȝeuen ȝow suffisaunce.

Bvt dignitees It may be said that dignities confer honour on their possessors. to whom þei ben comen make þei hym 1968 honorable and reuerent. But have they power to destroy vice or implant virtue in the heart? han þei nat so grete strengþe þat þei may putte vertues in þe hertis of folk. þat vsen þe lordshipes of hem. or ellys may þei don awey þe vices. So far from expelling vicious habits, they only render them more conspicuous. Certys þei [ne] ben nat wont to don awey wikkednesses. 1972 but þei ben wont raþer to shew[en] wikkednesses. Hence arises the indignation when we see dignities given to wicked men. and þer of comeþ it þat I haue ryȝt grete desdeyne. þat dignites ben ȝeuen ofte to wicked men. Hence Catullus’ resentment against Nonius, whom he calls the botch, or impostume of the State. ¶ For whiche þing catullus clepid a consul of Rome þat 1976 hyȝt nonius postum. or boch. as who seiþ he clepiþ hym a congregacioun of uices in his brest as a postum is ful of corrupcioun. al were þis nonius set in a chayere of dignitee. The deformities of wicked men would be less apparent if they were in more obscure situations. Sest þou nat þan how gret vylenye 1980 dignitees don to wikked men. ¶ Certys vnworþines of wikked men sholde ben þe lasse ysen yif þei nere renomed of none honours. Would you free yourself from peril by accepting a magistracy along with Decoratus a buffoon and informer? ¶ Certys þou þi self ne myȝtest nat ben brouȝt wiþ as many perils as þou 1984 myȝtest suffren þat þou woldest bere þi magistrat wiþ decorat. þat is to seyn. þat for no peril þat myȝt[e] bifallen þe by þe offence of þe kyng theodorik þou noldest nat ben felawe in gouernaunce with decorat. whanne 1988 þou say[e] þat he had[de] wikkid corage of a likerous shrewe and of an acusor. Honours do not render undeserving persons worthy of esteem. ¶ Ne I ne may nat for swiche honours Iugen hem worþi of reuerence þat I deme and holde vnworþi to han þilke same honours. If you find a man endowed with wisdom you deem him worthy of respect and of the wisdom which he professes. ¶ Now yif 1992 þou saie a man þat were fulfilled of wisdom. certys þou ne myȝtest nat demen þat he were vnworþi to þe honour. or ellys to þe wisdom of whiche he is fulfilled. B. I could not do otherwise. No quod .I. P. Virtue has her proper worth, which she ever transfers to her votaries. ¶ Certys dignitees quod she appertienen 1996 properly to vertue. and uertue transporteþ dignite anon to þilke man to whiche she hir self is conioigned.

Honours conferred by the populace do not make men worthy of them, for they have no intrinsic merit to bestow. ¶ And for as moche as honours of poeple ne may nat maken folk digne of honour. it is wel seyn clerly þat 2000 þei ne han no propre beaute of dignite. ¶ And ȝit men auȝten take more hede in þis. Dignities conferred upon shrews only make their vices the more conspicuous. ¶ For if it so be þat he is most out cast þat most folk dispisen. or as dignite ne may nat maken shrewes worþi of no reuerences. þan 2004 makeþ dignites shrewes more dispised þan preised. þe whiche shrewes dignit[e] scheweþ to moche folk Nor do dignities themselves escape without injury; for worthless men take their revenge upon them, and defile them by their contagious villanies. ¶ and for soþe nat vnpunissed. þat is forto sein. þat shrewes reuengen hem aȝeinward vpon dignites. for þei ȝelden 2008 aȝein to dignites as gret gerdoun whan þei byspotten and defoulen dignites wiþ hire vylenie. These shadowy honours have nothing in their nature to procure respect; for if a man, having borne the honours of the consulate, should go among barbarians would this honour gain him their respect? ¶ And for as moche as þou mow[e] knowe þat þilke verray reuerence ne may nat comen by þe shadewy transitorie dignitees. 2012 vndirstonde now þis. yif þat a man hadde vsed and hadde many manere dignites of consules and were comen perauenture amonges straunge naciouns. sholde þilke honour maken hym worshipful and redouted of 2016 straunge folk If respect were an attribute of honour it would infallibly bring esteem everywhere, just as heat is ever an attribute of fire. ¶ Certys yif þat honour of poeple were a naturel ȝifte to dignites. it ne myȝte neuer cesen nowher amonges no maner folke to done hys office.

¶ Ryȝt as fire in euery contre ne stinteþ nat to 2020 [* fol. 17 b.] enchaufen and *to ben hote. Honours arise from the false opinions of men, and vanish when they come among those who do not esteem them, that is, among foreign nations. but for as myche as forto be holden honorable or reuerent ne comeþ nat to folk of hir propre strengþe of nature. but only of þe fals[e] opinioun of folk. þat is to sein. þat wenen þat dignites 2024 maken folk digne of honour. An on þerfore whan þat þei comen þer as folk ne knowen nat þilke dignites. her honours vanissen awey and þat on oon. but þat is a-mong straung folk. maist þou sein. Do they always endure in those places that gave birth to them? but amongus 2028 hem þat þei weren born duren þilk[e] dignites alwey. The Prætorate was once a great honour, but now it is only an empty name and a heavy expense. ¶ Certys þe dignite of þe prouostrie of Rome was somtyme a grete power. now is it no þing but an ydel name. and þe rente of þe senatorie a gret charge. What is more vile than the office of the superintendency of provisions? and 2032 yif a whiȝt somtyme hadde þe office to taken he[de] to þe vitailes of þe poeple as of corne and what oþer þinges he was holden amonges grete. but what þing is more nowe out cast þanne þilke prouostrie That which hath no innate beauty must lose its splendour or value according as popular opinion varies concerning it. ¶ And as I haue 2036 seid a litel here byforne. þat þilke þing þat haþ no propre beaute of hym self resceyueþ somtyme pris and shinynge and somtyme lesiþ it by þe opinioun of vsaunces. If dignities cannot confer esteem, if they become vile through filthy shrews, if they lose their lustre by the change of times, if they become worthless by the change of popular opinion, what beauty do they possess which should make them desirable, or what dignity can they confer on others? ¶ Now yif þat dignites þanne ne mowen 2040 nat maken folk digne of reuerence. and yif þat dignites wexen foule of hir wille by þe filþe of shrewes. ¶ and yif þat dignites lesen hir shynynge by chaungyng of tymes. and yif þei wexen foule by estimacioun of 2044 poeple. what is it þat þei han in hem self of beaute þat auȝte ben desired. as who seiþ none. þanne ne mowen þei ȝiuen no beaute of dignite to none oþer.

Dionysius of Sicily, conscious of this condition, exhibited the fears and cares of royalty by the terror of a naked sword hanging over the head of his friend and flatterer Damocles. ¶ A tyraunt þat was kyng of sisile þat had[de] assaied þe peril of his estat shewid[e] by similitude þe dredes of realmes by gastnesse of a swerde þat heng ouer þe heued of his familier. What then is this thing called Power, which cannot do away with care or fear? what þing is þan þis power þat 2080 may nat don awey þe bytynges of besines ne eschewe þe prikkes of drede. Men would live in security but cannot, and yet they glory in their power. and certys ȝit wolden þei lyuen [* fol. 18.] *in sykernesse. but þei may nat. and ȝit þei glorifien hem in her power Is he powerful who cannot do what he wishes? ¶ Holdest þou þan þat þilk[e] man 2084 be myȝty þat þou seest þat he wolde don þat he may nat don. Is he a mighty man who goes surrounded with an armed guard, to terrify those whom he himself fears, and whose power depends solely upon his numerous retinue? ¶ And holdest þou þan hym a myȝty man þat haþ environed hise sydes wiþ men of armes or seruauntes and dredeþ more [hem] þat he makeþ agast. 2088 þen þei dreden hym. and þat is put in þe handes of hise seruauntȝ. for he sholde seme myȝty but of familiers [or] seruauntȝ of kynges. Why need I enlarge upon the favourites of princes having thus displayed the imbecility of kings! ¶ what sholde I telle þe any þing. syn þat I my self haue shewed þe þat realmes 2092 hem self ben ful of gret feblenesse. Their prosperity is affected by the caprice of their fortunate masters as well as by the adversity to which they are incident. þe whiche familiers certis þe real power of kynges in hool estat and in estat abated ful [ofte] þroweþ adoun. Nero only allowed his master Seneca to choose the manner of his death. ¶ Nero constreined[e] his familier and his maistre seneca to chesen on what 2096 deeþ he wolde deien. Antonius (Caracalla) commanded Papinian to be slain by the swords of his soldiers. ¶ Antonius comaundid[e] þat knyȝtis slowen wiþ her swerdis Papinian his familier whiche Papinian had[de] ben long tyme ful myȝty a-monges hem of þe courte. Yet both would have given up all they possessed. and ȝit certis þei wolde boþe 2100 han renounced her power. Seneca begged for poverty and exile. But relentless fortune precipitated them to destruction, and did not permit them to choose their fate. of whiche [two] senek enforced[e] hym to ȝiuen to Nero his rychesses. and also to han gon in to solitarie exil. ¶ But whan þe grete weyȝt. þat is to sein of lordes power or of fortune 2104 draweþ hem þat sholden falle. neyþer of hem ne myȝt[e] do þat he wolde. What then is Power, which terrifies its possessors, and which cannot be got rid of at pleasure? what þing is þanne þilke power þat þouȝ men han it þat þei ben agast. ¶ and whan þou woldest han it þou nart nat siker. ¶ And 2108 yif þou woldest forleten it þou mayst nat eschewen it. No advantage is to be gained by friendship based on prosperity instead of virtue. ¶ But wheþir swiche men ben frendes at nede as ben conseiled by fortune and nat by vertue. Adversity will turn this sort of friendship into enmity. And what greater plague can there be than the enmity of thy familiar friend? Certys swiche folk as weleful fortune makeþ frendes. contrarious fortune 2112 makeþ hem enmyse. ¶ And what pestilence is more myȝty forto anoye a wiȝt þan a familier enemy.

Bvt glorie How deceptive and deformed a thing is glory! Well did the Tragedian exclaim—ὦ δόξα δόξα μυρίοισι δὴ βροτῶν, οὐδὲν γεγῶσι βίοτον ὤγκωσας μέγαν, for the undeserving have been crowned with glory and renown by popular and erring opinion. how deceiuable and how foule is it ofte. for 2124 whiche þing nat vnskilfully a tregedien þat is to sein a maker of dites þat hyȝten tregedies cried[e] and seide. ¶ O glorie glorie quod he. þou nart no þing ellys to þousandes of folkes. but a gret sweller of eres. 2128 for many[e] han had ful gret renoun by þe fals[e] oppinioun of poeple. What can be more infamous than renoun founded on the prejudices of the vulgar? and what þing may ben þouȝt fouler þen swiche preisynge Those that are undeservedly praised ought to blush for shame. for þilk[e] folk þat ben preised falsly. þei moten nedes han shame of hir preisynges. 2132 If a wise man gets well-merited praise it does not add to his felicity. and yif þat folk han geten hem þank or preysyng by her desertes. what þing haþ þilk pris echid or encresed to þe conscience of wise folk þat mesuren hire good. not by þe rumour of þe poeple. but by þe soþefastnesse 2136 of conscience. If it be a good thing to spread abroad one’s fame, it must be dishonourable not to do so. and yif it seme a fair þing a man to han encresid and sprad his name. þan folweþ it. þat it is demed to ben a foule þinge yif it ne be ysprad ne encresed. But a good name cannot penetrate everywhere, and the most illustrious names must be unknown to the greatest part of the world. but as I seide a litel her byforne. 2140 þat syn þer mot nedes ben many folk to whiche folk þe renoun of a man ne may nat comen. it byfalleþ þat he þat þou wenest be glorious and renomed. semiþ in þe nexte parties of þe erþe to ben wiþ out glorie. and wiþ 2144 out renoun. The favour of the people is worth but little as it is seldom judicious and never permanent. ¶ and certis amonges þise þinges I ne trowe nat þat þe pris and grace of þe poeple nis neiþer worþi [* fol. 18 b.] *to ben remembrid ne comeþ of wise iugement. ne is ferm perdurably. How empty and transitory are titles of nobility! ¶ But now of þis name of gentilesse. 2148 what man is it þat ne may wel seen how veyne and how flittyng a þing it is. Gentility is wholly foreign to renown, and to those who boast of noble birth. ¶ For if þe name of gentilesse be referred to renoun and clernesse of linage. þan is gentil name but a for[e]ine þing. þat is to sein to 2152 hem þat glorifien hem of hir linage. Nobility is fame derived from the merits of one’s ancestors. ¶ For it semeþ þat gentilesse be a maner preysynge þat comeþ of decert of auncestres. If praise can give nobility they are noble who are praised. ¶ And yif preysynge makeþ gentilesse þan moten þei nedes be gentil þat ben preysed. Then if thou hast no nobility of thy own, thou canst not derive any splendour from the merits of others. For 2156 whiche þing it folweþ. þat yif þou ne haue no gentilesse of þi self. þat is to sein pris þat comeþ of þi deserte foreine gentilesse ne makeþ þe nat gentil. If there be any good in nobleness of birth, it consists alone in this, that it imposes an obligation upon its possessors not to degenerate from the virtues of their ancestors. ¶ But certis yif þer be any goode in gentilesse. I trowe it be in al 2160 oonly þis. þat it semeþ as þat a maner necessitee be imposed to gentil men. for þat þei ne sholden nat outraien or forliuen fro þe uertues of hire noble kynrede.

But what shal But what shall I say with respect to sensual pleasures, the desire of which is full of anxiety, and the enjoyment of them full of repentance? I seie of delices of body. of whic[h]e 2176 delices þe desiringes ben ful of anguisse. and þe fulfillinges of hem ben ful of penaunce. What diseases and intolerable pains (the merited fruits of vice) are these delights wont to bring upon those who enjoy them! ¶ How grete sekenesse and how grete sorwes vnsuffrable ryȝt as a manere fruit of wickednesse ben þilke delices wont to 2180 bryngen to þe bo[d]ies of folk þat vsen hem. I am unable to see what joy is to be found in the gratification of them. ¶ Of whiche delices I not what ioye may ben had of hir moeuyng. The remembrance of criminal indulgence brings with it bitter remorse. ¶ But þis woot I wel þat who so euere wil remembren hym of hys luxuries. he shal wel vndirstonde. 2184 þat þe issues of delices ben sorowful and sory. If such things make men happy, then may brutes attain to felicity, since by their instinct they are urged to satisfy their bodily delights. ¶ And yif þilke delices mowen make folk blisful. þan by þe same cause moten þise bestes ben clepid blisful. ¶ Of whiche bestes al þe entencioun hasteþ to fulfille 2188 hire bodyly iolyte. A wife and children do not always bring happiness, for some have found tormentors in their own offspring. and þe gladnesse of wijf [and] children were [an] honest þing. but it haþ ben seid. þat it is ouer myche aȝeins kynde þat children han ben founden tormentours to hir fadres I not how many. 2192 ¶ Of whiche children how bitynge is euery condicioun. It nedeþ nat to tellen it þe þat hast or þis tyme assaied it. and art ȝit now anguyssous. I approve of this opinion of Euripides, that he who is childless is happy in his misfortune. In þis approue I þe sentence of my disciple Euridippus. þat seide þat he 2196 þat haþ no children is weleful by infortune.

Now nis it no It appears then that happiness is not to be found in the above-mentioned external things. doute þan þat þise weyes ne ben a maner mysledyng to blisfulnesse. ne þat þei ne 2204 mowe nat leden folke þider as þei byheten to leden hem. [* fol. 19.] These false ways are perplexed with many evils, as I shall presently show thee. ¶ But wiþ how grete harmes þise *forseide weyes ben enlaced. ¶ I shal shewe þe shortly. Do you want to amass wealth, then you must take it from your neighbours. ¶ For whi yif þou enforcest þe to assemble moneye. þou most by-reuen 2208 hym his moneye þat haþ it. Would you shine in dignities, then you must beg for them and disgrace yourself by a humiliating supplication. and yif þou wilt shynen wiþ dignites. þou most bysechen and supplien hem þat ȝiuen þo dignitees. ¶ And yif þou coueitest by honour to gon by-fore oþer folk þou shalt defoule þi 2212 self by humblesse of axing. If power be your ambition, you expose yourself to the snares of inferiors. yif þou desiryst power. þou shalt by awaites of þi subgitȝ anoyously be cast vndir many periles. Do you ask for glory, to be distracted by vexations and so lose all security. axest þou glorie þou shalt ben so destrat by aspre þinges þat þou shalt forgone sykernesse. 2216 Do you prefer a voluptuous life? Think then that all men will despise him who is a thrall to his body. ¶ And yif þou wilt leden þi lijf in delices. euery whiȝt shal dispisen þe and forleten þe as þou þat art þral to þing þat is ryȝt foule and brutel. þat is [to] sein seruaunt to þi body. They build upon a weak foundation that place bodily delights above their own reason. ¶ Now is it þan wel yseen 2220 how lytel and how brutel possessioun þei coueiten þat putten þe goodes of þe body abouen hire owen resoun. Can you surpass the elephant in bulk, or the bull in strength? ¶ For mayst þou sourmounten þise olifuñtȝ in gretnesse or weyȝt of body. Or mayst þou ben strenger þan þe 2224 bole. Art thou swifter than the tiger? Mayst þou ben swifter þan þe tigre. Behold the immense extent of the heavens and cease to admire vile or lesser things. biholde þe spaces and þe stablenesse and þe swyfte cours of þe heuene. and stynte somtyme to wondren on foule þinges. Admire what is still more admirable, the consummate wisdom that governs them. þe whiche heuene certys nis nat raþer for þise 2228 þinges to ben wondred vpon. þan for þe resoun by whiche it is gouerned. How fleeting is beauty! but þe shynynge of þi forme þat is to seien þe beaute of þi body. how swiftly passyng is it and how transitorie. It fades sooner than the vernal flowers. ¶ Certis it is more flittynge 2232 þan þe mutabilite of floures of þe somer sesoun. For, as Aristotle says, if a man were lynx-eyed and could look into the entrails of Alcibiades (so fair outwardly) he would find all foul and loathsome. For so as aristotil telleþ þat yif þat men hadden eyen of a beest þat hiȝt lynx. so þat þe lokyng of folk myȝt[e] percen þoruȝ þe þinges þat wiþstonden it. who so lokid 2236 þan in þe entrailes of þe body of alcibiades þat was ful fayr in þe superfice wiþ oute. it shulde seme ryȝt foule. Thy nature does not make thee seem beautiful, but the imperfect view of thy admirers. and for þi yif þou semest faire. þi nature ne makiþ nat þat. but þe desceiuaunce of þe fieblesse of þe 2240 eyen þat loken. Prize bodily perfections as much as you will, yet a three days’ fever will destroy them. ¶ But preise þe goodes of þi body as moche as euer þe list. so þat þou know[e] algates þat what so it be. þat is to seyn of þe goodes of þi body whiche þat þou wondrest vpon may ben destroied or 2244 dessolued by þe hete of a feuere of þre dayes. ¶ Of alle whiche forseide þinges I may reducen þis shortly in a somme. Worldly goods do not give what they promise, do not comprise every good, are not the paths to felicity, nor can of themselves make any one happy. ¶ þat þise worldly goodes whiche þat ne mowen nat ȝiuen þat þei byheten. ne ben nat perfit by 2248 þe congregacioun of alle goodes. þat þei ne ben nat weyes ne paþes þat bryngen men to blysfulnesse ne maken men to ben blysful.

Allas whiche Alas! how through folly and ignorance do men stray from the path of true happiness! folie and whiche ignoraunce myslediþ 2252 wandryng wrecches fro þe paþe of verrey good. Ye do not seek gold upon trees nor diamonds from the vine. ¶ Certis ȝe ne seken no golde in grene trees. ne ȝe ne gadren [nat] precious stones in þe vines. Ye lay not your nets to catch fish upon the lofty hills. ne ȝe ne hiden nat ȝoure gynnes in heyȝe mountaignes to kachen 2256 fisshe of whiche ȝe may maken ryche festes. The hunter goes not to the Tyrrhene waters to hunt the roe. and yif ȝow lykeþ to hunte to roos. ȝe ne gon nat to þe foordes of þe water þat hyȝt tyrene. Men know where to look for white pearls, and for the fish that yields the purple dye. and ouer þis men knowen wel þe crikes and þe cauernes of þe see yhidd in þe 2260 floodes. and knowen eke whiche water is most plentiuous of white perles. and knowen whiche water habundeþ most of rede purpre. þat is to seyen of a maner shelfisshe with whiche men dien purpre. They know where the most delicate of the finny race abound and where the fierce sea-urchin is to be found. and knowen 2264 whiche strondes habounden most of tendre fisshes or of sharpe fisshes þat hyȝten echynnys. But where the Sovereign Good abides blinded mortals never know, but plunge into the earth below to look for that which has its dwelling in the heavens. but folk suffren hem self to ben so blynde þat hem ne recchiþ nat to knowe where þilk[e] goodes ben yhidd whiche þat þei 2268 coueiten but ploungen hem in erþe and seken þere þilke goode þat sourmounteþ þe heuene þat bereþ þe sterres. [* fol. 19 b.] What doom do the silly race deserve? ¶ what *preyere may I make þat be digne to þe nice þouȝtis of men. May they pursue such false joys, and having obtained them, too late find out the value of the true. but I preye þat þei coueiten 2272 rycches and honours so þat whan þei han geten þo false goodes wiþ greet trauayle þat þerby þei mowe knowen þe verray goodes.

IT suffisiþ P. I have been describing the form of counterfeit happiness, and if you have considered it attentively I shall proceed to give you a perfect view of the true. þat I haue shewed hider to þe forme of 2276 false wilfulnesse. so þat yif þou look[e] now clerely þe ordre of myn entencioun requeriþ from hennes forþe to shewen þe verray wilfulnesse. B. I now see that there is no sufficiency in riches, no power in royalty, no esteem in dignities, nor nobility in renown, nor joy in carnal pleasures. ¶ For quod .I. (b) [I.] se wel now þat suffisaunce may nat comen by richesse. ne 2280 power by realmes. ne reuerence by dignitees. ne gentilesse by glorie. ne ioye by delices. and (p) hast þou wel knowen quod she þe cause whi it is. Certis me semeþ quod .I. þat .I. se hem ryȝt as þouȝ it were þoruȝ a litel 2284 clifte. I have a glimpse of the cause of all this, but I should like a more distinct view. but me were leuer knowen hem more openly of þe. Certys quod she þe resoun is al redy P. The cause is obvious—for that which is by nature one and indivisible human ignorance separates and divides, and reverses the true order of things. ¶ For þilk þing þat symply is on þing wiþ outen ony diuisioun. þe errour and folie of mankynde departeþ 2288 and diuidiþ it. and mislediþ it and transporteþ from verray and perfit goode. to goodes þat ben false and inperfit. Does that state which needs nothing stand in need of power? ¶ But seye me þis. wenest þou þat he þat haþ nede of power þat hym ne lakkeþ no þing. B. I should say no. P. Right! That which wants power needs external aid. Nay quod 2292 .I ¶ Certis quod she þou seist aryȝt. For yif so be þat þer is a þing þat in any partie be fieble of power. B. That is true! P. Sufficiency and power therefore are of one nature. B. It seems so indeed. Certis as in þat it most[e] nedes be nedy of foreine helpe. ¶ Riȝt so it is quod .I. Suffisaunce and power 2296 ben þan of on kynde ¶ So semeþ it quod I. P. Are power and sufficiency to be despised? Are they not rather worthy of universal respect? ¶ And demyst þou quod she þat a þing þat is of þis manere. þat is to seine suffisaunt and myȝty auȝt[e] to ben dispised. or ellys þat it be ryȝt digne of reuerences abouen 2300 alle þinges. B. They are doubtless highly estimable. P. Add respect to sufficiency and power, and consider all three as one and the same thing. ¶ Certys quod I it nys no doute þat it nis ryȝt worþi to ben reuerenced. ¶ Lat vs quod she þan adden reuerence to suffisaunce and to power ¶ So þat we demen þat þise þre þinges ben alle o þing. B. I see no objection to that view. ¶ Certis 2304 quod I lat vs adden it. yif we willen graunten þe soþe. P. But can that be obscure and ignoble which possesses three such attributes? is it not noble and worthy of a shining reputation? what demest þou þan quod she is þat a dirke þing and nat noble þat is suffisaunt reuerent and myȝty. or ellys þat is ryȝt clere and ryȝt noble of celebrete of renoun. 2308

He who is most powerful and worthy of renown—if he lack fame which he cannot give to himself, must (by this defect) seem in some measure more weak and abject. ¶ Considere þan quod she as we han grauntid her byforne. þat he þat ne haþ ne[de] of no þing and is most myȝty and most digne of honour yif hym nediþ any clernesse of renoun whiche clernesse he myȝt[e] nat 2312 graunten of hym self. ¶ So þat for lakke of þilke clerenesse he myȝt[e] seme febler on any syde or þe more outcaste. Glosa. þis is to seyne nay. He that is sufficiently mighty and esteemed will have necessarily an illustrious name. ¶ For who so þat is suffisaunt myȝty and reuerent. clernesse of 2316 renoun folweþ of þe forseide þinges. he haþ it alredy of hys suffisaunce. B. I cannot deny it, for reputation seems inseparable from the advantages you have just mentioned. boice. I may nat quod I denye it. ¶ But I mot graunten as it is. þat þis þing be ryȝt celebrable by clernesse of renoun and noblesse. P. Therefore Renown differs in no wise from the three above-mentioned attributes. ¶ þan 2320 folweþ it quod she þat we adden clernesse of renoun to þe þre forseide þinges. so þat þer ne be amonges hem no difference. and þis is a consequente quod .I. And if any one then stands in need of no external aid, can have all he wants, and is illustrious and respected—is not his condition very agreeable and pleasant? þis þing þan quod she þat ne haþ no nede of no foreine 2324 þing. and þat may don alle þinges by his strengþes. and þat is noble and honourable. nis nat þat a myrie þing and a ioyful. B. I cannot conceive how such a one can have grief or trouble. boice. but wenest quod I þat any sorow myȝt[e] comen to þis þing þat is swiche. ¶ Certys 2328 I may nat þinke. P. It must then be a state of happiness; and we may also affirm that sufficiency, power, nobility, differ only in name, but not in substance. P. ¶ þanne moten we graunt[e] quod she þat þis þing be ful of gladnesse yif þe þorseide þinges be soþe. ¶ And also certys mote we graunten. þat suffisaunce power noblesse reuerence and gladnesse ben 2332 only dyuerse bynames. but hir substaunce haþ no diuersite. B. It is a necessary conse­quence. Boice. It mot nedely be so quod .I. P. The depravity of mankind then divides that which is essentially indivisible; and, seeking for a part of that which has no parts, they miss the entire thing which they so much desire. P. þilke þinge þan quod she þat is oon and simple in his nature. [* fol. 20.] þe wikkednesse of men departiþ it *diuidiþ it. and 2336 whan þei enforcen hem to gete partie of a þing þat ne haþ no part. þei ne geten hem neiþer þilk[e] partie þat nis none. ne þe þing al hole þat þei ne desire nat. B. How is that? .b. In whiche manere quod .I. P. He that seeks riches in order to avoid poverty, is not solicitous about power; he prefers meanness and obscurity, and denies himself many natural pleasures that he may not lessen his heaps of pelf. p. þilke man quod she þat 2340 sekeþ rychesse to fleen pouerte. he ne trauayleþ hym nat to for to gete power for he haþ leuer ben dirk and vile. and eke wiþdraweþ from hym selfe many naturel delitȝ for he nolde lesen þe moneye þat he haþ assembled. 2344 He who lacks power, is pricked with trouble, and rendered an outcast and obscure by his sordid ways, does not possess sufficiency. but certis in þis manere he ne getiþ hym nat suffisaunce þat power forletiþ. and þat moleste prekeþ. and þat filþe makeþ outcaste. and þat derknesse hideþ. He who only aims at power squanders his riches, and despises delights and honours unaccompanied by power. and certis he þat desireþ only power he wastiþ and 2348 scatriþ rychesse and dispiseþ delices and eke honour þat is wiþ out power. ne he ne preiseþ glorie no þing.

Such a one must be subject to many anxieties. ¶ Certys þus seest þou wel þat many þingus failen to hym. for he haþ somtyme faute of many necessites. 2352 and many anguysses biten hym And when he cannot get rid of these evils he ceases to have what he most desired—power. ¶ and whan he may nat don þo defautes awey. he forleteþ to ben myȝty. and þat is þe þing þat he most desireþ. In the same way honour, glory, and pleasure, are all inseparable; he that seeks one without the other will fail to obtain his desires. and ryȝt þus may I make semblable resouns of honours and of glorie 2356 and of delices. ¶ For so as euery of þise forseide þinges is þe same þat þise oþer þinges ben. þat is to sein. al oon þing. who so þat euer sekeþ to geten þat oon of þise and nat þat oþer. he ne geteþ nat þat he 2360 desireþ. B. What then if a man should desire to gain them all at once? Boice. ¶ what seist þou þan yif þat a man coueiteþ to geten alle þise þinges to gider. P. He would then indeed desire perfect felicity—but can he ever expect to find it in the acquisitions above mentioned, which do not perform what they promise? P. Certys quod she .I. wolde seie þat he wolde geten hym souereyne blisfulnes. but þat shal he nat fynde in þo þinges 2364 þat .I. haue shewed þat ne mowe nat ȝeuen þat þei by-heten. B. No, surely! boice. Certys no quod .I. P. Then happiness is not to be sought in these things which are falsely supposed capable of satisfying our desires? ¶ þan quod she ne sholden men nat by no weye seken blysfulnesse in swiche þinges as men wenen þat þei ne mowe 2368 ȝeuen but o þing senglely of alle þat men seken. B. I confess it, and nothing can be more truly affirmed than this. I graunt[e] wel quod .I. ne no soþer þing ne may nat ben said. Turn your mind’s eye upon the reverse of all this false felicity and you will perceive the true happiness. P. ¶ Now hast þou þan quod she þe forme and þe causes of false welefulnesse. ¶ Now turne and 2372 flitte þe eyen of þi þouȝt. for þere shalt þou seen an oon þilk verray blysfulnesse þat I haue byhyȝt þee. B. It is very clear, and I had a complete view of it when you explained to me the causes of its counterfeit. b. Certys quod .I. it is cler and opyn. þouȝ þat it were to a blynde man. and þat shewedest þou me [ful wel] a 2376 lytel her byforne. whan þou enforcedest þe to shewe me þe causes of þe false blysfulnesse True felicity consists in a state of sufficiency, of power, and honour—as well as of a shining reputation and every desirable pleasure: and I must confess that true felicity is that which is bestowed by these advantages, as they are in reality all one and the same. ¶ For but yif I be by-giled. þan is þilke þe verray perfit blisfulnesse þat perfitly makiþ a man suffisaunt. myȝty. honourable noble. 2380 and ful of gladnesse. and for þou shalt wel knowe þat I haue wel vndirstonden þise þinges wiþ inne myne herte. I knowe wel þilke blisfulnesse þat may verrayly ȝeuen on of þe forseide þinges syn þei ben al oon .I. knowe 2384 douteles þat þilke þing is þe fulle of blysfulnesse.

P. O my nursling, how happy are you in this conviction, provided you add but one limitation. P. O my nurry quod she by þis oppinioun quod she I sey[e] þat þou art blisful yif þou putte þis þer to þat I shal seine. B. What is that? what is þat quod .I. P. Thinkest thou that any thing in this world can confer this happiness? (the sovereign good). ¶ Trowest þou þat 2388 þer be any þing in þis erþely mortal toumblyng þinges þat may bryngen þis estat. B. I think not; for nothing can be desirable beyond such a state of perfection. Certys quod I trowe it nat. and þou hast shewed me wel þat ouer þilke goode þer is no þing more to ben desired. P. These imperfect things above mentioned only confer the shadow of the supreme good, or at most only an imperfect felicity, but they cannot bestow true and perfect happiness. P. þise þinges þan 2392 quod she. þat is to seyne erþely suffisaunce and power. and swiche þinges eyþer þei semen likenesse of verray goode. or ellys it semeþ þat þei ȝeuen to mortal folk a maner of goodes þat ne ben nat perfit. ¶ But þilke 2396 goode þat is verray and perfit. þat may þei nat ȝeuen. B. I quite agree with you. boice. I. accorde me wel quod .I. P. Then, knowing the difference between true and false felicity you must now learn where to look for this supreme felicity. þan quod she for as moche as þou hast knowen whiche is þilke verray blisfulnesse. and eke whiche þilke þinges ben þat lien 2400 falsly blisfulnesse. þat is to seyne. þat by desceit semen verray goodes. ¶ Now byhoueþ þe to knowen [* fol. 20 b.] *whennes and where þou mowe seek[e] þilke verray blisfulnesse. ¶ Certys quod I þat desijr I gretly and 2404 haue abiden longe tyme to herkene it. P. But, as Plato says that even in the least things the Divine assistance ought to be implored, what ought we do, to render us worthy of so important a discovery as the true source and seat of the sovereign good? ¶ But for as moche quod she as it likeþ to my disciple plato in his book of in thimeo. þat in ryȝt lytel þinges men sholde bysechen þe helpe of god. ¶ what iugest þou þat be 2408 [now] to done so þat we may deserue to fynde þe sete of þilke souereyne goode. B. Let us invoke the Father of all things. B. ¶ Certys quod .I. I. deme þat we shulle clepen to þe fadir of alle goodes. ¶ For wiþ outen hym nis þer no þing founden aryȝt. You are right, said Philosophy, and thus she sang:— þou seist 2412 a-ryȝt quod she. and bygan on-one to syngen ryȝt þus.