APPENDIX. (continued 2)

Knihtes sholde weren weden in here manere, After that the ordre asketh also wel as a frere; Nu ben theih so degysed and diverseliche i-diht, Unnethe may men knowe a gleman from a kniht, wel neih; So is mieknesse driven adoun, and pride is risen on heih. Thus is the ordre of kniht turned up-so-doun, Also wel can a kniht chide as any skolde of a toun. 260 Hii sholde ben also hende as any levedi in londe, And for to speke alle vilanie nel nu no kniht wonde for shame; And thus knihtshipe [is] acloied and waxen al fot lame. Knihtshipe is acloied and deolfulliche i-diht; Kunne a boy nu breke a spere, he shal be mad a kniht. And thus ben knihtes gadered of unkinde blod, And envenimeth that ordre that shold be so god and hende; Ac o shrewe in a court many man may shende. 270 And nu nis no squier of pris in this middel erd, But if that he bere a babel and a long berd, And swere Godes soule, and vuwe to God and hote; But sholde he for everi fals uth lese kirtel or kote,

I leve, He sholde stonde starc naked twye o day or eve. Godes soule is al day sworn, the knif stant a-strout, And thouh the botes be torn, ȝit wole he maken hit stout; The hod hangeth on his brest, as he wolde spewe therinne, Ac shortliche al his contrefaiture is colour of sinne, 280 and bost, To wraththe God and paien the fend hit serveth allermost. A newe taille of squierie is nu in everi toun; The raye is turned overthuert that sholde stonde adoun; Hii ben degised as turmentours that comen from clerkes plei; Hii ben i-laft wid pride, and cast nurture awey in diche; Gentille men that sholde ben, ne beth hii none i-liche. And justises, shirreves, meires, baillifs, if I shal rede aricht, Hii kunnen of the faire day make the derke niht; 290 Hii gon out of the heie wey, ne leven hii for no sklaundre, And maken the mot-halle at hom in here chaumbre, wid wouh; For be the hond i-whited, it shal go god i-nouh. If the king in his werre sent after mihti men, To helpe him in his nede, of sum toun .ix. or .x.,

The stiffeste sholen bileve at hom for .x. shillinges or .xii., And sende forth a wrecche that may noht helpe himselve at nede. Thus is the king deceyved, and pore men shent for mede. 300 And if the king in his lond maketh a taxacioun, And everi man is i-set to a certein raunczoun, Hit shal be so for-pinched, to-toilled, and to-twiht, That halvendel shal gon in the fendes fliht off helle; Ther beth so manye parteners may no tunge telle. A man of .xl. poundes-worth god is leid to .xii. pans rounde; And also much paieth another that poverte hath brouht to grounde, And hath an hep of girles sittende aboute the flet. Godes curs moten hii have! but that be wel set 310 and sworn, That the pore is thus i-piled, and the riche forborn. Ac if the king hit wiste, I trowe he wolde be wroth, Hou the pore beth i-piled, and hu the silver goth; Hit is so deskatered bothe hider and thidere, That halvendel shal ben stole ar hit come togidere, and acounted; An if a pore man speke a word, he shal be foule afrounted.

Ac were the king wel avised, and wolde worche bi skile, Litel nede sholde he have swiche pore to pile; 320 Thurfte him noht seke tresor so fer, he mihte finde ner, At justices, at shirreves, cheiturs, and chaunceler, and at les; Swiche mihte finde him i-nouh, and late pore men have pes. For who so is in swich ofice, come he nevere so pore, He fareth in a while as thouh he hadde silver ore; Theih bien londes and ledes, ne may hem non astonde. What sholde pore men [ben] i-piled, when swiche men beth in londe so fele? Theih pleien wid the kinges silver, and breden wod for wele. 330 Ac shrewedeliche for sothe hii don the kinges heste; Whan everi man hath his part, the king hath the leste. Everi man is aboute to fille his owen purs; And the king hath the leste part, and he hath al the curs, wid wronge. God sende treuthe into this lond, for tricherie dureth to longe. And baillifs and bedeles under the shirreve, Everich fondeth hu he may pore men most greve. The pore men beth over al somouned on assise; And the riche sholen sitte at hom, and ther wole silver rise 340 to shon. Godes curs moten hii have, but that be wel don!

And countours in benche that stondeth at the barre, Theih wolen bigile the in thin hond, but if thu be the warre. He wole take .xl. pans for to do doun his hod, And speke for the a word or to, and don the litel god, I trouwe. And have he turned the bak, he makketh the a mouwe. Attourneis in cuntré theih geten silver for noht; Theih maken men biginne that they nevere hadden thouht; 350 And whan theih comen to the ring, hoppe if hii kunne. Al that theih muwen so gete, al thinketh hem i-wonne wid skile. Ne triste no man to hem, so false theih beth in the bile. And sumtime were chapmen that treweliche bouhten and solde; And nu is thilke assise broke, and nas noht ȝore holde. Chaffare was woned to be meintened wid treuthe, And nu is al turned to treccherie, and that is muchel reuthe to wite, That alle manere godnesse is thus adoun i-smite. 360 Unnethe is nu eny man that can eny craft, That he nis a party los in the haft; For falsnesse is so fer forth over al the londe i-sprunge,

That wel neih nis no treuthe in hond, ne in tunge, ne in herte; And tharfore nis no wonder thouh al the world it smerte. Ther was a gamen in Engelond that durede ȝer and other; Erliche upon the Monenday uch man bishrewed other; So longe lastede that gamen among lered and lewed, 369 That nolde theih nevere stinten, or al the world were bishrewed, i-wis; And therfore al that helpe sholde, fareth the more amis. So that for that shrewedom that regneth in the lond, I drede me that God us hath for-laft out of his hond, Thurw wederes that he hath i-sent cold and unkinde; And ȝit ne haveth no man of him the more minde ariht; Unnethe is any man aferd of Godes muchele miht. God hath ben wroth wid the world, and that is wel i-sene; For al that whilom was murthe, is turned to treie and tene. 380 He sente us plenté i-nouh, suffre whiles we wolde, Off alle manere sustenaunce grouwende upon molde so thicke; And evere aȝeines his godnesse we weren i-liche wicke.

Men sholde noht sumtime finde a boy for to bere a lettre, That wolde eten eny mete, but it were the betre. For beof ne for bakoun, ne for swich stor of house, Unnethe wolde eny don a char, so were theih daungerouse for wlaunke; And siththen bicom ful reulich, that thanne weren so ranke. 390 For tho God seih that the world was so over gart, He sente a derthe on eorthe, and made hit ful smart. A busshel of whete was at foure shillinges or more, And so men mihte han i-had a quarter noht ȝore i-gon; So can God make wane, ther rathere was won. And thanne gan bleiken here ble, that arst lowen so loude, And to waxen al hand-tame that rathere weren so proude. A mannes herte mihte blede for to here the crie Off pore men that gradden, “Allas! for hungger I die 400 up rihte!” This auhte make men aferd of Godes muchele miht. And after that ilke wante com eft wele i-nouh, And plenté of alle gode grouwende on uch a bouh. Tho god ȝer was aȝein i-come, and god chep of corn, Tho were we also muchele shrewes as we were beforn,

or more; Also swithe we forȝeten his wreche and his lore. Tho com ther another sorwe that spradde over al the lond; A thusent winter ther bifore com nevere non so strong. 410 To binde alle the mene men in mourning and in care, The orf deiede al bidene, and maden the lond al bare, so faste, Com nevere wrecche into Engelond that made men more agaste. And tho that qualm was astin[t] of beste that bar horn, Tho sente God on eorthe another derthe of corn, That spradde over al Engelond bothe north and south, And made seli pore men afingred in here mouth ful sore; And ȝit unnethe any man dredeth God the more. 420 And wid that laste derthe com ther another shame, That ouhte be god skile maken us alle tame. The fend kidde his maistri, and arerede a strif, That everi lording was bisi to sauve his owen lyf, and his god. God do bote theron, for his blessede blod! Gret nede hit were to bidde that the pes were brouht, For the lordinges of the lond, that swich wo han i-wrouht,

That nolde spare for kin that o kosin that other; So the fend hem prokede uch man to mourdren other 430 wid wille, That al Engelond i-wis was in point to spille. Pride prikede hem so faste, that nolde theih nevere have pes Ar theih hadden in this lond maked swich a res, That the beste blod of the lond shamliche was brouht to grounde, If hit betre mihte a ben, allas! the harde stounde bitid, That of so gentille blod i-born swich wreche was i-kid. Allas! that evere sholde hit bifalle that in so litel a throwe, Swiche men sholde swich deth thole, and ben i-leid so lowe. 440 Off eorles ant of barouns baldest hii were; And nu hit is of hem bicome riht as theih nevere ne were i-born. God loke to the soules, that hii ne be noht lorn! Ac whiles thise grete lordinges thus han i-hurled to hepe, Thise prelatz of holi churche to longe theih han i-slepe; Al to late theih wakeden, and that was muchel reuthe; Theih weren ablent wid coveytise, and mihte noht se the treuthe for mist. 449 Theih dradden more here lond to lese, than love of Jhesu Crist.

For hadde the clergie harde holden to-gidere, And noht flecched aboute nother hider ne thidere, But loked where the treuthe was, and there have bileved, Thanne were the barnage hol, that nu is al to-dreved so wide; Ac certes Engelond is shent thurw falsnesse and thurw pride. Pride hath in his paunter kauht the heie and the lowe, So that unnethe can eny man God Almihti knowe. Pride priketh aboute, wid nithe and wid onde; Pes and love and charité hien hem out of londe 460 so faste, That God wole for-don the world we muwe be sore agaste. Alle wite we wel it is oure gilt, the wo that we beth inne; But no man knoweth that hit is for his owen sinne. Uch man put on other the wreche of the wouh; But wolde uch man ranczake himself, thanne were al wel i-nouh i-wrouht. But nu can uch man demen other, and himselve nouht. And thise assisours, that comen to shire and to hundred, Damneth men for silver, and that nis no wonder. 470 For whan the riche justise wol do wrong for mede, Thanne thinketh hem theih muwen the bet, for theih han more nede

to winne. Ac so is al this world ablent, that no man douteth sinne. But bi seint Jame of Galice, that many man hath souht! The pilory and the cucking-stol beth i-mad for noht, * * * * *