Front matter (continued 2)

Thanne Mede for hire mysdedes To that man kneled, And shrof hire of hire sherewednesse, Shamelees, I trowe; Tolde hym a tale, And took hym a noble, For to ben hire bedeman And hire brocour als.

Thanne he assoiled hire soone, 1450 And sithen he seide, "We have a wyndow in werchynge Wole sitten us ful hye, Woldestow glaze that gable And grave therinne thy name, Syker sholde thi soule be Hevene to have."

"Wiste I that," quod that womman, "I wolde noght spare For to be youre frend, frere, 1460 And faile yow nevere, While ye love lordes That lecherie haunten, And lakketh noght ladies That loven wel the same. It is freletee of flesshe, Ye fynden it in bokes, And a cours of kynde Wherof we comen alle. Who may scape sclaundre, 1470 The scathe is soone amended; It is synne of the sevene Sonnest relessed.

"Have mercy," quod Mede, "Of men that it haunteth, And I shal covere youre kirk, Youre cloistre do maken, Wowes do whiten, And wyndowes glazen, Do peynten and portraye, 1480 And paie for the makynge, That every segge shal seye I am suster of youre house."

Ac God to alle good folk Swich gravynge defendeth, To writen in wyndowes Of hir wel dedes, An aventure pride be peynted there, And pomp of the world; For Crist knoweth thi conscience, 1490 And thi kynde wille, And thi cost and thi coveitise, And who the catel oughte.

For-thi I lere yow, lordes, Leveth swiche werkes; To writen in wyndowes Of youre wel dedes, Or to greden after Goddes men Whan ye dele doles, On aventure ye have youre hire here, 1500 And youre hevene als. Nesciat sinistra quid faciat dextra.

Lat noght thi left half Late ne rathe Wite what thow werchest With thi right syde; For thus by the gospel Goode men doon hir almesse.

Maires and maceres, That menes ben bitwene 1510 The kyng and the comune To kepe the lawes, To punysshe on pillories And pynynge-stooles, Brewesters and baksters, Bochiers and cokes, For thise are men on this molde That moost harm wercheth To the povere peple That percel-mele buggen; 1520 For thei enpoisone the peple Pryveliche and ofte, Thei richen thorugh regratrie, And rentes hem biggen, With that the povere peple Sholde putte in hire wombe. For toke thei on trewely, Thei tymbred nought so heighe, Ne boughte none burgages, Be ye ful certeyne.

1530 Ac Mede the mayde The mair hath bi-sought Of alle swiche selleris Silver to take, Or presentz withouten pens, As pieces of silver, Rynges or oother richesse, The regratiers to mayntene; "For my love," quod that lady, "Love hem echone, 1540 And suffre hem to selle Som del ayeins reson."

Salomon the sage A sermon he made, For to amenden maires And men that kepen lawes; And tolde hem this teme, That I telle thynke, Ignis devorabit tabernacula eorum qui libenter accipiunt munera, 1550 etc.

Among thise lettrede leodes This Latyn is to mene, That fir shal falle and brenne Al to bloo askes The houses and homes Of hem that desireth Yiftes or yeres-yeves By cause of hire offices.

The kyng fro the conseil cam, 1560 And called after Mede, And of sente hire as swithe With sergeauntz manye, And broughte hire to boure With blisse and with joye.

Curteisly the kyng thanne Comsed to telle, To Mede the mayde He meveth thise wordes, "Unwittily, womman, 1570 Wroght hastow ofte, Ac worse wroghtestow nevere Than tho thow Fals toke. But I forgyve thee that gilt, And graunte thee my grace; Hennes to thi deeth day Do so na-moore.

"I have a knyght Conscience, Cam late fro biyonde; If he wilneth thee to wif, 1580 Wiltow hym have?"

"Ye, lord," quod that lady, "Lord forbede it ellis! But I be holly at youre heste, Lat hange me soone."

And thanne was Conscience called To come and appere Bifore the kyng and his conseil, As clerkes and othere.

Knelynge Conscience 1590 To the kyng louted, To wite what his wille were, And what he do wolde.

"Woltow wedde this womman," quod the kyng, "If I wole assente? For she is fayn of thi felaweshipe, For to be thi make."

Quod Conscience to the kyng, "Crist it me forbede! Er I wedde swich a wif, 1600 Wo me bitide! For she is frele of hire feith, Fikel of hire speche, And maketh men mysdo Many score tymes; Trust of hire tresor Bitrayeth ful manye.

"Wyves and widewes Wantonnes she techeth, And lereth hem lecherie 1610 That loveth hire giftes. Youre fader she felled Thorugh false biheste, And hath enpoisoned popes, And peired holy chirche. Is noght a bettre baude, By hym that me made! Bitwene hevene and helle, In erthe though men soughte. For she is tikel of hire tail, 1620 And tale-wis of hire tonge; As commune as a cartwey To ech a knave that walketh, To monkes, to mynstrales, To meseles in hegges.

"Sisours and somonours, Swiche men hire preiseth; Sherreves of shires Were shent if she ne were; For she dooth men lese hire lond 1630 And hire lif bothe; She leteth passe prisoners, And paieth for hem ofte, And gyveth the gailers gold And grotes togidres, To unfettre the fals Fle where hym liketh; And taketh the trewe bi the top And tieth hem faste, And hangeth hem for hatrede 1640 That harm dide nevere.

"To be corsed in consistorie She counteth noght a bene; For she copeth the commissarie, And coteth hise clerkes. She is assoiled as soone As hireself liketh; And may neigh as muche do In a monthe one, As youre secret seel 1650 In sixe score dayes. For she is pryvee with the pope, Provisours it knoweth; For sire Symonie and hirselve Seleth hire bulles.

"She blesseth thise bisshopes, Theigh thei be lewed; Provendreth persones, And preestes maynteneth, To have lemmans and lotebies 1660 Alle hire lif daies, And bryngeth forth barnes Ayein forbode lawes. Ther she is wel with the kyng, Wo is the reaume; For she is favourable to fals, And de-fouleth truthe ofte.

"By Jhesus! with hire jeweles Youre justices she shendeth, And lith ayein the lawe, 1670 And letteth hym the gate, That feith may noght have his forth, Hire floryns go so thikke. She ledeth the lawe as hire list, And love-daies maketh, And doth men lese thorugh hire love, That lawe myghte wynne The maze for a mene man, Though he mote hire evere. Lawe is so lordlich 1680 And looth to maken ende, Withouten presentz or pens She pleseth wel fewe.

"Barons and burgeises She bryngeth in sorwe, And al the comune in care That coveiten lyve in truthe; For clergie and coveitise She coupleth togidres. This is the lif of that lady; 1690 Now Lord gyve hire sorwe! And alle that maynteneth hire men, Meschaunce hem bitide! For povere men may have no power To pleyne hem, though thei smerte. Swich a maister is Mede Among men of goode."

Thanne mournede Mede, And mened hire to the kynge To have space to speke, 1700 Spede if she myghte.

The kyng graunted hire grace, With a good wille, "Excuse thee, if thow kanst; I kan na-moore seggen. For Conscience accuseth thee, To congeien thee for evere."

"Nay, lord," quod that lady, "Leveth hym the werse, Whan ye witen witterly 1710 Wher the wrong liggeth. Ther that meschief is gret, Mede may helpe. And thow knowest, Conscience, I kam noght to chide Ne deprave thi persone, With a proud herte. Wel thow woost, wernarde, But if thow wolt gabbe, Thow hast hanged on myn half 1720 Ellevene tymes, And also griped my gold, Gyve it where thee liked; And whi thow wrathest thee now, Wonder me thynketh. Yet I may as I myghte Menske thee with giftes, And mayntene thi manhode Moore than thow knowest.

"Ac thow hast famed me foule 1730 Bifore the kyng here; For killed I nevere no kyng Ne counseiled therafter, Ne dide as thow demest I do it on the kynge.

"In Normandie was he noght Noyed for my sake; Ac thow thiself soothly Shamedest hym ofte, Crope into a cabane 1740 For cold of thi nayles, Wendest that wynter Wolde han y-lasted evere, And dreddest to be ded For a dym cloude, And hyedest homward For hunger of thi wombe.

"Withouten pité, pilour, Povere men thow robbedest; And bere hire bras at thi bak 1750 To Caleis to selle, Ther I lafte with my lord, His lif for to save. I made his men murye, And mournynge lette; I batred hem on the bak, And boldede hire hertes, And dide hem hoppe for hope To have me at wille. Hadde I ben marchal of his men, 1760 By Marie of hevene! I dorste have leyd my lif, And no lasse wedde, He sholde have be lord of that lond In lengthe and in brede, And also kyng of that kith His kyn for to helpe, The leeste brol of his blood A barones piere.

"Cowardly thow, Conscience, 1770 Conseiledest hym thennes, To leven his lordshipe For a litel silver, That is the richeste reaume That reyn over-hoveth.

"It bi-cometh to a kyng That kepeth a reaume, To yeve mede to men, That mekely hym serveth, To aliens and to alle men, 1780 To honouren hem with giftes; Mede maketh hym bi-loved And for a man holden.

"Emperours and erles, And alle manere lordes, For giftes han yonge men To renne and to ryde.

"The pope and alle the prelates Presentz underfongen, And medeth men hemselven 1790 To mayntene hir lawes.

"Sergeauntz for hire servyce, We seeth wel the sothe, Taken mede of hir maistres, As thei mowe acorde.

"Beggeres for hir biddynge, Bidden men mede.

"Mynstrales for hir myrthe, Mede thei aske.

"The kyng hath mede of his men, 1800 To make pees in londe.

"Men that teche children, Craven after mede.

"Preestes that prechen the peple To goode, asken mede, And massepens and hire mete At the meel-tymes.

"Alle kynne craftes men Craven mede for hir prentices.

"Marchauntz and Mede 1810 Mote nede go togideres. No wight, as I wene, Withouten mede may libbe."

Quod the kyng to Conscience, "By Crist! as me thynketh, Mede is well worthi The maistrie to have."

"Nay," quod Conscience to the kyng, And kneled to the erthe, "Ther are two manere of medes, 1820 My lord, with youre leve.

"That oon God of his grace Graunteth in his blisse To tho that wel werchen, While thei ben here; The prophete precheth therof, And putte it in the Sauter, = Domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo tuo?

"Lord, who shal wonye in thi wones, 1830 And with thyne holy seintes, Or resten in thyne holy hilles? This asketh David; And David assoileth it hymself, As the Sauter telleth. = Qui ingreditur sine macula et operatur justitiam.

"Tho that entren of o colour, And of one wille, And han y-wroght werkes 1840 With right and with reson; And he that useth noght The lyf of usurie, And enformeth povere men, And pursueth truthe. Qui pecuniam suam non dedit ad = usuram, et munera super innoc. etc.

"And alle that helpen the innocent, And holden with the rightfulle, 1850 Withouten mede doth hem good, And the truthe helpeth, Swiche manere men, my lord, Shul have this firste mede Of God at a gret nede, Whan thei gon hennes.

"Ther is another mede mesurelees, That maistres desireth, To mayntene mysdoers Mede thei take, 1860 And therof seith the Sauter In a salmes ende, In quorum manibus iniquitates sunt, dextra eorum repleta est muneribus.

"And he that gripeth hir gold, So me God helpe! Shal abien it bittre, Or the book lieth.

"Preestes and persons 1870 That plesynge desireth, That taken mede and moneie For masses that thei syngeth, Taken hire mede here, As Mathew us techeth. = Amen, Amen, recipiebant mercede suam.

"That laborers and lowe folk Taken of hire maistres, It is no manere mede, 1880 But a mesurable hire.

"In marchaundise is no mede, I may it wel avowe, It is a permutacion apertly, A penyworth for another.

"Ac reddestow nevere Regum? Thow recrayed Mede, Whi the vengeaunce fel On Saul and on his children? God sente to Saul 1890 By Samuel the prophete, That Agag of Amalec, And al his peple after, Sholden deye for a dede That doon hadde hire eldres.

"For-thi seide Samuel to Saul, 'God hymself hoteth Thee be buxom at his biddynge, His wil to fulfille; Weend to Amalec with thyn oost, 1900 And what thow fyndest there sle it, Burnes and beestes Bren hem to dethe, Widwes and wyves, Wommen and children, Moebles and un-moebles, And al thow myght fynde, Bren it, bere it noght awey, Be it never so riche, For mede ne for monee, 1910 Loke thow destruye it, Spille it and spare it noght, Thow shalt spede the bettre.'

"And for he coveited hir catel, And the kyng spared, Forbar hym and his beestes bothe, As the Bible witnesseth, Oother wise than he was Warned of the prophete, God seide to Samuel 1920 That Saul sholde deye, And al his seed for that synne Shenfulliche ende. Swich a meschief Mede made Saul the kyng to have, That God hated hym for evere, And alle hise heires after.

"The culorum of this cas Kepe I noght to telle, On aventure it noyed men, 1930 Noon ende wol I make, For so is this world went With hem that han power, That who so seith hem sothest Is sonnest y-blamed.

"Conscience knowe this, For kynde wit it me taughte, That Reson shal regne And reaumes governe, And right as Agag hadde, 1940 Happe shul somme, Samuel shal sleen hym, And Saul shal be blamed, And David shal be diademed, And daunten hem alle; And oon cristene kyng Kepen hem alle. Shal na-moore Mede Be maister, as she is nouthe; Ac love and lowenesse 1950 And leautee togideres, Thise shul ben maistres on moolde, Truthe to save.

"And who so trespaseth ayein truthe, Or taketh ayein his wille, Leauté shal don hym lawe, And no lif ellis; Shall no sergeaunt for his service Were a silk howve, Ne no pelure in his cloke 1960 For pledynge at the barre. Mede of mysdoeres Maketh manye lordes, And over lordes lawes Ruleth the reaumes.

"Ac kynde love shal come yit, And conscience togideres, And make of lawe a laborer; Swich love shal arise, And swich a pees among the peple, 1970 And a perfit truthe, That Jewes shul wene in hire wit, And wexen wonder glade, That Moyses or Messie Be come into this erthe, And have wonder in hire hertes That men beth so trewe.

"Alle that beren baselarde, Brood swerd or launce, Ax outher hachet, 1980 Or any wepene ellis, Shal be demed to the deeth, But if he do it smythye Into sikel or to sithe, To shaar or to kultour; = Conflabunt gladios suos in vomeres, etc.

"Ech man to pleye with a plow, Pykoise or spade, Spynne or sprede donge, 1990 Or spille hymself with sleuthe.

"Preestes and persons With Placebo to hunte, And dyngen upon David Eche day til eve. Huntynge or haukynge If any of hem use, His boost of his benefice Worth by-nomen hym after. Shal neither kyng ne knyght, 2000 Constable ne meire, Overlede the commune, Ne to the court sompne, Ne putte hem in panel To doon hem plighte hir truthe; But after the dede that is doon Oon doom shal rewarde, Mercy or no mercy, As truthe wole acorde.

"Kynges court and commune court, 2010 Consistorie and chapitle, Al shal be but oon court, And oon baron be justice. Thanne worth Trewe-tonge a tidy man That tened me nevere; Batailles shul none be, Ne no man bere wepene; And what smyth that any smytheth, Be smyte therwith to dethe. Non levabit gens contra gentem 2020 gladium, etc.

"And er this fortune falle, Fynde men shul the worste, By sixe sonnes and a shipe, And half a shef of arwes, And the myddel of a moone, Shal make the Jewes to torne, And Sarzynes for that sighte Shul synge Gloria in excelsis, etc. For Makometh and Mede 2030 Mys-happe shul that tyme, = For melius est bonum nomen quam divitiæ multæ."

Al so wroth as the wynd Weex Mede in a while, "I kan no Latyn," quod she, "Clerkes wite the sothe; Se what Salomon seith In Sapience bokes, That thei that gyven giftes 2040 The victorie wynneth, And moost worshipe hadde therwith As holy writ telleth: = Honorem adquiret qui dat munera, etc.

"Leve wel, lady," quod Conscience, "That thi Latyn be trewe; Ac thow art lik a lady That radde a lesson ones, Was omnia probate, 2050 And that plesed hire herte; For that lyne was no lenger At the leves ende. Hadde she loked that oother half, And the leef torned, She sholde have founden fele wordes Folwynge therafter, Quod bonum est tenete; Truthe that text made. And so ferde ye, madame, 2060 Ye kouthe na-moore fynde, Tho ye loked on Sapience Sittynge in youre studie. This text that ye han told Were good for lordes; Ac yow fayled a konnynge clerk That kouthe the leef han torned. And if ye seche Sapience eft, Fynde shul ye that folweth, A ful teneful text 2070 To hem that taketh mede; = And that is animam autem aufert accipientium, etc., And that is the tail of the text; Of that that she shewed, That theigh we wynne worshipe, And with mede have victorie, The soule that the sonde taketh 2078 By so muche is bounde."

Passus Quartus de Visione, ut supra.

" 2079 ESSETH," seith the kyng, "I suffre yow no lenger; Ye shul saughtne for sothe, And serve me bothe. Kis hire," quod the kyng, "Conscience, I hote."

"Nay, by Crist!" quod Conscience, "Congeye me er for evere, But Reson rede me therto, Rather wol I deye."

"And I comaunde thee," quod the kyng, 2090 To Conscience thanne, "Rape thee to ryde, And Reson thow fecche; Comaunde hym that he come My counseil to here, For he shal rule my reaume And rede me the beste, And acounte with thee, Conscience, So me Crist helpe! How thow lernest the peple, 2100 The lered and the lewed."

"I am fayn of that foreward," Seide the freke thanne, And ryt right to Reson, And rouneth in his ere, And seide as the kyng bad, And sithen took his leve.

"I shal arraye me to ryde," quod Reson, "Reste thee a while." And called Caton his knave, 2110 Curteis of speche, And also Tomme Trewe-tonge,— "Tel me no tales, Ne lesynge to laughen of, For I loved hem nevere; And set my sadel upon Suffre, Til I se my tyme, And lat warroke hym wel With witty-wordes gerthes, And hange on hym the hevy brydel 2120 To holde his heed lowe, For he wol make 'wehee!' Twies er he be there."

Thanne Conscience upon his capul Carieth forth faste, And Reson with hym ryt, Rownynge togideres, Whiche maistries Mede Maketh on this erthe.

Oon Waryn Wisdom, 2130 And Witty his feere, Folwed hym faste, For thei hadde to doone In th'escheker and in the chauncerye, To ben descharged of thynges; And riden faste, for Reson sholde Rede hem the beste, For to save hem for silver From shame and from harmes. And Conscience knew hem wel, 2140 Thei loved coveitise; And bad Reson ryde faste, And recche of hir neither. "Ther are wiles in hire wordes, And with Mede thei dwelleth; Ther as wrathe and wranglynge is, Ther wynne thei silver; Ac where is love and leautee, Thei wol noght come there. Contritio et infelicitas in viis eorum, 2150 etc.

"Thei ne yeveth noght of God One goose wynge. = Non est timor Dei ante oculos eorum, etc.

"For woot God thei wolde do moore For a dozeyne chicknes, Or as manye capons, Or for a seem of otes, Than for the love of oure Lord, 2160 Or alle hise leeve seintes. For-thi Reson lat hem ride, Tho riche by hemselve, For Conscience knoweth hem noght, Ne Crist, as I trowe." And thanne Reson rood faste The righte heighe gate, As Conscience hym kenned, Til thei come to the kynge.

Curteisly the kyng thanne 2170 Com ayeins Reson, And bitwene hymself and his sone Sette hym on benche; And wordeden wel wisely A gret while togideres.

And thanne com Pees into parlement, And putte forth a bille, How Wrong ayeins his wille Hadde his wif taken, And how he ravysshede Rose 2180 Reginaldes loove, And Margrete of hir maydenhede Maugree hire chekes. "Bothe my gees and my grys Hise gadelynges feccheth, I dar noght for fere of hem Fighte ne chide. He borwed of me Bayard, He broughte hym hom nevere, Ne no ferthyng therfore, 2190 For ought I koude plede. He maynteneth hise men To murthere myne hewen, Forstalleth my feires, And fighteth in my chepyng, And breketh up my bernes dore, And bereth awey my whete, And taketh me but a taillé For ten quarters of otes; And yet he beteth me therto, 2200 And lyth by my mayde. I am noght hardy for hym Unnethe to loke."

The kyng knew he seide sooth, For Conscience hym tolde That Wrong was a wikked luft, And wroghte muche sorwe.

Wrong was afered thanne, And Wisdom he soughte, To maken pees with hise pens; 2210 And profred hym manye, And seide, "Hadde I love of my lord the kyng, Litel wolde I recche, Theigh Pees and his power Pleyned hym evere."

Tho wente Wisdom And sire Waryn the Witty, For that Wrong hadde y-wroght So wikked a dede, And warnede Wrong tho 2220 With swich a wis tale, "Who so wercheth by wille, Wrathe maketh ofte; I sey it by myself, Thow shalt it wel fynde; But if Mede it make, Thi meschief is uppe, For bothe thi lif and thi lond Lyth in his grace."

Thanne wowede Wrong 2230 Wisdom ful yerne, To maken pees with his pens, Handy dandy payed.

Wisdom and Wit thanne Wenten togidres, And token Mede myd hem Mercy to wynne.

Pees putte forth his heed, And his panne blody, "Withouten gilt, God it woot, 2240 Gat I this scathe; Conscience and the commune Knowen the sothe."

Ac Wisdom and Wit Were aboute faste, To overcomen the kyng With catel, if thei myghte.

The kyng swor by Crist, And by his crowne bothe, That Wrong for hise werkes 2250 Sholde wo tholie; And comaundede a constable To casten hym in irens, And lete hym noght thise seven yer Seen his feet ones.

"God woot," quod Wisdom, "That were noght the beste; And he amendes nowe make, Lat maynprise hym have, And be borgh for his bale, 2260 And buggen hym boote, And so amenden that is mys-do And evere moore the bettre."

Wit acorded therwith, And seide the same, "Bettre is that boote Bale a-doun brynge, Than bale be y-bet, And boote never the bettre."

And thanne gan Mede to mengen hire, 2270 And mercy she bi-soughte, And profrede Pees a present Al of pure golde: "Have this, man, of me," quod she, "To amenden thi scathe, For I wol wage for Wrong He wol do so na-moore."

Pitously Pees thanne Preyde to the kynge, To have mercy on that man 2280 That mys-dide hym so ofte; "For he hath waged me wel, As Wisdom hym taughte, And I forgyve hym that gilt With a good wille, So that the kyng assente, I kan seye no bettre; For Mede hath me amendes maad, I may na-moore axe."

"Nay," quod the kyng tho, 2290 "So me Crist helpe! Wrong wendeth noght so a-wey, Erst wole I wite moore. For lope he so lightly, Laughen he wolde; And eft the boldere be To bete myne hewen; But Reson have ruthe on hym, He shal reste in my stokkes; And that as longe as he lyveth, 2300 But lownesse hym borwe."

Som men radde Reson tho To have ruthe on that shrewe, And for to counseille the kyng, And Conscience after; That Mede moste be maynpernour Reson thei bi-soughte.

"Reed me noght," quod Reson, "No ruthe to have, Til lordes and ladies 2310 Loven alle truthe, And haten alle harlotrie, To heren or to mouthen it.

"Til Parnelles purfille Be put in hire hucche, And childrene cherissynge Be chastynge with yerdes, And harlottes holynesse Be holden for an hyne.

"Til clerkene coveitise be 2320 To clothe the povere and fede, And religiouse romeris Recordare in hir cloistres, As seynt Beneyt hem bad, Bernard and Fraunceis, And til prechours prechynge Be preved on hemselve.

"Til the kynges counseil Be the commune profit, Til bisshopes bayardes 2330 Ben beggeris chaumbres, Hire haukes and hire houndes Help to povere religious.

"And til seint James be sought There I shal assigne, That no man go to Galis But if he go for evere;— And alle Rome renneres, For robberes biyonde, Bere no silver over see 2340 That signe of kyng sheweth, Neither grave ne ungrave, Gold neither silver, Upon forfeture of that fee, Who so fynt it at Dovere, But if he be marchaunt or his man, Or messager with lettres, Provysour or preest, Or penaunt for hise synnes.

"And yet," quod Reson, "by the Rode! 2350 I shal no ruthe have, While Mede hath the maistrie In this moot-halle. Ac I may shewe ensamples, As I se outher while, I seye it by myself," quod he, "And it so were That I were kyng with coroune To kepen a reaume, Sholde nevere Wrong in this world, 2360 That I wite myghte, Ben unpunysshed in my power, For peril of my soule, Ne gete my grace for giftes, So me God save! Ne for no mede have mercy, But mekenesse it make; For nullum malum the man Mette with inpunitum, And bad nullum bonum 2370 Be irremuneratum.

"Lat youre confessour, sire kyng, Construe this unglosed; And if ye werchen it in werk, I wedde myne eris, That lawe shal ben a laborer And lede a-feld donge, And love shal lede thi lond, As the leef liketh."

Clerkes that were confessours 2380 Coupled hem togideres, Al to construe this clause, And for the kynges profit, Ac noght for confort of the commune, Ne for the kynges soule; For I seigh Mede in the moot-halle On men of lawe wynke, And thei laughynge lope to hire, And left Reson manye. Waryn Wisdom 2390 Wynked upon Mede, And seide, "Madame, I am youre man, What so my mouth jangle; I falle in floryns," quod that freke, "And faile speche ofte."

Alle rightfulle recordede That Reson truthe tolde; And Wit acorded therwith, And comendede hise wordes, And the mooste peple in the halle, 2400 And manye of the grete, And leten Mekenesse a maister, And Mede a mansed sherewe.

Love leet of hire light, And leauté yet lasse, And seiden it so heighe That al the halle it herde, "Who so wilneth hire to wif, For welthe of hire goodes, But he be knowe for a cokewold, 2410 Kut of my nose."

Mede mornede tho, And made hevy chere, For the mooste commune of that court Called hire an hore. Ac a sisour and a somonour Sued hire faste, And a sherreves clerk Bisherewed at the route; "For ofte have I," quod he, 2420 "Holpen yow at the barre, And yet yeve ye me nevere The worth of a risshe."

The kyng callede Conscience, And afterward Reson, And recordede that Reson Hadde rightfully shewed; And modiliche upon Mede With myght the kyng loked; And gan wexe wroth with lawe, 2430 For Mede almoost hadde shent it; And seide, "thorugh lawe, as I leve! I lese manye eschetes; Mede overmaistreth lawe, And muche Truthe letteth. Ac Reson shal rekene with yow, If I regne any while, And deme yow bi this day, As ye han deserved. Mede shal noght maynprise yow, 2440 By the Marie of hevene! I wole have leauté in lawe, And lete be al youre janglyng; And as moost folk witnesseth wel, Wrong shal be demed."

Quod Conscience to the kyng, "But the commune wole assente, It is ful hard, by myn heed! Hertoo to brynge it, Alle youre lige leodes 2450 To lede thus evene."

"By hym that raughte on the rode!" Quod Reson to the kynge, "But if I rule thus youre reaume, Rende out my guttes, If ye bidden buxomnesse Be of myn assent."

"And I assente," seith the kyng, "By seinte Marie my lady! By my counseil commune, 2460 Of clerkes and of erles; Ac redily, Reson, Thow shalt noght ride fro me, For, as longe as I lyve, Lete thee I nelle."

"I am al redy," quod Reson, "To reste with yow evere; So Conscience be of oure counseil, I kepe no bettre."

"And I graunte," quod the kyng, "Goddes forbode ellis! Als longe as oure lyf lasteth, 2472 Lyve we togideres."

Passus Quintus de Visione, ut supra.

2473 HE kyng and hise knyghtes To the kirke wente, To here matyns of the day And the masse after. Thanne waked I of my wynkyng, And wo was withalle, That I ne hadde slept sadder, 2480 And y-seighen moore. Ac er I hadde faren a furlong, Feyntise me hente, That I ne myghte ferther a foot For defaute of slepynge, And sat softely a-doun, And seide my bileve, And so I bablede on my bedes, Thei broughte me a-slepe. And thanne saugh I muche moore 2490 Than I bifore of tolde, For I seigh the feld ful of folk, That I bifore of seide, And how Reson gan arayen hym Al the reaume to preche, And with a cros afore the kyng Comsede thus to techen.

He preved that thise pestilences Were for pure synne, And the south-westrene wynd 2500 On Saterday at even Was pertliche for pure pride, And for no point ellis; Pyries and plum-trees Were puffed to the erthe, In ensaumple that the segges Sholden do the bettre; Beches and brode okes Were blowen to the grounde, Turned upward hire tailes, 2510 In tokenynge of drede That dedly synne er domes-day Shal for-doon hem alle.

Of this matere I myghte Mamelen ful longe; Ac I shal seye as I saugh, So me God helpe! How pertly afore the peple Reson bigan to preche.

He bad Wastour go werche, 2520 What he best kouthe, And wynnen his wastyng With som maner crafte.

He preide Pernele Hir purfil to lete, And kepe it in hire cofre For catel at hire nede.

Tomme Stowne he taughte To take two staves, And fecche Felice hom 2530 Fro the wynen pyne. He warnede Watte His wif was to blame, For hire heed was worth half marc, And his hood noght worth a grote; And bad Bette kutte A bough outher tweye, And bete Beton therwith, But if she wolde werche.

And thanne he chargede chapmen 2540 To chastizen hir children, Late no wynnyng hem for-wanye While thei be yonge, Ne for no poustee of pestilence Plese hem noght out of reson. "My sire seide so to me, And so dide my dame, That the levere child The moore loore bihoveth; And Salomon seide the same, 2550 That Sapience made, Qui parcit virgæ, odit filium. The Englissh of this Latyn is, Who so wole it knowe Who so spareth the spring, Spilleth hise children."

And sithen he prechede prelates And preestes togideres, "That ye prechen to the peple, Preve it on yowselve, 2560 And dooth it in dede, It shal drawe yow to goode; If ye leven as ye leren us, We shul leve yow the bettre."

And sithen he radde Religion Hir rule to holde; "Lest the kyng and his conseil Youre comunes apeire, And be stywardes of youre stedes, Til ye be ruled bettre."

2570 And sithen he counseiled the kyng His commune to lovye; "It is thi trewe tresor, And tryacle at thy nede."

And sithen he preide the pope Have pité on holy chirche, And er he gyve any grace, Governe first hymselve.

"And ye that han lawes to kepe, Lat truthe be youre coveitise, 2580 Moore than gold outher giftes, If ye wol God plese; For who so contrarieth Truthe, He telleth in the gospel, That God knoweth hym noght, Ne no seynt of hevene. Amen dico vobis, nescio vos.

"And ye that seke seynt James, And seyntes of Rome, Seketh seynt Truthe, 2590 For he may save yow alle; Qui cum patre et filio, That faire hem bi-falle That seweth my sermon." And thus seyde Reson.

Thanne ran Repentaunce, And reherced his teme: And garte Wille to wepe Water with hise eighen.

Pernele Proud-herte 2600 Platte hire to the erthe, And lay longe er she loked, And "Lord, mercy!" cryde, And bi-highte to hym That us alle made, She sholde unsowen hir serk, And sette there an heyre, To affaiten hire flesshe That fiers was to synne. "Shal nevere heigh herte me hente, 2610 But holde I wole me lowe And suffre to be mys-seyd, And so dide I nevere; And now I wole meke me, And mercy biseche, For al this I have Hated in myn herte."

Thanne Lechour seide, "Allas!" And on oure Lady he cryde, To maken mercy for hise mys-dedes 2620 Bitwene God and his soule; With that he sholde the Saterday, Seven yer therafter, Drynke but myd the doke, And dyne but ones.

Envye with hevy herte Asked after shrifte, And carefully mea culpa He comsed to shewe. He was as pale as a pelet, 2630 In the palsy he semed; And clothed in a kaurymaury, I kouthe it nought discryve, In kirtel and courtepy, And a knyf by his syde; Of a freres frokke Were the fore-sleves; And as a leek that hadde y-leye Longe in the sonne, So loked he with lene chekes 2640 Lourynge foule.

His body was to-bollen for wrathe, That he boot hise lippes; And wryngynge he yede with the fust, To wreke hymself he thoughte With werkes or with wordes, Whan he seyghe his tyme. Ech a word that he warpe Was of a neddres tonge; Of chidynge and of chalangynge 2650 Was his chief liflode, With bakbitynge and bismere, And berynge of fals witnesse.

"I wolde ben y-shryve," quod this sherewe, "And I for shame dorste; I wolde be gladder, by God! That Gybbe hadde meschaunce, Than though I hadde this wouke y-wonne A weye of Essex chese.

"I have a neghebore by me, 2660 I have anoyed hym ofte, And lowen on hym to lordes To doon hym lese his silver, And maad his frendes be his foon Thorugh my false tonge; His grace and his goode happes Greven me ful soore.

"Bitwene manye and manye I make debate ofte, That bothe lif and lyme 2670 Is lost thorugh my speche. And whan I mete hym in market That I moost hate, I hailse hym hendely, As I his frend were; For he is doughtier than I, I dar do noon oother; Ac hadde I maistrie and myght, God woot my wille!

"And whan I come to the kirk, 2680 And sholde knele to the roode, And preye for the peple As the preest techeth, For pilgrymes and for palmeres, For al the peple after, Thanne I crye on my knees That Crist gyve hem sorwe, That beren awey my bolle And my broke shete.

"Awey fro the auter thanne 2690 Turne I myne eighen, And bi-holde Eleyne Hath a newe cote; I wisshe thanne it were myn, And al the web after.

"And of mennes lesynge I laughe, That liketh myn herte; And for hir wynnynge I wepe, And waille the tyme; And deme that thei doon ille, 2700 There I do wel werse. Who so under-nymeth me hero I hate hym dedly after; I wolde that ech a wight Were my knave, For who so hath moore than I, Than angreth me soore. And thus I lyve love-lees, Lik a luther dogge; That al my body bolneth, 2710 For bitter of my galle.

"I myghte noght ete many yeres As a man oughte, For envye and yvel wil Is yvel to defie. May no sugre ne swete thyng Aswage my swellyng? Ne no diapenidion Dryve it fro myn herte? Ne neither shrifte ne shame, 2720 But who so shrape my mawe?"

"Yis redily," quod Repentaunce, And radde hym to the beste, "Sorwe of synnes Is savacion of soules."

"I am sory," quod that segge, "I am but selde oother, And that maketh me thus megre, For I ne may me venge.

"Amonges burgeises have I be 2730 Dwellyng at Londone, And gart bakbityng be a brocour To blame mennes ware; Whan he solde and I nought, Thanne was I redy To lye and to loure on my neghebore, And to lakke his chaffare; I wole amende this, if I may, Thorugh myght of God almyghty."

Now awaketh Wrathe, 2740 With two white eighen; And nevelynge with the nose, And his nekke hangyng.

"I am Wrathe," quod he, "I was som tyme a frere, And the coventes gardyner For to graffen impes; On lymitours and listres Lesynges I ymped, Til thei beere leves of lowe speche, 2750 Lordes to plese, And sithen thei blosmede a-brood In boure to here shriftes; And now is fallen therof a fruyt, That folk han wel levere Shewen hire shriftes to hem, Than shryve hem to hir persons.

"And now persons han perceyved That freres parte with hem, Thise possessioners preche 2760 And deprave freres.

"And freres fyndeth hem in defaute, As folk bereth witnesse, That whan thei preche the peple In many places aboute, I Wrathe walke with hem, And wisse hem of my bokes. Thus thei speken of my spiritualté, That either despiseth oother, Til thei be bothe beggers 2770 And by my spiritualté libben, Or ellis al riche And ryden aboute. I Wrathe reste nevere, That I ne moste folwe This wikked folk, For swich is my grace.

"I have an aunte to nonne, And an abbesse bothe; Hir hadde levere swowe or swelte, 2780 Than suffre any peyne,

"I have be cook in hir kichene, And the covent served Manye monthes with hem, And with monkes bothe. I was the prioresse potager, And othere povere ladies, And maad hem joutes of janglyng, That dame Johane was a bastard, And dame Clarice a knyghtes doughter, 2790 Ac a cokewold was hir sire; And dame Pernele a preestes fyle, Prioresse worth she nevere, For she hadde child in chirie-tyme, Al our chapitre it wiste.

"Of wikkede wordes I Wrathe hire wortes made, Til 'thow lixt' and 'thow lixt' Lopen out at ones, And either hite oother 2800 Under the cheke; Hadde thei had knyves, by Crist Hir either hadde kild oother.

"Seint Gregory was a good pope, And hadde a good forwit, That no prioresse were preest, For that he ordeyned; They hadde thanne ben infames the firste day, Thei kan so yvele hele conseil.

"Among monkes I myghte be, 2810 Ac many tyme I shonye it; For there ben manye felle frekes My feeris to aspie, Bothe priour and suppriour And oure pater abbas; And if I telle any tales, Thei taken hem togideres, And doon me faste frydayes To breed and to watre, And am chalanged in the chapitre hous 2820 As I a child were, And baleised on the bare ers, And no brech bitwene. For-thi have I no likyng With tho leodes to wonye. I ete there unthende fisshe, And feble ale drynke; Ac outher while whan wyn cometh, Thanne I drynke wyn at eve, And have a flux of a foul mouth 2830 Wel fyve dayes after. Al the wikkednesse that I woot By any of oure bretheren, I couthe it in oure cloistre, That al oure covent woot it."

"Now repente thee," quod Repentaunce, "And reherce thow nevere Counseil that thow knowest By contenaunce ne by right; And drynk nat over delicatly, 2840 Ne to depe neither, That thi wille by cause therof To wrathe myghte turne. Esto sobrius," he seide, And assoiled me after, And bad me wilne to wepe My wikkednesse to amende.

And thanne cam Coveitise, Kan I hym naght discryve, So hungrily and holwe 2850 Sire Hervy hym loked. He was bitel-browed, And baber-lipped also, With two blered eighen As a blynd hagge; And as a letheren purs Lolled hise chekes, Wel sidder than his chyn Thei chyveled for elde; And as a bonde-man of his bacon 2860 His berd was bi-draveled, With an hood on his heed, A lousy hat above, And in a tawny tabard Of twelf wynter age, Al so torn and baudy, And ful of lys crepyng, But if that a lous couthe Han lopen the bettre, She sholde noght han walked on that welthe, 2870 So was it thred-bare.

"I have ben coveitous," quod this caytif, "I bi-knowe it here, For som tyme I served Symme-atte-Style, And was his prentice y-plight His profit to wayte.

"First I lerned to lye, A leef outher tweyne; Wikkedly to weye 2880 Was my firste lesson; To Wy and to Wynchestre I wente to the feyre, With many manere marchaundise, As my maister me highte. Ne hadde the grace of gyle y-go Amonges my chaffare, It hadde ben unsold this seven yer, So me God helpe!

"Thanne drough I me among drapiers, 2890 My donet to lerne, To drawe the liser along, The lenger it semed; Among the riche rayes I rendred a lesson, To broche hem with a pak-nedle, And playte hem togideres, And putte hem in a presse, And pyne hem therinne, Til ten yerdes or twelve 2900 Hadde tolled out thrittene.

"My wif was a webbe, And wollen cloth made; She spak to spynnesteres To spynnen it oute, Ac the pound that she paied by Peised a quatron moore Than myn owene auncer, Who so weyed truthe.

"I boughte hire barly-malt, 2910 She brew it to selle, Peny ale and puddyng ale She poured togideres, For laborers and for lowe folk That lay by hymselve.

"The beste ale lay in my bour, Or in my bed-chambre; And who so bummed therof, Boughte it therafter, A galon for a grote, 2920 God woot, no lesse! And yet it cam in cuppe-mele, This craft my wif used. Rose the Regrater Was hire righte name; She hath holden hukkerye Al hire lif tyme. Ac I swere now, so thee ik! That synne wol I lete, And nevere wikkedly weye, 2930 Ne wikke chaffare use; But wenden to Walsyngham, And my wif als, And bidde the Roode of Bromholm Brynge me out of dette."

"Repentedestow evere?" quod Repentaunce, "Or restitucion madest."

"Yis, ones I was y-herberwed," quod he, "With an heep of chapmen, I roos whan thei were a-reste 2940 And riflede hire males."

"That was no restitucion," quod Repentaunce, "But a robberis thefte; Thow haddest be the bettre worthi Ben hanged therfore, Than for al that That thow hast here shewed."

"I wende riflynge were restitucion," quod he, "For I lerned nevere rede on boke; And I kan no Frensshe, in feith, 2950 But of the fertheste ende of Northfolk."

"Usedestow evere usurie?" quod Repentaunce, "In al thi lif tyme."

"Nay sothly," he seide, "Save in my youthe I lerned among Lumbardes And Jewes a lesson, To weye pens with a peis, And pare the hevyeste, And lene it for love of the cros, 2960 To legge a wed and lese it. Swiche dedes I dide write, If he his day breke, I have mo manoirs thorugh rerages, Than thorugh miseretur et commodat.

"I have lent lordes And ladies my chaffare, And ben hire brocour after, And bought it myselve; Eschaunges and chevysaunces 2970 With swich chaffare I dele, And lene folk that lese wole A lippe at every noble, And with Lumbardes lettres I ladde gold to Rome, And took it by tale here, And tolde hem there lasse."

"Lentestow evere lordes, For love of hire mayntenaunce?"

"Ye, I have lent to lordes, 2980 Loved me nevere after, And have y-maad many a knyght Bothe mercer and draper, That payed nevere for his prentishode Noght a peire gloves."

"Hastow pité on povere men, That mote nedes borwe?"

"I have as muche pité of povere men, As pedlere hath of cattes, That wolde kille hem, if he cacche hem myghte, 2990 For coveitise of hir skynnes."

"Artow manlich among thi neghebores Of thi mete and drynke?"

"I am holden," quod he, "as hende As hound is in kichene, Amonges my neghebores, namely, Swiche a name ich have."

"Now God lene thee nevere," quod Repentaunce, "But thow repente the rather, The grace on this grounde 3000 Thi good wel to bi-sette, Ne thyne heires after thee Have joie of that thow wynnest, Ne thyne executours wel bi-sette The silver that thow hem levest; And that was wonne with wrong With wikked men be despended. For were I frere of that hous Ther good feith and charité is, I nolde cope us with thi catel, 3010 Ne oure kirk amende, Ne have a peny to my pitaunce, So God my soule save! For the beste book in oure hous, Theigh brent gold were the leves, And I wiste witterly Thow were swich as thow tellest. Servus es alterius, Dum fercula pinguia quæris; Pane tuo potius 3020 Vescere, liber eris.

"Thow art an unkynde creature, I kan thee noght assoille, Til thow make restitucion And rekene with hem alle; And sithen that Reson rolle it In the registre of hevene, That thow hast maad ech man good, I may thee noght assoile. Non dimittitur peccatum, donec restituatur 3030 oblatum.

"For alle that han of thi good, Have God my trouthe! Ben holden at the heighe doom To helpe thee to restitue; And who so leveth noght this be sooth, Loke in the Sauter glose, In Miserere mei, Deus, Wher I mene truthe; Ecce enim veritatem dilexisti, etc. 3040 Shal nevere werkman in this world Thryve with that thow wynnest. Cum sancto sanctus eris; Construwe me this on Englisshe."

Thanne weex that sherewe in wanhope, And wolde han hanged hym; Ne hadde Repentaunce the rather Reconforted hym in this manere.

"Have mercy in thi mynde, And with thi mouth biseche it; 3050 For Goddes mercy is moore Than alle hise othere werkes. And al the wikkednesse in this world That man myghte werche or thynke, Nis na-moore to the mercy of God, Than in the see a gleede. Omnis iniquitas quantum ad misericordiam Dei, est quasi scintilla in medio maris.

"For-thi have mercy in thy mynde, 3060 And marchaundise leve it; For thow hast no good ground To gete thee with a wastel, But if it were with thi tonge, Or ellis with thi two hondes. For the good that thow hast geten Bigan al with falshede, And as longe as thow lyvest therwith, Thow yeldest noght, but borwest.

"And if thow wite nevere to whiche, 3070 Ne whom to restitue, Ber it to the bisshope, And bid hym of his grace Bi-sette it hymself, As best is for thi soule; For he shal answere for thee At the heighe dome, For thee and for many mo That man shal yeve a rekenyng, What he lerned yow in Lente, 3080 Leve thow noon oother, And what he lente yow of oure Lordes good To lette yow fro synne."

Now bi-gynneth Gloton For to go to shrifte, And karieth hym to kirke-warde His coupe to shewe; And Beton the brewestere Bad hym good morwe, And asked at hym with that, 3090 Whider-ward he wolde.

"To holy chirche," quod he, "For to here masse, And sithen I wole be shryven, And synne na-moore."

"I have good ale, gossib," quod she, "Gloton, woltow assaye?"

"Hastow ought in thi purs?" quod he, "Any hote spices?"

"I have pepir and piones," quod she, 3100 "And a pound of garleek, And a ferthyng-worth of fenel-seed For fastynge dayes."

Thanne goth Glotin in, And grete othes after. Cesse the souteresse Sat on the benche; Watte the warner, And his wif bothe; Tymme the tynkere, 3110 And tweyne of his prentices; Hikke the hakeney-man, And Hughe the nedlere; Clarice of Cokkeslane, And the clerk of the chirche; Dawe the dykere, And a dozeyne othere.

Sire Piers of Pridie, And Pernele of Flaundres; A ribibour, a ratoner, 3120 A rakiere of Chepe, A ropere, a redyng-kyng, And Rose the dyssheres; Godefray of Garlekhithe, And Griffyn the Walshe; And upholderes an heep, Erly by the morwe, Geve Gloton with glad chere Good ale to hanselle.

Clement the Cobelere 3130 Caste of his cloke, And at the newe feire He nempned it to selle,

Hikke the hakeney-man Hitte his hood after, And bad Bette the bocher Ben on his syde.

Ther were chapmen y-chose This chaffare to preise, That who so hadde the hood 3140 Sholde han amendes of the cloke.

Two risen up in rape, And rouned togideres, And preised thise peny-worthes A-part by hemselve; Thei kouthe noght by hir conscience Acorden in truthe, Til Robyn the ropere Aroos by the southe, And nempned hym for a nounpere, 3150 That no debat nere.

Hikke the hostiler Hadde the cloke, In covenaunt that Clement Sholde the cuppe fille, And have Hikkes hood hostiler, And holden hym y-served. And who so repented rathest Sholde aryse after, And greten sire Gloton 3160 With a galon ale.

There was laughynge and lourynge, And "lat go the cuppe;" And seten so till even-song, And songen umwhile, Til Gloton hadde y-glubbed A galon and a gille. Hise guttes bigonne to gothelen As two gredy sowes; He pissed a potel 3170 In a pater-noster while, And blew his rounde ruwet At his rugge-bones ende, That alle that herde that horn Held hir noses after, And wisshed it hadde been wexed With a wispe of firses.

He myghte neither steppe ne stonde, Er he his staf hadde; And thanne gan he to go 3180 Like a gle-mannes bicche, Som tyme aside, And som tyme arere, As who so leith lynes For to lacche foweles.

And whan he drough to the dore, Thanne dymmed his eighen; He stumbled on the thresshfold, And threw to the erthe. Clement the cobelere 3190 Kaughte hym by the myddel, For to liften hym o-lofte; And leyde hym on his knowes. Ac Gloton was a gret cherl, And a grym in the liftyng, And koughed up a cawdel In Clementes lappe; Is noon so hungry hound In Hertford shire Dorste lape of that levynges, 3200 So un-lovely thei smaughte.

With al the wo of this world, His wif and his wenche Baren hym hom to his bed, And broughte hym therinne; And after al this excesse He hadde an accidie, That he sleep Saterday and Sonday, Til sonne yede to reste.

Thanne waked he of his wynkyng, 3210 And wiped hise eighen; The firste word that he warpe Was "where is the bolle?" His wif gan edwyte hym tho, How wikkedly he lyvede; And Repentaunce right so Rebuked hym that tyme, "As thow with wordes and werkes Has wroght yvele in thi lyve, Shryve thee, and be shamed therof, 3220 And shewe it with thi mouthe."

"I Gloton," quod the grom, "Gilty me yelde, That I have trespased with my tonge, I kan noght telle how ofte; Sworen Goddes soule, And so me God helpe! There no nede was, Nyne hundred tymes.

"And over-seyen me at my soper, 3230 And som tyme at nones, That I Gloton girte it up Er I hadde gon a myle, An y-spilt that myghte be spared And spended on som hungry; Over delicatly on fastyng-dayes Dronken and eten bothe, And sat som tyme so longe there, That I sleep and eet at ones. For love of tales in tavernes 3240 And for drynke, the moore I dyned; And hyed to the mete er noon, Whan fastyng-days were."

"This shewynge shrift," quod Repentaunce, "Shal be meryt to the."

And thanne gan Gloton greete, And gret doel to make, For his luther lif That he lyved hadde; And avowed to faste, 3250 "For hunger or for thurste, Shal nevere fyssh on Fryday Defyen in my wombe, Til abstinence myn aunte Have gyve me leeve; And yet have I hated hire Al my lif tyme."

Thanne cam Sleuthe al bi-slabered, With two slymy eighen; "I moste sitte," seide the segge, 3260 "Or ellis sholde I nappe. I may noght stonde ne stoupe, Ne withoute a stool knele; Were I brought a-bedde, But if my tail-ende it made, Sholde no ryngynge do me ryse Er I were ripe to dyne." He bigan Benedicite with a bolk, And his brest knokked, And raxed and rored, 3270 And rutte at the laste.

"What, awake, renk!" quod Repentaunce, "And rape thee to shryfte."

"If I sholde deye bi this day, Me list nought to loke; I kan noght parfitly my pater-noster, As the preest it syngeth; But I kan rymes of Robyn Hood, And Randolf erl of Chestre; Ac neither of oure Lord ne of oure Lady 3280 The leeste that evere was maked.

"I have maad avowes fourty, And foryete hem on the morwe; I perfournede nevere penaunce As the preest me highte; Ne right sory for my synnes Yet was I nevere. And if I bidde any bedes, But if it be in wrathe, That I telle with my tonge 3290 Is two myle fro myn herte. I am ocupied eche day, Haly-day and oother, With ydel tales at the ale, And outher while at chirche; Goddes peyne and his passion Ful selde thenke I on it.

"I visited nevere feble men, Ne fettred folk in puttes; I have levere here an harlotrye, 3300 Or a somer game of souters, Or lesynge to laughen at And bi-lye my neghebores, Than al that evere Marc made, Mathew, Johan, and Lucas. And vigilies and fastyng-dayes, Alle thise late I passe; And ligge a-bedde in Lenten, And my lemman in myne armes, Til matyns and masse be do, 3310 And thanne go to the freres. Come I to Ite, missa est, I holde me y-served; I nam noght shryven som tyme, But if siknesse it make, Nought twyes in two yer, And thanne up gesse I shryve me.

"I have be preest and parson Passynge thritty wynter, And yet can I neyther solne ne synge, 3320 Ne seintes lyves rede; But I kan fynden in a feld, Or in a furlang, an hare, Bettre than in Beatus vir, Or in Beati omnes, Construe oon clause wel And kenne it to my parisshens. I kan holde love-dayes, And here a reves rekenyng; Ac in canon nor in decretals 3330 I kan noght rede a lyne.

"If I bigge and borwe aught, But if it be y-tailed, I foryete it as yerne; And if men me it axe Sixe sithes or sevene, I forsake it with othes; And thus tene I trewe men Ten hundred tymes.

"And my servauntz som tyme 3340 Hir salarie is bi-hynde; Ruthe it is to here the rekenyng, Whan we shul rede acountes. So with wikked wil and wrathe, My werkmen I paye.

"If any man dooth me a bienfait, Or helpeth me at nede, I am unkynde ayeins curteisie, And kan nought understounden it; For I have and have had 3350 Som del haukes maneres, I am noght lured with love, But ther ligge aught under the thombe.

"The kyndenesse that myn even cristene Kidde me fernyere, Sixty sithes I Sleuthe Have foryete it siththe. In speche and in sparynge of speche Y-spilt many a tyme Bothe flessh and fissh, 3360 And manye othere vitailles, Both bred and ale, Buttre, melk, and chese, For-sleuthed in my service Til it myghte serve no man.

"I ran aboute in youthe, And yaf me naught to lerne, And evere siththe have I be beggere For my foule sleuthe. Heu michi! quia sterilem vitam duxi 3370 juvenilem."

"Repentedestow noght?" quod Repentaunce; And right with that he swowned, Til Vigilate the veille Fette water at hise eighen, And flatte it on his face, And faste on hym cryde, And seide, "Ware thee, for Wanhope Wolde thee bi-traye, 'I am sory for my synnes' 3380 Seye to thiselve, And beet thiself on the brest, And bidde hym of grace; For is ne gilt here so gret That his goodnesse nys moore."

Thanne sat Sleuthe up, And seyned hym swithe, And made a vow to-fore God For his foule sleuthe. "Shal no Sonday be this seven yer, 3390 But siknesse it lette, That I ne shal do me er day To the deere chirche; And here matyns and masse, As I a monk were, Shal noon ale after mete Holde me thennes, Til I have even-song herd, I bi-hote to the roode! And yet wole I yelde ayein, 3400 If I so much have, Al that I wikkedly wan Sithen I wit hadde.

"And though my liflode lakke, Leten I nelle, That ech man ne shal have his, Er I hennes wende; And with the residue and the remenaunt, Bi the Rode of Chestre! I shal seken Truthe erst 3410 Er I se Rome."

Roberd the robbere On Reddite loked, And for ther was noght wherof, He wepte swithe soore; Ac yet the synfulle sherewe Seide to hymselve, "Crist, that on Calvarie Upon the cros deidest, Tho Dysmas my brother 3420 Bi-soughte yow of grace, And haddest mercy on that man For memento sake, So rewe on this robbere That reddere ne have, Ne nevere wene to wynne With craft that I owe; But for thi muchel mercy Mitigacion I bi-seche, Ne dampne me noght at domes-day 3430 For that I dide so ille."

What bi-fel of this feloun I kan noght faire shewe; Wel I woot he wepte faste Water with bothe hise eighen, And knoweliched his gilt To Crist yet eft soones, That Pœnetentia his pik He sholde polshe newe, And lepe with hym over lond 3440 Al his lif tyme, For he hadde leyen by Latro Luciferis aunte.

And thanne hadde Repentaunce ruthe, And redde hem alle to knele; "For I shal bi-seche for alle synfulle Our Saveour of grace, To amenden us of oure mysdedes, And do mercy to us alle."

"Now God," quod he, "that of thi goodnesse 3450 Bi-gonne the world to make, And of naught madest aught, and man Moost lik to thiselve, And sithen suffredest for to synne, A siknesse to us alle, And al for the beste, as I bi-leve, What evere the book telleth. = O felix culpa! O necessarium peccatum Adæ! etc.

"For thorugh that synne thi sone 3460 Sent was to this erthe, And bicam man of a maide, Mankynde to save: And madest thiself with thi sone And us synfulle y-liche Faciamus hominem ad imaginem nostram. Et alibi. Qui manet in caritate, in Deo manet, et Deus in eo.

"And siththe with thi selve sone 3470 In oure secte deidest, On Good-Fryday, for mannes sake, At ful tyme of the daye, Ther thiself ne thi sone No sorwe in deeth feledest, But in oure secte was the sorwe, And thi sone it ladde. Captivam duxit captivitatem.

"The sonne for sorwe therof Lees light of a tyme, 3480 Aboute mydday whan moost light is, And meel-tyme of seintes, Feddest with thi fresshe blood Oure fore-fadres in derknesse. Populus qui ambulabat in tenebris, vidit lucem magnam.

"And thorugh the light that lepe out of thee Lucifer was blent. And blewe alle thi blessed Into the blisse of paradys.

3490 "The thridde day after Thow yedest in oure sute, A synful Marie the seigh, Er seynte Marie thi dame; And al to solace synfulle Thow suffredest it so were. Non veni vocare justos sed peccatores ad pœnitentiam.

"And al that Marc hath y-maad, Mathew, Johan, and Lucas, 3500 Of thyne doughty dedes Was doon in oure armes. = Verbum caro factum est, et habitavit in nobis.

"And by so muche me semeth The sikerer we mowe Bidde and bi-seche, If it be thi wille, That art oure fader and oure brother, Be merciable to us, 3510 And have ruthe on thise ribaudes That repenten hem here soore, That evere thei wrathed thee in this world, In word, thought, or dedes."

Thanne hent Hope an horn Of Deus, tu conversus vivificabis, And blew it with Beati quorum Remissæ sunt iniquitates, That alle seintes in hevene Songen at ones. 3520 Homines et jumenta salvabis, quemadmodum = multiplicasti misericordiam tuam.

A thousand of men tho Thrungen togideres, Cride upward to Crist, And to his clene moder, To have grace to go with hem Truthe to seke.

Ac there was wight noon so wys 3530 The wey thider kouthe, But blustreden forth as beestes Over bankes and hilles; Til late was and longe That thei a leode mette, Apparailled as a paynym In pilgrymes wise. He bar a burdoun y-bounde With a brood liste, In a withwynde wise 3540 Y-wounden aboute; A bolle and a bagge He bar by his syde, And hundred of ampulles On his hat seten, Signes of Synay, And shelles of Galice, And many a crouche on his cloke, And keyes of Rome, And the vernycle bi-fore, 3550 For men sholde knowe And se bi hise signes Whom he sought hadde.

This folk frayned hym first, Fro whennes he come.

"Fram Syny," he seide, "And fram oure Lordes sepulcre; In Bethlem and in Babiloyne, I have ben in bothe; In Armonye and Alisaundre, 3560 In manye othere places. Ye may se by my signes, That sitten on myn hatte, That I have walked ful wide In weet and in drye, And sought goode seintes For my soules helthe."

"Knowestow aught a corsaint, That men calle Truthe? Koudestow aught wissen us the wey, 3570 Wher that wye dwelleth?"

"Nay, so me God helpe!" Seide the gome thanne, "I seigh nevere palmere, With pyk ne with scrippe, Asken after hym er Til now in this place."

"Peter!" quod a plowman, And putte forth his hed, "I knowe hym as kyndely 3580 As clerk doth hise bokes; Conscience and kynde wit Kenned me to his place, And diden me suren hym sikerly To serven hym for evere, Bothe to sowe and to sette, The while I swynke myghte. I have ben his folwere Al this fifty wynter, Bothe y-sowen his seed, 3590 And suwed hise beestes, Withinne and withouten Waited his profit. I dyke and I delve, I do that Truthe hoteth; Som tyme I sowe, And som tyme I thresshe; In taillours craft and tynkeris craft, What Truthe kan devyse, I weve and I wynde, 3600 And do what Truthe hoteth, For though I seye it myselfe, I serve hym to paye; I have myn hire wel, And outher whiles moore. He is the presteste paiere That povere men knoweth; He ne withhalt noon hewe his hire, That he ne hath it at even; He is as lowe as a lomb, 3610 And lovelich of speche; And if ye wilneth to wite Where that he dwelleth, I shal wisse you witterly The wey to his place."

"Ye, leve Piers," quod thise pilgrimes, And profred hym huyre, For to wende with hem To Truthes dwellyng-place.

"Nay, by my soules helpe!" quod Piers, 3620 And gan for to swere, "I nolde fange a ferthyng. For seint Thomas shryne; Truthe wolde love me the lasse A long tyme therafter; Ac if yow wilneth to wende wel, This is the wey thider.

"Ye moten go thorugh Mekenesse, Both men and wyves, Til ye come into Conscience, 3630 That Crist wite the sothe That ye loven oure Lord God Levest of alle thynges, And thanne youre neghebores next In none wise apeire, Other wise than thow woldest He wroughte to thiselve.

"And so boweth forth by a brook, Beth-buxom-of-speche, Til he fynden a ford, 3640 Youre-fadres-honoureth, Honora patrem et matrem, etc. Wadeth in that water, And wasshe yow wel therinne, And ye shul lepe the lightloker Al youre lif tyme; And so shaltow se Swere-noght,- But-if-it-be-for-nede,- And-nameliche-on-ydel- The-name-of-God-almyghty.

3650 "Thanne shaltow come by a croft, But come thow noght therinne; That croft hatte Coveite-noght- Mennes-catel-ne-hire-wyves,- Ne-noon-of-hire-servauntz- That-noyen-hem-myghte; Loke ye breke no bowes there, But if it be youre owene.

"Two stokkes ther stondeth, Ac stynte ye noght there, 3660 Thei highte Stele-noght and Sle-noght, Strik forth by bothe, And leve hem on thi lift half, And loke noght therafter, And hold wel thyn hali-day Heighe til even.

"Thanne shaltow blenche at a bergh, Bere-no-fals-witnesse, He is frythed in with floryns And othere fees manye; 3670 Loke thow plukke no plaunte there, For peril of thi soule; Thanne shul ye see Seye-sooth,- So-it-be-to-doone,- In-good-manere,-ellis-noght- For-no-mannes-biddyng.

"Thanne shaltow come to a court As cler as the sonne; The moot is of Mercy The manoir aboute, 3680 And alle the walles ben of Wit, To holden Wil oute, And kerneled wit Cristendom, Mankynde to save, Botrased with Bileef-so,- Or-thow-beest-noght-saved.

"And alle the houses ben hiled, Halles and chambres, With no leed but with love, And lowe speche as bretheren; 3690 The brugg is of Bidde-wel,- The-bet-may-thow-spede; Ech piler is of penaunce, Of preieres to seyntes; Of almes-dedes are the hokes That the gates hangen on.

"Grace hatte the gatewarde, A good man for sothe; His man hatte Amende-yow, For many men hym knoweth; 3700 Telleth hym this tokene, That Truthe wite the sothe; 'I perfourned the penaunce That the preest me enjoyned, And am ful sory for my synnes, And so I shal evere, Whan I thynke theron, Theigh I were a pope.'

"Biddeth Amende-yow meke hym Til his maister ones, 3710 To wayven up the wiket That the womman shette, Tho Adam and Eve Eten apples un-rosted. Per Evam cunctis clausa est, et per Mariam virginem patefacta est.

"For he hath the keye and the cliket, Though the kyng slepe. And if grace graunte thee To go in this wise, 3720 Thow shalt see in thiselve Truthe in thyn herte, In a cheyne of charité As thow a child were, To suffren hym and segge noght Ayein thi sires wille.

"And be war thanne of Wrathe-thee, That is a wikked sherewe; He hath envye to hym That in thyn herte sitteth, 3730 And poketh forth pride To preise thiselven. The boldnesse of thi bienfetes Maketh thee blynd thanne; And thanne worstow dryven out as dew, And the dore closed, Keyed and cliketted, To kepe thee withouten; Happily an hundred wynter Er thow eft entre. 3740 Thus myghtestow lesen his love To lete wel by thiselve, And nevere happily eft entre, But grace thow have.

"And ther are seven sustren That serven Truthe evere, And arn porters of the posternes That to the place longeth.

"That oon hatte Abstinence, And Humilité another; 3750 Charité and Chastité Ben hise chief maydenes; Pacience and Pees Muche peple thei helpeth; Largenesse the lady, She let in ful manye, Heo hath holpe a thousand out Of the develes punfolde; And who is sib to thise sevene, So me God helpe! 3760 He is wonderly welcome, And faire underfongen. And but if ye be sibbe To some of thise sevene, It is ful hard, by myn heed!" quod Piers, "For any of yow alle To geten in-going at any gate there, But grace be the moore."

"Now by Crist!" quod a kutte-purs "I have no kyn there." 3770 "Nor I," quod an ape-ward, "By aught that I kan knowe." "Wite God!" quod a wafrestere, "Wiste I this for sothe, Sholde I nevere ferther a foot, For no freres prechyng."

"Yis," quod Piers the Plowman, And poked hem alle to goode, "Mercy is a maiden there Hath myght over alle; 3780 And she is sib to alle synfulle, And hire sone also, And thorugh the help of hem two Hope thow noon oother, Thow myght gete grace there, So thow go bi-tyme."

"Bi seint Poul!" quod a pardoner, "Peraventure I be noght knowe there; I wol go fecche my box with my brevettes, And a bulle with bisshopes lettres."

"By Crist!" quod a commune womman, "Thi compaignie wol I folwe; Thow shalt seye I am thi suster, 3793 I ne woot where thei bicome."

Passus Sextus de Visione, ut supra.

" 3794 HIS were a wikkede wey, But who so hadde a gyde, That wolde folwen us ech a foot;" Thus this folke hem mened.

Quod Perkyn the Plowman, "By seint Peter of Rome! 3800 I have an half acre to erie By the heighe weye; Hadde I eryed this half acre, And sowen it after, I wolde wende with yow, And the wey teche."

"This were a long lettyng," Quod a lady in scleyre, "What sholde we wommen Werche the while?"

3810 "Somme shul sowe the sak," quod Piers, "For shedyng of the whete; And ye, lovely ladies, With youre longe fyngres, That ye have silk and sandel To sowe, whan tyme is; Chesibles for chapeleyns, Chirches to honoure.

"Wyves and widewes, Wolle and flex spynneth; 3820 Maketh cloth, I counseille yow, And kenneth so youre doughtres; The nedy and the naked, Nymeth hede how thei liggeth, And casteth hem clothes, For so comaundeth Truthe. For I shal leven hem liflode, But if the lond faille, Flesshe and breed bothe To riche and to poore, 3830 As long as I lyve, For the Lordes love of hevene; And alle manere of men That thorugh mete and drynke libbeth, Helpeth hym to werche wightliche, That wynneth youre foode."

"By Crist!" quod a knyght thoo, "He kenneth us the beste; Ac on the teme, trewely, Taught was I nevere; 3840 But kenne me," quod the knyght, "And by Crist I wole assaye!"

"By seint Poul!" quod Perkyn, "Ye profre yow so faire, That I shal swynke and swete, And sowe for us bothe, And othere labours do for thi love Al my lif tyme, In covenaunt that thow kepe Holy kirke and myselve 3850 Fro wastours and fro wikked men That this world destruyeth. And go hunte hardiliche To hares and to foxes, To bores and to brokkes That breken doun myne hegges; And so affaite thi faucons Wilde foweles to kille; For swiche cometh to my croft, And croppeth my whete."

3860 Curteisly the knyght thanne Comsed thise wordes; "By my power, Piers!" quod he, "I plighte thee my trouthe, To fulfille this forwarde, Though I fighte sholde; Als longe as I lyve I shal thee mayntene."

"Ye, and yet a point," quod Piers, "I preye yow of moore, 3870 Loke ye tene no tenaunt, But Truthe wole assente; And though ye mowe amercy hem, Lat mercy be taxour, And mekenesse thi maister, Maugree Medes chekes. And though povere men profre yow Presentes and giftes, Nyme it noght, an aventure Ye mowe it noght deserve; 3880 For thow shalt yelde it ayein At one yeres tyme, In a ful perilous place, Purgatorie it hatte.

"And mys-bede noght thi bonde-men, The bettre may thow spede; Though he be thyn underlyng here, Wel may happe in hevene That he worth worthier set, And with moore blisse. 3890 Amice, ascende superius. For in charnel at chirche Cherles ben yvel to knowe, Or a knyght from a knave there, Knowe this in thyn herte. And that thow be trewe of thi tonge, And tales that thow hatie, But if thei ben of wisdom or of wit Thi werkmen to chaste. Hold with none harlotes, 3900 Ne here noght hir tales, And namely at the mete Swiche men eschuwe; For it ben the develes disours, I do the to understonde."

"I assente, by seint Jame!" Seide the knyght thanne, "For to werche by thi wordes The while my lif dureth."

"And I shal apparaille me," quod Perkyn, 3910 "In pilgrymes wise, And wende with yow I wile, Til we fynde Truthe; And caste on my clothes Y-clouted and hole, My cokeres and my coffes, For cold of my nailes; And hange myn hoper at myn hals In stede of a scryppe. A busshel of bred corn 3920 Brynge me therinne; For I wol sowe it myself, And sithenes wol I wende To pilgrymage, as palmeres doon, Pardon for to have. And who so helpeth me to erie And sowen here er I wende, Shal have leve, by oure Lorde! To lese here in hervest, And make hem murie thermyd, 3930 Maugree who so bi-gruccheth it. And alle kynne crafty-men, That konne lyven in truthe, I shal fynden hem fode, That feithfulliche libbeth.

"Save Jagge the jogelour, And Jonette of the stuwes, And Danyel the dees-pleyere, And Denote the baude, And frere the faitour, 3940 And folk of hire ordre, And Robyn the ribaudour For hise rusty wordes. Truthe tolde me ones, And bad me telle it after, Deleantur de libro viventium, I sholde noght dele with hem, For holy chirche is hote of hem No tithe to take; Qui cum justis non scribantur; 3950 They ben ascaped good aventure, God hem amende!"

Dame Werch-whan-tyme-is Piers wif highte; His doughter highte Do-right-so,- Or-thi-dame-shal-thee-bete; His sone highte Suffre-thi-sovereyns- To-haven-hir-wille,- Deme-hem-noght,-for-if-thow-doost,- Thow-shalt-it-deere-abugge. 3960 Lat God y-worthe with al, For so his word techeth; For now I am old and hoor, And have of myn owene, To penaunce and to pilgrimage I wol passe with thise othere.

"For-thi I wole er I wende Do write my biqueste, In Dei nomine, Amen, I make it myselve; 3970 He shal have my soule, That best hath deserved it; And fro the fend it defende, For so I bileve, Til I come to hise acountes, As my Credo me telleth, To have a relees and a remission, On that rental I leve.

"The kirke shal have my caroyne, And kepe my bones; 3980 For of my corn and catel She craved the tithe; I paide it ful prestly, For peril of my soule. For-thi is he holden I hope To have me in his masse, And mengen in his memorie Amonges alle cristene.

"My wif shal have of that I wan With truthe, and na-moore, 3990 And dele among my doughtres, And my deere children; For though I deye to day, My dettes are quyte; I bar hom that I borwed, Er I to bedde yede.

"And with the residue and the remenaunt, By the Rode of Lukes! I wol worshipe therwith Truthe by my lyve, 4000 And ben his pilgrym atte plow, For povere mennes sake. My plow-foot shall be my pikstaf, And picche a-two the rotes, And helpe my cultour to kerve And clense the furwes."

Now is Perkyn and hise pilgrimes To the plow faren; To erie his half acre Holpen hym manye; 4010 Dikeres and delveres Digged up the balkes. Therwith was Perkyn a-payed, And preised hem faste.

Othere werkmen ther were That wroghten ful yerne; Ech man in his manere Made hymself to doone, And somme to plese Perkyn Piked up the wedes.

4020 At heigh prime Piers Leet the plowgh stonde, To over-sen hem hymself, And who so best wroghte He sholde be hired therafter, Whan hervest tyme come.

And thanne seten somme, And songen atte nale, And holpen ere this half acre With "How, trolly lolly."

4030 "Now, by the peril of my soule!" quod Piers, All in pure tene, "But ye arise the rather And rape yow to werche, Shal no greyn that groweth Glade yow at nede, And though ye deye for doel, The devel have that reccheth."

Tho were faitours a-fered, And feyned hem blynde; 4040 Somme leide hir legges a-liry, As swiche losels konneth, And made hir mone to Piers, And preide hym of grace; "For we have no lymes to laboure with, Lord, y-graced be the; Ac we preie for yow, Piers, And for youre plowgh bothe, That God of his grace Youre greyn multiplie, 4050 And yelde yow for youre almesse That ye gyve us here; For we may noght swynke ne swete, Swich siknesse us eyleth."

"If it be sooth," quod Piers, "that ye seyn, I shal it soone aspie. Ye ben wastours, I woot wel, And Truthe woot the sothe; And I am his olde hyne, And highte hym to warne, 4060 Whiche thei were in this world Hise werkmen apeired. Ye wasten that men wynnen With travaille and with tene; Ac Truthe shal teche yow His teme to dryve, Or ye shul eten barley breed, And of the broke drynke.

"But if he be blynd or broke-legged, Or bolted with irens, 4070 He shall ete whete breed, And drynke with myselve, Til God of his goodnesse Amendement hym sende. Ac ye myghte travaille, as Truthe wolde, And take mete and hyre, To kepe kyen in the feld, The corn fro the beestes, Diken or delven, Or dyngen upon sheves, 4080 Or helpe make morter, Or bere muk a-feld.

"In lecherie and in losengerie Ye lyven, and in sleuthe; And al is thorugh suffraunce, That vengeaunce yow ne taketh.

"Ac ancres and heremites That eten noght but at nones, And na-moore er the morwe, Myn almesse shul thei have, 4090 And of catel to kepe hem with, That han cloistres and chirches.

"Ac Robert Renaboute Shal noght have of myne, Ne postles, but thei preche konne And have power of the bisshope; Thei shul have payn and potage, And make hemself at ese, For it is an unreasonable religion That hath right noght of certein."

4100 And thanne gan Wastour to wrathen hym, And wolde have y-foughte; And to Piers the Plowman He profrede his glove; A bretoner, a braggere, A-bosted Piers als, And bad hym go pissen with his plowgh, "For-pynede sherewe! Wiltow or neltow, We wol have oure wille 4110 Of thi flour and of thi flesshe, Fecche whanne us liketh; And maken us murye thermyde, Maugree thi chekes."

Thanne Piers the Plowman Pleyned hym to the knyghte, To kepen hym as covenaunt was Fro cursede sherewes, And fro thise wastours wolves-kynnes That maketh the world deere; 4120 "For tho wasten and wynnen noght, And that ilke while Worth nevere plentee among the peple, The while my plowgh liggeth."

Curteisly the knyght thanne, As his kynde wolde, Warnede Wastour, And wissed hym bettre, "Or thow shalt abigge by the lawe, By the ordre that I bere!"

4130 "I was noght wont to werche," quod Wastour, "And now wol I noght bigynne;" And leet light of the lawe, And lasse of the knyghte; And sette Piers at a pese, And his plowgh bothe; And manaced Piers and his men, If thei mette eft soone.

"Now, by the peril of my soule!" quod Piers, "I shal apeire yow alle;" 4140 And houped after Hunger, That herde hym at the firste, "A-wreke me of thise wastours," quod he, "That this world shendeth."

Hunger in haste thoo Hente Wastour by the wombe, And wrong him so by the wombe, That bothe hise eighen watrede.

He buffeted the bretoner Aboute the chekes, 4150 That he loked lik a lanterne Al his lif after. He bette hem so bothe, He brast ner hire guttes; Ne hadde Piers with a pese loof Preyed Hunger to cesse, They hadde be dolven, Ne deme thow noon oother.

"Suffre hem lyve," he seide, "And lat hem ete with hogges, 4160 Or ellis benes or bren Y-baken togideres, Or ellis melk and mene ale;" Thus preied Piers for hem.

Faitours for fere herof Flowen into bernes, And flapten on with flailes Fro morwe til even; That Hunger was noght so hardy On hem for to loke, 4170 For a potful of peses That Piers hadde y-maked.

An heep of heremytes Henten hem spades, And kitten hir copes, And courtepies hem maked, And wente as werkmen With spades and with shoveles And dolven and dikeden, To dryve awey hunger.

4180 Blynde and bed-reden Were bootned a thousande, That seten to begge silver, Soone were thei heeled; For that was bake for bayarde, Was boote for many hungry; And many a beggere for benes Buxum was to swynke; And eche a povere man wel a-paied To have pesen for his hyre, 4190 And what Piers preide hem to do, As prest as a sperhauk; And therof was Piers proud, And putte hem to werke, And yaf hem mete as he myghte aforthe, And mesurable hyre.

Thanne had Piers pité, And preide Hunger to wende Hoom unto his owene yerd, And holden hym there; 4200 "For I am wel a-wroke Of wastours, thorugh thy myghte. Ac I preie thee, er thow passe," Quod Piers to Hunger, "Of beggeris and of bidderis What best be to doone. For I woot wel, be thow went, Thei wol werche ful ille; For meschief it maketh Thei be so meke nouthe, 4210 And for defaute of hire foode This folk is at my wille.

"Thei are my blody bretheren," quod Piers, "For God boughte us alle. Truthe taughte me ones To loven hem echone; And to helpen hem of alle thyng Ay as hem nedeth. And now wolde I wite of thee What were the beste; 4220 And how I myghte a-maistren hem, And make hem to werche."

"Here now," quod Hunger, "And hoold it for a wisdom; Bolde beggeris and bigge That mowe hir breed bi-swynke, With houndes breed and horse breed Hoold up hir hertes; A-bate hem with benes, For bollynge of hir wombes; 4230 And if the gomes grucche, Bidde hem go swynke, And he shal soupe swetter Whan he it hath deserved.

"And if thow fynde any freke That fortune hath apeired, Or any manere false men, Fonde thow swiche to knowe; Conforte hym with thi catel, For Cristes love of hevene; 4240 Love hem and leve hem, So lawe of God techeth, Alter alterius onera portare.

"And alle manere of men That thow myght aspie, That nedy ben and noughty, Help hem with thi goodes; Love hem and lakke hem noght, Lat God take the vengeaunce; Theigh thei doon yvele, 4250 Lat God y-worthe. Mihi vindictam, et ego retribuam.

"And if thow wilt be gracious to God, Do as the gospel techeth, And bi-love thee amonges lewed men, So shaltow lacche grace; = Facite vos amicos de Mammone iniquitatis."

"I wolde noght greve God," quod Piers, "For al the good on grounde. 4260 Mighte I synne-lees do as thow seist?" Seide Piers thanne.

"Ye, I bi-hote thee," quod Hunger, "Or ellis the Bible lieth; Go to Genesis the geaunt, The engendrour of us alle: In sudore and swynk Thow shalt thi mete tilie, And laboure for thi liflode, And so oure Lorde highte. 4270 And Sapience seith the same, I seigh it in the Bible, Piger præ frigore No feeld nolde tilie, And therfore he shal begge and bidde, And no man bete his hunger.

"Mathew with mannes face Mouthed thise wordes, That servus nequam hadde a mnam, And for he wolde noght chaffare, 4280 He hadde maugree of his maister Evere moore after, And by-nam hym his mnam, For he ne wolde werche, And yaf that mnam to hym That ten mnames hadde; And with that he seide, That holy chirche it herde, He that hath shal have And helpe there it nedeth; 4290 And he that noght hath shal noght have, And no man hym helpe, And that he weneth wel to have I wole it hym bi-reve. Kynde wit wolde That ech a wight wroghte, Or in dikynge or in delvynge, Or travaillynge in preieres; Contemplatif lif or actif lif Crist wolde thei wroghte. 4300 The Sauter seith in the Psalme Of Beati omnes, The freke that fedeth hymself With his feithful labour, He is blessed by the book In body and in soule." Labores manuum tuarum, etc.

"Yet I preie yow," quod Piers, "Par charité, and ye konne Any leef of leche-craft, 4310 Lere it me, my deere; For some of my servauntz, And myself bothe, Of al a wike werche noght, So oure wombe aketh."

"I woot wel," quod Hunger, "What siknesse yow eyleth; Ye han manged over muche, And that maketh yow grone. Ac I hote thee," quod Hunger, 4320 "As thow thyn hele wilnest, That thow drynke no day Er thow dyne som what. Ete noght, I hote thee, Er hunger thee take, And sende thee of his sauce To savore with thi lippes; And keep som til soper-tyme, And sitte noght to longe, And rys up er appetit 4330 Have eten his fille. Lat noght sire Surfet Sitten at thi borde. Leve hym noght, for he is lecherous, And likerous of tunge, And after many maner metes His mawe is a-fyngred.

"And if thow diete thee thus, I dar legge myne eris, That Phisik shal hise furred hodes 4340 For his fode selle, And his cloke of Calabre, With alle the knappes of golde, And be fayn, by my feith! His phisik to lete, And lerne to laboure with lond, For liflode is swete. For murthereris are manye leches, Lord hem amende! They do men deye thorugh hir drynkes, 4350 Er destynee it wolde." "By seint Poul!" quod Piers, "Thise arn profitable wordes! Wend now, Hunger, whan thow wolt, That wel be thow evere! For this is a lovely lesson, Lord it thee for-yelde!"

"Bi-hote God!" quod Hunger, "Hennes ne wole I wende, Til I have dyned bi this day, 4360 And y-dronke bothe."

"I have no peny," quod Piers, "Pulettes to bugge, Ne neither gees ne grys, But two grene cheses, A fewe cruddes and creme, And an haver cake, And two loves of benes and bran Y-bake for my fauntes; And yet I seye, by my soule! 4370 I have no salt bacon, Ne no cokeney, by Crist! Coloppes for to maken.

"Ac I have percile and porettes, And manye cole plauntes, And ek a cow and a calf, And a cart mare To drawe a-feld my donge, The while the droghte lasteth; And by this liflode we mote lyve 4380 Til Lammesse tyme. And by that, I hope to have Hervest in my crofte, And thanne may I dighte thi dyner, As me deere liketh."

Al the povere peple tho Pescoddes fetten, Benes and baken apples Thei broghte in hir lappes, Chibolles and chervelles, 4390 And ripe chiries manye, And profrede Piers this present To plese with Hunger.

Al Hunger eet in haste, And axed after moore. Thanne povere folk, for fere, Fedden Hunger yerne, With grene poret and pesen, To poisone hym thei thoghte. By that it neghed neer hervest, 4400 And newe corn cam to chepyng; Thanne was folk fayn, And fedde Hunger with the beste, With goode ale, as Gloton taghte, And garte Hunger go slepe.

And tho wolde Wastour noght werche, But wandren aboute, Ne no beggere ete breed That benes inne were, But of coket and cler-matyn, 4410 Or ellis of clene whete; Ne noon halfpeny ale In none wise drynke, But of the beste and of the brunneste That in burghe is to selle.

Laborers that have no land To lyve on but hire handes, Deyned noght to dyne a day Nyght-olde wortes; May no peny ale hem paye, 4420 Ne no pece of bacone, But if it be fresshe flessh outher fisshe, Fryed outher y-bake, And that chaud and plus chaud, For chillynge of hir mawe; And but if he be heighliche hyred; Ellis wole he chide, And that he was werkman wroght Waille the tyme, Ayeins Catons counseil 4430 Comseth he to jangle. = Paupertatis onus patienter ferre memento.

He greveth hym ageyn God, And gruccheth ageyn Reson, And thanne corseth he the kyng, And al his counseil after, Swiche lawes to loke Laborers to greve. Ac whiles Hunger was hir maister, 4440 Ther wolde noon of hem chide, Ne stryven ayeins his statut, So sterneliche he loked.

Ac I warne yow, werkmen, Wynneth whil ye mowe, For Hunger hiderward Hasteth hym faste. He shal a-wake with water Wastours to chaste; Er fyve be fulfilled, 4450 Swich famyn shal a-ryse, Thorugh flodes and thorugh foule wedres Fruytes shul faille, And so seide Saturne, And sente yow to warne.

Whan ye se the sonne a-mys, And two monkes heddes, And a mayde have the maistrie, And multiplie by eighte, Thanne shal deeth with-drawe, 4460 And derthe be justice, And Dawe the dykere Deye for hunger; But God of his goodnesse 4464 Graunte us a trewe.

Passus Septimus de Visione, ut supra.

4465 REUTHE herde telle her And to Piers he sente, To maken his teme And tilien the erthe, And purchaced hym a pardone 4470 A pœna et a culpa, For hym and for hise heires, For evere moore after, And bad hym holde hym at home, And erien hise leyes. And alle that holpen hym to erye, To sette or to sowe, Or any oother mestier That myghte Piers availle, Pardon with Piers Plowman 4480 Truthe hath y-graunted.

Kynges and knyghtes, That kepen holy chirche, And rightfully in remes Rulen the peple, Han pardon thorugh purgatorie To passen ful lightly, With patriarkes and prophetes In paradis to be felawe.

Bysshopes y-blessed, 4490 If thei ben as thei sholde, Legistres of bothe lawes, The lewed therwith to preche, And in as muche as thei mowe Amenden alle synfulle, Arn peres with the Apostles, This pardon Piers sheweth, And at the day of dome At the heighe deys sitte.

Marchauntz in the margyne 4500 Hadde manye yeres, Ac noon a pœna et a culpa The pope nolde hem graunte, For thei holde noght hir hali-dayes As holy chirche techeth, And for thei swere by hir soule, And so God moste hem helpe, Ayein clene Conscience, Hir catel to selle.

Ac under his secret seel 4510 Truthe sente hem a lettre, That thei sholde buggen boldely That hem best liked, And sithenes selle it ayein, And save the wynnyng, And amende meson-dieux thermyd, And mys-eise folk helpe, And wikkede weyes Wightly amende, And do boote to brugges 4520 That to-broke were, Marien maydenes, Or maken hem nonnes, Povere peple and prisons Fynden hem hir foode, And sette scolers to scole, Or to som othere craftes, Releve religion, And renten hem bettre; "And I shal sende yow myselve 4530 Seint Michel myn archangel, That no devel shal yow dere, Ne fere yow in youre deying, And witen yow fro wanhope, If ye wol thus werche, And sende youre soules in saufté To my seintes in joye."

Thanne were marchauntz murie, Manye wepten for joye, And preiseden Piers the Plowman, 4540 That purchaced this bulle.

Men of lawe leest pardon hadde, That pleteden for Mede; For the Sauter saveth hem noght, Swiche as take giftes, And nameliche of innocentz That noon yvel ne konneth. = Super innocentem munera non accipies.

Pledours sholde peynen hem 4550 To plede for swiche and helpe; Princes and prelates Sholde paie for hire travaille. = A regibus et principibus erit merces eorum.

Ac many a justice and jurour Wolde for Johan do moore Than pro Dei pietate, Leve thow noon oother.

Ac he that spendeth his speche, 4560 And speketh for the povere That is innocent and nedy, And no man apeireth, Conforteth hym in that caas Withouten coveitise of giftes, And sheweth lawe for oure Lordes love, As he it hath y-lerned, Shal no devel at his deeth day Deren hym a myte, That he ne worth saaf and his soule, 4570 The Sauter bereth witnesse: = Domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo tuo?

Ac to bugge water, ne wynd, Ne wit, ne fir the ferthe, Thise foure the fader of hevene Made to this foold in commune. Thise ben Truthes tresores Trewe folk to helpe, That nevere shul wexe ne wanye, 4580 Withouten God hymselve.

Whan thei drawen on to deye, And indulgences wolde have, Hir pardon is ful petit At hir partyng hennes, That any mede of mene men For hir motyng taketh. Ye legistres and lawieres, Holdeth this for truthe, That if that I lye, 4590 Mathew is to blame, For he bad me make yow this, And this proverbe me tolde, Quodcunque vultis ut faciant vobis homines, facite eis.

Alle libbynge laborers That lyven with hir hondes, That treweliche taken, And treweliche wynnen, And lyven in love and in lawe, 4600 For hir lowe hertes Haveth the same absolucion That sent was to Piers.

Beggeres ne bidderes Ne beth noght in the bulle, But if the suggestion be sooth That shapeth hem to begge. For he that beggeth or bit, But if he have nede, He is fals with the feend, 4610 And defraudeth the nedy; And also he bi-gileth the gyvere, Ageynes his wille; For if he wiste he were noght nedy, He wolde gyve that another That were moore nedy than he, So the nedieste sholde be holpe. Caton kenneth me thus, And the clerc of stories; Cui des videto, 4620 Is Catons techyng.

And in the stories he techeth To bistowe thyn almesse. Sit elemosina tua in manu tua, donec studes cui des.

Ac Gregory was a good man, And bad us gyven alle That asketh for his love That us al leneth. Non eligas cui miserearis, ne forte 4630 prætereas illum qui meretur accipere. Quia incertum est pro quo Deo magis placeas.

For wite ye nevere who is worthi, Ac God woot who hath nede; In hym that taketh is the trecherie, If any treson walke. For he that yeveth, yeldeth, And yarketh hym to reste; And he that biddeth, borweth, 4640 And bryngeth hymself in dette. For beggeres borwen evere mo, And hir borgh is God almyghty, To yelden hem that yeveth hem, And yet usure moore. Quare non dedisti pecuniam meam ad mensam, ut ego veniam cum usuris exigere?

For-thi biddeth noght, ye beggeres, But if ye have gret nede; 4650 For who so hath to buggen hym breed, The book bereth witnesse, He hath y-nough that hath breed y-nough, Though he have noght ellis. Satis dives est, qui non indiget pane.

Lat usage be youre solas, Of seintes lyves redyng, The book banneth beggerie, And blameth hem in this manere: Junior fui, et jam senui, et non vidi 4660 justum derelictum, nec semen ejus, etc.

For ye lyve in no love, Ne no lawe holde; Manye of yow ne wedde noght The womman that ye with deele, But as wilde bestes with 'wehee!' Worthen uppe and werchen, And bryngen forth barnes, That bastardes men calleth; 4670 Or the bak or som boon He breketh in his youthe, And siththe goon faiten with youre fauntes For evere moore after. Ther is moore mys-shapen peple Amonges thise beggeres, Than of alle manere men That on this moolde walketh. And thei that lyve thus hir lif, Mowe lothe the tyme 4680 That evere thei were men wroght, Whan thei shal hennes fare. Ac olde men and hore, Than help-lees ben of strengthe, And wommen with childe That werche ne mowe, Blynde and bed-reden, And broken hire membres, That taken thise myschiefs mekeliche, As mesels and othere, 4690 Han as pleyn pardon As the plowman hymselve. For love of hir lowe hertes, Oure Lord hath hem graunted Hir penaunce and hir purgatorie Here on this erthe.

"Piers," quod a preest thoo, "Thi pardon moste I rede; For I wol construe ech clause, And kenne it thee on Englisshe."

4700 And Piers at his preiere The pardon unfoldeth; And I by-hynde hem bothe Biheld al the bulle, And in two lynes it lay, And noght a leef more, And was writen right thus, In witnesse of Truthe: = Et qui bona egerunt, ibunt in vitam eternam. 4710 Qui vero mala, in ignem eternum.

"Peter," quod the preest thoo, "I kan no pardon fynde, But do wel and have wel, And God shal have thi soule, And do yvel and have yvel, Hope thow noon oother, But after thi deeth-day The devel shal have thi soule." And Piers for pure tene 4720 Pulled it a-tweyne, And seide Si ambulavero in medio umbræ mortis, non timebo mala, quoniam tu mecum es.