Passus Decimus Quartus, etc.

"

8900

HAVE but oon hool hater," quod Haukyn;

"I am the lasse to blame,

Though it be soiled and selde clene:

I slepe therinne o nyghtes.

And also I have an houswif,

Hewen and children,—

Uxorem duxi, et ideo non possum venire.—

That wollen by-molen it many tyme,

Maugree my chekes.

It hath be laved in Lente

And out of Lente bothe,

With the sope of siknesse,

That seketh wonder depe,

And with the losse of catel,

Looth for to a-gulte

God of any good man,

By aught that I wiste;

And was shryven of the preest

That gaf me for my synnes

To penaunce pacience

And povere men to fede,

Al for coveitise of my cristendom

In clennesse to kepen it.

And kouthe I nevere, by Crist!

Kepen it clene an houre,

That I ne soiled it with sighte

Or som ydel speche,

Or thorugh werk, or thorugh word,

Or wille of myn herte,

That I ne flobre it foule

Fro morwe til even."

"And I shal kenne thee," quod Conscience,

"Of contricion to make

That shal clawe thi cote

Of alle kynnes filthe.

Cordis contritio, etc.

Do-wel shal wasshen and wryngen it

Thorugh a wis confessour.

Oris confessio, etc.

Do-bet shal beten it and bouken it

As bright as any scarlet,

And engreyven it with good wille

And Goddes grace to amende the,

And sithen sende thee to satisfaccion

For to sowen it after.

Satisfactio Do-best.

"Shal nevere cheeste by-molen it,

Ne mothe after biten it,

Ne fend ne fals man

Defoulen it in thi lyve.

Shal noon heraud ne harpour

Have a fairer garnement

Than Haukyn the actif man,

And thow do by my techyng;

Ne no mynstrall be moore worth

Amonges povere and riche,

Than Haukyns wif the wafrer,

With his activa vita."

"And I shal purveie thee paast," quod Pacience,

"Though no plough erye,

And flour to fede folk with

As best be for the soule,

Though nevere greyn growed,

Ne grape upon vyne.

To alle that lyveth and loketh

Liflode wolde I fynde,

And that y-nogh shal noon faille

Of thyng that hem nedeth,

We sholde noght be to bisy

Abouten oure liflode,"

Ne solliciti sitis, etc. Volucres cœli

Deus pascit, etc. Patientes

vincunt.

Thanne laughed Haukyn a litel,

And lightly gan swerye,

"Who so leveth yow, by oure Lord!

I leve noght he be blessed."

"No," quod Pacience paciently;

And out of his poke hente

Vitailles of grete vertues

For alle manere beestes,

And seide, "Lo here liflode y-nogh!

If oure bileve be trewe.

For lent nevere was lif,

But liflode were shapen,

Wher-of or wher-fore

Or wher-by to libbe.

"First the wilde worm

Under weet erthe,

Fissh to lyve in the flood,

And in the fir the criket,

The corlew by kynde of the eyr

Moost clennest flessh of briddes,

And bestes by gras and by greyn

And by grene rootes,

In menynge that alle men

Myghte the same

Lyve thorugh leel bileve

And love, as God witnesseth."

Quodcunque petieritis a patre in

nomine meo, etc. Et alibi:

Non in solo pane vivit homo,

sed in omni verbo quod procedit

de ore Dei.

But I lokede what liflode it was

That Pacience so preisede;

And thanne was it a pece of the pater-noster,

Fiat voluntas tua.

"Have, Haukyn," quod Pacience,

"And et this whan the hungreth,

Or whan thow clomsest for cold,

Or clyngest for drye;

Shul nevere gyves thee greve,

Ne gret lordes wrathe,

Prison ne peyne;

For patientes vincunt.

By so that thow be sobre

Of sighte and of tonge,

In etynge and in handlynge,

And in alle thi fyve wittes,

Darstow nevere care for corn,

Ne lynnen cloth ne wollen,

Ne for drynke, ne deeth drede,

But deye as God liketh,

Or thorugh hunger or thorugh hete,

At his wille be it.

For if thow lyve after his loore,

The shorter lif the bettre.

Si quis amat Christum,

Mundum non diliget istum.

"For thorugh his breeth beestes woxen

And a-brood yeden.

Dixit et facta sunt, etc.

Ergo thorugh his breeth mowen

Men and beestes lyven,

As holy writ witnesseth,

Whan men seye hir graces.

Aperis tu manum tuam, et imples

omne animal benedictione.

"It is founden that fourty wynter

Folk lyvede withouten tulying;

And out of the flynt sprong the flood

That folk and beestes dronken;

And in Elyes tyme

Hevene was y-closed,

That no reyn ne roon;

Thus rede men in bokes

That many wyntres men lyveden,

And no mete ne tulieden.

"Sevene slepe, as seith the book,

Sevene hundred wynter,

And lyveden withouten liflode,

And at the laste thei woken.

And if men lyvede as mesure wolde,

Sholde nevere moore be defaute

Amonges cristene creatures,

If Cristes wordes ben trewe.

"Ac unkyndenesse caristiam maketh

Amonges cristen peple;

And over plentee maketh pryde

Amonges poore and riche.

Therfore mesure is muche worth,

It may noght be to deere;

For the meschief and the meschaunce

Amonges men of Sodome,

Weex thorugh plentee of payn,

And of pure sleuthe.

Otiositas et abundantia panis peccatum

turpissimum nutrivit.

For thei mesured noght hemself

Of that thei ete and dronke,

Thei diden dedly synne

That the devel liked,

So vengeaunce fil upon hem

For hir vile synnes;

Thei sonken into helle,

The citees echone.

"For-thi mesure we us wel,

And make oure feith oure sheltrom;

And thorugh feith cometh contricion,

Conscience woot wel,

Which dryveth awey dedly synne,

And dooth it to be venial.

And though a man myghte noght speke,

Contricion myghte hym save,

And brynge his soule to blisse;

For so that feith bere witnesse,

That whiles he lyvede, he bilevede

In the loore of the holy chirche.

Ergo contricion, feith, and conscience

Is kyndeliche Do-wel,

And surgiens for dedly synnes

Whan shrift of mouthe failleth.

Ac shrift of mouth moore worthi is,

If man be y-liche contrit;

For shrift of mouthe sleeth synne,

Be it never so dedly.

Per confessionem to a preest

Peccata occiduntur.

"Ther contricion dooth but dryveth it down

Into a venial synne,

As David seith in the Sauter,

Et quorum tecta sunt peccata;

Ac satisfaccion seketh out the roote,

And bothe sleeth and voideth,

An as it nevere hadde y-be

To noghte bryngeth dedly synne,

That it nevere eft is sene ne soor,

But semeth a wounde y-heeled."

"Where wonyeth Charité?" quod Haukyn,

"I wiste nevere in my lyve

Man that with hym spak,

As wide as I have passed."

"Ther parfit truthe and poore herte is,

And pacience of tonge,

Ther is Charité the chief chaumbrere

For God hymselve."

"Wheither paciente poverte," quod Haukyn,

"Be moore plesaunt to our Drighte

Than richesse rightfulliche wonne,

And resonably despended?"

"Ye, quis est ille?" quod Pacience;

"Quik laudabimus eum.

Though men rede of richesse

Right to the worldes ende,

I wiste nevere renk that riche was,

That whan he rekene sholde,

Whan he drogh to his deeth day,

That he ne dredde hym soore,

And that at the rekenyng in arrerage fel

Rather than out of dette.

Ther the poore dar plede,

And preve by pure reson,

To have allowance of his lord,

By the lawe he it cleymeth;

Joye, that nevere joye hadde,

Of rightful jugge he asketh,

And seith 'Lo! briddes and beestes

That no blisse ne knoweth,

And wilde wormes in wodes,

Thorugh wyntres thow hem grevest;

And makest hem wel neigh meke,

And mylde for defaute;

And after thow sendest hem somer,

That is hir sovereyn joye,

And blisse to alle that ben,

Bothe wilde and tame.'

"Thanne may beggeris as beestes

After boote waiten,

That al hir lif han lyved

In langour and in defaute,

But God sente hem som tyme

Som manere joye

Outher here or ellis where,

Kynde wolde it nevere;

For to wrotherhele was he wroght

That nevere was joye shapen.

Aungeles that in helle now ben

Hadden joye som tyme;

And Dives in the deyntees lyvede,

And in douce vie.

Right so reson sheweth

That the men that were riche,

And hir makes also,

Lyvede hir lif in murthe.

"Ac God is of wonder wille,

By that kynde wit sheweth,

To gyve many man his mede

Er he it have deserved.

Right so fareth God by some riche,

Ruthe me it thynketh;

For thei han hir hire heer,

And hevene, as it were,

And greet likynge to lyve

Withouten labour of bodye:

And whan he dyeth, ben disalowed,

As David seith in the Sauter:

Dormierunt, et nihil invenerunt.

And in another stede also:

Velut somnium surgentium, Domine,

in civitate tua, et ad nihilum

rediges, etc.

"Allas! that richesse shal reve

And robbe mannes soule

From the love of oure Lord,

At his laste ende.

"Hewen, that han hir hire afore,

Arn evere moore nedy;

And selden deyeth he out of dette,

That dyneth er he deserve it,

And til he have doon his devoir

And his dayes journée.

For whan a werkman hath wroght,

Than many men se the sothe

What he were worthi for his werk,

And what he hath deserved;

And noght to fonge bifore,

For drede of disalowyng.

"So I seye by yow riche,

It semeth noght that ye shulle

Have hevene in youre here dwellyng,

And hevene also therafter;

Right so as a servaunt taketh his salarie bifore,

And siththe wolde clayme moore,

As he that noon hadde,

And hath hire at the laste.

It may noght be, ye riche men,

Or Mathew on God lyeth:

Væ! deliciis ad delicias difficile est

transire.

"Ac if ye riche have ruthe,

And rewarde wel the poore,

And lyven as lawe techeth,

And doon leauté to hem alle,

Crist of his curteisie

Shal conforte yow at the laste,

And rewarden alle double richesse

That rewful hertes habbeth.

And as an hyne that hadde

His hire er he bigonne,

And whan he hath doon his devoir wel

Men dooth hym oother bountee,

Gyveth hym a cote above his covenaunt,

Right so Crist gyveth hevene

Bothe to riche and to noght riche

That rewfulliche libbeth;

And alle that doon hir devoir wel

Han double hire for hir travaille,

Here forgifnesse of hir synnes,

And hevene blisse after.

"Ac it is but selde y-seien,

As by holy seintes bokes,

That God rewarded double reste

To any riche wye.

For muche murthe is amonges riche,

As in mete and clothyng;

And muche murthe in May is

Amonges wilde beestes,

And so forth while somer lasteth

Hir solace dureth.

"Ac beggeris aboute Midsomer

Bred-lees thei slepe.

And yet is wynter for hem worse,

For weet shoed thei gone,

A-furst soore and a-fyngred,

And foule y-rebuked,

And a-rated of riche men

That ruthe is to here.

Now, Lord, sende hem somer,

And som maner joye,

Hevene after hir hennes goyng,

That here han swich defaute,

For alle myghtestow have maad

Noon mener than oother,

And y-liche witty and wise,

If thee wel hadde liked.

But, Lord, have ruthe on thise riche men,

That rewarde noght thi prisoners.

Of the good that thow hem gyvest

Ingrati ben manye;

Ac, God, of thi goodnesse

Gyve hem grace to amende.

For may no derthe be hem deere,

Droghte ne weet hem greve,

Ne neither hete ne hayll;

Have thei hir heele,

Of that thei wilne and wolde

Wanteth hem noght here.

"Ac poore peple thi prisoners,

Lord, in the put of meschief,

Conforte tho creatures,

That muche care suffren

Thorugh derthe, thorugh droghte,

Alle hir dayes here,

Wo in wynter tymes

For wantynge of clothes,

And in somer tyme selde

Soupen to the fulle.

Conforte thi carefulle,

Crist, in thi richesse;

For how thow confortest alle creatures,

Clerkes bereth witnesse:

Convertimini ad me, et salvi eritis.

"Thus in genere of gentries

Jhesu Crist seide,

To robberis and to reveris,

To riche and to poore,

Thou taughtest hem in the Trinité

To taken bapteme,

And to be clene through that cristnyng

Of alle kynnes synne;

And if us fille thorugh folie

To falle in synne after,

Confession and knowlichynge

In cravynge thi mercy,

Shulde amenden us as manye sithes

As man wolde desire.

And if the pope wolde plede ayein,

And punysshe us in conscience,

He sholde take the acquitaunce as quyk,

And to the queed shewen it.

Pateat, etc. per passionem Domini.

And putten of so the pouke,

And preven us under borwe.

Ac the parchemyn of this patente

Of poverte be moste,

And of pure pacience,

And parfit bileve.

"Of pompe and of pride

The parchemym decourreth,

And principalliche of al the peple,

But thei be poore of herte;

Ellis is al on ydel,

Al that evere writen

Pater-nostres and penaunce,

And pilgrymages to Rome;

But oure spences and spendynge

Sprynge of a trewe wille,

Ellis is al our labour lost,

Lo! how men writeth

In fenestres at the freres,

If fals be the foundement.

For-thi cristene sholde be in commune riche,

Noon coveitous for hymselve.

"For sevene synnes ther ben,

That assaillen us evere;

The fend folweth hem alle,

And fondeth hem to helpe.

Ac with richesse that ribaud

He rathest men bigileth.

For ther that richesse regneth,

Reverence folweth;

And that is plesaunt to pride,

In poore and in riche.

And the riche is reverenced

By reson of his richesse,

Ther the poore is put bihynde,

And peraventure kan moore

Of wit and of wisdom,

That fer awey is bettre

Than richesse or reautee,

And rather y-herd in hevene.

For the riche hath muche to rekene;

And many tyme hym that walketh

The heighe wey to hevene-ward,

Richesse hym letteth,—

Ita inpossibile diviti, etc.—

Ther the poore preesseth bifore the riche,

With a pak at his rugge,—

Opera enim illorum sequuntur illos.—

Batauntliche, as beggeris doon,

And boldeliche he craveth,

For his poverte and his pacience,

A perpetuel blisse.

Beati pauperes, quoniam ipsorum

est regnum cælorum.

"And pride in richesse regneth

Rather than in poverte;

Arst in the master than in the man

Som mansion he haveth.

Ac in poverte, ther pacience is,

Pride hath no myghte,

Ne none of the sevene synnes

Sitten ne mowe ther longe,

Ne have power in poverte,

If pacience folwe.

For the poore is ay prest

To plese the riche,

And buxom at hise biddynges,

For his broke loves;

And boxomnesse and boost

Arn evere moore at werre,

And either hateth oother

In alle maner werkes.

"If wrathe wrastle with the poore,

He hath the worse ende;

And if thei bothe pleyne,

The poore is but feble;

And if he chide or chatre,

Hym cheveth the worse.

"And if coveitise cacche the poore,

Thei may noght come togideres;

And by the nekke namely

Hir noon may hente oother.

For men knowen wel that coveitise

Is of kene wille,

And hath hondes and armes

Of ful greet lengthe;

And poverte nys but a petit thyng,

Apereth noght to his navele;

And lovely layk was it nevere

Bitwene the longe and the shorte.

"And though avarice wolde angre the poore,

He hath but litel myghte;

For poverte hath but pokes

To putten in hise goodes,

Ther avarice hath almaries,

And yren bounden cofres.

And wheither be lighter to breke,

And lasse boost maketh,

A beggeris bagge

Than an yren bounde cofre?

"Lecherie loveth hym noght,

For he gyveth but litel silver,

Ne dooth hym noght dyne delicatly,

Ne drynke wyn ofte.

A straw for the stuwes!

Thei stoode noght, I trowe,

Hadde thei no thyng but of poore men,

Hir houses stoode untyled.

"And though sleuthe suwe poverte,

And serve noght God to paie,

Meschief is his maister,

And maketh hym to thynke

That God is his grettest help,

And no gome ellis;

And he is servaunt, as he seith,

And of his sute bothe;

And wheither he be or be noght,

He bereth the signe of poverte,

And in that secte oure Saveour

Saved al mankynde.

For-thi every poore that pacient is,

May cleymen and asken

After hir endynge here

Hevene riche blisse,

"Muche hardier may he asken,

That here myghte have his wille

In lond and in lordshipe,

And likynge of bodie,

And for Goddes love leveth al,

Any lyveth as a beggere;

And as a mayde for mannes love

Hire moder forsaketh,

Hir fader and alle hire frendes,

And folweth hir make.

Muche moore is to love

Of hym that swich oon taketh,

Than is that maiden

That is maried thorugh brocage,

As by assent of sondry parties,

And silver to boote,

Moore for coveitise of good

Than kynde love of bothe.

So it fareth by ech a persone

That possession forsaketh,

And put hym to be pacient.

And poverte weddeth,

The which is sib to God hymself,

And so to hise seintes."

"Have God my trouthe!" quod Haukyn,

"Ye preise faste poverte,

What is poverte with pacience," quod he;

"Proprely to mene?"

"Paupertas," quod Pacience, "est

odibile bonum, remotio curarum,

possessio sine calumnia,

donum Dei, sanitatis mater,

absque sollicitudine semita,

sapientiæ temperatrix, negotium

sine damno, incerta fortuna,

absque sollicitudine

felicitas."

"I kan noght construe al this," quod Haukyn,

"Ye moste kenne me this on Englissh."

"In Englissh," quod Pacience,

"It is wel hard wel to expounen;

Ac som deel I shal seyen it,

By so thow understonde:

Poverte is the firste point

That pride moost hateth;

Thanne is it good by good skile,

Al that agasteth pride.

Right as contricion is confortable thyng,

Conscience woot wel,

And a sorwe of hymself,

And a solace to the soule,

So poverte propreliche,

Penaunce and joye,

Is to the body

Pure spiritual helthe.

Ergo paupertas est odibile bonum.

And contricion confort,

And cura animarum.

"Selde sit poverte,

The sothe to declare;

For as justice to jugge men,

Enjoyned is no poore,

Ne to be mair above men

Ne mynystre under kynges;

Selde is any poore y-put

To punysshen any peple.

Remotio curarum.

Ergo poverte and poore men

Perfournen the comaundement,

Nolite judicare

Quemquam the thridde,"

"Selde is any poore riche,

But of rightful heritage;

Wynneth he noght with wightes false,

Ne with unseled mesures,

Ne borweth of hise neighebores,

But that he may wel paie.

Possessio sine calumnia.

"The ferthe is a fortune

That florissheth the soule,

With sobretee fram alle synne,

And also yit moore

It afaiteth the flessh

Fram folies ful manye,

A collateral confort,

Cristes owene gifte.

Donum Dei.

"The fifte is moder of helthe,

A frend in alle fondynges,

And for the land evere a leche,

A lemman of alle clennesse.

Sanitatis mater.

"The sixte is a path of pees,

Ye, thorugh the paas of Aultone

Poverte myghte passe

Withouten peril of robbyng.

For ther that poverte passeth,

Pees folweth after;

And ever the lasse that he bereth,

The hardier he is of herte.

For-thi seith Seneca,

Paupertas est absque sollicitudine semita

And an hardy man of herte,

Among an heep of theves.

Cantabit paupertas coram latrone

viatore.

"The seventhe is welle of wisedom,

And fewe wordes sheweth;

Therfore lordes alloweth hym litel,

Or listneth to his reson,

For he tempreth the tonge to trutheward,

And no tresor coveiteth

Sapientiæ temperatrix.

"The eightethe is a lele labour,

And looth to take moore

Than he may wel deserve,

In somer or in wynter.

And if he chaffareth, he chargeth no losse,

Mowe he charité wynne.

Negotium sine damno.

"The nynthe is swete to the soule,

No sugre is swetter.

For pacience is payn

For poverte hymselve,

And sobretee swete drynke

And good leche in siknesse.

Thus lered me a lettred man,

For oure Lordes love of hevene;

Seint Austyn a blessed lif

Withouten bisynesse ladde

For body and for soule,

Absque sollicitudine felicitas.

Now God, that alle good gyveth,

Graunte his soule reste

That this first wroot to wissen men

What poverte was to mene!"

"Allas!" quod Haukyn the actif man tho,

"That after my cristendom

I ne hadde be deed and dolven

For Do-welis sake!

So hard it is," quod Haukyn,

"To lyve and to do no synne.

Synne seweth us evere," quod he,

And sory gan wexe,

And wepte water with hise eighen,

And weyled the tyme

That he evere dide dede

That deere God displesed;

Swound and sobbed

And siked ful ofte,

That evere he hadde lond outher lordshipe,

Lasse other moore,

Or maistrie over any man

Mo than of hymselve.

"I were noght worthi, woot God!" quod Haukyn,

"To werien any clothes,

Ne neither sherte ne shoon,

Save for shame one

To covere my careyne," quod he;

And cride mercy faste,

And wepte and wailede;

And therwith I awakede.

Passus Decimus Quintus, etc. finit Do-wel, et incipit Do-bet.

9587

C after my wakynge,

It was wonder longe

Er I koude kyndely

Knowe what was Do-wel.

And so my wit weex and wanyed,

Til I a fool weere;

And some lakkede my lif,

Allowed it fewe,

And lete me for a lorel,

And looth to reverencen

Lordes or ladies,

Or any lif ellis;

As persons in pelure,

With pendauntz of silver;

To sergeauntz ne to swiche

Seide I noght ones,

"God loke yow, lordes!"

Ne loutede faire;

That folk helden me a fool,

And in that folie I raved.

Til reson hadde ruthe on me,

And rokked me a-slepe,

Til I seigh, as it sorcerie were,

A sotil thyng withalle;

Oon withouten tonge and teeth

Tolde me whider I sholde,

And wherof I cam, and of what kynde;

I conjured hym at the laste,

If he were Cristes creature

Anoon me to tellen.

"I am Cristes creature," quod he,

"And cristene in many a place,

In Cristes court y-knowe wel,

And of his kyn a party.

Is neither Peter the porter,

Nor Poul with his fauchon,

That wole defende me the dore,

Dynge I never so late;

At mydnyght, at mydday,

My vois so is knowe,

That ech a creature of his court

Welcometh me faire."

"What are ye called," quod I, "in that court,

Among Cristes peple?"

"The whiles I quikne the cors," quod he,

"Called am I Anima;

And whan I wilne and wolde,

Animus ich hatte;

And for that I kan knowe,

Called am I Mens;

And whan I make mone to God,

Memoria is my name;

And whan I deme domes,

And do as truthe techeth,

Thanne is Ratio my righte name,

Reson on Englisshe;

And whan I feele that folk telleth,

My firste name is Sensus,

And that is wit and wisdom,

The welle of alle craftes.

And whan I chalange or chalange noght,

Chepe or refuse,

Thanne am I Conscience y-called,

Goddes clerk and his notarie;

And whan I love leelly

Oure Lord and alle othere,

Thanne is lele Love my name,

And in Latyn Amor;

And whan I flee fro the flesshe,

And forsake the careyne,

Thanne am I a spirit specheless,

Spiritus thanne iche hatte.

Austyn and Ysodorus,

Either of hem bothe,

Nempnede me thus to name,

And now thow myght chese

How thow coveitest to calle me,

For now thow knowest my names."

Anima pro diversis actionibus diversa

nomina sortitur; dum

vivificat corpus, anima est;

dum vult, animus est; dum

scit, mens est; dum recolit,

memoria est; dum judicat,

ratio est; dum sentit, sensus

est; dum amat, amor est;

dum negat vel consentit, conscientia

est; dum spirat, spiritus

est.

"Ye ben as a bisshope," quod I,

Al bourdynge that tyme;

"For bisshopes y-blessed,

Thei bereth manye names,

Præsul and pontifex,

And metropolitanus,

And othere names an heep,

Episcopus and pastor."

"That is sooth," seide he;

"Now I se thi wille;

Thow woldest knowe and konne

The cause of alle my names,

And of me, if thow myghtest,

Me thynketh by thi speche."

"Ye, sire," I seide,

"By so no man were greved,

Alle the sciences under sonne,

And alle the sotile craftes,

I wolde I knewe and kouthe

Kyndely in myn herte."

"Thanne artow inparfit," quod he,

"And oon of Prides knyghtes;

For swich a lust and likyng

Lucifer fel from hevene."

Ponam pedem meum in aquilone, et

similis ero altissimo.

"It were ayeins kynde," quod he,

"And alle kynnes reson,

That any creature sholde konne al,

Except Crist oone:

Ayein swiche Salomon speketh,

And despiseth hir wittes,

And seith, Sicut qui mel comedit

multum, non est ei bonum; sic

qui scrutator est majestatis,

opprimitur a gloria.

"To Englisshe men this is to mene,

That mowen speke and here,

The man that muche hony eteth,

His mawe it engleymeth;

And the moore that a man

Of good matere hereth,

But he do therafter,

It dooth hym double scathe.

Beatus est, seith seint Bernard,

Qui scripturas legit,

Et verba vertit in opera

Fulliche to his power.

Coveitise to konne

And to knowe sciences,

Putte out of Paradis

Adam and Eve.

Scientiæ appetitus hominem inmortalitatis

gloria spoliavit.

"And right as hony is yvel to defie,

And engleymeth the mawe;

Right so he that thorugh reson

Wolde the roote knowe

Of God and of hise grete myghtes,

Hise graces it letteth.

For in the likynge lith a pride,

And licames coveitise,

Ayein Cristes counseil

And alle clerkes techynge;

That is Non plus sapere quam oportet sapere

"Freres and fele othere maistres,

That to lewed men prechen,

Ye moeven materes unmesurable

To tellen of the Trinité,

That ofte tymes the lewed peple

Of hir bileve doute.

Bettre it were to manye doctours

To leven swich techyng,

And tellen men of the ten comaundmentz,

And touchen the sevene synnes,

And of the braunches that burjoneth of hem,

And bryngen men to helle,

And how that folk in folies

Misspenden hir fyve wittes,

As wel freres as oother folk

Foliliche spenden

In housynge, in haterynge,

And in to heigh clergie shewynge,

Moore for pompe than for pure charité,

The peple woot the sothe,

That I lye noght, loo!

For lordes ye plesen,

And reverencen the riche

The rather for hir silver

Confundantur omnes qui adorant

sculptilia. Et alibi: Ut quid

diligitis vanitatem, et quæritis

mendacium.

"Gooth to the glose of thise vers,

Ye grete clerkes;

If I lye on yow to my lewed wit,

Ledeth me to brennyng.

For as it semeth, ye forsaketh

No mannes almesse

Of usurers, of hoores,

Of avarouse chapmen;

And louten to thise lordes

That mowen lene yow nobles,

Ayein youre rule and religion,

I take record at Jhesus,

That seide to hise disciples,

Ne sitis personarum acceptores.

Of this matere I myghte

Make a long bible!

Ac of curatours of cristen peple,

As clerkes bereth witnesse,

I shal tellen it, for truthes sake,

Take hede who so liketh.

"As holynesse and honesté

Out of holy chirche spredeth

Thorugh lele libbynge men

That Goddes lawe techen;

Right so out of holi chirche

Alle yveles spryngeth,

There inparfit preesthode is,

Prechours and techeris.

I se it by ensaunple

In somer tyme on trowes:

Ther some bowes ben leved,

And some bereth none,

Ther is a meschief in the morre

Of swiche manere bowes.

"Rightso bi persons and preestes,

And prechours of holi chirche,

That aren roote of the right feith

To rule the peple.

And ther the roote is roten,

Reson woot the sothe,

Shal nevere flour ne fruyt

Ne fair leef be greene.

For-thi wolde ye, lettrede, leve

The lecherie of clothyng;

And be kynde, as bifel for clerkes,

And curteise of Cristes goodes,

Trewe of youre tonge,

And of youre tail bothe,

And hatien to here harlotrie;

And noght to underfonge

Tithes, but of trewe thyng,

Y-tilied or chaffared;

Lothe were lewed men,

But thei youre loore folwede,

And amendeden hem that mysdoon

Moore for youre ensaumples,

Than for to prechen and preven it noght,

Ypocrisie it semeth;

The which in Latyn

Is likned to a dongehill

That were bi-snewed with snow,

And snakes withinne;

Or to a wal that were whit-lymed,

And were foul withinne;

"Right so manye preestes,

Prechours and prelates,

Ye aren enblaunched with bele paroles,

And with clothes also;

Ac youre werkes and youre wordes ther under,

Aren ful unloveliche.

Johannes Crisostomus

Of clerkes speketh and preestes;

Sicut de templo omne bonum progreditur,

sic de templo omne

malum procedit. Si sacerdotium

integrum fuerit, tota floret

ecclesia: si autem corruptum

fuerit, omnis fides marcida

est. Si sacerdotium fuerit

in peccatis, totus populus

convertitur ad peccandum. Sicut

cum videris arborem pallidam

et marcidam, intelligis

quod vitium habet in radice.

Ita cum videris populum indisciplinatum

et irreligiosum, sine

dubio sacerdotium ejus non est

sanum.

"If lewed men wiste

What this Latyn meneth,

And who was myn auctour,

Muche wonder me thinketh,

But if many a preest beere,

For hir baselardes and hir broches,

A peire of bedes in hir hand,

And a book under hir arme.

Sire Johan and sire Geffrey

Hath a girdel of silver.

A baselard or a ballok-knyf,

With botons over gilte;

Ac a porthors that sholde be his plow

Placebo to sigge,

Hadde he nevere service to save silver therto.

Seith it with ydel wille.

"Allas! ye lewed men,

Muche lese ye on preestes.

Ac thing that wikkedly is wonne,

And with false sleightes,

Wolde nevere the wit of witty God

But wikkede men it hadde,

The whiche arn preestes inparfite,

And prechours after silver,

Executours and sodenes,

Somonours and hir lemmannes;

That that with gile was geten,

Ungraciousliche is despended;

So harlotes and hores

Arn holpe with swiche goodes,

And Goddes folk, for defaute therof,

For-faren and spillen.

"Curatours of holy kirke,

As clerkes that ben avarouse,

Lightliche that thei leven,

Losels it habbeth,

Or deieth intestate,

And thanne the bisshope entreth

And maketh murthe thermyd,

And hise men bothe,

And seyen he was a nygard

That no good myghte aspare

To frend ne to fremmed,

The fend have his soule!

For a wrecchede hous held he

Al his lif tyme;

And that he spared and bisperede,

Dispende we in murthe;

By lered, by lewed,

That looth is to despende.

Thus goon hire goodes.

Be the goost faren.

Ac for goode men, God woot!

Greet doel men maken,

And bymeneth goode mete gyveres,

And in mynde haveth,

In preieres and in penaunces,

And in parfit charité."

"What is charité?" quod I tho.

"A childisshe thyng," he seide.

"Nisi efficiamini parvuli, non intrabitis

in regnum cælorum.

Withouten fauntelté or folie,

A fre liberal wille."

"Where sholde men fynde swich a frend,

With so fre an herte?"

"I have lyved in londe," quod he,

"My name is Longe-wille;

And fond I nevere ful charité

Byfore ne bihynde.

Men beth merciable

To mendinauntz and to poore,

And wollen lene ther thei leve

Lelly to ben paied.

Ac charité that Poul preiseth best,

And moost plesaunt to oure Lord,

Is Non inflatur, non est ambitiosa, non

quærit quæ sua sunt, etc.

"I seigh nevere swich a man,

So me God helpe!

That he ne wolde aske after his,

And outher while coveite

Thyng that neded hym noght,

And nyme it, if he myghte.

"Clerkes kenne me

That Crist is in alle places;

Ac I seigh hym nevere soothly,

But as myself in a mirour:

In ænigmate tunc facie ad faciem.

And so I trowe trewely,

By that men telleth of charité,

It is noght chaumpions fight,

Ne chaffare, as I trowe,

"Charité," quod he, "ne chaffareth noght,

Ne chalangeth, ne craveth;

As proud of a peny,

As of a pound of golde;

And is as glad of a gowne

Of a gray russet,

As of a tunycle of Tarse,

Or of trie scarlet.

He is glad with alle glade,

And good til alle wikkede,

And leveth and loveth alle

That oure Lord made.

Corseth he no creature,

Ne he kan bere no wrathe,

Ne no likynge hath to lye,

Ne laughe men to scorne;

Al that men seyn, he leet it sooth,

And in solace taketh,

And alle manere meschiefs

In myldenesse he suffreth.

Coveiteth he noon erthely good,

But hevene riche blisse,

Hath he anye rentes or richesse,

Or anye riche frendes.

"Of rentes nor of richesse

Ne rekketh he nevere;

For a frend that fyndeth hym,

Failed hym nevere at neede.

Fiat voluntas tua

Fynt hym evere moore;

And if he soupeth, eteth but a sop

Of spera in Deo.

He kan portreye wel the paternoster,

And peynte it with aves;

And outher while he is woned

To wenden on pilgrymages,

Ther poore men and prisons liggeth,

Hir pardon to have.

Though he bere hem no breed,

He bereth hem swetter liflode,

Loveth hem as oure Lord biddeth,

And loketh how thei fare.

"And whan he is wery of that werk,

Than wole he som tyme

Labouren in lavendrye

Wel the lengthe of a mile,

And yerne into youthe,

And yepeliche speke

Pride with al the appurtenaunces,

And pakken hem togideres,

And bouken hem at his brest,

And beten hem clene,

And leggen on longe,

With laboravi in gemitu meo;

And with warm water at hise eighen

Wasshen hem after.

And thanne he syngeth whan he doth so,

And som tyme seith wepynge,

Cor contritum et humiliatum, Deus,

non despicies."

"By Crist! I wolde that I knewe hym," quod I,

"No creature levere!"

"Withouten help of Piers Plowman," quod he,

"His persone sestow nevere."

"Wheither clerkes knowen hym," quod I,

"That kepen holi kirke?"

"Clerkes have no knowyng," quod he,

"But by werkes and by wordes.

Ac Piers the Plowman

Parceyveth moore depper

What is the wille and wherfore

That many wight suffreth.

Et vidit Deus cogitationes eorum.

For ther are ful proude herted men,

Pacient of tonge,

And buxome as of berynge

To burgeises and to lordes,

And to poore peple

Han pepir in the nose,

And as a lyoun he loketh,

Ther men lakken hise werkes.

"For ther are beggeris and bidderis,

Bedemen as it were,

Loken as lambren,

And semen ful holy;

Ac it is moore to have hir mete

With swich an esy manere,

Than for penaunce and perfitnesse,

The poverte that swiche taketh.

"Therfore by colour ne by clergie

Knowe shaltow nevere,

Neither thorugh wordes ne werkes,

But thorugh wil oone.

And that knoweth no clerk,

Ne creature on erthe,

But Piers the Plowman

Petrus, i. Christus.

For he nys noght in lolleris,

Ne in lond leperis heremytes,

Ne at ancres there a box hangeth,

Alle swiche thei faiten.

Fy on faitours,

And in fautores suos!

For charité is Goddes champion,

And as a good child hende,

And the murieste of mouth

At mete where he sitteth.

The love that lith in his herte

Maketh hym light of speche,

And is compaignable and confortatif,

As Crist bit hymselve.

Nolite fieri sicut hypocritæ tristes, etc.

For I have seyen hym in silk,

And som tyme in russet,

Bothe in grey and in grys,

And in gilt harneis;

And as gladliche he it gaf

To gomes that it neded.

"Edmond and Edward

Bothe were kynges,

And seintes y-set,

For charité hem folwede.

"I have y-seyen charité also

Syngen and reden,

Riden and rennen

In raggede wedes;

Ac biddynge as beggeris

Biheld I hym nevere.

Ac in riche robes

Rathest he walketh,

Y-called and y-crymyled,

And his crowne y-shave;

And in a freres frokke

He was y-founden ones,

Ac it is fern ago,

In seint Fraunceis tyme:

In that secte siththe

To selde hath he ben founde.

"Riche men he recomendeth,

And of hir robes taketh,

That withouten wiles

Ledeth hir lyves.

Beatus est dives qui, etc.

"In kynges court he cometh ofte,

Ther the counseil is trewe;

Ac if coveitise be of the counseil,

He wolnoght come therinne,

"In court amonges japeris

He cometh noght but selde,

For braulynge and bakbitynge,

And berynge of fals witnesse.

"In the consistorie bifore the commissarie

He cometh noght but ofte;

For hir lawe dureth over longe,

But if thei lacchen silver,

And matrimoyne for moneie

Maken and unmaken;

And that conscience and Crist

Hath y-knyt faste,

Thei undoon it unworthily,

Tho doctours of lawe.

"Ac I ne lakke no lif,

But, Lord, amende us alle,

And gyve us grace, good God,

Charité to folwe.

For who so myghte meete myd hym,

Swiche maneres hym eileth,

Neither he blameth ne banneth,

Bosteth ne preiseth,

Lakketh ne loseth,

Ne loketh up sterne,

Craveth ne coveiteth,

Ne crieth after moore.

In pace in idipsum dormiam, etc.

"The mooste liflode that he lyveth by,

Is love in Goddes passion;

Neither he biddeth ne beggeth,

Ne borweth to yelde,

Misdooth he no man,

Ne with his mouth greveth.

"Amonges cristene men

This myldenesse sholde laste.

In alle manere angres

Have this at herte,

That theigh thei suffrede al this,

God suffrede for us moore,

In ensample we sholde do so,

And take no vengeaunce

Of oure foes that dooth us falsnesse,

That is oure fadres wille.

"For wel may every man wite,

If God hadde wold hymselve,

Sholde nevere Judas ne Jew

Have Jhesu doon on roode,

Ne han martired Peter ne Poul,

Ne in prison holden.

Ac he suffrede in ensample

That we sholde suffren also,

And seide to swiche that suffre wolde,

That patientes vincunt.

"Verbi gratia," quod he,

"And verray ensamples manye,

In Legenda Sanctorum,

The lif of holy seintes,

What penaunce and poverte

And passion thei suffrede,

In hunger, in hete,

In alle manere angres.

"Antony and Egidie,

And othere holy fadres,

Woneden in wildernesse

Among wilde beestes;

Monkes and mendinauntz,

Men by hemselve,

In spekes and in spelonkes,

Selde speken togideres.

"Ac neither Antony ne Egidie,

Ne heremyte that tyme,

Of leons ne of leopardes

No liflode ne toke;

But of foweles that fleeth,

Thus fyndeth men in bokes.

Except that Egidie

After an hynde cride,

And thorugh the mylk of that mylde beest

The man was sustened;

And day bi day hadde he hire noght

His hunger for to slake,

But selden and sondry tymes,

As seith the book and techeth.

"Antony a dayes,

Aboute noon tyme,

Hadde a brid that broughte hym breed,

That he by lyvede;

And though the gome hadde a gest,

God fond hem bothe.

"Poul primus heremita

Hadde parroked hymselve,

That no man myghte hym se

For mosse and for leves;

Foweles hym fedde

Fele wyntres withalle,

Til he foundede freres

Of Austynes ordre.

Poul, after his prechyng,

Paniers he made,

And wan with hise hondes

That his wombe neded.

"Peter fisshed for his foode,

And his felawe Andrew;

Som thei solde and som thei soden,

And so thei lyved bothe.

"And also Marie Maudeleyne

By mores lyvede and dewes

Ac moost thorugh devocion

And mynde of God almyghty.

I sholde noght thise seven daies

Siggen hem alle,

That lyveden thus for oure Lordes love

Many longe yeres.

"Ac ther ne was leon ne leopard

That on laundes wenten,

Neither bere ne boor,

Ne oother beest wilde,

That ne fil to hir feet,

And fawned with the taillies;

And if thei kouthe han y-carped,

By Crist! as I trowe,

Thei wolde have y-fed that folk

Bifore wild foweles.

Ac God sente hem foode by foweles,

And by no fierse beestes,

In menynge that meke thyng

Mylde thyng sholde fede.

"Ac who seith religiouses

Rightfulle men sholde fede,

And lawefulle men to lif-holy men

Liflode sholde brynge;

And thanne wolde lordes and ladies

Be looth to agulte,

And to taken of hir tenauntz

Moore than trouthe wolde,

Foulde thei that freres

Wolde forsake hir almesses,

And bidden hem bere it

There it was y-borwed.

For we ben Goddes foweles,

And abiden alwey

Til briddes brynge us

That we sholde lyve by.

For hadde ye potage and payn y-nogh,

And peny ale to drynke,

And a mees thermyd

Of o maner kynde,

Ye hadde right y-nogh, ye religiouse,

And so youre rule me tolde.

Nunquam, dicit Job, rugit onager

cum herbam habuerit, aut mugiet

bos cum ante plenum præsepe

steterit. Brutorum animalium

natura te condemnat,

quia cum eis pabulum commune

sufficiat, ex adipe prodiit iniquitas tua.

"If lewed men knewe this Latyn,

Thei wolde loke whom thei yeve,

And avisen hem bifore

A fyve dayes or sixe,

Er thei amortisede to monkes

Or chanons hir rente.

Allas! lordes and ladies,

Lewed counseil have ye,

To gyve from youre heires

That youre aiels yow lefte,

And gyveth it to bidde for yow

Fo swiche that ben riche,

And ben founded and feffed ek

To bidde for othere.

"Who perfourneth this prophecie

Of the peple that now libbeth?

Dispersit, dedit pauperibus.

"If any peple perfourne that text,

It are thise poore freres;

For that thei beggen aboute,

In buyldynge thei spende it,

And on hemself som,

And swiche as ben hir laborers;

And of hem that habbeth thei taken,

And gyveth hem that habbeth.

"Ac clerkes and knyghtes,

And communers that ben riche,

Fele of yow fareth

As if I a forest hadde

That were ful of faire trees,

And I fondede and caste

How I myghte mo therinne

Amonges hem sette.

"Right so, ye riche,

Ye robeth that ben riche,

And helpeth hem that helpeth yow,

And gyveth ther no nede is.

As who so filled a toune

Of a fressh ryver,

And wente forth with that water

To woke with Temese;

Right so, ye riche,

Ye robeth and fedeth

Hem that han as ye han,

Hem ye make at ese.

"Ac religiouse that riche ben,

Sholde rather feeste beggeris

Than burgeises that riche ben,

As the book techeth.

Quia sacrilegium est res pauperum

non pauperibus dare. Item:

Peccatoribus dare, est dæmonibus

immolare. Item: Monache,

si indiges et accipis, potius

das quam accipis; si autem

non eges et accipis, rapis.

Porro non indiget monachus, si

habeat quod naturæ sufficit.

"For-thi I counseille alle cristene

To conformen hem to charité,

For charité withouten chalangynge

Unchargeth the soule,

And many a prison fram purgatorie

Thorugh his preieres he delivereth.

Ac ther is a defaute in the folk

That the feith kepeth;

Wherfore folk is the febler,

And noght ferm of bileve,

As in lussheburwes is a luther alay,

And yet loketh he lik a sterlyng;

The merk of that monee is good,

Ac the metal is feble.

"And so it fareth by som folk now,

Thei han a fair speche,

Crowne and cristendom,

The kynges mark of hevene;

Ac the metal, that is mannes soule,

With synne is foule alayed.

Bothe lettred and lewed

Beth alayed now with synne,

That no lif loveth oother,

Ne oure Lord, as it semeth.

For thorugh werre and wikkede werkes,

And wederes unresonable,

Weder-wise shipmen,

And witty clerkes also,

Han no bileve to the lifte,

Ne to the loore of philosofres.

"Astronomiens al day

In hir art faillen,

That whilom warned bifore

What sholde falle after.

"Shipmen and shepherdes,

That with ship and sheep wenten,

Wisten by the walkne

What sholde bitide,

As of wedres and wyndes

Thei warned men ofte.

"Tilieris, that tiled the erthe,

Tolden hir maistres,

By the seed that thei sewe,

What thei selle myghte,

And what to lene, and what to lyve by,

The lond was so trewe.

"Now faileth the folk of the flood,

And of the lond bothe,

Shepherdes and shipmen,

And so do thise tilieris,

Neither thei konneth ne knoweth

Oon cours bifore another.

"Astronomyens also

Aren at hir wittes ende,

Of that was calculed of the element

The contrarie thei fynde;

Grammer, the ground of al,

Bigileth now children,

For is noon of this newe clerkes,

Who so nymeth hede,

Naught oon among an hundred

That an auctour kan construwe,

Ne rede a lettre in any langage

But in Latyn or in Englissh.

"Go now to any degree,

And but if gile be maister,

And flaterere his felawe

Under hym to fourmen,

Muche wonder me thynketh

Amonges us alle,

Doctours of decrees

And of divinité maistres,

That sholde konne and knowe

Alle kynnes clergie,

And answere to argumentz,

And also to a quodlibet;

I dar noght siggen it for shame,

If swiche were apposed,

Thei sholde faillen of her philosophie,

And in phisik bothe.

"Wherfore I am a-fered

Of folk of holy kirke,

Lest thei overhuppen, as oothere doon,

In office and in houres;

And if they overhuppe, as I hope noght,

Oure bileve suffiseth;

As clerkes in Corpus Christi feeste

Syngen and reden,

That sola fides sufficit

To save with lewed peple;

And so may Sarzens be saved,

Scribes, and Jewes.

"Allas, thanne! but our looresmen

Lyve as thei leren us,

And for hir lyvynge that lewed men

Be the lother God agulten.

For Sarzens han somwhat

Semynge to oure bileve;

For thei love and bileve

In o persone almyghty,

And we, lered and lewed,

In oon God almyghty;

And oon Makometh, a man,

In mysbileve broughte

Sarzens of Surree,

And see in what manere.

"This Makometh was a cristene

And for he moste noght ben a pope

Into Surrie he soughte,

And thorugh hise sotile wittes

He daunted a dowve,

And day and nyght hire fedde,

The corn that she croppede

He caste it in his ere;

And if he among the peple preched,

Or in places come,

Thanne wolde the colvere come

To the clerkes ere

Menynge as after mete,—

Thus Makometh hire enchauntede;

And dide folk thanne falle on knees,

For he swoor in his prechyng

That the colvere that com so,

Com from God of hevene,

As messager to Makometh,

Men for to teche.

And thus thorugh wiles of his wit,

And a whit dowve,

Makometh in mysbileve

Men and wommen broughte;

That lyved tho there and lyve yit

Leeven on hise lawes.

"And siththe oure Saveour suffred,

The Sarzens so bigiled

Thorugh a cristene clerk,

Acorsed in his soule!

For drede of the deeth

I dare noght telle truthe,

How Englisshe clerkes a colvere fede

That coveitise highte,

And ben manered after Makometh,

That no man useth trouthe.

"Ancres and heremytes,

And monkes and freres,

Peeren to the apostles

Thorugh hire parfit lyvynge;

Wolde nevere the feithful fader

That hise ministres sholde

Of tirauntz that teneth trewe men

Taken any almesse,

But doon as Antony dide,

Dominyk and Fraunceys,

Beneit and Bernard

The whiche hem first taughte

To lyve by litel, and in lowe houses,

By lele mennes almesse.

Grace sholde growe and be grene

Thorugh hir goode lyvynge;

And folkes sholden fare,

That ben in diverse siknesse,

The bettre for hir biddynges

In body and in soule.

Hir preieres and hir penaunces

To pees sholde brynge

Alle that ben at debaat,

And bedemen were trewe.

Petite et accipietis, etc.

Salt saveth the catel,

Siggen thise wives.

Vos estis sal terræ, etc.

The hevedes of holy chirche,

And thei holy were,

Crist calleth hem salt

For cristene soules.

Et si sal evanuerit in quo salietur, etc.

"For fressh flessh outher fissh,

Whan it salt failleth,

It is unsavory for sothe,

Y-soden or y-bake;

So is mannes soule, soothly,

That seeth no goode ensamples

Of hem of holi chirche,

That the heighe wey sholde teche,

And be gide, and go bifore,

As a good banyer;

And hardie hem that bihynde ben,

And gyve hem good evidence.

"Ellevene holy men

Al the world tornede

Into lele bileve;

The lightloker me thinketh

Sholde all maner men,

We han so manye maistres,

Preestes and prechours,

And a pope above,

That Goddes salt sholde be

To save mannes soule.

"Al was hethynesse som tyme

Engelond and Walis,

Til Gregory garte clerkes

To go here and preche;

Austyn at Caunterbury

Cristnede the kyng,

And thorugh miracles, as men now rede,

Al that marche he tornede

To Crist and to cristendom,

And cros to honoure;

And follede folk faste,

And the feith taughte,

Moore thorugh miracles

Than thorugh muche prechyng,

As wel thorugh hise werkes

As with hise holy wordes,

And seide hem what fullynge

And feith was to mene.

"Clooth that cometh fro the wevyng

Is noght comly to were,

Til it be fulled under foot

Or in fullyng stokkes,

Wasshen wel with water,

And with taseles cracched,

Y-touked and y-teynted,

And under taillours hande;

Right so it fareth by a barn,

That born is of a wombe,

Til it be cristned in Cristes name,

And confermed of the bisshope,

It is hethene as to hevene-ward.

And help-lees to the soule.

Hethen is to mene after heeth

And untiled erthe,

As in wilde wildernesse

Wexeth wilde beestes,

Rude and unresonable,

Rennynge withouten cropiers.

"Ye mynnen wel how Mathew seith,

How a man made a feste;

He fedde him with no venyson,

Ne fesauntz y-bake,

But with foweles that fram hym nolde,

But folwede his whistlyng.

Ecce altilia mea, et omnia parata sunt.

And with calves flessh he fedde

The folk that he lovede.

"The calf bitokneth clennesse

In hem that kepeth lawes.

For as the cow thorugh kynde mylk

The calf norisseth til an oxe;

So love and leauté

Lele men susteneth,

And maidenes and mylde men

Mercy desiren,

Right as the cow calf

Coveiteth melk swete,

So doon rightfulle men

Mercy and truthe.

"Ac who beth that excuseth hem

That ben persons and preestes,

That hevedes of holy chirche ben,

That han hir wil here

Withouten travaille the tithe deel

That trewe men biswynken;

Thei wol be wrooth for I write thus,

Ac to witnesse I take

Bothe Mathew and Marc,

And Memento Domine David.

"What pope or prelat now

Perfourneth that Crist highte.

Ite in universum mundum et prædicate, etc.

"Allas! that men so longe

On Makometh sholde bileve,

So manye prelates to preche

As the pope maketh,

Of Nazareth, of Nynyve,

Of Neptalym and Damaske,

That thei ne wente as Crist wisseth,

Sithen thei wille have name

To be pastours and preche

To lyve and to dye.

Bonus pastor animam suam ponit, etc.

And seide it in salvacion

Of Sarzens and othere,

For cristene and uncristene

Crist seide to prechours:

Ite vos in vineam meam, etc.

"And sith that thise Sarzens,

Scribes, and Jewes,

Han a lippe of our bileve,

The lightlier me thynketh

Thei sholde turne, who so travailed

To teche hem of the Trinité.

Quærite et invenietis, etc.

"It is ruthe to rede

How rightwise men lyvede,

How thei defouled hir flessh,

Forsoke hir owene wille,

Fer fro kyth and fro kyn

Yvele y-clothed yeden,

Baddely y-bedded,

No book but conscience,

Ne no richesse but the roode

To rejoisse hem inne.

Absit nobis gloriari nisi in cruce

Domini nostri, etc.

"And tho was plentee and pees

Amonges poore and riche,

And now is routhe to rede

How the rede noble

Is reverenced er the roode,

And receyved for worthier

Than Cristes cros, that overcam

Deeth and dedly synne.

And now is werre and wo;

And who so why asketh,

For coveitise after cros

The croune stant in golde.

Bothe riche and religious

That roode thei honoure

That in grotes is y-grave

And in gold nobles.

For coveitise of that cros,

Men of holy kirke

Shul torne as templers dide,

The tyme approcheth faste.

"Wite ye noght, ye wise men,

How tho men honoured

Moore tresor than trouthe,

I dar noght telle the sothe,

Reson and rightful doom

The religiouse demede.

"Right so, ye clerkes,

For youre coveitise, er longe,

Shal thei demen dos ecclesiæ,

And youre pride depose,

Deposuit potentes de sede, etc.

"If knyghthod and kynde wit

And the commune by conscience

Togideres love leelly,

Leveth it wel, ye bisshopes,

The lordshipe of youre londes

For evere shul ye lese,

And lyven as levitici,

As oure Lord techeth.

Per primitias et decimas, etc.

"Whan Costantyn of curteisie

Holy kirke dowed

With londes and ledes,

Lordshipes and rentes,

An aungel men herden

An heigh at Rome crye,

Dos ecclesiæ this day

Hath y-dronke venym,

And tho that han Petres power

Arn apoisoned alle.

"A medicyne moot therto,

That may amende prelates,

That sholden preie for the pees,

Possession hem letteth;

Taketh hire landes, ye lordes,

And leteth hem lyve by dymes.

"If possession be poison,

And inparfite hem make,

Good were to deschargen hem,

For holy chirches sake,

And purgen hem of poison,

Er moore peril falle.

"If preesthode were parfit,

The peple sholde amende

That contrarien Cristes lawe,

And cristendom dispise.

For alle paynymes preieth,

And parfitly bileveth

In the holy grete God,

And his grace thei asken,

And make hir mone to Makometh

Hir message to shewe.

Thus in a feith leve that folk,

And in a fals mene;

And that is routhe for rightful men

That in the reawme wonyen,

And a peril to the pope,

And prelates that he maketh,

That bere bisshopes names

Of Bethleem and Babiloigne,

That huppe aboute in Engelond

To halwe mennes auteres,

And crepe amonges curatours,

And confessen ageyn the lawe.

Nolite mittere falcem in messem alienam, etc.

"Many man for Cristes love

Was martired in Romayne,

Er any cristendom was knowe there,

Or any cros honoured.

"Every bisshop that bereth cros,

By that he is holden

Thorugh his province to passe,

And to his peple to shewe hym,

Tellen hem and techen hem

On the Trinité to bileve,

And feden hem with goostly foode,

And gyve there it nedeth.

In domo mea non est panis neque

vestimentum, et ideo nolite constituere

me regem.

"Ozias seith for swiche

That sike ben and feble,

Inferte omnes decimas in horreum

meum, ut sit cibus in domo mea.

"Ac we cristene creatures

That on the cros bileven,

Arn ferme as in the feith,

Goddes forbode ellis!

And han clerkes to kepen us therinne,

And hem that shul come after us.

"And Jewes lyven in lele lawe,

Oure Lord wroot it hymselve

In stoon, for it stedefast was,

And stonde sholde evere.

Dilige Deum et proximum,

Is parfit Jewen lawe;

And took it Moyses to teche men

Til Messie coome;

And on that lawe thei lyve yit,

And leten it the beste,

And yit knewe thei Crist

That cristendom taughte

For a parfit prophete

That muche peple savede

Of selkouthe sores,

Thei seighen it ofte,

Bothe of miracles and merveilles,

And how he men festede,

With two fisshes and fyve loves,

Fyve thousand peple;

And by that mangerie men myghte wel se

That Messie he semede,

And whan he lifte up Lazar,

That leid was in grave,

And under stoon deed and stank,

With stif vois hym callede:

Lazare, veni foras.

Dide hym rise and rome,

Right bifore the Jewes.

"Ac thei seiden and sworen

With sorcerie he wroughte,

And studieden to struyen hym,

And struyden hemselve;

And thorugh his pacience, hir power

To pure noght he broughte.

Patientes vincunt.

"Daniel of hire undoynge

Devyned and seide,

Cum sanctus sanctorum veniat, cessabit

unctio vestra.

And wenen tho wrecches

That he were pseudo-propheta,

And that his loore be lesynges,

And lakken it alle,

And hopen that he be to come

That shal hem releve,

Moyses eft or Messie

Hir maistres yit devyneth.

"Ac Pharisees and Sarzens,

Scribes and Jewes,

Arn folk of oon feith,

The fader God thei honouren.

And sithen that the Sarzens,

And also the Jewes,

Konne the firste clause of oure bileve,

Credo in Deum patrem omnipotentem,

Prelates of cristene provinces

Sholde preve, if thei myghte,

To lere hem litlum and litlum

Et in Jesum Christum filium,

Til thei kouthe speke and spelle

Et in Spiritum sanctum,

And reden it and recorden it

With remissionem peccatorum,

Carnis resurrectionem, et vitam æternam. Amen."

Passus Decimus Sextus, etc. et Primus de Do-bet.

"

10794

OW faire falle yow," quod I tho,

"For youre faire shewyng;

For Haukyns love, the actif man,

Evere I shal yow lovye!

Ac yit I am in a weer

What charité is to mene."

"It is a ful trie tree," quod he,

"Trewely to telle;

Mercy is the more therof,

The myddul stok is ruthe;

The leves ben lele wordes,

The lawe of holy chirche;

The blosmes beth buxom speche,

And benigne lokynge;

Pacience hatte the pure tree,

And pure symple of herte;

And so, thorugh God and thorugh goode men,

Groweth the fruyt charité."

"I wolde travaille," quod I, "this tree to se,

Twenty hundred myle;

And for to have my fulle of that fruyt,

Forsake alle othere saulees.

Lord!" quod I, "if any wight wite

Whider out it groweth."

"It groweth in a gardyn," quod he,

"That God made hymselve,

Amyddes mannes body,

The more is of that stokke,

Herte highte the herber

That it inne groweth.

And liberum arbitrium

Hath the lond the ferme

Under Piers the Plowman,

To piken it and to weden it."

"Piers the Plowman!" quod I tho,

And al for pure joye

That I herde nempne his name,

Anoon I swowned after,

And lay longe in a lone dreem;

And at the laste, me thoughte

That Piers the Plowman

Al the place me shewed,

And bad me to toten on the tree,

On top and on roote;

With thre piles was it under-pight,

I perceyved it soone.

"Piers," quod I, "I preie thee,

Whi stonde thise piles here?"

"For wyndes, wiltow wite," quod he,

To witen it fro fallyng.

Cum ceciderit justus, non collidetur,

quia Dominus supponit manum

suam.

And in blowyng tyme, abite the flowres,

But if thise piles helpe,

"The world is a wikked wynd

To hem that willen truthe;

Coveitise comth of that wynd,

And crepeth among the leves,

And for-freteth neigh the fruyt

Thorugh manye faire sightes;

Thanne with the firste pil I palle hym down,

That is Potentia Dei.

"The flessh is a fel wynd,

And in flouryng tyme

Thorugh likynge and lustes

So loude he gynneth blowe,

That it norisseth nyce sightes,

And som tyme wordes,

And wikkede werkes therof,

Wormes of synne,

And for-biteth the blosmes

Right to the bare leves.

"Than sette I to the secounde pil

Sapientia Dei patris;

That is the passion and the power

Of oure prince Jhesu.

Thorugh preieres and thorugh penaunces,

And Goddes passion in mynde,

I save it til I se it ripen

And som del y-fruyted.

"And thanne fondeth the fend

My fruyt to destruye,

With alle the wiles that he kan;

And waggeth the roote,

And casteth up to the crop

Unkynde neighebores;

Bakbiteris breke the cheste,

Brawleris and chideris,

And leith a laddre therto,

Of lesynges are the ronges,

And feccheth awey my floures som tyme

Afore bothe myne eighen.

Ac liberum arbitrium

Letteth hym som tyme,

That is lieutenaunt to loken it wel,

Bi leve of myselve.

Videatis qui peccat in spiritum

sanctum nunquam remittetur,

etc. Hoc est idem, qui peccat

per liberum arbitrium non

repurgatur.

"Ac whan the fend and the flessh

Forth with the world

Manacen bihynde me

My fruyt for to fecche,

Thanne liberum arbitrium

Laccheth the firste plante,

And palleth adoun the pouke,

Pureliche thorugh grace

And help of the Holy Goost,

And thus have I the maistrie."

"Now faire falle yow! Piers," quod I,

"So faire ye discryven

The power of thise postes,

And hire propre myghtes.

Ac I have thoughtes a threve

Of thise thre piles,

In what wode thei woxen,

And where that thei growed;

For alle are thei aliche longe,

Noon lasse than oother,

And to my mynde, as me thinketh,

On o more thei growed,

And of o greetnesse,

And grene of greyn thei semen."

"That is sooth," quod Piers,

"So it may bifalle;

I shal telle thee as tid

What this tree highte.

The ground there it groweth,

Goodnesse it hatte;

And I have told thee what highte the tree,

The Trinité it meneth."

And egreliche he loked on me;

And therfore I spared

To asken hym any moore therof,

And bad hym ful faire

To discryve the fruyt

That so faire hangeth.

"Heer no bynethe," quod he tho,

"If I nede hadde,

Matrimoyne I may nyme,

A moiste fruyt withalle;

Thanne continence is neer the crop,

As kaylewey bastard,

Thanne bereth the crop kynde fruyt,

And clennest of alle,

Maidenhode aungeles peeris

And rathest wole be ripe,

And swete withouten swellyng,

Sour worth it nevere."

I preide Piers tho to pulle a-doun

An appul, and he wolde,

And suffre me to assaien

What savour it hadde.

And Piers caste to the crop,

And thanne comsed it to crye,

And waggede widwehode,

And it wepte after;

And whan it meved matrimoyne,

It made a foul noise.

And I hadde ruthe whan Piers rogged,

It gradde so rufulliche;

For evere as thei dropped a-doun,

The devel was redy

And gadrede hem alle togideres,

Bothe grete and smale,

Adam and Abraham,

And Ysaye the prophete,

Sampson and Samuel,

And seint Johan the Baptist,

Bar hem forth bodily,

No body hym letted,

And made of holy men his hoord

In limbo inferni,

There is derknesse and drede,

And the devel maister.

And Piers, for pure tene,

Of that a pil he raughte;

He hitte after hym,

Hitte how it myghte,

Filius by the fader wille,

And frenesse of Spiritus sancti,

To go robbe that rageman,

And reve the fruyt fro hym.

And thanne spak Spiritus sanctus

In Gabrielis mouthe,

To a maide that highte Marie,

A meke thyng withalle,

That oon Jhesus a justices sone

Moste jouke in hir chambre,

Til plenitudo temporis

Fully comen were,

That Piers fruyt floured,

And felle to be rype,

And thanne sholde Jhesus juste therfore,

By juggement of armes,

Wheither sholde fonge the fruyt,

The fend or hymselve.

The maide myldeliche tho

The messager graunted,

And seide hendeliche to hym,

"Lo me his hand-maiden

For to werchen his wille,

Withouten any synne."

Ecce ancilla Domini, fiat mihi, etc.

And in the wombe of that wenche

Was he fourty woukes,

Til he weex a faunt thorugh hir flessh,

And of fightyng kouthe,

To have y-foughte with the fend

Er ful tyme come.

And Piers the Plowman

Perceyved plener tyme,

And lered hym lechecraft

His lif for to save,

That though he were wounded with his enemy,

To warisshen hymselve,

And dide hym assaie his surgenrie

On hem that sike were,

Til he was perfit praktisour,

If any peril fille;

And soughte out the sike

And synfulle bothe,

And salvede sike and synfulle,

Bothe blynde and crokede,

And commune wommen convertede,

And to goode turnede.

Non est sanis opus medicinæ, sed in, etc.

Bothe meseles and mute,

And in the menyson blody,

Ofte heeled swiche,

He ne held it for no maistrie,

Save tho he leched Lazar

That hadde y-leye in grave,

Quatriduanus quelt,

Quyk dide hym walke.

Ac as he made the maistrie,

Mœstus cœpit esse,

And wepte water with hise eighen,

Ther seighen it manye.

Some that the sighte seighen,

Seiden that tyme

That he was leche of lif,

And lord of heigh hevene.

Jewes jangled ther ayein,

And juggede lawes

And seide he wroghte thorugh wichecraft,

And with the develes myghte.

Dæmonium habet, etc.

Thanne, "are ye cherles," quod ich,

"And youre children bothe,

And Sathan youre saveour,

Ye self now ye witnessen."

"For I have saved yow self," seith Crist,

"And youre sones after,

Youre bodies, youre beestes,

And blynde men holpen

And fed yow with two fisshes

And with fyve loves,

And lefte baskettesful of broke mete,

Bere awey who so wolde."

And mys-seide the Jewes manliche

And manaced hem to bete,

And knokked on hem with a corde,

And caste a-doun hir stalles

That in chirche chaffareden,

Or chaungeden any moneie,

And seide it in sighte of hem alle,

So that alle herden:—

"I shal overturne this temple,

And a-doun throwe it,

And in thre daies after

Edifie it new,

And maken it as muche outher moore

In alle manere poyntes

As evere it was, and as wid;

Wherfore I hote yow,

Of preieres and of perfitnesse

This place that ye callen."

Domus mea domus orationis vocabitur.

Envye and yvel wil

Was in the Jewes;

Thei casten and contreveden

To kulle hym whan thei myghte,

Eche day after oother

Hir tyme thei awaiteden;

Til it bifel on a Friday

A litel bifore Pasqe,

The Thursday bifore

There he made his maundee,

Sittynge at the soper

He seide thise wordes,

"I am sold thorugh oon of yow,

He shal the tyme rewe,

That evere he his Saveour solde,

For silver or ellis."

Judas jangled ther ayein;

Ac Jhesus hym tolde,

It was hymself soothly,

And seide tu dicis.

Thanne wente forth that wikked man,

And with the Jewes mette,

And tolde hem a tokne

How to knowe with Jhesus,

And which tokne to this day

To muche is y-used,

That is kissynge and fair countenaunce,

And unkynde wille.

And so was with Judas tho,

That Jhesus bitrayed:

"Ave, raby," quod that ribaud,

And right to hym he yede,

And kiste hym, to be caught therby,

And kulled of the Jewes.

Thanne Jhesus to Judas

And to the Jewes seide,

"Falsnesse I fynde

In thi faire speche,

And gile in thi glad chere,

And galle is in thi laughyng;

Thow shalt be myrour

To many men to deceyve,

Ac the worse and the wikkednesse

Shal worthe upon thiselve.

Necesse est ut veniant scandala:

Væ homini illi per quem scandalum

venit!

"Though I bi treson be take

At youre owene wille,

Suffreth myne apostles in pees

And in pays gange."

On a Thursday in thesternesse

Thus was he taken,

Thorugh Judas and Jewes,

Jhesus was his name,

That on the Friday folwynge

For mankyndes sake

Justed in Jherusalem,

A joye to us alle.

On cros upon Calvarie

Crist took the bataille

Ayeins deeth and the devel,

Destruyed hir botheres myghtes,

Deide and deed for-dide,

And day of nyght made.

And I awaked therwith,

And wiped myne eighen,

And after Piers the Plowman

Pried and stared

Est-ward and west-ward,

I waited after faste,

And yede forth as an ydiot

In contree to aspie,

After Piers the Plowman

Many a place I soughte.

And thanne mette I with a man,

A myd-lenten Sonday,

As hoor as an hawethorn,

And Abraham he highte.

I frayned hym first

Fram whennes he come,

And of whennes he were,

And whider that he soughte.

AM Feith," quod that freke,

"It falleth noght to lye,

And of Abrahames hous

An heraud of armes,

And seke after a segge

That I seigh ones,

A ful bold bacheler,

I knew hym by his blasen."

"What berth that buyrn?" quod I tho,

"So blisse thee bitide!"

"Thre leodes in oon lyth,

Noon lenger than oother,

Of oon muchel and myght

In mesure and in lengthe;

That oon dooth, alle dooth,

And ech dooth bi his one.

"The firste hath myght and majestee,

Makere of alle thynges,

Pater is his propre name,

A persone by hymselve.

"The secounde of tha sire is

Sothfastnesse filius,

Wardeyn of that wit hath

Was evere withouten gynnyng.

"The thridde highte the Holi Goost,

A persone by hymselve,

The light of al that lif hath

A-londe and a-watre,

Confortour of creatures,

Of hym cometh alle blisse.

"So thre bilongeth for a lord

That lordshipe cleymeth,

Might and mene

To knowe his owene myghte,

Of hym and of his servaunt,

And what thei suffre bothe.

"So God that gynnyng hadde nevere,

But tho hym good thoughte,

Sente forth his sone,

As for servaunt that tyme,

To ocupie hym here,

Til issue were spronge,

That is, children of charité,

And holi chirche the moder;

Patriarkes and prophetes

And apostles were the children,

And Crist and cristendom,

And cristene holy chirche,

In menynge that man moste

On o God bileve.

And there hym likede and lovede,

In thre persones hym shewede,

And that it may be so and sooth,

Manhode it sheweth,

Wedlok and widwehode,

With virginité y-nempned,

In tokenynge of the Trinité

Was out of man taken.

"Adam was oure aller fader,

And Eve was of hymselve,

And the issue that thei hadde

It was of hem bothe,

And either is otheres joie

In thre sondry persones,

And in hevene and here

Oon singuler name;

And thus is mankynde and manhede

Of matrimoyne y-spronge,

And bitokneth the Trinité

And trewe bileve.

"Mighty is matrimoyne,

That multiplieth the erthe,

And bitokneth trewely,

Telle if I dorste,

Hym that first formed al,

The fader of hevene.

"The sone, if I it dorste seye,

Resembleth wel the widewe.

Deus meus, Deus meus, ut quid dereliquisti me!

"That is, creatour weex creature

To knowe what was bothe.

As widewe withouten wedlok

Was nevere yit y-seighe;

Na-moore myghte God be man,

But if he moder hadde.

So widewe withouten wedlok

May noght wel stande,

Ne matrimoyne withouten muliere

Is noght muche to preise.

Maledictus homo qui non reliquit

semen in Israel! etc.

"Thus in thre persones

Is perfitliche manhede;

That is man and his make

And mulliere children.

And is noght but gendre of a generacion

Bifore Jhesu Crist in hevene;

So is the fader forth with the sone,

And fre wille of bothe.

Spiritus procedens a patre et filio, etc.

Which is the Holy Goost of alle,

And alle is but o God.

"Thus in a somer I hym seigh

As I sat in my porche.

I roos up and reverenced hym,

And right faire hym grette,

Thre men to my sighte

I made wel at ese,

Wessh her feet and wiped hem,

And afterward thei eten

Calves flessh and cake-breed,

And knewe what I thoughte!

Ful trewe toknes bitwene us is,

To telle whan me liketh.

"First he fonded me

If I lovede bettre

Hym or Ysaak myn heir,

The which he highte me kulle.

He wiste my wille bi hym,

He wol me it allowe;

I am ful siker in soule therof,

And my sone bothe.

I circumscised my sone

Sithen for his sake,

Myself and my meynee,

And alle that male weere,

Bledden blood for that Lordes love,

And hope to blisse the tyme.

Myn affiaunce and my feith

Is ferme in his bileve;

For himself bihighte to me,

And to myn issue bothe,

Lond and lordshipe,

And lif withouten ende;

To me and to myn issue

Moore yet he grauntede,

Mercy for oure mys-dedes,

As many tyme as we asken.

Quam olim Abrahæ promisisti et

semini ejus.

"And siththe he sente me to seye

I sholde do sacrifise,

And doon hym worship with breed

And with wyn bothe;

And called me the foot of his feith,

His folk for to save,

And defende hem fro the fend,

Folk that on me leveden.

"Thus have I ben his heraud

Here and in helle,

And conforted many a careful

That after his comynge waiteden.

And thus I seke hym," he seide,

"For I herde seyn late

Of a barn that baptysed hym,

Johan Baptist was his name,

That to patriarkes and to prophetes,

And to oother peple in derknesse,

Seide that he seigh here

That sholde save us alle."

Ecce agnus Dei! etc.

I hadde wonder of hise wordes,

And of hise wide clothes;

For in his bosom he bar a thyng

That he blissed evere.

And I loked in his lappe,

A lazar lay therinne

Amonges patriarkes and prophetes

Pleyinge togideres.

"What awaitestow?" quod he,

"And what woldestow have?"

"I wolde wite," quod I tho,

"What is in youre lappe."

"Loo!" quod he; and leet me see.

"Lord, mercy!" I seide;

"This is a present of muche pris,

What prynce shal it have?"

"It is a precious present," quod he;

"Ac the pouke it hath attached,

And me thermyde," quod that man,

"May no wed us quyte,

Ne no buyrn be oure borgh,

Ne brynge us fram his daunger;

Out of the poukes pondfold

No maynprise may us feeche,

Til he come that I carpe of,

Crist is his name.

That shal delivere us som day

Out of the develes power,

And bettre wed for us legge

Than we ben alle worthi,

That is lif for lif,

Or ligge thus evere

Lollynge in my lappe,

Til swich a lord us fecche."

"Allas!" I seide, "that synne

So longe shal lette

The myght of Goddes mercy,

That myghte us alle amende."

I wepte for hise wordes.

With that saugh I another

Rapeliche renne forth,

The righte wey he wente.

I affrayned hym first

Fram whennes he come,

And what he highte, and whider he wolde;

And wightly he tolde.

Passus Decimus Septimus, etc. et Secundus de Do-bet.

"

11369

AM Spes," quod he, "aspie

And spire after a knyght,

That took me a maundement

Upon the mount of Synay,

To rule alle reames with,

I bere the writ here."

"Is it enseled?" I seide,

"May men see thi lettres?"

"Nay," he seide, "seke hym

That hath the seel to kepe;

And that is cros and cristendom,

And Crist theron to honge.

And whan it is enseled so,

I woot wel the sothe,

That Luciferis lordshipe

Laste shal no lenger."

"Lat se thi lettres," quod I,

"We myghte the lawe knowe."

Thanne plukkede he forth a patente,

A pece of an hard roche,

Wheron were writen two wordes

On this wise y-glosed.

Dilige Deum et proximum tuum.

This was the tixte trewely,

I took ful good yeme;

The glose was gloriously writen,

With a gilt penne.

In his duobus mandatis tota lex

pendet et prophetia.

"Ben here alle thi lordes lawes?" quod I.

"Ye, leve me wel," he seide;

And who so wercheth after this writ,

I wol undertaken

Shal nevere devel hym dere,

Ne deeth in soule greve.

For, though I seye it myself,

I have saved with this charme,

Of men and of wommen

Many score thousand.

"Ye seien sooth," seide this heraud;

"I have y-founde it ofte.

Lo! here in my lappe

That leeved on that charme,

Josue and Judith,

And Judas Macabeus,

Ye, and sixti thousand biside forth,

That ben noght seyen here."

"Youre wordes arn wonderfulle," quod I tho,

"Which of yow is trewest,

And lelest to leve so,

For lif, and for soule?

Abraham seith

That he seigh hoolly the Trinité,

Thre persones in parcelles

Departable fro oother,

And alle thre but o god;

Thus Abraham me taughte,

And hath saved that bileved so,

And sory for hir synnes.

He kan noght siggen the somme,

And some arn in his lappe.

What neded it thanne

A newe lawe to bigynne,

Sith the firste suffiseth

To savacion and to blisse?

And now cometh Spes and speketh,

That aspied the lawe;

And telleth noght of the Trinité

That took hym hise lettres,

To bileeve and lovye

In o lord almyghty,

And siththe right as myself

So lovye alle peple.

"The gome that gooth with o staf,

He semeth in gretter heele

Than he that gooth with two staves,

To sighte of us alle.

"And right so, bi the roode!

Reson me sheweth

That it is lighter to lewed men

O lesson to knowe,

Than for to techen hem two,

And to hard to lerne to the leeste

It is ful hard for any man

On Abraham bileve;

And wel awey worse yit

For to love a sherewe.

It is lighter to leeve

In thre lovely persones,

Than for to lovye and leve

As wel lorels as lele."

"Go thi gate!" quod I to Spes,

"So me God helpe!

Tho that lernen thi lawe,

Wol litel while usen it."

And as we wenten thus in the wey

Wordynge togideres,

Thanne seighe we a Samaritan

Sittynge on a mule,

Ridynge ful rapely

The righte wey we yeden,

Comynge from a contree

That men called Jerico,

To a justes in Jerusalem

He chaced awey faste.

Bothe the heraud and Hope

And he mette at ones

Where a man was wounded,

And with theves taken;

He myghte neither steppe ne stande,

Ne stere foot ne handes,

Ne helpe hymself soothly,

For semy-vif he semed,

And as naked as a nedle,

And noon help aboute hym.

Feith hadde first sighte of hym;

Ac he fleigh aside,

And nolde noght neghen hym

By nyne londes lengthe.

Hope cam hippynge after,

That hadde so y-bosted

How he with Moyses maundement

Hadde many men y-holpe;

Ac whan he hadde sighte of that segge

Aside he gan hym drawe

Dredfully bi this day,

As doke dooth fram the faucon.

Ac so soone so the Samaritan

Hadde sighte of this leode,

He lighte a-down of lyard,

And ladde hym in his hande,

And to the wye he wente

Hise woundes to biholde;

And perceyved bi his pous

He was in peril to dye,

And but he hadde recoverer the rapelier,

That rise sholde he nevere.

With wyn and with oille

Hise woundes he wasshed,

Enbawmed hym and bond his heed,

And in his lappe hym leide,

And ladde hym so forth on lyard

Te lex Christi, a graunge

Wel sixe mile or sevene

Biside the newe market;

Herberwed hym at an hostrie,

And to the hostiler called,

And seide, "Have kepe this man

Til I come fro the justes;

And lo! here silver," he seide,

"For salve to hise woundes."

And he took hym two pens,

To liflod, as it weere;

And seide, "What he spendeth moore,

I make thee good herafter;

For I may noght lette," quod that leode;

And lyard he bistrideth,

And raped hym to Jerusalem-ward

The righte wey to ryde.

Feith folwede after faste,

And fondede to mete hym;

And Spes spakliche hym spedde,

Spede if he myghte

To overtaken hym and talke to hym,

Er thei to towne coome.

And whan I seigh this, I sojourned noght,

But shoop me to renne,

And suwed that Samaritan

That was so ful of pité,

And graunted hym to ben his groom.

"Graunt mercy!" he seide;

"Ac thi frend and thi felawe," quod he,

"Thow fyndest me at nede."

And I thanked hym tho,

And siththe I hym tolde

How that Feith fleigh awey,

And Spes his felawe bothe,

For sighte of that sorweful man

That robbed was with theves.

"Have hem excused," quod he,

"Hir help may litel availle;

May no medicyne on molde

The man to heele brynge,

Neither feith ne fyn hope,

So festred be hise woundes,

Withouten the blood of a barn

Born of a mayde.

And he be bathed in that blood,

Baptised as it were,

And thanne plastred with penaunce

And passion of that baby,

He sholde stonde and steppe.

Ac stalworthe worth he nevere.

Til he have eten al the barn,

And his blood y-dronke.

For wente nevere wye in this world

Thorugh that wildernesse,

That he ne was robbed or rifled,

Rood he there or yede,

Save Feith and his felawe,

Spes, and myselve,

And thiself now,

And swiche as suwen oure werkes.

"For outlawes in the wode

And under bank lotieth,

And mowen ech man see,

And good mark take

Who is bihynde and who bifore,

And who ben on horse

For he halt hym hardier on horse

Than he that is foote.

For he seigh me that am Samaritan

Suwen Feith and his felawe

On my capul that highte caro,

Of mankynde I took it;

He was unhardy that harlot,

And hidde hym in Inferno.

Ac er this day thre daies,

I dar undertaken,

That he worth fettred, that feloun,

Faste with cheynes,

And nevere eft greve gome

That gooth this ilke gate.

"And thanne shal Feith be forster here,

And in this fryth walke,

And kennen out comune men

That knowen noght the contree

Which is the wey that I wente,

And wher forth to Jerusalem.

And Hope the hostilers man shal be,

Ther the man lith an helyng;

And alle that feble and feynte be,

That Feith may noght teche,

Hope shal lede hem forth with love,

As his lettre telleth,

And hostele hem and heele

Thorugh holy chirche bileve,

Til I have salve for alle sike;

And thanne shal I turne,

And come ayein bi this contree,

And conforten alle sike

That craveth it and coveiteth it,

Or crieth therafter.

For the barn was born in Bethleem,

That with his blood shal save

Alle that lyven in feith

And folwen his felawes techynge."

"A! swete sire," I seide tho,

"Wher I shal bileve,

As Feith and his felawe

Enformed me bothe,

In thre persones departable,

That perpetuele were evere,

And alle thre but o God,

Thus Abraham me taughte.

"And Hope afterward

He bad me to lovye

O God with al my good,

And alle gomes after,

Lovye hem lik myselve,

Ac oure Lord aboven alle.

"After Abraham," quod he,

"That heraud of armes,

Sette fully thi feith

And ferme bileve;

And as Hope highte thee,

I hote that thow lovye

Thyn evene cristene evere moore

Evene forth with thiselve.

And if Conscience carpe ther ayein,

Or kynde wit eyther,

Or eretikes with argumentz

Thyn hond thow hem shewe;

For God is after an hand,

Y-heer now and knowe it.

"The fader was first as a fust,

With o fynger foldynge;

Til hym lovede and liste

To unlosen his fynger,

And profre it forth as with a pawme

To what place it sholde,

"The pawme is purely the hand,

And profreth forth the fyngres,

To ministren and to make

That myght of hand knoweth;

And bitokneth trewely,

Telle who so liketh,

The Holy Goost of hevene

He is as the pawme.

"The fyngres that fre ben

To folde and to serve,

Bitoknen soothly the Sone

That sent was til erthe,

That touched and tastede

At techynge of the pawme

Seinte Marie a mayde,

And mankynde laughte.

Qui conceptus est de Spiritu sancto, etc.

"The Fader is pawme as a fust,

With fynger to touche,—

Quia omnia traham ad meipsum, etc.

Al that the pawme perceyveth

Profitable to feele.

"Thus are thei alle but oon,

As it an hand weere,

And thre sondry sightes

In oon shewynge,

The pawme for it putteth forth fyngres,

And the fust bothe;

Right so redily,

Reson it sheweth

How he that is Holy Goost

Sire and Son preveth.

"And as the hand halt harde,

And alle thyng faste,

Thorugh foure fyngres and a thombe

Forth with the pawme;

Right so the Fader and the Sone,

And Seint Spirit the thridde,

Al the wide world

Withinne hem thre holden,

Bothe wolkne and the wynd,

Water and erthe,

Hevene and helle,

And al that is therinne.

"Thus it is, nedeth no man

Trowe noon oother,

That thre thynges bilongeth

In oure Lord of Hevene;

And aren serelopes by hemself,

A-sondry were thei nevere,

Na-moore than myn hand may

Meve withoute my fyngres.

"And as my fust is ful hand

Y-holden togideres;

So is the Fader a ful God,

Formour and shappere.

Tu fabricator omnium, etc.

And al the myght myd hym is

In makynge of thynges.

The fyngres formen a ful hand

To portreye or peynten,

Kervynge and compasynge,

As craft of the fyngres.

"Right so is the Sone

The science of the Fader,

And ful God as is the Fader,

No febler ne no bettre.

"The pawme is pureliche the hand,

And hath power by hymselve,

Other wise than the writhen fust,

Or werkmanshipe of fyngres.

For he hath power

To putte out alle the joyntes,

And to unfolde the folden fust,

At the fyngres wille.

"So is the Holy Goost God,

Neither gretter ne lasse.

Than is the Sire and the Sone,

And in the same myghte.

And alle are thei but o God;

As is myn hand and my fyngres,

Unfolden or folden,

My fust and my pawne,

Al is but an hand;

Evene in the myddes,

He may receyve right noght,

Reson it sheweth,

For the fyngres that folde sholde

And the fust make,

For peyne of the pawme,

Power hem failleth

To clucche or to clawe,

To clippe or to holde.

"Were the myddel of myn hand

Y-maymed or y-perissed,

I sholde receyve right noght

Of that I reche myghte.

"Ac though my thombe and my fyngres

Bothe were to-shullen,

And the myddel of myn hand

Withoute male-ese,

In many kynnes maneres

I myghte myself helpe,

Bothe mene and amende,

Though alle my fyngres oke.

"By this skile, me thynketh,

I se an evidence

That who so synneth in the Seint Spirit,

Assoilled worth he nevere,

Neither here ne ellis where,

As I herde telle.

Qui peccat in Spiritu sancto, etc.

For he priketh God as in the pawme,

That peccat in Spiritu sancto.

For God the fader is as a fust,

The Sone is as a fynger,

The Holy Goost of hevene

Is as it were the pawme;

So who so synneth in the Seint Spirit,

It semeth that he greveth

God, that he grypeth with,

And wolde his grace quenche.

"And to a torche or a tapur

The Trinité is likned;

As wex and a weke

Were twyned togideres,

And thanne a fir flawmynge

Forth out of bothe;

And as wex and weke

And hoot fir togideres

Fostren forth a flawmbe

And a fair leye,

So dooth the Sire and the Sone

And also Spiritus sanctus,

That alle kynne cristene

Clenseth of synnes

And as thow seest som tyme

Sodeynliche a torche,

The blase therof y-blowe out,

Yet brenneth the weke

Withouten leye or light

That the macche brenneth;

So is the Holy Goost God,

And grace withoute mercy

To alle unkynde creatures,

That coveite to destruye

Lele love or lif

That oure Lord shapte.

"And as glowynge gledes

Gladeth noght thise werkmen,

That werchen and waken

In wyntres nyghtes,

As dooth a kex or a candle

That caught hath fir and blaseth;

Na-moore dooth Sire ne Sone

Ne Seint Spirit togidres

Graunte no grace

Ne forgifnesse of synnes,

Til the Holy Goost gynne

To glowe and to blase.

So that the Holy Goost

Gloweth but as a glade,

Til that lele love

Ligge on hym and blowe,

And thanne flawmeth he as fir

On Fader and on Filius,

And melteth hire myght into mercy;

As men may se in wyntre

Ysekeles and evesynges

Thorugh hete of the sonne

Melte in a minut while

To myst and to watre.

"So grace of the Holy Goost

The greet myght of the Trinité

Melteth to mercy,

To merciable and to othere;

And as wex withouten moore

On a warm glede

Wol brennen and blasen,

Be thei togideres,

And solacen hem that mowe se,

That sitten in derknesse.

"So wol the Fader forgyve

Folk of mylde hertes,

That rufully repenten,

And restitucion make,

In as muche as thei mowen

Amenden and paien;

And if it suffise noght for assetz,

That in swich a wille deyeth,

Mercy for his mekenesse

Wol maken good the remenaunt.

And as the weke and fir

Wol maken a warm flaumbe,

For to murthen men myd

That in the derke sitten;

So wole Crist of his curteisie,

And men crye hym mercy,

Bothe forgyve and foryete,

And yit bidde for us

To the Fader of hevene

Forgifnesse to have.

"Ac hewe fir at a flynt

Foure hundred wynter,

But thow have tow to take it with,

Tonder or broches,

Al thi labour is lost,

And al thi long travaille;

For may no fir flaumbe make,

Faille it is kynde.

"So is the Holi Goost God,

And grace withouten mercy

To alle unkynde creatures,

Crist hymself witnesseth.

Amen dico vobis, nescio vos, etc.

"Be unkynde to thyn evene cristene,

And al that thow kanst bidde,

Delen and do penaunce

Day and nyght evere,

And purchace al the pardon

Of Pampilon and Rome,

And indulgences y-nowe,

And be ingratus to thi kynde,

The Holy Goost hereth thee noght,

Ne helpe may thee by reson;

For unkyndenesse quencheth hym,

That he kan noght shyne,

Ne brenne ne blase clere

For blowynge of unkyndenesse.

Poul the apostel

Preveth wheither I lye.

Si linguis hominum loquar, etc.

"For-thi beth war, ye wise men,

That with the world deleth,

That riche ben and reson knoweth,

Ruleth wel youre soule,

Beth noght unkynde, I conseille yow,

To youre evene cristene,

For manye of yow riche men,

By my soule! men telleth,

Ye brenne, but ye blase noght,

That is a blynd bekene.

Non omnis qui dicit Domine! Domine!

intrabit, etc.

"Dives deyde dampned,

For his unkyndenesse

Of his mete and of his moneie

To men that it nedede.

Ech a riche I rede

Reward at hym take,

And gyveth youre good to that God

That grace of ariseth;

For thei that ben unkynde to hise,

Hope I noon oother,

But thei dwelle ther Dives is

Dayes withouten ende.

"Thus is unkyndenesse the contrarie,

That quencheth, as it were,

The grace of the Holy Goost,

Goddes owene kynde.

For that kynde dooth, unkynde for-dooth;

As thise corsede theves

Unkynde cristene men,

For coveitise and envye,

Sleeth a man for hise moebles

With mouth or with handes.

For that the Holy Goost hath to kepe,

The harlotes destruyeth,

The which is lif and love,

The leye of mannes body.

For every manere good man

May be likned to a torche,

Or ellis to a tapur,

To reverence the Trinité;

And who morthereth a good man,

Me thynketh by myn inwit,

He for-dooth the levest light

That oure Lord lovyeth.

"And yet in manye mo maneres

Men offenden the Holy Goost.

Ac this is the worste wise

That any wight myghte

Synnen ayein the Seint Spirit,

Assenten to destruye

For coveitise of any kynnes thyng

That Crist deere boughte,

That wikkedliche and wilfulliche

Wolde mercy aniente.

"Innocence is next God,

And nyght and day it crieth,

'Vengeaunce! vengeaunce!

Forgyve be it nevere

That shente us and shedde oure blood,

For-shapte us, as it were!'

Vindica sanguinem justorum.

"Thus 'Vengeaunce! vengeaunce!'

Verrey Charité asketh.

And sith holy chirche and Charité

Chargeth this so soore,

Leve I nevere that oure Lord

Wol love that charité lakketh,

Ne have pité for any preiere

Ther that he pleyneth."

"I pose I hadde synned so,

And sholde now deye;

And now I am sory that I so

The Seint Spirit a-gulte,

Confesse me and crye his grace,

God that al made,

And myldeliche his mercy aske,

Myghte I noght be saved?"

"Yis," seide the Samaritan,

"So wel thow myght repente,

That rightwisnesse thorugh repentaunce,

To ruthe myghte turne.

Ac it is but selden y-seighe

Ther soothnesse bereth witnesse,

Any creature that is coupable

Afore a kynges justice,

Be raunsoned for his repentaunce,

Ther alle reson hym dampneth.

For ther that partie pursueth,

The peple is so huge,

That the kyng may do no mercy

Til bothe men acorde,

And eyther have equité,

As holy writ telleth.

Nunquam dimittitur peccatum, etc.

"Thus it fareth by swich folk

That falsly al hire lyves

Yvele lyven, and leten noght

Til lif hem forsake.

Good hope, that helpe sholde,

To wanhope torneth,

Noght of the noun power of God,

That he ne is myghtful

To amende al that amys is,

And his mercy gretter

Than alle oure wikkede werkes,

As holy writ telleth.

Misericordia ejus super omnia opera ejus.

Ac er his rightwisnesse to ruthe torne,

Som restitucion bihoveth.

His sorwe is satisfaccion,

For hym that may noght paie.

"Thre thynges ther ben

That doon a man by strengthe

For to fleen his owene,

As holy writ sheweth.

"That oon is a wikkede wif,

That wol noght be chastised;

Hir feere fleeth fro hire,

For feere of hir tonge.

"And if his hous be un-hiled,

And reyne on his bedde,

He seketh and seketh

Til he slepe drye.

"And whan smoke and smolder

Smyt in his sighte,

It dooth hym worse than his wif

Or wete to slepe.

For smoke and smolder

Smyteth in hise eighen,

Til he be bler-eighed, or blynd,

And hoors in the throte,

Cogheth, and curseth

That Crist gyve hem sorwe

That sholde brynge in bettre wode,

Or blowe it til it brende.

"Thise thre that I telle of

Ben thus to understonde;

The wif is oure wikked flessh,

That wol noght be chastised;

For kynde clyveth on hym evere

To contrarie the soule.

And though it falle, it fynt skiles

That freleté it made,

And that is lightly forgyven

And forgeten bothe,

To man that mercy asketh,

And amende thenketh.

"The reyn that reyneth

Ther we reste sholde,

Ben siknesse and sorwes

That we suffren ofte;

As Poul the apostle

To the people taughte.

Virtus infirmitate perficitur, etc.

"And though that men make

Muche doel in hir angre,

And ben inpacient in hir penaunce,

Pure reson knoweth

That thei han cause to contrarie

By kynde of hir siknesse;

And lightliche oure Lord

At hir lyves ende

Hath mercy on swiche men,

That so yvele may suffre.

"Ac the smoke and the smolder

That smyt in oure eighen,

That is coveitise and unkyndenesse,

That quencheth Goddes mercy.

For unkyndenesse is the contrarie

Of alle kynnes reson.

For ther nys sik ne sory,

Ne noon so muche wrecche,

That he ne may lovye, and hym like,

And lene of his herte

Good wille and good word,

And wisshen and willen

Alle manere men

Mercy and forgifnesse,

And lovye hem lik hymself,

And his lif amende.

"I may no lenger lette," quod he;

And lyard he prikede,

And went awey as wynd;

And therwith I awakede.

Passus Decimus Octavus, etc. et Tertius de Do-bet.

=

OLLEWARD and weet-shoed

Wente I forth after,

As a recchelees renk

That of no wo roughte,

And yede forth lik a lorel

Al my lif tyme,

Til I weex wery of the world,

And wilned eft to slepe,

And lened me to a lenten,

And longe tyme I slepte;

And of Cristes passion and penaunce,

The peple that of raughte,

Reste me there, and rutte faste

Til ramis palmarum.

Of gerlis and of gloria laus

Gretly me dremed,

And how hosanna by organye

Olde folk songen.

Oon semblable to the Samaritan,

And som deel to Piers the Plowman,

Bare-foot on an asse bak

Boot-les cam prikye,

Withouten spores other spere,

Spakliche he lokede,

As is the kynde of a knyght

That cometh to be dubbed,

To geten hym gilte spores,

Or galoches y-couped.

Thanne was Feith in a fenestre,

And cryde a fili David,

As dooth an heraud of armes,

Whan aventrous cometh to justes.

Old Jewes of Jerusalem

For joye thei songen,

Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.

Thanne I frayned at Feith,

What al that fare by-mente,

And who sholde juste in Jerusalem.

"Jhesus," he seide,

"And fecche that the fend claymeth,

Piers fruyt the Plowman."

"Is Piers in this place?" quod I.

And he preynte on me:

"This Jhesus of his gentries

Wol juste in Piers armes,

In his helm and in his haubergeon,

Humana natura;

That Crist be noght bi-knowe here

For consummatus Deus.

In Piers paltok the Plowman

This prikiere shal ryde.

For no dynt shal hym dere,

As in deitate Patris."

"Who shal juste with Jhesus?" quod I,

"Jewes or scrybes?"

"Nay," quod he; "The foule fend,

And fals doom and deeth.

Deeth seith he shal for-do

And a-doun brynge

Al that lyveth and loketh

In londe and in watre.

"Lif seith that he lieth,

And leieth his lif to wedde,

That for al that deeth kan do

Withinne thre daies

To walke and fecche fro the fend

Piers fruyt the Plowman,

And legge it ther hym liketh,

And Lucifer bynde,

And for-bete and a-doun brynge

Bale deeth for evere."

O mors, ero mors tua.

Thanne cam Pilatus with muche peple,

Sedens pro tribunali,

To se how doghtiliche Deeth sholde do,

And deme hir botheres right.

The Jewes and the justice

Ayeins Jhesu thei weere,

And al the court on hym cryde

Crucifige sharpe.

Tho putte hym forth a pilour

Bifore Pilat, and seide,

"This Jhesus of oure Jewes temple

Hath japed and despised,

To for-doon it on o day,

And in thre dayes after

Edifie it eft newe;

Here he stant that seide it;

And yit maken it as muche

In alle manere poyntes,

Bothe as long and as large,

Bi lofte and by grounde."

"Crucifige!" quod a cachepol;

"I warrante hym a wicche."

"Tolle! tolle!" quod another,

And took of kene thornes,

And bigan of kene thorn

A garland to make,

And sette it sore on his heed,

And seide in envye,

"Ave, Raby," quod that rybaud,

And threw reedes at hym,

Nailed hym with thre nailes

Naked on the roode,

And poison on a poole

Thei putte up to hise lippes,

And beden hym drynken his deeth yvel,

Hise daies were y-done,

"And if that thow sotil be,

Help now thiselve;

If thow be Crist and kynges sone,

Com down of the roode;

Thanne shul we leve that lif thee loveth,

And wol noght lete thee deye."

"Consummatum est," quod Crist,

And comsede for to swoune

Pitousliche and pale,

As a prison that deieth.

The lord of lif and of light

Tho leide hise eighen togideres.

The day for drede withdrough,

And derk bicam the sonne;

The wal waggede and cleef,

And al the world quaved;

Dede men for that dene

Come out of depe graves,

And tolde why that tempeste

So longe tyme durede;

"For a bitter bataille,"

The dede body seide,

"Lif and deeth in this derknesse

Hir oon for-dooth hir oother.

Shal no wight wite witterly

Who shal have the maistrie

Er Sonday aboute sonne risyng;"

And sank with that til erthe.

Some seide that he was Goddes sone

That so faire deide.

Vere filius Dei erat iste.

And some seide he was a wicche,

"Good is that we assaye

Wher he be deed or noght deed,

Doun er he be taken."

Two theves also

Tholed deeth that tyme,

Upon a croos besides Crist,

So was the comune lawe.

A cachepol cam forth

And craked bothe hire legges,

And the armes after

Of either of tho theves.

Ac was no body so boold

Goddes body to touche;

For he was knyght and kynges sone,

Kynde for-yaf that tyme,

That noon harlot were so hardy

To leyen hond upon hym.

Ac ther cam forth a knyght,

With a kene spere y-grounde,

Highte Longeus, as the lettre telleth,

And longe hadde lore his sighte.

Bifore Pilat and oother peple

In the place he hoved;

Maugree his manye teeth,

He was maad that tyme

To take the spere in his hond,

And justen with Jhesus.

For alle thei were unhardy,

That hoved on horse or stode,

To touchen hym or to tasten hym,

Or taken doun of roode.

But this blynde bacheler

Baar hym thorugh the herte;

The blood sprong doun by the spere,

And unspered the knyghtes eighen.

Thanne fil the knyght upon knees,

And cryde hym mercy;

"Ayein my wille it was, Lord,

To wownde yow so soore."

He sighed and seide,

"Soore it me a-thynketh,

For the dede that I have doon

I do me in youre grace.

Have on me ruthe! rightful Jhesu!"

And right with that he wepte.

Thanne gan Feith felly

The false Jewes despise,

Callede hem caytyves

Acorsed for evere;

"For this foule vileynye

Vengeaunce to yow falle!

To do the blynde bete hym y-bounde,

It was a boyes counseille.

Cursede caytif!

Knyghthood was it nevere

To mys-do a deed body

By daye or by nyghte.

The gree yit hath he geten,

For al his grete wounde.

"For youre champion chivaler,

Chief knyght of yow alle,

Yilt hym recreaunt rennyng

Right at Jhesus wille.

For be this derknesse y-do,

His deeth worth avenged;

And ye, lurdaynes, han y-lost,

For lif shal have the maistrye;

And youre fraunchise, that fre was,

Fallen is in thraldom,

And ye, cherles, and youre children

Cheve shulle nevere

To have lordshipe in londe,

Ne no lond tilye,

But al barayne be,

And usurie usen,

Which is lif that oure Lord

In alle lawes acurseth.

Now youre goode dayes arn doon,

As Daniel prophecied,

Whan Crist cam, of hir kyngdom

The crowne sholde cesse."

Cum veniat sanctus sanctorum, cessabit

unctio vestra.

What for feere of this ferly,

And of the false Jewes,

I drow me in that derknesse

To descendit ad inferna;

And there I saugh soothly

Secundum Scripturas

Out of the west coste

A wenche, as me thoughte,

Cam walkynge in the wey,

To helle-ward she loked.

Mercy highte that mayde,

A meke thyng withalle,

A ful benigne burde,

And buxom of speche.

Hir suster, as it semed,

Cam soothly walkynge.

Evene out of the est,

And west-ward she lokede,

A ful comely creature,

Truthe she highte,

For the vertue that hire folwede

A-fered was she nevere.

Whan thise maydenes mette,

Mercy and Truthe,

Either asked oother

Of this grete wonder,

Of the dyn and of the derknesse,

And how the day rowed,

And which a light and a leme

Lay bifore helle.

"Ich have ferly of this fare,

In feith!" seide Truthe,

"And am wendynge to wite

What this wonder meneth."

"Have no merveille," quod Mercy,

"Murth it bitokneth.

A maiden that highte Marie,

And moder withouten felyng

Of any kynnes creature,

Conceyved thorugh speche

And grace of the Holy Goost,

Weex greet with childe,

Withouten wem

Into this world she broghte hym;

And that my tale be trewe,

I take God to witnesse.

"Sith this barn was y-bore

Ben .xxx.^ti wynter passed,

Which deide and deeth tholed

This day aboute myd-day,

And that is cause of this clips

That closeth now the sonne,

In menynge that man shal

Fro merknesse be drawe,

The while this light and this leme

Shal Lucifer a-blende.

For patriarkes and prophetes

Han preched herof ofte:

That man shal man save

Thorugh a maydenes helpe;

And that was tynt thorugh tree,

Tree shal it wynne;

And that deeth a-down broughte,

Deeth shal releve."

"That thow tellest," quod Truthe,

"Is but a tale of Waltrot.

For Adam and Eve,

And Abraham, with othere,

Patriarkes and prophetes,

That in peyne liggen,

Leve thow nevere that yon light

Hem a-lofte brynge,

Ne have hem out of helle.

Hold thi tonge, Mercy!

It is but a trufle that thow tellest;

I, Truthe, woot the sothe.

For he that is ones in helle,

Out cometh he nevere.

Job the prophete patriark

Repreveth thi sawes."

Quia in inferno nulla est redemptio.

Thanne Mercy ful myldely

Mouthed thise wordes,

"Thorugh experience," quod she,

"I hope thei shul be saved.

For venym for-dooth venym;

And that preve I by reson.

For of alle venymes

Foulest is the scorpion,

May no medicyne helpe

The place ther he styngeth,

Til he be deed, and do therto,

The yvel he destruyeth,

The firste venymousté

Thorugh venym of hymselve.

"So shal this deeth for-do,

I dar my lif legge,

Al that deeth for-dide first

Thorugh the develes entisyng;

And right as thorugh gile

Man was bi-giled,

So shal grace that bi-gan

Make a good sleighte."

Ars ut artem falleret.

"Now suffre we," seide Truthe;

"I se, as me thynketh,

Out of the nyppe of the north

Noght ful her hennes

Rightwisnesse come rennynge.

Reste we the while;

For he woot moore than we,

He was er we bothe."

"That is sooth," seide Mercy;

"And I se here by sowthe

Where Pees cometh pleyinge,

In pacience y-clothed.

Love hath coveited hire longe,

Leve I noon oother,

But he sente hire som lettre,

What this light by-meneth

That over-hoveth helle thus,

She us shal telle."

When Pees in pacience y-clothed

Approched ner hem tweyne,

Rightwisnesse hire reverenced,

By hir riche clothyng,

And preide Pees to telle hire

To what place she wolde,

And in hire gaye garnementz

Whom she grete thoughte.

"My wil is to wende," quod she,

"And welcome hem alle

That many day myghte I noght se

For merknesse of synne,

Adam and Eve,

And othere mo in helle;

Moyses and many mo

Mercy shul have,

And I shal daunce therto,

Do thow so, suster,

For Jhesus justede wel,

Joy bigynneth dawe.

Ad vesperum demorabitur fletus, et

ad matutinum lætitia.

"Love, that is my lemman,

Swiche lettres me sente,

That Mercy, my suster, and I

Mankynde sholde save,

And that God hath for-gyven

And graunted me pees and mercy,

To be mannes meynpernour

For evere moore after.

Lo here the patente!" quod Pees,

"In pace in idipsum.

And that this dede shal dure,

Dormiam et requiescam."

"What! ravestow?" quod Rightwisnesse,

"Or thow art right dronke?

Levestow that yond light

Unlouke myghte helle,

And save mannes soule?

Suster, wene it nevere.

For God the bigynnere

Gaf the doom hymselve,

That Adam and Eve,

And alle that hem suwede,

Sholden deye down righte,

And dwelle in pyne after,

If that thei touchede a tree,

And the fruyt eten.

"Adam afterward

Ayeins his defence

Freet of that fruyt,

And forsook, as it weere,

The love of oure Lord

And his loore bothe,

And folwede that the fend taughte,

And his felawes wille,

Ayeins reson and rightwisnesse,

Recorde thus with truthe,

That hir peyne be perpetuel,

And no preiere hem helpe.

For-thi lat hem chewe as thei chosen,

And chide we noght, sustres;

For it is bote-lees bale,

The byte that thei eten."

"And I shal preve," quod Pees,

"Hir peyne moot have ende,

And from wo into wele

Mowe wenden at the laste.

For hadde thei wist of no wo,

Wele hadde the noght knowen.

For no wight woot what wele is,

That nevere wo suffrede;

Ne what is hoot hunger,

That hadde nevere defaute.

"If no nyght ne weere,

No man, as I leeve,

Sholde nevere wite witterly

What day is to meene.

Sholde nevere right riche man,

That lyveth in reste and ese,

Wite what wo is,

Ne were the deeth of kynde.

"So God, that bigan al

Of his goode wille,

Bicam man of a mayde

Mankynde to save;

And suffrede to be sold,

To se the sorwe of deying,

The which unknytteth alle care,

And comsynge is of reste.

For til modicum mete with us,

I may it wel avowe,

Woot no wight, as I wene,

What y-nogh is to mene.

"For-thi God of his goodnesse

The firste gome Adam

Sette hym in solace,

And in sovereyn murthe;

And siththe he suffred hym synne,

Sorwe to feele,

To wite what wele was

Kyndeliche and knowe it.

And after God auntrede hymself,

And took Adames kynde,

To wite what he hath suffred

In thre sondry places,

Bothe in hevene and in erthe,

And now til helle he thenketh

To wite what alle wo is,

And what is alle joye.

"So it shal fare by this folk,

Hir folie and hir synne

Shal lere hem what langour is

And lisse withouten ende.

Woot no wight what werre is

Ther that pees regneth,

Ne what is witterly wele

Til weylawey! hym teche."

Thanne was ther a wight

With two brode eighen,

Book highte that beau-peere,

A bold man of speche;

"By Goddes body!" quod this Book,

"I wol bere witnesse

That tho this barn was y-bore,

Ther blased a sterre

That alle the wise of this world

In o wit acorden,

That swich a barn was y-bore

In Bethleem the citee,

That mannes soule sholde save,

And synne destroye.

And alle the elementz," quod the Book,

"Herof beren witnesse,

That he was God that al wroghte,

The wolkne first shewed.

"Tho that weren in hevene

Token stella cometa,

And tendeden it as a torche

To reverencen his burthe;

The light folwede the Lord

Into the lowe erthe.

"The water witnessed that he was God,

For he wente on it.

Peter the apostel

Parceyved his gate,

And as he wente on the water,

Wel hym knew, and seide,

Jube me venire ad te super aquas.

"And lo! how the sonne gan louke

Hire light in hirselve,

Whan she seigh hym suffre,

That sonne and see made.

"The erthe for hevynesse

That he wolde suffre,

Quaked as quyk thyng,

And al biquasshed the roche.

"Lo! helle myghte nat holde,

But opnede tho God tholede,

And leet out Symondes sone

To seen hym hange on roode.

And now shal Lucifer leve it,

Though hym looth thynke;

For Gigas the geaunt

With a gyn hath engyned

To breke and to bete a-doun

That ben ayeins Jhesus.

And I, Book, wole be brent,

But Jhesus rise to lyve

In alle myghtes of man,

And his moder gladie,

And conforte al his kyn

And out of care brynge,

And al the Jewene joye

Unjoynen and unlouken,

And but thei reversen his roode,

And his resurexion,

And bileve on a newe lawe,

Be lost lif and soule."

"Suffre we," seide Truthe;

"I here and see bothe

How a spirit speketh to helle,

And biddeth unspere the yates."

Attolite portas, etc.

A vois loude in that light

To Lucifer crieth,

"Prynces of this place,

Unpynneth and unlouketh!

For here cometh with crowne

That kyng is of glorie."

Thanne sikede Sathan,

And seide to hem alle,

"Swich a light ayeins oure leve

Lazar out fette;

Care and encombraunce

Is comen to us alle!

If this kyng come in,

Mankynde wole he fecche,

And lede it ther hym liketh,

And lightliche me bynde.

Patriarkes and Prophetes

Han parled herof longe,

That swich a lord and light

Sholde lede hem alle hennes."

"Listneth," quod Lucifer,

"For I this lord knowe.

Bothe this lord and this light,

Is longe a-go I knew hym.

May no deeth hym dere,

Ne no develes queyntise;

And where he wole is his wey,

Ac ware hym of the perils.

If he reveth me my right,

He robbeth me by maistrie;

For by right and by reson

The renkes that ben here

Body and soule beth myne,

Bothe goode and ille.

For hymself seide,

That sire is of hevene,

If Adam ete the appul,

Alle sholde deye

And dwelle with us develes;

This thretynge he made.

And he that soothnesse is,

Seide thise wordes.

And sithen I seised

Sevene hundred wynter,

I leeve that lawe nyl noght

Lete hym the leeste."

"That is sooth," seide Sathan;

"But I me soore drede.

For thow gete hem with gile,

And his gardyn breke,

And in semblaunce of a serpent

Sete upon the appul-tree,

And eggedest hem to ete,

Eve by hirselve;

And toldest hire a tale,

Of treson were the wordes;

And so thow haddest hem out,

And hider at the laste.

It is noght graithly geten,

Ther gile is the roote.

For God wol noght be bi-giled,"

Quod Gobelyn, "ne by-japed;

We have no trewe title to hem,

For thorugh treson were thei dampned."

"Certes, I drede me," quod the devel,

"Lest Truthe wol hem fecche;

Thise thritty wynter, as I wene,

Hath he gon and preched.

I have assailled hym with synne,

And som tyme y-asked

Wheither he were God or Goddes sone;

He yaf me short answere.

And thus hath he trolled forth

Thise two and thritty wynter.

And whan I seigh it was so,

Lepynge I wente

To warne Pilates wif

What done man was Jhesus.

For Jewes hateden hym,

And han doon hym to dethe.

I wolde have lengthed his lif;

For I leved if he deide,

That his soule wolde suffre

No synne in his sighte.

For the body, while it on bones yede,

Aboute was evere

To save men from synne,

If hemself wolde.

And now I se wher a soule

Cometh hiderward seillynge,

With glorie and with gret light,—

God it is, I woot wel.

I rede that we fle," quod he,

"Faste alle hennes;

For us were bettre noght be,

Than biden his sighte.

For thi lesynges, Lucifer,

Lost is al oure praye.

"First thorugh the we fellen

Fro hevene so heighe,

For we leved on thi lesynges;

Y-lorn we have Adam,

And al oure lordshipe, I leve,

A-londe and a-watre."

Nunc princeps hujus mundi ejicietur foras.

Eft the light bad unlouke;

And Lucifer answerede,

"What lord artow?" quod Lucifer.

Quis est iste?

"Rex Gloriæ,"

The light soone seide,

"And lord of myght and of man,

And alle manere vertues.

Dominus virtutum.

Dukes of this dymme place,

Anoon undo thise yates,

That Crist may come in,

The kynges sone of hevene!"

And with that breeth helle brak,

With Belialles barres,

For any wye or warde,

Wide opned the yates.

Patriarkes and prophetes,

Populus in tenebris,

Songen seint Johanes song,

Ecce agnus Dei.

Lucifer loke ne myghte,

So light hym a-blente.

And tho that oure Lord lovede

Into his light he laughte;

And seide to Sathan,

"Lo! here my soule to amendes

For alle synfulle soules,

To save tho that ben worthi.

Myne thei ben and of me,

I may the bet hem cleyme.

And though Reson recorde

And Right, of myselve,

That if he ete the appul

Alle sholde deye;

I bi-highte hem noght here

Helle for evere.

For the dede that thei dide,

Thi deceite it made;

With gile thow hem gete,

Ageyn alle reson.

For in my paleis Paradis,

In persone of an addre,

Falsliche thow fettest

Thyng that I lovede.

"Thus y-lik a lusard,

With a lady visage,

Thefliche thow me robbedest;

And the olde lawe graunteth

That gilours be bigiled,

And that is good reson.

Dentem pro dente et oculum pro oculo.

Ergo soule shal soule quyte,

And synne to synne wende,

And al that man hath mys-do

I, man, wole amende;

Membre for membre

By the olde lawe was amendes,

And lif for lif also,

And by that lawe I clayme it,

Adam and al his issue

At my wille herafter,

And that deeth in hem for-dide

My deeth shal releve,

And bothe quykne and quyte

That queynt was thorugh synne.

And that grace gile destruye,

Good feith it asketh.

So leve I noght, Lucifer,

Ayein the lawe I fecche hem;

But by right and by reson

Raunsone here my liges.

Non veni solvere legem, sed adimplere.

"Thow fettest myne in my place

Ayeins alle reson,

Falsliche and felonliche;

Good feith me it taughte,

To recovere hem thorugh raunson,

And by no reson ellis.

So that thorugh gile thow gete,

Thorugh grace it is y-wonne.

Thow Lucifer in liknesse

Of a luther addere

Getest bi gile

Tho that God lovede.

"And I in liknesse of a leode,

That lord am of hevene,

Graciousliche thi gile have quyt;

Go gile ayein gile.

And as Adam and alle

Thorugh a tree deyden;

Adam and alle thorugh a tree

Shul turne ayein to lyve;

And gile is bi-giled,

And in his gile fallen.

Et cecidit in foveam quam fecit.

"Now bi-gynneth thi gile

Ageyn thee to turne,

And my grace to growe

Ay gretter and widder;

That art doctour of deeth,

Drynk that thow madest.

"For I that am lord of lif,

Love is my drynke;

And for that drynke to-day

I deide upon erthe.

I faught so, me thursteth yit,

For mannes soule sake;

May no drynke me moiste,

Ne my thurst slake,

Til the vendage falle

In the vale of Josaphat,

That I drynke right ripe must,

Resurrectio mortuorum;

And thanne shal I come as a kyng,

Crouned with aungeles,

And have out of helle

Alle mennes soules.

"Fendes and fyndekynes

Bifore me shul stande,

And be at my biddyng

Wher so evere me liketh;

And to be merciable to man

Thanne my kynde asketh.

For we beth bretheren of blood,

But noght in baptisme alle.

Ac alle that beth myne hole bretheren

In blood and in baptisme.

Shul noght be dampned to the deeth

That is withouten ende.

Tibi soli peccavi, etc.

"It is noght used in erthe,

To hangen a feloun

Ofter than ones,

Though he were a tretour.

And if the kyng of that kyngdom

Come in that tyme

There feloun thole sholde

Deeth or oother juwise,

Lawe wolde he yeve hym lif,

If he loked on hym.

And I, that am kyng of kynges,

Shal come swich a tyme

Ther doom to the deeth

Dampneth alle the wikked;

And if lawe wole I loke on hem,

It lith in my grace

Wheither thei deye or deye noght

For that thei diden ille;

Be it any thyng a-bought

The boldnesse of hir synnes,

I do mercy thorugh rightwisnesse,

And alle my wordes trewe;

And though holy writ wole that I be wroke

Of hem that diden ille,—

Nullum malum impunitum, etc.—

Thei shul be clensed clerliche,

And wasshen of hir synnes,

In my prisone Purgatorie,

Til parce it hote,

And my mercy shal be shewed

To manye of my bretheren.

For blood may suffre blood,

Bothe hungry and a-cale;

Ac blood may noght se blood

Blede, but hym rewe.

Audivi arcana verba quæ non licet

homini loqui.

"Ac my rightwisnesse and right

Shul rulen al helle,

And mercy al mankynde

Bifore me in hevene.

For I were an unkynde kyng,

But I my kynde helpe,

And nameliche at swich a nede.

Ther nedes help bihoveth.

Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo.

"Thus by lawe," quod oure Lord,

"Lede I wole fro hennes

Tho that me lovede

And leved in my comynge.

And for thi lesynge, Lucifer,

That thow leighe til Eve,

Thow shalt abyen it bittre;"—

And bond hym with cheynes.

Astroth and al the route

Hidden hem in hernes;

They dorste noght loke on oure Lord,

The boldeste of hem alle,

But leten hym lede forth whom hym liked,

And lete whom hym liste.

Manye hundred of aungeles

Harpeden and songen,

Culpat caro, purgat caro,

Regnat Deus Dei caro.

Thanne pipede Pees

Of Poesie a note,

Clarior est solito post maxima nebula Phœbus,

Post inimicitias, etc.

"After sharpe shoures," quod Pees,

"Moost shene is the sonne;

Is no weder warmer

Than after watry cloudes;

Ne no love levere,

Ne lever frendes,

Than after werre and wo,

Whan Love and Pees ben maistres.

Was nevere werre in this world,

Ne wikkednesse so kene,

That ne Love, and hym liste,

To laughynge ne broughte,

And pees thorugh pacience

Alle perils stoppeth."

"Trewes," quod Truthe;

"Thow tellest us sooth, by Jhesus!

Clippe we in covenaunt,

And ech of us clippe oother."

"And leteth no peple," quod Pees,

"Perceyve that we chidde.

For inpossible is no thyng

To hym that is almyghty."

"Thow seist sooth," quod Rightwisnesse;

And reverentliche hire kiste.

"Pees and pees here!

Per sæcula sæculorum."

Misericordia et veritas obviaverunt

sibi, justitia et pax osculatæ sunt.

Truthe trumpede tho,

And song Te Deum laudamus;

And thanne lutede,

In a loud note,

Ecce quam bonum et quam jocundum, etc.

Til the day dawed

Thise damyseles dauncede,

That men rongen to the resurexion.

And right with that I wakede,

And callede Kytte my wif,

And Calote my doghter;

And bad hem rise and reverence

Goddes resurexion;

And crepe to the cros on knees,

And kisse it for a juwel,

For Goddes blissede body

It bar for oure boote;

And it a-fereth the fend,

For swich is the myghte,

May no grisly goost

Glide there it walketh.

Passus Decimus Nonus, explicit Do-bet, et incipit Do-best.

12960

HUS I awaked and wroot

What I hadde y-dremed;

And dighte me derely,

And dide me to chirche,

To here holly the masse,

And to be housled after.

In myddes of the masse,

Tho men yede to offryng,

I fel eft-soones a-slepe;

And sodeynly me mette

That Piers the Plowman

Was peynted al blody,

And com in with a cros

Bifore the comune peple,

And right lik in alle thynges

To oure Lord Jhesus.

And thanne called I Conscience,

To kenne me the sothe;

"Is this Jhesus the justere," quod I,

"That Jewes dide to dethe?

Or it is Piers the Plowman.

Who peynted hym so rede?"

Quod Conscience, and kneled tho,

"Thise arn Piers armes,

Hise colours and his cote armure;

Ac he that cometh so blody

Is Crist with his cros,

Conquerour of cristene."

"Why calle hym Crist," quod I,

"Sithen Jewes calle hym Jhesus?

Patriarkes and prophetes

Prophecied bifore

That alle kynne creatures

Sholden knelen and bowen,

Anoon as men nempned

The name of God Jhesu.

Ergo is no name

To the name of Jhesus;

Ne noon so nedeful to nempne

By nyghte ne by daye.

For alle derke develes

Arn a-drad to heren it;

And synfulle aren solaced

And saved by that name.

And ye callen hym Crist;

For what cause telleth me?

Is Crist moore of myght,

And moore worthi name,

Than Jhesu or Jhesus,

That al oure joye com of?"

"Thow knowest wel," quod Conscience,

"And thow konne reson,

That knyght, kyng, conquerour,

May be o persone.

To be called a knyght is fair,

For men shul knele to hym;

To be called a kyng is fairer,

For he may knyghtes make;

Ac to be conquerour called,

That cometh of special grace,

And of hardynesse of herte,

And of hendenesse,

To make lordes of laddes

Of lond that he wynneth,

And fre men foule thralles

That folwen noght hise lawes.

"The Jewes that were gentil men,

Jhesus thei despised,

Bothe his loore and his lawe;

Now are thei lowe cherles.

As wide as the world is,

Noon of hem ther wonyeth

But under tribut and taillage,

As tikes and cherles;

And tho that bicome cristene

Bi counseil of the baptisme,

Aren frankeleyns, free men,

Thorugh fullynge that thei toke,

And gentil men with Jhesu;

For Jhesu was y-fulled,

And upon Calvarie on cros

Y-crouned kyng of Jewes.

"It bicometh to a kyng

To kepe and to defende;

And conquerour of conquest

Hise lawes and his large.

And so dide Jhesus the Jewes,

He justified and taughte hem

The lawe of lif,

That laste shal evere;

And defended from foule yveles,

Feveres and fluxes,

And from fendes that in hem were,

And false bileve.

Tho was he Jhesus of Jewes called,

Gentile prophete,

And kyng of hir kyngdom,

And croune bar of thornes.

"And tho conquered he on cros,

As conquerour noble.

Mighte no deeth hym for-do,

Ne a-doun brynge,

That he naroos and regnede,

And ravysshed helle:

And tho was he conquerour called

Of quyke and of dede.

For he yaf Adam and Eve

And othere mo blisse,

That longe hadde y-leyen bifore

As Luciferis cherles.

"And sith he yaf largely

Alle hise lele liges

Places in Paradis,

At hir partynge hennes;

He may wel be called conquerour,

And that is Crist to mene.

"Ac the cause that he cometh thus

With cros of his passion,

Is to wissen us therwith

That whan that we ben tempted,

Therwith to fighte and defenden us

Fro fallynge to synne.

And so bi his sorwe,

That who so loveth joye

To penaunce and to poverte

He moste puten hymselven,

And muche wo in this world

To willen and suffren.

"Ac to carpe moore of Crist,

And how he com to that name,

Faithly for to speke,

His firste name was Jhesus;

Tho he was born in Bethleem,

As the book telleth,

And cam to take mankynde,

Kynges and aungeles

Reverenced hym faire

With richesses of erthe,

Aungeles out of hevene

Come knelynge and songe,

Gloria in excelsis Deo, etc.

"Kynges that come after

Knelede, and offrede

Mirre and muche gold,

Withouten mercy askynge

Or any kynnes catel,

But knowelichynge hym sovereyn

Bothe of lond, sonne, and see,

And sithenes thei wente

Into hir kyngene kith,

By counseil of aungeles.

And there was that word fulfilled

The which thow of speke.

Omnia cælestia terrestria flectantur

in hoc nomine Jhesu.

"For alle the aungeles of hevene

At his burthe knelede,

And al the wit of the world

Was in tho thre kynges,

Reson and rightwisnesse

And ruthe thei offrede;

Wherfore and why

Wise men that tyme,

Maistres and lettred men,

Magi hem callede.

"That o kyng cam with reson,

Covered under sense.

"The seconde kyng siththe

Soothliche offrede

Rightwisnesse under reed gold,

Resones felawe.

For gold is likned to leautee

That laste shal evere.

"The thridde kyng tho kam

Knelynge to Jhesu,

And presented hym with pitee,

Apperynge by mirre.

For mirre is mercy to mene

And mylde speche of tonge.

"Thre y-liche honeste thynges

Were offred thus at ones,

Thorugh thre kynne kynges

Knelynge to Jhesu,

"Ac for alle thise preciouse presentz,

Oure Lord kyng Jhesus

Was neither kyng ne conquerour,

Til he gan to wexe

In the manere of a man,

And that by muchel sleighte,

As it bi-cometh a conquerour

To konne manye sleightes,

And manye wiles and wit,

That wole ben a ledere.

And so dide Jhesu in hise dayes,

Who so hadde tyme to telle it.

"Som tyme he suffrede,

And som tyme he hidde hym;

And some tyme he faught faste,

And fleigh outher while;

And som tyme he gaf good,

And grauntede heele bothe,

Lif and lyme,

As hym liste he wroghte.

As kynde is of a conquerour,

So comsede Jhesu,

Til he hadde alle hem

That he for bledde.

"In his juventee this Jhesus

At Jewene feeste

Water into wyn turnede,

As holy writ telleth.

And there bigan God

Of his grace to do-wel.

For wyn is likned to lawe

And lif-holynesse,

And lawe lakkede tho,

For men lovede noght hir enemys.

And Crist counseileth thus,

And comaundeth bothe,

To lered and to lewede

To lovyen oure enemys.

So at the feeste first,

As I bifore tolde,

Bigan God of his grace

And goodnesse to do-wel.

And thanne was he called

Noght holy Crist, but Jhesu,

A faunt fyn ful of wit,

Filius Mariæ.

For bifore his moder Marie

Made he that wonder;

That she first and formest

Ferme sholde bileve

That he thorugh grace was gete,

And of no gome ellis.

He wroghte that by no wit,

But thorugh word one;

After the kynde that he cam of,

There comsede he do-wel.

"And whan he woxen was moore,

In his moder absence,

He made lame to lepe,

And yaf light to blynde,

And fedde with two fisshes,

And with fyve loves,

Sore a fyngred folk

Mo than fyve thousand.

"Thus he confortede carefulle

And caughte a gretter name,

The which was Do-bet,

Where that he wente,

For deve thorugh hise doynges to here

And dombe speke he made,

And alle he heeled and halp

That hym of grace askede.

And tho was he called in contré

Of the comune peple,

For the dedes that he dide,

Fili David, Jhesus.

For David was doghtiest

Of dedes in his tyme.

The burdes tho songe,

Saul interfecit mille, et David decem millia.

"For-thi the contree ther Jhesu cam

Called hym fili David,

And nempned hym of Nazareth,

And no man so worthi

To be kaiser or kyng

Of the kyngdom of Juda,

Ne over Jewes justice,

As Jhesus was, hem thoughte.

"Wherof Cayphas hadde envye,

And othere of the Jewes;

And for to doon hym to dethe

Day and nyght thei casten,

Killeden hym on cros wise

At Calvarie on Friday,

And sithen buriede his body,

And beden that men sholde,

Kepen it fro nyght comeris

With knyghtes y-armed,

For no frendes sholde hym fecche.

For prophetes hem tolde

That that blissede body

Of burieles risen sholde,

And goon into Galilee,

And gladen hise apostles,

And his moder Marie;

Thus men bifore demede.

"The knyghtes that kepten it

Bi-knewe it hemselven,

That aungeles and archaungeles

Er the day spronge

Come knelynge to the corps,

And songen Christus resurgens,

Verray men bifore hem alle,

And forth with hem he yede.

"The Jewes preide hem be pees,

And bi-soughte the knyghtes

Telle the comune that ther cam

A compaignie of hise apostles,

And bi-wicched hem as thei woke,

And awey stolen it.

"Ac Marie Maudeleyne

Mette hym by the weye,

Goynge toward Galilee

In godhede and manhede,

And lyves and lokynge,

And she a-loud cride

In ech a compaignie ther she cam,

Christus resurgens.

"Thus cam it out that Crist over-coom,

Recoverede and lyvede

Sic oportet Christum pati et intrare, etc.

For that that wommen witeth,

May noght wel be counseille.

"Peter parceyved al this,

And pursued after,

Bothe James and Johan,

Jhesu for to seke,

Thaddee and ten mo,

With Thomas of Inde.

And as alle thise wise wyes

Weren togideres,

In an hous al bi-shet,

And hir dore y-barred,

Crist cam in, and al closed

Bothe dore and yates,

To Peter and to thise apostles,

And seide pax vobis!

And took Thomas by the hand,

And taughte hym to grope,

And feele with hise fyngres

His flesshliche herte.

"Thomas touched it,

And with his tonge seide,

'Deus meus et Dominus meus—

Thow art my lord, I bi-leve,

My God, lord Jhesu;

Thow deidest and deeth tholedest,

And deme shalt us alle,

And now art lyvynge and lokynge,

And laste shalt evere.'

"Crist carpede thanne,

And curteisliche seide,

'Thomas, for thow trowest this,

And treweliche bi-levest it,

Blessed mote thow be,

And be shalt for evere;

And blessed mote thei alle be

In body and in soule

That nevere shul se me in sighte,

As thow doost nowthe,

And lelliche bi-leve al this,

I love hem and blesse hem.'

Beati qui non viderunt, etc.

"And whan this dede was doon,

Do-best he taughte,

And yaf Piers power,

And pardon he grauntede,

To alle maner men

Mercy and forgifnesse,

Hym myght to assoille

Of alle manere synne,

In covenaunt that thei come

And kneweliched to paie

To Piers pardon the Plowman,

Redde quod debes.

"Thus hath Piers power,

By his pardon paied,

To bynde and unbynde,

Bothe here and ellis where;

And assoille men of alle synnes,

Save of dette one.

"Anoon after an heigh

Up into hevene

He wente, and wonyeth there,

And wol come at the laste,

And rewarde hym right wel

That reddit quod debet,

Paieth parfitly,

As pure truthe wolde;

And what persone paieth it nought,

Punysshen he thenketh,

And demen hem at domes day

Bothe quyke and dede.

The goode to the godhede

And to greet joye,

And wikkede to wonye

In wo withouten ende."

Thus Conscience of Crist

And of the cros carpede,

And counseiled me to knele therto.

And thanne cam, me thoughte,

Oon spiritus paraclitus

To Piers and to hise felawes

In liknesse of a lightnynge

He lighte on hem alle,

And made hem konne and knowe

Alle kynne langages.

I wondred what that was,

And waggede Conscience,

And was a-fered of the light,

For in fires lightnesse

Spiritus paraclitus

Over-spradde hem alle.

Quod Conscience, and knelede,

"This is Cristes messager,

And cometh fro the grete God,

And Grace is his name.

Knele now," quod Conscience,

"And if thow kanst synge,

Welcome hym and worshipe hym

With Veni creator spiritus."

Thanne song I that song,

So dide manye hundred,

And cride with Conscience,

"Help us, God of Grace!"

And thanne bigan Grace

To go with Piers Plowman,

And counseillede hym and Conscience

The comune to sompne;

"For I wole dele to-day

And gyve divine grace

To alle kynne creatures

That han hir fyve wittes,

Tresour to lyve by

To hir lyves ende,

And wepne to fighte with

That wole nevere faille.

For Antecrist and hise

Al the world shul greve,

And acombre thee, Conscience,

But if Crist thee helpe.

"And false prophetes fele,

Flatereris and gloseris,

Shullen come and be curatours

Over kynges and erles,

And Pride shal be pope,

Prynce of holy chirche,

Coveitise and unkyndenesse

Cardinals hym to lede;

For-thi," quod Grace, "er I go,

I wol gyve yow tresor,

And wepne to fighte with

Whan Antecrist yow assaileth."

And gaf ech man a grace

To gide with hymselven,

That ydelnesse encombre hym noght,

Envye ne pride.

Divisiones gratiarum sunt, etc.

Some he yaf wit

With wordes to shewe,

Wit to wynne hir liflode with,

As the world asketh,

As prechours and preestes,

And prentices of lawe,

They lelly to lyve

By labour of tonge,

And by wit to wissen othere

As grace hem wolde teche.

And some he kennede craft

And konnynge of sighte,

With sellynge and buggynge

Hir bilyve to wynne.

And some he lered to laboure,

A lele lif and a trewe;

And some he taughte to tilie,

To dyche and to thecche,

To wynne with her liflode

Bi loore of his techynge.

And some to devyne and divide,

Noumbres to kenne;

And some to compace craftily,

And colours to make;

And some to se and to seye

What sholde bi-falle,

Bothe of wele and of wo,

Telle it er it felle,

As astronomyens thorugh astronomye,

And philosofres wise.

And some to ryde, and to recovere

That wrongfully was wonne;

He wissed hem to wynne it ayein

Thorugh wightnesse of handes,

And fecchen it fro false men

With folvyles lawes.

And some he lered to lyve

In longynge to ben hennes,

In poverte and in penaunce,

To preie for alle cristene.

And alle he lered to be lele,

And ech a craft love oother;

And forbad hem alle debat,

That noon were among hem.

"Though some be clenner than some,

Ye se wel," quod Grace,

"That he that useth the faireste craft,

To the fouleste I kouthe have put hym.

Thynketh alle," quod Grace,

"That grace cometh of my gifte;

Loketh that no man lakke oother,

But loveth alle as bretheren.

"And who that moost maistries kan

Be myldest of berynge;

And crouneth Conscience kyng,

And maketh Craft youre stiward,

And after Craftes conseil

Clotheth yow and fede.

For I make Piers the Plowman

My procuratour and my reve,

And registrer to receyve,

Redde quod debes.

My prowor and my plowman

Piers shal ben on erthe,

And for to tilie truthe

A teeme shal he have."

Grace gaf Piers a teeme

Of foure grete oxen.

That oon was Luk, a large beest,

And a lowe chered;

And Mark, and Mathew the thridde,

Myghty beestes bothe;

And joyned to hem oon Johan,

Moost gentil of alle,

The pris neet of Piers Plow,

Passynge all othere.

And Grace gaf Piers

Of his goodnesse foure stottes;

Al that hise oxen eriede,

Thei to harewen after.

Oon highte Austyn,

And Ambrose another,

Gregori the grete clerk,

And Jerom the goode.

Thise foure the feith to teche

Folweth Piers teme,

And harewede in an hand while

Al holy Scripture,

With two harewes that thei hadde,

An oold and a newe.

Id est, vetus testamentum et novum.

And Grace gaf greynes,

The cardynal vertues,

And sew hem in mannes soule,

And sithen he tolde hir names.

Spiritus prudentiæ.

The firste seed highte;

And who so ete that,

Ymagynen he sholde

Er he deide any deeth,

Devyse wel the ende;

And lerned men a ladel bugge

With a long stele,

And caste for to kepe a crokke

To save the fatte above.

The seconde seed highte

Spiritus temperantiæ.

He that ete of that seed

Hadde swich a kynde,

Sholde nevere mete ne muchel drynke

Make hym to swelle,

Ne no scornere ne scolde

Out of skile hym bringe,

Ne wynnynge ne wele

Of worldliche richesse,

Waste word of ydelnesse

Ne wikked speche moeve;

Sholde no curious clooth

Comen on his rugge,

Ne no mete in his mouth

That maister Johan spicede.

The thridde seed that Piers sew

Was spiritus fortitudinis.

And who ete that seed,

Hardy was he evere

To suffren al that God sente,

Siknesse and angres;

Mighte no lesynges ne lyere,

Ne los of worldly catel,

Maken hym for any mournynge

That he nas murie in soule,

And bold and abidynge

Bismares to suffre;

And pleieth al with pacience

And parce mihi domine;

And covered hym under conseille

Of Caton the wise:

Esto forti animo, cum sis dampnatus inique.

The ferthe seed that Piers sew

Was spiritus justitiæ.

And he that ete of that seed,

Sholde be evere trewe,

With God, and naught a-gast,

But of gile one;

For gile gooth so pryvely,

That good feith outher while

Maye nought ben espied,

For spiritus justitiæ.

Spiritus justitiæ.

Spareth noght to spille

Hem that ben gilty,

And for to correcte

The kyng, if he falle

In gilt or in trespas.

For counteth he no kynges wrathe,

Whan he in court sitteth

To demen as a domesman,

A-drad was he nevere

Neither of duc ne of deeth,

That he ne dide lawe,

For present or for preiere,

Or any prynces lettres;

He dide equité to alle

Evene forth his power.

Thise foure sedes Piers sew;

And siththe he dide hem harewe

With olde lawe and newe lawe,

That love myghte wexe

Among tho foure vertues,

And vices destruye.

For comunliche in contrees

Cammokes and wedes

Foulen the fruyt in the feld,

Ther thei growen togideres;

And so doon vices

Vertues worthi.

Quod Piers, "Hareweth alle that konneth kynde wit,

By conseil of thise doctours;

And tilieth after hir techynge

The cardynale vertues."

"Ayeins thei greynes," quod Grace,

"Bi-gynneth for to ripe,

Ordeigne thee an hous, Piers,

To herberwe inne thi cornes."

"By God! Grace," quod Piers,

"Ye moten gyve tymber,

And ordeyne that hous,

Er ye hennes wende."

And Grace gaf hym the cros,

With the croune of thornes,

That Crist upon Calvarie

For mankynde on pyned,

And of his baptisme and blood

That he bledde on roode

He made a manere morter,

And mercy it highte.

And therwith Grace bi-gan

To make a good foundement,

And watlede it and walled it

With his peyne and his passion,

And of al holy writ

He made a roof after,

And called that hous Unitee,

Holy chirche on Englisshe.

And whan this dede was doon,

Grace devysede

A cart highte cristendom

To carie Piers sheves;

And gaf hym caples to his carte,

Contricion and confession;

And made preesthod hayward,

The while hymself wente

As wide as the world is

With Piers to tilie truthe.

Now is Piers to the plow;

And Pride it aspide,

And gadered hym a greet oost,

For to greven he thynketh

Conscience and alle cristene

And cardinale vertues,

Blowe hem doun and breke hem,

And bite a-two the mores;

And sente forth Surquidous,

His sergeaunt of armes,

And his spye Spille-love,

Oon Spek-yvel bihynde.

Thise two coome to Conscience,

And to cristen peple,

And tolde hem tidynges,

That tyne thei sholde the sedes

That Piers there hadde y-sowen,

The cardynale vertues;

"And Piers bern worth y-broke,

And thei that ben in Unitee

Shulle come out, and Conscience

And youre two caples,

Confession and Contricion;

And youre carte the bileeve

Shal be coloured so queyntely,

And covered under sophistrie,

That Conscience shal noght

Knowe by Contricion

Ne by Confession

Who is cristene or hethene;

Ne no manere marchaunt

That with moneie deleth,

Wheither he wynne with right,

With wrong, or with usure.

"With swiche colours and queyntise

Cometh Pride y-armed,

With the lord that lyveth after

The lust of his body,

To wasten on welfare,

And in wikked lyvynge,

Al the world in a while

Thorugh oure wit," quod Pryde.

Quod Conscience to alle cristene tho,

"My counseil is to wende

Hastiliche into Unitee,

And holde we us there;

And praye we that a pees weere

In Piers berne the Plowman.

For witterly I woot wel,

We beth noght of strengthe

To goon agayn Pride,

But Grace weere with us."

And thanne kam Kynde Wit

Conscience to teche,

And cryde and comaundede

Alle cristene peple

For to delven a dych

Depe aboute Unitee,

That holy chirche stode in Unitee,

As it a pyl weere.

Conscience comaundede tho

Alle cristene to delve,

And make a muche moot,

That myghte ben a strengthe

To helpe holy chirche

And hem that it kepeth.

Thanne alle kynne cristene,

Save comune wommen,

Repenteden and refused synne,

Save thei one,

And false men, flatereris,

Usurers, and theves,

Lyeris, and queste-mongeres

That were for-sworen ofte,

Witynge and wilfully

With the false helden,

And for silver were for-swore,

Soothly they wiste it.

Ther nas no cristene creature

That kynde wit hadde,

Save sherewes one

Swiche as I spak of,

That he ne halp a quantité

Holynesse to wexe,

Some thorugh bedes biddynge,

And some thorugh pilgrymages

And othere pryvé penaunces,

And somme thorugh penyes delynge.

And thanne wellede water

For wikkede werkes,

Egreliche ernynge

Out of mennes eighen,

Clennesse out of comune,

And clerkes clene lyvynge,

Made Unitee holy chirche

In holynesse to stonde.

"I care noght," quod Conscience,

"Though Pride come nouthe.

The lord of lust shal be letted

Al this lente, I hope.

Cometh," quod Conscience,

"Ye cristene, and dyneth,

That han laboured lelly

Al this lenten tyme.

Here is breed y-blessed,

And Goddes body therunder:

Grace, thorugh Goddes word,

Yaf Piers power

And myghtes to maken it,

And men to ete it after

In helpe of hir heele

Ones in a monthe,

Or as ofte as thei hadde nede,

Tho that hadde y-paied

To Piers pardon the Plowman.

Redde quod debes."

"How?" quod al the comune,

"Thow conseillest us to yelde

Al that we owen any wight,

Er we go to housel?"

"That is my conseil," quod Conscience,

"And cardinale vertues,

That ech man for-gyve oother,

And that wol the pater-noster.

Et dimitte nobis debita nostra, etc.

And so to ben assoilled,

And siththen ben houseled."

"Ye, baw!" quod a brewere,

"I wol noght be ruled,

By Jhesu! for al youre janglynge

With spiritus justitiæ,

Ne after Conscience, by Crist!

While I kan selle

Bothe dregges and draf,

And drawe it out at oon hole

Thikke ale and thynne ale,

For that is my kynde,

And noght hakke after holynesse.

Hold thi tonge, Conscience!

Of spiritus justitiæ,

Thow spekest muche on ydel."

"Caytif!" quod Conscience,

"Cursede wrecche!

Un-blessed artow, brewere,

But if thee God helpe.

But thow lyve by loore

Of spiritus justitiæ,

The chief seed that Piers sew,

Y-saved worstow nevere.

But Conscience the comune fede,

And cardinale vertues,

Leve it wel, thei ben lost,

Bothe lif and soule."

"Thanne is many a man lost,"

Quod a lewed vicory.—

"I am a curatour of holy kirke,

And cam nevere in my tyme

Man to me, that me kouthe telle

Of cardinale vertues,

Or that acountede Conscience

At a cokkes fethere or an hennes.

I knew nevere cardynal,

That he ne cam fro the pope;

And we clerkes, whan thei come,

For hir comunes paieth,

For hir pelure and hir palfreyes mete,

And pilours that hem folweth.

"The comune clamat cotidie

Ech a man til oother,

The contree is the corseder

That cardinals comme inne;

And ther thei ligge and lenge moost,

Lecherie there regneth.

"For-thi," quod this vicory,

"By verray God! I wolde

That no cardynal coome

Among the comune peple;

But in hir holynesse

Helden hem stille

At Avynone among the Jewes,—

Cum sancto sanctus eris, etc.—

Or in Rome, as hir rule wole,

The relikes to kepe;

And thow, Conscience, in kynges court,

And sholdest nevere come thennes;

And Grace, that thow graddest so of,

Gyour of alle clerkes;

And Piers with his newe plow,

And ek with his olde,

Emperour of al the world,

That alle men were cristene.

"Inparfit is that pope

That al the world sholde helpe,

And sendeth swiche that sleeth hem

That he sholde save.

"And wel worthe Piers the Plowman,

That pursueth God in doynge,

Qui pluit super justos

Et injustos at ones,

And sent the sonne to save

A cursed mannes tilthe,

As brighte as to the beste man,

Or to the beste womman.

"Right so Piers the Plowman

Peyneth hym to tilye

As wel for a wastour

And wenches of the stewes,

As for hymself and his servauntz,

Save he is first y-served;

And travailleth and tilieth

For a tretour also soore

As for a trewe tidy man,

Alle tymes y-like.

And worshiped be he that wroghte al,

Bothe good and wikke,

And suffreth that synfulle be,

[Tyl som tyme that thei repenten].

And God amende the pope!

That pileth holy kirke,

And cleymeth bifore the kyng

To be kepere over cristene;

And counteth noght though cristene ben

Killed and robbed;

And fynt folk to fighte,

And cristen blood to spille,

Ayein the olde lawe and newe lawe,

As Luc therof witnesseth.

Non occides, mihi vindictam, etc.

"It semeth, bi so

Hymself hadde his wille,

That he reccheth right noght

Of al the remenaunt.

And Crist of his curteisie

The cardinals save,

And torne hir wit to wisdom,

And to welthe of soule!

For the comune," quod this curatour,

"Counten ful litel

The counseil of Conscience,

Or cardinale vertues.

But if thei seighe, as by sighte,

Som what to wynnyng,

Of gile ne of gabbyng

Gyve thei nevere tale.

For spiritus prudentiæ

Among the peple is gyle;

And alle tho faire vertues

As vices thei semeth.

Ech man subtileth a sleighte

Synne for to hide,

And coloureth it for a konnynge,

And a clene lyvynge."

Thanne lough ther a lord,

And "By this light!" seide,

"I holde it right and reson

Of my reve to take

Al that myn auditour,

Or ellis my styward,

Counseilleth me bi hir acounte

And my clerkes writyng.

With spiritus intellectus

Thei seke the reves rolles;

And with spiritus fortitudinis

Fecche it I wole after."

And thanne cam ther a kyng,

And, by his croune! seide,

"I am kyng with croune

The comune to rule,

And holy kirke and clergie

From cursed men to fende;

And if me lakketh to lyve by,

The lawe wole I take it

Ther I may hastilokest it have.

For I am heed of lawe;

And ye ben but membres,

And I above alle.

And sith I am youre aller heed,

I am youre aller heele,

And holy chirches chief help,

And chieftayn of the comune;

And what I take of yow two,

I take it at the techynge

Of spiritus justitiæ,

For I jugge yow alle.

So I may boldely be housled,

For I borwe nevere,

Ne crave of my comune,

But as my kynde asketh."

"In condicion," quod Conscience,

"That thow konne defende

And rule thi reaume in reson,

Right wel and in truthe,

Take thow mayst in reson

As thi lawe asketh.

Omnia tua sunt ad defendendum,

sed non ad deprædandum."

The viker hadde fer hoom,

And faire took his leeve;

And I awakned therwith,

And wroot as me mette.

Passus Vicesimus de Visione, et Primus de Do-best.

13928

HANNE as I wente by the wey,

Whan I was thus awaked,

Hevy-chered I yede,

And elenge in herte;

I ne wiste wher to ete,

Ne at what place,

And it neghed neigh the noon,

And with Nede I mette

That afrounted me foule,

And faitour me called:

"Kanstow noght excuse thee,

As dide the kyng and othere,

That thow toke to thy bilyve,

To clothes and to sustenaunce;

And by techynge and by tellynge

Of spiritus temperantiæ,

And thow nome na-moore

Than nede thee taughte,

And nede he hath no lawe,

Ne nevere shal falle in dette;

For thre thynges he taketh,

His lif for to save.

"That is mete, whan men hym werneth

And he no moneye weldeth,

Ne wight noon wol ben his borugh,

Ne wed hath noon to legge;

And he caughte in that caas,

And come therto by sleighte,

He synneth noght, soothliche,

That so wynneth his foode.

"And though he come so to a clooth,

And kan no bettre chevyssaunce,

Nede anoon righte

Nymeth hym under maynprise.

"And if hym list for to lape,

The lawe of kynde wolde

That he dronke at ech dych,

Er he for thurst deide.

So Nede al gret nede

May nymen, as for his owene,

Withouten counseil of Conscience

Or cardynale vertues,

So that he sewe and save

Spiritus temperantiæ.

"For is no vertue bi fer

To spiritus temperantiæ;

Ne spiritus justitiæ

Ne spiritus fortitudinis.

For spiritus fortitudinis

Forfeteth ful ofte.

He shal do moore than mesure

Many tyme and ofte,

And bete men over bittre,

And some of hem to litel,

And greve men gretter

Than good feith it wolde

"And spiritus justitiæ

Shal juggen, wol he nele he,

After the kynges counseil,

And the comune like.

And spiritus prudentiæ

In many a point shal faille

Of that he weneth wolde falle,

If his wit ne weere.

Wenynge is no wysdom,

Ne wys ymaginacion,

Homo proponit, et Deus disponit,

And governeth alle goode vertues;

Ac Nede is next hym,

For anoon he meketh,

And as lowe as a lomb,

For lakkyng of that hym nedeth.

Wise men forsoke wele,

For thei wolde be nedy,

And woneden in wildernesse,

And wolde noght he riche.

"And God al his grete joye

Goostliche he lefte,

And cam and took mankynde,

And bi-cam nedy.

So nedy he was, as seith the book,

In manye sondry places,

That he seide in his sorwe

On the selve roode,

Bothe fox and fowel

May fle to hole and crepe,

And the fissh hath fyn

To flete with to reste,

Ther Nede hath y-nome me

That I moot nede abide

And suffre sorwes ful soure

That shal to joye torne,

For-thi be noght abasshed

To bide and to be nedy;

Sith he that wroghte al the world

Was wilfulliche nedy,

Ne nevere noon so nedy

Ne poverer deide."

HAN Nede hath under-nome me thus,

Anoon I fil a-slepe;

And mette ful merveillously,

That in mannes forme

Antecrist cam thanne,

And al the crop of Truthe

Torned it up-so-doun,

And over-tilte the roote;

And fals sprynge and sprede,

And spede mennes nedes,

In ech a contree ther he cam

He kutte awey truthe,

And gerte gile growe there,

As he a Good weere.

Freres folwede that fend,

For he gaf hem copes;

And religiouse reverenced hym,

And rongen hir belles,

And al the covent forth cam

To welcome that tyraunt,

And alle hise as wel as hym,

Save oonly fooles.

Whiche foolis were wel levere

To deye than to lyve

Lenger, sith Lenten

Was so rebuked.

And as a fals fend, Antecrist

Over alle folk regnede,

Save that were mylde men and holye,

That no meschief dradden,

Defyed alle falsnesse

And folk that it usede;

And what kyng that hem conforted,

Knowynge hem any while,

They cursed and hir conseil,

Were it clerk or lewed.

Antecrist hadde thus soone

Hundredes at his baner,

And Pride it bar

Boldely aboute,

With a lord that lyveth

After likyng of body,

That kam ayein Conscience,

That kepere was and gyour

Over kynde cristene

And cardynale vertues.

"I conseille," quod Conscience tho,

"Cometh with me, ye fooles,

Into Unité holy chirche,

And holde we us there;

And crye we to kynde

That he come and defende us,

Fooles, fro thise fendes lymes,

For Piers love the Plowman;

And crye we to al the comune,

That thei come to Unitee,

And there abide and bikere

Ayeins Beliales children."

Kynde Conscience tho herde,

And cam out of the planetes,

And sente forth his forreyours,

Feveres and fluxes,

Coughes and cardiacles,

Crampes and tooth-aches,

Rewmes and radegundes,

And roynous scabbes,

Biles and bocches,

And brennynge agues,

Frenesies and foule yveles,

Forageres of kynde,

Hadde y-priked and prayed

Polles of peple,

That largeliche a legion

Loste hir lif soone.

There was, "Harrow and help!

Here cometh Kynde,

With Deeth that is dredful

To undo us alle!"

The lord that lyved after lust

Tho aloud cryde

After Confort, a knyght,

To come and bere his baner;

"A l'arme! à l'arme!" quod that lord,

"Ech lif kepe his owene!"

And thanne mette thise men,

Er mynstrals myghte pipe,

And er heraudes of armes

Hadden discryved lordes,

Elde the hoore

That was in the vaunt-warde.

And bar the baner bifore Deeth,

Bi right he it cleymede.

Kynde cam after,

With many kene soores,

As pokkes and pestilences,

And muche peple shente;

So Kynde thorugh corrupcions

Kilde ful manye.

Deeth cam dryvynge after,

And al to duste passhed

Kynges and knyghtes,

Kaysers and popes,

Lered and lewed,

He leet no man stonde

That he hitte evene,

That evere stired after.

Manye a lovely lady,

And lemmans of knyghtes,

Swowned and swelted

For sorwe of hise dyntes.

Conscience of his curteisie

To Kynde he bi-soughte

To cesse and suffre,

And see wher thei wolde

Leve Pride pryvely,

And be parfite cristene.

And Kynde cessede tho

To se the peple amende.

Fortune gan flatere thanne

Tho fewe that were alyve,

And bi-highte hem long lif,

And Lecherie he sente

Amonges alle manere men,

Wedded and unwedded,

And gaderede a greet hoost

Al agayn Conscience.

This Lecherie leide on

With a janglynge chiere,

And with pryvee speche

And peyntede wordes;

And armede hym in ydelnesse,

And in heigh berynge.

He bar a bowe in his hand,

And manye brode arewes,

Weren fethered with fair bi-heste

And many a fals truthe.

With hise un-tidy tales

He tened ful ofte.

Conscience and his compaignye,

Of holy chirche the techeris.

Thanne cam Coveitise,

And caste how he myghte

Overcome Conscience

And cardinale vertues,

And armed hym in avarice,

And hungriliche lyvede.

His wepne was al wiles

To wynnen and to hiden;

With glosynges and with gabbynges

He giled the peple.

Symonye hym sente

To assaille Conscience,

And preched to the peple;

And prelates thei hem maden

To holden with Antecrist,

His temporaltees to save;

And cam to the kynges counseille

As a kene baroun,

And kneled to Conscience

In court afore hem alle,

And garte good feith flee,

And fals to abide;

And boldeliche bar a-doun,

With many a bright noble,

Muche of the wit and wisdom

Of Westmynstre Halle.

He jogged to a justice,

And justed in his eere,

And over-tilte al his truthe

With "Tak this up amendement."

And to the Arches in haste

He yede anoon after,

And tornede cyvyle into symonye,

And siththe he took the official

For a mantel of menever,

And made lele matrymoyne

Departen er deeth cam,

And devors shapte.

"Allas!" quod Conscience, and cryde tho,

"Wolde Crist of his grace

That coveitise were cristene!

That is so kene a fightere,

And boold and bidynge

While his bagge lasteth."

And thanne lough Lyf,

And leet daggen hise clothes,

And armed hym an haste

With harlotes wordes;

And heeld holynesse a jape,

And hendenesse a wastour;

And leet leautee a cherl,

And lyere a fre man;

Conscience and his counseil

He counted at a flye

Thus relyede Lif,

For a litel fortune;

And priketh forth with Pride,

Preiseth he no vertue,

Ne careth noght how Kynde slow,

And shal come at the laste,

And kille alle erthely creatures,

Save Conscience oone.

Lyf lepte aside,

And laughte hym a lemman;

"Heele and I," quod he,

"And heighnesse of herte,

Shal do thee noght drede

Neither deeth ne elde,

And to forgyte sorwe,

And gyve noght of synne."

This likede Lif,

And his lemman Fortune;

And geten in hir glorie

A gadelyng at the laste,

Oon that muche wo wroghte,

Sleuthe was his name.

Sleuthe wax wonder yerne,

And soone was of age,

And wedded oon Wanhope,

A wenche of the stuwes.

Hir sire was a sysour

That nevere swoor truthe,

Oon Tomme Two-tonge,

Atteynt at ech enqueste.

This Sleuthe was war of werre,

And a slynge made,

And threw drede of dispair

A dozeyne myle aboute.

For care Conscience tho

Cryde upon Elde,

And bad hym fonde to fighte,

And a-fere Wanhope.

And Elde hente good hope,

And hastiliche he shifte hym,

And wayved awey Wanhope,

And with Lif he fighteth.