Hymns to the Virgin & Christ, the Parliament of devils, and other religious poems.

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The Mirror of the Periods of Man's Life. OR BIDS OF THE VIRTUES AND VICES FOR THE SOUL OF MAN.

[Lambeth MS. 853, ab. 1430 A.D., pages 120-150, written without breaks, till near the bottom of p. 131, as marked by the insetting of the even lines here.]

                  
                    HOw mankinde dooþ bigynne
                  
                    is wondir for to scryue so;
                  
                    In game he is bigoten in synne,
                  
                    Þe child is þe modris deedli foo;
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                    Or þei be fulli partide on tweyne,
                  
                    In perelle of deed ben boþe two.
                  
                    Pore he come þe worlde with-ynne,
                  
                    Wiþ sorewe & pouert oute schal he goo.
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                    In wyntir nyȝt or y wakid,
                  
                    In my sleep y dreemed so;
                  
                    I saw a child modir  [page 121] nakid,
                  
                    New born þe modir fro.
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                    Al aloone, as god him makid,
                  
                    In wildirnesse he dide goo,
                  
                    Til two in gouernaunce it takid,
                  
                    An aungil freende, an aungil foo.
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                    Quod þe world to þe child, "how many foolde
                  
                    Hast þou brouȝt richesse? now late se:
                  
                    Þou schuldist deie for hunger and coolde
                  
                    But y lente meete & cloþe to þee:

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                    I wole þee fynde til þou be oolde;
                  
                    How wolt þou quyte it me?"
                  
                    Quod desteine, "he is bouȝt & soolde."
                  
                    Quod deeþ, "his eende make schal we."
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                    Quod þe child, "y come poore þe world with|inne
                  
                    To pursue a wondirful eritage:
                  
                    Nakid out of þe wyket of synne,
                  
                    Of the perellis of streite passage,
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                    To seke deeþ y dide bigynne,
                  
                    Þat ilke dredful pilgrymage,
                  
                    Mi body & soule to parte a tweyne,
                  
                    To make a deuourse of þat mariage.
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                    Liȝtnesse, strenþe, corage & bewte,
                  
                    Þe comaundementis þat god bede;
                  
                    Lust, liking, & iolite,
                  
                    .vij. werkis of mercy  [page 122] and þe crede.
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                    Veyn glorie, flaterynge, and vanyte,
                  
                    Sowowe, siȝing, loue, & drede,
                  
                    To the child her seruice profren he,
                  
                    For helle peyne or heuene meede.
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                    Thanne come oon & stood ful stille,
                  
                    And his seruice profride he:
                  
                    "Þese folke wolde þi silfe spille
                  
                    To make þee bonde; y wole make þee free.
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                    Þei han þee tauȝt boþe good & ille;
                  
                    From her councel fast þou flee,
                  
                    For my name is freewille;
                  
                    Leue alle hem & folowe me."
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                    The ȝonge childe in studie stood,
                  
                    And in herte wittis souȝte.
                  
                    Conscience mengid his mood,
                  
                    "Mi fair childe, what hast þou þouȝt?

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                    I am Conscience, knowe yuel & good,
                  
                    We two to rekenynge must be brouȝt:
                  
                    Biwaare! free wille wole make þee woode;
                  
                    Free wille withouten witte is nouȝt.
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                    For my name is Conscience;
                  
                    To knowe me þou must bigynne;
                  
                    Discrecioun is my science,
                  
                    Vicis & Vertues  [page 123] to voide a twynne.
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                    A-queynte þe weel with Prudence,
                  
                    He lediþ alle vertues out & inne;
                  
                    Bi waar of richelees, for he wole make diffence,
                  
                    For he is leder of al synne.
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                    ¶ Whanne þe child was .vij. ȝeer olde,
                  
                    Passyng sowkyng of milke drewis,
                  
                    Þe good aungil þe childe dide weelde;
                  
                    Al vertu to him þan soone he schewis:
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                    "To fadir & modir honour þou ȝeelde;
                  
                    Loue god, & drede, and be of good þewis."
                  
                    Þe wickid aungil bad him be boold
                  
                    To calle boþe fadir & modir schrewis.
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                    Þe good aungil badde him "be mylde
                  
                    From al woo, it wole þee werre:
                  
                    Þat man may hiȝe housis bilde
                  
                    Þat his tunge can weel for-beerre."
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                    Quod þe wickid aungil, "while þou art a child,
                  
                    With þi tunge on folk þou bleere;
                  
                    Course of kynde is for ȝouþe to be wilde,
                  
                    To beete alle children, and do hem deerre."
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                    Thus at  [page 124] vij. ȝeer age childhood bigynnes,
                  
                    And folowith folies many foold;
                  
                    Aftirward his childhode blynnes;
                  
                    Whanne he is fourtene ȝeer oolde,

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                    Þanne knowliche of manhode he wynnes,
                  
                    Þe .vij. vertues wiþ him wonne wolde;
                  
                    Þanne comeþ þe .vij. deedli synnes
                  
                    With þe wickid aungil housholde to holde.
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                    Quod resoun, "in age of .xx. ȝeer,
                  
                    Goo to oxenford, or lerne lawe."
                  
                    Quod lust, "harpe & giterne þere may y leere,
                  
                    And pickid staffe & buckelere, þere-wiþ to plawe,
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                    At tauerne to make wommen myrie cheere,
                  
                    And wilde felawis to-gidere drawe,
                  
                    And be to bemond [bemond is the name of a dog:?poaching.]  A good squyer
                  
                    Al nyȝt til þe day do dawe."
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                    Quod conscience, "þat axiþ coost;
                  
                    Þe moore þou spendist, þe lesse þou hast;
                  
                    Þi tyme, þi leernynge boþe ben loost,
                  
                    Þi freendis good þou spendist in waast."
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                    Quod lust to conscience, "ȝouþe so muste;
                  
                    Ȝouþe can not kepe him chast." [page 125] 
                  
                    "Good conscience, goo preche to þe post,
                  
                    Þi councel saueriþ not my tast.
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                    Þouȝ Conscience bidde me be stille,
                  
                    I wole holde forþe þat y bigan;
                  
                    Al my lust y wole ful-fille,
                  
                    I wole spare no womman;
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                    Conscience wolde binde me to skille,
                  
                    And make me his bondman.
                  
                    Fareweel Conscience! weelcome frewille!
                  
                    I wole lerne no more good þan y can."
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                    Now vicis & vertues wole not slake,
                  
                    Now man is .xx. wyntir in age:
                  
                    Quod pride, "no man þou forsake,
                  
                    I wole þee sette in þe hiȝest stage."

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                    Quod glotenye, "nyȝt & day þou wake;
                  
                    Ete late & eerli in outrage."
                  
                    Quod leccherie, "þi seed richelees þou schake,
                  
                    And make no force of no mariage."
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                    Quod wraþþe, "loke þou bere þee bolde;
                  
                    What man þee teene, His heed þou breest."
                  
                    Quod enuie, "þi foote þou holde,
                  
                    And pursue  [page 126] for to passe þe beest."
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                    Quod slouþe, "in ȝouþe, or þou be oolde,
                  
                    Leerne for to take þi reest."
                  
                    Quod Coueitise, "wynnen y wolde."
                  
                    Quod auarise, "locke me in þi cheest."
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                    "Apparaile þe propirli," quod Pride,
                  
                    "Loke þi pockettis passe þe lengist gise;
                  
                    Slatre þi clothis boþe schorte & side
                  
                    Passinge alle oþere mennis sise;
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                    And where þat þou goo ouþer ride,
                  
                    Do no reuerence to foole ne wise;
                  
                    Late no poore neiȝbore þryue þee biside;
                  
                    Alle oþer mennis councel loke þou dispise."
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                    "Bi waare," quod Meekenes, "how pride dooþ wys;
                  
                    He ȝeueþ but woo & wyssche to wage;
                  
                    Of aungelis bewte þe prijs was his;
                  
                    In heuene on þe hiȝest stage,
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                    He wolde haue peerid with god of blis;
                  
                    Now is he in helle moost looþeli page.
                  
                    Þat feendis forfetid for her mys,
                  
                    Is now meeke mannis eritage."
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                    Quod wraþþe, "From þat councel flee,
                  
                    Þou art stalworþe, ȝonge, and liȝte,
                  
                    Of all quarellis medle þou þee [page 127] 
                  
                    Boþe of wronge & of riȝte.

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                    Who dar bete þee, nay lete be,
                  
                    Riche or poore, weike or wiȝte,
                  
                    Loke þou bere þee boolde on me,
                  
                    And y for þee wole chide & fliȝte."
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                    Þanne up stood Paciens,
                  
                    "As wraþþe biddiþ do not soo,
                  
                    For wraþþe haþ no Conscience,
                  
                    He makiþ ech man oþeris foo;
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                    Þer-with he getiþ his dispence,
                  
                    Þat schulde be freende, to make hem foo.
                  
                    Praie god, he be þi diffence,
                  
                    Þat þou be not founde in þe noumbre of þoo."
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                    Quod enuie þanne, "y wole þee leere
                  
                    To make þi lord to þee tame;
                  
                    Be homeli, & rowne in his eere,
                  
                    And bringe trewe folk in fals fame.
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                    Make him þi suget, to þee to swere
                  
                    Þat he schal not discure þi name;
                  
                    So make him fals witnesse to bere,
                  
                    And gete þee richesse wiþ god-is grame."
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                    Þanne up roos a souereyn uertu
                  
                    Þat is clepid Charite:
                  
                    "Loke þou not hise maners sue,
                  
                    For god-is enemy soþeli is he.
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                    Do þou to euery man þat is due [page 128] 
                  
                    As þou woldist he dide to þee."
                  
                    Quod Coueitise "and alle folk were trewe,
                  
                    Manye a man schulde neuere þee.
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                    Caste þee faste to Coueitise,
                  
                    Make sotil þi wittis, & forge wilis,
                  
                    And preue þat trewe men be nyce,
                  
                    For so þe fals þe trewe bigilis;

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                    Such ben worschipid & holden wise,
                  
                    Þei purchasen hem townes, maners, & pilis,
                  
                    And truþe wolde wite where þi lordschip lijs;
                  
                    Make heggis bi-twene ȝou, and no stilis."
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                    Quod largenes in almesse dede,
                  
                    "Coueitise councelliþ þee amys.
                  
                    Ȝeue to þe pore, & þou schalt spede
                  
                    Þe bettir, þe gospel seiþ þis;
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                    For at þe doome þere þou schalt drede,
                  
                    Crist wole reherse of þee y-wys
                  
                    Þe werkis of merci, as clerkis reede:
                  
                    If þou hast doon hem, þou goost to blis."
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                    "Man, loue þi wombe," quod Gloteny,
                  
                    "Leie mete upon meete, & ete faste;
                  
                    But leue not þi crummes drye,
                  
                    Drinke þou til þe ful flood be paste.
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                    Leue clennesse, & use harlotrie,
                  
                    But neuere a day loke þou ne faste; [page 129] 
                  
                    In þi wombe make þi tresorie,
                  
                    Of þeeuis þanne þou schalt not be agast."
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                    Quod Mesure, "man! haue me in mynde.
                  
                    God made man suget to resoun:
                  
                    Wat turneþ a man to beestis kinde
                  
                    But etynge & drynking out of sesoun?
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                    Drunkelew folk ben goostli blinde;
                  
                    For faute of witt her lijf is gesoun;
                  
                    In ydil ooþis wasten þei her wynde:
                  
                    To repreue suche, god fyndiþ enchesoun.'
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                    Quod Slouþe, "bisynesse y þee forbede;
                  
                    To chirche neiþer goo ne renne;
                  
                    Who techiþ þee good, take noon hede,
                  
                    Aȝens oo worde ȝeue him ten:

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                    Seie 'alle folk ben not sotil in dede;'
                  
                    Excuse þee so bi oþer men,
                  
                    And ȝeue hem myche maugre to mede
                  
                    Þat ony good þee wolde kenne."
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                    Quod Besinesse, "man! of Slouþe be waare;
                  
                    He is assigned to helle for synne;
                  
                    In good lyuynge þi wittis ware,
                  
                    To drede god þou muste bigynne;
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                    Þi fleischeli lustis þou muste spare,
                  
                    For vicis and vertues wole voide atwynne; [page 130] 
                  
                    In besinessis hous is good weelfare,
                  
                    And Slouþe haþ hunger and cloþis þinne."
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                    Quod leccherie to man, "loue þanne weel me,
                  
                    Þi lustis with wommen þou fulfille,
                  
                    For if þou in ȝouþe sparist þanne þee,
                  
                    Þou maist falle in greet perille.
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                    Ȝouþe ful of corage wole be;
                  
                    Þou muste haue helpe, or ellis spille;
                  
                    Spare no womman, y councelle þe,
                  
                    Þouȝ summe cryen neuere so schille."
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                    Quod Chastite to man, "loo,
                  
                    Herken how leccherie dooþ speke!
                  
                    Whanne þou þi foule luste hast doo,
                  
                    Bi waare him þanne! he wole þee þrete,
                    Line 236 
                  
                    And seie 'for þou hast so doo
                  
                    Þou must suffre peynes greete;'
                  
                    And but if god help þee þo,
                  
                    Soone in wanhope he wole þee lete.
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                    Quod þe good aungil, "ȝit þee avise;
                  
                    Lerne witte while þou art heere;
                  
                    He is a foole þat may be wise,
                  
                    In heuene comeþ no foolis to ȝeere, [page 131] 

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                    God dooþ richelees foolis refuse
                  
                    Þat kunnen no good, ne noon wole lere;
                  
                    If wordis excuse, werkis accuse,
                  
                    Þat makiþ hem worse þan þei were."
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                    "IN þritti ȝeer now y abide;
                  
                    In discrecioun I haue in-siȝt,
                  
                    Loueli to goo, and to ride,
                  
                    Ful of manhode & of myȝt."
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                    Quod Conscience, "vertues þou puttist aside,
                  
                    And norischist vicis day & nyȝt."
                  
                    Quod man in scorn, "lo, Conscience dooþ chide!
                  
                    For losse of catel he dar not fiȝt."
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                    "Man, kepe þi richesse," quod Conscience,
                  
                    "To maynteine pride, it costiþ greete;
                  
                    It costiþ nouȝt, meekenesse ne pacience,
                  
                    But it axiþ greet coost to chide & to beete.
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                    Leccherie axiþ greet dispense,
                  
                    It distroieþ mannis kindeli heete;
                  
                    And glotenie coostiþ wiþouten diffence
                  
                    Boþe in diuerse drinkis and meete.
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                    "IT costiþ greet to use a synne
                  
                    Þat is clepid foule Enuye,
                  
                    For it fretiþ man with-inne; [page 132] 
                  
                    Bodi & soule it dooþ distroie.
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                    Slouþis þrifte, it is ful þinne,
                  
                    It costiþ myche in slouþe to lie;
                  
                    And Coueitise al þe world wolde wynne,
                  
                    And Auarise aftir more doith crie."
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                    Quod man to Conscience, "ȝouþe axiþ delice;
                  
                    For ȝouþe þe course of kinde wole holde;
                  
                    But ȝouþe were a foole and nyce,
                  
                    How schulde wijsdom be founde in oolde.

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                    Þe corage of ȝouþe, and oolde wise,
                  
                    Makiþ ȝonge men to be boolde;
                  
                    In witt of oolde, worschipe lijs;
                  
                    In þe witte of wise, kingdom is holde.
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                    "Þou wastist þi wynde & spillist þi speche,
                  
                    Þi wordis me is looþ to heere;
                  
                    And y dide as þou doist me teche,
                  
                    I schulde neuere make myrie chere.
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                    Wenest þou with þin hond heuene to reche?
                  
                    Þin arme wole not be so longe to ȝeere;
                  
                    Now, good Conscience, & þou wolt preche,
                  
                    Goo stele an abite, & bicome a frere."
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                    Quod man, "y pleie, y wrastile, y sprynge, [page 133] 
                  
                    Þese ioies wolen neuere wende me fro;
                  
                    Now alle gamys hom y brynge;
                  
                    What such as y am, þer ben no moo:
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                    I leepe, y daunce, y skippe, y synge,
                  
                    I am so myrie y can not seie hoo."
                  
                    Quod Conscience, "þou schalt weepe & wringe
                  
                    Whanne þei take her leeue to goo."
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                    "Myn iȝen ben cleere & briȝt as glas,
                  
                    Mi lire as lillye and roose of hewe,
                  
                    Of schappe & strengþe alle folke y passe,
                  
                    And euere my uertu wexiþ newe."
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                    Quod Conscience, "y loue þee weel þe lasse,
                  
                    Þou usist ne werkis of good vertu."
                  
                    "Goo, Conscience, þou lewide asse,
                  
                    I kepe not þi maneris to sue."
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                    Quod man, "Myne age is fourti ȝeere."
                  
                    Quod þe world, "y offre to þee my weele."
                  
                    Quod strengþe, "late no man be þi peere."
                  
                    Quod corage, "late no man with þee deele."

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                    Quod luste and liking, "make good cheere." [page 134] 
                  
                    "I am al hool wiþ þee," quod heele.
                  
                    Quod Conscience, "wistist þou what þese were?
                  
                    At nede wole faile þi fleische so freele."
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                    Quod Conscience to man in ȝouþe,
                  
                    "Traueile in trouþe in tyme is beste."
                  
                    Quod trouþe, "gete þee richesse nouþe
                  
                    Wherwiþ in oolde to haue þi reste;
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                    Þouȝ age can as he cowthe,
                  
                    Myȝt & corage he haþ looste,
                  
                    He kepiþ his soule þat kepiþ his mouþe,
                  
                    For þe soule to þe fleisch is but a goost."
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                    "Now am I fifti ȝeere y-wis,
                  
                    Myn heer bigynneþ to change his hewe."
                  
                    Quod Conscience, "flee from alle vice,
                  
                    And use werkis of good vertu,
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                    Late not þi werkis preue þee nyce,
                  
                    Loke þat þou euere be founden trewe."
                  
                    "Fare weel Conscience, weelcome Coueitise!
                  
                    To be richee now y wole pursue."
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                    Quod Conscience, "þat is idil bisynesse, [page 135] 
                  
                    Nedelees richesse to gadre soo;
                  
                    Ouerhope is þe cause y-wisse,
                  
                    He weneþ ameende al er he goo."
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                    Wanhope seiþ, "kepe weel þis,
                  
                    For þe world wole faile us two."
                  
                    Quod Conscience, "chaunge not heuen blis
                  
                    For helle peyne, sorowe, and woo."
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                    "IN sixti ȝeere myn age is piȝte,
                  
                    Myn iȝen daswen, myn heer is hoore;
                  
                    In my werkis y haue febil in-siȝte,
                  
                    I fynde no vertu in my stoore.

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                    How schal y reckene with god almyȝt?
                  
                    I am aschamed wondir soore."
                  
                    Quod Conscience, "certis it were riȝt
                  
                    To be holi now or neuere moore."
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                    Quod ȝouthe to age, "what doist þou nowþe?
                  
                    Hange up þin hachet & take þi reste;
                  
                    Þe sunne is past fer bi þe sowthe,
                  
                    And hiȝeth swiþe in to þe weste."
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                    Quod man, "y serued þee in ȝougþe [page 136] 
                  
                    And al þe tyme myne eruest leste,
                  
                    Wiþ sorowe of herte & schrifte of mouþe
                  
                    To god ȝit haue y kepte þe beste."
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                    "Age, calle aȝen ȝistirday to-morne; [[MS. to-morowe]] 
                  
                    And alle þi werkis, bigynne hem newe."
                  
                    Quod man, "þouȝ þou speke in scorne,
                  
                    Þou techist me good þat y neuere knewe;
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                    I wole biþinke me on my werkis biforn,
                  
                    Do almes dede, praie, & rewe,
                  
                    And goddis mercy schal ynne my corn,
                  
                    And fede me wiþ þat þat y neuere sewe.
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                    "IN ȝougþe whanne y was wilde & stronge,
                  
                    Þe fals world fair dide me wowe,
                  
                    Me þouȝt ech worde a myrie songe,
                  
                    Wiþ pipis, and dauncis, & mirþis y-nowe.
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                    Now seiþ he, he loued me to longe,
                  
                    For myn heer bigynneþ to blowe;
                  
                    To þi mercy, lord, me vndirfonge,
                  
                    Þe tyde is ebbid, & no more wole flowe."
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                    "Þe candel of lijf þi soule dide tende: [page 137] 
                  
                    To liȝte þee hom," resoun dide saye.
                  
                    "Miche of my candel in waaste y spende,
                  
                    Manye wickid windis haþ wastid it away;

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                    Vnneþe y holde my candelis eende,
                  
                    It is past euensonge of my day;
                  
                    To reepe myn heruest, whidir mai y winde?
                  
                    Mi londis of vertues liggen al lay.
                    Line 376

                  
                    "¶ Whanne ȝouþe was maistir, y was page,
                  
                    We lyueden myche in þe feendis seruice,
                  
                    Wiþ rere souperis and wickid outrage,
                  
                    Ligge longe in bed, looþe to arise.
                    Line 380 
                  
                    Now haue y nouȝt but wisschis to wage,
                  
                    And myche repreef amonge þe wijse;
                  
                    Þei þat loueden me in ȝouþe, hatiden me in age,
                  
                    And vnkindeli me diden dispice.
                    Line 384

                  
                    "NOw haue y greet meruaile
                  
                    Þe world to man whi it was wrouȝte;
                  
                    Fele temptaciouns now me assaile,
                  
                    I haue no reste for chaunge of þouȝte.
                    Line 388 
                  
                    Whanne y schulde reste y haue greet merueile; [page 138] 
                  
                    In bed to sleepe whanne y am brouȝte,
                  
                    I se but drede and greet bataile
                  
                    Al mannys lijfe, and it be souȝte.
                    Line 392

                  
                    "Thus þe fals world haþ forsaken me;
                  
                    For waste of hise goodis he accusiþ me;
                  
                    Þe synnes þat y loued, now haten me,
                  
                    To Conscience þei adwiten me;
                    Line 396 
                  
                    Feendis þreten faste to take me,
                  
                    And steren helle houndis to bite me;
                  
                    Deeþ seiþ, my breed he haþ baken me;
                  
                    Now schakeþ he his spere to smite me.
                    Line 400

                  
                    "Þus y am huntid as an herte to a-bay,
                  
                    I not whidir y may me turne,
                  
                    Myne enemyes myȝtili me assay,
                  
                    I waxe feble and vnourne;

                    Line 404

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                    Line 404 
                  
                    To flee to god is my beste way,
                  
                    Þere schal y in no poynt spurne;
                  
                    Lord! now socour me þat beste may,
                  
                    In þin herte blood, þat holi bourne."
                    Line 408

                  
                    Quod ȝouþe to age, "y þee forsake, [page 139] 
                  
                    Þi frendis deien, þi strengþe dooþ faile,
                  
                    Þi siȝte and heeryng bigynneþ to slake,
                  
                    Þee neediþ helpe and good counsaile;
                    Line 412 
                  
                    God-is seruauntis in areest haþ þee take
                  
                    Til deeþ on þee haue doon bataile;
                  
                    Þi reckenyng bi tyme bisili þou make,
                  
                    Or þe deuel bringe þe countirtaile."
                    Line 416

                  
                    "Þouȝ deeþ be eende of worldlis woo,
                  
                    Þanne deeþ is euere mannys freende;
                  
                    thouȝ soulis in helle be ponischid soo,
                  
                    Deeþ comeþ not þere to make noon eende;
                    Line 420 
                  
                    Deeþ makiþ soulis to heuen to goo,
                  
                    But in to heuen deeþ may not wende,
                  
                    For deeþ is flemyd heuene froo,
                  
                    Deeþ is sugett to god to bende.
                    Line 424

                  
                    "NOw y am sixti ȝeere and ten,
                  
                    Ȝonge folke Y fynde my foo,
                  
                    Where euere þei pleie, leepe, or renne,
                  
                    Þei þinken in her weie Y goo;
                    Line 428 
                  
                    And whanne y mete with olde men, [page 140] 
                  
                    I pleyne 'þis world is chaungid soo;'
                  
                    Noon oþer bote is but seelde when
                  
                    Ech man telliþ oþir his woo."
                    Line 432

                  
                    Quod ȝouþe to age, "y þee a-peele
                  
                    And þat bifore oure god y-wis;
                  
                    I lente þee strengþe, bewte, & heele,—
                  
                    Þese percellis ben of heuen blis,—

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                    Line 436 
                  
                    Corage, liȝtnesse, freendis, & weele;
                  
                    Alle þese þou hast wastide amys
                  
                    From wijsdom in-to folies feele:
                  
                    God wole haue rekenyng of al þis.
                    Line 440

                  
                    "Þine heerynge and þin iȝe siȝte
                  
                    Þat þou hast wastide in veynglory;
                  
                    Þi mouþe to wronge aȝen riȝte,
                  
                    In fals ooþis and foule gloteny;
                    Line 444 
                  
                    Þin hondis to robbe and to fiȝte;
                  
                    Þi strengþe þou wastidist in tyrauntry;
                  
                    Þi feet in derknesse oute of liȝte,
                  
                    Þi bewte þou wastidist in lecchery."
                    Line 448

                  
                    Quod man, "y was gouerned Bitwene two þeuis, [page 141] 
                  
                    Þei stale on me: Y was stalworþe & white;
                  
                    Whanne my leepis weren brouȝt to preuis,
                  
                    I wondre on my silf Y was so liȝte.
                    Line 452 
                  
                    Ȝougþe staale from me; þat soore me greuis;
                  
                    Age steeleþ on me boþe day and nyȝte;
                  
                    Mi ȝougþe, my vertu, al from me meuis;
                  
                    Now wondre y on my silf where is my myȝte.
                    Line 456

                  
                    "¶ Ȝougþe staale from me, Y was stalworþe & liȝte;
                  
                    And age steeleþ on me Filþis to weelde;
                  
                    Ȝougþe steeliþ from me, Y ȝeede up riȝte;
                  
                    Age steeleþ on me, Y bowe and ȝeelde;
                    Line 460 
                  
                    Ȝougþe haþ stolen from me My leepis liȝte;
                  
                    Age steeliþ on me, Y wexe on-mylde;
                  
                    Ȝougþe steeleþ my corage To pleie & fiȝte,
                  
                    Age is so on me stoolen Þat y mote to god me ȝilde.
                    Line 464

                  
                    "NOw y am euene of ȝeeris fore scoure,
                  
                    So manye wyntir Y am oolde;
                  
                    Þere y was wonte To leepe bifore,
                  
                    Fer aboute now My wei y hoolde:

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                    Line 468 
                  
                    My backe bowiþ, myn iȝen ben soore, [page 142] 
                  
                    Myn hoote blood is kelid coolde:
                  
                    Alas! Conscience! to litil y toke þi loore,
                  
                    Þe talis þat þou hast ofte me toolde."
                    Line 472

                  
                    Quod Conscience, "where haddist þou þat speche?
                  
                    Þi liȝte leepis foonde to preue;
                  
                    Þe put of þe stoon þou maist not reche,
                  
                    To litil myȝte is in þi sleue.
                    Line 476 
                  
                    In yougþe whanne y dide þee teche,
                  
                    Foule þou me þanne dedist repreue;
                  
                    I þanke god of þi good leeche."
                  
                    "Ȝhe, Conscience, now to þi wordis y leeue."
                    Line 480

                  
                    "NOw foure score ȝeeris is past,
                  
                    Mi lijf is but traueil & woo,
                  
                    Fer in to rereage y am cast,
                  
                    Into ten ȝeer and moo.
                    Line 484 
                  
                    My lymes foulden þat weren fast,
                  
                    Wiþ staffe in honde now y goo;
                  
                    My redy speche may not last,
                  
                    So my teeþ ben fallen me fro.
                    Line 488

                  
                    "Ful of fleissche Y was to fele, [page 143] 
                  
                    Now may I neiþer stonde ne goon;
                  
                    It haþ now lefte me euery dele,
                  
                    Me is lefte But skyn & boon.
                    Line 492 
                  
                    Now y am vndre Fortunes whele,
                  
                    My frendis forsaken me Euerychoon,
                  
                    And alle þe synnes Y loued so weel,
                  
                    Now wote y weel þei been my foon."
                    Line 496

                  
                    Quod course of kinde, "What helpiþ, y wende,
                  
                    Þi wissching And þin hadde-y-wist?
                  
                    What maist þou On þo wordis spende,
                  
                    It is ful febil In þi fist.

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                    Line 500 
                  
                    Now alle men waiten aftir þin eende;
                  
                    Þouȝ þou deye, þou schalt not be myste;
                  
                    Þou combrest boþe foo & frende,
                  
                    Þi mylle haþ grounde þi laste griste."
                    Line 504

                  
                    Þre deedli synnes maden her moone,
                  
                    "We forsaken man in age."
                  
                    Quod Pride, "y am from him goon,
                  
                    For Pride in age Doiþ disperage."
                    Line 508 
                  
                    Quod leccherie, "He loueþ to lie a-loone;
                  
                    Þouȝ he wolde do, him wantiþ corage." [page 144] 
                  
                    Quod Glotenie, "he is but felle & boone,
                  
                    He loueþ more mesure þan outrage."
                    Line 512

                  
                    Quod Envie, "age hath no myȝte
                  
                    Ne richesse, lenger me to fynde."
                  
                    Quod wraþþe, "age may not fiȝte
                  
                    Þouȝ he be angri, bi course of kynde."
                    Line 516 
                  
                    Quod Slouþe, "age my chaumbre haþ diȝte,
                  
                    And calleþ me ease in his mynde."
                  
                    Quod Coueitise, "age haþ me hiȝte;
                  
                    Suget to me he dooþ him binde."
                    Line 520

                  
                    "I knowe," quod ouerhope, "fleissch is freele,
                  
                    Of oolde and ȝonge, of man, of childe;
                  
                    In ouerhope þei wasten her weele,
                  
                    And in diuerse werkis ful wylde;
                    Line 524 
                  
                    Þei ouerhope euere to lyue in heele,
                  
                    From age & sijknesse þei weneþ hem schilde,
                  
                    Þanne comeþ sijknesse, & printiþ his seele."
                  
                    Quod wanhope "þan y make him mylde;
                    Line 528

                  
                    "I bidde him horde, and richesse saue, [page 145] 
                  
                    For wanhope after mischife doiþ waite,
                  
                    Whanne sijknesse comeþ men to craue,"
                  
                    Quod ouerhope, "þan y flatir, & sumtyme flaite,

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                    Line 532 
                  
                    'Þou schalt lyue, and þi silf it haue.' "
                  
                    "Ȝhe," seiþ wanhope, "kepe it straite,
                  
                    Of good hope no councell þou craue
                  
                    Til deeþ þee caste with a trippe of dissaite."
                    Line 536

                  
                    Quod wanhope, "a gospel y radde:
                  
                    To telle it þee y wole bigynne,
                  
                    'If a man in synne be sadde
                  
                    Ech day newe, and lieþ þer-inne,
                    Line 540 
                  
                    Of such a man god is moore gladde
                  
                    Þan of a childe þat neuere dide synne.' "
                  
                    Quod Conscience, "he wolde make þe madde
                  
                    To repente þee not, ne neuere blynne."
                    Line 544

                  
                    Quod Conscience to wanhope, "I-wys
                  
                    Þou liest, y hate þe þerfore;
                  
                    I knowe þe gospel, it seiþ þis,
                  
                    'If a man haue synned longe bifore,
                    Line 548 
                  
                    And axe mercy And a-mende his mys,
                  
                    Repente, and wilne to synne no more,
                  
                    Of þat man god gladder is [page 146] 
                  
                    Þan of a child synlees y-bore.' "
                    Line 552

                  
                    Quod wanhope, "a gospel y radde; [[? redde:537]] 
                  
                    What it meneþ y can expownde,
                  
                    Ech man schal haue peine or meede,
                  
                    In þouȝte or dede as he is founde;
                    Line 556 
                  
                    He haþ not ȝit repentid his dede,
                  
                    He siȝkeþ for synnes ben not vnbounde;
                  
                    Þouȝ mercy come, he schal not spede,
                  
                    For in daunger of wanhope he is bounde."
                    Line 560

                  
                    Quod Conscience, "þou dotid hoore!
                  
                    God-is mercy þou woldist distroie;
                  
                    Þou wenest þi wickidnesse were moore
                  
                    þan god-is goodnesse & his mercie.

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                    Line 564 
                  
                    For if a man be woundid soore,
                  
                    And axe no medicine, him liste te deie;
                  
                    God haþ mercies y-now in stoore
                  
                    For a þousand worldis þat mercie wole crie."
                    Line 568

                  
                    "MEkenes, Pacience, and Charitee,
                  
                    Ȝe þat weren my frendis dere,
                  
                    Mesure, Bisinesse, and Chastitee,
                  
                    At þis mystire comeþ me neere."
                    Line 572 
                  
                    Quod Conscience, "þou flemed us from þee;
                  
                    Þou woldist not oure loore leere." [page 147] 
                  
                    Quod richelees, "loo, heere my meynee!
                  
                    Þe synnes þat þou louedist & seruedist, lo hem here!"
                    Line 576

                  
                    "Myne age is now an hundrid ȝeere;
                  
                    Litil y drinke, and lesse y ete,
                  
                    On my backe I bere my beere,
                  
                    And alle my frendis me forȝete,
                    Line 580 
                  
                    Fayn þei wolde þat y deed were,
                  
                    Wiþ sorewful wordis þei doon me þretee,
                  
                    And seyn, 'for y am so longe heere,
                  
                    Whanne y come hoome y schal be beete.'
                    Line 584

                  
                    NOw mote y leie forþ my necke,
                  
                    For deeþ his swerd out haþ lauȝte;
                  
                    But I deliuere weel þis checke,
                  
                    I leese my game at þis drauȝte.
                    Line 588 
                  
                    Ful of synne is my secke;
                  
                    To þe preest y wole schewe þat frauȝte,
                  
                    Mi schip is chargid, al gooþ to wrecke
                  
                    But if god of merci be wiþ me sauȝte.
                    Line 592

                  
                    This worlde haþ me in awaite,
                  
                    And biddiþ me quite þat is past;
                  
                    My fleissche in ouerhope wolde me faite,
                  
                    And into wanhope it wolde me caste.

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                    Line 596 
                  
                    Helle houndis berken and baite, [page 148] 
                  
                    Þe feendis writiþ my synnes faste,
                  
                    And deeþ me waitiþ with a trippe of dissaite;
                  
                    These sixe maken me soore agaste."
                    Line 600

                  
                    Þanne comeþ forþ good hope:
                  
                    To saue man he wolde fonde;
                  
                    "Þou wronge weuere ouerhope!
                  
                    I make him free, þou woldist make him bonde;
                    Line 604 
                  
                    I schal conclude þee, þou wanhope,
                  
                    Wile good feiþ wole with me stoonde;
                  
                    Hooli writte seiþ, 'in god y hoope,
                  
                    His merci is ouer þe werkis of his honde.' "
                    Line 608

                  
                    Quod good feiþ, "for þe litil while
                  
                    Þat now heere [þou] hast serued me,
                  
                    I wole þee kepe from al perile,
                  
                    And make pees bitwene god & þee;
                    Line 612 
                  
                    And ouerhope, for al his gile,
                  
                    From þin herte y schal do him flee;
                  
                    And wanhope also y wole exile,
                  
                    For he is not of oure fraternitee."
                    Line 616

                  
                    Quod þe worlde, "Y wole hise dettis quyte,
                  
                    And oute of his daunger me hyȝe;
                  
                    Þouȝ my fleissche berke, he schal not bitee,
                  
                    From his lustis y wole him tye;
                    Line 620 
                  
                    I wole waissche a-Wey [page 149]  þat feendis write
                  
                    With sorowe of herte and teer of yȝe,
                  
                    But with deeþ y wole not dispuite,
                  
                    But make me cleene, and leerne to deie.
                    Line 624

                  
                    God! sowe þi merci amonge my seede,
                  
                    Þanne schal it growe þouȝ y sowe late,
                  
                    And Repentaunce my corne schal weede,
                  
                    And make good pees þere was hate.

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                    Line 628 
                  
                    Þe comaundementis þat god bede,
                  
                    Þat is þe locke of heuen ȝate;
                  
                    Seuene werkis of mercy, and þe crede,
                  
                    Þese keies schullen late me in þerate."
                    Line 632

                  
                    Now haue ȝe herde of ȝougþis delice;
                  
                    And age in kynde, sijke, & woo;
                  
                    Knowing of uertu & of vice;
                  
                    Good aungil, & wickid sreende, & foo;
                    Line 636 
                  
                    And vndirstondinge to be wijs.
                  
                    Now in þis mirrour loke ȝou soo;
                  
                    In ȝoure free wille þe choice lijs,
                  
                    To heuen or helle whiþir ȝe wille goo.
                    Line 640

                  
                    The worlde, þe fleissche, & þe feende,
                  
                    In temptacioun doiþ us chase;
                  
                    Bid repentaunce to merci beende,
                  
                    And waissche us at þe welle of grace.
                    Line 644 
                  
                    Praie we to god graunte us good eende, [page 150] 
                  
                    And in heuen to haue a place,
                  
                    Þat after oure deeþ we mowen þidir wende,
                  
                    And in perfiȝt loue se his fair face.
                    Line 648

                    Now, leeue freendis, greete and smale,
                  
                    Þat haue herde þis trete,
                  
                    Praie for þe soule þat wroot þis tale
                  
                    A Pater noster, & an aue
                    Line 652 
                  
                    To marie modir, maiden free,
                  
                    As sche bare a childe Coumforte to us,
                  
                    On þat soule haue pitee
                  
                    If þe will be of crist ihesus. [[Stans Puer, printed in Babees Boke, &c., p. 27 follows here.]] 
                    Line 656 
                  amen.

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The Mirror of the Periods of Man's Life. OR BIDS OF THE VIRTUES AND VICES FOR THE SOUL OF MAN.

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Hymns to the Virgin & Christ, the Parliament of devils, and other religious poems.

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description Page 58

The Mirror of the Periods of Man's Life. OR BIDS OF THE VIRTUES AND VICES FOR THE SOUL OF MAN.

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