Twenty-six political and other poems (including 'Petty Job') from the Oxford mss. Digby 102 and Douce 322. Ed., with introduction and glossarial index, by D. J. Kail ...

XVI. A remembraunce of LIJ folyes. [I printed this, from my copy of the MS., in Englisch Studien 1897, in forgetfulness of Dr. Kail.—F. J. F.] [[A.D. 1419]]

[Digby 102, leaf 115.] [9 stanzas of 14, abab, abab, cc ddd c.]

(1)

Loke how Flaundres doþ fare wiþ his folyhede! Durste no man dygge after trouþe wiþ no manere toles. To wynne [folio 115b] wrongly wele, wod þey gan wede, But werkis of wys men were cast vnder stoles. Line 4 Glosers counseled lordis for to take mede, To maken hem riche, and here lordis pore foles. Whan þe souereyns were set, here sogettis to drede, Þe glosers skulked away, for shame of here sooles. Line 8 Falsed shal neuere ben ateynt Til Iuge here eche mannys pleynt. Redresse, and make an ende, Or ellys to mercy bende; Line 12 Make hem kyssen and be frende, Þat were fon feynt.

(2)

¶ Fyfty folyes ben, and two; Alle þo y wole mynne among. Line 16 To triste in trete to his fo Þat haþ begyled hem ofte and long, And hate hem þat telle hym so, And wilfully wolle suffre wrong: Line 20

Line 20 It is worthy he smerte and be wo, Þat of his owen skyn wole kerue a thong. Þat chepen moche, and not han to paye, And wiþ his lord to homly wole playe, Line 24 Swere moche, and not be trowed; Boste moche, and not allowed; Threte alle men, and neuere on bowed: All are folyes, þat y say. Line 28

(3)

¶ He is a fool, þat werre wole wake, Þat may not maynten it wiþ mede, And so moche vndertake, Þat wot wel he may not spede, Line 32 And of his neyȝebour his enemy make For a straunge mannys dede; And he þat mesure wole forsake, And nedles put hym-self in drede; Line 36 Of mannys deþ haue no rouþe, But hate hem þat tellen hym trouþe, Loue hym þat cherische hym in synne, And suche games bygynne Line 40 Where þat he wot he may not wynne, But besyen hym in slouþe.

(4)

¶ He is a fool, þat no good can, Ne non wole lere, but slow in dede. Line 44 A gret fool, y holde þat man Þat of his enemys haþ no drede. Þurgh suche foly, Flaundres be-gan; Of after perile þey tok non hede. Line 48 Hit is worthy, he ete bred of bran, Þat wiþ floure his foo wil fede. And truste al in gloser charmes, In hyndryng in worschip of armes, Line 52 And lette lawe it mot not syt, And conscience away flyt, May brynge a lord, er þat he wyt, Emyddis grete harmes. Line 56

Line 56

(5)

¶ Flaundres was þe richest land, and meriest to mynne; Now is it wrappid in wo, and moche welþe raft. For defaute of Iustice, and singulere to wynne, Þey were rebell, to ryse craft aȝen craft. Line 60 Here lord had part of þe foly þey were wounden ynne; For-thy he les his lordshipe, and here fraunchise raft. Here enemys lawhen hem to skorne, and seyn, 'for synne, Of here banere of grace, god broken haþ þe shaft.' Line 64 When prelat is forbode to preche, [folio 116a] No trewe man trouþe dar teche, Encresyng of temperalte Suspende spiritualte: Line 68 What land is gouerned in þat degre, May wayte after wreche.

(6)

¶ I holde hym a fool, þouȝ he be wys, Þat spekeþ among men of name Line 72 Þat at his wysdom set no prys, But skorne hym, and don blame; And he þat telleþ where peryle lys, And gete no þonk, but harm and shame; Line 76 And he þat pleyneþ, y holde hym nys, Þat get no mendys, but dowble grame. By þese poyntes fflaundres was lest; Now is it out of rule and of rest. Line 80 Drede is here chef gayte. So eche man on hem bayte, Þat ȝet þey honge in awayte Of a newe conquest. Line 84

(7)

¶ He þat myȝt thryue, and nel not thee, Ne his owen harmes knawe, Apert ne in preuytee Serue god for loue ne awe, Line 88 Ne gouerne wel his owen degre, Ne rule hymself in ryȝtwys lawe: Whan wyse men fro hym fle, Þen god his grace wole fro hem drawe. Line 92

Line 92 Þat moche wynneþ, and no thyng wole haue, But ȝeue it awey, to nedeles þat craue, Aȝens conscience despit Borwe moche, and neuere quyt: Line 96 When god for þat gylt smyt, What glosere can þat wounde saue?

(8)

¶ Þat freek may wel be holden a fool, Þat wayueþ wit, and worcheþ by wille, Line 100 And skippe into sclaundre scol, And scorne hym þat telleþ hym skylle; And lyue in Lenton as in ȝool, His flesch in foly to fulfille. Line 104 Þouȝ þe dotard deye in dool, Þe ryȝtwys nel not rewe his ylle. Who so wil not knowe his awen astat, Ne deliuere chekkys, er þat he be mat, Line 108 He shal haue worldis wondryng, And his soule hyndryng, And ay in paynes pondryng; To mende þanne, is to late. Line 112

(9)

¶ Of all folk vppon fold, y fynde but foure trewe, Þat don here deuere dewely, and take no mede: Syknes is oon, and sorw doþ sewe, Þe thridde hat 'deþ,' and þe fierþe 'drede.' Line 116 Þey clayme vs by custom, for þey oure kyn knewe, [Nota] And endid wiþ oure aunsetres tyl þey to erþe ȝede. Þey spare prynce ne pore, old ne newe, For þey crepe in-to his cors, and cloþe hem in his wede. Drede bryngeþ man to buxomnes; Line 121 Sorwe of herte makeþ synnes les; Syknes, breþe stekenyng, And bowe to a bekenyng, Line 124 And bryngeþ hem to rekenyng, Tyl deþ all redresse.