The seven sages in English verse / edited from a manuscript in the public library of the University of Cambridge by Thomas Wright.

FYRST TALLE.

Anon the lavedy hire tale bygan, And sayd, "Sire, hit was a man, As men sayen, hit was a knyȝt, And hadde a herber fayr dyght! Now schaltou here how hit bytyde. In the herber ryght amyde, Oppon the appul-tre thare stoode, A fayre tre and a goode; Bothe harlyche and latte [ 600] The lorde was of tyme thare-atte, And grette daynté he hadde The tree see fayre spradde. Withinne a wylle, hit is nouȝt longe,

A branche out of the tre spronge, And the knyght dayenteth hadde, How hit wax and fayre spradde. Oppon a day kam the knyght, And sawe hym crokyn a lytil wyght; A bou of the grette tre [ 610] Lettyde hym that he myȝt nout the. Quod the lorde to his gardinere, 'Go feche an ax wil I ham here, And hew a-down this mykyl bowe, And latte the branche have rome y-now.' The gardiner was sone went To do the lordis commaundement. Thus he lette norische the ȝong That was out of the holde sprong, And of hold he lete hewe [ 620] Many bowes and nowght fewe. They lette the ȝonge branche sprede, And the holde tre bygan to dede. "The gardiner sawe alle the rote, For sothe, sir, thare his no bote, Al the vertu ther scholde bee, Is lopon into the lytyl tre. 'Par fay!' quod the lorde tho, Gardyner, when hit hys sooe, Ther nyl bee non other botte, [ 630] Bot dyggyt up by the rote. Thus was the tre bodun wronge, For the braunche that of hym spronge. Than the mykil tree wax al badde,

And the lytil the maystré he hadde. Thus sal the branche that of the spronge Fondon for to do the wronge, And hewes thy bowys in ilke a syde, That hys thy power that spredis so wide; Thus when he bygynnys to bolde, [ 640] He wille brynge the a-down in olde." Thus whas the wykkyd womman tale, For to browe the childes bale. "Dame," quod the emperour, "By lorde saynt Savour, For alle the men that beres brethe, He sal to morwen thole dethe." On the morwen, tho hit was day bryȝt, The emperour clepid a knyght: "To my pryson thou schalt goon, [ 650] And say my tormentours anoon, Thay do my sone to tormentrie: Certis, this day he schal dee." The knyght was sory in hys thought, Bote withsaye hym dorst he nought, Bote bade the tormentours ilkon Do the childe to dethe anoone. Anoon the childe was lade to spyle, To doo the emperours wille. To-ward the deth as he was, [ 660] He mette with mayster Baucillas. The childe was aferde to dee, A kast on hym a ruful hye. He rade forth and sayed nought;

He wyst wylle the childis thought. For to save the childes honour, He come wille sone to the emperour. "Sire," quod maystir Baucillas, "Certis, this his a wondir cas, That thow art in wille pytte, [ 670] To sle thy sone withouten gylte." Thanne sayed the emperour anoon, "I have enchesone mo than oon. Ȝe sevene have haddyn in ȝoure powere My sone al this seven ȝere, To teche nortyre and wyt, And ȝe have hys tonge cnyt. Whan I prayd hym for charité, He walde nought speke a worde with me. And anothir cheson I have goode, [ 680] The fule thefe, the unky[n]de blode, He was aboute my wyf to spyle, For he no most nought have hys wille To by hyr flesche lygge. He schal dee syrtnlyche, And ȝe also, by Good in hevene, Ȝe schal dee al sevene." Than sayde Baucillas, "A! sire emperour, alas! That thow grevest the so sore, [ 690] Or thow haddyst queryd more. Certys, I dare lygge my lyf, Of that thow tellis of thy wyf, The childe ne thought nought bot gode,

Wymman been of wundyr mode." The [emperour] that wroth was, Answerde Baucillas, "Baucillas, lat be thy fare, I see my wyfys hed bare, And hir clothes al to-rent, [ 700] Afte the thef wold hir have schent." Baucillas answerd tho, For the childe hym wa[s] wo, And sayed, "Sire, for thy lyf, Bynym nought thy sonnys lyf; And yf thow dost, so mot byfalle, As fel the knyght in hys halle, That byname hys growhund lyf, That hadde savyd hys sonnys lyfe; And for the dule he made ther-fore, [ 710] The knyght hym selven he was for-lore." Quod [the] emperour than to Baucillas, "Tel me how that tale was." "Sire," quod Baucillas, "Wer-to? Wat awantage were that to do? Er the tale were tolde, The childes blode wolde bee colde." The emperour commande tho, Afftir the childe for to goo. The childe, that glad was of sokur, [ 720] Was brought byfore the emperour; Thourow the emperour commandement, Agayn to prison he was sende. Anoon as the childe was agoon, The mayster bygan hys tale anoon.