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

A TALLE.

"A nobile fysysian thar was, And was callid Ypocras; He hadde a cosyn of hys blode That longe walde leren no goode, Of the world lytyl he thought, [ 1050]

Bote at the laste he hym bythought, How and in what manere He myghte any goodys lere. Hys emys bokis he unselde, And ilk a day on thaym byhelde, And bycam a fysysian, Also good as anny mane. The kynge sone of Hungrye Hadde a woundir maladye: The kynge sent aftir Ypocras, [ 1060] For to wyten wat hym was. Ypocras was ale olde, And hys blode wax ale colde, He let atyre wile a[nd] fyne, And sent thydyre hys cosyne. Anon as he was comen, By the hande he was nome, And he was ladde anoon, Also stille as a ston, Ther the kynge sone laye, [ 1070] That hadde by syke many day. The childe couthe of fysenamye, That he saw wyl with hys eye, When he hade a wyle syttyne, That the childe was mys-gettyne. Syche wyse clerkys were goo; Now no byther non of tho: Thay late be al the clergye, And tornys to pryde and lycherie. Thanne the childe were gode of lore, [ 1080]

Ȝyt he wolde aqwere more; Fram hyre maydens ten or twelve, He took the quene by hyre selvene, And sayde, 'Madame, be nought wroth, To telle ȝe me thynke nowt lothe, Yf thou wilt have thy sone on lyve, For sothe, dame, thou most the schryve: Tel me how thow havest wroght, For sothe the kynge ne gat hym nouȝt, And bot thow telle how hit hys, [ 1090] I may nought hel thy sone i-wys. Of hys hele he ase ne swat, Bot thow telle wo hym bygate.' The quen that was the kyngys wyf, Was lothe to lesyn hyre sone lyfe, And sayd to hym privyliche, Bytwen thaym two specialiche, 'Thare was a prince hire bysyde, And oft sythes he wolde ryde With my lorde for to play, [ 1100] And love wax bytwen us twey, And so [was] he getyn i-wys: Now thow wost how hit hys.' When he wyst al the cas, He tornyd hit al [to] solas, And the childe undirtoke, As taught hym Ypocras booke; And he helyd the childe ol and sound, And hadde ther-fore many a pound, And of the quene many gyftis fele, [ 1110]

For he schulde hire counsel hele; And went hom to Ypocras, And told hym al how hit was. Ypocras was welny wode, That hys cosin couthe so mykyl good, And thout anoon a wylkyd thout, For to bryng hys cosyn to nowt. Oppon a day thay went to pleye, He and hys cosyn thay twey, Into a swyth fayre mede, [ 1120] There fayre floure gan sprede. Ipocras stille stood, And saw a gras that was god: 'Bon cosyn,' quod Ypocras, 'I se a gras of grete solas, Were hyt dyggyd uppe by the rote, Of many thyngs hit myght be bote.' Than sayd the childe to Ypocras, 'Leve syre, were hys that gras?' Quod Ypocras, ever vorthym wo, [ 1130] 'Loe, were hyt stondis at my too. Knele a-doun oppon thy knee, And dyggyd uppe and bryng hit me, And I wyl the telle, i-wys, What vertu ther-inne hys.' The childe knelid anoon a-doun: Ypocras drow anoon fauchon, And slow hys cosyn, the more arme was, Wyle he dyggyd aftyr the gras. Tho went he hom anoon, [ 1140]

And bernyd hys bokys ilkon, In wrat, as a man that were wode, For noman schuld lerne of ham good. When he hadde hys bokys brent, And hys cosyn was schent, He fel in a maladye, That he was in poynt to dye. Than was ale hys bokys lore, And he ne couthe medycyne ther-fore: Tho hadde he slane hys cosyne, [ 1150] That couthe wel of medycyne; For faut of helpe he ferde amys, And at the laste he deyde, i-wys. "Thus was Ypocras dede, And, sire, ther-fore take thy rede. Thow no havest no sone bote oon; Yf thow lattis hym to deth gon, Whan helde byndys thy bones stoute, Thare hys bote fewe that wyle the doute. And yf thou havest thy sone bolde, [ 1160] For soth, were thow never so holde, For thy sone men wyle the drede, Let hym lyve, I wylle the rede." Quod the emperour, "By myn hede, To nyght no schal he nought be dede, Bytwene thys and to morwen day, Be thanne as hit be may." Al that in the palas was Maden myrth and solas, Bothe more and the lesse; [ 1170]

Save the wykkyd emperesse, Scho syghed and swore amonge, Ala! alas! was hyre songge. The emperour herd hyre say, alas! And askyd hyre what hyre was. "Sire," scho sayed, "Wo hys me! And al togydyr hit hys for the; Thare thow art both lorde and sire, And maystir over al the emperire, Thow arte abowte thy selven to spylle; [ 1180] Yf thy clerkys have thare wylle, Thay wille make hym emperour, That thyf that lyes in the tour. And yf thou lovest hym more thane me, Also mote bytyde the, As hym that in the lym was dede, That made hys sone smyt of hys hede." Quod the emperour, "I the byde, Telle me how that bytydde."