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

A TALLE.

"Certis," quod the emperes, "Thow schalt here of wykkydnesse. In Pule was som tyme a kynge That hatyd wymmen of alle thyng; Never ȝyt in alle hys lyf He nolde never have no wyf. In Romauns hyt tellys in a booke, [ 1520] That a grete ivel hym tooke; The ivel passyd over alle, That hys body al to-swal, That hys body was al to-blaw No man myght hys membris know. Into Salner he sent a man

Aftyr a nobile fesisian; Anoon has he was come, By the honde he was nome, Into the chambyr he was lade [ 1530] For to make the kynge glade. When he saw the kyng pyne, He askyd anoon hys uryne; Anoon as he the uryne sawe, He wyst were hys ivel lay, And sayed, 'Sire, ne amay the nouȝt, For soth thy bote hys broght.' When [he] herde thys thythyng, Thane comfordede the kyng. The mayster was wys and snel, [ 1540] And made hys medicyne wille, And anoon gaf he hit the kynge, And abatyd the swellyng. 'Syre,' quod the fysisian, 'The behoves have a womman To do thy wyl by a-nyght, Yf I schal helle the aryght.' Quod the kyng, 'So mot I the, Astow wylt hyt schal bee.' The kyng callyd hys senescal, [ 1550] That hadde hys hows to kepe alle, And sayed to hym, 'Thow moste aspye, And hastylich thou most hye, A fayr lady of colour bryght For to lygge by me a-nyght, And at scho be of he lynage,

And a lady of ȝong age.' 'Sire,' quod the stiwarde anoon, 'Al byssi schal I fynde oon: For los of thy malydye [ 1560] Thay wille be aferd to dye.' Quod the kynge, 'Thow sayest thi wille, With gold and silver thow schal thaym tylle; Gyf thaym golde and silvyr i-nowe: I am ryche man i-nowhe?' Than the styward undirstood The kyng wald gyve so mykyl good, He took hys lyve and hom he cam, And by the hond hys wyf name, And sayed, "By sayent Benedyght, [ 1570] Tho[u] schalt ly by the kyng to nyght, Golde and sylver thow schalt wynne, And ben asolyd of thy synne.' 'Certis, syre,' quod hys wyfe, 'Now thow lovest lytil my lyf.' For covetyse that he hadde, To the kynge hys wyf he ladde. He went unto the kynges bedde, And sayed, 'Syre, I have spede, I have a lady of hegh bloode, [ 1580] Bot scho wyl have mykyl good, And dyrke scho wolde that hit bee, Scho nylle that no man hyre see.' 'Parfay!' quod the kyng anoon, 'Lette quenche the torches ilkon.' Ho lette quenche the torche ilkone,

And took hys wyf by honde anoon, And dyde hyre to bed with [the] kynge, That covetous gadlyng. Al the nyght thare scho lay, [ 1590] Til a myl byfor the day: Al nyght scho sykkyd and sorow made; The kyng no myghte hyre nothyng glade. The styward was of day adrede, And kam to the kynges bede, And sayed, 'Syre, on al wys, Thow most that lady ryse.' Quod the kyng, 'By saynt Jon, Ȝyt no schal scho nouȝt gon.' He heldyr thare tyl hit was day; [ 1600] And anoon as he saye Hyt was the stiward wyf, There bygan to ryse stryfe. Than sayed the kynge, That was wrothe som thyng, 'Styward, so God the rede, Who made the do thys dyde? Be thow in my court founde Whanne the sonne gos to grounde, Withouten ony othyr lawe [ 1610] Thow schalt be angyd and to-drawe; Loke withouten ony delay That I see the never aftyr thys day.' The senescal drade thys wordys sore, He ne durst dwel ther no more; Out of the court the way he name,

Wyste thay never were he bycam. Lo, my lord syre emperour, How he lese hys honour! The styward for hys covetyse, [ 1620] Hys wyf he lost and hys servys. Certis, sire, so saltow alse, For covetyse of thy tales false That thyn fals clerkys tellen; For soth y nylle nouȝt longe dwellen, That thou nult lese thyn honour, And thyn sone ben emperour. I the telle as hit his, Do now what thy wille hys." Quod the emperour to the emperesse, [ 1630] "By hym that made matyns and messe, I nyll to morwen ete no brede Er the thef traytour be ded." O-morwen commande the emperour Tak hys sone out of the tour, And leden hym to hys juggement, Anon that he were schent. Withoutyn ony more chest Thay dyden the emperour hest. Without the palas tho he was, [ 1640] He mete with hys maystyr Maladas. Into the halle the way he nam, Byfore the emperour he cam, And sayd, "Alas! sir emperour, Thou dost thy self lytyl honour, That thy sone schal be slawe,

Withouten proses of lawe." "Certys," quod the emperour, "Bade men sle the wykkyd tratour, And thow thy felaws ȝe ben fals, [ 1650] Thay schal ben hangede and thow alse." "Certys, syre," quod Maladas, "Thys hys a wondyr cas, To bynym thy sones lyf, For a tale of thy wyf; And yf thou dost, syre emperour, God leve the falle swilk honour As the olde man hadde welne hent, Ne hadde hys wyf have had chastement, That hadde mynt, without respyte, [ 1660] Have doon hire a ful despyte." Quod the emperour to Maladas, "Thow sal tel me of that cas, For I ne herde never in my lyve Old man chasty ȝong wyf." "Sire," quod mayster Maladas, "Yf thow wylt here of that cas, By Jhesu Cryst omnypotent, The chylde schal ben aftyr sent." Thorow commandement of the emperour, [ 1670] The childe was lade into the toure; Ther-fore gladdyd many a man, And Maladas hys tale bygane.