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

A TALE.

"Sire," quod maystir Maladas, "Herkyn how fel that cas.

Hyt was a man of olde lyfe, And hadde a ȝong womman to wyfe, And hys blode bygan to colde, And the wenche bygane to bolde. Than he slakyd of hys werke, [ 1680] Scho bygan to love a clerke. O day to the kyrke scho came, And hyr modyr in councel nam, And sayed to hyr modyr anoon, 'My lordys merryghe hys welne gone, Now he slakys to lygge above; I wyl have another love.' 'Dougter,' quod the moder tho, 'I ne rede nouȝt thow do soe: Thow an old man holde hym stille, [ 1690] Dougter, thou wost nought al hys wille. Ar thou do swylk a dede, Prove hym first, I wyle the rede.' The douter took hire leve anoon, And dyde hyre hastylych to gon, And thout hyr lorde for to prove. The lorde hadde an hympe gode, Tha[t] in a fayr herber stood, And the lorde loved hit myche; For in his orcher nere non syche, [ 1700] So nobil pers as hyt bare. Thare-of the wyf [was] ware, On of hyr men with hyr he nam, And to the hymp sone he cam, And dyde anoon as a schrewe,

On the tre gobettys lette hewe, And in the halle let hit lygge, To loke what he wolde sygge. "When the lord in cam, Of the tre hed he nam; [ 1710] 'Dame,' he sayd, 'were grew this tre, That lyes thus hewen in trhe?' 'Sire,' scho sayed, 'in thyn erber, Hyt grewe nowthir fer no ner.' 'Depardus! dame,' quod he tho, 'Now hit hewen hys, let hit go.' In hys hert he was wroth, Bote to contak he was loth; He ne sayed nouȝt al that he thout. The dougter anoon the way nam, [ 1720] And to the modir sone he cam, And sayed, 'Modir, so mot I the, I have doon as thow bade me; Hys fayre hympe that thow see, That sprade so brood and so heye, I lete hewyt by the more, And ȝyt was he nowt wroth ther-fore.' "'Dogter,' quod the moder tho, 'I walde red the, as I mot go, Prove hym ȝyt anothir stound, [ 1730] Are love thow have to ard bound. Thow he were stille and spake nouȝt, Thou wost never what hys thout.' Ȝyt [scho] sewyd hyr modyr wylle, And went hom al ston stille,

And bythout hire al by the way Oppon a schrewydschyp or tway, And anoon in the stude A gret schrewnes he dude. The lord a lytyl kenet hadde, [ 1740] He loved hit wel, the hit were bad. Hyt byfelle that ilke day The kenet on hir lappe lay; God gyfe hyre ivel happe! Scho slowe the kenet oppon hire lappe. 'Dame,' quod he, 'why dustou soo? That was nouȝt wyl doo.' 'Sire,' scho sayed, 'be nouȝt wroth, Lo he hase byfoulyd my clothes.' 'Dame,' he sayed, 'by saynt Rycher, [ 1750] Thou myghtyst drawe thy clothes nere, And late my hondis on lyf go: I pray the, dame, sle no mo, Thow thay lyge oppon thy clothe; Yf thou dost, I wylle be wrothe.' Scho thout tho, 'Thay that wil spare To have a lemman for hys fare.' That ilke day scho the way nam, And to hir modir sone he cam. 'Dam,' scho sayed, 'So God my rede, [ 1760] I have donn asstow me bede: Mi lorde hade a kenet fel, That he loved swyth wel; So God gyf me good happe, I hym slow on my lappe,

And made hym lese hys hert blode, And he sayed nouȝt bot good. I nylle wounde nowt i-wys, To love were my wille hys; For sothe, dame, I may wel, [ 1770] I have spyde he hys nouȝt fel.' 'Dougter,' quod the modir tho, 'I reed that thow do nouȝt soo: Old men wille thole mykil wronge, Bot for soth hys wreche hys stronge; Ther-for my rede hys thys, Prove thrys ar thou doo amys.' 'Dame,' quod the dogter tho, 'Gladlych, so mot I goo; Bot thau he wrothe hym never so sore, [ 1780] For sothe I nylle prove hym no more.' And at hir moder leve he nam; Toward hyr oune house ho cam, And by the way as scho ȝode, Scho thout oppon a schreud dede. "Sone aftyr hit bytydde, That the godman lete byde A swythe fayre companye, And made a fayre maungerye. As thay sytten and mad ham glade, [ 1790] The goodman fayre semlant made; The wyf fast hyre keyes wrothe, In the ende of the borde clothe, Scho roos uppe and dyde hyre to gone, And drow doun coppys and dyschys ilkone,

And schent robys of riche grene, And broght al the gestis in tene. The goodman was ful wroth, And let castyn anothir cloth, And made hare clothes be wypit and dyȝt, [ 1800] And solace thaym as wel as he myght. When alle hys gestys were a-goo, Than bygan to wakken wo; Bytwen the goodman and hys wyf, Than bygan to ryse a stryfe. 'Dame,' he sayed, 'so mot I the, Thou havest don me despites thre; So God mak me good man, Thou schalt be chasted, yf I cane. Dame, thow havest ben thryes wode, [ 1810] For soth thow shalt be latyn blode.' He ladde hyr into a chambyr, He and hys brothyr, And late the on arm blood ther, And after the thothyr; He leved no blode in hys wyf, Bot a lytil to holde hyre lyf. When sche hadde so blede, He layed hyre in a fayre bede. When scho wok out of a swoune, [ 1820] He gaf hyre met and drynk anoone, And, 'Dame,' sayed, 'ly al stylle, Thou schalt have met and drynke at wile, And ever when thou waxist wode Thou schalt be latyn blood.'

'Sire,' scho sayed, 'mercy, I aske ȝore, And I wylle wrathe the no more.' 'Par fay, dame,' quod he tho, 'For-why that thou doo no moo Swilke trespas, while I leve, [ 1830] This thre schal be forgyven.' Than walde sche no more Leven of the clerkis lore, For fere to be lat bloode; Bot heldir algat trew and good. "Sir," quod maystir Maladas, "Lo swilke a woundir kas Hadde welne bytyde the olde wise; Ne hadde he lerned to chatyse Hys wyf at hys comaundement, [ 1840] How evilliche he hadde ben schent. Sertis, sire emperour, Thus schaltou lese thyn honour, And thow suffry thy wywys wille, That thow wilt thy sone spille. Aftir that mysdyde scho wile do mo, And bryng the into more wo." Quod the emperour, "By saynt Martyn, That schal scho nowt, wyf hys scho myn: So I evere broke myn hede, [ 1850] To day ne schal my sone be dede." Than the emperes herde this, Scho was swith sori i-wys, Scho syghyd, and sory chere made, Myght hyr that day no man glade. When scho was to bede broght,

Scho syghyd sore and sayed noght. The emperour, that lay fol softe, Herde hys wyf syghen ofte, [ 1860] And sayed, "Dame, saye me thy wylle, Why mornes thou and syghys so stille?" Quod the emperes to the emperour, "Certys, sire, for thyn honour: Thow art smytyn in covatyse, Whare-of thy sorowe wylle aryse. Thou covetes in alle manere Thyn seven clerkis for to here. Thou schalt lese thyn honour, As dyde Crassus the emperour, [ 1870] That for covetyse was slawe Withouten any proses of lawe." Quod the emperour, "By saynt Jon, Thou schalt telle me anon How Crassus lese thourow covetyse Is lyf, and on wilk wyse."