The works of our ancient, learned, & excellent English poet, Jeffrey Chaucer as they have lately been compar'd with the best manuscripts, and several things added, never before in print : to which is adjoyn'd The story of the siege of Thebes, by John Lidgate ... : together with The life of Chaucer, shewing his countrey, parentage, education, marriage, children, revenues, service, reward, friends, books, death : also a table, wherein the old and obscure words in Chaucer are explained, and such words ... that either are, by nature or derivation, Arabick, Greek, Latine, Italian, French, Dutch, or Saxon, mark'd with particular notes for the better understanding of their original.

The Argument to the Prologues.

THE Author, in these Prologues to his Canterbury Tales, doth describe the Reporters thereof for two causes: first, that the Reader, seeing the quality of the Person, may judge of his speech accordingly: wherein Chaucer hath most excellently kept that deco∣rum, which Horace requireth in that behalf. Secondly, to shew, how that even in our Language, that may be performed for descriptions, which the Greek and Latine Poets in their Tongues have done at large. And surely this Poet, in the judgment of the best learned, is not in∣feriour to any of them in his descriptions, whether they be of Persons, Times, or Places. Under the Pilgrims, being a certain number, and all of differing Trades, he comprehendeth all the People of the Land, and the nature and disposition of them in those dayes; namely, given to devotion, rather of custom than of zeal. In the Tales is shewed the state of the Church, the Court, and Coun∣trey, with such Art and cunning, that although none could deny himself to be touched, yet none durst complain that he was wronged. For the man, being of greater Learning than the most, and backed by the best in the Land, was rather admired and feared, than any way disgraced. Whoso shall read these his Works without prejudice, shall find that he was a man of rare Conceit and of great Reading.

WHen that Aprill with his shours sote, The drought of March had pier∣ced to the rote, And bathed every vaine in suche lycour, Of which vertue engendred is the flour: When Zephyrus eke with his sote breath, Espired hath in every holt and heath, The tender croppes, and that the yong sonne Hath in the Ram halfe his course yronne, And small foules maken melody, That slepen all nyght with open eye: So priketh hem nature in her courage, Then longen folke to goe on pilgrimage, And Palmers to seeken straunge strondes, To serve hallowes couth in sundry londes: And specially fro every shyres end Of England, to Canterbury they wend, The holy blissful martyr for to seeke, That hem hath holpen when they were seeke.

IT befell that season on a day, In Southwarke at the Taberde as I lay, Ready to wend in my pilgrimage To Canterbury, with devout courage, That night was come into that hostelry, Well nine and twenty in a company, Of sundry folke, by aventure yfall In fellowship, and pilgrimes were they all, That toward Canterbury would ride: The chambers and stables weren wide, And well weren they eased at the best. And shortly, when the sunne was at rest, So had I spoken with hem everychone, That I was of her fellowship anone, And made forward early for to rise, To take our way there as I you devise. But nathelesse, while I have time & space, Or that I ferther in this tale pace, Me think it accordaunt to reason, To tell you all the condition Of each of hem, so as it seemed me, And which they were, and of what degree: And eke in what array that they were in: And at a Knight then will I first begin.

¶The Knight. 1.

A Knight there was, and that a worthy man, That fro the time that he first began To riden out, he loved chivalry, Trouth, honour, freedome, and courtesie: Full worthy was he in his Lords warre, And thereto had he ridden no man so farre, As well in Christendome as in Heathenesse, And ever had honour for his worthinesse. At Alisaundre he was when it was won, Full often time he had the bourd begon, Aboven all nations in Pruce: In Lettowe had he ridden and in Luce, No Christen man so oft of his degree: In Garnade at the Siege had he be, At Algezer, and riden in Belmary, At Leyes was he, and also at Sataly, When they were wonne, & in the great see, At many a noble Army had he be. At mortal Battels had he been fiftene, And foughten for our faith at Tramissene In listes thries, and aye slaine his fo. This ilke worthy Knight had been also Sometime with the Lord of Palathy, Ayenst another Heathen in Turky: And evermore he had a soveraigne prise, And though he was worthy he was wise, And of his sport as meeke as is a Maid, He never yet no villany ne said In all his life, unto no manner wight: He was a very perfite gentil knight. For to tell you of his array, His horse were good, but he was nothing gay;

Of fustian he weared a gippon, All besmottred with his Haubergion: For he was late come fro his voyage, And went for to done his pilgrimage.

¶The Squire. 2.

WIth him there was his son, a yong squire, A lover and a lusty Bachelere, With his locks crull as they were laid in presse, Of twenty yeare of age he was as I gesse: Of his stature he was of even length, And wonderly deliver, and of great strength. And he had be sometime in chivauchy, In Flaunders, in Artois, and Picardy, And borne him well, as of so little space, In hope to stand in his Ladies grace. Embrouded was he, as it weren a mede, All full of fresh floures, both white and rede, Singing he was, or floiting all the day, He was fresh, as is the moneth of May. Short was his gown, with sleves long & wide Well coud he sitte on a horse, and faire ride: He coud songs make, and eke well indite, Iust, and eke dance, portray and well write. So hote he loved, that by nighter tale, He slept no more than doth the Nightingale. Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable, And kerfte before his Fader at the table.

¶The Squires Yeoman. 3.

A Yeoman had he, and servaunts no mo All that time, for him list to ride so: And he was clad in cote and hoode of grene, A shefe of Peacocke arrows bright & shene, Vnder his belt he bare full thriftely: Well coud be dress his tackle yeomanly: His arrowes drouped not with feathers low, And in his hand he bare a mighty bow. A notte head had he, with a browne visage: Of wood craft well couth he all the usage: Vpon his arme he bare a gay bracer, And by his side a swerde and a bokeler, And on that other side a gay daggere, Har••eised well, and sharp as point of spere: A Christofer on his brest of silver shene, An horne he bare, the baudricke was of grene: A foster was he soothly as I gesse.

¶The Prioresse. 4.

THere was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of her smiling was simple & coy, Her greatest oth was by Saint Loye, And she was cleped dame Eglentine, Full well she song tho service devine, Entuned in her voice full semely, And French she spake full fetou••y, After the school of Stratford at Bow, For French of Paris was to her unknow. At meat was she well ytaught withall, She let no morsell fro her lips fall: He wete her fingers in her sauce deepe: Well couth she carry a morsel and well keep, That no drop ne fell upon her brest: In courtesie was set full much her lest. Her overlip wiped she so clean, That in her cup was no ferthing sene Of grece, when she droken had her draught, Full semely after her meat she raught: And sikerly she was of great disport, And full pleasaunt and amiable of port, And pained her to counterfete chere Of court, and be stateliche of manere, And to been holden digne of reverence. But for to speake of her conscience, She was so charitable and so pitous, She would weep if that she saw a mous Caught in a trappe, if it were dead or bled; Of small hounds had she, that she fed With rost flesh, milke, and wastel bread, But sore wept she if any of hem were dead, Or if men smote hem with a yard smart: And all was conscience and tender hart. Full seemely her wimple pinched was: Her nose tretes, her eyen gray as glas: Her mouth smale, and thereto soft and red: But sikerly she had a fair forehead, It was almost a span brode I trow, For hardely she was not undergrow. Full fetise was her cloke, as I was ware: Of small Coral about her arm she bare A paire of bedes, gauded all with grene, And thereon hong a broch of gold full shene, On which there was first writ a crowned A, And after (Amor vincit omnia.) Another Nonne also with her had she, That was her chapleine, and priests three.

¶The Monke. 5.

A Monke there was, fair for the maistry, An out rider, that loved venery: A manly man, to been an abbot able, Full many a dainty horse had he in stable: And when he rode, men might his bridle here Gingeling in a whistling wind as clere, And eke as loud as doth the chappell bell: There as this lord was keeper of the sell, The rule of saint Maure and of saint Benet, Because it was old and somedele streit, This ilke Monke let old things to passe, And held after the new world the pace: He yave not of the text a pulled hen, That saith, that hunters be not holy men, Ne that a Monke, when he is recheless, Is like to a fish that is waterless: This to say, a Monke out of Cloystre: This ilke text yeeld he not worth an oystre. And I say his opinion was good, Whereto should he study, and make himselfe wood, Vpon a booke alway in Cloyster to pore, Or swinke with his hands, or to labore, As Austin bid, how shull the world be served? Let Austin haue his swinke to him reserved. Therefore he was a pricksoure aright, Greyhounds he had as swift as foul of flight: Of prickinge and of huntinge for the hare Was all his lust, for no coste would he spare. I sawe his sleves purfled at the hande With Grece, and that the finest in a lande;

And for to fast his hoode vnder the chinne, He had of golde wrought a curious pinne. A love knot in the greater ende there was, His hede was bald, and shone as any glas. And eke his face, as he had ben anointe, He was a lorde ful fat and in good pointe. His eyen slepe, and rolinge in his hede, That stemed as a furneis of a lead. His bootes sowple, his hors in great estate, Now certainly he was a fair prelate. He was not pale as a forpined ghost, A fatte Swan loued he best of any rost. His palfray was brown as is a berry.

¶The Frere. 6.

A Frere there was a wanton and a merry, A limitour, a full solempne man: In all the orders foure is none that can So moche of daliance and fair language: He had made full many a mariage Of yonge women at his own cost, Vntill his order he was a noble post. Full well beloved, and familier was he With frankeleins over all his countre. And with worthy women of the toun, For he had power of confessyoun, As he said himself, more than a curate, For of his order he was licenciate. Full sweetly herde he confession, And plesaunt was his absolucion. He was an easie man to giue penaunce, There as he wist to have a good pitaunce. For vnto a poore order for to giue, Is a signe that a man is well ishriue; For if he gaue ought he durst make auaunt, He wist well that a man was repentaunt. For many a man is so hard of herte, That he may not wepe although him smerte. Therefore in stede of wepinge and prayers, Men mote give silver to the poore freres. His tippet was aye sassed full of knives And pinnes, for to give faire wives. And certainly he had a merry note, Well coude he singe and plaien on a rote. Of yedding he bare vtterly the price, His neck was white as the floure delice, Thereto stronge he was as a champioun, And knew the taverns well in every toun, And every hosteler and tapstere Better than a lazer or a beggere: For vnto such a worthy man as he, Accordeth naught, as by his faculte, To have with lazers such acquaintaunce It is not honest, it may not avaunce For to dele with such porayle, But all with riche, and sellers of vitaile. And over all there as profite shulde arise, Curteis he was, and lowly of service. There nas no man no where so vertuous, He was the best begger in all his hous; And gaue a certaine ferme for the graunte, None of his brethren came in his haunte. For though a widowe had but a shoo, (So plesaunt was his in principio) Yet wolde he have a farthing or he went, His purchase was better than his rent. And rage he couth as it were a whelpe, In loue dayes there coude he mikel helpe; For there he was nat like a cloisterere, With a threde bare cope, as a poore frere; But he was like a maister or a pope, Of double worstede was his semy cope. So rounded was as a bell out of presse, Somwhat he lisped for his wantonnesse, To make his Englishe swete upon his tong, And in harpinge, whan that he song, His eyen twinkeled in his head a right, As done the sterres in a frosty night. This worthy frere was called Huberde.

¶The Marchaunt. 7.

A Marchaunt was there with a forked berde, In motley, and high on his Horse he sat, Vpon his head a Flaunders bever hat, His bootes clasped faire and fetously, His reasons spake he full solemnly, Shewing alway the increase of his winning: He would the see were kept for any thing Betwixe Middleborough and Orewell: Well could he in exchaunge sheldes sell, This worthy man so well his wit besette, There wist no wight that he was in dette, So stately was he of his governaunce, With his bargeins, & with his cheuisaunce. Forsooth he was a worthy man withall, But sooth to saine, I not what men him call.

¶The Clerke of Oxenford. 8.

A Clerke there was of Oxenford also, That unto Logicke had long ygo: As leane was his hors as is a rake, And he was nothing fat I undertake, But looked hollow, and thereto soberly: Full thredbare was his over courtpy, For he had yet getten him no benefice, Ne was nought worldly to have none office: For him was leuer han at his beds hed Twentie bookes clad with blacke or red, Of Aristotle, and of his Philosophy, Than robes riche, or fiddle, or gay sautrie, But all he that he was a philosopher, Yet had he but little gold in cofer, But all that he might of his friends hent, On bookes and on learning he it spent, And busily gan for the soules pray Of hem that holpen him to scholay. Of study took he most cure and hede, Not a word spake he more than was nede, And that was said in forme and reverence, And short and quick, and of high sentence, Sowning in moral vertue was his speach, Gladly would he learn, and gladly teach.

¶The Sergeant at Law. 9.

A Sergeant of Law ware and wise, That often had been at the pervise, There was also, full rich of excellence, Discreete he was, and of great reverence:

He seemed such, his words were so wise. Iustice he was full often in assise, By patent, and by plain commissioun, For his science, and his high renoun, Of fee and robes had he many one: So great a purchasour was no where none: All was fee simple to him in effect, His purchasing might not been in suspect. No where so besie a man as he there nas, And yet he seemed busier than he was: In tearmes had he case and domes all, That fro the time of king William was fall, Thereto he coud endite, and maken a thing, There coud no wight pinch at his writing: And every statute coud he plain by rote, He rode but homely in a medley cote, Girt with a seint of silke, with barres smale, Of his array tell I no lenger tale.

¶The Frankelein. 10.

A Frankelein there was in his company: White was his berd as is the daisie, And of his complexion he was sanguine, Well loved he by the morrow a sop in wine: To liven in delite was ever his wonne, For he was Epicures own sonne, That held opinion, that plain delite Was very felicitie perfite. An housholder, and that a great was he, Saint Iulian he was in his countre: His bread, his ale, was alway after one, A better viended man was no where none. Without bake meat was never his house, Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteouse, It snewed in his house of meat and drink, Of all deintes that men coud of think: After the sondre seasons of the yere So chaunged he his meat and his suppere. Full many a fatte Partriche had he in mew, And many a Breme, & many a Luce in stew, Wo was his Coke, but his sauce ay were Poynante and sharp, and ready all his gere, His table dormaunt in his hall alway, Stode redy covered all the long day. At cessions there was he lord and sire, Full ofte time he was knight of the shire. An anelace and gipsere all of silk, Hing at his girdle, white as morow milk, A sherife had he been, and a countour, Was no where such a worthy vavesour.

¶The Haberdasher. 11.

AN Haberdasher there was, & a carpenter A webbe, a dier, and a tapiser: All were yclothed in o Lyvere, Of a solempne and a great fraternite. Full fresh and new her geare ypiked was, Her knives ychaped nere not with bras, But al with silver, wrought ful clene & wele: Her girdles and her pouches every dele. Wel semde everich of hem a faire burgeis, To sitten at a yeld hal, on the hie deys: Everich for the wisedom that he can, Was shape liche for to ben an alderman, For cattaile had they right inough and rent, And eke her wives would it well assent: And els certaine they were to blame, It is full faire to been ycleped madame, And to gone to vigilles all before, And have a mantell roialliche ibore.

¶The Coke. 12.

A Coke they had with hem for the nones, To boyle the Chikens and the marie∣bones. And pouder marchaunt, tarte, and galingale: Well coud he know a draught of London ale, He couthe roste, sethe, boil, and fry, Make mortreis, and well bake a pie. But great harme was it, as it thought me, That on his shinne a mormall had he, And blanke manger made he with the best.

¶The Shipman. 13.

A Shipman was there wonning ferre by West: For aught I wote he was of Dertmouth, He rode upon a rouncie, as he couthe In a goune of falding to the knee: A dagger hanging by a lace had he: About his neck under his arme doune: The hot somer had made his hew all broune: And certain he was a good felaw, Full many a draught of Wine had he draw From Burdeux ward, while the chapmen slepe, Of nice conscience took he no kepe: If that he faught, and had the higher hand, By water he sent him home to every land: But of his craft to reken well his tides, His stremes and his daungers him besides, His herbrough, his mone, & his lode manage, There was none soch from Hull to Cartage. Hardy he was and wise to undertake: With many a tempest had his berde be shake: He knew all the havens as there were Fro Scotland, to the Cape de Fenestre, And every creeke in Britain and in Spain: His barge was called the Maudelain.

¶The Doctor of Phisike. 14.

WIth us there was a Doctor of Phisike, In all this world ne was there none him like To speake of Phisike, and of Surgerie: For he was grounded in Astronomie, He kept his patient a full great dell In houres by his Magike naturell: Well couthe he fortune the assendent, Of his Image for his patient. He knew the cause of every maladie, Were it of cold, heate, moist, or drie, And whereof engendred was eche humour, He was a very parfite practisour, The cause iknow, & of his harm the roote, Anone he gave to the sicke man his boote: Full readie had he his Apothecaries To send him drugges, and his lectuaries,

For eche of hem made other for to winne: Her friendship nas not new to beginne, Well knew he the old Esculapius, And Dioscorides, and eke Ruffus, Old Hippocrates, Halie, and eke Gallen, Serapion, Rasis, and also Avicen, Averrois, Damascene, and Constantin, Bernard, Gatisden, and Gilbertin, Of his diete, miserable was he, For it was of no superfluitee, But of great nourishing, and digestible: His studie was but little on the Bible. In sangwine and in perce he clad was all Lined with Taffata, and with Sendall. And yet he was but easie of dispence, He kept that he wan in time of Pestilence, * For Gold in Phisike is a Cordiall, Wherefore he loved Gold in speciall.

¶The Wife of Bathe. 15.

A Good wife also there was beside Bathe, But she was some deale defe, and that was scathe: Of cloth making she had such an haunt, She passed hem of Ipre, or of Gaunt. In all the Parish wife ne was there none That to the offring before her should gone, And if there did, certain right wroth was she, That she was all out of charitee. Her kerchers full large were & fine of ground, I durst sweare they waiden ten pound, That on a Sonday were upon her hedde. Her hosen were of fine scarlet redde, Full straite istrained, and shoes full new, Bold was her face, and redde was her hew, She was a worthy Woman all her liue, Husbands at the Church doore had she fiue, Withouten other company in youth: But thereof needed not to speake as nouth: And thrise had she been at Ierusaleme, She had passed many a strong streme: At Rome had she been, and at Boloine, In Calis, at sainct Iames, and at Coloine, She couthe moche of wandring by the way: Gat tothed was she, sothly for to say. Vpon an Ambler easely she satte, Iwimpled well, and on her hedde an hatte As brode as is a bokeler or a targe: A foote mantell about her hippes large, And on her feete a paire of spurres sharpe: In fellowship well couth she laugh and carpe. Of remedies of loue she could perchance, For she couth of that arte the old dance.

¶The Parsone. 16.

A Good manne there was of religioun, And was a poore Parsone of a toun: But rich he was of holy thought and werke, He was eke a learned man and a clerke, That Christes Gospels truly would preach, His Parishens devoutly would he teach. Benigne he was, and wonder diligent, And in adversitie full pacient: And soch one he was proved oft sithes, Full loth were him to curse for his tithes, But rather would he yeuen out of doubt, Vnto his poore parishens all about, Both of his offring, and of his substaunce, He couthe in little thing have suffisaunce. Wide was his parish, and houses fer asonder, But he ne left, neither for raine ne thonder, In sikenesse ne in mischiefe, for to visite The ferdest in his parish, moch or lite, Vpon his feet, and in his hand a stafe: This noble ensample to his shepe he yafe, That first he wrought, & afterward taught, Out of the Gospel he the words caught, And this figure he added eke thereto, * That if Gold rust, what should Iron do? For yef a Priest be foule, on whom we trust, No wonder is a leude man to rust: * And shame it is, if a Priest take kepe, To see a shitten shepherd, and a cleane shepe: * Well ought a Priest ensample for to yeue By his clenenesse how his shepe should liue. He set not his benefice to hire, And let his shepe acomber in the mire, And renne to London to sainct Poules, To seken him a Chauntrie for soules: Or with a brotherhede to be withold: But dwelt at home, and kept well his fold, So that the Wolfe made hem not miscary, He was a shepherd, and not a mercenarie. And though he holy were, and vertuous, He was not to sinfull men dispitous, Ne of his speech daungerous ne digne, But in his teaching discrete and benigne, To drawen folke to heaven with fairenesse, By good ensample, this was his besinesse, But if he were any persone obstinate, Whether he were of hie, or low estate, Him would he snibbe sharply for the nonis, A better Priest, I trowe, no where none is. He waited after no pompe ne reuerence, Ne maked him no spiced conscience. But Christes lore, and his Apostles twelue, He taught, but first he followed it him selue.

¶The Plowman. 17.

WIth him there was a Plowman his brother, That had iland of dong many a fother A true swinker, and a good was he, Living in peace, and perfite charitee. God loved he best with all his hart At all times, though him gained or smart: And then his neighbours right as himselfe. He would thresh, and thereto dike, and delfe, For Christes sake, for every poore wight, Withouten hire, if it lay in his might. His tithes payed he full faire and well, Both of his proper swinke, and his cattell. In a tabard he rod upon a Mare. There was also a Reue, and Millare, A Sompnour, and a Pardoner also, A Mansiple, and my selfe, there was no mo.

¶The Miller. 18.

THe Miller was a stout carle for the nones, Full bigg he was of braune, and eke of bones, That proved well, for over all there he came, At wrastling he would have away the Ram. He was short shuldred, a thick gnarre, There has no doore, but he would heue the bar, Or breake it with the renning of his hedde, His beard as any Sowe or Fore was redde, And thereto brode, as it were a spade, Vpon the coppe right of his nose he hade A werte, and thereon stode a tufte of heeres, Redde as the bristles of a Sowes eares: His nostrels blacke were and wide. A swerd and buckeler bare he by his side: His mouth as great was as a furneis, He was a jangler, and a golierdeis, And that was most of sinne, and harletrise: Well couth he steale Corne, & toll it thrise, * And yet he had a thombe of gold parde. A white coate and a blew hode weared he. A bagpipe well couth he blow and soune, And therewithall brought he us out of toune.

¶The Mancile. 19.

A Manciple there was of the Temple, Of which all Catours might taken en∣semple, For to been wise in buying of vitaile, For whether he payed, or tooke by the taile, Algate he waited so in his ashate, That he was aye before in good estate. Now is not that of God a full faire grace, That soch a leude mannes wit should pace The wisedome of an heape of learned men? Of maisters had he mo than thrise ten, That were of Lawe expert and curious, Of which there was a dosen in that hous, Worthy to been stewards of rent and land, Of any Lord that is in England, To maken him live by his proper good, In honour deptlesse, but if he were wood, Or live as scarsly, as him list desre, And able to helpen all a shire In any case that might fallen or hap: And yet the Manciple set all her cap.

¶The Reue. 20.

THe Reue was a slender cholerik Man, His bearde was shave as nie as ever he can, His heere was by his eares round ishorne, His top was docked like a Priest beforne, Full long were his legs, and eke full lene, I like a staffe, there was no calfe i seene. Well couth he kepe a Garner and a Binne: There was none Auditour coud on him win. Well wist he by the drought, & by the raine, The yelding of his seed, and of his graine. His Lords Shepe, his Nete, and his Deirie, His swine, his Hors, his store, and his pultrie, Were holly in this Reuis governing, And by his Covenant yaue he rekening, Sith his Lord was twentie yeere of age, There could no man bring him in arerage. There nas Bailie, Herde, nor other Hine, That he ne knew his sleight and his covine, They were adradde of him as of the death: His wonning was full faire upon an Heath, With grene trees shadowed was his place, He couth better than his Lord purchace: Full riche he was and stored priuely, His Lord he could well please, and subtiliy To yeue and lene him of his owne good, And have a thank, and yet a coate & a hood. In youth he had learned a good mystere. He was a whele wright, & a Carpentere. This Reue satte upon a right god stot, That was all pomell gray, and height Scot. A long surcote of perce upon he hade, And by his side he bare a rustie blade. Of Norfolke was this Reue, of which I tell, Biside a toune, men clepen it Baldeswell. Tucked he was, as is a Frere about, And euer he rode hinderest of the route.

¶The Sompnour. 21.

A Sompnour was with us in the place, That had a fire red Cherubins face, For saufleme he was, with iyen narow, All hot he was, and lecherous as a Sparow, With scaled brows blacke, and pilled berde: Of his visage Children were fore afferde. There nas quicksilver, litarge, ne brimstone, Borage, Ceruse, ne oile of Tartar none, Ne Ointment that would cleanse or bite, That him might helpe of his whelks white, Ne of his knobbes sitting on his Chekes: Well loued he Garlike, Onions, and Lekes, And for to drink strong wine, as red as blood, Then would he speak, & cry as he were wood. And when he had well idronke the wine, Then would he speake no word but Latine: A few terms coud he, two or three, That he had learned out of some degree: No wonder is, he had heard it all the daie, And ye knowen well eke, how that a Iaie Can clepe watte, as well as can the Pope: But who so couth in other thing him grope, Then had he spent all his Philosophie, (A questio quid juris) would he crie. He was a gentill harlot and a kind, A better fellow should a man not find: He would suffer for a quart of Wine, A good fellow to have his Concubine, A twelue month, and excuse him at the full: * Full priuely eke a Finch couth he pull, And if he found o where a good fellawe, He would teachen him to have none awe In soch case of the Arch Deacons course: But if mans Soul were in his Pourse. For in his Pourse he should ipunished be, Pourse is the Arch Deacons Hell, said he. But well I wote, he lieth right in dede: Of cursing ought eke sinfull man drede. For cursing woll slea as asoiling saveth. And also ware him of a Significav it.

In daunger had he at his own gise, The young Girls of the Diocise, And knew her counsaile, and was of her red, A garlond he set upon his hed, As great as it were for an alestake: A Buckler had he maked him of a Cake.

¶The Pardoner. 22.

WIth him there rode a gentle Pardo∣nere Of Rouncevall, his friend and his compere, That strait was come fro the court of Rome, Full loud song he, come hider love sone, This Sompnour bare to him a stiff burdoun, Was never Trompe of half so great a soun. This Pardoner had heer as yellow as wax, But somth it hing, as doth a stricke of flax: By unces hing his lockes that he had, And therewith he his shoulders oversprad, Full thinne it laie, by culpons one and one, But hode for iolite, ne weared he none, For it was trussed up in his wallet, Him thought he rode all of the new set, Dishe vild, save his Cappe he rode all bare, Soch glaring iyen had he as an Hare. A Vernacle had he sowed upon his cappe, His wallet beforne him on his lappe, Bret full of pardon come from Rome al hote, A voice he had as small as hath a Gote. No berde had he, ne never should have, As smoth it was as it were new shave, I trow he were a Gelding or a Mare: But of his craft, fro Barwike unto Ware, Ne was there soch another Pardonere, For in his male had he a Pillowhere, Which, as he said, was our Ladies vaile: He said, he had a gobbet of the saile That sanct Peter had when that he went Vpon the Sea, till Iesu Christ him hent. He had a Cross of Latine full of stones, And in a glass he had Pigges bones: But with these relikes; when that he fond A poore Parsone dwelling in uplond, Vpon a day he gat him more money That that Parsone gat in months twey. And thus with fained flattering and japes, He made the Parsone, and People, his apes. But truly to tellen at the last, He was in Church a noble Ecclesiast: Well couth he read a lesson or a storie, But alder best he sang an offitorie: Full well he wist, when that song was song, He must preach, and well afile his tong, To winne silver, as he full well coud: Therefore he song so merily and loud. Now have I told you sothly in a Clause, The state, the araie, eche number, & the cause Why that assembled was this Companie In Southwerk at this gentell hostelrie, That hight the Tabard, fast by the Bell. But now is time to you for to tell, How that we baren us that like night. When we were in that hostelrie alight. And after woll I tell of our voiage, And all the remnaunt of our Pilgrimage. But first I pray you of your courtesie, That ye ne arrete in not my follie, Though that I plainly speak in this matter, To tellen you her words and eke her chere: Ne though I speak her words properly. For this ye knowen as well as I, * Who shall tellen a tale after a man, He mote rehearse as nie as ever he can Everich word, if it bee in his charge, All speak he never so rudely ne large: Or else he mote tellen his tale untrue, Or fein things, or find words new: He may not spare, altho he were his brother, He mote as well say o word, as another. Christ spake himself full brode in holy writ, And well I wotte no villany is it. Eke Plato saith, who so can him rede, * The words mote been cosin to the dede. Also I pray you forgive it me, All have I not set folk in her degree, Here in this tale as they shoulden stand, My wit is short, ye may well understand.

GReat cheer made our hoste us verichone, And to the Supper set he us anone: And served us with vitaile of the best, Strong was the wine, & well to drink us lest. A seemly man our Host was with all, For to been a Marshal in a Lords Hall. A large man he was with iyen stepe, A fairer Burgeis is there none in Chepe: Bold of his speech, wise and well itaught, And of manhood him lacked right nought. Eke thereto he was a right merry man, And after supper plaien he began, And speak of n••••th among other things, When that we had made our reckonings: And said thus, now lordings truly Ye been to me welcome right heartily: For by my trouth, if I should not lie, I saw not this year so merry a Company Atones in this her borough, as is now: Fain wold I don you mirth, & I wist how: And of a mirth I am right now bethought, To don you ease, and it shall cost nought. Ye gon to Canterbury, God mote you spede, The blissful Martyr quite you your mede, And well I wot, as ye gone by the way, Ye shapen you to talken and to play: For truly comfort ne mirth is there none, To riden by the way as dumb as a stone: And therefore wold I maken you disport, As I said erst, and done you some comfort, And if you liketh all by one assent For to stonden at my Iudgment: And for to worchen as I shall you say, To morrow, when we riden on the way, Now by my Fathers Soul that is deed, But ye be merry, I will give you my heed: Hold up your hands withouten more speech: Our counsail was not long for to sech: Vs thouʒt it was not worth to make it nice, And graunted him without more avise, And bad him say his verdit as him lest. Lordings (qd. he) now herkeneth for the best,

But take it nat, I pray you, in disdain, This is the point to speak it plat and plain: That ech of you to shorten others way, In this viage, shall tellen tales tway, To Canterbury ward, I mean it so, And homewards he shall tell tales other two, Of a ventures whilom that han befall: And which of you that hereth him best of all, That is to sain, that tellen in this case Tales of best sentence and most solace, Shall have a supper at our alder cost, Here in this place, sitting by this post. When that we comen ayen from Canterbu∣ry, And for to make you the more merry, I will my selven goodly with you ride, Right at mine own cost, and be your guide. And who that woll my judgment with say, Shall pay all that we spend by the way: And yef ye vouchsafe that it be so, Tell me anone without words mo, And I woll erly shape me therefore. This thing was granted & our oaths swore With glad hert, and praiden him also, That he would vouchsafe for to do so, And that he would ben our Governour, And of our tales judge and reportour: And set a Supper at a certain prise, And we wollen ben demed at his devise, In hie and low, and thus by one assent, We ben accorded to his judgment. And thereupon the wine was fette anone, We dronken and to rest went ilke one, Withouten any lenger tarying. A morrow when the day gan to spring, Vp rose our Host, and was our alder cocke, And gadird us togedirs on a flocke, And forth we riden a little more than paas, Vnto the watering of saint Thomas: And there our Host began his Horse arest, And said; Lords, herkeneth if you lest: Ye wote your forward, and I it record * If eve song and morrow song accord, Let see now who shall tell the first tale. As ever I mote drink wine or ale, Who so is rebel to my Iudgment, Shall pay for all that by the way is spent: Now draweth cut or that ye farther twin, The which that hath the shortest shall begin. Sir Knight (qd. he) my maister & my lord, Now draweth cut, for that is mine accord: Commeth nere (qd. he) my lady Prioress, And ye, sir Clerk, let be your shamefastness, Ne studieth nought, lay hand to, every man, Anone to draw every wight began, And shortly for to tellen as it was, Were it by aventure, chaunce, or caas, The sothe is this, the cut fill to the Knight, Of which blith and glad was every wight, And tell he must his tale as was reason, By forward, and by composition, As ye han heard, what nee deth words mo? And when this good man saw that it was so, As he that wise was and obedient To keepen his forward by his free assent: He said, sithen I shall begin the game, What welcome cut to me a Goddesname, Now let us ride, and herkeneth what I say: And with that word we riden forth our way, And he began with a right merry chere, His tale anone, right as ye shall hear.

¶Thus endeth the Prologues of the Canterbury Tales.

The Knight's Tale.

PAlamon and Arcite, a pair of Friends and Fellow-prisoners, fight a Combat before Duke Theseus, for the Lady Emely, Sister to the Queen Ipolita, Wife of Theseus. A Tale fitting the Person of a Knight, for that it discourseth of the Deeds of Arms, and Love of Ladies.

WHilome, as old stories tellen us There was a Duke that hight Theseus, Of Athens he was lord and gover∣nour, And in his time such a conquerour, That greater was none under the son: Full many a rich country had he won. What with his wisdom and his chivalry He conquered all the reigne of Feminy, That whilome was ycleaped Cithea, And wedded the queene Ipolita, And brought her home with him to his coun∣try, With mikell glory and solemnity, And eke her young sister Emely. And thus with victory and melody Let I this worthy Duke to Athens ride, And all his hoast, in armes him beside. And certes, if it nere to long to here, I would have told fully the mannere, How wonnen was the reign of Feminy By Theseus, and by his Chivalry. And of the great battaile for the nones Betweene Athens and Amasones, And how besieged was Ipolita The young hardy queene of Cithea: And of the feast, that was at her wedding, And of the tempest at her home coming. But all that thing I mote as now forbear, * I have God wot a large field to ear: And weked ben the oxen in the plow, The remnant of my tale is long ynow. I will not letten eke none of this rout, Let every fellow tell his tale about, And let see now who shall the supper win: And there I left, I will again begin. This Duke, of whom I make mencioun, When he was come almost to the toun In all his wele and in his most pride, He was ware, as he cast his eye aside, Where that there knee led in the hight wey A company of Ladies, twey and twey Each after other, clad in cloths black: But such a cry, and such a wo they make, That in this world nis creature living That ever heard such a waimenting; And of this cry they nold never stenten, Till they the reines of his bridle henten. What folke be ye that at mine home com∣ing Perturben so my feast with your crying, Quod Theseus? Have ye so great envy Of mine honour, that thus complain & cry? Or who hath you misbode, or offended? Now telleth me, if it may be amended, And why that ye be clothed thus in black? The oldest lady of them all spake, When she had sowned with a deadly chere, That it was ruth for to see and here; She said, lord, to whom fortune hath yeve Victory, and as a conquerour to live, Nought greeveth us your glory & honour: But we beseeke you of mercy and succour, And have mercy on our wo and distress, Some drop of pity, through thy gentilness, Vpon us wretched women let thou fall. For certes lord, there nis none of us all, That she ne hath be a duchess or a queen: Now be we caitives, as it is well iseen, Thanked be fortune, and her false wheel, That none estate assureth to be wele, Now certes lord, to abide your presence Here in this temple of the goddess Clemence We have be waiting all this fourtenight: Helpe us lord, sith it lieth in thy might.

I Wretch, that weep and wailen thus Whylome wife was to king Campaneus, That starfe at Thebes, cursed be the day: And all we that been in this aray, And maken all this lamentacioun, We losten all our Husbands at that toun, While that the Siege there about is say: And yet the old Creon (welaway) That lord is now of Thebes city Fulfilled of ire and iniquity, He for despight, and for his tyranny To done the dead bodies villany Of all our lords, which that ben slaw, Hath all the bodies on an heap y••raw, And will not suffer hem by none assent Neither to be buried ne to be brent, But maketh hounds to eat hem in despite: And with that word, without more repite They fallen grofly, and crien pitously, Have on us wretched Women some mercy, And let our sorrow sinke in thine hert. This gentle duke down from his horse stert With hert pitous, when he heard hem speak Him thought that his hert would all to break

When he saw hem so pitous and so mate, That whylome were of so great astate: And in his armes he hem all up hent, And hem comforted in full good intent, And swore his oath, as he was true Knight, He would done so fer forthly his might Vpon the tyrant Creon hem to wreake, That all the people of Greece should speake How Creon was of Theseus yserved, As the that hath his death full well deserved. And right anon withouten more abode His banner he displayed, and forth rode To Thebes ward, and all his hoost beside: No neere Athens nold he go ne ride, Ne take his ease fully half a day, But onward on his way that night he lay: And sent anon Ipolita the quene, And Emely her young sister shene Vnto the toune of Athens to dwell: And forth he rideth, there nis now more to tell.

THe red statue of Mars with spear & targe, So shineth in his white banner large, That all the fields glyttren up and doun: And by his banner, borne is his penon Of Gold full rich, in which there was ybete The minotaure, that he won in Crete. Thus rideth this duke, this conquerour And in his hoast of chivalry the flour, Till that he came to Thebes, and alight Fair in a Field, there as he thought to fight. But shortly for to speaken of this thing, With Creon, which was of Thebes King, He fought, and slew him manly as a Knight In plain battaile, and put his folk to flight: And at a saut he wan the city after, And rent adowne wall, spar, and rafter: And to the ladies he restord again The bodies of her husbands that were slain, To done obsequies, as tho was the gise. But it were all too long for to devise The great clamour, and the weimenting, That the ladies made at the brenning Of the bodies, and the great honour That Theseus the noble conquerour Doth to the ladies, when they from him went: But shortly to tellen is mine intent. When that this worthy duke, this Theseus Hath Creon slaine, and wan Thebes thus, Still in the field he took all night his rest, And did with all the country as him lest: To ransacke in the taas of bodies deed Hem for to strip of harneis and of weed The pillours did her business and cure After the battaile and discomfiture: And so befell, that in the taas they found Though girt with many a grievous wound Two young knights lying by and by Both in armes fame, wrought full richely: Of which two, Arcite hight that one, And that other hight Palamon: Not fully quick, ne fully dead they were, But by her coat armours and by her gere The Heraulds knew hem best in special As tho that weren of the blood rial Of Thebes, and of sistren two yborn. Out of the taas the pillours hath hem torn, And han hem caried soft into the tent Of Theseus, and he full soon hem sent To Athens, to dwellen there in prison Perpetuall, he nold hem not raunson. And when this worthy Duke had thus idone, He tooke his hoast, and home he goth anone, With Iawrel crowned as a conquerour, And there he liveth in joy and honour, Tearm of his life, what needeth words mo? And in a toure, in anguish and in wo Dwelleth Palamon, and his fellow Arcite For evermore, there may no gold hem quite.

THus passeth yere by yere, and day by day, Till it fell once in a morrow of May That Emely, that fairer was to seen Than is the lilly upon the stalke green, And fresher than may, with floures new, For with the rose colour strofe her hew, I not which was the fairer of them two. Er it was day, as was her wont to do, She was arisen, and all ready dight, For May woll have no slogardy a night; The season pricketh every gentell hert, And maketh it out of their sleep to stert, And saith arise, and do May observaunce; This maketh Emely to have remembrance To done honour to May, and for to rise, Iclothed was she fresh for to devise; Her yellow haire was broided in a tresse Behind her backe, a yard long I gesse, And in the gardyn at sunne uprist She walketh up and downe as her list: She gathereth floures, party white and reed To make a subtell garland for her heed, And, as an Angel, heavenly she song: The great toure, that was so thick & strong, Which of the castell was the chefe dungeon, Wherein the two Knights were in prison, Of which I told you, and tellen shall Was even joynant to the gardyn wall; There as this Emely had her playing, Bright was the sonne, & clere the morning, And Palamon, this woful prisoner, As was his wont, by leave of his gayler, Was risen, and romed in a chambre on high, In which he all the noble cite sigh, And eke the gardyn, full of braunches grene, There, as this fresh Emely the shene Was in her walk, and romed up and down; This sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon, Goth in his chambre roming to and fro, And to himself complaining of his wo, That he was borne full oft said alas. And so befell, by auenture or caas, That through a window thick of many a bar Of yron great, and square as any spar, He cast his eyen upon Emilia, And therewith he blent, and cried, ha, ha, As though he stongen were unto the hert. And with that cry Arcite anon up stert, And said, cosin mine, what eyleth thee, That art so pale and deadly for to see? Why cryest thou? who hath do thee offence? For goddes love take all in pacience

Our prison, for it may none other be, Fortune hath yeven us this adversite, Some wicked aspect or disposition Of Saturne, by some constellation, Hath yeven us this, altho we had it sworn So stood the heauen when that we were born, We mote endure, this is short and plain. This Palamon answered, and said again, Cosyn, forsoth, of this opinion Thou hast a vain imaginacion, This prison caused me not to cry, But I was hurt right now through mine eye Into mine herte, that woll my bane be, The fairness of a Lady that I se Yond in the gardyn, roming to and fro, Is cause of all my crying and wo. I not wher she be woman or goddess, But Venus it is, sothly as I guess, And therewithall on knees down he fyll, And said; Venus, if it be thy will You in this gardyn thus to transfigure Beforne me, sorrowful wretched creature, Out of this prison help that we may scape, And if our destiny be so ishape By eterne word, to dyen in prison, Of our linage have some compassion, That is so low ybrought by tyranny. And with that word Arcite gan espy Whereas the Lady romed to and fro, And with that sight her beauty hurt him so, That if that Palamon were wounded sore, Arcite was hurt as much as he, or more; And with a sigh he said pitously, The fresh beauty sleeth me sodenly Of her that rometh in yonder place, And but I have her mercy and her grace That I may seen her at the least way, I nam but dead, there nys no more to say.

This Palamon, whan he these words herd, Dispitously he looked, and answerd: Whether sayst thou this in ernest or in play? Nay, quod Arcite, in ernest by my fay, God help me so, me list full yll to pley. This Palamon gan knit his browes twey, It were (quod he) to thee no great honour To be false, ne for to be a traytour To me, that am thy cosyn and thy brother, Isworne full depe, each of us to other, That never for to dien in the pain, Till that the death depart shall us twain, Neither of us in love to hindre other, Ne in none other case, my leve brother, But that thou shouldest truly further me In every case, as I should further thee; This was thine oth, and mine also, certain I wot it well, thou darst it not withsain. Thus art thou of my counsell out of dout, And now thou woldest falsly ben about To love my Lady, whom I love and serve, And ever shall, till that mine hert sterve. Now certes, false Arcite, thou shalt not so, I loved her first, and told thee my wo As to my counsell, and to my brother sworne To further me, as I have told beforne, For which thou art thounden as a Knight To helpen me, if it lye in thy might, Or else art thou false, I dare well sain. This Arcite full proudly spake again, Thou shalt (quod he) be rather false than I, And thou art false, I tell thee utterly. For paramour I loved her first or thou, What wilt thou sain, thou wist it not or now Whether she be woman or goddess: Thine is affection of holiness, And mine is love, as to a creature: For which I told thee mine aventure, As to my cosin, and my brother sworne. Suppose that thou lovedst her beforne: * Wost thou not well the old Clerks saw? That who shall give a lover any law? Love is a greater law by my pan, Then may be yeven to any earthly man: And therefore positive law, and such decree Is broken all day for love in eche degree; A man mote needs, love maugre his head, He may not fleen it, tho he shuld be dead, All be she maid, widow, or else wife. And eke it is not likely all thy life To stonden in her grace, no more shall I: For well thou wost thy selfe verely, That thou and I be damned to prison Perpetual, us gaineth no raunson. * We striven, as did the hounds for the bone, That fought all day, & yet her part was none, Ther came a cur, while that they wer so wroth And bare away the bone from hem both. * And therefore, at Kings court, my brother, Each man for himself, there is none other. Love if thou list, for I love, and aye shall: And soothly, lefe brother, this is all. Here in this prison mote we endure, And everich of us taken his aventure. Great was the strife and long betwixt hem twey, If that I had leisure for to sey: But to theffect: it happed on a day, (To tell it you shortly as I may) A worthy Duke that hight Perithous, That fellow was to Duke Theseus, Sith thilke day that they were children lite, Was come to Athens his fellow to visite, And for to play, as he was wont to do, For in this world he loved no man so: And he loved him as tenderly again. So well they loved, as old books saine, That when that one was dead, soothly to tell, His fellow went & sought him down in hell: But of that storie list me not to write. Duke Perithous loved well Arcite, And had him know at Thebes yere by yere: And finally, at the request and prayere Of Perithous, withouten any raunson Duke Theseus let him out of prison. Freely to gone whether him list over all In such a guise, as I you tellen shall. This was the forward, plainly to endite Betwixt Duke Theseus and him Arcite: That if so were, that Arcite were yfound Ever in his life, by day, night, or stound, In any countrey of this Duke Theseus, And he were caught, it was accorded thus, That with a sword he should lese his heed, There was no other remedy ne reed,

But taketh his leave, & homeward him sped: Let him beware, his neck lieth to wed. How great sorw suffereth now Arcite? The death he feeleth through his hert smite: He weepeth, waileth, and crieth pitously, To sleen himself he waiteth prively: And said, alas, the day that I was borne, Now is my prison worse than beforne: Now is me shap eternally to dwell Nought in purgatorie, but in Hell. Alas, that ever I knew Perithous, For else had I dwelt with Theseus I fettered in his prison evermo: Then had I be in bliss, and not in wo. Only the sight of her, whom that I set ve, Though that I never her grace may deserve, Would have sufficed right ynough for me. O deare cousin Palamon (quod he) Thine is the victorie of this aventure, Full blissul in prison maiest thou endure: In prison, nay certes but in paradice, * Well hath fortune to thee turned the dice, That hast the sight of her, and I thabsence: For possible is, sithens thou hast her presence, And art a knight, a worthy man and able, That by some case since fortune is changeable * Thou maiest sometime to thy desire attain. But I that am exiled, and barraine Of all grace, and in so great despair, That there nis water, earth, fire, ne aire, Ne creature, that of hem maked is, That may me heale, or done comfort in this, Well ought I sterve in wanhope and distresse. Farewell my life, my lust, and my gladnesse. Alas, why playnen men so in commune Of purueyance of God, or of fortune * That yeueth hem full oft in many a gise Well better than hemselfe can devise. Some man desireth to haue richesse, That cause is of her murdre or sicknesse, And soure man wold out of his prison faine That in his house is of his meyne slaine. Infinite harmes bene in this mattere, We wote not what thing we prayen here, We faren as he that dronke is as a mouse, A dronken man wot well he hath an house, But he wot not which the right way thider, And to a dronken man the way is slider; And certes in this world so faren we. We seken fast after felicite, But we go wrong full oft truly, Thus we may say all, and namely I That wenden, and had a great opinion That if I might scape fro prison, Then had I been in ••oy and perfite hele, There now I am exiled fro my wele, Sith that I may not seene you Emely, I nam but dead, there nys no remedy. ¶Vpon that other side Palamon, Whan that he wist Arcite was gon, Such sorrow he maketh, that the great tour Resowned of his yelling and clamour, The pure fetters on his shinnes grete Were of his bitter salt teares wete. Alas (quoth he) Arcite cosyn mine, Of all our strife, God wot the frute is thine; Thou walkest now in Thebes at large, And of my wo, thou yeuest little charge; Thou maist, sith thou hast wisdom & manhed, Assemble all the folke of our kindred, And make warre so sharpe in this countre, That by some auenture, or by some treate Thou maiest haue her to lady and to wife, For whom I must nedes lese my life. For as by way of possibilite, Sith thou art at thy large of prison fre, And art a lord, great is thine advantage More than is mine, that sterve here in a cage; For I may wepe & wayle whiles that I liue, With all the wo that prison may me yeue, And eke with paine, that loue yeueth me also, That doubleth all my tourment and my wo. Therewith the fire of jelousie vp stert Within his brest, and hent him by the hert So woodly, that he likely was to behold The boxe tree, or the ashen deed and cold. Then said he, O cruell goddes, that governe This world with your word eterne, And written in the table of Athamant Your parliament and eterne graunt, What is mankind more unto you yhold Than is the shepe, that rouketh in the fold. For slain is man, right as another beest, And dwelleth eke in prison, and in arrest, And hath sicknesse, and great adversite, And oft time giltlesse parde. What governance is in this prescience That giltlesse turmenteth innocence? And encreaseth thus all my penance, That man is bounden to his obseruaunce For Gods sake to leten of his will, There as a beest may all his lusts fulfill, And whan a beest is dead, he hath no pain, But after his death man mote wepe & plain: Though in this world he haue care and wo Without dout it may stonden so. The answere of his lete I to diuines, But well I wote, in this world great pine is, Alas, I see a serpent or a thefe, That many a true man hath do mischiefe, Gon at his large, & where him list may turn, But I mote ben in prison through Saturn, And eke through Iuno, jalous and eke wood, That hath stroied well nye all the blood Of Thehes, with his wast walles wide, And Venus sleeth me on that other side For ielousie, and feare of him Arcite. Now will I stint of Palamon alite, And let him in his prison still dwell, And of Arcite forth woll I you tell. The sommer passeth, and the nights long Encreaseth double wise the paines strong Both of the lover, and of the prisoner, I not which hath the wofuller mister, For shortly to say, this Palamon Perpetuel is damned to prison, In chaines and fetters to the deed, And Arcite is exiled on his heed For euermore as out of that countre, Ne neuermore shall his lady se. You louers aske I now this question, Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamon?

That one may se his lady day by day, But in prison mote he dwell asway; That other where him list may ride or go, But sene his lady shall he neuer mo. Now deemeth as ye list, ye that can, For I woll tell forth my tale as I began. ¶Whan that Arcite to Thebes comen was, Ful oft a day he swelt and said alas, For sene his lady shall he neuer mo, And shortly to conclude all his wo So mikell sorrow made neuer creature, That is or shal be, while the world may dure, His slepe, his meat, his drinke is him byraft, That leane he waxeth, and drie as a shaft, His eyen hollow, and grisly to behold, His hew pale, and fallow as ashen cold, And solitary he was, and ever alone, And wailing all the night, making mone, And if he heard song or instrument, Then would he wepe, he might not stent So feble were his spirits, and so low And changed so, that no man coud him know His speech ne his voice, though men it herd As in his gyre, for all the world it ferd Nought comly like to louers malady Of Eros, but rather like manie Engendred of humours melancolike Beforne his fell fantastike And shortly was turned all vp so doun Both habit and disposicioun Of him, this wofull louer Arcite, What should I all day his wo endite? Whan he endured had a yere or two This cruell torment, and this paine and wo At Thebes, in his countre, as I said, Vpon a night in slepe as he him laid, Him thought how that the winged Mercury Beforne him stood, aud bad him be mery, His slepy yerd in hand he bare vpright, An hat he weered vpon his hairs bright Irayed was this god, as he toke kepe As he was when Argus tooke his slepe, And said him thus: to Athens shali thou wend There is the shapen of thy woe and end. And with that word Arcite awoke and stert, Now truly how sore that ever me smert Quod he, to Athens right now wol I fare, Ne for no drede of death shall I spare To see my ladie, that I loue and serve, In her presence recke I not to sterve. And with that word he caught a gret mirrour And saw that chaunged was all his colour, And saw his visage all in another kind, And right anon it ran him in his mind, That sith his face was so disfigured Of malady, the which he had indured, He might well, if that he bare him low, Live in Athens evermore unknow, And sene his ladie welnigh day by day, And right anon he chaunged his aray, And clad him as a poore labourer, And all alone, saue only a squier That knew his privitie and all his caas, Which was disguised poorly as he was. To Athens is he gone the next way, And to the court he went vpon a day, And at the gate he profered his service To drugge & draw, what men would deuise: And shortly of this matter for to saine, He fell in office with a chamberlaine The which was dwelling with Emelie, For he was wise, and soone couth espie Of euery seruaunt, which that serued here, Well couth he hewen wood, and water bere, For he was yong and mightie for the nones, And thereto he was strong and big of bones To done that any wight gan him deuise; A yere or two he was in this service Page of the chamber of Emelie the bright, And Philostrate he said that he hight. But halfe so wel beloued man as he Ne was there none in court of his degre, He was so gentill of conditioun, That through all the court was his renown, The said it were a charitie That Theseus would enhauneen his degre, And put him in a worshipfull seruice There as he might his vertue exercise: And thus within a while his name is sprong Both of his deeds, and of his good tong, That Theseus hath taken him so nere That of his chamber he made him squier, And yaue him gold to maintaine his degre, And eke men brought him out of his countre Fro yere to yere full prively his rent, But honestly and slyly he it spent, That no man wonderd how he it had, And three yere in this wise his life he lad, And bare him so in peace and eke in wer That there nas man that Theseus durst der; And in this blisse let I now Arcite, And speake I woll of Palamon alite: In darkenesse horrible and strong prison This seven yere hath sitten this Palamon Forpined, what for woe and distresse Who feeleth double sore and heuinesse: But Palamon, that loue distraineth so, That wood out of his wit he goeth for wo, And eke thereto he is a prisonere Perpetuell, and not onely for a yere. Who coud rime in English properly His martirdome? forsooth it am not I, Therefore I passe as lightly as I may. It befell that in the seuenth yere in May, The third night, as old bookes us saine (That all this storie tellen more plaine) Were it by aduenture or by destine As when a thing is shapen, it shal be, That soone after midnight, Palamon By helping of a friend brake his prison, And fleeth the citie as fast as he may go, For he had yeuen the gailer drinke so Of a clarrie, made of certaine wine, With Narcotise and Opie, of Thebes fine, That all the night though men would him shake The gailer slept, he nught not awake; And thus he fleeth as fast as he may, The night was short, and fast by the day, That needs cost he mote himselfe hide, And to a grove that was fast there beside With dreadfull foot then stalketh Palamon, For shortly this was his opinion,

That in the grove he would him hide all day, And in the night then would he take his way To Thebes ward, his friends for to prie On Theseus to help him to warrie: And shortly, either he would lese his life Or win Emelie unto his wife, This is the effect, and his intent plaine. Now will I turne to Arcite againe, That little wist how nie was his care Til that fortune had brought him in her snare, The merrie Larke, messenger of the day, Saleweth in her song the morrow gray, And fierie Phebus riseth up so bright, That all the orisont laugheth of the sight, And with his stremes, drieth in the greues The siluer drops hanging in the leues. And Arcite, that in the court riall With Theseus is squire principall, Is risen, and looketh on the merrie day And for to doen his obseruaunces to May, Remembring on the point of his desire He on his courser, startling as the fire Is riden into the fieldes him to pley Out of the court, were it a mile or twey, And to the groue of which I you told By aduenture, his way he gan hold To maken him a garlond of the greves Were it of Woodbind or Hauthorn leves, And loud he song ayenst the Sonne shene, May, with all thy floures and thy grene, Welcome be thou (said he) faire fresh May, I hope that I some greene thing get may: And from his courser, with a lusty hert Into the groue full hastily he stert, And in a path he romed vp and doun There, as by aduenture this Palamon Was in a bush, that no man might him se, For sore afraied of his death was he; Nothing ne knew he that it was Arcite, God wot he would have trowed that full lite. But sooth is said, gone sithen are many yeres * That field hath iyen, & the wood hath eres, * It is full fair a man to bear him euin For all day men mete at vnset steuin Full little wote Arcite of this felaw That was so nigh to hearken of his saw, For in the bush sitteth he now full still. When that Arcite had romed all his fill, And songen all the roundell lustily, Into a studie he fell sodenly, As doen these louers in their queint gires, Now in the crop, and now doun in the brires Now vp now doune, as boket in a well, Right as the Friday, soothly for to tell Now it raineth, now it shineth fast, Right so gan gerie Venus ouercast The hearts of here folke, right as her day Is gerifull, right so chaungeth she aray, Selde is the Friday all the weeke ilike, When that Arcite had song, he gan to like And set him doune withouten any more: Alas (qd. he) the day that I was bore, Now long Iuno through thy crueltee Wilt thou warren Thebes the citee? Alas ybrought is to confusion The bloodriall of Cadmus and Amphion. Of Cadmus, I say, which was the first man That Thebes built, or first the toune began, And of the citie first was crowned king: Of his linage am I, and of his spring By very line, as of the stocke riall: And now I am so caitife and so thrall, That he that is my mortall enemie I mought serue him as his squire poorely. And yet doeth me Iuno well more shame, For I dare not be know mine owne name, But there as I was wont to hight Arcite, Now hight I Philostrat, not worth a mite. Alas thou fell Mars, alas thou Iuno, Thus hath your ire our linage all fordo Save onely me, and wretched Palamon, That Theseus martireth in prison: And ouer all this, to slean me vtterly Loue hath his fierie dart so brenningly I sticked thorough my true carefull hert, That shapen was my death erst my shert. Ye slean me with your eyen Emelie, Ye been the cause wherefore that I die. Of all the remnaunt of mine other care Ne set I not the mountaunce of a Tare, So that I coud do ought to your pleasaunce. And with that word he fell doun in a traunce A long time, and afterward he vp stert. This Palamon thought that thro his hert He felt a cold sword sodenly glide: For ire he quoke, no lenger would he bide. And when that he had heard Arcites tale, As he were wood, with face dead and pale, He stert him vp out of the bushes thicke, And said: Arcite thou false traitour wicke Now art thou hent, that lovest my ladie so For whom that I have this pain and wo, And art my blood, and to my counsell sworn As I have full oft told thee here beforn, And hast beyaped here duke Theseus, And falsely hast chaunged thy name thus; I will be dedde, or els thou shalt die, Thou shalt not loue my ladie Emelie, But I will loue her only, and no mo, For I am Palamon thy mortall fo; Though that I have no weapon in this place, But out of prison am astert by grace, I dred nat, that either thou shalt die Or thou ne shalt nat louen Emelie, These which thou wilt, or thou shalt not affert. This Arcite, with full dispitous hert When he hym knew, and had his tale heard, As fers as a Lion, pulled out his swerd And saied: By God that sitteth aboue Ne wer that thou art sick, and wood for love, And eke that thou no weapen hast in this place Thou shouldest never out of this grove pace, That thou ne shouldest dien of mine hond, For I defie the suertie and the bond Which that thou saist that I have made to thee, What very fool, think well that love is free, And I will love her maugre all thy might, But forasmoche as thou art a Knight, And wilnest to daren here by battaile, Have here my truth, to morow I will not fail Without witting of any other wight, That here I will be founden as a knight,

And bringen harneis, right inough for thee, And chese the best, and leave the worst for me, And meat and drinke this night will I bring Ynough for thee, and clothes for thy bedding, And if so be that thou my ladie win And slea me in this wodde, there I am in, Thou maiest well haue thy ladie as for me, This Palamon answered, I grant it thee. And thus they been departed till a morow When ech of hem had laid his faith to borow, O Cupide out of all charitee Oreigne, that wouldest haue no felow with thee Full soth is saied, that loue ne lordship Woll nat his thankes haue any fellowship We find that of Arcite and Palamon, Arcite is ridden anon into the toun, And on the morow or it were day light Full priuely two harneis had he dight Both sufficient and mete to darreigne The battail in the field betwixt hem tweine And on his horse, alone as he was borne He carrieth all his harneis him beforne, And in the groue, at time and place iset That Arcite and this Palamon been met, To changen gan the colour in her face Right as the hunter in the reigne of Trace That standeth at a gappe, with a speare When hunted is the Lion or the Beare And hereth him rushing in the leues And breaketh the boughs in the greues And thinketh, here cometh my mortal enemy Without faile, he must be dedde or I For either I mote slea him at the gap Or he mote slea me, if me mishap So ferden they, in chaunging of her hew As farre as euerich of other knew There nas no good day, ne no saluing But streight, without word or rehearsing Eueriche of hem helped for to arme other As friendly, as he were his owne brother And after that, with sharp speares strong They foinen ech at other wonder long Thou mightest wenen, that this Palamon In his fighting, were a wood Lion And as a cruell Tigre was Arcite As wild Bores gan they fight and smite That frothen white as some for ixe wood Vp to the ancle foughten they in her blood And in this wise, I let hem fighting dwell As forth I woll of Theseus you tell. The destinie and the minister generall That executeth in the world ouer all The purveiance, that God hath said beforne So strong it is, that though the world had sworne The contrary of thing by ye & nay, Yet sometime it shall fall on a day That fell never yet in a thousand yere, For certainly our appetites here, Be it of warre peace hate or loue, All is ruled by the sight aboue, This meane I now by mightie Theseus, That for to hunt is so desirous, And namely at the great Hart in May, That in his bed there daweth him day, That he nis clad, and ready for to ride With hunt and horne, and hounds him beside, For in his hunting hath he soch delite, That it is all his ioy and appetite To been himselfe great Harts bane, For after Mars, he serueth now Diane. Clere was the day, as I haue told or this, And Theseus, with all ioy and bliss, With his Ipolita, the faire quene, And Emelie iclothed all in greene, An hunting been they ridden rially, And to the groue, that stood there fast by In which ther was an Hart as men him told, Duke Theseus the streight way hath hold, And to the land he rideth him full right, For thither was the hart wont to haue his flight, And ouer a brook, & so forth his wey, This duke woll haue a course at him or twey With hounds, soch as him list commaund, And when the duke was comeninto the laund Vnder the sonne he looked, and that anon He was warre of Arcite and Palamon That foughten breme, as it were bulles two, The bright swords wenten to and fro So hidiously, that with the lest stroke It semed that it would have fellen an oke, But what they weren, nothing he ne wote, This duke with his spors his courser smote, And at start he was betwixt hem two, And pulled out his sword, and cried, ho No more on paine of lesing your head By mightie Mars, he shall anone be dead That smiteth any stroke, that I may seen But telleth me what mister men ye been, That been so hardie for to fighten here Without iudge or other officere, As though it were in listes rially? This Palamon answered hastily, And said: sir, what nedeth words mo? We haue the death deserued both two Two wofull wretches been we and caitiues That been encombred of our own liues, And as thou art a rightfull lord and iudge, Ne yeue vs neither mercie ne refuge, But slea me first, for saint charite, But slea my fellow as well as me, Or slea him first, for though thou know it lite This is thy mortal foe, this is Arcite, That fro thy sand is banished on his head, For which he hath deserved to be dead, For this is he that came unto thy yate, And saied, that he hight Philostrate, Thus hath he iaped full many a yere And thou hast made him thy chief squiere, And this is he, that loveth Emelie. For sith the day is come that I shall die, I make plainly my confession, That I am thilke wofull Palamon, That hath thy prison broke wickedly I am thy mortall foe, and he am I That loueth so hot Emelie the bright, That I woll die here present in her sight. Wherefore I aske death and my iewise, But slea my fellow in the same wise, For both we haue deserved to be slaine. This worthy duke answered anon againe And saied, this is a short conclusion, Your owne mouth, by your owne confession

Hath damned you, and I woll it record It needeth not to pine you with a cord, Ye shall be dead by mighty Mars the redde. The queene anon for very womanhedde Gan for to weepe, and so did Emelie, And all the ladies in the companie Great pitie was it, as thought hem all, That euer such a chaunce should befall. For gentlemen they were of great estate, And nothing but for loue was this debate, And saw her bloudie wounds wide and sore, And all criden at once both lesse and more, Have mercie lord upon vs women all: And on her bare knees adoune they fall, And wold haue kist his feet there as he stood, Till at the last, assaked was his mood: * For pitie renneth soone in gentle hert And though he at first for ire quoke and stert, He hath considered shortly in a clause The trespasses of hem both, and eke the cause: And although his ire her gilt accused, Yet in his reason he hem both excused * As thus: he thought well that euery man Woll helpe himselfe in loue all that he can, And eke deliue•• himselfe out of prison, And eke his heart had compassion Of women, for they weepen euer in one: And in his gentle heart he thought anone, And foft vnto himselfe he saied: fie * Vpon a lord that woll haue no mercie, But be a Lion both in word and deed To hem that been in repentaunce and dreed As well as to a proud dispitous man That will maintaine that he first began. * That lord hath little of discretion, That in such case can no diffinition: But weigheth pride & humblenesse after one. And shortly, when his ire was thus agone, He gan to looken vp with eyen light And spake in place these words all on hight. The God of loue, ah benedicite, How mightie and how great a lord is he: Againe his might there gaineth no obstacles, He may be cleaped a God for his miracles. For he can maken at his owne gise Of everich hart, as him list deuise. Lo here this Arcite, and this Palamon, That quietly were out of my prison gon, And might haue liued in Thebes riasly, And knowne I am her mortall enemie, And that her death is in my power also, And yet hath loue, maugre her eyen two I brought hem hither both for to die. Now looketh, is not this a great follie? * Who may be a foole, but if he loue? Behold for Gods sake that sitteth aboue, See how they bleed, be they not well araied? Thus hath her lord, the god of loue hem paied Her wages, and her fees for her seruice: And yet they wenen to be full wise, That serue loue, for ought that may befall. But yet is this the best game of all, That she, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whom they haue this iollite, Con hem therefore as much thanke as me. She wot no more of all his hote fare By God, than wot a Cuckow or an Hare. But all mote been assaied hot and cold, A man mote been a foole other yong or old, I wot it by my selfe full yore agone: For in my time a seruant was I one. And therefore sith I know of loues paine, I wot how sore it can a man distraine, As he that oft hath be caught in her iaas, I you foryeue all wholly this trespaas At the request of the queen that kneeleth here, And eke of Emely, my sister dere, And ye shall both anon vnto me swere, That ye shall neuer more my country dere, Ne make warre vpon me night ne day, But been my friends in all that ye may: I you foryeue this trespass every dele. And they him sware his asking fair and wele, And him of lordship and of mercie praid, And he hem graunted grace, and thus he said.

To speake of worthie linage and richesse, Though that she were a queen or a princesse Ilke of you both is worthie doubtlesse To wed when time is, but nethelesse I speake, as for my sister Emelie For whom ye haue this strife and ielousie, Ye wot your selfe, she may not wed two At ones, though ye fighten euermo: But one of you, all be him loth or lefe, He mot goe pipe in an Yuie leafe: This is to say, she may not haue both Been ye neuer so iealous, ne so wroth. And therefore I you put in this degre, That each of you shall haue his destine As him is shape, and hearken in what wise, Lo here your end, of that I shall deuise. My will is this, for plat conclusion Without any replication If that you liketh, take it for the best That euerich of you shall goe where him lest Freely without ransome or daungere And this day fiftie weekes, ferre ne nere Euerich of you shall bring an C. knights Armed for the lists upon all rights Alredy to darrein here by battaile And this behote I you withouten faile Vpon my truth, as I am true knight That whether of you both hath that might That is to say, that whether he or thou May with his hundred, as I spake of now, Slea his contrary, or out of lists driue Him shall I yeue Emely to wiue To whom fortune yeueth so fair a grace. The lists shall I do make in this place And God so wisely on my soule rew As I shall euen iudge be, and trew. Ye shall none other end with me make That one of you shall be dedde or take And ye thinken this is well isaid Saith your aduise, and hold you well apaid This is your end, and your conclusion. Who looketh lightly now but Palamon? Who springeth up for ioy but Arcite? Who could tell, or who could rightly endite The great ioy that is made in this place When Theseus had done so fair a grace?

But doun on knees went euery maner wight And thanked him with all her hert and might And namely these Thebanes full many a sith And thus with good hope and hert blith They taken her leue, & homward gan they ride To Thebes ward, with his old wals wide. I trow men would deme it negligence If I foryetten to tell the dispence Of Thebes, that goeth busely To maken vp the lists rially To such a noble Theatre, as it was I dare well say, in all this world there nas The circuit whereof a mile was about Walled with stone, and diched all about Round was the shape, in manner of a compas Full of degrees, the hight of sixtie paas That when a man was set on one degree He letted not his fellow for to see. Eastward there stood a gate of marble white, Westward right such another in thopposite. And shortly to conclude, such a place Was none in yearth, as in so little space, For in the lond there nas no crafts man That Geometrie, or Arithmetike can Ne purtreiture, ne caruer of Images That Theseus ne gaue him meat and wages That Theatre to make and deuise And for to do his Rite and Sacrifice He Eastward hath upon the yate aboue In worship of Venus, the Goddesse of loue, Doe make an auter and an oratorie, And on the West side, in memorie Of Mars he maked such another That cost of gold largely a fother. And Northward, in a turret in the wall Of Alabaster white and red Corall An oratorie riche for to se In worship of Diane the Goddes of chastite Hath Theseus doe wrought in noble wise. But yet had I foryetten to deuise The noble caruings and the purtreitures The shape, the countenaunce and the figures That were in the oratories three, First in the temple of Venus thou maiest see Wrought on the wall, full pitously to behold The broken sleepes, and the sighs cold The salt teares, and the weimenting The fire strokes, and the desiring That loues seruants in this life enduren The othes, that her couenants assuren Pleasaunce and hope, desire, foolehardinesse Beautie and youth, braudrie and richesse Charmes and sorcerie, leasing and flatterie Dispence, businesse, and ielousie That weared of yellow golds a garland And a Cuckow sitting on her hand. Feasts, instruments, carols, and daunces, Iusts and array, and all the circumstaunces Of loue, which I reken and reken shall By order, were painted on the wall, And mo than I can make of mencion For sothly all the mount of Citheron Where Venus hath her principall dwelling Was shewed on the wall in purtreing With all the ioy, and the lustinesse Nought was foryetten the portresse idlenesse Ne Narcissus the faire of yore agon Ne yet the follie of king Salomon Ne yet the great strength of Hercules Thenchauntment of Medea and Circes Ne of Turnus, with his hardie corage The rich Cresus caitife in seruage * Thus may you seen, that wisdome ne richesse Beautie ne slight, strength ne hardinesse Ne may with Venus hold champartie For as her list the world may she gie, Lo, all these folke so cought were in her laas Till they for wo full oft said alas Sufficeth here one example or two And though I coud reken a thousand mo. The statue of Venus glorious to see Was maked fleeting in the large see And fro the nauell doune all couered was With waues grene, and bright as any glas A citriole in her right hand had shee And on her hedde, full semely for to see A rose garland fresh and well smelling Aboue her hedde Doues flittering Before her stood her sonne Cupido Vpon his shoulders wings had he two And blind he was, as it is oft sene A bow he had and arrowes bright and kene Why should I not as well tellen all The purgatory that was thereabout ouer all Within the temple of mightie Mars the rede All painted was the wall in length and brede Like to the Estris of the grisly place, That hight the great temple of Mars in Thrace, In thilke cold and frostie region, There Mars hath his soueraine mancion. First on the wall was painted a forrest, In which there wonneth nother man ne beast With knottie and knarie barrein trees old Of stubs sharpe and hidious to behold: In which there was a romble and a swough As though a storme should break euery bough And downward from an hill vnder a bent, There stood the temple of Mars armipotent Wrought all of burned stele, of which thentre Was long and streight, and gastly for to see, And thereout came such a rage and a vise, That it made all the gates for to rise. The Northern light in at the dores shone, For window on the wall was there none, Throgh which men might any light discerne. The dores were all of Athamant eterne Y••lenched ouerthwart and head long With yron tough, for to maken it strong. Every piller, the temple to susteine Was tonne great, of yron bright and shene. There saw I first the dark imagining Of fellonie, and eke the compassing: The cruell ire, red as any glede, The pickpurse also, and eke the pale drede, The smiler, with the knife under the cloke, The shepen brenning with the blacke smoke The treason of the murdring in the bed, The open war, with wounds all be bled. Conteke with bloody kniues, & sharp manace All full of chirking was that sorrie place. The sleer of himselfe yet saw I there, His heart blood hath bathed all his here:

The naile ydriuen in the shode on hight, with cold death, with mouth gaping vpright. Amids of the temple sate Mischaunce With discomfort and sorrie Countenaunce: Yet saw I Woodnesse laughing in his rage Armed complaint, theft, and fierce courage, The carraine in the bush, with throte ycorue A thousand slaine, and not of qualme istorue. The tirant, with the prey by force iraft, The toune destroied, there was nothing ilaft. Yet saw I brent the ships hoppesteres, The hunter istrangled with the wild beres: The Sow fretting the child in cradle, * The Cooke iscalded, for all his long ladle. Nought was foryeten the infortune of Mart, The carter ouerridden by his owne cart, Vnder the wheele, full low he lay adoun. There were also of Marts devision, The Barbour, the Botcher, and the Smith, That forgeth sharpe swords on the stith. And all aboue depainted in a tour Saw I Conquest, sitting in great honour With the sharpe sword right ouer his head Hanging by a subtill twined thread. Depainted was there the slaughter of Iulius, Of great Nero, and of Antonius: All be that thilke time they were unborne, Yet was her death depainted there beforne By manacing of Mars, right by figure, So was it shewed on that portreiture As is depainted in the starres aboue, Who shall be dead or els slaine for loue. Sufficeth one ensample in stories old, I may not reken them all, though I would. The statue of Mars vpon a cart stood Armed, and looked grim as he were wood, And ouer his head there shinen two figures Of starres, that been cleaped in scriptures, That one (Puella) hight, that other (Rubeus) This god of armes was araied thus: A wolfe there stood beforne him at his fete With eyen red, and of a man he ete: With subtill pensill was painted this storie In redouting of Mars and of his glorie. Now to the temple of Diane the chast As shortly as I can I woll me hast, To tell you all the discriptioun: Depainted been the wals vp and doun Of hunting and of shamefast chastite: There saw I how wofull Calistope, When that Diane greeued was with her, Was turned fro a woman to a bere, And afterward was she made the loadsterre: Thus was it painted, I can say no ferre, Her sonne is eke a starre as men may see. There saw I Dane turned vnto a tree, I meane not the goddesse Diane, But Venus daughter, which that hight Dane There saw I Acteon an Hert ymaked For vengeance that he saw Diane all naked: I saw how that his hounds haue him cought, And freten him, for they knew him nought. Yet painted was a little furthermore, How Athalant hunted the wild Bore, And Mellager, and many other mo, For which Diane wrought him care and wo. There saw I many another wonder storie, Which me list not to draw in memorie. This goddesse full well vpon an Hart sete, With small hounds all abouten her fete, And vnderneath her feet she had a Moone, Wexing it was, and yet should wane soone. In gaudie greene her statue clothed was, With bow in hand, and arrowes in caas. Her iyen aye she cast full low adoun There Pluto hath his darke regioun. A woman trauelling was her before, But for her child so long was vnbore, Full pitously Lucina gan she call, And said helpe, for thou maiest best of all. Well coud he paint liuely that it wrought, With many a florein he the hewes bought.

Now been these lists made, and Theseus That at his great cost hath arayed thus The temples, and the theatre eueridele, When it was done, it him liked wonder wele. But stint I woll of Theseus alite, And speake of Palamon and of Arcite. The day approcheth of her returning, That euerich should an C. knights bring, The battaile to darreine, as I you told, And to Athens her couenants to hold, Hath euerich of hem brought an C. knights Well armed for the warre at all rights: And sikerly, there trowed many a man That never sithens the world began, As for to speak of knighthood of her hond, As farre as God hath made sea or lond, Nas of so few, so noble a company: For every wight that loued chiualry, And would his thankes haue a passing name Hath praied, that he might be of that game, And well was him, that thereto chosen was: For if there fell to morrow such a caas, Ye know well, that euery lusty knight, That loueth paramours, and hath his might Were it in England, or were it elsewhere, They would all full faine willen to be there. * To fight for a lady, ah, benedicite, It were a lustie sight for men to se. And right so farden they with Palamon, With him there went knights many on: Some would been armed in an habergeon, And in a brest plate, with a light gippion, And some would have a paire of plates large, And some wold haue a pruce sheld, som a ••arge Some would be armed on his legs wele, And haue an axe, and some a mace of stele. There nas none new gise, that it nas old. Armed were they, as I haue you told Euerich after his opinion. ¶Ther maist thou se comming with Pala∣mon Ligurge himselfe, the great king of Trace: Blacke was his berd, & manly was his face. The sercles of his iyen in his hed They glouden betwixt yellow and red: And like a Lion looked he about, With kemped haires on his browes stout. His lims great, his brawnes hard and strong His shoulders brode, his armes round & long.

And as the guise was in his countre, Full high upon a chaire of gold stood he, With foure great white buls in the trasys. Instead of a coat armour ouer his harnays With nailes yellow, and bright as any gold He hath a beares skin, cole blacke for old. His long haire was kempt behind his backe, As any ravens feather it shone for blacke. A wreath of gold arme great, of huge weight Vpon his head set full of stones bright Of fine rubies and clere diamands. About his chaire there went white allaunds Twenty and mo, as grete as any stere To hunten at the lion or the wild bere And followed him, with mosell fast ybound: Collers of gold, and torrettes filed round. An hundred lordes had he in his rout Armed full well, with hearts sterne and stout.

With Arcite, in stories as men do find, The great Emetrius the King of Inde Vpon a steed bay, trapped in stele, Covered with a cloth of gold diapred wele, Came riding like the god of armes Marce, His coat armure was of cloth of Trace Well couched with perle, white, round & gret: His saddle was of brent gold new ybet. A mantle upon his shoulders hanging Brette full of rubies, red as fire sparkling. His crispe haire like rings was of yron, And that was yellow, and glittering as the son. His nose was high, his eyen bright cytryn, His lips ruddie, his colour was sanguyn. A few freckles, in his face yspreint Betwixt yellow, and somdele blacke ymeint, And as a Lion he his eyen kest Of fiue and twenty yere his age I gest: His beard was well begun for to spring, His voice was as a trumpet sowning. Vpon his head he weared of laurer greene A garland fresh and lustie for to seene. Vpon his hand he bare for his delite An Eagle tame, as any lilly white. An hundred lords had he with him there, All armed saue her heads in her gere, And that full richely in all manner things. For trusteth well, that earles, dukes, & kings Were gathered in this noble company For loue, and for encrease of chiualry. About this king there ran on euery part Full many a rame Lion and Libart. And in this wise, these lords all and some Been on the sunday to the citie come About prime, and in the toune a light. This These{us}, this duke, this worthy knight When he had brought hem into his citee, And inned hem, euerich after his degree, He feasted hem, and doth so great labour To easen hem, and done hem all honour, That yet men wenen that no mans wit Of none estate coud ne amend it. The minstralcie, the seruice at the feast, The great yefts also, to the most and least, The rich array, throughout Theseus paleis, Ne who sat first ne last vpon the deys, What ladies fairest been or best dauncing, Or which of hem can best daunce or sing, Ne who most feelingly speaketh of loue, Ne what haukes sitten on perchen aboue, Ne what hounds liggen on the flour a doun Of all this now make I no mentioun: But of the effect, that thinketh me the best, Now cometh the point, harkeneth if you list.

The sunday at night, or day gan to spring, When Palamon the larke herd to sing, Although it were not day by hours two, Yet song the larke, and Palamon right tho With holy heart, and with an high corage He rose vp, to wenden on his pilgrimage Vnto the blisfull Cithera benigne, I mean Venus, honourable and digne: And in her houre, he walketh foorth apaas Vnto the lists, there as the temple was: And doun he kneleth, and with humble chere And hert full sore, he said as ye shall here. ¶Fairest of faire: O lady mine Venus, Doughter of Ioue, and spouse to Vulcanus, Thou glader of the mount of Citheron, For thilke loue thou haddest to Adon, Haue pity of my bitter teares smart, And take my humble prayer at thine heart. Alas, I ne haue no language to tell The effect, ne the torment of mine hell: Mine heart may not mine harmes bewray, I am so confuse, that I cannot say, But mercy lady bright, that wost wele My thought, & seest what harms that I fele: Consider all this, and rue vpon my sore, As wisly as I shall for euermore Enforce my might, thy true seruant to be, And hold warre alway with chastite: That make I mine auow, so ye me helpe. I keepe not of armes, still for to yelpe, Ne aske I to morrow to haue victory, Ne renounce in this case, ne vaine glory Of prise of armes, to blowen vp and doun, But would haue full possessioun Of Emely, and die in her service, Find thou the maner how, and in what wise, I retch it not, but it may better be To haue victory of hem, or they of me, So that I haue my lady in mine armes. For though so be that Mars is god of Armes Your Vertue is so great in heauen aboue, That if you list, I shall well haue my loue. Thy temple shall I worship euer mo, And on thine aulter, where I ride or go I woll done sacrifice, and fires bete. And if you woll not so, my lady swete, Then pray I you, to morrow with a spear That Arcite doe me through the heart beare: Then reke I not when I haue lost my life, Though Arcite win her to his wife. This is the effect and end of my prayere, Yeue me my lady, thou blisfull lady dere. When the orison was done of Palamon, His sacrifice he did, and that anon Full pitously, with all circumstaunces, All tell I not as now his obseruaunces.

But at the last the statue of Venus shoke, And made a signe, whereby that he toke, That his prayer accepted was that day, For though the signe shewed a delay, Yet wist he well that graunted was his bone, & with glad hart he went him home full sone,

The third houre in equall that Palamon Began to Venus temple for to gon, Vp rose the sunne, and vp rose Emelie, And unto the temple of Diane gan hie: Her maidens, the which thider were lad Full readily with hem the fire they had, The incense, the clothes, and the remnant all, That to the sacrifice longen shall: The hornes full of meeth, as was the gise, There lacked nought to done her sacrifise Smoking the temple, full of clothes faire: This Emely with heart debonaire Her body wisshe with water of a well: But how she did right I dare not tell, * But it be any thing in generall, And yet it were a game to hear it all, To him that meaneth wel it were no charge: * But it is good a man be at his large. Her bright haire vnkempt was, vntressed all, A crown of a greene Oke vnseriall Vpon her head was set full faire and mete, Two fires on the aulter gan she bete, And did her things, as men may behold In Stace of Thebes, and these bookes old. When kindled was the fire, with pitous chere Vnto Diane she spake as ye may here. O chast goddesse of the woods greene, To whom both heauen & earth and see is sene: Queen of the reigne of Pluto, dark and low, Goddess of maidens, that my hart hath know Full many a yeare, and wost what I desire, As keepe me fro the vengeance of thine ire, That Acteon abought cruelly: Chast goddesse, well wost thou that I Desire to been a maid all my life, Ne neuer woll I be loue ne wife. I am (thou wost well) of thy company A maid, and loue hunting and venery, And for to walken in the woods wild, And not for to been a wife, & been with child, Nought will I know company of man, Now helpe me lady sith you may and can, For the three formes that thou hast in thee. And Palamon, that hath such a loue to me, And eke Arcite, that loueth me so sore, This grace I pray thee withouten more, As send loue and peace betwixt hem two: And fro me turn away her hearts so, That all her hote loue, and her desire, And all her busie torment, and all her fire Be queint, or turned in another place. And if so be thou wolt not do me that grace Or if any destiny be shapen so, That I shall needs have one of hem two, As send me him that most desireth me. Behold goddesse of cleane chastite The bitter tears, that on my cheekes fall, Since thou art a maid, and keeper of vs all, My maidenhed thou keep and well conserue, And while I liue, a maiden woll I thee serue. The fires bren vpon the aulter clere, While Emely was thus in her prayere: But sodeinly she saw a thing queint, For right anon one of the fires queint, And quicked againe, and after that anon That other fire was queint, and all agon: And as it queint, it made a whistling, As done these wet bronds in her brenning. And at the bronds end outran anone As it were bloudy drops many one: For which so sore agast was Emely, That she was well nie mad, and gan to cry, For she ne wist what it signified, But onely for the feare thus she cried, And wept, that it was pity for to heare. And therewithall Diane gan to appeare With how in hond, right as an hunteresse: And said doughter, stint thine heavinesse: Among the gods high it is affirmed, And by eterne word written and confirmed, Thou shalt been wedded to one of tho, That have for thee so much care and wo: But vnto which of hem I may not tell. Farwell, for I may no longer dwell: The fires which now on mine aulter bren Shall declaren, ere that thou gon hen This auenture of loue, as in this case. And with that word the arrows in the case Of the goddesse clatteren fast and ring, And forth she went, and made vanishing, For which this Emely astonied was, And said: what amounteth this, alas, I put me vnder thy protection Diane, and vnder thy disposition. And home she goth anon the next way, This is the effect, there is no more to say,

The next houre of Mars following this Arcite vnto the temple walked is Of fierce Mars to done his sacrifise With all the might of his paymem wise. With pitous heart and high deuotion, Right thus to Mars he said his orison. O strong god, that in the reignes cold Of Trace honoured art, and lord yhold, And hast in euery reigne and euery lond Of armes, all the bridle in thine hond, And hem fortunest as thee list deuise, Accept of me my pitous sacrifise. If so be that my thought may deserue, And that my might be worthy for to serue Thy godhead, that I may been one of thine: Then pray I thee that thou rue on my pine For thilke sore paine, and for thilke hot fire, In which thou brentest whylom for desire, When thou vsedst the faire beaute Of faire young Venus both fresh and fre, And haddest her in thine armes at thy will: Although thou ones on a time misfull, When Vulcanus had caught thee in his laas, And found thee ligging by his wife alas: For thilke sorrow that was in thine hart, Have ruth as well on my paines smart.

I am young and uncunning, as thou wost, And as I trow with love offended most, That ever was any lives creature: For she that doth me all this wo endure, Ne retcheth neuer, where I sinke or flete. And well I wot, or she me mercy hete, I mote with strength with her in this place: And well I wot, without help or grace Of thee, ne may my strength not auaile: Then help me lord to morrow in my battaile, For thilke fire that whilome brenned thee, As well as the fire now brenneth mee. And do, that I to morrow have the victory, Mine be the trauell and thine be the glory, Thy soveraign temple woll I most honouren Of any place, and alway most labouren In thy pleasaunce and in thy crafts strong. And in thy temple I woll my banner hong, And all the armes of my companie, And euermore, untill the day I die, Eterne fire I woll beforne thee find: And eke to this auow I woll me bind. My heard, my haire that hongeth low adoun That neuer yet felt offencioun Of rasour ne of shere, I woll thee yeve, And been thy true seuaunt while I liue. Now lord have ruth vpon my sorrowes sore, Yeve me the victory, I aske thee no more. The praier stint of Arcite the strong. The rings on the temple dore they rong, And eke the dores yclattren full fast, Of which Arcite somewhat him agast. The fires brennen upon the auter bright, That it gan all the temple for to light: A sweet smell anon the ground up yafe. And Arcite anon his hond up hafe, And more insence into the fire he cast, With other rites mo, and at the last The statu of Mars began his hautherke ring: And with that sound he heard a murmuring Full low and dim, that said thus: Victory. For which he yafe to Mars honor and glory. And thus with joy, and hope well to fare Arcite anon into his inne is fare, As faine as foule is of the bright sun. And right anon such a strife is begun For thilke graunting, in the heauen aboue Betwixt Venus the goddess of loue, And Mars the sterne god armipotent, That Iupiter was busie it to stent: Till that the pale Saturnus the cold, That knew so many aventures old, Found in his experience and art, That he full soone hath pleased every part. And sooth is said, elde hath great auauntage, * In elde is both wisdome and usage: Men may the old outren, but not outread. Saturne anon, to stinten strife and dread, Albeit that it be again his kind, Of all this strife he can remedy find. My deare doughter Venus, qd. Saturne, My course that hath so wide for to turne, Hath more power than wot any man. Mine is the drenching in the sea so wan, Mine is the prison in the darke coat, Mine is the strangling and hanging by the throat, The murmure, and the churles rebelling, The groning, and the priuy enpoysoning. I do vengeance and plaine correction, While I dwell in the signe of the Lion. Mine is the ruine of the high hals, The falling of the toures and of the wals Vpon the minor, or on the carpenters: I slew Sampson, shaking the pillers. And mine been also the maladies cold, The darke treasons, and the casts old: My looking is the father of pestilence. Now weep no more, I shall do my diligence, That Palamon, that is thine owne knight, Shall have his lady, as thou him behight. Though Mars shal help his knight, natheles Betwixt you it mot sometime be pees: All be ye not of one complection, That couseth all day such deuision. I am thine ayle, ready at thy will, Weep no more, I woll thy lust fulfill. Now woll I stenten of these gods aboue Of Mars, and of Venus goddesse of loue, And plainely woll tellen you as I can The great effect, of which that I began.

Great was the feast in Athens that day, And eke that lusty season in May Made euery wight to ben in such pleasaunce, That all that day iusten they and daunce, And spenden it in Venus high seruise: But because that they shoulden arise Early, for to see the great and strange sight, Vnto her rest went they quickly at night: And on the morrow when day gan spring, Of horse and harneis, noise and clattering There was in the hostelries all about: And to the pallace rode there many a rout Of lords, upon great steeds and palfreis. There maiest thou see deuising of harneis So vncouth, so rich, and wrought so wele Of Goldsmithry, of braudry, and of stele, The shields bright, testers, and trappers, Gold hewen helms, hauberks, & coat armers, Lords in paraments on her coursers, Knights of retinue, and eke squiers, Nailing the speares, and helmes bokeling. Gigging of shields with lamers lacing There as need is, they were nothing ydell: The foming steeds on the golden bridell Gnawing and fast the armurers also With file and hammer, riding to and fro: Yemen on foot, and communes many one With short staues, thicke as they may gone. Pipes, trompes, nakoners, and clariouns, That in the battaile blowne bloudie souns. The pallace full of people up and doun, Here three, there ten, holding her questioun: Deuining of these Theban knights two. Some said thus, some said it should he so: Some did hold with him with the black berd, Som with the balled, som with the thick herd. Some said he looked grim and would fight, He hath a sparth of twenty pound of weight. Thus was the hall full of deuining Long after the sunne gam to spring.

The great Theseus of his sleepe gan wake With minstralcie and noise that they make: Held yet the chamber of his pallace rich, Till that the Theban knights both ylich Honoured weren, and to the place yfet. Duke Theseus is at the window set Arayed right as he were a god in trone: The people preased thyderward full sone Him for to seen, and done him high reuerence, And eke to heare his hest and his sentence. An herauld on a scaffold made an oo, Till all the noise of the people was ydo: And when he saw the people of noise still, Thus shewed he forth the mighty dukes will. The lord hath of his high discretion Considered, that it were destruction To gentle blood, to fighten in this gise Of mortall battell, now in this emprise: Wherefore to shapen that they shall not die, He woll his first purpose modifie. No man therefore, up paine of losse of life No manner shot, polax, ne short knife Into the lists send, or thider bring, Ne short sword to sticke with point biting No man ne draw, ne heare it by his side: Ne no man shall to his fellow ride But one course, with a sharp grounden spere: Foin if him list on foot, the same he shall were. And he that is at mischiefe, shall he take, And not slaine, but brought unto the stake, That shal ben ordained on either side, Thider he shall by force, and there abide. And if so fall, that the cheefetaine be take On either side, or els sleen his make, No longer shall the turnament last: God speed you, goth and layeth on fast With swords & long mases fighten your fill, Goth now your way, this is the lords will. The voice of the people touched heuen, So loud cried they with mery steuen: God saue such a lord that is so good, He willeth no destruction of blood. Vp goth the trompes and the melody, And to the lists rideth so the company By ordinance, throughout the cite large, Hanged with cloth of gold, & not with sarge. Full like a lord this noble duke gan ride And these two Thebans on either side: And after rode the queene and Emely, And after that another company Of one and other, after her degree: And thus they pasten throughout the citee, And to the lists comen they be by time. It nas not of the day yet fully prime, When set was Theseus full rich and hie Ipolita the queene, and Emelie, And other ladies in degrees about: Vnto the seats preaseth all the rout. And westward, through the yates under mart Arcite, and eke and hundred of his part With banner red, is entred right anon: And in the selue moment entred Palamon Is, under Venus, eastward in that place, With banner white, and hardy cheare & face. In all the world, to seken up and doun, So euen without variatioun There nas no where such companies twey: For there was none so wise that coud sey, That any had of other auauntage Of worthinesse, ne of estate, ne age, So euen were they chosen for to gesse: And into the renges faire they hem dresse. When that her names red were euerichone, That in her number, gile were there none, Tho were the gates shut, and cried was loud, Do now your deuoir yong knights proud. The heraulds left her pricking up & doun, Now ringen trompes loud and clarioun, There is no more to say, east and west In goth the sharpe speres sadly in the arrest: In goth the sharpe spurs into the side, There see men who can iust, and who can ride. There shiueren shafts upon sheilds thicke, He feeleth through the hert spoone the pricke. Vp springeth the speres, twenty foot on hight, Out goth the swords as the siluer bright. The helmes they to hew, and to shred, Out burst the blood, with sterne stremes red: With mighty maces the bones they to breke. He thro the thickest of the throng gan threke. There stumblen steeds strong, & doun gon all, He rolled under foot as doth a ball. He foineth on his feet with a tronchoun, And he hurleth with his horse adoun. He through the body is hurt, and sith ytake Maugre his head, & brought unto the stake, As forward was, right there he must abide. Another is lad on that other side. And sometime doth hem Theseus to rest, Hem to refresh, and drinke if hem lest. Full oft a day have these Thebans two Together met, and done ech other wo: Vnhorsed hath ech other of hem twey. There was no tigre in the vale of Colaphey, When her whelpe is stole, when it is lite, So cruell on the hunt, as is Arcite For jealous hert upon this Palamon: Ne in Belmarie there is no fell Lion, That hunted is, or for his hunger wood, Ne of his prey desireth so the blood, As Palamon to slee his foe Arcite: The iealous strokes on her helmes bite, Out renneth the blood on both her sides reed. Sometime an end there is of euery deed: For ere the sunne unto the rest went, The strong king Emetrius gan hent This Palamon, as he fought with this Arcite, And made his sword deepe in his flesh bite. And by force of twenty is he take Vnyolden, and drawne to the slake. And in the rescous of this Palamon The strong king Ligurge is borne adoun: And king Emetrius for all his strength Is borne out of his saddle a swords length, So hurt him Palamon or he were take: But all for naught, he was brought to the stake: His hardy heart might him helpen naught, He must abide, when that he was caught By force, and eke by composition. Who sorroweth now but wofull Palamon? That mote no more gone againe to fight. And when that Theseus had seen that sight,

He cried ho: no more, for it is don: Ne none shall lenger to his fellow gon. I woll be true iudge, and not party, Arcite of Thebes shall haue Emely, That by his fortune hath her faire ywon. Anon there is a noise of people begon For ioy of this, so loud and high withall, It seemed that the listes shoulden fall. What can now faire Venus done aboue? What saith she now? what doth the quene of loue? But wepeth so, for wanting of her will, Till that her teares adowne on the lists fell: She said: I am ashamed doutles: Saturnus said: fair daughter hold thy pees, Mars hath al his wil, his kniʒt hath his boon And by mine dead thou shait be eased soon. The trumpes with the loud minstralcie, The heraulds, that so loud yell and crie Been in her wele, for loue of Dan Arcite. But hearkeneth me, and stinteth noise alite, Which a miracle there befell anon. The fierce Arcite hath his helme off ydon, And on a courser for to shew his face He pricketh endlong in the large place, Looking vpward vpon Emelie, And she ayen him cast a friendly eye. * (For women, as to speak in commune, They followen all the favour of fortune) And was all his chere, as in his hert. Out of the ground a fire infernall stert From Pluto sent, at the request of Saturne, For which his horse for feare gan to turne, And leape aside, and foundred as he lepe: And ere that Arcite may taken kepe, He pight him off on the pomell of his head, That in the place he lay as he were dead. His breast to brosten with his saddle bow: As blacke he lay as any coale or crow, So was the blood yroune in his face. Anon he was ybrought out of the place With hart full sore, to Theseus paleis, Tho was he coruen out of his harneis, And in a bed ybrought full faire and bliue, For he was yet in memory, and on liue, And alway crying after Emely. Duke Theseus, with all his company Is comen home to Athens his cite With all blisse and great solemnite: Albeit that this auenture was fall, He would not discomfort hem all. Men said eke, that Arcite should not die, He should ben healed of his maladie. And of another thing they were as faine, That of hem all there was none islaine, All were they sore hurt, and namely one, That with a spere was thirled his brest bone. Two other had wounds, & two broken arms, Some of them had salues, & some had charms: Sundry fermaces of hearbes, and eke saue They dronken, for they would her liues haue. For which this noble duke, as he well can, Comforteth and honoureth euery man, And made great reuell all the long night, Vnto the straunge lords, as it was right. Ne there nas hold no discomforting, But as is at iusts or a turneying: For soothly there nas no discomfiture, For falling is hold but an auenture. Ne to be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by force unto a stake Vnyolden, and with twenty knights take: And one person, withouten any mo To be harted forth by arme, foot, and too, And eke his steed driuen forth with staues, With footmen, both yeomen and knaues, It was arretted him no villanie: There may no man cleape it cowardie. For which anon, duke Theseus did cry To stinten all rancour and enuy. They gre as well of one side as of other, And either side is like, as others brother, And yaue hem gyfts after her degree, And helden a feast fully dates three: And conueyed the knights worthily Out of his toune a daies iourney largely. And home went euery man the right way, There nas no more but farwell & haue good day. Of this battel I woll no more endite, But speake of Palamon and of Arcite. Swelleth the breast of Arcite, and the sore Encreaseth at his heart still more and more. The clottered blood, for any lee chcraft Corrumped, and is in his bouke last, That neither veineblood, ne vent ousing, Ne drinke of hearbes may be helping, By vertue expulsiue, or animall: For thilke vertue cleaped naturall Ne may the venim void, ne expell: The pipes of his lungs began to swell, And euery lacerte in his breast adoun Is shent with venim and corruptioun. Him gaineth neither, for to get his life, Vomit vpward, ne downward laxatife: All is to brusten thilke region, Nature hath no domination.. * And certainly ther as nature woll not wirch, Farwell physicke, go beare the corse to chirch. This is all and some, that Arcire must die: For which he sendeth after Emelie, And Palamon that was his cosyn deare: Then said he thus, as ye shall after heare. Nought may my wofull spirit in my hart Declare o point of all my sorrows smart, To you my lady, that I love most, But I bequeath the service of my gost To you abouen any creature, Since that my life may no lenger dure. Alas the wo, alas my paines strong, That I for you haue suffered, and so long. Alas the death, alas mine Emely, Alas departing of our company: Alas mine hearts queene, alas my liues wife, Mine hearts ladie, ender of my life. * What is the world, what asken men to haue? Now with his loue, now in his cold graue Alone withouten any company. Farwell my sweet foe, mine Emely, And soft doe take me in your armes twey, For the loue of God, & hearkeneth what I say: I haue here with my cousin Palamon Had strife and rancour many a day agon For loue of you, and for my iealousie: And Iupiter so wisely my soule gie.

To speaken of a seruant properly With circumstances all, and truly, That is to say, trouth, honor, and knighthede Wisdome, humblesse, estate, & high kinrede, Freedome, and all that longeth to that art, So Iupiter have of my soule any part, As in this world, right now know I non, So worthy to be loued as Palamon: That serueth you, and woll doen all his life. And if that you shall euer been a wife, Foryet not Palamon, the gentleman: And with that word his speech faile began. For from his feet vnto his breast was come The cold death, that had him ouernome. And yet moreouer, for in his armes two The vitall strength is lost, and all ago. Saue only the intellect, without more, That dwelleth in his heart sicke and sore, Gan failen, wher the hart felt death. Dusked been his iyen two, and failed breath. But on his ladie yet cast he his iye, His last word was, mercy Emelie. His spirit chaunged, and out went there, Whitherward I cannot tell, ne where: Therfore I stint, I am no diuinistre, Of soules find I not in this registre. Ne me list not thilke opinion to tell Of hem, though they writen where they dwel. Arcite is cold, there Mars his soule gie. Now woll I speake forth of Emelie. Shright Emelie, and houlen Palamon, And Theseus his sister vp tooke anon Swouning, and bare her fro his corse away: What helpeth it to tarrie forth the day, To tellen how she wept both euen & morow? * For in such case women haue much sorow, When that her husbands been fro hem go, That for the more part they sorowen so, Or els fallen in such maladie, That at the last certainely they die. Infinit been the sorow and the teares Of old folke, and folke of tender yeares, In all the toune for death of this Theban: For him there weepeth both child and man. So great weeping was there not certaine, When Hector was brought, all fresh yssaine To Troy alas, the pitie that was there Scratching of cheekes, and renting eke here. Why woldest thou be dead? thus women crie, And haddest gold inough, and Emelie. No man ne may gladen Theseus, Saving his old father Egeus, That knew this worlds transmutatioun, * As he had seene it, both vp and doun: Ioy after wo, and wo after gladnesse, And shewed him ensamples and likenesse. * Right as there died neuer man (qd. he) That he ne liued in yearth in some degree, Right so there liued neuer man (he saied) In this world, that sometime he ne deied. * This world is but a throughfare full of wo, And we been pilgrimes, passing to and fro: Death is an end of euery worlds sore. And over all this yet said he much more To this effect, full wisely to exhort The people, that they should hem recomfort. Duke Theseus with all his busie cure Casteth now, where that the sepulture Of good Arcite shall best ymaked bee And eke most honourable for degree. And at the last he tooke conclusion, That there as Arcite and Palamon Had for love the battaile hem betweene, That in the same selue groue, sweet & greene, There as he had his amorous desires, His complaint, and for loue his hote fires, He would make a fire, in which the offis Funerall he mighten all accomplis. He hath anon commaunded to hack and hew The Okes old, and lay hem all on a rew In culpons, well araied for to brenne: His officers with swift foot they renne Right anon at his commaundement. And after Theseus hath ysent A large bere, and it all ouersprad With cloth of gold, the richest that he had: And of the same sute he clothed Arcite. Vpon his hands his gloues white, Eke on his head a croune of Laurell grene, And in his hand a sword full bright and kene. He laied him bare visaged on the bere, Therewith he wept that pitie was to here. And for the people should seene him all. When it was day he brought him to the hall, That roreth of the crying and the soun. Tho come this wofull Theban Palamon With glitering beard, & ruddie shining heres In clothes blacke, dropped all with teres (And passing other of weeping Emelie) The rufullest of all the companie. And in as much as the seruice should bee The more noble and rich in his degree, Duke Theseus let foorth the steeds bring, That trapped were in steele all glittering, And couered with the armes of Dan Arcite: Vpon these steeds great and lilly white, There saten folk, of which one bare his shield, Another his speare in his hand held: The third bare with him a bow Turkes, Of brent gold was the case and the harnes: And ridden forth apace with sorie chere Toward the groue, as ye shall after here. The noblest of the Greeks that there were Vpon her shoulders caried the bere With slacke pace, and eyen red and wete Throughout the citie, by the maister strete, That sprad was all with black, & that wonder hie: Right of the same is the street ywrie. Vpon the right hand went Egeus, And on the other side duke Theseus With vessels in her hand of gold full fine, All full of hony, milke, blood, and wine. Eke Palamon, with full great companie: And after that came wofull Emelie, With fire in hand, as was that time the gise, To doen the office of funerall seruice. Hie labour, and full great apparelling Was at seruice, and at fire making, That with his green top the heaven raught, And twenty fadome of bred armes straught: This is to saine, the boughes were so broad, Of straw first there was laid many a load.

But how the fire was maken vp on height And eke the names, how all the trees hight, As oke, firre, beech, aspe, elder, elme, popelere, Willow, holme, plane, boxe, chesten, & laurere. Maple, thorne, beech, ewe, hasell, whipuitre, How they were feld, shall not be told for me: Ne how the gods runnen vp and doun Disherited of her habitatioun, In which they wonned in rest and pees: Nimphes, Faunies, and Amadriades. Ne how the beasts, ne how the birds all Fledden for feare, when the trees was fall. Ne how the ground agast was of the light, That was not wont to see the sunne bright. Ne how the fire was couched first with stre, And then with drie stickes clouen a thre, And then with greene wood and spicerie, And then with cloth of gold and perrie, And garlands hanging with many a flour, The mirrhe, the incense, with sweet odour. Ne how Arcite lay among all this, Ne what richesse about his body is, Ne how that Emely, as was the guise Put in the fire of funerall service, Ne how she souned when made was the fire, Ne what she spake, ne what was her desire: Ne what iewels men in the fire cast When that the fire was great and brent fast: Ne how some cast her shield, & some her spere, And of her vestments, which that they were, And cups full of wine, of milke, and blood, Into the fire, that brent as it were wood. Ne how the Greekes with a huge rout Thrice did riden all the fire about Vpon the left hand, with a loud shouting, And thrice on the right, with her speres clater∣ing: And thrice how the ladies gan all to crie. Ne how that led was homeward Emelie: Ne how that Arcite is brent to ashen cold, Ne how the liche wake was yhold. All that night long ne how the Greeks play. The wake plaies ne keepe I not to say: Who wrestled best naked, with oile annoint. Ne who bare him best in euery point. I woll not tellen eke how they gone Home to Athens when the play is done. But shortly to the point then woll I wend, And maken of my long tale an end.

By processe and by length of certain yeares All stinten is the mourning and the teares Of Greekes, by one generall assent. Then seemed me there was a parliament At Athens, vpon a certain point and caas: Among the which points yspoken was To haue with certaine countries alliance, And haue of Thebanes fully obeisance. For which this noble Theseus anon Let send after this gentle Palamon Vnwist of him, what was the cause and why: But in his blacke clothes sorrowfully He came at his commaundement on hie, Tho sent Theseus after Emelie. When they were set, & husht was the place, And Theseus abidden hath a space, Or any word came from his wise brest His eyen set he there as was his lest, And with a sad visage he siked still, And after that, right thus he saied his will. * The first mouer of the cause aboue When he first made the faire chaine of loue, Great was theffect, and high was his intent, Well wist he why, and what thereof he ment, For with that faire chaine of loue he bond The fire, the aire, the water, and the lond In certaine bonds, that they may not flee: The same prince and that mouer (qd. he) Hath stablisht in this wretched world adoun Certaine of daies and duracioun To all that are engendred in this place, Ouer the which day they may not pace, All mow they yet tho daies abredge: There needeth none authority to ledge. For it is proued by experience, But that me list declare my sentence. Then may men by this order discerne, That thilke mouer stable is and eterne. * Well may men know, but he be a foole, That every part is deriued from his hoole. For nature hath not taken his beginning Of one part or cantle of a thing, But of a thing that perfit is and stable, Descending so, till it be corrumpable. And therefore of his wise purueyanuce He hath so well beset his ordinaunce, That spaces of things and progressions Shullen endure by successions And not eterne, without any lie: This maiest thou vnderstand and see at eie: * Lo the oke, that hath so long a norishing, Fro the time that it beginneth first to spring, And hath so long a life, as ye may see, Yet at the last wasted is the tree. Considereth eke, how that the hard stone Vnder our feet, on which we tread and gone Yet wasteth it, as it lieth in the wey. The broad riuer sometime wexeth drey. The great tounes see we do wane and wend, Then ye see that all this thing hath end. And man and woman see shall we also, That nedeth in one of the tearmes two, That is to saine, in youth or els in age He mote be dead, a king as well as a page. Some in his bed, some in the deepe see, Some in the large field, as ye may see: It helpeth not, all goeth that ilke wey: Then may you see that all thing mote dey. What maketh this but Iupiter the king? That is prince, and cause of all thing, Converting all to his proper will, From which it is deriued sooth to tell. And here again, no creature on liue Of no degree auaileth for to striue. * Then is it wisdome, as thinketh me, To make vertue of necessite: And take it well, that we may not eschew. And namly that to vs all is dew. And who so grutcheth ought, he doth follie, And rebell is to him that all may gie. * And certainely, a man hath most honour To dien in his excellence and flour,

When he is siker of his good name: Then hath he don his frends ne him no shame. And glader ought his friends be of his death, When with honour iyold is vp the breath, Then when his name apaled is for age, For all foryetten is his vassellage: Then it is best, as for a worthy fame, * To dien when he is best of name. The contrary of all this, is wilfulnesse, Why grutchen we? why haue we heauinesse, That good Arcite (of chiualry the flour) Departed is, with dutie and with honour, Out of this foule prison of this life? Why grutchen here his cosin and his wife, Of his welfare, that loueth him so wele: Can he hem thank? nay God wot neuer adele, That both his soule, and eke himselfe offend, And yet they mow not her lusts amend? What may I conclude of this long storie, But after sorrow I rede vs be merrie, And thanke Iupiter of all his grace: And ere we departen from this place, I rede we maken of sorrowes two One perfit ioy, lasting euermo: And look now where most sorrow is herein, There woll I first amend and begin. Sister (qd. he) this is my full assent With all the people of my parlement Of gentle Palamon your owne knight, That serueth you with wil, hart, and might, And euer hath done, sith ye first him knew, That ye shall of your grace vpon him rew, And take him for husband and for Lord: Lend me your hand, for this is our accord. Let see now of your womanly pite: He is a kings brothers sonne parde, And though he were a poore batchelere, Since he hath serued you so many a yere, And had for you so great aduersite, It must ben considered, leueth me, For gentle mercy ought to passen right. Then said he thus to Palamon the knight: I trow there need little sermoning To make you assenten to this thing. Commeth nere, & take your lady by the hond, Betwixt hem was maked anon the bond, That hight Matrimonie or mariage, By all the counsaile of the Baronage. And thus with all blisse and melody Hath Palamon iwedded Emely. And God that all this world hath ywrought, Send him his loue, that it hath so dere bought, For now is Palamon in all wele, Liuing in blisse, in richesse, and in hele, And Emely him loueth so tenderly, And he her serueth so gentilly, That neuer was there no word hem betwene Of iealousie, or of any other tene. Thus endeth Palamon and Emely: And God saue all this faire company.

The MILLERS Tale.

NIcholas, a Scholar of Oxford, practiseth with Alison the Carpenters wife of Osney, to de∣ceive her Husband, but in the end is rewarded accordingly.

¶The Millers Prologue.

WHen that the Knight had thus his tale ytold, In all the company nas there yong ne old, That he ne said it was a noble storie, And worthie to be drawne in memorie: And namely the gentiles eueriehone. Our host lough and sware, so mote I gone, * This goeth aright, vnbokeled is the male, Let see now who shall tell another tale: For truly the game is well begon. Now telleth us sit Monke if you can Somewhat, to quite with the knights tale. The Miller for dronken was all pale, So that vnneths vpon his horse he sat, Ne nold availe neither hood ne hat, Ne abide no man for his courtesie, But in Pilats voice he began to crie, And s••••re by armes, blood, and bones, I can a noble tale for the nones, With which I woll now quite the knight his tale. Our host saw that he was dronken of ale, And said: abide Robin leue brother, Some better man shall tell vs first another: Abide, and let vs wirch thriftely. By Gods soule (qd. he) that woll not I, For I woll speake, or els goe my way. Our host answered: tell on a deuill way: Thou art a foole, thy wit is ouercome. Now hearketh qd. the Miller, all & some: But first I make protestatioun, That I am drunke, I know it by my soun: And therefore if I mispeake or say, Wite it the ale of Southwarke, I you pray: For I woll tell a legend and a life Both of a Carpenter and his wife, * How that a clarke set a Wrights cap▪ The Reue answered & said stint thy clap: Let be thy leaud drunken harlottrie, * It is a sinne, and eke a great follie To apairen any man, or him defame, And eke to bring wiues in such blame. Thou maiest inough of other things faine, This drunken Miller spake full soon againe And saied: my leue brother Oswold, * Who hath no wife, he is no cokewold. But I say not therefore that thou art one, There been full good wiues many one. Why art thou angry with my tale now? I haue a wife parde as well as thou, * Yet now I for all the Oxen in my plough, Take vpon me more then is inough To deemen of my selfe that I am one, I woll beleeue well that I am none.

* An husband should not been inquisitife Of Gods priuity, ne of his wife. For so he find Gods foison there, Of the remnant needeth not to enquere. What should I more say, but this Millere He nold his word for no man forbere, But told his churles tale in this mannere: Me forthinketh I shall rehearce it here, And therefore euery gentle wight I pray, Deemeth not for Gods loue that I say Of euill intent, but that I mote rehearse Her tales all, been they better or werse, Or else falsen some of my matere. And therefore who so list it not to here, Turne ouer the leafe, and chuse another tale, For ye shall find ynow great and smale Of historiall thing touching gentlenesse, And eke moralitie, and holinesse. Blame not me, if that ye chuse amis, The Miller is a churle, ye know well this, So was the Reue eke, and other mo, And harlotrie they told eke both two. Auise you, and put me out of blame, * And eke men should not make ernest of game.

¶The Millers Tale.

WHylome there was dwelling in Ox∣enford A rich gnofe, that gests helden to bord, And of his craft he was a Carpenter, With him there was dwelling a poor scholler Had learned Art, but all his fantasie Was turned to learne Astrologie: And coud certaine of conclusions To demen by interrogations, If that men asken him in certain hours When that men shoulden have drought or shours: Or if men asked him what shuld befal Of every thing, I may not reken all. This clarke was cleped Hend Nicholas: Of berne loue he coud and of solas, And thereto he was slie, and right priuee And ilike to a maiden meeke to see. A chamber he had in that hostelrie Alone, withouten any companie, Full tetously dight with hearbes sote, And he himselfe as sweet as is the rote Of Licores, or of any Seduwall. His almagiste, and bookes great and small. His asterlagour, longing for his art, His augrim stones lying faire apart On shelues all couched at his beds hed: His presse icouered with a folding red, And all aboue there lay a gay Sautrie, On which he made on nights melodie, So sweetly, that all the chamber rong: And Angelus ad virginem he song. And after that he song the kings note, Full oft blessed was his merry throte. And thus the sweet clarke all his time spent After his friends finding and his rent. This Carpenter had wedded new a wife, Which that he loved more then his life: Of eighteene yeare I gesse she was of age, Iealous he was, and kept her strait in cage, For she was wild and young: & he was old, And deemed himself to been a Cokewold. * He knew not Cato, for his wit was rude, That bade men wed her similitude. * Men shoulden wed after her estate, For youth and elde is often at debate. But sith he was fallen in the snare, He must enduren (as other folke) his care. Faire was this young wife, and therewithall As any Wisele her bodie gentle and small. A seinte she weared, barred all with silke, A barme cloth, as white as morrow milke Vpon her lendes, full of many a gore. White was her smock, embrouded all before And eke behind, on her colere about, Of cole blacke silke, within and eke without. The tapes of her white volipere Were of the same sute of her colere. Her fillet broad of silke, and set full hie, And sikerly, she had a likerous eie: Full small ypulled were her browes two And tho were bent, and blacke as any s••o. She was much more blisful for to see Than is the new Perienet tree: And softer than the wool is of a weather. And by her girdle hung a purse of leather Tassed with silke, and perled with latoun, In all this world to seeken up and down There nis no man so wise, that couth thence So gay a popelote, or so gay a wench. Full brighter was the shining of her hew, Then in the toure the Noble forged new. But of her song it was so loud and yerne, As any swallow sitting on a berne: Thereto she couth skip, and make a game, As any Kid or Calfe following his dame. Her mouth was sweet, as braket or the meth Or hord of Apples, lying in hay or heth. Winsing she was, as is a jolly colt, Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt. A brooch she bare on her sow collere, As broad as the bosse of a bucklere. Her shoes were laced on her legs hie: She was a primrose and a piggesnie, For any lord to liggen in his bed, Or yet for any good yoman to wed. Now sir, and eft sir, so befell the caas, That on a day this Hende Nicholas Fell with this yong wife to rage and pley, While that her husband was at Oseney: As clerkes ben full subtill and queint, And priuily he caught her by the queint And saied: I wis but I haue my will, For derne loue of thee lemman I spill: And held her full fast by the haunch bones, And saied: lemman loue me well at ones, Or I woll dien also God me saue. And she sprong as a colt in a traue: And with her head she wrieth fast away, And saied: I woll not kiss thee by my fay▪ Why let be (qd. she) let be Nicholas, Or I woll crie out harrow and alas. Doe away your hands for your courtesie. This Nicholas gan mercy for to crie, And spake so faire. and profered him so fast, That she her loue graunted him at last,

And swore her oth by S. Thomas of Rent, That she would been at his commandement, When that she may her leisure well espie. My husband is so full of jealousie, That but ye wait well, and be priue, I wot right well I nam but dead qd. she. Ye mote be full derne as in this caas. Nay thereof care ye not qd. Nicholas: * A clarke had litherly beset his while, But if he couth a Carpenter beguile. And thus they were accorded and y••worne To awaiten a time as I haue said beforne. And when Nicholas had don thus euery dele, And thacked her about the lends wele, He kissed her sweet, then taketh his Sautrie And plaieth fast, and maketh melodie. Then fell it thus, that to the parish chirch (Christes owne workes for to wirch) This good wife went upon a holy day: Her forehead shone as bright as any day, So was it wash, when she lete her werke. Now was there of the chirch a parish clerke, The whiche that was cleaped Absolon, Croule was his haire, and as gold it shon, And strouted as a fanne large and brode, Full straight and even lay his jolly shode, His rode was red, his eyen gray as Goos, With Poles windowes coruen on his shoos. In hosen redde he went fetously, Gird he was full small and properly, All in a kirtle of light waget: Full faire and thicke been the points set, And thereupon he had a gay surplise, As white as the blossome on the rise. A merrie child he was, so God me saue, Well coud he let bloud, clippe, and shaue, And make a charter of lond, and a quitaunce: In twenty manner coud he trip and daunce, After the schoole of Oxenford tho, And with his legs casten to and fro: And play songs on a small Ribible, Thereto he song sometime a loud quinible: And as well coud he play on a Geterne. In all the toune nas brewhouse ne Tauerne, There as any gay girle or Tapstere was, That he ne visited with his solas, But sooth to say he was somwhat squaimus Of farting, and of speech daungerous. This Absolon, that was jolly and gay, Goeth with a Censer on a Sunday, Censing the wiues of the parish fast, And many a louely looke on hem he cast, And namely on this Carpenters wife: To looke on her him thought a merry life. She was so proper, and sweet as Licorous. I dare well saine, if the had been a Mous, And he a Cat, he would haue her he•••• anon. This parish clerke, this jolly absolon Hath in his heart such a loue longing, That of no wife he tooke none offering, For courtesie he saied he would haue none. The moon when it was night ful bright shone, And Absolon his Geterne hath ytake, For paramours he thought for to wake, And foorth he goeth, jealous and amorous, Till he came to the Carpenters hous, A little after the Cockes had yerow. And dressed him by a shot window, That was upon the Carpenters wall: He singeth in his voice gentle and small, Now deare lady, if that thy will it be, I pray you that ye would rew on me: Full well according to his Geterning. This Carpenter awoke, & heard him sing, And spake unto his wife and said anon, What Alison, heares thou not Absolon, That chaunteth thus vnder our boures wall? And she answerd her husband therewithall, Yes God wot, I heare him euery dele. This passeth forth, what wol ye bet then wele: Fro day to day this jolly Absolon So woeth her, that him was woe begon. He waketh all the night, and all the day, He kembeth his locks broad, & made him gay He woeth her by meanes and brocage, And swore that he would been her own page. He singeth brokking as a Nighttingale: He sent her piment, methe, and spiced ale, And wafres piping hot out of the glede: And for she was of roun, he profered her mede. For some folke woll be won for richesse, And some for strokes, & some with gentlenesse. Somtime to shew his lightnesse & mastrie He plaieth Heraudes on a skaffold hie. But what auaileth him as in this caas? So loueth she this Hende Nicholas, * That Absolon may blow the Buckes horne: He ne had for his labour but a scorne, And thus she maketh Absolon her ape, And all his request tourneth to a yape. Forsooth this proverbe it is no lie, * Men say thus alway, that the nye slie Still maketh the ferre loue to be lothe: For though that Absolon be wood or wrothe, Because that he ferre was from her sight, This nie Nicholas stood in his light. But now beare thee well Hend Nicholas, For Absolon may waile and sing alas. And so befell it on a Saterday, This Carpenter was gone to Osnay, And Hende Nicholas and Alison Accorded were to this conclusion, That Nicholas should shapen hem a while This silly jealous Carpenter to beguile: And if so be the game went aright, She should sleep in his armes all night, For this was his desire and hers also. And right anon, withouten words mo, This Nicholas no longer would tarie, But doth full soft vnto his chamber carie Both meat and drinke for a day or twey. And to her husbond had her for to sey, If that he asked after Nicholas, She should aunswere she mst where he was: Of all that day she saw him not with eie, She trowed he was in some maladie. For no crie that she or her maid coud call He nold answer, for nought that might befall. Thus passeth forth all the like Saturday, That Nicholas still in his chamber lay, And eat, dranke, and slept, & did what him list Till Sunday, that the sunne goeth to rest.

This silly Carpenter hath great marueile Of Nicholas, or what thing might him eile, And said: I am adrad by saint Thomas It stondeth not aright with Nicholas. God shilde that he died sodainely: This world is now full tickle sekerly. I saw to day a corse horne to cherch, That now on monday last I saw him werch. Goe up (qd. he unto his knaue) anone, Cleape at his dore, & knocke fast with a stone: Looke how it is, and tell me boldely. This knaue goeth him vp full sturdely, And at the chamber dore while that he stood, He cried and knocked as he were wood: What how? what doe ye maister Nicholay? How may ye sleepen all this long day? But all for nought, he heard not a word. A hole he found full low vpon a bord, There as the cat was wont in to creepe, And at that hole he looked in full deepe, And at the last he had of him a sight. This Nicholas sat euer gaping vpright, As he had keyked on the new moone. Adowne he goeth, & told his maister soone, In what array he saw this ylke man. This carpenter to blissen him began, And said: now helpe vs saint Frideswide. A man wote little what shall him betide. This man is fallen with his Astronomie In some woodnesse or in some agonie. I thought aye well how it shoulden be, * Men shoulden not know of Gods priuite. Yea blessed be alway the leaud man, * That naught but only his beleefe can. Right so ferd another clarke with astronomy, He walked into the fields for to pry Vpon the starre, to wete what should befall, Till he was in a marlepit yfall, He saw not that: yet by saint Thomas Me reweth sore on Hende Nicholas: He shall be arated out of his studying, If that I may, by Iesus heauen king. Get me a staffe, that I may underspore While that thou Robin heauest vp the dore: He shall out of his studying, as I gesse. And to the chamber dore he gan him dresse. His knaue was a strong carle for the nones, And by the haspe bare vp the dore at ones, Into the floore the dore fell anone. This Nicholas sat as still as any stone, And euer gaped vpward into the aire. This carpenter wend he were in despaire, And hent him by the shoulders mightily, And shoke him hard, and cried pitously, What Nicholas, what? how looke adoun: Awake, and thinke on Christs passioun. I crouch the from elues, & from wiked wights: Therewith the night spell he said anon rights On foure halues of the house about, And on the dreshfold of the dore without, Iesu Christ, and sainte Benedight Blisse this house from euery wicked wight: Fro the nights mare, the wite Pater noster, * Where wonnest thou saint Peters sister? And at the last this Hende Nicholas, Gan for to sike sore, and said alas: Shall all this world be lost eftsoones now? This carpenter answerd: what saiest thou? What think on God, as we men do that swink. This Nicholas answerd, fetch me drink, And after woll I speake in priuite Of certaine things that toucheth thee & me: I woll tell it none other man certaine. This carpenter goth doun, & cometh againe, And brought of mighty ale a large quart, And when each of hem had dranken his part, This Nicholas his chamber dore fast shet, And doune the carpenter by him set And said: Iohan hoast mine lefe and dere, Thou shalt vpon thy trouth swere me here, That to no wight thou shalt my counsel wrey: For it is Christs counsaile that I say, That if thou tell it any man, thou art forlore: For this vengeance thou shalt haue therfore, That if thou wray me, thou shalt be wood. Nay Christ it forbid for his holy blood Qd. tho this silly man, I am no blabbe Ne though I say it, I nam not lefe to gabbe. Say what thou wolt, I shall it neuer tell To child ne wife, by him that harrowed hell. Now Iohn (qd. Nicholas) I woll not lie, I haue yfounden in mine astrologie, As I haue looked in the Moone bright, That now on munday next, at quarter night Shall fall a raine, and that so wild and wood That halfe so great was neuer Noes flood: This world (he said) in lesse than in an houre Shall all be orient, so hidous is the shoure: Thus shall mankind drench, and lese her life. This carpenter answerd & said: alas my wife And shall she drench? Alas mine Alisoun? For sorrow of this he fell almost adoun, And said: is there no remedy in this caas? Yes yes full good (qd. Hende Nicholas) If thou wolt werchafter lore and rede, Thou maist not werchen after thine own hede: For thus saith Salomon that was full trew, * Worke all by counsel, & thou shalt not rew. And if thou wilt werken by good counsaile, I vndertake, without mast or saile Yet shall I saue her, and thee and me. Hast thou not heard how saved was Noe, When that our lord had warned him beforne, That all the world with water shuld be lorne? Yes (qd. the carpenter) full yore ago. Hast thou not heard (qd. Nicholas) also, The sorrow of Noe with his fellowship, Or that he might get his wife to ship? Him had leuer I dare well undertake At thilke time, than all his wethers blake, That she had a ship her selfe alone: And therfore wost thou what is best to done? * This asketh hast, and of an hasty thing Men may not preach ne make tarrying. Anon goe get vs fast into this inn A kneding trough or els a kemelyn, For ech of vs: but looke that they been large, In which men mow swimmen as in a barge? And haue therein victuals sufficiaunt But for a day, fie on the remnaunt: The water shall aslake and gone away Abouten prime vpon the next day.

But Robin may not weten of this, thy knave, Ne eke thy maid Gille I may not save: Aske not why: for though thou aske me, I woll not tellen Gods privite. Sufficeth thee, but if thy wits be mad, To haue as great a grace as Noe had: Thy wife shall I well save out of doubt, Goe now thy way, and speed thee hereabout. But when thou hast for her, & thee, and me, Ygetten vs these kneading tubs thre, Then shalt thou hang hem in the roofe full hie, That no man of our purueyaunce espie: And when thou hast don thus as I haue said, And hast our vitaile faire in hem ylaid, And eke an axe to smite the cord arwo When the water commeth, that we may go, And breake an hole on high vpon the gable Vnto the garden ward, ouer the stable, That we may freely passen forth our way, When that the great shoure is gone away, Then shalt thou swim as mery I vndertake, As doth the white ducke after her drake: Then woll I cleape, how Alison, how Iohn Be merry: for the flood woll passe anon: And thou wolt saine, haile maister Nicholay, Good morrow, for I see well that it is day: And then we shall be lords all our life Of all the world, as was Noe and his wife. But of one thing I warne thee full right, Be well auised on that ilke night, That we benentred into the ships bord, That none of us ne speake not a word, Ne clepe ne crie, but been in his prayere, For so to done it is Gods owne hest dere. Thy wife & thou mote hang fer a twinne, For that betwixt you shall be no sinne, No more in looking than there shall in deed: This ordinaunce is said, go God thee speed. To morow at night, when men ben all asleepe, Into our kneading tubs woll we creepe, And sitten there, abiding Gods grace: Go now thy way, I haue no longer space To make of this no longer sermoning: * Men saine thus: send the wise & say nothing: Thou art so wise, it needeth thee not teach, Goe saue our liues, and that I thee beseech. This silly carpenter goeth forth his way, Full oft he said alas, and welaway, And to his wife he told his privite, And she was ware, and knew it bet than he What all this queint cast for to sey: But natheles, she ferde as she would dey, And said, alas, go forth thy way anone, Helpe vs to scape, or we be dead eachone: I am thy true very wedded wife, Go deare spouse, and help to saue our life. * Lo, what a great thing is affection, Men may die of imagination, So deep may impression be take. This silly carpenter beginneth to quake: Him thinketh verily that he may see Noes flood come waltering as the see To drenchen Alison, his hony dere: He weepeth, waileth, and maketh sory chere, He siketh, with many a sorry thought, He goth, and geteth him a kneading trough, And after a tub, and a kemelin, And priuily he sent hem to his in: And hing hem in the roofe full priuilie. With his own hand he made him ladders thre To climben by the ronges, and by the stalkes Into the tubs honging by the balkes, And hem vitailed, both trough and tubbe, With bread and cheese, & good ale in a iubbe: Sufficing right ynow as for a day. But er that he had made all this array, He sent his knaue, and eke his weuch also Vpon his need to London for to go, And on the munday, when it drew to night, He shut his dore, without candle light, And dressed all thing as it should bee. And shortly they clomben vp all three. They sitten still not fully a furlong way, Now pater noster clum, said Nicholay, And clum qd. Iohan, and clum said Alison: This carpenter said his deuotion, And still he sit, and biddeth his prayere Awayting on the raine, if he it here. The dead sleepe, for wery businesse Fell on this carpenter, right as I gesse About curfewe time, or little more: For trauaile of his ghost he groneth sore, And est he routeth, for his head mislay: And doune the ladder stalketh Nicholay, And Alison full loft after she sped: Withouten words mo they went to bed There as the carpenter was wont to lie, There was the reuell, and the melodie. And thus lieth Alison and Nicholas In businesse of mirth and solas, Till that the bell of laudes gan to ring, And Freres in the chaunsell gone to sing. This parish clerke, this amorous Absolon, That is for loue alway so wo bygon, Vpon the monday was at Osenay With company, him to disport and play: And asked vpon a case a cloisterere Full priuily, after Iohn the carpentere: And he drew him apart out of the chirch, And said I not: I saw him not here wirch Sith saturday, I trow that he be went For timbre, there our Abbot hath him sent. For he is wont for timbre for to go, And dwellen at the graunge a day or two: Or els he is at his house certaine, Where that he be, I cannot sorthly saine. this Absolon full iolly was and light, And thouʒt, now is my time to walk all night For sikerly, I saw him nat stering About his dore, sith day began to spring. So mote I thriue, I shall at cockes crow Full priuily knocke at his window, That stant full low vpon his boures wall: To Alison woll I now tellen all My loue longing: for yet I shall not misse. That at the least way I shall her kisse. Some manner comfort shall I haue parfay, My mouth hath itched all this long day: That is a signe of kissing at the least. All night me mette eke, that I was at a feast. Therefore I woll goe sleepe an houre or twey. And all the night than woll I walke and pley.

When that the first cocke hath crow anon, Vp rist this iolly louer Absolon, And him arayeth gay, and in queint deuice: But first he cheweth greins and licorice, To smellen sote, or he had kempt his here, Vnder his tongue a true loue he bere, For thereby he wend to been graciouse. He cometh to the carpenters house, And still he stant under the shot window, Vnto his breast it raught, it was so low: And soft he knocked with a semely soun. What doe you honycombe, sweet Alisoun? My faire bird, and my sweet sinnamon: Awake lemman mine, and speketh to Absolon Full little thinken ye upon my wo, That for your loue I swelt there as I go. No wonder is though I swelt and sweat, I mourne as doth the lambe after the teat. I wis lemman, I haue such loue longing, That like a Turtle true is my mourning. I may not eaten no more than may a maid. Go fro the window iacke fool, she said: As help me God and sweet saint Iame, I loue another, or els I were to blame Well bet than thee (by Iesu) Absolon: Goe forth thy way, or I woll cast a stone, * And let me sleepe, a twenty diuell way. Alas, qd. Absolon, and welaway, That true loue was euer so yuell besette: Then kisse me, since it may be no bette For Iesus loue, and for the loue of me. Wilt thou then go thy way therewith, qd. she? Ye tertes lemman, qd. this Absolon. Then make thee ready, (qd. she) I come anon. And vnto Nicholas she said, be still, Now peace, and thou shalt laugh thy fill. This Absolon doun set him on his knees, And said: I am a lord at all degrees: For after this I hope there commeth more. Lemman thy grace, and sweet bird thy nore. The window she vndoth, and that in hast, Haue do (qd. she) come off and speed thee fast, Least that our neighbours thee espie. This Absolon gan wipe his mouth full drie. Darke was the night as any pitch or cole, And at the window she put out her ers hole, And Absolon sped neither bet ne wers, But with his mouth he kist her bare ers Full sauorly: and as he was ware of this, Abacke he stert, and thought it was amis, For well he wist a woman had no berde, He felt a thing all rowe, and long herde, And said: fie, alas what haue I do? Te he (qd. she) and clapt the window to, And Absolon goeth forth a sorrie paas. A heard, a beard, said Hende Nicholas, By gods corpus, this goeth faire and wele. This silly Absolon heard it every dele, And on his lip he gan for anger bite, And to himselue he said, I shall thee quite. Who rubbeth now, who froteth now his lips With dust, with sond, with straw, & with chips But Absolon? that saith full oft alas, My soule be take I to Sathanas, But me were lever than all this toun, qd. he, Of this despight awreken for to be. Alas, qd. he, alas that I ne had bleint, His hot loue is cold, and all yqueint. For fro the time that he had kist her ers, Of paramours he set not a kers, For he was healed of his maladie, Full oft paramours he gan defie. And weepe as doth a child that is ybete. A soft pace he went ouer the strete Vnto a smith, men callen dan Gerueys, That in his forge smiteth plow harneis, He sharpeth shares and culters busily. This Absolon knocketh all easily, And said vndo Gerueys, and that anon. What who art thou? It am I Absolon. What Absolon, what for Christs sweet tre, Why rise ye so rath? eye benedicite What eileth you? some gay girle God it wote Hath brought you thus on the merytote: By saint Neotes, ye wote wele what I mene. This Absolon ne raught not a bene Of all his play, no word againe he gaffe, * He had more towe vpon his distaffe Than Garuays knew, & said friend so dere, The hot culter in the chimney here As lene it me, I haue therewith to done: I woll bring it thee againe full sone. Geruays answerd: certes were it gold, Or in a poke nobles all vntold, Thou shouldest it haue, as I am true smith: Eye Christs foot, what wol ye don therwith? Thereof (qd. Absolon) be as be may I shall well tellen thee by to morrow day. And caught the culter by the cold stele, Full soft out at the dore gan he stele, And went vnto the carpenters wall: He coughed first, and knocked therewithall Vpon the window, right as he did ere. This Alison answerd: who is there That knocketh so? I warrant hee is a thefe. Why nay (qd. he) God wot my sweet lefe, I am thine Absolon, thine owne derling: Of gold (qd. he) I haue thee brought a ring, My mother yaue it me, so God me saue, Full fine it is, and thereto well ygraue: This woll I yeue thee, if thou me kisse. This Nicholas was risen for to pisse, And thought he would amenden all the iape, He should kisse his ers ere that he scape: And vp the window did he hastily, And out his ers he put full priuily With all his buttocke, to the haunch been: And therwith spake this clerke, this Absolon, Speak sweet bird, I not where thou art. This Nicholas anon let fleen a fart, As great as it had been a thunder dent, That with the stroke he was well nie yb••ent: And he was readie with his yron hote, And Nicholas in the arse he smote. Off goeth the skin a hondbrede about, The hot cultor brend so his tout, That for the smart he wend for to die, As he were wood, he gan for to crie, Helpe, water, water, for Gods hert. This carpenter out of his slumber slert, And heard one crie water, as he were wood, And thought, alas how commeth Noes flood,

And set him vp withouten words mo, And with an axe, he smote the corde at wo: And doun goeth all, he found neither to sell Bread ne ale, but doune shortly he fell Vpon the floore, and there a swowne he lay. Vp stert then Alison and Hende Nicholay And cried out, and harrow in the street. The neighbors about both small and great In ronne, for to gauren on this man, That in a swoune lay, all palish and wan: For with that fall brosten hath he his arme, But stonden he must vnto his owne harme. For when he spake, he was yborne adoun With Hende Nicholas and Alisoun, They told euery man that he was wood He was agast so sore of Noes flood Through fantasie, that of his vanite, He had getten him kneading tubs thre, And had hem honged in the roofe aboue And that he paried hem for Gods loue To sitten in the roofe par companie. The folke gan laughen at his fantasie, And into the roofe they kyken and they gape, And turned all his earnest into a jape, For what so this carpenter answerd, It was for nought, no man his reason herd, With othes great, he was ysworne adoun, That he was holden wood in all that toun. * For euerich clerke anon held with other, They said the man was wood, my leue brother, And euery wight gan laughen at this strife. Thus swiued was the carpenters wife, For all his keeping, and his jealousie: * And Absolon hath kist her nether eie, And Nicholas is scalded in the tout, This tale is done, and God saue all the rout.

¶The Reues Prologue.

WHen folke had laughed at this nice caas Of Absolon and Hende Nicholas, Diuers folke hereof diuersly they said, But for the more part they lough and plaid: Ne at this tale I saw no man him greue, But it were onely Oswolde the Reue: Because he was of carpenters craft, A little ire in his heart ylaft. He gan to grutchen and blame it a lite: Soothly (qd. he) full well couth I thee quite With blearing of a proud Millers eie, If that me list to speake of ribaudrie. But I am old, me lust not play for age, * Grasse time is done, my fodder is forage: This white top writeth mine old yeres, Which sometime yelow was, now white ben min heres: * But yet I fare as doth an open ers, That ilke fruit is euer lenger the wers Till it be rotten in molloke or in stre. We old men, I dreaden so fare we, Till we be rotten can we not be ripe, * We hoppen alway, while the world wol pipe: * For in our will there stiketh euer a naile, To haue an hore head and a greene taile, As hath a leke, for though our might be gone, Our will desireth folly euer in one: For when we may not don, than wol we spe∣ken. * Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken. * Four gledes han we, which I shall deuise, Auaunting, lying, anger, and couetise, These foure sparkles longen unto elde: Our old lims mow well been vnwelde, But will ne shall not faile, that is sooth. * And yet have I alway a colts tooth, As many a yeare as it is passed henne, Since that my tap of life began to renne. For sikerly, when I was borne anone, Death drew the tap of life, and let it gone: And euer since hath the tap pronne, Till that almost all emptie is the tonne. The streme of life now droppeth on the chimb, * The silly tongue may well ring and climb Of wretchednesse, that passed is full yore: With old folke saue dotage is no more. When that our host had heard this sermo∣ning, He gan to speake as lordly as a king, And said: what amounteth all this wit? What shall we speake all day of holy writ? * The diuel I thinke made a Reue to preche Or a souter, a shipman, or a leche. Say forth thy tale, and tary not the time: Lo Depford, and it is halfe way prime: Lo Greenwiche, that many a shrew is in, It were time thy tale for to begin. Now sirs then qd. this Oswold the Reue, I pray you all, that ye not you greue, * That I answere, & somedele set his houfe, * For lefull it is with force, force off to shoufe. This dronken Miller hath ytold vs here, How that beguiled was a carpentere Perauenture in scorne, for I am one: And by your leaue, I shall him quite anon, Right in his churles tearmes woll I speke, I pray to God his necke mote be to breke, * He can well in mine eye seene a stalke, But in his own he cannot seene a balke.

DEnyse Simkin, the Miller of Trompington, deceiveth two Clarks of Schollars Hall in Cam∣bridge, in stealing their Corn; but they so use the matter, that they revenge the wrong to the full. The Argument of this Tale is taken out of Bocchace in his Novels.

¶The Reues Tale.

AT Trompington, not far fro Cam∣bridge There goth a brook, and ouer that a bridge, Vpon the which brooke there stant a mell: And this is very sooth, as I you tell. A Miller was there dwelling many a day, As any peacocke he was proud and gay: Pipen he couth, and fishen, and nets bete, And turne cups, and well wrastle and shete. Aye by his belt he bare a long pauade, And of a sword full trenchaunt was the blade. A jolly popere bare he in his pouch, Ther nas no man for perill durst him touch. A Shefeld thwitel bare he in his hose, Round was his face, & camised was his nose. As pilled as an ape was his skull, He was a market beater at the full. There dursten no wight hond on him ledge, But he ne swore he should sore abedge. A theefe he was forsooth, of corne and mele, And that a slie, and vsaunt for to stele. His name was hoten Deynous Simkyn, A wife he had, comen of noble kin: The parson of the toune her father was, With her he yafe full many a panne of bras. For that Simkyn should in his blood allie, She was yfostered in a nunnerie: For Simkyn would no wife, as he said, But she were well ynourished, and a maid, To saue his estate of yomanrie. And she was proud, and pert as a pie, A full faire sight was it to see hem two. On holy daies beforne her would he go With his tipet wounden about his heed, And she came after in a gite of reed, And Simkyn had hosen of the same. There durst no wight clepen her but dame: Was none so hardy, that went by the way, That with her once durst rage or play, But if he would be slaine of Simkyn With pauade, or with knife, or bodkin. * For jealous folkes been perilous euermo Algates they would her wiues wenden so. And eke for she was somedele smoterliche: She was as digne as water in a diche, And as full of hoker, and of bismare, As though that a ladie should her spare, What for her kinred, and her norterly, That she had learned in the nonnery. A doughter had they betwixt hem two Of twenty yeare, withouten any mo, Sauing a child was halfe a yeare of age, In cradle it lay, and was a proper page. This wench thicke and well ygrowne was, With camised nose and eyen gray as glas: With buttockes broad, & brests round & hie, But right faire was her haire, I woll nat lie. The parson of the toune, for she was faire, In purpose was to maken her his haire Both of his cattell, and of his mesuage, And straunge he made it of her mariage: His purpose was to bestowen her hie Into some worthy blood of auncetrie. For holy churches good mote been dispended On holy churches blood that is descended. Therefore he would his holy blood honour, Though that he holy church should deuour. Great soken hath this Miller out of dout With wheat and malt, of all the land about, And namely there was a great college Men clepen it the Schollers Hall of Cam∣brege, Ther was her wheat & eke her malt iground. And on a day it happed in a stound, Sicke lay the Manciple on a maladie, Men wenden wisely that he should die. For which this miller stale both wheat & corn An hundred time more than he did biforn. For there before, he stale but courteously, But he now was a theefe outragiously: For which the warden chid and made fare, But thereof set the Miller not a tare, He cracked, bosted, and swore it nas not so. Then were there yong poor schollers two, That dwelten in the Hall, of which I say, Testife they were, and lustie for to play: And only for her mirth and reuely, Vpon the Warden busily they cry To yeue hem leaue but a little stound, To gone to mill, to see her corne yground: And hardely they durst lay her neck, The Miller should not steale hem halfe a peck Of corne by sleight, ne by force hem reue. And at the last the warden yaue hem leue: Iohan hight that one, & Alein hight the other, Of a town they were both, that hight Strother Farre in the North, can I not tell where. This Alein maketh alredy his gere, And on a horse the sacke he cast anon: Forth goeth Alein the clerke, and also Iohn, With good sword and buckeler by her side. Iohan knew the way, him needeth no guide, And at the mill dore the sacke down he layth. Alein spake first: all haile Simken in fayth, How fares thy faire doughter, and thy wife? Alein welcome (qd. Simken) by my life, And Iohn also: how now, what do ye here? * By god Simond (qd. Iohn) need has no pere, * Him behoues serue himselfe that has no swaine, Or els he is a foole, as clerkes saine. Our Manciple I hope he will be dead, Swa werkes aye the wange in his head: And therefore is I come, and eke Alein, To grind our corne and carry it home agein: We pray you speed vs home in that ye may. It shall be done (qd. Simkin) by my fay: What woll you done while it is in hand? By God, right by the hopper woll I stand,

Qd. Iohn: & seen howgates the corn goth in, Yet saw I neuer by my father kin, How that the hopper waggs to and fra. Alein answerd: Iohan wilt thou sa? Then woll I stand beneath by my croune, And see how the meale falleth adoune Into the troghe, that shall be my disport: Qd. Iohn, in say I may been of your sort, I is as ill a Miller as is ye. This Miller smileth at her nicite, And thought all his done for a wile, They wene that no man may hem beguile, * But by my thrift yet shall I bleare her eie, For all the sleight in her philosophie, The more queint clerks that they themselves make, The more woll I steale when I gin to take: * Insteed of flour yet, woll I give hem brenne, * The greatest clerks ben not the wisest menne As why some to the wolfe spake the Mare: Of all her art count I not a tare. Out of the doore he goeth full priuily, When that he saw his time, subtilly He looked up and doune, till he had yfound The clerkes horse, there as he stood ybound Behind the Mill, vnder a lessell: And to the horse he goth him faire and well, He strippeth of the bridle right anon. And when the horse was loose, he gan to gon Toward the fen, there as wild mares rinne, And forth with wehe, through thick & thinne. The Miller goeth againe, no word he said, But doth his note, & with these clerkes plaid, Till that her corne was faire & well yground. And when the meal was sacked and ybound, This Iohn goth out & found her horse away, And gan to crie harrow and welaway, Our horse is lost, Alein for Gods benes, Step on thy feet man, come forth all atenes: Alas our Warden has his paltrey lorne, This Alein all forgot both meale & corne: All was out of mind his husbandrie: What, whilke way is he gone? he gan to crie. The wife came leaping inward at a renne, She saied alas, he goeth to the fenne With wild Mares, as fast as he may go: Vnthank come on his hond that bound him so, And he that better should haue knit the rein. Alas (qd. Iohn) Alein for Christs pein Lay doun thy sword, & I shall mine alswa: I is full swift God wete as is a raa. By Gods fale he shall not scape vs bathe: Why ne hadst thou put the capel in the lathe? Ill heste Alein, by God thou is a fonne. These ••elie clerkes han full fast ironne Toward the fenne, Alein and eke Iohn: And when the miller saw that they wer gon, He halfe a bushell of her flower both take. And had his wife knede it in a cake. He said, I trow the clerks were aferde. * Yet can a Miller make a clerks berde, For all her art, yet let hem gone her way, * Lo where they gone, let the children play: They get him not so litely by my croune. These selie clerks re••nen vp and doune With kepe, kepe, iossa, iossa warth there, Go whistle thou, and I shall keepe him here. But shortly, till it was very night They couth not tho they did all her might, Her capell catch, he ran away so fast: Till in a ditch they caught him at the last. Werie and wet as beastes in the rain, Cometh silly Iohn, & with him cometh Alein: Alas (qd. Iohn) the day that I was borne, Now are we driven to hethen and to skorne: Our corne is stole, men woll us fooles call, Both the Warden, and our fellowes all, And namely the Miller, wallaway. Thus plaineth Iohn, as he goth by the way Toward the Mill, and bayard in his hond. The Miller sitting by the fire he fond, For it was niʒt, & ferther might they nought. But for the love of God they him besought Of her borough and ease, as for her peny. The Miller said ayen, if there be any, Such as it is, yet shall ye haue your part: My house is strait, but ye haue learned art, Ye can by argument make a place A mile broad, of twenty foot of space: Let see now if this place may suffice, Or make it romer with speech, as is your gise. Now Simond (said Ihon) by S. Cutherd Aye is thou mery, and that is faire answerd. I haue heard say, men shuld take of two things * Swilke as he finds, or swilke as he brings. But specially I pray thee host dere, Get us some meat & drink, & make vs chere And we will pay truly at the full: * With empty hond, men may no haukes tull. Lo here our siluer ready for to spend. The Miller to the toun his doughter send For ale and bread, and rosted hem a goos, And bound her hors he shuld no more go loos: And in his owne chamber he made a bed With sheetes and with chalons faire yspred, Not from his owne hed ten foot or twelue: His doughter had a hed all by her selue, Right in the same chamber fast them by: It might he ne bette, and the cause why, There was no roumer herbrough in that place. They soupen, & speaken of mirth and solace, And dronken euer strong ale at the best. About midnight went they to rest. Well hath this Miller vernished his hed, Full pale he was for dronken, & nothing red. He gaspeth, & he speaketh through his nose, As he were in the quacke, or in the pose. To hed he goeth, and with him his wife, As any Iay was she light and iolife, So was her iolly whistle well ywet. The cradle at the beds fe••t was set To roken, and to yeue the child to suke. And when that dronken was all in the cruke To bed went the doughter right anon, To bed goeth Alein and also Iohn. There uas no more, hem needed no dwale, This Miller hath so wisely bibbed ale, That as an hors he snorteth in his steepe, Ne of his taile behind he tooke no keepe. His wife bare to him a bordon well strong, Men might hem heare routen a furlong.

The wench routeth eke par company. Alein the clerke that heard this melody, He poked on Iohan, and saied: sleepest thou? Heardst thou euer swilke a sang ere now? Lo swilke a coupling is it wixt hem all, A wild fire vpon her bodies fall, Who heard euer swilke a ferly thing, Ye, they shall haue the floure of euill ending: All this lang night there tides me no rest: But yet naforce, all shall be for the best. For Ihon (saied he) as euer mote I thriue? If that I may, yon wench woll I swiue. Some easement hath law yshapen vs. For Iohan, there is a law that saieth thus, * That if a man in one point been agreeued, That in another he shall be releeued. Our corne is stolne, soothly it is no nay, And we haue had an euill fit to day. And since I shall haue none amendement Againe my losse I will haue mine easement: By Gods sale, it shall none other bee. This Iohan answered: Alein, auise thee: The Miller is a perillous man, he saied, And if that he out of his sleepe abraied, He might doen vs both a villanie. Alein answered: I count him not worth a flie. And vp he rest, and by the wench he crept. This wench say vpright, and fast she slept, Till he so nigh was, ere she might espie, That it had been too late for to crie: And shortly for to say, they were at one. Now play Alein, for I woll speake of Ihon. This Ihon lay still a furlong way or two, And to himselfe he maketh routh and wo: Alas (qd. he) this is a wicked iape, Now may I say, I is but an Ape: Yet hath my fellow somewhat for his harme, He hath the Millers doughter in his arme: He auntreth him, and hath his need ysped, And I lie as a drafte sacke in my bed, And when this iape is told another dey, I shall be hold a daffe or a cokeney: I woll arise, and auntre me by my fay: * Vnhardie is vnsely, thus men say. And vp he rose, and softly he went Vnto the cradle, and in his arme it hent, And bare it softly to his beds fete. Soone after the wife her routing lete, And gan awake, and went her out to pisse, And came againe, and gan the cradle misse, And groped here & there, but she found none: Alas (qd. she) I had almost misgone, I had almost gone to the clerkes bed: Eye benedicite, then had I foule ysped. And forth she goeth, till she the cradle fond, She gropeth alway further with her hond, And found the bed, and thought nat but good, Because that the cradle by it stood: And nist where she was, for it was derke, But faire and well she crept in by the clerke, And lieth full still, & wold haue caught a slepe. Within a while this Ihon the clerke vp lepe, And on this good wife he laied full sore, So merry a fit had she nought full yore: And priked hard and deepe, as he were mad. This iolly life haue these two clerkes lad, Till that the third cocke began to sing. Alein waxe wearie in the dauning, For he had swonken all the long night, And saied, farewell Malin my sweet wight. The day is comen, I may no longer bide, But euermo, whereso I goe or ride, I am thine owne clerke, so haue I hele. Now deare lemman (qd. she) go, farwele: But or thou go, one thing I woll thee tell, When thou wendest homeward by the Mell, Right at the entre of the dore behind Thou shalt a cake of halfe a bushell find, That was ymaked of thine owne meale, Which that I did helpe my fire to steale. And good lemman God thee saue and keepe, And with that word she gan almost to weepe. Alein vprist and thought ere it daw He would goe creepe in by his felaw: And found the cradle with his hand anon, By God thought he all wrong haue I gon: My head is tottie of my swinke to night, That maketh me that I go not aright. I wot well by the cradle I haue misse go, Here lieth the Miller and his wife also. * And forth he goeth on twenty deuill way Vnto the bed there as the Miller lay. He wend haue cropen by his fellow Ihon, And by the Miller he crept in anon, And caught him by the necke, & soft he spake, And saied: Ihon, thou swineshead awake, For Christs soule, and heare a noble game: For by that lord that called is saint Iame, I haue thrise as in this short night Swiued the Milers doughter bolt upright, Whilest thou hast as a coward been agast. Ye false harlot (qd. the Miller) hast? A false traitour, A thou clerke (qd. he) Thou shalt be dead by Gods dignite. Who durst be so bold to disparage My doughter, that is come of such linage? And by the throat boll he caught Alein, And he him hent dispitously again, And on the nose he smote him with his fest, Doune ran the blood stream vpon his brest: And in the floore, with mouth and nose ybroke They wallowen, as doth pigs in a poke. And vp they gone, and doune ayen anone, Till that the Miller spurned on a stone, And doune he fell backward vpon his wife, That wist nothing of this nice strife. For she was fall asleepe a little wight With Ihon the clerk that waked had all night: And with the fall out of her steepe she braied, Helpe holy crosse of Bromholme she saied: In manus tuas, lord to thee I call, Awake Simond, the fiend is on me fall. My heart is broken, helpe I am but dead, There lieth one on my wombe & on my head, Helpe Simkin, for these false clerks do fight. This Ihon stert vp as fast as euer he might, And graspeth by the wals to and fro To find a staffe, and she stert vp also, And knew the eftres bet than did this Ihon, And by the wall she found a staffe anon: And saw a little shemering of a light, For at an hole in shone the Moone bright,

And by that light she saw hem both two, But sikerly she nist who was who, But as she sey a white thing in her eie: And when she gan this white thing espie She wend the clerke had weard a voluper, And with the staffe she drow ner and ner, And wend haue hit this Alein at full, And smote the Miller on the pilled skull, That doun he goth, and cried harrow I die: These clerkes beat him well, and let him lie, And raieth hem, and tooke her horse anon, And eke her meale, and on her way they gon: And at the Mill dore they tooke her cake Of halfe a bushell floure, well ybake. Thus is the proud Miller well ybete, And hath ylost the grinding of the whete, And paid for the supper euery dele Of Alein and of Ihon, that beat him wele: His wife is swiued, and his doughter als, Lo such it is a Miller to be fals. And therefore this prouerbe is full sooth, * Him dare not well weene that euill dooth: A guilour shall himselfe beguiled be. And God that sit in hie maieste Saue all this company, great and smale, Thus haue I quit the Miller in his tale.

¶The Cookes Prologue.

THe Cooke of London, while the Reue spake, For joy he thought, he claude him on the backe: A ha (quoth hee) for Christes passioun. This Miller hath a sharpe conclusioun, Vpon this argument of her bigage. Well sayd Salamon in his language, Ne bring not euery man into thine house, For herbouring by night is perillous, Well ought a man auised for to be, Whome that he brought into his priuite. I pray to God so yeue me sorrow and care, If euer sithen I hight Hodge of Ware, Heard I a Miller bette isett awerke, He had a iape of malice in the derke. But God forbid that we stinten here, And therefore if ye vouchsafe to heare A tale of me that am a poore man, I woll tell you as well as I can A little yape that fell in our citee. Our host saied, I graunt it thee: Now tell on Rodger, looke that it be good, * For many a pastie hast thou letten blood, And many a Iacke of Douet hast thou sold, That hath been twise hot and twise cold. Of many a pilgrime hast thou Christs curse, * For of thy persse yet fare they the worse, That they haue eaten with thy stoble Goos: * For in thy shop is many a Flie loos. Now tell on gentle Rodger by thy name, But yet I pray thee be not wroth for game, * A man may say full sooth in game & play. Thou saiest full sooth (qd. Roger) by my fay * But soth play, quade play, as the Fleming Saith: And therefore Henry Bailly by thy faith, Be thou not wroth, or we departen here, Though that my tale been of an hostelere. But nethelesse, I woll not tellen it yet, But ere we part, ywis thou shalt be quit. And therwithall he lough and made cheare, And saied his tale, as ye shullen after heare.

THE Description of an unthriftie Prentice, given to Dice, Women, and Wine, wasting thereby his Masters Goods, and purchasing Newgate to himself. The most of this Tale is lost, or else never finished by the Author.

¶The Cookes Tale.

A Prentise whylome dwelt in our cite, And of the craft of Vitailers was he: Galiard he was, as Goldfinch in the shawe, Broune as a berrie, a proper short felawe: With lockes blacke, and kemt full fetously, Daunce he couth full well and jollily: He was called Perkin Reuelour, He was as full of loue and paramour, As is the hiue full of honey sweet, Well was the wench with him that might meet. At euery Bridal would he sing and hop, He loued bette the tauernes than the shop. For when any riding was in Cheape, Out of the shoppe thither would he leape, Till that he had of all the sight isein. And soothly, he would not come agein, But gather him a meinie of his sort, To hop and sing, and make such disport: And there they set Steuin for to meet To plaien at the dice in such a street. For in the city nas there no Prentise That fairer couth casten a paire of dise Then Perkin couth, and thereto he was fre Of his dispence, in place of priuite. That found his maister well in his chafare, For oft times he found his boxe full bare. * For sikerly, a prentise reuelour. That haunteth dise, riot, or paramour, His maister shall it in his shop abie. All haue he no part of the Ministralcie. For theft and riot they been conuertible, All can he play on Gettron or on Rebible, * Revel and truth, as in lowe degree They ben full wroth all day, as men may see. This iolly prentise with his maister abode, Till he were nigh out of his prentishode, All were he snibbed both earely and late, and sometime led with reuel to Newgate. But at the last, his maister him bethought Vpon a day, when he his paper sought, Of a prouerbe, that saith this same word, * Well bette is rotten apple out of hord, Than that it should rot all the remnaunt: So fareth it by a roiotous seruaunt. It is much lesse harme to let him passe, Then he shend all the seruaunts in the place.

Therefore his master gaue him a quittaunce, And bad him go, with sorow & mischaunce. And thus this iolly prentise had his leue: Now let him roiot all the night or leue. And for there is no theefe without a louke, That helpeth him to waste or to souke Of that he bribe can, or borrow may, Anon he sent his bed and his array Vnto a compere of his owne sort, That loued dice, reuel, and disport: And had a wife, that held for countenance A shop, and swiued for her sustenance.

¶The man of Lawes Prologue.

OUr host saw well, how that the bright Sunne The arke of his artificial day had runne The fourth part, and eke halfe an houre more: And though he were not deepe expert in lore, He wist well it was the eighteene day Of April, that is the messenger to May: And saw well that the shadow of euery tre Was in length of the same quantite As was the body erect, that caused it: And therefore by the shadow he tooke his wit, That Phebus, which that shone clear & bright Degrees was fortie fiue clomben of hight. And for that day, as in latitude It was ten of the clocke, he gan conclude, And suddenly he plight his horse about. Lordings (qd. he) I warne you al the rout, The fourth part of this day is now agon. Now for the loue of God and of saint Iohn Leseth no time, as ferfoorth as ye may: Lordings the time wasteth both night & day, And stealeth from us, what priuely sleeping, * And what through negligence in our waking As doth the streme, that turneth neuer again, Descending fro the mountain into the plain. Well can Seneke & many a Philosophre, Bewailen time, more than gold in cofre. * For losse of cattell may recouered be, But losse of time shendeth us (qd. he) It would not come ayen withouten dread, * No more than woll Malkins maidenhead, When she hath lost it in her wantonnesse. Let us not mowlen thus in idlenesse. Sir man of Law (qd. he) so haue I blis, Tell us a tale anon, as forward is: Ye been submitted, through your free assent To stonden in this case at my judgement. Acquiteth you nowe of your behest, Then haue you done your deuer at the lest. Host (qd. he) de pardeux ieo assent, To breake forward is not mine intent. * Bihest is debt, and I woll holde faine All my behest, I can no better saine. * For such law as a man yeueth another He should himselfe vsen it by right, Thus woll our text: but nathelesse certaine wight, I can right now no thrifty tale saine. For that Chaucer (though he can but leaudly On Metres and in rinning craftily) Hath saied hem, in such English as he can Of old time, as knoweth many a man: And if he haue not sayd hem leue brother In one booke, he hath said hem in another, For he hath told of louers up and doun, Mo than Ouide made of mentioun In his Epistles, that been full old. What should I tell hem, sithen they ben told? In youth he made of sixe all alone, And sithen he hath spoken of euerichone These noble wiues, and these louers eke, Who so that woll his large volume seke Cleaped the saints liues of Cupide: There may he see the large wounds wide Of Lucresse, and of Babylon Thisoe The swerd of Dido for the false Enee, The tree of Phillis for her Demophoon, The plaint of Deianire, and of Hermion, Of Ariadna, and of Hypsiphilee, The barraine Ile stonding in the see Which that dreint Liandre for Hero, The teares of Helein, and eke the wo, Of Briseis, and of Laodomia, The crueltie of queene Medea. The little children honging by the hals, For the Iason that was of loue so fals. Of Hipermistra, Penelope, and Alcest, Your wifehood he commendeth with the best, But certainely no word ne writeth he Of thilke wicke ensample of Canace, That loued her owne brother sinfullie: Of suche cursed stories I say fie. Or els of Tyro Appoloneus, How that cursed kinge Antiochus Biraft his doughter of her maidenhead, That is so horrible a tale for to read, When he her drew upon the pament, And therefore he of full auisement Nold neuer write in none of his setmons Of such unkind abhominations. Ne I woll none rehearse, yef that I may. But of my tale how shall I done this day? Me were loth be likened doubtles To Muses, that men cleaped Piriades, Methamorphoseos wote what I mene. But nathelesse I retche not a Bene, Though I come after him with Haubake, I speake in prose, and let him rimes make. And with that word, he with a sober chere Began his tale, as ye shullen after here.

LAdy Custance the Emperours Daughter of Rome, after her marriage with the Soudan of Sur∣rey, through the Malice of the Soudans Mother, suffereth great trouble and misery with her young Child Mauris: but yet in the end is restored to Comfort.

¶The man of Lawes Tale.

O Hatefull harme, condition of pouert With thirst, with cold, with hunger confounded, To asken helpe thee shameth in thine hert, If thou non ask, with need thou art so wounded, That very nede vnwrappeth al thy wounds hid * Maugrie thine head, thou must for indigence Or stele, or beg, or borow thy dispence.

Thou blamest Christ, & saiest ful bitterly, He misdeparteth richesse temporall, Thy neighbour thou witest sinfully, And saiest, thou hast too little, & he hath all: Parfay (saiest thou) sometime he reken shall When that his taile shall to brenne in glede, For he nought helpeth needfull in her nede.

Hearken what is the sentence of the wise, * Better is to dien than haue indigence, * Thine owne neighbour woll thee to despise, If thou be poore, farwell thy reverence. Yet of the wise man take this sentence, * All the dayes of poore men been wicke, Beware therefore or thou come to the pricke.

If thou be poore, thy brother hateth thee, * And all thy friends fleech fro thee, alas: O rich Merchaunts full of wele be yee, O noble prudent folke, as in this caas, Your bags been not fild with ambes aas, * But with cise sink, that reuneth for your chance At Christeninass mery may ye dance.

Ye seeken lond & see for your winnings, As wise folke ye knowne all the state Of reignes, ye been fathers of tidings, And tales many, both of peace and debate: I was right now of tales desolate, Nere that a marchant, gone many a yeare, He taught a tale, which ye shullen heare.

IN Surrey whylome dwelt a company Of chapmen rich, & thereto sad & true, That wide where senten her spicery, Clothes of gold & Satten rich of hew: Her chafare was so thriftie and so new, That euery wight hath deintie to chafare With hem, and eke to sellen hem her ware.

Now fell it, that the maisters of that sort Han shapen hem to Rome for to wend, Were it for chapmanhood or for disport, None other messenger would they send, But comen hemself to Rome, this is the end: And in such place as thought hem auauntage For her intent, they taken her herbigage.

Soiourned han these merchants in that toun Certain time, as fell to her pleasance: But so befell that the excellent renoun Of the emperours doughter dame Custance Reported was, with euery circumstance Vnto these Surrein marchants, in such wise Fro day to day, as I shall you deuise,

This was the comen voice of euery man: Our Emperour of Rome God him se, A doughter hath, that sithen the world began, To recken as well her goodnesse as beaute, Nas neuer such another as is she: I pray to God in honour her susteine, And would she were of all Europe the quene.

In her is high beautie without pride, Youth, without grenhed or follie, To all her works vertue is her guide, Humbles hath slaine in her all tyrannie: She is a mirrour of all courtesie, Her heart is very chamber of holinesse, Her hond minister of freedome and almes.

And al this voice was soth, as God is true. But now to our purpose let vs turne ayen: These marchants han don fret her ships new: And when they han this blisfull maiden sein, Home to Surrey been they went agein, And doen her needs, as they han doen yore, And liuen in wealth, I can say no more.

Now fell it, that these marchants stood in grace Of him that was the Soudan of Surrie: For when that they came from any strange place He would of his benigne courtesie Maken hem good cheare, and busily espie Tidings of sundry realmes, for to lere The wonders that they might seen or here.

Emong other things specially These marchants haue him told of dame Custance, So great noblesse, in earnest seriously, That this Soudan hath cauʒt so great ple∣sance To han her figure in his remembrance, And all his lust, and all his busie cure Was for to loue her, while his life may dure.

Parauenture in that like large booke Which cleaped is the heauen, ywritten was With starres, when that he his birth tooke, That he for loue should han his death, alas: * For in the starres, clearer then is the glas Is written God wot, who so could it read, The death of euery man withouten dread.

In starres many a Winter there before Was written the death of Hector & Achilles, Of Pompey, and Iulius, or they were bore: The strife of Thebes, and of Hercules, Of Sampson, Turnus, and of Socrates The death: but that mens wits been so dust, That no wight can well read it at the full.

This Soudan for his priuie counsel sent, And shortly of this matter for to pace, He hath to hem declared all his intent, & said hem certain, but if he might haue grace To haue Custance, within a little space He nas but dead, and charged hem to hie To shapen for his life some remedie.

Diuers men, diuersly they saiden: The argument they casten vp and doune, Many a subtill reason forth they laiden, They speaken of Magicke, and abusioun: But finally, as in conclusioun They cannot seene in that none auauntage Ne in none other way, saue in mariage.

Then saw they therein such difficulty By way of reason, to speake all plain, Because that there was such diuersity Between both her laws, that they sain, They trow that no christen prince would fain Wedden his child vnder our lawes swete, That vs was tauʒt, by Mahound our prophet

And he answerd: rather than I lese Custance, I would be christen doubtles: I mote been hers, I may none other chese, I pray you hold your arguments in pees, Saueth my life, and be ye not retcheles To getten her that hath my life in cure, For in this woe I may not long endure.

What needeth greater delatation? I say, by treatie and embassadrie, And by the Popes mediation And all the church, and all the chiualrie, That in destruction of Maumetrie And in encrease of Christs law deare, They been accorded, as ye shall heare.

How that the Soudan and his baronage, And all his lieges should ychristened be, And he shall han Custance in marriage And certaine gold, I not what quantite; And her to find sufficient surete: The same accord was sworne on either side, Now fair Custance, almighty God thee gide.

Now woulden some men waiten as I gesse That I should tellen all the purueiance That the Emperour of his noblesse Hath shapen for his doughter dame Custance: Well may men know that so great ordinance May no man tellen in a little clause, As was araied for so high a cause.

Bishops been shapen with her for to wend, Lords and ladies, and knights of renoun, And other folke y••••ow this is the end, And notified is throughout the toun, That euery wight with great deuotioun Should pray Christ, that he this mariage Receiue in gree, and speed this voyage.

The day is come of her departing, I say the wofull day naturall is come, That there may be no longer tarrying, But forward they hem dresse all and some: Custance, that with sorrow is all ouercome Full pale arist, and dressed her to wend, For well she sey there is none other end.

Alas, what wonder is it though she wept? That shall be sent to a straunge nation Fro friends, that so tenderly her kept, And be bounden vnder subjection Of one, she knoweth not his condition. * Husbands been all good, & han been yore, That know ne wiues, I dare say no more.

Father (she said) thy wretched child Cu∣stance, Thy young daughter, fostered vp so loft, And ye my mother, my soueraigne pleasaunce Ouer all thing (out take Christ on loft) Custance your child her commendeth oft Vnto your grace: for I shall to Surrie, Ne shall I neuer more see you with eie.

Alas vnto the Barberie nation I must anon, sithen it is your will: But Christ that starfe for our redemption, So yeue me grace his hestes to fulfill: I wretched woman no force though I spill, * Women are born to thraldome & penaunce, And to been vnder mans gouernaunce.

I trow at Troy when Thurus brake the wall Of Ilion, ne when brent was Thebes cite, Ne Rome for the harme of Hanniball, That Romans hath ivenqueshed times thre, Nas heard such tender weeping for pite, As was in the chamber for her parting. But forth she mote, wheder she weepe or sing.

O first mouing cruel firmament With thy diurnal swegh, that croudest aye, And hurriest all fro East to Occident, That naturally would hold another way: Thy crouding set the heauen in such array At the beginning of this fierce Voyage, That cruell Mars hath slaine this mariage.

O infortunat assendent tortuous, Of which the lord is helpelesse fall, alas, Out of his angle into his derkest house O Mars, O occisier, as in this caas: O feeble Mone, vnhappy been thy paas, Thou knittest there thou nart not receiued, Ther thou wer wel, fro thence art thou wai∣ued.

Imprudent Emperour of Rome, alas, Was there no philosopher in thy toun? Is no time bette than other in such cas? Of voiage, is there none electioun? Namely to folke of high conditioun Nat when a rote is of a birth yknow? Alas we been too leaud, or to slow.

To ship is brought this wofull faire maid Solemnely, with euery circumstance: Now Iesus Christ be with you all (she said) There nis no more, but farwell fair Custance.

She paineth her to make good countenance, And forth I let her saile in this mannere, And turne I woll againe to my mattere.

Explicit prima pars: & sequitur pars secunda.

THe mother of the Soudan, well of vices, Espied hath her sonnes plaine intent, How he woll lete his old sacrifices: And right anon she for her counsaile sent, And they ben comen, to know what she ment, And when assembled was this folke in feare, She set her doune, and said as ye shall heare.

Lords (qd. she) ye knowne euery chone, How that my sonne is in point to lete The holy lawes of our Alkaron Yeuen by Gods messenger Mahomete: But one auow to great God I hete, The life shall rather out of my body start, Or Mahomets law goe out of my hart.

What should vs tiden of this new law But thraldome to our bodies and pennaunce And afterward in hell to been draw, For we reneyed Mahound our creaunce, But lords, woll ye now make assuraunce, As I shall say, assenting to my lore, And I shall make us fafe for euermore?

They sworen, and assenten euery man To liue with her and die, and by her stond: And euerich in the best wise that he can To strengthen her, shall all his friends fond. And she hath this emprise taken in hond, Which ye shall heare that I shall deuise, And to hem all she spake in this wise.

We shal vs first faine, christendom to take, Cold water shall not greeue us but alite: And I shall such a reuell and a feast make, That as I trow I shall the Soudan quite: For tho his wife be christened neuer so white, She shall haue need to wash away the rede, Though she a font ful of water with her lede.

O Soudonnesse, root of iniquite, Virago, thou Symyram the secound, O serpent vnder fememnete, Like to the serpent deepe in hell ibound: O faigned woman, all that may confound Vertue & innocence, through thy mallice Is bred in thee a neast of euery vice.

O Sathan enuious, since thilke day That thou wert chased from our heritage, Well knewest thou to women the old way: Thou madest Eue to bring us in seruage, Thou wolt fordoen this Christen mariage: * This instrument, so welaway the while, Make thou of women when thou wolt begile.

This Soudonnesse, whom I blame and werie, Let priuily her counsaile gone her way: What should I in this tale longer tarie? She rideth to the Soudon on a day, And saied him that she would reny her lay, And christendome of priests hondes fong, Repenting her she Heathen was so long.

Beseeching him to doen her that honour, That she might haue the christen folke to fest: To pleasen hem I woll doen my labour. The Soudon saith, I woll doen al your hest, And kneeling, thanked her of that request, So glad he was, he nist not what to say, She kist her sonne, & home she goth her way.

Arriued been these christen folke to lond In Surrey, with a great solemne rout, And hastily this Soudon sent his sond, First to his mother, and all the reigne about, And saied, his wife was comen out of dout, And praiden hem for to riden against the quene The honour of his reigne for to sustene.

Great was the presse, & rich was the ray Of Surreyans, and Romanes ymet yfere: The mother of the Soudon rich and gay Receiueth her with all manner glad chere, As any mother might her doughter dere: Vnto the next city there beside A soft paas solemnly they all ride.

Nought trow I, the triumph of Iulius, Of which that Lucan maketh such a bost, Was roialler, and more curious, Than was thassembling of his blisfull host: But this Scorpion, this wicked ghost The Soudonnesse, for all her flattering Cast vnder all this, mortally to sting.

The Soudon cometh himself soon after this So rially, that wonder is to tell: He welcometh her with much ioy and blis, And thus in mirth and ioie I let hem dwell. The fruit of euery tale is for to tell, Whan time come, men thought it for the best, That reuel stint, and men gon to rest.

The time come, this old Soudonnesse Ordained hath the feast of which I told, And to the feast, christen folke hem dresse And that in the general, both yong and old: There may men feast and rialte behold And dainties moe than I can deuise, But all to dere they bought it or they rise.

O Soudon, wo that euer thou art succes∣sour To worldly blisse, springed with bitternesse, * The end of ioy, is worldly labour. Wo occupieth the ende of our gladnesse, Herken this counsaile for thy sikernesse: * Vpon thy glad day ha•••••• thou in minde, The vnware wo or harme, that cometh be∣hinde.

For shortly to tellen at a word, The Soudon, & the Christen euerichone Been all to hewe, and sticken at the boord, But it were onely dame Custance alone, This old Soudonnesse, this cursed crone,

Hath with her friends doen this cursed deed, For she her selfe would all the country lede.

There was Surreien non y^t was conuerted, That of the counsaile of the Soudon wot, That he nas all to heawe, er he asterted: And Custance han they taken anon fotehot, And in a ship all sternelesse (God wot) They han her set, and bidden her lerne to saile Out of Surrey ayenward to Itale.

A certain tresour that she thither ladde, And sooth to sayne, vitaile great plente, They han her yeuen, and clothes eke she had, And forth she saileth in the salt se: O my Custance, full of benignite O Emperours yong doughter so dere, He that is lorde of fortune be thy stere.

She blesseth her, & with full pitious voice Vnto the crosse of Christ, tho said she. O clere, O welful auter, holy croice Reed of the lambes blood full of pite, That wesh the world fro the old iniquite: Me fro the fende, and fro his clawe kepe. That day that I shall drenchen in the deepe.

Victorious tree, protection of trewe, That onely worthy were for to bere The king of heauen, with his woundes new, The white lambe, that hurt was with a spere: Flemere of feendes, out of him and here On which thy limmes, faithfully extenden Me kepe & yeue me might my life to menden.

Yeres and daies fleeteth this creature Through the see of Grece, vnto the straite Of Marocke, as it was her auenture: O, many a sory meale may she baite, After her death full oft may she waite, Or that the wilde waves would her driue Vnto the place there she should ariue.

Men mighten asken why she was not slayn Eke at the feast, who might her body saue? I answer to that demaund agayn, Who saued Daniel in that horrible caue? That euery wight, were he master or knaue, Was with the Lion frette or he asterte, No wight but God, that he bare in his hert.

God list to shew his wonderfull miracle In her, for she should seen his mighty werkes: Christ that is to euery harme triacle, * By certain means often, as knowen clerkes, Doth thing for certaine end, y^t full derke is To mans wit, that for our ignorance Ne can nat know his prudent purueyance.

Now that she was not at the feast yslawe, Who kepeth her fro y^e drenching in the see? Who kept Ionas in the fishes mawe, Till he was spouted out at Niniuee? Wel may men know, it was no wight but he That kept the people Ebrak from drenching With dry feet, through the see passing.

Who hath the foure spirits of the tempest, That power had, both to anoy lond and see? Both north and south, & also west and east, Anoyeth neither see, ne londe, ne tree. Southly the commaunder thereof was he That fro the tempest aye this woman kept, As well whan she woke as whan she slept.

Wher might this woman meat & drink haue? Thre yere and more, how lasteth her vitaile? Who fed the Egyptian Mary in the caue Or in desert (none but Christ sans faile) Fiue thousand folk it was as great maruaile With loaues fiue and fishes two to feed, God sent his foyson at her great need.

She driueth forth into our Occian Throughout the wide see, till at the last Vnder an holde, that nempne I ne can, Fer in Northumberlond, the waue her cast, And in the sand her ship sticked so fast, That thence nolne it not of all a tyde, The wil of Christ was y^t she should ther abide.

The constable of the castle doun is fare To seene this wrecke, & al the ship he sought, And found this weary woman full of care, He found also y^e treasure that she brought: In her language, mercy she besought The life out of her body for to twin, Her to deliuer of wo that she was in.

A manner latin corrupt was her speche But algates thereby was she vnderstond, The constable, when him list no lenger seche, This wofull woman brought he to lond: She kneleth doun, and thanketh Gods sond, But what she was, she would no man sey For foule ne faire, though she shoulden dey.

She said she was so mased in the see, That she foryate her mind by her trouth: The constable of her hath so great pite And eke his wife, y^t they weepen for routh: She was so diligent withouten slouth To serue and please euerich in that place, That all her louen, that looken in her face.

The constable, & dame hermegild his wife Were painems, & that countrey euery where, But Hermegild loued her right as her life, And Custance hath so long soiourned there In orisons, with many a bitter tere, Till Iesu hath conuerted through his grace Dame Hermegild, constablesse of y^t place.

In all that lond dursten no christen rout, All christen folke been fled from the countre Through painims, that conquered all about The plagues of the North by lond and see: To Wales fled the christianite Of old Bretons, dwelling in that Ile, There was her refute for the meane while.

Yet nas there neuer Christen so exiled, That there nas some in her priuite

honoured Christ, and Heathen beguiled, And nigh the castle such there dwellen three: That one of hem was blind, & might not see * But it were with thilke eyen of his mind, With which men seen after they been blind.

Bright was the sunne, as in sommers day, For which the constable and his wife also And Custance, han taken the right way Toward the sea, a furlong way or two, To plaien, and to romen to and fro: And in her walke, three blind men they met Crooked and old, with eyen fast yshet.

In the name of Christ cried this blind Breton Dame Hermegild, yeue me sight again: This lady waxe afraied of the soun, Least that her husbond shortly forto sain Would her for Iesus Christs lore haue slain, Till Custance made her bold, & bad her werch The will of Christ, as doughter of his cherch.

The constable woxe abashed of that sight, And saied: what amounteth all this fare? Custance answered: sir it is Christs might, That helpeth folke out of the fiends snare: And so ferforth she gan our law declare, That she the constable ere that it was eue Conuerted, and on Christ made him beleeue.

This constable was nothing lord of this place Of which I speake, there he Custance fond, But kept it strongly many a Winter space, Vnder Alla, king of Northumberlond, That was full wise, and worthy of his hond Againe the Scots, as men may well here, But tourne I woll againe to my mattere.

Sathan, that euer vs waiteth to beguile, Saw of Custance all her perfectioun, And cast anon how he might quite her wile, And made a yong knight y^t dwelt in the toun Loue her so hot, of foule affectioun, That verily him thought that he should spill, But he of her once might haue his will.

He woeth her, but it auailed nought, She would doe no manner sinne by no wey: And for despight, he compassed in his thought To maken her on shamefull death to dey: He waiteth when the Constable is away, And priuily on a night he crept Into Hermgilds chamber while she slept.

Werie forwaked in her orisons Sleepeth Custance and Hermegilde also: This knight, through sathans temptations All softly is to the bed ygo, And cut the throat of Hermegilde atwo, And laied the bloody knife by dame Custance. & went his way, ther God yeue him mischance.

Soon after cometh the constable home again And eke Alla, that king was of that lond, And saw his wife dispitously yslain, For which he wept and wrong his hond, And in the bed the bloody knife he fond By dame Custance, alas what might she say? For very wo her wit was all away.

To king Alla was told all this mischance, And eke y^e time, and where, and in what wise, That in a ship was founden this Custance, As here before ye han heard me deuise: The kings heart for pity gan agrise, When he saw so benigne a creature Fall in disease and in misaduenture.

For as the lamb toward his deth is brought, So stant this innocent beforne the king: This fals knight y^t hath this treson wrought Bereth her in hond y^t she hath don this thing: But nathelesse there was great mourning Emong the people, and said they cannot gesse That she had done so great a wickednesse.

For they han seen her euer so vertuous, And louing Hermegild right as her life: Of this bare witnesse euerich in the hous, Saue he that Hermegild slow with his knife: This gentle king hath caught a great motife Of this witness, & thought he would enquere Deeper in this case, the trouth to lere.

Alas Custance, thou hast no champion, He fight canst thou not, so welaway: But he that starft for our redemption And bond Sathan, and yet lith there he lay, So be thy strong champion this day: For but if Christ on thee miracle kithe, Without gilt thou shalt been slaine aswithe.

She set her doun on knees, & thus she said: Immortall God, that sauedest Susanne Fro fals blame, and thou mercifull maid, Marie I meane, doughter to saint Anne, Beforne whose child angels sing Osanne, If I be guiltlesse of this felonie, My succour be, or els shall I die.

Haue ye not seene sometime a pale face (Emong a prees) of hem that hath been lad Toward his deth, wheras hem get no grace, And such a colour in his face hath had, That men might know his face y^t was bistad Emongs all the faces in that rout, So standeth Custance, and loketh her about.

O Queenes liuing in prosperity, Dutchesses, and ye ladies euerichone, Haue some routh on her aduersity, An Emperors doughter stant alone: She hath no wiʒt to whom to make her mone, O blood roiall, that stondeth in this drede, Fere of been thy friends at thy greatest nede.

This Alla king, hath suche compassioun, As gentle herte is full of pyte, That from his eyen ran the water doun. Nowe hastely do fette a boke (qd. he) And if this knight wol swere, how that she This woman slowe, yet wol we us avyse Whom that we wol shall ben our iustyse

A Breton booke, written with Euangeles Was fet, and thereon he swore anone, She guilty was, and in the meane whiles An hond him smote vpon the necke bone, That doune he fell atones as a stone: And both his eyen brust out of his face In sight of euery body in that place.

A voice was heard, in generall audience That saied: Thou hast disclandred guiltles The doughter of holy chirch in high presence, Thus hast thou doen, and yet I hold my pees. Of this marueile agast was all the prees, As dismaide folke they stonden euerichone For dread of wreche, saue Custance alone.

Great was the dread and eke the repentance Of hem that hadden wrought suspection Vpon this silly innocent Custance, And for this miracle, in conclusion And by Custances mediation The king, and many another in that place Conuerted was, thanked be Gods grace.

This fals knight was slain for his vntroth By judgement of Alla hastily, And yet Custance had of his death great roth, And after this, Iesus of his mercy Made Alla wedden full solemnely This holy maid, that is so bright and shene, And thus hath Christ made Custance a quene.

But who was wofull (if I should not lie) Of this wedding? but Donegild and no mo: The kings mother, full of tyrannie, Her thought her cursed hart brast a two: She would not that her sonne had doe so, Her thought a despight, that he should take So straunge a creature vnto his make.

* He list not of the chaffe ne of the stre, Make so long a tale, as of the corne, What should I tell of the realte Of y^t mariage, or which course goth beforne: Who bloweth in a trumpe or in a horne, The fruit of euery tale is for to say, They eaten and drinken, daunce, and play.

They gon to bed, as it was skill and right, For though that wiues been ful holy things, They must take in patience a night Such manner necessaries, as been pleasings To folke that han wedded hem with rings, And lay a little her holinesse aside As for the time, it may none other betide.

On her he gat a man child anone, And to a bishop, and to his constable eke He tooke his wife to keepe, when he is gone To Scotland ward, his fomen for to seke. Now fair Custance y^t is so humble and meke So long is gone with child till that still She halt her chamber, abiding Christs will.

The time is come, a man child she bare, Mauricius at fontstone they him call, This constable doth forth come a messenger, And wrote to his king that cleaped was Alla, How that this blisfull tiding is befall, And other tidings needfull for to say, He takes the letter, and forth goth his way.

This messenger to doen his auauntage, Vnto the kings mother rideth swithe, And salueth her full faire in his language, Madame (qd. he) ye may be glad and blithe, And thanked God an hundred thousand sith, My lady quaene hath a child, withouten dout To joy and blisse of all this reigne about.

Lo here the letters sealed of this thing, That I mote beare in all the hast I may: Yeue ye wol ought vnto your sonne the king, I am your seruaunt both night and day. Donegilde answered, as at this time nay, But here I woll all night thou take thy rest, To morrow woll I say thee what my lest.

This messenger dronk sadly both ale & wine, And stollen were his lettets priuily Out of his boxe, while he slept as a swine, And counterfeited was full subtilly Another letter, wrought full sinfully Vnto the king direct of this mattere Fro his Constable, as ye shall after here.

The letter spake the queene deliuered was Of so horrible a fendlishe creature, That in the castle none so hardy was That any while dursten therein endure: The mother was an Elfe by auenture I come, by charmes or by sorcerie, And euery wight hateth her companie.

Wo was this king when he y^t letter had sein, But to no wight he told his sorrow sore, But with his owne hand he wrote again, Welcome the sonde of Christ for euermore To me, that am new learned in his lore: Lord, welcome be thy lust and thy pleasance, My lust I put all in thy ordinance.

Keepeth this child, all be it foule or faire, And eke may wife vnto mine home coming: Christ when him lest may send me an heire, More agreeable than this to my liking: This letter he sealed, priuily weeping, Which to the messenger was taken sone, And forth he goth, there is no more to done.

O messenger fulfilled of dronkenesse, Strong is thy breth, thy limmes faltren aie, And thou be wraiest all secretnesse, Thy mind is sorne, thou ianglist as a Iaie: Thy face is tourned in a new array, * There dronkennesse reigneth in any rout, There nis no counsaile hid withouten dout.

O Donegild, I ne haue non English digne Vnto thy malice, and thy tirannie: And therefore to the fende I thee resigne, Let him enditen of thy traitrie.

Fie mannish fie: O nay by God I lie: Fie fendishe spirit, for I dare well tell, Though thou here walke, thy spirit is in hell.

This messenger came fro the king againe, And at the kings mothers house he light, And she was of this messenger full faine, And pleased him in all that euer she might: He dronke, and well his girdle vnder pight, He sleepeth, and he snoreth in his guise All night, till the summe gan arise.

Eft were his letters stollen euerichone, And counterfeited letters in this wise, The king commaundeth his constable anone Vpon paine of hanging on an high iewise, That he ne should suffren in no wise Custance, within his realme for to abide Three daies, and a quarter of a tide.

But in the same ship as he her fond, Her and her young sonne, and all her gere He should crouden, and put fro the lond, And charge her, that she neuer eft come there: O Custance, well may thy ghost haue fere, And sleeping in thy dreame been in pennance, When Donegild cast all this ordinance.

This messenger on y^e morrow when he woke, Vnto the castle halt the next way: And to the Constable he the letter tooke, And when that he this pitous letter sey, Full oft he saied (alas) and welaway, Lord christ, qd. he, how may this world indure So full of sinne is many a creature.

O mighty God, if that it be thy will, Sin thou art rightful iudge, how may it be That thou wolt suffer innocence to spill, And wicked folke to reigne in prosperite? O, good Custance (alas) so woe is me, That I mote be thy turmentour, or els dey On shames death, there nis none other wey.

Weepen both yong and old in that place, When that the king this cursed letter sent: And Custance with a deadly pale face, The fourth day toward the ship she went: But nathelesse she taketh in good intent The will of Christ, & kneeling in that strond, She saied lord, aye welcome be thy sond.

He that me kept fro that false blame, Whiles I was on the lond amongs you, He can me keepe fro harme & eke fro shame In the salt sea, although I see not how: As strong as euer he was, he is now, In him trust I, and in his mother dere, That is to me my saile and eke my stere.

Her little child lay weeping in her arme, And kneeling pitously to him she said, Peace little sonne, I woll do thee none harm: With that her kercher off her head she braid, And ouer his little eyen she it laid, And in her arme she lulleth it full fast, And into heauen her eyen vp the cast.

Mother (qd. she) and maiden bright Marie. Sooth it is, that through womans eggement Mankind was lore, and damned aye to die, For which thy child was on crosse yrent: Thy blisfull eyen saw all his turment, Then is there no comparison betwene Thy wo, and any wo that man may sustene.

Thou see thy child yslaine before thine eien, And yet liueth my little child parfay: Now lady bright, to whom all wofull crien, Thou glory of womanhead, thou faire may, Thou hauen of refute, bright sterre of day, Rew on my child of thy gentilnesse, That rewest on euery rufull in distresse.

O little child (alas) what is thy guilt? That neuer wroughtest sinne, as yet parde, Why woll thine hard father haue thee spilt? O mercy dear constable (qd. shee) As let my little child dwell here with thee: And if thou darst not sauen him fro blame, So kisse him once in his fathers name.

Therwith she looketh backward to the lond, And said: farewell husband routhlesse: And vp she rist, and walketh doune the strond Toward the ship, her followeth all the prees: And aye she praieth her child to hold his pees, And taketh her leaue, and with an holy entent She blesseth her, and into the ship she went,

Vitailed was the ship, it is no drede Habundantly, for her a full long space: And other necessaries that should nede She had ynow, hereid by Gods grace: For wind & weather, almighty God purchace, And bring her home, I can no better say, But in the see she driueth forth her way.

Alla the king cometh home soone after this Vnto his castle, of which I told, And asketh where his wife and his child is, The constable gan about his heart wax cold, And plainely all the manner him told As ye han heard, I can tell it no better, And shewed the king his seale and his letter.

And said: lord as ye commaunded me On paine of death, so haue I done certain: This messenger turmented was, till he Must be knowne, and tell plat and plain Fro night to night, in what place he had lain: And thus by wittie subtill enquiring, Imagind was by whom this harm gan spring

The hand was knowen that the letter wrot, And all the venim of this cursed dede: But in what wise, certainely I not, The effect is this, that Alla out of drede His mother slow, that may men plainly rede, For that she traitour was to her allegeaunce: Thus endeth old Donegild with mischaunce.

The sorrow that this Alla night and day Maketh for his child and his wife also,

There is no tongue that it tellen may. But now woll I to Custance go, That fleeteth in the sea in paine and wo Fiue yeare and more, as liked Christs sonde, Or that her ship approched vnto londe.

Vnder an heathen castle at the last, (Of which the name in my text I not find) Custance and eke her child the sea vp cast, Almighty God, that saueth all mankind, Haue on Custance & on her child some mind, That fallen is in heathen hond eftsoone. In point to spill, as I shall tell you soone.

Doun fro the castle cometh there many a wight To gauren on this ship, and on Custance: But shortly fro the castle on a night, The lords steward (God yeue him mischance) A theefe, that had renied our creaunce, Came into the ship alone, and said he should Her lemman be, whether she would or nold.

Wo was the wretched woman tho begon, Her child and she cried full pittously: But blisfull Mary halpe her anon, For with her strogling well and mightily The theefe fell ouer the boord all sodainly, And in the see he drenched for vengeance, And thus hath Christ unwemmed kept Cu∣stance.

* O foule lust of luxure, lo thine end, Nat onely that thou faintest mans mind, But verily, thou wolt his body shend, The end of thy werke, or of thy lusts blind Is complaining: how many one may men find That not for werke somtime, but for thentent To done this sinne been either slaine or shent.

How may this weak woman haue y^e strength Her to defend against this renegate? O Golias, vnmeasurable of length How might Dauid make thee so mate? So young and of armure so desolate, How durst he looke on thy dreadfull face? Well may men seene it is but Gods grace.

Who yaue Iudith courage or hardinesse To slean prince Holofernes in his tent, And to deliuer out of wretchednesse The people of God? I say, for this intent That right as God spirit and vigor sent To hem, and saued hem out of mischance, So sent he might and vigor to Custance.

Forth goth her ship through y^e narow mouth Of Subalter and Sept, yfleeting aie Somtime West, & somtime North & South, And sometime East full many a wearie daie: Till Christs mother, yblessed be she aie, Hath shapen through her endlesse goodnesse, To make an end of all her heauinesse.

Explicit secunda pars, & sequitur pars tertia.

NOW let vs stint of Custance but a throw, And speake we of the Romane Emperour, That out of Surrey hath by letters know The slaughter of Christians, and dishonour Doen to his doughter by a false traitour, I meane the cursed wicked Soudonnesse That at the feast let stean both more and lesse.

For which this Emperour hath sent anon His senatour, with roiall ordinance, And other lords God wote many one, On Surreians to done high vengeance: They brennen, slean, & bring hem to mischance Full many a day: but shortly in the end Homeward to Rome they shapen hem to wend.

This senatour repaireth with victory To Rome ward, sayling full roially, And met the ship driuing, as saith the story, In which Custance sat full pitously: Nothing knew he what she was, ne why She was in such array, ne she nold sey Of her estate, though she shoulden dey.

He bringeth her to Rome, and to his wife He yaue her, and her young sonne also: And with the senatour she lad her life. Thus can our lady bring out of wo Wofull Custance, and many another mo: And long time dwelled she in that place In holy werkes euer, as was her grace.

The senatours wife her aunt was, But for all that she knew her nere the more: I woll no longer tarry in this caas, But to king Alla, which I spake of yore, That for his wife weepeth and siketh sore, I woll retourne, and let I woll Custance Vnder the senatours gouernance.

King Alla, which that had his mother slain, Vpon a day fell in such repentaunce, That if I shortly tell all shall, and plain, To Rome he cometh to receiue his penaunce, And putten him in the Popes ordinaunce In high and low, and Iesu Christ besought, Foryeue his wicked werks that he wrought.

The fame anon through Rome town is born, How Alla king shall come on pilgrimage, By herbegers that wenten him beforn, For which the senatour, as was vsage Rode him againe, and many of his linage, As well to shewen his high magnificence, As to done any king reuerence.

Great cheare doth this noble senatour To king Alla, and he to him also: Euerich of hem doth other great honour, And so befell, that on a day or two This senatour is to king Alla go To feast, and shortly if I shall not lie, Custances sonne went in his companie.

Som men would sain at y^e request of Custance This senatour had lad this child to feast: I may not tellen euery circumstance, Be as be may, there was he at the least: But sooth it is, right at his mothers hest Beforne Alla, during the meat space The child stood, looking in the kings face.

This Alla king hath of this child gret wonder, And to the senatour he said anon, Whose is y^t faire child that stondeth yonder? I not (qd. he) by God and by saint Iohn: A mother he hath, but father hath he non, That I of wote: but shortly in a stound He told Alla how the child was yfound.

But God wot (qd. the Senatour also) So vertuous a liuer in my life Ne saw I neuer, as she, ne heard of mo Such wordly woman, maiden, ne of wife: I dare well say she had leuer a knife Through her brest, than ben a woman wicke. * There is no man couth bring her to y^e prick.

Now was the child as like Custance As possible is a creature for to be: This Alla hath the face in remembrance Of dame Custance, and thereon mused he, Yeue that the childs mother were aught she That is his wife, and priuily he sight, And sped him fro the table all that he might.

Parfay he thought, y^t fatome is in mine hed, I oughten deme of skilfull judgement, That in the salt sea my wife is ded: And afterward he made his argument, What wot I, if Christ hath hither sent My wife by sea? as well as he her sent To my country, fro thence that she was went.

After anone, home with the Senatour Goth Alla, for to see this wonder chaunce: This Senatour doth Alla great honour, And hastily he sent after Custance: But trusteth well, her lust not to dance. When that she wist wherfore was that sond, Vnneth vpon her feet might she stond.

When Alla saw his wife, faire he her gret, And wept, that it was ruth for to see, For at the first looke he on her set, He knew well verely that it was she: And for sorrow, as dombe stant as a tree: So was her heart shet in distresse, When she remembered his vnkindnesse.

Twice she souned in his owne sight, He weepeth and him excuseth pitously: Now God (qd. he) and his hallowes bright So wisty on my soule haue mercy, That of your harme as guiitlesse am I, As is Mauris my sonne, so like your face, Els the fiend me fetch out of this place.

Long was the sobbing and the bitter pain, Or that her wofull heart mighten cease, Great was the pity to heare hem complain, Throgh which plaints gan her wo to encrese. I pray you all my labour to release, I may not tell her wo till to morrow, I am so wearie to speake of her sorrow.

But finally, when the sooth is wist, That Alla guiltlesse was of her wo, I trow an hundred times been they kist, And such a blisse is there betwixt hem two, That saue the joy that lasteth euermo, There is no like, that any creature Hath seen or shall, while the world may dure.

Tho praied she her husbond meekely In releasing of her pitous paine, That he would pray her father specially, That of his Majestie he would encline To vouchsafe some day with him to dine: She praied him eke, he should by no way To her father no word of her to say.

Some men would say, y^t the child Maurice Doth this message vntill this Emperour: But as I gesse, Alla was not so nice, To him that was of so soueraigne honour, As he that is of christen folke the flour, To send a child, but it is bette to deeme He went himselfe, and so it may well seeme.

This Emperour graunted full gentilly To come to dinner, as he him besought: And all ready he came, and looked busily Vpon this child, & on his doughter thought: Alla goeth to his inne, and as he him ought Arraied for this feast in euery wise, As ferforth as his cunning may suffice.

The morow came, and Alla gan him dresse And eke his wife, the Emperour to mete: And forth they ride in ioy and in gladnesse, And when she saw her father in the strete, She light doune and falleth to his fete. Father (qd. she) your young child Custance Is now full cleane out of your remembrance.

I am your doughter Custance (qd. she) That whilome ye han sent into Surrie: It am I father, that in the salt see Was put alone, and damned for to die. Now good father I you mercy crie, Send me no more into Heathennesse, But thanken my lord here of his kindnesse.

Who can the pitous joy tellen all Betwixt hem thre? since they been thus imet: But of my tale make an end I shall The day goeth fast, I woll no longer let: This glad folke to dinner been ylet, In ioy and blisse, at meat I let hem dwell, A thousand fold well more than I can tell.

This child Mauris was sithen Emperour Made by the Pope, and liued christenly, To Christs church he did great honour: But I let all this storie passen by,

Of Custance is my tale specially, In old Romane jestes men may find Mauris life, I beare it not in mind.

This king Alla, when he his time sey With this Custance, his holy wife so swete, To Englond been they come the right wey, Where as they liue in joy and in quiete. But little while it lasteth I you hete, * Ioy of this world fer time woll not abide, Fro day to night, it chaungeth as the tide.

Who liued euer in such delite a day, That he ne meued either in conscience Or ire, or talent of some kin affray, Enuie or pride, or passion, or offence? I ne say, but for this end and sentence, That little while in ioy or in pleasance Lasteth the blisse of Alla with Custance.

* For death, that taketh of hie & low his rent, When passed was a yeare, euen as I gesse, Out of this world king Alla gan hent, For whom Custance hath full great heauines. Now let vs praien God his soule to blesse: And dame Custance, finally to say, Toward the toune of Rome goth her way.

To Rome is come this holy creature, And findeth her father whole and sound: Now is she scaped all her auenture, And when that she her father hath yfound, Doune on her knees she goeth to ground Weeping for tendernesse in her heart blithe, She herieth God an hundred thousand sithe.

In vertue and holy almes dede They liuen all, and neuer asunder wend, Till death departen hem, this life they lede: And fareth now well, my tale is at an end. Now Iesu Christ, that of his might may send Ioy after wo, gouerne vs in his grace, And keepe vs all that been in this place.

¶The Squires Prologue.

OUR host on his stirrops stoode anon, And said: good men hearkeneth eueri∣chon, This was a thriftie tale for the nones: Sir parish priest (qd. he) for Gods bones, Tell vs a tale, as was thy forward yore: I see well that ye learned men in lore, Can muckle good, by Gods dignite. The Parson him answerd, benedicite, What eileth the man, so sinfully to swere? Our host answerd, O Ienkin, be ye there? Now good men (qd. our host) harkneth to me, I smell a loller in the wind (qd. he) Abideth for Gods digne passion, For we shall haue a predication: This loller here woll preachen vs somewhat. Nay by my fathers soule, that shall he nat, Saied the Squier, here shall he nat preach, Here shall he no Gospell glose ne teach: We leueth all in the great God (qd. he) He would sowen some difficulte, * Or spring some cockle in our cleane corne. And therefore host, I warne thee beforne, My jolly body shall a tale tell, And I shall ringen you so merry a bell, That I shall waken all this companie: But it shall not been of Philosophie, Ne of Physicke, ne tearmes queint of law, There is but little Latine in my maw.

The King of Arabie sendeth to Cambuscan King of Sarra, an Horse and a Sword of rare qualitie: and to his daughter Canace a Glass and a Ring, by the vertue whereof she understandeth the lan∣guage of all Fowls. Much of this Tale is either lost, or else never finished by Chaucer.

The Squires Tale.

AT Sarra, in the lond of Tartarie, There dwelt a king that warred on Surrie, Through which ther died many a doughtie man: This noble king was called Cambuscan. Which in his time was of so great renoun, That there nas no where in no regioun So excellent a lord in all thing: Him lacked nought that longeth to a king, As of the sect of which he was borne. He kept his lay to which he was sworne, And thereto he was hardie, wise, and riche, And pitous and just alway yliche: True of his word, benigne and honourable Of his corage, as any centre stable. Young, fresh, and strong, in armes desirous, As any batcheler of all his hous, A faire person he was, and fortunate, And kept alway so roiall astate, That there nas no where such another man. This noble king, this Tartre, this Cambu∣scan Had two sonnes by Eltheta his wife, Of which the eldest hight Algarsife, That other was cleaped Camballo. A doughter had this worthy king also That youngest was, and hight Canace: But for to tell you all her beaute, It lithe not in my tong, ne in my conning, I dare not vndertake so high a thing: Mine English eke is vnsufficient, It must been a Rethor excellent, That couth his colours longing for the art. If he should discriue here every part: I am none such, I mote speake as I can. And so befell, that this Cambuscan Hath twenty Winter borne his diademe, As he was wont fro yeare to yeare I denie He let the feast of his natiuity Doen crien, throughout Sarra his city, The last Idus of March, after the yere. Phebus the Sunne full jolly was & clere, For he was nigh his exaltation In Marces face, and in his mansion

In Aries, the collerike, the hote signe: Full lustie was the weather and benigne, For which the foules ayenst the sunne shene What for the season and the yong grene, Full louden song her affections: Hem seemed han getten hem protections Ayen the swerd of Winter kene and cold. This Cambuscan, of which I haue you told In roiall vestements, sit on his deis With diademe, full high in his paleis: And held his feast so roiall and so riche, That in this world nas there none it liche. Of which, if I shall tell all the array, Then would it occupie a Sommers day, And eke it needeth not to deuise At euery course the order of seruice. I wol not tellen as now of her strange sewes, Ne of her Swans, ne of her Heronsewes. Eke in that lond, as tellen knights old There is some meat that is full dainty hold, That in this lond men retch of it but small: There is no man that may reporten all. I will not tarie you, for it is prime, And for it is no fruit, but losse of time, Vnto my first purpose I woll haue recourse. And so befell that after the third course, While that this king sit thus in his noblay, Hearkening his minstrals her things play, Beforne him at his boord deliciously In at the hall doore all suddainely There came a knight on a steed of brasse, And in his hond a broad mirrour of glasse: Vpon his thombe he had of gold a ring, And by his side a naked sword honging, And vp he rideth to the high bord. In all the hall ne was there spoke a word, For maruaile of the knight, him to behold Full busily they waiten yong and old. This straunge knight y^t come thus sodenly All armed saue his head, full roially Salued king and queene, and lords all By order, as they sitten in the hall, With so high reuerence and obeisaunce, As well in speech as in countenaunce, That Gawaine with his old courtesie, Though he come ayen out of fairie, Ne could him not amend of no word. And after this, before the high bord He with a manly voice saied his message, After the forme vsed in his language, Without vice of sillable or of letter. And for his tale should seeme the better, Accordant to his words was his chere, As teacheth art of speech hem that it lere. All be that I cannot sowne his stile, Ne I cannot climben so high a stile: Yet say I thus as to my comen intent, Thus much amounteth all y^t euer he ment, If it so be, that I haue it in my mind. He saied: The king of Araby and of Inde My liege lord, on this solemne day Salueth you as he best can and may, And sendeth you in honour of your feest By me that am readie at your heest This steed of brasse, that easily and well Can in the space of a day naturell (That is to say, in foure and twenty houres) Where so ye list, in drought or in shoures Beren your body into euery place, Into which your heart willeth to pace, Without weine of you, through foule or faire. Or if ye list to fleen in the aire, As doth an Eagle, when him list to sore, This same steed shall beare you euermore Withouten harm, till you been there you lest, Though that ye sleepen on his back and rest, And turne again, with writhing of a pin. He that it wrought, could full many a gin: He waited many a constellation, Or he had doen this operation, And knew full many a seale & many a bond. This mirror eke that I haue in mine hond, Hath such a might, that men may in it see, When there shall fallen any aduersitee Vnto your reigne, or to your selfe also: And openly see, who is your friend and fo: And ouer all this, if any lady bright, Hath set her heart on any manner wight, If he be false, she shall the treason see, His new loue, and all his subteltee So openly, that there shall nothing hide. Wherefore againe this lusty Summer tide This mirrour and this ring, that ye may se, He hath sent to my lady Canace Your excellent doughter that is here. The vertue of this ring, if ye woll here Is this, that if she list it for to were Vpon her thombe, or in her purse it bere, There is no foule that fleeth under heuen, That she ne shall vnderstond his steuen, And know his meaning openly and plaine, And answere him in his language againe: And euery grasse that groweth vpon root She shall wel know, & whom it wol do boot, All he his wounds neuer so deepe and wide. This naked swerd that hangeth by my side, Such vertue hath, y^t what man so ye smite, Throughout his armure it woll kerue & bite, Were it as thicke as a braunched oke: And what man y^t is wounded with the stroke Shall neuer be hole, till that you list of grace To stroken him with y^e platte in thilke place There he is hurt, this is as much to saine, Ye mote with the plat swerd againe Stroken him in y^e wound, and it woll close: This is very sooth withouten glose, It faileth not, whiles it is in your hold. And when this kniʒt hath thus his tale told, He rideth out of the hall, and doun he light: His steed, which that shone as Sunne bright Stant in the court still as any stone: The knight is in to chamber sadde anone, He is vnarmed, and to the meat ysette, And all these presents been full rich yfette, This is to sain, the swerd & eke the mirrour And borne anon was into the high tour, With certaine officers ordained therefore: And to Canace the ring is bore Solemnely, there she sat at the table. But sikerly without any fable The horse of brasse, that may not be remeued, It stant, as it were to the ground yglewed:

There may no man out of the place it driue For none engine, or windlas, or poliue: And cause why, for they cannot the craft, And therefore in the place they han it laft, Till y^t the knight hath taught hem y^e manere To voiden him, as ye shall after here. Great was y^e prees, that swarmed to & fro To gauren on the hors that stondeth so: For it so high was, and so broad and long, So well proportioned for to been strong, Right as it were a steed of Lombardie: Therewith so horsly, and so quicke of eie, As it a gentle courser of Poile were: For certes, fro his tale to his ere Nature ne art coud him not amend In no degree, as all the people wend. But euermore her most wonder was, How that he couth gon, and was of bras? It was of fairie, as the people semed: Diuers folke diuersly they demed, * As many heads, as many wits there been: They murmure, as doth a swarme of Been, And maden skils after her fantasies, Rehearsing of the old Poetries, And saied it was ylike the Pegase The hors that had wings for to flee, Or els was the Greekes hors Sinon, That brought Troy to destruction, As men in these old bookes rede. Mine heart (qd. one) is euermore in drede, I trow some men of armes been therein, That shapen hem this citie for to win: It were right good y^t such things were know. And other rowned to his felaw low, And saied he lied, for it is rather like An apparence made by some Magike, As Iogglours plaien at these feasts great: Of sundry thoughts thus they iangle & treat, * As leaud people deemeth commonly Of things that been made more subtilly, Than they can in her leaudnesse comprehend: They demen gladly to the badder end. And some of hem wondren on the mirrour, (That born was vp to the maister tour) How men mighten in it such things see. Another answered, certes it might well bee Naturally by compositions Of Angels and of slie reflections: And saiden that in Rome was such on. They speaken of Alhazen and Vitellion, And Aristotle that writeth in her liues Of queint mirrours, and of prospecttues, As knowen they that han her bookes heard. And other folk han wondred on the sweard That would so piercen through euery thing: And fell in speech of Telephus the king, And of Achilles for his queint spere, For he couth with it both heale and dere, Right in such wise as men may with y^e swerd, Of which right now ye haue your selue herd. They speaken of sundry harding of mettall, And speaken of medicines eke withall, And how, and when it should hardened be, Which is vnknow algate to me. Tho speake they of Canaces ring, And saiden all, that such a wonder thing Of craft of rings heard they neuer non, Saue that Moses and king Salamon Had a name of cunning of such art: Thus sain the people, and drawen hem apart But nathelesse, some saiden that it was Wonder to make of ferne ashen, glas, And yet is glas not like ashen of ferne, But for that they han knowen it so ferne, Therefore ceaseth her iangling and wonder. As sore wandren some on cause of thunder, On ebbe and floud, on gossomer, and on mist, And on all thing, till the cause is wist. Thus ianglen they, and demen and deuise, Till that the king gan fro his boord arise. Phebus hath left the angle meridionall, And yet ascending was the beest royall The gentle Lion with his Aldrean, When that this Tartre king Cambuscan Rose from his bord, there as he fat full hie: Beforne him goth the loud minstralcie, Till he came to his chamber of paraments, There as they sownen diuers instruments, That is like an heuen for to here. Now dauncen lusty Venus children dere: For in the fish her lady sat full hie, And looketh on hem with a friendly eie. This noble king is set vpon his trone, This straunge knight is fet to him full sone, And in the daunce he goeth with Canace. Here is the reuell and the iolite That is not able a dull man to deuise: He must han know loue and her seruise And been a feestliche man, as fresh as May, That should you deuise such an array. Who couth tellen you y^e forme of daunces So vncouth, and so fresh countenaunces? Such subtill lookings and dissimulings For dread of jealous mens apperceiuings? Ne man but Launcelot, and he is dead Therefore I passe ouer all this lusty head, I say no more, but in this iollinesse I lete hem, till men to supper them dresse. The steward biddeth spices for to hie And eke the wine, in all this melodie The vshers and the squires been ygone, The spices and the wine is comen anone: They eten & dronken, & when this had an end Vnto the temple, as reason was, they wend: The seruice done, they soupen all by day. What needeth it to rehearsen her array? Each man wot well, that at a kings feast Is plenty, to the most and to the least And dainties mo, than been it my knowing. And after supper goeth this noble king To seen this horse of brasse, with all his rout Of lords and of ladies him about: Such wondring there was on this horse of bras, That sithen the great siege of Troy was, There as men wondred on an horse also, Ne was there such a wondring, as was tho. But finally, the king asketh the knight The vertue of this horse and the night, And praied him to tell of his gouernaunce. The horse anon gan to trip and daunce. When y^t this knight laid hond on his raine, And said, sir there is no more to saine,

But when you list to riden any where, Ye mote trill a pin, stant in his ere: Which I shall tell you betweene vs two. Ye mote nempne him to what place also, Or to what country you list to ride. And when ye come there you list abide, Bid him discend, and trill another pin, For therein lieth the effect of all the gin: And he woll downe discend & done your will, And in that place he woll abide still: Though al y^e world had the contrary sworne, He shall not thence be ythrow ne yborne, Or if you listen bid him thence to gone, Trill this pin, and he woll vanish anone Out of the sight of euery manner wight, And come ayen, be it day or night, When that you list to clepen him againe In such a guise, as I shall to you saine Betwixt you and me, and that full sone, Ride when you list, there nis no more to done. Enfourmed when y^e king was of y^• knight, And hath conceiued in his wit aright The manner and the forme of all this thing, Full glad and full blith, the noble king Repaireth to his reuell, as beforne: The bridie is in the toure yborne, And kept among his iewels lefe and dere: The horse vanished, I not in what mannere Out of her sight, ye get no more of me: But thus I lete in lust an iolite This Cambuscan, and his lords feasting Till well nigh the day began to spring.

Explicit prima pars: & sequitur pars secunda.

THe noryce of digestion, the sleepe Gan on hem winke, and bad hem take keepe, * That mirth, drink, and labour woll haue rest: And with a galping mouth hem all he kest, And said, it was time to lie adoun, For blood was in his dominatioun: * Cherisheth blood, natures friend (qd. hee) They thanken him galping, by two by three, And euery wight gan drawen him to his rest, As sleepe hem bade, chey tooke it for the best. Her dreames shul not now ben ytold for me, Full were her heeds of fumosite, That causeth dreames, of which there is no charge, They sleepen soundly, till it was prime large The most part, but it were Canace: She was full measurable, as women be. For of her father had she take her leue To gone to rest, soone after it was eue: Her list not apalled for to be, Nor on the morrow, vnfestliche for to see And slept her first slepe, and then awoke For such a joy she in her heart tooke Both of her queynt ring, & of her mirrour, That twenty times she chaunged her colour: And in her slepe, right for impression Of her mirrour, she had a vision. Wherfore, or that the sunne vp gan glide, She cleped her maistresses her beside And said, that her lust for to arise. These old women that been gladly wise As is her maistresse, answerd her anon, And said: Madam whider woll ye gon Thus early? for folke been all in rest. I woll (quoth she arise) for me lest No lenger to slepe but walken about. Her maistresse cleped women a great rout, And vp they risen, wel ten or twelue: Vp riseth fresh Canace her selue As ioly and bright, as the yong sunne, That in the Ram is foure degrees vp runne, No higher was he, whan she ready was: And forth she walked an easie paas Arrayed after the lusty season sote, Lightly for to playen, and walken on foote: Nought but fiue or sixe of her meyne, And in a trenche, fer in the parke goeth she. The vapor which that fro the earth glode, Maketh the sunne to seem ruddy and brode: But nathelesse, it was so faire a sight, That it made all her hearts for to light, What for the season, and for the morowning, And for the foules that she herde to sing. For right anon, she wiste what they ment Right by her song, and knew al her entent. * The knot why, that euery tale is tolde, If it be taried till lust be colde Of hem that han it hearkened after yore, The sauour passeth, euer lenger the more, For fulsumnes of prolixite, And by that same reason thinketh me I should vnto the same knot condiscende, And make of her walking sone an ende. Amidde a tre, for dry as white as chalke, As Canace was playing in her walke, There sat a falcon ouer head full hie, That with a pitious voyce gan to cry, That all the wood resouned of her cry, And beaten had her selfe so pitously With both her wings, till the reed blood Ran endlong the tre, there as she stood: And euer in one she cryed and shright, And with her becke, her seluen so she pight, That there nas Tygre, ne cruell beast That dwelleth in wood, neither in forrest, That nolde han wept, if that they wepe coud, For sorrow of her, she shright alway so loud. For there was neuer yet man on liue, If that he couthe a Falcon well discriue, That herde of such another of fayrenes As wel of plumage, as of gentilnes, Of shape, of all that might irekened be: A Falcon peregryn than seemed she Of fremd lond, and euermore as she stood, She swounded now & now for lacke of blood, Til welny is she fallen fro the tree. This faire kings doughter, this Canace, That on her finger bare the queint ring, Through which she vnderstood wel euery thing That any foule may in his leden saine, And coud answere him in his leden againe, Hath vnderstand what this falcon seyd And welny for routhe almost she deyd: And to the tree she goeth full hastily And on this Falcon gan looke pitously,

And held her lap abroad, for well she wist The Falcon must fallen from the twist Whan y^t she swouned next, for lacke of blood: A long while to waiten there she stood, Till at the last she spake in this manere Vnto the hauke as ye shallen after here. What is the cause, if it be for to tell, That ye ben in this furiall paine of hell? Qd. Canace, vnto this Hauke aboue: * Is this for sorow of death, or losse of loue? For as I trow, these ben causes two, That causen most a gentil heart wo: Of other harme it nedeth not to speake, For ye your selfe, vpon your selfe wreake, Which proueth well, that either ire or dread Mote ben encheson of your cruel deed. Syn that I se none other wight you chace, For y^e loue of God, so doeth your selfe grace: Or what may be your helpe? for west or east Ne saw I neuer er now, no bird ne beast, That farde with himselue so pitously: Ye slea me with your sorrow verily, I haue of you so great compassioun: For Gods loue come fro the tree adowne. And as I am a kings daughter trew, If that I verily the causes knew Of your disease, if it lay in my might I would amend it, certes or it be night, As wisely help me the great God of kind. And hearbes also shall I right ynough find, To heale with your hurts hastily. Tho shright this Falcon yet more pitously Than er she did, and fell to ground anone, And lyeth a swoune deed as is a stone, Til Canace had her in her lappe itake Vnto the time she gan of swoune awake: And after that she of swoune can abreyd, Right in her Haukes leden thus she seyd. * That pity renneth soone in gentle hert (Feeling his similitude in paines smert) Is proued all day, as men may see, As well by werke as by authorite, For gentle heart keepeth gentlenesse. I see well, that ye haue of my distresse Compassion, my faire Canace Of very womanly benignite, That nature in your principles hath set, But for none hope for to fare the bet. But for to obey vnto your heart free, And for to make other beware by mee, As by the whelpe chastised is the Lion, Right for that cause, and that conclusion, While that I haue a leysure and a space, Mine harme I woll confessen or I pace: And euer while that one her sorrow told, That other wept, as she to water wold, Till that the Faucon bad her to be still: And with a sike, thus she said her till. There I was bred, alas that ilke day, And fostred in a roche of marble gray So tenderly, that nothing aileth me, I ne wist what was aduersite, Till I coud flie, full high vnder the skie. There dwelt a Tercelet me fast by, That seemed well of all gentlenesse, All were he full of treason and of falsenesse. It was so wrapped vnder humble chere, And hew of trouth, and in such manere Vnder pleasaunce, and vnder busie pain, That no wight coud haue wend he coud fain: So deepe in greyne he died his colours, Right as a serpent hideth him vnder flours, Till he may see his time for to bite: Right so, this god of loues hypocrite Doth so his ceremonies and obeysaunce, With his dissimuling and fair assemblaunce, That souneth vnto gentlenesse of loue, As in a tombe is all the faire aboue, And vnder, the corse, such as ye wote, Such was this hypocrite cold and hote, And in this wise he serued his intent, That saue the fiend, non wist what he ment: Till he so long had weeped and complained, And many a yeare his seruice to me fained, Till that mine hert, too pitous and too nice, All innocent of his cruell mallice, For ferd of his death, as thought me Vpon his othes and his surete, Graunted him loue, vpon this conditioun, That euermore mine honour and renoun Where saued, both preuy and apert, This is to say, that after his desert, I yaue him all mine hert and all my thought God wote, and in none other wise nought: And tooke his hert in chaunge of mine for aye. * But sooth is said, gone sithen many a day, A true wight and a theefe thinketh not one. And when he saw the thing so fer igone, That I graunted him fully my loue In such a guise, as I haue said aboue, And yeuen him my true heart as free As he swore he yafe his heart to mee. Anon this tigre, full of doublenesse Fell on his knees with so deuout humblesse, With high reuerence, and eke by his chere So like a gentle louer, as of manere So rauished, as it seemed for joy, That neuer Troylus, ne Paris of Troy, Iason certes, ne none other man, Since Lamech was, that alder first began To louen two, as writen folke beforne, Ne neuer sithen Adam was borne, Ne couth man by twenty thousand part Counterfeit the sophimes of his art: Ne were worthy to vnbocle his galoche, Ther doublenesse or faining should approach: Ne so couth thanke a wight, as he did me, His manner was an heauen for to see To any woman, were she neuer so wise: So painteth he his chere, point deuise, As well his words, as his countenaunce, And I so loued him for his obeysaunce, And for the trouth that I demed in his hert That if so were that any thing him smert, Were it neuer so lite, and I it wist, Me thought I felt death at my hart twist, And shortly, so ferforth this thing went, That my will was his wils instrument. That is to say, my will obeied his will In all thing, as farre as reason fill, Keeping the bounds of my worship euer: Ne neuer had I thing so lefe ne so leuer

As him God wot, ne neuer shall no mo. This lasteth lenger than a yeare or two, That I supposed of him nothing but good. But finally, thus at the last it stood, That fortune would that he must twin Out of that place, which that I was in: Whereof me was wo, it is no question, I cannot make of it description. For o thing dare I tell boldely, I know what the paine of death is thereby, Such harme I felt, that he ne might bleue. So on a day of me he tooke his leue So sorrowfully eke, that I wend verily, That he had felt as much harme as I, When that I heard him speak, & saw his hew But natheles, I thought he was so trew, And eke that he repaire should againe Within a little while sooth to saine And reason would eke, that he must go For his honour, as oft happeth so, * That I made vertue of necessite, And tooke it well, sith it must needs be: As I best might, I hid fro him my sorrow And took him by the hond, S. Iohn to borow, And said him thus: lo I am yours all, Beth such as I haue ben to you and shall. What, he answerd, it needeth not reherse, * Who can sain bet than he who can do wers: When he hath al wel isaid, than hath he done. * Therefore behoueth him a long spoone That shal eaten with a fiend, thus herd I say. So at the last he mote forth his way, And forth he fleeth till he come there him lest When it come him to purpose for to rest: I trow he had thilke text in mind, * That all thing repairing to his kind Gladeth hemselue, thus sain men as I gesse: * Men louen of kind newfanglenesse As birds done, that men in cages feed. For thogh thou night & day take of hem heed, And straw her cage faire and soft as silke, And giue hem sugre, hony, bread and milke, Yet right anon as his dore is vp, He with his feet would sporne adoun his cup, And to the wood he would, and wormes eat, So newfangle ben they of her meat, And louen nouelries of proper kind, No gentlenesse of blood may hem bind: So ferd this Tercelet, alas the day. Tho he were gentle borne, fresh and gay And goodly for to see, and humble and free, He saw vpon a time a kite flee, And suddainly he loued this kite so, That all his loue is cleane fro me go: And hath his trouth falsed in this wise. Thus hath the kite my loue in her seruice, And I am lorne without remedy. And with y^t word this faucon gan to cry, And swouned oft in Canaces barme: Great was the sorow for that hawkes harme, That Canace and all her women made, They nist how they might her faucon glade. But Canace home heareth her in her lap, And softly in plaisters gan her wrap, There as she with her beck had hurt her selue. Now cannot Canace but herbes delue Out of the ground and make salues new Of herbes precious and fine of hew, To helen with the hawke: fro day to night She doeth her businesse, and all her might. And by her beds head she made a mew, And couered it with veluets blew, * In signe of trouth, that is in women seene. And all without the Mew is painted greene, In which were painted all these false foules, As ben these tidefes, tercelets, and owles, Right for despight were painted hem beside Pyes fele on hem for to cry and chide. Thus leaue I Canace her hauke keeping, I woll no more as now speake of her ring, Till it come eft to purpose for to sain, How that this faucon got her loue againe Repentaunt, as the storie telleth vs, By mediation of Camballus The kings sonne, of which I haue of told. But henceforth I woll my processe hold To speaken of auentures, and of battails, That yet was neuer herd of so gret maruails. First woll I tell you of Cambuscan, That in his time many a city wan: How that he wan Thedora to his wife, And after woll I speake of Algarsife, For whom full oft in great perill he was, Ne had he ben holpen by the horse of bras. And after woll I speake of Camballo, That fought in lists with the brethren two For Canace, ere that he might her win, And there I left, I woll againe begin.

Explicit secunda pars.

Apollo whirleth vp his chare so hie, Till that the god Mercurius house he flie.

¶There can be found no more of this foresaid tale, which hath been sought in divers places.

¶Here followeth the words of the Mar∣chaunt to the Squier, and the words of the Host to the Marchaunt.

IN faith Squier thou hast thee well yquit And gentely to, I praise well thy wit Qd. the Marchaunt, considering thine youth, So feelingly thou speakest, I thee alouth As to my doome, there is none that is here Of eloquence, that shall be thy pere If y^t thou liue, God giue y^e right good chaunce And in vertue send thee perseuerance. For of thy speaking I haue great deinte, I haue a sonne, and by the Trinite, I had leuer than twenty poundsworth lond (Though it now were fallen in my hond) He were a man of such discretion, As that ye ben: fie on possession, But if a man be vertuous withall. I haue my sonne snibbed, and yet shall, For he to vertue listeth not to intend, But for to play at dise, and to spend, And lese all that he hath is his vsage: And he had leuer talke with a page,

Than to commune with any gentle wight, Where he might learne gentlenesse aright. Straw for your gentlenesse (qd. our host) What Marchant, pardy full well thou wost, That ech of you mote tellen at the lest A tale or two, or breaken your behest. That know I well (qd. y^e Marchant) certain, I pray you haue me not in disdain, Though I to this man speake a word or two. Tell on thy tale withouten words mo. Gladly sir host (qd he) I woll obey Vnto your will, now hearkeneth what I sey: I woll you not contrary in no wise, As farre as my wits may suffice, I pray to God that it may pleasen you, Then wot I well it is good ynow.

The Marchants Prologue.

WEeping and wailing, care and other sorrow I haue ynow, both euen and eke a morrow Qd. the Marchant, and so haue other mo, That wedded be, I trow that it be so: For well I wot it fareth so by me, I haue a wife, the worst that may be, For though the fiend coupled to her were, She wold him ouermatch I dare well swere. What should I rehearse in speciall Her high malice? she is a shrew at all. There is a long and a large difference Betwixt Grisilds great patience, And of my wife the passing cruelte: Were I vnbound, all so mote I thee, I would neuer eft come in the snare: * We wedded men liue in sorrow and care, Assay who so woll, and he shall find That I say sooth, by saint Thomas of Inde, As for the more part, I say not all, God sheild that it should so befall. Ah good sir host, I haue wedded be These moneths two, and more not parde: And yet I trow, he that all his life Hath wedded be, though men him rife Into the heart, ne couth in no mannere Tell so much sorrow, as I now here Coud tell, of my wiues cursednesse. Now (qd, our host) Marchant so God the blesse, Since ye ben so much know of that art, Full heartily I pray you tell vs part. Gladly (qd. he) but of mine owne sore For sorry heart I tell may no more.

¶The Marchants Tale.

Old January marrieth young May, and for his unequal match receiveth a foul reward.

WHylome there was dwelling in Lumbardie A worthy knight, that born was at Pauie, In which he liued in great prosperite, And sixtie yere a wife lesse man was he: And followed aye his bodily delite On women, there as was his appetite, As done these fooles that ben seculeres. And when that he was past sixtie yeres, Were it for holinesse or dotage, I cannot saine, but such a great corage Had this knight to ben a wedded man, That day and night he doth all that he can To espie, where that he wedded might be: Praying our lord to graunten him that he Mighten once knowen of that blisfull life, That is betwixt an husbond and his wife: And for to liuen vnder that holy bond, With which God first man and woman bond. None other life (said he) is worth a beane: * For wedlocke is so easie and so cleane, That in this world it is a paradise: Thus saith this old knight that is so wise. * And certainely, as south as God is king, To take a wife, it is a glorious thing, And namely when a man is old and hore, Then is a wife the fruit of his tresore: Then should he take a yong wife & a faire, On which he might engendren him an heire, And lead his life in joy and in sollace: Whereas these batchelers singen alas, When that they finden any aduersite In loue, which nis but childs vanite. And truly it sit well to be so, That batchelers han oft paine and wo: On brotell ground they bilden brotelnesse, They find freelte, when they wenen secrenesse: They liue but as liuen birds or bestes, In liberty, and vnder nice arestes, There as a wedded man in his estate Liueth a life blisfully and ordinate, Vnder the yoke of mariage ybound: Well may his heart in joy and blisse abound. For who can be so buxome as a wife? Who is so true and eke so tentise To keep him sicke and hole, as is his make? For wele or wo she nill him not forsake: She nis not weary him to loue and serue, Though that hee lie bedred till he sterue. And yet some clerkes sain, that it is not so, Of which Theophrast is one of tho: What force though Theophrast list to lie. Ne take no wife (qd. he) for husbondrie, As for to spare in houshold thy dispence: * A true seruaunt doeth more diligence Thy good to keep, than doth thine own wife, For she woll claime halfe part all her life. * And if that thou be sick, so God me saue Thy very owne friends or a true knaue Woll keepe thee better, than she y^t waiteth aye After thy good, and hath done many a day. And if thou take to thee a wife vntrew, Full oftentime it shall thee sore rew. This sentence, and an hundred sithes worse Writeth this man there, God his bones curse. But take no keepe of such vanite, Defieth Theophrast, and hearkeneth me.

A wife is Gods yeft verely, All other manner yefts hardely, As londs, rents, pasture, or commune, Or mouables, all ben yefts of fortune, That passen as a shaddow on a wall: But dread not, if plainely speake I shall, * A wife woll last and in thine house endure, Well lenger than thee list peraduenture. * Mariage is a full great sacrament, He which hath no wife I hold him shent: He liueth helplesse, and all desolate, I speake of folke in seculer estate. And herkneth why, I say not this for nought: A woman is for mans helpe ywrought. The high God, when he had Adam maked, And saw him alone all belly naked, God of his great goodnesse said than, Let vs maken an helpe to this man Like to himselfe, and then he made Eue. Here may ye see, and hereby may ye preue, * That a wife is mans helpe and comfort, His paradice terrestre and his disport: So buxome and so vertuous is she, They must needs liuen in vnite: One flesh they ben, and two soules as I gesse, Nat but one heart in wele and in distresse. A wife, ah saint Mary, benedicite, How might a man haue any aduersite That hath a wife? certes I cannot say, The blisse that is betwixt hem twey There may no tongue tellen or heart thinke. If he be poore, she helpeth him to swinke, She keepeth his good, & wasteth neuer a dell, All that her husbond lust, her liketh well. She saith not once nay, when he saith ye, Do this (saith he) a ready sir (saith she.) O blisfull order of wedloke precious, Thou art so merry, and eke so vertuous, And so commended, and approued eke, That euery man that halt him worth a leke, Vpon his bare knees ought all his life Thanken God, that him hath sent a wife. Or pray to God dayly him for to send A wife, to last vnto his liues end. For then his life is set in sikernesse, He may not be deceiued, as I gesse, So that he werch after his wiues rede: Then may he boldly bearen vp his hede, They beene euer so true and also wise. For which, if thou wilt werchen as the wise, Do alway so, as women woll thee rede. Lo how that Iacob, as these clerkes rede, By good counsaile of his mother Rebecke Bounden the kids skin about his necke: For which his fathers beneson he wan. Lo Iudith, as the storie tell can, By her wise counsaile Gods people kept, And slue him Holofernes while he slept. And Abigail by counsaile, how she Saved her husbond Naball, when that he Should haue be slain. And looke Hester also By good counsaile deliuered out of wo The people of God, & made him Mardochee Of Assure enhaunsed for to be. * There nis nothing in gree superlatife (As saith Seneck) aboue an humble wife. Suffer thy wives tongue, as Caton bit, She shall command, and thou shalt suffer it, And yet she woll obey of courtesie. A wife is keeper of thine husbondrie: * Well may the sicke man still waile & weep, There as there nis no wife the house to keep, I warne thee, if wisely thou wilt werch, Loue thy wife, as Christ loueth his cherch: If thou loue thy selfe, thou louest thy wife. No man hateth his flesh, but in his life He fostreth it, and therefore bid I thee Cherish thy wife, or thou shalt neuer ythee. Husbond and wife, what so men yape or play Of wordly folke hold the seker way: They be so knit, there may none harm betide, And namely vpon the wiues side. For which Ianuary, of which I told Considred hath in his dayes old The lusty life, the vertuous quiete, That is in mariage hony swete. And for his friends on a day he sent To tellen hem theffect of his intent. With face sad, his tale hath he hem told: He saied good friends, I am hore and old, And almost (God wot) on the pits brinke, Vpon my soule somewhat must I thinke. I haue my body folily dispended, Blessed be God, it shall ben amended: For I woll ben certain a wedded man And that anon in all the hast I can, Vnto some maid, faire and tender of age. I pray you shapeth for my mariage All suddainly, for I woll not abide: And I woll fonden to espie on my side, To whom I may be wedded hastily. But for as much as ye ben more than I, Ye shullen rather such a thing espien Than I, and there me lust best to alien. But one thing warn I you my friends dere, I woll none old wife haue in no mannere: She shall not passe fifteen yere certaine. * Old fish and young flesh woll I haue faine: Better is (qd. he) a Pike than a Pikereell, And bet than old Beefe is the tender Veell. I woll no woman of thirtie Winter age, * It nis but Beanstraw and great forage, And eke these old widdows (God it wote) * They connen so much craft in Wades bote, So much broken harm can they when hem lest, That with hem should I neuer liue in rest. * For sundry schooles maketh subtill clerkes, A woman of many schooles halfe a clerke is. But certainely, a young thing may men gie, Right as men may warm wax with hands plie. Wherefore I say you plainly in a clause, I nill none old wife haue for this cause. For if so were I had such mischaunce, That I in her couth haue no pleasaunce, Then should I lead my life in aduoutrie, And so streight to the devill when I die. Ne children should I none on her geten: Yet had I leuer hounds had me eaten, Than that mine heritage should fall In straunge honds: and thus I tell you all I dote not, I wot the cause why Men should wedden: & furthermore wot I,

There speaketh many a man of mariage, That wot no more of this that doth my page: For which causes man should take a wife, If he may not liue chast in his life, Take him a wife with great deuotion, Because of lefull procreation Of children, to the honour of God aboue, And not only for paramour or for loue: And for they shoulden Letcherie eschue, And yeeld his debts when that it is due: Or for that each man should helpen other In mischeefe, as a suster should the brother, And liuen in chastity full heauenly. But sirs (by your leaue) that am not I, For God be thanked, I dare make auaunt, I feele my lims hole and sufficiaunt To doen all that a man belongeth to: I wot my selue best what I may do. Though I be hore, I fare as doth a tree, That blossometh ere that fruit ywox bee, The blossomd tree is neither drie ne dead: I feele no where hore but on my head. Mine heart and my lims been as greene, As Laurell is through the yeare to seene. And sithen ye han heard all mine intent, I pray you to my will ye woll assent. Diuers men diuersly hem told Of mariage many examples old. Some blameth it, some praiseth it certaine, But at the last, shortly for to saine, (As all day falleth alteration, Betwixt friends and disputation) There fell a strife betwixt his brethren two, Of which that one was cleaped Placebo, Iustinus soothly called was that other. Placebo saied: O Ianuarie brother, Full little need han ye my Lord so dere, Counsaile to aske of any that is here: But that ye been so full of sapience, That you ne liketh for your high prudence, To waiue fro the word of Salomon: This word saieth he vnto euerichone, * Worke all thing by counsaile, thus saied hee, And then shalt thou not repent thee. But tho that Salomon speake such a word, Mine owne deare brother and my Lord, So wisely God my soul bring to ease and rest, I hold your owne counsaile for the best. For brother mine, take of me this motife, I haue been now a court man all my life, And God wot, though I now vnworthy bee, I haue stonden in full great degree Abouten Lords in full great estate: Yet had I neuer with none of hem debate, I neuer hem contraried truly. I wot well that my lord can more than I, That he saith, I hold it firme and stable, I say the same, or els thing semblable. * A full great foole is any counsailour, That serueth any Lord of high honour, That dare presume, or once thinke it, That his counsaile should passe his lords wit, Nay, Lords be no fooles I sweare by my fay. Ye haue your selfe spoken here to day So high sentence, so holy, and so well, That I consent, and confirme euery dell Your words all, and your opinioun. By God there nis no man in all this toun Ne in Italie, coud better haue saied: Christ holdeth him of this full well apaied. And truly it is an high courage Of any man that is stopen in age, To take a yong wife, by my father kin: Your heart hongeth on a jolly pin. Doth now in this matter right as you lest. For finally I hold it for the best. Iustinus that aye still sat and herd, Right in this wise to Placebo answerd. Now brother mine be patient I you pray, Sith ye haue said, now hearkneth what I say, Senecke among his other words wise * Saith, that a man ought him well auise, To whom he yeueth his lond or his cattell. And sithens I ought auise me right well, To whom I giue my goods away fro me, Well much more I ought auised be, To whom I giue my bodie: for alway I warne you well it is childs play To take a wife without auisement, Men must inquire (this is mine assent) Wheder she be sober, wise, or dronkelew, Or proud, or any other waies a shrew, A chider, or a waster of thy good, Other rich or poore, or els a man is wood: * All be it so, that no man find shall None in this world, that trotteth hole in all, Ne man, ne beast, such as men can deuise, But natheles, it ought inough suffice With any wife, if so were that she had Mo good thewes, than her vices bad: And all this asketh leisure to enquere, For God wot I haue wept many a tere Full priuily, sith I had a wife. * Praise who so woll a wedded mans life, Certaine I find in it but cost and care, And obseruaunces of all blisses bare. And yet God wot my neighbours about And namely of women many a rout, Saine that I have the most stedfast wife, And eke the meekest one that beareth life. * But I wot best, where wringeth me my shoe. Ye may for me, right as you list doe, Auise you, ye been a man of age, How that ye entren into mariage, And namely with a yong wife and a faire. By him that made water, earth, and aire The yongest man that is in all this rout, Is busie ynow to bring it about To haue his wife alone, trusteth me: Ye shall not pleasen her yeres thre. This is to sain, to doen her pleasaunce, A wife asketh full much obseruaunce: I pray you that ye be not euill apaid. Well (qd. this Ianuary) & hast thou all said? Straw for thy Seneck, & for thy prouerbes, I count it not worth a pannier of herbes Of schoole termes, wiser men than thou, As thou hast heard, assenteth it right now To my purpose: Placebo, what say ye? * I say it is a cursed man (qd. he) That letteth Matrimonie sekerly: And with that word they risen suddainly,

And ben assented fully, that he should Be wedded when he list, & where he would. High fantasie and curiousnesse Fro day to day gan in the soule empresse Of Ianuary, about his marriage: Many a faire shap, and many a faire visage Ther passeth thrugh his heart night by night: As who so tooke a mirrour polished bright, And set it in a common market place, Then should he see many a figure pace By his mirrour, and in the same wise Gan Ianuary within his thought deuise Of maidens, which that dwellen beside: He wist not where he might best abide. For if that one had beauty in her face, Another stont so in the peoples grace For her sadnesse and her benignite, That of the people greatest voice had she. And some were rich and had bad name: But nathelesse, betwixt earnest and game, He at last appointed him on one, And let all other from his heart gone: And chese her of his owne authoritee, * For loue is blind all day, and may not see. And when that he was in his bed ybrought, He puttreid in his heart and in his thought Her fresh beauty, and her age so tender. Her middle small, her armes long & slender, Her wise gouernance, and her gentlenesse, Her womanly bearing, and her sadnesse. And when he was on her condiscended, Him thouʒt his choise might not ben amend∣ed. For when that he himself concluded had Him thought ech other mens wit so bad: That impossible it were to replie Ayenst his choice, this was his fantasie. His friends sent he to, at his instaunce, And prayeth hem to done him y^t pleasaunce, That hastily they would to him come, He would bredgen her labour all and some: Needeth no more for him to go ne ride, He was appointed there he would abide. Placebo came, and eke his friends soone, And alder first he bad hem all a boone, That none of hem none arguments make Ayenst his purpose that he hath ytake: Which purpose was pleasant to God (said he) And very ground of his prosperite. He said there was a maiden in the toune, Which for her beautie hath great renoune, All were it so, she were of small degre, Sufficeth him her youth and her beautie: Which maid he said he would haue to wife To liuen in ease and holinesse of life: And thanked God, y^t he might hauen her all, And that no wight his blisse parten shall: And praieth hem to labour in this need, And shapeth that he faile not to speed. For then he saied, his spirit was at ease, Then is (qd. he) nothing may me displease, Saue o thing pricketh in my conscience, The which I woll rehearse in your presence, * I haue (qd. he) heard say full yore ago, There may no man haue perfite blisses two: This is to say, in yearth and eke in heauen. For though he kept him fro the sinnes seuen, And eke from euery braunch of thilke tree, Yet is there so perfit prosperitee And so great ease and lust in mariage, That euer I am agast now in mine age, That I shall lead now so mery a life So delicate without wo or strife, That I shall haue mine heauen in earth here. For sithen very heauen is bought so deere With tribulation and great penaunce, How should I then liuing in such pleasaunce, As all wedded men doen with there wiues, Come to y^t blisse, ther Christ eterne on liue is. This is my drede, and ye my brethren tweie Assoileth me this question I you preie. Iustinus, which that hated his folly, Answerd anon right in his yaperie: And for he would his long tale abrege, He would non authoritie allege, But saied: sir, so there he non obstacle Other than this, God of his hie miracle, And of his mercy may so for you werch, That er ye han your rights of holy cherch, Ye may repent of a wedded mans life, In which ye sain is neither wo ne strife: * And els God forbid, but if he sent A wedded man grace him to repent Well after, rather than a single man. And therefore sir, the best rede that I can Despeireth you not, but haue in memory, * Parauenture, she may be your purgatory, She may be Gods meane and Gods whip, Then shall your soule vp to heauen skip Swifter than doth an arrow out of a bow. I hope to God hereafter ye shall know, That there nis none so great felicite In mariage, ne neuer none shall be, That you shall let of your saluation, So that ye vse as skil is and reason The lusts of your wife attemperatly, And that ye please her nat too amorously: And that ye keep you eke from other sin. My tale is done, for my wit is thin: Beth not agast hereof my deare brother. But wade we fro this matter to another. The wife of Bathe, if ye vnderstand Of mariage, which ye now haue in hand, Declareth full well in a litle space: Fareth now well, God haue you in his grace. And with this word, Iustine & his brother Han take her leaue, and ech of them of other. For whan they saw that it must needs be, They wrought so by wise and slie treate. That she this faire maide which May did hight As hastily as euer that she might Shall wedded be to this Ianuary. I trow it were too long to you to tary, If I you told of euery escrite and bond, By which she was feossed in his lond: Or for to herken of her rich aray. But finally icomen is the day, That to the cherch both tway ben they went, For to receiue the holy Sacrament, Forth cometh the priest, with stole about his necke, And bad her be like Sara and Rebeck In wisedome and truth of marriage: And saied his orisons, as is the vsage,

And crouched hem, & bad God shuld hem bles. And made all seker inow with holines. Thus been they wedded with solemnitie: And at feast sitteth both he and she With other worthy folke vpon the deies, All full of joy and blisse is the palaies, And full of instruments and of vittaile, And that the most deintiest of all Itaile. Beforne him stood instruments of such soun, That Orpheus, ne of Thebes Amphion Ne made neuer such a melodie. At euery course came loude ministralcie, That neuer Ioab tromped for to here, Neither Theodomas yet halfe so clere At Thebes, whan the city was in dout, Bacchus the wine hem skinketh all about, And Venus laugheth on euery wight, For Ianuarie was become her knight: And would now both assain his corage In liberte, and eke in mariage. And with her firebrond in her hond about, Daunceth before the bride all the rout: And certainly, I dare well say right this, Emenius, that God of wedding is, Saw neuer so mery a wedded man. Hold thou thy peace thou poet Marcian, That writest vs that ilke wedding mery Of Philologie and him Mercurie, And of the songs that the Muses song: Too small is both thy pen & eke thy tongue For to discriuen of this marriage, Whan tender youth hath wedded stooping age, There is such mirth, it may not be written, Assaieth your self, than may ye witten If that I lie or non in this matere. May she sit, with so benigne a chere, That her to behold, it seemed a feire. Queen Hester looked neuer with such an eie On Assuere, so meeke a looke hath she. I may you not deuise all her beautie, But thus much of her beautie tell I may, That she was like the bright morow of May Fulfilde of all beautie, and of plesaunce. This Ianuarie is rauished in a traunce, And at euery time he looked in her face, But in his heart he gan her to manace, That he y^t night, in his arms would her strein Harder than euer Paris did Helein. But natheles, yet had he great pittie That thilke night offenden her must he: And thought alas, O tender creature, Now would God ye might well endure All my corage, it is so sharpe and kene, I am agast, ye shall it nat sustene. But God forbid, that I did all my might, Now would to God that it were waxen night, And that the night would last euer mo, I would that all these people were ago. And finally he doth all his labour, As he best might, sauing his honour, To hast hem fro the meat in subtill wise, The time came that reason was to rise, And after that men dauncen, and drinke fast, And spices all about the house they cast: And full of joy and blisse is euery Man, All but a Squire, that hight Damian, Which carfe before the Knight many a day: He was so rauisht on his Lady May, That for very paine he was nie wood, Almost he swelt, and swounded there he stood: So sore hath Venus hurt him wich her brand, So fresh she was, and thereto so licand: And to his bed he went him hastily, No more of him at this time speake I: But there I let him weep inow and plaine, Till the fresh May woll rewen on his paine. O perilous fire, that in the bedsraw bredeth, O familiar foe, that his seruice bedeth. O seruaunt traytour, false homely hew, Like to the Adder slie in bosome vntrue. O Ianuary all drunken in pleasaunce, God shilde vs all from your iniquitaunce Of mariage, see how this Damian, Thine owne squire and eke thy borne man Entendeth to doen thee villanie: God graunt thee thine homely foe to espie. * For in this world nis wers pestilence, Than homely foe, all day in thy presence. Parformed hath the sunne his arke diurne, No lenger may the body of him soiourne On orisont, as in that latitude: Night with his mantill, that is darke & rude, Gan for to spred the Hemisperie aboue: For which departed is the lustie rout Fro Ianuary, with thonke on euery side Home to her house lustely they ride, There as they doen her things, as hem lest, And whan they saw her time they go to rest. Sone after this lustie Ianuarie Woll go to bed, he would no longer tary. He drinketh Ipocras, clarrie, and vernage Of spices hot, to encrease his corage: And many a lectuarie had he full fine, Such as the cursed monke dan Constantine Hath written in his booke of Coitu: To eten hem al he nolde nothing eschew, And thus to his priuie friends saied he: For Gods loue, as sone as it may be, Let voyd all this house in curteis wise sone. Men drinken, and the trauers drew anon, So hasted Ianuarie, it must be done: The bride was brought to bed as stil as ston And whan the bed was with the priest iblessed Out of the chamber euery wight hem dressed. And Ianuary hath fast in armes take His fresh May, his paradise, his make: He lulleth her, he kisseth her full oft With thicke bristles of his beard vnsoft, I like the skin of Houndfish, sharp as brere, For he was shaue all new in his manere: He rubbeth her vpon her tender face, And sayed thus: Alas, I mote trespace To you my spouse, and you greatly offend, Or time come that I woll doune discend. But nathelesse, considreth this (quoth he) There nis no workeman, whatsoeuer he be, That may both wirch well and hastely: This woll be doen at leiser perfectly, It is no force how long that we play, In true wedlocke coupled be we tway: And blessed be the yoke that we been in, For in our acts we mow do no sin.

* A man may do no sin with his wife, Ne yet hurt himself with his own knife: For we haue leaue to play vs by the law. Thus laboureth he, till the day gan daw: And then he taketh a soppe of fine clarre, And vpright in his bed then sitteth he And after he singeth full loud and clere, And kist his wife, and maketh wanton chere. He was all coltish, and full of ragerie, And full of gergon, as is a flecked Pie. The slacke skin about his necke shaketh, While y^t he sang, so chaunteth he & craketh. But God wot what May thoght in her hert, Whan she him saw vp sitting in his shert In his night cap, with his necke all leane: She prayseth not his playing worth a Bean. Then sayed he thus: my rest woll I take How day is come, I may no lenger wake, And down he layed his head & slept till prime: And afterward, when that he saw his time Vp riseth Ianuarie, but the fresh May Holdeth her chamber to the fourth day, As vsage is of wiues for the best. * For euery labour sometime mote haue rest, Or els long may he not to endure. This is to say, no liues creature, Be it fish or beast or brid or man. Now woll I speake of wofull Damian, That langureth for loue, as ye shall here. Therefore I speake to him in this manere. I say, O sely Damian, alas Answer to this demaund, as in this caas, Now shalt thou to thy Lady fresh May Tell thy wo? She woll alway say nay: Eke if thou speake, she woll thy wo bewray. God be thine help, I can no better say. This sicke Damian in Venus fire So brenneth, that he dieth for desire: For which he put his life in aduenture, No lenger might he in this wise endure, But priuily a penner gan he borrow, And in a letter wrote he all his sorrow, In manner of a complaint or a lay Vnto this faire and fresh Lady May. And in a purse of silke, honging on his shert, He hath it put and layed it at his hert. The Moone at moonetide that ilke day (That Ianuarie had iwedded fresh May) Out of Taure was in the Cankre gleden, So long hath May in her chamber bidden As custome is vnto these nobles all: A bride shall not eaten in the hall Till days foure, or three at the least I passed been, than let her go to feast. The fourth day complete fro noone to noone, Whan that the high Masse was now idoon, In hall sat this Ianuary and May, As fresh as is the bright Somers day, And so befell, how that this good man Remembreth him vpon his Damian, And saied: Saint Mary, how may this he, That Damian entendeth not to me? Is he aie sicke: or how may this betide? His squires, which that stoden him beside, Excused him, because of his sicknesse, Which letted him to doen his besinesse: None other cause might make him tary. That me forthinketh (qd. this Ianuary) He is a gentle squire by my trouth, If that he died, it were harme and routh: He is as wise, discreet, and secree, As any man that I wote of his degree, And thereto manly and seruiceable, And for to be a thrifty man right able. But after meat as soone as euer I may I woll my selfe visit him, and eke May, To doen him all the comfort that I can: And for that word, him blessed euery man, That of his bounty and his gentlenesse He would so comforten in his distresse His squire, for it was a gentle deed. Dame (qd. this Ianuary) take good heed, That after meat, ye and your women all (Whan ye haue ben in chamber out of this hall) That all ye gone to see this Damian: Doeth him disport, he is a gentleman, And tellen him that I woll him visite, Haue I nothing but rested me alite: And speed you fast for I woll abide, Till that you sleepen fast by my side. And with that word he gan to him call A squire, that was Marshall of his hall, And told him certaine thing that he would, This fresh May hath streight her way ihold With all her women, vnto this Damian: And downe by his beds side sat she than Comforting him as goodly as she may. This Damian, whan that he his time say In secret wise his purse, and eke his bill (In which he had written all his will) Hath put into her honde withouten more, Saue that he sighed wonderous deep & sore: And sothly, to her right thus sayed he, Mercie, and that ye discouer nat me: For I am dead, if that this thing be kid. This purse hath she in her bosome hid, And went her way, ye get no more of me, But vnto Ianuary icome is she, And on his bed side she sit full soft, He taketh her, and kisseth her full oft: And layed him down to sleep, and that anon. She fained her, as that she must gon Ther as ye wote, that euery wight had need: And whan she of this bill hath taken heed, She rent it all to clouts, and at last Into the priuie, sothly she it cast. Who studieth now but faire fresh May: And downe by Ianuary she lay, That slept, till the cough hath him awaked: Anon he prayed her to strip her all naked, He would of her (he said) haue some pleasance: He said her clothes did him encombrance. And she obeieth he she lefe or loth. But lest y^t precious folk be with me wroth, How that he wrought, I dare nat to you tell, Or wheder she thought it paradise or hell: But I let hem worch in her wise. Till euen song ring, that they must arise. Were it by destenie or by aduenture, Where it by influence, or by nature, Or constellation that in such estate The heauen stood, that time fortunate,

(As for to put a bill of Venus werkes) * For all thing hath time, as saien clerkes To any woman for to get her loue: I cannot say, but the great God aboue That knoweth, that non act is causeles, He deme all, for I woll hold my pees. But soth is this, how that this fresh May Hath take such impression that day Of pittie, on this sicke Damian, That fro her heart she driuen ne can The remembrance for to doen him ease; Certain (thouʒt she) whom this thing dis∣please I recke not, for this I him assure, I loue him best of any creature, Though he no more had than his shert. * Lo pittie renneth sone in gentle hert, Here may ye see, how excellent franchise * In women is whan they hem narow auise. Some tyraunt is, as there be many a one, That hath an heart as hard as any stone, Which would haue letten sterue in the place Well rather than haue granted him her grace: And her rejoyced in her cruel pride, And not haue recked to been an homicide. This gentle Maie, fulfilled of pittie, Right so of her hond a letter made she, In which she graunted him her very grace, There lacked nought, but onely time & place, Where that she might to his lust suffice: For it shall be, right as he woll deuise. And whan she saw her time vpon a day, To visit this Damian goth this faire Maie, And subtilly this letter downe she thrust Vnder his pillow, read it if him lust. She taketh him by the hond, & hard him twist So secretly, that no wight of it wist, And bad him been all whole, & forth she went To Ianuary, when that he for her sent. Vp riseth Damian the next morow, All passed was his sicknesse and his sorowe: He kembeth him & proineth him and piketh, And doth all that his Lady lust and liketh: And eke to Ianuary he goeth as low, As euer did a dog for the bow. He is so pleasaunt to euery man (For craft is all, who that it can) That euery wight is fain to speken him good, And fully in his Ladies grace he stood. Thus let I Damian about his need, And in my tale, forth I woll proceed, Some clerkes holden that felicite Stont in delite, and therefore certain hee This noble Ianuarie, with all his might In honest wise as longeth to a knight, Shope him to liue full deliciously, His housing, his array, as honestly To his degree, was made as a kings. Among other of his honest things He had a garden walled all with stone, So fayre a garden was there neuer none. For out of doubt, I verily suppose, That he that wrote the Romant of the Rose, Ne couth of it the beautie well deuise: Ne Priapus, ne might not suffise, Though he be god of gardens, for to tell The beautie of the garden, and of the well, That stont vnder a laurer alway green: Full oft time king Pluto and his queen Proserpina, and all her fayrie Disporten hem and maken melodie About that well, and daunced as men told. This noble knight, this Ianuarie the old Such deinte hath, in it to walke and play, That he woll suffer no wight to bear y^e kay, Saue he himselfe, for the small wicket He bare alway of siluer a clicket, With which when y^t him list ne would vnshet And when that he would pay his wife her det In summer season thider would he go, And Maie his wife, & no wight but they two: And things which y^t weren not done a bed, He in the garden perfourmed hem and sped. And in this wise, many a mery day Liued this Ianuarie and this fresh May. But worldly joy may not alway endure To Ianuarie, ne to no liuing creature, * O sudden hap, O thou fortune vnstable, Like to the Scorpion diceiuable, That flattrest with thy head when thou wolt sting: Thy tale is deth, thrugh thine enuenoming. O brotell joy, O sweet poyson queint, O monster, that so suddenly canst peint Thy gifts, vnder the hew of stedfastnesse, That thou deceiuest both more and lesse. Why hast thou Ianuary thus deceiued, And haddest him for thy friend receiued? And now thou hast beraft him both his eyen, For sorow of which desireth he to dyen. Alas, this noble Ianuarie that so free, Amidde his lust and his prosperitie Is woxen blind, and all suddenly, His death therefore desireth he vtterly. And therewithall, the fire of jelousie (Lest that his wife should fall in some folly) So brent his heart, that he would full faine, That some man, both him and her had slaine. For neuer after his death, ne in his life Ne would he that she were loue ne wife: But euer liue a widdow in clothes blacke, Sole as the turtle doth y^t hath lost her make. But at the last, after a moneth or tway His sorow gan to swage, soth to say. For whan he wist it might non other be, He paciently tooke his aduersite: Saue out of doubt may he nat forgone, That he nas ielous euer more in one: Which jelousie, it was so outragious, That neither in hall ne in none other house, Ne in none other place neuer mo He nolde suffer her neither ride ne go, But if that he had honde on her alway. For which full often wepeth fresh May, That loued Damian so benignely, That she mote either die sodainely, Or she mote haue him all at her lest: She waiteth whan her heart should to brest. Vpon that other side, Damian Become is the sorowfullest man That euer was, for neither night ne day Ne might he speake a word to fresh May, As to his purpose of no such matere, But if that Ianuary must it here,

That had an hand vpon her euermo. But natheles, by writing to and fro, And priuie signes, wist he what she ment, And she knew all the signes of his entent. O Ianuary, what might thee it auaile? Tho thou mightest see, as far as ships saile: * For as good is a blind man disceived be, As to be disceiued, when that he may see. Lo Argus, which had an hundred eien, For all that euer he couth pore and prien, Yet was he blent, and God wot so ben mo, That wenen wisely that it is not so: Passe ouer is an ease, I say no more. The fresh May, of which I spake of yore In warme waxe, hath printed this clicket, That Ianuary bare of that small wicket, By which vnto his garden oft he went. And Damian that knew all her intent The clicket counterfeited priuily: There nis no more to say, but hastily Some wonder by this clicket shall betide, Which ye shall heren, if ye woll abide. O noble Ouid, sooth sayest thou God wote, * What flight is it, if loue be long and hote, That he nill find it out in some manere: By Pyramus and Thisbe may men lere, Thogh they were kept ful long streit ouer all, They ben accorded, rowning through a wall: There nis no wight couth find such a sleight. But now to purpose, ere the daies eight, Were passed, ere the month Iuly befill, That Ianuary hath caught so great a will Through egging of his wife him for to play, In his garden, and no wight but they tway, That in a morrow, vnto this May said hee, Rise vp my wife, my loue, my lady free: The turtle voice is heard my lady swete, The winter is gone, with all his raines wete, Come forth now with thine eyen columbine, Now fairer been thy brests than is wine. The garden is enclosed all about, Come forth my white spouse out of all dout, Thou hast me wounded in my hert, O wife: No spot in thee nas in all thy life. Come forth and let vs taken our disport, I chese thee for my wife and my comfort. Such old leaud words then vsed he. Vnto Damian a signe made she, That he should go before with his clicket: This Damian hath opened this wicket, And in he stert, and that in such manere, That no wight might it see ne here, And still he sat vnder a bush anone. This Ianuary, as blind as is a stone With May in his hand, and no wight mo, Into his fresh garden is he go, And clapt to the wicket suddainly. Now wife (qd. he) here nis but thou and I, That art the creature that I best loue: For by that lord that sit vs all aboue, I had leuer dien on a knife, Than thee offend my dere true wife. For Gods sake thinke how I thee chees, Not for couetise, ne other good doubtles, But only for the loue I had to thee. And though that I be old and may not see, Be to me true, and I woll tell you why, Certes three things shall ye win thereby. First loue of Christ, & to your selfe honour, And all mine heritage, toune and tour I giue it you, maketh charters as ye list: This shall be done to morrow ere sunne rist So wisely God my soule bring to blisse: I pray you on couenaunt that ye me kisse. And though that I be jelous, wite me nought, Ye been so deepe imprinted in my thought, That when I consider your beaute, And withall, the vnlikely elde of me, I may not certes, though I should die Forbeare to ben out of your companie For very loue, this is withouten dout: Now kisse me wife, and let vs rome about. This fresh May when she these words herd, Benignely to Ianuarie answerd, But first and forward she began to weepe: I haue (qd. she) a soule for to keepe As well as ye, and also mine honour, And of wifehood ilke tender flour, Which that I haue ensured in your hond, When that the priest to you my body bond. Wherefore I woll answere in this manere By the leaue of you my lord so dere. I pray God that neuer daw that day, That I ne sterue, as foule as woman may, If euer I do to my kin that shame, Or els that I empaire so my name, That I be false, and if I do that lacke, Do strip me and put me in a sacke, And in the next riuer do me drench: I am a gentlewoman, and no wench. Why speke ye thus, but men ben euer vntrew, And women haue reproofe of you, aye new. Ye can none other communing, I leue, But speak to vs of vntrust and repreue. And with y^t word she saw where Damian Sat in the bush, and kneele he began: And with her finger signes made she, That Damian should climbe vpon a tre, That charged was with fruite, & vp he went: For verily he knew all her intent, And euery signe that she couth make, Well bet than Ianuarie her owne make. For in a letter she had told him all Of this matter, how that he werch shall. And thus I let him sit in the pery, And Ianuarie and Maie roming full mery. Bright was the day, & blew the firmament, Phebus of gold doun hath his streames sent To gladen every flour with his warmenesse: He was that time in Gemini, as I gesse, But little fro his declination, The causer of Ioues exaltation. And so befell that bright morow tide, That in the garden, on the further side Pluto, that is the king of Fayrie And many a ladie in his companie Following his wife, the queene Proserpine Ech after other right as a line, Whiles she gadred floures in a mead: In Claudian ye may the story read, How in his grisely cart he her fet. This king of Fayrie adoune him set

Vpon a bench of turues fresh and greene, And right anon thus said he to his queene: My wife (qd. he) that may nat say nay Experience so proveth euery day The treason which that women doth to man, Ten hundred thousand stories tell I can, Notable, of your vntrouth and brotelnesse. O Salomon, richest of all richesse, Fulfild of sapience, and of worldly glory, Full worthy ben thy words in memory To euery wight, that wit and reason can: Thus praiseth he the bounty of man. * Among a thousand men yet found I one, But of all women found I neuer none: Thus saith y^e king, y^t knoweth your wicked∣nesse. And Iesus Filius Sirach, as I gesse, Ne speaketh of you but selde reuerence: A wild fire, a corrupt pestilence So fall upon your bodies yet to night: Ne see ye not this honourable knight? Because (alas) that he is blind and old, His owne man shall maken him cuckold. Lo where he sit, the letchour in the tree. Now woll I graunt of my maiestie Vnto this old blind worthy knight, That he shall haue again his eye sight: When that his wife would done him vilanie, Then shall he know all her harlotrie, Both in reprefe of her and other mo. Ye shall (qd. Proserpine) and woll ye so? Now by my mothers soule sir I swere, That I shall yeuen her sufficient answere. And all women after for her sake: That though they been in any gilt ytake With face bolde, they shullen hemselue excuse And bear hem down that would hem accuse. For lacke of answere, non of hem shull dien, All had he see a thing with both his eyen, Yet should we women so visage it hardely, And weepe and swere and chide subtilly, That ye shall been as leude as are gees, What recketh me of your authoritees? I wote well this Iewe, this Salomon, Found of vs women, fooles many one: But though he ne found no good woman, Yet there hath found many an other man Women full true, full good, and vertuous; Witnes of hem that dwell in Christes house, With Martyrdom they preued her constance. The Romain iests eke make remembrance Of many a very true wife also. But sir, he not wroth that it be so, Thogh that he said he found no good woman I pray you take the sentence of the man: * He meant thus, That in soueraign bounte His none but God, that sitteth in trinite. Eye, for very God that nis but one. What make ye so much of Salomon? What though he made a temple, Gods house? What though he were rich and glorious? So made he a temple of false godis, How might he don a thing y^t more fore forbod is? Parde as faire as ye his name emplaster, He was a lechour, and an idolaster, And in his elde, very God forsooke. And if that God nad (as saith the booke) Yspared him for his fathers sake, he should Haue lost his reigne soner than he would. Iset nat of all the villanie, That ye of women write, a butterflie, I am a woman, needs more I speake Or els to swell till that mine heart breake. For sithen he said that we been iangleresses As euer mote I hole broke my tresses, I shall not spare for no curtesie To speak hem harm, that would vs villanie. Dame (qd. this Pluto) be no lenger wroth, I giue it vp: but sith I swore mine oth, That I would graunt him his sight ayen, My word shall stand, y^t warne I you certeine: I am a king, it set me not to lie. And I (quoth she) queen am of Fairie. Her answere she shall haue I vndertake, Let vs no mo words hereof make: Forsoth I will no longer you contrary. Now let vs turne againe to Ianuarie, That in the garden with this faire Maie Singeth merier than the Popingay: You loue I best, and shall, and other non. So long about the alleyes is he gon, Till he was commen ayenst thilke pery, Where as this Damian sitteth full mery On high, among these fresh leues green. This fresh Maie, that is so bright & shene Gan for to sike, and said: alas my side: Now sir (qd. she) for ought that may betide I must haue of these peers that here I see Or I mote die, so sore longeth me To eten some of the small peers greene: Help for hir loue that is heauens queen. I tell you well a woman in my plite, May haue to fruite so great an appetite, That she may dyen, but she it haue. Alas (qd. he) that I ne had here a knaue, That couth climbe, alas, alas (qd. he) For I am blinde, ye sir no force (qd. she) But would ye vouchsafe for Gods sake, The pery in your armes for to take: For well I wot that ye mistrust me, Then would I climbe well ynough (qd. she) So I my foote might set vpon your backe. Forsooth said he, in me shall be no lacke, Might I you helpe all with mine hart blood: He stoupeth down, & on his back she stood, And caught her by a twist, and vp she goth. Ladies I pray you that ye be not wroth, I can nat glose, I am a rude man: And sodainely anon this Damian Gan pullen vp the smocke, and in the throng A great tent a thrifty and a long. She said it was the meriest fit, That euer in her life she was at yet: My lords tent serueth me nothing thus It foldeth twifold by sweet Iesus, He may not swiue not worth a leke: And yet he is full gentill and full meke. This is leuer to me than an euensong. And when that Pluto saw this wrong, To Ianuary he gaue againe his sight, And made him see as well as euer he might: And whan he had caught his sight againe, Ne was there neuer man of thing so faine:

But on his wife his thought was euer mo. Vp to the tree he cast his eyen two, And saw how Damian his wife had dressed In such mannere, it may not be expressed, But if I would speak vncurtesly. And vp he yaf a roring and a cry, As doth the mother when the child shall die: Out helpe, alas, (harow) he gan to cry: For sorrow almost he gan to die, That his wife was swiued in the pery. O strong lady whore what doest thou? And she answered: sir what ayleth you? Haue patience and reason in your minde, I haue you holpen of both your eyen blinde. Vp peril of my soule I shall nat lien As me was taught to help your eyen. Was nothing bet for to make you see, Than strogle with a man vpon a tree: God wot I did it in full good entent. Strogle (qd. he) ye algate in it went As stiffe and as round as any bell: It is no wonder though thy belly swell. Thy smocke on his breast it lay so thech, That stil me thought he pointed on the brech. God giue you both on shames death to dien, He swiued thee, I saw it with mine eyen, Or els I be honged by the halse. Then is (qd. she) my medicine false, For certainely, if that ye might see, Ye would not say these words vnto me, Ye haue some glimsing, and no perfit sight. I see (qd. he) as well as euer I might, Thanked be God, with both mine eyen two, And by my trouth me thought he did so. Ye mase ye mase, good sir (quoth she) This thanke haue I for that I made you see: Alas, quoth she, that euer I was so kind. Now dame, qd. he, let al passe out of mind: Come down my sefe, and if I haue missaid, God helpe me so, as I am euill apaid. But by my fathers soule, I wende haue seyn, How that this Damian had by thee lyen, And that thy smocke had lyen vpon his brest, Ye sir (qd. she) ye may wene as ye lest: * But sir, a man that waketh out of his sleep, He may not suddenly well taken kepe Vpon a thing, ne se it perfectly Till that he be adawed verily. * Right so a man that long hath blinde be, Ne may not suddainly so well ysee First when the sight is new comen again, As he that hath a day or two ysain. Till that your sight istabled be awhile, There may full many a sight you begile. Beware I pray you, for by heauen king * Full many a man weneth to see a thing, And it is all another than it seemeth: * He that misconceiueth oft misdemeth. And with that word she lept down fro y^e tree: This Ianuarie who is glad but he? He kisseth her, he cleppeth her full oft, And on her wombe he stroketh her full oft: And to his paleis home he hath her lad. Now good men I pray you beth ye all glad. Thus endeth here my tale of Ianuarie, God blesse vs all, and his mother Marie.

The wife of Bathes Prologue.

Experience, though none authoritie Were in this world, is right ynow for me To speak of wo that is in mariage: For lordings, sith I twelue yeres was of age, Thanked be God that is eterne on liue, Husbonds at chirche dore haue I had fiue For I so often haue ywedded be, And all were worthy men in her degree. But me was told not long ago iwis, That sithen Christ went neuer but onis To wedding, in the Cane of Galilee, That by thilke ensample taught he me, That I ne should wedded be but ones. Lo here, which a sharpe word for the nones, Beside a well, Iesu God and man Spake in reprefe of the Samaritan: Thou hast had fiue husbonds (quoth he) And that ilke man that now hath thee, Is not thyn husbond: thus said he certain, What he meant hereby, I can not sain, But that I aske a point, why the fift man Was nat husbond to the Samaritan: How many might she haue in marriage? Yet herd I neuer tellen in mine age Vpon this number true definitioun, Men may deuine, and glosen vp and down. But well I wot expresse without lie, God bad vs for to wex and multiplie, That gentle text can I well vnderstond: Eke wel I wot (he said) mine husbond: Should leaue father & mother, & take to me, But of number no mention made he Of bigamie or of octogamie, Why should men speak of it villany? Lo he the wise king Dan Salomon I trow had wiues many mo than on, As would God it lefull were to me To be refreshed half so oft as he. Which a gift of God had he, for his wyuis? No man hath such, that in this world a liue is. God wot this noble king, as to my wit The first night had many a mery fit With each of hem, so well was him aliue. Blessed be God, I haue wedded siue, Welcome the sixth wheneuer he shall Forsoth I woll not keep me chaste in all: When mine husbond is fro the world ygon, Some christen man shall wed me anon. For then the Apostle saith, that I am fre To wed a godeshalfe where it liketh me: * He saith, that to be wedded is no sinne, Better is to be wedded than to brinne. What recketh me though folke say villany Of shreud Lamech, and of his bigamy? I wot well Abraham was an holy man, And Iacob eke, as fer as euer I heare can, And each of hem had wiues mo than two, And many another holy man also. Where can you say in any manner age That euer God defended mariage By expresse words, I pray you tell me? Or where commaunded he virginite? I wot as well as ye, it is no dread, The Apostle, when he spake of maidenhead,

He said, thereof precept had he none: Men may counsaile a woman to be one, * But counsailing is no commaundement, He put it wholly in our owne judgement. For had God commaunded maidenhead, Then had he damned wedding out of dread. * And certes, if there were no seed ysow, Virginity then whereof should it grow? Poule ne durst not commaund at the lest A thing, of which his master yafe none hest: The dart is set vp for virginite, Catch who so may, who runneth best let see. But this word is not taken of euery wight, But there as God list yeue it of his might. I wot well that the Apostle was a maid, But natheles, though that he wrote and said He would that euery wight were such as he, All nis but counsaile to virginite. And for to ben a wife he yaue me leue, Of indulgence, so nis it to repreue To v••ed me, if that my make die Without exception of bigamie: All were it good no woman for to touch, He ment as in his bed or in his couch. * For perill is, both fire and tow to assemble, Ye know what this ensample may resemble. This is all and some, he held virginite More perfit than wedding in freelte. Freelte clepe I, but if that he and she Would lead her life all in chastite. I graunt it well, I haue none enuie, Though maidenhead preferre bigamie, It liketh hem to be clean in body and ghost: Of mine estate I woll make no bost. For wel ye know, a lord in his houshold Hath nat euery vessell all of gold: Some been of tre, and don her lord seruice God clepeth folke to him in sundry wise, And euerich hath of God a proper gift, Some this, some that, as him liketh shift. Virginitie is great perfection, And continence eke with deuocion: But Christ, that of perfection is well, Bad not euery wight he should go sell All that he had, and giue it to the poore, And in such wise folow him and his lore: He spake to hem that would liue parfectly, And lordings (by your leaue) that am nat I, I wol bestow the floure of all mynage In the acts and fruit of marriage. Tell me also, to what conclusion Were members made of generation? And of so perfit wise a wight iwrought? Trusteth well, they were nat made for nouʒt, Glose who so woll, and say vp and down That they were made for purgatioun Of vrine, and other things smale, And eke to know a female from a male, And for none other cause, what say ye no? The experience wot well it is not so: So that the clerks be not with me wroth, I say that they were maked for both, This is to saien, for office, and for ease Of engendrure, there we not God displease. Or why should men els in her bookes set, That man should yeeld to his wife her det? Now wherwith should he pay his payment If he ne vsed his sely instrument? Then were they made vpon a creature To purge vrine, and eke for engendrure. But I say not that euery wight is hold, That hath such harnesse as I to you told, To gon and vsen hem to engendrure, Then should men take of chastitie no cure. Christ was a maide, and shapen as a man, And many a saint, sithen the world began, Yet liued they euer in perfit charitie: I nill enuy no virginitie. Let hem with bread of pure wheat be fed, And let vs wiues eat barley bread, And yet with barley bread, Marke tell can, Our lord Iesu refreshed many a man. In such a state as God hath cleped vs, I woll perseuer, I nam not precious, In wifehood woll I vse mine instrument As frely as my maker hath it sent. If I be dangerous, god giue me sorow, Mine husbond shal it haue both euin & morow, When that him list come forth & pay his det, An husbond wol I haue I wol not let, Which shall be both my debtour & my thrall, And haue his tribulation withall Vpon his flesh, while that I am his wife. I haue the power during all my life Vpon his proper body, and nat he, Right thus the Apostle told to me, And bad our husbonds for to loue vs well, All this sentence me liketh euery dell. Vp stert the Pardoner, and that anon, Now dame qd. he, by God & by saint Iohn, Ye been a noble preacher in this caas: I was about to wed a wife, alas What, should I bie it on my flesh so deare? Yet had I leuer wed no wife to yeare. Abide qd. she, my tale is not begon: Nay, thou shalt drinke of another ton Er that I go, shall sauer worse than ale, And when that I haue told forth my tale Of tribulation that is in marriage, Of which I am expert in all mine age, This is to say, my selfe hath been the whip, Then maiest thou chese wheder thou wolt sip Of thilke ton, that I shall set abroch: Beware of it, er thou to nere aproch. For I shall tell ensamples mo than ten: * Who so woll not beware by other Men By him shall other men corrected be: These same words writeth Dan Ptholome, Read in his almagest, and take it there. Dame I woll pray you, if your will were, Said this Pardoner, as ye began, Tell forth your tale, spareth for no Man, And teach vs young Men of your practike. Gladly (qd. she) if it may you like. But that I pray to all this company, If that I speake after my fantasy, As taketh not a griefe of that I say, For mine entent is not but to play. Now sirs, then shall I tell forth my tale: As euer might I drinke wine or ale I shall say sooth. Tho husbonds that I had Three of hem were good, and two were bad:

The three good men were rich and old, Vnnethes might they the stature hold, In which they were bounden vnto me. Ye wot well what I meane of this parde: As God me helpe, I laugh when I thinke, How pitiously a night I made hem swinke, But by my fay, I tolde of it no store: They had me yeue her lond and her treasore, Me neded no lenger to doe diligence To win her loue, and do hem reuerence. They loued me so well by God aboue, That I ne tolde no deinte of her loue. * A wise woman woll besie her euer in one To get her loue there as she hath none. But sithen I had hem holly in mine hond, And that they had giue me all her londe, What, should I take keep hem for to please, But it were for my profit and mine ease? I set hem so a worke by my fay, That many a might they songen well away: The bacon was not fet for hem I trow, That some men haue in Essex at Donmow. I gouerned hem so well after my law, That ech of hem full blisfull was and faw To bring me gay things home fro the fayre. They were full fain when I spake hem faire: For God it wot, I chid hem spitously. Now herkeneth how I bere me properly. Ye wise wiues that can vnderstond, Thus shul ye speak, and bere hem on hond, * For halfe so boldly there can no man Swere and lie, as a woman can: I say not this by wiues that been wise, But if it be when they him misse auise. * A wise wife shall if that she can her good, Bere hem in hond that the cow is wood, And taken witnesse of her owne maid Of her assent: but herkeneth how I said. Sir old keynard, is this thine aray, Why is my neighbours wife so gay? She is honoured ouer all where she goth, I sit at home, and haue no thriftie cloth. What dost thou sirha at my neighbors house? Is she so faire? art thou so amorous? What rownest thou with our maid? benedi∣cite Sir old lechour, let thy yapes be. And if I haue a Gossip or a friend (Without gilt) thou chidest as a fiend, If that I walke or play vnto his house: Thou comest home as drunken as Mouse, And preachest on thy bench with euill prefe: Thou sayest to me it is a great mischiefe To wed a poore woman, for costage: And if that she be rich of high parage, Then saiest thou, it is a very tourmentrie To suffer her pride and her Melancholy. And if that she be faire, thou very knaue, Thou saiest that euery holour woll her haue. She may no while in chastitie abide, That is assailed on euery side. Thou saist some folke desiren vs for richesse, Some for our shape, & some for our fairnesse, And some, for she can either sing or dance, And some for gentlenesse or for daliance, Some for her honds and her armes smale: Thus goeth all to the deuill by thy tale. Thou saist Men may not keep a castle wall, It may so long assailed be ouer all. And if that she be foule, thou saiest that she Coueteth euery Man that she may see. For as a Spaniell, she woll on him lepe, Til that she find some man that wol her chepe: * Ne none so gray Gose goth there in the lake (As saist thou) y^t woll been without her make. And saiest, it is a hard thing for to welde A wight, that no man woll his thonke helde. Thus saist thou lorell, whan thou goest to bed, That no wise Man needeth for to wed, Ne no man that entendeth vnto heuin. With wild thunder dent and fire leuin Mote thy wicked necke be all to broke. * Thou saist, dropping houses, & eke smoke, And chiding wiues maken Men to flee Out of her owne house, ah, Benedicite, What aileth such an old man for to chide? Thou saiest, we wiues woll our vices hide, Till we be wedded, & than we wol hem shew. Well may this be a prouerbe of a shrew. Thou saist, that oxen, horses, asses, & hounds, They ben assaied at diuers stounds: Basins, lauers, or that Men hem bie, Spones, stooles, and all such husbondrie, And so be pots, clothes, and araies, But folke of wiues maken non assaies, Till they been wedded, old dotard shrew, And saiest, how we woll than our vices shew. Thou sayest also, that it displeaseth me, But if that thou wilt praise my beaute, And but thou pore alway on my face, And clepe me faire dame in euery place: And but thou maken a feast on that ilke day That I was borne, & make me fresh and gay: And but thou doen to my norice honour, And to my chamber within my bour: And to my fathers folke, and his alies, Thus saiest thou old barell full of lies. And againe of our prentise Ienkin, For his crispe heer, shining as gold fine, And for he squireth me both vp and down, Hast thou caught a false suspection: I woll him nat, tho thou wer ded to morow. But tell me this, why hidest thou with so∣row The keies of thy chest away fro me? It is my good as well as thine parde. What, wenest thou make an idiot of our dame Now by that Lord that called is sainct Iame Thou shalt nat both althogh thou wer wood Be maister of my body and of my good, That one thou shalt forgon maugre thin iyen. What helpeth it of me to enquere and spien? I trow thou wouldest locke me in thy chist? Thou shouldest say, Wife, go where thou list, Take your disport, I woll leue no tales, I know you for a true wife dame Ales. We loue no Man, y^t taketh keep or charge Where that we go, we woll be at our large. Of all Men iblessed mote he be The wise Astrologien Dan Ptholome, That saieth this prouerbe in his almagest, * Of all Men his wisedome is the best, That recketh not who hath the world in hond. By this prouerb thou shalt vnderstond,

Haue thou inow, what need thee recke or care How merely that other folke do fare. For certes, old dotarde by your leue, Ye shallen haue queint inow at eue. * He is too great a nigard that woll werne A man to light a candle at his Lanterne: He shall haue neuer the lesse light parde. Haue thou inow, thou darst not plain thee: Thou saiest also, that if we make vs gaie With clothes or with precious array, That it is perill of our chastitie: And yet with sorow, thou must enforcen thee, And say these words in the Apostles name: In habite made with chastitie and shame Yee women should appareile you (qd. he) And nat in tressed heere, and gay peere As perle, ne with gold, ne clothes rich. After the text, ne after thy rubriche I nill not worche as much as a Gnat. Thou saiest also, I was like a Cat: * But who so would senge the Cats skin, Than would the Cat dwellen in his Inne: And if the Cats skin be sticke and gay, She nill nat dwell in house halfe a day, But forth she woll or any day be dawed To shew her skin, and gon a catrewawed, Thus thou saiest, if I be gaie, sir shrew, I woll ren out, my borell for to shew. Sir old foole what helpeth thee to spien? Though thou play Argus with his C. eyen To be my wardcors, as he can best, In faith he shall not keepe me but my lest: * Yet couth I make his beard so mote I thee. Thou saiest eke y^t there been things three The which greatly troublen all the earth, And that no wight may endure the ferth: O, lefe sir shrew, Iesu short thy life. Yet preachest thou, & saiest, an hateful wife Rekened is for one of these mischaunces: Been there non other resemblaunces That ye may liken your parables to But if a sely wife be one of tho? Thou likenest eke womans loue to hell, To barren lond, there water may not dwell: Thou likenest it also to wild fire, The more it brenneth, the more it hath desire To consume any thing, that brent would be. Thou saiest, right as wormes shenden a tre, Right so a wife destroieth her husbond, This known they that ben to wiues bond. Lordings, right thus as ye haue vnderstond Bare I stiffely mine old husbond on hond, That thus they saiden in her drunkennesse, And all was false, but as I tooke witnesse Of Ienken, and of my neece also: O Lord the paine I did hem, and the wo, And that full giltles by Gods sweet pine: * For as an horse, I couth both bite & whine, I couth plain, though I were in the gilt, Or els oftentime I had been spilt. * Who so first to Mill commeth, first grint, I plained first, and so was our war istint: They were full glad to excusen hem bliue Of thing, that they a gilt neuer in her life. Of wenches would I beare hem on hond, When y^t for sick, vnneths might they stond, Yet tickled I his heart for that he Wend I had of him so great cheerte: I swore that all my walking out by night, Was for to espie wenches that he dight: Vnder that colour had I much mirth, For all such wit is giuen vs in our birth, * Disceipt, weeping, spinning, God haue giue To women, kindly while that they liue. And thus of a thing I may auaunt mee, At thende I had the best in each degree, By sleight or force, or by some manner thing, As by continuall murmure or grudging. Namely a bed had they muckle mischance, There would I chide, and don no pleasance: I would no lenger in the bed abide (If I felt his arme ouer my side) Till he had made his raunsom vnto me, Then would I suffer him doe his nicete. And therefore, euery man this tale I tell, * Wiue who so may, all been for to sell: * With empty honds men may no hauks lure, For winning would I all his lust indure, And make me then a fained appetite, And yet in Bacon had I neuer delite: That maked me euer y^t I would hem chide. For though the Pope had sitten hem beside, I would not spare hem at her owne bord, For by my truth I quit him word for word, As helpe me very God omnipotent, Tho I right now should make my testament, I ne owe hem a word, but it is quit, I brought it so about by my wit, That they must giue it vp, as for the best, Or els had we neuer been in rest. For though he looked as wood as a Lyon, Yet should he faile of his conclusion. Then would I say (good lefe) take keep, How meekly looketh wilken our sheep: Com neer my spouse, & let me kisse your cheek. Ye should be all patient and meek, And haue a sweet spiced conscience, Sith ye so preach of Iobs patience, Suffreth alway sith ye so well can preach, And but if ye do, we shall you teach, That it is faire to haue a wife in pees, One of vs two mote obeien doubtles: * And sith a man is more reasonable Than a woman is, ye must been sufferable. What aileth you to grutch thus and grone? Is it for ye would haue my queint alone? Why take it all: lo, haue it euery del, Peter I shrew you but ye loue it wel. For if I would sell my belchose, I couth walke as fresh as any rose, But I woll keep it for your owne tooth: Ye be to blame by God, I say you sooth. Such maner words had we often on hond. And now will I speake of my fourth husbond. My fourth husbond was a reuellour, This is to say, he had a Paramour, And I was yong and full of ragarie, Stubburne and strong, and ioly as a Pie, Well coud I daunce, to an Harpe smale, And sing iwis as a Nightingale, When I had drunken a draught of sweet wine. Mettellus, the foul churle and the swine,

That with a staffe bireft his wife her life For she drunk wine: though I had be his wife, Ne should he not haue daunted me fro drinke: And after wine, of Venus must I thinke. * For all so seker, as cold engendreth haile, A licorus mouth must hane a lecherous taile. * In women vinolent is no defence, This know lechours by experience. But lord Christ, when it remembreth me Vpon my youth, and my iolite, It tickleth me about the hart root, Vnto this day it doth my hart boot, That I haue had my world as in my time: But age alas, that all woll enuenime Hath me bireft my beauty and my pith: Let go, farewell, the deuill goe therewith. * The flower is gon, there nis no more to tell, The bran (as I best can) now mote I sell. But yet to be right mery woll I fond, Now forth to tell of my fourth husbond. I say I had in hert great dispite, That he of any other had delite: But he was quit by God and saint Ioce, * I made him of the same wood a troce, Not of my body in no foule manere, But certainly, I made folke such chere, * That in his owne greace I made him frie For anger, and for very jelousie. By God, in earth I was his purgatorie, For which I hope his soule bene in glorie. For God it wote, he sate full oft and song, When that his shooe full bitterly him wrong. There was none, saue God and he, that wist In many wise, how sore that I him twist, He died when I came fro Hierusalem, And lyeth in graue vnder the Rode beem. All nis not his tombe so curious As was the sepulture of Darius, Which that Appelles wrought so subtilly: It is but wast to bury him preciously. Let him farewel, God giue his soul good rest, He is now in his graue and in his chest. Now of my fifth husbond woll I tell, God let neuer his soule come in hell. And yet was he to me the most shrew, That feele I on my ribbes all by rew, And euer shall, vnto mine ending day. But in our bed he was so fresh and gay, And therewithall, he couth so well me glose, When that he would haue my belly chose, That though he had me beat on euery bone, He couth win ayen my loue anone. I trow I loued him the bet, for that he Was of his loue so dangerous to me. We women haue, if that I shall not lie In this mattere a queint fantasie. * Waite to thing we may nat lightly haue, Thereafter woll we all day cry craue. Forbid vs thing, and that desiren we: Prese on vs fast, and then woll we flee. With danger vttren we all our chaffare, * Great prees at market maketh deere ware. And to great cheap is hold at to little prise, This knoweth euery woman that is wise. My fifth husbonde, God his soule blesse, Which I tooke for loue and no richesse, He sometime was a clerke in Oxenford, And had left schole, & went at home to borde With my Gossip dwelling in our town: God haue her soule, her name was Alisoun. She knew my heart and eke my priuite, Bet than our parish priest so mote I thee, To her bewrayed I my counsell all, For had my husbond pist againe the wall, Or done a thing that should haue cost his life, To her, and to another worthy wife, And to my nece, which that I loued well. I would haue told his counsell euery dell, And so I did full often God it wote That made his face full oft red and hote For very shame, and blamed himselfe, for he Had told to me so great a priuite. And so befell that ones in a Lent So oft time I to my Gossip went. For euer yet I loued to goe gaie, And for to walke in March, April, and Maie Fro house to house, to hearken sundry tales, That Ienkin clerk, & my Gossip dame Ales, And I my selfe, into the fields went: My husbond was at London all that Lent, I had the better leasure for to pleie, And for to see, and eke for to be seie Of lustie folke, what wist I where my grace Was shapen for to been, or in what place? Therefore made I my visitations To Villages, and to processions, To preachings eke, and to pilgrimages, To playes of miracles, and to marriages, And weared on my gaie skarlet gites: These worms, these moughts, ne these mites Vpon my parell fret hem neuer a dell, And wost thou why? for they were vsed well. Now woll I tell foorth what happed me: I say, that in the fields walked we, Till truely we had such daliance This clerke and I, that of my purueyance I speake to him, and said how that he, If I were widow, should wedden me. For certainely, I say for no boastance, Yet was I neuer without purueyance Of marriage, ne of other things eke: I hold a Mouses wit not worth a Leke. That hath but one hole to sterten to, And if that faile, then is all idoe. I bare him on hand he had enchanted me: My Dame taught me forsoth that subtiltie, And eke I saied, I met of him all night, He would a slaine me, as I lay vpright, And all my bed was full of very blood, But yet I hope truely he should doe me good: For blood betokeneth gold, as I was taught. And al was fals, I dremed of hem right nauʒt; But as I followed aye my Dames lore, As well of that as of other things more. But now sir let me see, what shall I sain: A ha, by God I haue my tale againe. When that my fourth husband was on here, I wept algate and made heauy chere, As wiues moten, for it is vsage: And with my kerchefe couered my visage. But for that I was purueyed of a make, I wept but small, and that I vndertake.

To church was my husbond born on morow With neighbours y^t for him maiden sorow, And Ienken our clerke was one of tho: As helpe me God, when that I saw him go After the bere, me thought he had a paire Of legs and of feet, so cleane and so faire, That all my heart I yaue vnto his hold, He was I trow twentie Winter old, And I was fortie, if I shall say footh, But yet I had alway a Colts tooth: Gaptothed I was, and that became me wele, I had the print of dame Venus seale. As helpe me God, I was a lustie one, And faire, rich, and yong, and well bigone: And truly, as mine husbond told me I had the best queint that might be. For certes I am all fully Venerian In feeling, and my heart is Marcian: Venus me yaue my lust and my licorousnesse And Mars yaue me my sturdie hardinesse. Mine ascendent was Taure, & Mars therin: Alas, alas, that euer loue was sin. I followed aye mine inclination By vertue of my constellation: That made me I couth neuer withdraw My chamber of Venus from a good fellaw. Yet haue I Martes marke vpon my face, And also in another priuie place. For God so wisely be my saluation, I loued neuer by no discretion, But euer followed mine appetite, All were he short, long, blacke, or white, I tooke no keepe, so that he liked mee, How poore he was, ne eke of what degree. What should I say? but at y^e months end This jolly clerke Ienken, that was so hend, Hath wedded me with great solemnitee, And to him yaue I all the lond and fee, That euer was yeuen me here before: But afterward repented me full sore, He nold suffer nothing of my list. By God he smote me once with his fist, For that I rent out of his booke a lefe That of that stroke my eares wex defe. Stubborne I was, as is a Lionesse, And of my tongue a very iangleresse. And walke I would, as I had doen beforn Fro hous to hous, although he had it sworn: For which full oftentime would he preach, And me of old Romane iests teach. How he Sulpitius Gallus left his wife, And her forsooke for tearme of his life, Not but for open hede he her seie Looking out at his dore on a daie. Another Romane told he me by name, That for his wife was at a Summer game Without his weting, he forsooke her eke. And then would he vpon his Bible seke That ilke prouerbe of Ecclesiast, Where he commaundeth, & forbiddeth fast, A man shall not suffer his wife roile about. Then would he say right thus out of dout: * Who so buildeth his house all of sallowes, And pricketh his blind hors ouer the fallowes And suffereth his wife for to seche hallowes, Is worthy to be honged on the gallowes. But all for nought, I set not an haw Of his prouerbes, ne of his old saw: Ne I would not of him corrected be, I hate him that my vices telleth me, And so doe mo (God it wote) than I. This made him wood with me all vtterly, I nold not forbeare him in no caas. Now woll I say you sooth by S. Thomas, Why that I rent out of his booke a lefe, For which he smote me, that I was defe. He had a booke, that gladly night and day For his disport, he would read alway: He cleped it Valerie, and Theophrast, At which booke he lough alway full fast. And eke there was a clerk somtime at Rome, A Cardinall, that hight saint Ierome, That made a booke ayenst Iouinian, In which booke there was eke Tertullian, Crisippus, Trotula, and Helowis, That was Abbesse not ferre fro Paris: And eke the parables of Salomon, Ouids art, and bookes many one, And all these were bounden in one volume, And euery night and day was his custome (When he had leisure and vacatioun From other worldly occupatioun) To readen in this booke of wicked wiues: He knew of hem mo legends and liues, Than been of good women in the Bible. For trusteth well, it is an impossible, That any clerke would speak good of wiues, But if it been of holy saints liues, Ne of none other woman nere the mo * Who painteth the Lion, tell me who? By God, if women had written stories, As clerkes han, within her oratories, They wold haue writ of men more wickedness Than all the marke of Adam may redresse. The children of Mercurie and Venus Been in her working full contrarious. Mercurie loueth wisdome and science, And Venus loueth riot and dispence. And for her diuers disposition, Ech falleth in others exaltation. And thus God wote, Mercurie is desolate In Pisces, where Venus is exaltate, And Venus falleth where Mercurie is reised, Therefore no woman of no clerke is preised. * The clerke when he is old, & may nought do Of Venus werkes, not worth his old sho, Then sit he downe, and writ in his dotage, That women cannot keepe her marriage. But now to purpose, why I told thee, That I was beaten for a booke parde. Vpon a night Ienken, that was our sire, Red vpon his booke, as he sate by the fire, Of Eue first, that for her wickednesse, Was all mankind brought to wretchednesse: For which y^t Iesu Christ himselfe was slaine, That bought vs with his hart blood againe. Lo here expresse of women may ye find, That woman was the losse of all mankind. Tho rad he me how Sampson lost his heres Sleping, his lemman cut hem with her sheres Through which treason lost he both his eyen, Tho rad he me, if that I shall not lien,

Of Hercules, and of his Deianire, That caused him to set himselfe a fire. Nothing forgot he the care and the wo That Socrates had with his wiues two: How that Xantippe cast pisse on his head, This silly man sat still, as he were dead, He wiped his head no more durst he saine, But er the thunder stint there cometh raine. Of Pasiphae, that was queene of Crete, For shreudnesse him thought y^• tale was swete. Fie, speake no more, it is a grisely thing, Of her horrible lust and her liking. Of Clitemnestra for her letcherie, That falsely made her husbond for to die, He rad it with well good deuotion. He told me eke, for what occasion Amphiaraus at Thebes lost his life: My husbond had a legend of his life. Eriphilem, that for an ouche of gold Hath priuily vnto the Greekes told, Where that her husbond hid him in a place, For which he had at Thebes sorry grace. Of Lima told he me, and of Lucie: They both made her husbonds for to die, That one for loue, that other was for hate: Lima her husbond on an euin late Empoysoned had, for that she was his fo: Lucia Is••erous loued her husbond so, That for he should alway vpon her thinke, She gaue him such a loue manner drinke, That he were dead ere it were morrow: And thus algates husbonds han sorrow. Then told he me, how one Latumeus Complained to his fellow Arius, That in his garden growed such a tree, On which (he said) that his wiues three Honged hemselfe for harts dispitous: O lefe brother (qd. this Arius) Yeue me a plant of this blisful tree, And in my garden planted shall it bee. Of latter date of wiues hath he red, That some han slain her husbands in bed, And let her letchour dight hem all the night, Whiles that the corse lay in floore vpright. And some had driuen nailes in her brain, Whiles they sleep, & thus they haue hem slain. Some haue yeue hem poyson in her drink: He spake more harm than any hart may think, And therwithall he knew mo prouerbes, Than in this world there groweth grasse or herbes. * Bet is (qd. he) thine habitation Be with a Lion, or a foule Dragon, Than with a woman vsing for to chide. * Bet is (qd. he) high in the roofe to abide, Than with an angry wife doun in an hous, They ben so wicked and so contrarious: They haten, that their husbonds louen aie. * He saied, a woman cast her shame awaie, When she cast off her smock: and farther mo, A faire woman, but she be chast also, Is like a gold ring on a Sowes nose. Who coud wen••, or who coud suppose The wo that in miue hart was and pine. And when I saw he would neuer fine To reden on this cursed booke all night, All suddainly three leaues haue I plight Out of his booke, right as he radde, and eke I with my fist so tooke him on the cheke, That in the fire he fell backward adoun: And vp he stert, as doth a wood Lioun, And with his fist he smote me on mine head, That in the floore I lay as I were dead. And when he seie how still that I lay, He was agast, and would haue fled away, Till at the last out of my swoun I braied: Oh, hast thou slaine me false theefe I saied, For my lond thus hast thou murdred mee? Et I be dead, yet woll I once kisse thee, And neere he came, and kneeled faire adoun, And saied: deere suster, sweet Alisoun, As helpe me God I shall thee neuer smite: That I haue doen it is thy selfe to wite, Foryeue it me, and that I thee beseke. And yet eftsoones I hit him on the cheke, And saied: theefe, thus much am I bewreke, Now woll I die, I may no longer speke. But at the last, with mokell care and wo We fell accorded within out selues two: He yafe me all the bridle in mine hond To haue the gouernaunce of hous and lond, And of his tongue, and of his hond also, And I made hem bren his booke anon tho. And when I had gotten vnto me By maistrie, all the soueraignte, And that he saied: mine owne true wife, Do as thou list, the tear me of all thy life, Keepe thine honour, and eke mine estate, After that day we had neuer debate. God helpe me so, I was to him as kinde, As any wife fro Denmarke vnto Inde, And also true, and so was he to me. I pray to God that sit in Majestie So blisse his soule, for his mercy deare, Now woll I say my tale if ye woll heare. The Frere lough when he had heard all this: Now dame (qd. he) so haue I joy or blis, This is a long preamble of a tale. And when the Sompner herd the frere gale, Lo (qd. this Sompner) by Gods armes two, A Frere woll entermete him euermo: * Lo good men, a Flie and eke a Frere Woll fall in euery dish and eke matere. What speakest thou of preambulatioun? What amble or trot? either peace or sit adoun: Thou lettest our disport in this mattere. Ye wolt thou so sit Sompner (qd. y^e Frere) Now by my fay I shall, ere that I go, Tell of a Sompner such a tale or two, That all the folke shull laugh in this place. Now do, els Frere I beshrew thy face (Qd. this Sompner) and I beshrew mee, But if I tell tales two or three Of Freres, ere I come to Sitting burne, That I shall make thine hart for to murne: For well I wot thy patience is gone. Our host cried peace, and that anone, And saied: let the woman tell her tale, Ye faren as folke that dronken been of ale: So dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best. All ready sir (qd. she) right as you lest, If I haue licence of this worthy Frere. Yes dame, tell forth your tale, I woll it here.

A Batcheler of King Arthurs Court is enjoined by the Queen to tell what thing it is that Wo∣men most desire. At length he is taught it by an old Woman, who for that cause is enfor∣ced to marry her.

¶The wife of Bathes Tale.

IN the old dayes of King Artour, (Of which the Bretons speaken great honour) All was this lond fulfilled of Fairie, The Elfe queene, with hir iolly companie Daunced full oft in many a greene mead: This was the old opinion as I read. I speake of many an hundred yeare ago, But now can no man see none elfes mo, For now the great charity and prayeres Of limitours and other holy Freres, That fearchen euery land and euery streame, As thicke as motes in the Sunne beame, Blissing hals, chambers, kitchens, & boures, Cities, boroughes, castles, and hie toures, Thropes, Bernes, Shepens, and Dairies, This maketh that there been no Fairies: * For there as wont to walke was an Elfe, There walketh now the limitour himselfe In vndermeles, and in mornings, And saieth his Mattins and his holy things As he goeth in his limitatioun: Women may go safely vp and doun An euery bush, and vnder euery tree, There nis none other incubus but hee, And he ne will doen hem no dishonour. And so fell it, that this king Artour Had in his house a lustie batcheler, That on a day came riding fro the riuer: And happed, that alone as he was borne, He saw a maid walking him beforne, Of which maid anon, maugre her head, (By very force) he beraft her maidenhead: For which oppression was such clamour, And such pursute vnto king Artour, That damned was this knight to be dead By course of law, & should haue lost his head. Perauenture such was the statute tho: But that the Queene and other ladies mo Sa long praiden the king of his grace, Till he his life graunted in that place, And yaue him to the queene, all at her will To chese where y^t she would him saue or spill. The queen thanketh y^e king with al hir might And after this, thus spake she to the knight, When she sey her time on a certaine day. Thou standeth yet (qd. she) in such array, That of thy life yet hast thou no surete: A graunt thee thy life, if thou canst tell me What thing is it that women most desiren: Beware, and keepe thy necke bone from yren. And if thou canst not tell it me anon, Yet woll I yeue thee leaue for to gon A tweluemonth and a day, to seeke and lere An answere sufficient in this matere. And suertie woll I haue, ere that thou passe, Thy body for to yelde in this place. Wo was the knight, and sorrowfully liketh: But what? he may not done all as him liketh. And at last he chese him for to wend, And come ayen right at the yeares end With such answer, as God wold him puruay: And taketh his leue, & wendeth forth his way. He seeketh euery house and euery place, Where as he hopeth for to find grace, To learne what thing women louen most: But he ne couth arriuen in no coost, Where as he might find in this matere Two creatures according yfere. Some said, women loued best richesse, Some said honour, some said jollinesse, Some said rich array, some said lust a bed, And oft time to been widdow and wed. Some said, that our heart is most yeased When that we been flatered and ypraised. He goeth full me the sooth, I woll not lie, * A man shall win vs best with flatterie, And with attendaunce, and with businesse Ben wee ylimed both more and lesse. And some men sain, how that we louen best For to been free, and do right as vs lest: And that no man repreue vs of our vice, But say that we be wise, and nothing nice. For truly there nis none of vs all, If any wight woll claw vs on the gall, That we nill like, for that he saith vs footh: Assay, and he shall find it, that so dooth. * For be we neuer so vicious within, We woll be holden wise and cleane of sin. And some men sain, that great delite haue we For to been hold stable and eke secre, And in o purpose stedfastly to dwell, And not bewray thing that men vs tell. But that tale is not worth a rake stele, * Parde we women can nothing hele, Witnesse of Midas, woll ye here the tale? Ouid, among other things smale Said, Midas had vnder his long haires Growing on his head two asses eares: The which vice he hid, as he best might, Full subtilly from euery mans sight: That saue his wife, there wist of it no mo, He loued her most, and trusted her also, He praied her, that to no creature She nold tellen of his disfigure. She swore him, not for all the world to win, She nold do that villany, ne that sin, To maken her husbond haue so foule a name: She nold not tell it for her owne shame. But natheles, her thought that she dide, That she so long should a counsaile hide, Her thought it swoll so sore about her hert, That needely some word she must astert: And sith she durst tellen it to no man, Doun to a marris fast by she ran, Till she came there, her hert was on a fire: And as a bittour bumbeth in the mite, She laid her mouth vnto the water adoun. Bewray me not thou water with thy soun

Qd. she, to thee I tell it, and to no mo, Mine husbond hath long Asses eares two. Now is mine heart all hole, now it is out, I might no lenger keepe it out of dout. * Here mow ye see, though we a time abide, Yet out it mote, we can no counsaile hide. The remnaunt of the tale, if ye will here, Readeth Ouid, and there ye may it lere. This knight, of which my tale is specially, When that he saw he might not come therby, This is to say, what women louen most: Within his heart sorrowfull was his ghost. But home he goth, he might not soiourne, The day was come, he must home returne. And in his way, it happed him to ride In all his care, vnder a forrest side, Whereas he saw vpon a daunce go Of ladies foure and twenty, and yet mo: Toward the daunce he drow him full yerne, In hope that some wisdome should he lerne. But certainly, ere that he came fully there, Vanished was the daunce, he nist not where, No creature saw he that bare life, Saue in the greene sitting an old wife: A fouler wight there may no man deuise. Againe the knight the old wife gan arise, And said: sir knight, here forth lieth no way, Tell me what ye seeken by your fay, Peraduenture it may the better be: * These old folke con much thing (qd. she.) My lefe mother (qd. this knight) certaine, I nam but dead, but if that I can saine, What thing it is that women most desire: Coud ye me wisse, I wold quite wel your hire. Plight me thy troth here in my hand (qd. she) The next thing that I require of thee Thou shalt it do, if it be in thy might, And I woll tell it you or it be night. Haue here my troth (qd. y^e knight) I graunt. Then (qd. she) I may me well auaunt, Thy life is safe, for I woll stond therby, Vpon my life the queene will say as I: Let see, which is the proudest of hem all That weareth on a kerchefe or a call, That dare say nay, of that I shall you teach, Let vs go forth without lenger speche. Tho rowned she a pistell in his eare, And had him to be glad, and haue no feare. When they ben comen to y^e court, the knight Said, he had hold his day, as he had hight, And ready was his answere, as he said: Full many a noble wife, and many a maid And many a widdow, for that they be wise, (The queen her selfe sitting as a iustice) Assembled ben, his answere for to heare, And afterward this knight was bode apeare. To euery wight commanded was silence, And that the knight should tell in audience, What thing that worldly women loued best: This knight ne stood not still as doth a beast, But to his question anon answerd With manly voice, that all the court it herd. My liege lady: generally (qd. he) Women desiren to haue soueraignte As well ouer her husbonds as her loue, And for to ben in maistrie hem above. This is your most desire, though ye me kill, Doth as you list, I am here at your will. In all the court nas there wife ne maid Ne widdow, that contraried that he said, But said, he was worthy han his life. And with that word, vp stert the old wife, Which y^t the knight found sitting on y^e green: Mercy (qd. she) my soueraigne lady queen, Ere that your court depart do me right: I taught this answere vnto this knight, For which he plight me his trouth there, The first thing I would of him requere, He would it do, if it lay in his might: Before the court then pray I thee sir knight, (Qd. she) that thou me take vnto thy wife, For well thou wost, that I haue kept thy life: If I say false, say nay vpon thy fay. This knight answerd, alas and welaway: I wot right well that such was my behest, For Gods loue chese a new request: Take all my good, and let my body go. Nay (qd. she) then I shrew vs both two. For though that I be foule, old, and pore, I nold for all the mettall ne the ore, That vnder yerth is graue, or lithe aboue, But if I thy wife were and thy loue. My loue (qd. he) nay my damnation: Alas that any of my nation Should euer so foule disparaged be. But all for nought, the end is this, that he Constrained was, that needs must he her wed, And taketh this old wife, and goth to bed. Now woulden some men say perauenture That for my negligence, I do no cure To tellen you the ioy and the array, That at the feast was that ilke day. To the which thing answer shortly I shall: I say there nas no ioy ne feast at all, There nas but heavinesse and much sorrow: For priuily he wedded her on a morrow, And all day after hid him as an oule. So wo was him, his wife looked so foule. Gret was y^e sorow y^t kniʒt had in his thought When he was with his wife a bed ybrought, He walloweth, and turneth to and fro. His old wife lay smiling euermo, And said: O deare husbond, O benedicite, Fareth euery knight thus as do ye? Is this the law of king Artours hous? Is euery knight of his loue so daungerous? I am your owne loue, and eke your wife, I am she, which that saued hath your life, And certes yet did I neuer you vnright. Why fare ye thus with me the first night? Ye faren like a man that had lost his wit. Fie, what is my gilt? for Gods loue tell me it, And it shall be amended if I may. Amended (qd. this knight) alas nay nay: That woll not been amended neuer mo, Thou art so loathly, and so old also, And thereto comen of so low a kind, That little wonder is thogh Iwallow & wind, So would God (qd. he) mine hert would brest, Is this (qd. she) the cause of your vnrest? Ye certainely (qd. he) no wonder nis. Now sir (qd. she) I couth amend all this,

If that me list, ere it were dayes three, So well ye might beare you vnto me. But for ye speake of such gentlenesse, As is discended out of old richesse, That therefore shullen ye be gentlemen: Such errogaunce is not worth an hen. * Lo who that is most vertuous alway, Preuy and apert, and most intendeth aye To do the gentle deeds that he can, Take him for the greatest gentleman. Christ wold we claimed of him our gentlenesse, Not of our elders, for our old richesse. * For though they yeue vs all her heritage, For which we claimen to ben of high parage, Yet may they not bequeath, for nothing, To none of vs, her vertuous living, That made hem gentlemen ycalled be, And bad vs followen hem in such degre. Full well can the wise poet of Florence, That hight Dantes, speake in this sentence: Lo in such manner rime is Dantes tale. * Full selde vp riseth by his braunches smale Prowesse of man, for God of his goodnesse Woll that we claime of him our gentlenesse: For of our elders may we nothing claime But temporal thing, y^t men may hurt & maime. Eke euery wight wot this as well as I, If gentlenesse were planted naturally Vnto a certaine linage doun the line, Preuy and apert, then wold they neuer fine To done of gentlenesse the faire office, They might done no villany ne vice. Take fire and beare it into the derkest hous Betwixt this and the mount Caucasus, And let men shut the dores, and go thenne, Yet woll the fire as faire lie and brenne As twenty thousand men might it behold: His office naturall aye woll it hold Vpon perill of my life, till that it die. * Here may ye see well, how that gentrie Is not annexed to possession, Sithen folke do not her operation Alway as doth the fire, lo in his kind: For God it wot, men may full often find A lords sonne done shame and villany. * And he that woll haue prise of his gentry, For he was borne of a gentle hous, And had his elders noble and vertuous, And nill himselfe don no gentle deedes, He follow his gentle auncetre, that dead is, He nis not gentle, be he duke or erle. * Fie villaines, sinful deeds maketh a cherle. For gentlenesse nis but the renomie Of thine auncetres, for her high bountie, Which is a strong thing to thy persone: Thy gentlenesse commeth fro God alone. * Then cometh out very gentlenesse of grace, It was nothing bequeath vs with our place. Thinketh how noble, as saith Valerius, Was thilke Tullius Hostilius, That out of pouerty rose to high noblesse: Readeth Seneck, and readeth eke Boece, There shall ye seene expresse, no dread is, * That he is gentle that doth gentle deedis. And therfore deare husbond, I thus conclude, All were it that mine auncetors were rude, Yet may that high God, and so hope I, Graunt me grace to liue vertuously: * Then am I gentle, when I begin To liue vertuously, and leauen sin. And there as ye of pouertie me repreue, The high God, on whom that we beleue, In wilfull pouerte chese to lead his life: And certes, euery man, maid, and wife May vnderstond, Iesu heauen king Ne would not chese a vicious liuing. * Glad pouert is an honest thing certaine, This woll Seneck and other clerkes saine. * Who so wold hold him paid of his pouert, I hold him rich, all had he not a shert. * He that coueteth is a full poore wight, For he would han that is not in his might. * But who y^t nought hath, ne coueteth to haue, Is rich, although ye hold him but a knaue. Very pouert is sinne properly. Iuuenall saith of pouert merrily: * The poore man when he goeth by the way Beforne theeues, he may sing and play. * Pouert is hatefull good: and as I gesse, A full great bringer out of businesse: A great amender eke of sapience, To him that taketh it in patience. Pouert is, although it seeme elenge, Possession that no wight woll challenge. * Pouerte full often, when a man is low, Maketh him God and eke himselfe to know. * Pouert a spectacle is, as thinketh me, Through which one may his very friends see. And therfore, since that I you not greue, Of my pouert no more me repreue. Now sir, eke of elde ye repreued me: And certes sir, though none authorite Were in no booke, ye gentles of honour Sain, that men should an old wight honour, And cleape hem father for her gentlenesse, And authors shall I find, as I gesse. Now there as ye sain y^t I am foule and old, Then drede you not to been a cokewold. * For filth, elthe, and foule, all so mote I thee, Ben great wardeins vpon chastite. But natheles, since I know your delite, I shall fulfill your worldly appetite. These now (qd. she) one of these things twey, To haue me foule and old till that I dey, And be to you a true humble wife, And neuer you displease in all my life: Or els woll you haue me yong and faire, And take your auenture of the repaire That shall come to your house because of me, Or in some other place may well be? Now chese your selue whether y^t you liketh. This knight auiseth him, and sore liketh, But at the last he said in this manere: My lady and my loue, and wife so dere, I put me in your wise gouernaunce, Cheseth your selfe which may be more plea∣saunce And most honour to you and me also, I do no force whether of the two: For as you liketh, it sufficeth me. Then haue I got of you the maistry (qd. she) Since I may chese and gouerne as my lest: Ye certes wife (qd. he) I hold it for the best.

Kisse me (qd. she) we be no lenger wroth: For by my truth, I woll be to you both, This is to say, to be both faire and good. I pray to God that I mote sterue wood, But I to you be also good and trew, As euer was wife, sithen the world was new: And but I be to morrow as faire to seene, As any Lady, Empresse, or Queene, That is between East and eke the West, Doth with my life right as you lest. Cast vp the courtein, and looke how it is. And when this knight saw verily all this, That she so faire was, and so young thereto, For ioy he hent her in his armes two: His hart bathed in the bath of blisse, A thousand times a row he gan her kisse: And she obeyed him in euery thing, That mought done him pleasure or liking. And thus they liued vnto her liues end In perfit joy, and Iesu Christ vs send Husbonds meeke and yong, and fresh abed, And grace to ouerliue hem that we wed. And I pray to God to short her liues, That will not be gouerned by her wives. And old and angry niggards of dispence, God send hem soone a very pestilence.

¶The Friers Prologue.

THis worthy limitour, this noble Frere He made alway a maner louring chere Vpon the Sompner, but for honeste No villaines word as yet to him spake he: But at the last he said to the wife, Dame, God yeue you right good life, Ye haue touched here, all so mote I the, In schole matter, a full great difficulte, Ye haue said much thing right well I say: But dame, here as we riden by the way Vs needeth not to speaken but of game, And let authorities a Gods name To preaching, and to schoole of clargie. But if it like vnto this companie, I woll you of a Sompner tell a game, Parde ye may well know by the name, That of a Sompner may no good be said. I pray that none of you be euill apaid: A Sompner is a renner vp and doun With maundements for fornicatioun, And is ybeat at euery tounes end. Tho spake our host & said: sir ye should ben hend And curteis, as a man of your estate, In this company we woll no debate: Telleth your tale, and let the Sompner be. Nay (qd. the Sompner) let him say to me What so him list: when it cometh to my lote, By God I shall him quite euery grote, I shall him tell which a great honour It is to be a flattering limitour, And eke of many another manner crime, Which needeth not to rehearse at this time, And of his office I shall him tell ywis. Our host answerd: peace, no more of this, And afterward he said vnto the Frere, Tell forth your tale mine owne maister dere.

¶The Freres Tale.

THE Sompner and the Devil meeting on the way, after conference, become sworn brethren, and to Hell they go together. A covert invective against the Bribery of the Spiritual Courts in those dayes.

WHylome there was dwelling in my countre An Archdeacon, a man of high degre, That boldly did execution In punishing of fornication, Of witchcraft, and eke of baudrie, Of defamation, and aduoutrie, Of church reues, and of testaments, Of contracts, and lacke of sacraments, Of vsurie, and of simonie also: But certes letcherours did he much wo, They shoulden sing, if they weren hent, And small tythers they were foule yshent, If any person would vpon hem plaine, There might assert hem no pecunial paine For small tithes, and small offering, He made the people pitously to sing: For ere the bishop caught hem with his hooke They were in the Archdeacons booke, And then had he (through his jurdiction) Power to done on hem correction. He had a Sompner ready to his hond, A s••ier boy was there none in Englond: For subtilly he had his espiaile, That taught him where he might auaile. He couth spare of letchours one or two, To teachen him to foure and twenty mo: For thogh this sompner wood were as an hare, To tell his harlottry I woll not spare, For we ben out of his correction, They have of vs no juridiction, Ne neuer shullen, tearme of all her liues. Peter so ben women of the stewes, (Qd. this Sompner) yput out of our cure. Peace with mischance & with misauenture Said our host, and let him tell his tale, Now telleth forth and let the Sompner gale, Ne spareth not mine owne maister dere. This false theef, this sompner (qd. the frere) Had alway bauds ready to his hond, As any hauke to lure in Englond, That telleth him all the secre they knew, For her acquaintance was not come anew, They weren his approvers priuely, He tooke himselfe a great profit thereby, His maister knew not alway what he wan: Without maundement, a leaud man He coud summon, on paine of Christs curse, And they were glad to fillen his purse, And maden him great feasts at the nale. * And right as Iudas had purses smale

And was a theefe, right such a theefe was he. His maister had but halfe his dutie, He was (if I shall yeue him his laud) A theefe, a sompner, and eke a baud. He had eke wenches of his retinue, That whether sir Robert or sir Hue, Or Iohn, or Rafe, or who so that it were That lay by hem, they told it in his eare. Thus were the wenches and he of one assent, And he would fetch a fained maundement, And summon hem to the chapiter both two, And pill the man, and let the wench go: Then would he say, friend I shall for thy sake Do striken thee out of our letters blake, Thou dare no more as in this case trauaile: I am thy friend there I may thee auaile. Certaine he knew of bribries mo, Than possible is to tell in yeares two: For in this world nis dog for the how, That can an hurt deere from an whole know, Bet than the Sompner knew a slie letchour, Or auouter, or els any paramour: For that was the fruit of all his rent, Therefore on it he set all his intent. And so befell, that once on a day This Sompner waiting euer on his pray, Rode to summon an old widdow a ribibe, Faining a cause, for he would haue a bribe, And happed that he saw beforne him ride A gay yeoman vnder a forrest side: A bow he bare, and arrows bright and shene, He had vpon him a courtpie of greene, An hat vpon his head with strings blacke. Sir (qd. this Sompner) haile & well itake. Welcome (qd. he) and euery good fellaw, Whider ridest thou vnder y^e green wood shaw Said this yeoman, wolt thou ferre to day? This Sompner him answerd, & said: nay, Here fast by (qd. he) is mine intent To riden for to reysen vp a rent That longeth vnto my lords dutie. Art thou then a baylie? Yea qd. he. He durst not then for very filth and shame Say that he was a Sompner for the name. Depardieur, qd. this yeoman lefe brother, Thou art a bayly, and I am another, I am vnknowne, as in this countre, Of thine acquaintance I woll pray thee, And eke of brotherhead, if that thou lift, I haue gold and siluer in my chist: If that ye hap to come in our shire, All shall be thine, right as thou wolt desire. Grant mercy (qd. this sompner) by my faith. Euerich in other his truth laith, For to be sworne brethren till they dey, And with y^t word they riden forth her wey, This sompner with y^t was as ful of iangles, As full of venome, as ben these wariangles, And euer requiring vpon euery thing. Brother qd. he, where is your dwelling, Another day if that I should you seech? This yeoman him answerd in soft speech: Brother qd. he, ferre in the North countre, Whereas I hope sometime I shall thee see, Or we depart I shall thee so well wisse, That of mine house thou shalt neuer misse. Now brother qd. the sompner, I you pray Teach me, while we riden by the way, (Sith that ye ben a bayly as am I) Some subteltie, tell me faithfully In mine office how I may most win, And spare not for conscience ne for sin, But as my brother, tell me how done ye, Now by my trouth brother deare said he, As I shall tellen thee a faithfull tale, My wages been full strait and full smale, My lord is hard to me and daungerous, And mine office full laborious: And therefore by extortion I leue Forsooth by all that men woll me yeue, Algate by sleight or by violence: From yeare to yeare I win all my dispence, I can no better tellen faithfully. Now certes (qd. the Sompner) so fare I, I spare not to taken God it wote: * But if it be too heauy or too hote, That I may getten in counsaile priuily, No manner conscience of that haue I, Nere mine extortion, I might not liuen, Of such yapes woll I not be shriuen: Stomacke ne conscience know I none, I shrew all these shrift fathers euerychone, Well be we met by God and sweet S. Iame, But leue brother, tell me thy name Qd. this Sompner: in this meane while This yeoman gan a little for to smile. Brother qd. he, wolt thou y^t I thee tell? I am a fiend, my dwelling is in hell, And here I ride about my purchasing, To wete where I may get any thing: My purchasing is theffect of all my rent, Looke how thou ridest for the same intent To win good, thou reckest neuer how, Right so fare I, for ride woll I now Vnto the worlds end for to pray. Ah (qd. this sompner) what do ye say, I wend ye were a yeoman truly, Ye haue a mans shape as well as I, Haue ye a figure then determinate In hell, there ye ben in your estate? Nay certainly (qd. he) there haue we none, But when vs liketh we can take vs one, Or els make to you seeme: we ben shape Sometime like a man, or like an ape, Or like an Angell can I ride or go: It is no wonder thing though it be so, A lousie iugler can deceiue thee, And parde can I more craft than hee. Why qd. y^e Sompner, ride ye then or gone In sundry shape, and not alway in one? For we (qd. he) woll vs such forme make, As most able is our preyes for to take. What maketh you to haue al his labour? Full many a cause lefe sir Sompnour Said this fiend, But all thing hath time, The day is short, and it is passed prime, And yet ne got I nothing in this day, I woll entend to winning, if I may, And not entend our wits to declare: For brother mine, thy wits ben all too bare To vnderstand all, though I would tell thee, But for thou askest why labouren we:

For sometime be we Gods instruments And meanes to done his commaundments What that him lust, on his creatures, In diuers art and in diuers figures: Withouten him we haue no might certaine, If that him list to stonden there againe, And sometime at our praier haue we leue, Only the body, and not the soule to greue: Witnesse of Iob, whom we deden wo. And sometime haue we might of both two, This is to saine, of body and soule eke, And sometime we ben suffered for to seeke Vpon a man, and done his soule vnrest, And not his body, and all is for the best When he withstandeth our temptation, It is a cause of his saluation, Albeit that it was not our intent He should be safe, but that we wold him hent, And sometime be we seruaunts vnto man, As to the archbishop saint Dunstan And to the Apostle eke seruaunt was I. Yet tell me (qd. this Sompner) faithfully, Make ye you new bodies thus alway Of elements? the fiend answered nay: Sometime we faine, and sometime we arise With dead bodies, and that in sundry wise, And speake as renably, faire, and well, As the Phitonesse did to Samuell: And yet would some men say it was not he. I do not force of your diuinite, But a thing I warne thee, I woll not yape, Thou wolt algates wete how we be shape: Thou shalt hereafterward (my brother dere) Come, where thee needeth not of me to lere, For thou shalt by thine owne experience Conne in the chare the rede of this sentence Bet than Virgill, while he was on liue, Or Daunt also. Now let vs ride bliue, For I woll hold company with thee, Till it be so that thou forsake mee. Nay (qd. this Sompner) y^t shall not betide, I am a yeoman knowen full wide: My trouth wol I hold to thee, as in this caas For though thou were the deuill Sathanas, My trouth woll I hold to my brother As I am sworne, and ech of vs to other, For to be true brother in this caas, And brother, we gone to our purchaas. Take thou thy part, that men woll y^e yeue, And I shal mine, and thus shall we both leue. And if that any of vs haue more than other, Let him be true, and part it with his brother. I graunt (qd. the deuill) by my fay, And with that word they riden forth her way, And right at them ring of the tounes end (To which y^e sompner shope him for to wend) They saw a cart that charged was with hay, Which that a carter droue forth on his way, Deepe was the way, for which the cart stood: This carter smote, & striued as he were wood, Heit scot, heit brok, w^t spare ye for y^e stones, The fiend (qd. he) you fetch body & bones, As ferforth as euer ye were yfoled, So much wo as I haue for you tholed, The deuill haue all, both hors, cart, and hay. Qd. this Sompner here shal we haue a pray And nere y^• fiend he drew, as nought ne were Full priuily, and rouned in his eare: Hearken brother, hearken by thy faith Hearest not thou what the carter saith? Hent it anon, for he hath yeue it thee, Both hay and cart, and eke his caples three, Nay (qd. the deuill) God wot neuer a dele, It is not his intent trust me wele, Aske him thy selfe, if thou trowest not mee, Or els stint a while and thou shalt see. This carter thacked his hors on the croupe, And they begun to draw and to stoupe. Heit now (qd. he) y^t Iesus Christ you blesse, And all his hondy werke, both more and lesse: That was well it wight mine own liard boy, I pray God saue thee and saint Loy, Now is my cart out of the slow parde. Lo brother (qd. the fiend) what told I thee, Here may ye seene mine owne deare brother * The carle spake o thing but he thought ano∣ther Let vs goe forth about our voyage, Here win we nothing vpon cariage. When they comen somwhat out of the toun, This Sompner to his brother gan to roune: Brother, qd. he, here wonneth an old rebecke, That had almost as lefe to lese her necke, As for to yeue a penny of her good, I woll haue xii. d. tho that she were wood, Or I woll sompne her to our office, And yet God wot of her I know no vice: But for thou canst not, as in this countre Win thy cost, take here ensample of me. This Sompner clappeth at y^e widdows gate, Come out he saied thou old veritrate: I trow thou hast some frere or priest withthee. Who clappeth there said this wife, benedicite, God saue you sir, what is your sweet will? I haue (qd. he) in summons of thee a bill, Vp paine of cursing, looke that thou bee To morrow before our Archdeacons knee, To answere to the court, of certaine things. Now lord (qd. she) Iesu king of kings So wisely helpe me, as I ne may, I haue ben sicke, and that full many a day. I may not goe so ferre (qd. she) ne ride, But I be dead, so pricketh it my side, May I not aske a libell sir Sompnour, And answere there by my proctour To such thing as men would apposen me. Yea qd. this Sompner, pay anon let see Twelue pence to me, and I will thee acquite, I shall no profit haue hereof but lite. My maister hath the profit and not I, Come of, and let me ridden hastily: Giue me xii. pence, I may no lenger tary. Twelue pence qd. she, lady saint Mary, So wisely helpe me out of care and sin, This wide world though I should it win, Ne haue I not xii. d. within my ho••d: Ye know well that I am poore and old, Kith your almesse on me poore wretch, Nay then qd. he, the foule fiend me fetch, If I thee excuse, thogh thou shouldest be spilt. Alas qd. she, God wot I haue no guilt, Pay me qd. he, or by sweet saint Anne I woll streight beare away the new panne

For debt, which thou owest me of old, When thou madest thy husbond cokold, I paied at home for thy correction. Thou liest (qd. she) by my saluation, Ne was I neuer ere now, widdow ne wife, Sompned vnto your court in all my life: Ne neuer I nas but of body trew, Vnto the deuill blacke and rough of hew Yeue I thy body and my panne also. And when the deuill heard her curse so Vpon her knees, he said in this manere: Now Mably, mine owne mother dere Is this your will in earnest that ye sey? The deuill (qd. she) fet him ere he dey, And panne and all, but he woll him repent. Nay old stotte, that is not mine intent, Qd. this Sompner, for to repent mee For any thing that I haue had of thee, I would I had thy smocke and euery cloth. Now brother (qd. the deuill) be not wroth: Thy body and thy pan is mine by right, Thou shalt with me to hell yet to night, Where thou shalt knowen of our priuitie More than a maister of diuinitie. And with that word y^e foule fiend him hent Body and soule, he with the deuill went, Where y^t Sompners haue their heritage, And God that made after his image Mankind, saue and guide vs all and some, And leaue y^e Sompner good man to become. Lordings I coud haue told you (qd. this frere) Had I had leisure, of this Sompner here, After the text of Christ, Poule, and Ihon And of other doctours many one, Such paines, as your hearts might agrise, Albeit so, that no tongue may deuise, Though that I might a thousand winter tell The paines of that cursed hous of hell, But for to keepe vs from that cursed place, Wake we, and pray Iesu of his grace, So keepe he us from the temper Sathanas Hearkneth this word, beware as in this caas * The Lion sitteth in await alway To slea the innocent, if that he may. Disposeth aye your hearts to withstond The fiend, that you would make thral & bond. * He may not tempt you ouer your might, For Christ woll be your champion & knight, And prayeth, that the Sompner him repent Of his misdeed ere that the fiend him hent.

¶The Sompners Prologue.

THis Sompner in his stirrops high stood, Vpon this Frere his hert was so wood, That like an Aspen leafe he quoke for ire: Lordings (qd. he) but one thing I desire, I you beseech, that of your courtesie, Sithens ye han heard this false Frere lie, As suffereth me I may my tale tell. This Frere boasteth that he knoweth hell, And God wot that is little wonder, Freres and fiends ben but little asunder. For parde, ye han oft time heard tell, How that a Frere rauished was to hell In spirit once by a visioun, And as an Angell led him vp and doun, To shewen him the paines that there were: In all the place saw he not a Frere, Of other folke he saw ynow in wo. Vnto the Angell spake the Frere tho: Now sir (qd. he) han Freres such a grace, That none of hem shall come in this place? Yes (qd. this Angell) many a millioun: And vnto Sathanas lad he him adoun. And now hath Sathanas such a taile Broader than of a Caricke is the saile: Hold vp thy taile thou Sathanas (qd. he) Shew forth thine erse, and let the Frere see Whereas is the neast of Freres in this place. And ere that halfe a furlong way of space (Right as Bees swarmen out of an Hiue) Out of the Deuils erse they gan driue Twenty thousand Freres all on a rout, And throughout hell swarmed all about, And come ayen, as fast as they might gone, And into his erse they crepten euerichone: He clapt his taile ayen, and lay still. This Frere, when he looked had his fill Vpon the turments of this sorry place, His spirit God restored of his grace Vnto his body ayen, and he awoke, But nathelesse, yet for feare he quoke, So was the deuills erse aye in his mind: That is his heritage of very kind. God saue you all, saue this cursed Frere, My Prologue woll I end in this mannere.

¶The Sompners Tale.

A Begging Fryar coming to a Farmers house, who lay sick, obtaineth of him a certain Legacy, which must be equally divided among his Covent. A requital to the Friar, shewing their cozenage, loytering, impudent begging, and hypocritical praying.

LOrdings, there is in Yorkshire as I ghesse, A marish Countrey called Holder∣nesse, In which there went a limitour about To preach, and eke to beg it is no doubt: And so befell that on a day this Frere Had preached in a church in his manere, And specially abouen euery thing Excited he the people in his preaching, To trentals, and to yeuen for Gods sake, Wherewith men mighten holy houses make, There as diuine seruice is honoured, Not there as it is wasted and deuoured, Ne there it needeth not to be yeuen, As to possessioners that mowen els leuen, Thonked be God, in wele and aboundance Trentals deliuereth (qd. he) fro pennance Her friends soules, as well old as yong If that they be hastily ysong,

Not for to hold a Priest jolly and gay, (He singeth not but one Messe a day) Deliuereth out (qd. he) anon the soules. Full hard it is, with fleshhooke or with oules To be yclawed, or to bren or bake: Now speedeth you hastily for Christs sake. And when this Frere had said all his intent, With qui cum patre, forth his way he went, When folk in church had yeue him what hem lest He went his way, no lenger would he rest, With scrip and tipped staffe, ytucked hie: In euery hous he gan to pore and prie, And begged meale and cheese, or els corne: His fellow had a staffe tipped with horne, A paire of tables all of Iuory, A pointell ypolished fetously, And wrote alway the names as he stood Of all folke that yaue hem any good, Askaunce that he woulden for hem prey. Yeue vs a bushell Wheat, Malt, or Rey, A Gods kichell, or a trippe of Chese, Or els what ye list, I may not chese: A Gods halfepenny, or a Masse peny, Or yeue vs of your Brawne, if ye haue any, A dagon of your blanket, leue dame, Our suster deare, lo here I write your name, Bacon or Beefe, or such thing as ye find. A sturdy harlot went him aye behind, That was her hostes man, and bare a sacke, And that men yaue hem, laied it on his backe. And when he was out at the dore, anone He plained away the names euerichone, That he before had written in his tables: He serued hem with nifles and with fables. Nay there thou liest Sompner (qd. y^t Frere) Peace (qd. our host) for Christs mother dere, Tell forth thy tale, and spare it not at all. So thriue I (qd. the Sompner) so I shall. So long he went fro hous to hous, till he Came to an hous, there as he was wont to be Refreshed more than in a hundred placis: Sicke lay the good man, whose the place is, Bedred vpon a couch low he lay: Deus hic (qd. he) O Thomas friend good day, Saied this Frere all courteously and soft, Thomas God yeeld it you: for full oft Haue I vpon this bench faren full weale, Here haue I eaten many a merry meale. And fro the bench he droue away the cat, And laied adoune his potent and his hat, And eke his scrip, and set him soft adoune: His fellow was go walked into the toune Forth with his knaue into that hostelrie, Where as he shope him that like night to lie. O deare maister (qd. this sicke man) How haue ye faren sithen March began, I saw you not this fourtenight and more. God wot (qd. he) laboured haue I full sore, And specially for thy saluation Haue I saied many a precious orison. And for our other friends God hem blesse. I haue this day ben at your church at messe, And said a sermon after my simple wit, Not all after the text of holy writ, For it is hard to you, as I suppose, And therfore I woll teach you all the glose. Glosing is a glorious thing certain For letter slaeth, as we clerkes sain. There haue I hem taught to ben charitable, And spend her good there as it is reasonable. And there I saw our dame, ah where is she? Yonder in the yard I trow she be Saied this man, and she woll come anon. Eye maister, welcome ye be by saint Ihon Saied this wife, how fare ye heartily? This Frere ariseth vp full courteously, And her imbraceth in his armes narrow, And kisseth her sweet, & chirketh as a sparrow With his lips: dame (qd. he) I fare right wele. As he that is your seruaunt euery dele. Thanked be God that you haue soul and life, Yet saw I not this day so faire a wife In all the whole church, so God saue me. Yea God amend all faults sir (qd. she) Algates welcome ye be, by my fay: Graunt mercy dame, y^t haue I found alway. But of your great goodnesse, by your leue I woll pray you that ye not you greue, I woll with Thomas speake a little throw: These curates ben full negligent and slow To gropen tenderly a mans conscience. In shrift, and in preaching is my diligence, And to studie on Peters words and Poules, I walke to fishen Christen mens soules, To yeeld Iesu Christ his proper rent, To spread his words is all mine intent. Now by your leaue deare maister (qd. she) Chideth him well for saint Charite: He is aye angry as a pissemire. Though that he haue all that he can desire, Thogh I him wrie a night, & make him warm, And ouer him lay my leg or mine arm, He groneth as our bore that lieth in the stie: Other disport of him right none haue I, I may not please him in no manner caas. O Thomas, ie vous die, Thomas Thomas: This maketh y^e fiend, this must ben amended. Ire is a thing that God highly defended, And thereof woll I speake a word or two. Now maister (qd. the wife) ere that I go, What woll ye dine? I woll go thereabout. Now dame (qd. he) ie vous die sanz dout Haue I of a Capon but the liuer, And of your white bread but a shiuer, And after that a rosted Pigs head (But I nold not for me no beast were dead) Then had I ynow for my suffisaunce: I am a man of little sustenaunce. My spirit hath his fostring in the Bible, My body is aye so ready and so penible To wake, that my body is destroied. I pray you dame, be ye nought annoied, Though I so friendly you my counsaile shew, By God I now haue told it but a few. Now sir (qd. she) but one word ere you go, My child is dead within these weekes two, Soone after that ye went out of this toun. His death saw I by reuelatioun, Saied this Frere, at home in our Dortour I dare well saine, ere that halfe an hour After his death, I saw him borne to blisse In mine auision, God me so wisse,

So did our Sexten, and our Fermerere, That han been true Freres this fiftie yere: They may now, God be thanked of his loue, Maken her Iubelie, and walken alone. And vp I arose, and all our couent eke, With many a teare trilling on our cheeke: Withouten noise or clattering of bels, Te deum was our song, and nothing els, Saue that to Christ I saied an orison, Thanking him of my reuelation: For sir and dame, trusteth me right well, Our orisons been more effectuell, And more we seene of Christs secret things, Than borell folke, although they were kings. We liue in pouerte, and in abstinence, And borell folke in richesse and dispence, In meat and drinke, and in her foule delite: We han this worldly lust all in despite. Lazar and Diues liueden diuersely, And diuers guerdons had they thereby. * Who so woll pray, he must fast and be cleane, And fat his soule, and make his body leane. We fare as saieth the Apostle, cloth and food Sufficeth vs, though they be not full good: The cleanenesse and the fasting of vs Freres, Maketh that Christ accepteth our prayeres. Lo Moises, fortie daies and fortie night Fasted, ere that the high God of his might Spake with him in the mount of Sinay: With empty wombe, fasting many a day, Receiued he the law, that was written With Gods finger, and Hely well witten: In mount Oreb, ere he had any speech With the high God, that is our soules leech, He fasted long, and was in contemplaunce. Aaron, that had the temple in gouernaunce, And eke the other priests euerichone Into the temple when they should gone To praien for the people, and doen seruice, They nold drinke in no manner wise No drinke, that dronke might hem make, But there in abstinence pray and wake, Least that they deiden: take heed what I say, But they be sober that for the people pray, Ware that I say no more: for it sufficeth. Our Lord Iesu, as holy writ deuiseth, Yaue vs ensample of fasting and prayeres: Therefore we Mendicantes, we silly Freres Ben wedded to pouert and continence, To charity, humblenesse, and abstinence, To persecution for rightwisnesse, To weeping, misericorde, and cleanenesse. And therefore may ye see that our prayeres (I speake of vs mendicants, we Freres) Ben to the high God more acceptable Than yours, with your feast at your table. Fro Paradice first, if I shall not lie, Was man chased out for his gluttonie, And chast was man in Paradice certain. But herken now Thomas what I shall sain, I haue no text thereof, as I suppose, But I find it in manner of a glose, That specially our sweet Lord Iesus Spake this by Freres, when he saied thus. Blessed be they that poore in spirit been: And so forth all the Gospell may ye seen, Whether it be liker our perfection, Or hers that swimmen in possession. Fie on her pompe, and on her gluttonie, And on her leaudnesse, I hem defie. Me thinketh they ben like Iouinian, Fat as a Whale, and walking as a Swan, As vinolent as bottle in the spence, Her prayer is of full little reuerence: When they for souls say the Psalme of Dauid Lo bouffe they sain (Cor meum eructauit.) Who followeth Christs Gospell & his lore But we? that humble be, chast, and poore. Workers of gods word, and not auditours. Therefore right as an hauke at a sours Vp springeth into the aire, so prayeres Of charitable and cahst busie Freres, Maken her sours vp to Gods eares two. Thomas Thomas, so mote I ride or go, And by that lord that cleaped is saint Yue, Ne thou our broder wer, thou shouldst not thriue. For in our Chapiter pray we day & night To Christ, that he thee send health and might Thy body for to welden hastily. God wot (qd. he) nothing therof feele I As help me Christ: for within few years Haue I spended vpon diuers maner Freres Well many a pound, yet fare I neuer the bet, Certain my good haue I almost beset: Farewell my good, for it is almost ago. The frere answerd, o Thomas dost thou so? What needeth thee diuers Freres to sech? What needeth him that hath a perfit lech, To sechen other leches in the town? Your inconstance is your confusion, Hold ye me then, or els our Couent, To prayen for you, insufficient? Thomas, that iape nis not worth a Mite, Your maladie is for we haue to lite. A, yeue that couent halfe a quarter Otes: And yeue that couent four & twenty gortes, And yeue that Frere a penny, and let him go: Nay, nay Thomas, it may nothing be so. What is a farthing worth parted in twelue? Lo, ech thing that is oned in himselue Is more strong than when it is so scattered. Thomas, of me thou shalt not be iflattered, Thou wolst haue all our labour for nought. The hie God, y^t all this world hath wrought * Saith, that y^e workman is worthy his hire Thomas, naught of your treasure I desire As for my self, but that all our couent To pray for you is aie so diligent: And holy for to builden Christ owne chirch. Thomas, if ye woll learne for to wirch, Of building vp of Chirches may ye sinde If it be good, in Thomas life of Inde. Ye liggen here full of anger and ire With which the deuil set your heart on fire. And chiden here this holy innocent Your wife, that is so good and patient. And therfore trow me Thomas if ye lest, Ne chide not with thy wife, as for the best: And beare this word away by thy faith. Touching such thing lo what the wise saith: * Within thy house be thou no Lion: To thy subjects do thou none oppression:

Ne make not thine acquaintance to flee. And yet Thomas, eftsones charge I thee, Beware of her that in thy bosom sleepeth, Ware of the serpent, that so slily creepeth, Vnder the grasse, and stingeth full subtilly: Beware my sonne, and hearken patiently, That twenty thousand men han lost her liues For striuing with her lemmans & her wiues. Now since you haue so holy and meek a wife, What nedeth you Thomas to make strife? * There nis iwis no serpent so cruell (When men treden on his taile) ne halfe so fel, As a woman is, when she hath caught an ire, Vengeance is then all her desire. Ire is a sinne, one of the greatest of seuen, Abhominable unto the high God of heven, And to himself it is destruction, This every lewd Vicar and Parson * Can say, how ire engendreth homecide, Ire is in sooth the executour of pride. I could of ire say so much sorrow, That my tale should last till to morrow. And therfore I pray God both day and night That to an irous man he send little might. * It is great harme, and eke great pitee To see an irous man in high degree. Whiledom ther was an irous potestate, As saith Seneck, that during his estate Vpon a day out riden knights two, And as fortune would it should be so, That one of hem came home, y^t other nought: Anon the knight before the judge is brought, That said thus: thou hast thy fellow slain, For which I deme thee to the death certain. And to another knight commanded he, Go, lead him to the death I charge thee. And hapned as they went by the wey Toward the place ther as he should dey, The knight came, which men wend had be ded Then thought they that it was the best reed. To lede hem both to the Iudge again: They saiden lord, the knight hath not slain His fellow, here he stant hole aliue. Ye shullen be dead (qd. he) so mot I thriue: That is to say, both one, two, and three, And to the first knight, right thus spake he. I damned thee, thou must algate be dead: And thou must also leese needs thyn head, For thou art cause why thy fellow dieth. And to y^e third knight, right thus he sayeth, Thou hast not don y^t I commanded thee. And thus he lete do fle hem all three.

Irous Cambises was eke drunkelew, And aie delighted him to been a shrew, And so befell, a lord of his meine, That loued well vertuous moralite, Said on a day betwixt hem two right thus: A lord is lost, if he be aught vicious, * And dronkennesse eke is a foule record Of any man, and namely of a lord. * There is many an ey and many an ear A waiting on a lord, he not whear. For Gods loue drinketh temperatly: * Wine maketh a man to lese wretchedly His mind, and his limbes euerichone. The reuers shalt thou see (qd. he) anon, And preue it by thyn own experience, That wine ne doth to folke no such offence. There nis no wine bereaueth me my might Of hond, of foote, ne of mine eyesight. And for despight he dronke mochell more An hundred times than he did before, And right ay, this cursed irous wretch Let this knights son beforne him fetch Commanding him he shuld beforn him stond: And suddenly he took his how in hond, And vp the string he plucked to his eare, And with an arrow he slough the child thear, Now wither haue I a siker hond or none, Qd. he? Is all my might and minde agon? Hath wine bereuen me mine iyen sight? What shuld I tel the answer of y^• knight? His sonne was slain, ther is no more to say, * Beware therefore, with lords how ye play, Sing Placebo, and I shall if I can, But if it be vnto a poore man: To a poore man one should his vices tell, But not to a lord, though he should go to hell.

Lo irous Cirus, thilke Percien, How destroyed he the riuer of Gisen? For that an horse of his was dreint therein, When as he went Babilon to win: He made that the riuer was so small, That men might ride and waden ouer all. Lo, what said he, that so well teach can, * Ne be no fellow to none irous man, Ne with no wood man walke by the way, Lest thou repent, I woll no further say. Now Thomas leue brother, leaue thyn ire, Thou shalt me find as iust, as is a squire: Hold not the deuils knife aie in thine heart, Thine anger doth thee all to sore smart, But shew to me all thy confession. Nay, (qd. the sicke man) by saint Simon I have be shriue this day of my Curate I have told him wholy mine estate. It needeth no more to speake of it, saieth he, But if me list of mine humilite. Yeue me then of thy gold tomake our cloister qd. he, for many a muskle & many an Oister, When other men haue been full well at ease, Hath been our food, our cloister for to rease: And yet God wot, vnneath the foundament Parformed is, ne of our pauement Is not a tile yet within our wones: By God we owen fourty pound for stones, Now help Thomas, for him y^t harrowed hell, For els mote we needs al our books sell, And if you lacke our predication, Then goeth this world all to destruction. For who so woll fro this world vs bereue, So God me saue, Thomas by your leue, He would bereaue out of this world the son. For who can techen & worchen as we con? And that is not of little time (qd. he) But sith Helie was, or Helise, Han freres been, that find I of record In charitie, ithonked be our Lord,

Now Thomas, help for saint Charitie: And down anon he sitteth on his kne. This sicke man waxeth nie wood for ire He would the frere had been on a fire With his false dissimulation. Such things as been in my possession (Qd. he) that may I giue, and none other: Ye sain me thus, how y^t I am your brother. Ye certes (qd. this frere) trusteth me wele, I tooke our dame our letter and our sele. Now (qd. he) wel, and somwhat shall I yeue Vnto your holy couent while I liue: And in thine hond thou shalt it haue anone On this condition, and other none, That you depart it so, my leue brother, That euery frere haue as much as another: This shalt thou sweare on thy profession Without fraud or cauilation. I swere it, qd. she frere, by my faith: And therwithall his hond in his he layth, Lo here my faith, in me shall be no lacke. Then put thine hond adowne by my backe Said this man, and grope well behind, Beneath my buttock there thou shalt find A thing, that I haue hid in priuitie: Ah, thought the frere, that shall goe with me. Adown he shofth his hond to the clift, In hope to find there some good gift. And when this sicke man felt this frere About his tewell, groping here and there, Amid his hond he let the frere a fart, There nis no capell drawing in a cart, That might haue let a fart of such a soun. The frere vp start, as doth a wood Lioun: A false churle, qd. the frere, for Gods bones, This hast thou in dispite doe for the nones: Thou shalt abie this fart, if I may. His meinie that heard of this affray, Came leaping in, and chased out the frere, And forth he goeth with a full angry chere, And fet his fellow, there as lay his store: He looked as he were a wilde Bore, He grinted his teeth, so was he wroth A sturdie pace down to the court he goth Whereas wonned a man of great honour To whom that he was alway confessour: This worthy man was lord of that village. This freer came, as he were in a rage, Where as this lord sat eating at his bord: Vnnethes might the frere to speake o word, Till at the last he said, God you see. This lord gan looke, and said Benedicite What frere Ihon, what maner world is this? I see well that something is amis, * Ye look as though y^e wood wer full of theuis: Sit downe, and tell me what your griefe is, And it shall be amended, if that I may. I haue, qd. he, had a dispite to day, God yeeld it you, adown in your village, That in this world is none so poore a page, That he nolde haue abhominatioun Of that I haue receiued in your town: And yet me grieueth nothing so sore, As that the old churle, with locks hore Blasphemed hath our holy couent eke. Now maister, qd. this lord, I you beseke. No maister sir, qd. he, but seruitour, Though I haue had in schoole that honour. God liketh not, that men vs Rabie call Neither in market, ne in your large hall. No force, qd. he, but tell me of your griefe. Sir, qd. this Frere, an odious mischiefe This day is betide, to mine order, and to me, And so per consequens to each degree Of holy church, God amend it sone. Sir, qd. the lord, ye wot what is to done: Distemper you not, you be my confessour. Ye be the salt of the earth, and the savour, For Gods loue your pacience now hold, Telleth me your griefe: and he anon him told As ye han heard before, ye wot well what. The ladie of the house, aie still sat Till she had heard fully what the Frere said. Eye gods mother, qd. she, and blisful maid: Is there nought els, tell me faithfully? Madame, qd. he, how thinketh ye therby? How that me thinketh? so God me speed, I say a churle hath done a churles deed: What should I say, God let him neuer the, His sick head is full of vanite: I hold him in a manner of frensie. Madam, qd. he, by God I shall not lye, But I in any wise, may been on him awreke, I shall slaunder him ouer all, where I speke: That false blasphemour that charged me To part it that might not departed be, To euery man iliche, with mischance. The lord sat still, as he were in a trance, And in his heart he roled vp and down, How that this churle had imaginatioun To shew such a probleme to the frere. Neuer erst or now heard I such a matere, I trow the Deuill put it in his mind. In all Arsmetricke there shall no man find Beforne this day of such a question. Who should make a demonstration, That euery man should haue ilike his part Of a sowne or fauour of a farte: O nice proud churle, I beshrew thy face. Lo sirs, qd. the lord, with hard grace, Who euer heard of such a thing or now? To euery man ilike, tell me how? It is an impossible, it may not be, Eye nice churle, God let hem neuer the. The rombling of a fart, and euery soun, Nys but of eyre reverberatioun, And euer it wasteth little and little away: There is no man can demen, by my fay, If that it were departed equally. What? lo my churle: lo, how shreudly Vnto my confessour to day he spake, I hold him certain a demoniake, Now eteth your meat, & let the churle go play, * Let him go hongen himselfe a deuil way. Now stood the lords squire at the bord, That carf his meat, and heard word by word Of all thing, of which I haue you sayd. My lord, qd. he, be ye not euill apaid: I couth tell for a gowne cloth To you sir frere, so that ye been not wroth, How that this fart should euen idealed be Amonges your couent, if it liketh thee.

Tel on (qd. y^e lord) and thou shalt haue anon A gown cloth, by God and by saint Iohn. My lord (qd. he) when the weder is faire Withouten winde, or perturbing of ayre, Let bring a cart wheele here into this hall, But looke well that he haue his spokes all, Twelue spokes hath a cart whele commonly: And bring me then xii. freres, wot ye why? For thirteene is a couent as I gesse: Your confessour here for his worthnesse Shall performe vp the number of his couent. Then shullen they knelen adoun by one assent, And to euery spokes end in this manere Full sadly lay his nose shall a frere: Your noble confessour there, God him saue, Shall hold his nose vpright vnder the naue, Then shal this churle with bely stiffe & tought As any tabour, hither been ibrought, And set him on the whele right of this cart Vpon the naue, and make him let a fart, And ye shullen see, vp perill of my life, By good prefe which is demonstratife, That equally the sowne of it will wend, And eke the stinke, vnto the spokes end. Saue that this worthy man your confessour (Because he is a man of great honour) Shall haue the first fruits as reason is: The noble vsage of freres yet is this, The worthest man of hem shul first be serued: And certainly, he hath it well deserued, He hath to day taught vs so much good, With preaching in the pulpet there he stood, That I may vouchsafe, I say for mee, He had the first smell of farts three, And so would all his brethren hardely, He bereth him so faire and holyly. The lord, y^e lady, & each man saue the frere, Said that Ienkin spake in this matere As well as Euclide did, or Ptholome, Touching the churles sayd subtiltie, And hie wit made him speake as he spake, He nis no foole, ne no demoniake: And Ienkin hath iwonne a new gowne, My tale is done, we been almost at towne.

¶The Clerke of Oxenfords Prologue.

SIr Clerke of Oxenford our host said, Ye ride as still and coy, as doth a maid Were new spoused, sitting at the bord: This day ne heard I of your mouth a word. I trow that ye studie about some sophime: * But Salomon saith, all thing hath time. For Gods sake beth of better chere, It is no time now to studie here. Tell vs some merry tale by your fay: For what man is entred into a play, He needs mot vnto that play assent. But preacheth not, as Freres done in Lent, To make vs for our old sinnes to weep, He that thy tale make vs not to sleep. Tell vs some merry thing of auentures, Your termes, your figures, and your colours Keep hem in store, till so be that ye endite Hie stile, as when men to kings do write. Speake so plaine at this time, I you pray, That we may vnderstond what ye say. This worthy Clerke beningly answerd, Host (qd. he) I am vnder your yerde, Ye haue of vs as now the gouernance, And therefore will I do you obeysance, As farre as reason asketh hardely: I woll you tell a tale, which that I Learned at Padow, of a worthy clerke, As preued is by his words and his werke. He is now dead, and nailed in his chest, I pray to God send his soule good rest. Fraunces Petrarke, the laureat poet Hight this ilke clerke, whose Rethorike sweet Enlumined all Itaile of poetrie, As Liuian did of Philosophy, Or law or other art perticulere: But death that wol not suffer vs dwellen here, But as it were the twinkling of an eye, Hem both hath slaine, and all we shall dye. But for to tellen of this worthy man, That taught me this tale, as I first began I say that he first with hie stile enditeth (Or he the body of his tale writeth) A proheme, in which discriueth he Piemont, and of Saluce the countre, And speaketh of Apenniny the hilles hye, That been the bounds of west Lumbardie: And of mount Vesulus in speciall, Where as the Poo, out of a well small Taketh his first springing and his sours, That Eastward euer increaseth in his cours To Emelle ward, to Ferare, and to Venise, The which a long time were to deuise. And truly, as to my judgement, Me thinketh it a thing impartinent, Saue that him list conueyen his matere: But this is his tale as ye shullen here.

¶The Clerke of Oxenfords Tale.

WAlter the Marquesse of Saluce proveth the patience of his wife Grisill, by three most sharp trials.

THere is in the West side of Itaile Downe at the ro••e of Vesulus the cold, A lustie plaine habundaunt of vitaile, Wher many a town & tower thou maist behold That founded were, in time of fathers old, And many another delectable sight: And Saluce this noble countre hight.

A marques whilom was in that lond, As were his worthy elders him before, And obeysant aye redy to his hond Were all his lieges, both lesse and more: Thus in delite he liued, and hath done yore Beloued & drad, through favour of fortune Both of his lords, and of his commune.

Therwith he was, as to speak of linage The gentilest iborne of all Lombardy, A faire person, and strong, and yong of age, And full of honour and curtesie: Discreet inow, his countre for to gye Saue that in some things he was to blame, And Walter was this yong lords name.

I blame him thus, y^t he considered nought In time comming, what he might betide, But on his lust present was all his thought, And for to hauke and hunt on euery side: Welny all other cures let he slide, And eke he ne would (that was worst of all) Wed no wife for ought that might befall.

Onely that point his people bare so sore, That flockmele on a day to him they went, And one of hem, that wisest was of lore (Or els that the lord would best assent That he should tel him w^t his people ment, Or els coud he well shew such matere) He to the Marques said as ye shullen here.

O noble Marques, your humanite Assureth vs and yeueth vs hardinesse, As oft time as is necessite, That we may to you tell our heuinesse: Accepteth lord of your gentilnesse, That we to you with pitous hert plaine, And let your eares nat my voice disdaine.

All haue I not to done in this matere More than another hath in this place, Yet for as much, as ye my lord so dere Haue alway shewed me fauour and grace, I dare the better aske of you a space Of audience, to shewen our request, And ye my lord to done right as you lest

For certes lord: so well us liketh you And all your werkes, and euer haue don, that we Ne could our owne selfe deuisen how We might more liuen in felicite: Saue one thing lord, if it your will be, That for to be a wedded man, you lest, Then were your people in souerain herts rest.

Boweth your necke vnder the blisful yoke Of souerainte, and not of seruise. Which men clepen spousaile or wedlocke: And thinketh lord, among your thouʒts wise, For though we sleepe or wake, ronne, or ride, * Aye fleeth the time, it wol no man abide.

And though your grene youth floure as yet, * In crepeth age alway as still as stone, And death manaseth euery age, and smite In ech estate, for there escapeth none: And also certaine, as we knowne echone, That we shul die, and vncertaine we all Ben of that day that death shall on vs fall.

Accepteth then of vs the true intent, That neuer yet refused your hest, And we wol all lord, if ye wol assent Chese you a wife in short time, at the lest Borne of the gentillest and the best Of all this lond, so that it ought seme Honour to god & you, as nere as we can deme.

Deliuer vs out of all this busie dred, And take a wife, for hie Gods sake: For if it so befell, as god forbed, That thorogh death your linage should slake, And that a strange successour should take Your heritage, O wo were vs on liue: Wherefore we pray you hastely to wiue.

Her meeke prayer and her pitious chere Made the Marques for to haue pite. Wol ye (qd. he) mine owne people dere To that I never erst thought, constraine me? I me rejoyced of my libertie, That selden time is found in marriage, There I was free, I mote ben in seruage.

But natheles, I see your true entent, And trust vpon your wit, and haue done aye: Wherfore of my free will I woll assent To wedden me, as sone as euer I may. But there, as ye haue profred me to day To chese me a wife, I you release That choice, & pray you of that profer cease.

* For God it wot, that children oft been Vnlike her worthy eldes hem before, Bounte commeth of God, & not of the streen, Of which they be engendred and ibore: I trust in gods bounte, and therefore My marriage, mine estate, and rest I him be take, he may don as him lest.

Let me alone in chesing of my wife, That charge vpon my backe I woll endure: But I you pray, and charge vpon your life, That what wife I take, ye me ensure To worship her whiles her life may dure, In word and werke, both here and elswhere, As she an Emperours doughter were.

And furthermore, thus shul ye swere, that ye Against my choice shall neuer grutch nestriue. For sith I shall forgo my liberte At your request, as euer mote I thriue, There as mine hert is set, there wol I wiue: And but ye woll assent, in such manere, I pray you speake no more in this matere.

With hearty will they sworne and assent To all this thing, there said no wight nay: Beseeching him of grace ere they went, That he would hem graunt a certaine day Of his spousaile, as soone as euer he may, For yet alway the people somwhat dred, Lest this Marques would no wife wed.

He graunted hem a day, such as him lest, On which he wold be wedded sekerly: And said he did all this at her request, And they with humble entent full buxumely Kneeling vpon her knees full reuerently

Him thonked all, and thus they han an end Of her entent, and home ayen they wend.

And hereupon he took his officers Commaunding for the feast to purvay, And to his privie knights and squires Such charge he yaue, as he list on hem lay: And they to his commandement obey, And ech of hem doth his diligence To done to the feast all reverence.

Explicit prima pars, & sequitur pars secunda.

NOught ferre fro thilke place honora∣ble, Where this Marques shope his marriage, There stood a thrope, of sight full delectable, In which that poore folke of that village Hadden her beasts and her herbigage, And of her labour tooke her sustenance, After that the earth yaue hem haboundance.

Among this poore folke there dwell a man, Which that was holden poorest of hem all: * But the high God somtime senden can His grace unto a little oxe stall: Ianicola men of that thrope him call. A doughter had he faire ynough to sight, And Grisilde this young maiden hight.

But for to speak of vertuous beaute, Then was she one the fairest under sonne: And full poorely ifostered was she: No licorous lust was in her heart yronne: Well ofter of the well than of the tonne She dronke, and for she would vertue plese, She knew well labour, but not idle ease.

But though this maid was tender of age, Yet in the brest of her virginite There was enclosed sad and ripe corage: And in great reverence of charite Her old pore father fostred she: A few sheep spinning on the field she kept, She would not ben idle till she slept.

And when she homeward came, she wold bring Wortes, and other herbes, times full oft, Which she shrad and sethe for her living, And made her bed full hard, & nothing soft: And aye she kept her fathers life on loft With every obeisance and diligence, That child might do to the fathers reuerence.

Vpon Grisilde the poore creature Well oft hath the Marques set his eye, As he a hunting went peradventure: And when it fell that he might her espie He (not with wanton looking of follie) His eyen cast upon her, but in sad wise, Vpon her chere he would him oft auise.

Commending in his hert her womanhede, And eke her vertue, passing every wight Of so yong age, as well in chere as in dede. For though the people have no great insight In vertue: he considered full right Her bounte, and disposed that he would Her wed, if he ever wedden should.

The day of wedding come, but no wight can Tell, what maner woman it should be, For which meruaile, wondred many a man And saiden, when they were in their priuite, Woll not our Lord leaue his vanite. Woll he not wed, alas, alas, the while, Why woll he thus himself and us begile.

But natheles this Marques hath do make Of iemmes, set in gold and in asure, Broches and rings, all for Grisildes sake, And of her clothing tooke he the measure Of a maiden like to her stature, And eke of other ornaments all, That unto such a wedding should fall.

The time vndren, in the same day Approched, that the wedding should be, And all the paleis put was in array, Both hall and chamber, ech in his degre, Houses of office stuffed with great plente: There maiest thou see all dainteous vitaile, That may be found, as ferre as lasteth Itaile,

This royall Marques richly araide, Lords and ladies in his companie, The which that to the feast weren praide And of his retinue the bachelerie, With many a sown of sondrie melodie, Vnto the village of which I told, In this aray the right way hath hold.

Grisilde (God wot of this full innocent, That for her was shape all this aray) To fetch water at a well is went, And cometh home as sone as ever she may. For well she heard say, that full ilke day The Marques should wed, and if she might, She would fain seen some of that sight.

She thouʒt I wil with other maide••s stond That been my fellowes, in our dore and see The Marques, and thereto wol I fond To have done at home as soone as it may be, The labour which that longeth to me, And then may I at leisure it behold, If he this way to the castle hold.

And as she wold ouer the dreshold gon, The Marques came and gan her for to call, And she set downe her water pot anon Beside the threshold of the oxe stall, And downe vpon her knees she gan to fall, And with sad countenance she kneeled still, Till she had herd what was the lords will.

This thouʒtful Marques spake to y^t maid Wel soberly, and said in this manere: Where is your father Grisiilde, he said? And she with reuerence and meek chere Answerd, lord he is all ready here,

And in she goeth without lenger lette, And to the Marques she her father fette.

He by the hond then tooke this old man, And said thus, when he had him aside: Ianicola, I neither may ne can Lenger the plesance of mine hert hide, If that thou vouchsafe, whatsoeuer betide Thy doughter woll I take or that I wend As for my wife, vnto my liues end.

Thou louest me, I wot well certaine, And art my faithfull liegeman ibore, And all that liketh me, I dare well saine It liketh thee, and specially therefore Tell me that point, that I haue said before, If that thou wolt to this purpose draw, To take me as for thy sonne in law?

This sudden case the man astoned so, That red he wext abashed, and all quaking He stood, ne vnneth said he words mo, But only thus (qd. he) Lord my willing Is as ye woll, ne ayenst your liking I woll nothing, ye be my lord so dere, Right as you list, gouerne this matere.

Then wol I thus (qd. this Marques) sothly, That in thy chamber, I you, and she, Haue a collation, and wotest thou why? For I woll aske her, if her will be To be my wife, and rule her after me: And all this shall she done in thy presence, I woll not speke out of thine audience.

And in the chamber, while they were about The treties, where ye shall after heare, The people came into the house without And wondred hem, in how honest manere So tentifly she kept her father dere: But vtterly Grisild wonder might. For neuer erst saw she such a sight.

No wonder is though she be astoned, To see so great a gest come into that place, She was neuer to such gestes woned, For which she looked with full pale face. But shortly fro this matter for to pace, These weren the words y^t the Marques said To this benigne and very faithfull maid.

Grisilde he said, ye shall well vnderstond, It liketh vnto your father and me, That I you wed, and eke it may so stond As I suppose, that ye woll it so be: But these demaunds I aske first (qd. he) That sithen it shall be done in hastie wise, Woll ye thereto assent, or els you auise?

I say thus, be ye redy with good hert To all my lust, and that I freely may As me best liketh, though ye laugh or smert, And neuer ye to grutch, night ne day: When I say yea, that ye say not ones nay, Neither in word, ne by frowning countenance; Swere this, and here I swere our aliance.

Wondring vpon these words, quaking for dred She said: lord, indigne and vnworthy Am I, to thilke honour, that ye me bede, But right as you woll, even so woll I: And here I swere, that neuer willingly In word, werke, ne thought, I nill you disobie For to be deed, though me were loth to die.

This is inough Grisilde mine (qd. he) And forth he goeth with a sober chere, Out at the doore and after came she, And to the people he said in this manere: This is my wife, (qd. he) that stondeth here. Honoureth her, and loueth her, I you pray, Who so me loueth, there nis no more to say.

And for that nothing of her old gere She should bring into his house, he bad That women should dispoilen her there, Of which these ladies were nothing glad To handle her cloths in which she was clad: But natheles this maiden bright of hew Fro foot to head they clothed han all new.

Her heer han they kembe, that lay vntressed Full rudely, and with her fingers small A crowne on her head they han idressed, And set it full of ouches great and small, Of her arraie what should I make a tale, Vnneath the people her knew for her fairnes, When she transformed was in such riches.

This Marques hath her spoused with a ring Bought for the same cause, and then her set Vpon an horse snow white, well ambling, And to his palais, or he lenger let (With joyfull people, that her lad and met) Conueyed her, and thus the day they spende In reuell, till the sunne gan discende.

And shortly forth this tale for to chace, I say, that to this new Marquesse God hath isent such fauour of his grace, That it seemed not, as by her likelinesse That she was borne and fed in rudenesse, As in a cote, or in an oxe stall, But nourished in an Emperours hall.

To euery wight she woxen is so dere, And worshipful, y^e folke there as she was bore, And fro her birth knew her yere by yere, Vnneth trowed they, but durst haue swore, That to Ianicola, of which I spake before, She doughter nas, for as by coniecture Hem thought she was another creature.

For though that euer vertuous was she, She was encreased in such excellence Of thewes good, set in high bounte, And so discrete, and faire of eloquence, So benigne, and digne of reuerence, And coude the peoples hearts so enbrace, That eche her loued that looked in her face.

Not onely of Saluce in the towne Published was the bounte of her name,

But eke beside, in many a regioun, If one said well, another said the same: So sprad of her hie bountie the fame, That men and women, both yong and old Gone to Saluces her for to behold.

Thus Walter lowly, and full royally, Wedded hath with fortunate honestie, In Gods peace he liueth full easily: At home, and outward, grace inough had he: And for he saw that vnder low degree Was honest vertue hid, the people him held A prudent man, and that is seene well seld.

Not only this Grisilde, through her wit Couth all the feate of wifely humblenesse, But eke when the cause required it, The commen profit could she redresse: There nas discord, rancor ne heauinesse In all the lond, that she ne couth apese, And bring hem all wisely in rest and ese.

Though her husbond absent were or none, If gentlemen, or other of that countre Were wroth, she would bring hem all at one, So wise counsaile and ripe words had she, And judgement of so great equitie, That she from heuen sent was, as men wend, People to saue, and euery wrong to mend.

Not long time after this faire Grisilde Was wedded, she a doughter had ibore, All had she leuer haue borne a man childe: Glad was the Marques & his folke therfore, For though a maide childe came all before She may to a man child after attaine By likelyhood, sithens she is not baraine.

Explicit secunda pars, & incipit pars tertia.

THere fell, as it befalleth oft times mo, When that this childe had sucked but a throwe, This Marques in his heart longed so To tempt his wife, her sadnesse to know, That he ne might out his heart throw This maruellous desire, his wife to assay, Needlesse God wot, he thought her to affray.

He had assaied her ynough before, And found her euer good, what needeth it Her for to tempt? And alway more & more Though some man praise it for a subtill wit, But as for me, I say full euill it sit To assay a wife when it is no nede, And put her in anguish and in drede.

For which this Marques wrouʒt in this ma∣nere, He came alone a night there as she lay With full sterne face, and right vgly chere, And saied thus: Grisilde (qd. he) that day That I tooke thee out of thy poore aray, And put thee in estate of high noblesse, Thou hast not that forgotten, as I gesse.

I say Grisilde, the present dignite In which I haue put thee, as I trow, Maketh not thee foryetfull for to be, That I thee tooke in poore estate full low, For any wele thou must thy selfe know. Take heed of euery word what I say, There is no wight that hereth but we tway.

Thou wotest thy self how y^t thou came here Into this house, it is not long ago, And though to me thou be both lefe and dere, Vnto my Gentiles thou art nothing so: They say, to hem it is great shame and wo For to been subiect, and been in seruage To thee, that borne art in so small a village.

And namely sith thy doughter was ybore, These words often haue they spoken doutles, But I desire, as I haue doen before, To lead my life with hem in rest and pees: I may not in this case be recheles. I mote doen with thy doughter for the best. Not as I wold, but as my gentils lest.

And yet God wote, this is full loth to me: But natheles without thy witting I woll nought do, but this I woll (qd. he) That thou to me assent, as in this thing, Shew now thy pacience in the werking, That thou me hight and swore in our village That day that maked was our marriage.

When she had heard all this, she not ameued Neither in word, in chere, ne countenance, (For as it seemed, she was not agreeued) She saied lord, all lyeth in your pleasance, My child and I, with heartely obeisance Been yours all, & ye may saue or spill, With your own therfore worketh your owne will.

There may nothing so God my soule saue, Liken to you, that may displease me: Ne I desire nothing for to haue Ne drede for to lese, saue onely ye: This will is in my heart, and aye shall be, No length of time, or death it may deface Neither change my corage into another place.

Glad was the Marques of her answering, But yet he fained as he were not so, All drery was his chere and his looking. When that he should out of the chamber go Sone after this, a furlong way or two He priuily had told all his intent Vnto a man, and to his wife him sent.

In maner of a sergeant was this priuy man The which he faithfull often found had In things great, and eke such folke well can Doen execution of things bad: The lord knew well, he him loued and drad. And when this sergeant wist his lords will, Into the chamber he stalked him full still.

Madame he saied, ye mote foryeue it me, Though I do thing, which I am constrained:

Ye be full wise, and full well know ye, That great lords hestes may not be fained, They may well be wailed and complained, But men must needs unto her lust obey, And so woll I, there nis no more to say.

This child I am commanded to take. And spake no more, but vp the child he hent Dispitously, and gan a chere to make, As though he would haue slain it or he went. Grisilde must all suffer and consent: And as a lambe, she sitteth meeke and still, And let this cruell Sergeant doe his will.

Suspect was the fame of this ilke man, Suspect his face, suspect his word also, Suspect the time in which he this began: Alas her doughter, that she loued so, She wende he would haue slain it right tho, But natheles she neither wept ne liked, Confirming her to that the Marques liked.

But at the last to speake she began, And full meekely she the sergeant praid (So as he was a worthy gentell man) That she might kisse her child ere that it deid: And in her arme, this little child she leid, With full sad face, and gan the child blisse, And lulled it, and after gan it kisse.

And thus she saied in her benigne voyce: Farwell my child, I shall thee neuer see, But sithen I haue marked thee with y^e croice, Of th••lke father iblessed mote thou be, That for vs died vpon the Roode tree: Thy soule little child I him betake, For this night shalt thou dien for my sake.

I trow that to a norice in this caas It had been hard this routh for to see: Well might a mother then cry alas, But natheles so sad and stedfast was she, That she endured all her aduersite, And to the sergeant meekely shee said, Haue here ayen your little yong maid.

And goth now (qd. she) & doth my lords hest: And o thing would I pray you of your grace, But if my lord forbid it you at the lest. Burieth this little bodie in some place, That no beasts ne birds it to race. But he no word to that purpose would saie, But tooke y^• childe and went anon his waie.

This sergeant came to the lord againe, And of Grisilds words and of her chere, He told him word by word, short and plaine, And him presented with his daughter dere. Somwhat this lord had routh in his maner, But natheles his purpose held he still, As lords doen, when they woll haue their will,

And bad the sergeant that full priuily He should this child wel soft wind and wrap, With all the circumstance tenderly, And carry it in a cofer, or in a lap: But on paine of his hed off to swap, That no man should know of his entent, Ne whens he came ne whither he went.

But at Boleine, to his suster dere, That thilke time of Pauie was Countesse, He should it take, and shew her this matere, Beseeching her to doen her businesse This child to fostre in all gentlenesse, And whose child that it was he bad her hide From euery wight, for ought y^t might betide.

This sergeant goth, & hath fulfilde this thing. But to this Marques now returne we, For now goeth he full oft imagining If by his wiues chere, he might ought see Or els by her words, peceiue that she Were changed, but he neuer could finde, But euer in one ilike sad and kinde.

As glad, as humble, as busie in seruice And eke in loue as she was wont to be, Was she to him in every manner wise, Ne of her doughter one word spake she: None accedent for none adversite Was seen in her, ne never her doughters name Nempned she, for ernest ne for game.

Explicit tertia pars, & incipit pars quarta.

IN this estate passed ben four yere, Er she with child was, but as God would, A man child she bare by this Waltere Well gracious, and faire to behold: And when folke it to the father told, Not onely he, but all the countrey mery Was for the child, & God they thonke & hery.

When it was two yere old, & from the brest Departed from his norice, on a day This Marques cought yet another lest To tempten his wife eftsones, if he may. O needles was she tempted, I dare say. * But wedded men ne conne no measure, When they find a patient creature.

Wife (qd. this Marques) ye have heard or this My people heauily bereth our mariage, And namely sithen my sonne borne is, Now is it worse than ever in our age: The murmure slaieth my heart & my corage, For to my eares commeth the voice so smart That it well nie destroyed hath my hart.

Now say they thus, when Walter is agon, Then shall the blood of Ianicola succede, And ben our lord, for other have we non: Such words say my people, it is no drede. Well ought I of such murmure take hede, For certainly I dread such sentence, Though they not plainly speke in myne audi∣ence.

I would live in peace, if that I might: Wherefore I am disposed vtterly, As I his suster served by night,

Right so I think to serve him priuily. Thus warn I you, that ye not sodainly Out of your self, for no wo should outraie, Beth patient, and thereof I you pray.

I have, qd. she, saied, and ever shall, I woll ne nill nothing for certain, But as you list: nought greueth me at all, Though that my doughter & my son be slain At your commandement: this is to sain, I have had no part of children twain, But first sickenesse, and after wo and pain.

Ye ben our lord, doth with your own thing Right as you list, and taketh no reed of me: For as I left at home my clothing When I came first to you, right so, qd. she, Left I my will and all my liberty, And toke your clothing: wherfore I you pray Doe your will, I woll to it obey.

And certes, If I had prescience Your will to know, ere ye your lust me told, I would it doen without negligence: But now I wote your lust, & what ye would, All your pleasance firm and stable I hold, For wist I that my death would doen you ese, Gladly would I suffer it you to plese.

Death may not make no comparisoun Vnto your loue: & when this Marques seie The constance of his wife, he cast adown His iyen two, and wondred how she may In such patience suffer all this arraie: And foorth he goth with drery countenaunce, But to his hert it was full great pleasaunce.

This eiger sergeant in the same wise That he her doughter caught, right so he Or worse, if that he coud wers deuise, Hath hent her sonne, that was full of beaute: And euer in one so patient was she, That she no chere made of heauinesse, But kisseth her child & after gan him blesse.

Saue this she praied him, if y^t he might, Her little sonne he would in earth graue, His tender limmes, delicate to sight, Fro foules and fro noysom beasts to saue. But she none answer of him might haue, He went his way, as he nothing rought, But to Boleine he tenderly it brought.

This Marques wondred euer lenger the more Vpon her pacience, and if that he He had soothly knowen there before, That perfectly her children loued she, He would haue wend that for some subtilte And of malice, or cruell corage, She had suffered this with sad visage.

But he knew wel, that next himself, certain She loued her children best in euery wise. But now of women would I aske fain, If these assaies mighten not suffise, What coud a sturdie husbond more deuise To preue her wifehood, and her stedfastnesse: But be continuing ever in sturdinesse.

But there be folke of that condition, That when they han a certain purpose take, They couth not stint of her entention, But as they were bounden to a stake They woll not of that purpose to stake: Right so this Marques hath fully purposed To tempt his wife, as he was first disposed.

He waiteth, if by words or countenance She were to him changed of her corage: But never could he find variance, She was aie in one heart and visage, And euer the further that she was in age, The more truer (if it were possible) She was to him in love, and more penible.

For which it semeth thus, that of hem two There nas but one will: for as Walter lest The same lust was her pleasance also: And God be thonked, all fell for the best, She shewed well, for no worldly vnrest, * A wife, as for her selfe, nothing should Willen in effect, but as her husbond would.

The sclander of Walter, wonder wide spread That of cruel heart full wretchedly, (For he a poore woman wedded had) Hath murdred both his children privily: Which murmure was emong hem comonly. No wonder was: for to the peoples ere Ther came no word, but that they murdred were.

For which whereas his people ther before Had loved him well, the slander of his fame Made hem that they hated him therefore: * To been a murtherer is an hateful name. But natheles, for earnest ne for game He of his cruel purpose would not s••ent, To tempt his wife was all his entent.

Whan that his doughter twelve yere was of age, He to the court of Rome, in subtil wise (Enformed of his will) sent his message Comanding hem, such billes to devise, As to his cruel purpose may suffise, How that the Pope, for his peoples rest Bad him wed another, if that him lest.

I say he bad, they should counterfete The Popes bull, making mention That he hath leave his first wife to lete As by the Popes dispensacion, To stint rancor and discencion Betwixt his people and him: thus spake the bull, The which they han published at the full.

The rude people, as no wonder nis Wenden full fell, it had been right so: But when these tidings come to Grisildis I deeme, that her heart was full of wo But she was still lech sad evermo: Disposed was this humble creature The adversite of fortune to endure.

Abiding ever his list and his pleasaunce To whom she was yeuen, heart and all, As to her very worldly suffisaunce: But certainly, if I this storie tell shall, This Marques iwritten hath in speciall A letter, in which he shewed his intent And prively, he it to Boloine hath sent,

To the Erle of Pauie, which that had tho Wedden his suffer: he prayed specially To bringen him ayen his children two In honourable estate all openly: But one thing he prayed all vtterly, That he to no wiʒt, thouʒ men wold enquere Should tell whose children that they were.

But say that the maiden should wedded be Vnto the Marques of Saluce anon: And as the Earle was prayed, so did he, For at a day set he on his way is gon Toward Saluce, and lords many one In rich araie, this maiden for to gide, Her yong brother riding by her side.

Arayed was toward hyr marriage This maiden fresh, full of gemmes clere, And her brother, that seuen yeer was of age Arayed was eke freshly in his manere: And thus in great nobles and glad chere Toward Saluce shapen their iournay Fro day to day, riding forth her way.

Explicit quarta pars, & sequitur pars quinta.

AMong all this, after his wicked vsage This Marques his wife yet tempted more To the vtterest proof of her corage, Fully to have experience and sore, If that she were as stedfast (as before.) He on a day in open audience Full boistrously hath said her this sentence:

Certes Grisilde, I had inough of pleasance To han you to my wife, for your goodness And for your trouth, and your obeysance, Not for your linage, ne for your riches, But I now know in very soothfastnesse, * That in great lordship, if I me well auise There is great seruitude in sondry wise.

I may not done as every ploughman may: My people me constraineth for to take Another wife, and cryen day by day, And eke the Pope this rancor for to s••ake Consenteth it, that dare I vndertake: And truely, thus much I woll you say, My new wife is comming by the way.

Be strong of hert, & void anon her place, And thilke dowery that ye brought to me Take it ayen, I grant it of my grace, Returneth to your fathers house (qd. he) * No man may alway have prosperite. With euen heart I read you to endure The stroke of fortune, or of aventure.

And she ayen answerd in patience: My lord, qd. she, I wote and wist alway, How that betwixt your magnificence And my pouert, no man can ne may Maken no comparison, it is no nay, I held me never digne in no manere To been your wife, ne yet your chamberere.

And in this house there ye me lady made (The hie God take I as for my witnesse And all so wisely, as he my soule glad) I held me neither lady ne maistresse, But humble servant to your worthinesse, And ever shall, while my life may endure, Abouen euery worldly creature.

That ye so long of your benignite Have hold me in honour and nobley (Where I was not worthy for to be) That thonke I God and you, to whom I prey So yeld it you, there is no more to sey: Vnto my father gladly wol I wende, And with him dwell to my lives ende,

There I was fostred of a childe full small Till I be deed, my life there woll I lead, A widow cleane in heart, body and all. For sithen I yave to you my maidenhead, And am your true wife, it is no dread: God shilde such a lords wife to take Another man to husbond or to make.

And of your new wife, God of his grace So graunt you wealth and high prosperite: For I woll gladly yeue her my place, In which I was blisful wont to be. For sithen it liketh you my lord, qd. she, (That whilome weren all my hearts rest) That I shall gone: I shall goe when you lest.

But there as ye me profred such dowaire As I first brought, it is well in my mind, It were my wretched clothes, nothing faire, The which to me now were full hard to find. Oh, good God, how gentle and how kind Ye seemed by your speech and your visage, The day that maked was our mariage?

* But sooth is said, algate I find it trew, For in effect it is proved now on me, Love is not old, as when it is new: For certes lord, for none adversite To dien in this case, it shall never be That ever in word or worke I shall repent, That I you yave mine heart in good intent.

My lord ye wote, that in my fathers place Ye did me strip out of my poore wede, And richely ye clad me of your grace, To you brought I nought els out of drede, But faith, nakednesse, and maidenhede: But here ayen your clothing I restore, And eke my wedding ring for evermore.

The remnaunt of your iewels ready be Within your chamber, dare I safely saine:

Naked out of my fathers house (qd. she) I came, and naked I mote turne againe. All your pleasaunce would I follow faine: But yet I hope it be not your entent, That I smockelesse out of your paleis went.

Ye could not doe so dishonest a thing, That ilke wombe in which your children lay, Should before the people, in my walking Be seene all bare: wherefore I you pray Let me not like a worme goe by the way: Remembreth you mine owne lord so dere, I was your wife, though I vnworthy were.

Wherefore in reward of my maidenhede Which I to you brought, and not ayen bere, As vouchsafe to yeue me to my mede, But such a smock as I was wont to were: That I therewith may wrie y^e wombe of her That was your wife: & here I take my leue Of you, mine owne lord, least I you greue.

The smock (qd. he) y^t thou hast on thy bake, Let it be still, and beare it forth with thee: But well vnneth that word had he spake, But went his way for routh and pitee: Before the folke her selfe strippeth she, And in her smock, with foot and head all bare, Toward her fathers house forth is she fare.

The folke followed weeping in her wey, And fortune euer they cursed as they gone: But she fro weeping kept her eyen drey, Ne in all this time word spake she none. Her father, that this tidings heard anone, Cursed the day and time, that nature Shope him to been a liues creature.

For out of all doubt, this poore old man Was euer suspect of her marriage: For euer he deemed, sithen it began, That when the lord filled had his corage, Him would thinke it was a disparage To his estate, so low for to alight, And voiden her as soone as euer he might.

Ayenst his doughter hastily goeth he, (For by y^e noise of folk he knew her comming) And with her old coat as it might be, He couered her, full sore weeping: But on her body might he it not bring For rude was the cloth, and she more of age By daies fele than she was at her marriage.

Thus with her father for a certaine space Dwelleth this floure of wifely patience, That never by her words nor by her face, Before the folke ne eke in absence, Ne shewed she that her was done offence, Ne of her high estate no remembraunce Ne had she, as by her coutenaunce.

No wonder is, for in her great estate Her ghost was euer in plaine humilitie: No tender mouth, ne heart delicate, Ne pompe, ne semblance of roialtie. But full of patience and benignite, Discreet, and pridelesse, and aye honorable. And to her husband euer meek and stable.

Men speak of Iob, & most for his humblesse, (As clerkes when hem list can well endite Namely of men) but in soothfastnesse, * Though clerkes praisen women but a lite, There can no man in humblesse hem acquite As women can: ne be halfe so trew As women been, but it befall of new.

Explicit quinta pars: & sequitur pars sexta.

FRo Boloine is the Earle of Pauie come, Of which the fame sprong to more and lesse: And to the peoples eares all and some Was couth eke how a new Marquesesse He with him brought, in pomp & such richesse, That was neuer seene with mans eie So noble aray in West Lumbardie.

The Marques that shope & knew all this, Er that this Erle was come, sent his message To thilke poore and silly Grisildis, And she with humble heart and glad visage, Not with swelling heart in her corage, Came at his hest, and on her knees her set, And reuerently and wisely she him gret.

Grisilde (qd. he) my will is vtterly, This maid that wedded shall be vnto me, Receiued be to morrow so royally As it is possible in my house to bee: And eke that euery wight in his degree Haue his estate in sitting and seruice, And also pleasaunt, as ye can best deuise.

I haue no woman sufficient certaine, The chambers for to array in ordinaunce After my lust, and therefore woll I faine, That thine weren all such gouernaunce: Thou knowest eke of old all my pleasaunce, Though thine array be bad, and euill besey, Doe thou thy deuer at the least wey.

Not onely lord I am glad (qd. she) To doen your lust, but I desire also You for to please and serue in my degree, Withouten faining, and shall euermo: Ne neuer for no weale, ne for no wo, Ne shall the ghost within my heart stent To loue you best with all my true entent.

And with y^t word she gan y^e hous to dight, And tables to set, and beds to make, And pained her to doen all that she might, Praying the chamberers for Gods sake To hasten hem, and fast sweepe and shake, And she the most seruiceable of hem all, Hath euery chamber arraied, and his hall.

Abouten vndren gan this Earle alight, y^t with him brought these noble children twey: For which the people ran to see that sight

Of her array, so richely besey: And then at erst amongs hem they sey, That Walter was no foole, though him lest To chaunge his wife: for it was for the best.

For she is fairer, as they deemen all Than is Grisild, and more tender of age: And fairer fruit between hem shall fall, And more pleasant for her high linage: Her brother eke so fair was of his age, That him to seen y^e people had cauʒt plesance, Commending now the Marques gover∣nance.

O sterne people, unsad and untrue, Aye undiscreet, and changing as a fane, Delighting ever in rumer that is new, For like the Moone ever waxe ye and wane: Full of clapping, deare ynough of a iane. Your dome is fals, your constance ill preveth, A full great foole is he that on you leveth.

Thus saiden sad folke in that citie, When that the people gased vp and down: For they were glad, right with the noueltie To haue a new lady of her toun. No more of this make I now mentioun, But to Grisilde ayen woll I me dresse, And tellen her constance, and her businesse.

Well busie was Grisilde on euery thing, That to the feast was appertinent: Right nauʒt was she abashed of her clothing, Though they wer rude, and somwhat to rent, But with glad cheare to the yate is went With other folke, to greet the Marquesesse, And after doth she forth her businesse.

With right glad chere y^e gests she receiueth And buxomely eueriche in his degree, That no man defaut there perceiueth, But euer they wondren what she might bee, That in so poore array was for to see, And coud such honour and reuerence, And worthyly they praisen her prudence.

In all the meane while she neuer stent, This maiden & eke her brother to commend With all her heart and benigne intent, So well, that no man coud her prise amend: But at the last when these lords wend To sitten doune to meat, he gan to call Grisilde, as she was busie in the hall.

Grisilde (qd. he) as it were in his play, How liketh thee my wife, and her beaute? Right well my lord (qd. she) for in good fay, A fairer saw I neuer none than she: I pray to God so yeue you prosperite, And so hope I, that he woll to you send Pleasaunce ynough vnto your liues end.

But one thing I beseech, and warne also That ye pricke with no such turmenting This tender maiden, as ye han do mo: For she is fostered in her nourishing More tenderly, in my supposing She could not aduersitie endure, As could a poore fostred creature.

And when this Walter saw her patience, Her glad cheare, and no mallice at all, And he so oft hath done her offence, And she aye constant, and stable as a wall, Continuing euer her innocence ouer all, This sturdie Marques gan his heart dresse To rue vpon her wifely stedfastnesse.

This is ynough, Grisilde mine (qd. he) Be no more gast, ne euill apaid, I haue thy faith and thy benignite, As well as euer woman was assaid In great estate, or poorely araid: Now know I deare wife thy stedfastnesse, And her in armes tooke, and gan to kesse,

And she for wonder tooke thereof no keepe: She heard not what thing he to her said: She fared as she had stert out of her sleepe, Till she out of her masednesse abraid. Grisilde (qd. he) by God that for vs deid, Thou art my wife, and none other I haue, Ne neuer had, as God my soule saue.

This is thy doughter, which thou supposed To be my wife, and none other faithfully: And this shall be mine heir, as I haue disposed, Thou bare hem in thy body truly: At Boloine haue I kept hem sikerly, Take hem ayen, for now maist thou not say, That thou hast lorn any of thy children tway.

And folke, that otherwise han said of me, I warne hem wel, that I haue done this dede For no malice, ne for no cruelte, But for to assay in thee thy womanhede: And not to sley my children, God forbede, But for to keepen hem priuely and still, Till I thy purpose knew: and all thy will.

When she this herd, a swoune doun she falleth For pitous joy, and after her swouning, She both her yong children to her calleth, And in her armes pitously weeping, Embraced hem both tenderly kissing Full like a mother, with her salt teares She bathed both her visage and her haires.

O which a pitous thing it was to see Her swouning, and her pitous voice to heare: Graunt mercy lord, God thonk it you (qd. she) That ye haue saued me my children deare: Now recke I neuer to be dead right here, Sithen I stond in your loue, & in your grace, No force of death, ne when my spirit pace.

O tender, O deare, O yong children mine, Your wofull mother wend stedfastly, That cruell hounds, or some foule vermine Had eaten you, but God of his mercy, And your benigne father so tenderly Hath done you keep: and in y^t same stound All suddainly she swapt doune to the ground.

And in her swouning, so sadly held she Her children two when she gan hem embrace, That with great sleight and difficulte The children from hir arms they gan to race: O many a teare, on many a pitous face Doune ran of hem tht stooden there beside, Vnneth about her might no man abide.

Walter her gladdeth, and her sorow slaketh, She riseth up all abashed from her traunce, And every wight her ioy and feast maketh, Till she hath caught ayen her countenance, Walter her doth so faithfully pleasaunce, That it was deintie to seene the chere Betwixt hem two when they were met ifere.

These ladies all, when they her time sey, Han taken her, and into chamber gone, And strippen her out of her rude arrey, And in a cloth of gold that bright shone, With a croune of many a rich stone Vpon her head, they her into hall brought: And there she was honoured as she ought.

Thus hath this pitous day a blisful end: For every man and woman doth his might This day in mirth and revel to dispend, Till on the welkin shone the sterres bright: For more solemne in every mans sight This feast was, and greater of co••••age, Than was the revell of her mariage.

Well many a year in high prosperite Liven these two in concord and in rest, And richly his doughter maried he Vnto a lord, one of the worthiest Of all Itaile, and then in peace and rest His wiues father in his court he kept, Till that his soule out of his body crept.

His sonne succeedeth in his heritage, In rest and peace after his fathers day: And fortunate was eke in mariage, All put he not his wife in great assay: This world is not so strong, it is no nay, As it hath been in old times yore, And her kneth what the autour saith therfore.

THis story is said, not for that wiues should Followen Grisild, as in humilite: For it were importable tho they would, But that every wight in his degre Should he constant in all adversite As was Grisild: wherefore Petrarke writeth This story, which with high stile he enditeth.

* For sith a woman was so patient Vnto a mortal man, well more we ought Receive all in gree that God us sent. For great skill he preueth that he wrought: * But he ne tempteth no man that he bought As saith saint Iame, if ye his pistell read, He preueth folke but assay, it is no dread.

* And suffereth vs as for our exercise With sharpe scourges of adversite, Well oft to be beaten in sondry wise: Not for to know our will, for certes he Or we were borne, knew all our freelte: And for our best is all his governaunce, Let us live then in vertuous suffraunce.

But one word herkeneth lordings or ye go: It were full hard to find now adayes In all a countrey, Grisilds three or two: For if they were put to such assays, The gold of hem hath so bad alayes With brasse, for though it be faire at eie, It will rather brast a two than plie.

For which here, for the wiues loue of Bath Whose life and sect mighty God maintene In high maistry, or else were it skath, I will with Iustie hert, fresh, and greene, Say you a song, to glad you I wene: And let us stint of earnest mattere. Herkneth my song that saith in this manere.

Lenuoye de Chaucer à les mariz de nostre temps.

GRisilde is dead and eke hir patience, And both at once buried in Itaile: For which I cry in open audience, No wedded wan be so hardy to assaile His wiues patience, in trust to find Grisildes, for in certaine he shall faile.

O noble wiues, full of high prudence, Let no humility your tongue naile: Ne let no clerke have cause ne diligence To write of you a storie of such maruaile As of Grisild patient and kinde, Lest Chechiface swallow you in her entraile.

Followeth Ecco, that holdeth no silence, But euer answereth at the contretaile: Beth no addassed for your innocence, But sharpely taketh on you the gouernaile: Enprinteth well this lesson in your minde, For common profit, sith it may auaile.

Ne dredeth hem not, doth hem no reverence, For though thine husbond armed be in maile The arrows of thy crabbed eloquence Shal perce his brest, & eke his adventaile: In iealousie eke looke thou him binde, And y^t shall make him couch as doth a quaile.

If thou be faire, there folke ben in presence Shew thou thy visage, and thine apparaile: If thou be foule, be free of thy dispence, To get thee friends aye do thy travaile: Be aye of cheare as light as lefe on linde, And let him care, weepen, wring and waile.

Ye arch wiues, stondeth aye at your defence, Sith ye be strong, as is a great camaile: Ne suffreth not that men do you offence. And ye sclendre wives, feeble as in battaile, Beth eygre as any tygre is in Inde: Aye clappeth as a mill, I you counsail.

¶Here endeth the clerk of Oxenfords tale.

¶Here follow the words of our Host.

When this worthy clerke ended had his tale, Our Host said and sworen by cockes bones, Me were leuer than a barrel af ale My wife at home had heard this legend ones: This is a gentle tale for the nones, As to my purpose, wist ye my will, But thing that woll not be, let it be still.

¶The Frankeleins Prologue.

THese old gentle Britons in her dayes, Of divers auentures maden layes, Rimed at first in her mother tong: Which layes with her instruments they song Or else readen hem for her pleasaunce, And one of hem have I in remembraunce, Which I shall say, as willing as I can. But sirs, because I am a borell man, At my beginning first I you beseech, Haue me excused of my rude speech: I learned never Rhetoricke certaine, Thing that I speke mote be bare and plaine: I slept neuer on the mount of Pernaso, Ne learned Marcus Tullius Cicero. Colours ne know I none, withouten dread, But such colours as growen in the mead, Or els such as men dien or paint: Colours of Rhetoricke been to me quaint, Ny spirit feeleth not of such mattere. This is my tale, if ye woll it here.

¶The Frankeleins Tale.

AUrelius, after much labour and cost bestowed to win the love of Dorigen, another mans wife, is content in the end, through the good dealing of her and her husband, to lose both labour and cost. The scope of this Tale seemeth a contention in courtesie.

IN Armorike, that called is Britaine, There was a knight, that loved and did his paine To serven Ladies in his best wise, And many a labour, & many a great emprise He for his Lady wrought, ere she were won: For she was one the fairest vnder son; And eke thereto commen of high kinrede, That well vnneth durst this knight for drede Tell her his wo, his pain, and his distresse. But at the last, she of her worthinesse, And namely for his meek obeysaunce, Hath such a pity caught of his pennaunce, That prively she fell of his accord To take him for her husbond and her lord, (Of such lordship as men have over her wives, And for to lead in the more blisse her lives.) Of his free will he swore her as a knight, That never in all his life day ne night Ne should he take upon him no maistry Again her will, ne kithe her iealousie, But her obey, and follow her will in all, As any louer to his lady shall: Save that the name of soveraignete That would he have for shame of his degree. She thonked him, & with full great humbless She said: sir, sith of your gentleness Ye profred me to have so large a raine, Ne would god never betwixt vs twaine As in my gilt, were either werre or strife: Sir, I woll be your true humble wife, Haue here my trouth, till that my hert brest: Thus ben they both in quiet and in rest. For one thing sirs, safely dare I seine, * That friends everich other must obeine, If they woll long holden company: * Love woll not be constrained by maistry. When maistry comes, the God of loue anone Beateth his wings, & farewell he is gone. * Loue is a thing, as any spirit free. Women of kind desiren libertee, And not to be constrained as a thrass: And so done men, if I sooth say shall. Looke who that most pacient is in loue, He is at his auantage all aboue: * Patience is an high vertue certain, For it venquisheth, as these clerkes sain, Things that rigour shall never attain. For every word men may not chide or plain, * Learneth to suffer, or else so mote I gone, Ye shall it learne whether ye woll or none. * For in this world certain no wight there is, That he ne doth or saieth sometime amis. Ire, sickness, or constellation, Wine, wo, or chaunging of complexion, Causeth full oft to done amisse or speaken: On every wrong a man may not be wreken. * After the time must be temperaunce To every wight that can of governaunce. And therefore hath this worthy wise knight, (To liven in ease) suffraunce her hight: And she to him full wisely gan swere, That never should there be default in here. Here may men see, humble and wise accord: Thus hath she take her servant and her lord, Servaunt in loue, and lord in marriage, Then was he both in lordship and seruage: Servage? nay, but in lordship aboue, Sithen he hath both his lady and his loue: His lady certes, and his wife also, The which that law of lond accordeth to. And when he was in this prosperity, Home with his wife he goth into his country, Not fer fro Denmarke, there his dwelling was Where as he liueth in ioy and solas. * Who coud tell, but he had wedded be, The ioy, the ease, and the prosperity, That is betwixt an husbond and his wife? Evermore lasted this blisful life, Till that this knight, of which I speake thus, (That of Caere Iuda, was cleped Aruiragus) Shope him to dwellen a yeare or twaine In Englond, that cleped was Britaine, To seeken in armes worship and honour. For all his lust he set in such labour,

And dwelt there two year, y^e booke faith thus. Now woll I stint of this Aruiragus, And speake I woll of Dorigen his wife, That loueth her husbond as her hearts life: For his absence weepeth she and siketh, As done these noble wiues when hem liketh: She mourneth, waileth, fasteth, & plaineth, Desire of his presence her so constraineth, That all this wide world set she at nought. Her friends, which knew her heauy thought, Comforten her in all that euer they may, They preachen hir, and tellen night & day, That causelesse she slew her selfe, alas, And euery comfort possible in this caas, They done to her, with all her businesse, And all to maken her leaue her heauinesse, * By processe, as ye knowen euerychone, Men mowen so long grauen in stone, Till some figure therein printed be: So long han they comforted her, till she Receiued hath by hope and by reason, The enprinting of her constellation: Through which her gret sorrow gan assuage, She may not alway enduren such a rage: And eke Aruiragus in all this care Hath sent his letters home of his welfare, And that he woll come hastily againe, Or els had this sorrow her heart slaine. Her friends saw her sorrow gan to slake. And praiden her on her knees for Gods sake To come and romen in her companie, Away to driuen her derke fantasie: And finally she graunted that request, For well she saw it was for the best. Now stood her castle fast by the see, And often with her friends walked shee, Her to disporten on the bankes hie, Where as she may ships and barges sie, Sailing her course, where him list go. But yet was that a parcell of her wo, For to her felfe full oft alas said shee, Is there no ship, of so many as I see, Wol bring home my lord? then were my hert Warished of these bitter paines smert. Another time would she sit and thinke, And cast her eyen downward fro the brinke But when she saw the grisly rockes blake, For very feare so would her hert quake, That on her feet she might not her sustene. Then would she sit adoune vpon the grene, And pitously into the sea behold, And say right thus, with sorrowfull sikes cold. * Eterne God, y^t through thy purueiaunce ••eadest this world by certaine gouernaunce, In idle as men sain dost thou nothing make: But lord, these grisly fiendly rockes blake, That seemen rather a foule confusion Of werke, than a faire creation Of such a perfit God, wise and stable, Why haue ye wrouʒt this werk vnresonable? For by this werke, north, south, west, ne east, There nis fostred ne man, bird, ne beast: It doth no good at all, but annoyeth: See ye not lord how mankind it destroyeth? An hundred thousand bodies of mankind Haue rockes islaine, all be they not in mind. Sin mankind is so faire a part of thy werke That thou it madest like thy owne werke, Then seemed it ye had a great cherte Toward mankind: but how then may it be, That ye such meanes maken it to distroyen? Which means don no good, but euer anoyen. * I wote well clerkes woll saine as hem lest By arguments, that all is for the best: Though I ne cannot the causes well know, But thilke God that made the wind to blow, As keepe my lord, this is my conclusion. To clerkes lete I all this disputation: And would God that all these rockes blake Were sonken into hell for his sake. These rockes doe slee mine heart for feare: Thus would she say with many a pitous tear. Her friends saw it was for her no disport To romen by the sea, but discomfort, And shapen hem to plaine some where els, They leaden her by riuers and by wels, And eke in other places delectables, They dauncen and they plaien at the tables. So on a day, right in the morrow tide, Vnto a garden that was there beside, In which y^t they had made her ordinaunce Of vitailes, and other purueyaunce, They gone and plaien hem all the long day: And this was in the sixt morrow of May, Which May hath painted with his soft shours This garden full of leaues and of flours: And craft of mans hond so curiously Arrayed had this garden truly, That neuer nas there garden of such prise, But if it were the very paradise. The odour of flours, and the fresh sight Would have made any living hert light That ever was, but it too great sicknesse Or too great sorrow held it in distresse, So was it full of beauty, with pleasaunce. And after dinner gone they to daunce And sing also, save Dorigene alone, That yet unto her selfe made her mone. For she ne seie him on the daunce go, That was her husbond, and her love also: But nathelesse, she must her time abide, And with good hope let her sorrow slide. Vpon this daunce, among other men Daunced a squier before Dorigen, That fresher was and iollier of array, As to my dome, than is the month of May. He singeth and daunceth, passing euery man, That is or was sithen the world began: He was therewith, & men should him discriue, One of the best faring men on liue, Yong, strong, vertuous, rich, and wise, And well beloued, and holden of great prise. And shortly, if I the sooth tell shall, Vnwitting of this Dorigen at all, This lusty squier, seruaunt to Venus, Which ycleaped was Aurelius, Had loved her best of any creature Two yeare & more, as was his auenture: But never durst he tell her his greuance, * Withouten cup he dronke all his pennance. He was dispaired, nothing durst he say, Saue in his songs somewhat would he wray

His wo, as in generall complaining, He said he loued, and was beloued nothing: Of which mattere made he many layes, Songs, complaints, roundels, & verilayes, How that he durst not his sorrow tell, But languish, as doth a furie in hell, And die he must (he said) as did Ecco For Narcissus, that durst not tell his wo. In other manner than ye heard me say, Ne durst not he to her his wo bewray, Saue perauenture sometime at daunces, There young folke keepen her obseruaunces, It may well be he looked on her face In such a wise, as men that asken grace, But nothing wist she of his entent: Nathelesse it happed, ere they thence went, Because y^t he was her neere neighbour, And was a man of worship and honour, And she had yknowne him of time yore, They fell in speech, & so forth more & more Vnto his purpose then drow Aurelius: And when he saw his time, he said thus. Madame (qd. he) by God y^t this World made, So y^t I wist, that I might your hert glade, I would that day, that your Aruyragus Went ouer the sea, that I Aurelius Had went there y^t I should neuer come again: For well I wot my seruice is in vain, My guerdon nis but bresting of mine hert: Madam, rueth vpon my paines smert, For with one word ye may me slee or saue, Here at your foot God would y^t I were graue. I haue as now no leisure more to sey: Haue mercy sweet, or ye woll doe me dey. She gan to looke vpon Aurelius, Is this your will (qd. she) and say ye thus? Neuer erst (qd. she) ne wist I what ye ment: But now I know Aurelius your entent. By thilke God that yaue me soule & life, Ne shall I neuer be vntrew wife In word ne werke, as far as I haue wit, I woll ben his to whom I am knit: Take this for a final answere of me, But after this in play thus said she. Aurelius (qd. she) by God aboue Yet woll I graunt you to been your loue (Sithen I see you so pitously complaine.) Looke what day that endlong in Britaine. Ye remeue all the rocks, stone by stone, That they ne let ship ne boat to gone, I say when ye haue made these coasts so clene Of rockes, that there nis no stone yseen, Then woll I loue you best of any man, Here haue my trouth, in all that euer I can. Is there none other grace in you (qd. he?) No by that lord (qd. she) that maked me. For well I wote that it shall never betide, Let such follie out of your heart glide. * What deintie should a man haue in his life For to goe loue another mans wife? That hath her body when so that him liketh. Aurelius full often sore siketh: Wo was Aurely when he this herd, And with a sorowfull chere he thus answerd. Madame (qd. he) this were impossible: Then mote I die on suddaine death horrible: And with that word he turned him anone. Tho come her other friends everichone, And in the aleyes romeden up and doun, And nothing wist of this conclusioun, But suddainely began to revell new, Till that the bright sonne had lost his hew. For the orizont hath reft the sunne his light, This is as much to say, as it was night: And home they gone in ioy and in solas, Save onely wretched Aurelius, alas: He to his house is gone with sorrowfull hert, He said he might not from his death astert Him seemed, that he felt his heart all cold, And up to heaven his honds gan he hold, And on his knees bare he set him adoun, And in his raving said this orisoun: For very wo out of his wit he braied, He ne wist what he spake, but thus he said. With pitous heart hath he his complaint be∣gon Vnto the goddes, and first unto the son He said: God Apollo and governour Of every plant, hearbe, tree, and flour, That yeuest after thy declination To ilke of hem his time and season, As thine herberow chaungeth low and hie: Lord Phebus, cast thy merciable eie On wretched Aurelius, which am but lorne, Lo Lord, my Lady hath my death ysworne Without guilt, but thy benignity Vpon my deadly heart haue some pity. For well I wot lord Phebus, if ye lest, Ye may me helpe, saue my lady, best. Now vouch ye saue, that I you deuise How y^t I may be holpen & in what wise. Your blisfull suster Lucina the shene, That of the sea is goddesse and queene, Though Neptunus hath deitie in the see, Yet empresse abouen him is she: Ye knowen well lord, right as her desire Is to be quickened and lighted of your sire, For which she followeth you full besily, Right to the sea desireth naturally To followen her, as she that is goddesse Both of the sea and riuers more and lesse. Wherefore lord Phebus, this is my request, Doe this miracle, or doe mine heart brest. That now next at this oppsition, Which in signe shall be of the Lion, As prayeth her so great a flood to bring, That fiue fadome at the least it ouerspring The highiest rocke in Armorike Britaine, And let this floud to duren yeares twaine. Then certes to my lady may I say, Holdeth your hest, the rockes been away: This thing may ye lightly done for me, Pray her to gone no faster course than ye. I say thus, prayeth your suster that she go No faster course than ye in yeares two: Then shall she be at the full alway, And spring flood lasting both night & day: And but she vouchsafe in such manere To graunt me my soveraigne lady dere, Pray her to sinken every rocke adoun Into her owne derke regioun Vnder the ground, there Pluto dwelleth in, Or nevermore shall I my lady win.

Thy Temple in Delphos wol I barefoot seek, O lord Phebus, see the teares on my cheek, And on my paine haue some compassioun: And with y^t word, in swoune he fell adoun, And for a long time he lay in a traunce. His brother, which y^t knew of his pennaunce, Vp caught him, and to bed him brought. Dispaired in this turnment and this thought Let I this wofull creature lie, Chese he whether he woll liue or die. Aruiragus with heale and great honour (As he that was of chiualrie the flour) Is comen home, and other worthy men: O blisfull art thou now Dorigen, That hast thy lusty husbond in thine armes, That fresh knight, that worthy man of arms, That loueth thee as his own hearts life: Nothing list him to be imaginatife, If any wight had spoken (while he was out) To her of loue, thereof had he no dout, He entendeth not to such matere, But danceth, justeth, and maketh her good chere. And thus in joy and bliss I let hem dwell, And of wofull Aurelius woll I tell. In langour and in turment despitous Two yeare and more lay wretched Aurelius, Ere any foot on earth he might gone, Ne comfort in this time had he none, Saue of his brother, which was a clerke, He knew of all this wo and all this werke: For to none other creature certaine Of this mattere durst he no word saine, Vnder his breast he bare it more secre, Than euer did Pamphilus for Galathe. His breast was whole without for to seene, But in his heart aye was the arrow keene, And well ye knowen, that of a sursanure, In surgerie, is per••••••ous the cure, But men might touch the arrow or come thereby. His brother weepeth and waileth prively, Till at the last him fell in remembraunce, That while he was at Orleaunce in Fraunce (As these clerkes yong that been likerous) To readen arts that been curious, Seeken in euery halke and in euery Herne Particular science for to lerne. He him remembred, that upon a deie At Orleaunce in studie a booke he seie Of Magicke naturall, which his felaw, That was in that time a batcheler of law, All were he there to learne another craft, Had prively upon his dexe ylaft, Which booke spake of mochell operations Touching the eight and twentie Mansions That longen to the Moone, and such follie As in our dayes is not worth a Flie: For holy church saieth in our beleeue, * Ne suffereth none illusion us to greeue. And when this book was in his remembrance, Anon for ioy his heart gan to dance, And to himselfe he saied prively. My Brother shall be warished sikerly: For I am siker that there be sciences, By which men maken diuers apparences, Such as these subtill tregetores play. For oft at ••easts haue I well heard say, That tragetors, within an hall large Haue made come in water and a barge, And in the hall rowen up and doun: Sometime hath seemed a grim Lioun, And sometime floures spring as in a mede, Sometime a vine, & grapes white and rede: Sometime a Castle of lime and stone, And when hem liked, voiden hem anone: Thus seemed it to every mans sight. Now then conclude I thus, if y^t I might At Orleaunce some old felaw find, That had this Moones Mansions in mind, Or other Magicke natural aboue, He should wel make my brother haue his loue For with an apparaunce a clerke may make To a mans sight, that all the rockes blake Of Britaine were yuoided euerichone, And ships by the brinke to comen and gone, And in such forme enduren a yeare or two: Then were my brother warished of his wo, Then must she needs holden her behest, Or els he shall shame her at the lest. What should I make a lenger tale of this? Vnto his brothers bed he commen is, And such comfort he yaue him, for to gone To Orleaunce, that he up stert anone, And on his way then is he forth yfare, In hope to been lessed of his care. When they were comen almost to y^• citee (But if it were a two furlong or three) A yong clerke roming by himselfe they met, Which that in Latine thriftily hem gret, And afterward he saied a wonder thing, I know the whole cause of your comming: And ere they farther any foot went, He told hem all that was in her intent. This Briton clerke asked him of fellowes, The which he had knowen in old daies, And he answerd him that they dead were, For which he wept oft full many a tere. Doune off his horse Aurelius light anon, And with this Magician forth is he gon Home to his house, and made him well at ese: Hem lacked no vitaile that hem might plese. So well araied an house as there was one, Aurelius in his life saw neuer none. He shewed him or he went to suppere Forrests and parkes full of wild dere, He saw there Harts with hornes hie, The greatest that euer were seene with eie, He see of hem an hundred slaine with hounds, And some of arows bled with bitter wounds. He saw, when voided were the wild dere, These fauconers upon a faire riuere, That with the haukes han the Heron slaine. Tho saw he knights iusting in a plaine. And after this he did him such pleasaunce, That he him shewed his lady in a daunce, On which himself daunced as him thought. And when this master, y^t this magike wrouʒt, Saw it was time, he clapped his honds to, And farewell our revel, all was ago, And remeued neuer out of his hous, While they saw all this sight maruellous. But in his studie there his bookes bee, They saten still, no wight but they three.

To him this maister called his squier, And saied him thus, is ready our supper? Almost an hour it is, I vndertake, Sithen I you bad our supper ready make, When that these worthy men went with me Into my studie, there as my bookes be. Sir (qd. the squier) when it liketh you, It is all ready, though ye woll right now. Goe we sup then (qd. he) for the best, These amorous folk somtime mote haue rest. And after supper fell they in treate What sum should this maisters guerdon be, To remeue all the rockes of Britaine, And eke from Girond to the mouth of Saine. He made it strange & swore so God him saue, Lesse than a thousand pound would he not haue, Ne gladly for y^t sum nold he it done. Aurelius with blisfull heart anone Answerd thus: Fie on a thousand pound: This wide world, which men say is round, I would it yeue, if I were lord of it. This bargaine is full driue, for we be knit, Ye shall be paied truely by my trouth: But looke now for no negligence or slouth, Ne tarien vs here no lenger than to morow. Nay (qd. this clerk) here my trouth to borow. To bed is gone Aurelius when him lest, And well nigh all night he had his rest. What for his labour, and his hope of blisse, His wofull heart of pennaunce had a lisse. Vpon the morrow when that it was day, Home to Britaine tooke they the right way, Aurelius, and this Magicine him beside, And been discended there they would abide: And this was, as the booke doth remember, In the cold frostie season of December. Phebus waxed old, and hewed like laton, That afore in his hot declination Shone as the brenning gold, with streames bright: But now in capricorne adoune he light. Whereas he shone full pale, I dare well saine, The bitter frost with the slidder raine Destroyed hath the greene in euery yerd. Ianus sit by the fire with double berd, And drinketh of his bugle horne the wine: Beforn him stout brawne of y^e tusked swine, And nowell crieth euery lustie man. Aurelius in all that euer he can, Doeth to this maister chere and reuerence, And praieth him to doen his deligence To bringen him out of his paines smart, Or with a swerd that he would slit his hart. This clerke such routh hath on this man, That night & day he speedeth him w^t he can To wait a time of his conclusion: This is to say, to make illusion, Or such an apparence of iogglerie (I ne can no termes of Astrologie) That she and every wight should wene & say, That of Britaine the rockes were away, Or els they were sonken vnder the ground: Till at the last he hath his time yfound To make his yapes and his wretchednesse Of such superstitious cursednesse: His tollitan tables he forth brought Full well corrected, him lacked nought, Neither his collect, ne his expans yeres, Ne his roots, ne yet his other geres As been his centris, and his argumentes, And his proportionell conuenientes For his equations in euery thing. And by his eight speres in his werking, He knew full well how far alnath was shoue Fro the head of thilke fixt Aries aboue, That in the ninth spere considered is, Full subtilly he had calked all this. And when he had found his first Mansion, He knew the remnaunt by proportion: And knew the rising of the Moone wele, And in such face, the terme and euery dele, And knew also his other obseruaunces For such illusions and such mischaunces As Heathen folke vsed in thilke daies: For which ne maked he no lenger delaies, But through his magick, for a weeke or tway It seemed that all the rockes were away. Aurelius, which that dispaired is, Whether he shall haue his loue, or fare amis, Awaiteth night and day on this miracle: And when he knew there was none obstacle, But y^t voided were these rocks euerichone, Doune to the maisters feet he fell anone, And saied, I wofull wretch Aurelius, Thanke you lord and lady mine Venus, That me hath holpen fro my cares cold, And to y^e temple his way forth hath he hold, Whereas he knew he should his lady see, And when he saw his time, anon right hee With dreadfull hart and with humble chere Salued hath his soueraigne lady dere. My rightfull lady (qd. this wofull man) Whom I serue and loue, as I best can, And lothest were of all this world displease, Nere it that I for you haue such disease, That I must die here at your feet anon, Nought would I tell how wo in me begon. But certes either must I die or plaine, Ye slea me guiltlesse for very paine. But of my death though ye haue no routh, Auisen you, ere that ye breake your trouth: Repenteth you, for that like God aboue: For ye slea me, because that I you loue. For Madame, well ye wot that ye haue hight Nut that I chalenge any thing of right Of you my soueraigne lady, but of your grace: But in a garden yonde in such a place, Ye wote right well what ye behight me, And how in my hond your trouth plight ye To loue me best, God wote ye saied so, Albeit I am vnworthy thereto. Madame I speake for the honour of you More than for to saue my hearts life now: I haue doen right as ye commaunded mee, And if ye vouchsafe, ye may goe see. Doeth as you list, haueth your hest in mind, For quick or dead, right there ye shall me find: In you lieth all to doe me liue or dey, But well I wote the rockes been all awey. He tooke his leaue, and she astonied stood, In all her face there nas a drop of blood: She wend neuer han come in such a trap. Alas (qd. she) that euer this should hap,

For wend I neuer by possibilite: That such a mister or maruaile might be: It is against the processe of nature. And home she goeth a sorrowfull creature, For very feare vnneths may she go, She weepeth and waileth a day or two, And swouneth, that it was routh to see: But why it was, to no wight told she, For out of toune was gone Aruiragus. But to her selfe she spake, and saied thus In her complaint, as ye shall after heare, With face pale, and with sorrowfull cheare. Alas (qd. she) on thee fortune I plain, That vnware hast wrapped me in thy chain: Fro which to escape, wot I no succour, Saue onely death, or els dishonour: One of these two behoueth me to chese. But natheles, yet had I leuer to lese My life, than of my body to haue shame, Or know my selfe false, or lese my name. And with my death I may be quit ywis: Hath there not full many a wife ere this, And many a maid yslaine her selfe alas, Rather than with her body doen trespas? And certes lo, these stories been witnesse, When thirtie tyrants full of cursednesse Had slain Phidon in Athens at the feast, They commaunded his doughters to arrest, And bringen hem beforne hem in dispite All naked, to fulfill her foule delite: And in her fathers blood he did hem dance Vpon y^e pauement, God yeue him mischance. For which these wofull maidens ful of dread, Rather than they would lesen her maiden∣head, They priuily been stert into a well, And drenched hemselfe, as bookes can tell. They of Messene let enquire and seeke Of Lacedemony fiftie maidens eke, On which they would haue doen her lechery: But there was none of all that company That she nas slaine, and with a glad intent Chese rather for to dien, than to assent, To been oppressed of her maidenhead. Why should I then to die been in dread? Lo eke the tyrant Aristoclides, That loued a maid that hight Simphalides, When that her father slaine was on a night, Vnto Dianes temple goth she a non right, And hent the Image with her armes two, Fro which Image would she neuer go, No wight might fro it her honds to race, Till she was slaine right in the selfe place. Now sithens y^• maidens had such despight To been defouled with mans foule delight, * Well ought a wife rather her selfe sle, Than be defouled, as thinketh me. What shall I say of Hasdrubals wife, That at Carthage beraft her selfe her life? For when she saw the Romans wan the toun, She tooke her children all, and lept adoun Into the fire, and chese rather to die, Than any Romane did her villanie. Hath not Lucrece yslaine her selfe, alas At Rome, there as she oppressed was Of Tarquine? for her thought it was shame To liue, when that she had lost her name. The eight maidens of Melesie also Han slaine hemselue for very dread and wo, Rather than folk of Gaule should hem oppresse More than a thousand stories, as I gesse, Couth I now tell as touching this matere. When Abradas was slain, his wife so dere Her selfe slow, and let her blood to glide In Abradas wounds, broad and wide, And saied, my body at the least way There shall no wight defoule if I may. What should I mo ensamples hereof sain, Sithens that so many han hem slain, Well rather than they would defouled be. I woll conclude that it is best for me Well rather slea my selfe in some manere, As did Demotius doughter dere, Because that she nolde not defouled be. O Sedasus, it is full great pite To readen how thy doughters diden, alas? That slowen hemselfe for such a maner caas. As great a pity was it or well more, Of the Theban maid: for that Nichanore, One of Macedony, had her oppressed, With her death her maidenhead she redressed. What shall I saine of Nicerates wife, That for such case beraft her selfe her life? How true was eke to Alcibades, His loue, that for to dien rather chees, Than to suffren his body vnburied be? Lo which a wife was Alceste (qd. she) What saieth Homere of good Penelope? All Greece knoweth of her chastite. Parde of Laodomia is written thus, That when at Troy was slain Protheselaus, No lenger nolde she liue after this day. The same of noble Portia tell I may, Withouten Brutus couth she not liue, To whom she had all her heart ygiue. The perfit wifehood of Artemisie Honoured is throughout all Barbarie. Oh Thenta Queene, thy wifely chastite To all wiues liuing may a mirrour be. The same thing I say of Bilia, Of Rodogone, and eke Valeria. Thus plained Dorigene a day or twey, Purposing euer that she would dey, But natheles vpon the third night Home came Aruiragus, the worthy knight, And asked her why she wept so sore: And she gan weepen euer lenger the more. Alas (qd. she) that euer was I borne, Thus haue I said (qd. she) thus haue I sworn, And told him all, as ye haue heard before: It needeth not to rehearse it no more. This husbond with glad chere in sundry wise Answerd and saied, as I shall you deuise. Is there ought els Dorigene but this? Nay nay (qd. she) God helpe me so as wis, This is too much, and it were Gods will. Yea wife (qd. he) let sleepe that may still, It may be well: yet parauenture to day, Ye shall your trouth hold by my fay. For God so wis••y haue mercy on me, I had well leuer sticked for to be For very loue which that I to you haue, But if ye should your trouth keepe and saue.

* Trouth is y^e hiest thing that men may kepe. But with that word he brast anone to weepe, And saied, I you forbid on paine of death, That never whiles you lasteth life or breath, To no wight tell of this misauenture. As I my best I woll my wo endure, Ne make no countenance of heavinesse, That folk of you may deeme harme ne gesse. And forth he cleped a squier and a maid, Goth forth anone with Dorigene he said, And bringeth her in such a place anone. They took her leue, & on her wey they gone: But they ne wist why she thider went, She nolde no wight tellen her intent. This squier, which that hight Aurelius, On Dorigene which that was so amorous, Of auenture happed her to meet Amid the toune, right in the high street, As she would haue gone the way forthright Toward the garden, there as she had hight. And he went to the gardenward also, For well he spied when she would go Out of her house, to any manner place: But thus they met of auenture or of grace, And he salueth her with glad intent, And assked of her whi••er that she went. And she answerd halfe as she were mad, Vnto the garden as my husbond bad My trouth for to hold, alas, alas. Aurelius gan wondren of this caas, And in his heart had great compassion Of her chere, and her lamentation, And of Aruiragus the worthy knight, That bad her hold all that she had hight, So loth he was y^t she should breke her trouth: And in his heart he caught of it great routh. Considering the hest on euery side, That fro his lust were him better abide, Than doe so high a churlish wretchednesse Ayenst fraunchise, and all gentlenesse, For which in few words saied he thus: Madame, saieth to your lord Aruiragus, That sithen I see this great gentlenesse Of him, and eke I see well your distresse, That ye to me shoulden hold your trouth, Certes me thinketh it were great routh: I haue well leuer euer to suffer wo, Than depart the loue betwixt you two. I you release madame into your hond Quite every surement and every bond That ye haue made to me, as here beforne, Sithens thilk time which that ye were born. My trouth I plight, I shall you neuer repreve Of no behest, and here I take my leve As of the truest and the best wife That euer yet I knew in all my life. But euery wight beware of her behest, On Dorigene remembreth at the least. * Thus can a squier doen a gentle dede, As well as can a knight, withouten drede. She thonked him vpon her knees all bare, And home vnto her husbond is she fare, And told him all as ye han heard me saied: And be ye siker, he was so well apaied, That it were vnpossible me to write. What should I lenger of this case endite? Aruiragus, and Dorigene his wife In soueraigne blisse leaden forth her life, Neuer after was there anger hem betweene, He cherished hir as though she were a queene, And she was to him true for euermore. Of these two folkes ye get of me no more. Aurelius, that his cost hath all forlorne, Cursed the time that euer he was borne. Alas (qd. he) alas that euer I beheight Of pured gold a thousand pound of weight Vnto this Philosopher, how shall I doe? I see no more, but that I am fordoe. Mine heritage mote I needs goe and sell, And bin a begger, here may I no lenger dwell, And shame all my kinrede in this place, But I of him may get better grace. But nathelesse I woll of him assay, At certaine daies, yeare by yeare to pay, And thonke him of his great courtesie, My trouth woll I keepe, I woll not lie. With heart sore he goth vnto his cofer And brought gold vnto the Philosopher The value of fiue hundred pounds as I gesse, And him beseecheth of his gentlenesse To graunt him daies of the remnaunt, And said: maister I dare mell make auaunt, I failed never of my trouth as yet. For sikerly my debt shall be quit Towards you, how that ever I fare To gone a begging in my kirtle bare: But would ye vouchsafe upon suerte Two yeare or three for to respite me, Then were I well, for els mote I sell Mine heritage, there is no more to tell. This Philosopher soberly answerd, And saied thus, when he this word herd, Have I not hold covenaunt unto thee? Yes certes, well and truly (qd. he,) Hast thou not had thy lady as thee liketh? No, no (qd. he) and sorily he siketh. What was the cause, tell me if that thou can? Aurelius anon his tale began, And told him all as ye han heard before, It needeth not to rehearce it any more. He saied Aruiragus of gentlenesse Had leuer die in sorow and in distresse, Than his wife were of her trouth fals. The sorrow of Dorigene he told him als, How loth she was to been a wicked wife, And that she had leuer have lost her life. And y^t her trouth she swore through innocence, She now erst heard speake of apparence: That made me have of her so great pite. And right as freely as he sent her to me, As freely sent I her to him again: This is all & some, there nis no more to sain. The Philosopher answerd, leue brother, Everych of you did gently to other: Thou art a squier, and he is a knight, But God forbid for his blisful might, But if a clerke could doen a gentle deed As well as any of you, it is no dreed. Sir I release thee thy thousand pound, As now thou were crope out of the ground, Ne never ere now haddest thou knowen mee. For sir, I woll not taken a penny of thee.

For all my craft, ne nought for my trauaile: Thou hast ypaied right well for m•• vitaile. It is ynough, & farwell and haue good day, And tooke his horse, & rode forth on his way. Lordings this question would I aske now, Which was the most free, as thinketh you? Now telleth me, ere that I further wend, I can no more, my tale is at an end.

¶The Second Nonnes Prologue.

THe minister & the norice vnto vices, Which y^t men clepen in English idlenesse, That is porter of y^e gate of delices To eschue, and by her contrary her oppresse, That is to saine, by lefull businesse: * Well ought we to doen our intent Least that y^e fiend through idlenesse vs hent.

For he that with his thousand cords slie Continually vs waiteth to be clap, When he may man in idlenesse espie, He can so lightly catch him in his trap, Till that a man be hent right by the lap, He nis not ware, the fiend hath him in hond: * Well ought vs werch, & idlenesse withstond.

And though men dreaden neuer for to die, Yet see men well by reason doubtles, * That idlenesse is root of sluggardie, Of which there commeth neuer good en∣crees, For soothly sloth holdeth hem in a lees, Onely to sleepe, and for to eat and drinke, And to deuouren all that other swinke.

And for to put vs from such idlenesse, That cause is of so great confusion, I haue here doen my faithfull businesse After the Legend in translation, Right of thy glorious life and passion, Thou with thy garlond, wrought with rose & lilly, Thee meane I, maid & martir saint Cecily.

And thou that art floure of virgins all, Of whom that Bernard list so well to write, To thee at my beginning first I call, Thou comfort of vs wretches, doe me endite Thy maidens death, y^t wan through hir merite The eterne life, and of the fiend victory, As men may after read in her story.

Thou maiden & mother, doughter of thy son, Thou Well of mercy, sinfull soules cure. In whom the God of bounty chese to won: Thou humble and high ouer euery creature, Thou noblest, and so farre ouer nature, That no disdaine the maker had of kind, His son in bloud and flesh to cloth and wind.

Within the cloyster of thy blisfull sidis, Tooke mans shape the eterne loue and pees: That of the true compas Lord and guide is, Whom heauen, earth, and sea, withouten les Aye herien, and thou virgine wemles Bare of thy body, and dwellest maiden pure The creator of euery creature.

Assembled is in the magnificence With mercy, goodnesse, and with such pitee, That thou art the sonne of excellence, Not onely that helpest them that praien thee, But oftentime of thy benignitee Full freely, or that men thine helpe beseech, Thou goest beforne, and art her liues leech.

Now helpe thou blisfull & meekefaire maid Me flemed wretch, in this desert of gall: Thinke on the woman of Canane, that said, That whelpes eaten some of y^e crums small That from her Lords table been yfall: And though y^t I vnworthy doughter of Eue Be sinfull, yet accepteth my beleeue.

And for that faith is ded withouten werkis, So for to werch, yeue me witte and space, That I be quit from the place y^t most derkis O thou that art so faire and full of grace, Be mine aduocate in that hie place, There as without ende is song Osanna, Thou Christes mother, & doughter of Anna.

And of thy light, my soule in prison light, That troubled is by the contagion Of my body, and also by the wight Of earthly lust, and false affection: O heauen, O refute, O saluation Of hem that been in sorow and distresse, Now help, for to my werke I woll me dresse.

Yet I pray you that reden that I write, Foryeueth me, that I doe no diligence This ilke storie subtilly to endite. For hoth haue I the words and the sentence Of him that at the saints reuerence The storie wrote, and followen her legende, And pray you that ye woll my werke amende.

First woll I you the name of saint Cecily Expoune, as men may in her storie see It is to say in English, Heauens lilly, For pure chastnesse of virginitie, Or for she witnes had of honestie, And greene of conscience, and of good same, The sote sauoured Lilly was her name.

Or Cecily is to say, the way to blinde: For she ensample was by good teaching, Or else Cecily, as I written finde, Is joyned by a manner conioining Of heauen and Lia, in her figuring: The heauen is set for thought of holinesse, And Lia, for her lasting besinesse.

Cecily may eke be saied in this manere, Wanting of blindnesse, for her great light, For her sapience, and for her thewes clere. Or els Lo, this maidens name so bright: Of heuen & Leos cometh, of which by right Men might the heauen of people her call, Ensample of good and wise werkes all.

For Leos, people, in English is to say: And right as men may in the heauen see

The sunne and moon, and sterres euery way, Right so men ghostly, in this maiden free Sawen of faith the great magnanimitie, And eke the clerenesse hole of sapience, And sundrie werkes, bright of excellence.

And right so as these Philosophers write That heauen is swift, round, & eke brenning, Right so was faire Cecily the white Full swift and busie in euery good working, And round and whole in good perseuering, And brenning euer in charitie full bright: Now haue I declared you what she hight.

¶The second Nonnes Tale.

The life and death of Saint Cecily.

THis maiden bright Cecile, as her life saith, Was comen of Romanes & of noble kind: And so foorth fostered vp in the faith Of Christ, and bare his Gospell in her mind: She neuer ceased, as I written find, Of her prayer, and God to loue and dread, Beseeching him to keepe her maidenhead.

And when this maid should vnto a man I wedded be, that was full yong of age, Which that ycleped was Valerian, And day was come of her mariage, She full deuout and humble in her corage, Vnder her robe of gold, that sat full faire, Had next her flesh yclad her in an haire.

And whiles that the organs made melodie, To God alone thus in hert song she, O lord, my soule and eke my bodie gie Vnwemmed, lest I confounded be: And for his loue that died vpon a tree. Euery second or third day she fast, Aye biding in her orison full fast.

The night came, and to bed must she gone With her husbond, as is the manere, And priuily she said vnto him anone, O sweet and well beloued spouse dere, There is a counsaile, and ye woll it here, Which that right faine I would to you saine So that ye me ensure, it not to bewraine.

Valerian gan fast vnto her swere, That for no case, ne thing that might be, He should neuer to none bewraien here: And then at erst thus to him said she, I haue an Angell which that loueth me, That with great loue, where so I wake or sleepe, Is ready aye my body for to keepe.

And if that he may felen out of drede, That ye me touch or loue in vilonie, He right anon will slee you with the dede, And in your youth thus shall ye die. And if that ye in clene loue me gie, He woll you loue as me, for your cleanesse, And shew you of his joy and brightnesse.

This Valerian, corrected as God wold, Answerd ayen, if I shall trust thee, Let me that angell see, and him behold, And if that it a very angell be, Then woll I done as thou hast prayed me: And if thou loue another man forsoth, Right with this sword then woll I slee you both.

Cecile answerd anon in this wise, If that ye lust, that angel shul you see, So that ye trow on Christ, and you baptise, Goth forth to Via apia (qd. she) That from this toun ne stant but miles three, And to the poore folke that there doe dwell Say hem right thus, as I shall you tell.

Tell hem that I Cecile, you to hem sent To shewen you the good Vrban the old, For secret needs, and for good entent: And when that ye saint Vrban han behold, Tell him the words that I to you told, And when that he hath purged you from sin, Then shall ye see that angell ere ye twinne.

Valerian is to that place igon, And right as him was taught by his lerning, He found this holy Vrban anon Among these saints burials louting: And he anon without tareing Did his message, and when he had it tolde, Vrban for joy gan his honds vp hold.

The teres from his eyen let he fall: Almightie God, O Iesu Christ (qd. he) Sower of chaste counsell, hierde of vs all, The fruit of thilke seed of chastite That thou hast sow in Cecile, take to thee: Lo like a besy bee withouten gile Thee serueth aye thine owne thrall Cecile.

For thilke spouse, that she tooke but newe Full like a fierce Lion, she sendeth here As meeke as any lambe was to ewe: And with that word anon ther gan apere An old man, iclad in white clothes clere, That had a book with letters of gold in hond, And gan biforne Valerian for to stond.

Valerian as deed, fell downe for drede, When he this old man saw standing so, Which forthwith anon he herd to rede, O Lord, O faith, O God withouten mo Of Christendome, and father of all also Abouen all, and ouer all euery where: These words all with gold iwritten were,

When this was rad, then said this old man, Leuest thou this thing or none, say ye or nay: I leue all this thing (qd. Valerian) Vnder the heauen no ••ight ne thinke may Sother thing than this, I dare well say. Tho vanished the old man, he nist where, And Pope Vrban him christned right there.

Valerian goeth home, and findeth Cecile Within his chamber, with an Angell stonde: This angell had of rose and of lillye Crownes two, the which he bare in honde, And first to Cecile, as I vnderstonde, He yaue that one, and after gan he take That other to Valerian her make.

With body clean & with vnwemmed thought Keepeth aye well these crownes two (qd. he) From paradise to you I haue hem brought, Ne neuer more shullen they rotten be, Ne lese her sweet sauour, trusteth me, Ne neuer wight shall seene hem with eye, But he be chaste, and hate vilonie.

And thou Valerian, for thou so sonne Assentedest to good counsell also, Say what thou list, and thou shalt have thy boone. I haue a brother (qd. Valerian tho) That in this world I loue no man so, I pray you that my brother may haue grace To know the trouth, as I do in this place.

The angel answerd, God liketh your request, And both with the palme of martirdome Shall ye come vnto the blisfull feast: And with y^t word, Tiburce his brother come, And when that he the sauour ••idernome, Which that the roses and the lillies cast, Within his hert he gan to wonder fast.

And said: I wonder this time of the yere Whence that this sote sauour commeth so Of roses and lillies, that I smell here: For though I had hem in mine hands two, The sauour might in me no deeper goe: The sweet smell, that in mine hert I find Hath changed me all in another kind.

Valerian said, two crownes here have we Snow white, & rose red, that shineth clere, Which that thine eyen han no might to see: And as thou smellest hem through my praier So shalt thou seen hem my leue brother dere, If it so be that thou wilt without slouth Beleeue aright, and know the very trouth.

Tiburce answerd, saiest thou this to me In soothnesse, or in dreme herken I this? In dremes (qd. Valerian) han we be Vnto this time, brother mine iwis: But now at erst, out dwelling in trouth is. How wost you this (qd. Tiburce) & in what wise? Qd. Valerian, y^t I shall thee deuise.

The angell of God hath me y^• trouth taught Which thou shalt seene, & thou wilt reney The idols, and be cleane, and els naught: And of the miracles of these crownes twey Saint Ambrose in his preface lust to sey: Solemnely this noble doctour dere Commendeth it, and saith in this manere.

The palme of martirdome for to receiue, Saint Cecile, fulfilled of Gods ye••t, The World and eke her chamber gan weiue, Witnesse Tiburces and Ceciles shrift, To which God of his bounty would shift Crownes two, of floures well smelling, And made y^e angell hem tho crownes bring.

The maid hath brought hem to blisse aboue: The world hath wist what it is worth certain Deuotion and chastity well for to loue. Tho shewed him Cecile all open and plaine, That all idols ben but things in vaine, For they ben dumbe, & therto they ben defe, And charged him his idols for to lefe.

Who that troweth not this, a beast he is (Qd. this Tiburce) if that I shall not lie. She kissed his breast when she heard this, And was full glad he couth trouth espie: This day take I thee for mine allie, Said this blisfull maiden faire and deare, For after that she said as ye may heare.

Lo right so as the loue of Christ (qd. she) Made me thy brothers wife, right in y^t wise Anon for mine allie here take I thee, Sithens that thou wolt thine idols despise. Goth with thy brother now, and thee baptise, And make thee clean, so y^t thou maist behold The angels face, of which thy brother told.

Tiburce answerd, & said: brother deare First tell me whither I shal, and to w^t man: To whom he said, come forth with good chere I woll thee lead vnto the Pope Vrban. To Vrban brother mine Valerian (Qd. this Tiburce) wilt thou me thider lede? Me thinketh that it were a wonder dede.

Ne meanest thou not Vrban (qd. he tho) That is so oft damned to be dead, And wonneth in hal••es to and fro, And dare not once putten forth his head? Men should him bren in a fire so red, If he were found, & men might him spie, And we also, that beare him companie.

And while we seeken thilke diuinitie, That is yh••d in heauen priuely, Algate ybrent in this world should be. To whom Cecile answerd boldely, * All men might dread well and skilfully This life to le••e, mine own dere brother, If this were liuing onely and none other.

* But there is better liuing in other place, That neuer shall be lost, ne drede thee nought: Which Gods son to vs told throgh his grace. That fathers son which hath al thing wroght, And all iwrought is with a skilfull thought, The ghost that from the father gan procede, Hath souled him withouten any drede.

By word and by miracle, lo Gods son When he was in this world, declared here, That there is other life there men may won. To whom answerd Tiburce: O su••ter dere

Ne saidest thou right now in this manere, There nas but one God in soothfattnesse, And now of three how may thou bere witnesse.

That shall I tell (qd. she) or that I go: * Right as a man hath sapiences three, Memory, engine, and intellect also, So in such being of diuinitie, Three persons may there full right well be Tho gan she there full busily him preach Of Christs sonne, and of his paines teach.

And many points of his passion, How Gods son in this world was withhold To doe mankind plaine remission, That was b••und in sinnes and cares cold. All these things the vnto Tiburce told, And after this Tiburce in good intent, With Valerian to Pope Vrban went.

That thonked God, & with glad hert & light He christened him, & made him in y^t place Perfite in his learning Gods knight: And after this, Tiburce got such grace, That euery day he saw in time and space The Angell of God, and euery boone That he God asked, it was sped full soone.

It were full hard by order for to saine How many wonders Iesu for him wrought: But at the last, to tell short and plaine, The sergeaunt of the to••••e for hem sought. And hem before Almache y^e prouost brought, Which hem aposed, and knew all her intent, And to the Image of Iupiter hem sent.

And said, who so woll doe no sacrifice, Swap of his head, this is my sentence here: Anon these martyrs, that I you deuise, One Maximus that was an officere Of the prefectes, and his councelere Hem hent, and when he forth the saints lad, Himselfe he wept for pity that he had.

When Maximus had herd these saints lore, He gote hem of the turmentours leue, And had hem to his house withouten more, And with her preaching, ere y^t it were eue, They gan from the turmentour to reue, And from Maximus. & from his folke echone The false faith, to trowen in God alone.

Cecile came, when it was woxen night, With priests, that hem christened all in fere: And afterward, when day was woxen light, Cecile hem said with a sober chere: Now Christs own knights both leue & dere Casteth all away the werkes of derkenesse, And armeth you in armour of brightnesse.

Ye han forsooth idone a great bataile Your course is done, your faith hath you conserued, Goth to the croune of life that may not faile, The rightfull iudge, which ye han serued, Shall yeue it you, as ye have it deserued: And when this thing was said, as I deuise, Men led hem forth to done the sacrifice.

But when they were unto the place ibrought, To tell shortly the conclusioun, They ••old ensence ne sacrifice right nought, But on her knees they saten hem adoun With humble heart and sad deuotioun, And l••ssen both her heads in the place, Her so••••es wenten to the king of grace.

This Maximus, that saw the thing betide, With 〈◊〉〈◊〉 teares told it anone right: That he her soules saw to heauen glide With angels full of clearenesse and of light: And with his word conuerted many a wight. For which Almachius did him so to bete With wh••••s of lead, till he his life gan lete.

Cecile him tooke, and buried him anone By Tiburce and Valerian soothly, Within her durying place vnder a stone: And after this Almachius hastily Bad his ministers fetchen openly Cecile, so y^t she might in his presence Doe sacrfide, and Iupiter encence.

But they conuerted at her wi••e lore Weptenfull sore, and yaue full credence Vnto her word, and criden more and more, Christ, Gods sonne, withouten difference Is very God, this is all our sentence, That hath a se••••aunt so good him to serue? Thus with o voice we trow though we sterue.

Almachius, that heard all this doing, Bad fetch Cecile, that he might her see: And alderfirst this was his asking, What manner woman art thou (qd he?) I am a gentlewoman borne (qd. she:) I aske of thee (qd. he) thought it thee greeue, Of thy religion and of thy beleeue?

Ye haue begun your question fondly (Qd. she) that would two answers conclude In one demaund, ye asken leaudly: Almachius answerd to that similitude, Of whence commeth thine answere so rude? Of whence (qd. she) when y^t she was frained, Of conscience, and good faith vnfained.

Almachius said, ne takest thou none hede Of my power? and she him answerd this: Your might (qd. she) full little is to drede: * For euery mortall mans power nis But ylike a bladder full of wind ywis: For with a needles point, when it is yblow, May all the boast of it be laid full low.

Full wrongfully beganst thou (qd. he) And yet in wrong is thy perseueraunce: Wost thou not how our mighty princes free Haue thus commanded & made ordinance, That euery christen wight shal haue penance, But if that he his Christendome withsey, And gone all quite, if he woll it reney?

Your Princes erren, as your nobles dooth, Qd. tho Cecile, in a wood sentence Ye make us guilty, and it is not sooth: For ye that knowen, well our innocence, Forasmuch as we done a reverence. To Christ, and for we heare a Christen name, Ye put on us a crime, and eke a blame.

But we that well knowen thi••ke name so For vertuous, we may it not withsey, Almachius answerd, chese one of these two, Doe sacrifice, or Christendome reney, That thou mow esca••en by that 〈◊〉〈◊〉. At which word the holy blisful maid Gan for to laugh, and to the iudge she said:

O iudge confused 〈…〉〈…〉 Wolt thou that I reney innocene••? To make me a wicked wight (qd. she) Lo he dissimuleth here in audience, He stareth and woddeth in his adv••••ence: To whom Almachius said: O silly wretch, Thou wost not how far my might may stretch.

Hath not our mighty princes 〈◊〉〈◊〉 To me both power and eke authorite, To make folke to dien or to liuen? Why speakest thou so proudly then to me? I ne speake it but stedfastly (qd. she) Not proudely, for I say as for my side, That I hate deadly thilke vice of pride.

And if thou drede not a sooth for to hear, Than woll I shewen all openly by right, That thou hast made a full great lesing here: Thou saist thy princes han yeven thee might Both to slee and eke to quite a wight: Thou ne maist but only life bereve, Thou hast none other power ne leve.

But thou maist say, thy princes han thee ma∣ked Minister of death, for if thou speake of mo, Thou liest: for thy power is full naked. Do way thy boldness, said Almachius tho, And doe sacrifice to our gods ere thou go. I recke not what wrong thou me proffer, For I can it suffer, as can a Philosopher.

But thilke wrongs may I not endure, That thou speakest of our gods here (qd. he.)

Cecile answerd, O nice creature, Thou saidst no word sithens thou spakest to me That I ne knew therewith thy nicete, And that thou were in every manner wise And leaud officer, and a vaine iustice.

Thee lacketh nothing to thine utter eien That thou nart blind: for thing y^t we seen all That is a stone, that men well may aspien, That ilke stone a god thou wolt it call: I rede thee let thine hond upon it fall, And tast it well, and stone thou shalt it find, Sens y^t thou seest not with thine eyen blind.

It is a shame that the people shall So scorne thee, and laugh at thy follie: For commonly men wot it well over all: * That mighty God is in his heavens hie, And these images well maist thou espie, To thee ne to hemselfe may they not profite, For in her effect they be not worth a mite.

These and such other words saiden she, And he woxe wroth, and bad she should be lede Home to her house, and in her house (qd. he) Br••n her in a Bathe, with flames rede: And as he bad, right so was done the dede. For in a bathe they gan her fast sheten, And night & day great fire under they beten.

All the long night, and eke the day also, For all the fire, and eke the bathes hete, She sat all cold, and felt of it no wo, It made her not a drop for to swete: But in that hath her life she mote lete. For Almachie, with a full wicked intent, To sleen her in the bathe, his sonde sent.

Three strokes in the necke he smote her tho The turmentour, but for no manner chaunce He might not smite all her necke atwo: And for there was at y^t time an ordinaunce That no man doe no person such pennaunce, The fourth stroke to smiten, soft or sore: This turmentour durst smite her no more.

But halfe dead, with her necke ycorven there He left her lie, and on his way he went: The christen folke that about her were With shetes home full faire they her hent: Three dayes lived she in this turment, And never ceased the faith to teach, That she had fostred hem, she gan to preach.

And hem she yave her moveables and her thing, And to the Pope Vrban betook hem tho, And said, I asked this of the heaven king, To have respite three dayes and no mo, To recommaund to you, ere that I go, These soules, and that I might do werch Here of mine house perpetuelliche a cherch.

Saint Vrban, with his deacons priuely The body fette, and buried it by night Among his other saints honestly: Her house the church of saint Cecile hight, Saint Vrban hallowed it, as he well might, In which vnto this day, in noble wise, Men done to Christ and to his saints servise.

¶The Chanons Yeomans Prologue.

WHen ended was the life of saint Cecile, Ere we fully ridden had five mile, At Boughten vnder the blee vs gan a take A man, that clothed was in clothes blake, And vnder that he had a white surplice: His hackney that was all pomely grise, So sweat, that it wonder was to see, It seemed that he had pricked miles three. The horse eke that his yeoman rode vpon, So sweateth, that vnneth might he gone.

About the paytrell stood the fome full hie, He was of fome as flecked as a pie: A male twifolde on his croper lay, It semed that he carried little aray, All light for sommer rode this worthy man. And in my heart wondren I began What that he was, till I understood, How that his cloke was sewed to his hood, For which when I had long auised me, I demed him some chanon for to be, His hat hing at his back by a lace, For he had ridden more than trot or pace. He rode aye pricking as he were wode, A clote lefe he had laid under his hode For swette, and for to keep his head fro here. But it was ioy for to see him swete, His forehead dropped, as a stillutory Were full of plantaine or of peritory. And when he was come, he gan to cry, God save (qd. he) this ioly company: Fast have I pricked (qd. he) for your sake, Because that I would you overtake, To riden in this mery company. His yoman was eke full of curtesie, And said sirs, now in the morow tide Out of your hostrie I saw you ride, And warned here my lord and soveraine, Which that to ridden with you is full faine, For his disport, he loveth daliance. Friend for thy warning God yeue thee good chance. Then said our host, certaine it would seeme Thy lord were wise, and so I may well deme, He is full ioconde also dare I say: Can he ought tell a mery tale or twaie, With which he glad may this companie? Who sir, my lord? Ye without lye, He can of mirth and eke of iolite Not but inough also sir trusteth me. And ye him knew all so well as doe I, Ye would wonder how well and thriftely He couth werke, and that in sondry wise. He hath taken on him many a great emprise, Which were full harde, for any that is here To bring about, but they of him it lere. As homely, as he rideth among you, If ye him knew, it wold been for your prowe: Ye would not forgon his acquaintaunce For mochell good I dare lay in balaunce All that I haue in my possession. He is a man of high discression: I warne you well he is a passing wise man. Well (qd. our hoste) I pray thee tell me than Is he a clerke or non? tell what he is. A clerke, nay greater than a clerke iwis, Said the yoman, and in words few, Hoste, of his craft somwhat woll I shew. I say my lord can such a subtelte, (But all his craft ye may not wete of me, And somewhat help I yet to his werching) That all the ground that we be on riding Till we come to Canterbury towne He could all clene turnen vp and downe, And paue it all of siluer and of gold. And when this yoman had thus itolde Vnto our hoste: he said benedicite, This thing is wonder meruailous to me: (Sens that thy lord is of so hie prudence Because of which, men shuld him reuerence) That of his worship wreketh he lite: His ouerest sloppe is not worthy a mite As in effect to him, so mote I go, It is all baudy and to tore also. Why is thy lord so slothliche I thee prey, And is of power better clothes to bey? If that his deed acorde with thy speech Tell me that, and that I thee beseech? Why (qd. this yeman) wherto aske ye me? God helpe me so, for he shall neuer ythe: But I woll not auowe that I say, And therefore keep it secret I you pray, He is too wise in fay, as I beleeue, * And that is ouerdone nill not preue. And right (as clerkes saine, it is a vice: Wherfore I hold him in that leude and nice. * For when a man hath ouergreat wit, Full oft it happeth him to misusen it: So doth my lord, & that me greeueth sore. God amend it, I can say no more. Thereof no force good yeman qd. our host) Sens of the conning of thy lord thou wost, Tell how he doth, I pray thee heartily, Sens that he is so crafty and so sly And where dwellen ye, if it to tell be? In the Subbarbs of a towne (qd. he) Lurking in hernes and in lanes blind, Whereas these robbers and theues by kind Holden her priuy fearefull residence, As they that dare not shewen her presence So fare we, if that I shall say the ••othe. Yet (qd. our host) let me talke to thee: Why art thou so discoloured in thy face? Peter (qd. he) God yeue it harde grace: I am so vsed in the hote fire to blow, That it hath chaunged my colour as I trow, I am not wont in no mirrour to prie, But swinke sore, and lerne to multiplie: We blondren euer, and poren in the fire, And for all that, we failen our desire, For euer we lacken our conclusion. To much folke we do illusion. And borow gold, be it a pound or two, Or ten or twelue, or many summes mo, And make hem wenen at the least way, That of a pound we could maken tway: Yet is it false, and aye han we good hope It for to done, and after it we grope: But that science is so ferre vs beforne, We mowe not although we had it sworne It ouertake, it slyt away so fast, It wol vs make beggers at the last. Whiles this yeman was thus in his taking, This Chanon drew him neere, & herd all thing Which this yeman spake, for suspection Of mennes spech euer had this Chanon: * For Cato saieth, he that gilty is, Demeth all thing be spoken of him iwis: Because of that, he gan so nigh to draw To this yeman, to herken all his sawe, And thus he said vnto his yeman tho, Hold now thy peace, & speake no words mo: For if thou do, thou shalt it sore abie. Thou slaundrest me here in this companie,

And eke discouerest that thou shouldest hide. Ye (qd. our host) tell on whatsoeuer betide Of all this threting, recke thee not a mite. In faith (qd. he) no more do I but lite: And when this Chanon saw it would not be, But this yeman would tell his priuite, He fled away for very sorow and shame. A, qd. the yemon, here shall rise a game: All that I can anon woll I you tell, Sens he is gon, the foule tende him quell: For neuer hereafter woll I with him mete For peny ne for pound. I you behete He that me brought first unto that game, Er that he die, sorow haue he and shame. For it is ernest to me by my faith, That fele I well what so any man saith: And yet for all my smert and all my greue For all my sorow, labour and mischiefe, I couth neuer leaue it in no wise. Now would to God my wit might suffice To tellen all that longeth to that art: But nathelesse, yet woll I tell you a part, Sens that my lord is gon, I woll not spare, Such thing as I know, I woll declare.

¶The Thanons yeomans Tale.

A Priest of London, more covetous than wise, is deceived by a Chanon professing the Art of Alchimy.

WIth this Chanon I dwelt seuen yere, And of his science I am neuer the nere: All that I had, I haue lost thereby, And God wot, so hath many mo than I. There I was wont to be right fresh and gay Of clothing, and eke of other good aray, * Now may I weare an hose vpon mine hedde: And where my colour was both fresh & redde, Now is it wanne, and of a leaden hew, Who so it vseth, sore shall him rue: * And of my swinke, yet blered is mine eye, Lo which auantage it is to multiplie, That sliding science, hath me made so bare, That I haue no good, where y^t euer I fare: And yet I amendetted so thereby Of Gold, that I haue borowed truly, That while I liue, I shall it quite neuer, Let euery man beware by me euer. What maner man that casteth him thereto If he continue, I hold his thrift ido * So help me God, thereby shall he neuer win, But empte his purse, & make his wits thin: And when he, through his madnesse and folie Hath lost his own good through ieopardie, Than he exiteth other men thereto, To lese her good as himselfe hath do: * For vnto shrewes, ioy it is and ese To haue her felawes in pain and disese. For thus was I once lerned of a clerke, Of y^t no charge: I woll speak of our werke. When we be there as we shall exercise Our eluish craft, we semen wonder wise. Our termes been so clergiall and so quaint. I blow the fire till my hert faint. What should I tell eche proportion Of things, which that we werchen vpon? As on fiue or sixe ounces, may well be Of siluer, or of some other quantite, And besie me to tellen you the names Of Orpiment, brent bones, yron squames, That into pouder grounden been full small, And in an earthen pot, how put is all, And salt iput in, and also papere, Before these pouders that I speake of here, And wel icouered with a lampe of glas, And of much other thing that there was: And of the pottes and glas engluting, That of the aire might passe out nothing. And of the elle fire, and smart also, Which that was made, & of the care and wo That we had in our matters subliming. And in amalgaming, and calsening Of quicke siluer, icleped Mercurie crude, For all our flight we cannot conclude, Our Orpiment, and sublimed Mercurie, Our ground litarge eke on porphirie, Of each of these, ounces a certaine, Not helpeth us, our labour is in vaine: Ne eke our spirites assentioun, Ne our matters that lien all fire adoun Mowe in our werking nothing auaile. For lost is all our labour and our trauaile * And all the cost a twentie deuil way Is lost also, which we vpon it lay. There is also full many another thing, That is to our craft appertaining, Though I by order hem ne rehearce can: Because that I am a leude man: Yet wol I tellen hem, as they come to minde, Though I ne can set hem in her kinde, As Bole Armoniake, Verdegrece, Borace, And sundry vessels made of earth and glas, Our vrinals, and our discensories Viols, crossettes, and sublimatories. Concurbites, and alembekes eke, And other such, deare inough of a Leke, It nedeth not to rehearce hem all: Waters ••ubisiyng, and Boles gall, Arsneke, sal Armoniake, and Brimstone, And herbes cold I tell eke many one, As Egremonie, Valerian, and Lunarie, And other such, if that me list to tarie. Our lamps eke brenning both night & day, To bring abo•••• our craft if that we may. Our fournice eke of calcination, And of waters albification, Vns••eked lime, chalke, and gleire of an eye, Pounders diuers, ashes, doung, pisse, & cleie, Sered pokettes, salt Peter, and Vitriole, And diuers fires made of wood and cole. Sal Tartre, Alcaly, and Sal preparate, And combust matters, and coagulate: Cley made with horse dung, mans here, & oile Of tartre alim, glas, berme, wort, & argoile, Resagor, and other matters enbibing, And eke of our matters encorporing, And of our siluer citrination, Our sementing, and eke fermentation

Our yngottes, testes, and many things mo. I woll you tell as was me taught also The foure spirits, and the bodies seuen By order, as oft I heard my lord nemen. The first spirit, Quickesiluer cleped is: The second, Orpiment: the third iwis Sal Armoniake: the fourth Brimstone: The bodies seuen eke, lo here hem anone Sol gold is, and Luna siluer we threpe, Mars yron, Mercurie quicke siluer we clepe: Saturnus leade, and Iupiter is tinne, And Venus coper, by my father kinne. This cursed craft, who so woll exercise, He shall no good haue that may him suffice, For all the good he spendeth thereabout He lese shall, thereof haue I no doubt. Who so that listen to vtter his foly, Let him come forth and learne to multiplie: And euery man that hath ought in his cofer, Let him appere, and wex a Philosopher: Askaunce that craft is so light for to lere. Nay, nay, God wot, all be he Monke or Frere Priest or Chanon, or any other wight, Though he sit at his booke both day & night In learning of this eluish nice lore, All is in vaine: and parde much more Is to lere a leude man this subtilte, Fie speke not thereof, it woll not be, All could he lettcure, or could he none As in effect, he shall finde it all one. For both two, by my saluation Concluden in multiplication Iliche well, when they haue all ido. This is to saine, they failen both two. Yet forgate I much rehearsaile Of waters corosife, and of limaile And of bodies mollification And also of her induration: Oiles, ablusions, mettall fusible To tellen you all, would passe any bible That o where is: wherefore as for the best Of all these names now would I me rest, For as I trow, I haue you told ynow To reise a fiende, all looke he neuer so row. A naie let be: the Philosophers stone Elixer cleped, we siken fast echone: For had we him, then were we siker inow, But vnto God of heauen I make auow, For all our craft when that we han all ido And all our sleight, he woll not come vs to. He hath made vs spenden much good, For sorow of which, almost we waxen wood, But that good hope creepeth in our hart Supposing euer, though we sore smart, To been relieued of him afterward: Supposing and hope is sharpe and hard. * I warne you well it is to siken euer, That future temps hath made men disceuer In trust thereof, all that euer they had, Yet of that arte they could not waxe sad For vnto hem it is a bitter sweet So seemeth it, for ne had they but a sheet Which y^t they might wrappen hem in a night, And a bratte towalken in a day light, They would hem sell, and spend it on this craft, They conne not stint, till nothing be ilaft: And euermore, where that euer they gone, Men may hem ken by smell of Brimstone. For all the world they stinken as a Gote, Her sauour is so Rammish and so hote, That though a man a mile from hem be, The sauour woll infect him trusteth me. Lo, thus by smelling, & by thredbare array If that men list, this folke know they may: And if a man woll aske him priuely, Why they be clothed so unthriftily, Right anon they woll rowne in his ere, And saien, if that they aspied were, Men woll hem slea, because of her science: Lo thus these folke betraien innocence. Passe ouer this, go my tale unto: Er that the potte be on the fire ido Of mettals, with a certaine quantite, My lord hem tempereth, & no man but he: Now he is gon, I dare say boldly. For as men sain, he can doen craftly, Algate I wote well he hath such a name, And yet full oft he renneth in the blame, And wote ye how full oft it happeth so, The pot breaketh, and farewell all is go. These mettales beene of so great violence, Our walles may not make hem resistence. But if they were wrought of lime and stone, They percen so, & throgh the wall they gone: And some of hem sinken into the ground, Thus have we lost by times many a pound. And some are scattered all the flore about, Some lepen into the roofe withouten doubt. Tho y^t the fende not in our sight him shew, I trow that he with us be, that like shrew. In hell where that he is lord and fire Ne is there no more wo, ne angre ne ire, When y^t our pot is broke, as I have saied Euery man chite, & holte him evill apuied: Some saied it was long of the fire making, Some saied naie, it was on the blowing, Then was I ferde, for that was mine office. Straw (qd. the third) ye been leude & nice, It was not tempred as it ought to be. Nay (qd. the fourth) stint & herken me, Because our fire was not made of Bech That is the cause, & none other so theche. I can not tell whereon it is along, But well I wot great strife is vs among. What (qd. my lord) there nis no more to doen Of these perils I woll beware eftsone. I am right siker, that the pot was crased: Be as be may, be ye not amased, As usage is, let swepe the floore as swithe, Plucke vp your heart & be glad and blithe. The mullocke on an heape iswept was, And on the floore yeast a canuas, And all this mullocke in a Siue ithrow, And sifted and I plucked many a throwe, Parde (qd. one) somewhat of our metall Yet is there here, though we have not all. And tho this thing mishapped hath as now Another time it may been well inow. We mote put our good in auenture, * A marchant parde may not aie endure, Trusteth me well, in his prosperitee: Sometime his good is drowned in the see,

And sometime it cometh safe unto the lond. Peace (qd. my lord) y^e next time I woll fond To bring our craft all in another plite, And but I doe sirs, let me have the wite: There was default in somewhat wel I wote. Another said, the fire was ouer hote, But be it hote or cold, I dare say this, That we concluden euer more amis: We failen of that which we would haue, And in our madnesse evermore we raue, And when we be together everychone, Every man seemeth as wise as Salomon. * But all thing, which y^t shineth as the gold Is not gold, as that I haue heard told: * Ne euery apple that is faire at eie, Nis not good, what so men clap or crie: Right so lo it fareth emong vs, He that seemeth the wisest by Iesus, * Is most foole, when it commeth to y^e prefe: And he that seemeth truest is a thefe. That shal ye know, er y^t I from ye wende, By that I of my tale haue made an ende. There was a Chanon of religioun Emongs vs, would enfect all a town, Though it as great were as Niniue: Rome, Alisaundre, Troie, and other three. His sleight and his infinite falsenesse There couth no man written as I gesse, Though that he might liue a thousand yere, In all this world of falsenesse nis his pere. For in his termes he woll him so wind, And speake his words in so slie a kind, When be comune shall with any wight, That he woll make him dote anon right, But if a fiende he be as himselfe is. Full many a man hath he begiled er this. And mo woll, if that he may liue a while: And yet men riden & gone full many a mile Him for to seeke, and haue his acquaintance, Not knowing of his false gouernance. And if ye lust to giue audience. I woll it tellen here in your presence. But worshipfull Chanons religious, Ne demeth not that I slander your house, Although my tale of a Chanon be: * Of euery order some shrew is parde, * And God forbid that all a company Should rue a singular mans folly. To slander you is not mine entent, But to correct that amisse, is ment. This tale was not onely told for you, But eke for other mo: ye wote well how That emong Christes Apostles twelue There was no traitour but Iudas himselue. Then why should y^e remnant haue any blame That guiltlesse were? by you I say the same, Saue onely this, if ye woll hearken me, If any Iudas in your couent be, Remeueth him betime, I you rede, If shame or losse may causen any drede. And be nothing displeased I you pray, But in this case herketh what I say.

IN London was a priest annuellere, That therein had dwelt many a yere, Which was so pleasant & so seruisable Vnto the wife where he was at Table, That she would suffer him nothing to pay For borde ne clothing, went he never so gay, And spending siluer had he right ynow: Thereof no force, I woll proceed as now And tell forth my tale of the Chanon, That brought this priest to confusion. This false chanon came vpon a day Vnto this priests chamber, where he lay, Beseeching him to lene him a certain Of gold, and he would quite him ayen: Leneth me a Marke (qd. he) but dayes three, And at my day I woll quite it thee. And if it so be, that thou finde me false, Another day hang by the halse. This priest took him a marke, & that swith, And this Chanon oft thanked him sith, And took his leue, and went foorth his wey: And at third day brought him his money, And to this priest he took his gold ayen, Whereof this priest was full glad and fain. Certes (qd. he) nothing anoieth me To lene a man a noble, two or three, Or what thing were in my possession, When he so true is of condition, That in no wise he break woll his day: To such a man I can never say nay. What, qd. this Chanon, should I be vntrue, Nay, that were a thing fallen of new: Trouth is a thing that I woll euer kepe Vnto the day in which I shall crepe Into my graue, or else God forbede: Beleueth this as siker as your crede. God thanke I, and in good time be it saied, That there nas neuer man yet euill apayed For gold ne siluer that he to me lent, Ne neuer falshede in mine hert I ment. And sir, qd. he, now of my priuite, Sens ye so goodliche haue been to me, And kith to me so great gentlenesse, Somwhat to quite with your kindnesse, I woll you shew, if ye woll it lere (I shall it shew to you anon right here) How I can werche in Philosophy, Take good heed, ye shall it see with your eye, That I woll do a maistrie or I go. Ye sir (qd. the priest) and woll ye so? Mary thereof I pray you heartily. At your commaundement sir truly (Qd. the Chanon) and else God forbede: Lo how this theefe couth his seruice bede. * Full soth it is that such profered service Stinketh, as witnesseth the old wise, And that full soone I woll it verefie In this Chanon, root of all trecherie, That evermore delight hath and gladnesse (Such fendly thoughts in his hert empresse) How Christs people he may to mischief bring. God keep us from his false dissimuling. What wist this priest with whom y^t he delt? Ne of his harme comming nothing he felt. O sely priest, O sely innocent, With couetise anon thou shalt be blent: O gracelesse, full blind is thy conceite, Nothing art thou ware of his disceite.

Which that this Foxe hath shapen to thee: His wily wrenches thou maiest not flee: Wherfore to go to the conclusion That referreth to thy confusion, Vnhappy man, anon I woll me hie To tyll thine unwitte and thy folie, And eke the falsenesse of that other wretch, As ferforth as my conning woll stretch. This Chanon was my lord ye wold wene, Sir host in faith, and by the heaven Queene It was another Chanon and not he, That can an hundred fold more subtilte: He hath betraied folke many a time, Of his falsenesse it doleth me to rime: Ever when I speke of his falshede For shame of him my cheekes waxen rede: Algates they beginnen for to glow, For rednesse have I none, right well I know, In all my visage, for fumes diuerce Of mettals, which ye haue heard me reherce, Consumed and washed hath my rednesse. Now take hede of this Chanons cursednesse. Sir (qd. he to the priest) let your man gone For quicksiluer, that we it had anone, And let him bring ounces two or three: And when he commeth, as fast shul you see A wonder thing, which ye saw neuer er this. Sir (qd. the priest) it shall be done iwis. He had his seruant fetch him this thing, And he all ready was at his bidding, And went him forth, and came anon again With this quicksiluer, shortly for to sain, And took these vnces three to the Chanoun, And he hem laid well and faire adown: Add had the seruant coles for to bring, That he anon might go to his werking. The coles right anon were ifet, And this Chanon tooke out a crosselet Of his bosome, and shewed it to the priest: This instrument (qd. he) which y^t thou seest, Take in thy hond, and put thy selfe therein Of this quicksilver an vnce, and begin In the name of Christ to wex a Philosopher: There be full few, which I would it profer To shew hem so much of my science: For here shul ye see by experience, That this quicksiluer I woll mortifie, Right in your sight anon withouten lie, And make it as good siluer and as fine, As there is any in your purse or mine, Or els where: and make it malliable, And els hold me false and vnstable Emonges folke euer to appeare. I haue a pouder that cost me deare, Shall make all good, for it is cause of all My cunning, which I to you shew shall. Voideth your man, and let him be thereout, And shet the doore, whiles we been about Our priuitie, that no man vs espie, Whiles that we werken in our Philosophie. All, as he had, fulfilled was in dede. This like seruant anon out he yede, And his maister shet the doore anon, And to her labour spedily they gon. This priest at this cursed Chanons bidding, Vpon the fire anon set this thing, And blew the fire, and busied him full fast: And this Chanon into this croslet cast A pouder, I not whereof it was I made, either of chalke, earth, or glasse, Or somewhat els, was not worth a flie, To blind with the priest: and bad him hie These coles for to couchen all aboue The crosselet, for in token that I thee loue (Qd. this Chanon) thine owne honds two Shall werke all thing that here shall be do. Grant mercy (qd. y^e priest) & was full glad, And couched coles as the Chanon bad: And while he busie was, this fiendly wretch This false Chanon, y^e foule fende him fetch, Out of his bosome take a bechen cole, In which full subtily was made an hole, And therein was put of siluer limaile An vnce, and stopped was without faile The hole with waxe, to keep the limaile in: And understandeth that this false gin Was not made there, but it was made before, And other things that I shall you tell more Hereafter, which that he with him brought, Er he came there, to begile him he thought, And so he did, as they went a twin: Till he had nere vndon him, could he not blin. It dulleth me, when that I of him speke, On his falshede faine would I me wreke, If I wist how, but he is here and there, He is so variaunt, he bideth no where. But taketh hede sirs now for Gods loue. He toke his cole of which I spake aboue, And in his honde he bare it prively, And whiles the priest couched besily The coles together, as I told you er this, This Chanon saied, friend ye doen amis, This is not couched as it ought to be, But sone I shall amend it (qd. he) Now let me meddle therewith but a while, For of you have I pitty by St. Gile. Ye been right hot, I see well how ye swete, Haue here a cloth and wipe away the wete. And all while the priest him wiped hace, This Chanon took the cole, I shrew his face, And laied it abouen vpon the midward Of the croslet, and blew well afterward Till that the coles began fast to bren, Now yeue us drink, (qd. this Chanon then) As swithe all shall be well I undertake, Sit we down, and let vs mery make. And when that this Chanons bechen cole Was brent all, the limaile out of the hole Into the croslet anon fell adown, And so it must needs do by reasoun, Sens it so euen aboue couched was, But there of wist the priest nothing alas: He demed all the coles iliche good, For of the slight nothing he understood. And when this Alkamister saw his time, Reiseth up sir priest (qd. he) & stondeth by me, And for I wote well ingot have I none, Goth walketh forth, & bring a chalke stone: For I woll make it of the same shappe, That an ingot is, if I may have happe, And bring eke with you a bolle or a pan Full of water, and ye shall see than

How that our besines shall hap and preue: And yet for ye shall haue no misbeleue Ne wrong conceit of me in your absence, I woll not been out of your presence, But go with you & come with you again. The chamber doore shortly for to sain They opened & shet, & went forth her weie, And forth with hem they caried the keie, And comen ayen withouten any delay. What should I tary all the long day, He toke the chalke, and shope it in the wise Of an yngot, as I shall you deuise. I say he tooke out of his own sleue A teine of siluer, iuell mote he cheue, Which that was but a iust vnce of weight: And taketh heed now of his cursed sleight. He shop his yngot in length and in brede Of the teine, withouten any drede So slily that the priest it not espide, And in his sleue again he gan it hide: And from the fire tooke vp his matere, And into the yngnot it put with mery chere: And into the water vessel he it cast, When that him list, & bad the priest as fast Loke w^t there is put in thine hond & grope, Thou shalt finde there siluer as I hope, What diuel of hell should it els be, Shauing of siluer, siluer is parde. He put in his hond, and tooke vp a teine Of siluer fine, and glad in euery vaine Was this Priest, when he saw it was so: Gods blessing and his mothers also And all Hallowes, haue ye sir Chanon, Saied this priest, and I her malison But and ye vouchsafe to teachen me This noble craft and this subtilte, I woll be yours in all that euer I may. Qd. the Chanon, yet woll I make assaie The second time, that ye mow take hede And been expert of this, and in your nede Another day assay in mine absence This discipline, and this craftie science. Let take another ounce (qd. he) tho Of quicke siluer, withouten words mo, And doen therewith as I haue doen er this With that other, which that now siluer is. The priest him besieth in all that he can To doen as this Chanon this cursed man Commanded him, and fast blewe the fire, For to come to the effect of his desire. And this Chanon, right in the meane while All ready was, this priest eft to begile, And for a countenance in his hond bare An hollow sticke, take kepe and beware, In thende of which an ounce and no more Of siluer limaile put was, as before Was in his cole, & stopped with waxe wele For to keepen in his limaile euery dele. And whiles this priest was in his businesse, This Chanon with his sticke gan him dresse To him anon, and his pouder cast in As he did erst, the deuill out of his skin Him torne, I pray to God for his falshede. For he was euer false in word and dede: And with his sticke, aboue the crosselet, That was ordained with that false iet, He stirreth the coles, till all relent gan The waxe again the fire, as euery man But he a foole be, wote well it mote nede. And all that in the hole was, out yede, And into the crosselet hastily it fell. The priest supposed nothing but well, But busied him fast, and was wonder fain, Supposing nought but trouth soth to sain: He was so glad, that I cannot expresse In no maner his mirth and his gladnesse, And to the Chanon he profered eft sone Body & good: ye (qd. the Chanon) anon Tho I be pore, craftie thou shalt me find: I warne thee yet is there more behinde. Is there any coper here within, saied he? Ye sir (qd. the priest) I trow there be. Els go and buie some, and that a swithe, Now good sir go forth thy way and hithe. He went his way, & with the coper he came, And this Chanon in his hond it name, And of that coper wayed out but an ounce: All to simple is my tonge to pronounce As to minister by my wit the doublenesse. Of this Chanon, root of all cursednesse. but semde frendly, to hem y^t knew him nought, But he was fendly, both in werke & thought. It werieth me to tell of his falsenesse, And natheles, yet woll I it expresse To the intent that men may beware thereby, And not for none other cause truely. He put this ounce of coper into the crosselet, And on the fire as swithe he hath it set, And cast in pouder, & made y^e priest to blow And in his working for to stoupe low As he did erst, and all nas but a yape, Right as him list the priest he made his Ape. And afterward in the ingot he it cast And in the pan put it at the last Of water, and in he put his own hond, And in his sleue, as ye before hond, Heard me tell, he had a siluer teine. He slily tooke it out, this cursed heine, Vnwitting this priest of his false craft, And in the pannes botome he hath it laft, And in the water rombleth too and fro, And wonder priuily tooke vp also The coper teine, not knowing this priest, And hid it, and hent him by the brest, And to him spake, & thus said in his game: Stoupeth adown, by God ye be to blame, Helpeth me now, as I did you whilere, Put in your hond, & loketh what is there. This priest tooke vp this siluer teine anon, And then said the Chanon, let us gon With these three teines which we han wrouʒt, To some Goldsmith, and wete if it be ought: For by my faith, I nold for my hood But if it were siluer fine and good, And that as swithe well proued shall be. Vnto the Goldsmith, with these teines three They went, and put them in assaie To fire & hammer: might no man saie nay, But they were as them ought for to be. This sotted priest, who was gladder than he? Was neuer birde gladder ayenst the day, Ne Nightingale, ayenst the ceason of May

Was neuer none, that list better to sing, Ne lady lustier in carolling: And for to speake of loue and womanhede, Ne knight in armes to doen a hardy dede To stonden in grace of his lady dere, Than had this priest, this craft now to lere: And to the Chanon thus he spake and said, For the loue of God, that for us all deid, And as I may deserue it vnto you, What shall this receit cost, telleth me now? By our Lady (qd. this Chanon) it is dere I warne you well, saue I and a Frere In England, there can no man it make. No force (qd. he) now sir for Gods sake, What shall I pay, tell me I you pray. I wis (qd. he) it is full deare I say. Sir at one worde, if that ye list it haue, Ye shall pay fourtie pound, so God me saue: And nere the friendship that ye did er this To me, ye shoulden pay more iwis. This priest the sum of fortie pound anon Of nobles fet, and told hem euerichon To this Chanon, for this ilke receit. All his worching was fraud and deceit. Sir priest he said, I keep for to haue no loos Of my craft, for I would it were kept cloos, And as you loue me, keepeth it secre, For and men know all my subtilte, By God men would haue so great enuie To me, because of my Philosophie, I should be dead, there were none other way. God it forbid (qd. the priest) what ye say, Yet had I leuer spend all the good Which that I haue, or els waxe I wood. Than that ye should fallen in such mischefe: For your good will haue ye right good prefe Qd. y^e Chanon, & farewell graunt mercie. He went his way, & y^e priest neuer him seie After y^t day: & when that this priest should Maken assay, at such time as he would Of this receit, farewell it nold not be. Lo thus beyaped and beguiled was he: Thus maketh he his introduction To bring folke to her destruction. * Considereth sirs how in each estate Betwixt men and gold there is debate So ferforth, that vnneths there is none, (This multiplying blindeth so many one) That in good faith I trow that it be The greatest cause of such scarsite. These philosophers speaken so mistily In this craft, y^t men cannot come thereby, For any wit that men haue now adaies: They may wel chattre & iangle as do y^e iaies, And in her tearmes set her lust and paine, But to her purpose shull they neuer attaine. * A man may lightly learne, if he haue ought To multiplie, & bring his good to nought. Lo, such a lucre is in this lusty game, A mans mirth it woll turne all to grame, And emptien also great & heauy purses, And maken folke to purchase curses Of hem that han also her good ylent. O fie for shame they y^t han be brent, Alas, cannot they flie the fires hete? Ye that it vsen, I rede that ye it lete, Least ye lesen all: for bet than neuer is late: Neuer to thriue, were too long a date. Though y^t ye prolle aye, ye shall it neuer find, * Ye ben as bold as is bayard the blind That blondereth forth, & perill casteth none: He is as bold to renne ayenst a stone, As for to goe beside in the way: So faren ye, that multiplien I say. If that your eyen cannot seene aright, Looketh y^t your mind lacke not his sight. For though ye looke neuer so broad & stare, Ye shall not win a mite in that chaffare, * But wast all y^t ye may repe and renne: Withdraw the fire, least it too fast brenne. Medleth with that art no more I meane, For if ye done, your thrift is gone full cleane. And right as swithe I woll you tellen here What y^t y^e philosophers sain in this matere. Lo thus saith Arnolde of the new toun, As his Rosarie maketh mentioun, He saith right thus, withouten any lie, There may no man Mercurie mortifie, But if it be with his brothers knowledging: Lo how that he which first said this thing, Of Philosophers father was, Hermes. He saith how that the dragon doutles Ne dieth not, but if he be slaine With his brother: And this is for to saine By the dragon Mercury, and none other, He vnderstood y^t brimstone was his brother, That out of Sol and Luna were ydraw: And therefore said he, take heed to my saw. Let no man busie him this art for to seech, But he that the entention and speech Of Philosophers vnderstond can: And if he doe, he is a leaud man. For this science and this cunning (qd. he) Is of the secre of the secres parde. Also there was a disciple of Plato, That on a time said his maister to, As his booke Senior woll beare witnesse, And this was his demaund in soothfastnesse: Tell me the name of the priuy stone? And Plato answerd vnto him anone, Take the stone that Titanos men name. Which is that (qd. he?) Magnetia is y^e same Said Plato: ye sir and is it thus? This is ignotum per ignotius. What is Magnetia, good sir I you pray? It is a water that is made I say Of the elements foure (qd. Plato.) Tell me the roche good sir (qd. he tho) Of that water, if it be your will. Nay, nay (qd. Plato) certaine that I nill: The Philosophers were ysworne eachone, That they should discouer it vnto none, Ne in no booke it write in no manere, For vnto Christ it is so lefe and dere, That he woll not that it discouered be, But where it liketh to his deitie, Man to enspire and eke for to defend, When that him liketh, lo this is his end. Then conclude I thus, sens y^t God of heuen Ne will not that the Philosophers nemen, How that a man shall come unto this stone, I rede as for the best, let it gone.

* For who so maketh God his aduersary As for to werch any thing in contrary Vnto his will, certes neuer shall he thriue, Though y^t he multiply tearme of his liue: And there a point: for ended is my tale. God send euery true man bote of his bale.

¶The Doctor of Physicks Prologue.

WHen this yeoman his tale ended had Of this false Chanon, which was so bad, Our host gan say, truly and certaine This priest was beguiled, sooth for to saine: He wened for to be a Philosopher, Till he right no gold left in his cofer: And soothly this priest had all the yape, This cursed Chanon put in his hood an ape. But all this passe I ouer as now: Sir doctor of Physicke, yet I pray you, Tell vs a tale of some honest matere. It shall be done, if that ye woll it here, Said this doctor, and his tale began anone, Now good men (qd. he) herkeneth euerichone.

¶The Doctor of Physicks Tale.

Virginius slayeth his onely Daughter, rather than that she shall be defiled by the letcherous Judge Appius.

THere was, as telleth vs Titus Li∣uius, A knight, that cleaped was Vir∣ginius, Fulfilled of honour and worthinesse, And strong of friends, and of great richesse. A daughter he had by his wife, And neuer had he mo in all his life: Faire was this maid in excellent beautee Abouen euery wight that man may see: For nature hath with soueraigne dilligence Formed her in so great excellence, As though she would say, lo I nature, Thus can I forme and paint a creature When that me list, who can me counterfete? Pigmalion not, though he alway forge & bete, Or graue or paint: for I dare well saine, Apelles or Xeuxsis should werch in vaine To graue or paint: or forge or bete, If they presumed me to counterfete. For he that is the fourmer principall, Hath made me his vicar generall To fourme and paint earthly creature Right as me list. All thing is in my cure Vnder the moone, y^t may wane & waxe: And for my werke nothing woll I axe, My lord and I been fully of accord. I made her to the worship of my lord, So do I all mine other creatures, Of what colour they be, or of what figures: Thus seemeth me that nature would say. This maid was of age xii yere and tway, In which that nature hath such delite. For right as she can paint a lilly white And rody as rose, right with such painture She painted hath this noble creature Ere she was borne, vpon her lims free Were als bright as such colours should bee, And Phebus died had her tresses grete, Like to the streames of his burned hete. And if that excellent were her beaute, A thousand fold more vertuous was she: In her ne lacketh no condition That is to praise, as by discretion As well in body as in ghost, chast was she: For which she floured in virginite With all humility and abstinence, With all attemperaunce and patience, With measure eke, and bering of aray. Discreet she was in answering alway, Tho she were wise as Pallas, dare I saine. (Her facond eke full womanly and plaine) No counterfeited termes at all had she To seeme wise: but after her degree She spake, and all her words more & lesse Sowning in vertue and in gentlenesse. Shamefast she was in maidens shamefast∣nesse, Constant in hert, and euer in businesse To driue her out of all sluggardie: Bacchus had of her mouth no maistrie. * For wine and youth done Venus encrece, As men in fire woll casten oyle or grece. And of her owne vertue vnconstrained, She hath full oft her sicke yfained, For that she would flie the companie, Where likely was to treaten of follie, As is at feasts, at reuels, & at daunces, That been occasions of daliaunces: Such things maken children for to bee Too soone ripe and bold, as men may see: Which is full perillons, and hath been yore, For all too soon may she learne the lore Of boldnesse, when as she is a wife. And ye maistresses in your old life, That lords doughters han in gouernaunce, Ne taketh of my word no displeasaunce: Think that ye been set in gouernings Of lords doughters, onely for two things, Either for you han kept your honesty, Either for ye han fall in freelty, And knowen well ynough the old daunce, And conne forsake fully all mischaunce: For euermore therefore for Christs sake, Keepeth well tho that ye vndertake. A theefe of veneson, that hath forlaft His likerousnesse, and all his theeues craft. Can keepe a forrest best of any man: Now keepeth hem well, for & ye woll ye can: * Looketh well, to no vice that ye assent, Least ye be damned for your euill entent. For who so doth, a traytour is certaine, And taketh keepe of that I shall you saine: * Of all treason soueraigne pestilence Is, when a wight betrayeth innocence. Ye fathers, and eke ye mothers also, Though ye han children, be it one or mo, Yours is the charge of all her sufferaunce, Whiles that they been in your gouernaunce. Beth ware, y^t by ensample of your liuing, Either by your negligence in chastising,

That they ne perish: for I dare well say, If that they done, ye shall full sore abay. * Vnder a sheepheard soft and negligent, The wolfe hath many a sheep & lambe to rent, Sufficeth one ensample now as here, For I mote turne ayen to my matere. This maid of which I tell my tale expresse, She kept her selue, she needed no maistresse. For in her liuing maidens might rede As in a booke, euery good worke and dede, That longeth to a maid vertuous: She was so prudent and so bounteous. For which out sprong on euery side Both of her beauty, and her bounty wide: That thorow y^e lond they preised her echone, * That loued vertue, saue enuy alone, That sorry is of other mens wele, And glad is of her sorrow and vnhele. The doctour maketh this descriptioun, This maid went on a day into the toun Toward the temple, with her mother dere, As is of young maidens the manere. Now was there a iustice in the toun, That gouernour was of that regioun: And so befell, this Iustice his eyen cast Vpon this maid, auising her full fast As she came foreby, there as the Iudge stood: Anon his heart chaunged and his mood, So was he caught with beauty of this maid And to himselfe full priuely he said, This maid shall be mine for any man. Anon the fiend into his heart ran, And taught him suddainly, by w^t sleight The maid to his purpose win he might. For certes, by no force, ne by no meed, Him thought he was not able for to speed. For she was strong of friends, & eke she Confirmed was in such soueraigne beaute, That well he wist he might her neuer win, As for to make her with her body sin. For which with great deliberatioun He sent after a client into the toun, The which he knew full subtill & full bold. This Iudge this client his tale hath told In secret wise, and made him to ensure, He should tell it vnto no creature: And if he did, he should lese his hede. When assented was this cursed rede, Glad was the iudge, and made good chere And yaue him gifts precious and dere. When shapen was all this conspiracie Fro point to point, how that his letcherie Performed should be full subtilly, As ye shullen after heare openly: Home goth this client y^t hight Claudius. But this false iudge, that hight Appius, (So was his name, for it is no fable, But knowen for an historiall thing notable The sentence of it sooth is out of dout) This false iudge I say goth now fast about To hasten his delight all that he may: And so befell, that soone after on a day This false iudge, as telleth us the storie, As he was wont, sat in his consistorie, And yaue his doomes vpon sundry caas, This false client came forth a full great paas And said, Lord, if that it be your will, As doth me right vpon this pitous bill, In which I plaine vpon Virginius. And if he woll say it is not thus, I woll proue it, and find good witnesse, That sooth is, that my bill woll expresse. The iudge answerd, of this in his absence I may not yeue definite sentence: Let doe him call, and I woll gladly here, Thou shalt haue all right, & no wrong here. Virginius came to wete y^e iudges will, And right anon was rad this cursed bill, The sentence of it was as ye shall heare. To you my lord Appius so deare Sheweth your poore seruaunt Claudius, How that a knight called Virginius, Ayenst the law and ayenst all equite, Holdeth expresse ayenst the will of me My seruant, which y^t is my thral by right, Which from mine hous was stolen on a night Whiles she was full yong, I woll it preue By witnesse, lord, so that ye you not greue: She is not his doughter, what so he say, Wherefore my lord iustice I you pray: Yeeld me my thrall, if it be your will. Lo this was all the sentence of that bill. Virginius gan upon the client behold: But hastily, ere he his tale told, He would haue defended it, as shuld a knight, And by witnesse of many a trew wight, That all was false, that said his aduersarie. This cursed iudge would no lenger tary, He here a word more of Virginius But yaue his iudgment, and said thus. I deme anon this client his seruaunt haue, Thou shalt no lenger her in thine house saue, Go bring her forth, & put her in our ward. This client shal haue his thrall, thus I award. And when this worthy knight Virginius Through the assent of the iudge Appius Must by force his deare doughter yeuen Vnto the iudge, in letchery to liuen, He goth him home, and set him in his hall, And let anon his deare doughter call: And with a face dead as ashen cold, Vpon her humble face he gan behold, With fathers pity, sticking through his hert, All would he not from his purpose conuert. Doughter (qd. he) Virginia by thy name, There ben two waies, either death, or shame That thou must suffer, alas y^t I was borne, For neuer thou deseruedest whereforne To dien with a sword or with a knife: Oh dere doughter, comfort of my life, Which I haue fostred vp with such plesance, That thou neuer were out of my remem∣brance: O doughter, which y^t art my last wo, And in my life my last ioy also, O iemmme of chastitie, in patience Take thou thy death this is my sentence: For loue & not for hate thou must be dead, My pitous hond mote smite of thine head, Alas that euer Appius thee sey. Thus hath he falsely iudged thee to dey. And told her all the case, as ye before Han heard, it needeth not to tell it more.

O mercy dere father (qd. this maid) And with that word both her armes laid About his necke, as she was wont to do, The teares brast out of her eyen two, And said, O good father shall I die, Is there no grace? Is there no remedie? No certes deare doughter mine (qd. he.) Then yeue me leaue father mine (qd. she) My death to complaine a little space: For parde, Iepte yaue his doughter grace For to complaine, ere he her slough, alas, And God it wot, nothing was her trespas, But that she ran her father first to see, To welcome him with great solemnitee: And with that word she fell aswoune anone, And after when her swouning was gone, She riseth vp, and to her father said: Blessed be God that I shall die a maid. Yeue me my death, ere that I haue a shame, Doth with your child your wil a gods name: And with that word she praieth him full oft, That with his swerd he should smite her soft, And with that word, aswoune doune she fell. Her father with sorrowfull heart and fell, Her head off smote, and by the top it hent, And to the iudge he it yaue in present, As he sat in doome in consistorie. When the iudge it saw, as saith the storie, He bad take him, and hong him also fast: But right anone all the people in thrast To saue the knight, for routh and for pity, For knowen was the iudges iniquity. The people anon had suspect in this thing By manner of this clients challenging, That it was by the assent of Appius: They wist well that he was letcherous. For which unto Appius they gone, And kesten him in prison right anone, Whereas he slew himselfe: and Claudius, That seruant was vnto this Appius, Was demed to be honged vpon a tree: But Virginius of his great pitee So prayed for him, that he was exiled, And els certes he had been beguiled: The remnaunt were honged, more & lesse, That consented were to his cursednesse. * Here may men see how sin hath his merite: Beware, for no man wot how God wol smite In no degree, ne in no manner wise, The worme of conscience woll arise Of wicked life, though it so priuie be, That no man wote of it but God and he: Whether he be leaud man or lered, He not how soone he may been affered. * Therefore I rede you this counsaile take, To forsake sinne, or sinne you forsake.

¶The words of the Host.

OUr host gan sweare as he were wood, Harrow (qd. he) by nailes and by blood, This was a false theefe, & a cursed iustice: As shamefull death as heart may deuise, Come to the iustice and her aduocas, Algate this silly maiden is slaine, alas, Alas too deare abought she her beautee. Wherefore I say, that all men may see, * That yefts of Fortune or of nature, Been cause of death of many a creature. Her beauty was her death, I dare well saine: Alas so pitously as she was slaine. But hereof woll I not proceed as now, * Men haue full oft more harme than prow. But truly truly mine owne maister dere, This is a ernefull tale for to here: But nathelesse, passe ouer and no force. I pray to God to saue thy gentle corce, And thy vrinals, and thy iordanes, Thine ypocras and eke thy galianes, And euery boxe full of letuarie God blesse hem and our lady saint Marie. So mote I thee, thou art a proper man, And ylike a prelate by saint Runian, Saue that I cannot speake well in terme. But well I wot, thou dost mine hert to yerne, That I haue almost ycaught a cardiacle: By corpus domini, But I haue triacle, Or els a draught of moist cornie ale, Or but I heare anon another merry tale, My heart is lost for pity of this maid. Thou belamy, thou Iohn pardoner he said, Tell vs some merry tale, or iape, right anon. It shall be done (qd. he) by saint Runion. But first (qd. he) here at this ale stake I woll both drinke, and bite on a cake: But right anone, these gentles gan to crie, Nay, let him tell vs of no ribaudrie: Tell vs some morall thing, y^t we mow lere Some wit, and then woll we gladly here. I graunt (qd. he) ywis, but in y^e cup Ile think On some honest thing, whiles that I drink.

¶The Pardoners Prologue.

LOrdings (qd. he) in chirch when I preche, I paine mee to haue an hauteine speche, And ring it out, as round as doth a bell, For I can all by rote that I tell. My teme is alway one, and euer was, * (Radix omnium malorum est cupiditas) First I prono••nce fro whence I come, And then my bils I shew all and some: Our liege lords seale on my patent That shew I first, my body to warrent, That no man be so bold, priest ne clerke, Me to disturbe of Christs holy werke. And after that I tell forth my tales Of Buls, of Popes, and of Cardinales, Of Patriarkes, and of Bishops I shew, And in latine I speake words a few To sauer with my predication, And for to stere men to deuotion. Then shew I forth my long christall stones, Ycrammed full of clouts and of bones, Relickes they been, as wene they echone: Then haue I in laton a shoder bone, Which that was of an holy iewes shepe. Good men say I, take of my words kepe: If that this bone be washen in any well, If cow or calfe, sheepe, or oxe swell

That any worme hath eaten, or hem stong, Take water of this well, and wash his tong, And it is hole anon: and furthermore Of pockes, and of scabs, and euery sore Shall shepe be hole, that of this well Drinketh a draught,, take keepe of y^t I tell. If that the good man that beasts oweth, Woll euery day ere the cocke croweth, Fasting drinke of this well a draught, (As thilke holy iew our elders taught) His beasts and his store shall multiplie: And sirs, also it healeth jealousie, For though a man be fall in jealous rage, Let make with this water his potage, And never shall he more his wife mistrist, Though he in sooth the defaut by her wist: All had she taken priests two or three. Here is a mittaine eke, that ye may see: He that his hand woll put in this mittaine, He shall have multiplying of his graine, When he hath sowen, be it wheat or otes, So that he offer good pens or grotes. And men & women, o thing I warne you: If any wight been in this church now, That hath done sinne horrible, that he Dare not for shame of it shriuen be: Or any woman, be she yong or old, That hath made her husbond a cokewold, Such folke shull haue no power ne no grace To offer to my relickes in this place. And who so findeth him out of such blame, Commeth up and offer in Gods name, And I assoyle him by the authoritie, Such as by bull was graunted vnto me. By this gaude haue I won every yere An hundred marke, sithen I was pardonere. I stond like a clerke in my pulpet, And when the leud people been doune yset, I preach so as ye haue lered before, And tell to them an hundred yapes more. Then paine I me to stretch forth my necke, And east and west vpon the people I becke As doth a dove, sitting upon a berne: My honds and my tongue gone so yerue, That it is joy to see my businesse. Of avarice and of such cursednesse All my preaching is for to maken hem free To yeuen her pens, and namely vnto me. For mine entent is not but for to winne, And nothing for correction of sinne. I recke neuer when that they ben buried, Though her soule gone a black buried. * For certes many a predication Commeth oft time of evill entention. Some for pleasaunce of folke, & for flaterie, To been auaunced by hipocrisie: And some for vaineglory, and some for hate. For when I dare not other wayes debate, Then woll I sting hem with my tongue smert In preaching, so that he shall not astert To ben defamed falsely, if that he Hath trespassed to my bretherne or to me. For though I tell not his proper name, Men shall well know that it is the same By signes, or by other circumstaunces. Thus quite I folke, y^t doth vs displeasaunces: Thus put I out my venum under hew Of holinesse, to seemen holy and trew, But shortly mine entent I woll deuise, I preach of nothing but of couetise. Therefore my teme is yet, and ever was, Radix omnium malorum est cupiditas. Thus can I preach ayenst y^• same vice Which that I use, and that is avarice. But though my self be guilty in that sinne, Yet can I maken other folke to twinne From auarice, and sore hem to repent: But that is not my principal entent, I preach nothing but for couetise. Of this matere it ought ynough suffise. Then tell I hem ensamples many a one Of old stories done long time agone. For leaud people aye louen tales old, Which things they can well report & hold. What, trowen ye whiles that I may prech, And win gold and siluer for to tech, That I woll liue in pouert wilfully? Nay, nay, I thought it neuer truly. For I woll preach and beg in sundry londs, I woll not doe no labour with mine honds, Ne make baskets and liue thereby, Because I woll not beg idelly. I woll none of the apostles counterfete: I woll haue money, mault, cheese, & whete, All were it yeuen of the poorest page, Or of the poorest widdow in a village: Though her children should sterue for famine. Nay, I woll drinke the licour of the wine, And haue a jolly wench in every toun: But hearkeneth lordings my conclusioun. Your liking is that I should tell a tale, Now I haue drunken a draught of corny ale: By God I hope I shall tell you a thing, That shall by reason been at your liking: For though my selfe be a full vicious man, A morall tale yet I you tell can, Which I am wont to preach, for to win: Now hold your peace, my tale I woll begin.

¶The Pardoners Tale.

A company of Riotours conspire to kill Death, who killeth them one after another.

IN Flanders whilom there was a companie Of yong folke, that haunted follie: As hasard, riot, stewes, and tauernes, Whereas with harps, lutes, and geternes, They dauncen & plaien at dice night & day, And eaten also, ouer that her might may. Through which they done the deuill sacrifice Within the devils temple, in cursed wise, By superfluitie abhominable: Her othes been so great and so damnable, That it is grisly for to heare hem sweare: Our blessed lords body they all to teare, Hem thought y^e Iews rent him not ynough: And each of hem at others sinne lough. And right anon comen in tomblesteres Fetis and smale, and yong foiteres, Singers with harpes, bauds, and waferers, Which that been verely the deuils officers

To kindle and blow the fire of letcherie, That is annexed vnto glotonie. The holy writ take I to my witnesse, That letchery is in wine and dronkennesse. Lo how that dronken Loth vnkindly Lay by his daughters two vnwittingly, So dronke he was he nist what he wrought, And therefore sore repenten him ought. Herodes, who so woll the stories seche, There may ye learne, & by ensample teche, When he of wine was replete at his feast, Right at his owne table yaue his hest To sleen Iohan the Baptist full guiltlesse. Seneke saith eke good words doubtlesse: He saith he can no difference find * Betwixt a man that is out of his mind, And a man the which is dronkelew: But that woodnesse fallen in a shrew, Perseuereth lenger than doth dronkennesse. O glotenie, full of cursednesse: O cause first of our confusion, O originall of our damnation, Til Christ had bouʒt vs with his blood again: Lo how dere, shortly for to sain, Bought was first this cursed villanie: Corrupt was all this world throgh glotenie. Adam our fornfather, and his wife also, Fro Paradice, to labour and to wo Were driven for that vice, it is no drede: For whiles that Adam fasted, as I rede, He was in Paradise, and when that hee Eat of the fruit defended on the tree, Anon he was out cast to wo and paine. O glotenie, on thee well ought vs to plaine. * Oh, wist a man how many maladies Followeth of excesse and of glotenies, He would been the more measurable Of his diete, sitting at his table. Alas the short throat, the tender mouth, Maketh that East & West, North & South, In earth, in aire, in water, men to swinke, To getten a glutton deinte meat and drinke. Of this matter, O Paul, wel canst thou treat, * Meat vnto wombe, & wombe eke vnto meat Shall God destroien both, as Paule saith. Alas, a foule thing it is by my faith, To say this word, and fouler is the dede, When men so drinketh of the white and rede, That of his throte he maketh his priue Through thilke cursed superfluite. The Apostle saieth weeping full pitously, There walken many, of which told haue I, I say it now weeping with pitous voice, They been enemies of Christs croice, Of which the end is death, womb is her God. O belly, O wombe, O stinking cod, Fulfilled of dong and corruptioun, At either end of thee foule is the soun. How great cost and labour is there to find These cookes? Lord how they stamp, strein, & grind, And turne substance into accident, To fulfill all thy likerous talent. Out of the hard bones knocken they The mary, for they cast it not away, That may go through the gullet soft & sote: Of spicerie, of leaves, barke, and rote, Shall been his sauce ymade by delite To maken hem have a newer appetite. * But certes he that haunteth such delices, Is dead, whiles that he liveth in the vices. * A lecherous thing is wine & dronkennes, It is full of striving and of wretchednes. Oh dronken man, disfigured in thy face, Soure is thy breath, foul art thou to enbrace: And through thy dronken nose souneth y^• soun, As tho thou saidest aie Sampson, Sampsoun: And yet God wot Sampson dronk never wine. Thou fallest, as it were a sticked swine: Thy tongue is lost, and all thine honest cure, * For drunkennesse is very sepulture Of mans wit, and his discretion. * In whom that drinke hath domination, He can no counsaile keepe, it is no drede. Now kepe you fro the white & fro the rede, And namely fro the White wine of Lepe, That is to sell in Fishstreet and in Chepe. This wine of Spaine creepeth subtilly, And so do other wines growing fast by: Of which riseth such fumositee, That when a man hath dronk draughts three, And weneth that he be at home in Chepe, He is in Spaine, right at the toune of Lepe, Nought at Rochell, ne at Burdeaux toun. And then woll he say, Sampsoun, Sampsoun, But herkeneth lordings o word, I you pray, That all the soveraigne acts dare I say Of victories in the old Testament, That through very God, y^t is omnipotent, Were doen in abstinence and in prayere: Looketh the Bible, and there ye mow it lere. Looketh Attila, the great conquerour Died in his sleepe, with shame & dishonour Bleeding aye at his nose in drunkennesse: A captaine should liue in sobernesse. And over all this, auise you right well, What was commaunded unto Lamuel? Not Samuell: but Lamuel say I. Redeth the Bible, and find it expresly Of wine yeuing to hem that haue justice: No more of this, for it may well suffice.

And now that I have spoke of glotonie, Now woll I defend you hasardrie. Hasard is very mother of lesings, And of deceit, and cursed forswearings: Blaspheme of Christ, manslauʒter, & wast also Of cattel, of time, and of other mo. * It is repreue, and contrary to honour, For to be holden a common hasardour. And ever the higher that he is of estate, The more he is holden desolate. If that a Prince shall use hasardrie In his gouernaunce and pollicie, He is as by common opinion Hold the lesse in reputation. Stillebon that was hold a wise embassadour, Was sent to Corinth with full great honour Fro Calidone, to maken hem alliaunce: And when he came, there happed this chaunce, That all the greatest that were of the lond Playing at hasard he hem yfond:

For which, as soone as it might be, He stale him home ayen to his countre, And saied, There woll I not lese my name, I nill not take on me so great defame, For to allie you to none hasardours: Sendeth other wiser embassadours. For by my trouth, me were leuer die Than I should you to hasardours alie. For ye that been so glorious in honours, Shall not alie you with hasardours, As by my will, ne by my treatie: This wise Philosopher thus saied he. Looke eke how to king Demetrius The king of Parthes, as y^e booke saieth vs, Sent him a paire of dice of gold in scorne, For he had vsed hasardrie there biforne: For which he held his glory and his renoun At no value or reputatioun. * Lords might find other manner play Honest ynough to driue the day away.

Now wol I speake of othes false & great A word or two, as other bookes entreat, * Great swearing is thing abhominable, And false swearing is yet more reprouable: The high God forbad swearing at all, Witnesse of Mathew: but in speciall Of swearing saieth the holy Ieremie, * Thou shalt sweare sooth thine othes, & not lie: And sweare in dome & eke in rightwysnes, But idle swearing is a cursednesse. Behold and see that in the first table Of high Gods hestes that ben honourable, How that the second hest of him is this, Take not my name in idlenesse amis. Lo, he rather forbiddeth such swearing, Than homicide, or any other cursed thing: I say as thus, by order it stondeth, This knoweth they y^t his hests vnderstond∣eth, How that the second hest of God is that: And furthermore, I woll thee tell all plat, * That vengeaunce shall not part fro his hous, That of his othes is too outrageous, By Gods precious heart, and his nailes, And by the bloud of Christ, that is in Hailes, Seuen is my chaunce, & thine fiue and three: By Gods armes, if thou falsly play me, This dagger shall through thine heart ygo. This fruit it commeth of thilke bones two, For swearing, ire, falsenesse, and homicide. Now for the loue of Christ that for vs dide, Leaueth your othes, both great and smale, For I shall tell you a meruellous tale. These roitours three, of which I tell, Long erst or prime rong any bell, Were set hem in a Tauerne to drinke: And as they sat, they heard a bell clinke Before a corse that was carried to his graue: That one of hem gan to call to his knaue, Goe bette (qd. he) and aske redily, What corse is this, that passeth forth by: And looke that thou report his name wele. Sir (qd. he) it needeth neuer a dele: It was me told ere ye came here two hours, He was parde an old fellow of yours, All suddainly was he slaine to night: For drunke as he sat on his bench vpright, There came a priuy theefe, men clepen death, That in this countrey all the people s••aeth: And with his speare he smote his heart at wo, And went his way withouten words mo. He hath a thousand slaine this pestilence: And maister ere ye come in his presence, Me thinketh that it were necessarie: For to beware of such an aduersarie: Bethe redy for to meten him euermore, Thus taught me my dame, I say no more. By saint Mary, saied this Tauernere, The child sayeth sooth, for he hath this yere Hens ouer a mile, slaine in a great village, Both man and woman, child, and page, I trowe his habitation be there: To been auised, great wisdome it were, Ere that he did a man dishonour, Ye, Gods armes (qd. this riotour) Is it such perill with him for to meet? I shall him seeche by stile and eke by street. I make auow by Gods digne bones, Herkeneth fellowes, we three been all ones: Let ech of vs hold vp his hond to other, And ech of vs become others brother, And we woll slea this false traitour death: He shall be slaine, that so many slaeth By Gods dignity, ere that it be night. Togider han these three her trouths plight To liue and die ech of them with other, As though he were his owne brother. And vp they stert all dronken in this rage, And forth they gone toward that village, Of which the Tauerner hath spoken before, And many a gris••y othe ha•• they swore, And Christes blessed body they to rent, Death shall be dead, and we may him hent. When they han gone not fully a mile, Right as they would haue troden ouer a stile An old poore man with hem met. This old man full meekely hem gret, And saied, now lordings God ye see. The proudest of these riotours three Answerd ayen, what churle with hard grace, Why art thou all forwrapped saue thy face? Why liuest thou so long in so great age? This old man gan looken in his visage, And saied thus: for that I cannot find A man, though I walked into Iude, Neither in city, ne in no village, That would chaunge his youth for mine age, And therefore mote I haue mine age still As long time as it shall be Gods will. Ne death alas ••ill not haue my life, Thus walke I like a restlesse caitife, And on y^e ground, which is my mothers gate, I knocke with my staffe erliche and late, And say still, leue mother let me in, Lo how I vanish, flesh, blood, and skin: Alas, when shall my bones been at rest, Mother with you would I chaunge my chest, That in my chamber long time hath be, Ye for an heren clout to wrap in me: But yet to me she woll not doen y^• grace, For which full pale and welked is my face.

* But sirs, to you it is ne courtesie To speaken vnto an old man villanie, But he trespace in word either in dede, In holy writ you may your selfe well rede: * Ayenst an old man, hore vpon his hede Ye should arise: therefore I you rede Ne doeth to an old man no harme as now, No more than ye would a man did you In age, if that ye may so long abide. And God be with you whether ye go or ride, I mote go thider as I have to go. Nay old churle, by God thou shalt not so, Saied these other hasardours anon. Thou partest not so lightly by saint Iohn: Thou spakest riʒt now of thilke traitor death, That in this country all our friends slaeth: Have here my trouth thou art his espie, Tell where he is, or els thou shalt die By God and by the holy Sacrament, For soothly thou art of his assent To slea vs yong folke, O thou false thefe. Now sirs, if it be to you so lefe To find death, tourne vp this crooked way, For in that groue I left him by my fay Vnder a tree, and there he woll abide: Ne for your bost he nill him nothing hide. Se ye yonder oke, right there ye shall him find: God saue you, that bought ayen mankind, And you amend, thus saied this old man. Then eueriche of these riotours ran, Til they came to y^e tree, & there they found Floreines of gold fine, y••oined round, Well nigh a seuen bushels, as hem thought: No lenger than after death they sought, But ech of hem so glad was of that sight, For that the Floreins so faire been & bright, That doune they sit by the precious hord, The yongest of hem spake the first word. Brethren (qd. he) take keepe what I say, My wit is great, though I bord or play: This treasure hath fortune to vs yeuen In mirth and iollity our life to liuen, And lightly as it comes, so woll we spend: Heie, Gods precious hart: who did once wend To day, y^t we should have so faire a grace? But might this gold be caried fro this place Home to my house, or els vnto yours, (For well I wote y^t all this gold is ours). Then were we in high felicite. But truly by day it may not be, Men would then say that we wer theeues strong, And for our owne treasure doen vs hong. This treasure must yearied be by night As wisely and as slily as it might. Wherefore I rede, draw cut among vs all, And let us see where the cut woll fall: He that hath the shortest cut, with hart blith, Shall renne to the toune, & that full swith, To bring vs bread and drinke full priuely: And two of us shall keepe full subtilly This treasure well, and if he woll not tarie, When it is night, we woll this treasure carie By one assent, where as vs list best. That one of hem brought grasse in his fest, And bad hem draw, & look where it wold fall, And it fell on the yongest of hem all: And forth toward the toune he went anone. And also as soone as he was gone, That one of hem spake vnto that other, Thou wost well thou art my sworne brother, Thy profite woll I tell thee right anone: Thou wost well that our fellow is gone, And here is gold, and y^t full great plentee, That shall departed be among vs three. But nathelesse, if that I can shape it so, That it departed were among vs two, Had I not doen a friendly turne to thee? That other answerd, I not how y^t might be: I woll well that the gold were ours two, What should we doe, that it might be so? Shall it be counsaile (said the first shrew) And I shall tell thee in words few What we woll doen, & bring it well about. I graunt (qd. that other) out of dout: That by my trouth I woll thee not bewrain. Now (qd. he) thou wost well we been twain, And twain of vs shall stronger be than one? Looke when he is set, and then anone Arise, as thogh thou wouldest with him play, And I shall riuen him through the sides tway, Whiles y^t thou struglest with him as in game: And with thy dagger looke thou do y^e same, And then shall all the good departed be My owne dere friend, betwixt thee & me: Then may we both all our lusts fulfill, And play at vice, right at our owne will. And thus accorded ben these shrews tway, To slea the third, as ye heard me say. This yongest, which y^t went to y^e toune, Full often in his hart rolled up and doune The beauty of these floreines faire & bright: O Lord (qd. he) if so were that I might Haue all this treasure to my selfe alone, There nis no man that liueth vnder trone Of God, that should liue so merry as I: And at the last the fiend our enemy Put in his thought that he shuld poison bey, With which he might slaen his felows twey. For why, the fiend fond him in such liuing, That he had leue to sorrow him to bring. For this was vtterly his entent, To slaen hem both, and neuer to repent. And forth he goth, no lenger would he tary, Into the toune vnto a Potecary, And praied him that he would him sell Some poyson, that he might his rats quell. And eke there was a Polkat in his hawe, That as he saied, his Capons had yslaw: And said, he would wreken him if y^t he might Of vermine, that destroied hem by night. The Poticarie answerd, thou shalt haue A thing, as wisly God my soule saue, In all this world there nis no creature That eateth or drinketh of this confecture, Not but the mountenaunce of a corne of That he ne shall his life anone forlete, Ye sterue he shall, and that in lesse while, where, Than thou woldest gone apace, not but a mile: This poison is so hard & so violent. This tursed man hath in his hond hent This poison in a boxe, and swithe he ran Into the next street unto a man,

And borrowed of him large bottles three, And in the two the poison poured he: The third he kept cleane for his own drinke, For all the night he shope him for to swinke In carying of the gold out of that place. And when this riotour with sorry grace Hath fild with him his great bottles three, To his fellowes ayen repaired hee. What needeth it thereof to sermon more? For right as they had cast his death before, Right so they han him slain, and y^t anone. And when this was doen, then spake y^t one, Now let us sit and drinke, & make vs mery, And afterward they wolne his body bury: And after that it happed hem per caas, The one took the bottle, there y^e poison was, And dronke, & yaue his fellow drinke also, Through which anon they steruen both two. But certes I suppose that Auicenne Wrote neuer in no chanon, ne in no fenne More wonder sorrows of empoysoning. Than had these wretches two in her ending. Thus ended been these homicides two, And eke the false empoysoner also. O cursed sinne, full of all cursednesse, O traitour homicide, O wickednesse, O glotenie, luxurie, and hasardie, Thou blasphemour of Christ with villanie, And othes great, of vsage and of pride: Alas mankind, how may it betide, That to thy creatour, which y^t thee wrought, And with his precious blood thee bought, Thou art so false and so vnkind, alas. Now good men, God foryeue you your tres∣pas: And ware you fro the sinne of auarice, Mine holy pardon may you all warish, So that ye offer nobles or starlings, Other els siluer spoones, brooches, or rings. Boweth your head vnder this holy Bull. Commeth vp ye wiues, & offreth of your wol, Your names here I enter in my roll anone, Into the blisse of heauen shull ye all gone: I you assoile by mine high powere Ye that offren, to been as cleane and clere As ye were borne. Lo sirs, thus I preach: And Iesu Christ, that is our soules leach, So graunt you his pardon to receiue, For that is best, I woll you not deceiue. But sirs, one word foryate I in my tale, I haue relickes and pardons in my male, As faire as any man man in Englond, Which were yeuen me by the Popes hond. If any of you woll of deuotion Offren, and haue mine absolution, Commeth forth anon, & kneeleth her adoun That ye may haue part of my Pardoun, Or els taketh pardon as ye wend, All new and fresh at euery tounes end, So that ye offren alway new and new Nobles or pens, which been good and trew. It is great honour to euerich that is here, That ye may haue a sufficient pardonere To assoile you in countrey there ye ride, For auentures, which that may betide. For perauenture there may fall one or two Doune off her hors, & breke her neck atwo. Look which suertie it is to you all, That I am in your fellowship yfall, That may assoile you both more and lasse, When that the soule shall fro thy body passe. I rede that our host shall first beginne, For he is most enuelopt of sinne. Commeth forth sir host, & offer first anone, And thou shalt kisse the relikes euerichone Ye for a grote, vnbokell anon thy purse. Nay nay (qd. he) then haue I Christs curse: Let be (qd. he) it shall not be so theiche, Thou wouldest make me kisse thine old brech, And sweare it were a relike of a saint, Though it were with thy foundement de∣paint. But by the crosse which saint Helain fond, I would I had thine coilons in mine hond Insteed of relikes, or of sanctuarie: Let cut hem of, I woll help thee hem to carie, They shull be shrined in an hogs tord. This Pardoner answered not a word, So wroth he was, he would no word say. Now (qd. our host) I woll no lenger play With thee, ne with none other angrie man, But right anon the worthy knight began, When that he saw that all the people lough: No more of this, for it is right ynough, Sir Pardoner, be merry and glad of chere, And ye sir host, that been to me so dere: I pray you that ye kisse the Pardonere, And Pardoner, I pray thee draw thee nere, And as we did, let us lough and play: Anon they kissed, and ride forth her way.

¶The Shipmans Prologue.

NOw friendes said our host so dere, How liketh you by Iohn y^e Pardonere? He hath vnbokeled well the male, He hath us told right a thriftie tale As touching of mens misgouernaunce: I pray to God yeue him full good chaunce, As ye han heard of these riotours three. Now gentle Mariner, I heartely pray thee, Tell us a good tale, and that right anon: It shall be doen, by God & by saint Iohn Said this Mariner, as well as euer I can: And right anon his tale he thus began.

¶The Shipmans Tale.

A Marchant of S. Denise is cozened by his own Wife, and by a Monke called Dan John. This Argument is taken out of Bochas in his Novels.

A Marchant whilome dwelled at saint Denise, That rich was, for which men held him A wife he had of excellent beaute, And compinable, & reuelous was she, wise: Which is a thing y^t causeth more dispence, Than worth is all the chere & reuerence, That men hem doen at feasts & at daunces: * Such salutations and countenaunces Passeth, as doeth the shaddow on a wall: But wo is him that pay mote for all, The sely husbond algate he mote pay, He mote vs both clothe and eke array

All for his owne worship, richely: In which array we dauncen jolily. And if that he may not perauenture, Or els lust not no such spece endure, But thinketh that it is wast and ylost, Then mote another pay for our cost, And lend vs gold, and that is perillous. This noble Marchant held a noble hous, For which he had all day great repaire For his largesse, and for his wife was faire, That wonder is: but herkeneth to my tale. Among all his guells both great & imale There was a Monke, a faire man & a bold, I trow thirtie Winter he was old, That euer in one was drawing to that place: This yong Monke, that so faire was of face, Acquainted was so well with this good man, Sithens that he first knowledge began, That in his house as familiar was he, As it is possible any friend to be. And for as much as this good man And eke the Monke, of which I began, Were both two yborne in one village, The Monke him claimed, as for cousinage, And he againe saied him not once nay, But was as glad thereof, as foule of day: For to his heart it was a great pleasaunce. Thus ben they knit with eterne alliaunce, And eke of hem gan other for to ensure Of brotherhed, whiles her life may dure. Free was Dan Iohn, & namely of dispence As in that hous, and full of diligence To doe pleasaunce, and eke great costage: He foryate not to yeue the least page In all that house, but after her degree: He yaue the lord, and sithen his meinee, When y^t he came, some maner honest thing, For which they were as glad of his comming As foule is faine, when the sunne vp riseth: No more hereof as now, for it suffiseth. But so befell, this Marchaunt on a day Shope him to make ready his array Toward the toune of Bruges for to fare, To buy there a portion of ware: For which he hath sent to Paris anon A messenger, and praied hath Dan Ihon That he should come to S. Denis to plain With him, and with his wife, a day or twain, Or he to Bruges went, in all wise. This noble Monke, of which I you deuise, Hath of his Abbot, as him list, licence, (Because he was a man of high prudence And eke an officer) out for to ride To seene her graunges, & her bernes wide, And vnto saint Denis he commeth anon: Who was so welcome as my lord Dan Iohn, Our dere cousin full of courtesie? With him he brought a jubbe of Maluesie, And eke another full of fine vernage, And volatily, as was aye his vsage: And thus I let hem both eat, drinke, & play, This marchant & this monke a day or tway. The third day this Marchaunt vp riseth, And on his need sadly him aviseth: And vp into his counting house goth he To reckon with himselfe, as well may be Of thilke yere, how it with him stood, And how he dispended had his good, And if that he encreased were or none, His bookes and his bagges many one He laieth afore him on his counter bord: Full rich was his treasure and his hord. For which full fast his counter dore he shet, And eke he nolde no man should him let Of his accounts, for the meane time: And thus he sate till it was passed prime. Dan Iohn was risen in the morrow also, And in the garden walked to and fro, And hath his things saied full courtes••y: This good wife come walking priuely Into the garden, there he walked soft, And him salueth, as she hath doen full oft: A maiden child came in her companie, Which as her lust she may gouerne and gie, For yet vnder the yerd was the maid. O dere cousin mine Dan Iohn, she said What aileth you so rathe to rise? Nece (qd. he) it ought ynough suffise Fiue houres for to sleepen on a night: But it were for an old palled wight, As been these old wedded men, y^t lie & dare, As in a forme sitteth a weary Hare Al forstraught with hounds great & smale, But deere nece, why looke ye so pale? I trowen certes, that our good man Hath you laboured, sith this night began, That you were need to resten hastely: And with that word he lough full merely, And with his owne thought he woxe fall red. Then this faire wife gan to shake her hed, And saied thus, ye God wote all (qd. she) Nay cousin mine, it stonds not so with me: For by that God, that yave me soule & life, In all y^e realme of Fraunce is there no wife, That lesse lust hath to that sory play: For I may singen alas and welaway That I was borne, but to no wight (qd. she) Dare I not tell how it stont with me. Wherefore I think out of this world to wend, Or els of my selfe soone to make an end, So full I am of drede and eke of care. This Monk began vpon his wife to stare, And saied alas, nay nece God forbede, That ye for any sorrow, or for any drede Fordoe your selfe: but telleth me your greefe, Perauenture I may in your mischeefe Counsaile or helpe: and therefore telleth me All your annoy, for it shall secre be: For on my Porthose I make an oth, That neuer in my life, for lefe ne loth Ne shall I not of no counsaile you bewray. The same ayen to you (qd. she) I say: By God & by this Porthose I you sweare, Though men would me all in peeces teare, Ne shall I neuer, for to goe to hell, Bewray o word of thing that ye me tell, Nor for no cousenage, ne for alliaunce, But verely for loue and affiaunce. Thus been they sworne, & hereupon kist, And ilke of hem told other what hem list. Cousin (qd. she) if I had a space, As I have none, and namely in this place,

Then would I tell a legend of my life, That I suffred haue sith I was a wife With mine husbond, though he be your cosin. Nay (qd. this Monke) by God & S. Martin He nis no more cousin vnto me, Than is this leafe that hongeth on y^e tree: I clepe him so by saint Denis of Fraunce To haue the more cause of acquaintaunce Of you, whom I haue loued specially Abouen all other women sikerly, This sweare I you on my profession: Telleth your greefe, least he come adoun. And hasteth you, and goth your way anon. My dere loue (qd. she) O my Dan Iohn, Full lefe me were this counsaile to hide, But out it mote, it may no lenger abide. My husbond is to me the worst man, That euer was sith the world began: But sithen I am a wife, it sit not to me To tellen no wight of our priuite Neither in bed, ne in none other place, God shild I should tell it for his grace: * A wife ne should not say of her husbond But all honour, as I can vnderstond, Saue vnto you thus much tell I shall: As helpe me God, he is nought worth at all In no degree, the value of a flie. But yet me greueth most his nigardie: And well ye wot, that women naturally * Desiren things sixe, as well as I. They woulden that her husbonds should be Hardy, and wise, rich, and thereto free, And buxome to his wife, and fresh a bed. But by that ilke Lord that for vs bled, For his honour my selfe to array A sunday next comming, I mote needs pay An hundred frankes, or els am I lorne: Yet were me leuer that I were vnborne, Than me were done a slaunder or a villanie. And if mine husbond eke might it espie, I nere but lost, and therefore I you prey Lene me this summe, or els mote I dey: Dan Iohn I say, lene me this hundred franks, Parde I woll not faile you my thanks, If that ye list to doe that I you pray. For of a certain day I woll you pay, And to don you w^t pleasaunce and seruice That I may done, right as ye list deuise: And but I do, God take on me vengeaunce, As foule as euer had Genilion of Fraunce. This gentle monk answerd in this manere, Now truly mine owne lady dere I haue (qd. he) on you so great touth, That I you swere, & plight you my trouth, That when your husbond is to Flanders fare, I woll deliuer you of all this care, For I woll bring you an hundred frankes. And with that he caught her by y^e flankes, And her embraced hard, and kissed her oft. Goth now your way (qd. he) all still & soft, And let us dine as soone as euer ye may, For by my kalender it is prime of y^e day: Goth now, & beth as true as I shall be. Now els God forbid good sir said she: And forth she goth, as iolly as a pie, And bad the cookes y^t they should hem hie So that men might dine, and y^t anone: Vp to her husbond is this wife gone, And knocked at his counter dore boldely, Qui est la (qd. he) Peter it am I, Why what (qd. she) how long woll ye fast? How long time woll ye recken and cast Your sums, your bookes, & your things? The diuell haue part of all such reckonings. Ye haue ynough (qd. she) of Gods sond, Come doun to day, & let your bags stond. Ne be ye not ashamed, that Dan Iohn Shall fasting all this long day gon? What let vs go heare masse and go dine. Wife (qd. this man) little canst thou diuine The curious businesse that we haue: For of us chapmen so God me saue, And by that lord that called is saint Iue, Scarsly among twenty, twelue shall thriue Continually, lasting vnto their age. We may well make chere & good visage, And driue forth the world as it may be, And keepe our state in priuite Till we be dead, or els that we play A pilgrimage, or gone out of the way: And therefore haue I great necessite Vpon this queint world to aduise me. For euermore we mote stand in drede Of hap & fortune, in our chapmanhede. To Flanders woll I gone to morrow day, And come ayene as sone as euer I may: For which my dere wife I thee beseke As be to euery wight buxom and meke, And for to keepe our good be curiouse, And honestly gouerne well our house. Thou hast ynough, in euery maner wise, That to a thrifty huswife may suffice: Thee lacketh none array, ne no vitaile, Of siluer in thy purse thou maiest not faile. And with y^t word his counter dore he shette, And down he goth, no lenger would he lette. And hastily a masse was there isaide, And spedily the tables were ilaide. And to dinner fast they hem spedde, And richly the chapman this monke fedde. And after dinner, Dan Iohn soberly This chapman tooke apert all priuily, And said him thus, cousin it stondeth so, That well I see, to Bruges ye woll go, God and saint Austen spede you and gide: I pray you cousin wisely that you ride, Gouerne you well also of your diete All temperatly, & namely in this hete: Betwixt us two nedeth no strange fare. Farewell cousin, God shilde you fro care. If any thing there be by day or night, And it lie in my power or in my might, That ye me woll command in any wise, It shall be done, right as ye woll deuise. O thing or ye go, if that it may be, I wold faine pray you for to lene me An hundred frankes for a weke or twey, For certaine beasts y^t I mote needs bey, To store therewith a place that is ours: God helpe me so, I would it were yours. I shall not faile surely at my day Not for a thousand frankes, a mile way.

But let this thing be secret, I you pray: For yet this night these beasts mote I bey. And fare now wele, mine owne cousin dere, Grant mercie of your cost and your chere This noble marchant, gentilly anon Answerd and said, O cousin Dan Ihon, Now likerly, this is a small request. My gold is yours when that you lest, And not onely my gold, but my chaffare: That what you list, God shild that ye spare. But one thing is, ye know it well inough Of chapmen, that her money is her plough. We may haue creaunce while we haue a name, But goodlesse for to be it is a shame. Pay it ayen, when it lieth at your ese, After my might faine would I you plese. The hundreth frankes fet he forth anon, And priuily tooke hem to Dan Iohn: No wight of this world, wist of this lone, Sauing this marchant, & Dan Iohn alone. They drinke, speak, and rome a while & pley, Till that Dan Iohn rideth to his abbey. The morow came, & forth rid this Marchant To Flanders ward, his prentes brought hem auant. Til he came to Bruges, wel & merely, Now goeth this marchant well and besily About his nedes, and buieth, and creaunseth, He neither playeth at dice, ne daunceth: But as a marchant shortly to tell, He led his life, and there I let him dwell. The sonday next y^t this marchant was gon, To saint Denis is comen Dan Iohn With croune & berde all fresh & new ishaue: In all this house there nas so litle a knaue, Ne no wight els, but he was full faine, For y^t my lord Dan Iohn was comen againe. And shortly to the point for to gon, This faire wife accordeth with Dan Iohn, That for these C. frankes he should all night Haue her in his armes bolt upright: And this accord parformed was in dede. In mirth all night a besie life they lede Til it was day, y^t Dan Iohn yede his way, And had the manie farewell & have good day. For none of hem ne no wight in the toun Had of Dan Iohn any suspectioun, And forth he rideth, home to his abbey, Or where him liste, no more of him I sey, This marchant, when ended was the faire, To saint Denis he gan for to repaire, And with his wife he maketh feest and chere, And telleth her that chaffare is so dere, That needs must he make a cheuesaunce. For he was bonden in a reconysaunce, To pay twentie thousand shildes anon: For which this marchant is to Paris gon To borrow of certaine friends that he had A certaine frankes, and some with him he lad: And when he was comen in to the toun, For cherite and great affectioun Vnto Dan Iohn he first goth him to pley, Nought for to borrow of him no money, But for to wete and see of his welfare, And for to tellen him of his chaffare As friends don, when they been mette infere. Dan Iohn him maketh feast & mercy chere, And he him tolde ayen full specially, Now he had bought, full well & graciously, Thonked be God, all hole his Marchandise: Saue that he must in all manner wise Maken a cheuesaunce, as for his best: And then should he be in ioy and rest. Dan Iohn answered, certes I am right fane, That ye in heale be commen home againe: And if I were rich, as have I blisse, Of twenty thousand shildes shuld ye not misse. For ye so kindly this other day Lent me gold, and as I can and may I thonke you, by God and by saint Iame. But natheles, I t••••k it unto our Dame, Your wife at home, the same gold againe Vpon your bench, she wote it wel certaine, By certaine tokens that I can here tell: Now by your leave I may no longer dwell: Our abbot woll out of this toun anon, And in his company I mote gon. Grete well our dame, mine own neece swete And farewell deare cousin, till we mete. This marchant that was full ware & wise, Creaunced hath, and eke paide in Paris To certaine lombardes redy in her honds This sum of gold, & gate of hem the bonds, And home he goth, as mery as a popingay. For well he knew he stood in such aray, That needs must he win by that viage A thousand frankes, above all his costage. His wife full ready mete him at the yate, As she was wont of old usage algate: And all that night in mirth they be sette, For he was rich, and clerely out of dette. When it was day, this marchant gan enbrace His wife all new, and kissed her in her face, And up he goeth, & made it wonder tough: No more (qd. she) by God ye have ynough: And wantonly ayen with him she plaide, Till at the last this marchant thus said. By God (qd. he) I am a little worthe With you my wife, although it be me lothe: And wote ye why? by God as I gesse For ye haue made a maner of strangenesse Betwixt me and my cousin Dan Iohn: Ye should have warned me, or I had gon, That he had you an hundred frankes paide By redy token: and held him evill apaide, For that I to him spake of cheuesaunce: Me seemed so as by his countenaunce. But natheles by God our heavenly king, I thought not to aske of him nothing. I pray thee wife ne do no more so, Tell me alway er that I fro thee go, If any dettour hath in mine absence Ypaide thee, lest through thy negligence, I might him aske a thing that he hath paide. This wife was not aferde ne affraide, But boldly she said, and that anon, Mary I defie that false monke Dan Iohn, I keepe not of his tokens neuer a dele: He tooke me certaine gold, I wote it wele. What euill the dome on his monkes snoute: For God it wote, I wend without doute, That he had yeue it me, because of you, To doen therwith mine honour & my prow

For cosinage, and eke for belle chere, That he hath had full often times here. But sith I see it stonte in such disioynte, I woll answere you shortly to the pointe. Ye haue mo slacke dettours than am I: For I woll pay you well and redely Fro day to day, and if so be I faile, I am your wife, score it on my taile. I shall pay it as soone as ever I may. For by my truth, I have on mine aray, And not in waste, bestowed it every dele: And for I have bestowed it so wele To your honour, for Gods sake I say, As be not wrothe but let us laugh & play: Ye shall my joly bodie have to wedde, By God I nill not pay you but a bedde: Foryeue it me now, mine owne spouse dere, Turneth hitherward and make better chere. This marchant saw ther was no remedy: And for to chide, it was but a foly, Sith that the thing may not amended be. Now wife he said, and I foryeue it thee: But in thy life be no more so large, Keep bet my good, this yeue I thee in charge. Thus endeth now my tale, and God us send Taling inough, unto our lives ende.

¶Here followeth the wordes of our Hoste.

WEll said by corpus Domini (qd. our Hoste) Now long mote thou saile all by y^e coste Thou gentle Maister, gentle Marinere: * God giue y^e monk a thousand last quad yere. A ha fellowes, beware of such a iape, * The monke put in the marchants hode an ape, And in his wives eke, by saint Austin: Draweth no monkes more into your inne. But now passe over, & let us seeke aboute, Who shall tell now first of all this route, Another tale: and with that word he said As curteously as it had been a maid, My lady Prioresse, by your leaue, So that I wist that I shuld you not greue, I wolden deme, that ye tellen shold A tale next, if so be that ye wold: Now wol ye vouchsafe, my lady dere? Gladly (qd. she) and said in this manere.

¶The Prioresses Prologue.

Domine dominus noster: quam admirable est nomen tuum in universa terra.

LOrd our lord, thy name how merueilous Is in this wide world isprad (qd. she) For not onely thy laud precious Parformed is by men of dignite, But by the mouth of children thy bounte Parfourmed is, for on the breest sucking Sometime shewen they thine heriyng.

Wherefore in laude, as I can best & may, Of thee and of the white lilly floure, Which that thee bare, & is a maide alway, To tell a storie I wol do my labour: Nought that I may encrese her honour, For she her selfe is honour and rote Of bountie, next her sonne, & soules bote.

Mother maiden, O maiden & mother fre, O bushe vnbrent, brenn & in Moyses sight, That rauishedest downe fro the deite Through thin humblenes, y^e gost that in thee a∣light: Of whose vertue, when he in thine hert pight, Conceiued was the fathers sapience: Helpe me to tell it in thy reuerence.

Lady, thy bountie, and thy magnificence Thy vertue and thy great humilite There may no tongue expresse in no science: For sometime lady, er men pray to thee Thou goest before, of thy benignite, And gettest vs y^e light through thy prayere, To giden vs vnto thy sonne so dere.

My conning is to weake, O blisfull queen, For to declare thy high worthinesse: That I ne may not the weight sustene, But as a childe of twelue moneth old & lesse, That can vnnethes any word expresse, Right so fare I, and therfore I you pray, Gideth my song, that I shall of you say.

¶The Prioresses tale.

A miracle of a Christians Child, murthered by the Jewes.

THere was in Asie, in a great Citie Amonges christen folke a certain iewrie Sustened by a lorde of that Countrie, For foule vsury, and lucre of villany, Hatefull to Christ, and to his company: And through the strete men might ride & wend For it was free, and open at euery end.

A little schole of Christen folke there stood Down at the farther end, in which ther were Children an hepe comen of Christen blood, That learned in that schole yere by yere, Such manere doctrine as men vsen here: This is to say, to singen and to rede As smale children done in her childhede.

Amonges these children was a widows son A litle clergion, of vii. yeres of age, That day by day to schole was his won. And eke also where he sey the image Of Christes mother, had he in vsage As him was taught, to kneele adown & say, An Aue maria, as he goth by the way.

Thus hath this widow, her little child itauʒt Our blessed Lady Christes mother dere To worship aye, and he foryate it naught: For the sely childe would all day sone lere. But aye, when I remember on this matere, Saint Nicholas stondeth euer in my presence: For he so yong to Christ did reuerence.

This litle childe his litle booke lerning, As he sate in the schole at his primere,

He (Alma redemptoris mater) herd sing, As children lered her antiph••nere: And as he durst, he drewe aye nere & nere And harkened to the wordes and the note, Till he the first verse couth al by rote.

Nouʒt wist he to this latin was to say: For he so yong and tender was of age. But on a day his felow han he pray To expound him the song, in his language, Or tellen him why this song was in vsage: This praid he him to constre & declare, Full often time vpon his knees bare.

His felow, which that elder was than he Answerd him thus, this song I haue herd say, Was made of our blessed Lady fre, Her to f••lewe, and eke her for to prey To been our help, & succour when we dey. I can no more expoune in this mater: I lerne song, I can but small grammer.

And is this song imade in reuerence Of Christes mother, said this innocent? Now ce••••es I woll done my diligence To conne it all er Christenme••se be went Though that I for my primer shall be shent, And should be beten thrise in an houre, I woll it conne, our Ladie to honoure.

His felow taught him homeward priuely Fro day to day, till he couth it by rote, And than he sung it well and boldely Fro 〈◊〉〈◊〉 do word according to the note: Twise a day it passed through his throte To 〈…〉〈…〉, & homeward when he went: On Christes mother set was all his entent.

As I haue said, throughout the Iewrie This little child as he came to and fro, Ful merely then would he sing and crie, O alina redemptoris mater, euer mo: The sweetnes hath his hert persed so Of Christes mother, that to her to pray He cannot stint of singing by the way.

Our first foe, the Serpent Sathanas, That hath in Iewes hert his waspes nest, Vp swale and said, O Chrake people alas, Is this a thing to you that is honest, That such a boy shall walke as him le••te In your dispite, and sing of such sentence, Which is against your lawes reuerence?

From thenceforth the Iewes han conspired This innocent out of this world to chase: An homicide the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 han they hired, That in an aley had a priuie place, And as the child gan foreby to pa••e, This cursed Iew him hent, and held fast, And cut his throte, and in a pit him cast.

I say that in a wardrope they him threw, Where that the Iewes purged her intraile: O cursed folke, of heraudes all new, What may your euil entent you auaile? Murder woll out, certes it woll not faile, And namely ther y^e honor of God shall spred: The blood out crieth on your cursed deed.

O martyr founded in virginitie, Now maist thou sing folowing euer in on The white lambe celestiall (qd. she) Of which the great Euangelist saint Iohn In Pathmos wrote, which saieth y^t they gon Before this lambe, and sing a song all new That neuer fleshly woman they ne knew.

This poore widow awaiteth al the night After her little childe, and he came nought: For which as soone as it was day light, With face pale for drede and busy thought, She hath at schole, & els where him sought, Till finally she gan so farre aspie, That he last sene was in the Iewrie.

With mother pitie in her breast enclosed She goth as she were halfe out of her minde To euery place, where she hath supposed By likelihood her child for to finde: And euer on Christes mother good & kinde She cried, and at last thus she wrought, Among the cursed Iewes she him sought.

She freneth and she praieth pitously To euery Iew that dwelleth in thilke place To tellen her, if her child went there by They say nay, but Iesu of his grace Yaue in her thought, within a little space, That in that place after her sonne she cryde, There he was cast in a pit beside.

O great God, that performest thy laude By mo••th of innocencie, loe here thy might: This Iemme of chastitie, this Emerande And eke of martirdome the rubie bright, There he with throte icorne lay vpright, He (Alma redemptoris) gan to sing So loude, that all the place gan to ring.

The Christen folk, y^t through the street went, In comen, for to wonder on this thing: And hasteley they for the Prouost sent, He came anon without tarying, And herieth Christ that is of heauen king, And eke his mother honour of mankind, And after that, the Iews let he binde.

This child with pitous lamentation Was vp taken, singing his song alway: And with honour and great procession, They carien him to the next abbey, His mother sowning by the bere lay, Vnneath might the people that were there This new Rachell bringen fro his bere.

With turment, & with shamefull deth like one This Prouost doth these Iews for to sterue, That of this murder wiste, and that anone, He nolde no such cursednesse obserue: Euill shall he haue, that euil wol deserue.

Therefore with wild horse he did hem draw, And afterward he hong hem by the law.

Vpon a bere aye, lieth this innocent Beforn cheef aulter whiles the masse last: And after that, the abbot with his couen Hem spedde for to burie him als fast: And when they holy water on him cast, Yet spake y^t child, when sprint was holy water, And sang, O alma redemptoris mater.

This abbot, which y^t was an holy man, As monkes been, or els ought to be, This yong childe to couer he began, And said: O dere child I hailse thee By vertue of the holy Trinitie, Tell me what is thy cause for to sing, Sithens thy throte is cut to my seeming.

My throte is cut vnto my necke bone Said this child, and as by way of kind I should haue deyd ye long time agone: But Iesus Christ, as ye in bookes find, Woll that his glory last and be in minde, And for the worship of his mother dere, Yet may I sing (O alma) loude and clere.

This wel of mercie, Christs mother swete I loued alway, as after my conning: And when that I my life should forlete, To me she came, and bad me for to sing This antem verily in my dying As ye han herde, and when that I had song, Me thought she laid a graine vpon my tong.

Wherefore I sing, and sing mote certaine In honour of the blisfull maiden free, Till fro my tongue off taken is the graine, And after that thus she said to me: My little child, now woll I fetch thee, When y^t the graine is fro thy tong itake: Be not agaste, I woll thee not forsake.

This holy monke, this abbot him mene I, His tong out caught, & toke away y^t graine, And he yaue vp the ghost full softly, And when this abbot had this wonder seyne, His salt teres trikled all down as reyne: And groffe he fell all flat to the ground, And still he lay, as he had been ibound.

The couent lay eke vpon the pauement Weeping and herying Christes mother dere, And after they risen, and forth ben went, And tooke away this martir fro the bere, And in a tonthe of marble stones clere Enclosen they his litle body swete: There he is now, God leue vs for to mete.

O yong Hew of Lincolne slaine also With cursed Iewes, as it is notable: For it is but a little while ago, Pray for vs we sinfull folke vnstable, That of his mercie God be merciable On us, his great mercy multiply For the reuerence of his mother Mary.

¶Here followeth the wordes of the Hoste to Chaucer.

WHen said was this miracle, euery man As sober was as wonder was to see, Till that our hoste to yapen began, And then at erste he looked vpon me, And said thus: what man art thou (qd. he) Thou lookest, as thou wouldest finde an hare, For euer vpon the ground I see thee stare.

Approch neere, and looke vp merely: Now ware you sirs, & let this man haue place, He in the waste is shapen as well as I: This were a popet in armes to enbrace For any woman, small and faire of face. He semeth eluish by his countenance, For vnto no wight doth he daliance.

Say now somewhat, sithens other folke han said: Tell vs a tale of mirth and that anon. Hoste (qd. he) ne be not euil apaide, For other tale certes can I none, But of a rime I lerned yore agone. Ye that is good (qd, he) we shullen here Some deinte thing, me thinketh by thy chere.

¶Here followeth the Rime of Sir Thopas.

A Northern tale of an outlandish Knight, purposely uttered by Chaucer, in a differing rime and stile from the other tales, as though he himself were not the Author, but onely the reporter of the rest.

LIsteneth lordinges in good entent, And I woll tell you verament Of mirth and of solas, All of a knight was faire and gent In battaile and in turnament, His name was sir Thopas. Iborne he was in ferre countre In Flaunders, all beyonde the see At Popering in the place, His father was a man full fre And lord he was of that countre, As it was Gods grace. Sir Thopas was a doughty swaine White was his face as paine maine His lippes reed as rose, His rudde is like scarlet in graine, And I you tell in good certaine He had a seemely nose. His haire, his berde, was like safroun That to his girdle raught adowne His shoone of cordewane, Of Bruges were his hosen broun His robe was of chekelatoun, That cost many a iane, He couth hunt at the wilde dere And ride an hauking for by the riuere With grey Goshauke on honde, Thereto he was a good archere, Of wrastling was there none his pere There any Ram should stonde, Full many a maide bright in boure They mourne for him their paramoure,

Whan hem were bet to sleepe, But he was chaste and no lechoure, And sweet as is the bramble floure, That beareth the red hipe. And so befell vpon a day Forsoth, as I you tell may Sir Thopas would out ride. He wroth vpon his stede gray And in his honde a launce gay A long sword by his side. He pricketh through a faire forest Therein was many a wild beest Ye both Bucke and Hare, And as he pricked North and Easte I tellen you him had almeste Betide a sory care. There springen herbes great and small The Licores and the Setual And many a clowe Gelofer, And Nutmiges to put in ale Whether it be new or stale Or for to lie in cofer. The birds singen, it is no nay The Sperhauke and the Popingaie That ioy it were to here, The throstell eke made his laie The Wood doue vpon the spraie She sung full loude and clere. Sir Thopas fill in loue longing And when he heard the Throstill sing He pricketh as he were wood, His faire stede in his pricking So sweete, that men might him wring His sides were all blood. Sir Thopas eke so wearie was For pricking on the soft graas So fiers was his corage, That downe he laied him in that place To maken his stede some solace And gaue him good forage. Oh, saint Mary, benedicite What aileth this loue at me To blinde me so sore? Me dreamed all this night parde An elfe queene shall my lemman be And sleep vnder my gore. An Elfe Queene woll I loue ••wis For in this world no woman is To be my make in towne, All other women I forsake And to an Elfe Quene I me take By dale and eke by doune. Into his saddle ••e clombe anone And pricked ouer stile and stone An Elfe Queene to spie, Till he so long had ridden and gone That he found in a priuie wone The countrey of Fairie. Wherein he sought North and South And oft he spied with his mouth In many a forrest wilde. And in that countre nas there none As farre as he had rid and gone, Neither wife ne childe. Till him there came a great Giaunt His name was called sir Oliphaunt A perillous man of deede, He swore, child, by Termagaunt But if you pricke out of my haunt Anon I slea thy steede. Here is the Queene of Fairie, With harpe, and pipe, and simphonie Within this place and boure: The childe saied, als so mote I thee To morow woll I meten thee, Whan I haue mine armoure. And yet I hope par ma faie That thou shalt with this launce gaie Abien it through thy mawe: Thy Hawberke shall I perce, if I may, Or it be fully prime of the day For here thou shalt be slawe. Sir Thopas droue abacke full fast, This Gyaunt at him stones cast Out of a fell staffe sling: But faire escaped sir Thopace And all was through Gods grace. And through his faire bearing. Yet listneth lordings to my tale, Merier than the Nightingale, For now I woll ye roune, How sir Thopas with sides smale Pricking ouer doune and dale Is comen ayen to toune. His merry men commanded he To maken him both game and gle, For needes must he fight With a Giant with heads thre, For Paramours and iolite Of one that shone full bright. Doe come he said my ministrales And iestors for to tellen vs tales Anon in mine arming, Of Romaunces that been royals Of Popes and of Cardinals, And eke of loue longing. They fet him first the swete wine And Mede eke in a Mazeline And royal spicerie, Of Ginger bread that was full fine, Of Licores and eke Comine, With Suger that is trie. He did next his white lere Of cloth of lake fine and clere A breche and eke a shert, And next his s••ert an haketon And ouer that an habergion For percing of his hert. And ouer that a fine hauber••e Was all iwrought of Iews werke Full strong it was of plate, And ouer that his cote armoure As white as is the Lilie floure In which he would debate. His shield was all of gold so red And therein was a Bores head A carbocle by his side, And there he swore on ale and bread How that the Gyant should be dead Betide what so betide. His iambeux were of cure buly His sword sheth of Iuorie,

His helmet of Laton bright, His saddle was of ruel bone, His bridle as the Sunne shone Or as the Moone light. His speare was of fine Sypres That biddeth warre, and nothing peace, The head full sharpe iground. His steede was all dapple gray Hee goeth an aumble by the way Full softly and round in londe. Lo Lords mine, here is a fit If ye woll any more of it To tellen it woll I fond.

NOw hold your mouth for charite Both knight and also ladie fre And herkeneth to my spell, Of battaile and of cheualrie And of ladies love drerie Anon I woll you tell. Men speken of Romaunces of pris Of Hornechild, and of Ipotis, Of Beuis, and of sir Gie, Of sir Libeaux and Blandamoure But sir Thopas, he beareth the floure Of riall cheualrie. His good steede he bestrode And forth upon his way glode As sparke out of the bronde, Vpon his crest he bare a tour And therein stricked a Lilie flour God shilde his cors fro shonde. And for he was a knight auntrous, He nolde slepen in none house But liggen in his hood, His bright helme was his wanger And by him fed his destrer Of hearbes fine and good. Himselfe dronke water of the well As did the knight sir Persiuell So worthy under wede,

¶The words of our Hoste.

NO more of this for Gods dignite (Q. d. out Hoste) for thou makest me So wearie of thy very leudenes, That also willy God my soule blesse, Mine eares aken of thy draftie speach: Now such a riche the deuill I beteach, * This may wel be clepe rime Dogrel (qd. he:) Why so (qd. I) why wolt thou let me More of my tale, than any other man, Sins that it is the best time I can? By God (qd. he) plainly at a worde, Thy draftie timing is not worth a torde, Thou doest nought els but spendest time. Sir at one word, thou shalt no lenger rime. Let see whether thou canst tell ought in gest Or tell in prose somewhat at the lest, In which ther may be some mirth or doctrine. Gladly (qd. I) by Gods swete pine I woll you tell a little thing in prose, That ought like you, as I suppose, Or else ye be certes too dangerous: It is a morall tale vertuous, All be it tolde sometime in sundry wise Of sundry folke, as I shall you devise. As thus, ye wote that every Evangelist, That telleth us the paine of Iesu Christ, Ne saith not all thing that his fellow doth: But nathelesse her sentence is all soth, And all accorden in her sentence, All be there in her telling difference: For some of hem saien more, and some lesse, Whan they his pitous passion expresse: I meane of Marke, Matthew, Luke, & Iohn, But doubtlesse her sentence is all one. Therefore lordings all, I you beseech, If that you thinke I vary in my speech As thus, although I tell somewhat more Of Proverbes, than ye han heard before Comprehended in this little treatise here To enforcen the effect of my matere, And though I do not the same words say As ye han heard, yet to all you I pray Blameth me not: for in my sentence Shull ye not finde mochell difference. Fro the sentence of this treatise lite, After the which this little tale I write, And therefore hearkeneth, what I shall say And let me tell my tale I you pray.

¶Chaucers Tale of Melibeus.

Prudence, the discreet wife of Melibeus, persua∣deth her husband to patience, and to receive his Enemies to mercy and grace. A Tale full of Morality, wherein both high and low may learn to govern their affections.

AYong man called Melibeus, mighty and rich, begate upon his wife that called was Prudence, a doughter which that called was Sophie.

Vpon a day befell that he for his disport is went into the fields him to play: his wife and eke his doughter had he left within his house, of which the doores were fast ishet. Foure of his old foes han it aspied, and setten ladders to the walles of his house, and by the win∣dowes beene entred, and bet his wife, and wounded his doughter with five mortall woundes, in five sundry places: That is to say, In her feet, in her honds, in her eares, in her nose, and in her mouth, and leften her for dede, and wenten her way.

When Melibeus returned was into his house, and see all this mischiefe, hee like a mad man, renting his clothes, gan to weep and crie.

Prudence his wife, as farre foorth as shee durst, besought him of his weping for to stint: But not for thy, he gan to weep and cry ever lenger the more.

This noble wife Prudence, remembred her upon the sentence of Ovid, in his booke that cleped is the remedy of loue, whereas he saith, * Hee is a foole that distourbeth the mo∣ther to weepe, in the death of her childe, till she have wept her fill, as for a certain time: and then shall a man doen his diligence with ami∣able

wordes, to recomfort and pray her of her weeping for to stint. For which reason this noble wife Prudence suffered her husbond to weepe and cry, as for a certaine space: and when she saw her time, shee saied him in this wise. Alas, my Lord (qd. she) why make ye your selfe for to be like a foole? Forsoth it ap∣perteineth not unto a wise man to maken such a sorowe. Your doughter with the grace of God, shall warish and escape. And all were it so that she right now were dead, yee ne ought not as for her death your self destroy. Senek saith, * The wise man shall not take to great discomfort for the death of his children, but certes he should suffer it in patience, as wel as he abideth y^e death of his own proper person.

This Melibeus answered anon and said: What man (qd. he) should of his weping stint, that hath so great a cause for to weep: Iesus himselfe, our Lorde, wept for the death of La∣zarus his friend. Prudence answered, certes well I wote, * A temperat weeping is nothing defended, to him that sorowfull is, among folke in sorow, but it is rather graunted him to weepe. The Apostle Paule unto the Ro∣manes writteth, Men should rejoyce with him that maketh joye, and weepe with such folke as weepen. But though a temperate weeping be granted, certes outragious wee∣ping is defended. Measure of weeping should be considered, after the lore that teacheth us Senek. * When y^t thy friend is dead (qd. he) let not thine iyen to moist been of teers, ne to much drie: although teeres comen to thine eyen, let hem not fall. And when thou hast for∣gon thy friend, doe diligence to get another friend: and this is more wisedom than for to weepe for thy friend, which thou hast lorne, for therein is no bote. And therefore if ye govern you by sapience, put away sorow out of your heart. Remembreth you that Iesus Sirake saieth, * A man y^t is joyous and glad in hart: it him conserueth florishing in his age: But sothly a sorowfull heart maketh his bones drie. Hee saith eke thus, That sorow in heart slayeth full many a man. Salomon sayeth, * That right as mouths in the sheepes fleise annoieth the clothes, and the small wormes the tree, right so anoieth sorow the hart of man, wherefore us ought as well in the death of our children, as in the losse of our tempo∣ral goods, have patience.

Remember you upon patient Iob, when hee had lost his children and his temporall substaunce, and in his bodies endured and re∣ceiued full many a grieuous tribulation, yet saied hee thus: * Our Lord it sent to me, our Lord hath bereft it me, right so as our Lord would, right so it be done, iblessed be the name of our Lord. To these foresaid things Me∣libeus unto his wife Prudence answered: All thy words (qd. he) ben true, and thereto profi∣table, but truely mine heart is troubled with this sorrow so grievously, that I not what to do. Let call (qd. Prudence) your true friends al & thy linage, which that been wise, and tel∣leth to hem your case, and hearkeneth what they say in counsailing, & gouerne you after her sentence. Salomon saith, * Werke all thy things by counsaile, & thou shalt never rue. Then by counsaile of his wife Prudence, this Melibeus let cause a great congregation of people, as Surgiens, Phisitions, old folke and yong, and some of his old enemies recon∣ciled (as by her semblance) to his loue and to his grace: & therwithal there came some of his neighbours, that did him reverence more for dread than for loue, as it happe ofte.

There comen also ful many subtil flatterers, and wise Advocates learned in the lawe.

And when these folkes togeders assembled were, this Melibeus in sorrowfull wise shew∣ed hem his case, and by the manner of his speech, it seemed that in hart he bare a cruell ire, ready to doen vengeaunce upon his foes, and suddainly, he desired that warre should be∣gin, but natheles, yet asked he counsaile upon this matter. A Surgien, by licence and as∣sent of such as were wise, up rose, and unto Melibeus saied, as ye shall heare.

Sir (qd. he) as to us Surgiens appertai∣neth, that we doe to every wight the best that we can, where as we beene withholden, and to our patient that wee dooen no damage: wherefore it happeth many time & ofte, that when two men have everch wounded other, one Surgien healeth hem both, wherfore vn∣to our arte it is not pertinent to norish warre, ne parties to support. But certes, as to y^e warishing of your doughter, all be it so that perilously she be wounded, we shall doe so ten∣tife businesse fro day to night, that with the grace of God, she shall been whole & sound, as soone as is possible. Almost right in the same wise the Phisitions answered, saue y^t they saiden a few words more: That right as maladies beene by her contraries cured, right so shall a man warishe warre by peace. His neigbours full of enuie, his fained friends y^t seemed reconciled, & his flatterers, maden semblaunce of weeping, & enpaired & agrutched much of this matter, in pray∣sing greatly Melibe, of might, of power, of riches, and of friends, dispising the power of his aduersaries: and said vtterly, that hee anon should wreken him on his foes, and be∣gin warre.

Vp rose then an Aduocate that was wise, by leaue and by counsaile of other that were wise, & saied: The neede for the which wee beene assembled in this place, is a full heauie thing, & a great matter, because of y^e wrong and of the wickednesse y^t hath bee doen, and eke by reason of great damages, that in time comming been possible to fallen for the same, and eke by reason of y^e great riches & power of the parties both, for the which reasons, it were a full great peril to erren in this matter. Wherefore, Melibeus, this is our sentence, we counsaile you abouen all thing, that right anon thou doe thy diligence in keeping of thy proper person, in such a wise y^t thou ne

want non espie ne watch, thy body for to saue: And after y^t, we counsaile y^t in thine house thou set sufficient garrison, so as they may as well thy body as thy house defend: But certes to mouen warre, or to doen sud∣dainly vengeaunce, we may not deeme in so little time that it were profitable, wherefore we aske leiser and space to haue deliberation in this cause to deme, for the common pro∣uerbe saith thus: * He y^t sone deemeth, sone shall repent. And eke men saine, * Thilke Iudge is wise y^t sone vnderstondeth a matter, & iudgeth by leiser. * For all be it tarriyng be noifull, algate it is not to be reproued in ye∣uing of iudgement, ne in vengeance taking, when it is sufficient & reasonable. And y^t shew∣ed our lord Iesu Christ by ensample, for when the woman was taken in auoutrie, and was brought in his presens to knowen w^t shuld be doen of her person, all be it that he wist wel himself w^t he would answere, yet ne would he nor answere suddainly, but he would haue deliberation, & in the ground he wrote twise, & by this cause we asken deliberation: and we shall then by the grace of God counsaile you that thing that shall be profitable.

Vp stert then the yong folke at ones, and the most part of that companie haue scorned this old wise man, and begun to make noise & said. * Right so as whiles that iron is hot men should smite, right so men should wreken her wrongs while that they been fresh & new, and with loud voyce they cried warre, warre. Vp rose then one of the old wise, & with his hand made countenance that they should holden hem still, and yeuen him audience. Lordings, qd. he, There is full many a man that crieth warre, warre, that wote full lite what warre amounteth. * Warre at his be∣ginning hath so great an entring & so large, that every wight may enter when him liketh and lightly find warre: but certes what end thereof shall fall, it is not lightly to know. When that warre is once begun, there is ful many a child vnborne of his mother, that shal sterue yong, because of thilke warre, other els liue in sorrow, or dien in wretchednesse: And therefore or that any warre bee begon, men must haue great counsaile and good delibera∣tion. And whan this olde man wende to enfor∣ten his tale by reason, wel nie all at ones be∣gon for to rise, for to breaken his tale, & bidden him full oft his wordes to abredge. * For cer∣tes hee that preacheth to hem that list not heare his wordes, his sermon hem annoieth. For Iesus Sirake sayeth, y^t weeping in mu∣sick is a noious thing, This is as much to say, as much auaileth it to speake beforne folk to which his speech anoieth as it is for to singen before hem that weepe. And when this wise man saw that him wanted audience, all shamefast he set him adown ayen. For Salo∣mon saith: There as thou mayest not have audience, enforce thee not to speake. I see well (qd. this wise man) that the common Proverbe is such, * That good counsail want∣eth when it is most need.

Yet had this Melibeus in his counsaile many folke, y^t privily in his eare counsailed him certain things, & counsailed him the con∣trary in general audience. When Melibeus had heard that the greatest part of his coun∣saile were accorded that he should make war, anon he consented to her counsailing, and fully affirmed her sentence. Then Dame Prudence, when that she saw her husbonde shope him for to awreke him on his enemies, and to begin warre: shee in full humble wise, when shee saw her time, sayed to him these words: My lorde (qd. she) I you beseech as heartily as I dare or can, ne halfe you not too fast, and for all guerdons yeue me audience. For Peter Alphons saieth, * Whoso doeth to thee good or harme, haste thee not to quite it, for in this wise thy friend woll abide, & thine enemie shall y^e lenger liue in dread. The pro∣uerbe saieth, * He hasteth well that wisely can abide: And in wicked hast is no profite.

This Melibe answered to his wife Pru∣dence: I purpose not (qd. he) to werke by thy counsaile, for many causes and reasons: for certes euery wight would hold mee then a foole. This is to say, if I for thy counsailing would change things that been ordeined and affirmed by so many wise. Secondly, I say, that all women beene wicked, and none good of hem all. For of a thousand men saith Salo∣mon, I found one good man: But certes of al women found I neuer none. And also certes, if I gouerned mee by thy counsaile, it should seeme that I had yeue thee ouer mee y^e mai∣strie: and God forbid that it so were. For Iesus Sirake saieth, that if the wife haue maistrie, shee is contrarious to her husbond. And Salomon saieth, * Neuer in thy life to thy wife, ne to thy childe, ne to thy friend, ne yeue no power ouer thy selfe: for better it were that thy children aske of thee things that hem needeth, than thy selfe to be in the hands of thy children. And also if I woll werche by thy counsail, certes my counsail must be som∣time secrete, till it were time that it must bee knowen: and this ne may not bee, if I should be counsailed by thee. When dame Prudence full debonairly and with great patience, had heard all that her husbonde liked for to say, then asked she of him licence for to speake, & saied in this wise. My lord (qd. she) as to your first reason, it may lightly been answerd: * For I say that it is no follie to chaunge counsaile when the thing is changed, or els when the thing seemeth otherwise than it seemed afore. And moreouer I say, though that yee haue sworne & behight to performe your emprise, & by just cause ye doe it not, men should not say therefore ye were a lyer & forsworn: For the booke saieth, * That the wise man maketh no lesing, when hee turneth his corage for the better. And albeit that your emprise bee esta∣blished and ordeined by great multitude of folke, yet dare you not accomplish thilke or∣dinance but you liketh: for the trouth of things, & the profit, been rather founden in

few: folke that been wise and full of reason, than by great multitude of folke, there every man crieth and clattereth what him liketh: soothly such multitude is not honest. And as to y^e second reason, whereas ye say, * That all women ben wicked: save your grace, Certes ye despise all women in this wise, & he that all despiseth, as saith the booke, al displeaseth. And Senecke saith, * That who so woll haue Sapience, shall no man dispraise, but he shall gladly teach the science that he can, without presumption or pride: and such things as he nought ne can, hee shall not beene ashamed to learne hem, and to enquire of lesse folke than himselfe. And y^t ther hath ben many a good woman, may lightly be prooued: for certes sir, our Lord Iesu Christ nold neuer han discen∣ded to be borne of a woman, if all women had be wicked: And after y^t, for the great bounte that is in women, our Lord Iesu Christ, when he was risen from death to life, appeared ra∣ther to a woman than to his Apostles. And tho that Salomon sayed, he found neuer women good, it followeth not therefore, that all wo∣men be wicked: for though that hee ne found no good woman, certes many another man hath founde many a woman full good and true. Or els perauenture y^e entent of Salo∣mon was this, * That in soueraign bounte he found no woman, this is to say: y^t there is no wight that hath parfite bounte saue God alone, as he himselfe recordeth in his Euan∣gelie. * For there nis no creature so good y^t him ne wanteth somwhat of y^e perfection of God that is his maker. Your third reason is this. Ye say y^t if that ye gouerne you by my counsaile, it should seeme that ye had yeue me the maistrie and the lordship of your person, Sir, saue your grace it is not so, for if so were that no man should bee counsailed but onely of hem that han lordship and maistrie of his person, men nolde not bee counsailed so oft: For sothly thilke man that asketh counsaile of a purpose, yet hath he free will whither hee woll doe after that counsaile or non. And as to your fourth reason, there as yee saine that the ianglerie of women can hide things that they wot not, as who so saieth, y^t a woman cannot hide that she wote. Sir, these wordes been vnderstonde of women that been iange∣lers and wicked, of which women men saine that three things driuen a man out of his house, that is to say, smoke, dropping of raine, and wicked wiues. And of such women Sa∣lomon saieth, * That a man were better dwell in deserte, than with a woman that is riot∣tous: And sir by your leaue, it am not I, for ye haue full oft assaied my great silence & my great patience, and eke how well that I can hide and heale things, that men oughten se∣cretly to hiden. And sothly as to your fift rea∣son, whereas you say, y^t in wicked counsaile women vanquish men: God wote that thilke reason stant here in no stede: for vnderstondeth now, ye asken counsaile for to doe wickednes: * And if ye woll werken wickednes, & your wife restraineth thilke wicked purpose, and ouercome you by reason & by good counsail: certes your wife ought rather to bee praised than blamed. Thus should you vnderstonde the Phylosopher y^t saieth, * In wicked coun∣saile women vanquish her husbondes. And there, as ye blame al women & her reasons, I shall shewe you by many ensamples, that many women haue be full good, and yet been, and her counsaile wholesome and profitable. Eke some men han saied, that y^e counsaile of women is either to deere, or too little worth. But albeit so y^t full many women bee bad, and her counsaile vile and nought worth, yet han men found full many a good woman, & full discrete and wise in counsailing. Lo Ia∣cob through the counsaile of his mother Re∣becke, wan the benison of his father, and the Lordship of all his brethren: Iudith tho∣row her good counsaile, deliuered the citie of Bethule, in which she dwelt, out of the honde of Holofern that had it all besieged, & wold haue destroyed it. Abigaile deliuered Naball her husbond fro Dauid the king, y^t would haue slaine him, and appeased the ire of the King by her wit, and by her good counsaile. Hester by her counsaile enhaunced greatly y^e people of God, in the reigne of Assuerus the King. And the same bountie in good counsai∣ling of many a good woman may men reade and tell. And furthermore, whan that our Lord hath created Adam our former father, hee saied in this wise: * It is not good to be a man alone: make wee an helper to himselfe semblable. Here may yee see that if that wo∣men were not good, and her counsaile good and profitable, our Lorde God of heauen ne would neither han wrought hem, ne called hem the helper of man, but rather confusion to man. And there sayed a clerke ones in two verses: What is better than gold? * Iasper. What is better than Iasper? Wisdom. And what is better than Wisdome? Woman. And what is better than a good woman? That is a good man? And what is better than a good man? Nothing. And sir, by many other rea∣sons may yee seene, that many women been good, and eke her counsaile good and profita∣ble. And therefore sir, if that yee woll trust to my counsaile, I shall restore you your dough∣ter hole and sound: and eke that I woll doe you so much, y^t ye shall haue honour in this case.

When Melibe had heard the words of his wife Prudence, he saied thus: I see well that y^e words of Salomon be sooth: For he saith, * The words y^t bee spoken discretly by ordi∣naunce, been Honicombes, for they yeuen sweetnesse to the soule, and holsomnesse to y^e body. And wife, because of thy sweet words, and eke for I haue proued & assaied thy great Sapience and thy great trouth, I woll go∣uerne me by thy counsaile in all thing.

Now sir, (qd. dame Prudence) and sithens that ye vouchsafe to be gouerned by my coun∣saile, I woll enforme you how that yee shall

govern your self, in chusing of your counsai∣lours. Ye shall first in all your werke, mekely beseeching to the high God, y^t he would be your counsailour, and shapeth you to such entent that hee yeue you counsaile and com∣forte, as taught Thobie his sonne. * At all times thou shalt blesse God, and praie him to dresse thy ways, and loke eke that thy coun∣sailes been in him evermore. Saint Iames saieth, if any man of you have neede of sapi∣ence, aske it of God. And afterwarde, then shullen ye take counsaile in your selfe, and examine well your owne thoughts, of such things as you thinken that beene best for your profit: And then shall yee drive fro your heart things that bee contrarious to good counsaile: that is to say, ire, covetise, and hastinesse.

First, * He y^t asketh counsaile of himselfe, certes he must be withouten ire and wrath in himselfe, for many causes, The first is this: He that hath great ire and wrath in himselfe, he weneth alway that he may doe thing that he may not do. And secondly, he that is irous and wrothfull, he may not well deeme: And hee that may not well deeme, may not well counsell. The third is this, hee that is irous & wroth, as saieth Seneke, may not speake but blamefull things, and with thilke vici∣ous wordes hee stirreth other folke to anger and to ire. And eke sir yee must drive covetise out of your heart. For y^e Apostle saith, * That covetise is the roote of all harmes. And tru∣steth right well, that a covetous man ne can not deem ne thinke, but only to fulfill the end of his covetise: and certes that ne may never be accomplished, for evermore, the more ha∣boundance that he hath of richesses, the more hee desireth. And sir ye must also drive out of your heart hastinesse: For certes ye may not deme for the best a suddain thought that fal∣leth in your heart, but ye must advise you on it full oft: For as yee have heard here before, the common proverb is this. * He y^t sone dee∣meth, sone repenteth.

Sir, ye ne be not alway in like disposition, for certes some thing that seemeth somtime to you that is good for to doe, another time it seemeth to you the contrarie.

And when ye han taken counsaile in your selfe, and han deemed by good deliberation such thing as you seemeth best, than rede I you that yee keepe it secret. Bewray yee not your counsaile to no person, but if so be that yee wene sikerly, that through your bewray∣ing, your condition shall bee to you the more profitable. For Iesus Sirake saith: * Neither to thy foe ne to thy friend discover not thy se∣cret, ne thy folly: for they woll yeue you au∣dience and looking, and supportation in your presence, and scorn you in your absence. An∣other Clerke sayth, * That scarsly shall you finde any person that may keepe counsaile se∣cretly. The booke saieth, * While that thou keepest the counsaile in thine heart, thou kee∣pest it in thy prison: and when thou bewray∣est thy counsaile to any wight, hee holdeth thee in his snare. And therefore you is better to hide your counsaile in your heart, than to pray him to whom yee have bewrayed your counsaile, that he woll keepe it close still. For Seneca saieth: If so be that thou maiest not thine owne counsaile hide, howe darest thou pray any other wight thy counsaile secret to keepe. But nathelesse, if thou wene sikerly that thy bewraying of thy counsaile to a per∣son woll make thy condition stonde in y^e bet∣ter plight, then shalt thou tell him thy coun∣saile in this wise. First thou shalt make no semblant whether thee were lever peace or warre, or this or that, ne shewe him not thy will ne thine entent: for trust well that com∣monly these counsailours beene flatrerers, namely the counsailours of great lordes, for they enforce hem alway rather to speak plea∣sant words enclining to the lordes lust, than words that ben trew or profitable: and ther∣fore men say, * that y^e rich man hath seld good counsaile, but if hee have it of himselfe. And after that thou shalt consider thy friendes and thine enemies. And as touching thy friendes, thou shalt consider which of hem been most faithfull and most wise, and eldest and most approved in counsailing: and of hem shalt thou aske thy counsaile, as the case requireth.

I say, that first yee shall call to your coun∣saile your friends that been true. For Salo∣man saith: * That right as y^e heart of a man deliteth in savour that is sote, right so the counsaile of true friends yeueth swetenesse to the soule. And hee saieth also, there may no∣thing be likened to y^e true friend: For certes gold ne silver bee not so much worth as the good will of a true friend. And also he saith, that a true friend is a strong defence, who so that it findeth hath a great treasure. Then shall ye also consider if that your true friends be discreet & wise: for the booke saith, Aske alway thy counsaile of them that bin wise. And by this same reason shall ye call to your counsaile your friends y^t beene of age, such as seeme and beene expert in many thinges, and been approoved in counsailing. For the booke saieth, * That in olde men is Sapi∣ence, & in long time the prudence. And Tul∣lius saieth, * That great things beene not aye accomplished by strength, ne by deliver∣nesse of body, but by counsaile, by aucthori∣tie of persons, and by Science: the which three things ne beene not feeble by age, but certes they enforce and encrease day by day, and then shall ye keep this for a generall rule. First shall yee call to your counsaile a fewe of your friends y^t been especial. For Salo∣mon saieth, * Many friends have thou, but among a thousand chuse thee one to bee thy counsailour: For all bee it so, that thou first ne tell thy counsaile but to a fewe, thou mayest afterwarde tell it to mo folke, if it bee neede. But looke alway that thy coun∣saylours have those conditions that I have

sayd before, y^t is to say, That they be true, wise, and of old experience. And werke not alway in every need by one Counsailer alone: for sometimes behooueth it to bee counsailed by many. For Salomon sayth, * Saluation of things is where as there be many coun∣saylers.

Now haue I told you of which folke yee shall be counsailed: now woll I tell you which cousaile yee ought to eschew. First yee shall eschew the counsailing of fooles, Salomon sayth, * Take no counsaile of a foole, for hee woll counsaile but after his owne lust & his affection. The booke sayth, that the propertie of a foole is this: * He troweth lightly harme of euery man, and lightly troweth all bountie in himselfe. Thou shalt eschew the counsai∣ling of all flaterers, which as enforcen hem rather to praise your person by flatterie, than for to tell you the soothfastnesse of things.

Wherefore Tullius sayeth, * Among all the pestilence that been in friendship, the greatest is flatterie. And therefore it is more need y^t thou eschew and dread flatterers, than any o∣ther people. The booke saith, * Thou shalt ra∣ther flee fro the sweete wordes of flattering and praising, than fro the eagre words of thy friends that saith the sooths. Salomon saith, * That the words of a flatterer is a snare to catch innocence. He sayth also, * He y^t spea∣keth to his friend wordes of flatterie and of pleasaunce, he setteth a net beforne his feet to catch him. And therefore Tullius sayth, En∣cline not thine eares to flatterers, ne take no counsaile of flatterers. And Caton sayeth, * Auise thee well, and eschew the wordes of sweetnesse and of pleasaunce. And eke thou shalt eschew the counsailing of thine old ene∣mies that been reconciled. The booke sayth, * That no wight retourneth safely into the grace of his old enemie. And Isope sayth, * Ne trust not to hem, to which thou hast sometime had war or enmity, ne tell hem not thy coun∣saile. And Seneck telleth y^e cause why it may not be, for he sayth, * There as great fire hath long time endured, that there dwelleth some vapour of heat. And therefore saith Salomon, * In thine old foe trust thou neuer. For likerly though thine enemie be reconciled & make the signe of humilitie, and loute to thee with his head, trust him neuer: for certes he ma∣keth thilke faigned humility more for his pro∣fite, than for any humility, or for any loue of thy person, because that he deemeth to haue victory ouer thy person by such fained coun∣tenaunce, the which victorie he might not haue by strife or warre. And Petrus Alphons sayeth, * Make no fellowship with thine old enemies, for if thou do hem bounty, they wol∣len pervert it to wickedness. And eke thou must eschew the counsailing of hem y^t been thy servaunts, and bearen thee great reve∣rence: for peraventure they sayne it more for dread than for love. And therfore saith a Phi∣losopher in this wise: * There is no wight perfitly true to him that he dredeth. And Tul∣lius sayth, There is no might so great of any emperour that long may endure, but he haue loue of the people and dread. Ye shall eschew also the counsailing of folke that been dronk∣lewe, for they ne can no counsaile hide. For Salomon sayth, * There nis no priuity there as reigneth drunkennesse. Ye shall haue also in suspect y^e counsailing of such folke as coun∣saile you one thing priuily, and counsaile you the contrarie openly. For Cassidorie sayeth, * That it is a manner of sleight to hinder his enemy when he sheweth to done a thing o∣penly, and werketh priuily y^e contrary. Thou shalt haue also in suspect the counsailing of wicked folke, that be alway full of fraud. And Dauid sayth, * That blisfull is the man y^t hath not followed the counsailing of shrews. Thou shalt also eschew the counsailing of yong folke, for her counsailing is not ripe, as Salomon saith.

Now sir, sithens I haue shewed you of such folke as ye shall be counsailed of, and follow it: now woll I teach you how ye shall exa∣mine your counsaile. After y^e doctrine of Tul∣lius, in examining of your counsailers, ye shal consider many things.

First thou shalt consider thilke thing that thou purposest, and vpon that thing that thou wolt haue counsaile, that very trueth be said & conserued, this is to say, * Tell truly thy tale, for he y^t sayeth false, may not well be counsailed in that case, of which he lieth. After this, thou shalt consider the things that accorden to y^t thou purposest for to doe by thy counsailours, if reason accord thereto, and eke if thy might may attaine therto: & if the more part and the better part of your counsailours accorden thereto or no. Then shalt thou consider what thing shall follow of her counsailing: As hate, peace, warre, grace, profite, or damage, and many other things: and in all things shalt thou chuse the best, and weiue all other things. Then shalt thou consider of what root is engendred the matter of thy counsaile, and what fruit it may conceive & engender. Thou shalt eke consider all the causes, from whence they be sprong. And when thou hast examined thy counsaile, as I haue said, & which partie is the better and more profitable, and hast ap∣prooued it by many wise folke and old, then thou shalt consider, if thou maiest performe it & make of it a good end. * For certes reason woll not that any man shall begin a thing, but if he might performe it as him ought: ne no wight should take vpon him so heauie a charge, but y^t he might bere it. For y^e pro∣verbe sayth, * He that to much embraceth di∣straineth little. And Caton saith, * Assay to do such things as thou hast power to done, least the charge oppresse thee too sore, that thee be∣hooueth weiue thing y^t thou hast begunne, And if so be y^t thou be in dout, whether thou maiest performe a thing or none, chuse rather for to suffer than to begin. And Peter Alphons saieth, * If thou hast might to do a thing, of

which thou must repent, it is better holde thy tongue still than for to speake. Then maiest thou vnderstond by stronger reasons, that if thou hast power to perfourme a werke, of which thou shalt repent thee, then it is bet∣ter thou suffer than begin. * Well saine they that defenden euery wight to assay a thing of which he is in doubt, whether he may per∣forme it or none. And after when ye haue ex∣amined your counsaile (as I haue said before) and know well that yee may performe your emprise, conferme it then sadly till it bee at an end.

Now it is reason and time that I shewe you when and wherfore that ye may chaunge your counsaile, withouten reproofe. * Soothly, a man may change his purpose & his coun∣saile, if the cause ceaseth, or when a newe case betideth. For y^e law saith, * That vpon things that newly betideth, behooueth newe coun∣saile. And Seneke saieth, * If thy counsaile is come to the eares of thine enemies, chaunge thy counsaile. * Thou maiest also chaunge thy counsaile, if so be thou find that by error or by any other cause, harme or dammage may be∣tide. * Also if thy counsaile be dishonest, other els come of dishonest cause, chaunge thy coun∣saile. For y^e law saith, * That all behests that be dishonest, ne been of no value: And eke, * If so be that it bee vnpossible, or may not gladly be perfourmed or kept.

And take this for a general rule, * That eue∣ry counsaile that is enformed so strongly, y^t it may not be chaunged for no condition that may betide, I say that ilke counsail is wicked.

MElibeus, when he had heard the doc∣trine of his wife Dame Prudence, aunswerd in this wise. Dame (qd. he) as yet vnto this time ye han well taught me, as in gouernaile how I shall gouern me in y^e chusing and in the withholding of my coun∣saile: But now would I faine that ye would condiscend in especial, how y^t ye seemeth by our counsailours that wee haue chose in this present need.

My lord (qd. she) I beseech you in all hum∣blesse, that yee woll not wilfully replie ayenst my reasons, ne distemper your hert, though I speake thing that you displease, for God wote as in mine entent, I speake it as for your best and for your honour and profit eke, & sooth∣ly I hope that your benignity woll take it in patience. And trusteth me well y^t your coun∣saile in this case neshould not (as to speak pro∣perly) be called a counsailing, but a motion or a mouing of folly, in which counsaile ye haue erred in many a sundry wise.

First yee haue erred in the assembling of your counsailours: For first yee should haue cleped a fewe folke to your counsaile, & after yee might haue shewed it to mo, if it had bee neede. But ye haue cleped to your counsail a great multitude of people, full chargeous & full noyous for to heare. Also ye haue erred, for there as yee should haue onely cleped to your counsaile your trew friends, olde and wise, ye haue cleped straunge folke, yong folk, false flatterers, and enemies reconciled, and folk y^t done you reuerence withouten loue. * And eke yee haue erred, for yee haue brought with you to your counsaile, ire, couetise, & hastinesse, y^e which three things been contra∣ry to euery good counsaile, honest & profita∣ble: the which three things yee haue not de∣stroyed neither in your self ne in your counsai∣lours, as ye ought. Ye haue erred also, for yee haue shewed to your counsailours your talent and your affections to make warre anon, & for to do vengeance, and they haue espied by your words to what thing ye beene enclined: & therefore han they rather counsailed you to your talent, than to your profite. Ye han er∣red eke, for it seemeth that you sufficeth to haue be counsailed by these counsailours one∣ly, and with little auisement, whereas in so high and in so great a need, it had been neces∣sarie mo counsailours, and more deliberation to performe your emprise. Ye han erred also, for ye haue not examined your counsaile in y^e foresaid matters ne in due manner, as y^• case requireth. Ye haue erred also, for ye made no diuision betweene your true friends & your fained counsailours: ne ye haue not knowne the will of your trewe counsailours and friends, old, & wise, but ye haue cast all her words in an hochpot, and enclined your heart to the more part and to the greater number of fooles than of wise men. * And therefore y^e counsaylings that beene at congregations and multitudes of folke, there as men take more regard to the number, than to the sa∣pience of persons: ye seene well, y^t in such counsaylings fooles han the maistrie. Meli∣beus answerd and said ayen: I graunt well that I haue erred, but there as thou hast told me here beforne, y^t he nis not to blame that chaungeth his counsaile in certaine case, and for certaine and just cause I am all re∣die to chaunge my counsailours right as thou wouldest deuise. The Prouerbe sayth, * For to done sinne, is mannish, but certes for to persevere long in sinne, is werke of the Diuell.

To this sentence answereth anone dame Prudence, & said: Examineth (qd. she) well your counsaile, and let vs see which of hem hath spoke most reasonably, and taught you best counsaile. And for as much as the examination is necessarie, let vs begin at Surgiens and Physicians, that first spake of this matter. I say that Physicians & Sur∣giens haue saied you in your counsayle dis∣creetly, as hem ought: & in her speech said full wisely, that to the office of hem appertai∣neth to done to euery wight honour & pro∣fite, and no wight to annoy, & after her craft to done great diligence vnto the cure of hem which they haue in her gouernaunce: & sir, right as they have answerd wisely and dis∣creetly, right so read I y^t they beene highly & souerainly guerdoned for her noble speech,

and eke for they shull more done their enten∣tife businesse in y^e curation of your doughter. For all beit so they been your friends, therfore shullen ye not suffer, that they serue you for nought, but ye ought therafter guerdon hem, and pay hem her largesse. And as touching y^• proposition, which the Physicians entreteden in this case, this is to saine, that in maladies is, * That contrarie is warished by another contrary: I would faine know how ye vnder∣stond thilke text, and what is your sentence. Certes (qd. Melibeus) I vnderstond it in this wise: Right as they han doe me a contrary, so should I done hem another, for right as they han venged hem vpon me & done me wrong, right so woll I venge me vpon hem, & done hem wrong, and then haue I cured one con∣trary by another.

Lo lo (qd. dame Prudence) how lightly is euery man enclined to his own desire & his owne pleasaunce, Certes (qd. she) y^e wordes of the Physicians ne should not been vnder∣stond in y^t wise: for certes wickednesse is not contrary to wickednesse, ne vengeaunce is not contrarie to vengeaunce, ne wrong to wrong, but euery of hem encreaseth and en∣gendreth other. But certes the words of the Physicians should be vnderstond in this wise, for good and wickednesse ben two contraries: and peace and warre, vengeaunce and suf∣fraunce, discord and accord, and many other things: * But certes, wickednesse shall be wa∣rished with goodnesse, discord by accord, warre by peace, and so forth in other things. And therto accordeth saint Paule the Apostle in many places: He sayth, Ne yeeld not harme for harme, ne wicked speech for wicked speech, but doe well to hem that done to thee harme, and blesse hem that saith thee harme. And in many other places he admonisheth peace & accord. But now woll I speke of y^e counsaile which was iyeue vnto you by men of Lawe, and the wise folke, and old folke, that sayden all by one accord as ye heard beforne, That o∣uer all things ye shall done your businesse & diligence to keepe your person, and to warn∣store your house: And they said also, that in this case ye ought to werchen full wisely & with great deliberation. And sir, as to the first point, that toucheth the keeping of your person: ye shall vnderstond, that he that hath warre, shall euer deuoutly and meekly praien beforne all things, that Iesu Christ, of his mercie woll haue him in his protection, and to be his soueraigne helper at his need: For certes in this world there nis no wight that may be counsailed and ikept sufficiently with∣out the keeping of our lord Iesu Christ. To this sentence accordeth the Prophet Dauid y^t sayth: * If God ne kept the Citty, in idle waketh hee that it keepeth. Now sir, then should hee commit the keeping of your per∣son to your true friends, that been approued and iknow, and of him should ye aske helpe, your person to keep. For Caton saith: * If thou haue need of helpe, aske it of thy friends, for there nis none so good a Hhysician as thy true friend. And after this then shall yee keep you fro all straunge folke, and fro liers, and have alway in suspect her companie. For Peter Alphons saieth: * Ne take no company by the way, of no straunge man, but if so bee that thou hast known him of lenger time: And if so be that he fall into thy companie, peradventure withouten thine assent and good will, enquire then as subtelly as thou canst, of his conversation, and of his life be∣forne, and faine thy way, saying thou woul∣dest go thider as thou wolt not goe: & if he beare a speare, hold thee on the right side of him, & if he beare a swerd, hold thee on the left side of him. And then shall ye keepe you wisely from all manner of such people as I have saied you here before, and hem and her counsaile eschew. And after this then shall yee keepe you in such manner, that for any presumption of your bodily strength, that ye despise not ne account not the might of your adversary so lite, that ye let the keeping of your person for your presumption, * For every wise man dredeth his enemie. And Salomon sayth: * A very foole is he y^t of all hath drede: * But certes he that thorow hardnesse of his heart and through y^e hardinesse of himselfe, hath too great presumption, him shall euill betide. Then shall ye euermore encounter, waite, embushments, and all espiaile. For Seneke sayeth: * The wise man y^t dredeth harmes, escheweth harmes: * He ne falleth into no perils, that perill escheweth. And all be it so, that thou seeme y^t thou be in secret place, yet shalt thou alway done diligence in keeping of thy person, this is to say, ne be not negligent to keepe thine owne person, not onely for thy greatest enemy, but also for thy least enemy. Seneke sayth, * A man y^t is well aduised, he dreadeth his least enemie. Ouid sayth, * That y^e little wesell woll slee y^e great Bull and the wild Hart. And the Prouerbe sayth, * That a little thorn woll greeue a king full sore, and a little hound woll hold y^e wild Bore. But nathalesse, I say not thou shalt be so coward, that thou doubt where as is no dred. The book sayth, That somemen haue great lust to deceiue, but yet they dread to bee deceiued. And keepe thee fro y^e companie of scorners: * For the booke sayth, With scor∣ners ne make no company, but flie her words as venome.

Now as to the second point, where∣as your wise Counsaylours counsayled you to warnestore your house with great dilli∣gence, I would faine know how yee vnder∣stond thilke wordes, and what is your sen∣tence.

Melibeus answered and said, certes I vn∣derstond it in this wise, that I shall warne∣store mine house with toures, such as haue castles & other maner edifices, and armure, and archeries, betweene which things I may my person and my house so keepe & de∣fend, that mine enemies shullen be in dread

mine house to approch. To this sentence an∣swered anon Prudence. Warnishing (qd. she) of high toures and of high edifices, is with great costages and with great travaile, and when y^t they ben accomplished, yet bin they not worth a straw, but if they been defended with true friends, that ben old and wise. And understondeth well, that the greatest and the strongest garnison that rich men may have, as well to keepen her person, as her goods, is, that they be beloved with her subjects, and with her neighbours. For thus sayth Tulli∣us, * That there is a manner garrison, y^t no man may vanquish ne discomfite, and that is a lord to be beloved of his citizens, and of his people.

Nowe sir, as to the third point, where∣as your olde and wise Counsaylours saied, y^t ye ought not suddainly ne hastily proceed in this need, but that yee ought purueyen and apparaile you in this case, with great dilligence and deliberation. Verely, I trow that they saied right truly and right sooth. For Tullius sayth: * In every deed or thou be∣gin it, apparaile thee with great diligence. Then say I, in vengeaunce taking, in war, in battaile, and in warnestoring, or thou be∣gin, I rede that thou apparaile thee thereto, and do it with great deliberation. For Tulli∣us sayth: * The long apparailing tofore the battaile, maketh short victorie. And Cassido∣rus sayth: * The garrison is stronger, when it is long time avised. But now let us speake of the Counsayle that was accorded by your neighbours, such as done you reverence with∣outen love, your old enemies reconciled, your flatterers, that counsailed you certain things prively, and openly counsailed you the contrarie. The young folke also, that counsailed you to venge you, and to make warre anon. Certes sir, as I have saied be∣fore, ye have greatly erred to clepe such man∣ner of folke to your counsaile, which coun∣sailours ben ynough reproued by the reasons aforesaid. But nathelesse, let us now descend to the special. Ye shull first proceed after the doctrine of Tullius. Certes the trouth of this matter or of this counsaile needeth not diligently to enquire, for it is wel wist, which they been that han done you this trespas and villanie, and how many trespassours, and in what manner they have done all this wrong to you, and all this villany. And after this, then shull ye examine the second condition, which Tullius addeth in this matter. For Tullius putteth a thing, which that he cle∣peth consenting: this is to say, who ben they and which been they, and how many, that consenten to thy counsaile in thy wilfulnesse, to done hastie vengeaunce. And let us consi∣der also who been they, and how many they been that consented to your adversaries. As to the first point, it is well knowen which folke they be that consented to your hastie wilfulnesse. For truly, all tho that counsaile you to maken suddaine warre, ne be not your friends. Let see now which beene they that ye holden so greatly your friends, as to your person: For albeit so that ye be mighty and rich, certes ye been but alone: for truly yee ne have no child but a doughter, ne ye have no brethren ne cousin Germaines, ne none other nigh kinrede, wherefore your enemies should stint to plead with you, ne to destroy your person. Ye know also, that your riches mote be dispended in diverse parties. And when that every wight hath his part, they wollen take but little regard to venge your death. But thine enemies ben three, & they have many brethren, children, cousins, and other nigh kinrede: and though so were, that thou haddest slaine of hem two or three, yet dwelleth there ynowe to avenge her death, and to slea thy person. And though so be that your kinrede be more stedfast and siker than the kinne of your adversaries, yet neverthe∣lesse your kinrede is but after kinrede, for they ben but little sibbe to you, and the kinne of your enemies ben nigh sibbe to hem. And certes as in that, her condition is better than is yours. Then let us consider also of the counsayling of hem that counsayled you to take suddaine vengeaunce, whether it accord to reason or non: And certes yee know well nay, for as by right & reason, there may no man take vengeaunce of no wight, but the judge that hath jurisdiction of it, when it is graunted him to take vengeaunce haste∣ly, or attemperately, as the Law requireth. And yet moreover of thilke word that Tul∣lius clepeth consenting, thou shalt consent, if that thy might and thy power may con∣sent and suffice to thy wilfulnesse, and to thy counsaylours: And certes, thou mayest well say nay, for sikerly as for to speake proper∣ly, * We may do nothing but such thing as we may done rightfully: and certes rightful∣ly ye may take no vengeaunce, as of your own proper authority. Then may ye see that your power ne consenteth not, ne accordeth not with your wilfulnesse. Nowe let us exa∣mine the third point, that Tullius clepeth consequence. Thou shalt understond, y^t the vengeaunce that thou purposest for to take, is consequent, and thereof followeth another vengeaunce, perill, & warre, and other dam∣mages withouten number, of which wee be not ware, as at this time. And as touching the fourth point, that Tullius clepeth engen∣dring, thou shalt consider, that this wrong which that is done to thee, is engendred of the hate of thine enemies, and of the ven∣geaunce taking upon hem, y^t would engen∣der another vengeaunce, and muckell sorrow and wasting of richesse, as I sayed ere.

Now sir, as touching the fift point, that Tully cleapeth causes, which is the last point, thou shalt understond, that the wrong that thou hast received, hath certain causes, which that clerkes callen oryen, and effycien, and causa longinqua, and causa propinqua, that is to say the ferre cause, and the nigh

cause. The ferre cause is almighty God, that is cause of all things. The neere cause, is the three enemies. The cause accidentall was hate. The cause material, ben y^e five wounds of thy doughter. The cause formall, is y^e ma∣ner of their werking, that brought ladders, and clambe in at thy windowes. The cause finall was for to slea thy doughter, it letted not in as much as in them was. But for to speak of the ferre cause, as to what end they should come, or finally, what shall betide of them in this case, ne can I not deme, but by conjecting and supposing: For we shall suppose, that they shall come to a wicked end, because that the booke of Decrees sayth: * Seld or with great paine ben causes brought to a good end, when they ben badly begun.

Now sir, if men would aske me, why that God suffred men to do you this villany. Truly I cannot well answer, as for no soothfastnesse. For y^e Apostle sayeth, * That the sciences, and the judgements of our Lord God Almightie been full deep, there may no man comprehend ne search hem. Nathelesse by certain presump∣tions & coniectings, I hold & beleeve, that God, which that is full of justice and of righ∣teousnes, hath suffred this betide, by iust cause reasonable.

Thy name is Melibe, this is to say, a man that drinketh Honey. Thou hast dronke so much honey of sweet temporall richesse, and delices of honours of this world, that thou art dronke, & hast forgotten Iesu Christ thy creatour: Thou ne hast not doen to him such honour and reverence as thee ought, ne thou ne hast not taken keepe to y^e words of Ovid that sayth: * Vnder y^e Honey of the goods of thy bodie is hid y^e venome y^t slaeth thy soule.

And Salomon sayth: * If it so be y^t thou hast found honey, eat of the same honey that that sufficeth: for if so bee that thou eat of the same honey out of measure, thou shalt spewe, and also be needy & poore. And peraventure Almightie God Iesu Christ hath thee in dis∣pight, and hath tourned away fro thee his face, and his eares of misericorde & mercie. And also he hath suffred & give licence, that thou thus shouldest bee punished and chasti∣sed, in y^e manner that thou hast trespassed & offended. Thou hast done sinne against our Lord Christ, for certes the three enemies of mankind, that is to say: the flesh, the fiend, and the world, thou hast suffered hem entre into thine heart wilfully, by the windowes of thy body, & hast not defended thy selfe suf∣ficiently ayenst their assaults, and their temp∣tations, so that they have wounded thy soule in five places, this is to say: the deadly sinnes that ben entred into thy hart by thy five wits. And in the same manner our Lorde Christ hath would and suffered, that thy three ene∣mies been entered into thy hous, by y^t win∣dowes, and have wounded thy doughter in the foresaied manner.

Truly (qd. Melibe) I see well that yee en∣force you much by words to overcome me, in such manner, that I shall not venge mee on mine enemies, shewing me y^e perils and the evils y^t might fall of this vengeaunce: but who so would consider in all vengeances the perils & evils that might sue of vengeaunce taking, a man would never take vengeaunce, and that were harme: for by the vengeaunce taken been y^e wicked men discevered fro the good men. And they y^t have will to doe wic∣kednesse, restrain their wicked purpose, when they see the punishing and chastising of the trespassours: & yet say I mo••e. * That right as a singular person sinneth, in taking ven∣geaunce of another man, right so sinneth y^e judge, if he doe no vengeaunce of hem that have deserved. For Senecke sayeth thus: * That maister, he sayth is good, that preveth shrews. And as Cassiodore saith: * A man dre∣deth to do outrages, when he wot & know∣eth, y^t it displeaseth to y^e Iudges and Sove∣raignes. And another sayth: * The Iudge y^t dreadeth to doe right; maketh men shrewes. Add saint Poule the Apostle sayeth in his Epistle, when he writeth unto the Romanes,

* That the Iudge bear not the speare with∣out-cause, but they beare it to punish the shrewes and misdoers, and for to defend the good men.

If ye woll then take vengeaunce of your enemies, ye shull retourne and have your re∣course to the Iudge, that hath the jurisdicti∣on upon hem, and he shall punish hem, as the law asketh and requireth.

A ha, saied Melibe, this vengeaunce liketh me nothing, I bethink me now, and take heed how that fortune hath nourished mee fro my childhood, and hath holpe me to passe many a stronge paas: Now I would assay her, trowing with Gods helpe, that she shall helpe mee my shame for to avenge.

TRuly saied Prudence, if yee woll werke by my counsaile, yee shall not assay for∣tune by no way: ne yee shall not lean or how unto her, after the words of Senecke: * For things that been foolishly doen, and that been done in hope of fortune, shall never come to good end. And as y^e same Senek sayth: * The more clere and the more shining that fortune is, the more britle & the sooner broke she is. Trusteth not in her, for she is not stedfast ne stable. For when thou trowest to be most sure & stedfast of her helpe, she woll faile and de∣ceive thee. And whereas ye say, that fortune hath nourished you fro your childhood, I say that in so much ye shall the lesse trust in her, & in her wit. For Seneke saith: * What man y^t is nourished by fortune, she maketh him a great foole. Now then sith ye desire & aske vengeaunce, & the vengeaunce that is done after the law, and before the judge, ne liketh you not, and the vengeaunce that is doen in hope of fortune, is perillous and uncertaine, then have yee none other remedie, but for to haue your recourse vnto the soveraine iudge that vengeth all villanies and wrongs. And

he shall venge you, after that himself witnes∣seth, whereas he saith: * Leave the venge∣aunce to me, and I shall do it.

Melibeus answerd, if I ne venge me of y^e villanie y^t men haue doen to me, I summon or warne hem that haue doen to me that vil∣lanie & all other, to doe me another villany. For it is written: * If thou take no venge∣aunce of an old villany, thou summonest thine aduersaries to do thee a new villanie, & also for my sufferaunce, men would doe me so much villanie, that I might neither beare it ne su∣stain it, & so should I be put and holden ouer low. For men sain, * In mikell suffring shal many things fall vnto thee, which thou shalt not mow suffer.

Certes (qd. Prudence) I graunt you, y^t ouermuch suffraunce is not good, but yet ne followeth it not thereof, that euery person to whom men doe villanie, should take of it ven∣geance: for that appertaineth and longeth all onely to Iudges, for they should venge y^e villanies and iniuries: And therefore those two authorities, that yee haue saied before, beene onely vnderstond in the Iudges: * For when they suffer ouermuch the wrongs and villanies to bee doen, withouten punishment, they summon not a man all onely for to doe newe wrongs, but they commaund it. Also a wise man sayth, * That y^e Iudge that cor∣recteth not the sinner, commaundeth & bid∣deth him doe sinne. And the Iudges and so∣ueraines might in their lond so much suffer of the shrews and misdoers, that they should by such suffraunce, by processe of time, were of such power & might, that they should put out the Iudges and the Soueraignes from their places, and at last, make hem lese her Lordships.

But let vs now suppose, that ye haue leue to venge you: I say yee be not of might and power, as now to venge you: for if ye woll make comparison vnto the might of your ad∣uersaries, yee should find in many thinges, that I haue shewed you er this, y^t their con∣dition is better than yours, and therefore say I, that it is good as now, that ye suffer & be patient.

Furthermore, ye know well, that after the common saw, * It is a woodnesse, a manne to striue with a stronger, or a more mightie man than hee is himselfe: and for to striue with a man of euen strength, that is to say, with as strong a man as hee is, it is perill: & for to striue with a weaker man, it is folly, & ther∣fore should a man flie striuing, as mikell as he might. For Salomon sayeth: * It is a great worship to a man to keepe him fro noise and strife: * And if it so befall and hap, y^t a man of greater might and strength than thou art, doe thee greeuaunce: studie and busie y^t ra∣ther to still the same greeuaunce, than for to venge thee. For Seneke sayth, * That he put∣teth him in great perill, that striueth with a greater man than he is himselfe. And Caton sayth, * If a man of higher estate or degre, or more mightie than thou, do thee annoy or gre∣uaunce, suffer him: for he y^t once hath gree∣ued thee, may another time releeue thee and helpe thee. Yet set I case ye haue licence for to venge you, I say that there been full ma∣ny things y^t shall restrain you of vengeance taking, and make you for to encline to suffer, and for to haue patience in the wrongs that haue been doen to you. First and formost, if ye woll consider the faults that been in your owne person, for which faults God hath suf∣fered you haue his tribulation, as I haue saied to you here before. For the Poet sayeth,

* That we ought patiently take y^e tribulati∣ons that come to vs, when that wee thinke and consider, that wee haue deserued to haue them. And saint Gregorie sayth, * That when a manne considereth well the number of his defaults and of his sinnes, the paines and the tribulatious that he suffereth, seeme the lesse vnto him. And in as much as him thin∣keth his sinnes more heauie and greeuous, in so much seemeth his paine the lighter and the easier vnto him. Also yee owne to encline and bow your heart, to take the patience of our Lord Iesu Christ, as sayeth saint Peter in his Epistles. Iesu Christ he saith hath suf∣fred for vs, & yeuen ensample to euery man to follow and sue him, for he did neuer sinne, ne neuer came there a villainous word out of his mouth. When men cursed him, he cur∣sed hem not. And when men bete him, he ma∣naced hem not. Also the great patience, which Saints that been in Paradice haue had in tribulation that they haue suffered, without her desert or guilt, ought much stirre you to patience. Furthermore, ye shull enforce you to haue patience, considering that the tribula∣tions of this world but little while endure, and soone passen been and gone, and the joy y^t a man seeketh to haue by patience in tri∣bulations is perdurable: After that the Apo∣stle says in his Epistle, * The joy of God he sayeth is perdurable: that is to say, euerla∣sting. Also troweth and beleeueth stedfastly, that he is not well norished and well taught, that cannot haue patience, or woll not receiue patience. For Salomon sayth, * That y^e doc∣trine and the wit of a man is knowne by pa∣tience. And in another place he sayeth, That hee that is patient, gouerneth him by great prudence.

And y^• same Salomon saith: * The angrie and wrothfull man maketh noises, and the patient man attempreth and stilleth hem. He saith also, It is no more worth to be patient than to be right strong. And he y^t may haue y^e lordship of his own heart, is more to praise than he that by his force or strength taketh great cities. And therefore saieth saint Iames in his Epistle, * That patience is a great ver∣tue of perfection.

CErtes (qd. Melibee) I graunt you Dame Prudence, y^t patience is a great vertue of perfection, but euery man may not haue y^e

perfection that yee seeke, ne I am not of y^e number of right perfit men: For mine heart may never be in peace, unto the time it bee avenged. And albeit so, y^t it was great perill to mine enemies to doe mee a villanie in ta∣king vengeaunce upon me, yet tooke they no heed of y^e perill, but fulfilled her wicked will and her courage: and therefore me thinketh men ought not repreve me, though I put me in a little perill for to avenge me, and though I do a great excesse, y^t is to say, that I venge one outrage by another.

Ah (qd. dame Prudence) ye say your will as you liketh: but in no case of y^e world a man should not do outrage ne excesse, for to venge him. For Cassiodore saith, * That as evill doth he y^t vengeth him by outrage, as he that doth y^• outrage. And therefore ye shall venge you after the order of right, that is to say, by the law, and not by excesse, ne by outrage. And also if you woll venge you of y^e outrage of your aduersaries, in other maner than right commandeth, ye sinne. And therefore sayth Senek: * That a man shall never venge shreudnesse by shreudnesse. And if ye say that right asketh to defend violence by violence, and fighting by fighting: certes ye say sooth, when the defence is doen without intervall, or without tarrying or delay, for to defend him, & not for to venge him. And it behooveth, that a man put such attemperaunce in his defence, that men have no cause ne matter to repreve him that defendeth him of outrage and excesse, for els were it againe reason. Parde yee know well, y^t yee make no defence as now, for to defend you, but for to venge you: and so sheweth it, that ye have no will to doe your deed attemperately, & therefore me thinketh that patiente is good. For Sa∣lomon saieth, * That he that is not patient, shall have great harme.

CErtes (saied Melibe) I graunt you y^t when a man is impatient and wrothe of that that toucheth him not, and that ap∣pertaineth not unto him, though it harme him, it is no wonder. For y^e law saith, * That hee is culpable that entermetleth or medleth with such things as appertaineth not unto him. And Salomon saith, * That he that en∣tremetleth of the noise or strife of another manne, is like to him that taketh a straunge hound by y^e eares: For right as hee that ta∣keth a straunge hound by the eeres, is other∣while bitten by the hond, right so in the same wise, it is reason that he have harme, that by his impatience medleth him of the noise of another man, whereas it appertaineth not unto him. But ye know well, that this deed, that is to say, my greefe and my disease, tou∣cheth me right nigh. And therefore though I bee wroth and impatient, it is no mervaile: and saving your grace, I cannot see that it might greatly harme me, though I took ven∣geaunce, for I am richer and more mightie than mine enemies bee: And well know ye, that by money and by having great possessi∣ons, beene all things of this world governed. And Salomon sayth, * All these things obey to money.

When Prudence had heard her husbond avaunt him of his richesse and his money, dispraising the power of his adversaries, shee spake and saied in this wise: Certes deare sir, I graunt you that yee bee rich and migh∣tie, and * That y^e richesse is good to hem that have well gotten hem, and that well can use them. For right as the body of a manne may not live without the soule, no more may it live without the temporall goodes: and by richesse may a manne get him great friends. And therefore sayeth Pamphillus: If a Nerthes doughter he sayeth be rich, she may chese of a thousand menne, which shee woll take to her husbond: for of a thousand one woll not forsake her ne refuse her. And this Pamphillus saith also: * If thou be right happie, that is to say, if thou be rich, thou shalt find a great number of fellowes and friendes. And if thy fortune chaunge, fare∣well friendship and fellowship, for thou shalt be alone withouten any companie, but if it be the companie of poore folke. And yet sayeth this Pamphillus moreover, * That they that been bond and thrall of linage, shall be made worthy and noble by the richesses. And right so as by the richesses there come many good∣nesses, right so by povertie come there many harmes and evils: * For great povertie con∣straineth a manne to doe many evils. * And therefore calleth Cassiodor Povertie the mo∣ther of ruine, that is to say, the mother of overthrowing or of falling down. And there∣fore sayth Peter Alfonce: * One of y^e greatest adversities of this world is, when a free man by kinde or of birth is constrained by pover∣tie to eate y^e almose of his enemie. And the same sayeth Innocente in one of his bookes: He sayth, * That sorrowfull & mishap is the condition of a poore begger, for if he aske not his meat, hee dieth for hunger, and if he aske, he dieth for shame: & algates necessity con∣straineth him to aske. And therefore sayeth Salomon, * That better is to die, than for to have such povertie. And as the same Salo∣man sayth: Better it is to die of bitter death, than for to live in such wise. By these reasons that I have said unto you, and by many other reasons that I could say, I graunt you that richesses been good to hem that hem well get∣ten, and to hem that well usen tho richesses: And therfore woll I shew you how ye shall be∣have you in gathering of riches, and in what manner she shullen use hem.

First, * Yee shall get hem withouten great desire, by good leisure, sokingly, and not over hastily, for a manne that is too desiring to get richesse, habandoneth him first to theft and to all other evils, And therefore sayeth Sa∣lomon: * He y^t hasteth him too busily to wexe rich, he shall be none innocent. He sayeth al∣so, * That the richesse y^t hastily commeth to

a manne, soone & lightly goeth and passeth from a man, but that richesse that commeth little and little, wexeth alway and multipli∣eth. And sir, ye shall get richesse by your wit and by your trauaile, vnto your profite, and that without wrong or harme doing to any other person. For the Law sayeth, * There maketh no manne himselfe rich, if hee doe harme to another wight: this is to say, that nature defendeth and forbiddeth by right, that no manne maketh himselfe rich, vnto y^e harme of another person. And Tullius sayth, * That no sorow, ne no dread of death, ne no∣thing that may fall vnto a man, is so much ayenst nature, as a man to encrease his owne profite, to the harme of another manne. And though the great and mightie menne get richesses more lightly than thou, yet shalt thou not bee idle ne slowe to doe thy profite, for thou shalt in all wise flie idlenesse. For Sa∣lomon sayth, * That idlenesse teacheth a man to doe many evils. And the same Salomon sayeth, * That he that trauaileth and busieth him to tilthe his lond, shall eat bread: but he that is idle, and casteth him to no businesse ne occupation, shall fall into pouertie, & die for hunger. And he that is idle and slow, can neuer find couenable time for to doe his pro∣fite. For there is a verifier sayeth, * That y^e idle manne excuseth him in Winter, because of y^e great cold, and in Sommer because of y^e heat. * For these causes (sayth Caton) wa∣keth, and encline you not ouer much for to sleepe, for ouer much rest nourisheth and cau∣seth many vices. And therefore sayeth saint Hierome, * Do some good deeds, y^t the diuel which is our enemie, ne find you not vnoccu∣pied, for the deuill ne taketh not lightly vnto his werking, such as hee findeth occupied in good werkes.

Then thus in getting richesses ye must flie idlenesse. And afterward yee shull vse the ri∣chesses, which yee haue got by your wit and by your trauaile, in such manner, that men hold you not too scarce ne too sparing, ne foole large, y^t is to say, ouer large a spender: for right as men blame an auaricious man, be∣cause of his scarcitie and chincherie, in the same wise is he to blame, that spendeth ouer largely. And therfore saith Caton: * Vse (sayth he) the richesses that thou hast gotten in such manner that men may haue no matter ne cause to call thee nother wretch ne chinche: * For it is a great shame to a man to haue a poore heart and a rich purse. Hee sayth al∣so, the goods that thou hast gote, vse them by measure, that is to say, spend measura∣bly, for they that foolishly wast and dispend the goods that they haue, when they haue no more proper of her owne, then they shape hem to take the goods of another manne. I say then that ye shall flie auarice, vsing your ri∣chesse in such manner, that men say not that your richesses been buried, but that yee haue hem in your might, & in your welding. For a wise man repreueth the auaricious man, & sayth thus in these verses two. * Whereto and why burieth a manne his goods by his great avarice, and knoweth well that needs he must die, for death is the end of every man, as in this present life? And for what cause or encheson joineth he him, or knitteth he him so fast unto his goods, y^t al his wits mow not discever him, ne depart him fro his goods, and knoweth well, or ought to know, that when he is dead, he shall nothing bear with him out of this world.

And therefore saith saint Augustine. * That the avaricious manne is likened unto hell, that the more it swalloweth, the more desire it hath to swallow and devour. And as well as yee would eschew to be called an avarici∣ous man or chinche, as well should yee keepe and governe you in such a wise, that menne call you not foole large. Therefore saith Tul∣lius: * The goods of thine house ne should not be hid ne kept so close, but that they might be opened by pity and debonairte, that is to say, to yeue hem part that have great need. Ne thy goods should not be so open, to be every mannes goods. Afterward, in getting of your richesses, and in using hem, ye shall al∣way have three things in your heart, that is to say, * Our Lord God, conscience, & good name. First, ye shall have God in your heart, and for no richesse yee should doe any thing, which may in any manner displease GOD your creatour and maker. For after y^e word of Salomon, * It is better to have a little good with the love of GOD, than to have much good and treasure, and lese the love of his Lord GOD. And the Prophet saith, * That better it is to be a good manne, and have lit∣tle good and treasure, than to be holden a shrewe, and have great richesse. And yet I say furthermore, that yee should alway doe your businesse to get you richesse, so that yee get hem with good conscience. And y^e Apostle sayeth, * That there nis thing in this world, of which wee should have so great joy, as when our conscience beareth us good wit∣nesse. And the Wise man saith: * That the substaunce of a man is full good, when sinne is not in mannes conscience. Afterward, in getting of your richesses, and in using hem, yee must have great bnsinesse and great dilli∣gence, that your good name bee alway kept and conserved. For Salomon saith, * That better it is, and more it availeth a man to have a good name, than for to have many ri∣chesses: And therefore he sayeth in another place: * Do great diligence saith Salomon, in keeping of thy friends, & of thy good name, for it shall lenger abide with thee, than any treasure, be it never so precious. And certes, he should not be called a great Gentleman, that after God & good conscience all things left, ne dooth his dilligence and businesse, to keepe his good name. And Cassiodor sayth, * That it is a signe of a gentle heart, when a manne loveth and desireth to have a good name. And therefore sayeth saint Augustine

* That there ben two things that been right necessarie and also needfull: and that is good conscience, and good lose, that is to say: good conscience to thine owne person inward, and good lose for thy neighbour outward. And hee that trusteth him so much in his good conscience, that hee despiseth and setteth at nought his good name or lose, & recketh not though he keepe not his good name, nis but a cruell churle.

Sir, now haue I shewed you how ye shuld doe in getting richesses, and how yee should vse hem: and I see well that for the trust that ye haue in your richesses, ye woll moue warre and battaile. I counsaile you that ye begin no warre, in trust of your richesses, for they ne suffice not warres to maintaine. And there∣fore sayeth a Philosopher: * That a man y^t desireth and would algates haue warre, shall neuer haue suffisaunce: for the richer y^t he is, the greater dispences must he make, if he woll haue worship and victorie. And Salo∣mon saith, * That the greater riches y^t a man hath, the more dispendours he hath. And ther∣fore sir, albeit so, y^t for your richesses ye may haue much folke, yet behooueth it not, ne it is not good to begin warre, whereas ye may in other manner haue peace, vnto your worship and profit: * For the victorie of battailes y^t been in this world, lieth not in great num∣ber or multitude of people, ne in y^e vertue of man, but it lieth in the will and in the hond of our Lord God almightie. And therfore Iu∣das Machabeus, which was Gods knight, when hee should fight against his aduersarie, that had a greater number & a greater mul∣titude of folk, and stronget than was his peo∣ple of Machabe, yet he recomforted his little companie, and saied right in this wise: Also lightly (saied he) may our Lord God Almigh∣tie yeue victorie to a fewe folke, as to many folke. For the victorie of a battaile commeth not by y^e great number of people, but it com∣meth from our Lorde GOD of heeuen. And deare sir, for as much as there is no manne certaine, if it be worthie that God yeue him victorie or not, after that Salomon sayeth, * Therefore euery man should greatly dreade warres to begin: and because y^t in battels fall many perils, and happeth other while, that as soone is the great man slaine, as the little man. And as it is written in y^e second booke of Kings: The deeds of battailes ben adventurous, and nothing certaine, for as lightly is one hurt with a speare, as another: and for there is great perill in warre, there∣fore should a man flie and eschew warre in as much as a man may goodly. For Salomon sayeth, * Hee that loueth perill, shall fall in perill.

After that dame Prudence had spoken in this manner, Melibe answerd and said: I see well dame Prudence, that by your fair words and your reasons that ye haue shewed mee, that y^e warre liketh you nothing: but I haue not yet heard your counsaile, how I shall doe in this need.

Certes (said shee) I counsaile you that ye accorde with your aduersaries, and that yee haue peace with hem. For saint Iames sayth in his Epistle: * That by concorde & peace, small riches wexe great: and by debate and discorde, riches decay. And yee know well, that one of the greatest & moste soueraigne thing that is in this world, is vnity & peace: And therefore sayeth our Lord Iesu Christ to his Apostles, in this wise: * Well happy beene they that loue & purchase peace, for they be called the children of God. Ah, saied Melibe, now see I well, that ye loue not mine honour, ne my worship, ye know well that mine ad∣uersaries haue begun this debate and brige by their outrage. And yee see well, y^t they ne require ne pray me of peace, ne they aske not to be reconciled. Woll ye then y^t I goe meeke me, & obey me to hem, and crie hem mercie? Forsoth y^t were not my worship. * For right as men say, ouer great humblenes engen∣dreth dispraising, so fareth it by too great hu∣militie or meekenesse.

Then began dame Prudence to make sem∣blaunt of wrathe, and sayed: Certes sir, saue your grace, I loue your honour and profite, as I doe mine owne, and euer haue doe, ye, ne none other neuer see y^e contrary: And yet, if I had saied, that yee should haue purchased peace and reconciliation, I ne had much mis∣take mee, ne saied amisse. For y^e Wise man sayeth: * The discention beginneth by another man, and the reconciling beginneth by thy selfe, And y^e Prophet saith: * Flie shreudnesse and doe goodnesse, seeke peace and follow it, in as much as in thee is. Yet say I not, that yee should rather pursue to your aduersaries for peace, than they should to you: for I know well that ye ben so hard hearted, that ye woll doe nothing for me. And Salomon sayth: He that hath ouer hard an heart, he at last shall mishap or misbetide.

When Melibe had heard dame Prudence make semblaunt of wrath, hee saied in this wise. Dame, I pray you that yee be not dis∣pleased of thing that I say, for yee know well that I am angry and wroth, and that is no wonder: and they that been wroth, wote not well what they doe, ne what they say. There∣fore y^e Prophet sayth: * That troubled eyen haue no cleare sight. But say and counsaile me as you liketh, for I am ready to doe right as ye woll desire: And if ye repreue me of my folly, I am the more holden to loue and praise you. For Salomon saith, * That he y^t repre∣ueth him y^t doth follie, he shall find greater grace, than he that deceiueth him by sweete words.

Then saied Dame Prudence, I make no semblaunt of wrath ne of anger, but for your great profit. For Salomon saith: * He is more wroth, that repreueth or chideth a foole for his follie, shewing him semblaunt of wrath, than hee that supporteth him and praiseth him in his misdoing, & laugheth at his fol∣ly. And this same Salomon saith afterward:

That by the sorrowfull visage of a man, y^t is to say, * By the sorie & heauie countenance of a man, the foole correcteth and amendeth himselfe.

Then said Melibe, I shall not conne aun∣swere vnto so many faire reasons as ye put to me and shew: say shortly your will and your counsaile, and I am all ready to performe & fulfill it.

Then Dame Prudence discouered all her will vnto him & said: I counsaile you (said shee) aboue all things y^t ye make peace be∣tweene God and you, & bee reconciled vnto him and to his grace, for as I haue saied you here before, God hath suffred you to haue this tribulation and disease for your sinnes: and if yee do as I say you, God woll send your aduersaries vnto you, and make hem fall at your feet, ready to doe your will & your com∣maundement. For Salomon sayeth, * When the condition of man is pleasaunt & liking to God, he chaungeth the hearts of the mans aduersaries, and constraineth hem to beseech him of peace and of grace. And I pray you let me speake with your aduersaries priuely, for they shall not know that it be of your will▪ or your assent: * And then when I know their will and their entent, I may counsaile you the more surely.

Dame, said Melibeus, doth your will and your liking, for I put me wholly in your dispo∣sition and ordinaunce.

Then dame Prudence, when she saw the good will of her husbond, delibered & tooke aduise in her selfe thinking how shee might bring this need vnto a good conclusion and to a good end: And when shee saw her time, shee sent for these aduersaries to come vnto her in a priuie place. And shewed wisely vn∣to hem the great goods that come of peace, and the great harmes and perils that been in warre, and said to hem in a goodly manner: how that hem ought haue great repentaunce of the iniurie and wrong that they had done to Melibeus her lord, and vnto her & to her doughter.

And when they heard the goodly words of Dame Prudence, they were so surprised and rauished, and had so great joy of hir, y^t won∣der was to tell.

Ah lady (said they) yee haue shewed vnto vs the blessing of sweetnesse, after y^e saying of Dauid the Prophet. For the reconsiling which we be not worthy to haue in no man∣nere. But we ought require it with great con∣trition & humility, that ye of your goodnesse haue presented vnto vs. Now see we wel, y^t the science and cunning of Salomon is full true, for he saith: * That sweet words multi∣ply & encrease friends, & maketh shrewes to be debonaire and meeke.

Certes (said they) wee put our deed & all our matter & cause, all wholly in your good will, and been ready to obey at y^e commaun∣dement of our lord Melibeus. And therefore deere and benigne lady: wee pray & beseech you as meekely as we can and may, that it like vnto your great goodnesse to fulfill in∣deed your goodly wordes. For wee consider and know, that wee haue offended and gree∣ued our lord Melibeus out of measure, so fer∣forth, that wee be not of power to make him amends. And therefore wee oblige & bind vs and our friends, for to do all at his will and commaundement: but peraduenture he hath such heauinesse and such wrath to vs ward, because of our offence, that he woll enjoyne vs such a paine, as wee mowe not beare ne sustaine. And therefore noble ladie, wee beseech your womanly pitty to take such aduisement in this neede, that wee ne our friends be not disherited ne destroied, through our folly.

Certes (said Prudence) it is an hard thing and right perilious, that a man put him all vtterly in arbitration and iudgement, & in the might and power of his enemie: For Sa∣lomon sayth: Leueth me, and yeueth credence to y^t I shal say: * Ne yeueth neuer y^e power ne gouernaunce of thy goods, to thy sonne, to thy wife, to thy friend, ne to thy brother: ne yeue thou neuer might ne mastry ouer thy bo∣dy while thou liuest. Now sith he defendeth that a man should not yeue to his brother ne to his friend, the might of his body: By a stronger reason he defendeth & forbiddeth a man to yeue himself to his enemy. And nathe∣lesse, I counsaile you that yee mistrust not my lord: for I wot well & know verely, that he is debonaire and meeke, large, courteous, & nothing desirous ne couetous of goods ne ri∣ches. For there is nothing in this world that he desireth, saue onely worship and honour. Furthermore I know, and am right sure, y^t he shall nothing doe in this need, without my counsaile: and I shall so werke in this case, y^t by the grace of our Lord God, ye shall be reconciled vnto vs.

Then said they with one voice, worshipfull lady, we put vs & our goods al fully in your will & disposition, and been ready to come, what day that it liketh vnto your noblesse to limit vs or assigne vs for to make our obliga∣tion & bond, as strong as it liketh vnto your goodnesse, that we mow fulfill y^e will of you and of my lord Melibe.

When dame Prudence had herd y^e answer of these men, she bad hem goe ayen priuely, and she returned to her lord Melibe, & told him how she found his aduersaries full repen∣taunt, knowledging full lowly her sinnes & trespas, and how they were ready to suffer all paine, requiring and praying him of mercy and pitie.

Then said Melibe, * He is well worthy to haue pardon and foryeuenesse of his sinne, that excuseth not his sinne, but knowledgeth and repenteth him asking indulgence. For Seneke saith, * There is the remission & for∣yeuenesse, where as y^e confession is: for con∣fessionis neighbour to innocence. And therfore I assent & confirme me to haue peace, but it

is good that we do nought without y^e assent and will of our friends.

Then was Prudence right glad and ioy∣full and said: Certes sir, ye haue well & good∣ly answerd: for right as by y^e counsell, assent, and help of your friends, yee haue bee steered to venge you and make war: Right so with∣out her counsaile shall ye not accord you, ne haue peace with your aduersaries. For the law saith: * There is nothing so good by way of kind, as a thing to be vnbound by him y^t it was ibound.

Then dame Prudence, without delay or tarying, sent anone her messenger for her kins∣folke and her olde friendes, which that were true and wise: and told hem by order, in y^e presence of Melibe, all the matter, as it is aboue expressed & declared. And praised hem that they would say their aduise and coun∣saile, what best were to doe in this need. And when Melibeus friends had taken her aduise and deliberation of the foresaid matter, and had examined it by great businesse and dilli∣gence. They yaue full counsaile for to haue peace and rest, & that Melibe should receiue with good hert his aduersaries to foryeuenes and mercy.

And when dame Prudence had herd y^e as∣sent of her lord Melibe, and the counsaile of his friends accord with her will and her en∣tention, she was wondrously glad in her hart, and saied: There is an old Prouerbe (saied she) * That the goodnesse that thou maist do this day, doe it, and abide it not, ne delay it not till the next day. And therefore I coun∣sayle, that yee send your messengers, such as be discreet and wise vnto your aduersa∣ries: telling hem on your behalfe, y^t if they woll treate of peace and accord, that they shape hem without delay or tarrying, to come vnto vs: which thing perfourmed was in∣deed. And when these trespassours and re∣penting folke of her follies, that is to say, the aduersaries of Melibeus, had heard what these messengers saied vnto hem, they were right gladde and joyfull, and answered full meekely and benignely, yeelding grace and thankes to her lord Melibeus, and to all his companie: and shope hem without delay to goe with the messengers, and obeyed y^e com∣maundement of her lord Melibeus. And right anone they tooke her way to the court of Melibe, and tooke with hem some of their true friendes, to make faith for hem, & for to be her borowes: And when they were co∣men to the presence of Melibe, he said to hem these words: It stondeth thus, said Melibe, and sooth it is, that causelesse and without skill and reason, ye haue done great iniuries and wrong to me and my wife Prudence, & to my doughter also, for ye haue entred in∣to my house by violence, & haue done such out∣rage, that all men know well that ye haue de∣serued death. And therefore woll I know & we••e of you, whether ye wol put y^e punishing and y^e chastising and the vengeaunce of this outrage, in the will of me and of my wife, or ye woll not.

Then the wisest of hem three answerd for hem all, & said. Sir (said he) we know wel that we been unworthy to come to the court of so great a lorde & so worthy as ye be, for we haue so greatly mistaken vs and haue of∣fended and agilted in such wise againe your high lordship, that truely we haue deserued the death, but yet for the great goodnesse & debonairte, that all the worlde witnesseth of your person, wee submit vs to the excellence and benignite of your gracious lordship, and been ready to obey to all your commande∣ments, beseeching you, y^t of your mercifull pite ye woll consider our great repentaunce & lowe submision, & graunt vs forgiuenesse of our outragious trespasse & offence: For well we know, that your liberall grace and mercie stretcheth further into the goodnes, than doen outragious gilt and trespasses into the wic∣kednesse. All bee it that cursedly and damna∣bly we haue agilted against your hie lordship.

THan Melibe tooke hem vp fro y^e ground full benignly, and receiued her obliga∣tions and her bondes, by her others vp∣on her pledges and borowes, and assigned hem a certain day to returne vnto his court for to receiue and accept sentence & judge∣ment, that Melibeus would command to be done on hem, by the causes aforesayd, which things ordained, euery man returned to his house.

And when dame Prudence saw her time, she fained and asked her lorde Belibe, what vengeance hee thought good on his aduer∣saries.

To which Melibe answerd, and said: Cer∣tes (said hee) I think and purpose mee fully to disherite hem of all that euer they haue, and for to put them in exile for euer.

Certes said Dame Prudence, this were a cruell sentence, and much ayenst reason. For ye be rich inough, and haue no neede of other mens riches. And ye might lightly in this wise get you a couetous name, which is a vi∣cious thing, & ought to be eschewed of euery good man. For after the saying of the Apo∣stle, * Couetise is root of all harmes. And ther∣fore it were better to you to lese so much good of your owne, than for to take of their good in this maner. * For better it is to lese good with worship, than to winne good with vil∣lanie and shame. And euery man ought to do his diligence and his businesse, to get him a good name. And yet shall hee not onely busie him in keeping his good name, but he shall al∣so enforce him alway to doe some thing, by which he may renew his good name. For it is written, * That y^e olde good lose of a man or good name, is soone gone and past when it is not renued. And as touching y^t yee say, that yee woll exile your aduersaries: that thinketh me much ayenst reason, and out of measure, considering the power that they

haue yaue you vpon them selfe. And it is writ∣ten: * That he is worthy to lose his priuiledge, that misuseth the might and power that is giuen him. And set case, ye might enjoyne hem that paine by right and law, which I trowe ye may not do: I say yee might not put it to execution, for peraduenture then it were like to turne to the warre, as it was before. And therefore if yee woll that men doe your obei∣saunce, ye must demeane you more cuteously, y^t is to say: Ye must yeue most easie senten∣ces and iudgement. For it is written: * He y^t most courteously commandeth, to him men must obey. And therefore I pray you, that in this necessitie and in this need ye cast ye to o∣uercome your heart. For as Senek saith, * Hee y^t ouercommeth his heart, ouercom∣meth twise. And Tullie saith: * There is no∣thing so commendable in a great lord, as when he is debonaire and meek, & appeaseth him lightly. And I pray you that ye woll now for∣beare to do vengeaunce in such a manner, y^t your good name may be kept and conserued, and that men may haue cause and matter to praise you of pite and mercy: and y^t ye haue no cause to repent you of thing that is done. For Seneke saieth: * He ouercommeth in an euill maner, y^t repenteth him of his victory. Wherefore I pray let mercy be in your hert, to the effect, & entent, that God almightie haue mercy vpon you in his last iudgment. For saint Iames saith in his Epistle: * Iudge∣ment without mercy shall be doe to him, y^t hath no mercy of another wight.

When Melibe had heard the great skilles and reasons of dame Prudence, and her wise informations and teachings, his heart gan encline to y^e will of his wife: considering her true entent, confirmed him anon & assented fully to worke after her counsaile: and than∣ked God, of whom proceedeth all goodnesse and vertue, that him had sent a wife of so great discretion. And when the day came that his aduersaries should appeare in his presence, hee spake to hem goodly, and said in this wise,

All be it so that of your pride and high pre∣sumption and follie, and of your negligence and vnconning, yee haue misborne you, and trespassed vnto mee, yet for as mikell as I see and behold your great humilitie and that ye be sory and repentant of your giltes, it con∣straineth mee to doe you grace and mercy: Wherefore I receiue you to my grace, and foryeue you holy all the offences, iniuries, & wronges, that yee haue doen ayenst mee and mine, to theffect and ende, that God of his endles mercie woll at the time of our dying foryeue vs our giltes, that we haue trespas∣sed to him in this wretched world. For doubt∣lesse if we be sory and repentant for the sinnes and giltes, which we haue trespassed in the sight of our Lorde God: hee is so free and so merciable, that he woll foryeue vs our giltes, and bring vs to the blisse that neuer shall haue end. Amen.

¶The Monkes Prologue.

WHen ended was the tale of Melibee And of Prudence, and her benignite, Our host saide, as I am faithfull man, And by the precious corps Madrian, I had leuer then a barell of ale, That Goodlefe my wife had heard this tale: For she nothing is of such patience, As was this Melibeus wife Prudence. By Gods bones, when I bete my knaues, She bringeth me the great clubbed staues, And cryeth, slee the dogs euerichone, And break of them both backe and bone. And if that any neighbour of mine Woll not in Church to my wife incline, Or bee so hardie, to her to trespace, When she cometh home she rampeth in my face, And cryeth, false coward, wreke thy wife: By corpus domini, I woll haue thy knife, And thou shalt haue my distaffe, and go spin: Fro day till night, she woll thus begin. Alas, she saith, that euer she was shape To wed a milkesop, or a coward ape, That woll be ouerleide with euery wight, Thou darest not stond by thy wiues right. This is my life, but if that I woll fight, And out at doore anone I mote me dight, And els I am lost, but if that I Be like a wilde lion, foole hardy. I wote well she woll doe me slee some day Some neighbour or other, & then go my way, For I am perillous with knife in honde, All be it that I dare not her withstonde: For she is bigge in armes by my faith, That shall he finde, that her misdoth or saith. But let vs passe away from this mattere. My lord he said, sir Monk, be mery of chere, For ye shall tell vs a tale truely. Lo, Rochester stondeth here fast by, Ride forth mine own lord breke not our game, But by my troth I know not your name, Wheder I shall call you my lord Dan Iohn Dan Thomas, Dan Robert, or Dan Albon, Of what house be ye, by your father kin? I vow to God, thou hast a full faire chin, It is a gentle pasture there thou gost, Thou art not like a pinaunt or a ghost. Vpon my faith thou art some officere, Some worthy Sexten, or some Celerere. For by my fathers soule, as to my dome, Thou art a maister, when thou art at home, No poore cloisterer, ne no poore nouice, But a gouernour both ware and wise, And therewithall of brawne and bones, A well faring person for the nones: I pray to God yeue him confusion, That first thee brought into religion. Thou woldest be a trede foule aright, Hadst thou as great leaue, as thou hast might To performe all thy lust in ingendrure, Thou haddest begotten many a creature. Alas, why wearest thou so wide a cope? God yeue me sorow, and I were Pope, Not onely thou but euery mightie man, Though he were shore high vpon his pan,

Should haue a wife, for all this world is lorn, Religion hath take vp all the corn Of treding, and borell men ben shrimps: * Of feble trees ther commeth wretched imps. This maketh that our heires be so slender And feeble, y^t they may not well engender. This make that our wiues woll assay Religious folke, for that they may pay Of Venus payments better than mow we: For God wote no lussheburghs payen ye. But be not wroth my lord though I play, * Full oft in game a sooth haue I heard say. This worthy Monke took al in patience, And said, I woll do my diligence, As ferre as souneth into honestie. To tell you a tale, ye two or three: And if ye list to herken hitherward, I woll you saine, the life of saint Edward, Or els tragidies first I woll tell, Of which I haue an hundred in my cell. Tragedie is to tell a certaine story As old bookes vs maken memorie, Of hem that stood in great prosperitie, And be fallen out of hie degree In to miserie, and ended wretchedly: And they ben versified commonly Of six feet, which men call exemetron: In prose eke ben endighted many on And in mitre, many a sundry wise. Lo, this ought inough you to suffice. Now herkeneth, if you list for to here, But first I beseech you in this matere, Though I by order tell not these things, Be it of Popes, Emperours, or kings, After her ages, as men written finde, But tell hem some before and some behinde, As it commeth now to my remembrance, Haue me excused of mine ignorance.

¶The Monkes Tale.

A Tragical Discourse of such as haue fallen from high estate to extream misery.

I Will bewaile in manner of tragedie The harme of hem, y^t stode in high degree, And fell so, that there nas no remedie To bring hem out of their aduersitie. * For certaine when that fortune list to flie, Ther may no man of her y^e course witholde: Let no man trust on blinde prosperitie, Beth ware by this ensample yong and olde.

Lucifer.

AT Lucifer, though he an Angell were And not a man, at him will I begin, For though fortune may nat Angell dere From high degree, yet fell he for his sinne Down into hell, where he is yet inne. O Lucifer, brightest of Angels all, Now art thou Sathanas, thou maist not twin Out of miserie, in which thou art fall.

Adam.

LO Adam, in the field of Damascene With Gods owne finger iwrought was he, And not begotten of mans sperm vncleane, And welt all Paradise sauing o tree: Neuer worldly man had so high degree As Adam, till he for misgouernance Was driuen out of his high prosperitie To labour, and to hell, and to mischance.

Sampson.

LO Sampson, which that was annunciat By the Angell, long or his natiuitie: And was to God Almightie consecrat, And stode in nobles while he might see: Was neuer such another as was he, To speake of strength, & thereto hardinesse. But to his wiues told he his secree Through which he slough him for wretched∣nesse.

Sampson this noble & mighty champion Withouten weapon, saue his hands twey, He slough and all to rent the Lion Toward his wedding, walking by the wey: His false wife coulde him so please, & pray, Till she his counsaile knewe, and she vntrew, Vnto his foes his counsaile gan bewray, And him forsoke, and tooke another new.

An hundred foxes tooke Sampson for yre, And all her tailes hee together bond: And set the foxes tailes all on fire, For he in euery taile hath put a brond. And they brent all the corne in that lond. And all her oliues, and her vines eke: A thousand men eke he slough with his hond, And had no weapen, but an asse cheke.

When they were slaine, so thristed him, y^t he Was well me lorne, for which he gan to prey, That God wold of his paine haue some pite, And send him drinke, or els mote he dey: And of this asse cheke, that was so drey, Out of a wang toth, sprang anon a well, Of which he drunke inough shortly to sey, Thus halp him God, as Iudicum can tell.

By very force at Gasa on a night, Maugre the Philistins of that cite, The gates of the town he hath vp plight, And on his backe icaried hem hath he High on an hill, where as men might hem se. O noble mightie Sampson, lefe and dere, Had thou not told to women thy secre, In all this world ne had be thy pere.

This Sampson neither sider drank ne wine, Ne on his head came rasour none ne shere, By precept of the messenger diuine: For all his strength in his haires were, And fully twenty winter yere by yere Of Israel he had the gouernance: But after soon shall he weep many a tere. For women shall bring him to mischance.

Vnto his lemman Dalida he told, That in his haires all his strength lay, And falsely to his foes she him sold, And sleeping in her barme vpon a day She made to clip or shere his haires away: And made his fomen all his craft espien,

And when that they him found in such aray, They bound him fast, and put out his eyen.

But er his haires were clipped or ishaue, Ther nas no bond with which men might him bind, But now is he in prison in a caue, Whereas they made him at y^e querne grinde. O noble Sampson, strongest of mankind: O whildom iudge in glory and riches, Nowe mayest thou weepen with thine eyen blind, Sith thou art from wele fall to wretched∣nesse.

The end of this caitife was, as I shall sey: His fomen made a feast vpon a day, And made him as their foole before hem play: And this was in a temple of great aray. But at the last he made a foule afray, For he two pillers shoke, and made hem fall, And down fell the temple all, & there it lay, And slough himselfe, and eke his fomen all.

This is to say, the princes euerichone, And eke three thousand bodies were ther slain With falling of the great temple of stone.

Of Sampson now woll I no more sain: Beth ware by this example old and plain, * That no men tell her counsaile to her wiues Of such thing, as they would haue secret fain, If that it touch her limmes or her liues.

Of Hercules.

OF Hercules the soueraigne Conquerour, Singen his werkes, laud, and high renown: For in his time, of strength he bare y^e flower, He slough and raft the skinne of the lion, And of the Centaurs laid the boste adowne: He Harpias slew, the cruell birds fell, He the golden apples raft fro the dragon: He drew out Cerberus the hound of hell.

He slew the cruell tirant Busirus, He made his horse to fret him flesh & bone: He slough the very serpent venemous: Of Achelous two hornes brake he that one. And he slew Cacus in a caue of stone, He slough the gyant Antacus the strong, He slough the grisely Bore, and that anon, And bare his head vpon his speare long.

Was neuet wight sith the world began, That slough so many monsters, as did he, Throughout the wide world his name it ran, What for his strength, & w^t for his bounte, And euery realme went he for to see, He was so strong, y^t no man might him let, And at both worlds ends, he for Trophe In stede of bounds, of brasse a pillour set.

A lemman had this noble champion That hight Deianire, as fresh as Maie: And as these clerkes maken mention, She hath him sent a shert fresh and gaie: Alas this shert, alas and well awaie Envenomed was subtilly withall, That er he had weared it halfe a day, It made his flesh all fro his bones fall.

But nathelesse, some clerkes her excusen By one that hight Nessus, that it maked: Be as may be, I woll her not accusen, But on his body the shert he were al naked, Till the flesh was with the venim slaked: And when he saw non other remedie, In hote coles he hath himselfe iraked, For with no venim dained he to die.

Thus sterfe this worthy mighty Hercules. Lo, who may trust in fortune any throw, For him that foloweth of the world the pres, Or he beware, is oft laid full lowe: * Full wise is he, that himselfe can know. Beware, for when that fortune list to glose, Then waiteth she her man downe to throwe By such a way, as he would least suppose.

Nabuchodonosor.

THe mightie trone, the precious tresore, The glorious scepter, & royall maiestie, That hath the king Nabuchodonosore. With tonge vnneth may discriued be: He twise wan Hierusalem that cite, The vessell of the temple he with him lad: At Babilon was his soueraigne see, In which his glorie and his delight he had.

Of Hierusalem, he did do gelde anon, The fayrest children of the blood royall, And make each of hem to been his thrall: Among all other Daniel was one, That was the wisest of euerichone, For he the dremes of the king expouned: Whereas in Caldee clerkes were there none That wist to what fine his dreme sounded.

This proude king let make a statu of gold Sixty cubites long, and seuen in brede, To the which image, both young and old Commanded he lout, and haue in drede, Or in a forneis, ful of flames rede He should be deed, that would not obey: But neuer would assent to that dede Daniel, ne his yong felowes twey.

This king of kings so proud and elate Weend God, that sitteth in maiestie, Ne might him nat berefe of his estate: But sodainly he lost his dignitie, And like a beast him seemed for to be, And ete hey as an oxe, and lay therout In raine, and with wilde beasts walked he, Till a certaine time was come about.

And like an Egles fethers were his heeres, And his neiles also like birds clawes were, God releeued him at certaine yeeres, And yaue him wit, & then with many a tere He thonked God, and all his life in fere Was he to doe amisse, or more trespace: And ere that he layed was on his bere. He knew that God was ful of might & grace.

Balthaser.

HIs sonne, which that high Balthasare, That held y^e reign after his faders day,

He by his fader could not beware, For proude he was of heart, and of array: And eke an Ydolaster was he aie. His high estate assured him in pride. But fortune cast him downe, & there he lay, And suddainly his reigne gan deuide.

A feast he made vnto his lords all Vpon a time, he made hem blith be, And then his officers gan he call Goth bring forth all the vessels (qd. he) Which that my father in his prosperitie Out of the temple of Hierusalem beraft, And to our Gods thonkes yelden we, Of honour, that our elders with vs laft.

His wife, his lords, and his concubines Aie drunken, whiles her appetites last, Out of these noble vessels foundrie wines. And on a wall this king his eyen cast, A•••• saw an hond armelesse, that wrote fast, For feare of which he quoke, and sighed sore: This hond that Balthaser made sore agast, Wrote (Mane techel phares) and no more.

In al that londe, Magicien was ther non, That could expoune what this letter ment, But Daniel expouned it anon, And said, O king, God, thy father sent Glory and honour, reign, tresour, and rent, And he was proud, & nothing God he drad: And therfore great wrath God vpon him sent, And him beraft the reigne that he had.

He was out cast of mans company, With Asses was his habitation: And eate haie, as a beast in wete and drie, Till that he knew by wit and reason, That God of heauen hath domination Ouer euery reigne, and euery creature: And then had God of him compassion, And him restored his reigne and his figure.

Eke thou y^t art his sonne, art proud also, And knowest all these things priuely: And art rebell to God, and his fo, Thou dranke eke of his vessels boldly, Thy wife eke, and thy wenches sinfully Dronke of the same vessels sundry winis, And heried false gods cursedly, Therefore to thee shapen great pine is.

This hond was sent fro God, y^t on the wal Wrote (Mane techel phares) trust me: Thy reigne is doen, thou wotest not all, Diuided is thy realme, and it shall be To Medes and to Perciens giuen (qd. he) And that same night, the king was slaw: And Darius occupied his dignitie, Though he thereto had neither right ne law.

* Lordings, here ensample mowe ye take, How that in lordship is no sikernesse: For when that fortune woll a man forsake, She beareth away his reigne, & his richesse: And his friends, both more and lesse. And what man hath friends, throgh fortune, Mishap woll make hem enemies as I gesse. This prouerbe is full soth, & full commune.

Zenobia.

ZEnobia of Palmerie Queene (As writeth Perciens of her noblesse) So worthy was in armes, and so kene, That no wight passed her in hardinesse, Ne in linage, ne in other gentilnesse: Of kings blood of Perce she is discended, I say that she had not most of fairenesse, But of her shape shee might not be amended.

From her childhood I find that she fled Office of a woman, and to wood she went: And many a wilde Hartes blood she shed With arrowes broad that she to hem sent. She was so swift, that she hem hent, And when that she was elder, she would kill Lions, Libards, and Beeres all to rent, And in her armes weld hem at her will.

She durst the wild beasts dennes to seeke, And renne in the mountaines all the night, And sleepe vnder a bush, and she could eke Wrastell by very force and by very might With any yong man, were he neuer so wight: There might nothing in her armes stond: She kept her maidenhead from euery wight, To no man dained she to be bound.

But at last her friendes hath her maried To Odenat, a prince of that countrie: All were it so, that she hem long taried. And ye shall vnderstond, how that he Had such fantasies like as had she: But natheles, when they were knit in fere, They liued in joy and in felicite, For ech of hem had other lefe and dere.

Saue one thing, shee nolde neuer assent By no way, that he should by her lie But ones, for it was her plaine entent To haue a childe, the world to multiply: And also so sone as she might espie, That she was not with child with that deed, Then would she suffer him to do his fantasie Eftsones, and not but ones out of dreed.

And if she were with child at that cast, No more should he with her play that game Till fully fourtie dayes were past: Then would she ones suffer him the same. All were this Odenat wild or tame, He gate no more of her, for thus she saied, * It was to wiues letcherie and shame, In other case if men with hem plaied.

Two sonnes by this Odenat had she, The which she kept in vertue and lettrure, But now vnto our tale againe turne we: I say that so worshipfull a creature And wise therewith, and large with measure, So penible in warre, and curteis eke, Ne more labour might in war endure Was non, though all this world men wold seek.

Her rich aray ne might not be told, As well in vessell as in her clothing: She was all clad in pierrie and in gold, And eke she left not for none hunting To haue of sundry tongues full knowing, When that she leisure had for to entend To learne in bookes was all her liking How she in vertue her life might dispend.

And shortly of this storie for to treat: As doughtie was her husbond as she. So that they conquered many reignes great In the Orient, with many a faire cite Appertainaunt vnto the maiestie O Rome, & with strength held the mfull fast Ne neuer might her foemen doe her fle, All the while that Odinates dayes last.

Her battailes, who so list hem for to rede Againe Sapor the king, and other mo, And how all this proces fill in dede, Why she conquered, and her title therto, And after of her mischiefe and her wo, How that she was besieged, and itake, Let him to my maister Petrarke go, That writeth ynough of this, I vndertake.

When Odenat was dead, she mightily The realmes held, and with her owne honde Ayenst her foes she fought so truely That ther nas no prince ne king in all y^e lond But were full glad, if they that grace fond That she ne should vpon his londe warrey: With her they made aliaunce by bond To be in peace, and let hem ride and pley.

The Emperour of Rome Claudius, Ne him beforne, the Romain Galien Ne durst neuer be so coragious, Ne non Armen, ne non Egipcien Ne Surrien, ne none Arabien Within the field, that durst with her fight, Lest y^t she would hem with her hondes sleen, Or with her maine put hem to flight.

In kings habite wenten her sonnes two As the lawfull heires of her realmes all, And Hermanno and Titamallo Her names were, as Perciens hem call. * But aie fortune hath in her honie gall: This mightie Queene, may no while endure, Fortune out of her reigne made her to fall To wretchednesse, and to misauenture.

Aurelian, when that the gouernance Of Rome came into his honds twey, He shope vpon this Queene to do vengeance, And with his legions he tooke his way Toward Zenobia, and shortly for to say. He made her flie, and at last her hent, And fettered her, and eke her children tway, And wan the land, & home to Rome he went.

Emongest other things that he wan, Her chair, that of gold was wrought & pierre, This great Romaine, this Aurelian Hath with him lad, that for men should it see: All beforne his triumph walked she With golden chaines on her necke honging, Crowned she was, as after he degre, And full of pierre charged her clothing.

Alas fortune, she that whilom was Dredefull to kings and to Emperours, Now gaureth all the people on her alas: And she that helmed was in stark stoures, And wan by force townes strong, and toures, Shall on her head now weare autremite: And she that bare the septer full of floures, Shall beare a distafe her cost for to quite.

Nero.

ALthough that Nero were as vicious, As any fende, that lieth full low adown: Yet he, as telleth vs Suetonius All this world had in subiectioun, Both East and West, and Septentrioun. Of Rubies, Saphires, and of Perles white Were all his clothes broudred vp and down, For he in gemmes greatly gan delite.

More delicate, more pompous of aray, More proude, was neuer Emperour than he: That like cloth that he had weared o day, After that time, he nold it neuer see: Nettes of golde threde had he great plente, To fish in Tiber, when him list to play, His lusts were as law, in his degre, For fortune as his friend would him obay.

He Rome brent for his dilicacie, The Senatours he slue vpon a day, To heare how her wiues would weepe & crie: And slow his brother, and by his sister lay. His mother made he in a pitous aray, For he her wombe let slit, to behold Where he conceiued was, so welaway, That he so little of his mother told.

No teares out of his eyen, for that sight He came, but saied, a faire woman was she: Great wonder is, that he coud or might Be Domisman of her dead beaute: The wine to bring him commaunded he, And dranke anon, none other wo he made. * When might is joined vnto cruelte, Alas, too deepe will the venume wade.

In youth a maister had this Emperour To teach him lettrure, and courtesie, For of moralite he was the flour. And in his time, but if his bookes lie, And whiles his maister had of him maistrie, He made him so cunning and so souple, That long time it was or tyrannie, Or any vice durst in him encouple.

Senek his maister was, of which I deuise, Because Nero had of him such drede, For he for his vices would him chastise Discreetly as by word, and not by dede, Sir he would say, an Emperour mote nede Be vertuous, and hate tyrannie.

For which he made him in a bathe to blede On both his armes, till he must die.

This Nero had eke a customaunce In youth ayenst his maister to rise: And afterward, him thought great grevaunce Because he often would him chastise. Therefore he made him to die in this wise. He chose in a bathe to die in this manere, Rather than to have another turmentise: And thus hath Nero slaine his maister dere.

Now fell it so, that fortune list no longer The high pride of Nero to cherishe: For tho he were strong, yet was she stronger, She thought thus, by God I am too nice To set a man, that is fulfilled of vice, In high degree, and an Emperour him call: By God out of his seat I woll him trice, When he least weneth, soonest shall he fall.

The people rose upon him on a night For his defaut, and when he it aspied, Out of his dores anon he hath him dight Alone, and there he wend have been allied, He knocked fast, and aye the more he cried, The faster shet they the dores all: Tho wist he well he had himselfe beguiled, And went his way, no lenger durst he call.

The people cried & rombled up and down, That with his ears he heard how they saied Where is this false tyrant? this Neroun, For feare full neere out of his wit he braied, And to his gods right pitously he praied For succour, but it might not betide: For drede of this him thought that he deid, And ran into a garden him to hide.

And in this garden found he chorles twey Sitting by a fire great and red, And to the chorles two he gan to prey To slea him, and to gird off his hed, That to his body, when he were ded, Were no despite done for his defame. Himselfe he slough, he could no better red, Of which fortune lough & had then game.

Holofernes.

WAs neuer capitaine vnder a king That reignes mo put in subjectioun, Ne stronger was in field of all thing As in his time, ne greater of renoun, Ne more pompous in high presumptioun, Than Holoferne, which fortune aye kist, And so licourous••y lad him up and doun, Till that he dead was ere that he wist.

* Not onely y^t this world had of him awe For lesing of richesse and liberte: But he made euery man renie his lawe, Nabuchodonosor was lord, saied he: None other God should honoured be. Ayenst his hest, there dare no wight trespace, Saue in Bethulia, a strong cite, Where Eliachem was priest of that place.

But take keepe of the death of Holoferue: Amid his host he dronke lay all night Within his tent, large as is a berue. And yet for all his pompe and all his might, Iudith, a woman, as he lay vpright Sleeping, his head off smote, & fro his tent Full priuely she stole from euery wight, And with his head vnto her toun she went.

Antiochus.

WHat needeth it of king Antiochus To tell his high and roiall maieste? His great pride, and his worke venemus, For soch another man nas neuer as he, Redeth what that he was in Machabe, And redeth the proud wordes that he seid, And why he fill from his prosperite, And in an hill how wretchedly he deid.

Fortune him had enchaunsed so in pride, That verily he wend he might attain Vnto the sterres vpon euerie side, And in a balaunce to wey each mountain, And all the floudes of the sea restrain: And Gods people had he most in hate, Hem would he slea in torment and in pain, Wening that God ne might his pride abate.

And for that Nichanore and Timothe By Iews were venquished mightily, Vnto the Iewes soch an hate had he, That he had greithe his chare full has••ely, And swore and saied, full dispitously: Vnto Hierusalem he would eftsone To wrecke his yre on it full cruelly, But of his purpose was he let full sone.

God for his manace him so sore smote, With inuisible wound, aie incurable, That in his guttes carfe so and bote, That his paines was importable: And certainly the wreche was reasonable. For many a mans guttes did he paine, But from his purpose, cursed & damnable, For all his smert, he nolde him not restrain.

But bade anon, aparaile his host And sodainly or he then was ware, God daunted all his pride, and all his bost: For he so sore fell out of his chare, That all his limmes and his skinne to tare So that he no more might go ne ride But in a chaire, men about him bare All forbruised both backe and side.

The wreche of God him smote so cruelly, That in his bodie wicked wormes crept, And therewithall he stanke so horribly, That none of all his meine that him kept, Whether that he woke or els slept, Ne might not of him the stinke endure. And in his mischief he wayled and wept, And knew God, Lord of euerie creature.

To all his host, and to himselfe also Full lothsome was the stinke of his caraine,

No man might him beare to ne fro. And in his stinke, and in his horrible paine, He sterfe full wretchedly on a mountaine. Thus hath this robber, and this homicide, That many a man made to wepe and plaine, Soch guerdon, as belongeth to pride.

Alexander.

THe storie of Alexander is so commune, That every wight that hath discretioun Hath heard somwhat or all, of his fortune: This wide world, as in conclusioun, He wan by strength, and for his renoun They were glad for peace unto him send The pride of man, and bost he layed adown Where so he came, vnto the worlds end.

Comparison might yet never be maked Betwixt him, and another conquerour, For al this world for dread of him hath quaked He was of knighthood, & of freedome floure: Fortune him made the heir of high honour. Saue wine & women nothing might assuage His high intent in armes and labour So was he full of loving courage.

What price wer it to him, though I you told Of Darius, and of an hundred thousand mo Of Princes, Earles, and knights bold, Which he conquered, and brought to wo: I say as ferre as a man may ride or go The world was his, w^t shuld I more devise: For though I wrote and told you evermo Of his knighthood, it might not suffice.

Twelve yere he raigned, as I rede in Macha∣be: Phillips sonne of Macedone he was That first was King of Grece, that countre, O worthy gentle Alexander, alas That ever should thee fall soch a case: Empoisoned of thy folke thou were, * Thy sice fortune hath turned into an ace, And yet for thee ne wept she never a tere.

Who shall yeve men teres to complaine The death of gentlenesse, and of fraunchise, That all the world welded in his demaine, And yet him thought it might not suffice: So full was his courage of high emprise, Alas, who shall me helpe to endite False fortune, and her poyson to despise? The which of all this woe I wite.

Iulius Cesar.

BY wisedome, manhood, and high labour, From humble bed to royal Majeste Vp rose he, Iulius Conquerour, That all the Occident by lond and see Wan by strength of honde, or else by trete, And unto Rome made him tributarie: And sith of Rome Emperour was he Till that fortune wexe his adversarie.

O mighty Cesar, that in Thessaly Ayenst Pompey father thine in law, That of the Orient had the chivalry, As ferre as that the day beginneth to daw: Then through knighthood hast take & islaw, Saue few folke that with Pompeius fled, Through which thou put all the orient in aw: Thanke fortune that so well thee ysped.

But now a little while I woll bewaile This Pompey, this noble governour Of Rome, which that fled at this battaile. I say one of his men, a false traitour His head off smote, to win him favour Of Iulius, and to him the head brought: Alas Pompey, of the orient conquerour, That fortune vnto such a fine thee wrought.

To Rome againe repaireth Iulius With his triumph lauriate full hie, But on a time Brutus & Cassius, That ever had of his high estate envie, Full prively had made conspiracie Ayenst this Iulius in subtil wise: And cast the place in which he should die, With bodkins, as I shall you deuise.

This Iulius unto the Capitoll went Vpon a day, as he was wont to gone, And in the Capitoll anon him hent This fals Brutus, and his other sone, And sticked him with bodkins anone With many a wound, & thus they let him lie: But never grutched he at no stroke but one, Or else at two, but if his storie lie.

So manly was this Iulius of hart, And so well loved stately honeste, That tho his deadly wounds so sore smart, His mantle over his hips yet cast he, For no man should see his privite: And as he lay in dying in a traunce, And wist verily that die should he, Of honestie yet had he remembraunce.

Lucan to thee this storie I recommend, And to Sueton, and Valerie also, That of this storie writen word and end: How that to these great conquerours two Fortune was first a friend, and sith a fo. * No man trust upon her favour long, But have her in await for euermo, Witnesse on all the conquerours strong.

Cresus.

THe rich Cresus, whilom king of Lide, Of which Cresus, Cirus sore him drad, Yet was he caught amid all his pride, And to brenne, men to the fire him lad: But such a rain down fro the firmament shad That queint the fire, and made him to scape: But to beware yet no grace he had, Till fortune on the gallows made him gape.

When he escaped was, he could not stint For to begin a new aray again: He wend well, for that fortune him sent Such hap, that he escaped through the rain, That of his foes he might not be slain, And eke a sweven upon a night he met,

Of which he was so proud, and eke so fain, That on vengeaunce he all his heart set.

Vpon a tree he was, as him thought, There Iupiter him wisshe, both back & side: And Phebus eke a faire towell him brought To dry him with, & therwith wexe his pride. And to his doughter that stood him beside, Which y^t he knew in hie sentence habound, He bad her tell what it signified, And she his dreame right thus did expound.

The tree (qd. she) y^t gallows is to meane, And Iupiter betokeneth snow and rain, And Phebus with his towell so cleane, Betokeneth the Sun beames, sooth to sain: Thou shalt honged be, father, certain, Raine shall thee wash, & sun shall thee drie: Thus warned him full plat and full plain His doughter, that called was Phanie.

And honged was Cresus the proud king, His roiall throne might him not auaile: Tragedie is none, ne other manner thing, That can in singing crie ne bewaile, But that fortune all day woll assaile * With unware stroke, y^e reignes y^t been proud: For when men trusteth her, then wol she faile, And couer her bright face with a cloud.

Peter of Spaine.

O Noble, O worthy Petro, glory of Spain, Whom fortune held so high in Majestie: Well ought men thy pitous death complain. Out of thy lond thy brother made thee flee, And after at a siege by subteltee Thou were betraied, and lad unto his tent, Where as he with his owne hond slue thee, Succeeding in thy reigne and in thy rent.

The field of snow, with thegle of black therin, Caught with y^e limrod, coloured as y^e glede, He brewed his cursednesse, & all this sinne: The wicked neste was werker of this dede, Not Charles, ne Oliver, y^t tooke aye hede Of trouth and honour, but of Armorike Genillion Oliver, corrupt for mede Brought this worthy king in such a brike.

Petro King of Cipre.

O Worthy Petro, king of Cipre also, That Alexandrie wan by high maistrie Full many a heathen wroughtest thou wo, Of which thine own lieges had enuie: And for no thing but for thy chiualrie, They in thy bed han slain thee by the morow, Thus can fortune her whele governe & gie, And out of joy bringen men to sorow.

Barnabo Vicount.

OF Millaine great Barnabo Vicounte, God of delite, & scourge of Lumbardie Why should not I thine infortune account, Sens in estate thou clomben were so high: Thy brothers sonne, y^t was thy double alie, For he thy nevew was, and sonne in lawe, Within his prison made thee to die, But why ne how not I, y^t thou were slawe.

Hugeline of Pise.

OF the Erle Hugeline of Pise y^e langoure There may no tongue it tell for pite: But a little out of Pise stont a toure, In which toure in prison put was he, And with him bene his little children three, The eldest scarsely five yere of age: Alas fortune, it was a great cruelte Such birds for to put in such a cage.

Damned was he to die in that prison For Roger, which that bishop was of Pise Had on him made a false suggestion, Through which y^e people gan upon him rise, And put him in prison, in such a wise, As ye have heard, and meat & drinke he had So small, that unneth it may suffice, And therewithall it was full poore and bad.

And on a day befell, that in that houre, Whan y^t his meat wont was to be brought, The geilour shette the doores of the toure, He heard it well, but he spake right nought: And in his heart anon there fill a thought, That they for hunger would doe him dien, Alas (qd. he) alas that I was wrought, Therewithall the teares fill fro his eyen.

His yong sonne, that thre yere was of age, Vnto him said, father, why doe ye wepe? When will the geilour bring our potage, Is there no morsell bread that ye do kepe? I am so hungrie, that I may not sleepe, Now would God that I might sleepe ever, Then should not hunger in my wombe crepe. There nis nothing but bread y^t me were lever.

Thus day by day, this childe began to cry, Till in his fathers arme adowne it lay, And said, farewell father, I mote die, And kist his father, and deide the same day. And when the wofull father did it sey, For wo, his armes two he gan to bite, And said alas fortune, and well away, Thy false whele my wo all may it wite.

His children wend, that it for hunger was That he his armes gnewe, and not for wo, And saied: father doe not so (alas) But rather eat the flesh upon us two, Our flesh you yaue us, take our flesh us fro And eate inough: right thus they to him seid And after that within a day or two They laid hem in his lap adoun, and deid.

Thus ended is this mighty Earle of Pise. Himselfe dispeired eke, for hunger starfe: Of this tragedie, it ought inough suffice, From high estate fortune away him carfe. Who so woll heare it in a longer wise Readeth he the great poete of Itaile That hight Dante, for he can it all deuise Fro point to point, not a word woll he faile.

¶Here stinteth the Knight the Monke of his Tale, and here followeth the Pro∣logue of the Nonnes Priest.

HO (qd. y^e knight) good sir no more of this: That ye have said, is right ynough iwis, And mokell more: for little heavinesse Is right ynough to much folke, I gesse, I say for me, it is a great disease, Where as men have be in wealth & ease, To heare of her suddaine fall, alas: And the contrary is joy and solas, As when a man hath been in poore estate, And climbeth up, and wexeth fortunate, And there abideth in prosperite: Such things is gladsome, as thinketh me, And of such thing were good for to tell. Ye (qd. our host) by Saint Poules bell Ye say right soth, this Monke clappeth loud, He spake, how fortune covered with a cloud I wote not what, and also of a Tragedie * Right now he heard: And perde no remedie It is for to bewailen, ne complaine That that is done, and als it is a paine, As ye have said, to heare of heavinesse. Sir monke no more of this, so God you blesse, Your tale anoyeth all the companie, Such talking is not worth a butterflie, For therein is there no disport ne game: Therefore sir monk, dan Piers by your name, I pray you heartily, tell us somewhat els, For sikerly, nere clinking of your bels That on your bridle honge on every side, By heaven king, that for us all dide, I should ere this han fall down for slepe, Although the flough had been never so depe: Then had your tale all be tolde in vaine. For certainely, as that these clerkes saine, * Where as a man may have none audience, Nought helpeth it to tell his sentence. And well I wote the substaunce is in me, If any thing shall well reported be. Sir, say somwhat of hunting I you pray. Ne (qd. this Monke) I have no lust to play: Now let another tell, as I have told. Then spake our host with rude speech and bold, And saied unto the Nonnes Priest anon, Com nere you priest, com hither thou sir Iohn. Tell us such a thing, as may our herts glad, Be blithe, though thou ride upon a jade: What though thy horse be both foule & lene, If he woll serve thee recke not a bene: Looke that thy heart be mery evermo. Yes sir (qd. he) yes host, so mote I go: But I be mery, iwis I woll be blamed, And right anon, his tale he hath attained, And thus he said, unto us everichon, This sweet priest, this goodly man sir Iohn.

¶The Nonnes Priest his Tale.

Of a Cock and a Hen: the Moral whereof is to embrace true Friends, and to beware of Flat∣terers.

A Poore widdowe somdele istept in age, Was whilom dwelling in a poor cotage Beside a grove, stonding in a dale: This widowe of which I tell you my tale, Sens the day that she was last a wife, In patience, led a full simple life. For little was her cattell and her rent: By husbandry, of such as God her sent, She found her self, & eke her doughters two: Three large sowes had she, and no mo: Three kine, & eke a sheep that hight Mall, Well sooty was her boure, and eke her hall, In which she ete many a slender mele. Of poinant sauce ne knew she never adele, Ne deinty morsell passed through her throte: Her diet was accordaunt to her cote. Repletion ne made her never sicke, A temperate diet was her physicke, And exercise, and hearts suffisaunce: The gout let her nothing for to daunce, Ne apoplexie shent not her hed: No wine dranke she, white ne red, Her bord was most served with white & black, Milk & broun breed, in which she found no lack: Seinde bacon, & sometime an eye or twey, For she was as it were a manner dey. A yerd she had, enclosed all about With stickes, and drie diched without: In which she had a cock hight Chaunteclere, In all the land, of crowing nas his pere. His voice was merrier than y^e merry orgon On masse days, that in the churches gon: Well sikerer was his crowing in his loge, Than is a clocke, or in an abbey an orloge. By nature he knew ech assentioun Of the equinoctiall in the toun. For when degrees xv. were ascended, Then crew he, it might not be amended. His combe was redder than the fine corall, And battelled, as it had be a castle wall. His bill was blacke, as any jet it shone, Like as••re were his legs and his tone: His nailes whiter than the lilly flour, And like the burned gold was his colour. This gentle cocke had in governaunce Seven hens, to done on his pleasaunce: Which were his susters and his paramours, And wonder like to him, as of colours: Of which the fairest hewed in the throte, Was called faire damosell Pertelote. He fethered her a hundred times a day, And she him pleaseth all that ever she may. Curteis she was, discreet, and debonaire, And compenable, and bare her self so faire. Sens the time that she was sevennight old, That truliche she hath the hert in hold Of Chaunteclere, looking on every lith: He loveth her so, y^t wel was him therwith, But such a joy it was to heare him sing, When that the bright sunne gan to spring In sweet accord: my lefe is ferre in lond. For that time, as I have understond, Beasts and birds coulden speake and sing, And it so fell, that in the dawning, As Chaunteclere among his wives all Sat on his perch, that was in the hall, And next him sat his faire Pertelote, This Chanteclere gan to grone in his throte, As a man y^t in his dreme is drenched sore: And when y^t Pertelot thus herd him rore, She was agast, and said her heart dere, What aileth you to grone in this manere?

Ye be a very sleper, fie for shame: And he answered thus, by God madame, I pray you, that ye take it not in griefe: By God I mette I was in such mischiefe Right now, y^t yet mine hert is sore afright. Now God (qd. he) my sweven hede a right, And keepe my body out of foule prisoun. Me mette, that I romed up and down Within your yerde, wher I saw a beest, Was like an hound, & would have made areest Vpon my body, & would have had me deed. His colour was betwixt yellow and reed, And tipped was his taile, & both his eeres With black, unlike y^e remnant of his heeres. His snout small, with glowing eyen twey: Yet for his looke almost for feare I dey: This causeth me my groning doubtles. Away (qd. she) fie for shame heartlesse Alas (qd. she) for by that God above Now have ye lost my heart & all my love, I cannot love a cowarde by my faith: For certes, what so any woman saith, * We all desire, if that it might be, To have husbonds, hardy, wise and free, And discrete, ne no niggard ne no foole, Ne him that is agast of every toole, Ne none avauntour by that God above, How durst ye say for shame, unto your love, That any sweven might make you aferde? Have ye no mans heart, and have a berde? Alas, and con ye be aferd of swevenis, Nothing bnt vanitie god wotte in sweven is. Swevens ben engendred of replecions, And oft of fume, and of complecions. When humours ben too habundant in a wight: Certes this dreme w^ch ye have met to night Commeth of the great superfluitie Of red color that is in you parde, Which causen folke to dred in her dreames Of arrowes, and of fire with red lemes, Of red beasts that wollen hem bite, Of conteke, and of wasps great and lite, Right as the humour of melancholie, Causeth many a man in sleepe to cry, For feare of great bulles, & of beres blake, Or els that black devills woll hem take. Of other humours could I tell also, That werke a man in slepe much wo: But I woll passe, as lightly as I can. Lo Caton, which y^t was so wise a man Said he not thus, do not force of dreames? Now sir (qd. she) when we flie fro the bemes, For Gods love, as taketh some laxative: Vp pexill of my soule, and of my life I counsell you the best, I woll not lie, That both of collor, and of melancholie Ye purge you, and for ye shull not tarie, Though in this town be none Apotecarie, I shall my selfe two herbes techen you, That shall be for your heale, & for your prow And in our yerde, tho hearbs shall I finde The which have her propertie by kinde To purge you bineth, and eke above: Forgetteth not this for Gods owne love: Ye be right colericke of complection, Ware the sunne in his ascention Ne finde ye not repleate of humours hote: For if it do, I dare wel lay a grote, That ye shall have a fever terciane, Or els an ague that may be your bane. A day or two ye shall have digestives Of wormes, or ye take your ••axatives, Of laurel, centorie, and of femetere, Or els of elder berries, that grow there, Of Catapuce, or of gaitres bereis, Of yvie growing in our yard, that merry is. Plucke hem up as they grow, & eat hem in: Be merry husbond, for your father kin, Dredeth no dreme, I can say no more. Madame (qd. he) gramercy of your lore. But nathelesse, as touching dan Caton, That of wisedome hath so great renoun, Though he had no dreames for to drede, By God, men may in old bookes rede, Of many a man, more of authoritie Then ever Caton was so mote I thee. That all the revers saith of his sentence, And have well found by experience, * That dreames be significations, As well of joy, as of tribulations, That folke endure in this life present: There nedeth to make of this non argu∣ment: The very prefe sheweth it indeed. One of the greatest authours y^t men rede, Saith thus: y^t whilome two fellowes went On pilgrimage in full good intent, And happed so they came into a town, Where as there was such congregatioun Of people, and eke of strait herbigage, That they ne found as much as a cottage, In which they both might ylodged be. Wherefore they mote of necessite As for that night depart company, And each of hem goeth to his hostelry, And tooke his lodging as it would fall. That one of hem was lodged in a stall, Farre in a yerd, with oxen of the plough: That other man was lodged well ynough, As was his aventure, or his fortune, That us governeth all, as in commune. And so befell, long or it were day This man met in his bed, there as he lay, How that his fellow gan upon him call, And said (alas) for in an oxes stall This night shall I be murdered, there I lie: Now helpe me dere brother or I die, In all hast, come to me (he said.) This man out of his sleep for fear abraid: But when he was waked of his sleeye, He turned him, and tooke of this no keepe, Him thought his dreame was but a vanite: Thus twise in his sleepe dreamed he. And at the third time, yet his felaw, Came as him thought, & said, I now am slaw: Behold my bloudy wounds, deepe & wide, Arise up earely, in the morrow tide, And at the West gate of the toun (qd. hee) A cart full of dung there shalt thou see, In which my body is hid full prively, Doe thou that cart arresten boldely, My gold caused my death, sooth to saine, And told him every point how he was slaine

With a full pitous face, pale of hew: And trust wel, his dreme he found right trew, For on the morrow, as soone as it was day, To his fellowes inne he tooke the way: And when that he came to the oxes stall, After his fellow he began to call. The hosteler answerd him anone, And said, sir, your fellow is igone, As soone as it was day he went out of toun: This man gan fall in suspectioun Remembring of his dreames that he mette, And forth he goeth, no lenger would he lette, Vnto the West gate of the toune, and fond A dung cart, as it were to dung lond, That was araied in the same wise As ye haue heard the dead man deuise: And with hardy heart he gan to crie Vengeaunce and iustice of this fellonie: My fellow murdred is this same night, And in this cart he lieth, gaping vpright. I crie out on the ministers (qd. he) That shoulden keepe and rule this cite: Harow alas, here lieth my fellow slaine. What should I more of this tale saine? The people out start, & cast y^e cart to ground, And in the middle of the dung they found The dead man, that murdred was all new. O blisfull God, that art so good and trew, Lo how thou bewrayest murder alway. Murder woll out, that see we day by day: * Murder is so waltsome and abhominable To God, that so just is and reasonable, That he ne woll it suffer hylled to bee: Though it abide a yeare, two, or three, Murder woll out, this is my conclusioun. And right anon, the ministers of the toun Haue hent the carter, and sore him pined, And eke the hosteler so sore engined, That they be knew her wickednesse anone, And were honged vp by the necke bone. Here may ye see that dremes ben to drede. And certes, in the same lefe I rede, Right in the next chapter after this, I gabbe not, so haue I joy and blis: Two men would haue passed ouer the see For certaine causes to a ferre countree, If the wind ne had be contrarie, That made hem in a city to tarie, That stood full merry vpon an hauen side: But on a day, ayenst an euen tide. The wind gan chaunge, & blew as hem lest, Iolly and glad they wenten to rest, And cast hem full early for to saile, But herken, to one man fell a great meruaile. That one of hem in sleeping as he lay, He mette a wonders dreme, again the day: Him thought a man stood by his beds side, And him commaunded, that he should abide, And said him thus, if thou to morrow wend, Thou shal be dreint, my tale is at an end. He woke, and told his fellow w^t he met, And praied him his voyage for to let, As for that day, he prayed him for to abide. His fellow that lay by his beds side, Gan for to laugh, and scorned him full fast: No dreme (qd. he) may so my hart agast, That I woll let for to doe my things: I set not a straw for thy dreamings, For sweuens been but vanities and yapes: Men meten all day of oules and of apes, And eke of many a mase therewithall, And dremen of thing that neuer was, ne shall. But sith I see that thou wolt here abide, And thus slouthen wilfully thy tide, God wot it rueth me, and haue good day, And thus he tooke his leue, & went his way. But ere he had halfe his course ysailed, I not why, ne what mischaunce it ailed, But casuelly the ships bottome to rent, And ship and men vnder the water went In sight of other ships there beside, That with hem sailed at the same tide. And therefore, faire Pertelot so dere, By such ensamples old maist thou lere That no man should be too rechelesse Of dremes, for I say thee doubtlesse, That many a dreme full sore is for to drede. Lo, in the life of saint Kenelme, we rede, That was Kenelphus sonne, the noble king Of Mercenryke, how kenelm mette a thing: A little ere he were murdred on a deie, His murder in his vision he seie: His norice him expouned euery dele His sweuen, and bad him keepe him wele Fro treason, but he was but seuen yere old, And therefore little tale he thereof told Of any dreame, so holy was his hert: By God I had rather than my shert, That ye haue herd his legend, as haue I. Dame Pertelot, I say to you truly, Macrobius, that writeth the auision In Affrick of the worthy Scipion, Affirmeth dremes, and sayeth that they been Warning of things that we after seen. And furthermore, I pray you looketh well In the old Testament, of Daniel, If he held dreames for vanitee. Reade eke of Ioseph, and there shall ye see Whether dremes ben sometime, but I say not all, Warning of things that after shall fall. Looke of Egipt the king, y^t hight Pharao, His baker and his butteler also, Wheder they felt none effect in dremes? Who so woll seeke acts of sundry remes, May rede of dreames many a wonder thing. Lo Cresus, which that was of Lide king, Mette he not that he sat vpon a tree, Which signified he should honged bee? Lo Andromacha, that was Hectors wife, That day that Hector should lese his life, She dreamed in the same night beforne, How the life of Hector should be lorne, If that day he went vnto battaile: She warned him, but it might not auaile, He went for to fight neuerthelesse, But he was slaine anone of Achilles. But that tale is all too long to tell, And eke it is nigh day, I may not dwell. Shortely I say, as for conclusion, That I shall haue of this auision Aduersity: and I say furthermore, That I ne tell of laratiues no store,

For they ben venomous, I wot it wele: I hem defie, I loue hem neuer adele. But let vs speke of mirth, & stint all this, Madame Perrelot, so haue I blis, Of one thing God hath me sent large grace: For when I see the beautie of your face, Ye ben so scarlet red about your eyen, It maketh all my dread for to dien. * For all so siker, as In principio Mulier est hominis confusio. Madame the sentence of this latine is, Woman is mans joy and his blis: For when I fele on night your soft side, Albeit that I may not on you ride, For that our perch is made so narrow alas, I am so full of joy and of solas. That I defie both sweuen and dreme: And with y^t word he flew doun fro the beme, For it was day, and eke the hennes all: And with a chucke he gan hem for to call, For he had found a corne lay in the yerd: Royall he was, and no more aferd: He feddred Pertelot twenty time, And trode her eke as oft, ere it was prime. He looketh as it were a grim lioun, And on his toes he romed vp and doun. Him deigned not set his feet to the ground: He chucked, when he had a corne yfound, And to him then ran his wiues all. As royall as a prince in his hall, Leaue I this chaunteclere in his posture: And after woll I tell of his aduenture. When y^• month in which the world began, y^t hight March, in which God first made man Was complete, and passed were also Sith March began, thirtie dayes and two, Befell that Chaunteclere in all his pride, His seven wiues walking him beside, Cast vp his eyen to the bright sunne, That in the signe of Taurus was irunne Twenty degrees and one, & somewhat more: He knew by kind, and by none other lore, y^t it was prime, & crew with a blisfull steuen: The sunne he said is clombe vp to heuen Forty degrees & one, & somewhat more iwis, Madame Pertelot, my worlds blis, Herken how these blisfull birds sing, And see the fresh floures how they gan spring. Full is mine heart of reueli, and sollas. But suddainely him fell a sorrowfull caas: * For euer the latter end of joy is wo, God wote, worldly joy is soone ago: And if a rethore coud faire endite, He in a chronicle might safely write As for a soueraine notabilite. Now euery wise man herken to me, This story is all so true I vndertake, As is the booke of Launcelot du lake, That women holden in full great reuerence: Now woll I turne ayen to my sentence. A col foxe (full of sleight and iniquitee) That in the groue had wonned yeares three, By high imagination aforne cast, The same night through the hedge brast Into the yerd, there Chaunteclere the faire Was wont and eke his wiues to repaire: And in a bed of wortes still he lay, Till it was passed vndren of the day, Waiting his time, on Chaunteclere to fall: As gladly done these homicides all, That in await lie to murder men. O false murder, rucking in thy den: O new Scariot, and new Gauilion, O false dissimuler, O Greeke Sinon That broughtest Troy vtterly to sorrow, O Chaunteclere, accursed be the morrow, That thou in thy yerd flew from the bemes: Thou were full well warned by thy dremes, That ilke day was perillous to thee. But what y^t God afore wote, must needs bee, After the opinion of certaine clerkis, Witnesse of him that any clerk is, That in schole is great altercation In this matter, and great disputation And hath been, of an hundred thousand men, But I ne cannot boult it to the bren, As can the holy doctour saint Austin, Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardin, Whether that Gods worthy foreweting Straineth me needly to doe a thing: (Needly clepe I simple necessite) Or if the free choice be graunted me To do the same thing, or do it nought, Though God forewot it, or it was wrought: Or of his weting streineth neuer a dele, But by necessitie condicionele, I woll not haue to done of such matere, My tale is of a cocke, as ye shall here, That took his counsaile of his wife with sor∣row To walke in the yerd vpon the morrow, That he had met the dreme, as I you told. * Womens counsailes been often full cold: Womens counsaile brought vs first to wo, And made Adam fro paradice to go, There as he was full merry, & well at ease. But for I not, whom I might displease If I counsaile of women would blame, Passe ouer, I said it in my game. Redeth authors, where they trete of such mattere, And what they say of women, ye mow here. These ben the Cockes words, and not mine, I can of women no harme deuine. Faire in the sond, to bath her merely, Lieth Pertelot, and all her susters by Ayenst the sunne, and Chaunteclere so free, Sung merrier than the Mermaid in the see. For Phisiologus sayeth vtterly, How that they singen well and merely. And so befell as he cast his eie Among the wortes on a butterflie, He as ware of the foxe that lay full low, Nothing then list him for to crow, But cried cocke, cocke, and vp he stert, As one that was affraid in his hert. For naturally beasts desireth to flee Fro her contrarie, if he may it see, Tho he neuer erst had seene it with his eie. This chaunteclere, when he gan him espie, He would haue fled, but the foxe anone Said: gentle sir alas, what woll ye done? Be ye afraid of me that am your friend? Now certes, I were worse than a fiend,

If I to you would harme or villanie: I am not come your counsaile to espie. But truly the cause of my comming Was only to heren how ye sing: For soothly ye haue as merry a steuen, As any Angel hath, that is in heuen, Therewith ye haue of musicke more feeling, Than had Boece, or any that can sing. My lord your father, God his soule blesse, And eke your mother of her gentlenesse Haue in my house ben, to my great ease: And certes sir, full faine would I you please. But for men speaken of singing, I woll sey, So mote I broken well mine eyen twey, Save you, ne herd I neuer man so sing, As did your father in the morning. Certes it was of heart, all that he song, And for to make his voice the more strong, He would so paine him, y^• with both his eyen He must winke, so loud he must crien, And stonden on his tiptoes therewithall, And stretchen forth his neck long and small. And eke he was of such discretion, That there was no man in no region, That him in song or wisdome might passe. I haue well red dan Burnel the asse Among his verses, how there was a Cocke, For that a priests sonne yaue him a knocke Vpon his legs, while he was yong and nice; He made him for to lese his benefice. But certain there is no comparison Betwixt the wisdome and discretion Of your father, and of his subtilty. Now singeth sir, for saint charity, Let see, can ye your father counterfete? This Chaunteclere his wings gan to bete, As a man that could not his treason espie, So was he rauished with his flatterie. * Alas ye lords, many a false flatterour Is in your court, and many a false lesingour, That pleaseth you well more, by my faith, Than he that soothfastnesse vnto you saith. Readeth Ecclesiast of flatterie, Beware ye lords of her trecherie. This Chaunteclere stood high vpon his toos Stretching his necke, & held his eyen cloos, And gan to crowen loud for the nones: And dan Russell the foxe start vp at ones, And by the gorget hent Chaunteclere, And on his backe toward the wood him bere. For yet was there no man that him sued. O destinie, that maist not be eschued: Alas that Chaunteclere flew fro the beames, Alas that his wife rought not of dreames: And on a friday fell all this mischaunce. O Venus that art goddesse of pleasaunce, Sithens y^t thy seruant was this chaunteclere, And in thy seruice did all his powere, More for delite, than y^• world to multiplie, Why woldst thou suffer him on thy day to die? O Gaulfride, deere maister soueraigne, That when y^• worthy king Richard was slaine With shot, complainedest his death so sore, Why ne had I now thy science and thy lore, The friday for to chide, as did ye? For on a friday, shortly slaine was he. Than wold I shew you how y^• I coud plaine, For Chauntecleres drede, and for his paine. Certes such crie, ne lamentation Nas neuer of Ladies made, whan that Ilion Was won, & Pirrus with his bright swerd When he hent king Priam by the beard, And slough him (as saieth Eneidos) As made all the hens in the cloos, When they had lost of Chaunteclere y^• sight: But souerainly dame Pertelot shright Well louder than did Hasdruballes wife, When that her husbond had lost his life, And that the Romanes had brent Cartage. She was so full of torment and of rage, That willfully into the fire she stert, And brent her selfe, with a stedfast hert. O wofull hennes, right so cried ye, As when that Nero brent the cite Of Rome, cryed the senatours wiues, For that her husbonds should lese her liues, Withouten gilt Nero hath hem slaine. Now woll I turne to my tale againe. The sely widow, and her doughters two, Heard the hennes crien and make such wo, And out at the dore stert they anon, And saw the foxe toward the wood gon, And bare vpon his backe the Cocke away: They cryed out harow and well away: A ha the Foxe, and after hem they ran, And eke with staues, many another man: Ran Coll our dogge, Talbot, & eke Garlond, And Malkin, with her distaffe in her hond: Ran Cow & Calfe, and eke the very Hogges, For they so sore aferd were of the dogges, And shouting of men and of women eke, They ran y^t they thought her herts shuld breke. They yellen as loud fendes do in hell: The Duckes cried as men would hem quell: The Geese for feare flew ouer the trees, Out of the Hiues came the swarme of Bees, So hidous was the noise, a benedicite: Certes Iacke Straw, ne all his meine, Ne made neuer shoutes halfe so shrill, When that they would any Flemming kill, As that day was made vpon the Foxe. Of brasse they blew the trompes and of boxe, Of horne & bone, in which they blew & pouped And therewith they shriked and shouted: It semed, as though heauen should fall, Now good men I pray you herken all. Lo how fortune tourneth sodainly The hope and the pride of her enemy. This Cocke that lay vpon the Foxes backe, In all his drede, vnto the Foxe he spake, And saied: good sir, if I were as ye, Yet should I say, as wise God helpe me, Tourneth ayen, ye proud churles all: A very pestilence upon you fall. Now am I come unto this woods side, Maugre your hed, the Cocke shall here abide, I woll him eat in faith, and that anon. The Foxe answerd, in faith it shall be don: And as he spake the word, all sodainly This Cock brake from his mouth deliuerly, And high upon a tree he flew anon: And when the Foxe saw that he was gon,

Alas (qd. he) O Chaunteclere, alas, I haue (qd. he) done to you trespasse, In as much as I made you aferd. Whan I you hent, and brought out of your yerd. But sir, I did it in no wicked entent: Come downe, & I shall tell you w^t I ment, I shall you say sothe God helpe me so. Nay then (qd. he) I shrew vs both two, And first I shrew my selfe, both blood & bones, If thou begile me o••ter than ones: Thou shalt no more with thy flatterie Doe me to sing with a winking eye. * For he that winketh, when he should see, All wilfully, God let him neuer thee. * Nay (qd. y^• Fox) but God yeue him mis∣chance, That is so discrete of gouernance, That iangleth, whan that he shold haue pees. Lo, soch it is for to be recheles And negligent, and trust on flatterie. But ye that hold this tale for a lie As of a Foxe, of a cocke, and of a Hen, Taketh the moralite good men. For saint Poule sayeth, All that written is, To our doctrine it is written iwis. * Taketh the frute, and let the chaffe be still. Now good God, if that it be thy will, As saieth my Lord, so make vs all good men: And bring vs to the high blisse. Amen.

¶The Manciples Prologue.

SIr Nonnes Priest, our host saied anone, I blessed be thy brech and euerie stone: This was a merrie tale of Chaunteclere: But by my troth, if thou were seculere, Thou wouldest be a tredfoule aright: For if thou haue corage as thou hast might Thee were nede of hens, as I wene, Ye more than seuen times seuentene. Se which braunes hath this gentle priest, So great a necke, and such a large breest: He loketh like a Sparhauke with his eyen, Him needeth not his colours for to dien With Brasill, ne with gram of Portingale. But sir, yet faire fall you for your tale. And after that, he with full merrie chere Saied to another man, as ye shall here. Wote ye not where stondeth a little towne, Which that is called Bob vp and downe Vnder the blee, in Canterbury way? There gan our host to yape and to play, And saied: sirs, what? Dunne is in y^• mire: Is there no man for praier ne for hire, That woll awake our fellow behind? A theefe he might full lightly rob and bind: See how he nappeth, see for cockes bones How he woll fall from his hors atones. Is that a Cook of London, with mischaunce? Doe him comfort, he knoweth his penaunce: For he shall tell a tale by my fey. * Although it be not worth a bottle of Hey. Awake thou cook (qd. he) God yeue thee sorow What eileth thee to sleepe by the morow? Hast thou had fleen al night, or art thou dronk? Or hast thou al night with some quean iswonk, So that thou maiest not hold vp thy hed? This Cooke y^• was full pale, & nothing red, Saied: sir hoste, so God my soule yblesse, There is fallen on me great heuinesse, But I not why, me were leuer to slepe, Than the best gallon of wine in Chepe. Well (qd. y^• Mancipie) if it may doe ease To thee sir Cooke, and to no wight displease, Which that here ride in this companie, And that our hoste will of his courtesie, I woll as now excuse thee of thy tale, For in good faith thy visage is full pale: Thine eyen dase, soothly as me thinketh, And well I wot, thy breath full soure stinketh, That sheweth wel thou art not wel disposed: Of me certaine that▪ shalt not be glosed, See how he galpeth, lo this dronken wight, As though he would vs swallow anon right. Hold close thy mouth, by thy father kin: The deuill of hell set his foot therein, Thy cursed breath will infect vs all: Fie stinking swine, fie foule mote thee befall. Taketh heed sirs of this lustie man, Now sweet sir, woll ye iust at the van, Thereto me thinketh ye be well shape: I trow that ye haue dronken wine ape, And that is when as men play at straw. And with his speech y^• cooke waxed all wraw, And on the Manciple he gan to nod fast For lacke of speech: & doun his hors him cast Where as he lay, till that men him vp tooke: This was a faire cheuesaunce of a cooke: Alas that he ne had hold him by his ladill. And ere that he ayen were in the sadill, There was a great shouing to and fro To lift him vp, and much care and wo, So vnweldy was this sely palled gost: And to the Manciple then spake our host. Because that drinke hath domination Vpon this man, by my saluation I trow leudly woll he tell his tale: For were it wine, or old moistie ale That he hath dronk, he speketh so in the nose, And sniueleth fast, and eke hath the pose. He also hath to done more than ynough To keepe him on his caple out of the slough: And if he fall from his caple eftsone, Then shall we all haue ynough to doen In lifting vp againe his dronken corce. Tell on thy tale, of him make I no force. But yet Manciple, in faith thou art too nice, Thus openly to repreue him of his vice: Another day he woll perauenture Recleime thee, and bring thee to the lure: I meane that he speake will of smale things, And for to pinch at thy rekenings That were not honest, if it came to prefe. No (qd. y^• Manciple) y^• were a great mischefe: So might he bring me into the snare. Yet had I leuer pay for the Mare Which he rideth on, than he should with me striue: I woll not wrath him so mote I thriue: That I spake, I saied it but in bourd, And wote ye what, I haue here in my gourd A draught of wine, ye of a ripe grape. And right anon ye shall see a good yape. This Cooke shall drinke thereof, if I may, Vp paine of my life he woll not say nay.

And certainly, to tellen as it was, Of this vessell the Cooke dranke fast, alas, What needeth it, he dranke ynough beforne. And when he had pouped in his horne, To the Manciple he tooke the gourd again, And of the drinke the Cooke was full fain: And thonked him in such wise as he coud. Then gan our host to laugh wonder loud, * And saied: I see well it is necessary Where y^t we gon, good drinke with vs to cary For that will turne rancour and disease To accord and loue, and many a word pease. O Bacchus, yblessed be thy holy name, That so canst turne earnest into game: Worship and thonke be to thy deite. Of that matter ye get no more of me. Tell on thy tale thou Manciple, I thee pray. Well sir (qd. he) herkeneth what I say.

¶The Manciples Tale.

Phoebus keepeth a white Crow, which can speak as a Jay: The Crow accuseth his wife, of whom he was too jelous, to have played false in his absence. Hereupon with an arrow he slayeth his wife: but after repenting of his rashness, he taketh revenge of the Crow.

WHen Phebus dwelled here in earth adoun, As old books to vs make mentioun: He was the most lustie batcheler Of all the world, & eke y^e best archer: He slough Pheton the serpent, as he lay Sleeping ayenst the Sunne vpon a day. And many another noble worthy dede He with his bow wrought, as men mow rede. Play he could on euery minstralcie, And sing, that it was a melodie To heren of his clere voice the soun. Certes the king of Thebes, Amphioun, That with his song, walled the cite, Could neuer sing halfe so well as he: And thereto he was the seemelist man That is or was, sith the world began. What needeth it his feture to discriue? For in this world nas none so faire aliue. He was therewith fulfilled of gentlenesse, Of honour, and of perfite worthinesse. This Phebus, y^t was floure of bachelerie, As well in freedome, as in chiualrie, For his disport, in signe eke of victorie Of Pheton, so as telleth vs the storie, Was wont to beare in his hond a bow: Now had this Phebus in his hous a crow Within a cage yfostred many a day, And taught in speech, as men teach a Iay. White was this crow, as is a white Swan, And counterfete the speech of euery man He could, when as he should tell a tale. There was in all this world no Nightingale Ne could by an hundred thousand dele Sing so wonderly merry and wele. Now had this Phebus in his hous a wife, Which that he loued more than his life, And night and day did euer his dilligence Her for to please, and doe her reuerence: Saue onely, if I the sooth shall sain, Ielous he was, and wold haue kept her fain. For him were loth yaped for to bee, And so is euery wight in such degree: But all for nought, for it auaileth nought: * A good wife, y^t is clene of werke & thought, Should not be kept in none await certaine: And truly the labour is in vaine To keepe a shrew, for it woll not be: This hold I for a very nicete To spill labour, for to keepe our wiues: Thus writeth old clerkes in her liues. But now to purpose, as I first began: This worthy Phebus doth all that he can To please her, wening through such plesaunce And for his manhood & for his gouernaunce That no man should put him from her grace: But God it wote, there may no man embrace, * As to distraine a thing, which that nature Hath naturally set in a creature. Take any bird, and put him in a cage, And doe all thine entent, and thy corage, To foster it tenderly with meat and drinke Of all dainties that thou canst bethinke, And keepe it also cleanely as thou may, Although the cage of gold be neuer so gay, Yet had this bird by twentie thousand fold, Leuer in a forrest, that is wide and cold, Goe eaten wormes, and such wretchednesse. For euer this bird will doe his businesse To escape out of his cage when he may: His libertie the bird desireth aye. Let take a Cat, and foster her with milke And tender flesh, and make her couch of silke, And let her see a Mouse go by the wall, Anon she weiueth flesh, and couch, and all, And euery deintie that is in that hous, Such appetite hath she to eat the Mous. * Lo here hath lust his domination, And appetite flemeth discretion. A shee Wolfe hath also so villanous kind, The leudest Wolfe that euer she may find, Or least of reputation, that she woll take In time when her lust to haue a make. All these ensamples speake I by those men That been vntrue, and nothing by women. * For men haue euer a licorous appetite On lower thing to performe her delite, Than on her wiues, be they neuer so faire, Ne neuer so true, ne so debonaire. Flesh is so newfangle, with mischaunce, That we ne con in nothing haue pleasaunce, That souneth vnto vertue any while. Now this Phebus which thought no gile, Disceiued was for all his iolite: For vnder him another had she, A man of little reputation, Nought worth to Phebus in comparison: The more harme is, it happeth oft so: Of which there commeth much harme & wo. And so befell, when Phebus was absent, His wife anon hath for her lemman sent Her lemman, certes that is a knauish speech, Foryeue it me, and that I you beseech. The wise Plato saieth, as ye mow rede, * The word must needs accord with y^e dede.

If men should tell properly a thing, The word must cousin be to the working. I am a boistous man, right thus say I, There is but little difference truely Betwixt a wife that is of high degree, (If of her body dishonest she be) And a poore wench, any other than this, If it so be they werke both amis. But for the gentill is in estate aboue, She shal be called his lady and his love, And for that tother is a poore woman, She shal be called his wench or his lemman: * And God it wote, mine owne dere brother, Men lay as low that one as that other. Right so betwixt a titlelesse tiraunt, And an outlaw, or a theefe erraunt, The same I say, there is no difference. (To Alexander was told this sentence) That for the tyrant is of greater might By force of meine to slea doune right, And bren house and home, & make all plain, Lo therfore is he called a captain. And for the outlaw hath but smale meine, And maie not doe so great an harme, as he, Ne bring a Countrey to so great mischiefe, Men callen him an outlawe or a thiefe. But for I am a man not textuele, I woll not tell of textes neuer a dele. I woll goe to my tale, as I began. When Phebus wife had sent for her lem∣man, Anon they wrought all their lust volage. This white crowe, y^t hing aie in the cage, Beheld their werke, and saied neuer a word: And when home was come Phebus the lord, This crowe song, cuckow, cuckow, cuckow. What bird (qd. Phebus) w^t singest thou? Were thou not wont so merily to sing, That to my hart it was reioysing To heare thy voice? alas, what song is this? By God (qd. he) I sing not amis: Phebus (qd. he) for all thy worthinesse, For all thy beaute, and thy gentilnesse, For all thy song, and thy minstralcie, * For all thy waiting, blered is thine iye. With one of little reputation, Not worth to thee in comparison The mountenance of a gnat, so mote I thriue: For on the bedde, thy wife I saw him swiue, What wol you more? y^e crow anon him told, By full sad tokens, and by words bold, How that his wife had doen her lecherie Him to great shame, and to great villanie, And told him eft, he sawe it with his iyen. This Phebus gan awayward for to wryen. Him thought his wofull hart brast a two. His bowe he bent, and set therein a flo, And in his ire he hath his wife slain: This is the effect, there is no more to sain. For sorrow whereof he brake his minstralsie: Both Harp and Lute, Getern, and Sautrie, And eke he brake his arrowes, & his bowe, And after that, thus spake he to the crowe. Traitour (qd. he) with tong of Scorpion Thou hast me brought to my confusion: Alas that I was wrought, why nere I dedde. O dere wife, O gemme, O lustie hedde, That were to me so sad, and eke so true, Now lyest thou dedde with face pale of hewe. Full giltlesse, that durst I sweare iwis: O rakell hond, to do so foule amis. * O troubled wit, O yre retchelesse, That vnauised smitest guiltlesse. O wantrust, full of false suspection, Where was thy wit and thy discretion? * Oh euerie man beware of rekilnesse, Ne trowe nothing, without strong witnesse. Smite not to sone, er that thou wete why, And be auised well and sikerly Or ye doe any execution Vpon your yre, for suspection. * Alas, a thousand folke hath rekell ire Fully fordoen, and brought hem in the mire. Alas for sorowe I woll my selfe sle. And to the crowe, O false thefe said he, I woll thee quite anon thy false tale. Thou song whilom, as any Nitingale, Now shalt thou false thefe, thy song forgone, And eke thy white fethers euerychone. Ne neuer in all thy life shalt thou speake, Thus shull men on a traitour be a wreake. Thou and thine of-spring euer shall be blake, Ne neuer after sweet noise shall ye make, But euer crie ayenst tempest and raine, In token, that through thee my wife is slaine. And to the crow he stert, and that anon, And pulled of his white fethers euerychon, And made him black, & reft him of all his song And eke his speech, & out at doore him slong Vnto the deuill, which I him betake: And for this cause been all crowes blake. Lordings, by this ensample I wol you pray * Beware, and take kepe what I say: Ne telleth neuer no man in your life, How that another man hath dight his wife, He woll you hate mortally certain. Dan Salomon, as wise Clerkes sain, Teacheth a man to keepe his tong well: But as I saied, I am not textuell. But nathelesse, thus taught me my dame, My sonne thinke on the crowe a Gods name: My sonne kepe wel thy tong, & kepe thy frend A wicked tong is worse then a fend: My sonne, from a fende men may hem blesse. My sonne, God of his endlesse goodnesse, Walled a tong with teeth, and lippes eke, For man should him auise what he speke. * My sonne, full oft for too mikell speach, Hath many a man be spilt, as Clerkes teach: But for little speech spoken auisedly Is no man shent, to speake generally. My sonne, thy tong shouldest thou restrain, At all times, but when thou doest thy pain To speake of God in honour and prayere. The first vertue sonne, if thou wolt lere, Is to restrain, and kepe well thy tong: Thus learne Children, when they be yong. * My sonne, of mikell speaking vnauised, (There lesse speaking had inough suffised) Cometh mikell harme, thus was me taught, In much speech there sinne wanteth naught. Woste thou wherefore a rakell tong serueth: Right as a sword forcutteth and forkerueth

An arme on two, my dere sonne right so A tongue cutteth friendship all atwo. A iangler is to God abhominable, Rede Salomon, so wise and honourable, Rede David in his Psalmes, rede Seneck, My sonne speake not, ne with thy head beck: * Dissimule as thou were deafe, if y^t thou here The janglour speaketh of perlous mattere. The Flemming saieth, learn if that thou lest, * That little jangling causeth much rest. * My sonne, If thou no wicked word hast said, Thee dare not drede for to be bewraid: But he that hath missaied, I dare well saine, He may by no way clepe his word againe. Thing that is saied, is sayed, & forth it goth, Though him repent, or be never so loth, He is thrall to him to whom he hath saied A tale, for which he is now evill apaied. * My sonne beware, and be none authour new Of tidings, whether they be fals or trew. Where so thou come, among high or low, Keepe well thy tong, and thinke on the crow.

¶The Plowmans Prologue.

THe Plowman plucked up his plowe, When Midsummer Moone was comen in, And sayed his beastes should eat ynowe, And lieg in the grasse up to the chin: They been feeble both Oxe and Cowe, Of hem nis left but bone and skin: He shoke off shere, and coulter off drowe, And honged his harneis on a pin.

He tooke his tabard and his staffe eke, And on his head he set his hat: And saied he would saint Thomas seeke, On pilgrimage he goth forth plat: In scrippe he bare both bread and leekes, He was forswonke, and all forswat, Men might have seene through both his chekes, And euery wang tooth, and where it sat.

Our hoste beheld well all about: And saw this man was Sonne ybrent, He knew well by his senged snout, And by his clothes that were to rent, He was a man wont to walke about, He was not alway in cloyster ypent: He could not religiousliche lout, And therefore was he fully shent.

Our hoste him asked, what man art thou? Sir (quoth he) I am an hine, For I am wont to goe to plow, And earne my meat ere that I dine: To swette and swinke I make auow, My wife and children therewith to find, And serve God and I wist how, But we leaud men been full blind.

For clerkes say we shullen be faine For her livelod swette and swinke, And they right nought vs giue againe, Neither to eat, ne yet to drinke: They mowe by law as they saine, Vs curse and damne to hell brinke, Thus they putten us to paine With candles queint, and bells clinke.

They make us thrals at her lust, And saine we mow not els be saued: They haue the corne, and we the dust, Who speaks thereagaine, they say he raued. What man (qd. our host) canst thou preach? Come neere and tell us some holy thing:

Sir (quoth he) I heard ones teach A priest in pulpit a good preaching. Say on (quoth our host) I thee beseech: Sir, I am ready at your bidding: I pray you that no man me reproch While that I am my tale telling.

¶The Plowmans Tale.

A complaint against the Pride and Covetousness of the Clergy: made no doubt by Chaucer with the rest of his Tales. For I have seen it in written hand in John Stowes Library, in a Book of such Antiquity, as seemeth to have been written near to Chaucer's time.

ASterne strife is stirred newe, In many steedes in a stound, Of sundry seeds that been sewe, It seemeth that some been unsound: For some be great growne on ground, Some been soukle, simple, and small, Whether of hem is falser found, The falser foule mote him befall.

That one side is, that I of tell Popes, Cardinals, and Prelates, Parsons, Monkes, and Freres fell, Priours, Abbots, of great estates: Of heauen and hell they keep the yates, And Peters successours they been all, This is deemed by old dates, But falshed foule mote it befall.

The other side ben poore and pale, And people put out of prease, And seeme caitiues sore a cale, And euer in one without encrease, Icleped lollers and londlese: Who toteth on hem they ben vntall They ben araied all for the peace, But falshed foule mote it befall.

Many a countrey have I sought, To know the falser of these two: But euer my travaile was for nought, All so ferre as I have go. But as I wandred in a wro, In a wood beside a wall, Two foules saw I sitten tho The falser foule mote him befall.

That one did plete on the Popes side A Griffon of a grimme stature, A Pellicane withouten pride To these lollers laied his lure:

He mused his matter in measure, To counsaile Christ ever gan he call: The Griffon shewed a sharpe fuyre. But falshed foule mote it befall.

The Pellicane began to preach Both of mercie and of meekenesse: And saied that Christ so gan us teach, And meeke and merciable gan blesse: The Euangely beareth witnesse, A lambe he likeneth Christ ouer all, In tokening that he meekest was, Sith pride was out of heauen fall.

And so should euery Christened be: Priestes, Peters successours Beth lowliche and of low degree, And vsen none earthly honours: Neither croune, ne curious couetours, Ne pillour, ne other proud pall, Ne nought to cofren vp great treasours, For falshed foule mote it befall.

Priestes should for no cattell plede, But chasten hem in charite: Ne to no battaile should men lede, For inhaunsing of her owne degree. Nat wilne firting in high see, Ne soueraignty in hous ne hall, All wordly worship defie and flee: For who willeth highnes, foule shal fall.

Alas who may such saints call, That wilneth welde earthly honour: As low as Lucifere such shal fall In balefull blacknesse to builden her boure, That eggeth the people to errour, And maketh them to hem thrall: To Christ I hold such one traitour, As low as Lucifer such one shall fall.

That willeth to be kings peeres, And higher than the Emperour: And some that were but poore Freres, Now wollen waxe a warriour. God is not her gouernour, That holdeth no man his permagall, While couetise is her counsailour, All such falshed mote need fall.

That high on horse willeth ride In glitterande gold of great array, Ipainted and portred all in pride, No common knight may go so gay: Chaunge of clothing euery day, With golden girdles great and small As boistous as is Beare at bay, All such falshed mote need fall.

With pride punisheth they the poore, And some they sustaine with sale, Of holy church make they an hore, And filleth her wombe with wine and ale: With money fill they many a male, And chaffren churches when they fall, And telleth the people a leaud tale, Such false faitours foule hem befall.

With chaunge of many manner meates; With song and solas sitting long, And filleth her wombe, and fast fretes, And from the meat to the gong: And after meat with harpe and song. And ech man mote hem Lords call, And hote spices euer among, Such false faitours foule hem fall.

And miters mo than one or two, Ipearled as the queenes head: A staffe of gold, and perrie lo, As heauie as it were made of lead, With cloth of gold both new and redde, With glitterande gold as greene as gall: By dome they damne men to dedde, All such faitours foule hem fall.

And Christs people proudly curse With broad boke, and braying bell: To put pennies in her purse, They wol fell both heauen and hell. And in her sentence and thou wilt dwell, They willen gesse in her gay hall, And thou the sooth of hem will tell, In great cursing shalt thou fall.

That is blessed, that they blesse, And cursed that they curse woll: And thus the people they oppresse, And haue their lordships at full. And many be marchaunts of wull, And to purse pennies woll come thrall: The poore people they all to pull, Such false faitours foule hem fall.

Lords also mote to hem loute, Obeysaunt to her brode blessing. The riden with her royall route On a courser, as it were a king, With saddle of gold glittering, With curious harness quaintly crall it, Stirrops gay of gold mastling, All such falshed foule befall it.

Christes ministers clepen they beene, And rulen all in robberie: But Antichrist they seruen clene, Attired all in tyrannie: Witnesse of Iohns prophecie, That Antichrist is her admirall, Tiffelers attired in trecherie, All such faitours foule hem fall.

Who saith, that some of hem may sinne, He shall be dome to be ded: Some of hem woll gladly winne All ayenst that which God forbed: All holiest they clepen her head, That of her rule is regall: Alas that euer they eaten bread, For all such falshed wol foule fall.

Her head loueth all honour, And to be worshiped in word and dede. Kings mote to hem kneele and coure,

To the Apostles that Christ forbede. To popes hestes such taketh more hede, Than to keepe Christs commaundement: Of gold and silver mote been her wede, They holdeth him hole omnipotent.

He ordaineth by his ordinaunce To parish priestes a powere: To another a greater auaunce, A greater point to his mistere. But for he is highest in earth here, To him reserves he many a point: But to Christ that hath no pere, Reserves he neither o pin ne point.

So seemeth he above all, And Christ above him nothing: When he sitteth in his stall, He damneth and saveth as him thinke: Such pride tofore God doth stinke: An angel had Iohn to him not kneele, But onely to God doe his bowing, Such willers of worship must need evil feele:

They ne clepen Christ, but sanctus deus, And clepen her head Sanctissimus: They that such a sect sewis, I trowe they taken hem amisse: In earth here they have her blisse, Her high maister is Beliall. Christes people from hem wisse, For all such false will foule fall.

They mowe both binde and lose, And all is for her holy life: To save or damne they mow chose, Betweene hem now is great strife. Many a man is killed with knife, To wete which of hem haue lordship shall, For such Christ suffred wounds five, For all such falshed will foule fall.

Christ said: Qui gladio percutit, With swerd surely he shall die: * He had his priests peace and grith, And bad hem not drede for to die. And bad them he both simple and slie, And carke not for no cattell, And trusteth on God that sitteth on hie, For all false shall full foule fall.

These wollen make men to swere Ayenst Christes commaundement: And Christes members all to tere On roode, as he were new yrent. Such lawes they maken by common assent: Each one it throweth as a ball, Thus the poore be fully shent, But euer falshed foule it befall.

They vsen no simonie, But sellen churches and priories: Ne they usen no enuie, But cursen all hem contraries, And hireth men by daies and yeares, With strength to hold hem in her stall: And culleth all her adversaries. Therefore falshed foule thou fall.

With purse they purchase personage, With purse they paynen hem to plede, And men of warre they woll wage To bring her enemies to the dede: And lords liues they woll lede, And much take, and giue but small: But he it so get, from it shall shede, And make such false right foule fall.

They halow nothing but for hire Church, ne font, ne vestement, And make orders in every shire, But priestes pay for the parchment. Of riotours they taken rent, Therewith they smere the shepes skall: For many Churches ben oft suspent And all such falshed foule it fall.

Some liueth not in lecherie, But haunt wenches, widowes, and wiues, And punisheth the poore for putree. Them selfe it vseth all their liues: And but a man to them him shrives, To heuen come he neuer shall, He shall be cursed as be caitiues, To hell they saine that he shall fall.

There was more mercy in Maximien, And in Nero, that neuer was good, Than is now in some of them, When he hath on his furred hood. They follow Christ that shed his blood To heauen, as buckette into the wall: Such wretches ben worse than wood, And all such faitours foule hem fall.

They give her almes to the riche, To mainteynours, and men of lawe: For to lords they well be liche, An harlots sonne not worth an hawe Sothfastnesse all such han slawe: They kembe her crokettes with christall, And drede of God they haue doun drawe, All such faitours foule hem fall.

They maken parsons for the penny, And Canons, and her Cardinals, Vnnethes amonges hem all is any, That he ne hath glosed the gospell fals. For Christ made never no Cathedrals, Ne with him was no Cardinall, With a redde hatte as vsen minstrals. But falshede foule mote it befall.

Their tithing, and her offering both. They clemeth it by possession, Thereof nill they none forgo, But robben men as raunsome. The tithing of Turpe lucrum With these Maisters is vrniall. Tithing of brybry, and larson Will make falshood full foule to fall.

They taken to ferme her sompnours To harme the people what they may: To pardoners, and false faitours Sell her seales I dare well say: And all to holden great aray, To multiply hem more metall. They drede full little domes day, When all such falshed shall foule fall.

Such harlottes shul men disclaunder, For they shullen maken hem gree: And ben as proude as Alexander, And saine to the poore, woe be ye. By yere eche Priest shal pay his fee To encrease his lemmans call: Such heerdes shul wel iuel thee, And al such false shul foule fall.

And if a man be falsely famed, And wol make purgatioun, Than woll the officers be agramed, And assigne him fro toune to toun: So need he must pay raunsome, Though he be clene, as is Christall, And then have an absolution. But al such false shull foule fall.

Though he be giltie of the dede, And that he may money paie, Al the while his purse wol blede, He may vse it fro day to day: The Bishops officers gone ful gay, And this game they vsen ouer all, The poore to pill is all their pray. Al such false shull foule fall.

Alas, God ordained never such lawe Ne no such craft of couetise: He forbad it by his sawe, Such gouernours mowen of God agrise, For al his rules he is right wise, These new points ben papall, And all Gods law they dispise. All such faitours shull foule fall.

They saine that Peter had the key Of heuen and hel, to haue and hold, I trowe Peter tooke no money For no sinnes that he sold: Such successours ben to bold, In winning al their wit they wral, Her conscience is waxen cold: And al such faitours foule hem fal.

Peter was never so great a fole To leaue his key with such a lorell: Or take such a cursed tole, He was advised nothing well. I trowe they have the key of hell, Their Maister is of that place marshall, For there they dressen hem to dwell: And with false Lucifer there to fall.

They been as proud as Lucifarre, As angry and as enuious, From good faith they ben ful farre, In couetise they ben curious: To catch cattle as couetous As hound, that for hunger woll yall, Vngodly and vngracious, And needly such falshed shall foule fall.

The Pope and he were Peters heire, Me thinke he erreth in this case: When chose of Bishops is in despaire To chosen hem in diuers place: A lord shall write to him for grace, For his clerke anone pray he shall, So shall he speed his purchase. And all such false foule hem fall.

Though he can do no good, A lords prayer shall be sped: Though he be wild of will or wood, Not understanding what men han red: A leud boster, and that God forbed. * As good a bishop is my horse ball: Such a Pope is foule bested, And at last he woll foule fall.

He maketh bishops for earthly thanke, And nothing at all for Christs sake: Such that been full fat and ranke, To soule heale none heed they take. All is well done whateuer they make, They shall answere at ones for all, For worlds thanke such worch and wake. And all such false shall foule fall.

Such that cannot say her Crede, With prayer shall be made prelates, Nother can the Gospell rede, Such shull now weld high estates. The high gods friendship hem makes: They toteth on her summe totall, Such bere the keyes of hell yates. And such false shall foule fall.

They forsake for Christes loue Travaile, hunger, thirst, and cold, For they ben ordred ouer all aboue Out of youth till they ben old. By the dore they go not into the fold, To helpe their sheepe they nought trauall Hired men all such I hold, And all such false foule hem fall.

For Christ our king they woll forsake, And know him nought for his pouerte: For Christs loue they woll wake, And drinke piement and ale aparte. Of God they seeme nothing aferd, As lusty liueth as did Lamual, And driuen her sheepe into desert. All such faitours shul foule fal.

Christ hath xii. Apostles here, Now, say they, there may be but one, That may not erre in no manere, Who leueth not this ben lost echone. Peter erred, so did not Ihon: Why is he cleped the principal?

Christ cleped him Peter, but himselfe y^• stone: All false faitours foule hem fall.

Why cursen they the croisery Christs christen creatures? For betweene hem is now enuy To be enhaunsed in honours, And Christen liuers with her labours, For they leuin on no man mortal, Been do to death with dishonours. And al such false foule hem fal.

What knoweth a tillour at the plow The Popes name, and what he hate? His crede suffiseth to him inow, And knoweth a cardinall by his hatte, Thus is the poore vnrightly latte, That knoweth Christ his God royal, Such matters be not worth a gnatte. But such false faitours foule hem fal.

A king shall kneele and kisse his show: Christ suffered a sinful to kisse his fete. Me thinketh he holdeth him high ynow, So Lucifer did, that high set. Such one me thinketh himselfe foryet, Either to the trouth he was not cal Christ that suffered wounds wete, Shal make such falshed foule fal.

They laieth out her large nettes For to take siluer and gold: Fillen coffers, and sackes fettes, There as they soules catch shold. Her seruants be to them vnhold, But they can doublin their rentall To bigge hem castles, and bigge hem hold. And all such false foule hem fall.

¶Here endeth the first part of this Tale, the second part followeth.

TO accorde with this worde fall, No more English can I finde: Shewe another now I shall, For I haue much to say behinde: How priests han the people pinde, As curteis Christ hath me kende, And put this matter in my minde: To make these manner men amend.

Shortly to shend hem, and shew now How wrongfully they werch and walke: O high God, nothing they tell, ne how, But in Gods word tilleth many a balke: In hernes hold hem and in halke, And prechen of tithes and offrend, And vntruly of the Gospel talke. For his mercy God it amend.

What is Antichrist to say? But euen Christs aduersarie: Such hath now ben many a day To Christs bidding ful contrarie, That from the truth cleane vary, Out of the way they ben wend, And Christs people vntruly carry. God for his pitie it amend.

They liuen contrary to Christs life In high pride against meekenesse. Against suffraunce they vsen strife, And anger ayenst sobernesse, Against wisdome wilfulnesse: To Christs tales little tend, Against measure outrageousnesse. But when God wol it may amend.

Lordly life ayenst lowlinesse, And demin al without mercie, And couetise ayenst largesse, Against treweth trecherie: And against almesse enuie, Against Christ they comprehend, For chastitie they maintaine lecherie, God for his grace this amend.

Against pennaunce they vse delights, Against suffraunce strong defence, Ayenst God they vsen euil rights, Ayenst pitie punishments: Open euil ayenst continence, Her wicked winning they worse dispend, Sobernesse they sette into dispence. But God for his goodnesse it amend.

Why claimen they wholly his powere, And wranglen ayenst al his hests? His liuing folow they nothing here, But liuen worse than witlesse beests. Of fish and flesh they louen feests, As lords they ben brode ykend, Of Gods poore they haten gests. God for his mercy this amend.

With Diues such shal haue her dome, That saine that they be Christes friendes, And do nothing as they should done: All such been falser than ben fiends. On the people they ley such bendes. As God is in earth they han offend, Succour fro such Christ now send vs. And for his mercy this amend.

A token of Antichrist they be, His careckes ben now wide iknow, Receiued to preach shall no man be Without token of him I trow. Ech christen priest to preachen owe, From God aboue they ben send, Gods word to al folke for to show. Sinful man for to amend.

Christ sent the poore for to preach, The royall rich he did not so: Now dare no poore the people teach, For Antichrist is ouer all her foe. Among the people he mote go, He hath bidden all such suspend, Some hath he hent, and thinketh yet mo. But al this God may wel amend.

All they that han the world forsake, And liuen lowly, as God bad, Into her prison shullen be take, Betin and bounden, and forth lad. Hereof I rede no man be drad, Christ said, his should be shend: Ech man ought hereof be glad, For God ful wel it woll amend.

They take on hem royall powere, And say they haue swerds two, One curse to hel, one slee men here: For at his taking Christ had no mo. Yet Peter had one of tho, But Christ, to Peter smite gan defend, And into the sheath bad put it tho. And all such mischeues God amend.

Christ bad Peter keepe his sheepe, And with his sword forbade him smite: * Swerd is no toole with sheepe to keepe, But to shepheards that sheepe woll bite: Me thinketh such shepheards ben to wite, Ayen her sheepe with swerde that contend: They driue her sheepe with great despite. But all this God may well amend.

So successours to Peter be they noght, Whom Christ made cheefe pasture. A swerd no shepheard vsen ought, But he would flea, as a butchoure. For who so were Peters successoure, Should bere his shepe til his back bend, And shaddow hem from euery shoure And al this God may wel amend.

Successours to Peter ben these In that, that Peter Christ forsooke, That had leuer the loue of God lese, Than a shepheard had to lese his hooke: He culleth the sheepe as doth the Cooke Of hem seeken they woll to rend, And falsely glose the Gospell booke. God for his mercy them amend.

After Christ had take Peter the kay, Christ said, he must die for man: That Peter to Christ gan withsay, Christ bad him go behind Sathan: Such counsailours many of these men han, For worlds wele, God to offend Peters successours they ben for than. But al such God may wele amend.

For Sathan is to say no more, But he that contrary to Christ is, In this they learne Peters lore, They sewen him when he did misse. They follow Peter forsooth in this, In all that Christ would Peter reprehend, But not in that, that longeth to heuen blisse. God for his mercy hem amend.

Some of the Apostles they sewen in case Of ought that I can vnderstond, Him that betrayed Christ, Iudas, That bare the purse in euery lond: And al that he might set on hond, He hidde and stale, and mispend, His rule these traitours han in hond, Almightie God hem all amend.

And at the last his lord gan tray Cursedly through his false couetise: So would these traine him for money, And they wisten in what wise. They be seker of the selfe ensise, From all soothnesse they ben friend, And couetise chaungen with queintise: Almighty God all such amend.

Were Christ on earth here eftsoone, These would damne him to die: All his hestes they han fordone, And saine his sawes ben heresie: And ayenst his commaundements they crie, And damne all his to be brend, For it liketh not hem such losengerie. God almighty hem amend.

These han more might in England here, Than hath the King and all his lawe: They han purchased hem such powere, To taken hem whom list not knawe: And say that heresie is her sawe, And so to prison wol hem send: It was not so by elder dawe. God for his mercy it amend.

The kings law wol no man deme Angerliche without answere: But if any man these misqueme, He shall be baighteth as a bere: And yet wel worse they wol him tere, And in prison woll him pende, In giues, and in other gere. When God woll, it may amend.

The king taxeth not his men But by assent of the comminalte: But these ech yeare woll raunsome hem Maisterfully, more than doth he. Her seales by yeare better be, Than is the kings in extend, Her officers han greater fee. But this mischeefe God amend.

For who so woll pruve a testament, That is not all worth tenne pound, He shall pay for the parchement The third of the money all round. Thus the people is raunsound: They say such part to hem should apend, There as they gripen, it goeth to ground. God for his mercy it amend.

For a simple fornication Twenty shillings he shall pay, And then haue an absolution, And al the yere vsen it forth he may: Thus they letten hem go astray, They recke not though the soule be brend,

These keepen euill Peters kay. And all such shepheards God amend.

Wonder is, that the parliament And all the lords of this lond Here to taken so little entent, To helpe the people out of her hond: For they ben harder in their bond, Worse beat, and bitter brend, Than to the king is vnderstond. God him helpe this to amend.

What Bishops, what religions Lordshippes and possessions More than Lordes, it semeth me: That maketh hem lese charite: They mowe not to God attende, In earth they haue so high degre. God for his mercie it amende.

The Emperour yafe the Pope somtime So high lordeship him about, That at last the silly kime The proude Pope put him out. So of this Realme is in dout: But lordes beware, and them defende, For now these folkes be wonders stout. The King and Lordes now this amende.

Thus endeth the second part of this Tale, and hereafter followeth the third.

MOyses lawe forbode it tho, That priestes should no lordships welde: Christes gospell biddeth also, That they should no lordshippes held. Ne Christes Apostles were neuer so bold, No such Lordshippes to hem enbrace, But smeren her shepe and kepe her fold. God amend hem for his grace.

For they ne ben but conterfete, Men may know hem by her fruite, Her greatnesse maketh hem God foryete, And take his mekenesse in dispite: And they wer pore and had but lite, They nold not demen after the face, But nourish her shepe, and hem not bite. God amend him for his grace.

Griffon.

What canst thou preach ayenst Chanons, That men clepen seculere? Peli. They ben curates of many tounes, On earth they haue great powere: They haue great prebendes and dere, Some two or three, and some mo, A personage to ben a playing fere, And yet they serue the King also.

And let to ferme all that fare, To whom that woll most giue therefore, Some woll spend, and some woll spare, And some woll lay it vp in store. A cure of soule they care not fore, So that they mowe much money take, Whether her soules be wonne or lore. Her profites they woll not forsake.

They have a gadering procuratour, That can the poore people enplede, And robben hem as a rauinour, And to his Lord the money lede: And catch of quicke and eke of dede, And richen him, and his Lord eke, And to robbe can giue good rede, Of olde and yonge, of hole and sicke.

Therewith they purchase hem lay fee In londe, there hem liketh best, And builde also as brode as a cite Both in the East, and eke in the West: To purchase thus they ben full prest, But on the poore they woll nought spende, Ne no good giue to Goddes gest, Ne sende him some that all hath sende.

By her seruice such woll liue, And trusse that other into treasure: Though all her parish die vnshriue, They woll nat giue a rose floure. Her life should be as a mirrour, Both to lered and to leude also, And teach the people her lele labour, Soche mister men been all misgo.

Some of them been hard nigges, And some of hem been proude and gaie, Some spende her goodes vpon gigges, And finden hem of great araie: Alas, what thinke these men to saie, That thus dispenden Goddes good, At the dreadfull domes daie Soche wreches shull be worse than wood.

Some her churches neuer ne sie, Ne neuer o pennie, thider ne send, Though the poore parishens for hunger die, O pennie on hem woll they not spend: Haue they receiuing of the rent, They recke neuer of the remenaunt, Alas, the deuill hath cleane hem blent. Soche one is sathanas soiournaunt.

And vsen horedome and harlottrie, Couetise, pompe, and pride, Slothe, wrath. and eke enuie, And sewen sinne by euerie side. Alas, where thinke such tabide: How woll they accomptes yelde, From high God they mowe hem not hide. Soche willers witte is not worth a nelde.

They ben so rooted in richesses, That Christes pouert is foryet, Serued with so many messes, Hem thinketh that Munna is no mea••▪ All is good that they mowen geat: They wene to liue euermore, But when God at dome is seat, Such tresure is a feble store.

Vnneth mote they Matins saie For counting and courtholding: And yet he iangleth as a Iaie,

And vnderstont himselfe nothing. He woll serve both Erle and King For his finding and his fee, And hide his tithing & his offring, This is a feble charite.

Other they been proude, or couetous, Or they been hard, or hungrie: Or they ben liberall, or lecherous, Or els medlers with marchandry: Or mainteiners of men with mastry, Or stewardes, countours, or pleadours, And serue God in Ypocrisie: Soch Priests been Christes false traitours.

They been false, they been vengeable, And begilen men in Christs name: They been vnstedfast and vnstable, To traie her Lord, hem thinketh no shame. To serue God they been full lame, Gods theeues, and falsely steale, And falsely Gods worde defame: In winning is her worldes weale.

Antichrist these serue all. I praie thee who may say naie? With Antichrist soch shull fall, They followen him in deede and faie: They seruen him in rich arraie, To serue Christ such falsely fain, Why, at the dreadfull domes day Shull they not folowe him to paine?

That knowen hem selfe that they doen ill Ayenst Christes commaundement, And amend hem neuer ne will, But serue sathan by one assent? Who saieth sothe he shall be shent, Or speaketh ayenst her false liuing: Who so well liueth shall be brent, For soch been greater than the king.

Popes, Bishops, and Cardinals, Chanons, Parsons, and Vicare In Goddes seruice I trowe been fals, That Sacraments sellen here: And been as proude as Lucifere, Eche man looke whether that I lie, Who so speketh ayenst her powere, It shall be holden heresie.

Loke how many orders take Onely of Christ, for his seruice, That the worldes goodes forsake: Who so taketh orders otherwise, I trow that they shall sore agrise, For all the glose that they conne, All sewen not this 〈◊〉〈◊〉, In euill time they thus begonne.

Loke how many emong hem all Holden not this hie waie, With Antichrist they shullen fall: For they wullen God betraie. God amende them that best maie: For many men they maken shende, They weten well the sothe I say. But the deuill hath foule hem blende.

Some on her churches dwell Apparailled poorely, proude of port: The seuen sacraments they doen sell, In cattell catching is her comfort: Of ech matter they wollen mell, To doen hem wrong is her disport, To afraie the people they been fell, And hold hem lower than doeth the Lord.

For the tithing of a Ducke Or of an Apple, or an Aie, They make men swere vpon a boke, Thus they foulen Christes faie. Soche bearen euill heauen kaie: They mowen assoile, they mowe shriue, With mennes wiues strongly plaie, With true tillers sturte and striue,

At the wrastling, and at the wake. And chiefe chauntours at the nale Market beaters, and medling make, Hoppen and houten with heue and hale: At faire fresh, and at wine stale: Dine and drinke, and make debate: The seuen sacraments set a saile, How kepe soche the kaies of heauen gate?

Mennes wiues they wollen hold, And though that they been right sorye, To speake they shull not be so bold, For sompning to the Consistorye: And make hem saie mouth I lie, Though they it sawe with her iye, His lemman holden openly, No man so hardy to aske why.

He woll haue tithing and offring Maugre whosoeuer it grutch: And twise on the day he woll sing, Goddes priestes nere none soche. He mote on hunting with dogge and bitch, And blowen his horne, and crien hey, And sorcerie vsen as a Witch. Soche kepen euill Peters key.

Yet they mote haue some stocke or stone, Gaily painted, and proudly dight, To maken men leuen vpon, And saie that it is full of might: About such men set vp great light, Other soche stockes shull stande thereby, As darke as it were midnight, For it ma••e make no mastrie.

That it leud people see mow: Thou Mary, thou worchest wonder things: About that, that men offren to now, Hongen broches, ouches, and rings. The priest purchaseth the offerings, But he nill offer to none Image: Woe is the soule that he for sings, That preacheth for soche a pilgrimage.

To men and women that been poore, That been Christes owne likenesse Men shullen offer at her doore, That suffer hunger and distresse: And to soche Images offer lesse, That mow not feele thurst ne cold, The poore in spirite gan Christ blesse. Therefore offreth to feble and old.

Bucklers brode, and sweardes long Baudrike, with baselardes kene, Soche toles about her necke they hong: With Antichrist soche priestes been. Vpon her deedes it is well seen Whome they serven, whom they honouren, Antichristes they been clene, And Goddes goodes falsely devouren.

Of scarlet and grene gaie gounes, That mote be shape of the newe: To clippen & kissen they counten in tounes The damoseles that to the daunce sewe. Cutted clothes to shewe her hewe, With long pikes on her shone, Our Goddes Gospell is not true, Either they serven the devill or none.

Now been priestes pokes so wide, That men must enlarge the vestiment: The holy Gospell they doen hide, For they contrarien in raiment. Soche priestes of Lucifer been sent, Like conquerours they been araied, The proude pendaunts at her ars is ipent. Falsely the truth they han betraied.

Shrift silver soche wollen aske And woll men crepe to the crouche None of the Sacraments save aske Without mede shall no man touch: On her Bishop their warant vouch That is lawe of the decre: With mede and money thus they mouch. And this they sain is charite.

In the middes of her Masse They nill have no man but for hire: And full shortly let forth passe, Such shull men find in each shire, That Personages for profite desire, To live in liking and in lusts: I dare not saine, Sans ose ie dire. That such been Antichrists priests.

For they yef the bishops why, Or they mote been in his service: And holden forth her harlottry, Such prelates been of feeble emprise. Of Gods graine such men agrise, For such matters that taken mede: How they excuse hem, and in what wise, Me thinketh they ought greatly drede.

They s••ine that it to no man longeth To reprove them though they erre: But falsely Goddes goodes they fongeth And therewith meintein wo and warre. Her deedes should be as bright as sterre, Her living leud mannes ••ight: They say the Pope may not erre, Nede must that passe mannes might.

Though a priest lye with his lemman all night, And tellen his felowe, and he him, He goth to Masse anon right, And saieth he singeth out of sinne: His birde abideth him at his Inne, And dighteth his diner the meane while, He singeth his Masse for he would winne, And so he weneth God begile.

Hem thinketh long till they be met, And that they usen forth all the yere, Emong the folke whan he is set, He holdeth no man halfe his pere: Of the Bishop he hath powere To soile men, or els they been lore, His absolution may them skere, And wo is the soule that he singeth for.

The Griffon began for to threte, And saied, of Monkes canst thou ought? The Pellican said, they been full grete, And in this world much wo hath wrought: Saint Benet, that her order brought, Ne made hem neuer on such mannere, I trowe it came never in his thought, That they should use so great powere.

That a man should a Monke lord call, Ne serve on knees, as a king: He is as proud as prince in pall, In meat, and drinke, and all thing: Some wearen mitre and ring, With double Worsted well ydight, With royall meat and rich drinke, And rideth on a courser as a knight.

With hauke and with hounds eke, With brooches or ouches on his hood: Some say no Masse in all a weeke, Of deinties is her most food. They have lordships and bondmen: This is a royall religion. Saint Benet made never none of hem To have lordship of man ne toun.

Now they ben queint and curious, With fine cloth clad, and served cleane: Proud, angrie, and envious, Mallice is much that they meane. In catching, craftie and covetous, Lordly they liven in great liking, This living is not religious, According to Benet in his living.

They ben clerkes, her courts they oversee, Her poore tenaunce fully they slite: The higher that a man amerced be, The gladlier they woll it write: This is farre from Christes poverty, For all with covetise they endite,

On the poore they have no pity, Ne never hem cherish, but ever hem bite.

And commonly such been comen Of poore people, and of hem begete, That this perfection han inomen, Her fathers riden not but on her fete, And travailen sore for that they eate, In povert liveth yong and old: Her fathers suffreth drought and weate, Many hungrie meales, thurst, and cold.

And all this these Monkes han forsake For Christes love and saint Benete: To pride and ease have hem take, This religion is evill beseate: Had they been out of religion, They must have hanged at the plowe, Threshing and diking fro toune to toune With sorrie meat, and not half ynowe.

Therefore they han this all forsake, And taken to riches, pride and ease: Full few for God woll Monkes hem make, Little is such order for to praise: Saint Benet ordained it not so, But bad hem be churchliche, In churchliche manner live and go, Boistous in earth, and not lordliche.

They disclaunder saint Benet, Therefore they have his holy curse: Saint Benet with hem never met, But if they thought to robbe his purse. I can no more hereof tell, But they ben like tho before, And cleane serve the devill of hell, And ben his treasure and his store.

And all such other counterfaitours, Chanons, Canons, and such disguised, Been Gods enemies and traitours, His true religion han foule despised. Of Freres I have told before In a making of a Crede, And yet I could tell worse and more, But men would werien it to rede.

As Gods goodnesse no man tell might, Write ne speake, ne thinke in thought, So her falshed, and her unright, May no man tell that ever God wrought. The Griffon saied, thou canst no good, Thou came never of no gentle kind, Other I trowe thou waxest wood, Or els thou hast lost thy mind.

Should holy church have no hedde? Who should be her governaile? Who should her rule, who should her redde? Who should her forthren, who should availe? * Ech man shall live by his travaile, Who best doeth, shall have most mede: * With strength if men the church assaile, With strength men must defend her nede.

And the Pope were purely poore, Needie, and nothing ne had, He should be driven from doore to doore, The wicked of him nolde not be drad: Of such an head men would be sad, And sinfully liven as hem lust: With strength to amend such be made, * With wepen Wolves from sheep be wust.

If the Pope and Prelates would So begge, and bid, bow, and borrow, Holy church should stand full cold, Her servaunts sit and soupe sorrow: And they were noughtie foule and horow, To worship God men would wlate: Both on even and on morow Such harlottrie men would hate.

Therefore men of holy church Should be honest in all thing, Worshipfully Gods workes werch. So seemeth it to serve Christ her king In honest and in cleane clothing, With vessels of gold and clothes rich, To God honestly to make offring: To his Lordship none is liche.

The Pellican cast a huge crie, * And saied, alas, why saiest thou so: Christ is our head that sitteth on hie, Heads ne ought we have no mo: We ben his members both also, And father he taught us to call him als, Maisters to be called defended he tho: All other maisters ben wicked and fals,

That taketh maisterie in his name, Ghostly, and for earthly good: Kings and lord should lordships have, And rule the people with mild mood. * Christ for us that shed his blood Bad his priests no maistership have, Ne carke not for cloth ne food, From every mischeefe he will hem save.

Her rich clothing shall be rightwisnesse, Her treasure true life shall be: Charity shall be her richesse, Her Lordship shall be unite: Hope in God her honeste, Her vessel cleane conscience, Poore in spirit, and humilite, Shall be holy churches defence.

What, saied the Griffon, may thee greve, That other folkes faren wele? What hast thou to doen with her live? Thy falshed ech man may fele. For thou canst no cattle gete, But livest in lond as a lorell, With glosing gettest thou thy mete: So fareth the devill that wonneth in hell.

He would that ech man there should dwell. For he liveth in cleane envie, So with the tales that thou doest tell

Thou wouldest other people destrie With your glose, and your heresie: For ye can live no better life, But cleane in Hypocrisie, And bringest thee in woe and strife.

And therewith have not to doen. For ye ne have here no cure: Ye serve the Devill, neither God ne man, And he shall pay you your hire. For ye woll fare well at feastes, And warme clothed for the cold, Therefore ye glose Goddes heestes, And begile the people yong and old.

And all the seaven Sacraments Ye speake ayenst, as ye were slie: Ayenst tithinges, offringes, with your en∣tents, And on our Lordes bodie falsely lie. And all this ye doen to live in ease, As who saieth, there been no ne soche: And sain the Pope is not worth a pease, To make the people ayen him groche.

And this commeth in by fendes To bring the christen in distaunce: For they would that no man were frendes. Leave thy chattring with mischaunce: * If thou live well, what wilt thou more? Let other men live as hem list, Spende in good, or keepe in store: Other mens conscience never thou nist.

Ye han no cure to answere fore: What meddle ye, that han not to doen? Let men live as they han doen yore, For thou shalt answere for no man. The Pellican sayd, sir, naie, I dispised not the Pope: Ne no Sacrament, soth to saie, But speake in charite and good hope.

But I dispise her hye pride, Her richesse, that should be poore in spirite: Her wickednesse is known so wide, They serve God in false habite: And tournen mekenesse into pride, And lowlinesse into high degree, And Goddes wordes tourne and hide. And that am I moved by charite.

To let men to live so, With all my cunning and my might, And to warne men of her wo, And to tellen hem trouth and right. The Sacraments be soule heale, If they been used in good use, Ayenst that speake I never a deale: For then were I nothing wise.

But they that usen hem in misse manere, Or set hem up to any sale, I trow they shall abie hem dere, This is my reason, this is my tale: Who so taketh hem unrightfulliche Ayenst the ten commaundements, Or by glose wrechedliche Selleth any of the Sacraments,

I trow they doe the devill homage, In that they weten they doe wrong: And thereto I dare well wage, They serven Sathan for all her song. To tithen and offren is holesome life, So it be done in due manere: A man to houselin, and to shrive, Wedding, and all the other in fere,

So it be nother sold ne bought, Ne take ne give for covertise: And it be so taken, it is nought, Who selleth hem so, may sore agrise. On our Lords body I doe not lie, I say sooth through true rede, His flesh and blood through his misterie Is there, in the forme of brede:

How it is there, it needeth not strive, Whether it be sunget or accident, But as Christ was, when he was on live, So is he there verament: If Pope or Cardinal live good live, As Christ commaunded in his Gospell, Ayenst that woll I not strive: But methinketh they live not well.

For if the Pope lived as God bedde, Pride and highnesse he should dispise, Richesse, covetise, and croune on hedde, Meeknesse and poverte he should use. The Griffon saied he should abie, Thou shalt be brent in balefull fire, And all thy sect I shall destrie, Ye shall be hanged by the swire.

Ye shullen be hanged and to draw, Who giveth you leave for to preach Or speake against Gods law, And the people thus falsely teach? Thou shalt be cursed with booke and bell, And discevered from holy church, And cleane ydamned into hell, Otherwise but ye woll worch.

The Pellican saied, that I ne drede, Your cursing is of little value. Of God I hope to have my mede, For it is falshed that ye sewe. For ye been out of charite, And wilneth vengeaunce, as did Nero: To suffren I woll ready be, I drede not that thou canst do.

Christ bad ones suffer for his love: And so he taught all his servaunts, And but thou amend for his sake above, I drede not all thy maintenaunce. For if I drede the worlds hate, Me thinketh I were little to praise. I drede nothing your high estate, Ne I drede not your disease.

Woll ye tourne and leave your pride, Your high port, and your richesse, Your cursing should not go so wide, God bring you into rightwisenesse: For I drede not your tyrannie, For nothing that ye can done, To suffer I am all readie, Siker I recke never how soone.

The Griffon grinned as he were wood, And loked lovely as an Owle, And swore by cocks heart blood, He would him teare every doule: Holy church thou disclaundrest foule, For thy reasons I woll thee all to race, And make thy flesh to rot and moule, Losell, thou shalt have hard grace.

The Griffon fiew forth on his way. The Pellican did sit and weepe, And to himselfe he gan say: God would that any of Christs sheepe Had heard, and ytaken keepe Of each word that here saied was, And would it write and well it keepe: God would it were all for his grace.

Plowman.

I answerd, and saied I would, If for my travaile any man would pey: Pelli. He saied yes, these that God han sold, For they han store of money: Plowman. I saied, tell me and thou may, Why tellest thou mens trespas? Pellican. He said, to amend hem in good fay, If God woll give me any grace.

For Christ himselfe is likned to me, That for his people died on rood: As fare I, right so fareth he, He feedeth his birds with his blood. But these doen evill ayenst good, And ben his foen under friends face, I told hem how her living stood: God amend hem for his grace.

Plowman.

What aileth the Griffon, tell why That he holdeth on the other side? Pelli. For they two been likely, And with her kinds roven wide. The foule betokeneth pride: As Lucifer, that high flew was, And sith he did him in evill hide: For he agilted Gods grace.

As bird flieth up in the aire, And liveth by birds that been meke So these been flow up into despaire, And shenden silly foules eke: The soules that been in sinnes seke, He culieth hem kneele: therefore alas. For briberie Gods forbode breke: God amend it for his grace.

The hinder part is a Lioun, A robber and a ravinere, That robbeth the people in earth doun, And in earth holdeth none his pere: So fareth this foule both ferre and nere, And with temporell strength y^e people chase, As a Lion proud in earth here. God amend him for his grace.

Pellican.

He flew forth with his wings twaine, All droping, dased, and dull: But soone the Griffon came againe, Of his foules the earth was full: The Pellican he had cast to pull, So great a number never seene there was, What manner of foules tellen I woll, If God woll give me of his grace.

With the Griffon comen foules fele, Ravins, Rokes, Crowes, and Pie, Gray foules, agadred wele, I gurde above they would hie: Gledes and Buzzards weren hem by, White moles & puttockes token her place, And lapwings, that well conneth lie, This fellowship han forgard her grace.

Long the Pellican was out, But at last he commeth againe: And brought with him the Phenix stout, The Griffon would have flow full faine: His foules that flewen as thicke as raine, The Phenix tho began hem chace, To flie from him it was in vaine, For he did vengeaunce and no grace.

He slew hem downe without mercie, There a start neither free ne thrall, On him they cast a rufull crie, When the Griffon down was fall: He beat hem not, but slew hem all, Whither he hem drove, no man may trace: Vnder the earth me thought they yall, Alas they had a feeble grace.

The Pellican then asked right, For my writing if I have blame, Who woll for me fight or flight? Who shall sheld me from shame? He that had a maid to dame, And the lambe that slaine was Shall sheld me from ghostly blame, For earthly harme is gods grace.

Therefore I pray every man, Of my writting have me excused: This writing writeth the Pellican, That thus these people hath dispised. For I am fresh fully advised, I nill not maintaine his manace. For the devill is often disguised, To bring a man to evill grace.

Witeth the Pellican and not me, For hereof I nill not avow: In high ne in low, ne in no degree, But as a fable take it ye mowe: To holy church I will me bow, Ech man to amend him Christ send space: And for my writing me allow He that is almighty for his grace.

¶The Parsons Prologue.

BY that the Plowman had his tale ended, The sunne fro y^e south side is descended, So low, that it was not to my sight Degrees of five and twenty on hight Two a clocke it was, so as I gesse, For eleven foot, a lite more or lesse, My shadow was at that time, as there Of such feet as my length parted were In sixe feet equall of proportion: Therewith the moones exaltation, I meane Taurus, alway gan ascend, As we were entring at the thropes end: For which our Hoste, as he was wont to gie Aye in this case, this jolly companie Said in this wise, lordings everichone Now lacketh us no tale more than one: Fullfilled is my sentence and my decree. Who woll now tell us a tale, let see: Almost fulfilled is my ordinance: I pray to God so yeve him right good chance, That telleth his tale to us lustely. Sir priest (qd. he) art thou a vicary, Or art thou a Parson, say sooth by thy fay, Be what thou be, breke thou not our play. For every man, save thou, hath told his tale, Vnbokell, and shew us what is in thy male. For truly me thinketh by thy chere, Thou shouldest knit up well a great matere. Tell us a fable anon, for cockes bones. This Parson him answerd all at ones: Thou gettest fable none told of me, For Poule, that writeth to Timothe, Repreveth hem that waiven soothfastnesse, And teachen fables, and such wretchednesse. * Why should I sow draffe out of my fist, When I may sow wheat, if that me list? For which I say, if that ye list to here Morality, and of vertuous matere, And then, if ye wol yeve me audience, I would full faine at Christs reverence Done you pleasaunce lefull, as I can: But trusteth well, I am a sotherne man, I cannot jeast, rum, ram, ruf, by letter, And God wote, rime hold I but little better. And therefore if ye list, I woll not glose, I woll you tell a little tale in prose, To knit up all this feast, and make an end: And Iesu for his grace wit me send To shew you the way in this voyage Of thilke perfite glorious pilgrimage, That hight Hierusalem celestial. And if you vouchsafe, anon I shall Begin upon my tale, for which I pray Tell your advise, I cannot better say. But nathelesse, this meditation I put it aye under the correction Of clerkes, for I am not textuell, I take but the sentence, trusteth well. Therefore I make protestation, That I woll stand to correction. Vpon this word we have assented sone: For as it seemed, it was for to done, To end in some vertuous sentence, And for to yeve him space and audience: And bad our host he should to him say, That all we to tell his tale him pray. Our host had the words for us all: Sir priest (qd. he) now faire mote you befall, Say y^• what ye list, & we shall gladly here. And with that word he said in this manere. Telleth (qd. he) your meditatioun, But hasteth you, the sunne woll adoun. Beth fructuous, and that in little space, And to do well God send you his grace.

¶The Parsons Tale.

A Sermon against divers grievous Sins, and reme∣dies for the same, persuading men to penitence.

Ieremie .vi. State super vias, & videte, & interro∣gate de semitis antiquis, quae sit via bona, & ambulate in ea: & invenietis refrigerium ani∣mabus vestris.

OVR sweet Lord God of Heaven, that no man woll perish, but woll that we turne all to the knoweledge of him, and to the blisfull life that is perdurable, admonisheth us by the Pro∣phet Ieremie, that sayeth in this wise: * Stondeth upon the wayes, and seeth and asketh of old pathes: that is to saie, of olde sentences, which is the good way, and walketh in that way, and yee shall finde re∣freshing for your soules, &c. Many been the wayes espirituels that leade folke to our Lord Iesu Christ, and to the reigne of glo∣ry: Of which wayes, there is a full noble way, and full covenable, which may not faile to man ne to woman, that through sinne hath misgone fro the right way of Hierusalem celestiall: and this way is cal∣led penitence, of which, manne should glad∣ly hearken and enquire with all his hert, to wete, what is penitence, and which is cal∣led penitence, and how many manners been of actions or werkinges of penitence, and how manie speces there been of penitence, and which thinges appertain and behoove to penitence, and which thinges distourbe penitence.

Saint Ambrose saith, * That penitence is the plaining of man for the guilt that he hath done, and no more to do any thing for which him ought to playne. And some Doctours sayth, Penitence is the waymenting of man that sorroweth for his sume, and paineth him self, for he hath misdone. Penitence with certain circumstaunces, is very repentance of a man that holt himself in sorrow, & other paine for his guiltes: and for he shall be very penitent, he shall first bewaile sinnes that hee hath done, and stedfastly purpose in his heart to have shrift of mouth, and to do satisfacti∣on, and never to doe thing, for which him ought more bewayle or complaine, and con∣tinue in good works: or els his repentaunce may not availe. For as Saint Isiodor saith, * He is a yaper and a lyer, and no very repen∣taunt,

y^t e••tsoone doth thing, for which him ought repent. Weeping, and not for to stint to doe sinne, may not auaile: But nathelesse, men shall hope, that at euery time that man falleth, bee it neuer so oft, that hee may arise through pennaunce, if he haue grace: but cer∣taine, it is great doubt, for as saith saint Gre∣gorie: * Vnnethes ariseth he out of sin, y^t is charged with y^• charge of euill vsage. * And therefore repentaunt folke, that stint for to sinne, and leue sinne or sinne leaue them, holy Church holdeth them siker of their saluation. * And he that sinneth, & verely repenteth him in his last end: holy Church yet hopeth his saluation, by the great mercy of our Lord Ie∣sus Christ, for his repentaunce: but take the siker way.

And now sith I haue declared you, what thing is Penitence: now ye shall vnderstond, that there beene three actions of Penitence. The first is, that a manne be baptised after that he hath sinned. Saint Augustine sayth, * But he be penitent for his old sinnefull life, hee may not biginne the new cleane life: For certes, if he be baptised without penitence of his old guilt, he retaineth y^e marke of bap∣tisme, but not y^e grace, ne y^e remission of his sins, till hee haue very repentaunce. Another default is this, y^t men doe deadly sinne after that they haue receiued baptisme. The third default is this, y^t men fall in veniall sinnes after her baptisme, fro day to day. Thereof sayeth Saint Augustine, * That penitence of good and humble folk, is the penitence of eue∣ry day.

The speces of penitence ben three: That one of hem is solemne, another is commune, and the third is priuie. That pennaunce y^t is solemne, is in two manners: As to be put out of holy church in lent, for slaughter of children, & such manner thing. Another is when a man hath sinned openly, of which sinne the fame is openly spoken in the country: & then holy church by judgement distrayneth him for to do open pennaunce.

Common pennaunce is, y^t priests enioyn men in certaine case: as for to go perauen∣ture naked in pilgrimage, or bare foot. Priuie pennaunce is that, y^t men doe all day for pri∣uie sins, of which we shriue vs priuily, and re∣ceiue priuie pennaunce.

Now shalt thou vnderstond what is be∣houeful & necessary to very perfit penitence: & this stont on three things. * Contrition of hart, confession of mouth, & satisfaction. For which sayth saint Iohn Chrisostome: * Peni∣tence disstraineth a man to accept benignely every paine y^• him is enioined, with contri∣tion of hert, & shrift of mouth, with satisfac∣tion: & in werking of all manner humility. And this is fruitfull penitence ayenst three things, in which wee wrath our Lord Iesus Christ: this is to say, By delite in thinking, by retchlesse in speaking, and by wicked sin∣full werking. And ayenst these wicked guilts is penitence, that may be likened vnto a tree:

* The root of this tree is contrition, y^• hi∣deth him in the heart of him that is very re∣pentaunt, right as the root of the tree hideth him in the earth. Of this roote of contrition springeth a stalke, that bereth braunches and leaues of confession, and fruit of satisfaction. For which Christ sayth in his gospell: * Doth digne fruite of penitence, for by this fruite men may knowe the tree, and not by the root that is hid in the heart of manne, ne by the braunches, ne the leaues of confession. And therefore our lord Iesu Christ saith thus: By the fruit of hem shall ye knowe hem. Of this root also springeth a seede of grace, the which seed is mother of all sikernesse, & this seed is eager & hote. The grace of this seed springeth of God, through remembraunce on y^• day of doome, and on the paines of hell. Of this mat∣ter saith Salomon, * That in y^e drede of God man forletteth his sinne. The heat of this seed is y^e loue of God, and the desiring of the joy perdurable: This heat draweth the heart of man to God, & doth him hate his sinne: For soothly there is nothing that sauoureth so wel to a child, as y^e milke of his nurce, ne no∣thing is to him more abhominable than that milke, when it is meddled with other meate. Right so the sinfull man y^• loueth his sinne, him seemeth, that it is to him most sweete of any thing: but fro y^t time hee loueth sadly our lord Iesu Christ, and desireth y^e life per∣durable, there is to him nothing more abho∣minable: for soothly, The law of God is y^e loue of God. For which Dauid the prophet sayth: I haue loued thy law, and hated wickednesse: He that loueth God, keepeth his lawe & his word.

This tree saw the Prophet Daniel in spi∣rit, on y^e vision of Nabuchodonosor, when he counsayled him to doe penitence. Pennaunce is the tree of life, to hem that it receyue: & he that holdeth him in very penitence, is bles∣sed, after the sentence of Salomon. In this penitence or contrition, man shall vnderstond foure things, that is to say: What is contri∣tion, and which beene y^e causes that moove a man to contrition, & how hee should be con∣trite, and what contrition auayleth to the soule. Then is it thus, that contrition is y^• very sorrow y^t a man receiueth in his heart for his sinnes, with sad purpose to shriue him, and to doe pennaunce, & neuer more to doe sinne: And this sorrow shal be in this manner, as sayeth Saint Bernard, * It shall be heauie and greeuous, and full sharpe & poinant in heart.

First, for a man hath agilted his Lord & his Creator, and more sharpe and poinaunt, for he hath agilted his father celestiall: And yet more sharpe and poynaunt, for hee hath wrathed and agilted him that boughte him, that with his precious bloud hath deliuered vs fro the bondes of sinne, and fro y^e cruelte of the deuill, and from the paines of hell.

The causes y^t ought moue a man to con∣tricion bene fixe. First, a man shall remembre

him of his sinnes, But loke that that remem∣braunce ne bee to him no delite, by no waye, but greate shame and sorowe for his sinnes. For Iob sayth, sinfull men done werkes wor∣thie of confession. And therefore sayeth Eze∣chiell: * I woll remember me all y^e yeres of my life, in the bitternesse of my herte. And God saieth in the Apocalipse: Remember ye from whence that ye been fall, for before that time that ye sinned, ye were children of God, and limmes of the reigne of God: But for your sinne ye ben waren thral and foule, & mem∣bres of y^e fende: hate of Angels, slaunder of holye churche, and foode of the false Serpent, perpetuall matter of the fire of hell: And yet more foule and abhominable, for ye trespasse so oft times, as doeth an hounde that retur∣neth ayen to eate his owne spewing: & yet be ye fouler, for your long continuing in sinne, and your sinfull vsage, for which ye bee roted in your sinne, as a beeste in his donge. Suche manner of thoughtes make a manne to have shame of his sinne, & no delite. As God saith, by y^e Prophet Ezechiel: * Ye shall remembre you of your ways, and they shull displese you sothly. Sinnes ben the waies that lede folke to Hell.

THe second cause that ought make a man to have disdaine of sinne is this, that as saith saint Peter: * Who so doth sinne, is thrall of sinne, and sinne putteth a manne in great thraldome. And therefore saieth the prophet Ezechiell: * I went sorrowfull, in dis∣daine of my selfe. Certes, well ought a man have disdaine of sinne, and withdrawe him fro that thraldome and villany. And lo, w^t saieth Seneke in this matter, he saith thus: * Though I wist, that neither God ne manne should neuer know it, yet would I have dis∣daine for to doe sinne. And the same Seneke also sayeth: * I am borne to greater thinge, than to be thrall to my body, or for to make of my body a thrall. Ne a fouler thrall may no man ne woman make of his bodie, than for to yeue his body to sinne, all were it the fou∣lest churle, or the foulest woman that liueth, and least of value, yet is he then more foule, and more in seruitude. Euer fro the higher degree y^t man falleth, the more is he thrall, and more to God and to the world vile and abhominable. O good God, well ought man have great disdaine of sinne, sith y^t through sinne, there hee was free, he is made bond. And therefore saieth saint Augustine: * If thou hast disdaine of thy seruaunt, if hee offend or sinne, have thou then disdaine, that thou thy selfe shouldest do sinne. Take regard of thine own value, that thou ne bee too foule to thy selfe. Alas, well ought they then have dis∣daine to bee seruaunts and thralles to sinne, and sore to be ashamed of themself, that God of his endlesse goodnesse hath sette in high estate, or yeue hem witte, strength of bodye, heale, beautie, or prosperitie, and bought hem fro the death with his hert blood, that they so vnkindly ayenst his gentlenesse, quite him so villanously, to slaughter of her owne soules. Oh good God, ye women that been of great beautie, remembreth you on the prouerbe of Salomon, * He saieth he likeneth a faire wo∣man, that is a foole of her bodie, to a ring of gold that were worne on the groine of a sow: For right as a sowe wroteth in euery ordure, so wroteth she her beautie in stinking ordure of sinne.

THe third cause that ought meue a man to contrition, is dread of the day of doome, and of the horrible pains of hell. For as saint Ierome sayeth: * At euery time that me remembreth of the day of doome, I quake: For when I eate and drinke, or what so that I do, euer seemeth me y^• the trompe sowneth in mine eare: Riseth ye vp that been ded, and cometh to the judgement. O good God, muche ought a manne to drede such a judgment, there as we shall be all, * as Saint Poule sayeth, before the seat of oure Lorde Iesu Christ, whereas he shal make a generall congregation, whereas no man may bee ab∣sent, for certes there auaileth none essoyne ne excusation, and not onely, that our defaults shall be judged, but also that all our werkes shall openly be knowne. And as sayeth saint Bernard, * There ne shall no pleading auaile, ne no sleight: We shall yeue reckoning of eue∣rie idle word. There shall we haue a judge that may not bee deceiued ne corrupt, and why? For certes, all our thoughts been disco∣uered, as to him: ne for prayer ne for mede, he shall not be corrupt. And therefore saith Sa∣lomon: * The wrath of God ne woll not spare no wight, for prayer ne for yeft. And there∣fore at the day of doome there is no hope to escape. Wherfore, as saith saint Anselme: * Full great anguish shall y^e sinnefull folke haue at y^t time: There shall y^e fiers & wroth iudge sitte aboue, and vnder him the horrible pitte of hell open, to destroy him y^t must be knowe his sinnes, which sinnes openly beene shewed before God & before euery creature: And on the left side, mo Diuels than anie heart may thinke, for to hale and drawe the sinfull soules to the paine of hell: and within the hearts of folke shall be the biting consci∣ence, and without forth shall bee the world all brenning: whither shall then the wretched sinful man flie to hide him? Certes he may not hide him, he must come forth and shewe him. For certes, as saith S. Ierom, the earth shall cast him out of it, and the see also, and y^• ayre that shall be ful of thonder clappes and light∣nings. Now sothly, who so well remembreth him of these thinges, I gesse that his sinne shall not turne him in delite, but to great sor∣rowe, for drede of the paine of hell. And there∣fore saith Iob to God: * suffer lord y^t I may a while bewaile and wepe, er I goe without returning to the darke londe, couered with the derkenesse of death, to the londe of misese and of derkenesse, whereas is the shadowe of

death, where as there is none order or ordi∣naunce, but fearfull drede that ever shall last. Lo, here may you see, that Iob prayed respite a while, to bewepe and waile his trespasse: For sothely one day of respite is better than all the treasure of this world. And for as much as a man may acquite himselfe before god by pe∣nitence in this world, & not by treasure, there∣fore should he pray to God to yeue him respite a while, to bewepe & waile his trespasse: for certes, all the sorow that a man might make fro y^• beginning of the world, nis but a little thing, at regarde of the sorrow of hell. The cause why that Iob calleth hell the londe of derkenesse, understondeth that he calleth it londe or earth, for it is stable and never shall faile, & derke: For he that is in hell hath de∣faute of light materiall, for certes the derke light that shall come out of the fire that ever shall brenne, shall turn him all to pain y^e is in hell, for it sheweth him to the horrible Di∣uels that him turmenteth, covered with y^e derkenesse of death, that is to say, * That hee that is in hell, shall have defaut of y^e sight of God: for certes the sight of god is y^e life per∣durable. The derknes of death, been y^• sins that y^e wretched man hath don, which that disturb him to see y^e face of God, right as the derke cloud betwixt us and y^• sunne. Londe of misese, because y^t there been three maner of defautes ayenst three things that folke of this world have in this present life, that is to say: honours, delices, & richesse. Ayenst ho∣nour have they in hell shame and confusion: For well ye wote, that men call honour y^e re∣verence y^• man doth to man, but in hell is none honour ne reverence. For certes no more reverence shal be do there to a king, than to a knave. For which God sayth by the Prophet Ieremie: Those folke that me dispise, shal be in dispite. Honour is also called great lorde∣ship: there shall no wight serve other: but of harme and turment. Honour is also called great dignitie and highnesse, but in hell shall they be all fortroden of divels. As God saith: the horrible Devils shall goe and come upon the heddes of damned folke: and this is, for as much as the higher that they were in this present life, y^• more shall they be abated and defoiled in hell. Ayenste the richesse of this world shall they have misese of poverte, that shall be in four thinges. In defaut of trea∣sure. Of which David saith: * The rich folk that embrace & knit all her hert to treasour of this world, shall sleep in the sleeping of death, and nothing ne shull they find in her hondes of all her tresour. And moreover, y^e misease of hell shall be in defaut of meat and drinke. For God sayeth thus by Moyses: * They shall bee wasted with hunger, and the byrdes of hell shall devour hem with bitter death, and y^e gall of the Dragon shall be her drinke, and y^• venum of the Dragon her mor∣sels. Also her misease shall be in defaut of clo∣thing, for they shall be naked in bodie, as of clothing, saue the fire in which they brenne, and other filthes: and naked shall they be of soule, of all manner vertues, which that is y^e clothing of the soule, Where been than the gay robes, y^e soft shetes, and y^e small sherts? Lo, what sayth God of hem by the Prophet Esaie, * That under hem shall bee strewed moughtes, and her covertures shall bee of worms of hell. Also her misease shall be in de∣faut of friends, for he is not poor y^e hath good frends: but ther is no frend, for neither God ne no creature shall be frend to hem, and ech of hem shall hate other with deadly hate: The sonnes and the doughters shall rebell ayenst father and mother, and kinred ayenst kinred, chide, and dispise each other, both day and night, as God sayeth by the prophet Miche∣as: * And y^• loving children that whilom lo∣ved so fleshly ech other, would ech of hem eat other if they might. * For how should they love together in the paines of hell, when they ha∣ted eche other in prosperity of this life? for trust well, her fleshly love was deedly hate. As saith y^• Prophet David: Whoso that loveth wickednesse, he hateth his soul, and who so ha∣teth his own soul, certes he may love none other wight in no maner: And therefore in hel is no solace ne no frendship, but ever y^e more kinredes that ben in hell, y^• more cursinges, the more chidinges, and y^e more deadly hate there is among hem. Also they shall have de∣faut of all manner delices, for certes delices ben after the appetites of y^e five wittes: As sight, hearing, smelling, favouring, and tou∣ching. But in Hell her sight shall be full of derkenesse and of smoke, & therefore full of teares, and her hearing full of wailing and grinting of teeth: As saith Iesu Christ. Her nosthrilles shall bee full of stinking. And, as saith Esay y^e Prophet: Her savouring shall be full of bitter gall, & as touching of all her bodies, icovered with fire, that never shall quench, and with wormes that never shall die. As God sayth by y^• mouth of Esay: and for as much as they shall not wene that they may die for pain, and by death flye fro pain, that they may understond in the wordes of Iob, that saieth: There is the shadow of death. Certes a shadow hath likenesse of the thing of which it is shadowed, but shadow is not the same thing of which it is sha∣dowed: right so fareth the pain of Hell, it is like death, for y^e horrible anguish. And why? For it paineth hem ever as though they shold die anon, but certes they shall not die. For as saith saint Greg. * To wretched caitiffes shall be death without death, and end without end, and defaut without fayling, for her death shall alway live, and her end shall ever more begin, and her defaut shall not faile.

And therefore sayth saint Iohn the Evan∣gelist, * They shall follow death, & they shall not find him, and they shall desire to die, and death shall flie from hem. And also Iob saith, That in hell is no order or rule. And all be it so, y^• God hath create all thing in right order, and nothing without order, but all things

been ordred and numbred, yet nathelesse they that been dampned been nothing in order, ne hold none order, for y^e earth ne shall bere hem no fruit. For, as the Prophet David sayth: God shall destroy y^e fruit of the earth, as for hem, ne water, ne shall yeve hem no moisture, ne the ayre no refreshing, ne fire no light. For as saith saint Basilie: * The brenning of y^• fire of this world shall God yeve in hell to hem that been dampned, but y^e light and the clearnesse shall he yeve in Heaven to his chil∣dren: right as good men yeve flesh to her chil∣dren, and bones to her hounds. And for they shall have none hope to escape, sayeth sainct Iob at last, * That there shall terrour & gresly drede dwell without end. Horrour is al∣way drede that is to come, & this drede shall alway dwell in the hearts of hem that bee dampned. And therfore have they lost all her hope for seven causes. First, for God that is her judge shall be without mercy to hem, and they may not please him, ne none of his saints, ne they may not yeve nothing for her raun∣some, ne they shall have no voice to speake to him, ne they may not fly fro pain, ne they have no goodnesse in hem y^t they may shew to deliver hem fro pain. And therefore saith Salomon: * The wicked man dyeth, and when he is dead, he shall have no hope to es∣cape fro paine. Who so then would well un∣derstond the paines, and bethinke him well that hee hath deserved those paines for his sinnes, certes he should have more talent to sighe and weepe, than for to singe and playe. For as saith Salomon, * Who so that had y^e science to know the paines that ben ordained for sinne, he would make sorowe. That sci∣ence, as saith Saint Austin, maketh a man to weiment in his heart.

THE fourth pointe that oughte make a man have contrition, is the sorowfull remembraunce of the good that hee hath left to doe heare in earthe, and also the good that he hath lost. Sothly the good werkes that hee hath lefte, either they be the good werkes that hee wrought er hee fell in deadly sinne, or else y^• good werkes that hee wrought while hee laie in sinne. Sothly the good werkes that he did before that he fell in sinne, been all mortified, astoned, & dull by oft sin∣ning. The werkes that hee did while hee lay in sin, he dead, as to y^e life perdurable in hea∣ven: then the good werkes that been mortifi∣ed by oft sinning, which he did being in cha∣rite, may not quick ayen without very peni∣tence. And of it sayth God by the mouth of Ezechiel: * If y^e rightfull man retourn ayen fro his rightwisenesse and do wickednes, shall he live? nay, for all y^• good werkes that hee hath do, ne shall neuer be in remembrance, for he shall die in his sinne. And upon y^• chap∣ter sayth saint Gregory thus, that wee shall understond this principally: * If y^• we done deadly sinne, it is for nought then to rehearse or draw into memory the good werkes that wee have wrought before: for certes in the werking of deadly sinne, there is no trust ta no good werke y^t we have doen before, that is to say, as for to have thereby the life perdu∣rable in Heaven. But nathelesse, y^e good werks quicken and come againe, and helpe and a¦vaile to have the life perdurable in Heaven, when we have contricion: but soothly y^• good werkes that men don while they be in deedly sinne, for as much as they were doen in deed¦ly sinne, they may never quicke: For certes, thing that never had life, may never quick: And nathelesse, albeit that they avail not to have the life perdurable, yet availe they to a∣bredge of y^• pain of hell, or els to get tempo∣rall richesses, or els that God woll y^• rather enlumine or light the heart of y^• sinfull man to have repentaunce, and eke they availe for to use a manne to do good werkes, that the feende have the lesse power of his soul. And thus the curteis Lord Iesu Christ, ne woll that no good work bee loste, for in somewhat it shall availe. But for as much as the good werkes that menne doen while they been in good life, been all amortised by sinne follow∣ing: and also sithe that all y^e good werkes that men doon while they bee in dedly sinne, been utterly dead, as for to have the life per∣durable, well may that manne that no good werke ne doeth, sing that new fresh song (lay tout pardu mon temps, et mon labure.) * For certes sinne bereaveth a man both goodnesse of nature, & also the goodnesse of grace. For soothly the grace of the holy ghost, fareth like fire that may not be idle, for fire faileth anon as it foreletteth his werking: and right so grace fayleth anon, as it foreletteth his wer∣king. Then leseth the sinfull man the good∣nesse of glory, that only is beheight to good men that labour and werk. Well may he be sory then, that oweth all his life to God, as long as he hath lived, and also as long as he shall live, that no goodnesse ne hath to paie with his debt to God, to whom he oweth all his life: * for trust well he shall yeve accompts as sayth Saint Bernard, of all the goodes that have been yeve him in this present life, and how he hath hem dispended, in so much that there shall not perishe an heere of his hedde, ne a moment of an houre ne shall not perishe of his time, that hee ne shall yeve of it a reckoning.

THE fifthe thinge that ought to moove a man to contricion, is remembraunce of the passion that our Lorde Iesu Christ suffe∣red for our sinnes. For as saieth saint Ber∣narde, * While that I live, I shall have re∣membraunce of the travailes, that our Lord Iesu Christ suffered in preaching, his weari∣nesse in travailing, his temptations when he fasted, his long wakings when he praied, his veares when that he wept for pite of good people: the woe, y^e shame, and the filthe that men said to him: of the foule spitting that menne spitte in his face, of the buffettes that

men yave him: of the foule mowes & of the reproves that men said to him: of the nailes with which hee was nailed to the crosse, and of all y^e remnaunt of his passion, that he suf∣fred for my sinnes, and nothing for his gilte.

And ye shall understond, y^t in mans sinne is every manner order or ordinance, tourned up so doune. For it is soth, y^t God, reason, sensualite, and the bodie of man, been ordai∣ned that eche of these four things should have lordship over that other: as thus, God should have lordship over reason, and reason over sensualite, and sensualite over the body of man. But sothly when man sinneth, all this order or ordinance, is turned up so doun. And therefore then, for as moche as reason of man, ne woll not be subject ne obeysaunt to God, that is his Lord by right, therefore leseth it the worship that it should have over sensualite, and also over the bodie of manne. And why? For sensualite rebelleth than ayenst reason: and by that way leeseth reason the lordship over sensualite, and over the body: For right as reason is rebell to God, right so is both sensualite rebell to reason, and to the body also. And certes this disordinaunce & this rebellion, our Lord Iesu Christ bought upon his precious body full deere: and herke∣neth in what wise. * For as much then as reason is rebell to God, therefore is man wor∣thy to have sorow, and to be dede. This suf∣fred our Lord Iesu Christ for manne, after that he had be betraied of his disciple, & di∣strained and bound, so that his blood brast out at every naile of his hondes, as saith S. Augustin. And ferthermore, for as much as reason of manne, woll not daunt sensualite, when it may, therefore is manne worthy to have shame: and this suffered our Lord Iesu Christ for man, when they spit in his visage. And ferthermore, for as muche then as the caitiffe body of man, is rebell both to reason & to sensualite, therefore it is worthy death: & this suffered our Lord Iesu Christ upon y^e Crosse, whereas there was no part of his bo∣dy free, without great paine and bitter pas∣sion: & all this suffred our Lord Iesu Christ that never forfaited. And therefore reaso∣nably may be said of Iesu in this maner: To much am I pained, for things that I never deserved: and to much defouled for shame that man is worthy to have. And therefore may the sinfull man well say, as sayth saint Bernard: * Accursed be the bitternesse of my sinne, for whiche there must bee suffered so much bitternesse. For certes, after the divers discordance of our wickednesse, was the pas∣sion of Iesu Christ ordained in divers things, as thus: Certes sinfull mannes soul is be∣traied of the Divell, by covetise of temporall prosperite, and scorned by deceit, when that he cheseth fleshly delices, and yet it is turmen∣ted by impatience of adversity, and bespet by servage and subjection of sinne, and at the last it is slain finally. For this disordinaunce of sinfull man, was Iesus Christ first betraid, and after that was hee bound, that came for to unbind us of sinne and of paine. Then was he bescorned, that only should have bee honoured in all things. Then was his visage that ought be desired to bee seen of all man∣kind (in which visage Angels desire to look) villainously bespet. Then was he scourged that nothing had trespassed, and finally, then was he crucified & slain. Then was accom∣plished the words of Esaie: * He was woun∣ded for our misdeeds, and defoiled for our felonies. Now sith that Iesu Christ took on him the pain of all our wickednesses, moche ought sinfull man wepe and bewaile, that for his sinnes, Gods sonne of Heaven should all this pain endure.

THE Sixt thing that should meve a man to contricion, is the hope of thre things, that is to say: forye venesse of sinne, and the gift of grace for to doe well, and the glory of Heaven with whiche God shall rewarde manne for his good deeds: And for as much as Iesu Christ, yeveth us these gifts of his largenesse, and of his Sovereigne bountie, therefore is hee called (Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudeorum) Iesus is to say, saviour or salvati∣on, on whom men shal hope to have foryeve∣nesse of sinnes, which that is properly salva∣tion of sinnes. And therefore sayd the Angell to Ioseph, Thou shalt call his name Iesus, that shall save his people of her sinnes. And hereof saith Saint Peter: * There is none other name under Heaven, that is yeve to any man, by which a man may be saved, but onely Iesus. Nazarenus is as much for to say, as flourishing, in which a man shall hope that hee that yeveth him remission of sinnes, shall yeve him also grace well for to doe. * I was at the doore of thine herte, sayth Iesus, and called for to enter: He that openeth to me, shall have foryevenesse of his sinne. I woll enter into him by my grace, and sup with him by the good werkes that hee shall doe, which werkes been the food of the soule, and he shall suppe with me, by the great joye that I shall yeve him. Thus shall man hope for his werkes of penaunce, that GOD shall yeve him his reign, as he behight him in the Gospell. Now shall a man understonde, in which manner shall be his contricion: I say, that it shall be universall and totall, this is to say: a man shall be very repentant for all his sinnes that hee hath dooen in delite of his thought, for it is right perillous.

For there been two manner of consen∣tings that one of hem is called consenting of affection, when a man is moved to do sin, and then deliteth him longe, for to think on that sinne, & his reason apperceiveth it wel, that it is sinne ayenst the Law of God, and yet his reason refraineth not his foule delite on talent, though he see well apertly, y^t it is ayenst the reverence of God, although his reason consent not to do y^t sinne indeed: yet say some Doctours, that soche delite that

dwelleth longe is full perillous, albeit never so little. And also a man should sorrow, name∣ly for all that ever he hath desired ayenst the Law of God, with perfite consenting of his reason, for thereof is no doubte, that it is deadly sinne in consenting: for certes there is no deadly sinne, but that it is first in mans thought, and after that in his delite, and so forth into consenting, and into deed. Wher∣fore I say that many men, ne repent hem ne∣ver of such thoughts and delices, ne never shrive hem of it, but only of the deed of great sinnes outward: wherefore, I say that soche wicked delites been subtill begilers of hem that shall be dampned.

Moreover, man ought to sorowe for his wicked words, as well as for his wicked deeds: for certes the repentance of a singuler sinne, and not repentant of all his other sins: or else repent him of all his other sinnes, and not of a singuler sinne, may not availe: * For certes GOD almighty is all good, and therefore, either he foryeveth all, or else right nought. And therefore saith saint Augustin: I wote certainly, that God is enemy to eve∣ry sinner: and how then hee that observeth one sinne, shall hee have foryevenesse of those other sinnes? Nay. And moreover, contri∣cion should bee wonder sorowfull and angui∣shous: and therefore yeveth him God plainly his mercy: and therefore when my soul was anguished, and sorowful within me, then had I remembrance of God, y^t my prayer might come to him. Ferthermore, contricion must be continuall, and that manne have stedfast purpose to shrive him, and to amend him of his life. For sothly while contricion lasteth, man may ever hope to have foryevenes. And of this cometh hate of sinne, that destroyeth both sinne in himself, and also in other folke at his power. For which saith David: * They that love God, hate wickednesse: For to love GOD, is for to love that he loveth, and hate that he hateth. The last thing y^t men shall understand is this, Wherefore availeth con∣trition? I say, y^t contricion sometime delive∣reth man fro sinne: Of which David saith, I say (said David) I purposed firmely to shrive me, and thou Lord releasedest my sin. And right so as contricion availeth not with∣out sad purpose of shrift, if man have oppertu∣nity, right so little worth is shrift or satisfacti∣on without contrition. And moreover con∣tricion destroyeth the prison of hell, and ma∣keth weak and feeble all the strengths of the Devils, and restoreth the yeftes of the holy Ghost, and of all good vertues, and it clean∣seth the soule of sinne, and delivereth it fro the paine of hell, and fro the company of the Devill, and fro the servage of sinne, and re∣storeth it to all goods spirituals, and to the company and communion of holy Church. Ferthermore, it maketh him that whilome was sonne of yre, to be the sonne of Grace: And all these things been prooved by holy writ. And therefore he that would set his en∣tent to these things, he were full wise: for tru∣ly he ne should have then in all his life cou∣rage to sinne, but yeve his heart and body to serve Christ, and thereof doe him homage. For truly our Lord hath spared us so meekly in our foilies, that if he ne had pity of mans soule, a sorry song might we all sing.

Explicit prima pars poenitentiae: & incipit pars secunda.

THE second part of penitence is Confession, that is a signe of con∣tricion. Now shull yee understond what is Confession, and it ought needs bee doen or no: and which thinges be covenable to very confession.

First shalt thou understonde, that confes∣sion is very shewing of sinnes to the Priest: this is to say very, for hee must confesse him of all the conditions that belong to his sin, as ferforthe as hee can: all must bee sayed, and nothing excused ne hid, * And not a∣vaunt thee of thy good werkes. Also it is necessarie to understonde whence that sinnes springe, and howe they entere, and which they beene.

Of the spring of sins, saith Saint Poule in this wise: * That right as by one man sinne entred first into this world, and through sin death, right so the death entreth into all men that sinne: and this man was Adam, by whom sin entred into this world, when he broke the commandment of God. And ther∣fore he that first was so mighty, that hee ne shuld have died, became so that he must needs die, whether he would or no, and all his pro∣genie in this world, that in the sayed man sinned. Look that in the estate of innocency, when Adam and Eve were naked in Para∣dise, and shamed not hereof, how the serpent, wilyest of all other beasis y^• GOD made, said to the woman: Why commanded God you, that ye should not eate of every tree in Paradise: The woman answered: Of the fruit said she of trees of Paradise we feed us, but of the fruit of the middle tree of Paradise God forbode us to eate and touch, least wee should die. The Serpent sayd to the wo∣man: Nay, nay, ye shall not die of death, for sooth God wotte, that what day that ye eate thereof your eyen shall open, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good & harme. The wo∣man then saw that the tree was good to fee∣ding, and fair to the eyen, and delectable to sight, she took of the fruit of the tree and did eat, and yave to her husbond, and he eat, and anon the eyen of hem both opened: & when that they knewe that they were naked, they sowed of Figg leaves in manner of breches, to hide her members. There may ye see That deadly sin hath first suggestion of the sende, as sheweth here by the Adder: and afterward the delight of the flesh, as sheweth by Eve, & after that, consenting of reason, as sheweth here by Adam. For trust well, though so it

were, that the fende tempted Eve, that is to say, the flesh, and the flesh had delight in the beauty of the fruit defended: yet certes till that reason, that is to say, Adam consented to the eating of the fruit, yet stoode hee in the state of innocency. Of the sayd Adam tooke wee the sayd originall sinne, for of him fleshly discended bee wee all, and engendred of vile and corrupt matter: And when the soule is put in our bodies, right anon is contract ori∣ginall sinne, and that that was erst, but one∣ly pain of concupiscence, is afterward both paine and sinne: and therefore wee been all borne sonnes of wrath, and of dampnation perdurable, if it nere Baptisme that wee re∣ceive, which benimmeth us the coulpe: but forsoth the pine dwelleth with us as to temp∣tation, which pine hight concupiscence. This concupiscence when it is wrongfully disposed or ordained in man, it maketh him covet by covetise of flesh, fleshly sin by sight of his eyen, as to yerthly thinges, and also covetise of highnesse by pride of heart.

Now as to speake of the first covetise, that is concupiscence, after the law of our mem∣bers, that were lawfully made, and by right∣full judgment of God, I say, * For as much as man is not obeisant to God, that is his Lorde, therefore is the flesh to him disobei∣saunt through concupiscence, whiche is cal∣led nourishing of sinne, and occasion of sinne. Therefore, all the while that a manne hath within him the pine of concupiscence, it is im∣possible, but he bee tempted sometime, and moved in his flesh to sin. And this thing may not faile as long as he liveth. It may well wax feeble by vertue of Baptisme, and by the grace of God through penitence, but fully ne shall it never quench, that hee ne shall some∣time be mooved in himself, but if he were all refrained by sicknesse, or by malice of sorcery, or cold drinks. For lo, what saith S. Poule: the flesh coveteth ayenst the spirite, and the spirite ayenst the flesh: they been so contrary and so striven, that a manne may not alway do as he would. The same S. Poule, after his great Pennance, in water and in lond: in water by night and by day, in great peril, and in great paine: in londe, famine and thurst, cold and clothlesse, and ones stoned almost to death: Yet (said he) alas, I caitiffe manne, who shall deliver me fro the prison of my cai∣tiffe body? And saint Ierom, when hee long time had dwelled in desert, whereas hee had no company but of wilde beastes, where as hee had no meate, but herbes, and water to drinke, ne no bed, but the naked earth, where∣fore his flesh was blacke, as an Ethyopian for heat, and nie destroyed for cold: Yet (said he) that the brenning of lechery boyled in all his body. Wherefore I wot well that they bee deceived that say, they be not tempted in her bodies. Witnes S. Iames that saith, * That every wight is tempted in his owne conscience, y^• is to say: That ech of us hath matter and occasion, to be tempted of the no∣rishing of sinne, that is in his body. And ther∣fore saith saint Iohn the Evangelist: If wee say that we been without sinne, wee deceive our selfe, and truth is not in us. Now shall ye understond, how sin waxeth and increaseth in man. The first thing is the same nourish∣ing of sinne, of which I spake before, the flesh∣ly concupiscence: and after that, commeth suggestion of the Devill, this is to say, y^e De∣vils belous, with which he bloweth in man, the fire of concupisence: & after that, a man bethinketh him whether hee woll doe or no that thing to which he is tempted. And then if a man withstond and weive the first inti∣sing of his flesh, and of the fiend, then it is no sinne: and if so be he doe not, then feeleth he anon a flame of delight, and then it is good to beware and keep him well, or els he woll fall anone to consenting of sinne, and then woll he do it, if hee may have time and place. And of this matter sayth Moyses by the De∣vill, in this manner: The fiend sayth, I woll chace and pursue man by wicked suggestion, and I woll take him by mooving and ••••irring of sinne, and I woll depart my prise of my preie by deliberation, and my lust shall be ac∣complished in delight, I woll draw my swerd in consenting. For certes, right as a swerde departeth a thing in two peeces, right so con∣senting departeth God fro manne, and then woll I slea him with my honde in deede of sinne: thus sayth the fiend. For certes, then is a man all dead in soule, and thus is sinne accomplished with temptation, by delite and consenting: and then is the sin actuall. For∣sooth sinne is in two maners, either it is veni∣all, or deadly sin. * Sothly, when man loveth any creature, more than Iesu Christ our Creatour, then it is deadly sin: and veniall sin it is, if a man love Iesu Christ lesse than him ought. Forsooth the deed of this veniall sin is full perillous, for it minisheth the love that man should have to God, more & more. And therefore if a man charge himselfe with many such veniall sins, certes, but if so be y^t he sometime discharge him of hem by shrift, they may full lightly minish in him all the love that he hath to Iesu Christ: and in this wise skippeth veniall sinne into deadly sinne. For certes, the more that a man chargeth his soule with veniall sinnes, the more hee is en∣clined to fall into deadly sin. And therefore let us not be negligent, to charge us of veni∣all sinnes. For the Proverb saith, * That ma∣ny small make a great. Hearken this ensam∣ple: A great wave of the sea commeth some∣time with so great a violence, y^t it drouneth the shippe. And the same harme dooth some∣time the small drops of water, that entereth through a little creveis into the timber, and into the bottom of the ship, if men be so neg∣ligent, that they discharge hem not by times. And therefore although there be a difference betwixt these two causes of drowning, al∣gates the ship is drouned. Right so fareth it sometime of deadly sin, and of annoious ve∣niall

sinnes, when they multiplie in man so greatly, that those worldly thinges that hee loueth, through which hee sinneth venially, is as great in his heart as y^e loue of God, or more: & therefore the loue of euery thing y^t is not beset in God, ne done principally for Gods sake, although that a man loue it lesse than God, yet is it veniall sinne; and deadly sin, when the loue of any thing weigheth in the heart of man, as much as y^e loue of God, or more. Deadly sinne, as saith saint Augu∣stine, is, * When a man turneth his heart fro God, whiche that is very soueraigne bounty, that may not chaunge, and yeueth his heart to thing that may chaunge and flit: and cer∣tes, that is euerie thing saue God of heauen. For sooth is, y^t if a man yeue his loue, which that he oweth to God with all his heart, vn∣to a creature, certes, as much of loue as he yeueth to the same creature, so muche he bi∣reaueth fro God, and therefore doth he sinne: for he that is debitour to God, ne yeldeth not to God all his debt, y^t is to say, all the loue of his heart. Nowe sith man vnderstondeth generallye which is veniall sinne, then it is couenable to tell specially of sin, which that many a man, peraduenture, deemeth hem no sinnes, and shriueth him not of the same things, and yet nathelesse they be sins sooth∣ly, as these Clerkes write, this is to say: * At euery tyme that manne eateth or drinketh more than sufficeth to the sustenance of his body, in certain he doth sinne: and also when he speaketh more than it needeth, it is sinne.

Also when he hearkeneth not benignely the complainte of the poore: Also when hee is in heale of bodie, and woll not fast when other folk fast, without cause reasonable: Also when he sleepeth more than needeth, or when he co∣meth perchance to late to the Church, or to o∣ther werkes of charitie: Also when he vseth his wife without soueraigne desire of engen∣drure, to the honour of God, or for the entent to yeeld to his wife debte of his bodie. Also when he woll not visite the sicke, or the priso∣ner, if he may. Also if he loue wife or child, or other worldly thing, more than reason requi∣reth. Also if he flatter or blandise more than him ought for any necessitie. Also if he minish or withdrawe the almose of the poore. Also if he apparaile his meat more deliciously than need is, or eat too hastily by lickorousnes. Al∣so, if he talke vanities at Church, or at Gods seruice, or that he be a talker of idle words, of folly or villanie, for he shall yeeld accompts of it at the day of doome. Also, when hee be∣highteth or assureth to doe thinges that hee maie not perfourme. Also, when that hee by lightnesse or folly, missayeth or scorneth his neighbour. Also, when he hath any wicked suspection of thing, that hee ne wote of soth∣fastnesse. These things and mo without num∣ber be sinnes, as sayth S. Augustine. Nowe shall men vnderstonde, that all be it so that none earthly manne may eschewe all veniall sins, yet may he refrain hem, by the brenning loue that he hath to our Lord Iesu Christ, and by prayers and confession, and other good workes, so that it shall be but little grief. For as saith S. Augustine: * If a man loue God in such manner, that all that euer he doth is the loue of God, or for the loue of God verily, for he brenneth in the loue of God: looke how much that one droppe of water, which doth fall into a great furnace full of fire, annoieth or greueth the brenning of the fire: in like manner annoieth or greueth a venial sin, vn∣to that man which is stedfast and perfite in the loue of our Sauiour Iesu Christ. Ferther∣more, men may also refraine and put awaie veniall sinne, by commening and receiuing worthely y^e body of our Sauiour Iesu Christ. Also, by taking of holy water, by almosedeed, by generall confession of Confite or at Masse, and at Complin, and by blessings of Bishops and Priests, and by other good workes.

De septem peccatis mortalibus, & de eorum de∣pendentiis, circumstantiis, & speciebus.

NOw it is expedient to tell whiche been the seauen deadly sinnes, that is to say, chiefetaines of sinnes. All they ren in o lees, but in diuers manners.

Now been they called seauen sinnes, for as much as they bee chiefe, and springe of all o∣ther sinnes. Of the roote of these seauen sins, then is Pride the generall root of all harms. For of this roote springeth certaine braun∣ches: as Ire, Enuie, Accidie or Slouth, Aua∣rice or Couetise, (to common vnderstonding) Gluttonie, and Lecherie: and each of these chief sinnes haue her braunches and twigs, as it shall bee declared in her Chapiters fol∣lowing. And though so bee that no manne can vtterly tell the number of twigges, and of the harmes that come of Pride, yet woll I shew a part of hem, as ye shall vnderstond. There is inobedience, auaunting, ipocrisie, dispite, errogance, impudence, swelling of hert, insolence, elation, impatience, strife, con∣tumacie, presumption, irreuerence, pertina∣cie, vaineglorie, and many other twigs that I cannot declare. Inobedience, is he that dis∣obeyeth for dispite, the commaundements of God, to his soueraignes, and to his ghostly father. Auaunter, is he that boasteth of the harme or of the bounty y^• he hath done. Ipo∣crite, is he that hideth to shew him such as he is, and sheweth him to seme such as he is not. Dispitous, is he that hath disdain of his nei∣bour, that is to saie, of his euin Christen, or hath dispite to do that him ought to do. Er∣rogance, is hee that thinketh that hee hath those bounties in him that hee hath not, or weneth that hee shoulde haue hem by his de∣serts, or else that he deemeth, he is that he is not. Impudent, is he that for his pride, hath no shame of his pride ne sinne. Swelling of heart, is when man rejoyceth him of harme

that he hath done. Insolence, is he that dis∣piseth in his judgement all other folke, as in regarde of his value, of his cunning, of his speaking, and of his bering. Elation, is when hee ne may neither suffer to haue maister ne fellowe. Impatience, is he that woll not be taught, ne rebuked of his vice, and by strife denyeth truth wittingly, and defendeth his folly. Contumacie, is he that through his in∣dignation, is ayenst euerie aucthoritie or power of hem y^• been his Soueraines. Pre∣sumption, is when a manne vndertaketh an emprise that him ought not to do, or els that he may not doe, and this is called surquidie. Irreuerence, is when man doth not honour there as him ought to do, and looke to be re∣uerenced. Pertinacie, is when men defende her folly, and trust too much on her own wit. Vaineglorie, is for to haue pomp, & delight in his temporall highnesse, and glorye him in worldly estates. Iangling, is when men speak too muche before folke, and clappeth as a mill, and take no keepe what they say.

And yet there is a priuie spece of pride, that waiteth first to bee salewed, or he woll salew, all be he lesse worthye than that other is. And also he waiteth or desireth to sit, or else to go aboue him in the way, or kisse paxe, to be en∣cenced, or go to offring before his neighbour, and suche semblable thinges, ayenst his due∣tie peraduenture, but that hee hath his heart and his entent in suche a proude desire to be magnified and honoured before the people.

Now ben there two maner of prides. One of hem is within the heart of a man, and that other is without. Of whiche foresayd things soothly, and mo than I haue sayd, appertaine to pride, that is in the heart of man, and other speces of pride been without: but nathelesse, that one of these speces of pride, is signe of that other, right as the gaye leuesell at the Tauerne, is signe of the wine that is in the Seller. And this is in many thinges: as in speeche and countenaunce, and outragious arraye of clothing: for certes, if there had ben no sinne in clothing, Christ would not so sone haue noted and spoken of the clothing of the rich menne in the Gospell. And as S. Greg. saith, * That precious cloathing is culpable for the dearth of it, and for his softnesse, and for his straungenesse and disguising: and for the superfluitie, or for the inordinate scantnes of it. Alas, may not a man see as in our daies, the sinnefull costlewe arraie of clothing, and namely in too much superfluitie, or else in too disordinate scantnesse.

As to the firste sin in superfluity of cloath∣inge, suche that maketh it so deare, to the harme of the people, not onely the coste of en∣broudering, the disguised endenting, or bar∣ring, ounding, paling, winding, or bending, and semblable wast of cloth in vanitie: but there is also the costlewe Furring in her gounes, so much pounsing of chesell to make holes, so muche dagging of Sheres, with the superfluitie in length of the foresaide gounes, trayling in y^e dong and in y^e myre, on horse and also on foot, as well of manne as of woman: that all that trayling is verely (as in effect) wasted, consumed, thredbare, and rot∣ten with doung, rather than it is yeue to the poore, to great dammage of the foresaid pore folke, and that in sundrie wise: this is to say, that the more the cloth is wasted, the more must it cost to the poore people for the scarce∣nesse. And moreouer, if so be that they would yeue suche pounsed and dagged clothing to the poore people, it is not conuenient to were for her estate, ne sufficient to her necessitie, to keepe hem fro the distemperaunce of the fir∣mament. Vpon that other side, to speake of the horrible disordinate scantnesse of clothing, as been these cutted sloppes or hanselines, that through her shortenesse couer not the shameful members of man, to wicked entent. Alas, some of hem shew the bosse of her shape, and the horrible swole members that semeth like the maladie of Hernia, in the wrap∣ping of her hosen, and also the buttocks of hem fare as it were the hinder parte of a she Ape in the full of the moone. And moreouer the wretched swoln members that they shew throughe disguising, in departing of her ho∣sen, in white and redde, seemeth that half her shamefull priuy members were flaine. And if so be that they departe her hosen in other co∣lours, as is white and blewe, or white and blacke, or blacke & redde, and so forth: Then seemeth it as by variaunce of colour that the halfe part of her priue members ben corrupt by the fire of saint Anthonie, or by canker, or other suche mischaunce. Of the hinder parte of the buttockes it is full horrible for to see, for certes in that partie of her bodie there as they purge her stinking ordure, that foul par∣tie shew they to the people proudly in dispite of honestie, which honestie that Iesu Christe and his freends obserued to shew in her life. Now as to the outragious arraie of women, God wot, y^t though the visages of some of hem seem full chast and debonaire, yet noti∣fie in her aray or attire, licorousnes and pride: I say not that honestie in clothing of man or woman is vncouenable, but certes the super∣fluitie of disordinate quantitie of clothing is reprouable. Also the sinne of ornament or of apparaile, is in things that appertaine to ri∣ding, as in companie, delicate horses that ben holden for delight, y^• been so faire, fatte, and costlewe, and also in many a nice knaue, that is sustained because of hem, in curious har∣neis, as in saddles, cropers, peitrels, and bri∣dles couered with precious clothing, and rich barres of plates of gould and of siluer. For which God saith by Zacharie the Prophet, I woll confounde the riders of suche horses. These folke take little regarde of y^e riding of Goddes sonne of heauen, and of his harneis, when he rode vpon the Asse, and had none o∣ther harneis but the poore clothes of his dis∣ciples

ne we read not that euer hee rode on other beest. I speak this for y^e sinne of super∣fluitie, and not for reasonable honeste, when reason it requireth. And moreouer, certes pride is greatly notified in holding of great meine, when they been of little profite or of right no profite, & namely when that meine is felonous and dammageous to the people by hardinesse of high lordship, or by way of offices. For certes, such Lordes sell then her lordshippe to the Deuil of Hell, when they sustain the wickednesse of her meine. Or else, when these folke of low degree, as those that keep hostleries, susteine thefte of her hostel∣lers, and that is in many manner of deceits: those maner of folk been y^e flyes that follow the honie, or else the hounds that follow the caraine. Suche foresayde folke strangle spi∣rituelly her lordeships: For suche, thus saith David the Prophet: * Wicked death might come on those lordeshippes, and God yeve that they might descend into hell, all downe, all downe: For in her houses been iniquities and shrewdnesse, and not God of heaven. And certes, till they done amendment, right as God yaue his blessing to Pharao by the seruice of Ioseph, and to Laban by the seruice of Iacob: Right to God will yeue his curse to such lordeshippes as sustaine the wicked∣nesse of her seruaunts, but they come to a∣mendment. Pride of the table appeareth also full oft: for certes, riche menne bee called to feasts, and poore folke been put away and re∣buked. And also in excesse of diuers meates and drinkes, and namely such manner bake meates and dishe meates brenning of wilde fire, peinted and castelled with paper and semblable wast, so that it is abusion to think. And also in too great preciousnesse of vessell, and curiositie of minstralcie, by which a man is sterred more to delices of lecherye, if so bee that he sette his hearte the lesse vppon oure Lord Iesu Christ, certainely it is a sinne. And certainely the delices myght bee so great in this case, that a manne might lightly fall by hem into deadly sinne. The especes that sourde of pride, soothly when they sourde of malice imagined, auysed, and forecaste, or els of vsage, ben deadly sinne, it is no doubt. And when they sourde by freelte vnauised soden∣ly, and sodaynely withdraw ayen, all be they greuous sinnes, I gesse that they be not dead∣ly. Nowe might menne aske, whereof that pride sourdeth and springeth. I say that som∣time it springeth of y^e goods of nature, some∣time of the goodes of fortune, and sometime of the goodes of grace. Certes the goodes of nature stondeth onely in goodes of bodye, or goodes of the soule. Certes, goodes of body ben hele of body, strength, deliuernesse, beau∣ty, gentrie, franchise. Goodes of nature of the soule, ben good with sharpe vnderstonding, subtill engine, vertue naturall, good memory. Goodes of fortune, be riches, hie degrees of lordships, praysinges of the people. Goodes of grace, ben science, power to suffice spiritu∣ell trauaile, benigne, vertuous contempla∣tion, vnderstonding of temptation, and sem∣blable thinges: of which foresayd goods, cer∣tes it is a full great folly, a manne to haue pride in any of hem all. Now, as for to speak of goods of nature, God wote that sometime we haue hem in nature as much to our da∣mage as to our profite. As to speake of hele of body, truely it passeth full lightly, and also it is full oft occasion of sicknesse of the soul: for God wote, * The flesh is a great enemy to the soul: and therfore the more that the body is whole, the more we be in peril to fall. Also for to haue pride in his strength of body, it is an hie folly: for certes y^e flesh coueteth ayenst the spirite: and the more strong that the flesh is, the sorrier may the soule be. And ouer all, this strength of body and worldly hardinesse causeth full ofte many man to perill & mis∣chaunce. And also to have pride of gentry, is right great folly: * For oft time the gentry of the body taketh away the gentry of the soule: and also we been all of o father and mother: & all we ben of o nature, rotten and corrupt, both rich and poore. Forsooth o man∣ner gentry is for to praise, that apparelleth mannes courage: wit, vertue, and morality, maketh him Christs child. * For trust well, That ouer what man that sinne hath may∣stry, he is a very churle to sinne.

Now been there generall signes of gen∣tlenesse: as eschewing of vice and ribaudrye, and seruage of sinne: in word, in werke, and continuance & vsing of vertue, courtesie, and cleanenesse, and to bee liberall: that is to say, large by measure: for that that passeth mea∣sure, is folly and sin: Another is to remember him of bounty, that he of other folk hath re∣ceiued: Another is to be benigne to his good subjects. Wherefore saith Senecke: * There is nothing more couenable to a manne of high estate, than debonairtie and pity. And therefore these flies that men call bees, when they make her king, they chese one that hath no pricke wherewith he may sting.

Another is, manne to haue a noble heart and a dilligent, to attaine to the high vertu∣ous things. Now certes, a manne to haue pride in y^• goods of grace, is also an outragi∣ous folly: for those gifts of grace that should haue tourned him to goodnesse, and to medi∣cine, tourneth him to venome and confusion, as saith saint Gregorie. Certes also, who so hath pride in the goodnesse of fortune, he is a full great foole: For sometime is a manne a great lord by the morne, that is a caitiffe and a wretche or it bee night: and sometime the riches of a man is cause of his death. Some∣time the delices of a manne is cause of gree∣uous maladie, through which he dieth. Cer∣tes, the commendation of y^e people is some∣time full false and brotell for to trust. This day they praise, to morrow they blame. God wote, desire to haue commendation of the

people, hath caused death to manie a busie manne. Now sith that so is, that yee have vnderstond what is pride, and which bee the speces of it, and whence it sourdeth & spring∣eth: now yee shall vnderstond which is the remedie ayenst it. Humility or meekenesse is the remedy ayenst pride, that is a vertue, tho∣row which a manne hath very knowledge of himselfe, and holdeth of himselfe nor price ne daintie, as in regard of his desertes, consi∣dering euer his freelte. Now been there three manner of humilities: As humility in heart, another humility is in mouth, and the third is in works. The humility in hert is in foure manners: That one is, when a man holdeth himselfe as nought worth before God of heauen. The second is, when he despiseth none other man. The third is, when hee ne recketh nat though men holde him nought worth. And the fourth is, when he is not sorry of his humiliation. Also the humility of mouth is in four things. In a temperate speech, in humility of speech, & when he con∣fesseth with his own mouth, that he is such as him thinketh that he is in his heart: Ano∣ther is, when he praiseth the bounty of ano∣ther man & nothing thereof minisheth. Humi∣litie also in werke, is in four maners. The first is, when he putteth other men before him, the second is, to these the lowest place ouer al, the third is, gladly to assent to good counsail, the fourth is, to stond gladly to the award of his souereigns, or of him that is in hier degre: Certain this is great werke of humilitie.

¶De Invidia.

AFter pride woll I speak of the foul sin of Enuye, which that is after the worde of the Philosopher, sorowe of other mens prosperitie. And after the worde of Saint Augustine: * It is the sorow of other mens weal, and the ioy of other mens harme. This foule sinne is platly ayenst the holy Ghost: All be it so, that euerie sinne is ayenst the holy Ghoste, Yet nathe∣lesse, for as much as bountie appertaineth properly to the holy Ghost, and Enuy com∣eth properly of malice, therefore it is pro∣perly ayenst the bountie of the holye Ghost. Now hath malice two speces, that is to say, hardnes of hart in wickednes, or else the flesh of a manne is so blind, that he consi∣dreth not that he is in sinne, or recketh not that he is in sinne, which is the hardinesse of the Diuell. That other spece of En∣uie is, when that a man dennieth trouth, when he knoweth that it is trouth, and also when he repenteth the grace that god hath yeue to his neighbour: and all this is by Enuie. Certes, then is Enuie the worst sin that is, for soothly all other sins be some∣time onely ayenst a special vertue: but cer∣tes, enuy is ayenst all vertues and all good∣nesse. For it is sory ayenst all the bounties of her neighbour, and in this manner it is di∣uers from all other sins. Alas: * For there ne is any sin that it ne hath some delight in it self, saue only Enuy, that euer hath in it self anguish & sorrow. The speces of Enuy ben these: there is first sorrow of other mennes goodnesse and of her prosperitie, and prospe∣ritie is kindly matter of joy: Then is enuy a sinne ayenst kind. The second spece of En∣uy, is ioy of other mennes harme, and that is properly like to y^e Diuell, that euer reioy∣seth him of mannes harme. Of these two backbiting or detracting hath certain speces, as thus: Some manne praiseth his neigh∣bor by a wicked entent, for he maketh al∣way a wicked knot at the last end: alway he maketh a but at the last end, that is digne of more blame, than is worth all the praising. The second spece is, that if a man be good, or doth or sayth a thing to good intent, y^e back∣biter woll turn all that goodnesse vp so doun, to his shrewd entent. The third is, to amo∣nish the bountie of his Neyghbour. The fourth spece of backbiting is this, that if menne speak goodnesse of a manne, then wol the backbiter say: Perfay such a manne is yet better than he, in dispraising of him that menne prayse. The fifth spece is this, for to consent gladly and herk gladly to the harm that men speak of other folk: This sinne is full great, & aye encreaseth after the wicked entent of y^e backbiter. After backbiting com∣meth grutching or murmuration, and some∣time it springeth of impatience ayenst God, and sometime ayenst manne. Ayenst God it is when a man grutcheth ayenst y^e pain of hel, or ayenst pouertie, or losse of cattel, or ayenst rain or tempest, or els grutcheth that shrews haue prosperitie, or else for that good menne haue aduersitie: and all these things should menne suffer patiently, for they come by the rightful judgment and ordinaunce of God. Sometime cometh grutching of auarice, as Iudas grutched ayenst Maudelein, when she annointed the head of our Lord Iesu Christ with her precious oyntment. This manner murmuring is such as when man grutcheth of goodnesse that himself doth, or that other folk doen of her own cattel. Sometime com∣eth murmure of pride, as when Simon the Pharisee grutched ayenst Maudelein when she approched to Iesu Christ and wept at his feet for her sins. And sometime it sourdeth of Enuie, when men discouer a mans harm that was priuy, or beareth him on hond thing that is false. Murmure also is ofte among servaunts that grutch when her souereigns bid hem do lefull thinges, and for as much as they dare not openly withsaye the com∣maundment of her souereigns, yet wol they say harme and grutche and murmure priue∣ly for very spight: which words they call the diuels Pater noster, though so be that the diuel had neuer Pater noster, but that lewd

folke yeueth it such a name. Sometime it co∣meth of yre or priuie hate, that norisheth ran∣cour in y^e heart, as afterward I shall declare. Then cometh also bitternesse of heart, tho∣row which bitternesse, euery good deed of his neighbor semeth to him bitter and unsauery. Then cometh discord y^t vnbindeth all ma∣ner of friendship. Then commeth scorning of his neighbour, all doe he neuer so well. Then commeth accusing, as when a man seeketh occasion to annoy his neighbor, which is like the craft of the diuel, that waiteth both daye and night to accuse vs all. Then cometh ma∣lignity, through which a manne annoieth his neighbour priuily if he may, and if he maye not, algate his wicked will shall not let, as for to brenne his house priuily, or enpoison or s••ea his beastes, and semblable things. Now woll I speak of the remedie ayenst this foul sin of enuie. First is the loue of God principally, and louing of his neighbour as himselfe: for sooth∣ly that one ne may not be without that other. And trust well that in the name of thy neigh∣bour thou shalt understand the name of thy brother, for certes all we haue one father fleshly, and one mother, that is to say, Adam and Eue: and also one father spirituel, that is God of heauen. Thy neighbor art thou bound for to loue, and will him all goodnesse, and therefore sayth God: Loue thy neighbor as thy self, that is to say, to saluation both of life and soul. And moreouer thou shalt loue him in word and in benig••e admonish∣ing and chastising, and comfort him in his noyaunces, and praye for him withal thy heart. And in deede thou shalt loue him in such wise that thou shalt do to him in charitie, as thou woldest that it were don to thine own person: and therefore thou ne shalt do him no damage in wicked worde, ne harm in his body, ne in his cattel, ne in his soul, by enti∣sing of wicked ensample. Thou shalt not de∣sire his wife, ne none of his things. Vnder∣stond also that in the name of neighbour, is comprehended his enemy: Certes man shal loue his enemy by the commandment of god, and soothly thy friend thou shalt loue in God. I say thine enemy, shalt thou loue for Gods sake, by his commandment: for if it were reason that man should hate his enemy, for∣soth God nold not receiue vs to his loue that been his enemyes. Ayenst three manner of wrongs that his enemy doth to him, he shall do three things as thus: ayenst hate and rancour of heart, he shall loue him in heart: Ayenst chiding & wicked words, he shall pray for his enemy: Ayenst wicked deeds, he shal do him bounty. For Christ sayth: Loue your enemies, & pray for hem that speke you harm, and for hem that chase & pursue you: and do bounty to hem that hate you. Lo, thus com∣maundeth vs our Lord Iesu Christ to do to our enemies: forsooth nature driueth vs to loue our freends, & perfay our enemies haue more need of loue than our freends, & they that more need haue, certes to hem shall men do goodnesse. And certes in that deed haue we remembraunce of the loue of Iesus Christe y^• died for his enemies: And in as much as that loue is more greuous to perfourm, so much is the more great the merit, and ther∣fore the louing of our enemy hath confoun∣ded the diuels venim: * For right as the de∣uil is confounded by humilitie, right so is he wounded to the death by the loue of our ene∣mie: certes then is loue the medicine that ca∣steth out the venim of enuie fro mans heart. The speces of this place shall be more largely declared in her chapters following.

¶De Ira.

AFter Enuy woll I discriue the sinne of Ire: for soothly who so hath Enuy up∣on his Neighbour, anon he woll commonly find him a matter of wrath in word or in deed, ayenst him to whom he hath Enuie: And as well commeth Ire of Pride as of Enuie, for soothly he that is proud or enui∣ous is lightly wroth.

This sin of Ire, after the disriuing of S. Austin, is wicked will to be auenged by word or by deed. * Ire, after the Philosopher, is the feruent blood of man iquicked in his heart, through which he would harm to him that he hateth: for certes the hart of man by es∣chausing and moouing of his blood, waxeth so troubled, y^t it is out of all manner iudg∣ment of reason. But ye shall vnderstond that * Ire is in two manners, that one of hem is good, & that other is wicked. The good ire is by jealousie of goodnes through which a man is wroth with wickednesse, and ayenst wickednesse. And therefore saith a wise man, that yre is bet than play. This ire is with debonairte, and it is wrath without bitter∣nesse: not wroth ayenst the man, but wroth with the misdeed of the manne. As saith the Prophet Dauid: Irascimini, & nolite peccare. Now understond that wicked Ire is in two manners, that is to say, sodain yre or hasty yre without auisement & consenting of rea∣son: The meaning and the sence of this is, that y^e reason of a manne ne consent not to that sodain yre, and then it is venial. Ano∣ther yre is ful wicked, that cometh of felony of heart, auised and cast before with wicked will to do vengeaunce, & thereto his reason consenteth: and soothly this is deadly sinne. This yre is so displeasant to God, y^t it trou∣bleth his house, & chaseth the holy ghost out of mans soul, and wasteth and destroyeth that likenesse of God, that is to say, y^e vertue that is in mans soul, and putteth in him the likenesse of the deuill, and taketh the man fro God that is his rightful Lord. This is a ful great pleasaunce to the deuil, for it is y^e deuils forance that is eschaused with y^• fire of hell: For certes right so as fire is more mightie to destroy earthly things, than any other Ele∣ment,

right so ire is mightie to destroie all spiritual things. Look how that fire of small coles that been almost dead under ashen, wol reuiue or quick ayen when they ben touchen with brimstone, right so yre woll euermore quick ayen, when it is touched by the pride that is couered in mans heart. For certes fire ne may not come out of nothing, but if it were first in the same thing naturally: as fire is drawn out of flints with steele. And right so as pride is many times matter of yre, right so is rancour norice and keeper of Ire. There is a manner tree, as sayth saint Isodore, that when a man maketh a fire of the said tree, and couer the coals of it with ashen, soothly the fire of it will last a yeer or more: And right so fareth it of rancour, when it is ones conceiued in y^• hearts of some men, certes it woll last peraduenture from one Easter day until another Easter day, or more. But certes the same man is full ferre from the mercie of God all that while.

In this foresaid deuils fournace there forge three shrewes: Pride, that aye bloweth and encreaseth the fire, by chiding and wicked words: Then stondeth Enuy, & holdeth hot yron in the fire vpon y^• heart of man, with a payre of long tongs of long rancour: And then stondeth the sin of Contumelie or strife and cheste, and battereth and forgeth by vi∣lainous repreuings. Certes this cursed sin annoyeth both to the man himself, and also his Neighbour. For soothly almost all the harm or damage that any man doth to his Neighbor cometh of wrath: for certes, out∣ragious wrathe doth all that euer the foule fend willeth or commandeth him: for he ne spareth neither our Lord Iesu Christ, neither his sweet mother. And in his outragious an∣ger and yre, alas, alas, full many and diuers at that time, feleth in his heart full wickedly, both of Christ, and also of all his hallowes: Is not this a cursed vice? Yes certes. Alas it taketh fro man his wit & his reason, and all his debonaire life spirituel, that should keep his soul. Certes it withdraweth also Goddes due lordship (& that is mans soul) and the loue of his Neighbors. It striueth also all day ayenst trouth, it reaueth him the quiet of his heart, and subverteth his soul.

Of Ire cometh these stinking engendrures, First, Hate, that is old wrath: Discord, tho∣row which a manne forsaketh his old friend that he hath loued full long: and then com∣meth War, & euery manner of wrong that a man doth to his neighbour in body or in cattel. Of this cursed sin of yre commeth also manslaughter. And understond well that homicide (that is, manslaughter) is in diuers wise.

Some manner of homicide is spirituell, and some is bodily. Spirituell manslaugh∣ter is in vi. things. First by hate, as sayth Saint Iohn: * He that hateth his brother, is an homicide. Homicide is also by backbiting, of which backbiting, sayth Salomon, that they haue two swerds, with which they slay her neighbours: * For soothly as wicked is to take fro him his good name as his life. Ho∣micide is also in yeuing of wicked counsail by fraud, as for to yeue counsayle to areise wrongful customs and talages. Of which, sayth Salomon: * A Lion roring, & a Bear hungrie, be like to the cruel Lords, in with∣holding or abridging of the shepe or the hire of the wages of Seruaunts, or else in vsu∣rie, or in withdrawing of the Alms of poore, folke. For whiche the wise manne sayeth: * Feedeth him that almost dyeth for honger, for soothly but if you feed him you slay him. And all these ben deadly sins. Bodily man∣slaughter is when thou sleest him with thy tongue: Another manner is, when thou com∣maundest to slea a man, or else yeuest coun∣sail to slea a man. Mauslaughter indeed is in four manners. That one is by law, right as a Iustice dampueth him that his culpable to the death: But let the Iustice beware that he doe it rightfully, and that he do it not for delight to spill blood, but for keeping of right∣wisenesse. Another homicide is done for ne∣cessitie, as when a man slayeth another in his defence, and that he ne may none otherwise escape, without slaughter of his aduersarie, he doth sin, and he shall bear pennaunce as for deadly sin. Also if a man by case or ad∣uenture shoot an arrow or cast a stone, with which he slaieth a man, he is an homicide. And if a woman by negligence ouerlyeth her child in her sleeping, it is homicide & deadly sin. Also when a man disturbleth conception of a child, & maketh a woman either barren by drinking of venemous herbes, through which she may not conceiue, or slaieth a child by drinks, or else putteth certain material things in her secret places to slaie the child, or else doth unkindly sin, by which a man or woman sheddeth her nature in manner or in a place there as a child may not be con∣ceiued. Or else if so be that a woman hath conceiued, and hurteth her self, and by that mishap the childe is slain, yet it is homicide. What say we of those women that murde∣ren her children for because of eschewing of worldly shame? Certes, it is an horrible homicide. Homicide is also, if a manne ap∣proche to a woman by desire of letchery, thorow which y^e child is perished: or els smi∣teth a woman wittingly, through which she leseth her child: All these been homicides, & horrible deadly sinnes. Yet come there of ire mo sinnes, as well in worde, as in thought and deede. As he that arreteth upon God, or blameth God of the thing of which he is himself guilty, or despiseth God & all his hal∣lows, as done the cursed hasardors in diuers countries: This cursed sin done they, when they fele in her hert full wickedly of God & of his halowes. Also when they treat unre∣uerently the sacrament of the aulter, that sin

is so great, y^• vnneth it may be releaced, but that the mercy of God passeth all his werks, it is so great, and he so benign. Then com∣meth of Ire an atterly anger, when a man is sharply amonested in his shrift to leaue his sin: Then woll he be angrie, and aunswere hokerly and angerly, or defend or excuse his sin by unstedfastnesse of his fleshe, or else he did it for to hold companie with his fellows, or els he sayth the fiend enticed him, or els he doth it for his youth, or els his complex∣ion is so courageous that he may not for∣bear, or els it is his destinie he sayth unto a certain age, or els he sayth it cometh him of gentlenesse of his auncestors, and semblable things. All these manner of folke so wrappe hem in her sins, that they ne woll not deli∣ver hemself: For soothly, No wight that ex∣cuseth himself wilfully of his sinne, may not be deliuered of his sin, till that he meekly beknoweth his sin. After this then com∣meth swearing, that is expresse ayenste the commandment of God: & this befalleth of∣ten of Anger & of Ire. God sayeth: * Thou shalt not take the name of thy Lord God in vaine or in idle. Also our Lord Iesu Christ sayeth by the word of Saint Mathew: Ne shal ye not swere in all manner, nether by hea∣uen, for it is Gods trone: ne by yearth, for it is the bence of his feet: ne by Hierusalem, for it is y^• city of a great King: ne by thine head, for thou mayest not make an hayre neyther white ne black: but say by your word, yea, yea, nay, nay: and what that is more, it is of euil. Thus sayeth Christ. For Christs sake sweare not so sinnefully in dismembring of Christ, By soul, heart, bones, and body: for certes it seemeth, that ye thinke that the cur∣sed Iewes ne dismembred not ynough y^• pre∣cious person of Christ, but ye dismember him more. And if so be that the law compell you to swear, then ruleth you after y^• law of god in your swearing, as sayeth Ieremie. iiii. cap. * Thou shalt keep three conditions, Thou shalt swear in trouth, in doome, and in right∣wisenes: this is to say, thou shalt swear sooth. For euery lesing is ayenst Christ, for Christ is very trouth. * And think well this, That eue∣ry great swearer, not compelled lawfully to swear, y^• plague shal not depart fro his hous, while he useth such unleful swearing. Thou shalt swear also in dome, when thou art con∣strained by thy doms man to witnes trouth: Also thou shalt not swear for enuie, neyther for fauour, neither for mede or reward, but only for rightwisenesse, & for declaring of it to the honour and worship of God, & to the ayding & help of thine euin Christen. And therefore euery man that taketh Gods name in idle, or falsely sweareth with his mouth, or els taketh on him the name of Christ, to be called a Christen man, & liueth ayenst Christs liuing and his teaching: all they take Gods name in idle. Look also what sayth saint Pe∣ter: Actuum iiii. capitu. Non est aliud nomen sub coelo, &c. There is none other name (sayth saint Peter) under heauen yeue to men, in which they may be saued, that is to say, but the name of Iesu Christ. Take heed eke how precious is the name of Iesu Christ, as sayth S. Poule, ad Philipenses. ii. In nomine Jesu, &c. * That in the name of Iesu euery knee of heauenly creatures, earthly, & of hell, should bow: for it is so high and so worshipful, that the cursed fiend in hell should tremble to hear it named. Then seemeth it, that men that swear so horribly by his blessed name, that they despise it more boldly than the cursed Iews, or els the diuel, that trembleth when he heareth his name.

Now certes, sith y^• swearing (but if it be lawfully done) is so highly defended: much more is forswearing falsely, and yet needlesse.

What say we also of hem that delight hem in swearing, and hold it a gentery or a manly deed to swear great othes? And what of hem that of very usage ne cease not to swear great othes, all be the cause not worth a straw? Certes, this is horrible sin. Swea∣ring suddainly is also a great sin. But let us go now to that horrible sin, swearing of adiuration and conjuration, as done these false Enchauntours or Nigromanters in Basins full of water, or in a bright swerd, in a Circle, in a fire, or in the shoulder bone of a sheep? I cannot say, but that they doe cursedly and damnably ayenst Christ, and all the faith of holy church.

What say we of hem that beleeue on De∣uinales, as by flight or by noise of birds or of beasts, or by sorte, by Geomancie, by dreams, by chirking of dores, or cracking of houses, by gnawing of rats, & such manner wretch∣ednesse? Certes, all these things been de∣fended by God and holy church, for which they been accursed, till they come to amend∣ment, that on such filth set her beleeue. Charms for wounds, or maladie of men, or of beasts, if they take any effect, it may be per∣aduenture y^• God suffereth it, for folk should yeue the more faith & reuerence to his name.

Now woll I speak of leasings, which ge∣nerally is false signifiaunce of word in entent, to deceiue his euin Christien. Some leasing is, of which there commeth none aduantage to no wight: and some leasing turneth to the profite and ease of a man, and to the dammage of another man. Another leasing is, for to saue his life or his cattel, which commeth of delight for to lie, in which de∣light, they woll forge a long tale, and paint it with all circumstances, where all the tale of the ground is false. Some leasing com∣meth, for he woll sustain his words: Some leasing commeth of retchlesnesse without auisement, and semblable things.

Let us now touch the vice of Flatterie, which ne cometh not gladly, but for dread, or for couetise. Flatterie is generally wrong∣ful praising. Flatterers been the deuils nou∣rices,

that nourish his children with milk of losengerie: forsooth Salomon sayth, That Flatterie is worse than detraction: for some∣time detraction maketh an hautein man be the more humble, for he dreadeth detra∣ction, but certes flattery maketh a man to enhaunce his heart and his countenaunce. Flatterers be the Deuils enchauntours, for they make a man to wene himself be like that he is not like. Those be like to Iudas, that betray a man, to sell him to his Ene∣my. Flatterers been the deuils Chapleins, that ever sing Placebo. I reckon flattery in the vices of ire: for oft time if a man be wroth with another, then woll he flatter some wight, to sustain him in his quarrel.

Speak we now of such cursing as cometh of irous hart. Malison generally may be said, euery manner power of harm: such cursing bereaueth man fro the reign of God, as sayth S. Poule. And oft time such cur∣sing wrongfully, returneth ayen to him that curseth, as a bird that turneth again to his own neast. * And ouer all thing, men ought eschew to curse her children, & yeue to the deuil her engendrure, as ferre forth as in hem is: certes, it is great peril & great sin.

Let us then speak of Chiding & Reproch, which beene full great woundes in mannes heart, for they unsow the seams of friendship in mans heart: For certes, Vnneth may a man plainly be accorded with him, that him openly hath reuiled and repreued, & disclaun∣dred: This is a full ghostly sin, as Christ sayth in the Gospel. And take heed now, that he that repreueth his neighbour, either he re∣preueth him by some harm of pain, that hee hath upon his bodie, as Mesell, crooked, har∣lot, or by some sin that he doth. Now if yee repreue him by harm of pain, then turneth the repreue to Iesu Christ: for pain is send by the rightwise sond of God, & by his suffe∣raunce, be it meselrie, maim, or maladie: & if he repreue him uncharitably of sinne, as thou holour, thou dronkelewe harlot, & so foorth: then pertaineth that to the reioycing of the deuil, which euer hath ioy that men doen sin. And certes, chiding may not come but of villanous heart, for after the haboun∣dance of the heart speaketh the mouth full oft. And ye shall understond, that look by any way, when any man shall chastise or correct another, that he beware from chiding or re∣preuing: for truly but he beware, he may ful lightly quicken the fire of anger & of wrath, which he should quench: and peraduenture, slaeth him, which he might chastise with be∣nignity. For as saith Salomon: * The amia∣ble tong is the tree of life, y^• is to say, of life spirituel. And soothly, a dissolute tong slaeth the spirits of him that repreueth, and also of him which is repreued. Lo, what sayeth saint Augustine: * There is nothing so like the deuiis child, as he which oft chideth. A ser∣uant of God behoueth not to chide. And though that chiding be a villanous thing betwixt all maner folk, yet it is certes most uncouenable between a man and his wife, for there is neuer rest. And therefore saieth Salomon: * An house that is uncouered & drooping, and a chiding wife, ben alike.

A man, which is in a dropping hous in ma∣ny places, though he eschew the dropping in o place, it droppeth on him in another place: So fareth it by a chiding wife, if she chide him not in one place, she wol chide him in another: And therefore. * Better & greatly more pleasant is a morsel or little gobbet of bread with ioy, than an house silled full of delices with chiding and gnerring, sayeth Salomon. Saint Poule sayth: O ye wo∣men, beth ye subiect to your husbands, as you behoueth and ought in God. And ye men loue your wiues. Ad Colonicences. iii.

Afterward speak we of Scorning, which is a wicked sin, and namely, when he scorn∣eth a man for his good werks: For certes, such scorners fare like the foul tode, that may not endure to smell the sweet sauour of the vine, when it flourisheth. These scor∣ners been parting fellows with the deuil, for they haue ioy when the deuil winneth, and sorrow if he leseth. They been aduersa∣ries of Iesu Christ, for they hate that he lo∣ueth, that is to say, saluation of soul.

Speak we now of wicked counsail, the which is a Traitour, for he deceiueth him that trusteth in him: Vt Achitophel ad Sa∣lomonem. But nathelesse, yet is his wicked counsail first ayenst himself: for as sayth the wise man: * Euery false liuing hath this pro∣perty in himselfe, that he y^• woll annoy ano∣ther man, he annoyeth first himself. And men shall understond, that man shall not take his counsail of false folk, ne of angry folk, or greuous folk, ne of folk that loue specially too much worldly folk, namely, in counsailing of Souls.

Now commeth the sin of hem that sow and make discord among folk, which is a sin that Christ hateth utterly, & no wonder is: for he died for to make concord. And more shame do they to Christ, than did they that him crucified: * For God loueth better, that friendship be amongs folk, than he did his own body, which that he gaue for vnitie. Therefore ben they likened to the deuil, that euer be about to make discord. Now cometh the sin of Double tongue, such as speake fair before folk, and wickedly behind: or else they make semblaunt, as though they spake of good entention, or els in game and play, and yet they speak of wicked entent.

Now commeth bewraying of counsayle, through which a man is defamed: certes un∣neth may he restore the dammage. Now com∣meth menace, y^• is an open folly: for he that oft menaceth, he threateth more than he may perform full oft time. Now commeth idle words, that is, without profite of him that

speaketh the words, & also of him that hear∣keneth the words: Or els idle wordes been those that been needlesse, or without entent of natural profite. And albeit that idle words be sometime venial sinne, yet should menne doubt hem, for we shall yeue reckoning of hem before God. Now cometh iangling, that may not be without sinne: & as sayth Sa∣lomon, It is a sign of apert folly. And there∣fore a Philosopher saied, when men asked him how that he should please the people, he answered: * Do many good werkes, and speak few vanities. After this cometh the sin of yaperies, that been the deuils Apes, for they make folk to laugh at her yaperie, as folk do at the gaudes of an Ape: which yapes defendeth saint Poule. Look how that vertuous words and holy, comfort hem that trauail in the seruice of Christ, right so com∣forteth the villainous words and knacks of yapers, hem that trauail in the seruice of the deuil. These ben the sins of the tongue, that come of ire, and of other sins.

¶The remedie ayenst Ire.

THe remedy ayenst Ire, is a vertue that men call mansuetude, that is, Debo∣nairtie: and also another vertue, that men clepe patience or sufferaunce.

Debonairtie withdraweth and refraineth the stirrings and moouings of mans cou∣rage in heart, in such manner, that they ne skip not out by Anger ne Ire. Suffe∣raunce, suffereth sweetly all the annoyances and wronges that menne done to man out∣ward. Saint Ierome sayeth this of debo∣nairte, That it dooth no harme to no wight, ne sayeth: ne for no harme that men doe ne say, he ne chafeth ayenst reason. This vertue sometime commeth of nature: for as sayeth the Philosopher: A manne is a quicke thinge by nature, debonaire, and treatable to goodnesse: but when debonair∣ty is enformed of grace, then it is the more worth.

Patience is another remedy ayenst ire, & is a vertue y^• suffereth sweetly euery mans goodnesse, and is not wroth for no harm that is done to him. The Philosopher sayth, That patience is the vertue that suffreth debonair∣ly, all the outrages of aduersity, and euery wicked word. This vertue maketh a man like to God, and maketh him Gods owne childe: as sayeth Christ. This vertue dis∣comfiteth thine enemies. And therefore say∣eth the Wise man: If thou would vanquish thine enemie, learn to suffer. And thou shalt understond, that a man suffereth four man∣ner of greeuances in outward things, ayenst the which four, he must haue four manner of patiences.

The first greeuaunce is of wicked words, which suffereth Iesus Christ, without grut∣ching, full patiently, when the Iews despi∣sed him full oft. Suffet thou therefore pati∣ently, for the Wiseman sayth: * If thou striue with a foole, though the fool be wroth, or though he laugh, alway thou shalt haue no reste.

That other greeuaunce outward, is to haue dommage of thy cattel: There ayenst suffered Christ full patiently, when he was despoyled of all that he had in this life, and that was but his clothes. The third gree∣uaunce, is a man to haue harme in his bo∣dy: that suffred Christ full patiently in all his passion. The fourth greeuaunce, is in outragious labour in werks: wherefore I say, that folk that make her seruaunts to trauaile too greeuously, or out of time, as in holy days, soothly they doe great sinne. Here ayenst suffred Christ full patiently, & taught us patience, when he bare upon his blessed shoulders the crosse, upon which he should suffer despitous death. Here may men learn to be patient, for certes, not only Chri∣sten be patient for loue of Iesu Christ, and for reward of the blessed life that is perdurable, but certes the old Painems, that neuer were Christened, commended and used the vertue of patience.

* A Phylosopher upon a time, that would haue beate his disciple for his great trespace, for which he was moued, and brought a rod to beat the childe, and when this child sawe the rod, he sayd to his mayster: what think ye to do? I woll beat thee sayed the mayster for thy correction: Forsooth, sayed the child, ye ought first correct your selfe, that haue lost all your patience, for the offence of a child. Forsooth sayd the mayster all weeping, thou sayest sooth: haue thou the rodde my deare child, and correct me for mine impatience. Of patience commeth obedience, through which a man is obedient to Christ, and to all hem to which he ought be obedient in Christ. And understand well, that obedience is perfite, when that a man dooth gladly and hastely, with good heart entirely, all that he should doe. Obedience generally, is to perform the doctrine of God, and of his soueraignes, to which him ought to be obeysaunt in all rightwisenesse.

¶De Accidia.

AFter the sinnes of Enuy and Ire, now woll I speake of the sinne of Accidie: tor Enuy blindeth the heart of a man, and Ire troubleth a man, & Accidie maketh him heauy, thoughtful, and pensife. Enuy & Ire maken bitternesse in heart, which birternesse is mother of Accidie, and taketh fro him the loue of all goodnes, then is accidie the anguish of trouble of heart. And S. Augustine sayth: It is annoy of goodnesse & annoy of harme. Certes this is a damnable sinne, for it dooth wrong to Iesu Christ, in as much as it be∣nummeth the seruice y^• men ought to do to

Christ, as sayth Salomon: but Accidie doth no such diligence. He doth all thing with an∣noy, and with wrawnesse, slacknesse, and ex∣cusation, with idlenesse & unlust. For which the book sayth: * Accursed be he that doth the seruice of God negligently. Then is Ac∣cidie enemy to euery estate of man. For certes the estate of man is in three manners: Either it is in the estate of innocency, as was the estate of Adam, before that he fell into sin, in which estate he was hold to work, as in praising and lauding God. Another estate is the estate of sinful men: in which estate men ben holden to labour in praying to God for amendment of her sins, & that he would grant hem to rise out of her sins.

Another estate is the estate of grace, in which estate he is holden to works of peni∣tence: and certes, to all these thinges is accidie contrary, for he loueth no businesse at all. Now certes, this foul sin accidie, is also a full great enemy to the liuelode of the body: * For it ne hath no purueiaunce ayenst temporel necessity, for it forsloweth, forslogeth, and destroieth all goods tempo∣rel by retchlesnesse.

The fourth thing is, that Accidie is like hem that been in the paine of hell, because of her sloth and heauines: for they that be damned, ben so bound, that they may ney∣ther well doe ne think. Of accidie cometh first, that a man is annoied and encombred to do any goodnes, and maketh that God hath abhomination of such accidie, as sayth Saint Iohn.

Now commeth Sloth, that woll not suf∣fer no hardnesse ne pennance: for soothly, s••oth is so tender and so delicate, as sayeth Salomon, that he woll suffer no hardnesse ne pennaunce, and therefore he marreth all that he doth. Ayenst this rotten sin of acci∣die and sloth, should men exercise hemselfe, and use hem to do good workes: and man∣ly and vertuously catch courage to do, thinking that our Lord Iesu Christ quiteth euery good deed, be it neuer so lite. Vsage of labour is a great thing. For it maketh, as sayeth S. Bernard, the labourer to haue strong armes and hard senewes: and sloth maketh heeuy, feeble, and tender. Then commeth dread to beginne to worke any good workes. For certes, * He that enclineth to sin, him thinketh it is so great an emprise for to undertake the works of goodnesse, and casteth in his heart, that the circumstances of goodnesse been so greeuous and weighty for to suffer, that he dare not undertake to doe workes of goodnesse, as sayeth Saint Gregorie.

Now commeth wanhope, y^• is, dispair of the mercy of God, y^• commeth sometime of too much outragious sorow, & sometime of too much dread, imagining that he hath doe so much sinne, that it woll not auayle him, tho he woud repent him, and forsake sinne: through which despair or dread, he abandon∣neth all his heart to euery manner sinne, as sayth Saint Augustine. Which dampnable sinne, if it continue unto his end, it is called sinning in the holy ghost. This horrible sin is so perillous, that he y^t is despaired, there nis no fellonie, ne no sinne, that he doubteth for to do, as sheweth well by Iudas. Cer∣tes, aboue all sinnes then is this sinne most displeasaunt to Christ, and most ad∣uersarie.

Sothly, he y^t dispaireth him, is like to the coward champion recreaunt, that flieth with∣out need. Alas, alas, needlesse is he recreant, & needlesse despaired. Certes. * The mercy of God is euer ready to y^• penitent person, & is aboue all his werks. Alas, cannot a man bethink him on y^• Gospel of S. Luke .xv. Whereas Christ sayeth, * That as well shall there be ioy in heauen upon a sinful manne that doeth penitence, as upon xcix. rightful men that need no penitence. Look further in the same Gospel, the ioy & the feast of the good man that had lost his sonne, when his sonne was retourned with repentaunce to his father. Can they not remember hem al∣so, that (as sayth Saint Luke, Chapi. xx.) How that the theefe that was hanged beside Iesu Christ, sayd: Lord remember me, when thou commest into thy reign. Forsooth said Christ, I say to thee, To day shalt thou be with me in Paradise. Certes, there is none so horrible sinne in manne, that ne may in his life be destroyed by penitence, through vertue of the passion and of the death of Christ. Alas, what need men then to be despaired, sith that his mercy is so ready and large? Ask and haue.

Then cometh Sompnolence, that is slug∣gie, slumbring, which maketh a man heauie, and dull in body and in soul, and this sinne commeth of sloth: And certes, the time that by way of reason man should not sleep, is by the morrow, but if there were cause reaso∣nable. For soothly, the morrow tide is most couenable, a man to say his prayers, and for to thank God, and to honour God, and to yeue almose to the poor that commeth first in the name of Iesu Christ.

Lo, what sayeth Salomon? Who so woll by the morow awake to seek me, he shall find me. Then commeth negligence or retchles∣nes that recketh of nothing. And though y^• ignorance be mother of all harms, certes, negligence is the norice. Negligence ne doth no force, when he shall do a thing, whe∣ther he do it well or euil.

The remedie of these two sinnes is, as sayth the Wise man: * That he that dread∣eth God, spareth not to do that he ought to do: and he that loueth God, he woll doe dilligence to please God by his werkes, and abandon himselfe, with all his might, well for to doe. Then cometh idlenesse, that is the yate of all harms. An idle manne is

like to a place that hath no wals, the deuil may enter on euery side, or shoot at him that is discouerte, by temptation on euery side. This idlenesse is the thorruke of all wicked and villainous thoughts, and of all ordure. Certes, the heauen is yeue to hem that will labour, and not to idle folk. Also Dauid sayeth, * That they ne be not in the labour of men, ne they shall not be whipped with men, that is to say, in Purgatorie. Cer∣tes, then seemeth it they shall be torment∣ed with the deuils in hell, but if they do pennaunce.

Then commeth the sinne that men call Tarditas, as when a man is so latered, or tarrying or he woll tourn to God: and cer∣tes, that is a great folly. He is like him that falleth in the ditch, and woll not arise. And this vice commeth of false hope, that he thinketh he shall liue long, but that hope fayleth full oft.

Then commeth Lochesse, that is, he that when he beginneth any good work, anone he woll leaue and stint it, as done they that haue any person to gouern, and ne take of him no more heed, anon as they find any contrary or any annoy. These ben the new sheepheards, that let their sheepe wittingly goe ren to the Wolfe, that is in the breres, or do not force of her own gouernaunce. Of this commeth pouerte and destruction, both of spirituel and temporel things. Then commeth a manner coldnesse, that freeseth the hart of man. Then commeth undeuo∣tion, through which a man is so blont, and as sayeth S. Bernard, hath such langour in his soul, that he may neyther read ne sing in holy church, ne hear ne think of no deuotion, ne trauail with his honds in no good work, that it nis to him unsauory and all apalled. Then wexeth the slow and slom∣bry, and soon woll be wroth, and soon is en∣clined to hate and enuy. Then commeth the sinne of worldly sorrow, such as is called Tristitia, that staeth a man, as sayth Saint Poule. For certes, such sorrow worketh the death of the soul and body also, for thereof commeth, that a man is annoyed of his own life. Wherefore such sorrow shorteth full oft the life of man, ere that his time is come, by way of kind.

Remedium contra peccatum Accidiae.

AYenst this horrible sinne of Accidie, and the braunches of the same, there is a vertue y^t is called Fortitudo, or strength, through which a man despiseth annoyous things: this vertue is so mightie and so rigorous, that it dare withstond migh∣tily, and wisely keep himselfe fro perils that been wicked, and wrastle ayenst the assaults of the deuill, for it enchaunceth and enforceth the soule, right as Acci∣die abateth & maketh it feeble: for this fortitude may endure by long sufferaunce the trauails that ben couenable.

This vertue hath many speces, the first is called Magnanimitie, that is to say, great courage. For certes, there beho∣ueth great courage ayenst Accidie, least that it ne swallow the soule by the sin of sorrow, or destroy it by wanhope. Certes, this vertue maketh folke under∣take hard and greeuous thinges by her own will, wisely and reasonably. And for as much as the deuill fighteth ayenst a manne more by subtilty and sleight than by strength, therefore shall a man with∣stand him by wit, reason and discretion. Then are there the vertues of fayth, and hope in God and in his saints, to follow and accomplish the good workes, in the which he purposeth fermely to continue. Then commeth suretie or sikernesse, and that is when a manne ne doubteth no trauail in time comming, of the good workes that he hath begun. Then com∣meth Magnificence, that is to say, when a man doeth and performeth great works of goodnesse, that he hath begun, and that is the end why that menne should doe good workes. For in the accomplishing of good workes, lyeth the great guerdon. Then is there Constaunce, that is stable∣nes of courage, and this should be in heart by stedfast faith, and in mouth, in bearing, in chere, and in deed. And there been mo speciall remedies ayenst Accidie, in diuers works: as in consideration of the paines of hell, the ioyes of heauen, and in trust of the grace of the holy ghost, that will yeue him might to performe his good entent.

¶De Avaricia.

AFter Accidie woll I speak of Auarice, and of Couetise. Of which sin Saint Poule sayth: * The root of all harmes is Couetise. Ad Timoth .vi. For soothly, when the heart of man is confounded in it self and troubled, and that the soul hath lost the comfort of God, then seketh he an sole sol∣lace of worldly things.

Auarice, after the description of S. Au∣gustine, is a licorousnesse in heart to haue earthly things. Some other folke say, that Auarice is for to purchase many yearthly things, and nothing to yeue to hem that haue need. And understand, that auarice standeth not only in land ne cattel, but sometime in science and glory, and in eue∣ry manner of outragious things, is Aua∣rice. And Couetise is this:

Couetise, is for to couet such things that thou hast not. And Auarice is, to withhold and keep such things as thou hast, without right. Soothly, this auarice is a sin that is full dampnable, for all holy writ curseth it, and speaketh ayenst y^t vice, for it doth wrong

to Iesu Christ: for it taketh fro him, the loue that men to him owe, and tourneth it backward ayenst all reason, & maketh that the auaricious man hath more hope in his cattel than in Iesu Christ, and doth more obseruaunce in keeping of his treasour, than he doth in the seruice of Iesu Christ. And therefore sayeth Saint Poule. Ad Ephesios quinto: * That an auaricious man is the thraldom of Idolatrie.

What difference is there betwixt an Ido∣later and an auaricious man? But that an Idolaster, peraduenture ne hath not but a Maumet, or two, and the auaricious man hath many: For certes, euery Florein in his cofer, is his Maumet. And certes, the sin of Maumetrie, is the first that God de∣fended, as in the x. commaundment it bea∣reth witnesse, in Exodi. Capi. xx. Thou shalt haue no false goddes before me, ne thou shalt make to thee no grauen thing. Thus is an auaricious man that loueth his treasure be∣fore God, an Idolaster. And through this cursed sin of auarice and couetise, commeth these hard Lordships, through which they ben strained by tallages, customs, and cariages, more than her dutie or reason is: or else take they of her bondmen amerciaments, which might more reasonably be called extortions, than merciamentes. Of which amercia∣ments, or raunsoming of bondmen, some Lords stewards say, that it is rightful, for as much as a churl hath no temporel thing, that it ne is his Lords, as they say. But certes, these Lordships do wrong, that be∣reaue their bondmen things that they neuer yaue hem. Augustinus de Ciuitate dei. Li∣bro .ix. Sooth is, * That the condition of thraldom, and the first cause of thraldom was for sin.

Thus may ye see, that the offence deser∣ued thraldome, but not nature. Wherefore these Lords ne should not much glorifie hem in her Lordships, sith that they by natural condition, been not Lords ouer thrals, but for that thraldome came first by the desert of sin. And more ouer, there as the Law sayth, That temporal goods of bondfolk been the goods of her Lord: yea, that is for to understond, the goods of the Emperour, to defend hem in her right, but not to rob hem ne reue hem. Therefore sayeth Seneca: * Thy prudence should liue benignely with the thrals. Those that thou callest thy thrals, been Gods people: and for humble people been Christs friends, they been contuberni∣al with the Lords.

* Think also, that of such seed as churls spring, of such seed spring Lords: As well may y^• churl be saued, as the Lord. The same death that taketh the churl, such death taketh the Lord. Wherefore I rede, do right so with the churle, as thou wouldst y^t thy Lord did with thee, if thou were in his plight. * Euery sinful man is a churl to sin: I rede the Lord certes, y^t thou werk in such wise with thy churls, that they rather loue thee than dread thee. I wote well, that there is degree aboue degree, as reason is, and skill is, that men do her deuoir, there as it is due. But certes, extortions, and despight of your underlings, is damnable.

And furthermore understand well, that these Conquerors or Tyrants make full oft thrals of hem that been born of as royal blood as been they that hem conquere. This name of Thraldome was neuer erst know, till that Noe saied, that his son Cham should be thral to his brethren for his sin. What say we then of hem that pill and doe extortions to holy Church: Certes, the swerd that men yeue first to a knight when he is new dubbed, signifieth, that he should defend ho∣ly Church, and not robbe and pill it: and who so doeth, is traitour to Christ. And as saith S. Augustine, * They been the deuils Wolues, that strangle the sheepe of Iesu Christ, and done worse than Wolues: for soothly, when the Wolfe hath full his womb, he stinteth to strangle sheep: But soothly, the pillours and destroyers of holy Church goods, ne doe not so, for they ne stint neuer to pill. Now as I haue saied, sith so is, that sin was first cause of thraldome, then is it thus, that at the time that all this world was in sin, then was all this world in thral∣dome, and in subjection: but certes, sith the time of grace came, God ordained, that some folk should be more high in estate and in degree, and some folk more low, and that ech should be serued in his estate.

And therefore in some countries there they be thrals, when they haue tourned hem to their fayth, they make her thrals free out of the thraldome: & therefore, certes the Lord oweth to his man, that the man oweth to the Lord. The Pope calleth himself seruaunt to the seruants of God, but for, as the estate of holy Church ne might not haue been, ne the common profite might not haue be kept, ne peace ne rest in earth, but if God had or∣dained, that some man haue higher degre, & some men lower: therefore was soueraignty ordained to keep, maintain, and defend her underlings and her subiects in reason, as fer forth as it lyeth in her power, and not to destroy ne confound hem. Wherefore I say, that those lords that been like wolues, that deuoure the possessions or the cattel of poor folks wrongfully, without mercy or measure, they shall receiue by the same measure that they haue measured to poor folk, y^• measure of Iesu Christ, but it be amended. Now com∣meth deceit betwixt marchaunt and mar∣chaunt. And thou shalt understond, y^t mar∣chaundise is in two manners, that one is bo∣dily, & that other is ghostly: that one is ho∣nest and leful, & that other is dishonest and unleful. The bodily marchaundise that is leful and honest, is this: that there as God

hath ordained, that a reigne or a countrey is suffisaunt to himselfe, then it is honest and lefull, that of haboundance of this countrey menne helpe another countrey that is needy: And therefore there must be marchaunts to bring fro one countrey to that other, her mar∣chaundise. That other marchaundise that menne haunten with fraude, and trecherie, and deceit, with leasinges and false othes, is right cursed and dampnable. Espirituell Marchaundise is properly Simonie, that is, ententiue desire to buy any thing espirituell, that is, a thing which appertayneth to the sanctuarie of God, and to cure of the soule. This desire, if so be that a manne do his di∣ligence to perfourme it, all be it that his de∣sire ne take none effect, yet it is to him a deadly sin: & if he be ordered, he is irregular. Certes Simonie is called of Simon magus, that would haue bought for temporel cattel the yest that God had yeue by the Holy-ghost to Saint Peter, and to the Apostles: And therefore vnderstond, that he that selleth and he that buyeth things espirituell, ben called Simoniackes, be it by cattell, be it by procuring, or by fleshly praier of his frends, fleshly frends, or espirituell frends, fleshly in two manners, as by kinred or other frends: Soothly, if they pray for him that is not wor∣thy and able, it is Simonie, if he take the be∣nefice: and if he be worthy and able, there is none. That other manner is, when man or woman prayeth for folke to auaunce hem on∣ly, for wicked fleshly affection which they haue vnto the persons, and that is foul Simonie. But certes, in seruice, for which menne yeuen things espirituell vnto her seruaunts, it must be vnderstond, that y^• seruice must be honest, or els not, & also, that it be without bargain∣ing, and that the person be able. For (as saith Saint Damasen:) * All the sinnes of the world, at regard of this sinne, are as thing of nought, for it is the greatest sinne that may be after the sin of Lucifer and of Antichrist: For by this sinne God forleseth the Church and the Soule, which hee bought with his precious blood, by hem y^t yeue Churches to hem that been not worthy, for they are put in theeues honds, that steale the soules of Iesu Christ, and destroy his patrimonie. By such vnworthy Priests and Curates, haue leaud menne lesse reuerence of the Sacraments of holy Church: & such yeuers of Churches put the children of Christ out, & put in y^• Church the Diuels owne sonnes: they sell the soules that Lambs should keep, to the Wolf, which strangleth hem: and therfore shall they neuer haue part of the pasture of Lambes, that is, the blisse of Heauen. Now cometh hasardry, with his apertenaunces, at tables and rafles, of which cometh deceit, false oths, chidings, and all rauenous blasphemings, & renyings of God, and hate of his neyghbours, wast of goods, mispending of time, and sometime manslaughter. Certes, hasardours ne mow not bee without greate sinne. Of Auarice commeth also leasinges, theft, false witnesse, and false othes: and ye shall vnderstond, that these bee great sinnes, and expresse ayenst the commaundements of God, as I haue sayd. False witnesse is in word, and also in deede: In worde, as for to bereaue thy neighbours good name by thy false witnesse, or bereaue him his cattell or his heritage, by thy false witnessing, when thou for ire, or for meede, or for enuie, bearest false witnesse, or accu∣sest him, or excuseth thy self falsely. Ware ye questmongers and notaries: certes, for false witnessing, was Susan in full great sorrowe and paine, and many another mo. The sinne of theft is also expresse ayenst Gods hest, and in two manners (corporell, and spirituell) the temporell theft is: As, for to take thy neigh∣bours cattell ayenst his will, be it by force or by sleight, be it by mette or by measure: by stealing also of false enditements vpon him, and in borrowing of thy neighbours cattell, in entent neuer to pay it ayen, and sembla∣ble things. Espirituell theft is sacrilege, that is to say, hurting of holy things sacred to Christ in two manners, by reason of the holy place, as Churches or Churchyards: For which euery villainous sinne that men done in such places, may be called sacrilege, or euery violence in the semblable places. Also they that withdrawe falsely the rightes that long to holy Church and pleasing. And gene∣rally sacriledge is to reue holy thing fro holy place, or vnholy thing, out of holy place, or holy thing out of vnholy place.

Revelatio contra peccatum Avaritiae.

NOw shall ye vnderstond, that releeuing of Auarice, is misericorde and pitty largely taken. And men might aske, why that misericorde and pitty are releeuing of Auarice: Certes, the auaricious man shew∣eth no pitty ne misericorde to the needfull man.

For he delighteth him in the keping of his treasure, & not in the rescuing ne releeuing of his euin Christen. And therefore speake I first of misericorde. Then is misericorde (as saith the Phylosopher) a vertue, by which the courage of man is stirred by the misease of him that is diseased. Vpon which miseri∣corde followeth pity, in performing and fulfil∣ing of charitable workes of mercie, helping & comforting him that is miseased. And cer∣tes, these things moue and stir a man to mi∣sericorde of Iesu Christ, that he yaue himselfe for our offence, and suffered death for miseri∣corde, and foryaue vs our original sins, and thereby released vs fro the pains of hell, and minished y^• pains of purgatory by penitence, and yeueth grace well to do, and at last, the blisse of heauen. The speces of misericorde ben for to lene, and also for to yeue, for to foryeue and release, and for to haue pity in heart, and

compassion of the mischeef of his euin Chri∣sten, and also to chastise there as need is. Another manner of remedy ayenst Auarice, is reasonable largesse: but soothly, here behoo∣ueth the consideration of that grace of Iesu Christ, and of the temporell goodes, and also of the goodes perdurable that Iesu Christ yaue to vs, and to haue remembrance of the death which he shall receiue, he knoweth not when, where, ne who: and also that he shall forgo all that he hath, saue onely that which he hath expended in good werkes.

But for as much as some folk ben vnmea∣surable, men ought for to auoyd and eschewe foolish largesse, the whiche some people call waste.

Certes, he that is foole large, yeueth not his cattell, but he leseth his cattell. Soothly, what thing that he yeueth for vaine-glory, as to minstrels, and to folke that beare his re∣nome in the world, he hath sinne thereof, and none almesse: certes, * He leseth foule his good, that he ne seeketh with the yeft of his good nothing but sinne. He is like to an horse that seeketh rather to drink drouy or trou∣bled water, than for to drink water of the cleare well. To hem appertainen the said cursing that Christ shall yeue at the day of doome to hem that shall be damned.

¶Sequitur de Gula.

AFter Auarice cometh Glotenie, which is expresse ayenst the commandement of God. Glotenie, is vnmeasurable appetite to eate or to drinke, or els to do ynough to the vnmeasurable appetite and disordained couetise to eat or to drink. This sinne cor∣rupteth all this world, as is well shewed in the sinne of Adam and of Eue. Looke also what saith saint Poul of glotenie. * Many (saith he) gone, of which I haue often said to you, and now I say it weeping, that been the enemies of the crosse of Christ, of which the end is death, and of which her womb is her God and her glory, in confusion of hem that so deuour earthly thinges.

He that is vsed to this sin of Glotenie, he ne may no sin withstond, he must be in ser∣uage of all vices, for it is the Deuils hourd, there he hideth and resteth him. This sinne hath many speces: The first is dronkennesse, * That is the horrible sepulture of mans rea∣son: and therefore when a manne is dronke, he hath lost his reason: And this is deadly sinne. But soothly, when that a man is not wont to strong drinke, and peraduenture ne knoweth not the strength of the drinke, or hath feeblesse in his head, or hath trauayled, through which he drinketh the more, all be he suddainely caught with drinke, it is no dead∣ly sinne, but veniall. The second spece of glo∣tenie is, that the spirit of a manne wexeth all troubled, for dronkennesse bireaueth him the discretion of his wit.

The third manner spece of Glotonie, is when a man deuoureth his meat, and hath not rightfull manner of eating. The fourth is, when through the great abundance of his meat, the humours in his body been distem∣pered. The fifth is, foryetfulnesse by too much drinking, for which sometime a man forget∣teth ere the morning what he did on the euening before.

In other manner been distinct the speces of glotonie, after S. Gregorie. The first is, for to eat before time to eat. The second is, when a man giueth him to delicate meat or drink. The third is, when men take too much ouer measure. The fourth is, curiositie, with great entent to make and appareill his meat. The fift is, for to eat too greedily.

These ben the fiue fingers of the deuils hond, by which he draweth folke to sinne.

¶The Remedie ayenst Glotenie.

AYenst Glotenie, the remedie is absti∣nence, as saith Galiene: but that I hold not meritorious, if he do it for the heale of his body. Saint Augustine woll that absti∣nence be done for vertue, and with patience. Abstinence (saith he) is little worth, but if a man haue good will thereto, and but if he be enforced by patience and charitie, and that men do it for Gods sake, and in hope to haue blisse in heauen.

The fellowes of abstinence bee attempe∣raunce, that holdeth the meane in all things. Also Shame, that escheweth all dishonestie. Suffisaunce, that seeketh no rich meates ne drinkes, ne doth not force of outragious ap∣paireling of meat. Measure also, that re∣straineth by reason the vnmeasurable appe∣tite of eating. Sobernesse also, that restrayn∣eth the outrage of drinke. Sparing also, that restrayneth the delicate ease, to sit long at meat, wherefore some folke standen of her owne will when they eate, because they woll eate at lesse leasure.

¶De Luxutia.

AFter Glotenie commeth Letcherie, for these two sins been so nigh cousins, that oft time they woll not depart. God wot this sin is full displeasant to God, he forsaid himselfe: Do no letcherie. And therefore he putteth great paines ayenst this sin.

For in the old law, if a woman thrall were take in this sin, she should be beat with staues to death. And if she were a gentlewoman, she should be slaine with stones. And if she were a bishops doughter, she should be brent by Gods commaundement.

Moreouer, by the sin of Lechery God drowned all the world, and after that he brent fiue cities with thunder and lightning, and sanke hem into hell.

Now let vs speak then of the said stink∣ing sin of Lecherie, that men call auoutrie of wedded folk, that is to say, if that one of hem ben wedded, or els both. Saint Iohn saith, That auouterers shall be in hell in a stacke bre••ning of fire and of brimstone, for the stenche of her ordure: certes, the breaking of this sacrament is an horrible thing: it was made of God himself in Paradise, and con∣firmed by Iesus Christ, as witnesseth Saint Mathew in the Gospell: * A man shall leue father and mother, and take him to his wife, and they shall be two in one flesh.

This Sacrament betokeneth the knit∣ting together of Christ and holye Church. And not onely that God forbade auoutrie indeede, but also he commaunded, That thou shouldest not couet thy neighbours wife.

In this heste (saith Saint Augustine) is forbode all manner couetise to do Letcherie. Lo, what saith Saint Mathew in the Gos∣pell, * That who so seeth a woman, to coue∣tise of his lust, he hath done Lecherie with her in his heart. Here may ye see, that not onely the deed of this sinne is forboden, but also the desire to that sin. This cursed sin an∣noyeth greeuously hem that it haunt: and first to her soule, for he obligeth it to sin, and to pain of death, which is perdurable: then of the body annoyeth it greeuously also, for it drieth him and wasteth, and shenteth him, and of his blood he maketh sacrifice to the fiend of hell: It wasteth his cattell and his substaunce. And certes, if it be a foule thing, a man to waste his cattell on women: yet it is a fouler thing, when that for such ordure, women dispend vpon men her cattell and her substaunce. * This sin, as saith the Pro∣phet, taketh from man and woman her good fame and her honour, and it is full delectable and pleasant to the deuill: for thereby win∣neth he the more part of this wretched world. And right as a Marchant delighteth him most in that chaffare which he hath most aduauntage and profite of, right so delight∣eth the fiend in this ordure.

This is that other hond of the deuil, with fiue fingers, to catch the people to his villa∣nie. The first is the foolish looking of the foo∣lish woman and of the foolish man, that s••aeth right as the Basilicocke or Cocatrice steeth folke by venim of his sight: for the couetise of y^• eyen followeth the couetise of the heart. The second finger is the villainous touching in wicked manner. And therefore saith Sa∣lomon: * That who so toucheth & handleth a woman, he fareth as the man that hande∣leth the Scorpion, which stingeth and soden∣ly sleeth through his enueniming, or as who so that toucheth warme pitch blemisheth his fingers. The third is foule words, which fareth like fire, which right anone brenneth the heart. The fourth finger is the kissing: And truely he were a great foole that would kisse the mouthe of a brenning ouen or of a fournace. And more fooles ben they that kisse in villainy, for that mouth is the mouth of hell, and namely these old dotardes holours, which woll kisse and flicker, and busie hem∣selfe tho they may nought do. Certes they been like to hounds: For an hound when he cometh nye to the roser, or by other benches, thoughe so bee that he maye not pisse, yet woll he heaue vp his leg and make a coun∣tenaunce to pisse. And for that manie man weeneth that hee maye not sinne for no lico∣rousnesse that he doth with his wife, true∣ly that opinion is false: * God wote a man maye slee himselfe with his owne knife, and make himselfe drunke with his owne tunne. Certes be it wife, be it childe, or any worldly thing y^t he loueth before God, it is his mau∣mette, and he is an idolaster. * A man should loue his wife by discretion, patiently and at∣temperately, and then is shee as though it were his suster. The fifth finger of y^e Diuels hond, is the stinking deed of lecherie. Truly the fiue fingers of gluttonie the Diuel put∣teth into the womb of a man: And with his fiue fingers of lecherie hee grypeth him by the reins, for to throw him into the furnace of Hell, there as they shall haue the fire and the wormes that euer shall last, and weping and wayling, and sharpe hunger and thurst, grimnesse of Diuels, which shall all to tread hem withouten end. Of lechery, as I sayd, sourdeth and springeth diuers speces: as for∣nication, that is between man and woman which bee not married, and is deadly sinne, and ayenst nature. All that is enemie and di∣struction to nature, is ayenst nature. Perfay the reason of a man telleth him well also that it is deadly sinne, for as much as God forbad lecherie. And Saint Paule yeueth hem the reigne that nis dewe to no wight but to hem that done deadly sinne. Another sinne of le∣cherie is, to bereaue a maids maidenhead, for he y^• so doth, certes he casteth a mayden out of y^• highest degre that is in this present life, and bereaueth her that precious fruicte that the boke calleth the hundreth fruits, I ne can saye it none otherwise in English, but in Latine it hight (Centesimus fructus:) Certes he that so doth, is y^• cause of many damages and villanies, mo than any man can recken: right as he is cause of many damages some∣time that beastes do in the field, that breake the hedge or y^e closure, through which he de∣stroyeth that may not be restored: For certes no more may maydenhead be restored, than an arme that is smitte fro the bodie, may re∣turne ayen and waxe: She may haue mercy, this wote I well, if that she haue will to do penitence, but neuer shall it be that she nas corrupt. And all be it so that I haue spoke somewhat of auoutrie, also it is good to shew the perilles that long to auoutrie, for to es∣chew that foul sinne. Auoutrie in latine, is for to say, approaching of another mannes

bedde, through whiche those that sometime were one flesh, abandone her bodies to other persons. Of this sinne, as sayeth the wise man, follow many harmes: First breaking of fayth, and certes in fayth is the key of christendome: and when that fayth is broke and lost, soothly christendom stont veine and without fruit. This sinne also is theft, for theft generally is to reaue a wight his things ayenst his will. * Certes, this is the foulest theft that may be, when that a woman steal∣eth her body from her husbond, and yeueth it to her holour to defoyle her: and stealeth her soule fro Christ, and yeueth it to the Deuill: This is a fouler thefte than for to breake a Church and steal away the chalice, for these auouterers break the temple of God spiritu∣ally, and steal the vessell of grace, that is the bodie and the soule: For which Christe shall destroy hem, as saith saint Poule. Sothly of this theft doubted greatly Ioseph, when that his Lordes wife prayed him of villainy, when he sayde: Lo my Lady, how my Lord hath take to me vnder my warde, all that he hath in this world, ne nothing of his things is out of my power, but onely ye that be his wife: and how should I then doe this wick∣ednesse, and sin so horrible ayenst God, and ayenst my Lord, God it forbede. Alas, all too little is suche trouth nowe found. The third harm is the silth, through which they breake the commaundement of God, and de∣foyle the auter of matrimonie, that is Christ. For certes, in so much as the Sacrament of marriage is so noble & so digne, so much is it greater sin for to break it: For God made mariage in Paradise in the estate of innocen∣cie, to multiplie mankinde in the seruice of God, and therefore is the breaking therof the more greeuous, of which breaking come false heirs oft time, that wrongfully occupie folks heritages: and therefore woll Christ put hem out of the reign of heauen, that is heritage to good folk. Of this breaking commeth also oft time, that folk vnware wed or sinne with her own kinrede: and namely these harlots, that haunt brodels of these foul women, that may be likened to a commune gong, whereas men purge her ordure. What say we also of putours, that liue by the horrible sinne of pu∣trie, and constrain women to yeue to hem a certain rent of her bodely puterie, yea, some∣time of his own wife or his childe, as done these bauds: Certes, these been cursed sins. Vnderstond also, that aduoutrie is set gladly in the ten commaundements between theft and manslaughter, for it is the greatest theft that may be, for it is theft of body & of soul, and it is like an homicide, for it kerueth atwo and breaketh atwo hem that first were made of one flesh. And therefore by the old law of God they should be slaine, but nathelesse, by the law of Iesu Christ, that is, law of pity, when he said to the woman that was found in auoutrie, and should haue bee slayne with stones, after the will of the Iewes, as was her law: Go, said Iesu Christ, and haue no more will to do sin. Soothly, the vengeance of auoutrie is awarded to the pains of Hell, but if so be that it be disturbed by penitence. Yet been there mo speces of this cursed sin, as when that one of hem is religious, or els both, or of folk that ben entred into order, as sub-Deacon, Deacon, or Priest, or Hospitali∣ers: & euer the higher that he is in order, the greater is the sin. The things that greatly agredge her sin, is the breaking of her auow of chastity, when they receiued the order. And moreouer, sooth is that holy order is cheefe of all the treasorie of God, and his especiall sign and mark of chastity, to shew that they beene joyned to chastity, which is the most precious life that is: and these ordered folk ben specially titled to God, and of the special meine of God: for which when they done deadly sinne, they been the traitors of God and of his people, for they liue of the people. Priestes been Angels, as by the dignitie of her mysterie: but forsooth Saint Poul saith, That Sathanas transfourmeth him in an Angell of light. Soothly, the Priest that haunteth deadly sinne, he may be likened to the Angel of darkenesse, transformed into the Angell of light. He seemeth Angell of light, but forsooth he is Angel of darknesse. Such Priests be the sonnes of Hely, as sheweth in the book of Kings, that they were the sons of Beliall, that is, the Diuell. Beliall is to say, without judge, and so fare they, hem thinketh they be free, and haue no judge, no more than hath a free Bull, y^t taketh which Cow that him liketh in the town. So fare they by women, for right as one free Bull is ynough for all a town, right so is a wicked Priest corruption ynough for all a parish, or for all a countrey: These Priests, as sayth the booke, ne cannot minister the mystery of Priesthood to the people, ne they knowe not God, they ne held hem not apayed, as saith the book, of sodden flesh that was to hem of∣fered, but they took by force y^• flesh that was raw. Certes, so these shrews ne held hem not apayed of rosted and sodde flesh, with which the people fedde hem in great reuerence, but they woll haue raw flesh of folkes wiues and her doughters: and certes, these women that consent to her harlottrie, done great wrong to Christ and to holy Church, all Hallowes, and all Soules, for they bireaue all these, hem that should worship Christe and holye Church, and pray for Christian Souls: and therefore haue such Priests, & her lemmans also that consent to her lecherie, the cursing of all the court Christian, till they come to a∣mendment. The third spece of auoutrie, is sometime betwixt a manne and his wife, and that is, when they take no regard in her as∣sembling, but onely to her fleshly delight, as saith Saint Ierom, and ne reckon of nothing but that they ben assembled because they ben

married, all is good ynough, as they thinke: but in such folke hath the Diuell power, as said the Angel Raphael to Tobie, for in her assembling, they put Iesu Christ out of her heart, and yeue hemselfe to all ordure. The fourth spece is, the assembly of hem that ben of one affinity, or else of hem with which her fathers or her kinred have dealed in the sin of lechery: This sinne maketh hem like to houndes, that take no kepe to kinrede. And certes, parentele is in two manners: either ghostly or fleshly: ghostly, as for to deal with his godsib, for right so as he that engendreth a child, is his fleshly father, right so is his Godfather his father espirituell: for which a woman may in no lesse sinne assemble with her Godsib, than with her owne fleshly fa∣ther. The fifth spece is, that abhominable sinne, of which abhominable sinne no man vnneth ought speake ne write, nathelesse it is openly rehearsed in holy writ. This cur∣sed sin doen men and women in diverse en∣tent and in divers manner: But though that holy writ speake of horrible sinne, certes, ho∣ly writ may not be defoyled, no more than the sunne that shineth on the dunghill. Another sinne appertaineth to lechery, that commeth sleeping, and this sin commeth often to hem that been maidens, and also to hem that be corrupt, and this sinne men call Pollution, that commeth of three manners: Sometime of languishing of body, for the humours been too rank and habundant in the body of man, sometime of infirmity, for feblenes of y^e ver∣tue retentife, as physicke maketh mention: Sometime for surfet of meat and drink, and sometime of villainous thoughts that been enclosed in mannes mind when he goeth to sleepe, which may not be without sinne, for whiche men must keepe hem wisely, or else may men sin full greevously.

¶Remedium contra peccatum Luxuriae.

NOw cometh the remedy ayenst lechery, and that is, general chastite and con∣tinence, that restrain all disordinate mevings that come of fleshly talents. And euer the greater merite shall he have that most re∣straineth the wicked chausinges of the or∣dour of this sin, and this is in two manners: That is to say, chastite in mariage, & cha∣stite in widdowhood. Now shalt thou vnder∣stonde that matrimony is leful assembling of man and woman that receiuen by vertue of this Sacrament the bonde through whiche they may not be departed in all her life, y^t is to say, while that they live both. This, as saith the book, is a full great sacrament, God made it (as I have said) in paradise, & wold himselfe be borne in mariage: and for to hal∣low mariage, he was at a wedding, whereas he tourned water into wine, which was the first miracle that he wrought in earth be∣fore his disciples. True effecte of marriage clenseth fornication, and replenisheth holy Church of good linage, for that is the end of mariage, and chaungeth deadly sin into ve∣niall sin between hem that been wedded, and maketh the hearts as one of hem that been wedded, as well as the bodies.

Very mariage was established by God, ere that sinne began, when natural lawe was in his right point in Paradice. And it was or∣dained, that o man should haue but o wo∣man, and o woman but o man, as sayeth saint Augustine, by many reasons.

First, for mariage is figured betwixt Christ and holy Church.

Another is, for a man is head of a woman, alway by ordinaunce it should be so. For if a woman had moe men than one, then should she haue moe heads than one, and that were a right horrible sinne before God, and also a woman mighte not please so many folke at ones: and also there should neuer be rest ne quiet among hem, for each of hem would aske her owne right. And furthermore, no manne should know his own engendrure, ne who should haue his heritage, and the wo∣man should be the lesse beloued.

Now cometh how that a man should bere him with his wife, and namely in two things, that is to say, in sufferaunce and reuerence, as shewed Christ when he first made woman. For he ne made her of the head of Adam, for she should not claim to great lordshippe, * For there as the woman hath the maistry, she maketh too much variaunce: there need no mo ensamples of this, the experience all day ought inough suffice.

Also certes, God ne made not woman of the foot of Adam, for she should not be hold too lowe, for she cannot patiently suffer: but God made woman of the rib of Adam, for woman should be fellow unto man.

Man should bear him to his wife in faith, in trouth, and in loue, (as sayth saint Poul) that a man shold loue his wife, as Christ lo∣veth holy Church, that loued it so wel that he dyed for it: so should a man for his wife, if it were neede.

Now how that a woman should be subiect to her husband: that telleth saint Peter, first in obedience. And also as sayth the Decree: * A woman that is a wife, as long as she is a wife, she hath none authority to swear ne bear witnesse, without leaue of her husband, that is her Lord, alway he should be so by reason. She should also serue him in all honestie, and be attemperate of her array.

I woll well that they should set her entent to please her husbonds, but not by queintise of her array. Saint Ierom sayth: Wiues that be apparelled in like and precious pur∣ple, ne mow not cloth hem in Iesu Christ. S. Gregorie sayth also: y^t no wight seeketh precious aray, but only for vainglory to be ho∣noured the more of the people. It is a great folly, a woman to haue great aray outward, and in her self be foul inward. A wife should also be measurable in looking, in bearing, and in laughing, and discreet in all her wordes

and her deeds, and above all worldly things she should loue her husbonde with all her heart, and to him be true of her body: so should an husbond be to his wife: For sith that all the body is the husbonds, so should her heart be, or els there is betwixt hem two, as in that, no perfit mariage. Then shall men understond, that for three things a man and his wife fleshly may assemble. The first is, for the entent of engendrure of children, to the service of God, for certes, that is the cause final of matrimony. Another cause is, to yeeld each of hem to other the debts of her bodies; for neither of hem hath power over her owne bodies. The third is, for to eschew lechery and villany. The fourth is for sooth deadly sinne. As to the first, is me∣ritorie: the second also, for as saith the De∣cree, That she hath merit of chastitie, that yeeldeth to her husbond the debt of her body, yea though it be ayenst her liking, & the lust of her heart. The third manner is venial sin, & truly, scarcely may any of these be with∣out venial sin, for the corruption and for y^• delight. The fourth maner is for to under∣stond, if they assemble onely for amorous love, & for none of the foresaid causes, but for to accomplish their brenning delight, they recke not how oft, soothly it is deadly sin: & that with sorrow, some folke woll paine hem more to do than to her appetite suffiseth.

The second manner of chastity is, for to be a clean widow, & eschew the embracings of a man, & desire the embracing of Iesu Christ. These ben those that have ben wives, & have forgot her husbonds, & also women y^t have done lechery, & been received by penitence. And certes, if that a wife could kepe her all chast, by licence of her husband, so y^• she yeve never none occasion y^t he offend, it were to her a great merit. This manner of women, that observeth chastity in clothing & in coun∣tenance, abstinent in eating and drinking, in speaking, and in dead, she is the vessel or the bore of the blessed Magdelain, y^t fulfilleth holy Church of good odour. The third maner of chastitie is virginity, & it behooveth that she be holy in heart, & clean of body, then is she spouse of Iesu Christ, & she is the life of Angels: she is the praising of this world, and she is as these martyrs in egallity: she hath in her that tongue may not tell, ne heart think. Virginity bare our Lord Iesu Christ, and virgin was himselfe.

Another remedy against lechery is, speci∣ally to withdraw such things as yeve occasi∣on to that villany: as ease, eating, and drinking: for certes, when the pot boyleth strongly, the best remedy is to withdraw the fire. Sleping long in great quiet, is also a great nourice to Lechery.

Another remedy ayenst lechery is, That a man or a woman eschew the company of hem by which he doubteth to be tempted: For al be it so, that the deed is withstond, yet is there great temptation. Soothly, a white wall, although it ne bren not fully, by stick∣ing of the candle, yet is the wall black of the flame. Full oft time I rede, that no man trust in his own perfection, but he be strong∣er than Sampson, or holier than Daniel, or wiser than Salomon.

Now after that I have declared you as I can, the seven deadly sinnes, and some of her braunches, with her remedies. Soothly, if I could, I would tell you the ten commaunde∣ments, but so high doctrine I put to Di∣vines. Nathelesse, I hope to God they ben touched in this treatise each of hem.

¶Sequitur secunda pars Poenitentiae.

NOw for as much as the second part of penitence stont in confession of mouth, as I began in the first chap. I say S. Augu∣stine saith: Sin is every word and every deed, and all that men conject against the law of Iesu Christ, and this is for to sinne in heart, in mouth, and in deed, by the fiue wits, which ben sight, hearing, smelling, tast∣ing or savour, and feeling. Now is it good to vnderstand, that that agregeth much eve∣ry sinne. Thou shalt consider what thou art that doest the sinne, whether thou be male or female, young or old, gentle or thrall, free or seruaunt, whole or sick, wedded or single, or∣dred or vnordred, wise or foole, clerke or secu∣ler, if she be of thy kindred bodily or ghostly or no, if any of thy kindred have sinned with her or no, and many mo things.

Another circumstaunce is this, Whether it be doen in fornication, or in advoutry, or no, in manner of homicide or no, horrible great sinnes, or small, and how long thou hast continued in sinne. The third circum∣staunce is, the place there thou hast done sin, whether in other mennes houses, or in thine own, in field, in church, or in churchyard, in church dedicate, or no. For if the church be hallowed, and man or woman spili his kinde within that place, by way of sinne or wicked temptation, the church is enterdicted, and the Priest that did such a villany, the tearme of all his life he should no more sing Masse: and if he did, he should do deadly sin, at eve∣ry time that he so sung Masse. The fourth circumstaunce is, by whiche mediatours or by which messengers, or for enticement, or for consentment, to beare companie with fellow∣shippe. * For many a wretch for to bear com∣panie, woll goe to the Diuel of hell. Where∣fore, they that egge or consent to the sin, ben partners of the sinne, and of the temptation of the sinner. The fifth circumstaunce is, how many times that he hath sinned, if it be in his minde, and how oft he hath fallen. For hee that oft falleth in sin, he dispiseth the mercy of God, and encreaseth his sin, and is unkind to Christe, and hee waxeth the more feeble to withstand sin, and sinneth the more lightly,

and the latter riseth, & is more slow to shriue him, and namely to him that is his confessor. For which that folke when they fall ayen to her old follies, either they leaue their old con∣fessor, or else they depart her shrift in diuers partes: But soothly suche departed shrift deserueth no mercie of God for her sins. The sixt circumstance is, why that a man sinneth as by temptation: and of himselfe procure that temptation, or by the exciting of other folk, or if he sinne with a woman by force or by her assent, or if the woman, maugre her head, haue be aforced or none. This shall she tell, wheder it were for couetise of pouerty, or if it were by her procurement or no, & such other things. The seventh circumstance is, in what manner he hath doe his sinne, or how that she hath suffered that folke have doe to her. And the same shall the man tell plainly, with all the circumstaunces, and wheder he hath sinned with common bordell women or non, or doen his sin in holy times or non, in fasting time or non, or before his shrift, or af∣ter his latter shrift, and hath peradventure broke thereby his penance enjoyned, by whose helpe or whose counsaile, by sorcery or craft, all must be told, and all these things after as they be great or smale, and grudge y^• consci∣ence of man or woman. And eke the Priest that is thy judge, may the better be advised of his judgement in yeuing of penaunce, and that is after thy contrition. For understond well that after time that a man hath defoy∣led his baptime by sinne, if he woll come to saluation there is none other way but by pennaunce, shrifte, & satisfaction, and name∣ly by they two, if there be a confessour to whom he may shriue him, and the third if he have life to performe it. Then shall a man loke and consider, that if he woll make a true and a profitable confession, there must be four conditions. First it must be in sorrow∣fulnesse of hert, as saith the King Ezechiell to God, * I woll remember me all the years of my life in bitternesse of my heart. This condition of bitternesse hath fiue signes: The first is, that confession must be shamefast, not for to cover ne hide her sinne, for he hath of∣fended his Lord God and defoyled his soule. And hereof saith S. Augustin: * The heart travaileth for shame of his sinne, and for he hath great shamefastnesse he is worthy to haue great mercy of God: which was the confession of the Publican, that would not heave up his eyen to heaven for he had offen∣ded God of heaven: for which shamefastnesse he had anon the mercy of God. And thereof saith saint Augustine: That such shamefull folk be next foryeuenesse and mercy.

Another signe is, humility in confession: of which sayth saint Peter, * Humbleth you vn∣der the might of GOD: the hond of God is strong inconfession, for therby God foryeueth thee thy sinnes, for he alone hath the power. And this humility shall be in hert, and in out∣ward signes: For right as he hath humility to God in his hert, right so should he humble his body outward to the priest, that sitteth in Gods stead. For which in no manner, sith that Christ is soueraigne, and the priest mean and mediatour betwixt Christ & the sinner, and the sinner is lost by way of reason, then should not the sinner sitte as hye as his con∣fessour, but kneel before him or at his feet, but if sicknesse cause it: For he shall not take heed who sitteth there, but in whose place he sitteth. A manne that hath trespassed to a Lord, and commeth to ask mercy and make his accord, and sitteth him down by him, men would hould him outragious, and not worthy so soone for to have remission of his trespasse.

The third signe is, how thy shrifte should be full of teares if thou may, and if thou may not weepe with thy bodily eyen, then weepe in thine heart, which was the confes∣sion of saint Peter. For after that he had forsake Iesus Christ, he went out and wept full bitterly.

The fourth signe is, that thou ne lette not for shame to shew thy confession: Such was the confession of Magdalein, that ne spared for no shame of hein that were at the feast, to go to our Lord Iesu Christ & beknow to him her sinnes. The fifth signe is, that a manne or a woman be obeysaunt to receive the pen∣naunce y^t hem is injoyned. For certes Iesu Christ, for the offences of man, was obedient to death. The second condition of very con∣fession is, that it be hastily done. For certes, if a man had a deadly wound, euer the len∣ger that he taryeth to heale himself, the more would it corrupt and haste him to his death, and also the wound would be y^• worse for to hele. And right so fareth sinne, that longe time is in a man unshewed. Certes a man ought hastely shew his sins for manie cau∣ses, as for dread of death, that commeth oft sodainely, and no certain what time it shall be, ne in what place, and also the drenching of o sinne draweth in another: and also the lenger that he tarrieth, the farther is he fro Christ. And if he abide to his last day, scarce∣ly may he shriue him or remember him of his sins, or repent for the greeuous maladie of his death. * And for as much as he ne hath in his life hearkened Iesu Christ when he hath spoken, he shall crie to Iesus Christ at his last daie, and scarcely woll he hearken him. And understonde that this condition muste haue foure thinges.

Thy shrift must be prouided before, and ad∣uised, for wicked hast doth not profit, if a man shrive him of his sins: be it of Pride, or en∣uye, and so forth with the speces and circum∣staunces of sin. And that hee haue compre∣hended in his minde the number and great∣nesse of his sins, and how long he hath lyen in sinne. And also that he hath be contrite for his sins, and in stedfast purpose (by the

grace of God) neuer ayen to fall to sin. And also that he dread and counterfaite himself that he fly the occasion of sinne, to whiche he is inclined. Also thou shalt shriue thee of all thy sinnes to o manne, and not part to o manne, and part to another: That is to vnderstond, in entent to depart thy confession for shame or dread, for it is but strangling of thy soul. * For certes, Iesus Christ is entierly all good, in him is none imperfection, and therefore either he foryeueth all perfectly, or els neuer a deal. I say not that if you be as∣signed to thy penitencer for certain sin, that thou art bounde to shewe him all the reme∣naunt of thy sinnes, of which thou haste be shriuen of thy curat, but if it like to thee of thy humility, this is no part of thy shrift. Ne I say not, there as I speak of division of confession, that if thou haue licence to shriue thee liketh, and by licence of thy Curate, that thou ne maist well shriue thee to him of all thy sins. Let no sin be vntold as ferre as thou hast remembraunce. And when thou shalt be shriuen to thy Curat, tell him all thy sinnes that thou hast do sith thou were last shriuen. This is no wicked entent of diuisi∣on of shrift.

Also the very shrift asketh certaine condi∣tions. First that thou shriue thee by thy free will, not constrained for shame of folke, sick∣nesse, ne such other things: For it is reason that he that trespasseth by his free will, that by his free will he confesse his trespasse, and that none other man tell his sin but himself: ne he shall not nay, ne deny his sin, ne wrath him ayenst the Priest for admonishing him to leaue his sin. The second condition is, that thy shrift be lawfull, that is to say, that thou shriuest thee. And also the Priest that heareth thy confession be verely in the fayth of holy Church, and that a man ne be not dispeired of the mercie of Iesu Christ, as Cain or Iu∣das. And also a man must accuse himself of his own trespasse & not another, but he shall blame and wite himselfe and his owne ma∣lice of his sinne, and none other: But nathe∣lesse, if that another man be occasion or en∣ticer of his sinne, or the estate of a person be such by which his sin is agredged, or else that he may not plainly shriue him, but he tell the person with which he hath sined, then may he tell, so that his entent ne be not to backbite the person, but onely to declare his confession.

Thou ne shalt not also make no leasinges in thy confession for humilitie, peraduenture, to say that thou hast committed & done such sinnes, as of which that thou ne were neuer giltie. For saint Augustine saith, if that thou because of thine humilitie, makest lesings on thy self, though thou were not in sin before, yet art thou then in sinne through thy lea∣sing. Thou must also shew thy sinne, by thine own proper mouth, but thou be dombe, and not by no Letter: sor thou that hast done the sinne, shalt haue the shame therefore. Thou shalt not eke paint thy confession with fayr subtill wordes, to couer the more thy sinne: for then begilest thou thy self, & not the priest: thou must tell it plain, be it neuer so foul ne horrible. Thou shalt also shriue thee to a priest that is discreet to counsail thee: and also thou shalt not shriue thee for vaine glo∣rie, ne for ypocrisie, ne for no cause, but only for the loue & fear of Iesus Christ, and heal of thy soul. Thou shalt not also ren to the priest sodainly, to tell him lightly thy sin, as who saith, to tell a yape or a tale, but auisedly and with good deuotion: and generally shriue thee oft: if thou oft fall, oft arise by confessi∣on. And though thou shriue the ofter than ones of the sin which thou hast be shriuen of, it is the more merite: And as saith saint Au∣gustine, Thou shalt haue the more lightly for∣yeuenesse and grace of God, both of sinne and pain. And certes ones a yere at least it is lawfull to be houseled, for surely ones a year all things renouellen.

Now haue I told you of very confession, that is the second part of penitence.

Explicit secunda pars penitentiae: Et sequitur tertia pars.

THe third part of penitence is Satisfacti∣on, and that stont most generally in almose deed and holy pain. Now been there three manner of almose. Contrition of heart, where a man offreth himself to God: Another is, to haue pitie of defaute of his neighbour: And the third is, in giuing of good counsell, ghostly and bodily, where as men haue need, and namely in sustenaunce of mans foode. And take kepe that a man hath need of these things generally, he hath need of food, of clo∣thing, and of herborow, he hath need of chari∣table counsail, visiting in prison, in sicknesse, and sepulture of his body. And if thou maist not visit the needfull in prison in thy person, visit hem with thy message and yefts. These ben generally the almose and workes of cha∣ritie, of hem that haue temporell riches, or discretion in counsailing. Of these workes shalt thou hear at the day of dome.

These almose shalt thou do of thine own proper things, and hastely and priuely if thou maist: but nathelesse, if thou maist not do it priuily, thou shalt not forbear to do almose, though men see it, so that it be not to doe for thank of the world, but only for thank of Iesu Christ. For as witnesseth faint Ma∣thew Capi. v. A Citie may not be hid that is set on a mountain, ne men light not a lan∣tern, to put it vnder a bushell, but set it vpon a candlestick, to yeue light to menne in the house: * Right so shull your light, light before menne, that they may see your good works, and glorifie our Father that is in heauen.

Now as to speak of bodyly pain, it stont in praiers, waking, fasting, vertuous tea∣ching of orisons. And ye shall understond, y^• orisons or prayers, is to say, a pitous will of heart, that setteth it in God, & expresseth by word outward to remeeue harms, and haue things spirituel and perdurable, and some∣time temporel things. Of which Orisons, certes in the orison of the Paternoster, hath Iesus Christ enclosed most things. Certes it is priuiledged of three things in this dignity, for which it is more digne than any other prayer, For that Iesu Christ himselfe made it, and it is short, for it shold be learned the more lightly, and to hold it the more easie in heart, and help himselfe the ofter in this Orison: and for a man should be the lesse weary to say it, and not excuse him to learn it, it is so short and easie: and for it comprehendeth in it selfe, all good prayers. The exposition of this holie prayer, that is so excellent and digne, I referre to the Mai∣ster of Theologie, saue thus much woll I say, * That when thou prayest that God should foryeue thee thine offences as thou foryeuest hem that haue offended thee, be well ware that thou be not out of charitie. This holy Orison aminisheth also venial sin, and therefore it apperteineth specially to pe∣nitence.

This prayer must be truely sayed, and in perfect fayth, and that men pray to God or∣dinately, discreetly, and deuoutly: and al∣way a manne shall put his will, to be subiect to the will of God. This Orison must also be sayd with great humblenesse, and ful pure and honestly, and not to the annoyaunce of any man or woman. It must also be conti∣nued with the works of charitie. It auail∣eth also ayenst the vices of the soul: for as sayth S. Irom, * By fasting been saued the vices of the flesh, and by prayer the vices of the soule.

After this thou shalt understond, that bo∣dyly prayer stont in waking. For Iesu Christ sayeth: wake ye and pray, that ye ne enter into wicked temptaion. Ye shull understond also, that fasting stont in three things: in for∣bearing of bodyly meat and drink, in for∣bearing of worldly iollitye, and in forbear∣ing of deadly sinne: this is to saye, that a man shall keep him fro deadly sinne with all his might.

And thou shalt understond also, that God ordayned fasting, and to fasting partayneth foure thinges. Largenesse to poore folke: gladnesse of heart spirituel: not to be an∣grie ne annoyed, ne grutch for he fasteth: and also reasonable hour to eate by measure, that is to saye, a man shall not eat in un∣time, ne sit the longer at the table, for he fasteth.

Then shalt thou understond, that bodyly pain stont in discipline, or teaching by word or writing, or by ensample. Also in wearing of heer or stamin, or of harbergeons on her naked flesh for Christes sake, and that such maner penaunces, ne make not thine heart bitter or angrie, ne annoyed of thy selfe, for better is to cast away thine heer, than to cast away the sweetnesse of Iesus Christ. And therefore sayeth saint Poule: clothe you, as they that been chosen of God in heart, of misericorde, debonairte, suffraunce, and such manner of clothing, of whiche Ie∣su Christ is more pleased than with the heers or herbergeons.

Then is discipline also, in knocking of thy breast, in scourging with roddes, in kneel∣ing, in tribulation, in suffring patiently wrongs that been doen to thee, and also in patient suffring of sicknesse, or lesing of worldly goodes, or cattel, or wife, child, or other frends.

Then shalt thou nnderstond, which things disturbe pennaunce, and that is in foure manners, drrade, shame, hope, and wan∣hope, that is, desperation. And for to speak first of dreade, for which he weneth that he may suffer no penaunce. There ayenst is remedie, for to think that bodyly penaunce, is but short and little at regard of the pain of hell, that is so cruel and so long, that it lasteth without end.

Now ayenst the shame that a man hath to shriue him, and namely these Ipocrites, that would be hold so perfect, that they haue no need to shriue hem: Ayenst that shame would a man think, that by way of reason, that he that hath not be ashamed to do foul things, certes him ought not be ashamed, for to doe faire thinges, and that is confes∣sions. A man should also think, that God seeth and knoweth al his thoughts, and all his werks: to him maie nothing be hid ne couered. Men should also remember hem of the shame that is to come at the daye of dome, to hem that be not penitent, and shriuen in this present life: for all the crea∣tures in yearth and in hell shall see apertly, all that they hidde in this world.

Now for to speak of the hope of hem, that been so negligent and slowe to shriue hem: that stondeth in two manners. That one is, that he hopeth for to liue long, and for to purchase much riches for his delight, and then he woll shriue him: And as he sayeth, him semeth then timely ynough to come to shrift: * Another is, of surquidrie that he hath in Christes mercie. Ayenst the first vice, he shall thenk that our life is in no sik∣ernesse, and also that all the riches in this worlde been in aduenture, and passe as a shadow on the wall. And as sayeth saint Gregorie, That it appartayneth to the great righteousnes of God, that neuer shall the paine stinte of hem, that neuer would with∣drewe hem from sinne her thankes, but euer continued in sinne: for that perpetual will to do sinne, shall they haue perpetual pain.

Wanhope, is in two manners. The first wanhope is in the mercie of God: That other is, that they think that they ne might not long perseuer in goodnes.

The first wanhope commeth of that, he demeth that he hath sinned so greatly and so oft, and so long lyen in sinne, that he shall not be saued. * Certes ayenst that cur∣sed wanhope should he thinke, that the Pas∣sion of Iesu Christ is more stronge for to unbinde, than sinne is strong for to binde. Ayenst the second wanhope he shall thinke, * That as often as he falleth, he may rise againe by penitence: and though he neuer so longe hath lyen in sinne, the mercie of Christ is alway ready to receiue him to mer∣cie. Ayenst the Wanhope that he deemeth he should not longe perseuer in goodnesse, he shall think, * That the feeblenesse of the deuil, maye nothing doe, but if men woll suffer him: and also he shall haue strength of the help of Iesu Christ, and of all holy Church, and the protection of Angels, if him list.

Then shall men understonde, what is the fruite of penaunce, and after the wordes of Iesu Christ, It is an endlesse blisse of hea∣uen: There ioye hath neuer ende, no con∣trarie of woe ne greuaunce: there all harms ben passed of this present life, there as is the sikernesse fro the pain of hell, there as is the blisful companie, that rejoyce hem euer∣mo, euerich of others ioye: there as the body of man that sometime was foule and darke, is more clere than the Sunne: there as the body that sometime was sicke, freile, and feble, and mortal, is immortall, and so strong and hole, that there ne may nothing appeire it: there as is neither hunger, thurste, ne colde, but euery soule replenished with the sight of the perfite knowing of God. This blisfull raigne may men purchase by pouertie espirituel, and the glorie by lowlines, the plentie of ioy by hun∣ger and thurst, and the rest by trauaile, and the life by death and mortification of sinne: to which life he us bring, that bought us with his precious blood. Amen.

¶Here endeth the Parsons tale. ¶Thus endeth the Booke of Canterbury tales.