THE PROGENY OF GEFFREY CHAUCER  
The true portraiture of GEFFREY CHAUCEER the famous English poet as by THOMAS OCCLEVE is described who lived in his time and was his Scholar.    

THE WORKS OF OUR Ancient, Learned, & Excellent ENGLISH POET, JEFFREY CHAUCER: As they have lately been Compared with the best Manuscripts; and several things added, never before in Print.  
To which is adjoined, The STORY of the SIEGE of THEBES, By John Lidgate, Monk of Bury.  
TOGETHER WITH The Life of Chaucer, SHOWING His Country, 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 (which are many) that either are, by Nature or Derivation, Arabic, Greek, Latin, Italian, French, Dutch, or Saxon, marked with particular Notes for the better understanding their Original.  
LONDON, Printed in the Year, MDCLXXXVII.   

TO THE Right Honourable Sir ROBERT CECIL, K nt. PRINCIPAL SECRETARY To the QUEEN's Most Excellent Majesty, Master of the Court of Wards and Liveries, one of her Highness' most Honourable Privy Council, and Right Worthy Chancellor of the University of CAMBRIDGE.  
Right Honourable,  
AT the last Impression of this Work, in way of humble Duty and Thankfulness, I presented to Your Honour certain Collections and Observations upon Chaucer; as namely, His Life, Picture, and Pedigree: the Arguments of every Book and Tale: the Explanation of old Words, with Declaration of Authors by him cited: and also two Treatises, the Death of Blanch, called his Dream: and the Flower and the Leaf, never before printed. But as these things then through want of time were not fully perfected, so were there some other things omitted, at the next Impression to be performed.  
Now therefore, that both by old written Copies, and by Mr. William Thynn's praiseworthy Labours, I have reform the whole Work, whereby Chaucer, for the most part, is restored to his own Antiquity; and noted withal most of his Sentences and Proverbs; having also, with some Additions, reduced into due place those former Notes and Collections; as likewise proved the Significations of most of the old and obscure Words, by the Tongues and Dialects from whence they are derived; translated also into English, all the Latin and French by him used; and lastly, added to his Works some Things of his own doing, as the Treatise of Jack Upland against Friars, and his A. B. C. commonly called La Priere de nostre Dame: I am bold to present the whole to your Honourable Favour and Patronage, always mindful of my bounden Duty to Your Honour's House, which with hearty Prayer I commend to the Grace of the Almighty.  
Your Honour's in all Duty at Commandment, THO. SPEGHT.   

To the Readers.  
AFter this Book was last Printed, I understood that Mr. Francis Thynn had a purpose, as indeed he hath when time shall serve, to set out Chaucer with a Comment in our Tongue, as the Italians have petrarch and others in their Language. Whereupon, I purposed not to meddle any farther in this Work, although some promise made to the contrary, but to refer all to him; being a Gentleman for that purpose inferior to none, both in regard of his own Skill, as also of those helps left to him by his Father. Yet notwithstanding, Chaucer now being Printed again, I was willing, not only to help some Imperfections, but also to add some things; whereunto he did not only persuade me, but most kindly lent me his Help and Direction. By this means most of his old Words are restored; Proverbs and Sentences marked; such Notes as were collected, drawn into better order; and the Text by old Copies corrected.  
But of some things I must advertise the Readers; as first, that in Chaucer they shall find the Proper Names oftentimes much differing from the Latin and Greek, from whence they are drawn; which they must not condemn in him as a fault: for both he, and other Poets, in Translating such Words from one Language into another, do use, as the Latins and Greeks do, the sundry Species of Metaplasmus: as Campaneus for Capaneus; Atheon for Actaeon; Adriane for Ariadne. Which Chaucer doth in other Words also; as gone for begun; leave for believe; peraunter for peradventure; loveden for did love; woneden for did won, etc.  
It is his manner likewise, imitating the Greeks, by two Negatives to cause a greater Negation; as, I ne said none ill.  
Also many times to understand his Verb; as, I not what men him call, for I know not, etc.  
And, for the Author, to name some part of his Work; as, Argonauticon for Apollonius Rhodius. And that sometime in the Genitive Case, a former Substantive being understood: as, read Aeneidos: Metamorphoseos: for the Authors of those Works.  
And for his Verses, although in divers places they may seem to us to stand of unequal Measures; yet a skilful Reader, that can scan them in their nature, shall find it otherwise. And if a Verse here and there fall out a Syllable shorter or longer than another, I rather art it to the negligence and rape of Adam Scrivener, that I may speak as Chaucer doth, than to any unconning or oversight in the Author: for how fearful he was to have his Works miswritten, or his Verse mismeasured, may appear in the End of his Fifth Book of Troilus and Creseide, where he writeth thus: 
And for there is so great diversity  
In English, and in writing of our tongue,  
So pray I God, that none miswrite thee,  
Ne thee mismetre for default of tongue, etc.   
Moreover, whereas in the explanation of the old Words, sundry of their Significations by me given, may to some seem conjectural; yet such as understand the Dialects of our Tongue, especially in the North, and have knowledge in some other Languages, will judge otherwise: and for the satisfying of others, which want such skill, I have by these Characters a. g. l. i. f. d. b. notified to them from what Tongue or Dialect such Words are derived.  
It were a Labour worth commendation, if some Scholar, that hath Skill and Leisure, would confer Chaucer with those learned Authors, both in Greek and Latin, from whom he hath drawn many excellent things; and at large report such Histories, as in his Works are very frequent, and many of them hard to be found: which would so grace this Ancient Poet, that whereas divers have thought him unlearned, and his Writings mere Trifles, it should appear, That besides the knowledge of sundry Tongues, he was a Man of great Reading and deep Judgement. This course I began in the former Impression, but here of purpose have left it off; as also the Description of Persons and Places, except some few of more worthy note; as a labour rather for a Commentor, for that it concerneth Matter, than for him that intendeth only the explaining of Words. And thus to conclude, I commit to your wont Favour, this our Poet, and what here is done for the Poet's sake.   

TO HIS Very Loving and assured Good Friend, Mr. THOMAS SPEGHT.  
I Am sorry, that neither the worthiness of Chaucer's own Praise, nor the importunate Prayers of divers your loving Friends, can yet move you to put into print those good Observations of him, and Collections that you have gathered. For, as for the Objections against him, that in our private Talk you are wont to say are commonly alleged, as first, That many of his Words are become (as it were) vinewed and hoary with overlong lying; and next, that some of his Speeches are somewhat too broad and plain; and that the Work therefore should be the less gracious: these are either no Causes, or no causes sufficient, to withhold from Chaucer such desert of Glory as you may bestow upon him at your Pleasure.  
It is well known to wise and learned Men, that all Languages be either such as are contained in Learning, or such as be used in daily practice: and for learned Tongues, they having Testamentario jure, their Legacies set down by them that be dead, Words must be retained and continued in them in such sort as they were left, without alteration of the Testators Wills in any thing, although in his choice it be that is to use them, when to use, or where to refuse them, at his own discretion. But in usual Languages of common Practice, which in choice of Words are, and ever will be subject unto change, never standing at one stay, but sometimes casting away old Words, sometimes renewing of them, and always framing of new, no man can so write, as that all his Words may remain currant many Years. Which thing, Horace, in his Book De arte Poetica, precisely noteth in these Verses: 
Vt silvae foliis pronos mutantur in annos:  
Prima cadunt: ita verborum vetus interit aetas:  
Et juvenum ritu florent modo nata, vigentque.  
Debemur morti nos, nostraque, etc.   
Whereby he declareth, that Words in common Tongues, like unto Leaves, must of necessity have their Buddings, their Blossoming, their Ripening, and their Fall: and Chaucer most excellently also himself in true foresight hereof in these Verses of his: 
I know that in form of speech is change  
Within a hundreth year, and words though  
That hadden price, now wonder nice and strange  
Think we them, and yet they spoke them so,  
And sped as well in love, as men now do.   
And therefore impossible it was, that either Chaucer could, or any man living can, keep Words of unlearned Tongues from falling after so long a time. And this hath happened amongst the Latin Writers themselves, when theirs was a spoken Tongue, as ours now is, who, though they first made their own Words, and gave them their Allowance, yet divers of Cecilius, Statius, Ennius and Plautus, were by latter Latinists rejected; and now again many of them, by the last Writers of all (though before, as it were by Proclamation, put down for baseness) are upon a new touch warranted for good, and pass abroad as Sterling. But so pure were Chaucer's Words in his days, as Lidgate, that learned Man, calleth him, The Load-star of the English Language; and so good they are in our days, as Mr. Spencer (following the Counsel of Tully in his Third Book De Oratore, for reviving of ancient Words) hath adorned his Style with that Beauty and Gravity, that Tully there speaks of: and his much frequenting of Chaucer's ancient Words, with his excellent imitation of divers Places in him, is not the least help that hath made him reach so high, as many learned men do think, that no Poet, either French or Italian, deserves a second place under him. And furthermore, by your Interpretation of the unusual Words, that ancient Hardness and Difficulty is made most clear and easy: and in the Pains and Diligence you have used in collecting his Life, methinks you have bestowed upon him as favourable Graces as Medea did upon Aeson; for you have restored us Chaucer, both alive again, and young again; and delivered many from the erroneous Conjectures they conceived of him. And therefore, though every thing be not perfect to your own mind, (for Desires be endless; and nothing can be at one time both begun and perfected) yet since you have opened the way to others, and attempted that which was unattempted before you, your Endeavours herein cannot but be well accepted, unless of such as have better Will, without just cause, to reprove others, than either Wit or Skill to do well themselves.  
Touching the Incivility Chaucer is charged withal; what Roman Poet hath less offended this way than he? Virgil in his Priapus is worse by a thousand Degrees, and Ovid in his Book De Arte Amandi, and Horace in many Places as deep as the rest; but Catullus and Tibullus, in unclean Wantonness, beyond measure pass them all. Neither is Plautus nor Terence free in this behalf: But these two last are excused above the rest, for their due Observation of Decorum, in giving to their Comical Persons such manner of Speeches as did best fit their Dispositions. And may not the same be said for Chaucer? How much had he swarved from Decorum, if he had made his Merchant, his Miller, his Cook, his Carpenter, tell such honest and civil Tales, as were told of his Knight, his Squire, his Lawyer and his Scholar? But showing the disposition of the base sort of People, he declareth in their Prologues and Tales, That their chief Delight was in undecent Speeches of their own, and in their false Defamations of others, as in these Verses appeareth: 
Let be thy lewd drunken Harlotry,  
It is a sin and eke a great folly  
To apairen any man, or him defame,  
And eke to bring wives in such blame.   
And in excuse of himself for uttering those broad Speeches of theirs, he useth these Words: 
But first I pray you of your courtesy  
That ye ne arette it not my folly,  
Though that I plainly speak in this matter  
To tell you her words, and eke her cheer,  
Ne though I speak her words properly:  
For this ye known, as well as I,  
Who shall tell a tale after a man,  
He moat rehearse, as nigh as ever he can,  
Everich word, if it been in his charge,  
All speak he never so rudely ne large,  
Or else he moat tell his tale untrue,  
Or feign things, or find words new.   
And in another place: 
Deemeth not for God's love, that I say  
Of evil intent, but that I moat rehearse  
Her tales all, been they better or werce,  
Or else falsen some of my matter.  
The wise Plato sayeth, as ye mow read,  
The word must needs accord with the deed:  
It men should tell properly a thing,  
The word must cousin be to the working.   
For no man can imagine in his so large compass, purposing to describe all English-mens Humours living in those days, how it had been possible for him to have left untouched their filthy Delights; or in discovering their desires, how to have expressed them without some of their Words.  
And now to compare him with other Poets: His Canterbury Tales contain in them almost the same Argument that is handled in Comedies: His Style therein for the most part is low and open, and like unto theirs: but herein they differ; The Comedy-Writers do all follow and borrow one from another, as Terence from Plautus and Menander: Plautus from Menander and Demophilus: Statius and Caecilius from Diphilus, Apollodorus, and Philemon; and almost all the last Comedians from that, which was called Antiqua Comaedia. The Ring they beat is this, and out of the same Track they go not; To show the Looseness of many Youngmen; the Lewdness of some Young-women; the crafty School Points of old Bawds; the little regard of honest disposed Servingmen; the miserable Wretchedness of divers old Fathers, and their Folly in countenancing and committing their Sons to the Charge and Government of most impudent and flattering Parasites; such as in Terence is prating Davus and Geta, and bold bawdy Chaucer's Device of his Canterbury Pilgrimage is merely his own: His Drift is to touch all sorts of men, and to discover all Vices of that Age; which he doth so feelingly, and with so true an Aim, as he never fails to hit whatsoever mark he levels at.  
In his five Books of Troilus and Creseid, in the Romaunt of the Rose, in his Black Knight, in the Merciless Lady, in some few also of his Tales, in his Dream, and in that of Blanch, (which is in your hands, and was never yet imprinted) and in other his Discourses he soareth much higher; and is in his Troilus so sententious, as there be few Staves in those Books which include not some principal Sentence; most excellently imitating Homer and Virgil, and borrowing often of them, and of Horace also, and other the rarest both Orators and Poets that have written. Of whom, for the sweetness of his Poetry, may be said, that which is reported of Stesichorus: and as Marcus Cethegus was termed by Ennius, Suadae medulla; so may Chaucer rightly be called, The Pith and Sinews of Eloquence, and very Life itself of all Mirth and pleasant Writing: besides, one Gift he hath above other Authors, and that is, By excellency of his Descriptions, to possess his Readers with a more forcible Imagination of seeing that (as it were) done before their Eyes, which they read, than any other that ever hath written in any Tongue. And here I cannot forget to remember unto you, those ancient learned Men of our time in Cambridge, whose diligence, in reading of his Works themselves, and commending them to others of the younger sort, did first bring you and me in love with him: and one of them at that time, and all his Life after, was (as you know) one of the rarest men for Learning in the whole World. The same may be said of that worthy learned Man your good Friend in Oxford, who with many other of like excellent Judgement have ever had Chaucer in most high Reputation.  
And now, (Mr. Speght) seeing not only all Greek and Latin Poets have had their Interpreters, and the most of them translated into our Tongue, but the French also and Italian, as Guillaume de Sallust, that most divine French Poet; petrarch and Ariosto, those two excellent Italians, (whereof the last, instructed by Mr. john Harington doth now speak as good English as he did Italian before,) shall only Chaucer, our Ancient Poet, nothing inferior to the best, amongst all the Poets of the World, remain always neglected, and never be so well understood of his own Countrymen as Strangers are? Well, content yourself, and set your heart at rest; for, seeing I was one of them which first procured you to take in hand this Work, and since you have given me of your Copies to use privately for mine own Pleasure; if you will not put them abroad yourself, they shall abroad 'ere long, and look into the World without your consent. Yet, lest many Inconveniences might happen by this Attempt of mine, and divers things be set forth contrary unto your own liking, let me once again entreat you (as I have done often heretofore) to yield to my just and reasonable suit: wherein you shall not only satisfy that Conceit which I have many Years carried of your unfeigned Love towards me; but pleasure many who daily expect your Pains herein; and perform also unto Chaucer great part of that Honour that he most worthily deserveth. So with my thrice hearty Commendations I bid you farewel.  
From Leicester the last of June, Anno 1597. Your assured and ever loving Friend, Francis Beaumond.   

THE READER TO Geffrey Chaucer.  Reader. 
WHere hast thou dwelled, good Geffrey, all this while,  
Unknown to us, save only by thy Books?  Chaucer. 
In Haulks and Herns, God wot, and in Exile,  
Where none vouchsafed to yield Me Words or Looks;  
Till one which saw me there, and knew my Friends,  
Did bring me forth: such Grace sometime God sends.  Reader. 
But who is he that hath thy Books repaired,  
And added more, whereby thou art more graced?  Chaucer. 
The selfsame Man who hath no Labour spared  
To help what Time and Writers had defaced:  
And made old Words, which were unknown of many,  
So plain, that now they may be known of any.  Reader. 
Well fare his heart; I love him for thy sake,  
Who for thy sake hath taken all this Pains.  Chaucer. 
Would God I knew some means amends to make,  
That for his Toil he might receive some Gains.  
But wot ye what? I know his Kindness such,  
That for my good he thinks no Pains too much.  H. B.  

Upon the Picture of Chaucer.  

WHat Pallas City owes the heavenly mind  
Of prudent Socrates, wise Greece's Glory;  
What Fame Arpinas' spreadingly doth find  
By Tully's Eloquence and Oratory;  
What lasting Praise sharp witted Italy  
By Tasso's and by Petrark's Pen obtained;  
What Fame Bartas unto proud France hath gained,  
By seven days World Poetically strained:   

What high Renown is purchased unto Spain,  
Which fresh Diana's Verses do distil;  
What Praise our Neighbour Scotland doth retain  
By Gawine Douglas, in his Virgil Quill;  
Or other Motions by sweet Poets Skill;  
The same, and more, fair England challenge may,  
By that rare Wit and Art thou dost display  
In Verse, which doth Apollo's Muse bewray.  
Then Chaucer live, for still thy Verse shall live  
T'unborn Poets which Life and Light will give.   
Fran. Thynn.   

Of the Animadversions upon Chaucer.  
IN reading of the learned praiseworthy Pain,  
The helpful Notes explaining Chaucer's Mind,  
The abstruse Skill, and artificial Vein;  
By true Annalogy I rightly find  
Speght is the Child of Chaucer's fruitful Brain;  
Vernishing his Works with Life and Grace,  
Which envious Age would otherwise deface.  
Then be he loved and thanked for the same,  
Since in his Love he hath revived his Name.   

THE LIFE Of Our Learned English Poet, Geffrey Chaucer.  
So much as we can find by Heralds, Chronicles, and Records, of his 

Country.  
Parentage.  
Education.  
Marriage.  
Children, With their 

Marriage.  
Lands.  
Service.  
Reward.  
Issue.  
Death.    
Revenues.  
Service.  
Reward.  
Friends.  
Books.  
Death.    Gulielmus Camdenus. 
Gaufredus Chaucer sui saeculi ornamentum extra omnem ingenii aleam positus, & Poetastras nostros longo post se intervallo relinquens.  
— jam monte potitus  
Ridet anhelantem dura ad fastigia turbam.  

His Country.  
THis famous and learned Poet, Geffrey Chaucer, Esq was supposed by 
1 This Leland had Commission from King Hen. Eighth to search all Libraries in England for matters of Antiquity. He died in the days of Edw. Sixth.  Leland to have been an Oxfordshire or Berkshire Man born: for so reporteth John Bale in his Catalogue of English Writers; Quibusdam argumentis adducebatur Lelandus, ut crederet, etc. Some Reasons did move Leland to think, That Oxfordshire or Berkshire was his Native Country.  
But as it is evident by his own Words in the Testament of Love 
2 In the 1. Book and 5th Sect. , he was born 
3 About the 2d or 3d Year of Edw. Third.  in the City of London: for thus he writeth there; Also in the City of London that is to me so dear and sweet, in which I was forth grown, and more kindly Love have I to that Place than to any other in earth (as every kindly Creature hath full Appetite to that Place of his kindly Engendure, and to wilne Rest and Peace in that stead to abide) thilk Peace should thus there have been broken, which of all wise Men is commended and desired.  
In the Records of the Guild-Hall in London we find, that there was one Richard Chaucer 
1 Vintner, quasi Wineturner, that is, a Merchant of the Vi●●ry, which sold by whole sale.  Vintner of London in the twenty third Year of Edward 3d. who might well be Geffrey Chaucer's Father.  
Also there was a Nun of St. Helen's in London named Elizabeth Chaucer, in the first Year of Rich. 2d. as it is in Record, which seemeth either to have been his Sister, or of his Kindred, and by likelihood a Londoner born.  
Moreover, in the eighth year of the same King, Geffrey Chaucer was Controller of the Customhouse in London, as after out of the Records shall appear.  
Other Dealings he had in the City, as we may plainly see in the Testament of Love; all which may move us to think, That he was born in London.   

His Parentage.  
FOR his Parentage and Place of Birth, although Bale termeth him, Galfridus Chaucer nobili loco natus, & summae spei juvenis, yet in the Opinion of some Heralds, (otherwise than his Virtues and Learning commended him) he descended not of any great House; which they gather by his Arms, De argento & rubeo colore partita per longitudivem scuti cum benda ex transverso, eisdem coloribus sed transmutatis depicta sub hac forma.  
But this is but a simple Conjecture: for, honourable Houses, and of great Antiquity, have borne as mean Arms as Chaucer; and yet his Arms are not so mean, either for Colour, Charge, or Partition, as some would make them.  
And indeed both in respect of the Name, which is French, as also by other Conjectures, it may be gathered, That his Progenitors were Strangers.  
But whereas some are of Opinion, that the first coming of the Chaucer's into England was when Qu. Isabel, 
1 This Q. Isabel being sent into France with her young Son Edw. by the K. of England her Husband, to confer about matters with her Brother the French King, would by no means return, having conceived a great Hatred against the Spensers, and also against the King, for suffering himself to be misled by their naughty Counsel; but by all means stirred the People to Rebellion, and in the end came over herself with almost three thousand Strangers besides Englishmen.  Wife to Edw. 2. and her Son Prince Edw. returned out of 
2 Henault, a Province lying between France and Flanders.  Henault into England, at which time also almost 3000 Strangers came over with them, as by Chronicles appeareth; or some two Years after, when Philip, Daughter to the Earl of Henault, came over to be married to Prince Edward: I can by no means consent with them, but rather must think, That their Name and Family was of far more ancient Antiquity, although by time decayed, as many more had been of much greater Estate. For in the days of Edw. 1. there was one John Chaucer, as appeared by the Records of the Tower; where it is said, That the King did hear the Complaint of John Chaucer in the damage of 1000 l. There was also in the time of Hen. 3. and Edw. 1. Elias Chaucesir; of whom the Records in the Exchequer have thus; Edwardus Dei Gratia, etc. liberate de Thesauro nostro Elias Chaucesir decem solid. etc. with which Characters Geffrey Chaucer is written in the Records of Edw. 3. and Rich. 2. This Name was at the first a Name of Office or Occupation, which afterward came to be the Name of a Family, as Smith, Baker, Skinner, and others have done. In the time of King John likewise, there was one named le Chaucer, as appeareth by the Records of the Tower. But what need I to stand upon the Antiquity or Gentry of Chaucer, when the Roll of Battle Abbey affirmeth Chaucer to have come in with the Conqueror. Moreover, it is more likely that the Parents of Geffrey Chaucer were mere English, and himself an Englishman born; for else how could he have come to that Perfection in our Language, as to be called, The first Illuminer of the English Tongue, had not both he, and his Parents before him, been born and bred among us? But what their Names were, or what Issue they had, otherwise than by Conjecture before given, we cannot declare.  
Now whether they were Merchants, as some will have it, (for that in Places where they have dwelled, the 
1 This Conjecture is of small force: for the Merchants of the Staple had not any Arms granted to them, as I have been informed, before the time of Henry the Sixth, or much thereabout.  Arms of the Merchants of the Staple have been seen in the glass Windows) or whether they were of other Calling, it is not much necessary to search; but wealthy no doubt they were, and of good account in the Commonwealth, who brought up their Son in such sort, that both he was thought fit for the Court at home, and to be employed for matters of State in foreign Countries.   

His Education.  
HIS bringing up, as Leland saith, was in the University of Oxford, as also in Cambridge, as appeareth by his own Words, in his Book entitled, The Court of Love; and in Oxford (by all likelihood) in Canterbury or in Merton College, 
Canterbury College in Oxford, founded by Simon Islip Archbishop of Canterbury, was suppressed in the Reign of K. Hen. 8. and joined unto Christs-Church.  with John Wickliff, whose Opinions in Religion he much affected; where, besides his private Study, he did with great diligence frequent the public Schools and Disputations; Hinc acutus Dialecticus, hinc dulcis Rhetor, hinc lepidus Poeta, hinc gravis Philosophus, ac sanctus Theologus evasit. Mathematicus insuper ingeniosus erat à Johanne Sombo, etc. Hereupon saith Leland, he became a witty Logician, a sweet Rhetorician, a pleasant Poet, a grave Philosopher, and a holy Divine. Moreover, he was a very skilful Mathematician, instructed therein by John Some and Nicholas 
2 Nicholas de Lynna studiorum praecipuas parts in Mathesi collocavit, quae quatuor disciplinarum orbem complectitur: videlicet, Arithmeticam, Geometriam, Musicam, & Astrologiam. Bale.  Lynne, Friars Carmelites of Lynne, and men very skilful in the Mathematics, whom he, in his Book called The Astrolaby, doth greatly commend, and calleth them, Reverend Clerks.  
By his Travel also in France and Flanders, where he spent much time in his young Years, but more in the latter end of the Reign of King Rich. 2. he attained to great Perfection in all kind of Learning: for so do Bale and Leland also report. Circa postremos Richardi secundi annos in Galliis floruit, magnamque illic ex assidua in literis exercitatione gloriam sibi comparavit. Domum reversus forum Londinense, & Collegia Leguleiorum, qui ibidem patria jura interpretantur, frequentavit, etc. About the latter end of King Richard the Second Days he flourished in France, and got himself great Commendation there by his diligent Exercise in Learning. After his Return home, he frequented the Court at London, and the Colleges of the Lawyers, which there interpret the Laws of the Land, and among them he had a familiar Friend called 
3 John Gower, a Knight, as Bale writeth, studied not only the common Laws of the Land, but all other kind of good Literature. He lieth buried in St. Mary Oueris in Southwark, in a stately Tomb erected in the Wall, with his Image lying over him, in a Habit of greenish Damask down to his Feet, a Collar of Esses Gold about his Neck, and on his Head a Chaplet of Roses, the Ornaments of Knighthood. Under his Head he hath the likeness of three Books, which he compiled: the first, Speculum Meditantis in French; the second, Vox Clamantis in Latin; the third, Confessio Amantis in English.  John Gower.  
It seemeth that Chaucer was of the Inner Temple; for not many Years since, Master Buckley did see a Record in the same House, where Geffrey Chaucer was fined two Shillings for beating a Franciscan Friar in Fleetstreet.  
Thus spending much time in the Universities, France, Flanders, and Inns of Court, he proved a singular man in all kind of Knowledge.   

His Marriage.  
HE matched in Marriage with a Knight's Daughter of Henault, called Paon de Ruet, King of Arms, as by this Draught appeareth, taken out of the Office of the Heralds. This Gentlewoman whom he married (whose Name we cannot find) as it may be gathered by Chaucer's own Words in his Dream, was Attendant on Blanch the Duchess, in the Duke of Lancaster's House, as also her Sister Katherine was; or else waited on the Duchess Maud, Sister of Blanch, who was married to William Duke of Bavare, Earl of Henault, Zealand, and Holland. But howsoever it was, by this Marriage he became Brother-in-Law to 
4 John Plantagenet, surnamed Gaunt, of Gaunt in Flanders, where he was born, was the fourth Son of King Edward the Third. He was Duke of Lancaster, Earl of Lincoln, Derby, and Leicester, King of Castille and Lions, and Steward of England. He was also Earl of Richmond, and Duke of Aquitain. He had three Wives, Blanch, Constance, and Katherine. He lieth buried in the Choir of Paul's.  John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, as hereafter appeareth.   

Stemma peculiar Gaufredi Chauceri Poetae celeberrimi.  

Paganus de Rovet Hannoniensis, aliter dictus Guien Rex Armorum. 

Catherina de Rovet à priore marito Hugone Swinford equity cognominata Swinford: Quae postea renupta Johanni Gandavensi tertii Edovardi Regis filio Lancastriae Duci, illi procreavit filios tres & unicam filiam.  
Gaufredus Chaucer Poeta celeber. sui saeculi ornamentum ac decus ingens.  
Altera filiarum & cohaeredum Guienni Armorum Regis, cujus Nomen non editur. 

Thomas Chaucer Armiger dominus Manerii de Ewhelm in Oxoniensi Comit.  
William de la Pole Comes Marchio, & postea Dux Suffolciae.  
Alicia unica filia, & haeres Thomae Chaucer ter nupta Johanni Philip. equiti, deinde comiti Sarum, & postea Will. Com. Suff. 

Johannes de la Pole Dux Suffolciae.  
Edmundus de la Pole Comes Suffolciae, ultimus ex hac stirpe attinctus tempore Regis Hen. 7.         

Johannes Burg hershe, Miles.  
Matildis filia William Kerdeston Militis. 

Johannes Burghershe Miles.  
Imania filia natu maxima, & una haeredum Simonis Hannap vel Hanning de Comit. Glouc. 

Matildis filia & cohaeres Johannis Burghershe Militis.  
Margareta altera filiarum & haeredum Johannis Burghershe nupta Johanni Arundel de Com. Cornubiae. 

Johannes Arundel.  
Hinc descendit hodiernus Johannes Arundel.          

His Children, with their Advancement.  
IT should seem, that Geffrey Chaucer had another Son besides 
1 Thomas Chaucer was born about the 38 or 39th Year of Edw. 3.  Thomas; for in the Preface to the 
2 Written Ann. Domini 1391. Rich. secund. 14.  Astrolabe writeth to one, whom he calleth his little Son Lewis: yet some hold opinion, (but I know not upon what Grounds) that Thomas Chaucer was not the Son of Geffrey Chaucer, but rather some Kinsman of his, whom he brought up. But this Pedigree by the hands of Master Glover alias Somerset, that learned Antiquary, as also the Report of Chronicles, show it to be otherwise.  
Some say that in recompense of Geffrey Chaucer's Service in France, being sent thither Ambassador, Edward the Third gave him this Maud, Daughter and Heir of Sir 
1 This John Burghershe was of the same Line of Barrholomew Burghershe, one of the first Knights of the Garter at the Institution thereof by Edward 3. and of Henry Burghershe Bishop of Lincoln, and Chancellor and Treasurer of England.  John Burghershe, Knight, whom he married to Thomas Chaucer his Son, to the great increase of his Living, and amendment in Blood.  
This Thomas Chaucer, besides his own Inheritance of 
2 Ewelme olim Chauceri & Delapolorum, nunc Regiae aedes. Dum enim Johannes Lincolniae Comes Gulielmo Delapolo è filio Johanne nepos res novas contra Henricum septimum moliretur proscriptus omnibus honoribus, & his possessionibus excidit: quae in patrimonium Regium transcriptae fuerunt. G. C.  Ewelm and 
3 Dunnington Castle standeth in a Park in Berkshire not far from Newberry, where to this day standeth an old Oak called Chaucer's Oak.  Dunnington Castle, (which M. Camben, England's most excellent Antiquiographer termeth, Quondam Chauceri, & postea Delapolorum Castellum exiguum) was divers ways preferred, as out of Records in the Tower of London here we may partly see.  
Vicesimo secundo Rich. secundi viginti Marcae datae Thomae Chaucer per ann. durante vita.  
Anno primo Henrici quarti idem donum viginti Marcarum confirmatum.  
Thomas Chaucer primo anno Henrici sexti capitalis Pincerna Regis Angliae.  
Thomas Chaucer, Sheriff of Oxfordshire and Berkshire, and Constable of 
4 Wallingford in Berkshire: Castrum admirandae amplitudinis & magnificentiae duplici murorum ambitu, duplici item vallo circundatum, in medio, moli in magnam altitudinem aeditae arx imponitur, in cujus acclivi per gradus ascensu fons est immensae profunditatis. Incolae constructum à Danis credunt, alii à Romanis. G. Camben.  Wallingford-Castle and 
5 Knaresborow in Yorkshire. Castrum rupi asperrimae impositum, quod Serlonem de Burgo patruum Eustacii Vescii condidisse ferunt: nunc patrimonii Lancastrensis censetur. G. Camden.  Knaresborow Castle, and the Forest of Knaresborow, during Life.  
Queen 
6 This Jane of Navarr, Widow to John of Mounford, Duke of Britain, was married to Henry the Fourth, about the fourth Year of his Reign.  Jane, Wife to Henry the Fourth, the twelfth year of his Reign, gave to Thomas Chaucer, for his good Service, Manerium de Woodstock, Hannebrough, Wotton, & Stuntesfield, cum omnibus membris & Hamlet. suis durante vita.  
Thomas Chaucer, the last Heir male of the Chaucer's, and Owner of Ewelm and Dunnington Castle, the Inheritance of the Chaucer's, lieth buried in a black Marble Tomb, in a fair Chapel, in the Parish-Church of Ewelm, in the south side of the Choir, with this Epitaph, Hic jacet Thomas Chaucer, Armiger, quondam dominus istius villae, & patronus istius Ecclesiae, qui obiit 18 die Mensis Novemb. Anno Dom. 1434. & Matildis uxor ejus, quae obiit 28 die Mensis Aprilis, Anno Dom. 1436.  
Thomas Chaucer had one only Daughter, named Alice, married thrice; first to Sir John Philip, Knight; then to Thomas Montacute, Earl of Salisbury; and the third time to 
7 The Pools Advancement grew first by Merchandise: and Sir Richard Poole, Kt. was Father to William de la Pool, Merchant of Hull, who, for that he frankly and freely did lend to King Ed. 3. a great Sum of Money (at Mortaign in France, when he was greatly distressed) was honoured with the Girdle Military, made Banneret, and endued with 1000 Marks by the Year; and his Successors after were advanced to be Dukes of Suffolk, as in Master Stow's Annals appeareth.  William de la Pole, Earl, and after Duke of Suffolk; who, for love of his Wife, and commodity of her Lands, fell much to dwell in Oxfordshire and Berkshire, where his Wives Lands lay. Between them they had a Son called John, as appear in the Book of the Foundation of the Hospital of Ewelm, (which is to be seen in Mr. Stow's Library) where the Master, Minister, and the poor Men, are enjoined to gather themselves at appointed times about the Tomb of Thomas Chaucer and Maud his Wife, Father and Mother of the Duchess, and there to say certain Prayers appointed; which being ended, one of them is to say openly in the English Tongue, God save in Body and Soul our sovereign Lord the King; my Lord William Duke of Suffolk; my Lady Alice, Duchess of Suffolk his Wife, our Foundress; my Lord John their Son, and all Christian People; the Brethren answering, Amen. This is added, because some have held, that she never had Child, but that the Duke had this Son by another Wife: although indeed the descending of the Chaucer's Lands to the Poles, and after to the King, might sufficiently confute them. But what is it wherein some will not cavil?  
This William and his Wife increased the Manor Place of Ewelm, 
William de la Pole was first secretly married to the Countess of Henault, by whom he had a Daughter: and after being divorced from her, was publicly married to T. Chaucer's Daughter, Countess of Salisbury, who proved this Daughter, being married to one Barentine, a Bastard. The which Barentine afterward, for a Riot made against the Countess, was condemned, and lost an hundred Pounds by the Year. J. Stow.  and builded there a Parish-Church, and an Hospital called Gods-house, for two Priests and thirteen poor men, to be sustained for ever. One of the Priests to be Master of the Alms-house and Alms people, them to instruct; the other Priest, a Schoolmaster, freely to teach the Children of the Tenants of the said Lordship their Grammar; and either of them to have ten Pounds by the Year. Also one of the poor men to be called Minister, to present the Faults of the other to the Master, and to ring their common Bell to Service, and to have sixteen Pence the Week, and the rest fourteen Pence. To the which House they gave the Manors of Ramridge in Hampshire, Conock in Wiltshire, and Mersh in Buckinghamshire. They also founded an Hospital at Donnington Castle J. St.  
This Alice, 
In the 28. of K. Hen. 6. 1450. this William de la Pole was banished the Realm for five Years, to pacify the hard opinion which the Commons had conceived against him. In his Journey to his Banishment he was taken and beheaded, and his Body cast up at Dover Sands, and buried in the Charter-house at Hull. J. St.  Wife of Duke William, surviving her Husband, was after buried in the Parish Church of Ewelm, on the Southside of the high Altar, in a rich Tomb of Alabaster, with an Image in the Habit of a Vowess, and Duchess crowned, lying on the same Tomb: and another Image under the Tomb, so near as may be, like unto her at the time of her Death, with this Epitaph, Orate pro anima serenissimae principissae Aliciae Suffolchiae, hujus Ecclesiae Patronae, & primae fundatricis hujus Eleemosinariae, quae obiit 20 die mensis Maii, Anno Dom. 1475. Litera Dominicali, A.  
Among many things that greatly renowned Geffrey Chaucer, this was one saith Bale, That he had a Kinswoman, Quae Gulielmo Sudovolgiorum Duci nupsit, ac magno in splendore Aquelmi vitam egit: that is, which being married to William Duke of Suffolk, lived in great Honour at Ewelm.   

His Revenues.  
BUT now to return to Geffrey Chaucer: although he had Lands and Revenues in divers Places, and that to the yearly value, as some say, almost of a thousand Pounds, yet the Place of his most Abode was at Woodstock, in a fair House of Stone next to the King's Place, called to this day Chaucer's House, and by that Name passed by the Queen to the Tenant which there now dwelleth. Chaucer took great Pleasure to lie there, in regard of the Park, in sundry of his Writings much by him commended; as also to be near the Court, where his best Friends were, and they who were able to do him most Pleasure: by whose means he had sundry Rewards bestowed upon him, and that worthily, for his good Service, which often he performed, and whereof in Chronicles and Records we may read.   

His Service.  
IN the last Year of King Edward the Third, 
This Sir Rich. Dangle, a Knt. of Poictu, came over with the Duke of Lancaster, who, for his Valiancy and tried Truth to the King of England, was made Knight of the Garter.  he with Sir Richard Dangle, and Sir Richard Stan, was sent to Montrevil to move a Marriage to be had between Richard Prince of Wales, and the Lady Mary, Daughter to the French King. Some write, that he, with petrarch, was present at the Marriage of Lionel Duke of Clarence with Violant Daughter of Galeasius Duke of Milan; yet Paulus Jovius nameth not Chaucer, but petrarch, he saith, was there. And yet it may well be; for it is in Record, that twice or thrice he was employed in foreign Countries: which if it be true, well might the man be at such Charges and Expenses as he might stand in need of King Richard the Second Protection (as after shall appear) till he had better recovered himself. But for his Service he was not unrewarded.   

His Rewards.  
CHaucer is called Armiger Regis: for in the Patent Rolls of Part 1. of 50 Ed. 3. M. 5. the King maketh a Grant, Armigero nostro Galfrido Chaucer. This Armiger Regis was of good Worship and Reputation about the Prince, being also the same that Scutifer Regis was, to bear the King's Shield and other Armour of his, both out and in the Wars. By which Name of Scutifer Regis, the King granted to him the Lands and Body of Sir Edmund Staplegat, for the Manor of Bilsington in Kent, to whom he paid 104 Pounds for the same; as appear in Patent Part 2. de anno 49 Edw. 3. Again, the King before that, in 45 Edw. 3: as appeareth in pellis Exitus of the Exchequer, had granted unto him twenty Marks by Year, by the Name of Galfride Chaucer Valectus Hospitii; which is, Groom of the Palace, a place of good Worship. By which Name of Valectus▪ also King Edw. 3. long before did entite Laurence Hastings, Lord of Aburganey, calling him Valectum nostrum, being the King's Groom, Page, or Servant. For unto this day, certain Servitors of the Queens are called Pages and Grooms, being of Worship and Reputation, as are the Grooms of the Privy Chamber. By which may be gathered in what Credit G. Chaucer was with King Edw. 3.  
Anno 8 Richardi 2. Galfridus Chaucer Contrarotulator Customarïorum & Subsidiorum in portu Civitatis nostrae London.  
Anno 17 Richardi 2. Viginti librae datae Galfrido Chaucero per annum durante vita:  
Vigessimo secundo anno Richardi secundi concessum Galfrido Chaucer unum dolium vini per annum durante vita, in portu civitatis London. per manus capitalis Pincernae nostri.  
Anno primo Henrici quarti Galfrido Chaucero Armigero literae patentes confirmatae pro viginti libris nummorum per annum durante vita & uno dolio vini.  
Eodem etiam anno concessae adhuc & datae eidem Galfrido Chaucero Quadraginta marcae per annum durante vita.   

His Friends.  
FRiends he had in the Court, of the best sort: for besides that he always held in with the Princes, in whose days he lived, he had of the best of the Nobility, both Lords and Ladies, which favoured him greatly. But chiefly John of Gaunt Duke of Lancaster, at whose commandment he made the Treatise 
1 Some say he did but translate it; and that it was made by Sir Oats de Grantsome, Knight, in French: of my Lady of York, Daughter to the King of Spain, representing Venus; and my Lord of Huntingdon, sometime Duke of Excester. This Lady was younger Sister to Gaunt's second Wife. This Lord of Huntingdon was called John Holland, half Brother to Richard the Second: He married Elizabeth the Daughter of John of Gaunt Duke of Lancaster.  Of the Alliance betwixt Mars and Venus: and also the Book of the Duchess. Likewise the Lady Isabel, Daughter to King Edward the Third, and Wife to Ingeram de Guynes, Lord De Coucy: also the Lady Margaret, Daughter to the same King, married to John Hastings Earl of Penbrook, did greatly love and favour Geffrey Chaucer; and he again did as much honour them, but especially the Lady Margaret, as it may appear in divers Treatises by him written: as in the Prologue of the Legend of good Women under the Name of the Daisy; and likewise in a Ballad, beginning, In the season of Feverier. Others there were of great account, whereof some, for some causes, took liking of him, and other for his rare Gifts and Learning did admire him. And thus he lived in honour many Years both at home and abroad.  
Yet it seemeth that he was in some trouble in the days of King Richard the Second, as it may appear in the Testament of Love; where he doth greatly complain of his own rashness in following the multitude, and of their hatred against him for bewraying their purpose. And in that complaint which he maketh to his empty Purse, I do find a written Copy, which I had of Mr. Stow (whose Library helped me in many things) wherein ten times more is adjoined than is in Print. Where he maketh great Lamentation for his wrongful Imprisonment, wishing death to end his days: which in my Judgement doth greatly accord with that in the Testament of Love. Moreover, we find it thus in Record:  
In the second Year of Richard the Second, 
Out of the Records in the Tower.  The King took Geffrey Chaucer and his Lands into his Protection: the occasion whereof, no doubt, was some danger and trouble wherein he was fallen by favouring some rash attempt of the common People. For living in such troublesome times, wherein few knew what part to take, no marvel if he came into some danger, nay great marvel that he fell not into greater danger. But as he was learned, so was he wise, and kept himself much out of the way in Holland, Zealand, and France, where he wrote most of his Books.   

His Books.  
CHaucer had always an earnest desire to enrich and beautify our English Tongue, which in those days was very rude and barren; and this he did, following the Example of Dantes and Petrarch, who had done the same for the Italian Tongue, Alanus for the French, and Johannes Mena for the Spanish; neither was Chaucer inferior to any of them in the performance hereof: and England in this respect is much beholden to him, as Leland well noteth; 
Anglia Chaucerum veneratur nostra poetam,  
Cui veneres debet patria lingua suas:  
Our England honoureth Chaucer Poet, as principal  
To whom her Country Tongue doth owe her Beauties all.   
Besides those Books of his which we have in print, he wrote divers others; as, 

De Vulcani veru.  
De Leone & eius dignitate.  
Comoedias & Tragoedias.  
Facetias & Jocos.  
Jack Vpland against Friars. Now Printed.  
And His A. B. C. Now Printed.    
Others I have seen without any Author's Name, in the hands of Mr. Stow, that painful Antiquary; which for the Invention I would verily judge to be Chaucer's, were it not that Words and Phrases carry not every where Chaucer's Antiquity. Mr. William Thynn, in his first printed Book of Chaucer's Works, with one Column on a side, had a Tale called the Pilgrim's Tale, which was more odious to the Clergy than the Speech of the Ploughman. The Tale began thus; In Lincolnshire fast by a fen, Standeth a religious house who doth it ken. The Argument of which Tale, as also the occasion thereof, and the cause why it was left out of Chaucer's Works, shall hereafter be showed, if God permit, in Mr. Francis Thynn's Comment upon Chaucer; and the Tale itself published if possibly it can be found.  
Now, concerning those Books which we have in print; The Canterbury Tales for the most part were of his own Invention; yet some of them translated, and penned in King Richard the Second Days, and after the Insurrection of Jack Straw, which was in the fourth Year of the same King; for in the Tale of the Nun's Priest, he maketh mention thereof.  
The Romaunt of the Rose was translated out of French.  
Troilus and Creseid, called Trophy in the Lombard Tongue, was translated out of Latin, as in the Preface to the second Book of Troilus and Creseid he confesseth in these Words: 
To every Lover I me excuse,  
That of no sentement I this indite,  
But out of Latin in my Tongue it write.   
Marry Magdalen, translated out of St. Origen.  
The Ballad, Fly from the Press, made by Chaucer on his Deathbed:  
The Letter of Cupid is none of Chaucer's doing, but was compiled by 
a Thomas Occleve, vel Ockelese, vir tam bonis literis, quam generis prosapia clarus exquisua quadam Anglici sermonis eloquentia post Chaucerum, cujus suerat discipulus, patriam ornavit linguam. Johannis Wiclevi, & ipsius Berengarii in religione doctrinam sequebatur. Tractatus hos fecit: Planctum proprium. Dialogum and amicum. De quadam Imperatrice. De arte moriendi. De coelesti Jerusalem. De quodam Jonatha. De Regimine Principis.  Thomas Occleve, of the Office of the privy Seal, sometime Chaucer's Scholar. The which Occleve, for the Love he bore to his Master, caused his Picture to be truly drawn in his Book De Regimine Principis, dedicated to Henry the Fifth; the which I have seen, and according to which this in the beginning of this Book was done by Mr. Spede, who hath annexed thereto all such Coats of Arms, as any way concern the Chaucer's, as he found them (travelling for that Purpose) at Ewelm and at Wickham.  
Occleve, in that Book where he setteth down Chaucer's Picture, addeth these Verses: 
Although his life be quaint, the resemblance  
Of him that hath in me so fresh livelines,  
That to put other men in remembrance  
Of his person, I have here the likeness  
Do make, to the end in soothfastnes,  
That they that of him have lost thought and mind,  
By this peinture may again him find.    

His Death.  
GEffrey Chaucer departed out of this World the 25th of October, in the Year of our Lord 1400, after he had lived about 72 Years. Thus writeth Bale out of Leland; Chaucerus ad canos devenit, sensitque senectutem morbum esse; & dum causas suas Londini curaret, etc. Chaucer lived till he was an old Man, and found old Age to be grievous: and whilst he followed his Causes at London, he died, and was buried at Westminster.  
The old Verses which were written on his Grave at the first, were these: 
Galfridus Chaucer vates & fama poesis,  
Maternae hac sacra sum tumulatus humo.   
But since Mr. Nicholas Brigham did at his own Cost and Charges erect a fair marble Monument for him, with his Picture, resembling that done by Occleve; and these Verses: 
Qui fuit Anglorum vates ter maximus olint  
Gaufredus Chaucer conditur hoc tumulo:  
Annum si quaeras domini, si tempora vitae  
Ecce notae subsunt, quae tibi cuncta notant.  
Anno Domini 1400, die mensis Octob. 25.   
About the Ledge of which Tomb were these Verses; now clean worn out: 
Si rogites quis eram, forsan te fama docebit:  
Quod si fama negat, mundi quia gloria transit,  
Haec monumenta lege.   
Now it shall not be amiss to these Epitaphs, to add the Judgements and Reports of some learned men, of this worthy and famous Poet. And first of all, Thomas Occleve, who lived in his Days, writeth thus of him in his Book De Regimine Principis: 
But wellaway so is mine heart woe  
That the honour of English Tongue is deed,  
Of which I want was counsel have and reed.  
O Master dear and Father reverend,  
My Master Chaucer, flower of Eloquence,  
Mirror of fructuous intendment,  
O universal Father of Science:  
Alas that thou thine excellent prudence  
In thy bed mortal mightest not bequeath.  
What eyld Death? Alas why would she thee slay.  
O Death that didst not harm singler in slaughter of him  
But all the land it smerteth.  
But nevertheless yet hast thou no power his Name slay,  
His high virtue afterteth  
Vnslain from thee, which ay us lifely herteth,  
With Books of his ornat enditing,  
That is to all this land enlumining.   
The same Author again in the same Book: 
My dear Master, God his soul quite,  
And Fader Chaucer fain would have me taught,  
But I was young, and leered light or nought,  
Alas my worthy Master honourable,  
This Lands very treasure and richesse,  
Death by thy death hath harm irreparable  
Unto us done: her vengeable duresse  
Despoiled hath this land of the sweetness  
Of Rhetorige: for unto Tullius  
Was never man so like among us:  
Also who was heir in Philosophy  
To Aristotle, in our Tongue, but thou?  
The steps of Virgil in Poese  
Thou suedest eken, men know well enough.  
That cumber World that thee my Master slough  
Would I slain were: Death was too hastife  
To run on thee, and reve thee thy life,  
She might have tarried her vengeance a while,  
To that some man had equal to thee be.  
Nay let be that: she knew well that this I'll  
May never man forth bring like unto thee:  
And her Office needs do must she,  
God had her so, I trust all for the best,  
O Master, Master, God thy Soul rest.  Dan 
* John Lidgate Monk of Bury, an excellent Poet: He traveled France and Italy, to learn the Languages and Sciences.  John Lidgate likewise, in his Prologue of Bocchas of the Fall of Princes, by him translated, saith thus in his Commendation.  
My Master Chaucer with his fresh Comedies,  
Is dead alas, chief Poet of Britain,  
That whilom made full piteous Tragedies,  
The fall also of Princes he did complain,  
As he that was of making sovereign,  
Whom all this land should of right prefer,  
Sith of our Language he was the Loadsterre.  
Afterward in the same place do follow fourscore and three Verses in the Commendation of Chaucer, and the Books that he made particularly named.  
In a Book of Master Stow's (but I know not who was the Author) I find these Verses; 
O fathers and founders of enornat eloquence,  
That elumined have our great Britain,  
To soon we have lost our laureate Science,  
O lusty liquour of that fulsome Fountain,  
O cursed Death, why hast thou those Poets slain,  
I mean Gower, Chaucer, and 
* That is Geffrey Vinesause: of whom read in the Recital of Authors.  Gaufride,  
Alas the time that ever they from us died.   
John Lidgate again, in a Book which he writeth of the Birth of the Virgin Mary, hath these Verses; 

And eke Master Chaucer now is in grave,  
The notable Rhetore, Poet of Britain,  
That worthy was the laurel to have  
Of poetry, and the palm attain,  
That made first to distil and rain  
The gold due drops of speech and eloquence  
Into our Tongue through his excellence.   

And found the flowers first of Rhetoric,  
Our rude Speech only to enlumine,  
That in our Tongue was never none him like:  
For as the sun doth in heaven shine,  
In midday spear down to us by line,  
In whose presence no star may appear,  
Right so his ditties withouten any pear   

Every making with his light dislaine,  
In soothfastness, who so taketh heed:  
Wherefore no wonder though my heart plain  
Upon his death, and for sorrow bleed  
For want of him now in my great need,  
That should (alas) convey and eke direct,  
And with his support amend and correct   

The wrong traces of my rude Pen,  
There as I err, and go not line right.  
But that for he ne may me not ken,  
I can no more but with all my might,  
With all mine heart, and mine inward sight,  
Prayeth for him that now lieth in chest,  
To God above to give his Soul good rest.    
The excellent and learned Scottish Poet Gawyne Dowglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, in the Preface of Virgil's Eneadoes, turned into Scottish Verse, doth thus speak of Chaucer: 
Venerable Chaucer, principal Poet without peer,  
Heavenly Trumpet, Orloge, and Regulere,  
In eloquence, balm conduct, and Dyal,  
Milky fountein, clear strand, and rose ryal  
Of fresh indite through Alvione Island brayed,  
In his Legend of notable ladies said, etc.   
About William Caxton's Time, 
This William Caxton of London, Mercer, brought Printing out of Germany into England about the latter end of the Reign of Henry the Sixth, and practised the same in the Abbey of St. Peter at Westminster. It was first found in Germany at Mogunce, by one John Cuthembergus, a Knight; and brought to Rome by Conradus an Almaigne, as some Authors say.  Stephanus Surigonius, Poet Laureate of Milan, did write this Epitaph upon Geffrey Chaucer, in Latin.  

Epitaphium Galfridi Chaucer, per Poetam laureatum Stephanum Surigonum Mediolanensem in decretis licentiatum.  

PYerides musae, si possint numina fletus  
Fundere, divinas atque rigare genas:  
Galfridi vatis Chaucer crudelia fata  
Plangite: sit lachrimis abstinuisse nephas.  
Vos coluit vivens: at vos celebrate sepultum,  
Reddatur merito gratia digna viro.  
Grande decus vobis est docti musa Maronis,  
Qua didicit melius lingua latina loqui.  
Grande, novumque decus Chaucer, famamque paravit:  
Heu quantum fuerat prisca Britanna rudis.  
Reddidit insignem maternis versibus, ut jam  
Aurea splendescat, ferrea facta prius.  
Hunc latuisse virum nil, si tot opuscula vertes,  
Dixeris, egregiis quae decorata modis,  
Socratis ingenium, vel fontes Philosophiae,  
Quicquid & arcani dogmata sacra ferunt.  
Et quascumque velis, tenuit dignissimus artes:  
Hic vates parvo conditus hoc tumulo.  
Ah laudis quantum, praeclara Britannia, perdis,  
Dum rapuit tantum mors odiosa virum.  
Crudeles Parcae, crudelia filia sororum:  
Non tamen, extincto corpore, fama perit:  
Vivet in aeternum, vivent dum scripta poetae:  
Vivent aeterno tot monumenta die.  
Si qua bonos tangit pietas, si carmine dignus,  
Carmina, qui cecinit, tot cumulata modis,  
Haec sibi Marmoreo scribantur verba sepulchro,  
Haec maneat landis sarcina summa suae.  
Galfridus Chaucer vates, & fama poesis  
Maternae haec sacra sum timulatus humo.   

Post obitum Caxton voluit te vivere cura  
Guillelnii, Chaucer clare poeta, tui.  
Nam tua non solum compressit opuscula formis,  
Has quoque sed landes jussit hic esse tuas.    
And as for men of later time, Mr. William Thynn, that learned Gentleman, and painful Collector of Chaucer's Works, in his Epistle Dedicatory to the King's Majesty, hath duly set forth the commendable Qualities of this Poet; whose Judgement we are the rather to approve, for that he had farther insight into him than many others: of whom, John Bale, in his Book De Scriptoribus Britan. Centur. 12. hath some 60 Years passed delivered this; Guilhelmus Thynn, praeclari generis homo, & ab ineunte aetate in literis educatus, multo labour, sedulitate & cura usus, in perquirendis vetustis exemplaribus, Chauceri opera restituit, atque in unum collegit volumen: quod Henrico octavo Anglorum regi dedicavit. Since whose time, two of the purest and best Writers of our days, the one for Prose, the other for Verse, Mr. Ascham and Mr. Spenser, have delivered most worthy Testimonies of their approving of Chaucer. Mr. Ascham in one Place calleth him English Homer, and makes no doubt to say, that he valueth his Authority of as high Estimation as ever he did either Sophocles or Euripides in Greek. And in another place, where he declareth his Opinion of English versifying, he useth these Words. Chaucer and petrarch, those two worthy Wits, deserve just Praise. And last of all, in his Discourse of Germany, he putteth him nothing behind either Thucydides or Homer for his lively descriptions of site of Places, and nature of Persons both in outward shape of Body, and inward disposition of Mind; adding this withal, That not the proudest that hath written in any Tongue whatsoever, in these Points, can carry away the Praise from him.  
Mr. Spenser, in his first Eglogue of his Shepherd's Calendar, calleth him Tityrus, the God of Shepherds, comparing him to the Worthiness of the Roman Tityrus Virgil. In his Fairy Queen, in his Discourse of Friendship, as thinking himself most worthy to be Chaucer's Friend, for his like natural Disposition that Chaucer had, the showeth, that none that lived with him, nor none that came after him, durst presume to revive Chaucer's lost Labours in that imperfect Tale of the Squire, but only himself; which he had not done, had he not felt (as he saith) the Infusion of Chaucer's own sweet Spirit surviving within him. And a little before, he termeth him, Most renowned and Heroical Poet; and his Writings, The Works of Heavenly Wit; concluding his Commendation in this manner: 
Dan Chaucer, Well of English, undefiled,  
On Fame's eternal Beadrole worthy to be filled.  
I follow here the footing of thy Feet,  
That with thy meaning so I may the rather meet.   
And once again I must remember Mr. Camden's Authority, who as it were reaching one hand to Mr. Ascham, and the other to Mr. Spenser, and so drawing them together, uttereth of him these Words: De Homero nostro Anglico illud vere asseram, quod de Homero eruditus ille Italus dixit: 
— Hic ille est, cujus de gurgite sacro  
Combibit arcanos vatum omnis turba furores.   
And that we may conclude his Praises with the Testimony of the worthiest Gentleman that the Court hath afforded in many Years; Sir Philip Sidney, in his Apology for Poetry, saith thus of him; Chaucer undoubtedly did excellently in his Troilus and Creiseid; of whom truly I know not whether to marvel more, either that he in that misty time could see so clearly, or that we in this clear Age walk so stumblingly after him. Seeing therefore that both old and new Writers have carried this reverend Conceit of our Poet, and openly declared the same by Writing, let us conclude with Horace, in the eighth Ode of his fourth Book:  Dignum laude virum musa vetat mori.   

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER.  
HAving, for some Years last passed, been greatly solicited by many Learned and Worthy Gentlemen, to Re-print the Works of this Ancient Poet; I have now, not only to answer their Desire, but I hope to their full Satisfaction, performed the Obligation long since laid upon me, and sent Chaucer abroad into the World again, in his old dress, and under the Protection of his own Merits, without any new Preface or Letters Commendatory, it being the Opinion of those Learned Persons, that his own Works are his best Encomium.  
Whereas in the Life of Chaucer, mention is made of a Tale, called the Pilgrim's Tale, which is there said to have been seen in the Library of Mr. Stow, and promised to be printed so soon as opportunity should offer; I have, for the procuring of it, used all Diligence imaginable, not only in searching the public Libraries of both Universities, but also all private Libraries that I could have Access unto; but having no Success therein, I beg you will please to accept my earnest Endeavour to have served you, and take what is here printed, it being all that at present can be found that was Chaucer's.  
J. H.   

THE Works of jeffrey Chaucer, With Additions. Also the Siege and Destruction of the worthy City of Thebes; Compiled by John Lidgate, Monk of BURY.  

Virtue flourisheth in Chaucer still, Though Death of him hath wrought his will.    

To the KING's HIGHNESS, My most Gracious Sovereign Lord, HENRY the Eighth, By the Grace of God, King of England, and of France, Defensor of the Faith, and Lord of Ireland, etc.  
Amongst all other excellencies, most Gracious Sovereign Lord, wherewith Almighty God hath endowed mankind, above the residue of earthly creatures, as an outward declaration of reason or reasonableness, wherein consisteth the similitude of Man unto Angels, and the difference between the same and brute beasts, I verily suppose, that Speech or Language is not to be reputed amongst the smallest or inferiors: for thereby is expressed the conceit of one to another, in open and plain Sentence, which in the residue of lively creatures lacketh and is not showed amongst them, but by certain covert and dark signs, and that in few things, having course and operation only of nature. This Speech or Language, after the confusion of Tongues, sent by God's punishment for pride and arrogancy of people, hath been by a certain instinct and disposition natural, devised and invented in sundry parts of the world, as fellowships or companying of folks one with another chanced, much to the outward expressing of the thing in word or sound, according to that whereof it had meaning or signification. But in process of time, by diligence or policy of people, after divers forms, figures, and impressions in mettle, barks of trees, and other matter used for memory and knowledge of things, then present or passed, sundry letters or carectes were first amongst the Phenices devised and found, with such knit and joyning of one to another, by a marvellous subtlety and craft, as counterveiled was and is equivalent to the same Languages. So as the conceit of man's mind, which at the beginning was used to be declared by mouth only, came to such point, that it was as sensibly and vively expressed in writing. Hereupon ensued a great occasion & courage unto them that should write, to compone and adorn the rudeness and barbariety of speech, and to form it to an eloquent and ordinate perfection: whereunto many, and many great Poets and Orators have highly employed their studies and courages, leaving thereby notable Renown of themselves, and example perpetual to their posterity. Amongst other, the Greeks in all kinds of sciences seemed so to prevail, and so to ornate their Tongue, as yet by other of right noble Languages cannot be perfectly imitated or followed. The Latins by example of the Greeks, have gotten or won to them no small glory, in the forming, order, and uttering of that Tongue. Out of the which two, if it be well searched, that is to say, Greek and Latin (though by corruption of speech it should seem much otherwise) have been derived the residue of the Languages, that be written with the letters of carectes of either of them both: But of all Speeches, those which most approach to the Latin, be the Italian and Spanish Tongues; of whom the one by corruption of the Goths and langobards had her beginning, as Latin spoken by strangers of a barbare understanding: the other being also Latin, was by Vandals, Goths, Moors, Sarracenes, and other so many times blemished, as marvel it is to see now unto what perfection these two form out of the Latin and Barbares speeches be reduced. Next unto them in similitude to the Latin is the French tongue, which by diligence of people of the same, is in few years passed so amended, as well in Pronunciation as in Writing, that an Englishman, by a small time exercised in that Tongue, hath not lacked ground to make a Grammere, or rule ordinary thereof. Though of troth (which some shall scarcely believe) the Germans have so form the order of their Language, that in the same is both as much plenty and as ne'er concordance to the phrase of the Latin, as the French Tongue hath. And verily, like as all these and the rest have been thus vigilant and studious to meliorate or amend their Languages; so hath there not lacked amongst us, Englishmen, which have right well and notably endeavoured and employed themselves, to the beautifying and bettering of the English Tongue.  
Amongst whom, most excellent Prince, my most redoubted and gracious sovereign lord, I your most humble Vassal, Subject & Servaunt, William Thynn, chief Clerk of your Kitchen, moved by a certain inclination and zeal, which I have, to hear of any thing sounding to the laud and honour of this your noble Realm, have taken great delectation, as the times and leisers might suffer, to read and hear the books of that noble & famous Clerk Geffrey Chaucer, in whose works is so manifest comprobation of his excellent learning, in all kinds of doctrines and sciences, such fruitfulness in words, well according to the matter and purpose, to sweet & pleasant sentences, such perfection in metre, the composition so adapted, such freshness of invention, compendiousness in narration, such sensible and open stile, lacking neither majesty ne mediocrity, covenable in disposition, and such sharpness or quickness in conclusion, that it is much to be marvailed, how in his time, when doutless all good letters were laid asleep throughout the world, as the thing, which either by the disposition and influence of the bodies above, or by other ordinance of God, seemed like (as was in danger) to have utterly perished, such an excellent Poet in our tongue, should as it were (nature repugning) spring and arise. For though it had been in Demosthenes or Homerus times, when all learning and excellency of sciences flourished amongst the Greeks, or in the season that Cicero prince of eloquence amongst Latins lived, yet had it been a thing right rare & strange, and worthy perpetual laud, that any Clerk by learning or wit, could then have framed a tongue, before so rude & imperfect, to such a sweet ornature and composition; likely, if he had lived in these days, being good letters so restored and revived as they be, if he were not impeached by the envy of such as may tolerate nothing, which to understond, their capacity doth not extend, to have brought it unto a full and final perfection. Wherefore, gracious sovereign lord, taking such delight and pleasure in the works of this noble Clerk (as is aforementioned) I have of a long season much used to read and visit the same, and as books of divers imprints came unto my hands, I easily and without great study might and have deprehended in them many errors, falsities, and depravations, which evidently appeared by the contrarieties and alterations found by collation of the one with the other, whereby I was moved and stirred to make diligent search where I might find or recover any true copies or exemplaries of the said books, whereunto in process of time, not without cost and pain, I attained, and not only unto such as seem to be very true copies of those works of Geffrey Chaucer, which before had been put in print, but also to divers other never till now imprinted, but remaining almost unknown, and in oblivion: whereupon lamenting with myself the negligence of the people that have been in this Realm, who doubtless were very remiss in the setting forth or avauncement either of the Histories thereof, to the great hindrance of the renown of such noble Princes, & valiant Conquerors and Captains, as have been in the same, or also of the works of memory of the famous and excellent Clerks in all kinds of sciences, that have flourished therein. Of which both sorts, it hath pleased God as highly to nobilitate this Isle, as any other Region of Christendom: I thought it in manere appertenant unto my duty, and that of very honesty and love to my Country, I ought no less to do, than to put my helping hand to the restauration and bringing again to light of the said works, after the true Copies and Exemplaries aforesaid. And devising with myself, who of all other were most worthy, to whom a thing so excellent and notable should be dedicated, which to my conceit seemeth for the admiration, novelty, and strangeness, that it might be deputed to be of in the time of the Authour, in comparison, as a pure and fine tried precious or polished jewel, out of a rude or indigest mass or matere, none could to my thinking occur, that since, or in the time of Chaucer, was or is sufficient, but only your Majesty Royal, which by discretion and judgement, as most absolute in wisdom, and all kinds of doctrine, could, and of his innate clemency and goodness would, add or give any Authority hereunto.  
For this cause, most excellent, and in all virtues most prestante Prince, I as humbly prostrate before your Kingly estate, lowly supply and beseech the same, that it wool vouchsafe to took in good part my poor study and desirous mind, in reducing unto light this so precious and necessary an ornament of the tongue in this your Realm, over piteous to have been in any point lost, falsified, or neglected: So that under the shield of your most royal Protection and Defence, it may go forth in public, and prevail over those that would blemish, deface, and in many things clearly abolish the laud, renown, and glory heretofore compared, and meritoriously adquired by divers Princes, and other of this said most noble Isle, whereunto not only Strangers under pretext of high learning and knowledge of their malicious and perverse minds, but also some of your own subjects, blinded in folly and ignorance, do with great study contend. Most gracious, victorious, and of God most elect and worthy Prince, my most dread sovereign Lord, in whom of very merit, duty, and succession, is renewed the glorious Title of Defensor of the christian Faith, which by your noble Progenitor, the Great Constantine, sometime King of this Realm, & Emperor or Rome, was next God and his Apostles, chiefly maintained, corroborate, and defended: Almighty jesus send to your Highness the continual and everlasting abundance of his infinite Grace. Amen.   

A TABLE of the Principal Matters Contained in this VOLUME; Which you may find by the Folio's, as follows.  

Folio  
THE Prologues of the Canterbury Tales 1  
The Knight's Tale Folio 9  
The Miller's Tale Folio 26  
The Reves Tale Folio 33  
The Cooks Tale Folio 36  
The man of Laws Tale Folio 38  
The Squires Tale Folio 47  
The Merchant's Tale Folio 53  
The Wife of Baths Prologue Folio 62  
The Wife of Baths Tale Folio 69  
The Freres Tale Folio 72  
The Sompnours' Tale Folio 75  
The Clerk of Oxenfords Tale Folio 80  
The Frankeleins Tale Folio 91  
The second Nonnes Prologue Folio 98  
The second Nonnes Tale Folio 99  
The Prologue of the Canons' Yeoman 102, Folio 103  
The Canons Yeoman's Tale Folio 104  
The Doctor of Physics Tale Folio 110  
The Pardoners Prologue Folio 112  
The Pardoners Tale Folio 113  
The Shipman's Tale Folio 117  
The Prioress Prologue Folio 121  
The Prioress Tale ibid.  
The Rhyme of Sir Topas Folio 123  
The Tale of Chaucer Folio 125  
The Monks Prologue Folio 141  
The Monks Tale Folio 142  
The Tale of the Nonnes Priest Folio 149  
The Manciples Tale Folio 155  
The Plowman's Tale Folio 157  
The Parson's Tale Folio 169  
The Romaunt of the Rose Folio 199   

Troilus and Creseide is divided into five Books.  
The first Book beginneth Folio 258  
The second Book beginneth Folio 268  
The third Book beginneth Folio 283  
The fourth Book beginneth Folio 298  
The fifth Book beginneth Folio 313  
The Testament of Creseide Folio 329   

The Legend of good women hath all these following.  
The Prologue Folio 334  
The Legend of Cleopatra's Folio 339  
The Legend of Tisbe of Babylon Folio 340  
The Legend of Queen Dido Folio 341  
The Legend of Hipsiphile and Medea Folio 345  
The Legend of Lucrece of Rome Folio 347  
The Legend of Ariadne Folio 349  
The Legend of Philomene Folio 351  
The Legend of Phillis Folio 353  
The Legend of Hypermestra Folio 354  
A goodly Ballad of Chaucer Folio 355   

Boetius de Consolation is divided into five Books.  
The first book beginneth Folio 356  
The second book beginneth Folio 363  
The third book beginneth Folio 373  
The fourth book beginneth Folio 387  
The fifth book beginneth Folio 399   

All these Works following be Works by themselves.  
The Dream of Chaucer called the Duchess Folio 408  
The Assembly of Paul's Folio 418  
The Flower of Courtesy Folio 425  
How Pity is dead, etc. Folio 427  
La belle dame sans mercy Folio 428  
Annelida and false Arcite Folio 435  
The Complaint of Annelida to false Arcite Folio 437  
The Assembly of Lady's Folio 439  
The Conclusion of the Astrolaby Folio 445  
The Complaint of the black Knight Folio 460  
A Praise of Women Folio 466   

The House of Fame is divided into three Books.  
The first book beginneth Folio 467  
The second book beginneth Folio 471  
The third book beginneth Folio 476   

The Testament of Love is divided into three Books.  
The Prologue of the Testament of Love Folio 484  
The first book beginneth Folio 485  
The second book beginneth Folio 500  
The third book beginneth Folio 521   

All these Works following be Works by themselves.  
The Lamentation of Mary Mag. Folio 537  
The Remedy of Love Folio 545  
The Complaint of Mars and Venus Folio 548  
The Complaint of Mars alone Folio 550  
The Complaint of Venus' alone Folio 551  
The Letter of Cupid Folio 552  
A Ballad of our Lady Folio 556  
A Ballad to King Henry the IV. Folio 558  
Three Sayings of Dan John Lid. Folio 562  
Of the Cuckoo and the Nightingale ibid.  
Scogan unto the young Lords and Gentlemen of the King's House Folio 565  
Divers other Ballads of Chaucer, etc. Folio 567  
A Ballad of good Counsel, made by John Lidgate Folio 569  
A Praise or Commendation of Caucer's Eloquence Folio 570  
A Ballad, ●eaching what is Gentilness ibid.  
A Proverb against Covetise and Negligence ibid.  
A Ballad against unconstant Women ibid.  
How all things in this World is variable, save Women only ibid.  
The Craft of Lover's Folio 571  
A pleasant Ballad of Women Folio 573  
The ten Commandments of Love ibid.  
The nine Ladies worthy Folio 574  
Certain Ballads Folio 575  
How Mercury, with three Goddesses, appeared to Paris Folio 576  
A Ballad pleasant ibid.  
The discriving of a fair Lady ibid.  
A Ballad warning men to beware of deceitful Women ibid.  
Certain Verses compiled by Chaucer Folio 578  
A Ballad declaring the worthiness of women's Chastity Folio 579  
The Court of Love ibid.  
Chaucer's Dream Folio 592  
The Flower and the Leaf Folio 609  
The A. B. C. called, la priere de nostre dame Folio 615  
Jack Upland Folio 616  
Chaucer's Words to Adam his own Scrivener Folio 621  
The Prologue of the Story of Thebes Folio 622  
The first Part of the Siege of Thebes Folio 623  
The second Part of the Siege of Thebes Folio 630  
The third Part of the Siege of Thebes Folio 643    

Eight goodly Questions, with their Answers.  

SOmetime in Greece, that noble region,  
There were eight clerks of full great  
science,  
Philosophers of notable discretion:  
Of whom was asked, to prove their prudence  
Eight Questions, of dark intelligence:  
To which they answered after their intent,  
As here doth appear plain and evident.   

The first question was, What earthly thing  
Is best, and to God most commendable?  
The first clerk answered without tarrying,  
A man's soul, ever farm and stable  
In right, from the troth not variable.  
* But now alas, full sore may we weep:  
For covetise hath brought troth asleep.   

The second, What thing is most odious?  
A double man, said the Philosopher,  
With a virgin face, and a tail venomous:  
With a fair view, and a false proffer:  
A corrupt carien in a golden tree.  
* It is a monster in nature's lineage,  
One man to have a double visage.   

The third, What is the best dower  
That may be to a wife appropriate?  
A clean life, was the clerks answer,  
Without sin, all chaste, and inviolate  
From all deceits, and speeches inornate,  
Or countenance, which shall be to despise.  
* No fire make, and then no smoke wool arise.   

The fourth question, What maiden may  
Be called clean in chastity?  
The fourth clerk answered, which always  
Every creature is ashamed on to lie:  
Of whom men reporten great honesty.  
* Good maidens keep your chastity forth,  
And remember, the good name is gold worth.   

Who is a poor man ever full of woe?  
A covetous man, which is a nigon:  
He that in his heart can never say ho:  
The more good, the less distribution,  
The richer, the worse of condition,  
Men in this coast clepe him a niggard,  
Sir Guy the bribour is his steward.   

Which is a rich man, without fraud?  
He that can to his good suffice:  
Whatsoever he hath, he giveth God the laud:  
And keepeth him clean from all covetise:  
He desires nothing in ungodly wise:  
His body is here, his mind is above:  
* He is a rich man, for God doth him love.   

Who is a fool is the seventh demand?  
He that would hurt, and hath no power:  
Might he mikell, much would he command:  
His malice great, his might nought were:  
He thretteth full fast, full little may he dear:  
He thinketh not how men have said be forne,  
* God sendeth a shrewd Cow a short horn.   

Who is a wise man is the eight question?  
He that might noye, & doth no annoyance:  
Might punish, and leaveth punission:  
A man merciful, without vengeance.  
A wise man putteth in remembrance,  
* Saying, Had I venged all mine harm,  
My cloak had not be furred half so warm.   
Explicit.   

To the King's most noble Grace, and to the Lords and Knights of the Garter.  

TO you well of honour and worthiness,  
Our Christian King, the heir & successor  
Unto justinian's devout tenderness,  
In the faith of jesus our redemptor:  
And to your Lords of the Garter, flower  
Of chivalry, as men you clepe and call,  
The lord of virtue, and of grace author,  
Grant the fruit of your lose, never appall.   

O liege Lord, that have the likeness  
Of Constantine, th'ensample and mirror  
To Princes all, in humble buxomenesse,  
To holy Church, o veray sustainour  
And pillar of our faith, and warrior,  
Again of heresies the bitter Gall:  
Do forth, do forth, continue your succour,  
Hold up Christ's banner, let it not fall.   

This Isle or this had been but heathenness  
Had be of your faith the force and vigour,  
And yet this day the fiends crabbedness  
weeneth fully to catch a time and hour,  
To have on us your liege's a sharp shower,  
And to his servitude us knit and thrall:  
But aye we trust in you our protector,  
On your constance we awaiten all.   

Commandeth that no wight have hardiness,  
O worthy King, our Christian Emperor,  
Of the faith to disputen more or less  
Openly among people: Her error  
Springeth all day, and engendereth rumour.  
Maketh such law, and for aught may befall,  
Observe it well, thereto be ye doctor,  
Doth so, and God in glory shall you stall.   

Ye Lords eke, shining in noble fame,  
To which appropered is the maintenance  
Of Christ's cause, in honour of his name,  
Shove on, and put his foes to utterance,  
God would so, so would eke your legiaunce,  
To though two, aye pricketh you your duty:  
Who so not keepeth this double observance  
Of merit and honour naked is he.   

Your stile sayeth, ye be foes to shame,  
Now kith of your faith the perseverance,  
In which an heap of us he halt and lame:  
Our christian King of England & of France,  
And ye my lords, with your alliance,  
And other faithful people that there be,  
Trust I to God, shall quench all this noisance,  
And this land set in high prosperity.   

Conquest of high prowess is for to tame  
The wild woodness of all these miscreaunce,  
Right to the rote daily reap ye that same,  
Slepen not this, but for God's pleasance  
And his mother, and in signifiance,  
That ye been of Saint George's liver,  
Doth him service, and knightly obeisance,  
For Christ's cause is his, well known ye.   

Stiff stand in that, & ye shall grieve & grame  
The foe to peace, the norice of distance,  
That now is earnest, turn it into game,  
Now kithe of your believe the constance,  
Lord liege, & Lords have in remembrance,  
Lord of all is the blissful Trinity,  
Of whose virtue, the mighty abundance  
You heart and strength in faithful unity.   
Explicit.   


WHen faith faileth in Priest's saws,  
And lords hests are holden for laws,  
And robbery is holden purchase,  
And lechery is holden solace:  
Then shall the land of Albion  
Be brought to great confusion.   

It falleth for a gentleman  
To say the best that he can  
Always in man's absence,  
And the sooth in his presence.   

It cometh by kind of gentle blood  
To cast away all heaviness,  
And gather together words good,  
The work of wisdom beareth witness.    


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 decorum, which Horace requireth in that behalf. Secondly, to show, how that even in our Language, that may be performed for descriptions, which the Greek and Latin Poets in their Tongues have done at large. And surely this Poet, in the judgement of the best learned, is not inferior 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 days; namely, given to devotion, rather of custom than of zeal. In the Tales is showed the state of the Church, the Court, and Country, 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 April with his shours sote,  
The drought of March had pierced to the rote,  
And bathed every vain in such liquor,  
Of which virtue engendered is the flour:  
When Zephyrus eke with his sweet breath,  
Espired hath in every holt and heath,  
The tender crops, and that the young son  
Hath in the Ram half his course yronne,  
And small fowls maken melody,  
That slepen all night with open eye:  
So priketh him nature in her courage,  
Then longen folk to go on pilgrimage,  
And Palmers to seeken strange strands,  
To serve hallows couth in sundry lands:  
And specially from every shires end  
Of England, to Canterbury they wend,  
The holy blissful martyr for to seek,  
That hem hath holpen when they were seek.   

IT befell that season on a day,  
In Southwark 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 folk, by aventure yfall  
In fellowship, and pilgrims 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 sun was at rest,  
So had I spoken with him everychone,  
That I was of her fellowship anon,  
And made forward early for to rise,  
To take our way there as I you devise.  
But nevertheless, while I have time & space,  
Or that I ferther in this tale pace,  
Me think it accordant to reason,  
To tell you all the condition  
Of each of him, 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 ridden out, he loved chivalry,  
Troth, honour, freedom, and courtesy:  
Full worthy was he in his Lord's war,  
And thereto had he ridden no man so far,  
As well in Christendom as in heathenness,  
And ever had honour for his worthiness.  
At alexander he was when it was won,  
Full often time he had the board begon,  
Aboven all nations in Pruce:  
In Lettowe had he ridden and in Luce,  
No Christian man so oft of his degree:  
In Garnade at the Siege had he be,  
At Algezer, and ridden in Belmary,  
At Leyes was he, and also at Sataly,  
When they were won, & in the great see,  
At many a noble Army had he be.  
At mortal Battles had he been fifteen,  
And fought for our faith at Tramissene  
In lists thrice, and aye slain his foe.  
This ilke worthy Knight had been also  
Sometime with the Lord of Palathy,  
Against another Heathen in Turkey:  
And evermore he had a sovereign prize,  
And though he was worthy he was wise,  
And of his sport as meek as is a Maid,  
He never yet no villainy ne said  
In all his life, unto no manner wight:  
He was a very perfect gentle 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 from his voyage,  
And went for to done his pilgrimage.   

¶ The Squire. 2.  
WIth him there was his son, a young squire,  
A lover and a lusty bachelor,  
With his locks crull as they were laid in press,  
Of twenty year of age he was as I guess:  
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 Lady's grace.  
Embrouded was he, as it weren a meed,  
All full of fresh flowers, both white and read,  
Singing he was, or floiting all the day,  
He was fresh, as is the month of May.  
Short was his gown, with sleves long & wide  
Well could he sit on a horse, and fair ride:  
He could songs make, and eke well indite,  
Just, and eke dance, portray and well write.  
So hot 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 Squire's Yeoman. 3.  
A Yeoman had he, and servaunts no more  
Alderman that time, for him list to ride so:  
And he was clad in cote and hood of green,  
A sheaf of Peacock arrows bright & sheen,  
Under his belt he bore full thriftily:  
Well could be dress his tackle yeomanly:  
His arrows drouped not with feathers low,  
And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.  
A notte head had he, with a brown visage:  
Of wood craft well couth he all the usage:  
Upon his arm he bore a gay bracer,  
And by his side a sword and a bokeler,  
And on that other side a gay daggere,  
Har●eised well, and sharp as point of spear:  
A Christofer on his breast of silver sheen,  
An horn he bore, the baldric was of green:  
A foster was he sooth as I guess.   

¶ The Prioress. 4.  
THere was also a Nun, a Prioress,  
That of her smiling was simple & coy,  
Her greatest oath was by Saint Loye,  
And she was cleped dame Eglantine,  
Full well she song though service divine,  
Entuned in her voice full seemly,  
And French she spoke full fetou●y,  
After the school of Stratford at Bow,  
For French of Paris was to her unknown.  
At meat was she well ytaught withal,  
She let no morsel from her lips fall:  
He weet her fingers in her sauce deep:  
Well couth she carry a morsel and well keep,  
That no drop ne fell upon her breast:  
In courtesy was set full much her jest.  
Her overlip wiped she so clean,  
That in her cup was no farthing seen  
Of grece, when she droken had her draught,  
Full seemly after her meat she reached:  
And sikerly she was of great disport,  
And full pleasant and amiable of port,  
And pained her to counterfeit cheer  
Of court, and be stateliche of manere,  
And to been holden digne of reverence.  
But for to speak of her conscience,  
She was so charitable and so piteous,  
She would weep if that she saw a mous  
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled;  
Of small hounds had she, that she fed  
With roast flesh, milk, and wastel bread,  
But sore wept she if any of him were dead,  
Or if men smote him with a yard smart:  
And all was conscience and tender hart.  
Full seemly her wimple pinched was:  
Her nose tretes, her eyes grey as glass:  
Her mouth small, and thereto soft and red:  
But sikerly she had a fair forehead,  
It was almost a span broad I trow,  
For hardly she was not undergrow.  
Full fetise was her cloak, as I was ware:  
Of small Coral about her arm she bore  
A pair of bedes, gauded all with green,  
And thereon hung a broach of gold full sheen,  
On which there was first writ a crowned A,  
And after (Amor vincit omnia.)  
Another Nun also with her had she,  
That was her chaplain, and priests three.   

¶ The Monk. 5.  
A Monk there was, fair for the mastery,  
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 road, men might his bridle here  
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clear,  
And eke as loud as doth the chapel bell:  
There as this lord was keeper of the sell,  
The rule of saint Maure and of saint Benet,  
Because it was old and somedeal strait,  
This ilke Monk let old things to pass,  
And held after the new world the pace:  
He gave not of the text a pulled hen,  
That saith, that hunters be not holy men,  
Ne that a Monk, when he is recheless,  
Is like to a fish that is waterless:  
This to say, a Monk out of Cloystre:  
This ilke text yield he not worth an oystre.  
And I say his opinion was good,  
Whereto should he study, and make himself wood,  
Upon a book always in Cloister to poor,  
Or swink with his hands, or to labour,  
As Austin bid, how shall the world be served?  
Let Austin have his swink to him reserved.  
Therefore he was a pricksoure aright,  
Greyhounds he had as swift as foul of flight:  
Of pricking and of hunting for the hare  
Was all his lust, for no cost would he spare.  
I saw his sleves purfled at the hand  
With Grece, and that the finest in a land;  
And for to fast his hood under the chin,  
He had of gold wrought a curious pin.  
A love knot in the greater end there was,  
His heed was bald, and shone as any glass.  
And eke his face, as he had ben anoint,  
He was a lord full fat and in good point.  
His eyes sleep, and rolinge in his heed,  
That stemed as a furneiss of a lead.  
His boots sowple, his horse in great estate,  
Now certainly he was a fair prelate.  
He was not pale as a forpined ghost,  
A fat Swan loved he best of any roast.  
His palfrey was brown as is a berry.   

¶ The Frere. 6.  
A Frere there was a wanton and a merry,  
A limitour, a full solemn man:  
In all the orders four is none that can  
So much of dalliance and fair language:  
He had made full many a marriage  
Of young women at his own cost,  
Until his order he was a noble post.  
Full well beloved, and familiar was he  
With frankeleins over all his country.  
And with worthy women of the town,  
For he had power of confessyoun,  
As he said himself, more than a curate,  
For of his order he was licenciate.  
Full sweetly heard he confession,  
And pleasant was his absolution.  
He was an easy man to give penance,  
There as he wist to have a good pitaunce.  
For unto a poor order for to give,  
Is a sign that a man is well ishrive;  
For if he gave aught he durst make avaunt,  
He wist well that a man was repentant.  
For many a man is so hard of heart,  
That he may not weep although him smart.  
Therefore in stead of weeping and prayers,  
Men moat give silver to the poor freres.  
His tippet was aye sassed full of knives  
And pins, for to give fair wives.  
And certainly he had a merry note,  
Well coude he sing and plaien on a rote.  
Of yedding he bore utterly the price,  
His neck was white as the flower delice,  
Thereto strong he was as a champioun,  
And knew the taverns well in every town,  
And every hosteler and tapstere  
Better than a lazer or a beggere:  
For unto such a worthy man as he,  
acordeth naught, as by his faculty,  
To have with lazars such acquaintance  
It is not honest, it may not advance  
For to deal with such porail,  
But all with rich, and sellers of victual.  
And over all there as profit should arise,  
Curteis he was, and lowly of service.  
There nas no man no where so virtuous,  
He was the best beggar in all his house;  
And gave a certain farm for the grant,  
None of his brethren came in his haunt.  
For though a widow had but a shoe,  
(So pleasant was his in principio)  
Yet would he have a farthing or he went,  
His purchase was better than his rent.  
And rage he couth as it were a whelp,  
In love days there coude he mikel help;  
For there he was nat like a cloisterere,  
With a thread bare cope, as a poor frere;  
But he was like a master or a pope,  
Of double worsted was his semi cope.  
So rounded was as a bell out of press,  
Somewhat he lisped for his wantonness,  
To make his English sweet upon his tongue,  
And in harping, when that he song,  
His eyes twinkeled in his head a right,  
As done the stars in a frosty night.  
This worthy frere was called Huberde.   

¶ The Merchant. 7.  
A Merchant was there with a forked berde,  
In motley, and high on his Horse he sat,  
Upon his head a Flaunders beaver hat,  
His boots clasped fair and fetously,  
His reasons spoke he full solemnly,  
Showing always the increase of his winning:  
He would the see were kept for any thing  
Betwixe Middleborough and Orewell:  
Well could he in exchange sheldes sell,  
This worthy man so well his wit beset,  
There wist no wight that he was in debt,  
So stately was he of his governance,  
With his bargeins, & with his chevisance.  
Forsooth he was a worthy man withal,  
But sooth to sane, I not what men him call.   

¶ The Clerk of Oxenford. 8.  
A Clerk there was of Oxenford also,  
That unto Logic had long ygo:  
As lean was his horse as is a rake,  
And he was nothing fat I undertake,  
But looked hollow, and thereto soberly:  
Full threadbare was his over courtpy,  
For he had yet gotten him no benefice,  
Ne was nought worldly to have none office:  
For him was lever han at his bed's head  
Twenty books clad with black or red,  
Of Aristotle, and of his Philosophy,  
Than robes rich, or fiddle, or gay sautrie,  
But all he that he was a philosopher,  
Yet had he but little gold in coffer,  
But all that he might of his friends hent,  
On books and on learning he it spent,  
And busily 'gan for the souls pray  
Of him that holpen him to scholay.  
Of study took he most cure and heed,  
Not a word spoke he more than was need,  
And that was said in form and reverence,  
And short and quick, and of high sentence,  
Swooning in moral virtue was his speech,  
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,  
Discreet he was, and of great reverence:  
He seemed such, his words were so wise.  
justice he was full often in assize,  
By patent, and by plain commissioun,  
For his science, and his high renown,  
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 terms had he case and domes all,  
That fro the time of king William was fall,  
Thereto he could indite, and maken a thing,  
There could no wight pinch at his writing:  
And every statute could he plain by rote,  
He road but homely in a medley cote,  
Girt with a saint of silk, with bars small,  
Of his array tell I no longer tale.   

¶ The Frankelein. 10.  
A Frankelein there was in his company:  
White was his beard as is the daisy,  
And of his complexion he was sanguine,  
Well loved he by the morrow a sop in wine:  
To liven in delight was ever his wonne,  
For he was Epicures own son,  
That held opinion, that plain delight  
Was very felicity perfect.  
An householder, and that a great was he,  
Saint julian he was in his country:  
His bread, his ale, was always after one,  
A better viended man was no where none.  
Without bake meat was never his house,  
Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous,  
It snewed in his house of meat and drink,  
Of all deintes that men could of think:  
After the sondre seasons of the year  
So changed he his meat and his suppere.  
Full many a fat partridge had he in mew,  
And many a Breme, & many a Luce in stew,  
Woe was his Coke, but his sauce ay were  
Poynante and sharp, and ready all his gear,  
His table dormaunt in his hall always,  
Stood ready covered all the long day.  
At cessions there was he lord and sire,  
Full oft time he was knight of the shire.  
An anelace and gipsere all of silk,  
Hang at his girdle, white as morrow milk,  
A sheriff had he been, and a countour,  
Was no where such a worthy vavesour.   

¶ The Haberdasher. 11.  
AN Haberdasher there was, & a carpenter  
A web, a dier, and a tapiser:  
All were yclothed in o Lyvere,  
Of a solemn and a great fraternity.  
Full fresh and new her gear ypiked was,  
Her knives ychaped ne'er not with bras,  
But all with silver, wrought full clean & well:  
Her girdles and her pouches every deal.  
Well seemed everich of him a fair burgeiss,  
To sitten at a yield hall, on the high deys:  
Everich for the wisdom that he can,  
Was shape liche for to ben an alderman,  
For cat-tail had they right enough and rend,  
And eke her wives would it well assent:  
And else certain they were to blame,  
It is full fair to been cleped madam,  
And to gone to vigilles all before,  
And have a mantel roialliche ibore.   

¶ The Coke. 12.  
A Coke they had with him for the nonce,  
To boil the Chickens and the marie-bones.  
And powder merchant, tart, and galingale:  
Well could he know a draught of London ale,  
He couth roast, seethe, boil, and fry,  
Make mortreis', and well bake a pie.  
But great harm was it, as it thought me,  
That on his shin a mormall had he,  
And blank manger made he with the best.   

¶ The Shipman. 13.  
A Shipman was there woning far by West:  
For aught I wot he was of Dertmouth,  
He road upon a rouncie, as he couth  
In a gown of falding to the knee:  
A dagger hanging by a lace had he:  
About his neck under his arm down:  
The hot summer had made his hue all brown:  
And certain he was a good fellow,  
Full many a draught of Wine had he draw  
From Bordeaux ward, while the chapmen sleep,  
Of nice conscience took he no keep:  
If that he fought, and had the higher hand,  
By water he sent him home to every land:  
But of his craft to reken well his tides,  
His streams and his dangers him besides,  
His herbrough, his moan, & his load manage,  
There was none such 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 creek in Britain and in Spain:  
His barge was called the Maudelain.   

¶ The Doctor of Physic. 14.  
WIth us there was a Doctor of Physic,  
In all this world ne was there none him like  
To speak of Physic, and of Surgery:  
For he was grounded in Astronomy,  
He kept his patient a full great dell  
In hours by his Magic naturel:  
Well couth he fortune the assendent,  
Of his Image for his patient.  
He knew the cause of every malady,  
Were it of cold, heat, moist, or dry,  
And whereof engendered was each humour,  
He was a very perfect practisour,  
The cause iknow, & of his harm the root,  
Anon he gave to the sick man his boot:  
Full ready had he his Apothecaries  
To send him drugs, and his lectuaries,  
For each of him made other for to win:  
Her friendship nas not new to begin,  
Well knew he the old Esculapius,  
And Dioscorides, and eke Ruffus,  
Old Hypocrates, Holy, and eke Galen,  
Serapion, Rasis, and also Avicen,  
Averrois, Damascene, and Constantin,  
Bernard, Gatisden, and Gilbertin,  
Of his diet, miserable was he,  
For it was of no superfluity,  
But of great nourishing, and digestible:  
His study was but little on the Bible.  
In sangwine and in pierce he clad was all  
Lined with Taffeta, and with Sendal.  
And yet he was but easy of dispense,  
He kept that he won in time of Pestilence,  
* For Gold in Physic is a Cordial,  
Wherefore he loved Gold in special.   

¶ The Wife of bath. 15.  
A Good wife also there was beside bath,  
But she was some deal deaf, and that was scathe:  
Of cloth making she had such an haunt,  
She passed him of Ipre, or of Gaunt.  
In all the Parish wife ne was there none  
That to the offering before her should gone,  
And if there did, certain right wrath was she,  
That she was all out of charity.  
Her kerchers full large were & fine of ground,  
I durst swear they waiden ten pound,  
That on a Sunday were upon her head.  
Her hoses were of fine scarlet red,  
Full straight istrained, and shoes full new,  
Bold was her face, and red was her hue,  
She was a worthy Woman all her live,  
Husbands at the Church door had she five,  
Withouten other company in youth:  
But thereof needed not to speak as nouth:  
And thrice had she been at jerusaleme,  
She had passed many a strong stream:  
At Rome had she been, and at Boloine,  
In Calis, at saint james, and at Coloine,  
She couth moche of wand'ring by the way:  
Got tothe was she, soothly for to say.  
Upon an Ambler easily she sat,  
Iwimpled well, and on her head an hat  
As broad as is a bokeler or a targe:  
A foot mantel about her hips large,  
And on her feet a pair of spurs sharp:  
In fellowship well couth she laugh and carp.  
Of remedies of love she could perchance,  
For she couth of that art the old dance.   

¶ The parson. 16.  
A Good man there was of religioun,  
And was a poor parson of a town:  
But rich he was of holy thought and work,  
He was eke a learned man and a clerk,  
That Christ's Gospels truly would preach,  
His Parishens devoutly would he teach.  
Benign he was, and wonder diligent,  
And in adversity full patient:  
And such one he was proved oft scythes,  
Full loath were him to curse for his tithes,  
But rather would he given out of doubt,  
Unto his poor parishens all about,  
Both of his offering, and of his substance,  
He couth in little thing have suffisance.  
Wide was his parish, and houses for asunder,  
But he ne left, neither for rain ne thunder,  
In sickness ne in mischief, for to visit  
The farthest in his parish, much or light,  
Upon his feet, and in his hand a stafe:  
This noble ensample to his sheep he gave,  
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 foul, on whom we trust,  
No wonder is a lewd man to rust:  
* And shame it is, if a Priest take keep,  
To see a shitten shepherd, and a clean sheep:  
* Well ought a Priest ensample for to give  
By his clenenesse how his sheep should live.  
He set not his benefice to hire,  
And let his sheep acomber in the mire,  
And run to London to saint Paul's,  
To seken him a chantry for souls:  
Or with a brotherhood to be withhold:  
But dwelled at home, and kept well his fold,  
So that the Wolf made him not miscarry,  
He was a shepherd, and not a mercenary.  
And though he holy were, and virtuous,  
He was not to sinful men despitous,  
Ne of his speech dangerous ne digne,  
But in his teaching discrete and benign,  
To drawn folk to heaven with fairness,  
By good ensample, this was his business,  
But if he were any person obstinate,  
Whether he were of high, or low estate,  
Him would he snibbe sharply for the nonis,  
A better Priest, I trow, no where none is.  
He waited after no pomp ne reverence,  
Ne maked him no spiced conscience.  
But Christ's lore, and his Apostles twelve,  
He taught, but first he followed it him selue.   

¶ The Ploughman. 17.  
WIth him there was a Ploughman his brother,  
That had island of dung many a father  
A true swinker, and a good was he,  
Living in peace, and perfect charity.  
God loved he best with all his hart  
At all times, though him gained or smart:  
And then his neighbours right as himself.  
He would thresh, and thereto dike, and delfe,  
For Christ's sake, for every poor wight,  
Withouten hire, if it lay in his might.  
His tithes paid he full fair and well,  
Both of his proper swink, and his cattle.  
In a tabard he rod upon a Mare.  
There was also a Reue, and Millare,  
A Sompnour, and a Pardoner also,  
A Mansiple, and myself, there was no more.   

¶ The Miller. 18.  
THe Miller was a stout carl for the nonce,  
Full big he was of brawn, and eke of bones,  
That proved well, for over all there he came,  
At wrestling he would have away the Ram.  
He was short shuldred, a thick gnarre,  
There has no door, but he would have the bar,  
Or break it with the renning of his head,  
His beard as any Sow or Fore was red,  
And thereto broad, as it were a spade,  
Upon the cop right of his nose he had  
A wert, and thereon stood a tuft of heeres,  
Red as the bristles of a Sow's ears:  
His nostrils black were and wide.  
A sword and buckler bore he by his side:  
His mouth as great was as a furneiss,  
He was a jangler, and a golierdeiss,  
And that was most of sin, and harletrise:  
Well couth he steal Corn, & toll it thrice,  
* And yet he had a thumb of gold pard.  
A white coat and a blue hood weared he.  
A bagpipe well couth he blow and son,  
And therewithal brought he us out of town.   

¶ The Mancile. 19  
A Manciple there was of the Temple,  
Of which all Catours might taken ensemple,  
For to been wise in buying of victual,  
For whether he paid, or took by the tail,  
Algate he waited so in his ashate,  
That he was aye before in good estate.  
Now is not that of God a full fair grace,  
That such a lewd man's wit should place  
The wisdom of an heap of learned men?  
Of masters had he more than thrice ten,  
That were of Law expert and curious,  
Of which there was a dozen in that house,  
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 scarcely, as him list dear,  
And able to helpen all a shire  
In any case that might fallen or hap:  
And yet the Manciple set all her cap.   

¶ The Reve. 20.  
THe Reue was a slender cholerik Man,  
His beard was shave as nigh as ever he can,  
His here was by his ears round ishorne,  
His top was docked like a Priest before,  
Full long were his legs, and eke full lean,  
I like a staff, there was no calf i seen.  
Well couth he keep a Garner and a Been:  
There was none Auditor could on him win.  
Well wist he by the drought, & by the rain,  
The yielding of his seed, and of his grain.  
His Lord's Sheep, his Neat, and his Deirie,  
His swine, his Horse, his store, and his poultry,  
Were holly in this Revis governing,  
And by his Covenant gave he rekening,  
Sith his Lord was twenty year of age,  
There could no man bring him in arrearage.  
There nas Bailie, Herde, nor other Hine,  
That he ne knew his sleight and his covine,  
They were adread of him as of the death:  
His woning was full fair upon an Heath,  
With green trees shadowed was his place,  
He couth better than his Lord purchase:  
Full rich he was and stored privily,  
His Lord he could well please, and subtiliy  
To give and leanly him of his own good,  
And have a thank, and yet a coat & a hood.  
In youth he had learned a good mystere.  
He was a wheel wright, & a Carpentere.  
This Reue sat upon a right god stot,  
That was all pommel grey, and height Scot  
A long surcote of pierce upon he had,  
And by his side he bore a rusty blade.  
Of Norfolk was this Reue, of which I tell,  
Biside a town, men clepe it Baldeswell.  
Tucked he was, as is a Frere about,  
And ever he road hinderest of the rout.   

¶ The Sompnour. 21.  
A Sompnour was with us in the place,  
That had a fire red Cherubins face,  
For saufleme he was, with iyen narrow,  
All hot he was, and lecherous as a Sparrow,  
With scaled brows black, and peeled berde:  
Of his visage Children were fore afeared.  
There nas quicksilver, litarge, ne brimstone,  
Borage, Ceruse, ne oil of Tartar none,  
Ne Ointment that would cleanse or bite,  
That him might help of his whelks white,  
Ne of his knobs sitting on his Cheeks:  
Well loved he Garlic, 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 speak no word but Latin:  
A few terms could he, two or three,  
That he had learned out of some degree:  
No wonder is, he had heard it all the day,  
And ye known well eke, how that a jaie  
Can clepe watte, as well as can the Pope:  
But who so couth in other thing him grope,  
Then had he spent all his Philosophy,  
(A questio quid juris) would he cry.  
He was a gentle 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 twelve month, and excuse him at the full:  
* Full privily eke a Finch couth he pull,  
And if he found o where a good fellow,  
He would teachen him to have none awe  
In such case of the Arch Deacons course:  
But if man's Soul were in his Purse.  
For in his Purse he should ipunished be,  
Purse is the Arch Deacons Hell, said he.  
But well I wot, he lieth right in deed:  
Of cursing aught eke sinful man dread.  
For cursing wool slay as asoiling saveth.  
And also beware him of a Significav it.  
In danger had he at his own gise,  
The young Girls of the Diocise,  
And knew her counsel, and was of her red,  
A garland he set upon his head,  
As great as it were for an alestake:  
A Buckler had he maked him of a Cake.   

¶ The Pardoner. 22.  

WIth him there road a gentle Pardonere  
Of Rouncevall, his friend and his compeer,  
That straight was come fro the court of Rome,  
Full loud song he, come hider love soon,  
This Sompnour bare to him a stiff burdoun,  
Was never Trump of half so great a sound.  
This Pardoner had here as yellow as wax,  
But somth it hang, as doth a strick of flax:  
By unces hang his locks that he had,  
And therewith he his shoulders oversprad,  
Full thin it lay, by culpons one and one,  
But hood for iolite, ne weared he none,  
For it was trussed up in his wallet,  
Him thought he road all of the new set,  
Dish vild, save his Cap he road all bare,  
such glaring iyens had he as an Hare.  
A Vernacle had he sowed upon his cap,  
His wallet before him on his lap,  
Bret full of pardon come from Rome all hot,  
A voice he had as small as hath a Goat.  
No berde had he, ne never should have,  
As smooth 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 such another Pardonere,  
For in his male had he a Pillowhere,  
Which, as he said, was our Lady's veil:  
He said, he had a gobbet of the sail  
That sanct Peter had when that he went  
Upon the Sea, till jesus Christ him hent.  
He had a Cross of Latin full of stones,  
And in a glass he had Pigs bones:  
But with these relics; when that he fond  
A poor parson dwelling in uplond,  
Upon a day he got him more money  
That that parson got in months fifty.  
And thus with feigned flattering and japes,  
He made the parson, and People, his apes.  
But truly to tell at the last,  
He was in Church a noble Ecclesiast:  
Well couth he read a lesson or a story,  
But alder best he sang an offitorie:  
Full well he wist, when that song was song,  
He must preach, and well afile his tongue,  
To win silver, as he full well could:  
Therefore he song so merrily and loud.  
Now have I told you soothly in a Clause,  
The state, the array, each number, & the cause  
Why that assembled was this Company  
In Southwerk at this gentle hostelry,  
That height the Tabard, fast by the Bell.  
But now is time to you for to tell,  
How that we barren us that like night.  
When we were in that hostelry alight.  
And after wool I tell of our voyage,  
And all the remnant of our Pilgrimage.  
But first I pray you of your courtesy,  
That ye ne arrete in not my folly,  
Though that I plainly speak in this matter,  
To tell you her words and eke her cheer:  
Ne though I speak her words properly.  
For this ye known as well as I,  
* Who shall tell a tale after a man,  
He moat rehearse as nigh as ever he can  
Everich word, if it be in his charge,  
All speak he never so rudely ne large:  
Or else he moat tell his tale untrue,  
Or feign things, or find words new:  
He may not spare, although he were his brother,  
He moat as well say o word, as another.  
Christ spoke himself full broad in holy writ,  
And well I wot no villainy is it.  
Eke Plato saith, who so can him read,  
* The words mote been cousin to the deed.  
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 host us verichone,  
And to the Supper set he us anon:  
And served us with victual of the best,  
Strong was the wine, & well to drink us jest.  
A seemly man our Host was with all,  
For to been a Marshal in a Lords Hall.  
A large man he was with iyens step,  
A fairer Burgeiss is there none in Cheap:  
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 troth, if I should not lie,  
I saw not this year so merry a Company  
Atones in this her borough, as is now:  
Fain would 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 gone to Canterbury, God moat you speed,  
The blissful Martyr quite you your meed,  
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 ridden by the way as dumb as a stone:  
And therefore would 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 judgement:  
And for to worchen as I shall you say,  
To morrow, when we ridden on the way,  
Now by my Father's Soul that is deed,  
But ye be merry, I will give you my heed:  
Hold up your hands withouten more speech:  
Our counsel was not long for to sech:  
Us thought it was not worth to make it nice,  
And granted him without more avise,  
And bade him say his verdict as him lest.  
Lordings (qd. he) now harkeneth for the best,  
But take it nat, I pray you, in disdain,  
This is the point to speak it plat and plain:  
That each of you to shorten others way,  
In this voyage, shall tell 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 heareth him best of all,  
That is to said, that tell 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 again from Canterbury,  
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 wool my judgement with say,  
Shall pay all that we spend by the way:  
And yef ye vouchsafe that it be so,  
Tell me anon without words more,  
And I wool early shape me therefore.  
This thing was granted & our oaths swore  
With glad heart, and praiden him also,  
That he would vouchsafe for to do so,  
And that he would been our Governor,  
And of our tales judge and reportour:  
And set a Supper at a certain prize,  
And we woollen been deemed at his devise,  
In high and low, and thus by one assent,  
We been accorded to his judgement.  
And thereupon the wine was fet anon,  
We drunken and to rest went ilke one,  
Withouten any longer tarrying.  
A morrow when the day 'gan to spring,  
Up rose our Host, and was our alder cock,  
And gadird us togedirs on a flock,  
And forth we ridden a little more than pace,  
Unto the watering of saint Thomas:  
And there our Host began his Horse arrest,  
And said; Lords, harkeneth if you lest:  
Ye wot 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 moat drink wine or ale,  
Who so is rebel to my judgement,  
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 master & my lord,  
Now draweth cut, for that is mine accord:  
Come ne'er (qd. he) my lady Prioress,  
And ye, sir Clerk, let be your shamefacedness,  
Ne studieth nought, lay hand to, every man,  
Anon to draw every wight began,  
And shortly for to tell as it was,  
Were it by aventure, chance, or case,  
The sooth is this, the cut fill to the Knight,  
Of which blithe 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 death words more?  
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 harkeneth what I say:  
And with that word we ridden forth our way,  
And he began with a right merry cheer,  
His tale anon, right as ye shall hear.    
¶ Thus endeth the Prologues of the Canterbury Tales.   


The Knights 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.  

Whilom, as old stories tell us  
There was a Duke that height Theseus,  
Of Athens he was lord and governor,  
And in his time such a conqueror,  
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 reign of Feminy,  
That whilom was ycleaped Cithea,  
And wedded the queen Ipolita,  
And brought her home with him to his country,  
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 host, in arms him beside.  
And certes, if it ne'er 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 battle for the nonce  
Between Athens and Amasones,  
And how besieged was Ipolita  
The young hardy queen of Cithea:  
And of the feast, that was at her wedding,  
And of the tempest at her home coming.  
But all that thing I moat as now forbear,  
* I have God wot a large field to ear:  
And weked been the oxen in the plough,  
The remnant of my tale is long enough.  
I will not let 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 town  
In all his well and in his most pride,  
He was ware, as he cast his eye aside,  
Where that there knee led in the height weigh  
A company of Ladies, fifty and fifty  
Each after other, clad in clothes black:  
But such a cry, and such a woe 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 reins of his bridle henten.  
What folk be ye that at mine home coming  
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 spoke,  
When she had swooned with a deadly cheer,  
That it was ruth for to see and here;  
She said, lord, to whom fortune hath yeve  
Victory, and as a conqueror to live,  
Nought greeveth us your glory & honour:  
But we beseek you of mercy and succour,  
And have mercy on our woe and distress,  
Some drop of pity, through thy gentilness,  
Upon 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 caitiffs, as it is well iseen,  
Thanked be fortune, and her false wheel,  
That none estate assureth to be well,  
Now certes lord, to abide your presence  
Here in this temple of the goddess Clemence  
We have be waiting all this fourtenight:  
Help us lord, sith it lieth in thy might.   

I Wretch, that weep and wailen thus  
Whilom wife was to king Campaneus,  
That starfe at Thebes, cursed be the day:  
And all we that been in this array,  
And maken all this lamentacioun,  
We losten all our Husbands at that town,  
While that the Siege there about is say:  
And yet the old Creon (wellaway)  
That lord is now of Thebes city  
Fulfilled of ire and iniquity,  
He for despite, and for his tyranny  
To done the dead body's villainy  
Of all our lords, which that been slaw,  
Hath all the bodies on an heap y●raw,  
And will not suffer him by none assent  
Neither to be buried ne to be brent,  
But maketh hounds to eat him 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 sink in thine heart.  
This gentle duke down from his horse start  
With heart piteous, when he heard him speak  
Him thought that his heart would all to break  
When he saw him so piteous and so mate,  
That whilom were of so great estate:  
And in his arms he him all up hent,  
And him comforted in full good intent,  
And swore his oath, as he was true Knight,  
He would done so for fourth his might  
Upon the tyrant Creon him to wreak,  
That all the people of Greece should speak  
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 road  
To Thebes ward, and all his host beside:  
No near 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 queen,  
And Emely her young sister sheen  
Unto the town 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 glyttrens up and down:  
And by his banner, borne is his penon  
Of Gold full rich, in which there was ybete  
The minotaur, that he won in Crete.  
Thus rideth this duke, this conqueror  
And in his host 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 battle, and put his folk to flight:  
And at a saut he won the city after,  
And rend adown wall, spar, and rafter:  
And to the ladies he restored again  
The bodies of her husbands that were slain,  
To done obsequies, as though 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 conqueror  
Doth to the ladies, when they from him went:  
But shortly to tell is mine intent.  
When that this worthy duke, this Theseus  
Hath Creon slain, and wan Thebes thus,  
Still in the field he took all night his rest,  
And did with all the country as him lest:  
To ransack in the taas of body's deed  
Him for to strip of harness and of weed  
The pillours did her business and cure  
After the battle 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 arms fame, wrought full richly:  
Of which two, Arcite height that one,  
And that other height Palamon:  
Not fully quick, ne fully dead they were,  
But by her coat armours and by her gear  
The Heralds knew him best in special  
As though that weren of the blood rial  
Of Thebes, and of sisters two yborn.  
Out of the taas the pillours hath hem torn,  
And han him carried soft into the tent  
Of Theseus, and he full soon him sent  
To Athens, to dwellen there in prison  
Perpetual, he nold him not ransom.  
And when this worthy Duke had thus idone,  
He took his host, and home he goth anon,  
With jawrel crowned as a conqueror,  
And there he liveth in joy and honour,  
Term of his life, what needeth words more?  
And in a tower, in anguish and in woe  
Dwelleth Palamon, and his fellow Arcite  
For evermore, there may no gold him quite.   

THus passeth year by year, and day by day,  
Till it fell once in a morrow of May  
That Emely, that fairer was to seen  
Than is the lily upon the stalk green,  
And fresher than may, with flowers new,  
For with the rose colour strofe her hue,  
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 wool have no slogardy a night;  
The season pricketh every gentle heart,  
And maketh it out of their sleep to start,  
And saith arise, and do May observance;  
This maketh Emely to have remembrance  
To done honour to May, and for to rise,  
Iclothed was she fresh for to devise;  
Her yellow hair was broided in a tress  
Behind her back, a yard long I guess,  
And in the garden at sun uprist  
She walketh up and down as her list:  
She gathereth flowers, party white and reed  
To make a subtle garland for her heed,  
And, as an Angel, heavenly she song:  
The great tower, that was so thick & strong,  
Which of the castle was the chief dungeon,  
Wherein the two Knights were in prison,  
Of which I told you, and tell shall  
Was even joynant to the gardyn wall;  
There as this Emely had her playing,  
Bright was the son, & clear the morning,  
And Palamon, this woeful prisoner,  
As was his wont, by leave of his jailor,  
Was risen, and rome in a chambre on high,  
In which he all the noble cite sigh,  
And eke the garden, full of branches green,  
There, as this fresh Emely the sheen  
Was in her walk, and rome up and down;  
This sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon,  
Goth in his chambre roaming to and fro,  
And to himself complaining of his woe,  
That he was borne full oft said alas.  
And so befell, by adventure or case,  
That through a window thick of many a bar  
Of iron great, and square as any spar,  
He cast his eyes upon Emilia,  
And therewith he blended, and cried, ha, ha,  
As though he stongen were unto the heart.  
And with that cry Arcite anon up start,  
And said, cousin mine, what aileth thee,  
That art so pale and deadly for to see?  
Why criest thou? who hath do thee offence?  
For gods love take all in patience  
Our prison, for it may none other be,  
Fortune hath yeven us this adversite,  
Some wicked aspect or disposition  
Of Saturn, by some constellation,  
Hath yeven us this, although we had it sworn  
So stood the heaven when that we were born,  
We moat endure, this is short and plain.  
This Palamon answered, and said again,  
Cousin, forsooth, of this opinion  
Thou hast a vain imagination,  
This prison caused me not to cry,  
But I was hurt right now through mine eye  
Into mine heart, that wool my bane be,  
The fairness of a Lady that I se  
Yond in the garden, roaming to and fro,  
Is cause of all my crying and wo.  
I not where she be woman or goddess,  
But Venus it is, soothly as I guess,  
And therewithal on knees down he fill,  
And said; Venus, if it be thy will  
You in this garden thus to transfigure  
Before 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 lineage have some compassion,  
That is so low ybourhgt by tyranny.  
And with that word Arcite 'gan espy  
Whereas the Lady rome 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 fleeth me suddenly  
Of her that roameth 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 nies no more to say.   

This Palamon, when he these words herd,  
Dispitously he looked, and answered:  
Whether sayst thou this in earnest or in play?  
Nay, quod Arcite, in earnest by my faith,  
God help me so, me list full ill to play.  
This Palamon 'gan knit his brows fifty,  
It were (quoth he) to thee no great honour  
To be false, ne for to be a traitor  
To me, that am thy cousin and thy brother,  
Isworne full deep, 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 oath, and mine also, certain  
I wot it well, thou dar'st it not withsain.  
Thus art thou of my counsel out of doubt,  
And now thou wouldst falsely been about  
To love my Lady, whom I love and serve,  
And ever shall, till that mine heart starve.  
Now certes, false Arcite, thou shalt not so,  
I loved her first, and told thee my woe  
As to my counsel, and to my brother sworn  
To further me, as I have told before,  
For which thou art thounden as a Knight  
To helpen me, if it lie in thy might,  
Or else art thou false, I dare well said.  
This Arcite full proudly spoke again,  
Thou shalt (quoth 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 said, 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 cousin, and my brother sworn.  
Suppose that thou lovedst her before:  
* 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 each degree;  
A man mote needs, love maugre his head,  
He may not fleen it, though he should 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 thyself verily,  
That thou and I be damned to prison  
Perpetual, us gaineth no ransom.  
* We striven, as did the hounds for the bone,  
That fought all day, & yet her part was none,  
There came a cur, while that they were so wroth  
And bare away the bone from hem both.  
* And therefore, at King's court, my brother,  
Each man for himself, there is none other.  
Love if thou list, for I love, and aye shall:  
And sooth, lief brother, this is all.  
Here in this prison moat we endure,  
And everich of us taken his aventure.  
Great was the strife and long betwixt him fifty,  
If that I had leisure for to say:  
But to th'effect: it happened on a day,  
(To tell it you shortly as I may)  
A worthy Duke that height Pirithous,  
That fellow was to Duke Theseus,  
Sith thilk day that they were children light,  
Was come to Athens his fellow to visit,  
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 sane,  
That when that one was dead, sooth to tell,  
His fellow went & sought him down in hell:  
But of that story list me not to write.  
Duke Pirithous loved well Arcite,  
And had him know at Thebes year by year:  
And finally, at the request and prayer  
Of Pirithous, withouten any ransom  
Duke Theseus let him out of prison.  
Freely to gone whether him list over all  
In such a guise, as I you tell shall.  
This was the forward, plainly to indite  
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 country of this Duke Theseus,  
And he were caught, it was accorded thus,  
That with a sword he should less 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 heart 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 before:  
Now is me shap eternally to dwell  
Nought in purgatory, but in Hell.  
Alas, that ever I knew Pirithous,  
For else had I dwelled 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 enough for me.  
O dear cousin Palamon (quoth he)  
Thine is the victory of this aventure,  
Full blissul in prison mayest thou endure:  
In prison, nay certes but in paradise,  
* Well hath fortune to thee turned the dice,  
That hast the sight of her, and I th'absence:  
For possible is, sithence thou hast her presence,  
And art a knight, a worthy man and able,  
That by some case since fortune is changeable  
* Thou mayest sometime to thy desire attain.  
But I that am exiled, and barren  
Of all grace, and in so great despair,  
That there nis water, earth, fire, ne air,  
Ne creature, that of hem maked is,  
That may me heal, or done comfort in this,  
Well ought I starve in wanhope and distress.  
Farewell my life, my lust, and my gladness.  
Alas, why play men so in common  
Of purveyance of God, or of fortune  
* That giveth him full oft in many a gise  
Well better than hemselfes can devise.  
Some man desireth to have richesses,  
That cause is of her murdre or sickness,  
And sour man would out of his prison fain  
That in his house is of his meinie slain.  
Infinite harms been in this matter,  
We wot not what thing we prayen here,  
We faren as he that drunk is as a mouse,  
A drunken man wot well he hath an house,  
But he wot not which the right way thither,  
And to a drunken man the way is slider;  
And certes in this world so faren we.  
We seken fast after felicity,  
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 perfect heel,  
There now I am exiled from my we'll,  
Sith that I may not seen you Emely,  
I nam but dead, there nies no remedy.  
¶ Upon that other side Palamon,  
When that he wist Arcite was gone,  
Such sorrow he maketh, that the great tour  
Resowned of his yelling and clamour,  
The pure fetters on his shins great  
Were of his bitter salt tears weet.  
Alas (quoth he) Arcite cousin mine,  
Of all our strife, God wot the fruit is thine;  
Thou walkest now in Thebes at large,  
And of my woe, thou givest little charge;  
Thou mayst, sith thou hast wisdom & manhood,  
Assemble all the folk of our kindred,  
And make war so sharp in this country,  
That by some adventure, or by some treat  
Thou mayest have her to lady and to wife,  
For whom I must needs less my life.  
For as by way of possibility,  
Sith thou art at thy large of prison fire,  
And art a lord, great is thine advantage  
More than is mine, that starve here in a cage;  
For I may weep & wail whiles that I live,  
With all the woe that prison may me give,  
And eke with pain, that love giveth me also,  
That doubleth all my tourment and my wo.  
Therewith the fire of jealousy up start  
Within his breast, and hent him by the heart  
So woodly, that he likely was to behold  
The box tree, or the ashen deed and cold.  
Then said he, O cruel gods, that govern  
This world with your word eterne,  
And written in the table of Athamant  
Your parliament and eterne grant,  
What is mankind more unto you yhold  
Than is the sheep, that rouketh in the fold.  
For slain is man, right as another be'st,  
And dwelleth eke in prison, and in arrest,  
And hath sickness, and great adversite,  
And oft time guiltless pard.  
What governance is in this prescience  
That guiltless turmenteth innocence?  
And increaseth thus all my penance,  
That man is bounden to his observance  
For God's sake to let of his will,  
There as a be'st may all his lusts fulfil,  
And when a be'st is dead, he hath no pain,  
But after his death man moat weep & plain:  
Though in this world he have care and woe  
Without doubt it may stonden so.  
The answer of his lete I to divines,  
But well I wot, in this world great pine is,  
Alas, I see a serpent or a thief,  
That many a true man hath do mischief,  
Gone at his large, & where him list may turn,  
But I moat been in prison through Saturn,  
And eke through juno, jalous and eke wood,  
That hath stroied well nigh all the blood  
Of Thehes, with his waste walls wide,  
And Venus fleeth me on that other side  
For jealousy, and fear of him Arcite.  
Now will I stint of Palamon alight,  
And let him in his prison still dwell,  
And of Arcite forth wool I you tell.  
The summer passeth, and the nights long  
Increaseth double wise the pains strong  
Both of the lover, and of the prisoner,  
I not which hath the wofuller mister,  
For shortly to say, this Palamon  
perpetual is damned to prison,  
In chains and fetters to the deed,  
And Arcite is exiled on his heed  
For evermore as out of that country,  
Ne nevermore shall his lady see.  
You lovers ask I now this question,  
Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamon?  
That one may see his lady day by day,  
But in prison moat he dwell asway;  
That other where him list may ride or go,  
But seen his lady shall he never more.  
Now deemeth as ye list, ye that can,  
For I wool tell forth my tale as I began.  
began When that Arcite to Thebes comen was,  
Full oft a day he swelled and said alas,  
For seen his lady shall he never more,  
And shortly to conclude all his woe  
So mikell sorrow made never creature,  
That is or shall be, while the world may dure,  
His sleep, his meat, his drink is him byraft,  
That lean he waxeth, and dry as a shaft,  
His eyes hollow, and grisly to behold,  
His hue pale, and fallow as ashen cold,  
And solitary he was, and ever alone,  
And wailing all the night, making moan,  
And if he heard song or instrument,  
Then would he weep, he might not stint  
So feeble were his spirits, and so low  
And changed so, that no man could him know  
His speech ne his voice, though men it herd  
As in his gyre, for all the world it ferd  
Nought comely like to lover's malady  
Of Eros, but rather like many  
Engendered of humours melancolike  
Before his fell fantastic  
And shortly was turned all up so down  
Both habit and disposicioun  
Of him, this woeful lover Arcite,  
What should I all day his woe indite?  
When he endured had a year or two  
This cruel torment, and this pain and woe  
At Thebes, in his country, as I said,  
Upon a night in sleep as he him laid,  
Him thought how that the winged Mercury  
Before him stood, and bade him be merry,  
His sleepy yard in hand he bore upright,  
An hat he weered upon his hairs bright  
Irayed was this god, as he took keep  
As he was when Argus took his sleep,  
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 start,  
Now truly how sore that ever me smert  
Quod he, to Athens right now wol I fare,  
Ne for no dread of death shall I spare  
To see my lady, that I love and serve,  
In her presence reck I not to starve.  
And with that word he caught a great mirror  
And saw that changed 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 endured,  
He might well, if that he bore him low,  
Live in Athens evermore unknown,  
And seen his lady well-nigh day by day,  
And right anon he changed his array,  
And clad him as a poor labourer,  
And all alone, save only a squire  
That knew his privity and all his case,  
Which was disguised poorly as he was.  
To Athens is he gone the next way,  
And to the court he went upon a day,  
And at the gate he proffered his service  
To drug & draw, what men would devose:  
And shortly of this matter for to sane,  
He fell in office with a chamberlain  
The which was dwelling with Emelie,  
For he was wise, and soon couth espy  
Of every servant, which that served here,  
Well couth he hewn wood, and water bear,  
For he was young and mighty for the nonce,  
And thereto he was strong and big of bones  
To done that any wight 'gan him devose;  
A year or two he was in this service  
Page of the chamber of Emelie the bright,  
And Philostrate he said that he height.  
But half so well beloved man as he  
Ne was there none in court of his degree,  
He was so gentle of condition,  
That through all the court was his renown,  
The said it were a charity  
That Theseus would enhauneen his degree,  
And put him in a worshipful service  
There as he might his virtue exercise:  
And thus within a while his name is sprung  
Both of his deeds, and of his good tongue,  
That Theseus hath taken him so ne'er  
That of his chamber he made him squire,  
And gave him gold to maintain his degree,  
And eke men brought him out of his country  
From year to year full prively his rent,  
But honestly and slyly he it spent,  
That no man wondered how he it had,  
And three year in this wise his life he lad,  
And bore him so in peace and eke in were  
That there nas man that Theseus durst der;  
And in this bliss let I now Arcite,  
And speak I wool of Palamon alight:  
In darkness horrible and strong prison  
This seven year hath sitten this Palamon  
Forpined, what for woe and distress  
Who feeleth double sore and heaviness:  
But Palamon, that love distraineth so,  
That wood out of his wit he goeth for woe,  
And eke thereto he is a prisonere  
perpetual, and not only for a year.  
Who could rhyme in English properly  
His martyrdom? forsooth it am not I,  
Therefore I pass as lightly as I may.  
It befell that in the seventh year in May,  
The third night, as old books us sane  
(That all this story tell more plain)  
Were it by adventure or by destiny  
As when a thing is shapen, it shall be,  
That soon after midnight, Palamon  
By helping of a friend broke his prison,  
And fleeth the city as fast as he may go,  
For he had given the jailer drink so  
Of a clarrie, made of certain wine,  
With Narcotise and Opie, of Thebes fine,  
That all the night though men would him shake  
The jailer 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 moat himself hide,  
And to a grove that was fast there beside  
With dreadful foot than stalketh Palamon,  
For shortly this was his opinion,  
That in the grove he would him hide all day,  
And in the night than would he take his way  
To Thebes ward, his friends for to pry  
On Theseus to help him to warry:  
And shortly, either he would less his life  
Or win Emelie unto his wife,  
This is the effect, and his intent plain.  
Now will I turn to Arcite again,  
That little wist how nigh was his care  
Till that fortune had brought him in her snare,  
The merry Lark, messenger of the day,  
salueth in her song the morrow grey,  
And fiery Phoebus riseth up so bright,  
That all the orisont laugheth of the sight,  
And with his streams, drieth in the greves  
The silver drops hanging in the leaves.  
And Arcite, that in the court rial  
With Theseus is squire principal,  
Is risen, and looketh on the merry day  
And for to done his obseruances to May,  
Remembering on the point of his desire  
He on his courser, startling as the fire  
Is ridden into the fields him to play  
Out of the court, were it a mile or twey,  
And to the grove of which I you told  
By adventure, his way he 'gan hold  
To maken him a garland of the greves  
Were it of Woodbine or Hauthorn leves,  
And loud he sung against the Son sheen,  
May, with all thy flowers and thy green,  
Welcome be thou (said he) fair fresh May,  
I hope that I some green thing get may:  
And from his courser, with a lusty heart  
Into the grove full hastily he start,  
And in a path he rome up and down  
There, as by adventure this Palamon  
Was in a bush, that no man might him see,  
For sore afraid of his death was he;  
Nothing ne knew he that it was Arcite,  
God wot he would have trowed that full light.  
But sooth is said, gone sithen are many years  
* That field hath iyen, & the wood hath eres,  
* It is full fair a man to bear him evin  
For all day men meet at unset stevin  
Full little wot Arcite of this fellow  
That was so nigh to hearken of his saw,  
For in the bush sitteth he now full still.  
When that Arcite had rome all his fill,  
And songen all the roundel lustily,  
Into a study he fell suddenly,  
As done these lovers in their quaint gires,  
Now in the crop, and now down in the brires  
Now up now down, as boket in a well,  
Right as the Friday, sooth for to tell  
Now it raineth, now it shineth fast,  
Right so 'gan gerie Venus overcast  
The hearts of here folk, right as her day  
Is gerifull, right so changeth she array,  
Seld is the Friday all the week ilike,  
When that Arcite had song, he 'gan to like  
And set him down withouten any more:  
Alas (qd. he) the day that I was boar,  
Now long juno through thy cruelty  
Wilt thou warren Thebes the city?  
Alas ybourhgt is to confusion  
The bloodriall of Cadmus and Amphion.  
Of Cadmus, I say, which was the first man  
That Thebes built, or first the town began,  
And of the city first was crowned king:  
Of his lineage am I, and of his spring  
By very line, as of the stock rial:  
And now I am so caitiff and so thrall,  
That he that is my mortal enemy  
I might serve him as his squire poorly.  
And yet doth me juno well more shame,  
For I dare not be know mine own name,  
But there as I was wont to height Arcite,  
Now height I Philostrat, not worth a mite.  
Alas thou fell Mars, alas thou juno,  
Thus hath your ire our lineage all fordo  
Save only me, and wretched Palamon,  
That Theseus martyreth in prison:  
And over all this, to slean me utterly  
Love hath his fiery dart so brenningly  
I sticked through my true careful heart,  
That shapen was my death erst my shirt.  
Ye slean me with your eyes Emelie,  
Ye been the cause wherefore that I die.  
Of all the remnant of mine other care  
Ne set I not the mountaunce of a Tare,  
So that I could do aught to your pleasance.  
And with that word he fell down in a trance  
A long time, and afterward he up start.  
This Palamon thought that thro' his heart  
He felt a cold sword suddenly glide:  
For ire he quoke, no longer would he bide.  
And when that he had heard Arcites tale,  
As he were wood, with face dead and pale,  
He start him up out of the bushes thick,  
And said: Arcite thou false traitor wick  
Now art thou hent, that lovest my lady so  
For whom that I have this pain and woe,  
And art my blood, and to my counsel sworn  
As I have full oft told thee here before,  
And hast beyaped here duke Theseus,  
And falsely hast changed thy name thus;  
I will be dead, or else thou shalt die,  
Thou shalt not love my lady emily,  
But I will love her only, and no more,  
For I am Palamon thy mortal foe;  
Though that I have no weapon in this place,  
But out of prison am astart by grace,  
I dread not, that either thou shalt die  
Or thou ne shalt nat love Emelie,  
These which thou wilt, or thou shalt not affert.  
This Arcite, with full despitous heart  
When he him knew, and had his tale heard,  
As fers as a Lion, pulled out his sword  
And said: By God that sitteth above  
Ne were that thou art sick, and wood for love,  
And eke that thou no weapon haste in this place  
Thou shouldest never out of this grove pace,  
That thou ne shouldest dien of mine hon,  
For I defy the surety and the bond  
Which that thou sayest 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 forasmuch as thou art a Knight,  
And wilnest to daren here by battle,  
Have here my truth, to morrow I will not fail  
Without witting of any other wight,  
That here I will be founden as a knight,  
And bringen harness, right enough for thee,  
And cheese the best, and leave the worst for me,  
And meat and drink this night will I bring  
Enough for thee, and clothes for thy bedding,  
And if so be that thou my lady win  
And slay me in this wood, there I am in,  
Thou mayest well have thy lady as for me,  
This Palamon answered, I grant it thee.  
And thus they been departed till a morrow  
When each of him had laid his faith to borrow,  
O Cupid out of all charity  
Oreigne, that wouldst have no fellow with thee  
Full sooth is said, that love ne lordship  
wol nat his thanks have any fellowship  
We find that of Arcite and Palamon,  
Arcite is ridden anon into the town,  
And on the morrow or it were day light  
Full privily two harness had he dight  
Both sufficient and meet to darreigne  
The battle in the field betwixt him tweine  
And on his horse, alone as he was borne  
He carrieth all his harness him before,  
And in the grove, 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 reign of Trace  
That standeth at a gap, with a spear  
When hunted is the Lion or the Bear  
And heareth him rushing in the leaves  
And breaketh the boughs in the greves  
And thinketh, here cometh my mortal enemy  
Without fail, he must be dead or I  
For either I moat slay him at the gap  
Or he moat slay me, if me mishap  
So ferden they, in changing of her hue  
As far as every of other knew  
There nas no good day, ne no saluing  
But straight, without word or rehearsing  
every of hem helped for to arm other  
As friendly, as he were his own brother  
And after that, with sharp spears strong  
They foinen each at other wonder long  
Thou mightest wenen, that this Palamon  
In his fight, were a wood Lion  
And as a cruel Tiger was Arcite  
As wild Boars 'gan they fight and smite  
That frothen white as some for ixe wood  
Up to the ankle fought they in her blood  
And in this wise, I let him fight dwell  
As forth I wool of Theseus you tell.  
The destiny and the minister general  
That executeth in the world over all  
The purveiance, that God hath said before  
So strong it is, that though the world had sworn  
The contrary of thing by ye & nay,  
Yet sometime it shall fall on a day  
That fell never yet in a thousand year,  
For certainly our appetites here,  
Be it of war peace hate or love,  
All is ruled by the sight above,  
This mean I now by mighty 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 horn, and hounds him beside,  
For in his hunting hath he such delight,  
That it is all his joy and appetite  
To been himself great Hearts bane,  
For after Mars, he serveth now Diane.  
Clere was the day, as I have told or this,  
And Theseus, with all joy and bliss,  
With his Ipolita, the fair queen,  
And emily iclothed all in green,  
An hunting been they ridden rially,  
And to the grove, that stood there fast by  
In which there was an Hart as men him told,  
Duke Theseus the straight way hath hold,  
And to the land he rideth him full right,  
For thither was the hart wont to have his flight,  
And over a brook, & so forth his weigh,  
This duke wool have a course at him or twey  
With hounds, such as him list command,  
And when the duke was comeninto the land  
Under the son he looked, and that anon  
He was war of Arcite and Palamon  
That fought breme, as it were bulls two,  
The bright swords wenten to and fro  
So hidiously, that with the lest struck  
It seemed that it would have fellen an oak,  
But what they weren, nothing he ne wot,  
This duke with his spors his courser smote,  
And at start he was betwixt him two,  
And pulled out his sword, and cried, ho  
No more on pain of losing your head  
By mighty Mars, he shall anon be dead  
That smiteth any stroke, that I may seen  
But telleth me what mister men ye been,  
That been so hardy for to fighten here  
Without judge or other officere,  
As though it were in lists rially?  
This Palamon answered hastily,  
And said: sir, what needeth words more?  
We have the death deserved both two  
Two woeful wretches been we and caitiffs'  
That been encumbered of our own lives,  
And as thou art a rightful lord and judge,  
Ne give us neither mercy ne refuge,  
But slay me first, for saint charity,  
But slay my fellow as well as me,  
Or slay him first, for though thou know it light  
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 said, that he height Philostrate,  
Thus hath he iaped full many a year  
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 thilk woeful Palamon,  
That hath thy prison broke wickedly  
I am thy mortal foe, and he am I  
That loveth so hot Emelie the bright,  
That I wool die here present in her sight.  
Wherefore I ask death and my iewise,  
But slay my fellow in the same wise,  
For both we have deserved to be slain.  
This worthy duke answered anon again  
And said, this is a short conclusion,  
Your own mouth, by your own confession  
Hath damned you, and I wool it record  
It needeth not to pine you with a cord,  
Ye shall be dead by mighty Mars the red.  
The queen anon for very womanhedde  
'Gan for to weep, and so did Emelie,  
And all the ladies in the company  
Great pity was it, as thought him all,  
That ever such a chance should befall.  
For gentlemen they were of great estate,  
And nothing but for love was this debate,  
And saw her bloody wounds wide and sore,  
And all criden at once both less and more,  
Have mercy lord upon us women all:  
And on her bare knees adoune they fall,  
And would have kissed his feet there as he stood,  
Till at the last, assaked was his mood:  
* For pity runeth soon in gentle heart  
And though he at first for ire quoke and start,  
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 him both excused  
* As thus: he thought well that every man  
wol help himself in love all that he can,  
And eke deliver himself out of prison,  
And eke his heart had compassion  
Of women, for they weepen ever in one:  
And in his gentle heart he thought anon,  
And foft unto himself he said: fie  
* Upon a lord that wool have no mercy,  
But be a Lion both in word and deed  
To him that been in repentance and dread  
As well as to a proud despitous man  
That will maintain that he first began.  
began That lord hath little of discretion,  
That in such case can no definition:  
But weigheth pride & humbleness after one.  
And shortly, when his ire was thus agone,  
He 'gan to looken up with eyes light  
And spoke in place these words all on height.  
The God of love, ah benedicite,  
How mighty and how great a lord is he:  
Again his might there gaineth no obstacles,  
He may be cleped a God for his miracles.  
For he can maken at his own gise  
Of everich hart, as him list devose.  
Lo here this Arcite, and this Palamon,  
That quietly were out of my prison gone,  
And might have lived in Thebes riasly,  
And known I am her mortal enemy,  
And that her death is in my power also,  
And yet hath love, maugre her eyes two  
I brought him hither both for to die.  
Now looketh, is not this a great folly?  
* Who may be a fool, but if he love?  
Behold for God's sake that sitteth above,  
See how they bleed, be they not well arrayed?  
Thus hath her lord, the god of love him paid  
Her wages, and her fees for her service:  
And yet they wenen to be full wise,  
That serve love, for aught that may befall.  
But yet is this the best game of all,  
That she, 〈◊〉 whom they have this iollite,  
Con him therefore as much thank as me.  
She wot no more of all his hot fare  
By God, than wot a Cuckoo or an Hare.  
But all mote been assayed hot and cold,  
A man moat been a fool other young or old,  
I wot it by myself full yore agone:  
For in my time a servant was I one.  
And therefore sith I know of love's pain,  
I wot how sore it can a man distrain,  
As he that oft hath be caught in her iaas,  
I you forgive all wholly this trespaas  
At the request of the queen that kneeleth here,  
And eke of Emely, my sister dear,  
And ye shall both anon unto me swear,  
That ye shall never more my country dear,  
Ne make war upon me night ne day,  
But been my friends in all that ye may:  
ay you forgive this trespass every deal.  
And they him swore his ask fair and we'll,  
And him of lordship and of mercy prayed,  
And he him granted grace, and thus he said.   

To speak of worthy lineage and richesse,  
Though that she were a queen or a princess  
Ilke of you both is worthy doubtless  
To wed when time is, but nevertheless  
I speak, as for my sister emily  
For whom ye have this strife and jealousy,  
Ye wot yourself, she may not wed two  
At ones, though ye fighten evermo:  
But one of you, all be him loath or lief,  
He mote go pipe in an Ivy leaf:  
This is to say, she may not have both  
Been ye never so jealous, ne so wroth.  
And therefore I you put in this degree,  
That each of you shall have his destiny  
As him is shape, and hearken in what wise,  
Lo here your end, of that I shall devose.  
My will is this, for plat conclusion  
Without any replication  
If that you liketh, take it for the best  
That every of you shall go where him lest  
Freely without ransom or daungere  
And this day fifty weeks, far ne ne'er  
Euerich of you shall bring an C. knights  
Armed for the lists upon all rights  
Already to darrein here by battle  
And this behote I you withouten fail  
Upon 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 spoke of now,  
Slay his contrary, or out of lists drive  
Him shall I give Emely to wive  
To whom fortune giveth so fair a grace.  
The lists shall I do make in this place  
And God so wisely on my soul rue  
As I shall even judge be, and true.  
Ye shall none other end with me make  
That one of you shall be dead or take  
And ye thinken this is well isaid  
Saith your advice, and hold you well paid  
This is your end, and your conclusion.  
Who looketh lightly now but Palamon?  
Who springeth up for joy but Arcite?  
Who could tell, or who could rightly indite  
The great joy that is made in this place  
When Theseus had done so fair a grace?  
But down on knees went every manner wight  
And thanked him with all her heart and might  
And namely these Thebans full many a sith  
And thus with good hope and heart blithe  
They taken her leave, & homeward 'gan they ride  
To Thebes ward, with his old walls wide.  
I trow men would dame it negligence  
If I foryetten to tell the dispense  
Of Thebes, that goeth busily  
To maken up 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 compass  
Full of degrees, the height of sixty pace  
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 land there nas no craft's man  
That Geometry, or Arithmetic can  
Ne purtreiture, ne carver of Images  
That Theseus ne gave him meat and wages  
That Theatre to make and devose  
And for to do his Rite and Sacrifice  
He Eastward hath upon the yate above  
In worship of Venus, the Goddess of love,  
Do make an altar and an oratory,  
And on the West side, in memory  
Of Mars he maked such another  
That cost of gold largely a father.  
And Northward, in a turret in the wall  
Of Alabaster white and red Coral  
An oratory rich for to see  
In worship of Diane the Gods of chastity  
Hath Theseus do wrought in noble wise.  
But yet had I foryetten to devose  
The noble carvings and the purtreitures  
The shape, the countenance and the figures  
That were in the oratory's three,  
First in the temple of Venus thou mayest see  
Wrought on the wall, full pitously to behold  
The broken sleeps, and the sighs cold  
The salt tears, and the weimenting  
The fire strokes, and the desiring  
That love's servants in this life endurens  
The oaths, that her covenants assuren  
Pleasance and hope, desire, foolhardiness  
Beauty and youth, braudrie and richesse  
Charms and sorcery, leasing and flattery  
Dispense, business, and jealousy  
That weared of yellow golds a garland  
And a Cuckoo sitting on her hand.  
Feasts, instruments, carols, and dances,  
justs and array, and all the circumstances  
Of love, which I reken and reken shall  
By order, were painted on the wall,  
And more than I can make of mention  
For soothly all the mount of Cithaeron  
Where Venus hath her principal dwelling  
Was showed on the wall in purtreing  
With all the joy, and the lustiness  
Nought was foryetten the portresse idleness  
Ne Narcissus the fair of yore agone  
Ne yet the folly of king Solomon  
Ne yet the great strength of Hercules  
Thenchauntment of Medea and Circe's  
Ne of Turnus, with his hardy courage  
The rich Croesus' caitiff in servage  
* Thus may you seen, that wisdom ne richesse  
Beauty ne slight, strength ne hardiness  
Ne may with Venus hold champartie  
For as her list the world may she gie,  
Lo, all these folk so caught were in her laas  
Till they for woe full oft said alas  
Sufficeth here one example or two  
And though I could reken a thousand more.  
The statue of Venus' glorious to see  
Was maked fleeting in the large see  
And fro the navel down all covered was  
With waves green, and bright as any glass  
A citriole in her right hand had she  
And on her head, full seemly for to see  
A rose garland fresh and well smelling  
Above her head Doves flittering  
Before her stood her son Cupid  
Upon his shoulders wings had he two  
And blind he was, as it is oft seen  
A bow he had and arrows bright and keen  
Why should I not as well tell all  
The purgatory that was thereabout over all  
Within the temple of mighty Mars the read  
All painted was the wall in length and breed  
Like to the Estris of the grisly place,  
That height the great temple of Mars in Thrace,  
In thilk cold and frosty region,  
There Mars hath his sovereign mansion.  
First on the wall was painted a forest,  
In which there wonneth nother man ne beast  
With knotty and knarie barren trees old  
Of stubs sharp and hideous to behold:  
In which there was a rumble and a swough  
As though a storm should break every bough  
And downward from an hill under a bent,  
There stood the temple of Mars armipotent  
Wrought all of burned steel, of which th'entry  
Was long and straight, and ghastly for to see,  
And thereout came such a rage and a vice,  
That it made all the gates for to rise.  
The Northern light in at the doors shone,  
For window on the wall was there none,  
Through which men might any light discern.  
The doors were all of Athamant eterne  
Y●lenched overthwart and head long  
With iron tough, for to maken it strong.  
Every pillar, the temple to sustain  
Was ton great, of iron bright and sheen.  
There saw I first the dark imagining  
Of felony, and eke the compass:  
The cruel ire, red as any gleed,  
The pickpurse also, and eke the pale dread,  
The smiler, with the knife under the cloak,  
The shepen brenning with the black smoke  
The treason of the murdering in the bed,  
The open war, with wounds all be bled.  
Conteke with bloody knives, & sharp menace  
All full of chirking was that sorry place.  
The sleer of himself yet saw I there,  
His heart blood hath bathed all his here:  
The nail ydriven in the should on height,  
with cold death, with mouth gaping upright.  
Amids of the temple sat Mischance  
With discomfort and sorry Countenance:  
Yet saw I Woodness laughing in his rage  
Armed complaint, theft, and fierce courage,  
The carrion in the bush, with throat ycorue  
A thousand slain, and not of qualm istorue.  
The tyrant, with the prey by force iraft,  
The town destroyed, there was nothing ilaft.  
Yet saw I brent the ships hoppesteres,  
The hunter istrangled with the wild bears:  
The Sow fretting the child in cradle,  
* The Cook iscalded, for all his long ladle.  
Nought was forget the infortune of Mart,  
The carter overridden by his own cart,  
Under the wheel, full low he lay adoun.  
There were also of Marts division,  
The Barbour, the Butcher, and the Smith,  
That forgeth sharp swords on the stith.  
And all above depainted in a tour  
Saw I Conquest, sitting in great honour  
With the sharp sword right over his head  
Hanging by a subtle twined thread.  
Depainted was there the slaughter of julius,  
Of great Nero, and of Antonius:  
All be that thilk time they were unborn,  
Yet was her death depainted there before  
By manacing of Mars, right by figure,  
So was it showed on that portreiture  
As is depainted in the stars above,  
Who shall be dead or else slain for love.  
Sufficeth one ensample in stories old,  
I may not reken them all, though I would.  
The statue of Mars upon a cart stood  
Armed, and looked grim as he were wood,  
And over his head there shinen two figures  
Of stars, that been cleped in scriptures,  
That one (Puella) height, that other (Rubeus)  
This god of arms was arrayed thus:  
A wolf there stood before him at his feet  
With eyes red, and of a man he eat:  
With subtle pencil was painted this story  
In redouting of Mars and of his glory.  
Now to the temple of Diane the chaste  
As shortly as I can I wool me hast,  
To tell you all the description:  
Depainted been the walls up and down  
Of hunting and of shamefast chastity:  
There saw I how woeful Calistope,  
When that Diane grieved was with her,  
Was turned from a woman to a bear,  
And afterward was she made the loadsterre:  
Thus was it painted, I can say no far,  
Her son is eke a star as men may see.  
There saw I Dane turned unto a tree,  
I mean not the goddess Diane,  
But Venus' daughter, which that height Dane  
There saw I Actaeon an Heart maked  
For vengeance that he saw Diane all naked:  
I saw how that his hounds have him caught,  
And freten him, for they knew him nought.  
Yet painted was a little furthermore,  
How Athalant hunted the wild Boar,  
And Mellager, and many other more,  
For which Diane wrought him care and wo.  
There saw I many another wonder story,  
Which me list not to draw in memory.  
This goddess full well upon an Hart seat,  
With small hounds all abouten her feet,  
And underneath her feet she had a Moon,  
Waxing it was, and yet should wane soon.  
In gaudy green her statue clothed was,  
With bow in hand, and arrows in case.  
Her iyens aye she cast full low adown  
There Pluto hath his dark region.  
A woman travelling was her before,  
But for her child so long was unbore,  
Full pitously Lucina 'gan she call,  
And said help, for thou mayest best of all.  
Well could he paint lively that it wrought,  
With many a florein he the hues bought.   

Now been these lists made, and Theseus  
That at his great cost hath arrayed thus  
The temples, and the theatre everidele,  
When it was done, it him liked wonder well.  
But stint I wool of Theseus alight,  
And speak of Palamon and of Arcite.  
The day approacheth of her returning,  
That everich should an C. knights bring,  
The battle to darreine, as I you told,  
And to Athens her covenants to hold,  
Hath every of him brought an C. knights  
Well armed for the war at all rights:  
And sikerly, there trowed many a man  
That never sithence the world began,  
As for to speak of knighthood of her hon,  
As far as God hath made sea or land,  
Nas of so few, so noble a company:  
For every wight that loved chivalry,  
And would his thanks have a passing name  
Hath prayed, that he might be of that game,  
And well was him, that thereto chosen was:  
For if there fell to morrow such a case,  
Ye know well, that every lusty knight,  
That loveth paramours, and hath his might  
Were it in England, or were it elsewhere,  
They would all full feign willen to be there.  
* To fight for a lady, ah, benedicite,  
It were a lusty sight for men to see.  
And right so farden they with Palamon,  
With him there went knights many on:  
Some would been armed in an habergeon,  
And in a breast plate, with a light gippion,  
And some would have a pair of plates large,  
And some would have a pruce shield, some a ●arge  
Some would be armed on his legs well,  
And have an axe, and some a mace of steel.  
There nas none new gise, that it nas old.  
Armed were they, as I have you told  
Euerich after his opinion.  
¶ There mayst thou see coming with Palamon  
Ligurge himself, the great king of Trace:  
Black was his beard, & manly was his face.  
The sercles of his iyens in his head  
They glouden betwixt yellow and red:  
And like a Lion looked he about,  
With kemped hairs on his brows stout.  
His limbs great, his brawns hard and strong  
His shoulders broad, his arms round & long.  
And as the guise was in his country,  
Full high upon a chair of gold stood he,  
With four great white bulls in the trasies.  
Instead of a coat armour over his harness  
With nails yellow, and bright as any gold  
He hath a bear's skin, coal black for old.  
His long hair was kempt behind his back,  
As any ravens feather it shone for black.  
A wreath of gold arm great, of huge weight  
Upon his head set full of stones bright  
Of fine rubies and clear diamands.  
About his chair there went white allaunds  
Twenty and more, as great as any steer  
To hunten at the lion or the wild bear  
And followed him, with mosel fast ybound:  
Collars of gold, and torrettes filled round.  
An hundred lords had he in his rout  
Armed full well, with hearts stern and stout.   

With Arcite, in stories as men do find,  
The great Emetrius the King of Ind  
Upon a steed bay, trapped in steel,  
Covered with a cloth of gold diapered well,  
Came riding like the god of arms Marce,  
His coat armure was of cloth of Trace  
Well couched with pearl, white, round & great:  
His saddle was of brent gold new ybet.  
A mantle upon his shoulders hanging  
Brette full of rubies, red as fire sparkling.  
His crisp hair like rings was of iron,  
And that was yellow, and glittering as the son.  
His nose was high, his eyes bright cytryn,  
His lips ruddy, his colour was sanguyn.  
A few freckles, in his face yspreint  
Betwixt yellow, and somedeal black ymeint,  
And as a Lion he his eyes kest  
Of five and twenty year his age I guessed:  
His beard was well begun for to spring,  
His voice was as a trumpet swooning.  
Upon his head he weared of laurer green  
A garland fresh and lusty for to seen.  
Upon his hand he bore for his delight  
An Eagle tame, as any lily white.  
An hundred lords had he with him there,  
All armed save her heads in her gear,  
And that full richly in all manner things.  
For trusteth well, that earls, dukes, & kings  
Were gathered in this noble company  
For love, and for increase of chivalry.  
About this king there ran on every part  
Full many a rame Lion and Libart.  
And in this wise, these lords all and some  
Been on the sunday to the city come  
About prime, and in the town a light.  
This Theseꝰ, this duke, this worthy knight  
When he had brought him into his city,  
And inned him, everich after his degree,  
He feasted him, and doth so great labour  
To easen hem, and done him all honour,  
That yet men wenen that no man's wit  
Of none estate could ne amend it.  
The minstralcie, the service at the feast,  
The great yefts also, to the most and least,  
The rich array, throughout Theseus paleis,  
Ne who sat first ne last upon the deys,  
What ladies fairest been or best dancing,  
Or which of him can best dance or sing,  
Ne who most feelingly speaketh of love,  
Ne what hawks sitten on perchen above,  
Ne what hounds liggen on the flour a down  
Of all this now make I no mention:  
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 lark herd to sing,  
Although it were not day by hours two,  
Yet song the lark, and Palamon right though  
With holy heart, and with an high courage  
He rose up, too wenden on his pilgrimage  
Unto the blissful Cythera benign,  
I mean Venus, honourable and digne:  
And in her hour, he walketh forth apaas  
Unto the lists, there as the temple was:  
And down he kneeleth, and with humble cheer  
And heart full sore, he said as ye shall here.  
¶ Fairest of fair: O lady mine Venus,  
Daughter of jove, and spouse to Vulcanus,  
Thou glader of the mount of Cithaeron,  
For thilk love thou hadst to Adonis,  
Have pity of my bitter tears smart,  
And take my humble prayer at thine heart.  
Alas, I ne have no language to tell  
The effect, ne the torment of mine hell:  
Mine heart may not mine harms bewray,  
I am so confuse, that I cannot say,  
But mercy lady bright, that wost well  
My thought, & seest what harms that I feel:  
Consider all this, and rue upon my sore,  
As wise as I shall for evermore  
Enforce my might, thy true servant to be,  
And hold war always with chastity:  
That make I mine avow, so ye me help.  
I keep not of arms, still for to yelp,  
Ne ask I to morrow to have victory,  
Ne renounce in this case, ne vain glory  
Of prize of arms, to blown up and down,  
But would have full possession  
Of Emely, and die in her service,  
Find thou the manner how, and in what wise,  
I reach it not, but it may better be  
To have victory of hem, or they of me,  
So that I have my lady in mine arms.  
For though so be that Mars is god of Arms  
Your Virtue is so great in heaven above,  
That if you list, I shall well have my love.  
Thy temple shall I worship ever more,  
And on thine altar, where I ride or go  
I wool done sacrifice, and fires beat.  
And if you wool not so, my lady sweet,  
Then pray I you, to morrow with a spear  
That Arcite do me through the heart bear:  
Then reek I not when I have lost my life,  
Though Arcite win her to his wife.  
This is the effect and end of my prayer,  
Yeve me my lady, thou blissful lady dear.  
When the orison was done of Palamon,  
His sacrifice he did, and that anon  
Full pitously, with all circumstances,  
All tell I not as now his obseruances.  
But at the last the statue of Venus shaken,  
And made a sign, whereby that he took,  
That his prayer accepted was that day,  
For though the sign showed a delay,  
Yet wist he well that granted was his bone,  
& with glad hart he went him home full soon,   

The third hour in equal that Palamon  
Began to Venus' temple for to gone,  
Up rose the sun, and up rose Emelie,  
And unto the temple of Diane 'gan high:  
Her maidens, the which thither were lad  
Full readily with him the fire they had,  
The incense, the clothes, and the remnant all,  
That to the sacrifice longen shall:  
The horns full of meeths, as was the gise,  
There lacked nought to done her sacrifice  
Smoking the temple, full of clothes fair:  
This Emely with heart debonair  
Her body wish with water of a well:  
But how she did right I dare not tell,  
* But it be any thing in general,  
And yet it were a game to hear it all,  
To him that meaneth well it were no charge:  
* But it is good a man be at his large.  
Her bright hair unkempt was, untressed all,  
A crown of a green Oak unseriall  
Upon her head was set full fair and meet,  
Two fires on the altar 'gan she beat,  
And did her things, as men may behold  
In Stace of Thebes, and these books old.  
When kindled was the fire, with piteous cheer  
Unto Diane she spoke as ye may here.  
O chaste goddess of the woods green,  
To whom both heaven & earth and see is seen:  
Queen of the reign of Pluto, dark and low,  
Goddess of maidens, that my hart hath know  
Full many a year, and wost what I desire,  
As keep me fro the vengeance of thine ire,  
That Actaeon about cruelly:  
chaste goddess, well wost thou that I  
Desire to been a maid all my life,  
Ne never wool I be love ne wife.  
I am (thou wost well) of thy company  
A maid, and love 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 help me lady sith you may and can,  
For the three forms that thou hast in thee.  
And Palamon, that hath such a love to me,  
And eke Arcite, that loveth me so sore,  
This grace I pray thee withouten more,  
As send love and peace betwixt him two:  
And from me turn away her hearts so,  
That all her hot love, and her desire,  
And all her busy torment, and all her fire  
Be quaint, 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 him two,  
As send me him that most desireth me.  
Behold goddess of clean chastity  
The bitter tears, that on my cheeks fall,  
Since thou art a maid, and keeper of us all,  
My maidenhed thou keep and well conserve,  
And while I live, a maiden wool I thee serve.  
The fires brens upon the altar clear,  
While Emely was thus in her prayer:  
But suddenly she saw a thing quaint,  
For right anon one of the fires quaint,  
And quicked again, and after that anon  
That other fire was quaint, and all agone:  
And as it quaint, it made a whistling,  
As done these wet brands in her brenning.  
And at the brands end outran anon  
As it were bloody drops many one:  
For which so sore aghast was Emely,  
That she was well nigh mad, and 'gan to cry,  
For she ne witted what it signified,  
But only for the fear thus she cried,  
And wept, that it was pity for to hear.  
And therewithal Diane 'gan to appear  
With how in hon, right as an hunteresse:  
And said daughter, stint thine heaviness:  
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 woe:  
But unto which of him I may not tell.  
Farewell, for I may no longer dwell:  
The fires which now on mine altar brens  
Shall declaren, ere that thou gone hen  
This adventure of love, as in this case.  
And with that word the arrows in the case  
Of the goddess clatteren fast and ring,  
And forth she went, and made vanishing,  
For which this Emely astonished was,  
And said: what amounteth this, alas,  
I put me under thy protection  
Diane, and under thy disposition.  
And home she goth anon the next way,  
This is the effect, there is no more to say,   

The next hour of Mars following this  
Arcite unto the temple walked is  
Of fierce Mars to done his sacrifice  
With all the might of his paymem wise.  
With piteous heart and high devotion,  
Right thus to Mars he said his orison.  
O strong god, that in the reigns cold  
Of Trace honoured art, and lord yhold,  
And hast in every reign and every land  
Of arms, all the bridle in thine hon,  
And him fortunest as thee list devose,  
Accept of me my piteous sacrifice.  
If so be that my thought may deserve,  
And that my might be worthy for to serve  
Thy godhead, that I may been one of thine:  
Then pray I thee that thou rue on my pine  
For thilk sore pain, and for thilk hot fire,  
In which thou brentest whilom for desire,  
When thou usedst the fair beauty  
Of fair young Venus both fresh and free,  
And hadst her in thine arms 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 thilk sorrow that was in thine hart,  
Have ruth as well on my pains 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 woe endure,  
Ne retcheth never, where I sink or fleet.  
And well I wot, or she me mercy heat,  
I moat with strength with her in this place:  
And well I wot, without help or grace  
Of thee, ne may my strength not avail:  
Then help me lord to morrow in my battle,  
For thilk fire that whilom burned thee,  
As well as the fire now brenneth me.  
And do, that I to morrow have the victory,  
Mine be the travel and thine be the glory,  
Thy sovereign temple wool I most honouren  
Of any place, and always most labouren  
In thy pleasance and in thy crafts strong.  
And in thy temple I wool my banner hung,  
And all the arms of my company,  
And evermore, until the day I die,  
Eterne fire I wool before thee find:  
And eke to this avow I wool me bind.  
My herd, my hair that hongeth low adown  
That never yet felt offencioun  
Of razor ne of shear, I wool thee yeve,  
And been thy true sevaunt while I live.  
Now lord have ruth upon my sorrows sore,  
Yeve me the victory, I ask thee no more.  
The prayer stint of Arcite the strong.  
The rings on the temple door they rung,  
And eke the doors yclattren full fast,  
Of which Arcite somewhat him aghast.  
The fires brennen upon the altar bright,  
That it 'gan all the temple for to light:  
A sweet smell anon the ground up gave.  
And Arcite anon his hon up hafe,  
And more incense into the fire he cast,  
With other rites more, 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 gave to Mars honour and glory.  
And thus with joy, and hope well to far  
Arcite anon into his inn is fare,  
As fain as foul is of the bright sun.  
And right anon such a strife is begun  
For thilk granting, in the heaven above  
Betwixt Venus the goddess of love,  
And Mars the stern god armipotent,  
That jupiter was busy it to stint:  
Till that the pale Saturnus the cold,  
That knew so many aventures old,  
Found in his experience and art,  
That he full soon hath pleased every part.  
And sooth is said, eld hath great avauntage,  
* In eld is both wisdom and usage:  
Men may the old outrens, but not outread.  
Saturn anon, to stinten strife and dread,  
Albeit that it be again his kind,  
Of all this strife he can remedy find.  
My dear daughter Venus, qd. Saturn,  
My course that hath so wide for to turn,  
Hath more power than wot any man.  
Mine is the drenching in the sea so wan,  
Mine is the prison in the dark coat,  
Mine is the strangling and hanging by the throat,  
The murmur, and the churl's rebelling,  
The groaning, and the privy enpoysoning.  
I do vengeance and plain correction,  
While I dwell in the sign of the Lion.  
Mine is the ruin of the high hals,  
The falling of the towers and of the walls  
Upon the minor, or on the carpenters:  
I slew Samson, shaking the pillars.  
And mine been also the maladies cold,  
The dark 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 own knight,  
Shall have his lady, as thou him behight.  
Though Mars shall help his knight, nevertheless  
Betwixt you it mote sometime be pees:  
All be ye not of one complexion,  
That couseth all day such division.  
I am thine ail, ready at thy will,  
Weep no more, I wool thy lust fulfil.  
Now wool I stenten of these gods above  
Of Mars, and of Venus' goddess of love,  
And plainly wool tell 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 every wight to been in such pleasance,  
That all that day iusten they and dance,  
And spenden it in Venus' high service:  
But because that they shoulden arise  
Early, for to see the great and strange sight,  
Unto her rest went they quickly at night:  
And on the morrow when day 'gan spring,  
Of horse and harness, noise and clattering  
There was in the hostelries all about:  
And to the palace road there many a rout  
Of lords, upon great steeds and palfreys.  
There mayest thou see devising of harness  
So uncouth, so rich, and wrought so well  
Of Goldsmithry, of braudry, and of steel,  
The shields bright, testers, and trappers,  
Gold hewn helms, hauberks, & coat armers,  
Lords in paraments on her coursers,  
Knights of retinue, and eke squires,  
Nailing the spears, and helms bokeling.  
Gigging of shields with lamers lacing  
There as need is, they were nothing idle:  
The foaming steeds on the golden bridle  
Gnawing and fast the armurers also  
With file and hammer, riding to and fro:  
Yemen on foot, and communes many one  
With short staffs, thick as they may gone.  
Pipes, trumps, nakoners, and clariouns,  
That in the battle blown bloody souns.  
The palace full of people up and down,  
Here three, there ten, holding her question:  
Deuining of these Theban knights two.  
Some said thus, some said it should he so:  
Some did hold with him with the black beard,  
Some with the balded, some 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 sun gam to spring.  
The great Theseus of his sleep 'gan wake  
With minstralcie and noise that they make:  
Held yet the chamber of his palace rich,  
Till that the Theban knights both ylich  
Honoured weren, and to the place yfet.  
Duke Theseus is at the window set  
Arrayed right as he were a god in throne:  
The people pressed thitherward full soon  
Him for to seen, and done him high reverence,  
And eke to hear his hest and his sentence.  
An herald 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 showed 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 mortal battle, now in this emprise:  
Wherefore to shapen that they shall not die,  
He wool his first purpose modify.  
No man therefore, up pain of loss of life  
No manner shot, pole-axe, ne short knife  
Into the lists send, or thither bring,  
Ne short sword to stick with point biting  
No man ne draw, ne hear it by his side:  
Ne no man shall to his fellow ride  
But one course, with a sharp grounden spear:  
Foin if him list on foot, the same he shall were.  
And he that is at mischief, shall he take,  
And not slain, but brought unto the stake,  
That shall ben ordained on either side,  
thither he shall by force, and there abide.  
And if so fall, that the cheefetaine be take  
On either side, or else sleen his make,  
No longer shall the tournament last:  
God speed you, goth and layeth on fast  
With swords & long mazes fighten your fill,  
Goth now your way, this is the lords will.  
The voice of the people touched heaven,  
So loud cried they with merry steven:  
God save such a lord that is so good,  
He willeth no destruction of blood.  
Up goth the trumps 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 road the queen and Emely,  
And after that another company  
Of one and other, after her degree:  
And thus they pasten throughout the city,  
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 high  
Ipolita the queen, and Emelie,  
And other ladies in degrees about:  
Unto the seats presseth all the rout.  
And westward, through the yates under mart  
Arcite, and eke and hundred of his part  
With banner red, is entered right anon:  
And in the selue moment entered Palamon  
Is, under Venus, eastward in that place,  
With banner white, and hardy cheer & face.  
In all the world, to seken up and down,  
So even without variatioun  
There nas no where such companies fifty:  
For there was none so wise that could say,  
That any had of other avauntage  
Of worthiness, ne of estate, ne age,  
So even were they chosen for to guess:  
And into the renges fair they him dress.  
When that her names red were everyone,  
That in her number, guile were there none,  
Tho were the gates shut, and cried was loud,  
Do now your devoir young knights proud.  
The heralds left her pricking up & down,  
Now ringen trumps loud and clarioun,  
There is no more to say, east and west  
In goth the sharp spears sadly in the arrest:  
In goth the sharp spurs into the side,  
There see men who can just, and who can ride.  
There shiveren shafts upon shields thick,  
He feeleth through the heart spoon the prick.  
Up springeth the spears, twenty foot on height,  
Out goth the swords as the silver bright.  
The helms they to hew, and to shred,  
Out burst the blood, with stern streams red:  
With mighty maces the bones they to break.  
He thro' the thickest of the throng 'gan threke.  
There stumblen steeds strong, & down gone all,  
He rolled under foot as doth a ball.  
He foineth on his feet with a tronchoun,  
And he hurleth with his horse adown.  
He through the body is hurt, and sith tale  
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,  
Him to refresh, and drink if hem lest.  
Full oft a day have these Thebans two  
Together met, and done each other woe:  
Unhorsed hath each other of him twey.  
There was no tiger in the vale of Colaphey,  
When her whelp is stole, when it is light,  
So cruel on the hunt, as is Arcite  
For jealous heart 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 slay his foe Arcite:  
The jealous strokes on her helms bite,  
Out runeth the blood on both her sides reed.  
Sometime an end there is of every deed:  
For ere the sun unto the rest went,  
The strong king Emetrius 'gan hent  
This Palamon, as he fought with this Arcite,  
And made his sword deep in his flesh bite.  
And by force of twenty is he take  
Vnyolden, and drawn to the slake.  
And in the rescous of this Palamon  
The strong king Ligurge is borne adown:  
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 woeful Palamon?  
That moat no more gone again to fight.  
And when that Theseus had seen that sight,  
He cried ho: no more, for it is done:  
Ne none shall longer to his fellow gone.  
I wool be true judge, and not party,  
Arcite of Thebes shall have Emely,  
That by his fortune hath her fair ywon.  
Anon there is a noise of people begun  
For joy of this, so loud and high withal,  
It seemed that the lists shoulden fall.  
What can now fair Venus done above?  
What saith she now? what doth the queen of love?  
But weepeth so, for wanting of her will,  
Till that her tears adown on the lists fell:  
She said: I am ashamed doubtless:  
Saturnus said: fair daughter hold thy pees,  
Mars hath all his will, his knight hath his boon  
And by mine dead thou shait be eased soon.  
The trumps with the loud minstralcie,  
The heralds, that so loud yell and cry  
Been in her well, for love of Dan Arcite.  
But hearkeneth me, and stinteth noise alight,  
Which a miracle there befell anon.  
The fierce Arcite hath his helm off ydon,  
And on a courser for to show his face  
He pricketh endlong in the large place,  
Looking upward upon Emelie,  
And she again him cast a friendly eye.  
* (For women, as to speak in common,  
They followen all the favour of fortune)  
And was all his cheer, as in his heart.  
Out of the ground a fire infernal start  
From Pluto sent, at the request of Saturn,  
For which his horse for fear 'gan to turn,  
And leap aside, and foundered as he leap:  
And ere that Arcite may taken keep,  
He pight him off on the pommel of his head,  
That in the place he lay as he were dead.  
His breast to bursten with his saddle bow:  
As black he lay as any coal or crow,  
So was the blood yroune in his face.  
Anon he was ybourhgt out of the place  
With hart full sore, to Theseus paleis,  
Tho was he coruen out of his harness,  
And in a bed ybourhgt full fair and believe,  
For he was yet in memory, and on live,  
And always crying after Emely.  
Duke Theseus, with all his company  
Is comen home to Athens his cite  
With all bliss and great solemnite:  
Albeit that this adventure was fall,  
He would not discomfort him all.  
Men said eke, that Arcite should not die,  
He should been healed of his malady.  
And of another thing they were as fain,  
That of him all there was none islaine,  
All were they sore hurt, and namely one,  
That with a spear was thirled his breast bone.  
Two other had wounds, & two broken arms,  
Some of them had salves, & some had charms:  
Sundry fermaces of herbs, and eke save  
They drunken, for they would her lives have.  
For which this noble duke, as he well can,  
Comforteth and honoureth every man,  
And made great revel all the long night,  
Unto the strange lords, as it was right.  
Ne there nas hold no discomforting,  
But as is at jousts or a turneying:  
For sooth there nas no discomfiture,  
For falling is hold but an adventure.  
Ne to be 〈◊〉 by force unto a stake  
Vnyolden, and with twenty knights take:  
And one person, withouten any more  
To be hearted forth by arm, foot, and too,  
And eke his steed driven forth with staffs,  
With footmen, both yeomen and knaves,  
It was arretted him no villainy:  
There may no man cleape it cowardie.  
For which anon, duke Theseus did cry  
To stinten all rancour and envy.  
They 'gree as well of one side as of other,  
And either side is like, as others brother,  
And gave hem gifts after her degree,  
And helden a feast fully dates three:  
And conveyed the knights worthily  
Out of his town a day's journey largely.  
And home went every man the right way,  
There nas no more but farewell & have good day.  
Of this battle I wool no more indite,  
But speak of Palamon and of Arcite.  
Swelleth the breast of Arcite, and the sore  
Increaseth 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 drink of herbs may be helping,  
By virtue expulsive, or animal:  
For thilk virtue cleped natural  
Ne may the venom void, ne expel:  
The pipes of his lungs began to swell,  
And every lacerte in his breast adown  
Is shent with venom and corruption.  
Him gaineth neither, for to get his life,  
Vomit upward, ne downward laxatife:  
All is to brusten thilk region,  
Nature hath no domination..  
* And certainly there as nature wool not wirch,  
Farewell physic, go bear the corpse to church.  
This is all and some, that Arcire must die:  
For which he sendeth after emily,  
And Palamon that was his cousin dear:  
Then said he thus, as ye shall after hear.  
Nought may my woeful 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 ghost  
To you aboven any creature,  
Since that my life may no longer dure.  
Alas the woe, alas my pains strong,  
That I for you have suffered, and so long.  
Alas the death, alas mine Emely,  
Alas departing of our company:  
Alas mine heart's queen, alas my life's wife,  
Mine heart's lady, ender of my life.  
* What is the world, what asken men to have?  
Now with his love, now in his cold grave  
Alone withouten any company.  
Farewell my sweet foe, mine Emely,  
And soft do take me in your arms fifty,  
For the love of God, & hearkeneth what I say:  
I have here with my cousin Palamon  
Had strife and rancour many a day agone  
For love of you, and for my jealousy:  
And jupiter so wisely my soul gie.  
To speaken of a servant properly  
With circumstances all, and truly,  
That is to say, troth, honour, and knighthede  
Wisdom, humblesse, estate, & high kindred,  
Freedom, and all that longeth to that art,  
So jupiter have of my soul any part,  
As in this world, right now know I non,  
So worthy to be loved as Palamon:  
That serveth you, and wool done all his life.  
And if that you shall ever been a wife,  
Foryet not Palamon, the gentleman:  
And with that word his speech fail begun.  
For from his feet unto his breast was come  
The cold death, that had him overnome.  
And yet moreover, for in his arms two  
The vital strength is lost, and all ago.  
Save only the intellect, without more,  
That dwelleth in his heart sick and sore,  
'Gan failen, where the hart felt death.  
Dusked been his iyen two, and failed breath.  
But on his lady yet cast he his iye,  
His last word was, mercy Emelie.  
His spirit changed, and out went there,  
Whitherward I cannot tell, ne where:  
Therefore I stint, I am no divinistre,  
Of souls find I not in this registre.  
Ne me list not thilk opinion to tell  
Of him, though they written where they dwell.  
Arcite is cold, there Mars his soul gie.  
Now wool I speak forth of Emelie.  
Shright Emelie, and houlen Palamon,  
And Theseus his sister up took anon  
Swooning, and bore her from his corpse away:  
What helpeth it to tarry forth the day,  
To tell how she wept both even & morrow?  
* For in such case women have much sorrow,  
When that her husbands been from him go,  
That for the more part they sorowen so,  
Or else fallen in such malady,  
That at the last certainly they die.  
Infinite been the sorrow and the tears  
Of old folk, and folk of tender years,  
In all the town for death of this Theban:  
For him there weepeth both child and man.  
So great weeping was there not certain,  
When Hector was brought, all fresh yssaine  
To Troy alas, the pity that was there  
Scratching of cheeks, and renting eke here.  
Why wouldst thou be dead? thus women cry,  
And hadst gold enough, and emily.  
No man ne may gladden Theseus,  
Saving his old father Egeus,  
That knew this world's transmutatioun,  
* As he had seen it, both up and down:  
joy after woe, and woe after gladness,  
And showed him ensamples and likeness.  
* Right as there died never man (qd. he)  
That he ne lived in yearth in some degree,  
Right so there lived never man (he said)  
In this world, that sometime he ne deied.  
* This world is but a throughfare full of woe,  
And we been pilgrims, passing to and fro:  
Death is an end of every world's sore.  
And over all this yet said he much more  
To this effect, full wisely to exhort  
The people, that they should him recomfort.  
Duke Theseus with all his busy cure  
Casteth now, where that the sepulture  
Of good Arcite shall best maked be  
And eke most honourable for degree.  
And at the last he took conclusion,  
That there as Arcite and Palamon  
Had for love the battle hem between,  
That in the same selue grove, sweet & green,  
There as he had his amorous desires,  
His complaint, and for love his hot fires,  
He would make a fire, in which the offis  
Funeral he mighten all accomplis.  
He hath anon commanded to hack and hew  
The Oaks old, and lay him all on a rue  
In culpons, well arrayed for to brenne:  
His officers with swift foot they run  
Right anon at his commandment.  
And after Theseus hath ysent  
A large bear, and it all oversprad  
With cloth of gold, the richest that he had:  
And of the same suit he clothed Arcite.  
Upon his hands his gloves white,  
Eke on his head a crown of Laurel green,  
And in his hand a sword full bright and keen.  
He laid him bare visaged on the bear,  
Therewith he wept that pity was to here.  
And for the people should seen him all.  
When it was day he brought him to the hall,  
That roareth of the crying and the sound.  
Tho come this woeful Theban Palamon  
With glittering beard, & ruddy shining heres  
In clothes black, dropped all with teres  
(And passing other of weeping Emelie)  
The rufullest of all the company.  
And in as much as the service should be  
The more noble and rich in his degree,  
Duke Theseus let forth the steeds bring,  
That trapped were in steel all glittering,  
And covered with the arms of Dan Arcite:  
Upon these steeds great and lily white,  
There saten folk, of which one bare his shield,  
Another his spear in his hand held:  
The third bare with him a bow Turks,  
Of brent gold was the case and the harness:  
And ridden forth apace with sorry cheer  
Toward the grove, as ye shall after here.  
The noblest of the Greeks that there were  
Upon her shoulders carried the bear  
With slack pace, and eyes red and weet  
Throughout the city, by the master street,  
That sprad was all with black, & that wonder high:  
Right of the same is the street ywrie.  
Upon the right hand went Egeus,  
And on the other side duke Theseus  
With vessels in her hand of gold full fine,  
All full of honey, milk, blood, and wine.  
Eke Palamon, with full great company:  
And after that came woeful Emelie,  
With fire in hand, as was that time the gise,  
To done the office of funeral service.  
High labour, and full great apparelling  
Was at service, and at fire making,  
That with his green top the heaven reached,  
And twenty fathom of bred arms 'straught:  
This is to sane, the boughs were so broad,  
Of straw first there was laid many a load.   

But how the fire was maken up on height  
And eke the names, how all the trees height,  
As oak, fir, beech, aspe, elder, elm, popelere,  
Willow, holm, plane, box, chesten, & laurere.  
Maple, thorn, beech, ewe, hazel, whipuitre,  
How they were field, shall not be told for me:  
Ne how the gods runnen up and down  
Disherited of her habitatioun,  
In which they wonned in rest and pees:  
Nymphs, Faunies, and Amadriades.  
Ne how the beasts, ne how the birds all  
Fledden for fear, when the trees was fall.  
Ne how the ground aghast was of the light,  
That was not wont to see the sun bright.  
Ne how the fire was couched first with stre,  
And then with dry sticks cloven a three,  
And then with green wood and spicery,  
And then with cloth of gold and perrie,  
And garlands hanging with many a flour,  
The myrrh, 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 funeral service,  
Ne how she souned when made was the fire,  
Ne what she spoke, ne what was her desire:  
Ne what jewels men in the fire cast  
When that the fire was great and brent fast:  
Ne how some cast her shield, & some her spear,  
And of her vestments, which that they were,  
And cups full of wine, of milk, and blood,  
Into the fire, that brent as it were wood.  
Ne how the greeks with a huge rout  
Thrice did ridden all the fire about  
Upon the left hand, with a loud shouting,  
And thrice on the right, with her spears clatering:  
And thrice how the ladies 'gan all to cry.  
Ne how that led was homeward emily:  
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 plays ne keep I not to say:  
Who wrestled best naked, with oil anoint.  
Ne who bore him best in every point.  
I wool not tell eke how they gone  
Home to Athens when the play is done.  
But shortly to the point than wool I wend,  
And maken of my long tale an end.   

By process and by length of certain years  
All stinten is the mourning and the tears  
Of greeks, by one general assent.  
Then seemed me there was a parliament  
At Athens, upon a certain point and case:  
Among the which points yspoken was  
To have with certain country's alliance,  
And have of Thebans 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 black clothes sorrowfully  
He came at his commandment on high,  
Tho sent Theseus after Emelie.  
When they were set, & hushed was the place,  
And Theseus abidden hath a space,  
Or any word came from his wise breast  
His eyes set he there as was his jest,  
And with a sad visage he siked still,  
And after that, right thus he said his will.  
* The first mover of the cause above  
When he first made the fair chain of love,  
Great was th'effect, and high was his intent,  
Well wist he why, and what thereof he meant,  
For with that fair chain of love he bond  
The fire, the air, the water, and the land  
In certain bonds, that they may not flee:  
The same prince and that mover (qd. he)  
Hath established in this wretched world adoun  
Certain of days and duracioun  
To all that are engendered in this place,  
Over the which day they may not pace,  
All mow they yet though day's abredge:  
There needeth none authority to ledge.  
For it is proved by experience,  
But that me list declare my sentence.  
Then may men by this order discern,  
That thilk mover stable is and eterne.  
* Well may men know, but he be a fool,  
That every part is derived from his hole.  
For nature hath not taken his beginning  
Of one part or cantle of a thing,  
But of a thing that perfect is and stable,  
Descending so, till it be corrumpable.  
And therefore of his wise purueyanuce  
He hath so well beset his ordinance,  
That spaces of things and progressions  
Shullen endure by successions  
And not eterne, without any lie:  
This mayest thou understand and see at eye:  
* Lo the oak, that hath so long a nourishing,  
From 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  
Under our feet, on which we tread and gone  
Yet wasteth it, as it lieth in the weigh.  
The broad river sometime waxeth drey.  
The great towns see we do wane and wend,  
Than ye see that all this thing hath end.  
And man and woman see shall we also,  
That needeth in one of the terms two,  
That is to sane, in youth or else in age  
He moat be dead, a king as well as a page.  
Some in his bed, some in the deep see,  
Some in the large field, as ye may see:  
It helpeth not, all goeth that ilke weigh:  
Then may you see that all thing mote day.  
What maketh this but jupiter the king?  
That is prince, and cause of all thing,  
Converting all to his proper will,  
From which it is derived sooth to tell.  
And here again, no creature on live  
Of no degree availeth for to strive.  
* Then is it wisdom, as thinketh me,  
To make virtue of necessity:  
And take it well, that we may not eschew.  
And namely that to us all is dew.  
And who so grudgeth aught, he doth folly,  
And rebel is to him that all may gie.  
* And certainly, a man hath most honour  
To dien in his excellence and flour,  
When he is siker of his good name:  
Then hath he done his friends ne him no shame.  
And glader ought his friends be of his death,  
When with honour iyold is up the breath,  
Then when his name appalled 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 wilfulness,  
Why grutchen we? why have we heaviness,  
That good Arcite (of chivalry the flour)  
Departed is, with duty and with honour,  
Out of this foul prison of this life?  
Why grutchen here his cousin and his wife,  
Of his welfare, that loveth him so well:  
Can he hem thank? nay God wot never adele,  
That both his soul, and eke himself offend,  
And yet they mow not her lusts amend?  
What may I conclude of this long story,  
But after sorrow I read us be merry,  
And thank jupiter of all his grace:  
And ere we departen from this place,  
I read we maken of sorrows two  
One perfect joy, lasting evermo:  
And look now where most sorrow is herein,  
There wool I first amend and begin.  
Sister (qd. he) this is my full assent  
With all the people of my parliament  
Of gentle Palamon your own knight,  
That serveth you with will, hart, and might,  
And ever hath done, sith ye first him knew,  
That ye shall of your grace upon him rue,  
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 king's brother's son pard,  
And though he were a poor batchelere,  
Since he hath served you so many a year,  
And had for you so great adversity,  
It must ben considered, leaveth 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.  
Come ne'er, & take your lady by the hon,  
Betwixt hem was maked anon the bond,  
That height Matrimony or marriage,  
By all the counsel of the Baronage.  
And thus with all bliss and melody  
Hath Palamon iwedded Emely.  
And God that all this world hath ywrought,  
Send him his love, that it hath so dear bought,  
For now is Palamon in all we'll,  
Living in bliss, in richesse, and in heel,  
And Emely him loveth so tenderly,  
And he her serveth so gently,  
That never was there no word him between  
Of jealousy, or of any other tene.  
Thus endeth Palamon and Emely:  
And God save all this fair company.    

The MILLER'S Tale.  
NIcholas, a Scholar of Oxford, practiseth with Alison the Carpenter's wife of Osney, to deceive her Husband, but in the end is rewarded accordingly.  

¶ The Miller's Prologue.  
WHen that the Knight had thus his tale ytold,  
In all the company nas there young ne old,  
That he ne said it was a noble story,  
And worthy to be drawn in memory:  
And namely the gentiles everiehone.  
Our host lough and swore, so moat I gone,  
gone This goeth aright, unbokeled is the male,  
Let see now who shall tell another tale:  
For truly the game is well begun.  
Now telleth us sit Monk if you can  
Somewhat, to quite with the knight's tale.  
The Miller for drunken was all pale,  
So that unneths upon his horse he sat,  
Ne nold avail neither hood ne hat,  
Ne abide no man for his courtesy,  
But in Pilat's voice he began to cry,  
And s●●re by arms, blood, and bones,  
I can a noble tale for the nonce,  
With which I wool now quite the knight his tale.  
Our host saw that he was drunken of ale,  
And said: abide Robin leave brother,  
Some better man shall tell us first another:  
Abide, and let us wirch thriftily.  
By God's soul (qd. he) that wool not I,  
For I wool speak, or else go my way.  
Our host answered: tell on a devil way:  
Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome.  
Now hearketh qd. the Miller, all & some:  
But first I make protestation,  
That I am drunk, I know it by my sound:  
And therefore if I misspeak or say,  
wit it the ale of Southwark, I you pray:  
For I wool tell a legend and a life  
Both of a Carpenter and his wife,  
* How that a clerk set a wright's cap▪  
The Reue answered & said stint thy clap:  
Let be thy lewd drunken harlottrie,  
* It is a sin, and eke a great folly  
To apairen any man, or him defame,  
And eke to bring wives in such blame.  
Thou mayest enough of other things fain,  
This drunken Miller spoke full soon again  
And said: my leave brother Oswold,  
* Who hath no wife, he is no cokewold.  
But I say not therefore that thou art one,  
There been full good wives many one.  
Why art thou angry with my tale now?  
I have a wife pard as well as thou,  
* Yet now I for all the Oxen in my plough,  
Take upon me more than is enough  
To deemen of myself that I am one,  
I wool believe well that I am none.  
* An husband should not been inquisitife  
Of God's privity, ne of his wife.  
For so he find God's foison there,  
Of the remnant needeth not to inquire.  
What should I more say, but this Millere  
He nold his word for no man forbere,  
But told his churl's tale in this mannere:  
Me forthinketh I shall rehearse it here,  
And therefore every gentle wight I pray,  
Deemeth not for God's love that I say  
Of evil intent, but that I moat rehearse  
Her tales all, been they better or wrose,  
Or else falsen some of my matter.  
And therefore who so list it not to here,  
Turn over the leaf, and choose another tale,  
For ye shall find enough great and small  
Of historical thing touching gentleness,  
And eke morality, and holiness.  
Blame not me, if that ye choose amiss,  
The Miller is a churl, ye know well this,  
So was the Reue eke, and other more,  
And harlotry they told eke both two.  
Advice you, and put me out of blame,  
* And eke men should not make earnest of game.  

¶ The Miller's Tale.  
Whilom there was dwelling in Oxenford  
A rich gnofe, that gests helden to board,  
And of his craft he was a Carpenter,  
With him there was dwelling a poor scholar  
Had learned Art, but all his fantasy  
Was turned to learn Astrology:  
And could 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 should befall  
Of every thing, I may not reken all.  
This clerk was cleped Hend Nicholas:  
Of barn love he could and of solas,  
And thereto he was sly, and right privee  
And ilike to a maiden meek to see.  
A chamber he had in that hostelry  
Alone, withouten any company,  
Full tetously dight with herbs sote,  
And he himself as sweet as is the rote  
Of liquors, or of any Seduwall.  
His almagiste, and books great and small.  
His asterlagour, longing for his art,  
His augrim stones lying fair apart  
On shelves all couched at his bed's head:  
His press icovered with a folding red,  
And all above there lay a gay Sautrie,  
On which he made on night's melody,  
So sweetly, that all the chamber rung:  
And Angelus ad virginem he song.  
And after that he song the king's note,  
Full oft blessed was his merry throat.  
And thus the sweet clerk all his time spent  
After his friends finding and his rent.  
This Carpenter had wedded new a wife,  
Which that he loved more than his life:  
Of eighteen year I guess she was of age,  
jealous he was, and kept her straight 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 eld is often at debate.  
But sith he was fallen in the snare,  
He must endurens (as other folk) his care.  
Fair was this young wife, and therewithal  
As any Wisele her body gentle and small.  
A seinte she weared, barred all with silk,  
A barm cloth, as white as morrow milk  
Upon her lendes, full of many a gore.  
White was her smock, embrouded all before  
And eke behind, on her colere about,  
Of coal black silk, within and eke without.  
The tapes of her white volipere  
Were of the same suit of her colere.  
Her fillet broad of silk, and set full high,  
And sikerly, she had a likerous eie:  
Full small ypulled were her brows two  
And tho were bend, and black as any s●o.  
She was much more blissful 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 silk, 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 hue,  
Then in the tower the Noble forged new.  
But of her song it was so loud and yearn,  
As any swallow sitting on a barn:  
Thereto she couth skip, and make a game,  
As any Kid or Calf following his dame.  
Her mouth was sweet, as braket or the meth  
Or hoard of Apples, lying in hay or heath.  
Winsing she was, as is a jolly colt,  
Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.  
A brooch she bore on her sow collere,  
As broad as the boss of a bucklere.  
Her shoes were laced on her legs high:  
She was a primrose and a piggesnie,  
For any lord to liggen in his bed,  
Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.  
Now sir, and eft sir, so befell the case,  
That on a day this Hende Nicholas  
Fell with this young wife to rage and play,  
While that her husband was at Oseney:  
As clerks been full subtle and quaint,  
And privily he caught her by the quaint  
And said: I wis but I have my will,  
For darn love of thee leman I spill:  
And held her full fast by the haunch bones,  
And said: leman love me well at ones,  
Or I wool dien also God me save.  
And she sprung as a colt in a trave:  
And with her head she wrieth fast away,  
And said: I wool not kiss thee by my faith▪  
Why let be (qd. she) let be Nicholas,  
Or I wool cry out harrow and alas.  
Do away your hands for your courtesy.  
This Nicholas 'gan mercy for to cry,  
And spoke so fair. and proffered him so fast,  
That she her love granted him at last,  
And swore her oath by S. Thomas of Rent,  
That she would been at his commandment,  
When that she may her leisure well espy.  
My husband is so full of jealousy,  
That but ye wait well, and be privy,  
I wot right well I nam but dead qd. she.  
Ye moat be full darn as in this case.  
Nay thereof care ye not qd. Nicholas:  
* A clerk 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 have said before.  
And when Nicholas had done thus every deal,  
And thacked her about the lends well,  
He kissed her sweet, then taketh his Sautrie  
And playeth fast, and maketh melody.  
Then fell it thus, that to the parish chirch  
(Christ's own works 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 work.  
Now was there of the chirch a parish clerk,  
The which that was cleped Absalon,  
Croule was his hair, and as gold it shone,  
And strouted as a fan large and broad,  
Full strait and even lay his jolly should,  
His road was red, his eyes grey as Goos,  
With Poles windows coruen on his shoes.  
In hoses red he went fetously,  
Gird he was full small and properly,  
All in a kirtle of light waget:  
Full fair and thick been the points set,  
And thereupon he had a gay surplise,  
As white as the blossom on the rise.  
A merry child he was, so God me save,  
Well could he let blood, clip, and shave,  
And make a charter of land, and a quitaunce:  
In twenty manner could he trip and dance,  
After the school 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 could he play on a Geterne.  
In all the town nas brewhouse ne Tavern,  
There as any gay girl or Tapstere was,  
That he ne visited with his solas,  
But sooth to say he was somewhat squaimus  
Of farting, and of speech dangerous.  
This Absalon, that was jolly and gay,  
Goeth with a Censer on a Sunday,  
Censing the wives of the parish fast,  
And many a lovely look on him he cast,  
And namely on this Carpenter's wife:  
To look on her him thought a merry life.  
She was so proper, and sweet as Liquorous.  
I dare well sane, if the had been a Mous,  
And he a Cat, he would have her he●● anon.  
This parish clerk, this jolly absolon  
Hath in his heart such a love longing,  
That of no wife he took none offering,  
For courtesy he said he would have none.  
The moon when it was night full bright shone,  
And Absalon his Geterne hath tale,  
For paramours he thought for to wake,  
And forth he goeth, jealous and amorous,  
Till he came to the Carpenter's house,  
A little after the Cocks had yerow.  
And dressed him by a shot window,  
That was upon the Carpenter's wall:  
He singeth in his voice gentle and small,  
Now dear lady, if that thy will it be,  
I pray you that ye would rue on me:  
Full well according to his Geterning.  
This Carpenter awoke, & heard him sing,  
And spoke unto his wife and said anon,  
What Alison, hears thou not Absalon,  
That chaunteth thus under our bowers wall?  
And she answered her husband therewithal,  
Yes God wot, I hear him every deal.  
This passeth forth, what wol ye bet then well:  
From day to day this jolly Absalon  
So wooeth her, that him was woe begon.  
He waketh all the night, and all the day,  
He kembeth his locks broad, & made him gay  
He wooeth her by means 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 gleed:  
And for she was of room, he proffered her meed.  
For some folk wool be won for richesse,  
And some for strokes, & some with gentleness.  
Sometime to show his lightness & mastery  
He playeth Heraudes on a scaffold high.  
But what availeth him as in this case?  
So loveth she this Hende Nicholas,  
* That Absalon may blow the Bucks horn:  
He ne had for his labour but a scorn,  
And thus she maketh Absalon her ape,  
And all his request tourneth to a yape.  
Forsooth this proverb it is no lie,  
* Men say thus always, that the nigh sly  
Still maketh the far love to be loath:  
For though that Absalon be wood or wroth,  
Because that he far was from her sight,  
This nigh Nicholas stood in his light.  
But now bear thee well Hend Nicholas,  
For Absalon may wail and sing alas.  
And so befell it on a Saturday,  
This Carpenter was gone to Osnay,  
And Hende Nicholas and Alison  
Accorded were to this conclusion,  
That Nicholas should shapen him a while  
This silly jealous Carpenter to beguile:  
And if so be the game went aright,  
She should sleep in his arms all night,  
For this was his desire and hers also.  
And right anon, withouten words more,  
This Nicholas no longer would tarry,  
But doth full soft unto his chamber carry  
Both meat and drink for a day or twey.  
And to her husband had her for to say,  
If that he asked after Nicholas,  
She should answer she mst where he was:  
Of all that day she saw him not with eye,  
She trowed he was in some malady.  
For no cry that she or her maid could 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, drank, and slept, & did what him list  
Till Sunday, that the sun goeth to rest.  
This silly Carpenter hath great marvel  
Of Nicholas, or what thing might him eile,  
And said: I am adread by saint Thomas  
It stondeth not aright with Nicholas.  
God shield that he died suddenly:  
This world is now full tickle sekerly.  
I saw to day a corpse horn to cherch,  
That now on monday last I saw him werch.  
Go up (qd. he unto his knave) anon,  
Cleape at his door, & knock fast with a stone:  
Look how it is, and tell me boldly.  
This knave goeth him up full sturdy,  
And at the chamber door while that he stood,  
He cried and knocked as he were wood:  
What how? what do ye master Nicholay?  
How may ye sleepen all this long day?  
But all for nought, he heard not a word.  
A hole he found full low upon a board,  
There as the cat was wont in to creep,  
And at that hole he looked in full deep,  
And at the last he had of him a sight.  
This Nicholas sat ever gaping upright,  
As he had keyked on the new moon.  
Adown he goeth, & told his master soon,  
In what array he saw this ilk man.  
This carpenter to blissen him began,  
And said: now help us saint Frideswide.  
A man wot little what shall him betid.  
This man is fallen with his Astronomy  
In some woodness or in some agony.  
I thought aye well how it shoulden be,  
* Men shoulden not know of God's privite.  
Yea blessed be always the lewd man,  
* That naught but only his belief can.  
Right so ferd another clerk with astronomy,  
He walked into the fields for to pry  
Upon the star, to wete what should befall,  
Till he was in a marlepit yfall,  
He saw not that: yet by saint Thomas  
Me rueth sore on Hende Nicholas:  
He shall be arated out of his studying,  
If that I may, by jesus heaven king.  
Get me a staff, that I may underspore  
While that thou Robin heavest up the door:  
He shall out of his studying, as I guess.  
And to the chamber door he 'gan him dress.  
His knave was a strong carl for the nonce,  
And by the haspe bore up the door at ones,  
Into the floor the door fell anon.  
This Nicholas sat as still as any stone,  
And ever gaped upward into the air.  
This carpenter wend he were in despair,  
And hent him by the shoulders mightily,  
And shaken him hard, and cried pitously,  
What Nicholas, what? how look adown:  
Awake, and think on Christ's passion.  
I crouch the from elves, & from wicked wights:  
Therewith the night spell he said anon rights  
On four halves of the house about,  
And on the dreshfold of the door without,  
jesus Christ, and saint Benedight  
Bliss this house from every wicked wight:  
From the night's mare, the wit Pater noster,  
* Where wonnest thou saint Peter's sister?  
And at the last this Hende Nicholas,  
'Gan for to sike sore, and said alas:  
Shall all this world be lost eftsoons now?  
This carpenter answered: what sayest thou?  
What think on God, as we men do that swink.  
This Nicholas answered, fetch me drink,  
And after wool I speak in privite  
Of certain things that toucheth thee & me:  
I wool tell it none other man certain.  
This carpenter goth down, & cometh again,  
And brought of mighty ale a large quart,  
And when each of him had dranken his part,  
This Nicholas his chamber door fast shut,  
And down the carpenter by him set  
And said: johan host mine lief and dear,  
Thou shalt upon thy troth swear me here,  
That to no wight thou shalt my counsel wrey:  
For it is Christ's counsel that I say,  
That if thou tell it any man, thou art forlese:  
For this vengeance thou shalt have therefore,  
That if thou wray me, thou shalt be wood.  
Nay Christ it forbid for his holy blood  
Qd. though this silly man, I am no blab  
Ne though I say it, I nam not lief to gabbe.  
Say what thou wolt, I shall it never tell  
To child ne wife, by him that harrowed hell.  
Now john (qd. Nicholas) I wool not lie,  
I have yfounden in mine astrology,  
As I have looked in the Moon bright,  
That now on monday next, at quarter night  
Shall fall a rain, and that so wild and wood  
That half so great was never noah's flood:  
This world (he said) in less than in an hour  
Shall all be orient, so hideous is the shower:  
Thus shall mankind drench, and less her life.  
This carpenter answered & said: alas my wife  
And shall she drench? Alas mine Alisoun?  
For sorrow of this he fell almost adown,  
And said: is there no remedy in this case?  
Yes yes full good (qd. Hende Nicholas)  
If thou wolt werchafter lore and read,  
Thou mayst not werchen after thine own heed:  
For thus saith Solomon that was full true,  
* Work all by counsel, & thou shalt not rue.  
And if thou wilt werken by good counsel,  
I undertake, without mast or sail  
Yet shall I save her, and thee and me.  
Hast thou not heard how saved was No,  
When that our lord had warned him before,  
That all the world with water should be lost?  
Yes (qd. the carpenter) full yore ago.  
Hast thou not heard (qd. Nicholas) also,  
The sorrow of No with his fellowship,  
Or that he might get his wife to ship?  
Him had lever I dare well undertake  
At thilk time, than all his wethers black,  
That she had a ship herself alone:  
And therefore wost thou what is best to done?  
* This asketh haste, and of an hasty thing  
Men may not preach ne make tarrying.  
Anon go get us fast into this inn  
A kneding trough or else a kemelyn,  
For each of us: but look that they been large,  
In which men mow swimmen as in a barge?  
And have therein victuals sufficiaunt  
But for a day, fie on the remnant:  
The water shall aslake and gone away  
Abouten prime upon the next day.  
But Robin may not weten of this, thy knave,  
Ne eke thy maid Gille I may not save:  
Ask not why: for though thou ask me,  
I wool not tell God's privite.  
Sufficeth thee, but if thy wits be mad,  
To have as great a grace as No had:  
Thy wife shall I well save out of doubt,  
Go now thy way, and speed thee hereabout.  
But when thou hast for her, & thee, and me,  
Ygetten us these kneading tubs three,  
Then shalt thou hang him in the roof full high,  
That no man of our purveyance espy:  
And when thou hast done thus as I have said,  
And hast our victual fair in hem ylaid,  
And eke an axe to smite the cord arwo  
When the water cometh, that we may go,  
And break an hole on high upon the gable  
Unto the garden ward, over the stable,  
That we may freely passen forth our way,  
When that the great shower is gone away,  
Then shalt thou swim as merry I undertake,  
As doth the white duck after her drake:  
Then wool I cleape, how Alison, how john  
Be merry: for the flood wool pass anon:  
And thou wolt sane, hail master 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 No and his wife.  
But of one thing I warn thee full right,  
Be well avised on that ilke night,  
That we benentred into the ships board,  
That none of us ne speak not a word,  
Ne clepe ne cry, but been in his prayer,  
For so to done it is Gods own hest dear.  
Thy wife & thou moat hang for a twin,  
For that betwixt you shall be no sin,  
No more in looking than there shall in deed:  
This ordinance is said, go God thee speed.  
To morrow at night, when men been all asleep,  
Into our kneading tubs wool we creep,  
And sitten there, abiding God's grace:  
Go now thy way, I have no longer space  
To make of this no longer sermoning:  
* Men sane thus: send the wise & say nothing:  
Thou art so wise, it needeth thee not teach,  
Go save our lives, and that I thee beseech.  
This silly carpenter goeth forth his way,  
Full oft he said alas, and wellaway,  
And to his wife he told his privite,  
And she was ware, and knew it bet than he  
What all this quaint cast for to say:  
But nevertheless, she feared as she would they,  
And said, alas, go forth thy way anon,  
Help us to scape, or we be dead eachone:  
I am thy true very wedded wife,  
Go dear spouse, and help to save 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  
noah's flood come weltering as the see  
To drenchen Alison, his honey dear:  
He weepeth, waileth, and maketh sorry cheer,  
He siketh, with many a sorry thought,  
He goth, and getteth him a kneading trough,  
And after a tub, and a kemelin,  
And privily he sent him to his in:  
And hang him in the roof full privily.  
With his own hand he made him ladders three  
To climben by the ronges, and by the stalks  
Into the tubs honging by the balks,  
And him vitailed, both trough and tub,  
With bread and cheese, & good ale in a iubbe:  
Sufficing right enough as for a day.  
But ere that he had made all this array,  
He sent his knave, and eke his weuch also  
Upon his need to London for to go,  
And on the monday, when it drew to night,  
He shut his door, without candle light,  
And dressed all thing as it should be.  
And shortly they clomben up all three.  
They sitten still not fully a furlong way,  
Now pater noster clum, said Nicholay,  
And clum qd. johan, and clum said Alison:  
This carpenter said his devotion,  
And still he sit, and biddeth his prayer  
Awaiting on the rain, if he it here.  
The dead sleep, for weary business  
Fell on this carpenter, right as I guess  
About curfewe time, or little more:  
For travail of his ghost he groaneth sore,  
And est he routeth, for his head mislay:  
And down the ladder stalketh Nicholay,  
And Alison full loft after she sped:  
Withouten words more they went to bed  
There as the carpenter was wont to lie,  
There was the revel, and the melody.  
And thus lieth Alison and Nicholas  
In business of mirth and solas,  
Till that the bell of laudes 'gan to ring,  
And Freres in the chaunsell gone to sing.  
This parish clerk, this amorous Absalon,  
That is for love always so woe bygon,  
Upon the monday was at Osenay  
With company, him to disport and play:  
And asked upon a case a cloisterere  
Full privily, after john 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 grange a day or two:  
Or else he is at his house certain,  
Where that he be, I cannot sorthly sane.  
this Absalon full jolly was and light,  
And thought,, now is my time to walk all night  
For sickerly, I saw him nat stirring  
About his door, sith day began to spring.  
So moat I thrive, I shall at cocks crow  
Full privily knock at his window,  
That stant full low upon his bowers wall:  
To Alison wool I now tell all  
My love longing: for yet I shall not miss.  
That at the least way I shall her kiss.  
Some manner comfort shall I have parfay,  
My mouth hath itched all this long day:  
That is a sign of kissing at the least.  
All night me met eke, that I was at a feast.  
Therefore I wool go sleep an hour or twey.  
And all the night than wool I walk and play.  
When that the first cock hath crow anon,  
Up rist this jolly lover Absalon,  
And him arrayeth gay, and in quaint device:  
But first he cheweth greins and licorice,  
To smellen sote, or he had kempt his here,  
Under his tongue a true love he bear,  
For thereby he wend to been gracious.  
He cometh to the carpenters house,  
And still he stant under the shot window,  
Unto his breast it reached, it was so low:  
And soft he knocked with a seemly sound.  
What do you honycombe, sweet Alisoun?  
My fair bird, and my sweet sinnamon:  
Awake leman mine, and speaketh to Absalon  
Full little thinken ye upon my woe,  
That for your love I swelled there as I go.  
No wonder is though I swelled and sweat,  
I mourn as doth the lamb after the teat.  
I wis leman, I have such love longing,  
That like a Turtle true is my mourning.  
I may not eaten no more than may a maid.  
Go fro the window jack fool, she said:  
As help me God and sweet saint jame,  
I love another, or else I were to blame  
Well bet than thee (by jesus) Absalon:  
Go forth thy way, or I wool cast a stone,  
* And let me sleep, a twenty devil way.  
Alas, qd. Absalon, and wellaway,  
That true love was ever so evil beset:  
Then kiss me, since it may be no bette  
For jesus love, and for the love of me.  
Wilt thou then go thy way therewith, qd. she?  
Ye tertes leman, qd. this Absalon.  
Then make thee ready, (qd. she) I come anon.  
And unto Nicholas she said, be still,  
Now peace, and thou shalt laugh thy fill.  
This Absalon down set him on his knees,  
And said: I am a lord at all degrees:  
For after this I hope there cometh more.  
Leman thy grace, and sweet bird thy north.  
The window she undoth, and that in haste,  
Have do (qd. she) come off and speed thee fast,  
Lest that our neighbours thee espy.  
This Absalon 'gan wipe his mouth full dry.  
Dark was the night as any pitch or coal,  
And at the window she put out her ers' hole,  
And Absalon sped neither bet ne were,  
But with his mouth he kissed her bare ers  
Full savourly: and as he was ware of this,  
Aback he start, and thought it was amiss,  
For well he wist a woman had no berde,  
He felt a thing all row, and long herd,  
And said: fie, alas what have I do?  
Te he (qd. she) and clapped the window to,  
And Absalon goeth forth a sorry pace.  
A heard, a beard, said Hende Nicholas,  
By gods corpus, this goeth fair and we'll.  
This silly Absalon heard it every deal,  
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 fond, with straw, & with chips  
But Absalon? that saith full oft alas,  
My soul be take I to Sathanas,  
But me were lever than all this town, qd. he,  
Of this despite awreken for to be.  
Alas, qd. he, alas that I ne had bleint,  
His hot love is cold, and all yqueint.  
For fro the time that he had kissed her ers,  
Of paramours he set not a kers,  
For he was healed of his malady,  
Full oft paramours he 'gan defy.  
And weep as doth a child that is ybete.  
A soft pace he went over the street  
Unto a smith, men call dan Gerueys,  
That in his forge smiteth plow harness,  
He sharpeth shares and culters busily.  
This Absalon knocketh all easily,  
And said undo Gerueys, and that anon.  
What who art thou? It am I Absalon.  
What Absalon, what for Christ's sweet tre,  
Why rise ye so rath? eye benedicite  
What eileth you? some gay girl God it wot  
Hath brought you thus on the merytote:  
By saint Neotes, ye wot well what I mean.  
This Absalon ne reached not a been  
Of all his play, no word again he gaffe,  
* He had more tow upon his distaff  
Than Garuays knew, & said friend so dear,  
The hot coulter in the chimney here  
As leanly it me, I have therewith to done:  
I wool bring it thee again full soon.  
Geruays answered: certes were it gold,  
Or in a poke nobles all untold,  
Thou shouldest it have, as I am true smith:  
Eye Christ's foot, what wol ye don therewith?  
Thereof (qd. Absalon) be as be may  
I shall well tell thee by to morrow day.  
And caught the coulter by the cold steel,  
Full soft out at the door 'gan he steel,  
And went unto the carpenters wall:  
He coughed first, and knocked therewithal  
Upon the window, right as he did ere.  
This Alison answered: who is there  
That knocketh so? I warrant he is a thief.  
Why nay (qd. he) God wot my sweet lief,  
I am thine Absalon, thine own darling:  
Of gold (qd. he) I have thee brought a ring,  
My mother gave it me, so God me save,  
Full fine it is, and thereto well ygrave:  
This wool I give thee, if thou me kiss.  
This Nicholas was risen for to piss,  
And thought he would amenden all the jape,  
He should kiss his ers ere that he scape:  
And up the window did he hastily,  
And out his ers he put full privily  
With all his buttock, to the haunch been:  
And therewith spoke this clerk, this Absalon,  
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 nigh yb●ent:  
And he was ready with his iron hot,  
And Nicholas in the arse he smote.  
Off goeth the skin a hondbrede about,  
The hot cultor burnt so his tout,  
That for the smart he wend for to die,  
As he were wood, he 'gan for to cry,  
Help, water, water, for God's heart.  
This carpenter out of his slumber slert,  
And heard one cry water, as he were wood,  
And thought, alas how cometh noah's flood,  
And set him up withouten words more,  
And with an axe, he smote the cord at woe:  
And down goeth all, he found neither to sell  
Bread ne ale, but down shortly he fell  
Upon the floor, and there a swowne he lay.  
Up start than Alison and Hende Nicholay  
And cried out, and harrow in the street.  
The neighbours about both small and great  
In run, for to gaurens on this man,  
That in a swoon lay, all palish and wan:  
For with that fall bursten hath he his arm,  
But stonden he must unto his own harm.  
For when he spoke, he was yborn adown  
With Hende Nicholas and Alisoun,  
They told every man that he was wood  
He was aghast so sore of noah's flood  
Through fantasy, that of his vanity,  
He had gotten him kneading tubs three,  
And had him honged in the roof above  
And that he paried him for God's love  
To satin in the roof par company.  
The folk 'gan laughen at his fantasy,  
And into the roof they kyken and they gape,  
And turned all his earnest into a jape,  
For what so this carpenter answered,  
It was for nought, no man his reason herd,  
With oaths great, he was ysworne adown,  
That he was holden wood in all that town.  
* For everich clerk anon held with other,  
They said the man was wood, my leave brother,  
And every wight 'gan laughen at this strife.  
Thus swived was the carpenters wife,  
For all his keeping, and his jealousy:  
* And Absalon hath kissed her nether eye,  
And Nicholas is scalded in the tout,  
This tale is done, and God save all the rout.     


¶ The Reves Prologue.  
WHen folk had laughed at this nice case  
Of Absalon and Hende Nicholas,  
divers folk hereof diversely they said,  
But for the more part they lough and played:  
Ne at this tale I saw no man him greue,  
But it were only Oswolde the Reue:  
Because he was of carpenters craft,  
A little ire in his heart ylaft.  
He 'gan to grutchen and blame it a light:  
Sooth (qd. he) full well couth I thee quite  
With blearing of a proud Miller's eye,  
If that me list to speak of ribaldry.  
But I am old, me lust not play for age,  
* Grass time is done, my fodder is forage:  
This white top writeth mine old years,  
Which sometime yellow was, now white ben min heres:  
* But yet I fare as doth an open ers,  
That ilke fruit is ever longer the were  
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 always, while the world wol pipe:  
* For in our will there stiketh ever a nail,  
To have an door head and a green tail,  
As hath a leek, for though our might be gone,  
Our will desireth folly ever in one:  
For when we may not done, than wol we speken.  
* Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken.  
* Four gledes han we, which I shall devose,  
Auaunting, lying, anger, and covetise,  
These four sparkles longen unto eld:  
Our old limbs mow well been unwelde,  
But will ne shall not fail, that is sooth.  
* And yet have I always a colts tooth,  
As many a year as it is passed hen,  
Since that my tap of life began to run.  
For sikerly, when I was borne anon,  
Death drew the tap of life, and let it gone:  
And ever since hath the tap pronne,  
Till that almost all empty is the ton.  
The stream of life now droppeth on the chimb,  
* The silly tongue may well ring and climb  
Of wretchedness, that passed is full yore:  
With old folk save dotage is no more.  
When that our host had heard this sermoning,  
He 'gan to speak as lordly as a king,  
And said: what amounteth all this wit?  
What shall we speak all day of holy writ?  
* The devil I think made a Reue to preach  
Or a souter, a shipman, or a leech.  
Say forth thy tale, and tarry not the time:  
Lo Depford, and it is half way prime:  
Lo Greenwiche, that many a shrew is in,  
It were time thy tale for to begin.  
Now sirs than qd. this Oswold the Reue,  
I pray you all, that ye not you greue,  
* That I answer, & somedeal set his houfe,  
* For lawful it is with force, force off to shoufe.  
This drunken Miller hath ytold us here,  
How that beguiled was a carpentere  
Peraventure in scorn, for I am one:  
And by your leave, I shall him quite anon,  
Right in his churl's terms wool I speak,  
I pray to God his neck moat be to break,  
* He can well in mine eye seen a stalk,  
But in his own he cannot seen a balk.  

DEnyse Simkin, the Miller of Trompington, deceiveth two Clarks of Scholar's Hall in Cambridge, 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 Reves Tale.  
AT Trompington, not far from Cambridge  
There goth a brook, and over that a bridge,  
Upon the which brook there stant a mell:  
And this is very sooth, as I you tell.  
A Miller was there dwelling many a day,  
As any peacock he was proud and gay:  
Pipen he couth, and fishen, and nets beat,  
And turn cups, and well wrestle and shete.  
Ay by his belt he bore a long pavade,  
And of a sword full triumphant was the blade.  
A jolly popere bore he in his pouch,  
There nas no man for peril durst him touch.  
A Shefeld thwitel bore he in his hose,  
Round was his face, & camised was his nose.  
As peeled as an ape was his skull,  
He was a market cannoneer at the full.  
There dursten no wight hon on him ledge,  
But he ne swore he should sore abedge.  
A thief he was forsooth, of corn and meal,  
And that a sly, and usaunt for to steel.  
His name was hoten Deynous Simkyn,  
A wife he had, comen of noble kin:  
The parson of the town her father was,  
With her he gave full many a pan of bras.  
For that Simkyn should in his blood ally,  
She was yfostered in a nunnery:  
For Simkyn would no wife, as he said,  
But she were well ynourished, and a maid,  
To save his estate of yomanrie.  
And she was proud, and pert as a pie,  
A full fair sight was it to see him two.  
On holy days before her would he go  
With his tipet wounden about his heed,  
And she came after in a gite of reed,  
And Simkyn had hoses of the same.  
There durst no wight clepe 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 slain of Simkyn  
With pavade, or with knife, or bodkin.  
* For jealous folks been perilous evermo  
Algates they would her wives wenden so.  
And eke for she was somedele smoterliche:  
She was as digne as water in a ditch,  
And as full of hoker, and of bismare,  
As though that a lady should her spare,  
What for her kindred, and her norterly,  
That she had learned in the nunnery.  
A daughter had they betwixt him two  
Of twenty year, withouten any more,  
Saving a child was half a year of age,  
In cradle it lay, and was a proper page.  
This wench thick and well ygrowne was,  
With camised nose and eyes grey as glass:  
With buttocks broad, & breasts round & high,  
But right fair was her hair, I wool nat lie.  
The parson of the town, for she was fair,  
In purpose was to maken her his hair  
Both of his cattle, and of his mesuage,  
And strange he made it of her marriage:  
His purpose was to bestowen her high  
Into some worthy blood of ancestry.  
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 devour.  
Great soaken hath this Miller out of doubt  
With wheat and malt, of all the land about,  
And namely there was a great college  
Men clepe it the Scholar's Hall of Cambrege,  
There was her wheat & eke her malt iground.  
And on a day it happened in a stound,  
Sick lay the Manciple on a malady,  
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 stolen but courteously,  
But he now was a thief outrageously:  
For which the warden chid and made fare,  
But thereof set the Miller not a tore,  
He cracked, boasted, and swore it nas not so.  
Then were there young poor scholars two,  
That dwelten in the Hall, of which I say,  
Testife they were, and lusty for to play:  
And only for her mirth and revely,  
Upon the Warden busily they cry  
To give him leave but a little stound,  
To gone to mill, to see her corn yground:  
And hardly they durst lay her neck,  
The Miller should not steal him half a peck  
Of corn by sleight, ne by force him reave.  
And at the last the warden gave hem leave:  
johan height that one, & Alein height the other,  
Of a town they were both, that height Strother  
far in the North, can I not tell where.  
This Alein maketh already his gear,  
And on a horse the sack he cast anon:  
Forth goeth Alein the clerk, and also john,  
With good sword and buckler by her side.  
johan knew the way, him needeth no guide,  
And at the mill door the sack down he layeth.  
Alein spoke first: all hail Simken in faith,  
How fares thy fair daughter, and thy wife?  
Alein welcome (qd. Simken) by my life,  
And john also: how now, what do ye here?  
* By god Simond (qd. john) need has no peer,  
* Him behoves serve himself that has no swain,  
Or else he is a fool, as clerks sane.  
Our Manciple I hope he will be dead,  
Swa works aye the wange in his head:  
And therefore is I come, and eke Alein,  
To grind our corn and carry it home again:  
We pray you speed us home in that ye may.  
It shall be done (qd. Simkin) by my faith:  
What wool you done while it is in hand?  
By God, right by the hopper wool I stand,  
Qd. john: & seen howgates the corn goth in,  
Yet saw I never by my father kin,  
How that the hopper wags to and fra.  
Alein answered: johan wilt thou sa?  
Then wool I stand beneath by my crown,  
And see how the meal falleth adoune  
Into the troghe, that shall be my disport:  
Qd. john, 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 ween that no man may him beguile,  
* But by my thrift yet shall I blear her eye,  
For all the sleight in her philosophy,  
The more quaint clerks that they themselves make,  
The more wool I steal when I gi'en to take:  
* Instead of flour yet, wool I give him burn,  
* The greatest clerks been not the wisest men  
As why some to the wolf spoke the Mare:  
Of all her art count I not a tore.  
Out of the door he goeth full privily,  
When that he saw his time, subtly  
He looked up and down, till he had yfound  
The clerks horse, there as he stood ybound  
Behind the Mill, under a lessell:  
And to the horse he goth him fair and well,  
He strippeth of the bridle right anon.  
And when the horse was loose, he 'gan to gone  
Toward the fen, there as wild mares rinne,  
And forth with wehe, through thick & thin.  
The Miller goeth again, no word he said,  
But doth his note, & with these clerks played,  
Till that her corn was fair & well yground.  
And when the meal was sacked and ybound,  
This john goth out & found her horse away,  
And 'gan to cry harrow and wellaway,  
Our horse is lost, Alein for God's benes,  
Step on thy feet man, come forth all atenes:  
Alas our Warden has his paltrey lost,  
This Alein all forgot both meal & corn:  
All was out of mind his husbandry:  
What, whilk way is he gone? he 'gan to cry.  
The wife came leaping inward at a run,  
She said alas, he goeth to the fen  
With wild Mares, as fast as he may go:  
Vnthank come on his hon that bound him so,  
And he that better should have knit the rain.  
Alas (qd. john) Alein for Christ's pain  
Lay down thy sword, & I shall mine alswa:  
I is full swift God weet as is a raa.  
By God's fale he shall not scape us bathe:  
Why ne hadst thou put the capel in the lathe?  
Ill hest Alein, by God thou is a fonne.  
These ●elie clerks han full fast ironne  
Toward the fen, Alein and eke john:  
And when the miller saw that they were gone,  
He half a bushel of her flower both take.  
And had his wife kneaded it in a cake.  
He said, I trow the clerks were afeard.  
* Yet can a Miller make a clerks berde,  
For all her art, yet let him gone her way,  
* Lo where they gone, let the children play:  
They get him not so litely by my crown.  
These silly clerks reinen up and down  
With keep, keep, iossa, iossa warth there,  
Go whistle thou, and I shall keep him here.  
But shortly, till it was very night  
They couth not though they did all her might,  
Her capel catch, he ran away so fast:  
Till in a ditch they caught him at the last.  
Weary and wet as beasts in the rain,  
Cometh silly john, & with him cometh Alein:  
Alas (qd. john) the day that I was borne,  
Now are we driven to hethens and to scorn:  
Our corn is stole, men wool us fools call,  
Both the Warden, and our fellows all,  
And namely the Miller, wallaway.  
Thus plaineth john, as he goth by the way  
Toward the Mill, and bayard in his hon.  
The Miller sitting by the fire he fond,  
For it was night,, & ferther might they nought.  
But for the love of God they him besought  
Of her borough and ease, as for her penny.  
The Miller said again, if there be any,  
Such as it is, yet shall ye have your part:  
My house is straight, but ye have 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 John) by S. Cutherd  
Ay is thou merry, and that is fair answered.  
I have heard say, men should take of two things  
* Swilke as he finds, or swilke as he brings.  
But specially I pray thee host dear,  
Get us some meat & drink, & make us cheer  
And we will pay truly at the full:  
* With empty hon, men may no hawk's tull.  
Lo here our silver ready for to spend.  
The Miller to the town his daughter send  
For ale and bread, and roasted him a goose,  
And bound her horse he should no more go loose:  
And in his own chamber he made a bed  
With sheets and with chalons fair yspred,  
Not from his own head ten foot or twelve:  
His daughter had a head 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 drunken ever strong ale at the best.  
About midnight went they to rest.  
Well hath this Miller vernished his head,  
Full pale he was for drunken, & nothing red.  
He gaspeth, & he speaketh through his nose,  
As he were in the quacke, or in the pose.  
To head he goeth, and with him his wife,  
As any jay was she light and iolife,  
So was her jolly whistle well ywet.  
The cradle at the bed's fe●t was set  
To roken, and to give the child to suke.  
And when that drunken was all in the crook  
To bed went the daughter right anon,  
To bed goeth Alein and also john.  
There vas no more, hem needed no dwale,  
This Miller hath so wisely bibbed ale,  
That as an horse he snorteth in his steep,  
Ne of his tail behind he took no keep.  
His wife bare to him a bordon well strong,  
Men might him hear routen a furlong.  
The wench routeth eke par company.  
Alein the clerk that heard this melody,  
He poked on johan, and said: sleepest thou?  
Heardst thou ever swilke a sang ere now?  
Lo swilke a coupling is it wixt hem all,  
A wild fire upon her bodies fall,  
Who heard ever swilke a ferly thing,  
Ye, they shall have the flower of evil ending:  
All this long night there tides me no rest:  
But yet naforce, all shall be for the best.  
For John (said he) as ever moat I thrive?  
If that I may, yond wench wool I swive.  
Some easement hath law yshapen us.  
For johan, there is a law that sayeth thus,  
* That if a man in one point been aggrieved,  
That in another he shall be relieved.  
Our corn is stolen, sooth it is no nay,  
And we have had an evil fit to day.  
And since I shall have none amendment  
Again my loss I will have mine easement:  
By God's sale, it shall none other be.  
This johan answered: Alein, avise thee:  
The Miller is a perilous man, he said,  
And if that he out of his sleep abraied,  
He might done us both a villainy.  
Alein answered: I count him not worth a fly.  
And up he rest, and by the wench he crept.  
This wench say upright, and fast she slept,  
Till he so nigh was, ere she might espy,  
That it had been too late for to cry:  
And shortly for to say, they were at one.  
Now play Alein, for I wool speak of Ihon.  
This John lay still a furlong way or two,  
And to himself he maketh routh and woe:  
Alas (qd. he) this is a wicked jape,  
Now may I say, I is but an Ape:  
Yet hath my fellow somewhat for his harm,  
He hath the Miller's daughter in his arm:  
He auntreth him, and hath his need ysped,  
And I lie as a draft sack in my bed,  
And when this jape is told another day,  
I shall be hold a daffe or a cokeney:  
I wool arise, and auntre me by my faith:  
* Vnhardie is unsilly, thus men say.  
And up he rose, and softly he went  
Unto the cradle, and in his arm it hent,  
And bore it softly to his beds feet.  
Soon after the wife her routing lete,  
And 'gan awake, and went her out to piss,  
And came again, and 'gan the cradle miss,  
And groped here & there, but she found none:  
Alas (qd. she) I had almost misgone,  
I had almost gone to the clerks bed:  
Eye benedicite, then had I foul ysped.  
And forth she goeth, till she the cradle fond,  
She gropeth always further with her hon,  
And found the bed, and thought nat but good,  
Because that the cradle by it stood:  
And nist where she was, for it was dark,  
But fair and well she crept in by the clerk,  
And lieth full still, & would have caught a sleep.  
Within a while this John the clerk up leap,  
And on this good wife he laid full sore,  
So merry a fit had she nought full yore:  
And priked hard and deep, as he were mad.  
This jolly life have these two clerks lad,  
Till that the third cock began to sing.  
Alein wax weary in the dauning,  
For he had swonken all the long night,  
And said, farewell Malin my sweet wight.  
The day is comen, I may no longer bide,  
But evermo, whereso I go or ride,  
I am thine own clerk, so have I heel.  
Now dear leman (qd. she) go, farwele:  
But or thou go, one thing I wool thee tell,  
When thou wendest homeward by the Mell,  
Right at the entre of the door behind  
Thou shalt a cake of half a bushel find,  
That was maked of thine own meal,  
Which that I did help my fire to steal.  
And good leman God thee save and keep,  
And with that word she 'gan almost to weep.  
Alein uprist and thought ere it daw  
He would go creep in by his fellow:  
And found the cradle with his hand anon,  
By God thought he all wrong have I gone:  
My head is tottie of my swink to night,  
That maketh me that I go not aright.  
I wot well by the cradle I have miss go,  
Here lieth the Miller and his wife also.  
* And forth he goeth on twenty devil way  
Unto the bed there as the Miller lay.  
He wend have cropen by his fellow John,  
And by the Miller he crept in anon,  
And caught him by the neck, & soft he spoke,  
And said: John, thou swineshead awake,  
For Christ's soul, and hear a noble game:  
For by that lord that called is saint jame,  
I have thrice as in this short night  
Swived the Milers' daughter bolt upright,  
Whilst thou hast as a coward been aghast.  
Ye false harlot (qd. the Miller) haste?  
A false traitor, A thou clerk (qd. he)  
Thou shalt be dead by God's dignity.  
Who durst be so bold to disparage  
My daughter, that is come of such lineage?  
And by the throat bowl he caught Alein,  
And he him hent dispitously again,  
And on the nose he smote him with his fest,  
Down ran the blood stream upon his breast:  
And in the floor, with mouth and nose ybroke  
They wallowen, as doth pigs in a poke.  
And up they gone, and down again anon,  
Till that the Miller spurned on a stone,  
And down he fell backward upon his wife,  
That wist nothing of this nice strife.  
For she was fall asleep a little wight  
With John the clerk that waked had all night:  
And with the fall out of her steep she brayed,  
Help holy cross of Bromholme she said:  
In manus tuas, lord to thee I call,  
Awake Simond, the fiend is on me fall.  
My heart is broken, help I am but dead,  
There lieth one on my womb & on my head,  
Help Simkin, for these false clerks do fight.  
This John start up as fast as ever he might,  
And graspeth by the walls to and fro  
To find a staff, and she start up also,  
And knew the eftres bet than did this John,  
And by the wall she found a staff anon:  
And saw a little shemering of a light,  
For at an hole in shone the Moon bright,  
And by that light she saw him both two,  
But sikerly she nist who was who,  
But as she say a white thing in her eye:  
And when she 'gan this white thing espy  
She wend the clerk had weard a voluper,  
And with the staff she drow ne'er and ne'er,  
And wend have hit this Alein at full,  
And smote the Miller on the peeled skull,  
That down he goth, and cried harrow I die:  
These clerks beat him well, and let him lie,  
And raieth him, and took her horse anon,  
And eke her meal, and on her way they gone:  
And at the Mill door they took her cake  
Of half a bushel flower, well ybake.  
Thus is the proud Miller well ybete,  
And hath ylost the grinding of the wheat,  
And paid for the supper every deal  
Of Alein and of John, that beat him well:  
His wife is swived, and his daughter als,  
Lo such it is a Miller to be falls.  
And therefore this proverb is full sooth,  
* Him dare not well ween that evil doth:  
A guilour shall himself beguiled be.  
And God that sit in high majesty  
Save all this company, great and small,  
Thus have I quit the Miller in his tale.     


¶ The Cook's Prologue.  
THe Cook of London, while the Reue spoke,  
For joy he thought, he claude him on  
the back:  
A ha' (quoth he) for Christ's passion.  
This Miller hath a sharp conclusioun,  
Upon this argument of her bigage.  
Well said Solomon in his language,  
Ne bring not every man into thine house,  
For herbouring by night is perilous,  
Well ought a man avised for to be,  
Whom that he brought into his privite.  
I pray to God so give me sorrow and care,  
If ever sithen I height Hodge of Ware,  
Herd I a Miller bette isett awerke,  
He had a jape of malice in the dark.  
But God forbid that we stinten here,  
And therefore if ye vouchsafe to hear  
A tale of me that am a poor man,  
I wool tell you as well as I can  
A little yape that fell in our city.  
Our host said, I grant it thee:  
Now tell on Rodger, look that it be good,  
* For many a pastry hast thou let blood,  
And many a jack of Dovet hast thou sold,  
That hath been twice hot and twice cold.  
Of many a pilgrim hast thou Christ's curse,  
* For of thy persse yet fare they the worse,  
That they have eaten with thy stubble Goos:  
* For in thy shop is many a Fly loose.  
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 sayest full sooth (qd. Roger) by my fay  
* But soothe play, quade play, as the Fleming  
Saith:  
And therefore Henry baily by thy faith,  
Be thou not wroth, or we departen here,  
Though that my tale been of an hostelere.  
But nevertheless, I wool not tell it yet,  
But ere we part, iwis thou shalt be quit.  
And therewithal he lough and made cheer,  
And said his tale, as ye shullen after hear.  

THE Description of an unthrifty Apprentice, given to Dice, Women, and Wine, wasting thereby his Master's Goods, and purchasing Newgate to himself. The most of this Tale is lost, or else never finished by the Author.  
¶ The Cooks Tale.  
A Prentice whilom dwelled in our cite,  
And of the craft of Vitailers was he:  
Galliard he was, as Goldfinch in the shawe,  
Broune as a berry, a proper short fellow:  
With locks black, and kemt full fetously,  
Dance he couth full well and jollily:  
He was called Perkin Revelour,  
He was as full of love and paramour,  
As is the hive full of honey sweet,  
Well was the wench with him that might meet.  
At every Bridal would he sing and hop,  
He loved bette the taverns than the shop.  
For when any riding was in Cheap,  
Out of the shop thither would he leap,  
Till that he had of all the sight isein.  
And sooth, he would not come again,  
But gather him a meinie of his sort,  
To hop and sing, and make such disport:  
And there they set Stevin for to meet  
To plaien at the dice in such a street.  
For in the city nas there no Prentice  
That fairer couth casten a pair of dise  
Then Perkin couth, and thereto he was free  
Of his dispense, in place of privite.  
That found his master well in his chafare,  
For oft times he found his box full bare.  
bare For sikerly, a prentice revelour.  
That haunteth dise, riot, or paramour,  
His master shall it in his shop abye.  
All have he no part of the Ministralcie.  
For theft and riot they been convertible,  
All can he play on Gettron or on Rebible,  
* Revel and truth, as in low degree  
They been full wrath all day, as men may see.  
This jolly prentice with his master abode,  
Till he were nigh out of his prentishode,  
All were he snibbed both early and late,  
and sometime led with revel to Newgate.  
But at the last, his master him bethought  
Upon a day, when he his paper sought,  
Of a proverb, that saith this same word,  
* Well bette is rotten apple out of hoard,  
Than that it should rot all the remnant:  
So fareth it by a roiotous servant.  
It is much less harm to let him pass,  
Then he shend all the servants in the place.  
Therefore his master gave him a quittance,  
And bade him go, with sorrow & mischance.  
And thus this jolly prentice had his leave:  
Now let him roiot all the night or leave.  
And for there is no thief without a look,  
That helpeth him to waste or to souke  
Of that he bribe can, or borrow may,  
Anon he sent his bed and his array  
Unto a compeer of his own sort,  
That loved dice, revel, and disport:  
And had a wife, that held for countenance  
A shop, and swived for her sustenance.     


¶ The man of Law's Prologue.  
OUr host saw well, how that the bright Sun  
The ark of his artificial day had run  
The fourth part, and eke half an hour more:  
And though he were not deep expert in lore,  
He wist well it was the eighteen day  
Of April, that is the messenger to May:  
And saw well that the shadow of every tre  
Was in length of the same quantity  
As was the body erect, that caused it:  
And therefore by the shadow he took his wit,  
That Phoebus, which that shone clear & bright  
Degrees was forty five clomben of height.  
And for that day, as in latitude  
It was ten of the clock, he 'gan conclude,  
And suddenly he plight his horse about.  
Lordings (qd. he) I warn you all the rout,  
The fourth part of this day is now agone.  
Now for the love of God and of saint john  
loseth no time, as ferfoorth as ye may:  
Lordings the time wasteth both night & day,  
And stealeth from us, what privily sleeping,  
* And what through negligence in our waking  
As doth the stream, that turneth never again,  
Descending fro the mountain into the plain.  
Well can Seneke & many a philosopher,  
Bewailen time, more than gold in coffer.  
* For loss of cattle may recovered be,  
But loss of time shendeth us (qd. he)  
It would not come again withouten dread,  
* No more than wool Malkins maidenhead,  
When she hath lost it in her wantonness.  
Let us not mowlen thus in idleness.  
Sir man of Law (qd. he) so have I bliss,  
Tell us a tale anon, as forward is:  
Ye been submitted, through your free assent  
To stonden in this case at my judgement.  
acquitteth you now of your behest,  
Then have you done your dever at the least.  
Host (qd. he) de pardeux ieo assent,  
To break forward is not mine intent.  
* Bihest is debt, and I wool hold fain  
All my behest, I can no better sane.  
* For such law as a man giveth another  
He should himself use it by right,  
Thus wool our text: but nevertheless certain wight,  
I can right now no thrifty tale sane.  
For that Chaucer (though he can but lewdly  
On Metres and in rinning craftily)  
Hath said him, in such English as he can  
Of old time, as knoweth many a man:  
And if he have not said him leave brother  
In one book, he hath said him in another,  
For he hath told of lovers up and down,  
Mother than ovid made of mention  
In his Epistles, that been full old.  
What should I tell him, sithen they been told?  
In youth he made of six all alone,  
And sithen he hath spoken of everyone  
These noble wives, and these lovers eke,  
Who so that wool his large volume seek  
Cleped the saints lives of Cupid:  
There may he see the large wounds wide  
Of Lucrece, and of Babylon Thisoe  
The sword of Dido for the false Enee,  
The tree of Phillis for her Demophoon,  
The plaint of Deianeira, and of Hermion,  
Of Ariadna, and of Hypsiphilee,  
The barren Isle standing in the see  
Which that dreint Liandre for Hero,  
The tears of Helein, and eke the woe,  
Of Briseis, and of Laodomia,  
The cruelty of queen Medea.  
The little children honging by the hals,  
For the jason that was of love so falls.  
Of Hipermistra, Penelope, and Alcestis,  
Your wifehood he commendeth with the best,  
But certainly no word ne writeth he  
Of thilk wick ensample of Canace,  
That loved her own brother sinfully:  
Of such cursed stories I say fie.  
Or else of Tyro Appoloneus,  
How that cursed king Antiochus  
Biraft his daughter of her maidenhead,  
That is so horrible a tale for to read,  
When he her drew upon the pament,  
And therefore he of full avisement  
Nold never write in none of his setmons  
Of such unkind abominations.  
Ne I wool none rehearse, yef that I may.  
But of my tale how shall I done this day?  
Me were loath be likened doubtless  
To Muses, that men cleped Piriades,  
Methamorphoseos wot what I mean.  
But nevertheless I retche not a Bene,  
Though I come after him with Haubake,  
I speak in prose, and let him rhymes make.  
And with that word, he with a sober cheer  
Began his tale, as ye shullen after here.  


LAdy Constance the Emperor's Daughter of Rome, after her marriage with the Sultan of Surrey, 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 Laws Tale.  

O Hateful harm, condition of poverty  
With thirst, with cold, with hunger  
confounded,  
To asken help thee shameth in thine heart,  
If thou non ask, with need thou art so  
wounded,  
That very need unwrappeth all thy wounds hid  
hid Maugrie thine head, thou must for indigence  
Or steel, or beg, or borrow thy dispense.   

Thou blamest Christ, & sayest full bitterly,  
He misdeparteth richesses temporal,  
Thy neighbour thou witest sinfully,  
And sayest, thou hast too little, & he hath all:  
Parfay (sayest thou) sometime he reken shall  
When that his tail shall to burn in gleed,  
For he nought helpeth needful in her need.   

Harken what is the sentence of the wise,  
* Better is to dien than have indigence,  
* Thine own neighbour wool thee to despise,  
If thou be poor, farewell thy reverence.  
Yet of the wise man take this sentence,  
* All the days of poor men been wick,  
Beware therefore or thou come to the prick.   

If thou be poor, thy brother hateth thee,  
* And all thy friends fleech from thee, alas:  
O rich Merchaunts full of we'll be ye,  
O noble prudent folk, as in this case,  
Your bags been not filled with ambes aas,  
* But with cise sink, that reuneth for your chance  
At Christeninass merry may ye dance.   

Ye seeken land & see for your win,  
As wise folk ye known all the state  
Of reigns, ye been fathers of tidings,  
And tales many, both of peace and debate:  
I was right now of tales desolate,  
Near that a merchant, gone many a year,  
He taught a tale, which ye shullen hear.   

IN Surrey whilom dwelled a company  
Of chapmen rich, & thereto sad & true,  
That wide where senten her spicery,  
Clothes of gold & Satin rich of hue:  
Her chafare was so thrifty and so new,  
That every wight hath dainty to chafare  
With him, and eke to sellen him her ware.   

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

Sojourned han these merchants in that town  
Certain time, as fell to her pleasance:  
But so befell that the excellent renown  
Of the emperor's daughter dame Constance  
Reported was, with every circumstance  
Unto these Surrein merchants, in such wise  
Fro day to day, as I shall you devose,   

This was the comen voice of every man:  
Our Emperor of Rome God him see,  
A daughter hath, that sithen the world began,  
To reckon as well her goodness as beauty,  
Nas never such another as is she:  
I pray to God in honour her sustain,  
And would she were of all Europe the queen.   

In her is high beauty without pride,  
Youth, without grenhed or folly,  
To all her works virtue is her guide,  
Humbles hath slain in her all tyranny:  
She is a mirror of all courtesy,  
Her heart is very chamber of holiness,  
Her hand minister of freedom and alms.   

And all this voice was sooth, as God is true.  
But now to our purpose let us turn again:  
These merchants han done fret her ships new:  
And when they han this blissful maiden sein,  
Home to Surrey been they went again,  
And done her needs, as they han done yore,  
And liuen in wealth, I can say no more.   

Now fell it, that these merchants stood in grace  
Of him that was the Sultan of Surrie:  
For when that they came from any strange place  
He would of his benign courtesy  
Maken him good cheer, and busily espy  
Tidings of sundry realms, for to lere  
The wonders that they might seen or here.   

Among other things specially  
These merchants have him told of dame Constance,  
So great noblesse, in earnest seriously,  
That this Sultan hath caught so great pleasance  
To han her figure in his remembrance,  
And all his lust, and all his busy cure  
Was for to love her, while his life may dure.   

Paraventure in that like large book  
Which cleped is the heaven, ywritten was  
With stars, when that he his birth took,  
That he for love should han his death, alas:  
* For in the stars, clearer than is the glass  
Is written God wot, who so could it read,  
The death of every man withouten dread.   

In stars many a Winter there before  
Was written the death of Hector & Achilles,  
Of Pompey, and julius, or they were boar:  
The strife of Thebes, and of Hercules,  
Of Samson, Turnus, and of Socrates  
The death: but that men's wits been so dust,  
That no wight can well read it at the full.   

This Sultan for his privy counsel sent,  
And shortly of this matter for to pace,  
He hath to him declared all his intent,  
& said him certain, but if he might have grace  
To have Constance, within a little space  
He nas but dead, and charged him to high  
To shapen for his life some remedy.   

divers men, diversely they saiden:  
The argument they casten up and down,  
Many a subtle reason forth they laiden,  
They speaken of Magic, and abusion:  
But finally, as in conclusioun  
They cannot seen in that none avauntage  
Ne in none other way, save in marriage.   

Then saw they therein such difficulty  
By way of reason, to speak all plain,  
Because that there was such diversity  
Between both her laws, that they said,  
They trow that no christian prince would fain  
Wedden his child under our laws sweet,  
That us was taught,, by Mahu our prophet   

And he answered: rather than I less  
Constance, I would be christian doubtless:  
I moat been hers, I may none other cheese,  
I pray you hold your arguments in pees,  
Saveth my life, and be ye not reckless  
To gotten her that hath my life in cure,  
For in this woe I may not long endure.   

What needeth greater delatation?  
I say, by treaty and embassadrie,  
And by the Pope's mediation  
And all the church, and all the chivalry,  
That in destruction of Maumetrie  
And in increase of Christ's law dear,  
They been accorded, as ye shall hear.   

How that the Sultan and his baronage,  
And all his liege's should ychristened be,  
And he shall han Constance in marriage  
And certain gold, I not what quantity;  
And her to find sufficient surety:  
The same accord was sworn on either side,  
Now fair Constance, almighty God thee guide.   

Now woulden some men waiten as I guess  
That I should tell all the purveyance  
That the Emperor of his noblesse  
Hath shapen for his daughter dame Constance:  
Well may men know that so great ordinance  
May no man tell in a little clause,  
As was arrayed for so high a cause.   

Bishops been shapen with her for to wend,  
Lords and ladies, and knights of renown,  
And other folk y●●ow this is the end,  
And notified is throughout the town,  
That every wight with great devotion  
Should pray Christ, that he this marriage  
Receive in gree, and speed this voyage.   

The day is come of her departing,  
I say the woeful day natural is come,  
That there may be no longer tarrying,  
But forward they hem dress all and some:  
Constance, that with sorrow is all overcome  
Full pale arist, and dressed her to wend,  
For well she say there is none other end.   

Alas, what wonder is it though she wept?  
That shall be sent to a strange nation  
From friends, that so tenderly her kept,  
And be bounden under subjection  
Of one, she knoweth not his condition.  
* Husband's been all good, & han been yore,  
That know ne wives, I dare say no more.   

Father (she said) thy wretched child Constance,  
Thy young daughter, fostered up so loft,  
And ye my mother, my sovereign pleasance  
Over all thing (out take Christ on loft)  
Constance your child her commendeth oft  
Unto your grace: for I shall to Surrie,  
Ne shall I never more see you with eye.   

Alas unto the Barbary nation  
I must anon, sithen it is your will:  
But Christ that starfe for our redemption,  
So give me grace his hests to fulfil:  
I wretched woman no force though I spill,  
* Women are born to thraldom & penance,  
And to been under man's governance.   

I trow at Troy when Thurus broke the wall  
Of Ilium, ne when brent was Thebes cite,  
Ne Rome for the harm of Hannibal,  
That Romans hath ivenqueshed times three,  
Nas heard such tender weeping for pite,  
As was in the chamber for her parting.  
But forth she moat, whether she weep or sing.   

O first moving cruel firmament  
With thy diurnal swegh, that croudest aye,  
And hurriest all fro East to Occident,  
That naturally would hold another way:  
Thy crowding set the heaven in such array  
At the beginning of this fierce Voyage,  
That cruel Mars hath slain this marriage.   

O infortunate assendent tortuous,  
Of which the lord is helpless fall, alas,  
Out of his angle into his derkest house  
O Mars, O occisier, as in this case:  
O feeble Moon, unhappy been thy pace,  
Thou knittest there thou nart not received,  
There thou were well, fro thence art thou waived.   

Imprudent Emperor of Rome, alas,  
Was there no philosopher in thy town?  
Is no time bette than other in such cas?  
Of voyage, is there none electioun?  
Namely to folk of high condition  
Nat when a rote is of a birth yknow?  
Alas we been too lewd, or to slow.   

To ship is brought this woeful fair maid  
Solemnly, with every circumstance:  
Now jesus Christ be with you all (she said)  
There nis no more, but farewell fair Constance.  
She paineth her to make good countenance,  
And forth I let her sail in this mannere,  
And turn I wool again to my matter.   
Explicit prima pars: & sequitur pars secunda.   


THe mother of the Sultan, well of vices,  
Espied hath her son's plain intent,  
How he wool lete his old sacrifices:  
And right anon she for her counsel sent,  
And they ben comen, to know what she meant,  
And when assembled was this folk in fear,  
She set her down, and said as ye shall hear.   

Lords (qd. she) ye known every eachone,  
How that my son is in point to lete  
The holy laws of our Alcoran  
Yeven by God's messenger Mahomete:  
But one avow to great God I heat,  
The life shall rather out of my body start,  
Or Mahomet's law go out of my hart.   

What should us tiden of this new law  
But thraldom to our bodies and penance  
And afterward in hell to been draw,  
For we reneyed Mahu our creance,  
But lords, wool ye now make assurance,  
As I shall say, assenting to my lore,  
And I shall make us fafe for evermore?   

They sworens, and assenten every man  
To live with her and die, and by her stoned:  
And everich in the best wise that he can  
To strengthen her, shall all his friends fond.  
And she hath this emprise taken in hon,  
Which ye shall hear that I shall devose,  
And to him all she spoke in this wise.   

We shall us first fain, christendom to take,  
Cold water shall not grieve us but alight:  
And I shall such a revel and a feast make,  
That as I trow I shall the Sultan quite:  
For though his wife be christened never so white,  
She shall have need to wash away the read,  
Though she a font full of water with her lead.   

O Soudonnesse, root of iniquity,  
Virago, thou Symyram the second,  
O serpent under fememnetes,  
Like to the serpent deep in hell ibound:  
O feigned woman, all that may confound  
Virtue & innocence, through thy malice  
Is bred in thee a nest of every vice.   

O Satan envious, since thilk day  
That thou wert chased from our heritage,  
Well knewest thou to women the old way:  
Thou madest Eve to bring us in servage,  
Thou wolt fordoen this Christian marriage:  
* This instrument, so wellaway the while,  
Make thou of women when thou wolt beguile.   

This Soudonnesse, whom I blame and weary,  
Let privily her counsel gone her way:  
What should I in this tale longer tarry?  
She rideth to the Soudon on a day,  
And said him that she would reny her lay,  
And christendom of priests hands fong,  
Repenting her she Heathen was so long.   

Beseeching him to done her that honour,  
That she might have the christian folk to fest:  
To pleasen hem I wool done my labour.  
The Soudon saith, I wool done all your hest,  
And kneeling, thanked her of that request,  
So glad he was, he nist not what to say,  
She kissed her son, & home she goth her way.   

Arrived been these christian folk to land  
In Surrey, with a great solemn rout,  
And hastily this Soudon sent his fond,  
First to his mother, and all the reign about,  
And said, his wife was comen out of doubt,  
And praiden him for to ridden against the queen  
The honour of his reign for to sustain.   

Great was the press, & rich was the ray  
Of Surreyans, and Romans ymet yfere:  
The mother of the Soudon rich and gay  
receiveth her with all manner glad cheer,  
As any mother might her daughter dear:  
Unto the next city there beside  
A soft pace solemnly they all ride.   

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

The Soudon cometh himself soon after this  
So rially, that wonder is to tell:  
He welcometh her with much joy and bliss,  
And thus in mirth and joy I let him dwell.  
The fruit of every tale is for to tell,  
When time come, men thought it for the best,  
That revel stint, and men gone to rest.   

The time come, this old Soudonnesse  
Ordained hath the feast of which I told,  
And to the feast, christian folk hem dress  
And that in the general, both young and old:  
There may men feast and rialte behold  
And dainties moe than I can devose,  
But all to dear they bought it or they rise.   

O Soudon, woe that ever thou art successor  
To worldly bliss, sprung with bitterness,  
* The end of joy, is worldly labour.  
Woe occupieth the end of our gladness,  
Harken this counsel for thy sickerness:  
* Upon thy glad day ha●●● thou in mind,  
The unware woe or harm, that cometh behind.   

For shortly to tell at a word,  
The Soudon, & the Christian everyone  
Been all to hew, and sticken at the board,  
But it were only dame Constance alone,  
This old Soudonnesse, this cursed crone,  
Hath with her friends done this cursed deed,  
For she herself would all the country lead.   

There was Surreien non that was converted,  
That of the counsel of the Soudon wot,  
That he nas all to heawe, ere he asterted:  
And Constance han they taken anon fotehot,  
And in a ship all sternelesse (God wot)  
They han her set, and bidden her learn to sail  
Out of Surrey ayenward to Itale.   

A certain treasure that she thither lad,  
And sooth to say, victual great plenty,  
They han her given, and clothes eke she had,  
And forth she saileth in the salt se:  
O my Constance, full of benignity  
O Emperor's young daughter so dear,  
He that is lord of fortune be thy steer.   

She blesseth her, & with full piteous voice  
Unto the cross of Christ, though said she.  
O clear, O welful altar, holy croice  
Reed of the lambs blood full of pite,  
That wesh the world from the old iniquity:  
Me fro the fiend, and fro his claw keep.  
That day that I shall drenchen in the deep.   

Victorious tree, protection of true,  
That only worthy were for to bear  
The king of heaven, with his wounds new,  
The white lamb, that hurt was with a spear:  
Flemere of fiends, out of him and here  
On which thy limbs, faithfully extenden  
Me keep & give me might my life to menden.   

Years and days fleeteth this creature  
Through the see of Grece, unto the strait  
Of Marocke, as it was her adventure:  
O, many a sorry meal may she bait,  
After her death full oft may she wait,  
Or that the wild waves would her drive  
Unto the place there she should arrive.   

Men mighten asken why she was not slain  
Eke at the feast, who might her body save?  
I answer to that demand again,  
Who saved Daniel in that horrible cave?  
That every wight, were he master or knave,  
Was with the Lion fret or he asterte,  
No wight but God, that he bore in his heart.   

God list to show his wonderful miracle  
In her, for she should seen his mighty works:  
Christ that is to every harm treacle,  
* By certain means often, as known clerks,  
Doth thing for certain end, that full dark is  
To man's wit, that for our ignorance  
Ne can nat know his prudent purveyance.   

Now that she was not at the feast yslawe,  
Who keepeth her fro the drenching in the see?  
Who kept jonas in the fishes maw,  
Till he was spouted out at Ninivee?  
Well 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 four spirits of the tempest,  
That power had, both to annoy land and see?  
Both north and south, & also west and east,  
Anoyeth neither see, ne land, ne tree.  
Southly the commander thereof was he  
That fro the tempest aye this woman kept,  
As well when she work as when she slept.   

Where might this woman meat & drink have?  
Three year and more, how lasteth her victual?  
Who fed the Egyptian Mary in the cave  
Or in desert (none but Christ sans fail)  
Five thousand folk it was as great marvel  
With loaves five and fishes two to feed,  
God sent his foison at her great need.   

She driveth forth into our Occian  
Throughout the wide see, till at the last  
Under an hold, that nempne I ne can,  
Fer in nurthumberland, the wave her cast,  
And in the sand her ship sticked so fast,  
That thence nolne it not of all a tide,  
The will of Christ was that she should there abide.   

The constable of the castle down is fare  
To seen this wreck, & all the ship he sought,  
And found this weary woman full of care,  
He found also the treasure that she brought:  
In her language, mercy she besought  
The life out of her body for to twin,  
Her to deliver of woe that she was in.   

A manner latin corrupt was her speech  
But algates thereby was she understand,  
The constable, when him list no longer seche,  
This woeful woman brought he to land:  
She kneeleth down, and thanketh Gods fond,  
But what she was, she would no man say  
For foul ne fair, though she shoulden day.   

She said she was so mased in the see,  
That she foryate her mind by her troth:  
The constable of her hath so great pite  
And eke his wife, that they weepen for routh:  
She was so diligent withouten sloth  
To serve and please every in that place,  
That all her love, that looken in her face.   

The constable, & dame hermegild his wife  
Were painems, & that country every where,  
But Hermegild loved her right as her life,  
And Constance hath so long sojourned there  
In orisons, with many a bitter tere,  
Till jesus hath converted through his grace  
Dame Hermegild, constablesse of that place.   

In all that land dursten no christian rout,  
All christian folk been fled from the country  
Through painims, that conquered all about  
The plagues of the North by land and see:  
To Wales fled the christianity  
Of old Bretons, dwelling in that I'll,  
There was her refute for the mean while.   

Yet nas there never christian so exiled,  
That there nas some in her privite  
honoured Christ, and Heathen beguiled,  
And nigh the castle such there dwellen three:  
That one of him was blind, & might not see  
* But it were with thilk eyes of his mind,  
With which men seen after they been blind.   

Bright was the sun, as in summer's day,  
For which the constable and his wife also  
And Constance, han taken the right way  
Toward the sea, a furlong way or two,  
To plaien, and to romen to and fro:  
And in her walk, three blind men they met  
Crooked and old, with eyes fast yshet.   

In the name of Christ cried this blind Breton  
Dame Hermegild, give me sight again:  
This lady wax afraid of the sound,  
Lest that her husband shortly forto said  
Would her for jesus Christ's lore have slain,  
Till Constance made her bold, & bade her werch  
The will of Christ, as daughter of his cherch.   

The constable wox abashed of that sight,  
And said: what amounteth all this fare?  
Constance answered: sir it is Christ's might,  
That helpeth folk out of the fiends snare:  
And so ferforth she 'gan our law declare,  
That she the constable ere that it was eve  
Converted, and on Christ made him believe.   

This constable was nothing lord of this place  
Of which I speak, there he Constance fond,  
But kept it strongly many a Winter space,  
Under Alla, king of nurthumberland,  
That was full wise, and worthy of his hon  
Again the Scots, as men may well here,  
But turn I wool again to my matter.   

Satan, that ever us waiteth to beguile,  
Saw of Constance all her perfection,  
And cast anon how he might quite her wile,  
And made a young knight that dwelled in the town  
Love her so hot, of foul affection,  
That verily him thought that he should spill,  
But he of her once might have his will.   

He wooeth her, but it availed nought,  
She would do no manner sin by no weigh:  
And for despite, he compassed in his thought  
To maken her on shameful death to day:  
He waiteth when the Constable is away,  
And privily on a night he crept  
Into Hermgilds' chamber while she slept.   

Weary forwaked in her orisons  
Sleepeth Constance and Hermegilde also:  
This knight, through satans temptations  
All softly is to the bed ygo,  
And cut the throat of Hermegilde atwo,  
And laid the bloody knife by dame Constance.  
& went his way, there God give him mischance.   

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

To king Alla was told all this mischance,  
And eke the time, and where, and in what wise,  
That in a ship was founden this Constance,  
As here before ye han heard me devose:  
The king's heart for pity 'gan agrize,  
When he saw so benign a creature  
Fall in disease and in misadventure.   

For as the lamb toward his death is brought,  
So stant this innocent before the king:  
This falls knight that hath this treason wrought  
beareth her in hand that she hath done this thing:  
But nevertheless there was great mourning  
Among the people, and said they cannot guess  
That she had done so great a wickedness.   

For they han seen her ever so virtuous,  
And loving Hermegild right as her life:  
Of this bare witness every in the house,  
Save he that Hermegild slow with his knife:  
This gentle king hath caught a great motife  
Of this witness, & thought he would inquire  
Deeper in this case, the troth to lere.   

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

She set her down on knees, & thus she said:  
Immortal God, that savedst Susanne  
From falls blame, and thou merciful maid,  
Marry I mean, daughter to saint Anne,  
Before whose child angels sing Osanne,  
If I be guiltless of this felony,  
My succour be, or else shall I die.   

Have ye not seen sometime a pale face  
(Among a prees) of hem that hath been lad  
Toward his death, whereas hem get no grace,  
And such a colour in his face hath had,  
That men might know his face that was bistad  
among all the faces in that rout,  
So standeth Constance, and looketh her about.   

O Queens living in prosperity,  
Duchess', and ye ladies everyone,  
Have some routh on her adversity,  
An Emperor's daughter stant alone:  
She hath no wight to whom to make her moan,  
O blood royal, that stondeth in this dread,  
Fere of been thy friends at thy greatest need.   

This Alla king, hath such compassion,  
As gentle heart is full of pity,  
That from his eyes ran the water down.  
Now hastily do fet a book (qd. he)  
And if this knight wol swear, how that she  
This woman slow, yet wol we us avyse  
Whom that we wol shall ben our justice   

A Breton book, written with Euangeles  
Was fet, and thereon he swore anon,  
She guilty was, and in the mean whiles  
An hon him smote upon the neck bone,  
That down he fell atones as a stone:  
And both his eyes burst out of his face  
In sight of every body in that place.   

A voice was heard, in general audience  
That said: Thou hast disclandred guiltless  
The daughter of holy chirch in high presence,  
Thus hast thou done, and yet I hold my pees.  
Of this marvel aghast was all the prees,  
As dismayed folk they stonden everyone  
For dread of wretch, save Constance alone.   

Great was the dread and eke the repentance  
Of him that hadden wrought suspection  
Upon this silly innocent Constance,  
And for this miracle, in conclusion  
And by Constance's mediation  
The king, and many another in that place  
Converted was, thanked be God's grace.   

This falls knight was slain for his untruth  
By judgement of Alla hastily,  
And yet Constance had of his death great roth,  
And after this, jesus of his mercy  
Made Alla wedden full solemnly  
This holy maid, that is so bright and sheen,  
And thus hath Christ made Constance a queen.   

But who was woeful (if I should not lie)  
Of this wedding? but Donegild and no more:  
The king's mother, full of tyranny,  
Her thought her cursed hart braced a two:  
She would not that her son had do so,  
Her thought a despite, that he should take  
So strange a creature unto his make.   

* He list not of the chaff ne of the stre,  
Make so long a tale, as of the corn,  
What should I tell of the realte  
Of that marriage, or which course goth before:  
Who bloweth in a trump or in a horn,  
The fruit of every tale is for to say,  
They eaten and drinken, dance, and play.   

They gone to bed, as it was skill and right,  
For though that wives been full holy things,  
They must take in patience a night  
Such manner necessaries, as been pleasings  
To folk that han wedded him with rings,  
And lay a little her holiness aside  
As for the time, it may none other betid.   

On her he got a man child anon,  
And to a bishop, and to his constable eke  
He took his wife to keep, when he is gone  
To Scotland ward, his foemen for to seek.  
Now fair Constance that is so humble and meek  
So long is gone with child till that still  
She halt her chamber, abiding Christ's will.   

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

This messenger to done his avauntage,  
Unto the king's mother rideth swithe,  
And salveth her full fair in his language,  
Madam (qd. he) ye may be glad and blithe,  
And thanked God an hundred thousand sigh,  
My lady quaene hath a child, withouten doubt  
To joy and bliss of all this reign about.   

Lo here the letters sealed of this thing,  
That I moat bear in all the hast I may:  
Yeve ye wol aught unto your son the king,  
I am your servant both night and day.  
Donegilde answered, as at this time nay,  
But here I wool all night thou take thy rest,  
To morrow wool I say thee what my jest.   

This messenger drunk sadly both ale & wine,  
And stolen were his lettets privily  
Out of his box, while he slept as a swine,  
And counterfeited was full subtly  
Another letter, wrought full sinfully  
Unto the king direct of this matter  
From his Constable, as ye shall after here.   

The letter spoke the queen delivered 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 Elf by adventure  
I come, by charms or by sorcery,  
And every wight hateth her company.   

Woe was this king when he that letter had sein,  
But to no wight he told his sorrow sore,  
But with his own hand he wrote again,  
Welcome the sonde of Christ for evermore  
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 foul or fair,  
And eke may wife unto mine home coming:  
Christ when him lest may send me an heir,  
More agreeable than this to my liking:  
This letter he sealed, privily weeping,  
Which to the messenger was taken soon,  
And forth he goth, there is no more to done.   

O messenger fulfilled of drunkenness,  
Strong is thy breath, thy limbs faltrens aye,  
And thou be wraiest all secretness,  
Thy mind is sorne, thou ianglist as a jaie:  
Thy face is turned in a new array,  
* There drunkenness reigneth in any rout,  
There nis no counsel hid withouten doubt.   

O Donegild, I ne have non English digne  
Unto thy malice, and thy tyranny:  
And therefore to the fiend I thee resign,  
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 walk, thy spirit is in hell.   

This messenger came fro the king again,  
And at the king's mother's house he light,  
And she was of this messenger full fain,  
And pleased him in all that ever she might:  
He drunk, and well his girdle under pight,  
He sleepeth, and he snoreth in his guise  
All night, till the sum 'gan arise.   

Eft were his letters stolen everyone,  
And counterfeited letters in this wise,  
The king commandeth his constable anon  
Upon pain of hanging on an high iewise,  
That he ne should suffrens in no wise  
Constance, within his realm for to abide  
Three days, and a quarter of a tide.   

But in the same ship as he her fond,  
Her and her young son, and all her gear  
He should crouden, and put fro the land,  
And charge her, that she never eft come there:  
O Constance, well may thy ghost have fere,  
And sleeping in thy dream been in penance,  
When Donegild cast all this ordinance.   

This messenger on the morrow when he work,  
Unto the castle halt the next way:  
And to the Constable he the letter took,  
And when that he this piteous letter say,  
Full oft he said (alas) and wellaway,  
Lord christ, qd. he, how may this world endure  
So full of sin is many a creature.   

O mighty God, if that it be thy will,  
Sin thou art rightful judge, how may it be  
That thou wolt suffer innocence to spill,  
And wicked folk to reign in prosperity?  
O, good Constance (alas) so woe is me,  
That I moat be thy tormentor, or else they  
On shames death, there nis none other weigh.   

Weepen both young and old in that place,  
When that the king this cursed letter sent:  
And Constance with a deadly pale face,  
The fourth day toward the ship she went:  
But nevertheless she taketh in good intent  
The will of Christ, & kneeling in that strand,  
She said lord, aye welcome be thy fond.   

He that me kept from that false blame,  
Whiles I was on the land amongst you,  
He can me keep fro harm & eke from shame  
In the salt sea, although I see not how:  
As strong as ever he was, he is now,  
In him trust I, and in his mother dear,  
That is to me my sail and eke my steer.   

Her little child lay weeping in her arm,  
And kneeling pitously to him she said,  
Peace little son, I wool do thee none harm:  
With that her kercher off her head she braid,  
And over his little eyes she it laid,  
And in her arm she lulleth it full fast,  
And into heaven her eyes up the cast.   

Mother (qd. she) and maiden bright Marie.  
Sooth it is, that through woman's eggement  
Mankind was lore, and damned aye to die,  
For which thy child was on cross rent:  
Thy blissful eyes saw all his tourment,  
Then is there no comparison between  
Thy woe, and any woe that man may abstain.   

Thou see thy child yslaine before thine eien,  
And yet liveth my little child parfay:  
Now lady bright, to whom all woeful crien,  
Thou glory of womanhood, thou fair may,  
Thou haven of refute, bright star of day,  
Rew on my child of thy gentleness,  
That rewest on every rueful in distress.   

O little child (alas) what is thy guilt?  
That never wroughtest sin, as yet pard,  
Why wool thine hard father have thee spilt?  
O mercy dear constable (qd. she)  
As let my little child dwell here with thee:  
And if thou dar'st not saven him fro blame,  
So kiss him once in his father's name.   

Therewith she looketh backward to the land,  
And said: farewell husband routhlesse:  
And up she rist, and walketh down the strand  
Toward the ship, her followeth all the prees:  
And aye she prayeth her child to hold his pees,  
And taketh her leave, and with an holy intent  
She blesseth her, and into the ship she went,   

Vitailed was the ship, it is no dread  
abundantly, for her a full long space:  
And other necessaries that should need  
She had enough, hereid by God's grace:  
For wind & weather, almighty God purchase,  
And bring her home, I can no better say,  
But in the see she driveth forth her way.   

Alla the king cometh home soon after this  
Unto his castle, of which I told,  
And asketh where his wife and his child is,  
The constable 'gan about his heart wax cold,  
And plainly all the manner him told  
As ye han heard, I can tell it no better,  
And showed the king his seal and his letter.   

And said: lord as ye commanded me  
On pain of death, so have I done certain:  
This messenger tormented was, till he  
Must be known, and tell plat and plain  
From night to night, in what place he had lain:  
And thus by witty subtle enquiring,  
Imagined was by whom this harm 'gan spring   

The hand was known that the letter wrote,  
And all the venom of this cursed deed:  
But in what wise, certainly I not,  
The effect is this, that Alla out of dread  
His mother slow, that may men plainly read,  
For that she traitor was to her allegiance:  
Thus endeth old Donegild with mischance.   

The sorrow that this Alla night and day  
Maketh for his child and his wife also,  
There is no tongue that it tell may.  
But now wool I to Constance go,  
That fleeteth in the sea in pain and woe  
Five year and more, as liked Christ's sonde,  
Or that her ship approached unto land.   

Under an heathen castle at the last,  
(Of which the name in my text I not find)  
Constance and eke her child the sea up cast,  
Almighty God, that saveth all mankind,  
Have on Constance & on her child some mind,  
That fallen is in heathen hon eftsoon.  
In point to spill, as I shall tell you soon.   

Down from the castle cometh there many a wight  
To gaurens on this ship, and on Constance:  
But shortly from the castle on a night,  
The lords steward (God give him mischance)  
A thief, that had renied our creance,  
Came into the ship alone, and said he should  
Her leman be, whether she would or nold.   

Woe was the wretched woman though begun,  
Her child and she cried full pittously:  
But blissful Mary halpe her anon,  
For with her strogling well and mightily  
The thief fell over the board all suddenly,  
And in the see he drenched for vengeance,  
And thus hath Christ unwemmed kept Constance.   

* O foul lust of luxure, lo thine end,  
Nat only that thou faintest man's mind,  
But verily, thou wolt his body shend,  
The end of thy work, or of thy lusts blind  
Is complaining: how many one may men find  
That not for work sometime, but for th'intent  
To done this sin been either slain or shent.   

How may this weak woman have the strength  
Her to defend against this renegade?  
O Goliath, unmeasurable of length  
How might David make thee so mate?  
So young and of armure so desolate,  
How dared he look on thy dreadful face?  
Well may men seen it is but God's grace.   

Who gave judith courage or hardiness  
To slean prince Holofernes in his tent,  
And to deliver out of wretchedness  
The people of God? I say, for this intent  
That right as God spirit and vigour sent  
To him, and saved him out of mischance,  
So sent he might and vigour to Constance.   

Forth goth her ship through the narrow mouth  
Of Subalter and Sept, yfleeting aye  
Sometime West, & sometime North & South,  
And sometime East full many a weary day:  
Till Christ's mother, yblessed be she aye,  
Hath shapen through her endless goodness,  
To make an end of all her heaviness.   
Explicit secunda pars, & sequitur pars tertia.   


NOW let us stint of Constance but a throw,  
And speak we of the Roman Emperor,  
That out of Surrey hath by letters know  
The slaughter of Christians, and dishonour  
done to his daughter by a false traitor,  
I mean the cursed wicked Soudonnesse  
That at the feast let stean both more and less.   

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

This senator repaireth with victory  
To Rome ward, sailing full royally,  
And met the ship driving, as saith the story,  
In which Constance sat full pitously:  
Nothing knew he what she was, ne why  
She was in such array, ne she nold say  
Of her estate, though she shoulden day.   

He bringeth her to Rome, and to his wife  
He gave her, and her young son also:  
And with the senator she lad her life.  
Thus can our lady bring out of woe  
Woeful Constance, and many another more:  
And long time dwelled she in that place  
In holy works ever, as was her grace.   

The senators wife her aunt was,  
But for all that she knew her near the more:  
I wool no longer tarry in this case,  
But to king Alla, which I spoke of yore,  
That for his wife weepeth and siketh sore,  
I wool return, and let I wool Constance  
Under the senators governance.   

King Alla, which that had his mother slain,  
Upon a day fell in such repentance,  
That if I shortly tell all shall, and plain,  
To Rome he cometh to receive his penance,  
And putten him in the Pope's ordinance  
In high and low, and jesus Christ besought,  
Foryeve 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 senator, as was usage  
Road him again, and many of his lineage,  
As well to shown his high magnificence,  
As to done any king reverence.   

Great cheer doth this noble senator  
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 senator is to king Alla go  
To feast, and shortly if I shall not lie,  
Constance's son went in his company.  
Some men would said at the request of Constance  
This senator had led this child to feast:  
I may not tell every circumstance,  
Be as be may, there was he at the least:  
But soothe it is, right at his mother's hest  
Before Alla, during the meat space  
The child stood, looking in the king's face.   

This Alla king hath of this child great wonder,  
And to the senator he said anon,  
Whose is that fair child that stondeth yonder?  
I not (qd. he) by God and by saint john:  
A mother he hath, but father hath he non,  
That I of wot: but shortly in a stound  
He told Alla how the child was yfound.   

But God wot (qd. the Senator also)  
So virtuous a liver in my life  
Ne saw I never, as she, ne heard of more  
Such worldly woman, maiden, ne of wife:  
I dare well say she had lever a knife  
Through her breast, than been a woman wick.  
* There is no man couth bring her to the prick.   

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

Parfay he thought, that fatome is in mine head,  
I oughten dame of skilful 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 anon, home with the Senator  
Goth Alla, for to see this wonder chance:  
This Senator doth Alla great honour,  
And hastily he sent after Constance:  
But trusteth well, her lust not to dance.  
When that she wist wherefore was that fond,  
uneath upon her feet might she stoned.   

When Alla saw his wife, fair he her great,  
And wept, that it was ruth for to see,  
For at the first look he on her set,  
He knew well verily that it was she:  
And for sorrow, as dumb stant as a tree:  
So was her heart shut in distress,  
When she remembered his unkindness.   

Twice she souned in his own sight,  
He weepeth and him excuseth pitously:  
Now God (qd. he) and his hallows bright  
So wisty on my soul have mercy,  
That of your harm as guiitlesse am I,  
As is Mauris my son, so like your face,  
Else the fiend me fetch out of this place.   

Long was the sobbing and the bitter pain,  
Or that her woeful heart mighten cease,  
Great was the pity to hear him complain,  
Through which plaints 'gan her woe to increase.  
I pray you all my labour to release,  
I may not tell her woe till to morrow,  
I am so weary to speak of her sorrow.   

But finally, when the sooth is witted,  
That Alla guiltless was of her woe,  
I trow an hundred times been they kissed,  
And such a bliss is there betwixt him two,  
That save the joy that lasteth evermo,  
There is no like, that any creature  
Hath seen or shall, while the world may dure.   

Tho prayed she her husband meekly  
In releasing of her piteous pain,  
That he would pray her father specially,  
That of his Majesty he would incline  
To vouchsafe some day with him to dine:  
She prayed him eke, he should by no way  
To her father no word of her to say.   

Some men would say, that the child Maurice  
Doth this message until this Emperor:  
But as I guess, Alla was not so nice,  
To him that was of so sovereign honour,  
As he that is of christian folk the flour,  
To send a child, but it is bette to deem  
He went himself, and so it may well seem.   

This Emperor granted full gently  
To come to dinner, as he him besought:  
And all ready he came, and looked busily  
Upon this child, & on his daughter thought:  
Alla goeth to his inn, and as he him ought  
Arrayed for this feast in every wise,  
As ferforth as his cunning may suffice.   

The morrow came, and Alla 'gan him dress  
And eke his wife, the Emperor to meet:  
And forth they ride in joy and in gladness,  
And when she saw her father in the street,  
She light down and falleth to his feet.  
Father (qd. she) your young child Constance  
Is now full clean out of your remembrance.   

I am your daughter Constance (qd. she)  
That whilom 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 cry,  
Send me no more into Heathennesse,  
But thank my lord here of his kindness.   

Who can the piteous joy tell all  
Betwixt him three? since they been thus imet:  
But of my tale make an end I shall  
The day goeth fast, I wool no longer let:  
This glad folk to dinner been ylet,  
In joy and bliss, at meat I let him dwell,  
A thousand fold well more than I can tell.   

This child Mauris was sithen Emperor  
Made by the Pope, and lived christianly,  
To Christ's church he did great honour:  
But I let all this story passen by,  
Of Constance is my tale specially,  
In old Roman jests men may find  
Mauris life, I bear it not in mind.   

This king Alla, when he his time say  
With this Constance, his holy wife so sweet,  
To Englond been they come the right weigh,  
Where as they live in joy and in quiet.  
But little while it lasteth I you heat,  
* joy of this world for time wool not abide,  
From day to night, it changeth as the tide.   

Who lived ever in such delight a day,  
That he ne moved either in conscience  
Or ire, or talon of some kin affray,  
Envy or pride, or passion, or offence?  
I ne say, but for this end and sentence,  
That little while in joy or in pleasance  
Lasteth the bliss of Alla with Constance.   

* For death, that taketh of high & low his rent,  
When passed was a year, even as I guess,  
Out of this world king Alla 'gan hent,  
For whom Constance hath full great heaviness.  
Now let us praien God his soul to bless:  
And dame Constance, finally to say,  
Toward the town 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 adventure,  
And when that she her father hath yfound,  
Down on her knees she goeth to ground  
Weeping for tenderness in her heart blithe,  
She herieth God an hundred thousand scythe.   

In virtue and holy alms deed  
They liuen all, and never asunder wend,  
Till death departen him, this life they lead:  
And fareth now well, my tale is at an end.  
Now jesus Christ, that of his might may send  
joy after woe, govern us in his grace,  
And keep us all that been in this place.       


¶ The Squire's Prologue.  
OUR host on his stirrups stood anon,  
And said: good men hearkeneth everichon,  
This was a thrifty tale for the nonce:  
Sir parish priest (qd. he) for God's bones,  
Tell us a tale, as was thy forward yore:  
I see well that ye learned men in lore,  
Can muckle good, by God's dignity.  
The Parson him answered, benedicite,  
What eileth the man, so sinfully to swear?  
Our host answered, O jenkin, 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 have a predication:  
This loller here wool preachen us somewhat.  
Nay by my father's soul, that shall he nat,  
Said the Squire, here shall he nat preach,  
Here shall he no Gospel gloze ne teach:  
We leaveth all in the great God (qd. he)  
He would sown some difficulty,  
* Or spring some cockle in our clean corn.  
And therefore host, I warn thee before,  
My jolly body shall a tale tell,  
And I shall ringen you so merry a bell,  
That I shall waken all this company:  
But it shall not been of Philosophy,  
Ne of Physic, ne terms quaint of law,  
There is but little Latin in my maw.  

The King of Arabia sendeth to Cambuscan King of Sarra, an Horse and a Sword of rare quality: and to his daughter Canace a Glass and a Ring, by the virtue whereof she understandeth the language of all Fowls. Much of this Tale is either lost, or else never finished by Chaucer.  
The Squires Tale.  

AT Sarra, in the land of Tartary,  
There dwelled a king that warred on Surrie,  
Through which there died many a doughty man:  
This noble king was called Cambuscan.  
Which in his time was of so great renown,  
That there nas no where in no region  
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 sworn,  
And thereto he was hardy, wise, and rich,  
And piteous and just always yliche:  
True of his word, benign and honourable  
Of his courage, as any centre stable.  
Young, fresh, and strong, in arms desirous,  
As any bachelor of all his house,  
A fair person he was, and fortunate,  
And kept always so royal estate,  
That there nas no where such another man.  
This noble king, this Tartre, this Cambuscan  
Had two sons by Eltheta his wife,  
Of which the eldest height Algarsife,  
That other was cleped Camballo.  
A daughter had this worthy king also  
That youngest was, and height Canace:  
But for to tell you all her beauty,  
It lithe not in my tongue, ne in my cunning,  
I dare not undertake so high a thing:  
Mine English eke is unsufficient,  
It must been a rhetor excellent,  
That couth his colours longing for the art.  
If he should discriue here every part:  
I am none such, I moat speak as I can.  
And so befell, that this Cambuscan  
Hath twenty Winter borne his diadem,  
As he was wont from year to year I deny  
He let the feast of his nativity  
done crien, throughout Sarra his city,  
The last Idus of March, after the year.  
Phoebus' the Sun full jolly was & clear,  
For he was nigh his exaltation  
In Marces face, and in his mansion  
In Aries, the choleric, the hot sign:  
Full lusty was the weather and benign,  
For which the fowls against the sun sheen  
What for the season and the young green,  
Full louden song her affections:  
Hem seemed han gotten him protections  
Again the sword of Winter keen and cold.  
This Cambuscan, of which I have you told  
In royal vestments, sit on his this  
With diadem, full high in his paleis:  
And held his feast so royal and so rich,  
That in this world nas there none it liche.  
Of which, if I shall tell all the array,  
Then would it occupy a Summer's day,  
And eke it needeth not to devose  
At every course the order of service.  
I wol not tell as now of her strange sews,  
Ne of her Swans, ne of her Heronsewes.  
Eke in that land, as tell knights old  
There is some meat that is full dainty hold,  
That in this land men reach of it but small:  
There is no man that may reporten all.  
I will not tarry you, for it is prime,  
And for it is no fruit, but loss of time,  
Unto my first purpose I wool have recourse.  
And so befell that after the third course,  
While that this king sit thus in his noblay,  
Harkening his minstrals her things play,  
Before him at his board deliciously  
In at the hall door all suddenly  
There came a knight on a steed of brass,  
And in his hon a broad mirror of glass:  
Upon his thumb he had of gold a ring,  
And by his side a naked sword honging,  
And up he rideth to the high board.  
In all the hall ne was there spoke a word,  
For marvel of the knight, him to behold  
Full busily they waiten young and old.  
This strange knight that come thus suddenly  
All armed save his head, full royally  
Salved king and queen, and lords all  
By order, as they sitten in the hall,  
With so high reverence and obeisance,  
As well in speech as in countenance,  
That Gawaine with his old courtesy,  
Though he come again out of fairy,  
Ne could him not amend of no word.  
And after this, before the high board  
He with a manly voice said his message,  
After the form used in his language,  
Without vice of syllable or of letter.  
And for his tale should seem the better,  
Accordant to his words was his cheer,  
As teacheth art of speech hem that it lere.  
All be that I cannot sown his stile,  
Ne I cannot climben so high a stile:  
Yet say I thus as to my comen intent,  
Thus much amounteth all that ever he meant,  
If it so be, that I have it in my mind.  
He said: The king of Araby and of Ind  
My liege lord, on this solemn day  
salveth you as he best can and may,  
And sendeth you in honour of your feast  
By me that am ready at your heest  
This steed of brass, that easily and well  
Can in the space of a day naturel  
(That is to say, in four and twenty hours)  
Where so ye list, in drought or in showers  
Beren your body into every place,  
Into which your heart willeth to pace,  
Without weine of you, through foul or fair.  
Or if ye list to fleen in the air,  
As doth an Eagle, when him list to sore,  
This same steed shall bear you evermore  
Withouten harm, till you been there you lest,  
Though that ye sleepen on his back and rest,  
And turn again, with writhing of a pin.  
He that it wrought, could full many a gin:  
He waited many a constellation,  
Or he had done this operation,  
And knew full many a seal & many a bond.  
This mirror eke that I have in mine hon,  
Hath such a might, that men may in it see,  
When there shall fallen any adversity  
Unto your reign, or to yourself also:  
And openly see, who is your friend and foe:  
And over 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 love, and all his subteltee  
So openly, that there shall nothing hide.  
Wherefore again this lusty Summer tie  
This mirror and this ring, that ye may see,  
He hath sent to my lady Canace  
Your excellent daughter that is here.  
The virtue of this ring, if ye wool here  
Is this, that if she list it for to were  
Upon her thumb, or in her purse it bear,  
There is no foul that fleeth under heaven,  
That she ne shall understand his steven,  
And know his meaning openly and plain,  
And answer him in his language again:  
And every grass that groweth upon root  
She shall well know, & whom it wol do boot,  
All he his wounds never so deep and wide.  
This naked sword that hangeth by my side,  
Such virtue hath, that what man so ye smite,  
Throughout his armure it wool carve & bite,  
Were it as thick as a branched oak:  
And what man that is wounded with the stroke  
Shall never be hole, till that you list of grace  
To strooken him with the plat in thilk place  
There he is hurt, this is as much to sane,  
Ye moat with the plat sword again  
Strooken him in the wound, and it wool close:  
This is very sooth withouten gloze,  
It faileth not, whiles it is in your hold.  
And when this knight hath thus his tale told,  
He rideth out of the hall, and down he light:  
His steed, which that shone as Sun bright  
Stant in the court still as any stone:  
The knight is in to chamber sad anon,  
He is unarmed, and to the meat ysette,  
And all these presents been full rich yfette,  
This is to said, the sword & eke the mirror  
And borne anon was into the high tour,  
With certain officers ordained therefore:  
And to Canace the ring is boar  
Solemnly, there she sat at the table.  
But sikerly without any fable  
The horse of brass, that may not be removed,  
It stant, as it were to the ground yglewed:  
There may no man out of the place it drive  
For none engine, or windlas, or polive:  
And cause why, for they cannot the craft,  
And therefore in the place they han it haft,  
Till that the knight hath taught him the manere  
To voiden him, as ye shall after here.  
Great was the prees, that swarmed to & fro  
To gaurens on the horse 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 quick of eye,  
As it a gentle courser of Poile were:  
For certes, fro his tale to his ere  
Nature ne art could him not amend  
In no degree, as all the people wend.  
But evermore her most wonder was,  
How that he couth gone, and was of bras?  
It was of fairy, as the people seemed:  
divers folk diversely they deemed,  
* As many heads, as many wits there been:  
They murmur, as doth a swarm of Been,  
And maden skills after her fantasies,  
Rehearsing of the old Poetries,  
And said it was ylike the Pegase  
The horse that had wings for to flee,  
Or else was the greeks horse Sinon,  
That brought Troy to destruction,  
As men in these old books read.  
Mine heart (qd. one) is evermore in dread,  
I trow some men of arms been therein,  
That shapen hem this city for to win:  
It were right good that such things were know.  
And other row to his fellow low,  
And said he lied, for it is rather like  
An appearance made by some Magic,  
As jogglours plaien at these feasts great:  
Of sundry thoughts thus they jangle & treat,  
* As lewd people deemeth commonly  
Of things that been made more subtly,  
Than they can in her lewdness comprehend:  
They demen gladly to the badder end.  
And some of him wondrens on the mirror,  
(That born was up to the master tour)  
How men mighten in it such things see.  
Another answered, certes it might well be  
Naturally by compositions  
Of Angels and of sly reflections:  
And saiden that in Rome was such on.  
They speaken of Alhazen and Vitellion,  
And Aristotle that writeth in her lives  
Of quaint mirrors, and of prospecttues,  
As known they that han her books heard.  
And other folk han wondered on the sword  
That would so piercen through every thing:  
And fell in speech of Telephus the king,  
And of Achilles for his quaint spear,  
For he couth with it both heal and dear,  
Right in such wise as men may with the sword,  
Of which right now ye have your selue herd.  
They speaken of sundry harding of mettle,  
And speaken of medicines eke withal,  
And how, and when it should hardened be,  
Which is vnknow algate to me.  
Tho speak they of Canaces ring,  
And saiden all, that such a wonder thing  
Of craft of rings heard they never non,  
Save that Moses and king Solomon  
Had a name of cunning of such art:  
Thus said the people, and drawn him apart  
But nevertheless, some saiden that it was  
Wonder to make of fern ashen, glass,  
And yet is glass not like ashen of fern,  
But for that they han known it so fern,  
Therefore ceaseth her jangling and wonder.  
As sore wandrens some on cause of thunder,  
On ebb and flood, on gossomer, and on mist,  
And on all thing, till the cause is witted.  
Thus ianglen they, and demen and device,  
Till that the king 'gan fro his board arise.  
Phoebus hath left the angle meridional,  
And yet ascending was the be'st royal  
The gentle Lion with his Aldrean,  
When that this Tartre king Cambuscan  
Rose from his board, there as he fat full high:  
Before him goth the loud minstralcie,  
Till he came to his chamber of paraments,  
There as they sownen divers instruments,  
That is like an heaven for to here.  
Now dauncen lusty Venus' children dear:  
For in the fish her lady sat full high,  
And looketh on hem with a friendly eye.  
This noble king is set upon his throne,  
This strange knight is fet to him full soon,  
And in the dance he goeth with Canace.  
Here is the revel and the iolite  
That is not able a dull man to devose:  
He must han know love and her service  
And been a feestliche man, as fresh as May,  
That should you devose such an array.  
Who couth tell you the form of dances  
So uncouth, and so fresh countenances?  
Such subtle lookings and dissimuling  
For dread of jealous men's apperceiving?  
Ne man but Lancelot, and he is dead  
Therefore I pass over all this lusty head,  
I say no more, but in this iollinesse  
I lete hem, till men to supper them dress.  
The steward biddeth spices for to high  
And eke the wine, in all this melody  
The ushers and the squires been gone,  
The spices and the wine is comen anon:  
They eaten & drunken, & when this had an end  
Unto the temple, as reason was, they wend:  
The service done, they soupen all by day.  
What needeth it to rehearsen her array?  
Each man wot well, that at a king's feast  
Is plenty, to the most and to the least  
And dainties more, than been it my knowing.  
And after supper goeth this noble king  
To seen this horse of brass, with all his rout  
Of lords and of ladies him about:  
Such wondering there was on this horse of bras,  
That sithen the great siege of Troy was,  
There as men wondered on an horse also,  
Ne was there such a wondering, as was tho.  
But finally, the king asketh the knight  
The virtue of this horse and the night,  
And prayed him to tell of his governance.  
The horse anon 'gan to trip and dance.  
When that this knight laid hon on his rain,  
And said, sir there is no more to sane,  
But when you list to ridden any where,  
Ye moat trill a pin, stant in his ere:  
Which I shall tell you between us two.  
Ye moat nempne him to what place also,  
Or to what country you list to ride.  
And when ye come there you list abide,  
Bid him descend, and trill another pin,  
For therein lieth the effect of all the gin:  
And he wool down descend & done your will,  
And in that place he wool abide still:  
Though all the world had the contrary sworn,  
He shall not thence be ythrow ne yborn,  
Or if you listen bid him thence to gone,  
Trill this pin, and he wool vanish anon  
Out of the sight of every manner wight,  
And come again, be it day or night,  
When that you list to clepe him again  
In such a guise, as I shall to you sane  
Betwixt you and me, and that full soon,  
Ride when you list, there nis no more to done.  
Enfourmed when the king was of the knight,  
And hath conceived in his wit aright  
The manner and the form of all this thing,  
Full glad and full blithe, the noble king  
Repaireth to his revel, as before:  
The bridie is in the tower yborn,  
And kept among his jewels lief and dear:  
The horse vanished, I not in what mannere  
Out of her sight, ye get no more of me:  
But thus ay 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 nurse of digestion, the sleep  
'Gan on him wink, and bad hem take keep,  
* That mirth, drink, and labour wool have rest:  
And with a galping mouth him all he kest,  
And said, it was time to lie adown,  
For blood was in his dominatioun:  
* Cherisheth blood, nature's friend (qd. he)  
They thank him galping, by two by three,  
And every wight 'gan drawn him to his rest,  
As sleep him bade, chey took it for the best.  
Her dreams shul not now been ytold for me,  
Full were her heeds of fumosite,  
That causeth dreams, of which there is no charge,  
They sleepen sound, 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 leave  
To gone to rest, soon after it was eve:  
Her list not apalled for to be,  
Nor on the morrow, unfestliche for to see  
And slept her first sleep, and then awoke  
For such a joy she in her heart took  
Both of her quaint ring, & of her mirror,  
That twenty times she changed her colour:  
And in her sleep, right for impression  
Of her mirror, she had a vision.  
Wherefore, or that the sun up '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 mistress, answered her anon,  
And said: Madam whider wool ye gone  
Thus early? for folk been all in rest.  
I wool (quoth she arise) for me lest  
No longer to sleep but walken about.  
Her mistress cleped women a great rout,  
And up they risen, well ten or twelve:  
Up riseth fresh Canace her selue  
As jolly and bright, as the young sun,  
That in the Ram is four degrees up run,  
No higher was he, when she ready was:  
And forth she walked an easy pace  
Arrayed after the lusty season sote,  
Lightly for to playen, and walken on foot:  
Nought but five or six of her meinie,  
And in a trench, for in the park goeth she.  
The vapour which that fro the earth glode,  
Maketh the sun to seem ruddy and broad:  
But nevertheless, it was so fair a sight,  
That it made all her hearts for to light,  
What for the season, and for the morowning,  
And for the fowls that she heard to sing.  
For right anon, she wist what they meant  
Right by her song, and knew all her intent.  
* The knot why, that every tale is told,  
If it be tarried till lust be cold  
Of him that han it harkened after yore,  
The savour passeth, ever longer the more,  
For fulsumnes of prolixity,  
And by that same reason thinketh me  
I should unto the same knot condescend,  
And make of her walking soon an end.  
Amid a tre, for dry as white as chalk,  
As Canace was playing in her walk,  
There sat a falcon over head full high,  
That with a piteous voice 'gan to cry,  
That all the wood resouned of her cry,  
And beaten had herself so pitously  
With both her wings, till the reed blood  
Ran endlong the tre, there as she stood:  
And ever in one she cried and shright,  
And with her beck, her seluen so she pight,  
That there nas Tiger, ne cruel beast  
That dwelleth in wood, neither in forest,  
That nolde han wept, if that they weep could,  
For sorrow of her, she shright always so loud.  
For there was never yet man on live,  
If that he couth a Falcon well discriue,  
That heard of such another of fairness  
As well of plumage, as of gentleness,  
Of shape, of all that might irekened be:  
A Falcon peregryn than seemed she  
Of fremd land, and evermore as she stood,  
She swooned now & now for lack of blood,  
Till wellnigh is she fallen fro the tree.  
This fair king's daughter, this Canace,  
That on her finger bore the quaint ring,  
Through which she understood well every thing  
That any foul may in his leden sane,  
And could answer him in his leden again,  
Hath understand what this falcon said  
And welny for ruth almost she died:  
And to the tree she goeth full hastily  
And on this Falcon 'gan look pitously,  
And held her lap abroad, for well she wist  
The Falcon must fallen from the twist  
When that she swooned next, for lack of blood:  
A long while to waiten there she stood,  
Till at the last she spoke in this manere  
Unto the hawk as ye shallen after here.  
What is the cause, if it be for to tell,  
That ye been in this furiall pain of hell?  
Qd. Canace, unto this Hawk above:  
* Is this for sorrow of death, or loss of love?  
For as I trow, these been causes two,  
That causen most a gentle heart woe:  
Of other harm it needeth not to speak,  
For ye yourself, upon yourself wreak,  
Which proveth well, that either ire or dread  
Mote been encheason of your cruel deed.  
Sin that I se none other wight you chase,  
For the love of God, so doth yourself grace:  
Or what may be your help? for west or east  
Ne saw I never ere now, no bird ne beast,  
That fared with himselue so pitously:  
Ye slay me with your sorrow verily,  
I have of you so great compassion:  
For Gods love come from the tree adown.  
And as I am a king's daughter true,  
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 herbs also shall I right enough find,  
To heal with your hurts hastily.  
Tho shright this Falcon yet more pitously  
Than ere she did, and fell to ground anon,  
And lieth a swoon deed as is a stone,  
Till Canace had her in her lap itake  
Unto the time she 'gan of swoon awake:  
And after that she of swoon can abreyd,  
Right in her Hawks leden thus she said.  
* That pity runeth soon in gentle heart  
(Feeling his similitude in pains smart)  
Is proved all day, as men may see,  
As well by work as by authority,  
For gentle heart keepeth gentleness.  
I see well, that ye have of my distress  
Compassion, my fair Canace  
Of very womanly benignity,  
That nature in your principles hath set,  
But for none hope for to far the bet.  
But for to obey unto your heart free,  
And for to make other beware by me,  
As by the whelp chastised is the Lion,  
Right for that cause, and that conclusion,  
While that I have a leisure and a space,  
Mine harm I wool confessen or I place:  
And ever while that one her sorrow told,  
That other wept, as she to water would,  
Till that the Falcon bade her to be still:  
And with a sike, thus she said her till.  
There I was bred, alas that ilke day,  
And fostered in a roche of marble grey  
So tenderly, that nothing aileth me,  
I ne witted what was adversity,  
Till I could fly, full high under the sky.  
There dwelled a Tercelet me fast by,  
That seemed well of all gentleness,  
All were he full of treason and of falseness.  
It was so wrapped under humble cheer,  
And hew of troth, and in such manere  
Under pleasance, and under busy pain,  
That no wight could have wend he could fain:  
So deep in greyne he died his colours,  
Right as a serpent hideth him under flours,  
Till he may see his time for to bite:  
Right so, this god of love's hypocrite  
Doth so his ceremonies and obeisance,  
With his dissimuling and fair assemblaunce,  
That soundeth unto gentleness of love,  
As in a tomb is all the fair above,  
And under, the corpse, such as ye wot,  
Such was this hypocrite cold and hot,  
And in this wise he served his intent,  
That save the fiend, non wist what he meant:  
Till he so long had weeped and complained,  
And many a year his service to me feigned,  
Till that mine heart, too piteous and too nice,  
All innocent of his cruel malice,  
For ferd of his death, as thought me  
Upon his oaths and his surety,  
Granted him love, upon this condition,  
That evermore mine honour and renown  
Where saved, both prevy and apert,  
This is to say, that after his desert,  
ay gave him all mine heart and all my thought  
God wot, and in none other wise nought:  
And took his heart in change of mine for aye.  
* But sooth is said, gone sithen many a day,  
A true wight and a thief thinketh not one.  
And when he saw the thing so for igone,  
That I granted him fully my love  
In such a guise, as I have said above,  
And given him my true heart as free  
As he swore he gave his heart to me.  
Anon this tiger, full of doubleness  
Fell on his knees with so devout humblesse,  
With high reverence, and eke by his cheer  
So like a gentle lover, as of manere  
So ravished, as it seemed for joy,  
That never Troilus, ne Paris of Troy,  
jason certes, ne none other man,  
Since Lamech was, that alder first began  
To love two, as written folk before,  
Ne never sithence Adam was borne,  
Ne couth man by twenty thousand part  
Sergeant the sophimes of his art:  
Ne were worthy to unbocle his galoche,  
There doubleness or feigning should approach:  
Ne so couth thank a wight, as he did me,  
His manner was an heaven for to see  
To any woman, were she never so wise:  
So painteth he his cheer, point device,  
As well his words, as his countenance,  
And I so loved him for his obeisance,  
And for the troth that I deemed in his heart  
That if so were that any thing him smart,  
Were it never so light, 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 wills instrument.  
That is to say, my will obeyed his will  
In all thing, as far as reason fill,  
Keeping the bounds of my worship ever:  
Ne never had I thing so lief ne so lever  
As him God wot, ne never shall no more.  
This lasteth longer than a year 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 woe, it is no question,  
I cannot make of it description.  
For o thing dare I tell boldly,  
I know what the pain of death is thereby,  
Such harm I felt, that he ne might bleve.  
So on a day of me he took his leave  
So sorrowfully eke, that I wend verily,  
That he had felt as much harm as I,  
When that I heard him speak, & saw his hue  
But nevertheless, I thought he was so true,  
And eke that he repair should again  
Within a little while sooth to sane  
And reason would eke, that he must go  
For his honour, as oft happeth so,  
* That I made virtue of necessity,  
And took it well, sith it must needs be:  
As I best might, I hid from him my sorrow  
And took him by the hon, S. john to borrow,  
And said him thus: lo I am yours all,  
Beth such as I have been to you and shall.  
What, he answered, it needeth not rehearse,  
* Who can said bet than he who can do were:  
When he hath all well isaid, than hath he done.  
* Therefore behoveth him a long spoon  
That shall eaten with a fiend, thus herd I say.  
So at the last he moat 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 thilk text in mind,  
* That all thing repairing to his kind  
Gladeth hemselue, thus said men as I guess:  
* Men love of kind newfangleness  
As birds done, that men in cages feed.  
For though thou night & day take of him heed,  
And straw her cage fair and soft as silk,  
And give him sugar, honey, bread and milk,  
Yet right anon as his door is up,  
He with his feet would sporne adoun his cup,  
And to the wood he would, and worms eat,  
So newfangle been they of her meat,  
And love novelries of proper kind,  
No gentleness of blood may him 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 upon a time a kite flee,  
And suddenly he loved this kite so,  
That all his love is clean from me go:  
And hath his troth falsed in this wise.  
Thus hath the kite my love in her service,  
And I am lost without remedy.  
And with that word this falcon 'gan to cry,  
And swooned oft in Canaces barm:  
Great was the sorrow for that hawks harm,  
That Canace and all her women made,  
They nist how they might her falcon glade.  
But Canace home heareth her in her lap,  
And softly in plasters 'gan her wrap,  
There as she with her beck had hurt her selue.  
Now cannot Canace but herbs delve  
Out of the ground and make salves new  
Of herbs precious and fine of hue,  
To helen with the hawk: fro day to night  
She doth her business, and all her might.  
And by her bed's head she made a mew,  
And covered it with velvets blue,  
* In sign of troth, that is in women seen.  
And all without the Mew is painted green,  
In which were painted all these false fowls,  
As been these tidefes, tercelets, and owls,  
Right for despite were painted him beside  
Pies feel on him for to cry and chide.  
Thus leave I Canace her hawk keeping,  
I wool no more as now speak of her ring,  
Till it come eft to purpose for to said,  
How that this falcon got her love again  
repentant, as the story telleth us,  
By mediation of Camballus  
The king's son, of which I have of told.  
But henceforth I wool my process hold  
To speaken of aventures, and of battles,  
That yet was never herd of so great maruails.  
First wool I tell you of Cambuscan,  
That in his time many a city wan:  
How that he won Thedora to his wife,  
And after wool I speak of Algarsife,  
For whom full oft in great peril he was,  
Ne had he been holpen by the horse of bras.  
And after wool I speak of Camballo,  
That fought in lists with the brethren two  
For Canace, ere that he might her win,  
And there I left, I wool again begin.  
Explicit secunda pars.   

Apollo whirleth up his chare so high,  
Till that the god Mercurius house he fly.  
¶ There can be found no more of this foresaid tale, which hath been sought in divers places.      

¶ Here followeth the words of the Merchant to the Squire, and the words of the Host to the Merchant.  
IN faith Squier thou hast thee well yquit  
And gently to, I praise well thy wit  
Qd. the Merchant, considering thine youth,  
So feelingly thou speakest, I thee alouth  
As to my doom, there is none that is here  
Of eloquence, that shall be thy peer  
If that thou live, God give the right good chance  
And in virtue send thee perseverance.  
For of thy speaking I have great deinte,  
I have a son, and by the trinity,  
I had lever than twenty poundsworth land  
(Though it now were fallen in my hon)  
He were a man of such discretion,  
As that ye ben: fie on possession,  
But if a man be virtuous withal.  
I have my son snibbed, and yet shall,  
For he to virtue listeth not to intend,  
But for to play at dise, and to spend,  
And less all that he hath is his usage:  
And he had lever talk with a page,  
Than to commune with any gentle wight,  
Where he might learn gentleness aright.  
Straw for your gentleness (qd. our host)  
What Merchant, pardy full well thou wost,  
That each of you moat tell at the lest  
A tale or two, or breaken your behest.  
That know I well (qd. the Marchant) certain,  
I pray you have me not in disdain,  
Though I to this man speak a word or two.  
Tell on thy tale withouten words more.  
Gladly sir host (qd he) I wool obey  
Unto your will, now hearkeneth what I say:  
I wool you not contrary in no wise,  
As far as my wits may suffice,  
I pray to God that it may pleasen you,  
Then wot I well it is good enough.   


The Merchant's Prologue.  
WEeping and wailing, care and other  
sorrow  
I have enough, both even and eke a morrow  
Qd. the Merchant, and so have other more,  
That wedded be, I trow that it be so:  
For well I wot it fareth so by me,  
I have a wife, the worst that may be,  
For though the fiend coupled to her were,  
She would him overmatch I dare well swear.  
What should I rehearse in special  
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 cruelty:  
Were I vnbound, all so moat I thee,  
I would never eft come in the snare:  
* We wedded men live in sorrow and care,  
Assay who so wool, and he shall find  
That I say sooth, by saint Thomas of Ind,  
As for the more part, I say not all,  
God shield that it should so befall.  
Ah good sir host, I have wedded be  
These months two, and more not pard:  
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  
Could tell, of my wife's cursedness.  
Now (qd, our host) Merchant so God the bless,  
Since ye been so much know of that art,  
Full heartily I pray you tell us part.  
Gladly (qd. he) but of mine own sore  
For sorry heart I tell may no more.  

¶ The Merchants Tale.  
Old January marrieth young May, and for his unequal match receiveth a foul reward.  
Whilom there was dwelling in  
Lombardy  
A worthy knight, that born was at  
Pavia,  
In which he lived in great prosperity,  
And sixty year a wife less man was he:  
And followed aye his bodily delight  
On women, there as was his appetite,  
As done these fools that been seculeres.  
And when that he was passed sixty years,  
Were it for holiness or dotage,  
I cannot sane, but such a great courage  
Had this knight to ben a wedded man,  
That day and night he doth all that he can  
To espy, where that he wedded might be:  
Praying our lord to graunten him that he  
Mighten once known of that blissful life,  
That is betwixt an husband and his wife:  
And for to liuen under that holy bond,  
With which God first man and woman bond.  
None other life (said he) is worth a bean:  
* For wedlock is so easy and so clean,  
That in this world it is a paradise:  
Thus saith this old knight that is so wise.  
* And certainly, as south as God is king,  
To take a wife, it is a glorious thing,  
And namely when a man is old and door,  
Then is a wife the fruit of his treasure:  
Then should he take a young wife & a fair,  
On which he might engendren him an heir,  
And lead his life in joy and in solace:  
Whereas these bachelors singen alas,  
When that they finden any adversity  
In love, which nis but child's vanity.  
And truly it sit well to be so,  
That bachelors han oft pain and woe:  
On brotell ground they bilden brotelnesse,  
They find freelte, when they wenen secrenesse:  
They live but as liuen birds or beasts,  
In liberty, and under nice arestes,  
There as a wedded man in his estate  
lives a life blissfully and ordinate,  
Under the yoke of marriage ybound:  
Well may his heart in joy and bliss abound.  
For who can be so buxom as a wife?  
Who is so true and eke so tentise  
To keep him sick and hole, as is his make?  
For well or woe she nill him not forsake:  
She nis not weary him to love and serve,  
Though that he lie bedrid till he starve.  
And yet some clerks said, that it is not so,  
Of which theophra is one of though:  
What force though theophra list to lie.  
Ne take no wife (qd. he) for husbondrie,  
As for to spare in household thy dispense:  
* A true servant doth more diligence  
Thy good to keep, than doth thine own wife,  
For she wool claim half part all her life.  
* And if that thou be sick, so God me save  
Thy very own friends or a true knave  
wol keep thee better, than she that waiteth aye  
After thy good, and hath done many a day.  
And if thou take to thee a wife untrue,  
Full oftentime it shall thee sore rue.  
This sentence, and an hundred scythes worse  
Writeth this man there, God his bones curse.  
But take no keep of such vanity,  
Defieth theophra, and hearkeneth me.  
A wife is Gods yeft verily,  
All other manner yefts hardly,  
As londs, rents, pasture, or commune,  
Or movables, all been yefts of fortune,  
That passen as a shadow on a wall:  
But dread not, if plainly speak I shall,  
* A wife wool last and in thine house endure,  
Well longer than thee list peradventure.  
* Marriage is a full great sacrament,  
He which hath no wife I hold him shent:  
He liveth helpless, and all desolate,  
I speak of folk in secular estate.  
And herkneth why, I say not this for nought:  
A woman is for man's help ywrought.  
The high God, when he had Adam maked,  
And saw him alone all belly naked,  
God of his great goodness said than,  
Let us maken an help to this man  
Like to himself, and then he made Eue.  
Here may ye see, and hereby may ye prove,  
* That a wife is man's help and comfort,  
His paradise terrestre and his disport:  
So buxom and so virtuous is she,  
They must needs liuen in unite:  
One flesh they been, and two souls as I guess,  
Nat but one heart in well and in distress.  
A wife, ah saint Mary, benedicite,  
How might a man have any adversity  
That hath a wife? certes I cannot say,  
The bliss that is betwixt him fifty  
There may no tongue tell or heart think.  
If he be poor, she helpeth him to swink,  
She keepeth his good, & wasteth never a dell,  
All that her husband lust, her liketh well.  
She saith not once nay, when he saith ye,  
Do this (saith he) a ready sir (saith she.)  
O blissful order of wedlock precious,  
Thou art so merry, and eke so virtuous,  
And so commended, and approved eke,  
That every man that halt him worth a leek,  
Upon his bare knees ought all his life  
thank God, that him hath sent a wife.  
Or pray to God daily him for to send  
A wife, to last unto his life's end.  
For than his life is set in sickerness,  
He may not be deceived, as I guess,  
So that he werch after his wife's read:  
Then may he boldly bearen up his heed,  
They been ever so true and also wise.  
For which, if thou wilt werchen as the wise,  
Do always so, as women wool thee read.  
Lo how that jacob, as these clerks read,  
By good counsel of his mother Rebecke  
Bounden the kids skin about his neck:  
For which his father's benison he won.  
Lo judith, as the story tell can,  
By her wise counsel God's people kept,  
And slew him Holofernes while he slept.  
And Abigail by counsel, how she  
Saved her husband Naball, when that he  
Should have be slain. And look Hester also  
By good counsel delivered out of woe  
The people of God, & made him Mardochee  
Of Assure enhanced for to be.  
* There nis nothing in 'gree superlatife  
(As saith Seneck) above an humble wife.  
Suffer thy wife's tongue, as Caton bit,  
She shall command, and thou shalt suffer it,  
And yet she wool obey of courtesy.  
A wife is keeper of thine husbondrie:  
* Well may the sick man still wail & weep,  
There as there nis no wife the house to keep,  
I warn thee, if wisely thou wilt werch,  
Love thy wife, as Christ loveth his cherch:  
If thou love thyself, thou lovest 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 never ythee.  
husband and wife, what so men yape or play  
Of worldly folk hold the seker way:  
They be so knit, there may none harm betid,  
And namely upon the wife's side.  
For which january, of which I told  
Considered hath in his days old  
The lusty life, the virtuous quiet,  
That is in marriage honey sweet.  
And for his friends on a day he sent  
To tell him th'effect of his intent.  
With face sad, his tale hath he him told:  
He said good friends, I am door and old,  
And almost (God wot) on the pits brink,  
Upon my soul somewhat must I think.  
I have my body foolily dispended,  
Blessed be God, it shall been amended:  
For I wool ben certain a wedded man  
And that anon in all the hast I can,  
Unto some maid, fair and tender of age.  
I pray you shapeth for my marriage  
All suddenly, for I wool not abide:  
And I wool fonden to espy on my side,  
To whom I may be wedded hastily.  
But for as much as ye been 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 dear,  
I wool none old wife have in no mannere:  
She shall not pass fifteen year certain.  
* Old fish and young flesh wool I have fain:  
Better is (qd. he) a Pike than a Pikereell,  
And bet than old Beef is the tender Veell.  
I wool no woman of thirty Winter age,  
* It nis but Beanstraw and great forage,  
And eke these old widows (God it wot)  
* They connen so much craft in Wades boat,  
So much broken harm can they when him lest,  
That with hem should I never live in rest.  
* For sundry schools maketh subtle clerks,  
A woman of many schools half a clerk is.  
But certainly, a young thing may men gie,  
Right as men may warm wax with hands ply.  
Wherefore I say you plainly in a clause,  
I nill none old wife have for this cause.  
For if so were I had such mischance,  
That I in her couth have no pleasance,  
Then should I lead my life in adultery,  
And so straight to the devil when I die.  
Ne children should I none on her get:  
Yet had I lever hounds had me eaten,  
Than that mine heritage should fall  
In strange 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 marriage,  
That wot no more of this that doth my page:  
For which causes man should take a wife,  
If he may not live chaste in his life,  
Take him a wife with great devotion,  
Because of lawful procreation  
Of children, to the honour of God above,  
And not only for paramour or for love:  
And for they shoulden Lechery eschew,  
And yield his debts when that it is due:  
Or for that each man should helpen other  
In mischief, as a sister should the brother,  
And liuen in chastity full heavenly.  
But sirs (by your leave) that am not I,  
For God be thanked, I dare make avaunt,  
I feel my limbs hole and sufficiaunt  
To done 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 be,  
The blossomed tree is neither dry ne dead:  
I feel no where hore but on my head.  
Mine heart and my limbs been as green,  
As Laurel is through the year to seen.  
And sithence ye han heard all mine intent,  
I pray you to my will ye wool assent.  
divers men diversely him told  
Of marriage many examples old.  
Some blameth it, some praiseth it certain,  
But at the last, shortly for to sane,  
(As all day falleth alteration,  
Betwixt friends and disputation)  
There fell a strife betwixt his brethren two,  
Of which that one was cleped Placebo,  
justinus sooth called was that other.  
Placebo said: O januarie brother,  
Full little need han ye my Lord so dear,  
Counsel to ask of any that is here:  
But that ye been so full of sapience,  
That you ne liketh for your high prudence,  
To waive fro the word of Solomon:  
This word sayeth he unto everyone,  
* Work all thing by counsel, thus said he,  
And then shalt thou not repent thee.  
But though that Solomon speak such a word,  
Mine own dear brother and my Lord,  
So wisely God my soul bring to ease and rest,  
I hold your own counsel for the best.  
For brother mine, take of me this motife,  
I have been now a court man all my life,  
And God wot, though I now unworthy be,  
I have stonden in full great degree  
Abouten Lords in full great estate:  
Yet had I never with none of him debate,  
I never him contraried truly.  
I wot well that my lord can more than I,  
That he saith, I hold it firm and stable,  
I say the same, or else thing semblable.  
* A full great fool is any counsellor,  
That serveth any Lord of high honour,  
That dare presume, or once think it,  
That his counsel should pass his lords wit,  
Nay, Lords be no fools I swear by my faith.  
Ye have yourself spoken here to day  
So high sentence, so holy, and so well,  
That I consent, and confirm every dell  
Your words all, and your opinion.  
By God there nis no man in all this town  
Ne in Italy, could better have said:  
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 young 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.  
justinus that aye still sat and herd,  
Right in this wise to Placebo answered.  
Now brother mine be patient I you pray,  
Sith ye have said, now hearkeneth what I say,  
Senecke among his other words wise  
* Saith, that a man ought him well avise,  
To whom he giveth his land or his cattle.  
And sithence I ought avise me right well,  
To whom I give my goods away from me,  
Well much more I ought avised be,  
To whom I give my body: for always  
I warn you well it is child's play  
To take a wife without avisement,  
Men must inquire (this is mine assent)  
whether she be sober, wise, or dronkelew,  
Or proud, or any other ways a shrew,  
A chider, or a waster of thy good,  
Other rich or poor, or else 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 devose,  
But nevertheless, it ought enough suffice  
With any wife, if so were that she had  
Mother good thews, than her vices bad:  
And all this asketh leisure to inquire,  
For God wot I have wept many a tere  
Full privily, sith I had a wife.  
* Praise who so wool a wedded man's life,  
Certain I find in it but cost and care,  
And obseruances of all blisses bare.  
And yet God wot my neighbours about  
And namely of women many a rout,  
Saine that I have the most steadfast 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 do,  
Advice you, ye been a man of age,  
How that ye entrens into marriage,  
And namely with a young wife and a fair.  
By him that made water, earth, and air  
The youngest man that is in all this rout,  
Is busy enough to bring it about  
To have his wife alone, trusteth me:  
Ye shall not pleasen her years three.  
This is to said, to done her pleasance,  
A wife asketh full much observance:  
I pray you that ye be not evil paid.  
Well (qd. this january) & hast thou all said?  
Straw for thy Seneck, & for thy proverbs,  
I count it not worth a pannier of herbs  
Of school terms, wiser men than thou,  
As thou hast heard, assenteth it right now  
To my purpose: Placebo, what say ye?  
ye ay say it is a cursed man (qd. he)  
That letteth Matrimony sekerly:  
And with that word they risen suddenly,  
And been assented fully, that he should  
Be wedded when he list, & where he would.  
High fantasy and curiousness  
From day to day 'gan in the soul empress  
Of january, about his marriage:  
Many a fair shap, and many a fair visage  
There passeth through his heart night by night:  
As who so took a mirror polished bright,  
And set it in a common market place,  
Then should he see many a figure pace  
By his mirror, and in the same wise  
'Gan january within his thought device  
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 people's grace  
For her sadness and her benignity,  
That of the people greatest voice had she.  
And some were rich and had bad name:  
But nevertheless, betwixt earnest and game,  
He at last appointed him on one,  
And let all other from his heart gone:  
And cheese her of his own authority,  
* For love is blind all day, and may not see.  
And when that he was in his bed ybourhgt,  
He puttreid in his heart and in his thought  
Her fresh beauty, and her age so tender.  
Her middle small, her arms long & slender,  
Her wise governance, and her gentleness,  
Her womanly bearing, and her sadness.  
And when he was on her condescended,  
Him thought his choice might not been amended.  
For when that he himself concluded had  
Him thought each other men's wit so bad:  
That impossible it were to reply  
Against his choice, this was his fantasy.  
His friends sent he to, at his instance,  
And prayeth him to done him that pleasance,  
That hastily they would to him come,  
He would bredgen her labour all and some:  
Needs no more for him to go ne ride,  
He was appointed there he would abide.  
Placebo came, and eke his friends soon,  
And alder first he bade him all a boon,  
That none of him none arguments make  
Against his purpose that he hath tale:  
Which purpose was pleasant to God (said he)  
And very ground of his prosperity.  
He said there was a maiden in the town,  
Which for her beauty hath great renown,  
All were it so, she were of small degree,  
Sufficeth him her youth and her beauty:  
Which maid he said he would have to wife  
To liuen in ease and holiness of life:  
And thanked God, that he might haven her all,  
And that no wight his bliss parten shall:  
And prayeth him to labour in this need,  
And shapeth that he fail not to speed.  
For than he said, his spirit was at ease,  
Then is (qd. he) nothing may me displease,  
Save o thing pricketh in my conscience,  
The which I wool rehearse in your presence,  
* I have (qd. he) heard say full yore ago,  
There may no man have perfect blisses two:  
This is to say, in yearth and eke in heaven.  
For though he kept him from the sins seven,  
And eke from every branch of thilk tree,  
Yet is there so perfect prosperity  
And so great ease and lust in marriage,  
That ever I am aghast now in mine age,  
That I shall lead now so merry a life  
So delicate without woe or strife,  
That I shall have mine heaven in earth here.  
For sithence very heaven is bought so dear  
With tribulation and great penance,  
How should I then living in such pleasance,  
As all wedded men done with there wives,  
Come to that bliss, there Christ eterne on live is.  
This is my dread, and ye my brethren tweie  
Assoileth me this question I you prey.  
justinus, which that hated his folly,  
Answered anon right in his yaperie:  
And for he would his long tale abrege,  
He would non authority allege,  
But said: sir, so there he non obstacle  
Other than this, God of his high miracle,  
And of his mercy may so for you werch,  
That ere ye han your rights of holy cherch,  
Ye may repent of a wedded man's life,  
In which ye said is neither woe ne strife:  
* And else 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 read that I can  
Despeireth you not, but have in memory,  
* Paraventure, she may be your purgatory,  
She may be Gods mean and Gods whip,  
Then shall your soul up to heaven skip  
Swifter than doth an arrow out of a bow.  
I hope to God hereafter ye shall know,  
That there nis none so great felicity  
In marriage, ne never none shall be,  
That you shall let of your salvation,  
So that ye use as skill 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 aghast hereof my dear brother.  
But wade we fro this matter to another.  
The wife of bath, if ye understand  
Of marriage, which ye now have in hand,  
Declareth full well in a little space:  
Fareth now well, God have you in his grace.  
And with this word, justine & his brother  
Han take her leave, and each of them of other.  
For when they saw that it must needs be,  
They wrought so by wise and sly treat.  
That she this fair maid which May did height  
As hastily as ever that she might  
Shall wedded be to this january.  
I trow it were too long to you to tarry,  
If I you told of every escrite and bond,  
By which she was feossed in his land:  
Or for to harken of her rich array.  
But finally icomen is the day,  
That to the cherch both tway ben they went,  
For to receive the holy Sacrament,  
Forth cometh the priest, with stole about his neck,  
And bade her be like Sara and Rebeck  
In wisdom and truth of marriage:  
And said his orisons, as is the usage,  
And crouched him, & bad God should him bless.  
And made all seker enough with holiness.  
Thus been they wedded with solemnity:  
And at feast sitteth both he and she  
With other worthy folk upon the deys,  
All full of joy and bliss is the palaies,  
And full of instruments and of victual,  
And that the most deintiest of all Itaile.  
Before him stood instruments of such sound,  
That Orpheus, ne of Thebes Amphion  
Ne made never such a melody.  
At every course came loud ministralcie,  
That never joab tromped for to here,  
Neither Theodomas yet half so clear  
At Thebes, when the city was in doubt,  
Bacchus the wine hem skinketh all about,  
And Venus laugheth on every wight,  
For januarie was become her knight:  
And would now both assain his courage  
In liberte, and eke in marriage.  
And with her firebrond in her hon about,  
Danceth before the bride all the rout:  
And certainly, I dare well say right this,  
Emenius, that God of wedding is,  
Saw never so merry a wedded man.  
Hold thou thy peace thou poet Marcian,  
That writest us that ilke wedding merry  
Of philology and him Mercury,  
And of the songs that the Muse's song:  
Too small is both thy pen & eke thy tongue  
For to discriven of this marriage,  
When tender youth hath wedded stooping age,  
There is such mirth, it may not be written,  
Assayeth yourself, than may ye witten  
If that I lie or non in this matter.  
May she sit, with so benign a cheer,  
That her to behold, it seemed a feire.  
Queen Hester looked never with such an eye  
On Assuere, so meek a look hath she.  
I may you not devose all her beauty,  
But thus much of her beauty tell I may,  
That she was like the bright morrow of May  
Fulfilled of all beauty, and of pleasance.  
This januarie is ravished in a trance,  
And at every time he looked in her face,  
But in his heart he 'gan her to menace,  
That he that night, in his arms would her strain  
Harder than ever Paris did Helein.  
But nevertheless, yet had he great pity  
That thilk night offenden her must he:  
And thought alas, O tender creature,  
Now would God ye might well endure  
All my courage, it is so sharp and keen,  
I am aghast, ye shall it nat sustain.  
But God forbid, that I did all my might,  
Now would to God that it were waxen night,  
And that the night would last ever more,  
I would that all these people were ago.  
And finally he doth all his labour,  
As he best might, saving his honour,  
To hast him fro the meat in subtle wise,  
The time came that reason was to rise,  
And after that men dauncen, and drink fast,  
And spices all about the house they cast:  
And full of joy and bliss is every Man,  
All but a Squire, that height Damian,  
Which carfe before the Knight many a day:  
He was so ravished on his Lady May,  
That for very pain he was nigh wood,  
Almost he swelled, and swooned there he stood:  
So sore hath Venus hurt him which 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 speak I:  
But there I let him weep enough and plain,  
Till the fresh May wool rewen on his pain.  
O perilous fire, that in the bedsraw breedeth,  
O familiar foe, that his service bedeth.  
O servant traitor, false homely hue,  
Like to the Adder sly in bosom untrue.  
O january all drunken in pleasance,  
God shield us all from your iniquitaunce  
Of marriage, see how this Damian,  
Thine own squire and eke thy born man  
Intendeth to done thee villainy:  
God grant thee thine homely foe to espy.  
* For in this world nis were pestilence,  
Than homely foe, all day in thy presence.  
performed hath the sun his ark diurne,  
No longer may the body of him sojourn  
On orisont, as in that latitude:  
Night with his mantle, that is dark & rude,  
'Gan for to spread the Hemisperie above:  
For which departed is the lusty rout  
From january, with thank on every side  
Home to her house lustily they ride,  
There as they done her things, as him lest,  
And when they saw her time they go to rest.  
Sun after this lusty januarie  
wol go to bed, he would no longer tarry.  
He drinketh hippocras, clarrie, and vernage  
Of spices hot, to increase his courage:  
And many a lectuary had he full fine,  
Such as the cursed monk dan Constantine  
Hath written in his book of Coitu:  
To eaten him all he nolde nothing eschew,  
And thus to his privy friends said he:  
For God's love, as soon as it may be,  
Let void all this house in curteis wise soon.  
Men drinken, and the trauers drew anon,  
So hasted januarie, it must be done:  
The bride was brought to bed as still as stone  
And when the bed was with the priest iblessed  
Out of the chamber every wight him dressed.  
And january hath fast in arms take  
His fresh May, his paradise, his make:  
He lulleth her, he kisseth her full oft  
With thick bristles of his beard unsoft,  
I like the skin of Houndfish, sharp as brere,  
For he was shave all new in his manner:  
He rubbeth her upon her tender face,  
And said thus: Alas, I moat trespass  
To you my spouse, and you greatly offend,  
Or time come that I wool down descend.  
But nevertheless, considreth this (quoth he)  
There nis no workman, whatsoever he be,  
That may both wirch well and hastily:  
This wool be done at leiser perfectly,  
It is no force how long that we play,  
In true wedlock 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 have leave to play us by the law.  
Thus laboureth he, till the day 'gan daw:  
And then he taketh a sop of fine clarre,  
And upright in his bed then sitteth he  
And after he singeth full loud and clear,  
And kissed his wife, and maketh wanton cheer.  
He was all coltish, and full of ragerie,  
And full of gergon, as is a flecked Pie.  
The slack skin about his neck shaketh,  
While that he sang, so chaunteth he & craketh.  
But God wot what May thought in her heart,  
When she him saw up sitting in his shirt  
In his night cap, with his neck all lean:  
She praiseth not his playing worth a Bean.  
Then said he thus: my rest wool I take  
How day is come, I may no longer wake,  
And down he laid his head & slept till prime:  
And afterward, when that he saw his time  
Up riseth januarie, but the fresh May  
Holdeth her chamber to the fourth day,  
As usage is of wives for the best.  
* For every labour sometime moat have rest,  
Or else long may he not to endure.  
This is to say, no lives creature,  
Be it fish or beast or bird or man.  
Now wool I speak of woeful Damian,  
That langureth for love, as ye shall here.  
Therefore I speak to him in this manere.  
I say, O silly Damian, alas  
Answer to this demand, as in this case,  
Now shalt thou to thy Lady fresh May  
Tell thy woe? She wool always say nay:  
Eke if thou speak, she wool thy woe bewray.  
God be thine help, I can no better say.  
This sick Damian in Venus' fire  
So brenneth, that he dieth for desire:  
For which he put his life in adventure,  
No longer might he in this wise endure,  
But privily a penner 'gan he borrow,  
And in a letter wrote he all his sorrow,  
In manner of a complaint or a lay  
Unto this fair and fresh Lady May.  
And in a purse of silk, honging on his shirt,  
He hath it put and laid it at his heart.  
The Moon at moonetide that ilke day  
(That januarie had iwedded fresh May)  
Out of Taure was in the canker gleden,  
So long hath May in her chamber bidden  
As custom is unto these nobles all:  
A bride shall not eaten in the hall  
Till days four, or three at the least  
I passed been, than let her go to feast.  
The fourth day complete from noon to noon,  
When that the high Mass was now idoon,  
In hall sat this january and May,  
As fresh as is the bright Summer's day,  
And so befell, how that this good man  
Remembreth him upon his Damian,  
And said: Saint Mary, how may this he,  
That Damian intendeth not to me?  
Is he aye sick: or how may this betid?  
His squires, which that stoden him beside,  
Excused him, because of his sickness,  
Which letted him to done his business:  
None other cause might make him tarry.  
That me forthinketh (qd. this january)  
He is a gentle squire by my troth,  
If that he died, it were harm and routh:  
He is as wise, discreet, and secree,  
As any man that I wot of his degree,  
And thereto manly and serviceable,  
And for to be a thrifty man right able.  
But after meat as soon as ever I may  
I wool myself visit him, and eke May,  
To done him all the comfort that I can:  
And for that word, him blessed every man,  
That of his bounty and his gentleness  
He would so comforten in his distress  
His squire, for it was a gentle deed.  
Dame (qd. this january) take good heed,  
That after meat, ye and your women all  
(When ye have been in chamber out of this hall)  
That all ye gone to see this Damian:  
Doth him disport, he is a gentleman,  
And tell him that I wool him visit,  
Have I nothing but rested me alight:  
And speed you fast for I wool abide,  
Till that you sleepen fast by my side.  
And with that word he 'gan to him call  
A squire, that was Marshal of his hall,  
And told him certain thing that he would,  
This fresh May hath straight her way ihold  
With all her women, unto this Damian:  
And down by his bed's side sat she than  
Comforting him as goodly as she may.  
This Damian, when 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 hand withouten more,  
Save that he sighed wondrous deep & sore:  
And soothly, to her right thus said he,  
Mercy, and that ye discover nat me:  
For I am dead, if that this thing be kid.  
This purse hath she in her bosom hid,  
And went her way, ye get no more of me,  
But unto january icome is she,  
And on his bed side she sit full soft,  
He taketh her, and kisseth her full oft:  
And laid him down to sleep, and that anon.  
She feigned her, as that she must gone  
There as ye wot, that every wight had need:  
And when she of this bill hath taken heed,  
She rend it all to clouts, and at last  
Into the privy, soothly she it cast.  
Who studieth now but fair fresh May:  
And down by january 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) have some pleasance:  
He said her clothes did him encumbrance.  
And she obeyeth he she lief or loath.  
But lest that precious folk be with me wroth,  
How that he wrought, I dare nat to you tell,  
Or whether she thought it paradise or hell:  
But I let him worch in her wise.  
Till even sung ring, that they must arise.  
Were it by destiny or by adventure,  
Where it by influence, or by nature,  
Or constellation that in such estate  
The heaven stood, that time fortunate,  
(As for to put a bill of Venus' works)  
* For all thing hath time, as saien clerks  
To any woman for to get her love:  
I cannot say, but the great God above  
That knoweth, that non act is causeless,  
He dame all, for I wool hold my pees.  
But sooth is this, how that this fresh May  
Hath take such impression that day  
Of pity, on this sick Damian,  
That fro her heart she driven ne can  
The remembrance for to done him ease;  
Certain (thought she) whom this thing displease  
I reck not, for this I him assure,  
I love him best of any creature,  
Though he no more had than his shirt.  
* Lo pity runeth soon in gentle heart,  
Here may ye see, how excellent franchise  
* In women is when they him narrow avise.  
Some tyrant is, as there be many a one,  
That hath an heart as hard as any stone,  
Which would have let starve in the place  
Well rather than have granted him her grace:  
And her rejoiced in her cruel pride,  
And not have recked to been an homicide.  
This gentle May, fulfilled of pity,  
Right so of her hon a letter made she,  
In which she granted him her very grace,  
There lacked nought, but only time & place,  
Where that she might to his lust suffice:  
For it shall be, right as he wool devose.  
And when she saw her time upon a day,  
To visit this Damian goth this fair May,  
And subtly this letter down she thrust  
Under his pillow, read it if him lust.  
She taketh him by the hon, & hard him twist  
So secretly, that no wight of it wist,  
And bade him been all whole, & forth she went  
To january, when that he for her sent.  
Up riseth Damian the next morrow,  
All passed was his sickness and his sorrow:  
He kembeth him & proineth him and piketh,  
And doth all that his Lady lust and liketh:  
And eke to january he goeth as low,  
As ever did a dog for the bow.  
He is so pleasant to every man  
(For craft is all, who that it can)  
That every wight is fain to speken him good,  
And fully in his Lady's grace he stood.  
Thus let I Damian about his need,  
And in my tale, forth I wool proceed,  
Some clerks holden that felicity  
Stont in delight, and therefore certain he  
This noble januarie, with all his might  
In honest wise as longeth to a knight,  
Shaped him to live 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 fair a garden was there never none.  
For out of doubt, I verily suppose,  
That he that wrote the Romant of the Rose,  
Ne couth of it the beauty well devose:  
Ne Priapus, ne might not suffice,  
Though he be god of gardens, for to tell  
The beauty of the garden, and of the well,  
That stont under a laurer always green:  
Full oft time king Pluto and his queen  
Proserpina, and all her fairy  
Disporten hem and maken melody  
About that well, and danced as men told.  
This noble knight, this januarie the old  
Such deinte hath, in it to walk and play,  
That he wool suffer no wight to bear the key,  
Save he himself, for the small wicket  
He bore always of silver a clicket,  
With which when that him list ne would unshet  
And when that he would pay his wife her det  
In summer season thither would he go,  
And May his wife, & no wight but they two:  
And things which that weren not done a bed,  
He in the garden performed him and sped.  
And in this wise, many a merry day  
Lived this januarie and this fresh May.  
But worldly joy may not always endure  
To januarie, ne to no living creature,  
* O sudden hap, O thou fortune unstable,  
Like to the Scorpion diceivable,  
That flatter'st with thy head when thou wolt sting:  
Thy tale is death, through thine enuenoming.  
O brotell joy, O sweet poison quaint,  
O monster, that so suddenly canst peint  
Thy gifts, under the hue of steadfastness,  
That thou deceivest both more and less.  
Why hast thou january thus deceived,  
And hadst him for thy friend received?  
And now thou hast bereft him both his eyes,  
For sorrow of which desireth he to dyen.  
Alas, this noble januarie that so free,  
Amid his lust and his prosperity  
Is waxed blind, and all suddenly,  
His death therefore desireth he utterly.  
And therewithal, the fire of jealousy  
(Lest that his wife should fall in some folly)  
So brent his heart, that he would full feign,  
That some man, both him and her had slain.  
For never after his death, ne in his life  
Ne would he that she were love ne wife:  
But ever live a widow in clothes black,  
Sole as the turtle doth that hath lost her make.  
But at the last, after a month or tway  
His sorrow 'gan to suage, soothe to say.  
For when he wist it might none other be,  
He patiently took his adversity:  
Save out of doubt may he nat forgone,  
That he nas jealous ever more in one:  
Which jealousy, it was so outrageous,  
That neither in hall ne in none other house,  
Ne in none other place never more  
He nolde suffer her neither ride ne go,  
But if that he had hand on her always.  
For which full often weepeth fresh May,  
That loved Damian so benignly,  
That she moat either die suddenly,  
Or she moat have him all at her lest:  
She waiteth when her heart should to breast.  
Upon that other side, Damian  
Become is the sorowfullest man  
That ever was, for neither night ne day  
Ne might he speak a word to fresh May,  
As to his purpose of no such matter,  
But if that january must it here,  
That had an hand upon her evermo.  
But nevertheless, by writing to and fro,  
And privy signs, wist he what she meant,  
And she knew all the signs of his intent.  
O january, what might thee it avail?  
Tho thou mightest see, as far as ships sail:  
* For as good is a blind man disceived be,  
As to be deceived, when that he may see.  
Lo Argus, which had an hundred eien,  
For all that ever he couth poor and prien,  
Yet was he blended, and God wot so been more,  
That wenen wisely that it is not so:  
Pass over is an ease, I say no more.  
The fresh May, of which I spoke of yore  
In warm wax, hath printed this clicket,  
That january bore of that small wicket,  
By which unto his garden oft he went.  
And Damian that knew all her intent  
The clicket counterfeited privily:  
There nis no more to say, but hastily  
Some wonder by this clicket shall betid,  
Which ye shall herens, if ye wool abide.  
O noble Ovid, sooth sayest thou God wot,  
* What flight is it, if love be long and hot,  
That he nill find it out in some manere:  
By Pyramus and Thisbe may men lere,  
Though they were kept full long strait over all,  
They ben accorded, rowning through a wall:  
There nis no wight couth find such a sleight.  
But now to purpose, ere the days eight,  
Were passed, ere the month july befill,  
That january 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, unto this May said he,  
Rise up my wife, my love, my lady free:  
The turtle voice is heard my lady sweet,  
The winter is gone, with all his reins weet,  
Come forth now with thine eyes columbine,  
Now fairer been thy breasts than is wine.  
The garden is enclosed all about,  
Come forth my white spouse out of all doubt,  
Thou hast me wounded in my heart, O wife:  
No spot in thee nas in all thy life.  
Come forth and let us taken our disport,  
I cheese thee for my wife and my comfort.  
Such old lewd words than used he.  
Unto Damian a sign made she,  
That he should go before with his clicket:  
This Damian hath opened this wicket,  
And in he start, and that in such manere,  
That no wight might it see ne here,  
And still he sat under a bush anon.  
This january, as blind as is a stone  
With May in his hand, and no wight more,  
Into his fresh garden is he go,  
And clapped to the wicket suddenly.  
Now wife (qd. he) here nis but thou and I,  
That art the creature that I best love:  
For by that lord that sit us all above,  
I had lever dien on a knife,  
Than thee offend my dear true wife.  
For God's sake think how I thee cheese,  
Not for covetise, ne other good doubtless,  
But only for the love I had to thee.  
And though that I be old and may not see,  
Be to me true, and I wool tell you why,  
Certes three things shall ye win thereby.  
First love of Christ, & to yourself honour,  
And all mine heritage, town and tour  
I give it you, maketh charters as ye list:  
This shall be done to morrow ere sun rist  
So wisely God my soul bring to bliss:  
I pray you on covenant that ye me kiss.  
And though that I be jealous, wit me nought,  
Ye been so deep imprinted in my thought,  
That when I consider your beauty,  
And withal, the unlikely eld of me,  
I may not certes, though I should die  
Forbear to been out of your company  
For very love, this is withouten doubt:  
Now kiss me wife, and let us room about.  
This fresh May when she these words herd,  
Benignly to januarie answered,  
But first and forward she began to weep:  
I have (qd. she) a soul for to keep  
As well as ye, and also mine honour,  
And of wifehood ilke tender flour,  
Which that I have insured in your hon,  
When that the priest to you my body bond.  
Wherefore I wool answer in this manere  
By the leave of you my lord so dear.  
I pray God that never daw that day,  
That I ne starve, as foul as woman may,  
If ever I do to my kin that shame,  
Or else that I impair so my name,  
That I be false, and if I do that lack,  
Do strip me and put me in a sack,  
And in the next river do me drench:  
I am a gentlewoman, and no wench.  
Why speak ye thus, but men been ever untrue,  
And women have reproof of you, aye new.  
Ye can none other communing, I leave,  
But speak to us of untrust and reprove.  
And with that word she saw where Damian  
Sat in the bush, and kneel he began:  
And with her finger signs made she,  
That Damian should climb upon a tre,  
That charged was with fruit, & up he went:  
For verily he knew all her intent,  
And every sign that she couth make,  
Well bet than januarie her own 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 januarie and May roaming full merry.  
Bright was the day, & blew the firmament,  
Phoebus of gold down hath his streams sent  
To gladden every flour with his warmness:  
He was that time in Gemini, as I guess,  
But little from his declination,  
The causer of Ioues exaltation.  
And so befell that bright morrow tide,  
That in the garden, on the further side  
Pluto, that is the king of Fairy  
And many a lady in his company  
Following his wife, the queen Proserpina  
Each after other right as a line,  
Whiles she gathered flowers in a mead:  
In Claudian ye may the story read,  
How in his grisly cart he her fet.  
This king of Fairy adoune him set  
Upon a bench of turfs fresh and green,  
And right anon thus said he to his queen:  
My wife (qd. he) that may nat say nay  
Experience so proveth every day  
The treason which that women doth to man,  
Ten hundred thousand stories tell I can,  
Notable, of your untruth and brotelnesse.  
O Solomon, richest of all richesse,  
Fulfilled of sapience, and of worldly glory,  
Full worthy been thy words in memory  
To every 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 never none:  
Thus saith the king, that knoweth your wickedness.  
And jesus Filius Sirach, as I guess,  
Ne speaketh of you but seld reverence:  
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 own man shall maken him cuckold.  
Lo where he sit, the letchour in the tree.  
Now wool I grant of my majesty  
Unto this old blind worthy knight,  
That he shall have again his eye sight:  
When that his wife would done him villainy,  
Then shall he know all her harlotry,  
Both in reproof of her and other more.  
Ye shall (qd. Proserpina) and wool ye so?  
Now by my mother's soul sir I swear,  
That I shall given her sufficient answer.  
And all women after for her sake:  
That though they been in any gilt ytake  
With face bold, they shullen hemselue excuse  
And bear him down that would him accuse.  
For lack of answer, non of hem shall dien,  
All had he see a thing with both his eyes,  
Yet should we women so visage it hardly,  
And weep and swear and chide subtly,  
That ye shall been as lewd as are geese,  
What recketh me of your authorities?  
I wot well this jew, this Solomon,  
Found of us women, fools many one:  
But though he ne found no good woman,  
Yet there hath found many an other man  
Women full true, full good, and virtuous;  
Witness of him that dwell in Christ's house,  
With Martyrdom they proved her constancy.  
The Roman jests eke make remembrance  
Of many a very true wife also.  
But sir, he not wroth that it be so,  
Though that he said he found no good woman  
I pray you take the sentence of the man:  
* He meant thus, That in sovereign bounty  
His none but God, that sitteth in trinity.  
Eye, for very God that nis but one.  
What make ye so much of Solomon?  
What though he made a temple, God's house?  
What though he were rich and glorious?  
So made he a temple of false godis,  
How might he don a thing that more fore forbade is?  
Pard as fair as ye his name emplaster,  
He was a lecher, and an idolater,  
And in his eld, very God forsook.  
And if that God and (as saith the book)  
Yspared him for his father's sake, he should  
Have lost his reign sooner than he would.  
Iset nat of all the villainy,  
That ye of women write, a butterfly,  
I am a woman, needs more I speak  
Or else to swell till that mine heart break.  
For sithence he said that we been iangleresses  
As ever moat I hole broke my tresses,  
I shall not spare for no courtesy  
To speak him harm, that would us villainy.  
Dame (qd. this Pluto) be no longer wrath,  
I give it up: but sith I swore mine oath,  
That I would grant him his sight again,  
My word shall stand, that warn I you certain:  
I am a king, it set me not to lie.  
And I (quoth she) queen am of Fairy.  
Her answer she shall have I undertake,  
Let us no more words hereof make:  
Forsooth I will no longer you contrary.  
Now let us turn again to januarie,  
That in the garden with this fair May  
Singeth merrier than the Popingay:  
You love I best, and shall, and other non.  
So long about the alleys is he gone,  
Till he was come against thilk pery,  
Where as this Damian sitteth full merry  
On high, among these fresh leaves green.  
This fresh May, that is so bright & sheen  
'Gan for to sike, and said: alas my side:  
Now sir (qd. she) for aught that may betid  
I must have of these peers that here I see  
Or I moat die, so sore longeth me  
To eaten some of the small peers green:  
Help for her love that is heaven's queen.  
I tell you well a woman in my plight,  
May have to fruit so great an appetite,  
That she may dyen, but she it have.  
Alas (qd. he) that I ne had here a knave,  
That couth climb, alas, alas (qd. he)  
For I am blind, ye sir no force (qd. she)  
But would ye vouchsafe for God's sake,  
The pery in your arms for to take:  
For well I wot that ye mistrust me,  
Then would I climb well enough (qd. she)  
So I my foot might set upon your back.  
Forsooth said he, in me shall be no lack,  
Might I you help all with mine hart blood:  
He stoopeth down, & on his back she stood,  
And caught her by a twist, and up she goth.  
Ladies I pray you that ye be not wroth,  
I can nat gloze, I am a rude man:  
And suddenly anon this Damian  
'Gan pullen up the smock, and in the throng  
A great tent a thrifty and a long.  
She said it was the merriest fit,  
That ever in her life she was at yet:  
My lords tent serveth me nothing thus  
It foldeth twifold by sweet jesus,  
He may not swive not worth a leek:  
And yet he is full gentle and full meek.  
This is lever to me than an evensong.  
And when that Pluto saw this wrong,  
To january he gave again his sight,  
And made him see as well as ever he might:  
And when he had caught his sight again,  
Ne was there never man of thing so fain:  
But on his wife his thought was ever more.  
Up to the tree he cast his eyes two,  
And saw how Damian his wife had dressed  
In such mannere, it may not be expressed,  
But if I would speak uncurtesly.  
And up he give a roaring and a cry,  
As doth the mother when the child shall die:  
Out help, alas, (harow) he 'gan to cry:  
For sorrow almost he 'gan to die,  
That his wife was swived in the pery.  
O strong lady whore what dost thou?  
And she answered: sir what aileth you?  
Have patience and reason in your mind,  
I have you holpen of both your eyes blind.  
Up peril of my soul I shall nat lain  
As me was taught to help your eyes.  
Was nothing bet for to make you see,  
Than strogle with a man upon a tree:  
God wot I did it in full good intent.  
Strogle (qd. he) ye algate in it went  
As stiff and as round as any bell:  
It is no wonder though thy belly swell.  
Thy smock on his breast it lay so thech,  
That still me thought he pointed on the breach.  
God give you both on shames death to dien,  
He swived thee, I saw it with mine eyes,  
Or else I be honged by the halfe.  
Then is (qd. she) my medicine false,  
For certainly, if that ye might see,  
Ye would not say these words unto me,  
Ye have some glimpsing, and no perfect sight.  
I see (qd. he) as well as ever I might,  
Thanked be God, with both mine eyes two,  
And by my troth me thought he did so.  
Ye maze ye maze, good sir (quoth she)  
This thank have I for that I made you see:  
Alas, quoth she, that ever I was so kind.  
Now dame, qd. he, let all pass out of mind:  
Come down my sefe, and if I have missaid,  
God help me so, as I am evil paid.  
But by my father's soul, I wend have sayne,  
How that this Damian had by thee lain,  
And that thy smock had lain upon his breast,  
Ye sir (qd. she) ye may ween as ye jest:  
* But sir, a man that waketh out of his sleep,  
He may not suddenly well taken keep  
Upon a thing, ne see it perfectly  
Till that he be adawed verily.  
* Right so a man that long hath blind be,  
Ne may not suddenly 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 beguile.  
Beware I pray you, for by heaven king  
* Full many a man weeneth to see a thing,  
And it is all another than it seemeth:  
seemeth He that misconceiveth oft misdeemeth.  
And with that word she leapt down fro the tree:  
This januarie who is glad but he?  
He kisseth her, he cleppeth her full oft,  
And on her womb 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 januarie,  
God bless us all, and his mother Marie.     


The wife of Baths Prologue.  
Experience, though none authority  
Were in this world, is right enough for me  
To speak of woe that is in marriage:  
For lordings, sith I twelve years was of age,  
Thanked be God that is eterne on live,  
Husbonds at church door have I had five  
For I so often have ywedded be,  
And all were worthy men in her degree.  
But me was told not long ago iwis,  
That sithen Christ went never but onis  
To wedding, in the Cane of Galilee,  
That by thilk ensample taught he me,  
That I ne should wedded be but ones.  
Lo here, which a sharp word for the nonce,  
Beside a well, jesus God and man  
Spoke in reproof of the Samaritan:  
Thou hast had five husbonds (quoth he)  
And that ilke man that now hath thee,  
Is not thine husband: thus said he certain,  
What he meant hereby, I can not said,  
But that I ask a point, why the fifth man  
Was nat husband to the Samaritan:  
How many might she have in marriage?  
Yet herd I never tell in mine age  
Upon this number true definitioun,  
Men may divine, and glosen up and down.  
But well I wot express without lie,  
God bade us for to wax and multiply,  
That gentle text can I well understand:  
Eke well I wot (he said) mine husband:  
Should leave father & mother, & take to me,  
But of number no mention made he  
Of bigamy or of octogamie,  
Why should men speak of it villainy?  
Lo he the wise king Dan Solomon  
I trow had wives many more than on,  
As would God it lawful were to me  
To be refreshed half so oft as he.  
Which a gift of God had he, for his wyvis?  
No man hath such, that in this world a live is.  
God wot this noble king, as to my wit  
The first night had many a merry fit  
With each of him, so well was him alive.  
Blessed be God, I have wedded siue,  
Welcome the sixth whenever he shall  
Forsooth I wool not keep me chaste in all:  
When mine husband is fro the world ygon,  
Some christian man shall wed me anon.  
For then the Apostle saith, that I am free  
To wed a godeshalfe where it liketh me:  
* He saith, that to be wedded is no sin,  
Better is to be wedded than to brinne.  
What recketh me though folk say villainy  
Of shrewd Lamech, and of his bigamy?  
I wot well Abraham was an holy man,  
And jacob eke, as for as ever I hear can,  
And each of him had wives more than two,  
And many another holy man also.  
Where can you say in any manner age  
That ever God defended marriage  
By express words, I pray you tell me?  
Or where commanded he virginity?  
I wot as well as ye, it is no dread,  
The Apostle, when he spoke of maidenhead,  
He said, thereof precept had he none:  
Men may counsel a woman to be one,  
* But counselling is no commandment,  
He put it wholly in our own judgement.  
For had God commanded 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 command at the lest  
A thing, of which his master gave none hest:  
The dart is set up for virginity,  
Catch who so may, who runneth best let see.  
But this word is not taken of every wight,  
But there as God list give it of his might.  
I wot well that the Apostle was a maid,  
But nevertheless, though that he wrote and said  
He would that every wight were such as he,  
All nis but counsel to virginity.  
And for to ben a wife he gave me leave,  
Of indulgence, so nis it to reprove  
To used me, if that my make die  
Without exception of bigamy:  
All were it good no woman for to touch,  
He meant as in his bed or in his couch.  
* For peril is, both fire and tow to assemble,  
Ye know what this ensample may resemble.  
This is all and some, he held virginity  
More perfect than wedding in freelte.  
Freelte clepe I, but if that he and she  
Would lead her life all in chastity.  
I grant it well, I have none envy,  
Though maidenhead prefer bigamy,  
It liketh him to be clean in body and ghost:  
Of mine estate I wool make no boast.  
For well ye know, a lord in his household  
Hath nat every vessel all of gold:  
Some been of tre, and done her lord service  
God clepeth folk to him in sundry wise,  
And everich hath of God a proper gift,  
Some this, some that, as him liketh shift.  
Virginity is great perfection,  
And continence eke with devotion:  
But Christ, that of perfection is well,  
Bade not every wight he should go sell  
All that he had, and give it to the poor,  
And in such wise follow him and his lore:  
He spoke to him that would live perfectly,  
And lordings (by your leave) that am nat I,  
I wol bestow the flower of all mynage  
In the acts and fruit of marriage.  
Tell me also, to what conclusion  
Were members made of generation?  
And of so perfect wise a wight iwrought?  
Trusteth well, they were nat made for nought,,  
Gloze who so wool, and say up and down  
That they were made for purgatioun  
Of urine, and other things small,  
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 else in her books set,  
That man should yield to his wife her det?  
Now wherewith should he pay his payment  
If he ne used his silly instrument?  
Then were they made upon a creature  
To purge urine, and eke for engendrure.  
But I say not that every wight is hold,  
That hath such harness as I to you told,  
To gone and usen hem to engendrure,  
Then should men take of chastity no cure.  
Christ was a maid, and shapen as a man,  
And many a saint, sithence the world began,  
Yet lived they ever in perfect charity:  
I nill envy no virginity.  
Let him with bread of pure wheat be fed,  
And let us wives eat barley bread,  
And yet with barley bread, Mark tell can,  
Our lord jesus refreshed many a man.  
In such a state as God hath cleped us,  
I wool persever, I nam not precious,  
In wifehood wool I use mine instrument  
As freely as my maker hath it sent.  
If I be dangerous, god give me sorrow,  
Mine husband shall it have both evin & morrow,  
When that him list come forth & pay his det,  
An husband wol I have I wol not let,  
Which shall be both my debtor & my thrall,  
And have his tribulation withal  
Upon his flesh, while that I am his wife.  
I have the power during all my life  
Upon his proper body, and nat he,  
Right thus the Apostle told to me,  
And bad our husbonds for to love us well,  
All this sentence me liketh every dell.  
Up start the Pardoner, and that anon,  
Now dame qd. he, by God & by saint john,  
Ye been a noble preacher in this case:  
I was about to wed a wife, alas  
What, should I buy it on my flesh so dear?  
Yet had I lever wed no wife to year.  
Abide qd. she, my tale is not begon:  
Nay, thou shalt drink of another ton  
Er that I go, shall saver worse than ale,  
And when that I have told forth my tale  
Of tribulation that is in marriage,  
Of which I am expert in all mine age,  
This is to say, myself hath been the whip,  
Then mayest thou cheese whether thou wolt sip  
Of thilk tun, that I shall set abroach:  
Beware of it, oer thou to near approach.  
For I shall tell ensamples more than ten:  
* Who so wool 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 wool pray you, if your will were,  
Said this Pardoner, as ye began,  
Tell forth your tale, spareth for no Man,  
And teach us young Men of your practic.  
Gladly (qd. she) if it may you like.  
But that I pray to all this company,  
If that I speak after my fantasy,  
As taketh not a grief of that I say,  
For mine intent is not but to play.  
Now sirs, then shall I tell forth my tale:  
As ever might I drink wine or ale  
I shall say sooth. Tho husbonds that I had  
Three of him 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 unto me.  
Ye wot well what I mean of this pard:  
As God me help, I laugh when I think,  
How piteous a night I made him swink,  
But by my faith, I told of it no store:  
They had me give her land and her treasore,  
Me needed no longer to do diligence  
To win her love, and do him reverence.  
They loved me so well by God above,  
That I ne told no deinte of her love.  
* A wise woman wool besie her ever in one  
To get her love there as she hath none.  
But sithen I had him holly in mine hon,  
And that they had give me all her land,  
What, should I take keep him for to please,  
But it were for my profit and mine ease?  
I set him so a work by my faith,  
That many a might they songen well away:  
The bacon was not fet for him I trow,  
That some men have in Essex at Donmow.  
I governed him so well after my law,  
That each of him full blissful was and faw  
To bring me gay things home fro the fair.  
They were full fain when I spoke him fair:  
For God it wot, I chid him spitously.  
Now harkeneth how I bear me properly.  
Ye wise wives that can understand,  
Thus shul ye speak, and bear him on hon,  
* For half so boldly there can no man  
Swear and lie, as a woman can:  
I say not this by wives that been wise,  
But if it be when they him miss avise.  
* A wise wife shall if that she can her good,  
Bear hem in hon that the cow is wood,  
And taken witness of her own maid  
Of her assent: but harkeneth how I said.  
Sir old keynard, is this thine array,  
Why is my neighbour's wife so gay?  
She is honoured over all where she goth,  
I sit at home, and have no thrifty cloth.  
What dost thou sirrah at my neighbour's house?  
Is she so fair? art thou so amorous?  
What rownest thou with our maid? benedicite  
Sir old lecher, let thy yapes be.  
And if I have a Gossip or a friend  
(Without gilt) thou chidest as a fiend,  
If that I walk or play unto his house:  
Thou comest home as drunken as Mouse,  
And preachest on thy bench with evil proof:  
Thou sayest to me it is a great mischief  
To wed a poor woman, for costage:  
And if that she be rich of high parage,  
Then sayest thou, it is a very tourmentrie  
To suffer her pride and her Melancholy.  
And if that she be fair, thou very knave,  
Thou sayest that every holour wool her have.  
She may no while in chastity abide,  
That is assailed on every side.  
Thou sayest some folk desiren us for richesse,  
Some for our shape, & some for our fairness,  
And some, for she can either sing or dance,  
And some for gentleness or for dalliance,  
Some for her honds and her arms small:  
Thus goeth all to the devil by thy tale.  
Thou sayest Men may not keep a castle wall,  
It may so long assailed be over all.  
And if that she be foul, thou sayest that she  
Coveteth every Man that she may see.  
For as a Spaniel, she wool on him leap,  
Till that she find some man that wol her cheap:  
* Ne none so grey Goose goth there in the lake  
(As sayest thou) that wool been without her make.  
And sayest, it is a hard thing for to wield  
A wight, that no man wool his thank held.  
Thus sayest thou lorell, when thou goest to bed,  
That no wise Man needeth for to wed,  
Ne no man that intendeth unto hevin.  
With wild thunder dent and fire levin  
Moat thy wicked neck be all to broke.  
broke Thou sayest, dropping houses, & eke smoke,  
And chiding wives maken Men to flee  
Out of her own house, ah, Benedicite,  
What aileth such an old man for to chide?  
Thou sayest, we wives wool our vices hide,  
Till we be wedded, & than we wol him show.  
Well may this be a proverb of a shrew.  
Thou sayest, that oxen, horses, asses, & hounds,  
They ben assayed at divers stounds:  
Basins, laver, or that Men him buy,  
Spoons, stools, and all such husbondrie,  
And so be pots, clothes, and araies,  
But folk of wives maken non assays,  
Till they been wedded, old dotard shrew,  
And sayest, how we wool than our vices show.  
Thou sayest also, that it displeaseth me,  
But if that thou wilt praise my beauty,  
And but thou poor always on my face,  
And clepe me fair dame in every place:  
And but thou maken a feast on that ilke day  
That I was borne, & make me fresh and gay:  
And but thou done to my norice honour,  
And to my chamber within my bour:  
And to my father's folk, and his allies,  
Thus sayest thou old barrel full of lies.  
And again of our prentice jenkin,  
For his crisp here, shining as gold fine,  
And for he squireth me both up and down,  
Hast thou caught a false suspection:  
I wool him nat, though thou were ded to morrow.  
But tell me this, why hidest thou with sorrow  
The keys of thy chest away from me?  
It is my good as well as thine pard.  
What, weenest thou make an idiot of our dame  
Now by that Lord that called is saint jame  
Thou shalt nat both although thou were wood  
Be master of my body and of my good,  
That one thou shalt foregone maugre thin iyens.  
What helpeth it of me to inquire and spien?  
I trow thou wouldst lock me in thy chest?  
Thou shouldest say, Wife, go where thou list,  
Take your disport, I wool leave no tales,  
I know you for a true wife dame Ales.  
We love no Man, that taketh keep or charge  
Where that we go, we wool be at our large.  
Of all Men iblessed mote he be  
The wise Astrologien Dan Ptholome,  
That sayeth this proverb in his almagest,  
* Of all Men his wisdom is the best,  
That recketh not who hath the world in hon.  
By this proverb thou shalt understand,  
Have thou enough, what need thee reck or care  
How merely that other folk do far.  
For certes, old dotard by your leave,  
Ye shallen have quaint enough at eve.  
* He is too great a niggard that wool werne  
A man to light a candle at his Lantern:  
He shall have never the less light pard.  
Have thou enough, thou dar'st not plain thee:  
Thou sayest also, that if we make us gay  
With clothes or with precious array,  
That it is peril of our chastity:  
And yet with sorrow, thou must enforce thee,  
And say these words in the Apostles name:  
In habit made with chastity and shame  
Ye women should appareile you (qd. he)  
And nat in tressed here, and gay peer  
As pearl, ne with gold, ne clothes rich.  
After the text, ne after thy rubriche  
I nill not work as much as a Gnat.  
Thou sayest also, I was like a Cat:  
* But who so would singe the Cat's skin,  
Than would the Cat dwellen in his Inn:  
And if the Cat's skin be stick and gay,  
She nill not dwell in house half a day,  
But forth she wool or any day be dawed  
To show her skin, and gone a catrewawed,  
Thus thou sayest, if I be gay, sir shrew,  
I wool ren out, my borel for to show.  
Sir old fool what helpeth thee to spien?  
Though thou play Argus with his C. eyes  
To be my wardcors, as he can best,  
In faith he shall not keep me but my jest:  
* Yet couth I make his beard so moat I thee.  
Thou sayest eke that there been things three  
The which greatly troublen all the earth,  
And that no wight may endure the ferth:  
O, lief sir shrew, jesus short thy life.  
Yet preachest thou, & sayest, an hateful wife  
reckoned is for one of these mischances:  
Been there non other resemblances  
That ye may liken your parables to  
But if a silly wife be one of tho?  
Thou likenest eke woman's love to hell,  
To barren land, 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 sayest, right as worms shenden a tre,  
Right so a wife destroyeth her husband,  
This known they that been to wife's bond.  
Lordings, right thus as ye have understand  
Bare I stiffly mine old husband on hon,  
That thus they saiden in her drunkenness,  
And all was false, but as I took witness  
Of jenken, and of my niece also:  
O Lord the pain I did him, and the woe,  
And that full guiltless by Gods sweet pine:  
* For as an horse, I couth both bite & whine,  
I couth plain, though I were in the gilt,  
Or else oftentime I had been spilt.  
* Who so first to Mill cometh, first grint,  
I plained first, and so was our war istint:  
They were full glad to excusen him believe  
Of thing, that they a gilt never in her life.  
Of wenches would I bear him on hon,  
When that for sick, unneths might they stoned,  
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 espy wenches that he dight:  
Under that colour had I much mirth,  
For all such wit is given us in our birth,  
* Deceit, weeping, spinning, God have give  
To women, kindly while that they live.  
And thus of a thing I may avaunt me,  
At th'end I had the best in each degree,  
By sleight or force, or by some manner thing,  
As by continual murmur or grudging.  
Namely a bed had they muckle mischance,  
There would I chide, and done no pleasance:  
I would no longer in the bed abide  
(If I felt his arm over my side)  
Till he had made his raunsom unto me,  
Then would I suffer him do his nicete.  
And therefore, every man this tale I tell,  
* Wive who so may, all been for to sell:  
sell With empty honds men may no hauks lure,  
For winning would I all his lust endure,  
And make me then a feigned appetite,  
And yet in Bacon had I never delight:  
That maked me ever that I would him chide.  
For though the Pope had sitten him beside,  
I would not spare him at her own board,  
For by my truth I quit him word for word,  
As help me very God omnipotent,  
Tho I right now should make my testament,  
I ne owe him a word, but it is quit,  
I brought it so about by my wit,  
That they must give it up, as for the best,  
Or else had we never been in rest.  
For though he looked as wood as a Lion,  
Yet should he fail of his conclusion.  
Then would I say (good lief) take keep,  
How meekly looketh wilken our sheep:  
Come near my spouse, & let me kiss your cheek.  
Ye should be all patient and meek,  
And have a sweet spiced conscience,  
Sith ye so preach of jobs patience,  
Suffreth always sith ye so well can preach,  
And but if ye do, we shall you teach,  
That it is fair to have a wife in pees,  
One of us two mote obeien doubtless:  
* And sith a man is more reasonable  
Than a woman is, ye must been sufferable.  
What aileth you to grudge thus and groan?  
Is it for ye would have my quaint alone?  
Why take it all: lo, have it every del,  
Peter I shrew you but ye love it well.  
For if I would sell my belchose,  
I couth walk as fresh as any rose,  
But I wool keep it for your own tooth:  
Ye be to blame by God, I say you sooth.  
Such manner words had we often on hon.  
And now will I speak of my fourth husband.  
My fourth husband was a revellour,  
This is to say, he had a Paramour,  
And I was young and full of ragarie,  
Stubborn and strong, and jolly as a Pie,  
Well could I dance, to an Harp small,  
And sing iwis as a Nightingale,  
When I had drunken a draught of sweet wine.  
Mettellus, the foul churl and the swine,  
That with a staff bireft his wife her life  
For she drunk wine: though I had be his wife,  
Ne should he not have daunted me fro drink:  
And after wine, of Venus must I think.  
* For all so seker, as cold engendereth hail,  
A licorus mouth must have a lecherous tail.  
* In women vinolent is no defence,  
This know lechers by experience.  
But lord Christ, when it remembreth me  
Upon my youth, and my iolite,  
It tickleth me about the hart root,  
Unto this day it doth my hart boot,  
That I have had my world as in my time:  
But age alas, that all wool enuenime  
Hath me bireft my beauty and my pith:  
Let go, farewell, the devil go therewith.  
* The flower is gone, there nis no more to tell,  
The bran (as I best can) now moat I sell.  
But yet to be right merry wool I fond,  
Now forth to tell of my fourth husband.  
I say I had in heart great despite,  
That he of any other had delight:  
But he was quit by God and saint joce,  
* I made him of the same wood a troce,  
Not of my body in no foul manner,  
But certainly, I made folk such cheer,  
* That in his own grease I made him fry  
For anger, and for very jealousy.  
By God, in earth I was his purgatory,  
For which I hope his soul been in glory.  
For God it wot, he sat full oft and song,  
When that his shoe full bitterly him wrong.  
There was none, save God and he, that wist  
In many wise, how sore that I him twist,  
He died when I came fro Jerusalem,  
And lieth in grave under the Road beem.  
All nis not his tomb so curious  
As was the sepulture of Darius,  
Which that Appelles wrought so subtly:  
It is but waste to bury him preciously.  
Let him farewel, God give his soul good rest,  
He is now in his grave and in his chest.  
Now of my fifth husband wool I tell,  
God let never his soul come in hell.  
And yet was he to me the most shrew,  
That feel I on my ribs all by rue,  
And ever shall, unto mine ending day.  
But in our bed he was so fresh and gay,  
And therewithal, he couth so well me gloze,  
When that he would have my belly chose,  
That though he had me beat on every bone,  
He couth win again my love anon.  
I trow I loved him the bet, for that he  
Was of his love so dangerous to me.  
We women have, if that I shall not lie  
In this matter a quaint fantasy.  
* Wait to thing we may nat lightly have,  
Thereafter wool we all day cry crave.  
Forbid us thing, and that desiren we:  
press on us fast, and then wool we flee.  
With danger uttrens we all our chaffer,  
* Great prees at market maketh dear ware.  
And to great cheap is hold at to little prize,  
This knoweth every woman that is wise.  
My fifth husband, God his soul bless,  
Which I took for love and no richesse,  
He sometime was a clerk in Oxenford,  
And had left school, & went at home to board  
With my Gossip dwelling in our town:  
God have her soul, her name was Alisoun.  
She knew my heart and eke my privite,  
Bet than our parish priest so moat I thee,  
To her bewrayed I my counsel all,  
For had my husband pissed again the wall,  
Or done a thing that should have cost his life,  
To her, and to another worthy wife,  
And to my niece, which that I loved well.  
I would have told his counsel every dell,  
And so I did full often God it wot  
That made his face full oft red and hot  
For very shame, and blamed himself, for he  
Had told to me so great a privite.  
And so befell that ones in a Lent  
So oft time I to my Gossip went.  
For ever yet I loved to go gay,  
And for to walk in March, April, and May  
From house to house, to hearken sundry tales,  
That jenkin clerk, & my Gossip dame Alice,  
And I myself, into the fields went:  
My husband was at London all that Lent,  
I had the better leisure for to pleie,  
And for to see, and eke for to be seie  
Of lusty folk, 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 plays of miracles, and to marriages,  
And weared on my gay scarlet gites:  
These worms, these moughts, ne these mites  
Upon my apparel fret him never a dell,  
And wost thou why? for they were used well.  
Now wool I tell forth what happened me:  
I say, that in the fields walked we,  
Till truly we had such dalliance  
This clerk and I, that of my purveyance  
I speak to him, and said how that he,  
If I were widow, should wedden me.  
For certainly, I say for no boastance,  
Yet was I never without purveyance  
Of marriage, ne of other things eke:  
I hold a mouse's wit not worth a leek.  
That hath but one hole to sterten to,  
And if that fail, then is all idoe.  
I bore him on hand he had enchanted me:  
My Dame taught me forsooth that subtlety,  
And eke I said, I met of him all night,  
He would a slain me, as I lay upright,  
And all my bed was full of very blood,  
But yet I hope truly he should do me good:  
For blood betokeneth gold, as I was taught.  
And all was falls, I dreamt of him right naught;  
But as I followed aye my Dame's lore,  
As well of that as of other things more.  
But now sir let me see, what shall I said:  
A ha, by God I have my tale again.  
When that my fourth husband was on here,  
I wept algate and made heavy cheer,  
As wife's moten, for it is usage:  
And with my kerchief covered my visage.  
But for that I was purveyed of a make,  
I wept but small, and that I undertake.  
To church was my husband born on morrow  
With neighbours that for him maiden sorrow,  
And jenken our clerk was one of though:  
As help me God, when that I saw him go  
After the bear, me thought he had a pair  
Of legs and of feet, so clean and so fair,  
That all my heart I gave unto his hold,  
He was I trow twenty Winter old,  
And I was forty, if I shall say forth,  
But yet I had always a Colt's tooth:  
Gaptothed I was, and that became me well,  
I had the print of dame Venus' seal.  
As help me God, I was a lusty one,  
And fair, rich, and young, and well bigone:  
And truly, as mine husband told me  
I had the best quaint that might be.  
For certes I am all fully Venerean  
In feeling, and my heart is Marcian:  
Venus me gave my lust and my liquorousness  
And Mars gave me my sturdy hardiness.  
Mine ascendent was Taure, & Mars therein:  
Alas, alas, that ever love was sin.  
I followed aye mine inclination  
By virtue of my constellation:  
That made me I couth never withdraw  
My chamber of Venus from a good fellaw.  
Yet have I Martes mark upon my face,  
And also in another privy place.  
For God so wisely be my salvation,  
I loved never by no discretion,  
But ever followed mine appetite,  
All were he short, long, black, or white,  
I took no keep, so that he liked me,  
How poor he was, ne eke of what degree.  
What should I say? but at the months end  
This jolly clerk jenken, that was so heard,  
Hath wedded me with great solemnity,  
And to him gave I all the land and fee,  
That ever was given 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 rend out of his book a lief  
That of that stroke my ears wax deaf.  
Stubborn I was, as is a Lioness,  
And of my tongue a very iangleresse.  
And walk I would, as I had done before  
From house to house, although he had it sworn:  
For which full oftentime would he preach,  
And me of old Roman jests teach.  
How he Sulpitius Gallus left his wife,  
And her forsook for term of his life,  
Not but for open heed he her seie  
Looking out at his door on a day.  
Another Roman told he me by name,  
That for his wife was at a Summer game  
Without his witting, he forsook her eke.  
And then would he upon his Bible seek  
That ilke proverb of Ecclesiast,  
Where he commandeth, & forbiddeth fast,  
A man shall not suffer his wife roil about.  
Then would he say right thus out of doubt:  
* Who so buildeth his house all of sallowes,  
And pricketh his blind horse over the fallows  
And suffereth his wife for to seche hallows,  
Is worthy to be honged on the gallows.  
But all for nought, I set not an haw  
Of his proverbs, ne of his old saw:  
Ne I would not of him corrected be,  
I hate him that my vices telleth me,  
And so do more (God it wot) than I.  
This made him wood with me all utterly,  
I nold not forbear him in no case.  
Now wool I say you sooth by S. Thomas,  
Why that I rend out of his book a lief,  
For which he smote me, that I was deaf.  
He had a book, that gladly night and day  
For his disport, he would read always:  
He cleped it Valerie, and theophra,  
At which book he lough always full fast.  
And eke there was a clerk sometime at Rome,  
A Cardinal, that height saint Jerome,  
That made a book against jovinian,  
In which book there was eke Tertullian,  
Chrysippus, Trotula, and Helowis,  
That was Abbess not far from Paris:  
And eke the parables of Solomon,  
Ovid's art, and books many one,  
And all these were bounden in one volume,  
And every night and day was his custom  
(When he had leisure and vacatioun  
From other worldly occupatioun)  
To readen in this book of wicked wives:  
He knew of him more legends and lives,  
Than been of good women in the Bible.  
For trusteth well, it is an impossible,  
That any clerk would speak good of wives,  
But if it been of holy saints lives,  
Ne of none other woman ne'er the more  
* Who painteth the Lion, tell me who?  
By God, if women had written stories,  
As clerks han, within her oratory's,  
They would have writ of men more wickedness  
Than all the mark of Adam may redress.  
The children of Mercury and Venus  
Been in her working full contrarious.  
Mercury loveth wisdom and science,  
And Venus loveth riot and dispense.  
And for her divers disposition,  
Each falleth in others exaltation.  
And thus God wot, Mercury is desolate  
In Pisces, where Venus is exaltate,  
And Venus falleth where Mercury is raised,  
Therefore no woman of no clerk is praised.  
* The clerk when he is old, & may nought do  
Of Venus' works, not worth his old sho,  
Then sit he down, and writ in his dotage,  
That women cannot keep her marriage.  
But now to purpose, why I told thee,  
That I was beaten for a book pard.  
Upon a night jenken, that was our sire,  
Red upon his book, as he sat by the fire,  
Of Eve first, that for her wickedness,  
Was all mankind brought to wretchedness:  
For which that jesus Christ himself was slain,  
That bought us with his hart blood again.  
Lo here express of women may ye find,  
That woman was the loss of all mankind.  
Tho rad he me how Samson lost his heres  
Sleeping, his leman cut him with her shear  
Through which treason lost he both his eyes,  
Tho rad he me, if that I shall not lain,  
Of Hercules, and of his Deianeira,  
That caused him to set himself a fire.  
Nothing forgot he the care and the woe  
That Socrates had with his wives two:  
How that Xantippe cast piss on his head,  
This silly man sat still, as he were dead,  
He wiped his head no more durst he sane,  
But ere the thunder stint there cometh rain.  
Of Pasiphae, that was queen of Crete,  
For shrewdness him thought the tale was sweet.  
Fie, speak no more, it is a grisly thing,  
Of her horrible lust and her liking.  
Of Clytaemnestra for her lechery,  
That falsely made her husband for to die,  
He rad it with well good devotion.  
He told me eke, for what occasion  
Amphiaraus at Thebes lost his life:  
My husband had a legend of his life.  
Eriphilem, that for an ouche of gold  
Hath privily unto the greeks told,  
Where that her husband hid him in a place,  
For which he had at Thebes sorry grace.  
Of Lima told he me, and of Lucy:  
They both made her husbonds for to die,  
That one for love, that other was for hate:  
Lima her husband on an evin late  
Empoisoned had, for that she was his foe:  
Lucia Is●erous loved her husband so,  
That for he should always upon her think,  
She gave him such a love manner drink,  
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 wives three  
Honged hemselfes for hearts despitous:  
O lief brother (qd. this Arius)  
Yeve me a plant of this blissful tree,  
And in my garden planted shall it be.  
Of latter date of wives hath he red,  
That some han slain her husbands in bed,  
And let her letchour dight him all the night,  
Whiles that the corpse lay in floor upright.  
And some had driven nails in her brain,  
Whiles they sleep, & thus they have him slain.  
Some have give him poison in her drink:  
He spoke more harm than any hart may think,  
And therewithal he knew more proverbs,  
Than in this world there groweth grass or herbs.  
* Bet is (qd. he) thine habitation  
Be with a Lion, or a foul Dragon,  
Than with a woman using for to chide.  
* Bet is (qd. he) high in the roof to abide,  
Than with an angry wife down in an house,  
They been so wicked and so contrarious:  
They haten, that their husbonds love aye.  
* He said, a woman cast her shame away,  
When she cast off her smock: and farther more,  
A fair woman, but she be chaste also,  
Is like a gold ring on a Sow's nose.  
Who could wen●, or who could suppose  
The woe that in mive hart was and pine.  
And when I saw he would never fine  
To reden on this cursed book all night,  
All suddenly three leaves have I plight  
Out of his book, right as he read, and eke  
I with my fist so took him on the cheek,  
That in the fire he fell backward adown:  
And up he start, as doth a wood lion,  
And with his fist he smote me on mine head,  
That in the floor I lay as I were dead.  
And when he seie how still that I lay,  
He was aghast, and would have fled away,  
Till at the last out of my swoon I brayed:  
Oh, hast thou slain me false thief I said,  
For my land thus hast thou murdered me?  
Et I be dead, yet wool I once kiss thee,  
And near he came, and kneeled fair adown,  
And said: dear sister, sweet Alisoun,  
As help me God I shall thee never smite:  
That I have done it is thyself to wit,  
Foryeve it me, and that I thee beseek.  
And yet eftsoons I hit him on the cheek,  
And said: thief, thus much am I bewreke,  
Now wool I die, I may no longer speak.  
But at the last, with mokell care and woe  
We fell accorded within out selves two:  
He gave me all the bridle in mine hon  
To have the governance of house and land,  
And of his tongue, and of his hon also,  
And I made him burn his book anon tho.  
And when I had gotten unto me  
By mastery, all the soveraignte,  
And that he said: mine own true wife,  
Do as thou list, the tear me of all thy life,  
Keep thine honour, and eke mine estate,  
After that day we had never debate.  
God help me so, I was to him as kind,  
As any wife from Denmark unto Ind,  
And also true, and so was he to me.  
I pray to God that sit in Majesty  
So bliss his soul, for his mercy dear,  
Now wool I say my tale if ye wool hear.  
The Frere lough when he had heard all this:  
Now dame (qd. he) so have I joy or bliss,  
This is a long preamble of a tale.  
And when the Sompner herd the frere gale,  
Lo (qd. this Sompner) by God's arms two,  
A Frere wool entermete him evermo:  
* Lo good men, a Fly and eke a Frere  
wol fall in every dish and eke matter.  
What speakest thou of preambulatioun?  
What amble or troth? either peace or sit adown:  
Thou lettest our disport in this matter.  
Ye wolt thou so sit Sompner (qd. the Frere)  
Now by my faith I shall, ere that I go,  
Tell of a Sompner such a tale or two,  
That all the folk shall laugh in this place.  
Now do, else Frere I beshrew thy face  
(Qd. this Sompner) and I beshrew me,  
But if I tell tales two or three  
Of Freres, ere I come to Sitting burn,  
That I shall make thine hart for to murne:  
For well I wot thy patience is gone.  
Our host cried peace, and that anon,  
And said: let the woman tell her tale,  
Ye faren as folk that drunken been of ale:  
So dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best.  
All ready sir (qd. she) right as you lest,  
If I have licence of this worthy Frere.  
Yes dame, tell forth your tale, I wool it here.  

A Bachelor of King Arthur's Court is enjoined by the Queen to tell what thing it is that Women most desire. At length he is taught it by an old Woman, who for that cause is enforced to marry her.  
¶ The wife of Baths Tale.  
IN the old days of King Artour,  
(Of which the Bretons speaken great honour)  
All was this land fulfilled of Fairy,  
The Elf queen, with her jolly company  
Danced full oft in many a green mead:  
This was the old opinion as I read.  
I speak of many an hundred year ago,  
But now can no man see none elves more,  
For now the great charity and prayers  
Of limitours and other holy Freres,  
That fearchen every land and every stream,  
As thick as motes in the Sun beam,  
Blessing hals, chambers, kitchens, & bowers,  
Cities, boroughes, castles, and high towers,  
Thropes, Bernes, Shepens, and Dairies,  
This maketh that there been no Fairies:  
* For there as wont to walk was an Elf,  
There walketh now the limitour himself  
In undermeles, and in mornings,  
And sayeth his Matins and his holy things  
As he goeth in his limitatioun:  
Women may go safely up and down  
An every bush, and under every tree,  
There nis none other incubus but he,  
And he ne will done him no dishonour.  
And so fell it, that this king Artour  
Had in his house a lusty bachelor,  
That on a day came riding fro the river:  
And happened, that alone as he was borne,  
He saw a maid walking him before,  
Of which maid anon, maugre her head,  
(By very force) he bereft her maidenhead:  
For which oppression was such clamour,  
And such pursuit unto king Artour,  
That damned was this knight to be dead  
By course of law, & should have lost his head.  
Peraventure such was the statute tho:  
But that the Queen and other ladies more  
Sa long praiden the king of his grace,  
Till he his life granted in that place,  
And gave him to the queen, all at her will  
To cheese where that she would him save or spill.  
The queen thanketh the king with all her might  
And after this, thus spoke she to the knight,  
When she say her time on a certain day.  
Thou standeth yet (qd. she) in such array,  
That of thy life yet hast thou no surety:  
A grant thee thy life, if thou canst tell me  
What thing is it that women most desiren:  
Beware, and keep thy neck bone from yrens.  
And if thou canst not tell it me anon,  
Yet wool I give thee leave for to gone  
A twelvemonth and a day, to seek and lere  
An answer sufficient in this matter.  
And surety wool I have, ere that thou pass,  
Thy body for to yield in this place.  
Woe was the knight, and sorrowfully liketh:  
But what? he may not done all as him liketh.  
And at last he cheese him for to wend,  
And come again right at the years end  
With such answer, as God would him purvey:  
And taketh his leave, & wendeth forth his way.  
He seeketh every house and every place,  
Where as he hopeth for to find grace,  
To learn what thing women love most:  
But he ne couth arriven in no coost,  
Where as he might find in this matere  
Two creatures according yfere.  
Some said, women loved best richesses,  
Some said honour, some said jollinesse,  
Some said rich array, some said lust a bed,  
And oft time to been widow and wed.  
Some said, that our heart is most yeased  
When that we been flattered and ypraised.  
He goeth full me the sooth, I wool not lie,  
* A man shall win us best with flattery,  
And with attendance, and with business  
Ben we ylimed both more and less.  
And some men said, how that we love best  
For to been free, and do right as us lest:  
And that no man reprove us of our vice,  
But say that we be wise, and nothing nice.  
For truly there nis none of us all,  
If any wight wool claw us on the gall,  
That we nill like, for that he saith us forth:  
Assay, and he shall find it, that so doth.  
* For be we never so vicious within,  
We wool be holden wise and clean of sin.  
And some men said, that great delight have we  
For to been hold stable and eke secre,  
And in o purpose steadfastly to dwell,  
And not bewray thing that men us tell.  
But that tale is not worth a rake steel,  
* Pard we women can nothing heel,  
Witness of Midas, wool ye here the tale?  
Ovid, among other things small  
Said, Midas had under his long hairs  
Growing on his head two asses ears:  
The which vice he hid, as he best might,  
Full subtly from every man's sight:  
That save his wife, there wist of it no more,  
He loved her most, and trusted her also,  
He prayed her, that to no creature  
She nold tell of his disfigure.  
She swore him, not for all the world to win,  
She nold do that villainy, ne that sin,  
To maken her husband have so foul a name:  
She nold not tell it for her own shame.  
But nevertheless, her thought that she died,  
That she so long should a counsel hide,  
Her thought it swoll so sore about her heart,  
That needily some word she must astart:  
And sith she durst tell it to no man,  
Down to a marris fast by she ran,  
Till she came there, her heart was on a fire:  
And as a bittour bumbeth in the mite,  
She laid her mouth unto the water adoun.  
Bewray me not thou water with thy sound  
Qd. she, to thee I tell it, and to no more,  
Mine husband hath long Asses ears two.  
Now is mine heart all hole, now it is out,  
I might no longer keep it out of doubt.  
* Hear mow ye see, though we a time abide,  
Yet out it mote, we can no counsel hide.  
The remnant of the tale, if ye will here,  
Readeth Ovid, and there ye may it lere.  
This knight, of which my tale is specially,  
When that he saw he might not come thereby,  
This is to say, what women love most:  
Within his heart sorrowful was his ghost.  
But home he goth, he might not sojourn,  
The day was come, he must home return.  
And in his way, it happened him to ride  
In all his care, under a forest side,  
Whereas he saw upon a dance go  
Of ladies four and twenty, and yet more:  
Toward the dance he drow him full yearn,  
In hope that some wisdom should he learn.  
But certainly, ere that he came fully there,  
Vanished was the dance, he nist not where,  
No creature saw he that bare life,  
Save in the green sitting an old wife:  
A fouler wight there may no man devose.  
Again the knight the old wife 'gan arise,  
And said: sir knight, here forth lieth no way,  
Tell me what ye seeken by your faith,  
Peradventure it may the better be:  
* These old folk con much thing (qd. she.)  
My lief mother (qd. this knight) certain,  
I nam but dead, but if that I can sane,  
What thing it is that women most desire:  
Could ye me wisse, I would quite well 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 wool tell it you or it be night.  
Have here my troth (qd. the knight) I grant.  
Then (qd. she) I may me well avaunt,  
Thy life is safe, for I wool stoned thereby,  
Upon my life the queen will say as I:  
Let see, which is the proudest of him all  
That weareth on a kerchief or a call,  
That dare say nay, of that I shall you teach,  
Let us go forth without longer speech.  
Tho rowned she a pistle in his ear,  
And had him to be glad, and have no fear.  
When they ben comen to the court, the knight  
Said, he had hold his day, as he had height,  
And ready was his answer, as he said:  
Full many a noble wife, and many a maid  
And many a widow, for that they be wise,  
(The queen herself sitting as a justice)  
Assembled been, his answer for to hear,  
And afterward this knight was bode appear.  
To every wight commanded was silence,  
And that the knight should tell in audience,  
What thing that worldly women loved best:  
This knight ne stood not still as doth a beast,  
But to his question anon answered  
With manly voice, that all the court it herd.  
My liege lady: generally (qd. he)  
womans desiren to have soveraignte  
As well over her husbonds as her love,  
And for to ben in mastery him 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 widow, that contraried that he said,  
But said, he was worthy han his life.  
And with that word, up start the old wife,  
Which that the knight found sitting on the green:  
Mercy (qd. she) my sovereign lady queen,  
Ere that your court depart do me right:  
I taught this answer unto this knight,  
For which he plight me his troth there,  
The first thing I would of him reqire,  
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 unto thy wife,  
For well thou wost, that I have kept thy life:  
If I say false, say nay upon thy faith.  
This knight answered, alas and wellaway:  
I wot right well that such was my behest,  
For Gods love cheese a new request:  
Take all my good, and let my body go.  
Nay (qd. she) than I shrew us both two.  
For though that I be foul, old, and poor,  
I nold for all the mettle ne the ore,  
That under earth is grave, or lithe above,  
But if I thy wife were and thy love.  
My love (qd. he) nay my damnation:  
Alas that any of my nation  
Should ever so foul 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 peraventure  
That for my negligence, I do no cure  
To tell you the joy and the array,  
That at the feast was that ilke day.  
To the which thing answer shortly I shall:  
I say there nas no joy ne feast at all,  
There nas but heaviness and much sorrow:  
For privily he wedded her on a morrow,  
And all day after hid him as an owl.  
So woe was him, his wife looked so foul.  
Great was the sorrow that knight had in his thought  
When he was with his wife a bed ybourhgt,  
He walloweth, and turneth to and fro.  
His old wife lay smiling evermo,  
And said: O dear husband, O benedicite,  
Fareth every knight thus as do ye?  
Is this the law of king Artours house?  
Is every knight of his love so dangerous?  
I am your own love, and eke your wife,  
I am she, which that saved hath your life,  
And certes yet did I never you unright.  
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 God's love tell me it,  
And it shall be amended if I may.  
Amended (qd. this knight) alas nay nay:  
That wool not been amended never more,  
Thou art so loathly, and so old also,  
And thereto comen of so low a kind,  
That little wonder is though Iwallow & wind,  
So would God (qd. he) mine heart would breast,  
Is this (qd. she) the cause of your unrest?  
Ye certainly (qd. he) no wonder nis.  
Now sir (qd. she) I couth amend all this,  
If that me list, ere it were days three,  
So well ye might bear you unto me.  
But for ye speak of such gentleness,  
As is descended out of old richesses,  
That therefore shullen ye be gentlemen:  
Such errogaunce is not worth an hen.  
* Lo who that is most virtuous always,  
Prevy and apert, and most intendeth aye  
To do the gentle deeds that he can,  
Take him for the greatest gentleman.  
Christ would we claimed of him our gentleness,  
Not of our elders, for our old richesse.  
* For though they give us all her heritage,  
For which we claimen to been of high parage,  
Yet may they not bequeath, for nothing,  
To none of us, her virtuous living,  
That made him gentlemen ycalled be,  
And bade us followen hem in such degree.  
Full well can the wise poet of Florence,  
That height Dantes, speak in this sentence:  
Lo in such manner rhyme is Dantes tale.  
* Full seld up riseth by his branches small  
Prowess of man, for God of his goodness  
wol that we claim of him our gentleness:  
For of our elders may we nothing claim  
But temporal thing, that men may hurt & maim.  
Eke every wight wot this as well as I,  
If gentleness were planted naturally  
Unto a certain lineage down the line,  
Preuy and apert, then would they never fine  
To done of gentleness the fair office,  
They might done no villainy ne vice.  
Take fire and bear it into the derkest house  
Betwixt this and the mount Caucasus,  
And let men shut the doors, and go then,  
Yet wool the fire as fair lie and burn  
As twenty thousand men might it behold:  
His office natural aye wool it hold  
Upon peril of my life, till that it die.  
* Hear may ye see well, how that gentry  
Is not annexed to possession,  
Sithen folk do not her operation  
Always as doth the fire, lo in his kind:  
For God it wot, men may full often find  
A lords son done shame and villainy.  
* And he that wool have prize of his gentry,  
For he was borne of a gentle house,  
And had his elders noble and virtuous,  
And nill himself don no gentle deeds,  
He follow his gentle auncetre, that dead is,  
He nis not gentle, be he duke or earl.  
* Fie villains, sinful deeds maketh a cherle.  
For gentleness nis but the renomie  
Of thine auncetres, for her high bounty,  
Which is a strong thing to thy person:  
Thy gentleness cometh fro God alone.  
* Then cometh out very gentleness of grace,  
It was nothing bequeath us with our place.  
Thinketh how noble, as saith Valerius,  
Was thilk Tullius Hostilius,  
That out of poverty rose to high noblesse:  
Readeth Seneck, and readeth eke Boece,  
There shall ye seen express, no dread is,  
* That he is gentle that doth gentle deedis.  
And therefore dear husband, I thus conclude,  
All were it that mine ancestors were rude,  
Yet may that high God, and so hope I,  
Grant me grace to live virtuously:  
* Then am I gentle, when I begin  
To live virtuously, and leaven sin.  
And there as ye of poverty me reprove,  
The high God, on whom that we believe,  
In wilful poverty cheese to lead his life:  
And certes, every man, maid, and wife  
May understand, jesus heaven king  
Ne would not cheese a vicious living.  
* Glad poverty is an honest thing certain,  
This wool Seneck and other clerks sane.  
* Who so would hold him paid of his poverty,  
I hold him rich, all had he not a shirt.  
* He that coveteth is a full poor wight,  
For he would han that is not in his might.  
* But who that nought hath, ne coveteth to have,  
Is rich, although ye hold him but a knave.  
Very poverty is sin properly.  
Iwenall saith of poverty merrily:  
* The poor man when he goeth by the way  
Before thieves, he may sing and play.  
* Povert is hateful good: and as I guess,  
A full great bringer out of business:  
A great amender eke of sapience,  
To him that taketh it in patience.  
Povert is, although it seem elenge,  
Possession that no wight wool challenge.  
* Poverte full often, when a man is low,  
Maketh him God and eke himself to know.  
* Povert a spectacle is, as thinketh me,  
Through which one may his very friends see.  
And therefore, since that I you not greue,  
Of my poverty no more me reprove.  
Now sir, eke of eld ye reproved me:  
And certes sir, though none authority  
Were in no book, ye gentles of honour  
Sain, that men should an old wight honour,  
And cleape him father for her gentleness,  
And authors shall I find, as I guess.  
Now there as ye said that I am foul and old,  
Then dread you not to been a cokewold.  
* For filth, elthe, and foul, all so moat I thee,  
Been great wardens upon chastity.  
But nevertheless, since I know your delight,  
I shall fulfil your worldly appetite.  
These now (qd. she) one of these things fifty,  
To have me foul and old till that I day,  
And be to you a true humble wife,  
And never you displease in all my life:  
Or else wool you have me young and fair,  
And take your adventure of the repair  
That shall come to your house because of me,  
Or in some other place may well be?  
Now cheese your selue whether that you liketh.  
This knight aviseth him, and sore liketh,  
But at the last he said in this manere:  
My lady and my love, and wife so dear,  
I put me in your wise governance,  
chooseth yourself which may be more pleasance  
And most honour to you and me also,  
I do no force whether of the two:  
For as you liketh, it sufficeth me.  
Then have I got of you the mastery (qd. she)  
Since I may cheese and govern as my jest:  
Ye certes wife (qd. he) I hold it for the best.  
Kiss me (qd. she) we be no longer wrath:  
For by my truth, I wool be to you both,  
This is to say, to be both fair and good.  
I pray to God that I moat starve wood,  
But I to you be also good and true,  
As ever was wife, sithen the world was new:  
And but I be to morrow as fair to seen,  
As any Lady, Empress, or Queen,  
That is between East and eke the West,  
Doth with my life right as you lest.  
Cast up the courtein, and look how it is.  
And when this knight saw verily all this,  
That she so fair was, and so young thereto,  
For joy he hent her in his arms two:  
His hart bathed in the bath of bliss,  
A thousand times a row he 'gan her kiss:  
And she obeyed him in every thing,  
That might done him pleasure or liking.  
And thus they lived unto her life's end  
In perfect joy, and jesus Christ us send  
Husbonds meek and young, and fresh a-bed,  
And grace to overlive him that we wed.  
And I pray to God to short her lives,  
That will not be governed by her wives.  
And old and angry niggards of dispense,  
God send him soon a very pestilence.     


¶ The Friar's Prologue.  
THis worthy limitour, this noble Frere  
He made always a manner louring cheer  
Upon the Sompner, but for honest  
No villain's word as yet to him spoke he:  
But at the last he said to the wife,  
Dame, God give you right good life,  
Ye have touched here, all so moat I the,  
In school matter, a full great difficulty,  
Ye have said much thing right well I say:  
But dame, here as we ridden by the way  
Us needeth not to speaken but of game,  
And let authorities a God's name  
To preaching, and to school of clergy.  
But if it like unto this company,  
I wool you of a Sompner tell a game,  
Pard ye may well know by the name,  
That of a Sompner may no good be said.  
I pray that none of you be evil paid:  
A Sompner is a renner up and down  
With maundements for fornication,  
And is ybeat at every towns' end.  
Tho spoke our host & said: sir ye should ben heard  
And curteis, as a man of your estate,  
In this company we wool 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 every groat,  
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 iwis.  
Our host answered: peace, no more of this,  
And afterward he said unto the Frere,  
Tell forth your tale mine own master dear.  

¶ 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 days.  
Whilom there was dwelling in my country  
An Archdeacon, a man of high degree,  
That boldly did execution  
In punishing of fornication,  
Of witchcraft, and eke of bawdry,  
Of defamation, and adultery,  
Of church reves, and of testaments,  
Of contracts, and lack of sacraments,  
Of usury, and of simony also:  
But certes letcherours did he much woe,  
They shoulden sing, if they weren hent,  
And small tythers they were foul yshent,  
If any person would upon hem plain,  
There might assert him no pecunial pain  
For small tithes, and small offering,  
He made the people pitously to sing:  
For ere the bishop caught him with his hook  
They were in the Archdeacon's book,  
And then had he (through his jurdiction)  
Power to done on him correction.  
He had a Sompner ready to his hon,  
A s●ier boy was there none in Englond:  
For subtly he had his espiaile,  
That taught him where he might avail.  
He couth spare of letchours one or two,  
To teachen him to four and twenty more:  
For though this sumner wood were as an hare,  
To tell his harlottry I wool not spare,  
For we been out of his correction,  
They have of us no juridiction,  
Ne never shullen, term of all her lives.  
Peter so been women of the stews,  
(Qd. this Sompner) yput out of our cure.  
Peace with mischance & with misaventure  
Said our host, and let him tell his tale,  
Now telleth forth and let the Sompner gale,  
Ne spareth not mine own master dear.  
This false thief, this sumner (qd. the frere)  
Had always bawds ready to his hon,  
As any hawk to lure in Englond,  
That telleth him all the secre they knew,  
For her acquaintance was not come anew,  
They weren his approvers privily,  
He took himself a great profit thereby,  
His master knew not always what he won:  
Without mandment, a lewd man  
He could summon, on pain of Christ's curse,  
And they were glad to fillen his purse,  
And maden him great feasts at the ale.  
* And right as judas had purses small  
And was a thief, right such a thief was he.  
His master had but half his duty,  
He was (if I shall give him his laud)  
A thief, a sumner, and eke a bawd.  
He had eke wenches of his retinue,  
That whether sir Robert or sir Hue,  
Or john, or Rafe, or who so that it were  
That lay by him, they told it in his ear.  
Thus were the wenches and he of one assent,  
And he would fetch a feigned mandment,  
And summon him to the chapter both two,  
And pill the man, and let the wench go:  
Then would he say, friend I shall for thy sake  
Do stricken thee out of our letters black,  
Thou dare no more as in this case travail:  
I am thy friend there I may thee avail.  
Certain he knew of bribries more,  
Than possible is to tell in years two:  
For in this world nis dog for the how,  
That can an hurt dear from an whole know,  
Bet than the Sompner knew a sly letchour,  
Or avouter, or else 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 ever on his prey,  
Road to summon an old widow a rib,  
Feigning a cause, for he would have a bribe,  
And happened that he saw before him ride  
A gay yeoman under a forest side:  
A bow he bare, and arrows bright and sheen,  
He had upon him a courtpie of green,  
An hat upon his head with strings black.  
Sir (qd. this Sompner) hail & well itake.  
Welcome (qd. he) and every good fellaw,  
Whider ride thou under the green wood shaw  
Said this yeoman, wolt thou far to day?  
This Sompner him answered, & said: nay,  
Here fast by (qd. he) is mine intent  
To ridden for to reysen up a rent  
That longeth unto my lords duty.  
Art thou then a bailiff? 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 lief brother,  
Thou art a bailie, and I am another,  
I am unknown, as in this country,  
Of thine acquaintance I wool pray thee,  
And eke of brotherhood, if that thou lift,  
I have gold and silver in my chest:  
If that ye hap to come in our shire,  
All shall be thine, right as thou wolt desire.  
Grant mercy (qd. this sumner) by my faith.  
Euerich in other his truth laith,  
For to be sworn brethren till they day,  
And with that word they ridden forth her weigh,  
This sumner with that was as full of jangles,  
As full of venom, as been these wariangles,  
And ever requiring upon every thing.  
Brother qd. he, where is your dwelling,  
Another day if that I should you seech?  
This yeoman him answered in soft speech:  
Brother qd. he, far in the North country,  
Whereas I hope sometime I shall thee see,  
Or we depart I shall thee so well wisse,  
That of mine house thou shalt never miss.  
Now brother qd. the sumner, I you pray  
Teach me, while we ridden by the way,  
(Sith that ye ben a bailie as am I)  
Some subtlety, 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 troth brother dear said he,  
As I shall tell thee a faithful tale,  
My wages been full straight and full small,  
My lord is hard to me and dangerous,  
And mine office full laborious:  
And therefore by extortion I leave  
Forsooth by all that men wool me give,  
Algate by sleight or by violence:  
From year to year I win all my dispense,  
I can no better tell faithfully.  
Now certes (qd. the Sompner) so fare I,  
I spare not to taken God it wot:  
* But if it be too heavy or too hot,  
That I may gotten in counsel privily,  
No manner conscience of that have I,  
Near mine extortion, I might not liuen,  
Of such yapes wool I not be shriven:  
Stomach ne conscience know I none,  
I shrew all these shrift fathers everychone,  
Well be we met by God and sweet S. jame,  
But leave brother, tell me thy name  
Qd. this Sompner: in this mean while  
This yeoman 'gan a little for to smile.  
Brother qd. he, wolt thou that I thee tell?  
I am a fiend, my dwelling is in hell,  
And here I ride about my purchasing,  
To weet where I may get any thing:  
My purchasing is th'effect of all my rent,  
Look how thou ride for the same intent  
To win good, thou reckest never how,  
Right so fare I, for ride wool I now  
Unto the world's end for to pray.  
Ah (qd. this sumner) what do ye say,  
I wend ye were a yeoman truly,  
Ye have a man's shape as well as I,  
Have ye a figure then determinate  
In hell, there ye ben in your estate?  
Nay certainly (qd. he) there have we none,  
But when us liketh we can take us one,  
Or else make to you seem: we been shape  
Sometime like a man, or like an ape,  
Or like an Angel can I ride or go:  
It is no wonder thing though it be so,  
A lousy juggler can deceive thee,  
And pard can I more craft than he.  
Why qd. the Sompner, ride ye then or gone  
In sundry shape, and not always in one?  
For we (qd. he) wool us such form make,  
As most able is our preys for to take.  
What maketh you to have all his labour?  
Full many a cause lief 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 wool intend to winning, if I may,  
And not intend our wits to declare:  
For brother mine, thy wits been all too bare  
To understand all, though I would tell thee,  
But for thou askest why labouren we:  
For sometime be we God's instruments  
And means to done his commaundments  
What that him lust, on his creatures,  
In divers art and in divers figures:  
Withouten him we have no might certain,  
If that him list to stonden there again,  
And sometime at our prayer have we leave,  
Only the body, and not the soul to greue:  
Witness of job, whom we deden wo.  
And sometime have we might of both two,  
This is to sane, of body and soul eke,  
And sometime we been suffered for to seek  
Upon a man, and done his soul unrest,  
And not his body, and all is for the best  
When he withstandeth our temptation,  
It is a cause of his salvation,  
Albeit that it was not our intent  
He should be safe, but that we would him hent,  
And sometime be we servants unto man,  
As to the archbishop saint Dunstan  
And to the Apostle eke servant was I.  
Yet tell me (qd. this Sompner) faithfully,  
Make ye you new bodies thus always  
Of elements? the fiend answered nay:  
Sometime we feign, and sometime we arise  
With dead bodies, and that in sundry wise,  
And speak as renably, fair, and well,  
As the Phitonesse did to Samuel:  
And yet would some men say it was not he.  
I do not force of your divinity,  
But a thing I warn thee, I wool not yape,  
Thou wolt algates weet how we be shape:  
Thou shalt hereafterward (my brother dear)  
Come, where thee needeth not of me to lere,  
For thou shalt by thine own experience  
Conne in the chare the read of this sentence  
Bet than Virgil, while he was on live,  
Or Daunt also. Now let us ride believe,  
For I wool hold company with thee,  
Till it be so that thou forsake me.  
Nay (qd. this Sompner) that shall not betid,  
I am a yeoman known full wide:  
My troth wol I hold to thee, as in this case  
For though thou were the devil Sathanas,  
My troth wool I hold to my brother  
As I am sworn, and each of us to other,  
For to be true brother in this case,  
And brother, we gone to our purchaas.  
Take thou thy part, that men wool the give,  
And I shall mine, and thus shall we both leave.  
And if that any of us have more than other,  
Let him be true, and part it with his brother.  
I grant (qd. the devil) by my faith,  
And with that word they ridden forth her way,  
And right at them ring of the towns end  
(To which the sumner shaped him for to wend)  
They saw a cart that charged was with hay,  
Which that a carter drove forth on his way,  
Deep was the way, for which the cart stood:  
This carter smote, & strived as he were wood,  
Heit scot, heit broke, with spare ye for the stones,  
The fiend (qd. he) you fetch body & bones,  
As ferforth as ever ye were yfoled,  
So much woe as I have for you tholed,  
The devil have all, both horse, cart, and hay.  
Qd. this Sompner here shall we have a prey  
And ne'er the fiend he drew, as nought ne were  
Full privily, and rouned in his ear:  
Harken brother, harken by thy faith  
Hearest not thou what the carter saith?  
Hent it anon, for he hath give it thee,  
Both hay and cart, and eke his caples three,  
Nay (qd. the devil) God wot never a deal,  
It is not his intent trust me well,  
Ask him thyself, if thou trowest not me,  
Or else stint a while and thou shalt see.  
This carter thacked his horse on the croupe,  
And they begun to draw and to stoop.  
Heit now (qd. he) that jesus Christ you bless,  
And all his hondy work, both more and less:  
That was well it wight mine own liard boy,  
I pray God save thee and saint Loy,  
Now is my cart out of the slow pard.  
Lo brother (qd. the fiend) what told I thee,  
Here may ye seen mine own dear brother  
* The carl spoke o thing but he thought another  
Let us go forth about our voyage,  
Here win we nothing upon carriage.  
When they comen somewhat out of the town,  
This Sompner to his brother 'gan to roune:  
Brother, qd. he, here wonneth an old rebecke,  
That had almost as lief to less her neck,  
As for to give a penny of her good,  
I wool have xii. d. though that she were wood,  
Or I wool sompne her to our office,  
And yet God wot of her I know no vice:  
But for thou canst not, as in this country  
Win thy cost, take here ensample of me.  
This Sompner clappeth at the widows gate,  
Come out he said thou old veritrate:  
I trow thou hast some frere or priest withthee.  
Who clappeth there said this wife, benedicite,  
God save you sir, what is your sweet will?  
I have (qd. he) in summons of thee a bill,  
Up pain of cursing, look that thou be  
To morrow before our Archdeacon's knee,  
To answer to the court, of certain things.  
Now lord (qd. she) jesus king of kings  
So wisely help me, as I ne may,  
I have been sick, and that full many a day.  
I may not go so far (qd. she) ne ride,  
But I be dead, so pricketh it my side,  
May I not ask a libel sir Sompnour,  
And answer there by my proctor  
To such thing as men would apposen me.  
Yea qd. this Sompner, pay anon let see  
Twelve pence to me, and I will thee acquit,  
I shall no profit have hereof but light.  
My master hath the profit and not I,  
Come of, and let me ridden hastily:  
Give me xii. pence, I may no longer tarry.  
Twelve pence qd. she, lady saint Mary,  
So wisely help me out of care and sin,  
This wide world though I should it win,  
Ne have I not xii. d. within my ho●d:  
Ye know well that I am poor and old,  
Kith your alms on me poor wretch,  
Nay then qd. he, the foul fiend me fetch,  
If I thee excuse, though thou shouldest be spilt.  
Alas qd. she, God wot I have no guilt,  
Pay me qd. he, or by sweet saint Anne  
I wool straight bear away the new pan  
For debt, which thou owest me of old,  
When thou madest thy husband cokold,  
I paid at home for thy correction.  
Thou liest (qd. she) by my salvation,  
Ne was I never ere now, widow ne wife,  
Sompned unto your court in all my life:  
Ne never I nas but of body true,  
Unto the devil black and rough of hue  
Yeve I thy body and my pan also.  
And when the devil heard her curse so  
Upon her knees, he said in this manere:  
Now Mably, mine own mother dear  
Is this your will in earnest that ye say?  
The devil (qd. she) fet him ere he day,  
And pan and all, but he wool him repent.  
Nay old stotte, that is not mine intent,  
Qd. this Sompner, for to repent me  
For any thing that I have had of thee,  
I would I had thy smock and every cloth.  
Now brother (qd. the devil) be not wroth:  
Thy body and thy pan is mine by right,  
Thou shalt with me to hell yet to night,  
Where thou shalt known of our privity  
More than a master of divinity.  
And with that word the foul fiend him hent  
Body and soul, he with the devil went,  
Where that Sompners have their heritage,  
And God that made after his image  
Mankind, save and guide us all and some,  
And leave the Sompner good man to become.  
Lordings I could have told you (qd. this frere)  
Had I had leisure, of this Sompner here,  
After the text of Christ, Poule, and John  
And of other doctors many one,  
Such pains, as your hearts might agrize,  
Albeit so, that no tongue may devose,  
Though that I might a thousand winter tell  
The pains of that cursed house of hell,  
But for to keep us from that cursed place,  
Wake we, and pray jesus of his grace,  
So keep he us from the temper Sathanas  
hearkeneth this word, beware as in this case  
* The Lion sitteth in await always  
To slay the innocent, if that he may.  
Disposeth aye your hearts to withstand  
The fiend, that you would make thrall & bond.  
* He may not tempt you over your might,  
For Christ wool 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 stirrups high stood,  
Upon this Frere his heart was so wood,  
That like an Aspen leaf he quoke for ire:  
Lordings (qd. he) but one thing I desire,  
I you beseech, that of your courtesy,  
Sithence 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 been but little asunder.  
For pard, ye han oft time heard tell,  
How that a Frere ravished was to hell  
In spirit once by a visioun,  
And as an Angel led him up and down,  
To shown him the pains that there were:  
In all the place saw he not a Frere,  
Of other folk he saw enough in wo.  
Unto the Angel spoke the Frere tho:  
Now sir (qd. he) han Freres such a grace,  
That none of hem shall come in this place?  
Yes (qd. this Angel) many a millioun:  
And unto Sathanas lad he him adoun.  
And now hath Sathanas such a tail  
Broader than of a Caricke is the sail:  
Hold up thy tail thou Sathanas (qd. he)  
Show forth thine erse, and let the Frere see  
Whereas is the nest of Freres in this place.  
And ere that half a furlong way of space  
(Right as Bees swarmen out of an Hive)  
Out of the Devil's erse they 'gan drive  
Twenty thousand Freres all on a rout,  
And throughout hell swarmed all about,  
And come again, as fast as they might gone,  
And into his erse they crepten everyone:  
He clapped his tail again, and lay still.  
This Frere, when he looked had his fill  
Upon the turments of this sorry place,  
His spirit God restored of his grace  
Unto his body again, and he awoke,  
But nevertheless, yet for fear he quoke,  
So was the devils erse aye in his mind:  
That is his heritage of very kind.  
God save you all, save this cursed Frere,  
My Prologue wool I end in this mannere.  

¶ The Sompners Tale.  
A Begging Friar coming to a Farmer's house, who lay sick, obtaineth of him a certain Legacy, which must be equally divided among his Covent. A requital to the Friar, showing their cozenage, loitering, impudent begging, and hypocritical praying.  

LOrdings, there is in Yorkshire as I guess,  
A marish Country called holderness,  
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 manner,  
And specially aboven every thing  
Excited he the people in his preaching,  
To trentals, and to given for God's sake,  
Wherewith men mighten holy houses make,  
There as divine service is honoured,  
Not there as it is wasted and devoured,  
Ne there it needeth not to be given,  
As to possessioners that mown else leaven,  
Thonked be God, in well and abundance  
Trentals delivereth (qd. he) from penance  
Her friends souls, as well old as young  
If that they be hastily ysong,  
Not for to hold a Priest jolly and gay,  
(He singeth not but one Mess a day)  
Delivereth out (qd. he) anon the souls.  
Full hard it is, with fleshhooke or with oules  
To be yclawed, or to brens or bake:  
Now speedeth you hastily for Christ's sake.  
And when this Frere had said all his intent,  
With qui cum patre, forth his way he went,  
When folk in church had give him what hem lest  
He went his way, no longer would he rest,  
With scrip and tipped staff, ytucked high:  
In every house he 'gan to poor and pry,  
And begged meal and cheese, or else corn:  
His fellow had a staff tipped with horn,  
A pair of tables all of ivory,  
A pointell ypolished fetously,  
And wrote always the names as he stood  
Of all folk that gave hem any good,  
Askance that he woulden for him prey.  
Yeve us a bushel Wheat, Malt, or Rey,  
A God's kichell, or a trip of Cheese,  
Or else what ye list, I may not cheese:  
A God's halfpenny, or a Mass penny,  
Or give us of your Brawn, if ye have any,  
A dagon of your blanket, leave dame,  
Our sister dear, lo here I write your name,  
Bacon or Beef, or such thing as ye find.  
A sturdy harlot went him aye behind,  
That was her hosts man, and bore a sack,  
And that men gave hem, laid it on his back.  
And when he was out at the door, anon  
He plained away the names everyone,  
That he before had written in his tables:  
He served him with nifles and with fables.  
Nay there thou liest Sompner (qd. that Frere)  
Peace (qd. our host) for Christ's mother dear,  
Tell forth thy tale, and spare it not at all.  
So thrive I (qd. the Sompner) so I shall.  
So long he went fro house to house, till he  
Came to an house, there as he was wont to be  
Refreshed more than in a hundred placis:  
Sick lay the good man, whose the place is,  
Bedrid upon a couch low he lay:  
Deus hic (qd. he) O Thomas friend good day,  
Said this Frere all courteously and soft,  
Thomas God yield it you: for full oft  
Have I upon this bench faren full weal,  
Here have I eaten many a merry meal.  
And fro the bench he drove away the cat,  
And laid adoune his potent and his hat,  
And eke his scrip, and set him soft adoune:  
His fellow was go walked into the town  
Forth with his knave into that hostelry,  
Where as he shaped him that like night to lie.  
O dear master (qd. this sick man)  
How have ye faren sithen March began,  
I saw you not this fourtenight and more.  
God wot (qd. he) laboured have I full sore,  
And specially for thy salvation  
Have I said many a precious orison.  
And for our other friends God hem bless.  
I have this day been at your church at mess,  
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 therefore I wool teach you all the gloze.  
Glozing is a glorious thing certain  
For letter slaeth, as we clerks said.  
There have I him taught to been 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  
Said this man, and she wool come anon.  
Eye master, welcome ye be by saint John  
Said this wife, how fare ye heartily?  
This Frere ariseth up full courteously,  
And her embraceth in his arms narrow,  
And kisseth her sweet, & chirketh as a sparrow  
With his lips: dame (qd. he) I fare right well.  
As he that is your servant every deal.  
Thanked be God that you have soul and life,  
Yet saw I not this day so fair a wife  
In all the whole church, so God save me.  
Yea God amend all faults sir (qd. she)  
Algates welcome ye be, by my faith:  
Grant mercy dame, that have I found always.  
But of your great goodness, by your leave  
I wool pray you that ye not you greue,  
I wool with Thomas speak a little throw:  
These curates been full negligent and slow  
To gropen tenderly a man's conscience.  
In shrift, and in preaching is my diligence,  
And to study on Peter's words and Paul's,  
I walk to fishen Christian men's souls,  
To yield jesus Christ his proper rent,  
To spread his words is all mine intent.  
Now by your leave dear master (qd. she)  
Chideth him well for saint Charite:  
He is aye angry as a pissemire.  
Though that he have all that he can desire,  
Though I him wry a night, & make him warm,  
And over him lay my leg or mine arm,  
He groaneth as our bore that lieth in the sty:  
Other disport of him right none have I,  
I may not please him in no manner case.  
O Thomas, ie vous die, Thomas Thomas:  
This maketh the fiend, this must been amended.  
Ire is a thing that God highly defended,  
And thereof wool I speak a word or two.  
Now master (qd. the wife) ere that I go,  
What wool ye dine? I wool go thereabout.  
Now dame (qd. he) ie vous die sanz doubt  
Have I of a Capon but the liver,  
And of your white bread but a shiver,  
And after that a roasted Pigs head  
(But I nold not for me no beast were dead)  
Then had I enough for my suffisance:  
I am a man of little sustenance.  
My spirit hath his fostering in the Bible,  
My body is aye so ready and so penible  
To wake, that my body is destroyed.  
I pray you dame, be ye nought annoyed,  
Though I so friendly you my counsel show,  
By God I now have told it but a few.  
Now sir (qd. she) but one word ere you go,  
My child is dead within these weeks two,  
Soon after that ye went out of this town.  
His death saw I by revelatioun,  
Said this Frere, at home in our Dortour  
I dare well sane, ere that half an hour  
After his death, I saw him borne to bliss  
In mine avision, God me so wisse,  
So did our Sexton, and our Fermerere,  
That han been true Freres this fifty year:  
They may now, God be thanked of his love,  
Maken her jubilee, and walken alone.  
And up I arose, and all our covent eke,  
With many a tear trilling on our cheek:  
Withouten noise or clattering of bells,  
Te deum was our song, and nothing else,  
Save that to Christ I said an orison,  
Thanking him of my revelation:  
For sir and dame, trusteth me right well,  
Our orisons been more effectuell,  
And more we seen of Christ's secret things,  
Than borel folk, although they were kings.  
We live in poverty, and in abstinence,  
And borel folk in richesse and dispense,  
In meat and drink, and in her foul delight:  
We han this worldly lust all in despite.  
Lazar and Dives liveden diversely,  
And divers guerdons had they thereby.  
* Who so wool pray, he must fast and be clean,  
And fat his soul, and make his body lean.  
We fare as sayeth the Apostle, cloth and food  
Sufficeth us, though they be not full good:  
The cleanness and the fasting of us Freres,  
Maketh that Christ accepteth our prayers.  
Lo Moses, forty days and forty night  
Fasted, ere that the high God of his might  
Spoke with him in the mount of Sinai:  
With empty womb, fasting many a day,  
Received he the law, that was written  
With God's finger, and Hely well witten:  
In mount Oreb, ere he had any speech  
With the high God, that is our soul's leech,  
He fasted long, and was in contemplaunce.  
Aaron, that had the temple in governance,  
And eke the other priests everyone  
Into the temple when they should gone  
To praien for the people, and done service,  
They nold drink in no manner wise  
No drink, that drunk might hem make,  
But there in abstinence pray and wake,  
Lest that they deiden: take heed what I say,  
But they be sober that for the people pray,  
Beware that I say no more: for it sufficeth.  
Our Lord jesus, as holy writ deviseth,  
gave us ensample of fasting and prayers:  
Therefore we Mendicantes, we silly Freres  
Ben wedded to poverty and continence,  
To charity, humbleness, and abstinence,  
To persecution for rightwiseness,  
To weeping, misericorde, and cleanness.  
And therefore may ye see that our prayers  
(I speak of us mendicants, we Freres)  
Ben to the high God more acceptable  
Than yours, with your feast at your table.  
Fro Paradise first, if I shall not lie,  
Was man chased out for his gluttony,  
And chaste was man in Paradise certain.  
But harken now Thomas what I shall said,  
I have no text thereof, as I suppose,  
But I find it in manner of a gloze,  
That specially our sweet Lord jesus  
Spoke this by Freres, when he said thus.  
Blessed be they that poor in spirit been:  
And so forth all the Gospel may ye seen,  
Whether it be liker our perfection,  
Or hers that swimmen in possession.  
Fie on her pomp, and on her gluttony,  
And on her lewdness, I hem defy.  
Me thinketh they been like jovinian,  
Fat as a Whale, and walking as a Swan,  
As vinolent as bottle in the expense,  
Her prayer is of full little reverence:  
When they for souls say the Psalm of David  
Lo bouffe they said (Cor meum eructavit.)  
Who followeth Christ's Gospel & his lore  
But we? that humble be, chaste, and poor.  
Workers of gods word, and not auditors.  
Therefore right as an hawk at a sours  
Up springeth into the air, so prayers  
Of charitable and cahst busy Freres,  
Maken her sours up to God's ears two.  
Thomas Thomas, so moat I ride or go,  
And by that lord that cleped is saint You,  
Ne thou our brother were, thou shouldst not thrive.  
For in our Chapter pray we day & night  
To Christ, that he thee send health and might  
Thy body for to welden hastily.  
God wot (qd. he) nothing thereof feel I  
As help me Christ: for within few years  
Have I spended upon divers manner Freres  
Well many a pound, yet fare I never the bet,  
Certain my good have I almost beset:  
Farewell my good, for it is almost ago.  
The frere answered, o Thomas dost thou so?  
What needeth thee divers Freres to sech?  
What needeth him that hath a perfect lech,  
To sechen other leches in the town?  
Your inconstance is your confusion,  
Hold ye me then, or else our Covent,  
To prayen for you, insufficient?  
Thomas, that jape nis not worth a Mite,  
Your malady is for we have to light.  
A, give that covent half a quarter Oats:  
And give that covent four & twenty gortes,  
And give that Frere a penny, and let him go:  
Nay, nay Thomas, it may nothing be so.  
What is a farthing worth parted in twelve?  
Lo, each 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 have all our labour for nought.  
The high God, that all this world hath wrought  
* Saith, that the workman is worthy his hire  
Thomas, naught of your treasure I desire  
As for myself, but that all our covent  
To pray for you is aye so diligent:  
And holy for to builden Christ own chirch.  
Thomas, if ye wool learn for to wirch,  
Of building up of Chirches may ye finde  
If it be good, in Thomas life of Ind.  
Ye liggen here full of anger and ire  
With which the devil set your heart on fire.  
And chiden here this holy innocent  
Your wife, that is so good and patient.  
And therefore trow me Thomas if ye lest,  
Ne chide not with thy wife, as for the best:  
And bear this word away by thy faith.  
Touching such thing lo what the wise saith:  
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, eftsoon charge I thee,  
Beware of her that in thy bosom sleepeth,  
Beware of the serpent, that so slily creepeth,  
Under the grass, and stingeth full subtly:  
Beware my son, and hearken patiently,  
That twenty thousand men han lost her lives  
For striving with her lemen & her wives.  
Now since you have so holy and meek a wife,  
What needeth you Thomas to make strife?  
* There nis iwis no serpent so cruel  
(When men treden on his tail) ne half so fell,  
As a woman is, when she hath caught an ire,  
Vengeance is then all her desire.  
Ire is a sin, one of the greatest of seven,  
Abominable unto the high God of heaven,  
And to himself it is destruction,  
This every lewd Vicar and Parson  
* Can say, how ire engendereth homicide,  
Ire is in sooth the executor of pride.  
I could of ire say so much sorrow,  
That my tale should last till to morrow.  
And therefore I pray God both day and night  
That to an irous man he send little might.  
* It is great harm, and eke great pity  
To see an irous man in high degree.  
Whiledom there was an irous potestate,  
As saith Seneck, that during his estate  
Upon a day out ridden knights two,  
And as fortune would it should be so,  
That one of him came home, that other nought:  
Anon the knight before the judge is brought,  
That said thus: thou hast thy fellow slain,  
For which I dame thee to the death certain.  
And to another knight commanded he,  
Go, lead him to the death I charge thee.  
And happened as they went by the weigh  
Toward the place there as he should they,  
The knight came, which men wend had be ded  
Then thought they that it was the best reed.  
To lead him both to the judge again:  
They saiden lord, the knight hath not slain  
His fellow, here he stant hole alive.  
Ye shullen be dead (qd. he) so mote I thrive:  
That is to say, both one, two, and three,  
And to the first knight, right thus spoke he.  
I damned thee, thou must algate be dead:  
And thou must also lose needs thine head,  
For thou art cause why thy fellow dieth.  
And to the third knight, right thus he sayeth,  
Thou hast not done that I commanded thee.  
And thus he lete do i'll him all three.   

Irous Cambyses was eke drunkelew,  
And aye delighted him to been a shrew,  
And so befell, a lord of his mien,  
That loved well virtuous morality,  
Said on a day betwixt him two right thus:  
A lord is lost, if he be aught vicious,  
* And drunkenness eke is a foul record  
Of any man, and namely of a lord.  
* There is many an eye and many an ear  
A waiting on a lord, he not where.  
For God's love drinketh temperately:  
* Wine maketh a man to less wretchedly  
His mind, and his limbs everyone.  
The reverses shalt thou see (qd. he) anon,  
And prove it by thine own experience,  
That wine ne doth to folk no such offence.  
There nis no wine bereaveth me my might  
Of hon, of foot, ne of mine eyesight.  
And for despite he drunk mochel more  
An hundred times than he did before,  
And right ay, this cursed irous wretch  
Let this knight's son before him fetch  
Commanding him he should beforn him stoned:  
And suddenly he took his how in hon,  
And up the string he plucked to his ear,  
And with an arrow he slough the child there,  
Now whither have I a siker hon or none,  
Qd. he? Is all my might and mind agone?  
Hath wine bereven me mine iyen sight?  
What should I tell the answer of the knight?  
His son was slain, there is no more to say,  
* Beware therefore, with lords how ye play,  
Sing Placebo, and I shall if I can,  
But if it be unto a poor man:  
To a poor man one should his vices tell,  
But not to a lord, though he should go to hell.   

Lo irous Cirus, thilk Percien,  
How destroyed he the river of Gisen?  
For that an horse of his was dreint therein,  
When as he went Babylon to win:  
He made that the river was so small,  
That men might ride and waden over all.  
Lo, what said he, that so well teach can,  
* Ne be no fellow to none irous man,  
Ne with no wood man walk by the way,  
Lest thou repent, I wool no further say.  
Now Thomas leave brother, leave thine ire,  
Thou shalt me find as just, as is a squire:  
Hold not the devil's knife aye in thine heart,  
Thine anger doth thee all to sore smart,  
But show to me all thy confession.  
Nay, (qd. the sick man) by saint Simon  
I have be shrive this day of my Curate  
I have told him wholly mine estate.  
It needeth no more to speak of it, sayeth he,  
But if me list of mine humility.  
Yeve me then of thy gold tomake our cloister  
qd. he, for many a muscle & many an Oyster,  
When other men have been full well at ease,  
Hath been our food, our cloister for to rease:  
And yet God wot, unneath the fundament  
performed is, ne of our pavement  
Is not a tile yet within our wones:  
By God we owen forty pound for stones,  
Now help Thomas, for him that harrowed hell,  
For else moat we needs all our books sell,  
And if you lack our predication,  
Then goeth this world all to destruction.  
For who so wool fro this world us bereave,  
So God me save, Thomas by your leave,  
He would bereave 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 charity, ithonked be our Lord,  
Now Thomas, help for saint Charity:  
And down anon he sitteth on his knee.  
This sick man waxeth nigh 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 give, and none other:  
Ye said me thus, how that I am your brother.  
Ye certes (qd. this frere) trusteth me well,  
I took our dame our letter and our sele.  
Now (qd. he) well, and somewhat shall I give  
Unto your holy covent while I live:  
And in thine hon thou shalt it have anon  
On this condition, and other none,  
That you depart it so, my leave brother,  
That every frere have as much as another:  
This shalt thou swear on thy profession  
Without fraud or cavillation.  
I swear it, qd. she frere, by my faith:  
And therewithal his hon in his he lay,  
Lo here my faith, in me shall be no lack.  
Then put thine hon adown by my back  
Said this man, and grope well behind,  
Beneath my buttock there thou shalt find  
A thing, that I have hid in privity:  
Ah, thought the frere, that shall go with me.  
Adown he shofth his hon to the cleft,  
In hope to find there some good gift.  
And when this sick man felt this frere  
About his tewel, groping here and there,  
Amid his hon he let the frere a fart,  
There nis no capel drawing in a cart,  
That might have let a fart of such a sound.  
The frere up start, as doth a wood lion:  
A false churl, qd. the frere, for God's bones,  
This hast thou in despite do for the nonce:  
Thou shalt abye 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 cheer,  
And fet his fellow, there as lay his store:  
He looked as he were a wild Boar,  
He grinted his teeth, so was he wroth  
A sturdy pace down to the court he goth  
Whereas wonned a man of great honour  
To whom that he was always confessor:  
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 board:  
Vnnethes might the frere to speak o word,  
Till at the last he said, God you see.  
This lord 'gan look, and said Benedicite  
What frere John, what manner world is this?  
I see well that something is amiss,  
* Ye look as though the wood were full of thevis:  
Sat down, and tell me what your grief is,  
And it shall be amended, if that I may.  
I have, qd. he, had a despite to day,  
God yield it you, adown in your village,  
That in this world is none so poor a page,  
That he nolde have abhominatioun  
Of that I have received in your town:  
And yet me grieveth nothing so sore,  
As that the old churl, with locks hore  
Blasphemed hath our holy covent eke.  
Now master, qd. this lord, I you beseek.  
No master sir, qd. he, but servitor,  
Though I have had in school that honour.  
God liketh not, that men us Rabie call  
Neither in market, ne in your large hall.  
No force, qd. he, but tell me of your grief.  
Sir, qd. this Frere, an odious mischief  
This day is betid, to mine order, and to me,  
And so per consequens to each degree  
Of holy church, God amend it soon.  
Sir, qd. the lord, ye wot what is to done:  
Distemper you not, you be my confessor.  
Ye be the salt of the earth, and the savour,  
For Gods love your patience now hold,  
Telleth me your grief: and he anon him told  
As ye han heard before, ye wot well what.  
The lady of the house, aye still sat  
Till she had heard fully what the Frere said.  
Eye gods mother, qd. she, and blissful maid:  
Is there nought else, tell me faithfully?  
Madame, qd. he, how thinketh ye thereby?  
How that me thinketh? so God me speed,  
I say a churl hath done a churl's deed:  
What should I say, God let him never the,  
His sick head is full of vanity:  
I hold him in a manner of frenzy.  
Madam, qd. he, by God I shall not lie,  
But I in any wise, may been on him awreke,  
I shall slander him over all, where I speak:  
That false blasphemer that charged me  
To part it that might not departed be,  
To every man iliche, with mischance.  
The lord sat still, as he were in a trance,  
And in his heart he roled up and down,  
How that this churl had imaginatioun  
To show such a problem to the frere.  
Never erst or now heard I such a matere,  
I trow the Devil put it in his mind.  
In all Arsmetricke there shall no man find  
Before this day of such a question.  
Who should make a demonstration,  
That every man should have ilike his part  
Of a swoon or favour of a farte:  
O nice proud churl, I beshrew thy face.  
Lo sirs, qd. the lord, with hard grace,  
Who ever heard of such a thing or now?  
To every man ilike, tell me how?  
It is an impossible, it may not be,  
Eye nice churl, God let him never the.  
The rambling of a fart, and every sound,  
Nys but of eyre reverberatioun,  
And ever it wasteth little and little away:  
There is no man can demen, by my faith,  
If that it were departed equally.  
What? lo my churl: lo, how shrewdly  
Unto my confessor to day he spoke,  
I hold him certain a demoniake,  
Now eateth your meat, & let the churl go play,  
* Let him go hongen himself a devil way.  
Now stood the lords squire at the board,  
That carf his meat, and heard word by word  
Of all thing, of which I have you said.  
My lord, qd. he, be ye not evil paid:  
I couth tell for a gown cloth  
To you sir frere, so that ye been not wroth,  
How that this fart should even idealed be  
Among your covent, if it liketh thee.  
Tell on (qd. the lord) and thou shalt have anon  
A gown cloth, by God and by saint john.  
My lord (qd. he) when the weather is fair  
Withouten wind, or perturbing of air,  
Let bring a cart wheel here into this hall,  
But look well that he have his spokes all,  
Twelve spokes hath a cart wheel commonly:  
And bring me then xii. freres, wot ye why?  
For thirteen is a covent as I guess:  
Your confessor here for his worthnesse  
Shall perform up the number of his covent.  
Then shullen they knelen adoun by one assent,  
And to every spokes end in this manere  
Full sadly lay his nose shall a frere:  
Your noble confessor there, God him save,  
Shall hold his nose upright under the nave,  
Then shall this churl with belly stiff & taught  
As any tabor, hither been ibrought,  
And set him on the wheel right of this cart  
Upon the nave, and make him let a fart,  
And ye shullen see, up peril of my life,  
By good proof which is demonstratife,  
That equally the swoon of it will wend,  
And eke the stink, unto the spokes end.  
Save that this worthy man your confessor  
(Because he is a man of great honour)  
Shall have the first fruits as reason is:  
The noble usage of freres yet is this,  
The worthiest man of him shul first be served:  
And certainly, he hath it well deserved,  
He hath to day taught us so much good,  
With preaching in the pulpit there he stood,  
That I may vouchsafe, I say for me,  
He had the first smell of farts three,  
And so would all his brethren hardly,  
He beareth him so fair and holily.  
The lord, the lady, & each man save the frere,  
Said that jenkin spoke in this matter  
As well as Euclid did, or Ptholome,  
Touching the churls said subtlety,  
And high wit made him speak as he spoke,  
He nis no fool, ne no demoniake:  
And jenkin hath iwonne a new gown,  
My tale is done, we been almost at town.      


¶ The Clerk of Oxenfords Prologue.  
SIr Clerk of Oxenford our host said,  
Ye ride as still and coy, as doth a maid  
Were new spoused, sitting at the board:  
This day ne heard I of your mouth a word.  
I trow that ye study about some sophime:  
* But Solomon saith, all thing hath time.  
For God's sake beth of better cheer,  
It is no time now to study here.  
Tell us some merry tale by your faith:  
For what man is entered into a play,  
He needs mot unto that play assent.  
But preacheth not, as Freres done in Lent,  
To make us for our old sins to weep,  
He that thy tale make us not to sleep.  
Tell us some merry thing of aventures,  
Your terms, your figures, and your colours  
Keep him in store, till so be that ye indite  
High stile, as when men to kings do write.  
Speak so plain at this time, I you pray,  
That we may understand what ye say.  
This worthy Clerk benignly answered,  
Host (qd. he) I am under your yard,  
Ye have of us as now the governance,  
And therefore will I do you obeisance,  
As far as reason asketh hardly:  
I wool you tell a tale, which that I  
Learned at Padow, of a worthy clerk,  
As proved is by his words and his work.  
He is now dead, and nailed in his chest,  
I pray to God send his soul good rest.  
France's Petrarke, the laureate poet  
Height this ilke clerk, whose Rhetoric sweet  
Enlumined all Itaile of poetry,  
As Livian did of Philosophy,  
Or law or other art perticulere:  
But death that wol not suffer us dwellen here,  
But as it were the twinkling of an eye,  
Him both hath slain, and all we shall die.  
But for to tell of this worthy man,  
That taught me this tale, as I first began  
I say that he first with high stile enditeth  
(Or he the body of his tale writeth)  
A proheme, in which discriveth he  
Piedmont, and of Saluce the country,  
And speaketh of Apenniny the hills hie,  
That been the bounds of west Lombardy:  
And of mount Vesulus in special,  
Where as the Poo, out of a well small  
Taketh his first springing and his sours,  
That Eastward ever increaseth in his course  
To Emelle ward, to Ferare, and to Venise,  
The which a long time were to devose.  
And truly, as to my judgement,  
Me thinketh it a thing impartinent,  
Save that him list conveyen his matere:  
But this is his tale as ye shullen here.  


¶ The Clerk of Oxenfords Tale.  
WAlter the marquis of Saluce proveth the patience of his wife Grisill, by three most sharp trials.  

THere is in the West side of Itaile  
Down at the ro●e of Vesulus the cold,  
A lusty plain abundant of victual,  
Where many a town & tower thou mayst behold  
That founded were, in time of father's old,  
And many another delectable sight:  
And Saluce this noble country height.   

A marquess whilom was in that land,  
As were his worthy elder him before,  
And obeisant aye ready to his hon  
Were all his lieges, both less and more:  
Thus in delight he lived, and hath done yore  
Beloved & dread, through favour of fortune  
Both of his lords, and of his common.   

Therewith he was, as to speak of lineage  
The gentilest iborne of all Lombardy,  
A fair person, and strong, and young of age,  
And full of honour and courtesy:  
Discreet enough, his country for to gye  
Save that in some things he was to blame,  
And Walter was this young lords name.   

I blame him thus, that he considered nought  
In time coming, what he might betid,  
But on his lust present was all his thought,  
And for to hawk and hunt on every side:  
wellnigh all other cures let he slide,  
And eke he ne would (that was worst of all)  
Wed no wife for aught that might befall.   

Only that point his people bore so sore,  
That flockmele on a day to him they went,  
And one of him, that wisest was of lore  
(Or else that the lord would best assent  
That he should tell him with his people meant,  
Or else could he well show such matter)  
He to the Marquis said as ye shullen here.   

O noble Marquis, your humanity  
Assureth us and giveth us hardiness,  
As oft time as is necessity,  
That we may to you tell our heaviness:  
Accepteth lord of your gentleness,  
That we to you with piteous heart plain,  
And let your ears nat my voice disdain.   

All have I not to done in this matere  
More than another hath in this place,  
Yet for as much, as ye my lord so dear  
Have always showed me favour and grace,  
I dare the better ask of you a space  
Of audience, to shown our request,  
And ye my lord to done right as you lest   

For certes lord: so well us liketh you  
And all your works, and ever have done, that we  
Ne could our own self devisen how  
We might more liuen in felicity:  
Save one thing lord, if it your will be,  
That for to be a wedded man, you lest,  
Then were your people in sovereign hearts rest.   

Boweth your neck under the blissful yoke  
Of soverainte, and not of service.  
Which men clepe spousaile or wedlock:  
And thinketh lord, among your thoughts wise,  
For though we sleep or wake, run, or ride,  
* Ay fleeth the time, it wol no man abide.   

And though your green youth flower as yet,  
* In creepeth age always as still as stone,  
And death manaseth every age, and smite  
In each estate, for there escapeth none:  
And also certain, as we known eachone,  
That we shul die, and uncertain we all  
Ben of that day that death shall on us fall.   

Accepteth then of us the true intent,  
That never yet refused your hest,  
And we wol all lord, if ye wol assent  
Cheese you a wife in short time, at the lest  
Born of the gentillest and the best  
Of all this land, so that it ought seem  
Honour to god & you, as ne'er as we can dame.   

Deliver us out of all this busy dread,  
And take a wife, for high God's sake:  
For if it so befell, as god forbed,  
That thorogh death your lineage should slake,  
And that a strange successor should take  
Your heritage, O woe were us on live:  
Wherefore we pray you hastily to wive.   

Her meek prayer and her piteous cheer  
Made the Marquis for to have pite.  
Wol ye (qd. he) mine own people dear  
To that I never erst thought, constrain me?  
ay me rejoiced of my liberty,  
That selden time is found in marriage,  
There I was free, I moat been in servage.   

But nevertheless, I see your true intent,  
And trust upon your wit, and have done aye:  
Wherefore of my free will I wool assent  
To wedden me, as soon as ever I may.  
But there, as ye have proffered me to day  
To cheese me a wife, I you release  
That choice, & pray you of that proffer cease.   

* For God it wot, that children oft been  
Unlike her worthy eldes him before,  
bounty cometh of God, & not of the streen,  
Of which they be engendered and ibore:  
I trust in gods bounty, 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 upon my back I wool endure:  
But I you pray, and charge upon your life,  
That what wife I take, ye me ensure  
To worship her whiles her life may dure,  
In word and work, both here and elsewhere,  
As she an Emperor's daughter were.   

And furthermore, thus shul ye swear, that ye  
Against my choice shall never grudge nestrive.  
For sith I shall forgo my liberte  
At your request, as ever moat I thrive,  
There as mine heart is set, there wol I wive:  
And but ye wool assent, in such manere,  
I pray you speak no more in this matter.   

With hearty will they sworn and assent  
To all this thing, there said no wight nay:  
Beseeching him of grace ere they went,  
That he would him grant a certain day  
Of his spousaile, as soon as ever he may,  
For yet always the people somewhat dread,  
Lest this Marquis would no wife wed.   

He granted him a day, such as him lest,  
On which he would be wedded sekerly:  
And said he did all this at her request,  
And they with humble intent full buxumely  
Kneeling upon her knees full reverently  
Him thonked all, and thus they han an end  
Of her intent, and home again they wend.   

And hereupon he took his officers  
Commanding for the feast to purvay,  
And to his privy knights and squires  
Such charge he gave, as he list on him lay:  
And they to his commandment obey,  
And each of hem doth his diligence  
To done to the feast all reverence.    

Explicit prima pars, & sequitur pars secunda.  

NOught far from thilk place honourable,  
Where this Marquis shaped his marriage,  
There stood a thrope, of sight full delectable,  
In which that poor folk of that village  
Hadden her beasts and her herbigage,  
And of her labour took her sustenance,  
After that the earth gave hem abundance.   

Among this poor folk there dwell a man,  
Which that was holden poorest of him all:  
* But the high God sometime senden can  
His grace unto a little ox stall:  
janicola men of that thrope him call.  
A daughter had he fair enough to sight,  
And Grisilde this young maiden height.   

But for to speak of virtuous beauty,  
Then was she one the fairest under son:  
And full poorly ifostered was she:  
No liquorous lust was in her heart yronne:  
Well ofter of the well than of the ton  
She drunk, and for she would virtue please,  
She knew well labour, but not idle ease.   

But though this maid was tender of age,  
Yet in the breast of her virginity  
There was enclosed sad and ripe courage:  
And in great reverence of charity  
Her old poor father fostered she:  
A few sheep spinning on the field she kept,  
She would not been idle till she slept.   

And when she homeward came, she would bring  
Wortes, and other herbs, times full oft,  
Which she shrad and seethe for her living,  
And made her bed full hard, & nothing soft:  
And aye she kept her father's life on loft  
With every obeisance and diligence,  
That child might do to the father's reverence.   

Upon Grisilde the poor creature  
Well oft hath the Marquis set his eye,  
As he a hunting went peradventure:  
And when it fell that he might her espy  
He (not with wanton looking of folly)  
His eyes cast upon her, but in sad wise,  
Upon her cheer he would him oft avise.   

Commending in his heart her womanhead,  
And eke her virtue, passing every wight  
Of so young age, as well in cheer as in deed.  
For though the people have no great insight  
In virtue: he considered full right  
Her bounty, and disposed that he would  
Her wed, if he ever wedden should.   

The day of wedding come, but no wight can  
Tell, what manner woman it should be,  
For which marvel, wondered many a man  
And saiden, when they were in their privite,  
wol not our Lord leave his vanity.  
wol he not wed, alas, alas, the while,  
Why wool he thus himself and us beguile.   

But nevertheless this Marquis hath do make  
Of gems, set in gold and in azure,  
Broaches and rings, all for Grisildes' sake,  
And of her clothing took 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 undrens, in the same day  
Approached, that the wedding should be,  
And all the paleis put was in array,  
Both hall and chamber, each in his degree,  
Houses of office stuffed with great plenty:  
There mayest thou see all dainteous victual,  
That may be found, as far as lasteth Itaile,   

This royal Marquis richly arrayed,  
Lords and ladies in his company,  
The which that to the feast weren prayed  
And of his retinue the bachelerie,  
With many a sown of sundry melody,  
Unto the village of which I told,  
In this array the right way hath hold.   

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

She thought I will with other maiden's stoned  
That been my fellows, in our door and see  
The Marquis, and thereto wol ay fond  
To have done at home as soon 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 would over the dreshold gone,  
The Marquis came and 'gan her for to call,  
And she set down her water pot anon  
Beside the threshold of the ox stall,  
And down upon her knees she 'gan to fall,  
And with sad countenance she kneeled still,  
Till she had herd what was the lords will.   

This thoughtful Marquis spoke to that maid  
Well soberly, and said in this manere:  
Where is your father Grisiilde, he said?  
And she with reverence and meek cheer  
Answered, lord he is all ready here,  
And in she goeth without longer let,  
And to the Marquis she her father fet.   

He by the hon than took this old man,  
And said thus, when he had him aside:  
janicola, I neither may ne can  
Lenger the pleasance of mine heart hide,  
If that thou vouchsafe, whatsoever betid  
Thy daughter wool I take or that I wend  
As for my wife, unto my life's end.   

Thou lovest me, I wot well certain,  
And art my faithful liegeman ibore,  
And all that liketh me, I dare well sane  
It liketh thee, and specially therefore  
Tell me that point, that I have said before,  
If that thou wolt to this purpose draw,  
To take me as for thy son in law?   

This sudden case the man atoned so,  
That red he wext abashed, and all quaking  
He stood, ne unneath said he words more,  
But only thus (qd. he) Lord my willing  
Is as ye wool, ne against your liking  
I wool nothing, ye be my lord so dear,  
Right as you list, govern this matter.   

Then wol I thus (qd. this Marquis) soothly,  
That in thy chamber, I you, and she,  
Have a collation, and wottest thou why?  
For I wool ask her, if her will be  
To be my wife, and rule her after me:  
And all this shall she done in thy presence,  
I wool not speak out of thine audience.   

And in the chamber, while they were about  
The treties, where ye shall after hear,  
The people came into the house without  
And wondered him, in how honest manner  
So tentifly she kept her father dear:  
But utterly Grisild wonder might.  
For never erst saw she such a sight.   

No wonder is though she be atoned,  
To see so great a gest come into that place,  
She was never to such gests woned,  
For which she looked with full pale face.  
But shortly from this matter for to pace,  
These weren the words that the Marquis said  
To this benign and very faithful maid.   

Grisilde he said, ye shall well understand,  
It liketh unto your father and me,  
That I you wed, and eke it may so stoned  
As I suppose, that ye wool it so be:  
But these demands I ask first (qd. he)  
That sithen it shall be done in hasty wise,  
Wool ye thereto assent, or else you avise?   

I say thus, be ye ready with good heart  
To all my lust, and that I freely may  
As me best liketh, though ye laugh or smart,  
And never ye to grudge, night ne day:  
When I say yea, that ye say not one's nay,  
Neither in word, ne by frowning countenance;  
Swear this, and here I swear our alliance.   

Wondering upon these words, quaking for dread  
She said: lord, indigne and unworthy  
Am I, to thilk honour, that ye me bede,  
But right as you wool, even so wool I:  
And here I swear, that never willingly  
In word, work, ne thought, I nill you disobie  
For to be deed, though me were loath to die.   

This is enough Grisilde mine (qd. he)  
And forth he goeth with a sober cheer,  
Out at the door 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 loveth her, I you pray,  
Who so me loveth, there nis no more to say.   

And for that nothing of her old gear  
She should bring into his house, he bade  
That women should dispoilen her there,  
Of which these ladies were nothing glad  
To handle her clothes in which she was clad:  
But nevertheless this maiden bright of hue  
From foot to head they clothed han all new.   

Her here han they comb, that lay untressed  
Full rudely, and with her fingers small  
A crown on her head they han idressed,  
And set it full of ouches great and small,  
Of her array what should I make a tale,  
Uneath the people her knew for her fairness,  
When she transformed was in such riches.   

This Marquis hath her spoused with a ring  
Bought for the same cause, and then her set  
Upon an horse snow white, well ambling,  
And to his palais, or he longer let  
(With joyful people, that her lad and met)  
Conveyed her, and thus the day they spend  
In revel, till the sun 'gan descend.   

And shortly forth this tale for to chase,  
I say, that to this new marquis  
God hath isent such favour of his grace,  
That it seemed not, as by her likeliness  
That she was borne and fed in rudeness,  
As in a cote, or in an ox stall,  
But nourished in an Emperor's hall.   

To every wight she waxed is so dear,  
And worshipful, the folk there as she was boar,  
And fro her birth knew her year by year,  
uneath trowed they, but durst have swore,  
That to janicola, of which I spoke before,  
She daughter nas, for as by conjecture  
Hempskirke thought she was another creature.   

For though that ever virtuous was she,  
She was increased in such excellence  
Of thews good, set in high bounty,  
And so discrete, and fair of eloquence,  
So benign, and digne of reverence,  
And coude the people's hearts so enbrace,  
That each her loved that looked in her face.   

Not only of Saluce in the town  
Published was the bounty of her name,  
But eke beside, in many a region,  
If one said well, another said the same:  
So spread of her high bounty the fame,  
That men and women, both young and old  
Gone to Saluces her for to behold.   

Thus Walter lowly, and full royally,  
Wedded hath with fortunate honesty,  
In God's peace he liveth full easily:  
At home, and outward, grace enough had he:  
And for he saw that under low degree  
Was honest virtue hid, the people him held  
A prudent man, and that is seen well seld.   

Not only this Grisilde, through her wit  
Couth all the feat of wifely humbleness,  
But eke when the cause required it,  
The come profit could she redress:  
There nas discord, rancour ne heaviness  
In all the land, that she ne couth apeses,  
And bring him all wisely in rest and ease.   

Though her husband absent were or none,  
If gentlemen, or other of that country  
Were wroth, she would bring him all at one,  
So wise counsel and ripe words had she,  
And judgement of so great equity,  
That she from heaven sent was, as men wend,  
People to save, and every wrong to mend.   

Not long time after this fair Grisilde  
Was wedded, she a daughter had ibore,  
All had she lever have borne a man child:  
Glad was the Marquis & his folk therefore,  
For though a maid child came all before  
She may to a man child after attain  
By likelihood, sithence she is not barren.    

Explicit secunda pars, & incipit pars tertia.  

THere fell, as it befalleth oft times more,  
When that this child had sucked but a throw,  
This Marquis in his heart longed so  
To tempt his wife, her sadness to know,  
That he ne might out his heart throw  
This marvelous desire, his wife to assay,  
Needless God wot, he thought her to affray.   

He had assayed her enough before,  
And found her ever good, what needeth it  
Her for to tempt? And always more & more  
Though some man praise it for a subtle wit,  
But as for me, I say full evil it sit  
To assay a wife when it is no need,  
And put her in anguish and in dread.   

For which this Marquis wrought in this manere,  
He came alone a night there as she lay  
With full stern face, and right ugly cheer,  
And said thus: Grisilde (qd. he) that day  
That I took thee out of thy poor array,  
And put thee in estate of high noblesse,  
Thou hast not that forgotten, as I guess.   

I say Grisilde, the present dignity  
In which I have put thee, as I trow,  
Maketh not thee foryetfull for to be,  
That I thee took in poor estate full low,  
For any we'll thou must thyself know.  
Take heed of every word what I say,  
There is no wight that heareth but we tway.   

Thou wottest thyself how that thou came here  
Into this house, it is not long ago,  
And though to me thou be both lief and dear,  
Unto my Gentiles thou art nothing so:  
They say, to him it is great shame and woe  
For to been subject, and been in servage  
To thee, that borne art in so small a village.   

And namely sith thy daughter was ybore,  
These words often have they spoken doubtless,  
But I desire, as I have done before,  
To lead my life with hem in rest and pees:  
I may not in this case be reckless.  
I moat done with thy daughter for the best.  
Not as I would, but as my gentiles jest.   

And yet God wot, this is full loath to me:  
But nevertheless without thy witting  
I wool nought do, but this I wool (qd. he)  
That thou to me assent, as in this thing,  
Show now thy patience in the werking,  
That thou me height and swore in our village  
That day that maked was our marriage.   

When she had heard all this, she not moved  
Neither in word, in cheer, ne countenance,  
(For as it seemed, she was not aggrieved)  
She said lord, all lieth in your pleasance,  
My child and I, with heartily obeisance  
Been yours all, & ye may save or spill,  
With your own therefore worketh your own will.   

There may nothing so God my soul save,  
Liken to you, that may displease me:  
Ne I desire nothing for to have  
Ne dread for to less, save only ye:  
This will is in my heart, and aye shall be,  
No length of time, or death it may deface  
Neither change my courage into another place.   

Glad was the Marquis of her answering,  
But yet he feigned as he were not so,  
All dreary was his cheer and his looking.  
When that he should out of the chamber go  
Sun after this, a furlong way or two  
He privily had told all his intent  
Unto a man, and to his wife him sent.   

In manner of a sergeant was this privy man  
The which he faithful often found had  
In things great, and eke such folk well can  
Done execution of things bad:  
The lord knew well, he him loved and dread.  
And when this sergeant wist his lords will,  
Into the chamber he stalked him full still.   

Madam he said, ye moat foryeve it me,  
Though I do thing, which I am constrained:  
Ye be full wise, and full well know ye,  
That great lords hests may not be feigned,  
They may well be wailed and complained,  
But men must needs unto her lust obey,  
And so wool I, there nis no more to say.   

This child I am commanded to take.  
And spoke no more, but up the child he hent  
Dispitously, and 'gan a cheer to make,  
As though he would have slain it or he went.  
Grisilde must all suffer and consent:  
And as a lamb, she sitteth meek and still,  
And let this cruel Sergeant do 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 daughter, that she loved so,  
She wend he would have slain it right tho,  
But nevertheless she neither wept ne liked,  
Confirming her to that the Marquis liked.   

But at the last to speak she began,  
And full meekly she the sergeant prayed  
(So as he was a worthy gentle man)  
That she might kiss her child ere that it died:  
And in her arm, this little child she leid,  
With full sad face, and 'gan the child bliss,  
And lulled it, and after 'gan it kiss.   

And thus she said in her benign voice:  
Farewell my child, I shall thee never see,  
But sithen I have marked thee with the croice,  
Of thelke father iblessed mote thou be,  
That for us died upon the Rood tree:  
Thy soul little child I him betake,  
For this night shalt thou dien for my sake.   

I trow that to a norice in this case  
It had been hard this routh for to see:  
Well might a mother then cry alas,  
But nevertheless so sad and steadfast was she,  
That she endured all her adversity,  
And to the sergeant meekly she said,  
Have here again your little young maid.   

And goth now (qd. she) & doth my lord's hest:  
And o thing would I pray you of your grace,  
But if my lord forbid it you at the least.  
Burieth this little body in some place,  
That no beasts ne birds it to race.  
But he no word to that purpose would say,  
But took the child and went anon his way.   

This sergeant came to the lord again,  
And of Grisilds' words and of her cheer,  
He told him word by word, short and plain,  
And him presented with his daughter dear.  
Somewhat this lord had routh in his manner,  
But nevertheless his purpose held he still,  
As lords done, when they wool have their will,   

And bade the sergeant that full privily  
He should this child well soft wind and wrap,  
With all the circumstance tenderly,  
And carry it in a coffer, or in a lap:  
But on pain of his head off to swap,  
That no man should know of his intent,  
Ne whence he came ne whither he went.   

But at Boleine, to his sister dear,  
That thilk time of Pavia was Countess,  
He should it take, and show her this matter,  
Beseeching her to done her business  
This child to fostre in all gentleness,  
And whose child that it was he bade her hide  
From every wight, for aught that might betid.   

This sergeant goth, & hath fulfilleth this thing.  
But to this Marquis now return we,  
For now goeth he full oft imagining  
If by his wife's cheer, he might ought see  
Or else by her words, overthrow that she  
Were changed, but he never could find,  
But ever in one ilike sad and kind.   

As glad, as humble, as busy in service  
And eke in love as she was wont to be,  
Was she to him in every manner wise,  
Ne of her daughter one word spoke she:  
None accident for none adversite  
Was seen in her, ne never her daughters name  
Nempned she, for earnest ne for game.    

Explicit tertia pars, & incipit pars quarta.  

IN this estate passed been four year,  
Ere she with child was, but as God would,  
A man child she bore by this Waltere  
Well gracious, and fair to behold:  
And when folk it to the father told,  
Not only he, but all the country merry  
Was for the child, & God they thank & hery.   

When it was two year old, & from the breast  
Departed from his norice, on a day  
This Marquis caught yet another lest  
To tempten his wife eftsoon, if he may.  
O needles was she tempted, I dare say.  
* But wedded men ne con no measure,  
When they find a patient creature.   

Wife (qd. this Marquis) ye have heard or this  
My people heavily beareth our marriage,  
And namely sithence my son borne is,  
Now is it worse than ever in our age:  
The murmur slaieth my heart & my courage,  
For to my ears cometh the voice so smart  
That it well nigh destroyed hath my hart.   

Now say they thus, when Walter is agone,  
Then shall the blood of janicola succeed,  
And been our lord, for other have we none:  
Such words say my people, it is no dread.  
Well ought I of such murmur take heed,  
For certainly I dread such sentence,  
Though they not plainly speak in mine audience.   

I would live in peace, if that I might:  
Wherefore I am disposed utterly,  
As I his sister served by night,  
Right so I think to serve him privily.  
Thus warn I you, that ye not suddenly  
Out of yourself, for no woe should outraie,  
Beth patient, and thereof I you pray.   

I have, qd. she, said, and ever shall,  
I wool ne nill nothing for certain,  
But as you list: nought grieveth me at all,  
Though that my daughter & my son be slain  
At your commandment: this is to said,  
I have had no part of children twain,  
But first sickness, and after woe and pain.   

Ye been 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 took your clothing: wherefore I you pray  
Do your will, I wool to it obey.   

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

Death may not make no comparisoun  
Unto your love: & when this Marquis seie  
The constancy of his wife, he cast adown  
His iyen two, and wondered how she may  
In such patience suffer all this array:  
And forth he goth with dreary countenance,  
But to his heart it was full great pleasance.   

This eager sergeant in the same wise  
That he her daughter caught, right so he  
Or worse, if that he could were device,  
Hath hent her son, that was full of beauty:  
And ever in one so patient was she,  
That she no cheer made of heaviness,  
But kisseth her child & after 'gan him bless.   

Save this she prayed him, if that he might,  
Her little son he would in earth grave,  
His tender limbs, delicate to sight,  
From fowls and fro noisome beasts to save.  
But she none answer of him might have,  
He went his way, as he nothing wrought,  
But to Boleine he tenderly it brought.   

This Marquis wondered ever longer the more  
Upon her patience, and if that he  
He had sooth known there before,  
That perfectly her children loved she,  
He would have wend that for some subtilty  
And of malice, or cruel courage,  
She had suffered this with sad visage.   

But he knew well, that next himself, certain  
She loved her children best in every wise.  
But now of women would I ask fain,  
If these assays mighten not suffice,  
What could a sturdy husband more device  
To prove her wifehood, and her steadfastness:  
But be continuing ever in sturdiness.   

But there be folk of that condition,  
That when they han a certain purpose take,  
They couth not stint of her intention,  
But as they were bounden to a stake  
They wool not of that purpose to stake:  
Right so this Marquis 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 courage:  
But never could he find variance,  
She was aye in one heart and visage,  
And ever 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 seemeth thus, that of him 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 showed well, for no worldly unrest,  
* A wife, as for herself, nothing should  
Willen in effect, but as her husband would.   

The slander of Walter, wonder wide spread  
That of cruel heart full wretchedly,  
(For he a poor woman wedded had)  
Hath murdered both his children privily:  
Which murmur was among him commonly.  
No wonder was: for to the peoples ere  
Ther came no word, but that they murdered were.   

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

When that his daughter twelve year was of age,  
He to the court of Rome, in subtle wise  
(Informed of his will) sent his message  
Comanding hem, such bills to devise,  
As to his cruel purpose may suffice,  
How that the Pope, for his people's rest  
Bade him wed another, if that him lest.   

I say he bad, they should counterfeit  
The Pope's bull, making mention  
That he hath leave his first wife to lete  
As by the Pope's dispensation,  
To stint rancour and dissension  
Betwixt his people and him: thus spoke 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 deem, that her heart was full of woe  
But she was still lech sad evermo:  
Disposed was this humble creature  
The adversite of fortune to endure.   

Abiding ever his list and his pleasance  
To whom she was given, heart and all,  
As to her very worldly suffisance:  
But certainly, if I this story tell shall,  
This Marquis iwritten hath in special  
A letter, in which he showed his intent  
And prively, he it to Boloine hath sent,   

To the Earl of Pavia, which that had though  
Wedden his suffer: he prayed specially  
To bringen him again his children two  
In honourable estate all openly:  
But one thing he prayed all utterly,  
That he to no wight, though men would inquire  
Should tell whose children that they were.   

But say that the maiden should wedded be  
Unto the Marquis of Saluce anon:  
And as the Earl was prayed, so did he,  
For at a day set he on his way is gone  
Toward Saluce, and lords many one  
In rich array, this maiden for to guide,  
Her young brother riding by her side.   

Arrayed was toward her marriage  
This maiden fresh, full of gems clear,  
And her brother, that seven year was of age  
Arrayed was eke freshly in his manner:  
And thus in great nobles and glad cheer  
Toward Saluce shapen their journey  
From day to day, riding forth her way.    

Explicit quarta pars, & sequitur pars quinta.  

AMong all this, after his wicked usage  
This Marquis his wife yet tempted more  
To the utterest proof of her courage,  
Fully to have experience and sore,  
If that she were as steadfast (as before.)  
He on a day in open audience  
Full boisterously hath said her this sentence:   

Certes Grisilde, I had enough of pleasance  
To han you to my wife, for your goodness  
And for your troth, and your obeisance,  
Not for your lineage, ne for your riches,  
But I now know in very soothfastness,  
* That in great lordship, if I me well avise  
There is great servitude in sundry wise.   

I may not done as every ploughman may:  
My people me constraineth for to take  
Another wife, and cryens day by day,  
And eke the Pope this rancour for to s●ake  
Consenteth it, that dare I undertake:  
And truly, thus much I wool you say,  
My new wife is coming by the way.   

Be strong of heart, & void anon her place,  
And thilk dowry that ye brought to me  
Take it again, I grant it of my grace,  
Returneth to your father's house (qd. he)  
* No man may always have prosperity.  
With even heart I read you to endure  
The stroke of fortune, or of aventure.   

And she again answered in patience:  
My lord, qd. she, I wot and wist always,  
How that betwixt your magnificence  
And my poverty, no man can ne may  
Maken no comparison, it is no nay,  
I held me never digne in no manner  
To been your wife, ne yet your chamberere.   

And in this house there ye me lady made  
(The high God take I as for my witness  
And all so wisely, as he my soul glad)  
I held me neither lady ne mistress,  
But humble servant to your worthiness,  
And ever shall, while my life may endure,  
Aboven every worldly creature.   

That ye so long of your benignity  
Have hold me in honour and nobley  
(Where I was not worthy for to be)  
That thank I God and you, to whom I pray  
So yield it you, there is no more to say:  
Unto my father gladly wol I wend,  
And with him dwell to my lives end,   

There I was fostered of a child full small  
Till I be deed, my life there wool I lead,  
A widow clean in heart, body and all.  
For sithence I gave to you my maidenhead,  
And am your true wife, it is no dread:  
God shield such a lords wife to take  
Another man to husband or to make.   

And of your new wife, God of his grace  
So grant you wealth and high prosperity:  
For I wool gladly give her my place,  
In which I was blissful wont to be.  
For sithence it liketh you my lord, qd. she,  
(That whilom weren all my heart's rest)  
That I shall gone: I shall go when you lest.   

But there as ye me proffered such dowaire  
As I first brought, it is well in my mind,  
It were my wretched clothes, nothing fair,  
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 marriage?   

* But sooth is said, algate I find it true,  
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 work I shall repent,  
That I you gave mine heart in good intent.   

My lord ye wot, that in my father's place  
Ye did me strip out of my poor weed,  
And richly ye clad me of your grace,  
To you brought I nought else out of dread,  
But faith, nakedness, and maidenhead:  
But here again your clothing I restore,  
And eke my wedding ring for evermore.   

The remnant of your jewels ready be  
Within your chamber, dare I safely sane:  
Naked out of my father's house (qd. she)  
I came, and naked I moat turn again.  
All your pleasance would I follow fain:  
But yet I hope it be not your intent,  
That I smockelesse out of your paleis went.   

Ye could not do so dishonest a thing,  
That ilke womb in which your children lay,  
Should before the people, in my walking  
Be seen all bare: wherefore I you pray  
Let me not like a worm go by the way:  
Remembreth you mine own lord so dear,  
I was your wife, though I unworthy were.   

Wherefore in reward of my maidenhead  
Which I to you brought, and not again bear,  
As vouchsafe to give me to my meed,  
But such a smock as I was wont to were:  
That I therewith may wry the womb of her  
That was your wife: & here I take my leave  
Of you, mine own lord, lest I you greue.   

The smock (qd. he) that thou hast on thy bake,  
Let it be still, and bear it forth with thee:  
But well unneath that word had he spoke,  
But went his way for routh and pity:  
Before the folk herself strippeth she,  
And in her smock, with foot and head all bare,  
Toward her father's house forth is she fare.   

The folk followed weeping in her weigh,  
And fortune ever they cursed as they gone:  
But she fro weeping kept her eyes drey,  
Ne in all this time word spoke she none.  
Her father, that this tidings heard anon,  
Cursed the day and time, that nature  
Shaped him to been a life's creature.   

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

Against his daughter hastily goeth he,  
(For by the noise of folk he knew her coming)  
And with her old coat as it might be,  
He covered her, full sore weeping:  
But on her body might he it not bring  
For rude was the cloth, and she more of age  
By days feel than she was at her marriage.   

Thus with her father for a certain space  
Dwelleth this flower of wifely patience,  
That never by her words nor by her face,  
Before the folk ne eke in absence,  
Ne showed she that her was done offence,  
Ne of her high estate no remembrance  
Ne had she, as by her coutenaunce.   

No wonder is, for in her great estate  
Her ghost was ever in plain humility:  
No tender mouth, ne heart delicate,  
Ne pomp, ne semblance of royalty.  
But full of patience and benignity,  
Discreet, and pridelesse, and aye honourable.  
And to her husband ever meek and stable.   

Men speak of job, & most for his humblesse,  
(As clerks when hem list can well indite  
Namely of men) but in soothfastness,  
* Though clerks praisen women but a light,  
There can no man in humblesse hem acquit  
As women can: ne be half so true  
As women been, but it befall of new.    

Explicit quinta pars: & sequitur pars sexta.  

From Boloine is the Earl of Pavia come,  
Of which the fame sprung to more and less:  
And to the people's ears all and some  
Was couth eke how a new Marquesesse  
He with him brought, in pomp & such richesse,  
That was never seen with man's eye  
So noble array in West Lombardy.   

The Marquis that shaped & knew all this,  
Ere that this Earl was come, sent his message  
To thilk poor and silly Grisildis,  
And she with humble heart and glad visage,  
Not with swelling heart in her courage,  
Came at his hest, and on her knees her set,  
And reverently and wisely she him great.   

Grisilde (qd. he) my will is utterly,  
This maid that wedded shall be unto me,  
Received be to morrow so royally  
As it is possible in my house to be:  
And eke that every wight in his degree  
Have his estate in sitting and service,  
And also pleasant, as ye can best devose.   

I have no woman sufficient certain,  
The chambers for to array in ordinance  
After my lust, and therefore wool I feign,  
That thine weren all such governance:  
Thou knowest eke of old all my pleasance,  
Though thine array be bad, and evil besey,  
Do thou thy dever at the least weigh.   

Not only lord I am glad (qd. she)  
To done your lust, but I desire also  
You for to please and serve in my degree,  
Withouten feigning, and shall evermo:  
Ne never for no weal, ne for no woe,  
Ne shall the ghost within my heart stint  
To love you best with all my true intent.   

And with that word she 'gan the house to dight,  
And tables to set, and beds to make,  
And pained her to done all that she might,  
Praying the chamberers for God's sake  
To hasten him, and fast sweep and shake,  
And she the most serviceable of him all,  
Hath every chamber arrayed, and his hall.   

Abouten undrens 'gan this Earl alight,  
that with him brought these noble children fifty:  
For which the people ran to see that sight  
Of her array, so richly besey:  
And then at erst amongst him they say,  
That Walter was no fool, though him lest  
To change 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 him shall fall,  
And more pleasant for her high lineage:  
Her brother eke so fair was of his age,  
That him to seen the people had caught pleasance,  
Commending now the Marquis governance.   

O stern people, unsad and untrue,  
Ay undiscreet, and changing as a fane,  
Delighting ever in rumer that is new,  
For like the Moon ever wax ye and wane:  
Full of clapping, dear enough of a jane.  
Your doom is falls, your constancy ill preveth,  
A full great fool is he that on you leveth.   

Thus saiden sad folk in that city,  
When that the people gased up and down:  
For they were glad, right with the novelty  
To have a new lady of her town.  
No more of this make I now mention,  
But to Grisilde again wool I me dress,  
And tell her constancy, and her business.   

Well busy was Grisilde on every thing,  
That to the feast was appertinent:  
Right naught was she abashed of her clothing,  
Though they were rude, and somewhat to rend,  
But with glad cheer to the yate is went  
With other folk, to greet the Marquesesse,  
And after doth she forth her business.   

With right glad cheer the gests she receiveth  
And buxomely every in his degree,  
That no man defaut there perceiveth,  
But ever they wondrens what she might be,  
That in so poor array was for to see,  
And could such honour and reverence,  
And worthily they praisen her prudence.   

In all the mean while she never stint,  
This maiden & eke her brother to commend  
With all her heart and benign intent,  
So well, that no man could her prize amend:  
But at the last when these lords wend  
To sitten down to meat, he 'gan to call  
Grisilde, as she was busy in the hall.   

Grisilde (qd. he) as it were in his play,  
How liketh thee my wife, and her beauty?  
Right well my lord (qd. she) for in good faith,  
A fairer saw I never none than she:  
I pray to God so give you prosperity,  
And so hope I, that he wool to you send  
Pleasance enough unto your life's end.   

But one thing I beseech, and warn also  
That ye prick with no such turmenting  
This tender maiden, as ye han do more:  
For she is fostered in her nourishing  
More tenderly, in my supposing  
She could not adversity endure,  
As could a poor fostered creature.   

And when this Walter saw her patience,  
Her glad cheer, and no malice at all,  
And he so oft hath done her offence,  
And she aye constant, and stable as a wall,  
Continuing ever her innocence over all,  
This sturdy Marquis 'gan his heart dress  
To rue upon her wifely steadfastness.   

This is enough, Grisilde mine (qd. he)  
Be no more gast, ne evil paid,  
I have thy faith and thy benignity,  
As well as ever woman was assayed  
In great estate, or poorly arrayed:  
Now know I dear wife thy steadfastness,  
And her in arms took, and 'gan to kesse,   

And she for wonder took thereof no keepe:  
She heard not what thing he to her said:  
She fared as she had start out of her sleep,  
Till she out of her masednesse abraid.  
Grisilde (qd. he) by God that for us died,  
Thou art my wife, and none other I have,  
Ne never had, as God my soul save.   

This is thy daughter, which thou supposed  
To be my wife, and none other faithfully:  
And this shall be mine heir, as I have disposed,  
Thou bore him in thy body truly:  
At Boloine have I kept him sikerly,  
Take him again, for now mayst thou not say,  
That thou hast lorn any of thy children twain.   

And folk, that otherwise han said of me,  
I warn him well, that I have done this deed  
For no malice, ne for no cruelty,  
But for to assay in thee thy womanhead:  
And not to slay my children, God forbid,  
But for to keepen him privily and still,  
Till I thy purpose knew: and all thy will.   

When she this herd, a swoon down she falleth  
For piteous joy, and after her swooning,  
She both her young children to her calleth,  
And in her arms pitously weeping,  
Embraced him both tenderly kissing  
Full like a mother, with her salt tears  
She bathed both her visage and her hairs.   

O which a piteous thing it was to see  
Her swooning, and her piteous voice to hear:  
Grant mercy lord, God thonk it you (qd. she)  
That ye have saved me my children dear:  
Now reck I never to be dead right here,  
Sithen I stoned in your love, & in your grace,  
No force of death, ne when my spirit pace.   

O tender, O dear, O young children mine,  
Your woeful mother wend steadfastly,  
That cruel hounds, or some foul vermin  
Had eaten you, but God of his mercy,  
And your benign father so tenderly  
Hath done you keep: and in that same stound  
All suddenly she swapped down to the ground.  
And in her swooning, so sadly held she  
Her children two when she 'gan him embrace,  
That with great sleight and difficulty  
The children from her arms they 'gan to race:  
O many a tear, on many a piteous face  
Down ran of him that stooden there beside,  
uneath about her might no man abide.   

Walter her gladdeth, and her sorrow slaketh,  
She riseth up all abashed from her trance,  
And every wight her joy and feast maketh,  
Till she hath caught again her countenance,  
Walter her doth so faithfully pleasance,  
That it was dainty to seen the cheer  
Betwixt him two when they were met ifere.   

These ladies all, when they her time say,  
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 crown of many a rich stone  
Upon her head, they her into hall brought:  
And there she was honoured as she ought.   

Thus hath this piteous day a blissful end:  
For every man and woman doth his might  
This day in mirth and revel to dispend,  
Till on the welkin shone the stars bright:  
For more solemn in every man's sight  
This feast was, and greater of co●●age,  
Than was the revel of her marriage.   

Well many a year in high prosperity  
Liven these two in concord and in rest,  
And richly his daughter married he  
Unto a lord, one of the worthiest  
Of all Itaile, and then in peace and rest  
His wife's father in his court he kept,  
Till that his soul out of his body crept.   

His son succeedeth in his heritage,  
In rest and peace after his father's day:  
And fortunate was eke in marriage,  
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 therefore.   

THis story is said, not for that wives should  
Followen Grisild, as in humility:  
For it were importable though they would,  
But that every wight in his degree  
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  
Unto a mortal man, well more we ought  
Receive all in gree that God us sent.  
For great skill he proveth that he wrought:  
* But he ne tempteth no man that he bought  
As saith saint jame, if ye his pistle read,  
He proveth folk but assay, it is no dread.   

* And suffereth us as for our exercise  
With sharp scourges of adversite,  
Well oft to be beaten in sundry 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 governance,  
Let us live then in virtuous suffrance.   

But one word harkeneth lordings or ye go:  
It were full hard to find now adays  
In all a country, Grisilds three or two:  
For if they were put to such assays,  
The gold of hem hath so bad alleys  
With brass, for though it be fair at eye,  
It will rather braced a two than ply.   

For which here, for the wife's love of Bath  
Whose life and sect mighty God maintain  
In high mastery, or else were it skath,  
I will with lusty heart, fresh, and green,  
Say you a song, to glad you I ween:  
And let us stint of earnest matter.  
Herkneth my song that saith in this manere.   

Lenuoye de Chaucer à les mariz de nostre temps.  

GRisilde is dead and eke her patience,  
And both at once buried in Itaile:  
For which I cry in open audience,  
No wedded wan be so hardy to assail  
His wife's patience, in trust to find  
Grisildes, for in certain he shall fail.   

O noble wives, full of high prudence,  
Let no humility your tongue nail:  
Ne let no clerk have cause ne diligence  
To write of you a story of such marvel  
As of Grisild patient and kind,  
Lest Chechiface swallow you in her entrail.   

Followeth Echo, that holdeth no silence,  
But ever answereth at the contretaile:  
Beth no addassed for your innocence,  
But sharply taketh on you the governaile:  
Enprinteth well this lesson in your mind,  
For common profit, sith it may avail.   

Ne dreadeth him not, doth him no reverence,  
For though thine husband armed be in mail  
The arrows of thy crabbed eloquence  
Shall pierce his breast, & eke his adventaile:  
In jealousy eke look thou him bind,  
And that shall make him couch as doth a quail.   

If thou be fair, there folk ben in presence  
Show thou thy visage, and thine apparel:  
If thou be foul, be free of thy dispense,  
To get thee friends aye do thy travail:  
Be aye of cheer as light as lief on lined,  
And let him care, weepen, wring and wail.   

Ye arch wives, 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 battle,  
Beth eager as any tiger is in Ind:  
Ay clappeth as a mill, I you counsel.       
¶ Here endeth the clerk of Oxenfords tale.   

¶ Here follow the words of our Host.  
When this worthy clerk ended had his tale,  
Our Host said and sworn by cock's bones,  
Me were lever than a barrel of ale  
My wife at home had heard this legend ones:  
This is a gentle tale for the nonce,  
As to my purpose, wist ye my will,  
But thing that wool not be, let it be still.   


¶ The Frankeleins Prologue.  
THese old gentle Britons in her days,  
Of divers aventures maden lays,  
Rimed at first in her mother tongue:  
Which lays with her instruments they song  
Or else readen him for her pleasance,  
And one of him have I in remembrance,  
Which I shall say, as willing as I can.  
But sirs, because I am a borel man,  
At my beginning first I you beseech,  
Have me excused of my rude speech:  
I learned never Rhetoric certain,  
Thing that I speak mote be bare and plain:  
I slept never on the mount of Pernaso,  
Ne learned Marcus Tullius Cicero.  
Colours ne know I none, withouten dread,  
But such colours as grown in the mead,  
Or else such as men dien or paint:  
Colours of Rhetoric been to me acquaint,  
Nigh spirit feeleth not of such matter.  
This is my tale, if ye wool it here.  

¶ The Frankeleins Tale.  
Aurelius', after much labour and cost bestowed to win the love of Dorigen, another man's 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 courtesy.  
IN Armorike, that called is Britain,  
There was a knight, that loved and did his pain  
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 under son;  
And eke thereto come of high kindred,  
That well unneath durst this knight for dread  
Tell her his woe, his pain, and his distress.  
But at the last, she of her worthiness,  
And namely for his meek obeisance,  
Hath such a pity caught of his penance,  
That prively she fell of his accord  
To take him for her husband and her lord,  
(Of such lordship as men have over her wives,  
And for to lead in the more bliss 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 mastery  
Again her will, ne kithe her jealousy,  
But her obey, and follow her will in all,  
As any lover to his lady shall:  
Save that the name of soveraignetes  
That would he have for shame of his degree.  
She thonked him, & with full great humbless  
She said: sir, sith of your gentleness  
Ye proffered me to have so large a rain,  
Ne would god never betwixt us twain  
As in my gilt, were either were or strife:  
Sir, I wool be your true humble wife,  
Have here my troth, till that my heart breast:  
Thus been they both in quiet and in rest.  
For one thing sirs, safely dare I seine,  
* That friends everich other must obeine,  
If they wool long holden company:  
* Love wool not be constrained by mastery.  
When mastery comes, the God of love anon  
Beateth his wings, & farewell he is gone.  
gone Love is a thing, as any spirit free.  
Women of kind desiren liberty,  
And not to be constrained as a thrass:  
And so done men, if I soothe say shall.  
Look who that most patient is in love,  
He is at his advantage all above:  
* Patience is an high virtue certain,  
For it venquisheth, as these clerks said,  
Things that rigour shall never attain.  
For every word men may not chide or plain,  
* Learneth to suffer, or else so moat I gone,  
Ye shall it learn whether ye wool or none.  
* For in this world certain no wight there is,  
That he ne doth or sayeth sometime amiss.  
Ire, sickness, or constellation,  
Wine, woe, or changing of complexion,  
Causeth full oft to done amiss or speaken:  
On every wrong a man may not be wreken.  
* After the time must be temperance  
To every wight that can of governance.  
And therefore hath this worthy wise knight,  
(To liven in ease) suffraunce her height:  
And she to him full wisely 'gan swear,  
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 love, and lord in marriage,  
Then was he both in lordship and servage:  
Servage? nay, but in lordship above,  
Sithen he hath both his lady and his love:  
His lady certes, and his wife also,  
The which that law of land acordeth to.  
And when he was in this prosperity,  
Home with his wife he goth into his country,  
Not for fro Denmark, there his dwelling was  
Where as he liveth in joy and solas.  
* Who could tell, but he had wedded be,  
The joy, the ease, and the prosperity,  
That is betwixt an husband and his wife?  
Evermore lasted this blissful life,  
Till that this knight, of which I speak thus,  
(That of Caere juda, was cleped Aruiragus)  
Shaped him to dwellen a year or twain  
In Englond, that cleped was Britain,  
To seeken in arms worship and honour.  
For all his lust he set in such labour,  
And dwelled there two year, the book faith thus.  
Now wool I stint of this Aruiragus,  
And speak I wool of Dorigen his wife,  
That loveth her husband as her heart's life:  
For his absence weepeth she and siketh,  
As done these noble wives 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 heavy thought,  
Comforten her in all that ever they may,  
They preachen her, and tell night & day,  
That causeless she slew herself, alas,  
And every comfort possible in this case,  
They done to her, with all her business,  
And all to maken her leave her heaviness,  
* By process, as ye known everychone,  
Men mown so long graven in stone,  
Till some figure therein printed be:  
So long han they comforted her, till she  
Received hath by hope and by reason,  
The enprinting of her constellation:  
Through which her great sorrow 'gan assuage,  
She may not always enduren such a rage:  
And eke Aruiragus in all this care  
Hath sent his letters home of his welfare,  
And that he wool come hastily again,  
Or else had this sorrow her heart slain.  
Her friends saw her sorrow 'gan to slake.  
And praiden her on her knees for God's sake  
To come and romen in her company,  
Away to driven her dark fantasy:  
And finally she granted 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 she,  
Her to disporten on the banks high,  
Where as she may ships and barges sie,  
Sailing her course, where him list go.  
But yet was that a parcel of her woe,  
For to her self full oft alas said she,  
Is there no ship, of so many as I see,  
Wol bring home my lord? then were my heart  
Warished of these bitter pains smart.  
Another time would she sit and think,  
And cast her eyes downward from the brink  
But when she saw the grisly rocks black,  
For very fear so would her heart quake,  
That on her feet she might not her sustain.  
Then would she sit adoune upon the green,  
And pitously into the sea behold,  
And say right thus, with sorrowful sikes' cold.  
* Eterne God, that through thy purveyance  
●eadest this world by certain governance,  
In idle as men said dost thou nothing make:  
But lord, these grisly fiendly rocks black,  
That seemen rather a foul confusion  
Of work, than a fair creation  
Of such a perfect God, wise and stable,  
Why have ye wrought this work unresonable?  
For by this work, north, south, west, ne east,  
There nis fostered 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  
Have rocks islaine, all be they not in mind.  
Sin mankind is so fair a part of thy work  
That thou it madest like thy own work,  
Then seemed it ye had a great cherte  
Toward mankind: but how then may it be,  
That ye such means maken it to distroyen?  
Which means done no good, but ever anoyen.  
* ay wot well clerks wool sane as him lest  
By arguments, that all is for the best:  
Though I ne cannot the causes well know,  
But thilk God that made the wind to blow,  
As keep my lord, this is my conclusion.  
To clerks lete I all this disputation:  
And would God that all these rocks black  
Were sunken into hell for his sake.  
These rocks do slay mine heart for fear:  
Thus would she say with many a piteous tear.  
Her friends saw it was for her no disport  
To romen by the sea, but discomfort,  
And shapen hem to plain some where else,  
They leaden her by rivers and by wells,  
And eke in other places delectables,  
They dauncen and they plaien at the tables.  
So on a day, right in the morrow tide,  
Unto a garden that was there beside,  
In which that they had made her ordinance  
Of victuals, and other purveyance,  
They gone and plaien him all the long day:  
And this was in the sixth morrow of May,  
Which May hath painted with his soft shours  
This garden full of leaves and of flours:  
And craft of man's hon so curiously  
Arrayed had this garden truly,  
That never nas there garden of such prize,  
But if it were the very paradise.  
The odour of flours, and the fresh sight  
Would have made any living heart light  
That ever was, but it too great sickness  
Or too great sorrow held it in distress,  
So was it full of beauty, with pleasance.  
And after dinner gone they to dance  
And sing also, save Dorigene alone,  
That yet unto herself made her moan.  
For she ne seie him on the dance go,  
That was her husband, and her love also:  
But nevertheless, she must her time abide,  
And with good hope let her sorrow slide.  
Upon this dance, among other men  
Danced a squire before Dorigen,  
That fresher was and iollier of array,  
As to my doom, than is the month of May.  
He singeth and danceth, passing every man,  
That is or was sithence the world began:  
He was therewith, & men should him discriue,  
One of the best faring men on live,  
Young, strong, virtuous, rich, and wise,  
And well beloved, and holden of great prize.  
And shortly, if I the sooth tell shall,  
Unwitting of this Dorigen at all,  
This lusty squire, servant to Venus,  
Which ycleaped was Aurelius,  
Had loved her best of any creature  
Two year & more, as was his adventure:  
But never durst he tell her his grevance,  
* Withouten cup he drunk all his penance.  
He was dispaired, nothing durst he say,  
Save in his songs somewhat would he wray  
His woe, as in general complaining,  
He said he loved, and was beloved nothing:  
Of which matter made he many lays,  
Songs, complaints, roundels, & verilayes,  
How that he durst not his sorrow tell,  
But languish, as doth a fury in hell,  
And die he must (he said) as did Echo  
For Narcissus, that durst not tell his wo.  
In other manner than ye heard me say,  
Ne durst not he to her his woe bewray,  
Save peraventure sometime at dances,  
There young folk keepen her obseruances,  
It may well be he looked on her face  
In such a wise, as men that asken grace,  
But nothing wist she of his intent:  
Nevertheless it happened, ere they thence went,  
Because that he was her near 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  
Unto his purpose then drow Aurelius:  
And when he saw his time, he said thus.  
Madam (qd. he) by God that this World made,  
So that I wist, that I might your heart glade,  
I would that day, that your Aruyragus  
Went over the sea, that I Aurelius  
Had went there that I should never come again:  
For well I wot my service is in vain,  
My guerdon nis but bresting of mine heart:  
Madam, ruth upon my pains smart,  
For with one word ye may me slay or save,  
Here at your foot God would that I were grave.  
I have as now no leisure more to say:  
Have mercy sweet, or ye wool do me day.  
She 'gan to look upon Aurelius,  
Is this your will (qd. she) and say ye thus?  
Never erst (qd. she) ne wist I what ye meant:  
But now I know Aurelius your intent.  
By thilk God that gave me soul & life,  
Ne shall I never be untrue wife  
In word ne work, as far as I have wit,  
I wool ben his to whom I am knit:  
Take this for a final answer of me,  
But after this in play thus said she.  
Aurelius (qd. she) by God above  
Yet wool I grant you to been your love  
(Sithen I see you so pitously complain.)  
Look what day that endlong in Britain.  
Ye remove all the rocks, stone by stone,  
That they ne let ship ne boat to gone,  
I say when ye have made these coasts so clean  
Of rocks, that there nis no stone yseen,  
Then wool I love you best of any man,  
Here have my troth, in all that ever I can.  
Is there none other grace in you (qd. he?)  
No by that lord (qd. she) that maked me.  
For well I wot that it shall never betid,  
Let such folly out of your heart glide.  
* What dainty should a man have in his life  
For to go love another man's wife?  
That hath her body when so that him liketh.  
Aurelius' full often sore siketh:  
Woe was Aurely when he this herd,  
And with a sorrowful cheer he thus answered.  
Madam (qd. he) this were impossible:  
Then moat I die on sudden death horrible:  
And with that word he turned him anon.  
Tho come her other friends everichone,  
And in the aleyes romeden up and down,  
And nothing wist of this conclusioun,  
But suddenly began to revel new,  
Till that the bright son had lost his hue.  
For the orizont hath reft the sun his light,  
This is as much to say, as it was night:  
And home they gone in joy and in solas,  
Save only wretched Aurelius, alas:  
He to his house is gone with sorrowful heart,  
He said he might not from his death astart  
Him seemed, that he felt his heart all cold,  
And up to heaven his honds 'gan he hold,  
And on his knees bore he set him adown,  
And in his raving said this orisoun:  
For very woe out of his wit he brayed,  
He ne witted what he spoke, but thus he said.  
With piteous heart hath he his complaint begun  
Unto the gods, and first unto the son  
He said: God Apollo and governor  
Of every plant, herb, tree, and flour,  
That givest after thy declination  
To ilke of him his time and season,  
As thine herberow changeth low and high:  
Lord Phoebus, cast thy merciable eye  
On wretched Aurelius, which am but lost,  
Lo Lord, my Lady hath my death ysworne  
Without guilt, but thy benignity  
Upon my deadly heart have some pity.  
For well I wot lord Phoebus, if ye lest,  
Ye may me help, save my lady, best.  
Now vouch ye save, that I you devose  
How that I may be holpen & in what wise.  
Your blissful sister Lucina the sheen,  
That of the sea is goddess and queen,  
Though Neptunus hath deity in the see,  
Yet empress aboven him is she:  
Ye known 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 goddess  
Both of the sea and rivers more and less.  
Wherefore lord Phoebus, this is my request,  
Do this miracle, or do mine heart breast.  
That now next at this oppsition,  
Which in sign shall be of the Lion,  
As prayeth her so great a flood to bring,  
That five fathom at the least it overspring  
The highiest rock in Armorike Britain,  
And let this flood to duren years twain.  
Then certes to my lady may I say,  
Holdeth your hest, the rocks been away:  
This thing may ye lightly done for me,  
Pray her to gone no faster course than ye.  
I say thus, prayeth your sister that she go  
No faster course than ye in years two:  
Then shall she be at the full always,  
And spring flood lasting both night & day:  
And but she vouchsafe in such manere  
To grant me my sovereign lady dear,  
Pray her to sinken every rock adown  
Into her own dark region  
Under the ground, there Pluto dwelleth in,  
Or nevermore shall I my lady win.  
Thy Temple in Delphos wol I barefoot seek,  
O lord Phoebus, see the tears on my cheek,  
And on my pain have some compassion:  
And with that word, in swoon he fell adown,  
And for a long time he lay in a trance.  
His brother, which that knew of his penance,  
Up caught him, and to bed him brought.  
Dispaired in this turnment and this thought  
Let I this woeful creature lie,  
Cheese he whether he wool live or die.  
Aruiragus with heal and great honour  
(As he that was of chivalry the flour)  
Is comen home, and other worthy men:  
O blissful art thou now Dorigen,  
That hast thy lusty husband in thine arms,  
That fresh knight, that worthy man of arms,  
That loveth thee as his own hearts life:  
Nothing list him to be imaginatife,  
If any wight had spoken (while he was out)  
To her of love, thereof had he no doubt,  
He intendeth not to such matter,  
But danceth, justeth, and maketh her good cheer.  
And thus in joy and bliss I let him dwell,  
And of woeful Aurelius wool I tell.  
In langour and in tourment despitous  
Two year and more lay wretched Aurelius,  
Ere any foot on earth he might gone,  
Ne comfort in this time had he none,  
Save of his brother, which was a clerk,  
He knew of all this woe and all this work:  
For to none other creature certain  
Of this matter durst he no word sane,  
Under his breast he bore it more secre,  
Than ever did Pamphilus for Galathe.  
His breast was whole without for to seen,  
But in his heart aye was the arrow keen,  
And well ye known, that of a sursanure,  
In surgery, 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 remembrance,  
That while he was at orleans in France  
(As these clerks young that been likerous)  
To readen arts that been curious,  
Seeken in every halke and in every Herne  
Particular science for to learn.  
He him remembered, that upon a deie  
At orleans in study a book he seie  
Of Magic natural, which his fellow,  
That was in that time a bachelor of law,  
All were he there to learn another craft,  
Had prively upon his dexe ylaft,  
Which book spoke of mochel operations  
Touching the eight and twenty Mansions  
That longen to the Moon, and such folly  
As in our days is not worth a Fly:  
For holy church sayeth in our beleeue,  
* Ne suffereth none illusion us to grieve.  
And when this book was in his remembrance,  
Anon for joy his heart 'gan to dance,  
And to himself he said prively.  
My Brother shall be warished sikerly:  
For I am siker that there be sciences,  
By which men maken divers apparences,  
Such as these subtle tregetores play.  
For oft at ●easts have I well heard say,  
That tragetors, within an hall large  
Have made come in water and a barge,  
And in the hall rowen up and down:  
Sometime hath seemed a grim lion,  
And sometime flowers spring as in a meed,  
Sometime a vine, & grapes white and read:  
Sometime a Castle of lime and stone,  
And when hem liked, voiden hem anon:  
Thus seemed it to every man's sight.  
Now then conclude I thus, if that I might  
At orleans some old fellow find,  
That had this Moon's Mansions in mind,  
Or other Magic natural above,  
He should well make my brother have his love  
For with an appearance a clerk may make  
To a man's sight, that all the rocks black  
Of Britain were yvoided everyone,  
And ships by the brink to comen and gone,  
And in such form endurens a year or two:  
Then were my brother warished of his woe,  
Then must she needs holden her behest,  
Or else he shall shame her at the least.  
What should I make a longer tale of this?  
Unto his brother's bed he come is,  
And such comfort he gave him, for to gone  
To orleans, that he up start anon,  
And on his way then is he forth yfere,  
In hope to been lessed of his care.  
When they were comen almost to the city  
(But if it were a two furlong or three)  
A young clerk roaming by himself they met,  
Which that in Latin thriftily him great,  
And afterward he said a wonder thing,  
I know the whole cause of your coming:  
And ere they farther any foot went,  
He told him all that was in her intent.  
This Briton clerk asked him of fellows,  
The which he had known in old days,  
And he answered him that they dead were,  
For which he wept oft full many a tere.  
Down off his horse Aurelius light anon,  
And with this Magician forth is he gone  
Home to his house, and made him well at ease:  
Him lacked no victual that hem might please.  
So well arrayed an house as there was one,  
Aurelius in his life saw never none.  
He showed him or he went to suppere  
Forests and parks full of wild dear,  
He saw there Hearts with horns high,  
The greatest that ever were seen with eye,  
He see of him an hundred slain with hounds,  
And some of arrows bled with bitter wounds.  
He saw, when voided were the wild dear,  
These falconers upon a fair rivere,  
That with the hawks han the Heron slain.  
Tho saw he knights justing in a plain.  
And after this he did him such pleasance,  
That he him showed his lady in a dance,  
On which himself danced as him thought.  
And when this master, that this magic wrought,  
Saw it was time, he clapped his honds to,  
And farewell our revel, all was ago,  
And removed never out of his house,  
While they saw all this sight marvelous.  
But in his study there his books be,  
They saten still, no wight but they three.  
To him this master called his squire,  
And said him thus, is ready our supper?  
Almost an hour it is, I undertake,  
Sithen I you bade our supper ready make,  
When that these worthy men went with me  
Into my study, there as my books be.  
Sir (qd. the squire) when it liketh you,  
It is all ready, though ye wool right now.  
Go we sup then (qd. he) for the best,  
These amorous folk sometime moat have rest.  
And after supper fell they in treat  
What sum should this master's guerdon be,  
To remove all the rocks of Britain,  
And eke from Girond to the mouth of Saine.  
He made it strange & swore so God him save,  
Less than a thousand pound would he not have,  
Ne gladly for that sum nold he it done.  
Aurelius with blissful heart anon  
Answered thus: Fie on a thousand pound:  
This wide world, which men say is round,  
I would it give, if I were lord of it.  
This bargain is full drive, for we be knit,  
Ye shall be paid truly by my troth:  
But look now for no negligence or sloth,  
Ne tarien us here no longer than to morrow.  
Nay (qd. this clerk) here my troth to borrow.  
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 bliss,  
His woeful heart of penance had a lisse.  
Upon the morrow when that it was day,  
Home to Britain took they the right way,  
Aurelius, and this Magicine him beside,  
And been descended there they would abide:  
And this was, as the book doth remember,  
In the cold frosty season of December.  
Phoebus' waxed old, and hewed like laton,  
That afore in his hot declination  
Shone as the brenning gold, with streams bright:  
But now in capricorn adoune he light.  
Whereas he shone full pale, I dare well sane,  
The bitter frost with the slidder rain  
Destroyed hath the green in every yard.  
janus sit by the fire with double beard,  
And drinketh of his bugle horn the wine:  
Beforn him stout brawn of the tusked swine,  
And nowell crieth every lusty man.  
Aurelius in all that ever he can,  
Doth to this master cheer and reverence,  
And prayeth him to done his diligence  
To bringen him out of his pains smart,  
Or with a sword that he would slit his hart.  
This clerk such routh hath on this man,  
That night & day he speedeth him with he can  
To wait a time of his conclusion:  
This is to say, to make illusion,  
Or such an appearance of iogglerie  
(I ne can no terms of Astrology)  
That she and every wight should ween & say,  
That of Britain the rocks were away,  
Or else they were sunken under the ground:  
Till at the last he hath his time yfound  
To make his yapes and his wretchedness  
Of such superstitious cursedness:  
His tollitan tables he forth brought  
Full well corrected, him lacked nought,  
Neither his collect, ne his expans years,  
Ne his roots, ne yet his other geres  
As been his centris, and his arguments,  
And his proportionell convenientes  
For his equations in every thing.  
And by his eight spears in his werking,  
He knew full well how far alnath was shove  
From the head of thilk fixed Aries above,  
That in the ninth spear considered is,  
Full subtly he had calked all this.  
And when he had found his first Mansion,  
He knew the remnant by proportion:  
And knew the rising of the Moon we'll,  
And in such face, the term and every deal,  
And knew also his other obseruances  
For such illusions and such mischances  
As Heathen folk used in thilk days:  
For which ne maked he no longer delays,  
But through his magic, for a week or twain  
It seemed that all the rocks were away.  
Aurelius, which that dispaired is,  
Whether he shall have his love, or fare amiss,  
Awaiteth night and day on this miracle:  
And when he knew there was none obstacle,  
But that voided were these rocks everyone,  
Down to the master's feet he fell anon,  
And said, I woeful wretch Aurelius,  
Thank you lord and lady mine Venus,  
That me hath holpen from my cares cold,  
And to the temple his way forth hath he hold,  
Whereas he knew he should his lady see,  
And when he saw his time, anon right he  
With dreadful hart and with humble cheer  
Salved hath his sovereign lady dear.  
My rightful lady (qd. this woeful man)  
Whom I serve and love, as I best can,  
And loathest were of all this world displease,  
Near it that I for you have such disease,  
That I must die here at your feet anon,  
Nought would I tell how woe in me begun.  
But certes either must I die or plain,  
Ye slay me guiltless for very pain.  
But of my death though ye have no routh,  
Auisen you, ere that ye break your troth:  
Repenteth you, for that like God above:  
For ye slay me, because that I you love.  
For Madam, well ye wot that ye have height  
Nut that I challenge any thing of right  
Of you my sovereign lady, but of your grace:  
But in a garden yond in such a place,  
Ye wot right well what ye behight me,  
And how in my hon your troth plight ye  
To love me best, God wot ye said so,  
Albeit I am unworthy thereto.  
Madam I speak for the honour of you  
More than for to save my heart's life now:  
I have done right as ye commanded me,  
And if ye vouchsafe, ye may go see.  
Doth as you list, haveth your hest in mind,  
For quick or dead, right there ye shall me find:  
In you lieth all to do me live or day,  
But well I wot the rocks been all away.  
He took his leave, and she astonished stood,  
In all her face there nas a drop of blood:  
She wend never han come in such a trap.  
Alas (qd. she) that ever this should hap,  
For wend I never by possibility:  
That such a mister or marvel might be:  
It is against the process of nature.  
And home she goeth a sorrowful creature,  
For very fear unneths 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 town was gone Aruiragus.  
But to herself she spoke, and said thus  
In her complaint, as ye shall after hear,  
With face pale, and with sorrowful cheer.  
Alas (qd. she) on thee fortune I plain,  
That unware hast wrapped me in thy chain:  
From which to escape, wot I no succour,  
Save only death, or else dishonour:  
One of these two behoveth me to cheese.  
But nevertheless, yet had I lever to less  
My life, than of my body to have shame,  
Or know myself false, or less my name.  
And with my death I may be quit iwis:  
Hath there not full many a wife ere this,  
And many a maid yslaine herself alas,  
Rather than with her body done trespass?  
And certes lo, these stories been witness,  
When thirty tyrants full of cursedness  
Had slain Phidon in Athens at the feast,  
They commanded his daughters to arrest,  
And bringen hem before him in despite  
All naked, to fulfil her foul delight:  
And in her father's blood he did him dance  
Upon the pavement, God give him mischance.  
For which these woeful maiden's full of dread,  
Rather than they would lesen her maidenhead,  
They privily been start into a well,  
And drenched himself, as books can tell.  
They of Messene let inquire and seek  
Of Lacedemony fifty maidens eke,  
On which they would have done her lechery:  
But there was none of all that company  
That she nas slain, and with a glad intent  
Cheese 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 loved a maid that height Simphalides,  
When that her father slain was on a night,  
Unto Diana's temple goth she a non right,  
And hent the Image with her arms two,  
From which Image would she never go,  
No wight might fro it her honds to race,  
Till she was slain right in the self place.  
Now sithence the maiden's had such despite  
To been defouled with man's foul delight,  
* Well ought a wife rather herself slay,  
Than be defouled, as thinketh me.  
What shall I say of Hasdrubals wife,  
That at Carthage bereft herself her life?  
For when she saw the Romans won the town,  
She took her children all, and leapt adown  
Into the fire, and cheese rather to die,  
Than any Roman did her villainy.  
Hath not Lucrece yslaine herself, alas  
At Rome, there as she oppressed was  
Of Tarquin? for her thought it was shame  
To live, when that she had lost her name.  
The eight maidens of Melesie also  
Han slain hemselue for very dread and woe,  
Rather than folk of Gaul should him oppress  
More than a thousand stories, as I guess,  
Couth I now tell as touching this matter.  
When Abradas was slain, his wife so dear  
Herself slow, and let her blood to glide  
In Abradas wounds, broad and wide,  
And said, my body at the least way  
There shall no wight defoul if I may.  
What should I more ensamples hereof said,  
Sithence that so many han him slain,  
Well rather than they would defouled be.  
I wool conclude that it is best for me  
Well rather slay myself in some manere,  
As did Demotius daughter dear,  
Because that she nolde not defouled be.  
O Sedasus, it is full great pite  
To readen how thy daughters diden, alas?  
That slowen hemselfes for such a manner case.  
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 sane of Nicerates wife,  
That for such case bereft herself her life?  
How true was eke to Alcibades,  
His love, that for to dien rather cheese,  
Than to suffrens his body unburied be?  
Lo which a wife was Alceste (qd. she)  
What sayeth Homer of good Penelope?  
All Greece knoweth of her chastity.  
Pard of Laodomia is written thus,  
That when at Troy was slain Protheselaus,  
No longer nolde she live after this day.  
The same of noble Portia tell I may,  
Withouten Brutus' couth she not live,  
To whom she had all her heart ygive.  
The perfect wifehood of Artemisie  
Honoured is throughout all Barbary.  
Oh Thenta Queen, thy wifely chastity  
To all wife's living may a mirror be.  
The same thing I say of Bilia,  
Of Rodogone, and eke Valeria.  
Thus plained Dorigene a day or twey,  
Purposing ever that she would they,  
But nevertheless upon the third night  
Home came Aruiragus, the worthy knight,  
And asked her why she wept so sore:  
And she 'gan weepen ever longer the more.  
Alas (qd. she) that ever was I borne,  
Thus have I said (qd. she) thus have I sworn,  
And told him all, as ye have heard before:  
It needeth not to rehearse it no more.  
This husband with glad cheer in sundry wise  
Answered and said, as I shall you devose.  
Is there ought else Dorigene but this?  
Nay nay (qd. she) God help me so as wis,  
This is too much, and it were Gods will.  
Yea wife (qd. he) let sleep that may still,  
It may be well: yet paraventure to day,  
Ye shall your troth hold by my faith.  
For God so wisly have mercy on me,  
I had well lever sticked for to be  
For very love which that I to you have,  
But if ye should your troth keep and save.  
* Troth is the highest thing that men may keep.  
But with that word he braced anon to weep,  
And said, I you forbid on pain of death,  
That never whiles you lasteth life or breath,  
To no wight tell of this misaventure.  
As I my best I wool my woe endure,  
Ne make no countenance of heaviness,  
That folk of you may deem harm ne guess.  
And forth he cleped a squire and a maid,  
Goes forth anon with Dorigene he said,  
And bringeth her in such a place anon.  
They took her leave, & on her weigh they gone:  
But they ne wist why she thither went,  
She nolde no wight tell her intent.  
This squire, which that height Aurelius,  
On Dorigene which that was so amorous,  
Of adventure happened her to meet  
Amid the town, right in the high street,  
As she would have gone the way forthright  
Toward the garden, there as she had height.  
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 adventure or of grace,  
And he salveth her with glad intent,  
And assked of her whi●er that she went.  
And she answered half as she were mad,  
Unto the garden as my husband bade  
My troth for to hold, alas, alas.  
Aurelius 'gan wondrens of this case,  
And in his heart had great compassion  
Of her cheer, and her lamentation,  
And of Aruiragus the worthy knight,  
That bade her hold all that she had height,  
So loath he was that she should break her troth:  
And in his heart he caught of it great routh.  
Considering the hest on every side,  
That fro his lust were him better abide,  
Than do so high a churlish wretchedness  
Against fraunchise, and all gentleness,  
For which in few words said he thus:  
Madam, sayeth to your lord Aruiragus,  
That sithen I see this great gentleness  
Of him, and eke I see well your distress,  
That ye to me shoulden hold your troth,  
Certes me thinketh it were great routh:  
I have well lever ever to suffer woe,  
Than depart the love betwixt you two.  
I you release madam into your hon  
Quite every surement and every bond  
That ye have made to me, as here before,  
Sithence thilk time which that ye were born.  
My troth I plight, I shall you never reprove  
Of no behest, and here I take my leve  
As of the truest and the best wife  
That ever yet I knew in all my life.  
But every wight beware of her behest,  
On Dorigene remembreth at the least.  
least Thus can a squire done a gentle deed,  
As well as can a knight, withouten dread.  
She thonked him upon her knees all bare,  
And home unto her husband is she fare,  
And told him all as ye han heard me said:  
And be ye siker, he was so well apaied,  
That it were impossible me to write.  
What should I longer of this case indite?  
Aruiragus, and Dorigene his wife  
In sovereign bliss leaden forth her life,  
Never after was there anger him between,  
He cherished her as though she were a queen,  
And she was to him true for evermore.  
Of these two folks ye get of me no more.  
Aurelius, that his cost hath all forlorn,  
Cursed the time that ever he was borne.  
Alas (qd. he) alas that ever I beheight  
Of pured gold a thousand pound of weight  
Unto this Philosopher, how shall I do?  
I see no more, but that I am fordo.  
Mine heritage moat I needs go and sell,  
And been a beggar, here may I no longer dwell,  
And shame all my kindred in this place,  
But I of him may get better grace.  
But nevertheless I wool of him assay,  
At certain days, year by year to pay,  
And thank him of his great courtesy,  
My troth wool I keep, I wool not lie.  
With heart sore he goth unto his coffer  
And brought gold unto the Philosopher  
The value of five hundred pounds as I guess,  
And him beseecheth of his gentleness  
To grant him days of the remnant,  
And said: master I dare mell make avaunt,  
I failed never of my troth 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 surety  
Two year or three for to respite me,  
Then were I well, for else moat I sell  
Mine heritage, there is no more to tell.  
This Philosopher soberly answered,  
And said 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 rehearse it any more.  
He said Aruiragus of gentleness  
Had lever die in sorrow and in distress,  
Than his wife were of her troth falls.  
The sorrow of Dorigene he told him als,  
How loath she was to been a wicked wife,  
And that she had lever have lost her life.  
And that her troth she swore through innocence,  
She now erst heard speak of appearance:  
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 said.  
The Philosopher answered, leave brother,  
Everych of you did gently to other:  
Thou art a squire, and he is a knight,  
But God forbid for his blissful might,  
But if a clerk could done a gentle deed  
As well as any of you, it is no dread.  
Sir I release thee thy thousand pound,  
As now thou were crope out of the ground,  
Ne never ere now hadst thou known me.  
For sir, I wool not taken a penny of thee.  
For all my craft, ne nought for my travail:  
Thou hast ypaied right well for m● victual.  
It is enough, & farewell and have good day,  
And took his horse, & road forth on his way.  
Lordings this question would I ask 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 unto vices,  
Which that men clepe in English idleness,  
That is porter of the gate of delices  
To eschew, and by her contrary her oppress,  
That is to sane, by lawful business:  
* Well ought we to done our intent  
Lest that the fiend through idleness us hent.   

For he that with his thousand cords sly  
Continually us waiteth to be clap,  
When he may man in idleness espy,  
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 hon:  
* Well ought us werch, & idleness withstand.   

And though men dreaden never for to die,  
Yet see men well by reason doubtless,  
* That idleness is root of sluggardie,  
Of which there cometh never good increases,  
For sooth sloth holdeth him in a lees,  
Only to sleep, and for to eat and drink,  
And to devouren all that other swink.   

And for to put us from such idleness,  
That cause is of so great confusion,  
I have here done my faithful business  
After the Legend in translation,  
Right of thy glorious life and passion,  
Thou with thy garland, wrought with rose & lily,  
Thee mean I, maid & martyr saint Cecily.   

And thou that art flower of virgins all,  
Of whom that Bernard list so well to write,  
To thee at my beginning first I call,  
Thou comfort of us wretches, do me indite  
Thy maiden's death, that wan through her merit  
The eterne life, and of the fiend victory,  
As men may after read in her story.   

Thou maiden & mother, daughter of thy son,  
Thou Well of mercy, sinful souls cure.  
In whom the God of bounty cheese to won:  
Thou humble and high over every creature,  
Thou noblest, and so far over nature,  
That no disdain the maker had of kind,  
His son in blood and flesh to cloth and wind.   

Within the cloister of thy blissful sidis,  
took man's shape the eterne love and pees:  
That of the true compass Lord and guide is,  
Whom heaven, earth, and sea, withouten les  
Ay herien, and thou virgin wemles  
Bare of thy body, and dwellest maiden pure  
The creator of every creature.   

Assembled is in the magnificence  
With mercy, goodness, and with such pity,  
That thou art the son of excellence,  
Not only that helpest them that praien thee,  
But oftentime of thy benignity  
Full freely, or that men thine help beseech,  
Thou goest before, and art her life's leech.   

Now help thou blissful & meekefaire maid  
Me flemed wretch, in this desert of gall:  
Think on the woman of Canane, that said,  
That whelps eaten some of the crumbs small  
That from her Lord's table been yfall:  
And though that I unworthy daughter of Eve  
Be sinful, yet accepteth my beleeue.   

And for that faith is ded withouten works,  
So for to werch, give me wit and space,  
That I be quit from the place that most derkis  
O thou that art so fair and full of grace,  
Be mine advocate in that high place,  
There as without end is song Osanna,  
Thou Christ's mother, & daughter of Anna.   

And of thy light, my soul in prison light,  
That troubled is by the contagion  
Of my body, and also by the wight  
Of earthly lust, and false affection:  
O heaven, O refute, O salvation  
Of him that been in sorrow and distress,  
Now help, for to my work I wool me dress.   

Yet I pray you that reden that I write,  
Foryeveth me, that I do no diligence  
This ilke story subtly to indite.  
For hoth have I the words and the sentence  
Of him that at the saints reverence  
The story wrote, and followen her legend,  
And pray you that ye wool my work amend.   

First wool I you the name of saint Cecily  
expone, as men may in her story see  
It is to say in English, Heaven's lily,  
For pure chasteness of virginity,  
Or for she witness had of honesty,  
And green of conscience, and of good same,  
The sote savoured Lily was her name.   

Or Cecily is to say, the way to blind:  
For she ensample was by good teaching,  
Or else Cecily, as I written find,  
Is joined by a manner conjoining  
Of heaven and Lia, in her figuring:  
The heaven is set for thought of holiness,  
And Lia, for her lasting business.   

Cecily may eke be said in this manere,  
Wanting of blindness, for her great light,  
For her sapience, and for her thews clear.  
Or else Lo, this maiden's name so bright:  
Of heaven & Leos cometh, of which by right  
Men might the heaven of people her call,  
Ensample of good and wise works all.   

For Leos, people, in English is to say:  
And right as men may in the heaven see  
The sun and moon, and stars every way,  
Right so men ghostly, in this maiden free  
Sawen of faith the great magnanimity,  
And eke the clearness hole of sapience,  
And sundry works, bright of excellence.   

And right so as these Philosophers write  
That heaven is swift, round, & eke brenning,  
Right so was fair Cecily the white  
Full swift and busy in every good working,  
And round and whole in good persevering,  
And brenning ever in charity full bright:  
Now have I declared you what she height.   

¶ The second Nonnes Tale.  
The life and death of Saint Cecily.  

THis maiden bright Cecile, as her life saith,  
Was comen of Romans & of noble kind:  
And so forth fostered up in the faith  
Of Christ, and bore his Gospel in her mind:  
She never ceased, as I written find,  
Of her prayer, and God to love and dread,  
Beseeching him to keep her maidenhead.   

And when this maid should unto a man  
I wedded be, that was full young of age,  
Which that cleped was Valerian,  
And day was come of her marriage,  
She full devout and humble in her courage,  
Under her robe of gold, that sat full fair,  
Had next her flesh clad her in an hair.   

And whiles that the organs made melody,  
To God alone thus in heart song she,  
O lord, my soul and eke my body gie  
Vnwemmed, lest I confounded be:  
And for his love that died upon a tree.  
Every second or third day she fast,  
Ay biding in her orison full fast.   

The night came, and to bed must she gone  
With her husband, as is the manner,  
And privily she said unto him anon,  
O sweet and well beloved spouse dear,  
There is a counsel, and ye wool it here,  
Which that right fain I would to you sane  
So that ye me ensure, it not to bewraine.   

Valerian 'gan fast unto her swear,  
That for no case, ne thing that might be,  
He should never to none bewraien here:  
And then at erst thus to him said she,  
I have an Angel which that loveth me,  
That with great love, where so I wake or sleep,  
Is ready aye my body for to keep.   

And if that he may felen out of dread,  
That ye me touch or love in vilonie,  
He right anon will slay you with the deed,  
And in your youth thus shall ye die.  
And if that ye in clean love me gie,  
He wool you love as me, for your cleanness,  
And show you of his joy and brightness.   

This Valerian, corrected as God would,  
Answered again, if I shall trust thee,  
Let me that angel see, and him behold,  
And if that it a very angel be,  
Then wool I done as thou hast prayed me:  
And if thou love another man forsooth,  
Right with this sword then wool I slay you both.   

Cecile answered 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 town ne stant but miles three,  
And to the poor folk that there do dwell  
Say him right thus, as I shall you tell.   

Tell him that I Cecile, you to him sent  
To shown you the good urban the old,  
For secret needs, and for good intent:  
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 angel ere ye twin.   

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

The teres from his eyes let he fall:  
Almighty God, O jesus Christ (qd. he)  
Sour of chaste counsel, hierde of us all,  
The fruit of thilk seed of chastity  
That thou hast sow in Cecile, take to thee:  
Lo like a busy be withouten guile  
Thee serveth aye thine own thrall Cecile.   

For thilk spouse, that she took but new  
Full like a fierce Lion, she sendeth here  
As meek as any lamb was to ewe:  
And with that word anon there 'gan apere  
An old man, yclad in white clothes clear,  
That had a book with letters of gold in hon,  
And 'gan biforne Valerian for to stoned.   

Valerian as deed, fell down for dread,  
When he this old man saw standing so,  
Which forthwith anon he herd to read,  
O Lord, O faith, O God withouten more  
Of Christendom, and father of all also  
Aboven all, and over all every 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 leave all this thing (qd. Valerian)  
Under the heaven no ●ight ne think may  
Sother thing than this, I dare well say.  
Tho vanished the old man, he nist where,  
And Pope urban him christened right there.   

Valerian goeth home, and findeth Cecile  
Within his chamber, with an Angel stoned:  
This angel had of rose and of lily  
Crowns two, the which he bore in hand,  
And first to Cecile, as I understand,  
He gave that one, and after 'gan he take  
That other to Valerian her make.   

With body clean & with unwemmed thought  
Keepeth aye well these crowns two (qd. he)  
From paradise to you I have him brought,  
Ne never more shullen they rotten be,  
Ne less her sweet savour, trusteth me,  
Ne never wight shall seen him with eye,  
But he be chaste, and hate vilonie.   

And thou Valerian, for thou so son  
Assentedest to good counsel also,  
Say what thou list, and thou shalt have thy boon.  
I have a brother (qd. Valerian tho)  
That in this world I love no man so,  
I pray you that my brother may have grace  
To know the troth, as I do in this place.   

The angel answered, God liketh your request,  
And both with the palm of martyrdom  
Shall ye come unto the blissful feast:  
And with that word, Tiburce his brother come,  
And when that he the savour ●idernome,  
Which that the roses and the lilies cast,  
Within his heart he 'gan to wonder fast.   

And said: I wonder this time of the year  
Whence that this sweet savour cometh so  
Of roses and lilies, that I smell here:  
For though I had him in mine hands two,  
The savour might in me no deeper go:  
The sweet smell, that in mine heart I find  
Hath changed me all in another kind.   

Valerian said, two crowns here have we  
Snow white, & rose red, that shineth clear,  
Which that thine eyes han no might to see:  
And as thou smellest him through my prayer  
So shalt thou seen him my leave brother dear,  
If it so be that thou wilt without sloth  
Believe aright, and know the very troth.   

Tiburce answered, sayest thou this to me  
In soothness, or in dream harken I this?  
In dreams (qd. Valerian) han we be  
Unto this time, brother mine iwis:  
But now at erst, out dwelling in troth is.  
How wost you this (qd. Tiburce) & in what wise?  
Qd. Valerian, that I shall thee devose.   

The angel of God hath me the troth taught  
Which thou shalt seen, & thou wilt reney  
The idols, and be clean, and else naught:  
And of the miracles of these crowns fifty  
Saint Ambrose in his preface lust to say:  
Solemnly this noble doctor dear  
Commendeth it, and saith in this manere.   

The palm of martyrdom for to receive,  
Saint Cecile, fulfilled of God's ye●t,  
The World and eke her chamber 'gan weive,  
Witness Tiburces and Ceciles shrift,  
To which God of his bounty would shift  
Crowns two, of flowers well smelling,  
And made the angel hem though crownes bring.   

The maid hath brought him to bliss above:  
The world hath witted what it is worth certain  
Devotion and chastity well for to love.  
Tho showed him Cecile all open and plain,  
That all idols been but things in vain,  
For they been dumb, & thereto they been deaf,  
And charged him his idols for to lief.   

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 troth espy:  
This day take I thee for mine ally,  
Said this blissful maiden fair and dear,  
For after that she said as ye may hear.   

Lo right so as the love of Christ (qd. she)  
Made me thy brother's wife, right in that wise  
Anon for mine ally here take I thee,  
Sithence that thou wolt thine idols despise.  
Goth with thy brother now, and thee baptise,  
And make thee clean, so that thou mayst behold  
The angel's face, of which thy brother told.   

Tiburce answered, & said: brother dear  
First tell me whither I shall, and to with man:  
To whom he said, come forth with good cheer  
I wool thee lead unto the Pope Vrban.  
To Vrban brother mine Valerian  
(Qd. this Tiburce) wilt thou me thither lead?  
Me thinketh that it were a wonder deed.   

Ne meanest thou not Vrban (qd. he though)  
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 brens in a fire so red,  
If he were found, & men might him spy,  
And we also, that bear him company.   

And while we seeken thilk divinity,  
That is yh●d in heaven privily,  
Algate ybrent in this world should be.  
To whom Cecile answered boldly,  
* All men might dread well and skilfully  
This life to le●e, mine own dear brother,  
If this were living only and none other.   

* But there is better living in other place,  
That never shall be lost, ne dread thee nought:  
Which Gods son to us told through his grace.  
That father's son which hath all thing wrought,  
And all iwrought is with a skilful thought,  
The ghost that from the father 'gan proceed,  
Hath souled him withouten any dread.   

By word and by miracle, lo God's son  
When he was in this world, declared here,  
That there is other life there men may won.  
To whom answered Tiburce: O su●ter dear  
Ne saidst thou right now in this manere,  
There nas but one God in soothfattnesse,  
And now of three how may thou bear witness.   

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 divinity,  
Three persons may there full right well be  
Tho 'gan she there full busily him preach  
Of Christ's son, and of his pains teach.   

And many points of his passion,  
How God's son in this world was withhold  
To do mankind plain remission,  
That was b●und in sins and cares cold.  
All these things the unto Tiburce told,  
And after this Tiburce in good intent,  
With Valerian to Pope Vrban went.   

That thonked God, & with glad heart & light  
He christened him, & made him in that place  
Perfect in his learning God's knight:  
And after this, Tiburce got such grace,  
That every day he saw in time and space  
The Angel of God, and every boon  
That he God asked, it was sped full soon.   

It were full hard by order for to sane  
How many wonders jesus for him wrought:  
But at the last, to tell short and plain,  
The sergeant of the to●●e for him sought.  
And hem before Almache the provost brought,  
Which him aposed, and knew all her intent,  
And to the Image of jupiter him sent.   

And said, who so wool do no sacrifice,  
Swap of his head, this is my sentence here:  
Anon these martyrs, that I you devose,  
One Maximus that was an officere  
Of the prefects, and his councelere  
Him hent, and when he forth the saints lad,  
Himself he wept for pity that he had.   

When Maximus had herd these saints lore,  
He goat him of the tormentors leave,  
And had him to his house withouten more,  
And with her preaching, ere that it were eve,  
They 'gan from the tormentor to reave,  
And from Maximus. & from his folk eachone  
The false faith, to trowen in God alone.   

Cecile came, when it was waxed night,  
With priests, that him christened all in fere:  
And afterward, when day was waxed light,  
Cecile him said with a sober cheer:  
Now Christ's own knights both leave & dear  
Casteth all away the works of darkness,  
And armeth you in armour of brightness.   

Ye han forsooth idone a great battle  
Your course is done, your faith hath you conserved,  
Goth to the crown of life that may not fail,  
The rightful judge, which ye han served,  
Shall give it you, as ye have it deserved:  
And when this thing was said, as I device,  
Men led him forth to done the sacrifice.   

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

This Maximus, that saw the thing betid,  
With 〈◊〉 tears told it anon right:  
That he her souls saw to heaven glide  
With angels full of clearness and of light:  
And with his word converted many a wight.  
For which Almachius did him so to beat  
With wh●●s of lead, till he his life 'gan lete.   

Cecile him took, and buried him anon  
By Tiburce and Valerian sooth,  
Within her durying place under a stone:  
And after this Almachius hastily  
Bade his minister's fetchen openly  
Cecile, so that she might in his presence  
Do sacrfide, and jupiter incense.   

But they converted at her wi●e lore  
Weptenfull sore, and gave full credence  
Unto her word, and criden more and more,  
Christ, God's son, withouten difference  
Is very God, this is all our sentence,  
That hath a se●●aunt so good him to serve?  
Thus with o voice we trow though we starve.   

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

Ye have begun your question fond  
(Qd. she) that would two answers conclude  
In one demand, ye asken lewdly:  
Almachius answered to that similitude,  
Of whence cometh thine answer so rude?  
Of whence (qd. she) when that she was frained,  
Of conscience, and good faith unfeigned.   

Almachius said, ne takest thou none heed  
Of my power? and she him answered this:  
Your might (qd. she) full little is to dread:  
* For every mortal man's power nis  
But ylike a bladder full of wind iwis:  
For with a needle's 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 perseverance:  
Wost thou not how our mighty princes free  
Have thus commanded & made ordinance,  
That every christian wight shall have penance,  
But if that he his Christendom withsey,  
And gone all quite, if he wool it reney?   

Your Princes err, as your nobles doth,  
Qd. though Cecile, in a wood sentence  
Ye make us guilty, and it is not sooth:  
For ye that known, well our innocence,  
Forasmuch as we done a reverence.  
To Christ, and for we hear a Christian name,  
Ye put on us a crime, and eke a blame.   

But we that well known thi●ke name so  
For virtuous, we may it not withsey,  
Almachius answered, cheese one of these two,  
Do sacrifice, or Christendom reney,  
That thou mow esca●en by that 〈◊〉.  
At which word the holy blissful maid  
'Gan for to laugh, and to the judge she said:   

O judge 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 prince's 〈◊〉  
To me both power and eke authority,  
To make folk to dien or to liuen?  
Why speakest thou so proudly then to me?  
I ne speak it but steadfastly (qd. she)  
Not proudly, for I say as for my side,  
That I hate deadly thilk vice of pride.   

And if thou dread not a sooth for to hear,  
Than wool I shown all openly by right,  
That thou hast made a full great losing here:  
Thou sayest thy princes han yeven thee might  
Both to slay and eke to quite a wight:  
Thou ne mayst but only life bereve,  
Thou hast none other power ne leve.   

But thou mayst say, thy princes han thee maked  
Minister of death, for if thou speak of more,  
Thou liest: for thy power is full naked.  
Do way thy boldness, said Almachius tho,  
And do sacrifice to our gods ere thou go.  
I reck not what wrong thou me proffer,  
For I can it suffer, as can a Philosopher.   

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

Cecile answered, O nice creature,  
Thou saidst no word sithence thou spakest to me  
That I ne knew therewith thy nicete,  
And that thou were in every manner wise  
And lewd officer, and a vain justice.   

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

It is a shame that the people shall  
So scorn thee, and laugh at thy folly:  
For commonly men wot it well over all:  
* That mighty God is in his heavens high,  
And these images well mayst thou espy,  
To thee ne to himself may they not profit,  
For in her effect they be not worth a mite.   

These and such other words saiden she,  
And he wox wroth, and bade she should be lead  
Home to her house, and in her house (qd. he)  
Br●n her in a bath, with flames read:  
And as he bade, right so was done the deed.  
For in a bath they 'gan her fast sheten,  
And night & day great fire under they beaten.   

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

Three strokes in the neck he smote her tho  
The tormentor, but for no manner chance  
He might not smite all her neck atwo:  
And for there was at that time an ordinance  
That no man do no person such penance,  
The fourth stroke to smitten, soft or sore:  
This tormentor durst smite her no more.   

But half dead, with her neck ycorven there  
He left her lie, and on his way he went:  
The christian folk that about her were  
With sheets home full fair they her hent:  
Three days lived she in this tourment,  
And never ceased the faith to teach,  
That she had fostered him, she 'gan to preach.   

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

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


¶ The Canons' Yeoman's Prologue.  
WHen ended was the life of saint Cecile,  
Ere we fully ridden had five mile,  
At Boughten under the blee us 'gan a take  
A man, that clothed was in clothes black,  
And under 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 road upon,  
So sweateth, that unneath might he gone.  
About the paytrell stood the foam full high,  
He was of foam as flecked as a pie:  
A male twifolde on his croper lay,  
It seemed that he carried little array,  
All light for summer road this worthy man.  
And in my heart wondrens I began  
What that he was, till I understood,  
How that his cloak was sewed to his hood,  
For which when I had long avised me,  
I deemed him some canon for to be,  
His hat hang at his back by a lace,  
For he had ridden more than trot or pace.  
He road aye pricking as he were wode,  
A clote lief he had laid under his hood  
For sweat, and for to keep his head fro here.  
But it was joy for to see him sweet,  
His forehead dropped, as a stillutory  
Were full of plantain or of peritory.  
And when he was come, he 'gan to cry,  
God save (qd. he) this jolly company:  
Fast have I pricked (qd. he) for your sake,  
Because that I would you overtake,  
To ridden in this merry company.  
His yeoman was eke full of courtesy,  
And said sirs, now in the morrow tide  
Out of your hostrie I saw you ride,  
And warned here my lord and sovereign,  
Which that to ridden with you is full feign,  
For his disport, he loveth dalliance.  
Friend for thy warning God give thee good chance.  
Then said our host, certain it would seem  
Thy lord were wise, and so I may well dame,  
He is full jocund also dare I say:  
Can he ought tell a merry tale or twaie,  
With which he glad may this company?  
Who sir, my lord? Ye without lie,  
He can of mirth and eke of iolite  
Not but enough also sir trusteth me.  
And ye him knew all so well as do I,  
Ye would wonder how well and thriftily  
He couth work, and that in sundry wise.  
He hath taken on him many a great emprise,  
Which were full hard, 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 would been for your prow:  
Ye would not foregone his acquaintance  
For mochel good I dare lay in balance  
All that I have in my possession.  
He is a man of high discression:  
I warn you well he is a passing wise man.  
Well (qd. our host) I pray thee tell me than  
Is he a clerk or non? tell what he is.  
A clerk, nay greater than a clerk iwis,  
Said the yeoman, and in words few,  
Host, of his craft somewhat wool I show.  
I say my lord can such a subtelty,  
(But all his craft ye may not weet of me,  
And somewhat help I yet to his werching)  
That all the ground that we be on riding  
Till we come to Canterbury town  
He could all clean turnen up and down,  
And pave it all of silver and of gold.  
And when this yeoman had thus itolde  
Unto our host: he said benedicite,  
This thing is wonder marvellous to me:  
(Sens that thy lord is of so high prudence  
Because of which, men should him reverence)  
That of his worship wreketh he light:  
His ouerest slop is not worthy a mite  
As in effect to him, so moat I go,  
It is all bawdy and to tore also.  
Why is thy lord so slothliche I thee prey,  
And is of power better clothes to obey?  
If that his deed accord with thy speech  
Tell me that, and that I thee beseech?  
Why (qd. this yeoman) whereto ask ye me?  
God help me so, for he shall never ythe:  
But I wool not avow that I say,  
And therefore keep it secret I you pray,  
He is too wise in faith, as I believe,  
* And that is overdone nill not prove.  
And right (as clerks sane, it is a vice:  
Wherefore I hold him in that lewd and nice.  
* For when a man hath overgreat wit,  
Full oft it happeth him to misusen it:  
So doth my lord, & that me grieveth sore.  
God amend it, I can say no more.  
Thereof no force good yeoman qd. our host)  
Sens of the cunning 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 town (qd. he)  
Lurking in hernes and in lanes blind,  
Whereas these robbers and thiefs by kind  
Holden her privy fearful residence,  
As they that dare not shown her presence  
So fare we, if that I shall say the ●othe.  
Yet (qd. our host) let me talk to thee:  
Why art thou so discoloured in thy face?  
Peter (qd. he) God give it hard grace:  
I am so used in the hot fire to blow,  
That it hath changed my colour as I trow,  
I am not wont in no mirror to pry,  
But swink sore, and learn to multiply:  
We blondrens ever, and porens in the fire,  
And for all that, we failen our desire,  
For ever we lacken our conclusion.  
To much folk we do illusion.  
And borrow gold, be it a pound or two,  
Or ten or twelve, or many sums more,  
And make him 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 far us before,  
We mow not although we had it sworn  
It overtake, it slit away so fast,  
It wol us make beggars at the last.  
Whiles this yeoman was thus in his taking,  
This Cannon drew him near, & herd all thing  
Which this yeoman spoke, for suspection  
Of man's speech ever had this Cannon:  
* For Cato sayeth, he that guilty is,  
deemeth all thing be spoken of him iwis:  
Because of that, he 'gan so nigh to draw  
To this yeoman, to harken all his saw,  
And thus he said unto his yeoman tho,  
Hold now thy peace, & speak no words more:  
For if thou do, thou shalt it sore abye.  
Thou slaundrest me here in this company,  
And eke discoverest that thou shouldest hide.  
Ye (qd. our host) tell on whatsoever betid  
Of all this threting, reck thee not a mite.  
In faith (qd. he) no more do I but light:  
And when this Cannon saw it would not be,  
But this yeoman would tell his privite,  
He fled away for very sorrow and shame.  
A, qd. the yemon, here shall rise a game:  
All that I can anon wool I you tell,  
Sens he is gone, the foul tend him quell:  
For never hereafter wool I with him meet  
For penny ne for pound. I you behete  
He that me brought first unto that game,  
Ere that he die, sorrow have he and shame.  
For it is earnest to me by my faith,  
That feel I well what so any man saith:  
And yet for all my smart and all my greue  
For all my sorrow, labour and mischief,  
I couth never leave it in no wise.  
Now would to God my wit might suffice  
To tell all that longeth to that art:  
But nevertheless, yet wool I tell you a part,  
Sens that my lord is gone, I wool not spare,  
Such thing as I know, I wool declare.  

¶ The Thanons' yeoman's Tale.  
A Priest of London, more covetous than wise, is deceived by a Cannon professing the Art of Alchemy.  

WIth this Cannon I dwelled seven year,  
And of his science I am never the ne'er:  
All that I had, I have lost thereby,  
And God wot, so hath many more than I.  
There I was wont to be right fresh and gay  
Of clothing, and eke of other good array,  
* Now may I wear an hose upon mine head:  
And where my colour was both fresh & red,  
Now is it won, and of a leaden hue,  
Who so it useth, sore shall him rue:  
* And of my swink, yet bleared is mine eye,  
Lo which advantage it is to multiply,  
That sliding science, hath me made so bare,  
That I have no good, where that ever I fare:  
And yet I amendetted so thereby  
Of Gold, that I have borrowed truly,  
That while I live, I shall it quite never,  
Let every man beware by me ever.  
What manner man that casteth him thereto  
If he continue, I hold his thrift ido  
* So help me God, thereby shall he never win,  
But empte his purse, & make his wits thin:  
And when he, through his madness and folly  
Hath lost his own good through jeopardy,  
Than he exiteth other men thereto,  
To less her good as himself hath do:  
* For unto shrews, joy it is and ease  
To have her felawes in pain and disease.  
For thus was I once learned of a clerk,  
Of that no charge: I wool speak of our work.  
When we be there as we shall exercise  
Our elvish craft, we semen wonder wise.  
Our terms been so clergiall and so acquaint.  
I blow the fire till my heart faint.  
What should I tell each proportion  
Of things, which that we werchen upon?  
As on five or six ounces, may well be  
Of silver, or of some other quantity,  
And besie me to tell you the names  
Of Orpiment, brent bones, iron squames,  
That into powder grounden been full small,  
And in an earthen pot, how put is all,  
And salt iput in, and also papere,  
Before these powders that I speak of here,  
And well icovered with a lamp of glass,  
And of much other thing that there was:  
And of the pots and glass engluting,  
That of the air might pass out nothing.  
And of the elle fire, and smart also,  
Which that was made, & of the care and woe  
That we had in our matters subliming.  
And in amalgaming, and calsening  
Of quick silver, icleped Mercury crude,  
For all our flight we cannot conclude,  
Our Orpiment, and sublimed Mercury,  
Our ground litarge eke on porphyry,  
Of each of these, ounces a certain,  
Not helpeth us, our labour is in vain:  
Ne eke our spirit's assentioun,  
Ne our matters that lain all fire adoun  
Mowe in our werking nothing avail.  
For lost is all our labour and our travail  
* And all the cost a twenty devil way  
Is lost also, which we upon it lay.  
There is also full many another thing,  
That is to our craft appertaining,  
Though I by order hem ne rehearse can:  
Because that I am a lewd man:  
Yet wol I tell him, as they come to mind,  
Though I ne can set him in her kind,  
As Bole armoniac, Verdegrece, Borace,  
And sundry vessels made of earth and glass,  
Our urinals, and our discensories  
Viols, crossettes, and sublimatories.  
Concurbites, and alembekes eke,  
And other such, dear enough of a leek,  
It needeth not to rehearse him all:  
Waters ●ubisiyng, and Boles gall,  
Arsneke, sal Armoniake, and Brimstone,  
And herbs cold I tell eke many one,  
As Egremonie, Valerian, and Lunary,  
And other such, if that me list to tarry.  
Our lamps eke brenning both night & day,  
To bring abo●● our craft if that we may.  
Our fournice eke of calcination,  
And of water's albification,  
Unsleeked lime, chalk, and gleire of an eye,  
Pounders divers, ashes, dung, piss, & cleie,  
Sered pokettes, salt Peter, and vitriol,  
And divers fires made of wood and coal.  
Sal Tartre, Alcaly, and Shall preparate,  
And combust matters, and coagulate:  
Cley made with horse dung, man's here, & oil  
Of tartre alim, glass, berme, wort, & argoile,  
Resagor, and other matters imbibing,  
And eke of our matters encorporing,  
And of our silver citrination,  
Our cementing, and eke fermentation  
Our yngottes, testes, and many things more.  
I wool you tell as was me taught also  
The four spirits, and the bodies seven  
By order, as oft I heard my lord nemen.  
The first spirit, Quicksilver cleped is:  
The second, Orpiment: the third iwis  
Sal Armoniake: the fourth Brimstone:  
The bodies seven eke, lo here hem anon  
Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe,  
Mars iron, Mercury quick silver we clepe:  
Saturnus lead, and jupiter is tin,  
And Venus copper, by my father kin.  
This cursed craft, who so wool exercise,  
He shall no good have that may him suffice,  
For all the good he spendeth thereabout  
He less shall, thereof have I no doubt.  
Who so that listen to utter his folly,  
Let him come forth and learn to multiply:  
And every man that hath aught in his coffer,  
Let him appear, and wax a Philosopher:  
Askance that craft is so light for to lere.  
Nay, nay, God wot, all be he Monk or Frere  
Priest or Cannon, or any other wight,  
Though he sit at his book both day & night  
In learning of this elvish nice lore,  
All is in vain: and pard much more  
Is to lere a lewd man this subtilty,  
Fie speak not thereof, it wool not be,  
All could he lettcure, or could he none  
As in effect, he shall find it all one.  
For both two, by my salvation  
Concluden in multiplication  
Iliche well, when they have all ido.  
This is to sane, they failen both two.  
Yet forgot I much rehearsaile  
Of water's corosife, and of limaile  
And of body's mollification  
And also of her induration:  
Oils, ablusions, mettle fusible  
To tell you all, would pass 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 have you told enough  
To raise a fiend, all look he never so row.  
A nay let be: the Philosopher's stone  
Elixir cleped, we siken fast eachone:  
For had we him, than were we siker enough,  
But unto God of heaven I make avow,  
For all our craft when that we han all ido  
And all our sleight, he wool not come us to.  
He hath made us spenden much good,  
For sorrow of which, almost we waxen wood,  
But that good hope creepeth in our hart  
Supposing ever, though we sore smart,  
To been relieved of him afterward:  
Supposing and hope is sharp and hard.  
* ay warn you well it is to siken ever,  
That future temps hath made men discever  
In trust thereof, all that ever they had,  
Yet of that art they could not wax sad  
For unto him it is a bitter sweet  
So seemeth it, for ne had they but a sheet  
Which that they might wrappen him in a night,  
And a bratte towalken in a day light,  
They would him sell, and spend it on this craft,  
They con not stint, till nothing be ilaft:  
And evermore, where that ever they gone,  
Men may him ken by smell of Brimstone.  
For all the world they stinken as a Goat,  
Her savour is so Rammish and so hot,  
That though a man a mile from him be,  
The savour wool infect him trusteth me.  
Lo, thus by smelling, & by threadbare array  
If that men list, this folk know they may:  
And if a man wool ask him privily,  
Why they be clothed so unthriftily,  
Right anon they wool rowne in his ere,  
And saien, if that they espied were,  
Men wool him slay, because of her science:  
Lo thus these folk betraien innocence.  
Pass over this, go my tale unto:  
Ere that the pot be on the fire ido  
Of metals, with a certain quantity,  
My lord hem tempereth, & no man but he:  
Now he is gone, I dare say boldly.  
For as men said, he can done craftily,  
Algate I wot well he hath such a name,  
And yet full oft he runeth in the blame,  
And wot ye how full oft it happeth so,  
The pot breaketh, and farewell all is go.  
These mettales been of so great violence,  
Our walls may not make him resistance.  
But if they were wrought of lime and stone,  
They percen so, & through the wall they gone:  
And some of him 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 roof withouten doubt.  
Tho that the fiend not in our sight him show,  
I trow that he with us be, that like shrew.  
In hell where that he is lord and fire  
Ne is there no more woe, ne anger ne ire,  
When that our pot is broke, as I have said  
Every man chite, & holt him evil apuied:  
Some said it was long of the fire making,  
Some said nay, it was on the blowing,  
Then was I feared, for that was mine office.  
Straw (qd. the third) ye been lewd & nice,  
It was not tempered as it ought to be.  
Nay (qd. the fourth) stint & harken 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 us among.  
What (qd. my lord) there nis no more to done  
Of these perils I wool beware eftsoon.  
I am right siker, that the pot was crazed:  
Be as be may, be ye not amazed,  
As usage is, let sweep the floor as swithe,  
Pluck up your heart & be glad and blithe.  
The mullocke on an heap iswept was,  
And on the floor yeast a canvas,  
And all this mullocke in a Sieve ithrow,  
And sifted and I plucked many a throw,  
Pard (qd. one) somewhat of our metal  
Yet is there here, though we have not all.  
And though this thing mishapped hath as now  
Another time it may been well enough.  
We moat put our good in adventure,  
* A merchant pard may not aye endure,  
Trusteth me well, in his prosperity:  
Sometime his good is drowned in the see,  
And sometime it cometh safe unto the land.  
Peace (qd. my lord) the next time I wool fond  
To bring our craft all in another plight,  
And but I do sirs, let me have the wit:  
There was default in somewhat well I wot.  
Another said, the fire was over hot,  
But be it hot or cold, I dare say this,  
That we concluden ever more amiss:  
We failen of that which we would have,  
And in our madness evermore we rave,  
And when we be together everychone,  
Every man seemeth as wise as Solomon.  
* But all thing, which that shineth as the gold  
Is not gold, as that I have heard told:  
* Ne every apple that is fair at eye,  
Nis not good, what so men clap or cry:  
Right so lo it fareth among us,  
He that seemeth the wisest by jesus,  
* Is most fool, when it cometh to the proof:  
And he that seemeth truest is a thief.  
That shall ye know, er that I from ye wend,  
By that I of my tale have made an end.  
There was a Cannon of religioun  
among us, would infect all a town,  
Though it as great were as Ninive:  
Rome, alexander, Troie, and other three.  
His sleight and his infinite falseness  
There couth no man written as I guess,  
Though that he might live a thousand year,  
In all this world of falseness nis his peer.  
For in his terms he wool him so wind,  
And speak his words in so sly a kind,  
When be commune shall with any wight,  
That he wool make him dote anon right,  
But if a fiend he be as himself is.  
Full many a man hath he beguiled oer this.  
And more wool, if that he may live a while:  
And yet men ridden & gone full many a mile  
Him for to seek, and have his acquaintance,  
Not knowing of his false governance.  
And if ye lust to give audience.  
I wool it tell here in your presence.  
But worshipful Canons religious,  
Ne deemeth not that I slander your house,  
Although my tale of a Cannon be:  
* Of every order some shrew is pard,  
* And God forbid that all a company  
Should rue a singular man's folly.  
To slander you is not mine intent,  
But to correct that amiss, is meant.  
This tale was not only told for you,  
But eke for other more: ye wot well how  
That among Christ's Apostles twelve  
There was no traitor but judas himselue.  
Then why should the remnant have any blame  
That guiltless were? by you I say the same,  
Save only this, if ye wool hearken me,  
If any judas in your covent be,  
Remeveth him betime, I you read,  
If shame or loss may causen any dread.  
And be nothing displeased I you pray,  
But in this case herketh what I say.   

IN London was a priest annuellere,  
That therein had dwelled many a year,  
Which was so pleasant & so serviceable  
Unto the wife where he was at Table,  
That she would suffer him nothing to pay  
For board ne clothing, went he never so gay,  
And spending silver had he right enough:  
Thereof no force, I wool proceed as now  
And tell forth my tale of the Cannon,  
That brought this priest to confusion.  
This false canon came upon a day  
Unto this priest's chamber, where he lay,  
Beseeching him to lean him a certain  
Of gold, and he would quite him again:  
leaneth me a Mark (qd. he) but days three,  
And at my day I wool quite it thee.  
And if it so be, that thou find me false,  
Another day hang by the halfe.  
This priest took him a mark, & that swith,  
And this Cannon oft thanked him sith,  
And took his leave, and went forth his weigh:  
And at third day brought him his money,  
And to this priest he took his gold again,  
Whereof this priest was full glad and fain.  
Certes (qd. he) nothing anoieth me  
To lean 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 wool his day:  
To such a man I can never say nay.  
What, qd. this Cannon, should I be untrue,  
Nay, that were a thing fallen of new:  
Troth is a thing that I wool ever keep  
Unto the day in which I shall creep  
Into my grave, or else God forbid:  
believeth this as siker as your creed.  
God thank I, and in good time be it said,  
That there nas never man yet evil apayed  
For gold ne silver that he to me lent,  
Ne never falsehood in mine heart I meant.  
And sir, qd. he, now of my privite,  
Sens ye so goodliche have been to me,  
And kith to me so great gentleness,  
Somewhat to quite with your kindness,  
I wool you show, if ye wool it lere  
(I shall it show to you anon right here)  
How I can werche in Philosophy,  
Take good heed, ye shall it see with your eye,  
That I wool do a mastery or I go.  
Ye sir (qd. the priest) and wool ye so?  
Marry thereof I pray you heartily.  
At your commandment sir truly  
(Qd. the Cannon) and else God forbid:  
Lo how this thief couth his service bede.  
* Full soothe it is that such proffered service  
Stinketh, as witnesseth the old wise,  
And that full soon I wool it verify  
In this Cannon, root of all treachery,  
That evermore delight hath and gladness  
(Such fendly thoughts in his heart empress)  
How Christ's people he may to mischief bring.  
God keep us from his false dissimuling.  
What wist this priest with whom that he dealt?  
Ne of his harm coming nothing he felt.  
O silly priest, O silly innocent,  
With covetise anon thou shalt be blended:  
O graceless, full blind is thy conceit,  
Nothing art thou beware of his deceit.  
Which that this Fox hath shapen to thee:  
His wily wrenches thou mayest not flee:  
Wherefore to go to the conclusion  
That referreth to thy confusion,  
Unhappy man, anon I wool me high  
To till thine unwitte and thy folly,  
And eke the falseness of that other wretch,  
As ferforth as my cunning wool stretch.  
This Cannon was my lord ye would ween,  
Sir host in faith, and by the heaven Queen  
It was another Cannon and not he,  
That can an hundred fold more subtilty:  
He hath betrayed folk many a time,  
Of his falseness it doleth me to rhyme:  
Ever when I speak of his falsehood  
For shame of him my cheeks waxen read:  
Algates they beginnen for to glow,  
For redness have I none, right well I know,  
In all my visage, for fumes diverce  
Of metals, which ye have heard me rehearse,  
Consumed and washed hath my redness.  
Now take heed of this Canons' cursedness.  
Sir (qd. he to the priest) let your man gone  
For quicksilver, that we it had anon,  
And let him bring ounces two or three:  
And when he cometh, as fast shul you see  
A wonder thing, which ye saw never ere this.  
Sir (qd. the priest) it shall be done iwis.  
He had his servant fetch him this thing,  
And he all ready was at his bidding,  
And went him forth, and came anon again  
With this quicksilver, shortly for to said,  
And took these unces three to the Chanoun,  
And he him laid well and fair adown:  
Add had the servant coals for to bring,  
That he anon might go to his werking.  
The coals right anon were ifet,  
And this Cannon took out a crosslet  
Of his bosom, and showed it to the priest:  
This instrument (qd. he) which that thou seest,  
Take in thy hon, and put thyself therein  
Of this quicksilver an ounce, and begin  
In the name of Christ to wax a Philosopher:  
There be full few, which I would it proffer  
To show him so much of my science:  
For here shul ye see by experience,  
That this quicksilver I wool mortify,  
Right in your sight anon withouten lie,  
And make it as good silver and as fine,  
As there is any in your purse or mine,  
Or else where: and make it malleable,  
And else hold me false and unstable  
amongs folk ever to appear.  
I have a powder that cost me dear,  
Shall make all good, for it is cause of all  
My cunning, which I to you show shall.  
Voideth your man, and let him be thereout,  
And shut the door, whiles we been about  
Our privity, that no man us espy,  
Whiles that we werken in our Philosophy.  
All, as he had, fulfilled was in deed.  
This like servant anon out he go,  
And his master shut the door anon,  
And to her labour speedily they gone.  
This priest at this cursed Canons bidding,  
Upon the fire anon set this thing,  
And blew the fire, and busied him full fast:  
And this Cannon into this croslet cast  
A powder, I not whereof it was  
I made, either of chalk, earth, or glass,  
Or somewhat else, was not worth a fly,  
To blind with the priest: and bade him high  
These coals for to couchen all above  
The crosslet, for in token that I thee love  
(Qd. this Cannon) thine own honds two  
Shall work all thing that here shall be do.  
Grant mercy (qd. the priest) & was full glad,  
And couched coals as the Cannon bad:  
And while he busy was, this fiendly wretch  
This false Cannon, the foul fiend him fetch,  
Out of his bosom take a bechen coal,  
In which full subtly was made an hole,  
And therein was put of silver limaile  
An ounce, and stopped was without fail  
The hole with wax, 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 beguile him he thought,  
And so he did, as they went a twin:  
Till he had ne'er undone him, could he not blind.  
It dulleth me, when that I of him speak,  
On his falsehood feign would I me wreak,  
If I wist how, but he is here and there,  
He is so vigilant, he bideth no where.  
But taketh heed sirs now for God's love.  
He took his coal of which I spoke above,  
And in his hand he bore it prively,  
And whiles the priest couched besily  
The coals together, as I told you er this,  
This Cannon said, friend ye done amiss,  
This is not couched as it ought to be,  
But soon I shall amend it (qd. he)  
Now let me meddle therewith but a while,  
For of you have I pity by St. Gile.  
Ye been right hot, I see well how ye sweet,  
Have here a cloth and wipe away the wete.  
And all while the priest him wiped hace,  
This Cannon took the coal, I shrew his face,  
And laid it aboven upon the midward  
Of the croslet, and blew well afterward  
Till that the coals began fast to brens,  
Now give us drink, (qd. this Cannon then)  
As swithe all shall be well I undertake,  
Sat we down, and let us merry make.  
And when that this Canons bechen coal  
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 even above couched was,  
But there of wist the priest nothing alas:  
He deemed all the coals iliche good,  
For of the slight nothing he understood.  
And when this Alkamister saw his time,  
raiseth up sir priest (qd. he) & stondeth by me,  
And for I wot well ingot have I none,  
Goth walketh forth, & bring a chalk stone:  
For I wool make it of the same shape,  
That an ingot is, if I may have hap,  
And bring eke with you a bowl or a pan  
Full of water, and ye shall see than  
How that our business shall hap and prove:  
And yet for ye shall have no misbelieve  
Ne wrong conceit of me in your absence,  
I wool not been out of your presence,  
But go with you & come with you again.  
The chamber door shortly for to said  
They opened & shut, & went forth her weigh,  
And forth with hem they carried the key,  
And comen again withouten any delay.  
What should I tarry all the long day,  
He took the chalk, and shaped it in the wise  
Of an yngot, as I shall you devose.  
I say he took out of his own sleeve  
A teine of silver, jewel moat he cheve,  
Which that was but a just ounce of weight:  
And taketh heed now of his cursed sleight.  
He shop his yngot in length and in breed  
Of the teine, withouten any dread  
So slily that the priest it not espied,  
And in his sleeve again he 'gan it hide:  
And from the fire took up his matter,  
And into the yngnot it put with merry cheer:  
And into the water vessel he it cast,  
When that him list, & bade the priest as fast  
Look with there is put in thine hon & grope,  
Thou shalt find there silver as I hope,  
What devil of hell should it else be,  
Shaving of silver, silver is pard.  
He put in his hon, and took up a teine  
Of silver fine, and glad in every vain  
Was this Priest, when he saw it was so:  
God's blessing and his mothers also  
And all Hallowes, have ye sir Cannon,  
Said this priest, and I her malison  
But and ye vouchsafe to teachen me  
This noble craft and this subtilty,  
I wool be yours in all that ever I may.  
Qd. the Cannon, yet wool I make assay  
The second time, that ye mow take heed  
And been expert of this, and in your need  
Another day assay in mine absence  
This discipline, and this crafty science.  
Let take another ounce (qd. he) though  
Of quick silver, withouten words more,  
And done therewith as I have done er this  
With that other, which that now silver is.  
The priest him besieth in all that he can  
To done as this Cannon this cursed man  
Commanded him, and fast blewe the fire,  
For to come to the effect of his desire.  
And this Cannon, right in the mean while  
All ready was, this priest eft to beguile,  
And for a countenance in his hon bore  
An hollow stick, take keep and beware,  
In th'end of which an ounce and no more  
Of silver limaile put was, as before  
Was in his coal, & stopped with wax we'll  
For to keepen in his limaile every deal.  
And whiles this priest was in his business,  
This Cannon with his stick 'gan him dress  
To him anon, and his powder cast in  
As he did erst, the devil out of his skin  
Him torn, I pray to God for his falsehood.  
For he was ever false in word and deed:  
And with his stick, above the crosslet,  
That was ordained with that false jet,  
He stirreth the coals, till all relent 'gan  
The wax again the fire, as every man  
But he a fool be, wot well it moat need.  
And all that in the hole was, out go,  
And into the crosslet hastily it fell.  
The priest supposed nothing but well,  
But busied him fast, and was wonder fain,  
Supposing nought but troth soothe to said:  
He was so glad, that I cannot express  
In no manner his mirth and his gladness,  
And to the Cannon he proffered eft soon  
Body & good: ye (qd. the Cannon) anon  
Tho I be poor, crafty thou shalt me find:  
I warn thee yet is there more behind.  
Is there any copper here within, said he?  
Ye sir (qd. the priest) I trow there be.  
Else go and buy some, and that a swithe,  
Now good sir go forth thy way and hithe.  
He went his way, & with the copper he came,  
And this Cannon in his hon it name,  
And of that copper weighed out but an ounce:  
All to simple is my tongue to pronounce  
As to minister by my wit the doubleness.  
Of this Cannon, root of all cursedness.  
but seemed friendly, to him that knew him nought,  
But he was fendly, both in work & thought.  
It wearieth me to tell of his falseness,  
And nevertheless, yet wool I it express  
To the intent that men may beware thereby,  
And not for none other cause truly.  
He put this ounce of copper into the crosslet,  
And on the fire as swithe he hath it set,  
And cast in powder, & made the priest to blow  
And in his working for to stoop 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 hon,  
And in his sleeve, as ye before hon,  
Herd me tell, he had a silver teine.  
He slily took it out, this cursed heine,  
Unwitting this priest of his false craft,  
And in the pans bottom he hath it haft,  
And in the water rombleth too and fro,  
And wonder privily took up also  
The copper teine, not knowing this priest,  
And hid it, and hent him by the breast,  
And to him spoke, & thus said in his game:  
Stoopeth adown, by God ye be to blame,  
Helpeth me now, as I did you whilere,  
Put in your hon, & looketh what is there.  
This priest took up this silver teine anon,  
And then said the Cannon, let us gone  
With these three teines which we han wrought,  
To some Goldsmith, and wete if it be aught:  
For by my faith, I nold for my hood  
But if it were silver fine and good,  
And that as swithe well proved shall be.  
Unto the Goldsmith, with these teines three  
They went, and put them in assay  
To fire & hammer: might no man say nay,  
But they were as them ought for to be.  
This sotted priest, who was gladder than he?  
Was never bird gladder against the day,  
Ne Nightingale, against the season of May  
Was never none, that list better to sing,  
Ne lady lustier in carolling:  
And for to speak of love and womanhead,  
Ne knight in arms to done a hardy deed  
To stonden in grace of his lady dear,  
Than had this priest, this craft now to lere:  
And to the Cannon thus he spoke and said,  
For the love of God, that for us all died,  
And as I may deserve it unto you,  
What shall this receipt cost, telleth me now?  
By our Lady (qd. this Cannon) it is dear  
I warn you well, save I and a Frere  
In England, there can no man it make.  
No force (qd. he) now sir for God's sake,  
What shall I pay, tell me I you pray.  
I wis (qd. he) it is full dear I say.  
Sir at one word, if that ye list it have,  
Ye shall pay forty pound, so God me save:  
And ne'er the friendship that ye did oer this  
To me, ye shoulden pay more iwis.  
This priest the sum of forty pound anon  
Of nobles fet, and told him everichon  
To this Cannon, for this ilke receipt.  
All his worching was fraud and deceit.  
Sir priest he said, I keep for to have no loose  
Of my craft, for I would it were kept closes,  
And as you love me, keepeth it secre,  
For and men know all my subtilty,  
By God men would have so great envy  
To me, because of my Philosophy,  
I should be dead, there were none other way.  
God it forbid (qd. the priest) what ye say,  
Yet had I lever spend all the good  
Which that I have, or else wax I wood.  
Than that ye should fallen in such mischief:  
For your good will have ye right good proof  
Qd. the Cannon, & farewell grant mercy.  
He went his way, & the priest never him seie  
After that day: & when that this priest should  
Maken assay, at such time as he would  
Of this receipt, farewell it nold not be.  
Lo thus beyaped and beguiled was he:  
Thus maketh he his introduction  
To bring folk to her destruction.  
* Considereth sirs how in each estate  
Betwixt men and gold there is debate  
So ferforth, that unneths there is none,  
(This multiplying blindeth so many one)  
That in good faith I trow that it be  
The greatest cause of such scarcity.  
These philosophers speaken so mistily  
In this craft, that men cannot come thereby,  
For any wit that men have now adays:  
They may well chattre & jangle as do the iays,  
And in her terms set her lust and pain,  
But to her purpose shall they never attain.  
* A man may lightly learn, if he have aught  
To multiply, & bring his good to nought.  
Lo, such a lucre is in this lusty game,  
A man's mirth it wool turn all to grame,  
And emptien also great & heavy purses,  
And maked folk to purchase curses  
Of him that han also her good ylent.  
O fie for shame they that han be brent,  
Alas, cannot they fly the fires heat?  
Ye that it usen, I read that ye it lete,  
Lest ye lesen all: for bet than never is late:  
Never to thrive, were too long a date.  
Though that ye prolle aye, ye shall it never find,  
find Ye ben as bold as is bayard the blind  
That blondereth forth, & peril casteth none:  
He is as bold to run against a stone,  
As for to go beside in the way:  
So faren ye, that multiplien I say.  
If that your eyes cannot seen aright,  
Looketh that your mind lack not his sight.  
For though ye look never so broad & stare,  
Ye shall not win a mite in that chaffer,  
* But wast all that ye may reap and run:  
Withdraw the fire, lest it too fast burn.  
Meddleth with that art no more I mean,  
For if ye done, your thrift is gone full clean.  
And right as swithe I wool you tell here  
What that the philosophers said in this matter.  
Lo thus saith arnold of the new town,  
As his rosary maketh mention,  
He saith right thus, withouten any lie,  
There may no man Mercury mortify,  
But if it be with his brothers knowledging:  
Lo how that he which first said this thing,  
Of Philosopher's father was, Hermes.  
He saith how that the dragon doubtless  
Ne dieth not, but if he be slain  
With his brother: And this is for to sane  
By the dragon Mercury, and none other,  
He understood that brimstone was his brother,  
That out of Sol and Luna were ydraw:  
And therefore said he, take heed to my saw.  
Let no man busy him this art for to seech,  
But he that the intention and speech  
Of Philosophers understand can:  
And if he do, he is a lewd man.  
For this science and this cunning (qd. he)  
Is of the secre of the secres pard.  
Also there was a disciple of Plato,  
That on a time said his master to,  
As his book Senior wool bear witness,  
And this was his demand in soothfastness:  
Tell me the name of the privy stone?  
And Plato answered unto him anon,  
Take the stone that Titanoes men name.  
Which is that (qd. he?) Magnetia is the 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 four (qd. Plato.)  
Tell me the roche good sir (qd. he though)  
Of that water, if it be your will.  
Nay, nay (qd. Plato) certain that I nill:  
The Philosophers were ysworne eachone,  
That they should discover it unto none,  
Ne in no book it write in no manner,  
For unto Christ it is so lief and dear,  
That he wool not that it discovered be,  
But where it liketh to his deity,  
Man to inspire and eke for to defend,  
When that him liketh, lo this is his end.  
Then conclude I thus, sens that God of heaven  
Ne will not that the Philosopher's nemen,  
How that a man shall come unto this stone,  
I read as for the best, let it gone.  
gone For who so maketh God his adversary  
As for to werch any thing in contrary  
Unto his will, certes never shall he thrive,  
Though that he multiply term of his live:  
And there a point: for ended is my tale.  
God send every true man boat of his bale.      


¶ The Doctor of Physics Prologue.  
WHen this yeoman his tale ended had  
Of this false Cannon, which was so bad,  
Our host 'gan say, truly and certain  
This priest was beguiled, sooth for to sane:  
He weaned for to be a Philosopher,  
Till he right no gold left in his coffer:  
And sooth this priest had all the yape,  
This cursed Cannon put in his hood an ape.  
But all this pass I over as now:  
Sir doctor of Physic, yet I pray you,  
Tell us a tale of some honest matter.  
It shall be done, if that ye wool it here,  
Said this doctor, and his tale began anon,  
Now good men (qd. he) harkeneth everyone.  

¶ The Doctor of Physics Tale.  
Virginius slayeth his only Daughter, rather than that she shall be defiled by the lecherous Judge Appius.  
THere was, as telleth us Titus Livius,  
A knight, that cleped was Virginius,  
Fulfilled of honour and worthiness,  
And strong of friends, and of great richesses.  
A daughter he had by his wife,  
And never had he more in all his life:  
Fair was this maid in excellent beauty  
Aboven every wight that man may see:  
For nature hath with sovereign diligence  
Form her in so great excellence,  
As though she would say, lo I nature,  
Thus can I form and paint a creature  
When that me list, who can me counterfeit?  
Pygmalion not, though he always forge & beat,  
Or grave or paint: for I dare well sane,  
Apelles or Xeuxsis should werch in vain  
To grave or paint: or forge or beat,  
If they presumed me to counterfeit.  
For he that is the former principal,  
Hath made me his vicar general  
To form and paint earthly creature  
Right as me list. All thing is in my cure  
Under the moon, that may wane & wax:  
And for my work nothing wool 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 year and twain,  
In which that nature hath such delight.  
For right as she can paint a lily white  
And rody as rose, right with such painture  
She painted hath this noble creature  
Ere she was borne, upon her limbs free  
Were als bright as such colours should be,  
And Phoebus died had her tresses great,  
Like to the streams of his burned heat.  
And if that excellent were her beauty,  
A thousand fold more virtuous was she:  
In her ne lacketh no condition  
That is to praise, as by discretion  
As well in body as in ghost, chaste was she:  
For which she flowered in virginity  
With all humility and abstinence,  
With all attemperance and patience,  
With measure eke, and bearing of array.  
Discreet she was in answering always,  
Tho she were wise as Pallas, dare I sane.  
(Her facond eke full womanly and plain)  
No counterfeited terms at all had she  
To seem wise: but after her degree  
She spoke, and all her words more & less  
Swooning in virtue and in gentleness.  
Shamefast she was in maiden's shamefastness,  
Constant in heart, and ever in business  
To drive her out of all sluggardie:  
Bacchus had of her mouth no mastery.  
* For wine and youth done Venus' increase,  
As men in fire wool casten oil or grece.  
And of her own virtue unconstrained,  
She hath full oft her sick yfained,  
For that she would fly the company,  
Where likely was to treaten of folly,  
As is at feasts, at revels, & at dances,  
That been occasions of daliaunces:  
Such things maken children for to be  
Too soon ripe and bold, as men may see:  
Which is full perillons, and hath been yore,  
For all too soon may she learn the lore  
Of boldness, when as she is a wife.  
And ye maistresses in your old life,  
That lords daughters han in governance,  
Ne taketh of my word no displeasance:  
Think that ye been set in governing  
Of lords daughters, only for two things,  
Either for you han kept your honesty,  
Either for ye han fall in freelty,  
And known well enough the old dance,  
And con forsake fully all mischance:  
For evermore therefore for Christ's sake,  
Keepeth well though that ye undertake.  
A thief of venison, that hath forlaft  
His likerousnesse, and all his thieves craft.  
Can keep a forest best of any man:  
Now keepeth him well, for & ye wool ye can:  
* Looketh well, to no vice that ye assent,  
Lest ye be damned for your evil intent.  
For who so doth, a traitor is certain,  
And taketh keep of that I shall you sane:  
* Of all treason sovereign pestilence  
Is, when a wight betrayeth innocence.  
Ye fathers, and eke ye mothers also,  
Though ye han children, be it one or more,  
Yours is the charge of all her sufferance,  
Whiles that they been in your governance.  
Beth ware, that by ensample of your living,  
Either by your negligence in chastising,  
That they ne perish: for I dare well say,  
If that they done, ye shall full sore abay.  
* Under a shepherd soft and negligent,  
The wolf hath many a sheep & lamb to rent,  
Sufficeth one ensample now as here,  
For I moat turn again to my matter.  
This maid of which I tell my tale express,  
She kept her selue, she needed no mistress.  
For in her living maidens might read  
As in a book, every good work and deed,  
That longeth to a maid virtuous:  
She was so prudent and so bounteous.  
For which out sprung on every side  
Both of her beauty, and her bounty wide:  
That thorough the land they praised her eachone,  
* That loved virtue, save envy alone,  
That sorry is of other men's well,  
And glad is of her sorrow and unhele.  
The doctor maketh this descriptioun,  
This maid went on a day into the town  
Toward the temple, with her mother dear,  
As is of young maidens the manner.  
Now was there a justice in the town,  
That governor was of that region:  
And so befell, this justice his eyes cast  
Upon this maid, avising her full fast  
As she came foreby, there as the judge stood:  
Anon his heart changed and his mood,  
So was he caught with beauty of this maid  
And to himself full privily he said,  
This maid shall be mine for any man.  
Anon the fiend into his heart ran,  
And taught him suddenly, by with slight  
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 sovereign beauty,  
That well he wist he might her never win,  
As for to make her with her body sin.  
For which with great deliberation  
He sent after a client into the town,  
The which he knew full subtle & full bold.  
This judge this client his tale hath told  
In secret wise, and made him to ensure,  
He should tell it unto no creature:  
And if he did, he should less his heed.  
When assented was this cursed read,  
Glad was the judge, and made good cheer  
And gave him gifts precious and dear.  
When shapen was all this conspiracy  
From point to point, how that his lechery  
Performed should be full subtly,  
As ye shullen after hear openly:  
Home goth this client that height Claudius.  
But this false judge, that height Appius,  
(So was his name, for it is no fable,  
But known for an historical thing notable  
The sentence of it sooth is out of doubt)  
This false judge I say goth now fast about  
To hasten his delight all that he may:  
And so befell, that soon after on a day  
This false judge, as telleth us the story,  
As he was wont, sat in his consistory,  
And gave his dooms upon sundry case,  
This false client came forth a full great pace  
And said, Lord, if that it be your will,  
As doth me right upon this piteous bill,  
In which I plain upon Virginius.  
And if he wool say it is not thus,  
I wool prove it, and find good witness,  
That sooth is, that my bill wool express.  
The judge answered, of this in his absence  
I may not give definite sentence:  
Let do him call, and I wool gladly here,  
Thou shalt have all right, & no wrong here.  
Virginius came to wete the judges will,  
And right anon was rad this cursed bill,  
The sentence of it was as ye shall hear.  
To you my lord Appius so dear  
showeth your poor servant Claudius,  
How that a knight called Virginius,  
Against the law and against all equity,  
Holdeth express against the will of me  
My servant, which that is my thrall by right,  
Which from mine house was stolen on a night  
Whiles she was full young, I wool it prove  
By witness, lord, so that ye you not greue:  
She is not his daughter, what so he say,  
Wherefore my lord justice I you pray:  
Yield 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 have defended it, as should a knight,  
And by witness of many a true wight,  
That all was false, that said his adversary.  
This cursed judge would no longer tarry,  
He here a word more of Virginius  
But gave his judgement, and said thus.  
I dame anon this client his servant have,  
Thou shalt no longer her in thine house save,  
Go bring her forth, & put her in our ward.  
This client shall have his thrall, thus I award.  
And when this worthy knight Virginius  
Through the assent of the judge Appius  
Must by force his dear daughter given  
Unto the judge, in lechery to liuen,  
He goth him home, and set him in his hall,  
And let anon his dear daughter call:  
And with a face dead as ashen cold,  
Upon her humble face he 'gan behold,  
With father's pity, sticking through his heart,  
All would he not from his purpose convert.  
Daughter (qd. he) Virginia by thy name,  
There been two ways, either death, or shame  
That thou must suffer, alas that I was borne,  
For never thou deseruedest whereforne  
To dien with a sword or with a knife:  
Oh dear daughter, comfort of my life,  
Which I have fostered up with such pleasance,  
That thou never were out of my remembrance:  
O daughter, which that art my last woe,  
And in my life my last joy also,  
O iemmme of chastity, in patience  
Take thou thy death this is my sentence:  
For love & not for hate thou must be dead,  
My piteous hon moat smite of thine head,  
Alas that ever Appius thee say.  
Thus hath he falsely judged thee to day.  
And told her all the case, as ye before  
Han heard, it needeth not to tell it more.  
O mercy dear father (qd. this maid)  
And with that word both her arms laid  
About his neck, as she was wont to do,  
The tears braced out of her eyes two,  
And said, O good father shall I die,  
Is there no grace? Is there no remedy?  
No certes dear daughter mine (qd. he.)  
Then give me leave father mine (qd. she)  
My death to complain a little space:  
For pard, jepte gave his daughter grace  
For to complain, ere he her slough, alas,  
And God it wot, nothing was her trespass,  
But that she ran her father first to see,  
To welcome him with great solemnity:  
And with that word she fell aswoune anon,  
And after when her swooning was gone,  
She riseth up, and to her father said:  
Blessed be God that I shall die a maid.  
Yeve me my death, ere that I have a shame,  
Doth with your child your will a god's name:  
And with that word she prayeth him full oft,  
That with his sword he should smite her soft,  
And with that word, aswoune down she fell.  
Her father with sorrowful heart and fell,  
Her head off smote, and by the top it hent,  
And to the judge he it gave in present,  
As he sat in doom in consistory.  
When the judge it saw, as saith the story,  
He bade take him, and hung him also fast:  
But right anon all the people in thrust  
To save the knight, for routh and for pity,  
For known was the judge's 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 lecherous.  
For which unto Appius they gone,  
And kesten him in prison right anon,  
Whereas he slew himself: and Claudius,  
That servant was unto this Appius,  
Was deemed to be honged upon a tree:  
But Virginius of his great pity  
So prayed for him, that he was exiled,  
And else certes he had been beguiled:  
The remnant were honged, more & less,  
That consented were to his cursedness.  
* Hear may men see how sin hath his merit:  
Beware, for no man wot how God wol smite  
In no degree, ne in no manner wise,  
The worm of conscience wool arise  
Of wicked life, though it so privy be,  
That no man wot of it but God and he:  
Whether he be lewd man or lered,  
He not how soon he may been affered.  
* Therefore I read you this counsel take,  
To forsake sin, or sin you forsake.     

¶ The words of the Host.  
OUr host 'gan swear as he were wood,  
Harrow (qd. he) by nails and by blood,  
This was a false thief, & a cursed justice:  
As shameful death as heart may devose,  
Come to the justice and her advocas,  
Algate this silly maiden is slain, alas,  
Alas too dear about she her beauty.  
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 sane:  
Alas so pitously as she was slain.  
But hereof wool I not proceed as now,  
* Men have full oft more harm than prow.  
But truly truly mine own master dear,  
This is a ernefull tale for to here:  
But nevertheless, pass over and no force.  
I pray to God to save thy gentle corce,  
And thy urinals, and thy jordans,  
Thine hippocras and eke thy galianes,  
And every box full of letuarie  
God bless him and our lady saint Marie.  
So moat I thee, thou art a proper man,  
And ylike a prelate by saint Runian,  
Save that I cannot speak well in term.  
But well I wot, thou dost mine heart to yearn,  
That I have almost ycaught a cardiacle:  
By corpus domini, But I have treacle,  
Or else a draught of moist cornie ale,  
Or but I hear anon another merry tale,  
My heart is lost for pity of this maid.  
Thou belamy, thou john pardoner he said,  
Tell us some merry tale, or jape, right anon.  
It shall be done (qd. he) by saint Runion.  
But first (qd. he) here at this ale stake  
I wool both drink, and bite on a cake:  
But right anon, these gentles 'gan to cry,  
Nay, let him tell us of no ribaldry:  
Tell us some moral thing, that we mow lere  
Some wit, and then wool we gladly here.  
I grant (qd. he) iwis, but in the cup I'll think  
On some honest thing, whiles that I drink.   


¶ The Pardoners Prologue.  
LOrdings (qd. he) in chirch when I preach,  
I pain me to have an hauteine speech,  
And ring it out, as round as doth a bell,  
For I can all by rote that I tell.  
My teme is always one, and ever was,  
* (Radix omnium malorum est cupiditas)  
First I pronounce fro whence I come,  
And then my bills I show all and some:  
Our liege lords seal on my patent  
That show I first, my body to warrent,  
That no man be so bold, priest ne clerk,  
Me to disturb of Christ's holy work.  
And after that I tell forth my tales  
Of Bulls, of Popes, and of Cardinals,  
Of patriarchs, and of Bishops I show,  
And in latin I speak words a few  
To saver with my predication,  
And for to steer men to devotion.  
Then show I forth my long crystal stones,  
Ycrammed full of clouts and of bones,  
Relics they been, as ween they eachone:  
Then have I in laton a shoder bone,  
Which that was of an holy jews sheep.  
Good men say I, take of my words keep:  
If that this bone be washen in any well,  
If cow or calf, sheep, or ox swell  
That any worm hath eaten, or him stung,  
Take water of this well, and wash his tongue,  
And it is hole anon: and furthermore  
Of pocks, and of scabs, and every sore  
Shall sheep be hole, that of this well  
Drinketh a draught,, take keep of that I tell.  
If that the good man that beasts oweth,  
wol every day ere the cock croweth,  
Fasting drink of this well a draught,  
(As thilk holy jew our elders taught)  
His beasts and his store shall multiply:  
And sirs, also it healeth jealousy,  
For though a man be fall in jealous rage,  
Let make with this water his pottage,  
And never shall he more his wife mistrist,  
Though he in sooth the default by her wist:  
All had she taken priests two or three.  
Here is a mittaine eke, that ye may see:  
He that his hand wool put in this mittaine,  
He shall have multiplying of his grain,  
When he hath sown, be it wheat or oats,  
So that he offer good pens or groats.  
And men & women, o thing I warn you:  
If any wight been in this church now,  
That hath done sin horrible, that he  
Dare not for shame of it shriven be:  
Or any woman, be she young or old,  
That hath made her husband a cokewold,  
Such folk shall have no power ne no grace  
To offer to my relics in this place.  
And who so findeth him out of such blame,  
Come up and offer in God's name,  
And I assoil him by the authority,  
Such as by bull was granted unto me.  
By this gaude have I won every year  
An hundred mark, sithen I was pardonere.  
I stoned like a clerk in my pulpit,  
And when the lewd people been down yset,  
I preach so as ye have lered before,  
And tell to them an hundred yapes more.  
Then pain I me to stretch forth my neck,  
And east and west upon the people I beck  
As doth a dove, sitting upon a barn:  
My honds and my tongue gone so yerue,  
That it is joy to see my business.  
Of avarice and of such cursedness  
All my preaching is for to maken him free  
To given her pens, and namely unto me.  
For mine intent is not but for to win,  
And nothing for correction of sin.  
I reck never when that they been buried,  
Though her soul gone a black buried.  
* For certes many a predication  
Come oft time of evil intention.  
Some for pleasance of folk, & for flattery,  
To been advanced by hypocrisy:  
And some for vainglory, and some for hate.  
For when I dare not other ways debate,  
Then wool I sting him with my tongue smart  
In preaching, so that he shall not astart  
To been defamed falsely, if that he  
Hath trespassed to my brothers or to me.  
For though I tell not his proper name,  
Men shall well know that it is the same  
By signs, or by other circumstances.  
Thus quite I folk, that doth us displeasaunces:  
Thus put I out my venum under hue  
Of holiness, to seemen holy and true,  
But shortly mine intent I wool devose,  
I preach of nothing but of covetise.  
Therefore my teme is yet, and ever was,  
Radix omnium malorum est cupiditas.  
Thus can I preach against the same vice  
Which that I use, and that is avarice.  
But though myself be guilty in that sin,  
Yet can I maken other folk to twin  
From avarice, and sore hem to repent:  
But that is not my principal intent,  
I preach nothing but for covetise.  
Of this matter it ought enough suffice.  
Then tell I hem ensamples many a one  
Of old stories done long time agone.  
For lewd people aye love tales old,  
Which things they can well report & hold.  
What, trowen ye while that I may preach,  
And win gold and silver for to tech,  
That I wool live in poverty wilfully?  
Nay, nay, I thought it never truly.  
For I wool preach and beg in sundry londs,  
I wool not do no labour with mine honds,  
Ne make baskets and live thereby,  
Because I wool not beg idly.  
I wool none of the apostles counterfeit:  
I wool have money, malt, cheese, & wheat,  
All were it given of the poorest page,  
Or of the poorest widow in a village:  
Though her children should starve for famine.  
Nay, I wool drink the liquour of the wine,  
And have a jolly wench in every town:  
But hearkeneth lordings my conclusioun.  
Your liking is that I should tell a tale,  
Now I have 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 myself be a full vicious man,  
A moral tale yet I you tell can,  
Which I am wont to preach, for to win:  
Now hold your peace, my tale I wool begin.  

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

IN Flanders whilom there was a company  
Of young folk, that haunted folly:  
As hazard, riot, stews, and taverns,  
Whereas with harps, lutes, and geternes,  
They dauncen & plaien at dice night & day,  
And eaten also, over that her might may.  
Through which they done the devil sacrifice  
Within the devil's temple, in cursed wise,  
By superfluity abominable:  
Her oaths been so great and so damnable,  
That it is grisly for to hear him swear:  
Our blessed lords body they all to tear,  
Hem thought the jews rend him not enough:  
And each of him at others sin lough.  
And right anon comen in tomblesteres  
Fetis and small, and young foiteres,  
Singers with harps, bawds, and waferers,  
Which that been verily the devil's officers  
To kindle and blow the fire of lechery,  
That is annexed unto gluttony.  
The holy writ take I to my witness,  
That lechery is in wine and drunkenness.  
Lo how that drunken Loth unkindly  
Lay by his daughters two unwittingly,  
So drunk he was he nist what he wrought,  
And therefore sore repenten him ought.  
Herodes, who so wool the stories seek,  
There may ye learn, & by ensample teach,  
When he of wine was replete at his feast,  
Right at his own table gave his hest  
To sleen johan the Baptist full guiltless.  
Seneke saith eke good words doubtless:  
He saith he can no difference find  
find Betwixt a man that is out of his mind,  
And a man the which is dronkelew:  
But that woodness fallen in a shrew,  
Persevereth longer than doth drunkenness.  
O gluttony, full of cursedness:  
O cause first of our confusion,  
O original of our damnation,  
Till Christ had bought us with his blood again:  
Lo how dear, shortly for to said,  
Bought was first this cursed villainy:  
Corrupt was all this world through gluttony.  
Adam our fornfather, and his wife also,  
From Paradise, to labour and to woe  
Were driven for that vice, it is no dread:  
For whiles that Adam fasted, as I read,  
He was in Paradise, and when that he  
Eat of the fruit defended on the tree,  
Anon he was out cast to woe and pain.  
O gluttony, on thee well ought us to plain.  
* Oh, wist a man how many maladies  
Followeth of excess and of glotenies,  
He would been the more measurable  
Of his diet, sitting at his table.  
Alas the short throat, the tender mouth,  
Maketh that East & West, North & South,  
In earth, in air, in water, men to swink,  
To gotten a glutton deinte meat and drink.  
Of this matter, O Paul, well canst thou treat,  
* Meat unto womb, & womb eke unto meat  
Shall God destroien both, as Paul saith.  
Alas, a foul thing it is by my faith,  
To say this word, and fouler is the deed,  
When men so drinketh of the white and read,  
That of his throat he maketh his privy  
Through thilk cursed superfluite.  
The Apostle sayeth weeping full pitously,  
There walken many, of which told have I,  
I say it now weeping with piteous voice,  
They been enemies of Christ's croice,  
Of which the end is death, womb is her God.  
O belly, O womb, O stinking cod,  
Fulfilled of dung and corruption,  
At either end of thee foul is the sound.  
How great cost and labour is there to find  
These cooks? Lord how they stamp, strain, & grind,  
And turn substance into accident,  
To fulfil all thy likerous talon.  
Out of the hard bones knocken they  
The marry, for they cast it not away,  
That may go through the gullet soft & sweet:  
Of spicery, of leaves, bark, and rote,  
Shall been his sauce maked by delight  
To maken him 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 & drunkenness,  
It is full of striving and of wretchedness.  
Oh drunken man, disfigured in thy face,  
Sour is thy breath, foul art thou to enbrace:  
And through thy drunken nose soundeth the sound,  
As though thou saidst aye Samson, Sampsoun:  
And yet God wot Samson drunk never wine.  
Thou fallest, as it were a sticked swine:  
Thy tongue is lost, and all thine honest cure,  
* For drunkenness is very sepulture  
Of man's wit, and his discretion.  
* In whom that drink hath domination,  
He can no counsel keep, it is no dread.  
Now keep you fro the white & fro the read,  
And namely fro the White wine of Lepe,  
That is to sell in Fish-street and in Cheap.  
This wine of Spain creepeth subtly,  
And so do other wines growing fast by:  
Of which riseth such fumositee,  
That when a man hath drunk draughts three,  
And weeneth that he be at home in Cheap,  
He is in Spain, right at the town of Lepe,  
Nought at Rochel, ne at Bordeaux town.  
And then wool he say, Sampsoun, Sampsoun,  
But harkeneth lordings o word, I you pray,  
That all the sovereign acts dare I say  
Of victories in the old Testament,  
That through very God, that is omnipotent,  
Were done in abstinence and in prayer:  
Looketh the Bible, and there ye mow it lere.  
Looketh Attila, the great conqueror  
Died in his sleep, with shame & dishonour  
Bleeding aye at his nose in drunkenness:  
A captain should live in soberness.  
And over all this, avise you right well,  
What was commanded unto Lamuel?  
Not Samuel: but Lamuel say I.  
Redeth the Bible, and find it expressly  
Of wine giving to him that have justice:  
No more of this, for it may well suffice.   

And now that I have spoke of gluttony,  
Now wool I defend you hasardrie.  
Hasard is very mother of lesing,  
And of deceit, and cursed forswearing:  
Blaspheme of Christ, manslaughter, & wast also  
Of cattle, of time, and of other more.  
* It is reprove, 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 governance and policy,  
He is as by common opinion  
Hold the less in reputation.  
Stillebon that was hold a wise ambassador,  
Was sent to Corinth with full great honour  
From Calidone, to maken him alliance:  
And when he came, there happened this chance,  
That all the greatest that were of the land  
Playing at hazard he him yfond:  
For which, as soon as it might be,  
He stolen him home again to his country,  
And said, There wool I not less my name,  
I nill not take on me so great defame,  
For to ally you to none hazarders:  
Sendeth other wiser ambassadors.  
For by my troth, me were lever die  
Than I should you to hazarders alley.  
For ye that been so glorious in honours,  
Shall not alley you with hazarders,  
As by my will, ne by my treaty:  
This wise Philosopher thus said he.  
Look eke how to king Demetrius  
The king of Parthes', as the book sayeth us,  
Sent him a pair of dice of gold in scorn,  
For he had used hasardrie there biforne:  
For which he held his glory and his renown  
At no value or reputatioun.  
* Lords might find other manner play  
Honest enough to drive the day away.   

Now wol I speak of oaths false & great  
A word or two, as other books entreat,  
* Great swearing is thing abominable,  
And false swearing is yet more reprovable:  
The high God forbade swearing at all,  
Witness of Matthew: but in special  
Of swearing sayeth the holy jeremy,  
* Thou shalt swear sooth thine oaths, & not lie:  
And swear in doom & eke in rightwiseness,  
But idle swearing is a cursedness.  
Behold and see that in the first table  
Of high God's hests that been honourable,  
How that the second hest of him is this,  
Take not my name in idleness amiss.  
Lo, he rather forbiddeth such swearing,  
Than homicide, or any other cursed thing:  
I say as thus, by order it stondeth,  
This knoweth they that his hests understandeth,  
How that the second hest of God is that:  
And furthermore, I wool thee tell all plat,  
* That vengeance shall not part fro his house,  
That of his oaths is too outrageous,  
By God's precious heart, and his nails,  
And by the blood of Christ, that is in Hailes,  
Seven is my chance, & thine five and three:  
By God's arms, if thou falsely play me,  
This dagger shall through thine heart ygo.  
This fruit it cometh of thilk bones two,  
For swearing, ire, falseness, and homicide.  
Now for the love of Christ that for us died,  
Leaveth your oaths, both great and small,  
For I shall tell you a marvelous tale.  
These roitours three, of which I tell,  
Long erst or prime rung any bell,  
Were set him in a Tavern to drink:  
And as they sat, they heard a bell clink  
Before a corpse that was carried to his grave:  
That one of him 'gan to call to his knave,  
Go bette (qd. he) and ask readily,  
What corpse is this, that passeth forth by:  
And look that thou report his name well.  
Sir (qd. he) it needeth never a deal:  
It was me told ere ye came here two hours,  
He was pard an old fellow of yours,  
All suddenly was he slain to night:  
For drunk as he sat on his bench upright,  
There came a privy thief, men clepe death,  
That in this country all the people spaeth:  
And with his spear he smote his heart at woe,  
And went his way withouten words more.  
He hath a thousand slain this pestilence:  
And master ere ye come in his presence,  
Me thinketh that it were necessary:  
For to beware of such an adversary:  
Bethe ready for to meet him evermore,  
Thus taught me my dame, I say no more.  
By saint Mary, said this Tavernere,  
The child sayeth sooth, for he hath this year  
Hens over a mile, slain in a great village,  
Both man and woman, child, and page,  
I trow his habitation be there:  
To been avised, great wisdom it were,  
Ere that he did a man dishonour,  
Ye, Gods arms (qd. this rioter)  
Is it such peril with him for to meet?  
I shall him seeche by stile and eke by street.  
I make avow by Gods digne bones,  
harkeneth fellows, we three been all ones:  
Let each of us hold up his hon to other,  
And each of us become others brother,  
And we wool slay this false traitor death:  
He shall be slain, that so many slaeth  
By God's dignity, ere that it be night.  
together han these three her trouths plight  
To live and die each of them with other,  
As though he were his own brother.  
And up they start all drunken in this rage,  
And forth they gone toward that village,  
Of which the Taverner hath spoken before,  
And many a gris●y o'th' ha● they swore,  
And Christ's 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 have trodden over a stile  
An old poor man with hem met.  
This old man full meekly him great,  
And said, now lordings God ye see.  
The proudest of these riotours three  
Answered again, what churl with hard grace,  
Why art thou all forwrapped save thy face?  
Why livest thou so long in so great age?  
This old man 'gan looken in his visage,  
And said thus: for that I cannot find  
A man, though I walked into jude,  
Neither in city, ne in no village,  
That would change his youth for mine age,  
And therefore moat I have mine age still  
As long time as it shall be Gods will.  
Ne death alas ●ill not have my life,  
Thus walk I like a restless caitiff,  
And on the ground, which is my mother's gate,  
I knock with my staff erliche and late,  
And say still, leave 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 change my chest,  
That in my chamber long time hath be,  
Ye for an herens clout to wrap in me:  
But yet to me she wool not done the grace,  
For which full pale and welked is my face.  
* But sirs, to you it is ne courtesy  
To speaken unto an old man villainy,  
But he trespass in word either in deed,  
In holy writ you may yourself well read:  
* Against an old man, hore upon his heed  
Ye should arise: therefore I you read  
Ne doth to an old man no harm 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 moat go thither as I have to go.  
Nay old churl, by God thou shalt not so,  
Said these other hazarders anon.  
Thou partest not so lightly by saint john:  
Thou spakest right now of thilk traitor death,  
That in this country all our friends slaeth:  
Have here my troth thou art his espy,  
Tell where he is, or else thou shalt die  
By God and by the holy Sacrament,  
For sooth thou art of his assent  
To slay us young folk, O thou false thief.  
Now sirs, if it be to you so lief  
To find death, turn up this crooked way,  
For in that grove I left him by my faith  
Under a tree, and there he wool abide:  
Ne for your boast he nill him nothing hide.  
See ye yonder oak, right there ye shall him find:  
God save you, that bought again mankind,  
And you amend, thus said this old man.  
Then every of these riotours ran,  
Till they came to the tree, & there they found  
Floreines of gold fine, y●oined round,  
Well nigh a seven bushels, as him thought:  
No longer than after death they sought,  
But each of him so glad was of that sight,  
For that the Floreins so fair been & bright,  
That down they sit by the precious hoard,  
The youngest of him spoke the first word.  
Brethren (qd. he) take keep what I say,  
My wit is great, though I board or play:  
This treasure hath fortune to us given  
In mirth and jollity our life to liuen,  
And lightly as it comes, so wool we spend:  
Hey, God's precious hart: who did once wend  
To day, that we should have so fair a grace?  
But might this gold be carried from this place  
Home to my house, or else unto yours,  
(For well I wot that all this gold is ours).  
Then were we in high felicity.  
But truly by day it may not be,  
Men would then say that we were thieves strong,  
And for our own treasure done us hung.  
This treasure must yearied be by night  
As wisely and as slily as it might.  
Wherefore I read, draw cut among us all,  
And let us see where the cut wool fall:  
He that hath the shortest cut, with hart blithe,  
Shall run to the town, & that full swith,  
To bring us bread and drink full privily:  
And two of us shall keep full subtly  
This treasure well, and if he wool not tarry,  
When it is night, we wool this treasure carry  
By one assent, where as us list best.  
That one of him brought grass in his fest,  
And bad hem draw, & look where it would fall,  
And it fell on the youngest of him all:  
And forth toward the town he went anon.  
And also as soon as he was gone,  
That one of him spoke unto that other,  
Thou wost well thou art my sworn brother,  
Thy profit wool I tell thee right anon:  
Thou wost well that our fellow is gone,  
And here is gold, and that full great plenty,  
That shall departed be among us three.  
But nevertheless, if that I can shape it so,  
That it departed were among us two,  
Had I not done a friendly turn to thee?  
That other answered, I not how that might be:  
I wool well that the gold were ours two,  
What should we do, that it might be so?  
Shall it be counsel (said the first shrew)  
And I shall tell thee in words few  
What we wool done, & bring it well about.  
I grant (qd. that other) out of doubt:  
That by my troth I wool thee not bewrain.  
Now (qd. he) thou wost well we been twain,  
And twain of us shall stronger be than one?  
Look when he is set, and then anon  
Arise, as though thou wouldst with him play,  
And I shall riven him through the sides tway,  
Whiles that thou struglest with him as in game:  
And with thy dagger look thou do the same,  
And then shall all the good departed be  
My own dear friend, betwixt thee & me:  
Then may we both all our lusts fulfil,  
And play at vice, right at our own will.  
And thus accorded been these shrews tway,  
To slay the third, as ye heard me say.  
This youngest, which that went to the town,  
Full often in his hart rolled up and down  
The beauty of these floreines' fair & bright:  
O Lord (qd. he) if so were that I might  
Have all this treasure to myself alone,  
There nis no man that liveth under throne  
Of God, that should live so merry as I:  
And at the last the fiend our enemy  
Put in his thought that he should poison obey,  
With which he might slaen his fellows fifty.  
For why, the fiend fond him in such living,  
That he had leave to sorrow him to bring.  
For this was utterly his intent,  
To slaen him both, and never to repent.  
And forth he goth, no longer would he tarry,  
Into the town unto a Apothecary,  
And prayed him that he would him sell  
Some poison, that he might his rats quell.  
And eke there was a Polkat in his hawe,  
That as he said, his Capons had yslaw:  
And said, he would wreken him if that he might  
Of vermin, that destroyed him by night.  
The Pothecary answered, thou shalt have  
A thing, as wise God my soul save,  
In all this world there nis no creature  
That eateth or drinketh of this confecture,  
Not but the mountenance of a corn of  
That he ne shall his life anon forlete,  
Ye starve he shall, and that in less while, where,  
Than thou wouldst gone apace, not but a mile:  
This poison is so hard & so violent.  
This tursed man hath in his hon hent  
This poison in a box, 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 clean for his own drink,  
For all the night he shaped him for to swink  
In carrying of the gold out of that place.  
And when this rioter with sorry grace  
Hath filled with him his great bottles three,  
To his fellows again repaired he.  
What needeth it thereof to sermon more?  
For right as they had cast his death before,  
Right so they han him slain, and that anon.  
And when this was done, than spoke that one,  
Now let us sit and drink, & make us merry,  
And afterward they wolne his body bury:  
And after that it happened him per case,  
The one took the bottle, there the poison was,  
And drunk, & gave his fellow drink also,  
Through which anon they starven both two.  
But certes I suppose that Avicenne  
Wrote never in no canon, ne in no fen  
More wonder sorrows of empoisoning.  
Than had these wretches two in her ending.  
Thus ended been these homicides two,  
And eke the false empoisoner also.  
O cursed sin, full of all cursedness,  
O traitor homicide, O wickedness,  
O gluttony, luxury, and hasardie,  
Thou blasphemer of Christ with villainy,  
And oaths great, of usage and of pride:  
Alas mankind, how may it betid,  
That to thy creator, which that thee wrought,  
And with his precious blood thee bought,  
Thou art so false and so unkind, alas.  
Now good men, God forgive you your trespass:  
And beware you fro the sin of avarice,  
Mine holy pardon may you all warish,  
So that ye offer nobles or starlings,  
Other else silver spoons, brooches, or rings.  
Boweth your head under this holy Bull.  
Come up ye wives, & offereth of your wol,  
Your names here I enter in my roll anon,  
Into the bliss of heaven shall ye all gone:  
ay you assoil by mine high power  
Ye that offrens, to been as clean and clear  
As ye were borne. Lo sirs, thus I preach:  
And jesus Christ, that is our soul's leech,  
So grant you his pardon to receive,  
For that is best, I wool you not deceive.  
But sirs, one word foryate I in my tale,  
I have relics and pardons in my male,  
As fair as any man man in Englond,  
Which were given me by the Pope's hon.  
If any of you wool of devotion  
Offrens, and have mine absolution,  
Come forth anon, & kneeleth her adown  
That ye may have part of my Pardoun,  
Or else taketh pardon as ye wend,  
All new and fresh at every towns' end,  
So that ye offrens always new and new  
Nobles or pens, which been good and true.  
It is great honour to every that is here,  
That ye may have a sufficient pardonere  
To assoil you in country there ye ride,  
For aventures, which that may betid.  
For peraventure there may fall one or two  
Down off her horse, & break her neck atwo.  
Look which surety it is to you all,  
That I am in your fellowship yfall,  
That may assoil you both more and lass,  
When that the soul shall fro thy body pass.  
I read that our host shall first begin,  
For he is most enuelopt of sin.  
Come forth sir host, & offer first anon,  
And thou shalt kiss the relics everyone  
Ye for a groat, unbokell anon thy purse.  
Nay nay (qd. he) then have I Christ's curse:  
Let be (qd. he) it shall not be so theiche,  
Thou wouldst make me kiss thine old breach,  
And swear it were a relic of a saint,  
Though it were with thy fundament depaint.  
But by the cross which saint Helain fond,  
I would I had thine coilons in mine hon  
Instead of relics, or of sanctuary:  
Let cut him of, I wool help thee him to carry,  
They shall be shrined in an hog's tord.  
This Pardoner answered not a word,  
So wroth he was, he would no word say.  
Now (qd. our host) I wool no longer play  
With thee, ne with none other angry 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 enough,  
Sir Pardoner, be merry and glad of cheer,  
And ye sir host, that been to me so dear:  
I pray you that ye kiss the Pardonere,  
And Pardoner, I pray thee draw thee ne'er,  
And as we did, let us lough and play:  
Anon they kissed, and ride forth her way.      


¶ The Shipman's Prologue.  
NOw friends said our host so dear,  
How liketh you by john the Pardonere?  
He hath unbokeled well the male,  
He hath us told right a thrifty tale  
As touching of men's misgovernance:  
I pray to God give him full good chance,  
As ye han heard of these riotours three.  
Now gentle Mariner, I heartily pray thee,  
Tell us a good tale, and that right anon:  
It shall be done, by God & by saint john  
Said this Mariner, as well as ever I can:  
And right anon his tale he thus began.  

began The Shipman's Tale.  
A Merchant of S. Device is cozened by his own Wife, and by a Monk called Dan John. This Argument is taken out of Bochas in his Novels.  
A Merchant whilom dwelled at saint Device,  
That rich was, for which men held him  
A wife he had of excellent beauty,  
And compinable, & revelous was she, wise:  
Which is a thing that causeth more dispense,  
Than worth is all the cheer & reverence,  
That men him done at feasts & at dances:  
* Such salutations and countenances  
Passeth, as doth the shadow on a wall:  
But woe is him that pay mote for all,  
The silly husband algate he moat pay,  
He moat us both cloth and eke array  
All for his own worship, richly:  
In which array we dauncen jolily.  
And if that he may not peraventure,  
Or else lust not no such spece endure,  
But thinketh that it is waste and ylost,  
Then moat another pay for our cost,  
And lend us gold, and that is perilous.  
This noble Merchant held a noble house,  
For which he had all day great repair  
For his largesse, and for his wife was fair,  
That wonder is: but harkeneth to my tale.  
Among all his guells both great & imale  
There was a Monk, a fair man & a bold,  
I trow thirty Winter he was old,  
That ever in one was drawing to that place:  
This young Monk, that so fair was of face,  
Acquainted was so well with this good man,  
Sithence 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 Monk, of which I began,  
Were both two yborn in one village,  
The Monk him claimed, as for cousinage,  
And he again said him not once nay,  
But was as glad thereof, as foul of day:  
For to his heart it was a great pleasance.  
Thus been they knit with eterne alliance,  
And eke of him 'gan other for to ensure  
Of brotherhood, whiles her life may dure.  
Free was Dan john, & namely of dispense  
As in that house, and full of diligence  
To do pleasance, and eke great costage:  
He foryate not to give the least page  
In all that house, but after her degree:  
He gave the lord, and sithence his meinee,  
When that he came, some manner honest thing,  
For which they were as glad of his coming  
As foul is fain, when the sun up riseth:  
No more hereof as now, for it sufficeth.  
But so befell, this Merchant on a day  
Shaped him to make ready his array  
Toward the town of Bruges for to far,  
To buy there a portion of ware:  
For which he hath sent to Paris anon  
A messenger, and prayed hath Dan John  
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 Monk, of which I you device,  
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 seen her graunges, & her bernes wide,  
And unto saint Denis he cometh anon:  
Who was so welcome as my lord Dan john,  
Our dear cousin full of courtesy?  
With him he brought a jubbe of Maluesie,  
And eke another full of fine vernage,  
And volatily, as was aye his usage:  
And thus I let him both eat, drink, & play,  
This merchant & this monk a day or twain.  
The third day this Merchant up riseth,  
And on his need sadly him aviseth:  
And up into his counting house goth he  
To reckon with himself, as well may be  
Of thilk year, how it with him stood,  
And how he dispended had his good,  
And if that he increased were or none,  
His books and his bags many one  
He layeth afore him on his counter board:  
Full rich was his treasure and his hoard.  
For which full fast his counter door he shut,  
And eke he nolde no man should him let  
Of his accounts, for the mean time:  
And thus he sat till it was passed prime.  
Dan john was risen in the morrow also,  
And in the garden walked to and fro,  
And hath his things said full courtes●y:  
This good wife come walking privily  
Into the garden, there he walked soft,  
And him salveth, as she hath done full oft:  
A maiden child came in her company,  
Which as her lust she may govern and gie,  
For yet under the yard was the maid.  
O dear cousin mine Dan john, she said  
What aileth you so rather to rise?  
Niece (qd. he) it ought enough suffice  
Five hours for to sleepen on a night:  
But it were for an old palled wight,  
As been these old wedded men, that lie & dare,  
As in a form sitteth a weary Hare  
All forstraught with hounds great & small,  
But dear niece, why look ye so pale?  
I trowen certes, that our good man  
Hath you laboured, sith this night began,  
That you were need to resten hastily:  
And with that word he lough full merely,  
And with his own thought he wox fall red.  
Then this fair wife 'gan to shake her head,  
And said thus, ye God wot all (qd. she)  
Nay cousin mine, it stonds not so with me:  
For by that God, that gave me soul & life,  
In all the realm of France is there no wife,  
That less lust hath to that sorry play:  
For I may singen alas and wellaway  
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 else of myself soon to make an end,  
So full I am of dread and eke of care.  
This Monk began upon his wife to stare,  
And said alas, nay niece God forbid,  
That ye for any sorrow, or for any dread  
Fordo yourself: but telleth me your grief,  
Peraventure I may in your mischief  
Counsel or help: and therefore telleth me  
All your annoy, for it shall secre be:  
For on my Porthose I make an oath,  
That never in my life, for lief ne loath  
Ne shall I not of no counsel you bewray.  
The same again to you (qd. she) I say:  
By God & by this Porthose I you swear,  
Though men would me all in pieces tear,  
Ne shall I never, for to go to hell,  
Bewray o word of thing that ye me tell,  
Nor for no cozenage, ne for alliance,  
But verily for love and affiance.  
Thus been they sworn, & hereupon kissed,  
And ilke of him 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 suffered have sith I was a wife  
With mine husband, though he be your cousin.  
Nay (qd. this Monk) by God & S. Martin  
He nis no more cousin unto me,  
Than is this leaf that hongeth on the tree:  
I clepe him so by saint Denis of France  
To have the more cause of acquaintance  
Of you, whom I have loved specially  
Aboven all other women sikerly,  
This swear I you on my profession:  
Telleth your grief, lest he come adoun.  
And hasteth you, and goth your way anon.  
My dear love (qd. she) O my Dan john,  
Full lief me were this counsel to hide,  
But out it mote, it may no longer abide.  
My husband is to me the worst man,  
That ever was sith the world began:  
But sithen I am a wife, it sit not to me  
To tell no wight of our privite  
Neither in bed, ne in none other place,  
God shield I should tell it for his grace:  
* A wife ne should not say of her husband  
But all honour, as I can understand,  
Save unto you thus much tell I shall:  
As help me God, he is nought worth at all  
In no degree, the value of a fly.  
But yet me grieveth most his nigardie:  
And well ye wot, that women naturally  
* Desiren things six, as well as I.  
They woulden that her husbonds should be  
Hardy, and wise, rich, and thereto free,  
And buxom to his wife, and fresh a bed.  
But by that ilke Lord that for us bled,  
For his honour myself to array  
A sunday next coming, I moat needs pay  
An hundred franks, or else am I lost:  
Yet were me lever that I were unborn,  
Than me were done a slander or a villainy.  
And if mine husband eke might it espy,  
I ne'er but lost, and therefore I you prey  
Lene me this sum, or else moat I day:  
Dan john I say, lean me this hundred franks,  
Pard I wool not fail you my thanks,  
If that ye list to do that I you pray.  
For of a certain day I wool you pay,  
And to don you with pleasance and service  
That I may done, right as ye list devose:  
And but I do, God take on me vengeance,  
As foul as ever had Genilion of France.  
This gentle monk answered in this manere,  
Now truly mine own lady dear  
I have (qd. he) on you so great touth,  
That I you swear, & plight you my troth,  
That when your husband is to Flanders fare,  
I wool deliver you of all this care,  
For I wool bring you an hundred franks.  
And with that he caught her by the flanks,  
And her embraced hard, and kissed her oft.  
Goes now your way (qd. he) all still & soft,  
And let us dine as soon as ever ye may,  
For by my calendar it is prime of the day:  
Goth now, & beth as true as I shall be.  
Now else God forbid good sir said she:  
And forth she goth, as jolly as a pie,  
And bade the cook's that they should him high  
So that men might dine, and that anon:  
Up to her husband is this wife gone,  
And knocked at his counter door boldly,  
Qui est la (qd. he) Peter it am I,  
Why what (qd. she) how long wool ye fast?  
How long time wool ye reckon and cast  
Your sums, your books, & your things?  
The devil have part of all such reckonings.  
Ye have enough (qd. she) of God's fond,  
Come down to day, & let your bags stoned.  
Ne be ye not ashamed, that Dan john  
Shall fasting all this long day gone?  
What let us go hear mass and go dine.  
Wife (qd. this man) little canst thou divine  
The curious business that we have:  
For of us chapmen so God me save,  
And by that lord that called is saint Iue,  
Scarcely among twenty, twelve shall thrive  
Continually, lasting unto their age.  
We may well make cheer & good visage,  
And drive forth the world as it may be,  
And keep our state in privite  
Till we be dead, or else that we play  
A pilgrimage, or gone out of the way:  
And therefore have I great necessity  
Upon this quaint world to advise me.  
For evermore we moat stand in dread  
Of hap & fortune, in our chapmanhede.  
To Flanders wool I gone to morrow day,  
And come again as soon as ever I may:  
For which my dear wife I thee beseek  
As be to every wight buxom and meek,  
And for to keep our good be curious,  
And honestly govern well our house.  
Thou hast enough, in every manner wise,  
That to a thrifty huswife may suffice:  
Thee lacketh none array, ne no victual,  
Of silver in thy purse thou mayest not fail.  
And with that word his counter door he shut,  
And down he goth, no longer would he let.  
And hastily a mass was there isaide,  
And speedily the tables were ilaide.  
And to dinner fast they him sped,  
And richly the chapman this monk fed.  
And after dinner, Dan john soberly  
This chapman took apert all privily,  
And said him thus, cousin it stondeth so,  
That well I see, to Bruges ye wool go,  
God and saint Austen speed you and guide:  
I pray you cousin wisely that you ride,  
Govern you well also of your diet  
All temperately, & namely in this heat:  
Betwixt us two needeth no strange fare.  
Farewell cousin, God shield 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 wool command in any wise,  
It shall be done, right as ye wool devose.  
O thing or ye go, if that it may be,  
I would fain pray you for to lean me  
An hundred franks for a week or twey,  
For certain beasts that I moat needs obey,  
To store therewith a place that is ours:  
God help me so, I would it were yours.  
I shall not fail surely at my day  
Not for a thousand franks, a mile way.  
But let this thing be secret, I you pray:  
For yet this night these beasts moat I obey.  
And fare now well, mine own cousin dear,  
Grant mercy of your cost and your cheer  
This noble merchant, gently anon  
Answered and said, O cousin Dan John,  
Now likerly, this is a small request.  
My gold is yours when that you lest,  
And not only my gold, but my chaffer:  
That what you list, God shield that ye spare.  
But one thing is, ye know it well enough  
Of chapmen, that her money is her plough.  
We may have creance while we have a name,  
But goodlesse for to be it is a shame.  
Pay it again, when it lieth at your ease,  
After my might fain would I you please.  
The hundreth franks fet he forth anon,  
And privily took him to Dan john:  
No wight of this world, wist of this loan,  
Saving this merchant, & Dan john alone.  
They drink, speak, and room a while & play,  
Till that Dan john rideth to his abbey.  
The morrow came, & forth rid this Merchant  
To Flanders ward, his prentes brought him avaunt.  
Till he came to Bruges, well & merely,  
Now goeth this merchant well and besily  
About his needs, and buyeth, and creaunseth,  
He neither playeth at dice, ne danceth:  
But as a merchant shortly to tell,  
He led his life, and there I let him dwell.  
The sunday next that this merchant was gone,  
To saint Denis is comen Dan john  
With crown & berde all fresh & new ishave:  
In all this house there nas so little a knave,  
Ne no wight else, but he was full fain,  
For that my lord Dan john was comen again.  
And shortly to the point for to gone,  
This fair wife acordeth with Dan john,  
That for these C. franks he should all night  
Have her in his arms bolt upright:  
And this accord performed was in deed.  
In mirth all night a besie life they lead  
Till it was day, that Dan john go his way,  
And had the many farewell & have good day.  
For none of hem ne no wight in the town  
Had of Dan john any suspectioun,  
And forth he rideth, home to his abbey,  
Or where him list, no more of him I say,  
This merchant, when ended was the fair,  
To saint Denis he 'gan for to repair,  
And with his wife he maketh feast and cheer,  
And telleth her that chaffer is so dear,  
That needs must he make a chevisance.  
For he was bounden in a reconnaissance,  
To pay twenty thousand shields anon:  
For which this merchant is to Paris gone  
To borrow of certain friends that he had  
A certain franks, and some with him he lad:  
And when he was comen in to the town,  
For cherite and great affection  
Unto Dan john he first goth him to play,  
Nought for to borrow of him no money,  
But for to wete and see of his welfare,  
And for to tell him of his chaffer  
As friends done, when they been met infere.  
Dan john him maketh feast & mercy cheer,  
And he him told again full specially,  
Now he had bought, full well & graciously,  
Thonked be God, all hole his Merchandise:  
Save that he must in all manner wise  
Maken a chevisance, as for his best:  
And then should he be in joy and rest.  
Dan john answered, certes I am right fane,  
That ye in heal be come home again:  
And if I were rich, as have I bliss,  
Of twenty thousand shields should ye not miss.  
For ye so kindly this other day  
Lent me gold, and as I can and may  
I thank you, by God and by saint jame.  
But nevertheless, I t●●k it unto our Dame,  
Your wife at home, the same gold again  
Upon your bench, she wot it well certain,  
By certain tokens that I can here tell:  
Now by your leave I may no longer dwell:  
Our abbot wool out of this town anon,  
And in his company I moat gone.  
great well our dame, mine own niece sweet  
And farewell dear cousin, till we meet.  
This merchant that was full ware & wise,  
Creaunced hath, and eke paid in Paris  
To certain lombards ready in her honds  
This sum of gold, & gate of him the bonds,  
And home he goth, as merry as a popinjay.  
For well he knew he stood in such array,  
That needs must he win by that voyage  
A thousand franks, above all his costage.  
His wife full ready meet him at the yate,  
As she was wont of old usage algate:  
And all that night in mirth they be set,  
For he was rich, and clearly out of debt.  
When it was day, this merchant '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 enough:  
And wantonly again with him she played,  
Till at the last this merchant thus said.  
By God (qd. he) I am a little worth  
With you my wife, although it be me loath:  
And wot ye why? by God as I guess  
For ye have made a manner of strangeness  
Betwixt me and my cousin Dan john:  
Ye should have warned me, or I had gone,  
That he had you an hundred franks paid  
By ready token: and held him evil apaid,  
For that I to him spoke of chevisance:  
Me seemed so as by his countenance.  
But nevertheless by God our heavenly king,  
I thought not to ask of him nothing.  
I pray thee wife ne do no more so,  
Tell me always ere that I from thee go,  
If any debtor hath in mine absence  
Ypaide thee, lest through thy negligence,  
I might him ask a thing that he hath paid.  
This wife was not afeard ne afraid,  
But boldly she said, and that anon,  
Marry I defy that false monk Dan john,  
I keep not of his tokens never a deal:  
He took me certain gold, I wot it well.  
What evil the doom on his monks snout:  
For God it wot, I wend without doubt,  
That he had give it me, because of you,  
To done therewith mine honour & my prow  
For cozenage, and eke for belle cheer,  
That he hath had full often times here.  
But sith I see it stonte in such disjointe,  
I wool answer you shortly to the point.  
Ye have more slack debtors than am I:  
For I wool pay you well and readily  
From day to day, and if so be I fail,  
I am your wife, score it on my tail.  
I shall pay it as soon as ever I may.  
For by my truth, I have on mine array,  
And not in waste, bestowed it every deal:  
And for I have bestowed it so we'll  
To your honour, for God's sake I say,  
As be not wroth but let us laugh & play:  
Ye shall my jolly body have to wed,  
By God I nill not pay you but a bed:  
Foryeve it me now, mine own spouse dear,  
Turneth hitherward and make better cheer.  
This merchant saw there was no remedy:  
And for to chide, it was but a folly,  
Sith that the thing may not amended be.  
Now wife he said, and I forgive it thee:  
But in thy life be no more so large,  
Keep bet my good, this give I thee in charge.  
Thus endeth now my tale, and God us send  
Taling enough, unto our lives end.     

¶ Here followeth the words of our Host.  
WEll said by corpus Domini (qd. our Host)  
Now long moat thou sail all by the cost  
Thou gentle Master, gentle Marinere:  
* God give the monk a thousand last quad year.  
A ha fellows, beware of such a jape,  
* The monk put in the merchant's hood an ape,  
And in his wives eke, by saint Austin:  
Draweth no monks more into your inn.  
But now pass over, & let us seek about,  
Who shall tell now first of all this rout,  
Another tale: and with that word he said  
As courteously as it had been a maid,  
My lady Prioress, by your leave,  
So that I wist that I should you not greue,  
I wolden dame, that ye tell should  
A tale next, if so be that ye would:  
Now wol ye vouchsafe, my lady dear?  
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 marvellous  
Is in this wide world isprad (qd. she)  
For not only thy laud precious  
performed is by men of dignity,  
But by the mouth of children thy bounty  
performed is, for on the breast sucking  
Sometime shown they thine heriing.   

Wherefore in laud, as I can best & may,  
Of thee and of the white lily flower,  
Which that thee bare, & is a maid always,  
To tell a story I wol do my labour:  
Nought that I may increase her honour,  
For she herself is honour and rote  
Of bounty, next her son, & soul's boat.   

Mother maiden, O maiden & mother free,  
O bush unbrent, brenn & in Moses' sight,  
That ravishedest down fro the deite  
Through thin humbleness, the ghost that in thee alight:  
Of whose virtue, when he in thine heart pight,  
Conceived was the father's sapience:  
Help me to tell it in thy reverence.   

Lady, thy bounty, and thy magnificence  
Thy virtue and thy great humility  
There may no tongue express in no science:  
For sometime lady, oer men pray to thee  
Thou goest before, of thy benignity,  
And gettest us the light through thy prayer,  
To giden us unto thy son so dear.   

My cunning is to weak, O blissful queen,  
For to declare thy high worthiness:  
That I ne may not the weight sustain,  
But as a child of twelve month old & less,  
That can unneaths any word express,  
Right so fare I, and therefore I you pray,  
Gideth my song, that I shall of you say.   

¶ The Prioresses' tale.  
A miracle of a Christians Child, murdered by the Jews.  

THere was in asia, in a great City  
Among christian folk a certain jewry  
Sustened by a lord of that Country,  
For foul usury, and lucre of villainy,  
Hateful to Christ, and to his company:  
And through the street men might ride & wend  
For it was free, and open at every end.   

A little school of Christian folk there stood  
Down at the farther end, in which there were  
Children an heap comen of Christian blood,  
That learned in that school year by year,  
Such manere doctrine as men usen here:  
This is to say, to singen and to read  
As small children done in her childhede.   

Among these children was a widow's son  
A little clergion, of seven. years of age,  
That day by day to school was his won.  
And eke also where he say the image  
Of Christ's mother, had he in usage  
As him was taught, to kneel adown & say,  
An Aue maria, as he goth by the way.   

Thus hath this widow, her little child itaught  
Our blessed Lady Christ's mother dear  
To worship aye, and he foryate it naught:  
For the silly child would all day soon lere.  
But aye, when I remember on this matter,  
Saint Nicholas stondeth ever in my presence:  
For he so young to Christ did reverence.   

This little child his little book learning,  
As he sat in the school at his primere,  
He (Alma redemptoris mater) herd sing,  
As children lered her antiph●nere:  
And as he durst, he drew aye ne'er & ne'er  
And hearkened to the words and the note,  
Till he the first verse couth all by rote.   

Nought wist he to this latin was to say:  
For he so young and tender was of age.  
But on a day his fellow han he pray  
To expound him the song, in his language,  
Or tell him why this song was in usage:  
This prayed he him to conster & declare,  
Full often time upon his knees bare.   

His fellow, which that elder was than he  
Answered him thus, this song I have herd say,  
Was made of our blessed Lady free,  
Her to f●lewe, and eke her for to pray  
To been our help, & secure when we day.  
I can no more expone in this mater:  
I learn song, I can but small grammar.   

And is this song imade in reverence  
Of Christ's mother, said this innocent?  
Now ce●●es I wool done my diligence  
To con it all er Christenme●se be went  
Though that I for my primer shall be shent,  
And should be beaten thrice in an hour,  
I wool it con, our Lady to honour.   

His fellow taught him homeward privily  
From day to day, till he couth it by rote,  
And than he sung it well and boldly  
From 〈◊〉 do word according to the note:  
Twice a day it passed through his throat  
To 〈…〉, & homeward when he went:  
On Christ's mother set was all his intent.   

As I have said, throughout the jewrie  
This little child as he came to and fro,  
Full merely then would he sing and cry,  
O alina redemptoris mater, ever more:  
The sweetness hath his heart pierced so  
Of Christ's mother, that to her to pray  
He cannot stint of singing by the way.   

Our first foe, the Serpent Sathanas,  
That hath in Iewes heart his wasps nest,  
Up small and said, O Chrake people alas,  
Is this a thing to you that is honest,  
That such a boy shall walk as him le●te  
In your despite, and sing of such sentence,  
Which is against your law's reverence?   

From thenceforth the jews han conspired  
This innocent out of this world to chase:  
An homicide the 〈◊〉 han they hired,  
That in an alley had a privy place,  
And as the child 'gan foreby to pa●e,  
This cursed jew him hent, and held fast,  
And cut his throat, and in a pit him cast.   

I say that in a wardrobe they him threw,  
Where that the jews purged her intraile:  
O cursed folk, of heraudes all new,  
What may your evil intent you avail?  
Murder wool out, certes it wool not fail,  
And namely their the honour of God shall spread:  
The blood out crieth on your cursed deed.   

O martyr founded in virginity,  
Now mayst thou sing following ever in on  
The white lamb celestial (qd. she)  
Of which the great Evangelist saint john  
In Pathmos wrote, which sayeth that they gone  
Before this lamb, and sing a song all new  
That never fleshly woman they ne knew.   

This poor widow awaiteth all the night  
After her little child, and he came nought:  
For which as soon as it was day light,  
With face pale for dread and busy thought,  
She hath at school, & else where him sought,  
Till finally she 'gan so far aspie,  
That he last seen was in the jewrie.   

With mother pity in her breast enclosed  
She goth as she were half out of her mind  
To every place, where she hath supposed  
By likelihood her child for to find:  
And ever on Christ's mother good & kind  
She cried, and at last thus she wrought,  
Among the cursed jews she him sought.   

She freneth and she prayeth pitously  
To every jew that dwelleth in thilk place  
To tell her, if her child went there by  
They say nay, but jesus of his grace  
gave in her thought, within a little space,  
That in that place after her son she cried,  
There he was cast in a pit beside.   

O great God, that performest thy laud  
By mo●th of innocence, lo here thy might:  
This gem of chastity, this Emerande  
And eke of martyrdom the ruby bright,  
There he with throat icorne lay upright,  
He (Alma redemptoris) 'gan to sing  
So loud, that all the place 'gan to ring.   

The Christian folk, that through the street went,  
In comen, for to wonder on this thing:  
And hasteley they for the Provost sent,  
He came anon without tarrying,  
And herieth Christ that is of heaven king,  
And eke his mother honour of mankind,  
And after that, the jews let he bind.   

This child with piteous lamentation  
Was up taken, singing his song always:  
And with honour and great procession,  
They carien him to the next abbey,  
His mother swooning by the bear lay,  
Uneath might the people that were there  
This new Rachel bringen from his bear.   

With tourment, & with shameful death like one  
This Provost doth these jews for to starve,  
That of this murder wist, and that anon,  
He nolde no such cursedness observe:  
Evil shall he have, that evil wol deserve.  
Therefore with wild horse he did him draw,  
And afterward he hung him by the law.   

Upon a bear aye, lieth this innocent  
Beforn chief altar whiles the mass last:  
And after that, the abbot with his coven  
Hempskirke sped for to bury him als fast:  
And when they holy water on him cast,  
Yet spoke that child, when sprint was holy water,  
And sang, O alma redemptoris mater.   

This abbot, which that was an holy man,  
As monks been, or else aught to be,  
This young child to cover he began,  
And said: O dear child I hailse thee  
By virtue of the holy Trinity,  
Tell me what is thy cause for to sing,  
Sithence thy throat is cut to my seeming.   

My throat is cut unto my neck bone  
Said this child, and as by way of kind  
I should have died ye long time agone:  
But jesus Christ, as ye in books find,  
wol that his glory last and be in mind,  
And for the worship of his mother dear,  
Yet may I sing (O alma) loud and clear.   

This well of mercy, Christ's mother sweet  
I loved always, as after my cunning:  
And when that I my life should forlete,  
To me she came, and bade me for to sing  
This antem verily in my dying  
As ye han herd, and when that I had song,  
Me thought she laid a grain upon my tongue.   

Wherefore I sing, and sing mote certain  
In honour of the blissful maiden free,  
Till fro my tongue off taken is the grain,  
And after that thus she said to me:  
My little child, now wool I fetch thee,  
When that the grain is fro thy tongue itake:  
Be not aghast, I wool thee not forsake.   

This holy monk, this abbot him mean I,  
His tongue out caught, & took away that grain,  
And he gave up the ghost full softly,  
And when this abbot had this wonder say,  
His salt teres trikled all down as rein:  
And groffe he fell all flat to the ground,  
And still he lay, as he had been ibound.   

The covent lay eke upon the pavement  
Weeping and herying Christ's mother dear,  
And after they risen, and forth been went,  
And took away this martyr from the bear,  
And in a tonthe of marble stones clear  
Enclosen they his little body sweet:  
There he is now, God leave us for to meet.   

O young Hue of Lincoln slain also  
With cursed jews, as it is notable:  
For it is but a little while ago,  
Pray for us we sinful folk unstable,  
That of his mercy God be merciable  
On us, his great mercy multiply  
For the reverence of his mother Mary.      

¶ Here followeth the words of the Host to Chaucer.  

WHen said was this miracle, every man  
As sober was as wonder was to see,  
Till that our host to yapen began,  
And then at erst he looked upon me,  
And said thus: what man art thou (qd. he)  
Thou lookest, as thou wouldst find an hare,  
For ever upon the ground I see thee stare.   

Approach near, and look up merely:  
Now beware you sirs, & let this man have place,  
He in the waste is shapen as well as I:  
This were a popet in arms to enbrace  
For any woman, small and fair of face.  
He seemeth elvish by his countenance,  
For unto no wight doth he dalliance.   

Say now somewhat, sithence other folk han said:  
Tell us a tale of mirth and that anon.  
Host (qd. he) ne be not evil apaid,  
For other tale certes can I none,  
But of a rhyme I learned yore agone.  
Ye that is good (qd, he) we shullen here  
Some deinte thing, me thinketh by thy cheer.    

¶ Here followeth the Rhyme of Sir Thopas.  
A Northern tale of an outlandish Knight, purposely uttered by Chaucer, in a differing rhyme and stile from the other tales, as though he himself were not the Author, but only the reporter of the rest.  

LIsteneth lordings in good intent,  
And I wool tell you verament  
Of mirth and of solas,  
All of a knight was fair and gent  
In battle and in tournament,  
His name was sir Thopas.  
Iborne he was in far country  
In Flaunders, all beyond the see  
At Poppering in the place,  
His father was a man full fire  
And lord he was of that country,  
As it was God's grace.  
Sir Thopas was a doughty swain  
White was his face as pain main  
His lips read as rose,  
His rudde is like scarlet in grain,  
And I you tell in good certain  
He had a seemly nose.  
His hair, his berde, was like safroun  
That to his girdle reached adown  
His shoes of cordewane,  
Of Bruges were his hoses brown  
His robe was of chekelatoun,  
That cost many a jane,  
He couth hunt at the wild dear  
And ride an hawking for by the rivere  
With grey goshawk on hand,  
Thereto he was a good archere,  
Of wrestling was there none his peer  
There any Ram should stoned,  
Full many a maid bright in bower  
They mourn for him their paramour,  
When hem were bet to sleep,  
But he was chaste and no lecher,  
And sweet as is the bramble flower,  
That beareth the red hipe.  
And so befell upon a day  
Forsooth, as I you tell may  
Sir Thopas would out ride.  
He wroth upon his stead grey  
And in his hand a lance gay  
A long sword by his side.  
He pricketh through a fair forest  
Therein was many a wild be'st  
Ye both Buck and Hare,  
And as he pricked North and east  
I tell you him had almeste  
Betid a sorry care.  
There springen herbs great and small  
The liquors 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 coffer.  
The birds singen, it is no nay  
The Sperhauke and the Popingay  
That joy it were to here,  
The throstell eke made his lay  
The Wood dove upon the spraie  
She sung full loud and clear.  
Sir Thopas fill in love longing  
And when he heard the Throstill sing  
He pricketh as he were wood,  
His fair stead in his pricking  
So sweet, that men might him wring  
His sides were all blood.  
Sir Thopas eke so weary was  
For pricking on the soft graas  
So fires was his courage,  
That down he laid him in that place  
To maken his stead some solace  
And gave him good forage.  
Oh, saint Mary, benedicite  
What aileth this love at me  
To blind me so sore?  
Me dreamt all this night pard  
An elf queen shall my leman be  
And sleep under my gore.  
An Elf Queen wool I love ●wis  
For in this world no woman is  
To be my make in town,  
All other women I forsake  
And to an Elf Queen I me take  
By dale and eke by down.  
Into his saddle ●e climbed anon  
And pricked over stile and stone  
An Elf Queen to spy,  
Till he so long had ridden and gone  
That he found in a privy won  
The country of Fairy.  
Wherein he sought North and South  
And oft he spied with his mouth  
In many a forest wild.  
And in that country nas there none  
As far as he had rid and gone,  
Neither wife ne child.  
Till him there came a great Giant  
His name was called sir Oliphaunt  
A perilous man of deed,  
He swore, child, by Termagant  
But if you prick out of my haunt  
Anon I slay thy steed.  
Here is the Queen of Fairy,  
With harp, and pipe, and symphony  
Within this place and bower:  
The child said, als so mote I thee  
To morrow wool I meet thee,  
When I have mine armour.  
And yet I hope par ma faith  
That thou shalt with this lance gay  
Abien it through thy maw:  
Thy Hawberke shall I pierce, if I may,  
Or it be fully prime of the day  
For here thou shalt be slawe.  
Sir Thopas drove aback full fast,  
This Giant at him stones cast  
Out of a fell staff sling:  
But fair escaped sir Thopace  
And all was through God's grace.  
And through his fair bearing.  
Yet listeneth lordings to my tale,  
Merrier than the Nightingale,  
For now I wool ye roune,  
How sir Thopas with sides small  
Pricking over down and dale  
Is comen again to town.  
His merry men commanded he  
To maken him both game and gle,  
For needs must he fight  
With a Giant with heads three,  
For Paramours and iolite  
Of one that shone full bright.  
Do come he said my ministrales  
And jesters for to tell us tales  
Anon in mine arming,  
Of Romaunces that been royals  
Of Popes and of Cardinals,  
And eke of love longing.  
They fet him first the sweet wine  
And Mede eke in a Mazeline  
And royal spicery,  
Of Ginger bread that was full fine,  
Of liquors and eke Comine,  
With Sugar that is try.  
He did next his white lere  
Of cloth of lake fine and clear  
A breach and eke a shirt,  
And next his s●ert an haketon  
And over that an habergion  
For piercing of his heart.  
And over that a fine hauber●e  
Was all iwrought of jews work  
Full strong it was of plate,  
And over that his cote armour  
As white as is the Lily flower  
In which he would debate.  
His shield was all of gold so red  
And therein was a Boar's head  
A carbocle by his side,  
And there he swore on ale and bread  
How that the Giant should be dead  
Betid what so betid.  
His iambeux were of cure buly  
His sword sheth of ivory,  
His helmet of Laton bright,  
His saddle was of rule bone,  
His bridle as the Sun shone  
Or as the Moon light.  
His spear was of fine Sypres  
That biddeth war, and nothing peace,  
The head full sharp iground.  
His steed was all dapple grey  
He goeth an amble by the way  
Full softly and round in land.  
Lo Lords mine, here is a fit  
If ye wool any more of it  
To tell it wool I fond.   

NOw hold your mouth for charity  
Both knight and also lady free  
And harkeneth to my spell,  
Of battle and of chivalry  
And of ladies love dreary  
Anon I wool you tell.  
Men speken of Romaunces of pris  
Of Hornechild, and of Ipotis,  
Of Bevis, and of sir Gie,  
Of sir Libeaux and Blandamoure  
But sir Thopas, he beareth the flower  
Of rial chivalry.  
His good steed he bestrode  
And forth upon his way glode  
As spark out of the bronde,  
Upon his crest he bore a tour  
And therein stricked a Lily flour  
God shield his cors fro shonde.  
And for he was a knight auntrous,  
He nolde slepen in none house  
But liggen in his hood,  
His bright helm was his wanger  
And by him fed his destrer  
Of herbs fine and good.  
Himself drunk water of the well  
As did the knight sir Persivell  
So worthy under weed,    

¶ The words of our Host.  
NO more of this for God's dignity  
(Q. d. out Host) for thou makest me  
So weary of thy very lewdness,  
That also willy God my soul bless,  
Mine ears aken of thy draftie speech:  
Now such a rich the devil I beteach,  
* This may well be clepe rhyme Doggerel (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 word,  
Thy draftie timing is not worth a torde,  
Thou dost nought else but spendest time.  
Sir at one word, thou shalt no longer rhyme.  
Let see whether thou canst tell aught in gest  
Or tell in prose somewhat at the jest,  
In which there may be some mirth or doctrine.  
Gladly (qd. I) by God's sweet pine  
I wool you tell a little thing in prose,  
That ought like you, as I suppose,  
Or else ye be certes too dangerous:  
It is a moral tale virtuous,  
All be it told sometime in sundry wise  
Of sundry folk, as I shall you devise.  
As thus, ye wot that every Evangelist,  
That telleth us the pain of jesus Christ,  
Ne saith not all thing that his fellow doth:  
But nevertheless her sentence is all sooth,  
And all accord in her sentence,  
All be there in her telling difference:  
For some of him saien more, and some less,  
When they his piteous passion express:  
I mean of Mark, Matthew, Luke, & john,  
But doubtless her sentence is all one.  
Therefore lordings all, I you beseech,  
If that you think 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 enforce the effect of my matter,  
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  
shul ye not find mochel difference.  
Fro the sentence of this treatise light,  
After the which this little tale I write,  
And therefore hearkeneth, what I shall say  
And let me tell my tale I you pray.   

¶ Chaucer's Tale of Melibeus.  
Prudence, the discreet wife of Melibeus, persuadeth 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, begat upon his wife that called was Prudence, a daughter which that called was Sophy.  
Upon a day befell that he for his disport is went into the fields him to play: his wife and eke his daughter had he left within his house, of which the doors were fast ishet. Four of his old foes han it espied, and setten ladders to the walls of his house, and by the windows been entered, and bet his wife, and wounded his daughter with five mortal wounds, in five sundry places: That is to say, In her feet, in her honds, in her ears, in her nose, and in her mouth, and leften her for deed, and wenten her way.  
When Melibeus returned was into his house, and see all this mischief, he like a mad man, renting his clothes, 'gan to weep and cry.  
Prudence his wife, as far forth as she durst, besought him of his weeping for to stint: But not for thy, he 'gan to weep and cry ever longer the more.  
This noble wife Prudence, remembered her upon the sentence of Ovid, in his book that cleped is the remedy of love, whereas he saith, saith He is a fool that distourbeth the mother to weep, in the death of her child, till she have wept her fill, as for a certain time: and then shall a man done his diligence with amiable words, to recomfort and pray her of her weeping for to stint. For which reason this noble wife Prudence suffered her husband to weep and cry, as for a certain space: and when she saw her time, she said him in this wise. Alas, my Lord (qd. she) why make ye yourself for to be like a fool? Forsooth it appertaineth not unto a wise man to maken such a sorrow. Your daughter with the grace of God, shall warish and escape. And all were it so that she right now were dead, ye ne ought not as for her death yourself destroy. Senek saith, 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 well as he abideth the death of his own proper person.  
This Melibeus answered anon and said: What man (qd. he) should of his weeping stint, that hath so great a cause for to weep: jesus himself, our Lord, wept for the death of Lazarus his friend. Prudence answered, certes well I wot, * A temperate weeping is nothing defended, to him that sorrowful is, among folk in sorrow, but it is rather granted him to weep. The Apostle Paul unto the Romans writteth, Men should rejoice with him that maketh joy, and weep with such folk as weepen. But though a temperate weeping be granted, certes outrageous weeping is defended. Measure of weeping should be considered, after the lore that teacheth us Senek. * When that thy friend is dead (qd. he) let not thine iyens to moist been of teers, ne to much dry: although tears comen to thine eyes, let him not fall. And when thou hast foregone thy friend, do diligence to get another friend: and this is more wisdom than for to weep for thy friend, which thou hast lost, for therein is no boat. And therefore if ye govern you by sapience, put away sorrow out of your heart. Remembreth you that jesus Sirake sayeth, * A man that is joyous and glad in hart: it him conserveth flourishing in his age: But soothly a sorrowful heart maketh his bones dry. He saith eke thus, That sorrow in heart slayeth full many a man. Solomon sayeth, * That right as mouths in the sheep's fleise annoyeth the clothes, and the small worms the tree, right so anoieth sorrow the hart of man, wherefore us aught as well in the death of our children, as in the loss of our temporal goods, have patience.  
Remember you upon patient job, when he had lost his children and his temporal substance, and in his bodies endured and received full many a grievous tribulation, yet said he 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 Melibeus unto his wife Prudence answered: All thy words (qd. he) been true, and thereto profitable, but truly mine heart is troubled with this sorrow so grievously, that I not what to do. Let call (qd. Prudence) your true friends all & thy lineage, which that been wise, and telleth to him your case, and hearkeneth what they say in counselling, & govern you after her sentence. Solomon saith, saith Werke all thy things by counsel, & thou shalt never rue. Then by counsel of his wife Prudence, this Melibeus let cause a great congregation of people, as Surgiens', Physicians, old folk and young, and some of his old enemies reconciled (as by her semblance) to his love and to his grace: & therewithal there came some of his neighbours, that did him reverence more for dread than for love, as it hap oft.  
There comen also full many subtle flatterers, and wise Advocates learned in the law.  
And when these folk's togethers assembled were, this Melibeus in sorrowful wise showed him his case, and by the manner of his speech, it seemed that in hart he bore a cruel ire, ready to done vengeance upon his foes, and suddenly, he desired that war should begin, but nevertheless, yet asked he counsel upon this matter. A Surgien, by licence and assent of such as were wise, up rose, and unto Melibeus said, as ye shall hear.  
Sir (qd. he) as to us Surgiens' appertaineth, that we do to every wight the best that we can, where as we been withholden, and to our patient that we done no damage: wherefore it happeth many time & oft, that when two men have everch wounded other, one Surgien healeth him both, wherefore unto our art it is not pertinent to nourish war, ne parties to support. But certes, as to the warishing of your daughter, all be it so that perilously she be wounded, we shall do so tentife business from day to night, that with the grace of God, she shall been whole & sound, as soon as is possible. Almost right in the same wise the Physicians answered, save that they saiden a few words more: That right as maladies been by her contraries cured, right so shall a man warishe war by peace. His neighbours full of envy, his feigned friends that seemed reconciled, & his flatterers, maden semblance of weeping, & enpaired & agrutched much of this matter, in praising greatly Melibe, of might, of power, of riches, and of friends, despising the power of his adversaries: and said utterly, that he anon should wreken him on his foes, and begin war.  
Up rose then an Advocate that was wise, by leave and by counsel of other that were wise, & said: The need for the which we been assembled in this place, is a full heavy thing, & a great matter, because of the wrong and of the wickedness that hath be done, and eke by reason of great damages, that in time coming been possible to fallen for the same, and eke by reason of the great riches & power of the parties both, for the which reasons, it were a full great peril to err in this matter. Wherefore, Melibeus, this is our sentence, we counsel you aboven all thing, that right anon thou do thy diligence in keeping of thy proper person, in such a wise that thou ne want non espy ne watch, thy body for to save: And after that, we counsel that in thine house thou set sufficient garrison, so as they may as well thy body as thy house defend: But certes to moven war, or to done suddenly vengeance, we may not deem in so little time that it were profitable, wherefore we ask leiser and space to have deliberation in this cause to dame, for the common proverb saith thus: * He that soon deemeth, soon shall repent. And eke men sane, * Thilk judge is wise that soon understandeth a matter, & judgeth by leiser. * For all be it tarriing be noifull, algate it is not to be reproved in giving of judgement, ne in vengeance taking, when it is sufficient & reasonable. And that showed our lord jesus Christ by ensample, for when the woman was taken in adultery, and was brought in his presence to known with should be done of her person, all be it that he wist well himself with he would answer, yet ne would he nor answer suddenly, but he would have deliberation, & in the ground he wrote twice, & by this cause we asken deliberation: and we shall then by the grace of God counsel you that thing that shall be profitable.  
Up start then the young folk at ones, and the most part of that company have 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 voice they cried war, war. Up rose then one of the old wise, & with his hand made countenance that they should holden him still, and given him audience. Lordings, qd. he, There is full many a man that crieth war, war, that wot full light what war amounteth. * War at his beginning hath so great an entering & so large, that every wight may enter when him liketh and lightly find war: but certes what end thereof shall fall, it is not lightly to know. When that war is once begun, there is full many a child unborn of his mother, that shall starve young, because of thilk war, other else live in sorrow, or dien in wretchedness: And therefore or that any war be begun, men must have great counsel and good deliberation. And when this old man wend to enforten his tale by reason, well nigh all at ones begon for to rise, for to breaken his tale, & bidden him full oft his words to abredge. * For certes he that preacheth to him that list not hear his words, his sermon hem annoyeth. For jesus Sirake sayeth, that weeping in music is a noious thing, This is as much to say, as much availeth it to speak before folk to which his speech anoieth as it is for to singen before him that weep. And when this wise man saw that him wanted audience, all shamefast he set him adown again. For Solomon saith: There as thou mayest not have audience, enforce thee not to speak. I see well (qd. this wise man) that the common Proverb is such, * That good counsel wanteth when it is most need.  
Yet had this Melibeus in his counsel many folk, that privily in his ear counselled him certain things, & counselled him the contrary in general audience. When Melibeus had heard that the greatest part of his counsel were accorded that he should make war, anon he consented to her counselling, and fully affirmed her sentence. Then Dame Prudence, when that she saw her husband shaped him for to awreke him on his enemies, and to begin war: she in full humble wise, when she saw her time, said to him these words: My lord (qd. she) I you beseech as heartily as I dare or can, ne half you not too fast, and for all guerdons give me audience. For Peter Alphons sayeth, * Whoso doth to thee good or harm, haste thee not to quite it, for in this wise thy friend wool abide, & thine enemy shall the longer live in dread. The proverb sayeth, * He hasteth well that wisely can abide: And in wicked haste is no profit.  
This Melibe answered to his wife Prudence: I purpose not (qd. he) to work by thy counsel, for many causes and reasons: for certes every wight would hold me then a fool. This is to say, if I for thy counselling would change things that been ordained and affirmed by so many wise. Secondly, I say, that all women been wicked, and none good of him all. For of a thousand men saith Solomon, I found one good man: But certes of all women found I never none. And also certes, if I governed me by thy counsel, it should seem that I had give thee over me the mastery: and God forbid that it so were. For jesus Sirake sayeth, that if the wife have mastery, she is contrarious to her husband. And Solomon sayeth, * Never in thy life to thy wife, ne to thy child, ne to thy friend, ne give no power over thyself: for better it were that thy children ask of thee things that hem needeth, than thyself to be in the hands of thy children. And also if I wool werche by thy counsel, certes my counsel must be sometime secret, till it were time that it must be known: and this ne may not be, if I should be counselled by thee. When dame Prudence full debonairly and with great patience, had heard all that her husband liked for to say, then asked she of him licence for to speak, & said in this wise. My lord (qd. she) as to your first reason, it may lightly been answered: * For I say that it is no folly to change counsel when the thing is changed, or else when the thing seemeth otherwise than it seemed afore. And moreover I say, though that ye have sworn & behight to perform your emprise, & by just cause ye do it not, men should not say therefore ye were a liar & forsworn: For the book sayeth, * That the wise man maketh no losing, when he turneth his courage for the better. And albeit that your emprise be established and ordained by great multitude of folk, yet dare you not accomplish thilk ordinance but you liketh: for the troth of things, & the profit, been rather founden in few: folk that been wise and full of reason, than by great multitude of folk, there every man crieth and clattereth what him liketh: sooth such multitude is not honest. And as to the 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 book, all displeaseth. And Senecke saith, saith That who so wool have 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, he shall not been ashamed to learn him, and to inquire of less folk than himself. And that ther hath been many a good woman, may lightly be proved: for certes sir, our Lord jesus Christ nold never han descended to be borne of a woman, if all women had be wicked: And after that, for the great bounty that is in women, our Lord jesus Christ, when he was risen from death to life, appeared rather to a woman than to his Apostles. And though that Solomon said, he found never women good, it followeth not therefore, that all women be wicked: for though that he ne found no good woman, certes many another man hath found many a woman full good and true. Or else peraventure the intent of Solomon was this, * That in sovereign bounty he found no woman, this is to say: that there is no wight that hath perfect bounty save God alone, as he himself recordeth in his evangely. * For there nis no creature so good that him ne wanteth somewhat of the perfection of God that is his maker. Your third reason is this. Ye say that if that ye govern you by my counsel, it should seem that ye had give me the mastery and the lordship of your person, Sir, save your grace it is not so, for if so were that no man should be counselled but only of him that han lordship and mastery of his person, men nolde not be counselled so oft: For soothly thilk man that asketh counsel of a purpose, yet hath he free will whither he wool do after that counsel or non. And as to your fourth reason, there as ye sane that the ianglerie of women can hide things that they wot not, as who so sayeth, that a woman cannot hide that she wot. Sir, these words been understand of women that been iangelers and wicked, of which women men sane that three things driven a man out of his house, that is to say, smoke, dropping of rain, and wicked wives. And of such women Solomon sayeth, * That a man were better dwell in desert, than with a woman that is riotous: And sir by your leave, it am not I, for ye have full oft assayed my great silence & my great patience, and eke how well that I can hide and heal things, that men oughten secretly to hiden. And soothly as to your fifth reason, whereas you say, that in wicked counsel women vanquish men: God wot that thilk reason stant here in no stead: for understandeth now, ye asken counsel for to do wickedness: * And if ye wool werken wickedness, & your wife restraineth thilk wicked purpose, and overcome you by reason & by good counsel: certes your wife ought rather to be praised than blamed. Thus should you understand the Philosopher that sayeth, * In wicked counsel women vanquish her husbands. And there, as ye blame all women & her reasons, I shall show you by many ensamples, that many women have be full good, and yet been, and her counsel wholesome and profitable. Eke some men han said, that the counsel of women is either to dear, or too little worth. But albeit so that full many women be bad, and her counsel vile and nought worth, yet han men found full many a good woman, & full discrete and wise in counselling. Lo jacob through the counsel of his mother Rebecke, won the benison of his father, and the Lordship of all his brethren: judith thorough her good counsel, delivered the city of Bethule, in which she dwelled, out of the hand of Holofern that had it all besieged, & would have destroyed it. Abigail delivered Naball her husband from David the king, that would have slain him, and appeased the ire of the King by her wit, and by her good counsel. Hester by her counsel enhanced greatly the people of God, in the reign of Assuerus the King. And the same bounty in good counselling of many a good woman may men read and tell. And furthermore, when that our Lord hath created Adam our former father, he said in this wise: * It is not good to be a man alone: make we an helper to himself semblable. Here may ye see that if that women were not good, and her counsel good and profitable, our Lord God of heaven ne would neither han wrought him, ne called him the helper of man, but rather confusion to man. And there said a clerk ones in two verses: What is better than gold? * jasper. What is better than jasper? Wisdom. And what is better than Wisdom? 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 reasons may ye seen, that many women been good, and eke her counsel good and profitable. And therefore sir, if that ye wool trust to my counsel, I shall restore you your daughter hole and sound: and eke that I wool do you so much, that ye shall have honour in this case.  
When Melibe had heard the words of his wife Prudence, he said thus: I see well that the words of Solomon be sooth: For he saith, saith The words that be spoken discretly by ordinance, been Honicombes, for they given sweetness to the soul, and wholesomeness to the body. And wife, because of thy sweet words, and eke for I have proved & assayed thy great Sapience and thy great troth, I wool govern me by thy counsel in all thing.  
Now sir, (qd. dame Prudence) and sithence that ye vouchsafe to be governed by my counsel, I wool inform you how that ye shall govern yourself, in choosing of your counsellors. Ye shall first in all your work, mekely beseeching to the high God, that he would be your counsellor, and shapeth you to such intent that he give you counsel and comfort, as taught Thobie his son. * At all times thou shalt bless God, and pray him to dress thy ways, and look eke that thy counsels been in him evermore. Saint james sayeth, if any man of you have need of sapience, ask it of God. And afterwards, then shullen ye take counsel in yourself, and examine well your own thoughts, of such things as you thinken that been best for your profit: And then shall ye drive fro your heart things that be contrarious to good counsel: that is to say, ire, covetise, and hastiness.  
First, * He that asketh counsel of himself, certes he must be withouten ire and wrath in himself, for many causes, The first is this: He that hath great ire and wrath in himself, he weeneth always that he may do thing that he may not do. And secondly, he that is irous and wrathful, he may not well deem: And he that may not well deem, may not well counsel. The third is this, he that is irous & wroth, as sayeth Seneke, may not speak but blameful things, and with thilk vicious words he stirreth other folk to anger and to ire. And eke sir ye must drive covetise out of your heart. For the Apostle saith, saith That covetise is the root of all harms. And trusteth right well, that a covetous man ne can not deem ne think, but only to fulfil the end of his covetise: and certes that ne may never be accomplished, for evermore, the more abundance that he hath of richesses', the more he desireth. And sir ye must also drive out of your heart hastiness: For certes ye may not dame for the best a sudden thought that falleth in your heart, but ye must advise you on it full oft: For as ye have heard here before, the common proverb is this. * He that soon deemeth, soon repenteth.  
Sir, ye ne be not always in like disposition, for certes some thing that seemeth sometime to you that is good for to do, another time it seemeth to you the contrary.  
And when ye han taken counsel in yourself, and han deemed by good deliberation such thing as you seemeth best, than read I you that ye keep it secret. Bewray ye not your counsel to no person, but if so be that ye ween sikerly, that through your bewraying, your condition shall be to you the more profitable. For jesus Sirake saith: saith Neither to thy foe ne to thy friend discover not thy secret, ne thy folly: for they wool give you audience and looking, and supportation in your presence, and scorn you in your absence. Another Clerk saith, * That scarcely shall you find any person that may keep counsel secretly. The book sayeth, * While that thou keepest the counsel in thine heart, thou keepest it in thy prison: and when thou bewrayest thy counsel to any wight, he holdeth thee in his snare. And therefore you is better to hide your counsel in your heart, than to pray him to whom ye have bewrayed your counsel, that he wool keep it close still. For Seneca sayeth: If so be that thou mayest not thine own counsel hide, how darest thou pray any other wight thy counsel secret to keep. But nevertheless, if thou ween sikerly that thy bewraying of thy counsel to a person wool make thy condition stoned in the better plight, then shalt thou tell him thy counsel in this wise. First thou shalt make no semblant whether thee were lever peace or war, or this or that, ne show him not thy will ne thine intent: for trust well that commonly these counsellors been flatrerers, namely the counsellors of great lords, for they enforce him always rather to speak pleasant words inclining to the lord's lust, than words that been true or profitable: and therefore men say, * that the rich man hath seld good counsel, but if he have it of himself. And after that thou shalt consider thy friends and thine enemies. And as touching thy friends, thou shalt consider which of hem been most faithful and most wise, and eldest and most approved in counselling: and of him shalt thou ask thy counsel, as the case requireth.  
I say, that first ye shall call to your counsel your friends that been true. For Saloman saith: saith That right as the heart of a man delighteth in savour that is sote, right so the counsel of true friends giveth sweetness to the soul. And he sayeth also, there may nothing be likened to the true friend: For certes gold ne silver be 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 book saith, Ask always thy counsel of them that been wise. And by this same reason shall ye call to your counsel your friends that been of age, such as seem and been expert in many things, and been approved in counselling. For the book sayeth, * That in old men is Sapience, & in long time the prudence. And Tullius sayeth, * That great things been not aye accomplished by strength, ne by delivernesse of body, but by counsel, by authority of persons, and by Science: the which three things ne been not feeble by age, but certes they enforce and increase day by day, and then shall ye keep this for a general rule. First shall ye call to your counsel a few of your friends that been especial. For Solomon sayeth, * Many friends have thou, but among a thousand choose thee one to be thy counsellor: For all be it so, that thou first ne tell thy counsel but to a few, thou mayest afterwards tell it to more folk, if it be need. But look always that thy counsaylours have those conditions that I have said before, that is to say, That they be true, wise, and of old experience. And work not always in every need by one Counsellor alone: for sometimes behooveth it to be counselled by many. For Solomon saith, * Salvation of things is where as there be many counsellors.  
Now have I told you of which folk ye shall be counselled: now wool I tell you which cousaile ye ought to eschew. First ye shall eschew the counselling of fools, Solomon saith, * Take no counsel of a fool, for he wool counsel but after his own lust & his affection. The book saith, that the property of a fool is this: * He troweth lightly harm of every man, and lightly troweth all bounty in himself. Thou shalt eschew the counselling of all flatterers, which as enforce him rather to praise your person by flattery, than for to tell you the soothfastness of things.  
Wherefore Tullius sayeth, * Among all the pestilence that been in friendship, the greatest is flattery. And therefore it is more need that thou eschew and dread flatterers, than any other people. The book saith, saith Thou shalt rather flee fro the sweet words of flattering and praising, than fro the eager words of thy friends that saith the soothes. Solomon saith, saith That the words of a flatterer is a snare to catch innocence. He saith also, * He that speaketh to his friend words of flattery and of pleasance, he setteth a net before his feet to catch him. And therefore Tullius saith, Incline not thine ears to flatterers, ne take no counsel of flatterers. And Caton sayeth, * Advice thee well, and eschew the words of sweetness and of pleasance. And eke thou shalt eschew the counselling of thine old enemies that been reconciled. The book saith, * That no wight retourneth safely into the grace of his old enemy. And Isope saith, * Ne trust not to him, to which thou hast sometime had war or enmity, ne tell him not thy counsel. And Seneck telleth the cause why it may not be, for he saith, * There as great fire hath long time endured, that there dwelleth some vapour of heat. And therefore saith Solomon, * In thine old foe trust thou never. For likerly though thine enemy be reconciled & make the sign of humility, and lout to thee with his head, trust him never: for certes he maketh thilk feigned humility more for his profit, than for any humility, or for any love of thy person, because that he deemeth to have victory over thy person by such feigned countenance, the which victory he might not have by strife or war. And Petrus Alphons sayeth, * Make no fellowship with thine old enemies, for if thou do him bounty, they woollen pervert it to wickedness. And eke thou must eschew the counselling of him that been thy servaunts, and bearen thee great reverence: for peradventure they say it more for dread than for love. And therefore saith a Philosopher in this wise: * There is no wight perfectly true to him that he dreadeth. And Tullius saith, There is no might so great of any emperor that long may endure, but he have love of the people and dread. Ye shall eschew also the counselling of folk that been dronklewe, for they ne can no counsel hide. For Solomon saith, * There nis no privity there as reigneth drunkenness. Ye shall have also in suspect the counselling of such folk as counsel you one thing privily, and counsel you the contrary openly. For Cassidorie sayeth, * That it is a manner of sleight to hinder his enemy when he showeth to done a thing openly, and worketh privily the contrary. Thou shalt have also in suspect the counselling of wicked folk, that be always full of fraud. And David saith, * That blissful is the man that hath not followed the counselling of shrews. Thou shalt also eschew the counselling of young folk, for her counselling is not ripe, as Solomon saith.  
Now sir, sithence I have showed you of such folk as ye shall be counselled of, and follow it: now wool I teach you how ye shall examine your counsel. After the doctrine of Tullius, in examining of your counsellors, ye shall consider many things.  
First thou shalt consider thilk thing that thou purposest, and upon that thing that thou wolt have counsel, that very truth be said & conserved, this is to say, * Tell truly thy tale, for he that sayeth false, may not well be counselled in that case, of which he lieth. After this, thou shalt consider the things that accord to that thou purposest for to do by thy counsellors, if reason accord thereto, and eke if thy might may attain thereto: & if the more part and the better part of your counsellors accord thereto or no. Then shalt thou consider what thing shall follow of her counselling: As hate, peace, war, grace, profit, or damage, and many other things: and in all things shalt thou choose the best, and weive all other things. Then shalt thou consider of what root is engendered the matter of thy counsel, and what fruit it may conceive & engender. Thou shalt eke consider all the causes, from whence they be sprung. And when thou hast examined thy counsel, as I have said, & which party is the better and more profitable, and hast approved it by many wise folk and old, than thou shalt consider, if thou mayest perform it & make of it a good end. * For certes reason wool not that any man shall begin a thing, but if he might perform it as him ought: ne no wight should take upon him so heavy a charge, but that he might bear it. For the proverb saith, * He that to much embraceth distraineth little. And Caton saith, saith Assay to do such things as thou hast power to done, lest the charge oppress thee too sore, that thee behooveth weive thing that thou hast begun, And if so be that thou be in doubt, whether thou mayest perform a thing or none, choose rather for to suffer than to begin. And Peter Alphons sayeth, * If thou hast might to do a thing, of which thou must repent, it is better hold thy tongue still than for to speak. Then mayest thou understand by stronger reasons, that if thou hast power to perform a work, of which thou shalt repent thee, than it is better thou suffer than begin. * Well sane they that defenden every wight to assay a thing of which he is in doubt, whether he may perform it or none. And after when ye have examined your counsel (as I have said before) and know well that ye may perform your emprise, confirm it then sadly till it be at an end.  
Now it is reason and time that I show you when and wherefore that ye may change your counsel, withouten reproof. * Sooth, a man may change his purpose & his counsel, if the cause ceaseth, or when a new case betideth. For the law saith, saith That upon things that newly betideth, behooveth new counsel. And Seneke sayeth, * If thy counsel is come to the ears of thine enemies, change thy counsel. * Thou mayest also change thy counsel, if so be thou find that by error or by any other cause, harm or damage may betid. * Also if thy counsel be dishonest, other else come of dishonest cause, change thy counsel. For the law saith, saith That all behests that be dishonest, ne been of no value: And eke, * If so be that it be impossible, or may not gladly be performed or kept.  
And take this for a general rule, * That every counsel that is informed so strongly, that it may not be changed for no condition that may betid, I say that ilke counsel is wicked.  
MElibeus, when he had heard the doctrine of his wife Dame Prudence, answered in this wise. Dame (qd. he) as yet unto this time ye han well taught me, as in governaile how I shall govern me in the choosing and in the withholding of my counsel: But now would I fain that ye would condescend in especial, how that ye seemeth by our counsellors that we have chose in this present need.  
My lord (qd. she) I beseech you in all humblesse, that ye wool not wilfully reply against my reasons, ne distemper your heart, though I speak thing that you displease, for God wot as in mine intent, I speak it as for your best and for your honour and profit eke, & sooth I hope that your benignity wool take it in patience. And trusteth me well that your counsel in this case neshould not (as to speak properly) be called a counselling, but a motion or a moving of folly, in which counsel ye have erred in many a sundry wise.  
First ye have erred in the assembling of your counsellors: For first ye should have cleped a few folk to your counsel, & after ye might have showed it to more, if it had be need. But ye have cleped to your counsel a great multitude of people, full chargeous & full noyous for to hear. Also ye have erred, for there as ye should have only cleped to your counsel your true friends, old and wise, ye have cleped strange folk, young folk, false flatterers, and enemies reconciled, and folk that done you reverence withouten love. * And eke ye have erred, for ye have brought with you to your counsel, ire, covetise, & hastiness, the which three things been contrary to every good counsel, honest & profitable: the which three things ye have not destroyed neither in yourself ne in your counsellors, as ye ought. Ye have erred also, for ye have showed to your counsellors your talon and your affections to make war anon, & for to do vengeance, and they have espied by your words to what thing ye been inclined: & therefore han they rather counselled you to your talon, than to your profit. Ye han erred eke, for it seemeth that you sufficeth to have be counselled by these counsellors only, and with little avisement, whereas in so high and in so great a need, it had been necessary more counsellors, and more deliberation to perform your emprise. Ye han erred also, for ye have not examined your counsel in the foresaid matters ne in due manner, as the case requireth. Ye have erred also, for ye made no division between your true friends & your feigned counsellors: ne ye have not known the will of your true counsellors and friends, old, & wise, but ye have cast all her words in an hochpot, and inclined your heart to the more part and to the greater number of fools than of wise men. * And therefore the counsayling that been at congregations and multitudes of folk, there as men take more regard to the number, than to the sapience of persons: ye seen well, that in such counsayling fools han the mastery. Melibeus answered and said again: I grant well that I have erred, but there as thou hast told me here before, that he nis not to blame that changeth his counsel in certain case, and for certain and just cause I am all ready to change my counsellors right as thou wouldst devose. The Proverb saith, * For to done sin, is mannish, but certes for to persevere long in sin, is work of the Devil.  
To this sentence answereth anon dame Prudence, & said: Examineth (qd. she) well your counsel, and let us see which of hem hath spoke most reasonably, and taught you best counsel. And for as much as the examination is necessary, let us begin at Surgiens' and Physician's, that first spoke of this matter. I say that Physicians & Surgiens' have said you in your counsel discreetly, as him aught: & in her speech said full wisely, that to the office of hem appertaineth to done to every wight honour & profit, and no wight to annoy, & after her craft to done great diligence unto the cure of him which they have in her governance: & sir, right as they have answered wisely and discreetly, right so read I that they been highly & soverainly guerdoned for her noble speech, and eke for they shall more done their ententife business in the curation of your daughter. For all beit so they been your friends, therefore shullen ye not suffer, that they serve you for nought, but ye ought thereafter guerdon him, and pay him her largesse. And as touching the proposition, which the Physicians entreteden in this case, this is to sane, that in maladies is, * That contrary is warished by another contrary: I would fain know how ye understand thilk text, and what is your sentence. Certes (qd. Melibeus) I understand it in this wise: Right as they han do me a contrary, so should I done him another, for right as they han venged him upon me & done me wrong, right so wool I venge me upon him, & done him wrong, and then have I cured one contrary by another.  
Lo lo (qd. dame Prudence) how lightly is every man inclined to his own desire & his own pleasance, Certes (qd. she) the words of the Physicians ne should not been understand in that wise: for certes wickedness is not contrary to wickedness, ne vengeance is not contrary to vengeance, ne wrong to wrong, but every of hem increaseth and engendereth other. But certes the words of the Physicians should be understand in this wise, for good and wickedness been two contraries: and peace and war, vengeance and suffrance, discord and accord, and many other things: * But certes, wickedness shall be warished with goodness, discord by accord, war by peace, and so forth in other things. And thereto acordeth saint Paul the Apostle in many places: He saith, Ne yield not harm for harm, ne wicked speech for wicked speech, but do well to him that done to thee harm, and bless him that saith thee harm. And in many other places he admonisheth peace & accord. But now wool I speak of the counsel which was iyeve unto you by men of Law, and the wise folk, and old folk, that saiden all by one accord as ye heard before, That over all things ye shall done your business & diligence to keep your person, and to warnstore 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 understand, that he that hath war, shall ever devoutly and meekly praien before all things, that jesus Christ, of his mercy wool have him in his protection, and to be his sovereign helper at his need: For certes in this world there nis no wight that may be counselled and ikept sufficiently without the keeping of our lord jesus Christ. To this sentence acordeth the Prophet David that saith: * If God ne kept the City, in idle waketh he that it keepeth. Now sir, then should he commit the keeping of your person to your true friends, that been approved and iknow, and of him should ye ask help, your person to keep. For Caton saith: saith If thou have need of help, ask it of thy friends, for there nis none so good a Hhysician as thy true friend. And after this then shall ye keep you fro all strange folk, and fro liars, and have always in suspect her company. For Peter Alphons sayeth: * Ne take no company by the way, of no strange man, but if so be that thou hast known him of longer time: And if so be that he fall into thy company, peradventure withouten thine assent and good will, inquire then as subtly as thou canst, of his conversation, and of his life before, and fain thy way, saying thou wouldst go thither as thou wolt not go: & if he bear a spear, hold thee on the right side of him, & if he bear a sword, hold thee on the left side of him. And then shall ye keep you wisely from all manner of such people as I have said you here before, and hem and her counsel eschew. And after this then shall ye keep 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 light, that ye let the keeping of your person for your presumption, * For every wise man dreadeth his enemy. And Solomon saith: * A very fool is he that of all hath dread: * But certes he that thorough hardness of his heart and through the hardiness of himself, hath too great presumption, him shall evil betid. Then shall ye evermore encounter, wait, embushments, and all espiaile. For Seneke sayeth: * The wise man that dreadeth harms, escheweth harms: * He ne falleth into no perils, that peril escheweth. And all be it so, that thou seem that thou be in secret place, yet shalt thou always done diligence in keeping of thy person, this is to say, ne be not negligent to keep thine own person, not only for thy greatest enemy, but also for thy least enemy. Seneke saith, * A man that is well advised, he dreadeth his least enemy. Ovid saith, * That the little weasel wool slay the great Bull and the wild Hart. And the Proverb saith, * That a little thorn wool grieve a king full sore, and a little hound wool hold the wild Boar. But nathalesse, I say not thou shalt be so coward, that thou doubt where as is no dread. The book saith, That somemen have great lust to deceive, but yet they dread to be deceived. And keep thee fro the company of scorners: * For the book saith, With scorners ne make no company, but fly her words as venom.  
Now as to the second point, whereas your wise Counsaylours counseled you to warnestore your house with great diligence, I would fain know how ye understand thilk words, and what is your sentence.  
Melibeus answered and said, certes I understand it in this wise, that I shall warnestore mine house with towers, such as have castles & other manner edifices, and armure, and archeries, between which things I may my person and my house so keep & defend, that mine enemies shullen be in dread mine house to approach. To this sentence answered anon Prudence. Warnishing (qd. she) of high towers and of high edifices, is with great costages and with great travail, and when that they ben accomplished, yet been they not worth a straw, but if they been defended with true friends, that been 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 saith Tullius, * That there is a manner garrison, that no man may vanquish ne discomfit, and that is a lord to be beloved of his citizens, and of his people.  
Now sir, as to the third point, whereas your old and wise Counsaylours said, that ye ought not suddenly ne hastily proceed in this need, but that ye ought purueyen and apparel you in this case, with great diligence and deliberation. Verily, I trow that they said right truly and right sooth. For Tullius saith: * In every deed or thou begin it, apparel thee with great diligence. Then say I, in vengeance taking, in war, in battle, and in warnestoring, or thou begin, I read that thou apparel thee thereto, and do it with great deliberation. For Tullius saith: * The long apparailing tofore the battle, maketh short victory. And Cassidorus saith: * The garrison is stronger, when it is long time avised. But now let us speak of the Counsel that was accorded by your neighbours, such as done you reverence withouten love, your old enemies reconciled, your flatterers, that counselled you certain things prively, and openly counselled you the contrary. The young folk also, that counselled you to venge you, and to make war anon. Certes sir, as I have said before, ye have greatly erred to clepe such manner of folk to your counsel, which counsellors been enough reproved by the reasons aforesaid. But nevertheless, let us now descend to the special. Ye shall first proceed after the doctrine of Tullius. Certes the troth of this matter or of this counsel needeth not diligently to inquire, for it is well witted, which they been that han done you this trespass and villainy, and how many trespassers, and in what manner they have done all this wrong to you, and all this villainy. And after this, then shall ye examine the second condition, which Tullius addeth in this matter. For Tullius putteth a thing, which that he clepeth consenting: this is to say, who been they and which been they, and how many, that consenten to thy counsel in thy wilfulness, to done hasty vengeance. And let us consider also who been they, and how many they been that consented to your adversaries. As to the first point, it is well known which folk they be that consented to your hasty wilfulness. For truly, all though that counsel you to maken sudden war, ne be not your friends. Let see now which been 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 ye ne have no child but a daughter, ne ye have no brethren ne cousin Germans, 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 moat be dispended in divers parties. And when that every wight hath his part, they woollen take but little regard to venge your death. But thine enemies been three, & they have many brethren, children, cousins, and other nigh kinrede: and though so were, that thou hadst slain of him two or three, yet dwelleth there enough to avenge her death, and to slay thy person. And though so be that your kindred be more steadfast and siker than the kin of your adversaries, yet nevertheless your kindred is but after kindred, for they been but little sib to you, and the kin of your enemies been nigh sib to him. And certes as in that, her condition is better than is yours. Then let us consider also of the counselling of him that counseled you to take sudden vengeance, whether it accord to reason or non: And certes ye know well nay, for as by right & reason, there may no man take vengeance of no wight, but the judge that hath jurisdiction of it, when it is granted him to take vengeance hastily, or attemperately, as the Law requireth. And yet moreover of thilk word that Tullius clepeth consenting, thou shalt consent, if that thy might and thy power may consent and suffice to thy wilfulness, and to thy counsaylours: And certes, thou mayest well say nay, for sickerly as for to speak properly, * We may do nothing but such thing as we may done rightfully: and certes rightfully ye may take no vengeance, as of your own proper authority. Then may ye see that your power ne consenteth not, ne acordeth not with your wilfulness. Now let us examine the third point, that Tullius clepeth consequence. Thou shalt understond, that the vengeance that thou purposest for to take, is consequent, and thereof followeth another vengeance, peril, & war, and other damages withouten number, of which we be not ware, as at this time. And as touching the fourth point, that Tullius clepeth engendering, thou shalt consider, that this wrong which that is done to thee, is engendered of the hate of thine enemies, and of the vengeance taking upon hem, that would engender another vengeance, and muckell sorrow and wasting of richesses, as I said ere.  
Now sir, as touching the fifth 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 clerks call oryens, and effycien, and causa longinqua, and causa propinqua, that is to say the far cause, and the nigh cause. The far cause is almighty God, that is cause of all things. The near cause, is the three enemies. The cause accidental was hate. The cause material, been the five wounds of thy daughter. The cause formal, is the manner of their werking, that brought ladders, and clomb in at thy windows. The cause final was for to slay thy daughter, it letted not in as much as in them was. But for to speak of the far cause, as to what end they should come, or finally, what shall betid of them in this case, ne can I not dame, but by conjecting and supposing: For we shall suppose, that they shall come to a wicked end, because that the book of Decrees saith: * Seld or with great pain been causes brought to a good end, when they been badly begun.  
Now sir, if men would ask me, why that God suffered men to do you this villainy. Truly I cannot well answer, as for no soothfastness. For the Apostle sayeth, * That the sciences, and the judgements of our Lord God Almighty been full deep, there may no man comprehend ne search him. Nevertheless by certain presumptions & coniectings, I hold & believe, that God, which that is full of justice and of righteousness, hath suffered this betid, by just cause reasonable.  
Thy name is Melibe, this is to say, a man that drinketh Honey. Thou hast drunk so much honey of sweet temporal richesses, and delices of honours of this world, that thou art drunk, & hast forgotten jesus Christ thy creator: Thou ne hast not done to him such honour and reverence as thee aught, ne thou ne hast not taken keep to the words of Ovid that saith: * Under the Honey of the goods of thy body is hid the venom that slaeth thy soul.  
And Solomon saith: * If it so be that thou hast found honey, eat of the same honey that that sufficeth: for if so be that thou eat of the same honey out of measure, thou shalt spew, and also be needy & poor. And peradventure Almighty God jesus Christ hath thee in despite, and hath turned away from thee his face, and his ears of misericorde & mercy. And also he hath suffered & give licence, that thou thus shouldest be punished and chastised, in the manner that thou hast trespassed & offended. Thou hast done sin 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 him entre into thine heart wilfully, by the windows of thy body, & hast not defended thyself sufficiently against their assaults, and their temptations, so that they have wounded thy soul in five places, this is to say: the deadly sins that been entered into thy hart by thy five wits. And in the same manner our Lord Christ hath would and suffered, that thy three enemies been entered into thy house, by that windows, and have wounded thy daughter in the foresaied manner.  
Truly (qd. Melibe) I see well that ye enforce you much by words to overcome me, in such manner, that I shall not venge me on mine enemies, showing me the perils and the evils that might fall of this vengeance: but who so would consider in all vengeances the perils & evils that might sue of vengeance taking, a man would never take vengeance, and that were harm: for by the vengeance taken been the wicked men discevered from the good men. And they that have will to do wickedness, restrain their wicked purpose, when they see the punishing and chastising of the trespassers: & yet say I mo●e. * That right as a singular person sinneth, in taking vengeance of another man, right so sinneth the judge, if he do no vengeance of him that have deserved. For Senecke sayeth thus: * That master, he saith is good, that preveth shrews. And as Cassiodore saith: saith A man dreadeth to do outrages, when he wot & knoweth, that it displeaseth to the judges and Sovereigns. And another saith: * The judge that dreadeth to do right; maketh men shrews. Add saint Poule the Apostle sayeth in his Epistle, when he writeth unto the Romans,  
* That the judge bear not the spear without-cause, but they bear it to punish the shrews and misdoers, and for to defend the good men.  
If ye wool then take vengeance of your enemies, ye shall return and have your recourse to the judge, that hath the jurisdiction upon hem, and he shall punish him, as the law asketh and requireth.  
A ha, said Melibe, this vengeance liketh me nothing, I bethink me now, and take heed how that fortune hath nourished me from my childhood, and hath holp me to pass many a strong pace: Now I would assay her, trowing with God's help, that she shall help me my shame for to avenge.  
TRuly said Prudence, if ye wool work by my counsel, ye shall not assay fortune by no way: ne ye shall not lean or how unto her, after the words of Senecke: * For things that been foolishly done, and that been done in hope of fortune, shall never come to good end. And as the same Senek saith: * The more clear and the more shining that fortune is, the more brittle & the sooner broke she is. Trusteth not in her, for she is not steadfast ne stable. For when thou trowest to be most sure & steadfast of her help, she wool fail and deceive thee. And whereas ye say, that fortune hath nourished you fro your childhood, I say that in so much ye shall the less trust in her, & in her wit. For Seneke saith: saith What man that is nourished by fortune, she maketh him a great fool. Now then sith ye desire & ask vengeance, & the vengeance that is done after the law, and before the judge, ne liketh you not, and the vengeance that is done in hope of fortune, is perilous and uncertain, then have ye none other remedy, but for to have your recourse unto the sovereign judge that vengeth all villainies and wrongs. And he shall venge you, after that himself witnesseth, whereas he saith: saith Leave the vengeance to me, and I shall do it.  
Melibeus answered, if I ne venge me of the villainy that men have done to me, I summon or warn him that have done to me that villainy & all other, to do me another villainy. For it is written: * If thou take no vengeance of an old villainy, thou summonest thine adversaries to do thee a new villainy, & also for my sufferance, men would do me so much villainy, that I might neither bear it ne sustain it, & so should I be put and holden over low. For men said, * In mikell suffering shall many things fall unto thee, which thou shalt not mow suffer.  
Certes (qd. Prudence) I grant you, that overmuch suffrance is not good, but yet ne followeth it not thereof, that every person to whom men do villainy, should take of it vengeance: for that appertaineth and longeth all only to judges, for they should venge the villainies and injuries: And therefore those two authorities, that ye have said before, been only understand in the judges: * For when they suffer overmuch the wrongs and villainies to be done, withouten punishment, they summon not a man all only for to do new wrongs, but they command it. Also a wise man saith, * That the judge that correcteth not the sinner, commandeth & biddeth him do sin. And the judges and soveraines' might in their land so much suffer of the shrews and misdoers, that they should by such suffrance, by process of time, were of such power & might, that they should put out the judges and the Sovereigns from their places, and at last, make him less her Lordships.  
But let us now suppose, that ye have leave to venge you: I say ye be not of might and power, as now to venge you: for if ye wool make comparison unto the might of your adversaries, ye should find in many things, that I have showed you er this, that their condition 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, saw It is a woodness, a man to strive with a stronger, or a more mighty man than he is himself: and for to strive with a man of even strength, that is to say, with as strong a man as he is, it is peril: & for to strive with a weaker man, it is folly, & therefore should a man fly striving, as mikell as he might. For Solomon sayeth: * It is a great worship to a man to keep him fro noise and strife: * And if it so befall and hap, that a man of greater might and strength than thou art, do thee greevaunce: study and busy that rather to still the same grievance, than for to venge thee. For Seneke saith, * That he putteth him in great peril, that striveth with a greater man than he is himself. And Caton saith, * If a man of higher estate or degree, or more mighty than thou, do thee annoy or grievance, suffer him: for he that once hath grieved thee, may another time relieve thee and help thee. Yet set I case ye have licence for to venge you, I say that there been full many things that shall restrain you of vengeance taking, and make you for to incline to suffer, and for to have patience in the wrongs that have been done to you. First and foremost, if ye wool consider the faults that been in your own person, for which faults God hath suffered you have his tribulation, as I have said to you here before. For the Poet sayeth,  
* That we ought patiently take the tribulations that come to us, when that we think and consider, that we have deserved to have them. And saint Gregory saith, * That when a man considereth well the number of his defaults and of his sins, the pains and the tribulatious that he suffereth, seem the less unto him. And in as much as him thinketh his sins more heavy and grievous, in so much seemeth his pain the lighter and the easier unto him. Also ye own to incline and bow your heart, to take the patience of our Lord jesus Christ, as sayeth saint Peter in his Epistles. jesus Christ he saith hath suffered for us, & given ensample to every man to follow and sue him, for he did never sin, ne never came there a villainous word out of his mouth. When men cursed him, he cursed him not. And when men beat him, he menaced him not. Also the great patience, which Saints that been in Paradise have had in tribulation that they have suffered, without her desert or guilt, ought much stir you to patience. Furthermore, ye shall enforce you to have patience, considering that the tribulations of this world but little while endure, and soon passen been and gone, and the joy that a man seeketh to have by patience in tribulations is perdurable: After that the Apostle says in his Epistle, * The joy of God he sayeth is perdurable: that is to say, everlasting. Also troweth and believeth steadfastly, that he is not well nourished and well taught, that cannot have patience, or wool not receive patience. For Solomon saith, * That the doctrine and the wit of a man is known by patience. And in another place he sayeth, That he that is patient, governeth him by great prudence.  
And the same Solomon saith: saith The angry and wrathful man maketh noises, and the patient man attempreth and stilleth him. He saith also, It is no more worth to be patient than to be right strong. And he that may have the lordship of his own heart, is more to praise than he that by his force or strength taketh great cities. And therefore sayeth saint james in his Epistle, * That patience is a great virtue of perfection.  
CErtes (qd. Melibee) I grant you Dame Prudence, that patience is a great virtue of perfection, but every man may not have the perfection that ye seek, ne I am not of the number of right perfect men: For mine heart may never be in peace, unto the time it be avenged. And albeit so, that it was great peril to mine enemies to do me a villainy in taking vengeance upon me, yet took they no heed of the peril, but fulfilled her wicked will and her courage: and therefore me thinketh men ought not reprove me, though I put me in a little peril for to avenge me, and though I do a great excess, that 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 the world a man should not do outrage ne excess, for to venge him. For Cassiodore saith, saith That as evil doth he that vengeth him by outrage, as he that doth the outrage. And therefore ye shall venge you after the order of right, that is to say, by the law, and not by excess, ne by outrage. And also if you wool venge you of the outrage of your adversaries, in other manner than right commandeth, ye sin. And therefore saith Senek: * That a man shall never venge shrewdness by shrewdness. And if ye say that right asketh to defend violence by violence, and fight by fight: certes ye say sooth, when the defence is done without interval, or without tarrying or delay, for to defend him, & not for to venge him. And it behooveth, that a man put such attemperance in his defence, that men have no cause ne matter to reprove him that defendeth him of outrage and excess, for else were it again reason. Pard ye know well, that ye make no defence as now, for to defend you, but for to venge you: and so showeth it, that ye have no will to do your deed attemperately, & therefore me thinketh that patient is good. For Solomon sayeth, * That he that is not patient, shall have great harm.  
CErtes (said Melibe) I grant you that when a man is impatient and wroth of that that toucheth him not, and that appertaineth not unto him, though it harm him, it is no wonder. For the law saith, saith That he is culpable that entermetleth or meddleth with such things as appertaineth not unto him. And Solomon saith, saith That he that entremetleth of the noise or strife of another man, is like to him that taketh a strange hound by the ears: For right as he that taketh a strange hound by the eeres, is otherwhile bitten by the hon, right so in the same wise, it is reason that he have harm, that by his impatience meddleth 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 grief and my disease, toucheth me right nigh. And therefore though I be wroth and impatient, it is no marvel: and saving your grace, I cannot see that it might greatly harm me, though I took vengeance, for I am richer and more mighty than mine enemies be: And well know ye, that by money and by having great possessions, been all things of this world governed. And Solomon saith, * All these things obey to money.  
When Prudence had heard her husband avaunt him of his richesses and his money, dispraising the power of his adversaries, she spoke and said in this wise: Certes dear sir, I grant you that ye be rich and mighty, and * That the richesse is good to him that have well gotten hem, and that well can use them. For right as the body of a man may not live without the soul, no more may it live without the temporal goods: and by richesse may a man get him great friends. And therefore sayeth Pamphillus: If a Nerthes daughter he sayeth be rich, she may cheese of a thousand men, which she wool take to her husband: for of a thousand one wool not forsake her ne refuse her. And this Pamphillus saith also: * If thou be right happy, that is to say, if thou be rich, thou shalt find a great number of fellows and friends. And if thy fortune change, farewell friendship and fellowship, for thou shalt be alone withouten any company, but if it be the company of poor folk. And yet sayeth this Pamphillus moreover, * That they that been bond and thrall of lineage, shall be made worthy and noble by the richesses'. And right so as by the richesses' there come many goodnesses, right so by poverty come there many harms and evils: * For great poverty constraineth a man to do many evils. * And therefore calleth Cassiodor Poverty the mother of ruin, that is to say, the mother of overthrowing or of falling down. And therefore saith Peter Alfonce: * One of the greatest adversities of this world is, when a free man by kind or of birth is constrained by poverty to eat the almose of his enemy. And the same sayeth Innocent in one of his books: He saith, * That sorrowful & mishap is the condition of a poor beggar, for if he ask not his meat, he dieth for hunger, and if he ask, he dieth for shame: & algates necessity constraineth him to ask. And therefore sayeth Solomon, * That better is to die, than for to have such poverty. And as the same Saloman saith: 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 grant you that richesses' been good to him that hem well gotten, and to him that well usen though richesses': And therefore wool I show you how ye shall behave you in gathering of riches, and in what manner she shullen use hem.  
First, * Ye shall get him withouten great desire, by good leisure, sokingly, and not over hastily, for a man that is too desiring to get richesses, habandoneth him first to theft and to all other evils, And therefore sayeth Solomon: * He that hasteth him too busily to wax rich, he shall be none innocent. He sayeth also, * That the richesse that hastily cometh to a man, soon & lightly goeth and passeth from a man, but that richesses that cometh little and little, waxeth always and multiplieth. And sir, ye shall get richesse by your wit and by your travail, unto your profit, and that without wrong or harm doing to any other person. For the Law sayeth, * There maketh no man himself rich, if he do harm to another wight: this is to say, that nature defendeth and forbiddeth by right, that no man maketh himself rich, unto the harm of another person. And Tullius saith, * That no sorrow, ne no dread of death, ne nothing that may fall unto a man, is so much against nature, as a man to increase his own profit, to the harm of another man. And though the great and mighty men get richesses' more lightly than thou, yet shalt thou not be idle ne slow to do thy profit, for thou shalt in all wise fly idleness. For Solomon saith, * That idleness teacheth a man to do many evils. And the same Solomon sayeth, * That he that travaileth and busieth him to tilth his land, shall eat bread: but he that is idle, and casteth him to no business ne occupation, shall fall into poverty, & die for hunger. And he that is idle and slow, can never find covenable time for to do his profit. For there is a verifier sayeth, * That the idle man excuseth him in Winter, because of the great cold, and in Summer because of the heat. * For these causes (saith Caton) waketh, and incline you not over much for to sleep, for over much rest nourisheth and causeth many vices. And therefore sayeth saint Hierome, * Do some good deeds, that the devil which is our enemy, ne find you not unoccupied, for the devil ne taketh not lightly unto his werking, such as he findeth occupied in good works.  
Then thus in getting richesses' ye must fly idleness. And afterward ye shall use the richesses', which ye have got by your wit and by your travail, in such manner, that men hold you not too scarce ne too sparing, ne fool large, that is to say, over large a spender: for right as men blame an avaricious man, because of his scarcity and chincherie, in the same wise is he to blame, that spendeth over largely. And therefore saith Caton: * Use (saith he) the richesses' that thou hast gotten in such manner that men may have no matter ne cause to call thee nother wretch ne chinche: * For it is a great shame to a man to have a poor heart and a rich purse. He saith also, the goods that thou hast goat, use them by measure, that is to say, spend measurably, for they that foolishly waste and dispend the goods that they have, when they have no more proper of her own, than they shape him to take the goods of another man. I say then that ye shall fly avarice, using your richesses in such manner, that men say not that your richesses' been buried, but that ye have him in your might, & in your welding. For a wise man reproveth the avaricious man, & saith thus in these verses two. * Whereto and why burieth a man 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 encheason joineth he him, or knitteth he him so fast unto his goods, that all his wits mow not discever him, ne depart him from his goods, and knoweth well, or aught 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 man is likened unto hell, that the more it swalloweth, the more desire it hath to swallow and devour. And as well as ye would eschew to be called an avaricious man or chinche, as well should ye keep and govern you in such a wise, that men call you not fool large. Therefore saith Tullius: * The goods of thine house ne should not be hid ne kept so close, but that they might be opened by pity and debonaire, that is to say, to give him part that have great need. Ne thy goods should not be so open, to be every man's goods. Afterward, in getting of your richesses', and in using him, ye shall always 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 ye should do any thing, which may in any manner displease GOD your creator and maker. For after the word of Solomon, * It is better to have a little good with the love of GOD, than to have much good and treasure, and less the love of his Lord GOD. And the Prophet saith, saith That better it is to be a good man, and have little good and treasure, than to be holden a shrew, and have great richesse. And yet I say furthermore, that ye should always do your business to get you richesse, so that ye get him with good conscience. And the Apostle sayeth, * That there nis thing in this world, of which we should have so great joy, as when our conscience beareth us good witness. And the Wise man saith: saith That the substance of a man is full good, when sin is not in man's conscience. Afterward, in getting of your richesses', and in using him, ye must have great bnsinesse and great diligence, that your good name be always kept and conserved. For Solomon saith, saith That better it is, and more it availeth a man to have a good name, than for to have many richesses': And therefore he sayeth in another place: * Do great diligence saith Solomon, in keeping of thy friends, & of thy good name, for it shall longer 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 doth his diligence and business, to keep his good name. And Cassiodor saith, * That it is a sign of a gentle heart, when a man loveth and desireth to have a good name. And therefore sayeth saint Augustine * That there been two things that been right necessary and also needful: and that is good conscience, and good lose, that is to say: good conscience to thine own person inward, and good lose for thy neighbour outward. And he that trusteth him so much in his good conscience, that he despiseth and setteth at nought his good name or lose, & recketh not though he keep not his good name, nis but a cruel churl.  
Sir, now have I showed you how ye should do in getting richesses', and how ye should use him: and I see well that for the trust that ye have in your richesses', ye wool move war and battle. I counsel you that ye begin no war, in trust of your richesses', for they ne suffice not wars to maintain. And therefore sayeth a Philosopher: * That a man that desireth and would algates have war, shall never have suffisance: for the richer that he is, the greater dispenses must he make, if he wool have worship and victory. And Solomon saith, saith That the greater riches that a man hath, the more dispendours he hath. And therefore sir, albeit so, that for your richesses' ye may have much folk, yet behooveth it not, ne it is not good to begin war, whereas ye may in other manner have peace, unto your worship and profit: * For the victory of battles that been in this world, lieth not in great number or multitude of people, ne in the virtue of man, but it lieth in the will and in the hon of our Lord God almighty. And therefore judas Machabeus, which was God's knight, when he should fight against his adversary, that had a greater number & a greater multitude of folk, and stronger than was his people of Machabe, yet he recomforted his little company, and said right in this wise: Also lightly (said he) may our Lord God Almighty give victory to a few folk, as to many folk. For the victory of a battle cometh not by the great number of people, but it cometh from our Lord GOD of heeven. And dear sir, for as much as there is no man certain, if it be worthy that God give him victory or not, after that Solomon sayeth, * Therefore every man should greatly dread wars to begin: and because that in battles fall many perils, and happeth other while, that as soon is the great man slain, as the little man. And as it is written in the second book of Kings: The deeds of battles been adventurous, and nothing certain, for as lightly is one hurt with a spear, as another: and for there is great peril in war, therefore should a man fly and eschew war in as much as a man may goodly. For Solomon sayeth, * He that loveth peril, shall fall in peril.  
After that dame Prudence had spoken in this manner, Melibe answered and said: I see well dame Prudence, that by your fair words and your reasons that ye have showed me, that the war liketh you nothing: but I have not yet heard your counsel, how I shall do in this need.  
Certes (said she) I counsel you that ye accord with your adversaries, and that ye have peace with him. For saint james saith in his Epistle: * That by concord & peace, small riches wax great: and by debate and discord, riches decay. And ye know well, that one of the greatest & most sovereign thing that is in this world, is unity & peace: And therefore sayeth our Lord jesus Christ to his Apostles, in this wise: * Well happy been they that love & purchase peace, for they be called the children of God. Ah, said Melibe, now see I well, that ye love not mine honour, ne my worship, ye know well that mine adversaries have begun this debate and brige by their outrage. And ye see well, that they ne require ne pray me of peace, ne they ask not to be reconciled. wol ye then that I go meek me, & obey me to hem, and cry him mercy? Forsooth that were not my worship. * For right as men say, over great humbleness engendereth dispraising, so fareth it by too great humility or meekness.  
Then began dame Prudence to make semblant of wrath, and said: Certes sir, save your grace, I love your honour and profit, as I do mine own, and ever have do, ye, ne none other never see the contrary: And yet, if I had said, that ye should have purchased peace and reconciliation, I ne had much mistake me, ne said amiss. For the Wise man sayeth: * The dissension beginneth by another man, and the reconciling beginneth by thyself, And the Prophet saith: saith Fly shrewdness and do goodness, seek peace and follow it, in as much as in thee is. Yet say I not, that ye should rather pursue to your adversaries for peace, than they should to you: for I know well that ye ben so hard hearted, that ye wool do nothing for me. And Solomon saith: He that hath over hard an heart, he at last shall mishap or misbetide.  
When Melibe had heard dame Prudence make semblant of wrath, he said in this wise. Dame, I pray you that ye be not displeased of thing that I say, for ye know well that I am angry and wroth, and that is no wonder: and they that been wroth, wot not well what they do, ne what they say. Therefore the Prophet saith: * That troubled eyes have no clear sight. But say and counsel me as you liketh, for I am ready to do right as ye wool desire: And if ye reprove me of my folly, I am the more holden to love and praise you. For Solomon saith, saith That he that reproveth him that doth folly, he shall find greater grace, than he that deceiveth him by sweet words.  
Then said Dame Prudence, I make no semblaunt of wrath ne of anger, but for your great profit. For Solomon saith: saith He is more wroth, that reproveth or chideth a fool for his folly, showing him semblant of wrath, than he that supporteth him and praiseth him in his misdoing, & laugheth at his folly. And this same Solomon saith afterward: That by the sorrowful visage of a man, that is to say, * By the sorry & heavy countenance of a man, the fool correcteth and amendeth himself.  
Then said Melibe, I shall not con answer unto so many fair reasons as ye put to me and show: say shortly your will and your counsel, and I am all ready to perform & fulfil it.  
Then Dame Prudence discovered all her will unto him & said: I counsel you (said she) above all things that ye make peace between God and you, & be reconciled unto him and to his grace, for as I have said you here before, God hath suffered you to have this tribulation and disease for your sins: and if ye do as I say you, God wool send your adversaries unto you, and make him fall at your feet, ready to do your will & your commandment. For Solomon sayeth, * When the condition of man is pleasant & liking to God, he changeth the hearts of the man's adversaries, and constraineth him to beseech him of peace and of grace. And I pray you let me speak with your adversaries privily, for they shall not know that it be of your will▪ or your assent: * And then when I know their will and their intent, I may counsel you the more surely.  
Dame, said Melibeus, doth your will and your liking, for I put me wholly in your disposition and ordinance.  
Then dame Prudence, when she saw the good will of her husband, delibered & took advice in herself thinking how she might bring this need unto a good conclusion and to a good end: And when she saw her time, she sent for these adversaries to come unto her in a privy place. And showed wisely unto him the great goods that come of peace, and the great harms and perils that been in war, and said to him in a goodly manner: how that hem ought have great repentance of the injury and wrong that they had done to Melibeus her lord, and unto her & to her daughter.  
And when they heard the goodly words of Dame Prudence, they were so surprised and ravished, and had so great joy of her, that wonder was to tell.  
Ah lady (said they) ye have showed unto us the blessing of sweetness, after the saying of David the Prophet. For the reconsiling which we be not worthy to have in no mannere. But we ought require it with great contrition & humility, that ye of your goodness have presented unto us. Now see we well, that the science and cunning of Solomon is full true, for he saith: saith That sweet words multiply & increase friends, & maketh shrews to be debonair and meek.  
Certes (said they) we put our deed & all our matter & cause, all wholly in your good will, and been ready to obey at the commandment of our lord Melibeus. And therefore dear and benign lady: we pray & beseech you as meekly as we can and may, that it like unto your great goodness to fulfil indeed your goodly words. For we consider and know, that we have offended and grieved our lord Melibeus out of measure, so ferforth, that we be not of power to make him amends. And therefore we oblige & bind us and our friends, for to do all at his will and commandment: but peradventure he hath such heaviness and such wrath to us ward, because of our offence, that he wool enjoin us such a pain, as we mow not bear ne sustain. And therefore noble lady, we beseech your womanly pity to take such advisement in this need, that we ne our friends be not disherited ne destroyed, through our folly.  
Certes (said Prudence) it is an hard thing and right perilious, that a man put him all utterly in arbitration and judgement, & in the might and power of his enemy: For Solomon saith: Leueth me, and giveth credence to that I shall say: * Ne giveth never the power ne governance of thy goods, to thy son, to thy wife, to thy friend, ne to thy brother: ne give thou never might ne mastery over thy body while thou livest. Now sith he defendeth that a man should not give to his brother ne to his friend, the might of his body: By a stronger reason he defendeth & forbiddeth a man to give himself to his enemy. And nevertheless, I counsel you that ye mistrust not my lord: for I wot well & know verily, that he is debonair and meek, large, courteous, & nothing desirous ne covetous of goods ne riches. For there is nothing in this world that he desireth, save only worship and honour. Furthermore I know, and am right sure, that he shall nothing do in this need, without my counsel: and I shall so work in this case, that by the grace of our Lord God, ye shall be reconciled unto us.  
Then said they with one voice, worshipful lady, we put us & our goods all fully in your will & disposition, and been ready to come, what day that it liketh unto your noblesse to limit us or assign us for to make our obligation & bond, as strong as it liketh unto your goodness, that we mow fulfil the will of you and of my lord Melibe.  
When dame Prudence had herd the answer of these men, she bade him go again privily, and she returned to her lord Melibe, & told him how she found his adversary's full repentant, knowledging full lowly her sins & trespass, and how they were ready to suffer all pain, requiring and praying him of mercy and pity.  
Then said Melibe, * He is well worthy to have pardon and forgiveness of his sin, that excuseth not his sin, but knowledgeth and repenteth him ask indulgence. For Seneke saith, saith There is the remission & forgiveness, where as the confession is: for confessionis neighbour to innocence. And therefore I assent & confirm me to have peace, but it is good that we do nought without the assent and will of our friends.  
Then was Prudence right glad and joyful and said: Certes sir, ye have well & goodly answered: for right as by the counsel, assent, and help of your friends, ye have be steered to venge you and make war: Right so without her counsel shall ye not accord you, ne have peace with your adversaries. For the law saith: saith There is nothing so good by way of kind, as a thing to be vnbound by him that it was ibound.  
Then dame Prudence, without delay or tarrying, sent anon her messenger for her kinsfolk and her old friends, which that were true and wise: and told him by order, in the presence of Melibe, all the matter, as it is above expressed & declared. And praised him that they would say their advice and counsel, what best were to do in this need. And when Melibeus friends had taken her advice and deliberation of the foresaid matter, and had examined it by great business and diligence. They gave full counsel for to have peace and rest, & that Melibe should receive with good heart his adversaries to forgiveness and mercy.  
And when dame Prudence had herd the assent of her lord Melibe, and the counsel of his friends accord with her will and her intention, she was wondrously glad in her hart, and said: There is an old Proverb (said she) * That the goodness that thou mayst do this day, do it, and abide it not, ne delay it not till the next day. And therefore I counsel, that ye send your messengers, such as be discreet and wise unto your adversaries: telling him on your behalf, that if they wool treat of peace and accord, that they shape hem without delay or tarrying, to come unto us: which thing performed was indeed. And when these trespassers and repenting folk of her follies, that is to say, the adversaries of Melibeus, had heard what these messengers said unto him, they were right glad and joyful, and answered full meekly and benignly, yielding grace and thanks to her lord Melibeus, and to all his company: and shaped hem without delay to go with the messengers, and obeyed the commandment of her lord Melibeus. And right anon they took her way to the court of Melibe, and took with him some of their true friends, to make faith for him, & for to be her borowes: And when they were comen to the presence of Melibe, he said to him these words: It stondeth thus, said Melibe, and soothe it is, that causeless and without skill and reason, ye have done great injuries and wrong to me and my wife Prudence, & to my daughter also, for ye have entered into my house by violence, & have done such outrage, that all men know well that ye have deserved death. And therefore wool I know & we●e of you, whether ye wol put the punishing and the chastising and the vengeance of this outrage, in the will of me and of my wife, or ye wool not.  
Then the wisest of him three answered for him all, & said. Sir (said he) we know well that we been unworthy to come to the court of so great a lord & so worthy as ye be, for we have so greatly mistaken us and have offended and agilted in such wise again your high lordship, that truly we have deserved the death, but yet for the great goodness & debonaire, that all the world witnesseth of your person, we submit us to the excellence and benignity of your gracious lordship, and been ready to obey to all your commandments, beseeching you, that of your merciful pite ye wool consider our great repentance & low submission, & grant us forgiveness of our outrageous trespass & offence: For well we know, that your liberal grace and mercy stretcheth further into the goodness, than done outrageous gilt and trespasses into the wickedness. All be it that cursedly and damnably we have agilted against your high lordship.  
THan Melibe took him up fro the ground full benignly, and received her obligations and her bonds, by her others upon her pledges and borowes, and assigned him a certain day to return unto his court for to receive and accept sentence & judgement, that Melibeus would command to be done on him, by the causes aforesaid, which things ordained, every man returned to his house.  
And when dame Prudence saw her time, she feigned and asked her lord Belibe, what vengeance he thought good on his adversaries.  
To which Melibe answered, and said: Certes (said he) I think and purpose me fully to disherit him of all that ever they have, and for to put them in exile for ever.  
Certes said Dame Prudence, this were a cruel sentence, and much against reason. For ye be rich enough, and have no need of other men's riches. And ye might lightly in this wise get you a covetous name, which is a vicious thing, & aught to be eschewed of every good man. For after the saying of the Apostle, * Covetise is root of all harms. And therefore it were better to you to less so much good of your own, than for to take of their good in this manner. * For better it is to less good with worship, than to win good with villainy and shame. And every man ought to do his diligence and his business, to get him a good name. And yet shall he not only busy him in keeping his good name, but he shall also enforce him always to do some thing, by which he may renew his good name. For it is written, * That the old good lose of a man or good name, is soon gone and passed when it is not renewed. And as touching that ye say, that ye wool exile your adversaries: that thinketh me much against reason, and out of measure, considering the power that they have gave you upon themself. And it is written: * That he is worthy to lose his privilege, that misuseth the might and power that is given him. And set case, ye might enjoin him that pain by right and law, which I trow ye may not do: I say ye might not put it to execution, for peradventure then it were like to turn to the war, as it was before. And therefore if ye wool that men do your obeisance, ye must demean you more cuteously, that is to say: Ye must give most easy sentences and judgement. For it is written: * He that most courteously commandeth, to him men must obey. And therefore I pray you, that in this necessity and in this need ye cast ye to overcome your heart. For as Senek saith, saith He that overcometh his heart, overcometh twice. And Tully saith: saith There is nothing so commendable in a great lord, as when he is debonair and meek, & appeaseth him lightly. And I pray you that ye wool now forbear to do vengeance in such a manner, that your good name may be kept and conserved, and that men may have cause and matter to praise you of pite and mercy: and that ye have no cause to repent you of thing that is done. For Seneke sayeth: * He overcometh in an evil manner, that repenteth him of his victory. Wherefore I pray let mercy be in your heart, to the effect, & intent, that God almighty have mercy upon you in his last judgement. For saint james saith in his Epistle: * judgement without mercy shall be do to him, that hath no mercy of another wight.  
When Melibe had heard the great skills and reasons of dame Prudence, and her wise informations and teachings, his heart 'gan incline to the will of his wife: considering her true intent, confirmed him anon & assented fully to work after her counsel: and thanked God, of whom proceedeth all goodness and virtue, that him had sent a wife of so great discretion. And when the day came that his adversaries should appear in his presence, he spoke to him goodly, and said in this wise,  
All be it so that of your pride and high presumption and folly, and of your negligence and unconning, ye have misborne you, and trespassed unto me, yet for as mikell as I see and behold your great humility and that ye be sorry and repentant of your guilts, it constraineth me to do you grace and mercy: Wherefore I receive you to my grace, and forgive you holy all the offences, injuries, & wrongs, that ye have done against me and mine, to th'effect and end, that God of his endless mercy wool at the time of our dying forgive us our guilts, that we have trespassed to him in this wretched world. For doubtless if we be sorry and repentant for the sins and guilts, which we have trespassed in the sight of our Lord God: he is so free and so merciable, that he wool foryeve us our guilts, and bring us to the bliss that never shall have end. Amen.   


¶ The Monks Prologue.  
WHen ended was the tale of Melibee  
And of Prudence, and her benignity,  
Our host said, as I am faithful man,  
And by the precious corpse Madrian,  
I had lever then a barrel of ale,  
That Goodlefe my wife had heard this tale:  
For she nothing is of such patience,  
As was this Melibeus wife Prudence.  
By God's bones, when I beat my knaves,  
She bringeth me the great clubbed staffs,  
And cryeth, slay the dogs everyone,  
And break of them both back and bone.  
And if that any neighbour of mine  
Wool not in Church to my wife incline,  
Or be so hardy, to her to trespass,  
When she cometh home she rampeth in my face,  
And cryeth, false coward, wreak thy wife:  
By corpus domini, I wool have thy knife,  
And thou shalt have my distaff, and go spin:  
From day till night, she wool thus begin.  
Alas, she saith, that ever she was shape  
To wed a milksop, or a coward ape,  
That wool be overleide with every wight,  
Thou darest not stoned by thy wife's right.  
This is my life, but if that I wool fight,  
And out at door anon I moat me dight,  
And else I am lost, but if that I  
Be like a wild lion, fool hardy.  
I wot well she wool do me slay some day  
Some neighbour or other, & then go my way,  
For I am perilous with knife in hand,  
All be it that I dare not her withstand:  
For she is big in arms by my faith,  
That shall he find, that her misdoth or saith.  
But let us pass away from this matter.  
My lord he said, sir Monk, be merry of cheer,  
For ye shall tell us a tale truly.  
Lo, Rochester stondeth here fast by,  
Ride forth mine own lord break not our game,  
But by my troth I know not your name,  
whether I shall call you my lord Dan john  
Dan Thomas, Dan Robert, or Dan Albon,  
Of what house be ye, by your father kin?  
I vow to God, thou hast a full fair chin,  
It is a gentle pasture there thou ghost,  
Thou art not like a pinaunt or a ghost.  
Upon my faith thou art some officere,  
Some worthy Sexton, or some Celerere.  
For by my father's soul, as to my doom,  
Thou art a master, when thou art at home,  
No poor cloisterer, ne no poor novice,  
But a governor both ware and wise,  
And therewithal of brawn and bones,  
A well faring person for the nonce:  
I pray to God give him confusion,  
That first thee brought into religion.  
Thou wouldst be a trede foul aright,  
Hadst thou as great leave, as thou hast might  
To perform all thy lust in ingendrure,  
Thou hadst begotten many a creature.  
Alas, why wearest thou so wide a cope?  
God give me sorrow, and I were Pope,  
Not only thou but every mighty man,  
Though he were shore high upon his pan,  
Should have a wife, for all this world is lorn,  
Religion hath take up all the corn  
Of treading, and borel men been shrimps:  
* Of feeble trees there cometh wretched imps.  
This maketh that our heirs be so slender  
And feeble, that they may not well engender.  
This make that our wives wool assay  
Religious folk, for that they may pay  
Of Venus' payments better than mow we:  
For God wot no lussheburghs payen ye.  
But be not wroth my lord though I play,  
* Full oft in game a sooth have I heard say.  
This worthy Monk took all in patience,  
And said, I wool do my diligence,  
As far as soundeth into honesty.  
To tell you a tale, ye two or three:  
And if ye list to harken hitherward,  
I wool you sane, the life of saint Edward,  
Or else tragedies first I wool tell,  
Of which I have an hundred in my cell.  
Tragedy is to tell a certain story  
As old books us maken memory,  
Of him that stood in great prosperity,  
And be fallen out of high degree  
In to misery, and ended wretchedly:  
And they been versified commonly  
Of six feet, which men call exemetron:  
In prose eke been endighted many on  
And in mitre, many a sundry wise.  
Lo, this aught enough you to suffice.  
Now harkeneth, if you list for to here,  
But first I beseech you in this matter,  
Though I by order tell not these things,  
Be it of Popes, Emperors, or kings,  
After her ages, as men written find,  
But tell him some before and some behind,  
As it cometh now to my remembrance,  
Have me excused of mine ignorance.  

¶ The Monks Tale.  
A Tragical Discourse of such as have fallen from high estate to extreme misery.  
I Will bewail in manner of tragedy  
The harm of him, that stood in high degree,  
And fell so, that there nas no remedy  
To bring him out of their adversity.  
* For certain when that fortune list to fly,  
There may no man of her the course withhold:  
Let no man trust on blind prosperity,  
Beth ware by this ensample young and old.  

Lucifer.  
AT Lucifer, though he an Angel were  
And not a man, at him will I begin,  
For though fortune may nat Angel dear  
From high degree, yet fell he for his sin  
Down into hell, where he is yet inn.  
O Lucifer, brightest of Angels all,  
Now art thou Sathanas, thou mayst not twin  
Out of misery, in which thou art fall.   

Adam.  
LO Adam, in the field of Damascene  
With Gods own finger iwrought was he,  
And not begotten of man's sperm unclean,  
And welt all Paradise saving o tree:  
Never worldly man had so high degree  
As Adam, till he for misgovernance  
Was driven out of his high prosperity  
To labour, and to hell, and to mischance.   

Samson.  

LO Samson, which that was annunciat  
By the Angel, long or his nativity:  
And was to God Almighty consecrat,  
And stood in nobles while he might see:  
Was never such another as was he,  
To speak of strength, & thereto hardiness.  
But to his wives told he his secree  
Through which he slough him for wretchedness.   

Samson this noble & mighty champion  
Withouten weapon, save his hands fifty,  
He slough and all to rend the Lion  
Toward his wedding, walking by the weigh:  
His false wife could him so please, & pray,  
Till she his counsel knew, and she untrue,  
Unto his foes his counsel 'gan bewray,  
And him forsook, and took another new.   

An hundred foxes took Samson for ire,  
And all her tails he together bond:  
And set the fox's tails all on fire,  
For he in every tail hath put a brand.  
And they brent all the corn in that land.  
And all her olives, and her vines eke:  
A thousand men eke he slough with his hon,  
And had no weapon, but an ass cheek.   

When they were slain, so thrusted him, that he  
Was well me lost, for which he 'gan to prey,  
That God would of his pain have some pite,  
And send him drink, or else moat he day:  
And of this ass cheek, that was so drey,  
Out of a wang tooth, sprang anon a well,  
Of which he drunk enough shortly to say,  
Thus halp him God, as judicum can tell.   

By very force at Gasa on a night,  
Maugre the Philistines of that cite,  
The gates of the town he hath up plight,  
And on his back icaried hem hath he  
High on an hill, where as men might him se.  
O noble mighty Samson, lief and dear,  
Had thou not told to women thy secre,  
In all this world ne had be thy peer.   

This Samson neither cider drank ne wine,  
Ne on his head came razor none ne shear,  
By precept of the messenger divine:  
For all his strength in his hairs were,  
And fully twenty winter year by year  
Of Israel he had the governance:  
But after soon shall he weep many a tere.  
For women shall bring him to mischance.   

Unto his leman Dalida he told,  
That in his hairs all his strength lay,  
And falsely to his foes she him sold,  
And sleeping in her barm upon a day  
She made to clip or shear his hairs away:  
And made his foemen all his craft espien,  
And when that they him found in such array,  
They bound him fast, and put out his eyes.   

But ere his hairs were clipped or ishave,  
Ther nas no bond with which men might him bind,  
But now is he in prison in a cave,  
Whereas they made him at the querne grind.  
O noble Samson, strongest of mankind:  
O whildom judge in glory and riches,  
Now mayest thou weepen with thine eyes blind,  
Sith thou art from we'll fall to wretchedness.   

The end of this caitiff was, as I shall say:  
His foemen made a feast upon a day,  
And made him as their fool before him play:  
And this was in a temple of great array.  
But at the last he made a foul afray,  
For he two pillars shaken, and made him fall,  
And down fell the temple all, & there it lay,  
And slough himself, and eke his foemen all.   

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

Of Samson now wool I no more said:  
Beth ware by this example old and plain,  
* That no men tell her counsel to her wives  
Of such thing, as they would have secret fain,  
If that it touch her limbs or her lives.    

Of Hercules.  

OF Hercules the sovereign Conqueror,  
Singen his works, laud, and high renown:  
For in his time, of strength he bore the flower,  
He slough and raft the skin of the lion,  
And of the Centauris laid the boast adown:  
He Harpias slew, the cruel birds fell,  
He the golden apples raft from the dragon:  
He drew out Cerberus the hound of hell.   

He slew the cruel tyrant Busirus,  
He made his horse to fret him flesh & bone:  
He slough the very serpent venomous:  
Of Achelous two horns broke he that one.  
And he slew Cacus in a cave of stone,  
He slough the giant Antacus the strong,  
He slough the grisly Boar, and that anon,  
And bore his head upon his spear long.   

Was nevet 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, & with for his bounty,  
And every realm went he for to see,  
He was so strong, that no man might him let,  
And at both world's ends, he for Trophy  
In stead of bounds, of brass a pillar set.   

A leman had this noble champion  
That height Deianeira, as fresh as May:  
And as these clerks maken mention,  
She hath him sent a shirt fresh and gay:  
Alas this shirt, alas and well away  
Envenomed was subtly withal,  
That ere he had weared it half a day,  
It made his flesh all from his bones fall.   

But nevertheless, some clerks her excusen  
By one that height Nessus, that it maked:  
Be as may be, I wool her not accusen,  
But on his body the shirt he were all naked,  
Till the flesh was with the venom slaked:  
And when he saw non other remedy,  
In hot coals he hath himself iraked,  
For with no venom dained he to die.   

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

Nabuchodonosor.  

THe mighty throne, the precious treasure,  
The glorious sceptre, & royal majesty,  
That hath the king Nabuchodonosore.  
With tongue unneath may discrived be:  
He twice won Jerusalem that cite,  
The vessel of the temple he with him lad:  
At Babylon was his sovereign see,  
In which his glory and his delight he had.   

Of Jerusalem, he did do gelde anon,  
The fairest children of the blood royal,  
And make each of him to been his thrall:  
Among all other Daniel was one,  
That was the wisest of everyone,  
For he the dreams of the king expounded:  
Whereas in Caldee clerks were there none  
That wist to what fine his dream sounded.   

This proud king let make a statu of gold  
Sixty cubits long, and seven in breed,  
To the which image, both young and old  
Commanded he lout, and have in dread,  
Or in a forneis, full of flames read  
He should be deed, that would not obey:  
But never would assent to that deed  
Daniel, ne his young fellows fifty.   

This king of kings so proud and elate  
Weaned God, that sitteth in majesty,  
Ne might him nat berefe of his estate:  
But suddenly he lost his dignity,  
And like a beast him seemed for to be,  
And eat hey as an ox, and lay thereout  
In rain, and with wild beasts walked he,  
Till a certain time was come about.   

And like an Eagles' feathers were his heeres,  
And his neiles also like birds claws were,  
God relieved him at certain years,  
And gave him wit, & then with many a tere  
He thonked God, and all his life in fere  
Was he to do amiss, or more trespass:  
And ere that he laid was on his bear.  
He knew that God was full of might & grace.    

Balthaser.  

HIs son, which that high Balthasare,  
That held the reign after his faders' day,  
He by his fader could not beware,  
For proud he was of heart, and of array:  
And eke an Ydolaster was he aye.  
His high estate assured him in pride.  
But fortune cast him down, & there he lay,  
And suddenly his reign 'gan divide.   

A feast he made unto his lords all  
Upon a time, he made him blithe be,  
And then his officers 'gan he call  
Goth bring forth all the vessels (qd. he)  
Which that my father in his prosperity  
Out of the temple of Jerusalem bereft,  
And to our God's thonkes yelden we,  
Of honour, that our elders with us haft.   

His wife, his lords, and his concubines  
Aye drunken, whiles her appetites last,  
Out of these noble vessels foundrie wines.  
And on a wall this king his eyes cast,  
A●● saw an hand armless, that wrote fast,  
For fear of which he quoke, and sighed sore:  
This hon that Balthaser made sore aghast,  
Wrote (Mane techel phares) and no more.   

In all that land, Magicien was there none,  
That could expone what this letter meant,  
But Daniel expounded it anon,  
And said, O king, God, thy father sent  
Glory and honour, reign, treasure, and rend,  
And he was proud, & nothing God he dread:  
And therefore great wrath God upon him sent,  
And him bereft the reign that he had.   

He was out cast of man's company,  
With Asses was his habitation:  
And eat hay, as a beast in wete and dry,  
Till that he knew by wit and reason,  
That God of heaven hath domination  
Over every reign, and every creature:  
And then had God of him compassion,  
And him restored his reign and his figure.   

Eke thou that art his son, art proud also,  
And knowest all these things privily:  
And art rebel to God, and his foe,  
Thou drank eke of his vessels boldly,  
Thy wife eke, and thy wenches sinfully  
Drunk of the same vessels sundry winis,  
And heried false gods cursedly,  
Therefore to thee shapen great pine is.   

This hon was sent from God, that on the wall  
Wrote (Mane techel phares) trust me:  
Thy reign is done, thou wottest not all,  
Divided is thy realm, and it shall be  
To Medes and to Perciens given (qd. he)  
And that same night, the king was slaw:  
And Darius occupied his dignity,  
Though he thereto had neither right ne law.   

* Lordings, here ensample mow ye take,  
How that in lordship is no sickerness:  
For when that fortune wool a man forsake,  
She beareth away his reign, & his richesses:  
And his friends, both more and less.  
And what man hath friends, through fortune,  
Mishap wool make him enemies as I guess.  
This proverb is full sooth, & full commune.    

Zenobia.  

ZEnobia of Palmerie Queen  
(As writeth Perciens of her noblesse)  
So worthy was in arms, and so keen,  
That no wight passed her in hardiness,  
Ne in lineage, ne in other gentleness:  
Of king's blood of Perce she is descended,  
I say that she had not most of fairness,  
But of her shape she might not be amended.   

From her childhood I find that she fled  
Office of a woman, and to wood she went:  
And many a wild Hearts blood she shed  
With arrows broad that she to him sent.  
She was so swift, that she him hent,  
And when that she was elder, she would kill  
Lions, Libards, and Beeres all to rent,  
And in her arms wield him at her will.   

She durst the wild beasts dens to seek,  
And run in the mountains all the night,  
And sleep under a bush, and she could eke  
Wrestle by very force and by very might  
With any young man, were he never so wight:  
There might nothing in her arms stoned:  
She kept her maidenhead from every wight,  
To no man dained she to be bound.   

But at last her friends hath her married  
To Odenat, a prince of that country:  
All were it so, that she him long tarried.  
And ye shall understand, how that he  
Had such fantasies like as had she:  
But nevertheless, when they were knit in fere,  
They lived in joy and in felicity,  
For each of him had other lief and dear.   

Save one thing, she nolde never assent  
By no way, that he should by her lie  
But ones, for it was her plain intent  
To have a child, the world to multiply:  
And also so soon as she might espy,  
That she was not with child with that deed,  
Then would she suffer him to do his fantasy  
Eftsoon, and not but ones out of dread.   

And if she were with child at that cast,  
No more should he with her play that game  
Till fully forty days were passed:  
Then would she ones suffer him the same.  
All were this Odenat wild or tame,  
He gate no more of her, for thus she said,  
* It was to wife's lechery and shame,  
In other case if men with hem played.   

Two sons by this Odenat had she,  
The which she kept in virtue and lettrure,  
But now unto our tale again turn we:  
I say that so worshipful a creature  
And wise therewith, and large with measure,  
So penible in war, and curteis eke,  
Ne more labour might in war endure  
Was none, though all this world men would seek.   

Her rich array ne might not be told,  
As well in vessel as in her clothing:  
She was all clad in pierrie and in gold,  
And eke she left not for none hunting  
To have of sundry tongues full knowing,  
When that she leisure had for to intend  
To learn in books was all her liking  
How she in virtue her life might dispend.   

And shortly of this story for to treat:  
As doughty was her husband as she.  
So that they conquered many reigns great  
In the Orient, with many a fair cite  
Appertainaunt unto the majesty  
O Rome, & with strength held the mfull fast  
Ne never might her foemen do her i'll,  
All the while that Odinates' days last.   

Her battles, who so list him for to read  
Again Sapor the king, and other more,  
And how all this process fill in deed,  
Why she conquered, and her title thereto,  
And after of her mischief and her woe,  
How that she was besieged, and itake,  
Let him to my master Petrarke go,  
That writeth enough of this, I undertake.   

When Odenat was dead, she mightily  
The realms held, and with her own hand  
Against her foes she fought so truly  
That there nas no prince ne king in all the land  
But were full glad, if they that grace fond  
That she ne should upon his land warray:  
With her they made alliance by bond  
To be in peace, and let him ride and play.   

The Emperor of Rome Claudius,  
Ne him before, the Roman Galen  
Ne durst never be so courageous,  
Ne non Armen, ne non Egipcien  
Ne Surrien, ne none Arabien  
Within the field, that durst with her fight,  
Lest that she would him with her hands sleen,  
Or with her maine put him to flight.   

In king's habit wenten her sons two  
As the lawful heirs of her realms all,  
And Hermanno and Titamallo  
Her names were, as Perciens hem call.  
* But aye fortune hath in her honey gall:  
This mighty Queen, may no while endure,  
Fortune out of her reign made her to fall  
To wretchedness, and to misaventure.   

Aurelian, when that the governance  
Of Rome came into his honds twey,  
He shaped upon this Queen to do vengeance,  
And with his legions he took his way  
Toward Zenobia, and shortly for to say.  
He made her fly, and at last her hent,  
And fettered her, and eke her children twain,  
And won the land, & home to Rome he went.   

Amongst other things that he won,  
Her chair, that of gold was wrought & pierre,  
This great Roman, this Aurelian  
Hath with him lad, that for men should it see:  
All before his triumph walked she  
With golden chains on her neck honging,  
Crowned she was, as after he degree,  
And full of pierre charged her clothing.   

Alas fortune, she that whilom was  
dreadful to kings and to Emperors,  
Now gaureth all the people on her alas:  
And she that helmed was in stark stoures,  
And wan by force towns strong, and towers,  
Shall on her head now wear autremite:  
And she that bore the sceptre full of flowers,  
Shall bear a distaff her cost for to quite.    

Nero.  

ALthough that Nero were as vicious,  
As any fiend, that lieth full low adown:  
Yet he, as telleth us Suetonius  
All this world had in subiectioun,  
Both East and West, and Septentrioun.  
Of Rubies, Saphires, and of Pearl's white  
Were all his clothes broudred up and down,  
For he in gems greatly 'gan delight.   

More delicate, more pompous of array,  
More proud, was never Emperor than he:  
That like cloth that he had weared o day,  
After that time, he nold it never see:  
Nets of gold thread had he great plenty,  
To fish in Tiber, when him list to play,  
His lusts were as law, in his degree,  
For fortune as his friend would him obey.   

He Rome brent for his dilicacie,  
The Senators he slew upon a day,  
To hear how her wives would weep & cry:  
And slow his brother, and by his sister lay.  
His mother made he in a piteous array,  
For he her womb let slit, to behold  
Where he conceived was, so wellaway,  
That he so little of his mother told.   

No tears out of his eyes, for that sight  
He came, but said, a fair woman was she:  
Great wonder is, that he could or might  
Be Domisman of her dead beauty:  
The wine to bring him commanded he,  
And drank anon, none other woe he made.  
* When might is joined unto cruelty,  
Alas, too deep will the venume wade.   

In youth a master had this Emperor  
To teach him lettrure, and courtesy,  
For of morality he was the flour.  
And in his time, but if his books lie,  
And whiles his master had of him mastery,  
He made him so cunning and so supple,  
That long time it was or tyranny,  
Or any vice durst in him encouple.   

Senek his master was, of which I device,  
Because Nero had of him such dread,  
For he for his vices would him chastise  
Discreetly as by word, and not by deed,  
Sir he would say, an Emperor moat need  
Be virtuous, and hate tyranny.  
For which he made him in a bath to bleed  
On both his arms, till he must die.   

This Nero had eke a customaunce  
In youth against his master 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 bath to die in this manere,  
Rather than to have another turmentise:  
And thus hath Nero slain his master dear.   

Now fell it so, that fortune list no longer  
The high pride of Nero to cherish:  
For though 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 Emperor him call:  
By God out of his seat I wool him trice,  
When he lest weeneth, soon shall he fall.   

The people rose upon him on a night  
For his default, and when he it espied,  
Out of his doors anon he hath him dight  
Alone, and there he wend have been allied,  
He knocked fast, and aye the more he cried,  
The faster shut they the doors all:  
Tho wist he well he had himself beguiled,  
And went his way, no longer durst he call.   

The people cried & rombled up and down,  
That with his ears he heard how they said  
Where is this false tyrant? this Neroun,  
For fear full near out of his wit he brayed,  
And to his gods right pitously he prayed  
For succour, but it might not betid:  
For dread of this him thought that he died,  
And ran into a garden him to hide.   

And in this garden found he churl's twey  
Sitting by a fire great and red,  
And to the churl's two he 'gan to pray  
To slay him, and to gird off his head,  
That to his body, when he were ded,  
Were no despite done for his defame.  
Himself he slough, he could no better red,  
Of which fortune lough & had then game.    

Holofernes.  

WAs never capitaine under a king  
That reigns more put in subjectioun,  
Ne stronger was in field of all thing  
As in his time, ne greater of renown,  
Ne more pompous in high presumptioun,  
Than Holoferne, which fortune aye kissed,  
And so licourous●y lad him up and down,  
Till that he dead was ere that he wist.   

wist Not only that this world had of him awe  
For losing of richesses and liberte:  
But he made every man renie his law,  
Nabuchodonosor was lord, said he:  
None other God should honoured be.  
Against his hest, there dare no wight trespass,  
Save in Bethulia, a strong cite,  
Where Eliachem was priest of that place.   

But take keep of the death of Holoferue:  
Amid his host he drunk lay all night  
Within his tent, large as is a berue.  
And yet for all his pomp and all his might,  
judith, a woman, as he lay upright  
Sleeping, his head off smote, & fro his tent  
Full privily she stole from every wight,  
And with his head unto her town she went.    

Antiochus.  

WHat needeth it of king Antiochus  
To tell his high and royal majesty?  
His great pride, and his work venemus,  
For such another man nas never as he,  
Redeth what that he was in Machabe,  
And readeth the proud words that he said,  
And why he fill from his prosperity,  
And in an hill how wretchedly he died.   

Fortune him had enchaunsed so in pride,  
That verily he wend he might attain  
Unto the stars upon every side,  
And in a balance to weigh each mountain,  
And all the floods of the sea restrain:  
And God's people had he most in hate,  
Him would he slay in torment and in pain,  
weening that God ne might his pride abate.   

And for that Nichanore and Timothe  
By jews were venquished mightily,  
Unto the jews such an hate had he,  
That he had greithe his chare full hastily,  
And swore and said, full dispitously:  
Unto Jerusalem he would eftsoon  
To wreck his ire on it full cruelly,  
But of his purpose was he let full soon.   

God for his menace him so sore smote,  
With invisible wound, aye incurable,  
That in his guts carfe so and boat,  
That his pains was importable:  
And certainly the wretch was reasonable.  
For many a man's guts did he pain,  
But from his purpose, cursed & damnable,  
For all his smart, he nolde him not restrain.   

But bade anon, aparaile his host  
And suddenly or he than was ware,  
God daunted all his pride, and all his boast:  
For he so sore fell out of his chare,  
That all his limbs and his skin to tore  
So that he no more might go ne ride  
But in a chair, men about him bare  
All forbruised both back and side.   

The wretch of God him smote so cruelly,  
That in his body wicked worms crept,  
And therewithal he stanke so horribly,  
That none of all his mien that him kept,  
Whether that he work or else slept,  
Ne might not of him the stink endure.  
And in his mischief he wailed and wept,  
And knew God, Lord of every creature.   

To all his host, and to himself also  
Full loathsome was the stink of his caraine,  
No man might him bear to ne fro.  
And in his stink, and in his horrible pain,  
He sterfe full wretchedly on a mountain.  
Thus hath this robber, and this homicide,  
That many a man made to weep and plain,  
such guerdon, as belongeth to pride.    

Alexander.  

THe story of Alexander is so common,  
That every wight that hath discretion  
Hath heard somewhat or all, of his fortune:  
This wide world, as in conclusioun,  
He won by strength, and for his renown  
They were glad for peace unto him send  
The pride of man, and boast he laid adown  
Where so he came, unto the world's end.   

Comparison might yet never be maked  
Betwixt him, and another conqueror,  
For all this world for dread of him hath quaked  
He was of knighthood, & of freedom flower:  
Fortune him made the heir of high honour.  
Save wine & women nothing might assuage  
His high intent in arms and labour  
So was he full of loving courage.   

What price were it to him, though I you told  
Of Darius, and of an hundred thousand more  
Of Princes, Earls, and knights bold,  
Which he conquered, and brought to woe:  
I say as far as a man may ride or go  
The world was his, with should I more devise:  
For though I wrote and told you evermo  
Of his knighthood, it might not suffice.   

Twelve year he reigned, as I read in Machabe:  
Phillip's son of Macedon he was  
That first was King of Grece, that country,  
O worthy gentle Alexander, alas  
That ever should thee fall such a case:  
Empoisoned of thy folk thou were,  
* Thy since fortune hath turned into an ace,  
And yet for thee ne wept she never a tere.   

Who shall yeve men teres to complain  
The death of gentleness, and of fraunchise,  
That all the world wielded in his demaine,  
And yet him thought it might not suffice:  
So full was his courage of high emprise,  
Alas, who shall me help to indite  
False fortune, and her poison to despise?  
The which of all this woe I wit.    

julius Cesar.  

BY wisdom, manhood, and high labour,  
From humble bed to royal Majeste  
Up rose he, julius' Conqueror,  
That all the Occident by land and see  
Wan by strength of hand, or else by treat,  
And unto Rome made him tributary:  
And sith of Rome Emperor was he  
Till that fortune wax his adversary.   

O mighty Cesar, that in Thessaly  
Against Pompey father thine in law,  
That of the Orient had the chivalry,  
As far as that the day beginneth to daw:  
Then through knighthood hast take & islaw,  
Save few folk that with Pompeius fled,  
Through which thou put all the orient in awe:  
Thank fortune that so well thee ysped.   

But now a little while I wool bewail  
This Pompey, this noble governor  
Of Rome, which that fled at this battle.  
I say one of his men, a false traitor  
His head off smote, to win him favour  
Of julius, and to him the head brought:  
Alas Pompey, of the orient conqueror,  
That fortune unto such a fine thee wrought.   

To Rome again repaireth julius  
With his triumph lauriate full high,  
But on a time Brutus & Cassius,  
That ever had of his high estate envy,  
Full prively had made conspiracy  
Against this julius in subtle wise:  
And cast the place in which he should die,  
With bodkins, as I shall you devose.   

This julius unto the Capitol went  
Upon a day, as he was wont to gone,  
And in the Capitol anon him hent  
This falls Brutus, and his other soon,  
And sticked him with bodkins anon  
With many a wound, & thus they let him lie:  
But never grudged he at no stroke but one,  
Or else at two, but if his story lie.   

So manly was this julius of hart,  
And so well loved stately honest,  
That though 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 trance,  
And wist verily that die should he,  
Of honesty yet had he remembrance.   

Lucan to thee this story I recommend,  
And to Sueton, and Valerie also,  
That of this story written word and end:  
How that to these great conquerors two  
Fortune was first a friend, and sith a fo.  
* No man trust upon her favour long,  
But have her in await for evermo,  
Witness on all the conquerors strong.    

Croesus.  

THe rich Croesus, whilom king of Lide,  
Of which Croesus, Cirus sore him dread,  
Yet was he caught amid all his pride,  
And to burn, men to the fire him lad:  
But such a rain down fro the firmament shed  
That quaint 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 array 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 vengeance he all his heart set.   

Upon a tree he was, as him thought,  
There jupiter him wish, both back & side:  
And Phoebus eke a fair towel him brought  
To dry him with, & therewith wax his pride.  
And to his daughter that stood him beside,  
Which that he knew in high sentence abound,  
He bade her tell what it signified,  
And she his dream right thus did expound.   

The tree (qd. she) that gallows is to mean,  
And jupiter betokeneth snow and rain,  
And Phoebus with his towel so clean,  
Betokeneth the Sun beams, sooth to said:  
Thou shalt honged be, father, certain,  
Rain shall thee wash, & sun shall thee dry:  
Thus warned him full plat and full plain  
His daughter, that called was Phanie.   

And honged was Croesus' the proud king,  
His royal throne might him not avail:  
Tragedy is none, ne other manner thing,  
That can in singing cry ne bewail,  
But that fortune all day wool assail  
* With unware stroke, the reigns that been proud:  
For when men trusteth her, then wol she fail,  
And cover her bright face with a cloud.    

Peter of Spain.  

O Noble, O worthy Petro, glory of Spain,  
Whom fortune held so high in Majesty:  
Well ought men thy piteous death complain.  
Out of thy land thy brother made thee flee,  
And after at a siege by subteltee  
Thou were betrayed, and lad unto his tent,  
Where as he with his own hon slew thee,  
Succeeding in thy reign and in thy rent.   

The field of snow, with thegle of black therein,  
Caught with the limrod, coloured as the gleed,  
He brewed his cursedness, & all this sin:  
The wicked nest was worker of this deed,  
Not Charles, ne Oliver, that took aye heed  
Of troth and honour, but of Armorike  
Genillion Oliver, corrupt for meed  
Brought this worthy king in such a brike.    

Petro King of Cipre.  
O Worthy Petro, king of Cipre also,  
That Alexandrie won by high mastery  
Full many a heathen wroughtest thou woe,  
Of which thine own liege's had envy:  
And for no thing but for thy chivalry,  
They in thy bed han slain thee by the morrow,  
Thus can fortune her wheel govern & gie,  
And out of joy bringen men to sorrow.   

Barnabo Viscount.  
OF Milan great Barnabo viscount,  
God of delight, & scourge of Lombardy  
Why should not I thine infortune account,  
Sens in estate thou clomben were so high:  
Thy brother's son, that was thy double alley,  
For he thy nevew was, and son in law,  
Within his prison made thee to die,  
But why ne how not I, that thou were slawe.   

Hugeline of Pisa.  

OF the Earl Hugeline of Pisa the langour  
There may no tongue it tell for pite:  
But a little out of Pisa stont a tower,  
In which tower in prison put was he,  
And with him been his little children three,  
The eldest scarcely five year of age:  
Alas fortune, it was a great cruelty  
Such birds for to put in such a cage.   

Damned was he to die in that prison  
For Roger, which that bishop was of Pisa  
Had on him made a false suggestion,  
Through which the people 'gan upon him rise,  
And put him in prison, in such a wise,  
As ye have heard, and meat & drink he had  
So small, that unneath it may suffice,  
And therewithal it was full poor and bad.   

And on a day befell, that in that hour,  
When that his meat wont was to be brought,  
The geilour shut the doors of the tower,  
He heard it well, but he spoke right nought:  
And in his heart anon there fill a thought,  
That they for hunger would do him dien,  
Alas (qd. he) alas that I was wrought,  
Therewithal the tears fill fro his eyes.   

His young son, that three year was of age,  
Unto him said, father, why do ye weep?  
When will the geilour bring our pottage,  
Is there no morsel bread that ye do keep?  
I am so hungry, that I may not sleep,  
Now would God that I might sleep ever,  
Then should not hunger in my womb creep.  
There nis nothing but bread that me were lever.   

Thus day by day, this child began to cry,  
Till in his father's arm adown it lay,  
And said, farewell father, I moat die,  
And kissed his father, and deide the same day.  
And when the woeful father did it say,  
For woe, his arms two he 'gan to bite,  
And said alas fortune, and well away,  
Thy false wheel my woe all may it wit.   

His children wend, that it for hunger was  
That he his arms gnewe, and not for woe,  
And said: father do not so (alas)  
But rather eat the flesh upon us two,  
Our flesh you gave us, take our flesh us fro  
And eat enough: right thus they to him said  
And after that within a day or two  
They laid him in his lap adown, and died.   

Thus ended is this mighty Earl of Pisa.  
Himself dispeired eke, for hunger starfe:  
Of this tragedy, it ought enough suffice,  
From high estate fortune away him carfe.  
Who so wool hear it in a longer wise  
Readeth he the great poet of Itaile  
That height Dante, for he can it all device  
Fro point to point, not a word wool he fail.       


¶ Here stinteth the Knight the Monk of his Tale, and here followeth the Prologue of the Nonnes Priest.  
HO (qd. the knight) good sir no more of this:  
That ye have said, is right enough iwis,  
And mokell more: for little heaviness  
Is right enough to much folk, I guess,  
I say for me, it is a great disease,  
Where as men have be in wealth & ease,  
To hear of her sudden fall, alas:  
And the contrary is joy and solas,  
As when a man hath been in poor estate,  
And climbeth up, and waxeth fortunate,  
And there abideth in prosperity:  
Such things is gladsome, as thinketh me,  
And of such thing were good for to tell.  
Ye (qd. our host) by Saint Paul's bell  
Ye say right sooth, this Monk clappeth loud,  
He spoke, how fortune covered with a cloud  
I wot not what, and also of a Tragedy  
* Right now he heard: And perdie no remedy  
It is for to bewailen, ne complain  
That that is done, and als it is a pain,  
As ye have said, to hear of heaviness.  
Sir monk no more of this, so God you bless,  
Your tale anoyeth all the company,  
Such talking is not worth a butterfly,  
For therein is there no disport ne game:  
Therefore sir monk, dan Piers by your name,  
I pray you heartily, tell us somewhat else,  
For sikerly, near clinking of your bells  
That on your bridle hung on every side,  
By heaven king, that for us all died,  
I should ere this han fall down for sleep,  
Although the flough had been never so deep:  
Then had your tale all be told in vain.  
For certainly, as that these clerks sane,  
* Where as a man may have none audience,  
Nought helpeth it to tell his sentence.  
And well I wot the substance is in me,  
If any thing shall well reported be.  
Sir, say somewhat of hunting I you pray.  
Ne (qd. this Monk) I have no lust to play:  
Now let another tell, as I have told.  
Then spoke our host with rude speech and bold,  
And said unto the Nonnes Priest anon,  
Come near you priest, come hither thou sir john.  
Tell us such a thing, as may our hearts glad,  
Be blithe, though thou ride upon a jade:  
What though thy horse be both foul & lean,  
If he wool serve thee reck not a been:  
Look that thy heart be merry evermo.  
Yes sir (qd. he) yes host, so moat I go:  
But I be merry, iwis I wool be blamed,  
And right anon, his tale he hath attained,  
And thus he said, unto us everichon,  
This sweet priest, this goodly man sir john.  

¶ The Nonnes Priest his Tale.  
Of a Cock and a Hen: the Moral whereof is to embrace true Friends, and to beware of Flatterers.  
A Poor widow somedeal istept in age,  
Was whilom dwelling in a poor cottage  
Beside a grove, standing in a dale:  
This widow 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 cattle and her rent:  
By husbandry, of such as God her scent,  
She found herself, & eke her daughters two:  
Three large sows had she, and no more:  
Three kine, & eke a sheep that height Mall,  
Well sooty was her bower, and eke her hall,  
In which she eat many a slender meal.  
Of poignant sauce ne knew she never adele,  
Ne dainty morsel passed through her throat:  
Her diet was accordant to her cote.  
Repletion ne made her never sick,  
A temperate diet was her physic,  
And exercise, and hearts suffisance:  
The gout let her nothing for to dance,  
Ne apoplexy shent not her head:  
No wine drank she, white ne red,  
Her board was most served with white & black,  
Milk & brown breed, in which she found no lack:  
Seinde bacon, & sometime an eye or twey,  
For she was as it were a manner day.  
A yard she had, enclosed all about  
With sticks, and dry diched without:  
In which she had a cock height Chaunteclere,  
In all the land, of crowing nas his peer.  
His voice was merrier than the merry orgon  
On mass days, that in the churches gone:  
Well sikerer was his crowing in his loge,  
Than is a clock, or in an abbey an orloge.  
By nature he knew each assentioun  
Of the equinoctial in the town.  
For when degrees xv. were ascended,  
Then crew he, it might not be amended.  
His comb was redder than the fine coral,  
And battled, as it had be a castle wall.  
His bill was black, as any jet it shone,  
Like astre were his legs and his tone:  
His nails whiter than the lily flour,  
And like the burned gold was his colour.  
This gentle cock had in governance  
Seven hens, to done on his pleasance:  
Which were his susters and his paramours,  
And wonder like to him, as of colours:  
Of which the fairest hewed in the throat,  
Was called fair damosel Pertelote.  
He feathered her a hundred times a day,  
And she him pleaseth all that ever she may.  
Curteis she was, discreet, and debonair,  
And companable, and bore herself so fair.  
Sens the time that she was seven-night old,  
That truliche she hath the heart in hold  
Of Chaunteclere, looking on every lithe:  
He loveth her so, that well was him therewith,  
But such a joy it was to hear him sing,  
When that the bright sun 'gan to spring  
In sweet accord: my lief is far in land.  
For that time, as I have understond,  
Beasts and birds coulden speak 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 fair Pertelote,  
This Chanteclere 'gan to groan in his throat,  
As a man that in his dream is drenched sore:  
And when that Pertelot thus herd him roar,  
She was aghast, and said her heart dear,  
What aileth you to groan in this manere?  
Ye be a very sleper, fie for shame:  
And he answered thus, by God madam,  
I pray you, that ye take it not in grief:  
By God I met I was in such mischief  
Right now, that yet mine heart is sore affright.  
Now God (qd. he) my sweven heed a right,  
And keep my body out of foul prison.  
Me met, that I rome up and down  
Within your yard, where I saw a be'st,  
Was like an hound, & would have made areest  
Upon my body, & would have had me deed.  
His colour was betwixt yellow and reed,  
And tipped was his tail, & both his eeres  
With black, unlike the remnant of his heeres.  
His snout small, with glowing eyes fifty:  
Yet for his look almost for fear I day:  
This causeth me my groaning doubtless.  
Away (qd. she) fie for shame heartless  
Alas (qd. she) for by that God above  
Now have ye lost my heart & all my love,  
I cannot love a coward by my faith:  
For certes, what so any woman saith,  
saith We all desire, if that it might be,  
To have husbonds, hardy, wise and free,  
And discrete, ne no niggard ne no fool,  
Ne him that is aghast of every tool,  
Ne none avauntour by that God above,  
How durst ye say for shame, unto your love,  
That any sweven might make you afeard?  
Have ye no man's heart, and have a berde?  
Alas, and con ye be afeard of swevenis,  
Nothing but vanity god wot in sweven is.  
Swevens ben engendered of repletions,  
And oft of fume, and of completions.  
When humours been too abundant in a wight:  
Certes this dream which ye have met to night  
Come of the great superfluity  
Of red colour that is in you pard,  
Which causen folk to dread in her dreams  
Of arrows, and of fire with red lemes,  
Of red beasts that woollen hem bite,  
Of conteke, and of wasps great and light,  
Right as the humour of melancholy,  
Causeth many a man in sleep to cry,  
For fear of great bulls, & of bears black,  
Or else that black devils wool him take.  
Of other humours could I tell also,  
That work a man in sleep much woe:  
But I wool pass, as lightly as I can.  
Lo Caton, which that was so wise a man  
Said he not thus, do not force of dreams?  
Now sir (qd. she) when we fly fro the beams,  
For God's love, as taketh some laxative:  
Up pexill of my soul, and of my life  
I counsel you the best, I wool not lie,  
That both of colour, and of melancholy  
Ye purge you, and for ye shall not tarry,  
Though in this town be none Apothecary,  
I shall myself two herbs techen you,  
That shall be for your heal, & for your prow  
And in our yard, though herbs shall I find  
The which have her property by kind  
To purge you bineth, and eke above:  
Forgetteth not this for Gods own love:  
Ye be right choleric of complexion,  
Beware the sun in his ascension  
Ne find ye not replete of humours hot:  
For if it do, I dare well lay a groat,  
That ye shall have a fever terciane,  
Or else an ague that may be your bane.  
A day or two ye shall have digestives  
Of worms, or ye take your ●axatives,  
Of laurel, century, and of femetere,  
Or else of elder berries, that grow there,  
Of Catapuce, or of gaitres bereiss,  
Of yvie growing in our yard, that merry is.  
Pluck him up as they grow, & eat him in:  
Be merry husband, for your father kin,  
dreadeth no dream, I can say no more.  
Madam (qd. he) gramercy of your lore.  
But nevertheless, as touching dan Caton,  
That of wisdom hath so great renown,  
Though he had no dreams for to dread,  
By God, men may in old books read,  
Of many a man, more of authority  
Then ever Caton was so moat I thee.  
That all the revers saith of his sentence,  
And have well found by experience,  
* That dreams be significations,  
As well of joy, as of tribulations,  
That folk endure in this life present:  
There needeth to make of this non argument:  
The very proof showeth it indeed.  
One of the greatest authors that men read,  
Saith thus: that whilom two fellows went  
On pilgrimage in full good intent,  
And happened so they came into a town,  
Where as there was such congregation  
Of people, and eke of straight herbigage,  
That they ne found as much as a cottage,  
In which they both might ylodged be.  
Wherefore they moat of necessity  
As for that night depart company,  
And each of hem goeth to his hostelry,  
And took his lodging as it would fall.  
That one of him was lodged in a stall,  
far in a yard, with oxen of the plough:  
That other man was lodged well enough,  
As was his aventure, or his fortune,  
That us governeth all, as in common.  
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 ox's stall  
This night shall I be murdered, there I lie:  
Now help me dear brother or I die,  
In all haste, 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 took of this no keepe,  
Him thought his dream was but a vanity:  
Thus twice in his sleep dreamt he.  
And at the third time, yet his fellow,  
Came as him thought, & said, I now am slaw:  
Behold my bloody wounds, deep & wide,  
Arise up early, in the morrow tide,  
And at the West gate of the town (qd. he)  
A cart full of dung there shalt thou see,  
In which my body is hid full prively,  
Do thou that cart arresten boldly,  
My gold caused my death, sooth to sane,  
And told him every point how he was slain  
With a full piteous face, pale of hue:  
And trust well, his dream he found right true,  
For on the morrow, as soon as it was day,  
To his fellow's inn he took the way:  
And when that he came to the ox's stall,  
After his fellow he began to call.  
The hosteler answered him anon,  
And said, sir, your fellow is igone,  
As soon as it was day he went out of town:  
This man 'gan fall in suspectioun  
Remembering of his dreams that he met,  
And forth he goeth, no longer would he let,  
Unto the West gate of the town, and fond  
A dung cart, as it were to dung land,  
That was arrayed in the same wise  
As ye have heard the dead man devose:  
And with hardy heart he 'gan to cry  
Vengeance and justice of this felony:  
My fellow murdered is this same night,  
And in this cart he lieth, gaping upright.  
I cry out on the ministers (qd. he)  
That shoulden keep and rule this cite:  
Harow alas, here lieth my fellow slain.  
What should I more of this tale sane?  
The people out start, & cast the cart to ground,  
And in the middle of the dung they found  
The dead man, that murdered was all new.  
O blissful God, that art so good and true,  
Lo how thou bewrayest murder always.  
Murder wool out, that see we day by day:  
* Murder is so waltsome and abominable  
To God, that so just is and reasonable,  
That he ne wool it suffer hylled to be:  
Though it abide a year, two, or three,  
Murder wool out, this is my conclusioun.  
And right anon, the ministers of the town  
Have hent the carter, and sore him pined,  
And eke the hosteler so sore engined,  
That they be knew her wickedness anon,  
And were honged up by the neck bone.  
Here may ye see that dreams been to dread.  
And certes, in the same lief I read,  
Right in the next chapter after this,  
I gabbe not, so have I joy and bliss:  
Two men would have passed over the see  
For certain causes to a far country,  
If the wind ne had be contrary,  
That made him in a city to tarry,  
That stood full merry upon an haven side:  
But on a day, against an even tide.  
The wind 'gan change, & blew as him lest,  
jolly and glad they wenten to rest,  
And cast him full early for to sail,  
But harken, to one man fell a great marvel.  
That one of him in sleeping as he lay,  
He met a wonders dream, again the day:  
Him thought a man stood by his bed's side,  
And him commanded, that he should abide,  
And said him thus, if thou to morrow wend,  
Thou shall be dreint, my tale is at an end.  
He work, and told his fellow with he met,  
And prayed him his voyage for to let,  
As for that day, he prayed him for to abide.  
His fellow that lay by his bed's side,  
'Gan for to laugh, and scorned him full fast:  
No dream (qd. he) may so my hart aghast,  
That I wool let for to do my things:  
I set not a straw for thy dream,  
For swevens been but vanities and yapes:  
Men meet all day of oules and of apes,  
And eke of many a maze therewithal,  
And dremen of thing that never was, ne shall.  
But sith I see that thou wolt here abide,  
And thus slouthen wilfully thy tide,  
God wot it ruth me, and have good day,  
And thus he took his leave, & went his way.  
But ere he had half his course ysailed,  
I not why, ne what mischance it ailed,  
But casually the ships bottom to rend,  
And ship and men under the water went  
In sight of other ships there beside,  
That with hem sailed at the same tide.  
And therefore, fair Pertelot so dear,  
By such ensamples old mayst thou lere  
That no man should be too reckless  
Of dreams, for I say thee doubtless,  
That many a dream full sore is for to dread.  
Lo, in the life of saint Kenelm, we read,  
That was Kenelphus' son, the noble king  
Of Mercenryke, how kenelm met a thing:  
A little ere he were murdered on a deie,  
His murder in his vision he seie:  
His norice him expounded every deal  
His sweven, and bade him keep him well  
From treason, but he was but seven year old,  
And therefore little tale he thereof told  
Of any dream, so holy was his heart:  
By God I had rather than my shirt,  
That ye have herd his legend, as have I.  
Dame Pertelot, I say to you truly,  
Macrobius, that writeth the avision  
In Africa of the worthy Scipion,  
Affirmeth dreams, 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 dreams for vanity.  
Read eke of joseph, and there shall ye see  
Whether dreams been sometime, but I say not all,  
Warning of things that after shall fall.  
Look of Egypt the king, that height Pharaoh,  
His baker and his butteler also,  
whether they felt none effect in dreams?  
Who so wool seek acts of sundry rheims,  
May read of dreams many a wonder thing.  
Lo Croesus, which that was of Lide king,  
Met he not that he sat upon a tree,  
Which signified he should honged be?  
Lo Andromacha, that was Hector's wife,  
That day that Hector should less his life,  
She dreamt in the same night before,  
How the life of Hector should be lost,  
If that day he went unto battle:  
She warned him, but it might not avail,  
He went for to fight nevertheless,  
But he was slain anon of Achilles.  
But that tale is all too long to tell,  
And eke it is nigh day, I may not dwell.  
Shortly I say, as for conclusion,  
That I shall have of this avision  
Adversity: and I say furthermore,  
That I ne tell of laratives no store,  
For they been venomous, I wot it well:  
I hem defy, I love him never adele.  
But let us speak of mirth, & stint all this,  
Madam Perrelot, so have I bliss,  
Of one thing God hath me sent large grace:  
For when I see the beauty of your face,  
Ye been so scarlet red about your eyes,  
It maketh all my dread for to dien.  
* For all so siker, as In principio  
Mulier est hominis confusio.  
Madame the sentence of this latin is,  
Woman is man's joy and his bliss:  
For when I feel 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 defy both sweven and dream:  
And with that word he flew down from the beme,  
For it was day, and eke the hens all:  
And with a chucke he 'gan him for to call,  
For he had found a corn lay in the yard:  
Royal he was, and no more afeard:  
He feddred Pertelot twenty time,  
And trod her eke as oft, ere it was prime.  
He looketh as it were a grim lion,  
And on his toes he rome up and down.  
Him deigned not set his feet to the ground:  
He chucked, when he had a corn yfound,  
And to him than ran his wives all.  
As royal as a prince in his hall,  
Leave I this chaunteclere in his posture:  
And after wool I tell of his adventure.  
When the month in which the world began,  
that height March, in which God first made man  
Was complete, and passed were also  
Sith March began, thirty days and two,  
Befell that Chaunteclere in all his pride,  
His seven wives walking him beside,  
Cast up his eyes to the bright sun,  
That in the sign of Taurus was irunne  
Twenty degrees and one, & somewhat more:  
He knew by kind, and by none other lore,  
that it was prime, & crew with a blissful steven:  
The sun he said is climbed up to heaven  
Forty degrees & one, & somewhat more iwis,  
Madam Pertelot, my world's bliss,  
Harken how these blissful birds sing,  
And see the fresh flowers how they 'gan spring.  
Full is mine heart of reveli, and sollas.  
But suddenly him fell a sorrowful case:  
* For ever the latter end of joy is woe,  
God wot, worldly joy is soon ago:  
And if a rethore could fair indite,  
He in a chronicle might safely write  
As for a sovereign notabilite.  
Now every wise man harken to me,  
This story is all so true I undertake,  
As is the book of Lancelot du lake,  
That women holden in full great reverence:  
Now wool I turn again to my sentence.  
A col fox (full of sleight and iniquity)  
That in the grove had wonned years three,  
By high imagination aforne cast,  
The same night through the hedge braced  
Into the yard, there Chaunteclere the fair  
Was wont and eke his wives to repair:  
And in a bed of wortes still he lay,  
Till it was passed undrens 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 Gavilion,  
O false dissimuler, O Greek Sinon  
That broughtest Troy utterly to sorrow,  
O Chaunteclere, accursed be the morrow,  
That thou in thy yard flew from the beams:  
Thou were full well warned by thy dreams,  
That ilke day was perilous to thee.  
But what that God afore wot, must needs be,  
After the opinion of certain clerks,  
Witness of him that any clerk is,  
That in school 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 brens,  
As can the holy doctor saint Austin,  
Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardin,  
Whether that Gods worthy foreweting  
Straineth me needly to do a thing:  
(Needly clepe I simple necessity)  
Or if the free choice be granted me  
To do the same thing, or do it nought,  
Though God forewot it, or it was wrought:  
Or of his witting straingeth never a deal,  
But by necessity condicionele,  
I wool not have to done of such matter,  
My tale is of a cock, as ye shall here,  
That took his counsel of his wife with sorrow  
To walk in the yard upon the morrow,  
That he had met the dream, as I you told.  
* women's counsels been often full cold:  
women's counsel brought us first to woe,  
And made Adam from paradise to go,  
There as he was full merry, & well at ease.  
But for I not, whom I might displease  
If I counsel of women would blame,  
Pass over, I said it in my game.  
Redeth authors, where they treat of such matter,  
And what they say of women, ye mow here.  
These been the Cock's words, and not mine,  
I can of women no harm divine.  
Fair in the fond, to bathe her merely,  
Lieth Pertelot, and all her susters by  
Against the sun, and Chaunteclere so free,  
Sung merrier than the Mermaid in the see.  
For Phisiologus sayeth utterly,  
How that they singen well and merely.  
And so befell as he cast his eye  
Among the wortes on a butterfly,  
He as ware of the fox that lay full low,  
Nothing then list him for to crow,  
But cried cock, cock, and up he start,  
As one that was afraid in his heart.  
For naturally beasts desireth to flee  
Fro her contrary, if he may it see,  
Tho he never erst had seen it with his eye.  
This chaunteclere, when he 'gan him espy,  
He would have fled, but the fox anon  
Said: gentle sir alas, what wool ye done?  
Be ye afraid of me that am your friend?  
Now certes, I were worse than a fiend,  
If I to you would harm or villainy:  
I am not come your counsel to espy.  
But truly the cause of my coming  
Was only to herens how ye sing:  
For sooth ye have as merry a steven,  
As any Angel hath, that is in heaven,  
Therewith ye have of music more feeling,  
Than had Boece, or any that can sing.  
My lord your father, God his soul bless,  
And eke your mother of her gentleness  
Have in my house been, to my great ease:  
And certes sir, full fain would I you please.  
But for men speaken of singing, I wool say,  
So moat I broken well mine eyes fifty,  
Save you, ne herd I never 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 pain him, that with both his eyes  
He must wink, so loud he must crien,  
And stonden on his tiptoes therewithal,  
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 wisdom might pass.  
I have well red dan Burnel the ass  
Among his verses, how there was a Cock,  
For that a priests son gave him a knock  
Upon his legs, while he was young and nice;  
He made him for to less his benefice.  
But certain there is no comparison  
Betwixt the wisdom and discretion  
Of your father, and of his subtlety.  
Now singeth sir, for saint charity,  
Let see, can ye your father counterfeit?  
This Chaunteclere his wings 'gan to beat,  
As a man that could not his treason espy,  
So was he ravished with his flattery.  
* 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 soothfastness unto you saith.  
Readeth Ecclesiast of flattery,  
Beware ye lords of her treachery.  
This Chaunteclere stood high upon his toes  
Stretching his neck, & held his eye close,  
And 'gan to crowen loud for the nonce:  
And dan Russell the fox start up at ones,  
And by the gorget hent Chaunteclere,  
And on his back toward the wood him bear.  
For yet was there no man that him sued.  
O destiny, that mayst not be eschewed:  
Alas that Chaunteclere flew fro the beams,  
Alas that his wife wrought not of dreams:  
And on a friday fell all this mischance.  
O Venus that art goddess of pleasance,  
Sithence that thy servant was this chaunteclere,  
And in thy service did all his power,  
More for delight, than the world to multiply,  
Why wouldst thou suffer him on thy day to die?  
O Gaulfride, dear master sovereign,  
That when the worthy king Richard was slain  
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 slain was he.  
Than would I show you how that I could plain,  
For Chauntecleres' dread, and for his pain.  
Certes such cry, ne lamentation  
Nas never of Ladies made, when that Ilium  
Was won, & Pirrus with his bright sword  
When he hent king Priam by the beard,  
And slough him (as sayeth Eneidos')  
As made all the hens in the close,  
When they had lost of Chaunteclere the sight:  
But soverainly dame Pertelot shright  
Well louder than did Hasdruballes wife,  
When that her husband had lost his life,  
And that the Romans had brent Cartage.  
She was so full of torment and of rage,  
That wilfully into the fire she start,  
And brent herself, with a steadfast heart.  
O woeful hens, right so cried ye,  
As when that Nero brent the cite  
Of Rome, cried the senators wives,  
For that her husbonds should less her lives,  
Withouten gilt Nero hath him slain.  
Now wool I turn to my tale again.  
The silly widow, and her daughters two,  
Herd the hens crien and make such woe,  
And out at the door start they anon,  
And saw the fox toward the wood gone,  
And bare upon his back the Cock away:  
They cried out harow and well away:  
A ha' the Fox, and after him they ran,  
And eke with staffs, many another man:  
Run Coll our dog, Talbot, & eke Garland,  
And Malkin, with her distaff in her hon:  
Run Cow & Calf, and eke the very Hogs,  
For they so sore afeard were of the dogs,  
And shouting of men and of women eke,  
They ran that they thought her hearts should break.  
They yellen as loud fiends do in hell:  
The Ducks cried as men would him quell:  
The Geese for fear flew over the trees,  
Out of the Hives came the swarm of Bees,  
So hideous was the noise, a benedicite:  
Certes jack Straw, ne all his mien,  
Ne made never shouts half so shrill,  
When that they would any Fleming kill,  
As that day was made upon the Fox.  
Of brass they blew the trumps and of box,  
Of horn & bone, in which they blew & pouped  
And therewith they shrieked and shouted:  
It seemed, as though heaven should fall,  
Now good men I pray you harken all.  
Lo how fortune tourneth suddenly  
The hope and the pride of her enemy.  
This Cock that lay upon the Fox's back,  
In all his dread, unto the Fox he spoke,  
And said: good sir, if I were as ye,  
Yet should I say, as wise God help me,  
Tourneth again, ye proud churls all:  
A very pestilence upon you fall.  
Now am I come unto this woods side,  
Maugre your head, the Cock shall here abide,  
I wool him eat in faith, and that anon.  
The Fox answered, in faith it shall be done:  
And as he spoke the word, all suddenly  
This Cock broke from his mouth deliverly,  
And high upon a tree he flew anon:  
And when the Fox saw that he was gone,  
Alas (qd. he) O Chaunteclere, alas,  
I have (qd. he) done to you trespass,  
In as much as I made you afeard.  
When I you hent, and brought out of your yard.  
But sir, I did it in no wicked intent:  
Come down, & I shall tell you with I meant,  
I shall you say sooth God help me so.  
Nay then (qd. he) I shrew us both two,  
And first I shrew myself, both blood & bones,  
If thou beguile me o●ter than ones:  
Thou shalt no more with thy flattery  
Do me to sing with a winking eye.  
* For he that winketh, when he should see,  
All wilfully, God let him never thee.  
* Nay (qd. the Fox) but God give him mischance,  
That is so discrete of governance,  
That jangleth, when that he should have pees.  
Lo, such it is for to be reckless  
And negligent, and trust on flattery.  
But ye that hold this tale for a lie  
As of a Fox, of a cock, 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 fruit, and let the chaff be still.  
Now good God, if that it be thy will,  
As sayeth my Lord, so make us all good men:  
And bring us to the high bliss. Amen.     


¶ The Manciples Prologue.  
SIr Nonnes Priest, our host said anon,  
I blessed be thy breach and every stone:  
This was a merry tale of Chaunteclere:  
But by my troth, if thou were seculere,  
Thou wouldst be a tredfoule aright:  
For if thou have courage as thou hast might  
Thee were need of hens, as I ween,  
Ye more than seven times seventeen.  
See which brawns hath this gentle priest,  
So great a neck, and such a large breast:  
He looketh like a Sparhauke with his eyes,  
Him needeth not his colours for to dien  
With Brasill, ne with gram of Portugal.  
But sir, yet fair fall you for your tale.  
And after that, he with full merry cheer  
Said to another man, as ye shall here.  
Wot ye not where stondeth a little town,  
Which that is called Bob up and down  
Under the blee, in Canterbury way?  
There 'gan our host to yape and to play,  
And said: sirs, what? Dunne is in the mire:  
Is there no man for prayer ne for hire,  
That wool awake our fellow behind?  
A thief he might full lightly rob and bind:  
See how he nappeth, see for cock's bones  
How he wool fall from his horse atones.  
Is that a Cook of London, with mischance?  
Do him comfort, he knoweth his penance:  
For he shall tell a tale by my faith.  
* Although it be not worth a bottle of Hey.  
Awake thou cook (qd. he) God give thee sorrow  
What eileth thee to sleep by the morrow?  
Hast thou had fleen all night, or art thou drunk?  
Or hast thou all night with some quean iswonk,  
So that thou mayest not hold up thy head?  
This Cook that was full pale, & nothing red,  
Said: sir host, so God my soul yblesse,  
There is fallen on me great heaviness,  
But I not why, me were lever to sleep,  
Than the best gallon of wine in Cheap.  
Well (qd. the Mancipie) if it may do ease  
To thee sir Cook, and to no wight displease,  
Which that here ride in this company,  
And that our host will of his courtesy,  
I wool as now excuse thee of thy tale,  
For in good faith thy visage is full pale:  
Thine eyes dase, sooth as me thinketh,  
And well I wot, thy breath full sour stinketh,  
That showeth well thou art not well disposed:  
Of me certain that▪ shalt not be glossed,  
See how he galpeth, lo this drunken wight,  
As though he would us swallow anon right.  
Hold close thy mouth, by thy father kin:  
The devil of hell set his foot therein,  
Thy cursed breath will infect us all:  
Fie stinking swine, fie foul mote thee befall.  
Taketh heed sirs of this lusty man,  
Now sweet sir, wool ye just at the van,  
Thereto me thinketh ye be well shape:  
I trow that ye have drunken wine ape,  
And that is when as men play at straw.  
And with his speech the cook waxed all wraw,  
And on the Manciple he 'gan to nod fast  
For lack of speech: & down his horse him cast  
Where as he lay, till that men him up took:  
This was a fair chevisance of a cook:  
Alas that he ne had hold him by his ladle.  
And ere that he again were in the sadill,  
There was a great shoving to and fro  
To lift him up, and much care and woe,  
So unwieldy was this silly palled ghost:  
And to the Manciple than spoke our host.  
Because that drink hath domination  
Upon this man, by my salvation  
I trow lewdly wool he tell his tale:  
For were it wine, or old moisty ale  
That he hath drunk, he speaketh so in the nose,  
And sniveleth fast, and eke hath the pose.  
He also hath to done more than enough  
To keep him on his caple out of the slough:  
And if he fall from his caple eftsone,  
Then shall we all have enough to done  
In lifting up again his drunken corce.  
Tell on thy tale, of him make I no force.  
But yet Manciple, in faith thou art too nice,  
Thus openly to reprove him of his vice:  
Another day he wool peraventure  
Recleime thee, and bring thee to the lure:  
I mean that he speak will of small things,  
And for to pinch at thy rekening  
That were not honest, if it came to proof.  
No (qd. the Manciple) that were a great mischief:  
So might he bring me into the snare.  
Yet had I lever pay for the Mare  
Which he rideth on, than he should with me strive:  
I wool not wrath him so moat I thrive:  
That I spoke, I said it but in board,  
And wot ye what, I have here in my gourd  
A draught of wine, ye of a ripe grape.  
And right anon ye shall see a good yape.  
This Cook shall drink thereof, if I may,  
Up pain of my life he wool not say nay.  
And certainly, to tell as it was,  
Of this vessel the Cook drank fast, alas,  
What needeth it, he drank enough before.  
And when he had pouped in his horn,  
To the Manciple he took the gourd again,  
And of the drink the Cook was full fain:  
And thonked him in such wise as he could.  
Then 'gan our host to laugh wonder loud,  
* And said: I see well it is necessary  
Where that we gone, good drink with us to carry  
For that will turn rancour and disease  
To accord and love, and many a word pease.  
O Bacchus, yblessed be thy holy name,  
That so canst turn earnest into game:  
Worship and thank 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) harkeneth 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 jealous, 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 Phoebus dwelled here in earth adoun,  
As old books to us make mention:  
He was the most lusty bachelor  
Of all the world, & eke the best archer:  
He slough Pheton the serpent, as he lay  
Sleeping against the Sun upon a day.  
And many another noble worthy deed  
He with his bow wrought, as men mow read.  
Play he could on every minstralcie,  
And sing, that it was a melody  
To herens of his clear voice the sound.  
Certes the king of Thebes, Amphioun,  
That with his song, walled the cite,  
Could never sing half so well as he:  
And thereto he was the seemelist man  
That is or was, sith the world began.  
What needeth it his feature to discriue?  
For in this world nas none so fair alive.  
He was therewith fulfilled of gentleness,  
Of honour, and of perfect worthiness.  
This Phoebus, that was flower of bachelerie,  
As well in freedom, as in chivalry,  
For his disport, in sign eke of victory  
Of Pheton, so as telleth us the story,  
Was wont to bear in his hon a bow:  
Now had this Phoebus in his house a crow  
Within a cage yfostred many a day,  
And taught in speech, as men teach a jay.  
White was this crow, as is a white Swan,  
And counterfeit the speech of every man  
He could, when as he should tell a tale.  
There was in all this world no Nightingale  
Ne could by an hundred thousand deal  
Sing so wonderly merry and well.  
Now had this Phoebus in his house a wife,  
Which that he loved more than his life,  
And night and day did ever his diligence  
Her for to please, and do her reverence:  
Save only, if I the sooth shall said,  
jealous he was, and would have kept her fain.  
For him were loath yaped for to be,  
And so is every wight in such degree:  
But all for nought, for it availeth nought:  
* A good wife, that is clean of work & thought,  
Should not be kept in none await certain:  
And truly the labour is in vain  
To keep a shrew, for it wool not be:  
This hold I for a very nicete  
To spill labour, for to keep our wives:  
Thus writeth old clerks in her lives.  
But now to purpose, as I first began:  
This worthy Phoebus doth all that he can  
To please her, weening through such pleasance  
And for his manhood & for his governance  
That no man should put him from her grace:  
But God it wot, there may no man embrace,  
* As to distrain a thing, which that nature  
Hath naturally set in a creature.  
Take any bird, and put him in a cage,  
And do all thine intent, and thy courage,  
To foster it tenderly with meat and drink  
Of all dainties that thou canst bethink,  
And keep it also cleanly as thou may,  
Although the cage of gold be never so gay,  
Yet had this bird by twenty thousand fold,  
Lever in a forest, that is wide and cold,  
Go eaten worms, and such wretchedness.  
For ever this bird will do his business  
To escape out of his cage when he may:  
His liberty the bird desireth aye.  
Let take a Cat, and foster her with milk  
And tender flesh, and make her couch of silk,  
And let her see a Mouse go by the wall,  
Anon she weiveth flesh, and couch, and all,  
And every dainty that is in that house,  
Such appetite hath she to eat the Mous.  
* Lo here hath lust his domination,  
And appetite flemeth discretion.  
A she Wolf hath also so villainous kind,  
The lewdest Wolf that ever she may find,  
Or least of reputation, that she wool take  
In time when her lust to have a make.  
All these ensamples speak I by those men  
That been untrue, and nothing by women.  
* For men have ever a liquorous appetite  
On lower thing to perform her delight,  
Than on her wives, be they never so fair,  
Ne never so true, ne so debonair.  
Flesh is so newfangle, with mischance,  
That we ne con in nothing have pleasance,  
That soundeth unto virtue any while.  
Now this Phoebus which thought no guile,  
Disceived was for all his iolite:  
For under him another had she,  
A man of little reputation,  
Nought worth to Phoebus in comparison:  
The more harm is, it happeth oft so:  
Of which there cometh much harm & wo.  
And so befell, when Phoebus was absent,  
His wife anon hath for her leman sent  
Her leman, certes that is a knavish speech,  
Foryeve it me, and that I you beseech.  
The wise Plato sayeth, as ye mow read,  
* The word must needs accord with the deed.  
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 truly  
Betwixt a wife that is of high degree,  
(If of her body dishonest she be)  
And a poor wench, any other than this,  
If it so be they work both amis.  
But for the gentle is in estate above,  
She shall be called his lady and his love,  
And for that tother is a poor woman,  
She shall be called his wench or his leman:  
* And God it wot, mine own dear brother,  
Men lay as low that one as that other.  
Right so betwixt a titlelesse tyrant,  
And an outlaw, or a thief errant,  
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 mien to slay down right,  
And burn house and home, & make all plain,  
Lo therefore is he called a captain.  
And for the outlaw hath but small mien,  
And may not do so great an harm, as he,  
Ne bring a Country to so great mischief,  
Men call him an outlaw or a thief.  
But for I am a man not textuele,  
I wool not tell of texts never a deal.  
I wool go to my tale, as I began.  
When Phoebus' wife had sent for her leman,  
Anon they wrought all their lust volage.  
This white crow, that hang aye in the cage,  
Beheld their work, and said never a word:  
And when home was come Phoebus the lord,  
This crow song, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo.  
What bird (qd. Phoebus') with singest thou?  
Were thou not wont so merrily to sing,  
That to my hart it was rejoicing  
To hear thy voice? alas, what song is this?  
By God (qd. he) I sing not amiss:  
Phoebus (qd. he) for all thy worthiness,  
For all thy beauty, and thy gentleness,  
For all thy song, and thy minstralcie,  
* For all thy waiting, blered is thine eye.  
With one of little reputation,  
Not worth to thee in comparison  
The maintenance of a gnat, so moat I thrive:  
For on the bed, thy wife I saw him swive,  
What wol you more? the crow anon him told,  
By full sad tokens, and by words bold,  
How that his wife had done her lechery  
Him to great shame, and to great villainy,  
And told him eft, he saw it with his iyens.  
This Phoebus 'gan awayward for to wryens.  
Him thought his woeful hart braced a two.  
His bow he bent, and set therein a flow,  
And in his ire he hath his wife slain:  
This is the effect, there is no more to said.  
For sorrow whereof he broke his minstrelsy:  
Both Harp and Lute, Getern, and Sautrie,  
And eke he broke his arrows, & his bow,  
And after that, thus spoke he to the crow.  
Traitor (qd. he) with tongue of Scorpion  
Thou hast me brought to my confusion:  
Alas that I was wrought, why ne'er I dead.  
O dear wife, O gem, O lusty head,  
That were to me so sad, and eke so true,  
Now liest thou dead with face pale of hue.  
Full guiltless, that durst I swear iwis:  
O rakell hon, to do so foul amiss.  
* O troubled wit, O ire reckless,  
That unavised smitest guiltless.  
O wantrust, full of false suspection,  
Where was thy wit and thy discretion?  
* Oh every man beware of rekilnesse,  
Ne trow nothing, without strong witness.  
Smite not to soon, ere that thou weet why,  
And be avised well and sickerly  
Or ye do any execution  
Upon your ire, for suspection.  
* Alas, a thousand folk hath rekell ire  
Fully fordoens, and brought him in the mire.  
Alas for sorrow I wool myself slay.  
And to the crow, O false thief said he,  
I wool thee quite anon thy false tale.  
Thou song whilom, as any Nightingale,  
Now shalt thou false thief, thy song forgone,  
And eke thy white feathers everychone.  
Ne never in all thy life shalt thou speak,  
Thus shall men on a traitor be a wreak.  
Thou and thine offspring ever shall be black,  
Ne never after sweet noise shall ye make,  
But ever cry against tempest and rain,  
In token, that through thee my wife is slain.  
And to the crow he start, and that anon,  
And pulled of his white feathers everyone,  
And made him black, & reft him of all his song  
And eke his speech, & out at door him slong  
Unto the devil, which I him betake:  
And for this cause been all crows black.  
Lordings, by this ensample I wol you pray  
* Beware, and take keep what I say:  
Ne telleth never no man in your life,  
How that another man hath dight his wife,  
He wool you hate mortally certain.  
Dan Solomon, as wise Clerks said,  
Teacheth a man to keep his tongue well:  
But as I said, I am not textuell.  
But nevertheless, thus taught me my dame,  
My son think on the crow a God's name:  
My son keep well thy tongue, & keep thy friend  
A wicked tongue is worse than a fend:  
My son, from a fiend men may him bless.  
My son, God of his endless goodness,  
Walled a tongue with teeth, and lips eke,  
For man should him avise what he speak.  
* My son, full oft for too mikell speech,  
Hath many a man be spilt, as Clerks teach:  
But for little speech spoken avisedly  
Is no man shent, to speak generally.  
My son, thy tongue shouldest thou restrain,  
At all times, but when thou dost thy pain  
To speak of God in honour and prayer.  
The first virtue son, if thou wolt lere,  
Is to restrain, and keep well thy tongue:  
Thus learn Children, when they be young.  
* My son, of mikell speaking unavised,  
(There less speaking had enough sufficed)  
Cometh mikell harm, thus was me taught,  
In much speech there sin wanteth naught.  
Woste thou wherefore a rakell tongue serveth:  
Right as a sword forcutteth and forkerueth  
An arm on two, my dear son right so  
A tongue cutteth friendship all atwo.  
A jangler is to God abominable,  
Reed Solomon, so wise and honourable,  
Reed David in his Psalms, read Seneck,  
My son speak not, ne with thy head beck:  
* Dissimule as thou were deaf, if that thou here  
The janglour speaketh of perilous matter.  
The Fleming sayeth, learn if that thou lest,  
lest That little jangling causeth much rest.  
* My son, If thou no wicked word hast said,  
Thee dare not dread for to be bewrayed:  
But he that hath missaied, I dare well sane,  
He may by no way clepe his word again.  
Thing that is said, is said, & forth it goth,  
Though him repent, or be never so loath,  
He is thrall to him to whom he hath said  
A tale, for which he is now evil apaied.  
* My son beware, and be none author new  
Of tidings, whether they be falls or true.  
Where so thou come, among high or low,  
Keep well thy tongue, and think on the crow.     


¶ The Ploughman's Prologue.  

THe Ploughman plucked up his plough,  
When Midsummer Moon was comen in,  
And said his beasts should eat enough,  
And liege in the grass up to the chin:  
They been feeble both Ox and Cow,  
Of hem nis left but bone and skin:  
He shaken off shear, and coulter off drowe,  
And honged his harness on a pin.   

He took his tabard and his staff eke,  
And on his head he set his hat:  
And said he would saint Thomas seek,  
On pilgrimage he goth forth plat:  
In scrip he bore both bread and leeks,  
He was forswonke, and all forswat,  
Men might have seen through both his cheeks,  
And every wang tooth, and where it sat.   

Our host beheld well all about:  
And saw this man was Son ybrent,  
He knew well by his senged snout,  
And by his clothes that were to rend,  
He was a man wont to walk about,  
He was not always in cloister ypent:  
He could not religiousliche lout,  
And therefore was he fully shent.   

Our host him asked, what man art thou?  
Sir (quoth he) I am an hine,  
For I am wont to go to plow,  
And earn my meat ere that I dine:  
To sweat and swink I make avow,  
My wife and children therewith to find,  
And serve God and I wist how,  
But we lewd men been full blind.   

For clerks say we shullen be fain  
For her livelod sweat and swink,  
And they right nought us give again,  
Neither to eat, ne yet to drink:  
They mow by law as they sane,  
Us curse and damn to hell brink,  
Thus they putten us to pain  
With candles quaint, and bells clink.   

They make us thralls at her lust,  
And sane we mow not else be saved:  
They have the corn, and we the dust,  
Who speaks thereagaine, they say he raved.  
What man (qd. our host) canst thou preach?  
Come near 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 reproach  
While that I am my tale telling.   


¶ The Ploughman's 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 Stows Library, in a Book of such Antiquity, as seemeth to have been written near to Chaucer's time.  

ASterne strife is stirred new,  
In many steeds in a stound,  
Of sundry seeds that been sew,  
It seemeth that some been unsound:  
For some be great grown on ground,  
Some been soukle, simple, and small,  
Whether of hem is falser found,  
The falser foul mote him befall.   

That one side is, that I of tell  
Popes, Cardinals, and Prelates,  
Parsons, Monks, and Freres fell,  
Priours, Abbots, of great estates:  
Of heaven and hell they keep the yates,  
And Peter's successors they been all,  
This is deemed by old dates,  
But falsehood foul mote it befall.   

The other side been poor and pale,  
And people put out of press,  
And seem caitiffs' sore a cale,  
And ever in one without increase,  
Icleped lollers and londlese:  
Who toteth on him they been untall  
They ben arrayed all for the peace,  
But falsehood foul mote it befall.   

Many a country have I sought,  
To know the falser of these two:  
But ever my travail was for nought,  
All so far as I have go.  
But as I wandered in a wro,  
In a wood beside a wall,  
Two fowls saw I sitten though  
The falser foul mote him befall.   

That one did plete on the Pope's side  
A Griffon of a grim stature,  
A Pelican withouten pride  
To these lollers laid his lure:  
He mused his matter in measure,  
To counsel Christ ever 'gan he call:  
The Griffon showed a sharp fuyre.  
But falsehood foul mote it befall.   

The Pelican began to preach  
Both of mercy and of meekness:  
And said that Christ so 'gan us teach,  
And meek and merciable 'gan bless:  
The evangely beareth witness,  
A lamb he likeneth Christ over all,  
In tokening that he meekest was,  
Sith pride was out of heaven fall.   

And so should every Christened be:  
Priests, Peter's successors  
Beth lowliche and of low degree,  
And use none earthly honours:  
Neither crown, ne curious covetours,  
Ne pillar, ne other proud pall,  
Ne nought to cofrens up great treasours,  
For falsehood foul mote it befall.   

Priest's should for no cattle plead,  
But chasten him in charity:  
Ne to no battle should men lead,  
For enhancing of her own degree.  
Nat wilne firting in high see,  
Ne sovereignty in house ne hall,  
All worldly worship defy and flee:  
For who willeth highness, foul shall fall.   

Alas who may such saints call,  
That wilneth wield earthly honour:  
As low as Lucifere such shall fall  
In baleful blackness to builden her bower,  
That eggeth the people to error,  
And maketh them to him thrall:  
To Christ I hold such one traitor,  
As low as Lucifer such one shall fall.   

That willeth to be kings peers,  
And higher than the Emperor:  
And some that were but poor Freres,  
Now woollen wax a warrior.  
God is not her governor,  
That holdeth no man his permagall,  
While covetise is her counsellor,  
All such falsehood moat need fall.   

That high on horse willeth ride  
In glitterande gold of great array,  
Ipainted and portrayed all in pride,  
No common knight may go so gay:  
Change of clothing every day,  
With golden girdles great and small  
As boistous as is Bear at bay,  
All such falsehood moat need fall.   

With pride punisheth they the poor,  
And some they sustain with sale,  
Of holy church make they an hore,  
And filleth her womb with wine and ale:  
With money fill they many a male,  
And chaffren churches when they fall,  
And telleth the people a lewd tale,  
Such false faitours foul hem befall.   

With change of many manner meats;  
With song and solas sitting long,  
And filleth her womb, and fast fretes,  
And from the meat to the gong:  
And after meat with harp and song.  
And each man moat him Lords call,  
And hot spices ever among,  
Such false faitours foul hem fall.   

And mitres more than one or two,  
Ipearled as the queen's head:  
A staff of gold, and perrie lo,  
As heavy as it were made of lead,  
With cloth of gold both new and red,  
With glitterande gold as green as gall:  
By doom they damn men to dead,  
All such faitours foul hem fall.   

And Christ's people proudly curse  
With broad book, and braying bell:  
To put pennies in her purse,  
They wol fell both heaven and hell.  
And in her sentence and thou wilt dwell,  
They willen guess in her gay hall,  
And thou the sooth of hem will tell,  
In great cursing shalt thou fall.   

That is blessed, that they bless,  
And cursed that they curse wool:  
And thus the people they oppress,  
And have their lordships at full.  
And many be merchants of will,  
And to purse pennies wool come thrall:  
The poor people they all to pull,  
Such false faitours foul hem fall.   

Lords also mote to him lout,  
obeissant to her broad blessing.  
The ridden with her royal rout  
On a courser, as it were a king,  
With saddle of gold glittering,  
With curious harness quaintly crawl it,  
Stirrups gay of gold mastling,  
All such falsehood foul befall it.   

Christ's ministers clepe they been,  
And rulen all in robbery:  
But Antichrist they serven clean,  
Attired all in tyranny:  
Witness of john's prophecy,  
That Antichrist is her admiral,  
Tiffelers attired in treachery,  
All such faitours foul hem fall.   

Who saith, that some of hem may sin,  
He shall be doom to be ded:  
Some of hem wool gladly win  
All against that which God forbed:  
All holiest they clepe her head,  
That of her rule is regal:  
Alas that ever they eaten bread,  
For all such falsehood wol foul fall.   

Her head loveth all honour,  
And to be worshipped in word and deed.  
King's mote to him kneel and coure,  
To the Apostles that Christ forbid.  
To pope's hests such taketh more heed,  
Than to keep Christ's commandment:  
Of gold and silver moat been her weed,  
They holdeth him hole omnipotent.   

He ordaineth by his ordinance  
To parish priests a power:  
To another a greater advance,  
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 peer,  
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 think:  
Such pride tofore God doth stink:  
An angel had john to him not kneel,  
But only to God do his bowing,  
Such willers of worship must need evil feel:   

They ne clepe Christ, but sanctus deus,  
And clepe her head Sanctissimus:  
They that such a sect sewis,  
I trow they taken him amiss:  
In earth here they have her bliss,  
Her high master is belial.  
Christ's people from hem wisse,  
For all such false will foul fall.   

They mow both bind and lose,  
And all is for her holy life:  
To save or damn they mow chose,  
Between him now is great strife.  
Many a man is killed with knife,  
To wete which of hem have lordship shall,  
For such Christ suffered wounds five,  
For all such falsehood will foul fall.   

Christ said: Qui gladio percutit,  
With sword surely he shall die:  
* He had his priest's peace and grith,  
And bade him not dread for to die.  
And bade them he both simple and sly,  
And cark not for no cattle,  
And trusteth on God that sitteth on high,  
For all false shall full foul fall.   

These woollen make men to swear  
Against Christ's commandment:  
And Christ's members all to tere  
On rood, as he were new rent.  
Such laws they maken by common assent:  
Each one it throweth as a ball,  
Thus the poor be fully shent,  
But ever falsehood foul it befall.   

They usen no simony,  
But sellen churches and priories:  
Ne they usen no envy,  
But cursen all hem contraries,  
And hireth men by days and years,  
With strength to hold him in her stall:  
And culleth all her adversaries.  
Therefore falsehood foul thou fall.   

With purse they purchase personage,  
With purse they paynen him to plead,  
And men of war they wool wage  
To bring her enemies to the deed:  
And lords lives they wool lead,  
And much take, and give but small:  
But he it so get, from it shall shed,  
And make such false right foul fall.   

They halow nothing but for hire  
Church, ne font, ne vestment,  
And make orders in every shire,  
But priests pay for the parchment.  
Of riotours they taken rend,  
Therewith they smear the sheeps skall:  
For many Churches been oft suspent  
And all such falsehood foul it fall.   

Some liveth not in lechery,  
But haunt wenches, widows, and wives,  
And punisheth the poor for putree.  
Themself it useth all their lives:  
And but a man to them him shrives,  
To heaven come he never shall,  
He shall be cursed as be caitiffs',  
To hell they sane that he shall fall.   

There was more mercy in Maximien,  
And in Nero, that never was good,  
Than is now in some of them,  
When he hath on his furred hood.  
They follow Christ that shed his blood  
To heaven, as buckette into the wall:  
Such wretches been worse than wood,  
And all such faitours foul hem fall.   

They give her alms to the rich,  
To mainteynours, and men of law:  
For to lords they well be liche,  
An harlot's son not worth an hawe  
soothfastness all such han slawe:  
They comb her crokettes with crystal,  
And dread of God they have down draw,  
All such faitours foul hem fall.   

They maken parsons for the penny,  
And Canons, and her Cardinals,  
Vnnethes among him all is any,  
That he ne hath glossed the gospel falls.  
For Christ made never no Cathedrals,  
Ne with him was no Cardinal,  
With a red hat as use minstrals.  
But falsehood foul mote it befall.   

Their tithing, and her offering both.  
They clemeth it by possession,  
Thereof nill they none forgo,  
But robben men as ransom.  
The tithing of Turpe lucrum  
With these Masters is urniall.  
Tithing of brybry, and larson  
Will make falsehood full foul to fall.   

They taken to farm her sompnours  
To harm the people what they may:  
To pardoners, and false faitours  
Sell her seals I dare well say:  
And all to holden great array,  
To multiply him more metal.  
They dread full little domes day,  
When all such falsehood shall foul fall.   

Such harlots shul men disclaunder,  
For they shullen maken him 'gree:  
And been as proud as Alexander,  
And sane to the poor, woe be ye.  
By year each Priest shall pay his fee  
To increase his lemen call:  
Such heerdes' shul well jewel thee,  
And all such false shul foul fall.   

And if a man be falsely famed,  
And wol make purgatioun,  
Than wool the officers be agramed,  
And assign him fro town to town:  
So need he must pay ransom,  
Though he be clean, as is Crystal,  
And then have an absolution.  
But all such false shall foul fall.   

Though he be guilty of the deed,  
And that he may money pay,  
All the while his purse wol bleed,  
He may use it fro day to day:  
The Bishop's officers gone full gay,  
And this game they usen over all,  
The poor to pill is all their prey.  
All such false shall foul fall.   

Alas, God ordained never such law  
Ne no such craft of covetise:  
He forbade it by his saw,  
Such governors mown of God agrize,  
For all his rules he is right wise,  
These new points been papal,  
And all God's law they despise.  
All such faitours shall foul fall.   

They sane that Peter had the key  
Of heaven and hell, to have and hold,  
I trow Peter took no money  
For no sins that he sold:  
Such successors been to bold,  
In winning all their wit they wral,  
Her conscience is waxen cold:  
And all such faitours foul hem fall.   

Peter was never so great a foal  
To leave his key with such a lorell:  
Or take such a cursed toll,  
He was advised nothing well.  
I trow they have the key of hell,  
Their Master is of that place marshal,  
For there they dressen him to dwell:  
And with false Lucifer there to fall.   

They been as proud as Lucifarre,  
As angry and as envious,  
From good faith they been full far,  
In covetise they been curious:  
To catch cattle as covetous  
As hound, that for hunger wool yall,  
ungodly and ungracious,  
And needly such falsehood shall foul fall.   

The Pope and he were Peter's heir,  
Me think he erreth in this case:  
When chose of Bishops is in despair  
To chosen hem in divers place:  
A lord shall write to him for grace,  
For his clerk anon pray he shall,  
So shall he speed his purchase.  
And all such false foul 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 lewd boster, and that God forbed.  
* As good a bishop is my horse ball:  
Such a Pope is foul bestead,  
And at last he wool foul fall.   

He maketh bishops for earthly thank,  
And nothing at all for Christ's sake:  
Such that been full fat and rank,  
To soul heal none heed they take.  
All is well done whatever they make,  
They shall answer at ones for all,  
For worlds thank such worch and wake.  
And all such false shall foul fall.   

Such that cannot say her Crede,  
With prayer shall be made prelate's,  
Nother can the Gospel's read,  
Such shall now wield high estates.  
The high gods friendship hem makes:  
They toteth on her sum total,  
Such bear the keys of hell yates.  
And such false shall foul fall.   

They forsake for Christ's love  
Travail, hunger, thirst, and cold,  
For they been ordered over all above  
Out of youth till they been old.  
By the door they go not into the fold,  
To help their sheep they nought travall  
Hired men all such I hold,  
And all such false foul hem fall.   

For Christ our king they wool forsake,  
And know him nought for his poverty:  
For Christ's love they wool wake,  
And drink piement and ale apart.  
Of God they seem nothing afeard,  
As lusty liveth as did Lamual,  
And driven her sheep into desert.  
All such faitours shul foul fall.   

Christ hath xii. Apostles here,  
Now, say they, there may be but one,  
That may not err in no manner,  
Who leaveth not this ben lost eachone.  
Peter erred, so did not John:  
Why is he cleped the principal?  
Christ cleped him Peter, but himself the stone:  
All false faitours foul hem fall.   

Why cursen they the croisery  
Christ's christian creatures?  
For between hem is now envy  
To be enhanced in honours,  
And Christian livers with her labours,  
For they levin on no man mortal,  
Been do to death with dishonours.  
And all such false foul hem fall.   

What knoweth a tillour at the plough  
The Pope's name, and what he hate?  
His creed sufficeth to him enough,  
And knoweth a cardinal by his hat,  
Thus is the poor unrightly let,  
That knoweth Christ his God royal,  
Such matters be not worth a gnat.  
But such false faitours foul hem fall.   

A king shall kneel and kiss his show:  
Christ suffered a sinful to kiss his feet.  
Me thinketh he holdeth him high enough,  
So Lucifer did, that high set.  
Such one me thinketh himself foryet,  
Either to the troth he was not call  
Christ that suffered wounds weet,  
Shall make such falsehood foul fall.   

They layeth out her large nets  
For to take silver and gold:  
Fillen coffers, and sacks fettes,  
There as they souls catch should.  
Her servants be to them unhold,  
But they can doublin their rental  
To big hem castles, and big hem hold.  
And all such false foul hem fall.   
¶ Here endeth the first part of this Tale, the second part followeth.   


TO accord with this word fall,  
No more English can I find:  
Show another now I shall,  
For I have much to say behind:  
How priests han the people pined,  
As curteis Christ hath me kende,  
And put this matter in my mind:  
To make these manner men amend.   

Shortly to shend him, and show now  
How wrongfully they werch and walk:  
O high God, nothing they tell, ne how,  
But in God's word tilleth many a balk:  
In hernes hold him and in halke,  
And prechen of tithes and offrend,  
And untruly of the Gospel talk.  
For his mercy God it amend.   

What is Antichrist to say?  
But even Christ's adversary:  
Such hath now been many a day  
To Christ's bidding full contrary,  
That from the truth clean vary,  
Out of the way they ben wend,  
And Christ's people untruly carry.  
God for his pity it amend.   

They liuen contrary to Christ's life  
In high pride against meekness.  
Against suffrance they usen strife,  
And anger against soberness,  
Against wisdom wilfulness:  
To Christ's tales little tend,  
Against measure outrageousness.  
But when God wol it may amend.   

Lordly life against lowliness,  
And demin all without mercy,  
And covetise against largesse,  
Against truth treachery:  
And against alms envy,  
Against Christ they comprehend,  
For chastity they maintain lechery,  
God for his grace this amend.   

Against penance they use delights,  
Against suffrance strong defence,  
Against God they usen evil rights,  
Against pity punishments:  
Open evil against continence,  
Her wicked winning they worse dispend,  
Soberness they set into dispense.  
But God for his goodness it amend.   

Why claimen they wholly his power,  
And wranglen against all his hests?  
His living follow they nothing here,  
But liuen worse than witless beests.  
Of fish and flesh they love feests,  
As lords they been broad ykend,  
Of God's poor they haten gests.  
God for his mercy this amend.   

With Dives such shall have her doom,  
That sane that they be Christ's friends,  
And do nothing as they should done:  
All such been falser than been fiends.  
On the people they lay such bends.  
As God is in earth they han offend,  
Secure fro such Christ now send us.  
And for his mercy this amend.   

A token of Antichrist they be,  
His careckes been now wide iknow,  
Received to preach shall no man be  
Without token of him I trow.  
Each christian priest to preachen owe,  
From God above they ben send,  
God's word to all folk for to show.  
Sinful man for to amend.   

Christ sent the poor for to preach,  
The royal rich he did not so:  
Now dare no poor the people teach,  
For Antichrist is over all her foe.  
Among the people he moat go,  
He hath bidden all such suspend,  
Some hath he hent, and thinketh yet more.  
But all this God may well amend.   

All they that han the world forsake,  
And liuen lowly, as God bade,  
Into her prison shullen be take,  
Betin and bounden, and forth lad.  
Hereof I read no man be dread,  
Christ said, his should be shend:  
Each man ought hereof be glad,  
For God full well it wool amend.   

They take on hem royal power,  
And say they have swerds two,  
One curse to hell, one slay men here:  
For at his taking Christ had no more.  
Yet Peter had one of tho,  
But Christ, to Peter smite 'gan defend,  
And into the sheath bade put it tho.  
And all such mischeves God amend.   

Christ bad Peter keep his sheep,  
And with his sword forbade him smite:  
* Sword is no tool with sheep to keep,  
But to shepherds that sheep wool bite:  
Me thinketh such shepherds been to wit,  
Again her sheep with sword that contend:  
They drive her sheep with great despite.  
But all this God may well amend.   

So successors to Peter be they naught,  
Whom Christ made chief pasture.  
A sword no shepherd use aught,  
But he would flay, as a butchoure.  
For who so were Peter's successor,  
Should bear his sheep till his back bend,  
And shadow him from every shower  
And all this God may well amend.   

Successors to Peter been these  
In that, that Peter Christ forsook,  
That had lever the love of God less,  
Than a shepherd had to less his hook:  
He culleth the sheep as doth the Cook  
Of hem seeken they wool to rend,  
And falsely gloze the Gospel's book.  
God for his mercy them amend.   

After Christ had take Peter the key,  
Christ said, he must die for man:  
That Peter to Christ 'gan withsay,  
Christ bade him go behind Satan:  
Such counsellors many of these men han,  
For world's well, God to offend  
Peter's successors they been for than.  
But all such God may well amend.   

For Satan is to say no more,  
But he that contrary to Christ is,  
In this they learn Peter's lore,  
They sewen him when he did miss.  
They follow Peter forsooth in this,  
In all that Christ would Peter reprehend,  
But not in that, that longeth to heaven bliss.  
God for his mercy hem amend.   

Some of the Apostles they sewen in case  
Of aught that I can understand,  
Him that betrayed Christ, judas,  
That bore the purse in every land:  
And all that he might set on hon,  
He hid and stale, and misspend,  
His rule these traitors han in hon,  
Almighty God him all amend.   

And at the last his lord 'gan trey  
Cursedly through his false covetise:  
So would these train him for money,  
And they wisten in what wise.  
They be seker of the self ensise,  
From all soothness they been friend,  
And covetise chaungen with queintise:  
Almighty God all such amend.   

Were Christ on earth here eftsoon,  
These would damn him to die:  
All his hests they han fordone,  
And sane his saws been heresy:  
And against his commandments they cry,  
And damn all his to be burnt,  
For it liketh not him such losengerie.  
God almighty hem amend.   

These han more might in England here,  
Than hath the King and all his law:  
They han purchased him such power,  
To taken hem whom list not gnaw:  
And say that heresy is her saw,  
And so to prison wol him send:  
It was not so by elder daw.  
God for his mercy it amend.   

The king's law wol no man dame  
Angerliche without answer:  
But if any man these misqueme,  
He shall be baighteth as a bear:  
And yet well worse they wol him tere,  
And in prison wool him penned,  
In gives, and in other gear.  
When God wool, it may amend.   

The king taxeth not his men  
But by assent of the comminalte:  
But these each year wool ransom him  
Maisterfully, more than doth he.  
Her seals by year better be,  
Than is the kings in extend,  
Her officers han greater fee.  
But this mischief God amend.   

For who so wool pruve a testament,  
That is not all worth ten pound,  
He shall pay for the parchment  
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 have an absolution,  
And all the year usen it forth he may:  
Thus they let him go astray,  
They reck not though the soul be burnt,  
These keepen evil Peter's key.  
And all such shepherd's God amend.   

Wonder is, that the parliament  
And all the lords of this land  
Here to taken so little intent,  
To help the people out of her hon:  
For they been harder in their bond,  
Worse beat, and bitter burnt,  
Than to the king is understand.  
God him help this to amend.   

What Bishops, what religions  
Lordships and possessions  
More than Lords, it seemeth me:  
That maketh him less charity:  
They mow not to God attend,  
In earth they have so high degree.  
God for his mercy it amend.   

The Emperor gave the Pope sometime  
So high lordship him about,  
That at last the silly kime  
The proud Pope put him out.  
So of this Realm is in doubt:  
But lords beware, and them defend,  
For now these folks be wonders stout.  
The King and Lords now this amend.   
Thus endeth the second part of this Tale, and hereafter followeth the third.   


Moyses' law forbade it tho,  
That priests should no lordships wield:  
Christ's gospel biddeth also,  
That they should no lordships held.  
Ne Christ's Apostles were never so bold,  
No such Lordships to him enbrace,  
But smerens her sheep and keep her fold.  
God amend him for his grace.   

For they ne been but conterfete,  
Men may know him by her fruit,  
Her greatness maketh hem God foryete,  
And take his meekness in despite:  
And they were poor and had but light,  
They nold not demen after the face,  
But nourish her sheep, and him not bite.  
God amend him for his grace.   

Griffon.  

What canst thou preach against Canons,  
That men clepe seculere?  
Peli. They ben curates of many towns,  
On earth they have great power:  
They have great prebends and dear,  
Some two or three, and some more,  
A personage to been a playing fere,  
And yet they serve the King also.   

And let to ferme all that fare,  
To whom that wool most give therefore,  
Some wool spend, and some wool spare,  
And some wool lay it up in store.  
A cure of soul they care not fore,  
So that they mow much money take,  
Whether her souls be won or lore.  
Her profits they wool not forsake.   

They have a gadering procurator,  
That can the poor people enplede,  
And robben hem as a ravinour,  
And to his Lord the money lead:  
And catch of quick and eke of deed,  
And richen him, and his Lord eke,  
And to rob can give good read,  
Of old and young, of hole and sick.   

Therewith they purchase him lay fee  
In land, there hem liketh best,  
And build also as broad as a cite  
Both in the East, and eke in the West:  
To purchase thus they been full pressed,  
But on the poor they wool nought spend,  
Ne no good give to God's gest,  
Ne send him some that all hath send.   

By her service such wool live,  
And truss that other into treasure:  
Though all her parish die unshrive,  
They wool nat give a rose flower.  
Her life should be as a mirror,  
Both to lered and to lewd also,  
And teach the people her lele labour,  
such mister men been all misgo.   

Some of them been hard nigges,  
And some of him been proud and gay,  
Some spend her goods upon gigges,  
And finden hem of great array:  
Alas, what think these men to say,  
That thus dispenden God's good,  
At the dreadful domes day  
Soche wretches shall be worse than wood.   

Some her churches never ne sie,  
Ne never o penny, thither ne send,  
Though the poor parishens for hunger die,  
O penny on hem wool they not spend:  
Have they receiving of the rent,  
They reck never of the remnant,  
Alas, the devil hath clean him blended.  
Soche one is sathanas soiournaunt.   

And usen whoredom and harlottrie,  
Covetise, pomp, and pride,  
Sloth, wrath. and eke envy,  
And sewen sin by every side.  
Alas, where think such tabide:  
How wool they accounts yield,  
From high God they mow him not hide.  
Soche willers wit is not worth a nelde.   

They ben so rooted in richesses',  
That Christ's poverty is foryet,  
Served with so many messes,  
Hem thinketh that Munna is no mea●▪  
All is good that they mown geat:  
They ween to live evermore,  
But when God at doom is seat,  
Such treasure is a feeble store.   

uneath mote they Matins say  
For counting and courtholding:  
And yet he jangleth as a jaie,  
And understont himself nothing.  
He wool serve both Earl and King  
For his finding and his fee,  
And hide his tithing & his offering,  
This is a feeble charity.   

Other they been proud, or covetous,  
Or they been hard, or hungry:  
Or they been liberal, or lecherous,  
Or else meddlers with marchandry:  
Or maintainers of men with mastery,  
Or stewards, countours, or pleadours,  
And serve God in hypocrisy:  
such Priests been Christ's false traitors.   

They been false, they been vengeable,  
And begilen men in Christ's name:  
They been unsteadfast and unstable,  
To traie her Lord, hem thinketh no shame.  
To serve God they been full lame,  
God's thieves, and falsely steal,  
And falsely God's word defame:  
In winning is her world's weal.   

Antichrist these serve all.  
I pray thee who may say nay?  
With Antichrist such shall fall,  
They followen him in deed and faith:  
They serven him in rich array,  
To serve Christ such falsely fain,  
Why, at the dreadful domes day  
shul they not follow him to pain?   

That known him self that they done ill  
Against Christ's commandment,  
And amend him never ne will,  
But serve sathan by one assent?  
Who sayeth sooth he shall be shent,  
Or speaketh against her false living:  
Who so well liveth shall be brent,  
For such been greater than the king.   

Popes, Bishops, and Cardinals,  
Canons, Parsons, and Vicar  
In God's service I trow been falls,  
That Sacraments sellen here:  
And been as proud as Lucifere,  
Each man look whether that I lie,  
Who so speaketh against her power,  
It shall be holden heresy.   

Look how many orders take  
Only of Christ, for his service,  
That the world's goods forsake:  
Who so taketh orders otherwise,  
I trow that they shall sore agrize,  
For all the gloze that they con,  
All sewen not this 〈◊〉,  
In evil time they thus begun.   

Look how many among him all  
Holden not this high way,  
With Antichrist they shullen fall:  
For they woollen God betray.  
God amend them that best may:  
For many men they maken shende,  
They weten well the sooth I say.  
But the devil hath foul hem blende.   

Some on her churches dwell  
appareled poorly, proud of port:  
The seven sacraments they done sell,  
In cattle catching is her comfort:  
Of each matter they woollen mell,  
To done him wrong is her disport,  
To afraie the people they been fell,  
And hold him lower than doth the Lord.   

For the tithing of a Duck  
Or of an Apple, or an Aye,  
They make men swear upon a book,  
Thus they foulen Christ's faith.  
such bearen evil heaven kaie:  
They mown assoil, they mow shrive,  
With man's wives strongly play,  
With true tilers sturte and strive,   

At the wrestling, and at the wake.  
And chief chauntours at the ale  
Market beaters, and meddling make,  
Hoppen and houten with have and hale:  
At fair fresh, and at wine stale:  
Dine and drink, and make debate:  
The seven sacraments set a sail,  
How keep such the keys of heaven gate?   

Man's wives they woollen hold,  
And though that they been right sorry,  
To speak they shall not be so bold,  
For sompning to the consistory:  
And make him say mouth I lie,  
Though they it saw with her eye,  
His leman holden openly,  
No man so hardy to ask why.   

He wool have tithing and offering  
Maugre whosoever it grudge:  
And twice on the day he wool sing,  
God's priests ne'er none such.  
He moat on hunting with dog and bitch,  
And blown his horn, and crien hay,  
And sorcery usen as a Witch.  
Soche keep evil Peter's key.   

Yet they moat have some stock or stone,  
Gaily painted, and proudly dight,  
To maken men leaven upon,  
And say that it is full of might:  
About such men set up great light,  
Other such stocks shall stand thereby,  
As dark as it were midnight,  
For it ma●e make no mastery.   

That it lewd people see mow:  
Thou Marry, thou worchest wonder things:  
About that, that men offrens to now,  
Hongen broochs, ouches, and rings.  
The priest purchaseth the offerings,  
But he nill offer to none Image:  
Woe is the soul that he for sings,  
That preacheth for such a pilgrimage.   

To men and women that been poor,  
That been Christ's own likeness  
Men shullen offer at her door,  
That suffer hunger and distress:  
And to such Images offer less,  
That mow not feel thirst ne cold,  
The poor in spirit 'gan Christ bless.  
Therefore offereth to feeble and old.   

Bucklers broad, and swords long  
Baudrike, with baselardes keen,  
Soche toll about her neck they hung:  
With Antichrist such priests been.  
Upon her deeds it is well seen  
Whom they serven, whom they honouren,  
Antichristes they been clean,  
And Gods goods falsely devouren.   

Of scarlet and green gay gounes,  
That moat be shape of the new:  
To clippen & kissen they counten in towns  
The damoseles that to the dance sew.  
Cutted clothes to show her hue,  
With long pikes on her shone,  
Our Gods Gospel is not true,  
Either they serven the devil or none.   

Now been priests pokes so wide,  
That men must enlarge the vestiment:  
The holy Gospel they done hide,  
For they contrarien in raiment.  
Soche priests of Lucifer been sent,  
Like conquerors they been arrayed,  
The proud pendaunts at her arse is ipent.  
Falsely the truth they han betrayed.   

Shrift silver such woollen ask  
And wool men creep to the crouch  
None of the Sacraments save ask  
Without meed shall no man touch:  
On her Bishop their warrant vouch  
That is law of the decree:  
With meed and money thus they munch.  
And this they said is charity.   

In the midst of her Mass  
They nill have no man but for hire:  
And full shortly let forth pass,  
Such shall men find in each shire,  
That Personages for profit desire,  
To live in liking and in lusts:  
I dare not sane, Sans ose ie dire.  
That such been Antichrists priests.   

For they yef the bishops why,  
Or they moat been in his service:  
And holden forth her harlottry,  
Such prelate's been of feeble emprise.  
Of God's grain such men agrize,  
For such matters that taken meed:  
How they excuse him, and in what wise,  
Me thinketh they ought greatly dread.   

They s●ine that it to no man longeth  
To reprove them though they err:  
But falsely Gods goods they fongeth  
And therewith meintein woe and war.  
Her deeds should be as bright as star,  
Her living lewd man's ●ight:  
They say the Pope may not err,  
Need must that pass man's might.   

Though a priest lie with his leman all night,  
And tell his fellow, and he him,  
He goth to Mass anon right,  
And sayeth he singeth out of sin:  
His bird abideth him at his Inn,  
And dighteth his dinner the mean while,  
He singeth his Mass for he would win,  
And so he weeneth God beguile.   

Hem thinketh long till they be met,  
And that they usen forth all the year,  
Among the folk when he is set,  
He holdeth no man half his peer:  
Of the Bishop he hath power  
To soil men, or else they been lore,  
His absolution may them skere,  
And woe is the soul that he singeth for.   

The Griffon began for to threat,  
And said, of Monks canst thou aught?  
The Pelican said, they been full great,  
And in this world much woe hath wrought:  
Saint Benet, that her order brought,  
Ne made him never on such mannere,  
I trow it came never in his thought,  
That they should use so great power.   

That a man should a Monk lord call,  
Ne serve on knees, as a king:  
He is as proud as prince in pall,  
In meat, and drink, and all thing:  
Some wearen mitre and ring,  
With double Worsted well ydight,  
With royal meat and rich drink,  
And rideth on a courser as a knight.   

With hawk and with hounds eke,  
With brooches or ouches on his hood:  
Some say no Mass in all a week,  
Of dainties is her most food.  
They have lordships and bondmen:  
This is a royal religion.  
Saint Benet made never none of him  
To have lordship of man ne town.   

Now they been quaint and curious,  
With fine cloth clad, and served clean:  
Proud, angry, and envious,  
Malice is much that they mean.  
In catching, crafty and covetous,  
Lordly they liven in great liking,  
This living is not religious,  
According to Benet in his living.   

They ben clerks, her courts they oversee,  
Her poor tenance fully they slight:  
The higher that a man amerced be,  
The gladlier they wool it write:  
This is far from Christ's poverty,  
For all with covetise they indite,  
On the poor they have no pity,  
Ne never him cherish, but ever him bite.   

And commonly such been comen  
Of poor people, and of hem begete,  
That this perfection han inomen,  
Her fathers ridden not but on her feet,  
And travailen sore for that they eat,  
In povert liveth young and old:  
Her father's suffreth drought and weate,  
Many hungry meals, thirst, and cold.   

And all this these Monks han forsake  
For Christ's love and saint Benete:  
To pride and ease have him take,  
This religion is evil beseate:  
Had they been out of religion,  
They must have hanged at the plough,  
Threshing and diking from town to town  
With sorry meat, and not half enough.   

Therefore they han this all forsake,  
And taken to riches, pride and ease:  
Full few for God wool Monks him 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 rob his purse.  
I can no more hereof tell,  
But they been like though before,  
And clean serve the devil of hell,  
And been his treasure and his store.   

And all such other counterfaitours,  
Canons, Canons, and such disguised,  
Been God's enemies and traitors,  
His true religion han foul 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 read.   

As God's goodness no man tell might,  
Write ne speak, ne think in thought,  
So her falsehood, and her unright,  
May no man tell that ever God wrought.  
The Griffon said, thou canst no good,  
Thou came never of no gentle kind,  
Other I trow thou waxest wood,  
Or else thou hast lost thy mind.   

Should holy church have no head?  
Who should be her governaile?  
Who should her rule, who should her red?  
Who should her forthren, who should avail?  
* Each man shall live by his travail,  
Who best doth, shall have most meed:  
* With strength if men the church assail,  
With strength men must defend her need.   

And the Pope were purely poor,  
Needy, and nothing ne had,  
He should be driven from door to door,  
The wicked of him nolde not be dread:  
Of such an head men would be sad,  
And sinfully liven as him lust:  
With strength to amend such be made,  
* With weep Wolves from sheep be wust.   

If the Pope and Prelates would  
So beg, and bid, bow, and borrow,  
Holy church should stand full cold,  
Her servaunts sit and soup sorrow:  
And they were naughty foul and horow,  
To worship God men would wlate:  
Both on even and on morrow  
Such harlottrie men would hate.   

Therefore men of holy church  
Should be honest in all thing,  
Worshipfully Gods works werch.  
So seemeth it to serve Christ her king  
In honest and in clean clothing,  
With vessels of gold and clothes rich,  
To God honestly to make offering:  
To his Lordship none is liche.   

The Pelican cast a huge cry,  
* And said, alas, why sayest thou so:  
Christ is our head that sitteth on high,  
Heads ne ought we have no more:  
We been his members both also,  
And father he taught us to call him als,  
Masters to be called defended he tho:  
All other masters been wicked and falls,   

That taketh mastery 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 mastership have,  
Ne cark not for cloth ne food,  
From every mischief he will him save.   

Her rich clothing shall be rightwiseness,  
Her treasure true life shall be:  
Charity shall be her richesse,  
Her Lordship shall be unite:  
Hope in God her honest,  
Her vessel clean conscience,  
Poor in spirit, and humility,  
Shall be holy churches defence.   

What, said the Griffon, may thee greve,  
That other folks faren well?  
What hast thou to done with her live?  
Thy falsehood each man may feel.  
For thou canst no cattle get,  
But livest in land as a lorell,  
With glozing gettest thou thy meet:  
So fareth the devil that wonneth in hell.   

He would that each man there should dwell.  
For he liveth in clean envy,  
So with the tales that thou dost tell  
Thou wouldst other people destrie  
With your gloze, and your heresy:  
For ye can live no better life,  
But clean in Hypocrisy,  
And bringest thee in woe and strife.   

And therewith have not to doen.  
For ye ne have here no cure:  
Ye serve the Devil, neither God ne man,  
And he shall pay you your hire.  
For ye wool far well at feasts,  
And warm clothed for the cold,  
Therefore ye gloze God's heestes,  
And beguile the people young and old.   

And all the seven Sacraments  
Ye speak against, as ye were sly:  
Against tithings, offerings, with your intents,  
And on our Lord's body falsely lie.  
And all this ye done to live in ease,  
As who sayeth, there been no ne such:  
And said the Pope is not worth a pease,  
To make the people again him groche.   

And this cometh in by fiends  
To bring the christian in distance:  
For they would that no man were friends.  
Leave thy chattering with mischance:  
* If thou live well, what wilt thou more?  
Let other men live as him list,  
Spend in good, or keep in store:  
Other men's conscience never thou nist.   

Ye han no cure to answer fore:  
What meddle ye, that han not to done?  
Let men live as they han done yore,  
For thou shalt answer for no man.  
The Pelican said, sir, nay,  
I despised not the Pope:  
Ne no Sacrament, soothe to say,  
But speak in charity and good hope.   

But I despise her hie pride,  
Her richesses, that should be poor in spirit:  
Her wickedness is known so wide,  
They serve God in false habit:  
And tournen meekness into pride,  
And lowliness into high degree,  
And God's words turn and hide.  
And that am I moved by charity.   

To let men to live so,  
With all my cunning and my might,  
And to warn men of her woe,  
And to tell him troth and right.  
The Sacraments be soul heal,  
If they been used in good use,  
Against that speak I never a deal:  
For than were I nothing wise.   

But they that usen hem in miss manere,  
Or set him up to any sale,  
I trow they shall abye him dear,  
This is my reason, this is my tale:  
Who so taketh hem unrightfulliche  
Against the ten commandments,  
Or by gloze wrechedliche  
Selleth any of the Sacraments,   

I trow they do the devil homage,  
In that they weten they do wrong:  
And thereto I dare well wage,  
They serven Satan for all her song.  
To tithen and offren is wholesome 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 him so, may sore agrize.  
On our Lord's body I do not lie,  
I say sooth through true read,  
His flesh and blood through his mystery  
Is there, in the form of breed:   

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 commanded in his Gospel,  
Against that wool I not strive:  
But methinketh they live not well.   

For if the Pope lived as God bed,  
Pride and highness he should despise,  
Richesse, covetise, and crown on head,  
Meekness and poverte he should use.  
The Griffon said he should abye,  
Thou shalt be brent in baleful 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 speak against God's law,  
And the people thus falsely teach?  
Thou shalt be cursed with book and bell,  
And discevered from holy church,  
And clean ydamned into hell,  
Otherwise but ye wool worch.   

The Pelican said, that I ne dread,  
Your cursing is of little value.  
Of God I hope to have my meed,  
For it is falsehood that ye sew.  
For ye been out of charity,  
And wilneth vengeance, as did Nero:  
To suffrens I wool ready be,  
I dread 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 dread not all thy maintenance.  
For if I dread the world's hate,  
Me thinketh I were little to praise.  
I dread nothing your high estate,  
Ne I dread not your disease.   

wol ye turn and leave your pride,  
Your high port, and your richesses,  
Your cursing should not go so wide,  
God bring you into rightwiseness:  
For I dread not your tyranny,  
For nothing that ye can done,  
To suffer I am all ready,  
Siker I reck never how soon.   

The Griffon grinned as he were wood,  
And looked lovely as an Owl,  
And swore by cock's heart blood,  
He would him tear every doule:  
Holy church thou disclaundrest foul,  
For thy reasons I wool thee all to race,  
And make thy flesh to rot and mole,  
Lozel, thou shalt have hard grace.   

The Griffon fiew forth on his way.  
The Pelican did sit and weep,  
And to himself he 'gan say:  
God would that any of Christ's sheep  
Had heard, and ytaken keep  
Of each word that here said was,  
And would it write and well it keep:  
God would it were all for his grace.    

Ploughman.  

I answered, and said I would,  
If for my travail any man would pey:  
Pelli. He said yes, these that God han sold,  
For they han store of money:  
Ploughman. I said, tell me and thou may,  
Why tellest thou men's trespass?  
Pelican. He said, to amend him in good faith,  
If God wool give me any grace.   

For Christ himself is likened to me,  
That for his people died on rood:  
As far I, right so fareth he,  
He feedeth his birds with his blood.  
But these done evil against good,  
And been his foes under friends face,  
I told him how her living stood:  
God amend him for his grace.    

Ploughman.  

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 foul betokeneth pride:  
As Lucifer, that high flew was,  
And sith he did him in evil hide:  
For he agilted God's grace.   

As bird flieth up in the air,  
And liveth by birds that been meek  
So these been flow up into despair,  
And shenden silly fowls eke:  
The souls that been in sins seek,  
He culieth him kneel: therefore alas.  
For bribery Gods forbade break:  
God amend it for his grace.   

The hinder part is a lion,  
A robber and a ravinere,  
That robbeth the people in earth down,  
And in earth holdeth none his peer:  
So fareth this foul both far and ne'er,  
And with temporal strength the people chase,  
As a Lion proud in earth here.  
God amend him for his grace.    

Pelican.  

He flew forth with his wings twain,  
All drooping, dazed, and dull:  
But soon the Griffon came again,  
Of his fowls the earth was full:  
The Pelican he had cast to pull,  
So great a number never seen there was,  
What manner of fowls tell I wool,  
If God wool give me of his grace.   

With the Griffon comen fowls feel,  
Raven's, Rokes, Crows, and Pie,  
Grey fowls, agadred well,  
I gurde above they would high:  
Gledes and Buzzards weren hem by,  
White moles & puttocks token her place,  
And lapwings, that well conneth lie,  
This fellowship han forgard her grace.   

Long the Pelican was out,  
But at last he cometh again:  
And brought with him the Phoenix stout,  
The Griffon would have flow full fain:  
His fowls that flown as thick as rain,  
The Phoenix though began him chase,  
To fly from him it was in vain,  
For he did vengeance and no grace.   

He slew him down without mercy,  
There a start neither free ne thrall,  
On him they cast a rueful cry,  
When the Griffon down was fall:  
He beat him not, but slew him all,  
Whither he him driven, no man may trace:  
Under the earth me thought they yall,  
Alas they had a feeble grace.   

The Pelican than asked right,  
For my writing if I have blame,  
Who wool for me fight or flight?  
Who shall shield me from shame?  
He that had a maid to dame,  
And the lamb that slain was  
Shall shield me from ghostly blame,  
For earthly harm is god's grace.   

Therefore I pray every man,  
Of my writing have me excused:  
This writing writeth the Pelican,  
That thus these people hath despised.  
For I am fresh fully advised,  
I nill not maintain his menace.  
For the devil is often disguised,  
To bring a man to evil grace.   

Witeth the Pelican 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 mow:  
To holy church I will me bow,  
Each man to amend him Christ send space:  
And for my writing me allow  
He that is almighty for his grace.        


¶ The Parson's Prologue.  
BY that the Ploughman had his tale ended,  
The sun fro the south side is descended,  
So low, that it was not to my sight  
Degrees of five and twenty on height  
Two a clock it was, so as I guess,  
For eleven foot, a light more or less,  
My shadow was at that time, as there  
Of such feet as my length parted were  
In six feet equal of proportion:  
Therewith the moons exaltation,  
I mean Taurus, always 'gan ascend,  
As we were entering at the thropes end:  
For which our Host, as he was wont to gie  
Ay in this case, this jolly company  
Said in this wise, lordings everichone  
Now lacketh us no tale more than one:  
fulfiled is my sentence and my decree.  
Who wool 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 lustily.  
Sir priest (qd. he) art thou a vicary,  
Or art thou a Parson, say sooth by thy faith,  
Be what thou be, break thou not our play.  
For every man, save thou, hath told his tale,  
Vnbokell, and show us what is in thy male.  
For truly me thinketh by thy cheer,  
Thou shouldest knit up well a great matere.  
Tell us a fable anon, for cock's bones.  
This Parson him answered all at ones:  
Thou gettest fable none told of me,  
For Poule, that writeth to Timothe,  
Repreveth him that waiven soothfastness,  
And teachen fables, and such wretchedness.  
* Why should I sow draff 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 virtuous matter,  
And then, if ye wol yeve me audience,  
I would full feign at Christ's reverence  
Done you pleasance lawful, as I can:  
But trusteth well, I am a southern man,  
I cannot jest, rum, ram, ruf, by letter,  
And God wot, rhyme hold I but little better.  
And therefore if ye list, I wool not gloze,  
I wool you tell a little tale in prose,  
To knit up all this feast, and make an end:  
And jesus for his grace wit me send  
To show you the way in this voyage  
Of thilk perfect glorious pilgrimage,  
That height Jerusalem celestial.  
And if you vouchsafe, anon I shall  
Begin upon my tale, for which I pray  
Tell your advice, I cannot better say.  
But nevertheless, this meditation  
I put it aye under the correction  
Of clerks, for I am not textuell,  
I take but the sentence, trusteth well.  
Therefore I make protestation,  
That I wool stand to correction.  
Upon this word we have assented soon:  
For as it seemed, it was for to done,  
To end in some virtuous sentence,  
And for to yeve him space and audience:  
And bade 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 fair mote you befall,  
Say that 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 sun wool adoun.  
Beth fructuous, and that in little space,  
And to do well God send you his grace.  


¶ The Parson's Tale.  
A Sermon against divers grievous Sins, and remedies for the same, persuading men to penitence.  jeremy vi State super vias, & videte, & interrogate de semitis antiquis, quae sit via bona, & ambulate in ea: & invenietis refrigerium animabus vestris. 
OUR sweet Lord God of Heaven, that no man wool perish, but wool that we turn all to the knowledge of him, and to the blissful life that is perdurable, admonisheth us by the Prophet jeremy, that sayeth in this wise: * Stondeth upon the ways, and seeth and asketh of old paths: that is to say, of old sentences, which is the good way, and walketh in that way, and ye shall find refreshing for your souls, etc. Many been the ways espirituels that lead folk to our Lord jesus Christ, and to the reign of glory: Of which ways, there is a full noble way, and full covenable, which may not fail to man ne to woman, that through sin hath misgone fro the right way of Jerusalem celestial: and this way is called penitence, of which, man should gladly hearken and inquire with all his heart, to weet, what is penitence, and which is called penitence, and how many manners been of actions or werkinges of penitence, and how many speces there been of penitence, and which things appertain and behoove to penitence, and which things distourbe penitence.  
Saint Ambrose saith, 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 plain. And some Doctors saith, Penitence is the waymenting of man that sorroweth for his sum, and paineth himself, for he hath misdone. Penitence with certain circumstances, is very repentance of a man that holt himself in sorrow, & other pain for his guilts: and for he shall be very penitent, he shall first bewail sins that he hath done, and steadfastly purpose in his heart to have shrift of mouth, and to do satisfaction, and never to do thing, for which him ought more bewail or complain, and continue in good works: or else his repentance may not avail. For as Saint Isiodor saith, saith He is a yaper and a liar, and no very repentant, that eftsoon doth thing, for which him ought repent. Weeping, and not for to stint to do sin, may not avail: But nevertheless, men shall hope, that at every time that man falleth, be it never so oft, that he may arise through penance, if he have grace: but certain, it is great doubt, for as saith saint Gregory: * Vnnethes' ariseth he out of sin, that is charged with the charge of evil usage. * And therefore repentant folk, that stint for to sin, and leave sin or sin leave them, holy Church holdeth them siker of their salvation. * And he that sinneth, & verily repenteth him in his last end: holy Church yet hopeth his salvation, by the great mercy of our Lord jesus Christ, for his repentance: but take the siker way.  
And now sith I have declared you, what thing is Penitence: now ye shall understand, that there been three actions of Penitence. The first is, that a man be baptised after that he hath sinned. Saint Augustine saith, * But he be penitent for his old sinful life, he may not biginne the new clean life: For certes, if he be baptised without penitence of his old guilt, he retaineth the mark of baptism, but not the grace, ne the remission of his sins, till he have very repentance. Another default is this, that men do deadly sin after that they have received baptism. The third default is this, that men fall in venial sins after her baptism, fro day to day. Thereof sayeth Saint Augustine, * That penitence of good and humble folk, is the penitence of every day.  
The speces of penitence been three: That one of him is solemn, another is common, and the third is privy. That penance that is solemn, 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 sin the fame is openly spoken in the country: & then holy church by judgement distrayneth him for to do open penance.  
Common penance is, that priests enjoin men in certain case: as for to go peraventure naked in pilgrimage, or bare foot. Privy penance is that, that men do all day for privy sins, of which we shrive us privily, and receive privy penance.  
Now shalt thou understand what is behooveful & necessary to very perfect penitence: & this stont on three things. * Contrition of hart, confession of mouth, & satisfaction. For which saith saint john Chrisostome: * Penitence disstraineth a man to accept benignly every pain that him is enjoined, with contrition of heart, & shrift of mouth, with satisfaction: & in werking of all manner humility. And this is fruitful penitence against three things, in which we wrath our Lord jesus Christ: this is to say, By delight in thinking, by reckless in speaking, and by wicked sinful werking. And against these wicked guilts is penitence, that may be likened unto a tree:  
* The root of this tree is contrition, that hideth him in the heart of him that is very repentant, right as the root of the tree hideth him in the earth. Of this root of contrition springeth a stalk, that beareth branches and leaves of confession, and fruit of satisfaction. For which Christ saith in his gospel: * Doth digne fruit of penitence, for by this fruit men may know the tree, and not by the root that is hid in the heart of man, ne by the branches, ne the leaves of confession. And therefore our lord jesus Christ saith thus: By the fruit of hem shall ye know him. Of this root also springeth a seed of grace, the which seed is mother of all sickerness, & this seed is eager & hot. The grace of this seed springeth of God, through remembrance on the day of doom, and on the pains of hell. Of this matter saith Solomon, * That in the dread of God man forletteth his sin. The heat of this seed is the love of God, and the desiring of the joy perdurable: This heat draweth the heart of man to God, & doth him hate his sin: For sooth there is nothing that savoureth so well to a child, as the milk of his nurse, ne nothing is to him more abominable than that milk, when it is meddled with other meat. Right so the sinful man that loveth his sin, him seemeth, that it is to him most sweet of any thing: but fro that time he loveth sadly our lord jesus Christ, and desireth the life perdurable, there is to him nothing more abominable: for sooth, The law of God is the love of God. For which David the prophet saith: I have loved thy law, and hated wickedness: He that loveth God, keepeth his law & his word.  
This tree saw the Prophet Daniel in spirit, on the vision of Nabuchodonosor, when he counseled him to do penitence. Penance is the tree of life, to him that it receive: & he that holdeth him in very penitence, is blessed, after the sentence of Solomon. In this penitence or contrition, man shall understand four things, that is to say: What is contrition, and which been the causes that move a man to contrition, & how he should be contrite, and what contrition availeth to the soul. Then is it thus, that contrition is the very sorrow that a man receiveth in his heart for his sins, with sad purpose to shrive him, and to do penance, & never more to do sin: And this sorrow shall be in this manner, as sayeth Saint Bernard, * It shall be heavy and grievous, and full sharp & poignant in heart.  
First, for a man hath agilted his Lord & his Creator, and more sharp and poinaunt, for he hath agilted his father celestial: And yet more sharp and poynaunt, for he hath wrathed and agilted him that bought him, that with his precious blood hath delivered us from the bonds of sin, and fro the cruelty of the devil, and from the pains of hell.  
The causes that ought move a man to contrition been fix. First, a man shall remember him of his sins, But look that that remembrance ne be to him no delight, by no way, but great shame and sorrow for his sins. For job saith, sinful men done works worthy of confession. And therefore sayeth Ezechiell: * I wool remember me all the years of my life, in the bitterness of my heart. And God sayeth in the Apocalypse: Remember ye from whence that ye been fall, for before that time that ye sinned, ye were children of God, and limbs of the reign of God: But for your sin ye ben waren thrall and foul, & membres of the fiend: hate of Angels, slander of holy church, and food of the false Serpent, perpetual matter of the fire of hell: And yet more foul and abominable, for ye trespass so oft times, as doth an hound that returneth again to eat his own spewing: & yet be ye fouler, for your long continuing in sin, and your sinful usage, for which ye be roted in your sin, as a beast in his dung. Such manner of thoughts make a man to have shame of his sin, & no delight. As God saith, by the Prophet Ezechiel: * Ye shall remember you of your ways, and they shall displease you soothly. Sinnes been the ways that lead folk to Hell.  
THe second cause that ought make a man to have disdain of sin is this, that as saith saint Peter: * Who so doth sin, is thrall of sin, and sin putteth a man in great thraldom. And therefore sayeth the prophet Ezechiell: * I went sorrowful, in disdain of myself. Certes, well ought a man have disdain of sin, and withdraw him from that thraldom and villainy. And lo, with sayeth Seneke in this matter, he saith thus: * Though I wist, that neither God ne man should never know it, yet would I have disdain for to do sin. And the same Seneke also sayeth: * I am borne to greater thing, 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 body, than for to give his body to sin, all were it the foulest churl, or the foulest woman that liveth, and least of value, yet is he then more foul, and more in servitude. Ever from the higher degree that man falleth, the more is he thrall, and more to God and to the world vile and abominable. O good God, well ought man have great disdain of sin, sith that through sin, there he was free, he is made bond. And therefore sayeth saint Augustine: * If thou hast disdain of thy servant, if he offend or sin, have thou then disdain, that thou thyself shouldest do sin. Take regard of thine own value, that thou ne be too foul to thyself. Alas, well ought they then have disdain to be servants and thralls to sin, and sore to be ashamed of themselves, that God of his endless goodness hath set in high estate, or give him wit, strength of body, heal, beauty, or prosperity, and bought him fro the death with his heart blood, that they so unkindly against his gentleness, quite him so villainously, to slaughter of her own souls. Oh good God, ye women that been of great beauty, remembreth you on the proverb of Solomon, * He sayeth he likeneth a fair woman, that is a fool of her body, to a ring of gold that were worn on the groin of a sow: For right as a sow wroteth in every ordure, so wroteth she her beauty in stinking ordure of sin.  
THe third cause that ought move a man to contrition, is dread of the day of doom, and of the horrible pains of hell. For as saint Jerome sayeth: * At every time that me remembreth of the day of doom, I quake: For when I eat and drink, or what so that I do, ever seemeth me that the trump soundeth in mine ear: Riseth ye up that been ded, and cometh to the judgement. O good God, much aught a man to dread such a judgement, there as we shall be all, * as Saint Poule sayeth, before the seat of our Lord jesus Christ, whereas he shall make a general congregation, whereas no man may be absent, for certes there availeth none essoyne ne excusation, and not only, that our defaults shall be judged, but also that all our works shall openly be known. And as sayeth saint Bernard, * There ne shall no pleading avail, ne no sleight: We shall give reckoning of every idle word. There shall we have a judge that may not be deceived ne corrupt, and why? For certes, all our thoughts been discovered, as to him: ne for prayer ne for meed, he shall not be corrupt. And therefore saith Solomon: * The wrath of God ne wool not spare no wight, for prayer ne for yeft. And therefore at the day of doom there is no hope to escape. Wherefore, as saith saint Anselm: Anselm Full great anguish shall the sinful folk have at that time: There shall the fires & wroth judge sit above, and under him the horrible pit of hell open, to destroy him that must be know his sins, which sins openly been showed before God & before every creature: And on the left side, more Devils than any heart may think, for to hale and draw the sinful souls to the pain of hell: and within the hearts of folk shall be the biting conscience, and without forth shall be the world all brenning: whither shall then the wretched sinful man fly to hide him? Certes he may not hide him, he must come forth and show him. For certes, as saith S. jerom, the earth shall cast him out of it, and the see also, and the air that shall be full of thunder claps and lightnings. Now soothly, who so well remembreth him of these things, I guess that his sin shall not turn him in delight, but to great sorrow, for dread of the pain of hell. And therefore saith job to God: * suffer lord that I may a while bewail and weep, ere I go without returning to the dark land, covered with the darkness of death, to the land of misese and of darkness, whereas is the shadow of death, where as there is none order or ordinance, but fearful dread that ever shall last. Lo, here may you see, that job prayed respite a while, to bewep and wail his trespass: For soothly one day of respite is better than all the treasure of this world. And for as much as a man may acquit himself before god by penitence in this world, & not by treasure, therefore should he pray to God to give him respite a while, to bewep & wail his trespass: for certes, all the sorrow that a man might make fro the beginning of the world, nis but a little thing, at regard of the sorrow of hell. The cause why that job calleth hell the land of darkness, understondeth that he calleth it land or earth, for it is stable and never shall fail, & dark: For he that is in hell hath default of light material, for certes the dark light that shall come out of the fire that ever shall burn, shall turn him all to pain the is in hell, for it showeth him to the horrible Devils that him turmenteth, covered with the darkness of death, that is to say, * That he that is in hell, shall have default of the sight of God: for certes the sight of god is the life perdurable. The darkness of death, been the sins that the wretched man hath done, which that disturb him to see the face of God, right as the dark cloud betwixt us and the sun. Land of misese, because that there been three manner of defaults against three things that folk of this world have in this present life, that is to say: honours, delices, & richesses. Against honour have they in hell shame and confusion: For well ye wot, that men call honour the reverence y● man doth to man, but in hell is none honour ne reverence. For certes no more reverence shall be do there to a king, than to a knave. For which God saith by the Prophet jeremy: Those folk that me despise, shall be in despite. Honour is also called great lordship: there shall no wight serve other: but of harm and tourment. Honour is also called great dignity and highness, but in hell shall they be all fortroden of devils. As God saith: the horrible Devils shall go and come upon the heads of damned folk: and this is, for as much as the higher that they were in this present life, the more shall they be abated and defoiled in hell. against the richesse of this world shall they have misese of poverte, that shall be in four things. In default of treasure. Of which David saith: saith The rich folk that embrace & knit all her heart to treasure of this world, shall sleep in the sleeping of death, and nothing ne shall they find in her hands of all her treasure. And moreover, the misease of hell shall be in defaut of meat and drink. For God sayeth thus by Moses: * They shall be wasted with hunger, and the birds of hell shall devour him with bitter death, and the gall of the Dragon shall be her drink, and the venum of the Dragon her morsels. Also her misease shall be in defaut of clothing, for they shall be naked in body, as of clothing, save the fire in which they burn, and other filthes: and naked shall they be of soul, of all manner virtues, which that is the clothing of the soul, Where been than the gay robes, the soft sheets, and the small sherts? Lo, what saith God of him by the Prophet Esaie, * That under him shall be strewed moughtes, and her covertures shall be of worms of hell. Also her misease shall be in defaut of friends, for he is not poor the hath good friends: but there is no friend, for neither God ne no creature shall be friend to him, and each of hem shall hate other with deadly hate: The sons and the daughters shall rebel against father and mother, and kindred against kindred, chide, and despise each other, both day and night, as God sayeth by the prophet Micheas: * And the loving children that whilom loved so fleshly each other, would each of him eat other if they might. * For how should they love together in the pains of hell, when they hated each other in prosperity of this life? for trust well, her fleshly love was deedly hate. As saith the Prophet David: Whoso that loveth wickedness, he hateth his soul, and who so hateth his own soul, certes he may love none other wight in no manner: And therefore in hell is no solace ne no friendship, but ever the more kindreds that been in hell, the more curse, the more chidings, and the more deadly hate there is among him. Also they shall have default of all manner delices, for certes delices ben after the appetites of the five wits: As sight, hearing, smelling, favouring, and touching. But in Hell her sight shall be full of darkness and of smoke, & therefore full of tears, and her hearing full of wailing and grinting of teeth: As saith jesus Christ. Her nosthrilles shall be full of stinking. And, as saith Esay the Prophet: Her savouring shall be full of bitter gall, & as touching of all her bodies, icovered with fire, that never shall quench, and with worms that never shall die. As God saith by the mouth of Esay: and for as much as they shall not ween that they may die for pain, and by death fly from pain, that they may understond in the words of job, that sayeth: There is the shadow of death. Certes a shadow hath likeness of the thing of which it is shadowed, but shadow is not the same thing of which it is shadowed: right so fareth the pain of Hell, it is like death, for the horrible anguish. And why? For it paineth him ever as though they should die anon, but certes they shall not die. For as saith saint Greg. * To wretched caitiffs shall be death without death, and end without end, and defaut without failing, for her death shall always live, and her end shall ever more begin, and her default shall not fail.  
And therefore saith saint john the Evangelist, * They shall follow death, & they shall not find him, and they shall desire to die, and death shall fly from him. And also job saith, That in hell is no order or rule. And all be it so, that God hath create all thing in right order, and nothing without order, but all things been ordered and numbered, yet nevertheless they that been dampened been nothing in order, ne hold none order, for the earth ne shall bear him no fruit. For, as the Prophet David saith: God shall destroy the fruit of the earth, as for hem, ne water, ne shall yeve him no moisture, ne the air no refreshing, ne fire no light. For as saith saint Basilie: * The brenning of the fire of this world shall God yeve in hell to him that been dampened, but the light and the clearness shall he yeve in Heaven to his children: right as good men yeve flesh to her children, and bones to her hounds. And for they shall have none hope to escape, sayeth saint job at last, * That there shall terror & gresly dread dwell without end. Horror is always dread that is to come, & this dread shall always dwell in the hearts of hem that be dampened. And therefore have they lost all her hope for seven causes. First, for God that is her judge shall be without mercy to him, and they may not please him, ne none of his saints, ne they may not yeve nothing for her ransom, ne they shall have no voice to speak to him, ne they may not fly fro pain, ne they have no goodness in him that they may show to deliver him fro pain. And therefore saith Solomon: * The wicked man dyeth, and when he is dead, he shall have no hope to escape from pain. Who so then would well understond the pains, and bethink him well that he hath deserved those pains for his sins, certes he should have more talon to sigh and weep, than for to sing and play. For as saith Solomon, * Who so that had the science to know the pains that been ordained for sin, he would make sorrow. That science, as saith Saint Austin, maketh a man to weiment in his heart.  
THE fourth point that ought make a man have contrition, is the sorrowful remembrance of the good that he hath left to do hear in earth, and also the good that he hath lost. soothly the good works that he hath left, either they be the good works that he wrought ere he fell in deadly sin, or else the good works that he wrought while he lay in sin. soothly the good works that he did before that he fell in sin, been all mortified, atoned, & dull by oft sinning. The works that he did while he lay in sin, he dead, as to the life perdurable in heaven: then the good works that been mortified by oft sinning, which he did being in charity, may not quick again without very penitence. And of it saith God by the mouth of Ezechiel: * If the rightful man return again from his rightwiseness and do wickedness, shall he live? nay, for all the good works that he hath do, ne shall never be in remembrance, for he shall die in his sin. And upon the chapter saith saint Gregory thus, that we shall understond this principally: * If that we done deadly sin, it is for nought then to rehearse or draw into memory the good works that we have wrought before: for certes in the werking of deadly sin, there is no trust ta no good work that we have done before, that is to say, as for to have thereby the life perdurable in Heaven. But nevertheless, the good werks quicken and come again, and help and avail to have the life perdurable in Heaven, when we have contrition: but sooth the good works that men done while they be in deedly sin, for as much as they were done in deedly sin, they may never quick: For certes, thing that never had life, may never quick: And nevertheless, albeit that they avail not to have the life perdurable, yet avail they to abredge of the pain of hell, or else to get temporal richesses', or else that God wool the rather enlumine or light the heart of the sinful man to have repentance, and eke they avail for to use a man to do good works, that the fiend have the less power of his soul. And thus the curteis Lord jesus Christ, ne wool that no good work be lost, for in somewhat it shall avail. But for as much as the good works that men done while they been in good life, been all amortised by sin following: and also scythe that all the good works that men done while they be in deadly sin, been utterly dead, as for to have the life perdurable, well may that man that no good work ne doth, sing that new fresh song (lay tout pardu mon temps, et mon labure.) * For certes sin bereaveth a man both goodness of nature, & also the goodness of grace. For sooth 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 faileth anon, as it foreletteth his werking. Then loseth the sinful man the goodness of glory, that only is beheight to good men that labour and work. Well may he be sorry then, that oweth all his life to God, as long as he hath lived, and also as long as he shall live, that no goodness ne hath to pay with his debt to God, to whom he oweth all his life: * for trust well he shall yeve accounts as saith Saint Bernard, of all the goods that have been yeve him in this present life, and how he hath hem dispended, in so much that there shall not perish an here of his head, ne a moment of an hour ne shall not perish of his time, that he ne shall yeve of it a reckoning.  
THE fifthe thing that ought to move a man to contrition, is remembrance of the passion that our Lord jesus Christ suffered for our sins. For as sayeth saint Bernarde, * While that I live, I shall have remembrance of the travails, that our Lord jesus Christ suffered in preaching, his weariness in travailing, his temptations when he fasted, his long wake when he prayed, his veares when that he wept for pite of good people: the woe, the shame, and the filth that men said to him: of the foul spitting that men spit in his face, of the buffettes that men gave him: of the foul mows & of the reproves that men said to him: of the nails with which he was nailed to the cross, and of all the remnant of his passion, that he suffered for my sins, and nothing for his guilt.  
And ye shall understond, that in man's sin is every manner order or ordinance, turned up so down. For it is sooth, that God, reason, sensuality, and the body of man, been ordained that each of these four things should have lordship over that other: as thus, God should have lordship over reason, and reason over sensuality, and sensuality over the body of man. But soothly when man sinneth, all this order or ordinance, is turned up so down. And therefore then, for as much as reason of man, ne wool not be subject ne obeissant to God, that is his Lord by right, therefore loseth it the worship that it should have over sensuality, and also over the body of man. And why? For sensuality rebelleth than against reason: and by that way loseth reason the lordship over sensuality, and over the body: For right as reason is rebel to God, right so is both sensuality rebel to reason, and to the body also. And certes this disordinaunce & this rebellion, our Lord jesus Christ bought upon his precious body full dear: and harkeneth in what wise. * For as much then as reason is rebel to God, therefore is man worthy to have sorrow, and to be deed. This suffered our Lord jesus Christ for man, after that he had be betrayed of his disciple, & distrained and bound, so that his blood braced out at every nail of his hands, as saith S. Augustin. And furthermore, for as much as reason of man, wool not daunt sensuality, when it may, therefore is man worthy to have shame: and this suffered our Lord jesus Christ for man, when they spit in his visage. And furthermore, for as much then as the caitiff body of man, is rebel both to reason & to sensualite, therefore it is worthy death: & this suffered our Lord jesus Christ upon the Cross, whereas there was no part of his body free, without great pain and bitter passion: & all this suffered our Lord jesus Christ that never forfeited. And therefore reasonably may be said of jesus in this manner: 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 sinful man well say, as saith saint Bernard: * Accursed be the bitterness of my sin, for which there must be suffered so much bitterness. For certes, after the divers discordance of our wickedness, was the passion of jesus Christ ordained in divers things, as thus: Certes sinful man's soul is betrayed of the Devil, by covetise of temporal prosperity, and scorned by deceit, when that he chooseth fleshly delices, and yet it is tormented by impatience of adversity, and bespet by servage and subjection of sin, and at the last it is slain finally. For this disordinaunce of sinful man, was jesus Christ first betrayed, and after that was he bound, that came for to unbind us of sin and of pain. Then was he bescorned, that only should have be honoured in all things. Then was his visage that ought be desired to be seen of all mankind (in which visage Angels desire to look) villainously bespet. Then was he scourged that nothing had trespassed, and finally, than was he crucified & slain. Then was accomplished the words of Esaie: * He was wounded for our misdeeds, and defoiled for our felonies. Now sith that jesus Christ took on him the pain of all our wickednesses, much aught sinful man weep and bewail, that for his sins, God's son of Heaven should all this pain endure.  
THE sixth thing that should meve a man to contrition, is the hope of three things, that is to say: forye venesse of sin, and the gift of grace for to do well, and the glory of Heaven with which God shall reward man for his good deeds: And for as much as jesus Christ, yeveth us these gifts of his largeness, and of his Sovereign bounty, therefore is he called (jesus Nazarenus Rex judeorum) jesus is to say, saviour or salvation, on whom men shall hope to have foryevenesse of sins, which that is properly salvation of sins. And therefore said the Angel to joseph, Thou shalt call his name jesus, that shall save his people of her sins. 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 only jesus. Nazarenus is as much for to say, as flourishing, in which a man shall hope that he that yeveth him remission of sins, shall yeve him also grace well for to do. * ay was at the door of thine heart, saith jesus, and called for to enter: He that openeth to me, shall have foryevenesse of his sin. I wool enter into him by my grace, and sup with him by the good works that he shall do, which works been the food of the soul, and he shall sup with me, by the great joy that I shall yeve him. Thus shall man hope for his works of penance, that GOD shall yeve him his reign, as he behight him in the Gospel. Now shall a man understand, in which manner shall be his contrition: I say, that it shall be universal and total, this is to say: a man shall be very repentant for all his sins that he hath done in delight of his thought, for it is right perilous.  
For there been two manner of consentings that one of hem is called consenting of affection, when a man is moved to do sin, and then delighteth him long, for to think on that sin, & his reason apperceiveth it well, that it is sin against the Law of God, and yet his reason refraineth not his foul delight on talon, though he see well apertly, that it is against the reverence of God, although his reason consent not to do that sin indeed: yet say some Doctors, that such delight that dwelleth long is full perilous, albeit never so little. And also a man should sorrow, namely for all that ever he hath desired against the Law of God, with perfect consenting of his reason, for thereof is no doubt, that it is deadly sin in consenting: for certes there is no deadly sin, but that it is first in man's thought, and after that in his delight, and so forth into consenting, and into deed. Wherefore I say that many men, ne repent him never of such thoughts and delices, ne never shrive him of it, but only of the deed of great sins outward: wherefore, I say that such wicked delights been subtle begilers of hem that shall be dampened.  
Moreover, man ought to sorrow for his wicked words, as well as for his wicked deeds: for certes the repentance of a singular sin, and not repentant of all his other sins: or else repent him of all his other sins, and not of a singular sin, may not avail: * For certes GOD almighty is all good, and therefore, either he foryeveth all, or else right nought. And therefore saith saint Augustin: I wot certainly, that God is enemy to every sinner: and how then he that observeth one sin, shall he have foryevenesse of those other sins? Nay. And moreover, contrition should be wonder sorrowful and anguishous: and therefore yeveth him God plainly his mercy: and therefore when my soul was anguished, and sorrowful within me, than had I remembrance of God, that my prayer might come to him. furthermore, contrition must be continual, and that man have steadfast purpose to shrive him, and to amend him of his life. For soothly while contrition lasteth, man may ever hope to have foryevenes. And of this cometh hate of sin, that destroyeth both sin in himself, and also in other folk at his power. For which saith David: * They that love God, hate wickedness: For to love GOD, is for to love that he loveth, and hate that he hateth. The last thing that men shall understand is this, Wherefore availeth contrition? I say, that contrition sometime delivereth man from sin: Of which David saith, I say (said David) I purposed firmly to shrive me, and thou Lord releasedest my sin. And right so as contrition availeth not without sad purpose of shrift, if man have opportunity, right so little worth is shrift or satisfaction without contrition. And moreover contrition destroyeth the prison of hell, and maketh weak and feeble all the strengths of the Devils, and restoreth the yeftes of the holy Ghost, and of all good virtues, and it cleanseth the soul of sin, and delivereth it fro the pain of hell, and fro the company of the Devil, and fro the servage of sin, and restoreth it to all goods spirituals, and to the company and communion of holy Church. furthermore, it maketh him that whilom was son of ire, to be the son of Grace: And all these things been proved by holy writ. And therefore he that would set his intent to these things, he were full wise: for truly he ne should have then in all his life courage to sin, but yeve his heart and body to serve Christ, and thereof do him homage. For truly our Lord hath spared us so meekly in our foilies, that if he ne had pity of man's soul, a sorry song might we all sing.  
Explicit prima pars poenitentiae: & incipit pars secunda.   

THE second part of penitence is Confession, that is a sign of contrition. Now shall ye understond what is Confession, and it ought needs be done or no: and which things be covenable to very confession.  
First shalt thou understand, that confession is very showing of sins to the Priest: this is to say very, for he must confess him of all the conditions that belong to his sin, as farforth as he can: all must be said, and nothing excused ne hid, hid And not avaunt thee of thy good works. Also it is necessary to understand whence that sin's springe, and how they enter, and which they been.  
Of the spring of sins, saith Saint Poule in this wise: * That right as by one man sin entered first into this world, and through sin death, right so the death entereth into all men that sin: and this man was Adam, by whom sin entered into this world, when he broke the commandment of God. And therefore he that first was so mighty, that he ne should have died, became so that he must needs die, whether he would or no, and all his progeny in this world, that in the said man sinned. Look that in the estate of innocency, when Adam and Eve were naked in Paradise, 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 eat 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 forbade us to eat and touch, lest we should die. The Serpent said to the woman: Nay, nay, ye shall not die of death, for sooth God wot, that what day that ye eat thereof your eyes shall open, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good & harm. The woman than saw that the tree was good to feeding, and fair to the eyes, and delectable to sight, she took of the fruit of the tree and did eat, and gave to her husband, and he eat, and anon the eyes of hem both opened: & when that they knew that they were naked, they sowed of Figg leaves in manner of breeches, to hide her members. There may ye see That deadly sin hath first suggestion of the send, as showeth here by the Adder: and afterward the delight of the flesh, as showeth by Eve, & after that, consenting of reason, as showeth here by Adam. For trust well, though so it were, that the fiend 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 stood he in the state of innocency. Of the said Adam took we the said original sin, for of him fleshly descended be we all, and engendered of vile and corrupt matter: And when the soul is put in our bodies, right anon is contract original sin, and that that was erst, but only pain of concupiscence, is afterward both pain and sin: and therefore we been all borne sons of wrath, and of damnation perdurable, if it ne'er Baptism that we receive, which benimmeth us the coulpe: but forsooth the pine dwelleth with us as to temptation, which pine height 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 eyes, as to earthly things, and also covetise of highness by pride of heart.  
Now as to speak of the first covetise, that is concupiscence, after the law of our members, that were lawfully made, and by rightful judgement of God, I say, * For as much as man is not obeisant to God, that is his Lord, therefore is the flesh to him disobeisaunt through concupiscence, which is called nourishing of sin, and occasion of sin. Therefore, all the while that a man hath within him the pine of concupiscence, it is impossible, but he be tempted sometime, and moved in his flesh to sin. And this thing may not fail as long as he liveth. It may well wax feeble by virtue of Baptism, and by the grace of God through penitence, but fully ne shall it never quench, that he ne shall sometime be moved in himself, but if he were all refrained by sickness, or by malice of sorcery, or cold drinks. For lo, what saith S. Poule: the flesh coveteth against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh: they been so contrary and so striven, that a man may not always do as he would. The same S. Poule, after his great Penance, in water and in land: in water by night and by day, in great peril, and in great pain: in land, famine and thirst, cold and clothlesse, and ones stoned almost to death: Yet (said he) alas, I caitiff man, who shall deliver me fro the prison of my caitiff body? And saint jerom, when he long time had dwelled in desert, whereas he had no company but of wild beasts, where as he had no meat, but herbs, and water to drink, ne no bed, but the naked earth, wherefore his flesh was black, as an Ethyopian for heat, and nigh destroyed for cold: Yet (said he) that the brenning of lechery boiled in all his body. Wherefore I wot well that they be deceived that say, they be not tempted in her bodies. Witness S. james that saith, saith That every wight is tempted in his own conscience, that is to say: That each of us hath matter and occasion, to be tempted of the nourishing of sin, that is in his body. And therefore saith saint john the Evangelist: If we say that we been without sin, we deceive ourself, and truth is not in us. Now shall ye understond, how sin waxeth and increaseth in man. The first thing is the same nourishing of sin, of which I spoke before, the fleshly concupiscence: and after that, cometh suggestion of the Devil, this is to say, the Devils belous, with which he bloweth in man, the fire of concupiscence: & after that, a man bethinketh him whether he wool do or no that thing to which he is tempted. And then if a man withstand and weive the first enticing of his flesh, and of the fiend, than it is no sin: and if so be he do not, then feeleth he anon a flame of delight, and then it is good to beware and keep him well, or else he wool fall anon to consenting of sin, and then wool he do it, if he may have time and place. And of this matter saith Moses by the Devil, in this manner: The fiend saith, I wool chase and pursue man by wicked suggestion, and I wool take him by moving and ●●irring of sin, and I wool depart my prize of my prey by deliberation, and my lust shall be accomplished in delight, I wool draw my sword in consenting. For certes, right as a sword departeth a thing in two pieces, right so consenting departeth God from man, and then wool I slay him with my hand in deed of sin: thus saith the fiend. For certes, then is a man all dead in soul, and thus is sin accomplished with temptation, by delight and consenting: and then is the sin actual. Forsooth sin is in two manners, either it is venial, or deadly sin. * Sothly, when man loveth any creature, more than jesus Christ our Creator, than it is deadly sin: and venial sin it is, if a man love jesus Christ less than him aught. Forsooth the deed of this venial sin is full perilous, for it minisheth the love that man should have to God, more & more. And therefore if a man charge himself with many such venial sins, certes, but if so be that he sometime discharge him of hem by shrift, they may full lightly minish in him all the love that he hath to jesus Christ: and in this wise skippeth venial sin into deadly sin. For certes, the more that a man chargeth his soul with venial sins, the more he is inclined to fall into deadly sin. And therefore let us not be negligent, to charge us of venial sins. For the Proverb saith, saith That many small make a great. Harken this ensample: A great wave of the sea cometh sometime with so great a violence, that it drouneth the ship. And the same harm doth sometime 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 negligent, that they discharge him not by times. And therefore although there be a difference betwixt these two causes of drowning, algates the ship is drowned. Right so fareth it sometime of deadly sin, and of annoious venial sins, when they multiply in man so greatly, that those worldly things that he loveth, through which he sinneth venially, is as great in his heart as the love of God, or more: & therefore the love of every thing that is not beset in God, ne done principally for God's sake, although that a man love it less than God, yet is it venial sin; and deadly sin, when the love of any thing weigheth in the heart of man, as much as the love of God, or more. Deadly sin, as saith saint Augustine, is, * When a man turneth his heart from God, which that is very sovereign bounty, that may not change, and giveth his heart to thing that may change and flit: and certes, that is every thing save God of heaven. For sooth is, that if a man give his love, which that he oweth to God with all his heart, unto a creature, certes, as much of love as he giveth to the same creature, so much he bireaveth fro God, and therefore doth he sin: for he that is debitour to God, ne yieldeth not to God all his debt, that is to say, all the love of his heart. Now sith man understandeth generally which is venial sin, than it is covenable to tell specially of sin, which that many a man, peradventure, deemeth him no sins, and shriveth him not of the same things, and yet nevertheless they be sins sooth, as these Clerks write, this is to say: * At every time that man eateth or drinketh more than sufficeth to the sustenance of his body, in certain he doth sin: and also when he speaketh more than it needeth, it is sin.  
Also when he hearkeneth not benignly the complaint of the poor: Also when he is in heal of body, and wool not fast when other folk fast, without cause reasonable: Also when he sleepeth more than needeth, or when he cometh perchance to late to the Church, or to other works of charity: Also when he useth his wife without sovereign desire of engendrure, to the honour of God, or for the intent to yield to his wife debt of his body. Also when he wool not visit the sick, or the prisoner, if he may. Also if he love wife or child, or other worldly thing, more than reason requireth. Also if he flatter or blandise more than him aught for any necessity. Also if he minish or withdraw the almose of the poor. Also if he apparel his meat more deliciously than need is, or eat too hastily by lickorousnes. Also, if he talk vanities at Church, or at God's service, or that he be a talker of idle words, of folly or villainy, for he shall yield accounts of it at the day of doom. Also, when he behighteth or assureth to do things that he may not perform. Also, when that he by lightness or folly, missayeth or scorneth his neighbour. Also, when he hath any wicked suspection of thing, that he ne wot of soothfastness. These things and more without number be sins, as saith S. Augustine. Now shall men understand, that all be it so that none earthly man may eschew all venial sins, yet may he refrain him, by the brenning love that he hath to our Lord jesus Christ, and by prayers and confession, and other good works, so that it shall be but little grief. For as saith S. Augustine: * If a man love God in such manner, that all that ever he doth is the love of God, or for the love of God verily, for he brenneth in the love of God: look how much that one drop of water, which doth fall into a great furnace full of fire, annoyeth or grieveth the brenning of the fire: in like manner annoyeth or grieveth a venial sin, unto that man which is steadfast and perfect in the love of our Saviour jesus Christ. furthermore, men may also refrain and put away venial sin, by commening and receiving worthily the body of our Saviour jesus Christ. Also, by taking of holy water, by almosedeed, by general confession of Confite or at Mass, and at Complin, and by blessings of Bishops and Priests, and by other good works.   

De septem peccatis mortalibus, & de eorum dependentiis, circumstantiis, & speciebus.  
NOw it is expedient to tell which been the seven deadly sins, that is to say, chieftains of sins. All they ren in o lees, but in divers manners.  
Now been they called seven sins, for as much as they be chief, and springe of all other sins. Of the root of these seven sins, then is Pride the general root of all harms. For of this root springeth certain branches: as Ire, Envy, Accidie or Sloth, Avarice or Covetise, (to common understanding) Gluttony, and Lechery: and each of these chief sins have her branches and twigs, as it shall be declared in her Chapiters' following. And though so be that no man can utterly tell the number of twigs, and of the harms that come of Pride, yet wool I show a part of him, as ye shall understand. There is inobedience, avaunting, hypocrisy, despite, errogance, impudence, swelling of heart, insolence, elation, impatience, strife, contumacy, presumption, irreverence, pertinacy, vainglory, and many other twigs that I cannot declare. Inobedience, is he that disobeyeth for despite, the commandments of God, to his sovereigns, and to his ghostly father. Auaunter, is he that boasteth of the harm or of the bounty that he hath done. Hypocrite, is he that hideth to show him such as he is, and showeth him to seem such as he is not. Dispitou, is he that hath disdain of his neighbour, that is to say, of his evin christian, or hath despite to do that him ought to do. Errogance, is he that thinketh that he hath those bounties in him that he hath not, or weeneth that he should have him by his deserts, 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 sin. Swelling of heart, is when man rejoiceth him of harm that he hath done. Insolence, is he that despiseth in his judgement all other folk, as in regard of his value, of his cunning, of his speaking, and of his bering. Elation, is when he ne may neither suffer to have master ne fellow. Impatience, is he that wool not be taught, ne rebuked of his vice, and by strife denyeth truth wittingly, and defendeth his folly. Contumacy, is he that through his indignation, is against every authority or power of him that been his Soveraines. Presumption, is when a man undertaketh an emprise that him ought not to do, or else that he may not do, and this is called surquidie. Irreverence, is when man doth not honour there as him ought to do, and look to be reverenced. pertinacy, is when men defend her folly, and trust too much on her own wit. Vainglory, is for to have pomp, & delight in his temporal highness, and glory him in worldly estates. jangling, is when men speak too much before folk, and clappeth as a mill, and take no keep what they say.  
And yet there is a privy spece of pride, that waiteth first to be salued, or he wool salew, all be he less worthy than that other is. And also he waiteth or desireth to sit, or else to go above him in the way, or kiss pax, to be encenced, or go to offering before his neighbour, and such semblable things, against his duty peradventure, but that he hath his heart and his intent in such a proud desire to be magnified and honoured before the people.  
Now been there two manner of prides. One of hem is within the heart of a man, and that other is without. Of which foresaid things sooth, and more than I have said, appertain to pride, that is in the heart of man, and other speces of pride been without: but nevertheless, that one of these speces of pride, is sign of that other, right as the gay levesell at the Tavern, is sign of the wine that is in the Seller. And this is in many things: as in speech and countenance, and outrageous array of clothing: for certes, if there had been no sin in clothing, Christ would not so soon have noted and spoken of the clothing of the rich men in the Gospel. And as S. Greg. saith, saith That precious clothing is culpable for the dearth of it, and for his softness, and for his strangeness and disguising: and for the superfluity, or for the inordinate scantness of it. Alas, may not a man see as in our days, the sinful costlewe array of clothing, and namely in too much superfluity, or else in too disordinate scantness.  
As to the first sin in superfluity of clothing, such that maketh it so dear, to the harm of the people, not only the cost of enbroudering, the disguised endenting, or barring, ounding, paling, winding, or bending, and semblable waist of cloth in vanity: but there is also the costlewe Furring in her gounes, so much pounsing of chesell to make holes, so much dagging of Shears, with the superfluity in length of the foresaid gounes, trailing in the dung and in the mire, on horse and also on foot, as well of man as of woman: that all that trailing is verily (as in effect) wasted, consumed, threadbare, and rotten with dung, rather than it is give to the poor, to great damage of the foresaid poor folk, and that in sundry wise: this is to say, that the more the cloth is wasted, the more must it cost to the poor people for the scarceness. And moreover, if so be that they would give such pounsed and dagged clothing to the poor people, it is not convenient to were for her estate, ne sufficient to her necessity, to keep him fro the distemperance of the firmament. Upon that other side, to speak of the horrible disordinate scantness of clothing, as been these cutted slops or hanselines, that through her shortness cover not the shameful members of man, to wicked intent. Alas, some of him show the boss of her shape, and the horrible swelled members that seemeth like the malady of Hernia, in the wrapping of her hoses, and also the buttocks of hem fare as it were the hinder part of a she Ape in the full of the moon. And moreover the wretched swollen members that they show through disguising, in departing of her hoses, in white and red, seemeth that half her shameful privy members were slain. And if so be that they depart her hoses in other colours, as is white and blue, or white and black, or black & red, and so forth: Then seemeth it as by variance of colour that the half part of her privy members been corrupt by the fire of saint Anthony, or by canker, or other such mischance. Of the hinder part of the buttocks it is full horrible for to see, for certes in that party of her body there as they purge her stinking ordure, that foul party show they to the people proudly in despite of honesty, which honesty that jesus Christ and his friends observed to show in her life. Now as to the outrageous array of women, God wot, that though the visages of some of him seem full chaste and debonair, yet notify in her array or attire, licorousnes and pride: I say not that honesty in clothing of man or woman is uncovenable, but certes the superfluity of disordinate quantity of clothing is reprovable. Also the sin of ornament or of apparel, is in things that appertain to riding, as in company, delicate horses that been holden for delight, that been so fair, fat, and costlewe, and also in many a nice knave, that is sustained because of him, in curious harness, as in saddles, cropers, peitrels, and bridles covered with precious clothing, and rich bars of plates of gold and of silver. For which God saith by Zacharie the Prophet, I wool confounded the riders of such horses. These folk take little regard of the riding of God's son of heaven, and of his harness, when he road upon the Ass, and had none other harness but the poor clothes of his disciples ne we read not that ever he road on other be'st. I speak this for the sin of superfluity, and not for reasonable honest, when reason it requireth. And moreover, certes pride is greatly notified in holding of great mien, when they been of little profit or of right no profit, & namely when that mien is felonous and dammageous to the people by hardiness of high lordship, or by way of offices. For certes, such Lords sell then her lordship to the Devil of Hell, when they sustain the wickedness of her mien. Or else, when these folk of low degree, as those that keep hostleries, sustain theft of her hostellers, and that is in many manner of deceits: those manner of folk been the flies that follow the honey, or else the hounds that follow the caraine. Such foresaid folk strangle spirituelly her lordeships: For such, thus saith David the Prophet: * Wicked death might come on those lordships, and God yeve that they might descend into hell, all down, all down: For in her houses been iniquities and shrewdness, and not God of heaven. And certes, till they done amendment, right as God gave his blessing to Pharaoh by the service of joseph, and to Laban by the service of jacob: Right to God will give his curse to such lordships as sustain the wickedness of her servants, but they come to amendment. Pride of the table appeareth also full oft: for certes, rich men be called to feasts, and poor folk been put away and rebuked. And also in excess of divers meats and drinks, and namely such manner bake meats and dish meats brenning of wild fire, painted and castelled with paper and semblable waist, so that it is abusion to think. And also in too great preciousness of vessel, and curiosity of minstralcie, by which a man is stirred more to delices of lechery, if so be that he set his heart the less upon our Lord jesus Christ, certainly it is a sin. And certainly the delices might be so great in this case, that a man might lightly fall by him into deadly sin. The especes that sourde of pride, sooth when they sourde of malice imagined, advised, and forecast, or else of usage, been deadly sin, it is no doubt. And when they sourde by freelte unavised suddenly, and suddenly withdraw again, all be they grevous sins, I guess that they be not deadly. Now might men ask, whereof that pride sourd and springeth. I say that sometime it springeth of the goods of nature, sometime of the goods of fortune, and sometime of the goods of grace. Certes the goods of nature stondeth only in goods of body, or goods of the soul. Certes, goods of body been he'll of body, strength, delivernesse, beauty, gentry, franchise. Goods of nature of the soul, been good with sharp understanding, subtle engine, virtue natural, good memory. Goods of fortune, be riches, high degrees of lordships, praisings of the people. Goods of grace, ben science, power to suffice spiritual travail, benign, virtuous contemplation, understanding of temptation, and semblable things: of which foresaid goods, certes it is a full great folly, a man to have pride in any of him all. Now, as for to speak of goods of nature, God wot that sometime we have him in nature as much to our damage as to our profit. As to speak of heel of body, truly it passeth full lightly, and also it is full oft occasion of sickness of the soul: for God wot, * The flesh is a great enemy to the soul: and therefore the more that the body is whole, the more we be in peril to fall. Also for to have pride in his strength of body, it is an high folly: for certes the flesh coveteth against the spirit: and the more strong that the flesh is, the sorrier may the soul be. And over all, this strength of body and worldly hardiness causeth full oft many man to peril & mischance. 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 soul: and also we been all of o father and mother: & all we been of o nature, rotten and corrupt, both rich and poor. Forsooth o manner gentry is for to praise, that apparelleth man's courage: wit, virtue, and morality, maketh him Christ's child. * For trust well, That over what man that sin hath mastery, he is a very churl to sin.  
Now been there general signs of gentleness: as eschewing of vice and ribaudrye, and servage of sin: in word, in work, and continuance & using of virtue, courtesy, and cleanness, and to be liberal: that is to say, large by measure: for that that passeth measure, is folly and sin: Another is to remember him of bounty, that he of other folk hath received: Another is to be benign to his good subjects. Wherefore saith Senecke: * There is nothing more covenable to a man of high estate, than debonairtie and pity. And therefore these flies that men call bees, when they make her king, they cheese one that hath no prick wherewith he may sting.  
Another is, man to have a noble heart and a diligent, to attain to the high virtuous things. Now certes, a man to have pride in the goods of grace, is also an outrageous folly: for those gifts of grace that should have turned him to goodness, and to medicine, tourneth him to venom and confusion, as saith saint Gregory. Certes also, who so hath pride in the goodness of fortune, he is a full great fool: For sometime is a man a great lord by the morn, that is a caitiff and a wretch or it be night: and sometime the riches of a man is cause of his death. Sometime the delices of a man is cause of grievous malady, through which he dieth. Certes, the commendation of the people is sometime full false and brotell for to trust. This day they praise, to morrow they blame. God wot, desire to have commendation of the people, hath caused death to many a busy man. Now sith that so is, that ye have understand what is pride, and which be the speces of it, and whence it sourd & springeth: now ye shall understand which is the remedy against it. Humility or meekness is the remedy against pride, that is a virtue, thorough which a man hath very knowledge of himself, and holdeth of himself nor price ne dainty, as in regard of his deserts, considering ever 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 heart is in four manners: That one is, when a man holdeth himself as nought worth before God of heaven. The second is, when he despiseth none other man. The third is, when he ne recketh nat though men hold 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 confesseth with his own mouth, that he is such as him thinketh that he is in his heart: Another is, when he praiseth the bounty of another man & nothing thereof minisheth. Humility also in work, is in four manners. The first is, when he putteth other men before him, the second is, to these the lowest place over all, the third is, gladly to assent to good counsel, the fourth is, to stoned gladly to the award of his sovereign's, or of him that is in higher degree: Certain this is great work of humility.  

¶ De Invidia.  
AFter pride wool I speak of the foul sin of Envy, which that is after the word of the Philosopher, sorrow of other men's prosperity. And after the word of Saint Augustine: * It is the sorrow of other men's weal, and the joy of other men's harm. This foul sin is platly against the holy Ghost: All be it so, that every sin is against the holy Ghost, Yet nevertheless, for as much as bounty appertaineth properly to the holy Ghost, and Envy cometh properly of malice, therefore it is properly against the bounty of the holy Ghost. Now hath malice two speces, that is to say, hardness of hart in wickedness, or else the flesh of a man is so blind, that he considreth not that he is in sin, or recketh not that he is in sin, which is the hardiness of the Devil. That other spece of Envy is, when that a man dennieth troth, when he knoweth that it is troth, and also when he repenteth the grace that god hath give to his neighbour: and all this is by Envy. Certes, then is Envy the worst sin that is, for sooth all other sins be sometime only against a special virtue: but certes, envy is against all virtues and all goodness. For it is sorry against all the bounties of her neighbour, and in this manner it is divers from all other sins. Alas: * For there ne is any sin that it ne hath some delight in itself, save only Envy, that ever hath in itself anguish & sorrow. The speces of Envy been these: there is first sorrow of other man's goodness and of her prosperity, and prosperity is kindly matter of joy: Then is envy a sin against kind. The second spece of Envy, is joy of other man's harm, and that is properly like to the Devil, that ever rejoiceth him of man's harm. Of these two backbiting or detracting hath certain speces, as thus: Some man praiseth his neighbour by a wicked intent, for he maketh always a wicked knot at the last end: always 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 saith a thing to good intent, the backbiter wool turn all that goodness up so down, to his shrewd intent. The third is, to amonish the bounty of his Neighbour. The fourth spece of backbiting is this, that if men speak goodness of a man, then wol the backbiter say: Perfay such a man is yet better than he, in dispraising of him that men praise. The fifth spece is this, for to consent gladly and herk gladly to the harm that men speak of other folk: This sin is full great, & aye increaseth after the wicked intent of the backbiter. After backbiting cometh grudging or murmuration, and sometime it springeth of impatience against God, and sometime against man. Against God it is when a man grudgeth against the pain of hell, or against poverty, or loss of cattle, or against rain or tempest, or else grudgeth that shrews have prosperity, or else for that good men have adversity: and all these things should men suffer patiently, for they come by the rightful judgement and ordinance of God. Sometime cometh grudging of avarice, as judas grudged against Maudelein, when she anointed the head of our Lord jesus Christ with her precious ointment. This manner murmuring is such as when man grudgeth of goodness that himself doth, or that other folk done of her own cattle. Sometime cometh murmur of pride, as when Simon the Pharisee grudged against Maudelein when she approached to jesus Christ and wept at his feet for her sins. And sometime it sourd of Envy, when men discover a man's harm that was privy, or beareth him on hand thing that is false. Murmur also is oft among servaunts that grudge when her sovereign's bid him do lawful things, and for as much as they dare not openly withsay the commandment of her sovereign's, yet wol they say harm and grudge and murmur privily for very spite: which words they call the devils Pater noster, though so be that the devil had never Pater noster, but that lewd folk giveth it such a name. Sometime it cometh of ire or privy hate, that nourisheth rancour in the heart, as afterward I shall declare. Then cometh also bitterness of heart, thorough which bitterness, every good deed of his neighbour seemeth to him bitter and unsavery. Then cometh discord that unbindeth all manner of friendship. Then cometh scorning of his neighbour, all do he never so well. Then cometh accusing, as when a man seeketh occasion to annoy his neighbour, which is like the craft of the devil, that waiteth both day and night to accuse us all. Then cometh malignity, through which a man annoyeth his neighbour privily if he may, and if he may not, algate his wicked will shall not let, as for to burn his house privily, or enpoison or s●ea his beasts, and semblable things. Now wool I speak of the remedy against this foul sin of envy. First is the love of God principally, and loving of his neighbour as himself: for sooth that one ne may not be without that other. And trust well that in the name of thy neighbour thou shalt understand the name of thy brother, for certes all we have one father fleshly, and one mother, that is to say, Adam and Eve: and also one father spiritual, that is God of heaven. Thy neighbour art thou bound for to love, and will him all goodness, and therefore saith God: Love thy neighbour as thyself, that is to say, to salvation both of life and soul. And moreover thou shalt love him in word and in benign admonishing and chastising, and comfort him in his noyaunces, and pray for him withal thy heart. And in deed thou shalt love him in such wise that thou shalt do to him in charity, as thou wouldst that it were done to thine own person: and therefore thou ne shalt do him no damage in wicked word, ne harm in his body, ne in his cattle, ne in his soul, by enticing of wicked ensample. Thou shalt not desire his wife, ne none of his things. Vnderstond also that in the name of neighbour, is comprehended his enemy: Certes man shall love his enemy by the commandment of god, and sooth thy friend thou shalt love in God. I say thine enemy, shalt thou love for God's sake, by his commandment: for if it were reason that man should hate his enemy, forsooth God nold not receive us to his love that been his enemies. Against three manner of wrongs that his enemy doth to him, he shall do three things as thus: against hate and rancour of heart, he shall love him in heart: Against chiding & wicked words, he shall pray for his enemy: Against wicked deeds, he shall do him bounty. For Christ saith: Love your enemies, & pray for him that speak you harm, and for him that chase & pursue you: and do bounty to him that hate you. Lo, thus commandeth us our Lord jesus Christ to do to our enemies: forsooth nature driveth us to love our friends, & perfay our enemies have more need of love than our friends, & they that more need have, certes to hem shall men do goodness. And certes in that deed have we remembrance of the love of jesus Christ that died for his enemies: And in as much as that love is more grevous to perform, so much is the more great the merit, and therefore the loving of our enemy hath confounded the devil's venom: * For right as the devil is confounded by humility, right so is he wounded to the death by the love of our enemy: certes then is love the medicine that casteth out the venom of envy from man's heart. The speces of this place shall be more largely declared in her chapters following.   

¶ De Ira.  
AFter Envy wool I discriue the sin of Ire: for sooth who so hath Envy upon his Neighbour, anon he wool commonly find him a matter of wrath in word or in deed, against him to whom he hath Envy: And as well cometh Ire of Pride as of Envy, for sooth he that is proud or envious is lightly wroth.  
This sin of Ire, after the disriving of S. Austin, is wicked will to be avenged by word or by deed. * Ire, after the Philosopher, is the fervent blood of man iquicked in his heart, through which he would harm to him that he hateth: for certes the hart of man by eschausing and moving of his blood, waxeth so troubled, that it is out of all manner judgement of reason. But ye shall understand that * Ire is in two manners, that one of him is good, & that other is wicked. The good ire is by jealousy of goodness through which a man is wroth with wickedness, and against wickedness. And therefore saith a wise man, that ire is bet than play. This ire is with debonaire, and it is wrath without bitterness: not wroth against the man, but wroth with the misdeed of the man. As saith the Prophet David: Irascimini, & nolite peccare. Now understond that wicked Ire is in two manners, that is to say, sudden ire or hasty ire without avisement & consenting of reason: The meaning and the sense of this is, that the reason of a man ne consent not to that sudden ire, and then it is venial. Another ire is full wicked, that cometh of felony of heart, avised and cast before with wicked will to do vengeance, & thereto his reason consenteth: and sooth this is deadly sin. This ire is so displeasant to God, that it troubleth his house, & chaseth the holy ghost out of man's soul, and wasteth and destroyeth that likeness of God, that is to say, the virtue that is in man's soul, and putteth in him the likeness of the devil, and taketh the man from God that is his rightful Lord. This is a full great pleasance to the devil, for it is the devils forance that is eschaused with the fire of hell: For certes right so as fire is more mighty to destroy earthly things, than any other Element, right so ire is mighty to destroy all spiritual things. Look how that fire of small coals that been almost dead under ashen, wol revive or quick again when they been touchen with brimstone, right so ire wool evermore quick again, when it is touched by the pride that is covered in man's 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 steel. And right so as pride is many times matter of ire, right so is rancour norice and keeper of Ire. There is a manner tree, as saith saint Isodore, that when a man maketh a fire of the said tree, and cover the coals of it with ashen, sooth the fire of it will last a year or more: And right so fareth it of rancour, when it is ones conceived in the hearts of some men, certes it wool last peradventure from one Easter day until another Easter day, or more. But certes the same man is full far from the mercy of God all that while.  
In this foresaid devil's furnace there forge three shrews: Pride, that aye bloweth and increaseth the fire, by chiding and wicked words: Then stondeth Envy, & holdeth hot iron in the fire upon the heart of man, with a pair of long tongs of long rancour: And then stondeth the sin of Contumely or strife and chest, and battereth and forgeth by villainous repreving. Certes this cursed sin annoyeth both to the man himself, and also his Neighbour. For sooth almost all the harm or damage that any man doth to his Neighbour cometh of wrath: for certes, outrageous wrath doth all that ever the foul fend willeth or commandeth him: for he ne spareth neither our Lord jesus Christ, neither his sweet mother. And in his outrageous anger and ire, alas, alas, full many and divers at that time, feleth in his heart full wickedly, both of Christ, and also of all his hallows: Is not this a cursed vice? Yes certes. Alas it taketh fro man his wit & his reason, and all his debonair life spiritual, that should keep his soul. Certes it withdraweth also God's due lordship (& that is man's soul) and the love of his Neighbours. It striveth also all day against troth, it reaveth him the quiet of his heart, and subverteth his soul.  
Of Ire cometh these stinking engendrures, First, Hate, that is old wrath: Discord, thorough which a man forsaketh his old friend that he hath loved full long: and then cometh War, & every manner of wrong that a man doth to his neighbour in body or in cattle. Of this cursed sin of ire cometh also manslaughter. And understond well that homicide (that is, manslaughter) is in divers wise.  
Some manner of homicide is spiritual, and some is bodily. spiritual manslaughter is in vi. things. First by hate, as saith Saint john: * He that hateth his brother, is an homicide. Homicide is also by backbiting, of which backbiting, saith Solomon, that they have two swerds, with which they slay her neighbours: * For sooth as wicked is to take from him his good name as his life. Homicide is also in giving of wicked counsel by fraud, as for to give counsel to areise wrongful customs and tallages. Of which, saith Solomon: * A Lion roaring, & a Bear hungry, be like to the cruel Lords, in withholding or abridging of the sheep or the hire of the wages of Servants, or else in usury, or in withdrawing of the Alms of poor, folk. For which the wise man sayeth: * Feedeth him that almost dyeth for hunger, for sooth but if you feed him you slay him. And all these ben deadly sins. Bodily manslaughter is when thou slee him with thy tongue: Another manner is, when thou commandest to slay a man, or else yevest counsel to slay a man. Mauslaughter indeed is in four manners. That one is by law, right as a justice dampueth him that his culpable to the death: But let the justice beware that he do it rightfully, and that he do it not for delight to spill blood, but for keeping of rightwiseness. Another homicide is done for necessity, as when a man slayeth another in his defence, and that he ne may none otherwise escape, without slaughter of his adversary, he doth sin, and he shall bear penance as for deadly sin. Also if a man by case or adventure shoot an arrow or cast a stone, with which he slaieth a man, he is an homicide. And if a woman by negligence overlyeth 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 venomous herbs, through which she may not conceive, or slaieth a child by drinks, or else putteth certain material things in her secret places to slay 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 conceived. Or else if so be that a woman hath conceived, and hurteth herself, and by that mishap the child is slain, yet it is homicide. What say we of those women that murderens her children for because of eschewing of worldly shame? Certes, it is an horrible homicide. Homicide is also, if a man approach to a woman by desire of lechery, thorough which the child is perished: or else smiteth a woman wittingly, through which she loseth her child: All these been homicides, & horrible deadly sins. Yet come there of ire more sins, as well in word, as in thought and deed. As he that arreteth upon God, or blameth God of the thing of which he is himself guilty, or despiseth God & all his hallows, as done the cursed hasardors in divers countries: This cursed sin done they, when they feel in her heart full wickedly of God & of his hallows. Also when they treat unreverently the sacrament of the altar, that sin is so great, that unneath it may be released, but that the mercy of God passeth all his werks, it is so great, and he so benign. Then cometh of Ire an atterly anger, when a man is sharply amonested in his shrift to leave his sin: Then wool he be angry, and answer hokerly and angrily, or defend or excuse his sin by unstedfastness of his flesh, or else he did it for to hold company with his fellows, or else he saith the fiend enticed him, or else he doth it for his youth, or else his complexion is so courageous that he may not forbear, or else it is his destiny he saith unto a certain age, or else he saith it cometh him of gentleness of his ancestors, and semblable things. All these manner of folk so wrap him in her sins, that they ne wool not deliver himself: For sooth, No wight that excuseth himself wilfully of his sin, may not be delivered of his sin, till that he meekly beknoweth his sin. After this then cometh swearing, that is express against the commandment of God: & this befalleth often of Anger & of Ire. God sayeth: * Thou shalt not take the name of thy Lord God in vain or in idle. Also our Lord jesus Christ sayeth by the word of Saint Matthew: Ne shall ye not swear in all manner, nether by heaven, for it is God's throne: ne by yearth, for it is the bence of his feet: ne by Jerusalem, for it is the city of a great King: ne by thine head, for thou mayest not make an hair neither white ne black: but say by your word, yea, yea, nay, nay: and what that is more, it is of evil. Thus sayeth Christ. For Christ's sake swear not so sinfully in dismembering of Christ, By soul, heart, bones, and body: for certes it seemeth, that ye think that the cursed jews ne dismembered not enough the precious person of Christ, but ye dismember him more. And if so be that the law compel you to swear, then ruleth you after the law of god in your swearing, as sayeth jeremy. iiii. cap. * Thou shalt keep three conditions, Thou shalt swear in troth, in doom, and in rightwiseness: this is to say, thou shalt swear sooth. For every losing is against Christ, for Christ is very troth. * And think well this, That every great swearer, not compelled lawfully to swear, the plague shall not depart fro his house, while he useth such unleful swearing. Thou shalt swear also in doom, when thou art constrained by thy doms' man to witness troth: Also thou shalt not swear for envy, neither for favour, neither for meed or reward, but only for rightwiseness, & for declaring of it to the honour and worship of God, & to the aiding & help of thine evin christian. And therefore every man that taketh God's name in idle, or falsely sweareth with his mouth, or else taketh on him the name of Christ, to be called a Christian man, & liveth against Christ's living and his teaching: all they take God's name in idle. Look also what saith saint Peter: Actuum iiii. capitu. Non est aliud nomen sub coelo, etc. There is none other name (saith saint Peter) under heaven give to men, in which they may be saved, that is to say, but the name of jesus Christ. Take heed eke how precious is the name of jesus Christ, as saith S. Poule, ad Philipenses. two. In nomine Jesus, etc. * That in the name of jesus every knee of heavenly 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 jews, or else the devil, that trembleth when he heareth his name.  
Now certes, sith the swearing (but if it be lawfully done) is so highly defended: much more is forswearing falsely, and yet needless.  
What say we also of him that delight him in swearing, and hold it a gentery or a manly deed to swear great oaths? And what of him that of very usage ne cease not to swear great oaths, all be the cause not worth a straw? Certes, this is horrible sin. Swearing suddenly is also a great sin. But let us go now to that horrible sin, swearing of adjuration and conjuration, as done these false Enchauntours or Nigromanters in Basins full of water, or in a bright sword, in a Circle, in a fire, or in the shoulder bone of a sheep? I cannot say, but that they do cursedly and damnably against Christ, and all the faith of holy church.  
What say we of him that believe on Devinales, as by flight or by noise of birds or of beasts, or by sort, by Geomancy, by dreams, by chirking of doors, or cracking of houses, by gnawing of rats, & such manner wretchedness? Certes, all these things been defended by God and holy church, for which they been accursed, till they come to amendment, that on such filth set her believe. Charms for wounds, or malady of men, or of beasts, if they take any effect, it may be peradventure that God suffereth it, for folk should give the more faith & reverence to his name.  
Now wool I speak of leasings, which generally is false signifiance of word in intent, to deceive his evin Christien. Some leasing is, of which there cometh none advantage to no wight: and some leasing turneth to the profit and ease of a man, and to the damage of another man. Another leasing is, for to save his life or his cattle, which cometh of delight for to lie, in which delight, they wool forge a long tale, and paint it with all circumstances, where all the tale of the ground is false. Some leasing cometh, for he wool sustain his words: Some leasing cometh of retchlessness without avisement, and semblable things.  
Let us now touch the vice of Flattery, which ne cometh not gladly, but for dread, or for covetise. Flattery is generally wrongful praising. Flatterers been the devil's nourices, that nourish his children with milk of losengerie: forsooth Solomon saith, That Flattery is worse than detraction: for sometime detraction maketh an hautein man be the more humble, for he dreadeth detraction, but certes flattery maketh a man to enhance his heart and his countenance. Flatterers be the Devil's enchauntours, for they make a man to ween himself be like that he is not like. Those be like to judas, that betray a man, to sell him to his Enemy. Flatterers been the devil's Chapleins, that ever sing Placebo. I reckon flattery in the vices of ire: for oft time if a man be wroth with another, then wool 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, every manner power of harm: such cursing bereaveth man from the reign of God, as saith S. Poule. And oft time such cursing wrongfully, returneth again to him that curseth, as a bird that turneth again to his own nest. * And over all thing, men ought eschew to curse her children, & give to the devil her engendrure, as far forth as in hem is: certes, it is great peril & great sin.  
Let us then speak of Chiding & Reproach, which been full great wounds in man's heart, for they unsow the seams of friendship in man's heart: For certes, Vnneth may a man plainly be accorded with him, that him openly hath reviled and reproved, & disclandered: This is a full ghostly sin, as Christ saith in the Gospel. And take heed now, that he that reproveth his neighbour, either he reproveth him by some harm of pain, that he hath upon his body, as Mesell, crooked, harlot, or by some sin that he doth. Now if ye reprove him by harm of pain, then turneth the reprove to jesus Christ: for pain is send by the rightwise fond of God, & by his sufferance, be it meselrie, maim, or malady: & if he reprove him uncharitably of sin, as thou holour, thou dronkelewe harlot, & so forth: then pertaineth that to the rejoicing of the devil, which ever hath joy that men done sin. And certes, chiding may not come but of villainous heart, for after the abundance 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 repreving: for truly but he beware, he may full lightly quicken the fire of anger & of wrath, which he should quench: and peradventure, slaeth him, which he might chastise with benignity. For as saith Solomon: * The amiable tongue is the tree of life, that is to say, of life spiritual. And sooth, a dissolute tongue slaeth the spirits of him that reproveth, and also of him which is reproved. Lo, what sayeth saint Augustine: * There is nothing so like the deviiss child, as he which oft chideth. A servant of God behoveth not to chide. And though that chiding be a villainous thing betwixt all manner folk, yet it is certes most uncovenable between a man and his wife, for there is never rest. And therefore sayeth Solomon: * An house that is uncovered & drooping, and a chiding wife, been alike.  
A man, which is in a dropping house in many 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 joy, than an house filled full of delices with chiding and gnerring, sayeth Solomon. Saint Poule saith: O ye women, beth ye subject to your husbands, as you behoveth and aught in God. And ye men love your wives. Ad Colonicences. iii  
Afterward speak we of Scorning, which is a wicked sin, and namely, when he scorneth a man for his good werks: For certes, such scorners fare like the foul toad, that may not endure to smell the sweet savour of the vine, when it flourisheth. These scorners been parting fellows with the devil, for they have joy when the devil winneth, and sorrow if he loseth. They been adversaries of jesus Christ, for they hate that he loveth, that is to say, salvation of soul.  
Speak we now of wicked counsel, the which is a Traitor, for he deceiveth him that trusteth in him: Vt Achitophel ad Salomonem. But nevertheless, yet is his wicked counsel first against himself: for as saith the wise man: * Every false living hath this property in himself, that he that wool annoy another man, he annoyeth first himself. And men shall understond, that man shall not take his counsel of false folk, ne of angry folk, or grevous folk, ne of folk that love specially too much worldly folk, namely, in counselling of Souls.  
Now cometh the sin of him 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 loveth better, that friendship be amongst folk, than he did his own body, which that he gave for unity. Therefore been they likened to the devil, that ever be about to make discord. Now cometh the sin of Double tongue, such as speak fair before folk, and wickedly behind: or else they make semblant, as though they spoke of good intention, or else in game and play, and yet they speak of wicked intent.  
Now cometh bewraying of counsel, through which a man is defamed: certes unneath may he restore the damage. Now cometh menace, that is an open folly: for he that oft menaceth, he threateth more than he may perform full oft time. Now cometh idle words, that is, without profit of him that speaketh the words, & also of him that hearkeneth the words: Or else idle words been those that been needless, or without intent of natural profit. And albeit that idle words be sometime venial sin, yet should men doubt him, for we shall give reckoning of him before God. Now cometh jangling, that may not be without sin: & as saith Solomon, It is a sign of apert folly. And therefore a Philosopher said, when men asked him how that he should please the people, he answered: * Do many good works, and speak few vanities. After this cometh the sin of yaperies, that been the devil's Apes, for they make folk to laugh at her yaperie, as folk do at the gauds of an Ape: which yapes defendeth saint Poule. Look how that virtuous words and holy, comfort him that travail in the service of Christ, right so comforteth the villainous words and knacks of yapers, him that travail in the service of the devil. These been the sins of the tongue, that come of ire, and of other sins.   

¶ The remedy against Ire.  
THe remedy against Ire, is a virtue that men call mansuetude, that is, Debonairtie: and also another virtue, that men clepe patience or sufferance.  
Debonairtie withdraweth and refraineth the stir and movings of man's courage in heart, in such manner, that they ne skip not out by Anger ne Ire. Sufferance, suffereth sweetly all the annoyances and wrongs that men done to man outward. Saint Jerome sayeth this of debonaire, That it doth no harm to no wight, ne sayeth: ne for no harm that men do ne say, he ne chafeth against reason. This virtue sometime cometh of nature: for as sayeth the Philosopher: A man is a quick thing by nature, debonair, and treatable to goodness: but when debonairty is informed of grace, than it is the more worth.  
Patience is another remedy against ire, & is a virtue that suffereth sweetly every man's goodness, and is not wroth for no harm that is done to him. The Philosopher saith, That patience is the virtue that suffreth debonairly, all the outrages of adversity, and every wicked word. This virtue maketh a man like to God, and maketh him Gods own child: as sayeth Christ. This virtue discomfiteth thine enemies. And therefore sayeth the Wise man: If thou would vanquish thine enemy, learn to suffer. And thou shalt understond, that a man suffereth four manner of greevances in outward things, against the which four, he must have four manner of patiences.  
The first grievance is of wicked words, which suffereth jesus Christ, without grudging, full patiently, when the jews despised him full oft. Suffet thou therefore patiently, for the Wiseman saith: * If thou strive with a fool, though the fool be wroth, or though he laugh, always thou shalt have no rest.  
That other greevaunce outward, is to have damage of thy cattle: There against suffered Christ full patiently, when he was despoiled of all that he had in this life, and that was but his clothes. The third greevaunce, is a man to have harm in his body: that suffered Christ full patiently in all his passion. The fourth grievance, is in outrageous labour in werks: wherefore I say, that folk that make her servants to travail too grievously, or out of time, as in holy days, sooth they do great sin. Here against suffered Christ full patiently, & taught us patience, when he bore upon his blessed shoulders the cross, upon which he should suffer despitous death. Here may men learn to be patient, for certes, not only Christian be patient for love of jesus Christ, and for reward of the blessed life that is perdurable, but certes the old Painems, that never were Christened, commended and used the virtue of patience.  
* A Philosopher upon a time, that would have beat his disciple for his great trespass, for which he was moved, and brought a rod to beat the child, and when this child saw the rod, he said to his master: what think ye to do? I wool beat thee said the master for thy correction: Forsooth, said the child, ye ought first correct yourself, that have lost all your patience, for the offence of a child. Forsooth said the master all weeping, thou sayest sooth: have thou the rod my dear child, and correct me for mine impatience. Of patience cometh 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 perfect, when that a man doth gladly and hastily, with good heart entirely, all that he should do. Obedience generally, is to perform the doctrine of God, and of his sovereigns, to which him ought to be obeissant in all rightwiseness.   

¶ De Accidia.  
AFter the sins of Envy and Ire, now wool I speak of the sin of Accidie: tor Envy blindeth the heart of a man, and Ire troubleth a man, & Accidie maketh him heavy, thoughtful, and pensive. Envy & Ire maken bitterness in heart, which birternesse is mother of Accidie, and taketh from him the love of all goodness, then is accidie the anguish of trouble of heart. And S. Augustine saith: It is annoy of goodness & annoy of harm. Certes this is a damnable sin, for it doth wrong to jesus Christ, in as much as it benumbeth the service that men ought to do to Christ, as saith Solomon: but Accidie doth no such diligence. He doth all thing with annoy, and with wrawnesse, slackness, and excusation, with idleness & unlust. For which the book saith: * Accursed be he that doth the service of God negligently. Then is Accidie enemy to every 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 been holden to labour in praying to God for amendment of her sins, & that he would grant him to rise out of her sins.  
Another estate is the estate of grace, in which estate he is holden to works of penitence: and certes, to all these things is accidie contrary, for he loveth no business at all. Now certes, this foul sin accidie, is also a full great enemy to the livelihood of the body: * For it ne hath no purveyance against temporal necessity, for it forsloweth, forslogeth, and destroyeth all goods temporal by retchlessness.  
The fourth thing is, that Accidie is like him that been in the pain of hell, because of her sloth and heaviness: for they that be damned, been so bound, that they may neither well do ne think. Of accidie cometh first, that a man is annoyed and encumbered to do any goodness, and maketh that God hath abomination of such accidie, as saith Saint john.  
Now cometh Sloth, that wool not suffer no hardness ne penance: for sooth, s●oth is so tender and so delicate, as sayeth Solomon, that he wool suffer no hardness ne penance, and therefore he marreth all that he doth. Against this rotten sin of accidie and sloth, should men exercise himself, and use him to do good works: and manly and virtuously catch courage to do, thinking that our Lord jesus Christ quiteth every good deed, be it never so light. Usage of labour is a great thing. For it maketh, as sayeth S. Bernard, the labourer to have strong arms and hard sinews: and sloth maketh heevy, feeble, and tender. Then cometh dread to begin to work any good works. For certes, * He that inclineth to sin, him thinketh it is so great an emprise for to undertake the works of goodness, and casteth in his heart, that the circumstances of goodness been so grievous and weighty for to suffer, that he dare not undertake to do works of goodness, as sayeth Saint Gregory.  
Now cometh wanhope, that is, despair of the mercy of God, that cometh sometime of too much outrageous sorrow, & sometime of too much dread, imagining that he hath do so much sin, that it wool not avail him, though he would repent him, and forsake sin: through which despair or dread, he abandonneth all his heart to every manner sin, as saith Saint Augustine. Which damnable sin, if it continue unto his end, it is called sinning in the holy ghost. This horrible sin is so perilous, that he that is despaired, there nis no felony, ne no sin, that he doubteth for to do, as sheweth well by judas. Certes, above all sins than is this sin most displeasant to Christ, and most adversary.  
soothly, he that dispaireth him, is like to the coward champion recreant, that flieth without need. Alas, alas, needless is he recreant, & needless despaired. Certes. * The mercy of God is ever ready to the penitent person, & is above all his werks. Alas, cannot a man bethink him on the Gospel of S. Luke xu Whereas Christ sayeth, * That as well shall there be joy in heaven upon a sinful man that doth penitence, as upon xcix. rightful men that need no penitence. Look further in the same Gospel, the joy & the feast of the good man that had lost his son, when his son was returned with repentance to his father. Can they not remember him also, that (as saith Saint Luke, Chapi. xx.) How that the thief that was hanged beside jesus Christ, said: Lord remember me, when thou comest 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 sin in man, that ne may in his life be destroyed by penitence, through virtue 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 have.  
Then cometh somnolence, that is sluggie, slumbering, which maketh a man heavy, and dull in body and in soul, and this sin cometh of sloth: And certes, the time that by way of reason man should not sleep, is by the morrow, but if there were cause reasonable. For sooth, the morrow tide is most covenable, a man to say his prayers, and for to thank God, and to honour God, and to give almose to the poor that cometh first in the name of jesus Christ.  
Lo, what sayeth Solomon? Who so wool by the morrow awake to seek me, he shall find me. Then cometh negligence or retchlesness that recketh of nothing. And though the ignorance be mother of all harms, certes, negligence is the norice. Negligence ne doth no force, when he shall do a thing, whether he do it well or evil.  
The remedy of these two sins is, as saith the Wise man: * That he that dreadeth God, spareth not to do that he ought to do: and he that loveth God, he wool do diligence to please God by his works, and abandon himself, with all his might, well for to do. Then cometh idleness, that is the yate of all harms. An idle man is like to a place that hath no walls, the devil may enter on every side, or shoot at him that is discoverte, by temptation on every side. This idleness is the thorruke of all wicked and villainous thoughts, and of all ordure. Certes, the heaven is give to him that will labour, and not to idle folk. Also David sayeth, * That they ne be not in the labour of men, ne they shall not be whipped with men, that is to say, in Purgatory. Certes, then seemeth it they shall be tormented with the devils in hell, but if they do penance.  
Then cometh the sin that men call Tarditas, as when a man is so latered, or tarrying or he wool turn to God: and certes, that is a great folly. He is like him that falleth in the ditch, and wool not arise. And this vice cometh of false hope, that he thinketh he shall live long, but that hope faileth full oft.  
Then cometh Lochesse, that is, he that when he beginneth any good work, anon he wool leave and stint it, as done they that have any person to govern, and ne take of him no more heed, anon as they find any contrary or any annoy. These been the new shepherds, that let their sheep wittingly go ren to the Wolf, that is in the breres, or do not force of her own governance. Of this cometh poverty and destruction, both of spiritual and temporal things. Then cometh a manner coldness, that freezeth the hart of man. Then cometh undevotion, through which a man is so blunt, and as sayeth S. Bernard, hath such langour in his soul, that he may neither read ne sing in holy church, ne hear ne think of no devotion, ne travail with his honds in no good work, that it nis to him unsavoury and all apalled. Then waxeth the slow and slombry, and soon wool be wroth, and soon is inclined to hate and envy. Then cometh the sin of worldly sorrow, such as is called Tristitia, that staeth a man, as saith Saint Poule. For certes, such sorrow worketh the death of the soul and body also, for thereof cometh, 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.  
Against this horrible sin of Accidie, and the branches of the same, there is a virtue that is called Fortitudo, or strength, through which a man despiseth annoyous things: this virtue is so mighty and so rigorous, that it dare withstand mightily, and wisely keep himself from perils that been wicked, and wrestle against the assaults of the devil, for it enchaunceth and enforceth the soul, right as Accidie abateth & maketh it feeble: for this fortitude may endure by long sufferance the travails that been covenable.  
This virtue hath many speces, the first is called Magnanimity, that is to say, great courage. For certes, there behoveth great courage against Accidie, lest that it ne swallow the soul by the sin of sorrow, or destroy it by wanhope. Certes, this virtue maketh folk undertake hard and grievous things by her own will, wisely and reasonably. And for as much as the devil fighteth against a man more by subtlety and sleight than by strength, therefore shall a man withstand him by wit, reason and discretion. Then are there the virtues of faith, and hope in God and in his saints, to follow and accomplish the good works, in the which he purposeth firmly to continue. Then cometh surety or sickerness, and that is when a man ne doubteth no travail in time coming, of the good works that he hath begun. Then cometh Magnificence, that is to say, when a man doth and performeth great works of goodness, that he hath begun, and that is the end why that men should do good works. For in the accomplishing of good works, lieth the great guerdon. Then is there constance, that is stableness of courage, and this should be in heart by steadfast faith, and in mouth, in bearing, in cheer, and in deed. And there been more special remedies against Accidie, in divers works: as in consideration of the pains of hell, the joys of heaven, and in trust of the grace of the holy ghost, that will give him might to perform his good intent.   

¶ De Avaricia.  
AFter Accidie wool I speak of Avarice, and of Covetise. Of which sin Saint Poule saith: * The root of all harms is Covetise. Ad Timoth vi For sooth, when the heart of man is confounded in itself and troubled, and that the soul hath lost the comfort of God, then seeketh he an sole solace of worldly things.  
Avarice, after the description of S. Augustine, is a liquorousness in heart to have earthly things. Some other folk say, that Avarice is for to purchase many earthly things, and nothing to give to him that have need. And understand, that avarice standeth not only in land ne cattle, but sometime in science and glory, and in every manner of outrageous things, is Avarice. And Covetise is this:  
Covetise, is for to covet such things that thou hast not. And Avarice is, to withhold and keep such things as thou hast, without right. Sooth, this avarice is a sin that is full damnable, for all holy writ curseth it, and speaketh against that vice, for it doth wrong to jesus Christ: for it taketh from him, the love that men to him owe, and tourneth it backward against all reason, & maketh that the avaricious man hath more hope in his cattle than in jesus Christ, and doth more observance in keeping of his treasure, than he doth in the service of jesus Christ. And therefore sayeth Saint Poule. Ad Ephesios quinto: * That an avaricious man is the thraldom of Idolatry.  
What difference is there betwixt an Idolater and an avaricious man? But that an Idolater, peradventure ne hath not but a Mammet, or two, and the avaricious man hath many: For certes, every Florein in his coffer, is his Mammet. And certes, the sin of Maumetrie, is the first that God defended, as in the x. commandment it beareth witness, in Exodi. Capi. xx. Thou shalt have no false gods before me, ne thou shalt make to thee no graven thing. Thus is an avaricious man that loveth his treasure before God, an Idolater. And through this cursed sin of avarice and covetise, cometh these hard Lordships, through which they been strained by tallages, customs, and carriages, more than her duty or reason is: or else take they of her bondmen amerciaments, which might more reasonably be called extortions, than merciamentes. Of which amerciaments, or ransoming of bondmen, some Lords stewards say, that it is rightful, for as much as a churl hath no temporal thing, that it ne is his Lords, as they say. But certes, these Lordships do wrong, that bereave their bondmen things that they never gave hem. Augustinus de Civitate dei. Libro ix Sooth is, * That the condition of thraldom, and the first cause of thraldom was for sin.  
Thus may ye see, that the offence deserved thraldom, but not nature. Wherefore these Lords ne should not much glorify him in her Lordships, sith that they by natural condition, been not Lords over thralls, but for that thraldom came first by the desert of sin. And more over, there as the Law saith, That temporal goods of bondfolk been the goods of her Lord: yea, that is for to understond, the goods of the Emperor, to defend him in her right, but not to rob him ne reave him. Therefore sayeth Seneca: * Thy prudence should live benignly with the thralls. Those that thou callest thy thralls, been God's people: and for humble people been Christ's friends, they been contubernial with the Lords.  
* Think also, that of such seed as churls spring, of such seed spring Lords: As well may the churl be saved, as the Lord. The same death that taketh the churl, such death taketh the Lord. Wherefore I read, do right so with the churl, as thou wouldst that thy Lord did with thee, if thou were in his plight. * Every sinful man is a churl to sin: I read the Lord certes, that thou werk in such wise with thy churls, that they rather love thee than dread thee. I wot well, that there is degree above degree, as reason is, and skill is, that men do her devoir, there as it is due. But certes, extortions, and despite of your underlings, is damnable.  
And furthermore understand well, that these Conquerors or Tyrants make full oft thralls of hem that been born of as royal blood as been they that him conquer. This name of Thraldom was never erst know, till that No said, that his son Cham should be thrall to his brethren for his sin. What say we then of him that pill and do extortions to holy Church: Certes, the sword that men give first to a knight when he is new dubbed, signifieth, that he should defend holy Church, and not rob and pill it: and who so doth, is traitor to Christ. And as saith S. Augustine, * They been the devil's Wolves, that strangle the sheep of jesus Christ, and done worse than Wolves: for sooth, when the Wolf hath full his womb, he stinteth to strangle sheep: But sooth, the pillours and destroyers of holy Church goods, ne do not so, for they ne stint never to pill. Now as I have said, sith so is, that sin was first cause of thraldom, then is it thus, that at the time that all this world was in sin, than was all this world in thraldom, 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 each should be served in his estate.  
And therefore in some countries there they be thralls, when they have turned him to their faith, they make her thralls free out of the thraldom: & therefore, certes the Lord oweth to his man, that the man oweth to the Lord. The Pope calleth himself servant to the servants of God, but for, as the estate of holy Church ne might not have been, ne the common profit might not have be kept, ne peace ne rest in earth, but if God had ordained, that some man have higher degree, & some men lower: therefore was sovereignty ordained to keep, maintain, and defend her underlings and her subjects in reason, as for forth as it lieth in her power, and not to destroy ne confound him. Wherefore I say, that those lords that been like wolves, that devour the possessions or the cattle of poor folks wrongfully, without mercy or measure, they shall receive by the same measure that they have measured to poor folk, the measure of jesus Christ, but it be amended. Now cometh deceit betwixt merchant and merchant. And thou shalt understond, that merchandise is in two manners, that one is bodily, & that other is ghostly: that one is honest and leeful, & that other is dishonest and unleful. The bodily merchandise that is leeful and honest, is this: that there as God hath ordained, that a reign or a country is suffissant to himself, than it is honest and lawful, that of abundance of this country men help another country that is needy: And therefore there must be merchants to bring fro one country to that other, her merchandise. That other merchandise that men haunt with fraud, and treachery, and deceit, with leasings and false oaths, is right cursed and damnable. Espirituell Merchandise is properly Simony, that is, ententive desire to buy any thing espirituell, that is, a thing which appertaineth to the sanctuary of God, and to cure of the soul. This desire, if so be that a man do his diligence to perform it, all be it that his desire ne take none effect, yet it is to him a deadly sin: & if he be ordered, he is irregular. Certes Simony is called of Simon magus, that would have bought for temporal cattle the yeast that God had give by the Holyghost to Saint Peter, and to the Apostles: And therefore understand, that he that selleth and he that buyeth things espirituell, ben called Simoniackes, be it by cattle, be it by procuring, or by fleshly prayer of his friends, fleshly friends, or espirituell friends, fleshly in two manners, as by kindred or other friends: Sooth, if they pray for him that is not worthy and able, it is Simony, if he take the benefice: and if he be worthy and able, there is none. That other manner is, when man or woman prayeth for folk to advance him only, for wicked fleshly affection which they have unto the persons, and that is foul Simony. But certes, in service, for which men given things espirituell unto her servants, it must be understand, that the service must be honest, or else not, & also, that it be without bargaining, and that the person be able. For (as saith Saint Damasen:) * All the sins of the world, at regard of this sin, are as thing of nought, for it is the greatest sin that may be after the sin of Lucifer and of Antichrist: For by this sin God forleseth the Church and the Soul, which he bought with his precious blood, by him that give Churches to him that been not worthy, for they are put in thieves honds, that steal the souls of jesus Christ, and destroy his patrimony. By such unworthy Priests and Curates, have lewd men less reverence of the Sacraments of holy Church: & such yevers of Churches put the children of Christ out, & put in the Church the Devils own sons: they sell the souls that Lambs should keep, to the Wolf, which strangleth him: and therefore shall they never have part of the pasture of Lambs, that is, the bliss of Heaven. Now cometh hasardry, with his apertenaunces, at tables and rafles, of which cometh deceit, false oaths, chide, and all ravenous blasphemings, & renying of God, and hate of his neighbours, wast of goods, mispending of time, and sometime manslaughter. Certes, hazarders ne mow not be without great sin. Of Avarice cometh also leasings, theft, false witness, and false oaths: and ye shall understand, that these be great sins, and express against the commandments of God, as I have said. False witness is in word, and also in deed: In word, as for to bereave thy neighbours good name by thy false witness, or bereave him his cattle or his heritage, by thy false witnessing, when thou for ire, or for meed, or for envy, bearest false witness, or accusest him, or excuseth thyself falsely. Beware ye questmongers and notaries: certes, for false witnessing, was Susan in full great sorrow and pain, and many another more. The sin of theft is also express against God's hest, and in two manners (corporell, and spiritual) the temporal theft is: As, for to take thy neighbour's cattle against his will, be it by force or by sleight, be it by met or by measure: by stealing also of false enditements upon him, and in borrowing of thy neighbour's cattle, in intent never to pay it again, and semblable 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 every villainous sin that men done in such places, may be called sacrilege, or every violence in the semblable places. Also they that withdraw falsely the rights that long to holy Church and pleasing. And generally sacrilege is to reave holy thing fro holy place, or unholy thing, out of holy place, or holy thing out of unholy place.   

Revelatio contra peccatum Avaritiae.  
NOw shall ye understand, that relieving of Avarice, is misericorde and pity largely taken. And men might ask, why that misericorde and pity are relieving of Avarice: Certes, the avaricious man showeth no pity ne misericorde to the needful man.  
For he delighteth him in the keeping of his treasure, & not in the rescuing ne relieving of his evin christian. And therefore speak I first of misericorde. Then is misericorde (as saith the Philosopher) a virtue, by which the courage of man is stirred by the misease of him that is diseased. Upon which misericorde followeth pity, in performing and fulfiling of charitable works of mercy, helping & comforting him that is miseased. And certes, these things move and stir a man to misericorde of jesus Christ, that he gave himself for our offence, and suffered death for misericorde, and forgive us our original sins, and thereby released us from the pains of hell, and minished the pains of purgatory by penitence, and giveth grace well to do, and at last, the bliss of heaven. The speces of misericorde been for to lean, and also for to give, for to foryeve and release, and for to have pity in heart, and compassion of the mischief of his evin christian, and also to chastise there as need is. Another manner of remedy against Avarice, is reasonable largesse: but sooth, here behooveth the consideration of that grace of jesus Christ, and of the temporal goods, and also of the goods perdurable that jesus Christ gave to us, and to have remembrance of the death which he shall receive, he knoweth not when, where, ne who: and also that he shall forgo all that he hath, save only that which he hath expended in good works.  
But for as much as some folk been unmeasurable, men ought for to avoid and eschew foolish largesse, the which some people call waste.  
Certes, he that is fool large, giveth not his cattle, but he loseth his cattle. Sooth, what thing that he giveth for vainglory, as to minstrels, and to folk that bear his renome in the world, he hath sin thereof, and none alms: certes, * He loseth foul his good, that he ne seeketh with the yeft of his good nothing but sin. He is like to an horse that seeketh rather to drink drovy or troubled water, than for to drink water of the clear well. To him appertainen the said cursing that Christ shall give at the day of doom to him that shall be damned.   

¶ Sequitur de Gula.  
AFter Avarice cometh gluttony, which is express against the commandment of God. gluttony, is unmeasurable appetite to eat or to drink, or else to do enough to the unmeasurable appetite and disordained covetise to eat or to drink. This sin corrupteth all this world, as is well showed in the sin of Adam and of Eue. Look also what saith saint Paul of gluttony. * Many (saith he) gone, of which I have often said to you, and now I say it weeping, that been the enemies of the cross of Christ, of which the end is death, and of which her womb is her God and her glory, in confusion of him that so devour earthly things.  
He that is used to this sin of gluttony, he ne may no sin withstand, he must be in servage of all vices, for it is the Devils hoard, there he hideth and resteth him. This sin hath many speces: The first is drunkenness, * That is the horrible sepulture of man's reason: and therefore when a man is drunk, he hath lost his reason: And this is deadly sin. But sooth, when that a man is not wont to strong drink, and peradventure ne knoweth not the strength of the drink, or hath feeblesse in his head, or hath travailed, through which he drinketh the more, all be he suddenly caught with drink, it is no deadly sin, but venial. The second spece of gluttony is, that the spirit of a man waxeth all troubled, for drunkenness bireaveth him the discretion of his wit.  
The third manner spece of gluttony, is when a man devoureth his meat, and hath not rightful manner of eating. The fourth is, when through the great abundance of his meat, the humours in his body been distempered. The fifth is, forgetfulness by too much drinking, for which sometime a man forgetteth ere the morning what he did on the evening before.  
In other manner been distinct the speces of gluttony, after S. Gregory. The first is, for to eat before time to eat. The second is, when a man giveth him to delicate meat or drink. The third is, when men take too much over measure. The fourth is, curiosity, with great intent to make and apparel his meat. The fifth is, for to eat too greedily.  
These been the five fingers of the devil's hon, by which he draweth folk to sin.   

¶ The Remedy against gluttony.  
Against gluttony, the remedy is abstinence, as saith Galiene: but that I hold not meritorious, if he do it for the heal of his body. Saint Augustine wool that abstinence be done for virtue, and with patience. Abstinence (saith he) is little worth, but if a man have good will thereto, and but if he be enforced by patience and charity, and that men do it for God's sake, and in hope to have bliss in heaven.  
The fellows of abstinence be attemperance, that holdeth the mean in all things. Also Shame, that escheweth all dishonesty. Suffisance, that seeketh no rich meats ne drinks, ne doth not force of outrageous appaireling of meat. Measure also, that restraineth by reason the unmeasurable appetite of eating. Soberness also, that restraineth the outrage of drink. Sparing also, that restraineth the delicate ease, to sit long at meat, wherefore some folk stand of her own will when they eat, because they wool eat at less leisure.   

¶ De Luxutia.  
AFter gluttony cometh Lechery, for these two sins been so nigh cousins, that oft time they wool not depart. God wot this sin is full displeasant to God, he forsaid himself: Do no lechery. And therefore he putteth great pains against this sin.  
For in the old law, if a woman thrall were take in this sin, she should be beat with staffs to death. And if she were a gentlewoman, she should be slain with stones. And if she were a bishop's daughter, she should be brent by God's commandment.  
Moreover, by the sin of Lechery God drowned all the world, and after that he brent five cities with thunder and lightning, and sank him into hell.  
Now let us speak then of the said stinking sin of Lechery, that men call adultery of wedded folk, that is to say, if that one of him ben wedded, or else both. Saint john saith, That avouterers shall be in hell in a stack bre●ning of fire and of brimstone, for the stench of her ordure: certes, the breaking of this sacrament is an horrible thing: it was made of God himself in Paradise, and confirmed by jesus Christ, as witnesseth Saint Matthew in the Gospel: * A man shall leave father and mother, and take him to his wife, and they shall be two in one flesh.  
This Sacrament betokeneth the knitting together of Christ and holy Church. And not only that God forbade adultery indeed, but also he commanded, That thou shouldest not covet thy neighbour's wife.  
In this hest (saith Saint Augustine) is forbade all manner covetise to do Lechery. Lo, what saith Saint Matthew in the Gospel, * That who so seeth a woman, to covetise of his lust, he hath done Lechery with her in his heart. Here may ye see, that not only the deed of this sin is forboden, but also the desire to that sin. This cursed sin annoyeth grievously him that it haunt: and first to her soul, for he obligeth it to sin, and to pain of death, which is perdurable: then of the body annoyeth it grievously 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 cattle and his substance. And certes, if it be a foul thing, a man to waste his cattle on women: yet it is a fouler thing, when that for such ordure, women dispend upon men her cattle and her substance. * This sin, as saith the Prophet, taketh from man and woman her good fame and her honour, and it is full delectable and pleasant to the devil: for thereby winneth he the more part of this wretched world. And right as a Merchant delighteth him most in that chaffer which he hath most advantage and profit of, right so delighteth the fiend in this ordure.  
This is that other hon of the devil, with five fingers, to catch the people to his villainy. The first is the foolish looking of the foolish woman and of the foolish man, that spaeth right as the Basilicocke or Cockatrice steeths folk by venom of his sight: for the covetise of the eyes followeth the covetise of the heart. The second finger is the villainous touching in wicked manner. And therefore saith Solomon: * That who so toucheth & handleth a woman, he fareth as the man that handleth the Scorpion, which stingeth and suddenly fleeth through his enueniming, or as who so that toucheth warm pitch blemisheth his fingers. The third is foul words, which fareth like fire, which right anon brenneth the heart. The fourth finger is the kissing: And truly he were a great fool that would kiss the mouth of a brenning oven or of a furnace. And more fools ben they that kiss in villainy, for that mouth is the mouth of hell, and namely these old dotards holours, which wool kiss and flicker, and busy hemselfes though they may nought do. Certes they been like to hounds: For an hound when he cometh nigh to the roser, or by other benches, though so be that he may not piss, yet wool he heave up his leg and make a countenance to piss. And for that many man weeneth that he may not sin for no liquorousness that he doth with his wife, truly that opinion is false: * God wot a man may slay himself with his own knife, and make himself drunk with his own ton. Certes be it wife, be it child, or any worldly thing that he loveth before God, it is his maumette, and he is an idolater. * A man should love his wife by discretion, patiently and attemperately, and then is she as though it were his sister. The fifth finger of the Devils hand, is the stinking deed of lechery. Truly the five fingers of gluttony the Devil putteth into the womb of a man: And with his five fingers of lechery he gripeth him by the reins, for to throw him into the furnace of Hell, there as they shall have the fire and the worms that ever shall last, and weeping and wailing, and sharp hunger and thirst, grimness of Devils, which shall all to tread him withouten end. Of lechery, as I said, sourd and springeth divers speces: as fornication, that is between man and woman which be not married, and is deadly sin, and against nature. All that is enemy and destruction to nature, is against nature. Perfay the reason of a man telleth him well also that it is deadly sin, for as much as God forbade lechery. And Saint Paul giveth him the reign that nis dew to no wight but to him that done deadly sin. Another sin of lechery is, to bereave a maid's maidenhead, for he that so doth, certes he casteth a maiden out of the highest degree that is in this present life, and bereaveth her that precious fruit that the book calleth the hundreth fruits, I ne can say it none otherwise in English, but in Latin it height (Centesimus fructus:) Certes he that so doth, is the cause of many damages and villainies, more than any man can reckon: right as he is cause of many damages sometime that beasts do in the field, that break the hedge or the closure, through which he destroyeth that may not be restored: For certes no more may maidenhead be restored, than an arm that is smitte fro the body, may return again and wax: She may have mercy, this wot I well, if that she have will to do penitence, but never shall it be that she nas corrupt. And all be it so that I have spoke somewhat of adultery, also it is good to show the perils that long to adultery, for to eschew that foul sin. Auoutrie in latin, is for to say, approaching of another man's bed, through which those that sometime were one flesh, abandon her bodies to other persons. Of this sin, as sayeth the wise man, follow many harms: First breaking of faith, and certes in faith is the key of christendom: and when that faith is broke and lost, sooth christendom stont vein and without fruit. This sin also is theft, for theft generally is to reave a wight his things against his will. * Certes, this is the foulest theft that may be, when that a woman stealeth her body from her husband, and giveth it to her holour to defoil her: and stealeth her soul from Christ, and giveth it to the Devil: This is a fouler theft than for to break a Church and steal away the chalice, for these avouterers break the temple of God spiritually, and steal the vessel of grace, that is the body and the soul: For which Christ shall destroy him, as saith saint Poule. soothly of this theft doubted greatly joseph, when that his Lord's wife prayed him of villainy, when he said: Lo my Lady, how my Lord hath take to me under my ward, all that he hath in this world, ne nothing of his things is out of my power, but only ye that be his wife: and how should I then do this wickedness, and sin so horrible against God, and against my Lord, God it forbid. Alas, all too little is such troth now found. The third harm is the silth, through which they break the commandment of God, and defoil the altar of matrimony, 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 marriage in Paradise in the estate of innocence, to multiply mankind in the service of God, and therefore is the breaking thereof the more grievous, of which breaking come false heirs oft time, that wrongfully occupy folks heritage's: and therefore wool Christ put him out of the reign of heaven, that is heritage to good folk. Of this breaking cometh also oft time, that folk unware wed or sin with her own kindred: and namely these harlots, that haunt brodels of these foul women, that may be likened to a common gong, whereas men purge her ordure. What say we also of putours, that live by the horrible sin of putrie, and constrain women to give to him a certain rent of her bodily puterie, yea, sometime of his own wife or his child, as done these bawds: Certes, these been cursed sins. Vnderstond also, that adultery is set gladly in the ten commandments 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 slain, but nevertheless, by the law of jesus Christ, that is, law of pity, when he said to the woman that was found in adultery, and should have be slain with stones, after the will of the jews, as was her law: Go, said jesus Christ, and have no more will to do sin. Sooth, the vengeance of adultery is awarded to the pains of Hell, but if so be that it be disturbed by penitence. Yet been there more speces of this cursed sin, as when that one of him is religious, or else both, or of folk that been entered into order, as sub-Deacon, Deacon, or Priest, or Hospitaliers: & ever the higher that he is in order, the greater is the sin. The things that greatly agredge her sin, is the breaking of her avow of chastity, when they received the order. And moreover, sooth is that holy order is chief of all the treasury of God, and his especial sign and mark of chastity, to show that they been joined to chastity, which is the most precious life that is: and these ordered folk been specially titled to God, and of the special mien of God: for which when they done deadly sin, they been the traitors of God and of his people, for they live of the people. Priests been Angels, as by the dignity of her mystery: but forsooth Saint Paul saith, That Sathanas transformeth him in an Angel of light. Sooth, the Priest that haunteth deadly sin, he may be likened to the Angel of darkness, transformed into the Angel of light. He seemeth Angel of light, but forsooth he is Angel of darkness. Such Priests be the sons of Hely, as showeth in the book of Kings, that they were the sons of belial, that is, the Devil. belial is to say, without judge, and so fare they, hem thinketh they be free, and have no judge, no more than hath a free Bull, that taketh which Cow that him liketh in the town. So fare they by women, for right as one free Bull is enough for all a town, right so is a wicked Priest corruption enough for all a parish, or for all a country: These Priests, as saith the book, ne cannot minister the mystery of Priesthood to the people, ne they know not God, they ne held him not apayed, as saith the book, of sodden flesh that was to him offered, but they took by force the flesh that was raw. Certes, so these shrews ne held him not apayed of roasted and sodde flesh, with which the people fed him in great reverence, but they wool have raw flesh of folk's wives and her daughters: and certes, these women that consent to her harlottrie, done great wrong to Christ and to holy Church, all Hallowes, and all Souls, for they bireave all these, hem that should worship Christ and holy Church, and pray for Christian Souls: and therefore have such Priests, & her lemen also that consent to her lechery, the cursing of all the court Christian, till they come to amendment. The third spece of adultery, is sometime betwixt a man and his wife, and that is, when they take no regard in her assembling, but only to her fleshly delight, as saith Saint jerom, and ne reckon of nothing but that they been assembled because they been married, all is good enough, as they think: but in such folk hath the Devil power, as said the Angel Raphael to Toby, for in her assembling, they put jesus Christ out of her heart, and give hemselfes to all ordure. The fourth spece is, the assembly of him that been of one affinity, or else of hem with which her fathers or her kindred have dealed in the sin of lechery: This sin maketh him like to hounds, that take no keep 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 engendereth a child, is his fleshly father, right so is his Godfather his father espirituell: for which a woman may in no less sin assemble with her Godsib, than with her own fleshly father. The fifth spece is, that abominable sin, of which abominable sin no man unneath ought speak ne write, nevertheless it is openly rehearsed in holy writ. This cursed sin done men and women in divers intent and in divers manner: But though that holy writ speak of horrible sin, certes, holy writ may not be defoiled, no more than the sun that shineth on the dunghill. Another sin appertaineth to lechery, that cometh sleeping, and this sin cometh often to him that been maidens, and also to him that be corrupt, and this sin men call Pollution, that cometh of three manners: Sometime of languishing of body, for the humours been too rank and abundant in the body of man, sometime of infirmity, for feebleness of the virtue retentife, as physic maketh mention: Sometime for surfeit of meat and drink, and sometime of villainous thoughts that been enclosed in man's mind when he goeth to sleep, which may not be without sin, for which men must keep him wisely, or else may men sin full greevously.   

¶ Remedium contra peccatum Luxuriae.  
NOw cometh the remedy against lechery, and that is, general chastity and continence, that restrain all disordinate meving that come of fleshly talents. And ever the greater merit shall he have that most restraineth the wicked chausinges of the order of this sin, and this is in two manners: That is to say, chastity in marriage, & chastity in widowhood. Now shalt thou understand that matrimony is leeful assembling of man and woman that receiuen by virtue of this Sacrament the bond through which they may not be departed in all her life, that 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, & would himself be borne in marriage: and for to hollow marriage, he was at a wedding, whereas he turned water into wine, which was the first miracle that he wrought in earth before his disciples. True effect of marriage cleanseth fornication, and replenisheth holy Church of good lineage, for that is the end of marriage, and changeth deadly sin into venial sin between him that been wedded, and maketh the hearts as one of him that been wedded, as well as the bodies.  
Very marriage was established by God, ere that sin began, when natural law was in his right point in Paradise. And it was ordained, that o man should have but o woman, and o woman but o man, as sayeth saint Augustine, by many reasons.  
First, for marriage is figured betwixt Christ and holy Church.  
Another is, for a man is head of a woman, always by ordinance it should be so. For if a woman had more men than one, than should she have more heads than one, and that were a right horrible sin before God, and also a woman might not please so many folk at ones: and also there should never be rest ne quiet among him, for each of hem would ask her own right. And furthermore, no man should know his own engendrure, ne who should have his heritage, and the woman should be the less beloved.  
Now cometh how that a man should bear him with his wife, and namely in two things, that is to say, in sufferance and reverence, as showed Christ when he first made woman. For he ne made her of the head of Adam, for she should not claim to great lordship, * For there as the woman hath the mastery, she maketh too much variance: there need no more ensamples of this, the experience all day ought enough suffice.  
Also certes, God ne made not woman of the foot of Adam, for she should not be hold too low, 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 troth, and in love, (as saith saint Paul) that a man should love his wife, as Christ loveth holy Church, that loved it so well that he died for it: so should a man for his wife, if it were need.  
Now how that a woman should be subject to her husband: that telleth saint Peter, first in obedience. And also as saith the Decree: * A woman that is a wife, as long as she is a wife, she hath none authority to swear ne bear witness, without leave of her husband, that is her Lord, always he should be so by reason. She should also serve him in all honesty, and be attemperate of her array.  
I wool well that they should set her intent to please her husbonds, but not by queintise of her array. Saint jerom saith: Wives that be apparelled in like and precious purple, ne mow not clothe him in jesus Christ. S. Gregory saith also: that no wight seeketh precious array, but only for vainglory to be honoured the more of the people. It is a great folly, a woman to have great array outward, and in herself be foul inward. A wife should also be measurable in looking, in bearing, and in laughing, and discreet in all her words and her deeds, and above all worldly things she should love her husband with all her heart, and to him be true of her body: so should an husband be to his wife: For sith that all the body is the husbonds, so should her heart be, or else there is betwixt him two, as in that, no perfect marriage. Then shall men understond, that for three things a man and his wife fleshly may assemble. The first is, for the intent of engendrure of children, to the service of God, for certes, that is the cause final of matrimony. Another cause is, to yield each of him to other the debts of her bodies; for neither of hem hath power over her own bodies. The third is, for to eschew lechery and villainy. The fourth is for sooth deadly sin. As to the first, is meritory: the second also, for as saith the Decree, That she hath merit of chastity, that yieldeth to her husband the debt of her body, yea though it be against her liking, & the lust of her heart. The third manner is venial sin, & truly, scarcely may any of these be without venial sin, for the corruption and for the delight. The fourth manner is for to understond, if they assemble only for amorous love, & for none of the foresaid causes, but for to accomplish their brenning delight, they reck not how oft, sooth it is deadly sin: & that with sorrow, some folk wool pain him more to do than to her appetite sufficeth.  
The second manner of chastity is, for to be a clean widow, & eschew the embrace of a man, & desire the embracing of jesus Christ. These been those that have ben wives, & have forgot her husbonds, & also women that have done lechery, & been received by penitence. And certes, if that a wife could keep her all chaste, by licence of her husband, so that she yeve never none occasion that he offend, it were to her a great merit. This manner of women, that observeth chastity in clothing & in countenance, abstinent in eating and drinking, in speaking, and in dead, she is the vessel or the bore of the blessed Magdelain, that fulfilleth holy Church of good odour. The third manner of chastity is virginity, & it behooveth that she be holy in heart, & clean of body, then is she spouse of jesus 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 jesus Christ, and virgin was himself.  
Another remedy against lechery is, specially to withdraw such things as yeve occasion to that villainy: as ease, eating, and drinking: for certes, when the pot boileth strongly, the best remedy is to withdraw the fire. Sleeping long in great quiet, is also a great nourice to Lechery.  
Another remedy against lechery is, That a man or a woman eschew the company of him by which he doubteth to be tempted: For all be it so, that the deed is withstand, yet is there great temptation. Sooth, a white wall, although it ne brens not fully, by sticking of the candle, yet is the wall black of the flame. Full oft time I read, that no man trust in his own perfection, but he be stronger than Samson, or holier than Daniel, or wiser than Solomon.  
Now after that I have declared you as I can, the seven deadly sins, and some of her branches, with her remedies. Sooth, if I could, I would tell you the ten commandments, but so high doctrine I put to Divines. Nevertheless, I hope to God they been touched in this treatise each of him.    

¶ 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. Augustine saith: Sin is every word and every deed, and all that men conject against the law of jesus Christ, and this is for to sin in heart, in mouth, and in deed, by the five wits, which been sight, hearing, smelling, tasting or savour, and feeling. Now is it good to understand, that that agregeth much every sin. Thou shalt consider what thou art that dost the sin, whether thou be male or female, young or old, gentle or thrall, free or servant, whole or sick, wedded or single, ordered or unordred, wise or fool, clerk or secular, if she be of thy kindred bodily or ghostly or no, if any of thy kindred have sinned with her or no, and many more things.  
Another circumstance is this, Whether it be done in fornication, or in advoutry, or no, in manner of homicide or no, horrible great sins, or small, and how long thou hast continued in sin. The third circumstance is, the place there thou hast done sin, whether in other man's 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 kind within that place, by way of sin or wicked temptation, the church is enterdicted, and the Priest that did such a villainy, the term of all his life he should no more sing Mass: and if he did, he should do deadly sin, at every time that he so sung Mass. The fourth circumstance is, by which mediators or by which messengers, or for enticement, or for consentment, to bear company with fellowship. * For many a wretch for to bear company, wool go to the Devil of hell. Wherefore, they that egg or consent to the sin, been partners of the sin, and of the temptation of the sinner. The fifth circumstance is, how many times that he hath sinned, if it be in his mind, and how oft he hath fallen. For he that oft falleth in sin, he despiseth the mercy of God, and increaseth his sin, and is unkind to Christ, and he waxeth the more feeble to withstand sin, and sinneth the more lightly, and the latter riseth, & is more slow to shrive him, and namely to him that is his confessor. For which that folk when they fall again to her old follies, either they leave their old confessor, or else they depart her shrift in divers parts: But sooth such departed shrift deserveth no mercy of God for her sins. The sixth circumstance is, why that a man sinneth as by temptation: and of himself procure that temptation, or by the exciting of other folk, or if he sin with a woman by force or by her assent, or if the woman, maugre her head, have be aforced or none. This shall she tell, whether it were for covetise of poverty, or if it were by her procurement or no, & such other things. The seventh circumstance is, in what manner he hath do his sin, or how that she hath suffered that folk have do to her. And the same shall the man tell plainly, with all the circumstances, and whether he hath sinned with common bordello women or non, or done his sin in holy times or non, in fasting time or non, or before his shrift, or after his latter shrift, and hath peradventure broke thereby his penance enjoined, by whose help or whose counsel, by sorcery or craft, all must be told, and all these things after as they be great or small, and grudge the conscience of man or woman. And eke the Priest that is thy judge, may the better be advised of his judgement in giving of penance, and that is after thy contrition. For understond well that after time that a man hath defoiled his baptism by sin, if he wool come to salvation there is none other way but by penance, shrift, & satisfaction, and namely by they two, if there be a confessor to whom he may shrive him, and the third if he have life to perform it. Then shall a man look and consider, that if he wool make a true and a profitable confession, there must be four conditions. First it must be in sorrowfulness of heart, as saith the King Ezechiell to God, * I wool remember me all the years of my life in bitterness of my heart. This condition of bitterness hath five signs: The first is, that confession must be shamefast, not for to cover ne hide her sin, for he hath offended his Lord God and defoiled his soul. And hereof saith S. Augustin: * The heart travaileth for shame of his sin, and for he hath great shamefastness he is worthy to have great mercy of God: which was the confession of the Publican, that would not heave up his eyes to heaven for he had offended God of heaven: for which shamefastness he had anon the mercy of God. And thereof saith saint Augustine: That such shameful folk be next forgiveness and mercy.  
Another sign is, humility in confession: of which saith saint Peter, * Humbleth you under the might of GOD: the hon of God is strong inconfession, for thereby God forgiveth thee thy sins, for he alone hath the power. And this humility shall be in heart, and in outward signs: For right as he hath humility to God in his heart, right so should he humble his body outward to the priest, that sitteth in God's stead. For which in no manner, sith that Christ is sovereign, and the priest mean and mediator betwixt Christ & the sinner, and the sinner is lost by way of reason, than should not the sinner sit as hie as his confessor, but kneel before him or at his feet, but if sickness cause it: For he shall not take heed who sitteth there, but in whose place he sitteth. A man that hath trespassed to a Lord, and cometh to ask mercy and make his accord, and sitteth him down by him, men would hold him outrageous, and not worthy so soon for to have remission of his trespass.  
The third sign is, how thy shrift should be full of tears if thou may, and if thou may not weep with thy bodily eyes, then weep in thine heart, which was the confession of saint Peter. For after that he had forsake jesus Christ, he went out and wept full bitterly.  
The fourth sign is, that thou ne let not for shame to show 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 jesus Christ & beknow to him her sins. The fifth sign is, that a man or a woman be obeissant to receive the penance that hem is enjoined. For certes jesus Christ, for the offences of man, was obedient to death. The second condition of very confession is, that it be hastily done. For certes, if a man had a deadly wound, ever the longer that he tarrieth to heal himself, the more would it corrupt and haste him to his death, and also the wound would be the worse for to heel. And right so fareth sin, that long time is in a man unshewed. Certes a man ought hastily show his sins for many causes, as for dread of death, that cometh oft suddenly, and no certain what time it shall be, ne in what place, and also the drenching of o sin draweth in another: and also the longer that he tarrieth, the farther is he fro Christ. And if he abide to his last day, scarcely may he shrive him or remember him of his sins, or repent for the grievous malady of his death. * And for as much as he ne hath in his life harkened jesus Christ when he hath spoken, he shall cry to jesus Christ at his last day, and scarcely wool he hearken him. And understand that this condition must have four things.  
Thy shrift must be provided before, and advised, for wicked haste doth not profit, if a man shrive him of his sins: be it of Pride, or envy, and so forth with the speces and circumstances of sin. And that he have comprehended in his mind the number and greatness of his sins, and how long he hath lain in sin. And also that he hath be contrite for his sins, and in steadfast purpose (by the grace of God) never again to fall to sin. And also that he dread and counterfeit himself that he fly the occasion of sin, to which he is inclined. Also thou shalt shrive thee of all thy sins to o man, and not part to o man, and part to another: That is to understand, in intent to depart thy confession for shame or dread, for it is but strangling of thy soul. * For certes, jesus Christ is entirely all good, in him is none imperfection, and therefore either he forgiveth all perfectly, or else never a deal. I say not that if you be assigned to thy penitencer for certain sin, that thou art bound to show him all the remnant of thy sins, of which thou haste be shriven of thy curate, 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 have licence to shrive thee liketh, and by licence of thy Curate, that thou ne mayst well shrive thee to him of all thy sins. Let no sin be untold as far as thou hast remembrance. And when thou shalt be shriven to thy Curate, tell him all thy sins that thou hast do sith thou were last shriven. This is no wicked intent of division of shrift.  
Also the very shrift asketh certain conditions. First that thou shrive thee by thy free will, not constrained for shame of folk, sickness, ne such other things: For it is reason that he that trespasseth by his free will, that by his free will he confess his trespass, and that none other man tell his sin but himself: ne he shall not nay, ne deny his sin, ne wrath him against the Priest for admonishing him to leave his sin. The second condition is, that thy shrift be lawful, that is to say, that thou shrivest thee. And also the Priest that heareth thy confession be verily in the faith of holy Church, and that a man ne be not dispeired of the mercy of jesus Christ, as Cain or judas. And also a man must accuse himself of his own trespass & not another, but he shall blame and wit himself and his own malice of his sin, and none other: But nevertheless, if that another man be occasion or enticer of his sin, or the estate of a person be such by which his sin is agredged, or else that he may not plainly shrive him, but he tell the person with which he hath sinned, then may he tell, so that his intent ne be not to backbite the person, but only to declare his confession.  
Thou ne shalt not also make no leasings in thy confession for humility, peradventure, to say that thou hast committed & done such sins, as of which that thou ne were never guilty. For saint Augustine saith, if that thou because of thine humility, makest lesings on thyself, though thou were not in sin before, yet art thou then in sin through thy leasing. Thou must also show thy sin, by thine own proper mouth, but thou be dumb, and not by no Letter: sor thou that hast done the sin, shalt have the shame therefore. Thou shalt not eke paint thy confession with fair subtle words, to cover the more thy sin: for then begilest thou thyself, & not the priest: thou must tell it plain, be it never so foul ne horrible. Thou shalt also shrive thee to a priest that is discreet to counsel thee: and also thou shalt not shrive thee for vain glory, ne for hypocrisy, ne for no cause, but only for the love & fear of jesus Christ, and heal of thy soul. Thou shalt not also ren to the priest suddenly, to tell him lightly thy sin, as who saith, to tell a yape or a tale, but avisedly and with good devotion: and generally shrive thee oft: if thou oft fall, oft arise by confession. And though thou shrive the ofter than ones of the sin which thou hast be shriven of, it is the more merit: And as saith saint Augustine, Thou shalt have the more lightly forgiveness and grace of God, both of sin and pain. And certes ones a year at least it is lawful to be houseled, for surely ones a year all things renovellen.  
Now have 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 Satisfaction, and that stont most generally in almose deed and holy pain. Now been there three manner of almose. Contrition of heart, where a man offereth himself to God: Another is, to have pity of default of his neighbour: And the third is, in giving of good counsel, ghostly and bodily, where as men have need, and namely in sustenance of man's food. And take keep that a man hath need of these things generally, he hath need of food, of clothing, and of herborow, he hath need of charitable counsel, visiting in prison, in sickness, and sepulture of his body. And if thou mayst not visit the needful in prison in thy person, visit him with thy message and yefts. These been generally the almose and works of charity, of hem that have temporal riches, or discretion in counselling. Of these works shalt thou hear at the day of doom.  
These almose shalt thou do of thine own proper things, and hastily and privily if thou mayst: but nevertheless, if thou mayst not do it privily, thou shalt not forbear to do almose, though men see it, so that it be not to do for thank of the world, but only for thank of jesus Christ. For as witnesseth faint Matthew Capi. v. A City may not be hid that is set on a mountain, ne men light not a lantern, to put it under a bushel, but set it upon a candlestick, to give light to men in the house: * Right so shall your light, light before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify our Father that is in heaven.  
Now as to speak of bodily pain, it stont in prayers, waking, fasting, virtuous teaching of orisons. And ye shall understond, the orisons or prayers, is to say, a piteous will of heart, that setteth it in God, & expresseth by word outward to remeeve harms, and have things spiritual and perdurable, and sometime temporal things. Of which Orisons, certes in the orison of the Paternoster, hath jesus Christ enclosed most things. Certes it is privileged of three things in this dignity, for which it is more digne than any other prayer, For that jesus Christ himself made it, and it is short, for it should be learned the more lightly, and to hold it the more easy in heart, and help himself the ofter in this Orison: and for a man should be the less weary to say it, and not excuse him to learn it, it is so short and easy: and for it comprehendeth in itself, all good prayers. The exposition of this holy prayer, that is so excellent and digne, I refer to the Master of Theology, save thus much wool I say, * That when thou prayest that God should foryeve thee thine offences as thou foryevest hem that have offended thee, be well aware that thou be not out of charity. This holy Orison aminisheth also venial sin, and therefore it appertaineth specially to penitence.  
This prayer must be truly said, and in perfect faith, and that men pray to God ordinately, discreetly, and devoutly: and always a man shall put his will, to be subject to the will of God. This Orison must also be said with great humbleness, and full pure and honestly, and not to the annoyance of any man or woman. It must also be continued with the works of charity. It availeth also against the vices of the soul: for as saith S. Irom, * By fasting been saved the vices of the flesh, and by prayer the vices of the soul.  
After this thou shalt understond, that bodily prayer stont in waking. For jesus Christ sayeth: wake ye and pray, that ye ne enter into wicked temptaion. Ye shall understond also, that fasting stont in three things: in forbearing of bodily meat and drink, in forbearing of worldly iollitye, and in forbearing of deadly sin: this is to say, that a man shall keep him fro deadly sin with all his might.  
And thou shalt understond also, that God ordained fasting, and to fasting pertaineth four things. Largeness to poor folk: gladness of heart spiritual: not to be angry ne annoyed, ne grudge for he fasteth: and also reasonable hour to eat by measure, that is to say, a man shall not eat in untime, ne sit the longer at the table, for he fasteth.  
Then shalt thou understond, that bodily pain stont in discipline, or teaching by word or writing, or by ensample. Also in wearing of here or stamin, or of harbergeons on her naked flesh for Christ's sake, and that such manner penances, ne make not thine heart bitter or angry, ne annoyed of thyself, for better is to cast away thine here, than to cast away the sweetness of jesus Christ. And therefore sayeth saint Poule: cloth you, as they that been chosen of God in heart, of misericorde, debonaire, suffrance, and such manner of clothing, of which jesus Christ is more pleased than with the heers or herbergeons.  
Then is discipline also, in knocking of thy breast, in scourging with rods, in kneeling, in tribulation, in suffering patiently wrongs that been done to thee, and also in patient suffering of sickness, or losing of worldly goods, or cattle, or wife, child, or other friends.  
Then shalt thou nnderstond, which things disturb penance, and that is in four manners, drrade, shame, hope, and wanhope, that is, desperation. And for to speak first of dread, for which he weeneth that he may suffer no penance. There against is remedy, for to think that bodily penance, 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 against the shame that a man hath to shrive him, and namely these hyocrites, that would be hold so perfect, that they have no need to shrive him: Against 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 do fair things, and that is confessions. A man should also think, that God seeth and knoweth all his thoughts, and all his werks: to him may nothing be hid ne covered. Men should also remember him of the shame that is to come at the day of doom, to him that be not penitent, and shriven in this present life: for all the creatures in yearth and in hell shall see apertly, all that they hid in this world.  
Now for to speak of the hope of him, that been so negligent and slow to shrive him: that stondeth in two manners. That one is, that he hopeth for to live long, and for to purchase much riches for his delight, and then he wool shrive him: And as he sayeth, him seemeth then timely enough to come to shrift: * Another is, of surquidrie that he hath in Christ's mercy. Against the first vice, he shall thank that our life is in no sickerness, and also that all the riches in this world been in adventure, and pass as a shadow on the wall. And as sayeth saint Gregory, That it appertaineth to the great righteousness of God, that never shall the pain stint of him, that never would withdrew hem from sin her thanks, but ever continued in sin: for that perpetual will to do sin, shall they have perpetual pain. Wanhope, is in two manners. The first wanhope is in the mercy of God: That other is, that they think that they ne might not long persever in goodness.  
The first wanhope cometh of that, he deemeth that he hath sinned so greatly and so oft, and so long lain in sin, that he shall not be saved. * Certes against that cursed wanhope should he think, that the Passion of jesus Christ is more strong for to unbind, than sin is strong for to bind. Against the second wanhope he shall think, * That as often as he falleth, he may rise again by penitence: and though he never so long hath lain in sin, the mercy of Christ is always ready to receive him to mercy. Against the Wanhope that he deemeth he should not long persever in goodness, he shall think, * That the feebleness of the devil, may nothing do, but if men wool suffer him: and also he shall have strength of the help of jesus Christ, and of all holy Church, and the protection of Angels, if him list.  
Then shall men understand, what is the fruit of penance, and after the words of jesus Christ, It is an endless bliss of heaven: There joy hath never end, no contrary of woe ne grievance: there all harms ben passed of this present life, there as is the sickerness from the pain of hell, there as is the blissful company, that rejoice him evermo, everich of others joy: there as the body of man that sometime was foul and dark, is more clear than the Sun: there as the body that sometime was sick, freile, and feeble, and mortal, is immortal, and so strong and hole, that there ne may nothing appeire it: there as is neither hunger, thirst, ne cold, but every soul replenished with the sight of the perfect knowing of God. This blissful reign may men purchase by poverty espirituel, and the glory by lowliness, the plenty of joy by hunger and thirst, and the rest by travail, and the life by death and mortification of sin: to which life he us bring, that bought us with his precious blood. Amen.      
¶ Here endeth the Parson's tale. ¶ Thus endeth the Book of Canterbury tales.    

THE Romaunt of the Rose.  
THis Book was begun in French Verse by William de Lorris, and finished forty years after by John Clopinell, alias John Moon, born at Mewen upon the River of Loyer, not far from Paris, as appear by Molinet, the French Author of the Morality upon the Romaunt; and afterward translated for the most part into English Metre by Geffrey Chaucer, but not finished. It is entitled, The Romaunt of the Rose; or, The Art of Love: wherein is showed the helps and furtherances, as also the lets and impediments that Lovers have in their Suits. In this Book the Author hath many glances at the Hypocrisy of the Clergy: whereby he got himself such hatred amongst them, that Gerson, Chancellor of Paris, writeth thus of him: saith he, There was one called Johannes Meldinensis, who wrote a Book called, The Romaunt of the Rose; which Book if I only had, and that there were no more in the World, if I might have five hundred pound for the same, I would rather burn it than take the Money. He sayeth more, That if he thought the Author thereof did not repent him for that Book before he died, he would vouchsafe to pray for him no more than he would for Judas that betrayed Christ.  

MAny men said that in sweveninge,  
There nis but fables and lesinges:  
But men may some sweven seen,  
Which hardly that false ne been,  
But afterward been apparent:  
This may I draw to warrant.  
An author that height Macrobes,  
That halt not dreams false ne lees,  
But undoth us the avisioun,  
That whilom met king Cipioun.  
And who so saith, or weeneth it be  
A yape, or else nicete  
To ween that dreams after fall,  
Let who so list a fool me call.  
For this trow I, and say for me,  
That dreams signifiance be  
Of good and harm to many wights,  
That dreamen in her sleep a nights  
Full many things covertly,  
That fallen after all openly.  
Within my twenty year of age,  
When that love taketh his courage  
Of young folk, I went soon  
To bed, as I was wont to done:  
And fast I slept, and in sleeping,  
Me met such a swevening,  
That liked me wondrous well,  
But in that sweven is never a deal  
That it nis afterward befall,  
Right as this dream wool tell us all.  
Now this dream wool I rhyme a right,  
To make your hearts gay and light:  
For love it prayeth, and also  
Commandeth me that it be so,  
And if there any ask me,  
Whether that it be he or she,  
How this Book which is here  
Shall height, that I read you here:  
It is the Romaunt of the Rose,  
In which all the art of love I close.  
The matter fair is of to make,  
God grant me in gree that she it take  
For whom that it begonnen is,  
And that is she, that hath Iwis  
So mokel prize, and thereto she  
So worthy is beloved to be,  
That she well ought of prize and right,  
Be cleped Rose of every wight.  
That it was Mey me thought though  
It is five year or more ago,  
That it was Mey, thus dreamt me,  
In time of love and jollity,  
That all thing ginneth waxen gay:  
For there is neither busk nor hay  
In Mey, that it nill shrouded been,  
And it with new leaves wrene:  
These woods eke recoveren green,  
That dry in winter been to seen,  
And the earth waxeth proud withal,  
For swote dews that on it fall,  
And the poor estate forget,  
In which that winter had it set:  
And then become the ground so proud,  
That it wool have a new shroud,  
And maketh so quaint his robe and fair,  
That it had hues an hundred pair,  
Of grass and flowers, Ind and Pers,  
And many hues full divers:  
That is the robe I mean iwis,  
Through which the ground to praisen is.  
The birds that han left her song,  
While they han suffered cold full strong,  
In wether's grille, and dark to sight,  
Ben in Mey, for the sun bright,  
So glad, that they show in singing,  
That in her heart is such liking,  
That they moat singen and ben light:  
Then doth the Nightingale her might,  
To maken noise, and singen blithe:  
Then is blissful many a sith,  
The chelaundre, and the popinjay,  
Then young folk entenden aye,  
For to ben gay and amorous,  
The time is then so savorous.  
Hard is his heart that loveth nought  
In Mey, when all this mirth is wrought,  
When he may on these branches here  
The small birds singen clear  
Her blissful sweet song piteous,  
And in this season delitous:  
When love affirmeth all thing,  
Me thought one night, in my sleeping,  
Right in my bed full readily,  
That it was by the morrow early,  
And up I rose, and 'gan me cloth,  
Anon I wish mine hands both,  
A silver needle forth I drow,  
Out of an aguiler quaint enough,  
And 'gan this needle thread anon,  
For out of town me list to gone,  
The sound of birds for to hear  
That on the busks singen clear,  
That in the sweet season that lief is,  
With a thread basting my slevis,  
Alone I went in my playing,  
The small fowls song harkening,  
That pained him full many a pair,  
To sing on bows blossomed fair,  
jolife and gay, full of gladness,  
Toward a River 'gan I me dress,  
That I heard ren fast by,  
For fairer playen none saw I:  
Then playen me by that Rivere  
For from an hill that stood there ne'er,  
Come down the stream full stiff and bold,  
Clere was the water, and as cold  
As any Well is, sooth to sane,  
And somedele lass it was than Saine,  
But it was straighter, weleaway,  
And never saw I ere that day,  
The water that so well liked me,  
And wonder glad was I to see  
That lusty place, and that Rivere:  
And with that water that ran so clear,  
My face I wish, though saw I well,  
The bottom ypaved everidele  
With gravel, full of stones sheen,  
The meadow's soft, sote, and green,  
Beet right on the water side,  
Full clear was than the morrow tide,  
And full attempre out of dread,  
Tho 'gan I walken thorough the Mede,  
downward aye in my playing,  
The River's side coasting.  
And when I had a while igone,  
I saw a garden right anon,  
Full long and broad, and everidele  
Enclosed was, and walled well,  
With high walls enbatailed,  
Portrayed without, and well entailed  
With many rich portraitures,  
And both yet Images and peintures,  
'Gan I behold besely,  
And I wool tell you readily,  
Of thilk Images the semblance,  
As far as I have remembrance.  
Amid saw I Hate stoned,  
That for her wrath and ire and onde,  
Seemed to be a mynoresse,  
An angry wight a childeresse,  
And full of guile, and fell courage:  
By semblaunt was that like Image,  
And she was nothing well arrayed,  
But like a wode woman afraid,  
Ifrounced foul was her visage,  
And grinning for despitous rage,  
Her nose snorted up for tene,  
Full hideous was she for to seen,  
Full foul and rusty was she this,  
Her head iwrithen was iwis  
Full grimly with a great towaile.  
An image of another entail,  
A lift half was her fast by,  
Her name above her head saw I,  
And she was called Felony.  
Another Image, that Villainy  
Icleped was, saw I and fond  
Upon the wall on her right hand.  
Villainy was like somedeal  
That other Image, and trusteth well  
She seemed a wicked creature,  
By countenance in portreiture,  
She seemed be full despitous,  
And eke full proud and outrageous.  
Well could he paint I undertake,  
That such an image could make:  
Full foul and churlish seemed she,  
And eke villainous for to be,  
And little could of nurture,  
To worship any creature.  
And next was painted Covetise,  
That eggeth folk in many a gise,  
To take and give right nought again,  
And great treasours up to lain.  
And that is she, that for usure  
leaneth to many a creature,  
The lass for the more winning,  
So covetous is her brenning,  
And that is she for pennies feel,  
That teacheth for to rob and steel  
These thieves, and these small harlots,  
And that is routh, for by her throats,  
Full many one hongeth at the last:  
She maketh folk compass and cast  
To taken other folk's thing,  
Through robbery, or miscoveting.  
And that is she that maketh treachours,  
And she maketh false pleadours,  
That with her terms and her domes,  
Done maidens, children, and eke grooms,  
Her heritage to forgo:  
Full crooked were her honds two,  
* For Covetise is ever wood,  
To gripen other folks good.  
Covetise, for her winning,  
Full lief hath other man's thing.  
Another Image set saw I,  
Next Covetise fast by,  
And she was cleped Avarice,  
Full foul in painting was that vice,  
Full sad and caitiff was she eke,  
And also green as any leek,  
So evil hewed was her colour,  
Her seemed to have lived in langour,  
She was like thing for hunger dead,  
That lad her life only by bread  
Kneden with eisell strong and eager,  
And thereto she was lean and megre,  
And she was clad full poorly,  
All in an old torn courtpy,  
As she were all with dogs torn,  
And both behind and eke before  
Clouted was the beggarly.  
A mantle hung her fast by,  
Upon a bench weak and small,  
A burnette cote hung there withal,  
Furred with no minevere,  
But with a fur rough of here,  
Of lamb skins heavy and black,  
It was so old I undertake.  
For Avarice to clothe her well,  
Ne hasteth her never a deal,  
For certainly it were her loath  
To wearen of that ilke cloth,  
And if it were forweared, she  
Would have full great nicete  
Of clothing, oer she bought her new,  
All were it bad of wool and hue.  
This Avarice held in her hand,  
A purse that hung by a band,  
And that the hid and bond so strong,  
Men must abide wonder long,  
Out of the purse er there come aught,  
For that ne cometh in her thought,  
It was not certain her intent,  
That fro that purse a penny went.  
And by that Image nigh enough,  
Was painted Envy, that never lough  
Nor never well in her heart feared,  
But if she either saw or heard  
Some great mischance, or great disease,  
Nothing may so much her please  
As mischief and misaventure,  
Or when she seeth discomfiture  
Upon any worthy man fall,  
Then liketh her well withal.  
She is full glad in her courage,  
If she see any great lineage  
Be brought to naught in shameful wife:  
And if a man in honour rise,  
Or by his wit, or by his prowess,  
Of that hath she great heaviness  
For trusteth well she goeth nigh wood,  
When any chance happeth good.  
* Envy is of such cruelty,  
That faith ne troth holdeth she,  
To friend ne fellow, bad or good.  
Ne she hath kin none of her blood  
That she nis full her enemy,  
She nolde, I dare sane hardly  
Her own father fared well,  
And sore abieth she every deal  
Her malice, and her male talon:  
For she is in so great tourment  
And hate such, when folk doth good,  
That nigh she melteth for pure wood,  
Her heart kerueth and so breaketh  
That God the people well awreaketh,  
* Envy iwis shall never let,  
Some blame upon the folk to set.  
I trow that if Envy iwis,  
Knew the best man that is,  
On this side or beyond the see,  
Yet somewhat lacken him would she:  
And if he were so hende and wise,  
That she ne might all abate his prize,  
Yet would she blame his worthiness,  
Or by her words make it less.  
I saw Envy in that painting,  
Had a wonderful looking,  
For she ne looked but awry,  
Or overwhart, all baggingly.  
And she had a foul usage,  
She might look in no visage  
Of man ne woman, forth right plain,  
But shut her one eye for disdain,  
So for Envy burned she  
When she might any man see  
That fair, or worthy were, or wise,  
Or else stood in folk's prize.  
Sorrow was painted next Envy  
Upon that wall of masonry:  
But well was seen in her colour  
That she had lived in languour:  
Her seemed to have the jaundice,  
Not half so pale was Avarice,  
Ne nothing like of leanness  
For sorrow, thought, and great distress  
That she had suffered day and night  
Made her yellow, and nothing bright:  
Full sad, pale, and megre also,  
Was never wight yet half so woe  
As that her seemed for to be  
Nor so fulfilled with ire as she,  
I trow that no wight might her please  
Nor do that thing that might her ease,  
Nor she ne would her sorrow stake  
Nor comfort none unto her take,  
So deep was her woe begun  
And eke her heart in anger run,  
A sorrowful thing well seemed she:  
Nor she had nothing slow be  
For to scratchen all her face  
And for to rend in many place  
Her clothes, and for to tear her swire  
As she that was fulfilled of ire  
And all to torn lay eke her here  
About her shoulders, here and there,  
As she that had it all to rend  
For anger and for male talon.  
And eke I tell you certainly  
How that she wept full tenderly:  
In world nis wight so hard of heart  
That had seen her sorrows smart  
That nolde have had of her pite  
So woe begon a thing was she.  
She all to dashed herself for woe  
And smote together her hands two  
To sorrow was she full ententife  
That woeful reckless caitiff  
Her wrought little of playing  
Or of clipping or kissing.  
* For who so sorrowful is in heart  
Him lust not to play ne start,  
Nor for to dauncen, ne to sing,  
Ne may his heart in temper bring  
To make joy on even or morrow,  
For joy is contrary unto sorrow.  
Eld was painted after this,  
That shorter was a foot iwis  
Than she was wont in her yonghede  
●nneth herself she might feed,  
So feeble and eke so old was she  
That faded was all her beauty.  
Full sallow was waxen her colour,  
Her head for hore was white as flour,  
Iwis great qua●me ne were it none,  
Ne sin, although her life were gone.  
All waxed was her body unwelde  
And dry and dwined all for eld,  
A foul forw●lked thing was she  
That whilom round and soft had be,  
Her heeres shoken fast withal  
As from her head they would fall:  
Her face frounced and forpined  
And both her honds lost fordwined  
So old she was that she ne went  
A foot, but it were by potent.  
The time that passed night and day  
And restless travaileth aye  
And stealeth from us so privyly  
That to us seemeth sickerly  
That it in one point dwelleth ever  
And certes it ne resteth never  
But goeth so fast, and passeth aye  
That there nis man that think may  
What time that now present is  
Asketh at these Cleres this,  
For men think it readily  
Three times been passed by  
The time that may not sojourn  
But goth, and may never return  
As water that down runneth aye  
But never drop return may:  
There may nothing as time endure  
Metal, nor earthly creature.  
For all thing is fret and shall  
The time eke that changeth all  
And all doth wax, and fostered be  
And all thing destroyeth he.  
The time that eldeth our Ancestors  
And eldeth Kings and Emperors  
And that us all shall overcome  
Ere that death us shall have nommen,  
The time that hath all in wield  
To elden folk, had made her eld  
So inly, that to my witting  
She might help herself nothing  
But turned again unto childhede  
She had nothing herself to lead  
Ne wit ne pith in her hold  
More than a child of two year old.  
But nevertheless I trow that she  
Was fair sometime, and fresh to see,  
When she was in her rightful age:  
But she was past all that passage  
And was a doted thing becomen  
A furred cap on had she nommen  
Well had she clad herself and warm  
For cold might else done her harm,  
These old folk have always cold,  
* Her kind is such, when they been old.  
Another thing was done their write,  
That seemed like an Hypocrite,  
And it was cleped Pope Holy,  
That ilke is she, that privily  
Ne spared never a wr●ked deed,  
When men of her taken none heed  
And maketh her outward precious,  
With pale visage and piteous,  
And seemeth a simple creature,  
But there nis no misadventure,  
That she ne thinketh in courage,  
Full like to her was thilk Image:  
That maked was like her semblance,  
She was full simple of countenance.  
And she was clothed and eke shod,  
As she were of the love of God  
yoleden to Religion,  
such seemed her devotion.  
A Psalter held she fast in hon,  
And busily she 'gan to fond:  
To make many a faint prayer,  
To God, and to his Saints dear,  
Ne she was gay, fresh, ne iolife,  
But seemed to be full ententife:  
To good works, and to fair,  
And thereto she had on an hair.  
Ne certes she was fat nothing  
But seemed weary for fasting,  
Of colour pale and dead was she,  
From her the gates aye warned be  
Of Paradise that blissful place,  
For such folk maken lean her grace:  
As Christ saith in his Euangile,  
To get him prize in town a while,  
And for a little glory vain,  
They lesen God and eke his reign.  
And alderlast of everyone,  
Was painted Povert all alone,  
That not a penny had in hold,  
Although she her clothes sold,  
And though she should an honged be,  
For naked as a worm was she,  
And if the weather stormy were,  
For cold she should have died there.  
She ne had on but a straight old sack,  
And many a clout on it there stack,  
This was her cote, and her mantele,  
No more was there never a deal,  
To clothe her with, I undertake,  
Great leaser had she to quake:  
And she was put, that I of talk,  
Far from these other, up in an halke,  
There lurked and there coured she,  
For poor thing where so it be,  
Is shamefast, and despised aye,  
Accursed may well be that day,  
That poor man conceived is,  
For God wot all to seld iwis,  
Is any poor man well ifed,  
Or well arrayed or icled,  
Or well beloved, in such wise,  
In honour, that he may arise.  
All these things well avised,  
As I have you er this devised,  
With gold and azure over all,  
Depainted were upon the wall.  
Square was the wall, and high somde●e:  
Enclosed, and ibarred well,  
In stead of hedge, was that gardin,  
Come never shepherd therein,  
Into that gardin, well wrought.  
Who so that me could have brought,  
By ladders or else by degree,  
It would well have liked me,  
For such solace, such joy, and pleie,  
I trow that never man ne seie,  
As was in that place delicious:  
The gardin was not dangerous,  
To herborow birds many one,  
So rich a year was never none  
Of bird's song, and branches green,  
Therein were birds more I ween,  
Than been in all the Realm of France:  
Full blissful was the accordance,  
Of sweet piteous song they made,  
For all this world it ought glade.  
And I myself so merry feared,  
When I her blissful songs heard,  
That for an hundred pound would I,  
If that the passage openly  
Had be unto me free  
That I nolde entrens for to see  
Thassembly (God keep it fro care)  
Of birds, which therein ware,  
That songen through her merry throats,  
Dances of love, and merry notes.   

When I thus heard fowls sing,  
I fell fast in a waymenting,  
By which art, or by what engine,  
I might come into that gardin,  
But way I couth find none,  
Into that gardin for to gone,  
Ne nought wist I if that there were  
Either hole or place where,  
By which I might have entre,  
Ne there was none to teach me,  
For I was all alone iwis,  
For woe and anguish of this,  
Till at last bethought I me,  
That by no way ne might it be,  
That there nas ladder ne way to pace,  
Or hole, into so fair a place.  
Tho 'gan I go a full great pace,  
Environ, even in compass,  
The closing of the square wall,  
Till that I found a wicket small  
To shut, that I ne might in gone,  
And other entre was there none.   

Upon this door I 'gan to smite  
That was fetis, and so light:  
For other way could I not seek  
Full long I shoot, and knocked eke.  
And stood full long all harkening  
If that I heard any wight coming:  
Till that the door of thilk entre  
A maiden curteis opened me:  
Her hair was as yellow of hue  
As any basin scoured new,  
Her flesh tender as is a chick  
With bend brows, smooth and slick,  
And by measure large were  
The opening of her eyes clear:  
Her nose of good proportion,  
Her eyes grey, as is a falcon,  
With sweet breath and well favoured,  
Her face white and well coloured,  
With little mouth, and round to see:  
A clove chin eke had she,  
Her neck was of good fashion  
In length and greatness by reason  
Without bleine, scab, or roine,  
Fro jerusalem unto Burgoine  
There nis a fairer neck iwis  
To feel how smooth and soft it is.  
Her throat also white of hue,  
As Snow on brance snowed new.  
Of body full well wrought was she,  
Men neden not in no country  
A fairer body for to seek:  
And of fine Orfrais had she eke  
A chapelet, so seemly on,  
Ne never wered maid upon  
And fair above that chapelet  
A rose garland had she set  
She had a gay mirror  
And with a rich gold treasure,  
Her head was tressed quaintly  
Her sleeves sewed fetously.  
And for to keep her hands fair  
Of gloves white she had a pair:  
And she had on a coat of green  
Of cloth of Gaunt, withouten ween:  
Well seemed by her apparel  
She was not wont to great travail.  
For when she kempt was feteously  
And well arrayed and richly,  
Then had she done all her journey,  
For merry and well begun was she.  
She led a lusty life in May,  
She had no thought, by night ne day  
Of nothing, but if it were only  
To grayeth her well and uncouthly.   

When that this door had opened me  
This May, seemly for to see,  
I thonked her as I best might,  
And asked her how that she height:  
And what she was, I asked eke,  
And she to me was nought unmeke  
Ne of her answer dangerous.  
But fair answer, and said thus:  
Lo sir, my name is Idleness,  
So clepe men me, more and less:  
Full mighty and full rich am I,  
And that of one thing namely,  
For I intend to nothing  
But to my joy, and my playing,  
And for to comb and tress me:  
Acquainted am I and privy  
With Mirth, Lord of this gardin  
That from the land of Alexandrin  
Made the trees hither be fet,  
That in this gardin been iset:  
And when the trees were waxed an height,  
This wall that stant here in thy sight,  
Did Mirth enclosen all about,  
And these Images all without  
He did him both entail and paint,  
That neither been jolife ne acquaint,  
But they been full of sorrow and woe  
As thou hast see ne a while ago.   

AND oft time him to solace  
Sir Mirth cometh into this place,  
And eke with him cometh his mien.  
That liuen in lust and iolite:  
And now is Mirth therein, to here  
The birds how they singen clear  
The Mavis and the Nightingale,  
And other jolly birds small:  
And thus he walked to solace  
Him and his folk, for sweeter place  
To playen in, he may not find,  
Although he sought one in till Ind.  
The alther fairest folk to see  
That in this world may found be  
Hath Mirth with him in his rout  
That followen him always about,  
When Idleness had told all this,  
And I had harkened well iwis,  
Then said I to dame Idleness,  
Now also wisely God me bless,  
Sith Mirth, that is so fair and fire  
Is in this yard with his mien,  
Fro thilk assemble, if I may,  
Shall no man werne me to day,  
That I this night ne mote it see,  
For well ween I there with him be  
A fair and jolly company  
Fulfilled of all courtesy:  
And forth with out words more  
In at the wicked went I tho,  
That Idleness had opened me,  
Into that garden fair to see.   

And when I was in iwis,  
Mine heart was full glad of this.  
For well wend I full sikerly  
Have been in Paradise earthly,  
So fair it was, that trusteth well,  
It seemed a place espirituell.  
For certes at my device,  
There is no place in Paradise,  
So good in for to dwell or be,  
As in that garden thought me.  
For there was many a bird singing,  
Throughout the yard all thringing,  
In many places were Nightingales,  
Alps, Finches, and Wodwales,  
That in her sweet song delighten  
In thilk places as they habiten.  
There might men see many flocks  
Of Turtles and Laverockes,  
Chalaundres feel saw I there,  
That very nigh forsongen were.  
And Thrustles, Terins, and Mavise,  
That songen for to win him prize,  
And eke to sermount in her song  
That other birds him among  
By note made fair service:  
These birds, that I you devose,  
They song her song as fair and well,  
As Angels done espirituell,  
And trusteth me, when I him heard,  
Full lusty and well I feared:  
For never yet such melody  
Was heard of man that might die.  
Such sweet song was him among,  
That me thought it no birds song,  
But it was wonder like to be  
Song of Meremaidens of the see,  
That for her singing is so clear:  
Though we Meremaidens clepe him here  
In English, as is our usance,  
Men clepe him Sereins in France.   

Ententive weren for to sing  
These birds, that not unkonning  
Were of her craft, and a prentice,  
But of song subtle and wise:  
And certes, when I heard her song,  
And saw the green place among,  
In heart I wext so wonder gay,  
That I was never erst, ere that day  
So iolife, nor so well bigo,  
Ne merry in heart, as I was tho:  
And then wist I, and saw full well,  
That Idleness me served well,  
That me put in such iolite,  
Her friend well ought I for to be,  
Sith she the door of that gardin  
Haddit opened, and me let in.   

From henceforth, how that I wrought  
I shall you tell, as me thought:  
First whereof Mirth served there,  
And eke what folk there with him were,  
Without fable I wool discriue.  
And that garden eke as believe:  
I wool you tell after this  
The fair fashion all iwis.  
That well wrought was for the nonce,  
I may not tell you all atones,  
But as I may and can, I shall  
By order tell you it all.  
Full fair service, and eke full sweet  
These birds maden as they seat:  
Lays of love, full well souning  
They songen in her iargoning,  
Some high, and some eke low song  
Upon the branches green isprong:  
The sweetness of her melody  
Made all mine heart in revelry.  
And when that I heard I trow  
These birds singing on a row,  
Then might I not withhold me  
That I ne went in for to see  
Sir Mirth, for my desiring  
Was him to seen over all thing,  
His countenance and his manner:  
That sight was to me full dear.   

Tho' went I forth on my right hon  
Down by a little path I fond  
Of Mints full, and Fennell green  
As fast by without ween,  
Sir Mirth I found, and right anon  
Unto Sir Mirth 'gan I gone,  
There as he was him to solace,  
And with him in that lusty place,  
So fair folk and so fresh had he,  
That when I saw, I wondered me  
From whence such folk might come,  
So fair they weren all and some:  
For they weren like, as to my sight,  
To Angels, that been feathered bright.  
These folk, of which I tell you so,  
Upon a karole wenten tho:  
A Lady karoled him, that height  
Gladness, blissful, and light,  
Well could she sing and lustily  
None half so well and seemly:  
And coth make in song such refraining,  
It sat her wonder well to sing.  
Her voice full clear was and full sweet,  
She was not rude ne unmete,  
But couth enough for such doing  
As longeth unto karolling:  
For she was wont in every place  
To singen first, folk to solace,  
For singing most she gave her to,  
No craft had she so lief to do.   

THO mightest thou karols seen,  
And folk dance and merry been,  
And made many a fair tourning  
Upon the green grass springing.  
There mightest thou see these Flutours,  
Minstrals, and eke joglours,  
That well to sing did her pain:  
Some song songs of Lorraine,  
For in Lorraine her notes be  
Full sweeter than in this country.  
There was many a Timbestere,  
And saliours, that I dare well swear  
Couth her craft full perfectly:  
The Timbres up full subtle  
They cast, and hent full oft  
Upon a finger fair and soft,  
That they failed never more.  
Full fetis damosels two,  
Right young, and full of semelyhede  
In kirtles, and none other weed,  
And fair tressed every tress  
Had Mirth done for his noblesse  
Amid the carole for to dance,  
But hereof lieth no remembrance,  
How that they danced quaintly:  
That one would come all prively  
Again that other, and when they were  
Together almost, they threw ifere  
Her mouths so, that through her play  
It seemed as they kissed always:  
To dauncen well couth they the guise.  
What should I more to you devise?  
Ne bided I never thence go,  
Whiles that I saw him dance so  
Upon the caroll wonder fast,  
I 'gan behold, till at last  
A Lady 'gan me for to espy,  
And she was cleped Courtesy,  
The worshipful, the debonair,  
I pray to God ever fall her fair:  
Full courtessy she called me,  
What do ye there Beau sire (qd. she)  
Come, and if it like you  
To dance, danceth with us now:  
And I without tarrying  
Went into the carolling,  
I was abashed never adele,  
But it to me liked right well,  
That Courtesy me cleped so,  
And bade me on the dance go.  
For if I had durst certain,  
I would have carolled right fain  
As man that was to dance right blithe:  
Then 'gan I looken oft scythe  
The shape, the bodies, and the cheres,  
The countenance and the maneres  
Of all the folk that danced there,  
And I shall tell what they were.   

Full fair was Mirth, full long and high,  
A fairer man I never sigh:  
As round as apple was his face,  
Full roddie and white in every place:  
Fetis he was and well besey,  
With meetly mouth and eyes grey,  
His nose by measure wrought full right,  
crisp was his hair, and eke full bright:  
His shoulders of large breed,  
And smallish in the girdle stead:  
He seemed like a purtreiture,  
So noble he was of his stature,  
So fair, so jolly, and so fetise,  
With limbs wrought at point devise  
Deliver, smart, and of great might:  
Ne saw thou never man so light.  
Of beard unneath had he nothing,  
For it was in the first spring,  
Full young he was, and merry of thought  
And in samette, with birds wrought,  
And with gold beaten full fetous●y,  
His body was clad full richly:  
Wrought was his robe in strange egise,  
And all to slittered for queintise  
In many a place, low and high,  
And should he was with great mastery,  
With shoes decoped, and with lace,  
By drury, and by solace,  
His leefe a rosin chapelet  
Had made, and on his head it set.  
And weet ye who was his lief,  
Dame Gladness there was him so lief,  
That singeth so well with glad courage,  
That from she was twelve year of age,  
She of her love grant him made  
Sir Mirth her by the finger hade  
Dancing, and she him also,  
Great love was atwixt him two:  
Both were they fair and bright of hue,  
She seemed like a rose new  
Of colours, and her flesh so tender,  
That with a briar small and tender,  
Men might it cleve, I dare well say:  
Her forehead frounceles all play,  
Bent were her brows two,  
Her eyes grey, and glad also,  
That laughden aye in her semblaunt,  
First or the mouth by covenaunt.  
I wot not what of her nose I shall discrive,  
So fair hath no woman alive:  
Her hair was yellow, and clear shining,  
I wot no lady so liking.  
Of Orfrays fresh was her garland,  
I which seen have a thousand  
Saw never iwis no garland yet,  
So well wrought of silk as it.  
And in an over gilt samite  
Clad she was, by great delight,  
Of which her leefe a robe werde  
The merrier she in her heart feared.  
And next her went, on her other side,  
The God of Love, that can divide  
Love, and as him liketh it be  
But he can cheerless daunten, he,  
And many folk's pride fallen,  
And he can well these Lords thrallen,  
And Ladies put at low degree  
When he may him too proud see.   

This God of Love of his fashion  
Was like no knave, ne quistron:  
His beauty greatly was to prize,  
But of his robe to devise  
I dread encumbered for to be,  
For not yelad in silk was he,  
But all in flowers and flourettes,  
I painted all with amorettes,  
And with lozenges and scochons,  
With Birds, Liberdes, and Lions,  
And other beasts wrought full well:  
His garment was every deal  
I purtraied and ywrought with flours,  
By divers meddling of colours:  
Flowers there were of many gise  
Iset by compass in a size,  
There lacked no flower to my doom,  
Ne not so much as flower of Brome,  
Ne violet, ne eke pervinke,  
Ne flower none, that men can on think:  
And many a rose lief full long  
Was intermeddled there among:  
And also on his head was set  
Of roses red a chapelet.  
But Nightingales a full great rout  
That flien over his head about,  
The leaves felden as they flien,  
And he was all with birds wrien,  
With Popinjay, with Nightingale,  
With Chalaundre, and with wodewale.  
With finch, with lark, & with archangel,  
He seemed as he were an angel,  
That down were comen from heaven clear.  
Love had with him a bachelor,  
That he made always with him be,  
Sweet looking cleped was he:  
This bachelor stood beholding  
The dance, and in his hon holding  
Turk bows two, full well devised had he,  
That one of him was of a tree  
That beareth a fruit of savour wick,  
Full crooked was that foul stick,  
And knotty here and there also  
And black as berry, or any slow.  
That other bow was of a plant  
Without wemme, I dare warrant,  
Full even and by proportion,  
Trectes and long, of full good fashion,  
And it was painted well and thwitten,  
And over all diapered and written  
With ladies and with bacheleres,  
Full lightsome and glad of cheres:  
These bows two held Sweet looking,  
That seemed like no gadling:  
And ten broad arrows held he there,  
Of which sieve in his hon were,  
But they were shaved well and dight,  
Nocked and feathered aright:  
And all they were with gold begon,  
And strong pointed everichon,  
And sharp for to kerven well,  
But iron was there none ne steel:  
For all was gold, men might see,  
Out take the feathers and the tree.   

THe swiftest of these arrows five  
Out of a bow for to drive,  
And best feathered for to fly,  
And fairest eke, was cleped Beauty:  
That other arrow that hurteth less,  
Was cleped (as I trow) Simplesse:  
The third cleped was Fraunchise,  
That feathered was in noble wise  
With valour and with courtesy?  
The fourth was cleped Company,  
That heavy for to shooten is,  
But who so shooteth right iwis,  
May therewith done great harm and woe:  
The fifth of these, and last also,  
Fair Semblaunt men that arrow call,  
The least grievous of him all,  
Yet can it make a full great wound,  
But he may hope his sores sound  
That hurt is with that arrow iwis,  
His woe the bette bestowed is:  
For he may sooner have gladness,  
His langour ought be the less.   

FIve arrows were of other gise,  
That been full foul to devise:  
For shaft and end sooth for to tell.  
Were also black as fiend in hell  
The first of hem is called Pride,  
That other arrow next him beside,  
It was cleped Villainy,  
That arrow was, as with felony  
Envenimed, and with spitous blame:  
The third of hem was cleped Shame.  
The fourth, Wanhope cleped is,  
The fifth, the New thought iwis.   

These arrows that I speak of here,  
Were all five on one mannere,  
And all were they resemblable  
To hem was well sitting and able,  
The foul crooked bow hideous,  
That knotty was, and all roinous,  
That bow seemed well to shete  
The arrows five, that been unmete  
And contrary to that other five:  
But though I tell not as believe  
Of her power, ne of her might,  
Hereafter shall I tell right  
The sooth, and eke signifiance  
As far as I have remembrance:  
All shall be said I undertake,  
Ere of this book an end I make.   

Now come I to my tale again:  
But aldersirst, I wool you sane  
The fashion and the countenances  
Of all the folk that on the dance is.  
The God of Love jolife and light,  
Led on his hon a Lady bright  
Of high prize, and of great degree,  
This Lady called was beauty,  
And an arrow, of which I told:  
Full well thewed was she hold,  
Ne she was dark ne brown, but bright,  
And clear as the Moon light:  
Again whom all the Stars semen  
But small candles, as we demen:  
Her flesh was tender as dew of flower,  
Her cheer was simple as bird in bower,  
As white as Lily or Rose in rise.  
Her face gentle and treatise:  
Fetis she was, and small to see,  
No wintered brows had she,  
Ne popped here, for it needed nought  
To window her, or to paint her aught:  
Her tresses yellow, and long straughten,  
Unto her heels down they raughten,  
Her nose, her mouth, and eye and cheek  
Well wrought, and all the remnant eke.  
A full great savour and a swote,  
Me thought in mine heart rote:  
As help me God, when I remember,  
Of the fashion of every member,  
In world is none so fair a wight:  
For young she was, and hewed bright  
Sore pleasant, and fetis with all,  
Gent, and in her middle small.  
Beside beauty go Richesses,  
An high Lady of great noblesse,  
And great of price in every place:  
But who so durst to her trespass  
Or till her folk, in work or deed,  
He were full hardy out of dread:  
For both she help and hinder may,  
And that is not of yesterday  
That rich folk have full great might  
To help, and eke to greue a wight.  
The best and greatest of valour  
Didden Richesses full great honour,  
And busy weren her to serve,  
For that they would her love deserve,  
They cleped her Lady, great and small,  
This wide world her dreadeth all:  
This world is all in her daungere,  
Her court hath many a losengere,  
And many a traitor envious,  
That been full busy and curious  
For to dispraise, and to blame  
That best deserven love and name,  
To forne the folk him to begilen,  
These lozenge ours hem praise and smilen.  
And thus the world with word annointen,  
But afterward they prill and pointen  
The folk, right to the bare bone,  
Behind her back when they been gone,  
And foul abaten folk's prize.  
Full many a worthy man and wise  
Han hindered, and idoens to die  
These losengeours with her flattery,  
And maketh folk full strange be,  
There as him aught been privy:  
Well evil mote they thrive and thee,  
And evil arrived mote they be  
These losengeours full of envy.  
No good man loveth her company.   

Richesses a robe of purple on had,  
Ne trow not that I lie or mad:  
For in this world is none it liche,  
Ne by a thousand deal so rich,  
Ne none so fair, for it full well,  
With Orfreis laid was every deal,  
And purtraid in the ribanings  
Of Duke's stories, and of Kings,  
And with a bend of gold tassiled,  
And knops fine of gold amiled:  
About her neck of gentle entail  
Was shut the rich Chevesaile,  
In which there was full great plenty  
Of stones clear, and fair to see.  
Richesses a girdle had upon  
The bokell of it was of stone:  
Of virtue great, and mokell of might:  
For who so bore the stone so bright,  
Of venom durst him nothing doubt  
While he the stone had him about:  
That stone was greatly for to love,  
And till a rich man's behoof,  
Worth all the gold in Rome and Frise:  
The Mourdant wrought in noble gise  
Was of a stone full precious,  
That was so fine and virtuous,  
That whole a man it couth make  
Of palsy, and of toothache,  
And yet the stone had such a grace,  
That he was seker in every place  
All thilk day not blind to been,  
That fasting might that stone seen:  
The bars were of gold full fine,  
Upon a tissue of Satin  
Full heavy, great, and nothing light,  
In every was a besaunt wight.  
Upon the tresses of Richesses  
Was set a circle of noblesse  
Of burnt gold, that full light shone,  
So fair trow I was never none:  
But he were cunning for the nonce,  
That could devose all the stones  
That in that circle shown clear,  
It is a wonder thing to here:  
For no man could praise or guess  
Of him the value or richesse,  
Rubies there were, Saphires, Ragounces,  
And Emeralds, more than two unces.  
But all before full subtly  
A fine Carbuncle set saw I,  
The stone so clear was and so bright,  
That all so soon as it was night,  
Men might seen to go for need  
A mile or two, in length and breed.  
Such light sprang out of the stone,  
That Richesses wonder bright shone  
Both her head, and all her face,  
And eke about her all the place.  
Dame Richesse on her hon 'gan lead  
A young man full of seemly heed,  
That she best loved of any thing,  
His lust was much in housholding:  
In clothing was he full fetise,  
And loved well to have horse of prize,  
He wend to have reproved be  
Of theft or murder, if that he  
Had in his stable an hacknay,  
And therefore he desired aye  
To been acquainted with Richesse,  
For all his purpose as I guess,  
Was for to make great dispense,  
Withouten warning or defence:  
And Richesses might it well sustain,  
And her dispenses we'll maintain,  
And him always such plenty send  
Of gold and silver for to spend  
Without lacking or daungere,  
As it were poured in a garnere.   

And after on the dance went  
Largesse, that set all her intent  
For to ben honourable and free,  
Of Alexander's kin was she:  
Her most joy was iwis,  
When that she gave: and said, have this.  
Not Avarice the foul caitiff  
Was half to gripe so ententife  
As Largesse, is, to give and spend,  
And God always enough her send,  
So that the more she gave away,  
The more iwis she had always.  
Great loose hath Largesse, and great prize,  
For both wise folk and unwise  
Were wholly to her bandon brought,  
So well with yefts hath she wrought.  
And if she had an enemy,  
I trow that she couth craftily  
Make him full soon her friend to be  
So large of yefts, and wise was she,  
Therefore she stood in love and grace  
Of rich and poor in every place.  
* A full great fool he is iwis,  
That both rich and poor, and niggard is.  
A Lord may have no manner vice,  
* That grieveth more than Avarice.  
For niggard never with strength of hand  
May win him great lordship or land:  
For friends all too few hath he  
To done his will performed be:  
* And who so wool have friends here,  
He may not hold his treasure dear.  
For by ensample tell I this,  
Right as an Adamant iwis  
Can drawn to him subtly  
The iron that is laid thereby,  
So draweth folk's hearts iwis  
Silver and gold that given is.  
Largesse had on a robe fresh  
Of rich purpure Sarlinish:  
Well formed was her face and clear,  
And opened had she her colere,  
For she right there had in present  
Unto a Lady made present  
Of a gold brooch, full well wrought,  
And certes it missate her nought:  
For through her smock wrought with silk,  
The flesh was seen as white as milk:  
Largesse, that worthy was and wise,  
Held by the hand a knight of prize,  
Was sib to Arthour of Breteigne,  
And that was he that bore the ensign  
Of worship, and the Gousfaucoun:  
And yet he is of such renown,  
That men of him say fair things  
Before Barons, Earls, and Rings.  
This knight was come all newly  
From tourneying fast by,  
There had he done great chivalry  
Through his virtue and his maisirie,  
And for the love of his leman  
He cast down many a doughty man.  
And next him danced dame Fraunchise,  
Arrayed in full noble gise:  
She has not brown ne done of hue,  
But white as snow ifallen new:  
Her nose was wrought at point device,  
For it was gentle and treatise,  
With eyes glad, and brows bend,  
Her hair down to her heels went,  
And she was simple as dove on tree,  
Full debonair of heart was she.  
She durst neither say ne do,  
But that, that her longeth to:  
And if a man were in distress,  
And for her love in heaviness,  
Her heart would have full great pity  
She was so amiable and free:  
For were a man for her bestead.  
She would been right sore adread,  
That she did overgreat outrage,  
But she him holp his harm taswage,  
Her thought it all a villainy,  
And she had on a suckeny,  
That not of hemp herds was,  
So fair was none in all Arras,  
Lord it was riddled fetisly,  
There nas not a point truly  
That it nas in his right assize  
Full well yclothed was Fraunchise,  
For there nis no cloth sitteth bette  
On damosel, than doth rokette:  
A woman well more fetise is  
In rokette, than in cote iwis,  
The white rokette riddeled fair,  
Betokeneth, that full debonair  
And sweet was she that it bear.  
By her danced a bachelor,  
I cannot tell you what he height,  
But fair he was, and of good height,  
All had he been, I say no more,  
The lords son of Windsor.  
And next that danced Courtesy,  
That praised was of low and high,  
For neither proud ne fool was she:  
She for to dance called me,  
I pray God give her good grace,  
For when I came first into the place,  
She nas not nice, ne outrageous,  
But wise and ware, and virtuous,  
Of fair speech, and fair answer,  
Was never wight missaid of her:  
She bore no rancour to no wight,  
Clear brown she was, and thereto bright  
Of face and body avenaunt  
I wot no lady so pleasant,  
She were worthy for to been  
An Empress or crowned Queen.  
And by her went a knight dancing  
That worthy was and well speaking,  
And full well could he done honour:  
The knight was fair and stiff in stour,  
And in armure a seemly man,  
And well beloved of his leman,  
Fair Idleness than saw I,  
That always was me fast by,  
Of her have I without fail  
Cold you the shape and apparel:  
For (as I said) Lo, that was she  
That did to me so great bounty.  
She the gate of that gardin  
Undid, and let me passen in,  
And after danced as I guess.  
And she fulfilled of lustiness,  
That nas not yet xii year of age,  
With heart wild, and thought volage.  
Nice she was, but she ne meant  
None harm ne sleight in her intent,  
But only lust and iolite,  
* For young folk, well weten ye,  
Have little thought but on her play.  
Her leman was beside always,  
In such a gise, that he her kissed  
At all times that him list,  
That all the dance might it see,  
They make no force of privetee:  
For who so spoke of him evil or well,  
They were ashamed never adele,  
But men might seen him kiss there,  
As it two young doves were,  
For young was thilk bachelor,  
Of beauty wot I non his peer,  
And he was right of such an age,  
As Youth his lief, and such courage.  
The lusty folk that danced there,  
And also other that with him were  
That weren all of her meinee  
Full heard folk, wise, and free,  
And folk of fair port truly,  
There were all commonly.  
When I had seen the countenances  
Of him that ladden thus these dances,  
Then had I will to go and see  
The garden that so liked me,  
And looken on these fair Laureres,  
On Pine trees, Cedrres, and Olmeres,  
The dances then ended were,  
For many of him that danced there,  
Were with her loves went away  
Under the trees to have her play.   

A Lord they lived lustily,  
A great fool were he sikerly,  
That nold his thanks such life lead:  
For this dare I sane out of dread,  
That who so might so well fare,  
For better life durst him not care,  
For there nis so good paradise,  
As to have a love at his device:  
Out of that place went I tho,  
And in that garden 'gan I go,  
Playing along full merely.  
The God of Love full hastily  
Unto him Sweet Looking cleped,  
No longer would he that she kept  
His how of gold, that shone so bright.  
He had him bend anon right,  
And he full soon set an end,  
And at a braide he 'gan it bend,  
And took him of his arrows five,  
Full sharp and ready for to drive.  
Now God that sitteth in majesty  
Fro deadly wounds he keep me,  
If so be that he had me shete,  
For if I with his arrow meet,  
It had me grieved sore iwis,  
But I that nothing wist of this,  
Went up and down full many a way,  
And he me followed fast always,  
But no where would I rest me,  
Till I had in all the garden be.   

THe Garden was by measuring  
Right even and square in compassing,  
It as long was as it was large,  
Of fruit had every tree his charge,  
But it were any hideous tree  
Of which there were two or three.  
There were, and that wot I full well,  
Of Pomgranettes a full great deal,  
That is a fruit full well to like,  
Namely to folk when they ben sike:  
And trees there were great foison,  
That barren nuts in her season,  
Such as men nutmegs call,  
That swote of savour been withal,  
And Almandres great plenty,  
Figs, and many a Date tree  
There weren, if men had need,  
Through the Gardin in length and breed.  
There was eke waxing many a spice,  
As Clowe, Gilofre, and Licorice,  
Gingere, and Grein de Paris,  
Canell, and Setewale of pris,  
And many a spice delitable,  
To eaten when men rise fro table.  
And many homely trees there were,  
That Peaches, Coins, and Apples bear,  
Meddlers, plumbs, Peers, Thesteinis,  
Cherise, of which many one fain is,  
Nuts, Aleis, and Bolas,  
That for to seen it was solas,  
With many high Laurer and Pine,  
Was renged clean all that garden,  
With Cypress, and with Oliveris,  
Of which that nigh no plenty here is.  
There were Elms great and strong,  
Maples, Ashe, Oak, Alps, Planes long,  
Fine Ewe, Poplar, and Lindes fair,  
And other trees full many a pair.  
What should I tell you more of it?  
There were so many trees yet,  
That I should all encumbered be,  
Credit I had reckoned every tree.  
These trees were set that I device,  
One from another in assize  
Five fathom or six, I trow so,  
But they were high and great also:  
And for to keep out well the Sun,  
The crops were so thick irunne,  
And every branch in other knit,  
And full of green leaves sit,  
That Sun might there none descend,  
Lest the tender grasses shend.  
There might men Does and Roes isee,  
And of Squirrels full great plenty,  
From bough to bough always leping,  
Connis there were also playing,  
That comen out of her clappers  
Of sundry colours and manners,  
And maden many a tourneying  
Upon the fresh grasie springing.  
In places saw I wells there,  
In which there no frogs were,  
And fair in shadow was every well  
But I ne can the number tell  
Of stremis small, that by device  
Mirth had done come through condise,  
Of which the water in renning  
'Gan make a noise full liking.  
About the brinks of these wells,  
And by the streams over all else  
Sprang up the grass, as thick iset  
And soft as any velvet,  
On which men might his leman ley,  
As on a featherbed to play,  
For the earth was full soft and sweet:  
Through moisture of the well weet  
Sprung up the sote green grass,  
As fair, as thick, as mister was.  
But much amended it the place,  
That th'earth was of such a grace  
That it of flowers hath plenty,  
That both in summer and winter be.  
There sprang the violet all new,  
And fresh pervinke rich of hue,  
And flowers yellow, white, and read,  
Such plenty grew there never in meed:  
Full gay was all the ground and quaint,  
And powdered, as men had it peint,  
With many a fresh and sundry flour,  
That casten up full good savour.  
I wool not long hold you in fable  
Of all this garden delectable,  
I moat my tongue stinten need,  
For I ne may withouten dread  
Naught tell you the beauty all,  
Ne half the bounty therewithal.  
I went on right hon and on left  
About the place, it was not left  
Till I had all the garden been  
In the esters that men might seen.  
And thus while I went in my play,  
The God of Love me followed aye,  
Right as an Hunter can abide  
The beast, till he seeth his tide  
To shooten at goodness to the dear,  
When that him needeth go no near.  
And so befell, I rested me  
Besides a well under a tree,  
Which tree in France men call a Pine,  
But sith the time of king Pepine  
Ne grew there tree in man's sight  
So fair, ne so well wox in height,  
In all that yard so high was none.  
And springing in a marble stone  
Had nature set, the sooth to tell,  
Under that Pine tree a well,  
And on the border all without  
Was written in the stone about  
Letters small, that saiden thus,  
Here starfe the fair Narcissus.  
Narcissus was a bachelor,  
That love had caught in his daungere,  
And in his net 'gan him so strain,  
And did him so to weep and plain,  
That need him must his life forgo:  
For a fair lady that height Echo,  
Him loved over any creature,  
And 'gan for him such pain endure,  
That on a time she him told,  
That if he her love nolde,  
That her behoved needs die,  
There lay none other remedy.  
But nevertheless, for his beauty  
So fierce and dangerous was he  
That he nolde graunten her ask,  
For weeping, ne for fair praying.  
And when she heard him werne her so,  
She had in heart so great woe,  
And took it in so great despite,  
That she without more respite  
Was dead anon: but ere she deide,  
Full pitously to God she preide,  
That proud hearted Narcissus,  
That was in love so dangerous,  
Might on a day ben hampered so  
For love, and been so hot for woe,  
That never he might to joy attain:  
Then should he feel in very vain  
What sorrow true lovers maken,  
That been so villainously forsaken.   

THis prayer was but reasonable,  
Therefore God held it farm and stable:  
For Narcissus shortly to tell,  
By adventure came to that well  
To rest him in the shadowing  
A day, when he came from hunting.  
This Narcissus had suffered pains  
For renning all day in the plains,  
And was for thirst in great distress  
Of heart, and of his weariness,  
That had his breath almost benomen.  
When he was to that well icomen,  
That shadowed was with branches green,  
He thought of thilk water sheen  
To drink and fresh him well withal,  
And down on knees he 'gan to fall,  
And forth his neck and head outstraught  
To drink of that well a draught:  
And in the water anon was seen  
His nose, his mouth, his even sheen,  
And he thereof was all abashed,  
His own shadow had him betrashed,  
For well wend he the form see  
Of a child of great beauty,  
Well couth love him wreak though  
Of daungere and of pride also  
That Narcissus sometime him bear,  
He quite him well his guerdon there,  
For he mused so in the well  
That shortly the sooth to tell,  
He loved his own shadow so,  
That at last he starfe for woe:  
For when he saw that he his will  
Might in no manner way fulfil,  
And that he was so fast caught  
That he him couth comfort naught,  
He lost his wit right in that place  
And died within a little space,  
And thus his warison he took  
For the lady that he forsook.  
Ladies I pray ensample taketh,  
Ye that against your love mistaketh:  
For if of her death be you to wit,  
God can full well your wile quite.   

When that this letter of which I tell,  
Had taught me that it was the well  
Of Narcissus in his beauty,  
I 'gan anon withdraw me,  
When it fell in my remembrance,  
That him betid such mischance:  
But at the last than thought I,  
That scathlesse, full sickerly,  
I might unto the well go,  
Whereof shall I abashen so.  
Unto the well then went I me,  
And down I louted for to see  
The clear water in the stone,  
And eke the gravel, which that shone  
Down in the bottom, as silver fine:  
For of the well, this is the fine,  
In world is none so clear of hue,  
The water is ever fresh and new  
That welmeth up with waves bright  
The mountenance of two finger height:  
About it is grass springing,  
For moist so thick and well liking,  
That it ne may in winter die,  
No more than may the see be dry.   

Down at the bottom set saw I  
Two crystal stones craftily  
In thilk fresh and fair well:  
But o thing sooth dare I tell,  
That ye wool hold a great marvel  
When it is told withouten fail:  
For when the sun clear in sight  
Cast in that well his beams bright,  
And that the heat descended is,  
Then taketh the Crystal stone iwis,  
Again the sun an hundred hewis,  
Blue, yellow, and red, that fresh & new is:  
Yet hath the marvellous Crystal  
Such strength, that the place over all,  
Both foul and tree, and leaves green,  
And all the yard in it is see ne:  
And for to done you to understand,  
To make ensample wool I fond:  
Right as a mirror openly  
showeth all thing that stondeth thereby,  
As well the colour as the figure,  
Withouten any coverture:  
Right so the Crystal stone shining,  
Withouten any deceiving,  
The entrees of the yard accuseth  
To him that in the water museth:  
For ever in which half that ye be,  
Ye may well half the garden see:  
And if he turn, he may right well  
Seen the remnant every deal:  
For there is none so little thing  
So hid ne closed with shitting,  
That it ne is seen, as though it were  
Painted is the Crystal there.  
This is the mirror perillus,  
In which the proud Narcissus  
Say all his fair face bright,  
That made him sith to lie upright:  
For who so look in that mirror,  
There may nothing been his succour  
That he ne shall there see something  
That shall him lead into laughing:  
Full many a worthy man hath it  
Yblent, for folk of greatest wit  
Ben soon caught here and waited,  
Withouten respite been they baited:  
Here cometh to folk of new rage,  
Here changeth many wight courage  
Here lithe no read ne with thereto,  
For Venus' son, dan Cupido,  
Hath sown there of love the seed,  
That help ne lithe there none, ne read,  
So cercleth it the well about:  
His gins hath he set without  
Right for to catch in his panters  
These Damosels and Bachelors.  
Love will none other bird catch,  
Though he set either net or latch:  
And for the seed that here was sown,  
This well is cleped, as well is known,  
The well of Love, of very right,  
Of which there hath full many wight  
Spoken in books diversely:  
But they shall never so verily  
Description of the well here,  
Ne eke the sooth of this matter,  
As ye shall, when I have undo  
The craft that her belongeth to.   

Always me liked for to dwell,  
To seen the Crystal in the well,  
That showed me full openly  
A thousand things fast by,  
But I may say in sorry hour  
Stood I to looken or to pour:  
For sithen I sore sighed,  
That Mirror hath me now entriked:  
But had I first known in my wit  
The virtue and strengths of it,  
I nolde not have mused there,  
Me had bette ben elsewhere,  
For in the snare I fell anon,  
That had bitreshed many one.  
In thilk Mirror saw I tho,  
Among a thousand things more,  
A roser charged full of rosis,  
That with an hedge about enclosis,  
Tho had I such lust and envy,  
That for Paris ne for Pavia,  
Nolde I have left to gone and see,  
There greatest heap of Roses be.  
When I was with that rage hent,  
That caught hath many a man and shent,  
Toward the Roser 'gan I go,  
And when I was not far therefrom,  
The saver of the roses swote  
Me mote right to the heart rote,  
As I had all enbaumed me:  
And if I ne had endouted me  
To have been hated or assailed,  
My thanks wool I not have failed  
To pull a rose of all that rout  
To bear in mine hon about,  
And smellen to it where I went,  
But ever I dread me to repent,  
And lest it greved or forthought  
The lord that thilk gardin wrought  
Of roses there were great won,  
So fair were never in Rone:  
Of knops close, some saw I there,  
And some well better waxed were,  
And some there been of other moison,  
That drowe nigh to her season,  
And sped him fast for to spread,  
I love well such roses red:  
For broad roses, and open also,  
Ben passed in a day or two,  
But knoppes will fresh be  
Two days at least, or else three.  
The knoppes greatly liked me,  
For fairer may there no man see:  
Who so might have one of all,  
It ought him been full lief withal:  
Might I garland of hem gotten,  
For no richesse I would it let.  
Amongst the knoppes I cheese one  
So fair, that of the remnant none  
Ne praise I half so well as it,  
When I avise in my wit,  
For it so well was enlumined  
With colour red, as well fined  
As nature couth it make fair,  
And it hath leaves well four pair,  
That kind hath set through his knowing  
About the red roses springing,  
The stalk was as rishe right,  
And thereon stood the knop upright,  
That it ne bowed upon no side,  
The swore smell sprung so wide,  
That it died all the place about.  
When I had smelled the savour swote,  
No will had I fro thence yet go,  
But somedeal near it went I tho  
To take it, but mine hon for dread  
Ne durst I to the Rose bede,  
For thistles sharp of many manners,  
Nettles, thorns, and hooked briers,  
For much they distourbled me,  
For sore I dread to harmed be.   

THe God of Love, with bow bend,  
That all day set had his talon  
To pursue and to spien me,  
Was standing by a fig tree,  
And when he saw how that I  
Had chosen so ententisely  
The bothum more unto me pey,  
Than any other that I say:  
He took an arrow full sharply whet,  
And in his bow when it was set,  
He straight up to his ear drough  
The strong bow, that was so tough,  
And shot at me so wonder smart,  
That through mine eye unto mine heart  
The tackle sinote, and deep it went:  
And therewithal such cold me hent,  
That under clothes warm and soft,  
Sithen that day I have chivered oft.  
When I was hurt thus in stound,  
I fell down plat unto the ground,  
Mine heart failed and fainted aye,  
And long time in swoon I lay:  
But when I came out of swooning,  
And had my wit, and my feeling.  
I was all mate, and wend full well  
Of blood, have lost a full great deal,  
But certes the arrow that in me stood,  
Of me ne drew no drop of blood,  
For why, I found my wounds all drey.  
Then took I with mine honds twey  
The arrow, and full fast it out plight,  
And in the pulling sore I sight,  
So at the last the shaft of tree  
I drough out, with the feathers three,  
But yet the hooked head iwis,  
The which Beauty called is,  
'Gan so deep in mine heart pace,  
That I it might not arace,  
But in mine heart still it stood,  
All bled I not a drop of blood:  
I was both anguishous and trouble,  
For the peril that I saw double,  
I nist what to say or do,  
Ne get a leech my wounds to,  
For neither through grass ne rote,  
Ne had I help of hope ne boat.  
But to the bothum evermo  
Mine heart drew, for all my woe,  
My thought was in none other thing,  
For had it been in my keeping,  
It would have brought my life again,  
For certes evenly, I dare well same,  
The sight only, and the savour,  
Alegged much of my langour.  
Then 'gan I for to draw me  
Toward the bothum fair to see,  
And love had get him in his throw  
Another arrow into his bow,  
And for to shoot 'gan him dress,  
The arrow's name was Simplesse,  
And when that Love 'gan nigh me ne'er,  
He drowe it up withouten were,  
And shot at me with all his might,  
So that this arrow anon right  
Throughout eigh as it was found,  
Into mine heart hath made a wound.  
Then I anon did all my craft  
For to drawn out the shaft,  
And therewithal I sighed eft,  
But in mine heart the head was left,  
Which aye increased my desire,  
Unto the bothum drow I ne'er,  
And evermo that me was woe  
The more desire had I to go  
Unto the Roser, where that grew  
The fresh bothum, so bright of hue,  
Better me were to have let be,  
But it behoved need me  
To done right as mine heart bad:  
* For ever the body must be lad  
After the heart, in well and woe,  
Of force together they must go.  
But never this archer would fine  
To shoot at me with all his pine,  
And for to make me to him meet.  
The third arrow he 'gan to shete,  
When best his time he might espy,  
The which was named Courtesy,  
Into mine heart he did avale,  
A swoon I fell, both dead and pale,  
Long time I lay, and stirred nought,  
Till I abraied out of my thought.  
And fast then I avised me  
To draw out the shaft of tree,  
But ever the head was lest behind  
For aught I couth pull or wind,  
So sore it sticked when I was hit,  
That by no craft I might it flit,  
But anguishous and full of thought,  
I felt such woe, my wound aye wrought,  
That summoned me always to go  
Toward the Rose, that pleased me so,  
But I ne durst in no manner  
Because the archer was so ne'er.  
For evermore gladly as I read  
* Brent child of fire hath much dread.  
And certes yet for all my pain,  
Though that I sigh, yet arrows rein,  
And ground quarrels, sharp of steel,  
Ne for no pain that I might feel,  
Yet might I not myself withhold  
The fair Roser to behold,  
For Love me gave such hardement  
For to fulfil his commandment,  
Upon my feet I rose up than  
Feeble, as a forwounded man:  
And forth to gone might I set,  
And for the Archer nold I let,  
Toward the Roser fast I drow  
But thorns sharp, more than enough  
There were, and also thistles thick,  
And breres brim for to prick,  
That I ne might get grace  
The rough thorns for to place  
To seen the Roses fresh of hue,  
I must abide, though it me rue,  
The hedge about so thick was,  
That closed the Roses in compass.  
But o thing liked me right well,  
I was so nigh, I might feel  
Of the bothum the swote odour,  
And also see the fresh colour,  
And that right greatly liked me,  
That I so ne'er might it see,  
Such joy anon thereof had I,  
That I forgot my malady,  
To seen I had such delight,  
Of sorrow and anger I was all quite,  
And of my wounds that I had thore,  
For nothing liken me might more,  
Than dwellen by the Roser aye,  
And thence never to pass away:  
But when a while I had be there,  
The God of Love, which all to share  
Mine heart with his arrows keen,  
Casteth him to yeve me wounds green,  
He shot at me full hastily  
An arrow named Company,  
The which tackle is full able  
To make these Ladies merciable,  
Then I anon 'gan chaungen hue  
For greevaunce of my wound new,  
That I again fell in swooning,  
And sighed sore in complaining.  
Sore I complained that my sore  
On me 'gan greven more and more,  
I had none hope of allegiance,  
So nigh I drow to disperaunce,  
I wrought of death, ne of life,  
Whether that love would me drife,  
If me a martyr would he make,  
I might his power not forsake:  
And while for anger thus I work,  
The God of Love an arrow took,  
Full sharp it was and pugnaunt,  
And it was called Fair semblant,  
The which in no wise would consent,  
That any lover him repent  
To serve his love with heart and all,  
For any peril that may befall.  
But thought his arrow was keen ground,  
As any razor that is found,  
To cut and kerve at the point,  
The God of Love it had anoint  
With a precious ointment,  
Somedele to yeve allegement  
Upon the wounds that he hade  
Through the body in my heart made  
To help her sores, and to cure,  
And that they may the bette endure:  
But yet this arrow, without more,  
Made in mine heart a large sore,  
That in full great pain I abode,  
But aye the ointment went abroad  
Throughout my wounds large and wide,  
It spread about in every side:  
Through whose virtue and whose might,  
Mine heart joyful was and light.  
I had been dead and all to shent  
But for the precious ointment:  
The shaft I drow out of the arrow,  
Looking for woe right wonder narrow  
But the head, which made me smart,  
Left behind in mine heart  
With other four, I dare well say,  
That never wool be take away,  
But the ointment halpe me well,  
And yet such sorrow did I feel,  
That all day I changed hew  
Of my wounds fresh and new,  
As men might see in my visage,  
The arrows were so full of rage,  
So vigilant of diversitee,  
That men in everiche might see  
Both great annoy and eke sweetness,  
And joy meint with bitterness:  
Now were they easy, now were they wood,  
In hem I felt both harm and good,  
Now sore without alleggement,  
Now softing with ointment,  
It softened here, and pricked there,  
Thus ease and anger together were.   

THe God of Love deliverly  
Come lepande to me hastily,  
And said to me in great yape,  
Yield thee, for thou may not escape,  
May no defence avail thee here:  
Therefore I read make no daungere.  
If thou wolt yield thee hastily,  
Thou shalt rather have mercy:  
* He is a fool in sickerness,  
That with danger or stoutness  
Rebelleth there that he should please,  
In such folly is little ease.  
Be meek, where thou must needs bow,  
To strive again is not thy prow:  
Come at ones, and have ido,  
For I wool that it be so,  
Then yield thee here debonairly.  
And I answered full humbly,  
Gladly sit, at your bidding,  
I wool me yield in all thing:  
To your service I wool me take,  
For God defend that I should make  
Again your bidding resistance.  
I wool not done so great offence,  
For if I did, it were no skill,  
Ye may do with me what ye will,  
Save or spill, and also slo,  
Fro you in no wise may I go,  
My life, my death, is in your hon,  
I may not last out of your bond,  
Plain at your list I yield me,  
Hoping in heart, that sometime ye  
Comfort and ease shall me send:  
Or else shortly, this is the end,  
Withouten health I moat aye dure,  
But if ye take me to your cure:  
Comfort or health, how should I have,  
Scythe ye me hurt, but ye me save?  
The health of Love moat be found,  
Whereas they tooken first her wound:  
And if ye list of me to make  
Your prisoner, I wool it take  
Of heart and will fully at gree,  
Holy and plain I yield me  
Without feigning or feintise,  
To be governed by your emprise:  
Of you I hear so much prize,  
I wool been whole at your devise  
For to fulfil your liking  
And repent for nothing,  
Hoping to have yet in some tide  
Mercy, of that I abide:  
And with that covenaunt yield I me,  
Anon down kneeling upon my knee,  
Proffering for to kiss his feet,  
But for nothing he would me lete.   

And said, I love thee both and praise,  
Sens that thine answer doth me ease:  
For thou answered so courteously,  
For now I wot well utterly,  
That thou art gentle by thy speech:  
For thou a man far would seech,  
He should not finden in certain,  
No such answer of no villain:  
For such a word ne might nought  
Issue out of a villain's thought.  
Thou shalt not lesen of thy speech,  
For thy helping wool I eche,  
And eke increase that I may:  
But first I wool that thou obey  
Fully for thine advantage  
Anon to do me here homage:  
And scythe kiss thou shalt my mouth,  
Which to no villain was never couth  
For to approach it, ne for to touch,  
For saufe of cheerless I ne vouch  
That they shall never neigh it ne'er  
For curteis, and of fair manner,  
Well taught, and full of gentleness  
He must be, that shall me kiss,  
And also of full high Fraunchise,  
That shall attain to that emprise.  
And first of o thing warn I thee,  
That pain and great adversitee  
He moat endure, and eke travail  
That shall me serve, without fail,  
But there against thee to comfort,  
And with thy service to disport,  
Thou mayest full glad and joyful be,  
So good a master to have as me,  
And Lord of so high renown,  
I bear of love the Gonfenoune,  
Of Courtesy the banner,  
For I am of the self manere,  
Gentle, courteous, meek and free,  
That who ever ententive be,  
Me to honour, doubt, and serve:  
And also that he him observe  
Fro trespass and fro villainy,  
And him govern in courtesy,  
With will and intention,  
For when he first in my prison  
Is caught, then must he utterly,  
Fro thenceforth full busily,  
Cast him gentle for to be,  
If he desire help of me.  
Anon without more delay,  
Withouten danger or affray,  
I become his man anon,  
And gave him thanks many a one,  
And kneeled down with honds joint,  
And made it in my port full quaint:  
The joy went to my heart rote,  
When I had kissed his mouth so swote,  
I had such mixth and such liking,  
It cured me of languishing.  
He asked of me then hostages,  
I have he said taken feel homages  
Of one and other, where I have been,  
Distreined oft, withouten ween,  
These felons full of falsite,  
Have many scythes beguiled me,  
And through her falsehood her lust achieved,  
Whereof I repent, and am aggrieved,  
And I hem get in my daungere,  
Her falsehood shall they buy full dear,  
But for I love thee, I say thee plain,  
I wool of thee be more certain,  
For thee sore I wool now bind,  
That thou away ne shalt not wind,  
For to denien thy covenaunt,  
Or done that is not avenaunt,  
That thou were false, it were great ruth,  
Sith thou seemest so full of truth.  
Sir, if thee list to understand,  
I marvel thee ask this demand,  
For why or wherefore should ye,  
Hostages or borowes ask of me,  
Or any other sickerness,  
Sith ye wot in soothfastness,  
That ye me have surprised so,  
And hole mine heart, taken me fro,  
That it wool do for me nothing,  
But if it be at your bidding,  
Mine heart is yours, & mine right nought  
As it behoveth, in deed and thought,  
Ready in all to work your will,  
Whether so turn to good or ill,  
So sore it lusteth you to please,  
No man thereof may you disease,  
Ye have thereon set such justice,  
That it is wearied in many wise,  
And if ye doubt it nolde obey,  
Ye may thereof do make a kay,  
And hold it with you for hostage.  
Now certes this is none outrage,  
(Quoth Love) and fully accord,  
For of the body he is full Lord  
That hath the heart in his treasore,  
Outrage it were to asken more.   

THen of his aumener he drough,  
A little key fetise enough,  
Which was of gold polished clear  
And said to me, with this key here,  
Thine heart to me now wool I shut,  
For all my joyful look and knet,  
I bind under this little key,  
That no wight may carry away.  
This key is full of great post,  
With which anon he touched me,  
Under the side full softly,  
That he mine heart suddenly,  
Without any had speered,  
That yet right nought it hath me deered.  
When he had done his will all out,  
And I had put him out of doubt,  
Sir I said, I have right great will,  
Your lust and pleasure to fulfil,  
Look ye my service take at gree,  
By thilk faith ye owe to me,  
I say nought for recreaundise,  
For I nought doubt of your service.  
* But the servaunt travaileth in vain,  
That for to serven doth his pain  
Unto that Lord, which in no wise,  
Conne him no thank for his service.   

LOve said, dismay thee nought,  
Sith thou for succour hast me sought,  
In thank thy service wool I take,  
And high of degree I wool thee make,  
If wickedness ne hinder thee,  
But (as I hope) it shall nouht be,  
* To worship no wight by aventure,  
May come, but he pain endure.  
Abide and suffer thy distress,  
That hurteth now, it shall be less.  
I wot myself what may thee save,  
What medicine thou wouldst have.  
And if thy truth to me thou keep,  
I shall unto thine helping eke,  
To cure thy wounds and make him clean,  
Where so they be old or green,  
Thou shalt be holpen at words few,  
For certainly thou shalt well show,  
Where that thou servest with good will,  
For to accomplishen and fulfil  
My commandments day and night,  
Which I to lovers yeve of right.   

AH sir, for God's love (said I)  
Ere ye pass hence enterntifely,  
Your commandments to me ye say,  
And I shall keep him if I may,  
For him to keepen is all my thought:  
And if so be I wot him nought,  
Then may I unwittingly,  
Wherefore I pray you entirely,  
With all mine heart, me to lere,  
That I trespass in no manner.  
The God of Love than charged me  
Anon, as ye shall here and see,  
Word by word, by right emprise,  
So as the Romaunt shall devise.  
The master loseth his time to lere,  
When the Disciple wool not here,  
* It is but vain on him to swink,  
That on his learning wool not think,  
Who so lust love, let him intend,  
For now the Romance beginneth to amend.  
Now is good to hear in faith,  
If any be that can it say,  
And point it as the reason is  
Set for other gate iwis,  
It shall nat well in all thing,  
Be brought to good understanding,  
* For a Reader that pointeth ill,  
A good sentence may oft spill:  
The book is good at the ending,  
Made of new and lusty thing:  
For who so wool the ending here,  
The craft of love he shall now lere,  
If that he wool so long abide,  
Till I this Romance may unhide,  
And undo the signifiance  
Of this dream, into romance,  
The soothfastness that now is hid,  
Without coverture shall be kid,  
When I undoens have this dreaming,  
Wherein no word is of leasing.   

Villainy at the beginning,  
I wool say love over all thing  
Thou leave, if thou wolt be  
False, and trespass against me,  
I curse and blame generally  
All them that loven villainy,  
* For villainy maketh villeine  
* And by his deeds a chorle is seine.  
These villains are ne without pity,  
Friendship, love, and all bounty.  
I nill receive unto my servise  
Hempskirke that been villains of emprise.  
But understond in thine intent,  
That this is not mine intendment,  
To clepe no wight in no ages  
Only gentle for his lineages:  
* But who so is virtuous,  
And in his port not outrageous,  
When such one thou seest thee before,  
Though he be not gentle borne,  
Thou mayest well seine this in sooth,  
That he is gentle, because he doth  
As longeth to a gentleman:  
Of hem none other dame I can,  
* For certainly withouten dread,  
A churl is deemed by his deed,  
Of hie or low, as ye may see,  
Or of what kindred that he be.  
Ne say nought for none evil will,  
Thing that is to holden still,  
It is no worship to missaie,  
Thou mayest ensample take of kay,  
That was sometime for missayeng,  
Hated both of old and yeng,  
As far as Gawein the worthy,  
Was praised for his courtesy,  
Kaie was hated, for he was fell,  
Of word despitous and cruel,  
Wherefore be wise and acqueintable,  
Goodly of word, and reasonable:  
Both to less and eke to mare,  
And when thou comest there men are,  
Look that thou have in custom ay,  
First to salve him if thou may:  
And if it fall, that of him somme  
Salue the first, be not domme,  
But quite him courtly anon  
Without abiding, ere they gone.  
gone For nothing eke thy tongue apply,  
To speak words of ribaldry,  
To villain speech in no degree,  
Let never thy lip unbounden be:  
* For I nought hold him in good faith  
Curteis, that foul words saith:  
And all women serve and praise,  
And to thy power her honour raise:  
And if that any missayere,  
Despise women, that thou mayst here,  
Blame him, and bid him hold him still,  
And set thy might and all thy will  
Women and ladies for to please,  
And to do thing that may him ease,  
That they ever speak good of thee,  
For so thou mayest best praised be.  
Look fro pride thou keep thee well,  
For thou mayest both perceive and feel,  
* That pride is both folly and sin,  
And he that pride hath him within,  
Ne may his heart in no wise,  
Meken ne souplen to service:  
For pride is found in every part,  
Contrary unto Love's art:  
And he that loveth truly,  
Should him contain jollily,  
Without pride in sundry wise,  
And him disguisen in queintise,  
For quaint array, without dread,  
Is nothing proud, who taketh heed,  
* For fresh array, as men may see,  
Without pride may oft be.  
* Maintain thyself after thy rent,  
Of robe and eke of garment,  
For many sith fair clothing,  
A man amendeth in much thing.  
And look always that they be shape,  
(What garment that thou shalt make)  
Of him that can best do,  
With all that pertaineth thereto,  
Points and sleeves be well sittand,  
Right and straight on the hand,  
Of shone and boots, new and fair,  
Look at the least you have a pair,  
And that they sit so fetously,  
That these rude may utterly  
Marvel, sith that they sit so plain,  
How they come on or off again.  
Wear straight gloves with aumere  
Of silk: and always with good cheer  
Thou give, if thou have richesses,  
And if thou have nought, spend the less.  
* Always be merry, if thou may,  
But wast not thy good always,  
Have hat of flowers fresh as May,  
Chapelet of Roses of Witsunday:  
For such arrie ne costneth but light,  
Thine hands wash, thy teeth make white,  
And let no filth upon thee be,  
Thy nails black, if thou mayest see,  
Void it away deliverly,  
And comb thine head right jollily:  
Farce not thy visage in no wise,  
For that of love is nat themprise,  
* For love doth haten, as I find,  
A beauty that cometh not of kind,  
Always in heart I read thee,  
Glad and merry for to be,  
* And be as joyful as thou can,  
Love hath no joy of sorrowful man,  
That evil is full of courtesy,  
That knoweth in his malady,  
* For ever of love the sickness  
Is meint with sweet and bitterness,  
The sore of love is marvellous,  
For now the lover is joyous,  
Now can he plain, now can he groan,  
Now can he singen, now maken moan,  
To day he plaineth for heaviness,  
To morrow he plaineth for iolynesse,  
The life of love is full contrary,  
Which stoundemeale can oft vary,  
But if thou canst mirths make,  
That men in gre wool gladly take,  
Do it goodly I command thee,  
* For men should wheresoever they be,  
Do thing that hem fitting is,  
For thereof cometh good loose and pris.  
Whereof that thou be virtuous,  
Ne be nat strange ne dangerous:  
For if that thou good rider be,  
Prick gladly that men may see,  
An arms also if thou con,  
Pursue till thou a name hast won:  
And if thy voice be fair and clear,  
Thou shalt maken no great daungere.  
When to sing they goodly pray,  
It is thy worship for to obey:  
Also to you it longeth aye,  
To Harp and Gittern, dance and play,  
For if he can well foot and dance,  
It may him greatly do advance,  
Among eke for thy Lady sake,  
Songs and complaints that thou make,  
For that wool meven in her hart,  
When they readen of thy smart.  
Look that no man for scarce thee hold,  
For that may grieve thee manifold:  
* Reason wool that a lover be,  
In his yeftes more large and free  
Than churls that been not of loving,  
For who thereof can any thing,  
He shall be lief aye for to give,  
In lands lore who so wool leave,  
For he that through a sudden sight,  
Or for a kissing anon right,  
gave hold his heart, in will and thought,  
And to himself keepeth right nought,  
After this swift, it is good reason,  
He give his good in abandon.   

NOw wool I shortly here rehearse,  
Of that I have said in verse,  
All the sentence by and by,  
In words few compendiously,  
That thou the better mayest on him think,  
Whether so it be thou wake or wink,  
* For the words little grieve,  
A man to keep, when it is breeve.  
* Who so with Love wool gone or ride  
He moat be courteous, and void of pride,  
Merry and full of jollite,  
And of Largesse a loosed be.  
First I join thee here in penance,  
That ever without repentance,  
Thou set thy thought in thy loving  
To last without repenting,  
And think upon thy mirth's sweet  
That shall follow after when ye meet.   

And for thou true to Love shalt be,  
I will and command thee,  
That in one place thou set all hole  
Thine heart, without halfen dole,  
For treachery and sickerness,  
For I loved never doubleness:  
* To many his heart that wool depart,  
Euerich shall have but little part,  
But of hem dread I me right nought,  
That in one place setteth his thought:  
Therefore in o place it set,  
And let it never thence flet:  
For if thou givest it in lening,  
I hold it but wretched thing:  
Therefore give it whole and quite,  
And thou shalt have the more merit.  
If it be lent then after soon,  
The bounty and the thanks is done,  
* But in Love, free given thing  
Requireth a great guerdoning.  
Yeve it in yeft all quite fully,  
And make thy gift devonairly:  
* For men that yeft hold more dear  
That yeven is with gladsome cheer.  
* That gift nought to praise is  
That man giveth maugre his:  
When thou hast given thine heart (as I  
Have said) thee here openly:  
Then adventures shall thee fall,  
Which hard and heavy been withal:  
For oft when thou bethinkest thee  
Of thy loving, where so thou be,  
Fro folk thou must depart in high,  
That none perceive thy malady,  
But hide thine harm thou must alone,  
And go forth sole, and make thy moan:  
Thou shalt no while be in o state,  
But whilom cold and whilom hate,  
Now red as Rose, now yellow and fade,  
Such sorrow I trow thou never had:  
Cotidien, ne quarteine,  
It is not so full of peine,  
For often times it shall fall,  
In love among thy pains all,  
That thou thyself all holy,  
For yetten shalt so utterly,  
That many times thou shalt be,  
Still as an Image of tree,  
Dumb as a stone, without stirring  
Of foot or hand, without speaking.  
Then soon after all thy pain,  
To memory shalt thou come again,  
A man abashed wonder sore,  
And after sighen more and more:  
For wit thou well withouten ween,  
In such a state full oft have been,  
That have the evil of love assayed,  
Where through thou art so dismayed.   

AFter a thought shall take thee so,  
That thy love is too far the fro:  
Thou shalt say (God) what may this be,  
That I ne may my Lady see?  
Mine heart alone is to her go,  
And I abide all sole in woe,  
Departed from mine own thought,  
And with mine eien se right nought.  
Alas mine eyes seen I ne may,  
My careful heart to convey,  
Mine hearts guide, but they be,  
I praise nothing what ever they see:  
shul they abide then, nay,  
But gone and visiten without delay  
That mine heart desireth so  
For certainly, but if they go.  
A fool myself I may well hold,  
When I ne see what mine hart would,  
Wherefore I wool gone her to seen,  
Or eased shall I never been,  
But I have so tokenning.  
Then goest thou forth without dwelling,  
But oft thou failest of thy desire,  
Ere thou mayest come her any near,  
And wastest in vain thy passage:  
Then fallest thou in a new rage,  
For want of sight thou ginnest murne,  
And homeward pensive thou dost return:  
In great mischief then shalt thou be,  
For then again shall come to thee  
Sighs and plaints with new woe,  
That no itching pricketh so:  
Who wot it nought, he may go lere,  
Of him that buyen love so dear.  
Nothing thine heart appeasen may,  
That oft thou wolt go and assay,  
If thou mayest seen by adventure  
Thy lives joy, thine hearts cure,  
So that by grace, if thou might  
Attain of her to have a sight,  
Then shalt thou done none other deed,  
But with that sight thine eyes feed:  
That fair fresh when thou mayst see,  
Thine heart shall so ravished be,  
That never thou wouldst thy thanks lete  
Ne remove, for to see that sweet:  
The more thou seest in sooth fastness,  
The more thou covetest of that sweetness:  
The more thine heart brenneth in fire,  
The more thine heart is in desire.  
For who considreth every deal,  
It may be likened wonder well,  
The pain of love unto a fere,  
For evermore thou neighest near,  
Thought, or who so that it be,  
For very sooth I tell it thee,  
The hotter ever shalt thou burn,  
As experience shall thee ken,  
Where so comest in any cost,  
* Who is next fire he brenneth most,  
And yet forsooth for all thine heat,  
Though thou for love swelled and sweat,  
Ne for no thing thou felen may,  
Thou shalt not willen to pass away,  
And though thou go, yet must thou need,  
Think all day on her fair heed,  
Whom thou be held with so good will,  
And hold thyself beguiled ill,  
That thou ne hadst ne hardiment,  
To show her aught of thine intent,  
Thine heart full sore thou wolt despise,  
And eke reprove of cowardice,  
That thou so dull in every thing,  
Were domme for dread, without speaking.  
Thou shalt eke think thou didst folly,  
That thou were here so fast by,  
And durst not aventure thee to say  
Some thing ere thou came away,  
For thou hadst no more won,  
To speak of her when thou begun:  
But yet she would for thy sake,  
In arms goodly thee have take,  
It should have be more worth to thee,  
Than of treasure great plenty.  
Thus shalt thou mourn & eke complain,  
And yet encheason to gone again,  
Unto thy walk, or to thy place,  
Where thou beheld her fleshly face,  
And never for false suspection,  
Thou wouldst find occasion,  
For to gone unto her house,  
So art thou then desirous,  
A sight of her for to have,  
If thou thine honour mightest save,  
Or any errand mightest make  
thither, for thy love's sake:  
Full fain thou would, but for dread  
Thou goest not, lest that men take heed,  
Wherefore I read in in thy going,  
And also in thine again coming,  
Thou be well aware that men ne wit,  
Feign thee other cause than it,  
To go that way, or fast buy,  
* To heal well is no folly:  
And if so be it hap thee,  
That thou thy Love there mayst see,  
In siker wise thou her salewe,  
Wherewith thy colour wool transmewe,  
And eke thy blood shall all to quake,  
Thy hue eke chaungen for her sake,  
But word and wit, with cheer full pale  
shul want for to tell thy tale,  
And if thou mayest so far forth win,  
That thou reason durst begin,  
And wouldst sane three things or more,  
Thou shalt full scarcely sane the two,  
Though thou bethink thee never so well,  
Thou shalt foryete yet somedeal.   

But if thou deal with treachery,  
For false Lovers mow all foully  
Sain what hem lust withouten dread,  
They be so double in her falsehood,  
For they in heart can think o thing  
And sane another, in her speaking,  
And when thy speech is ended all,  
Right thus to thee it shall befall:  
If any word than come to mind,  
That thou to say hast left behind,  
Then thou shalt burn in great martyr,  
For thou shalt burn as any fire,  
This is the strife and eke the affray,  
And the battle that lasteth aye:  
This bargain, end may never take,  
But if that she thy peace will make.  
And when the night is come anon,  
A thousand angres shall come upon,  
To bed as fast thou wolt thee dight.  
There thou shalt have but small delight,  
For when thou weenest for to sleep,  
So full of pain shalt thou creep,  
Stert in thy bed about full wide,  
And turn full oft on every side:  
Now downward groffe, and now upright,  
And wallow in woe the long night,  
Thine arms shalt thou spread a breed,  
As man in war were forwerede.  
Then shall thee come a remembrance  
Of her shape and her semblance,  
Where to none other may be peer,  
And weet thou well without were,  
That thee shall see sometime that night,  
That thou hast her, that is so bright,  
Naked between thine arms there,  
All sooth fastness as though it were,  
* Thou shalt make Castles then in Spain,  
And dream of joy, all but in vain,  
And thee delighten of right nought.  
While thou so siumbrest in that thought,  
That is so sweet and delitable,  
The which in sooth nis but a fable,  
For it ne shall no while last,  
Then shalt thou sigh and weep fast,  
And say dear God, what thing is this,  
My dream is turned all amis,  
Which was full sweet and apparent:  
But now I wake it is all shent,  
Now go this merry thought away,  
Twenty times upon a day,  
I would this thought would come again,  
For it alleggeth well my pain,  
It maketh me full of joyful thought,  
It fleeth me that it lasteth nought,  
Ah Lord, why nill ye me succour?  
The joy I trow that I langour,  
The death I would me should sio,  
While I lie in her arms two,  
Mine harm is hard withouten ween,  
My great unease full oft I mean.   

But would Love do so I might  
Have fully joy of her so bright,  
My pain were quit me richly,  
Alas too great a thing ask I:  
It is but folly, and wrong weening,  
To ask so outrageous a thing,  
* And who so asketh follily,  
He moat be warned hastily,  
And I ne wot what I may say,  
I am so far out of the way,  
For I would have full great liking,  
And full great joy of lass thing,  
For would she of her gentleness,  
Withouten more, me ones kesse,  
It were to me a great guerdon,  
Release of all my passion:  
But it is hard to come thereto,  
All is but folly that I do,  
So high I have mine heart set,  
Where I may no comfort get,  
I wot not where I say well or nought,  
But this I wot well in my thought,  
That it were bette of her alone  
For to slint my woe and moan,  
A look on her I cast goodly,  
That for to have all utterly,  
Of another all hole the play,  
Ah Lord, where I shall bide the day  
That ever she shall my Lady be,  
He is full cured, that may her see.  
A God, when shall the dauning spring,  
To leggen thus as an angry thing,  
I have no joy thus here to lie,  
When that my love is not me by,  
* I man to lain hath great disease,  
Which may not sleep ne rest in ease,  
I would it dawed, and were now day,  
And that the night were went away,  
For were it day, I would up rise,  
Ah slow sun, show thine enprise,  
Speed thee to spread thy beams bright,  
And chase the darkness of the night,  
To put away the stounds strong,  
Which in me lasten all too long.  
The night shalt thou continue so,  
Without rest, in pain and woe,  
If ever thou knew of love distress,  
Thou shalt mow learn in that sickness,  
And thus enduring shalt thou lie  
And rise on morrow up early,  
Out of thy bed, and harness thee  
Ere ever dawning thou mayest see:  
All privily then shalt thou gone,  
What whider it be thyself alone,  
For rain, or hail, for snow, for slete,  
thither she dwelleth that is so sweet,  
The which may fall a sleep be,  
And thinketh but little upon thee.  
Then shalt thou go, full foul afeard,  
Look if the gate be unsperde,  
And wait without in woe and pain,  
Full evil a cold in wind and rain:  
Then shalt thou go the door before,  
If thou mayest find any shore,  
Or hole, or reft, what ever it were,  
Then shalt thou stoop, and lay to ear  
If they within a sleep be,  
I mean all save thy Lady free,  
Whom waking if thou mayest aspie,  
Go put thyself in jeopardy,  
To ask grace, and thee bimene,  
That she may weet without ween,  
That thou night no rest hast had,  
So sore for her thou were bestead.  
* Women well ought pity to take  
Of him that sorrowen for her sake.  
And look for love of that relic,  
That thou think none other like,  
For when thou hast so great anney,  
Shall kiss thee ere thou go away,  
And hold that in full great deinte,  
And for that no man shall thee see  
Before the house, ne in the way,  
Look thou be gone again er day.  
Such coming, and such going,  
Such heaviness, and such walking,  
Maketh lovers withouten ween,  
Under her clothes pale and lean,  
* For Love leaveth colour ne clearness,  
Who loveth true hath no fatness,  
Thou shalt well by thyself see  
That thou must needs assayed be:  
For men that shape him other way  
Falsely her ladies for to betray,  
It is no wonder though they be fat,  
With false oaths her loves they got,  
For oft I see such loengeours  
Fatter than Abbots or Priours.  
Yet with o thing I thee charge,  
That is to say, that thou be large  
Unto the maid, that her doth serve,  
So best her thank thou shalt deserve.  
Yeve her gifts, and get her grace,  
For so thou may thank purchase,  
That she thee worthy hold and free,  
Thy Lady, and all that may thee see.  
Also her servaunts worship aye,  
And please as much as thou may,  
Great good through hem may come to thee,  
Because with her they been prive:  
They shall her tell how they thee found  
Courteous and wise, and well do and,  
And she shall praise well thee more.  
Look out of land thou be not fore,  
And if such cause thou have, that thee  
Behoveth to gone out of country,  
Leave hole thine heart in hostage,  
Till thou again make thy passage,  
Think long to see the sweet thing  
That hath thine heart in her keeping.  
Now have I told thee, in what wise  
A Lover shall do me servise,  
Do it then, if thou wolt have  
The meed that thou after crave.   

WHen Love all this had boden me,  
I said him: sir how may it be  
That Lovers may in such manere,  
Endure the pain ye have said here?  
I marvel me wonder fast,  
How any man may live or last  
In such pain, and such brenning,  
In sorrow and thought, and such sighing,  
Aye unreleased woe to make,  
Whether so it be they sleep or wake,  
In such annoy continually,  
As help me God this marvel I  
How man, but he were made of steel,  
Might live a month, such pains to feel.   

THe God of Love than said me,  
Friend, buy the faith I owe to thee,  
* May no man have good, but he it buy:  
A man loveth more tenderly  
The thing that he hath bought most dear.  
For were thou well without were,  
* In thank that thing is taken more,  
For which a man hath suffered sore:  
Certes no woe ne may attain,  
Unto the sore of Love's pain,  
None evil thereto ne may amount,  
No more than a man count  
The drops that of the water be:  
* For dry as well the great see  
Thou mightest, as the harms tell  
Of him that with love dwell  
In service, for pain hem fleeth,  
And that each would flee the death  
And trow they should never escape,  
Near that hope couth hem make,  
Glad as man in prison seat,  
And may not gotten for to eat.  
But Barley bread, and water pure,  
And lieth in vermin and in ordure,  
With all this yet can he live,  
Good hope such comfort hath him give,  
Which maketh ween that he shall be  
Delivered and come to liberty,  
In fortune is full trust,  
Though he lie in straw or dust,  
In hope is all his sustaining:  
And so fair Lovers in her weening,  
Which Love hath set in his prison  
Good hope is her salvation:  
Good hope (how sore that they smart)  
Yeveth him both will and hart  
To proffer her body to martyr,  
For Hope so sore doth him desire  
To suffer each harm that men devose,  
For joy that afterward shall arise.   

* HOpe in desire catch victory,  
In hope of Love is all the glory,  
* For hope is all that Love may give,  
Near hope, there should no longer live.  
Blessed be hope, which with desire,  
Auaunceth Lovers in such manire.  
Good hope is curteis for to please,  
To keep Lovers from all disease.  
* Hope keepeth his land, and wool abide,  
For any peril that may betid,  
For hope to lovers, as most chief,  
Doth him endure all mischief,  
Hope is her help when mister is.  
And I shall give thee eke iwis,  
Three other things, that great solace  
Doth to him that be in my lace.  
The first good that may be found,  
To him that in my lace be bound,  
Is Sweet thought, for to record  
Thing wherewith thou canst accord  
Best in thine heart, where she be,  
Thinking in absence is good to thee,  
When any lover doth complain,  
And liveth in distress and in pain  
Then Sweet thought shall come as believe,  
Away his anger for to drive,  
It maketh Lovers to have remembrance  
Of comfort, and of high pleasance,  
That Hope hath height him for to win,  
For Thought anon then shall begin,  
As far God wot as he can find,  
To make a mirror of his mind,  
For to behold he wool not let,  
Her person he shall afore him set,  
Her laughing eyes persant and clear,  
Her shape, her form, her goodly cheer,  
Her mouth that is so gracious,  
So sweet, and eke so savourous,  
Of all her feiters he shall take heed,  
His eyes with all her limbs feed.  
Thus Sweet thinking shall assuage  
The pain of Lovers, and her rage,  
Thy joy shall double without guess  
When thou thinkest on her seemliness,  
Or of her laughing, or of her cheer  
That to thee made thy Lady dear,  
This comfort wool I that thou take,  
And if the next thou wolt forsake  
Which is not less saverous,  
Thou shouldest not been too dangerous.   

THe second shall be Sweet speech,  
That hath to many one be leech,  
To bring him out of woe and were,  
And help many a bachelor,  
And many a Lady sent succour,  
That have loved Paramour,  
Through speaking, when they might hear  
Of her Lovers to him so dear:  
To me it voideth all her smart,  
The which is closed in her hart.  
In heart it maketh him glad and light,  
Speech, when they mow have sight.  
And therefore now it cometh to mind,  
In old daws as I find,  
That Clerks written that her knew,  
There was a Lady fresh of hue,  
Which of her Love made a song,  
On him for to remember among,  
In which she said, when that I hear  
Speaken of him that is so dear,  
To me it voideth all smart,  
Iwis he sitteth so ne'er mine hart,  
To speak of him at eve or morrow,  
It cureth me of all my sorrow,  
To me is none so high pleasance  
As of his person dalliance:  
She wist full well that Sweet speaking  
Comforteth in full much thing,  
Her she had full well assayed,  
Of him she was full well apaid,  
To speak of him her joy was set.  
Therefore I read thee that thou get,  
A fellow that can well counsel,  
And keep thy counsel, and welhele  
To whom go show wholly thine hart  
Both well and woe, joy and smart:  
To get comfort to him thou go,  
And privily between you two,  
Ye shall speak of that goodly thing,  
That hath thine heart in her keeping,  
Of her beauty and her semblance,  
And of her goodly countenance,  
Of all thy state, thou shalt him say,  
And ask him counsel how thou may,  
Do any thing that may her please,  
For it to thee shall do great ease,  
That he may weet thou trust him so,  
Both of thy well and of thy wo.  
And if his heart to love be set,  
His company is much the bet,  
For Reason wool he show to thee  
All utterly his privite,  
And what she is he loveth so  
To thee plainly he shall undo,  
Without dread of any shame,  
Both tell her renome and her name.  
Then shall he further far and ne'er,  
And namely to thy Lady dear  
In siker wise, ye every other,  
Shall helpen as his own brother,  
In troth without doubleness,  
And keepen close in sickerness:  
* For it is noble thing in faith,  
To have a man thou dar'st say,  
Thy privy counsel every deal,  
For that wool comfort thee right well,  
And thou shalt hold thee well apaid,  
When such a friend thou hast assayed.   

THe third good of great comfort  
That giveth to Lovers most disport,  
Come of sight and beholding,  
The cleped is Sweet looking,  
The which may none ease do,  
When thou art far thy Lady fro,  
Wherefore thou press always to be  
In place, where thou mayest her see:  
For it is thing most amorous  
Most delectable and faverous.  
For to assuage a man's sorrow  
To seen his Lady by the morrow,  
For it is a full noble thing  
When thine eyes have meeting,  
With that relic precious,  
Whereof they be so desirous.  
But all day after soothe it is,  
They have no dread to faren amis,  
They dreden neither wind ne rain,  
Ne none other manner pain:  
For when thine eyes were thus in bliss,  
Yet of her courtesy iwisse,  
Alone they cannot have her joy,  
But to the heart they convoy  
Part of her bliss to him thou send,  
Of all this harm to make and end.  
* The eye is a good messenger,  
Which can to the heart in such manner  
Tidings send, that hath seen  
To void him of his pains clean:  
Whereof the heart rejoyseth so  
That a great party of his woe  
Is voided, and put away to flight.  
Right as the darkness of the night  
Is chased with clearness of the moon,  
Right so is all his woe full soon  
Devoided clean, when that the sight  
Beholden may that fresh wight  
That the heart desireth so,  
That all his darkness is ago,  
* For then the heart is all at ease,  
When they seen that may hem please.  
Now have I declared thee all out,  
Of that thou were in dread and doubt,  
For I have told thee faithfully,  
What thee may curens utterly,  
And all Lovers that wool be  
Faithful, and full of stabilite.  
Good hope always keep by thy side,  
And sweet thought make eke abide,  
Sweet looking and sweet speech  
Of all thine harms they shall he lech,  
Of every thou shalt have great pleasance,  
If thou canst bide in suffrance,  
And serve well without fantise,  
Thou shalt be quite of thine emprise  
With more guerdoun, if that thou live,  
But all this time this I thee give.   

THe God of Love, when all the day  
Had taught me, as ye have heard say,  
And informed compendously,  
He vanished away all suddenly,  
And I alone left all foole,  
So full of complaint and of doole,  
For I saw no man there me by.  
My wounds me grieved wondrously,  
Me for to curens nothing I knew,  
Save the bothum bright of hue,  
Whereon was set holly my thought,  
Of other comfort knew I nought,  
But it were through the God of Love,  
I knew nat else to my behoof  
That might me ease or comfort get,  
But if he would him entermette.  
The Roser was withouten doubt  
Closed with an hedge without,  
As ye toforne have heard me sane,  
And fast I besied, and would fain  
Have passed the hay, if I might  
Have gotten in by any sleight  
Unto the bothum so fair to see,  
But ever I drad blamed to be,  
If men would have suspection  
That I would of intention  
Have stole the Roses that there were,  
Therefore to enter I was in fere.  
But at the last, as I bethought  
Whether I should pass or nought,  
I saw come with a glad cheer  
To me, a lustily bachelor,  
Of good slature and of good height,  
And Bialacoil forsooth he height:  
Son he was to Courtesy,  
And he me granted full gladly,  
The passage of the utter hay,  
And said: sir, how that you may  
Pass, if your will be  
The fresh Roser for to see:  
And ye the sweet savour feel,  
Your warrans may right well,  
So thou thee keep fro folly,  
Shall no man do thee villainy,  
If I may help you in aught,  
I shall not fain, dreadeth nought,  
For I am bound to your service,  
Fully devoid of feintise.  
Then unto Bialacoil said I,  
I thank you sir full heartily,  
And your behest take at gree,  
That ye so goodly proffer me,  
To you it cometh of great fraunchise,  
That ye me proffer your service.  
Then after full deliverly,  
Through the briars anon went I,  
Whereof encumbered was the hay,  
I was well pleased, the sooth to say,  
To see the bothum fair and swote,  
So fresh sprung out of the rote.   

ANd Bialacoil me served well,  
When I so nigh me might feel  
Of the bothum the sweet odour,  
And so lusty hewed of colour:  
But then a churl, foul him betid,  
Beside the Roses 'gan him hide,  
To keep the Roses of that Rosere,  
Of whom the name was Daungere:  
This churl was hid there in the greves,  
Covered with grass and with leaves,  
To spy and take whom that he fond  
Unto that Roser put an hon.  
He was not foole, for there was more,  
For with him were other two  
Of wicked manners, and evil fame,  
That one was cleped by his name,  
Wicked tongue, God yeve him sorrow,  
For neither at eve ne at morrow,  
He can of no man good speak,  
On many a just man doth he wreak.  
There was a woman that eke height  
Shame, that who can reckon right,  
Trespass was her father's name,  
Her mother Reason, and thus was Shame  
Brought of these like two:  
And yet had Trespass never ado  
With Reason, ne never leie her by,  
He was hideous and so ugly,  
I mean this that Trespass height,  
But Reason conceiveth of a sight,  
Shame of that I spoke aforne.  
And when that Shame was thus borne,  
It was ordained, that chastity,  
Should of the Roser Lady be:  
Which of the bothums more and 'las,  
With sundry folks assailed was,  
That she ne witted what to do,  
For Venus' her assaileth so,  
That night and day for her she stall  
Bothoms and Roses our all.  
To Reason then prayeth chastity,  
Whom Venus hath flemed over the see,  
That she her daughter would her lean,  
To keep the Roser fresh and green.  
Anon Reason to chastity,  
Is fully assented that it be,  
And granted her at her request,  
That Shame, because she is honest,  
Shall keeper of the Roser be:  
And thus to keep it, there were three,  
That none should hardy be ne bold,  
(Were he young or were he old)  
Again her will away to bear  
Bothoms ne Roses, that there were▪  
I had well sped, had I not been  
Awaited with these three, and seen:  
For Bialacoil, that was so fair,  
So gracious and debonair,  
Quit him to me full courteously,  
And me to please bad that I,  
Should draw to the bottom ne'er,  
Press in to touch the Rosere  
Which bore the Roses, he gave me leave,  
This grant ne might but little greue:  
And for he saw it liked me,  
Right nigh the bottom pulled he  
A leaf all green, and gave me that  
T●● which full nigh the bottom sat.  
I ●ade of that leaf full quaint,  
And when I felt I was acqueint  
With Bialacoil, and so privy,  
I wend all my will had be.  
Then wext I hardy for to tell  
To Bialacoil how me befell,  
Of Love, that took and wounded me,  
And said: sir so moat I thee,  
I may no joy have in no wise,  
Upon no side, but it arise,  
For sith (if I shall not fain)  
In heart I have had so great pain,  
So great annoy, and such affray,  
That I ne wot what I shall say,  
I dread your wroth to deserve,  
Lever me were, that knives carve  
My body should in pieces small,  
Than in any wise it should fall,  
That ye wrothed should been with me.  
Say boldly thy will (quoth he)  
I nill be wroth if that I may,  
For nought that thou shalt to me say.   

THen said I sir, not you displease,  
To known of my great unease,  
In which only Love hath me brought,  
For pains great, disease and thought,  
From day to day it doth me dry,  
Supposeth not sir, that I lie,  
In me five wounds did he make,  
The sore of which shall never slake,  
But ye the bottom grant me,  
Which is most passaunt of beauty,  
My life, my death, and my martyr,  
And treasure that I most desire.  
Then Bialacoil affrayed all  
Said sir, it may not fall,  
That ye desire it may not arise,  
What would ye shend me in this wise?  
A mokell fool than I were,  
If I suffered you away to bear  
The fresh bottom, so fair of sight,  
For it were neither skill ne right,  
Of the Roser ye broke the rind,  
Or take the Rose aforne his kind,  
Ye are not courteous to ask it,  
Let it still on the Roser sit,  
And let it grow till it amended be,  
And perfectly come to beauty,  
I nolde not that it pulled were,  
From the Roser that it bear,  
To me it is so lief and dear.  
With that anon start out Daungere,  
Out of the place where he was hid,  
His malice in his cheer was kid:  
Full great he was and black of hue,  
Sturdy, and hideous, who so him knew,  
Like sharp urchons his hair was grow,  
His eyes red sparkling as the fire glow,  
His nose frounced full kirked stood,  
He come criand as he were wood,  
And said, Bialacoil tell me why  
Thou bringest hider so boldly  
Him that so nigh the Rosere,  
Thou worchest in a wrong manere,  
He thinketh to dishonour thee,  
Thou art well worthy to have maugre,  
To let him of the Rosere wit,  
* Who serveth a Felon is evil quit.  
Thou wouldst have done great bounty,  
And he with shame would quite thee,  
Fly hence fellow, I read thee go,  
It wanteth little he wool thee slow,  
For Bialacoil ne knew thee nought,  
When thee to serve he set his thought,  
For thou wolt shame him if thou might,  
Both again reason and right,  
I wool no more in thee affy,  
That comest so slightly for tespie:  
For it proveth wonder well,  
Thy sleight and treason every deal.  
I durst no more make there abode,  
For the churl he was so wode,  
So 'gan he threat and menace,  
And through the hay he did me chase,  
For fear of him I trembled and quoke,  
So churlish his head he shaken,  
And said, if eft he might me take,  
I should not from his hands scape.  
Then Bialacoil is fled and mate,  
And I all foole and disconsolate,  
Was left alone in pain and thought,  
From shame to death I was nigh brought  
Then thought on my high folly,  
How that my body utterly,  
Was give to pain and martyr,  
And thereto had I so great desire,  
That I ne durst the hays pass,  
There was no hope, there was no grace,  
* ay trow never man wist of pain,  
But he were laced in Love's chain,  
Ne no man, and soothe it is,  
But if he love, what anger is.  
Love holdeth his hest to me right well,  
When pain (he said) I should feel,  
No heart may think, no tongue sane,  
A quarter of my woe and pain,  
I might not with the anger last,  
Mine heart in point was for to braced,  
When I thought on the Rose, that so,  
Was through danger cast me fro,  
A long while stood I in that state,  
Till that me saw so mad and mate,  
The Lady of the high ward,  
Which from her tower looked thiderward.  
Reason, men clepe that Lady,  
Which from her tower deliverly,  
Come down to me without more,  
But she was neither young, ne hore,  
Ne high ne low, ne fat ne lean,  
But best, as it were in a mean,  
Her eyes two were clear and light  
As any candle that brenneth bright,  
And on her head she had a crown,  
Her see meed well an high persoune:  
For round environ her crownet  
Was full of rich stones fret.  
Her goodly semblaunt by device,  
I trow was made in Paradise,  
For nature had never such a grace,  
To forge a work of such compass:  
For certain, but if the letter lie,  
God himself that is so hie  
Made her after his image,  
And gave her sith such advantage,  
That she hath might and signory  
To keep men from all folly,  
Who so wool trow her lore,  
Ne may offenden nevermore.  
And while I stood this dark and pale,  
Reason began to me her tale,  
She said: all-hail my sweet friend,  
Folly and childhood wool thee shend,  
Which thee have put in great affray  
Thou hast bought dear time of May,  
That made thine heart merry to be,  
In evil time thou goest to see  
The gardin, whereof Idleness  
Bore the key and was mistress  
When thou yedest in the dance  
With her, and had acquaintance:  
Her acquaintance is perilous,  
First soft, and after noyous,  
She hath thee trashed without ween,  
The God of Love had thee not seen,  
Ne had Idleness thee conuaid  
In the verge where Mirth him pleid,  
If Folly have surprised thee,  
Do so that it recovered be,  
* And be well aware to take no more  
Counsel, that grieveth after sore:  
He is wise, that wool himself chastise.  
* And though a young man in any wise  
Trespass among, and do Follie,  
Let him not tarry, but hastily  
Let him amend what so be mis.  
And eke I counsel thee iwis,  
The God of Love holly foryete,  
That hath thee in such pain seat,  
And thee in heart tormenteth so,  
I cannot seen how thou mayst go  
Other ways thee to garisoun,  
For danger, that is so feloun,  
Felly purposeth thee to werreie,  
Which is full cruel the sooth to seie.   

AND yet of Danger cometh no blame,  
In reward of my daughter shame,  
Which hath the Roses in her ward,  
As she that may be no musard,  
And wicked tongue is with these two,  
That suffreth no man thither go  
For er a thing be do he shall,  
Where that he cometh over all,  
In forty places, if it be sought,  
Say thing that never was done ne wrought,  
So much treason is in his male,  
Of falseness for to feign a tale,  
Thou dealest with angry folk iwis,  
Wherefore to thee better is,  
From these folk away to far,  
For they wool make thee live in care,  
This is the evil that love they call,  
Wherein there is but folly all,  
For love is folly every dell  
Who loveth, in no wise may do well  
Ne set his thought on no good work,  
His school he loseth, if he be a Clerk,  
Or other Craft eke, if that he be,  
He shall not thrive therein, for he  
In love shall have more passion,  
Than Monk, Hermit, or Chanoun:  
This pain is heard out of measure,  
The joy may eke no while endure,  
And in the possession,  
Is much tribulation,  
The joy it is so short and lasting,  
And but in hap is the getting,  
For I see there many in travail,  
That at last foul fail,  
I was nothing thy counsellor,  
When thou were made the homager  
Of God of love so hastily:  
Where was no wisdom but folly,  
Thine heart was jolly, but not sage,  
When thou were brought in such a rage,  
To yield thee so readily,  
And to Love of his great mastery.   

I Reed thee Love away to drive,  
That maketh the retch not of thy live,  
* The folly more from day to day  
Shall grow, but thou it put away,  
Take with thy teeth the bridle fast,  
To daunt thy heart, and eke the cast  
If that thou mayest, to get the defence  
For to redress thy first offence.  
* Who so his heart always wool leve,  
Shall find among that shall him greve.  
When I her heard thus me chastise,  
I answeard in full angry wife,  
I prayed her cease of her speech,  
Either to chastise me or teach,  
To bid me my thought refrein,  
Which Love hath caught in his demein:  
What ween ye Love wool consent,  
(That me assayeth with bow bend)  
To draw mine heart out of his hon,  
Which is so quickly in his bond?  
That ye counsel, may never be,  
For when he first arrested me,  
He took mine heart so sore him till,  
That it is nothing at my will,  
He taught it so him for to obey,  
That he it sparred with a key.  
I pray you let me be all still,  
For ye may well, if that ye will,  
Your words waste in idleness,  
For utterly withouten guess,  
All that ye sane is but in vain,  
Me were lever die in the pain,  
That love to me ward should arette,  
Falsehood or treason on me set,  
I wool me get pris or blame,  
And Love true to save my name,  
Who that me chastiseth, I him hate.  
With that word, Reason went her gate,  
When she saw for no sermoning  
She might me from my folly bring.  
Then dismayed I left all foole,  
Forwearie, forwandred as a fool,  
For I ne knew ne cherisaunce.  
Then fell into my remembrance,  
How love bade me to purvey  
A fellow, to whom I might say  
My counsel and my privite,  
For that should much avail me.  
With that bethought I me, that I  
Had a fellow fast by,  
True and siker, courteous, and hand,  
And he called was by name a Friend,  
A true fellow was no where none,  
In haste to him I went anon,  
And to him all my woe I told,  
Fro him right nought I would withhold,  
I told him all without were,  
And made my complaint on Daungere,  
How for to say he was hideous,  
And to me ward contrarious,  
The which through his cruelty,  
Was in point to have meimed me,  
With Bialacoil, when he me say  
Within the gardin walk and play,  
Fro me he made him for to go,  
And I be left alone in woe:  
I durst no longer with him speak,  
For Danger said he would be wreak,  
When that he saw how I went,  
The fresh bothum for to hent,  
If I were hardy to come ne'er,  
Between the hay and the Rosere,   

This Friend when he wist of thought,  
He discomforted me right nought,  
But said fellow, be nat so mad,  
Ne so abashed nor besteaded,  
Myself I know full well Daungere,  
And how he is fierce of cheer,  
At prime temps, Love to menace,  
Full oft I have been in his case,  
A fellow first though that he be,  
After thou shalt him supple see,  
Of long passed I knew him well,  
ungodly first though men him feel,  
He wool meek after in his bearing  
Been, for service and obeissing,  
I shall thee tell what thou shalt do:  
Meekly I read thou go him to,  
Of heart pray him specially  
Of thy trespass to have mercy,  
And hote him well here to please,  
That thou shalt never more him displease,  
* Who can best serve of flattery,  
Shall please Danger most utterly.   

My Friend hath said to me so well,  
That he me easeli hath somedele,  
And eke allegged of my tourment,  
For through him had I hardement  
Again to Danger for to go,  
To prove if I might meek him so.   

TO Danger came I all ashamed,  
The which aforne me had blamed,  
Desiring for to pease my woe,  
But over hedge durst I not go:  
For he forbade me the passage,  
I found him cruel in his rage,  
And in his hon a great bourdoun,  
To him I kneeled low adown,  
Full meek of port, and simple of cheer,  
And said, sir, I am comen here  
Only to ask of you mercy,  
It grieveth me full greatly  
That ever my life I wrathed you,  
But for to amend I am come now,  
With all my might, both loud and still,  
To done right at your own will,  
For Love made me for to do  
That I have trespassed hiderto,  
Fro whom I ne may withdraw mine hart,  
Yet shall I never for joy ne smart  
(What so befall good or ill)  
Offend more again your will,  
Lever I have endure disease,  
Than do that should you displease.   

IYou require, and pray that ye  
Of me have mercy and pite,  
To stint your ire that grieveth so,  
That I wool swear for evermo  
To be redressed at your liking  
If I trespass in any thing,  
Save that (I pray thee) grant me  
A thing, that may nat warned be,  
That I may love all only,  
None other thing of you ask I:  
I shall done all iwis,  
If of your grace ye grant me this,  
And ye may not let me,  
For well wot ye that love is free:  
And I shall love such that I will,  
Who ever like it well or ill:  
And yet ne would I not for all France  
Do thing to do you displeasance.  
Then Danger fell in his intent  
For to foryeve his male talon,  
But all his wrath yet at last  
He hath released, I prayed so fast:  
Shortly (he said) thy request  
Is not too mockell dishonest,  
Ne I wool not werne it thee,  
For yet nothing engreeveth me:  
For though thou love thus evermore,  
To me is neither soft ne sore:  
Love where that thee list, what retcheth me,  
So far from my Roses be:  
Trust not on me for none assay,  
In any time to pass the hay.  
Thus hath he granted my prayer,  
Then went I forth withouten were  
Unto my friend, and told him all,  
Which was right joyful of my tale,  
(He said) now goeth well thine affair,  
He shall to thee be debonair,  
Though he aforne was despitous,  
He shall hereafter be gracious:  
If he were touched on some good vein,  
He should yet rewen on thy peine,  
Suffer I read, and no boast make,  
Till thou at good mes mayst him take.  
* By suffrance, and by words soft,  
A man may overcome oft  
Him that aforne he had in dread,  
In books sooth as I read.  
Thus hath my friend with great comfort  
Auaunced me with high disport,  
Which would me good, as much as I:  
And then anon full suddenly  
I took my leave, and straight I went  
Unto the hay, for great talon  
I had to seen the fresh bottom,  
Wherein lay my salvation,  
And Danger took keep, if that I  
Keep him covenant truly,  
So sore I dread his manasing,  
I durst not break his bidding,  
For least that I were of him shent,  
I broke not his commandment,  
For to purchase his good will,  
It was for to come there till,  
His mercy was too far behind  
I kept, for I ne might it find.  
I complained and sighed sore,  
And languished evermore,  
For I durst nat overgo,  
Unto the Rose I loved so,  
Throughout my deming utterly,  
That he had knowledge certainly:  
Then Love me lad in such wise,  
That in me there was no feintise,  
Falsehood, ne no treachery:  
And yet he full of villainy,  
Of disdain, and cruelty,  
On me ne would have pity  
His cruel will for to refrain,  
Tho I wept always, and me complain.   

ANd while I was in this tourment,  
Were come of grace, by God sent,  
Fraunchise, and with her Pity,  
Fulfilled the bothum of bounty,  
They go to Danger anon right  
To ferther me with all her might,  
And help in word and in deed,  
For well they saw that it was need.  
First of her grace dame Fraunchise  
Hath taken of this emprise:  
She said, Danger great wrong ye do  
To work this man so much woe,  
Or pinen him so angrily,  
It is to you great villavy:  
I cannot see why ne how  
That he hath trespassed again you,  
Save that he loveth, wherefore ye should  
The more in charity of him hold:  
The force of love maketh him do this,  
Who would him blame he did amiss,  
He leaveth more than he may do,  
His pain is hard, ye may see lo:  
And Love in no wise would consent  
That ye have power to repent,  
For though that quick ye would him slow,  
Fro Love his heart may nat go.  
Now sweet sir, it is your ease  
Him for to anger or disease.  
Alas, what may it you advance  
To done to him so great greavaunce,  
What worship is it again him take,  
Or on your man a were make,  
Sith he so lowly every wise  
Is ready, as ye lust device.  
If Love have caught him in his laas,  
You for to beie in every case,  
And been your subject at your will,  
Should ye therefore willen him ill,  
Ye should him spare more all out,  
Than him that is both proud and stout:  
Courtesy would that ye succour  
Hem that been meek under your cure,  
* His hart is hard that wool not meek,  
When men of meekness him beseek.   

THis is certain, said Pity,  
* We see oft that Humility,  
Both ire, and also felony  
Venquisheth, and also malanchollie,  
To stoned forth in such duresse  
This cruelty and wickedness:  
Wherefore I pray you sir Daungere  
For to maintain no longer here  
Such cruel war again your man,  
As wholly yours as ever he can,  
Nor that ye worchen no more woe  
Upon this caitiff that languisheth so,  
Which wool no more to you trespass,  
But put him wholly in your grace,  
His offence ne was but light,  
The God of Love it was to wit,  
That he your thrall so greatly is,  
And if ye harm him ye done amiss,  
For he hath had full hard penance,  
Sith that ye reft him thaquaintaunce  
Of Bialacoil, his most joy,  
Which all his pains might acoy:  
He was before annoyed sore,  
But than ye doubled him well more,  
For he of bliss hath been full bare,  
Sith Bialacoil was from him fare,  
Love hath to him great distress,  
He hath no need of more duresse:  
Voided from him your ire I read,  
Ye may not winnen in this deed,  
Maketh Bialacoil repair again,  
And haveth pity upon his pain,  
For Fraunchise wool, and I Pite,  
That merciful to him ye be,  
And sith that she and I accord,  
Have upon him misericorde,  
For I you pray, and eke moneste,  
Nought to refusen our request:  
For he is hard and fell of thought,  
That for us two wool do right nought.  
Danger ne might no more endure,  
He meeked him unto measure.  
I wool in no wise, sayeth Daungere,  
Deny that ye have asked here:  
It were too great uncourtesy,  
I wool ye have the company  
Of Bialacoil, as ye device,  
I wool him let in no wise.  
To Bialacoil then went in high,  
Fraunchise, and said full curteslie:  
Ye have too long be deignous  
Unto this lover, and dangerous  
For him to withdraw your presence,  
Which hath do to him great offence,  
That ye not would upon him see,  
Wherefore a sorrowful man is he:  
Shape ye to pay him, and to please,  
Of my love if ye wool have ease,  
Fulfil his will, sith that ye know  
Danger is daunted and brought low  
Through help of me and of Pite  
You dare no more afterde be.  
I shall do right as ye will  
Sayeth Bialacoil, for it is skill,  
Sith Danger wool that it so be,  
Then Fraunchise hath him sent to me.   

BIalacoil at the beginning  
Salved me in his coming,  
No strangeness was in him seen,  
No more than he ne had wrathed been,  
As fair semblaunt than showed he me,  
And goodly, as aforne did he,  
And by the hon without doubt,  
Within the hay right all about,  
He lad me with right good cheer,  
All environ the vergere,  
That Daungere had me chased fro:  
Now have I leave over all to go,  
Now am I raised at my device,  
From hell unto Paradise.  
Thus Bialacoil of gentleness  
With all his pain and business,  
Hath showed me only of grace  
The efters of the swote place.  
I saw the Rose when I was nigh,  
Was greater waxed, and more high,  
Fresh, roddy, and fair of hue,  
Of colour ever iliche new:  
And when I had it long seen,  
I saw that through the leaves green  
The Rose spread to spannishing,  
To seen it was a goodly thing,  
But it ne was so spread on breed,  
That men within might know the seed,  
For it covert was and close  
Both with the leaves and with the Rose,  
The stalk was even and green upright,  
It was thereon a goodly sight,  
And well the better without ween  
For the seed was not seen,  
Full fair it spread the God of bless,  
For such another, as I guess,  
Aforne ne was ne more vermaile,  
I was abawed for marvel,  
For ever the fairer that it was,  
The more I am bounden in loves laas.  
Long I abode there sooth to say,  
Till Bialacoil I 'gan to pray,  
When that I saw him in no wise  
To me warnen his service,  
That he me would grant a thing,  
Which to remember is well sitting:  
This is to sane, that of his grace  
He would me give leisure and space  
To me that was so desirous  
To have a kissing precious  
Of the goodly fresh Rose,  
That so sweetly smelleth in my nose,  
For if it you displeased nought,  
I wool gladly, as I have sought,  
Have a kiss thereof freely  
Of your yeft, for certainly  
I wool none have but by your leave;  
So loath me were you for to greue.   

HE said, friend so God me speed,  
Of Chastity I have such dread,  
Thou shouldest not warned be for me,  
But I dare not for chastity:  
Again her dare I not misdo,  
For always biddeth she me so  
To give no lover leave to kiss,  
For who thereto may winnen iwisse,  
He of the surplus of the prey  
May live in hope to get some day,  
For who so kissing may attain,  
Of Love's pain hath (sooth to sane)  
The best and most avenaunt,  
And earnest of the remnant.   

OF his answer I sighed sore,  
I durst assay him tho no more,  
I had such dread to greve him aye,  
* A man should not too much assay  
To chafe his friend out of measure,  
Nor put his life in adventure,  
For no man at the first stroke  
Ne may not fallen down an Oak,  
Nor of the reisins have the wine,  
Till grapes be ripe and well a fine,  
Before empressed, I you ensure,  
And drawn out of the pressure:  
But I forpeined wonder strong,  
Though that I abode right long  
And after the kiss, in pain and woe,  
Sith I to kiss desired so:  
Till that renning on my distress,  
There come Venus the goddess  
(Which aye werrieth chastity)  
Came of her grace to succour me,  
Whose might is know far and wide,  
For she is mother of Cupid.   

THe God of Love, blind as stone,  
That helpeth lovers many one.  
This lady brought in her right hon  
Of brenning fire a blazing brand,  
Whereof the flame and hot fire  
Hath many a Lady in desire  
Of Love brought, and sore heat,  
And in her service her heart is set.  
This Lady was of good entail,  
Right wonderful of apparel,  
By her attire so bright and sheen,  
Men might perceive well and seen,  
She was not of Religioun:  
Nor I nill make mention  
Nor of robe, nor of treasure,  
Of brooch, neither of her rich attour,  
Ne of her girdle about her side,  
For that I nill not long abide,  
But knoweth well, that certainly  
She was arrayed richly,  
Devoid of pride certain she was,  
To Bialacoil she went apaas,  
And to him shortly in a clause  
She said: sir, what is the cause  
Ye been of port so dangerous  
Unto this lover, and dainous,  
To grant him nothing but a kiss  
To warn it him ye done amiss,  
Sith well ye wot, how that he  
Is Love's servant, as ye may see,  
And hath beauty, where through is  
Worthy of Love to have the bliss:  
How he is seemly behold and see,  
How he is fair, how he is free,  
How he is swote and debonair,  
Of age young, lusty, and fair,  
There is no Lady so hautaine,  
Duchess, Countess, ne Chastelaine,  
That I nolde hold her ungodly,  
For to refuse him utterly.  
His breath is also good and sweet,  
And eke his lips roddy and meet,  
Only to plain, and to kiss,  
Grant him a kiss of gentlenisse.  
His teeth be also white and clean,  
Me thinketh wrong withouten ween,  
If ye now warn him, trusteth me,  
To grant that a kiss have he,  
The lass ye help him that ye hast,  
And the more time shall ye waste.  
When the flame of the very brand  
That Venus brought in her right hon,  
Had Bialacoil with his heat smete,  
Anon he had me withouten lete,  
Grant to me the Rose kiss,  
Then of my pain I 'gan to lisse,  
And to the Rose anon went I,  
And kissed it full faithfully:  
There need no man ask if I was blithe,  
When the savour soft and lithe  
Stroke to mine heart without more,  
And me allegged of my sore,  
So was I full of joy and bliss,  
It is fair such a flower to kiss,  
It was so swote and saverous,  
I might not be so anguishous,  
That I moat glad and jolly be,  
When that I remember me,  
Yet ever among sooth to sane,  
I suffer noie and much pain.   

THe see may never be so still,  
That with a little wind at will  
Over whelm and turn also,  
As it were wood in wawes go,  
After the calm the trouble soon  
Mote follow, and change as the moon.  
Right so fareth Love, that seld in one  
Holdeth his anchor, for right anon  
When they in ease ween best to live,  
They been with tempest all fordrive:  
Who serveth Love, can tell of woe,  
The stoundmele joy moat overgo,  
Now he hurteth, and now he cureth,  
* For seld in o point Love endureth.  
Now is it right me to proceed,  
How Shame 'gan meddle and take heed,  
Through whom fell angers I have had,  
And how the strong wall was made,  
And the Castle of breed and length,  
That God of Love wan with his strength,  
All this Romance will I set,  
And for no thing ne will I let,  
So that it liking to her be,  
That is the flower of beauty,  
For she may best my labour quite,  
That I for her Love shall indite.  
Wicked tongue, that the covin  
Of every Lover can divine  
Worst, and addeth more somedeal  
* (For wicked tongue saith never well)  
To me ward bore he right great hate,  
Espying me early and late,  
Till he hath seen the great cheer  
Of Bialacoil and me ifere:  
He might not his tongue withstand  
Worse to report than he fond,  
He was so full of cursed rage,  
It sat him well of his lineage,  
For him an irous woman bare,  
His tongue was filled sharp and square,  
Poiguaunt and right keruing,  
And wonder bitter in speaking,  
For when that he me 'gan espy,  
He swore (affirming sickerly)  
Between Bialacoil and me  
Was evil acquaintance and privy,  
He spoke thereof so folilie,  
That he awaked jealousy,  
Which all afraid in his rising,  
When that he heard jangling,  
He ran anon as he were wood  
To Bialacoil there that he stood,  
Which had lever in this case  
Have been at Reins or Amias,  
For foot hot in his felony,  
To him thus said jealousy:  
Why hast thou been so negligent,  
To keepen, when I was absent,  
This verger here left in thy ward?  
To me thou hadst no regard,  
To trust (to thy confusion)  
Him thus, to whom suspection  
I have right great, for it is need,  
It is well showed by the deed.  
Great fault in thee now have I found,  
By God anon thou shalt be bound,  
And fast locken in a Tower,  
Without refuite or succour.   

FOr Shame too long hath be thee fro,  
Oversoon she was ago,  
When thou hast lost both dread and fere,  
It seemed well she was not here,  
She was busy in no wise,  
To keep thee and chastise,  
And for to helpen chastity  
To keep the Roser, as thinketh me,  
For then this boy knave so boldly,  
Ne should not have be hardy  
In this verge and such game,  
Which now me turneth to great shame.   

BIalacoil nist what to say,  
Full fain he would have fled away,  
For fear have hid, ne'er that he  
All suddenly took him with me:  
And when I saw he had so,  
This jealousy take us two,  
I was astonished, and knew no read,  
But fled away for very dread.   

Then Shame came forth full simply,  
She wend have trespassed full greatly,  
Humble of her port, and made it simple,  
Wearing a veil in stead of wimple.  
As Nonnes done in her Abbey,  
Because her heart was in affray,  
She 'gan to speak within a throw  
To jealousy, right wonder low.  
First of the grace she besought,  
And said: sir, ne leaveth nought  
Wicked tongue, that false espy,  
Which is so glad to feign and lie,  
He hath you made, through flattering,  
On Bialacoil a false leasing:  
His falseness is not now anew,  
It is too long that he him knew:  
This is not the first day,  
For Wicked tongue hath custom aye,  
Young folks to bewrie,  
And false lesing on him lie.   

Yet nevertheless I see among,  
That the soigne it is so long  
Of Bialacoil, hearts to lure,  
In Love's service for to endure,  
Drawing such folk him to,  
That he hath nothing with to do,  
But in foothnesse I trow nought,  
That Bialacoil had ever in thought  
To do trespass or villainy,  
But for his mother Courtesy  
Hath taught him ever to be  
Good of acquaintance and privy,  
For he loveth none heaviness,  
But mirth and play, and all gladness,  
He hateth all trechous,  
Soleine folk and envious:  
For ye weten how that he  
wol ever glad and joyful be  
Honestly with folk to play,  
I have be negligent in good faith  
To chastise him, therefore now I  
Of heart I cry you here mercy,  
That I have been so reckless  
To tamen him withouten lees,  
Of my folly I me repent,  
Now wool I hole set mine intent  
To keep both low and still  
Bialacoil to do your will.  
Shame, Shame (said jealousy)  
To be bitrashed great dread have I.  
Lechery hath climbed so high,  
That almost bleared is mine eye,  
No wonder is, if that dread have I,  
* Over all reigneth Lechery,  
Whose might groweth night and day,  
Both in Cloister and in Abbey,  
Chastity is wearied over all,  
Therefore I wool with siker wall  
Close both Roses and Rosere,  
I have too long in this manere  
Left him unclosed wilfully:  
Wherefore I am right inwardly  
Sorrowful, and repent me,  
But now they shall no longer be  
Unclosed, and yet I dread sore,  
I shall repent furthermore,  
For the game goeth all amis,  
Counsel I must new iwis,  
I have too long trusted thee,  
But now it shall no longer be:  
* For he may best in every cost  
Deceive, that men tresten most:  
I see well that I am nigh shent,  
But if I set my full intent  
Remedy to purvey:  
Wherefore close I shall the weigh  
From him that wool the Rose espy,  
And come to wait me villonie,  
For in good faith and in troth  
I wool not let for no sloth  
To live the more in sickerness,  
Do make anon a fortress.  
Then close the Roses of good savour,  
In midst shall I make a tour,  
To put Bialacoil in prison,  
Forever I dread me of treason,  
I trow I shall him keep so,  
That he shall have no might to go  
About to make company  
To him that think of villainy,  
Ne to no such as hath been here  
Aforne, and found in him good cheer,  
Which han assailed him to shend,  
And with her trowandise to blend,  
* A fool is eith to beguile,  
But may I live a little while,  
He shall forethink his fair semblaunt.  
And with that word came dread avaunt,  
Which was abashed, and in great fere,  
When he wist jealousy was there,  
He was for dread in such affray,  
That not a word durst he say,  
But quaking stood full still alone  
(Till jealousy his way was gone)  
Save Shame, that him not forsook,  
Both dread and she full sore quoke,  
That at last dread abraide,  
And to his cousin Shame said.   

Shame (he said) in soothfastness,  
To me it is great heaviness,  
That the noise so far is go,  
And the slander of us two:  
But sith that it is befall,  
We may it not again call,  
When once sprung is a fame:  
For many a year withouten blame  
We have been, and many a day,  
For many an April and many a May  
We han passed, not ashamed,  
Till jealousy hath us blamed  
Of mistrust and suspection  
Causeless, without encheason:  
Go we to Danger hastily,  
And let us show him openly,  
That he hath not aright wrought,  
When that he set not his thought  
To keep better the purprise,  
In his doing he is not wise.  
He hath to us do great wrong,  
That hath suffered now so long  
Bialacoil to have his will  
All his lusts to fulfil:  
He must amend it utterly,  
Or else shall he villainously  
Exiled be out of this land:  
For he the war may not withstand  
Of jealousy, nor the grief,  
Sith Bialacoil is at mischief.   

TO Danger Shame and Drede anon  
The right way been gone:  
The chorle they found him aforne  
Ligging under an hawthorn.  
Under his head no pillow was,  
But in the stead a truss of grass:  
He slumbered, and a nap he took,  
Till Shame pitously him shaken,  
And great menace on him 'gan make.  
Why sleepest thou when thou should wake  
(Qd. Shame) thou dost us villainy,  
Who trusteth thee, he doth folly,  
To keep roses or bothums  
When they be fair in her seasons,  
Thou art wox too familiere  
Where thou should be strange of cheer,  
Stout of thy port, ready to greue,  
Thou dost great folly for to leave  
Bialacoil here in to call  
The younger man to shenden us all,  
Though that thou sleep, we may here  
Of jealousy great noise here,  
Art thou now late, rise up an hie,  
And stop soon and deliverlye  
All the gaps of the hay,  
Do no favour I thee pray,  
It falleth nothing to thy name,  
To make fair semblant, were thou mayst blame.   

IF Bialacoil he sweet and free,  
Dogged and fell thou shouldest be,  
Froward and outrageous iwis,  
* A chorle changeth that curteis is:  
This have I heard oft in saying,  
* That man may for no daunting  
Make a sparrowhawk of a bosarde,  
All men hold thee for musarde,  
That debonair have founden thee,  
It sitteth thee nought curteis to be,  
To do men pleasance or service,  
In thee it is recreaundise:  
Let thy works far and ne'er  
Be like thy name, which is Daungere.  
Then all akashed in showing,  
Anon spoke dread, right thus saying,  
And said, Danger I dread me,  
That thou ne wolt besie be  
To keep that thou hast to keep,  
When thou shouldest wake, thou art asleep:  
Thou shalt be grieved certainly,  
If thee aspie jealousy,  
Or if he find thee in blame.  
He hath to do assailed Shame,  
And chased away with great menace  
Bialacoil out of this place,  
And sweareth shortly that he shall  
Enclose him in a sturdy wall,  
And all is for thy wickedness,  
For that thee faileth strangeness,  
Thine heart I trow he failed all,  
Thou shalt repent in special,  
If jealousy the sooth knew,  
Thou shalt forethink, and sore rue.  
With that the chorle his club 'gan shake,  
Frouning his eyes 'gan to make,  
And hideous cheer, as man in rage,  
For ire he brent in his visage,  
When that he heard him blamed so,  
He said, out of my wit I go,  
To be discomfit I have great wrong,  
Certes, I have now lived too long,  
Sith I may not this closer keep,  
All quick I would be doluen deep,  
If any man shall more repair  
Into this garden for foul or fair,  
Mine heart for ire goeth afere,  
That I let any entre here,  
I have do folly now I see,  
But now it shall amended be,  
Who setteth foot here any more,  
Truly he shall repent it sore,  
For no man more into this place  
Of me to enter shall have grace.  
Lever I had with swerds twain,  
Throughout mine heart, in every vain  
Pierced to be, with many a wound,  
Than sloth should in me he sound:  
From henceforth by night or day,  
I shall defend it if I may  
Withouten any exception  
Of each manner condition,  
And if I it any man grant,  
Holdeth me for recreant.   

THen Danger on his feet 'gan stoned,  
And hent a burden in his hon,  
Wroth in his ire ne left he nought,  
But through the verger he hath sought,  
If he might find hole or trace,  
Where through that me moat forth by pace,  
Or any gap, he did it close,  
That no man might touch a Rose  
Of the Roser all about,  
He shutteth every man without.  
Thus day by day Danger is were,  
More wonderful and more divers,  
And feller eke than ever he was,  
For him full oft I sing alas,  
For I ne may nought, through his ire  
Recover that I most desire,  
Mine heart alas woil breast a two,  
For Bialacoil I wrathed so:  
For certainly in every member  
I quake, when I me remember  
Of the bothum, which I would  
Full oft a day seen and behold,  
And when I think upon the kiss,  
And how much joy and bliss,  
I had through the savour sweet,  
For want of it I groan and great,  
Me thinketh I feel yet in my nose  
The sweet savour of the Rose,  
And now I wot that I moat go  
So far the fresh flowers fro,  
To me full welcome were the death,  
Absence thereof (alas) me sleath,  
For whilom with this Rose, alas,  
I touched nose, mouth, and face,  
But now the death I must abide,  
But Love consent another tide,  
That ones I touch may and kiss,  
I trow my pain shall never lisse,  
Thereon is all my covetise,  
Which brent my heart in many wise.  
Now shall repair again sighing,  
Long watch on nights, and no sleeping,  
Thought in wishing, tourment, and woe,  
With many a turning to and fro,  
That half my pain I cannot tell,  
For I am fallen into hell,  
From paradise and wealth, the more  
My tourment grieveth more and more,  
Annoyeth now the bitterness,  
That I toforne have felt sweetness,  
And Wicked tongue, through his falsehood,  
Causeth all my woe and dread,  
On me he lieth a piteous charge,  
Because his tongue was too large.  
Now it is time shortly that I  
Tell you something of jealousy,  
That was in great suspection,  
About him left he no mason,  
That stone could lay, ne querrour,  
He hired him to make a tour:  
And first the Roses for to keep,  
About hem made he a ditch deep,  
Right wonder large, and also broad,  
Upon the which also stood  
Of squared stone a sturdy wall,  
Which on a crag was founded all,  
And right great thickness eke it bare,  
About it was founded square  
An hundred fathom on every side,  
It was all liche long and wide,  
Lest any time it were assailed,  
Full well about it was battailed,  
And round environ eke were set  
Full many a rich and fair tournet,  
At every corner of this wall  
Was set a tour full principal,  
And every had without fable  
A portcullis defensable  
To keep off enemies, and to greue,  
That there her force would prove.  
And eke amid this purprise  
Was made a tour of great maistrise,  
A fairer saugh no man with sight,  
Large and wide, and of great might,  
They drad none assault,  
Of gin, gone, nor skaffaut,  
The temprure of the mortere  
Was made of liquor wonder dear,  
Of quick lime persant and eager,  
The which was tempered with vinegar.  
The stone was hard of Adamaunt,  
Whereof they made the foundemaunt,  
The tower was round made in compass,  
In all this world no richer was,  
Ne better ordained therewithal,  
About the tour was made a wall,  
So that betwixt that and the tour,  
Roses were set of sweet savour,  
With many Roses that they bear,  
And eke within the castle were  
Springolds, Gonnes, Bowes, and Archers;  
And eke about at corners  
Men seine over the wall stoned  
Great engines, who were ne'er hon,  
And in the kernels here and there,  
Of arblasters great plenty were.  
None armour might her stroke withstand,  
It were folly to press to hon,  
Without the ditch were lists made,  
With wall battaited large and brade,  
For men and horse should not attain  
Too nigh the ditch over the plain,  
Thus jealousy hath environ,  
Set about his garnison  
With walls round, and ditch deep,  
Only the Roser for to keep,  
And Danger early and late  
The keys kept of the utter gate,  
The which opened toward the east,  
And he had with him at least  
Thirty servants eachone by name.  
That other gate kept Shame,  
Which opened, as it was couth,  
Toward the part of the South,  
sergeants assigned were her to  
Full many, her will for to do.  
Then dread had in her bailie  
The keeping of the constablerie,  
Toward the North I understand,  
That opened upon the left hon,  
The which for nothing may be sure,  
But if she do busy cure  
Early on morrow and also late,  
Strongly to shut and bar the gate:  
Of every thing that she may see,  
Drede is afeard, where so she be,  
For with a puff of little wind,  
Drede is astonished in her mind,  
Therefore for stealing of the Rose,  
I read her nat the yate unclose,  
A fowls flight would make her flee,  
And eke a shadow if she it see.   

THen Wicked tongue full of envy,  
With soldiers of Normandy,  
As he that causeth all debate,  
Was keeper of the fourth gate,  
And also to the t'other three,  
He went full oft for to see,  
When his lot was to walk a night,  
His instruments would he dight,  
For to blow and make son,  
Ofter than he hath enchesoune,  
And walken oft upon the wall,  
Corners and wickettes over all,  
Full narrow searchen and espy,  
Though he nought fond, yet would he lie  
Discordaunt ever from armonie,  
And dissoned from melody,  
Controve he would, and foul fail,  
With hornepipes of Cornwall.  
In floites made he discordance,  
And in his music with mischance,  
He would seine with notes new,  
* That he fond no woman true,  
Ne that he saw never in his life,  
Unto her husband a true wife:  
Ne none so full of honest,  
That she nill laugh and merry be,  
When that she heareth or may espy  
A man speaken of Lechery.  
Eueriche of hem hath some vice,  
One is dishonest, another is nice,  
If one be full of villainy,  
Another hath a liquorous eye,  
If one be full of wantonness,  
Another is a chideresse.   

Thus Wicked tongue, God give him shame,  
Can put him everyone in blame,  
Without desert and causeless,  
He lieth, though they been guiltless,  
I have pity to seen the sorrow,  
That waketh both even and morrow,  
To innocents' doth such grievance,  
I pray God give him evil chance,  
That he ever so busy is,  
Of any woman to seine amiss.  
Eke jealousy God confound,  
That hath made a tower so round,  
And made about a garrison,  
To set Bialacoil in prison,  
The which is shut there in the tour,  
Full long to hold there soiour,  
There for live in penance,  
And for to do him more grievance,  
Which hath ordained jealousy,  
And old vecke for to spy  
The manner of his governance,  
The which Devil in her enfaunce  
Had learned of Love's art,  
And of his plais took her part,  
She was except in his service,  
She knew each wrench and every gise  
Of Love, and every wile,  
It was hard her to beguile.  
Of Bialacoil she took aye heed,  
That ever he liveth in woe and dread,  
He kept him coy and eke privy,  
Lest in him she had see  
Any folly countenance,  
For she knew all the old dance.  
And after this, when jealousy  
Had Bialacoil in his bailie,  
And shut him up that was so free,  
For sure of him he would be:  
He trusteth sore in his castle,  
The strong work him liketh well,  
He drad nat that no gluttons  
Should steal his Roses or bothoms,  
The Roses weren assured all  
Defenced with the strong wall,  
Now jealousy full well may be  
Of dread devoid in liberte,  
Whether that he sleep or wake,  
For of his Roses may none be take.   

But I (alas) now mourn shall,  
Because I was without the wall,  
Full much dole and moan I made,  
Who had witted what woe I had,  
I trow he would have had pite,  
Love too dear had sold me  
The good that of his love had I,  
I went about it all quaintly,  
But now through doubling of my pain  
I see he wool it sell again,  
And me a new bargain lere,  
The which all out the more is dear,  
For the solace that I have lost,  
Than I had it never aforne,  
* Certain I am full like indeed  
To him that cast in earth his seed,  
And hath joy of the new springing,  
When it greeneth in the beginning,  
And is also fair and fresh of flour,  
Lusty to seen, swote of odour,  
But ere he it in his sheves shear,  
May fall a weather that shall it dear,  
And make it to fade and fall,  
The stalk, the greine, and flowers all,  
That to the tilers is fordone,  
The hope that he had too soon:  
I dread certain that so fare I,  
For hope and travail sickerly  
Ben me bereft all with a storm,  
The flower nill seden of my corn,  
For Love hath so advanced me,  
When I began my privite,  
To Bialacoil all for to tell,  
Whom I ne found froward ne fell,  
But took agree all whole my play,  
But Love is of so hard assay,  
That all at ones he reved me,  
When I weent best aboven to have be.  
* It is of Love, as of Fortune,  
That changeth oft, and nill contune,  
Which whilom wool of folk smile,  
And glombe on him another while,  
* Now friend, now foe, shalt her feel,  
For a twinkling tourneth her wheel.  
* She can writhe her head away,  
This is the concourse of her play,  
She can areise that doth mourn,  
And whirl adoune, and overturn  
Who sitteth highest, but as her lust,  
A fool is he that wool her trust,  
For it is I that am come down  
Through charge and revolutioun,  
Sith Bialacoil mote from me twin,  
shut in her prison yond within,  
His absence at mine heart I feel,  
For all my joy and all mine heel  
Was in him, and in the Rose,  
That but you will, which him doth close,  
Open, that I may him see,  
Love wool not that I cured be  
Of the pains that I endure,  
Nor of my cruel adventure.   

AH, Bialacoil mine own dear,  
Though thou be now a prisonere,  
Keep at least thine heart to me,  
And suffer not that it daunted be,  
Ne let not jealousy in his rage,  
Putten thine heart in no servage,  
Although he chastise thee without,  
And make thy body unto him lout  
Have heart as hard as Diamaunt,  
Steadfast, and naught pliaunt:  
* In prison though thy body be  
At large keep thine heart free,  
A true heart will not ply  
For no mannace that it may dry.  
If jealousy doth thee pain,  
Quite him his while thus again,  
To venge thee at least in thought,  
If other way thou mayest nought.  
And in this wise subtle  
Worch, and win the mastery.  
But yet I am in great affray,  
Lest thou do nat as I say,  
I dread thou canst me great maugre,  
That thou imprisoned art for me,  
But that nat for my trespass,  
For through me never discovered was  
Yet thing that ought be secre:  
Well more annoy is in me,  
Than is in thee of this mischance,  
For I endure more hard penance  
Than any can sane or think,  
That for the sorrow almost I sink,  
When I remember me of my woe,  
Full nigh out of my wit I go.  
Inward mine heart I feel bleed,  
For comfortless the death I dread,  
Owe I nat well to have distress,  
When false, through her wickedness,  
And traitors, that be enviours,  
To noien me be so courageous.  
Ah, Bialacoil full well I see,  
That they him shape to deceive thee,  
To make thee buxum to her law,  
And with her cord thee to draw  
Where so hem lust, right at her will,  
I dread they have thee brought theretill:  
Without comfort, thought me sleath,  
This game would bring me to my death,  
For if your good will I less,  
I moat be dead, I may not cheese,  
And if that thou foryete me,  
Mine heart shall never in liking be,  
Nor elsewhere find solace,  
If I be put out of your grace,  
As it shall never been I hope,  
Then should I fall in wanhope.  
Alas, in wanhope, nay pard,  
For I wool never dispaired be,  
If hope me fail, then am I  
Ungracious and unworthy,  
In hope I wool comforted be,  
For Love, when he betaught her me,  
Saied, that Hope where so I go,  
Should aye be releases to my wo.  
But what and she my bales beat,  
And be to me curteis and sweet,  
She is in nothing full certain,  
Lovers she put in full great pain,  
And maketh him with woe to deal,  
Her fair behest deceiveth feel,  
For she wool behote sickerly,  
And failen after utterly.  
Ah, that is a full noyous thing,  
For many a lover in loving  
Hangeth upon her, and trusteth fast,  
Which less her travail at the last.  
Of thing to come she wot right nought,  
Therefore if it be wisely sought,  
Her counsel folly is to take,  
For many times, when she wool make  
A full good syllogism, I dread,  
That afterward there shall indeed  
Follow an evil conclusion,  
This put me in confusion,  
* For many times I have it seen,  
That many have beguiled been,  
For trust that they have set in Hope,  
Which fell him afterward a slope.   

But nevertheless yet gladly she would,  
That he that wool him with her hold,  
Had all times her purpose clear,  
Without deceit any where,  
That she desireth sickerly,  
When I her blamed, I did folly,  
But what availeth her good will,  
When she ne may staunch my stound ill,  
That helpeth little that she may do,  
Or take behest unto my woe:  
* And hest certain in no wise,  
Without ifete is not to praise.   

* When hest and deed asunder vary,  
They done a great contrary:  
Thus am I posted up and down  
With dole, thought, and confusion,  
Of my disease there is no number,  
Danger and Shame me encumber,  
dread also, and jealousy,  
And wicked Tongue full of envy,  
Of which the sharp and cruel ire  
Full oft me put in great martyr,  
They have my joy fully let,  
Sith Bialacoil they have beshet  
From me in prison wickedly,  
Whom I love so entirely,  
That it wool my bane be,  
But I the sooner may him see.  
And yet moreover worst of all,  
There is set to keep, foul her befall,  
A Rimpled vecke far run in rage,  
Frowning and yellow in her visage,  
Which in await lieth day and night,  
That none of him may have a sight.   

NOw moat my sorrow enforced be,  
Full sooth it is, that Love gave me  
Three wonder yefts of his grace,  
Which I have lost now in this place,  
Sith they ne may without dread  
Helpen but little, who taketh heed:  
For here availeth no Sweet thought,  
And Sweet speech helpeth right nought,  
The third was called Sweet Looking,  
That now is lost without losing.   

Yefts were fair, but nat for thy  
They help me but simply,  
But Bialacoil loosed be  
To gone at large and to be free,  
For him my life lieth all in doubt,  
But if he come the rather out.  
Alas I trow it wool nat been,  
For how should I evermore him seen?  
He may nat out, and that is wrong,  
Because the tower is so strong,  
How should he out, or by whose prowess  
Of so strong a fortress?  
By me certain it nill be do,  
God wot I have no with thereto,  
But well I wot I was in rage,  
When I to Love did homage,  
Who was the cause (in soothfastness)  
But herself dame Idleness?  
Which me conveide through fair prayers  
To enter into that fair vergere:  
She was to blame me to leave,  
The which now doth me sore greue,  
* A fool's word is nought to trow,  
Ne worth an apple for to low,  
Men should him snibbe bitterly,  
At prime temps of his folly:  
I was a fool, and she me lived,  
Through whom I am right nought relieved,  
She accomplished all my will,  
That now me grieveth wonder ill.   

REason me said what should fall,  
A fool myself I may well call,  
That love aside I had not laid,  
And trowed that dame Reason said.  
Reason had both skill and right,  
When she me blamed with all her might  
To meddle of Love, that hath me shent,  
But certain now I wool repent.   

ANd should I repent? Nay pard,  
A false traitor than should I be,  
The devil's engines would me take,  
If I love would forsake,  
Or Bialacoil falsely betray,  
Should I at mischief hate him? nay,  
Sith he now for his courtesy  
Is in prison of jealousy,  
Courtesy certain did he me,  
So much, that it may not yoleden be,  
When he the hay passen me lete,  
To kiss the Rose, fair and sweet,  
Should I therefore con him maugre,  
Nay certainly, it shall nat be,  
For Love shall never (give God will)  
Here of me, through word or will,  
Offence or complaint more or less,  
Neither of Hope nor Idleness:  
For certes, it were wrong that I  
Hated hem for her courtesy.  
There is not else, but suffer and think,  
And waken when I should wink,  
Abide in hope, till love through chance  
Send me succour or allegiance,  
Expectaunt aye till I may meet,  
To gotten mercy of that sweet.  
Whilom I think how Love to me  
Said he would take at 'gree  
My service, if unpatience  
Caused me to done offence:  
He said, in thank I shall it take,  
And high master eke thee make,  
If wickedness ne reave it thee,  
But soon I trow that shall nat be.  
These were his words by and by,  
It seemed he loved me truly.  
Now is there not but serve him well,  
If that I think his thank to feel,  
My good, mine harm, lithe hole in me,  
In Love may no default be,  
For true Love ne failed never man:  
Sooth the fault moat needs than  
As God forbid, be found in me,  
And how it cometh, I cannot see.  
Now let it gone as it may go,  
Whether Love wool succour me or slow,  
He may do hole on me his will,  
I am so sore bound him till,  
From his service I may not flene,  
For life and death withouten ween  
Is in his hand, I may nat cheese,  
He may me do both win and less,  
And sith so sore he doth me greue,  
Yet if my lust he would acheve,  
To Bialacoil goodly to be,  
I give no force what fell on me:  
For though I die, as I moat need,  
I pray Love of his goodlihead,  
To Bialacoil do gentleness,  
For whom I live in such distress,  
That I moat dien for penance,  
But first, without repentance,  
I wool me confess in good intent,  
And make in haste my Testament,  
As lovers done that feelen smart:  
To Bialacoil leave I mine heart  
All hole, without departing,  
Or doubleness of repenting.   

¶ Comment Raison vient a Lamant.  

THus as I made my passage  
In complaint, and in cruel rage,  
And I not where to find a leech,  
That couth unto mine helping each  
Suddenly again comen down,  
Out of her tower I saw Reasoun,  
Discreet and wise, and full pleasant,  
And of her port full avenaunt,  
The right way she took to me,  
Which stood in great perplexite  
That was poshed in every side,  
That I nist where I might abide,  
Till she demurely sad of cheer  
Said to me as she came ne'er.  
Mine own friend, art thou grieved,  
How is this quarrel yet achieved  
Of love's side? Anon me tell,  
Hast thou not yet of Love thy fill?  
Art thou nat weary of thy service?  
That thee hath in such wise.  
What joy hast thou in thy loving?  
Is it sweet or bitter thing,  
Canst thou yet cheese, let me see  
What best thy succour might be.   

Thou servest a full noble Lord,  
That maketh thee thrall for thy reward,  
Which aye reneweth thy tourment,  
With folly so he hath thee blended,  
Thou fell in mischief thilk day,  
When thou didst the sooth to say  
Obeisance and eke homage  
Thou wroughtest nothing as the sage,  
When thou became his liege man,  
Thou didst a great folly than,  
Thou wistest nat what fell thereto,  
With what Lord thou hadst to do,  
If thou hadst him well know  
Thou hadst nought be brought so low,  
For if thou wist what it were,  
Thou noldest serve him half a year,  
Nat a week, nor half a day,  
Ne yet an hour without delay,  
Ne never iloved paramours,  
His Lordship is so full of shours,  
Knowest him aught?  
Lamaunt. Ye dame pard.  
Raisoun. Nay, nay. Lamaunt. Yes I.  
Raisoun. Wherefore let see.  
Lamaunt. Of that he said I should be  
Glad to have such Lord as (he)  
And master of such signory.  
Raisoun. Knowest him no more?  
Lamaunt. Nay certes, I  
Save that he gave me rules there,  
And went his way I nist where,  
And I abode bound in balance,  
Lo there a noble cognisance.    

¶ Raisoun.  
But I wool that thou know him now  
beginning and end, sith that thou  
Art so anguishous and mate,  
Disfigured out of estate,  
There may no wretch have more of woe,  
Ne caitiff none enduren so,  
It were to every man sitting,  
Of his Lord have knowledging:  
For if thou knew him out of doubt,  
Lightly thou shouldest scapen out  
Of thy prison that marreth thee.   

¶ Lamaunt.  
YEa dame sigh my Lord is he,  
And I his man made with mine hon,  
I would right fain understand  
To know of what kind he be,  
If any would inform me.   

¶ Raisoun.  

I Would (said Reason) thee lere,  
Sith thou to learn hast such desire,  
And show thee withouten fable  
A thing that is not demonstrable,  
Thou shalt withouten science,  
And know withouten experience  
The thing that may not known be,  
Ne witted ne showed in no degree,  
Thou mayest the sooth of it not witten,  
Though in thee it were written,  
Thou shalt not know thereof more,  
While thou art ruled by his lore,  
But unto him that love wool fly,  
The knot may unlosed be,  
Which hath to thee, as it is found,  
So long to knit and not unbound,  
Now set well thine intention,  
To hear of Love the description.   

Love it is an hateful pees,  
A free acquittance without releases,  
And through the fret full of falsehood,  
A sickerness all set in dread,  
In heart is a despairing hope,  
And full of hope it is wanhope,  
Wise Woodness, and void Reasoun,  
A Sweet peril in to droun,  
An heavy burden light to bear,  
A wicked wawe away to wear.  
It is Caribdes perilous,  
Disagreeable and gracious,  
It is discordance that can accord,  
And accordance to discord,  
It is cunning without science,  
Wisdom without sapience,  
Wit without discretion,  
Havoire without possession,  
It is like heal and hole sickness,  
A trust drowned and drunkenness,  
And health full of malady,  
And Charity full of envy,  
And anger full of abundance,  
And a greedy suffisance,  
Delight right full of heaviness,  
And dreried full of gladness,  
Bitter sweetness and sweet error,  
Right evil savoured good savour,  
Sin that pardon hath within,  
And pardon spotted without sin,  
A palne also it is joyous,  
And felony right piteous,  
Also play that seld is stable,  
And steadfast right movable,  
A strength weiked to stoned upright,  
And feebleness full of might,  
Wit unavised, sage folly,  
And joy full of tourmentrie,  
A laughter it is weeping aye,  
Rest that travaileth night and day,  
Also a sweet hell it is,  
And a sorrowful Paradis,  
A pleasant gaile and easy prison,  
And full of Frost Summer seasoun,  
Prime temps full of Frosts white,  
And May devoid of all delight,  
With seer branches, blossoms ungrene,  
And new fruit filled with Winter tene,  
It is a slow may nat forbear,  
Rags ribaned with gold to wear:  
* For also well wool love be set  
Under rags as rich rotchette,  
And eke as well by amorettes  
In mourning black, as bright burnettes,  
For none is of so mokell prize,  
Ne no man founden so wise,  
Ne none so high of parage,  
Ne no man found of wit so sage,  
No man so hardy ne so wight,  
Ne no man of so mokell might,  
None so fulfilled of bounty,  
That he with Love may daunted be,  
All the world holdeth this way,  
Love maketh all to gone misway,  
But it be they of evil life,  
Whom Genius cursed man and wife,  
That wrongly work again nature,  
None such I love, ne have no cure  
Of such as love's servants been,  
And wool nat by my counsel fleene,  
For I ne praise that loving,  
Wherethrough man at the last ending  
Shall call him wretches full of woe,  
Love grieveth hem and shendeth so,  
But if thou wolt well love eschew,  
For to escape out of his mew,  
And make all whole the sorrow to slake  
No better counsel mayest thou take,  
Than think to fleen well iwis,  
May nought help else: for wit thou this,  
* If thou fly it, it shall fly thee,  
Follow it, and followen shall it thee.    

¶ Lamaunt.  

WHen I had heard Reason said,  
Which had spilt her speech in vain:  
Dame (said I) I dare well say  
Of this avaunt me well I may  
That from your school so deviaunt  
I am, that never the more avaunt.  
Right nought am I through your doctrine,  
I dull under your discipline,  
I wot no more than wist ever  
To me so contrary and so fer  
Is every thing that ye me lere,  
And yet I can it all by partuere:  
Mine heart foyeteth thereof right nought,  
It is so written in my thought,  
And deep graven it is so tender  
That all by heart I can it render,  
And read it over commonly,  
But to myself lewdest am I   

But sith ye Love discriven so  
And lack and praise it both two  
Defineth it into this Letter,  
That I may think on it the better:  
For I heard never defined here,  
And wilfully I would it lere.  
* If Love be searched well and sought  
It is a sickness of the thought  
Annexed and knedde betwixt tweine,  
With male and female with o chain,  
So freely that bindeth, that they nill twin,  
whether so thereof they less or win,  
The root springeth through hot brenning  
Into disordinate desiring,  
For to kissen and embrace,  
And at her lust them to solace,  
Of other thing love retcheth nought  
But setteth her heart and all her thought,  
More for delectation  
Than any procreatioun  
Of other fruit by engendrure:  
Which love, to God is not pleasure,  
For of her body fruit to get  
They give no force, they are so set  
Upon delight to play in fere.  
And some have also this manner,  
To fainen hem for Love seek,  
Such love I praise not at a leek,  
* For Paramours they do but fain,  
To love truly they disdain,  
They falsen Ladies traitorously,  
And swerne him oaths utterly,  
With many a leasing, and many a fable,  
And all the finden deceivable.  
And when they han her lust gotten  
The hot ernes they all foryetten,  
Women the harm buyen full sore:  
But men thus thinker evermore,  
* The lass harm is, so moat I thee,  
Deceive them, than deceived be.  
And namely where they ne may  
Find none other mean way.  
For I wot well in soothfastness,  
That who doth now his business  
With any woman for to deal,  
For any lust that he may feel,  
But if it be for engendrure,  
He doth trespass I you ensure:  
For he should setten all his will  
To gotten a likely thing him till,  
And to sustain, if he might,  
And keep forth by kinds right  
His own likeness and semblable:  
For because all is corrumpable  
And fail should succession  
Ne were there generation,  
Our sects stern for to save,  
When father or mother arne in grave,  
Her children should, when they been dead,  
Full diligent been in her stead  
To use that work on such a wise,  
That one may through another rise.  
Therefore set kind therein delight,  
For men therein should him delight,  
And of that deed be not reke,  
But oft scythes haunt that work:  
For none would draw thereof a draught  
Ne were delight, which hath him caught,  
This had subtle dame Nature:  
For none goeth right I thee ensure  
Ne hath intent hole ne perfect,  
For her desire is for delight,  
The which fortened crease and eke  
The play of Love, for oft seek  
And thrall hem self they be so nice  
Unto the Prince of every vice:  
* For of each sin it is the root  
Vnlefull lust, though it be soot,  
And of all evil the racine,  
As Tullius can determine,  
Which in his time was full sage,  
In a book he made of age,  
Where that more he praiseth Eld  
Though he be crooked and unwelde,  
And more of commendatioun:  
Then youth in his description:  
For Youth set both man and wife  
In all peril of soul and life.  
And peril is, but men have grace,  
The peril of Youth for to pace,  
Without any death or distress,  
It is so full of wildness  
So oft it doth shame and damage  
To him or to his lineage,  
It leadeth man, now up now down  
In mokell dissolutioun,  
And maketh him love evil company,  
And lead his life disrulilie,  
And halt him paid with none estate  
Within himself is such debate,  
He changeth purpose and intent,  
And yalt into some covent,  
To liuen after her emprise,  
And loseth freedom and fraunchise,  
That nature in him had set,  
The which again he may not get,  
If he there make his mansion,  
For to abide profession,  
Though for a time his heart absent  
It may not fail, he shall repent,  
And eke abide thilk day,  
To leave his abite, and gone his way,  
And leaseth his worship and his name,  
And dare not come again for shame,  
But all his life he doth so mourn,  
Because he dare not home return,  
Freedom of kind so lost hath he  
That never may recured be,  
But that if God him grant grace  
That he may, oer he hence pace,  
Contain under obedience  
Through the virtue of patience.  
For Youth set man in all folly,  
In unthrift and in ribaldry,  
In lechery, and in outrage,  
So oft it changeth of courage.  
Youth ginneth oft such bargain,  
That may not end without pain.  
In great peril is set Youth heed  
Delight so doth his bridle lead,  
Delight this hangeth, dread thee nought,  
Both man's body and his thought,  
Only through Youths chambere,  
That to done evil is customere,  
And of naught else taketh heed,  
But only follies for to lead  
Into disport and wildness,  
So is froward from sadness,  
But Eld draweth him therefrom,  
Who wot it not, he may well go,  
And more of them, that now arne old,  
That whilom Youth had in hold,  
Which yet remembreth of tender age  
How it him brought in many a rage,  
And many a folly therein wrought:  
But now the Eld hath him through sought  
They repent him of her folly,  
That Youth him put in jeopardy,  
In peril and in much woe,  
And made him oft amiss to do,  
And sewen evil company  
Riot and advoutrie.   

But Eld 'gan again restrain  
From such folly, and refrain  
And set men by her ordinance  
In good rule and governance,  
But evil she spendeth her servise,  
For no man wool her love, neither preise,  
She is hated, this wot I well,  
Her acquaintance would no man feel,  
Ne han of Eld company,  
Men hate to be of her alley,  
For no man would becomen old,  
Ne die, when he is young and bold,  
And Eld marveleth right greatly,  
When they remember him inwardly  
Of many a perilous emprise  
Which that they wrought in sundry wise,  
However they might without blame  
Escape away without shame,  
In youth without damage  
Or reproof of her lineage,  
Loss of member, shedding of blood,  
Peril of death, or loss of good,  
Wost thou nat where youth abit,  
That men so preisen in her wit?  
With Delight she halt sojour,  
For both they dwellen in o tour,  
As long as youth is in season,  
They dwellen in one mansion:  
Delight, of Youth wool have servise  
To do what so he wool devise,  
And Youth is ready evermore  
For to obey, for smart or sore,  
Unto Delight, and him to yeve  
Her servise, while that she may live.   

Where Eld abitte, I wool thee tell  
Shortly, and no while dwell,  
For thither behoveth thee to go  
If death in youth thee not slow:  
Of this journey thou mayst not fail,  
With her labour and travail,  
Lodged keen with sorrow and woe,  
That never out of her Court go:  
Pain and distress, sickness, and ire,  
And melancholy that angry sire,  
Ben of her pale is senators,  
Groaning and grudging, her herbegeours,  
The day and night her to tourment  
With cruel death they her present,  
And tell her erltch and late  
That death stondeth armed at her gate:  
Then bring they to her remembrance  
The folly deeds of her enfaunce,  
Which causen her to mourn in woe  
That youth hath her beguiled so  
Which suddenly away is ha●ted,  
She weeped the time that she hath wasted,  
Complaining of the preteritte,  
And the present, that nat abitte,  
And of her old vanity  
That but aforne her she may see,  
In the future some succour,  
To leggen her of her dolour  
To grant her time of repentance,  
For her sins to do penance,  
And at the last so her govern  
To win the joy that is eterne,  
From which go backward youth he made  
In vanity to drown and wade,  
* For present time abideth nought,  
It is more swift than any thought,  
So little while it doth endure  
That there nis count ne measure.  
But how that ever the game go  
Who list to love joy and mirth also  
Of love, be it he or she,  
High or low who it be,  
In fruit they should him delight,  
Her part they may not else quite,  
To save him self in honest,  
And yet full many one I see  
Of women, sooth for to sane,  
That desire and would feign  
The play of Love, they be so wild  
And not covet to go with child:  
And if with child they be perchance  
They wool it hold a great mischance,  
But whatsoever woe they feel,  
They wool not plain, but conceal,  
But if it be any fool or nice,  
In whom that shame hath no justice,  
For to Delight eachone they draw,  
That haunt this work both high and law,  
Save such that be worth right nought,  
That for money wool be bought,  
* Such love I praise in no wise,  
When it is given for covetise  
* I praise no woman, though she be wood  
That yeveth herself for any good:  
For little should a man tell  
Of her, that will her body sell,  
Be she maid, be she wife,  
That quick wool sell her by her life,  
How fair cheer that ever she make,  
He is a wretch I undertake  
That loved such one, for sweet or sour,  
Though she him called her Paramour,  
And laugheth on him, & maketh him feast,  
For certainly no such beast  
To be loved is not worthy  
Or bear the name of Drury,  
None should her please, but he were wood,  
That wool despoil him of his good:  
Yet nevertheless I wool not say  
That she for solace and for play,  
May a jewel or other thing  
Take of her Love's free yeving:  
But that she ask in no wise,  
For dread of shame, or covetise.  
And she of hers may him certain  
Without slander yeven again,  
And join her hearts together so  
In Love, and take and yeve also.  
Trow not that I will him twin,  
When in her love there is no sin,  
I wool that they together go,  
And done all that they han ado,  
As curtes should and debonair,  
And in her love beren hem fair,  
Without vice, both he and she,  
So that always in honest,  
From folly love to keep him clear  
That brenneth hearts with his fere,  
And that her love in any wise,  
Be devoide of Covetise.  
* Good love should engendered be  
Of true heart, just, and secree,  
And not of such as set her thought  
To have her lust, and else nought:  
So are they caught in Love's lace,  
Truly for bodily solace,  
Fleshly delight is so present  
With thee, that set all thine intent,  
Without more, what should I gloze,  
For to get and have the Rose,  
Which maketh thee so mate and wood  
That thou desirest none other good,  
But thou art not an inch the nerre,  
But ever abidest in sorrow and were,  
As in thy face it is seen,  
It maketh thee both pale and leene,  
Thy might, thy virtue goeth away:  
* A sorry guest (in good faith)  
Thou harbourest in thine Inn  
The God of Love when thou let inn:  
Wherefore I read thou shut him out,  
Or he shall greve thee out of doubt,  
For to thy profit it wool turn,  
If he no more with thee sojourn.  
In great mischief and sorrow sunken,  
Ben hearts, that of Love be drunken,  
As thou peradventure known shall,  
When thou hast lost the time all,  
And spent thy thought in idleness,  
In waist, and woeful lustiness:  
If thou mayest live the time to see  
Of love for to delivered be,  
Thy time thou shalt beweep sore  
The which never thou mayest restore:  
* For time lost, as men may see,  
For nothing may recovered be,  
And if thou scape, yet at last,  
Fro love that hath thee so fast  
Knit and bounden in his lace,  
Certain I hold it but a grace,  
For many one as it is seine  
Have lost, and spent also in vein  
In his servise without succour  
body and soul, good, and treasure,  
Wit, and strength, and eke richesse,  
Of which they had never redress.    

¶ Lamant.  

THus taught and preached hath Reason,  
But Love spilt her Sermon,  
That was so imped in my thought,  
That her doctrine I set at nought,  
And yet ne said she never a deal,  
That I ne understood it well,  
Word by word the matter all,  
But unto Love I was so thrall,  
Which calleth over all his prey,  
He chaseth so my thought aye,  
And holdeth mine heart under his sele,  
As trusty and true as any steel:  
So that no devotion  
Ne had I in the Sermon  
Of dame Reason, ne of her read  
I took no soiour in mine heed.  
For all go out at one ere  
That in that other she did lere,  
Fully on me she lost her lore  
Her speech me grieved wonder sore.   

THat unto her for ire I said  
For anger, as I did abraid:  
Dame, and is it your will algate,  
That I not Love, but that I hate  
All men, as ye me teach,  
For if I do after your speech,  
Sith that you seine Love is not good,  
Then must I needs say with mood  
If I it leave, in hatred aye  
Liven, and void love away,  
From me a sinful wretch,  
Hated of all that tetch,  
I may not go none other gate,  
For either must I love or hate,  
And if I hate men of new,  
More than Love it wool me rue  
As by your preaching seemeth me  
For Love nothing ne praiseth thee  
Ye yeve good counsel sikerly  
That preacheth me all day, that I  
Should not loves lore allow,  
He were a fool would you not trow?  
In Speech also ye han me taught,  
Another Love that known is naught  
Which I have heard you not reprove,  
To love each other by your leve,  
If ye would define it me,  
I would gladly here to see,  
At the least if I may lere  
Of sundry Love the manere.    

¶ Raison.  
CErtes friend, a fool art thou  
When that thou nothing will't allow  
That I for thy profit say:  
Yet wool I say thee more in fay,  
For I am ready at the leest,  
To accomplish thy request,  
But I not where it wool avail,  
In vain peraventure I shall travail:  
Love there is in sundry wise,  
As I shall thee here devose.  
For some Love lawful is and good,  
I mean not that which maketh thee wood,  
And bringeth thee in many a fit,  
And ravisheth from thee all thy wit,  
It is so marvellous and quaint,  
With such love be no more acquaint.   

¶ Comment Raison diffinist Aunsete.  

Love of friendship also there is  
Which maketh no man done amiss,  
Of will knit betwixt two,  
That wool not break for we'll ne woe,  
Which long is likely to continue,  
When will and goods been in common,  
Grounded by God's ordinance,  
Hoole without discordance,  
With hem holding commaunce  
Of all her good in charity,  
That there be none exceptioun,  
Through changing of intention,  
That each help other at her need,  
And wisely heel both word and deed,  
True of meaning, devoid of Sloth,  
* For wit is nought without Troth:  
So that the tone dare all his thought  
Saine to his friend, and spare nought,  
As to himself without dreading,  
To be discovered by wreiing,  
* For glad is that conjunction,  
When there is none suspection,  
Whom they would prove  
That true and perfect weren in Love..  
* For no man may be amiable:  
But if he be so firm and stable,  
That fortune change him not ne blind,  
But that his friend always him find,  
Both poor and rich in o state:  
For if his friend through any gate,  
W●ll complain of his poverty,  
He should not bide so long, till he  
Of his helping him require,  
* For good deed done through praiere  
Is sold and bought too dear iwis  
To heart that of great valour is.  
* For heart fulfilled of gentleness,  
Can evil demean his distress.  
* And man that worthy is of name,  
To asken often hath great shame.  
* A good man brenneth in his thought,  
For shame when he asketh aught,  
He hath great thought, and dreadeth aye  
For his disease when he shall pray  
His friend, lest that he warned be  
Till that he prove his stability:  
But when that he hath founden one  
That trusty is and true and stone,  
And assayed him at all,  
And found him steadfast as a wall,  
And of his friendship be certain,  
He shall him show both joy and pain,  
And all that dare think or say,  
Without shame, as he may,  
For how should he ashamed be,  
Of such one as I told thee?  
For when he wot his secret thought,  
The third shall know thereof right nought,  
* For fifty in number is ●et than three,  
In every counsel and secree:  
Reprove he dreadeth never a deal,  
Who that beset his words well,  
For every wise man out of dread,  
Can keep his tongue till he see need.  
* And fool's cannot hold her tongue,  
A fool's bell is soon rung,  
Yet shall a true friend do more  
To help his fellow of his sore,  
And succour him when he hath need  
In all that he may done indeed,  
And gladder that he him pleaseth  
Than his fellow that he easeth,  
And if he do not his request,  
He shall as much him molest  
As his fellow, for that he  
May no fulfil his volunte  
Fully, as he hath required,  
If both the hearts love hath fired  
joy and woe they shall depart,  
And take evenly each his part,  
Half his annoy he shall have aye,  
And comfort what that he may,  
And of this bliss part shall he,  
If Love wool departed be.   

ANd whilom of this unity  
Spoke Tullius in a ditie,  
And should maken his request  
Unto his friend, that is honest,  
And he goodly should it fulfil,  
But it the more were out of skill,  
And otherwise not grant thereto,  
Except only in causes two.  
* If men his friend to death would drive  
Let him be busy to save his live.  
* Also if men woollen hem assail,  
Of his worship to make him fail  
And hindrens him of his renown  
Let him with full intention,  
His dever done in each degree  
That his friend ne shamed be.  
In this two case with his might,  
Taking no keepe to skill nor right,  
As far as Love may him excuse,  
This ought no man to refuse.  
This Love that I have told to thee  
Is nothing contrary to me,  
This wool I that thou follow well,  
And leave the other every deal,  
This Love to virtue all attendeth,  
The t'other fools blended and shendeth.  
Another Love also there is,  
That is contrary unto this,  
Which desire is so constrained  
That is but will feigned  
Away from troth it doth so vary  
That to good Love it is contrary,  
For it maimeth in any wise  
Sick hearts with covetise,  
All in winning and in profit,  
Such love setteth his delight:  
This love so hangeth in balance  
That if it less his hope perchance,  
Of lucre, that he is set upon,  
It wool fall, and quench anon,  
* For no man may be amorous,  
Ne in his living virtuous,  
But he love more in mood  
Men for hem self than for her good:  
For Love that profit doth abide,  
Is false, and bideth not in no tide.  
Love cometh of dame Fortune,  
That little while wool contune,  
For it shall chaungen wonders soon,  
And take Eclipse as the Moon  
When he is from us let  
Through earth, that betwixt is set  
The sun and her, as it may fall,  
Be it in party, or in all,  
The shadow maketh her beams merke,  
And her horns to show dark,  
That part where she hath lost her light  
Of Phoebus fully, and the sight,  
Till when the shadow is overpast,  
She is enlumined again as fast,  
Through the brightness of the sun beams  
That giveth to him again her leams:  
That Love is right of such nature,  
Now is fair, and now obscure,  
Now bright, now Clipsy of manere,  
And whilom dim, and whilom clear,  
Assoon as poverty ginneth take,  
With mantel and weeds black  
Hideth of Love the light away,  
That into night it tourneth day,  
It may not see richesses shine,  
Till the black shadows fine,  
* For when richesse shineth bright  
Love recovereth again his light,  
And when it faileth, he wool flit,  
And as she grieveth, so grieveth it.  
Of this Love hear what I say,  
The rich men are loved aye:  
And namely though that sparand been,  
That wool not wash her hearts clean  
Of the filth, nor of 〈◊〉 ●●ice  
Of greedy brenning Avarice.  
* The rich man full fond is iwis,  
That weeneth that he loved is,  
If that his heart it understood,  
It is not he, it is his good,  
He may well weten in his thought,  
His good is loved, and he right nought:  
For if he be a Niggard eke,  
Men would not set by him a leek,  
But haten him, this is the sooth,  
Lo what profit his cattle doth,  
Of every man that may him see,  
It getteth him nought but enmity:  
But he amend himself of that vice,  
And know himself, he is not wise.  
Certes he should aye friendly be,  
To get him love also been free,  
Or else he is not wise ne sage  
No more than is a goat ramage  
That he not loveth, his deed proveth,  
When he his richesses so well loveth,  
That he wool hide it aye and spare,  
His poor friends seen forfare  
To keepen aye his purpose  
Till for dread his eyes close,  
And till a wicked death him take  
Him had lever asunder shake,  
And let all his limbs asunder rive,  
Than leave his richesses in his live,  
He thinketh to part it with no man,  
Certain no love is in him than:  
How should love with him be,  
When in his heart is no pite,  
That he trespasseth well I wait,  
For each man knoweth his estate,  
For well him aught to be reproved  
That loveth nought, ne is not loved.  
But sith we be to fortune comen,  
And hath our Sermon of her nomen,  
A wonder will I tell thee now,  
Thou hardest never such one I trow,  
I not where thou me leven shall  
Though soothfastness it be all  
As it is written, and is sooth  
That unto men more profit doth  
The froward fortune and contraire,  
Than the swote and debonair:  
And if they think it is doutable,  
It is through argument provable  
For the debonair and soft,  
Falseth and beguileth oft,  
For lich a mother she can cherish  
And milken as doth a norice,  
And of her good to him deles  
And giveth him part iweles,  
With great riches and dignity,  
And hem she hoteth stability,  
In state that is not stable,  
But changing aye and variable,  
And feedeth him with glory vain,  
And worldly bliss none certain,  
When she him setteth on her wheel,  
Then ween they to be right well,  
And in so stable state withal  
That never they ween for to fall,  
And when they set so high to be,  
They ween to have in certainty  
Of heart'ly friends to great numbered,  
That nothing might her state encumber,  
They trust him so on every side,  
weening with hem they would abide,  
In every peril and mischance  
Without change or variance,  
Both of cattle and of good,  
And also for to spend her blood,  
And all her members for to spill  
Only to fulfil her will,  
They maken it whole in many wise  
And hoten hem her full servise  
How sore that it do him smart,  
Into her very naked shirt,  
Heart and also hole they yeve,  
For the time that they may live  
So that with her flattery,  
They maken fools glorify  
Of her words speaking,  
And han there of a rejoicing,  
And trow him as the Evangile  
And it is all falsehood and guile,  
As they shall afterward see,  
* When they be full in poverte  
And been of good and cattle bore  
Then should they seen who friends beware,  
For of an hundred certainly,  
Nor of a thousand full scarcely,  
Ne shall they find unnethes one,  
When poverty is come upon.  
For thus Fortune that I of tell,  
With men when her lust to dwell,  
Maketh him to less her conisaunce,  
And nourisheth him in ignorance.   

But froward Fortune and perverse,  
When high estates she doth reverse,  
And maketh him to tumble down  
Off her wheel with sudden turn,  
And from her richesse doth him fly,  
And plungeth him in poverty,  
As a stepmother envious,  
And layeth a plaster dolorous,  
Unto her hearts wounded eager,  
Which is not tempered with vinegar,  
But with poverty and indigence,  
For to show by experience,  
That she is Fortune verily  
In whom no man should affy,  
Nor in her yeftes have fiance,  
She is so full of variance.  
Thus can she maken hie and low,  
When they from richesses be throw  
Fully to known without were  
Friend of effect, and friend of cheer,  
And which in love weren true and stable,  
And which also weren variable,  
After Fortune her Goddess,  
In poverty, either in richesse,  
For all that yeveth here out of dread,  
Unhap beareth it indeed,  
For infortune let not one  
Of friends, when Fortune is gone,  
I mean though friends that wool i'll  
Anon as entereth Poverte,  
And yet they wool not leave him so,  
But in each place where they go  
They call him wretch, scorn and blame,  
And of her mishap hem diffame,  
And namely such as in richesse,  
Pretendeth most of stableness  
When that they saw him set on loft,  
And weren of hem succoured oft,  
And most iholpe in all her need:  
But now they take no manner heed,  
But sane in voice of flattery,  
That now appeareth her folly,  
Over all where so they fare.  
And sing, go farewell field fare.  
All such friends I beshrew,  
For of true there be too few,  
But soothfast friends, what so betid  
In every fortune woollen abide,  
They han her hearts in such no bliss  
That they nill love for no richesse,  
Nor for that fortune may him send,  
They woollen hem succour and defend,  
And change for soft ne for sore,  
* For who his friend loveth evermore  
Though men draw sword him to slo,  
He may not hew her love a two:  
But in case that I shall say,  
For pride and ire less it he may,  
And for reproove by nicete,  
And discovering of privite,  
With tongue wounding, as fellow,  
Through venomous detraction.  
Friend in this case will gone his way,  
For nothing grieve him more ne may,  
And for nought else wool he i'll,  
If that he love in stability.  
And certain he is well begone  
Among a thousand that findeth one:  
For there may be no richesse,  
Against friendship of worthiness,  
For it ne may so high attain,  
As may the valour, sooth to sane,  
Of him that loveth true and well.  
Friendship is more than is cattle  
cattle For friend in Court aye better is  
Than penny in purse certis.  
And fortune mishaping,  
When upon men she is fabling,  
Through misturning of her chance,  
And cast him out of balance.  
* She maketh through her adversite,  
Men full clearly for to see  
Him that is friend in existence  
From him that is by appearance:  
For infortune maketh anon,  
To know thy friends from thy fone,  
By experience, right as it is,  
The which is more to praise iwis,  
Than in much richesse and treasure,  
For more deep profit and valour,  
Poverty, and such adversity  
Before, than doth prosperity  
For that one yeveth conisaunce,  
And the t'other ignorance.  
And thus in poverty is indeed,  
Troth declared fro falsehood,  
For faint friends it wool declare,  
And true also, what way they fare,  
For when he was in his richesses,  
These friends full of doubleness,  
Offered him in many wise,  
Heart and body, and service,  
What would he then have you to have bought,  
To known openly her thought,  
That he now hath so clearly seen.  
The lass beguiled he should have been,  
And he had then perceived it,  
But Richesses nolde not let him wit,  
Well more advantage doth him than,  
Sith that it maketh him a wise man,  
The great mischief that he perceiveth  
Than doth Richesse that him deceiveth,  
Richesses rich ne maketh nought  
Him that on treasure set his thought:  
* For richesses stont in suffisance,  
And nothing in abundance:  
For suffisance all only  
Maketh men to live richly.   

FOr he that hath mitches tweine,  
Ne value in his demeine,  
Liveth more at ease, and more is rich,  
Than doth he that is chich,  
And in his barn hath sooth to sane,  
An hundred mavis of wheat grain,  
Though he be chapman or merchant,  
And have of Gold many besaunt:  
* For in getting he hath such woe,  
And in the keeping dread also,  
And set evermore his business  
For to increase, and not to less,  
For to augment and multiply,  
And though on heaps that lie him by,  
Yet never shall make his richesses,  
Asseth unto his greediness:  
But the poor that retcheth nought,  
Save of his livelode in his thought,  
Which that he getteth with his travail,  
He dreadeth nought that it shall fail,  
Though he have little world's good,  
Meat and drink, and easy food,  
Upon his travail and living,  
And also suffissant clothing,  
Or if in sickness that he fall,  
And loath meat and drink withal,  
Though he have not his meat to buy  
He shall bethink him hastily,  
To put him out of daungere,  
That he of meat hath no mistere,  
Or that he may with little eke  
Be founden, while that he is seek,  
Or that men shall him barn in haste,  
To live till his sickness be past,  
To some Maisondewe beside,  
He cast nought what shall him betid,  
He thinketh nought that ever he shall  
Into any sickness fall,   

ANd though it fall, as it may be,  
That all be time spare shall he  
As mokell as shall to him suffice,  
While he is sick in any wise,  
He doth for that he wool be  
Content with his poverte  
Without need of any man,  
So much in little have he can,  
He is apaid with his fortune,  
And for he nill be importune  
Unto no wight, ne onerous,  
Nor of her goodness covetous:  
Therefore he spareth, it may well been,  
His poor estate for to susteen.   

OR if him lust not for to spare,  
But suffereth forth, as not yet were,  
At last it happeneth, as it may  
Right unto his last day,  
And take the world as it would be:  
For ever in heart thinketh he  
The sooner that death him slo,  
To Paradise the sooner go  
He shall, there for to live in bliss  
Where that he shall no good miss  
thither he hopeth God shall him send  
After this wretched life's end,  
Pythagoras himself rehearses  
In a Book that the gold verses  
Is cleped, for the nobility  
Of the honourable dite.  
* Then when thou goest thy body fro,  
Free in the air thou shalt up go  
And leaven all humanity,  
And purely live in deity,  
He is a fool withouten were  
That troweth have his country here.  
In yearth is not our Country,  
That may these Clerks seine and say,  
In Boece of consolation  
Where it is maked mention  
Of our Country plain at the eye,  
By teaching of Philosophy,  
Where lewd men might lere wit  
Who so that would translaten it,  
If he be such that can well live  
After his rent, may him yeve,  
And not desireth more to have,  
Than may fro poverty him save.  
* A wise man said, as we may seen,  
Is no man wretched, but he it ween,  
Be he king, knight, or ribaude,  
And many a Ribald is merry and bawd,  
That swinketh, & beareth both day & night,  
Many a burden of great might,  
The which doth him lass offence,  
For he suffreth in patience,  
They laugh and dance, trip and sing,  
And lay nought up for her living,  
But in the Tavern all dispendeth  
The winning that God hem sendeth,  
Then goeth he fardels for to bear,  
With as good cheer as he did ear  
To swink and travail he not feigneth,  
For to robben he disdaineth  
But right anon, after his swink,  
He goeth to Tavern for to drink,  
All these are rich in abundance,  
That can thus have suffisance,  
Well more than can an usurere  
As God well knoweth, without were.  
* For an usurer, so God me see  
Shall never for richesses rich he,  
But evermore poor and indigent,  
Scarce, and greedy in his intent.  
For soothe it is, whom it displease  
There may no merchant live at ease,  
His heart in such a where is set  
That it quick brenneth to get  
Ne never shall, though he hath gotten  
Though he have gold in garners yeten,  
For to be needy he dreadeth sore:  
Wherefore to gotten more and more  
He set his heart and his desire,  
So hot he brenneth in the fire  
Of covetise, that maketh him wood  
To purchase other men's good,  
He underfongeth a great pain,  
That undertaketh to drink up Saine:  
For the more he drinketh aye  
The more he leaveth, the sooth to say:  
Thus is thirst of false getting,  
That last ever in coveting,  
And the anguish and distress  
With the fire of greediness,  
She fighteth with him aye, and striveth  
That his heart asunder riveth,  
Such greediness him assaileth,  
That when he most hath, most he faileth.  
Physicians and Advocates  
* Gone right by the same yates,  
They sell her science for winning,  
And haunt her craft for great getting:  
Her winning is of such sweetness,  
That if a man fall in sickness,  
They are full glad, for her increase:  
For by her will, without lease,  
Everich man should beseek,  
And though they die, they set not a Leek,  
After when they the gold have take,  
Full little care of him they make,  
They would that forty were sick at one's,  
Yea two hundred, in flesh and bones,  
And yet two Thousand, as I guess,  
For to increase her richesse.  
They wool not worchen in no wise,  
But for lucre and covetise,  
For Physic ginneth first by (Phi)  
The Physician also sooth,  
And sithence it goeth fro fie to fie,  
To trust on him it is folly,  
For they nill in no manner 'gree,  
Do right nought for charity,  
Eke in the same sect are set,  
All though that preachen for to get  
Worships, honour, and richesses.  
Her hearts be in great distress,  
That folk live not holily,  
But aboven all specially,  
Such as preachen vaine glory  
And toward God have no memory,  
But forth as hyocrites trace,  
And to her soul's death purchase  
And outward showing holiness,  
Though they be full of cursedness,  
Not lich to the Apostles twelve,  
They deceive other and hem self:  
* Beguilded is the guiler than,  
For preaching of a cursed man  
Though to other may profit  
Himself it availeth not a mite:  
* For oft good predicatioun  
Come of evil intention,  
To him not vaileth his preaching  
All help he other with his teaching  
For where they good example take,  
There is he with vain glory shake.  
But let us leaven these preachours,  
And speak of him which in her tours  
Heap up her gold, and fast shut,  
And sore thereon their heart set,  
They neither love God ne dread,  
They keep more than it is need,  
And in her bags sore it bind  
Out of the Sun, and of the wind,  
They put up more than need ware,  
When they seen poor folk forfare  
For hunger die, and for cold quake,  
God can well vengeance thereof take,  
The great mischief's hem assaileth,  
And thus in gadering ay travaileth,  
With much pain they win richesses,  
And dread him holdeth in distress,  
To keep that they gather fast,  
With sorrow they leave it at the last:  
* With sorrow they both die and live,  
That unto richesse her hearts yeve.  
And in default of Love it is  
As it showeth full well iwis:  
For if these greedy, the sooth to sane,  
Loveden, and were loved again,  
And good Love reigned over all,  
Such wickedness ne should fall,  
* But he should yeve, that most good had  
To him that weren in need bestead,  
And live without false vsure,  
For charity, full clean and pure,  
If they him yeve to goodness  
Defending him from idleness,  
In all this world then poor none  
We should find, I trow not one:  
But changed is this world unstable,  
For Love is over all vendable.  
* We see that no man loveth now  
But for winning and for prow,  
And love is thralled in servage  
When it is sold for advantage,  
Yet women wool her bodies sell,  
Such souls goeth to the Devil of hell.   

When Love had told him his intent,  
The baronage to counsel went,  
In many sentences they fill,  
And diversely they said her will:  
But after discord they accorded,  
And her accord to Love recorded:  
Sir saiden they, we been at one,  
By even accord of everichone,  
Out take richesses all only  
That sworn hath full hauteinly,  
That she the Castle nill not assail  
Ne smite a stroke in this battle,  
With dart, ne mace, spear, ne knife,  
For man that speaketh and beareth the life.  
And blameth your emprise iwis,  
And from our host departed is,  
At least way, as in this plight  
So hath she this man in despite:  
For she saith he ne loved her never,  
And therefore she wool hate him ever,  
For he wool gather no treasore,  
He hath her wrath for evermore,  
He agilte her never in other case,  
Lo here all holly his trespass.  
She sayeth well, that this other day  
He asked her leave to gone the way  
That is cleped Too much yeving,  
And spoke full fair in his praying:  
But when he prayed her, poor was he,  
Therefore she warned him the entre,  
Ne yet is he not thriven so  
Thar he hath gotten a penny or two,  
That quietly is his own in hold,  
Thus hath Richesse us all told:  
And when Richesses us this recorded,  
Withouten her we been accorded,   

And we find in our accordance,  
That false Semblaunt and Abstinaunce,  
With all the folk of her battle  
shul at the hinder gate assail,  
That Wicked tongue hath in keeping,  
With his Normans full of jangling,  
And with hem courtesy and Largesse,  
That shall show her hardiness,  
To the old wife that kept so hard  
Fair welcomming within her ward:  
Then shall Delight and well Heling,  
Fond, Shame adoune to bring,  
With all her host early and late,  
They shall assaylen that like gate,  
Against dread shall hardiness  
Assail, and also sickerness,  
With all the folk of her leading  
That never wist what was staying.   

FRaunchise shall fight and eke Pite,  
With Danger full of cruelty,  
Thus is your host ordained weal  
Down shall the Castle every d●●le,  
If everiche do his intent,  
So that Venus be present,  
Your mother full of vesselage  
That can enough of such usage,  
Withouten her may no wight speed  
This work, neither for word ne deed:  
Therefore is good ye for her send,  
For through her may this work amend.   

Lordings my mother the Gods,  
That is my Lady, and my Mistress,  
Nis not all at my willing,  
Ne doth all my desiring.  
Yet can she sometime done labour,  
When that her lust, in my succour.  
As my need is for to achieve:  
But now I think her not to grieve,  
My mother is she, and of childhede,  
I both worship her, and eke dread,  
* For who that dreadeth sire ne dame,  
Shall it abye in body or name.  
And nevertheless, yet can we  
Send after her if need be,  
And were she nigh, she come would,  
I trow that nothing might her hold.   

My mother is of great prowess,  
She hath ta'en many a fortress,  
That cost hath many a pound oer this,  
There ay nas not present iwis,  
And yet men said it was my deed,  
But I come never in that steed,  
Ne me ne liketh so moat I thee,  
That such towers been take with me,  
For why? Me thinketh that in no wise,  
It may be cleped but merchandise.   

GO by a courser black or white,  
And pay therefore, then art thou quite,  
The Merchant oweth thee right nought,  
Ne thou him when thou it bought.  
* ay wool not selling clepe yeving,  
For selling asketh no guerdoning,  
Here lithe no thank, ne no merit,  
That one goeth from that other all quite,  
But this selling is not semblable:  
For when his horse is in the stable  
He may it sell again pard,  
And winnen on it, such hap may be,  
All may the man not less iwis,  
For at the least the skin is his.  
Or else, if it so betid  
That he wool keep his horse to ride,  
Yet is he Lord aye of his horse:  
* But thilk chafare is well worse,  
There Venus entermeteth aught,  
For who so such chaffer hath bought,  
He shall not worchen so wisely,  
That he ne shall less utterly  
Both his money and his chaffer:  
But the seller of the ware,  
The prize and profit have shall,  
Certain the buyer shall less all,  
For he ne can so dear it buy  
To have lordship and full mastery,  
Ne have power to make letting,  
Neither for yeft ne for preaching,  
That of his chaffer maugre his,  
Another shall have as much iwis,  
If he wool yeve as much as he,  
Of what country so that he be,  
Or for right nought so hap may,  
If he can flatter her to her pay.  
Been then such merchants wise?  
No, but fools in every wise,  
When they buy such thing wilfully,  
There as they less her good follily.  
But nevertheless, this dare I say,  
My mother is not wont to pay,  
For she is neither so fool ne nice,  
To entremete her of such vice,  
But trust well, he shall pay all,  
That repent of his bargain shall,  
When poverte put him in distress,  
All were he schooller to richesse,  
That is for me in great yerning,  
When she assenteth to my willing.   

But my mother saint Venus,  
And by her father Saturnus,  
That her engendered by his life,  
But nat upon his wedded wife,  
Yet wool I more unto you swear,  
To make this thing the surere.  
Now by that faith, and that beauty  
That I owe to all my brethren free,  
Of which there nis wight under hevin,  
That can her father's names nevin,  
So divers and so many there be,  
That with my mother have be prive,  
Yet wool I swear for sickerness,  
The Pole of hell to my witness,  
Now drink I not this year clarre,  
If that I lie, or forsworn be,  
For of the Gods the usage is,  
That who so him forsweareth amiss,  
Shall that year drink no clarre.  
Now have I sworn enough pard,  
If I forswear me then am I lost,  
But I wool never be forsworn:  
Sith richesses hath me failed here,  
She shall abye that trespass full dear,  
At least way but her harm  
With sword, or sparth, or gisarme.  
For certes sith she loveth not me,  
From thilk time that she may see  
The Castle and the Tower to shake,  
In sorry time she shall awake,  
If I may gripe a rich man  
I shall so pull him, if I can,  
That he shall in a few stounds,  
Less all his marks, and his pounds.  
I shall him make his pence out sting,  
But they in his garner spring,  
Our maidens shall eke pluck him so,  
That him shall needen feathers more,  
And make him sell his land to spend,  
But he the bet can him defend.   

Poor men han made her Lord of me,  
Although they not so mighty be,  
That they may feed me in delight,  
I wool not have them in despite:  
No good man hateth him, as I guess,  
For chinch and feloun is Richesse,  
That so can chase him and despise,  
And him defoul in sundry wise,  
They loven full bette, so God me speed  
Than doth the rich chinchy greed,  
And been (in good faith) more stable  
And truer, and more serviable:  
And therefore it sufficeth me  
Her good heart, and her beauty,  
They han on me set all their thought,  
And therefore I foryete him nought.  
I wool him bring in great noblesse,  
If that I were God of Richesse,  
If that I were God of Love sooth,  
Such ruth upon her plaint have I:  
Therefore I must his succour be,  
That paineth him to serven me,  
For if he died for love of this,  
Then seemeth in me no love there is.   

Sir said they, sooth is every deal  
That ye rehearse, and we wot well  
Thilk oath to hold is reasonable,  
For it is good and covenable,  
That ye on rich men han sworn:  
For sir, this wot we well before  
If rich men done you homage,  
That is as fools done outrage,  
But ye shall not forsworn be,  
Ne let therefore to drink clarre,  
Or piment maked fresh and new,  
Ladies shall him such pepir brew,  
If that he fall into her laas,  
That they for woe mow sane alas,  
Ladies shullen ever so courteous be,  
That they shall quite your oath all free,  
Ne seeketh never other vicar,  
For they shall speak with him so fair  
That ye shall hold you paid full well,  
Though ye you meddle never a deal,  
Let Ladies worch with her things,  
They shall him tell so feel tidings,  
And move him eke so many requests  
By flattery, that not honest is,  
And thereto yeve him such thankinges,  
What with kissing, and with talkinges:  
That certes if they trowed be,  
Shall never leave him land ne fee  
That it nill as the moeble fare,  
Of which they first delivered are:  
Now may you tell us all your will,  
And we your hests shall fulfil.   

But false semblant dare not for dread  
Of you sir, meddle him of this deed,  
For he saith that ye been his foe,  
He not, if ye will worch him woe:  
Wherefore we pray you all beau sire,  
That ye foryeve him now your ire,  
And that he may dwell as your man  
With Abstinence his dear leman,  
This our accord and our will now.  
Parfey said Love, I grant it you,  
I wool well hold him for my man,  
Now let him come, and he forth ran.  
False Semblant (qd. Love) in this wise,  
I take thee here to my service,  
That thou our friends help alway,  
And hindereth him neither night ne day,  
But do thy might hem to relieve,  
And eke our enemies that thou grieve,  
Thine be this might, I grant it thee,  
My king of harlots shalt thou be:  
We wool that thou have such honour,  
Certain thou art a false traitor,  
And eke a thief, sith thou were borne,  
A thousand times thou art forsworn:  
But nevertheless in our hearing,  
To put our folk out of doubting,  
I bid thee teach him, wost thou how▪  
By some general sign now,  
In what place thou shalt founden be,  
If that men had mister of thee,  
And how men shall thee best espy,  
For thee to know is great mastery,  
Tell in what place is thine haunting.  
Sir I have full divers woning,  
That I keep not rehearsed be,  
So that ye would respiten me,  
For if that I tell you the sooth,  
I may have harm and shame both,  
If that my fellows wisten it,  
My tales shoulden me be quit,  
For certain they would hate me,  
If ever I knew her cruelty,  
For they would over all hold him still  
Of troth, that is again her will,  
Such tales keepen they not here,  
I might eftsoon buy it full deer,  
If I said of him any thing,  
That aught displeaseth to her hearing,  
For what word that hem pricketh or biteth,  
In that word none of hem delighteth,  
All were it Gospel the Euangile,  
That would reprove him of her guile,  
For they are cruel and hautain,  
And this thing wot I well certain,  
If I speak aught to pair or loose,  
Your court shall not so well be closes,  
That they ne shall wit it at last,  
Of good men am I nought aghast,  
For they wool taken on him nothing,  
When that they know all my meaning,  
But he that wool it on him take,  
He wool himself suspicious make,  
That he his life let covertly,  
In guile and in hypocrisy,  
That me engendered and gave fostering.  
They made a full good engendering  
(Qd. Love) for who so sooth tell,  
They engendered the devil of hell.   

But needily, howsoever it be  
(Qd. Love) I will and charge thee,  
To tell anon thy woning placis,  
Hearing each wight that in this place is:  
And what life thou livest also,  
Hide it no longer now, whereto?  
Thou must discover all thy worching,  
How thou servest, and of what thing,  
Though that thou shouldest for thy sothsaw,  
Ben all to beaten and to draw,  
And yet art thou not wont pard,  
But nevertheless, though thou beaten be,  
Thou shalt not be the first, that so  
Hath for soothsaw suffered wo.   

Sir, sith that it may liken you,  
Though that I should be slain right now,  
I shall done your commandment,  
For thereto have I great talon.   

Withouten words more, right than  
False semblant his sermon began,  
And said him thus in audience,  
Barons, take heed of my sentence,  
That wight that list to have knowing  
Of false Semblant full of flattering,  
He must in worldly folk him seek,  
And certes in the Cloisters eke,  
I won no where, but in him tway,  
But not like even, sooth to say,  
Shortly I wool herborow me,  
There I hope best to hulstred be,  
* And certainly, sikerest hiding,  
Is underneath humblest clothing.  
Religious folk been full covert,  
Secular folk been more apert:  
But nevertheless, I wool not blame  
Religious folk, ne hem diffame,  
In what habit that ever they go:  
Religion humble, and true also,  
wol I not blame, ne despise,  
But I nill love it in no wise,  
I mean of false religious,  
That doubt been, and malicious,  
That woollen in her habit go,  
And setten not her heart thereto.   

REligious folk been all piteous,  
Thou shalt not seen one despitous,  
They loven no pride, ne no strife,  
But humbly they wool lead her life,  
With which folk wool I never be,  
And if I dwell, I feign me  
I may well in her habit go,  
But me were lever my neck atwo,  
Than let a purpose that I take,  
What covenant that ever I make.  
I dwell with him that proud be,  
And full of wiles and subtelty,  
That worship of this world coveiten,  
And great need connen expleiten,  
And gone and gadrens great pitaunces,  
And purchase him the acquaintaunces  
Of men that mighty life may leden,  
And fain him poor, and himself feden  
With good morsels delicious,  
And drinken good wine precious,  
And preach us povert and distress,  
And fishen hemselfes great richesses,  
With wily nets that they cast,  
It wool come foul out at the last.  
They ben fro clean religion went,  
They make the world an argument,  
That hath a foul conclusion.  
I have a robe of religion,  
Then am I all religious,  
This argument is all roignous,  
It is not worth a crooked Brere,  
* Habit ne maketh neither Monk ne Frere,  
But clean life and devotion,  
Maketh men of good religion.  
Nevertheless, there can none answer,  
How high that ever his head he ●here,  
With razor whetted never so keen,  
That guile in branches cut thurtene,  
There can no wight distinct it so,  
That he dare say a word thereto.  
But what herborow that ever I take,  
Or what semblant that ever I make,  
I mean but guile, and follow that,  
For right no more than Gibbe our Cat,  
(That awaiteth Mice and Rats to killen)  
Ne intend I but to beguilen,  
Ne no wight may, by my clothing  
Weet with what folk is my dwelling,  
Ne by my words yet pard,  
So soft and so pleasant they be.  
Behold the deeds that I do,  
But thou be blind thou oughtest so,  
For vary her words from her deed,  
They think on guile withouten dread,  
What manner clothing that they were,  
Or what estate that ever they bear,  
Lered or lewd Lord or Lady,  
Knight, Squire, Burgeiss, or Bailie.   

Right thus while falls Semblant sermoneth,  
Eftsoones Love him aresoneth,  
And broke his tale in his speaking  
As though he had him told leasing,  
And said: what devil is that I hear?  
What folk hast thou us nempned here:  
May men find religioun  
In worldly habitatioun?  
* Yea sir, it followeth nat that they  
Should lead a wicked life parfey,  
Ne not therefore her souls less,  
That hem to worldly clothes cheese,  
For certes it were great pity,  
Men may in secular clothes see,  
Florishen holy religiouns  
Full many a saint in field and town,  
With many a virgin glorious,  
Devout, and full religious,  
Han died, that common cloth aye berens,  
Yet saints nevertheless they weren.  
I could reckon you may a ten.  
Yea well-nigh all these holy women  
That men in church's herry and seek,  
Both maidens, and these wives eke,  
That barren full many a fair child here,  
Weared always clothes seculere,  
And in the same diden they  
That saints weren, and been always.  
The ix. thousand maidens dear,  
That berens in heaven her cierges clear,  
Of which men read in church and sing,  
Were take in secular clothing,  
When they received martyrdom,  
And wonnen heaven unto her home.  
* Good heart maketh the good thought,  
The clothing giveth ne reueth nought:  
The good thought and the worching,  
That maketh the religion flowering,  
There lieth the good religioun,  
After the right intention.   

* Who so took a weather's skin,  
And wrapped a greedy wolf therein,  
For he should go with lambs white,  
Weenest thou not he would him bite?  
Yes: Nevertheless as he were wood  
He would him wirry, and drink the blood,  
And well the rather him deceive,  
For sith they could nat perceive  
His tregette, and his cruelty,  
They would him follow, although he fly.   

IF there be wolves of such hue,  
Amongst these Apostles new  
Thou holy church thou mayst be wailed,  
Sith that thy city is assailed  
Through knights of thine own table,  
God wot thy lordship is doutable,  
If they enforce it to win:  
That should defend it fro within:  
Who might defence against him make,  
Without stroke it moat be take,  
Of trepeget or mangonell,  
Without displaying of pencil,  
And if God nill done it succour,  
But let run in this colour,  
Thou must thy hests let be,  
Then is there nought, but yield thee,  
Or give him tribute doubtless,  
And hold it of hem to have pees,  
But greater harm betid thee,  
That they all master of it be,  
Well con they scorn thee withal,  
By day stuffen they the wall,  
And all the night they minen there,  
Nay, thou planten must else where  
Thine imps, if thou wolt fruit have,  
Abide not there thyself to save.   

But now peace, here I turn again,  
I wool no more of this thing fain,  
If I might maken you weary,  
But I wool heten you always;  
To help your friends what I may;  
So they woollen my company,  
For they been shent all utterly,  
But if so fall, that I be  
Oft with hem, and they with me,  
And eke my leman moat they serve,  
Or they shall not my love deserve,  
Forsooth I am a false traitor,  
God judged me for a thief trechour,  
Forsworn I am, but well nigh none  
Wot of my guile, till it be done.   

Through me hath many one death received,  
That my treget never aperceived,  
And yet receiveth, and shall receive,  
That my falseness shall never apperceive:  
But who so doth, if he wise be,  
Him is right good beware of me.  
But so sligh is the aperceiving  
That all to late cometh knowing,  
For Protheus that could him change,  
In every shape homely and strange,  
Could never such guile ne treasoun  
As I, for I come never in town  
There as I might known be,  
Though men me both might here and see.  
Full well I can my clothes change,  
Take one, and make another strange.  
Now am I Knight, now Chastelaine,  
Now Prelate, and now Chaplain,  
Now Priest, now Clerk, now Fostere,  
Now am I Master, now Schollere  
Now Monk, now Cannon, now Baily,  
What ever mister man am I.  
Now am I Prince, now am I Page,  
And can by heart every language,  
Sometime am I hoore and old,  
Now am I young, stout, and bold,  
Now am I Robert, now Robin,  
Now Frere Minor, now jacobin,  
And with me followeth my loteby,  
To done me solace and company,  
That height dame Abstinence, and reigned  
In many a quaint array feigned,  
Right as it cometh to her liking,  
I fulfil all her desiring.  
Sometime a woman's cloth take I,  
Now am I a Maid, now Lady.  
Sometime I am religious,  
Now like an Anchor in an house.  
Sometime am I Prioress,  
And now a Nun, and now Abbess,  
And go through all regiouns,  
Seeking all religiouns.  
But to what order that I am sworn,  
I take the straw and beat the corn,  
To jolly folk I inhabit,  
I ask no more but her habit.  
What wool ye more in every wise,  
Right as me list I me disguise?  
Well can I bear me under weed,  
Unlike is my word to my deed,  
Thus make I into my traps fall  
The people, through my privileges all,  
That been in Christendom alive.  
I may assoil, and I may shrive,  
That no Prelate may let me  
All folk, where ever they found be,  
I not no Prelate may done so,  
But it the Pope be, and no more,  
That made thilk establishing,  
Now is not this a proper thing?  
But were my sleights apperceived  
As I was wont, and wool thou why?  
For I did him a tregetry,  
But there of give I a little tale,  
I have the silver and the male,  
So have I preached and eke shriven,  
So have I take, so have I given,  
Through her folly, husband and wife,  
That I lead right a jolly life,  
Through simplesse of the Prelacy,  
They know not all my tregettrie.   

But for as much as man and wife  
Should show her parish Priest her life  
Ones a year, as saith the Book,  
Ere any wight his housel took:  
Then have I privileges large,  
That may of much thing discharge,  
For he may say right thus perdie:  
Sir Priest, in shrift I tell it thee,  
That he to whom that I am shriven,  
Hath me assoiled, and me yeven  
Penance sooth for my sin,  
Which that I found me guilty in,  
Ne I ne have never entencion  
To make double confession,  
Ne rehearse eft my shrift to thee,  
O shrift is right enough to me,  
This ought thee suffice well,  
Ne be not rebel never adele,  
For certes, though thou hadst it sworn,  
I wot no Priest ne Prelate borne,  
That may to shrift eft me constrain,  
And if they done I wool me plain,  
For I wot where to plain well,  
Thou shalt not strain me adele,  
Ne enforce me ne not me trouble,  
To make my confession double,  
Ne I have none affection  
To have double absolution:  
The first is right enough to me,  
This latter assoiling quite I thee,  
I am unbound, what mayst thou find  
More of my sins me to unbind?  
For he that might hath in his hon,  
Of all my sins me unbond,  
And if thou wolt me thus constrain  
That me mote needs on thee plain,  
There shall no judge imperial,  
Ne bishop, ne official,  
Done judgement on me, for I  
Shall gone and plain me openly  
Unto my shriftfather new,  
That height Frere Wolf untrew,  
And he shall choose him for me,  
For I trow he can hamper thee,  
But lord he would be wroth withal,  
If men would him Frere Wolf call,  
For he would have no patience,  
But done all cruel vengience,  
He would his might done at the leest,  
Nothing spare for God's heest,  
And God so wise be my succour,  
But thou yeve me my saviour  
At Easter, when it liketh me,  
Without pressing more on thee,  
I wool forth, and to him gone,  
And he shall housel me anon,  
For I am out of thy grutching,  
I keep not deal with thee nothing.  
Thus may he shrive him, that forsaketh  
His parish priest, and to me taketh,  
And if the priest wool him refuse,  
I am full ready him to accuse,  
And him punish and hamper so,  
That he his church shall forgo.   

But who so hath in his feeling  
The consequence of such shriving,  
Shall seen, that priest may never have might  
To know the conscience aright  
Of him that is under his cure:  
And this is against holy scripture,  
That biddeth every herd honest,  
Have very knowing of his be'st.  
But poor folk that gone by street,  
That have no gold, ne sums great,  
Him would I let to her Prelates,  
Or let her Priests know her states,  
For to me right nought yeve they,  
And why it is, for they ne may.  
They ben so bare, I take no keep,  
But I wool have the fat sheep,  
Let parish Priests have the lean,  
I yeve not of her harm a been,  
And if that Prelates grudge it,  
That oughten wrath be in her wit,  
To less her fat beasts so,  
I shall yeve him a stroke or two,  
That they shall lesen with force,  
Yea, both her Mitre and her Croce.  
Thus yape I him, and have do long,  
My privileges been so strong.  
False Semblant would have s●inted here,  
But Love ne made him no such cheer,  
That he was weary of his saw,  
But for to make him glad and faugh,  
He said, tell on more specially,  
How that thou servest untruly.  
Tell forth, and shame thee never adele,  
For as thine habit showeth well,  
Thou servest an holy Hermit.  
Sooth is, but I am but an hypocrite,  
Thou goest and preachest poverte?  
Yea sir, but richesse hath post,  
Thou preachest abstinence also?  
Sir, I wool fillen so moat I go  
My paunch, of good meat and wine,  
As should a master of divine,  
For how that I me poor fain,  
Yet all poor folk I disdain.   

I Love better the acquaintance  
Ten times of the king of France,  
Than of a poor man of mild mood,  
Though that his soul be also good.  
For when I see beggars quaking,  
Naked on mixins all stinking,  
For hunger cry, and eke for care,  
I entremet not of her fare,  
They ben so poor, and full of pine,  
They might not ones yeve me a dine,  
For they have nothing but her life,  
* What should he yeve that licketh his knife?  
It is but folly to entremete  
Te seek in hounds nest fat meet:  
Let bear him to the spittle anon,  
But for me, comfort get they none,  
But a rich sick usurere  
Would I visit and draw ne'er,  
Him would I comfort and rehete,  
For I hope of his gold to get,  
And if that wicked death him have,  
I wool go with him in his grave,  
And there any reprove me,  
Why that I let the poor be,  
Wost thou how I not escape,  
I say and swear him full rape,  
That rich men han more tetches  
Of sin, than han poor wretches,  
And han of counsel more mistere,  
And therefore I would draw him ne'er,  
But as great hurt, it may so be,  
Hath a soul in right great poverte,  
As soul in great richesses forsooth,  
Albeit that they hurten both,  
* For richesses and mendicities  
Ben cleped two extremities,  
The mean is cleped Suffisance,  
There lieth of virtue the abundance.  
For Solomon full well I wot,  
In his Parables us wrote,  
As it is known of many a wight,  
In his thirteen chapter right,  
God thou me keep for thy post,  
* Fro richesses and mendicite,  
For if a rich man him dress,  
To think too much on richesse,  
His heart on that so far is set,  
That he his creator doth foryette,  
And him that beggeth, wool aye greve,  
How should I by his word him leve,  
uneath that he nis a micher,  
Forsworn, or else God's liar,  
Thus saith Solomon saws.  
Ne we find written in no laws,  
And namely in our Christian lay,  
(Who saith ye, I dare say nay)  
That Christ, ne his Apostles dear,  
While that they walked in earth here,  
Were never seen herbred begging,  
For they nolden beggen for nothing.  
And right thus were men wont to teach,  
And in this wise would it preach,  
The masters of divinity  
Sometime in Paris the city.   

ANd if men would there gain appose  
The naked text, and let the gloze,  
It might soon assoiled be,  
For men may well the sooth see,  
That pard they might ask a thing  
Plainly forth without begging,  
For they weren God's heerdes dear,  
And cure of souls hadden here,  
They nolde nothing beg her food,  
For after Christ was done on rood,  
With their proper honds they wrought,  
And with travail, and else nought,  
They wonnen all her sustenance,  
And liveden forth in her penance,  
And the remnant gave away  
To other poor folks always.  
They neither builden tower ne halle,  
But they in houses small with alle.  
A mighty man that can and may,  
Should with his hon and body always,  
Win him his food in labouring,  
If he ne have rend or such a thing,  
Although he be religious,  
And God to serven curious,  
Thus moat he done, or do trespaas,  
But if it be in certain case,  
That I can rehearse, if mister be,  
Right well, when the time I see.   

Seek the book of saint Augustine,  
Be it in paper or perchemene,  
There as he writ of these worching,  
Thou shalt seen that none excusings  
A perfect man ne should seek  
By words, ne by deeds eke,  
Although he be religious,  
And God to serven curious,  
That he ne shall, so moat I go,  
With proper honds and body also  
Get his food in labouring,  
If he ne have property of thing,  
Yet should he sell all his substance,  
And with his swink have sustenance,  
If he be perfect in bounty,  
Thus han the books told me:  
* For he that wool gone idly,  
And useth it aye busily  
To haunt other men's table,  
He is a trechour full of fable,  
Ne he ne may by good reason  
Excuse him by his orison,  
For men behoveth in some gise,  
Ben sometime in God's service,  
To gone and purchasen her need.  
Men mote eaten, that is no dread,  
And sleep, and eke do other thing,  
So long may they leave praying.  
So may they eke her prayer blinne,  
While that they work her meat to win,  
Saint Austin wool thereto accord,  
In thilk book that I record.  
justinian eke, that made laws,  
Hath thus forboden by old saws:  
No man, up pain to be dead,  
Mighty of body, to beg his bread,  
If he may swink it for to get,  
Men should him rather main or beat,  
Or done of him aperte justice,  
Than suffrens him in such malice.  
They done not well so moat I go,  
That taken such alms so,  
But if they have some privilege,  
That of the pain hem wool allege.  
But how that is, can I not see,  
But if the prince deceived be,  
Ne I ne ween not sikerly,  
That they may have it rightfully.  
But I wool not determine  
Of prince's power, ne define,  
Ne by my word comprehend iwis,  
If it so far may stretch in this,  
I wool not entremete a deal,  
But I trow that the book saith well,  
Who that taketh almesses, that be  
Dew to folk that men may see  
Lame, feeble, weary, and bare,  
Poor, or in such manner care,  
That con win him nevermo,  
For they have no power thereto:  
He eateth his own dampning,  
But if he lie that made all thing.  
And if ye such a truant find,  
Chastise him well, if ye be kind,  
But they would hate you parcaas,  
If ye fillen in her laas.  
They would eftsoons do you scathe,  
If that they might, late or rather,  
For they be not full patient,  
That han the world thus foul blended,  
* And weteth well, that God bade  
The good man sell all that he had,  
And follow him, and to poor it yeve,  
He would not therefore that he live,  
To serven him in mendience,  
For it was never his sentence,  
But he bade werken when that need is,  
And follow him in good deedis.  
* Saint paul that loved all holy church,  
He bade the Apostles for to wurch,  
And winnen her live load in that wise,  
And him defended truandise,  
And said, worketh with your honden,  
Thus should the thing be understonden.  
He nolde iwis have bid him begging,  
Ne sellen Gospel, ne preaching,  
Lest they bereft, with her ask,  
Folk of her cattle or of her thing.  
For in this world is many a man  
That yeveth his good, for he ne can  
Werne it for shame, or else he  
Would of the asker delivered be,  
And for he him encombreth so,  
He yeveth him good to let him go:  
But it can him nothing profit,  
They less the yeast and the merit.  
The good folk that Poule to preached,  
proffered him oft, when he hem teached,  
Some of her good in charity,  
But thereof right nothing took he,  
But of his hon would he get  
Clothes to wrine him, and his meet.   

TEll me then how a man may liven,  
That all his good to poor hath yeven,  
And wool but only bid his bedes,  
And never with honds labour his needs.  
May he do so? Yea sir: And how?  
Sir I wool gladly tell you:  
Saint Austen faith, a man may be  
In houses that han property,  
As tempars and hospitelers',  
And as these Canons' regulers,  
Or white Monks, or these black,  
I wool no more ensamples make,  
And take thereof his sustaining,  
For therein lithe no begging,  
But otherways not iwis,  
Yet Austen gabbeth not of this,  
And yet full many a Monk laboureth,  
That God in holy Church honoureth:  
For when her swinking is agone,  
They read and sing in Church anon.   

And for there hath been great discord,  
As many a wight may bear record,  
Upon the estate of mendicience,  
I wool shortly in your presence,  
Tell how a man may beg at need,  
That hath not wherewith him to feed,  
Maugre his fellow's janglings,  
For soothfastness wool none hidings,  
And yet percase I may abbey,  
That I to you sooth thus say.   

LO here the case especial,  
If a man be so bestial,  
That he of no craft hath science,  
And nought desireth ignorence,  
Then may he go a begging yearn,  
Till he some other craft can learn,  
Through which without truanding,  
He may in troth have his living.  
Or if he may done no labour,  
For eld, or sickness, or langour,  
Or for his tender age also,  
Then may he yet a begging go.  
Or if he have peradventure,  
Through usage of his nurture,  
Lived over deliciously,  
Then ought good folk commonly,  
Han of his mischief some pite,  
And suffrens him also, that he  
May gone about and beg his bread,  
That he be not for hunger dead,  
Or if he have of craft cunning,  
And strength also, and desiring  
To worchen, as he had what,  
But he find neither this ne that,  
Then may he beg till that he  
Have gotten his necessity.  
Or if his winning be so light,  
That his labour wool not acquit  
Sufficiauntly all his living,  
Yet may he go his breed begging  
From door to door, he may go trace,  
Till he the remnant may purchase.  
Or if a man would undertake  
Any emprise for to make,  
In the rescous of our lay,  
And it defenden as he may,  
Be it with arms or lettrure,  
Or other convenable cure,  
If it be so he poor be,  
Then may he beg, till that he  
May find in troth for to swink,  
And get him cloth, meat, and drink,  
Swinke he with his honds corporell,  
And not with hands espirituell.   

IN all this case, and in semblables,  
If that there ben more reasonables,  
He may beg, as I tell you here,  
And else not in no manner,  
As William saint Amour would preach,  
And oft would dispute and teach  
Of this matter all openly  
At Paris full solemnly,  
And also God my soul bless,  
As he had in this steadfastness,  
The accord of the universite  
And of the people, as seemeth me.   

No good man ought it to refuse,  
Ne ought him thereof to excuse,  
Be wroth or blithe, who so be,  
For I wool speak, and tell it thee,  
All should I die, and be put down,  
As was saint Poule in dark prisoun,  
Or be exiled in this case  
With wrong, as master William was,  
That my mother Hypocrisy  
Banished for her great envy.  
My mother flemed him saint Amour,  
This noble did such labour  
To sustain ever the loyalty,  
That he too much agilte me,  
He made a book, and let it write,  
Wherein his life he did all write,  
And would eche remed begging,  
And live by my travelling,  
If I ne had rend ne other good,  
What weeneth he that I were wood?  
For labour might me never please,  
I have more will to been at ease,  
And have well lever, sooth to say,  
Before the people patter and pray,  
And wry me in my foxerie  
Under a cope of papelardie.  
(Qd. Love) what devil is this that I here,  
What words tellest thou me here,  
What sir Falseness that apert is,  
Then dreadest thou not God? No certes:  
For seld in great thing shall he speed  
In this world, that God wool dread,  
For folk that hem to virtue yeven,  
And truly on her own liven,  
And hem in goodness aye content,  
On hem is little thrift isent,  
Such folk drinken great misease,  
That life may me never please.  
But see what gold han usurers,  
And silver eke in garners,  
Tailagiers, and these moniours,  
Bailiffs, Beadles, Provost, Countours,  
These liven well nigh by ravine,  
The small people hem moat incline,  
And they as wolves wool him eaten:  
Upon the poor folk they get  
Full much of that they spend or keep,  
Nis none of him that he nill strepe,  
And wrine him self well at full  
Without scalding they him pull.  
* The strong the feeble overgothe,  
But I that wear my simple cloth,  
Rob both robbed, and robbers,  
And guile guiling, and guilours:  
By my treget, I gather and threste  
The great treasure into my chest,  
That lieth with me so fast bound,  
Mine high paleis do I found,  
And my delights I fulfil,  
With wine at feasts at my will,  
And tables full of entremees,  
I wool no life, but ease and pees,  
And win gold to spend also,  
For when the great bag is go,  
It cometh right with my yapes,  
Make I not well tumble mine apes,  
To winnen is always mine intent,  
My purchase is better than my rent,  
For though I should beaten be,  
Over all I entremete me,  
Without me may no wight dure,  
I walk souls for to cure,  
Of all the world cure have I  
In breed and length boldly,  
I wool both preach and eke counsailen,  
With honds wool I not travailen,  
For of the Pope I have the bull,  
I ne hold not my wits dull,  
I wool not stinten in my live  
These Emperors for to shrive,  
Of Kings, Dukes, and Lords great:  
But poor folk all quite I lete,  
I love no such shriving pard,  
But it for other cause be:  
I reck not of poor men,  
Her estate is not worth an ben.  
Where findest thou a swinker of labour  
Have me to his confessor?  
But Empresses, and Duchess',  
These Queens, and eke Countesses,  
These Abbesses, and eke Bigins,  
These great Ladies palasins,  
These jolly Knights, and Bailives,  
These Nonnes, and these Burgeiss wives  
That rich been, and eke pleasing,  
And these Maidens welfaring,  
Where so they clad or naked be,  
Vncounsailed goeth there none from me,  
And for her souls safete,  
At Lord and Lady, and her mien,  
I ask, when they him to me shrive  
The property of all her live,  
And make him trow both most and least  
Her parish Priest is but a beast  
Against me and my company,  
That shrews been as great (as I)  
For which I wool not hide in hold,  
No privete that me is told,  
That I by word or sign iwis,  
Ne wool make him know what it is,  
And they woollen also tell me,  
They heel from me no privite.  
And for to make you him perceiven,  
That usen folk thus to deceiven,  
I wool you sane withouten dread,  
What men may in the Gospel's read,  
Of saint Matthew the Gospellere,  
That sayeth, as I shall you say here.   

Upon the chair of Moses  
Thus it is glossed doubtless,  
(That is the old Testament,  
For thereby is the chair ment)  
Sit Scribes and Pharisen,  
That is to sane, the cursed men,  
Which that we, hyocrites call:  
Doth that they preach I read you all,  
But doth not as they done adele,  
That been not weary to say well,  
But to do well, no will have they,  
And they would bind on folk always,  
(That been to be beguiled able)  
Burdons that been importable,  
On folk's shoulders things they couchen,  
That they nill with their finger's touchen.  
And why wool they not touch it, why?  
For him ne list nat sickerly,  
For sad burdons that men taken,  
Make folk's shoulders aken.  
And if they do aught that good be,  
That is for folk it should see,  
Her burdons larger maken they,  
And maken her hems wide always,  
And loven seats at the table  
The first and most honourable,  
And for to han the first chairis,  
In Synagogues, to him full dear is,  
And willen that folk hem lout and great,  
When that they passen through the street,  
And woollen be cleped master also:  
But they ne should not willen so,  
The Gospel is there against I guess,  
That showeth well her wickedness.   

ANother custom use we  
Of him that wool against us be,  
We hate him deadly everychone,  
And we wool werrey him, as one,  
Him that one hateth, hate we all,  
And conject, how to done him fall:  
And if we seen him win honour,  
Richesses or preise, through his valour,  
Provende, rent, or dignity,  
Full fast iwis compassen we,  
By what ladder he is clomben so,  
And for to maken him down to go,  
With treason we wool him defame,  
And done him less his good name.  
Thus from his ladder we him take,  
And thus his friends foes we make,  
But word ne wete shall he none,  
Till all his friends been his fone,  
For if we did it openly,  
We might have blame readily,  
For had he wist of our malice,  
He had him kept, but he were nice.   

Another is this, that if so fall,  
That there be one among us all,  
That doth a good turn, out of dread,  
We sane it is our alder deed,  
Yea sickerly, though he it feigned,  
Or that him list, or that him dained  
A man through him avaunced be,  
Thereof all partners be we,  
And tell folk where so we go,  
That man through us is sprongen so.  
And for to have of men praising,  
We purchase through our flattering  
Of rich men of great post  
Letters, to witness our bounty,  
So that man weeneth that may us see,  
That all virtue in us be.  
And always poor we us fain,  
But how so that we beg or plain,  
We been the folk without leasing,  
That all thing have without having.  
Thus be dread of the people iwis,  
And gladly my purpose is this.  
I deal with no wight, but he  
Have gold and treasure great plenty,  
Her acquaintance well love I,  
This much my desire shortly,  
I entremete me of brocages,  
I make peace and marriages,  
I am gladly executor,  
And many times a procurator,  
I am sometime messangere,  
That falleth not to my mistere.  
And many times I make inquest,  
For me that office is nat honest,  
To deal with other men's thing,  
That is to me a great liking:  
And if that ye have aught to do  
In place that I repair to,  
I shall it speden through my wit,  
As soon as ye have told me it,  
So that ye serve me to pay,  
My service shall be yours always.  
But who so wool chastise me,  
Anon my love lost hath he,  
For I love no man in no gise,  
That wool me reprove or chastise,  
But I wool all folk undertake,  
And of no wight no teaching take,  
For I that other folk chastie,  
Wool not be taught from my folly.   

I Love none Hermitage more,  
All deserts and holtes hoore,  
And great woods everychon,  
I let him to the Baptist john,  
I queth him quite, and him release  
Of Egypt all the wilderness,  
Too far were all my mansiouns  
From all cities and good touns.  
My paleis and mine house make I  
There men may run in openly,  
And say that I the world forsake,  
But all amid I build and make  
My house, and swim and play therein  
Bet than a fish doth with his sin.   

OF Antichristes men am I,  
Of which that Christ sayeth openly,  
They have habit of holiness,  
And liven in such wickedness:  
To the copy, if him talon took  
Of the Evangelistes book,  
There might he see by great traisoun  
Full many a false comparisoun.  
As much as through his great might,  
Be it of heat or of light,  
The Sun surmounteth the Moon,  
That troubler is, and changeth soon,   

And the nut kernel the shell,  
I scorn nat that I you tell.  
Right so withouten any guile  
Surmounteth this noble Evangile,  
The word of any Evangelist,  
And to her title they tooken Christ,  
And many such comparisoun,  
Of which I make no mention,  
Might men in that book find,  
Who so could of him have mind.   

The university that though was asleep,  
'Gan for to brayed, and taken keep,  
And at the noise, the head up cast,  
Ne never sithence slept it fast,  
But up it start, and arms took  
Against this false horrible book,  
All ready battle for to make,  
And to the judge the book they take.  
But they that broughten the book there,  
Hent it anon away for fear,  
They nolde show it no more adele,  
But than it kept, and keepen well,  
Till such a time that they may see,  
That they so strong waxed be,  
That no wight may him well withstand,  
For by that book they durst not stoned,  
Away they gone it for to here,  
For they ne durst not answer  
By exposition no gloze  
To that that clerks wool appose,  
Against the cursedness iwis  
That in that book written is.  
Now wot I nat, ne I can nat see  
What manner end that there shall be  
Of all this that they hide,  
But yet algate they shall abide,  
Till that they may it bette defend,  
This trow I best wool be her end.   

Thus Antechrist abiden we,  
For we been all of his mien,  
And what man that wool not be so,  
Right soon he shall his life forgo.  
Outward Lamben seemen we,  
Full of goodness and of pite,  
And inward we withouten fable  
Been greedy Wolves ravisable.  
We enviroun both land and see,  
With all the world werrien we,  
We wool ordain of all thing  
Of folks good, and her living.   

If there be castle or cite  
Within that any bougerons be,  
Although that they of Milan were,  
For thereof been they blamed there.  
Or of a wight out of measure,  
Would lean her gold, and take vsure,  
For that he is so covetous,  
Or if he be too lecherous,  
Or these that haunt Simony,  
Or Provost full of treachery,  
Or Prelate living jollily,  
Or Priest that halt his quein him by,  
Or old hoores hostillers,  
Or other bawds or bordellers,  
Or else blamed of any vice,  
Of which men shoulden done justice.  
By all the saints that we prey,  
But they defend them with lamprey,  
With luce, with elis, with samons,  
With tender geese, and with capons,  
With tarts, or with cheffes fat,  
With dainty flaunes, broad and flat,  
With caleweis, or with pullaile,  
With coninges, or with fine victual,  
That we under our clothes wide,  
Maken through our gullet glide,  
Or but he wool do come in haste,  
Rae venison bake in past,  
Whether to that louvre or groin,  
He shall have of a cord a loigne,  
With which men shall him bind and lead,  
To burn him for his sinful deed,  
That men shall hear him cry and roar  
A mile way about and more,  
Or else he shall in prison die,  
But if he wool his friendship buy,  
Or smerten that, that he hath do,  
More than his guilt amounteth to.  
But and he couth through his sleight  
Do maken up a tower of height,  
Nought wrought I whether of stone or tree,  
Or yearth, or turfs though it be,  
Though it were of no vounde stone,  
Wrought with squire and scantilone,  
So that the tower were stuffed well  
With all riches temporal.  
And then that he would up dress  
Engines, both more and less,  
To cast at us by every side,  
To bear his good name wide.  
Such sleights I shall you yeven  
Barrels of wine, by six or seven,  
Or gold in sacks great plenty,  
He should soon delivered be,  
And if he have no such pitences,  
Let him study in equipolences,  
And let lies and fallaces,  
If that he would deserve our graces,  
Or we shall bear him such witness  
Of sin, and of his wretchedness,  
And done his lose so wide run,  
That all quick we should him burn,  
Or else yeve him soch penance,  
That is well worse than the pitaunce.   

* For thou shalt never for nothing  
Con known aright by her clothing,  
The traitors full of treachery,  
But thou her works can espy.  
And ne had the good keeping be  
Whilom of the universite,  
That keepeth the key of Christendom,  
We had been tourmented all and some.  
Such been the stinking Prophetis,  
Nis none of him, that good Prophet is,  
For they through wicked intention,  
The year of the incarnation  
A thousand and two hundred year,  
Five and fifty ferther ne ne'er,  
Broughten a book with sorry grace,  
To yeven ensample in common place,  
That said thus, though it were fable,  
This is the Gospel perdurable,  
That fro the holy ghost is sent.  
Well were it worth to be brent.  
Entitled was in such manere  
This book, of which I tell here,  
There nas no wight in all Paris,  
Before our Lady at parvis,  
That they ne might the book by,  
The sentence pleased him well truly.  
But I wool stint of this matter,  
For it is wonder long to here,  
But had that ilke book endured,  
Of better estate I were insured,  
And friends have I yet perdie,  
That han me set in great degree.   

OF all this world is Emperor,  
Guile my father, the trechour,  
And Empress my mother is,  
Maugre the holy ghost iwis,  
Our mighty lineage and our rout  
Reigneth in every reign about,  
And well is worthy we ministers be,  
For all this world govern we,  
And can the folk so well deceive,  
That none our guile can perceive,  
And though they done, they dare not say,  
The sooth dare no wight bewray.  
But he in Christ's wrath him leadeth,  
That more than Christ my brethren dreadeth,  
He nis no full good champion,  
That dreadeth such similation,  
Nor that for pain wool refusen,  
Us to correct and accusen.  
He wool not entremete by right,  
Ne have God in his eyesight,  
And therefore God shall him punice,  
But me ne recketh of no vice,  
Sithen men us loven communably,  
And holden us for so worthy,  
That we may folk reprove eachone,  
And we nill have reproof of none,  
Whom shoulden folk worshippen so,  
But us that stinten never more  
To patrens while that folk may us see,  
Though it not so behind him be.   

ANd where is more wood folly,  
Than to enhance chivalry,  
And love noble men and gay,  
That jolly clothes wearen always,  
If they be such folk as they seemen,  
So clean, as men her clothes demen,  
And that her words follow her deed,  
It is great pity out of dread,  
For they wool be none Hypocritis,  
Of hem me thinketh great spite is,  
I cannot love him on no side.  
But beggars with these hoods wide,  
With sleigh and pale faces lean,  
And grey clothes nat full clean,  
But fretted full of tatarwagges,  
And high shoes knopped with dags,  
That frouncen like a quale pipe,  
Or boots riveling as a gipe.  
To such folk as I you devise,  
Should princes and these lords wise,  
Take all her lands and her things,  
Both war and peace in governing,  
To such folk should a prince him yeve,  
That would his life in honour live.   

And if they be nat as they seem,  
They serven thus the world to queme,  
There would I dwell to deceive  
The folk, for they shall nat perceive.  
But I ne speak in no such wise,  
That men should humble habit despise,  
So that no pride there under be,  
No man should hate, as thinketh me,  
The poor man in such clothing,  
But God ne preiseth him nothing,  
That sayeth he hath the world forsake,  
And hath to worldly glory him take,  
And wool of such delices use,  
Who may that beggar well excuse?  
That papelarde, that him yieldeth so,  
And wool to worldly ease go,  
And sayeth that he the world hath left,  
And greedily it gripeth eft,  
He is the hound, shame is to sane,  
That to his casting goeth again.   

But unto you dare I not lie,  
But might I feelen or espy,  
That ye perceived it nothing,  
Ye should have a stark leasing,  
Right in your hon thus to begin,  
I nolde it let for no sin.  
The God lough at the wonder though,  
And every wight 'gan lough also,  
And said: lo here a man right,  
For to be trusty to every wight.   

FAlse Semblant (qd. Love) say to me,  
Sith I thus have advanced thee,  
That in my court is thy dwelling,  
And of ribaudes shalt be my king,  
Wolt thou well holden my forwardly?  
Yea sir, from hence forwardly,  
We wool a people upon him areise,  
And through our guile done him seize,  
And him on sharp spears rive,  
Or other ways bring him fro live,  
But if that he wool follow iwis,  
That in our book written is.   

THus much wool our book signify,  
That while Peter had mastery  
May never john show well his might.  
Now have I you declared right,  
The meaning of the bark and rind,  
That maketh the intentions blind,  
But now at erst I wool begin,  
To expone you the pith within,  
And the seculers comprehend,  
That Christ's law wool defend,  
And should it keep and maintainen  
Against him that all sustenen,  
And falsely to the people teachen,  
That john betokeneth him to preachen,  
That there nis law covenable,  
But thilk Gospel perdurable,  
That fro the holy ghost was sent.  
To turn folk that been miswent.   

The strength of john they understand,  
The grace in which they say they stoned,  
That doth the sinful folk convert,  
And hem to jesus Christ revert,  
Full many another horriblee,  
May men in that book see,  
That been commanded doubtless  
Against the law of Rome express,  
And all with Antichrist they holden,  
As men may in the book beholden.  
And then commaunden they to sleen,  
All though that with Peter been,  
But they shall never have that might,  
And God toforne, for strife to fight,  
That they ne shall enough find,  
That Peter's law shall have in mind,  
And ever hold, and so mainteen,  
That at the last it shall be seen,  
That they shall all come thereto,  
For aught that they can speak or do.  
And thilk law shall not stoned,  
That they by john have understand,  
But maugre him, it shall adoun,  
And been brought to confusion,  
Had never your father here before,  
Servant so true, sith he was borne,  
That is against all nature.  
Sir, put you in that adventure,  
For though ye borowes take of me,  
The sikerer shall ye never be  
For hostages, ne sickerness,  
Or charters, for to bear witness,  
I take yourself to record here,  
That men ne may in no manner  
Tearen the Wolf out of his hide,  
Till he be slain back and side,  
Though men him beat and all defile,  
What ween ye that I wool beguile?  
For I am clothed meekly,  
There under is all my treachery,  
Mine heart changeth never the more  
For none habit, in which I go,  
Though I have cheer of simpleness,  
I am not weary of shrewdness  
My leman, strained Abstenaunce,  
Hath mister of my purveyance,  
She had full long ago be ded,  
Near my counsel and my red,  
Let her alone, and you and me.  
And Love answered, I trust thee  
Without borrow, for I wool none.  
And false Semblant the thief anon,  
Right in that ilke same place,  
That had of treason all his face,  
Right black within, and white without,  
Thanking him, 'gan on his knees lout.   

Then was there nought, but every man  
Now to assault, that sailen can  
(Qd. Love) and that full hardly:  
Then armed they him commonly  
Of such armour as to him fell.  
When they were armed fires and fell,  
They went him forth all in a rout,  
And set the castle all about,  
They will not away for no dread,  
Till it so be that they ben dead,  
Or till they have the castle take,  
And four battles they 'gan make,  
And patted him in four anon,  
And took her way, and forth they gone,  
The four gates for to assail,  
Of which the keepers wool not fail,  
For they been neither sick ne deed,  
But hardy folk, and strong in deed.   

Now wool I sane the countenance  
Of false Semblant, and Abstinaunce,  
That been to Wicked tongue went,  
But first they held her parliament,  
Whether it to done were,  
To maken him be known there,  
Or else walken forth disguised:  
But at the last they devised,  
That they would gone in tapinage,  
As it were in a pilgrimage,  
Like good and holy folk unfeigned:  
And dame Abstinence strained  
Taken on a robe of Cameline,  
And 'gan her gratche as a bigine.  
A large coverchief of thread,  
She wrapped all about her head,  
But she forgot not her Psaltere.  
A pair of beads eke she bear  
Upon a lace, all of white thread,  
On which that she her beads bede,  
But she ne bought him never adele,  
For they were given her, I wot well  
God wot of a full holy Frere,  
That said he was her father dear,  
To whom she had after went,  
Than any Frere of his covent.  
And he visited her also,  
And many a sermon said her to,  
He nolde let for men on live,  
That he ne would her oft shrive,  
And with so great devotion  
They made her confession,  
* That they had oft for the nonce  
Two heads in one hood at ones.  
Of fair shape I devised her thee,  
But pale of face sometime was she,  
That false tratouresse untrue,  
Was like that sallow horse of hue,  
That in the Apocalypse is showed,  
That signifieth tho folk beshrewed,  
That been all full of treachery,  
And pale, through hypocrisy,  
For on that horse no colour is,  
But only dead and pale iwis,  
Of such a colour enlangoured,  
Was Abstinence iwis coloured,  
Of her estate she her repent,  
As her visage represented.  
She had a burdoune all of theft,  
That Guile had give her of his yeft,  
And a scrip of faint distress,  
That full was of elengenesse,  
And forth she walked soberly,  
And false Semblant saint, ievous die,  
And as it were for such mistere,  
done on the cope of a Frere,  
With cheer simple, and full piteous,  
His looking was not disdeinous,  
Ne proud, but meek and full peaceable.  
About his neck he bore a Bible,  
And Squierly for 'gan he gone,  
And for to rest his limbs upon,  
He had of treason a potent,  
As he were feeble, his way he went.  
But in his sleeve he 'gan to thring  
A razor sharp, and well biting,  
That was forged in a forge,  
Which that men clepe Coupe gorge.  
So long forth her way they nomen,  
Till they to Wicked Tongue comen,  
That at his gate was sitting,  
And saw folk in the way passing.  
The pilgrims saw he fast by,  
That bearen hem full meekly,  
And humbly they with hem met,  
Dame Abstinence first him great,  
And sith him False Semblant salved,  
And he hem, but he not removed,  
For he ne dread him not adele:  
For when he saw her faces well,  
Always in heart him thought so,  
He should know him both two,  
For well he knew dame Abstinaunce,  
But he ne knew not Constrainaunce,  
He knew nat that she was constrained,  
Ne of her thieves life feigned,  
But wend she come of will all free,  
But she come in another degree,  
And if of good will she began,  
That will was failed her than.   

ANd false Semblant had he seine also,  
But he knew nat that he was faise,  
Yet false was he, but his falseness  
Ne could he not espy, nor guess,  
For Semblant was so sly wrought,  
That Falseness he ne espied nought,  
But hadst thou known him before,  
Thou wouldst on a book have sworn,  
When thou him saw in thilk array  
That he, that whilom was so gay,  
And of the dance jolly Robin  
Was tho become a jacobin:  
But sooth what so men him call  
Frere Preachours been good men all,  
Her order wickedly they bearen  
Such minstrels, if they wearen.  
So been Augustins, and Cordileers,  
And Carmes, and eke sacked Freers,  
And all Freers should and bare,  
Though some of him ben great and square,  
Full holy men, as I him dame,  
Everich of hem would good man seem:  
* But shalt thou never of appearance  
Seen conclude good consequence  
In none argument iwis,  
If existence all failed is:  
For men may find always sopheme  
The consequence to enueneme,  
Who so that hath had the sobtiltee  
The double sentence for to see.   

When the Pilgrims come were  
To wicked Tongue that dwelled there,  
Her harness nigh hem was algate,  
By wicked Tongue adoune they sat,  
That had him near him for to come,  
And of tidings tell him some,  
And said him: what case maketh you  
To come into this place now?   

SIr said strained Abstinence,  
We for to dry our penance,  
With hearts piteous and devout  
Are come, as Pilgrims gone about,  
Well nigh on foot always we go  
Full doughty been our heels two,  
And thus both we be sent  
Throughout the world that is miswent,  
To yeve ensample, and preach also,  
To fishen sinful men we go,  
For other fishing, ne fish we,  
And sir, for that charity,  
As we be wont, herborow we crave,  
Your life to amennes Christ it save,  
And so it should you not displease,  
We woulden, if it were your ease,  
A short Sermon unto you said,  
And wicked Tongue answered again.  
The house (qd. he) such (as ye see)  
Shall not be warned you for me,  
Say what you list, and I wool hear,  
Grant mercy sweet sir dear.   

(Qd. alderfirst) dame Abstinence,  
And thus began she her sentence.  
* Sir, the first virtue certain,  
The greatest, and most sovereign  
That may be found in any man,  
For having, or for wit he can,  
That is his Tongue to refrain,  
Thereto ought every wight him pain:  
* For it is better still be,  
Than for to speaken harm pard,  
And he that hearkeneth it gladly,  
He is no good man sikerly.  
And sir, aboven all other sin,  
In that art thou most guilty ninne:  
Thou speak a yape, not long ago.  
And sir, that was right evil do  
Of a young man, that here repaired,  
And never yet this place repaired:  
Thou saidst he awaited nothing,  
But to deceive Fair Welcomming  
Ye said nothing sooth of that,  
But sir, ye lie I tell ye plat,  
He ne cometh no more, ne goeth pard,  
I trow ye shall him never see,  
Fair Welcomming in prison is,  
That oft hath played with you er this,  
The fairest games that he coude.  
Without filth still or loud,  
Now dare she not herself solace,  
Ye han also the man do chase,  
That he dare neither come ne go,  
What moveth you to hate him so?  
But properly your wicked thought,  
That many a false losing hath thought,  
That moveth your foul eloquence,  
That jangleth ever in audience,  
And on the folk ariseth blame,  
And doth him dishonour and shame,  
For thing that may have no preving,  
But likeliness, and contriving.   

* For I dare sane, that Reason deemeth,  
It is not all sooth thing that seemeth,  
And it is sin to controve  
Thing that is to reprove,  
This wot ye well, and sir, therefore  
Ye be to blame the more,  
And nevertheless, he recketh light  
He giveth not now thereof a mite,  
For if he thought harm parfaie,  
He would come and gone all day,  
He could himself not abstain,  
Now cometh he not, and that is seen,  
For he ne taketh of it no cure,  
But if it be through aventure,  
And lass than other folk algate,  
And thou her watchest at the gate,  
With spear in thine arrest alway,  
There muse musard all the day,  
Thou wakest night and day for thought,  
Iwis thy travail is for nought,  
And jealousy withouten fail,  
Shall never quite thee thy travail,  
And skath is, that fair Welcoming,  
Without any trespassing,  
Shall wrongfully in prison be,  
There weepeth and languisheth he,  
And though thou never yet iwis,  
A giltest man no more but this,  
Take not a grief it were worthy  
To put thee out of this Bailie,  
And afterward in prison lie  
And fettered thee till that thou die,  
For thou shalt for this sin dwell  
Right in the Devil's arse of Hell,  
But if that thou repent thee.  
Maifaie, thou liest falsely (qd. he:)  
What, welcome with mischance now,  
Have I therefore herboured you  
To say me shame, and eke reprove,  
With sorry hap to your behoof,  
Am I to day your herbegere  
Go herber you elsewhere than here,  
That han a liar called me,  
Two tregetours art thou and he,  
That in mine house do me this shame,  
And for my soothsaw ye me blame.  
Is this the Sermon that ye make?  
To all the Devils I me take,  
Or else God thou me confound,  
But ere men didden this Castle found,  
It passeth not ten days or twelve,  
But it was told right to my selue,  
And as they said, right so told I,  
He kissed the Rose privily:  
Thus said I now, and have said yore,  
I not where he did any more.  
Why should men say me such a thing,  
If it had been gabbing,  
Right so said I, and wool say yet,  
I trow I lied not of it,  
And with my beams I wool blow  
To all neighbour's arrow,  
How he hath both come and gone.  
Tho spoke false Semblant right anon,  
* All is not Gospel out of doubt,  
That men sane in the town about,  
Lay no deaf ear to my speaking,  
I swear you sir, it is gabbing,  
I trow you wot well certainly,  
That no man loveth him tenderly,  
That saith him harm, if he wot it,  
All be he never so poor of wit,  
And sooth is also sickerly,  
This know ye sir, as well as I,  
That Lovers gladly wool visiten  
The places there her loves habiten,  
This man you loveth and eke honoureth,  
This man to serve you laboureth,  
And clepeth you his friend so dear,  
And this man maketh you good cheer,  
And every man that you meeteth,  
He you salueth, and he you greeteth,  
He preseth not so oft, that ye  
Ought of his coming encumbered be:  
There presen other folk on you,  
Full ofter than he doth now,  
And if his heart him strained so  
Unto the Rose for to go,  
Ye should him seen so oft need,  
That ye should take him with the deed,  
He could his coming not forbear,  
Though ye him thrilled with a spear,  
It near not then as it is now,  
But trusteth well, I swear it you,  
That it is clean out of his thought.  
Sir, certes he ne thinketh it nought,  
No more ne doth Fair Welcomming,  
That sore abieth all this thing,  
And if they were of one assent,  
Full soon were the Rose hent,  
The maugre yours would be.  
And sir, of o thing hearkeneth me,  
Sith ye this man, that loveth you,  
Han said such harm and shame, now  
Witteth well, if he guessed it,  
Ye may well demen in your wit,  
He nolde nothing love you so  
Ne callen you his friend also,  
But night and day he wool wake,  
The Castle to destroy and take,  
If it were sooth, as ye de vice,  
Or some man in some manner wise  
Might it warn him everidele,  
Or by himself perceive well,  
For sith he might not come and gone  
As he was whilom wont to done,  
He might it soon wit and see,  
But now all otherwise wot he.  
Then have we sir, all utterly  
Deserved Hell, and iollyly  
The death of Hell doubtless  
That thrallen folk so guiltless.   

False Semblant so proveth this thing,  
That he can none answering,  
And seeth alway such appearance,  
That nigh he fell in repentance,  
And said him, sir, it may well be,  
Semblant, a good man seemen ye,  
And Abstinence, full wise ye seem,  
Of a talon you both I deem,  
What counsel wool ye to me yeven?  
Right here anon thou shalt be shriven  
And say thy sin, without more  
Of this shalt thou repent sore,  
For I am Priest, and have post,  
To shrive folk of most dignity  
That been as wide as world may dure,  
Of all this world I have the cure,  
And that had yet never persoun,  
Ne vicary of no manner town.  
And God wot I have of thee,  
A thousand times more pity,  
Than hath thy Priest parochial  
Though he thy friend be special.  
I have advantage, in o wife,  
That your Priests be not so wise  
Ne half so lettered (as am I)  
I am licenced boldly,  
In Divinity for to read,  
And to confessen out of dread.  
If ye wool you now confess,  
And leave your sins more and less,  
Without abode, kneel down anon,  
And you shall have absolution.    
¶ Here after followeth the Book of Troilus and Creseide.   


In this excellent Book is showed the fervent love of Troilus to Creiseid, whom he enjoyed for a time: and her great untruth to him again in giving herself to Diomedes, who in the end did so cast her off, that she came to great misery. In which discourse Chaucer liberally treateth of the divine purveyance.  

THE double sorrow of Troilus to  
tell,  
That was King Priamus' Son of Troy,  
In loving, how his aventures fellen  
From woe to well, and after out of joy,  
My purpose is, oer that I part froy.  
Thou Thesiphone, thou help me for tendite  
These woeful verses, that weep as I write.   

To thee I clepe, thou Goddess of tourment  
Thou cruel fury, sorrowing ever in pain,  
Help me that am the sorrowful instrument,  
That helpeth Lovers, as I can complain:  
* For well sit it, the sooth for to sane,  
A woeful wight to have a dreary fear,  
And to a sorrowful tale a sorry cheer.   

For I that God of Love's servaunts serve,  
Ne dare to Love (for mine unlikelynesse)  
Prayen for speed, all should I therefore starve,  
So far am I fro his help in darkness.  
But nevertheless, if this may done gladness  
To any Lover, and his cause avail,  
Have he my thank, and mine be the travail.   

But ye Lovers that bathen in gladness,  
If any drop of pite in you be,  
Remembreth you of passed heaviness  
That ye have felt, and on the adversite  
Of other folk, and thinketh how that ye  
Han felt, that love durst you to displease,  
Else ye han won him with too great an ease.   

And prayeth for him that been in the case  
Of Troilus, as ye may after hear:  
That he him bring in heaven to solace.  
And eke for me prayeth to God so dear,  
That I have might to show in some manere,  
Such pain and woe, as love's folk endure,  
In Troilus unsilly aventure.   

And biddeth eke for him that ben dispeired  
In Love, that never will recovered be:  
And eke for him that falsely been apeired,  
Through wicked tongues, be it he or she:  
Thus biddeth God for his benignity,  
So grant him soon out of this world to place  
That ben dispaired out of Love's grace.   

And biddeth eke for him that been at ease,  
That God hem grant aye good perseverance,  
And send him grace her loves for to please,  
That it to love be worship and pleasance:  
For so hope I myself best to avance  
To pray for him, that loves servaunts be,  
And write her woe, and live in charity.   

And for to have of him compassion,  
As though I were her own brother dear,  
Now hearkeneth with a good intention,  
For now wool I go strait to my matter:  
In which ye may the double sorrows here  
Of Troilus, in loving of Creseide,  
And how she forsook him ere that she deide.   

IT is well wist, how that the greeks strong  
In arms all with a thousand ships went  
To Troie wards, and the City long  
Besiegeden, nigh ten years ere they stint,  
And in divers wise, and one intent,  
The ravishing to wreak of Queen Heleine,  
By Paris done, they wroughten all her peine.   

Now fell it so, that in the town there was  
Dwelling a Lord of great authority  
A great divine, that cleped was Calcas,  
That in that science so expert was, that he  
Knew well, that Troie should destroyed be,  
By answer of his God, that height thus,  
Dan Phoebus, or Apollo Delphicus.   

So when this Calcus knew by calculing,  
And eke by the answer of this God Apollo,  
That the greeks should such a people bring,  
Thorough which that Troy must be fordo,  
He cast anon out of the town to go:  
For well he wist by sort, that Troie should  
Destroyed be, ye would who so or nolde.   

Wherefore he to departen softly,  
took purpose full, this forknowing wise,  
And to the greeks host full prively  
He stolen anon, and they in courteous wise  
Did to him both worship and servise,  
In trust that he hath cunning hem to read  
In every peril, which that was to dread.   

Great rumour rose, when it was first espied,  
In all the town, and openly was spoken,  
That Calcus' traitor fled was and allied  
To him of Grece: & cast was to be wroken  
On him, that falsely hath his faith broken,  
And said: he and all his kin atones,  
* Were worthy to be brent, both fell & bones.   

Now had Calcas left in this mischance,  
Vnwist of this false and wicked deed,  
A daughter, which was in great penance,  
And of her life she was full sore in dread,  
And wist never what best was to read:  
And as a widow was she, and all alone,  
And nist to whom she might make her moan.   

Creseide was this Lady's name aright,  
As to my doom, in all Troy's City  
Most fairest Lady, far passing every wight  
So angelic shone her native beauty,  
That no mortal thing seemed she:  
And therewith was she so perfect a creature,  
As she had be made in scorning of nature.   

This Lady, that all day heard at ear  
Her Father's shame, falsehood, and treasoun,  
(Full nigh out of her wit for sorrow & fear,  
In widow's habit large of samite brown)  
Before Hector on knees she fell adown,  
And his mercy bad, herself excusing,  
With piteous voice, and tenderly weeping.   

Now was this Hector piteous of nature,  
And saw that she was sorrowful begun,  
And that she was so fair a creature,  
Of his goodness he gladded her anon,  
And said: let your father's treason gone  
Forth with mischance, & ye yourself in joy,  
Dwelleth with us while you list in Troy.   

And all the honour that men may do ye have,  
As ferforth as though your father dwelled here,  
Ye shall have, and your body shall men save,  
As far as I may aught inquire and here:  
And she him thanked with full good cheer,  
And ofter would, and it had been his will.  
She took her leve, went home, & held her still.   

And in her house she abode with such mien,  
As till her honour need was to hold,  
And while she was dwelling in that cite,  
She kept her estate, and of young and old  
Full well beloved, & men well of her told:  
But whether that she children had or none,  
I read it nat, therefore I let it gone.   

The things fellen as they done of were,  
Betwixen him of Troy and greeks oft,  
For sometime boughten they of Troy it dear,  
And este the Greeks founden nothing soft  
The folk of Troy: and thus fortune aloft,  
And under eft 'gan him to whelmen both,  
After her course, aye while that they were wroth.   

But how this town came to destruction,  
Ne falleth not to purpose me to tell,  
For it were a long digression  
From my matter, and you too long to dwell,  
But the Trojan jests all as they fell,  
In Omer, or in Dares, or in Dite,  
Who so that can, may reden hem as they write.   

But though the greeks him of Troy in shetten,  
And her city besieged all about,  
Her old usages nolde they not let,  
As to honourens her gods full devout,  
But aldermost in honour out of doubt,  
They had a relic height Palladion,  
That was her trust aboven everychon.   

And so befell, when comen was the time  
Of April, when clothed is the meed,  
With new green, of lusty veer the prime,  
And with sweet smelling flowers white & read  
In sundry wise showed as I read:  
The folk of Troie, their observances old,  
Palladions feast went for to hold.   

Unto the Temple in all their best wise,  
Generally there went many a wight,  
To hearken of Palladions servise,  
And namely many a lusty knight,  
And many a Lady fresh, and maiden bright,  
Full well arrayed both most and least,  
Both for the season and the high feast.   

Among these other folk was Creseida,  
In widow's habit black: but nevertheless  
Right as our first letter is now an a  
In beauty first, so stood she makeles,  
Her goodly looking gladded all the prees,  
Nas never seen thing to be praised so dear  
N●r under cloud black so bright a star,   

As was Creseide, they saiden everichone,  
That her behelden in her black weed,  
And yet she stood full low and still alone,  
Behind other folk in little bread,  
And nigh the door under shames dread,  
Simple of attire, and debonair of cheer,  
With full assured looking and manere.   

This Troilus as he was wont to guide  
His young knights, he lad him up and down,  
In thilk large Temple on every side,  
Beholding aye the Ladies of the town,  
Now here now there, for no devotioune,  
Had he to none, to reven him his rest,  
But 'gan to praise and lack whom he least.   

And in his walk full fast he 'gan to waiten,  
If knight or squire of his company,  
'Gan for to sike, or let his eyes baiten  
On any woman, that he could espy,  
He would smile, and hold it a folly,  
* And say him thus: O Lord she sleepeth soft  
For love of thee, when thou turnest full oft.   

I have heard tell pardieux of your living  
Ye Lovers, & eke your lewd observaunces,  
And which a labour folk have in winning,  
Of love, and in keeping such doutaunces,  
And when your prey is lost, woe & penances:   

O, very fools, blind and nice be ye,  
There is not one can ware by another be.   

And with the word he 'gan cast up the brow,  
Ascaunces lo, is this not well ispoken,  
At which the God of Love 'gan looken low,  
Right for despite, & shaped him to be wroken.  
He kid anon his bow was not broken:  
For suddenly he hit him at the full,  
* And yet as proud a peacock 'gan he pull.   

O blind world, o blind intention,  
How often falleth all the effect contraire  
Of sequedrie and foul presumption,  
* For caught is proud, & caught is debonair:  
This Troilus is clomben on the stair,  
And little weeneth that he moat descenden,  
* But all day it faileth that fools wenden.   

* As proud bayard beginneth for to skip  
Out of the way, so pricketh him his corn,  
Till he a lash have of the long whip,  
Then thinketh he, though I prance all beforn  
First in the traise, full fat and new ishorne,  
Yet am I but an horse, and horses law  
I must endure, and with my fears draw.   

So fared it by this fires and proud knight,  
Though he a worthy king's son were,  
And wend nothing had had such might,  
Against his will, that should his heart steer,  
Yet with a look his heart wox on fire,  
That he that now was most in pride above,  
wox suddenly most subject unto Love.   

For thy ensample taketh of this man,  
Ye wise, proud, and worthy folks all,  
To scornen love, which that so soon can  
The freedom of your hearts to him thrust,  
For ever it was, and ever it be shall,  
* That love is he that all thing may bind,  
For no man may fordo the law of kind.   

That this be sooth, hath preved & doth yet  
For this (I trow) ye know all and some  
Men reden not that folk han greater wit  
Than they that han ben most with love inome,  
And strongest folk been therewith overcome,  
The worthiest and greatest of degree,  
This was and is, and yet man shall it see.   

And trueliche that sit well to be so,  
For alderwisest han therewith been pleased,  
And they that han been aldermost in woe,  
With love, han been comforted & most eased,  
And oft it hath the cruel heart appeased,  
And worthy folk made worthier of name,  
And causeth most to dreden vice and shame.   

Now sith it may nat goodly be withstand,  
And is a thing so virtuous and kind,  
Refuseth nought to love, ne to ben bond,  
Sith as him selven list he may you bind,  
* The yard is bette that bowen wool & wind  
Than that that breast, & therefore I you read,  
Now followeth him, that so well can you lead.   

But for to tell forth in special,  
As of this king's son, of which I told,  
And leven other thing collateral,  
Of him think I my tale forth to hold,  
Both of his joy, and of his cares cold,  
And his work, as touching this matter,  
For I it 'gan, I wool thereto refer.   

Within the temple he went him forth playing  
This Trovilus, of every wight about,  
Now on this Lady, & now on that looking,  
Where so she were of town, or of without:  
And upon case befell, that through a rout  
His eye pierced, and so deep it went  
Till on Creseide it smote, and there it stint.   

And suddenly for wonder wext atoned,  
And 'gan her bet behold in thrifty wise:  
O very God thought he where hast thou woned,  
That art so fair and goodly to devise,  
Therewith his heart 'gan to spread and rise,  
And soft sighed, least men might him here,  
And caught again his first playing cheer.   

She nas not with the most of her stature,  
But all her limbs so well answering  
Weren to womanhood, that creature  
Was never lass mannish in seeming.  
And eke the pure wise of her meaning  
showed well, that men might in her guess  
Honour, estate, and womanly noblesse.   

Tho Troilus, right wonder well withal  
'Gan for to like her meaning and her cheer,  
Which somedeal deignous was, for she let fall  
Her look a little aside, in such manere  
Ascaunces, what may I not stonden here,  
And after that her looking 'gan she light,  
That never thought him seen so good a sight.   

And of her look in him there 'gan to quicken  
So great desire, and such affection,  
That in his heart's bottom 'gan to sticken  
Of her six, and deep impression:  
And though he erst had pored up and down,  
* Then was he glad his horns in to shrink,  
Vnnethes wist he how to look or wink.   

Lo, he that lete him selven so cunning,  
And scorned him that loves pains drien,  
Was full unware that love had his dwelling  
Within the subtle streams of her eyes,  
That suddenly him thought he felt dyen,  
Right with her look, the spirit in his heart,  
Blessed be love, that thus can folk convert.   

She thus in black, liking to Troilus,  
Over all thing he stood for to behold:  
But his desire, ne wherefore he stood thus,  
He neither cheer made, ne word thereof told,  
But from a far, his manner for to hold,  
On other thing sometime his look he cast,  
And eft on her, while that the service last:   

And after this, nat fullish all awhaped,  
Out of the Temple eselich he went,  
Repenting him that ever he had iaped  
Of love's folk, least fully the descent  
Of scorn fill on himself, but what he meant,  
Lest it were witted on any manner side,  
His woe he 'gan dissimulen and hide.   

When he was fro that Temple thus departed,  
He strait anon unto his Palace turneth,  
Right with her look through shotten & darted  
All feigneth he in lust that he sojourneth  
And all his cheer and speech also he burneth,  
And aye of Love's servaunts every while  
Himself to wry, at hem he 'gan to smile,   

And said Lord, so they live all in lust  
Ye Lovers, for the cunningest of you,  
That servest most ententifelich and best  
Him tight as often harm thereof as prow,  
Your hire is quit again, ye God wot how,  
Not well for well, but scorn for good servise,  
In faith your order is ruled in good wise.   

In no certain been your observaunces,  
But it only a silly few points be,  
Ne nothing asketh so great attendaunces,  
As doth your lay, and that know all ye,  
But that is not the worst, as moat I thee:  
But told I you the worst point, I leave,  
All said I sooth, ye woulden at me greve.   

But take this: that ye Lovers oft eschew,  
Or else done of good intention:  
Full oft thy Lady wool it miss constrew,  
And deem it harm in her opinion,  
And yet if she for other encheason,  
Be wroth, then shalt thou have a groin anon  
Lord, well is him that may been of you one.   

But for all this, when that he seeth his time  
He held his peace, none other boat him gained,  
For Love began his feathers so to lime,  
That well unneath unto his folk he feigned,  
That other busy needs him distrained,  
So woe was him, that what to done he nist,  
But had his folk to gone where as him list.   

And when that he in chamber was alone,  
He down upon his beds feet him set,  
And first he 'gan to sike, and eft to groan,  
And thought aye on her so withouten let,  
That as he sat and work, his spirit met  
That he her saw and temple, and all the wise  
Right of her look, and 'gan it new avise.   

Thus 'gan he make a mirror of his mind,  
In which he saw all wholly her figure,  
And that he well could in his heart find  
It was to him a right good aventure  
To love such one, and if he did his cure  
To serven her, yet might he fall in grace,  
Or else, for one of her servants pace.   

Imagining, that travail nor grame  
Ne might, for so goodly one be lost  
As she, ne him for his desire no shame  
All were it wist, but in prize and up borne  
Of all Lovers, well more than before  
Thus argumented he, in his beginning,  
Full unavised of his woe coming.   

Thus took he purpose loves craft to sew  
And thought he would work privily  
First for to hide his desire in mew  
From every wight iborne, all overly,  
But he might aught recovered been thereby  
* Remembering him, the love too wide iblowe  
Yelt bitter fruit, though sweet seed be sow.   

And over all this, full mokell more he thought  
What for to speak, and what to holden inn  
And what to arten, ere to love he sought,  
And on a song anon right to begin.  
And 'gan loud on his sorrow for to win  
For with good hope, he 'gan fully assent,  
Creseide for to love, and nought repent.   

And of his song not only his sentence,  
As write mine Author called Lolius,  
But plainly save our tongue's difference,  
I dare well say, in all that Troilus  
Said in his song, lo every word right thus,  
As I shall sane, and who so list it hear  
Lo this next verse, he may it find there.   

¶ The song of Troilus.  

If no love is, O God what feel I so?  
And if Love is, what thing and which is he?  
If love be good, from whence cometh my woe?  
If it be wick, a wonder thinketh me,  
When every torment and adversite  
That cometh of him, may to me savery think:  
* Foraie thirst I the more that iche it drink.   

And if that at mine own lust I brenne,  
From whence cometh my wailing & my plaint:  
If harm agree me, whereto plain I thenne,  
I not, ne why, unwery that I faint,  
O quick death, o sweet harm so quaint,  
How may of thee in me be such quantity,  
But if that I consent that it so be?   

And if that I consent, I wrongfully  
Comylaine iwis, thus possed to and fro,  
All sterelesse within a boat am I  
Amid the sea, atwixen winds two,  
That in contrary stonden ever more,  
Alas, what is this wonder malady?  
* For heat of cold, for cold of heat I die.    

And to the God of love thus said he  
With piteous voice, O Lord now yours is  
My spirit, which that oughten yours to be,  
You thank I Lord, that han me brought to this:  
But whether goddess or woman iwis  
She be, I not, which that ye do me serve,  
But as her man I wool aye live and starve.   

Ye stonden in her eyes mightily,  
As in a place to your virtue digne:  
Wherefore Lord, if my servise or I  
May liken you, so beth to me benign,  
For mine estate royal here I resign  
Into her hand, and with full humble cheer  
Become her man, as to my Lady dear.   

In him ne deigned to sparen blood royal  
The fire of love, wherefro God me bless,  
Ne him forbore in no degree, for all  
His virtue, or his excellent prowess,  
But held him as his thrall low in distress,  
And burnt him so in sundry wise aye new,  
That sixty times a day he lost his hue.   

So muchell day from day his own thought  
For lust to her, 'gan quicken and increase,  
That everiche other charge he set at nought,  
For thy full oft, his hot fire to cease,  
To seen her goodly look he 'gan to press,  
For thereby to been eased well he wend,  
And aye the ne'er he was, the more he burnt.   

* For aye the near the fire the hotter is,  
This (trow I) knoweth all this company:  
But were he far or ne'er, I dare say this,  
By night or day, for wisdom or folly,  
His heart, which that is his breasts eye,  
Was aye on her, that fairer was to seen  
Than ever was Helein, or Polyxena.   

Eke of the day there passed not an hour,  
Than to himself a thousand times he said,  
God goodly, to whom I serve and labour  
As I best can, now would to God Creseide  
Ye woulden on me rue, ere that I deide:  
My dear heart alas, mine heel and my hue,  
And life is lost, but ye wool on me rue.   

All other dreads weren from him fled,  
Both of thassiege, and his salvation,  
Ne in desire none other founes bred,  
But arguments to his conclusion,  
That she on him would have compassion  
And he to ben her man, while he may dure,  
Lo here his life, and from his death his cure.   

The sharp showers fell of arms preve  
That Hector or his other brethren didden  
Ne made him only therefore ones meve,  
And yet was he, where so men went or ridden,  
Found one the best, and longest time abiden  
There peril was, and eke did such travail  
In arms, that to think it was a marvel.   

But for none hate he to the greeks had,  
Ne also for the rescous of the town,  
Ne made him thus in arms for to mad,  
But only lo, for this conclusioun  
To liken her the bet for his renown,  
From day to day in arms so he sped,  
That all the greeks as the death him dread.   

And fro this forth tho rest him love his sleep  
And made his meat his foe, & eke his sorrow  
'Gan multiply, that who so took keep,  
It showed in his hue both even and morrow:  
Therefore a title he 'gan him for to borrow  
Of other sickness, least men of him wend  
That the hot fire of love him burnt.   

And said he had a fever, and fared amiss,  
But were it certain I cannot say  
If that his Lady understood not this  
Or feigned her she nist, one of the fifty:  
But well read I, that by no manner weigh  
Ne seemed it that she on him wrought,  
Or of his pain, what so ever he thought.   

But than felt this Troilus such woe  
That he was well-nigh wood, for aye his dread  
Was this, that she some wight loved so,  
That never of him she would han take heed:  
For which him thought he felt his hart bleed,  
Ne of his woe ne durst he nought begin  
To tell her, for all this world to win.   

But when he had a space left from his care,  
Thus to himself full oft he 'gan to plain:  
He said, o fool now art thou in the snare,  
That whilom yapedest at lover's pain:  
* Now art thou hent, now gnaw thine own chain  
Thou wert aye woned each lover reprehend  
Of thing fro which thou canst not thee defend.   

What wool now every lover sane of thee,  
If this be witted? But ever in thine absence  
Laughen in scorn, and sane, lo there goeth he  
That is the man of great sapience,  
That held us lovers lest in reverence:  
* Now thanked be God, he may gone on that dance  
Of him that love lift feebly advance.   

But o, thou woeful Troilus, God would,  
(Sith thou must loven, through thy destiny)  
That thou beset were of such one, that should  
Know all thy woe, all lacked her pity:  
But all too cold in love towards thee  
Thy lady is, as frost in Winter Moon,  
And thou fordo, as Snow in fire is soon.   

God would I were arrived in the port  
Of death, to which my sorrow wool me lead:  
Ah Lord, to me it were a great comfort,  
Then were I quite of languishing in dread:  
For by my hid sorrow iblowe in breed,  
I shall beiaped been a thousand time,  
More than that fool, of whose folly men rhyme.   

But now help God, & ye my sweet, for whom  
I plain, icought ye never wight so fast:  
O mercy dear hart, and help me from  
The death, for I, while that my life may last,  
More than myself wool love you to my last,  
And with some friendly look gladeth me sweet,  
Though nevermore thing ye to me behete.   

These words, and full many another more  
He spoke, and called ever in his compleint  
Her name, for to tell her his woe,  
Till nigh that he in salt tears was dreint,  
All was for nought, she heard nat his pleint:  
And when that he bethought on that folly,  
A thousand fold his woe 'gan multiply.   

Bewailing in his chamber thus alone,  
A friend of his, that called his Pander,  
Came ones in unware, and heard him groan,  
And saw his friend in such distress and care:  
Alas (qd. he) who causeth all this fare?  
O mercy God, what unhap may this mean?  
Han now thus soon the Greeks made you lean?   

Or hast thou some remorse of conscience?  
And art now fall in some devotion,  
And wailest for thy sin and thine offence,  
And hast for feared caught contrition?  
God save him, that besieged han our town,  
That so can lay our jollity on press,  
And bring our lusty folk to holiness.   

These words said he for the nonce all,  
That with such thing he might him angry maken  
And with his anger done his sorrow fall,  
As for a time, and his courage awaken:  
But well wist he, as far as tongues speaken,  
There nas a man of greater hardiness  
Than he, ne more desired worthiness.   

What cas (qd. Troilus) or what aventure  
Hath guided thee to seen me languishing,  
That am refuse of every creature?  
But for the love of God, at me praying  
Go hence away, for certes my dying,  
Wool thee disease, and I moat needs deie,  
Therefore go way, there nis no more to seie.   

But if thou ween, I be thus sick for dread,  
It is not so, and therefore scorn nought:  
There is an other thing I take of heed,  
Well more than ought the greeks han yet wrought  
Which cause is of my death for sorrow & thought:  
But though that I now tell it thee ne lest,  
Be thou not wroth, I hide it for the best.   

This Pander, that nigh malt for woe & routh  
Full often said alas, what may this be?  
Now friend (qd. he) if ever love or troth  
Hath been er this betwiren thee and me,  
Ne do thou never such a cruelty,  
To hiden from thy friend so great a care,  
Wost thou not well that I am Pandar?   

I wool parten with thee all thy pain,  
If it so be I do thee no comfort  
* As it is friends right, sooth for to sane,  
To enterparten woe, as glad disport  
I have and shall, for true or false report  
In wrong and right loved thee all my live,  
Hide not thy woe from me, but tell it believe.   

Then 'gan this sorrowful Troilus to sike,  
And laid him thus, God leave it be my best  
To tell thee, for sith it may thee like,  
Yet wool I tell it, though my heart breast,  
And well wot I, thou mayest do me no rest,  
But lest thou deem I trust not to thee  
Now hark friend, for thus it stant with me.   

Love, against the which who so defendeth  
Him selven most, him alder lest availeth,  
With despair so sorrowfully me offendeth  
That strait unto that death my hart faileth:  
Thereto desire, so brenningly me assaileth,  
That to been slain, it were a greater joy  
To me, than King of Grece be and of Troy.   

Sufficeth this, my full friend Pandar,  
That I have said, for now wottest thou my woe:  
And for the love of God my cold care  
So hide it well, I told it never to more:  
For harms mighten followen more than two  
If it were witted, but be thou in gladness,  
And let me starve unknown of my distress.   

How hast thou thus unkindly and long  
Hid this from me, thou fool? (qd. Pandarus)  
Peradventure thou mayst after such one long,  
That mine a vice anon may helpen us:  
This were a wonder thing (qd. Troilus)  
Thou couldst never in love thyself wisse,  
How devil mayest thou bringen me to bliss.   

Ye Troilus, now harken (qd. Pandar)  
Though I be nice, it happeth often so,  
That one that of ears doth full evil fare,  
By good counsel can keep his friend therfro:  
I have myself seen a blind man go  
There as he fell, that could looken wide,  
* A fool may eke a wise man oft guide.   

* A whetstone is no carving instrument,  
But yet it maketh sharp kerving tolis,  
And after thou wost that I have aught miswent,  
Eschew thou that, for such thing to school is,  
* Thus often wise men bewaren by fools:  
If thou so do, thy wit is well bewared,  
* By his contrary is every thing declared.  
For how might ever sweetness have be know  
To him, that never tasted bitterness?  
No man wot what gladness is I trow,  
That never was in sorrow, or some distress:  
Eke white by black, by shame eke worthiness  
Each set by other, more for other seemeth,  
As men may seen, & so the wise it deemeth.   

Sith thus of two contraries is o lore,  
* I that have in Love so oft assayed,  
Grevaunces, ought connen well the more  
Counsailen thee, of that thou art dismayed,  
And eke the ne ought not been evil apaied,  
Though I desire with thee for to bear  
Thine heavy charge, it shall thee lass dear.   

I wot well that it fared thus by me,  
As to thy brother Paris, an hierdesse,  
Which that icleped was Oenone,  
Wrote in a complaint of her heaviness:  
Ye saw the letter that she wrote I guess:  
Nay never yet iwis (qd. Troilus)  
Now (qd. Pandar) hearkeneth it was thus.   

Phoebus, that first found art of medicine,  
(Qd. she) and could in every wights care  
Remedy and read, by herbs he knew fine,  
Yet to himself his cunning was full bare,  
For love had him so bounden in a snare,  
All for the daughter of king Admete,  
That all his craft ne could his sorrow beat.   

Right so fare I, unhappy for me,  
I love one best, and that me smerteth sore:  
And yet peradventure I can reden thee  
And nat myself: reprove me no more,  
I have no cause I wot well for to sore,  
As doth an hawk, that listeth for to play,  
But to thine help, yet somewhat can I say.   

And of o thing, right siker mayest thou be,  
That certain, for to dyen in the pain  
That I shall never more discover thee,  
Ne by my troth, I keep nat to restrain  
Thee from thy love, although it were Helleine,  
That is thy brother's wife, if iche it wist,  
Be what she be, and love her as thee list.   

Therefore as friendfullich in me assure,  
And tell me plat, what is thine encheason,  
And final cause of woe, that ye endure:  
For doubteth nothing, mine intention  
Nas not to you of reprehension  
* To speak, as now, for no wight may bereave  
A man to love, till that him list to leave.   

And weteth well, that both two been vicis,  
Mistrusten all, or else all believe:  
But well I wot, the mean of it no vice is,  
As for to trust some wight is a prove  
Of troth, & for thy, would I fain remove  
Thy wrong conceit, & do the some wight trust  
Thy woe to tell: and tell me if thou lust.   

The wise eke saith, woo him that is alone,  
For and he fall, he hath ●one help to rise:  
And sith thou hast a fellow, tell thy moan,  
For this nis nought certain the next wise  
To winnen love, as teachen us the wise,  
To wallow and weep, as Niobe the Queen,  
Whose tears yet in marble been iseene.   

Let be thy weeping, and thy dreariness,  
And let us lesen woe, with other speech,  
So may thy woeful time seem the less,  
Delight nought in woe, thy woe to seech,  
As done these fools, that her sorrows each  
With sorrow, when they han misaventure,  
And lusten nought to sechen other cure.   

* Men sane, to wretch is consolation  
To have another fellow in his pain,  
That ought well been our opinion,  
For both thou and I of love do plain,  
So full of sorrow am I, sooth to sane,  
That certainly, as now no more hard grace  
May sit on me, for why there is no space.   

If God wool, thou art nought aghast of me,  
Lest I would of thy Lady thee beguile:  
Thou wost thyself, whom that I love pard  
As I best can, gone sithen long while,  
And sithen thou wost, I do it for no wile,  
And sith I am he, that thou trusteth most,  
Tell me somewhat, since all my woe thou wost.   

Yet Troilus, for all this no word said,  
But long he lay still, as he dead were,  
And after this, with siking he abraid,  
And to Pandarus voice he lent his ear,  
And up his eyes cast he: and then in fear  
Was Pandarus lest that in frenseye,  
He should either fall or else soon die.   

And said awake, full wonderlich & sharp.  
What slumberest thou, as in a litergie?  
Or art thou like an Ass to the harp,  
That heareth sound, when men the strings ply?  
But in his mind, of that no melody  
May sink him to gladden, for that he  
So dull is, in his beastialite.   

And with this Pander of his words stint:  
But Troilus to him nothing answer,  
For why, to tell was nought his intent  
Never to no man, for whom that he so feared:  
* For it is said, men maken oft a yard  
With which the maker is himself ibeten  
In sundry manner, as these wise men treten.   

And nameliche in his counsel telling,  
That toucheth Love, that aught been secre:  
For of himself it wool enough out spring  
But if that it the bet governed be.  
* Eke sometime it is craft to seem flee  
Fro thing which in effect men hunten fast:  
All this 'gan Troilus in his heart cast.   

But nevertheless, when he had heard him cry,  
Awake he 'gan, and sike wonder sore:  
And said my friend, though that I still lie,  
I am not deefe, now peace & cry no more:  
For I have heard thy words and thy lore,  
But suffer me my Fortune to bewailen,  
For thy proverbs may nought me availen.   

Nor other cure canst thou none for me  
Eke I nill not been cured, I wool die:  
What know I of the Queen Niobe?  
Let be thine old ensamples, I thee prey.  
No friend (qd. Pandarus) therefore I say,  
* Such is delight of fools to beweep  
Her woe, but to seeken boat they ne keep.   

Now know I that reason in thee faileth:  
But tell me, if I wist what she were  
For whom that thee all misaventure aileth,  
Durst thou that I told it in her ear  
Thy woe, sith thou dar'st not thyself for fear,  
And her besought on thee to han some routh?  
Why nay (qd. he) by God and by my troth.   

What, not as busily (qd. Pandarus)  
As though mine own life lay in this need:  
Why no pard sir (qd. this Troilus)  
And why? for that thou shouldest never speed:  
Wost thou that well? ye that is out of dread,  
(Qd. Troilus) for all that ever ye con,  
She wool to no such wretch as I be won.   

(Qd. Pandarus) alas what may this be,  
That thou dispaired art, thus causeless,  
What, liveth nat thy Lady, benedicite?  
How wost thou so, that thou art graceless,  
Such evil is not always botelesse:  
Why put not impossible thus thy cure,  
* Sith thing to come is oft in aventure.   

I grant well that thou endurest woe,  
As sharp as doth he Tesiphus in hell,  
Whose stomach fowls tiren evermo,  
That heighten vultures, as books tell:  
But I may not endure that thou dwell  
In so unskilful an opinion,  
That of thy woe nis no curation.   

But ones nill thou, for thy coward heart,  
And for thine ire, and foolish wilfulness,  
For wantrust tell of thy sorrow's smart,  
Ne to thine own help do business,  
As much as speak a word, yea more or less,  
But liest as he that of life nothing retch,  
What woman living could love such a wretch?   

What may she demen other of thy death,  
If thou thus die, and she not why it is,  
But that for fear, is yolden up thy breath,  
For greeks han besieged us iwis:  
Lord which a thank shalt thou have than of this  
Thus wool she sane, and all the town atones,  
The wretch is deed, the devil have his bones.   

Thou mayest alone here weep, cry, & knee,  
* And love a woman that she wot it nought,  
And she will quite it that thou shalt not feel:  
* Vnknow unkist, and lost that is unsought.  
What, many a man hath love full dear ibought  
Twenty winter that his Lady ne witted,  
That never yet his Lady's mouth he kissed.   

What, should he therefore fallen in despair?  
Or he receaunt for his own tene,  
Or slain himself, all be his Lady fair?  
Nay nay: but ever in one be fresh and green,  
To serve and love his dear hearts queen,  
And think it is a guerdon her to serve  
A thousand part more than he can deserve.   

And of that word took heed Troilus,  
And thought anon, what folly he was in,  
And how that sooth him said Pandarus,  
That for to-slaien himself might he not win,  
But both done unmanhood and a sin  
And of his death his Lady nought to wit,  
For of his woe, God wot she knew full light.   

And with that thought, he 'gan full sore sike,  
And said, alas, what is me best to do?  
To whom Pandar said, if thee it like,  
The best is, that thou tell me thy woe,  
And have my troth, but if thou find it so  
I be thy boot, or it been full long,  
To pieces do me draw, and sithence hung.   

Yea, so sayest thou (qd. Troilus) alas,  
But God wot it is nought the rather so:  
Full hard it were to helpen in this case,  
For well find I, that fortune is my foe:  
Ne all the men that ride con or go,  
May of her cruel wheel the harm withstand  
For as her list, she playeth with free and bond.   

(Qd. Pandarus) then blamest thou fortune,  
For thou art wroth, ye now at erst I see  
Wost thou not well that Fortune is commune  
To every manner wight, in some degree?  
And yet thou hast this comfort, lo pard,  
That as her joys moten overgone,  
So moat her sorrows passen everichone.   

For if her wheel stint, any thing to turn,  
Then cesseth she fortune anon to be:  
Now sith her wheel by no way may sojourn,  
What wost thou of her mutability.  
Whether as thyself lust she wool don by thee  
Or that she be nought far from thine helping:  
Peradventure thou hast cause for to sing.   

And therefore wost thou what, I thee beseech,  
Let be thy woe, and tourning to the ground:  
* For who so list have healing of his leech,  
To him behooveth first unwrie his wound:  
To Cerberus in hell aye be I bound,  
Were it for my sister all thy sorrow,  
By my will she should be thine to morrow.   

Look up I say, and tell me what she is  
Anon, that I may gone about thy need:  
Know ich her aught, for my love tell me this,  
Then would I hope rather for to speed:  
Tho 'gan the vein of Troilus to bleed,  
For he was hit, and wox all red for shame,  
Aha (qd. Pandara) here beginneth game.   

And with that word, he 'gan him for to shake,  
And said him thus, thou shalt her name tell:  
But though 'gan silly Troilus for to quake,  
As though men should han had him into hell,  
And said alas, of all my woe the well,  
Than is my sweet foe called Creseide,  
And well nigh with the word for fear he deide.   

And when that Pandar herd her name neven  
Lord he was glad, and said, friend so dear,  
Now fare a right, for Ioves name in heaven,  
Love hath beset thee well, be of good cheer,  
For of good name, and wisdom, and manner  
She hath enough, and eke of gentleness,  
If she be fair, thou wost thyself, I guess.   

Ne never seie I a more bounteous  
Of her estate, ne a gladder: ne of speech  
A friendlier, ne more gracious  
For to do well, ne lass had ned to seech  
What for to done, and all this bet to each  
In honour, to as far as she may stretch  
* A king's heart seemeth by hers a wretch.   

And for thy, look of good comfort thou be:  
For certainly the first point is this  
Of noble courage, and well ordain the  
A man to have peace within himself iwis:  
So oughtest thou, for nought but good it is,  
* To loven well, and in a worthy place,  
thou ought not clepe it hap, but grace.   

And also think, and therewith glad thee,  
That sith the Lady virtuous is all  
So followeth it, that there is some pity  
Among all these other in general,  
And for they see that thou in special  
Require nought, that is again her name,  
* For virtue stretcheth not himself to shame.   

But well is me, that ever I was born,  
That thou beset art in so good a place:  
For by my troth in love I durst have sworn,  
Thee should never have tidde so fair a grace,  
And wost thou why? for thou were wont to chase  
At love in scorn, & for despite him call  
* Saint Idiot, lord of these fools all.   

How often hast thou made thy nice yapes,  
And said, that loves servaunts overichone  
* Of nicete, ben very God's Apes,  
And some would monche her meat all alone,  
Ligging a bed, and make him for to groan,  
And some thou saidst had a blanche fevere,  
And praidest God, they should never kevere.   

And some of him, took on hem for the cold,  
More than enough, so saidst thou full oft:  
And some han feigned oft time and told,  
How that they waken, when they sleep soft,  
And thus they would have set him self a loft,  
And nevertheless were under at the last,  
Thus saidst thou, and yapedest full fast.   

Yet saidst thou, that for the more part,  
These Lovers would speak in general,  
And thoughten it was a siker art,  
For sailing, for to assayen over all:  
Now may I yape of thee, if that I shall.  
But nevertheless, though that I should deie,  
Thou art none of tho, I dare well seie.   

Now beat thy breast, & say to God of love,  
Thy grace Lord, for now I me repent  
If I misspake, for now myself, I love:  
Thus say with all thine heart, in good intent,  
(Qd. Troilus) ah Lord, I me consent,  
And pray to thee, my yapes thou foryeve,  
And I shall never more while I live.   

Thou sayst well (qd. Pandar) & now I hope  
That thou the god's wrath hast all appeased:  
And sith thou hast wepten many a drop,  
And said such thing wherewith thy God is pleased,  
Now would never God, but thou were eased:  
* And think well she, of whom rest all thy woe,  
Here after may thy comfort been also.   

* For thilk ground, that beareth the weeds wick  
Beareth eke these wholesome herbs, as full oft:  
Next the foul nettle, rough and thick,  
The Rose waxeth, soot, smooth, and soft,  
* And next the valley is the hill a loft,  
And next the dark night the glad morrow,  
And also joy is next the fine of sorrow.   

Now look that attempre be thy bridle,  
And for the best aye suffer to the tide,  
Or else all our labour is on idle,  
* He hasteth well, that wisely can abide:  
Be diligent and true, and aye well hide,  
Be lusty, free, persever in thy servise,  
And all is well, if thou work in this wise.   

* But he that departed is in every place  
Is no where hole, as written Clerks wise:  
What wonder is, if such one have no grace?  
Eke wost thou how it fareth of some service,  
* As plant a tree or herb, in sundry wise,  
And on the morrow pull it up as believe,  
No wonder is, though it may never thrive.   

And sith the God of love hath thee bestowed  
In place digne unto thy worthiness,  
* Stoned fast, for to good port hast thou rowed,  
And of thyself, for any heaviness,  
Hope alway well, for but if dreariness.  
Or over haste both our labour shend,  
I hope of this to maken a good end.   

And wost thou why, I am the lass afered  
Of this matter, with my niece to treat?  
For this have I heard say of wise lered,  
Was never man or woman yet beyete,  
That was unapt to suffer loves heat  
Celestial, or else love of kind:  
For thy, some grace I hope in her to find.   

And for to speak of her in special,  
Her beauty to bethinken, and her youth,  
It sit her nought, to been celestial  
As yet, though that her list both and kouth:  
And truly it sit her well right nouth,  
A worthy knight to loven and cherice,  
And but she do, I hold it for a vice.   

Wherefore I am, and wool be aye ready  
To pain me to do you this service:  
For both you to please, this hope I  
Here after, for that ye been both wise,  
And con counsel keep in such a wise,  
That no man shall the wiser of it be,  
And so we may ben gladded all three.   

And by my troth I have right now of thee  
A good conceit, in my wit as I guess:  
And what it is, I wool now that thou see,  
I think that sith Love of his goodness,  
Hath thee converted out of wickedness,  
That thou shalt been the best post, I leave,  
Of all his lay, and most his foes greue.   

Ensample why, see now these great clerks,  
That err aldermost again a law,  
And been converted from her wicked works  
Through grace of god, y● lest hem to withdraw:  
They be the folk that han god most in awe,  
And strongest faithed been I understand,  
And con an error alder best withstand.   

When Troilus had herd Pandar assented  
To been his help in loving of Creseide,  
He wext of his woe, as who saith unturmented,  
But hotter wext his love, and then he said  
With sober cheer, as though his hart played:  
Now blissful Venus' help, ere that I starve,  
Of thee Pandar I mow some thank deserve.   

But dear friend, how shall my woe be less,  
Till this be done? & good eke tell me this,  
How wilt thou sane of me and my distress,  
Lest she be wroth, this dread I most iwis,  
Or wool not herens all, how it is,  
All this dread I, and eke for the manere  
Of thee her Eme, she nill no such thing here.   

(Qd. Pandarus) thou hast a full great care,  
* Lest the chorle may fall out of the moon:  
Why lord? I hate of thee the nice fare.  
Why entremete of that thou hast to done  
For God's love, I bid thee a boon:  
So let me alone, and it shall be thy best.  
Why friend (qd. he) then done right as thee lest.   

But hark Pandar o word, for I nolde,  
That thou in me wendest so great folly,  
That to my lady I desiren should,  
That toucheth harm, or any villainy:  
For dredelesse me were lever to die,  
Than she of me ought else understood,  
But that, that might sownen into good.   

Tho lough this Pandarus & anon answered:  
And I thy borrow, fie no wight doth but so,  
I reached not though she stood and herd,  
How that thou sayest, but farewell I wool go:  
Adieu, be glad, God speed us both two,  
Yeve me this labour and this business,  
And of my speed be thine all the sweetness.   

Tho Troilus 'gan down on knees to fall,  
And Pander in his arms hent fast,  
And said, now fie on the greeks all:  
Yet pard, God shall helpen at last,  
And dredelesse, if that my life may last,  
And God toforne, lo some of him shall smart,  
And yet me a thinketh that this avaunt masterte.   

And now Pandar, I can no more say,  
Thou wise, thou wost, thou mayst, thou art all:  
My life, my death, hole in thine hon I say,  
Help me now (qd. he.) Yes by my troth I shall:  
God yield thee friend, and this in special  
(Qd. Troilus) that thou me recommaund  
To her that may me to the death command.   

This Pandarus tho, desirous to serve  
His full friend, he said in this manere:  
Farewell, & think I wol thy thanke deserve.  
Have here my troth, & that thou shalt here,  
And went his way, thinking on this matter,  
And how he best might beseechen her of grace,  
And find a time thereto and a place.   

* For every wight that hath a house to found,  
He runeth nat the work for to begin,  
With rakel hon, but he wool biden stound,  
And send his heart's line out fro within,  
Alder first his purpose for to win:  
All thus Pander in his heart thought,  
And cast his work full wisely ere he wrought.   

But Troilus lay tho no longer down,  
But anon got upon his stead bay,  
And in the field he played the lion,  
Woe was the Greek, that with him met the day:  
And in the town, his manner though forth aye  
So goodly was, and got him so in grace,  
That each him loved that looked in his face.   

For he became the friendliest wight,  
The gentilest, and eke the most free,  
The thriftiest, and one the best knight  
That in his time was, or else might be:  
Dead were his yapes and his cruelty,  
His high port and his manner strange,  
And each of him 'gan for a virtue change.   

Now let us stint of Troilus a stound,  
That fareth like a man that hurt is sore,  
And is some deal of a king of his wound  
Ylessed well, but healed no deal more:  
And as an easy patient the lore  
Abite of him that goeth about his cure,  
And thus he driveth forth his aventure.   
Explicit liber primus.   



Out of these black wawes let us for to sail,  
O wind, now the weather ginneth clear:  
For in the sea the boat hath such travail  
Of my cunning, that unneath I it steer:  
This sea clepe I the tempestous matere  
Of deep despair, that Troilus was in:  
But now of hope the kalends begin.   

O lady mine, that called art Cleo,  
Thou be my speed from this forth, & my muse  
To rhyme well this book till I have do,  
Me needeth here none other art to use:  
For why to every lover I me excuse,  
That of no sentement I this indite,  
But out of latin in my tongue it write.   

Wherefore I nile have neither thank ne blame  
Of all this work: but pray you mekely,  
Disblameth me, if any word be lame,  
For as mine author said, so say I:  
Eke though I speak of love unfeelingly,  
No wonder is, for it nothing of new is,  
* A blind man cannot judgen well in hewis.   

I know, that in form of speech is change  
Within a thousand year, and words though  
That hadden prize, now wonder nice & strange  
Thinketh him, and yet they spoke him so,  
And sped as well in love, as men now do:  
* Eke for to winnen love, in sundry ages,  
In sundry londs sundry been usages.   

And for thy, if it hap in any wise,  
That here be any lover in this place,  
That harkeneth, as the story wool devise,  
How Troilus came to his lady's grace,  
And thinketh, so nolde I not love purchase,  
Or wondereth on his speech or his doing,  
I not, but it is to me no wondering:   

* For every wight, which y● to Rome went,  
Halt not o path, ne always o manere:  
Eke in some land were all the gamen shent,  
If that men fared in love, as men done here,  
As thus, in open doing or in cheer,  
In visiting, in form, or said our saws,  
* For thy men said, each country hath his laws.   

Eke scarcely been there in this place three,  
That have in love said like, and done in all:  
For to this purpose this may liken thee,  
And thee right nought, yet all is done or shall:  
* Eke some men grave intre, some in stone wall,  
As it betid, but sith I have begun,  
Mine author shall I follow, as I kon.   
Explicit Prohemium.   


IN May, the mother is of month's glade,  
That the fresh flowers, both blue, white, & read  
Ben quick again, that winter dead made,  
And full of balm is fleeting every meed,  
When Phoebus doth her bright beams spread,  
Right in the white Bowl, it so betidde,  
As I shall sing, on Maies day the third,   

That Pandarus for all his wise speech,  
Felt eke his part of loves shottes keen,  
That could he never so well of loving preach,  
It made his hue a day full oft green:  
So shaped it, that him fill that day a tene  
In love, for which in woe to bed he went,  
And made ere it were day full many a went.   

The swallow Progne, with a sorrowful lay  
When morrow come, 'gan make her waimenting  
Why she forshapen was: and ever lay  
Pandar a bed, half in a slombering,  
Till she so nigh him made her waimenting,  
How Tereus 'gan forth her sister take,  
That with the noise of her he 'gan awake,   

And to call, and dress him up to rise,  
Remembering him his errand was to done  
From Troilus, and eke his great emprise,  
And cast, & knew in good plight was the moon  
To done voyage, and took his way full soon  
Unto his neces paleis there beside:  
Now janus God of entre, thou him guide.   

When he was come unto his neces place,  
Where is my lady, to her folk (qd. he)  
And they him told, and he forth in 'gan pace,  
And found two other ladies sit and she,  
Within a paved parlour, and they three  
Herden a maiden hem reden the geste  
Of the siege of Thebes, while him least:   

(Qd. Pandarus) madam God you see  
With your book, and all the company:  
Eigh uncle mine, welcome iwis (qd. she)  
And up she rose, and by the hon in high,  
She took him fast, and said, this night thrie,  
To good mote it turn, of you I met,  
And with the word, she down on bench him set.   

Yea niece, ye shall faren well the bet,  
If God wool, all this year (qd. Pandarus)  
But I am sorry that I have you let  
To hearken of your book, ye praisen thus:  
For God's love what saith it, tell it us,  
Is it of love, or some good ye me lere?  
Uncle (qd. she) your mistress is nat here.   

With that they gonnen laugh, & though she said,  
This romance is of Thebes, that we read,  
And we have heard how the king Laius' deide:  
Through Edippus his son, & all the deed:  
And here we stinten, at these letters read,  
How the bishop, as the book can tell,  
Amphiorax, fell through the ground to hell.   

(Qd. Pandarus) all this know I my selue,  
And all thassiege of Thebes, and the care,  
For hereof been there maked books twelve:  
But let be this, and tell me how ye fare,  
Do way your barb, & show your face bare,  
Do way your book, rise up and let us dance,  
And let us to done to May some observance.   

Eighe, God forbid (qd. she) be ye mad?  
Is that a widow's life, so God you save?  
By God ye maken me right sore adread,  
Ye ben so wild, it seemeth as ye rave,  
* It sat me well bet aye in a cave  
To bide, and read on holy saints lives:  
Let maidens gone to dance, & young wives.   

As ever thrive I (qd. this Pandarus)  
Yet could I tell o thing, to done you play:  
Now uncle dear (qd. she) tell it us  
For God's love, is then thassiege away?  
I am of greeks feared, so that I day:  
Nay, nay (qd. he) as ever moat I thrive,  
It is a thing well bet than such five.   

Ye holy God (qd. she) what thing is that,  
What bet than such five? eighe nay iwis,  
For all this world ne can I reden what  
It should ben some jape I trow it is,  
And but your selven tell us what it is,  
My wit is for to arede it all to lean:  
As help me God, I not what that ye mean:   

And I your borrow, ne never shall (qd. he)  
This thing be told to you, as moat I thrive:  
And why uncle mine, why so (qd. she)  
By God (qd. he) that wool I tell as believe,  
For prouder woman is there none on live,  
And ye it wist, in all the town of Troy:  
I jape not, so ever have I joy.   

Tho 'gan she wondrens more than before,  
A thousand fold, and down her eyes cast:  
For never sith the time that she was boar,  
To known thing desired she so fast,  
And with a sike, she said him at the last,  
Now uncle mine, I nill you not displease,  
Nor asken more, that may do you disease.   

So after this, with many words glade,  
And friendly tales, and with merry cheer,  
Of this & that they speak, and gonnen wade  
In many an unkouth glad & deep matter,  
As friends done, when they bethe ifere,  
Till she 'gan asken him how Hector feared,  
That was the towns wall, & greeks yard.   

Full well I thank it God, said Pandarus,  
Save in his arm he hath a little wound,  
And eke his fresh brother Troilus,  
The wise worthy Hector the second,  
In whom that every virtue list abound,  
And first all troth, and all gentleness,  
Wisdom, honour, freedom, and worthiness.   

In good faith eme (qd. she) that liketh me,  
They faren well, God save him both two:  
* For trewliche, I hold it great dainty,  
A king's son in arms well to do,  
And be of good conditions thereto.  
* For great power, and moral virtue here  
Is seld iseene in one person ifere.   

In good faith that is sooth (qd. Pandarus)  
But by my troth the king hath son's twey,  
That is to mean, Hector and Troilus,  
That certainly though that I should they,  
They been as void of vices, dare I say,  
As any men that liven under sun,  
Her might is wide iknow, & what they con.   

Of Hector needeth it no more for to tell,  
In all this world, there nis a better knight,  
Than he that is of worthiness the well,  
And he well more virtue hath than might,  
This knoweth many a wise & worthy knight:  
And the same prize of Troilus I say,  
God help me so, I know not such twey.   

By God (qd. she) of Hector that is sooth,  
And of Troilus the same thing trow I:  
For dredelesse, men telleth that he doth  
In arms day by day, so worthily,  
And beareth him here at home so gently  
To every wight, that all prize hath he,  
Of him that me were levest praised be.   

Ye say right sooth iwis (qd. Pandarus)  
For yesterday, who so had with him been,  
Mighten have wondered upon Troilus,  
For never yet so thick a swarm of been,  
Ne flew, as greeks from him 'gan fleen,  
And through the field in every wights ear,  
There was no cry, but Troilus is there.   

Now here, now there, he hunted him so fast,  
There nas but greeks blood, and Troilus,  
Now him he hurt, and him all down he cast,  
Ay where he went it was arrayed thus:  
He was her death, and shield and life for us,  
That as that day there durst him none withstand,  
While that he held his bloody sword in hon:   

Thereto he is the friendliest man  
Of great estate, that ever I saw my live:  
And where him list, best fellowship can  
To such as him thinketh able for to thrive,  
And with that word, though Pandarus as believe  
He took his leave, and said I wool gone hen:  
Nay, blame have I uncle (qd. she then.)   

What eileth you to be weary thus soon,  
And nameliche of women, wool ye so?  
Nay sitteth down, by God I have to done  
With you, to speak of wisdom ere ye go,  
And every wight that was about him tho,  
That heard that, 'gan far away to stoned,  
While they two had all that him list in hon.   

When that her tale all brought was to an end  
Of her estate, and of her governance,  
(Qd. Pandarus) now time is that I wend,  
But yet I say, ariseth let us dance,  
And cast your widow's habit to mischance:  
What list you thus yourself to disfigure,  
Sith you is tidde so glad an aventure:   

But well bethought: for love of God (qd. she)  
Shall I not weten what ye mean of this?  
No, this thing asketh leaser though (qd. he)  
And eke me would full much greve iwis:  
If I it told, and ye it took amiss:  
Yet were it bette my tongue to hold still,  
Than say a sooth, that were against your will.   

For niece mine, by the goddess Minerve,  
And jupiter, that maketh the thunderring,  
And the blissful Venus, that I serve,  
Ye been the woman in this world living  
Withouten paramours, to my witting,  
That I best love, and loathest am to greve,  
And that ye weten well yourself, I leave.   

Iwis mine uncle (qd. she) grant mercy,  
Your friendship have I founden ever yet,  
I am to no man beholden truly  
So much as you, and have so little quit:  
And with the grace of God, emforth my wit  
As in my guilt, I shall you never offend,  
And if I have ere this, I wool amend.   

But for the love of God I you beseech  
As ye be he that I love most and trist,  
Let be to me your fremed manner speech,  
And say to me your niece what you list:  
And with that word her uncle anon her kissed,  
And said, gladly my leve niece so dear,  
Take it for good that I shall say you here.   

With that she 'gan her eien down to cast,  
And Pandarus to cough 'gan a light,  
And said: Niece always lo, to the last  
How so it be, that some men him delight  
With subtle art her tales for tendite,  
Yet for all that in her intention,  
Her tale is all for some conclusion.   

And sith the end is every tales strength,  
And this matter is so behovely,  
What should I paint it or drawn it on length  
To you, that been my friend so faithfully:  
And with that word he 'gan right inwardly  
Beholden her, and looken in her face,  
And said, on such a mirror much good grace.   

Then thought he thus, if I my tale indite  
Ought hard, or make a process any while,  
She shall no savour have therein but light,  
And trow I would her in my will beguile:  
* For tender wits wenen all be wile,  
Whereas they con not plainliche understond:  
For thy her wit to serven wool I fond.   

And looked on her in a busy wise,  
And she was ware that he beheld her so:  
Ah lord (qd. she) so fast ye me avise,  
Saw ye me never ere now, what say ye no?  
Yes, yes (qd. he) and bet wool ere I go:  
But by my troth I thought now, if ye  
Be fortunate: for now men shall it see.   

* For every wight some goodly aventure,  
Sometime is shape, if he it can receiven:  
But if he nill take of it no cure  
When that it cometh, but wilfully it weiven:  
Lo, neither case nor fortune him deceiven,  
But right his own sloth & wretchedness:  
And such a wight is for to blame, I guess.   

Good aventure, O belie niece, have ye  
Full lightly founden, and ye con it take:  
And for the love of God, and eke of me  
Catch it anon, lest aventure slake:  
What should I longer process of it make,  
Yeve me your hon, for in this world is none,  
If that you list, a wight so well begun.   

And sith I speak of good intention,  
As I to you have told well here before  
And love as well your honour and renown,  
As any creature in all the world iborne:  
By all the oaths that I have you sworn,  
And ye be wroth therefore or ween I lie,  
Ne shall I never seen you eft with eye.   

Beth nat aghast, ne quaketh nat, whereto?  
Ne change nat for fere so your hue,  
For hardly the worst of this is do:  
And though my tale as now be to you new,  
Yet trust always: ye shall me find true,  
And were it thing that me thought unfitting,  
To you would I no such tales bring.   

Now my good Eme, for Gods love I prey,  
(Qd. she) come off and tell me what it is:  
For both I am aghast what ye wool say,  
And eke me longeth it to wit iwis:  
For whether it be well, or be amiss,  
Say on let me not in this fear dwell.  
So wool I done, now hearkeneth I shall tell:   

Now niece mine, the kings own dear son,  
The good, wise, worthy, fresh, and free,  
Which always for to done well is his wonne,  
The noble Troilus so loveth thee,  
That but ye help, it wool his bane be,  
Lo here is all, what should I more say,  
Doth what you list, to make him live or day.   

But if ye let him die, I wool sterven,  
Have here my troth, niece I nill not lain,  
All should I with this knife my throat kerven:  
With that the tears burst out of his eien,  
And said, if that ye done us both dien  
Thus guiltless, then have ye fished fair:  
What mend ye, though that we both apaire?   

Alas, he which that is my lord so dear,  
That true man, that noble gentle knight,  
That nought desireth but your friendly cheer,  
I see him dien, there he goeth upright:  
And hasteth him with all his full might  
For to ben slain, if his fortune assent,  
Alas that God you such a beauty sent.   

If it be so that ye so cruel be,  
That of his death you listeth nought to retch,  
That is so true and worthy as we see,  
No more than of a yaper or a wretch,  
If ye be such, your beauty may nat stretch,  
To make amends of so cruel a deed:  
* Avisement is good before the need.   

* Woe worth the fair gem vertulesse,  
woe worth that herb also that doth no boat,  
woe worth the beauty that is routhlesse,  
woe worth that wight y● tread each under foot:  
And ye that been of beauty crop and rote,  
If therewithal in you ne be no routh,  
Then is it harm ye liven by my troth.   

And also think well, that this is no gaud,  
For me were lever, thou, I, and he  
Were honged, than I should been his bawd,  
As high as men might on us all isee:  
I am thine Eme, the shame were to me,  
As well as thee, if that I should assent  
Through mine abet, that he thine honour shent.   

Now understond, for I you nought reqire  
To bind you to him, through no behest,  
Save only that ye make him better cheer  
Than ye han done ere this, and more feast,  
So that his life be saved at the least:  
This is all and some, and plainly our intent,  
God help me so, I never other meant.   

Lo, this request is nought but skill iwis,  
Ne doubt of reason pard is there none:  
I set the worst, that ye dreden this,  
Men would wonder to seen him come & gone:  
There against answer I thus anon,  
That every wight, but he be fool of kind,  
wol deem it love of friendship in his mind.   

* What, who wool demen though he see a man  
To temple gone, that he the images eateth:  
Think eke, how well and wisely that he can  
Govern himself, that he nothing foryetteth,  
That where he cometh, he pris & thonk him getteth,  
And eke thereto he shall come here so seld,  
What force were it, though all the town beheld.   

Such love of friends reigneth thorough all this town:  
And wry you in that mantle ever more,  
And God so wis be my salvatioun  
As I have said, your best is to do so:  
But good niece, always to stint his woe,  
* So let your danger sugared been alight,  
That of his death ye be not all to wit.   

Creseide, which that herd him in this wise,  
Thought, I shall felen with he meaneth iwis:  
Now Eme (qd. she) what would ye devise?  
What is your read, I should done of this?  
That is well said (qd. he) certain best is,  
That ye him love again for his loving,  
* As love for love is skilful guerdoning.   

Think eke how eld wasteth every hour  
In each of you a part of beauty,  
And therefore, ere that age thee devour,  
Go love, for old there wool no wight of thee:  
Let this proverb, a lore unto you be,  
* Too late iware (qd. beaute) when it past,  
And eld daunteth danger, at the last.   

The king's fool is wont to cry aloud,  
When that he thinketh a woman beareth her high,  
* So long moat ye liven, and all proud,  
Till Crow's feet grown under your eye,  
And send you then a mirror in to pry,  
In which that ye may see your face a morrow,  
Niece, I bid him wish you no more sorrow.   

With this he stint, and cast down the head,  
And she began to breast and weep anon,  
And said, alas for woe, why ne'er I dead,  
For of this world the faith is all agone:  
Alas, what shoulden strange unto me done,  
When he that for my best friend I wend,  
Rate me to love, and should it me defend.   

Alas, I would have trusted doubtless,  
That if that I, through my disaventure  
Had loved either him or Achilles,  
Hector, or any other creature,  
Ye nolde have had mercy ne measure  
On me, but always had me in reprove:  
This false world alas, who may it leave.   

What? is this all the joy and all the feast?  
Is this your read? is this my blissful case?  
Is this the very meed of your behest?  
Is all this painted process said (alas)  
Right for this fine, O lady mine Pallas,  
Thou in this dreadful case for me purvey,  
For so astonished am I, that I day.   

With that she 'gan full sorrowfully to sike,  
Ne may it be no bet (qd. Pandarus)  
By God I shall no more come here this week,  
And God toforne, that am mistrusted thus:  
I see well now ye setten light of us,  
Or of our death alas, I woeful wretch,  
Might he yet live, of me were nought to retch.   

O cruel God, O despitous Marte,  
O furies three of Hell, on you I cry,  
So let me never out of this house depart,  
If that I meant harm or villainy:  
But sith I see my Lord moat needs die,  
And I with him, here I me shrive and say,  
That wickedly ye done us both day.   

But sith it liketh you, that I be dead,  
By Neptunus, that God is of the see,  
From this forth shall I never eaten bread,  
Till that I mine own heart blood may see:  
For certain I wool die as soon as he,  
And up he start, and on his way he reached,  
Till she again him by the lap caught.   

Creseide, which the well nigh starf for fear,  
So as she was the fearfullest wight  
That might be, and heard eke with her ear,  
And saw the sorrowful earnest of the knight,  
And in his prayer saw eke none unright,  
And for the harm eke that might fall more,  
She 'gan to rue and dread her wonder sore.   

And thought thus, unhaps do fallen thick  
Alday for Love, and in such manner case,  
As men been cruel in himself and wick:  
And if this man slay here himself, alas,  
In my presence, it nill be no sollas,  
What men would of it dame I can nat say,  
It needeth me full slighly for to play.   

And with a sorrowful sigh, she said thrie,  
Ah lord, what me is tidde a sorry chance,  
For mine estate lieth in jeopardy,  
And eke mine emes life lieth in balance:  
But nevertheless, with God's governance  
I shall so done, mine honour shall I keep,  
And eke his life, and stint for to weep.   

* Of harms two, the less is for to cheese,  
Yet had I lever maken him good cheer  
In honour, than my emes life to less.  
Ye sane, ye nothing else me reqire.  
No wis (qd. he) mine own niece so dear.  
Now well (qd. she) and I wool done my pain,  
I shall mine heart again my lust constrain.   

But that I nill not holden him in hon,  
Ne love a man, that can I naught ne may  
Against my will, but else wool I fond,  
Mine honour save, plesen him fro day to day,  
Thereto nolde I not ones have said nay,  
But that I dread, as in my fantasy:  
* But cease cause, aye cesseth malady.   

But here I make a protestation  
That in this process if ye deeper go,  
That certainly, for no salvation  
Of you, though that ye sterven both two,  
Though all the world on o day be my fo,  
Ne shall I never on him have other ruth:  
I grant well (qd. Pandar) by my truth.   

But may I trust well to you (qd. he)  
That of this thing that ye han height me here  
Ye wool it hold truly unto me:  
Ye doubtless (qd. she) mine uncle dear,  
Ne that I shall have cause in this matere  
(Qd. he) to plain, or ofter you to preach:  
Why no pard, what needeth more speech.   

Tho fill they in other tales glad  
Till at the last, O good Eme (qd. she though)  
For love of God which that us both made,  
Tell me how first ye wisten of his woe,  
Wot none of it but ye? he said no:  
Can he well speak of love (qd. she) I preie?  
Tell me, for I the bet shall me purveie.   

Tho Pandarus a little 'gan to smile  
And said: By my troth I shall now tell,  
This other day, nat gone full long while,  
Within the paleis gardin by a well  
'Gan he and I, well half a day to dwell,  
Right for to speaken of an ordinance,  
How we the Greeks mighten disavaunce.   

Sun after that we gone for to leap,  
And casten with our darts to and fro:  
Till at the last, he said, he would sleep,  
And on the grass adoune he laid him tho,  
And I after 'gan to romen to and fro,  
Till that I heard, as I walked alone,  
How he began full woefully to groan.   

Tho 'gan I stalk him softly behind,  
And sikerly the sooth for to sane,  
As I can clepe again now to my mind,  
Right thus to love he 'gan him for to plain,  
He said: Lord, have routh upon my pain,  
All have I been rebel in mine intent,  
Now (Mea culpa) Lord I me repent.   

O God, that at thy disposition  
leadest the ●ine, by just purveiaunce  
Of every wight, my low confession  
Accept in gree, and send me such penance  
As liketh thee, put from me disperaunce,  
That may my ghost depart always from the,  
Thou be my shield for thy benignity.   

For certes lord, so sore hath she me wounded,  
That stood in black, with looking of her iyens,  
That to mine heart's bottom it is ifounded,  
Through which I wot, that I must needs dien:  
This is the worst, I dare me nought bewrien.  
* And well the hotter been the gledes read  
That men wrien, with ashen pale & deed.   

With that he smote his heed adoune anon,  
And 'gan to muttre, I nat what truly:  
And I with that 'gan still a way to gone,  
And lete thereof, as nothing wist had I,  
And come again anon, and stood him by,  
And said awake, ye slepen all to long,  
It seemeth me nought that love doth you wrong   

That stepen so, that no man may you wake:  
Who seie ever oer this so dull a man.  
Ye friend (qd. he) do ye your heads ache  
For love, and let me liven as I can:  
But lord that he for woe was pale and wan,  
Yet made he though as fresh a countenance,  
As though he should have led the new dance.   

This passed forth, till now this other day,  
It fell that I come roaming all alone  
Into his chambre, & found how that he lay  
Upon his bed: but man so sore groan  
Ne heard I never, and what was his moan  
Ne wist I nought, for as I was coming  
All suddenly, he left his complaining.   

Of which I took somewhat suspection  
And ne'er I come, and found him weep sore,  
And God so wise be my salvation,  
As never of thing had I no routh more:  
For neither with engine, ne with no lore,  
Vnnethes might I fro the death him keep,  
That yet feel I mine heart for him weep.   

And God wot never sith that I was borne  
Was I so busy no man for to preach,  
Ne never was to wight so deep sworn,  
Ere he me told who might be his leech:  
But not to you rehearsen all his speech,  
Or all his woeful words for to sown,  
Ne bid me nought, but ye wool see me swoon.   

But for to save his life, and else nought,  
And to non harm of you, thus am I driven:  
And for the love of God that us hath wrought,  
such cheer him doth, that he & I may liven.  
Now have I plate to you mine hart shriven,  
And sith ye wot that mine intent is clean  
Take heed thereof, for none evil I mean.   

And right good thrift, I pray to God have ye,  
That han such one icaught withouten net:  
And be ye wise, as ye be fair to see,  
Well in the ring than is the Ruby set,  
There were never two so well imet,  
When ye been his all hole, as he is your,  
The mighty God yet grant us see that hour.   

Nay thereof spoke I not: A ha' (qd. she)  
As help me God, ye shenden every deal:  
A mercy dear niece, anon (qd. he)  
What ●o I spoke, I meant nought but well  
By Mars the God, that helmed is of steel:  
Now beth not wroth, my blood, my niece dear.  
Now well (qd. she) foryeven be it here.   

With this he took his leave, & home he went,  
Ye Lord how he was glad, and well bigon:  
Creseide arose, no longer she ne stint,  
But straight into her closet went anon,  
And set her down, as still as any stone,  
And every word 'gan up and down to wind,  
That he had said, as it came her to mind.   

And wox somedeal astonished in her thought,  
Right for the new case, but when that she  
Was full avised, though found she right nought,  
Of peril, why that she ought afeard be:  
* For man may love of possibility  
A woman so, his heart may to breast,  
And she nat love again, but if her jest.   

But as she sat alone, and thought thus,  
Thascrie arose at skarmoch all without,  
And men cried in the street, se Troilus  
Hath right now put to flight the Greeks rout.  
With that gone all her mien for to shout:  
A, go we see, cast up the gates wide,  
For through this street he moat to paleis ride.   

For other way is fro the gates none,  
Of Dardanus, there open is the chain:  
With that come he, and all his folk anon  
An easy pace riding, in routs tweine,  
Right as his happy day was sooth to seine:  
* For which men saith, may not distourbed be  
That shall betiden of necessity.   

This Troilus sat on his bay stead  
All armed save his head, full richly,  
And wounded was his horse, & 'gan to bleed,  
On which he road a pace full softly:  
But such a knightly sight truly  
As was on him, was nat withouten fail,  
To look on Mars, that God is of battle.   

So like a man of arms, and a knight  
He was to seen, fulfilled of high prowess,  
For both he had a body, and might  
To done that thing, as well as hardiness,  
And eke to seen him in his gear dress  
* So fresh, so young, so weldy seemed he,  
It was an heaven upon him for to see.   

His helm to hewn was in twenty places,  
That by a tissue hung, his back behind,  
His shield to dashed with swerds & with maces,  
In which men might many an arrow find,  
That thirled had both horn, nerf, and rind:  
And aye the people cried, here cometh our joy,  
And next his brother, holder up of Troie.   

For which he wext a little red for shame  
When he so heard the people upon him crien,  
That to behold it was noble game,  
How soberliche he cast adoune his iyens:  
Creseide anon 'gan all his cheer espien,  
And let it so soft in her hart sink.  
That to herself she said, who gave me drink?   

For of her own thought, she wox all red,  
Remembering her right thus, Lo this is he,  
Which that mine uncle swereth he moat he dead,  
But I on him have mercy and pite:  
And with that thought, for pure ashamed 〈◊〉  
'Gan in her head to pull, and that as fast,  
While he and all the people forth by past.   

And 'gan to cast, and rollen up and down  
Within her thought his excellent prowess,  
And his estate, and also his renown,  
His wit, his shape, and eke his gentleness,  
But most her favour was: for his distress  
Was all for her, and thought it were a routh,  
To slaen such one, if that he meant troth.   

Now might some envious jangle thus,  
This was a sudden love, how might it be,  
That she so lightly loved Troilous?  
Right for the first sight: ye pard?  
Now whoso said so, moat he never thee:  
For every thing a beginning hath it need  
* Er all be wrought, withouten any dread.   

For I say nat that she so suddenly  
gave him her love, but that she 'gan incline  
To liken him tho, and I have told you why:  
And after that, his manhood and his pine,  
Made that love within her 'gan to mine:  
For which by process, and by good service  
He won her love, and in no sudden wise.   

And all so blissful Venus well arrayed  
Sat in her seventh house of heaven though,  
Disposed well, and with aspects paid,  
To help silly Troilus of his woe:  
And sooth to sayne, she nas not all a foe  
To Troilus, in his nativite,  
God wot, that well the sooner sped he.   

Now let us stente of Troilus a throw,  
That rideth forth, and let us turn fast  
Unto Creseide, that heng her head full low,  
There as she sat alone, and 'gan to cast  
Whereon she would appoint her at the last,  
If it so were her Eme ne would cease,  
For Troilus upon her for to press.   

And lord so she 'gan in her thought argue  
In this matter, of which I have you told,  
And what to done best were, and what eschew,  
That plited she full oft in many fold:  
Now was her hart warm, now was it cold,  
And what she thought, somewhat shall I write,  
As mine author listeth for tendite.   

She thought first, that Troilus person  
She knew by sight, and eke his gentleness:  
And thus she said, all were it nought to done  
To grant him love, yet for his worthiness,  
It were honour with play, and with gladness,  
In honest with such a Lord to deal,  
For mine estate, and also for his heal.   

Eke well wot I, my king's son is he,  
And sith he hath to see me such delight,  
If I would utterliche his sight fly,  
Paraventure he might have me in despite,  
Through which I might stoned in worse plight:  
Now, were I wise, me hate to purchase  
Without need, there I may stand in grace?   

* In every thing, I wot there lieth measure:  
For though a man forbid drunkenness,  
He nought forbiddeth that every creature  
Be drinkelesse for always as I guess:  
Eke, scythe I wot for me is his distress,  
I ne ought not for that thing him despise,  
Sith it is so, he meaneth in good wise.   

And eke I know, of long time agone  
His thews good, and that he nis not nice,  
No vauntour sane men, certain he is none,  
To wise is he to done so great a vice:  
Ne als I nill him never so cherice,  
That he shall make avaunt by just cause:  
He shall me never bind in such a clause.   

Now set I case, the hardest is iwis,  
Men might demen that he loveth me:  
What dishonour were it unto me this?  
May iche him let of that? why nay pard:  
I know also, and always hear and see,  
Men loven women all this town about,  
Be they the were? Why nay withouten doubt?   

I think eke how, he worthy is to have  
Of all this noble town the thriftiest,  
That woman is, if she her honour save:  
For out and out he is the worthiest,  
Save only Hector, which that is the best,  
And yet his life lieth all now in my cure,  
But such is love, and eke mine aventure.   

Ne me to love, a wonder is it nought:  
For well wot I myself, so God me speed,  
All wool I that no man wist of this thought,  
I am one the fairest out of dread  
And goodliest, who so that taketh heed:  
And so men sane in all the town of Troie,  
What wonder is though he of me have joy?   

I am mine own woman well at ease,  
I thank it God, as after mine estate,  
Right young, and stoned untied in lusty lease,  
Withouten jealousy, and such debate:  
Shall no husband sane to me check mate,  
* For either they be full of jealousy,  
Or maisterfull, or loven novelrie.   

What shall I done? to what fine live I thus?  
Shall I not love, in case if that me lest?  
What pardieux I am not religious:  
And though that I mine heart set at rest  
Upon this knight, that is the worthiest,  
And keep always mine honour, and my name,  
By all right it may do me no shame.   

But right as when the sun shineth brigh●  
In March, that changeth oft time his face,  
And that a cloud is put with wind to flight,  
Which oversprat the Sun, as for a space,  
A cloudy thought 'gan through her soul pace,  
That overspradde her bright thoughts all,  
So that for fear almost she 'gan to fall.   

That thought was this: alas sith I am free,  
Should I now love, and put in jeopardy  
My sickerness, and thrallen liberty?  
Alas, how dared I thinken that folly?  
May I not well in other folk aspie  
Her dreadful joy, her constraint, and her pain:  
* There loveth none, that she ne hath why to plain.   

For love is yet the most stormy life,  
Right of himself, that ever was begun:  
For ever some mistrust, or nice strife,  
There is in love, some cloud over the Sun:  
Thereto we wretched women nothing con  
When us is woe, but weep and sit and think,  
* Our wretch is this, our own woe to drink.   

Also wicked tongues been ay so pressed  
To speak us harm: eke men been so untrue,  
That right anon as cessed is her jest,  
So cesseth love, and forth to love a new:  
But harm idoe is done, who so it rue:  
For though these men for love him first to rend,  
* Full sharp beginning breaketh oft at end.   

How oft time may men both read & seen,  
The treason, that to women hath be do  
To what fine is such love, I can not seen  
Or where becometh it, when it is go?  
There is no wight that wot, I trow so,  
Where it becometh, lo, no wight on it sporneth  
* That erst was nothing, into naught turneth.   

How busy (if I love) eke must I be  
To pleasen hem, that jangle of love, & demen,  
And coyen hem, that they say no harm of me:  
For though there be no cause, yet him semen  
Al be for harm, that folk her friends quemen  
* And who may stoppen every wicked tongue?  
Or son of bells, while that they been rung?   

And after that her thought 'gan for to clear  
And said, he which that nothing undertaketh  
Nothing acheveth, be him loath or dear  
And with an other thought her hart quaketh  
Then slepeth hope, and after dread awaketh,  
Now hot, now cold, but thus bitwixen fifty  
She rist her up, and went her for to play.   

Adoune the stair anon right though she went  
Into her garden, with her neces three,  
And up and down, they maden many a went  
Flexippe and she, Tarbe, and Antigone,  
To plaien, that it joy was to see  
And other of her women a great rout  
Her followed in the garden all about.   

This yard was large, & railed all the allies  
And shadowed well, with blosomy bows green  
And benched new, and sonded all the ways  
In which she walketh arm in arm between,  
Till at the last Antigone the sheen  
'Gan on a Trojan song to singen clear,  
That it an heaven was, her voier to here.   

She said, O love, to whom I have, & shall  
Been humble subject, true in mine intent  
As I best can, to you lord yeve iche all  
For evermore mine heart's lust to rend:  
For never yet thy grace to no wight sent  
So blissful cause as me, my life to lead  
In all joy and surety, out of dread.   

The blissful God, hath me so well beset  
In love iwis, that all that beareth life  
Imaginen ne could how to be bet,  
For Lord withouten jealousy or strife  
I love one, which that most is ententife  
To serven well, unwerily or unfeigned  
That ever was, & lest with harm distained.   

As he that is the well of worthiness,  
Of troth ground, mirror of goodlihedde,  
Of wit Apollo, stone of sickerness,  
Of virtue root, of lusty finder and head,  
Through which is all sorrow from me dead:  
Iwis I love him best, so doth he me,  
Now good thrift have he, where so ever he be.   

Whom should Ithanken but you God of love,  
Of all this bliss, in which to bathe I gin,  
And thanked be ye Lord, for that I love,  
This is the right life that I am inn,  
To flemen all manner vice and sin:  
This doth me so to virtue for to intend  
That day by day I in my will amend.   

And who so that sayeth that for to love is vice,  
Or thraldom, though he feel in it distress,  
He either is envious, or right nice,  
Or is unmightie for his shrewdness,  
To loven, for such manner folk I guess  
Diffamen love, as nothing of him know,  
* They speaken, but they bent never his bow.   

What is the Sun worse of his kind right?  
Though that a man, for feebleness of his iyens  
May not endure on it to see for bright,  
Or love the worst, that wretches on it crien:  
* No well is worth, that may no sorrow drien:  
And for thy, who that hath an head of verre  
Fro cast of stones beware him in the were.   

But I with all mine heart & all my might,  
As I have said, wool love unto my last  
My own dear heart & all mine own knight,  
In which mine heart grown is so fast  
And is in me, that it shall ever last:  
All dread I first love him to begin:  
Now wot I well there is no peril in.   

And of her song right with the word she stint,  
And therewithal, now niece (qd. Creseide)  
Who made this song now with so good intent  
Antigone answer anon and said,  
Madam iwis the goodliest maid  
Of great estate in all the town of Troie  
And led her life in most honour and joy.   

Forsooth so seemeth it by her song  
Qd. though Creseide, & 'gan therewith to sike,  
And said: Lord, is there such bliss among  
These lovers, as they can fair indite:  
Ye wisse qd. fresh Antigone the white,  
* For all the folk that have or been on live  
Ne con well the bliss of love discrive.   

But ween ye that every wretch wot  
The perfect bliss of love, why nay iwis  
They wenen all be love, if one be hot,  
Do way do way, they wot nothing of this.  
* Men moat asken of saints, if it is  
Aught fair in heaven, & why? for they can tell,  
And ask fiends, if it be foul in hell.   

Creseide unto the purpose naught answer,  
But said, iwis it wool be night as fast,  
But every word, which that she of her herd,  
She 'gan to printen in her heart fast,  
And aye 'gan love her lass for to aghast  
Than it did erst, and sinken in her heart,  
That she wax somewhat able to convert.   

The day's honour, and the heavens eye,  
The night's foe, all this clepe I thee son,  
'Gan western fast, and downward for to wry,  
As he that had his day's course ironne,  
And white things waxed all dim and done  
For lack of light, and stars for to apere,  
That she and all her folk in went ifere.   

So when it liked her to gone to rest,  
And voided weren they that voiden ought,  
She said, that to slepen well her least:  
Her women soon till her head her brought  
When all was hust, then lay she still & thought  
Of all this thing the manner and the wise,  
Rehearse it needeth not, for ye been wise.   

A Nightingale upon a Cedre green  
Under the chamber wall, there as she lay,  
Full loud song again the Moon sheen  
Paraventure in his birds wise a lay,  
Of love, that made her heart fresh & gay,  
That harkened she so long in good intent,  
Till at the last the dead sleep her hent.   

And as she slept, anon right though her met,  
How that an Eagle feathered white as bone,  
Under her breast his long claws iset,  
And out her heart he rend, and that anon,  
And did his heart into her breast to gone,  
Of which she nought agrose, ne nothing smart,  
And forth he flieth, with hart left for hart.   

Now let her sleep, and we our tales hold  
Of Troilus, that is to Paleis ridden,  
From the scarmishe of which I of told,  
And in his chamber sat, and hath abidden,  
Till two or three of his messengers yeden  
For Pandarus, and sosughten him full fast,  
Till they him found, & brought him at the last.   

This Pandarus came leaping in at ones,  
And said thus, who hath been well ibete  
To day with swords, and slong stones,  
But Troilus, that hath caught him an heat,  
And 'gan to yape, and said, Lord ye sweet,  
But rise and let us soup, and go to rest,  
And he answer him, do we as thee least.   

With all the hast goodly as they might,  
They sped him fro the souper, and to bed,  
And every wight out at the door him dight,  
And whider him list, upon his way him sped:  
But Troilus thought that his heart bled  
For woe, till that he heard some tiding,  
And said friend, shall I now weep or sing.   

(Qd. Pandarus) be still and let me sleep,  
And do on thy hood, thine needs sped be,  
And chose if thou wolt sing, dance, or leap,  
At short words thou shalt trow all by me,  
Sir, my niece wool done well by thee,  
And love thee best, by God and by troth,  
But lack of pursuit mar it in thy sloth.   

For thus ferforth I have thy work begon,  
Fro day to day, till this day by the morrow,  
Her love of friendship have I to thee won,  
And therefore hath she laid her faith to borrow,  
Algate a foot is hameled of thy sorrow:  
What should I longer sermon of it hold,  
As ye have heard before, all he him told.   

But right as flours through the cold of night  
Iclosed, stoupen in her stalks low,  
Redressen hem again the Sun bright,  
And spreden in her kind course by row,  
Right so 'gan though his iyens up to throw  
This Troilus, and said: O Venus dear,  
Thy might, thy grace, iheried be it here.   

And to Pandarus he held up both his honds,  
And said, Lord all thine be that I have,  
For I am hole, and broken been my bonds,  
A thousand Troy's, who so that me gave  
Each after other, God so wis me save,  
Ne might me so gladden, lo mine heart  
It spreadeth so for joy it wool to start.   

But lord how shall I done? how shall I liven,  
When shall I next my dear heart see?  
How shall this long time away he driven?  
Till that thou be again at her from me,  
* Thou mayest answer, abide abide: but he  
That hangeth by the neck, sooth to sane,  
In great disease abideth for the pain.   

All easily now, for the love of Mart  
(Qd. Pandarus) for every thing hath time,  
So long abide, till that the night depart,  
For also siker as thou liest here by me,  
And God toforne, I wool be there at prime,  
And for thy work somewhat, as I shall say,  
Or on some other wight this charge lay.   

For pard, God wot, I have ever yet  
Ben ready thee to serve, and this night  
Have I not feigned, but emforthe my wit  
done all thy lust, and shall with all my might:  
Do now as I shall sane, and fare aright:  
And if thou nilte, wit all thyself the care,  
On me is nought along thine evil fare.   

I wot well, that thou wiser art than I  
A thousand fold: but if I were as thou,  
God help me so, as I would utterly  
Right of mine own hon write her now  
A letter, in which I would her tell how  
I fared amiss, and her beseech of routh:  
Now help thyself, and leave it for no sloth.   

And I myself shall therewith to her gone,  
And when thou wost that I am with her there  
Worth thou upon a courser right anon,  
Ye hardly, and that right in thy best gear,  
And ride forth by the place, as naught ne were,  
And thou shalt find us (if I may) sitting  
At some window, into the street looking.   

And if thee list, then mayest thou us salve,  
And upon me make thou thy countenance,  
But by thy life beware, and fast eschew  
To tarien ought, God shield us from mischance  
Ride forth thy way, & hold thy governance,  
And we shall speak of thee somewhat I trow  
When thou art gone, to do thine ears glow.   

Touching thy letter, thou art wise enough,  
I wot thou nilte it deigneliche indite,  
As make it with these arguments tough,  
Ne scriveinishe or craftily thou it write,  
Beblotte it with thy tears eke alight,  
* And if thou write a goodly word all soft,  
Though it be good, rehearse it not too oft.   

oft For though the best Harpour upon live  
Would on the best souned jolly Harp  
That ever was, with all his fingers five  
Touch aye o strong, or aye o warble Harp,  
Were his nails pointed never so sharp,  
It should make every wight to dull,  
To hear his glee, and of his strokes full.   

Ne iombre eke no discordant thing ifere,  
As thus, to use terms of Physic,  
In love's terms hold of thy matere  
The form always, and do that it be like,  
* For if a painter would paint a pike  
With Ass' feet, and headed as an Ape,  
It cordeth not, so were it but a yape.   

This counsel liked well unto Troilus,  
But as a dreadful lover he said this:  
Alas my dear brother Pandarus,  
I am ashamed for to write amiss,  
Lest of mine innocence I said amiss,  
Or that she nolde it for despite receive,  
Then were I dead, there might it nothing weive.   

To that Pandar answer, if thee lest,  
Do that I say, and let me therewith gone,  
For by that Lord that form East and West,  
I hope of it to bring answer anon  
Right of her hon, & if that thou nilte none,  
Let be, and sorry mote he been his live,  
Against thy lust, that helpeth thee to thrive.   

(Qd. Troilus) depardieux iche assent,  
Sith that thee list, I wool arise and write,  
And blissful God pray iche with good intent  
The voyage and the letter I shall indite,  
So speed it, and thou Minerva the white,  
Yeve thou me wit, my letter to devise:  
And set him down, & wrote right in this wise.   

First he 'gan her his right Lady call,  
His heart's life, his lust, his sorrows leche,  
His bliss, and each these other terms all,  
That in such case ye lovers all seek,  
And in full humble wise, as in his speech,  
He 'gan him recommaund unto her grace,  
To tell all how, it asketh mokell space.   

And after this full lowly he her prayed  
To be nought wroth, though he of his folly  
So hardy was to her to write, and said  
That love it made, or else must he die,  
And pitously 'gan mercy for to cry:  
And after that he said, and lied full loud,  
Himself was little worth, and lass he could.   

And that she would have his cunning excused,  
That little was, and eke he drad her so,  
And his unworthiness aye he accused:  
And after that then 'gan he tell his woe,  
But that was endless withouten ho:  
And said, he would in troth always him hold,  
And red it over, and 'gan the letter fold.   

And with his salt tears 'gan he bathe  
The ruby in his signet, and it set  
Upon the wax deliverliche and rather,  
Therewith a thousand times, ere he let  
He kissed though the letter that he shut,  
And said, letter a blissful destiny  
Thee shapen is, my Lady shall thee see.   

This Pander took the letter, and betime  
A morrow to his neecis palace start,  
And fast he swore, that it was passed prime:  
And 'gan to yape, and said iwis my heart  
So fresh it is, although it sore smart,  
I may not sleep never a May's morrow,  
I have a jolly woe, a lusty sorrow.   

Creseide when that she her Uncle heard,  
With dreadful heart, and desirous to hear  
The cause of his coming, thus answeard,  
Now by your faith mine uncle (qd. she) dear,  
What manner winds guideth you now here?  
Tell us your jolly woe, and your penance,  
How far forth be ye put in loves dance.   

By God (qd. he) I hop always behind,  
And to laugh, it thought her heart breast,  
* (Qd. Pandarus) Look always that ye find  
Game in mine hood: but harkeneth if you lest,  
There is right now come into the town a gest,  
A Greek aspie, and telleth new things,  
For which I come to tell you new tidings.   

Into the garden go we, and ye shall hear  
All privily of this a long sermoun:  
With that they wenten arm in arm ifere,  
Into the gardin from the chamber down.  
And when he was so far, that the sound  
Of that he spoke, no man herens might,  
He said her thus, and out the letter plight.   

Lo, he that is all holly yours free,  
Him recommaundeth lowly to your grace,  
And sent you this letter here by me,  
Aviseth you on it, when ye han space,  
And of some goodly answer you purchase,  
Or help me God so, plainly for to sane,  
He may not long liven for his pain.   

Full dreadfully though 'gan she stoned still,  
And took it not, but all her humble cheer  
'Gan for to change, and said, scripe nor bill  
For love of God, that toucheth such matter  
Ne bring me none: and also uncle dear  
To mine estate have more regard I pray  
Than to his lust, what should I more say.   

And looketh now if this be reasonable,  
And letteth not for favour ne for sloth  
To said a sooth, now is it covenable  
To mine estate, by God and by my troth  
To take it, or to have of him routh,  
In harming of myself or in reprove:  
Bear it again, for him that ye on leave.   

This Pandarus 'gan on her for to stare,  
And said, now is this the greatest wonder  
That ever I saw, let be this nice fare,  
To death moat I smitten be with thunder,  
If for the City which that stondeth yonder,  
Would I a letter unto you bring or take,  
To harm of you: what list you thus it make.   

* But thus ye faren well nigh all & some,  
That he that most desireth you to serve,  
Of him ye reach least where he become,  
And whether that he live, or else starve:  
But for all that, that ever I may deserve,  
Refuse it not (qd. he) and hent her fast,  
And in her bosom the letter down he thrust.   

And said her, now cast it away anon  
That folk may seen, and gaurens on us fifty,  
(Qd. she) I can abide till they be gone  
And 'gan to smile, and said him, eme I pray  
Such answer as you list yourself purvey:  
For truly I wool no letter write:  
No, then wool I (qd. he) so ye indite.   

Therewith she lough, and said go we dine,  
And he 'gan at himself yapen fast,  
And said Niece, I have so great a pine  
For love, that everich other day I fast,  
And 'gan his best yapes forth to cast,  
And made her so to laugh at his folly,  
That she for laughter weent for to die.   

And when that she was comen into the hall,  
Now eme (qd. she) we wool go dine anon,  
And 'gan some of her women to her call,  
And straight into her chamber 'gan she gone,  
But of her business this was one,  
Amongst other things, out of dread,  
Full prively this letter for to read.   

Avised word by word in every line,  
* And found no lack, she thought he could his good,  
And up it put, and went her in to dine,  
And Pandarus, that in a study stood,  
Ere he was ware, she took him by the hood,  
And said ye were caught ere that ye wist,  
I vouchsafe (qd. he) do what you list.   

Tho weshen they, and set him down & eat,  
And after noon fall slighly Pandarus  
'Gan draw him to the window nigh the street,  
And said, niece, who hath arrayed thus  
The yonder house, that stant aforeyene us?  
Which house (qd. she) and 'gan for to behold,  
And knew it well, & whose it was him told.   

And fellen forth in speech of things small,  
And saten in the window both twey:  
When Pandarus saw time unto his tale,  
And saw well that her folk were all away:  
Now niece mine, tell on (qd. he) I pray,  
How liketh you the letter that ye wot,  
Can he thereon, for by my troth I not.   

Therewith all rosy hewed though wox she,  
And 'gan to hum, and said, so I trow,  
Acquit him well for God's love (qd. he)  
Myself to medes wool the letter sow,  
And held his honds up, and sat on know,  
Now good niece, be it never so light,  
Yeve me the labour, it to sow and plight.   

Ye, for I can so written (qd. she) though,  
And eke I not what I should to him say:  
Nay niece (qd. Pandar) say not so,  
Yet at the least, thonketh him I pray  
Of his good will: O, doth him not to they,  
Now for the love of me my niece dear,  
Refuseth not at this time my praiere.   

Depardieux (qd. she) God leave all be well,  
God help me so, this is the first letter  
That ever I wrote, ye all or any deal,  
And into a closet for to avise her better,  
She went alone, and 'gan her heart unfetter  
Out of disdains prison, but a light,  
And set her down, and 'gan a letter write.   

Of which to tell in short is mine intent  
Theffect, as far as I can understand:   

She thonked him, of all that he well meant  
Towards her, but holden him in hon  
She nolde not, ne make her seluen bond  
In love, but as his sister him to please,  
She would aye fain to done his hart an ease.   

She shut it, and to Pander into gone  
There as he sat, and looked into street,  
And down she set her by him on a stone  
Of jasper, upon a quisshen of gold ibete,  
And said, as wisely help me God the great,  
I never did a thing with more pain,  
Than write this, to which ye me restrain,   

And took it him: he thonked her, & said,  
* God wot of thing full often loath begun,  
Come end good: & niece mine Creseide.  
That ye to him of hard now been iwonne,  
Ought he be glad, by God & yonder son:  
* For why, men saith impressions light  
Full lightly been aye ready to the flight.   

But ye han played the tiraunt all too long,  
And hard was it your hart for to grave,  
Now stint, that ye no longer on it hung,  
All woulden ye the form of danger save,  
But hasteth you to done him joy have:  
* For trusteth well, too long idone hardness  
Causeth despite full often for distress.   

And right as they declared this matter,  
Lo Troilus, right at the streets end  
Came riding with his tenth some ifere  
All softly, and thiderward 'gan bend  
There as they sat, as was his way to wend  
To paleis ward, and Pander him aspide,  
And said, niece, isee who cometh here ride.   

O fly not in, he seeth us I suppose,  
Lest he may thinken that ye him eschew.  
Nay, nay (qd. she) & wox as red as rose,  
With that he 'gan her humbly salve  
With dreadful cheer, & oft his hues move,  
And up his look debonairely he cast,  
And becked on Pandar, and forth by past.   

God wot if he sat on his horse aright,  
Or goodly was beseen that like day,  
God wot where he were like a manly knight,  
What should I dretche, or tell of his array:  
Creseide, which that all these things say,  
To tell in short, her liked all ifere  
His person, his array, his look, his cheer,   

His goodly manner, and gentillesse,  
So well, that never sith that she was borne,  
Ne had she such routh of his distress,  
And how so, she hath hard been here before,  
* To God hope I, she hath now caught a thorn,  
She shall nat pull it out this next wike,  
God send her more such thorns on to pike.   

Pandar, which that stood her fast by,  
* Felt iron hot, and he began to smite,  
And said, niece, I pray you heartily,  
Tell me that I shall asken you alight,  
A woman that were of his death to wit  
Withouten his gilt, but for her lack of routh,  
Were it well done (qd. she) nay by my troth.   

God help me so (qd. he) ye say me sooth,  
Ye feelen well yourself that I nought lie,  
Lo, yond he rideth (qd. she) ye so he doth:  
Well (qd. Pandar) as I have told you thrie,  
Let be your nice shame, and your folly,  
And speak with him in easing of his heart,  
Let nicete nat do you both smart.   

But thereon was to heaven and to done,  
Considering all thing, it may nat be,  
And why? for shame, & it were eke too soon  
To graunten him so great a liberte:  
For plainly her intent, as (said she)  
Was for to love him unwist, if she might,  
And guerdon himwith nothing but with sight.   

But Pandar thought, it shall nat be so  
If that I may, this nice opinion  
Shall nat been holden fully years two.  
What should I make of this a long sermon?  
He must assent on that conclusion,  
As for the time, and when that it was eve,  
And all was well, he rose and took his leve.   

And on his way fast homeward he sped,  
And right for joy he felt his heart dance,  
And Troilus he found alone abed,  
That lay, as done these lovers in a trance,  
Betwixen hope and dark desperaunce,  
But Pandar, right at his in coming,  
He song, as who saith, lo, somewhat I bring.   

And said, who is in his bed so soon  
Yburied thus? it am I friend (qd. he)  
Who, Troilus? nay, help me so the moon  
(Q. d. Pandarus) thou shalt up rise and see  
A charm that was sent right now to thee,  
The which can healen thee of thine access,  
If thou do forthwith all thy business.   

Ye through the might of God (qd. Troilus)  
And Pandarus 'gan him the letter take,  
And said, pard God hath holpen us,  
Have here a light, and look on all these black,  
But often 'gan the heart glad and quake  
Of Troilus, while he it 'gan to read,  
So as the words gave him hope or dread.   

But finally he took all for the best  
That she him wrote, for somewhat he beheld,  
On which he thought he might his heart rest,  
All covered she the words under shield,  
Thus to the more worthy part he held,  
That what for hope, and Pandarus behest,  
His great woe foryede he at the least.   

But as we may all day our selven see,  
* Through wood or coal kindleth the more fire,  
Right so increase of hope, of what it be,  
Therewith full oft increaseth eke desire,  
Or as an oak cometh of a little spire,  
So through this letter, which that she him sent,  
increase 'gan desire of which he brent.   

Wherefore I say always, that day and night  
This Troilus 'gan to desiren more  
Than he did erst through hope, and did his might  
To presen on, as by Pandarus lore,  
And written to her of his sorrows sore  
From day to day, he let it nought refreide,  
That by Pander he somewhat wrote or said.   

And did also his other observaunces,  
That till a lover longeth in this case,  
And after as his dice turned on chances,  
So was he either glad, or said alas,  
And held after his gests aye his pace,  
And after such answers as he had,  
So were his days sorry either glad.   

But to Pandar always was his recours,  
And pitously 'gan aye on him to plain,  
And him besought of read, and some socours,  
And Pandarus, that saw his wood pain,  
Wext well nigh dead for routh sooth to sane,  
And busily with all his heart cast,  
Some of his woe to sleen, and that as fast.   

And said, Lord and friend, and brother dear,  
God wot that thy disease doth me woe,  
But wolt thou stinten all this woeful cheer,  
And by my troth, ere it be days two,  
And God toforne, yet shall I shape it so,  
That thou shalt come into a certain place,  
There as thou mayst thyself praien her of grace,   

And certainly I not if thou it wost,  
But they that been expert in love, it say,  
* It is one of these things forthereth most,  
A man to have a le●ser for to pray,  
And siker place, his woe for to bewray,  
* For in good heart it moat some routh impress  
To hear and see the guiltless in distress.   

Peradventure thinkest thou, though it be so,  
That kind would her done for to begin,  
To have a manner routh upon my woe,  
Saith danger nay, thou shalt me never win,  
So ruleth her heart's ghost within,  
* That though she bend, yet she stont on rote,  
What in effect is this unto my hot.   

* Think here again, when that the sturdy oak,  
On which men hacketh oft for the nonce,  
Received hath the happy falling stroke,  
The great sweight doth it come all at ones,  
As done these great rocks or these miln stones  
* For swifter course cometh thing that is of wight  
When it descendeth, than done things light.   

But read that boweth down for every blast  
Full lightly cease wind, it wool arise,  
But so nill not an oak, when it is cast,  
It needeth me nought long thee forvise,  
* Men shall rejoicen of a great emprise,  
Achieved well, and stant withouten doubt,  
All have men been the longer thereabout.   

But Troilus, now tell me if thee lest  
A thing, which that I shall asken thee,  
Which is thy brother, that thou lovest best?  
As in thy very hearts privite?  
Iwis my brother Deiphobus tho (qd. he.)  
Now (qd. Pandar) ere hours twice twelve,  
He shall the ease, unwist of it himselve.   

Now let me alone, and work as I may  
(Qd. he) and to Deiphobus went he tho,  
Which had his lord, and great friend been aye,  
Save Troilus no man he loved so,  
To tell in sort withouten words more  
(Qd. Pandarus) I pray you that ye be  
Friend to a cause, which that toucheth me.   

Yes pard (qd. Deiphobus) welthou wottest  
All that ever I may, and God tofore,  
All near it but for the man I love most,  
My brother Troilus, but say wherefore  
It is, for sith the day that I was boar,  
I nas, ne never more to ben I think,  
Against a thing that might thee forethink.   

Pandar 'gan him thank, & to him said,  
Lo sir, I have a Lady in this town  
That is my niece, and called is Creseide,  
Which some men would done oppression,  
And wrongfully have her possession,  
Wherefore I of your lordship you beseech  
To been our friend, withouten more speech.   

Deiphobus him answered: O, is nat this  
That thou speakest of to me thus strangely,  
Creseide my friend? He said him yes.  
Then needeth (qd. Deiphobus) hardly  
No more of this to speak, for trusteth well that I  
wol be her Champion with spore and yard,  
I ne reached nat though all her foes it heard.   

But tell me how, for thou wost this matter,  
I might best availen, now let see?  
(Qd. Pandarus) if ye my lord so dear  
Woulden as now do this honour to me,  
To praien her to morrow, lo that she  
Came unto you, her plaints to devise,  
Her adversaries would of it agrize.   

And if I more durst praien as now,  
And chargen you to have so great travail,  
To have some of your brethren here with you,  
That mighten to her cause bet avail,  
Then wore I well she might never fail  
For to ben holpen, what at your instance,  
What with her other friends governance.   

Deiphobus, which the comen was of kind  
To all honour and bounty to consent,  
Answered, it shall be done: and I can find  
Yet greater help to this mine intent,  
What wouldst thou sane, if for Heleine I sent  
To speak of this, I trow it be the best,  
For she may leden Paris as her jest.   

Of Hector, which that is my Lord my brother,  
It needeth nat to praien him friend to be,  
For I have heard him o time and eke other  
Speaken of Creseide such honour, that he  
May sane no bet, such hap to him hath she,  
It needeth nat his helps more to crave,  
He shall be such, right as we wool him have.   

Speak thou thyself also to Troilus  
On my behalf, and pray him with us dine.  
Sat, all this shall be done (qd. Pandarus)  
And took his leave, and never 'gan to fine,  
But to his neces house as straight as line  
He came, and found her fro the meat arise,  
And set him down, & spoke right in this wise:   

He said, O very God, so have I run,  
Lo niece mine, see ye nat how I sweet,  
I not wheat ye the more thank me con,  
Be ye not ware how false Poliphete  
Is now about eftsoons for to plete,  
And bring on you advocacies new?  
ay, no (qd. she) and changed all her hue.   

What, is he more about me to dretche  
And done me wrong, what shall I done, alas,  
Yet of himself nothing would I retche,  
Near it for Antenor and Aeneas,  
That been his friends in such manner case:  
But for the love of God mine uncle dear,  
No force of that, let him have all ifere,   

Withouten that, I have enough for us.  
Nay (qd. Pandar) it shall nothing be so,  
For I have been right now at Deiphobus,  
At Hector, and mine other lords more,  
And shortly maked each of him his foe,  
That by my thrift he shall it never win,  
For aught he can, when so that he begin.   

And as they casten what was best to done,  
Deiphobus of his own courtesy  
Came her to pray, in his proper person,  
To hold him on the morrow company  
At dinner, which she nolde not deny,  
But goodly 'gan to his prayer obey,  
He thonked her, and went upon his weigh.   

When this was done, this Pander anon  
To tell in short forth he 'gan to wend  
To Troilus, as still as any stone,  
And all this thing he told him word and end,  
And how that he Deiphobus 'gan to blend,  
And said him, now is time of that ye con  
To bear thee well to morrow, & all is won.   

Now speak, now pray, now pitously complain,  
Let nat for nice shame, for dread or sloth,  
* Sometime a man moat tell his own pain,  
Believe it, and she wool have on thee routh,  
Thou shalt been saved by thy faith in troth,  
But well wot I, thou now art in a dread,  
And what it is, I lay that I can arede.   

Thou thinkest now, how should I don all this,  
For by my cheres mosten folk espy,  
That for her love is that I fare amiss,  
Yet had I lever unwist for sorrow die:  
Now think nat so, for thou dost great folly,  
For I right now have founden a manere  
Of sleight, for to coveren all thy cheer.   

Thou shalt gone overnight, & that believe,  
Unto Deiphobus house, as thee to play,  
Thy malady away the bet to drive,  
For which thou seemeth sick, sooth to say,  
Soon after that, in thy bed thee lay,  
And say thou mayst no longer up endure,  
And lie right there, and bide thine aventure.   

Say that thy fever is wont thee for to take  
The same time, and last till a morrow,  
And let see now how well thou canst it make:  
* For pard sick is he that is in sorrow.  
Go now farewell, and Venus here to borrow,  
I hope and thou this purpose hold farm,  
Thy grace she shall fully there conferme.   

(Qd. Troilus) iwis thou all needless  
Counselest me, that sickeliche I me fain,  
For I am sick in earnest doubtless,  
So that well nigh I starve for the pain:  
(Qd. Pandarus) thou shalt the better plain,  
And hast the less need to counterfeit,  
* For him deemeth men hot, that seeth him sweet.   

Lo, hold thee at thy triste close, and I  
* Shall well the dear unto the bow drive:  
Therewith he took his leave all softly,  
And Troilus to his paleis went believe,  
So glad ne was he never in all his live,  
And to Pandarus read 'gan all assent,  
And to Deiphobus house at night he went.   

What needeth it you to tell all the cheer  
That Deiphobus unto his brother made,  
Or his axis, or his sickeliche manere,  
How men gone him with clothes for to lad,  
When he was laid, & how men would him glade:  
But all for nought, he held forth aye the wise,  
That ye han heard Pander ere this devise.   

But certain is, ere Troilus him laid,  
Deiphobus had prayed him over night  
To ben a friend, and helping to Creseide:  
God wot that he granted anon right,  
To been her full friend with all his might:  
* But such a need was it to praien him then,  
As for to bidden a wood man to run.   

The morrow came, & nighen 'gan the time  
Of mealtide, that the fair queen Heleine  
Shaped her to ben an hour after the prime  
With Deiphobus, to whom she nolde feign,  
But as his sister, homely sooth to sane  
She came to dinner in her plain intent,  
But God & Pandar wist all what this meant.   

Came eke Creseide all innocent of this,  
Antigone her niece, and Tarbe also,  
But fly we now prolixity best is,  
For love of God, and let us fast go  
Right to th'effect, withouten tales more,  
Why all this folk assembled in this place,  
And let us of all her salving pace.   

Great honour did him Deiphobus certain,  
And fed him well, with all that might like,  
But evermo alas, was his refrain:  
My good brother Troilus the sike  
Lithe yet, and therewithal he 'gan to sike,  
And after that he pained him to glade  
Him as he might, and cheer good he made.   

Complained eke Heleine of his sickness  
So faithfully, that it pity was to here,  
And every wight 'gan wexen for axes  
A leech anon, and said in this manere  
Men curen folk, this charm I wol thee lere,  
But there sat one, all list her nat to teach,  
That thought, yet best could I been his leech.   

After complaint him gonnen they to praise,  
As folk done yet when some wight hath begun  
To praise a man, and with praise him raise  
A thousand fold yet higher than the son,  
He is, he can, that few other Lords con,  
And Pandarus of that they would affirm,  
He nought forgot her praising to confirm.   

Heard all this thing fair Creseid well enough,  
And every word 'gan for to notify,  
For which with sober cheer her heart lough,  
For who is that ne would her glorify,  
To mown such a knight done live or die,  
But all pass I, lest ye too long idwell,  
But for o fine is all that ever I tell.   

The time came, fro dinner for to rise,  
And as him aught, arisen everychone,  
And gane a while of this and that devise,  
But Pandarus broke all this speech anon,  
And said to Deiphobus, wool ye gone,  
If your will be, as erst I you preide,  
To speaken of the needs of Creseide.   

Heleine, which that by the hon her held,  
took first the tale, and said, go we believe,  
And goodly on Creseide she beheld,  
And said, Ioves let him never thrive  
That doth you harm, & reve him soon of live,  
And yeve me sorrow, but he shall it rue,  
If that I may, and all folk be true.   

Tell thou thy nices case (qd. Deiphobus  
To Pandarus) for thou canst best it tell.  
My Lords and my Ladies, it stant thus,  
What should I longer (qd. he) do you dwell,  
dwell He rung him out a process like a bell  
Upon her foe, that height Poliphete,  
So heinous, that men might on it spete.   

Answered of this each worse of him than other,  
And Poliphete they gonnen thus to warien,  
And honged be such one, were he my brother,  
And so he shall, for it ne may nought varien,  
What should I longer in this tale tarien,  
Plaineliche all at ones they her heighten  
To ben her friend in all that ever they mighten.   

Spoke then Heleine, and said Pandarus,  
Wot aught my lord my brother of this mater,  
I mean Hector, or wot it Troilus.  
He said ye, but wool ye me now here,  
Me thinketh thus, sith that Troilus is here,  
It were good, if that ye would assent,  
She told him herself all this ere she went.   

For he wol have the more her grief at hart,  
Because lo, that she a Lady is,  
And by your will, I wool but in right start,  
And do you weet, and that anon iwis,  
If that he sleep, or wool aught here of this,  
And in he leapt, and said him in his ere,  
* God have thy soul, for brought have I thy bear.   

To smilen of this 'gan though Troilus,  
And Pandarus without reckoning,  
Out went anon to Heleine and Deiphobus,  
And said him, so there be no tarrying  
Ne more press, he wool well that ye bring  
Creseide my Lady, that is now here,  
And as he may endurens, he wool her here.   

But well ye wot, the chamber is but light,  
And few folk may lightly make it warm,  
Now looketh ye, for I wool have no wit  
To bring in press, that might done him harm,  
Or him diseasen, for my better arm:  
Yet were it bette she bid till oft soonis,  
Now look ye that known what to donis.   

I say for me best is, as I can know,  
That no wight in ne wend, but ye fifty,  
But it were I, for I cannot in a throw  
Rehearse her case, unlike that she can say,  
And after this she may him ones prey  
To ben good Lord in short, and take her leve,  
This may not mokell of his ease him reve.   

And eke for she is strange, he wool forbere  
His ease, which that him dare nat for you,  
Eke other thing that toucheth nat to her,  
He wool it tell, I wot it well right now,  
That secret is, and for the town's prow,  
And they that knew nothing of his intent,  
Without more, to Croilus in they went.   

Heleine in all her goodly soft wise  
'Gan him salve, and womanly to play,  
And said iwis, ye moat algate arise:  
Now fair brother be all hole I pray,  
And 'gan her arm right over his shoulder lay,  
And him with all her wit to recomfort,  
As she best could, she 'gan him to disport.   

So after this (qd. she) we you beseek  
My dear brother Deiphobus and I,  
For love of God, and so doth Pandar eke,  
To been good lord and friend right heartily  
Unto Creseide, which that certainly  
Received wrong, as wot well here Pandar,  
That can her case well bet than I declare.   

This Pandarus 'gan new his tongue affile,  
And all her case rehearse, and that anon,  
When it was said, soon after in a while,  
(Qd. Troilus) as soon as I may gone,  
I wol right faint with all my might been one,  
Have God my troth, her cause to sustain.  
Now good thrift have ye (qd. Helein the queen.)   

(Qd. Pandarus) and it your will be,  
That she may take her leave ere that she go.  
O else God forbid it tho (qd. he)  
If that she vouchsafe for to do so:  
And with that word (qd. Troilus) ye two  
Deiphobus, and my sister lief and dear,  
To you have I to speak of a matter.   

To been avised by your read the better,  
And found (as hap was) at his bed's head  
The copy of a treatise, and a letter  
That Hector had him sent, to asken read  
If such a man was worthy to been deed,  
Wot I naught who, but in a grisly wise  
He prayed him anon on it avise.   

Deiphobus 'gan this letter for to unfold  
In earnest great, so did Heleine the queen,  
And roaming outward, fast it gone behold  
downward a steire, into an herbor green:  
This ilke thing they redden hem between,  
And largely the mountenance of an hour  
They gone on it to reden and to pour.   

Now let him read, and turn we anon  
To Pandarus, that 'gan full soft prie,  
That all was well, and out he 'gan to gone  
Into the great chamber, and that in high,  
And said, God save all this company:  
Come niece mine, my lady Queen Heleine  
Abideth you, and eke my Lords tweine.   

Rise, take with you your niece Antigone,  
Or whom you list, or no force hardly,  
The lass press the bet, come forth with me,  
And look that ye thonken humbly  
Him all three, and when ye may goodly  
Your time isee, taketh of him your leave,  
Lest we too long his rests him bireave.   

All innocent of Pandarus intent  
(Qd. tho Creseide) go we uncle dear,  
And arm in arm, inward with him she went,  
Avising well her words and her cheer,  
And Pandarus in earnestfull manere,  
Saied, all folk for Gods love I pray,  
Stinteth right here, and softly you play.   

Aviseth you what folk been here within,  
And in what plight one is, God him amend,  
And inward thus full softly begin,  
Niece I conjure, and highly you defend  
On his half, which that soul us all send,  
And in the virtue of corounes twain  
Slay nat this man, that hath for you this pain.   

Fie on the devil, think which on he is,  
And in what plight he lieth, come off anon,  
* Think all such tarried tie but lost it nis,  
That wool ye both sane, when ye been one:  
Secondly, there yet deuineth none  
Upon you two, come off now if ye con,  
* While folk is blended, lo, all the time is won.   

* In titering and pursuit, and delays  
The folk divine, at wegging of a stre,  
And though ye would han after merry days,  
Then dare ye nat, and why? For she and she  
Spoke such a word, thus looked he and he:  
Lest time be lost, I dare nat with you deal,  
Come off therefore, and bringeth him to heal.   

But now to you, ye lovers that ben here,  
Was Troilus not in a cankedort,  
That lay, and might the wispring of him here  
And think O lord, right now runeth my sort  
Fully to die, or have anon comfort,  
And was the first time he should her pray  
Of love, O mighty God, what shall he say.    
Explicit Liber Secundus.   



O Blissful light, of which the beams clear  
Adorneth all the third heaven fair  
O sons lief, O Ioues daughter dear,  
Pleasance of love, O goodly debonair,  
In gentle hearts aye ready to repair,  
O very cause of heal and of gladness,  
Iheried be thy might and thy goodness.   

In heaven and hell, in earth, and salt see,  
Is felt thy might, if that I well discern,  
As man▪ and beast, fish, herb, & green tree,  
They feel in times with vapour eterne,  
God loveth, and to love wool naught werne,  
* And in this world no lives creature,  
Withouten love is worth, or may endure.   

Ye joves first, to thilk affects glade  
Through which that things liven all & be,  
Commenden, and amorous hem made  
On mortal thing, and as you list aye ye  
Yeve him in love, ease, or adversity:  
And in a thousand forms down him sent  
For love in yearth, & whom you list he hent.   

Ye fires Mars appeasen of his ire,  
And as you list, ye maked hearts digne:  
Algates hem that ye wool set a fire,  
They dreden shame, and vices they resign,  
Ye done him curteis be, fresh, and benign,  
And high or low, after a wight intendeth  
The joys that he hath, your might it sendeth.   

Ye holden reign and house in unity;  
Ye soothfast cause of friendship been also,  
Ye known all thilk covered quality  
Of things, which that folk wondrens at so,  
When they can nat construe how it may go,  
She loveth him, or why he loveth here,  
* As why this fish, & nat that cometh to were.   

Ye folk a law have set in universe,  
And this know I by him that lovers be,  
* That who so striveth with you hath the werse:  
Now Lady bright, for thy benignity,  
At reverence of him that serven thee,  
Whose clerk I am, so teacheth me devise,  
Some joy of that is felt in thy servise.   

Yea, in my naked heart sentement  
In hold, and do me show of thy sweetness  
Calliope, thy voice be now present,  
For now is need, seest thou nat my distress,  
How I moat tell anon right the gladness  
Of Troilus, to Venus herying,  
To the which who need hath, God him bring.    

Incipit Liber Tertius.  

LAy all this mean while this Troilus  
Recording his lesson in this manere,  
Mafey thought he, thus wool I say, & thus,  
Thus wool I plain unto my Lady dear,  
That word is good, & this shall be my cheer  
This nill I nat foryetten in no wise,  
God leave him werken as he can devise.   

And Lord so that his hart 'gan to quappe,  
Hearing her come, and short for to sike,  
And Pandarus that led her by the lap,  
Came ne'er, and 'gan in at the curtain pike,  
And said, God do boat on all that are sike,  
See who is here you comen to visit,  
Lo, here is she that is your death to wit.   

Therewith it seemed as he wept almost,  
A, a (qd. Troilus) so routhfully,  
Whether me be woe, O mighty god thou wost,  
Who is all there, I see nat truly:  
Sir (qd. Creseide) it is Pandar and I,  
Ye sweet hart alas, I may nat rise  
To kneel, and do you honour in some wise.   

And dressed him upward, and she right though  
'Gan both her honds soft upon him ley,  
O for the love of God do ye not so  
To me (qd. she) eye what is this to say,  
Sir comen am I to you for causes fifty,  
First you to thank, and of your Lordship eke  
Continuance I would you beseek.   

This Troilus that heard his Lady pray  
Of Lordship, him wox neither quick ne dead,  
Ne might oh word for shame to it say,  
Although men shoulden smitten off his head,  
But Lord so he wox sodaineliche red:  
And sir, his lesson that he wend con  
To praien her, is through his wit ironne.   

Creseide all this espied well enough,  
For she was wise, & loved him never the lass,  
* All ne'er he in all apert, or made it tough,  
Or was too bold to sing a fool a Mass,  
But when his shame 'gan somewhat to pass  
His reasons, as I may my rhymes hold,  
I wool you tell, as teachen books old.   

In changed voice, right for his very dread,  
Which voice eke quoke, & thereto his manner  
Goodly abashed, and now his hues read,  
Now pale, unto Creseide his lady dear,  
With look down cast, & humble iyolden cheer,  
Lo, the alder first word that him astart,  
Was twice, mercy, mercy, O my sweet hart.   

And stint a while, & when he might out bring,  
The next word was, God wot for I have  
As faithfully as I have had konning,  
Ben yours all, God so my soul do save,  
And shall, till that I woeful wight be grave,  
And though I dare ne can unto you plain,  
I wis I suffer not the lass pain.   

Thus much as now, ah, womanliche wife  
I may out bring, and if this you displease,  
That shall I wreak upon mine own life  
Right soon I trow, and do your hart an ease,  
If with my death your heart may appease:  
But since that ye han heard me somewhat say,  
Now reach I never how soon that I day.   

Therewith his manly sorrow to behold,  
It might have made an hart of stone to rue,  
* And Pandar wept as he to water would,  
And poked ever his niece new and new,  
And said, woe begon been hearts true,  
For love of God, make of this thing an end,  
Or slay us both at ones, ere that ye wend.   

ay, what (qd. she) by God and by my troth  
I not not what ye wilne that I say:  
Eye, what (qd. he) that ye have on him routh  
For God's love, and doth him nat to day:  
Now then thus (qd. she) I wool him pray,  
To tell me the fine of his intent,  
Yet wist I never well what that he meant.   

What that I mean, O my sweet hart dear  
(Qd. Troilus) O goodly fresh and free,  
That with the streams of your eyes so clear  
Ye shoulden sometime friendly on me see,  
And then agree that I may ben he  
Withouten branch of vice, on any wise,  
In troth always to do you my servise.   

As to my lady right, and chief resort,  
With all my wit and all my diligence,  
And to have right as you list comfort,  
Under your yard equal to mine offence,  
As death, if that I break your defence,  
And that ye digne me so much honour,  
Me to commaunden aught in any hour.   

And I to ben your very humble, true,  
Secret, and in my pains patient,  
And ever to desiren freshly new  
To serven, and to ben aye like diligent,  
And with good heart all holly your talon  
Receiven well, how sore that me smart,  
Lo this mean I, O mine own sweet hart.   

(Qd. Pandarus) lo here an hard request,  
And reasonable, a Lady for to werne:  
Now niece mine, by natal Ioves feast,  
Were I a God, ye should starve as yearn,  
That herens well this man wol nothing yearn,  
But your honour, & seen him almost starve,  
And been so loath to suffer him you to serve.   

With that she 'gan her eyes on him cast  
Full easily, and full debonairely  
Avising her, and hied not too fast,  
With never a word, but said him softly,  
Mine honour safe, I wool well truly,  
And in such form, as I can now devise,  
Receiven him fully to my servise.   

Beseeching him for God's love, that he  
Would in honour of troth and gentillesse,  
As I well mean, eke meanen well to me:  
And mine honour with wit and business  
Ay keep, and if I may done him gladness  
From henceforth iwis I nill not fain:  
Now beth all hole, no longer ye ne plain.   

But nevertheless, this warn I you (qd. she)  
A king's son although ye be iwis,  
Ye shall no more have soverainte  
Of me in love, than right in that case is,  
Ne nill forbear, if that ye done amiss  
To wrath you, and while that ye me serve,  
Cherishen you, right after that ye deserve.   

And shortly, dear hart and all my knight,  
Beth glad, and draweth you to lustiness,  
And I shall truly, withal my full might  
Your bitter tournen all to sweetness,  
If I be she that may do you gladness,  
* For every woe ye shall recover a bliss,  
And him in arms took, and 'gan him kiss.   

Fell Pandarus on knees, and up his eyes  
To heaven threw, and held his honds high:  
Immortal God (qd. he) that mayest not dien,  
Cupid I mean, of this mayest glorify,  
And Venus, thou mayest maken melody  
* Withouten hon, me seemeth that in town,  
For this miracle iche here each bell son.   

But ho, no more now of this matter,  
For why? This folk wool comen up anon,  
That have the letter red, lo I him here,  
But I conjure thee Creseide, and one  
And two, thou Troilus when thou mayst gone  
That at mine house ye been at my warning,  
For I full well shall shapen your coming.   

And easeth there your hearts right enough,  
And let see which of you shall bear the bell  
To speak of love aright, & therewith he lough,  
For there have I a leiser for to tell:  
(Qd. Troilus) how long shall I here dwell  
E'er this be done? qd. he, when thou mayest rise  
This thing shall be right as you list devise.   

With that Heleine and also Deiphobus  
Tho comen upward right at the stairs end,  
And Lord so though 'gan gronen Troilus,  
His brother and his suffer for to blend:  
(Qd. Pandarus) it time is that we wend,  
Take niece mine your leave at him all three,  
And let him speak, & cometh forth with me.   

She took her leave at him full thriftily,  
As she well could, and they her reverence  
Unto the full didden heartily,  
And wonder well speaken in her absence  
Of her, in praising of her excellence,  
Her governance, her wit, and her manere  
Commendeden, that it joy was to here.   

Now let her wend unto her own place,  
And turn we unto Troilus again,  
That 'gan full lightly of the letter pace,  
That Deiphobus had in the garden seine,  
And of Heleine and him he would feign  
Delivered been, and said, that him lest  
To sleep, and after tales have a rest.   

Heleine him kissed, and took her leave believe,  
Deiphobus eke, and home went every wight,  
And Pandarus as fast as he may drive  
To Troilus though came, as any line right,  
And on a paillet, all that glad night  
By Troilus he lay, with merry cheer  
To tale, and well was him they were ifere.   

When every wight was voided but they two,  
And all the doors weren fast ishet,  
To tell in short, withouten words more,  
This Pandarus, without any let  
Up rose, and on his bed's side him set,  
And 'gan to speaken in a sober wise  
To Troilus, as I shall you devise.   

Mine alderlevest Lord, and brother dear,  
God wot, and thou, that it sat me so sore,  
When I thee saw so languishing to here,  
For love of which thy woe wox always more,  
That I with all my might, and all my lore,  
Have ever sithen done my business  
To bring thee to joy out of distress.   

And have it brought to such plight as thou wost  
So that through me thou standest now in way  
To faren well, I say it for no boast,  
And wost thou why, but shame it is to say,  
For thee have I begon a gamen play,  
Which that I never done shall eft for other,  
All though he were a thousand fold my brother.   

That is to say, for thee am I becomen,  
Betwixen game and earnest such a mean,  
As maken women unto men to comen,  
All say I nat, thou wost well what I mean,  
For thee have I my niece, of vices clean,  
So fully made thy gentillesse trist,  
That all shall ben right as thyself list.   

But God, that all woteth, take I to witness,  
That never I this for covetise wrought,  
But only for to abridge that distress,  
For which wellnigh thou didst, as me thought:  
But good brother do now as thee aught,  
For God's love, and keep her out of blame,  
Sins thou art wise, & save always her name.   

For well thou wost, the name as yet of her  
Emongs the people as (who saith) hallowed is,  
For that man is unbore I dare well swear,  
That ever wist that she did amiss,  
But woe is me, that I that cause all this,  
May thinken that she is my niece dear,  
And I her eme, and traitor eke ifere.   

And were it wist, that I through mine engine  
Had in mine niece iput this fantasy  
To done thy lust, and holly to be thine:  
Why all the world would upon it cry,  
And say, that I the worst treachery  
Did in this case, that ever was begun,  
And she fordone, and thou right nought iwon.   

Wherefore ere I wool further gone or pace,  
Yet eft I thee beseech, and fully say,  
That privete go with us in this case,  
That is to sane, that thou us never wray,  
And be not wroth, though I thee oft pray,  
To holden secre such an high matter,  
For skilful is, thou wost well, my praiere.   

And think with woe there hath betided ere this  
For making of avauntes, as men read,  
And what mischance in this world yet is  
From day to day, right for that wicked deed,  
For which these wise clerks that been deed  
Have ever this proverbed to us young,  
* That the first virtue is to keep the tongue.   

And ne'er it that I wilne as now abredge  
Diffusion of speech, I could almost  
A thousand old stories thee allege  
Of women lost, through false and fools boast,  
Proverbes canst thyself enough, and wost  
Against that vice for to been a blab,  
All said men sooth, as often as they gabbe.   

O tongue alas, so often here before  
Hast thou made many a lady bright of hue,  
Said wellaway the day that I was borne,  
And many a maiden's sorrow for to new,  
* And for the more part all is untrew  
That men of yelp, & it were brought to preve,  
Of kind, none avauntour is to leve.   

Avauntour and a liar, all is one,  
As thus: I pose a woman grant me  
Her love, & sayeth that other wool she none,  
And I am sworn to holden it secree,  
And after I tell it two or three,  
Iwis I am a vauntour at the jest,  
And liar eke, for I break my behest.   

Now look then if they be not to blame,  
Such manner folk, with shall I clepe him, what,  
That hem avaunt of women, and by name,  
That yet behight hem never this ne that,  
Ne know him no more than mine old hat,  
* No wonder is, so God me send heel,  
Though women dreden with us men to deal.   

I say not this for no mistrust of you,  
Ne for no wise men, but for fools nice,  
And for the harm that in the world is now,  
As well for folly oft, as for malice,  
For well wot I, in wise folk that vice  
No woman dreadeth, if she be well avised,  
* For wise been by fool's harm chastised.   

But now to purpose leave brother dear  
Have all this thing that I have said in mind,  
And keep thee close, & be now of good cheer  
For all thy days thou shalt me true find,  
I shall thy process set in such a kind,  
And God toforne, that it shall thee suffice,  
For it shall be right as thou wolt devise.   

For well I wot, thou meanest well pard,  
Therefore I dare this fully undertake,  
Thou wost eke what thy lady granted thee,  
And day is set the charters to make,  
Have now good night, I may no longer wake  
And bid for me, sith thou art now in bliss,  
That God me send death, or some lisse.   

Who might tell half the joy or feste  
Which that the soul of Troilus though felt,  
Hearing th'effect of Pandarus behest:  
His old woe, that made his heart to swelled,  
'Gan tho for joy waste, and to melt,  
And all the richesses of his sighs sore  
At ones fled, he felt of him no more.  
But right so as these holts & these hayis  
That han in Winter dead been and dry,  
Revesten hem in green, when that May is,  
When every lusty listeth to play,  
Right in that self wise, sooth for to say,  
wox suddenly his heart full of joy,  
That gladder was there never man in Troy.   

And 'gan his look on Pandarus up cast  
Full soberly, and friendly on to see,  
And said, friend, in April the last,  
As well thou wost, if it remember thee,  
How nigh the death for woe thou found me,  
And how thou didst all thy business  
To know of me the cause of my distress.   

Thou wost how long I it forbore to say  
To thee, that art the man that I best trist,  
And peril none was it to thee to bewray,  
That wist I well: but tell me if thee list,  
Sith I so loath was that thyself it wist,  
How dared I more tell of this matter?  
That quake now, & no wight may us here.   

But nevertheless, by that God I thee swear,  
That as him list may all the world govern,  
And if I lie, Achilles with his spear  
Mine heart cleave, all were my life eterne,  
As I am mortal, if I late or yearn  
Would it bewray, or durst or should con,  
For all the good that God made under son.   

That rather die I would, and determine  
As thinketh me now, stocked in prison,  
In wretchedness, in filth, and in vermin,  
Captive to cruel king Agamenmon,  
And this in all the temples of this town,  
Upon the Gods all, I wool thee swear  
To morrow day, if that thee liketh here.   

And that thou hast so much idoen for me,  
That I ne may it nevermore deserve,  
This know I well, all might I now for thee  
A thousand times on a morrow starve,  
I can no more, but that I wool thee serve  
Right as thy slave, whether so thou wend,  
For evermore, unto my lives end.   

But here with all mine hart I thee beseech,  
That never in me thou dame such folly  
As I shall sane: me thought by thy speech,  
That this which thou me dost for company,  
I should wenen it were a bawdry,  
* I am not wood, all if I lewd be,  
It is not so, that wot I well pard.   

But he that goeth for gold, or for richesse,  
On such messages, call him what ye list,  
And this that thou dost, call it gentleness,  
Compassion, and fellowship, and trist,  
Depart it so, For wide where is witted  
* How that there is diversity required  
Betwixen things like, as I have lered.   

And that thou know I think not ne ween,  
That this service a shame be or jape,  
I have my fair sister Polexene,  
Cassandre, Helein, or any of the frape,  
Be she never so fair, or well ishape,  
Tell me which thou wilt of everychone  
To have for thine, and let me then alone.   

But sith that thou hast done me this service,  
My life to save, and for none hope of meed:  
So for the love of God, this great emprise  
Perform it out, now is the most need  
For high and low, withouten any dread,  
I wool always thine hests all keep,  
Have now good night, & let us both sleep.   

Thus held him each of other well apaied,  
That all the world ne might it bet amend,  
And on the morrow when they were arrayed,  
Each to his own needs 'gan to intend:  
But Troilus, though as the fire he burnt,  
For sharp desire of hope, and of pleasance,  
He not forgot his good governance.   

But in himself, with manhood 'gan restrain  
Each rakell deed, and each unbridled cheer,  
That all that liven sooth for to sane,  
Ne should have witted by word or by manner  
What that he meant, as touching this matter,  
From every wight, as far as is the cloud,  
He was so wise, and well dissimulen could.   

And all the while which that I now devise,  
This was his life, with all his full might:  
By day he was in Martes high servise,  
That is to sane, in arms as a knight,  
And for the more part all the long night,  
He lay and thought how that he might serve  
His lady best, her thank for to deserve.   

Nill I not swear, although he lay soft,  
That in his thought nas somewhat diseased,  
Ne that he turned on his pillows oft,  
And would of that him miss have been eased,  
But in such case men be nat always pleased,  
For naught I wot: no more than was he,  
That can I deem of possibility.   

But certain is, to purpose for to go,  
That in this while, as written is in geste,  
He saw his lady sometime, and also  
She with him spoke, when that she durst & least,  
And by her both avise, as was the best,  
Appointeden full warily in this need,  
So as they durst, how they would proceed.   

But it was spoken in so short a wise,  
In such await always, and in such fear,  
Lest any wight divinen or devise  
Would of him two, or to it lay an ear,  
That all this world so lief to him ne were,  
As that Cupid would him his grace send,  
To maken of her speech right an end.   

But thilk little that they spoke or wrought,  
His wise ghost took aye of all such heed,  
It seemed her he wist what she thought,  
Withouten word, so that it was no need  
To bid him aught to done, or aught forbid,  
For which she thought that love, all come it late,  
Of all joy had opened her the yate.   

And shortly of this process for to place,  
So well his work and words he beset,  
That he so full stood in his lady's grace,  
That twenty thousand times ere she let,  
She thonked God she ever with him met,  
So could he him govern in such servise,  
That all the world ne might it bet devise.   

For she found him so discreet in all,  
So secret, and of such obeisance,  
That well she felt he was to her a wall  
Of steel, and shield of every displeasance,  
That to been in his good governance,  
So wise he was, she was no more afered,  
I mean as far as aught been requered.   

And Pandarus to quick always the fire,  
Was ever ilike pressed and diligent,  
To ease his friend was set all his desire,  
He shone aye on, he to and fro was sent,  
He letters bare, when Troilus was absent,  
That never man, as in his friends need,  
Ne bore him bet than he, withouten dread.   

But now peradventure some man waiten would  
That every word, or fond, look, or cheer  
Of Troilus, that I rehearcen should  
In all this while, unto his lady dear,  
I trow it were a long thing for to here,  
Or of what wight that stant in such disjoint  
His words all, or every look to point.   

Forsooth I have not herd it done ere this,  
In story none, ne no man here I ween,  
And though I would, I could not iwis,  
For there was some epistle hem between,  
That would (as saith mine author) well contene  
Nigh half this book, of which him list not write,  
How should I then a line of it indite?   

But to the great effect, then say I thus,  
That stonden in concord and in quiet  
This ilke two, Creseide and Troilus,  
As I have told, and in this time sweet,  
Save only often might they not meet,  
Ne leisure have, her speeches to fulfell,  
That it befell right as I shall you tell,   

That Pandarus, that ever did his might,  
Right for the fine that I shall speak of here,  
As for to bringen to his house some night  
His fair niece, and Troilus ifere,  
Where as at leiser all this high matter  
Touching her love were at the full up bound,  
Had out of doubt a time to it found.   

For he with great deliberation  
Had every thing that thereto might avail  
Forne cast, and put in execution,  
And nether left for cost ne for travail,  
Come if hem list, him should nothing fail,  
And for to ben in aught espied there,  
That wist he well in impossible were.   

Dredelesse it clear was in the wind  
Of every pie, and every let game,  
Now all is well, for all the world is blind  
In this matter, both fremed and tame,  
* This timber is all ready up to frame,  
Us lacketh naught, but that we weten wouldd▪  
A certain hour, in which she comen shoul   

And Troilus, that all this purveyaunce  
Knew at the full, and waited on it aye,  
And hereupon eke made great ordinance,  
And found his cause, & therewith his array,  
If that he were miss night or day,  
They thought there while he was about this servise,  
That he was gone to done his sacrifice.   

And must at such a temple alone wake,  
Answered of Apollo for to be,  
And first to seen the holy laurer quake:  
Ere that Apollo spoke out of the tree,  
To tell him next when Greeks should fly,  
And for thy let him no man, God forbid  
But pray Apollo help in this need.   

Now is there little more for to done,  
But Pandar up, and shortly for to sane,  
Right soon upon the changing of the Moon,  
When sightless is the world a night or twain,  
And that the welkin shaped him for to rain,  
He straight a morrow unto his niece went,  
Ye have well heard the fine of his intent.   

When he was comen, he 'gan anon to play,  
As he was wont, and of himself to yape,  
And finally he swore, and 'gan her say,  
By this and that, she should him not escape,  
No longer done him after her to gape:  
But certainly, she must by her leve,  
Come soupen in his house with him at eve.   

At which she lough, & 'gan her first excuse,  
And said: it raineth: lo, how should I gone,  
Let be (qd. he) ne stoned not thus to muse,  
This moat be done, ye shall come there anon,  
So at the last, hereof they fell at one:  
Or else fast he swore her in her ere,  
He nolde never comen there she were.   

Sun after this, she to him 'gan rowne,  
And asked him if Troilus were there,  
He swore her nay, for he was out of town:  
And said, niece, I suppose that he were there,  
You durst never thereof have the more fere,  
For rather than men might him there aspie,  
Me were lever a thousand fold to die.   

Naught list mine author fully to declare,  
What that she thought, when as he said so,  
That Troilus was out of town ifare,  
And if he said thereof sooth or no,  
But that withouten await with him to go,  
She granted him, sith he her that besought,  
And as his niece obeyed as her aught.   

But nevertheless, yet 'gan she him beseech,  
(Although with him to gone it was no fere)  
For to beware of gofisshe people's speech,  
That dremen things, which that never were,  
And well avise him whom he brought there:  
And said him eme, since I must on you trist,  
Look all be well, and do now as you list.   

He swore her this, by stocks and by stones,  
And by the Gods that in heaven dwell,  
Or else were him leaver soul and bones,  
With Pluto king, as deep been in Hell  
As Tantalus, what should I more tell:  
When all was well, he rose and took his leve,  
And she to souper came when it was eve.   

With a certain number of her own men,  
And with her fair niece Antigone,  
And other of her women nine or ten,  
But who was glad now, who as trow ye?  
But Troilus, that stood and might it see  
Throughout a little window in a stew,  
There he beshet, sith midnight, was in mew,   

Vnwist of every wight, but of Pandar.  
But to the point, now when that she was come,  
With all joy, and all her friends in fare,  
Here Eme anon in arms hath her nome,  
And then to the souper all and some,  
When as time was, full soft they him set,  
God wot there was no deinte far to fet.   

And after souper gonnen they to rise,  
At ease well, with hart full fresh and glad,  
And well was him that coude best devise  
To liken her, or that her laughen made,  
He song, she played, he told a tale of Wade:  
But at the last, as every thing hath end,  
She took her leave, and ned's would thence wend.   

But O fortune, executrice of wierdes,  
O influences of these heavens high,  
Soothe is, that under God been our herds,  
Though to us beasts been the causes wry,  
This mean I now, for she 'gan homeward high:  
But execute was all beside her leve,  
At the gods will, for which she must bleve.   

The bent Moon with her horns all pale,  
Saturnus & jove, in Cancro joined were,  
That such a rain from heaven 'gan avail,  
That every manner woman that was there,  
Had of that smoky rain a very fear:  
At which Pander though lough, & said then,  
Now were it time a Lady to go hen.   

But good niece, if I might ever please  
You any thing, then pray I you (qd. he)  
To don mine hart as now so great an ease,  
As for to dwell here all this night with me,  
For why? this is your own house pard:  
For by my troth, I say it nat in game,  
To wend as now, it were to me a shame.   

* Creseide, which that could as much good  
As half a world, took heed of his praire,  
And since it reigned, and all was in a flood,  
* She thought,, as good cheap may I dwell here  
* And grant it gladly with a friends cheer,  
And have a thonk, as grudge and then abide,  
For home to go it may nat well betid.   

I wol (qd. she) mine uncle lief and dear,  
Sens that you list, it skill is to be so,  
I am right glad with you to dwellen here,  
I said but again that I would go,  
Iwis grant mercy niece (qd. he) tho:  
Were it again or no, sooth to tell,  
Now am I glad, since that you list to dwell.   

Thus all is well, but though began aright  
The new joy, and all the fest again,  
But Pandarus, if goodly had he might,  
He would have hied her to bedde full fain,  
And said, O Lord this is an huge rain,  
This were a wether for to sleepen in,  
And that I read us soon to begin.   

And niece, wot ye where I wool you lay,  
For that we shul not liggen far a sunder,  
And for ye neither shullen, dare I say,  
Here noise of rain, ne yet of thunder,  
By God right in my closet yonder,  
And I wol in that utter house alone,  
Ben wardain of your women everichone.   

And in this middle chambre that ye se,  
Shall your women slepen, well and soft,  
And there I said, shall your selven be:  
And if ye liggen well to night, come oft,  
And careth not what wether is aloft.  
The wine anon, and when so you lest,  
Go we to sleep, I trow it be the best.   

There nis no more, but hereafter soon  
They void, drunk, & travers draw anon,  
'Gan every wight that hath nought to done  
More in the place, out of the chambre gone,  
And ever more so stereliche it rone,  
And blewe therewith so wonderliche loud,  
That well nigh no man herens other coude.   

Tho Pandarus her Eme, right as him ought  
With women, such as were her most about,  
Full glad unto her bed's side her brought,  
And took his leave, and 'gan full low lout,  
And said, here at this closet door without,  
Right overtwhart, your women liggen all,  
That whom ye list of him, ye may soon call.   

Lo when that she was in the closet laid,  
And all her women forth by ordinance,  
A bed weren, there as I have said,  
There nas no more to skippen nor to prance,  
But bode go to bedde with mischance,  
If any wight stirring were any where,  
And let him slepen, that abed were.   

* But Pandarus, that well couth each adele,  
The old dance, and every point therein,  
When that he saw that all thing was well,  
He thought he would upon his work begin:  
And 'gan the stew door all soft unpin,  
As still as a stone, without longer let,  
By Troilus adoun right he him set.  
And shortly to the point right for to gone,  
Of all this work he told him word and end,  
And said, make thee ready right anon,  
For thou shalt into heaven bliss wend.  
Now blissful Venus, thou me grace send  
(Qd. Troilus) for never yet no deed,  
Had I ere now, ne halfendele the dread.   

(Qd. Pandarus) ne dread thee never a deal,  
For it shall be right as thou wolt desire,  
So thrive I, this night shall I make it we●e,  
* Or casten in all the gruel in the fire,  
Yet blissful Venus this night thou me inspire  
(Qd. Troilus) as wis as I the serve,  
And ever bet and bet shall till I starve.   

And if I had, O Venus full of mirth,  
Aspects bad of Mars, or of Saturn,  
Or thou combuste, or let were in my birth,  
Thy father pray, all thilk harm disturne,  
Of grace, and that I glad again may turn:  
For love of him thou lovedst in the shawe,  
I mean Adonis, that with the bore was slawe.   

jove eke, for the love of fair Europe,  
The which in form of a bull away thou fet,  
Now help, O Mars, thou with thy bloody cope  
For love of Cipria, thou me naught ne let,  
O Phoebus, think when Daphne herselven shut  
Under the bark, and Laurer wox for dread,  
Yet for her love, O help now at this need.   

Mercury, for the love of her eke,  
For which Pallas was with Aglauros' wroth  
Now help and eke Diane I the beseke,  
That this voyage be nat to the loath:  
O fatal sustrens, which or any cloth  
Me shapen was, my destiny me spun,  
So helpeth to this work that is begun.   

(Qd. Pandarus) thou wretched mouces heart,  
Art thou aghast so that she will the bite,  
Why do on this furred cloak on thy shirt,  
And follow me, for I wol have the wit:  
But bide, and let me gone before alight,  
And with that he 'gan undone a trap,  
And Troilus he brought in by the lap.   

The stern wind so loud 'gan for to rout  
That no wight other noise might here,  
And they that lain at the door without,  
Full sickerly they slepten all ifere:  
And Pandarus, with full sober cheer,  
Goth to the door anon withouten let,  
There as they lay, and softly it shut.   

And as he came again prively  
His niece awoke, & asketh, who goeth there?  
My own dear niece (qd. he) it am I,  
Ne wondereth not, ne have of it no fere,  
And ne'er he came, and said her in her ere:  
No word for love of God I you beseech,  
Let no wight arise, and here of our speech.   

What, which way be ye comen? benedicite,  
(Qd. she) and how unwiste of him all.  
Here at this secret trap door (qd. he)  
(Qd. Thomas Creseide) let me some wight call:  
Eigh, God forbid that it should so fall,  
(Qd. Pandarus) that ye such folly wrought,  
They might dementhing they never erthoust.   

* It is nat good a sleeping hound to wake,  
Ne yeve a wight a cause for to divine,  
Your women slepen all, I undertake,  
So that for him the house men might mine,  
And slepen woollen till the sun shine,  
And when my tale is brought to an end,  
Vnwist right as I came, so wol I wend.   

Now niece mine, ye shul well understand,  
(Qd. he) so as ye women demen all,  
* That for to hold in love a man in hand,  
And him her lief and dear hart to call,  
And maken him an howne above to call:  
I mean, as love an other in this mean while,  
She doth herself a shame, and him a guile.   

Now whereby that I tell you all this,  
Ye wot yourself, as well as any wight,  
How that your love all fully granted is  
To Troilus, the worthiest wight  
One of the world, and thereto troth iplight,  
That but it were on him alone, ye nold  
Him never falsen, while ye liven should.   

Now stonte it thus, that sith I fro you went  
This Troilus, right platly for to seine  
Is through a gutter by a privy went,  
Into my chambre come in all this rain:  
Vnwist of every manner wight certain,  
Save of myself, as wisely have I joy,  
And by the faith I owe to Priam of Troy.   

And he is come in such pain and distress,  
That but if he be all fully wood by this,  
He suddenly moat fall into woodness,  
But if God help: and cause why is this,  
He saith him told is of a friend of his,  
How that ye should loven one, that height Horast,  
For sorrow of which this night shall be his last.   

Creseide, which that all this wonder herd  
'Gan suddenly about her hart cold,  
And with a sigh she sorrowfully answered,  
Alas, I wend who so ever tales told,  
My dear hart woulden me nat have hold  
So lightly faulse, alas conceits wrong,  
What harm they done, for now live I to long.   

Horaste alas, and falsen Troilus,  
I know him not, God help me so (qd. she)  
Alas, what wicked spirit told him thus,  
Now certes eme, to morrow and I him see,  
I shall thereof as full excusen me,  
As ever did woman, if him like,  
And with that word she 'gan full sore sike.   

* O God (qd. she) so worldy silliness  
Which clerks call false felicity,  
Ymedled is with many bitterness,  
Full anguishous, then is God wot (qd. she)  
Condition of vein prosperity,  
* For either joys comen nat ifere,  
Or else no wight hath him always here.   

O brotil we'll of man's joy unstable,  
With with wight so thou be, or thou who play  
Either he wot, that thou joy art mutable,  
Or wot it nat, it moat ben one of twain:  
Now if he wot it nat, how may he say,  
That he hath very joy and silinesse,  
That is of ignorance aye in darkness.   

* Now if he wot that joy is transitory,  
As every joy of worldly thing moat flee,  
Then every time he that hath in memory,  
The dread of losing, maketh him that he  
May in no perfect sickerness be:  
And if to less his joy, he set a mite,  
Then seemeth it, that joy is worth full light.   

Wherefore I wol define in this matter,  
That truly for aught I can espy,  
There is no very well in this world here.  
But O thou wicked serpent jealousy,  
Thou misbeleved, and envious folly,  
Why hast thou Troilus made to me untrist,  
That never yet agilte, that I wist?   

(Qd. Pandarus) thus fallen is this case,  
Why uncle mine (qd. she) who told him this,  
And why doth my dear heart thus, alas?  
Ye wot, ye niece mine (qd. he) what it is,  
I hope all shall be well, that is amiss,  
For ye may quench all this, if that you lest,  
And doth right so, I hold it for the best.   

So shall I do to morrow, iwis (qd. she)  
And God toforne, so that it shall suffice:  
To morrow alas, that were fair (qd. he)   

Nay nay, it may nat stonden in this wise:  
For niece mine, this written clerks wise,  
That peril is with dretching in draw,  
Nay such abodes been nat worth an hawe.   

* Niece, all thing hath time I dare avow,  
For when a chambre a fire is or an hall,  
Well more need is, it suddenly rescue,  
Then to disputen and ask amongst all,  
How the candle in the straw is fall:  
Ah benedicite, for all among that fare,  
* The harm is done, and farewell feldefare.   

And niece mine, ne take it nat a grief,  
If that ye suffer him all night in this woe,  
God help me so, ye had him never lief,  
That date I said, now there is but we two,  
But well I wot that ye wol not so do,  
Ye been to wise to done so great folly,  
To put his life all night in jeopardy.   

Had I him never lief? By God I ween,  
Ye had never thing so lief, (qd. she)  
Now by my thrift (qd. he) that shall be seen,  
For sith ye make this ensample of me,  
If iche all night would him in sorrow se,  
For all the treasure in the ton of Troie,  
I bid God, I never moat have joie,   

Now look then, if ye that been his love,  
Should put his life all night in jeopardy,  
For thing of nought, now by the God above  
Nat only this delay cometh of folly,  
But of malice, if that I should nat lie,  
What, platly and ye suffer him in distress,  
Ye neither bounty done ne gentleness.   

(Qd. tho Creseide) wol ye done a thing,  
And ye therewith shall stint all his disease,  
Have here and bear to him this blue ring,  
For there is nothing might him better please,  
Save I myself, ne more his hart apeses,  
And say my dear heart, that his sorrow,  
Is causeless, that shall he seen to morrow.   

* A ring (qd. he) ye hazel woods shaken,  
Ye niece mine, that ring must have a stone,  
That might deed men a live all maken,  
And such a ring trow I that ye have none:  
Discretion out of your heed is gone,  
That feel I now (qd. he) and that is routh,  
* O time ilost, well mayst thou cursen sloth.   

Wot ye not well that noble and high courage,  
Ne sorroweth nat, ne stinteth eke for light,  
But if a fool were in a jalous rage,  
I nolde setten at his sorrow a mite,  
But fez him with a few words all white,  
Another day, when that I might him find,  
But this thing stant all in another kind.   

This is so gentle and so tender of hart,  
That with his death he wol his sorrows wreak  
For trust it well, how sore that him smart,  
He wool to you no jealous words speak,  
And for thy niece, ere that his hart break,  
So speak yourself to him of this matter,  
For with a word ye may his hart steer.   

Now have I told what peril he is in,  
And his coming unwist is to every wight,  
Ne pard harm may there be none, ne sin,  
I wol myself be with you all this night,  
Ye know eke how it is your own knight,  
And that by right, ye must upon him triste,  
And I all pressed to fetch him when you list.   

This accident so piteous was to here,  
And eke so like a sooth, at prime face,  
And Troilus her knight, to her so dear,  
His privy coming, and the liker place,  
That though she did him as then a grace,  
Considered all things as they now stood,  
No wonder is, since he did all for good.   

Creseide answer, as wisely God at rest  
My soul bring, as me is for him woe,  
And eme iwis, fain would I don the best,  
If that I grace had for to do so,  
But whether that ye dwell, or for him go,  
I am, till God me better mind send,  
send At Dulcarnon, right at my wit's end.   

(Qd. Pandarus) ye niece wol ye here,  
Dulcarnon is called fleming of wretches,  
It seemeth herd, for wretches wol nought lere,  
For very sloth, or other wilful fetches,  
This is said by him that be not worth two fetches,  
But ye ben wise, & that ye han on hon,  
Nis neither hard, ne skilful to withstand.   

Then eme (qd. she) doth here as you list,  
But ere he come, I wol up first arise,  
And for the love of God, sens all my trist  
Is on you two, and ye beth both wise,  
So worketh now, in so discrete a wise,  
That I honour may have, and he pleasance,  
For I am here, all in your governance.   

That is well said (qd. he) my niece dear,  
There good thrift on that wise gentle hart,  
But liggeth still, and taketh him right here,  
It needeth not no ferther for him start,  
And each of you easeth other sorrows smart,  
For love of God, and Venus I the herie,  
For soon hope I, that we shall ben merry.   

This Troilus full soon on knees him set,  
Full soberly, right by her bed's heed,  
And in his beast wise his Lady great,  
But Lord so she wox sodainliche reed:  
Ne though men should smitten of her heed,  
She could not o word a right out bring,  
So suddenly for his sudden coming.   

But Pandarus, that so well could feel  
In every thing, to play anon began,  
And said, niece see how this Lord 'gan knee:  
Now for your troth: see this gentle man,  
And with that word, he for a quishen run,  
And said kneeleth now while that thou lest.  
There as God your hearts bring soon at rest.   

Can I naught said, forshe bad him nat rise,  
If sorrow it put out of her remembrance,  
Or else that she took it in the wise  
Of duty, as for his observance,  
But well find I, she did him this pleasance,  
That she him kissed, although she siked sore,  
And bade him sit adown withouten more.   

(Qd. Pandarus) now wol ye well begin,  
Now doth him sit down, good niece dear  
Upon your bed's side, all there within,  
That each of you the bet may other here,  
And with that word he drew him to the fiere,  
And took a light, & found his countenance,  
As for to look upon an old romance.   

Creseide that was Troilus lady right,  
And clear stood in a ground of sickerness,  
All thought she her servant and her knight,  
Ne should none untruth in her guess:  
That nevertheless, considered his distress,  
And that love is in cause of such folly,  
Thus to him spoke she of his controversy.   

Lo heart mine, as would the excellence,  
Of love, against the which that no man may,  
Ne ought eke goodly maken resistance,  
And eke because I felt well and say,  
Your great troth, and service every day:  
And that your hart all mine was, soothe to sane,  
This drove me for to rue upon your pain,   

And your goodness have I founden always yet,  
Of which may dear heart, and all my knight,  
I thank it you, as far as I have wit,  
All can I nat as much as it were right,  
And I emforth my cunning and my might  
Have, and aye shall, how sore that ye smart,  
Ben to you true and hold with all mine heart.   

And dredelesse that shall be founden at preue,  
But heart mine, what all this is to said,  
Shall well be told, so that he nought you greue  
Though I to you right on yourself complain,  
For there with mean I finally the pain,  
That halt your heart & mine in heaviness,  
Fully to slain, and every wrong redress.   

My good mine, not I, for why ne how  
That jealousy alas, that wicked wivere,  
Thus causeless is cropen into you:  
The harm of which I would feign delivere,  
Alas, that he all hole or of him some slivere,  
Should have his refute in so digne a place,  
That jove, him soon out of your hart race.   

But O thou, O author of nature,  
Is this an honour to thy dignity,  
That folk unguilty suffrens here injure,  
And who that guilty is, all quite goeth he:  
O were it lawful for to plain of the,  
That undeserved sufferest controversy,  
O, that I would upon thee plain and cry.   

Eke all my woe is this, that folk now usen  
* To sane right thus: ye controversy is love,  
And would a bushel of venom all excusen,  
For that a grain of love is on it shove,  
But that wot high jove that sit above,  
If it be liker love, hate, or grame,  
And after that it ought bear his name.   

But certain is, some manner controversy  
Is excusable, more than some iwis,  
As when cause is, and some such fantasy  
With pite so well expressed is,  
That it unneath doth or saith amiss,  
But goodly drinketh up all his distress,  
And that excuse I for the gentleness.   

And some so full of fury is, and despite,  
That it surmounteth his repression,  
But hart mine, ye be not in that plight,  
That thank I God, for which your passion,  
I will nat call it but illusion  
Of abundance of love, and beast cure,  
That doth your hart this disease endure.   

Of which I am sorry, but not wroth,  
But for my devoir and your heart's rest,  
When so you list, by ordal or by oath,  
By sort, or in what wise so you lest,  
For love of God, set prove it for the best,  
And if that I be guilty, do me die,  
Alas, what might I more done or seie.   

With that a few bright teeres new,  
Out of her eien fell, and thus she said,  
Now God thou wost, in thought ne deed untrew,  
To Troilus was never yet Creseid,  
With that her heed down in the bed she leid,  
And with the shete it wrigh, and sighed sore,  
And held her piece, nat a word spoke she more.   

But now help God, to quench all this sorrow,  
So hope I that he shall, for he best may,  
* For I have seen of a full misty morrow,  
followen full oft a merry summer's day,  
And after winter followeth green May,  
Men seen all day, and reden eke in stories,  
That after sharp showers been victories.   

This Troilus, when he her words heard,  
Have ye no care, him list nat to sleep,  
For it thought him no strokes of a yard  
To here or see Creseide his lady weep,  
But well he felt about his heart creep,  
For every tear which that Creseide astart,  
The cramp of death, to strain him by the heart,   

And in his mind he 'gan the time accurse  
That he came there, & that he was borne,  
For now is wick turned into worse,  
And all that labour he hath done before,  
He wendeit lost, he thought he nas but lost,  
O Pandarus thought he, alas thy wile,  
Serveth of nought, so wellaway the while.   

And therewithal he hang adoun his head,  
And fell on knees, and sorrowfully he sight,  
What might he said? he felt he nas but dead,  
For wroth was she that should his sorrows light:  
But nevertheless, when that he speaken might,  
Then said he thus, God wot that of this game,  
When all is witted, then am I not to blame.   

Therewith the sorrow of his hart shut,  
That from his iyens fell there nat a tere,  
And every spirit his vigour in knet,  
So they astonished or oppressed were:  
The feeling of sorrow, or of his fere,  
Or of aught else, fled were out of town,  
A down he fell all suddenly in swoon.   

This was no little sorrow for to see,  
But all was hushed, and Pandar up as fast,  
O niece peace, or we be lost (qd. he)  
Bethe nat aghast, but certain at last,  
For this or that, he into bedde him cast,  
And said, O thief, is this a man's heart?  
And off he rend all to his bare shirt.   

And said niece, but and ye help us now,  
Alas your own Troilus is forlorn.  
Iwis so would I, and I wist how  
Full fain (qd. she) alas that I was borne.  
* Ye niece, wool ye pullen out the thorn  
That sticketh in his hart (qd. Pandar)  
Say all foryeve, and stint is all this fare.   

Ye that to me (qd. she) full lever were  
Than all the good the Sun about goeth,  
And therewithal she swore him in his ear,  
Iwis my dear hart I am not wroth,  
Have here my troth, & many other oath,  
Now speak to me, for it am I Creseide,  
But all for naught, yet might he nat abreide.   

Therewith his poulce, & paums of his hands  
They 'gan to frote, & weet his temples twain,  
And to deliver him fro bitter bonds,  
She oft him kissed, and shortly for to said,  
Him to rewaken she did all her pain,  
And at the last he 'gan his breath to draw,  
And of his swough soon after that adawe.   

And 'gan bet mind, & reason to him take,  
But wonder sore he was abashed iwis,  
And with a sigh when he 'gan bet awake  
He said, O mercy God, what thing is this?  
Why do ye with your selven thus amiss?  
(Qd. tho Creseide) is this a man's game,  
What Troilus, wool ye do thus for shame?   

And therewithal her arm over him she laid,  
And all foryave, and oftime him kest,  
He thonked her, and to her spoke and said  
As fill to purpose, for his heart's rest,  
And she to that answer him as her jest,  
And with her goodly words him disport  
She 'gan, and oft his sorrows to comfort.   

(Qd. Pandarus) for aught I can aspies,  
This light nor I ne serven here of naught,  
Light is nat good for sike folks iyes,  
But for the love of God, sens ye been brought  
In this good plight, let now none hevy thought  
Been hanged in the hearts of you fifty,  
And bore the candle to the chimney.   

Soon after this, though it no need were,  
When she such oaths as her list devise  
Had of him take, her thought though no fere,  
Ne cause eke none, to bid him thence rise:  
Yet less thing than oaths may suffice,  
* In many a case, for every wight I guess,  
That loveth well, meaneth but gentleness.   

But in effect she would weet anon,  
Of what man, and eke where, and also why  
He jalous was, since there was cause non:  
And eke the sign that he took it by,  
She bade him that to tell her busily,  
Or else certain she bore him on hand,  
That this was done of malice her to fond.   

Withouten more, shortly for to said  
He must obey unto his lady's hest,  
And for the lass harm he must somewhat fain,  
He said her, when she was at such a fest,  
She might on him have looked at the jest,  
Not I nat what, all dear enough a rish,  
As he that needs must a cause out fish.   

And she answer, sweet, all were it so  
What harm was that, sens I non evil mean,  
For by that God that bought us both two,  
In all manner thing is mine intent clean:  
such arguments ne be nat worth a bean,  
Wool ye the childish jealous counterfetes,  
Now were it worthy that ye were ibete.   

Tho Troilus 'gan sorrowfully to sike  
Lest she be wroth, him thought his hart deide,  
And said, alas, upon my sorrows sike,  
Have mercy, O sweet hart mine Creseide:  
And if that in though words that I said,  
Be any wrong, I wool no more trespass,  
Doth what you list, I am all in your grace.   

And she answer, of gilt misericorde  
That is to sane, that I foryeve all this,  
And evermore on this night you record,  
And bethe well ware ye do no more amiss:  
Nay dear heart mine no more (qd. he) iwis,  
And now (qd. she) that I have you do smart,  
Foryeve it to me, mine own sweet hart.   

This Troilus with bliss of that surprised,  
Put all in God's hand, as he that meant  
Nothing but well, and suddenly avised  
He her in his arms fast to him hent:  
And Pandarus, with a full good intent,  
Laid him to sleep, and said, if ye be wise,  
Sweveneth not now, lest more folk arise.   

What might or may the silly Lark say,  
When that the sparhauke hath him in his foot,  
I can no more, but of these ilke tway,  
(To whom this tale sugar be or sote)  
Though I tarry a year, sometime I moat,  
After mine author tell her gladness,  
As well as I have told her heaviness.   

Creseide, which that felt her thus itake,  
(As written clerks in her books old)  
Right as an aspen lief she 'gan to quake,  
When she him felt her in his arms fold:  
But Troilus all hole of cares cold,  
'Gan thank though the blissful God's seven,  
Through sundry pains to bring folk to heaven.   

This Troilus in arms 'gan her strain,  
And said sweet, as ever moat I gone,  
Now be ye caught, here is but we twain,  
Now yieldeth you, for other boot is none:  
To that Creseide answer thus anon,  
Ne had I ere now, my sweet heart dear,  
Been yielded iwis, I were now not here.   

* O sooth is said, that healed for to be  
As of a fever, or other great sickness,  
Men must drinken, as we often see,  
Full bitter drink: & for to have gladness,  
Men drinken oft pain, and great distress,  
I mean it here by, as for this aventure,  
That through a pain hath founden all his cure.   

* And now sweetness seemeth far more sweet,  
That bitterness assayed was biforne,  
For out of woe in bliss now they fleet,  
Non soch they felten seus they were borne:  
Now is this bet, than both two be lost,  
For love of God, take every woman heed,  
To werken thus, if it come to the need.   

Creseide all quite from every dread & tene,  
As she that just cause had him to trist,  
Made him such feast, it joy was to seen,  
When she his troth and clean intent wist:  
And as about a tree with many a twist,  
Bitrent and writhe the sweet Wodbinde,  
Can eche of him in arms other wind.   

And as the new abashed Nightingale,  
That stinteth first, when she beginneth sing,  
When that she heareth any heerdes' tale,  
Or in the hedges any wight steering,  
And after siker doth her voice out ring:  
Right so Creseide, when that her dread stint,  
Opened her hart, and told him her intent.   

And right as he that seeth his death ishapen,  
And dien mote, in aught that he may guess,  
And suddenly rescous doth him escapen,  
And from his death is brought in sickerness:  
For all this world, in such present gladness,  
Was Troilus, and hath his lady sweet:  
With worse hap God let us never meet.   

Her arms small, her straight back & soft,  
Her sides long, fleshy, smooth, and white,  
He 'gan to stroke, and good thrift bade full oft,  
Her snowisse throat, her breasts round & light:  
Thus in this heaven he 'gan him to delight,  
And therewithal a thousand times her kissed,  
That what to done for joy unneath he wist.   

Then said he thus, O Love, O Charite,  
Thy mother eke, Citheria the sweet,  
That after thyself, next heried be she  
Venus I mean, the well willy planete:  
And next that, Imeneus I thee great,  
For never man was to you Gods hold,  
As I, which ye have brought from cares cold.   

Benign Love, thou holy bond of thingen,  
Who so wool grace, and list thee honourens,  
Lo, his desire wool fly withouten wingen,  
For noldest thou of bounty hem socourens  
That serven best, and most always labouren,  
Yet were all lost, y● dare I well said certes,  
But if thy grace passed our deserts.   

And for thou me, y● lest thank could deserve  
Of them that numbered been unto thy grace,  
Hast holpen, there I likely was to starve,  
And me bestowed in so high a place,  
That thilk bounds may no bliss surpace,  
I can no more, but la●de and reverence  
Be to thy bounty and thine excellence.   

And therewithal Creseide anon he kissed,  
Of which certain she felt no disease,  
And thus said he, now would God I wist,  
Mine hart sweet, how I you best might please:  
What man (qd. he) was ever thus at ease,  
As I? On which the fairest, and the best  
That ever I say, deigneth her to rest.   

Here may men seen the mercy passeth right,  
The experience of that is felt in me,  
That am unworthy to so sweet a wight,  
But heart mine, of your benignity  
So think, that though I unworthy be,  
Yet moat I need amenden in some wise,  
Right through the virtue of your high service.   

And for the love of God my lady dear,  
Sith he hath wrought me for I shall you serve,  
As thus I mean: wool ye be my fere,  
To do me live, if that you list or starve:  
So teacheth me, how that I may deserve:  
Your thonk, so that I through mine ignorance,  
Ne do nothing that you be displeasance.   

For certes fresh and womanliche wife,  
This dare I say, that troth and diligence,  
That shall ye finden in me all my life,  
Ne I wool not certain breaken your defence,  
And if I do, present or in absence,  
For love of God, let slay me with the deed,  
If that it like unto your womanhead.   

Iwis (qd. she) mine own heart's lust,  
My ground of ease, and all mine heart dear,  
Grant mercy, for on that is all my trust:  
But let us fall away from this matter,  
For it sufficeth, this that said is here,  
And at o word, without repentance,  
Welcome my knight,, my peace, my suffisance.   

Of her delight or joys, one of the least,  
Were impossible to my wit to say,  
But judgeth ye that have been at the feast,  
Of such gladness, if that him list play:  
I can no more, but thus these ilke tway,  
That night, betwixen dread and sickerness,  
Felten in love the great worthiness.   

O blissful night, of him so long isought  
How blithe unto him both two thou were?  
Why ne had I such feast with my soul ibought?  
Ye, or but the least joy that was there,  
Away thou foul danger and thou fere,  
And let him in this heaven bliss dwell,  
That is so high, that all ne can I tell.   

But sooth is, though I can not tell all,  
As can mine author of his excellence,  
Yet have I said, and God toforne shall,  
In every thing all holly his sentence:  
And if that I, at love's reverence,  
Have any word in eched for the best,  
Doth therewithal right as your selven lest.   

For my words here, and every part,  
I speak him all under correction,  
Of you that feeling have in love's art,  
And put it all in your discretion,  
To increase or make diminition  
Of my language, and that I you beseech,  
But now to purpose of my rather speech.   

These ilke two that been in arms haft,  
So loath to him a sunder gone it were,  
That each from other wenden been biraft,  
Or else lo, this was her most fere,  
That all this thing but nice dreams were,  
For which full oft each of him said, O sweet,  
Clip I you thus, or else do I it meet.   

And Lord so he 'gan goodly on her se,  
That never his look ne blended from her face,  
And said, O my dear heart may it be  
That it be sooth, that ye been in this place:  
Ye heart mine, God thank I of his grace,  
(Qd. tho Creseide) & therewithal him kissed,  
That where her spirit was, for joy she nist.   

This Troilus full often her iyen two  
'Gan for to kiss, and said: O iyen clear,  
It weren ye that wrought me such woe,  
Ye humble nets of my lady dear:  
* Tho there be mercy written in your cheer,  
God wot the text full hard is for to find,  
How could ye, withouten bond me bind?   

Therewith he 'gan her fast in arms take,  
And well an hundred times 'gan he sike,  
Not such sorrowful sighs as men make  
For woe, or else when that folk be sike:  
But easy sighs, such as been to like,  
That showed his affection within,  
Of such manner sighs could he not blind.   

Sun after this, they spoke of sundry things  
As fill to purpose of this aventure,  
And playing enterchaungeden her rings,  
Of which I can not tell no scripture,  
But well I wot, a broche of gold and azure,  
In which a Rubbie set was like an heart,  
Creseide him gave, & stack it on his shirt.   

Lord trow ye that a coveitous wretch,  
That blameth love, and halt of it despite,  
Of tho pens that he can muckre and catch  
Ever yet gave to him such delight,  
As in love, in o point in some plight:  
Nay doubtless, for all so God me save  
* So perfect joy may no niggard have.   

They wool say yes, but Lord so they lie,  
Tho busy wretches full of woe and dread,  
That call love a woodness of folly,  
But it shall fall him, as I shall you read:  
They shall foregone the white and eke the read,  
And live in woe their god yeve him mischance,  
And every lover in his troth advance.   

As would God though wretches, that despise  
Service of love, had ears also long  
As had Mida, full of covetise,  
And thereto drunken had as hot and strong  
As Croesus did, for his affects wrong  
To teachen hem, that they been in the vice,  
And lovers not, although they hold him nice.   

These ilke two, of whom that I you say,  
When that her hearts well assured were,  
Tho gonnen they to speak and to play,  
And eke rehearcen how, when, and where  
They knew first, and every woe or fere  
That passed was, but all such heaviness.  
I thank it God, was turned to gladness.   

And evermore, when that him fell to speak,  
Of any thing of such a time agone,  
With kissing all that tale should break,  
And fallen into a new joy anon,  
And didden all her might, since they were one  
For to recoveren bliss, and been at ease,  
And poised woe with joys counterpoise.   

Reason wool not that I speak of sleep,  
For it acordeth not to my matter,  
God wot they took of it full little keep,  
But lest this night that was to him so dear  
Ne should in vain escape in no manner,  
It was biset in joy and business,  
Of all that soundeth unto gentleness.   

But when the cock, common ginger,  
'Gan on his breast to heat, and after crow,  
And Lucifer, the day's messenger,  
'Gan to rise, and out her beams throw,  
And eastward rose, to him that could it know,  
Fortuna maior, that anon Creseide  
With heart sore, to Troilus thus said:   

Mine heart's life, my trust, all my pleasance  
That I was borne alas, that me is woe,  
That day of us moat make disceveraunce,  
For time it is to rise, and hence go,  
Or else I am lost for ever more:  
O night alas, why nilt thou over us have,  
As long as when Alcmene lay by jove.   

O black night, as folk in book read,  
That shapen art by God, this world to hide  
At certain times, with thy dark weed,  
That under that men might in rest abide,  
Well oughten beasts to plain, & folk to chide  
That there as day with labour would us breast  
That thou thus fliest, and deinest us not rest.   

Thou dost alas, to shortly thine office,  
Tho rakle night, there God maker of kind,  
Thee for thine haste, and thine unkind vice,  
So fast a●e to our hemisperie bind,  
That nevermore under the ground thou wind,  
For now for thou so highest out of Troie,  
Have I forgone thus hastily my joy.   

This Troilus, that with though words felt  
As thought him tho, for piteous distress,  
The bloody tears from his heart melt,  
As he that yet never such heaviness,  
Assayed had, out of so great gladness:  
'Gan therewithal Creseide his lady dear,  
In arms strain, and hold in lovely manere.   

O cruel day, accuser of the joy  
That night and love have stole, & fast iwrien,  
Accursed be thy coming into Troie,  
For every bower hath one of thy bright iyens:  
Envious day, what list thee so to spien,  
What hast thou lost, why seekest thou this place?  
There God thy light so quench for his grace.   

Alas, what have these lovers thee agilt?  
despitous day, thine be the pain of hell,  
For many a lover hast thou slain, and wilt,  
Thy poring in wool no where let him dwell:  
What profrest thou thy light here for to sell?  
Go sell it him that small seals grave,  
We wool thee not, us needeth no day have.   

And eke the son Titan 'gan he chide,  
And said, O fool, well may men thee despise,  
That hast all night the dauning by thy side,  
And sufferest her so soon up from thee rise:  
For to disease us lovers in this wise,  
What hold your bed, there thou & thy morrow,  
I did God so yeve you both sorrow.   

Therewith full sore he sighed, & thus he said  
My lady right, and of my weal or woe  
The well and root, O goodly mine Creseide,  
And shall I rise alas, and shall I so?  
Now feel I that mine heart moat a two,  
And how should I my life an hour save,  
Sens that with you is all the life I have?   

What shall I done? For certes I not how  
Ne when alas, I shall the time see  
That in this plight I may been eft with you,  
And of my life God wot how shall that be,  
Sens that desire right now so biteth me,  
That I am dead anon, but I return,  
How should I long alas, fro you sojourn?   

But nevertheless, mine own lady bright,  
Were it so that I wist utterly,  
That your humble servaunt, & your knight  
Were in your heart iset so firmly,  
As ye in mine: the which truly  
Me leaver were than these worlds twain,  
Yet should I bet endurens all my pain.   

To that Creseide answer right anon,  
And with a sigh she said, O heart dear,  
The game iwis so ferforth now is gone,  
That first shall Phoebus fallen from the sphere,  
* And everiche Egle been the Dove's fere,  
And every rock out of his place start,  
Er Troilus go out of Creseides herte.   

Ye been so deep within mine hart grave,  
That though I would it turn out of my thought,  
As wisely very God my soul save,  
To dien in the pain, I could nought:  
And for the love of God, y● us hath wrought,  
Let in your brain none other fantasy  
So crepen, that it cause me to die.   

And that ye mewould have as fast in mind,  
As I have you, that would I you beseech:  
And if I wist forhly that to find  
God nught not appoint my joys to each.  
But heart mine, withouten more speech,  
Bethe to me true, or else were it routh,  
For I am thine, by God and by my troth.   

Bethe glad for thy, and live in sickerness,  
Thus said I never ere this, ne shall to more,  
And if to you it were a great gladness,  
To turn again soon after that ye ga,  
As fain would I as ye, it were so,  
As wisely God mine heart bring to rest,  
And him in arms took, and oft keste.   

Against his will, scythe it moat needs be,  
This Troilus up rose and fast him clad,  
And in his arms took his lady free,  
An hundred times, and on his way him sped,  
And with such words, as his heart bled,  
He said: fare well my dear heart swece,  
That God us grant sound and soon to meet.   

To which no word for sorrow she answered,  
So sore 'gan his parting her distrain,  
And Troilus unto his Paleis ferd,  
As woe bigon as she was, sooth too said,  
So hard him wrong of sharp desire the pain,  
For to been eft there he was in pleasance,  
That it may never out of his remembrance.   

Returned to his royal paleis soon,  
He soft unto his bed 'gan for to sink,  
To sleep long, as he was wont to done,  
But all for naught, he may well lig & wink,  
But sleep may there none in his heart sink,  
Thinking how she, for whom desire him burnt,  
A M. fold was worth more than he wend.   

And in his thought, 'gan up & down to wind  
Her words all, and every countenance,  
And firmly impressen in his mind  
The least point that to him was pleasance,  
And verily of thilk remembrance,  
Desire all new him brende, and lust to breed,  
'Gan more than erst, and yet took he non heed.   

Creseide also, right in the same wise,  
Of Troilus 'gan in her heart shut  
His worthiness, his lust, his deeds wise,  
His gentleness, and how she with him met:  
Thonking love, he so well her beset,  
Desiring oft to have her heart dear,  
In such a place as she durst make him cheer.   

Pandar a morrow, which y● come was  
Unto his niece, 'gan her fair to great,  
And said, all this night so reigned it alas,  
That all my dread is, that ye niece sweet,  
Have little leiser had to sleep and meet,  
All this night (qd. he) hath rain so do me wake,  
That some of us I trow her heads ache.   

And ne'er he came & said, how stant it now  
This merry morrow, niece how can ye far?  
Creseide answer, never the bet for you,  
Fox that ye been, God yeve your hart care,  
God help me so, ye caused all this fare,  
Trow I (qd. she) for all your words white,  
O who so seeth you, knoweth you full light.   

With that she 'gan her face for to wry,  
With the shete and wox for shame all red,  
And Pandarus 'gan under for to pry,  
And said niece, if that I shall been dead,  
Have here a sword, and smiteth of my head,  
With that his arm, all suddenly he thirst,  
Under her neck and at the last her kissed.   

I pass all that, which chargeth naught to say,  
What, God foryave his death, and she also  
Foryave: and with her uncle 'gan to play,  
For other cause was there none than so,  
But of this thing right to th'effect to go,  
When time was, home to her house she went,  
And Pandarus hath fully his intent.   

Now turn we again to Troilus,  
That restless full long a bed lay,  
And prively sent after Pandarus,  
To him to come in all the has● he may,  
He come anon, not ones said he nay,  
And Troilus full soberly he great,  
And down upon the bed's sides him seat.   

This Troilus with all thaffectioun  
Of friendly love, that heart may devise,  
To Pandarus on knees fill adown:  
And ere that he would of the place arise,  
He 'gan him thank on his best wise,  
An hundred time he 'gan the time bless,  
That he was born, to bring him fro distress.   

He said, O friend of friends, the alderbest  
That ever was, the sooth for to tell,  
Thou hast in heaven i brought my soul at rest,  
Fro Phlegeton the fiery flood of hell,  
That though I might a thousand times sell  
Upon a day my life in thy service,  
It might not a mote in that suffice.   

The son, which that all the world may see  
Saw never yet, my life that dare I lete,  
So joily, fair, and goodly, as is she  
Whose I am all, and shall till that I deie,  
And that I thus am hers, dare I seie,  
That thanked be the high worthiness  
Of love, and eke thy kind business.   

Thus hast thou me no little thing iyeve,  
For why to thee obliged be for aye,  
My life, & why? for through thine help I live,  
Or else dead had I been ago many a day,  
And with that word down in his bed he lay,  
And Pandarus full soberly him herd,  
Till all was said, and then he him answer.   

My dear friend, if I have done for thee,  
In any case, God wot it is me lief,  
And am as glad as man may of it be,  
God help me so, but take now not agrife,  
That I shall sane, beware of this mischief,  
That there as now thou brought art to thy bliss,  
That thou thyself ne cause it not to mis.   

For of Fortune's sharp adversite,  
The worst kind of infortune is this,  
* A man that hath been in prosperity,  
And it remember, when it passed is.  
Thou art wise enough, for thy, do not amiss,  
* Be not to rakell, though thou sit warm,  
For if thou be, certain it wool thee harm.   

Thou art at ease, & hold thee well therein,  
For all so sure as red is every fire,  
As great a craft is to keep well as win,  
Bridle always well thy speech and thy desire,  
For worldly joy holdeth not by a wire,  
That preveth well, it breast alday so oft,  
For thy need is to werken with it soft.   

(Qd. Troilus) I hope, and God to forne,  
My dear friend, that I shall so me bear,  
That in my gilt there shall nothing been lost,  
Ne I nill not rakle, as for to greven here,  
It needeth not this matter often tere,  
For wistest thou mine heart well Pander,  
God wot of this thou wouldst light care.   

Tho 'gan he tell him of his glad night,  
And whereof first his hart dread, and how,  
And said friend, as I am true knight,  
And by that faith I owe to God and you,  
I had it never half so hot as now,  
And aye the more that desire me biteth  
To love her best, the more it me delighteth.   

I not myself not wisely, what it is,  
But now I feel a new quality,  
Ye all another than I did oer this:  
Pandar answered and said thus, that he  
That ones may in heaven bliss be,  
He feeleth other ways dare I lay,  
Than thilk time he first heard of it say.   

This is a word for all, that Troilus  
Was never full to speak of this matter,  
And for to praisen unto Pandarus,  
The bounty of his right lady dear,  
And Pandarus to thank, and maken cheer,  
This tale was aye span new to begin,  
Till that the night departed him a twin.   

Soon after this, for that fortune it would,  
Icomen was the blissful time sweet,  
That Troilus was warned, that he should  
There he was erst, Creseide his lady meet:  
For which he felt his heart in joy fleet,  
And faithfully 'gan all the god's hery,  
And let see now, if that he can be merry.   

And holden was the form, and all the gise  
Of her coming, and of his also,  
As it was erst, which needeth nought devise,  
But plainly to th'effect right for to go:  
In joy and surety Pandarus him two  
abed brought, when hem both lest,  
And thus they been in quiet and in rest.   

Naught needeth it to you sith they been met  
To ask at me, if that they blithe were,  
For if it erst was well, though was it bet  
A thousand fold, this needeth not inquire:  
A go was every sorrow and every fere,  
And both iwis they had, and so they wend,  
As much joy as heart may comprehend.   

This nis no little thing of for to say,  
This passeth every wit for to devise,  
For each of him 'gan others lust obey,  
Felicite, which that these clerks wise  
Commenden so, ne may not here suffice,  
This joy ne may not iwritten be with ink,  
This passeth all that hart may bethink.   

But cruel day, so wellaway the stound,  
'Gan for to approach, as they by signs knew,  
For which hem thought felen dethes wound,  
So woe was him, that chaungen 'gan her hue  
And day they gonnen to despise all new,  
Calling it traitor, envious and worse,  
And bitterly the day's light they corpse.   

(Qd. Troilus) alas, now am I beware  
That Pirous, and though swift steads three,  
Which that drawn forth the sun's chare,  
Han gone some by path in despite of me,  
And maketh it so soon day to be,  
And for the sun him hasten thus to rise,  
Ne shall I never done him sacrifice.   

But needs day depart him must fone,  
And when her speech done was, & her cheer,  
They twin anon, as they were wont to done,  
And setten time of meeting eft ifere:  
And many a night they wrought in this manere:  
And thus fortune a time lad in joy,  
Creseide, and eke this king's son of Troie.   

In suffisance, in bliss, and in sing,  
This Troilus 'gan all his life to lead,  
He spendeth, justeth, and maketh feesting,  
He giveth freely oft, and changeth weed,  
He held about him always out of dread,  
A world of folk, as come him well of kind,  
The freshest and the best he could find.   

That such a voice was of him, and a steven,  
Throughout the world, of honour & largesse,  
That it up rung unto the yate of Heaven;  
And as in love he was in such gladness,  
That in his hart he deemed, as I guess,  
That there nis lover in this world at ease,  
So well as he, and thus 'gan love him please.   

The goodlihede or beauty, which the kind,  
In any other lady had isette,  
Can not the mountenance of a gnat unbind,  
About his heart, of all Creseides net,  
He was so narrow imasked, and iknette:  
That is undone in any manner side,  
That nile not ben, for aught that may betid   

And by the hand full oft he would take  
This Pandarus, and into gardin lead,  
And such a feest, and such a process make  
Him of Creseide, and of her womanhead,  
And of her beauty, that withouten dread,  
It was an heaven his words for to here,  
And then he would sing in this manere:   

Love, that of earth & sea hath governance,  
Love, that his heestes hath in heaven high,  
Love, that with an wholesome alliance  
Halt people joined, as him list him gie,  
Love, that knitteth law and company,  
And couples doth in virtue for to dwell,  
Bind this accord, that I have told and tell.   

That, that the world with faith, which that is stable  
Diverseth so his stounds according,  
That elements that be the discordable,  
Holden a bond, perpetually during,  
That Phoebus' mote his rosy day forth bring,  
And that the moan hath lordship over the night's,  
All this doth love, aye heried be his mights.   

That, that the sea, that greedy is to flown,  
Constraineth to a certain end so  
His floods, that so fiercely they ne grown  
To drenchen earth and all for evermo,  
And if that love aught let his bridle go,  
All that now loveth asunder should leap,  
And lost were all, that love halt now to heap.   

So would to God, that author is of kind,  
That with his bond, love of his virtue list  
To searchen hearts all, and fast bind,  
That from his bond no wight the weigh out wist,  
And hearts cold hem, would I that hem twist,  
To maken him love, & that list him aye rue  
On hearts sore, and keep him that ben true.   

In all needs for the towns were  
He was, and aye the first in arms dight:  
And certainly, but if that books err,  
Save Hector, most idradde of any wight,  
And this increase of hardiness and might  
Come him of love, his ladies thank to win,  
That altered his spirit so within.   

In time of truce on hawking would he ride,  
Or else hunt Boar, Bear, or lion,  
The small beasts let he gone beside,  
And when that he come riding into the town,  
Full oft his lady from her window down,  
As fresh as falcon, comen out of move,  
Full readily was him goodly to salve.   

And most of love & virtue was his speech,  
And in despite had all wretchedness,  
And doubtless no need was him beseech  
To honouren hem, that had worthiness,  
And easen hem that weren in distress,  
And glad was he, if any wight well feared  
That lover was, when he it wist or heard.   

For soothe to sane, he lost held every wight,  
But if he were in loves high servise,  
I mean folk that aught it been of right,  
And over all this, so well could he devise  
Of sentement, and in so uncouth wise  
All his array, that every lover thought,  
That all was well, what so he said or wrought.   

And though that he be come of blood royal,  
Him list of pride at no wight for to chase,  
Benign he was to each in general,  
For which he gate him thank in every place:  
Thus would love iheried by his grace,  
That Pride, and Ire, Envy, and Avarice,  
He 'gan to fly, and every other vice.   

Thou lady bright, the daughter of Diane,  
Thy blind and winged son eke dan Cupid,  
Ye sustrens nine eke, that by Helicone  
In hill Pernaso, listen for to abide,  
That ye thus far han deined me to guide,  
I can no more, but since that ye wool wend,  
Ye heried been for aye withouten end.   

Through you have I said fully in my song  
Theffect and joy of Troilus servise,  
All be that there was some disease among,  
As mine author listeth to devise,  
My third book now end I in this wise,  
And Trolius in lust and in quiet,  
Is with Creseide his own heart sweet.    
Explicit liber tertius.   



But all too little, wellaway the while  
Lasteth such joy, ithonked be fortune,  
That seemeth truest, when she wool beguile,  
And can to fools her song entune,  
That she him hent, the blended traitor commune:  
* And when a wight is from her wheel ithrow,  
Then laugheth she, & maketh him the mow.   

From Troilus she 'gan her bright face  
Away to writhe, and took of him none heed,  
And cast him clean out of his lady's grace,  
And on her wheel she set up Diomedes,  
For which mine heart right now ginneth bleed,  
And now my pen alas, with which I write,  
Quaketh for dread of that I must indite.   

For how Creseide Troilus forsook,  
Or at the least, how that she was unkind,  
Mote henceforth been matter of my book,  
As written folk, through which it is in mind  
Alas, that they should ever cause find  
To speak her harm, and if they on her lie,  
Iwis hemselfes should have the villainy.   

O ye Herines' nights daughters three,  
That endless complain ever in pain,  
Megaera, Allecto, and eke Tesiphonee,  
Thou cruel Mars eke, father of Quirine,  
This ilke fourth book help me to fine,  
So that the loose, and love, and life ifere  
Of Troilus be fully showed here.    

Incipit liber quartus.  

LIgging in host, as I have said ere this,  
The greeks strong, about Troy town,  
Befell, that when that Phoebus shining is  
Upon the breast of Hercules Lion,  
That Hector, with many a bold Baron  
Cast on a day with greeks for to fight,  
As he was wont, to greve him what he might..   

Not I how long or short it was between  
This purpose, & that day they fighten meant,  
But on a day well armed bright and sheen,  
Hector and many a worthy knight out went  
With spear in hon, and big bows bend,  
And in the berde withouten longer let,  
Her foemen in the field anon him met.   

The long day with spears sharp iground  
With arrows, darts, swerds, and maces fell,  
They fight, & bringen horse & man to ground,  
And with her axes out the brains quell,  
But in the last shower, sooth to tell,  
The folk of Troy him selven so misleden,  
That with the worse at night home they fleden.   

At which day was taken Antenor,  
Maugre Polimidas, or Monesteo,  
Xantippe, Sarpedon, Palestinor,  
Polite, or eke the Trojan dan Rupheo,  
And other lass folk, as Phebuseo,  
So that for harm that day the folk of Troy  
Dreden to less a great part of her joy.   

Of Priamus was yeve at Greeks request  
A time of truce, and though they gonnen treat  
Her prisoners to chaungen most and least,  
And for the surplus yeven sommes great,  
This thing anon was couth in every street,  
Both in thassiege, in town, and every where,  
And with the first it came to Calcas ere.   

When Calcas knew this treatise should hold  
In consistory among the greeks soon  
He 'gan in thringe, forth with lords old,  
And set him there as he was wont to done,  
And with a changed face hem bade a boon  
For love of God, to done that reverence,  
To stinten noise, and yeve him audience.   

Then said he thus, lo lords mine I was  
Trojan, as it is known out of dread,  
And if that you remember, I am Calcas,  
That alderfirst gave comfort to your need,  
And told well how that you should speed,  
For dredelesse through you shall in a stound  
Ben Troy ibrent, & beaten down to ground.   

And in what form, or in with manner wise  
This town to shend, and all your lust atcheve,  
Ye have ere this well heard me devise:  
This know ye my lords, as I leave,  
And for the greeks weren me so leave,  
I came myself in my proper person  
To reach in this how you was best to done.   

Having unto my treasure, ne my rent,  
Right no regard in respect of your ease,  
Thus all my good I left, and to you went,  
weening in this you lords for to please,  
But all that loss ne doth me no disease,  
I vouchsafe, as wisely have I joy,  
For you to less all that I have in Troy.   

Save of a daughter that I left, alas,  
Sleeping at home, when out of Troy I start,  
O stern, O cruel father that I was,  
How might I have in that so hard an heart?  
Alas that I ne had brought her in my shirt,  
For sorrow of which I wol nat live to morrow,  
But if ye lords rue upon my sorrow.   

For because that I saw no time ere now  
Her to deliver, iche holden have my pees,  
But now or never, if that it like you,  
I may her have right now doubtlees  
O help and grace, among all this prees  
Rew on this old caitiff in distress,  
Sith I through you have all this heaviness.   

Ye have now caught, and fettered in prison  
Troyans enough, and if your wills be,  
My child with one may have redemption,  
Now for the love of God, and of bounty,  
One of so feel alas, so gave him me,  
What need were it this prayer for to werne,  
Sith ye shall have both folk & town as yearn.   

On peril of my life I shall nat lie,  
Apollo hath me told full faithfully,  
I have eke found by astronomy,  
By sort, and by augury truly,  
And dare well say the time is fast by,  
That fire & flame on all the town shall spread,  
And thus shall Troy turn to ashen deed.   

For certain, Phoebus and Neptunus both  
That makeden the walls of the town,  
Ben with the folk of Troy always so wroth,  
That they wool bring it to confusion  
Right in despite of king Laomedoun,  
Because he nolde paien hem her hire,  
The town of Troy shall ben set on fire.   

Telling his tale always this old grey,  
Humble in his speech and looking eke,  
The salt tears from his eyes fifty  
Full fast ronnen down by either cheek,  
So long he 'gan of succour him beseek,  
That for to heal him of his sorrows sore,  
They gave him Antenor withouten more.   

But who was glad enough, but Calcas tho,  
And of this thing full soon his needs laid  
On him that shoulden for the treatise go  
And hem for Antenor full oft preide,  
To bringen home king Thoas and Creseide,  
And when Priam his safeguard sent,  
Thambasssadors to Troy straight they went.   

The cause ytold of her coming, the old  
Priam the king, full soon in general,  
Let here upon his parliament hold,  
Of which th'effect rehearsen you I shall,  
Thambasssadors been answer for final,  
The exchange of prisoners, and all this need  
Hempskirke liketh well, and forth in they proceed.   

This Troilus was present in the place,  
When asked was for Antenor Creseide,  
For which full soon chaungen 'gan his face,  
As he that with though words well nigh deide,  
But nevertheless he no word to it said,  
Lest men should his affection espy,  
With man's heart he 'gan his sorrows dry.   

And full of anguish and of gresly dread,  
Abode what other lords would to it say,  
And if they would grant, as God forbid,  
Theschange of her, than thought he thing fifty:  
First, how to save her honour, & with weigh  
He might best thexchange of her with stoned,  
Full fast he cast how all this might stoned.   

Love him made all pressed to done her bide,  
And rather dien than she should go,  
But Reason said him on that other side,  
Withouten assent of her do nat so,  
Lest for thy work she would be thy so,  
And sane, that through thy meddling is yblow  
Your brother love, there it was noterst know.   

For which he 'gan deliberens for the best,  
And though the lords would that she went,  
He would let him grant what hem lest,  
And tell his lady first what that they meant,  
And when that she had said him her intent,  
Thereafter would he work also believe,  
Tho all the world again it would strive.   

Hector, which that well the greeks herd,  
For Antenor how they would have Creseide,  
'Gan it withstand, and soberly answered:  
Sirs, she nis no prisoner (he said)  
I not on you who that this charge laid,  
But on my part, ye may eftsoons him tell,  
We useli here no women for to sell.   

The noise of people up siert then atones,  
As brim as blaze of straw iset on fire,  
For infortune it would for the nonce,  
They shoulden her confusion desire:  
Hector (qd. they) with ghost may you inspire  
This women thus in shield, and done us ●ese  
Dan Antenore, a wrong way now ye cheese.   

That is so wise, and eke so bold baroun,  
And we have need of folk, as men may see,  
He is one of the greatest of this town:  
O Hector, let thy fantasies be,  
O king Priam (qd. they) thus segge we,  
That all our voice is to forgone Creseide,  
And to delive Antenor they preide.   

O juvenal lord, true is thy sentence,  
That little wenen folk what is to yerue,  
That they ne finden in her desire offence,  
For cloud of error ne let him discern  
What best is, & lo, here ensample as yearn:  
These folk desiren now deliverance  
Of Antenor, that brought him to mischance.   

For he was after traitor to the town  
Of Troy alas, they quit him out to rather,  
O nice world, lo thy discretion,  
Creseide, which that never did him scathe,  
Shall now no longer in her bliss bathe,  
But Antenor, he shall come home to town,  
And she shall out, thus said here and houn.   

For which delibered was by parliament,  
For Antenor to yeelden out Creseide,  
And it pronounced by the precedent,  
Though that Hector nay full oft prayed,  
And finally, what wight that it withsaid,  
It was for naught, it must ben, and should,  
For substance of the Parliament it would.   

Departed out of the parliament eachone,  
This Troilus, without words more,  
Unto his chamber sped him fast alone,  
But if it were a man of his or two,  
The which he bade out fast for to go,  
Because he would slepen, as he said,  
And hastily upon his bed him laid.   

And as in Winter, leaves been birast  
Each after other, till trees he hare,  
So that there nis but bark & branch ilast,  
Lithe Troilus, biraft of each welfare,  
Ibounden in the black bark of care,  
Disposed wooed out of his wit to breide,  
So sore him sat the changing of Creseide.   

He rist him up, and every door he shut,  
And window eke, & though this sorrowful man  
Upon his bed's side down him set  
Full like a dead image, pale and wan,  
And in his breast the heaped woe began  
Out burst, and he to work in this wise  
In his woodness, as I shall you devise.   

Right as the wild Bull beginneth spring  
Now here, now there, idarted to the heart,  
And of his death roareth, in complaining,  
Right so 'gan he about the chamber start,  
Smiring his breast aye with his fists smart,  
His head to the wall, his body to the ground,  
Foll oft he swapped, himselven to confound.   

His eye two for pity of his heart,  
Out stremeden as swift as wells fifty,  
The high sobs of his sorrows smart  
His speech him reft, unnethes might he say,  
O death alas, why nilt thou do me day?  
Accursed by that day which that nature  
Shaped me to ben a lives creature.   

But after when the fury and all the rage  
Which that his heart twist, and fast thrust,  
By length of time somewhat 'gan assuage,  
Upon his bed he laid him down to rest,  
But though begon his tears more out to breast,  
That wonder is the body may suffice  
To half this woe, which that I you devise.   

Then said he thus: Fortune alas the while  
What have I done? what have I thee agilt?  
How mightest thou for ruth me beguile?  
Is there no grace? and shall I thus be spilt?  
Shall thus Creseide away for that thou wilt?  
Alas, how mightest thou in thine hart find  
To ben to me thus cruel and unkind?   

Have I thee nat honoured all my live  
As thou well wottest, above the Gods all?  
Why wilt thou me fro joy thus deprive?  
O Troilus, what may men now thee call,  
But wretch of wretches, out of honour fall  
Into misery, in which I wool bewail  
Creseide alas, till that the breath me fail.   

Alas Fortune, if that my life in joy  
Displeased had unto thy foul Envy,  
Why ne hadst thou my father king of Troy  
Biraft the life, or done my brethren die,  
Or slain myself, that thus complain & cry,  
I cumber world, that may of nothing serve,  
But ever die, and never fully starve.   

If that Creseide alone were me haft,  
Naughtrauȝt I whider thou wouldst me steer,  
And her alas, then hast thou me byraft:  
But evermore, lo this is thy manner,  
To reve a wight that most is to him dear,  
To preve in that thy gierfull violence,  
Thus am I lost, there helpeth no defence.   

O very Lord, O love, O God alas,  
That knowest best mine heart & all my thought,  
What shall my sorrowful life done in this case,  
If I to go that I so dear have bought,  
Sens ye Creseide & me have fully brought  
Into your grace, and both our hearts sealed,  
How may ye suffer alas it be repealed.   

What I may done, I shall while I may dure  
On live, in tourment and in cruel pain,  
This infortune, or this disaventure,  
Alone as I was borne I wool complain,  
Ne never wool I seen it shine or rain,  
But end I wool as Edippe in darkness  
My sorrowful life, and dien in distress.   

O weary ghost, that errest too and fro,  
Why 〈◊〉 thou flien out of the woefullest  
Body, that ever might on ground go?  
O soul, lurking in this woeful nest,  
Fly forthout mine hart, and let it breast,  
And follow always Creseide thy lady dear,  
Thy right place is now no longer here.   

O woeful eien two, since your disport  
Was all to seen Creseides eyes bright,  
What shall ye done, but for my discomfort  
Stoden for naught, & weep out your sight,  
Sens she is quaint, the wont was you to light,  
* In vein from this forth have I eyes fifty  
I form, since your virtue is away.   

O my Creseide, O lady sovereign,  
Of this woeful soul that thus crieth,  
Who shall now yeven comfort to thy pain,  
Alas, no wight, but when mine heart dieth,  
My spirit, which that so unto you hieth,  
Receive in gree, for that shall aye you serve,  
For thy no force is, though the body starve.   

O ye lovers, that high upon the wheel  
Ben set of Fortune in good aventure,  
God lean that ye finden aye love of steel,  
And long more your life in joy endure,  
But when ye comen by my sepulture,  
Remembreth that your fellow resteth there,  
For I loved eke, though I unworthy were.   

O old unwholesome and mislived man,  
Calcas I mean, alas what eiled thee  
To 〈◊〉 a Greek, since thou art borne Trojan?  
O Calcas, which that wolt my bane be,  
In cursed time was thou borne for me,  
As would blissful jove for his joy,  
That I thee had where I would in Troy.   

A thousand sighs hotter than the gleed,  
Out of his breast, each after other went,  
Meddled with plaint new, his woe to feed,  
For which his woeful tears never stint,  
And shortly so his sorrows him to rent,  
And wore so mate, that joy or penance  
He feeleth none, but heath in a trance.   

Panoare, which that in the parliament  
Had heatd with every Lord and burgeiss said,  
And how full granted was by one assent,  
For Antenor to yelden o●t Creseid:  
'Gan well nigh wood out of his wit to breid,  
So that for woe he niste what he meant,  
But in a 〈…〉 went.   

A certain knight, that for the 〈…〉  
The chamber door, undid it him anon,  
And Pander, that full tenderly wept,  
Into the dark chamber as still as stone,  
Toward the bed 'gan softly to gove,  
So confuse, that he ●●st what to say,  
For very woe, his wit was nigh away.   

And with cheer and leeking all to torn,  
For sorrow of this, & with his arms folden,  
He stood this woeful Troilus before,  
And on his piteous face he 'gan beholden,  
But so oft 'gan his heart colden,  
Seeing his friend in woe, whose heaviness  
His heart slough, as thought him for distress.   

This woeful wight, this Troilus y● felt  
His friend Pandar icomen him to see,  
'Gan as the snow against the sun melt,  
For which this woeful Pander of pite  
'Gan for to weep as tenderly as he:  
And speechless thus been these ilke twey,  
That neither might for sorrow o word say.   

But at the last, this woeful Troilus,  
Nigh dead for smart, 'gan bresten out to roar,  
And with a sorrowful noise he said thus  
Among his sobs and his sighs sore,  
Lo Pandar I am dead withouten more,  
Hast thou nat heard at parliament he said,  
For Antenor how lost is my Creseide.   

This Pander full dead and pale of hue,  
Full pitously answer, and said yes,  
As wisely were it false as it is true,  
That I have heard, and wot all how it is,  
O mercy God, who would have trowed this,  
Who would have wend, that in so little a throw  
Fortune our joy would overthrow.   

For in this world there is no creature,  
As to my doom, that ever saw ruin  
Stranger than this through case or aventure,  
But who may all eschew or all divine,  
Such is this world, for thy I thus define:  
* Ne trust no wight to find in Fortune  
Ay property, her yeftes been commune.   

But tell me this, why thou art now so mad  
To sorrowen thus, why list thou in this wise,  
Sens thy desire all holly hast thou had,  
So that by right it ought enough suffice,  
But I that never felt in my servise  
A friendly cheer or looking of an eye,  
Let me thus weep and wailen till I die.   

And over all this, as thou well wost thy self,  
This town is full of ladies all about,  
And to my doom, falcer than such twelve  
As ever she was, shall I finden in some rout,  
Ye one or twey, withouten any doubt:  
For thy be glade mine own dear brother,  
If she be lost, we shall recover another.   

* What God forbid always that each pleasance  
In a thing were, and in none other wight,  
If one can sing, another can well dance,  
If this be goodly, she is glad and light,  
And this is fair, and that can good aright,  
Each for his virtue holden is for dear,  
Both herones and falcon for rivere.   

And eke as writ Zansis, that was full wise,  
* The new love out chaseth oft the old:  
And upon new case lieth new avise,  
Think eke thyself to saven art thou hold,  
Such fire by process shall of kind cold,  
For since it is but casual pleasance,  
Some case shall put it out of remembrance.   

* For also sure as day cometh after night,  
The new love, labour or other woe,  
Or else seld seeing of a wight,  
Done old affections all overgo,  
And for thy part, thou shalt have one of though  
To abredgs with thy bitter pains smart,  
Absence of her shall drive her out of hart.   

These words said he for the nonce all  
To help his friend, lest he for sorrow deide,  
For doubtless to done his woe to fall,  
He reached nat what unthrift that he said:  
But Troilus that nigh for sorrow deide,  
took little heed of all that ever he meant,  
One ear it heard, at the other out it went.   

But at the last he answered, and said friend,  
This lechcraft, or dealed thus to be,  
Were well fitting, if that I were a fiend,  
To traien a wight, that true is unto me,  
I pray God let this counsel never ithee  
But do me rather starve anon right here,  
Ere thus I done, as thou me wouldst lere.   

She that I serve iwis, what so thou say,  
To whom mine hart inhabit is by right,  
Shall have me holly hers, till that I day,  
For Pandarus, since I have troth her height,  
I wool nat ben untrue for no wight,  
But as her man I wool aye live and starve,  
And never none other creature serve.   

And there thou sayest thou shalt as fair find  
As she, let be, make no comparison,  
To creature iformed here by kind,  
O leave Pandar, in conclusion,  
I wool nat been of thine opinion  
Touching all this, for which I thee beseech,  
So hold thy peace, thou slaest me with thy speech.   

Thou biddest me I should love another  
All freshly new, and let Creseide go,  
It lithe not in my power leave brother,  
And though I might, yet would I nat do so,  
* But canst thou plaien raket to and fro,  
* Nettle in dock out, now this, now that Pandar,  
Now foul fall her for thy woe, y● care.   

Thou farest eke by me Pandarus,  
As he, that when a wight is woe bigon,  
He cometh to him apace, & saith right thus,  
Think not on smart, & thou shalt feel none,  
Thou mayest me first transmewen in a stone,  
And reve me my passions all,  
Or thou so lightly do my woe to fall.   

The death may well out of my breast depart  
The life, so long may this sorrow mine:  
But fro my soul shall Creseides dart  
Out nevermore, but down with Proserpina  
When I am dead, I wool won in pine,  
And there I wool eternally complain  
My woe, and how that twinned be we twain.   

Thou hast here made an argument full fine,  
How that it should lass pain be  
Creseide to forgone, for she was mine,  
And lived in ease and in felicity:  
Why gabbest thou, that saidst unto me,  
* That him is worse that is fro we'll ithrow,  
Than he had erst none of that we'll know.   

But tell me now, sen that thee thinketh so light  
To chaungen so in love aye to and fro,  
Why hast thou nat done busily thy might  
To chaungen her, that doth thee all thy woe?  
Why nilt thou let her from thine heart go?  
Why nilt thou love another lady sweet,  
That may thine heart setten in quiet?   

If thou hast had in love aye yet mischance,  
And canst it not out of thine hart drive,  
I that lived in lust and in pleasance  
With her, as much as creature on live,  
How would I that foryet, and that so believe,  
O where hast thou been hid so long in mew,  
Thou canst so well and formeliche agrew.   

Nay God wot, naught worth is all thy read,  
For which, for what that ever may befall,  
Withouten words more I wool ben deed,  
O death, that ender art of sorrows all,  
Come now, since I so oft after thee call,  
* For silly is that death, sooth sor to sane,  
That oft icleped, cometh & endeth pain.   

Well wot I, while my life was in quiet,  
Ere thou me slew, I would have yeven hire,  
But now thy coming is to me so sweet,  
That in this world I nothing so desire,  
O death, since with this sorrow I am a fire,  
Thou either do me anon in tears drench,  
Or with thy cold stroke mine heart quench.   

Sens that thou slaest so feel in sundry wise  
Against her will, unpraied day and night,  
Do me at my request this servise,  
Deliver now the world, so dost thou right,  
Of me that am the woefullest wight  
That ever was, for time is that I starve,  
Sens in this world of right naught do I serve.   

This Troilus in tears 'gan distil  
As licour out of Allambike full fast,  
And Pandarus 'gan hold his tongue still,  
And to the ground his eyes down he cast,  
But nevertheless, thus thought he at last,  
What pard, rather than my fellow day,  
Yet shall I somewhat more unto him say.   

And said friend, since thou hast such distress,  
And sens thee list mine arguments blame,  
Why nilt thy selven help done redress,  
And with thy manhood let all this game,  
To ravish her, ne caused thou not for shame?  
And either let her out of town fare,  
Or hold her still, and leave thy nice fare.   

Art thou in Troy, and hast none hardiment  
To take a wight, which that loveth thee,  
And would her selven been of thine assent,  
Now is nat this a nice vanity,  
Rise up anon, and let this weeping be,  
And sith thou art a man, for in this hour  
I wool been dead, or she shall ben our.   

To this answer him Troilus full soft,  
And said, iwis my leve brother dear,  
All this have I myself yet thought full oft,  
And more thing than thou devisest here,  
But why this thing is haft, thou shalt well here  
And when thou hast me yeven audience,  
Thereafter mayst thou tell all thy sentence.   

First, sin thou wost this town hath all this were  
For ravishing of women so by might,  
It should not been suffced me to err,  
As it stont now, ne done so great unright,  
I should have also blame of every wight,  
My father's grant if that I so withstood,  
Sens she is changed for the towns good.   

I have eke thought, so it were her assent,  
To ask her of my father of his grace,  
Then think I, this were her accusement,  
Sens well I wot I may her not purchase,  
For since my father in so high a place  
As Parliament, hath her exchange ensealed,  
He nill for me his letter be repealed.   

Yet dread I most her heart to perturb  
With violence, if I do such a game,  
For if I would it openly disturb,  
It must be disclaunder to her name,  
And me were lever die than her diffame,  
As nolde God, but I should have  
Her honour, lever than my life to save.   

Thus am I lost, for aught that I can see,  
For certain is that I am her knight,  
I must her honour lever have than me  
In every case, as lover ought of right,  
Thus am I with desire and reason twight:  
Desire for too disturben her me readeth,  
And Reason nill not, so mine heart dreadeth.   

Thus weeping, that he could never cease,  
He said alas, how shall I wretch fare,  
For well feel I always my love increase,  
And hope is lass and lass Pandar,  
increase eke the causes of my care,  
So wellaway, why nill mine hart breast,  
For as in love there is but little rest.   

Pandar answer, friend thou mayst for me  
Done as thee list, but had I it so hot,  
And thine estate, she should go with me,  
Tho all this town cried on this thing by note,  
I nolde set at all that noise a groat,  
* For when men have cried, then wol they room,  
Eke wonder last but ix. deys never in town.   

Devine not in reason aye so deep,  
Ne courteously, but help thyself anon,  
Bet is that other than thy selven weep,  
And namely, since ye two been all one,  
Rise up, for by mine head she shall not gone,  
And rather been in blame a little ifound,  
Than starve here as a gnat withouten wound.   

It is no shame unto you, ne no vice,  
Her to withholden, that ye loveth most,  
Peradventure she might hold thee for nice,  
To let her go thus unto the Greeks host,  
* Think eke fortune, as well thy selven woste,  
Helpeth hardy man unto his emprise,  
And weiveth wretches for her cowardice.   

And though thy lady would alight her greve,  
Thou shalt thyself thy peace hereafter make,  
But as to me certain I cannot leve,  
That she would it as now for evil take,  
Why should then for fear thine hart quake,  
Think how Paris hath, that is thy brother,  
A love, & why shall thou not have another?   

And Troilus, o thing I dare thee swear,  
That if Creseide, which that is thy lief,  
Now loveth thee, as well as thou dost here,  
God help me so, she nill not take a grief,  
Though thou do boat anon in this mischief,  
And if she wilneth from thee for to pass,  
Then is she false, so love her well the lass.   

For thy, take hart, & think right as a knight,  
Through love is broken alday every law,  
Kith now somewhat thy courage & thy might,  
Have mercy on thyself for any awe,  
Let not this wretched woe thine hart gnaw,  
* But manly set the world on six and seven,  
And if thou die a martyr, go to heaven.   

I wool myself been with thee at this deed,  
Though I and all my kin upon a stound,  
Should in a street, as dogs, liggen deed,  
Through girt with many a bloody wound,  
In every case I wool a friend be found,  
And if thee listeth here sterven as a wretch,  
Adieu, the devil speed him that reach.   

This Troilus 'gan with the words quicken;  
And said, friend, grant mercy, I assent,  
But certainly, thou mayst nat so me pricken,  
Ne pain none ne may me so torment,  
That for no case it is not mine intent,  
At short words, though I dien should,  
To ravishen her, but if herself it would.   

Why, so mean I (qd. Pandarus) all this day,  
But tell me then, hast thou her well assayed,  
That sorrowest thus? & he answer him nay.  
Wherofart thou (qd. Pandar) then dismayed,  
That noste not that she wool ben evil paid  
To ravishen her, since thou hast not been there,  
But if that jove told it in thine ear.   

For thy, rise up as naught ne were, anon,  
And wash thy face, & to the king thou wend,  
Or he may wondrens whider thou art gone,  
Thou must with wisdom him and other blend,  
Or upon case he may after thee send,  
Or thou beware, and shortly brother dear  
Be glad, and let me work in this matter.   

For I shall shape it so, that sikerly  
Thou shalt this night sometime in some manere  
Come speaken with thy Lady prively,  
And by her words eke, as by her cheer,  
Thou shalt full soon aperceive and well here  
Of her intent, and in this case the best,  
And fare now well, for in this point I rest.   

The swift fame, which that falls things  
Equal reporteth, like the things true,  
Was throughout Troy ifled, with pressed wings,  
Fro man to man, and made his tale all new,  
How Calcas daughter with her bright hue,  
At Parliament without words more,  
I granted was in change of Antenore.   

The which tale anon right as Creseide  
Had heard, she which that of her father wrought  
(As in this case) right naught, ne when he deide  
Full busily to jupiter besought  
Yeve him mischance, that this tretis brought:  
But shortly, lest these tales sooth were,  
She durst at no wight asken it for fere.   

As she that had her hart and all her mind  
On Troilus yset so wonder fast,  
That all this world ne might her love unbind,  
Ne Troilus out of her heart cast,  
She would been his while that her life may last,  
And she thus brenneth both in love and dread,  
So that she nist what was best to read.   

But as men seen in town, and all about,  
That women usen her friends to visit,  
So to Creseide of women came a rout,  
For piteous joy, and wenden her delight,  
And with her tales dear enough a mite,  
These women, which that in the city dwell,  
They set him down, and said as I shall tell.   

(Qd. first that one) I am glad truly,  
Because of you, that shall your father see,  
Another said, iwis, so am not I,  
For all too little hath she with us be:  
(Qd. tho the third) I hope iwis that she  
Shall bringen us the peace on every side,  
That when she goth, almighty God her guide.   

Tho words and though womanish things  
She herd hem right as though she thencewere:  
For God it wot, her hart on other thing is,  
Although the body sat among him there,  
Her advertence is always else where,  
For Troilus full fast her soul sought,  
Withouten word, on him always she thought.   

These women that thus wenden her to please,  
About naught 'gan all her tales spend,  
Such vanity ne can done her none ease,  
As she that all this mean while burnt  
Of other passion than they wend,  
So that she felt almost her heart die  
For woe, and weary of that company.   

For which might she no longer restrain  
Her tears, they 'gan so up to well,  
That gave signs of her bitter pain,  
In which her spirit was, and must dwell  
Remembering her from heaven unto which hell  
She fallen was, since she forgo the sight  
Of Troilus, and sorrowfully she sight.   

And thilk fools, sitting her about,  
Wend that she wept and sighed sore,  
Because that she should out of the rout  
Departen, and never play with him more,  
And they that had known her of yore,  
See her so weep, and thought it was kindness,  
And each of him wept eke for her distress.   

And bustly they gonnen her to comforten  
On thing God wot, on which she little thought,  
And with her tales wenden her disporten,  
And to be glad they oft her besought,  
But such an ease therewith they her wrought,  
* Right as a man is eased for to feel,  
For ache of head, to clawen him on his heel.   

But after all this nice vanity,  
They took her leve, & home they wenten all,  
Creseide full of sorrowful pity,  
Into her chamber up went out of the hall,  
And on her bed she 'gan for dead to fall,  
In purpose never thence for to rise,  
And thus she wrought, as I shall you devise.   

Her ownded hair, that sonnish was of hue,  
She rend, and eke her fingers long and small  
She wrong full oft, and bad God on her rue,  
And with the death to do boat on her bale,  
Her hue whilom bright, that though was pale,  
Bare witness of her woe, and her constraint,  
And thus she spoke, sobbing in her compleint.   

Alas (qd. she) out of this religioun,  
I woeful wretch and infortuned wight,  
And borne in cursed constellatioun,  
Mote gone, & thus departen fro my knight,  
woe worth alas, that ilke days light,  
On which I saw him first with eye twain,  
That causeth me, and I him all this pain.   

Therewith the tears from her eyes two  
Down fell, as shower in April swithe,  
Her white breast she bet, and for the woe,  
After the death she cried a thousand scythe,  
Sens he that want her woe was for to lithe,  
She moat forgone, for which disaventure  
She held herself a forlost creature.   

She said, how shall he done and I also  
How should I live, if that I from him twin,  
O dear heart eke that I love so,  
Who shall that sorrow slaen, that ye ben in?  
O Calcas, father, thine be all this sin:  
O mother mine, that cleped wert Argive,  
Woe worth that day that thou me bare on live.   

To with fine should I live & sorowen thus,  
* How should a fish withouten water dure?  
What is Creseide worth from Troilus?  
How should a plant or lives creature  
Live withouten his kind nurture,  
For which full oft a by word here I say,  
* That rootless mote green soon day,   

I shall done thus, since neither sword ne dart,  
Dare I none handle, for the cruelty,  
That like day that I fro you depart,  
If sorrow of that nill not my bane be,  
Then shall no meat ne drink come in me,  
Till I my soul out of my breast unsheathe,  
And thus my selven wool I done to death.   

And Troilus, my clothes everychone  
shul black been, in tokening hart sweet,  
That I am as out of this world agone,  
That wont was you to set in quiet,  
And of mine order aye till death me meet,  
The observance ever in your absence,  
Shall sorrow ben complaint and abstinence.   

Mine hart and eke the woeful ghost therein  
Bequeath I with your spirit to complain  
Eternally, for they shall never twin,  
For though in yearth twinned be we twain,  
Yet in the field of pity, out of pain,  
That height Elisos, shall we been ifere,  
As Orpheus and Erudice his fere.   

Thus heart mine, for Antenor alas  
I soon shall be changed, as I ween,  
But how shall ye done in this sorrowful case,  
How shall your tender hart this sustain?  
But hart mine, foryet this sorrow and tene,  
And me also, for sooth for to say,  
So ye well fare, I retche not to they.   

How might it ever red been or isong  
The plaint that she made in her distress,  
I not, but as for me my little tongue  
If I discriven would her heaviness,  
It should make her sorrow seem less  
Than that it was, and childishly deface  
Her high complaint, and therefore I it pace.   

Pandar, which that sent from Troilus  
Was unto Creseide, as ye have heard devise,  
That for the best it was recorded thus,  
And he full glad to done him that servise,  
Unto Creseide in a full secret wise,  
There as she lay in tourment and in rage,  
Came her to tell all holly his message.   

And fond that she her selven 'gan to great  
Full pitously, for with her salt teres,  
Her breast and face ibathed was full wete,  
Her mighty tresses of her sonnish here's  
Vnbroiden, hangen all about her ears,  
Which gave him very sign of mattire  
Of death, which that her hart 'gan desire.   

When she him saw, she 'gan for sorrow anon  
Her teary face atwixt her arms hide,  
For which this Pander is so woe bigon,  
That in the house he might uneath abide,  
As he that felt sorrow on every side,  
For if Creseide had erst complained sore,  
Tho 'gan she plain a thousand times more.   

And in her asper plaint, thus she said:  
Pandar, first of joys more than two  
Was cause, causing unto me Creseide,  
That now transmued been in cruel woe,  
Whether shall I say to you welcome or no?  
That alderfirst me brought unto servise  
Of love alas, that endeth in such wise.   

* Endeth then love in woe? Ye or men lieth,  
And all worldly bliss, as thinketh me,  
The end of bliss aye sorrow it occupieth,  
And who troweth not that it so be,  
Let him upon me woeful wretch see,  
That myself hate, and aye my birth curse,  
Feeling always, fro wick I go to worse.   

Who so me seeth, he seeth sorrow all atonis,  
Pain, tourment, plaint, woe and distress,  
Out of my woeful body harm there none is,  
As langour, anguish, cruel bitterness,  
Annoy, smart, dread, fury, and eke sickness,  
I trow iwis from heaven tears rain,  
For pity of my asper and cruel pain.   

And thou my sister, full of discomfort,  
(Qd. Pandarus) what thinkest thou to do?  
Why ne hast thou to thy selven some resport?  
Why wilt thou thus thyself alas fordo?  
Leave all this work, and take now heed to  
That I shall sane, & harken of good intent  
This message, that by me Troilus you sent.   

Turned her though Creseide a woe making,  
So great, that it a death was for to see,  
Alas (qd. she) what words may ye bring,  
What wool my dear heart sane to me,  
Which that I dread nevermore to see,  
wol he have plaint or tears ere I wend,  
I have enough, if he thereafter send.   

She was right such to seen in her visage,  
As is that wight that men on bear bind,  
Her face like of Paradis the image,  
Was all ichaunged in another kind,  
The play, the laughter men were wont to find  
On her, and eke her joys everichone  
Ben fled, and thus lieth Creseide alone.   

About her eyes two, a purpre ring  
Bitrent, in soothfast tokening of her pain,  
That to behold it was a deadly thing,  
For which Pander might nat restrain  
The tears from his eyes for to rain,  
But nevertheless as he best might he said  
From Troilus these words to Creseide.   

Lo niece, I trow ye han heard all how  
The king with other Lords for the best,  
Hath made exchange of Antenor and you,  
That cause is of this sorrow and this unrest,  
But how this case doth Troilus molest,  
This may none earthly man's tongue say,  
For very woe, his wit is all away.   

For which we have so sorowed, he and I,  
That into little it had us both slaw,  
But through my counsel this day finally,  
He somewhat is fro weeping withdraw,  
And seemeth me that he desireth faw  
With you to ben all might for to devise  
Remedy of this, if there were any wise.   

This short & plain, th'effect of my message,  
As ferforth as my wit can comprehend,  
For ye that been of tourment in such rage,  
May to no long prologue as now intend.  
And hereupon ye may answer him send,  
And for the love of God my niece dear,  
So leave this woe or Troilus be here.   

Great is my woe (qd. she) and sighed sore,  
As she that feeleth deadly sharp distress,  
But yet to me his sorrow is mokell more,  
That love him bet than he himself I guess,  
Alas, for me hath he such heaviness,  
Can he for me so pitously complain,  
Iwis this sorrow doubleth all my pain.   

Grevous to me God wot is for to twin  
(Qd. she) but yet it harder is to me,  
To seen that sorrow which that he is in,  
For well wot I, it wool my bane be,  
And die I wool in certain though (qd. she)  
But bid him come, ere death that thus me threteth,  
Drive out the ghost which in mine hart beateth.   

These words said, she on her arms two  
Fill gruffe, and 'gan to weepen pitously:  
(Qd. Pandarus) alas, why do ye so,  
Sens ye well wot the time is fast by  
That he shall come, arise up hastily,  
That he you not biwopen thus ne find,  
But ye wool have him wode out of his mind.   

For wist he that ye fared in this manere;  
He would himself slay: and if I wend  
To have this fare, he should not come here;  
For all the good that Priam may dispend:  
For to what fine he would anon pretend:  
That know I well, and for thy yet ay say,  
So leave this sorrow, or plainly he wool they.   

And shapeth you his sorrow for to abridge,  
And nat increase, lief niece sweet,  
* Bethrather to him cause of plat than edge,  
And with some wisdom ye his sorrows beat,  
What helpeth it to weepen full a street,  
Or though ye both in salt tears dreint,  
* Bet is a time of cure aye than of pleint.   

I mean thus, when I him hither bring,  
Sens ye be wise, and both of one assent,  
So shapeth how to distour be your going,  
Or come again soon after ye be went,  
Women been wise, in short avisement,  
And let seen how your wit shall avail,  
And what that I may help, it shall nat fail.   

Go (qd. Creseide) and uncle truly.  
I shall done all my might me to restrain  
From weeping in his sight, and busily  
Him fo● to glad, I shall done all my pain,  
And in my heart seeken every vaine,  
If to his sore there may ben founden salve,  
It shall nat lack certain on mine halve.   

Goes Pandarus, and Troilus he sought,  
Till in a temple he found him all alone,  
As he that of his life no longer wrought,  
But to the piteous gods everichone,  
Full tenderly he prayed, and made his moan,  
To done him soon out of the world to pace,  
For well he thought there was none other grace.   

And shortly all the sooth for to say,  
He was so fallen in despair that day,  
That utterly he shaped him for to day,  
For right thus was his argument always,  
He said he nas but lost, wellaway,  
* For all that cometh, cometh by necessity,  
Thus to ben lost, it is my destiny.   

For certainly, this wot I well he said,  
That foresight of divine purveiaunce  
Had seen always me to forgone Creseide,  
* Sens God see the very thing out of doutance  
And hem disposeth through his ordinance,  
In his merits sooth for to be,  
As they shall comen by predestine.   

But nevertheless alas, whom shall I leave,  
For there been great clerks many one,  
That destiny, through arguments preve,  
And some sane, that needily there is none,  
But that free choice is yeven us everychone,  
* O wellaway, so sigh arne clerks old,  
That I not whose opinion I may hold.   

* For some men said, that God seeth all biforne,  
Ne God may nat deceived been pard,  
Then moat it fallen, though men had it sworn,  
That purveiaunce hath seen before to be,  
Wherefore I say, that from eterne if he  
Hath witted before our thought eke as our deed,  
* We have no free choice, as these clerks read.   

For other thought, nor other deed also,  
Might never been, but such as purveyance,  
Which may nat been deceived never more,  
Hath feeled biforne, withouten ignorance,  
* For if there might ben a variance  
To writhe out fro Gods purveying,  
There near no prescience of thing coming.   

But it were rather an opinion  
Uncertain, and no steadfast foreseeing,  
* And certes that were an abusion,  
That God should have no perfect clear witting  
More than we men that have doutous weening,  
But such an error upon God to guess.  
Were false, & foul, and wicked cursedness.   

Eke this is an opinion of some,  
That have her top full high and smooth ishore,  
* They sane right thus, that thing is nat to come,  
For that the prescience hath seen before  
That it shall come, but they said that therefore  
That it shall come, therefore the purveyaunce  
Wot it before withouten ignorance.   

And in this manner this necessity  
Retourneth in his part contrary again,  
For needfully behoveth it nat to be,  
That thilk things fallen in certain  
* That ben purveied, but needfully as they sane  
Behoveth it that things which that fall,  
That they in certain been purveyed all.   

I mean as though I laboured me in this,  
To inquire which thing cause of which thing be,  
* As whether that the prescience of God is  
The certain cause of the necessity  
Of things that to comen be pard,  
Or if necessity of thing coming,  
Because certain of the purveying.   

But now ne enforce I me not in showing,  
How the order of the causes stant, but well wot I  
That it behoveth, that the befalling  
Of things wist before certainly,  
Be necessary, all seem it not thereby,  
That prescience put falling necessaire  
To thing to come, all fall it foul or fair.   

For if there sit a man yond on a see,  
That by necessity behoveth it,  
That certes thine opinion sooth be,  
That weenest or conjectest that he sit,  
And further over, now ayenward yet,  
Lo right so is it on the part contrary,  
As thus, now hearken, for I wool nat tarry.   

I say, that if the opinion of thee  
Be sooth for that he sit, then say I this,  
That he moat sitten by necessity,  
And thus necessity in either is,  
For in him need of sitting is iwis,  
And in the need of sooth, and thus forsooth  
There mote necessity been in you both.   

But thou mayst sane that man sit nat therefore,  
That thine opinion of his sitting sooth is,  
But rather for the man sat there before,  
Therefore is thine opinion sooth iwis,  
And I say though the cause of sooth of this  
Come of his sitting, yet necessity  
As enterchaunged both in him and in thee.   

Thus in the same wise out of doutaunce,  
I may well maken, as it seemeth me,  
My reasoning of God's purveyaunce,  
And of the things that to comen be,  
By which reason men may well isee,  
That thilk things that in earth yfall,  
That by necessity they comen all.   

For although that forthing shall come iwis  
Therefore is it purveyed certainly,  
Nat that it comnieth, for it purveyed is,  
Yet nevertheless behoveth it needfully,  
That thing to come be purveyed truly,  
Or else things that purveyed be,  
That they betiden by necessity.   

And this sufficeth right enough certain,  
For to destroy our free choice everydell,  
But now is this abusion to sane,  
That falling of the things temporal,  
Is cause of the gods prescience eternal.  
Now truly that is a false sentence,  
That thing to come should cause his prescience.   

What might I ween, & I had such a thought?  
But that God purveieth thing that is to come,  
For that it is to come, and else nought:  
So might I ween, that things all & some,  
That whilom been befall and overcome,  
Been cause of thilk sovereign purveyaunce,  
That forwote all, withouten ignorance.   

And over all this, yet say I more thereto,  
That right as when I wot there is a thing,  
Iwis that thing moat needfully be so,  
Eke right so, when I wot a thing coming,  
So moat it come, and thus they befalling  
Of things that been wist before the tide,  
They mow not been eschewed on no side.   

Then said he thus, almighty jove in throne,  
That wottest of all this thing the soothfastness,  
Rew on my sorrow and do me dien soon,  
Or bring Creseide and me fro this distress.  
And while he was in all this heaviness,  
Disputing with himself in this matter,  
Came Pander in, and said as ye may here.   

O mighty God (qd. Pandarus) in throne,  
Eigh, who saw ever a wise man faren so?  
Why Troilus, what thinkest thou to done?  
Hast thou such lust to ben thine own foe?  
What pard, yet is nat Creseide ago,  
Why list thee so thyself fordone for dread,  
That in thine head thine eyes semen deed.   

Hast thou nat lived many a year before  
Withouten her, and fared full well at ease?  
Art thou for her and for none other borne,  
Hath kind thee wrought all only her to please?  
Let be and think right thus in thy disease,  
* That in the dice right as their fallen chances,  
Right so in love there come & gone pleasances.   

And yet this is a wonder most of all,  
Why thou thus sorrowest, sith thou wost nat yet  
Touching her going, how that it shall fall,  
Ne if she can herself distourben it,  
Thou hast nat yet assayed all her wit,  
* A man may all betime his neck bede  
When it shall off, and sorowen at the need.   

For thy, take heed of all that I shall say,  
I have with her ispoke, and long ibe,  
So as accorded was betwix us fifty,  
And evermore me thinketh thus, that she  
Hath somewhat in her heart's privite,  
Wherewith she can, if I shall aright read,  
Disturb all this, of which thou art in dread.   

For which my counsel is, when it is night,  
Thou to her go, and make of this an end,  
And blissful juno, through her great might,  
Shall (as I hope) her grace unto us send,  
Mine hart seith certain she shall nat wend,  
And for thy, put thine heart a while in rest,  
And hold thy purpose, for it is the best.   

This Troilus answer, and sighed sore,  
Thou sayest right well, and I will do right so,  
And what him list, he said unto him more,  
And when that it was time for to go,  
Full prively himself withouten more  
Unto her came, as he was wont to done,  
And how they wrought, I shall you tell soon.   

Sooth is, that when they gone first to meet,  
So 'gan the pain her hearts for to twist,  
That neither of him other might great,  
But hem in arms took, and after kissed,  
The lass woeful of him both nist  
Where that he was, ne might o word outbring,  
As I said erst, for woe and for sobbing.   

The woeful tears that they leten fall,  
As bitter weren out of tears kind  
For pain, as is line aloes, or gall,  
So bitter tears wept not as I find  
The woeful Mirra, through the bark & rind,  
That in this world there nis so hard an hart,  
That nolde have rued on her pains smart.   

But when her woeful weary ghosts twain  
Returned been, there as him aught to dwell,  
And that somewhat to weken 'gan the pain  
By length of plaint, and ebben 'gan the well  
Of her tears, and the heart unswell,  
With broken voice, all horse for shright, Creseid  
To Troilus these ilke words said.   

O jove I die, and mercy thee beseech,  
Help Troilus: and therewithal her face  
Upon his breast she laid, and lost her speech,  
Her woeful spirit from his proper place  
Right with the word, away in point to pace,  
And thus she lithe, with hues pale & green,  
That whilom fresh and fairest was to seen.   

This Troilus that on her 'gan behold,  
Cleping her name, and she lay as for deed,  
Withouten answer, & felt her simmes cold,  
Her eien thrown upward to her heed:  
This sorrowful man, can now non other read  
But oft time her cold mouth he kissed,  
Where him was woe, God and himself it wist.   

He riseth him up, & long straight he her laid,  
For sign of life, for aught he can or may,  
Can he none find, in nothing of Creseide,  
For which his song full oft is wellaway:  
But when he saw that speechless she lay,  
With sorrowful voice, & hart of bliss all bare,  
He said, how she was fro this world ifare.   

So after that he long had her complained,  
His hands wrong, and said that was to say,  
And with his teeres salt her breast berained,  
He 'gan though tears wipen off full drey,  
And pitously 'gan for the soul prey,  
And said, Lord that set art in thy throne,  
rue eke on me, for I shall follow her soon.   

She cold was, and without sentement,  
For aught he wot, for breathe felt he none,  
And this was him a preignant argument,  
That she was forth out of this world agone:  
And when he saw there was none other wonne,  
He 'gan her limbs dress, in such manere,  
As men done him that shall ben laid on bear.   

And after this, with stern and cruel hart,  
His sword anon out of his sheth he twight,  
Himself to sleen, how sore that him smart,  
So that his soul, her soul followen might,  
There as the doom of Minos would it dight,  
Sith love and cruel fortune it ne would,  
That in this world he longer liven should.   

Then said he thus, fulfilleth of high disdain,  
O cruel jove, and thou fortune adverse,  
This is all and some, that falsely have ye slain  
Creseide, and sith ye may do me ne wrose,  
Fie on your might and works so divers,  
Thus cowardly ye shall me never win,  
There shall no death me from my lady twin.   

For I this world, sith ye have slain her thus  
wol let, and follow her spirit low or high,  
Shall never lover sane that Troilus,  
Dare nat for fear with his lady die,  
For certain I wool bear her company,  
But scythe ye wol nat suffer us liven here,  
Yet suffreth that our souls been ifere.   

And thou City in which I live in woe,  
And thou Priam, and brethren all ifere,  
And thou my mother, farewell for I go,  
And Attropose make ready thou my bear:  
And thou Creseide, O sweet hart dear,  
Receive now my spirit, would he say  
With sword at hart, all ready for to they.   

But as God would, of swough she abraide,  
And 'gan to sigh, and Troilus she cried,  
And he answer, lady mine Creseide,  
Live ye yet? and let his sword down glide:  
Ye hart mine, that thanked be Cupid,  
(Qd. she) and therewithal she sore sight,  
And he began to glade her as he might.   

Took her in arms two and kissed her oft,  
And her to glad, he did all his intent,  
For which her ghost, that flikered aye a loft,  
Into her woeful hart again it went:  
But at the last, as that her eye glent  
Aside, anon she 'gan his sword aspie,  
As it lay bare, and 'gan for fear cry.   

And asked him why he had it out draw,  
And Troilus anon the cause her told,  
And how himself therewith he would have slaw,  
For which Creseide upon him 'gan behold,  
And 'gan him in her arms fast fold,  
And said, O mercy God, lo which a deed  
Alas, how nigh we weren both deed.   

Then if I nadde spoken, as grace was,  
Ye would have slain yourself anon (qd. she)  
Ye doubtless: and she answer alas,  
For by that ilke lord that made me,  
I nolde a forlong way on live have be,  
After your death, to have been crowned Queen  
Of all the land the sun on shineth sheen.   

But with this self sword, which that here is  
Myself I would have slain (qd. she) tho:   

But ho, for we have right enough of this,  
And let us rise and straight to bedde go:  
And there let us speken of our woe,  
For by that mortar, which that I see brenne,  
Know I full well, that day is nat far hen.   

When they were in her bed in arms fold,  
Naught was it like though nights here before,  
For piteously each other 'gan behold,  
As they that hadden all her bliss ilorne,  
Bewailing aye the day that they were borne,  
Till at the last, this sorrowful wight Creseide,  
To Troilus these ilke words said.   

Lo hart mine, well wot ye this (qd. she)  
* That if a wight always his woe complain,  
And seeketh nat how holpen for to be,  
It nis but folly, and increase of pain:  
And since that here assembled be we twain,  
To find boat of woe that we ben in,  
It were time all soon to begin.   

I am a woman, as full well ye wot,  
And as I am avised suddenly,  
So wol I tell you, while it is hot,  
Me thinketh thus, that neither ye nor I,  
Ought half this woe to maken skilfully,  
For there is art enough for to redress,  
That yet is miss, and sleen this heaviness.   

Sooth is, the woe the which we been inn,  
For aught I wot, for nothing else is,  
But for the cause that we should twin,  
Considered all, there nis no more amiss:  
And what is then a remedy unto this?  
But that we shape us soon for to meet,  
This all and some, my dear hart sweet.   

Now that I shall well bringen it about  
To comen again, soon after that I go,  
Thereof am I no manner thing in doubt,  
For dredelesse, within a week or two  
I shall been here: and that it may be so,  
By all right, and in words few,  
I shall you well an heap of ways show.   

For which I wool nat maken long sermon,  
* For time ilost may not recovered be,  
But I will go to my conclusion,  
And to the best, in aught that I can see:  
And for the love of God foryeve it me,  
If I speak aught against your heart's rest,  
For truly I speak it for the best.   

Making always a protestation,  
That now these words which I shall say,  
Nis but to show you my motion,  
To find unto our help the best way,  
And take it no otherwise I pray,  
For in effect, what so ye me command,  
That wol I done, for that is no demand.   

Now harkeneth this, ye have well understand  
My going granted is by parliament,  
So ferforth that it may not been withstand,  
For all this world, as by my judgement:  
And scythe there helpeth none avisement,  
To let it, let it pass out of mind,  
And let us shape a better way to find.   

The sooth is, the twinning of us twain,  
Wol us disease, and cruelly anoie:  
* But him behoveth sometime have a pain,  
That serveth love, if that he wool have joie:  
And sith I shall no farther out of Troie  
Than I may ride again on half a morrow,  
It ought lass causen us for to sorrow.   

So as I shall nat so been hid in mew,  
That day by day, mine own hart dear,  
Sens well ye wot that it is now a true,  
Ye shall full well all mine estate here:  
And ere that truce is done, I shall been here,  
Than have ye both Antenor iwonne,  
And me also, bethe glad now if ye con.   

And think right thus, Creseid is now agone,  
But what, she shall come hastily again,  
And when alas? by God, lo right anon  
Ere days ten, this dare I safely sane,  
And then at erst, shall we be so fain,  
So as we shall togethers ever dwell,  
That all this world ne might our bliss tell.   

I see that oft time, there as we been now  
That for the best, our counsel for to hide,  
Ye speak nat with me, nor I with you  
In fourtenight, ne see you go ne ride:  
May ye nat ten days then abide,  
For mine honour, in such aventure?  
Iwis ye mow, or else light endure.   

Ye know eke how that all my kin is here,  
But if that only it my father be,  
And eke mine other things all ifere,  
And namely my dear heart ye,  
Whom that I nolde leaven for to see,  
For all this world, as wide as it hath space,  
Or else see I never Ioves face.   

Why trow ye my father in this wise,  
Coveiteth so to see me, but for dread,  
Lest in this town that folks me despise,  
Because of him, for his unhappy deed?  
What wot my father what life that I lead,  
For if he wist in Troie how well I fare,  
Us needed for my wending not to care.   

Ye, that every day eke more and more,  
Men treat of peace, and it supposed is,  
That men the queen Heleine shall restore,  
And Greeks us restore that is mis:  
Though there ne'er comfort none but this,  
That men purposen peace on every side,  
Ye may the better at ease of hart abide,   

For if that it be peace, mine hart dear,  
The nature of the peace moat needs drive,  
That men must entrecomune ifere,  
And to and fro eke ride and gone as believe,  
All day as thick as Been flien from an hive,  
And every wight have liberty to bleve  
Where as him list, the bet withouten leve.   

And though so be that peace there may been none,  
Yet hither, though there never peace ne were,  
I must come, for whider should I gone,  
Or how mischance should I dwell there  
Among tho men of arms ever in fere,  
For which, as wisely God my soul read,  
I can nat seen whereof ye should dread.   

Have here another way, if it so be  
That all this thing ne may you not suffice,  
My father as ye known well pard,  
Is old, and eke full of covetise,  
And I right now have founden all the gise,  
Withouten net, wherewith I shall him hent,  
And harkeneth now, if that ye wool assent.   

Lo Troilus, men sane, That full hard it is  
* The wolf full, and the wedder hole to have,  
This is to sane, that men full oft iwis,  
Mote spenden part, the remnant for to save:  
For aye with Gold, men may the heart grave,  
Of him that set is upon covetise,  
And how I mean, I shall it you devise.   

The movable, which that I have in this town  
Unto my father shall I take, and say,  
That right for trust, and for salvatioun,  
It sent is from a friend of his or tway,  
The which friends fervently him pray,  
To send after more, and that in high,  
While that this toun stant thus in jeopardy.   

And that shall be of gold an huge quantity,  
Thus shall I said, but lest folk it aspide,  
This may be sent by no wight but by me:  
I shall eke shown him, if peace betid  
What friends that I have on every side,  
Toward the court, to don the wrath pace,  
Of Priamus, and do him stoned in grace.   

So what for o thing and for other, sweet,  
I shall him so enchaunten with my saws,  
That right in heaven his soul is, shall he meet,  
For all Apollo, or his clerks laws,  
Or calculing, availeth not three haws:  
Desire of Gold shall so his soul blend,  
That as me list, I shall well make an end.   

And if he would aught by his sort it preve,  
If that I lie, in certain I shall fond  
To disturben him, & pluck him by the sleve,  
Making his sort, and bearen him on hon,  
He hath nat well the gods understand,  
* For gods speak in amphibologies,  
And for o sooth, they tell twenty lies.   

* Eke dread fond first gods, I suppose,  
Thus shall I sane, & that his coward heart,  
Made him amiss the god's text to gloze,  
When he for feared out of Delphos start:  
And but I make him soon to convert,  
And done my read, within a day or twey,  
I wol to you oblige me to day.   

And truly, as written well I find,  
That all this thing was said of good intent,  
And that her hart true was and kind  
Towards him, and spoke right as she meant,  
And that she starfe for woe nigh when she went,  
And was in purpose ever to be true,  
Thus written they, that of her works knew.   

This Troilus, with hart and eeres spread  
Heard all this thing devised to and fro,  
And verily it seemed that he had  
The self wit, but yet to let her go  
His hart misyave him evermo,  
But finally he 'gan his heart wrest,  
To trust her, and took it for the best.   

For which the great fury of his penance,  
Was quaint with hope, & therewith him between  
Began for joy the amorous dance,  
And as the birds, when the sun sheen,  
Deliten in her song, in leves green,  
Right so the words, that they spoke ifere,  
Deliten hem, and made her hertes cheer.   

But nevertheless, the wending of Creseide,  
For all this world may nat out of his mind,  
For which full oft he pitously her preide,  
That of her hest he might her true find:  
And said her, certes if ye be kind,  
And but ye come at day set, in Troie,  
Ne shall I never have heal, honour, ne joie.   

For also sooth as sun uprist to morrow,  
And God so wisely thou me woeful wretch  
To rest bring, out of this cruel sorrow,  
I wol my selven slay, if that ye dretch:  
But of my death though little be to retch,  
Yet ere that ye me causen so to smart,  
Dwell rather here my own sweet hart.   

For truly mine own lady dear,  
The sleights yet, that I have herd you steer,  
Full shapely been to fallen all ifere,  
* For thus men saith, that one thinketh the bear,  
But all another thinketh the ledere,  
Your sire is wise, and said is out of dread,  
* Men may the wise out run, & not out read.   

* It is full hard to halten unespied  
Before a crepil, for he can the craft,  
Your father is in sleight as Argus eyed,  
For all be it that his movable is him biraft,  
His old sleight is yet so with him haft,  
Ye shall not blende him for your womanhead  
Ne fain aright, and that is all my dread.   

I not if peace shall evermo betid,  
But peace or no, for earnest ne for game,  
I wot sith Calcas on the Greeks side,  
Hath ones been, and lost so foul his name,  
He dare no more come here again for shame,  
For which that we, for aught I can espy,  
To trust on, nis but a fantasy.   

Ye shall eke seen your father shall you gloze,  
To been a wife, and as he can well preach,  
He shall some Greek so praise and well alose,  
That ravishen he shall you with his speech:  
Or do you done by force, as he shall tech,  
And Troilus on whom ye nile have routh,  
Shall causeless so sterven in his troth.   

And over all this your father shall despise  
Us all, and sane this cite is but lost,  
And that thassege never shall arise,  
For why the Greeks have it all sworn,  
Till we been slain, and down our walls torn,  
And thus he shall you with his words fere,  
That aye dread I, that ye wol bleven there.   

Ye shall eke seen so many a lusty knight,  
Among the Greeks full of worthiness,  
And each of him, with hart, wit, and might  
To pleasen you, done all his business,  
That ye shall dullen of the rudeness  
Of lely trojans, but if ruth  
Remorde you, or virtue of your truth.   

And this to me so grievous is to think,  
That fro my breast it wol my soul rend,  
Ne dredelesse, in me there may nat sink  
O good opinion, if that ye wend,  
For why, your father's sleight wool us shende,  
And if ye gone, as I have told you yore,  
So think I name but deed, withouten more.   

For which with humble, true & piteous hart  
A thousand times mercy I you pray,  
So rueth on mine asper pains smart,  
And doth somewhat, as that I shall you say:  
And let us steal away betwixt us twain,  
And think that folly is, when a man may cheese  
For accident, his substance for to less.   

I mean thus, that since we mow or day  
Well steal away, and been together so,  
What wit were it to putten in assay,  
(In case ye shoulden to your father go)  
If that ye mighten come again or no:  
Thus mean I, that were a great folly  
To put that sickerness in jeopardy.   

And vulgarly to speken of substance,  
Of treasure may we both with us lead,  
Enough to live in honour and pleasance,  
Till unto time that we shall ben deed:  
And thus we may eschewen all this dread,  
For every other way ye can record,  
Mine hart iwis may therewith nat accord.   

And hardly ne dreadeth no poverte,  
For I have kin and friends else where,  
That though we comen in our bare shirt,  
Us should never lack Gold ne gear,  
But been honoured while we dwelten there,  
And go we anon, for as in mine intent,  
This is the best, if that ye wool assent.   

Creseide with a sigh, right in this wise  
answer, iwis my dear hart true,  
We may well steal away, as ye devise,  
And finden such unthrifty ways new:  
But afterward full sore it wool us rue,  
And help me God so at my most need,  
As causeless ye suffrens all this dread.   

For thilk day that I for cherishing,  
Of dread of father, or for any other wight,  
Or for estate, delight, or for wedding,  
Be false to you, my Troilus my knight,  
Saturnus daughter juno, through her might  
As wood as Achamante do me dwell  
Eternally with Styx in the pit of Hell.   

And this, on every God celestial  
I swear it you, and eke on each Goddess,  
On every nymph, and deite infernal,  
On Satiry and fauny more and less,  
That halve gods ben of wilderness,  
And Atropos my thread of life to breast,  
If I be false, now trow me if you lest.   

And thou Simois, that, as an arrow, clear  
Through Troy rennest, aye downward to the see,  
Be witness of this word, that said is here,  
That thilk day that I untrue be  
To Troilus, mine own hart free,  
That thou return backward to thy well,  
And I with body and soul sink to hell.   

But that ye speak away thus for to go,  
And let all your friends, God forbid,  
For any woman that ye shoulden so,  
And namely, sens Troy hath now such need  
Of help, and eke of o thing taketh heed,  
If this were witted, my life lay in balance,  
And your honour, God shield us from mischance.   

And if so be that peace hereafter be take,  
* As all day happeth after anger game,  
Why lord the sorrow & woe ye wolden make,  
That ye ne durst come again for shame,  
And ere that ye ieoparden so your name,  
* Beth nat too hasty in this hot fare,  
For hasty man ne wanteth never care.   

What trow ye the people eke all about  
Would of it say? it is full light to arede,  
They woulden say, and swear it out of doubt,  
That love ne drove you nat to done this deed  
But lust voluptuous, and coward dread,  
Thus were all lost iwis mine heart dear  
Your honour, which that now shineth clear.   

And also thinketh on mine honest,  
That flowereth yet, how foul I should it shend,  
And with what filth it spotted should be,  
If in this form I should with you wend,  
Ne though I lived unto the world's end,  
My name should I never ayenward win,  
Thus were I lost, and that were routh & sin.   

And for thy, slay with reason all this heat,  
Men said, the suffraunt overcommeth pard,  
Eke whoso wool have lief, he lief mote lete,  
Thus maketh virtue of necessity  
By patience, and think that lord is he  
Of fortune aye, that naught wool of her retch,  
And she ne daunteth no wight but a wretch.   

And trusteth this, that certes heart sweet,  
Or Phoebus' sister, Lucina the sheen,  
The Lion pass out of this Arite,  
I wool been here, withouten any ween,  
I mean, as help me juno heavens Queen,  
The tenth day, but if that death m●assaile,  
I wool you seen, withouten any fail.   

And now so this be sooth (qd. Troilus)  
I shall well suffer unto the tenth day,  
Sens that I see that need it moat been thus,  
But for the love of God, if be it may,  
So let us stealen prively away,  
For ever in one, as for to live in rest,  
Mine heart sayeth that it wool be the best.   

O mercy God, what life is this (qd. she)  
Alas, ye slay me thus for very tene,  
I see well now that ye mistrusten me,  
For by your words it is well isene,  
Now for the love of Scinthia the sheen,  
Mistrust me nat thus causeless for routh,  
Sens to be true I have you plight my troth   

And thinketh well, that sometime it is wit  
To spend a time, a time for to win,  
Ne pard lost am I nat fro you yet,  
Though that we ben a day or two atwin,  
Drive out though fantasies you within,  
And trusteth me, and leaveth eke your sorrow,  
Or here my troth, I wol nat live till morrow.   

For if ye wist how sore it doth me smart,  
Ye would cease of this, for God thou wost  
The pure spirit weepeth in mine hart  
To seen you weepen, which that I love most,  
And that I moat gone unto the greeks host,  
Ye, ne'er it that I wist a remedy  
To come again, right here I would die.   

But certes I am not so nice a wight,  
That I ne can imaginen a way  
To come again that day that I have height,  
For who may holden a thing that wool away,  
My father naught, for all his quaint play,  
And by my thrift, my wending out of Troy  
Another day shall turn us all to joy.   

For thy, with all mine heart I you beseek,  
If that you list done aught for my prayer,  
And for the love which that I love you eke,  
That ere I depart from you here,  
That of so good a comfort and a cheer  
I may you seen, that ye may bring at rest  
My hart, which is at point to breast.   

And over all this I pray you (qd. she) though,  
My own hearts soothfast suffisance,  
Sith I am thine all hole withouten more,  
That while that I am absent, no pleasance  
Of other, do me from your remembrance:  
For I am ever aghast, for why men read,  
* That love is thing aye full of busy dread.   

For in this world there liveth lady none,  
If that ye were untrue, as God defend,  
That so betrayed were, or woe begun,  
As I, that all troth in you intend:  
And doubtless, if that iche other wend,  
I ne'er but dead, and ere ye cause find,  
For God's love, so beth ye nat unkind.   

To this answered Troilus, and said,  
Now God, to whom there nis no cause iwrie,  
Me glad, as wis I never unto Creseide,  
Sith thilk day I saw her first with eye,  
Was false, ne never shall till that I die,  
At short words, well ye may me leave,  
I can no more, it shall be found at prove.   

Grant mercy good heart mine iwis (qd. she)  
And blissful Venus let me never starve,  
Ere I may stoned of pleasance in degree,  
To quite him well, that so well can deserve:  
And while that God my wit will me conserve  
I shall so done, so true I have you found,  
That aye honour to me ward shall rebound.   

For trusteth well, that your estate royal,  
Ne vain delight, nor only worthiness  
Of you in were or turnay martial,  
Ne pomp, array, nobley, or eke richesse:  
Ne made me to rue on your distress,  
But moral virtue, grounded upon troth,  
That was the cause I first had on you routh.   

Eke gentle hart, and manhood that ye had,  
And that ye had (as me thought) in despite  
Every thing that swooned in to bad,  
As rudeness, and peoplish appetite  
And that your reason bridled your delight,  
This made aboven every creature,  
That I was yours, & shall while I may dure.   

And this may length of years itat fordo,  
Ne remuablest fortune deface,  
But jupiter, that of his might may do  
The sorrowful to be glad, so yeve us grace  
Er nights ten, to meet in this place,  
So that it may your heart and mine suffice,  
And fareth now well, for time is that ye rise.   

And after that they long yplained had,  
And oft ikist, and straight in arms fold,  
The day 'gan rise, and Troilus him clad,  
And ruefully his Lady 'gan behold:  
As he that felt deaths cares cold,  
And to her grace he 'gan him recommaund,  
Where he was woe, this hold I no demand.   

For man's head imaginen ne can,  
Ne intendment consider, ne tongue tell  
The cruel pains of this sorrowful man,  
That passen every torment down in hell:  
For when he saw that she ne might dwell,  
Which that his soul out of his hart rend,  
Withouten more, out of the chamber he went.     

Incipit Liber Quintus.  

A Prochen 'gan the fatal destiny,  
That Ioves hath in disposicioun,  
And to you angry Parca's sustrens three,  
Committeth to done execucioun,  
For which Creseide must out of the town,  
And Troilus shall dwell forth in pine,  
Till Lachesis his thread no longer twine.   

The golden tressed Phoebus' high on loft,  
Thrice had all with his beams clear  
The Snows molte, and Zephyrus as oft  
I brought again the tender leaves green:  
Sens that the son of Eccuba the Queen,  
Began to love her first, for whom his sorrow  
Was all, that she depart should a morrow.   

Full ready was at prime Diomedes,  
Creseide unto the Greeks host to lead,  
For sorrow of which, she felt her hart bleed,  
As she that nist what was best to read:  
And truly, as men in books read,  
Men wist never woman have the care,  
Ne was so loath out of a town to far.   

This Troilus withouten read or lore,  
As man that hath his joys eke forlese,  
Was waiting on his lady evermore,  
As she that was soothfast crop and more,  
Of all his lust or joys here tofore:  
But Troilus now farewell all thy joie,  
For shalt thou never seen her eft in Troie.   

Sooth is, that while he bided in this manere,  
He 'gan his woeful manly for to hide,  
That well unneath it seen was in his cheer,  
But at the yate there she should out ride,  
With certain folk behoved her to abide,  
So woe bigon, all would he not him plain,  
That on his horse unneath he sat for pain.   

For ire he quoke, so 'gan his hart gnaw,  
When Diomedes on horse 'gan him dight,  
And said unto himself this ilke saw,  
Alas (qd. he) thus foul a wretchedness  
Why suffer I it? Why nill I it redress?  
Were it nat bet at ones for to die,  
Than evermore in langour thus to cry?   

Why nill I make at one's rich and poor,  
To have enough to done ere that she go?  
Why nill I bring all Troie upon a roar?  
Why nill I slaen this Diomedes also?  
Why nill I rather with a man or two,  
Steal her away? Why wool I this endure?  
Why nill I helpen to mine own cure?   

But why he nolde done so fell a deed,  
That shall I said, and why him list it spare,  
He had in hart always a manner dread,  
Lest that Creseide, in rumour of this fare  
Should have been slain, lo this was all his care,  
And else certain, as I said yore,  
He had it done withouten words more.   

Creseide when she ready was to ride,  
Full sorrowfully she sighed, and said alas,  
But forth she moat, for aught that may betid,  
And forth she rideth full sorrowfully apaas:  
There is no other remedy in this case,  
What wonder is, though that her sore smart  
When she foregoeth her own sweet hart?   

This Troilus in gise of courtesy,  
With hawk on hon, and with an huge rout  
Of knights, rode and did her company,  
Passing all the valley far without,  
And ferther would have ridden out of doubt,  
Full feign, and woe was him to gone so soon,  
But turn he must, and it was eke to done.   

And right with that was Antenor icome,  
Out of the Greeks host, and every wight  
Was of him glad, and said he was welcome,  
And Troilus, all near his heart light,  
He pained him, with all his full might  
Him to with hold of weeping at least,  
And Antenor he kissed, and made feast.   

And therewithal he must his leave take,  
And cast his eye upon her pitously,  
And ne'er he road, his cause for to make,  
To take her by the hand all soberly:  
And Lord so she 'gan weep tenderly,  
And he full soft and slighly 'gan her sele,  
Now hold your day, and do me not to deie.   

With that his courser turned he about,  
With face pale, and unto Diomedes  
No word he spoke, ne none of all his rout,  
Of which the son of Tideus took heed,  
As he that couth more than the creed,  
In such a craft, and by the rain her hent,  
And Troilus to Troie homewards went.   

This Diomedes, that lad her by the bridle,  
When that he saw the folk of Troy away,  
Thought, all my labour shall not been on idle,  
If that I may, for somewhat shall I say:  
For at the worst, it short may our way,  
* I have heard say eke, times twice twelve,  
He is a fool that wool foryete him self.   

But nevertheless, this thought he well enough  
That certainly I am about naught,  
If that I speak of love, or make it to taught,  
For doubtless, if she have in her thought,  
Him that I guess, he may not been ibrought  
So soon away, but I shall find a mean,  
That she nat yet wete shall what I mean.   

This Diomedes, as he that could his good,  
When this was done, 'gan fallen forth in speech  
Of this and that, and ask why she stood  
In sooth disease, and 'gan her eke beseech  
That if that he increase might or each,  
With any thing her ease, that she should  
Command it him, & said he done it would.   

For truly he swore her as a knight,  
That there nas thing, with which he might her please  
That he nolde done his pain, & all his might  
To done it, for to done her hart an ease:  
And prayed her she would her sorrow appease,  
And said, iwis we Greeks can have joy  
To honourens you, as well as folk of Troy.   

He said eke thus, I wot you thinketh strange,  
No wonder is, for it is to you new,  
Thacquaintance of these Trojans to change  
For folk of Grece, that ye never knew:  
But would never God, but if as true  
A Greek ye should among us all find,  
As any Trojan is, and eke as kind.   

And because I swore you right now,  
To been your friend, and helply to my might,  
And for that more acquaintance eke of you  
Have I had, than an other stranger wight:  
So fro this forth, I pray you day and night,  
Commandeth me, how sore that me smart,  
To done all that may like unto your hart.   

And that ye me would, as your brother treat,  
And taketh not my friendship in despite,  
And though your sorrows been for things great,  
Not I not why, but out of more respite,  
Mine hart hath for to amend it great delight,  
And if I may your harms nat redress,  
I am right sorry for your heaviness.   

For though ye Trojans, with us Geeekes wroth  
Have many a day been, always yet pard,  
O God of Love, in sooth we serven both:  
And for the love of God my lady free,  
Whom so ye hate, as beth not wroth with me,  
For truly there can no wight you serve,  
That half so loath your wrath would deserve.   

And ne'er it that we been so ne'er the tent  
Of Calcas, which that seen us both may,  
I would of this you tell all mine intent,  
But this ensealed till an other day,  
Yeve me your hand, I am and shall be aye,  
God help me so, while that my life may dure,  
Your own, aboven every creature.   

Thus said I never e● now to woman borne,  
For God mine heart as wisely glad so,  
I loved never woman here before,  
As paramours, ne never shall no more:  
And for the love of God be not my so,  
All can I not to my Lady dear  
Complain a right, for I am yet to lere.   

And wondereth nought mine own Lady bright,  
Though that I speak of love to you thus believe,  
For I have heard or this of many a wight,  
Hath loved thing he never saw his live:  
Eke I am not of power for to strive  
Against the God of Love, but him obey  
I wool always, and mercy I you pray.   

There beeth so worthy knights in this place,  
And ye so fair, that everiche of him all  
Wool pain him to stonden in your grace,  
But might me so fair a grace fall  
That ye me for your servant would call,  
So lowly, ne so truly you serve,  
Nill none of him, as I shall till I starve.   

Creseide unto that purpose light answer,  
As she that was with sorrow oppressed so,  
That in effect she naught his tales heard,  
But here and there, now here a word or two:  
Her thought her sorrowful hart breast a two,  
For when she 'gan her father far espy,  
Well nigh down of her horse she 'gan to slay.   

But nevertheless she thonketh Diomedes,  
Of all his travail and his good cheer,  
And that him list his friendship to her bede,  
And she accepteth it in good manere,  
And wool do fain that is him lief and dear,  
And trust him she would, & well she might,  
As said she, and from her horse she alight.   

Her father hath her in his arms nome,  
And twenty times he kissed his daughter sweet,  
And said: O dear daughter mine welcome,  
She said eke, she was fain with him to meet:  
And stood forth mute, mild, and mansuete,  
But here I leave her with her father dwell,  
And forth I wool of Troilus you tell.   

To Troy is come this woeful Troilus,  
In sorrow above all sorrows smart,  
With fellow look, and face despitous,  
Tho suddenly down from his horse he start,  
And through his paleis with swollen heart,  
To chamber he went, of nothing took he bede  
Ne none to him dare speak o word for dread.   

And there his sorrows that he spared had,  
He gave an issue large, and death he cried,  
And in his throws, frenetike and mad  
He curseth juno, Apollo, and eke Cupid,  
He curseth Bacchus, Ceres, and Cipride,  
His birth, himself, his fate, and eke nature,  
And save his Lady, every creature.   

To bed he goth, & welleth there & turneth,  
In fury, as doth he Ixion in hell,  
And in this wise he nigh till day sojourneth,  
But though began his hart alight unswell,  
Through tears, which that gonnen up to well  
And piteous he cried upon Creseide,  
And to himself right thus he spoke and said.   

Where is mine own lady lief and dear?  
Where is her white breast, where is it where?  
Where been her arms, and her iyens clear  
That yesterday this time with me were?  
Now may I weep alone many a tear,  
And grasp about I may, but in this place  
Save a pilow, I find naught to embrace.   

How shall I done, when shall she come again?  
I not alas, why let I her go?  
As would God I had as though be slain,  
O hart mine Creseide, O sweet fo,  
O Lady mine, that I love and no more,  
To whom for ever more mine hart I vow,  
See how I die, ye nill me not rescue.   

Who seeth you now, my right lodesterre?  
Who sitteth right now in your presence?  
Who can comforten now your hearts were?  
Now I am gone, whom yeve ye audience?  
Who speaketh for me right now in your absence,  
Alas no wight, & that is all my care,  
For well wot I, as evil as I ye fare.   

How should I thus ten days full endure,  
When I the first night have all this tene,  
How shall she eke sorrowful creature,  
For tenderness, how shall she this sustain:  
Soche woe for me, o piteous, pale, and green,  
Shall been your fresh womanly face,  
For langour ere ye turn unto this place.   

And when he fill in any slombrings,  
Anon begin he should for to groan,  
And dreamen of the dreadfullest things  
That might been: as meet he were alone  
In place horrible, making aye his moan,  
Or meet that he was amongs all  
His enemies, and in her hands fall.   

And therewithal his body should start,  
And with the start all suddenly awake,  
And such a tremor feel about his hart,  
That of the fear his body should quake:  
And therewithal he should a noise make,  
And seem as though he should fall deep,  
From high aloof, and then he would weep.   

And rewen on himself so pitously,  
That wonder was to here his fantasy,  
An other time he should mightily  
Comfort himself, and said it was folly,  
So causeless, such dread for to dry,  
And eft begin his asper sorrows new,  
That every man might on his pains rue.   

Who could tell all, or fully discrive  
His woe, his plaint, his langour, and his pine?  
Nat all the men that han or been on live,  
Thou reader mayst thyself full well divine,  
That such a woe my wit can not define,  
Vnidell for to write it should I swink,  
When that my wit is weary it to think.   

On heaven yet the stars weren seen  
Although full pale iwoxens was the Moon,  
And whiten 'gan the Orisont sheen,  
All Eastward, as it was wont to done,  
And Phoebus with his rosy cart soon,  
'Gan after that to dress him up to far,  
When Troilus sent after Pandar.   

This Pander, that of all the day before  
Ne might him comen this Troilus to see,  
Although he on his head it had sworn,  
For with the king Priam alday was he,  
So that it lay nat in his liberte,  
No where to gone, but on the morrow he went  
To Troilus, when that he for him sent.   

For in his hart he could well divine,  
That Troilus all night for sorrow work,  
And that he would tell him of his pine,  
This knew he well enough without book:  
For which to chamber straight the way he took,  
And Troilus though soberly he great,  
And on the bed full soon he 'gan him set.   

My Pandarus (qd. Troilus) the sorrow  
Which that I dry, I may not long endure,  
I trow I shall not liven till to morrow,  
For which I would always on aventure  
To thee devisen of my sepoulture  
The form, and of my movable thou dispoens  
Right as thee seemeth best is for to doen.   

But of the fire and flame funeral,  
In which my body brennen shall to gleed,  
And of the feast and plays palestrall,  
At my vigil, I pray thee take good heed  
That that be well: and offer Mars my stead,  
My sword, mine helm: & leave brother dear,  
My shield to Pallas yeve, that shineth clear.   

The poudre in which min hart ibrend shall turn  
That pray I thee thou take, and it conserve  
In a vessel that men clepeth an urn  
Of Gold, and to my lady that I serve,  
For love of whom thus pitously I starve,  
So yeve it her, and do me this pleasance,  
To praien her to keep it for a remembrance.   

For well I feel by my malady,  
And by my dreams, now and yore ago,  
All certainly, that I moat needs die:  
The owl eke, which that height Ascaphilo,  
Hath after me shright, all these nights two,  
And God Mercury, now of me woeful wretch  
The soul guide, and when thee list it fetch.   

Pandar answer and said, Troilus  
My dear friend, as I have told thee yore,  
That it is folly for to sorowen thus,  
And causeless, for which I can no more:  
But who so wool not trowen read ne lore,  
I can not seen in him no remedy,  
But let him worchen with his fantasy.   

But Troilus I pray thee tell me now,  
If that thou trow oer this that any wight,  
Hath loved paramours as well as thou,  
Ye God wot, & fro many a worthy knight  
Hath his Lady gone a fourtenight,  
And he nat yet made halvendele the fare,  
What need is the to maken all this care?   

Sens day by day thou mayst thy selven see  
That from his love, or else from his wife  
A man mote twinnen of necessity,  
Ye though he love her as his own life:  
Yet nill he with himself thus maken strife,  
* For well thou wost my leve brother dear,  
That always friends may not been ifere.   

How done this folk, that seen her loves wedded  
By friends might? as it betideth full oft,  
And seen him in her spouses' bed ibedded,  
God wot they take it wisely fair and soft:  
For why, good hope halt up her heart aloft,  
And for they can a time of sorrow endure,  
* As time hem hurteth, a time doth him cure.   

So shouldest thou endure, and let slide  
The time, and fond to been glad and light,  
Ten days nis not so long to abide,  
And since she to comen thee hath behight,  
She nill her hest breaken for no wight,  
For dread thee not, that she nill find way  
To come again, my life that durst I lay.   

Thy swevens eke, and all such fantasy  
Drive out, and let him faren to mischance,  
For they proceed of thy melancholy,  
That doth thee feel in sleep all this penance:  
A straw for all swevenes' signifiance,  
* God help me so, I caunt him not a Bean,  
There wot no man aright with dreams mean.   

For priests of the temple tell this,  
That dreams been the revelations  
Of Gods, and als well they tell iwis,  
That they been infernalles illusions  
And Leches sane, that of complexions  
Proceden they of fast, or gluttony,  
Who wot in sooth thus what they signify?   

Eke other sane, that through impressions,  
As if a wight hath fast a thing in mind,  
That thereof cometh such avisions:  
And other said, as they in books find,  
That after times of the year by kind,  
Men dream, & that th'effect goth by the moan,  
But leave no dream, for it is nat to done.   

Well worth of dreams aye these old wives,  
And truly eke, augury of these fowls,  
For fear of which, men wenen less her lives,  
As ravens qualm, or shrieking of these oules:  
To trowen on it, both false and foul is,  
Alas alas, that so noble a creature  
As is a man, should dread such ordure.   

For which with all mine hart I thee beseech,  
Unto thyself, that all this thou foryeve,  
And rise now up, withouten more speech,  
And let us cast how forth may best be driven  
The time, and eke how freshly we may liven,  
When she cometh, the which shall be right soon,  
God help me so, the best is thus to done.   

Rise, let us speak of lusty life in Troy  
That we have lad, and forth the time drive,  
And eke of time coming us rejoy,  
That bringen shall our bliss now so believe,  
And langour of these twice days five,  
We shall therewith so foryet or oppress,  
That well unneath it done shall us duresse.   

This town is full of lords all about,  
And truce lasten all this mean while,  
Go we plaien us in some lusty rout,  
To Sarpedon, not hens but a mile,  
And thus thou shalt the time well beguile,  
And drive it forth unto that blissful morrow,  
That thou her see, that cause is of thy sorrow.   

Now rise my dear brother Troilus,  
For certes it none honour is to thee  
To weep, and in thy bed to rouken thus,  
For truly of o thing trust to me,  
If thou thus lig, a day two or three,  
The folk wool ween, that thou for cowardice,  
Thee fainest sick, and that thou dar'st not rise.   

This Troilus answer: O brother dear  
This folk know that have isuffred pain,  
That though he weep, & make sorrowful cheer  
That feeleth harm & smart in every vain:  
No wonder is, and though I ever plain  
Or always weep, I am nothing to blame,  
Sens that I have lost the cause of all my game.   

But since of fine force I moat arise,  
I shall arise, as soon as ever I may,  
And God, to whom mine heart I sacrifice,  
So send us hastily the tenth day:  
For was there never foul so fain of May  
As I shall ben, when that she cometh in Troie,  
That cause is of my tourment and my joie.   

But whider is thy read (qd. Troilus)  
That we may play us best in all this town?  
By God my counsel is (qd. Pandarus)  
To ride and play us with king Sarpedoun.  
So long of this they speaken up and down,  
Till Troilus 'gan at the last assent  
To rise, and forth to Sarpedon they went.   

This Sarpedon, as he that honourable  
Was ever his live, and full of high prowess,  
With all that might iserved been on table,  
That dainty was, all cost it great richesses,  
He fed him day by day, that such noblesse  
As saiden both the most and eke the least,  
Was never ere that day wist at any feast.  
Nor in this world there is none instrument,  
Delicious, through wind or touch on cord,  
As far as any wight hath ever iwent,  
That tongue tell, or heart may record,  
But at that feast, it was well heard record:  
Ne of Ladies eke so fair a company,  
On dance ere tho, was never iseen with eye.   

But what availeth this to Troilus,  
That for his sorrow, nothing of it wrought,  
But ever in one, as heart piteous,  
Full busily Creseide his Lady sought:  
On her was ever all that his heart thought,  
Now this now that, so fast imagining,  
That glad iwis can him no feasting.   

These Ladies eke, that at this feast been,  
Sens that he saw his Lady was away,  
It was his sorrow upon hem for to seen,  
Or for to hear on instruments play:  
For she that of his heart hath the key,  
Was absent, lo this was his fantasy  
That no wight should maken melody.   

Nor there nas hour in all the day or night,  
When he was there as no man might him here,  
That he ne said, O lovesome Lady bright,  
How have ye faren sins that ye were there:  
Welcome iwis mine own Lady dear,  
But wellaway, all this nas but a maze,  
Fortune his have intended bet to glass.   

The letters eke, that she of old time  
Had him isent, he would alone read  
An hundred sith, atwixt noon and prime,  
Refiguring her shape, and her womanhead,  
Within his heart, and every word and deed  
That passed was, & thus he drove to an end,  
The fourth day, and said he wol wend.   

And said leve brother Pandarus,  
Intendest thou that we shall here bleve,  
Till Sarpedon wool forth conveyen us,  
Yet were it fairer that we took our leve:  
For God's love, let us now soon at eve  
Our leave take, & homeward let us turn,  
For trewely I nill not thus sojourn.   

Pandar answer, be we comen hither  
To fetchen fire, and rennen home again,  
God help me so, I can nat tell whither  
We might gone, if I shall soothly sane:  
There any wight is of us more fain  
Than Sarpedon, and if we hence high  
Thus suddenly, I hold it villainy.   

When that we saiden we would bleve  
With him a week, and now thus suddenly  
The fourth day to take of him our leve,  
He would wondrens on it truly:  
Let us holden forth our purpose firmly,  
And sens that ye behighten him to abide,  
Hold forward now, and after let us ride.   

This Pandarus, with all pine and woe  
Made him to dwell, and at the weeks end,  
Of Sarpedon they took her leave tho,  
And on her way they speden hem to wend:  
(Qd. Troilus) now Lord me grace send,  
That I may find at mine home coming,  
Creseide comen, and therewith 'gan he sing.   

Ye haselwode thought this Pander,  
And to himself full softly he said,  
God wot refroiden may this hot fare,  
Er Calcas send Troilus Creseide:  
But nevertheless he yaped thus and said,  
And swore iwis, his heart him well behight,  
She would come as soon as ever she might.   

When they unto the paleis were ycomen,  
Of Troilus, they down of horse alight,  
And to the chambre her way have they nomen,  
And unto time that it 'gan to night,  
They speken of Creseide the lady bright,  
And after this, when hem both lest,  
They speed him fro the supper unto rest.   

On morrow as soon as day began to clear,  
This Troilus 'gan of his sleep to abreide,  
And to Pandarus, his own brother dear  
For love of God, full pitously he said:  
As go we seen the paleis of Creseide,  
For since we yet may have no more seest,  
So let us seine her paleis at the leest.   

And therewithal his mien for to blende,  
A cause he fond in town for to go,  
And to Creseides house they 'gan wend,  
But lord this silly Troilus was woe,  
Him thought his sorrowful hart braced atwo,  
For when he saw her doors sparred all,  
Well nigh for sorrow adown he 'gan to fall.   

Therewith when he was ware, & 'gan behold  
How shut was every window of the place,  
As frost him thought his heart 'gan to cold,  
For which with changed deedly pale face,  
Withouten word, he forth by 'gan to pace,  
And as god would, he 'gan so fast ride,  
That no wight of his countenance aspide.   

Then said he thus: O paleis desolate,  
O house of houses, whilom best ihight,  
O paleis empty and disconsolate,  
O thou lantern, of which quaint is the light,  
O paleis whilom day, that now art night,  
Well oughtest thou to fall, and I to die,  
Sens she is went, that wont was us to gie.   

O paleis whilom crown of houses all,  
Enlumined with sun of all bliss,  
O ring, of which the ruby is out fall,  
O cause of woe, that cause hast been of bliss:  
Yet since I may no bet, fain would I kiss  
Thy cold doors, durst I for this rout,  
* And farewell shrine of which the saint is out.   

Therewith he cast on Pandarus his eye,  
With changed face, and piteous to behold,  
And when he might his time aright aspie,  
Aye as he road, to Pandarus he told  
His new sorrow, and eke his joys old.  
So piteously, and with so deed an hue,  
That every wight might on his sorrow rue.   

Fro thence forth he rideth up and down  
And every thing came him to remembrance,  
As he road forth by the places of the town,  
In which he whilom had all his pleasance:  
Lo, yonder saw I mine own Lady dance,  
And in that temple with her eien clear,  
Me caught first my right Lady dear.   

And yonder have I heard full lustily  
My dear hart laugh, and yonder play  
Saw I her ones eke full blissfully,  
And yonder ones to me 'gan she say  
Now good sweet, love me well I pray,  
And yond so goodly 'gan she me behold,  
That to the death mine hart is to her hold.   

And at the corner in the yonder house,  
Heard I mine alderlevest lady dear,  
So womanly, with voice melodiouse,  
Singen so well, so goodly and so clear,  
That in my soul yet me thinketh I here  
The blissful swoon, and in that yonder place  
My lady first me took unto her grace.   

Then thought he thus, O blissful lord Cupid  
When I the process have in memory,  
How thou me hast wearied on every side,  
Men might a book make of it like a story:  
What need is thee to seek on me victory,  
Sens I am thine, and holly at thy will,  
What joy hast thou thine own folk to spill?   

Well hast thou Lord iwroke on me thine ire,  
Thou mighty God, and dreadful for to greve,  
Now mercy Lord, thou wost well I desire  
Thy grace most, of all lusts leave,  
And live and die I wol in thy believe,  
For which I ne ask in guerdon but a bone,  
That thou Creseide again me send soon.   

Distrain her hart as fast to return,  
As thou dost mine to longen her to see,  
Then wot I well that she nile not sojourn,  
Now blissful Lord, so cruel thou ne be  
Unto the blood of Troy, I pray thee,  
As juno was unto the blood Theban,  
For which the folk of Thebes caught her bane.   

And after this he to the yates went,  
There as Creseide out rode, a full good pace,  
And up & down there made he many a went,  
And to himself full oft he said alas:  
From hence road my bliss and my solas,  
As would blissful God now for his joie,  
I might her seen again come to Troie.   

And to the yonder hill I 'gan her guide,  
Alas, and there I took of her my leve,  
And yond I saw her to her father ride,  
For sorrow of which mine hart shall to cleve:  
And hither home I come when it was eve,  
And here I dwell, out cast from all joie,  
And shall, till I may seen her eft in Troie.   

And of himself imagined he oft,  
To been defaited, pale, and waxed less  
Than he was wont, and that men saiden soft,  
What may it be? who can the sooth guess,  
Why Troilus hath all this heaviness?  
And all this nas but his melancholy,  
That he had of himself such fantasy.   

Another time imaginen he would,  
That every wight that went by the weigh,  
Had of him routh, and that they sane should,  
I am right sorry, Troilus wol day:  
And thus he drove a day yet forth or fifty,  
As ye have herd, such life 'gan he lead,  
As he that stood betwixen hope and dread.   

For which him liked in his songs show  
Thencheson of his woe, as he best might,  
And made a song, of words but a few,  
Somewhat his woeful hart for to light:  
And when he was from every man's sight,  
With soft voice, he of his Lady dear,  
That absent was, 'gan sing as ye may here.   

O star, of which I lost have all the light,  
With hart sore, well ought I to bewail,  
That ever dark in tourment, night by night  
Toward my death, with wind I steer & sail:  
For which the tenth night, if that I fail,  
The guiding of thy beams bright an hour,  
My ship and me Caribdes wool devour.   

This song when he thus songen had soon,  
He fell again into his sighs old,  
And every night, as was he wont to done,  
He stood the bright moon to behold:  
And all his sorrow he to the moon told,  
And said, iwis when thou art horned new,  
I shall be glad, if all the world be true.   

I saw thine horns old eke by that morrow,  
When hence road my right lady dear,  
That cause is of my tourment and my sorrow,  
For which, O bright Lucina the clear,  
For love of God ren fast about thy sphere,  
For when thine horns new ginnen spring,  
Then shall she come that may my bliss bring.   

The day is more, and longer every night  
Than they been wont to be, him thought tho,  
And that the sun went his course unright,  
By longer way than it was wont to go,  
And said, iwis, I dread me evermo  
The suns son Pheton be on live,  
And that his father's cart amiss he drive.   

Upon the walls fast eke would he walk,  
And on the greeks host he would see,  
And to himself right thus he would talk:  
Lo, yonder is mine own lady free,  
Or else yonder, there the tents be,  
And thence cometh this air that is so soot,  
That in my soul I feel it doth me boot.   

And hardly, this wind that more and more  
Thus stoundmeale increaseth in my face,  
Is of my ladies deep sighs sore,  
I preve it thus, for in none other space  
Of all this town, save only in this place,  
Feel I no wind, that soundeth so like pain,  
It saith alas, why twined be we twain.   

This long time he driveth forth right thus,  
Till fully passed was the ninth night,  
And aye beside him was this Pandarus,  
That busily did all his full might  
Him to comfort, and make his hart light,  
Yeving him hope always the tenth morrow,  
That she shall comen, & stinten all his sorrow.   

Upon that other side eke was Creseide  
With women few among the Greeks strong,  
For which full oft a day, alas she said  
That I was borne, well may mine hart long  
After my death, for now live I too long  
Alas, and I ne may it not amend,  
For now is worse than ever yet I wend.   

My father nill for nothing do me grace  
To gone again, for aught I can him queme,  
And if so be that I my term pace,  
My Troilus shall in his heart dame  
That I am false, and so it may well seem,  
Thus shall I have unthonke on every side,  
That I was borne so wellaway the tide.   

And if that I me put in jeopardy,  
To steal away by night, and it befall  
That I be caught, I shall be hold aspie,  
Or else lo, this dread I most of all,  
If in the honds of some wretch I fall,  
I nam but lost, all be mine heart true,  
Now mighty God, thou on my sorrow rue.   

Full pale iwoxens was her bright face,  
Her limbs lean, as she that all the day,  
Stood when she durst, & looked on the place  
There she was borne, and dwelled had aye,  
And all the night weeping alas she lay,  
And thus dispeired out of all cure  
She lad her life, this woeful creature.   

Full oft a day she sighed eke for distress,  
And in herself she ween aye purtraying  
Of Troilus the great worthiness,  
And all his goodly words recording,  
Sens first that day her love began to spring,  
And thus she set her woeful hart afire,  
Through remembrance of that she 'gan desire.   

In all this world there nis so cruel hart,  
That her had heard complainen in her sorrow,  
That nold have wepten for her pains smart,  
So tenderly she wept, both eve and morrow,  
Her needed no tears, for to borrow,  
And this was yet the worst of all her pain,  
There was no wight, to whom she durst plain.   

Full rewfully she looked upon Troy,  
Beheld the Towers high, and eke the halis,  
Alas (qd. she) the pleasance and the joy,  
The which that now all turned into gall is,  
Have I had oft within yonder walls,  
O Troilus, what dost thou now she ●ide,  
Lord, whether thou yet think upon Creseide.   

Alas that I ne had itrowed on your lore,  
And went with you, as ye me red ere this,  
Then had I now not sighed half so sore,  
Who might have said, that I had done amiss  
To steal away with such one as he is,  
* But all too late cometh the lectuary,  
When men the corpse unto the grave carry.   

Too late is now to speak of that matter,  
Prudence, alas, one of thine eyes three  
Me lacked always, ere that I came here:  
For on time passed well remembered me,  
And present time eke would I well see,  
But future time, ere I was in the snare,  
Could I not seen, that causeth now my care.   

But nevertheless, betid what betid,  
I shall to morrow at night, by east or west,  
Out of this host steal, on some side,  
And gone with Troilus, where as him lest,  
This purpose wool I hold, and this is the best,  
* No force of wicked tongues ●onglerie,  
For ever on love have wretches had Endie.   

* For who so wool of every word take heed,  
Or rule him by every wights wit,  
Ne shall he never thriven out of dread,  
For that that some men blamen ever yet,  
Lo, other manner folk commenden it,  
And as for me, for all such variance,  
Felicity clepe I my suff●●aunce.   

For which withouten any words more,  
To Troy I wool, as for conclusioun,  
But God it wot, ere fully months two,  
She was full far from that intention,  
For both Troilus and Troy town  
Shall knotlesse throughout her hart slide,  
For she wool take a purpose for to abide.   

This Diomedes, of whom I you tell 'gan,  
Goth now within himself aye arguing,  
With all the sleight and all that ever he can,  
How he may best with shortest tarrying,  
Into his nerre Creseides heart bring,  
To this intent he couth never fine,  
To fishen her, he laid out book and line.   

But nevertheless, well in his hart he thought,  
That she nas not without a love in Troy,  
For never sithen he her thence brought,  
Ne couth he seen her laugh, or maken joy,  
He nist how best her hart for taco●e,  
But for tassey, he said nought it ne greveth,  
* For he that naught assayeth, naught atcheveth.   

Yet said he to himself upon a night,  
Now am I nat a fool, that wot well how  
Her woe is, for love of another wight,  
And hereupon to gone assay her now,  
I may well weet, it nill not ben my prow.  
* For wise folk in books it express,  
Men shall nat woe a wight in heaviness.   

But who so might winnen such a flower  
Fro him, for whom she mourneth night & day,  
He might sane he were a conqueror:  
And right anon, as he that bold was aye,  
Thought in his hart, hap how hap may,  
All should I die, I wool her heart seech,  
I shall no more lesen but my speech.   

This Diomedes, as books us declare,  
Was in his needs pressed and courageous,  
With stern voice, & mighty limbs square,  
Hardy, testife, strong, and chevalrous  
Of deeds like his father Tideus,  
And some men sane he was of tongue large,  
And heir he was of Calcidony and Arge.   

Creseide mean was of her stature,  
Thereto of shape, of face, and eke of cheer,  
There might been no fairer creature,  
And oft time this was her manner,  
To gone itressed with her hairs clear  
Down by her colere, at her back behind,  
Which with a thread of gold she would bind.   

And save her brows joyneden ifere,  
There nas no lack, in aught I can espien,  
But for to speaken of her eyes clear,  
Lo, truly they written that her seien,  
That Paradis stood form in her eien,  
And with her rich beauty evermore  
Strove love in her, aye which of hem was more.   

She sober was eke, simple, & wise withal,  
The best inorished eke that might be,  
And goodly of her speech in general,  
Charitable, estately, lusty, and free,  
Ne nevermore ne lacked her pity,  
Tender hearted, sliding of courage,  
But truly I cannot tell her age.   

And Troilus well waxed was in height,  
And complete form by proportioun,  
So well, the kind it naught amenden might,  
Young, fresh, strong, and hardy as lion,  
True as steel, in each condition,  
One of the best entetched creature,  
That is or shall, while that the world may dure.   

And certainly, in story as it is fond,  
That Troilus was never unto no wight  
As in his time, in no degree second,  
In daring do that longeth to a knight,  
All might a Giant passen him of might,  
His hart aye with the first and with the best,  
Stood peregall to dare done what him jest.   

But for to tell forth of Diomedes,  
It fill, that after on the tenth day,  
Sens that Creseide out of the city go,  
This Diomedes, as fresh as branch in May,  
Came to the tent there as Calcas lay,  
And feigned him with Calcas have to done,  
But what he meant, I shall you tell soon.   

Creseide at short words for to tell,  
Welcomed him, & down him by her set,  
And he was ethe enough to maken dwell,  
And after this, withouten long let,  
The spices and the wine men forth him fet,  
And forth they speak of this and that ifere,  
As friends done, of which some shall ye here.   

He 'gan first fallen of the war in speech  
Betwixen hem and the folk of Troy town,  
And of thassiege he 'gan eke her beseech,  
To tell him what was her opinion:  
From that demand he so descendeth down,  
To asken her, if that her strange thought  
The Greeks gise, & works that they wrought.   

And why her father tarrieth so long  
To wedden her unto some worthy wight?  
Creseide that was in her pains strong,  
For love of Troilus her own knight,  
So ferforth as she cunning had or might,  
answer him tho, but as of his intent,  
It seemed nat she wist what he meant.   

But nevertheless, this ilke Diomedes  
'Gan on himself assure, and thus he said:  
If I aright have taken on you heed,  
Methinketh thus, O lady mine Creseide,  
That since I first hon on your bridle laid,  
When I out came of Troy by the morrow,  
Ne might I never seen you but in sorrow.   

I can nat sane what may the cause be,  
But if for love of some Trojan it were,  
The which right sore would a thinken me,  
That ye for any wight that dwelleth there,  
Shoulden spill a quarter of a tere,  
Or pitously your selven so beguile,  
For dredelesse it is nat worth the while.   

The folk of Troy, as who saith all & some,  
In prison been, as ye your selven see,  
Fro thence shall nat one on live come,  
For all the gold at wixen sun and see,  
Trusteth well, and understondeth me,  
There shall nat one to mercy gone on live,  
All were he lord of worlds twice five.   

Such wrech on hem for fetching of Heleine  
There shall be take, ere that we hence wend,  
That Maunes, which that Gods been of peine,  
Shall been aghast that Greeks wol hem shend,  
And men shall dread unto the world's end  
From henceforth to ravishen any Queen,  
So cruel shall our wretch on him be seen.   

And but if Calcas lead us with ambages,  
That is to sane, with double words sly,  
Such as men clepe a word with two visages,  
Ye shall well known that I nat ne lie,  
And all this thing right seen it with your eye,  
And that anon, ye nill not trow how soon,  
Now taketh heed, for it is for to done.   

What ween ye your wise father would  
Have yeven Antenor for you anon,  
If he ne wist that the city should  
Destroyed ben? why nay so moat I gone,  
He knew full well there shall nat scapen one  
That Trojan is, and for the great fere  
He durst nat that ye dwelled longer there.   

What wool ye more, O lovesome lady dear,  
Let Troy and Troyans' from your heart pass,  
Drive out the bitter hope, & make good cheer,  
And clepe again the beauty of your face,  
That ye with salt tears so deface,  
For Troy is brought in such a jeopardy,  
That it to save is now no remedy.   

And thinketh well, ye shall in Greeks find  
A more perfect love, ere it be night,  
That any Trojan is, and more kind,  
And bet to serven you wool done his might,  
And if ye vouchsafe my lady bright,  
I wool been he, to serven you my self,  
Ye lever than be lord of Greces twelve.   

And with that word he 'gan to waxen reed,  
And in his speech a little while he quoke,  
And cast aside a little with his heed,  
And stint a while, and afterward he work,  
And soberly on her he threw his look,  
And said I am, albeit to you my joy,  
As gentle a man as any wight in Troy.   

For if my father Tideus (he said)  
I lived had, I had been ere this,  
Of Calcidonie and Arge a king, Creseide,  
And so hope I that I shall be iwis:  
But he was slain alas, the more harm is,  
Unhappily at Thebes all to rather,  
Polimite, and many a man to scathe.   

But hart mine, scythe that I am your man,  
And been the first, of whom I feche grace,  
To serve you as heartily as I can,  
And ever shall, while I to live have space,  
So that, ere I depart out of this place,  
Ye wool me grant, that I may to morrow  
At better laiser tell you of my sorrow.   

What should I tell his words that he said?  
He spoke enough for o day at the most,  
It preveth well he spoke so, that Creseide  
Granted on the morrow at his request  
For to speak with him at the least,  
So that he nolde speak of such matter,  
And thus she to him said, as ye mow here.   

As she that had her hart on Troilus  
So fast, that there may it none arace,  
And strangely she spoke, and said thus:  
O Diomedes, I love that ilke place  
There was I borne, and Ioves of thy grace  
Deliver it soon of all that doth it care,  
God for thy might so leave it well to far.   

That Greeks would her wrath on Troy wreak  
If that they might, I know it well iwis,  
But it shall naught befallen as ye speak,  
And God toforne, and farther over this,  
I wot my father wise and ready is,  
And that he me hath bought, as ye me told,  
So dear am I the more unto him hold.   

That Greeks been of high condition,  
I wot eke well, but certain men shall find  
As worthy folk within Troy town,  
As cunning, as persite, and as kind,  
As been betwixt Orcades and Ind,  
And that ye could well your lady serve  
I trow eke well, her thank for to deserve.   

But as to speak of love, iwis (she said)  
I had a lord, to whom I wedded was,  
His whole mine hart was all till he deide,  
And other love, as help me now Pallas,  
There in mine hart nis, ne never was,  
And that ye ben of noble and high kindred,  
I have well heard it tell out of dread.   

And that doth me to have so great a wonder,  
That ye wool scornen any woman so,  
Eke God wot, love and I been for asunder,  
I am disposed bet, so moat I go,  
Unto my death plain and make woe,  
What I shall after done, I can not say,  
But truly as yet me list nat play.   

Mine hart is now in tribulatioun,  
And ye in arms busy day by day,  
Hereafter when ye wonnen have the town,  
Paraventure then, so it happen may,  
That when I see that I never ere say,  
Then wool I work that I never ere wrought,  
This word to you enough suffisen aught.   

To morrow eke wol I speken with you fain,  
So that ye touchen naught of this matter,  
And when you list, ye may come here again,  
And ere ye gone, thus much I say you here,  
As help me Pallas, with her hairs clear,  
If that I should of any Greek have routh,  
It should be your selven by my troth.   

I say nat therefore that I wool you love,  
Ne say nat nay, but in conclusioun,  
I mean well by God that sit above:  
And therewithal she cast her eien down,  
And 'gan to sigh, & said, Troilus & Troy toun  
Yet bid I God, in quiet and in rest  
I may you seen, or do mine hart breast.   

But in effect, and shortly for to say,  
This Diomedes all freshly new again  
'Gan preasen on, and fast her mercy pray,  
And after this, the sooth for to sane,  
Her glove he took, of which he was full fain,  
And finally, when it was waxed eve,  
And all was well, he rose and took his leve.   

The bright Venus followed and aye taught  
The way there broad Phoebus down alight,  
And Cythera her chare horse over taught,  
To whirl out of the Lion, if she might,  
And Signifer his candles showeth bright,  
When that Creseide unto her bed went,  
Within her father's fair bright tent.   

Returning in her soul aye up and down  
The words of this sudden Diomedes,  
His great estate, and peril of the town,  
And that she was alone, and had need  
Of friends help, and thus began to breed  
The cause why, the sooth for to tell,  
She took fully purpose for to dwell.   

The morrow came, and ghostly for to speak,  
This Diomedes is come unto Creseide,  
And shortly, lest that ye my tale break,  
So well he for himself spoke and said,  
That all her sighs sore down he leide,  
And finally, the sooth for to sane,  
He rest her the great of all her pain.   

And after this, the story telleth us,  
That she him gave the fair bay stead,  
The which she ones won of Troilus,  
And eke a brooch (and that was little need)  
That Troilus was, she gave this Diomedes,  
And eke the bet from sorrow him to releve,  
She made him wear a pencil of her sleve.   

I find eke in stories elsewhere,  
When through the body hurt was Diomedes  
Of Troilus, though wept she many a tere,  
When that she saw his wide wounds bleed,  
And that she took to keep him good heed,  
And for to healen him of his smart,  
Men sane, I not, that she gave him her hart.   

But truly the story telleth us,  
There made never woman more woe  
Than she, when that she falsed Troilus,  
She said alas, for now is clean ago  
My name in troth of love for evermo,  
For I have falsed one the gentillest  
That ever was, and one the worthiest.   

Alas, of me unto the world's end  
Shall neither ben iwritten or isong  
No good word, for these books wool me shend:  
Irolled shall I been on many a ●ong,  
Throughout the world my bell shall be rung,  
And women most wool hate me of all,  
Alas, that such a case me should fall.   

They wool sane, in as much as in me is,  
I have him done dishonour wellaway,  
* All be I not the first that did amiss,  
What helpeth that, to done my blame away,  
But since I see there is no better way,  
And that too late is now for me to rue,  
To Diomedes I wool algate be true.   

But Troilus, since I no better may,  
And sens that thus departen ye and I,  
Yet pray I God so yeve you right good day,  
As for the gentillest knight truly  
That ever I saw, to serven faithfully,  
And best can aye his ladies honour keep,  
And with that word she braced anon to weep.   

And certes, you ne haten shall I never,  
And friends love, that shall ye have of me,  
And my good word, all should I liven ever,  
And truly I would right sorry be,  
For to seen you in adversite,  
And guiltless I wot well I you leave,  
And all shall pass, and thus take I my leave.   

But truly how long it was between,  
That she forsook him for this Diomedes,  
There is none author telleth it I ween,  
Take every man now to his books heed,  
He shall no term finden, out of dread,  
For though that he began to woe her soon,  
Ere he her wan, yet was there more to done.   

Ne me ne list this silly woman chide,  
Ferther than the story wool de vice,  
Her name alas is published so wide,  
That for her gilt it ought enough suffice,  
And if I might excuse her in any wise,  
For she so sorry was for her untruth,  
Iwis I would excuse her yet for routh.   

This Troilus, as I before have told,  
Thus driveth forth, as well as he hath might,  
But oft was his heart hot and cold,  
And namely that ilke ninth night,  
Which on the morrow she had him behight  
To come again, God wot full little rest  
Had he that night, nothing to sleep him lest.   

The laurer crowned Phoebus, with his heat  
'Gan in his course aye upward as he went,  
To warmen of the East sea the waves weet,  
And Circe's daughter song, with fresh intent,  
When Troilus his Pander after sent,  
And on the walls of the town they pleide,  
To look, if they can seen aught of Creseide.   

Till it was noon, they stooden for to see  
Who that there came, & every manner wight  
That came fro far, they saiden it was she,  
Till that they coulden known him aright,  
Now was his heart dull, now was it light,  
And thus beyaped stooden for to stare  
About naught, this Troilus and Pandar.   

To Pandarus this Troilus though said  
For aught I wot, before noon sikerly,  
Into this town ne cometh not here Creseide,  
She hath enough to done hardly  
To winnen from her father, so trow I,  
Her old father wool yet make her dine  
Ere that she go, God yeve his hart pine.   

Pandarus answered, it may well been certain  
And for thy let us dine, I thee beseech,  
And after noon than mayst thou come again,  
And home they go, without more speech,  
And comen again, but long may they seech,  
Ere that they find that they after gape,  
Fortune him both thinketh for to yape.   

(Qd. Troilus) I see well now that she  
Is tarried with her old father so,  
That ere she come, it wool nigh even be,  
Come forth, I wool unto the yate go,  
These porters been unkonning ●vermo,  
And I wool done him holden up the yate,  
As naught ne were, although she come late.   

The day goth fast, and after that came eve,  
And yet came nat to Troilus Creseide,  
He looketh forth by hedge, by tree, by greve,  
And far his head over the wall he leide,  
And at the last he turned him, and said,  
By God I wot her meaning now Pandar,  
Almost iwis all new was my care.   

Now doubtless this Lady can her good,  
I wot she cometh riding prively,  
I commend her wisdom by mine hood,  
She wool nat maken people nicely  
Gaure on her when that she cometh, but softly  
By night into the town she thinketh ride,  
And dear brother, think nat long to abide.   

We have naught else for to done iwis,  
And Pandarus, now wilt thou trowen me,  
Have here my troth, I see her, yond she is,  
Heave up thine eyes man, mayst thou nat see:  
Pandar answer, nay, so moat I thee,  
All wrong by God, with sayest thou man, where art,  
That I see yond afar, nis but a cart.   

Alas thou sayst right sooth (qd. Troilus)  
But hardly it is not all for nought,  
That in mine hart I now rejoice thus,  
It is against some good, I have a thought,  
Not I not how, but sens that was wrought,  
Ne felt I such a comfort dare I say,  
She cometh to night, my life that durst I lay.   

Pandarus answer, it may be well enough,  
And held with him of all that ever he said,  
But in his hart he thought, and soft lough,  
And to himself full soberly he said,  
* From hazel wood, there jolly Robin played,  
Shall come all that thou abidest here,  
Ye, farewell all the snow of fern year.   

The warden of the yates 'gan to call  
The folk, which that without the yates were,  
And bad hem driven in her beasts all,  
Or all the night they must bleven there,  
And far within the night, with many a tere,  
This Troilus 'gan homeward for to ride,  
For well he seeth it helpeth nat to abide.   

But nevertheless, he gladded him in this,  
He thought he misacompted had his day,  
And said, I understand have all amis,  
For thilk night I last Creseide say,  
She said I shall ben here, if that I may,  
Ere that the Moon, O dear hart sweet,  
The Lion pass out of this Ariete.   

For which she may yet hold all her behest,  
And on the morrow unto the yate he went,  
And up and down, by West & eke by East  
Upon the walls made he many a went,  
But all for naught, his hope always him blended,  
For which at night, in sorrow & sighs sore,  
He went him home, withouten any more.   

This hope all clean out of his hart fled,  
He ne hath whereon now longer for to hung,  
But for the pain him thought his hart bled,  
So were his throws sharp, & wonder strong,  
For when he saw that she abode so long,  
He nist what he judgen of it might,  
Sens she hath broken that she him behight.   

The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth day  
After tho days ten, of which I told,  
Betwixen hope and dread his hart say,  
Yet somewhat trusting on her hests old,  
But when he saw she nolde her term hold,  
He can now seen none other remedy,  
But for to shape him soon for to die.   

Therewith the wicked spirit, God us bless,  
Which that men clepe wood jealousy,  
'Gan in him creep, in all this heaviness,  
For which because he would soon die,  
He ne eat ne drunk for his melancholy,  
And eke from every company he fled,  
This was the life that all this time he led.   

He so defaite was, that no manner man,  
uneath he might known there he went,  
So was he lean, and thereto pale and wan,  
And feeble, that he walketh by potent,  
And with his ire he thus himself shent:  
But who so asked him whereof him smart,  
He said, his harm was all about his hart.   

Priam's full oft, and eke his mother dear,  
His brothers and his sustrens 'gan him frain  
Why he so sorrowful was in all his cheer,  
And what thing was the cause of all his pain?  
But all for naught, he nolde his cause plain,  
But said, he felt a grievous malady  
About his hart, and fain he would die.   

So on a day he laid him down to sleep,  
And so befell, that in sleep him thought,  
That in a forest fast he walked to weep  
For love of her the him these pains wrought,  
And up & down as he that forest sought,  
He met he saw a Boar, with tusks great,  
That slept against the bright Sun's heat.   

And by this Boar, fast in her arms fold  
Lay kissing aye his lady bright Creseide,  
For sorrow of which, when he it 'gan behold,  
And for despite, out of his sleep he breide,  
And loud he cried on Pandarus, and said,  
O Pandarus, now know I crop and root,  
I nam but dead, there nis none other boot.   

My lady bright Creseide hath me betrayed,  
In whom I trusted most of any wight,  
She elsewhere hath now her hart apaied,  
The blissful Gods, through her great might,  
Have in my dream ishewed it full right,  
Thus in my dream Creseide have I behold,  
And all this thing to Pandarus he told.   

O my Creseide, alas, what subtelty?  
What new lust? What beauty? What science?  
What wrath of just cause have ye to me?  
What guilt of me? What fell experience  
Hath me rafte alas thine advertence?  
O trust, O faith, O deep assurance,  
Who hath me raft Creseide all my pieasaunce?  
Alas, why let I you from hence go?  
For which well nigh out of my wit I breide,  
Who shall now trow on any oaths more?  
God wot I wend, O lady bright Creseide,  
That every word was Gospel that ye said,  
* But who may bet beguile, if him list,  
Than he on whom men wenen best to trist.   

What shall I done, my Pandarus, alas?  
I feel now so sharp a new pain,  
Sens that there is no remedy in this case,  
That bet were it I with mine honds twain  
My selven slow than always thus to plain,  
For through the death my woe should have an end,  
There every day with life myself I shend.   

Pandar answer and said, alas the while  
That I was borne, have I nat said oer this,  
That dreams many a manner man beguile:  
And why? For folk expounden him amiss,  
How dar'st thou sane that false thy lady is,  
For any dream, right for thine own dread,  
Let be this thought, thou canst no dreams read.   

Peradventure there thou dremest of this bore,  
It may so be that it may signify  
Her father, which that old is and eke door,  
Again the sun lieth on point to die,  
And she for sorrow ginneth weep and cry,  
And kisseth him, there he lieth on the ground,  
Thus shouldst thou thy dream aright expound   

How might I then done (qd. Troilus)  
To know of this, yea were never so light:  
Now sayst thou wisely (qd. this Pandarus)  
My read is this, since thou canst well indite,  
That hastily a letter thou her write,  
Through which thou shalt well bringen about  
To know a sooth of that thou art in doubt.   

And see now why? for this dare I well said,  
That if so is, that she untrue be,  
I cannot trowen that she wool write again,  
And if she write, thou shalt full soon isee,  
As whether she hath any liberte  
To come again, or else in some clause  
If she be let, she wool assign a cause.   

Thou hast not written to her since she went,  
Nor she to thee, and this I durst lay,  
There may such cause ben in her intent,  
That hardly thou wolt thy selven say,  
That her abode the best is for you tway,  
Now write her then, & thou shalt feel soon  
A sooth of all, there is no more to done.   

Accorded been to this conclusioun,  
And that anon, these like lords two,  
And hastily sat Troilus adown,  
And rolleth in his hart too and fro,  
How he may best descriven her his woe,  
And to Creseide his own lady dear,  
He wrote right thus, & said as ye may here.   

¶ The copy of the Letter.  

Right fresh flour, whose I have been & shall,  
Withouten part of elsewhere servise,  
With hart, body, life, lust, thought, and all,  
I woeful wight in every humble wise  
That tongue can tell, or hart may devise,  
As oft as matter occupieth place,  
Me recommaund unto your noble grace.   

Liketh it you to weten sweet hart,  
As ye well know, how long time agone  
That ye me left in asper pains smart,  
When that ye went, of which yet boat non  
Have I none had, but ever worse bigon,  
From day to day am I, and so moat dwell,  
While it you list, of we'll and woe my well.   

For which to you, with dreadful hart true,  
I write (as he that sorrow driveth to write)  
My woe, that every hour increaseth new,  
Complaining as I dare, or can indite,  
And that defaced is, that may ye wit,  
The tears, which that from mine eyes rain,  
That wulden speak, if that they durst, & plain.   

You first beseech I, that your eyes clear  
To look on this defouled not hold:  
And over all this, that ye my lady dear  
wol vouchsafe this letter to behold,  
And by the cause eke of my cares cold,  
That slaeth my wit, if aught s me start,  
Foryeve it me mine own sweet hart.   

If any servant durst or ought of right  
Upon his lady pitously complain,  
Then ween I that I ought be that wight,  
Considered this, that ye these months twain  
Have raried, there ye saiden sooth to sane,  
But ten days ye nolde in host sojourn,  
But in two months yet ye not return.   

But for as much as me mote needs like  
All that you list, I dare nat plain more,  
But humbly, with sorrowful sighs sike,  
You right I mine unrestie sorrows sore,  
From day to day, desiring evermore  
To known fully, if your will it were,  
How ye have fared & done while ye be there.   

Whose welfare & heal eke God increase  
In honour such, that upward in degree  
It grow always, so that it never cease,  
Right as your hart aye can my lady free  
Devise, I pray to God so moat it be,  
And grant it, that you soon upon me rue,  
As wisely as inall I am to you true.   

And if you liketh known of the fare  
Of me, whose woe there may no wight discrive,  
I can no more, but chest of every care,  
At writing of this letter I was on live,  
All ready out my woeful ghost to drive,  
Which I delay, and hold him yet in hon,  
Upon the sight of matter of your fond.   

Mine eyes two, in vain with which I see,  
Of sorrowful teres salt be waxed wellis,  
My song in plaint of mine adversite,  
My good in harm, mine ease eke waxed hell is,  
My joy in woe, I can say now nought elliss,  
But turned is, for which my life I wary  
Every joy or ease in his contrary.   

which with your coming home again to Troy  
Ye may redress, and more a thousand scythe,  
Than ever I had increase in me joy,  
For was there never hart yet so blithe  
To save his life, as I shall ben as swithe  
As I you see, and though no manner routh  
Can meven you, yet thinketh on your troth.   

And if so be my gilt hath death deserved,  
Or if you list no more upon me see,  
In guerdon yet of that I have you served,  
Beseeeh I you, mine own lady free,  
That hereupon ye woulden write me  
For love of God, my right lodesterre,  
That death may make an end of all my were.   

If other cause aught doth you for to dwell,  
That with your letter ye may me recomfort,  
For though to me your absence is an hell,  
With patience I wool my woe comfort,  
And with your letter of hope I wool disport,  
Now writeth sweet, & let me thus nat plain  
With hope or death, delivereth me fro pain.   

Iwis mine own dear heart true,  
I wot that when ye next upon me see  
So lost have I mine heal & eke mine hue,  
Creseide shall not con known me,  
Iwis mine hearts' day, my lady free,  
So thirsteth aye mine heart to behold.  
Your beauty, that unneath my life I hold.   

I say no more, all have I for to say  
To you well more than I tell may,  
But whether that ye do me live or day,  
Yet pray I God, so yeve you right good day,  
And fareth well goodly fair fresh May,  
As ye that life or death me may command,  
And to your troth aye I me recomaund.   

With heal such, that but ye yeven me  
The same heal, I shall none heal have,  
In you lieth, when you list that it so be,  
The day in which me clothen shall my grave,  
And in you my life, in you might for to save  
Me from disease of all my pains smart,  
And fare now well mine own sweet hart.   
La vostre T.   

This letter forth was sent unto Creseide,  
Of which her answer in effect was this,  
Full pitously she wrote again, and said,  
That all so soon as she might iwis,  
She would come, & amend all that was amiss  
And finally, she wrote and said then,  
She would come, ye, but she nist when.   

But in her letter made she such feasts,  
That wonder was, and swore she loved him best,  
Of which he found but bottomless bihests,  
But Troilus thou mayst now East & West  
* Pipe in an ivy leaf, if that thee lest,  
Thus goth the world, god shield us from mischance,  
And every wight that meaneth troth advance.   

increase 'gan the woe from day to night  
Of Troilus, for tarrying of Creseide,  
And lessen 'gan his hope and eke his might,  
For which all down he in his bed him laid,  
He ne eat, drunk, ne slept, ne word said,  
Imagining aye that she was unkind,  
For which well nigh he wext out of his mind.   

This dream, of which I told have eke before,  
May never come out of his remembrance,  
He thought aye well he had his lady lost,  
And that Ioves, of his purveyaunce,  
Him showed had in sleep the signifiance  
Of her untruth, and his disaventure,  
And that the bore was showed him in figure.   

For which he for Sibille his suffer sent,  
That called was Cassandre eke all about,  
And all his dream he told her ere he stint,  
And her be sought assoilen him the doubt,  
Of the strong Boar, with tusks stout,  
And finally, within a little stound,  
Cassandre him 'gan thus his dream expound.   

She 'gan first smile, & said, O brother dear,  
If thou a sooth of this desirest to know,  
Thou must a few of old stories here,  
To purpose how that fortune overthrow  
Hath lords old, through which within a throw  
Thou shalt this Boar know, & of what kind  
He comen is, as men in books find.   

Diane, which that wrath was and in ire,  
For greeks nolde done her Sacrifice,  
Ne incens upon her Altar set on fire,  
She for that greeks gone her so despise,  
Wrack her in a wonder cruel wise,  
For with a Boar as great as ox in stall,  
She made up frete her corn and vines all.   

To slay that Boar was all the country raised,  
Among which there came this Boar to  
A maid one of this world the best ipraised  
And Meleager, lord of that country,  
He loved so this fresh maiden free,  
That with his manhood, ere he would stint,  
This Boar he slough, & her the head he sent.   

Of which, as old books tell us,  
There rose a conteke and great envy,  
And of this lord descended Tideus  
By line, or else old books lie:  
But how this Meleager 'gan to die  
Through his mother, wool I you not tell,  
For all too long it were for to dwell.   

She told eke how Tideus, ere she stint,  
Unto the strong city of Thebes  
(To claimen kingdom of the city) went  
For his fellow dan Polimites,  
Of which the brother dan Ethiocles  
Full wrongfully or Thebes held that strength,  
This told she by proesse all by length.   

She told eke how Hemonides affart,  
When Tideus stough fifty knights stout,  
She told eke all the Prophecies by hart,  
And how that seven kings with her rout  
Besiegeden the city all about,  
And of the holy Serpent, and the well,  
And of the furies all she 'gan him tell.   

Associate profugus Tideus primo Polynicem  
Tidea ligatum docet insidiasque secundo,  
Tertius Harmoniam canit, & vatem latitantem  
Quartus habet reges ineuntes praelia septem  
Lemniadum furiae quinto narrantur & anguis  
Archemori bustum: sexto ludique seguuntur.  
Dat Thebis vatem Graiorum septimus umbris  
Octavo cecidit Tideus spes vita Pelasgum  
Hippomedon nono moritur cum Parthenopeo  
Fulmine percussus decimo Capaneus superatur  
Undecimo perimunt sese per vulnera fratres  
Argivum flentem, narrat duodenus & ignem.   

Of Archinories burying, and the plays,  
And how Amphiorax fill through the ground,  
How Tideus was slain, lord of Argeiss,  
And how Hippomedon in a little stound  
Was dreint, & dead Parthenope of wound,  
And also how Campaneus the proud  
With thunder dint was slain, y● cried loud.   

She 'gan eke tell him how that either brother  
Ethiocles and Polimites also  
At a scarmishe each of him slough other,  
And of Argives weeping and her more,  
And how the town was brent she told eke tho,  
And though descended down from lestes old  
To Diomedes, and thus she spoke and told.   

This like Boar betokeneth Diomedes,  
Tideus son, that down descended is  
From Meleager, that made the Boar to bleed,  
And thy Lady, where so she be iwis,  
This Diomedes her heart hath, and she is his,  
Weep if thou wolt, or leave, for out of doubt  
This Diomedes is in, and thou art out.   

Thou sayst not soothe (qd. he) thou sorceress,  
With all thy false ghost of Prophecy,  
Thou weenest been a great devineresse,  
Now seest thou nat this fool of fantasy,  
Painen her on ladies for to lie,  
Away (qd. he) there Ioves yeve the sorrow,  
That shalt be falls peradventure yet to morrow.   

As well thou mightest lain on good Alceste,  
That was of creatures (but men lie)  
That ever weren, kindest, and the best,  
For when her husband was in jeopardy  
To die himself, but if she would die,  
She cheese for him to die, and to hell,  
And starfe anon, as us the books tell.   

Cassandre goeth, and he with cruel hart  
Foryate his woe, for anger of her speech,  
And fro his bed all suddenly he start,  
As though all hole him had I made a seech,  
And day by day he 'gan require and seech  
A sooth of this, with all his full cure,  
And thus he driveth forth his aventure.   

Fortune which that permutation  
Of all things hath, as it is her committed,  
Through purveyaunce and disposition  
Of high jove, as reigns shall ben flitted  
Fro folk to folk, or when they shall ben smitted,  
'Gan pull away the feathers bright of Troy  
From day to day till they been bare of joy.   

Among all this, the fine of the jeopardy  
Of Hector 'gan approach wonder believe,  
The fate would his soul should unbodie,  
And shapen had a mean it out to drive,  
Against which fate him helpeth not to strive,  
But on a day to fighten 'gan he wend,  
At which alas, he caught his lives end.   

For which me thinketh every manner wight  
That haunteth arms, aught to bewail  
The death of him that was so noble a knight:  
For as he drough a king by thaventaile  
Unware of this, Achilles through the mail  
And through the body 'gan him for to rive,  
And thus the worthy knight was reft of live.   

For whom, as old books tell us,  
Was made such woe, that tongue it may nat tell,  
And namely, the sorrow of Troilus,  
That next him was of worthiness the well,  
And in this woe 'gan Troilus to dwell,  
That what for sorrow, love, and for unrest,  
Full oft a day he had his heart breast.   

But nevertheless, though he gone him despair,  
And dread aye that his lady was untrue,  
Yet aye on her his hart 'gan repair,  
And as these lovers done, he sought aye new  
To get again Creseide bright of hue,  
And in his hart he went her excusing,  
That Calcas caused all her tarrying.   

And oft time he was in purpose great,  
Himselven like a pilgrim to disguise,  
To seen her, but he may not counterfeit,  
To been unknowen of folk that weren wise,  
He find excuse aright that may suffice,  
If he among the Greeks known were,  
For which he wept full oft many a tere.   

To her he wrote yet oft time all new,  
Full pitously, he left it nat for sloth,  
Beseeching her, since that he was true,  
That she wol come again, & should her troth,  
For which Creseide upon a day for routh,  
I take it so, touching all this matter,  
Wrote him again, and said as ye may here.   

Cupid's son, ensample of goodlihede,  
O sword of knighthood, sours of gentleness,  
How might a wight in tourment & in dread,  
And healelesse you send, as yet gladness,  
I heartless, I sick, I in distress,  
Sens ye with me, nor I with you may deal,  
You neither send I hart may nor heal.   

Your letters full the paper all iplainted,  
Conceived hath mine heart's pite,  
I have eke seen with tears all depainted,  
Your letter, and how that ye requiren me  
To come again, which yet ne may not be,  
But why, lest that this letter founden were,  
No mention ne make I now for fere.   

Grevous to me (God wot) is your unrest,  
Your haste, and that the Gods ordinance  
It seemeth nat ye take it for the best,  
Nor other thing nis in your remembrance,  
As thinketh me, but only your pleasance,  
But beth not wroth, & that I you beseech,  
For that I tarry is all for wicked speech.   

For I have heard well more than I wend  
Touching us two, how things have istond,  
Which I shall with dissimusing amend,  
And beth not wroth, I have eke understond,  
How yene do but holden me in hon,  
But now no force, I can nat in you guess,  
But all troth and all gentleness.   

Come I wool, but yet in such disjoint  
I stoned as now, that with year, or what day  
That this shall be, that can I nat appoint,  
But in effect I pray you as I may  
Of your good word, & of your friendship aye,  
For truly while that my life may dure,  
As for a friend ye may in me assure.   

Yet pray I you, no evil ye ne take  
That it is short which that I to you write,  
I dare nat there I am well letters make,  
Ne never yet ne could I well indite,  
* Eke great effect, men write in place lite,  
th'intent is all, and nat the letters space,  
And fareth well, God have you in his grace.  
La vostre C.   

This Troilus thought this letter all strange  
When he it saw, & sorrowfully he sighed  
Him thought it like a kalends of exchange,  
But finally he full ne trowen might,  
That she ne would him holden that she height,  
For with full evell will list him to leve,  
That loveth well in such case, though him greve.   

But nevertheless, men sane that at the last,  
For any thing, men shall the sooth see,  
And such a case betid, and that as fast,  
That Troilus well understood that she  
Nas not so kind as that her ought be,  
And finally, he wot now out of doubt,  
That all is lost that he hath been about.   

Stood on a day in his melancholy  
This Troilus, and in suspectioun  
Of her, for whom he wend to die,  
And so befell, that throughout Troy toun  
As was that guise, iborne was up and down  
A manner cote armour, as saith the story,  
Before Deiphebe, insigne of his victory.   

The which cote, as telleth Lollius,  
Deiphebe it had rend from Diomedes  
The same day, and when this Troilus  
It saw, he 'gan to taken of it heed,  
A vising of the length and of the breed,  
And all the work, but as he 'gan behold,  
Full suddenly his heart 'gan to cold.   

As he that on the collar found within  
A brooch, that he Creseide gave at morrow  
That she from Troy must needs twin,  
In remembrance of him, and of his sorrow,  
And she him laid again her faith to borrow,  
To keep it aye: but now full well he wist,  
His lady nas no longer on to trift.   

He goth him home, & 'gan full soon send  
For Pandarus, and all this new chance,  
And of this broach, he told him word & end,  
Complaining of her heart's variance,  
His long love, his troth, & his penance,  
And after death without words more,  
Full fast he cried, his rest him to restore.   

Then spoke he thus, O lady mine Creseide,  
Where is your faith, & where is your behest?  
Where is your love, where is your troth he said,  
Of Diomedes have ye now all the fest?  
Alas, I would have trowed at the least,  
That since ye nolde in truth to me stoned,  
That ye thus nolde have holden me in hon.   

Who shall now trowen on any oaths more?  
Alas I never would have wend ere this,  
That ye Creseide could have changed so,  
Ne but I had agilt, and done amiss,  
So cruel wend I nat your hart iwis,  
To slay me thus, alas your name of troth  
Is now fordone, and that is all my routh.   

Was there none other brooch you list lete,  
To feast with your new love (qd. he)  
But thilk broche that I with teres wete  
You gave, as for a remembrance of me,  
None other cause alas, ne had ye,  
But for despite, and eke for that ye meant  
All utterly to shown your intent.   

Through which I see, y● clean out of your mind  
Ye have me cast, and I ne can nor may  
For all this world within mine hart find,  
To unloven you a quarter of a day:  
In cursed time I borne was, wellaway,  
That you that done me all this woe endure,  
Yet love I best of any creature.   

Now God (qd. he) me send yet the grace,  
That I may meet with this Diomedes,  
And truly, if I have might and space,  
Yet shall I make I hope his sides bleed:  
Now God (qd. he) that aughtest taken heed  
To forthren troth, and wrongs to punice,  
Why nilt thou done a vengeance of this vice.   

O Pandarus, that in dreams for to trift  
Me blamed haste, and wont art oft upbreide,  
Now mayst thou seen thyself, if that thee list,  
How true is now thy niece bright Creseide:  
In sundry forms (God it wot) he said,  
The gods shown both joy and tene  
In sleep, and by my dream it is now seen.   

And certainly, withouten more speech,  
From henceforth, as ferforth as I may,  
Mine own death in arms wool I seech,  
I reach nat how soon be the day,  
But truly Creseide, sweet may,  
Whom I have with all my might iserved,  
That ye thus done, I have it nat deserved.   

This Pandarus, that all these things herd,  
And wist well he said a sooth of this,  
He nat a word again to him answered,  
For sorry of his friend's sorrow he is,  
And shamed for his niece hath done amiss,  
And stant astonished of these causes fifty,  
As still as stone, o word ne could he say.   

But at the last, thus he spoke and said,  
My brother dear, I may do thee no more,  
What should I sane, I hate iwis Creseide,  
And God it wot, I wool hate her evermore:  
And that thou me besoughtest done of yore,  
Having unto mine honour ne my rest  
Right no regard, I did all that thee lest.   

If I did aught that might liken thee,  
It is me lief, and of this treason now,  
God wot that it a sorrow is to me,  
And dredelesse, for hearts ease of you,  
Right fain I would amend it, wist I how:  
And fro this world, almighty God I pray  
Deliver her soon, I can no more say.   

Great was the sorrow & plaint of Troilus,  
But forth her course fortune aye 'gan hold,  
Creseide loveth the son of Tideus,  
And Troilus moat weep in cares cold,  
Such is this world, who so it can behold,  
* In each estate is little heart's rest,  
God leave us to take it for the best.   

In many cruel battle out of dread,  
Of Troilus, this ilke noble knight,  
(As men may in these old books read)  
Was seen his knighthood & his great might,  
And dredelesse his ire day and night  
Full cruelly the Greeks aye about,  
And always most this Diomedes he sought.   

And oft time (I find) that they met  
With bloody strokes, and with words great,  
Assaying how her spears were whet,  
And God it wot, with many a cruel heat  
'Gan Troilus upon his helm to beat,  
But nevertheless, fortune it naught ne would  
Of others hand that either dien should.   

And if I had itaken for to write  
The arms of this ilke worthy man,  
Then would I of his battles indite,  
And for that I to written first begun  
Of his love, I have said as I can  
His worthy deeds, who so list him here,  
Reed Dares, he can tell him all ifere.   

Beseeching every lady bright of hue,  
And every gentle woman, what she be,  
Albeit that Creseide was untrue,  
That for that gilt ye be nat wroth with me,  
Ye may her gilt in other books see,  
And gladder I would write, if you lest,  
Penelope's troth, and good Alceste.   

Ne say I nat this all only for these men,  
But most for women that betrayed be  
Through falls folk, God yeve him sorrow, amen,  
That with her great wit and subtilty  
Betraien you: and this meveth me  
To speak, and in effect you all I pray  
Beth beware of men, and harkeneth what I say.   

Go little book, go my little tregedie,  
There God my maker yet ere that I die,  
So send me might to make some comedy:  
But little book, make thou none envy,  
But subject been unto all poesy,  
And kiss the steps whereas thou seest pace  
Of Vergil, Ovid, Homer, Lucan, and Stace.   

* And for there is so great diversite  
In English, and in writing of our tongue,  
So pray I to God, that none miswrite thee,  
Ne thee miss metre, for default of tongue:  
And red where so thou be, or else song,  
That thou be understand, God I beseech,  
But yet to purpose of my rather speech.   

The wrath (as I began you for to say)  
Of Troilus, the greeks boughten dear,  
For thousands his honds maden day,  
As he that was withouten any peer,  
Save in his time Hector, as I can here,  
But wellaway, save only God's will,  
Dispitously him slough the fierce Achilles.   

And when that he was slain in this manere,  
His light ghost full blissfully is went  
Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere,  
In his place letting everiche element,  
And there he saw with full avisement  
The erratike stars, harkening armonie,  
With sows full of heaven's melody.   

And down from thence, fast he 'gan avise  
This little spot of earth, that with the see  
Enbraced is, and fully 'gan despise  
This wretched world, and held all vanity  
To respect of the plain felicity  
That is in heaven above: and at the last,  
There he was slain, his looking down he cast.   

And in himself he lough, right at the woe  
Of him that wepten for his death so fast,  
And damned all our works that followeth so  
The blind lust, which that may nat last,  
And shoulden all our hart on heaven cast,  
And forth he went, shortly for to tell,  
There as Mercury sorted him to dwell.   

Such fine hath lo this Troilus for love,  
Such fine hath all his great worthiness,  
Such fine hath his estate royal above,  
Such fine his lust, such fine hath his noblesse,  
Such fine hath false world's brotelnesse,  
And thus began his loving of Creseide,  
As I have told, and in this wise he deide.   

O young fresh folks, he or she,  
In which that love up groweth with your age,  
Repaireth home from worldly vanity,  
And of your hearts up casteth the visage  
To thilk God, that after his image  
You made, and thinketh all nis but a fair,  
This world that passeth soon, as flowers fair.   

And loveth him, the which the right for love,  
Upon a cross our souls for to obey,  
First starfe and rose, and sit in heaven above,  
For he nill falsen no wight dare I say,  
That wool his heart all wholly on him lay,  
And since he best to love is, and most meek,  
What needeth feigned loves for to seek.   

* Lo here of painems cursed old rites,  
Lo here what all her gods may avail,  
Lo here this wretched world's appetites,  
Lo here the fine and guerdon for travail,  
Of jove, Apollo, of Mars, and such raskaile,  
Lo here the form of old clerks speech  
In poetry, if ye her books seech.   

O moral Gower, this book I direct  
To thee, and to the Philosophical Strode,  
To vouchsafe there need is, to correct,  
Of your benignities and zeals good,  
And to the soothfast Christ that starfe on rood,  
With all mine heart of mercy ever I pray,  
And to the Lord aright, thus I speak & say,   

Thou one, two, and three, eterne on live,  
That raignest aye in three, two, and one,  
Vncircumscript, and all mayst circumscrive,  
Us from visible and invisible fone  
Defend, and to thy mercy everichone,  
So make us jesus to thy mercy digne,  
For love of maid, and mother thine benign.   
¶ Thus endeth the fifth and last Book of Troilus.    

The Testament of Creseide.  

A Doly season till a careful dite,  
Should corespond, and be equivolent,  
Right so it was when I began to write  
This tragedy, the weder right fervent,  
When Aries in midst of the Lent,  
Showers of hail can fro the North descend,  
That scantly from the cold I might me defend.   

Yet nevertheless within mine orature  
I stood, when Titan had his beams bright  
Withdrawn down, and scyled under cure,  
And fair Venus the beauty of the night,  
Upraise, and set unto the West full right,  
Her golden face in oppositioun,  
Of God Phoebus direct descending down.   

Throughout the glass her beams braced so fair,  
That I might see on every side me by,  
The northern wind had purified the air,  
And shed his misty clouds from the sky:  
The frost fresed, the blasts bitterly,  
From pole Arctic come whisking loud & shrill,  
And caused me remove against my will.   

For I trusted that Venus, loves Queen,  
To whom sometime I height obedience,  
My faded heart, of love she would make green,  
And there upon with humble reverence,  
I thought to pray her high magnificence,  
But for great cold as then I letted was,  
And in my chambre to the fire can pass.   

Though love be hot, yet in a man of age,  
It kindleth nat so soon as in youtheed,  
Of whom the blood is flowing in a rage,  
And in the old, the courage dull and deed,  
Of which the fire outward is best remeed,  
To help by Physic where that nature failed,  
I am expert, for both I have assailed.   

I made the fire, and beaked me about,  
Then took I drink my spirits to comfort,  
And armed me well from the cold theroute,  
To cut the winter night & make it short  
I took a queare, and left all other sport,  
Written by worthy Chaucer glorious,  
Of fair Creseide, and lusty Troilus.   

And there I found, after that Dioniede  
Received had that lady bright of hue,  
How Troilus ne'er out of his wit abrede,  
And wept sore, with visage pale of hue:  
For which wanhope his tears 'gan renew,  
While Esperus rejoysed him again:  
Thus while in joy he lived, & while in pain.   

Of her behest he had great comforting,  
Trusting to Troy that she would make retour  
Which he desired most of all earthly thing,  
For why she was his only paramour:  
But when he saw passed both day and hour  
Of her gainecome, in sorrow can oppress  
His woeful hart, in care and heaviness.   

Of his distress me needeth nat rehearse,  
For worthy Chaucer in that same book,  
In goodly terms, and in jolly verse,  
Compiled hath his cares, who will look:  
To break my sleep another queare I took,  
In which I found the fatal destiny  
Of fair Creseide, which ended wretchedly.   

Who wot if all that Chaucer wrote, was true?  
Nor I wot nat if this narration  
Be authorised, or forged of the new,  
Of some Poet by his invention,  
Made to report the lamentation,  
And woeful end of this lusty Creseide,  
And what distress she was in or she deide.   

When Diomedes had all his appetite,  
And more fulfilled of this fair lady,  
Upon another set was all his delight,  
And send to her a libel repudy,  
And her excluded from his company:  
Then desolate she walked up and down,  
As some men sane, in the court as commune.   

O fair Creseide, the flower and a per se  
Of Troy & Grece, how were thou fortunate,  
To change in filth all thy feminite,  
And be with fleshly lust so maculate,  
And go among the Greeks early and late,  
So giglotlike, taking thy foul pleasance?  
I have pite thee should fall such mischance.   

Yet nevertheless, with ever men dame or say  
In scornful language of thy brutelnesse,  
I shall excuse, as ferforth as I may,  
Thy womanhood, thy wisdom and fairness:  
The which fortune hath put to such distress,  
As her pleased, & nothing through the gilt  
Of thee, through wicked langage to be spilt.   

This fair lady on this wise destitute  
Of all comfort and consolatioun,  
Right prively without fellowship or refute,  
Dishevelde, passed out of the town  
A mile or two unto a mansioun,  
Bilded full gay, where her father Calcas  
Which then among the Greeks dwelling was.   

When her he saw, the cause he 'gan inquire  
Of her coming: she said sighing full sore,  
Fro Diomedes had gotten his desire,  
He wox weary and would of me no more.  
qd. Calcas, Daughter weep thou nat therefore  
Paraventure all cometh for the best,  
Welcome to me thou art full dear a gest.   

This old Calcas, after the law was though  
Was keeper of the temple as a priest,  
In which Venus and her son Cupid  
Were honoured, and this chambre was nest,  
To which Creseide with bale enewed in breast,  
Used to pass, her prayers for to say,  
While at the last upon a solemn day,   

As custom was, the people far and ne'er  
Before the noon unto the temple went,  
With sacrifice devout in their manner,  
But still Creseide heavy in her intent,  
Into the Church would nat herself present,  
For giving as of the people any deeming,  
Of her expulse from Diomedes the King.   

But passed into a secret oratore,  
Where she might weep her woeful destiny,  
Behind her back she closed fast the door,  
And on her knees bare fell down in high,  
Upon Venus and Cupid angrily,  
She cried out, and said in this wise,  
Alas that ever I made you sacrifice.   

Ye gave me ones a divine responsaile,  
That I should be the flower of love in Troy,  
Now am I made an unworthy outwaile,  
And all in care translated is my joy:  
Who shall me guide, who shall me now convoie,  
Sith I fro Diomedes, and noble Troilus  
Am clean excluded, as abject odious?   

O false Cupid, none is to wit but thou  
And the mother of love, that blind goddace,  
Ye caused me understand always and trow  
The seed of love was sown on my face,  
And aye grew green through your sople grace  
But now alas, that seed with frost is slain,  
And I fro lovers left and all forlaine.   

When was this said, down in an ecstasy  
Ravished in spirit, in a dream she fell,  
And by appearance heard where she did lie,  
Cupid the King tinging a silver bell,  
Which men might here from heaven into hell:  
At whose sound before Cupid aperes,  
The seven planets descending from their spears.   

Which hath power of all thing generable,  
To rule and steer by their great influence,  
Weder and wind, and course variable:  
And first of all Saturn gave his sentence,  
Which gave to Cupid little reverence,  
But as a boistous chorle in his manner,  
Came crabbedly with austrine look & cheer.   

His face frounsed, his lere was like the lead,  
His teeth chattered, & shivered with that chin,  
His eien drouped hole sunken in his heed,  
Out at his nose the mildrop fast 'gan rin,  
With lips blo, and cheeks lean and thin,  
The Iseickeles that fro his here down hung,  
Was wonder great, and as a spear as long.   

Attour his belt his liart locks lay,  
Feltered unfair, over fret with frosts hoore,  
His garment and his gate full gay of grey,  
His widdred weed from him the wind out wore,  
A boistous bow within his hand he bore,  
Under his girdle a fashe of felon flains,  
Feddred with i se, and heeded with holstains.   

Then jupiter right fair and amiable,  
God of the stars in the firmament,  
And norice to all thing generable,  
From his father Saturn far different,  
With burly face, & brows bright and brent,  
Upon his heed a garland wonders gay,  
Of flours fair, as it had been in May.   

His voice was clear, as crystal was his eien,  
As golden wire so glittering was his hair,  
His garment and his gite full gay of green,  
With golden lists guilt on every gear,  
A burly brand about his middle he bear,  
And in his right hand he had a grounden spear,  
Of his father, the wroth from us to bear.   

Next after him came Mars the God ofrei,  
Of strife, debate, and all discensioun,  
To chide and fight, as fierce as any fire,  
In hard harness hewmonde & habergioun,  
And on his haunch a rusty fell fauchoun,  
And in his hand he had a rusty sword,  
Writhing his face, with many angry word.   

Shaking his brand, before Cupid he come  
With reed visage, and grisly glowing eien,  
And at his mouth a blubber stood of foam,  
Like to a Boar, whetting his tusks keen,  
Right tulsure like, but temperance in tene,  
An horn blewe with many boustous brag,  
Which all this world with war hath made to wag.   

Then fair Phoebus, lantern & lamp of light,  
Of man and beast, both fruit and flourishing,  
Tender norice, and banisher of night,  
And of the world, causing by his moving  
And influence, life in all earthly thing,  
Without comfort of whom of force to nought,  
Must go die, that all this world hath wrought.   

As king royal, he road upon a chare,  
The which Phiton sometime gided unright,  
The brightness of his face when it was bare,  
Non might behold, for piercing of his sight:  
This golden cart with fiery beams bright,  
Four yoked steads full different of hue,  
'Bout bait or tiring through the spheres drew.   

The first was sord, with mane as read as rose  
Called Eoye into the Orient,  
The second stead to name, height Ethiose,  
Whitely and pale, and somedeal ascendent,  
The third Perose, right hot & eke fervent,  
The fourth was black, called Phlegone,  
Which rolleth Phoebus down into the see.   

Venus was there present, that gods gay  
Her son's quarrel to defend and make  
His own complaint, clad in a nice array  
The one half green, tother half sable black  
White here as Gold, kembet and shed abake,  
But in her face seemed great variance,  
While perfect truth, & whiles inconstance.   

Under smiling she was dissimulate,  
Provocative with blinkes amorous,  
And suddenly changed and alterate,  
Angry, as any ferpent venomous:  
Right pungitive with words odious,  
Thus vigilant she was who list take keep,  
* With one eye laugh, & with the other weep.   

In tokening that all fleshly paramour,  
Which Venus hath in rule and governance,  
Is sometime sweet, sometime bitter and sour,  
Right unstable and full of variance:  
Minged with careful joy & false pleasance,  
Now hot, now cold, now blithe, now full of woe,  
Now green as lief, now widred and ago.   

With book in hand, then come Mercurious  
Right eloquent and full of rethorie,  
With polite terms and delicious,  
With pen and ink to report all ready,  
Setting songs, and singing merely,  
His hood was reed hecled attour his crown,  
Like till a Poet of the old fasioun.   

Boxes he bore with fine electuares,  
And sugared siropes for digestion,  
Spices belonging to the potiquares,  
With many wholesome sweet confection:  
Doctor in physic cledde in a scarlet goun,  
And furred well as such one ought to be,  
Honest and good, and nat a word couth lie.   

Next after him come lady Sinthia,  
The last of all, and swiftest in her sphere,  
Of colour black, busked with horns twa,  
And in the night she listeth best tapere,  
Hawe as the lead, of colour nothing clear,  
For all the light she borroweth at her brother  
Titan, for of herself she hath none other.   

Her gite was grey and full of spots black,  
And on her breast a chorle painted full even,  
Bearing a bush of thorns on his bake,  
Which for his theft might climb no ne'er the heaven:  
Thus when they gathered were the god's seven,  
Mercurius they choosed with one assent,  
To be forespeker in the Parliament.   

Who had been there and liking for to here  
His fecund tongue and terms exquisite,  
Of rhetoric the practic he might lere,  
In brief sermon, a preignant sentence write:  
Before Cupid vailing his cap a light,  
Sperato is the cause of that vocacioun,  
And he anon shown his entencioun.   

Lo (qd. Cupid) who wol blaspheme the name  
Of his own God, either in word or deed,  
To all gods he doth both loss and shame  
And should have bitter pains to his meed:  
I say this by yonder wretch Creseide,  
The which through me was sometime flour of love  
Me & my mother she stately can reprove.   

Saying of her great infelicite  
I was the cause, and my mother Venus  
She called a blind gods & might nat see,  
With slander and defame injurious,  
Thus her living unclean and lecherous,  
She would retort in me and my mother,  
To whom I shown my grace above all other.   

And scythe ye are all seven deficate,  
Perticipant of divine sapience,  
This great injury done to our high estate,  
Me think with pain we should make recompense  
Was never to gods done such violence,  
As well for you as for myself I say,  
Therefore go help to revenge I you pray.   

Mercurius to Cupid gave answer  
And said, sir king, my counsel is that ye  
Refer you to the highest planet here,  
And take to him the lowest of degree,  
The pain of Creseide for to modify,  
As God Saturn with him take Sinthia,  
I am content (qd. he) to take they twa.   

Then thus proceeded Saturn & the Moon,  
When they the mater ripely had digest,  
For the despite to Cupid that she had done,  
And to Venus open and manifest,  
In all her life with pain to be oppressed,  
And torment sore, with sickness incurable,  
And to all lovers be abominable.   

This doleful sentence Saturn took in hand,  
And passed down where careful Creseide lay,  
And on her heed he laid a frosty wand,  
Then lawfully on this wise 'gan he say,  
Thy great fairness, and all thy beauty gay,  
Thy wanton blood, and eke thy golden here,  
Here I exclude from thee for evermeere.   

I change thy mirth into melancholy,  
Which is the mother of all pensiveness,  
Thy moister & thy heat, into cold and dry,  
Thine insolence, thy play, & thy wantonness  
To great disease, thy pomp and thy richesses,  
Into mortal need and great penury,  
Thou suffer shalt, and as a beggar die.   

O cruel Saturn, froward and angry,  
Hard is thy doom, and too malicious,  
Of fair Creseide why hast thou no mercy,  
Which was so sweet, gentle and amorous,  
Withdraw thy sentence and be gracious,  
As thou were never, so showeth through thy deed,  
A wrekeful sentence given on Creseide.   

Then Sinthia, when Saturn passed away,  
Out of her seat, descended down believe,  
And read a bill on Creseide where she lay,  
Containing this sentence diffinitive:  
Fro heal of body here I thee deprive,  
And to thy sickness shall be no recure,  
But in dolour thy days to endure.   

Thy crystal iyen menged with blood I make,  
Thy voice so clear, unpleasant here and hace,  
Thy lusty lere overspred with spots black,  
And lumps hawe appearing in thy face,  
Where thou comest each man shall fly the place,  
Thus shalt thou go begging from house to house  
With cup and clapper like a Lazarous.   

This doolie dream, this ugly visioun  
Brought till an end, Creseide fro it awoke,  
And all that court and convocatioun,  
Vanished away: then rose she up and took  
A polished glass, and her shadow couth look,  
And when she saw her visage so deformate,  
If she in hart were woe, I ne wit God wait.   

Weeping full sore, lo what it is (qd. she)  
With froward langage to move and steer  
Our crabbed Gods, and so is seen on me,  
My blaspheming now have I bought full dear,  
All earthly joy and mirth I set arere,  
Alas this day, alas this woeful tide,  
When I began with my Gods to chide.   

Be this was said, a child came fro the hall  
To warn Creseide the supper was ready,  
First knocked at the door, and eft couth call,  
Madam, your father biddeth you cum in high  
He hath marvel so long on grofe ye lie,  
And saith your beads bethe to long somedeal,  
The Gods wot all your intent full well.   

(Qd. she) fair child, go to my father dear  
And pray him come to speak with me anon,  
And so he did, and said daughter what cheer,  
Alas (qd. she) father, my mirth is gone,  
How so (qd. he) and she can all expon,  
As I have told, the vengeance, & the wreck,  
For her trespass, Cupid on her couth take.   

He looked on her ugly Lepers face,  
The which before was white as Lely flower,  
Wring his hands, oft times said alace  
That he had lived to see that woeful hour:  
For he knew well that there was no succour  
To her sickness, and that doubled his pain,  
Thus was their care enough betwixt him twain.   

When they together mourned had full long,  
(Qd. Creseide) father, I would nat be kend,  
Therefore in secret wise ye let me gang  
To yond Hospital at the towns end:  
And thither some meat for charity me send,  
To live upon, for all mirth in this yearth  
Is from me gone, such is my wicked wearth.   

When in a mantle, and a Beaver hat,  
With cup and clapper wonder prively,  
He opened a secret gate and out thereat  
Conveied her, that no man should espy,  
There to a village half a mile thereby,  
Delivered her in at the Spittle house,  
And daily sent her part of his almous.   

Sum knew her well, & sum had no knowledge  
Of her, because she was so deformate,  
With biles black overspred in her visage,  
And her fair colour faded and alterate:  
Yet they presumed for her high regrate,  
And still mourning, she was of noble kin,  
With bitter will there they took her in.   

The day passed, and Phoebus went to rest,  
The clouds black overwheled all the Sky,  
God wot if Creseide were a sorrowful gest,  
Seing that uncouth fare and herborie:  
But meat or drink, she dressed her to lie  
In a dark corner of the house alone,  
And on this wise weeping she made her moan.   

The Complaint of Creseide.  

O Sop of sorrow sunken into care,  
O caitiff Creseide now and evermare,  
Gon is thy joy and all thy mirth in yearth,  
Of all blitheness now art thou black and bare  
There is no salve may help thy sare,  
Fell is thy fortune, wicked is thy werth  
Thy bliss is vanished and thy bale unberde,  
Under the great God if I graven ware,  
Where men of Grece ne yet of Troie might herd.   

Where is thy chamber wantonly beseen,  
With burly bed and bankers brouded been,  
Spices and wine to thy colatioun,  
The cups all of gold and silver sheen,  
Thy sweet meats served in plates clean,  
With savery sauce of a good fashioun,  
Thy gay garments with many goodly goun,  
Thy pleasant saune pinned with golden pene,  
All is arere thy great royal renown.   

Where is thy gardien with thy greces gay  
And fresh flowers, which the queen Floray  
Had painted pleasantly in every way,  
Where thou were wont full merrily in May  
To walk, & take the dew by it was day,  
And hear the Merle & Mavile many one,  
With Ladies fair in carrolling to gone,  
And see the royal renkes in their ray.   

This leper loge take for thy goodly bower,  
And for thy bed, take now a bounche of stro,  
For wailed wine and meats thou had tho,  
Take mouled bread, pirate, and cider sour  
But cup and clapper is all now ago.   

My clear voice and my courtly carrolling,  
Is rank as roke, full hideous here and hace  
Deformed is the figure of my face,  
To look on it no people hath liking,  
So sped in sight, I say with sore sighing  
Lying among the leper folk alas.   

O Ladies fair of Troy and Grece attend  
My freile fortune, mine infelicite,  
My great mischief which no man can amend,  
And in your mind a mirror make of me:  
As I am now paraventure that ye,  
For all your might may come to the same end,  
Or else worse, if any worse may be,  
Beware therefore approaches near your end.   

* Nought is your fairness but a fading flower,  
Nought is your famous laud & high honour,  
But wind inflate in other men's ears,  
Your rosing red to rotting shall retoure,  
Exemple make of me in your memore:  
Which of such things, woeful witness bears,  
* All wealth in yearth, as wind away it wears,  
Beware therefore approaches near your hour.   

Thus chiding with her dreary disteny,  
Weeping, she work the Night from end to end,  
But all in vain her dole, her careful cry  
Might not remedy, ne yet her mourning mend,  
A leper Lady rose, & to her wend,  
And said, Why spurns thou again the wall,  
To slay thyself, and mend nothing at all?   

Sith that thy weeping but doubleth thy woe,  
* I counsel thee make virtue of a need,  
Go learn to clap thy clapper to and fro,  
And learn after the law of lepers lead.  
There was no boat but forthwith then she go  
Fro place to place, while cold & hunger sore  
Compelled her to be a rank beggore.   

That same time of Troy the garnisoun,  
Which had the chieftain worthy Troilus  
Through jeopardy of war had stricken down,  
Knights of Grece in number marvellous,  
With great triumph, and laud victorious,  
Again to Troy right royally they road,  
The way where Creseide with the leper stood.   

Seeing that company come, all with o stevin  
They gave a cry, & shaken cups good speed  
Worthy lords, for God's love of hevin,  
To us seper, part of your almose deed:  
Then to her cry noble Troilus took heed,  
Having pite, ne'er by the place 'gan pass,  
Where Creseide sat, nat witting with she was.   

Then upon him she kest up both her iyens,  
And with a blink it come in till his thought,  
That he sometime her face before had sein,  
But she was in such plight he knew her nought,  
Yet than her look into his mind he brought,  
The sweet visage, and amorous blenking,  
Offaire Creseid, sometime his own darling,   

No wonder was, suppose in mind that he  
Took her figure so soon, and lo now why,  
* The Idol of a thing in case may be  
So deep enprinted in the fantasy,  
That it deludeth the wits outwardly,  
And so appeareth in form and like estate,  
Within the mind, as it was figurate.   

A spark of love then till his hartcouth spring,  
And kindled his body in a fire,  
With hot fever, in sweat, and trembling  
Him took, while he was ready to exspire,  
To hear his shield his breast began to tyre,  
Within a while he changed many a hue,  
And nevertheless nat one an other knew.   

For knightly pite and memoriell  
Of fair Creseide, a girdle 'gan he take,  
A purse of gold and many a gay jewel,  
And in the skirt of Creseide down 'gan shake:  
Then road away, and nat a word he spoke,  
pensive in hart while he came to the town,  
And for great care oft sith almost fell down.   

The leper folk to Creseide then couth draw,  
To see the equal distributioun  
Of the almose, but when the gold they saw,  
Each one to other privily can room,  
And said, yond lord hath more affection,  
How ever it be, unto yond Lazarous  
Than to us all, we know by his almous.   

What lord is yond (qd. she) have ye no feel,  
That doth to us so great humanity?  
Yes qd. a leper man, I know him well  
Sir Troilus it is, a knight gentle and free.  
When Creseide understood that it was he,  
Stiffer than steel there start a bitter stound,  
Throughout her heart, & fill down to the ground.   

When she over come with sighing sore & sad,  
With many a careful cry and cold atone,  
Now is my breast with stormy stounds stad,  
Wrapped in woe wretchfull will of one,  
Then fell in swoon full oft or she would fone,  
And ever in her swooning cried she thus,  
O false Creseide, and true knight Troilus.   

Thy love, thy laud, & all thy gentleness,  
I counted small in my prosperity,  
So effated I was in wantonness,  
And clomb upon the fickle wheel so high,  
All faith and love I promitted to thee,  
Was in thyself fekell and furious,  
O false Creseide, and true knight Troilus.   

For love of me thou kept countenance,  
Honest and chaste in conversation,  
Of all women protector and defence  
Thou were, and helped their opinion:  
My mind and fleshly foul affection  
Was inclined to lusts lecherous,  
Fie false Creseide, O true knight Troilus.   

Lovers beware, and take good heed about  
Whom that ye love, for when ye suffer pain,  
I let you wit there is right few throughout,  
Whom ye may trust to have true love again,  
Prove when ye wool your labour is in vain,  
Therefore I read ye take them as ye find,  
For they are sad as Wedercocke in wind.   

Because I know the great unstableness,  
Brittle as glass, unto myself I say,  
Trusting in other as great brutelnesse,  
As inconstant, and as untrue of faith:  
Though some be true, I wot right few are they,  
Who findeth truth, let him his lady ruse,  
None but myself as now I wool accuse.   

When this was said, with paper she sat down  
And in this manner made her testament:  
Here I bequeatheth my corpse and carioun,  
With worms and with Toodes to be rend,  
My cup, my clapper, and mine ornament,  
And all my gold, these leper folk shall have,  
When I am dead, to bury me in grave.   

This royal ring set with this Ruby red,  
Which Troilus in dowry to me send,  
To him again I leave it when I am dead,  
To make my careful death unto him kend:  
Thus I conclude shortly and make an end,  
My spirit I leave to Diane where she dwells,  
To walk with her in waste woods & wells.   

O Diomedes thou hast both broche & belt,  
Which Troilus gave me, in tokening  
Of his true love, & with that word she swelled,  
And soon a leper man took off the ring,  
Then buried her withouten tarrying,  
To Troilus forthwith the ring he bore,  
And of Creseide the death he 'gan declare.   

When he had heard her great infirmity,  
Her legacy, and lamentacioun,  
And how she ended in such poverte,  
He swelled for woe and fell down in a swoon,  
For sorrow his hart to braced was boun,  
Sighing full sadly said, I can no more,  
She was untrue, and woe is me therefore.   

Some saith he made a tomb of marble grey,  
And wrote her name & superscripcioun,  
And laid it on her grave whereas she lay,  
In golden letters, containing this reasoun:   

Lo fair Fadies, Creseide of Troie town,  
Sometime counted the flower of womanhood,  
Under this stone, late leper lieth dead.   

Now worthy women in this ballad short,  
Made for your worship and instruction,  
Of charity I monish and exhort,  
Minge not your love with false disception:  
Bear in your mind this sore conclusion  
Of fair Creseide, as I have said before,  
Sith she is dead, I speak of her no more.     

The Legend of good Women.  
For that some Ladies in the Court took offence at Chaucer's large speeches against the untruth of Women, the Queen enjoined him to compile this Book in the commendation of sundry Maidens and Wives, who showed themselves faithful to faithless men.  


A Thousand times I have heard men tell,  
That there is joy in heaven, & pain in hell,  
And I accord it well that it is so,  
But nevertheless yet wot I well also,  
That there nis non dwelling in this country,  
That either hath in heaven or in hell ibe,  
Ne may of it none other ways witten,  
But as he heard said, or found it written,  
For by assay there may no man it preve.  
But God forbid but men should leve  
Well more thing than they have seen with iye,  
Men shall nat we●en every thing a lie  
But if himself it seeth, or else it doth,  
For God wot thing is never the less sooth,  
Though every wight ne may it not isee.  
Bernarde the Monk ne saugh all pard,  
Then moat we to books that we find,  
(Through which the old things been in mind)  
And to the doctrine of the old wise,  
Yeve credence, in every skilful wise,  
That tell of the old appreved stories,  
Of holiness, of reigns, of victories,  
Of love, of hate, and other sundry things,  
Of which I may not make rehearsing:  
* And if that old books were away,  
Ilorne were of all remembrance the key.  
Well ought us then, honourens & believe  
These books, there we han none other preve.  
And as for me, though that I can but light,  
On books for to read I me delight,  
And to him yeve I faith and full credence,  
And in mine heart have him in reverence  
So hertely, that there is game none,  
That fro my books maketh me to gone,  
But it be seldom on the holy day,  
Save certainly, when that the month of May  
Is comen, and that I hear the fowls sing,  
And that the flowers ginnen for to spring,  
Farewell my book, and my devotion,  
Now have I then eke this condition,  
That of all the flowers in the Mede,  
Then love I most these flowers white & read,  
such that men call Daisies in our town,  
To him I have so great affection,  
As I said erst, when comen is the May,  
That in my bed there daweth me no day,  
That I nam up and walking in the Mede,  
To seen this flower against the Sun spread,  
When it up riseth early by the morrow,  
That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow,  
So glad am I, when that I have presence  
Of it, to done it all reverence,  
As she that is of all flours' flower,  
Fulfilled of all virtue and honour,  
And every ilike fair, and fresh of hue  
And ever I love it, and ever ilike new,  
And ever shall, till that mine heart die,  
All swear I not, of this I wool not lie.  
There loved no wight hotter in his life,  
And when that it is eve I run blithe,  
As soon as ever the Sun ginneth West,  
To seen this flower, how it wool go to rest,  
For fear of night, so hateth she darkness,  
Her cheer is plainly spread in the brightness  
Of the Sun, for there it wool unclose:  
Alas that I ne had English rhyme, or prose  
suffissant, this flower to praise aright,  
But helpeth ye, that han cunning and might,  
Ye lovers that can make of sentement,  
In this case ought ye be diligent,  
To forthren me somewhat in my labour,  
Whether ye been with the lief or with the flour,  
For well I wot, that ye han here before  
Of making, ropen, and had always the corn,  
And I come after, glening here and there,  
And am full glad, if I may find an ear,  
Of any goodly word that ye han left,  
And though it happen me to rehearsen eft,  
That ye han in your fresh songs said,  
Forbeareth me, and beth not evil apaid,  
Sith that ye se, I do it in the honour  
Of love, and eke of service of the flour,  
Whom that I serve, as I have wit or might,  
She is the clearness and the very light,  
That in this dark world me wint and leadeth  
The hart within my sorrowful breast you dreadeth,  
And loveth so sore, that ye ben verily  
The masters of my wit, and nothing I,  
My word, my works, is knit so in your bond  
That as an harp obeyeth to the hand,  
And make it son after his fingering,  
Right so mow ye out of mine hart bring,  
such voice, right as you list, to laugh or pain,  
Be ye my guide, and Lady sovereign,  
As to mine earthly God, to you I call,  
Both in this work, and my sorrows all,  
But wherefore that I spoke to yeve credence  
To old stories, and done him reverence,  
And that men musten more thing bileve  
That men may seen at iye or else preve,  
That shall I sein, when that I see my time,  
I may nat all atones speak in rhyme,  
My busy ghost, that thirsteth always new,  
To seen this flour so young, so fresh of hue,  
Constrained me, with so greedy desire,  
That in my heart I feel yet the fire,  
That made me rise ere it were day,  
And this was now the first morrow of May,  
With dreadful heart, and glad devotion  
For to been at the resurrection  
Of this flower, when that it should unclose,  
Again the Sun, that rose as red as rose,  
That in the breast was of the beast that day,  
That Angenores' daughter lad away:  
And down on knees anon right I me set,  
And as I could, this fresh flower I great:  
Kneeling always, till it unclosed was,  
Upon the small, soft, sweet grass,  
That was with flowers sweet embrouded all,  
Of such sweetness, and such odour over all,  
That for to speak of gum, herb, or tree,  
Comparison may not imaked be,  
For it surmounteth plainly all odours,  
And of rich beauty of flowers,  
Forgotten had the yearth his poor estate  
Of Winter, that him naked made & mate,  
And with his sword of cloud so sore greved,  
Now hath the attempre sun all that releved  
That naked was, and clad it new again,  
The small fowls of the season fain,  
That of the panter and the net been scaped,  
Upon the fouler, that hem made awhaped  
In Winter, and destroyed had her brood,  
In his despite hem thought it did him good  
To sing of him, and in her song despise  
The foul chorle, that for his covetise,  
Had him betrayed, with his Sophistry,  
This was her song, The fouler we defy,  
And all his craft: and some songen clear,  
Lays of Love, that joy it was to here,  
In worshipping and praising of her make,  
And for the new blissful Summer's sake,  
Upon the branches full of blossoms soft,  
In her dilite, they turned him full oft,  
And songen, blissed be saint Valentine,  
For on his day I cheese you to be mine,  
Withouten repenting mine heart sweet,  
And therewithal her bekes gonnen meet,  
Yielding honour, and humble obeisance  
To love and didden her other observance  
That longeth unto love, and unto nature,  
conster we that as you list, I do no cure:  
And though that had done unkindness,  
As doth the Tidife, for new fangleness,  
Besought mercy of her trespasing,  
And humbly song her repenting,  
And sworens on the blossoms to be true,  
So that her makes would upon hem rue,  
And at the last maden her accord,  
All found they Danger for the time a lord,  
Yet Pite, through his strong gentle might,  
Foryave, and made Mercy passen right  
Through Innocence, and ruled Courtesy:  
But I ne cleape it not Innocence folly,  
Ne false pite, for virtue is the mean,  
As Eticke saith, in such manner I mean.  
And thus these foul, void of all malice,  
Acordeden to Love, and laften vice  
Of hate, and song all of one accord,  
Welcome Summer, our governor & lord.  
And Zephyrus, and Flora gentle,  
gave to the flowers soft and tenderly,  
Her swote breath, and made him for to spread,  
As God and Goddess of the flourie Mede,  
In which me thought I might day by day,  
Dwellen always, the jolly month of May,  
Withouten sleep, withouten meat or drink,  
Adown full softly I 'gan to sink,  
And leaning on my elbow and my side,  
The long day I shaped me for to abide,  
For nothing else, and I shall nat lie,  
But for to look upon the Daisy,  
That well by reason men it call may  
The Daisy, or else the iye of the day,  
The emprise, and flower of flowers all,  
I pray to God that fair mote she fall,  
And all that loven flowers, for her sake,  
But nevertheless, ne ween nat that I make  
In praising of the flower again the lief,  
No more than of the corn again the shefe:  
For as to me nis lever none ne other,  
I nam withholden yet with never nother,  
Ne I not who serveth lief, ne who the flower,  
Well brouken they her service or labour,  
For this thing is all of another ton,  
Of old story, er soch thing was begun,  
When that the sun out the South 'gan West,  
And that this flower 'gan close, and 'gan to rest,  
For darkness of the night, the which she dread,  
Home to mine house full swiftly I me sped  
To gone to rest, and early for to rise,  
To seen this flower to spread, as I devise,  
And in a little herber that I have,  
That benched was on turfs fresh igrave,  
I bad men should me my couch make,  
For dainty of the new Summer's sake,  
I bade him strawen flowers on my bed,  
When I was laid, and had mine iyens head,  
I fell a sleep, and slept an hour or two,  
Me met how I lay in the Meadow tho,  
To seen this flower, that I love so and dread,  
And from a far came walking in the Mede  
The God of Love, and in his hand a Queen,  
And she was clad in royal habit green,  
A fret of gold she had next her here,  
And upon that a white crown she bear,  
With flourouns small, and I shall not lie,  
For all the world right as a Daisy  
Icrouned is, with white leaves light,  
So were the florouns of her crown white,  
For of o pearl fine oriental,  
Her white crown was imaked all,  
For which the white crown, above the green,  
Made her like a Daisy for to seem,  
Considered eke her fret of gold above:  
Iclothed was this mighty God of Love  
In silk embroided, full of green greves,  
In which a fret of red rose leves,  
The freshest sens the world was first begun,  
His gilt here was crowned with a son,  
In stead of gold, for heaviness and weight,  
Therewith me thought his face shone so bright  
That well unneaths might I him behold,  
And in his hand, me thought I saw him hold  
Two fiery darts, as the gledes read,  
And Angelic his wings saw I spread:  
And all be that men said, that blind is he,  
Algate me thought that he might see,  
For sternly on me he 'gan behold,  
So that his looking doth mine hart cold,  
And by the hand he held this noble Queen,  
Crowned with white, & clothed all in green,  
So womanly, so benign, and so meek,  
That in this world though that men would seek,  
Half her beauty should they not find  
In creature that form is by kind,  
And therefore may I said as thinketh me,  
This song in praising of this Lady free.   

Hide Absalon thy guilt tresses clear,  
Hester lay thou thy meekness all adown,  
Hide jonathas all thy friendly manner,  
Penelopee, and Marcia Catoun,  
Make of your wifehode no comparisoun,  
Hide your beauties, Isoude and Helein,  
My Lady cometh, that all this may distain.   

Thy fair body let it not appear,  
Lavine, and thou Lucrece of Rome town,  
And Polyxena, that boughten love so dear,  
And Cleopatras, with all thy passion,  
Hide your truth of love, and your renown,  
And thou Tisbe, that hast of love soch pain,  
My Lady cometh, that all this may distain.   

Hero, Dido, Laodomia, all ifere,  
And Phillis, hanging for Demophoun,  
And Canace, espied by thy cheer,  
Hipsiphile betrayed with jasoun:  
Maketh of your troth neither boast ne sound,  
Nor Hipermistre, or Ariadne, ye twain,  
My Lady cometh, that all this may distain.   

This ballad may full well isongen be,  
As I have said erst, by my Lady fire,  
For certainly, all these mow not suffice,  
To apperens with my Lady in no wise,  
For as the Sun wool the fire distain,  
So passeth all my lady sovereign,  
That is so good, so fair, so debonair,  
I pray to God that ever fall her fair,  
For nad comfort been of her presence,  
I had been dead, withouten any defence,  
For dread of Love's words, and his cheer,  
As when time is, hereafter ye shall here.  
Behind this God of Love upon the green,  
I saw coming of Lady's nineteen,  
In royal habit, a full easy pace,  
And after hem came of women such a trace,  
That sens that God, Adam had made of earth,  
The third part of mankind, or the ferth,  
Ne wend I not by possibility,  
Had ever in this wide world ibe,  
And true of love, these women were echon,  
Now whether was that a wonder thing or non,  
That right anon, as that they gone espy  
This flower, which that I clepe the Daisy,  
Full suddenly they stinten all at ones,  
And kneeled down, as it were for the nonce,  
And songen with o voice, heal and honour  
To troth of womanhead, and to this flour,  
That beareth our alderprise in figuring,  
Her white crown beareth the witnessing,  
And with that word, a compass enviroun,  
They sitten him full softly adown:  
First sat the god of Love, and sith his queen,  
With the white crown, clad all in green,  
And sithence all the remnant by and by,  
As they were of estate, full courteously,  
Ne not a word was spoken in the place,  
The maintenance of a furlong way of space.  
I kneeling by this flower, in good intent  
Abode to known what this people meant,  
As still as any stone, till at the last  
This God of Love, on me his iyens cast,  
And said, who kneeleth there? and I answer  
Unto his ask, when that I it heard,  
And said, sir it am I, and come him ne'er,  
And salved him: (qd. he) what dost thou here,  
So nigh mine own flower, so boldly?  
It were better worthy truly,  
A worm to nighen near my flower than thou.  
And why sir (qd. I) and it like you?  
For thou (qd. he) art thereto nothing able,  
It is my relic, digne and delitable,  
And thou my foe, and all my folk werriest,  
And of mine old servaunts thou missaiest,  
And hind'rest him, with thy translation,  
And lettest folk from her devotion,  
To serve me, and holdest it folly  
To serve Love, thou mayst it nat deny,  
For in plain text, withouten need of gloze,  
Thou hast translated the Romaunt of the rose,  
That is an heresy against my law,  
And makest wise folk from me withdraw;  
And of Creseide, thou hast said as the list,  
That maketh men to women less trist,  
That been as true as ever was any steel:  
Of thine answer avise thee right well,  
For though thou renied hast my lay,  
As other wretches have done many a day,  
By saint Venus, that my mother is,  
If that thou live, thou shalt repenten this,  
So cruelly, that it shall well be seen.  
Tho spoke this lady, clothed all in green  
And said, God right of your courtesy,  
Ye moat harken if he can reply  
Against all this that ye have to him meved,  
A God ne should nat be thus agreved,  
But of his deite he shall be stable,  
And thereto gracious and merciable:  
And if ye ne'er a God that known all,  
Then might it be as I you tell shall,  
This man to you may falsely been accused,  
That as by right, him ought ben excused,  
For in your court is many a losengeour,  
And many a queinte totoler accuser,  
That tabourens in your ears many a sound,  
Right after her imaginacioun,  
To have your dalliance, and for envy,  
These been the causes, and I shall nat lie,  
Envy is lavender of the court always,  
For she ne parteth neither night ne day,  
Out of the house of Cesar, thus saith Dant,  
Who so that goeth algate she wol nat want.  
And eke peraunter for this man is nice,  
He might done it, guessing no malice,  
But for he useth things for to make,  
Him recketh nought of what mater he take,  
Or him was bode make thilk twey,  
Of some person, and durst it nat withsey:  
Or him repenteth utterly of this,  
He ne hath nat done so grevously amiss,  
To translaten that old clerks written,  
As though that he of malice would enditen,  
Despite of love, and had himself it wrought,  
This should a rightwise lord have in his thought,  
And nat be like tyrants of Lombardie,  
That han no reward but at tyranny,  
* For he that king or lord is naturel,  
Him ought nat be tyrant ne cruel,  
As is a farmer, to done the harm he can,  
He must think it is his liege man,  
And is his treasure, and his gold in coffer:  
This is the sentence of the Philosopher,  
A king to keep his liege's in justice,  
Withouten doubt that is his office,  
All wool he keep his lords in her degree,  
As it is right and skill, that they be  
Enhanced and honoured, and most dear,  
For they been half gods in this world here,  
Yet moat he done both right to poor & rich,  
All be that her estate be nat both iliche,  
And have of poor folk compassion,  
For lo, the gentle kind of the lion,  
For when a fly offendeth him or biteth,  
He with his tail away the fly smiteth,  
All easily, for of his gentry,  
Him deigneth nat to wreak him on a fly,  
As doth a cur, or else another be'st,  
* In noble courage ought been areest,  
And waien every thing by equity,  
And ever have regard unto his own degree:  
For sir, it is no mastery for a lord  
To damn a man, without answer of word,  
And for a lord, that is full foul to use  
And it so be, he may him nat excuse,  
But asketh mercy with a dreadful heart,  
And proffereth him, right in his bare shirt  
To ben right at your own judgement.  
Then ought a God by short avisement,  
Consider his own honour, and his trespass,  
For sith no cause of death lieth in this case,  
You ought to been the lightlier merciable,  
Lets your ire, & bethe somewhat treatable:  
The man hath served you of his conninges,  
And forthred well your law in his makings,  
All be it that he can nat well indite,  
Yet hath he made lewd folk delight  
To serve you, in preising of your name,  
He made the book, that height, The house of fame,  
And eke the death of Blaunche the Duchess,  
And the Parliament of Foules, as I guess,  
And all the love of Palamon and Arcite  
Of Thebes, though the story is known li●e,  
And many an Himpne, for your holy days,  
That heighten ballads, rondels, virelays:  
And for to speak of other holiness,  
He hath in prose translated Boece,  
And made the life also of saint Cecile:  
He made also, gone is a great while,  
Origenes upon the Maudelaine:  
Him ought now to have the less pain,  
He hath made many a ley, and many a thing.  
Now as ye be a God, and eke a king,  
I your Alceste, whilom queen of Trace,  
I ask you this man right of your grace,  
That ye him never hurt in all his live,  
And he shall swearen to you, and that believe,  
He shall never more agilten in this wise,  
But shall maken as ye wool devise,  
Of women true in loving all her life,  
Where so ye wool, of maiden or of wife,  
And forthren you as much as he misseide,  
Or in the Rose, or else in Creseide.  
The God of Love answer her thus anon,  
Madam (qd. he) it is so long agone,  
That I you knew, so charitable and true,  
That never yet, since the world was new,  
To me ne found I better none than ye,  
If that I wool save my degree:  
I may nor wool nat werne your request,  
All lieth in you, doth with him as you lest.  
I all foryeve withouten longer space,  
* For who so yeveth a yefte or doth a grace,  
Do it betime, his thank shall be the more,  
And deemeth ye what ye shall do therefore.  
Go thank now my lady here (qd. he)  
I rose, and down I set me on my knee,  
And said thus: Madam, the God above  
For yield you that the God of Love  
Have maked me his wrath to foryeve,  
And grace so long for to live,  
That I may know soothly what ye be,  
That have me holpen, and put in this degree,  
But truly I wend, as in this case  
Nought have a guilt, ne done to love trespass,  
* For why a true man withouten dread,  
Hath nat to parten with a thiefs deed.  
Ne a true lover ought me nat to blame,  
Though that I speak a false lover some shame:  
They ought rather with me for to hold,  
For that I of Creseide wrote or told,  
Or of the Rose, what so mine author meant,  
Algate God wot it was mine intent  
To forthren troth in love, and it cherice  
And to ben ware from falseness and fro vice,  
By which ensample, this was my meaning.  
And she answer, let be thine arguing,  
For love ne wol not counterpleted be,  
In right ne wrong, and learn that of me:  
Thou hast thy grace, & hold the right thereto  
Now wool I sane with penance thou shalt do  
For thy trespass, understand it here,  
Thou shalt while that thou livest year by year,  
The most party of thy time spend,  
In making of a glorious legend,  
Of good women, maidens, and wives,  
That weren true in loving all her lives,  
And tell of false men that him betraien,  
That all her life ne do nat but assaien  
How many women they may done a shame,  
For in your world that is now hold a game:  
And though thee like nat a lover be,  
Speke well of love, this penance yeve I thee,  
And to the God of love I shall so pray,  
That he shall charge his servants by any way,  
To forthren thee, and well thy labour quite,  
Go now thy way, this penance is but light:  
And when this book is made, yeve it the queen  
On my behalf, at Eltham, or at Shene.  
The God of love 'gan smile, and then he said:  
Wost thou (qd. he) where this be wife or maid,  
Or queen, or countess, or of what degree,  
That hath so little penance yeven thee,  
That hast deserved sore for to smart,  
* But pite runeth soon in gentle hart:  
That mayst thou seen, she kitheth what she is?  
And I answer, nay sir so have I bliss,  
No more, but that I see well she is good.  
That is a true tale by mine hood,  
(Qd. Love) and thou knowest well pard,  
If it be so that thou avise the,  
Hast thou nat in a book in thy chest,  
The great goodness of the queen Alceste,  
That turned was into a Daiesie,  
She that for her husband cheese to die,  
And eke to gone to hell, rather than he,  
And Hercules rescued her pard,  
And brought her out of hell again to bliss?  
And I answer again, and said yes,  
Now know I her, And is this good Alceste,  
The Daiesie, and mine own hearts' rest?  
Now feel I well the goodness of this wife,  
That both after her death, and in her life,  
Her great bounty doubleth her renown,  
Well hath she quit me mine affection,  
That I have to her flower the daiesie,  
No wonder is though jove her stellify,  
As telleth Agaton, for her great goodness,  
Her white crown beareth of it witness:  
For all so many virtues had she,  
As small florounes in her crown be,  
In remembrance of her, and in honour,  
Cibilla made the daiesie and the flower,  
I crowned all with white, as men may see,  
And Mars gave to her a corowne reed pard,  
In stead of Rubies set among the white,  
Therewith this queen wox reed for shame alight.  
When she was praised so in her presence,  
Then said Love, a full great negligence  
Was it to thee, that ilke time thou made,  
(Hide Absalon thy tresses) in ballad,  
That thou forget in thy song to set,  
Sith that thou art so greatly in her debt,  
And wost well that calendar is she  
To any woman, that wool lover be:  
For she taught all the craft of true loving,  
And namely of wifehode the living,  
And all the bonds that she ought keep,  
Thy little wit was thilk time a sleep:  
But now I charge thee upon thy life,  
That in thy legend make of this wife,  
When thou hast other small imade before,  
And fare now well I charge thee no more,  
But ere I go, thus much I will the tell,  
* Ne shall no true lover come in hell.  
These other ladies sitting here a row,  
Ben in my ballad, if thou const him know,  
And in thy books, all thou shalt him find,  
Have him now in thy legend all in mind,  
I mean of him that been in thy knowing,  
For here been twenty thousand more sitting  
Than thou knowest, good women all,  
And true of love, for aught that may befall:  
Make the metres of hem as the jest,  
I moat gone home, the sun draweth west,  
To paradis, with all this company,  
And serve always the fresh Daiesie.  
At Cleopatras I wool that thou begin,  
And so forth, and my love so shalt thou win,  
For let see now what man that lover be,  
Wol done so strong a pain for love as she,  
I wot well that thou mayst nat all it rhyme,  
That such lovers did in her time:  
It were too long to reden and to here,  
Sufficeth me thou make in this manere,  
That thou rehearse of all her life the great,  
After these old authors listen for to treat,  
For who so shall so many a story tell,  
Say shortly or he shall to long dwell:  
And with that word my books 'gan I take,  
And right thus on my legend 'gan I make.   
¶ Thus endeth the Prologue.   

¶ Here beginneth the legend of Cleopatra's Queen of Egypt.  
AFter the death of Ptholome the King,  
That all Egypt had in his governing,  
Reigned his Queen Cleopatras,  
Till on a time bifel there such a case,  
That out of Rome was sent a senator,  
For to conqueren realms and honour,  
Unto the town of Rome, as was usance,  
To have the world at her obeisance,  
And soothe to say, Antonius was his name,  
So fill it, as fortune him ought a shame,  
When he was fallen in prosperity,  
Rebel unto the town of Rome is he,  
And over all this, the sister of Cesare  
He left her falsely, ere that she was ware,  
And would algates han another wife,  
For which he took with Rome, & Cesar strife.  
Nevertheless, forsooth this ilke Senator,  
Was a full worthy gentle warrior,  
And of his death it was full great damage,  
But love had brought this man in such a rage  
And him so narrow bounden in his laas,  
And all for the love of Cleopatras,  
That all the world he set at no value,  
Him thought there was nothing to him so due,  
As Cleopatras, for to love and serve,  
Him thought that in arms for to starve  
In the defence of her, and of her right.  
This noble queen, eke loved so this knight,  
Through his desert, and for his chivalry,  
As certainly, but if that books lie,  
He was of person, and of gentleness,  
And of discretion, and of hardiness,  
Worthy to any wight that liven may,  
And she was fair, as is the rose in May:  
And for to maken short is the best,  
She wox his wife, and had him as her jest.  
The wedding and the feast to devise,  
To me that have itake such emprise,  
And so many a story for to make,  
It were to long, lest that I should slake  
Of thing that beareth more effect & charge,  
For men may overlade a ship or barge,  
And for thy, to effect then wool I skip,  
And all the remnant I wool let it slip.  
Octavian, that wood was of this deed,  
Shaped him an host on Antony to lead,  
All utterly for his destruction,  
With stout romans, cruel as Lion  
To ship they went, and thus I let him fail.  
Antonius was ware, and wool nat fail  
To meet with these romans, if he may,  
Took eke his read, and both upon a day  
His wife and he, and all his host forth went  
To ship anon, no longer they ne stint,  
And in the see it happened him to meet,  
Up goeth the trump, & for to shout & shete  
And painen hem to set on with the sun,  
With grisly sown out goeth the great gun,  
And hertely they hurtlen in all at ones,  
And fro the top down cometh the great stones,  
In goeth the grapenel so full of croaks,  
Among the ropes ran the shering hokes,  
In with the polaxe presseth he and he,  
Behind the mast beginneth he to flee,  
And out again, and driveth him over board,  
He sticketh him upon his spear's orde,  
He rend the sail with hooks like a sith,  
He bringeth the cup, and biddeth him be blithe,  
He poureth peesen upon the hatches slider,  
With pots full of lime, they gone together,  
And thus the long day in fight they spend,  
Till at the last, as every thing hath end,  
Antony is shent, and put him to the flight,  
And all his folk to go, that best go might,  
Fleeth eke the queen, with all her purple sail,  
For strokes which that went as thick as hail,  
No wonder was, he might it nat endure:  
And when that Antony saw that aventure,  
Alas (qd. he) the day that I was borne,  
My worship in this day thus have I lost,  
And for despair out of his wit he start,  
And roof himself anon throughout the hart,  
Ere that he ferther went out of the place:  
His wife, that could of Cesar have no grace,  
To Egypt is fled, for dread and for distress,  
But harkeneth ye that speken of kindness.  
Ye men that falsely swearen many an oath,  
That ye wool die, if that your love be wroth,  
Here may ye seen of women such a troth.  
This woeful Cleopatra had made such routh,  
That there nis tongue none that may it tell,  
But on the morrow she wool no longer dwell,  
But made her subtle workmen make a shrine  
Of all the rubies and the stones fine  
In all Egypt, that she could espy,  
And put full the shrine of spicery,  
And let the corpse enbaume, and forth she fet  
This dead corpse, and in the shrine it shut,  
And next the shrine a pit than doth she grave,  
And all the serpents that she might have,  
She put him in that grave, & thus she said:  
Now love, to whom my sorrowful heart obeyed,  
So ferforthly, that fro that blissful hour  
That I you swore to been all freely your,  
I mean you, Antonius my knight,  
That never waking in the day or night,  
Ye ne'er out of mine hearts' remembrance,  
For well or woe, for carole, or for dance,  
And in myself this covenaunt made I tho,  
That right such as ye felten well or woe,  
As ferforth as it in my power lay,  
Vnreprovable unto my wifehood aye,  
The same would I felen, life or death,  
And thilk covenaunt while me lasteth breath  
I wool fulfil, and that shall well be seen,  
Was never unto her love a truer queen:  
And with the word, naked with full good hart,  
Among the serpents in the pit she start,  
And there she cheese to have her burying.  
Anon the neders gone her for to sting,  
And she her death receiveth with good cheer,  
For love of Antony that was her so dear.  
And this is storiall, soothe it is no fable,  
Now ere I find a man thus true and stable,  
And wool for love his death so freely take,  
I pray God let our hedes never ache.   

¶ The Legend of Tisbe of Babylon.  
AT Babiloine whilom fill it thus,  
The which town the queen Simiramus  
Let dichen about, and walls make  
Full high, of hard tiles well ibake:  
There were dwelling in this noble town,  
Two lords, which y● were of great renown,  
And woneden so nigh upon a green,  
That there nas but a stone wall him between,  
As oft in great towns is the won:  
And sooth to sane, that one man had a son,  
Of all that land one of the lustiest,  
That other had a daughter, the fairest  
That eastward in the world was tho dwelling,  
The name of everiche, 'gan to other spring,  
By women that were neighbours about,  
For in that country yet withouten doubt,  
Maidens been ikept for jealousy,  
Full strait, lest they didden some folly.  
This young man was cleped Pyramus,  
Thisbe height the maid (Naso saith thus)  
And thus by report, was her name ishove,  
That as they wox in age, so wox her love:  
And certain, as by reason of her age,  
There might have been betwixt him marriage,  
But that her fathers ●olde it nat assent,  
And both in love ilike sore they brent,  
That none of all her friends might it let,  
But prively sometime yet they met  
By sleight, and spaken some of her desire,  
As wry the gleed and hotter is the fire,  
Forbid a love, and it is ten times so wode.  
This wall, which y● betwixt hem both stood,  
Was cloven atwo, right from the top adoun,  
Of old time, of his foundatioun,  
But yet this cleft was so narrow and light  
It was nat seen, dear enough a mite,  
But what is that, that love cannot espy?  
Ye lovers two, if that I shall not lie,  
Ye founden first this little narrow cleft,  
And with a sound, as soft as any shrift,  
They let her words through the cleft pace,  
And tolden, while that they stoden in the place,  
All her complaint of love, and all her woe,  
At every time when they durst so.  
On that one side of the wall stood he,  
And on that other side stood Tisbe,  
The sweet son of other to receive,  
And thus her wardens would they disceive,  
And every day this wall they would threte,  
And wish to God that it were down ibete,  
Thus would they said, alas thou wicked wall▪  
Through thine envy, thou us lettest all,  
Why nilt thou cleave, or fallen all atwo,  
Or at the least, but thou wouldst so,  
Yet wouldst thou but ones let us meet,  
Or ones that we might kissen sweet,  
Then were we cured of our cares cold,  
But nevertheless, yet be we to thee hold,  
In as much as thou sufferest for to gone,  
Our words through thy lime & eke thy stone,  
Yet ought we with thee ben well paid.  
And when these idle words weren said,  
The cold wall they woulden kiss of stone,  
And take her leave, & forth they wolden gone,  
And this was gladly in the eventide,  
Or wonder early, least men it espied.  
And long time they wrought in this manere,  
Till on a day, when Phoebus 'gan to clear,  
Aurora with the streams of her heat  
Had dried up the dew of herbs weet,  
Unto this cleft, as it was wont to be,  
Come Pyramus, and after come Tisbe,  
And plighten truth fully in her faith,  
That ilke same night to steal away,  
And to beguile her wardens everychone,  
And forth out of the City for to gone,  
And for the fields ben so broad and wide,  
For to meet in o place at o tide:  
They set marks, her meetings should be  
There king Ninus was graven, under a tree,  
For old painems, that idols heried,  
Vseden though in fields to been buried,  
And fast by his grave was a well,  
And shortly of this tale for to tell,  
This covenant was affirmed wonder fast,  
And long him thought that the sun last,  
That it ne'er gone under the see adoun.  
This Tisbe hath so great affection,  
And so great liking Pyramus to see,  
That when she saw her time might be,  
At night she stolen away full prively,  
With her face iwimpled subtle,  
For all her friends (for to save her troth)  
She hath forsake alas, and that is routh,  
That ever woman would be so true,  
To trust man, but she the bet him knew:  
And to the tree she goeth a full good pace,  
For love made her so hardy in this case,  
And by the well adoun she 'gan her dress,  
Alas, then cometh a wild Lioness  
Out of the wood, withouten more arrest,  
With bloody mouth, strangling of a beast,  
To drinken of the well there as she sat,  
And when that Tisbe had espied that,  
She rist her up, with a full dreary hart,  
And in a cave, with dreadful foot she start,  
For by the Moon she saw it well withal,  
And as she ran, her wimple let she fall,  
And took none heed, so sore she was a whaped,  
And eke so glad that she was escaped,  
And thus she sat, and lurketh wonder still:  
When that this Lioness hath drunk her fill,  
About the well 'gan she for to wind,  
And right anon the wimple 'gan she find,  
And with her bloody mouth it all to rend,  
When this was done, no longer she ne stint,  
But to the wood her way then hath she nome.  
And at the last this Pyramus is come,  
But all too long (alas) at home was he,  
The Moon shone, men might well isee,  
And in his way, as that he come full fast,  
His eyes to the ground adoun he cast,  
And in the sonde, as he beheld adown,  
He saw the steps broad of a lion,  
And in his hart he suddenly agrose,  
And pale he wext, therewith his hart arose,  
And here he came, & found the wimple torn,  
Alas (qd. he) the day that I was borne,  
This o night wool both us lovers slay,  
How should I asken mercy of Tisbee,  
When I am he that have you slain, alas,  
My bidding hath you slain in this case,  
Alas, to bid a woman gone by night  
In place thereas peril fallen might,  
And I so slow, alas I ne had be  
Here in this place, a furlong way ere ye,  
Now what Lion that is in this forest,  
My body moat he rent, or what beast  
That wild is, gnawn mote he mine hart,  
And with that word he to the wimple start,  
And kissed it oft, and wept on it full sore,  
And said wimple alas, there nis no more,  
But thou shalt feel as well the blood of me,  
As thou hast felt the bleeding of Tisbe:  
And with that word he smote him to the hart,  
The blood out of the wound as broad start,  
As water, when the conduit broken is.  
Now Tisbe, which that wist nat this,  
But sitting in her dread, she thought thus,  
If it so fall out that my Pyramus  
Be comen hither, and may me nat ifind,  
He may me holden false, and eke unkind,  
And out she cometh, & after him 'gan espien,  
Both with her hart, and with her eien,  
And thought, I wool him tell of my dread,  
Both of the Lioness and of my deed.  
And at the last her love then hath she found,  
Beating with his heels on the ground,  
All bloody, and therewithal aback she start,  
And like the wawes, quappe 'gan her hart,  
And pale as box she wox, and in a throw  
Avised her, and 'gan him well to know,  
That it was Pyramus her hart dear.  
Who could write which a deadly cheer  
Hath Tisbe now, and how her hair she rend,  
And how she 'gan herself to tourment,  
And how she lieth & swouneth on the ground,  
And how she wept of tears full his wound,  
How meddleth she his blood with her complaint,  
How with her blood her selven 'gan she paint,  
How clippeth she the red corpse, alas,  
How doth this woeful Tisbe in this case,  
How kisseth she his frosty mouth so cold:  
Who hath done this? & who hath been so bold  
To sleen my lief? o speak Pyramus,  
I am thy Tisbe, that thee calleth thus,  
And therewithal she lifteth up his head.  
This woeful man that was nat fully dead,  
When that he herd the name of Tisbe crien,  
On her he cast his heavy deadly eyes,  
And down again, and yieldeth up the ghost.  
Tisbe rist up, without noise or boast,  
And saw her wimple and his empty sheath,  
And eke his sword, that him hath done to death,  
Then spoke she thus, thy woeful hand (qd. she)  
Is strong enough in such a work to me,  
For love shall yeve me strength & hardiness,  
To make my wound large enough I guess,  
I wool thee followen dead, and I wool be  
Felaw, and cause eke of thy death (qd. she)  
And though that nothing save the death only,  
Might thee from me depart truly,  
Thou shalt no more depart now from me  
Than fro the death, for I wool go with thee.  
And now ye wretched jealous fathers our,  
We that weren whilom children your,  
We praien you, withouten more envy,  
That in o grave we moten lie,  
Sens love hath brought us this piteous end,  
And right wise God, to every lover send,  
That loveth truly, more prosperity  
Than ever had Pyramus and Tisbe,  
And let no gentle woman her assure,  
To putten her in such an aventure,  
* But God forbid but that a woman can  
Ben as true and loving as a man,  
And for my part I shall anon it kithe:  
And with the word, his sword she took switche,  
That warm was of her love's blood, & hot,  
And to the hart she her selven smote.  
And thus are Tisbe and Pyramus ago,  
Of true men I find but few more  
In all my books, save this Pyramus,  
And therefore have I spoken of him thus;  
For it is dainty to us men to find  
A man that can in love be true and kind.  
Here may ye seen, what lover so he be,  
A woman dare, and can as well as he.   

¶ The Legend of Dido, Queen of Cartage.  
GLory and honour, Virgile Mantuan,  
Be to thy name, and I shall as I can  
Follow thy lantern, as thou goest before,  
How Aeneas to Dido was forsworn,  
In thine Eneide, and Naso wool I take  
The tenor and the great effects make,  
When Troy brought was to destruction  
By Greeks sleight, and namely by Sinon,  
Feigning the horse offered unto minerve,  
Through which that many a Trojan must starve,  
And Hector had after his death appeared,  
And fire so wood, it might nat been stired,  
In all the noble tower of Ilium,  
That of the city was the chief dungeon,  
And all the country was so low ybourhgt,  
And Priamus the king fordone and nought,  
And Aeneas was charged by Venus  
To flien away, he took Ascanius  
That was his son, in his right hand & fled,  
And on his back he bore and with him led  
His old father, cleped Anchises,  
And by the way his wife Creusa he lees,  
And mokell sorrow had he in his mind,  
Ere that he could his fellawship find:  
But at the last, when he had him found,  
He made him ready in a certain stound,  
And to the sea full fast he 'gan him high,  
And saileth forth with all his company  
Towards Itaile, as would destinee:  
But of his aventures in the see,  
Nis not to purpose for to speak of here,  
For it acordeth nat to my matter,  
But as I said, of him and of Dido  
Shall be my tale, till that I have do.  
So long he sailed in the salt see,  
Till in Libie unneath arrived he,  
So was he with the tempest all to shake,  
And when that he the haven had itake,  
He had a knight was called Achatees,  
And him of all his fellowship he cheese,  
To gone with him, the country for tespie,  
He took with him no more company,  
But forth they gone, and left his ships ride,  
His fear and he, withouten any guide.  
So long he walketh in this wilderness,  
Till at the last he met an hunteresse,  
A bow in hon, and arrows had she,  
Her clothes cutted were unto the knee,  
But she was yet the fairest creature  
That ever was iformed by nature,  
And Aeneas and Achates she great,  
And thus she to hem spoke, when she him met.  
Saw ye (qd. she) as ye han walked wide,  
Any of my sustrens walk you beside,  
With any wild Boar or other beast,  
That they have hunted into this forest,  
I tucked up with arrows in her case?  
Nay soothly Lady (qd. this Aeneas)  
But by thy beauty, as it thinketh me,  
Thou mightest never earthly woman be,  
But Phoebus' sister art thou, as I guess,  
And if so be that thou be a goddess,  
Have mercy on our labour and our wo.  
I nam no goddess sooth (qd. she) though,  
For maidens walken in this country here,  
With arrows & with bow, in this manere:  
This is the realm of Libie there ye been,  
Sf which that Dido lady is and queen,  
And shortly told all the occasion  
Why Dido came into that region,  
Of which as now me lifteth nat to rhyme,  
It needeth nat, it ne'er but loss of time,  
For this is all and some, it was Venus  
His own mother, that spoke with him thus,  
And to Cartage she bade he should him dight,  
And vanished anon out of his sight.  
I could follow word for word Vergile,  
But it would lasten all to long while.  
This noble queen, that cleped was Dido,  
That whilom was the wife of Sicheo,  
That fairer was than the bright sun,  
This noble town of Carthage hath begun,  
In which she reigneth in so great honour,  
That she was hold of all Queen's flour,  
Of gentillesse, of freedom, and of beauty,  
That well was him that might her ones see,  
Of Kings and Lords so desired,  
That all the world her beauty had ifired,  
She stood so well in every wights grace.  
When Aeneas was come unto the place,  
Unto the master temple of all the town,  
There Dido was in her devotion,  
Full privily his way then hath he nome:  
When he was in the large temple come,  
I cannot sane, if that it be possible,  
But Venus had him maked invisible,  
Thus saith the book, withouten any lees.  
And when this Aeneas and Achates  
Hadden in this temple been over all,  
Then found they depainted on a wall,  
How Troy and all the land destroyed was,  
Alas that I was borne (qd. Aeneas')  
Through the world our shame is kid so wide,  
Now it is painted upon every side:  
We that weren in prosperity,  
Ben now disclandered, and in such degree,  
No longer for to liven I ne keep,  
And with that word he braced out for to weep  
So tenderly that routh it was to seen.  
This fresh Lady, of the city Queen,  
Stood in the temple, in her estate royal,  
So richly, and eke so fair withal,  
So young, so lusty, with her eyes glade,  
That if that God that heaven & yearth made,  
Would have a love, for beauty & goodness,  
And womanhead, troth, and seemliness,  
Whom should he loven but this lady sweet?  
There nis no woman to him half so meet:  
Fortune, that hath the world in governance,  
Hath suddenly brought in so new a chance,  
That never was there yet so frened a case,  
For all the company of Aeneas,  
Which that we wend have lost in the see,  
Arrived is nought far from that city,  
For which the greatest of his lords, some  
By aventure ben to the city come  
Unto that same temple for to seek  
The Queen, and of her socour her beseke,  
Such renome was there sprung of her goodness.  
And when they had told all her distress,  
And all her tempest and all her hard case,  
Unto the Queen appeared Aeneas,  
And openly beknew that it was he,  
Who had joy then, but his mien,  
That hadden found her lord, her governor.  
The Queen saw they did him such honour,  
And had heard of Aeneas, ere though,  
And in her hart had routh and woe,  
That ever such a noble man as he  
Shall been disherited in such degree,  
And saw the man, that he was like a knight,  
And suffissant of person and of might,  
And like to ben a very gentleman,  
And well his words he beset can,  
And had a noble visage for the nonce,  
And form well of brawn and of bones,  
And after Venus had such fairness,  
That no man might be half so fair I guess,  
And well a lord him seemed for to be,  
And for he was a stranger, somewhat she  
Liked him the bet, as God do boat,  
To some folk often new thing is sote,  
Anon her hart hath pity of his woe,  
And with pity, Love came also,  
And thus for pity and for gentleness,  
Refreshed must he been of his distress.  
She said, certes, that she sorry was,  
That he hath had such peril and such case,  
And in her friendly speech, in this manere  
She to him spoke, and said as ye may here.  
Be ye nat Venus' son and Anchises,  
In good faith, all the worship and increases  
That I may goodly done you, ye shall have,  
Your ships and your mien shall I save,  
And many a gentle word she spoke him to,  
And commanded her messengers to go  
The same day withouten any fail  
His ships for to seek and him victual,  
Full many a beast she to the ships sent,  
And with the wine she 'gan him to present,  
And to her royal paleis she her sped,  
And Aeneas she always with her led.  
What needeth you the feasts to discrive,  
He never better at ease was in live,  
Full was the feast of dainties and richesses,  
Of instruments, of song, and of gladness,  
And many an amorous looking and devise.  
This Aeneas is come to Paradise  
Out of the swolowe of hell and thus in joy  
Remembreth him of his estate in Troy,  
To dancing chambers full of paraments,  
Of rich beds, and of pavements,  
This Aeneas in led after the meat,  
And with the queen when that he had seat,  
And spices parted, and the wine agone,  
Unto his chamber was he lad anon  
To take his ease, and for to have his rest  
With all his folk, to done what so him lest,  
There nas courser well ibridled none,  
Ne stead for the just well to gone,  
Ne large palfrey, easy for the nonce,  
Ne jewel fret full of rich stones  
Ne sacks full of gold, of large wight,  
Ne Ruby none that shineth by night,  
Ne gentle hauten faukon hereonere,  
Ne hound for Hart, wild Boar, or Dear,  
Ne cup of gold, with floreins new ibette,  
That in the land of Libie may ben get,  
That Dido ne hath Aeneas it isent,  
And all is paid, what that he hath spent.  
Thus can this honourable queen her gests call,  
As she that can in freedom passen all.  
Aeneas' sooth eke, without lees,  
Hath sent to his ship by Achates  
After his son, and after rich things,  
Both sceptre, clothes, broochs, & eke rings,  
Some for to wear, and some to present  
To her, that all these noble things him sent,  
And bad his son how that he should make  
The presenting, and to the queen it take.  
Repaired is this Achates again,  
And Aeneas' full blissful is and feign,  
To seen his young son Ascanius,  
For to him it was reported thus,  
That Cupid, that is the god of Love,  
At prayer of his mother high above,  
Had the likeness of the child itake,  
This noble queen enamoured for to make  
On Aeneas: but of that scripture  
Be as be may, I make of it no cure,  
But sooth is this, the queen hath made such cheer  
Unto this child, that wonder was to here,  
And of the present that his father sent,  
She thanked him oft in good intent.  
Thus is this queen in pleasance and joy,  
With all these new lusty folk of Troy,  
And of the deeds hath she more enquired  
Of Aeneas, and all the story lered  
Of Troy, and all the long day they tway  
Entendeden for to speak and for to play,  
Of which there 'gan to breden such a fire,  
That silly Dido hath now such desire  
With Aeneas her new guest to deal,  
That she lost her hue and eke her heal.  
Now to th'effect, now to the fruit of all,  
Why I have told this story, and tell shall.  
Thus I begin, it fell upon a night,  
When that the Moon upreised had her light,  
This noble Queen unto her rest went,  
She sighed sore, and gone her self tourment,  
She walketh, walloweth, & made many brayed,  
As done these lovers, as I have heard said,  
And at the last, unto her sister Anne  
She made her moan, & right thus spoke she than.  
Now dear sister mine, what may it be  
That me agasteth in my dream (qd. she)  
This ilke new Trojan is so in my thought,  
For that me thinketh he is so weil iwrought.  
And eke so likely to been a man,  
And therewith so mikell good he can,  
That all my love and life lieth in his cure,  
Have ye nat heard him tell his aventure?  
Now certes Anne, if that ye read me,  
I wool feign to him iwedded be,  
This is the effect, what should I more seine,  
In him lieth all, to do me live or deign.  
Her sister Anne, as she that could her good,  
Said as her thought, & somedeal it withstood,  
But hereof was so long a sermoning:  
It were to long to make rehearsing:  
But finally, it may not be withstand,  
* Love wool love, for no wight wool it wonde,  
The dawning up rist out of the see,  
This amorous Queen chargeth her mien,  
The nets dress, and spears broad and keen,  
An hunting wool this lusty fresh Queen,  
So pricketh her this new jolly woe,  
To horse is all her lusty folk igo,  
Unto the court the hounds ben ibrought,  
And up on courser swift as any thought,  
Her young knight's heaven all about,  
And of her women eke an huge rout,  
Upon a thick palfrey, paper white,  
With saddle red, enbrouded with delight,  
Of gold the bars, up enbossed high,  
Sat Dido, all in gold and perrey wrigh,  
And she is fair as is the bright morrow,  
That healeth sick folks of night's sorrow:  
Upon a courser, startling as the fire,  
Men might turn him with a little wire.  
But Aeneas, like Phoebus to devise,  
So was he fresh arrayed in his wise,  
The foamy bridle, with the bit of gold,  
Governeth he right as himself hath would,  
And forth this noble Queen, this lady ride  
On hunting, with this Trojan by her side,  
The herd of Hearts founden is anon,  
With hay gobbet, prick thou, let gone, let gone,  
Why nill the Lion comen or the Bear,  
That Imiȝt him ones meet with this spear,  
Thus sane this young folk, and up they kill  
The wild Hearts, and have him at her will.  
Among all this, to romblen 'gan the heaven,  
The thunder roared with a grisly steven,  
Down come the rain, with hail & sleet so fast,  
With heaven's fire, that made so sore aghast  
This noble Queen, and also her mien,  
That each of him was glad away to fly,  
And shortly, fro the tempest her to save,  
She fled herself into a little cave,  
And with her went this Aeneas also,  
I not with him if there went any more,  
The author maketh of it no mention:  
And here began the deep affection  
Betwixt him two, this was the first morrow  
Of her gladness, and beginning of her sorrow,  
For there hath Aeneas ikneled so,  
And told her all his hurt and all his woe,  
And sworn so deep to her to be true,  
For well or woe, and change for no new,  
And as a false lover, so well can plain,  
That silly Dido rued on his pain,  
And took him for husband, & became his wife  
For evermore, while that hem last life,  
And after this, when that the tempest stint,  
With mirth out as they came, home they went.  
The wicked fame up rose, & y● anon,  
How Aeneas hath with the Queen igon  
Into the cave, and deemed as him list:  
And when the king (that Yarbas height) it wist,  
As he that had her loved ever his life,  
And wooed her to have her to his wife,  
Such sorrow as he hath maked, & such cheer,  
It is a routh and pity for to here,  
* But as in love, alday it happeth so,  
That one shall laughen at another's wo.  
Now laugheth Aeneas, and is in joy,  
And more richesse than ever was in Troy.  
O silly woman, full of innocence,  
Full of pity, of truth, and continence,  
What maked you to men to trust so?  
Have ye such routh upon her feigned woe,  
And have such old ensamples you before?  
See ye nat all how they been forsworn,  
Where see ye one, that he ne hath haft his lief,  
Or been unkind, or done her some mischief,  
Or peeled her or boasted of his deed,  
Ye may as well it seen, as ye may read.  
Take heed now of this great gentleman,  
This Trojan, that so well her please can,  
That feigneth him so true and obeising,  
So gentle, and so privy of his doing,  
And can so well done all his obeisance  
To her, at feasts and at dance,  
And when she goeth to temple, & home again,  
And fasten till he hath his lady sein,  
And bearen in his devises for her sake,  
Not I nat what, & songs would he make,  
justen, and done of arms many things,  
Send her letters, tokens, brooches, & rings.  
Now herkneth how he shall his lady serve:  
There as he was in peril for to starve  
For hunger and for mischief in the see,  
And desolate, and fled fro his country,  
And all his folk with tempest all to driven,  
She hath her body and eke her realm yeven  
Into his hon, there she might have been  
Of other land than of Cartage a Queen,  
And lived in joy enough, with would ye more.  
This Aeneas, that hath thus deep iswore,  
Is weary of his craft within a throw,  
The hot earnest is all overblow,  
And prively he doth his ships dight,  
And shapeth him to steal away by night.  
This Dido hath suspection of this,  
And thought well that it was all amis,  
For in his bed he lieth a night and siketh,  
She asketh him anon, what him misliketh,  
My dear hart, which that I love most.  
Certes (qd. he) this night my father's ghost  
Hath in my sleep me so sore tourmented,  
And eke Mercury his message hath presented,  
That needs to the conquest of Itaile  
My destiny is soon for to sail,  
For which me thinketh, bursten is mine hart:  
Therewith his false tears out they start,  
And taketh her within his arms two.  
Is that in earnest (qd. she) wool ye so,  
Have ye nat sworn, to wife me to take,  
Alas, what woman wool ye of me make?  
I am a Gentlewoman, and a Queen,  
Ye wool not fro your wife thus foul fleen,  
That I was borne alas, what shall I do?  
To tell in short, this noble Queen Dido  
She seeketh hallows, and doth Sacrifice,  
She kneeleth, crieth, that routh is to devise,  
Coniureth him, and proffereth him to be  
His thrall, his servaunt, in the best degree,  
She falleth him to foot, and soundeth there,  
Dischevile with her bright gilt here,  
And saith, have mercy, let me with you ride,  
These lords, which that wonnen me beside,  
Wool me destroyen only for your sake:  
And ye wool me now to wife take,  
As ye have sworn, then wool I yeve you leave  
To slaen me with your sword now soon at eve,  
For then yet shall I dien as your wife,  
I am with child, and yeve my child his life,  
Mercy lord, have pity in your thought.  
But all this thing a vaileth her right nought,  
And as a traitor forth 'gan to sail  
Toward the large country of Itaile,  
And thus hath he haft Dido in woe and pine,  
And wedded there a lady height Lavine,  
A cloth he haft, and eke his sword standing,  
When he fro Dido stale in her sleeping,  
Right at her bed's head, so 'gan he high,  
When that he stolen away to his navy.  
Which cloth, when silly Dido 'gan awake,  
She hath it kissed full oft for his sake,  
And said, O sweet cloth, while jupiter it lest,  
Take my soul, unbind me of this unrest,  
I have fulfilled of fortune all the course,  
And thus alas, withouten his socourse,  
Twenty time iswouned hath she than,  
And when that she unto her sister Anne  
Complained had, of which I may not write,  
So great routh I have it for to indite,  
And bad her norice and her sustrens gone  
To fetchen fire, and other things anon,  
And said that she would sacrifice,  
And when she might her time well aspie,  
Upon the fire of Sacrifice she start,  
And with his sword she roof her to the hart:  
But as mine author saith, yet this she said,  
Or she was hurt, before or she deide,  
She wrote a letter anon, and thus began.  
Right so (qd. she) as the white Swan  
Against his death beginneth for to sing,  
Right so to you I make my complaining,  
Not that I trow to gotten you again,  
For well I wot it is all in vain,  
Sens that the gods ben contrarious to me,  
But sin my name is lost through you (qd. she)  
I may well less a word on you or letter,  
Albeit I shall be never the better,  
For thilk wind that blew your ship away,  
The same wind hath blow away your faith,  
But who so wool all this letter have in mind,  
Reed Ovide, and in him he shall it find.   

find The Legend of Hipsiphile and Medea.  
THou root of false lovers, Duke jason,  
Thou sleer, devourer, and confusion  
Of gentlewomen, gentle creatures,  
Thou madest thy reclaiming and thy lures  
To Ladies of thy scathliche appearance,  
And of thy words farse with pleasance,  
And of thy feigned troth, and thy manner,  
With thine obeisance and humble cheer,  
And with thine counterfeited pain and woe,  
There other fallen one, thou falsed two,  
O oft swore thou that thou wouldst die  
For love, when thou ne feltest malady,  
Save foul delight, which thou callest love,  
If that I live, thy name shall be shove  
In English, that thy deceit shall be know,  
Have at thee jason, now thine honour is blow,  
But certes, it is both routh and woe,  
That Love with false lovers worketh so,  
For they shall have well better love & cheer,  
Than he that hath bought love full dear,  
Or had in arms many a bloody box,  
* For ever as tender a Capon eateth the Foxe,  
Though he be falls, & hath the foul betrayed,  
As shall the good man that therefore paid,  
Although he have to the Capon skill & right,  
The false Fox wool have his part at night.  
On jason this ensample is well iseene,  
By Hipsiphile and Medea the Queen.  
In Thessaly, as Ovide telleth us,  
There was a knight, that height Peleus,  
That had a brother, which that height Aeson,  
And when for age he might unneaths gone,  
He gave to Peleus the governing  
Of all his reign, and made him lord and king,  
Of which Aeson, this jason gotten was,  
That in his time in all that land there nas  
Nat such a famous knight of gentillesse,  
Of freedom, of strength, and of lustiness,  
After his father's death he bore him so,  
That there nas none that list been his fo,  
But did him all honour and company,  
Of which this Peleus hath great envy,  
Imagining, that jason might be  
Enhanced so, and put in such degree,  
With love of lords of his region,  
That from his reign he may be put adown.  
And in his wit a night compassed he  
How jason might best destroyed be,  
Withouten slander of his compasment:  
And at the last he took avisement,  
That to send him into some far country,  
There as this jason may destroyed be,  
This was his wit, all made he to jason  
Great cheer of look, and of affection,  
For dread least his lords it espied,  
So fell it, as fame runneth wide,  
There was such tiding over all, and such loose,  
That in an Isle, that called was Colcos',  
Beyond Troy Eastward in the see,  
That there was a Ram, that men might see,  
That had a flees of gold, that shone so bright,  
That no where was there such another sight,  
But it was kept always with a Dragoun,  
And many other marvailes up and down,  
And with two Bulls, maked all of Bras,  
That spitten fire, and much thing there was,  
But this was eke the tale nathelees,  
That who so would winnen thilk Flees,  
He must both, or he it winnen might,  
With the Bulls and the Dragon fight.  
And king Oats lord was of that I'll,  
This Peleus bethought upon this while,  
That he his nephew jason would exhort,  
To sailen to that land, him to disport,  
And said, nephew, if it might be,  
That such worship might fall thee,  
That thou this famous treasure might win,  
And bring it my region within,  
It were to me great pleasance and honour,  
Then were I hold to quite thy labour,  
And all thy costs I wool myself make,  
And chose with folk thou wolt with thee take,  
Let see now, dar'st thou taken this voyage.  
jason was young, and lusty of courage,  
And undertook to done this like emprise,  
Anon Argus his ships 'gan devise.  
With jason went the strong Hercules,  
And many another, that he with him ches,  
But who so asketh, who is with him gone,  
Let him read Argonauticon,  
For he wool tell a tale long enough.  
Philoctetes anon the sail up drough,  
When the wind was good, and 'gan him high  
Out of his country, called Thessaly,  
So long they sailed in the salt see,  
Till in the Isle of Lemnos arrived he,  
All be this not rehearsed of Guido,  
Yet sayeth Ovide in his Epistles so,  
And of this Isle lady was and Queen,  
The fair young Hipsiphile the sheen,  
That whilom Thoas daughter was the king.  
Hipsiphile was gone in her playing,  
And roaming on the clevis by the see,  
Under a bank anon esped she  
Where lay the ship, that jason 'gan arrive:  
Of her goodness adoune she sendeth believe,  
To weten, if that any strange wight  
With tempest thither were iblow anight,  
To done him succour, as was her usance,  
To further en every wight, & done pleasance  
Of very bounty, and of courtesy.  
This messenger adoune him 'gan to high,  
And found jason and Hercules also,  
That in a cog to land were igo,  
Hem to refreshen, and to take the air.  
The morning attempre was and fair,  
And in her way this messenger him met,  
Full cunningly these lords two he great,  
And did his message, ask him anon  
If that they were broken, or ought wo begon,  
Or had need of lodesmen or victual,  
For succour they should nothing fail,  
For it was utterly the Queens will.  
jason answer meekly and still:  
My lady (qd. he) thank I heartily  
Of her goodness, us needeth truly  
Nothing as now, but that we weary be,  
And come for to play out of the see,  
Till that the wind be better in our way.  
This lady roameth by the cliff to play  
With her mien, endlong the strand,  
And findeth this jason and this other stoned  
In speaking of this thing, as I you told.  
This Hercules and jason 'gan behold  
How that the queen it was, & fair her great,  
Anon right as they with this lady meet,  
And she took heed, and knew by her manner,  
By her array, by words, and by cheer,  
That it were gentle men of great degree,  
And to the castle with her leadeth she  
These strange folk, & doth him great honour,  
And asketh him of travail and of labour  
That they have suffered in the salt see,  
So that within a day two or three  
She knew by the folk that in his ships be,  
That it was jason full of renomee,  
And Hercules, that had the great loose,  
That sosughten the aventures of Colcos',  
And did him honour more than before,  
And with him dealed ever longer the more,  
For they been worthy folk withouten lees,  
And namely most she spoke with Hercules,  
To him her hart bare, he should be  
Sad, wise, and true, of words avisee,  
Withouten any other affection  
Of love, or any other imagination.  
This Hercules hath this jason praised,  
That to the Sun he hath it up raised,  
That half so true a man there nas of love  
Under the cope of heaven, that is above,  
And he was wise, hardy, secret, and rich,  
Of these three points, there nas none him liche,  
Of freedom passed he, and lusty head,  
All though that liven, or been dead,  
Thereto so great a gentle man was he,  
And of Thessaly likely king to be,  
There nas no lack, but that he was aghast  
To love, and for to speak shamefast,  
Him had lever himself to murder and die,  
Than that men should a lover him espy,  
As would God that I had iyeve  
My blood and flesh, so that I might live  
With the bones, that he had aught where a wife  
For his estate, for such a lusty life  
She shoulden lead with this lusty knight.  
And all this was compassed on the night  
Betwixt him jason, and this Hercules,  
Of these two here was a shrewd lees,  
To come to house upon an innocent,  
For to bedote this Queen was her intent:  
And jason is as coy as is a maid,  
He looketh pitously, but naught he said  
But freely gave he to her counsellors  
Yefts great, and to her officers,  
As would God that I leaser had and time,  
By process, all his wrong for to rhyme:  
But in this house, if any false lover be,  
Right as himself now doth, right so did he,  
With feigning, and with every subtle deed,  
Ye get no more of me, but ye wool read  
Thoriginal, that telleth all the case,  
The sooth is this, that jason wedded was  
Unto this queen, & took of her substance  
What so him list, unto his purveyaunce,  
And upon her begat children two,  
And drough his fail, and saw her never more:  
A letter sent she him certain,  
Which were too long to written and to sane,  
And him reproveth of his great untruth,  
And prayeth him on her to have some routh,  
And on his children two, she said him this,  
That they be like of all thing iwis  
To jason, save they couth not beguile,  
And prayed God, or it were long while,  
That she that had his hart ireft her fro,  
Must ●nden him untrue also:  
And that she must both her children spill,  
And all though that suffreth him his will:  
And true to jason was she all her life,  
And ever kept her chaste, as for his wife,  
Ne never had she joy at her hart,  
But died for his love of sorrow's smart.  
To Colcos' come is this duke jason,  
That is of love devourer and dragon,  
As Matire appeteth form always,  
And from form to form it passen may,  
Or as a well that were bottomless,  
Right so can jason have no pees,  
For to desiren through his appetite,  
To done with gentlewomen his delight,  
This is his lust, and his felicity,  
jason is rome forth to the city,  
That whilom cleped was jasonicos,  
That was the master town of all Colcos',  
And hath itold the cause of his coming  
Unto Oats, of that country king,  
Praying him that he must done his assay  
To get the Fleece of gold, if that he may,  
Of which the king assenteth to his boon,  
And doth him honour, as it is done,  
So ferforth, that his daughter and his heir,  
Medea, which that was so wise and fair,  
That fairer saw there never man with eye,  
He made her done to jason company  
At meat, and sit by him in the hall.  
Now was jason a seemly man withal,  
And like a Lord, and had a great renown,  
And of his look as royal as a lion,  
And godly of his speech, and famil lere,  
And could of love all the craft and art plenere  
Withouten book, with everiche observance,  
And as fortune her ought a foul mischance,  
She wox enamoured upon this man.  
jason (qd. she) for aught I see or can,  
As of this thing, the which ye been about,  
Ye and yourself ye put in much doubt,  
For who so wool this aventure atcheve,  
He may nat well asterten as I leave,  
Withouten death, but I his help be,  
But nevertheless, it is my will (qd. she)  
To forthren you, so that ye shall nat die,  
But turnen sound home to your Thessaly.  
My right lady (qd. this jason) though,  
That ye have of my death or my woe  
Any regard, and done me this honour,  
I wot well, that my might, ne my labour,  
May nat deserve it my lives day,  
God thank you, there I ne can ne may,  
Your man am I, and lowly you beseech  
To been my help, withouten more speech,  
But certes for my death shall I not spare.  
Tho 'gan this Medea to him declare  
The peril of this case, fro point to point  
Of his battle, and in what desjoint  
He moat stoned, of which no creature  
Save only she, ne might his life assure:  
And shortly, right to the point for to go,  
They ben accorded fully betwixt him two,  
That jason shall her wed, as true knight,  
And term yset to come soon at night  
Unto her chambre, and make there his oath  
Upon the gods, that he for lief or loath  
Ne should her never falsen night ne day,  
To been her husband while he live may,  
As she that from his death him saved here,  
And her upon at night they meet yfere,  
And doth his oath, & goeth with her to bedde,  
And on the morrow upward he him sped,  
For she hath taught him how he shall nat fail  
The flees to win, & stinten his battle,  
And saved him his life, and his honour,  
And gate him a name, as a conqueror,  
Right through the sleight of her enchantment,  
Now hath jason the flese, & home is went  
With Medea, & treasours fell great won,  
But unwist of her father she is gone  
To Thessaly, with duke jason her lief,  
That afterward hath brought her to mischief,  
For as a traitor he is from her go,  
And with her left young children two,  
And falsely hath betrayed her, alas,  
And ever in love a chief traitor he was,  
And wedded yet the thirde wife anon,  
That was the daughter of king Creon,  
This is the meed of loving and guerdon,  
That Medea received of duke jason  
Right for her troth, and for her kindness,  
That loved him better than herself I guess,  
And left her father, and her heritage,  
And of jason this is the vassalage,  
That in his days nas never none yfound  
So false a lover, going on the ground,  
And therefore in her letter thus she said,  
First when she of his falseness him upbraid:  
Why liked the my yellow hair to see,  
More than the bounds of mine honesty?  
Why liked me my youth and thy fairness,  
And of thy tongue the infinite graciousness?  
O hadst thou in thy conquest dead ybe,  
Full mikel untruth had there died with thee,  
Well can Ovide her letter in verse indite.  
Which were as now too long for to write.   

write The legend of Lucrece of Rome.  
NOw moat I sane thexiling of kings  
Of Rome, for her horrible doings  
Of the last king Tarqvinius,  
As saith Ovid, and Titus Livius,  
But for that cause tell I nat this story,  
But for to praise, and drawn in memory  
The very wife, the very Lucrece,  
That for her wifehood, and her steadfastness,  
Nat only that the painems her commend,  
But that cleped is in our Legend  
The great Austyn, that hath compassion  
Of this Lucrece that starfe in Rome town,  
And in what wise I wool but shortly treat,  
And of this thing I touch but the great.  
When Ardea besieged was about  
With Romans, that full stern were & stout,  
Full long lay the siege, and little wroughten,  
So that they were half idle, as him thoughten,  
And in his play Tarqvinius the young,  
'Gan for to yape, for he was light of tongue,  
And said, that it was an idle life,  
No man did there no more than his wife,  
And let us speak of wives that is best,  
Praise every man his own as him lest,  
And with our speech let us ease our heart.  
A knight (that height Collatine) up start,  
And said thus, nay sir it is no need  
To trowen on the word, but on the deed:  
I have a wife (qd. he) that as I trow  
Is holden good of all that ever her know,  
Go we to Rome to night, and we shall see.  
Tarqvinius answer, that liketh me.  
To Rome they be comen, & fast him dight  
To Colatines house, and down they light,  
Tarqvinius, and eke this Collatine,  
The husband knew the efters well and fine,  
And full prively into the house they gone.  
Nor at the gate porter was there none,  
And at the chamber door they abide:  
This noble wife sat by her bed's side  
Dishevelled, for no malice she ne thought,  
And soft wool saith Livy that she wrought,  
To keep her from sloth and idleness,  
And bad her servaunts done her business,  
And asketh him, what tidings herens ye?  
How saith men of the siege, how shall it be?  
God would the walls were fallen adown,  
Mine husband is too long out of this town,  
For which dread doth me sore to smart,  
Right as a sword it stingeth to mine heart,  
When I think on this or of that place,  
God save my lord, I pray him for his grace:  
And therewithal so tenderly she 'gan weep,  
And of her work she took no more keep,  
But meekly she let her eyes fall,  
And thilk semblant sat her well withal,  
And eke her tears full of heaviness,  
Embesessed her wifely chasteness,  
Her countenance is to her heart digne,  
For they acordeden in deed and sign,  
And with that word her husband Collatine,  
Or she of him was ware, came stertling in,  
And said, dread thee nat, for I am here,  
And she anon up rose, with blissful cheer,  
And kissed him, as of wives is the won.  
Tarqvinius, this proud king's son  
Conceived hath her beauty and her cheer,  
Her yellow hair, her bounty, & her manner,  
Her hue, her words, that she hath complained,  
And by no craft her beauty was nat feigned,  
And caught to this lady such desire,  
That in his heart he brent as any fire,  
So woodly, that his wit was all forgotten,  
For well thought he she should nat be gotten,  
And aye the more he was in despair,  
The more coveiteth, and thought her fair,  
His blind lust was all his coveiring.  
On morrow, when the bird began to sing,  
Unto the siege he cometh full prively,  
And by himself he walketh soberly,  
The image of her recording always new,  
Thus lay her hair, & thus fresh was her hue,  
Thus sat, thus span, this was her cheer,  
Thus fair she was, and this was her manner:  
All this conceit his heart hath new itake,  
And as the see, with tempest all to shake,  
That after when the storm is all ago,  
Yet wool the water quappe a day or two,  
Right so, though that her form were absent,  
The pleasance of her form was present,  
But nevertheless, nat pleasance, but delight,  
Or an unrightful talon with despite,  
For maugre her, she shall my leman be:  
* Hap helpeth hardy man always (qd. he)  
What end that I make, it shall be so,  
And girt him with his sword, and 'gan to go,  
And he forthright, till to Rome he come,  
And all alone his way that he hath nome,  
Unto the house of Colatin full right,  
Down was the sun, & day hath lost his light,  
And in he come, unto a privy halke,  
And in the night full theefely 'gan he stalk,  
When every wight was to his rest brought,  
Ne no wight had of treason such a thought,  
Whether by window, or by other gin,  
With sword ydraw, shortly he cometh in  
There as she lay, this noble wife Lucrece,  
And as she work, her bed she felt press:  
What beast is that (qd. she) that weigheth thus?  
I am the king's son Tarqvinius  
(Qd. he) but and thou cry, or any noise make,  
Or if thou any creature awake,  
By thilk God, that form man of live,  
This sword through thine heart shall I rive,  
And therewithal unto her throat he start,  
And set the sword all sharp on her heart:  
No word she spoke she hath no might thereto,  
What shall she sane, her wit is all ago,  
Right as when a wolf findeth a lamb alone,  
To whom shall she complain or make moan:  
What, shall she fight with an hardy knight,  
Well wot men a woman hath no might:  
What, shall she cry, or how shall she astart?  
That hath her by the throat, with sword at heart,  
She asketh grace, and said all that she can.  
No wolt thou nat (qd. this cruel man)  
As wisely jupiter my soul save,  
I shall in thy stable slay thy knave,  
And lay him in thy bed, and loud cry,  
That I thee find in such avoutrie,  
And thus thou shalt be dead, and also less  
Thy name, for thou shalt nat cheese.  
This Romans wives loveden so her name  
At thilk time, and dreden so the shame,  
That with for fere of slander, & dread of death  
She lost both at ones wit and breath,  
And in a swough she lay, and wox so dead,  
Men mighten smite off her arm or head,  
She feleth nothing, neither foul ne fair.  
Tarqvinius, that art a king's heir,  
And shouldest as by lineage and by right  
Done as a lord, and a very knight,  
Why hast thou done despite to chivalry?  
Why hast thou done thy lady villainy?  
Alas, of thee this was a villainous deed,  
But now to the purpose, in the story I read,  
When he was gone, & this mischance is fall,  
This lady sent after her friends all,  
Father, mother, and husband, all ifere,  
And dishevelled with her hair clear,  
In habit such as women used tho  
Unto the burying of her friends go,  
She sat in hall, with a sorrowful sight,  
Her friends asken what her aylen might,  
And who was dead, and she sat aye weeping,  
A word for shame ne may she forth out bring,  
Ne upon him she durst nat behold,  
But at the last of Tarquiny she him told  
This rueful case, and all this thing horrible,  
The woe to tell were impossible  
That she and all her friends make at ones,  
All had folk's hearts been of stones,  
It might have maked him upon her rue,  
Her heart was so wifely and so true,  
She said, that for her gilt ne for her blame  
Her husband should nat have the foul name,  
That would she nat suffren by no way:  
And they answer all unto her faith,  
That they foryave it her, for it was right,  
It was no gilt, it lay nat in her might,  
And saiden her ensamples many one,  
But all for naught, for thus she said anon:  
Be as be may (qd. she) of forgiving,  
I will nat have no forgift for nothing,  
But prively she caught forth a knife,  
And therewithal she raft herself her life,  
And as she fell adown she cast her look,  
And of her clothes yet heed she took,  
For in her falling yet she had a care,  
Lest that her feet or such things lay bare,  
So well she loved cleanness, and eke troth,  
Of her had all the town of Rome routh,  
And Brutus hath by her chaste blood swore,  
That Tarquin should ybanished be therefore,  
And all his kin, and let the people call,  
And openly the tale he told him all,  
And openly let carry her on a bear  
Through all the town, that men may see & here  
The horrible deed of her oppression,  
Ne never was there king in Rome town  
Sens thilk day, and she was holden there  
A saint, and ever her day yhallowed dear,  
As in her law: and thus endeth Lucrece  
The noble wife, Titus beareth witness:  
I tell it, for she was of love so true,  
Ne in her will she changed for no new,  
And in her stable heart, sad and kind,  
That in these women men may all day find  
There as they cast her heart, there it dwelleth,  
For well I wot, that Christ himself telleth,  
That in Israel, as wide as is the land,  
That so great faith in all the land he ne fond,  
As in a woman, and this is no lie,  
And as for men, look ye such tyranny  
They done all day, assay him who so list,  
* The truest is full brothel for to trist.   

¶ The Legend of Ariadne of Athens.  
JVdge infernal Minos, of Crete king,  
Now cometh thy lot, thou comest on  
the ring,  
Nat for thy sake only written is this story,  
But for to clepe again unto memory,  
Of Theseus the great untruth of love,  
For which the gods of heaven above  
Ben wroth, & wrath have take for thy sin,  
Be red for shame, now I thy life begin.  
Minos, that was the mighty king of Crete,  
That had an hundred cities strong and great,  
To school hath sent his son Androgeus  
To Athens, of the which it happened thus,  
That he was slain, learning Philosophy,  
Right in that city, nat but for envy.  
The great Minos, of the which I speak,  
His son's death is come for to wreak,  
Alcathoe he besieged hard and long,  
But nevertheless, the walls be so strong,  
And Nisus, that was king of that cite,  
So chivalrous, that little dreadeth he,  
Of Minos or his host took he no cure,  
Till on a day befell an aventure,  
That Nisus daughter stood upon the wall,  
And of the siege saw the manner all:  
So happened it, that at scarmishing,  
She cast her heart upon Minos the king,  
For his beauty, and his chivalry,  
So sore, that she wend for to die.  
And shortly of this process for to place,  
She made Minos' winnen thilk place,  
So that the city was all at his will,  
To saven whom him list, or else spill,  
But wickedly he quit her kindness,  
And let her drench in sorrow and distress,  
Near that the gods had of her pite,  
But that tale were too long as now for me,  
Athenes won this king Minos also,  
As Alcathoe, and other towns more,  
And this the effect, that Minos hath so driven  
Him of Athenes, that they moat him yeven  
Fro year to year her own children dear  
For to be slain, as ye shall after here.  
This Minos hath a monster, a wicked best,  
That was so cruel, that without areest,  
When that a man was brought into his presence,  
He would him eat, there helpeth no defence:  
And every third year withouten doubt,  
They casten lot, as it came about,  
On rich and poor, he must his son take,  
And of his child he must present make  
To Minos, to save him or to spill,  
Or let his beast devour him at his will.  
And this hath Minos done right in despite,  
To wreak his son was set all his delight,  
And make him of Athenes his thrall  
From year to year, while he liven shall.  
And home he saileth when this town is won,  
This wicked custom is so long iron,  
Till of Athenes king Egeus  
Mote senden his own son Theseus,  
Sens that the lot is fallen him upon  
To been devoured, for grace is there non.  
And forth is lad this woeful young knight  
Unto the country of king Minos full of might,  
And in a prison fettered fast is he,  
Till the time he should yfreten be.  
Well mayst thou weep, O woeful Theseus,  
That art a king's son, and damned thus,  
Me thinketh this, that thou art deep yhold  
To whom that saved thee fro cares cold,  
And now if any woman help thee,  
Well oughtest thou her servaunt for to be,  
And been her true lover year by year,  
But now to come again to my matter.  
The tower, there this Theseus is throw,  
Down in the bottom derk, and wonder low,  
Was joining to the wall of a foreign,  
Longing unto the doughtren tweine  
Of Minos that in her chambers great  
Dwelten above the master street  
Of the town, in joy and in sollas:  
Not I not how it happened percaas,  
As Theseus complained him by night,  
The king's daughter, that Ariadne height,  
And eke her sister Phedra, herden all  
His complaint, as they stood on the wall,  
And looked upon the bright moon,  
Him list nat to go to bed so soon:  
And of his woe they had compassion,  
A king's son to be in such prison,  
And been devoured, thought him great pite:  
Then Ariadne spoke to her sister free,  
And said: Phedra lief sister dear,  
This woeful lords son may ye nat here,  
How pitously he complaineth his kin,  
And eke his poor estate that he is in?  
And guiltless, certes now it is routh,  
And if ye wool assent, by my troth,  
He shall ben holpen, how so that we do.  
Phedra answer, iwis me is as woe  
For him, as ever I was for any man,  
And to his help the best read I can,  
Is, that we done the jailer prively  
To come and speak with us hastily,  
And done this woeful man with him to come,  
For if he may this monster overcome,  
Then were he quit, there is none other boot,  
Let us well taste him at his hart root,  
That if so be that he a weapon have,  
Where that he his life dare keep or save,  
Fighten with this fiend, and him defend,  
For in the prison, here as he shall descend,  
Ye wot well, that the beast is in a place  
That is not dark, & hath room & eke space  
To wield an axe, or sword, staff, or knife,  
So that me thinketh he should save his life,  
If that he be a man, he shall do so:  
And we shall make him balls eke also  
Of were and tow, that when he gapeth fast,  
Into the beestes' throat he shall him cast,  
To sleek his hunger, and encumber his teeth,  
And right anon when that Theseus seeth  
The be'st acheked, he shall on him leepe  
To sleen him, or they comen more to heap:  
This we apen shall the jailer, or that tide,  
Full prively within the prison hide:  
And for the house is crencled to and fro,  
And hath so quaint ways for to go,  
For it is shapen as the maze is wrought,  
Thereto have I a remedy in my thought,  
That by a clue of twine, as he hath gone,  
The same way he may return anon,  
Following always the thread, as he hath come,  
And when this be'st is overcome,  
Then may he flien away out of this stead,  
And eke the jailer may he with him lead,  
And him advance at home in his country,  
Sens that so great a Lords son is he.  
This is my read, if that ye dare it take.  
What should I longer sermon of it make,  
The jailer cometh, and with him Theseus,  
When these things ben accorded thus.  
Down sat Theseus upon his knee,  
The right lady of my life (qd. he)  
I sorrowful man, ydamned to the death:  
Fro you, whiles that me lasteth breath,  
I wol not twin, after this aventure,  
But in your service, thus I wool endure,  
That as a wretch vnknow, I wool you serve  
Forevermore, till that mine heart starve,  
Forsake I wool at home mine heritage,  
And as I said, been of your court a page,  
If that ye vouchsafe that in this place,  
Ye grant me to have such a grace,  
That I may have not but my meat & drink,  
And for my sustenance yet wool I swink,  
Right as you list, that Minos ne no wight.  
Sens that he saw me never with eyes sight,  
Ne no man else shall me espy,  
So slily, and so well I shall me gie,  
And me so well disfigure, and so low,  
That in this world there shall no man me know,  
To have my life, and to have presence  
Of you, that done to me this excellence,  
And to my father shall I send here,  
This worthy man, that is your gaylere,  
And him so guerdon, that he shall well be  
One of the greatest men of my country,  
And if I durst sane, my lady bright,  
I am a king's son and eke a knight  
As would God, if that it might be,  
Ye weren in my country all three,  
And I with you, to bear you company,  
Then should ye seen if that I thereof lie,  
And if that I proffer you in low manere,  
To been your page, and serven you right here,  
But I you serve as lowly in that place,  
I pray to Mars to yeve me soch grace,  
That shames death on me there moat fall,  
And death and poverte to my friends all,  
And that my spirit by night moat go,  
After my death, and walk to and fro,  
That I moat of traitor have a name,  
For which my spirit moat go, to do me shame,  
And if I claim ever other degree,  
But ye vouchsafe to yeve it me,  
As I have said, of shames death I day,  
And mercy Lady, I can naught else say.  
A seemly knight was this Theseus to see,  
And young, but of twenty year and three,  
But who so had yseen his countenance,  
He would have wept, for routh of his penance:  
For which this Ariadne in this manere,  
answer to his proffer and to his cheer.  
A king's son, and eke a knight (qd. she)  
Go been my servaunt in so low degree,  
God shield it, for the shame of women all,  
And lean me never such a case befall,  
And send you grace, and sleight of heart also  
You to defend, & knightly to sleen your foe,  
And lean hereafter I may you find  
To me, and to my sister here so kind,  
That I ne repent nat to yeve you life,  
Yet were it better I were your wife,  
Sith ye been as gentle borne as I,  
And have a realm nat but fast by,  
Than that I suffered your gentillesse to starve,  
Or that I let you as a page serve,  
It is no profit, as unto your kindred,  
But what is that, y● man wool nat do for dread,  
And to my sister sith that it is so,  
That she moat gone with me, if that I go,  
Or else suffer death as well as I,  
That ye unto your son as truly,  
Done her be wedded, at your home coming,  
This is the final end of all this thing,  
Ye swear it here, upon all that may be sworn?  
Ye Lady mine (qd. he) or else to torn  
Mote I be with the Minotaur or to morrow,  
And haveth here of mine heart blood to borrow,  
If that ye wool, if I had knife or spear,  
I would it let out, and thereon swear,  
For then at erst, I wot ye would me leve,  
By Mars, that is chief of my believe,  
So that I might liven, and nat fail  
To morrow for to taken my battle,  
I nolde never fro this place fly,  
Till that ye should the very proof see,  
For now, if that the soothe I shall you say,  
I have loved you full many a day,  
Though ye ne witted not, in my country,  
And aldermost desired you to see,  
Of any earthly living creature,  
Upon my truth I swear and you assure,  
This seven year I have your servaunt be,  
Now have I you, and also have ye me,  
My dear heart, of Athenes duchess.  
This Lady smileth at his steadfastness,  
And at his heartily words, and at his cheer,  
And to her lustre said in this manere:  
And soothly sister mine (qd. she)  
Now be we duchesses' both I and ye,  
And sikerde to the regals of Athenes,  
And both hereafter likely to be Queens,  
And saved from his death a king's son,  
As ever of gentle women is the won,  
To save a gentle man, enforth her might,  
In honest cause, and namely in his right,  
Me thinketh no wight ought us her of blame,  
Ne bearen us therefore an yvel name,  
And shortly of this mater for to make,  
This Theseus of her hath leave tale,  
And every point was performed in deed,  
As ye have in this covenaunt heard me read,  
His weep, his clue, his thing that I have said,  
Was by the jailer in the house ylaid,  
There as the Minotaur hath his dwelling,  
Right fast by the door, at his entering,  
And Theseus is lad unto his death,  
And forth unto this Minotaur he gethe,  
And by the teaching of this Adriane,  
He overcame this be'st, and was his bane,  
And out he cometh by the clue again  
Full prively, when he this be'st hath slain,  
And the jailer gotten hath a barge,  
And of his wife's treasure 'gan it charge  
And took his wife, and eke her sister free,  
And by the jailer, and with him all three  
Is stole away out of the land by night,  
And to the country of Enupie him dight,  
There as he had a friend of his knowing,  
There feesten they, there dancen they & sing,  
And in his arms hath this Adriane,  
That of the be'st hath kept him from his bane,  
And get him there a noble barge anon,  
And of his country folk a full great won,  
And taketh his leave, & homeward saileth he,  
And in an isle, amid the wild see,  
There as there dwelled creature none,  
Save wild beasts, and that full many one,  
He made his ship a land for to set,  
And in that isle half a day he let e.  
And said, that on the land he must him rest,  
His mariners have done right as him lest.  
And for to tell shortly in this case,  
When Ariadne his wife a sleep was,  
For that her sister fairer was than she,  
He taketh her in his hand, & forth goeth he  
To ship, and as a traitor stale away,  
While that this Ariadne a sleep lay,  
And to his country ward he sailed believe,  
A twenty devil way, the wind him drive.  
And found his father drenched in the see,  
Me list no more to speak of him pard,  
These false lovers, poison be her bane.  
But I wol turn again to Adriane,  
That is with sleep for weariness tale,  
Full sorrowfully her heart may awake.  
Alas, for thee mine heart hath pite,  
Right in the dawning awaketh she,  
And gropeth in the bed, & fond right nought:  
Alas (qd. she) that ever I was wrought,  
I am betrayed, and her here to rend,  
And to the strand barefote fast she went,  
And cried: Theseus mine heart sweet,  
Where he ye, that I may nat with you meet?  
And might thus with beasts been yslaine.  
The halow rocks answer her again,  
No man she saw, and yet shone the moon,  
And high upon a rock she went soon,  
And saw his barge sailing in the see,  
Cold wox her heart, and right thus said she:  
Meker then ye find I the beasts wild,  
Hath he nat sin, that he her thus beguiled,  
She cried, O turn again for ruth & sin,  
Thy barge hath nat all his mien in,  
Her kerchief on a pole sticked she,  
Askance he should it well ice,  
And him remember that she was behind,  
And turn again, & on the strand her find.  
But all for naught, his way he is gone,  
And down she fell a swowne on a stone,  
And up she riste, and kissed in all her care  
The steps of his feet, there he hath far,  
And to her bed right thus she speaketh tho:  
Thou bed (qd. she) that hast received two,  
Thou shalt answer of two, and not of one,  
Where is the greater part, away gone.  
Alas, where shall I wretched wight become?  
For though so be that boat none here come,  
Home to my country dare I nat for dread,  
I can myself in this case not read.  
What should I tell more her complaining,  
It is so long, it were an heavy thing?  
In her epistle, Naso telleth all,  
But shortly to the end tell I shall,  
The gods have her holpen for pite,  
And in the sign of Taurus men may see,  
The stones of her crown shine clear,  
I will no more speak of this matter,  
But thus this false lover can beguile  
His true love, the devil quite him his wile.   

¶ The legend of Philomene.  
THou yever of the forms that hast wrought  
The fair world, & bore it in thy thought  
Eternally, ere thou thy work began,  
Why madest thou unto the slander of man,  
Or all be that it was not thy doing,  
As for that end to make such a thing,  
Why sufferedest thou that Tereus was boar,  
That is in love so false and so forswore,  
That fro this world up to the first heaven,  
Corrumpeth, when that folk his name neven?  
And as to me, so grisly was his deed,  
That when that I this foul story read,  
Mine iyens wexen foul, and sore also,  
Yet lasteth the venom of so long ago,  
That infecteth him that would behold  
The story of Tereus, of which I told,  
Of Trace was he lord, and kin to Mart  
The cruel God that stante with bloody dart,  
And wedded had he with blissful cheer  
King Pandionis fair daughter dear,  
That height Progne, flower of her country,  
Though juno list not at the feast be,  
Ne Himeneus, that god of Wedding is,  
But at the feast ready been iwis,  
The furies three, with all her mortal bronde,  
The Owl all night above the balks wonde,  
That Prophet is of woe, and of mischance.  
This revel, full of song, and full of dance,  
Last a fourtenight, or little lass,  
But shortly of this story for to pass,  
(For I am weary of him for to tell)  
Five year his wife and he together dwell,  
Till on a day she 'gan so sore long  
To seen her sister, that she saw not long,  
That for desire she nist what to say,  
But to her husband 'gan she for to pray  
For God's love, that she moat ones gone  
Her sister for to seen, and come again anon,  
Or else but she moat to her wend,  
She prayed him that he would after her send:  
And this was day by day all her prayer,  
With all himblesse of wifehood, word & cheer.  
This Tereus let make his ships you're,  
And into Grece himself is forth ifare,  
Unto his father in law 'gan he pray,  
To vouchsafe, that for a month or twain,  
That Philomene his wife's sister might  
On Progne his wife but ones have a sight,  
And she shall come to you again anon  
Myself with her, I will both come and gone,  
And as my hearts' life I will her keep.  
This old Pandion, this king 'gan weep  
For tenderness of heart, for to leave  
His daughter gone, and for to yeve her leve,  
Of all this world he loved nothing so,  
But at the last, leave hath she to go,  
For Philomene with salt tears eke  
'Gan of her father grace to beseek,  
To seen her sister, that her longeth so,  
And him embraceth, with her arms two,  
And there also young and fair was she,  
That when that Tereus saw her beauty,  
And of array, that there was none her liche,  
And yet of beauty was she to so rich,  
He cast his fiery heart upon her so,  
That he wool have her, how so that it go,  
And with his wiles kneeled, and so prayed,  
Till at the last Pandion thus said.  
Now son (qd. he) that art to me so dear,  
I thee betake my young daughter dear,  
That beareth the key of all mine hearts' life,  
And great well my daughter, and thy wife,  
And yeve her leave sometime for to play,  
That she may seen me ones or I deie.  
And soothly he hath made him rich feast,  
And to his folk, the most and eke the least,  
That with him came: & gave him yefts great,  
And him conveieth through the master street  
Of Athenes, and to the sea him brought,  
And tourneth home, no malice he ne thought.  
The Oars pulleth forth the vessel fast,  
And into Trace arriveth at the last,  
And up in to a Forest he her led,  
And to a cave prively he him sped,  
And in this dark cave, if her jest  
Or list nought, he bade her for to rest,  
Of which her heart agrose, and said thus:  
Where is my sister, brother Tereus?  
And therewithal she wept tenderly,  
And quoke for fear, pale and piteous,  
Right as the lamb, that of the Wolf is bitten,  
Or as the Culver, that of the Eagle is smitten,  
And is out of his claves forth escaped,  
Yet it is afeard, and a waped,  
Lest it be hent eftsoon: so sat sehe,  
But utterly it may none other be,  
By force hath this traitor done a deed,  
That he hath reft her of her maidenhead,  
Maugre her head, by strength & by his might.  
Lo here a deed of men, and that aright.  
She crieth sister, with full loud steven,  
And father dear help me God in heaven:  
All helpeth not, and yet this false thief,  
Hath done this Lady yet a more mischief,  
For fear lest she should his shame cry,  
And done him openly a villainy,  
And with his sword her tongue of kerfe he,  
And in a Castle made her for to be,  
Full prively in prison evermore,  
And kept her to her usage and to his store,  
So that she ne might never more astart.  
O silly Philomene, woe is in thine hart,  
Huge been thy sorrows, and wonder smart,  
God wreak thee, and send thee thy bone,  
Now is time I make an end soon.  
This Tereus is to his wife icome,  
And in his arms hath his wife inome,  
And piteous he wept, and shaken his head,  
And swore her, that he found her sister dead,  
For which this silly Progne hath such woe,  
That nigh her sorrowful heart broke a two.  
And thus in tears let I Progne dwell,  
And of her sister forth I wool you tell.  
This woeful Lady ilearned had in youth,  
So that she work and enbrauden couth,  
And weaven in stole the rade vore,  
As it of women hath be woved yore,  
And soothly for to sane, she hath her fill  
Of meat and drink, of clothing at her will,  
And couth eke read well enough and indite,  
But with a pen she could not write,  
But letters can she wove to and fro,  
So that by the year was all ago,  
She had woven in a stames large,  
How she was brought from Athens in a barge,  
And in a cave how that she was brought,  
And all the thing that Tereus wrought,  
She wave it well, and wrote the story above,  
How she was served for her susters love,  
And to a man a ring she gave anon,  
And prayed him by signs for to gone  
Unto the queen, and bearen her that cloth,  
And by sign swore many an oath,  
She should him yeve what she gotten might.  
This man anon unto the queen him dight,  
And took it her, and all the manner told,  
And when that Progne hath this thing behold,  
No word she spoke, for sorrow & eke for rage,  
But feigned her to gone on pilgrimage  
To Bacchus remple, and in a little stound  
Her dumb sister sitting hath she found  
Weeping in the castle herself alone,  
Alas the woe, constraint, and the moan  
That Progne upon her dumb sister maketh,  
In arms everich of him other taketh,  
And thus I let him in her sorrow dwell,  
The remnant is no charge to tell,  
For this is all and some, thus was she served  
That never agilt, ne deserved  
Unto this cruel man, that she of wist  
Ye may beware of men if that you list,  
* For all be that he wool not for shame  
done as Tereus, to less his name,  
Ne serve you as a murderer or a knave,  
Full little while shall ye true him have,  
That wol I said, all were he now my brother,  
But it so be that he may have another.   

¶ The legend of Phillis.  
BY prove, as well as by authority,  
That wicked fruit cometh of a wicked tree,  
That may ye find, if that it liketh you,  
But for this end, I speak this as now,  
To tell you of false Demophon,  
In love a falser heard I never non,  
But it were his father Theseus,  
God for his grace fro such one keep us,  
Thus these women prayed, that it here,  
Now to the effect turn I of my matter.  
Destroyed is of Troie the city,  
This Demopon came sailing in the see  
Toward Athenes, to his paleis large,  
With him came many a ship, & many a barge  
Full of folk, of which full many one  
Is wounded sore, and sick, and woe begun,  
And they have at the siege long ilaine,  
Behind him came a wind, and eke a rain,  
That shofe so sore, his sail might not stoned,  
Him were lever than all the world a land,  
So hunteth him the tempest to and fro,  
So dark it was, he could no where go,  
And with a wave brusten was his steer,  
His ship was rend so low, in such manere,  
That Carpenter could it not amend,  
The see by night as any Torch brende,  
For wood, and posseth him up and down,  
Till Neptune hath of him compassion,  
And Thetis, Chorus, Triton, and they all,  
And maden him up a land to fall,  
Whereof that Phillis Lady was and Queen,  
Lycurgus' daughter, fairer unto seen  
Than is the flower again the bright Son,  
Vnneth is Demophon to land iwonne,  
Weak and eke weary, and his folk forpined  
Of weariness, and also enfamined,  
And to the death he was almost idriven,  
His wise folk counsel have him yeven,  
To seken help and succour of the Queen,  
And look what his grace might been,  
And maken in that land some chevesaunce,  
And keep him fro woe, and fro mischance,  
For sick he was, and almost at the death,  
uneath might he speak, or draw breath,  
And lieth in Rhodopeia him for to rest,  
When he may walk, him thought it was best  
Unto the country to seeken for succour,  
Men knew him well, and did him honour,  
For at Athenes Duke and Lord was he,  
As Theseus his father hath ibe,  
That in his time was great of renown,  
No man so great in all his region,  
And like his father of face and of stature,  
And false of love, it came him of nature,  
As doth the Fox Renarde, the Fox's son,  
Of kind he could his old father won  
Without lore, as can a Drake swim  
When it is caught, and carried to the brim:  
This honourable queen Phillis doth him cheer,  
Her liketh well his sport and his manner,  
But I am agroted here before,  
To write of him that in love been forsworn,  
And eke to haste me in my legend,  
Which to perform, God me grace send,  
Therefore I pass shortly in this wise,  
Ye have well heard of Theseus the gise,  
In the betraiing of fair Adriane,  
That of her pite kept him from his bane,  
At short words, right so Demophon,  
The same way, and the same path hath gone  
That did his false father Theseus,  
For unto Phillis hath he sworn thus,  
To wedden her, and her his troth plight,  
And piked of her all the good he might,  
When he was hole & sound, and had his rest,  
And doth with Phillis what so that him lest,  
As well I could, if that me list so,  
Tellen all his doing to and fro.  
He said to his country moat him sail,  
For there he would her wedding apparel,  
As fill to her honour, and his also,  
And openly he took his leave tho,  
And to her swore he would not sojourn,  
But in a month again he would return,  
And in that land let make his ordinance,  
As very Lord, and took the obeisance,  
Well and humbly, and his ships dight,  
And home he goeth the next way he might,  
For unto Phillis yet came he nought,  
And that hath she so hard and sore ibought,  
Alas, as the story doth us record,  
She was her own death with a cord,  
When that she saw that Demophon her traied.  
But first wrote she to him, & fast him prayed  
He would come, and deliver her of pain,  
As I rehearse shall a word or twain,  
Me list not vouchsafe on him to swink,  
Dispenden on him a pen full of ink,  
For false in love was he, right as his sire,  
The Devil set her souls both on a fire,  
But of the letter of Phillis wool I write,  
A word or twain, although it be but light.  
Thine hostess (qd. she) O Demophon,  
Thy Phillis, which that is so woe begon,  
Of Rhodopeie, upon you moat complain,  
Over the term set betwixt us twain,  
That ye ne holden forward, as ye said:  
Your ancre, which ye in our haven laid,  
Height us, that ye would comen out of doubt,  
Or that the Moon ones went about,  
But times four, the Moon hath hid her face  
Sens thilk day ye went fro this place,  
And four times light the world again,  
But for all that, yet shall I soothly said,  
Yet hath the stream of Scython not brought  
From Athens the ship, yet came it nought,  
And if that ye the term reken would,  
As I or other true lovers do should,  
I plain not (God wot) before my day.  
But all her letter written I ne may,  
By order, for it were to me a charge,  
Her letter was right long, and thereto large,  
But here and there, in rhyme I have it laid  
There as me thought that she hath well said.  
She said, the sails cometh not again,  
Ne to the word, there nis no ●ey certain,  
But I wot why ye come not (qd. she)  
For I was of my love to you so free,  
And of the Gods that ye have sworn,  
That her vengeance fall on you therefore,  
Ye be not suffissant to bear the pain,  
To much trusted I, well may I said,  
Upon your lineage, and your fair tongue,  
And on your tears falsely out wrong,  
How could ye weep so by craft? qd. she)  
May there such tears feigned be?  
Now certes, if ye would have in memory,  
It ought be to you but little glory,  
To have a silly maid thus betrayed,  
To God (qd. she) pray I, and oft have prayed,  
That it be now the greatest price of all,  
And most honour, that ever you shall befall,  
And when thine old ancestors painted be,  
In which men may her worthiness see,  
Then pray I God, thou painted be also,  
That folk may reden, forth by as they go.  
Lo this is he, that with his flattery  
Betrayed hath, and done her villainy,  
That was his true love, in thought & deed.  
But soothly of o point yet may they read,  
That ye been like your father, as in this,  
For he beguiled Ariadne iwis,  
With such an art, and such subtelty,  
As thou thy selves hast beguiled me:  
As in that point, although it be not feire  
Thou followest certain, and art his heir.  
But since thus sinfully ye me beguile,  
My body moat ye seen, within a while  
Right in the haven of Athenes fleeting,  
Withouten Sepulture and burying,  
Though ye been harder than is any stone.  
And when this letter was forth sent anon,  
And knew how brotell and how falls he was,  
She for despair fordid herself, alas,  
Such sorrow hath she, for she beset her so.  
Beware ye women of your subtle foe,  
Sens yet this day men may ensample see,  
And trusteth now in love no man but me.   

¶ The legend of Hypermestre.  
IN Grecen whilom were brethren two,  
Of which that one was called Danao,  
That many a son hath of his body won,  
As such false lovers oft con.  
Among his sons all there was one,  
That aldermost he loved of everychone,  
And when this child was borne, this Danao  
Shaped him a name, and called him Lino,  
That other brother called was Egiste,  
That was of love as false as ever him list,  
And many a daughter gate he in his life,  
Of which he gate upon his right wife,  
A daughter dear, and did her for to call,  
Hypermestra, youngest of him all,  
The which child of her nativite,  
To all good thews borne was she,  
As liked to the Gods or she was borne,  
That of the sheaf she should be the corn,  
The werdes that we clepe destiny,  
Hath shapen her, that she must needs be  
piteous, sad, wise, true as steel,  
And to this woman it acordeth well,  
For though that Venus' gave her great beauty,  
With jupiter compowned so was she,  
That conscience, troth, and dread of shame,  
And of her wifehode for to keep her name,  
This thought her was felicity as here,  
And reed Mars, was that time of the year  
So feeble, that his malice is him raft,  
Repressed hath Venus his cruel craft,  
And what with Venus, and other oppression  
Of houses, Mars his venom is a don,  
That Hypermestre dare not handle a knife,  
In malice, though she should less her life,  
But nevertheless, as heaven 'gan though turn,  
Two bad aspects hath she of Saturn,  
That made her to die in prison,  
And I shall after make mention,  
Of Danao and Cgistes also,  
And though so be that they were brethren two,  
For thilk time nas spared no lineage,  
It liked him to maked marriage  
Betwixt Hypermestre, and him Lino,  
And casten such a day it shall be so,  
And full accorded was it utterly,  
The array is wrought, the time is fast by,  
And thus Lino hath of his father's brother,  
The daughter wedded, and each of hem hath other,  
The torch's brennen, & the lamps bright  
The Sacrifice been full ready dight,  
Thensence out of the fire reketh soot,  
The flower, the leefe, is rend up by the root,  
To maken garlands and crowns high,  
Full is the place of sound of Minstralcie,  
Of songs amorous of marriage,  
As thilk time was the plain usage,  
And this was in the paleis of Egiste,  
That in his house was lord, right as him list  
And thus that day they driven to an end,  
The friends taken leve, & home they wend,  
The night is come, the bride shall go to bed,  
Egiste to his chamber fast him sped,  
And prively let his daughter call,  
When that the house voided was of him all,  
He looketh on his daughter with glad cheer,  
And to her spoke, as ye shall after here.  
My right daughter, treasure of mine heart,  
Sens first that day, that shapen was my shirt,  
Or by the fatal sister had my doom,  
So nigh mine heart never thing ne come,  
As thou Hypermestre, daughter dear,  
Take heed what thy father saith thee here,  
* And work after thy wiser ever more,  
For alderfirst daughter I love thee so,  
That all the world to me nis half so lief,  
Ne nolde read thee to thy mischief,  
For all the good under the cold Moon,  
And what I mean, it shall be said right soon,  
With protestation, as sane these wise,  
That but thou do, as I shall thee devise,  
Thou shalt be ded by him that all hath wrought,  
At short words thou ne scapest nought  
Out of my paleis, or that thou be deed,  
But thou consent, and work after my reed,  
Take this to the fearful conclusioun.  
This Hypermestre cast her iyen down,  
And quoke as doth the lief of ash green,  
Deed wext her hue, and like ashen to seen,  
And said: Lord and father all your will,  
After my might, God wot I will fulfil,  
So it be to me no confusion.  
I nill (qd. he) have none exception,  
And out he caught a knife, as razor keen,  
Hide this (qd. he) that it be not isene,  
And when thine husband is to bed go,  
While that he slepeth cut his throat atwo,  
For in my dream it is warned me,  
How that my nevewe shall my bane be,  
But which I not, wherefore I wool be siker,  
If thou say nay, we two shall have a biker,  
As I have said, by him that I have sworn.  
This Hipermestre hath nigh her wit forlorn,  
And for to passen harmless out of that place,  
She granted him, there was none other grace:  
And withal a costrell taketh he tho  
And said, hereof a draught or two,  
Yeve him drink, when he goeth to rest,  
And he shall sleep as long as ever thee lest,  
The narcotikes and apies been so strong,  
And go thy way, lest that him think to long.  
Out cometh the bride, & with full sober cheer,  
As is of maidens oft the manner,  
To chamber brought, with revel & with song,  
And shortly, least this tale be to long,  
This Lino and she beth brought to bed,  
And every wight out at the door him sped,  
The night is wasted, and he fell aslepe,  
Full tenderly beginneth she to weep,  
She rist her up, and dreadfully she quaketh,  
As doth the branch, that Zephyrus shaketh,  
And hushed were all in Aragone that city,  
As cold as any Frost now waxeth she,  
For pite by the heart strained her so,  
And dread of death doth her so moche woe,  
That thrice down she fill, in such a were,  
She riste her up, & stakereth here and there,  
And on her hands fast looketh she,  
Alas, shall mine hands bloody be,  
I am maid, and as by my nature,  
And by my semblaunt, and by my vesture,  
Mine hands been not shapen for a knife,  
As for to reve no man from his life,  
What Devil have I with the knife to do?  
And shall I have my throat corve a two?  
Then shall I bleed alas, and be shende,  
And needs this thing moat have an end,  
Or he or I moat needs less our life,  
Now certes (qd. she) sens I am his wife,  
And hath my faith, yet is it bette for me  
For to be dead, in wifely honest,  
Than be a traitor, living in my shame,  
Be as be may, for earnest or for game,  
He shall awake, and rise and go his way  
Out at this gutter ere that it be day:  
And wept full tenderly upon his face,  
And in her arms 'gan him to embrace,  
And him she joggeth, and awaketh soft,  
And at the window leap he fro the loft,  
When she hath warned him, & done him boat  
This Lino swift was, and light of foot,  
And from her ran, a full good pace.  
This silly woman is so weak, alas  
And helpless, so that ere she far went,  
Her cruel father did her for to hent,  
Alas Lino, why art thou so unkind,  
Why ne hast thou remembered in thy mind,  
And taken her, and led her forth with thee,  
For when she saw that gone away was he,  
And that she might not so fast go,  
Ne followen him, she sat down right tho,  
Until she was caught, and fettered in prison  
This tale is said for this conclusion.   
¶ Here endeth the legend of good Women.   

¶ A goodly Ballad of Chaucer.  

MOther of nurture, best beloved of all,  
And fresh flower, to whom good thrift God send,  
Your child, if it lust you me so to call,  
All be I unable myself so to pretend,  
To your discretion I recommend  
Mine heart and all, with every circumstance,  
All wholly to be under your governance.   

Most desire I, and have, and ever shall,  
Thing, which might your hearts' ease amend:  
Have me excused, my power is but small,  
Nevertheless of right ye ought to commend  
My good will, which fain would intend  
To do you service, for all my suffisance  
Is holly to be under your governance.   

Meulx un, in heart, which never shall appall,  
Aye fresh and new, and right glad to dispend  
My time in your service, what so befall,  
Beseeching your excellence to defend  
My simpleness, if ignorance offend  
In any wise, sith that mine affiance,  
Is holly to been under your governance.   

Daisy of light, very ground of comfort,  
The Sun's daughter (ye height) as I read,  
For when he Westreth, farewell your disport,  
By your nature anon right for pure dread,  
Of the rude night, that with his boistous weed  
Of darkness, shadoweth our emispere,  
Then closen ye, my lives Lady dear.   

Dauning the day, to his kind resort  
And Phoebus your Father, with his streams read,  
Adorneth the morrow, consuming the sort  
Of misty clouds, that woulden overlede  
True humble hearts, with her misty heed,  
Near comfort a days, when iyen clear,  
Disclose and spread my lives Lady dear.   

* je vouldray: but great God disposeth  
And maketh casuel by his providence,  
such thing, as man's frele wit purposeth,  
All for the best, if that your conscience  
Not grudge it, but in humble patience  
* It receive: for God saith without fable,  
A faithful heart ever is acceptable.   

Cautels who so useth gladly, gloseth,  
To eschew such it is right high prudence,  
What ye said ones, mine hart opposeth,  
That my writing yapes in your absence,  
Pleased you much better than my presence:  
Yet can I more, ye be not excusable,  
A faithful heart ever is acceptable.   

Quaketh my pen, my spirit supposeth,  
That in my writing ye find wool some offence,  
Min heart welkneth thus soon, anon it riseth,  
Now hot, now cold, and eft in fervence:  
That miss is, is caused of negligence,  
And not of malice, therefore beth merciable,  
A faithful heart ever is acceptable.   

¶ Lenuoye.  
Forth complaint, forth lacking eloquence,  
Forth little letter of enditing lame,  
I have besought my lady's Sapience,  
Of thy behalf, to accept in game,  
Thine inability, do thou the same:  
Abide, have more yet: je serve jovesse,  
Now forth, I close thee in holy Venus' name,  
Thee shall unclose my heart's governeresse.    

Boecius de Consolatione Philosophiae.  
In this Book are handled high and hard obscure Points, viz. The purveyance of God; The force of Destiny; The freedom of our Wills; and the infallible Prescience of the Almighty; and that the Contemplation of God himself is our Summum bonunt.  

Carmina qui quondam study florenti peregi Flebilis heu moestos coger inire modos.  
ALas, I weeping am constrained to begin verse of sorrowful matter, that whilom in flourishing study made delitable ditties. For lo, rending Muses of Poets, enditen to me things to be written, and dreary teats. At last no dread ne might overcome though muses, that they ne werren fellows, and folowden my way, that is to say: when I was exiled, they that weren of my youth, whilom weelful and green, comforten now sorrowful wierdes of me old man: for eld is come unwarely upon me, hasted by the harms that I have, and sorrow hath commanded his age to be in me. Heeres hore aren shed overtimeliche upon my head: and the stack skin trembleth of mine empted body. Thilk death of men is weleful, y● ne cometh not in years that be sweat, but cometh to wretches often cleped: Alas, alas, with how deaf an ear death cruel turneth away from wretches, and ●●aieth for to close weepying iyen. While Fortune unfaithful, favoured me with light goods, the sorrowful hour, that is to say, the death, had almost dreint mine head: but now for Fortune cloudy, hath changed her deceivable cheer to meward, mine unpitous life draweth along ungreable dwellings. O ye my friends, what, or whereto avaunted ye me to been wilful? For he that hath fallen, stood in no steadfast degree.  

Haec dum mecum tacitus ipse reputarem, querimoniamque lacrimabilem stili Officio designarem; astitisse mihi supra verticem visa est mulie● reverendi admodum vultus, oculis ardentibus, & ultra communem, etc.  
IN the mean while, that I still recorded these things with myself, and marked my wepely complaint, with office of poinctell: I saugh standing aboven the height of mine head a woman of full great reverence, by semblant. Her iyens burning & clear, sing over the common might of men, with a lively colour, & with such vigour & strength that it ne might not been nempned, all were it so that she were full of so great age, that men woulden not trowen in no manner that she were of our eld.  
The stature of her was of doutous judgement for sometime she constrained & shrunk her seluen, like to the common measure of men: And sometime it seemed, that she touched the heaven, with the height of her head. And when she have her head higher, she pierced the selfe heaven so that the sight of men looking was in idle: her clothes were maked of right delie threads, & subtle craft of per durable mattier. The which clothes she had woven with her own honds, as I knew well after, by herself declaring, & showing to me the beauty: The which clothes a darkness of a forleten and despised eld had dusked and darked, as it is wont to dark by smoked Images.  
In the netherest hem or border of these clothes, men red iwoven therein, a Greekish A. that signifieth the life Active: & above that letter, in the highest bordure, a Greekish C. that signifieth the life Contemplatife. And between these two letters, there were seen degrees nobly wrought in manner of ladders, by which degrees men might climben from the netherest letter to the upperest: nevertheless, hands of some men hadden carve that cloth by violence or by strength, & everiche man of him had borne away such pieces as he might gotten. And forsooth this foresaid woman bore small books in her right hand, & in her left hand she bore a Sceptre. And when she saw these Poetical Muses approaching about my bed, and enditing words to my weepings, she was a little amoved, & glow o with cruel iyens. Who (qd. she) hath suffered approach to this sick man, these come strumpets, of which is the place that men call Theatre, the which only ne asswagen not his sorrows with remedies, but they would feden and nourish him with sweet venom? Forsooth, that been though that with thorns, & prickings of talentes of affections, which that been nothing fructuous nor profitable, distroyen the Come, plenteous of fruits of reason. For they holden hearts of men in usage, but they ne deliver no folk from malady. But if the Muses had withdrawn from me with your flatteries, any an uncunning & unprofitable man, as been wont to find commonly among the people, I would well suffer the lass grievously. For why, in such an unprofitable man, mine ententes were nothing endamaged. But ye withdrowen from me this man, that hath been nourished in my studies or scoles of Eleaticis, & of Achademicis in Grece. But goeth now rather away ye Metmaydens, which that been sweet, till it be at the last, & suffreth this man to be cured and healed by my Muses, that is to say, by my notefull Sciences. And thus this company of muses iblamed, casten wrothly their cheer downwardly to the yearth, and showing by redness her shame, they passeden sorrowfully the threshold. And I of whom the sight plounged in tears was darked, so that I ne might not know what that woman was, of so Imperial authority, I wo●e all abashed and astonished, & cast my sight down to the yearth and begins still for to abide what she would done afterward. Then came she ne'er, & set her down upon the utterest corner of my bed, & she beholding my cheer, that was cast to the yearth, heavy & grevous of weeping, complained with these words (that I shall ●aine) the perturbation of my thought.   

Heu quam praecipiti mersa profundo. Mens habet, & propria luce relicta. Tendit ad externas ire tenebras. Terrenis quoties flatibus acta. Crescit in immensum noxia cura. Hic quondam coelo liber aperto, etc.  
ALas, how the thought of this man, dreinte in overthrowing deepness, dulleth & foreleteth his proper clearness, minting to gone into foreign darkness, as oft as his anoious business waxeth without measure, that is driven with worldly Winds. This man that whilom was free, to whom the heaven was open and known, and was wont to gone in heavenly paths, & saw the lightness of the red Sun, and beheld the Stars of the cold Moon, & which Star in heaven useth wand'ring recourses y●lit by divers spheres. This man overcomer had comprehended all this thing, by number of accounting in Astronomy. And over this, he was wont to seken the causes, whence the swooning winds moven, and besien the smooth water of the Sea. And what Spirit tourneth the stable heaven, And why the Star riseth out of the red East, to fallen in the western waves. And what attempreth the lusty hours of the first Sommer season, and highteth and apparayleth the yearth with rosy flowers. And who maketh the plumtuous Autumpne, in full years fleeten with heavy Grapes. And eke this man was wont to tell the divers causes of nature that were hid. Alas, how lightly is empted the light of his thought, & his neck is pressed with heavy chains, and beareth his cheer inclined adoune for the great weight, & is constrained to looken on the foolish yearth.   

Sed magis medicinae (inquit) tempus est quam querelae. Boe. Tum vero totis in me intenta luminibus. Philo. Tu ne ille es (ait) qui nostro quondam lacte nutritus, nostris educatus alimentis, in virilis animi robur evaseras, etc.  
BUt time is now of Medicine (qd. she) more than complaint. Forsooth than she intending to mewarde, with all the looking of her iyens, said. Art nat thou he (qd. she) that whilom I nourished with my milk, and fostered with my meats, were escaped & come to the courage of a perfect man? Certes, ay gave thee such armours, that if thou thyself ne hadst first cast him away, they shoulden have defended thee in sickerness, that may not be overcomen. Knowest thou not me? Why art thou still? Is it for shame, or for astoniing? It were me lever it were for shame, but it seemeth me that astoniing hath oppressed thee. And when she saw me not only still, but rather without office of tongue, and all dumb, she laid her hand softly on my breast, and said: Here is no peril (qd. she) he is fallen into a litarge, which that is a common sickness to hearts that been deceived. He hath a little forget himself. But certes, he shall lightly remembrens himself, if so be that he hath known me ere now. And that he may done so, I will wipe his iyens a little, that be darked by the cloud of mortal things. These words said she, and with the lap of her garment, iplited in a frounce, she dried mine iyens, that weren full of the waves of my weep.   

Tunc me discussa liquerunt nocte tenebre, Luminibusque prior redit vigour. Ut cum praecipiti glomerantur sidera choro. Nimbosisque polus stetit imbribus. Sol later, ac nondum coelo venientibus astris, etc.  
THus when that night was discussed away, Darkness forlette me, and to my iyens repaired again her first strength. And right as by ensample, as the Sun is hid when the Stars been covered with clouds, by a swift wind that height Chorus, and the Firmament stant darked by were plungy clouds: And that the Stars not apperens upon the heaven, so that the night seemed sprad upon the yearth. If then the wind that height Boreas, isent out of the Cave of the Country of Trace, beateth this night, that is to sane, chaseth it away, & discovereth y● closed day, then shineth Phoebus, ishaked with sudden light, and smiteth with his beams in marvelling iyen.   

Haud aliter tristitiae nebulis dissolutis, hausi coelum, & ad cognoscendam medicantis faciem, mentem recepi. Itaque ubi in eam deduxi oculos, intuitumque defixi, respicio nutricem meam, in cujus ab adolescentia, etc.  
RIght so and none otherwise, the Clouds of sorrow dissolved, and done away, I took heaven, and received mind to known the face of my Phisicien: so that I set mine iyens upon her, and fastened my looking. I beheld my Nourice Philosophy, in whose house I had conversed from my youth, and I said thus. O thou Mistress of all virtues, descended from the sovereign seat, why art thou come into this solitary place of mine exile? Art thou come, for thou art made coulpable with me of false blames. O (qd. she) my nourice, should I forsake thee now, and should I not parten with thee by come travail, the charge that thou haste suffered for envy of my name? Certes it were not lawful ne fitting to Philosophy, to let without company, the way of him that is innocent: Should I then redout my blame, and agrize though there were befallen a new thing? For trowest thou that Philosophy, be now alderfirst assailed in perils, by folk of wicked manner? Have I not striven with full grate strife, in old time, before the age of my Plato, against the foolhardiness of folly? And eke the same Plato living, his Master Socrates, deserved victory of unrightful death in my presence. The heritage of the which Socrates, the heritage, is to sane the Doctrine, of the which Socrates, in his opinion of felicity, that I cleape welefulness: when that the people of Epicuriens and Stoiciens, and many other, enforced them to go ravish, every many for his part, that is to sane, the everich of hem would drawn, to the defence of his opinion, the words of Socrates. They as in party of their prey, to drown me, crying and debating there against, and coruen & renten my clothes, that I had woven with mine own hands. And with though clothes that they had araced out of my clothes, they wenten away, weening that I had gone with him every deal. In which Epicuriens & Stoiciens, for as much as there seemed some traces & steps of my habit. The folly of weening though Epicuriens & Stoiciens, my familiars, perverted some, through the error of the wicked multitude of him: This is to said, for they seemed Philosophers they weren pursued to the death and slain. So if thou haste not known the exiling of Anaxagoras, ne the enpoysoning of Socrates, ne the tourments of Zeno, for they weren strangers, yet mightest thou have known the Senecas, the Canios', and the Soranos: Of which folk, the renome is neither over old ne unsolempne. The which men nothing else ne brought to the death, but only for they were informed of my manners, and semeden most unlike to the studies of wicked folk. And for thy, thou oughtest not to wondrens, though that I in the bitter Sea, be driven with tempests blowing about. In the which this is my most purpose, that is to sane, to displeasen wicked men. Of which shrews, all be the host never so great, it is to despise, for it is not governed with no leader of reason, but it is ravished only by fleeting error, foolily and lightly. And if they sometime make an host against us, assail us as strenger: our leader draweth together his richesses' into his Tower, & they been ententife, about sarpleris or sachelles, unprofitable for to taken. But we then been high aboven, siker from all tumult and wood noise, warenestored and enclosed in such a Paleis, whither as the clatering or anoiing folly may not attain, we scorn such raveners, and henters of foulest things.   

Quisquis composito serenus evo, Fatum sub pedibus egit superbum: Fortunamque tuens utramque rectus, Invictum potuit tenere vultum, etc.  
* WHo so it be that clear of virtue, sad, and well ordinate of living, that hath put under foot the proud wierdes, and looketh upright upon either Fortune, he may holden his cheer undiscomfited.  
The rages ne the menaces of the sea, commoving and chase unware, heat from the bottom, ne shall not move that man, ne the unstable Mountaigne that height Vesenus, that writheth out through his broken Chimeneis, smoking Fires, ne the way of Thunder leites that is wont to smitten high Coures, ne shall not move that man. Whereto then wretches dread ye Tyrants, that been wood, & felonnous with any strength? * Hope after nothing, ne dread thou not: and so shalt thou disarmen the ire of thilk unmighty tyrant. But who that quaking dreadeth, or desireth thing that is not stable of his right, that man that so doth, hath cast away his shield, and is removed from his place, & enlaseth him in the chain, with the which he may be drawn.   

Sentis ne (inquit) haec? Atque animo illabuntur tuo? Expers ne es lyrae? Quid fles? Quid lachrimis manas? Si operam medicantis expectas, oportet ut vulnus detegas tuum, etc.  
feelest thou (qd. she) these things? And entrens they aught in thy courage? Art thou like an Ass to the Harp? Why weepest thou? Why spillest thou tears? * If thou abidest after help of the leech, thee behoveth discover thy wound? Tho I had gathered strength in my courage, and answered and said: And needeth it (qd. I) of rehearsing, or of amonition, & showeth it not enough by himself, the sharpness that waxeth wood against me. Ne moveth it not thee to see the face, or the manner of this place? Is this the Library that thou hadst chosen for a right certain liege, to thee in mine house there as thou disputest oft with me of the Science of things, touching divinity, and touching mankind? Was then mine habit such as it is now? was my face or cheer, such as it is now, when I sought with the secrets of nature, when thou enformedest my manners, & the reason of all my life, to th'ensample of thorder of heaven: Is not this the guerdon that I refer to thee, to whom I have be obeissant? Certes, thou enformedest by the Mouth of Plato this sentence, that is to sane: That comen things or commonalties weren blissful, if they that had studied all fully to wisdom, governeden thilk things: or else it so befell, that the governors of commonalties, studien to get wisdom. Thou saidst eke by the mouth of the said Plato, that it was a necessary cause, wisemen to taken & desiren the governance of comen things, for that the governance of Citees, ileft in the hands of felonous tourmentors, citizens ne shoulden not bringen in pestilence and destruction to good folk. And therefore I following thilk authors, desired to put forth in execution & in act, of come administration thilk things, that I had learned of thee among my secret vesting while, thou & GOD, y● put in the thoughts of wise folk, been known with me, that nothing ne brought me to mastery or dignity, but the common study of all goodness. And therefore cometh it, that between wicked folk & me have been grevous discords, that ne mighten not be released by Prayers: for this liberty hath the freedom of conscience, that the wrath of more mighty folk, hath always been despised of me, for salvation of right. How oft have I resisted and withstand the man that height Canigast that made always th'assault against the prosper fortunes of poor feeble folk? How oft eke have I put of or cast out him Triguill, Provost of the Kings house, both of the wrongs that he had begun to done, and eke fully performed. How often have I covered and defended by the authority of me, put against perils, that is to sane, put mine authority in peril, for the wretched poor folk, that the covetise of stranger's unpunished, turmenteden always with miseases, and grievances out of number? Never man yet drowe me fro right to wrong. When I saw the Fortunes and the richesses' of the people of the Provinces been harmed and amenused, either by privy ravenes, or by come tributes or carriages, as sorry was I as they that suffreden the harm. Gloze. When Theoderike King of Goths in a dead year had his garners full of Corn, & commanded that no man should buy no corn, till his corn were sold, and at a grevous dear price: Beoce withstood the ordinance, & overcame it, knowing all this the king Theodorike himself. Coemption is to say, come achate or buying together, that were established upon the people, by such a manner of imposition, as who so bought a bushel of Corn, he must given the king the fifth part. Cextus. When it was in the sore hungry time, there was established grevous & unprofitable coemption, that men seen well, it should greatly tourmenten & endomagen all the Province of Campaine. I took strife against the Provost of the pretory, for the common profit. And the knowing of it, I overcame it, so that the coemption was not asked, ne took effect.  
Pauline a counsellor of Room, the richesses' of the which Pauline, the hands of the Paleis, that is to say, the officers woulden have devoured by hope and covetise: yet drowe I out of the jowes of him that gapeden. And for as much as the pain of the accusation adjudged before, ne should not suddenly henten, ne punishen wrongfully Albine a counsellor of Room, I put me against the hates and indignations of the accuser, Cyprian. Is it not then enough since that I have purchased great discords against myself? But I ought be more assured against other folk, that for the love of right wiseness I never reserved nothing to myself, to hemward of the king's hall, by which I were the more siker. But through though same accusers accusing, I am condemned. Of the number of which accusers, one Basilius that whilom was chased out of the King's service, is now compelled in accusing of my name, for need of foreign money.  
Also, Opilion and Gaudencius, have accused me: All be it so that the justice Regal had whilom deemed them both to gone into exile, for her treacheries and frauds without number. To which judgement they nolden not obey, but defended him by the sickerness of holy houses, that is to said, fledden into Seintewarie: And then when this was apperceived by the King, he commanded, but if they avoided the city of Ravenne, by certain day assigned, that men should marken him on the forehedde with an hot iron, and chasen hem out of the town. Now what thing seemeth might be likened to this cruelty, for certes, this same day was received, the accusing of my name by thilk same accusoures? What may be said hereto? Hath my study and my coning deserved thus, or else the foresaied damnation of me, made them rightful accusers or no? Was not Fortune ashamed of this? Certes, all had not Fortune ben ashamed, that innocence was accused, yet ought she have had shame of the filth of mine accusers. But ask thou in some, of what guilt I am accused. Men sane that I would saven the company of the Senators. And desirest thou to herens in what manner I am accused, that I should have distourbed the accuser to bearen Letters, by which he should have made the Senators guilty, against the King's royal Majesty. O Mistress, what deemest thou of this? Shall I forsake this blame that I ne no shame to thee? Certes, I have would it (that is to say) the salvation of the Senate, ne I shall never let to wilne it, & that I confess & am know, but the intent of the accuser to been distourbed, shall cease. Shall I clepe that a felony or a sin, that I have desired the sanation of the order of the Senate. And certes, had thilk same Senate done through her decretes & her judgements, as though it were a sin & a felony, that is to wilne the salvation of them. But folly that lieth always to himself, may not change the merit of things, ne I trow not by the judgement of Socrates, that it were lawful to me to hide the sooth, ne assent to leasings: but certes, howsoever it be of this, I put it to gessen or prisen, of the judgement of thee, & of wise folk, of which thing all the ordinance and the sooth (for as much as folk that been to comen after our days, shall knowenit) I have put it in Scripture, and in remembrance. For touching the Letters falsely made, by which Letters I am accused to have hoped the freedom of Rome, with appertaineth me to speaken thereof. Of which Letters, the fraud had been showed apertly, if I had had liberty for to have used & been at confession of mine accusers, the which thing in all needs hath great strength. For what other freedom may men hopen? Certes, I would that some other freedom might be hoped, I would then have answered by the words of a man that height Camus: for when he was accused of Canius, Cesar Germans son, that he was knowing and consenting of a conjuration made against him: This Canius answered thus: If I had witted it, thou hadst not wist it. In which thing sorrow hath not so dulled my wit, that I plain only, that shrewd folk apparailen Felonies against virtue, but I wonder greatly, how that they may perform things that they have hoped for to done, for why ne will ne shrewdness that cometh peraventure of our default. But it is like a Monster and a marvel, how that in the present sight of God may been achieved & performed such things, as every felonous man hath conceived in his thought against innocents'. For which thing, one of thy familiars, not unskilfully, asked thus: If God is, whence come wicked things. But all had it been leeful, that felonous folk, that now desiren the blood and the death of all good men, and eke of the Senate, have wilned to gone destroyen me, whom they have seen always batailen and defenden good men, and eke all the Senate, that had not deserved of the fathers (that is to said, of the Senators) that they shoulden will my destruction. Thou remember'st well as I guess, that when I would done or said any thing, thou thyself always present ruledest me.  
At the city of Verone, when that the king, greedy of common slaughter, cast him to transporten upon all the order of the Senate the guilt of his royal Majesty, of the which gilt that Albin was accused: with how great sickerness of peril to me, defended I all the Senate: Thou wottest well that I say sooth, ne I ne avaunted me never in praising of myself: For always, when any wight receiveth precious renome in avaunting of himself or his works, he amenuseth the secree of his conscience.  
But now thou mayest well seen to what end I am comen for mine innocence, I receive pain of false Felony, for guerdoun of very virtue. And what open confession of fellome had ever judges so accordant in cruelty, that is to said, as mine accusing hath, that either error of man's wit, or else condition of Fortune, that is uncertain unto all mortal folk, ne submitted some of him, that is to say, that it ne inclined some judge to have pity or compassion. For although I had been accused, that I would burn holy houses, and strangle Priests with wicked sword, or that I had greithed death to all good men, algates the sentence should have punished me present, confessed and convict.  
But now I am removed from the City of Rome almost five hundred thousand pace, I am without defence dampened to proscription & to death, for the studies & bounties that I have done to the Senate. But o well been they worthy of merit: as who sayeth, nay, there might yet never none of him be convict of such a blame as mine is, of which trespass, mine accusers seen full well the dignity, for they would darken it with meddling of some felony. They barren me on hon, and said, that I had pollute & defouled my conscience with Sacrilege, for covetise of dignity: & certes, thou thyself that art planted in me, chasedest out of the siege of my courage all covetise of mortal things, ne Sacrilege ne had no leave to have a place in me before thine eyes. For thou droppedest every day in mine ears, & in my thought, thilk commandment of Pythagoras, that is to say: * men shall serven to God, & not to gods. Ne it was not convenient, ne none need to taken help of the foulest spirits. I that thou hast ordained, and set in such excellence, that thou madest me like to God, & over this, the right clean secret chamber of mine house, that is to say, my wife, & the company of mine honest friends, & my wife's father, as well holy as worthy to be reverenced for his deeds, defenden me from all suspection of such blame. But oh malice. For they that accusen me, taken of the Philosophy faith of so great blame, for they trowen, that I have had affinity to malefice or enchantment, because that I am replenished and fulfilled with thy teachings, and informed of thy manners. And thus it sufficeth not only, that thy reverence ne avail me naught, but if thou of thy free will rather he blemished with mine oftention. But certes, to the harms that I have, there betideth yet this increase of harm, that the guessing and the judgement of much folk, ne looken nothing to the deserts of things, but only to the adventure of fortune, & iudgen that only such things ben purveyed of God, which the temporal wilfulness commandeth. Glosa. As thus, that if a wight have prosperity, he is a good man, and worthy to have that prosperity: & who so hath adversity, he is a wicked man, and God hath forsake him, and he is worthy to have that adversity. This is the opinion of some folk, and thereof cometh that good guessing, first of all thing forsaked wretches. Certes, it grieveth me to think right now, in divers sentences that the people saith of me: and thus much I say, * That the last charge of contrarious Fortune, is this, that when any blame is laid upon a caitiff, men wenen that he hath deserved that he suffereth. And I that am put away from good men, and despoiled of dignities, and defouled of my name by guessing, have suffered turments for my good deeds. Certes, me seemeth, that I see the felonous covines of wicked men habounden in joy and gladness, and I see, that every lorell shapeth him to find new frauds for to accuse good folk, and I see that good folk be overthrown for dread of my peril, and every luxurious tourmentour dare done all felony unpunished, & be excited there to by yefts, & innocents' be not only despoiled of sickerness, but of defence, & thereto me list to crien to God in this manner.   

O stelliferi Conditor Orbis, Qui perpetuo nixus solio, Rapido Coelum turbine versas, Legemque pati sidera cogis, ut nunc pleno lucida cornu. Totis fratris obvia flammis. Condat stellas Luna minores: Nunc obscuro pallida cornu Phoebo proprior lumina perdat, etc.  
THou maker of the wheel that beareth the stars, which that art fastened to thy perdurable chair, and turnest the heaven with a ravishing sweigh, and constrainest the stars to suffer thy Law: so that the Moon sometime shining with her full horns, meeting with all the beams of the Sun her brother, hideth the stars that been less. And sometime, when the Moon pale, with her dark horns, approacheth the Sun, loseth her lights: and that the evin star Hesperus, which that in the first time of the night, bringeth first her cold arising, cometh eft again her used course, and is pale by the morrow at rising of the Sun, and is then icleped Lucifer. Thou restrainest the day by shorter dwelling, in the time of the cold Winter, that maketh the leaves fall. Thou dividest the swift tides of the night, when the hot Summer is come. Thy might attempreth the vigilant seasons of the year, so that Zephyrus, the debonair wind, bringeth again in the first Summer season the leaves that the wind that height Boreas hath rest away in Autumn, that is to say, the last end of Summer: and the seeds that the star that height Arcturus sew, be waxed high corns, when the star Sirius enchaseth him. There is nothing unbounden from this old Law, ne forletteth the work of his proper estate.  
O thou governor, governing all things by certain end, why refulest thou only to govern the werks of men by due manner: Why sufferest thou, the sliding fortune turneth so great enterchaunges of things, so that annoyous pain that should duly punish Felons, punisheth Innocents': And folk of wicked manners sitten in high chairs, and annoying folk, treden (and that unrightfully) on the necks of holy men. And virtue clear and shining naturally, is hid in derk derknesses, and the rightful man beareth the pain and the blame of the felons. Ne the forswearing, ne the fraud covered and kempt with a false colour, ne annoyeth not to shrewdness, the which shrewdness, when hem list usen her strength, they reioycen hem to put under him the sovereign kings, which that the people without number dreden. O thou, whatsoever thou be that knittest all bonds of things, look on these wretched earths, we men that been not a foul party, but a fair part of so great a work, we been tourmented in this see of fortune. Thou governor, withdraw and restrain the ravishing floods, and fasten and farm these earth's stable, with thilk bond, with which thou governest heaven, that is so large.   

Haec ubi continuato dolore delatravi: illa vultu placido, nihilque meis questubus mota. Phi. Cum te (inquit) moestum, lachrymantemque vidissem: illico miserum exulemque cognovi. Sed quam id longinquum esser exilium.  
WHen I had with a continual sorrow sobbed, or broken out these things, she with her cheer peaceable and nothing amoved with my complaints, said thus. When I saw thee (qd. she) sorrowful and weeping, I wist anon that thou were a wretch & exiled: But I wist never how far thine exile was, if thy tale ne had yshewed it me. But certes, all be thou far from thy country, thou nart not put out of it, but thou hast failed of thy way, and gone amiss. And if thou hast lever for to ween that thou be put out of thy country, than hast thou put out thyself, rather than any other wight hath: for no wight (but thou thyself) ne might never have done that to thee. For if thou remember thee of what country thou art borne, it nis not governed by Emperors, ne by government of multitude, as weren the countries of him of Athens: but one Lord, & one King, and that is God, that is Lord of thy country, which that rejoiceth him of the dwelling of his citizens, and not for to put him in exile. Of the which Lord, it is a feeedome to be governed by the bridle of him, & obey to his justice. Hast thou forgotten thilk old law of thy city, in the which city it is ordained and established, That what wight hath lever found therein his ●eat or his house, than else where, he may nat be exiled by no right from that place? For who so that is contained within the paleis of thilk city, there is no dread that he may deserve to be exiled. But who that letteth the will tenhabit there, he forletteth also to deserve to be a citizen of thilk city. So that I say, that the face of this place ne moveth me not so mikell, as thine own face. Ne I ne ask not rather the walls of thy library, apparelled and wrought with ivory and with glass, than after the seat of thy thoght, in which I put nat whilom books, but I put that that maketh books worthy of price, or precious, that is to say, sentence of my books. And certainly, of thy deserts bestowed in common good, thou hast said sooth, but after the multitude of thy good deeds, thou hast said few. And of the honesty or of the falseness of things that been opposed against thee, thou hast remembered things that be known to all folk. And of the felonies and frauds of thine accusers, it seemeth thee to have touched it, forsooth rightfully and shortly, all mighten though same things better and more plenteously been couth in the mouth of the people, that knoweth all this. Thou haste eke blamed greatly & complained of the wrongful deed of the Senate. And thou hast sorrowed for my blame, & thou hast wopen for the damage of thy renown that is apaired, and thy last sorrow enchased again fortune, complainest the guerdons, ne be not evenly yoleden to the deserts of folk. And in thy latter end of thy wood muse, thou prayedst that thilk peace that governeth the heaven, should govern the earth. But for that many tribulations of affections have assailed thee, & sorrow, and ire, and weeping, to draw thee diversely, as thou art now feeble of thought, mightier remedies ne shullen not yet touchen thee, for which we willen somedeal usen lighter medecines, so so that thilk passions that be waxen hard in swelling, by perturbations flowing into thy thoght, mown wax easy & soft, to receive the strength of a more mighty & more eager medicine, by an easier touching.   

Cum Phoebi radiis grave Cancri sidus inaestuat, Tum qui largo negantibus, Sulcis semina credidit, Elusus Cereris fide, Quarnas pergat ad arbores. Nunquam purpureum nemus lecturus violas petas, etc.  
WHen that the heavy star of the Cancre enchaseth by the beams of Phoebus, that is to say, When that Phoebus' the sun is in the sign of Cancre, who so giveth then largely his seeds to the fields that refusen to receive him, let him gone beguiled of trust that he had to his corn, to Acorns of Okes. If thou wilt gather Violets, ne go thou nat to the purple wood, when the field chirkinge, agriseth of cold, by the felenesse of the wind, that height Aquilone. If thou desire or wilt use grapes, ne seek thou nat a glutton's hand to strain and press the stalks of the vine in the first Summer season. For Bacchus the god of wine, hath rather given his yeftes to Autumn, the latter end of summer. * Good tokeneth and assigneth the times, abling him to her proper offices, ne he suffereth not the stounds, which that himself hath divided and constrained to been imedled together: and for thy, he that forletteth certain ordinance of doing by overthrowing way, he ne hath no glad issue or end of his works.   

Primum igitur, pateris ne me pauculis rogationibus statum tuae mentis attingere, atque tentare? ut quis modus sit tuae curationis intelligam, etc.  
FIrst wouldst thou suffer me to touch and assay the estate of thought by a few demands, so that I may understond by the manner of thy curation? Ask me (qd. I) at thy will, that thou wolt, & I shall answer. Tho said she thus: Whether weenest thou (qd. she) that this world be governed foolishly by haps & fortunes, or else weenest thou that there be in it any government of reason? B. Certes (qd. I) I ne trow nat in no manner, that so certain things should be moved by Fortunous fortune. But I wot well, that God, maker & master, is governor of his work, ne was never yet day that might put me out of the soothness of that sentence. P. So is it (qd. she) for the same thing sang thou a little here before, and bewailedest and weptest, that only men were put out of the cure of God, for of all other things thou ne doubtest nat, that they ne'er goverued by reason. But ough, I wonder certes greatly why that thou art sick, since that thou art put in so wholesome a sentence: But let us seeken deeper, I conjecte, that there lacketh I not what. But say me this. Sens that thou ne doubtest not that this world be governed by God, with which governaile takest thou heed that it is governed? Vnneth (qd. I) know I the sentence of thy question, so that I ne may not yet answeren to thy demands. I was not deceived (qd. she) that there ne failed somewhat, by which the malady of perturbation is crept into thy thought, so as the strength of thy paleis shining is open: but say me this. Remember'st thou with is the end of things, & whider the intention of all kind tendeth? I have heard told it some time (qd. I) but dreariness hath dulled my memory. Certes (qd. she) thou wottest well whence all things be comen, & proceden. I wot well (qd. I) & answer, that God is beginning of all. And how may this be (qd. she) the sens thou knowest the beginning of things, that thou knowest nat what is the end of things, but such been the customs of perturbation, and this power they han, that they may move a man from his place, that is to say, from the stableness and perfection of his knowing: but certes, they may nat all arace him, ne alien him in all: but I would that thou wouldst answer to this. Remember'st thou that thou art a man? B. Why should I not remember that (qd. I.) Phi. Mayst thou not tell me then (qd. she) what thing is a man? Asketh thou not me (qd. I) whether that I be a reasonable mortal beast, I wot well and confess that I am it. Wilt thou never yet that thou were any other thing (qd. she.) No (qd. I.) Now well know I (qd. she) other cause of thy malady, and that right great: Thou hast left for to known thyself what thou art, through which I have plainly founden the cause of thy malady, or else the entre of recovering of thy heal. For why? For thou art confounded with foryeting of thyself: For thou sorowdest that thou art exiled of thy proper goods. And for thou ne wist what is the end of things, for thy, deemest thou that felonous and wicked men be mighty and welefull: and for thou hast foryetten by which governments the world is governed, for thy, weenest thou that these mutations of fortune fleten without governor. These been the causes not only to malady, but certes great causes to death: But I thank the actor and the maker of heal, that nature hath not all forleten thee. I have great nourishing of thine heal, and that is the sooth sentence of governance of the world, that thou believest, that the governing of it is not subject ne underput to the folly of these haps aventurous, but to the reason of God: and therefore doubt thee nothing, for of this little spark thine heat of life shall shine. But for as much as it is not time yet of faster remedies, and the nature is of thoughts thus deceived, that as oft as they cast away soothe opinions, they clothen him in false opinions. Of the which false opinions, the darkness of perturbation waxeth up, that confoundeth the very insight. And that darkness shall I somewhat assay to maken thin and weak, by light and meaneliche remedies, so that after that the darkness of deceyuing things be done away, thou may know the shining of very light.   

Nubibus atris condita nullum fundere possunt sidera lumen. Si mare voluens turbidus auster misceat estum: Vitrea dudum, Parque serenis, etc.  
THe stars covered with black clouds ne mow yeten adown no light, if the troubled wind that height Auster, turning and wallowing the sea, medeleth the heat, that is to sane, the boiling up from the bottom. The waves that were whilom clear as glass, and like to the fair bright days, withstand anon the sights of men, by the filth and ordure that is resolved. And the fleeting stream that reileth down diversely from high mountaignes, is arrested and resisted oft time by the encounteriog of a stone, that is departed and fallen from some roch. And for thy, if thou wilt looken and deem sooth with clear light, and holden the way with a right path, weive thou joy, drive fro dread, fleme thou hope, ne let no sorrow approach, that is to sane, Let none of these four passions overcome or blend thee. For cloudy & dark is thilk thought, & bound with bridles, where as these things reignen.   
Explicit Liber primus.   

Post haec paulisper obticuit, atque ubi attentionem meam modesta taciturnitate collegit, sic exhorsa est. Si poevitus egritudinis tuae causas, habitumque, etc.  
AFter this she slint a little, and after that she had gathered by a temper stillness mine attention, as who so might sane thus: After these things she slint a little, and when she apperceived by a temper stillness, that I was ententive to hearen her, she began to speak in this wise. If I (qd. she) have understonden and known utterly the causes and the habit of thy maladye, thou languishest, and art defected for desire and talon of thy rather fortune. She that ilke Fortune only, that is changed as thou fainest to thee ward, hath perverted the clearness and the estate of thy courage. I understonding the felle or manifold colours and deceits of thilk marvellous monster Fortune, and how she useth full flattering familiarity with hem that she enforceth to beguile, so long, till that she confound with unsufferable sorrow hem that she hath left in despair, unpurueyed. And if thou remember'st well the kind, the manners, and the desert of thilk Fortune, thou shalt well know, that as in her thou never ne hadst ne haste yloste any fair thing: But (as I trow) I shall not greatly travailen to done thee remembrens on these things. For thou were wont to hurtelen and despisen her with manly words, when she was blandishing and present, and pursudest her with sentences that weren drawn out of mine entre, that is to say, of mine information: but no sudden mutation ne betideth not without a manner changing of courages. And so it is befall, that thou art a little departed fro the peace of thy thought, but now is time that thou drink & atast some soft and delitable things, so that when they be entered within thee, it mown make way to strenger drinks of medecines. Come now forth therefore the suasion of sweetness rethorien, which that goeth only the right way, while she forsaketh not mine estatutes. And with Rhetoric, come forth Music, a damosel of our house, that singeth now lighter moods or prolations, and now heavier. What aileth thee man? What is it that hath cast thee into mourning & into weeping? I trow that thou hast seen some new thing and uncouth? Thou weenest that fortune be changed again me, but thou weenest wrong, if that thou ween always tho been her manners. She hath rather kept as to thee ward her proper stableness in the changing of herself: right such was she, when she flattered thee and deceived thee with unleful like and false wilfulness. Thou hast now known and attaint the doubtous or double visage of thilk blind goddess Fortune. She that yet covereth and wimpleth her to other folk, hath showed herself every deal to thee: If thou approvest her, & thinkest, that she is good, use her manners, & plain thee nat, and if thou agrisest her false treachery, despise and cast away her that playeth so harmfully, for she that is now cause of so much sorrow to thee, should be to thee cause of peace & of joy. She hath forsaken thee forsooth, the which that never man may be siker, that she ne shall forsaken him. Gloze. But nevertheless, some books have the text thus. For sooth she hath forsaken thee, ne there nis no man siker, that she ne hath not forsaken. Holdest thou then thilk welefulnesse precious to thee that shall passen? and is present fortune dear worth to thee, which that nis not faithful for to dwell, and when she goeth away, that she bringeth a wight in sorrow? For since she may not be withholden at a man's will, she maketh him a wretch when she departeth from him. What other thing is fleeting fortune, but a manner showing of wretchedness that is to come. Ne it sufficeth not only to looken on thing that is present before the eyes of a man, but wisdom looketh and measureth the end of things, and the same changing from one to another, that is to said, from adversity into prosperity, maketh that the menaces of fortune ne been not for to dreden, ne the flattering to be desired. Thus at last it be hooueth the● to suffrens with evil will in patience, all that is done within the floor of fortune, that is to lay, in this world, sith thou half ones put thy neck under the yoke of her. For if thou wolt written a law of wending and of dwelling to Fortune, which that thou hast chosen freely to been thy lady: Art thou nat wrongful in that, and makest Fortune wroth and asper by thine impatience, and yet thou mayest nat chaungen her?  
If thou committest and betakest thy fails to the wind, thou shalt be shoven, nat thither that thou wouldst, but whider that the wind shoveth thee. If thou castest thy seeds in the fields, thou shouldest have in mind, that the years been amongst other while plenteous, and other whiie barren. Thou hast betaken thyself to the governance of Fortune, and for thy, it behooveth thee to been obeisant to the manners of thy lady. Enforcest thou thee to arresten or withholden the swiftness & the sweigh of her tourning wheel? O thou fool of all mortal fools, if Fortune began to dwell stable, she ceased then to ben Fortune.  

Haec cum superba verterit vices dextra, Ex aestuantis more fertur Euripi. Dudum tremen dos seva proterit reges, Humilemque victi sublevat fallax vultum. Non illa dura miseros audit, haud curate flerus, etc.  
WHen Fortune with a proud right hand withtourned her changing stounds, she fareth like the manners of the boiling Euripe.  
Glosa. Euripe is an arm of the sea, that ebbeth and floweth, and sometime the stream is on o side, and sometime on that other.  
Text. She cruel Fortune casseth adown kings, that whilom weren ydrade, and she deceivable, enhanceth up the humble there of him that is discomfited: ne she neither heareth ne recketh of wretched weep. And she is so hard, that she laugheth and scorneth the weeping of hem, the which she hath maked to weep with her free will. Thus she playeth & thus she proveth her strengths, and showeth a great wonder to all her servants, if that a wight is seen welefull, and overthrown in an hour.   

Vellem autem pauca tecum, Fortunae ipsius verbis agitare. Tu igitur an jus postulet animadverte. P. Quid tu ô homo ream me agis quotidianis querelis, etc.  
CErtes, I would pleaden with thee a few things, using the words of Fortune: take heed now thyself, if that she ask right. O thou man, wherefore makest thou me guilty by thine every day's plain?  
What wrong have I done thee? with goods have I bereft thee, that were thine? Strive or plete with me before what judge that thou wilt, of the possession, of richesses', or of dignities, and if thou mayest shown me, that ever any mortal man hath received any of though things, to been his in proper, then will I grant freely, that thilk things were thine, which that thou askest. When that nature brought thee forth out of thy mother's womb, I received thee naked and needy of all things, and I nourished thee with all my richesses', & was ready and ententife through my favour to sustain thee: and that maketh thee now impatient against me. And I environed thee with all abundance and shining of all goods, that been in my right: now it liketh me to withdraw mine hon. Thou hast had grace as he that hath used foreign goods. Thou hast no right to plain thee, as though thou hadst utterly forlorn all thy things. Why plainest thou then? I have done to thee no wrong: richesses', honours, and such other things been of my right: my servants known me for her lady: they come with me, and departen when I wend. I dare well affirm hardly, that if though things, of which thou plainest that thou hast forlorn, had been thine, thou ne hadst not forlorn hem. Shall I then be defended only to use my right? Certes, it is lawful to the heaven to make clear days, and after that, to overcome though same days with derk nights. The year hath eke leave to apparel the visage of the earth, now with flowers, and now with fruit, and to confound him sometime with rains and with cold.  
The see hath eke his right, to ben sometime caulm and blandishing, with smooth water, and sometime to be horrible, with waves and with tempests. But covetise of men, that may not be staunched, shall it bind me to be steadfast, sithen that steadfastness is uncouth to my manners. Such is my strength, and such play I play commonly. I turn the whirling wheel with the turning circle, I am glad to changen the lowest to the highest, & the highest to the lowest. Worth up if thou wolt, so it be by this law, that thou ne hold nat that I do thee wrong, though thou descend adown, when the reason of my play asketh it. Wost thou not how Croesus, king of Lydians, of which king Cyrus was full sore aghast, a little before that this Croesus was caught of Cyrus, & led to the fire to be burnt, but that a rain descended from heaven, that rescued him? And it is out of mind, how that Paulus, Consul of Rome, when he had taken the king of Perciens, weeped pitously for the captivity of the self king? What other thing bewaylen the cry of tragedies, but only the deeds of fortune, that with an awkward stroke overtourneth the realms of great nobley. Gloze. Tragedy is to sane, a ditee of a prosperity for a time, that endeth in wretchedness. Lernedest not thou in Grece when thou were young, that in the entre or in the seller of jupiter, there been couched two tons, that one is full of good, that other is full of harm? What right hast thou to plain, if thou hast taken more plentuously of the good side, that is to said, of richesse, & prosperity? And what eke if I be not all departed from thee? What eke if my mutability giveth thee rightful cause of hope to have yet better things? nevertheless, dismay thee not in thy thought. And thou that art put in the common realm of all, ne desire not to liuen by thine own proper right.   

Si quantas rapidis flatibus incitus Pontus versat arenas. Aut quot stellifei is edita noctibus Coelo Sidera fulgent: Tantas fundat opes, nec retrahat manum pleno copia cornu: Humanum miseras haud ideo genus cesset flere querelas, etc.  
THough plenty, goddess of riches, held a down with a full horn, and withdraw not her hand, as many richesse as the see tourneth upward sands, when it is moved with ravishing blasts, or else, as many richesses' as there shinen bright sters in the heaven on the sterrie nights: yet for all that, mankind nolde not cease to weep wretched plaints. And all be it so, that God received her prayers, and giveth him as full large much gold, and apparaileth covetous folk with noble or clear honours: yet seemeth him have gotten nothing. But always cruel ravine devouring all that they have gotten, showeth other gapings, that is to say, gapen and desiren yet after more richesses'. What bridles might withholden to any certain end the disordinant covetie of men, when ever the rather that it fleeteth in large yefts, the more brenneth in him the lust of having? Certes, * He that quaking and dreadful weeneth himself needy, he ne liveth nevermore rich.   

His igitur, si pro se tecum, verbis fortuna loqueretur, quid profecto contrahisceres, non haberes. At si quid est, quo querelam tuam jure tuearis, proferas oportet.  
THerefore if that fortune speak with thee for herself in this manner, forsooth thou ne hadst nat what thou mightest answer. And if thou hast any thing wherewith thou mayest rightfully defenden thy complaint, it behooveth thee to shown, and I wool given to thee space to tell it. Boecius. Certainly (qd. I then) these been fair things, and anointed with honey, sweetness of rhetoric and Music, and only while they been heard and sown in ears, they been delicious. But to wretches it is a deeper feeling of harm, this is to say, that wretches feelen the harms that they suffer more grievously, than the remedies or the delights of these words may gladden or conforten him: So that when these things stinten for to sown in ears, that sorrow that is inset, grieveth the thought. P. Right so it doth (qd. she.) For these ne been yet no remedies of the malady, but they been a manner nourishing of thy sorrows, that rebel against thy curation. For when time is, I shall move and ajust such things that peircen hem full deep. But nevertheless that thou shalt not wilne to let thyself a wretch. Hast thou forget the number and the manner of thy welefulnesse, I speak not how that the sovereign men of the City took thee in cure and keeping, when. thou were orphelyn of father and of mother, and were chosen in affinity of princes of the city, And thou began rather to be lief & dear, than for to be a neighbour, the which thing is the most precious kind of any propinquity or alliance that may been. Who is it that ne said tho, that thou ne were right welefull, with so great nobley as thy fathers in law, and with the chastity of thy wife, and with the opportunity and noblesse of thy masculine children, that is to say, thy sons? And over all this (me list to passen of common things) how thou hadst in thy youth dignities, that were warned to old men: but it delighteth me now to come to the singular up-heaping of thy welefulnesse. If any fruit or mortal things may have any wight or price of welefulnesse, mightest thou ever forget for any charge of harm which might befall, the remembrance of thilk day, that thou saw thy two sons made counsellors, and lad together from thy house under so great assemble of Senators, and under the blitheness of the people? And when thou saw him set in the court in high chairs of dignities. Thou Rhetorien or pronouncer of king's praisings, deseruedest glory of wit and of eloquence, when thou sitting between thy two sons, counsaylours, in the place that height Circo, and fulfil dost the bidding of the multitude of people that was spread about thee with so large praising and laud, as men sing in victories. Tho gave thou to Fortune, as I trow, that is to say, though feoffedest thou Fortune with glorious words, & deceive dost her when she acoyed and nourished thee as her own delices. Thou bore away of Fortune a yeast, that is to say, such guerdon that she never gave to private man. Wilt thou therefore lay a reckoning with Fortune? She hath now first twidckled upon thee with a wicked eye. If thou consider the number and the manner of thy blisses and of thy sorrows, thou mayest nat forsaken, that nart yet blissful. For if therefore thou weenest thyself not welefull for though things that seemeden joyful, ben passed, there nis not why thou shouldest seem thyself a wretch, for things that seemed now sorry, passen also. Art thou now come a sudden guest into the shadow or tabernacle of this life? or trowest thou that any steadfastness be in man's things? When oft a swift hour dissolveth the same man, that is to say, when the soul departed from the body. For although, that seld is there any faith that fortunous things would dwellen: yet nevertheless, the last day of a man's life is a manner death to Fortune, and also to thick that hath dwelled. And therefore what weenest thou doth reck, if thou forlet her in dying, or else that she Fortune forlete thee in flyen away.   

Cum polo Phoebus, roseis quadrigis Lucem spergere caeperit, Pallet albentes hebetara vultus Flammis stella permentibus, etc.  
WHen Phoebus the Sun beginneth to spread his clearness with Rosen chariots, than the star dimmed, paleth her white cheres by the flames of the sun that over cometh the star light: that is to say, when the sun is risen, the day-sterre waxeth pale, and loseth her light. For the great lightness of the sun, when the wood waxeth rodie of rosin flours in the first Summer season, through the breath of the wind Zephyrus, that waxeth warm: if the cloudy wind Auster blow fell liche, then goeth away fairness of thorns. Oft the see is clear and calm with moving floods, and oft the horrible wind Aquilon moveth boiling tempest, and over whelueth the sea. If the form of this world is so seld stable, and if it turneth by so many enterchaunges, wilt thou then trust in the tumbling fortunes of men? Wilt thou trowen on fleeting goods? It is certain, and established by law perdurable, that nothing that is engendered, is steadfast ne stable.   

Tum ego, vera inquam, commemoras ô virtutum omnium nutrix: nec inficiati possum prosperitatis meae velocissimum cursum. Sed hoc est, quid, etc.  
THen said I thus: O nourice of all virtues, thou sayest full sooth, ne I may not forsake the right swift course of my prosperity, that is to sane, that the prosperity ne be come to me wonder swiftly and soon. But this is a thing that greatly smarteth me, when it remembreth me: For in all adversities of Fortune, the most unselie kind of contrarious Fortune, is to have been welefull. Phi. But that thou abiest thus (qd. she) that tourment of thy false opinion, that mayst thou not rightfully blamen, ne aretten to things, as who sayeth, that thou hast yet many haboundances of things. Textus. For all be it so, that the idle name of adventurous welefulnesse moveth thee now, it is lawful, that thou reckon with me of how many things thou hast yet plenty. And therefore, if that thilk thing that thou hadst for more precious, in all thy richesses of Fortune, be kept to thee, yet by the grace of God, unwemmed & undefouled: mayest thou then plain rightfully upon the mischief of Fortune, sithen thou hast yet thy best things? Certes, yet liveth in good point thilk precious honour of mankind, Symachus thy wife's father, which that is a man made of all Sapience and Virtue, the which man thou wouldst buy with the price of thine own life, he bewaileth the wrongs that men done to thee, & not for himself: For he liveth in sickerness of any Sentence put against him. And yet liveth thy wife, that is attempre of wit, & passing other women in cleanness of chastity: and for I would close. ● shortly her hounties, she is like her father: I tell thee that she liveth, loath of this life, and keepeth to thee only her ghost, and is all mate and overcome by weeping and sorrow, for desire of thee. In the which thing only, I moat graunten thee, that thy welefulnesse is amenused. What shall I sane eke of thy two sons, counsaylours, of which, as of children of her age, there shineth the likeness of the wit of her father, and of her eld father? And sithence the sovereign cure of all mortal folk, is to saven her own lives, if thou know thyself, thy goods make thee more welefull. For yet been there things dwelled to thee ward, that no man doubteth, that they ne been more deereworth to thee, than thine own life. And for thy, dry tears, for yet is not every Fortune hateful to thee ward: ne overgreat tempest ne hath not yet fallen upon thee, when thine anchors cleven fast, that neither wool sufferens the comfort of this time present, ne the hope of time coming, to passen ne to failen. Bo. And I pray (qd. I) that fast moat they holden: for the whiles that they holden, howsoever that things been, I shall well fleten forth and escapen. But thou mayst well seen, how great apparailes and array that me lacked, that be passed away from me. Phi. I have somewhat advanced & furthered thee (qd. she) if that thou annoy not, or forthink not of all thy fortune, as who saith, I have somewhat comforted thee, so that thou tempest not thee thus with all thy fortune, sithen thou hast yet thy best things. But I may not fuffren thy delices, the plainest so weeping & anguishous, for that there lacketh somewhat to thy welefulnesse. For what man is he that is so sad, or of great perfect welefulnesse, that he ne striveth and plaineth on some half again the quality of his estate? * For why, full anguishous thing is the condition of man's goods. For either it cometh not all together to a wight, or else it ne lasteth not perpetual. For some man hath great richesses, but he is ashamed of his ungentill lineage. And some man is renowned of noblesse of kindred, but he is enclosed in so great anguish of need of things, that him were lever that he were vnknow. And some man aboundeth both in richesse and noblesse, but yet he bewaileth his chaste life, for he ne hath no wife. And some man is, & selily married, but he hath no children, & nourisheth his richesses' to strange folk. And some man is gladded with children, but he weepeth full sore for the trespass of his son, ●or of his daughter. And for this there ne acordeth no wight lightly to that condition of his fortune. For always, to every man there is in somewhat that unassayed, he ne wot nought, or else he dreadeth that he hath assayed. And add this also, that every welefull man hath a full delicate feeling: so that but if all things befallen at his own will, he is impatient, or is not used to have none adversity, anon he is thrown adown for every little thing: and full little things been tho, that withdrawn the sum or the perfection of blissfulness, fro him that been most fortunate. How many men trowest thou, would deemen hemselfes to been almost in heaven, if they mighten attain to the least party of the remnant of thy fortune? This same place, that thou cleapest exile, is country to them that enhabiten here. And for thy, nothing wretched, but when thou weenest it: as who saith, thou thyself, ne no wight else nis a wretch, but when he weeneth himself he is a wretch, by reputation of his courage. And ayenward, all fortune is blissful to a man, by the agreeabilitie or by the egalitie of him that suffereth it. What man is that, that is so weleful, that nold changen his estate when he hath lost his patience? The sweetness of man's welefulnesse, is sprant with many bitternesses. The which welefulnesse, although it seem sweet and joyful to him that useth it, yet may it not been withholden, that it ne goeth away when it wool. Then it is well seen, how wretched is the blissfulness of mortal things, that neither it dureth perpetual with him, that every fortune receiuen agreeably or equally, ne it delighteth not in all to him that ben anguishous. O ye mortal folk, what seek ye then blissfulness out of your own self, which is put in yourself? Error and folly confoundeth you. I shall show thee shortly the point of sovereign blissfulness.  
Is there any thing to thee more precious than thy life? Thou wilt answer, nay. Then, if it so be, that thou art mighty over thyself, that is to said, by tranquillity of thy soul, than hast thou thing in thy power, that thou noldest never lesen: Ne Fortune may not bynemme it thee. And that thou mayst know that blissfulness ne may not stand in things that been fortunous and temporal, now understand and gather it together thus. If blissfulness be the sovereign good of nature, that liveth by reason: ne thilk thing is not sovereign good, that may be taken away in any wise.  
For more worthy thing is, and more dign thilk thing, that may not be taken away. Then showeth it well, that the unstableness of Fortune may nat attain to receive very blissfulness. And yet moreover, what man that this tumbling welefulnesse leadeth, either he wot that it is changeable, or else he wot it not? And if he wot it not, what blissful fortune may there been in the blindness of ignorance? And if he wot that it is changeable, he moat always been adread, that he ne less that thing, that he ne doubteth not but that he may lesen it. As who faith, he moat always be aghast, lest he less that, that he woteth right well he may less. For which, the continual dread that he hath, ne suffereth him not to be welefull. Or else if he less it, he weeneth to be despised and foreleten. Certes, eke that is a full little good, that is born with even hart, when it is lost, that is to said, that men do no more force of the loss, than of the having. And for as much as thou thyself art he, to whom it hath be showed, & proved by full many demonstrations, as I wot well, that the souls of men ne mown not dien in no wise. And eke since it is clear and certain, that fortunous welefulnesse endeth by the death of the body: it may not be doubted, that if death may take away blissfulness, that all the kind of mortal thing ne descendeth into wretchedness, by the end of death. And sithen we know well, that many a man hath sought the fruit of blissfulness, not only with suffering of death, but eke with suffering of pains and tourments: how might then this present life make men blissful, since that thilk self life ended, it ne maketh folk no wretches.  
Quisquis volet perennem  
Cautus ponere sedem.  
Stabilisque nec sonori  
Sterni flatibus Euri,  
Et fluctibus minantem.  
Curate spernere pontum  
Montis cacumen alti,  
Bibulas vitet arenas, etc.  
WHat manner of folk, ware and stable, that wool founden him a perdurable seat, and ne will not be cast down with the loud blasts of the wind Eurus, and will despise the Sea, menacing with floods: let him eschew to builden on the cop of the Mountain, or in the moist Sands. For if the fell wind Auster tormenteth the cop of the Mountains with all her strengths, and the lose sands refusen to bear the heavy weights. And for thy, if thou wolt flien the perilous adventure, that is to say, of the world, have mind certainly to set thine house of a merry seat in a low stone. For although the wind troubling the sea, thunder with overthrowing, thou that art put in quiet, and welefull, by strength of thy palleiss, shalt lead a clear age, scorning the woodness and the ires of the air.   

Sed quoniam rationum jam in te mearum fomenta discendunt, paulo validioribus utendum puto. Age enim. Si jam caduca ac momentaria fortunae, etc.  
But for as much as the nourishing of my reason discenden now into thee, I trow it were time to use a little stronger medicines. Now understand here, all were it so, that the yefts of Fortune ne were not brittle, ne transitory, what is there in him that may be thine in any time? Or else, that it ne is foul, if that it be looked and considered perfectly. Richesses', been they precious by the nature of himself, or else by the nature of thee? What is most worth of richesse? Is it not gold, or might of money assembled? Tertes, that gold and that money shineth, and giveth better renome to them that dispenden it, than to thilk folk that muckeren it: for avarice maketh always muckerers to been hated, and largesse maketh folk clear of renome. For sith that such things as been transferred from one man to another, ne may not dwell with no man: Certes, then is that money precious, when it is translated into other folk, & stinten to be had by usage of large yeving, of him that hath given it. And also, if all the money that is over all, in all the world, were gathered toward one man, it should make all other men to be needy, as of that. And certes, a voice all hole, that is to said, without amenusing, fulfilleth together the hearing of much folk. And when they been apassed, needs they maken him poor, that forgone though richesses'.  
O, straight and needy clepe I these richesses', sens that many folk ne may not have it all, ne all ne may it not come to one man, without poverty of all other folk. And the shining of gems, that I call precious stones, draweth it not the eyes of folk to hemward, that is to said, for the beauty? But certes, if there were beauty or bounty in shining of stones, thilk clearness is of the stones himself, and not of men. For which I wonder greatly, that men maruailen on such things. For why, what thing is it, that if it wanteth moving, and jointure of soul and body, that by right might seemen a fair creature to him that hath a soul of reason. For all be it so, that gems drawn to himself a little of the last beauty of the world, through th'intent of her creator and the distinction of himself: yet for as mikel as they been put under your excellence, they ne have not deserved by no way, that ye should maruailen on him. And the beauty of fields, delighteth it not mikell unto you?  
B. Why should it not delighten us, sith that it is a right fair portion of the right fair work, that is to say, of this world? And right so been we gladded sometime of the face of the sea, when it is clear: And also maruailen we on the Heaven, and on the Stars, and on the Sun, and on the Moon. Phi. Appertaineth (qd. she) any of thilk things to thee? Why darest thou glorify thee in the shining of any such things? Art thou distingued and embelised by the springing flowers of the first Summer season? Or swelleth thy plenty in fruits of Summer? Why art thou ravished with idle joys? Why embracest thou strange goods, as they were thine? Fortune ne shall never make, that such things been thine, that nature of things hath maked foreign from thee. Sooth it is, that withouten doubt the fruits of the yearth owen to be to the nourishing of beasts. And if thou wolt fulfil thy need, after that it sufficeth to nature, then is it no need that thou seek after the superfluity of fortune. * For with full few things and with full little things, nature hath her paid. And if thou wolt achoken that fulfilling of nature with superfluities, certes, thilk things that thou wolt thresten or pouren into nature, shullen ben unjoyful to thee, or else annoyous. Weenest thou eke, that it be a fair thing, to shine with divers clothings? Of which clothing, if that beauty be agreeable to looken upon, I wool maruailen on the nature of the matter of thilk clothes, or else on the workman that wrought him. Doth also a long rout of mien make thee a blissful man? The which servants, if they been vicious of conditions, it is a great charge, & destruction to the house, and a great enemy to the sord himself: And if they been good men, how shall strange and foreign goodness be put in the number of thy richesses'? So that by all these foresaid things it is clearly showed, that never one of thilk things, that thou accomptedest for thy goods, nas not thy good. In which things, if there be no beauty to be desired, why shouldest thou be sorry to less them? Or why shouldest thou rejoice thee to hold him? For if they been fair of their own kind, with appertaineth that to thee? For also well shoulden they have been fair by himself, though they were departed from thy richesses'. For why, fair ne precious were they not, for that they come among thy richesses': but for they seemed fair & precious, therefore thou hadst lever reckon him among thy richesses'. But what desirest thou of Fortune, with so great afare? I trow thou seekest to drive away need, with abundance of things: but certes, it turneth you all into the contrary. For why, certes it needeth full many helpings to keepen the diversity of precious hostile ments. And soothe it is, * That of many things they have need, that many things have: And ayenward, of little thing needeth him that measureth his fill after the need of kind, & not after outrage of covetise. It is so then, that ye men have no proper good set in you, for such ye moten seek outward, in foreign and subject things. So is then the condition of things turned up so down, that a man that is a divine creature, by merit of his reason, thinketh that himself nis neither fair ne noble, but if it be through possession of hostiliments, that ne han no life: and certes all other things been apaied of her own beauties: but ye men that be semblable to God by your reasonable thought, desiren to apparailen your excellent kind with the lowest things. Ne ye understand not how great a wrong is done to your creator. For he would that mankind were most worthy and noble of any earthly thing: and ye thresten down your dignities beneathen the lowest things. For if that all the good of every thing be more precious than is thilk thing, whose that the good is, sith ye deemen, that the foulest things been your goods, then submitten ye, and put your selven under the foulest things by your estimation. And certes, this betideth not without your desert. For certes, such is the condition of all mankind, that only when he hath knowing of itself, then passeth it in noblesse all other things. And when it forletteth the knowing of itself, than it is brought beneathen all beasts. For why, all other living creatures han of kind to known not himself. But when that men let the knowing of himself, it cometh him of vice. But how broad showeth the error & the folly of you men, that wenen that any thing may been apparelled with strange apparailements? But forsooth that may not be done. For if a wight shineth with things that been put to him, as thus: If thilk things shinen with which a man is apparelled, certes, thilk things been commended and praised, with which he is apparelled; but nevertheless, the thing that is covered and wrapped under that, dwelleth in his filth. And I deny that thilk thing be good, that anoyeth him that hath it. Gabbe I of this? Thou wolt say nay. Certes, richesses' have annoyed full oft him that han had though richesse: Sith that every wicked shrew for his wickedness is the more greedy after other folks richesses'. Whersoever it be in any place, be it gold or precious stones; he weeneth him only most worthy that hath him. Thou than that so busy dreadest now the sword and the spear, if thou hadst entered in the path of this life, annoyen wayfaring men, then wouldst thou sing before the thief, as who saith, saith A poor man that beareth no richesse on him by the way, may boldly sing before thiefs, for he hath not whereof to be robbed. O precious and right clear is the blisfulness of mortal richesses, that when thou hast gotten it, than hast thou lost thy sickerness.   

Foelix nimium prior aetas, Contenta fidelibus arvis. Nec inerti perdita luxu. Facilique sera solebat Jejunia solvere gland. Nec bacchia munera norat liquido confundere melle. Nec lucida vellera serum, etc.  
Blissful was the first age of men, they held him apayed with the meats that the true fields broughten forth: they ne destroyed nor deceived not himself with outrage: they weren wont lightly to slaken her hunger at even with Acorns of Okes: they ne coude not meddle the yefte of Bacchus to the clear honey, that is to said, they could make ne piement or clarre: Ne they could not meddle the bright fleeces of the Country of Syrians with the venom of Tirie: this is to sane, they coude not dyen white fleeces of Syrian country, with the blood of a manner Shellfish that men finden in Tyrie, with which blood men dyen Purple.  
They slepten wholesome sleeps upon the grass, and drunken of the renning waters, & lain under the shadows of the high Pine trees. Ne no guest or stranger ne carfe yet the high sea with oars or with ships: ne they ne hadden seine yet no new strands to leaden Merchandise into divers Countries. Tho weren the cruel clarions full hust, and full still. Ne blood y●●ad by eager hate, ne had died yet armours. For whereto would woodness of enemies first moven arms, when they sawen cruel wounds, ne none medes be of blood yshad? I would that our times should turn again to the old manners. But the anguishous love of having, in folk, burneth more cruelly than the mountain of Ethna, that aye brenneth. Alas, what was he that first dalfe up the gobbets or the weights of gold, covered under earth, and the precious stones that woulden have be hid? hid He dalfe up precious perils, that is to said, that he him first up dalfe, he dalfe up a precious peril, for why, for the preciousness of such thing hath many man been in peril.   

Quid autem de dignitatibus, potentiaque disseram, quas vos, vere dignitatis, ac potestatis inscii, Coelo exaequatis? Quae si in improbissimum quemque ceciderint, etc.  
But what shall I say of dignities and powers, the which ye men, that neither known very dignity ne very power, areisen as high as the heaven? The which dignities & powers, if they come to any wicked man, they done as great damages and destructions, as doth the flame of the mountain Ethna, when the flame walloweth up, ne no deluvy ne doth so cruel harms. Certes, ye remember well (as I trow) that thilk dignity, the men cleape the Empire of counsaylours, the which whilom was beginning of freedom, your elders coveited to have done away, for the pride of the counsellors. And right for that same, your elders before that time had done away out of the City of Rome the King's name, that is to said, they nolde have no longer no King. But now, if so be that dignities & powers been given to good men, the which thing is full seld, what agreeable things is there in though dignities & powers, but only the goodness of folk that usen hem? And therefore is it thus, that honour cometh not to virtue, because of dignity: but ayenward, honour cometh to dignity for cause of virtue. But which is thilk your deereworth power, that is so clear, and so requirable? O ye earthly creatures, consider ye not over which thing it seemeth that ye have power? Now, if thou saw a mouse among other mice, that challenged to himselfeward right and power over all other Mice, how great scorn wouldst thou have of it? Glosa. So fareth it by men, the body hath power over the body: for if thou look well upon the body of a wight, what thing shalt thou find more frail than is mankind? The which men full oft be slain by biting of Flies, or else with entering or creeping worms into the privities of man's body. But where shall men finden any man that may exercisen or haunt any right upon another man, but only on his body or else upon things that been lower than the body, the which I cleape Fortune's possessions? Mayest thou have ever any commandment over a free courage? Mayest thou remove fro the state of his proper rest a thought that is cleaving together in himself by steadfast reason? As whilom a tyrant weaned to confound a free man of courage, & wend to constrained him by tourments, to maken him discoveren and accusen folk that wislen of conjuration, which I clepe confederacy, that was cast again this tyrant: but this freeman hote off his own tongue, and cast it in the visage of thilk wood Tyrant. So that the torments that this wood Tyrant wend to have made matter of cruelty, this wise man made matter of virtue. But with thing is it that a man may do to another man that he ne may receiven the same thing of other folk in himself? or thus: What may a man done to folk, that folk ne may done to him the same? I have heard told of Busiride, that was wont to slean his guests that harbourens in his house: and he was slain himself by Hercules, that was his guest.  
Regulus had taken in battle many men of Africa, & cast him into fetters: but soon after he must given his hands to be bound with the cheines of him that he had whilom overcome. Weenest thou then, that he be mighty, that hath power to done that that other ne may done in him, that he can do to other? And yet moreover, if so were, that these dignities of powers hadden any proper or natural goodness in hem, never nold they come to shrews. For contrarious things ne been wont to been ifellowshipped togethers. Nature refuseth that contrarious things been joined. And so as I am in certain that wicked folk have dignities oft time, then showeth it well, that dignities & powers ne been not good of her own kind, since that they sufferen himself to cleaven or joynen himself to shrews. And certain the same thing may I most dignely judgen, and sane of all the yefts of Fortune, that most plenteously come to shrews, of which yefts I trow, it ought be considered, that no man doubteth that he is strong, in whom he seeth strength: & in whom swiftness is, soothe it is that he is swift.  
Also Music maketh Musiciens, and Physic maketh Physiciens, & Rhetoric eke Rhetoriciens. For why, the nature of every thing maketh his property, ne it is not intermeddled with that effect of contrarious things. But certes, richesses' may not restrain avarice unstaunched. * Ne power ne maketh not a man mighty over himself, which that vicious lusts holden distrained with chains, that ne mown not be unbounden. And dignities, that be given to shrewd folk, not only ne maketh him not digne, but showeth rather all openly that they been unworthy and indigne. And it is thus. For certes, ye have joy to clepe things with false names, that bearen him in all the contrary, the which names been full oft reproved by the effect of the same things. So that these ilke richesses' ne oughten not by right to be cleped richesses', ne such power ne ought not to be cleped power, ne such dignity ne ought not to be cleped dignity. And at last I may conclude the same thing of all the yefts of fortune: In which there nis nothing to be desired, ne that hath in himself natural bounty, as it is well iseene, for neither they joinen him not always to good men, ne maken him always good, to whom they been joined.   

Novimus, quantas dederit ruinas. Urbe flammata, patribusque caesis. Fratre qui quondam ferus interempto, matris effuso maduit cruore. Corpus & visu gelidum pererrans, ora non tinxit lachrimis: sed esse, Censor extincti potuit decoris, etc.  
WE have well known, how many great harms and destructions were done by the Emperor Nero. He let brennen the city of Rome, and made slay the Senators, and he cruel whilom slough his brother: and he was made moist with the blood of his mother, that is to say, he let sleen and slitten the womb of his mother, to seen where he was conceived, & he looked on every halue of her dead cold body, ne no tear wet his face, but he was so hard hearted, that he might be domes man, or judge of her dead beauty. And nevertheless, yet governed this Nero by sceptre, all the people that Phoebus may seen coming, from his utterest arising, till he hid his beams under the wawes: that is to sane, he governed all the peoples, by sceptre Imperiall, that the Sun goeth about from East to west. And eke this Nero governed by sceptre, all the people's that be under the cold stars, that heighten the Septentrions, that is to said, he governed all the people's that be under the party of the North. And eke Nero governed all the people's that the violent wind Nothus skorclith, and baketh the brenning sands, by his dry heat, that is to say, all the peoples in the South. But yet ne might not all his power turn the woodness of this wicked Nero. * Alas it is a grevous Fortune as oft as a wicked sword is joined to cruel venom, that is to say, venomous cruelty to Lordship.   

Tunc ego. Scis (inquam) ipsa, minimam nobis ambitionem mortalium rerum fuisse dominatam. Sed materiam gerendis rebus optavimus, quo ne virtus cacita consenesceret. P. Et illa. Atqui hoc unum est, etc.  
THen said I thus: Thou wottest well thyself, that the covetise of mortal things, ne hadden never Lordship in me. But I have well desired matter of things to done, as who saith, I desire to have matter of governances over commonalties, for virtue still should not elden: that is to sane, lest ere that he wext old his virtue that lay now still ne should not perish unexercised in governance of common, for which men might speaken or written of his good government. Phi. Forsooth (qd. she) & that is a thing that may drawn to governance such hearts as been worthy and noble of her nature: but nevertheless it may not drawn or tell such hearts as been ybourhgt to the full perfection of virtue, that is to said, covetise of glory & renome, to have well administered the common things, or done good deserts, to profit of the common. For see now and consider, how little & how void of all price is thilk glory, certain thing is as thou hast learned by the demonstration of Astronomy, that all the enuironning of the yearth about, ne halt but the reason of a prick, at the regard of the greatness of the heaven, that is to said, that if there were maked comparison of the yearth to the greatness of heaven, men would judgen in all that ne held no space. Of the which little region of this world, the fourth part of the yearth is inhabited with living beasts that we known, as thou hast thyself ilearned by Ptholome that proveth it. And if thou hadst withdrawn and abated in thy thought for thilk fourth part, as much space as the see & the maries conteynen and overgone: as much space as the region of drought over stretcheth, that is to sane, sands & deserts, well unneath should there dwellen a right straight place to the habitation of men. And ye, that he environed & closed with the lest prick of thilk prick, thinken ye manifesten or publishen your renome and done your name for to ben borne forth. But your glory, that is so narrow & so strait throngen into so little bounds, how mikell containeth it in largesse & in great doing. And also set thereto, that many a nation, divers of tongue and of manners, & eke of reason of her living, inhabit in the close of thilk habitacle: to the which nations, what for difficulty of ways, and what for diversity of language, and what for default of unusage, & entrecomming of Merchandise, not only the names of singular men ne may not stretchen, but eke the fame of Cities may not stretchen. At the last, certes in the time of Marcus Tullius, as himself writeth in his book, that renome of the commonwealth of Rome, ne had not yet passed ne clomben over the mountain that height Caucasus: & yet was Rome well waxen, being redoubted of the Parthes', & eke of other folk enhabiting about. Seest thou not then how straight and how compressed is thilk glory that ye travailen about to shown and to multiply? May then the glory of a singular Roman stretchen thither as the fame of the name of Rome may not climben ne passen? And eke seest thou not that the manners of divers folk & her laws been discordant among hemlelf, so that thilk thing that some men judge worthy of praising, other folk judgen that that is worthy of tourment? And hereof cometh it, that though a man delighteth him in praising of his renome, he may not in no wise bringen forth ne spreden his name to many manner people's: & therefore every man ought to be paid of his glory, the is published among his own neighbours, and thilk noble renome shall be restrained within the bounds of tho manner folk. But how many a man, that was full noble in his time, hath the wretches & needy foryeting of writers put out of mind & don away: all be it so that certes thilk things profiten little, the which things and writings long & dark eld do away both hem & eke her authors. But ye men semen to gotten you a perdurabilitie, when ye thinken in time coming your fame shall lasten. But nevertheless if thou wilt make comparison to the endless spaces of eternity, with thing hast thou, by which thou mayst rejoycen thee of long lasting of thy name? For if there were made comparison of the abiding of a moment to ten thousand winter, for as much as both though spaces been ended, yet hath the moment some portion of it although it be little. But nevertheless thilk self nombre of years, & eke as many years as thereto may be multiplied, ne may not certes be comparisoned to the perdurabilite that is endless. * For of things which that have end may be made comparison, but of things which that been withouten end, to things that have end, may be maked no comparison. And for thy is it, that although renome of as long time as ever thee list to thinken, were compared to the regard of the eternity, that is unstaunchable and infinite, it ne should not only seem little, but plainly right nought. But ye semen certes ye can do nothing a right, but if it be for the audience of the people, & for idle rumours. And ye forsaken the great worthiness of conscience & of virtue, & ye seken your guerdons of the small words of strange folk. Have now here and understand in the lightness of such pride & vein glory, how a man scorned festinally & merrily such vanity. Whilom there was a man, that had assayed with striving words another man, the which not for usage of very virtue, but for proud vain glory, had taken upon him falsely the name of a philosopher. This rather man that I speak of, thought he would assay, whether he thilk were a philosopher or no, that is to say: if that he would have suffered lightly in patience the wrongs that were done to him: this feigned philosopher took patience a little while, and when he had received words of outrage, he as in striving again & rejoicing of himself, said at last thus: Understandest thou not that I am a philosopher? That other man answer again bitingly and said: I had well understand it, if thou hadst holden thy tongue still. But with is it to these noble worthy men (for certes of such folk speak I, that seken glory with virtue?) What is it (qd. she) what attaineth fame to such folk, when the body is resolved by death at the last? for if so be that men dien in all, that is to say body & soul, the which thing our reason defendeth us to believe, then is there no glory in no wise: for with should thilk glory be, when he, of whom thilk glory is said to be, nis right naught in no wise? And if the soul, which that hath in itself science of good works, unbounden from the prison of the earth, wendeth freely to the heaven, despiseth it not then all erthly occupation, and being in heaven rejoiceth that it is exempt from all erthly things? as who faith, then recketh the soul never of no glory of renome of this world.   

Quicunque solam ment praecipiti petit, summumque credit gloriam, Lace patentes aetheris cernat plagas, Artumque terrarum situm, Brevem replere non valentis ambitum, etc.  
WHo so that with overthrowing thought only seeketh glory of fame, and weeneth that it be sovereign good, let him looken upon the broad showing countries of the heaven, and upon the straight seat of this earth, and he shall be ashamed of th'increase of his name, that may not fulfil the little compass of the earth. O what covet proud folk to liften up her necks in idle, in the deadly yoke of this world? For although that renome ysprad passing toforn peoples, goth by divers tongues, and although great houses of kindred's shinen by clear titles of honours, yet nevertheless death despiseth all high glory of fame, and death wrappeth togethers the high heads and the low, and maketh equal and even the highest with the lowest.  
Where wonen now the bones of true Fabricius? What is now Brutus, or stern Caton? The thin fame yet lasting of her idle names, is marked with a few letters. But although that we have known the fair words of the fame of him, it is not given to know him that he deed & consumpt. Liggeth then still all utterly unknowable, ne fame ne maketh you not know. And if ye ween to live the longer for wind of your mortal name, when one cruel day shall take away this also, then shall ye die the second death. The first death he clepeth here the departing of the body, and the second death here the stinting of the renome of fame.   

Sed ne me inexorabile contra fortunam gerere Bellum putes, est aliquando, cum de hominibus fallax illa non nihil bene mereatur: tum scilicet cum se aperit, etc.  
But for as much as thou shalt not wenen (qd. she) that I bear an untreatable battle against Fortune, yet sometimes it be falleth that she, nothing deceivable, deserveth to have right good thank of men: and that is when she herself openeth, and when she discovereth her front, and showeth her manners. Peraventure yet understandest thou not that I shall say. It is a wondre that I desire to tell, and therefore unneath may I unpliten my sentence with words. For I dame that contrarious fortune profiteth more to men, than fortune debonaire. For always when fortune seemeth debonaire, than she lieth falsely, biheting the hope of welefulnesse. But contrarious fortune is always sothfaste, when she showeth herself unstable through her changing. * The amiable fortune disceiveth folk: that contrary fortune teacheth. The amiable fortune blindeth with the beauty of her false goods the hearts of folks that usen hem: the contrary Fortune unbindeth him with the knowing of frele welefulnesse. Thamyable fortune mayest thou seen always windy & flowing, & ever misknowing of herself: The contrary fortune is attempre & restrained and wise, thorough exercise of her adversity. At the last, amiable Fortune with her flatering draweth miswandring men from the sovereign good: the contrarious fortune leadeth oft folk again to soothfast goods, & halteth him again as with an hook. Weenest thou then that thou oughtest to let this a little thing, that this asper & horrible Fortune hath discovered to thee the thoughts of thy true friends? For why, this ilke Fortune hath departed & uncovered to thee both the certain visages, & eke the doutous visages of thy felawes. When the departed away from thee, she took away her friends & haft thee thy friends. Now when thou were rich and welefull, as thee seemed, with how mickle wouldst thou have bought the full knowing of this, that is to said, the knowing of thy very friends? Now plain thee not then of richesse lost, sith thou haste found the most precious kind of richesse, that is to sane, thy very friends.   

Quod mundus stabili fide, concords variat vices, quod pugnantia semina, Faedus perpetuum tenet, etc.  
THat the world with stable faith varieth accordable chaunging: that the contrarious qualities of Elements holden among him self alliance perdurable: that Phoebus the son with his golden chariot bringeth forth the rosy day: that the moon hath commandment over the nights, which nights Esperus the even star hath brought: that the sea, greedy to flown, constraineth with a certain end his floods, so that it is not lawful to stretch his broad terms or bounds upon the yearth: all this ordinance of things is bounden with love, that governeth earth and sea, and also hath commandment to the heaven. And if this love slaked the bridles, all things that now love togethers wolden make battle continuelly, and striven to fordone the fashion of this world, the which they now leden in accordable faith by fair move. This love holdeth together people joined with an holy bond, and knitteth sacrament of marriage of chaste loves. And love endeth laws to true felawes. O welefull were mankind if thilk love that governeth the Heaven governed your courages.   
¶ Here endeth the second book.   

Jam cantum illa finierat, cum me audiendi avidum, stupentemque arrectis adhuc auribus carminis dulcedo defixerat. Itaque paulo post, O inquam summum lassorum solamen animorum, quantum me, etc.  
BY this she had ended her song, when the sweetness of her ditty had through pierced me, that was desirous of harkening. And I astonished had yet straight mine ears, that is to sane, to harken the bet what she should say: so that a little after I said thus, O thou that art sovereign comfort of courages anguishous, so thou hast remounted & nourished me with the weight of thy sentences, & with delight of singing so that I trow not that I be unperegall to the strokes of Fortune: as who saith, I dare well now suffren all thassauts of Fortune, & well defend me from her. And though remedies, which that thou saidst here before, that weren right sharp, not only that I am not agrisen of him now, but I desirous of hearing, ask greatly to hearen the remedies. Then said she thus: That feeled I well (qd. she) when that thou ententife and still, ravishedest my words: and I abode till thou hadst soche habit of thy thought, as thou hast now, or else till that I myself had maked it to the same habit, which is a more true thing. And certes the remnant of things that been yet to say been such, that first when men taste him they been biting: But when they been received within a wight, then been they sweet. But for thou sayst that thou art so desirous to hearken him, with how great brenning wouldst thou glowen, if thou wiltes whider I would leden thee? B. Whider is that (qd. I) P. To thilk very blissfulness (qd. she) of which thine hart dreameth. But for as much as thy sight is occupied and distourbed of earthly things, thou mayest not yet seen thilk self welefulnesse. B. Do (qd. I) and show me what thilk very welefulnes is, I pray thee without tarrying. P. That wool I gladly done (qd. she) for cause of thee. But I wol first marken by words, and I wool enforce me to inform thee thilk false cause of blissfulness, which that thou more knowest: so that when thou haste beholden thilk false goods, and turned thine iyens so to that other side, thou may known the eleerenesse of very blissfulness.  

Qui serere ingenuum volet agrum, liberat arva prius fruticibus, falce rubos, filicemque resecat, etc.  
WHo so wool sow a field plenteous, let him first deliveren it of thorns, and carve asunder with his hook the bushes and the fern, so that the corn may come heavy of eres and of greines. * Hony is the more sweet if mouths have first tasted savours that he wycke. The Stars shinen more agreably when the wind Nothus letteth his plungy blasts. And after that Lucifer the day star hath chased away the dark night, the day the fairer leadeth the rosin horse of the son. * And right so thou, beholding first the false goods, begin to withdraw thy neck fro that earthly affections, and afterwards the very goods shullen entrens into thy courage.   

Tum defixo paululum visu, & velut in angustam suae mentis sedem recepta: sic cepit. P. Omnis mortalium cura quam multiplicium studiorum labor exercet, etc.  
Tho' fastened she a little the sight of her eien, and she withdrew her right as it were into the straight seat of her thought, and began to speak right thus: All the cures (qd. she) of mortal folk, which that travailen hem in many manner studies, gone certes by divers ways: but nevertheless they enforce him all to come only to th'end of blissfulness. And blissfulness is such a good, that who so hath gotten it, he ne may over that thing more desire. And this thing forsooth is so sovereign good, that it containeth in himself all manner of goods, to the which good if there failed any thing, it might not been sovereign good, for than were some good out of this sovereign good, that might be desired. Now it is clear and certain that blissfulness is a perfect state, by the congregation of all goods, the which blissfulness (as I have said) all mortal folk enforcen hem to get by divers ways. For why, the covetise of every good is naturally planted in the hearts of men: but the miswandring error misledeth him into false goods. Of the which men, some of him wenen that sovereign good be to liuen without need of any thing. And other men demen, that sovereign good to be right digne of reverence, & enforce him to be reverenced among her neighbours, by the honours that they have gotten. And some folk there been that holden, that right high power be sovereign good, and enforce him for to reignen or else to joinen him to him that reign. And it seemeth to other folk, that noblesse of renome be the sovereign good, and hasten him to gotten him glorious name by the arts of were or of peace. And many folk measurens and gessen, that sovereign good be joy and gladness, and wenen that it be right blissful thing to plongen in voluptuous delights. And there been some folk, that enterchaungen the causes and the ends of these foresaid goods: As they that desiren richesses' to have power and delights, or else they desire power for to have money, or for cause of renome. In these things and such other is turned all the entencion of desirings and works of men, as thus: Noblesse and favour of people, which that giveth to all men, as it seemeth him, a manner clearness of renome: and wife and children, that men desiren, for cause of delight and merriness. But forsooth friends ne shullen not be reckoned among the goods of Fortune, but of virtue, for it is a full holy manner thing. All these other things forsooth be taken for cause of power, or else for cause of delight. Certes now I am ready to referren the goods of the body, to these foresaid things aboven: For it seemeth that strength and greatness of body given power and worthiness, and that beauty and swiftness given glory and renome: and health of body seemeth to given delight. In all these things it seemeth only that blissfulness is desired: for why, thilk thing that every man desireth most over all things, he deemeth that it be sovereign good. But I have defined, that blissfulness is sovereign good, for which every wight deemeth that thilk estate that he desireth over all things, that it be blissfulness. Now hast thou then before thine eyes almost all the purposed form of the welefulnesse of mankind that is to said, richesses, honours, power, glory, and delights, the which delight only considered Epicurus, and judged and established that delight is the sovereign good: for as much as all other things, as him thought, byrest away joy and mirth from the hart. But I return again to the studies of men, of which men the courage always rehearseth and seeketh the sovereign good, all be it so that it be with a dyrked memory, but he not by which path, right as a drunken man, note nought by which path he may return home to his house. Seemeth it then that folk forleyen and err to enforce him to have need of nothing. Certes there is none other thing that may so much performen blissfulness, as an estate plenteous of all goods, that ne hath need of none other thing, but that is suffissant of himself unto himself. And folien such folk then that wenen, that thilk thing that is right good, that it is eke right worthy of honour and of reverence? certes nay. For that thing nies neither foul ne worthy to be despised, that well nigh all the entencion of mortal folk travailen to get it. And power eke ought not to be reckoned amongst goods. What else? for it nis not to ween that thilk thing that is most worthy of all things, be feeble and without strength. And clearness of renome, aught that to ben despised? Certes there may no man forsake that all thing that is right excellent and noble, that it ne seemeth be right clear and renowned. For certes it needeth not to say, that blissfulness be anguishous ne dreary, ne subject to grievances ne sorrows, since that in right little things folk seken to have and to usen that may delighten him. Certes these ben the things that men willen and desiren to gotten: and for this cause desiren they richesses', dignities, reigns, glory and delights. For thereby weaned they to have suffisance, honour, power, renome, and gladness. Then is it good that men seken thus by so many divers studies, in which desire, it may not lightly be showed how great is the strength of nature. For how so men have divers sentences and discordings, algates men accord all in loving the end of good.   

Quantas rerum flectit habenas Natura potens, quibus immensum, Legibus orbem provida servet, stringatque ligans irresoluto. Singula nexu, placet arguto, fidelibus lentis promere cantu, etc.  
IT liketh me to show by subtle song, with slack and delitable swoon of strings, how that nature mightily inclineth and flitteth by the government of things, and by such law she purueiable keepeth the great world, and how she binding restraineth all things by a bond that may not be unbounden. All be it so that the Lions of the country of Pene beren the fair chains and taken meats of the hands of folk that given it hem, and dreden her sturdy masters, of which they be wont to suffer beat, if that her horrible mouths been bled, that is to said, of beasts devoured: her courage of time passed that hath been idle and rested, repaireth again, and they rorens grievously, and remembrens on her nature, and staken her necks from her chains unbound, and her master first to torn with bloody teeth, assayeth the wood wraths of hem, that is to said, they fretten her master. And the jangling bird that singeth on the high branches, that is to sane, in the wood, and after is enclosed in a straight cage, although the plyeng business of men give hem honeyed drinks, and large meats with sweet study: yet nevertheless if thilk bird skipping out of her straight cage, seeth the agreeable shadows of the woods, she defouleth with her feet her meat ishad, and seeketh on morning only the wood, and twireth desiring the wood with her sweet voice. The yard of a tree that is haled adown by mighty strength, boweth readily the crop a down: but if that the hand that is bend let it gone again, anon the crop looketh upright to the heaven. The son Phoebus, that falleth at even in the western wawes, returneth again eftsoon his cart by a privy path there as it is wont arise. All things seken again to her proper course, and all things rejoysen on her returning again to her nature: ne none ordinance is betaken to things, but that hath joined the end to the beginning, and hath made the course itself stable, that it change not fro his proper kind.   

Vos quoque ô terrena animalia, tenui licet imagine, vestrum tamen principium somniatis. Verumque illum beatitudinis finem, licet minime perspicaci, etc.  
CErtes also ye men that been erthly creatures dreamen always your beginning, although it be with a thin imagination, and by a manner thought, all be it nat clearly ne perfectly, ye looken from a far to thilk very fine of blissfulness. And therefore naturel entencion leadeth you to thilk very good, but many manner errors mistourneth you therefrom. Consider now if that be thilk things, by which a man weeneth to get him blissfulness, if that he may come to thilk end that he weeneth to come to by nature. For if that money, honours, or these other foresaid things bringen men to such a thing that no good ne fail them ne seemeth to fail, certes then would I grant that they be maked blissful by things that they have gotten. But if so be that thilk things ne mown not perform that they byheten, and that there be default of many goods, showeth it not then clearly the false beauty of blissfulness is known and attaint in thilk things? First and forward thou thyself, that hadst abundance of richesses nat long agone, I ask thee that in thabundance of all thilk riches, if thou were never anguishous or sorry in thy courage of any wrong or grievance that betid thee in any side. B. Certes (qd. I) it ne remembreth me not, that ever I was so free of my thought, that I ne was always in anguish of somewhat. P. And was that not (qd. she) for that thee lacked somewhat that thou noldest not have lacked? Or else thou hadst that thou noldest have had? B. Right so it is (qd. I.) P. Then desirest thou the presence of the one, and th'absence of that other? B. I grant well (qd. I.) P. Forsooth (qd. she) then needeth there somewhat that every man desireth. B. Ye there needeth (qd. I.) P. Certes (qd. she) and he that hath lack or need of aught, nis not in every way suffisant to himself. B. No (qd. I.) P. And thou (qd. she) in all the plenty of thy richesses hadst thilk lack of suffisance? B. What else (qd. I.) P. Then may not riches maken that a man nis needy, ne that he be sufficient to himself: and yet that was it that they beheten as it seemed. And eke certes I trow that this be greatly to consider, that money hath not in his own kind, that it ne may been bynomen from him that have it, maugre hem. Bo. I know it well (qd. I.) P. Why shouldst thou not beknown it (qd. she) when every day the strenger folk benomen it from the feobler, maugre hem? From whence come else all these foreign complaints, quarrels, or plead, but for that men asken her money, that hath been binomed hem, by strength or by guile, and always maugre him? Boec. Right so it is (qd. I.) Phi. Then hath a man need (qd. she) to seeken him foreign help, by which he may defend his money. Boecius. Who may say nay (qd. I.) Phil. Certes (qd. she) and him needed no help, if he ne had no money that he might less. Boecius. That is doubtless (qd. I.) Philosophy. Then is this thing turned in to the contrary (qd. she:) for richesse, that men wenen should maken suffisance, they maken a man rather have need of foreign help. Which is the manner or the guise (qd. she) that richesse may driven away need? rich folk, may they never have hunger ne thirst? These rich men, may they feel no cold on their limbs in Winter? But thou wilt answer, that rich men have enough, wherewith they may staunchen her hunger, and slaken her thirst, and done away cold.  
In this wise may need been comforted by richesses: but certes, need ne may not all utterly be done away. For if this need, that always is gaping & greedy, be fulfilled with richesse, & any other thing, yet dwelleth then a need that moat be fulfilled. I hold me still, & tell not how that little thing sufiseth to nature: * but certes, to avarice sufficeth not enough of nothing. For since that riches ne may not done away need, & they maken their own need, with may it then be, that ye wenen that richesses' mown given you suffisance?   

Quamvis fluente dives auri gurgite. Non expleturas cogat avarus opes, etc.  
ALL were it so, that a noble covetous man had a river, or a gutter fleeting all of gold, yet should it never staunch his covetise: and although he had his neck charged with precious stones of the red Sea: And though he do ere his fields plenteous with an hundred oxen, never ne shall his biting business forleten him while he liveth: ne the light of richesses', ne shall not bearen him company when he is dead.   

Sed dignitatis honorabilem, reverendumque cui provenerint, reddunt. Num vis ea est magistratibus, ut utentium mentibus vi●tutes inserant, vicia depellant, etc.  
BUT dignities, to whom they be come, maken they them honourable and reverend? Have they not so great strength that they then may putten virtue in hearts of folks that usen the lordship of hem, or else may they done away the vices? Certes they be not wont to don away wickedness, but they be wont rather to show wickedness: And thereof cometh it that I have right great disdain that dignities been given to wicked men. For which thing Catullus cleped a consul of Rome (that height Nonius) postome or boche, as who saith, he cleped him a congregation of vices in his breast, as a postome is full of corruption: All were Nonius set in a chair of dignity. Seest thou not then, how great vilonies dignities done to wicked men? Certes unworthiness of wicked men should be the lass seen, if they ne'er renomed with none honour. Certes thou thyself ne mightest not be brought with as many perils as thou mightest suffer, that thou wouldst bear the Magistrate with Decorate: that is to sane, that for peril that might befall thee by offence of the king Theodorike, thou noldest not be fellow in governance with Decorate, when thou saw that he had wicked courage of a liquorous shrew and of an accuser. Ne I may not for such honours iudgen hem worthy of reverence, that I deem and hold unworthy to have thilk same honours. Now if thou saw a man that were fulfilled of wisdom, certes, thou ne mightest not dame that he were unworthy to that honour, or else to the wisdom of which he is fulfilled. Boecius. No (qd. I) Philosophy. * Certes (qd. she) dignities appertainen properly to virtue, and virtue transporteth dignity anon to thilk man to which she herself is conjoined. And for as much as honours of people ne may not make folk digne of honour, it is well seen clearly, that they ne have no proper beauty of dignity. And yet men oughten take more heed in this: for if a wight be in so much the more outcast, that he is despised of most folk, so as dignity ne may not maken shrews worthy of no reverence, then maketh dignity shrews rather despised than praised, the which shrews dignity showeth to much folk. And forsooth not unpunished, that is to sane, that shrews revengen hem ayenward upon dignities. For they yelden again to dignities as great guerdons, when they dispotten and defoulen dignities with her vilonie. And for as much as thou now knowest, that thilk very reverence ne may nat come by these shadowy transitory dignities, understand now thus: that if a man had used and had many manner dignities of consuls, and were paraventure come among strange nations, should thilk honour maken him worshipful and redoubted of strange folk? Certes if that honour of people were a naturel yefte to dignities, it ne might never cessen no where among no manner folk to done his office. Right as fire in every country ne stinteth not to enchaufen and maken hot. But for as much as for to been honourable or reverend, ne cometh not to folk of her proper strength of nature, but only of the false opinion of folk, that is to sane, that wenen that dignities maken folk digne of honours: anon therefore when they come there as folk ne known not thilk dignities, her honours vanishen away, and that anon: But that is among strange folk mayst thou sane. Ne amongst him there they were borne, ne dureth not thilk dignities always. Certes the dignity of the provostry of Rome was whilom a great power: now it is nothing but an idle name, and the rent of the senatory a great charge. And if a wight whilom had the office to taken heed to the victuals of the people, as of corn and of other things, he was holden amongst him great. But what thing is more now out cast than thilk provostrie? As I have said a little here before, that thilk thing that hath no proper beauty of itself, receiveth sometime price and shining, and sometime loseth it by th'opinion of usaunces. Now if that dignities than ne mow not make folk digne of reverence, and if that dignities wexen foul of her will, by the silthe of shrews. And if dignities lesen her shining by changing of times, and if they wexen foul by estimation of people, what is it that they han in him self of beaute, that aught to be desired? as who saith, none: then ne mown they given no beauty of dignity to none other.   

Quamvis se Tyrio superbus ostro comeret & niveis lapillis, etc.  
ALL be it so, that the proud Nero with all his wode luxure, comb him and apparelled him with fair purpure of Tirie, and with white peerless. Algates yet thereof he hateful to all folk, that is to say, that all was he behated of all folks, yet this wicked Nero had great lordship. And gave whilom to the reverend Senators the unworshipful seats of dignities. Vnworshipfull seats he clepeth here, for that Nero that was so wicked gave the dignities.  
Who would then reasonably wenen, that blissfulness were in such honours, as been given by vicious shrews.   

An vero regna, regnumque familiaritas efficere potentem valent? Quidni, etc.  
But reigns and familiarities of kings, may they maken a man to ben mighty? How else? when his blissfulness dureth perpetually. But certes, the old age of time passed, and eke of present time now, is full of ensamples, how that Kings have changed into wretchedness, out of her welefulnes. O, a noble thing and a clear thing is power, that nis not founden mighty to keep itself. And if that power of realms be author & maker of blissfulness, if thilk power lacketh on any side, amenuseth it nat thilk blissfulness, and bringeth in wretchedness? But yet all be it so, that the realms of mankind stretchen broad, yet moat there need been much folk, over which that every King ne hath no lordship ne commandment. And certes upon thilk side that power falleth, which that maketh folk blissful, right on the same side no power entereth underneth that maketh him wretches. In this manner then moten kings have more portion of wretchedness than of welefulnesse.  
A tyrant that was king of Cecile, that had assayed the peril of his essate, showed by similitude the dreads of realms by gastenesse of a sword, that hung over the head of his familiar. What thing is then this power, that may not done away the bitings of business, ne eschew the pricks of dread?  
And certes yet woulden they liuen in sickerness, but they may nat. And yet they glorifyen him in her power. Holdest thou then that thilk man be mighty, that thou seest that he would done that he may not done? And holdest thou then him a mighty man, that hath environed his sides with men of arms or sergeants, & dreadeth more hem that he maketh aghast, than they dreden him? and that is put in the hands of his servants, why he should seem mighty? But of familiars or servants of kings, why should I tell thee any thing, sith that I myself have showed thee that realm's himself been full of great feeblesse? The which familiars, certes, the royal power of kings in hole estate, & in estate abated, full oft throweth adown.  
Nero constrained Senecke, his familiar and his master, to chesen on what death he would die. Antonius' commanded that knights slowen with her swerds Papinian his familiar, which Papinian had been long time full mighty among hem of the court. And yet certes, they woulden both have renounced her power. Of which two, Seneck enforced himself to given to Nero his richesse, & also to have gone into solitary exile. But when the great weight, that is to sane, of lords power, or of Fortune, draweth him that shullen fall, neither of hem ne might do that he would. What thing is then thilk power that though men have it yet they been aghast, & when thou wouldst have it, thou nart not siker? And if thou wouldst forleten it, thou mayest nat eschewen it. But whether been such men friends at need, as been counseled by fortune, and not by virtue? certes such folk as weleful fortune maketh friends, contrarious fortune maketh him enemies. And what pestilence is more mighty for to annoy a wight, than a familiar enemy?   

Qui se volet esse potentem, Animos domet ille feroces: Nec victa libidine colla, etc.  
WHo so wool be mighty, he moat daunten his cruel courages, ne put nat his neck overcome, under the foul reins of lechery. For all be it so, that the lordship stretch so far, that the country of Ind quaketh at thy commandments, or at thy laws, and at the last isle in that see, that height Tyle, be thrall to thee: yet if thou mayest nat putten away thy foul dark desires, and driven out from thee wretched complaints, certes, it nis no power that thou hast.   

Gloria vero quam fallax saepe, quam turpis est; Unde non injuria tragicus exclamat. O gloria, gloria, millibus mortalium nihil aliud facta, nisi aurium inflatio magna, etc.  
BUt glory, how deceivable & how foul is it oft? For which thing, not unskilfully, a tragedian, that is to sane, maker of ditties, that heighten tragedies, cried and said: O glory, glory, qd. he, thou nart nothing else to thousands of folks, but a sweller of ears. For many have full great renome by the false opinion of the people.  
And what thing may been thought fouler than such praising? For thilk folk that been praised falsely, they moten needs have shame of her praising. And if that folk have gotten him thank or praising by her deserts, what thing hath thilk prize eched or increased to the conscience of wise folk, that measured her good, nat by the rumour of the people, but by the soothfastness of conscience? And if it seem a fair thing, a man to have increased & spread his name, then followeth it, that it is deemed to been a foul thing, if it ne be ysprad and increased. But as I said a little here before, that sith there mote needs been many folks, to which folk the renome of a man ne may nat come, it befalleth, that he that thou weenest be glorious and renowned, seemeth in the next part of the erthes to ben without glory and without renome. And certes amongst these things, I ne trow nat that the prize and the grace of the people nis neither worthy to been remembered, ne cometh of wise judgement, ne is ferme perdurably. But now of this name of gentilesse: what man is it that ne may well seen how vain and flitting it is? For if the name of gentilesse be referred to renome and clereness of lineage, then is gentle name but a foreign thing, that is to say, to him that glorifien hem of her lineage: For it seemeth that gentleness is a manner praising that cometh of the deserts of ancestors. And if praising maketh gentleness, then moten they needs been gentle that been praised. For which thing it followeth, that if thou ne have no gentleness of thyself, that is to said, prize, that cometh of thy desert, foreign gentleness ne maketh thee nat gentle. But certes, if there be any good in gentleness, I trow it be all only this: that it seemeth as that a manner necessity be imposed to gentlemen, for that they ne should not outragen or forleaven from the virtues of her noble kindred.   

Omne hominum genus in terris Simili surgit ab hortu. Unus enim rerum pater est. Unus cuncta ministrat, etc.  
ALL the lineage of men, that been in earth, been semblable of birth. One alone is father of things: one alone ministereth all things: he gave to the Sun his beams: he gave to the Moon her horns: he gave to men the earth: he gave the stars to the heaven: he closed with membres the souls that camen from his high seat: Then come all mortal folk of noble seed. Why noisen or bosten ye of your elders? for if ye look your beginning, and God your father author and your maker, than nies there no forelived wight or ungentill but if he nourish his courage unto vices, and forlete his proper birth.   

Quid autem de corporis voluptatibus loquar, quarum appetentia quidem plena est anxietatis, etc.  
BUt what shall I said of delices of body, of which delices the desirings ben full of anguishes, and the fulfilings of him ben full of penance? how great sicknesses and how great sorrows unsufferable, right as a manner fruit of wickedness, been thilk delices wont to bringen to the bodies of folk that usen hem? of which delices I not what joy may been had of her moving. But this wot I well, * That who so ever wool remembren him of his luxures, he shall well understand, that the issues of delices ben sorrowful and sorry. And if thilk delices mow make folk blissful, then by that same cause moten these beests ben cleped blissful. Of which beests all the entencion hasteth to fulfil her bodily jolitee. And the gladness of wife and children were an honest thing, but it hath been said that it is over mokell against kind, that children have been founden tormentors to her Fathers, I not how many. Of which children, how biting is every condition, it needeth not to tell it thee, that hast er this time assayed it, and art yet now anguishous. In this time approve I the sentence of my disciple Euripidis, that said, * That he that hath no children is welefull by infortune.   

Habet hoc voluptas omnis stimulis agit fruentes: Apiumque par volantium ubi gratia mella sudit. Fugit & nimis tenaci ferit icta corda morsu, etc.  
EVery delight hath this, that it anguisheth him with pricks that usen it. It ressembleth to these flying flies that we clepe Bees, that after that he hath shed his agreeable honnyes, he flieth away, and stingeth the hearts of him that been smitten with biting overlong holden.   

Nihil igitur dubium est, quin hae ad beatitudinem viae devia quaedam sint, nec perducere eo quenquam valeant, etc.  
NOw it is no doubt then, that these ways ne been a manner mistidings to blissfulness: ne that they ne mown not seden folk thider, as they beheten to leden hem. But with how great harms these forsaid ways been enlaced, I shall show you shortly. For why, if thou enforcest thee to assemble money, thou must byreven him his money that hath it. And if thou will shinen with dignities, thou must beseech and supplien hem that given though dignities. And if thou coveitest by honour to gone before other folks, thou shalt defoul thyself thorough humblesse of ask. If thou desirest power, thou shalt by awaits of thy subjects anoyouslie be cast under by many perils. Askest thou glory? thou shalt been so distracted by asper things, that thou shalt forgone sickerness. And if thou wouldst leden thy life in delights, every wight shall dispisen thee & forleten thee, as thou that art thrall to thing, that is right foul & britel, that is to sane, servant to thy body. Now is it well yseen, how little and how brytel possession they coveiten, that putten the goods of the body above her own reason. For mayst thou surmounten these Olifaunts in greatness or in weight of body? or mayst thou ben strenger than the Bull? mayst thou be swifter than the Tiger? Behold the spaces and the stableness, and the swift course of Heaven, and stint sometime to wondrens on foul things. The which heaven certes nies nat rather for these things to be wondrens upon, than for the reason by which it is governed. But the shining of thy form, that is to say, the beauty of thy body, how swiftly passing is it, and how transitory, certes, it is more flitting than the mutability of flowers of the summer season. For so as Aristotel telleth, that if the men had eyes of a beast that height Lynx, so that the looking of folk might percen through tho things that withstand it: who so looked then in thentrails of the body of Alcibiades, that was full fair in the superficie without, it should seem right foul. And for thy, if thou seemest fair, thy nature ne maketh nat that, but the disceivaunce of feebleness of the eyes that look. But praise the goods of the body as much as ever thee list, so that thou know algates that what so it be, that is to sane, of the goods of the body, which that thou wonder'st upon, may been destroyed or else dissolved by the heat of a fever of three days. Of which foresaid things I may reducen this shortly in a sum, that these worldly goods, which that ne mown given that they behighten, ne been not perfect by the congregation of all goods, that they ne ben not ways ne paths that bringen men to blissfulness, ne maken men to be blissful.   

Heu heu quae miseros tramite devios abducit ignorantia, non aurum in viridi quaeritis, arbore, etc.  
ALas, which folly, and which ignorance misleadeth wand'ring wretches from the path of very good. Certes ye seken no gold in green trees, ne ye gadrens not precious stones in vines: ne hide not your gins in high mountains to catch fish, of the which ye may maken rich feests.  
And if you like to hunt to Roes, ye ne go nat to the fords of that water that height Thyrene. And over this, men know well the creaks and the caverns of the see yhyd in the floods, and known eke, which water is most plenteous of white pearls, and known which water aboundeth most of reed purpure, that is to sane, of a manner shelfish, with which men dien purpure: & known which strands habounden most of tender fishes, or of sharp fishes, that height Echines. But folk's suffrens hemselfes to been so blind that him ne retchen not to know where thilk goods been yhid, which that they coveiten, but plungen hem in earth, & seken there thilk good that surmounteth the heaven, that beareth the stars. What prayer may I maken that be digne to the nice thoughts of men? But I pray that they coveiten richesses & honours, so that when they have gotten though false goods with great travail, that thereby they mown known the very goods.   

Hactenus mendacis formam faelicitatis ostendisse sufficerit, quod si perspicaciter intuearis, ordo est deinceps, etc.  
IT sufficeth that I have said hitherto, the form of false welefulnesse: so that if thou look now clearly, the order of mine entencion requires from henceforth, to she wen the very welefulnes. B. Forsooth (qd. I) I see well now, the suffisance may not come by richesse, ne power by realms, ne reverence by dignities, ne gentillesse by glory, ne joy by delices. P. And hast thou well known the causes (qd. she) why it is? B. Certes me seemeth (qd. I) the I see him, right as though it were through a little clifte: But me were leaver known him more openly of thee. Phi. Certes (qd. she) the reason is all ready. For thilk thing that simply is one thing without any division, that error & folly of mankind, devideth, & departeth it, & misledeth it, & transporteth from very & perfect good, to goods that be false and unparfit. But say me this: weenest thou that he that hath need of power, that him ne lacketh nothing? Boetius. Nay, qd. I. Philos. Certes (qd. she) thou sayest aright: for if so be that there is a thing that in any party be feebler of power, certes as in that it moat needs be needy of foreign help. Boetius. Right so it is (qd. I.) Philos. Suffisance & power been of one kind. Boet. So seemeth qd. I.) Philosophy. And deemest thou (qd. she) that a thing that is of this manner, that is to say, suffissant & mighty, aught been despised, or else that it be right digne of reverence above all things? Boet. Certes (qd. I) it is no doubt that it is right worthy to be reverenced. Phil. Let us adden (qd. she) reverence to suffisance & to power, so that we demen that these three things be one thing. Boetius. Certes (qd. I) let us adden it if we will grant that soothe. P. What deemest thou (qd. she) then is that a derk thing & not noble, that is suffisant, reverend, and mighty? or else that it is right noble & right clear by celebrate of renome? Consider then (qd. she) as we have granted here before that he that ne hath no need of nothing, and is most mighty and most digne of honour, if him needeth any clearness of renome, which clearness he might not graunten of himself, so for lack of thilk clearness he might semen the feebler on any side, or the more outcast. Gloze. That is to say, nay: For who so that is suffissant, mighty, & reverend, clearness of renome followeth of the foresaid things: he hath it all ready of his suffisance. Boetius. I may not, qd. ay, deny it, but I moat graunten as it is, that this thing is right celebrable by clearness of renome and noblesse. P. Then followeth, qd. she, that we adden clearness of renome to the foresaid things, so that there be amongst him no difference. B. This is a consequence, qd. I. P. This thing then, qd. she, that ne hath need of no foreign thing, and that may do all things by his strengths, & that is noble & honourable, is it not a merry thing and joyful? Boetius. But whence, qd. ay, that any sorrow might come to this thing that is such, certes I may not think. Philosophy. Then moat we graunten, qd. she, that this thing be full of gladness, if the foresaid things be sooth. And certes, also moat we graunten, that suffisance, power, noblesse, reverence, and gladness, be only divers by names, but her substance hath no diversity. Boetius. It moat needly be so, qd. I. Philosoph. Thilk thing then, qd. she, that is one & simple in his nature, the wickedness of men departeth and deuideth it: And when they enforce him to gotten party of a thing, that ne hath no part, they ne gotten him neither thilk party that nies none, ne the thing all whole that they desire. Boetius. In which manner, qd. I. Philosophy. Thilk man, qd. she, that secheth richesses to flyen poverty, he ne travaileth him not for to get power, for he hath leaver be dark and vile, and eke withdraweth from himself many naturel delights, for he nolde less the money that he hath assembled. But certes in this manner he ne getteth him no suffisance, that power foreleteth, and that molestie pricketh, and that filth maketh out-caste, and that darkness hideth. And certes he that desireth only power, wasteth and scattereth richesses, and despiseth delyces and eke honour that is without power, ne he ne praiseth glory nothing. Certes this seest thou well that many things fail to him: For he hath sometime default of many necessities, and many anguishs bitten him. And when he may not done though defaltes away, he forletteth to be mighty, and that is the thing that he most desireth. And right thus may I make semblable reasons of honour, of glory, & of delices: For so every of these foresaid things is the same that these other things been, that is to sane, all one thing. Whosoever seeketh to gotten that one of these, and not that other, he ne getteth not that he desireth. Boetius. What sayest thou then, if that a man coveite to gotten all these things together. Philoso. Certes (qd. she) I would say that he would get him sovereign blissfulness, but that shall he not find in though things that I have showed, that mow not give that they beheten. Boetius. Certes no (qd. I.) Phi. Then (qd. she) ne shullen men not by no way seken blissfulness in such things, as men wenen that they ne mow given but one thing singlerly of all that men seken. Boetius. I grant well (qd. I) ne non sother thing may be said. Philosoph. Now hast thou then (qd. she) the form & the cause of false welefulnesse: Now turn and flit again to thy thought, for there shall thou seen anon thilk very blissfulness that I have behight thee. B. Certes (qd. I) it is clear & open, though it were to a blind man: And that showdest thou me a little here be forne, when thou enforcedest thee to show me the causes of the false welefulnesse. For (but if I be beguiled) then is that thilk very blissfulness and perfect, that perfectly maketh a man suffissant, mighty, honourable, noble and full of gladness. And for thou shalt well know, that I have well understand these things within my hart: I know well, that thilk blissfulness that men verily given one of the foresaid things, since they be all one: I know doubtless that thilk thing is full of blissfulness. Philosophy. O my norice (qd. she) by this opinion I say that thou art blissful, if thou put this thereto that I shall said. Boetius. What is that (qd. I.) Ph. Trowest thou that there be any thing in this erthly mortal tumbling things, that may bringen this estate? Bo. Certes (qd. I) I trow it not: & thou hast showed me well, that over thilk good there nis nothing more to ben desired. P. These things then (qd. she) that is to sane, earthly suffisance and power, & such things erthly, they semen likeness of very good, or else it seemeth that they given to mortal folk a manner of goodness, that ne be not perfect, but thilk good that is very and perfect, that may they not given. Boe. I accord me well (qd. I.) Phil. Then (qd. she) for as much as thou haste known which is thilk very blissfulness, and eke which thilk things been, that lain falsely blissfulness, that is to say, that they by deceit semen very goods: Now behoveth thee to know whence & where thou mow seek thilk very blissfulness. B. Certes (qd. I) that desire I greatly, & have abiden long time to harken it. P. But for as much (qd. she) as it liketh to my disciple Plato in his book of Tymeo, that in right little things men shoulden beseech the help of God: What judgest thou that be now to done, so that we may deserve to find the seat of thilk soverein God? B. Certes (qd. I) I deny that we shullen cleape to the father of all goods, for withouten him nies there nothing founded aright. P. Thou sayest aright (qd. she) & began anon to singen right thus.   

O qui perpetua mundum ratione gubernas, Terrarum caelique sator, qui tempus ab aevo, Ire jubes, stabilisque manens dans cuncta moveri: Quem non externae pepulerunt fingere causae, etc.  
O Thou father, sovereign and creator of heaven and of erthes, that governest this World by perdurable reason, that commandest the times to gone, sith that age had beginning. Thou that dwellest thyself aye steadfast and stable, and yevest all other things to be moved, ne forgive causes ne cesseden thee never to compoun work of flattering mater, but only the form of sovereign good yset, within thee without envy, that moved thee freely. Thou that art alder fairest, hearing the fair world in thy thought, formedest this world to thy likeness semblable, of that fair world in thy thought. Thou drawest all thing on thy sovereign ensampler, and commandest that this world perfetlich maked, have freely & absolute his perfect parties. Thou bindest the element's by numbers proporcionables, that the cold things mown accord with the hot things, and the dry things with the moist: That the fire, that is purest, ne fly nat over high, ne that the heaviness ne draw nat adown overlow the yerthes, that be plunged in the waters. Thou knittest together the mean soul of treble kind moving all things, & deuidest it by membres according. And when it is thus divided, it hath assembled amoving in to rounds, it goeth to turn again to himself, and enuironneth a full deep thought, and turneth the heaven by a semblable image. Thou by even like causes enhancest the souls and the less lives, and abling hem to height by light wanes or carts. Thou sowest him in to heaven and in to earth, and when they be converted to thee by thy benign law, thou makest him return again to thee by again leading fire. O father, give thou to that thought to styen up in to thy straight seat, & grant him to enuironne the well of good. And the light yfound, grant him to sixen the clear sights of his courage in thee, and scatter thou and to break the weyghts and the clouds of earthly heaviness, & shine thou by thy brightness. For thou art clearness, thou art peaceable rest to debonaire folk, thou thyself art beginning, bearer, leader, path, & term to look on thee that is our end.   

Quoniam igitur, quae sit imperfecti, quae etiam perfecti boni forma vidisti, nunc demonstrandum reor, etc.  
FOrasmoche then, as thou hast seen which is the form of good that nys not perfect, and the form of good which that is perfect. Now trow I that it were good to show in what this perfection of blissfulness is set. And in this thing I trow that we shall first inquire for to weten, if that any such manner good, as thilk good as thou hast diffinished a little here before, that is to sane, sovereign good, may be found in the nature of things. For that vain imagination of thought ne desceve us not, and put us out of the soothfastness of thilk thing that is submitted to us. But it may not be denied that thilk ne is, and that is right as a well of all goods. For all thing that is cleped imparfite is proved imparfite by the amenusing of perfection of thing that is perfect. And hereof cometh it that every thing general, if that men seen any thing that is imparfite, certes in thilk thing is general, there moat be some thing that is perfect. For if so be that perfection is done away, men may not think ne say from whence thilk thing is, that is cleped imparfite. For the nature ne took not her beginning of things amenused and imparfite, but it proceedeth of things that been all hole absolute, & descendeth so down in to the uttrest things, and into things empty and without fruit. But as I have showed a little here before, that if that there be a blisfulness that be freele, & vain, & imperfect, there may no man doubt that there nis some blissfulness that there is sad, steadfast and perfect. Boecius. This is concluded (qd. I) firmly & soothfastly. Phi. But consider also (qd. she) in whom this blissfulness inhabiteth. The common accord and conceit of the courage of men proveth & granteth, that God, prince of all things, is good. For so as nothing may be thought better than good, it may not be doubted then, than he that nothing nies better than he, nies good. Certes, reason showeth that God is so good, that it proveth by very force, that perfect good is in him. For if God nis such, he ne may not been prince of all thing. For certes, some thing possessing in itself perfect good, should be more worthy than God: and it should seemen, that thilk thing were first and older than God. For we have showed apertly, that all things that been perfect, been first, or things that been imparfite. And for thy, forasmuch as that my reason, or my process, ne go not a way without an end, we owen to granten, that the sovereign good is right full of sovereign perfect good. And we have established, that the sovereign good is very blissfulness: then moat it needs be, that very blissfulness is set in sovereign good. Boecius. This take I well (qd. I) ne this ne may not be withsaid in no manner. Philos. But I pray thee (qd. she) see now how thou mayest proven holily, and withouten corruption, this that we have said, that the sovereign God is full of right sovereign good. Bo. In which manner (qd. I.) Phil. Weenest thou aught (qd. she) that the father of all things hath taken thilk sovereign good any where out of himself? Of which sovereign good, men proveth that he is full. Right as thou mightest thinken, that God, that hath blissfulness in himself, and thilk blisfulnese that is in him were divers in substance. For if thou ween that God hath received thilk good out of himself, thou mayest ween, that he that gave thilk good to God, be more worthy than God. But I am beknow and confess, and that right dignely, that God is right worthy above all things: And if so be that this good be in him by nature, but that is divers from him by wening reason, since we speaken of God, prince of all things. Feign whoso fain may, who was he that conjoined these things together. And eke at the last, see well, that a thing that is divers from any thing, that thilk thing nis not the same thing, for which it is understanden to ben divers. Then followeth it well, that thilk thing that by his nature is divers from sovereign good, that thing is not sovereign good. But certes, it were a felonous cursedness, to thinken that of him, that nothing nis more worth. For always, of all things, the name of hem ne may not been better than her beginner. For which I may concluden, by right very reason, that thilk that is beginning of all things, thilk same thing is sovereign God in his substance. Bo. Thou hast said rightfully (qd I.) Pholos. But we have granted (qd. she) that the sovereign good is blissfulness. Bo. That is sooth (qd. I.) Philos. Then, qd. she, we moat needs graunten & confessen, that the ilke same sovereign good be God. Boe. Certes, qd. ay, I ne may not deny, ne withstand the reasons purposed, and I see well that it followeth by strength of the premises. Philos. Look now, qd. she, if this be proved yet more firmly thus, that there ne mown not been two sovereign goods, that been divers among himself. For certes, the goods that been divers among himself, that one is not that the other is. Then ne mown neither of him be perfect, so as either of hem lacketh to other, but that that nis not perfect, men may seen apertly that it nis not sovereign. The things then that be sovereignly good, ne mown by no way be divers. But I have well concluded, that blissfulness and GOD been the sovereign good, for which it moat needs been that sovereign blissfulness is sovereign dignity. Boe. Nothing, qd. ay, is more soothfast than this, ne more firm by reason, ne a more worthy thing than God, may not be concluded.  
Philoso. Upon these things then, qd. she, right as these Geometricians, when they have showed their propositions, been wont to bringen in things, that they clepe porrismes, or declarations of foresaid things: right so wool I give thee here, as a Corollary, or a meed of crown. For why, for as much as by the getting of blissfulness men been maked blissful, and blissfulness is dignity: than it is manifest and open, that by the getting of dignity men been maked blissful, right as by the getting of justice. And by that getting of Sapience they be maked wise, right so, needs by the semblable reason, when they have gotten divinity, they be made gods. Then is every man blissful a god. But certes by nature there nis but one God, but by the participation of the Divinity, there ne letteth ne distourbeth nothing, that there ne be many gods. Bo. This is, qd. ay, a fair thing and a precious. clepe it as thou wilt, be it Corollary, or Porrisme, or meed of Crown, or declaring. P. Certes (qd. she) nothing nis fairer than is the thing, that by reason should be added to these foresaid things. Bo. What thing, (qd. I.) Ph. So, qd. she, as it seemeth that blissfulness containeth many things, it were for to weten, whether that all these things maken or conjoinen, as a manner body of blissfulness, by the diversity of parties of members, or else if any of all these things be such, that it accomplish by himself the substance of blissfulness. So all these other things been referred and brought to blissfulness, that is to say, as to the chief of him. Bo. I would, qd. ay, that thou madest me clearly to understand what thou sayest, and with what thou recordest me the foresaid things. Phi. Have I not judged, qd. she, that blissfulness is good? Boe. Yes forsooth, qd. ay, and that sovereign good. Phi. Add then, qd. she, thilk good that is made blissfulness to all the foresaid things: For thilk same blissfulness, that is deemed to be sovereign suffisance, thilk self is sovereign power, sovereign reverence, sovereign clearness or noblesse, and sovereign delight.  
What sayst thou then of all these things, that is to say, suffisance, power, and these other things? Been they then as members of blissfulness, or been they referred and brought to sovereign good, right as all things that been brought to the chief of him? Bo. I understond well, qd. ay, what thou purposest to seek: but I desire for to hearken, that thou show it to me. Ph. Take now thus the discretion of this question, qd. she. If all these things, qd. she, weren members to felicity, than weren they divers that one from that other: and such is the nature of parties or of members, that divers members compounen a body. Bo. Certes, qd. ay, it hath well been showed here before, that all these things been all one thing. Phi. Then been they no members, qd. she. For else it should seem, that blissfulness were comoyned all of o member alone, but that is a thing may not be done. Bo. This thing, qd. ay, than nis not doubtous, but I abide to hearken the remnant of thy question. This is open and clear, qd. she, that all other things been referred and brought to good: For therefore is suffisance required, for it is deemed to be good: and for thy, is power required, for men trowen also that it be good. And this same thing mown we thinken, and conjecten of reverence, of noblesse, and of delight. Then is sovereign good the sum and the cause of all that aught to been desired. For why, thilk thing that withholdeth no good in itself, ne semblance of good, it ne may not well in no manner be desired ne required. And the contrary: for though that things by her nature ne ben not good, algates if men wenen that they been good, yet been they desired, as though they were verily good. And therefore it is said, that men ought to ween by right, that bounty be the sovereign fine, and the cause of all the things that been to requiren. But certes, thilk that is cause, for which men requiren any thing, it seemeth that thilk same thing be most desired, as thus: if that a wight would ridden for cause of heal, he ne desireth not so much the moving to ridden, as the effect of his heal. Now then since that all things ben required for the grace of good, they ne been not desired of all folk, more than the same good. But we have granted, that blissfulness is that same thing, for which that all these other things been desired. Then is it thus, that certes only blissfulness is required and desired. By which thing it showeth clearly, that of good and blissfulness is all one and the same substance. Bo. I see not, qd. ay, wherefore that men might discorden in this. Philos. And we have showed, that God and very blissfulness is all one thing. Bo. That is sooth, qd. I. Phi. Then mow we conclude sickerly, that the substance of God is set in thilk same good, and in none other place.   

Huc omnes pariter venite capti. Quos fallax ligat improbis catenis. Terrenas habitans libido mentes. Hic erit vobis requies laborum, etc.  
cometh all together now ye that been ycaught and bound with wicked chains, by the delight of earthly things inhabiting in your thought. Here shall be the rest of your labour: here is the haven stable, in quiet peaceable. This alone is the open refute to wretches, that is to said, that ye that be cumbered and deceived with worldly affections, cometh now to this sovereign good, that is, God, that is refute to him that willen come to him. All the things that the river Tagus giveth you, with his golden gravels: or else all the things that the river Hermus giveth with his red brink: or that Indus giveth, that is next the hot party of the world, that meddleth the green stones with the white: ne should not clerens the looking of your thought, but hiden rather your blind courage within her darkness. All that liketh you here, and exciteth and moveth your thoughts, the earth hath nourished it within his low caves. But the shining, by which the heaven is governed, and whence that his strength, that escheweth the dark overthrowing of the soul, and whosoever may known thilk light of blissfulness, he will sane, that the white beams of the Sun ne be not clear.   

Assentior (inquam) cuncta enim firmissimis nexa rationibus constant. Tum illa, quanti, inquit, tu aestimabis, si bonum ipsum, quid sit, agnoveris, etc.  
BOecius. I assent me, qd. ay, for all things been strongly bounden with right ferme reasons. Philosophy. How much wilt thou praisen it, qd. she, if that thou knowest what the like good is? Boecius. I wool praise it, qd. ay, by price without end, if it shall betid me to know also together God that is good. Philosophy. Certes, qd. she, that shall I do thee by very reason, if that though things, that I have concluded a little here before, dwellen only in her granting. Boecius. They dwellen granted to thee, qd. ay, that is to sane, as who saith, I grant to thy foresaied conclusions. Philosophy. I have showed thee, qd. she, that the things that been required of many folk, ne been not very goods, ne perfect: for they been divers, that one from that other. And so as each of hem is lacking to other, they ne have no power to bring a good, that is full and absolute. But then at erst been they very good, when they been gathered together all into one form, and into one werking: so that thilk thing that is suffissant, thilk same is power, and reverence, noblesse, & mirth. And forsooth, but if all these things be all one same thing, they ne have not whereby that they mow be put in the number of things that ought to be required and desired. Bo. It is shown. qd. ay, ne hereof may there no man doubten. Philosophy. The things then, qd. she, that ne been no goods, when they been divers, and when they beginnen to be all one thing, then been they goods, ne cometh it not then, by the getting of unity, that they be maked goods? Boeci. So seemeth it, qd. I. Philoso. But all thing that is good, qd. she, grantest thou that it be good, by the participation of good or no? Boecius. I grant it, qd. I. Philoso. Then must thou graunten, qd. she, by semblable reason, that one and good be one same thing. For of things, of which the effect nis not naturally divers, needs her substance must be one same thing. Boecius. I ne may not deny it, qd. I. Philosophy. Hast thou not known well, qd. she, that all things that is, hath so long his dwelling and his sustance, as long as it is one: but when it forletteth to been one, it must needs dien, and corrumpen together? Boecius. In which manner, qd. I. Philoso. Right as in beasts, qd. she, when the soul and the body been conjoined in one, and dwelling together, it is cleped a beast; and when her unity is destroyed, by thy disceveraunce of that one from that other, then showeth it well, that it is a dead thing, and it is no longer no beast.  
And the body of a wight, while it dwelleth in one form, by conjunction of members, it is well seen, that it is a figure of mankind: And if the parties of the body be divided and deceivered that one from that other, that they destroy the unity, the body forletteth to be that it was before. And who so would ren in the same manner by all things, he should seen that without doubt every thing is in his substance, as long as it is one: and when it forletteth to be one, it dieth and perisheth.  
Bo. When I consider, qd. ay, many things, I see none other. Philosophy. Is there any thing, qd. she, that in as much as it liveth naturally, that foreletteth that talon or appetite of his being, and desireth to come to death and to corruption? Boe. If I consider, qd. ay, the beasts, that have any manner nature of willing and of nilling, I ne find no beast, but if it be constrained fro withoutforth, that foreletteth or despiseth the entencion to liuen and to durens, or that will his thanks hasten him to dien.  
For every beast travaileth him to defende and keep the salvation of his life, & escheweth death and destruction. But certes, I doubt me of herbs and trees, that ne have no feeling Souls, ne no natural workings, serving to appetites, as beasts have, whether they have appetite to dwellen and to durens.  
Philosophy. Certes, qd. she, thereof dare thee not doubt. Now look upon the Herbs and Trees, for they wexen first in such places as been convenable to him: in which places they mow not dien ne drien, as long as her nature may defend him. For some of him wexen in Fields, and some wexen in Mountains, & other wax in Mareis, and other cleaven on rocks, & some wexen plenteous in sondes. And if any wight enforce him to bear him into other places, they wexen dry. * For nature giveth to every thing that is convenient to him, and travaileth that they ne die, as long as they have power to dwellen & to liuen. What wilt thou said of this, that they drawn all her nouryshing by her roots, right as they hadden her mouths yplunged within the earth's, & shedden by her mareiss her wood & her bark? And what wilt thou sane of this, that the ilke thing that is right soft, as the marry is, that is always hid in the seat of all within, and that is defended from without, by the steadfastness of wood, and that the utterest Barks is put against that distemperance of the heaven, as a defendor, mighty to sufferen harm? And thus certes mayest thou well seen, how great is the diligence of nature: for all things renovelen and publishen him with seed ymultiplied.  
Ne there nis no man, that ne wot well, that they ne been right as a fundament & edifice, for to durens not only for a time, but right as for to dure perdurably by generation. And the things eke that men wenen ne have no souls, ne desire they not by semblable reason to keep that is his, that is to sane, that is according to her nature, in conservation of her being and enduring? For wherefore else beareth lightness the flames up, and the weight presseth the yearth adown, but for as much as thilk place and thilk move be covenable to every of him. And forsooth, every thing keepeth thilk that is according and proper to him, right as things that been contrarious and enemies corrumpen hem. And yet the hard things (as stones) cleaven and holden her parties together right fast and hard, and defenden hem in withstanding, that they ne departen lightly, and given place to him, that breaken or deviden hem: but nevertheless, they return again soon into the same things from whence they be araced. But fire fleeth and refuseth all division. Ne I ne treat not now here of wilful movings of the soul that is knowing, but of naturel entencion of things, as thus: right as we swallowen the meat that we receiuen, and ne think not on it, and as we draw our breath in sleeping, that we were not while we sleepen. For certes in the beasts, the love of her livings, ne of her beings, ne cometh not of the w●●nings of the soul, but of the beginnings of nature. For certes, through constraining causes, will desireth and embraceth full oft times the death, that nature dreadeth, that is to sane, as thus: That a man may be constrained so by some cause, that his will desireth, and taketh the death, which that nature hateth and dreadeth full sore. And sometime we seen the contrary, as thus: that the will of a wight disturbeth and constraineth that, that nature always desireth and requireth, that is to say, the works of generation, by the which generation only dwelleth, and is sustained the long durability of mortal things, as thus: This charity and this love, that every thing hath to himself, ne cometh not of the moving of the soul, but of the entencion of nature. For the purveyance of God hath given to things, that been create of him this, that is a full great cause to liuen and to durens, for which they desiren natural her life, as long as ever they mown: for which thou mayst not dreaden by no manner, that all things that been any where, that they ne requiren naturally the firm stableness of perdurable dwelling, and eke the eschewing of destruction.  
Boeci. I confess (qd. I) that I see well now, and certainly, withouten doubt, the things that a while ago seemeden uncertain to me. Philos. But (qd. she) thilk thing that desireth to be and dwell perdurably, he desireth to been one: for if that one were destroyed, certes, being should there none dwellen to no wight. Boecius. That is sooth (qd. I.) Philosophy. Then (qd. she) desiren all things one. Boecius. I assent (qd. I) Philosophy. And I have showed (qd. she) that ilke same one is thilk that is good. Boecius. Ye forsooth (qd. I) Philosophy. All things then (qd. she) requiren good, and thilk mayst thou discriven thus: good is thilk thing that every wight desireth. Boecius. There ne may be thought no more very thing (qd. I) for either all things be referred and brought to nought, and flotten without governor despoiled of one, as of her proper head: or else if there be any thing, to which that all things tenden and hyen to, that thing must be the sovereign good of all goods. Philosophy. Then said she thus: O my nourice (qd. she) I have great gladness of thee, for thou hast fixed in thy hart the middle soothfastness, that is to sane, the prick: but this thing hath be discovered to thee, in that thou saidst, that thou wistest not a little here before. Boecius. What is that (qd. I) Philos. That thou ne wistest not (qd. she) which was the end of things, and certes, that is the thing that every wight desireth. And for as much as we have gathered and comprehended, that good is thilk thing that is desired of all, then moat we needs confess, that good is the fine of all things.   

Quisquis profunda ment vestigat verum. Cupitque nullis ille deviis falli, in se revolvat intimi lucem visus, etc.  
WHo so seeketh sooth by a deep thought, and coveiteth to been deceived by no miswayes, let him rollen and treaten within himself, the light of his inward sight: and let him gatherens again, inclining into a compass, the long moovinges of his thoughts. And let him teachen his courage, that he hath enclosed and hid in his treasours all that he hath compassed or sought from without: and then thilk thing, that the black clouds of error whilom had covered, shall light more clearly than Phoebus himself ne shineth. Glosa. Who so wool seek the deep grounds of sooth in his thought, and wool not be deceived by false propositions that gone amiss from the troth, let him well examine and roll within himself the nature and properties of the thing. And let him eftsoons examine and rollen his thoughts, by good deliberation, or that he dame. And let him teachen his soul, that it hath by naturel principles kindliche thidde within itself all the troth, the which he imagineth to been in things without: & then all the darkness of his misknowing shall seem more evidently to the sight of his understanding, than the Sun ne seemeth to the sight withoutforth. For certes, the body bringing the weight of foryeting, ne hath not chased out of your thought all the clearness of your knowing: for certainly, the seed of sooth holdeth & cleaveth within your courage, and it is awaked and excited by the winds, and by the blasts of doctrine.  
For wherefore else deemen ye of your own will the rights, when ye be asked, but if so were that the nourishing of reason ne lived yplunged in the deep of your heart: that is to said, how should men demen the sooth of any thing that were asked, and if there ne'er a root of soothfastness, that were yplunged and hid in naturel principles, the which soothfastness lived within the deepness of the thought? And if it be so, that the muse and the doctrine of Plato singeth forth, all that every wight learneth, he ne doth nothing else then, but recordeth, as men recorden things that been foryetten.   

Tum ego, Platoni (inquam) vehementer assentior. Name me horum jam secundo commemoras. Primum quod memoriam corporea contagione, etc.  
THen said I thus: I accord me greatly to Plato, for thou recordest and remember'st me these things yet the second time, that is to say, when first I left my memory by the contrarious conjunction of the body with the soul: and eftsoons afterward, when I lost it, confounded by thy charge, and by the burden of my sorrow: and then said she thus. If thou look (qd. she) first the things that thou hast granted, it ne shall not been right far, that thou ne shalt remembren the ilke thing that thou saidst that thou nistest not. Bo. What thing (qd. I.) Philos. By which the government (qd. she) that this world is governed. Bo. I remember it well (qd. I) and I confess well, that I ne wist it naught. But all be it so, that I see now from afar what thou purposest, algates I desire yet to hearken it of thee more plainly. Phil. Thou ne wendest not (qd. she) a little here before the men should doubt, that this world is governed by God. Bo. Certes (qd. I) ne yet, ne doubt I it not, ne I nill never ween that it were to doubt: as who saith but I wot well that God governeth this world. And I shall answeren thee by what reasons I am brought to this. This world, qd. ay, of so many divers and contrarious parties, ne might never have been assembled in o form, but if there were one, that conjoined so many divers things. And the same diversity of her natures, that so discorden, that one fro that other must departen, and unjoinen the things that been conjoined, if there ne were one that contained that he hath conjoined & ybound. Ne the certain order of nature ne should not bring forth so ordain move, by places, by times, by do, by spaces, by qualities, if there ne were one that were aye steadfast dwelling, that ordained & disposed these diversities of movings. And thilk thing, whatsoever it be, by which that all things be maked and lad, I clepe him God, that is a word that is used to all folks. Phil. Then said she: Sith thou feelest thus these things, I trow that I have little more to done, that thou, mighty of welefulnesse, hole and sound, ne see eftsoons thy country. But let us looken these things that we have purposed here before. Have I not numbered and said (qd. she) that suffisance is in blissfulness. And we have accorded, that God is the ilke same blissfulness. Bo. Yes forsooth, (qd. I.) Philos. And that to govern this world, qd. she, ne shall he never have need of none help fro without. For else if he had need of any help, he ne should not have no full suffisance. Boet. Yes thus it moat needs be (qd. I.) Philos. Then ordained he by himself alone all things (qd. she.) Boet. That may not be denied, qd. I. Philos. And I have showed that God is the same good. Bo. It remembreth me well, qd. I. Philosoph. Then ordaineth he all things by thilk good, qd. she, sith he which we han accorded to be good, governeth all things by himself. And he is a key and a steire, by which the edifice of this world is kept stable, and without corrumping. Bo. I accord me greatly, qd. I. And I have apperceived a little here before, that thou wouldst say thus: all were it so that it were by a thin suspection. Phi. I trow well, qd. she. For as I trow thou leadest now more ententifely thine eye to looken the very goods. But nevertheless, the thing that I shall tell thee, yet ne showeth not lass to token. Bo. What is that, qd. I. Phil. So as men trow, qd. she, and that rightfully, that God governeth all things by the key of his goodness. And all these same things that I have taught thee, hasten him by natural contention to come to good, there may no man doubten, that they ne be governed voluntarily. And that they ne converten hem of her own good will to her ordeynour. As that they ben according, and inclining to her governor and to her king. Bo. It moat needs be so, qd. ay, for the realm ne should not seem blissful, if there were a yoke of misdrawing in divers parties, ne the saving of obedient things ne should not be then. Phi. Is there nothing, qd. she, that keepeth his nature, that enforceth him to gone against God? Boet. No, qd. I. Philos. And if that any thing enforced him to withstand God, might it avaylen at last again him, that we have granted to be Almighty by the right of blissfulness? Certes, qd. ay, all utterly it ne might not avail him. Philos. Then is there nothing, qd. she, that either may or will withstand to his Sovereign God. Bo. I trow not, qd. I. Philos. Then, qd. she, is thilk the Sovereign GOD, that all things governeth strongly, and ordaineth him softly. Boetius. Then said I thus, I delight me, qd. ay, not only in the ends, or in the sum of the reasons, that thou hast concluded and proved, but thilk words that thou usest deliten me much more, so that at last, fools, that sometime renden great things, ought been ashamed of himself, that is to said, that we fools that reprehenden wickedly the things that touchen God's governance, we oughten been ashamed of ourself. As I, that said, that God refuseth only the works of men, and ne entermeteth not of it. Phi. Thou hast well heard, qd. she, the fables of the Poets, how the Giants assaileden heaven with the gods: but forsooth the debonair force of God disposed hem as it was worthy, that is to said, destroyed the Giants as it was worthy. But wilt thou that we rejoynen together thilk same reasons? For peraventure of such conjunctions may sterten up some fair spark of sooth. Boecius. Do (qd. I) as thee list. Philosophy. Weenest thou (qd. she) that God ne be almighty? Boecius. No man is in doubt of it certes (qd. I.) Philosophy. No wight ne doubteth it, if he be in his mind (qd. she.) But he that is almighty, there nis nothing that he ne may. Boecius. That is sooth (qd. I.) Philosophy. May God do evil (qd. she?) Boe. Nay forsooth (qd. I.) Phi. Then is evil nothing (qd. she) sith that he may done none evil, that may done all things. Boecius. Scornest thou me (qd. I) or else playest thou, or deceivest thou me, that hast so wonnen with thy reasons, the house of Dedalus so interlacing, that it is unable to be unlaced, that thou otherwhile interest there thou issuest, and otherwhile issuest there thou interest. Ne foldest thou not together, by replication of words, a manner wonderful circle, or enuironning of the simplicity divine. For certes, a little here before, when thou began at blissfulness, thou saidst that it is a sovereign good, and that God is the blissfulness, for which thou gave me as a covenable yeft, that is to said, that no wight nis blissful, but if he be God also therewith. And saidst eke, that the form of good is the substance of God and of blissfulness. And saidst, that thilk one is thilk same good, that is required and desired of all the kind of things. And thou provedst in disputing, that God governeth all the things of the world by the governance of bounty, and saidst that all things would obeyen to him, and saidst that the nature of evil is nothing. And these things show'dst thou not with no reasons taken fro without, but by prooues in circles and homeliche knowing. The which proves drawn to himself her faith and her accord, every of hem of other. Philosophy. Then said she thus: I ne scorn not, ne play, ne deceive thee, but I have showed the thing that is greatest over all things, by the yeft of God, that we whilom praiden. For this is the form of divine substance, that is such, that it ne slideth not into utterest foreign things, ne receiveth not no strange things in him. But right as Permenides said in Greek of thilk divine substance: He said thus, * That thilk divine substance tourneth the world, and the movable cercle of things, while the ilke divine substance keepeth itself without movings, that is to sane, that he moveth never more, and yet it moveth all other things. But nevertheless, if I have stirred reasons, that be not taken fro without the compass of the thing of the which we treaten, but reasons that been bestowed within compass: there nis not why thou shouldest meruaylen, sith thou hast learned by the sentence of Plato, * That needs the words moat been cousins to the things of which they speaken.   

Felix qui potuit boni, Fontem visere lucidum. Felix qui potuit gravis, etc.  
BLessed is that man that may seen the clear well of good: Blissful is he that may unbinden him from the bounds of heavy earth. The Poet of Thrace, Orpheus, that whilom had right great sorrow for the death of his wife. After that he had maked and constrained by his weepely songs the woods movable to run, and had maked the rivers to stonden still, and had maked the Hearts and Hinds to joynen dredelesse her sides to cruel Lions, to hearken his song, and had maked that the Hare was not aghast of the Hound, which was pleased by song: So when the most ardent love of his wife burnt the entrails of his breast, ne the songs that had overcome all things, ne mighten not assuagen her lord Orpheus. He plained him of the heaven gods, which that were cruel to him: he went him to the houses of the hell: And he tempered his blandishing songs, by resouning of strings, & speakest and song in weeping, all that ever he had received, and laved out of the noble wells of his mother Calliope the god's. And he sang with as much as he might of weeping, & with as much as love, that doubled his sorrow, might given him and teach him, and commoved the hell, and required and besought by sweet prayer the lords of souls in hell of releasing, that is to say, to yeelden him his wife. Cerberus the porter of hell, with his three heads, was caught and all abashed of the new song. And the three goddesses, Furies and vengeresses of felonies, that tormenten and agasten the souls, by annoy waxed sorrowful and sorry, and tears wepten for pity. Tho was not the head of Ixion tourmented by the overthrowing wheel. And Tantalus, that was destroyed by the woodness of long thirst, despised the floods to drink. The foul, that height Vultor, that eateth the stomach or the gisern of Tytius, is so fulfilled of his song, that it nill eaten ne tyrens no more. At the last the lord and judge of souls was moved to misericordies, & cried, we been overcome (qd. he) give we to Orpheus his wife to bear him company, he hath well ybought her by his songs and his ditties: but we will putten a law in this, and covenant in the yeft, that is to said, that till he be out of hell, if he look behind him, that his wife shall come again unto us. * But what is he that may give a law to lovers? love is a greater law, and stronger to himself than any law that men may given. Alas, when Orpheus and his wife were almost at the terms of the night, that is to said, at the last bounds of hell, Orpheus looked backward on Eurydice his wife, and lost her, and was dead. This fable appertaineth to you all, whosoever desireth or seeketh to lead his thought into the sovereign day, that is to say, to clearness of sovereign good. For whosoever be so overcome, that he fix his eyes into the pit of hell, that is to sane, who so ever set his thoughts in earthly things, all that ever he hath drawn of the noble good celestial, he loseth it, when he looketh to the hells, that is to said, into low things of the earth.   
¶ Thus endeth the third book of Boece. Now followeth the fourth.   

Haec cum Philosophia dignitate vultus, & oris gravitate servata, leviter suaviterque cecinisset, Tum ego nondum penitus insiti maeroris oblitus, etc.  
WHEN Philosophy had songen softly and delectably the foresaid things, keeping the dignity of her cheer, and the weight of her words. I then that ne had all utterly forget the weeping and the mourning that was set in mine heart, forbrake the entencion of her, that intended yet to say some other things.  
O (qd. I) thou that art guideresse of very light, the things that thou hast said me hitherto, been to me so clear, and showing by the divine looking of hem, and by thy reasons, that they ne mown ben overcome. And thilk things that thou toldest me, all be it so, that I had whilom foryeten him, for the sorrow of the wrong that hath be done to me: yet nevertheless they ne weren not utterly unknowen to me. But this same is namely a right great cause of my sorrow, so that as the governor of things is good, if that evils mown been by any ways, or else if that evils passen without punishing, the which thing only, how worthy is it to ben wondered upon. Thou considerest it well thyself certainly. But yet to this thing there is yet another thing joined more to be wondered upon. For felony is Empress, and flowereth full of richesse, and virtue nis not all only without medes, but it is cast down, and eke fortroden under the feet of felonous folk: and it abieth the turments in steed of wicked felons. Of all which things there is no wight may maruailen enough ne complainen, that such things be done in the reign of God, that all things wot, and all things may, & ne will not only but good things. Then said she thus: Certes (qd. she) that were a great marvel, & an abashing without end, and well more horrible than all the monsters, if it were as thou weenest, that is to sane, that in the right ordained house of so much a father, & an ordaynour of mien, that the vessels that been foul & vile, should been honoured & heried, and the precious vessels that should ben defouled & vile. But it is not so, for if the things that I have concluded a little here before, been kept whole and unaraced, thou shalt well know by the authority of God, (of y● whose reign speak) that certes the good folk be always mighty and shrews been always outcast and feeble. Ne the vices be nevermore without pain, ne the virtues ne be not without meed. And that blissfulness cometh always to good folk, & infortune cometh always to wicked folk. And thou shalt well known many things of this kind that should ceasen thy plaints, & strengthen thee with steadfast sadness. And for thou hast seen the form of very blissfulness by me, that have whilom showed it thee, & thou hast known in whom blissfulness is set: all thing treated, that I trow be necessary to put forth, I shall shown thee the way, that shall bringen thee again unto thy house, and I shall fix feathers in thy thought, by which it may arisen in height, so that all tribulation ydone away, thou by my guiding, and by my path, & by my sledes, shalt mown return hole & sound into thy country.  

Sunt enim pennae volucres mihi, Quae celsa conscendunt poli, Quas sibi cum velox mens induit, etc.  
THen for thy swift feathers that surmounten the height of the heaven, when the swift thought hath clothed it in though feathers, it despiseth the hateful earths, and surmounteth the roundness of that great air, & it seeth the clouds behind his back, and passeth the height of the region of the fire, that enchaufeth by the swift moving of the firmament, till that he ariseth into the houses that bearen the stars, and joineth the way with the sun Phoebus, & fellawshippeth the way of the old cold Saturnus, and be maked a knight of the clear star, that is to sane, when that thought is made God's knight, by the seeking of clear troth to come to the very knowledge of God. And thilk soul runeth by the circle of stars, in all the places there as that shining night is ipainted, that is to said, the night, that is cloudless. For on nights that be cloudless, it seemeth that the heaven were painted with divers images of stars. And when he hath done there enough, he shall forleten the last heaven, & he shall present and wenden on the back of the swift firmament, and he shall be maked perfect of the worshipful light of God. There holdeth the lord of things the sceptre of his might, & attempreth the governments of the world, and the shining judge of things stable in himself, governeth the swift cart or wain, that is to sane, the circular moving of the sun. And if thy way leadeth thee again, so that thou be brought thither, then wilt thou say that is the country that thou requirest, of which thou ne hadst no mind: But now it remembreth me well, here was I born, here wol I fasten my degree, here wool I dwell. But if thee liketh then to looken on the derkenesses of the yearth, that thou hast forleten, then shalt thou seen, that these felonous tyrants, that the wretched people dreadeth now, shullen be exiled from thilk fair country.   

Turn ego pape inquam, ut magna promittis. Nec dubito, quin possis efficere, tu modo quem excitaveris, ne moreris, etc.  
THen said I thus. O I wonder me that thou behetest me so great things. Ne I ne doubt nor, that thou ne master well perform that thou behetest: But I pray thee this, that thou ne tarry not to tell me thilk things that thou hast moved. Phil. First (qd. she) thou must needs know, that good folk been always strong and mighty, and the shrews been feeble and desert, and naked of all strengths. And of these things certes every of hem is declared and showed by other. For as good and evil been two contraries, if so be that good be steadfast, then showeth the feeblesse all openly. And if thou know clearly the freelenesse of evil, the steadfastness of good is known. But for as much as the faith of my sentence shall be the more farm and abundant, I wool gone by that one way and by that other, and I wool confirm the things that been purposed now on this side, and now on that side. * Two things there been, in which the effect of all the deeds of mankind standeth: that is to say, will and power: and if that one of these two faileth, there nis nothing that may be done. For if that will lacketh, there nis no wight that undertaketh to do that he wool not done: And if power faileth, the will nis but idle, & stant for naught. And thereof cometh it, that if thou see a wight that would gotten that he may not gotten, thou mayest not doubt that power ne faileth him to haven that he would. Boe. This is open & clear (qd. I) ne it ne may not been denied in no manner. P. And if thou see a wight, qd. she, that hath done that he would done, thou nilt not doubt, that he ne hath had power to done it. Bo. No, qd. I. Phi. And in that that every wight may, in that men holden him mighty to don a thing: Insomuch, as a man is mighty to don a thing, insomuch, men hold him mighty: and in that that he ne may, in that men demen him to be feeble. Bo. I confess it well, qd. I. P. Remember thee, qd. she, that I have gathered & showed by that foresaid reasons, that all the entencion of the will of mankind, which that is lad by divers studies, hasteth to come to blissfulness. Boet. It remembreth me well, qd. ay, that it hath been showed. Philoso. And recordeth that naught then, qd. she, that blissfulness is thilk same good that men requiren. so that when blissfulness is required of all? Boetius. It recordeth me nat, qd. I. For I have it always in my memory fixed. Philoso. All folk then, qd. she, good & eke bad, enforcen hem without difference of entencion to comen to good. Boetius. This is very consequence, qd. I. Philos. And certain is, qd. she, that by getting of good be men maked good. Boeti. That is certain, qd. I. Philos. Then gotten good men that they desiren. Boe. So it seemeth, qd. I. Philosophy. But wicked folk, qd. she, if they gotten the good that they desiren, they ne mown not be wicked. Bo. So it is, qd. ay, Philos. Then so as that one and that other, qd. she, desiren the good, and the good folk gotten the good, & not the wicked folk: than it is no doubt that the good folk ne be mighty, and wicked folk be feeble. Boeti. Who so that ever douteth of this, he ne may not consider the nature of things, ne the consequence of reasons. Philos. And over this, qd. she, if that there been two things that have one same purpose by kind, and that one of him pursueth and performeth that same thing by natural office, & that other ne may not done thilk office naturel, but followeth by other manner than is covenable to nature, him that accomplisheth his purpose kindly, & yet he ne accomplisheth not his own purpose: whether of these two demest thou for more mighty? B. If that I conject, qd. ay, that thou wouldst say, algates I desire yet to harken it more plainly of thee. Philosoph. Thou nilt not then deny, qd. she, that the moovement of goings nis in men by kind. Boeti. No forsooth, qd. I. Philosophy. Ne thou doubtest not, qd. she, that thilk naturel office of going ne be the office of feet, Boe. I ne doubt it not, qd. I. Philos. Then, qd. she, if that a wight be mighty to move, and goeth upon his feet, & another to whom thilk naturel office of feet lacketh, enforceth him to go creeping on his hand, which of these two ought to be holden the more mighty by right? Boeti. Knit forth, qd. ay, the remnant, Philosophy. For no wight ne douteth, that he that may gone by naturel office of feet, ne be more mighty than he that ne may not. But that sovereign good, qd. she, that is even like purposed to the good and to the bad: the good folk seeken it by naturel office of virtues, & shrew's enforcen hem to gotten it by divers covetises of earthly things, which the nis no naturel office to gotten thilk sovereign good. Trowest thou that it be any otherwise? Bo. Nay, qd. I. For the consequence is open, and showing of things that I have granted, the needs good folk moten been mighty, & shrews moten been feeble & unmightie. Phil. Thou rennest aright before me, qd. she, and this is the judgement, that is to said, I judge of right, as these leeches been wont to hopen of sick folk, when they apperceiven that nature is redressed, & withstandeth to that malady. But for I see thee now all ready to the withstanding, I shall show thee more thilk and continual reasons. For look how greatly showeth the feebleness and infirmity of wicked folk, y● ne mown not come to that her naturel entencion leadeth him: And yet almost thilk naturel entencion constraineth him. And what were to demen then of shrews, if thilk naturel help had forleten him, the which naturel help of entencion goth always before him, & is so great, that unneath it may be overcome? Consider then how great default of power, & how great feeblesse there is in wicked felonous folk: as who sayeth, the greater thing that is coveited, and the desire not accomplished, of that less might is he that coveiteth it, and may not accomplish. And for thy, Philosophy saith thus by sovereign good. Ne shrews ne requiren not light medes ne vain games, which they ne may not followen ne holden, but they fail of thilk sum of the height of things, that is to said, sovereign good. Ne these wretches ne come not to the effect of sovereign good, the which they enforce him only to gotten by nights and by days: in getting of which good, the strength of good folk is full well yseen. For right as thou mightest demen him mighty of going, that goeth on his feet till he might come to thilk place, fro the which place there ne lay no way further to be gone: right so must thou needs demen him for right mighty, which that getteth and attaineth to the end of all things, which that been to desiren, beyond the which end there nis nothing to desire. Of the which power of good folk, men may conclude, that we wicked men seemen to be barren and naked of all strength. For why forleten they virtues, and followen vices, nis it not for that they ne known not the goods? But what thing is more feeble and more caitiff, than is the blindness of ignorance? or else they known well which things they oughten followen, but lechery & covetise overthroweth him mistourned. And certes, so doth distemperance to feeble men, that mow not wrastlen again these vices. Ne know they not well, that they forleten the good wilfully, & tournen hem wilfully to vices. And in this wise they ne forleten not only to be mighty, but they forleten all utterly in any wise for to been. For they that forleten the common fine of all things that ben, they forleten also therewithal for to been. And peraventure, it should seemen to some folk, that this were a marvel to said, that shrews, which that containen the more parts of men, ne been not, ne have no being. But nevertheless it is so, and thus stant this thing: For they that be shrews, I deny not but that they be shrews, but I deny simply & plainly, that they ne be not, ne have no being. For right as thou mightest said of the cerrain of a man, that it were a dead man: so grant I well forsooth, that vicious folk been wicked, but I ne may not absolutely and simply grant that they ben. For thilk thing that withholdeth order, and keepeth nature, thilk thing is and hath being. But with thing faileth that, that is to say, he that forleteth natural order, he forleteth thilk being that is set in his nature? But thou wolt said, the shrews mown. Certes that ne deny I not: but certes, her power ne descendeth not of strength, but of feeblesse, for they mown done wickedness, the which they ne might not, if they mighten dwellen in the form and in the doing of good people. And thilk power showeth evidently, that they mown right naught. For so as I have gathered and proved a little here before, that evil is not, and so as shrews may only but shrewdness. This conclusion is all clear, that shrews ne mown right naught, ne have no power. And for as much as thou understondest which is the strength of this power, I have definished a little here before, that no thing nis so mighty as sovereign good. B. That is sooth (qd. I) Phil. And thilk same sovereign good may done none evil. Boe. Certes no (qd. I) Phil. Is there any wight then (qd. she) that weeneth that men mown done all things. Boe. No man (qd. I) but if he be out of his wit. Phil. But certes shrews mown done evils (qd. she.) Bo. Ye would God (qd. I) that they ne mighten done none. P. Then (qd. she) so as he that is mighty to done only good things, he may done all things, and they that been mighty to done evil things, ne mown not all things. Then is it open thing and manifest, that they that mown done evil, been of less power. And yet to prove this conclusion, there helpeth me this, that I have showed here before, that all power is to be numbered among things that men oughten require. And I have showed, that all things that oughten been desired, be referred to God, right as to a manner height of her nature: but for to mown done evil & felony, ne may not been referred to God. Then is not evil of the number of things, y● oughten to been desired and required. Then is it open and clear, that the power ne the moving of shrews nis no power. And of all these things it showeth well, that the good folk been certainly mighty, and the shrews doubtless unmighty. And it is clear & open, that thilk sentence of Plato is very and sooth, that saith, That only wise men may done that they desiren, & shrews mown haunt that hem liketh, but that they desiren, that is to said, to come to sovereign good, they ne have no power to accomplish that: for shrews done what hem list, when by tho things in which they delighten, they wenen to attain to thilk good that they desiren, but they ne gotten ne attain not thereto, for vices ne come not to blissfulness.   

Quos vides sedere celsos, Solii culmine reges, Purpura claros nitente, etc.  
WHo so that the coverture of her vain apparailes, might stripen of these proud kings that thou seest sitten on high in her chairs, glittering in shining purpure, environed with sorrowful armours, menacing with cruel mouth, blowing by woodness of heart, he should seen, the thilk lords heaten within her courages full straight chains: for lecherit tormenteth hem on y● one side with greedy venimes & troublable ire, that araiseth in him the flood of troubling, tormenteth on that other side, her thought or sorrow halt him weary & ycaught, or sliding and deceiving hope tormenteth him. And therefore sith thou seest one head, that is to say, one tyrant bearen so many tyrannies, then ne doth thilk tyrant not that he desireth, sith he is cast down with so many wicked lords, that is to said, so many vices that have so wickedly lordships over him.   

Vides ne igitur quanto in coeno probra volvantur, qua probitas luce resplendeat? in quo perspicuum est nunquam bonis praemia, etc.  
SEest thou not then, in how great filth these shrews been ywrapped, and with which clearness these good folk shinen. In this showeth it well, that to good folk ne lacketh never more her medes, ne shrews lacken never more tourments. For of all things that be done, thilk thing for which any thing is done, it seemeth, as by right, that thilk thing be the meed of that, as thus: If a man runeth in the stady or in the forlong for the crown, then lieth the meed in the crown, for which he runeth. And I have showed that blissfulness is thilk same good, for which that all things ben done. Then is thilk same good purposed to the werks of mankind, right as a common meed, which meed ne may not be deceivered from good folk: For no wight, as by right, from thenceforth that him lacketh goodness, ne shall be cleped good: for which thing folk of good manners her medes ne forsaken him never more. For all be it so, that shrew's waxen as wood as him list against good folk, yet nevertheless, the crown of wise men ne shall not fallen ne faden fro foreign shrewdness, ne benimmen not fro the courage of good people her proper honour. But if any wight rejoiced him of goodness, that he had taken fro without, as who saith: if a man had his goodness of any other man, than of himself, certes, he that gave him thilk goodness, or else some other wight, might bynome it him. But for as much as to every wight his proper bounty giveth him his meed, then at erst shall he fail of meed, when he forleteth to be good. And at the last, so as all medes been required, for men wenen that they be good, who is he that nolde dame, that he that is right mighty of good, were part less of meed? And of what meed shall he be reguerdoned? Certes, of right fair meed and right great aboven all medes. Remember thee of thilk noble corollary that I gave thee a little here before, and gather it together in this manner. So as God himself is blissfulness, then is it clear and certain, that all good people been maked blissful, for they been good: and thilk people that been blissful, it acordeth and is convenable to be Gods. Then is the meed of people such, that no day ne shall empairen it, ne no wickedness shall drinken it, ne power of no wight ne shall not amenuse it, that is to said, that been maked goods. And sith it is thus, that good men ne fail never more of her meed, certes, no man ne may doubt of the undepartable pain of shrews, that is to said, that the pain of shrews departeth not from himself never more. For so as good and evil, and pain and medes, be contrary: it moat needs be, that right as we see betiden in guerdon of good, that also moat the pain of the evil answer by the contrary parts to shrews. Now then, so as bounty and prowess ben meed to good folk, also is shrewdness itself tourment to shrews. Then whosoever is entetched and defouled with pain, he ne doubteth not, that he is entetched and defouled with evil. If shrews then woollen praise himself, may it seemen to him that they been withouten party of tourment, sith they been such, that the uttrest wickedness, that is to say, wicked thews, which is the uttrest and worst kind of shrewdness, ne defouleth ne entetcheth not him only, but infecteth and enuenimeth greatly. And also look on shrews, that been the contrary party of good men, how great pain fellowshippeth and fouleth him: for thou hast learned a little here before, that all thing that is and hath being, is one, and thilk same one is good: then is this the consequence, that it seemeth well, that all thing that is and hath being, is good, that is to said, as who saith, that being, unity, and goodness, is all one. And in this manner it followeth then, that all thing that faileth to be good, it stinteth for to be, and for to have any manner being: wherefore it is, that shrew's stinten for to be that they weren. But thilk other form of mankind, that is to said, the form of the body without, sheweth that these shrews weren whilom men, wherefore when they been perverted and turned into malice, certes than they have forlorn the nature of mankind: but so, as only bounty and prowess may enhauncen every man over men: then moat it needs be, that shrews, which that shrewdness hath cast out of the condition of mankind, been put under the merit and desert of men. Then betideth it, that if thou seest a wight, which that is transformed into vices, thou mayst not ween that he be a man: For if he be ardant in avarice, and that he be a ravener by violence of foreign richesses, thou shalt said that he is like a wolf. And if he be felonous, and withouten rest, and exercise his tongue to chide, thou shalt liken him to the hound. And if he be a privy awaytour hid, and rejoiceth him to ravish by wiles, thou shalt said him like to the fox whelps. And if he be distempered and quaketh for ire, men shall wenen that he deareth the courage of a Lion. And if he be dreadful and flying, and dreadeth things which that ne oughten not to be dread, men shall hold him like to the Hart. And if he be slow, and astonished and lache, men shall hold him like to an Ass. And if he be light and unsteadfast of courage, and changeth aye his studies, men shall hold him like to the birds. And if he be piunged in foul and unclean luxuries, he is withholden in the foul delices of the foul sow: then followeth it, that he that forleteth bounty and prowess, he forleteth to be a man, sith he ne may not passen in the condition of God, he is turned into a beast.   

Vela Naricii ducis, & vagas pelago rates, Eurus appulit insulae, pulchra qua residens dea, Solis edita semine, etc.  
EUrus the wind, arrived the sails of Vlixes, duke of the country of Narice, and his wandering ships by the see, into the Isle, there as Circe's the fair goddess, daughter of the sun, dwelleth, that meddleth to her new guests drinks that been touched and maked with enchantments. And after that her hand, mighty over the herbs, had changed her guests into divers manners, that one of him is covered his face with form of a Boar, that other is changed into a Lion of the country of Marmorike, and his nails and his teeth wexen. That other of hem is newlych changed into a wolf, and howlyth when he would weep: that other goeth debonairly in the house as a Tiger of Ind. But all be it so, that the godhead of Mercury, that is cleped the bird of Arcadia, hath had mercy of the Duke Vlyxes, besieged with divers evils, and hath unbounden him from the pestilence of his hostess, algates the rowers and the mariners hadden by this ydrawen into her mouths, and drunken the wicked drinks. They that weren waxed swine, hadden by this ychaunged her meat of bread, for to eaten Acorn of Okes. None of her limbs ne dwelleth with him whole, but they have lost the voice and the body, only her thought dwelleth with hem stable, that weepeth and bewaileth the monstrous changing that they sufferen. O over light hand, as who saith, feeble and light is the hand of Circe's the enchaunteresse, that changeth the bodies of folk into beasts, to regard and to comparison of mutation, that is maked by vices: ne the herbs of Circe's ne be not mighty, for all be it so that they may chaungen the limbs of the body, algate yet they may not change the hearts, for within is yhid the strength and vigour of men in the secretor of her hearts, that is to said, the strength of reason: but thilk venimes of vices, do drawn a man to him more mightily than the venom of Circe's, for vices ben so cruel, that they piercen and thorough passen the courage within, and though they ne annoy not the body, yet vices wooden to destroyen men by wound of thought.   

Tu ego fateor, inquam, nec injuria dici video vitiosos, tam & si humani corporis speciem servant, etc.  
THen said I thus: I confess and am aknow it (qd. I) ne I ne see not that men may say, as by right, that shrews been changed into beasts by the quality of her souls, all be it so, that they keepen yet the form of the body of mankind: but I would not of shrews, of which, the thought cruel and wood, woodeth always to the destruction of good men, that it were leeful to him to done that.  
Certes (qd. she) ne it is not leeful to him as I shall well show the incovenable place: but nevertheless, if so were, that thilk that men ween been leeful to shrews, were bynommed him, so that they ne might not annoien or done harm to good men, certes, a great party of the pain to shrews should been alleged and relieved. For all be it so, that it ne seem credible thing, peradventure to some folk, that it moat needs be, that the shrews been more wretches and silly, when they may full done and perform that they covet, than if they might not accomplish that they covet. For if so be, that it be wretchedness to wilnen to done evil, then is it more wretchedness to mown done evil, without which mowing, the wretched will should languish without effect. Then sith every of these things hath his wretchedness, that is to said, will to done evil, and mowing to done evil, it moat needs be, that they shrews be constrained by her unselinesses, that woollen and mown, and performen felonies and shreudnesses. Boet. I accord me (qd. I) but I desire greatly, that shrews losten soon thilk unselinesse, that is to said, that shrews weren despoiled of mowing to done evil.  
Philosophy. So shullen they (qd. she) sooner peradventure then thou wouldst, or sooner than they himself ween: for there nis nothing so late in so short bonds of this life, that is long to abide, namely to a courage immortel. Of which shrews, the great hope and the high compassings of shrewdness, is oft destroyed by a sudden end, or they be ware. And that thing establisheth to shrews the end of her shrewdness: for if that shrewdness maketh wretches, then must he needs be most wretch that longest is a shrew: the which wicked shrews would I demin aldermost caitiffs and unsilly, if her shrewdness ne were finished at least way by utterest death, for if I have concluded sooth of the unselinesse of shrewdness, then showeth it plainly, that thilk wretchedness is withouten end, the which is certain to be perdurable. Bo. Certes (qd. I) this conclusion is hard and wonderful to grant. But I know well that it acordeth much to things that I have granted here before. Phil. Thou hast (qd. she) right estimation of this. But who so ever ween that it be a hard thing, to accord him to a conclusion, it is right that he show that some of the premises ben false, or else he moat show that the collation of propofitions nis not speedful to a necessary conclusion. And if it ne be not so, but that the premises been igraunted, there nis not why he should blame the argument. For this thing that I shall tell thee now, ne shall not seem lass wonderful, but of the things that been taken. Also it is necessary, as who faith, it followeth of that which that is purposed before. Boec. What is that (qd. I) Phil. Certes (qd. she) that is, that these wicked shrews be more blissful, or else lass wretches that abien the tourments that they have deserved, than if no pain of justice ne chastised hem. Ne this ne say I not now, for that any man might think that the manners of shrews been coriged and chastised by vengeance, and that they be brought to the right way by the dread of tourment, ne for that they given to other folk's ensample to flyen from vices.  
But I understand yet in another manner, the shrew's been more unsilly when they ne be not punished, all be it so that there ne be had no reason or law of correction, ne none ensample of looking. Boet. And what manner shall that been, qd. ay, other than hath be told here before? Ph. Have we not granted then, qd. she, that good folk been blissful, & shrews been wretches? Boet. Yes, qd. I. Philosoph. Then, qd. she, If that any good were added to the wretchedness of any wight, nies he not more weleful than he that ne hath no meddling of good in his solitary wretchedness. Bo. So seemeth it (qd. I.) Phil. And what sayst thou then, qd. she, of thilk wretch that lacketh all goods, so that no good nies meddled with his wretchedness, and yet over all his wickedness for which he is a wretch, that there be yet another evil annexed and knit to him, shall not men demen him more unsely than thilk wretch, of which the unselines is relieved by the participation of some good. Boet. Why should he not, qd. I. Ph. Then certes, qd. she, han shrews when they been punished, somewhat of good annexed to her shrewdness, that is to sane, the same pain that they suffrens, which that is good, by the reason of justice. And when thilk same shrews escapen without tourment, then have they somewhat more of evil yet, over the wickedness that they han done, that is to sane, default of pains, which default of pain thou hast granted is evil, for the desert of felony. Boet. I ne may not deny it, qd. I. Philos. * Much more then, qd. she, been shrews unsilly, when they been wrongfully delivered from pain, then when they been punished by rightful vengeance. But this is open thing and clear, that it is right that shrews been punished, & it is wickedness and wrong that they escapen unpunished. Boetius. Who might deny it, qd. I. Philosop. But, qd. she, may any man deny that all that is right, ne is good? and also the contrary, that all that is wrong ne is wicked? Boet. Certes, qd. ay, these things been clear enough, and that we have concluded a little here before. But I pray thee that thou tell me, if thou accordest to let no tourment to the soul's, after that the body is ended by the death, that is to sane: understandest thou aught, that souls have any tourment after the death of the body? Philos. Certes, qd. she, yea, and that right great, of which souls, qd. she, I trow that some been tourmented by asprenesse of pain, and some souls I trow been exercised by a purging meekness, but my counsel nies nat to determine of this pains. But I have travailed and told yet hitherto, for thou shouldest know that the mowing of shrews, which mowing thee seemeth to be unworthy, nys no mowing, & eke of shrews, of which thou playnedest that they ne were not punished, that thou wouldst see that they ne weren never more withouten the tourments of her wickedness. And of the licence of the mowing to done evil, that thou praydest that it might soon be ended, and that thou wouldst fain lernen that it ne should not long endure. And that shrews been more unsilly if they were of longer during, and most unsilly if they weren perdurable. And after this I have showed thee that more unsilly been shrews, when they escapen without her rightful pain, than when they been punished by rightful vengeance. And of this sentence followeth it, that then been shrews constrayved at the last with most grievous tourment, when men ween that they ne be not punished. Boetius. When I consider thy reasons, qd. ay, I ne trow nat that men sane any thing more verily. And if I turn again to the studies of men, who is he to whom it should seem, that he ne should nat only leaven these things, but eke gladly harken him. Philoso. Certes, qd. she, so it is, but men may nat, for they have their eyes so wont to the darkness of earthly things, that they ne may nat lift him up to the light of clear soothfastness. But they been like to birds, of which the night lighteneth her lookings, as the day blindeth him. For when men looken not the ordre of things, but her lusts and talents, they ween that either the leave or the mowing to done wickedness, or else the scaping without pain, be welefull. But consider the judgement of the perdurable law, for if thou confirm thy courage to the best things, thou ne hast no need of no judge, to given thee price or meed, for thou hast joined thyself to the most excellent things. And if thou have inclined thy studies to the wicked things, ne seek no foreign wrekerie out of thyself, for thou thyself hast thirst thyself into wicked things, right as thou mightest looken by divers times, the foul yearth & the heaven, and that all other things stinten fro without, so that thou were in neither, ne see nothing more. Then should it seemen to thee, as by only reason of looking, that thou were now in the Stars, & now in the earth, but the people looketh not on these things. What then, shall we then approach us to him that I have showed that been like to beasts? And what wouldst thou said of this, if that a man had all forlorn his sight, and had forget that he ever saw, & weaned that nothing failed him of perfection of mankind? Now we which mighten seen the same things, would we not sane, that he were blind, ne also ne acordeth not the people to that I shall sane, the which thing is sustained, by as strong foundements of reason, that is to sane, * That more unselie been they that done wrongs to other folk, than they that the wrong suffrens. Boet. I would hearen thilk same reasons, qd. I. Philos. Deniest thou, (qd. she) that all shrews ne been worthy to have tourment? Boetius. Nay (qd. I.) Phil. But (qd. she) I am certain by many reasons, that shrews been unsilly. Boetius. It acordeth (qd. I.) Phil. Then ne doubtest thou not (qd. she) that thilk folk, that been worthy of tourment, that they ne be wretches. Boetius. It acordeth well (qd. I.) Phil. If thou were then set a judge, or a knower of things, whither trowest thou that men should tourmenten hem that hath done wrong, or else hem that suffered the wrong? Boetius. I doubt not (qd. I) that I nolde do sufficient satisfaction to him that have suffered wrong, by the sorrow of him that hath done wrong. Phil. Then seemeth it (qd. she) that the doer of wrong is more wretch than he that suffered wrong. Boetius. That followeth well (qd. I.) Phil. Then (qd. she) by these causes, and by other causes, that been enforced by the same root, that filth or sin, by the proper nature of it, maketh men wretches: & it showeth well, that the wrongs that men done, nis not the wretchedness of him that receiveth the wrong, but the wretchedness of him that doth the wrong. But certes (qd. she) these Orators or Advocates done all the contrary, for they enforce him to commove the judges to have pity of him that done the greevaunces and the wrongs, the which shrews, it were a more covenable thing, that the accusers or advocates, not wroth, but piteous & debonair, leaden though shrews that have done wrongs, to the judgement, right as men leden sick folk to the leech, for that they shoulden seeken out the maladies of sin, by tourment. And by this covenant, either the intent of advocates, should cessen in all, or else th'office of the advocates would better profiten to men: it should be turned into the habit of accusation, that is to sane, they shoulden accuse shrews, himself, if it were leeful to him, to seen at any cleft the virtue that they have forletten, & sawen that they should putten adoune the filthes of her vices, by the tourments of pains: they ne oughten not, right for that recompensation, for to gotten him bounty and prowess, which that they have lost, demen and hold that the ilke pains weren tourments to hem, & eke they woulden refuse the attendance of her advocates, & taken hemselfes to her judges, and to her accusers: for the which it betideth, that as to the wise folks there nis no place iletten to hate, that is to sane, that hate ne hath no place among wise men. For no wight nill haten good men, but if he were overmoch a fool: and for to haten shrews, it nis no reason, for right as languishing is malady of body, right so been vices & sin malady of courage, and so as we ne dame not that they which that been sick of her body been worthy to been hated, but rather worthy of pity. Well more worthy not to been hated, but for to been had in pity been they, of which the thoughts been constrained by felonous wickedness, that is more cruel than any languishing of body.   

Quid tantos juvat excitare motus. Et propria fatum sollicitate manu? Si mortem petitis, propinquat ipsa sponte sua, volucres nec remoratur equos, etc.  
WHat delighteth you to exciten so great moving of Hatredes, and to hasten and busien the fatal disposition of your death, with your proper hands, that is to sane, by battles or conteke? For if ye asken the death, it hasteth him of his own will, ne death ne tarrieth not his swift horse. And the men that the Serpents, and the Lion, and the Tiger, and the Bear, and the Boar, seken to slean with their teeth, yet thilk same men seken to slean everich of him other with sword. Lo, for her manners been divers and discordant, they moven unrightful hosts, and cruel battles, and wilnen to perish by enterchaunging of darts, but the reason of cruelty, nies not enough rightful. Wilt thou then yelden a covenable guerdon to the deserts of men? Love rightfully good folks, and have pity on shrews.   

Hinc ego video inquam, quae sit vel felicitas vel miseria in ipsis proborum atque improborum meritis constituta. Sed in hac ipsa fortuna populari, etc.  
THis I see (qd. I) either what blissfulness, or else what unselinesse is established in the deserts of good men, and of shrews. But in this ilke Fortune of the people, I see somewhat of good, and some what of evil. For no wise man had not leaver be exiled poor and needy, and nameless, than for to dwellen in his city, and flourens of richesse, and be redoubtable of honour, and strong of power. For in this wise more clearly and witnesfully is the office of wise men treated, than the blissfulness of power, and governors, is as it were shed amongst the people, that be neighbours and subjects, sith that namely prison, law, and these other torments of lawful pains, be rather owed to felonous citizens: for the which selonous citizens, the pains be established, more than for good people. Boet. Then I marvel greatly (qd. I) why that the things be so miss enterchaunged, that torments of felonies pressen & confounden good people, and shrews ravishen medes of virtue, and been in honours, & great estates. And I desire eke for to weten of thee, what seemeth thee to be the reason of this so wrongful a conclusion? For I would wonder well the lass, if that I trowed that all things were meddled with fortunous hap. But now creepeth & increaseth mine astoniyngs, God governor of things, that so as God yeveth oft times to good men, goods & mirths, and to shrews, evil and asper things: And giveth again to good folk hardness, and to shrews he granteth him her will, and that they desiren. What difference may there be, between that that God doth, and hap of fortune, if men know not the cause why it is. Philosophy. Ne it is no marvel, qd. she, though that men wenen, that there be somewhat foolish and confuse, when the reason of the order is unknowen: but although that thou ne know not the cause of so great a disposition. Nevertheless, for as much as God the good governor attempreth and governeth the world, ne doubt thee not, but all things been done a right.   

Si quis Arcturi sidera nescit. Mergatque seras aequore flammas. Propinqua summo cardine labi. Cum nimis sceleris explicet ortus. Cur legate tardus plaustra Bootes, etc.  
WHo so that know not the Stars Arcture, turned to the sovereign centure or point, that is to sane, turned nigh to the Sovereign Pole of the firmament, and wot not why the star Boötes passeth, or gathereth his wanes, and drencheth his late flames in the sea, and why that Boots the Star unfoldeth his overswift arisings, then shall he wondrens of the Law of the high air. And eke, if that he ne know not why that the horns of the full Moon waxen pale and infect by the bounds of the dark night, and how the Moon dark & confuse, discovereth the Stars, that she had covered by her clear visage.  
The common error moveth folks, and maketh weary her basins of Brass by thilk strokes, that is to say, that there is a manner people, that height Coribantes, that wenen that when the Moon is in the Eclipse that it be enchanted, and therefore for to rescue the Moon, they beaten her basins with the ilke strokes. Ne no man ne wondereth when the blasts of the wind Chorus, beaten the strands of the Sea, by quaking floods. Ne no man ne wondereth, when the weight of the Snow, harded by the cold, is resolved by the brenning heat of Phoebus the Sun, for here seen men readily the causes. But the causes ihid, that is to sane in heaven, troublen the breasts of men. The movable people is astonished of all things that come seld and suddenly in our age, but the troubly error of our ignorance, departeth from us, so that if they wisten the cause, why that such things betiden, certes they shoulden cease to seem wonders.   

Ita est inquam. Sed cum tui muneris sit latentium rerum causas evolvere, velatasque caligine explicare rationes: quaeso uti hinc decernas, etc.  
THus it is (qd. I) but so as thou haste given or beheight me, to unwrap the hid causes of things, and to discover me the reasons covered with darkness, I pray thee, that thou device and judge me of this matter, and that thou do me to understand it, for this miracle of this wonder troubleth me right greatly. And then she a little what smiling said. Thou clepest me (qd. she) to tell that is greatest of all things that mown been asked, and to the which question, unneath there aught enough to leaven it, as who sayeth, unneath is there any thing to answer perfectly to thy question: for the matter of it is such, that when o doubt is determined and cut away, there waxen other doubts without number, right as the heads of Idre the Serpent waxen, the which Serpent Hercules slough: ne there ne were no manner, ne none end, but if a wight constrained the doubts, by a right lively & quick fire of thought, that is to sane, by vigour and strength of wit. For in this matter men weren wont to maked questions, of the simplicity of the purveyance of GOD, & of the order of Destiny, and of sudden hap, & of knowing of predestination divine, and of the liberty of Freewill: the which things, thou thyself apperceivedest well of what weight they been. But for as much as the know of these things, is a manner portion or Medicine to thee, all be it so, that I have little time to done it, yet nevertheless I would enforce me to shown somewhat of it: But although the nourishing of ditee of Music delighteth thee, thou must suffrens & forbearen a little of the ilke delight, while that I ween to the reasons knit by order. Boetius. As it liketh to thee (qd. I) so do. Philosophy. Tho spoke she right, as by an other beginning, and said right thus: The engendering of all things (qd. she) and all the progressions of movable Nature, & all that moveth in any manner, taketh his causes, his order, & his forms, of the stableness of Divine thought: And the ilke Divine thought, that is set and put in the Tower, that is to sane, in the height of the simplicity of God, establisheth many manner gises to the things that been to done, the which manner, when the men looken it, in the pure cleanness of the Divine intelligence, is cleped purveyance.  
But when the ilke manner is referred by men, to things that it moveth or disponeth, then of old men it was cleped Destiny, the which things, if that any wight looketh well in his thought, the strength of that one, & of that other, he shall lightly mow seen, that these two things be divers. For purveyance is the ilke Divine reason that is established in the Sovereign Prince of things, the which pueveighaunce disponeth all things. But certes, Destiny is the disposition & the ordinance, cleaving to movable things, by the which disposition, the purveyance knitteth all things in her order: For purveyance embraceth all things to heap, although they be divers, and although they be infinite, but destiny certain departeth & ordaineth all things singularly, & deuideth in moving, in places, in forms, and in times, as thus: Let the unfolding of temporal ordinance, assembled and oned in the looking of the Divine thought, be cleped purveyance, & thilk same assembling and oning divided and unfolden, let that be called Destiny. And all beit so, that these things been divers, yet nevertheless, hanged that one on that other, for why, the order destinably proceedeth of the simplicity of purveyance.  
For right as a workman perceiveth in his thought the form of thing that he wol make, and moveth the effect of the work, and leadeth that he had looked before in his thought, simply and presently by corporal ordinance: certes, right so God in his purveyance, disponeth singularly and stably the things that be to done, but he administereth in manners, & in divers time by Destiny, the ilke same things that he hath disponed: then whether Destiny be exercised either by some Divine spirits, servants to the Divine purveyance, or else by some soul, or else by all nature serving God, or else by the celestial move of Stars, or else by the virtue of Angels, or else by divers subtlety of Devils, or else by any of him, or else by him all, the destinable ordinance is woven and accomplished. Certes, it is open thing, that the purveyance is an unmovable & simple form of things to done, and the movable bond, and the temporal ordinance of things, which that the Divine simplicity of purveyance hath ordained to done, that is destiny. For which it is that all things that been put under destiny, been certes subjects unto purveyance, to which purveyance destiny itself is subject and under: but some things been put under purveyance, that surmounten the ordinance of destiny: and tho been thilk that stably been fixed nigh to the first godhead, they surmounten the order of destinable movabilitee. For right as circles turnen about a same centre, or about a point, thilk cercle that is innerest or most within, he joineth to the simplesse of the middle, & is as it were a centre or a point to that other circles that turnen about him: and thilk that is utterest, compassed by larger enuironning, is unfold by larger spaces, in so much as it is fertherest fro the middelest simplicity of the point. And if there be any thing that knitteth & felowshippeth himself to thilk middle point, it is constrained into simplicity, that is to say, into unmovability, & it ceaseth to ben shed, and flit diversely. Right so by semblable reason, thilk thing that departeth furtherest from the first thought of God, it is unfolden, and also submitted to greater bonds of destiny, and in so much is the thing more free & loce from destiny, as it asketh & holdeth ne'er to thilk centre of things, that is to sane, to God. And if the thing cleaveth to the steadfastness of the thought of God, & be without moving, certes it surmounteth the necessity of destiny. Then such comparison as is skilling to understanding, & of thing that was engendered, to thing that is of time to eternity, & of the cercle to the centre, right so is the order of movable destiny, to that stable simplicity of purveyance. Thilk ordinance moveth the heaven and the stars, and attempreth the elements together among hem self, and transformeth him by interchangeable mutation. And thilk same order neweth again all things growing and falling adoune, by semblable progressions of seeds and of sexes, that is to sane, male & female: & this ilke order constraineth the fortunes and the deeds of men by a bond of causes not able to be unbounden: the which destinable causes, when they passen out fro the beginnings of unmovable purveyance, it moat needs be that they ne be not mutable, as thus: be the things well governed, if that the simplicity dwelling in y● Divine thought, showeth forth the order of causes unable to be bowed: And this order constraineth by the proper stability the movable things, or else they shoulden fleet folilie. For which it is that things semen confuse, & troubly to us men, for we ne mown not consider thilk ordinance. Nevertheless, the proper manner of every thing dressing him to good, disponeth him all, for there nis nothing done for evil, for thilk thing that is done by wicked folk nis not done for evil. The which shrews, as I have showed plenteously, seek good, but wicked error misturneth him, ne the order coming from the point of Sovereign good, ne inclineth not fro his beginning. But thou mayest say, with unrest may been a worse confusion, than that good men have sometime adversity, and sometime prosperity: and shrews have now also things that they desiren, and now things that they haten. Whether men live now in such holiness of thoght, as who saith be men now so wise, that such folk as they demen to be good folk or shrews, that it moat needs be, that folk be such as they wenen. But in this manner domes of men discorden, that thilk men that some folk dame him worthy of meed, other folk dame him worthy of tourment, but let us grant: I suppose that some man may well deem or know the good people & the bad, may he then know and see thilk innerest attemperance of courage, as it hath be wont to be said of bodies, as who saith: may a man speaken of complexions, & attemperance of bodies, ne it ne is not, as who saith, but it is like a marvel or a miracle to him that ne know it not, why that sweet things be covenable to some bodies that been hole, and to some people bitter things be covenable: & also why some people been holpen with light medicines, & some people been holpen with bitter medicines but nevertheless though that known the manner, & the temperance of heal and of malady ne marveleth it nothing. But what other thing seemeth health of courages but bounty, & with other thing seemeth malady of courage but vices? * Who is else keeper of good, and driver away of evil, but God the governor and leader of thoughts: the which God, when he hath beholden from that high tower of his purveiaunce, he knoweth what is convenable to any wight, and leaneth him that he wot well that is convenable to him. Lo hereof cometh & hereof is done this miracle or thorder destinable, when God that all knoweth, doth such thing, of which thing unknowing folk been astonished, but for to constrained, as who sayeth, but for to comprehend and tell a few things of the divine deepness, the which that man's reason may understand. Thilk man that thou weenest to been right just, & right keeping of equity, the contrary of that seemeth to the Divine purveyance that all wot. And Lucan my familiar telleth, that the victorious cause liked to the Gods, & the causes overcome, liketh to Caton. Then what so ever thou mayest seen, that is done in this world unhoped or else unknowen, certes, it is the right order of things, but as to thy wicked opinion, it is a confusion. But I suppose that some man be so well thewed, that the Divine judgement, & the judgement of mankind accord hem together of him: but he is so unsteadfast of courage, that if any adversity come to him, he wool forleten paraventure to continue innocence, by the which he ne may not withholden fortune: then the wise dispensation of GOD spareth him, which man adversity might enpairen, for that God will not him to travail, to whom the travail nis not● convenable. Another man is perfect in all virtues, & is an holy man, & nigh to GOD, so that the purveyance of God would dame, that it were a felony, that he were touched with any adversities, so that he would not suffer, that such a man be with any bodily malady moved. But so, as said the Philosopher, the more excellent is by me said in great, that virtues have edified the body of the holy man. And oft time it betideth, that the sum of things that been to done is taken to govern to good folk, for that the malice abundant of shrews should been abated. And God giveth and departeth to other folk prosperities and adversities, meddled to heap after the quality of her courages, and remordeth some folk by adversities, for they ne should not waxed proud by long welefulnesse. And other folk he suffereth to be travailed with hard things, for that they should confermen the virtues of courage by the exercitation of usage of patience. And other folk dreden more than they oughten, the which they mighten well bearen, & some despise that they mow not bear, & thilk folk God leadeth into experience of himself, by asper and sorrowful things. And many folk have bought honourable renome of this world by the price of glorious death.  
And some men that ne mow not been overcomen by tourment, have given ensample to other folk, that virtue may not been overcome by adversities. And of all these things there nies no doubt, that they ne been done rightfully and ordeinly, to the perfect good of him to whom we seen these things betiden. For certes, that adversities cometh sometime to shrews, and sometime that they desiren, it cometh of these foresaid causes. And of sorrowful things that betiden to shrews, certes, no man ne wondereth, for all men ween that they have deserved it, and that they ben of wicked merit. Of which shrews, the tourment agasteth sometime other to done felonies: And sometime it amendeth him that suffereth the tourments. And the prosperity that is given to shrews, showeth a great argument to good people, what thing they should demen of thilk welefulnesse, which prosperity men seen oft serve to shrews: In which thing, I trow that GOD dispenseth, for paraventure, the nature of some man is so overthrowing to evil, and so uncovenable, that the needy poverty of his household might rather aggrieve him to done felonies, and to the malady of him, GOD putteth remedy, to given him richesse. And some other man beholdeth his conscience defouled with sins and maketh comparison of this Fortune, and of himself: & dreadeth peradventure, that the blissfulness, of which the usage is joyful to him, that the losing of thilk blissfulness ne be not sorrowful to him, and therefore he would change his manners: & for he dreadeth to less his Fortune, he forleteth his wickedness. To other folk's welefulnesse is given unworthily, the which overthroweth him into destruction that they han deserved, and to some other folk is given power to punishen, for that it shall be cause of continuation, and exercising to good folks, and cause of tourment to shrews.  
For so as there nis none alliance between good folks and shrews, ne shrews ne mown not accord among himself: and why not? For that shrew's discorden of himself by her vices, the which vices all to renden her consciences, and done oft time things, the which things, when they have done him, they dame that though things ne should not have be done, for which thing the sovereign purveyance hath maked oft time miracle: So that shrews have maked shrews to been good men. For when that some shrews seen, that they suffer wrongfully felonies of other shrews, they waxen eschaufed into hate of him that anoied him, and retournen to the fruit of virtue. Then they studien to be unlike to him that they have hated. Certes only is this the divine might, to the which might evils been then good, when it useth the evils covenably, and draweth out the effect of any good, as who sayeth, that yvel is good only to the might of God, for the might of God ordaineth thilk evil to be good: for one order embraceth all things, so that what wight departeth from the reason of thilk order that is assigned to him, algates yet he slideth into another order, so that nothing is lawful to folly, in the realm of divine purveyance, as who sayeth, nothing is without ordinance in the realm of divine purveyance, sith that the right strong God governeth all things in this world, for it is not lawful for men to comprehend by wit, ne unfolden by word, all the subtle ordinance, and the disposition of the divine intent, for only it ought to suffice, to have looked that God himself, maker of all natures, ordaineth all things to good, while that he hasteth to withhold the things that he hath maked into his semblance, that is to say, for to withholden the things into good, for he himself is good. He chaseth out all jewels from the bond of his commonalties, by thorder of the necessity destinable: for which it followeth, that if thou look the purveyance, ordaining the things that men wenen be outrageous or abundant in yerthes, thou shalt not seen in no place nothing of jewel. But I see now that thou art charged with the weight of the question, and weary with length of my reason, and that thou abidest some sweetness of song, take then this draught, and when thou art well refreshed and refect, thou shalt be more steadfast to fly into higher questions or things.   

Si vis oelsi jura tonantis. Plura solers cernere ment. Aspice summi culmina coeli.  
IF thou wise wolt demen in thy pure thought, the rights or the laws of the high thunder, that is to said, of God, look thou and behold the heights of the sovereign heaven: There keep the Stars, by rightful alliance of things her old peace: The Sun imoved by his roddie fire, ne distourbeth not the cold cercle of the Moon, ne the star icleped the Bear, that inclineth his ravishing courses, abouten the sovereign height of this world: Ne the same star Vrsa, nis never more washen in the deep Western sea, ne coveteth not to dien his ●ames in the sea of the Occian, although it see other Stars iplonged in the Sea: And Hesperus the Star boodeth and telleth always the late nights: And Lucifer the Star bringeth again the clear day.  
And thus maketh love interchangeable, the perdurable courses, and thus is discordable battle yput out of the country of the stars. This accordance attempreth by evenlike manners the Elements, that the moist things striving with the dry things, given place by stounds: And that the cold things joynen him by faith to the hot things, and that the light fire ariseth in to height, and the heavy yearths availeth by her weights: by the same causes the flourie year yieldeth sweet smells: in the first Summer season warming, and the hot Summer drieth the Corns, and Autumpne cometh again of heavy Appels, and the fleeting rain be deweth the Winter, this attemperance nourisheth and bringeth forth all things that beareth life in this world, and thilk same attemperance ravishing, hideth, benimeth, and drencheth under the last death all things iborne.  
Among these things sitteth the high maker, King and Lord, weal and beginning, Law and wise judge, to done equity, and governeth and inclineth the bridles of things: And though things that he sterreth to gone by moving, he withdraweth and aresteth, and affirmeth the movable or wand'ring things. For if that he ne called not again the right going of things, and if that he ne constrained him not eft sons into roundness inclined, the things that been now continued by stable ordinance, they should departen from her weal, that is to sane, from her beginning and fallen, that is to sane, tournen into nought. This is the common love to all things: and all things asken to been holden by the fine of good, for elles ne mighten they not fasten, if they ne come not eftsoon again by love, returned to the cause that hath given him being, that is to sane, God.   

Jam ne igitur vides quid haec omnia quae diximus consequantur. Quid nam inquit. Omnem inquit, etc.  
SEest thou not then, what thing followeth all the things that I have said. Boetius. What thing (qd. I.) Philosophy. Certes (qd. she) all utterly, that all fortune is good. Boetius. And how may that be (qd. I.) Philosophy. Now understand (qd. she.) So as all fortune, whether so it be joyful fortune, or asper fortune, is given either because of guerdoning, or else of exercising of good folks, or else because to punishen, or else chastisen shrews: then is all fortune good, the which fortune is certain, that it be either rightful or else profitable.  
Boetius. Forsooth this is a full very reason (qd. I) and if I consider the purveyance and the destiny that thou oughtest me a little here before, this sentence is sustained by steadfast reasons. But if it like unto thee, let us nombren hem among the ilke things, of which thou saidst a little here before, that they ne were not able to been weaned to the people. Philosophy. Why so (qd. she?) Boet. For that the common word of men (qd. I) misuseth this manner speech of fortune, and sane oft times, that the fortune of some wight is wicked. Philosophy. Wilt thou then (qd. she) that I approach a little to the words of the people, so that it seem not to him, that I be overmoch departed, as fro the usage of mankind. Boetius. As thou wolt (qd. I.) Philosophy. Weenest thou not (qd. she) that all thing that profiteth, is good? Boetius. Yes (qd. I.) Philosophy. Certes all thing that exerceth or corrigeth, it profiteth. Boetius. I confess well (qd. I.) Philosophy. Then is it good (qd. she.) Boetius. Why not (qd. I.) Philosophy. But this is the fortune (qd. she) of hem that either be put in virtue, and battaylen against aspre things, or else of him that enclinen, and declinen from vices, and taken the way of virtue. Boetius. This ne may I not deny (qd. I.) Philosophy. But what sayest thou of the merry fortune that is given to good people in guerdon, deemeth oft the people that it be wicked? Boetius. Nay forsooth (qd. I) but they demen as it is sooth, that it is right good. Philosophy. What sayest thou of the other fortune (qd. she) that although that it be asper, and restraineth the shrews by rightful tourment, weeneth aught the people that it be good? Boet. Nay (qd. I.) but the people deemeth that it is most wretched of all things that may be thought. Philosophy. Ware now, and look well (qd. she) lest we in following the opinion of the people, have confessed and concluded thing which that is unable to been weaned to the people. Boetius. What is that (qd. I.) Philosophy. Certes (qd. she) it followeth or cometh of things that been granted, that all fortune what so ever it be, of hem that been either in possession of virtue, or in th'increase of virtue, or else in the purchasing of virtue, that thilk Fortune is good, and that all Fortune is right wicked, to him that dwellen in shrewdness, as who saith, and thus weeneth not the people. Boetius. That is sooth (qd. I.) Albeit so that no man dare confess it, ne know it. Philosophy. Why so (qd. she.) For right as the strong man, ne seemeth not to abashen or disdaynen, as oft time as he heareth the noise of the battle: ne also it seemeth not to the wiseman, to bearen it grievously, as oft as he is led into strife of fortune. For both to that one man, and eke to that other, the ilke difficulty is the matter, to that one man of increase of his glorious renome, and to that other man, to conserve his sapience, that is to say, to the asprenesse of his estate. * For therefore is it called virtue, for that it sustaineth and enforceth by his strengths, so that it is not overcome by adversities. Ne certes, thou that art put in increase, or in the height of virtue, ne hast not come to fleten with delices, and for to walken in bodily lust. Thou sowest or plantest a full eager battle in thy courage against every Fortune: for that the sorrowful fortune confounded thee not, ne that the merry Fortune ne corrumpe thee not, occupy the mean by steadfast strengths. For all that ever is under the mean, or all that overpasseth the mean, despiseth welefulnesse, as who sayeth, it is vicious, and ne hath no meed of his travail, for it is set in your hand, as who sayeth, it lieth in your power, what Fortune you is levest, that is to say, good or jewel, for all fortune that seemeth sharp or asper, if it ne exercise not the good folk, ne chastise the wicked folk, it punisheth.   

Bella bis quinis operatus annis. Ultor Atrides phrygiae ruinis, etc.  
THe worker Atrides, that is to said, Agamemnon, that wrought and continued the battles by ten year, recovered and purged in wreking by the destruction of Troie, the lost chambers of Marriage in his brother, that is to say, that Agamemnon won again Heleine, that was Menelaus wife, his brother. In the mean while that thilk Agamemnon desired to given sails to the Greeks navy, & brought again the winds by blood: He unclothed him of pity of father, and the sorry Priest giveth in sacrifiing, the wretched cutting of the throat of the daughter: that is to say, that Agamemnon let cut the throat of his daughter by the Priest, to maken alliance with his Gods, and for to have wind, with which he might wenden to Troy. Itacus, that is to say, Vlixes bewept his fellows ylorne, the which fellows, the fires Poliphemus, ligging in his great cave, had fretten and dreint in his empty womb: But nevertheless Poliphemus wood for his blind visage yield to Vlixes joy, by his sorrowful tears, that is to say, that Vlixes smote out the iye of Poliphemus, that stood in the forehead, for which Vlixes had joy, when he saw Poliphemus weeping and blind. Hercules is celebrable for his hard travail, he daunted the proud Centaurus, half horse, half man, and byraft the dispoiling from the cruel Lion, that is to say, he slough the Lion, and birafte him his skin. He smote the birds that height Arpies, with certain arrows. He ravished Apples from the waking dragon: and his hand was the more heavy for the golden mettle. He drough Cerberus the hound of hell by the triple chains. He overcomer, as it is said, hath put an unmeke lord fodder to his cruel horse, that is to say, Hercules slough Diomedes, and made his horse to fretten him: and he Hercules slough Idra the Serpent, and brent the venom. And Achileus the flood defouled in his forehedde, dreint his shamefast visage in his stroundes, that is to say, that Achileus could transfigure himself into divers likeness, and as he fought with Hercules, at last he turned him into a Bull, and Hercules broke one of his horns: and he for shame hid him in his River. And over that, he Hercules, cast adoune Antheus the Giant in the strands of Libie. And Cacus appeised the wraths of evander, that is to say, that Hercules slough the monster Cacus, and apeised with that death the wrath of evander. And the bristled Boar, marked with vomes the shoulders of Hercules, the which shoulders, the high cercle of heaven should thirst. And the last of his labours was, that he sustained the heaven upon his neck unbowed, and he deserved eftsoon the heaven to be the last end of travail. Goeth now ye strong men, there as the great ensample leadeth you. O nice men, why make ye your backs, as who sayeth: O ye slow and delicate men, why see ye adversities, and ne fight against him by virtue, to winnen the meed of heaven: for the meed overcome, giveth the Stars, that is to sane, that when that earthly lust is overcome, a man is maked worthy to the heaven.   
¶ Thus endeth the fourth Book of Boetius.   

Dixerat, orationisque cursum ad alia quaedam tractanda atque expedienda vertebat. B. Tum ego, recta quidem inquam, etc.  
SHe had said, and turned the course of her reason to some other things, to be treated and to be sped. Boetius. Then said I, certes rightful is thine amonesting, and full digne by authority. But that thou saidst whilom, that the question of the Divine purveiaunce, is enlaced with many other questions, I understand well and prove it by the same thing. But I ask, if that thou weenest, that hap be any thing, in any ways? and if thou weenest that hap be any thing, what is it? Philosophy. Then (qd. she) I haste me to yelden and assoilen to the debt of my behest, and to shown and open the way, by which way thou mayest come again to thy country: but albeit so that the things which that thou askest been right profitable to know, yet been they divers, somewhat from the path of my purpose, and it is to doubt, that thou ne be maked weary by miss ways, so that thou ne mayest not suffice to measure the right way. Boetius. Ne doubt thee thereof nothing (qd. ay,) for to known thilk things together, in the which things I delight me greatly, that shall been to me in steed of rest, sith it nis not to doubten of the things following, when every thing of thy disputation, shall haven ben steadfast to me, by undoubtous faith. Philosophy. Then (said she) that manner wool I done to thee: and began to speaken right thus. Certes (qd. she) if any wight definishe hap in this manner, that is to sane, that hap is betiding ibrought forth by foolish moving, and by no knitting of causes, I confirm that hap nies right naught in no wise, and I deem all utterly, that hap nies, ne dwelleth but a voice, as who sayeth, but an idle word, without any signification of thing committed to that voice. For what place might been left, or dwelling in folly, and to disordenaunce, scythe that God leadeth and constraineth all things by order: for this sentence is very sooth, that nothing hath his being of naught, to the which sentence, none of these old folk ne withsayed never, all be it so, that they ne understanden it not by God, Prince and beginner of working, but they easten, as a manner fundament of subject material, that is to sane, of the nature of all reason. And if that any thing is waxen or come of no causes, then shall it seem, that thilk thing is come or waxed of naught. But if this ne may not be done, then is it not possible that hap be any such thing, as I have definished a little here before. Boetius. How shall it then be (qd. I) nis there then nothing, that by right may been cleped, either hap, or else adventure, or fortune? Or is there aught, all be it so, that it is hid from the people, to which thing these words been covenable. Philosophy. Mine Aristotle (qd. she) in the book of his Physic, difinisheth this thing by short reason, and nigh to the sooth. Boetius. In which manner (qd. I?) Philosophy. As oft (qd. she) as men done any thing for grace of any other thing, and another thing than thilk thing that men entenden to done betideth by some causes, it is icleaped hap: right as a man dalfe the yearth, because of tilling of the field, and found there a gobbet of gold bedoluen, then wenen folk, that it is befall by fortunous betiding. But forsooth it nis not of naught, for it hath his proper causes, of which causes, the course unforeseen and unware, seemeth to have maked hap. For if the tiler of the field, ne dolue not in the yearth, and if the hider of the gold ne had hid the gold in that place, the gold ne had not been found. These been then the causes, of the abredging of fortuit hap, the which abredging of fortuit hap cometh of causes of encountering, and flowing together to himself, and not by thententionintention of the doer. For neither the hider of the gold, ne the deluer of the field, ne understand not that the gold should have been found. But as I said, it betid and ran together, that he dalfe there as the other had hid the gold. Now may I thus definishe hap. * Hap is an unware betiding of causes, assembled in things that been done for some other thing. But thilk order, proceeding by an uneschuable betiding together, which that descendeth from the well of purveyance, that ordaineth all things in her places, and in her times maketh, that the causes rennen and assemblen together.  

Rupis Achimeniae scopulis ubi versa sequentum. Pectoribus figit spicula, etc.  
TIgris and Eufrates, resoluen and springen of o well, in the crags of the roche of the country of Achemenee, there as the fliing battles fixen her darts, returning in the breasts of hem that followen hem. And soon after the same rivers, Tigris and Eufrates, unjoynen and departen her waters, and if they come together, and been assembled, and cleped together into o course, then moten thilk things fleten together, which that the water of thenterchaunging flood bringeth. The ships and the stocks araced with the flood moten assemblen, and the waters imedled, wrappeth or emplieth many fortunell haps or manners, the which wand'ring haps nevertheless, thilk declining lowness of the earth, and the flowing order of the sliding water governeth. Right so fortune, that seemeth as it suffreth with slaked or vngouerned bridles, it suffreth bridles, that is to sane, to been governed, and passeth by thilk law, that is to sane, by the divine ordinance.   

Animadverto inquam, idque uti tu dicis ita esse, consentio. Sed in hac haerentium, etc.  
THis understand I well (qd. I) and I accord me that it is right as thou sayest. But I ask if there be any liberty of freewill, in this order of causes, that cleaven thus together in himself? or else I would weten if that the destinall chain, constraineth the moving of the courages of men? Philosophy. Yes (qd. she) there is liberty of freewill, ne there ne was never no nature of reason, that it ne had liberty or freewill. * For every thing that may naturally usen reason, it hath doom, by which it decerneth and deemeth every thing. Then knoweth it by itself, things that been to flien, and things that been to desiren, and the ilke thing that any wight deemeth to been desired, that asketh or desireth he, and flieth thilk thing, that he troweth be to flien. Wherefore in all things that reason is, in him also is liberty of willing and of nilling, but I ne ordain not, as who sayeth, I ne grant not, that this liberty be even like in all things. For why, in the Soveraines divines substances, that is to said, in spirits, judgement is more clear and will not corrumpen, and mighty ready to speden things that been desired. But the souls of men moten needs been more free, when they looken him in the speculation, or looking of the divine thought, and lass free when they sliden into the bodies, and yet lass free when they been gathered together and comprehended in earthly members, but the last servage is, when that they been given to vices, and have ifall from the possession of her proper reason. For after that they have cast away her iyens, fro the light of the Sovereign soothfastness, to low things and dark, anon they darcken by the cloud of ignorance, and be troubled by felonious talents, to the which talents, when they approach and assenten, they heapen and increase the servage, which they have joined to himself. And in this manner they been caitiffs, fro her proper liberty, the which thing nevertheless, the looking of the divine purveyance seeth, that all things beholdeth and seeth fro eterne, and ordaineth him every in her merits, as they been predestinate, and it is said in Greek, * That all things he seeth, and all things he heareth.   

Puro clarum lumine Phoebum. Melliflui canit oris Homerus, etc.  
HOmer with his honey mouth, that is to sane, Homer with the sweet ditties singeth, that the Sun is clear by pure light. Nevertheless, yet ne may it not by the infirm light of his beams, breaken or percen the inward entrails of the yearth, or else of the Sea. So ne seeth not God maker of the great world, to him that looketh all things from on high, ne understandeth no things by heaviness of the yearth, ne the night ne withstandeth not to him by the black clouds. * Thilk God seeth in o stroke of thought, all things that been, weren, or shall come: and thilk God, for he looketh and seeth all things alone, thou mayst sane that he is the very son.   

Tum ego: en inquam difficiliori rursus ambiguitate confundor, etc.  
THen said I thus, now am I confounded, by a more hard doubt than I was. Philos. What doubt is that (qd. she) for certes, I conject now by such things, thou art troubled. B. It seemeth (qd. I) to repugnen and to contrary greatly, that God knoweth before all things, and that there is any freedom or liberty, for if so be that God looketh all things before, ne God ne may not been deceived in no manner. Then moat it needs be, that all things the which that the purveyance of God, hath seen before to come, for which if that God knoweth toforne, not only the works of men, but also her counsels and her wills, then ne shall there be no liberty of arbitree, ne certes, there ne may be none other deed, ne no will, but the ilke which that the divine purveyance (that ne may not been deceyved) hath feeled before: for if that they mighten wrythen away, in other manner than they been purveyed, then ne should there be no steadfast prescience of thing to come, but rather an uncertain opinion, the which thing to trowen to God, I dame it felony and unleeful. Ne I ne prove not the ilke same reason, as who sayeth, I ne alow not, or I ne praise not thilk same reason, by which that some men wenen, that they mown assoilen and unknitten the knot of this question. For certes they sane, that thing nis not come, for that the purveyance of God hath seen before that it is to come, but rather the contrary, and that is this, that for that the things is to come, that therefore ne may it not been hid from the purveyance of God. And in this manner, this necessity slideth again into the contrary party, ne it ne behoveth not needs, that things betiden that been ypurueighed, but it behoveth needs that things that been to come been ypurueighed, but as it were ytravailed, as who saith, that thilk answer proceedeth right as though men travaileden or weren busy to enquiren, the which thing is cause of the which things. As whether the prescience is cause of the necessity of things to come, or else that the necessity of things to come is cause of the purveyance. But I ne enforce me not now to shown it, that the betiding of things iwiste before is necessary, how so or in what manner, that the order of causes hath itself, although that it ne seem not that the prescience bring in necessity of betiding, to things to come. For c●●tes, if that any wight sitteth, it behoveth by necessity that the opinion be sooth of him that coniecteth that he sitteth: and againward also is it of the contrary, for if the opinion be sooth of any wight, for that he sitteth, it behoveth by necessity that he sit. Then is here necessity in that one, and in that other: for in that one is necessity of sitting, and certes in that other is necessity of sooth. But therefore ne sitteth not a wight, for that the opinion of the sitting is sooth, but the opinion is rather sooth, for that a wight sitteth before. And thus although that the cause of sooth cometh of that other side, as who sayeth, that although the cause of sooth cometh of the sitting, and not of the true opinion, algates yet is there a common necessity in that one, & in that other. Thus seemeth it, that I may make semblable skills of the purveyance of God, & of things to come. For although that for that things been to come, therefore been they purueighed, & not certes for they been purueighed, therefore ne betid they not, nevertheless it behoveth by necessity, that either the things to come been ypurueyed of God, or else that the things that been purueighed of God, betiden. And this things only sufficeth enough to destroyen the freedom of our arbitty, that is to sane, of our freewill. But certes, now showeth it well how far from the sooth, & how up so down is this thing, that we seen that the betiding of temporal things is cause of the eterne prescience. But for to wenen that God purveyeth the things to come, for they been to come, what other thing is it but for to ween, that thilk things that betid whilom, been causes of thilk sovereign purveyance that is in God? And hereto add I things, that right as when that I wot that a thing is, it behoveth by necessity that thilk self thing be: and eke when I have known that any thing shall betiden, so behoveth it by necessity, that thilk same things betide. So followeth it then, that the betiding of the things iwist before, ne may not be eschewed, and at the last, if that any wight ween a thing to been otherwise than it is, it nis not only unscience, but it is deceivable opinion, full divers & far from the sooth of science. Wherefore, if any thing he so to come, that the betiding of it ne be not certain, ne necessary, who may weten before that thilk thing is to come. For right as science ne may not be meddled with falseness, as who sayeth, that if I wot a thing, it ne may not be false that I ne wot it, right of thilk thing that is conceived by science, ne may not be none otherwise than as it is conceived: for that is the cause why that Science wanteth losing, as who sayeth, why that witting ne receiveth not losing of that it wot, for it behoveth by necessity, that every thing be right, as Science comprehendeth it to be. What shall I then sane, in which manner knoweth God before all the things to come, if they ne be not certain, for if that he dame that they been to come uneschuably, and so may be that it is possible that they ne shullen not comen, God is deceived, but not only to trowen that God is deceived: but for to speak it with mouth, it is a felonous sin. But if that God wot, that right so as things been to come, so shullen they come, so that he wot equally, as who saith indifferently, that things may be done or else not ydone. What is thilk prescience, that ne comprehendeth no certain thing ne stable, or else what difference is there between the prescience of thilk jape, worthy Deuining of Tiresie Devinour, that said: All that I say (qd. he) either it shall be, or else it ne shall not be, or else how moche is worth the Divine prescience more than the opinion of mankind, if so be that it deemeth the things uncertain, as men done? Of the which domes of men, the betiding nies not certain. But if so be, that none uncertain things ne may been in him that is right certain well of all things, then is the betiding certain of thilk things which that he hath wist before, firmly to come: for which it followeth, that the freedom of the counsels, and of the works of mankind nis none, sith that the thought of GOD that seeth all things without error of falseness, bindeth & constraineth him to a betiding by necessity. And if this thing be ones igraunted and received, this is to sane, that there nis no freewill, then showeth it well, how great destruction & how great damages there followen of things of mankind, for in idle been there then purposed & behight medes to good folk, & pains to bad folk, sith that no moving of free courage voluntary, ne hath not deserved him, that is to sane, neither meed ne pain. And it should seem then, that thilk thing is alderworst, which that is now deemed for aldermost just, and most rightful. That is to said, that shrews ben punished, or else that good folk be iguerdonned, the which folks, sen that her proper will ne sent him to that one, ne to that other, that is to say, neither too good ne harm, but constraineth him certain necessity of things to comen, then ne shullen ther never been, ne never weren vice ne virtue, but it shullen rather be confusion of all deserts, meddled without discretion. And yet there followeth another inconvenience, of the which there ne may be thought no more felonous ne more wicked, and that is thus, That so as the order of things cometh of the purveyance of God, ne that nothing nis leeful to the counsels of mankind, as who sayeth, that men have no power to done nothing, ne will nothing, then followeth it that our vices been referred to the maker of all good, as who saith, then followeth it, that God ought to have the blame of our vices, sith he constraineth us by necessity to done vices: then nis there no reason to hopen in God, ne to prayen to God, for with should any wight hopen to God, or why should he praien to God, sith that the ordinance of destiny, which y● ne may not been inclined, knitteth & straineth all things that men may desiren. Then should there be done away thilk only alliance between God & man, that is to sane, to hopen & to prayen. But by the price of rightwiseness, & of very meekness, we deserven the guerdon of Divine grace, which that is inestimable, that is to say, that is so great that it ne may not been full praised, and this is only the manner, that is to say, hope and prayers. For which it seemeth that men wool speak with God, & by reason of supplication, been conjoined to thilk clearness, that nis not approached no rather than men seken it & impetrens it. And if men ne ween not the hope ne prayers ne have no strengths by the necessity of things to comen received, what thing is there then, by which we mown be conjoined, and cleven to thilk sovereign Prince of things. For which it behoveth by necessity, that the lineage of mankind, as thou sung a little here before, be departed & unjoined from his we'll, & failen of his beginning, that is to sane, God.   

Quae nam discors federa rerum, Causa resolvit? Quis tanta deus, etc.  
WHat discordable cause hath to rend and unjoined the binding or the alliance of things, that is to sane, the conjunctions of GOD, and of man? Which GOD hath established so great battle between these two soothfaste or very things, that is to sane, between the purveyance of God, and free will, that been singular, and divided, ne that they ne woollen not been meddled, ne coupsed together? But there nis no discord to the very things, but they cleaven always certain to himself. But the thought of man, confounded & overthrown by the dark members of the body, ne may not by fire of his darked looking, that is to sane, by the vigour of his insight, while the soul is in the body, known the thin subtle knit of things. But wherefore eschaufeth it so by so great love, to finden thilk notes of sooth ycovered, that is to sane, wherefore eschaufeth the thought of man by so great desire, to know thilk notifications that ben ihid under the covertures of sooth? Wot it ought thilk things, that it anguishous desireth to know? As who saith, nay. For no man ne travaileth for to weten things that he wot. And therefore the text saith thus.  
But who travaileth to weten things yknowe? And if that he ne knoweth him not, with seeketh thilk blind thought? What is he that hath desired any things, of which he wot right naught? As who saith, who so desireth any things, needs somewhat he knoweth of it, or else he ne could not desiren it. Or who may follow things that ne been not iwist, and though that he seek the things, where shall he find him? What wight that is all uncunning and ignorant may know that form that is ifound.  
But when the soul beholdeth and seeth the high thought, that is to say God, then knoweth it together the sum and singularities, that is to say, the principles, and everiche of hem by himself. But now while the soul is hid in the cloud, and in the darkness of the members of the body, it ne hath not all forget itself, but it withholdeth the sum of things, and loseth the singularities. Then who so that seeketh soothness, he nis in neither nother habit, for he wot not all, ne he ne hath not all forget, but yet him remembreth the sum of things that he withholdeth, and asketh counsel, and retreateth deepliche things iseene before, that is to say, the great sum in his mind, so that he mow adden the parts that he hath forget, to thilk parties that he hath withholden.   

Tum illa. Vetus inquit, haec est de providentia querela: Marco Tullio, etc.  
THen said she, This is (qd. she) the old question of the purveyance of God. And Marcus Tullius, when he divided the Divinations, that is to sane, in his books that he wrote of divinations, he moved greatly this question, and thou thyself haste isought it much, & utterly and long, but yet ne hath it not been determined, ne isped firmly & diligently of any of you, and the cause of this darkness & of this difficulty is, for that the moving of the reason of mankind ne may not moven to, that is to say, applien or joynen to the simplicity of the divine prescience, the which simplicity of the divine prescience if the men mighten thinken it in any manner, that is to say, that if men mighten think and comprehenden the things that God seeth himself, than there dwelled utterly no doubt: the which reason and cause of difficulties, I shall assay at last to show & to speeden, when I have first ispended and answered to thy reasons, by which thou art moved, for I ask why thou weenest, that thilk reasons of him that assoilen this question, ne be not spedful enough ne sufficient, the which solution, or the which reason, for that it deemeth, that the prescience is not of necessity of things to come, as who saith any other way than thus, but that thilk things that the prescience wot before, ne may not unbetiden, that is to say, that they moten betid. But then, if that prescience ne putteth none necessity to things to come, as thou thyself hast confessed it, and beknow a little here before, what cause, or what is it, as who sayeth, there may no cause be, by which that the ends voluntary of things, mighten be constrained to certain betiding. For by grace of position, so that thou may the better understand this that followeth, I suppose that there ne be no prescience: then ask I (qd. she) in as much as appertaineth to that, shoulden then things that come of free will be constrained to betiding by necessity? Boecius. Nay (qd. I.) Philoso. Then ayenward (qd. she) I suppose that there be prescience, but that it ne putteth no necessity to things, then trow I that thilk same freedom of will shall dwellen all hole and absolute, & unbounden. But thou wilt say, that all be it so, that prescience nis not cause of the necessity of betiding to things to come, algates yet it is a sign that the things been to betiden by necessity. By this manner then, although the prescience had never be, yet algates or at least way it is a certain thing, that ends of betidings of things to come shoulden be necessary. For every thing showeth & signifieth only what the thing is, but it ne maketh not the thing that it signifieth. For which it behoveth, first to show, that nothing ne betideth, that it ne betideth by necessity: so that it may appear, that the prescience is sign of necessity: or else, if there ne'er no necessity, certes thilk prescience ne might not be sign of thing that nis not. But certes, it is now certain, that the prove of this, ysusteined by steadfast reason, ne shall not been lad ne proved by signs ne by arguments taken fro without, but by causes covenable & necessary. But thou mayst sane, how may it be, that the things ne betiden not, that been purveyed to come? But certes, right as we trowen, that the things which that the purveyance wot before to come, ne be not to betiden. But that ne should we not deemen, but rather, although they shall betiden, yet ne have they no necessity of her kind to betiden: and this mayest thou lightly apperceyven by this that I shall sane. For we seen many things, when they been before our eyes, right as men seen the Carter worching in the tourning and in the attempring or addressing of his carts or chariots, & by this manner, as who saith, mayest thou understand of all other workmen. Is there then any necessity, as who sayeth, in our looking, that constraineth or compelleth any of thilk things to been done so? Boeci. Nay (qd. I) for in idle & in vain were all the effect of craft, if that all things weren moved by constraining of our eyes, or of our sight. Philoso. The things then (qd. she) that when that men done him, ne have no necessity that men done him, eke though same things first or they be done, they been to come without necessity: for why, there been some things to betiden, of which the ends & the betidings of hem been absolute and quit of all necessity. For certes, I ne trow not that any man would say this, that the things that men done now, that they ne were to betiden first, ere they were done. And thilk same things, although men hadden witted him before, yet they have free betidings. For right as science of things present, ne bringeth in no necessity to things that men done, right so to the prescience of things to come, ne bringeth in none necessity to things to betiden. But thou mayest say, that of thilk same it is doubted, as whether that of thilk things, that ne have none issues and betidings necessaries, if thereof may ben any prescience. For certes, they seemen to discorden, for thou weenest, that if that things been seen before, the necessity followeth him, and if necessity faileth him, they ne might not been witted before, and that nothing may be comprehended by science, but certain. And if though things ne have no certain betidings, be purveighed as certain, it should be darkness of opinion, not soothfastness of science. And thou weenest that it be divers from the holiness of science, that any man should deem a thing to be otherwise than it is itself: and the cause of this error is, that of all the things that every wight hath know, they ween y● though things been know only by the strength, and by the nature of the things that been wist or know, and it is all the contrary: for all that ever is know, it is rather comprehended & know, not after his strength & his nature, but after the faculty, that is to say, the power and the nature of him that known. And for that this thing should now show by a short ensample the roundness of a body, otherwise than the sight of the eye knoweth it, and otherwise than the touching. The looking, by casting of his beams, waiteth and seeth from afar all the body together, without moving of itself, but the touching cleaveth to the round body, & moveth about the enuironning, & comprehendeth the parties by roundness, & the man himself otherwise beholdeth him, and otherways imagination, and otherwise reason, and otherwise intelligence. For the wit comprehended without forth the figure of the body of man, that is unstablished in the matter subject. But the imagination comprehendeth only the figure without the matter. Reason surmounteth imagination, and comprehendeth by universal looking the common speech, but the eye of intelligence is higher, for it surmounteth the enuironning of the university, and looketh over that, by pure subtlety of thought. The ilke same simple form of man, that is perdurable in the divine thought, in which this aught greatly to be considered, that the highest strength for too comprehenden things, embraceth and containeth the lower strength, but the lower strength ne ariseth not in no manner to the higher strength. For wit ne may comprehend nothing out of matter, ne the imagination ne looketh not the universal speces, ne reason ne taketh not the simple form, so as intelligence taketh it. But intelligence, that looketh all aboven, when it hath comprehended the form, it knoweth and deemeth all the things that been under the form, but she knoweth him in thilk manner in which it comprehendeth thilk same simple form, that ne may never be known of none of the other, that is to say, to none of though three foresaid strengths of the soul, for it knoweth the university of reason, and the figure of imagination, and the sensible material conceived by wit, ne it ne useth not ne of reason, ne of imagination, ne of wit withoutforth, but it beholdeth all things, so as I shall say, by a stroke of thought firmly, without discourse of collation. Certes, reason when it looketh any thing universell, it ne useth not of imagination ne wit, & algates yet it comprehendeth the things imaginable & sensible, for reason is she that definisheth the universal of her conceit, right thus. Man is a reasonable two-footed beast, and how so that this knowing is universal, yet nis there no wight, that ne wot well, that a man is a thing imaginable and sensible, and this same considereth well reason, but that nis not by imagination, nor by wit, but it looketh it by reasonable conception. Also imagination, albeit so, that it taketh of wit the beginning, to seen and foremen the figures, algates although the wit ne were not present, yet it enuironneth and comprehendeth all things sensible, not by reason sensible of deeming, but by reason imaginatife. Seest thou not then, that all the things in knowing, usen more of her faculty, or of her power, than they done of the faculty or of power of things that been to known: ne that is no wrong, for so as every judgement is, that deed or doing of him that deemeth, it behoveth that every wight perform his work, and his entencion, not of foreign power, but of his proper power.   

Quondam porticus attulit, Obscuros nimium senes, etc.  
THen the porch, that is to say, a gate of the town of Athens, there as Philosophers hadden congregation to dispute, thilk porch brought sometime old men full dark in her sentences, that is to say, Philosophers, that heighten Stoiciens, that wend that Images and sensibilities, that is to say, sensible imaginations, or else imaginations of sensible things, were imprinted into souls from bodies withoutfoorth: as who saith, thilk Stoiciens wenden, that the soul had be naked of himself, as a mirror, or a clean perchemine, so that all figures musten first come from things fro without into souls, and been imprinted into souls, right as we been wont sometime by a swift pointel, to fixen letter's imprinted in the smoothness, or in the plainness of the table of wax, or in the parchemine, that hath no figure ne note in it. Gloze. But now argueth Boece against the opinion, and saith thus. But if the thriving soul ne unpliteth nothing, that is to sane, ne doth thing by his proper moving, but suffreth and lieth subject to the figures, & to the notes of bodies without forth, and yieldeth Images idle, evil and vain, in the manner of a mirror. Whence thriveth then, or whence cometh thilk knowing in our soul that discerneth and beholdeth all things, & whence is thilk strength, that beholdeth the singular things, or else whence is the strength, that deuideth things yknowe, and thilk strength that gathereth together things divided, & strength that chooseth the enterchaunged way: for sometime it heaveth the head, that is to say, that it heaveth up the entencion to right high things, and sometime it descendeth into right low things, and when it returneth into himself it reproveth and destroyeth the false things by the true things.  
Certes, this strength is cause more efficient & much more mighty, to seen & to known things, than thilk cause that suffreth & receiveth the notes and figures impressed in manner of matter. Algates the passion, that is to say, the sufferance or the wit in the quick body, goeth before exciting, and moving the strengths of the thought, right so as when the clearness smiteth the eyes, & moveth him to seen, or right so as voice or sound hurleth to the ears, and commoveth him to hearken, then is the strength of the thought moved & excited, cleapeth forth to semblable move the speces that it halt within itself, and addeth the speces to the notes, and to things withoutfoorth, and meddleth the Images of things withoutforth, to things hid within himself.   

Quod si in corporibus sentiendis quamvis efficiant Instrumenta sensuum, etc.  
But what is that in bodies to be feeled, that is to say, in the taking: and in the knowing of bodily things. And albeit so that the qualities of bodies that be object fro withoutfoorth, moven and entalenten the instruments of the wits, and all be it so, that the passion of the body, that is to sane, the wit, or the sufferance, goeth before the strength, or the worching courage, the which passion or sufferance clepeth forth the deed of the thought in itself, and moveth and exciteth in this mean while the forms that resten withinforth, and in sensible bodies, as I have said, our courages nis not taught oremprinted by passion to know these things, but deemeth & knoweth of his own strength the passion or sufferance subject to the body: much more than though things been absolute, and quick from all talents or affections of bodies, as God or his Angels, ne followen not in discerning things object fro without forth, but they accomplishen and speden the deeds of her thought. By this reason then there come many manner of know, to divers and to differing substances.  
For the wit of the body, the which wit is naked, and despoiled of all other knowing, thilk wit come to beasts, the which ne mown not moven himself here and there, as Disters and Muskles, and other such shellfish of the sea, that cleaven and been nourished to rocks: but the imagination cometh of removable beasts, that seemen to have talon to flien, or to desiren any thing: But reason is all only the lineage of mankind, right as intelligence is all only the divine nature, of which it followeth, that thilk knowing is more worth than is either, sens it knoweth by his proper nature, not only his subject, as who saith, it ne knoweth not all only that appertaineth properly to his knowing, but it knoweth the subjects of all other know. But how shall it then be, if that wit and imagination striven again reasoning, and sayne, that of thilk universal thing that reason weeneth to seen, that it nis right naught, for wit and imagination sayne, that that is sensible or imaginable, it ne may not been universal.  
Then is there either the judgement of reason sooth, ne that there nis nothing sensible, or else for that reason wot well, that many things ben subject to wit, and to imagination: then is the conception of reason vain and false, which that looketh and comprehendeth that that is sensible and singular, as universal. And if that the reason would answer against these two, that is to say, to wit and imagination, and say that sooth she herself, that is to say, reason, looketh and comprehendeth by reason of universality both that that is sensible, and that that is imaginable, and thilk two, that is to sane, wit and imagination, ne mown not stretchen himself to the knowing of universality, for that the knowing of hem ne may not exceeden ne surmounten the bodily figures. Certes, of the knowing of things, men oughten rather given more credence to the more steadfast, and to the more perfect judgement, in this manner striving, than we that have strength of reasoning, and of imagination, and of wit, that is to say, by reason and by imagination, we should rather praise the cause of reason, as who sayeth, than the cause of wit and of imagination. Semblable thing is it, that the reason of mankind ne weeneth not, that the divine intelligence beholdeth or knoweth things to come, but right as the reason of mankind knoweth him: For thou arguest thus, that if that it ne seem not to men, that some things have certain betidings, they ne may not be witted, before certainly they betiden, and then is there no prescience of thilk things, and if we trow, that prescience be in these things, then is there nothing that betideth by necessity. But if we might have the judgement of the divine thought, as we been partners of reason, right so as we have deemed, that it behoveth by imagination and wit, and beneath reason, right so would we deemen, that it were rightful thing, that man's reason ought to submit itself to be beneath the divine thought, for which if we may, as who saith, that if we may, I counsel, that we enhance us in the height of thilk sovereign intelligence, for there shall reason well seen that, that it ne may not behold in itself: and certes, that is thus, in what manner the prescience of God seeth all things, and definisheth, although they have no certain betidings: ne this is none opinion, but rather the simplicity of the sovereign science that is not shut within no manner of bounds.   

Quam variis terras animalia permeant figuris. Namque alia extento sunt corpore, etc.  
THe beasts passen by the earths by full divers figures, for some of him have her bodies 'straught, and crepen in the dust, and drawn after him a trace, or a forough continued, that is to say, as Neders and Snails: and other beasts, by the wandering lightness of her wings, beaten the winds, and overswimmen the spaces of the long air, by most flying.  
And other beasts gladden himself to diggen her traces or her steps in the earth with her going, or with her feet, and to gone either by the green fields, or else to walken under the woods. And all be it so, that thou seest, that they discorden by divers forms, algates her faces inclined, heavieth her dull wits, only the lineage of man heaveth highest his high head, and standeth light with his upright body, and beholdeth the earths under him. And but if thou earthly man waxest evil out of thy wit, this figure amonesteth thee, that askest the heaven with thy right visage, and hast areised thy forehead, to bearen up on high thy courage, so that thy thought ne be not heavied, ne put low under foot, sith that thy body is so high areised.   

Quoniam igitur uti paulo ante monstratum est, omne quod scitur, etc.  
THerefore then, as I have showed a little here before, that all thing that is witted, nis not known by his nature proper, but by the nature of him that comprehenden it. Let us looken now, in as much as it is lawful to us, as who sayeth, let us looken now as we may, which that is the estate of the Divine substance, so that we may well know eke with his science is. The common judgement of all creatures reasonables than is, that God is eterne. Let us consider then what is eternity, for certes, that shall shown us together the divine nature, and the divine science. Eternity then is perfect possession, and all together of life interminable, and that showeth the more clearly by the comparison or collation of temporal things.  
For all things that liveth in time, it is present, and proceedeth from preterities into future's, that is to said, from time passed into time coming: ne there nis nothing established in time that may embracen together all the space of this life, for certes, yet ne hath it not taken the time of to morrow, and it hath lost that of yesterday. And certes, in the life of this day ye ne liuen no more, but right as in this movable and transitory moment. Then thilk thing that suffereth temporal condition, although that it never began to be, ne though it never cease to be, (as Aristotle deemed of the world) and although the life of it be stretched with infinite of time, yet algates nis it no such thing, as men might trowen by right that it is eterne. For although that it comprehend and embrace the space of the life infinite, yet algates ne embraceth it not the space of the life altogether, for it ne hath not the future's that be not yet: Ne it ne hath no longer the preterities that been done or passed. But thilk thing then, that hath and comprehendeth together all the plenty of the life interminable, to whom there ne faileth nought of the future, and to whom there nis nought of the preteritie escaped or passed, thilk same is ywitnessed and proved by right to been etern. And it behoveth by necessity, that thilk thing be always present to himself, and competent: as who saith, always present to himself, and so mighty, that all be right at his pleasance, and that he have all present the infinite of the movable time. Wherefore some men trowen wrongfully, that when they herens that it seemed to Plato, that this world had never beginning of time, that it never shall have failing: they ween in thilk manner, that this world be maked eterne, with his maker, as who saith, they ween that this world and God be maked together eterne. And that is a wrongful weening, for other thing it is to be lad by the life interminable, as Plato granted to the world, and other thing it is to embrace together all the presence of the life that is interminable, which thing is clear and manifest to the divine thought. Ne it ne should not seem to us, that God is elder than things that been maked by quantity of time, but rather by the prosperity of his simple nature. For this ilk infinite move of temporal things followeth this presentarie estate of this life immovable, and so, as it ne may not countrefeten ne feign it, ne be evenlike to it for the immobility, that is to say, that is in the eternity of God, it faileth and faileth into moving fro the simplicity of the presence of God, and disincreaseth in the infinite quantity of future and preterity. And so as it may not have together all the plenty of the life, algates yet for as much as it ceaseth never for to ben in some manner, yet it seemeth somedeal to us, that it followeth and resembleth thilk thing, that it ne may not attain to, ne fulfillen, and bindeth itself to some manner presence of this little moment: the which presence of this little and swift moment, for that it beareth a manner image of likeness of the aye dwelling of God, it granteth to such manner things, as it betideth to, that it seemeth him, as these things have been, and been. And for that the presence of such little moment ne may not dwell, therefore it ravished and took the infinite way of time, that is to say, by succession, and by this manner it is done, for that it should continue the life in going, of the which life it ne might not enbrace the plenty of dwelling. And for thy, if we woollen put worthy names to things that followen Plato, let us say then sooth, that God is eterne, and that the world is perpetual. Then sith every judgement knoweth and comprehendeth by his own nature, things that been subject unto him, there is to God always an eterne and a presentarie estate. And the science of him that overpasseth all temporal moment, dwelleth in simplicity of his presence, and embraceth and considereth all the infinite spaces of times preterities, and of times future's. And looketh in his simple knowing all things of preteritie, right as they weren ydone presently right now. If thou wolt then thinken and advise the prescience, by which it knoweth all things, thou ne shalt not deemen it as prescience of things to come, but thou shalt deemen more rightfully that is science of presence or of instance, that never ne faileth, for which it nis not cleped providence, but it should rather been cleped purveyance, which is established full far fro right low things, and beholdeth from afar all things, right as it were fro the high height of things. Why askest thou then, or why disputest thou then, that thilk things been done by necessity, which that been yseene and yknown by the divine sight? sith that forsooth men ne maken nat thilk things necessary, which that they seen been ydone in her sight, for addeth thy beholding any necessity to thilk things which thou beholdest present? Bo. Nay (qd. I.) Phi. Certes (qd. she) then, if men mighten maken any digne comparison or collation of the presence divine, and of the presence of mankind, right so as ye seen some things in this temporal presence, right so seeth God all things by his eterne presence. Wherefore this divine prescience ne changeth not the nature of the property of things, but beholdeth such things present to him ward, as they shoulden betiden to you ward in time to come. Ne it ne confoundeth not the judgement of things, but by one sight of his thought, he knoweth the things to come, as well necessary as not necessary. Right so when ye seen together a man walk on the earth, and the sun arisen in the heaven, all be it so, that ye seen all together that one and that other: yet nevertheless we deemen and discernen, that that one is voluntary, and that other is necessary: Right so then the divine looking, beholding all things under him, ne troubleth nat the quality of things that been certainly present to him ward, but as to the condition of time, forsooth they been future, for which it followeth, that this nis none opinion, but rather a steadfast knowing ystrengthned by soothness, that when that God knoweth any thing to he, he ne unwote nat that thilk thing wanteth necessity to be, this is to say, that when that God knoweth any thing to betid, he wot well that it ne hath no necessity to betid. And if thou seest here, that thilk thing that God seeth to betid, it ne may nat unbetide, as who sayeth it more betid, and thilk thing that ne may nat unbetide, it more betiden by necessity, and that thou strain me to this name of the necessity: Certes I will well confessen and beknown a thing of full sad troth, but unneath shall there any wight now seen it, or come thereto, but if that he be beholder of the divine thought, for I will answer thee thus, * That thilk thing that is future, when it is referred to the divine knowing, than it is necessary. But certes, when it is understanden in his own kind, men seen it utterly free and absolute from all necessities. For certes there been two manners of necessities, that one necessity is simple, that it behoveth by necessity, that all men be mortal or deadly: another necessity is condicionell, as thus, if thou wost that a man walketh, it behoveth by necessity that he walk, thilk thing then that any wight hath iknow to be, it ne may nat be none otherwise than he knoweth it to be. But this condition ne draweth not with her thilk necessity simple, for certes, this necessity condicionell, the proper nature of it ne maketh it nat, but the adjection of the condition maketh it. For no necessity ne constraineth a man to gone, that goth by his proper will, all be it so, that when he goth, that is necessary that he goeth. Right on this same manner then, if that the purveyance of God seeth any thing present, then moat thilk thing been by necessity, although that it ne have no necessity of his own nature. * But certes, the future's that betiden by freedom of arbitry, God seeth him all together present. These things then if they been referred to the divine sight, then been they maked necessary by the condition of the divine knowing. But certes, if thilk things been considered by himself, they been absolute of necessity, and ne for●eten not, ne ceasen not of the liberty of her own nature. Then certes, without doubt, all the things shulien been done, which that God wo●e before, that they ben to come and betiden of free arbitry, or of free will, that all be it so that they betiden, yet algates ne less they not her proper nature in being, by the which, first or they weren done, they hadden pour not to have betidde. Boetius. What is this to say then (qd. I) that things ne be not necessary by her proper nature, so that they come in all her manners in the likeness of necessity, by condition of the divine science? Philosophy. This is the difference (qd. she) that though things, which that I purposed thee a little here before, that is to same, Sun arising, and the man walking, that there whiles that thilk things been done, they ne might not been undone: Nevertheless, that one of him or it was done, it behoveth by necessity that it was done, but not that other. Right so it is here, that the things which that God hath present, withouten doubt they shullen been, but some of hem descendeth of the nature of things, as the Sun arising, and some descendeth of the power of the doers, as the man walking. Boetius. Then said I no wrong, that if these things be referred to the divine knowing, then been they necessary, and if they been considered by himself, then been they absolute from the bond of necessity. Right so as all things that appeareth or showeth to the wits, if thou refer him to reason, it is universal, and if thou look it or refer it to itself, then is it singular. But now if thou sayest thus, that if that it be in my power to chaungen my purpose, then shall I voiden the purveyance of God, when peradventure I shall have changed the things which that he knoweth before. Philosophy. Then shall I answeren thee thus: Certes, thou mayst well change thy purpose, but for as much as the present soothness of the divine purveyance beholdeth that thou mayst change thy purpose, and whether thou change it or no, and whiderward that thou turn it, thou ne mayst not eschew the divine prescience, right so thou ne mayst not flid the sight of the present eye, although that thou turn thyself by thy free will into divers actions. But thou mayst say again to this, thus: How shall it then be, shall not the divine science been changed by my disposition, when that I will one thing now, and now another thing? And thilk prescience ne seemeth it not to interchange stounds of knowing, as who saith, ne shall it not seemen to us, that the divine prescience enterchaungeth his divers stounds of knowing, so that it know sometime one thing, and sometime it knoweth the contrary of that thing? Philosophy. No forsooth (qd. she) for the divine sight runeth before and seeth all the future's, and clepeth him again, and retourneth him to the proper prescience of his proper knowing, ne he enterchaungeth not, so as thou weenest, the stounds of his foreknowing, as now this, now that: but he dwelling aye cometh before, and embraceth at o stroke all the mutations. And this prescience to comprehenden and to seen all things, God ne hath not taken it of the betidings of things to come, but of his proper simplicity. And hereby is assoiled thilk things that thou puttest a little here before, that is to say, that it is unworthy thing to say, that our future's yeven cause of the prescience of God. For certes, strength of the divine science, which that embraceth all things by his presentary knowing, establisheth manner to all things, and it ne oweth not to latter things. And sith that these things ben thus, that is to said, that necessity is not in things by the divine prescience, then is there freedom of arbitry, that dwelleth hole and unwemmed to mortal men, ne the laws ne purposen not wicked medes and pains to the willings of men, that been unbounden and quite of all necessity: * And God beholder and foreweter of all things dwelleth above, and the present eternity of sight runeth always with the divers quality of our deeds, dispensing or ordaining medes to good men, and tourments to wicked men. Ne in idle ne in vain ne been there not put in God hope and prayers, that ne mown not been unspeedfull, ne without effect, when they been rightful.  
* Withstand then and eschew thou vices, worship and love thou virtues, areise thy courage to rightful hopes, yield thou humble prayers and high. Great necessity of prowess and of virtue is encharged and commanded to you, if ye nill not dissimulen, sith that ye worchen and done, that is to sane, your deeds and your werks before the eyes of the judge, that seeth and also that deemeth all things. Deo gratias.    
¶ Thus endeth the Book of Boetius, of the Consolation of Philosophy.   

The Book commonly entitled, Chaucer's Dream.  
By the Person of a mourning Knight sitting under an Oak, is meant John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, greatly lamenting the death of one whom he entirely loved, supposed to be Blanch the Duchess.  
I Have great wonder by this light,  
How I live, for day ne night  
I may not sleep well-nigh nought,  
I have so many an idle thought,  
Purely for default of sleep,  
That by my troth I take no keep  
Of nothing, how it cometh or goeth,  
To me nis nothing lief nor loath,  
All is yliche good to me,  
joy or sorrow, where so it be:  
For I have feeling in nothing,  
But as it were a mased thing,  
All day in point to fall adown,  
For sorrowful imaginacioun  
Is always wholly in my mind.  
And well ye wot, against kind  
It were to liuen in this wise,  
For nature would not suffice,  
To none earthly creature,  
Not long time to endure  
Without sleep, and be in sorrow:  
And I ne may ne night ne morrow  
Sleep, and this melancholy  
And dread I have for to die,  
Defaut of sleep and heaviness  
Hath slain my spirit of quickness,  
That I have lost all lustyhead,  
Such fantasies been in mine head,  
So I not what is best to do:  
But men might ask me why so  
I may not sleep, and what me is.  
But nevertheless, who ask this,  
loseth his ask truly,  
My seluen cannot tell why  
The sooth, but truly as I guess,  
I hold it be a sickness  
That I have suffered this eight year,  
And yet my boot is never the ne'er:  
For there is phisicien but one,  
That may me heal, but that is done:  
Pass we over until eft,  
That will not be, moat needs be left,  
Our first matter is good to keep.  
So when I saw I might not sleep,  
Now of late this other night  
Upon my bed I sat upright,  
And bade one reach me a book,  
A romance, and he it me took  
To read, and drive the night away:  
For me thought it better play,  
Than either at Chess or Tables.  
And in this book were written fables,  
That Clerks had in old time,  
And other Poets put in rhyme,  
To read, and for to be in mind,  
While men joved the law of kind.  
This book ne spoke but of such things,  
Of queen's lives, and of kings,  
And many other things small.  
Among all this I found a tale,  
That me thought a wonder thing.  
This was the tale: There was a king  
That height Seys, and had a wife,  
The best that might bear life,  
And this queen height Alcione.  
So it befell, thereafter soon  
This king wool wenden over see:  
To tell shortly, when that he  
Was in the see, thus in this wise,  
Such a tempest 'gan to rise,  
That broke her mast, and made it fall,  
And cloven her ship, and dreint hem all,  
That never was found, as it tells,  
Bord, ne man, ne nothing else.  
Right thus this king Seys lost his life.  
Now for to speak of Alcione his wife,  
This lady that was left at home,  
Hath wonder that the king ne come  
Home, for it was a long term:  
Anon her hart began to yearn,  
And for that her thought evermo  
It was not well, her thought so,  
She longed so after the king,  
That certes it were a piteous thing  
To tell her heartily sorrowful life,  
That she had, this noble wife,  
For him alas she loved alderbest,  
Anon she sent both east and west  
To seek him, but they found him nought.  
Alas (qd. she) that I was wrought,  
Whether my lord my love be dead,  
Certes I nill never eat bread,  
I make a vow to my god here,  
But I mow of my lord here.  
Such sorrow this lady to her took,  
That truly I that made this book,  
Had such pity and such routh  
To read her sorrow, that by my troth  
I fared the worse all the morrow  
After, to thinken on her sorrow.  
So when this lady could hear no word,  
That no man might find her lord,  
Full oft she swooned, and said alas,  
For sorrow full nigh wood she was,  
Ne she could no read but one,  
But down on knees she sat anon,  
And wept, that pity were to here.  
A mercy sweet lady dear  
(Qd. she) to juno her goddess,  
Help me out of this distress,  
And yeve me grace my lord to see  
Soon, or weet where so he be.  
Or how he fareth, or in what wise,  
And I shall make you sacrifice,  
And holly yours become I shall,  
With good will, body, hart, and all,  
And but thou wolt this, lady sweet,  
Send me grace to sleep and meet  
In my sleep some certain sweven,  
Where through that I may know even  
Whether my lord be quick or dead.  
With that word she hang down the head,  
And fell in a swowne, as cold as stone,  
Her women caught her up anon,  
And brought her in bed all naked,  
And she forweped and forwaked,  
Was weary, and thus the dead sleep  
Fell on her, or she took keep,  
Through juno, that had heard her boon,  
That made her to sleep soon,  
For as she prayed, right so was done  
Indeed, for juno right anon  
Called thus her messengere  
To do her erraund, and he come ne'er,  
When he was come, she had him thus.  
Go bet (qd. juno) to Morpheus,  
Thou knowest him well, the God of sleep,  
Now understand well, and take keep,  
Say thus on my half, that he  
Go fast into the great see,  
And bid him that on all thing  
He take up Seis body the king,  
That lieth full pale, and nothing rody,  
Bid him creep into the body,  
And do it gone to Alcione  
The queen, there she lieth alone,  
And show her shortly, it is no nay,  
How it was dreint this other day,  
And do the body speak right so,  
Right as it was wont to do,  
The while that it was alive,  
Go now fast, and hie thee believe.  
This messenger took leave and went  
Upon his way, and never he stint  
Till he came to the dark valley,  
That stant between rocks fifty,  
There never yet grew corn ne grass,  
Ne tree, ne naught that aught was,  
Beast ne man, ne naught else,  
Save that there were a few wells  
Came renning from the cliffs adown,  
That made a deadly sleeping swoon,  
And rennen down right by a cave,  
That was under a rock ygrave,  
Amid the valley wonder deep,  
There these gods lay asleep,  
Morpheus and Eclympasteire,  
That was the god of sleeps heir,  
That slept, and did none other work.  
This cave was also as dark  
As hell pit, over all about,  
They had good leisure for to rout,  
To vie who might sleep best,  
Some hang her chin upon her breast,  
And slept upright her head yhed,  
And some lay naked in her bed,  
And slept whiles their days last.  
This messenger come renning fast,  
And cried ho, ho, awake anon,  
It was for naught, there heard him none,  
Awake (qd. he) who lieth there,  
And blew his horn right in her ear,  
And cried awaketh wonder hie.  
This god of sleep, with his one eye  
Cast up, and asked who clepeth there,  
It am I (qd. this messengere)  
juno bade thou shouldest gone,  
And told him what he should done,  
As I have told you here before,  
It is no need rehearse it more,  
And went his way when he had said:  
Anon this god of sleep abraide  
Out of his sleep, and 'gan to go,  
And did as he had bid him do,  
took up the dead body soon,  
And bore it forth to Alcione  
His wife the queen, there as she lay,  
Right even a quarter before day,  
And stood right at her beds feet,  
And called her right as she heat  
By name and said: My sweet wife  
Awake, let be your sorrowful life,  
For in your sorrow there lieth no read,  
For certes sweet love I am but deed,  
Ye shall me never on live ysee.  
But good sweet hart look that ye  
Bury my body, for such a tide  
Ye mow it find the see beside,  
And farewell sweet, my world's bliss,  
I pray God your sorrow lisse,  
Too little while our bliss lasteth.  
With that her eyes up she casteth,  
And saw naught: alas (qd. she) for sorrow,  
And used within the third morrow.  
But what she said more in that swowe,  
I may nat tell it you as now,  
It were too long for to dwell,  
My first matter I will you tell,  
Wherefore I have told this thing,  
Of Alcione, and Seis the king.  
For thus much dare I say well,  
I had be bolden every deal,  
And dead, right through default of sleep,  
If I ne had red, and take keep  
Of this tale next before,  
And I will tell you wherefore,  
For I ne might for boat ne bale  
Sleep, or I had red this tale  
Of this dreint Seis the king,  
And of the gods of sleeping.  
When I had read this tale well,  
And overlooked it everydele,  
Me thought wonder if it were so,  
For I had never heard speak or though  
Of no gods, that could make  
Men to sleep, ne for to wake,  
For I ne knew never God but one,  
And in my game I said anon,  
And yet me lift right evil to play,  
Rather than that I should they  
Through default of sleeping thus,  
I would give thilk Morpheus,  
Or that goddess dame juno,  
Or some wight else, I ne wrought who,  
To make me sleep, and have some rest,  
I will give him the alther best  
Yeast, that ever he abode his live,  
And here onward, right now as believe,  
If he wool make me sleep alight,  
Of down of pure Doves white,  
I wool yeve him a featherbed,  
Rayed with gold, and right well clad,  
In fine black Satin doutremere,  
And many a pillow, and every bear,  
Of cloth of reins to sleep on soft,  
Him there not need to turn oft,  
And I wool yeve him all that falls  
To his chamber and to his hals,  
I wool do paint with pure gold,  
And tapite hem full manifold,  
Of one suit this shall he have,  
If I wi●t where were his cave,  
If he can make me sleep soon,  
As did the goddess, queen Alcione,  
And thus this like god Morpheus  
May will of me more fees thus  
Than ever he won: and to juno,  
That is his goddess, I shall so do,  
I trow that she shall hold her paid.  
I had unneath that word ysaid,  
Right thus as I have told you,  
That suddenly I nist how,  
Such a lust anon me took  
To sleep, that right upon my book  
I fell a sleep, and therewith even  
Me met so inly such a sweven,  
So wonderful, that never yet  
I trow no man had the wit  
To con well my sweden read.  
No, not joseph without dread,  
Of Egypt, he that rad so,  
The kings meeting Pharaoh,  
No more than could the least of us.  
Ne not scarcely Macrobeus,  
He that wrote all the avision  
That he met of king Scipion,  
The noble man the African,  
Such marvels fortuned than,  
I trow arede my dreams even,  
Lo thus it was, this was my sweven.  
Me thought thus, that it was May,  
And in the dawning there I lay,  
Me met thus in my bed all naked,  
And looked forth for I was waked,  
With small fowls a great heap,  
That had afraid me out of my sleep,  
Through noise and sweetness of her song,  
And as me met, they sat among  
Upon my chamber roof without  
Upon the tiles over all about,  
And everiche song in his wise  
The most solemn service  
By note, that ever man I trow  
Had heard, for some of him song low,  
Some high, and all of one accord,  
To tell shortly at o word,  
Was never heard so sweet steven,  
But it had be a thing of heaven,  
So merry a swoon, so sweet entunes,  
That certes for the town of Tewnes  
I noide, but I had heard him sing,  
For all my chamber 'gan to ring,  
Through singing of her ermony,  
For instrument nor melody  
Was no where heard, yet half so sweet,  
Nor of accord half so meet,  
For there was none of him that feigned  
To sing, for each of hem him pained  
To find out many crafty notes,  
They ne spared nat her throats,  
And sooth to sane, my chamber was  
Full well depainted, and with glass  
Were all the windows well yglased  
Full clear, and nat an hole ycrased,  
That to behold it was great joy,  
For holly all the story of Troy  
Was in the glaising ywrought thus,  
Of Hector, and of King Priamus,  
Of Achilles, and of king Laomedon,  
And eke of Medea and of jason,  
Of Paris, Heleine, and of Lavine,  
And all the walls with colours fine  
Were paint, both text and gloze,  
And all the Romaunt of the Rose,  
My windows weren shit eachone,  
And through the glass the sun shone  
Upon my bed with bright beams,  
With many glad glidy streams,  
And eke the welkin was so fair,  
Blue, bright, clear was the air,  
And full attempre, for soothe it was,  
For neither too cold ne hot it nas,  
Ne in all the welkin was no cloud.  
And as I lay thus wonder loud  
Me thought I heard a hunt blow  
Tassay his great horn, and for to know  
Whether it was clear, or horse of swoon.  
And I heard going both up and down  
Men, horse, hounds, and other thing,  
And all men speak of hunting,  
How they would slay the hart with strength,  
And how the hart had upon length  
So much enbosed, I not now what.  
Anon right when I heard that,  
How that they would on hunting gone,  
I was right glad, and up anon  
took my horse, and forth I went  
Out of my chamber, I never stint  
Till I come to the field without,  
There overtook I a great rout  
Of hunters and eke foresters,  
And many relays and limers,  
And highed hem to the forest fast,  
And I with him, so at the last  
I asked one lad, a lymere  
Say fellow, who shall hunt here  
(Qd. I) and he answered again,  
Sir, the Emperor Occtonyen  
(Qd. he) and is here fast by.  
A gods half, in good time (qd. I)  
Go we fast, and 'gan to ride,  
When we come to the forest side,  
Every man did right soon,  
As to hunting fell to done.  
The master hunt, anon foot hot  
With his horn blew three mote  
At the uncoupling of his hounds,  
Within a while the hart found is  
I hallowed, and rechased fast  
Long time, and so at the last  
This hart roused and stale away  
From all the hounds a privy way.  
The hounds had overshot him all,  
And were upon a default yfall,  
Therewith the hunt wonder fast  
Blew a forloyn at the last,  
I was go walked from my tree,  
And as I went, there came by me  
A whelp, that fawned me as I stood,  
That had yfollowed, and could no good,  
It came and crept to me as low,  
Right as it had me yknow,  
Held down his head, and joined his ears,  
And laid all smooth down his hairs.  
I would have caught it anon,  
It fled, and was from me gone,  
As I him followed, and it forth went  
Down by a floury green it went  
Full thick of grass, full soft and sweet,  
With flowers feel fair under feet,  
And little used, it seemed thus,  
For both Flora, and Zephyrus,  
They two, that make flowers grow,  
Had made her dwelling there I trow,  
For it was on to behold,  
As though the earth envy would  
To be gayer than the heaven,  
To have more flowers such seven,  
As in the welkin stars be,  
It had forget the poverty  
That winter, through his cold morrows  
Had made it suffer, and his sorrows  
All was forget, and that was seen,  
For all the wood was waxed green,  
Sweetness of dew had made it wax.  
It is no need eke for to axe  
Where there were many green greves  
Or thick of trees, so full of leaves,  
And every tree stood by himselue  
Fro other, well ten foot or twelve,  
So great trees, so huge of strength,  
Of forty or fifty fathom length,  
Clean without bow or stick,  
With crops broad, and eke as thick,  
They were not an inch asunder,  
That it was shadde over all under,  
And many an hart and many an hind  
Was both before me and behind,  
Of fawns, sowers, bucks, does,  
Was full the wood, and many roes,  
And many squirrels, that seat  
Full high upon the trees and eat,  
And in her manner made feasts:  
Shortly, it was so full of beasts,  
That though Argus the noble countour  
Sat to reckon in his countour,  
And reckon with his figures ten,  
For by though figures new all ken,  
If they be crafty, reckon and number,  
And tell of every thing the number,  
Yet should he fail to reckon even  
The wonders me met in my sweven:  
But forth I rome right wonder fast  
Down the wood, so at the last  
I was ware of a man in black,  
That sat, and had yturned his back  
To an Oak, an huge tree:  
Lord thought I, who may that be,  
What aileth him to satin here,  
Anon right I went ne'er,  
Then found I sit, even upright,  
A wonder welfaring knight,  
By the manner me thought so,  
Of good mokell, and right young thereto,  
Of the age of four and twenty year,  
Upon his beard but little here,  
And he was clothed all in black.  
I stalked even unto his back,  
And there I stood as still as aught,  
The sooth to say, he saw me nought,  
For why he hang his head adown,  
And with a deadly sorrowful swoon,  
He made of time ten verses or twelve,  
Of a complaint to himselue,  
The most pity, the most routh  
That ever I heard, for by my troth  
It was great wonder that nature  
Might ●uffer any creature  
To have such sorrow, and he not ded:  
Full piteous pale, and nothing red,  
He said a lay, a manner song,  
Without note, without song,  
And was this, for full well I can  
Rehearse it, right thus it began.  
I have of sorrow so great won,  
That joy get I never none,  
Now that I see my lady bright,  
Which I have loved with all my might,  
Is from me dead, and is agone,  
And thus in sorrow left me alone,  
Alas death, what aileth thee,  
That thou noldest have taken me,  
When that thou took my lady sweet,  
Of all goodness she had none meet,  
That was so fair, so fresh, so free,  
So good, that men may well see.  
When he had made thus his complaint,  
His sorrowful hart 'gan fast faint,  
And his spirits wexen dead,  
The blood was fled for pure dread  
Down to his heart, to maken him warm,  
For well it feeled the heart had harm,  
To weet eke why it was adread  
By kind and for to make it glad,  
For it is member principal  
Of the body, and that made all  
His hue change, and wax green  
And pale, for there no blood is seen  
In no manner limb of his.  
Anon therewith, when I saw this,  
He fared thus evil there he seat,  
I went and stood right at his feet,  
And great him but he spoke nought,  
But argued with his own thought,  
And in his wit disputed fast,  
Why, and how his life might last,  
Him thought his sorrows were so smart,  
And lay so cold upon his heart.  
So through his sorrow and holy thought,  
Made him that he heard me nought,  
For he had well-nigh lost his mind,  
Though Pan, that men clepeth god of kind,  
Were for his sorrows never so wroth.  
But at the last, to sane right sooth,  
He was ware of me, how I stood  
Before him and did off my hood,  
And had ygret him, as I best could  
Debonairly, and nothing loud,  
He said, I pray thee be not wroth,  
I heard thee not, to sane the sooth,  
Ne I saw the not, sir truly.  
Ah good sir, no force (qd. I)  
I am right sorry, if I have aught  
Distroubled you out of your thought,  
Foryeve me, if I have miss take.  
Yes, thamends is light to make  
(Qd. he) for there lithe none thereto,  
There is nothing missaide, nor do.  
Lo how goodly spoke this knight,  
As it had be another wight,  
And made it neither tough ne quaint,  
And I saw that, and 'gan me acqueint  
With him, and found him so treatable,  
Right wonder skilful and reasonable,  
As me thought, for all his bale,  
Anon right I 'gan find a tale  
To him, to look where I might aught  
Have more knowledging of his thought.  
Sir (qd. I) this game is done,  
I hold that this hart be gone,  
These hunts can him no where see.  
I do no force thereof (qd. he)  
My thought is thereon never adele,  
By our Lord (qd. I) I trow you well,  
Right so me thinketh by your cheer,  
But sir, o thing wool ye here,  
Me thinketh in great sorrow I you see,  
But certes sir, if that ye  
Would aught discure me your woe,  
I would, as wise God help me so,  
Amend it, if I can or may,  
Ye mow prove it by assay,  
For by my troth, to make you hole,  
I wool do all my power whole,  
And telleth me of your sorrow's smart,  
Paraunter it may ease your hart,  
That seemeth full sick under your side.  
With that he looked on me aside,  
As who saith nay, that nill not be.  
Grant mercy good friend (qd. he)  
I thank thee, that thou wouldst so,  
But it may never the rather be do,  
No man may my sorrow glade,  
That maketh my hue to fall and fade,  
And hath mine understanding lost,  
That me is woe that I was borne,  
May nought make my sorrows slide,  
Not all the remedies of Ovide,  
Ne Orpheus' god of melody,  
Ne Dedalus, with his plays sly,  
Ne heal me may no Phisicien,  
Nought hippocras, ne Galen,  
Me is woe that I live hours twelve,  
But who so wool assay hemselue,  
Whether his heart can have pite  
Of any sorrow let him see me,  
I wretch that death hath made all naked  
Of all the bliss that ever was maked,  
Iwroth, werste of all wights,  
That hate my days, and my nights,  
My life▪ my lusts, be me loath.  
For all fare and I be wroth,  
The pure death is so full my foe,  
That I would die, it will not so,  
For when I follow it, it will fly,  
I would have him, it nill not me,  
This is pain without reed,  
Always dying, and be not deed,  
That Tesiphus that lieth in hell,  
May not of more sorrow tell,  
And who so wist all, by my troth,  
My sorrow, but he had routh  
And pity of my sorrows smart,  
That man hath a fiendly heart:  
For whoso seeth me first on morrow,  
May sane he hath met with sorrow,  
For I am sorrow, and sorrow is I,  
Alas, and I will tell thee why,  
My sorrow is turned to plaining,  
And all my laughter to weeping,  
My glad thoughts to heaviness,  
In travail is mine idleness,  
And eke my rest, my well is woe,  
My good is harm, and evermo  
In wrath is turned my playing,  
And my delight into sorrowing,  
Mine heal is turned into sickness,  
In dread is all my sickerness,  
To dark is turned all my light,  
My wit is folly, my day is night.  
My love is hate, my sleep wakyng,  
My mirth and meals is fasting,  
My countenance is nicete,  
And all abawed, where so I be,  
My peace pleding, and in were  
Alas, how might I fare were.  
My boldness is turned to shame,  
For false fortune hath played a game  
At the chief with me, alas the while,  
The traitoress false and full of guile,  
That all behoteth, and nothing halt,  
She goeth upright, and yet she halt,  
That baggeth foul, and looketh fair,  
The despitous debonair,  
That scorneth many a creature,  
An idol of false portraiture  
Is she, for she wool soon wryens  
She is the monsters heed ywryens,  
As filth, over ystrowed with flowers,  
Her most worship and her flowers  
To lain for that is her nature,  
Without faith, law, or measure  
She false is, and ever laughing  
With one eye, and that other weeping,  
That is brought up, she set all down:  
I liken her to the Scorpiowne,  
That is a false flattering be'st,  
For with his head he maketh feast,  
But all amid his flattering,  
With his tail he will sting  
And enuenim, and so will she:  
She is the envious charity,  
That is aye false, and seemeth well,  
So turneth she her false wheel  
About, for it is nothing stable,  
Now by the fire, now at table,  
Full many one hath she thus yblent,  
She is play of enchantment,  
That seemeth one, and is not so  
The false these, what hath she do,  
Trowest thou, by our Lord I will thee say,  
At the Chess with me she 'gan to play,  
With her false draughts full divers  
She stolen on me, and took my fers,  
And when I saw my fers away,  
Alas I couth no longer play,  
But said, farewell sweet iwis,  
And farewell all that ever there is:  
Therewith fortune said, check here,  
And mate in the mid point of the checkere,  
With a pawn errand, alas,  
Full craftier to play she was  
Than Athalus, that made the game  
First of the Chess, so was his name:  
But God would I had ones or twice,  
Iconde, and know the jeoperdise,  
That coude the Greek Pythagores,  
I should have played the bet at ches,  
And kept my fears the bet thereby,  
And though whereto, for truly  
I hold that wish not worth a fire,  
It had be never the bet for me,  
For fortune can so many a wile,  
There be but few can her beguile,  
And eke she is the lass to blame,  
Myself I would have do the same,  
Before God, had I been as she,  
She ought the more excused be,  
For this I say yet more thereto,  
Had I be God, and might have do  
My will, when she my fears caught,  
I would have draw the same draught:  
For also wise, God give me rest,  
I dare well swear, she took the best,  
But through that draught I have sorne  
My bliss, alas that I was borne,  
For evermore I trow truly,  
For all my will, my lust wholly  
Is turned, but ye, what to done  
By our Lord it is to die soon:  
For nothing I leave it nought,  
But live and die, right in this thought.  
For there nies planet in firmament,  
Ne in air ne in earth none element,  
That they ne give me a yeft eachone,  
Of weeping when I am alone:  
For when that I advice me well,  
And bethink me everydeal,  
How that there lieth in reckoning,  
In my sorrow for nothing,  
And how there liveth no gladness  
May glad me of my distress,  
And how I have lost suffisance  
And thereto I have no pleasance:  
Then may I say, I have right nought,  
And when all this falleth in my thought,  
Alas, than am I overcome,  
For that is done, is not come  
I have more sorrow than Tantal.  
And I heard him tell this tale  
Thus pitously, as I you tell  
Vnneth might I longer dwell:  
It did mine heart so much wo.  
A good sir (qd. I) say nat so,  
Have some pite on your nature,  
That form you to creature,  
Remembreth you of Socrates,  
For he counted not three strees  
Of nought that fortune coude do.  
No (qd. I) I can not so,  
Why good sir, yes pard (qd. I)  
Ne say not so for truly,  
Though ye had lost the feerses twelus  
And ye for sorrow murdered your selue,  
Ye should be dampened in this case,  
By as good right as Medea was,  
That slough her children for jason,  
And Phillis also for Demophon  
Hang her sefe, so wellaway,  
For he had broke his term day  
To come to her: Another rage  
Had Dido, the queen eke of Cartage,  
That slough herself, for Aeneas  
Was false, which a fool she was:  
And Ecquo died, for Narcissus  
Nolde nat love her, and right thus  
Hath many another folly done,  
And for Dalida died Sampsone,  
That slough himself with a pillere,  
But there is no man alive here  
Would for her fears make this wo.  
Why so (qd. he) it is not so,  
Thou wottest full little what thou mene,  
I have lost more than thou weenest:  
How may that be (qd. I)  
Good sir, tell me all holly,  
In what wise, how, why and wherefore,  
That ye have thus your bliss lore?  
Blithely (qd. he) come sit down,  
I tell thee upon a condition,  
That thou shalt holly with all thy wit  
Do thine intent to hearken it.  
Yes sir: Swear thy troth thereto,  
Gladly do then hold here to,  
I shall right blithely, so God me save,  
Holly with all the wit I have,  
Here you as well as I can:  
A gods half (qd. he) and began.  
Sir (qd. he) sigh first I couth  
Have any manner wit from youth,  
Or kindly understanding,  
To comprehend in any thing  
What love was, in mine own wit,  
Dredelesse I have ever yet  
Be tributary, and give rend  
To love holly, with good intent,  
And through pleasance become his thrall,  
With good will, body, hart, and all,  
All this I put in his servage,  
As to my lord, and did homage,  
And full devoutly I prayed him tho,  
He should beset mine heart so,  
That it pleasance to him were,  
And worship to my lady dear.  
And this was long, and many a year  
(Ere that mine hart was set o where)  
That I did thus, and nist why,  
I trow it came me kindly,  
Paraunter I was thereto most able,  
As a white wall, or a table,  
For it is ready to catch and take  
All that men will therein make,  
Whether so men will portrey or paint,  
Be the works never so acquaint.  
And thilk time I fared right so,  
I was able to have learned tho,  
And to have conde as well or better  
Paraunter either art or letter,  
But for love came first in my thought,  
Therefore I forgot it naught,  
I cheese love to my first craft,  
Therefore it is with me haft,  
For why, I took it of so young age,  
That malice had my courage  
Not that time turned to nothing,  
Through too mokell knowledging,  
For that time youth my mistress  
Governed me in idleness,  
For it was in my first youth,  
And though full little good I couth,  
For all my works were flitting  
That time, and all my thought varying,  
All were to me yliche good,  
That knew I tho, but thus it stood.  
It happened that I came on a day  
Into a place, there that I say  
Truly the fairest company  
Of ladies, that ever man with eye  
Had seen together in o place,  
Shall I clepe it hap, either grace,  
That brought me there, not but fortune,  
That is to lien full commune,  
The false traitoress perverse,  
God would I could clepe her wrose,  
For now she worcheth me full woe,  
And I wool tell soon why so.  
Amongst these ladies thus eachone,  
Sooth to sane, I saw one  
That was like none of the rout,  
For I dare swear, without doubt,  
That as the summer's sun bright  
Is fairer, clearer, and hath more light  
Than any other planet in heaven,  
The moon, or the stars seven,  
For all the world so had she  
Surmounten hem all of beaute,  
Of manner, and of comeliness,  
Of stature, and of well set gladness,  
Of goodly heed, and so well besey,  
Shortly what shall I more say,  
By God and by his holowes twelve,  
It was my sweet, right all her selue,  
She had so steadfast countenance,  
So noble port, and maintenance:  
And Love, that well hard my bone,  
Had espied me thus soon,  
That she full soon in my thought,  
As help me God so was I caught  
So suddenly, that I ne took  
No manner counsel, but at her look,  
And at mine heart, for why her eyes  
So gladly I trow mine heart sayen,  
That purely tho, mine own thought,  
Said, it were better serve her for nought,  
Than with another to be well,  
And it was sooth, for every deal,  
I will anon right tell thee why.  
I saw her dance so comely,  
Carol and sing so swetely,  
Laugh, and play so womanly,  
And look so debonairly,  
So goodly speak and so friendly:  
That certes I trow that evermore,  
Nas seen so blissful a treasure:  
For every here on her heed,  
sooth to say it was not reed,  
Ne neither yellow ne brown it nas,  
Me thought most like gold it was,  
And which eyes my lady had,  
Debonair, good, glad, and sad,  
Simple, of good mokel, not to wide,  
Thereto her look nas not aside,  
Ne overthwart, but beset so well,  
It drew and took up everydeal  
All that on her 'gan behold,  
Her eyes seemed anon she would  
Have mercy, folly wenden so,  
But it was never the rather do,  
It nas no counterfeited thing,  
It was her own pure looking:  
That the Goddess dame Nature,  
Had made him open by measure,  
And close, for were she never so glad,  
Her looking was not foolish sprad,  
He wildly, though that she played,  
But ever me thought her eyes said,  
By God my wrath is all foryeve.  
Therewith her list so well to live,  
That dulness was of her adread,  
She nas to sober ne to glad,  
In all things more measure,  
Had never I trow creature,  
But many one with her look she heart,  
And that sat her full little at heart:  
For she knew nothing of her thought,  
But whether she knew, or knew it nought,  
Algate she ne wrought of him a stree,  
To get her love no near nas he  
That woned at home, than he in Ind,  
The formest was always behind,  
But good folk over all other,  
She laved, as man may his brother,  
Of which love she was wonder large,  
In skilful places that bear charge,  
But which a visage had she thereto,  
Alas my heart is wonder woe,  
That I ne can discriven it,  
Me lacketh both English and wit.  
For to undo it at the full,  
And eke my spirits been so dull  
So great a thing for to devose,  
I have not wit that can suffice  
To comprehend her beauty,  
But thus much I dare sane, that she  
Was white, rody, fresh, and lifely hewed,  
And every day her beauty newed,  
And nigh her face was alderbest,  
For certes nature had such lest,  
To make that fair, that truly she  
Was her chief patron of beauty,  
And chief ensample of all her work:  
And monster, for be it never so verke,  
Me thinketh I see her ever more,  
And yet more over, though all though  
That ever lived, were now a live,  
Ne would have found to discriue  
In all her face, a wicked sign,  
For it was sad, simple, and benign.  
And such a goodly sweet speech,  
Had that sweet, my life's lech,  
So friendly, and so well ygrounded  
Upon all reason, so well ifounded,  
And so treatable to all good,  
That I dare swear well by the ●ood,  
Of eloquence was never fond  
So sweet a swooning fecund,  
Ne truer tongued, ne scorned lass,  
Ne bet coude heal, that by the mass,  
I durst swear though the Pope it song,  
That there was never yet through her tongue,  
Man ne woman greatly harmid,  
As for her, was all harm hid:  
Ne lass flattering in her word,  
That purely her simple record,  
Was found as true as any bond,  
Or troth of any man's hon.  
Ne chide she could never a deal,  
That knoweth all the world full well.  
But such a fairness of a neck,  
Had that sweet, that bone nor brecke  
Nas there none seen, that miss sat,  
It was white, smooth, straight, and pure flat,  
Without hole, or canel bone,  
And by seeming, she had none.  
Her throat, as I have now memoire,  
Seemed as a round tower of yvoire,  
Of good greatness, and not to great,  
And fair white she heat,  
That was my Lady's name right,  
She was thereto fair and bright,  
She had not her name wrong,  
Right fair shoulders, and body long  
She had, and arms ever lithe  
Fattish, fleshy, nat great therewith,  
Right white hands, and nails read,  
Round breasts, and of good breed,  
Her lips were a straight flat back,  
I knew on her none other lack,  
That all her limbs ne'er pure sewing,  
In as far as I had knowing,  
Thereto she could so well play  
What that her list, that I dare say  
That was like to torch bright,  
That every man may take of light  
Enough, and it hath never the less  
Of manner and of comeliness.  
Right so fared my lady dear,  
For every wight of her manere  
Moght catch enough, if that he would  
If he had eyes her to behold,  
For I dare swear well, if that she  
Had among ten thousand be,  
She would have be at the beast,  
A chief mirror of all the feste,  
Though they had stoned in a row,  
To men's eyes, that could have know,  
For where so men had played or waked,  
Me thought the fellowship as naked  
Without her, that I saw ones,  
As a crown without stones,  
Truly she was to mine eye,  
The solein Fenix of Arabia,  
For there liveth never but one,  
Ne such as she, ne know I none:  
To speak of goodness, truly she  
Had as much debonaire,  
As ever had Hester in the Bible,  
And more, if more were possible,  
And soothe to say, therewithal  
She had a wit so general,  
So whole inclined to all good,  
That all her wit was set by the rood,  
Without malice, upon gladness,  
And thereto I saw never yet a less  
Harmful, than she was in doing,  
I say not that she ne had knowing  
What harm was, or else she  
Had could no good, so thinketh me,  
And truly, for to speak of troth,  
But she had had, it had be routh  
Thereof she had so much her deal,  
And I dare sane, and swear it well,  
That troth himself, over all and all,  
Had chose his manner principal  
In her, that was his resting place,  
Thereto she had the most grace,  
To have steadfast perseverance,  
And easy attempre, governance,  
That ever I knew, or wist yet,  
So pure suffraunt was her wit,  
And reason gladly she understood,  
It followed well, she could good,  
She used gladly to do wese,  
These were her manners every deal.  
Therewith she loved so well right,  
She wrong do would to no wight,  
No wight might do her no shame,  
She loved so well her own name.  
Her lust to hold no wight in hon,  
Ne be thou siker, she would not fond,  
To hold no wight in balance,  
By half word, ne by countenance,  
But if men would upon her lie,  
Ne send men into Walakie,  
To Pruise, and to Tartary,  
To Allsaundrie, ne into Turkey,  
And bid him fast, anon that he  
Go hoodlesse into the dry see,  
And come home by the Carrenare.  
And sir, be now right ware,  
That I may of you here sane,  
Worship, or that ye come again.  
She ne used no such knacks small,  
But therefore that I tell my tale,  
Right on this same I have said,  
Was wholly all my love laid,  
For certes she was that sweet wife,  
My suffisance, my lust, my life,  
Mine hope, mine heal, and all bless,  
My world's welfare, and my goddess,  
And I wholly hers, and every deal.  
By our Lord (qd. I) I trow you well,  
Hardly, your love was well beset,  
I not how it might have do bet.  
Bet, ne not so well (qd. he)  
I trow sir (qd. I) pard.  
Nay leave it well: Sir so do I,  
I leave you well, that truly  
You thought that she was the best,  
And to behold, the alderfairest,  
Who so had looked her with your eyes?  
With mine, nay all that her seyen,  
Said and swore it was so,  
And though they ne had, I would tho  
Have loved best my lady free,  
Though I had had all the beauty  
That ever had Alcibiades,  
And all the strength of Hercules,  
And thereto had the worthiness  
Of Alisaunder, and all the richesses  
That ever was in Babiloine,  
In Cartage, or in Macedoine,  
Or in Rome, or in Ninive,  
And thereto also hardy be,  
As was Hector, so have I joy,  
That Achilles' slough at Troy,  
And therefore was he slain also  
In a temple, for both two  
Were slain, he and Antilegius,  
And so saith Dares Fregius,  
For love of Polixena,  
Or been as wise as Minerva,  
I would ever, without dread  
Have loved her, for I must need.  
Nede? Nay truly I gabbe now,  
Nought need, and I wool tell how,  
For of good will mine heart it would,  
And eke to love her, I was hold,  
As for the fairest and the hest,  
She was as good, so have I rest,  
As ever was Penelope of Grece,  
Or as the noble wife Lucrece,  
That was the best, he telleth thus  
The Roman Titus Livius,  
She was as good, and nothing like,  
Though her stories be authentic,  
Algate she was as true as she.  
But wherefore that I tell thee,  
When I first my lady say,  
I was right young, soothe to say,  
And full great need I had to learn,  
When mine heart would yearn,  
To love it was a great emprise,  
But as my wit would best suffice,  
After my young childly wit,  
Without dread I beset it,  
To love her in my best wise  
To do her worship, and the service  
That I coude though, by my troth  
Without feigning, either sloth,  
For wonder fain I would her see,  
So mokell it amended me,  
That when I saw her amorowe,  
I was warished of all my sorrow  
Of all day after, till it were eve,  
Me thought nothing might me greue,  
Were my sorrows never so smart,  
And yet she sit so in mine heart,  
That by my troth, I nold nought  
For all this world, out of my thought  
Leave my Lady, no truly.  
Now by my troth sir (qd. I)  
Me thinketh ye have such a chance,  
As shrift, without repentance.  
Repentance, nay fie (qd. he)  
Should I now repent me  
To love, nay certes then were I well  
Worse than was Achitofell,  
Or Antenor, so have I joy,  
The traitor that betrayed Troy:  
Or the false Ganelion,  
He that purchased the treason  
Of Roland, and of Olivere:  
Nay, while I am a live here,  
I nile foryet her never more.  
Now good sir, (qd. I) though,  
Ye have well told me here before,  
It is no need to rehearse it more,  
How ye saw her first, and where,  
But would ye tell me the manner,  
To her which was your first speech,  
Thereof I would you beseech,  
And how she knew first your thought,  
Whether ye loved her or nought,  
And telleth me eke, what ye have lore,  
I heard you tell here before,  
Ye said, thou notest what thou meanest,  
I have lost more than thou weenest  
What loss is that (qd. I though)  
Nile she not love you, is it so?  
Or have ye ought done amiss,  
That she hath left you, is it this.  
For God's love tell me all.  
Before God (qd. he) and I shall,  
I say right as I have said,  
On her was all my love laid,  
And yet she nist it not never a deal,  
Not long time, leave it well,  
For by right siker, I durst nought  
For all this world tell her my thought,  
Ne I would have wrathed her truly,  
For wost thou why, she was lady  
Of the body that had the heart.  
And who so hath that may not asterte.  
But for to keep me fro idleness,  
Truly I did my business  
To make songs, as I best coude,  
And oft time I sung him loud,  
And made songs, this a great deal,  
Although ay coude not make so well  
Songs, ne knew the art all,  
As coude Lamekes son, Tubal,  
That found out first the art of song,  
For as his brother's hamers rung,  
Upon his anvelt up and down,  
Thereof he took the first swoon,  
But Greeks sane of Pythagoras,  
That he the first finder was  
Of the art, Aurora telleth so,  
But thereof no force of him two,  
Algates songs thus I made,  
Of my feeling, mine heart to glade:  
And lo this was alther first,  
I not where it were the wert.  
Lord it maketh mine heart light,  
When I think on that swear wight,  
That is so seemly one to see  
And wish to God it might so be  
That she would hold me for her knight,  
My Lady that is so fair and bright.  
Now have I told thee, soothe to say,  
My first song: upon a day,  
I bethought me what woe  
And sorrow that I suffered tho,  
For her, and yet she wist it nought,  
Ne tell her durst I not my thought:  
Alas thought I, I can no read,  
And but I tell her, I am but deed,  
And if I tell her, to say right sooth  
I am a dread she wool be wroth,  
Alas, what shall I then do.  
In this debate I was so woe,  
Me thought mine heart braced a twain,  
So at the last, sooth for to sane,  
I bethought me that Nature,  
Ne form never in creature,  
So much beauty truly  
And bounty, without mercy.  
In hope of that, may tale I told,  
With sorrow, as that I never should,  
For needs, and maugre mine heed  
I must have told her, or be deed:  
I not well how that I began,  
Full yvell rehearse it I can,  
And eke as help me God withal,  
I trow it was in the dismal,  
That was the ten wounds of Egypt,  
For many a word I overskipt  
In my tale for pure fere,  
Lest my words miss set were,  
With sorrowful heart, and wounds deed,  
Soft and quaking for pure dread,  
And shame, and stinting in my tale,  
For feared, and mine hue all pale,  
Full oft I wexte both pale and reed,  
Bowing to her I hang the heed,  
I durst not ones look her on,  
For wit, manner and all was gone,  
I said: mercy and no more,  
It nas no game, it sat me sore.  
So at the the last sooth to sane,  
When that mine heart was come again,  
To tell shortly all my speech,  
With hole heart I 'gan her beseech  
That she would be my Lady sweet  
And swore, and hertely 'gan her heat,  
Ever to be steadfast and true,  
And love her always freshly new,  
And never other Lady have,  
And all her worship for to save,  
As I best coude, I swore her this,  
For yours is all that ever there is,  
For evermore, mine hertswete,  
And never to false you, but I meet  
I nyl, as wise God help me so.  
And when I had my tale ydo,  
God wot she acompted not a stre  
Of all my tale, so thought me,  
To tell shortly right as it is  
Truly her answer it was this,  
I can not now well counterfeit  
Her words, but this was the great  
Of her answer, she said nay  
All utterly, alas that day,  
The sorrow I suffered and the woe,  
That truly Caisandra that so  
Bewailed the destruction  
Of Troy, and of Illyon,  
Had never such sorrow as I though,  
I durst no more say thereto,  
For pure fear, but stale away,  
And thus I lived full many a day,  
That truly I had no need,  
Ferther than my bed's heed,  
Never a day to seche sorrow,  
I found it ready every morrow,  
For why I loved in no gear.  
So it befell another year,  
I thought ones I would fond,  
To do her know, and understand  
My woe, and she well understood,  
That I ne wilned thing but good,  
And worship, and to keep her name,  
Over all things, and dread her shame,  
And was so busy her to serve,  
And pity were that I should starve,  
Sith that I wilned no harm iwis.  
So when my Lady knew all this,  
My Lady gave me all holly,  
The noble yeft of her mercy,  
Saving her worship by all ways,  
Dredelesse, I mean none other ways,  
And therewith she gave me a ring,  
I trow it was the first thing,  
But if mine heart was iwaxe  
Glad, that it is no need to axe.  
As help me God, I was as believe  
Raised, as fro death to live,  
Of all haps the alderbest,  
The gladdest, and the most at rest,  
For truly that sweet wight,  
When I had wrong, and she the right,  
She would always so goodly  
Foryeve me so debonairly,  
In all my youth, in all chance,  
She took in her governance,  
Therewith she was always so true,  
Our joy was ever iliche new,  
Our hearts were so even a pair,  
That never nas that one contraire  
To that other, for no woe  
For sooth iliche they suffered tho.  
O bliss, and eke o sorrow both,  
Ilich they were both glad and wroth,  
All was us one, without were,  
And thus we lived full many a year,  
So well, I can not tell how.  
Sir (qd. I) where is she now?  
Now (qd. he) and stint anon,  
Therewith he wox as dead as stone,  
And said, alas, that I was boar,  
That was the loss, that here before  
I told thee that I had lost.  
Bethink thee how I said here before,  
Thou woste full little what thou mene,  
I have lost more than thou weenest.  
God wot alas, right that was she.  
Alas sir how, what may that be?  
She is dead: Nay, Yes by my troth,  
Is that your loss, by God it is ruth.  
And with that word right anon,  
They 'gan to strake forth, all was done  
For that time, the Heart hunting.  
With that me thought that this king,  
'Gan homeward for to ride,  
Unto a place was there beside,  
Which was from us but a light,  
A long castle with walls white,  
By saint johan, on a rich hill,  
As me met, but thus it fill.  
Right thus me met, as I you tell,  
That in the castle there was a bell,  
As it had smitte hours twelve,  
Therewith I awoke my selue,  
And found me lying in my bed,  
And the book that I had red,  
Of Alcione and Seis the king,  
And of the Gods of sleeping,  
I found it in mine hon full even,  
Thought I, this is so quaint a sweven,  
That I would by process of time,  
Fond to put this sweven in rhyme,  
As I can best, and that anon,  
This was my sweven, now it is done.  
Explicit.   


MY master, etc. When of Christ our king,  
Was asked, what is troth or soothfastness,  
He not a word answer to that ask,  
As who saith, no man is all true, I guess:  
And therefore, though I height to express  
The sorrow and woe that is in Marriage,  
I dare not written of it no wickedness,  
Lest I myself fall eft in such dotage.   

I wool not say how that it is the chain  
Of Sathanas, on which he knaweth ever,  
But I dare sane were he out of his pain,  
As by his will he would be bounden never:  
But thilk doted fool, that eft hath lever  
Ichayned be, than out of prison creep,  
God let him never fro his woe discever,  
Ne no man him bewail, though he weep.   

But yet lest thou do worse, take a wife,  
* Bet is to wed, than burn in worse wise,  
But thou shalt have sorrow on thy flesh thy life,  
And been thy wife's thrall, as said these wise,  
And if that holy writ may not suffice,  
Experience shall thee teach, so may hap,  
* Take the way lever to be taken in Frise,  
Than eft to fall of wedding in the trap.   

This little writ, Proverbes or figures,  
I send you, take keep of it I read,  
Unwise is he, that can no we'll endure,  
* If thou be siker, put thee not in dread,  
The wife of bath, I pray you that ye read  
Of this matter that we have on hand,  
God grant you your life freely to lead  
In freedom, for foul is to be bond.   
Explicit.   

The Assembly of Fowls.  
All Fowls are gathered before Nature on S. Valentine's day, to choose their makes. A Formell Eagle, being beloved of three Tercels, requireth a years respite to make her choice: upon this trial, Qui bien aime tard oublie. He that loveth well, is slow to forget.  

THe Life so short, the craft so long to learn,  
Thassay so hard, so sharpy the conquering,  
The dreadful joy, always y● flit so yearn,  
All this mean I by love that my feeling  
Astonieth with his wonderful working▪  
So sore I wis, that when I on him think,  
Naught weet I well, whether I fleet or sink.   

For all be that I know not love in deed,  
Ne wot how that he quiteth folk her hire,  
Yet happeth me full oft in books read  
Of his miracles, and of his cruel ire,  
There read I well, he wool be lord and sire:  
I dare not say his strokes be sore,  
But God save such a lord, I can no more.   

Of usage, what for lust and what for lore,  
On books read I of, as I you told,  
But wherefore speak I all this? naught yore  
Agon, it happened me to behold  
Upon a book was iwritten with letters old,  
And there upon a certain thing to learn,  
The long day, full fast I radde and yearn.   

* For out of the old fields, as men saith,  
Come all this new corn from year to year  
And out of old books, in good faith,  
Come all this new science that men lere,  
But now to purpose, as of this matter,  
To read forth it 'gan me so delight,  
That all that day, me thought it but a light.   

This book of which I make mention,  
Entitled was right thus, as I shall tell,  
Tullius, of the dream of Scipion:  
Chapiters' seven●t had, of heaven and hell,  
And yearth, and souls that therein dwell,  
Of which as shortly as I can it treat,  
Of his sentence I wool you sane the great.   

First telleth it, when Scipion was come  
In Africa, how he meeteth Massinisse,  
That him for joy, in arms hath inome,  
Then telleth he her speech and all the bliss,  
That was betwixt him till the day 'gan miss,  
And how his ancestor Affrikan so dear,  
'Gan in his sleep that night till him appear.   

Then telleth it, that from a sterrie place,  
How Affrikan hath him Cartage showed,  
And warned him before of all his grace,  
And said him what man lered either lewd,  
That loveth common profit well itheude,  
He should into a blissful place wend,  
There as the joy is without any end.   

Then asked he, if folk that here been deed  
Have life, and dwelling in another place?   

And Affrikan said ye, without any dread,  
And how our present lives space,  
Meant but a manner death, with way we trace,  
And rightful folk, shall gone after they die  
To heaven, and showed him the Galaxy.   

Then showed he him, the little earth that here is  
To regard of the heaven's quantity,  
And after showed he him the nine speris,  
And after that the melody heard he,  
That cometh of thilk spears thrice three,  
That wells of Music been, and melody  
In this world here, and cause of armonie.   

Then said he him, sens earth was so light,  
And full of tourment, and of hard grace,  
That he ne should him in this world delight:  
Then told he him, in certain year's space,  
That every star should come into his place,  
There it was first, & all should out of mind,  
That in this world is done of all mankind.   

Then prayed him Scipion, to tell him all  
The way to come into that heaven bliss,  
And he said: First know thyself immortal,  
And look aye busily, that thou werche & wisse,  
To common profit, and thou shalt not miss  
To come swiftly unto that place dear,  
That full of bliss is, and of souls clear.   

And breakers of the law, soothe to sane,  
And likerous folk, after that they been deed,  
Shall whirl about the world, always in pain  
Till many a world be passed out of dread,  
And then foryeven all her wicked deed,  
Then shullen they come to that blissful place,  
To which to comen, God send thee grace.   

The day 'gan failen, and the dark night,  
That reveth beasts from her business,  
bereft me my book for lack of light,  
And to my bed I 'gan me for to dress,  
Fulfilled of thought and busy heaviness,  
For both I had thing, which that I nold,  
And eke I ne had that thing that I would.   

But finally my spirit at last,  
For weary of my labour all that day,  
took rest, that made me to sleep fast,  
And in my sleep I met, as that I lay,  
How Affrikan, right in the self array  
That Scipion him saw, before that tide  
Was come, and stood right at my bed's side.   

The weary hunter sleeping in his bed,  
The wood again his mind goeth anon,  
The judge dreameth, how his pleas be sped,  
The Carter dreameth, how his carts gone,  
The rich of gold, that knight fight with his fone,  
The sick met he drinketh of the ton,  
The lover met he hath his lady won.   

Can I not sane, if that the cause were,  
For I had radde of Affrikan before,  
That made me to meet that he stood there,  
But thus said he: thou hast thee so well borne  
In looking of mine old book all to torn,  
Of which Macrobie reached not a light,  
That some deal of thy labour would I quite.   

Cytherea, thou blissful Lady sweet,  
That with thy fire brand, dauntest when the lest  
That madest me this sweven for to meet,  
Be thou my help in this, for thou mayst best,  
As wisely as I seigh the North Northwest,  
When I began my sweven for to write,  
So yeve me might to rhyme it and indite.   

This aforesaid Affrikan me hent anon,  
And forthwith him to a gate brought,  
Right of a Park, walled with green stone,  
And over the gate, with letters large iwrought,  
There were verse ywritten as me thought  
On either half, of full great difference,  
Of which I shall you say the plain sentence:   

Through me men gone into the blissful place  
Of hearts heal and deadly wounds cure,  
Through me men gone into the well of grace,  
There green & lusty May shall ever endure,  
This is the way to all good adventure,  
Be glad thou reader, and thy sorrow off cast,  
All open am I, pass in and speed thee fast.   

Through me men gone (than spoke the other side  
Unto the mortal strokes of the spear,  
Of which disdain and danger is the guide,  
There never tree shall fruit ne leaves bear,  
This stream you leadeth to the sorrowful were,  
There as the fish in prison is all dry,  
The eschewing is only the remedy.   

These verses of gold and Azure ywritten wear,  
Of which I 'gan astonished to behold,  
For with that one increased all my fear,  
And with that other 'gan my hart to bold,  
That one me haet, that other did me cold,  
No wit had I for error for to cheese,  
To enter or fly, or me to save or less.   

Right as between Adamants two,  
Of even weight, a piece of iron set,  
Ne hath no might to move to ne fro,  
For what that one may hale that other let,  
So fared I, that I nist where me was bet  
To entre or leave, till Affrikan my guide,  
Me hent and shove in at the gates wide.   

And said, it standeth written in thy face,  
Thine error, though thou tell it not me,  
But dread thee not to come into this place,  
For this writing is nothing meant by thee,  
Ne by none, but he Loves servaunt be,  
For thou of Love hast lost thy taste I guess,  
As sick man hath, of sweet and bitterness.   

But nevertheless, although thou be dull,  
That thou canst not do, yet mayst thou see,  
For many a man that may not stand a pull,  
Yet liketh it him at the wrestling for to be,  
And deemeth yet, whether he do bet, or he,  
And if thou hadst cunning for tendite,  
I shall thee show matter of to write.   

And with that my hand in his he took anon,  
Of which I comfort caught, and went in fast,  
But Lord so I was glad, and well begun,  
For over all, where I mine iyen cast,  
Were trees clad with leaves, that aye shall last  
Each in his kind, with colour fresh & green,  
As emerald, that joy it was to seen.   

The bilder Oak, and eke the hardy ash,  
The pillar Elm, the coffer unto caraine,  
The Box pipe tree, Holme to whips lash,  
The sailing Fir, the Cipres death to plain,  
The shooter Ewe, the Asp for shafts plain,  
The Olive of peace, & eke the drunken vine,  
The victor Palm, the Laurer to divine.   

A garden saw I, full of blosomed bowiss,  
Upon a River, in a green Mede,  
There as sweetness evermore enough is,  
With flowers white, blue, yellow, & red,  
And cold well streams, nothing deed,  
That swommen full of small fishes light,  
With fins read, and scales silver bright.   

On every bough the birds heard I sing,  
With voice of Angel, in her armonie,  
That busied him, her birds forth to bring,  
The little pretty Coneys to her play 'gan high,  
And further all about I 'gan espy,  
The dreadful Roe, the Buck, the Hart, & Hind,  
Squirrels, and beasts small, of gentle kind.   

Of instruments of strings in accord,  
Herd I so play, a ravishing sweetness,  
That God, that maker is of all and Lord,  
Ne heard never better, as I guess,  
Therewith a wind, unneath it might be less,  
Made in the leaves green a noise soft,  
Accordant to the fowls song on loft.   

The air of the place so attempre was,  
That never was their grevance of hot ne cold  
There was eke every wholesome spice & grass,  
Ne no man may there wax sick ne old,  
Yet was there more joy a thousand fold,  
Than I can tell or ever could or might,  
There is ever clear day, and never night.   

Under a tree, beside a well I say  
Cupid our Lord, his arrows forge & file,  
And at his feet his bow already lay,  
And well his daughter tempered all the while  
The heads in the well, with her wile  
She couched him after, as they should serve  
Some to slay, and some to wound & carve.   

Tho was I beware of pleasance anon right,  
And of array, lust, beauty, and courtesy,  
And of the craft, that can hath the might  
To done by force, a wight to done folly:  
Disfigured was she, I will not lie,  
And by himself, under an Oak I guess,  
Saw I delight, that stood with gentleness.   

Then saw I beauty, with a nice attire,  
And youth, full of game and jolitee,  
Fool hardiness, flattery, and desire,  
Messagerie, meed, and other three,  
Her names shall not here be told for me,  
And upon pillars great of Jasper long,  
I saw a temple of Brass ifounded strong.   

And about the temple danced always  
Women enough, of which some there were  
Fair of himself, and some of him were gay,  
In kirtils all dishevelled went they there,  
That was their office ever, fro year to year,  
And on the temple, saw I white and fair,  
Of Doves sitting many a thousand pair.   

And before the temple door full soberly,  
Dame peace sat, a curtain in her hand,  
And her beside wonder discretly,  
Dame Patience, sitting there I fond,  
With face pale, upon an hill of sonde,  
And alther next, within and without,  
Behest and Art, and of her folk a rout.   

Within the temple, of sighs hot as fire,  
I heard a swough, that 'gan about ren,  
Which sighs were engendered with desire,  
That made every heart for to brens  
Of new flame, and well espied I then,  
That all the cause of sorrows, that they dry,  
Come of the bitter Goddess jealousy.   

The God Priapus, saw I as I went  
Within the temple, in sovereign place stoned,  
In such array, as when the Ass him shent  
With cry by night, and with sceptre in hon,  
Full busily men 'gan assay and fond,  
Upon his head to set of sundry hue,  
Garlands full of fresh flowers new.   

And in a privy corner, in disport  
Found I Venus, and her porter Richesse,  
That was full noble, and hauten of her port,  
Darke was that place, but after lightness  
I saw a light, unneaths it might be less,  
And on a bed of gold she lay to rest,  
Till that the hot Sun 'gan to West.   

Her guilt heeres, with a gold thread  
I bound were, untressed as she lay,  
And naked from the breast unto the heed,  
Men might her see, and soothly for to say,  
The remnant, covered well to my pay,  
Right with a little kerchief of Valence,  
There was no thicker cloth of defence.   

The place gave a thousand savours soot,  
And Bacchus God of Wine sat her beside,  
And Ceres next, that doth of hunger boot,  
And as I said, a midst lay Cupid,  
To whom on knees, the young folks cried  
To be their help, but thus I let her lie,  
And farther in the temple I 'gan espy.   

That in despite of Diane the chaste,  
Full many a bow ibroke hang on the wall,  
Of maidens, such as gone her times waste  
In her service: and painted over all,  
Of many a story, of which I touch shall  
A few, as of Calixte, and Athalant,  
And many a maid, of which the name I want.   

Semyramus, Candace, and Hercules,  
Biblis, Dido, Tis●e, and Pyramus,  
Tristram, I soude, Paris, and Achilles,  
Helaine, Cleopatra, and Troilus,  
Sylla, and eke the mother of Romulus,  
All these were painted on that other side,  
And all her love, and in what plight they died.   

When I was come again into the place  
That I of spoke, that was so soot and green,  
Forth walked I tho, my seluen to solace,  
Tho was I beware, where there sat a Queen,  
That as of light, the Summer sun sheen  
Passeth the Star, right so over measure,  
She fairer was than any creature.   

And in a land, upon an hill of flowers,  
Was set this noble Goddess Nature,  
Of branches were her halls and her bowers  
I wrought, after her craft and her measure,  
Ne there nas foul, that cometh of engendure,  
That there ne were pressed, in her presence,  
To take her doom, and give her audience.   

For this was on saint Valentine's day,  
When every foul cometh to cheese her make,  
Of every kind, that men think may,  
And that so huge a noise 'gan they make,  
That yearth, sea, and tree, and every lake,  
So full was, that unneath there was space  
For me to stand, to full was all the place.   

And right as Alaine, in the plaint of kind,  
Deviseth Nature, of such array and face,  
In such array, men might her there find.  
This noble Empress full of all grace,  
Bade every foul take her own place,  
As they were wont always, fro year to year,  
On saint Valentine's day, stand there.   

That is to say, the fowls of ravine  
Were highest set, and then the fowls small,  
That eaten, as that Nature would incline,  
As worm or thing, of which I tell no tale,  
But water foul sat lowest in the dale,  
And fowls that liveth by seed sat on the green,  
And that so many, that wonder was to seen.   

There might men the royal Egle find,  
That with his sharp look pierceth the son,  
And other Eagles of a lower kind,  
Of which that clerks well devisen con,  
There was the tyrant with his feathers done,  
And green, I mean the goshawk that doth pine  
To birds, for his outrageous ravine.   

The gentle falcon, that with his feet distreineth  
The king's hand, the hardy Sperhauke eke,  
The Quales foe, the Merlion that peineth  
Himself full oft the Lark for to seek,  
There was the Dove, with her iyens meek,  
The jealous Swan, against his death that singeth,  
The Soul eke, that of death the bode bringeth.   

The Crane, the Geant, with his tromps son,  
The thief the Chough, and the chattering Pie,  
The scorning jaie, the Eels foe the Heroune,  
The false Lapwing, full of treachery,  
The Stare, that the counsel can bewrie,  
The tame Ruddocke, and the coward Kite,  
The Cock, that horiloge is of thropes light.   

The Sparrow Venus son, & the Nightingale  
That cleapeth forth the fresh leaves new,  
The Swallow, murderer of the Bees small,  
That maked honey of flowers fresh of hue,  
The wedded Turtell, with his heart true,  
The Peacock, with his angel feathers bright,  
The pheasant, scorner of the Cock by night.  
The waker Goose, the Cuckoo ever unkind,  
The Popingeie, full of delicacy,  
The Drake, stroier of his own kind,  
The Stroke, wreker of adultery,  
The hot Cormeraunt, full of gluttony,  
The Ravine and the Crow, with her voice of care,  
The Trostell old, and the Frosty feldfare.   

What should I say, of fouls of every kind,  
That in this world have feathers and stature,  
Men might in that place assembled find,  
Before that noble Goddess of Nature,  
And each of them did his busy cure,  
Benignly to cheese, or for to take  
By her accord, his formel or his make.   

But to the point, Nature held on her hon,  
A formel Egle, of shape the gentillest,  
That ever she among her works fond,  
The most benign, and eke the goodliest,  
In her was every virtue, at his rest  
So farforth, that Nature herself had bliss,  
To look on her, and oft her beeke to kiss.   

Nature, the vicar of the almighty Lord,  
That hot, cold, heavy, light, moist, and dry,  
Hath knit, by even number of accord,  
In easy voice, began to speak and say,   

Fowls take heed of my sentence I pray,  
And for your own ease, in fordring of your need,  
As fast as I may speak, I will me speed.   

Ye know well, how on S. Valentine's day,  
By my statute, and through my governance,  
Ye do cheese your makes, and after fly away  
With hem, as I prick you with pleasance,  
But nevertheless, as by rightful ordinance,  
May I not let, for all this world to win,  
But he that most worthiest is, shall begin.   

The tercell Egle, as ye know full well,  
The foul royal, above you all in degree,  
The wise & worthy, the secret true as steel,  
The which I have form, as ye may see,  
In every part, as it best liketh me,  
It needeth not his shape you to devose,  
He shall first cheese, and speaken in his gise.   

And after him, by order shall ye cheese,  
After your kind, everich as you liketh,  
And as your hap is, shall ye win or less,  
But which of you, that love most entriketh,  
God send him her, that sorest for him siketh:  
And therewithal, the Tercell 'gan she call,  
And said, my son the choice is to thee fall.   

But nevertheless, in this condition  
Must be the choice, of everiche that is here,  
That she agree to his election,  
Who so he be, that should been her fere,  
This is our usage always, fro year to year,  
And who so may at this time have his grace,  
Inblisfull time he came into this place.   

With head inclined, & with full humble cheer,  
This royal Tercell spoke, & tarried nought,  
Unto my sovereign Lady, and not my fere,  
I chose and cheese, with will, hart, & thought,  
The formel on your hand, so well iwrought,  
Whose I am all, and ever will her serve,  
Do what her lust, to do me live or starve.   

Beseeching her of mercy, and of grace,  
As she that is my Lady sovereign,  
Or let me die here present in this place,  
For certes long may I not live in pain,  
For in my heart is coruen every vain,  
Having regard only to my troth,  
My dear heart, have on my woe some routh.   

And if I be found to her untrue,  
Disobeisaunt, or wilful negligent,  
Auauntour, or in process love a new,  
I pray to you this be my judgement,  
That with these fowls I be all to rend,  
That ilke day that she me ever find  
To her untrue, or in my guilt unkind.   

And sith that none loveth her so well as I,  
Although she never of love me beher,  
Then ought she be mine through her mercy,  
For other bond can I none on her knet:  
For well nor woe never shall I let  
To serve her, how far so that she wend,  
Say what you list my tale is at an end.   

Right as the fresh red Rose new,  
Against the Summer Sun coloured is,  
Right so for shame all waxen 'gan the hue  
Of this formel, when she heard all this,  
Neither she answer well, ne said amiss,  
So sore abashed was she, till that Nature  
Said, daughter dread you not, I you assure.   

Another Tercell Egle spoke anon,  
Of lower kind, and said that should not be,  
I love her better than ye do, by saint john,  
Or at the least I love her as well as ye,  
And longer have served her in my degree,  
And if she should have loved for long loving,  
To me alone had be the guerdoning.   

I dare eke say, if she me find false,  
Unkind, jangler, or rebel in any wise,  
Or jealous, do me hang by the half,  
And but I bear me in her service  
As well as my wit can me suffice,  
From point to point, her honour for to save,  
Take she my life, and all the good I have.   

The third Tercell Egle answer tho,  
Now sirs, ye see the little leaser here,  
For every foul crieth out to be ago  
Forth with his make, or with his Lady dear▪  
And eke nature herself ne will not here  
For tarrying her, not half that I would say,  
And but I speak, I must for sorrow day.   

Of long service avaunt I me nothing,  
But as possible is me to die to day,  
For woe, as he that hath be sanguishing  
This twenty winter, and well it happen may,  
A man may serve better, and more to pay,  
In half a year, although it were no more,  
Than some man doth, that hath served full yore.   

I ne say not this by me, for I ne can  
Do no service that may my lady please,  
But I dare say, I am her truest man,  
As to my doom, and fainest would her please:  
At short words, till that death me cease,  
I will be hers, whether I wake or wink,  
And true in all that heart may bethink.   

Of all my life sith that day I was borne,  
So gentle plea in love or other thing,  
Ne heard never no man me before,  
Who so that had leiser and cunning,  
For to rehearse their cheer, & their speaking,  
And from the morrow 'gan this speech last,  
Till downward went the sun wonder fast.   

The noise of fowls for to be delivered,  
So loud rang, Have done and let us wend,  
That well weaned I, the wood had all to shiverd:  
Come off they cried, alas, ye will us shend,  
When shall your cursed pleding have an end,  
* How should a judge either party leave,  
For ye or nay, without any preue?   

The goose, the duck, and the cuckoo also,  
Socried keke, keke, cuckoo, queke queke high,  
Through mine ears the noise went tho.  
The goose said then all this nies worth a fly,  
But I can shape hereof a remedy,  
And will say my verdict, fair and swithe,  
For water foul, whoso be wroth or blithe.   

And I for worm foul, said the foal cuckoo now,  
For I will of mine own authority,  
For common speed, take on me the charge  
For to deliver us, it is great charity.   

Ye may abide a while, yet perde,  
(Qd. the turtle) if it be your will,  
A wight may speak, it were as good be still.   

I am a seed foul, one the unworthiest,  
That wore I well, and leest of coming,  
But better is that a wights tongue rest,  
Than entremete him of such doing  
Of which he neither read can nor sing,  
And who so it doth, full foul himself acloyeth,  
* For office uncommitted, oft annoyeth.   

Nature, which that always had an ear,  
To murmur of the lewdness behind,  
With facond voice said, hold your tongues there,  
And I shall soon, I hope, a counsel find,  
You for to deliver, & fro this noise unbind:  
I charge of every flock ye shall one call,  
To say the verdict of you fowls all.   

Assented were to this conclusion,  
The birds all: and fowls of ravine  
Have chosen first by plain election,  
The Tercelet, of the falcon to define  
All her sencence, and as him lust to termine,  
And to Nature him they did present,  
And she accepteth him with glad enrent.   

The tercelet said then in this manere,  
Full hard it were to preve it by reason,  
Who loveth best this gentle formel here,  
For everich hath such replicatioun,  
That by skills may none be brought adown,  
I cannot see that arguments avail,  
Then seemeth it there must be battasle.   

All ready (qd. these Eagle tercels tho:)  
Nay sirs (qd. he) if that I durst it say,  
Ye do me wrong, my tale is not ydo:  
For sirs, taketh nat a grief I pray,  
It may not be as ye would, in this way,  
Ours is the voice, that have the charge in hand,  
And to the judge's doom ye must stand.   

And therefore peace I say, as to my wit,  
Me would think, how that the worthiest  
Of knighthood, and longest had used it,  
Most of estate, of blood the gentillest,  
Were fitting for her, if that her jest,  
And of these three, she wot herself I trow  
Which that he be, for it is light to know.   

The water fowls have their heads laid  
together, and of short avisement,  
When everiche had his verdict said,  
They said sooth all by one assent,  
How that the goose, with the facond gent,  
That so desireth to pronounce our need,  
Shall tell her tale, and prayed to God her speed.   

And for these water fowls though began  
The Goose to speak, and in her cakeling,  
She said, peace now, take keep every man,  
And harken which a reason I shall forth bring,  
My wit is sharp, I love no tarrying,  
I say I read him, though he were my brother,  
* But she will love him, let him love another.   

Lo here a perfect reason of a goose  
(Qd. the sparrowhawk) never moat she thee,  
Lo such a thing it is to have a tongue lose:  
Now pard fool, yet were it better for thee  
Have held thy peace, than showed thy nicete,  
It lieth nat in his wit, nor in his will,  
* But sooth is said, a fool cannot be still.   

The laughter arose of gentle fowls all,  
And right anon the seed fowls chosen had  
The turtle true, and 'gan her to hem call,  
And prayed her to say the sooth sad  
Of this matter, and asked what she rad?  
And she answered, that plainly her intent  
She would show, and sooth what she meant.   

Nay, God forbid a lover should change,  
The Turtle said (and wext for shame all red)  
Though that his lady evermore be strange,  
Yet let him serve her always, till he be deed,  
Forsooth, I praise not the goose's reed,  
For though she died, I would none other make,  
I will be hers, till that the death me take.   

Well yhourded (qd. the duck) by my hat,  
That men should love always causeless,  
Who can a reason find, or wit in that,  
Danceth he merry that is mirthless,  
Who should reck of that is reckless,  
Ye queke yet, qd. the duck, full well and fair,  
There be more stars in the sky than a pair.   

Now fie churl, qd. the gentle Tercelet,  
Out of the dunghill came that word aright,  
Thou canst not see which thing is well beset,  
Thou farest by love as Dwles do by light,  
The day hem blindeth, full well they see by night,  
Thy kind is of so low wretchedness,  
That what love is, thou canst not see nor guess.   

Tho 'gan the cuckoo put him forth in press,  
For foul that eateth worm, and said believe:   

So I, qd. he, may have my make in peace,  
I reach not how long that ye strive,  
Let each of him be soleine all her live,  
This is my read, since they may nat accord,  
This short sesson needeth not record.   

Ye, have the glutton filled his paunch,  
Then are we well, said the Emerlon,  
Thou murderer of the heysugge on the branch  
That brought thee forth, thou rueful glutton,  
Live thou solein, worm's corruption,  
For no force is of lack of thy nature,  
Go, lewd be thou while the world may dure.   

Now peace, qd. Nature, I command here,  
For I have heard all your opinion,  
And in effect yet be we never the ne'er,  
But finally, this is my conclusion,  
That she herself shall have her election  
Of whom her list, who so be wroth or blithe,  
Him that she chooseth, he shall her have as swithe.   

For sith it may not here discussed be  
Who loveth her best, as said the Tercelet,  
Then wool I done this favour to her, that she  
Shall have right him, on whom her heart is set,  
And he her, that his heart hath on her knet,  
This judge I nature, for I may not lie  
To none estate, I have none other eye.   

But as for counsel, for to choose a make,  
If I were reason, than would I  
Counsel you, the royal Tercell take,  
As said the Tercelet, full skilfully,  
As for the gentillest, and most worthy,  
Which I have wrought so well to my pleasance  
That to you it ought ben a suffisance.   

With dreadful voice the Formel her answered,  
My rightful lady, goddess of Nature,  
Sooth is, that I am ever under your yard,  
As is everich other creature,  
And must be yours while my life may dure,  
And therefore grant me my first boon,  
And mine intent, you wool I say right soon.   

I grant it you, qd. she, and right anon  
This formel Eagle spoke in this degree:   

Almighty queen, unto this year be done  
I ask respite for to avisen me,  
And after that to have my choice all free,  
This all & some, that I would speak and say,  
Ye get no more, although ye do me day.   

I wool not serven Venus ne Cupid,  
Forsooth as yet, by no manner way.  
Now since it may none other ways betid  
(Qd. Nature) here is no more to say,  
Then would I that these fowls were away,  
Each with his make, for tarrying longer here,  
And said him thus, as ye shall after here.   

To you speak I, ye Tercelets (qd. Nature)  
Beth of good heart, and serveth all three,  
A year is not so long to endure,  
And each of you pain him in his degree,  
For to do well, for God wot quit is she  
Fro you this year, what after foe befall,  
This entremes is dressed fro you all.   

And when this work brought was to an end,  
To every foul Nature gave his make,  
By even accord, and on her way they wend,  
And lord the bliss and joy that they make,  
For each of him 'gan other in his wings take,  
And with her necks each 'gan other wind,  
Thanking always the noble goddess of kind.   

But first were chosen fowls for to sing,  
As year by year was always her usance,  
To sing a roundel at her departing,  
To do Nature honour and pleasance,  
The note I trow maked was in France,  
The words were such, as ye may here find,  
The next verse, as I now have in mind.  
Qui bien ayme tard oublye.   

Now welcome summer, with thy sun's soft,  
That hast this winter weather's overshake,  
Saint Valentine, thou art full high on loft,  
Which drivest away the long nights black,  
Thus singen small fowls for thy sake,  
Well have they cause for to gladden oft,  
Sens each of him recovered hath his make,  
Full blissful may they sing when they awake.   

And with the shouting when her song was do,  
That the fowls made at her flight away,  
I work, and other books took me to  
To read upon, and yet I read always,  
I hope iwis to read so some day,  
That I shall meet something for to far  
The bet, and thus to read I nill not spare.   
Explicit.   

The Flower of Courtesy.  Made by John Lidgate. 
In this Book is set forth the rare virtues of a certain Lady. Made by John Lidgate, as some think, in the behalf of some Gentlewoman in the Court.  

IN Feverier, when the frosty Moon  
Was horned, full of Phoebus' fiery light,  
And that she 'gan to raise her streams soon,  
Saint Valentine, upon the blissful night  
Of duty, when glad is every wight,  
And fowls cheese, to void her old sorrow,  
Eueriche his make upon the next morrow.   

The same time I heard a lark sing  
Full lustily, again the morrow grey,  
Awake ye lovers out of your slumbering  
This glad morrow, in all the haste ye may,  
Some observance doth unto this day,  
Your choice again of heart to renew  
In confirming for ever to be true.   

And ye that be of choosing at your large  
This lusty day, by custom of nature,  
Take upon you the blissful holy charge,  
To serve love, while your life may dure,  
With heart, body, and all your busy cure,  
For evermore, as Venus and Cipride  
For you disposeth, and the god Cupid.   

For joy owe we plainly to obey  
Unto this lords mighty ordinance,  
And merciless rather for to they,  
Than ever in you be founden variance,  
And though your life be meddled with grievance  
And at your heart closet be your wound,  
Bethe always one, there as ye are bound.   

That when I had heard and listed long  
With devout heart the lusty melody  
Of this heavenly comfortable song,  
So agreeable, as by ermonie,  
I rose anon, and fast 'gan me high  
Toward a grove, and the way take,  
Fowls to seen, everich choose his make.   

And yet I was full thrusty in languishing,  
Mine ague was so fervent in his heat,  
When Aurora for dreary complaining  
Can distil her crystal tears weet  
Upon the soil, with silver dew so sweet,  
For she durst for shame not appear  
Under the light of Phoebus' beams clear.   

And so for anguish of my pains keen,  
And for constraint of my sighs sore,  
I set me down under a laurer green  
Full pitously, and always more and more,  
As I beheld into the holts hore,  
I 'gan complain mine inward deadly smart,  
That aye so sore crampish at mine heart.   

And while that I in my dreary pain  
Sat, and beheld about on every tree,  
The fowls sit always twain and twain,  
Then thought I thus, alas what may this be,  
That every foul hath his liberte  
Freely to choose after his desire  
Eueriche his make, thus from year to year.   

The silly Wren, the Tytemose also,  
The little redbreast have free election  
To flyen yferre, and together go  
Where as him list, about environ,  
As they of kind have inclination,  
And as Nature, empress and guide  
Of every thing, list to provide.   

But man alone, alas the hard stound,  
Full cruelly, by kinds of ordinance  
Constrained is, and by statute bound  
And debarred from all such pleasance.  
What meaneth this, what is this purveiaunce  
Of God above, again all right of kind,  
Without cause so narrow man to bind.   

Thus may I seen and plain, alas  
My woeful hour, and my disaventure,  
That dulfully stoned in the same case,  
So far behind from all health and cure,  
My wound abideth like a sursanure,  
For me fortune so felly list dispose,  
My harm is hid, that I dare not disclose.   

For I my heart have set in such a place,  
Where I am never likely for to speed,  
So far I am hindered from her grace,  
That save danger, I have none other meed:  
And thus alas, I not who shall me read,  
Ne for mine help shape remedy,  
For male bouche, and for false envy.   

The which twain aye s●ondeth in my weigh  
Maliciously, and false suspection  
Is very cause also that I day,  
beginning and root of my destruction,  
So that I feel in conclusion,  
With her trains that they wool me shend,  
Of my labour that death more make an end.   

Yet or I die, with heart, will, and thought,  
To god of love this avow I make,  
As I best can, how dear that it be bought,  
Where so it be that I sleep or wake,  
While Boreas doth the leaves shake,  
As I have height, plainly till I starve,  
For well or woe, that I shall her serve.   

And for her sake now this holy time,  
Saint Valentine, somewhat shall I write,  
Although so be that I can nat rhyme,  
Nor curiously by no craft indite,  
Yet lever I have, that she put the wit  
In unconning, than in negligence,  
Whatever I say of her excellence.   

Whatever I say is of dutee  
In soothfastness, and no presumption,  
This I ensure to you that shall it see,  
That it is all under correction,  
What I rehearse in commendation  
Of her, that I shall to you as believe,  
So as I can, her virtues here discrive.   

Right by example, as the summer sun  
Passeth the star, with his beams sheen,  
And Lucifer among the skies done  
A morrow showeth, to void nights tene,  
So verily, withouten any ween,  
My Lady passeth, who so taketh heed,  
All though alive, to speak of womanhead,   

And as the Ruby hath the sovereignty  
Of rich stones, and the regaly,  
And the rose of sweetness and beauty  
Of fresh flowers, without any lie,  
Right so in sooth, with her goodly eye,  
She passeth all in bounty and fairness,  
Of manner eke, and of gentleness.   

For she is both the fairest and the best,  
To reken all, in very soothfastness,  
For every virtue is in her at rest:  
And furthermore, to speak of steadfastness,  
She is the root, and of seemliness  
The very mirror, and of governance,  
To all example, withouten variance.   

Of port benign, and wonder glad of there,  
Having evermore her true advertence  
Always to reason, so that her desire  
Is bridled aye by wit and providence,  
Thereto of wit, and of high prudence,  
She is the well, ay devoid of pride,  
That unto virtue her selven is the guide.   

And over this, in her dalliance,  
Lowly she is, discreet, and wise,  
And goodly glad, by attemperance,  
That every wight, of high and low degree,  
Are glad in heart with her for to be,  
So that shortly, if I shall not lie,  
She named is, the Flower of Courtesy.   

And there to speak of feminity,  
The least mannish in comparison,  
Goodly abashed, having aye pity  
Of him that been in tribulation,  
For she alone is consolation  
To all that be in mischief and in need,  
To comfort him of her womanhead.   

And aye in virtue is her busy charge,  
Sad and demure, and but of words few,  
dreadful also of rungs that been large,  
Eschowing aye hem, that listen to hew  
Above her head, her words for to show,  
Dishonestly to speak of any wight  
She deadly hateth, of hem to have a sight.   

The heart of whom so honest is and clean,  
And her intent so faithful and enter,  
That she ne may for all the world sustain,  
To suffer her ears any word to here  
Of friend nor foe, neither far ne ne'er,  
Amiss resowning the hinder should his name,  
And if she do, she waxeth red for shame.   

So truly in meaning she is set  
Without changing, or any doubleness,  
For bounty and beauty are together knet  
In her person, under faithfulness.  
For void she is of newfangleness,  
In heart aye one, for ever to persever  
There she is set, and never to dissever.   

I am too rude, her virtues everychone  
Cunningly to discrive and write,  
For well ye wore colour have I none,  
Like her discretion, craftily to indite,  
For what I say, all it is too light,  
Wherefore to you, thus I me excuse,  
That I acquainted am not with no muse.   

By Rhetoric my stile to govern,  
In her preise and commendation,  
I am too blind so highly to discern,  
Of her goodness to make description  
Save thus I say in conclusion,  
If that I shall shortly commend,  
In her is naught that nature can amend.   

For good she is, like to Polyxena,  
And in fairness to the queen Helaine,  
Steadfast of heart, as was Dorigene,  
And wifely troth, if I shall nar feign,  
In constance eke and faith she may attain  
To Cleopatra, and thereto as setrone,  
As was of Troy the white Antigone.   

As Hester meek, like judith of prudence,  
Kind as Alceste, or Marcia Catoun,  
And to Grisilde like in patience,  
And Ariadne of discretion,  
And to Lucrece, that was of Rome town,  
She may be likened as for honest,  
And for her faith unto Penelope,   

To fair Phillis, and to Hipsiphile,  
For innocence, and for womanhead,  
For seemliness unto Canace,  
And over this, to speak of goodlihead,  
She passeth all that I can of read,  
For word and deed, that she naught ne fall,  
Accord in virtue, and her works all.   

For though that Dido, with wit sage,  
Was in her time steadfast to Enee,  
Of hastiness yet she did outrage,  
And so for jason did also Medee,  
But my Lady is so avisee,  
That bounty & beauty both in her demaine,  
She maketh bounty always sovereign.   

This is too mean, bounty goth afore,  
Lad by prudence, and hath the soverainte,  
And beauty followeth, ruled by her sore,  
That she ne fiend her in no degree,  
So that in one, this goodly fresh free  
Surmounting all, withouten any were,  
Is good and fair in one person yfere.   

And though that I for very ignorance  
Ne may discrive her virtues by and by,  
Yet on this day for a remembrance,  
Only supported under her mercy,  
With quaking hon I shall full humbly  
To her highness, my rudeness for to quite,  
A little ballad here beneath indite.   

Ever as I can surprise in mine heart  
Always with fear, betwixt dread and shame,  
Lest out of lose any word astart  
In this mitre, to make it seem lame,  
Chaucer is dead, that had such a name  
Of fair making, that without ween  
Fairest in our tongue, as the Laurer green.   

We may assay for to counterfeit  
His gay stile, but it wool not be,  
The well is dry, with the liquour sweet,  
Both of Clye, and of Calliope,  
And first of all I wool excuse me  
To her that is ground of goodlihede,  
And thus I say until her womanhead.   

¶ Ballad simple.  

WIth all my might, and my bestentent,  
With all the faith that mighty God of kind  
Me gave, sith he me soul & knowing sent,  
I cheese, and to this bond ever I me bind  
To love you best, while I have life & mind,  
Thus heard I fowls in the dawning,  
Upon the day of saint Valentine sing.   

Yet cheese I at the beginning, in this intent  
To love you, though I no mercy find,  
And if you list I died, I would assent,  
As ever twin I quick of this line,  
Sufficeth me to seen your feathers ind,  
Thus heard I fowls in the morning  
Upon the day of saint Valentine sing.   

And over this, mine heart's lust to bend  
In honour only of the wood bind,  
Holly I yeve, never to repent,  
In joy or woe, where so that I wind,  
Tofore Cupid, with his eyes blind,  
The fowls all when Titan did spring,  
With devout heart me thought I heard sing.   

¶ Lenuoye.  
Princess of beauty, to you I represent  
This simyle ditty, rude as in making,  
Of heart and will, faithful in mine intent,  
Like as this day fowls heard I sing.    
¶ Here endeth the Flower of Courtesy, and hereafter followeth, How Pity is dead, and buried in a gentle heart.   


PIty that I have sought so yore ago,  
With heart sore, and full of busy pain,  
That in this world was never wight so woe  
Without death, and if I shall nat feign,  
My purpose was, pity to complain  
Upon the cruelty and tyranny  
Of love, that for my troth doth me die.   

And that I by length of certain years  
Had ever in one sought a time to speak,  
To Pity ran I, all bispreint with tears,  
To prayen her on Cruelty me awreake,  
But or I might with any word out break,  
Or tell her any of my pains smart,  
I found her dead, and buried in an heart.   

Adown I fell, when I saw the hearse,  
Dead as a stone, while that y● swoon me last,  
But up I rose with colour full divers,  
And pitously on her mine eyes I cast,  
And nearer the corpse I 'gan preasen fast,  
And for the soul I shaped me for to pray,  
I was but lost, there was no more to say.   

Thus am I slain, sith that Pity is dead,  
Alas that day that ever it should fall,  
What manner man dare now hold up his head  
To whom shall now any sorrowful heart call,  
Now Cruelty hath cast to slay us all  
In idle hope, folk redelesse of pain,  
Sith she is dead, to whom shall we complain.   

But yet increaseth me this wonder new,  
That no wight wore that she is dead but I,  
So many men as in her time her knew,  
And yet she died so suddenly,  
For I have sought her ever full busily,  
Sith I had first wit or mind,  
But she was dead, ere I could her find.   

About her hearse there slooden lustily,  
Withouten any more, as thought me,  
Bounty, perfectly well armed and richly,  
And fresh beauty, Lust, and jolite,  
Assured manner, Youth and Honest,  
Wisdom, Estate, Drede, & governance,  
Confedred both by bond and alliance.   

A complaint had I written in my hon,  
To have put to Pity, as a bill,  
But I there all this company fond,  
That rather would all my cause spill,  
Than do me help: I held my plaint still,  
For to those folk withouten fail,  
Without pity, there may no bill avail.   

Then leave all virtues, save only pity,  
Keeping the corpse, as ye have heard me sane,  
Confedred by hand until Cruelty,  
And be assented when I shall be slain,  
And I have put my complaint up again,  
For to my foes my bill I dare not show  
The effect, which saith thus in words few.   

Humblest of heart, highest of reverence,  
Benign flower, crown of virtues all,  
showeth unto your royal excellence  
Your servant, if I durst me so call,  
His mortal harm, in which he is ifall,  
And nought all only for his woeful fare,  
But for your renome, as he shall declare.   

It standeth thus, that your contrary cruelty  
Allied is against your regallie,  
Under colour of womanly beauty,  
(For men should not know her tyranny)  
With Bounty, Gentillesse, and Courtesy,  
And hath deprived you of your place,  
That is high beauty, appertenant to your grace.   

For kindly, by your heritage right,  
Ye be annexed ever unto bounty,  
And verily ye ought to do your might  
To help troth in his adversity:  
Ye be also the crown of beauty,  
And certes, if ye want in these twain,  
The world is lore, there is no more to sane.   

Eke what availeth manner and gentillesse  
Without you, benign creature?  
Shall cruelty be your governess,  
Alas, what heart may it long endure?  
Wherefore but ye rather take cure  
To break that perilous alliance,  
Ye sleen hem that been in your obeisance.   

And further, if ye suffer this,  
Your renome is fordo in a throw,  
There shall no man were what pity is,  
Alas, that ever your renome is fall so low,  
Ye be also from your heritage ithrow  
By cruelty, that occupieth your place,  
And we dispaired that seeken your grace.   

Have mercy on me thou Herenus, Queen,  
That you have sought so tenderly and sore,  
Let some stream of light on me be seen,  
That love and dread you ever longer the more,  
For sooth to sane, I bear so sore,  
And though I be not cunning for to plain,  
For Gods love have mercy on my pain.   

My pain is this, that what so I desire,  
That have I not, ne nothing like thereto,  
And ever setteth desire mine hart on fire,  
Eke on that other side where that I go,  
What manner thing that may increase my woe,  
That have I ready unsought every where,  
Me lacketh but my death, and then my bear.   

What needeth to show parcel of my pain,  
Sith every woe, that hart may bethink,  
I suffer, and yet I dare not to you plain,  
For well I wore, though I wake or wink,  
Ye reck not whether I fleet or sink,  
And nevertheless yet my troth I shall sustain  
Unto my death, and that shall well be seen.   

This is to sane, I will be yours ever,  
Though ye me slay by cruelty your foe,  
Algate my spirit shall never discever  
From your service, for any pain or woe,  
Sith ye be yet dead, alas that it is so,  
Thus for your death I may weep and plain  
With hart sore, and full of busy pain.    

La belle Dame sans Mercy.  
M. Aleyn, Secretary to the King of France, framed this Dialogue between a Gentleman and a Gentlewoman, who finding no mercy at her hand, dieth for sorrow.  

HAlse in a dream, not fully well awaked,  
The golden sleep me wrapped under his wing,  
Yet not for thy, I rose, and well nigh naked,  
All suddenly myself remembering  
Of a matter, leaving all other thing,  
Which I must do withouten more delay  
For him, which I durst not disobey.   

My charge was this, to translate by & by,  
(All thing forgive, as part of my penance)  
A book, called La bell dame sans mercy,  
Which Master Aleine made of remembrance,  
Chief secretary with the king of France,  
And hereupon a while I stood musing,  
And in myself greatly imagining,   

What wise I should perform the said process,  
Considering by good advisement  
My unconning, and my great simpleness,  
And ayenward, the straight commandment  
Which that I had, and thus in mine intent  
I was vexed and turned up and down,  
And yet at last, as in conclusioun,   

I cast my clothes on, and went my way,  
This forsaid charge having in remembrance,  
Till I came to a lusty green vallay  
Full of flowers, to see a great pleasance,  
And so boldly, with their benign suffrance  
Which read this book, touching this matter,  
Thus I began, if it please you to here.   

NOt long ago, riding an easy pace,  
I fell in thought of joy full desperate,  
With great disease and pain, so that I was  
Of all lovers the most unfortunate,  
Sith by his dart, most cruel full of hate,  
The death hath take my Lady and mistress,  
And left me sole thus discomfit and mate,  
Sore languishing, and in way of distress.   

Then said I thus, it falleth me to cease,  
Either to rhyme, or ditties for to make,  
And I surely to make a full promise  
To laugh no more, but weep in clothes black,  
My joyful time (alas) now doth it slake,  
For in myself I feel no manner of ease,  
Let it be written, such fortune (as I take)  
Which neither me nor none other doth please   

If it were so, my will or mine intent  
Constrained were a joyful thing to write,  
My pen could never know what it meant,  
To speak thereof my tongue hath no delight,  
Tho with my mouth I laugh much or light,  
Mine eien should make a countenance untrue,  
My heart also would have thereof despite,  
The weeping tears have so large issue.   

These sick lovers I leave that to hem longs,  
Which lead their life in hope of allegiance,  
That is to say, to make Ballads and songs,  
Every of him as they feel their grievance,  
For she that was my joy and my pleasance,  
Whose soul I pray God of his mercy save,  
She hath my will, mine heart's ordinance,  
Which sith here within this tomb ygrave.   

Fro this time forth, time is to hold my pees,  
It wearieth me this matter for to treat,  
Let other lovers put hemselfes in prees,  
Their season is, my time is now forget,  
Fortune by strength the forcer hath unshete,  
Wherein was sperde all my worldly richesses,  
And all the goods which that I have get  
In my best time of youth and lustiness.   

Love hath me kept under his governance,  
If I misdid, God grant me forgiveness,  
If I did well, yet felt I no pleasance,  
It caused neither joy nor heaviness,  
For when she died, that was my mistress,  
My welfare then made the same purchase,  
The death hath shut my bonds of witness,  
Which for nothingmine hart shall never pace.   

In this great thought, sore troubled in mind,  
Alone thus road I all the morrow tide,  
Till at the last it happened me to find  
The place, wherein I cast me to abide,  
When that I had no further for to ride,  
And as I went, my lodging to purvey,  
Right soon I heard, a little me beside,  
In a garden, where minstrels 'gan to play.   

With that anon I went me backer more,  
Myself and I, me thought we were enough,  
But twain, that were my friends here before,  
Had me espied, and yet I wore not how,  
They came for me, awayward I me drow,  
Somewhat by force, somewhat by her request,  
That in no wise I could myself rescue,  
But needs I must come in and see the feast.   

At my coming, the Ladies everychone  
Bade me welcome God wore right gently,  
And made me ●here, every one by one,  
A great deal better than I was worthy,  
And of their grace showed me great courtesy,  
With good disport, because I should not mourn:  
That day I bided still in their company,  
Which was to me a gracious sojourn.   

The boards were spread in right little space,  
The Ladies sat each as hem seemed best,  
There were no deadly servants in the place,  
But chosen men, right of the goodliest,  
And some there were, peraventure most freshest,  
That saw their judges full demure,  
Without semblaunt, either to most or least,  
Notwithstanding they had him under cure.   

Among all other, one I 'gan espy,  
Which in great thought full often came and went,  
As one that had been ravished utterly,  
In his language not greatly diligent,  
His countenance he kept with great tourment,  
But his desire far passed his reason,  
For ever his eye went after his intent,  
Full many a time, when it was no season.   

To make cheer, sore himself he pained,  
And outwardly he feigned great gladness,  
To sing also, by force he was constrained,  
For no pleasance, but very shamefastness,  
For the complaint of his most heaviness,  
Came to his voice, always without request,  
Like as the son of birds doth express,  
When they sing loud in frithe or in forest.   

Other there were, that served in the hall,  
But none like him, as after mine advice,  
For he was pale, and somewhat lean withal,  
His speech also trembled in fearful wise,  
And ever alone, but when he did service,  
All black he beware, and no device but plain,  
Me thought by him, as my wit could suffice,  
His heart was nothing in his own demain.   

To feast him all, he did his diligence,  
And well he could, right as it seemed me,  
But evermore, when he was in presence,  
His cheer was done, it nolde none other be,  
His Schoolmaster had such authority,  
That all the while he bided still in the place,  
Speak could he not, but upon her beauty  
He looked still, with a right piteous face.   

With that his head he turned at the last  
For to behold the Ladies everyone,  
But ever in one he set his eye steadfast  
On her, which his thought was most upon,  
For of his eyes the shot I knew anon,  
Which fearful was, with right humble requests,  
Then to myself I said, by God alone,  
Such one was I, or that I saw these jests.   

Out of the press he went full easily  
To make stable his heavy countenance,  
And wot ye well, he sighed wonderly  
For his sorrows and woeful remembrance,  
Then in himself he made his ordinance,  
And forthwithall came to bring in the mess,  
But for to judge his most woeful penuance,  
God wot it was a piteous entremesse.   

After dinner anon they him auanced  
To dance above the folk everyone,  
And forthwithall, this heavy man he danced,  
Sometime with twain, & sometime with one,  
Unto him all his cheer was after one,  
Now here, now there, as fell by adventure,  
But ever among he drew to her alone  
Which he most dread of living creature.   

To mine advice good was his purveyance,  
When he her chose to his maitresse alone,  
If that her hart were set to his pleasance,  
As much as was her beauteous person,  
* For who so ever setteth his trust upon  
The report of the eyes, withouten more,  
He might be dead, and graven under stone,  
Or ever he should his heart's ease restore.   

In her failed nothing that I could guess,  
One wise nor other, privy nor apert,  
A garrison she was of all goodliness,  
To make a frontier for a iovers' heart,  
Right young and fresh, a woman full covert,  
Assured well of port, and eke of cheer,  
We'll at her ease withouten woe or smart,  
All underneath the standard of dangere.   

To see the feast, it wearied me full sore,  
For heavy joy doth sore the heart travail:  
Out of the press I me withdrow therefore,  
And set me down alone behind a trail,  
Full of leaves, to see a great marvel,  
With green wreaths ybounden wonderly,  
The leaves were so thick withouten fail,  
That throughout no man might me espy.   

To this Lady he came full courtly,  
When he thought time to dance with her a trace,  
Set in an herber, made full pleasantly,  
They rested him fro thence but a little space,  
Nigh hem were none of a certain compass,  
But only they, as far as I could see,  
Save the trail, there I had chose my place,  
There was no more between him two & me.   

I heard the lover sighing wonder sore,  
For aye the more the sorer it him sought,  
His inward pain he could not keep in store,  
Nor for to speak, so hardy was he nought,  
His leech was here, the greater was his  
He mused sore to conquer his desire, thought,  
* For no man may to more penance be brought  
Than in his heat to bring him to the fire.   

The hart began to swell within his chest,  
So sore strained for anguish and for pain,  
That all to pieces almost it to breast,  
When both at ones so sore it did constrain,  
Desire was bold, but shame it 'gan refrain,  
That one was large, the other was full close,  
No little charge was laid on him certain,  
To keep such were, and have so many foes.   

Full oftentimes to speak himself he pained,  
But shamefastness and dread said ever nay,  
Yet at the last, so sore he was constrained,  
When he full long had put it in delay,  
To his Lady, right thus then 'gan he say,  
With dreadful voice, weeping, half in a rage,  
For me was purveyed an unhappy day,  
When I first had a sight of your visage.   

I suffer pain God wot, full hot brenning,  
To cause my death, all for my true service,  
And I see well ye reck thereof nothing,  
Nor take no heed of it in no kind wise,  
But when I speak after my best advice,  
Ye set it at nought, but make thereof a game,  
And though I sew, so great an enterprise,  
It peireth not your worship nor your fame.   

Alas, what should it be to you prejudice,  
If that a man do love you faithfully  
To your worship, eschewing every vice,  
So am I yours, and will be verily,  
I challenge nought of right, and reason why,  
For I am hole submit unto your service,  
Right as you list it be, right so will I,  
To bind myself, where I was in fraunchise.   L'amant. 
Though it be so, that I cannot deserve  
To have your grace, but always live in dread,  
Yet suffer me you for to love and serve,  
Withouten maugre of your most goodlihead,  
Both faith & troth I give your womanhead,  
And my service without any calling,  
Love hath me bound without wage or meed  
To be your man, and leave all other thing.  La dame. 
When this lady had heardall this language,  
She gave answer full soft and demurely,  
Without changing of colour or courage,  
Nothing in haste, but measurably.  
Me thinketh sir, your thoght is great folly,  
Purpose ye nought your labour for to cease,  
For thinketh not, whiles ye live and I,  
In this matter to set your heart in pease.  L'amant. 
There may none make the peace, but only ye,  
Which are the ground & cause of all this war,  
For with your eyes the letters written be,  
By which I am defied and put a far,  
Your pleasant look, my very loadstar,  
Was made heraud of thilk same defiance,  
Which utterly behight me for to bar  
My faithful trust, and all mine affiance.  La dame. 
* To live in woe, he hath great fantasy,  
And of his heart also slipper hold,  
That only for beholding of an eye,  
Cannot abide in peace, as reason would:  
Other or me, if ye list ye may behold,  
Our eien are made to look, whyshold we spare,  
I take no keepe neither of young ne old,  
* Who feeleth smart, I counsel him beware.  L'amant. 
If it be so, one hurt another sore,  
In his default that feleth the grievance,  
Of very right, a man may do no more,  
Yet reason would it were in remembrance,  
And sith fortune only by her chance  
Hath caused me to suffer all this pain  
By your beauty, with all the circumstance,  
Why list ye have me in so great disdain.  La dame. 
To your person ne have I no disdain,  
Nor never had truly, ne nought will have,  
Nor right great love, nor hatred in certain,  
Nor your counsel to know, so God me save,  
If such love be in your mind igrave,  
That little thing may do you displeasance  
You to beguile, or make you for to rave,  
I will not cause no such encumbrance.  L'amant. 
What ever it be that me hath thus purchased,  
weening hath not deceived me certain,  
But fervent love so sore hath me ichased,  
That I unware am casten in your chain,  
And sith so it is, as fortune lift ordain,  
All my welfare is in your hands fall  
In eschewing of more mischievous pain,  
* Who soon dieth, his care is least of all.  La dame. 
This sickness is right easy to endure,  
But few people it causeth for to die,  
But what they mean, I know it very sure,  
Of more comfort, to draw the remedy,  
Such be there now plaining full pitously,  
That feel God wore not alther greatest pain,  
And if so be love hurt so grievously,  
grievously Least harm it were one sorrowful than twain.  L'amant. 
Alas Madam, if that it might you please,  
Much better it were by way of gentleness,  
Of one sorry, to make twain well at ease,  
Than him to destroy that liveth in distress,  
For my desire is neither more nor less,  
But my service to do for your pleasance,  
In eschewing all manner doubleness,  
* To make two joys in steed of one grevance.  La dame. 
Of love I seek neither pleasance, nor ease,  
Nor have therein no great affiance,  
Though ye be sick, it doth me nothing please,  
Also I take no heed of your pleasance,  
Cheese who so will her hearts to advance,  
Free am I now, and free will I endure,  
To be ruled by man's governance  
For earthly good, Nay, that I you ensure.  L'amant. 
Love, which that joy & sorrow doth depart,  
Hath set the Ladies out of all servage,  
And largely doth grant him for her part,  
Lordship and rule of every manner of age,  
The poor servant nought hath of avauntage,  
But what he may get only by purchase,  
* And he that ones to love doth his homage,  
Full oftentimes, dear bought is the richesse.  La dame. 
Ladies be not so simple, thus I mean,  
So dull of wit, so sotted in folly,  
That for words, which said be of the spleen,  
In fair language painted full pleasantly,  
Which ye and more hold schools of daily,  
To make him all great wonders to suppose,  
But soon they can away their heads wry,  
And to fair speech lightly their ears close,  L'amant. 
There is no man that jangleth busily,  
And setteth his heart & all his mind therefore,  
That by reason may plain so pitously,  
As he that hath much heaviness in store:  
Whose head is hole, and saith that it is sore,  
His feigned cheer is hard to keep in mew,  
But thought, which is unfeigned evermore,  
* The works proveth as the words show.  La dame. 
Love is subtle, and hath a great await,  
Sharp in working, in gabbing great pleasance,  
And can him venge of such as by deceit  
Would feel & know his secret governance,  
And maketh him to obey his ordinance,  
By cheerful ways, as in hem is supposed,  
But when they fall into repentance,  
Then in a rage her counsel is disclosed.  L'amant. 
Sith for as much as God and eke nature  
Hath advanced love to so high degree,  
Much sharp is the point, thus am I sure,  
Yet grieveth more the fault where ever it be,  
* Who hath no cold, of heat hath no deinte,  
The one for that other, asked is express,  
And of pleasance knoweth none certainete,  
But it be one, in thought and heaviness.  La dame. 
As for pleasance, it is not always one,  
That you think sweet, I think it bitter pain,  
Ye may not me constrain, nor yet right none,  
After your lust to love, that is but vain,  
To challenge love by right, was never seine,  
But heart assent before bond and promise,  
* For strength and force may not attain  
A will that standeth enfeoffed in franchise.  L'amant. 
Right fair lady, God more I never please,  
If I seek other right in this case,  
But for to show you plainly my disease,  
And your mercy to abide, & eke your grace,  
If I purpose your honour to deface,  
Or ever did, God and fortune me shend,  
And that I never unrightfully purchase  
One only joy unto my life's end.  La dame. 
Ye and other, that swear such oaths fast,  
And so condemn, and cursen to an df ro,  
Full sikerly ye ween your oaths last  
No longer than the words ben ago,  
And God and eke his saints laugh also,  
In such swearing there is no steadfastness,  
And these wretches that have full trust thereto,  
After they weep and wailen in distress.  L'amant. 
He hath no courage of a man truly,  
That seecheth pleasance, worship to despise,  
Nor to be called forth, is not worthy  
The yearth to touch, the air in no kind wise,  
A trusty heart, a mouth without feintise,  
Thus by the strength of every manner name,  
And who that layeth his faith for little prize,  
He loseth both his worship and his fame.  La dame. 
A cursed heart, a mouth that is curteise,  
Full well ye wot they be not according,  
Yet feigned cheer right soon may hem apeise,  
Where of malice is set all her working,  
Full false semblant they bear, & true seeming,  
Her name, her fame, her tongues but feigned,  
Worship in hem is put in forgetting,  
Nought repent, nor in no wise complained.  L'amant. 
Who thinketh ill, no good may him befall,  
God of his grace grant each man his desert,  
But for his love, among your thoughts all,  
As think upon my woeful sorrow's smart,  
For of my pain, whether your tender hart  
Of sweet pity be not therewith aggrieved,  
And of your grace, to me were discovart,  
That by your mean soon should I be relieved.  La dame. 
A lightsome heart, a folly of pleasance,  
Are much better, the less while they abide,  
They make you think, & bring you in a trance,  
But that sickness will soon be remedide,  
Respite your thought, and put all this aside,  
Full good disport wearieth me all day,  
To help nor hurt, my will is not aplide,  
Who troweth me not, I let him pass away.  L'amant. 
Who hath a bird, a falcon, or a hound,  
That followeth him for love in every place,  
He cherisheth him, and keepeth him full so●nd,  
Out of his sight he will not him enchase,  
And I that set my wits in this case  
On you alone, withouten any change,  
Am put under, much farther out of grace,  
And less set by, than other that be strange.  La dame. 
Though I make cheer to every man about,  
For my worship, & for mine own fraunchise,  
To you I nill do so withouten doubt,  
In eschewing all manner prejudise,  
For wot ye well, love is so little wise,  
And in believe so lightly will be brought,  
That he taketh all at his own device,  
Of thing God wot, that serveth him of nought.  L'amant. 
If I by love and by my true service  
Less the good cheer that strangers have always,  
Whereof shall serve my troth in any wise,  
Less than to him that cometh & goeth all day,  
Which holdeth of you nothing, that is no nay,  
Also in you is lost, as to my seeming,  
All courtesy, which of reason will say,  
* That love for love were lawful desiring.  La dame. 
* Courtesy is allied wonder ne'er  
To worship, which him loveth tenderly,  
And he will not be bound for no praiere,  
Nor for no gifts I say you verily,  
But his good cheer depart full largely,  
Where him liketh, as his conceit will fall:  
Guerdon constrained, a gift done thankfully,  
These twain can never accord, nor never shall.  L'amant. 
As for guerdon, I seek none in this case,  
For that desert to me it is too high,  
Wherefore I ask your pardon & your grace,  
Sith me behoveth death, or your mercy,  
To give the good where it wanteth truly,  
That were reason, and a courteise manere,  
And to your own much better were worthy,  
Than to strangers, to show him lovely cheer.  La dame. 
What call ye good, fain would I that I wist,  
That pleaseth one, another smerteth sore,  
But of his own, too large is he that list  
Give much, and less his good name therefore,  
* One should not make a grant, little ne more,  
But the request were right well according:  
If worship be not kept and set before,  
All that is left, is but a little thing.  L'amant. 
Into this world was founden never none,  
Nor under heaven creature ibore,  
Nor never shall, save only your person,  
To whom your worship toucheth half so sore,  
But me which have no season less ne more  
Of youth ne age, but still in your service,  
I have no eyes, no wit, nor mouth in store,  
But all be given to the same office.  La dame. 
A full great charge hath he withouten fail,  
That his worship keepeth in sickerness,  
But in danger he setteth his travail,  
That feffeth it with others business,  
To him that longeth honour and noblesse,  
Upon none other should not be await,  
* For of his own so much hath he the less,  
That of other much followeth the conceit.  L'amant. 
Your eye hath set the print, which that I feel  
Within my heart, that where so ever I go,  
If I do thing that soundeth unto well,  
Needs must it come from you, & fro no more,  
Fortune will this, that I for well or woe  
My life endure, your mercy abiding,  
And very right will, that I think also  
Of your worship, above all other thing.  La dame. 
To your worship see well, for that is need,  
That ye spend not your season all in vain,  
As touching mine, I read you take no heed,  
By your folly to put yourself in pain,  
To overcome is good, and to restrain  
An heart, which is deceived follily,  
* For worse it is to break than bow certain,  
Better bow, than to fall suddenly.  L'amant. 
Now fair lady, think, sith it first began,  
That love hath set mine hart under his cure,  
It never might, ne truly I ne can  
None other serve, while I shall here endure,  
In most free wise thereof I make you sure,  
Which may not be withdraw, this is no nay,  
I must abide all manner adventure,  
For I may neither put to nor take away.  La dame. 
* ay hold it for no gift in soothfastness,  
That one offereth, where it is forsake,  
For such a gift is abandoning express,  
That with worship again may not be take,  
He hath an heart full fell, that list to make  
A gift lightly, that put is to refuse,  
But he is wise, that such conceit will slake,  
So that him need neither to study ne muse.  L'amant. 
He should not muse, that hath his service spent  
On her which is a Lady honourable,  
And if I spend my time to that intent,  
Yet at the least, I am not reprovable  
Of feigned heart, to think I am unable,  
Or I mistook, when I made this request,  
By which love hath of enterprise notable  
So many hearts gotten by conquest.  La dame. 
If that ye list do after my counsel,  
Seeche a fairer, and of more higher fame,  
Which in service of love will you prevail  
After your thought, according to the same,  
* He hurteth both his worship and his name,  
That follily for twain himself will trouble,  
* And he also loseth his after game,  
That surely cannot set his points double.  L'amant. 
This your counsel, by aught that I can see,  
Is better said than done, to mine advice,  
Though I believe it not, forgive it me,  
Mine hart is such, so hole without feintise,  
That I ne may give credence in no wise  
To thing which is not souning unto truth,  
Other counsel I see be but fantasise,  
Save of your grace to show pity and ruth.  La dame. 
* ay hold him wise that worketh no folly,  
And when him list can leave & part therefrom,  
But in cunning he is to learn truly,  
That would himself conduit, and cannot so.  
* And he that will not after counsel do,  
His suit he putteth into disperaunce,  
And all the good that should fall him to,  
Is lost & dead, clean out of remembrance.  L'amant. 
Yet wool I show this matter faithfully  
Whiles I live, what ever be my chance,  
And if it hap that in my truth I die,  
Then death shall do me no displeasance,  
But when that I, by your hard suffrance,  
Shall die so true, and with so great a pain,  
Yet shall it do me much the less grevaunce,  
Than for to live a false lover certain.  La dame. 
Of me get ye right nought, this is no fable,  
I will to you be neither hard nor strait,  
And right will not no man customable,  
To think ye should be sure of my conceit,  
Who seecheth sorrow, his be the receipt,  
Other counsel can I not feel nor see,  
Nor for to learn, I cast me not to await,  
Who will thereof, let him assay for me.  L'amant. 
Ones must it be assayed, that is no nay  
With such as be of reputation,  
And of true love the right honour to pay  
Of free hearts gotten by due ransom,  
For free will holdeth this opinion,  
That it is great dutesse and discomfort,  
To keep a heart in so straight a prison,  
That hath but one body for his disport.  La dame. 
I know so many causes marvellous,  
That I must need of reason think certain,  
That such aventure is wonder perilous,  
And yet well more, the coming back again,  
Good or worship, thereof is seldom seen,  
Where I ne will make any such array,  
* As for to find a pleasance, but barren,  
When it shall cost so dear the first assay.  L'amant. 
Ye have no cause to doubt of this matter,  
Nor you to move with no such fantasy,  
To put me far all out as a stranger,  
For your goodness can think & well advise,  
That I have made aprise in every wise,  
By which my truth showeth open evidence,  
My long abiding, and my true service,  
May well be known by plain experience.  La dame. 
Of very right he may be called true,  
And so must he be take in every place,  
That can discern, and let as he ne knew,  
And keep the good, if he it may purchase:  
* For who that prayeth, or swereth in any case,  
Right well ye wot, in that no troth is preved,  
such hath there been, & are, that gotten grace,  
And less it soon, when they have it acheved.  L'amant. 
If truth me cause, by virtue sovereign,  
To show good love, and always find contrary,  
And cherish y●, which steeths me with the pain,  
This is to me a lovely adversary,  
When that pity, which long on sleep doth ●ary,  
Hath set the fine of all my heaviness,  
Yet her comfort to me most necessary,  
Shall set my will more sure in stableness.  La dame. 
The woeful wight, with may he think or say,  
The contrary of all joy & gladness,  
A sick body, his thought is always  
From him that felen no sore nor sickness,  
Thus hurts been of divers business,  
Which love hath put to great hindrance,  
And truth also, put in forgetfulness,  
When they full sore begin to sigh askance.  L'amant. 
Now God defend, but he be harmless,  
Of all worship or good that may befall,  
That to wert tourneth by his lewdness,  
A gift of grace, or any thing at all,  
That his Lady vouchsafe upon him call,  
Or cherisheth him in honourable wise,  
In that default, what ever he be that fall,  
Deserveth more than death to suffer twice.  La dame. 
There is no judge yset on such trespass,  
By which of right love may recovered be,  
One curseth fast, another doth menace,  
Yet dyeth none, as far as I can see,  
But keep her course always in one degree,  
And ever more her labour doth increase,  
To bring Ladies by their great subteltee,  
For others guilt, in sorrow and disease.  L'amant. 
All be it so, one doth so great offence,  
And is not dead, nor put to no justice,  
Right well I wot him gaineth no defence,  
But he must end in full mischevous wise,  
And all ever said, God will him despise,  
For falsehood is full of cursedness,  
That his worship may never have enterprise  
Where it reigneth, and hath the wilfulness.  La dame. 
Of that have they no great fere now adaise,  
Soch as will say and maintain it thereto,  
That steadfast truth is nothing for to praise,  
In him that keep it long in well or woe,  
Their busy hearts passen to and fro,  
They be so well reclaimed to the lure,  
So well learned hem to withhold also,  
And all to change, when love should best endure.  L'amant. 
When one hath set his heart in stable wise,  
In such a place, as is both good and true,  
He should not flit, but do forth his service,  
Always withouten change of any new,  
As soon as love beginneth to remove,  
All pleasance goeth anon in little space,  
As for my party that shall I eschew,  
While the soul abideth in his place.  La dame. 
To love truly, there as it ought of right,  
Ye may not be mistaken doubtless,  
But ye be foul disceived in your sight,  
By light understanding, as I guess,  
Yet may ye well repele your business,  
And to reason have some attendance,  
Much better than to abide by folly simpleness,  
The feeble soccour of disperaunce.  L'amant. 
Reason, counsel, wisdom & good advice,  
Been under love arrested everichone,  
To which I can accord in every wise,  
For they been not rebel, but still as a stone,  
Their will and mine be meddled all in one,  
And therewith bounden with so strong a chain,  
That as in hem, departing shall be none,  
But pity break the mighty bond atwaine.  La dame. 
Ye love not yourself, what ever ye be,  
That in love stand subject in every place,  
And of your woe, if ye have no pity,  
Others pity bileve you not to purchase,  
But be fully assured, as in this case,  
I am always under one ordinance,  
To have better trust not after grace,  
And all that leveth, take to your pleasance.  L'amant. 
I have my hope so sure and so steadfast,  
That such a Lady should not lack pity,  
But now alas, it is shut up so fast,  
That danger showeth on me his cruelty,  
And if she see the virtue fail in me,  
Of true service, though she do fail also,  
No wonder were, but this is my surety,  
I must suffer, which way that ever it go.  La dame. 
Leave this purpose, I read you for the best,  
For the longer ye keep, it is in vain,  
The less ye get, as of your hearts rest,  
And to rejoice it shall you never attain,  
When ye abide good hope to make you fain,  
Ye shall be found asotted in dotage,  
And in the end, ye shall know for certain,  
Hope shall pay the wretches for her wage,  L'amant. 
Ye say as falleth most for your pleasance,  
And your power is great, all this I see,  
But hope shall never out of my remembrance  
By which I feel so great adversitee,  
* For when nature hath set in you plenty  
Of all goodness, by virtue and by grace,  
He never assembled hem, as seemed me,  
To put pity out of his dwelling place.  La dame. 
Pity of right aught to be reasonable,  
And to no wight do no great disavauntage,  
There as is need, it should be profitable,  
And to the piteous showing no damage,  
* If a Lady will do so great outrage,  
To show pity and cause her own debate,  
Of such pity cometh despitous rage,  
And of such love, also right deadly hate.  L'amant. 
To comfort him that live all comfortless,  
That is no harm, but comfort to your name,  
But ye that have a heart of such duresse,  
And a fair Lady, I must affirm the same,  
If I durst say, ye win all this defame,  
By cruelty, which sitteth you full ill,  
But if pity, which may all this attain,  
In your high heart may rest and tarry still.  La dame. 
What ever he be that saith he loveth me,  
And paraventure I leave well it be so,  
Ought he be wroth, or should I blamed be,  
Though I did not as he would have me do,  
If I meddled with such or other moe,  
It might be called pity merciless,  
And afterward if I should live in woe.  
Then to repent, it were to late I guess.  L'amant. 
O marble herte, and yet more hard pard,  
Which mercy may not pierce for no labour,  
More strong to bow than is a mighty tree,  
What availeth you to show so great rigour,  
Pleaseth it you more to see me die this hour,  
Before your iyens, for your disport and play,  
Than for to show some comfort and soccour,  
To respite death, which chaseth me always.  La dame. 
Of your disease, ye may have allegiance,  
And as for mine, I let it over slake,  
Also ye shall not die for my pleasance,  
Nor for your heal, I can no surety make,  
I will not hurt myself for others sake,  
Weep they, laugh they, or sing they, I warrant,  
For this matter, so will I undertake,  
That none of hem shall make thereof avaunt.  L'amant. 
I can not skill of love by God alone,  
I have more cause to weep in your presence,  
And well ye wot, avauntour am I none,  
For certainly, I love better silence,  
One should not love by his hearts credence,  
But he were sure to keep it secretly  
* For a vauntour is of no reverence,  
When that his tongue is his most enemy.  La dame. 
Male bouch in court, hath great commandment,  
Each man studieth to say the worst he may,  
These false lovers, in this time now present,  
They serve best to jangle as a jay,  
The most secret iwis, yet some men say,  
How he mistrusted is in some partise,  
Wherefore to lady's with so men speak or say,  
It should be bileved in no wise.  L'amant. 
Of good and ill shall be, and is always,  
The world is such, the yearth is not all plain,  
They that he good, the proof showeth every day  
And otherwise great villony certain:  
* It is no reason, though one his tongue distain  
With cursed speech, to do himself a shame,  
That such refuse should wrongfully remain  
Upon the good renowned in their fame.  La dame. 
Soch as be nought, when they here tidings new,  
That each trespass shall lightly have pardon,  
They that pursuen to be good and true,  
Will not set by none ill disposition,  
To continue in every good condition,  
They are the first that fallen in damage,  
And full freely the hearts abandon,  
To little faith, with soft and fair language.  L'amant. 
Now know I well of very certainty,  
If one do truly, yet shall he be shent,  
Sith all manner of justice and pity  
Is banished out of a Lady's intent,  
I cannot see but all is at one stint,  
The good, the ill, the vice, and eke the virtue,  
such as be good, such have the punishment,  
For the trespass of him that live untrue.  La dame. 
I have no power you to do grievance,  
Nor to punish none other creature,  
But to eschew the more encumbrance,  
To keep us from you all, I hold it sure,  
False semblance, hath a face full demure,  
Lightly to catch these Ladies in a wait,  
Wherefore we must, if we will here endure,  
Make right good watch, lo this is my conceit.  L'amant. 
Sith that of grace, a goodly word not one  
May now be had, but always kept in store,  
I appeal to God, for he may hear my moan  
Of the duresse, which grieveth me so sore,  
And of pity, I complain furthermore,  
Which he forgot, in all his ordinance,  
Or else my life to have ended before,  
Which so soon am put out of remembrance.  La dame. 
My heart nor I, have done you no forfeit,  
By which ye should complain in any kind,  
Nothing hurteth you, but your own conceit,  
Be judge yourself, for so ye shall it find,  
Thus always let this sink in your mind,  
That your desire shall never recovered be,  
Ye noye me sore, in wasting all this wind,  
For I have said enough, as seemeth me.  L'amant. 

This woeful man rose up in all his pain,  
And so departed with weeping countenance,  
His woeful heart almost to braced in twain,  
Full like to die, walking forth in a trance,  
And said death come forth, thyself advance,  
Or that mine heart forget his property,  
And make shorter all this woeful penance,  
Of my poor life full of adversity.   

Fro thence he went, but whither wist I nought,  
Nor to what part he drew in soothfastness,  
But he no more was in his Lady's thought,  
For to the dance anon she 'gan her dress,  
And afterward, one told me thus express,  
He rend his here, for anguish and for pain,  
And in himself took so great heaviness,  
That he was dead within a day or twain.   

Envoy.  

THe true lovers thus I beseech you all,  
Soch adventures fly him in every wise,  
And as people defamed ye him call,  
For they truly do you great prejudice,  
His castle's strong stuffed with ordinance,  
For they have had long time by their office,  
The whole country of love in obeisance.   

And ye Ladies, or what estate ye be,  
Of whom worship hath choice his dwelling place,  
For God's love do no such cruelty,  
Nor in no wise ne foul not the trace  
Of her that here is named rightwisely,  
Which by reason me seemeth in this case,  
May be called, La belle dame sans Mercy.   

Go little Book, God send thee good passage,  
Cheese well thy way, be simple of manner,  
Look thy clothing be like thy pilgrimage,  
And specially let this be thy prayer,  
Unto him all that thee will read or here,  
Where thou art wrong, after her help to call,  
Thee to correct in any part or all.   

Pray him also with thine humble service,  
Thy boldness to pardon in this case,  
For else thou art not able in no wise  
To make thyself appear in any place,  
And furthermore beseech him of her grace,  
By her favour and supportation,  
To take in 'gree this rude translation.   

The which God wot standeth full destitute  
Of eloquence, of metre, and colours,  
Like as a beast naked without refute,  
Upon a plain to abide all manner showers,  
I can no more but ask of hem socours,  
At whose request thou were made in this wise  
Commanding me with body and service.   

Right thus I make an end of this prosses,  
Beseeching him, that all hath in balance,  
That no true man be vexed causeless,  
As this man was, which is of remembrance,  
And all that done her faithful observance,  
And in her troth purpose him to endure,  
I pray God send him better adventure.   
Explicit.    

Of Queen Annelida and false Arcite.  
Arcite a Theban Knight, forsaketh Queen Annelida, who loved him entirely, and taketh a new Lady: whereupon Annelida maketh this great complaint.  

O Thou fires God of arms Mars the read,  
That in thy Frosty Country called Thrace,  
Within thy grisly Temples full of dread,  
Honoured art as patron of that place,  
With the Bellona Pallas full of grace,  
Be present, and my song continue and gie,  
At my beginning thus to thee I cry.   

For it full deep is sunken in mind,  
With piteous heart in English to indite,  
This old story, in Latin which I find,  
Of Queen Annelida and false Arcite,  
That eld, which all can frete and by't,  
And it hath freten many a noble story,  
Hath nigh devoured out of our memory.   

Be favourable eke thou Polimnia  
On Pernaso that hath thy sister's glade,  
By Elicon, not far from Cirsa,  
Singest with voice memorial in the shade,  
Under the Laurer, which that may not fade,  
And do that I my ship to haven win,  
First follow I Stace, and after him Corinne.   
Jamque domos patrias Cithiae-post aspera gentis,  
Praelia laurigeo subeuntem Thesea curru,  
Laetifici plausus missusque ad sidera vulgi, etc.  

When Theseus with wars long & great,  
The asper folk of Cithe had overcome,  
The Laurer crowned in his chair gold beat,  
Home to his country houses is ycome,  
For which the people blissful all and some,  
So criden, that to the Stars it went,  
And him to honourens did all her intent.   

Before this Duke in sign of victory,  
The Tromps come, and in his banner large,  
The Image of Mars, and in token of glory,  
Men might see of treasure many a charge,  
Many a bright helm, & many a spear & targe,  
Many a fresh knight, & many a blissful rout,  
On horse and on foot, in all the field about.   

Ipolita his wife, the hardy Queen  
Of Cithia, that he conquered had,  
With Emely her young sister sheen,  
Fair in a chair of gold he with him lad,  
That all the ground about her chair she spread  
With brightness of beauty in her face,  
Fulfilled of largesse and of grace.   

With his triumph & laurer crowned thus,  
In all the flower of Fortunes giving,  
let I this noble prince Theseus,  
Toward Athenes in his way riding,  
And fond I wool in shortly to bring,  
The sly way of that I 'gan to write,  
Of Queen Annelida and false Arcite.   

Mars that through his furious course of ire,  
The old wrath of juno to fulfil,  
Hath set the people's hearts both on fire  
Of Thebes and Grece, & every other to kill  
With bloody spears, rested never still,  
But throng now here now there among him both,  
That everich other slew, so were they wroth.   

For when Amphiorax and Tideus,  
Ipomedon, and Partinope also  
Were dead, and slain proud Campaneus,  
And when the wretched Thebans brethren two,  
Were slain, & King Adrastus home ago,  
So desolate stood Thebes and so bare,  
That no wight could remedy his care.   

And when the old Creon 'gan espy,  
How that the blood royal was brought adown,  
He held the city by his tyranny,  
And did the gentiles of that region  
To been his friends, and dwell in the town,  
So what for love of him, and what for awe,  
The noble folk were to the town ydrawe.   

Among all these, Annelida the queen  
Of Ermony was in that town dwelling,  
That fairer was than the Son sheen,  
Throughout the world so 'gan her name spring,  
That her to see had every wight liking,  
For as of troth is there none her liche,  
Of all the women in this world rich.   

Young was this queen, of twenty year old,  
Of middle stature, and of such fairness,  
That nature had a joy her to behold,  
And for to speaken of her steadfastness,  
She passed hath Penelope and Lucrece,  
And shortly if she may been comprehended,  
In her might nothing been amended.   

This Theban knight eke sooth too said,  
Was young, & thereto withal a lusty knight,  
But he was double in love, & nothing plain,  
And subtle in that craft over any wight,  
And with his cunning wan this Lady bright:  
For so ferforth he 'gan her troth assure,  
That she him trusteth over any creature.   

What should I said, she loveth Arcite so  
That when that he was absent any throw,  
Anon her thought her heart braced atwo,  
For in her sight to her he bore him low,  
So that she wend have all his heart yknow,  
But he was false, it nas but feigned cheer,  
As needeth not such craft men to lere.   

But nevertheless full mikell business  
Had he, oer that he might his Lady win,  
And swore he would dien for distress,  
Or from his wit he said he would twin:  
Alas the while, for it was routh and sin,  
That she upon his sorrows would rue,  
* But nothing thinketh the false as doth the true.   

Her freedom found Arcite in such manere,  
That all was his, that she hath, much or light,  
Ne to no creature made she cheer,  
Further than it liked to Arcite,  
There was no lack, with which he might her wit,  
She was so ferforth given him to please,  
That all that liked him did her ease.   

There nas to her no manner letter sent,  
That touched love, from any manner wight,  
That she ne showed him, or it was brent,  
So plain she was, and did her full might,  
That she nil hide nothing from her knight,  
Lest he of any untruth her upbreyde,  
Without bode his heart she obeyed.   

And eke he made him jealous over her,  
That what that any man had to her said,  
Anon he would praien her to swear  
What was the word, or make him evil paid,  
Then wend she out of her wit have braid,  
But all was but sleight and flattery,  
Without love he feigned jealousy.   

And all this took she so debonairly,  
That all his will, her thought it skilful thing  
And ever the longer she loved him tenderly,  
And did him honour as he were a king,  
Her heart was to him wedded with a ring,  
For so ferforth upon troth is her intent,  
That where he goth, her heart with him went.   

When she shall eat, on him is so her thought,  
That well unneath of meat took she keep,  
And when she was to her rest brought,  
On him she thought always till that she sleep,  
When he was absent, privily doth she weep,  
Thus liveth fair Annelida the queen,  
For false Arcite, that did her all this tene.   

This false Arcite, of his newfangleness,  
For she to him so lowly was and true,  
took less deintee for her steadfastness,  
And saw another Lady proud and new,  
And right anon he clad him in her hue,  
Wot I not whether in white, reed, or green,  
And falsed fair Annelida the queen.   

But nevertheless, great wonder was it none  
Though he were false, for it is the kind of man,  
Sith Lamech was, that is so long agone,  
To be in love as false as ever he can,  
He was the first father that began  
To loven two, and was in bigamye.  
And he found tents first, but if men lie.   

This false Arcite, somewhat must he fain,  
When he was false, to coveren his tratoury  
Right as an horse, that can both bite & plain,  
For he bore her in hand of treachery,  
And swore he coude her doubleness espy,  
And all was falseness that she to him meant,  
Thus swore this thief, and forth his way he went.   

Alas what heart might endure it,  
For ruth or woe, her sorrow for to tell,  
Or what man hath the cunning or the wit,  
Or with man might within the chambre dwell,  
If I to him rehersen shall the hell  
That suffreth fair Annelida the queen,  
For false Arcite, that did all this tene.   

She weepeth, waileth, & swouneth pitously,  
To ground deed she falleth as a stone  
Crampisheth her limbs crookedly,  
She speaketh as her wit were all agone,  
Other colour than ashen hath she none,  
Ne none other word speaketh she much or light,  
But mercy cruel heart mine Arcite.   

And thus endureth, till that she was so mate  
That she ne hath foot, on which she may abstain,  
But forth languishing ever in this estate,  
Of which Arcite hath neither routh ne tene,  
His heart was else where new and green,  
That on her woe, ne deigneth him not to think,  
Him recketh never whether she fleet or sink.   

* This new Lady holdeth him so narrow,  
Up by the bridle, at the staff's end.   

That every word he dread it as an arrow,  
Her danger made him both bow & bend,  
And as her lust, made him turn or wend,  
For she ne granted him in her living,  
No grace, why that he hath to sing,   

But drove him forth, unneath list her know  
That he was servant unto her Ladyship,  
But lest he were proud, she held him low,  
Thus serveth he, without meat or sip,  
She sent him now to land, and now to ship,  
And for she gave him danger all his fill,  
Therefore she had him at her own will.   

Ensample of this, ye thrifty women all,  
Take heed of Annelida and false Arcite,  
That for her list him her dear heart call,  
And was so meek, therefore he loved her light,  
* The kind of man's heart is to delight  
On thing that strange is, also God me save,  
For what they may not get, that would they have.   

Now turn we to Annelida again,  
That pineth day by day in languishing,  
But when she saw that her ne gate no geyn,  
Upon a day sorrowfully weeping,  
She cast her for to make a complaining,  
And with her own hand she 'gan it write,  
And sent it to her Theban knight Arcite.   

The complaint of Annelida to false Arcite.  

So their led with the point of remembrance,  
The sword of sorrow, whet with false pleasance,  
Mine heart bare of bliss, & black of hue  
That turned is to quaking all my dance,  
My sewerty in a waped countenance,  
Sens it availeth nought to ben true:  
For who so true is, it shall her rue,  
That serveth love, and doth her observance  
Always to one, and changeth for no new.   

I wot myself as well as any wight,  
For I loved one, with all mine heart & might  
More than myself an hundred thousand sigh,  
And called him my hearts life, my knight,  
And was all his, as far as it was right,  
And when that he was glad, than was I blithe,  
And his disease was my death as swithe,  
And he again, his troth hath me plight,  
For evermore his Lady me to kithe.   

Now is he false alas, and causeless,  
And of my woe he is so routhles,  
That with a word him list not ones deign  
To bring again my sorrowful heart in pees,  
For he is caught up in another lees,  
Right as him list, he laugheth at my pain,  
And I ne can mine heart not restrain  
For to love him yet always vevertheles,  
And of all this I not to whom to plain.   

And should I plain, alas the hard stound,  
Unto my foe, that gave mine heart a wound,  
And yet desireth that mine harm be more,  
Now certes ferther wool I never found  
None other help, my sores for to sound,  
My destiny hath shaped so full yore,  
I wool none other medicine ne lore,  
I wool ben aye there I was ones bound,  
That I have said, be said for evermore.   

Alas, where is become your gentleness,  
Your words full of pleasance and humblesse,  
Your observance in so low manere,  
Your awaiting, and your business,  
On me that ye called your mistress,  
Your sovereign lady in this world here?  
Alas, is there neither word ne cheer,  
Ye vouchsafe upon mine heaviness?  
Alas your love, I buy it all to dear.   

Now certes sweet, though that ye  
Thus causeless the cause be,  
Of my deedly adversity,  
Your manly reason ought it to respite,  
To slay your friend, and namely me,  
That never yet in no degree  
Offended you, as wissy he  
That all wot, of woe my soul quite.   

But for I was so plain, Arcite,  
In all my works much and light,  
And was so besie you to delight,  
Mine honour save, meek, kind, and free,  
Therefore ye put in me this wit:  
Alas, ye retche not a mite,  
Though that the sword of sorrow bite  
My woeful heart, through your cruelty.   

My sweet so, why do ye so for shame,  
And think ye that furthered be your name,  
To love a new, and been untrewaye,  
And put you in slander now and blame,  
And do to me adversity and grame,  
That love you most, God thou wost always,  
Yet turn again, and yet be plain some day,  
And than shall this that now is miss, ben game,  
And all forgive, while I live may.   

Lo heart mine, all this is for to sane,  
As whether shall I pray or else plain,  
Which is the way to done you to be true,  
For either mote I have you in my chain,  
Or with the death ye moat depart us twain,  
There bethe none other mean ways new,  
For God so wisely on my soul rue,  
As verily ye slain me with the pain,  
That mow ye see unfeigned on mine hue.   

For thus ferforth have I my death sought,  
Myself I murder with my privy thought,  
For sorrow and routh of your unkindness,  
I weep, I wail, I fast, all helpeth naught,  
I void joy that is to speak of aught,  
I void company, I fly gladness,  
Who may avaunt her better of hevineffe,  
Than I? & to this plight have ye me brought,  
Without guilt, me needeth no witness.   

And should I pray, & weiven womanhead,  
Nay rather death, than do so foul a deed,  
And ask mercy and guiltless, what need,  
And if I plain what life I lead,  
You recketh not, that know I out of dread,  
And if I unto you mine oaths bede,  
For mine excuse, a scorn shall be my meed,  
* Your cheer flowereth, but it wool not seed,  
Full long agone I might have taken heed.   

For though I had you to morrow again,  
* I might as well hold April from rain,  
As hold you to maken steadfast,  
Almighty God, of troth the sovereign,  
Where is the troth of man, who hath it slain,  
* She that hem loveth, shall hem find as fast,  
As in a tempest is a rotten mast,  
Is that a tame be'st, that is aye fain  
To run away, when he is lest aghast.   

Now mercy sweet, if I missay,  
Have I aught said out of the way,  
I not, my wit is all away,  
I fare as doth the song of chantepleure,  
For now I plain, and now I play,  
I am so mased that I day,  
Arcite hath borne away the key  
Of all my world, and my good adventure.   

For in this world there is no creature,  
Walking in more discomfiture,  
Than I, ne more sorrow endure,  
For if I sleep a furlong way or twey,  
Then thinketh me that your figure  
Before me stante clad in azure,  
Eft to proffer a new assure,  
For to ben true, and mercy me to prey.   

The long night, this wonder sight ydrie,  
That on the day for such affray I die,  
And of all this right naught iwis ye retche,  
Ne nevermore mine eyes to been dry,  
And to your routh, and to your troth I cry,  
But well away, to far been they to fetch,  
Thus holdeth me my destiny a wretch,  
But me to read out of this dread or gye,  
Ne may my wit (so weak is it) not stretch.   

Then end I thus, sith I may do no more,  
I give it up for now and evermore,  
For I shall never eft putten in balance  
My sickerness, ne learn of love the lore,  
But as the swan, I have herd say full yore,  
Against his death wool sing in his penance,  
So sing I here the destiny and chance,  
How that Arcite, Annelida so sore  
Hath thrilled with the point of remembrance.   

When that Annelida this woeful queen,  
Hath of her hand written in this wise,  
With face deed, betwixt pale and green,  
She fell a swoon, and scythe she 'gan to rise,  
And unto Mars au oweth sacrifice  
Within the temple, with a sorrowful cheer,  
That shapen was, as ye may plainly here.    
Explicit.   

The Assembly of Ladies.  
A Gentlewoman dreameth that she seeth a great number of Ladies put up their Bills of Complaint before a Judge, who promiseth to relieve their Grievances.  

IN september at the falling of the lief,  
The fresh season was altogider done,  
And of the corn was gathered the sheaf,  
In a garden about twain after noon,  
There were ladies walking, as was her won  
Four in nombre, as to my mind doth fall,  
And I the fifth, the simplest of him all.   

Of gentlewomen fair there were also,  
Disporting him, everich after her gise,  
In cross allies walking by two and two,  
And some alone, after her fantasy,  
Thus occupied we were in divers wise,  
And yet in troth we were not all alone,  
There were knights and squires many one.   

Whereof I served, one of him asked me,  
I said again, as it fell in my thought,  
To walk about the maze in certainty,  
As a woman that nothing wrought,  
He asked me again whom that I sought,  
And of my colour, why I was so pale,  
Forsooth (qd. I) and thereby lithe a tale.   

That must me wete (qd. he) and that anon,  
Tell on, let see, and make no tarrying.  
Abide (qd. I) ye been a hasty one,  
I let you weet it is no little thing,  
But for because ye have a great longing,  
In your desire, this process for to here,  
I shall you tell the plain of this matter.   

It happened thus, that in an after noon,  
My fellowship and I by one assent,  
When all other besinesses were done,  
To pass our time, in to this maze we went,  
And took our ways, each after our intent,  
Some went inward, & went they had gone out,  
Some stood in the mid, and looked all about.   

And soothe to say, some were full far behind,  
And right anon as ferforth as the best,  
Other there were so mased in her mind,  
Always were good for him host Eest & West,  
Thus went they forth, and had but little rest,  
And some her courage did him sore assail,  
For very wrath, they did step over the raise.   

And as they sought him self to and fro,  
I gate myself a little advantage,  
All forweried, I might no further go,  
Though I had won right great for my voyage,  
So came I forth into a straight passage,  
Which brought me to an herber fair & green,  
Made with benches full crafty and clean.   

That as me thought, there might no creature  
Device a better, by dew proporcioun,  
Safe it was closed well I you ensure,  
With masonry, of compass enuiroun,  
Full secretly with stairs going down,  
In midst the place, with turning wheel certain,  
And upon that a pot of Margelaine.   

With Margaret's growing in ordinance,  
To show him self, as folk went to and fro,  
That to behold it was a great pleasance,  
And how they were accompanied with more,  
Ne momblisnesse and sonenesse also,  
The power penses were not dislodged there,  
Ne God wot her place was every where.   

The flore & bench was paved fair & smooth,  
With stones square, of many divers hue,  
So well joined, that for to say the sooth,  
All seemed one, that none other knew,  
And underneth the streams new and new,  
As silver bright, springing in such a wise,  
That whence it came, ye could it not devose.   

A little while was I all alone,  
Beholding well this delectable place,  
My fellowship were coming everychone,  
So must we needs abide for a space,  
Remembering of many divers case,  
Of time passed, with sighs deep,  
I set me down, and there I fell aslepe.   

And as I slept, me thought there came to me,  
A gentle woman, meetly of stature,  
Of great worship she seemed for to be,  
Atyred well, not high but by measure,  
Her countenance full sad and demure,  
Her colours blue, all that she had upon,  
There came no more but herself alone.   

Her gown well was embraudred certainly,  
With stones after her own device,  
In her purfill, her word by and by,  
Bien & loyalement as I could devose.  
Then prayed I her in any manner wise,  
That of her name I might have remembrance,  
She said she was called Perseverance.   

So furthermore to speak was I bold,  
Where she dwelled, I prayed her for to say,  
And she again full curtessy me told,  
My dwelling is, and hath be many a day,  
With a lady: what lady I you pray?  
Of great estate, thus warn I you (qd. she)  
What call ye her? Her name is loyalty.   

In what office stand ye, or in what degree,  
(Qd. I to her) that would I weet right fain,  
I am (qd. she) unworthy though I be,  
Of her chambre her husher in certain,  
This rod I bear, as for a token plain,  
Like as ye know the rule in such service,  
Apertaining is to the same office.   

She charged me by her commandment,  
To warn you, and your felawes everyone,  
That ye should come there as she is present,  
For a counsel, which shall be now anon,  
Or seven days be come and gone,  
And furthermore, she bade that I should say,  
Excuse there might be none, nor delay.   

Another thing was not forget behind,  
Which in no wise I would but ye knew,  
Remember well, and bear it in your mind,  
All your felawes and ye must come in blue,  
Eueriliche able, your matters for to sew:  
With more, which I pray you think upon,  
Your words on yourselves everyone.   

And be not abashed in no manner wise,  
As many ben, in such an high presence,  
Make your request, as ye can best devose,  
And she gladly wool give you audience,  
There is no grief, nor no manner offence,  
Wherein ye feel that your heart is displeased,  
But with her help, right soon ye shall be eased.   

I am right glad (qd. I) ye tell me this,  
But there is none of us that knoweth the way,  
As of your way (qd. she) you shall not miss,  
Ye shall have to guide you day by day,  
Of my felawes, I cannot better say,  
such one as shall tell you the way full right,  
And Diligence this gentlewoman height.   

A woman of right famous governance,  
And well cherished, I tell you in certain,  
Her fellowship shall do you great pleasance,  
Her port is such, her manners true & plain,  
She with glad cheer would do her besie pain,  
To bring you there, now farewell I have done,  
Abide said I, ye may not go so soon.   

Why so (qd. she) and I have far to go,  
To give warning in many divers place,  
To your felawes, and so to other more,  
And well ye wot I have but little space.  
Now? yet (qd. I) ye must tell me this case,  
If we shall any men unto us call?  
Not one (qd. she) may come amongst you all.   

Not one? then said I, eigh Benedicite,  
What have I done, I pray you tell me that,  
Now by my life, I trow but well (qd. she)  
But ever I can bilieve there is somewhat,  
And for to say you troth more can I not,  
In questions I may nothing be to large,  
I meddle no further than my charge.   

Then thus (qd. I) do me to understand,  
What place is there this lady is dwelling,  
Forsooth (qd. she) and one sought all this land,  
Fairer is none, though it were for a king,  
Devised well, and that in every thing,  
The towers high full pleasant shall ye find,  
With phanes fresh, turning with every wind.   

The chambres & parlours of a sort, (thought,  
With bay windows, goodly as may be  
As for dancing, and other wise disport,  
The galleries right well ywrought,  
That well I wot, if ye were thither brought,  
And take good heed thereof in every wise,  
Ye wool it think a very paradise.   

What height the place (qd. I) now say me that?  
Pleasant regard (qd. she) to tell you plain.  
Of very troth (qd. I) and wot ye what,  
It may right well be called so certain:  
But furthermore this would I wit right said,  
What I should do as soon as I come there,  
And after whom I may best inquire?   

A gentlewoman, a porter of the yate,  
There shall ye find, her name is Countenance,  
If ye so hap ye come early or late,  
Of her were good to have some acquaintance,  
She can you tell how ye shall you auance.  
And how to come to her lady's presence,  
To her words I read ye give credence.   

Now it is time I part you fro,  
For in good faith I have great business.   

I wot right well (qd. I) that it is so,  
And I thank you of your great gentleness,  
Your comfort hath given me hardiness,  
That now I shall be bold withouten fail,  
To do after your advice and good counsel.   

Thus parted she, and I left all alone.  
With that I saw (as I beheld aside)  
A woman come, a very goodly one,  
And forth withal as I had her aspide,  
Me thought anon it should be the guide:  
And of her name anon I did inquire,  
Full womanly she gave me this answer:   

I am (qd. she) a simple creature,  
Sent from the court, my name is Diligence,  
As soon as I might come I you ensure,  
I tarried not after I had licence,  
And now that I am come to your presence,  
Look what service I can do or may,  
Command me, I can no further say.   

I thanked her, & prayed her to come ne'er,  
Because I would see how she was arrayed,  
Her gown was blue dressed in good manere,  
With her device, her word also that said,  
Tant que je puis and I was well paid,  
And then wist I withouten any more,  
It was full true that I had heard before.   

Though we took now before a little space,  
It were full good (qd. she) as I could guess,  
How far (qd. I) have we unto the place?  
A day's journey (qd. she) but little less,  
Wherefore I read that we outward dress,  
For I suppose our fellowship is past,  
And for nothing I would not we were the last.   

Then departed we at the springing of the day,  
And forth we went soft and easy pace,  
Till at the last we were on our journey,  
So far outward, that we might see the place,  
Now let us rest, qd. ay, a little space,  
And say we as devoutly as we can,  
A Pater Noster for saint julian.   

With all my heart I assent with good will,  
Much better shall we speed, when we have done,  
Then tarried we, & said it every dill,  
And when the day was passed far after none  
We saw a place, and thither came we soon,  
Which round about was closed with a wall,  
Seeming to me full like an hospital.   

There found I one had brought all mine array,  
(A gentle woman of mine acquaintance)  
I have marvel, qd. ay, what manner way  
Ye had knowledge of all this ordinance,  
Yes yes, qd. she, I heard Perseveraunce,  
How she warned her felawes everyone,  
And what array ye should have upon.   

Now for my love, qd. ay, this I you pray,  
Sith ye have take upon you all the pain,  
That ye would help me on with mine array,  
For wit ye well, I would be gone right fain.  
All this prayer needeth not certain,  
Qd. she, again, come off and high you soon,  
And ye shall see anon it shall be done.   

But this I doubt me greatly, wot ye what,  
That my felawes be passed by and gone:  
I warn you, qd. she, that are they nat,  
For here they shall assemble everyone,  
Notwithstanding I counsel you anon,  
Make you ready, and tarry you no more,  
It is no harm though ye be there before.   

So then I dressed me in mine array,  
And asked her whether it were well or no,  
It is right well, qd. she, unto my pay,  
Ye need not care to what place ever ye go.  
And whiles that she and I debated so,  
Came Diligence and saw me all in blue,  
Sister, qd. she, right well broke ye your new.   

Discretion, purveyor.  
Then went we forth and met at adventure,  
A young woman, an officer seeming,  
What is your name, qd. ay, good creature,  
Discretion, qd. she, without losing,  
And where, qd. ay, is your most abiding,  
I have, qd. she, this office of purchase,  
Chief purveyor that longeth to this place.   

Acquaintance, Herbyger.  
Fair love, qd. ay, in all your ordinance,  
What is her name that is the herbigere,  
Forsooth, qd. she, her name is Acquaintance,  
A woman of right gracious manner,  
Then thus, qd. ay, with strangers have ye here,  
But few, qd. she, of high degree ne low,  
Ye be the first, as ferforth as I know.   

Countenance, Porter.  

Thus with tales we came straight to the yate,  
This young woman departed was & gone,  
Came Diligence and knocked fast thereat,  
Who is without, qd. Countenance, anon,  
Truly, qd. ay, fair sister here is one:  
Which one, qd. she, & therewithal she lough,  
I Diligence, ye know me well enough.   

Then opened she the gate, and in we go,  
With words fair she said full gently,  
Ye are welcome iwis, are ye no more?  
Nat one, qd. she, save this woman and I,  
Now then, qd. she, I pray you hertely,  
Take my chambre for a while to rest,  
Till your felawes come, I hold it best.   

I thanked her, & forth we go everyone,  
Till her chambre without words more,  
Came Diligence and took her leave anon,  
Where ever ye list, qd. ay, now may ye go,  
And I thank you right hertely also,  
Of your labour, for which God do you meed,  
I can no more, but jesus be your speed.   

Then Countenance asked me anon,  
Your fellowship, where be they, qd. she,  
Forsooth, qd. ay, they be coming everyone,  
But where they are I know no certainty,  
Without I may him at this window see,  
Here will I stand awaiting ever among,  
For well I wot they will not be long.   

Thus as I stood musing full busily,  
I thought to take good heed of her array,  
Her gown was blue, this wot I verily,  
Of good fashion, and furred well with grey,  
Upon her sleeve her word this is no nay,  
Which said thus, as my pen can indite,  
A moy, que je voy, written with letters white.   

Then forth withal she came straight to me,  
Your words, qd. she, fain would I that I knew,  
Forsooth, qd. ay, ye shall well know and see,  
And for my word I have none, this is true,  
It is enough that my clothing be blue,  
As here before I had commandment,  
And so to do, I am right well content.    

Largesse, Steward.  

But tell me this I pray you hertely,  
The steward here, say me with is her name?  
She height Largesse I say you surely,  
A fair lady and of right noble fame,  
When ye her see ye will report the same,  
And under her to bid you welcome all,  
There is Belchier, marshal of the hall.   

Now all this while that ye here fairy still,  
Your own matters ye may well have in mind,  
But tell me this, have ye brought any bill?  
Ye ye, qd. ay, and else I were behind,  
Where is there one tell me that I may find,  
To whom that I may show my matters plain?  
Surely (qd. she) unto the chamberlain.    

Remembrance chamberlain.  

The chamberlain (qd. I) say ye true,  
Ye verily (said she) by mine advice,  
Be nat afeard, unto her lowly sew,  
It shall be done (qd. I) as ye devise,  
But ye must know her name in any wise,  
Truly (qd. she) to show you in substance,  
Withouten feigning her name is Remembrance.   

The Secretary she may not yet be forget,  
For she doth right moche in every thing,  
Wherefore I read, when ye have wtther ymet,  
Your matter hole tell her without feigning,  
Ye shall her find full good and full loving,  
Tell me her name (qd. I.) of gentleness,  
By my good sooth (qd. she) Avisenesse.   

That, qd. ay, for her is passing good,  
For every bill and sedule she must see,  
Now good, qd. ay, come stand there as I stood,  
My felawes be coming yonder they be,  
Is it a yape, or say ye soothe, qd. she?  
In yape, nay nay, I say you for certain,  
See how they come together twain & twain.   

Ye say full sooth, qd. she, that is no nay,  
I see coming a goodly company,  
They ben soch folk, qd. ay, dare I say,  
That list to love think it verily,  
And for my love I pray you faithfully,  
At any time, when they upon me call,  
That ye wol be good friend to him all.   

Of my friendship, qd. she, they shall not miss,  
And for their ease to put thereto my pain.  
God yield it you, qd. ay, but take you this,  
How shall we know who is the chamberlain,  
That shall ye well know by her word certain.  
What is her word sister, I pray you say,  
(Plus ne pourroye) thus writeth she always.   

Thus as we stood together she and I,  
Even at the yate my felawes were eachone,  
So met I him (as me thought was goodly)  
And bad him welcome all by one & one,  
Then came forth Countenance anon,  
Full hertely, fair sisters all, qd. she,  
Ye be right welcome into this country.   

I counsel you to take a little rest  
In my chambre, if it be your pleasance,  
When ye be there, me think it for the best,  
That I go in, and call Perseveraunce,  
Because she is of your acquaintance,  
And she also will tell you every thing,  
How ye shall be ruled of your coming.   

My felawes all and I, by one advice  
Were well agreed, to do like as she said,  
Then we began to dress us in our gise,  
That folk should say we were nat unpurueid,  
And good wagers among us there we laid,  
Which of us was attired most goodlest,  
And of us all which should be praised best,   

The porter came & brought Perseverance,  
She welcomed us in curteise manere,  
Think ye not long, qd. she, of your attendance,  
I will go speak unto the Herbigere,  
That she purvey for your lodging here,  
Then will I go unto the Chamberlain,  
To speak for you, and come anon again.   

And when she departed was and gone,  
We saw folks coming without the wall,  
So great people that nombre coude we none,  
Ladies they were, and gentlewomen all,  
Clothed in blue eachone her word withal,  
But for to know her word or her devise,  
They came so thick, that I ne might in no wise.   

With that anon came in Perseverance,  
And where I stood, she came straight to me,  
Ye ben, qd. she, of mine old acquaintance,  
You to inquire the bolder would I be,  
What word they bear each after her degree,  
I you pray tell it me in secret wise,  
And I shall keep it close on warrantise.   

We been five Ladies, qd. ay, all in fere,  
And gentlewomen four in company,  
When they begin to open her matter,  
Then shall ye know her words by and by,  
But as for me I have none verily,  
And so I told Countenance here before,  
All mine array is blue, what needeth more.   

Now then, qd. she, I wool go again,  
That ye may have knowledge with ye should do,  
In sooth, qd. ay, if ye would take the pain,  
Ye did right much for us, if ye do so  
The rather speed, the sooner may we go,  
Great cost always there is in tarrying,  
And long to sew it is a weary thing.   

Then parted she, & came again anon,  
Ye must, qd. she, come to the chamberlain,  
We be now ready, qd. ay, everychone,  
To follow you, when ever ye list certain,  
We have none eloquence to tell you plain,  
Beseeching you we may be so excused,  
Our true meaning, that it be not refused.   

Then went we forth after Perseverance,  
To see the prees it was a wonder case,  
There for to pass it was great cumbrance,  
The people stood so thick in every place.  
Now stand ye still, qd. she, a little space,  
And for your ease somewhat I shall assay,  
If I can make you any better way.   

And forth she goeth, among him everychone  
Making a way, that we might thorough pass  
More at our ease, and when she had so done,  
She beckend us to come, where as she was,  
So after her we followed more and 'las,  
She brought us straight unto the chamberlain,  
There left she us, and then she went again.   

We salved her as reason would it so,  
Full humble beseeching her great goodness,  
In our matters that we had for to do,  
That she would be good lady and mistress.  
Ye be welcome (qd. she) in soothfastness,  
And see what I can do, you for to please,  
I am ready, that may be to your ease.   

We followed her unto the chamber door,  
Sisters (qd. she) come ye in after me.  
But weet ye well, there was a paved flore,  
The goodliest, that any wight might see,  
And furthermore about then looked we,  
On each corner, and upon every wall,  
Which was made of Burel and Crystal.   

Wherein was graven of stories many one,  
First how Phillis, of womanly pite,  
Died piteously for love of Demophone,  
Next after was the story of Tisbe,  
How she slew herself under a tree,  
Yet saw I more, how in a right piteous case,  
For Antony was slain Cleopatras.   

That other side was Hawes the sheen,  
Full untrewly deceived in her bane.  
There was also Annelida the queen,  
Upon Arcite how sore she did complain,  
All these stories were graved there certain,  
And many more than I rehearse you here,  
It were too long to tell you all in fere.   

And because the walls shone so bright,  
With fine umple they were all over sprad,  
To the intent folk should not hurt her sight,  
And through it the stories might be rad,  
Then further more I went, as I was lad,  
And there I saw without any fail,  
A chair set, with full rich apparel.   

And five stages, it was set fro the ground,  
Of Cassidony full curiously wrought,  
With four pomelles of gold, & very round,  
Set with saphires, as good as coude be thought  
That wot ye what, if it were through sought,  
As I suppose, fro this country to Ind,  
Another such it were right hard to find.   

For weet ye well, I was right ne'er that,  
So as I durst, beholding by and by,  
Above there was a rich cloth of estate,  
Wrought with the needle full strangely,  
Her word thereon, and thus it said truly,  
I endure to tell you in words few,  
With great letters, the better I hem knew.   

Thus as we stood, a door opened anon,  
A gentlewoman, seemly of stature,  
Bering a mace, came out herself alone,  
soothly me thought a goodly creature,  
She speak nothing to loud, I you ensure,  
Nor hastily, but with goodly warning,  
Make room (qd. she) my lady is coming.   

With that anon I saw Perseveraunce,  
How she held up the tapet in her hand,  
I saw also right in goodly ordinance,  
This great Lady within the tapet stand,  
Coming outward, I wol ye understand,  
And after her a noble company,  
I coude not tell the nombre sickerly.   

Of their names I would nothing inquire,  
Further than such as we would sew unto,  
Save a Lady which was the chauncellere,  
attemperance soothly her name was so,  
For us needeth with her have moche to do  
In our matters, and always more and more,  
And so forth to tell you furthermore,   

Of this Lady her beauty to discrive,  
My cunning is to simple verily,  
For never yet the days of my live  
So inly fair I have seen none truly,  
In her estate assured utterly,  
There wanted nought, I dare well assure,  
That longed to a goodly creature.   

And furthermore, to speak of her array,  
I shall tell you the manner of her gown,  
Of cloth of gold, full rich it is no nay,  
The colour blew, of right goodly fashioun,  
In taberde wise, the sleves hanging adown,  
And what purfill▪ there was, & in what wise,  
So as I can, I shall it you devise.   

After a sort, the collar and the vent  
Like as Armine is made in purfeling,  
With great pearls full fine and orient,  
They were couched all after one worching,  
With diamonds in steed of powdering,  
The sleeves and purfell of assize,  
They were made like in every wise.   

About her neck a sort of fair rubies  
In white flowers of right fine enamaile,  
Upon her head set in the fairest wise  
A cercle of great balais of entail,  
That in earnest to speak without fail,  
For young and old, and every manner age,  
It was a world to looken on her visage.   

Thus coming forth to sit in her estate,  
In her presence we kneeled down everychone,  
Presenting our bills, and ye wot what,  
Full humbly she took him by one and one,  
When we had done, than came they all anon,  
And did the same each after her manner,  
Kneeling at one's, and rising all in fere.   

And when this was done, & she set in her place,  
The chamberlain she did unto her call,  
And she goodly coming unto her apace,  
Of her intent knowing nothing at all,  
Void back the press (qd. she) up to the wall,  
Make large room, but look ye do not tarry,  
And take these bills to the secretary.   

The chamberlain did her commandment,  
And came again, as she was bid to do,  
The secretary there being present,  
The bills were delivered her also,  
Not only ours, but many other more,  
Then the Lady with good advice again,  
Anon withal called her chamberlain.   

We wool (qd. she) the first thing that ye do,  
The secretary ye do make come anon  
With her bills, and thus we will also,  
In our presence she read him everychone,  
That we may take good advise thereon  
Of the Ladies that been of our counsel,  
Look this be done withouten any fail.   

When the chamberlain wist of her intent,  
Anon she did the secretary call,  
Let your bills (qd. she) be here present,  
My Lady it will: Madam (qd. she) I shall,  
And in presence she will ye him call,  
With good will I am ready (qd. she)  
At her pleasure, when she commandeth me.   

And upon that was made an ordinance,  
They that came first, her bills should be red,  
Full gently then said Perseveraunce,  
Reason it will they were soon sped,  
Anon withal, upon a tapet spread  
The secretary laid him down eachone,  
Our bills first she red one by one.   

The first Lady bearing in her devise,  
Sans que jamays, thus wrote she on her bill,  
Complaining sore, and in full piteous wise  
Of promise made, with faithful heart and will,  
And so broken against all manner skill  
Without desert, always on her party  
In this matter desiring a remedy.   

Her next following, her word was in this wise  
Un sans changer, and thus she did complain,  
Though she had guerdoned for her service,  
Yet nothing like as she that took the pain,  
Wherefore she could in no wise her restrain,  
But in this case sue until her presence,  
As reason would, to have recompense.   

So furthermore, to speak of other twain,  
One of him wrote after her fantasy,  
Onques puis lever, and for to tell you plain,  
Her complaint was full piteous verily,  
For as she said: there was great reason why,  
As I can remember this matter,  
I shall you tell the process all in fere.   

Her bill was made complaining in her gise,  
That of her joy her comfort and gladness  
Was no surety, for in no manner wise  
She said therein no point of stableness,  
Now ill, now well, out of all sickerness,  
Full humbly desiring of her high grace,  
Soon to show her remedy in this case.   

Her fellaw made her bill, and thus she said,  
In plaining wise there as she loved best,  
Whether she were wroth or well paid,  
She might not see when she wool fainest,  
And wroth she was in very earnest  
To tell her word, as ferforth as I wot,  
Entierement vostre, right thus she wrote,   

And upon that she made a great request,  
With heart and will, & all that might be done,  
As until her that might redress it best,  
For in her mind there might she find it soon  
The remedy of that which was her boon,  
Rehearsing that she had said before,  
Beseeching her it might be so no more.   

And in like wise as they had done before,  
The gentlewomen of our company  
Put her bills, and for to tell you more,  
One of him wrote (C'est sans dire) verily,  
And her matter hole to specify,  
Within her bill she put it in writing,  
And what it said, ye shall have knowing.   

It said God wot, and that full pitously,  
Like as she was disposed in her heart,  
No misfortune that she took grevously,  
All one to her was the joy and smart,  
Sometime no thank for all her good desert,  
Other comfort she wanted none coming,  
And so used, it grieved her nothing.   

Desiring her, and lowly beseeching  
That she would for seek a better way,  
As she that had been her days living  
Steadfast and true, and will be always.  
Of her fellow somewhat I shall you say,  
Whose bill was red next forth withal,  
And what it meant rehearsen you I shall.   

En Dieu est, she wrote in her devise,  
And thus she said withouten fail,  
Her troth might be take in no wise,  
Like as she thought,, wherefore she had marvel,  
For troth sometime was wont to take avail  
In every matter, but all that is ago,  
The more pity that it is suffered so.   

Much more there was, whereof she should complain,  
But she thought it too great encumbrance,  
So much to write, and therefore in certain,  
In God and her she put all her affiance,  
As in her word is made a remembrance,  
Beseeching her, that she would in this case  
Show unto her the favour of her grace.   

The third she wrote, rehearsing her grevaunce,  
Ye, wot ye what, a piteous thing to here,  
For as me thought she felt great displeasance,  
One might right well perceive it by her cheer,  
And no wonder, it sat her passing ne'er,  
Yet loath she was to put it in writing,  
But need wool have course in every thing.   

Soyes ensure, this was her word certain,  
And thus she wrote in a little space,  
There she loved, her labour was in vain,  
For he was set all in another place,  
Full humbly desiring in that case  
Some good comfort her sorrow to appease,  
That she might live more at hearts ease.   

The fourth surely me thought she liked well,  
As in her port, and in her behaving,  
And bien moneste, as far as I could feel,  
That was her word till her well belonging,  
Wherefore to her she prayed above all thing,  
Full heartily to say you in substance,  
That she would send her good continuance.   

Ye have rehearsed me these bills all,  
But now let see somewhat of your intent,  
It may so hap, paraventure ye shall,  
Now I pray you while I am here present,  
Ye shall have knowledge pard what I meant,  
But this I say in troth, and make no fable,  
The case itself is inly lamentable.   

And well I wot ye wool think the same,  
Like as I say, when ye have heard my bill,  
Now good tell on, I here you by saint jame,  
Abide a while, it is not yet my will,  
Yet must ye weet by reason and by skill,  
Sith ye have knowledge of that was done before,  
And thus it is said without words more.   

Nothing so lief as death to come to me,  
For final end of my sorrows and pain,  
What should I more desire as seem ye,  
And ye knew all aforne it for certain,  
I wot ye would, and for to tell you plain  
Without her help, that hath all thing in cure,  
I cannot think that it may long endure.   

As for my troth, it hath be proved well,  
To say the sooth, I can say no more,  
Of full long time, and suffered everydeal  
In patience, and keep it all in store  
Of her goodness, beseeching her therefore,  
That I might have my thank in such wise,  
As my desert serveth of justise.   

When these bills were rad everychone,  
The ladies took a good advisement,  
And him to answer by one and one,  
She thought it was too much, in her intent,  
Wherefore she gave hem commandment,  
In her presence to come both one and all,  
To give him her answer in general.   

What did she then, suppose ye verily?  
She spoke herself, and said in this manere:  
We have well seen your bills by and by,  
And some of him piteous for to here,  
We wool therefore ye know all this in fere,  
Within short time, our court of parliament  
Here shall be hold in our palais present.   

And in all this, wherein you find you grieved,  
There shall ye find an open remedy,  
In such wise as ye shall be relieved  
Of all that ye rehearse here, throughly:  
As for the date ye shall know verily,  
That ye may have a space in your coming,  
For Diligence shall it tell you by writing.   

We thanked her in our most humble wise,  
Our fellowship each one by one assent  
Submitting us lowly till her service,  
For as we thought, we had our travail spent  
In such wise as we held us content,  
Then each of us took other by the sleeve,  
And forthwithall, as we should take our leave,   

All suddenly the water sprang anon  
In my visage, and therewithal I work,  
Where am I now, thought I, all this is gone,  
All mased, and up I 'gan to look,  
With that anon I went and made this book,  
Thus simply rehearsing the substance,  
Because it should not be out of remembrance.   

Now verily your dream is passing good,  
And worthy to be had in remembrance,  
For though I stand here as long as I stood,  
It should to me be none encumbrance,  
I took therein so inly great pleasance.  
But tell me now with ye the book do call,  
For I must wete: With right good will ye shall.   

As for this book, to say you very right,  
Of the name to tell you in certainte,  
L'assemble de dames, thus it height,  
How think ye, that name is good pard,  
Now go farewell, for they call after me  
My felawes all, and I must after soon,  
Reed well my dream, for now my tale is done.     

The Conclusions of the astrolabe.  
This Book (written to his Son in the year of our Lord 1391, and in the 14th of King Richard 2.) standeth so good at this day, especially for the Horizon of Oxford, as in the opinion of the Learned, it cannot be amended.  

LIttle Lowis my son, I perceive well by certain evidences, thine ability to learn sciences, touching numbers and proportions, and also well consider I thy busy prayer in especial to learn the Treatise of the astrolabe. Then for as much as a Philosopher saith, he wrapeth him in his friend, that condiscendeth to the rightful prayers of his friend: Therefore I have given thee a sufficient astrolabe for our orizont, compounded after the latitude of Oxenford: Upon the which, by mediation of this little Treatise, I purpose to teach thee a certain number of conclusions pertaining to this same instrument. I say a certain of conclusions, for three causes, the first cause is this: Trust well, that all the conclusions that have be founden, or else possibly might be found in so noble an instrument as is the astrolabe, been unknowen perfectly to any mortal man in this region, as I suppose. Another cause is this, that sooth in any carts of the astrolabe that I have yseene, there been some conclusions, that wool not in all things perform her behests: and some of him been too hard to thy tender age of ten year to conceive. This Treatise divided in five parts, will I show the wonder light rules and naked words in English, for Latin ne canst thou nat yet but small, my little son. But nevertheless, sufficeth to thee these true conclusions in English, as well as sufficeth to this noble clerks, greeks, these same conclusions in Greek, and to the Arabines in Arabike, and to jews in Hebrew, and to the Latin folk in Latin: which Latin folk had him first out of other divers languages, and writ him in her own tongue, that is to sane, in Latin.  
And God wot that in all these languages, and in many more, have these conclusions been sufficiently learned and taught, and yet by divers rules, * Right as divers paths leaden divers folk the right way to Rome.  
Now wool I pray meekly every person discreet, that readeth or heareth this little Treatise, to have my rude ententing excused, and my superfluity of words, for two causes: The first cause is, for that curious enditing, and hard sentences, is full heavy at ones for such a child to learn: And the second cause is this, that soothly, me seemeth better to written unto a child twice a good sentence, than he foryete it once. And Lowis, if it so be that I show thee in my lithe English, as true conclusions touching this matter, and not only as true, but as many and subtle conclusions, as been yshewed in Latin, in any common Treatise of the astrolabe, con me the more thank, and pray God save the king, that is lord of this language, and all that him faith beareth, and obeyeth, every in his degree, the more and the lass. But considereth well, that I ne usurp not to have founden this work of my labour or of mine engine: I nam but a lewd compilatour of the labour of old Astrologiens, and have it translated in mine English, only for thy doctrine: and with this sword shall I sleen envy.   


The first Party.  
THe first party of this Treatise shall rehearse the figures, and the members of thine astrolabe, because that thou shalt have the greater knowing of thine own instrument.   

The second Party.  
THe second party shall teach thee to werken the very practic of the foresaid conclusions, as far forth, and also narrow, as may be showed in so small an instrument portatife about. For well wot every Astrologien, that smallest fractions ne wool not be showed in so small an instrument, as in subtle tables, calculed for a cause.   

The third Party.  
THe third party shall contain divers tables of longitudes and latitudes of stars, fix in the astrolabe. And tables of the declinations of the Sun, and tables of the longitude of cities and towns: and tables, as well for the governation of the clock, as for to find the altitude meridian, and many another notable conclusion, after the calendars of the reverend clerks, Frere john Some, and Frere N. Lenne.   

The fourth Party.  
THe fourth party shall be a theoric, to declare the meaning of the celestial bodies, with the causes, the which the fourth party in special shall show in a table of the very meving of the moon, from one to one, every day and every sign, after thine almanac. Upon the which table, there followeth a canon, sufficient to teach, as well in manner of working in the same conclusions, as to know in our Horizont, with which degree of Zodiac the moon ariseth in any latitude, and the arising in any planet after his latitude from the ecliptic line.   

The fifth Party.  
THe fifth party shall been an introductory, after the statutes of our doctors, on which, thou mayest learn a great part of the general rules of theoric in Astrology. In which fifth party, thou shalt find tables of equations of houses, after the latitude of Oxenford, and tables of dignities of planets, and other notefull things, if God vouchsafe, and his mother the maiden, more than I behete.    


The Ring.  
THy astrolabe hath a ring to putten on thy thumb, on thy right hand, in taking of the height of things. And take keep, from hence forward I wool clepe the height of heavy thing that is take by the rule, the altitude, withouten more words.   

The Turet.  
THis ring runneth in a manner of a turet, fastened to the mother of thine astrolabe, in a room or space, that it distroubeleth not the instrument to hangen after his right centure. The mother of thine astrolabe, is thickest by the brinks, that is, the utmost ring with degrees: and all the middle within the ring, shall be thinner, to receive the plates for divers climates, and also for the rethe, that is shape in manner of a net, or else after the web of a lop.   

The Mother.  
THe mother of thine astrolabe, is the thickest plate, pierced with a large hole, that receiveth in her womb the thin plates, componed of divers climates, and thy rethe shapen in manner of a net, or of a web of a lop.   

Of the four Lines.  
THis mother is divided on the back half with a line, that cometh descending fro the ring down to the netherest bordure, the which line, fro the foresaid ring unto the centre of the large hole amid, is cleped the South line, or else the line Meridional: and the remnant of this line, down to the bordure, is cleped the North line, or all the line of the Midnight.   

Of four Lines, East, West, North, and South.  
OVerthwart this foresaid long line, there crosseth him another line of the same length, fro East to West, of the which line, from a little cross in the bordure, unto the centure of the large hole, is cleped the East line, or else the line Oriental: and the remnant of the line, fro the foresaid Oriental unto the bordure, is ycleaped the West line, or the line Occidental.  
Now hast thou here the four quarters of thine astrolabe, divided after the four principal plagues or quarters of the firmament.   

Which is the right side, and which is the left.  
THe East side of the astrolabe is cleped the right side, and the West side is cleped the left side. Foryet not this little Lowis. Put the ring of thine astrolabe upon the thumb of thy right hand, and then wool his right side be toward thy left side, and his left side wool be toward thy right side. Take this rule general, as well on the back, as on the womb side. Upon the end of this East line (as I first said) is ymarked a little cross, where as evermore generally is considered the entering of the East degree, in the which the Sun ariseth.   

The degrees from the East line to the South.  
From the little cross, up to the end of the Meridional line, under the ring shalt thou find the bordure, divided with xc. degrees, and by that same proportion is every quarter of thine astrolabe divided, over the which degrees, there been numbers of Augrime, that deviden thilk same degrees from five to five, as showeth by long strikes between, of the which, by long strikes, the space between containeth a mile way, and every degree of thilk bordure containeth four minutes, that is to say, four minutes of an hour.   

Of the twelve Signs, Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, and the others.  
UNder the compass of thilk degrees been written the names of the twelve signs, as Aries, Taurus, Gemini, Cancer, Leo, Virgo, Libra, Scorpio, Sagittarius, Capricornus, Aquarius, and Pisces. And the numbers of the degrees of the signs been written in Augrime above, and with long divisions, from five to five, deuideth from the time that the sign entereth unto the last end. But understand well, that these degrees of signs been every of hem considered of forty minutes, and every minute of forty seconds, and so forth into small fractions infinite, as saith Alcabucius. And therefore know well, that a degree of the bordure containeth four minutes, and a degree of a sign containeth forty minutes, and have this in mind.   

The Cercle of the Days.  
NExt this followeth the cercle of the days, that been figured in manner of the degrees, that conteinen in number three hundred threescore and five, divided also with long strikes, from five to five, and the numbers of Augrime written under the cercle.   

The Cercle of the twelve Months.  
NExt the cercle of days, followeth the cercle of the twelve names of the months, that is to say, januarius, Februarius, Marcius, April, Maius, junius, julius, August, September, October, November, December.  
The names of these Months taken her names, some for properties, and some by statutes of Emperors, and some by other Lords of Rome. Eke of these Months, as liked to julius Cesar, and Cesar Augustus, some were ycompouned of divers numbers of days, as julie and August. Then hath januarius xxxi. days, Februarius xxviii. Marcius xxxi. April xxx. Maius xxxi. junius xxx. julius' xxxi. August xxxi. September xxx. October xxxi. November xxx. December xxxi. Nevertheless, although that julius Cesar took two days out of Feverere, and put him in his Month of july, and Augustus Cesar cleped the Month of August after his name, and ordained it of xxxi. days: yet trust well, that the Sun dwelleth therefore never the more, ne the lass, in one sign than in another.   

The Names of the holy days.  
THen followeth the names of the holy days in the Calendar, and next hem the letters, A. B. C. on which they fallen.   

The Scale of the astrolabe.  
NExt the foresaid cercle of the A. B. C. under the cross line is marked the scale, in manner of two squires, or else in manner of ledders, that serveth by his xxii. points, and his divisions of full many a subtle conclusion of this foresaid scale: For the cross line unto the very angle, is cleped Umbra recta, or else Umbra extensa, and the nether party Umbra versa.   

The Rule.  
THen hast thou a broad rule, that hath on every end a square plate, parted with certain holes, some more, and some less, to receiuen the streams of the Sun by day, and eke by mediation of thine eye, to know the altitude of the stars by night.   

The Pin, which is imagined to be Pole arctic, and the Horse.  
THen is there a large pin, in manner of an exiltre, that goeth through the hole that halt the tables of the climathes in the reeth, in the womb of the mother, thorough which pin there goeth a little wedge, the which is cleped the Horse, that straineth all these parts together. This foresaid great pin, in manner of an exiltre, is imagined to be the Pole arctic in thine astrolabe.   

For lines on the Womb side.  
THe womb side of thine astrolabe is also divided with a long cross in four quarters, from the Cast to West, and from the South to North, from right side to left side, as is the backside.   

The degrees of the Womb side.  
THe border of which womb side is divided from the point of the East line unto the point of the South line, under the ring, in 90 degrees, and by the same proportion is every quarter divided, as is the backside, that amounteth to 360 degrees. And understand well, that the degrees of this border, been answering and consenting to the degrees of Equinoctial, that is divided in the same number, as every other cercle is in the high heaven.  
This border is divided also with 23 letters, and a small cross above the South line, that showeth the 24 hours equals of the clock. And I have said, five of these degrees maken a mile way, and three mile way maken an hour, and every degree of this border containeth 4 minutes, and every minute 40 seconds. Now have I told thee twice, and for the more declaration.   

Of the principal circles.  
THe plate under the reete, is discrived with three circles, of which, the least is cleped the Cercle of Cancer, because that the head of Cancer tourneth evermore concentrike upon the same Cercle. In this half of Cancer is the greatest declination Northward of the Sun, and therefore is he cleped Solsticium of Summer, which declination, after the Ptholome, is 23 degrees, and 50 minutes, as well in Cancer, as in Capricorn. This sign of Cancer is cleped the Tropic of Summer, of Tropos, that is to sane, ayenward. The middle cercle in wideness of this three, is cleped the cercle Equinoctial, upon which tourneth evermore the heads of Aries and Libra. And understand well, that evermore this cercle Equinoctial tourneth justly fro very East to very West, as I have showed in the sphere solid. This same cercle is cleped also the wayer of the day: For when the Sun is in the head of Aries and Libra, then been days and nights like of length in all the world, and therefore been these two signs called Equinoctis. And all that moveth within these heads of Aries and Libra, is called Northward: and all that moveth without these heads, his meving is cleped Southward: as for the Equinoctial, take keep of the latitudes, North and South, and forget it not: by this cercle Equinoctial, been considered the 24 hours of the clock. For evermore, the arising of 15 degrees of the Equinoctial, maketh an hour equal of the clock. This Equinoctial is cleped the mid way of the first meving, or else of the Sun. And note, that the first meving is cleped meving of the first movable of the eighth Sphere, which meving is fro East to West, and again into East. Also it is cleped girdle of the first meving; For it departeth the first movable, that is to said, the sphere in two like parties, even distant from the Poles of this world. The widest of these three circles principal, is cleped the cercle of Capricorn, and tourneth evermore concentrike upon the same cercle. In the head of this foresaid Capricorn is the greatest declination Southward of the Sun: and therefore it is cleped Solsticium of Winter. This sign of Capricorn is also cleped the Tropic of Winter. For than beginneth the Sun to come again to us ward.   

Of the Almicanteras, the signet, and what is thine Orizont.  
UPon this foresaid plate been compassed certain circles, that heighten almicanteras: of which some of him seemen perfect circles, and some seemen imparfit. The centure that standeth amidst the narrowest cercle, is cleped the signet. And the netherest cercle, that deuideth the two emisperies, that is the party of the heaven above the earth, and the party beneath. These almicanteras been compounded by two and two, all be it so, that on divers Astrolabies, some almicanteras been divided by one, and some by two, and some by three, after the quantity of the astrolabe. This foresaid signet is imagined to be the very point over the crown of thy head, and also this signet is the very pole of the orizont in every region.   

What been thine Azimutes.  
FRom this signet (as it seemeth) there come crooked strikes, like to the claws of a lop, or else like to the work of a woman's call, in keruing overthwart the almicanteras, and these same strikes or divisions been cleped Azimutes, and they deviden the Orizonts on thine Astrolaby in 24 divisions. And these Azimutes serve to know the costs of the firmament, and to other conclusions, as for to know the signet of the Sun, and of every Star.   

Of the Twelve Hours of the Planets.  
NExt these Azimutes, under the cercle of Cancer, been the twelve divisions embolite, much like to the shape of the Azimutes, that shown the spaces of the hours of Planets.   

Thy Reete, or else thy Zodiac.  
THy Reete of thine astrolabe, which is thy Zodiac, shapen in manner of a net, or of a lop web, after the old description, which thou mayest turn up and down as thyself liketh, containeth certain number of Stars fire, with her longitudes and latitudes determinate, if so be that the maker have not erred. The names of the Stars ben written in the margin of thy Reete, there they sit, of the which Stars, the small point is cleped the Centure. And understand, that all the Stars sitting within the Zodiac of thine Astrolaby, ben cleped Stars of the North, for they arisen by the North-east line, and all the remnant fixed out of the Zodiac, been cleped Stars of the South, but I say not that they arisen all by the Southeast line, witness of Aldeberan, and also Algomisa.  
Generally understand this rule, that thilk stars that been cleped stars of the North, arisen rather than the degree of her longitude, and all the stars of the South arisen after the degree of her longitude, that is to say, stars in thine Astrolaby.  
The measure of longitude of stars, ytaken in the line ecliptic of heaven, under the which line, when the Sun and the Moon been line right, else in the superficie of this line, then is the eclipse of the Sun or of the Moon, as I shall declare, and eke the cause why: but sooth, the ecliptic line of the Zodiac, is the utterest bordure of the Zodiac, there thy degrees been marked. The Zodiac of thy astrolabe is shapen as a Compass, which that containeth a large breed, as after the quantity of thy Astrolaby, in ensample, that the Zodiac of heaven is imagined to be a superficies, containing the latitude of twelve signs, whereas all the remnant of the circles in heaven been imagined very lines, without any latitude, amids the celestial Zodiac is imagined a line, which that is cleped the Ecliptic line, under the which line is evermore the way of the Sun. Thus been there six degrees of the Zodiac on that one side of the line, and six degrees on that other. The Zodiac is divided in twelve principal divisions, that departen the twelve signs, and for the straightness of thine astrolabe, then is every small division in a sign yparted by two degrees and two, I mean degrees containing sixty Minutes, and this foresaid heavenish Zodiac is cleped the circle of the Signs, or the circle of beasts. For Zodiac in language of Greek, soundeth beasts in Latin tongue, and in the Zodiac been the twelve Signs, that have names of beasts, because when the Sun entereth in any of the Signs, he taketh the property of such beasts, or else for that the stars that been there, ben fixed, been disposed in sign of beasts, or shape like beasts, or else when Planets been under the Signs, they transmue us by her influence, operations and effects, like to operations of beasts. And understand also, that when any hot Planet cometh into an hot Sign, then entereth his heat, and if a Planet be cold, then amenuseth his coldness, because of the hot Sign. And by this conclusion mayest thou taken ensample in all Signs, be they moist or dry, movable or fix, reckoning the quality of the Planets, as I first said. And everich of these twelve Signs hath respect to a certain parcel of the Body of a man, and hath it in governance: as Aries hath thine head, and Taurus thy neck and thy throat, Gemini thine arm holes and thine arms, and so forth, as shall be showed more plainly in the fifth party of this Treatise. The Zodiac, the which is party of the eight Sphere, overkerueth the equinoctial, and he overkerueth him again in even parts, and that one half declineth Southward, and that other Northward, as plainly declareth the Treatise of the Sphere.   

The Label.  
THen hast thou a Label, that is shapen like a Rule, save that it is straight, and hath no plates on either end, but with the small point of the foresaid label shalt thou calcule the equations in the bordure of thine Astrolaby, as by thine almury.   

The Almury, the denticle of Capricorn, or else the calculere.  
THine Almury is cleped the denticle of Capricorn, or else the calculere, this same almury set fix in the head of Capricorn, and it serveth of many a necessary conclusion in equation of things, as shall be showed.    


Here beginneth the Conclusions of thine Astrolaby, to find the degree in the which the Sun is day by day, after his course about.  
Reckon and know which is the day of the Month, and lay thy rule upon the same day, and then wool the very point of thy rule verily sitten on the bordure, upon the degree of the Sun. Ensample as thus. In the year of our Lord 1391, the twelfth day of March at midday, I would know the degree of the Sun, I sought in the back half of mine Astrolaby, and found the circle of the days, the which I knew by the names of the Months, written under the same Circle: Tho laid I my Rule over the foresaid day, and found the point of my Rule in the border, upon the first degree of Aries, a little within the degree: and thus knew I this conclusion.  
Another day I would know the degree of my Sun, and this was at Midday in the xiii. day of December, I found the day of the month in manner as I said: though laid I my Rule upon the foresaid xiii. day, and found the point of my Rule upon the first degree of Capricorn, a little within the degree, and then had I of this conclusion the very experience.   

To know the altitude of the Sun, either of celestial bodies.  
PUT the ring of thine astrolabe upon thy right thumb, and turn thy left side again the light of the Sun, and remeve thy Rule up and down, till the stream of the Sun shine through both holes of the Rule: look then how many degrees this Rule is areised from the little cross upon the East line, and take there the altitude of thy sun: and in this same wise mayst thou know by night the altitude of the Moon, or of the bright stars. This Chapter is so general ever in one, that there needeth no more declaration, but forget it not.   

To know the degree of the Sun, and of thy Zodiac, by the days in the backside of thine astrolabe.  
THen if thou wilt weet the reckoning, to know which is the day in thy Calendar of the month that thou art in, lay thine astrolabe, that is to say, the allidatha, upon the day in the Calendar of thine astrolabe, and he shall show thee thy degree of the Sun.   

To know every time of the day, by light of the Sun, and every time of the night by the Stars fix, and eke to know by night or by day the degree of the Sign that ascendeth on the East Orizont, which is cleped commonly ascendent.  
TAke the altitude of the Sun when thee list, as I have said, and set the degree of the Sun (in●case that it be before the middle of the day) among thine almicanteras, on the Easte-side of thine astrolabe: and if it be after the middle of the day, set the degree of the Sun upon the Westside. Take this manner of setting for a general rule ones for ever.  
And when thou hast yset the degree of the Sun upon as many almicanteras of height, as was the Sun, taken by thy rule, lay over thy Label upon the degree of the Sun, & then wool the point of the Label sitten in the bordure, upon the very tide of the day. Ensample of this.  
The year of our Lord, a thousand three hundred ninety and one, the twelfth day of March, I would know the tide of the day, I took the altitude of my Sun, and found that it was 25 degrees, and 30 Minutes of height of the bordure in the backside, though turned I mine Astrolabye, and because it was before midday, I turned my reete, & set the degree of the Sun, that is to say, the first degree of Aries in the right side of mine astrolabe, upon the 25 degree, and 30 minutes of height, among my almicanteras: Tho laid I my Label upon the degree of my Sun, and found the point of my Label in the bordure, on the capital letter, that is cleped an X. Tho reckoned I all the capital letters, fro the line of Midnight, unto the foresaid letter X. and found it was nine of the Clock of the day. Tho looked I over my East Orizont, and found there the twelve degree of Geminius ascending, which that I took for mine ascendent, and in this wise had I the experience for evermore in which manner I should know the tide of the day, and eke mine ascendent. Tho would I weet that same night following the hour of the night, and wrought in this wise: among an heap of Stars, it liked me to take the altitude of the fair white Star that is cleped the Alhabor, & found her sitting on the Westside of the line of Midday, eighteen degrees of height, taken by my Rule on the backside. Tho set I the Centure of this Alhabor upon eighteen degrees, among my almicanteras, upon the Westside, because that he was found upon the Westside: though laid I my Label over the degree of the Sun, that was descended under the West Orizont, and reckoned all the letters capitals, fro the line of Midday unto the point of my Label in the bordure, and found that it was after noon, passed seven of the clock, the space of eleven degrees. Tho looked I down upon my East Orizont, and found there twenty degrees of Libra ascending, whom I took for mine ascendent, and thus learned ones for ever to know in which manner I should come to the hour of the night, and to mine ascendent, as verily as may be taken by so small an instrument. But nevertheless, this rule in general will I warn thee for ever: ne make thou never none ascendent at noon of the day. Take a just ascendent of thine astrolabe, and have set justly a cloak, when any celestial body, by the which thou weenest govern thilk things, been nigh the South line, for trust well, when the Sun is near the Meridional line, the degree of the Sun remaineth so long concentrike upon thine almicanteras that sooth thou shalt err fro the just ascendent. The same conclusion say I, by my centure of my Star fix by the night: and moreover, by experience I wot well, that fro our Orizont, fro enleven of the clock, unto one, in taking of the just ascendent, in a portatife astrolabe, it is too hard to know, I mean from eleven of the clock before noon, till one of the clock next following: and for the more declaration, lo here thy figure next after this rule that followeth.   

To know the degree of the Sun in thy Zodiac, by the days, in the backside of thine astrolabe.  
THen thou wolt weten, to reckon & know which is the day of the month that thou art in, and lay the rule of thy astrolabe, that is to say, the allidatha, upon the day, in the Calendar of thine astrolabe, and he shall show thee thy degree of the Sun.   

Special declaration of the Ascendent.  
THe ascendent sooth is as well in all nativities, as in questions, and as in elections of times is a thing which that these Astrologians greatly observen, wherefore me seemeth convenient, since I speak of the ascendent, to make of it a special declaration. The ascendent sooth, to take it at the largest, is thilk degree that ascendeth at any of these foresaid times, on the East Orison: and therefore, if that any Planet ascend at thilk same time in the foresaid same, 'gree of his longitude, men say that thilk Planet is in Horoscopo, but sooth, the house of that ascendent, that is to say, the first house, or the East angle, is a thing more broad and large, for after the statutes of Astrologiens, what celestial body, that is five degrees above thilk degree that ascendeth on the Orizont, or within that number, that is to sane, ne'er the degree that ascendeth, yet reckon they thilk Planet in the ascendent, and what Planet that is under thilk degree, that ascendeth the space of fifteen degrees, yet said they, that Planet is like to him, that is the hour of the ascendent. But sooth, if he pass the bounds of the foresaid spaces, above or beneath, they say, the thilk Planet is falling fro the Ascendent, yet say these Astrologiens, that the Ascendent, and eke the Lord of the Ascendent, may be shapen for to be fortunate, or infortunate, as thus: A fortunate Asecendent clepe they, when that no wicked Planet of Saturn or Mars, or else the tail of the Dragon, is in the house of the Ascendent, ne that no wicked Planet have no aspect of enmity upon the Ascendent: But they wool cast, that they have fortunate Planet in her Ascendent, and yet in his felicity, and then say they that it is well. Furthermore, they say, that Fortune of an Ascendent, is the contrary of these foresaid things. The Lord of the Ascendent, sayne they, that he is fortunate, when he is in good place for the Ascendent, and eke the Lord of the Ascendent is in an angle, or in a succedent, where he is in his dignity, and comforted with friendly aspects received, and eke that he may seen the Ascendent not retrograde, ne combust, ne joined with no shrew in the same sign, ne that he be not in his dissension, ne reigned with no Planet in his discentious, ne have upon him none aspect infortunate, and then they say that he is well.  
Nevertheless, these been observaunces of judicial matter, and rites of Painims, in which my spirit hath no faith, ne knowing of her Horoscopum, for they sayne, that every sign is departed in three even parts, by 10 degrees, and the ilke portion they cleapen a face. And although a Planet have a latitude from the Ecliptic, yet said some folk, so that the Planet arise in that same sign, with any degree of the foresaid face, in which his longitude is reckoned. And yet is the Planet in Horoscopo, be in nativities or in election   

To know the very equation of the degrees of the Sun, if it so be that it fall betwixt two almicanteras.  
FOr as much as the almicanteras of thine Astrolaby been componed by two and two, whereas some almicanteras in some Astrolabies be compounded by one, or else by two, it is necessary to thy learning, to teach thee first to know, and wriche with thine instrument: wherefore, when that the degree of the Sun falleth between two almicanteras, or else, if thine almicanteras been graven with over great a point of a compass, for both these things may cause error, as well in knowing of the tide of the day, as of the very ascendent. Thou must werken in this wise: set the degree of the Sun upon the higher almicanteras, as of both. And wait well where thy almury toucheth the bordure, & set there a prick of ink, set adoune again the degree of the Sun upon the nether almicanteras, or both, and set there another prick: remeve then thy almury in the bordure, even amids both pricks, and this wool leaden justly the degree of the Sun, to sit between both the almicanteras in his right place. Lay then the label on the degree of the Sun & find in the bordure the very tide of the day, or of the night. And also verily shalt thou find upon thy East orizont thine ascendent.   

To know the spring of the dawning, and the end of the evening, the which been cleped the two coepusculis.  
SEt the nadyre of thy Sun upon 18 degrees of height among thine almicanteras on the Westside, and lay thy label on the degree of the Sun, and then shall the point of the label show the spring of the day: also set the nadire of the Sun upon the 18 degrees of height among thine almicanteras on the East-side, and lay over thy label upon the degree of the Sun and with the point of thy label find in the bordure the end of thine evening, that is very night. The nadire of the Son is thilk degree that is opposite to the degree of the Sun in the 320. sign, as thus. Every degree of Aries, by order, is nadire to every degree of Libra by order, & Taurus to Scorpion, Gemini to Sagitarius, Cancer to Capricorn, Leo to Aquary, Virgo to Pisces. And if any degree in thy Zodiac be dark, his nadire shall declare him.   

To know the Arch of the Day, that some folk call the Day artificial, fro the Sun rising, till it go down.  
Set the degree of the Sun upon thine East orizont, and lay thy label on the degree of the Sun, and at the point of thy label in the bordure set a prick; turn then thy reete about, till the degree of the Sun sit upon the West orizont, and lay the label upon the same degree of the Sun, and at the point of the label set another prick. Reckon then the quantity of time in the bordure betwixt both pricks, and take there thine arch of the day: the remnant of the bordure under the orizont, is the arch of the night. Thus mayst thou reckon both arches of every portion where that thou likest, and by this manner of working mayest thou see how long that any star fix dwelleth above the earth, fro the time that he riseth, till he go to rest. But the day naturel, that is to say, 24 hours, is the revolution of the Equinoctial, with as much party of the Zodiac, as the Sun of his proper moving passeth in the mean while.   

To turn the hours inequals, and the hours equals.  
TO know the number of the degrees in the hours inequals, and depart him by 15, and take there thine hour's equals.   

To know the quantity of the day vulgar, that is to say, fro spring of the day unto the very Night.  
KNow thy quantity of thine coepusculis, as I have it taught in the chapter before, and add him to the arch of the day artificial, and take there thy space of all the hole day vulgar unto the very night. In the same manner mayest thou work to know the vulgar night.   

To know the Hours inequals by Day.  
UNderstand well, that these hours inequals been cleped hours of the planets: and understond well, that sometime been they longer by day than they be by night, and sometime contrary. But understand thou well, that evermore generally the hours inequale of the day, with the hours inequale of the night, containeth 30 degrees of the bordure, the which bordure is evermore answering to the degrees of the equinoctial, wherefore depart the arch of the day artificial in 12, and take there the quantity of the hour inequale by day and if thou abate the quantity of the hour inequale by day, out of 360 degrees, thou shall the remanant that leaveth, perform the hour inequale by night.   

To know the quantity of hours equales.  
THe quantities of hours' equales, that is to say, the hours of the clock ben departed by 15 degrees already in the bordure of thy astrolabe, as well by night as by day, generally for evermore. What needeth any more declaration: wherefore when thee list to know how many hours of the clock been passed, or any part of any of these hours been to come, fro such a time to such a time, by day or by night, know the degree of thy Sun, and lay thy label on it: then turn thy reete about jointly with thy label, and with the point of it reckon in the border, fro the Sun arising, into the same place there thou desirest by day as by night. This conclusion wool I declare in the fourth party of the last chapter of this treatise, so openly, that there shall lack no word that needeth declaration.   

Special declaration of the Hours of the Planets.  
UNderstand well, that evermore, fro the arising of the Sun, till it go to rest, the nadire of the Sun shall show the hour of the planet, and fro that time forward, all the night, till the Sun arise, then shall the very degree of the Sun show the hour of the planet. Ensample as thus. The 13. day of March fell upon a saturday paraventure, and at the arising of the Sun I found the second degree of Aries sitting upon mine East orizont, all be it was but little. Then found I the second degree of Libra nadire of my Sun, descending on my West orizont, upon which West orizont, every day generally at the Sun arising, entereth the hour of any planet, under the foresaid West orizont, after the which planet, the day beareth his name, and endeth in the next strike of the planet, under the foresaid West orizont: and ever as the Sun climbeth upper and upper, so goeth his nadire downer and downer, and eching fro such strikes the hours of planets by order, as they sitten in heaven. The first hour inequale of every saturday, is Saturn, and the second to jupiter, the third to Mars, the fourth to the Sun, the fifth to Venus, the sixth to Mercurius, the seventh to the Moon, and then again the eight to Saturn, the ninth to jupiter, the tenth to Mars, the eleveuth to the Sun, the twelfth to Venus. And now is my Sun gone to rest, as for that saturday, then showeth the very degree of the Sun the hour of Mercury, entering under my west orizont at even. And next him succeedeth the Moon, and so forth by order, planet after planet, in hour after hour all the night long, till the Sun arise. Now riseth the Sun the sunday by the morrow, and the nadyre of the Sun upon the West orizont, showeth me the entering of the hour of the foresaid Sun. And in this manner succeedeth planet under planet, fro Saturn unto the Moon, and fro the Moon up again to Saturn, hour after hour generally, and thus know I this conclusion.   

To know with which degree of the Zodiac any Star fix in thine astrolabe, ariseth upon the East Orizont, although the Orizont be in another Sign.  
SEt the centure of the star upon the East orizont, and look what degree of any sign that sitteth upon the same orizont at the same time: and understand well, that with the same degree ariseth the same star. And this marvellous arising with a strong degree in another sign, is because that the latitude of the star fix is either North or South from the Equinoctial. But sooth, the latitudes of planets been commonly yreckened from the ecliptic, because that none of hem declineth but few degrees out fro the breed of the Zodiac. And take good keep of this chapter of arising of celestial bodies, for there trusteth well, that neither moon neither star in our ambolife orizont, that ariseth with the same degree of his longitude, save in one case, and that is when they have no longitude from the ecliptic line. But nevertheless, sometime is every of these planets under the same line.   

To know the declination of any Degree in the Zodiac, fro the equinoctial Circle.  
SEt the degree of any sign upon the line Meridional, and reckon his altitude in the almicanteras, fro the East orizont up to the same degree set in the foresaid line, and set there a prick: Turn up then thy rear, and set the head of Aries or Libra in the same Meridional line, and set there another prick. And when that this is done, consider the altitudes of hem both: for sooth, the difference of thilk altitude, is the declination of thilk degree from the Equinoctial. And if it so be, that thilk degree be Northward from the Equinoctial, then is his declination North, and if it be Southward, than it is South.   

To know for what latitude in any Region the Almicanteras in my Tables been compounded.  
Reckon how many degrees of almicanteras in the Meridional line, be from the cercle equinoctial, unto the signet, or else from the Pole arctic unto the North orizont, and for so great a latitude, or so small a latitude, is the table compouned.   

To know the latitude of the Sun, in the midst of the day, that is cleped the altitude Meridian.  
SEt the degree of thy Sun upon the line Meridional, and reckon how many degrees of almicanteras been betwix thine East orizont and the degree of thy Sun, and take there thine altitude meridian, that is to say, the highest degree of the Sun, as for that day. So mayst thou know in the same line the highest line that any star fire climbeth by night, this is to say, that when any star fire is passed the line meridional, then beginneth it to descend, and so doth the Sun.   

To know the degree of the Sun, by the Reet, for a manner coryosyte.  
SEek busily with thy rule the highest of the Sun in the midst of the day, turn then thine astrolabe, and with a prick of ink mark the number of the same altitude in the line meridional. Turn then thy reet about, till thou find a degree of thy Zodiac according with the prick, this is to say, sitting on the prick, and in sooth thou shalt find but two degrees in all the Zodiac, of that condition. And yet thilk two degrees been in divers signs. Then mayst thou lightly, by the season of the year, know the sign in which is the Sun.   

To know which day is like to other in length throughout the year.  
LOok which degrees been ylike from the heeds of Cancer and Capricorn, and look when the Sun is in any of thilk degrees, then been the days like of length, that is to sane, that as long is that day in that month, as was such a day in such a month, there varieth but little. Also if thou take two days naturelles in the year, ylike far from either points of the Equinoctial, in the opposite parties, then as long is the day artificial on that one day as on that other, and eke the contrary.    


This Chapter is a manner declaration to Conclusions that followeth.  
UNderstand well, that thy Zodiac is departed into half circles, from the head of Capricorn unto the head of Cancer, and ayenward from the head of Cancer unto the head of Capricorn. The head of Capricorn is the lowest point, where as the Sun goeth in Winter, and the head of Cancer is the highest point, in which the Sun goeth in Summer. And therefore understand well, that any two degrees that been ylike far from any of these two heads, trust well that thilk two degrees been like declination, be it Southward or Northward, and the days of hem been like of length, and the nights also, and shadows ylike, and the altitudes ylike at midday for ever.   

To know the very degree of any manner Star strange after his latitude, though he be indeterminate in thy astrolabe, sooth to the truth thus he shall be known.  
TAke the altitude of thy Star, when he is on the East side of the line meridional, as nigh as thou mayst guess, and take the ascendent anon right by some manner star fix, which thou knowest, and forget not the altitude of the first star ne thine ascendent. And when that this is done, aspie diligently when this same first star passeth any thing to the South westward, and catch him anon right in the same nombre of the altitude on the West side of this line meridional, as he was caught on the East side, and take a new ascendent anon right by some manner fix, the which that thou knowest, and forget not this second ascendent. And when this is done, reckon then how many degrees been betwixt the first ascendent, and the second ascendent, and reckon well the middle degree betwixt both ascendants, and set thilk middle degree upon thine East orizont, and then look what degree sit upon the line meridional, and take there the very degree of the Ecliptic, in which the star standeth for the time. For in the Ecliptic is the longitude of a celestial body, reckoned even from the half of the head of Aries, unto the end of Pisces, and his latitude is reckoned after the quantity of his declination North or South, toward the poles of this work. As thus, if it be of the Sun or any fix star, reckon his latitude or his declination from the equinoctial cercle, and if it be of a planet, reckon then the quantity of his latitude from the ecliptic line, all be it so that from the equinoctial, may the declination or the latitude of any body celestial be reckoned, after the sight North or South, and after the quantity of his declination. And yet so may the latitude or the declination of any body celestial, save only of the Sun, after his sight North or South. And after the quantity of his declination be reckoned from the ecliptic line, from which line all Planets sometime decline, North or South, save only the foresaid Sun.   

To know the degrees of Longitudes of fix Stars, after that they been determinate in thine astrolabe, if it so be that they been truly set.  
SEt the centre of the star upon the line meridional, and take keep of thy Zodiac, and look what degree of any sign sit upon the same line meridional at the same time, and there the degree in which the star standeth, and with the same degree cometh the same star unto the same line from the orizont.   

To know in special the Latitude of our Centre, I mean after the altitude of Oxenford, and the height of our Pole.  
UNderstand well, that as far is the head of Aries or Libra in the equinoctial, from our orizont, as is the synet from the pole arctic, and as hie as the pole arctic from the orizont, as the equinoctial is far from the synet: I prove it thus by the latitude of Oxenford; understand well that the height of our pole arctic from our North orizont is 51 degrees, and 50 minutes, then is the synet from the pole arctic 38 degrees, and 10 minutes, then is the equinoctial from our synet 51 degrees, and 50 minutes, then is our South orizont from our equinoctial 38 degrees, and 10 minutes. Understand well this reckoning also, forget not that the synet is 90 degrees of height from the orizont, and our equinoctial is 90 degrees from our pole arctic. Also this short rule is sooth, that the latitude of any planet in a region, is the distance from the synet unto the equinoctial.   

To prove the Latitude of any place in a Region, by the proof of the height of the Pole arctic in that same place.  
IN some winter's night, when the firmament is clear and thick stirred, wait a time till that every star fix sit line right perpendicular over the pole arctic, and clepe that star A. and wait another star that sit line right under A. and under the pole, and clepe that star F. and understand well that F. is not considered but only to declare that A. that sit ever on the pole. Take then anon right the altitude of A. from the orizont, and forget it not, let A. and F. go farewell till against the dawning a great while, and come then again, and abide till that A. is even under the pole under F. for soothly then will F. sit over the pole, take then eftsoon the altitude of A. from the orizont, and note as well the second altitude as the first altitude. And when that this is done, reckon how many degrees that the first altitude A. exceeded his altitude, and take half the ilke portion that is exceeded, and add it to his second altitude, and take there the elevation of the pole, and eke the altitude of thy region. For these two been of one nombre, that is to sane, as many degrees as thy pole is elevat, so much is the latitude of thy region. Ensample as thus, Paraventure the altitude of A. in the evening is 92 degrees of height, then will the second altitude or the dawning be 21. that is to sane, less than 92. that was his first altitude at even. Take then the half of 92. and add to it 21. that was his second altitude, and then hast thou the height of the pole and the latitude of thy region. But understand well to prove this conclusion, and many another fair conclusion, thou mayst have a plomet hanging on a line higher than thy head on a perch, and that line moat hang even perpendicular betwixt the pole and thine eye, and then shalt thou see if A. sit even over the pole and over F. at even. And also if F. sit even over the pole and over A. at day.   

Another Conclusion to prove the height of the Pole arctic from the Orizont.  
TAke any star fix that ever descendeth under the orizont in thilk region, and consider his highest altitude and his lowest altitude from the orizont, and make a nombre of these altitudes: take then and abate half that nombre, and take there the elevation of the pole arctic in that same region, and for the more declaration, etc. 
 0 82. 51. 0. 20.   

Another Conclusion to prove the Latitude of a Region that ye been in.  
UNderstand well that the latitude of any place in a region, is verily the space betwix the sign of him that dwellen there, and the equinoctial cercle, North or South, taking the measure in the meridional line, as showeth in the almicanteras of thine astrolabe, and thilk space is as much as the pole arctic is hie in the same place from the orizont. And then is the depression of the pole artentike beneath the orizont, the same quantity of space, neither more ne less. Then if thou desire to know this latitude of the region, take the altitude of the Sun in the middle of the day, when the Sun is in the head of Aries or of Libra, for than moveth the Sun in the line equinoctial, and abate the nombre of that same Sun's altitude out of 90 degrees, and then is the remnant of the nombre that leaveth the altitude of the region, as thus: I suppose that the Sun is thilk day at noon 38 degrees of height, abate then 38 degrees out of 90. so leaveth there 52. then is 52 degrees the latitude: I say not this but for ensample, for well I wot the latitude of Oxenford is certain minutes less. Now if it so be that thee thinketh too long a tarrying to abide till that the Sun be in the head of Aries or of Libra, then wait when the Sun is in any other degree of the Zodiac, and consider the degree of this declination be Northward from the equinoctial, abate then from the Sun's altitude at noon the nombre of his declination, and then hast thou the highest of the heads of Aries and Libra, as thus: My Sun paraventure is in the 10. degree of Leo almost 56 of height at noon, and his declination is almost 18 degrees Northward from the equinoctial, abate then thilk 18 degrees of declination out of the altitude at noon, then leaveth 38 degrees, lo there the head of Aries or Libra, and thine equinoctial in that region. Also if it so be that the sun's declination be Southward from the equinoctial, add then thilk declination to the altitude of the Sun at noon, and take there the heads of Aries and Libra and thine equinoctial, abate then the height of the equinoctial out of 90 degrees, and then leaveth there 38 degrees, that is the distance of the region from the equinoctial of any star fix that thou knowest, and take the nether elongation lengthing from the same equinoctial line, and work after the manner aforesaid.   

Declaration of the ascension of Signs, as well in the Circle direct, as in oblique.  
THe excellency of the sphere solid amongst other noble conclusions, showeth manifest the divers ascensions of signs in divers places, as well in right circles as in embolyfe cercle. These authors written that thilk sign is cleped of right ascension, with which the more part of the cercle equinoctial and the less part of the Zodiac ascendeth, and thilk sign ascendeth embolyfe, with which the less of the Zodiac equinoctial, and the more part of the Zodiac ascendeth, and ever more the arch of the day and the arch of the night is there ylike long, and the Sun twice every year passing through the signet of her head, and two sommers and two winters in a year have these foresaid people, and the almicanteras in her astrolabe been straight as a line, so hath showed in this figure. The utilities to know the ascensions of signs in the right cercle is this: Trust well that by mediations of thilk ascensions, these Astrologiens by her tables and her instruments known verily the ascension of every degree and minute in all the Zodiac, in the embolyfe cercle, as shall be showed. And note that this foresaid right orizont that is cleped orizont rectum, deuideth the equinoctial into right angles, and embolyfe orizont, whereas the Pole is enhanced upon the orizont, overcometh the equinoctial embolyfe angles.   

This is the Conclusion to know the ascensions of Signs in the right Circle, that is, Circulus directus.  
SEt the head of what sign thee list to know the ascending on the right cercle, upon the line meridional, and wait where thine almury toucheth the bordure, and set there a prick, turn then thy reet westward till the end of the foresaid sign set upon the meridional line, and eftsoon wait where thine almury toucheth the bordure, and set there another prick. Reckon then the numbers of degrees in the bordure betwix both pricks, and take then the ascension of the sign in the right cercle, and thus mayst thou work with every portion of the Zodiac.   

To know the ascensions of Signs in the embolyfe Circle in every Region, I mean, in circulo obliquo.  
SEt the head of the signs, which as thee list to know his ascension upon the East orizont, and wait where thine almury toucheth the bordure, and set there a prick, turn then thy reet upward till the end of the same sign, set upon the East orizont, and wait eftsoon where as thine almury toucheth the bordure, and set there another prick, reckon then the number of the degrees in the bordure betwix both pricks, and take there the ascension of the sign in the embolyfe cercle. And understand well that all the signs in the Zodiac, from the head of Aries unto the end of Virgo, been cleped signs of the North from the equinoctial, and these signs arisen betwix the very East and the very North in our orizont generally for ever: and all the signs from the head of Libra unto the end of Pisces, been cleped signs of the South from the equinoctial, and these signs arisen evermore betwix the very East and the very South in our orizont, also every sign betwix the head of Capricorn unto the end of Gemini, ariseth in our orizont in less than two hours equals, and these same signs from the head of Capricorn unto the end of Gemini, been called tortuous signs or crooked signs, for they risen embolyfe in our orizont, and these crooked signs been obedient to the signs that been of the right ascension. These signs of right ascension been from the head of Cancer unto the head of Sagitary, and these signs arisen more upright than doth the other, and therefore they been called Sovereign signs, and every of hem ariseth in more space than in two hours, of which signs Gemini obeyeth to Cancer, and Taurus to Leo, and Aries to Virgo, Pisces to Libra, Aquarius to Scorpio, and Capricorn to Sagitary, and thus evermore two signs that been like far from the head of Capricorn, obeyeth every of him to other.   

To know justly the four Quarters of the World, as East, West, South, and North.  
TAke the altitude of thy Sun when thou list, and note well the quarter of the world in which the Sun is from the time by the asymutes, turn then thine astrolabe, and set the degree of the Sun in the almicanteras of his altitude, on thilk side that the Sun standeth, as is in manner of taking of hours, and lay thy label on the degree of the Sun, and reckon how many degrees of the Sun, been between the line meridional and the point of thy label, and note well the numbers. Turn then again thine astrolabe, and set the point of thy great rule there thou takest thine altitudes, upon as many degrees in his bordure from his meridional, as was the point of thy label from the line meridional, on the womb side. Take then thine astrolabe with both hands sadly and slyly, and let the Sun shine through both holes of thy rule, and slyly in thilk shining lay thine astrolabe couch adown even upon a plain ground, and then will the meridional line of thine astrolabe be even South, and the East line will lie even East, and the West line West, and the North line North, so that thou work softly and avisely in the couching, and thou hast thus the four quarters of the firmament, etc.   

To know the altitude of Planets from the way of the Sun, whether they been North or South from the way aforesaid.  
LOok when a Planet is on the line meridional, if that her altitude be of the same height, that is the degree of the Sun for that day, and then is the Planet in the very way of the Sun, and hath no latitude. And if the altitude of the Planet be higher than the degree of the Sun, then is the Planet North from the way of the sign South, a quantity of latitude as showeth by thine almicanteras, and if the altitude be less than the degree of the Sun, then is the Planet South from the way of the Sun, such a quantity of latitude as showeth by thine almicanteras: This is to sane, from the way of the Sun in every place of the Zodiac, for on the morrow the Sun will be in another degree.   

For to know the Signet for the arising of the Sun, this is to fain, the party of the Orizont in which the Sun ariseth.  
THou must first consider that the Sun ariseth not in the very East signet, sometime by North East, and sometime by South East, soothly the Sun ariseth evermore in the very East in our orizont, but if he be in the head of Aries or Libra. Now is thine orizont departed into 24 parties of thy minutes, in signification of 24 parts of the world, though it be so, that shipmen reckon all that parties in 32. Then is there no more, but wait in the which minute that the Sun entereth at his arising, and take there the signet of the rising of the Sun.   

The manner of division of thine astrolabe, is thus enjoined, as in this case.  
FIrst, it is divided in four places principally, with the line that cometh fro the East to the West, and then with another line, that goeth fro the South to the North: then is it divided in small parties of minutes, as East and East by South, where that is the first minute above the East line, and so forth from party to party, till that thou come again to the East line. Thus thou might understand the signet of every star, in which party he ariseth.   

To know in which party of the Firmament is the Conjunction.  
COnsider the time of the conjunction by the Calendar, as thus: how many hours that the conjunction is fro midday of the day before, as sheweth the Canon of the Calendar. Reckon then that number in the bordure of thine astrolabe, as thou were wont to do in knowing of the hours of the day, or of the night, and lay thy label over the degree of the Sun, then will the point of the label sit upon the hour of the conjunction. Look then in which minute the degree of the Sun sitteth, and in that party of the firmament is the conjunction.   

To know the Signet of the altitude of the Sun.  
THis is no more to say, but any time of the day take the altitude of the Sun, and by the minutes in which he ascendeth thou might see in which party of the Firmament he is, and in the same wise might thou see by night of any star, whether he sit East, West, or South, or any part betwix, after the name of the minutes in which the stars standeth.   

To know soothly the longitude of the Moon, or any Planet that hath no Latitude, from the time of the Ecliptic Line.  
TAke the altitude of the Moon and reken thine altitude up, among thine almicanteras, on which side that the moon standeth, & set there a prick. Take then anon right upon the Moon's side the altitude of every star fix that thou knowest, and set his cercle upon his altitude among thine almicanteras there the Star is founden, wait then of which degree the zodiac is, to which the prick of the altitude of the Moon, and there take the degree in which the Moon standeth. This conclusion is very sooth, of the Stars in thine Astrolaby, and standeth after the troth. Some treatise of the Astrolaby maketh none exception, whether the Moon have altitude or none, nor whether side of the Moon the altitude of the Star be found. And note if the Moon show herself by day, than thou mayest woorche the same conclusion by the Sun, as well as by the star fix.   

This is the werching of the Conclusions to know whether any Planet be direct or retrograde.  
TAke the altitude of any Star, that is cleped a Planete, and note it well, anon right take the altitude of some star fix that thou knowest, and note it well also, and come again the third or the fourth night next following, for than thou shalt perceive well the moving of the Planete whether he move forward or backward, and wait well then when the star fix is in this same altitude that she was when thou took her first altitude of the foresaid Planet, and note it well, for trust well, if so be that the Planet be in the right side of the meridional line, so that his second altitude be less than the first altitude was, then is the Planet direct, and if he be in the West side in that condition, then is he retrograde, and if so be that this Planet be in the East side, when his altitude is take, so that the second altitude be more than his first altitude, then is he retrograde, and if he be in the West side of the line meridional, then is he direct, but the contrary moving of these parties, is the course of the Moon, for soothly the moon moveth the contrary from either Planets, in her ecliptic line, but in none other manner.   

The conclusion of equations of Houses after the Astrolaby.  
SEt the beginning of the degree that ascendeth upon the end of the viij. hour inequal, then will the line of the second house sit upon the line of midnight, remove then the degree that ascendeth, and set him upon the end of the x. hour inequale, then will the beginning of the three house sit upon the Midnight line, bring up again the same degree that ascendeth first, and set him upon the East Orizont, and then will the beginning of the iiii. house sit upon the Midnight line. Take then the nadere of the degree, that ascendeth first, and set him upon the end of the two. hour inequale, and then will the beginning of the v. house sit upon the Midnight line. Take then the nadere of the ascendent, and set him upon the end of the iiii. hour inequal, and then will the beginning of the vi. house sit upon the Midnight line. The beginning of the seven. house is nadere of the ascendent, and the beginning of the viij. house is nadere of the second, and the beginning of the ninth house is nadere of the third, and the beginning of the tenth house is nadere of the iiii. and the beginning of the eleventh house is nadere of the fifth, and the beginning of the xii house is nadere of the sixth house.   

Another manner of equations of Houses, by the Astrolaby.  
TAke thine ascendent, and then thou hast the four angles, for well thou wottest, that the opposite is of thine ascent, that is to say, the beginning of the seventh house sit upon the West Orizont, and the beginning of the tenth house upon the line meridional, and his opposite upon the line of Midnight, then lay thy label upon the degree that ascendeth, and reken then fro the point of thy label all the degrees in the bordure, till that thou come to the Meridional line, and depart all thilk degrees into three even parts, and take there the even portions of three other houses, for to lay thy label over every of these three parties, and then thou might see by the label in the zodiac the beginning of these three houses fro the ascendent, that is to say, the twelve next above the ascendent, and then the eleventh house and the tenth house upon the Meridional line, as I first said, the same wise werche from thy ascendent down to the line of Midnight, and thus thou hast three houses, that is to say, the beginning of the second, the third, and the fourth house: then is the nadire of these three houses, the beginning of these three houses that followeth.   

To find the line Meridional, to dwell fix in any certain place.  
TAke a round plate of metal, for warping the border the better, & make there upon a just compass a little within the bordure, and lay this round plate upon an even ground, or some even stone, or on an even stock fit in thy ground, & lay it even by a rule in the centre of the compass, stick an even pin or a wire upright, the smaller the better, & set thy pin or thy wire, by a plomme rules end upright even, & let this pin be no longer than a quarter of thy diameter of the compass fro the line, and wait busily about ten or eleven of the clock, when the sun showeth, when the shadow of the pin entereth any thing within the cercle of the compass one here breed, & make there a prick with ink: abide then still waiting on the sun after one of the clock, till that the shadow of the pin or of the wire pass any thing out of the cercle or compass, be it never so little, and set there a prick. Take then a compass and measure even the middle, betwixt both pricks, and set there a prick: Take then a Rule and draw a strike even fro the pin unto the middle prick, & take there the line Meridonall for evermore, as in the same place. And if thou draw a cross overthwart the compass, justly over the line Meridional, then haste thou East and West, and perconsequens the oppositife, that is South and North.   

Description of the Meridional line, and of the longitudes and latitudes of cities and towns, as well as of climates.  
THis line Meridional, is but a manner description of a line imagined, that passeth upon the poles of the world and by the signet of our head: and it is cleped the signet, for in what place that any man is at any time of the year, when the Sun by moving of the Firmament cometh to his Meridional place, then is it the very Midday, that we cleape Noon: and therefore it is cleped the line of Midday. Then take heed that evermore of two cities, or of two Towns, of which the one approacheth nearer the East, than doth the other Town, trust well that thilk two Towns have divers Meridian's. Take keep also, that the arch of the Equinoctial, that is contained & bounded between the two Meridian's, is cleped the Longitude of the town. And if it so be that two Towns have Meridian like, or one Meridian, then is the distance of hem both like far: and in this manner they change not her Meridian, but soothly they change her Almicanteras, for the haunsing of the Pole, and the distance of the Sun. The Longitude of a climate may be cleped the space of the earth, fro the beginning of the first climate, unto the last end of the same climate, even direct against the Pole arctic, thus say some authors. And some clerks say, that if men cleap the Latitude of a Centre the arch Meridian, that is contained or intercept, betwixe the signet and the Equinoctial, than they say, that the distance from the Equinoctial unto the end of the climate, even against the Pole arctic, is the Longitude of the climate for South.   

To know with what degree of the Zodiac, that any Planet ascendeth on the Orizont, where his Latitude be North or South.  
KNow by thine Almanac the degree of the Ecliptic of any sign, in which that the Planet is reckoned for to be, and that is cleped the degree of his Longitude. And know also the degree of his Latitude from the ecliptic, North or South, and by these ensamples following in especial, thou mayest wirche with every sign of the Zodiac. The Longitude peradventure of Venus, or of another Planet was of Capricorn, and the Latitude of him Northward degrees from the ecliptic line, than took I a subtle compass, and cleped the one point of my compass A. and that other F. then took I the point of A. and set it in the ecliptic line, and my Zodiac in the degree of the Longitude of heads, that is to say, in the head of Capricorn, and then set I the point of F. upward in the same sign, because that the Altitude was North upon the Latitude of Venus, that is to say, in the degree from the heed of Capricorn, and thus have I the degrees betwix my two pricks: then laid I down softly my compass, and set the degree of the Longitude upon the Orizont, then took I and waxed my label, in manner of a pair of tables, to receive distinctly the prick of my compass, then took I this forsaid label, and laid it fix over the degree of my Longitude, than took I up my compass, and the point of A. in the wax of my label, as I could guess, over the ecliptic line, in the end of the Longitude, I set the point over endlong on the label, upon the space of the Latitude inward, and on the Zodiac, that is to say, Northward from the ecliptic: then laid I down my compass, and looked well in the way upon the ecliptic of A. & F. then turned I my reete, till that the prick of F. sat upon the Orizont, then saw I well, that the body of Venus in her Latitude of degrees septentrionals, ascendeth in the end of the degree fro that heed of Capricorn. And note that in this manner thou mightest werch with any latitude septentrional in all signs: but soothly the latitude Meridional of a planet in Capricorn may not be take, because of the little space betwix the ecliptic, and the bordure of the astrolabe, and sikerly in all other signs it may be take. Also the degree peradventure of jupiter or of any other Planet was in the first degree of Pisces in longitude, & his latitude was degrees Meridional. Then took I the point of A. & set it in the first degree of Pisces on the ecliptic, then set I the point downward of F. in that same sign, because that the latitude was South degrees, that is to say, fro the heed of Pisces, & thus have I degrees betwixt both pricks. Then set I the degree of the longitude upon the Orizont, then took I my label, & laid him fix upon the degree of longitude, than set I the point of A. on my label even over the ecliptic line, in the end of the degree of the longitude, and I set the point of F. endlong on my label, the space of degrees of the latitude outward from the Zodiac, that is to say, Southward from the Ecliptic toward the bordure, and then turned I my reete till the point of F. sat upon the Orizont, then saw I well that the body of jupiter, in his latitude of degrees Meridional, ascendeth with the degree of Pisces in horescopo. And in this manner thou mayest wyrch with any Latitude, as I said first, save in Capricorn. And thou wilt ply this craft with the arising of the Moon, look thou reken well the course of hour by hour, for she dwelleth in a degree of her Longitude but a little while, as thou woste well: but nevertheless, if thou legen well her very meving by the tables, or alter her course hour by hour, thou shalt do well enough.   

Vmbra recta.  
IF thou wilt wirche with Vmbra recta, if thou might come to the base of the Tower, in this manner shalt thou wirche: take the altitude of the Tower with both holes, so that the rule lie even on a point. Ensample, as thus: I see him through the point of four, then meet I the space betwix me and the Tower, and I find it twenty foot, then behold I how four is to twelve, and I find it is the third part of twelve, Right so the space betwix thee and the Tower is the third part of the altitude of the Tower: then thrice twenty foot is the highest of the tower, with the addition of thine own body from thine eye. If the Rule fall on five, then is five times twelve the highest of the tower.   

Vmbra versae.  
IF thou mayest not come to the base of the tower, and thou fix him through the number of one, set there a prick at thy foot, then go ne'er the Tower, and see him through at the point of two, and set there an other prick, and then behold how one hath him to twelve, and thou shalt find that he hath him twelve scythes, then behold how two have him to xii, and thou shalt find it six scythes, and therefore the space betwix two pricks, is six times thine altitude. And note that at the first altitude of one, thou settest a prick, and afterward when thou seest him through at two, there thou settest a prick, than thou findest between, 80 foot, than thou shalt find that ten is the eight part of 80, then is a foot the altitude of the Tower, but if it fall upon another point, as thus: It falleth on six at the seconde taking it, when it falleth on four, then shalt thou find that six is the second part of twelve, and four is the third part of twelve by the third part, that is to say, the space betwix two pricks, twice the height of the Tower, and if the difference were three, then would it be three times the height, Et sic de singulis. An other manner werching by Vmbra recta. If thou mayest not come by the base of the Tower, wirche in this wise: Set thy rule upon one, till thou see the Altitude, and set at thy foot a prick, and then set thy rule upon two, and so do in the same manner: then look what is the difference betwix one and two, and thou shalt find that it is one: then measure the space betwix the two pricks and that is the twelfth part of the altitude of the Tower, and so of all other.   

Vmbra recta.  
IF thy Rule fall upon the eight point, on the right shadow, then make the figure of eight, then look how much space of that feet is betwix thee and the Tour, & multiply that by twelve, & when thou haste multiplied it by the same number, then divide it by the number of eight, and keep the residue, and add thereto thy height unto thine iye, to the residue, and that shall be the very height of the Tower. And thus mayst thou work on the same side, from one to twelve, etc.   

Vmbra recta.  
ANother manner of working upon the same side. Look upon what point thy rule falleth, when thou seest the top of the Tower, through the two holes, and then meet the space from thy foot to the base of the Tower, and right as the number of the point, hath himself to twelve, right so the measure betwixt thee & the Tower, hath himself to the height of the same Tower. Ensample as thus: I set case thy rule fall upon eight then is eight two third parts of twelve, so is the space two third parts of the Tower.   

Vmbra versa.  
TO know the height by the points of Vmbra versa. If thy rule fall upon 3. when thou seest the top of the Tower, set a prick there thy foot standeth, and go ne'er till thou mayst see the same top, at the point of iiii. and set there another prick: then meet how many foot is betwix the two pricks, and the height up to thine eye, and that shall be the height of the Tower. And note, that iii is the fowerth part of xii. and iiii. is the third part of xii. Now passeth iiii. the number of three by distance of 1. therefore the same space with thy height to thine eye, is the height of the Tower. And if it were so that there were two or three distance in the numbers, so should the measure betwix the pricks be twice or thrice the height of the Tower.   

Vmbra recta.  
TO know the height if thou mayst not come to the base of the thing, set thy rule upon with point thou wilt, so that thou mayst see the top of the thing through the two holes, & make a mark there as thy foot standeth, & go ne'er or ferther, till thou mayst see it through another point, & make there another mark, & look with difference is betwix the two points in the scale, and right as that difference hath him to xii. right so the spaces betwixt the two marks hath him to the height of the thing. Ensample. I set the case, that thou seest it through the point of iiii. and after at the point of three Now passeth the number of iiii. the number of three the distance of one, & right as this difference of one, hath himself to twelve, right so the measure betwix both the marks, hath him to the height of the same thing, putting thereto the height of thyself to thine eye. And thus mayest thou work from one to twelve.   

Vmbra versa.  
furthermore, if thou wilt know in Vmbra versa, by the craft of Vmbra recta, I suppose to take thine altitude at the point of four, and makest a mark, and then thou goest ne'er, till thou haste it at the point of three, and makest there another mark, then must thou divide 144 by four, the number that cometh thereof shall be 36, & after divide 144 by three, and the number that cometh thereof is 48, then look what difference is betwix 36 and 48, and that shalt thou find 12, and right as 12 hath him to 12, so the space betwix the two pricks hath him to the altitude of the thing.   
¶ Here endeth the conclusions of the astrolabe.    

The Complaint of the Black Knight.  
The heavy Complaint of a Knight, for that he cannot win his Lady's grace.  

IN May, when Flora the fresh lusty Queen,  
The soil hath clad in green, red, and white,  
And Phoebus 'gan to shed his streams sheen,  
Amid the bull, with all the beams bright,  
And Lucifer, to chase away the night,  
Again the morrow our Orizont hath take,  
To bid all lovers out of her sleep awake.   

And hertes heavy for to recomfort,  
From drerihed, of heavy night sorrow,  
Nature bad hem rise, and him disport,  
Again the goodly glad grey morrow,  
And hope also, with saint johan to borrow,  
Bad in despite of Danger and Despair,  
For to take the wholesome lusty air.   

And with a sigh I 'gan for to abreide  
Out of my stomber, and suddenly up start,  
As he (alas) that nigh for sorrow deide,  
My sickness sat aye so nigh my hart,  
But for to find soccour of my smart,  
Or at the least some release of my peine,  
That me so sore halt in every vein.   

I rose anon, and thought I would gone  
Into the wood, to hear the birds sing,  
When that the misty vapour was agone,  
And clear and fair was the morning,  
The dew also like silver in shining  
Upon the leaves, as any Baume sweet,  
Till fiery Titan with his perceant heat   

Had dried up the lusty liquour new,  
Upon the herbs in the green meed,  
And that the flowers of many divers hue,  
Upon her stalks gone for to spread,  
And for to splay out her leves in breed  
Again the Sun, gold burned in his spear,  
That down to him cast his beams clear.   

And by a river forth I 'gan costey,  
Of water clear, as birell or crystal,  
Till at the last I found a little weigh,  
Toward a Park, enclosed with a wall,  
In compass round, and by a gate small,  
Who so that would, freely might gone  
Into this park, walled with green stone.   

And in I went to hear the bird's song,  
Which on the branches, both in plain & vale,  
So loud sang, that all the wood rung,  
Like as it should shiver in pieces small,  
And as me thought, that the Nightingale  
With so great might, her voice 'gan our wrist  
Right as her heart for love would breast.   

The soil was plain, smooth, & wonder soft,  
All oversprad with tapets that Nature  
Had made herself: covered eke aloft  
With bows green, the flowers for to cure,  
That in her beauty they may long endure  
From all assault of Phoebus' fervent fere,  
Which in his sphere so hot shone and clear.   

The air attempre, and the smooth wind  
Of Zephyrus, among the blosomes white,  
So wholesome was, and so nourishing by kind,  
That small buds, & round blosomes light,  
In manner 'gan of her breath delight,  
To yeve us hope there fruit shall take  
Against autumn ready for to shake.   

I saw the Daphne closed under rind,  
Green Laurer, and the wholesome Pine,  
The myrrh also that weepeth ever of kind,  
The cedars hie, upright as a line,  
The Filbert eke, that low doth incline  
Her bows green, to the yearth adown,  
Unto her knight called Demophoun.   

There saw I eke the fresh Hauthorne  
In white Motley, that so swote doth smell,  
Ashe, Fir, & Oak, with many a young Acorn,  
And many a tree more than I can tell,  
And me before I saw a little well,  
That had his course, as I 'gan behold,  
Under an hill, with quick streams cold.   

The gravel gold, the water pure as glass,  
The banks round, the well environing,  
And soft as Velvet the young grass  
That thereupon lustily came springing,  
The sure of trees about compassing,  
Her shadow cast, closing the well round,  
And all the herbs growing on the ground.   

The water was wholesome, and so virtuous,  
Through might of herbs growing beside,  
Not like the well where as Narcisus  
I slain was, through vengeance of Cupid,  
Where so covertly he did hide  
The graive of death upon each brink,  
That death moat follow, who y● ever drink.   

Ne like the pit of the Pegace,  
Under Pernaso, where Poetes slept,  
Nor like the well of pure chastity,  
Which that Diane with her Nymphs kept,  
When she naked into the water leapt,  
That slow Actaeon with her hands fell,  
Only for he came so nigh the well.   

But this well that I here of rehearse,  
So wholesome was, that it would assuage,  
Bollen hearts, and the venom pierce,  
Of pensifehed, with all the cruel rage,  
And over more refresh the visage  
Of him that were in any weariness,  
Of great labour, or fallen in distress.   

And I that had through danger & disdain  
So dry a thrust, thought I would assay  
To taste a draught of this well or twain,  
My bitter langour if it might allay,  
And on the bank anon down I lay,  
And with mine head unto the well I reached,  
And of the water drank I a good draught.   

Whereof me thought I was refreshed well,  
Of the burning that sat so nigh my hart,  
That verily anon I 'gan to feel  
An huge part released of my smart,  
And therewithal anon up I start,  
And thought I would walk and see more,  
Forth in the park, and in the holtes hore.   

And through a land as I go a pace,  
And 'gan about fast to behold,  
I found anon a delectable place,  
That was belet with trees young and old,  
Whoss names here for me shall not be told,  
Amid of which stood an herber green,  
That benched was, with colours new & clean.   

This herber was full of flowers gende,  
Into the which, as I behold 'gan,  
Betwixt an Hulfeere and a Woodbende,  
As I was ware, I saw where lay a man  
In black, and white colour pale and wan,  
And wonder deadly also of his hue,  
Of hurts green, and fresh wounds new.   

And overmore distrained with sickness  
Beside all this he was full grevoussy,  
For upon him he had an door access,  
That day by day him shook full pitously,  
So that for constraining of his malady,  
And hertely woe, thus lying all alone,  
It was a death for to hear him groan.   

Whereof astonished, my foot I 'gan withdraw,  
Greatly wondering what it might be,  
That he so lay and had no fellow,  
Ne that I could no wight with him see,  
Whereof I had ruth, and eke pite,  
And 'gan anon, so softly as I coude,  
Among the bushes prively me to shroud.   

If that I might in any wise aspy,  
What was the cause of his deedly woe,  
Or why that he so pitously 'gan cry  
On his fortune, and on ure also,  
With all my might I laid an ear to,  
Every word to mark what he said,  
Out of his swough among as he abraid.   

Bur first, if I should make mention  
Of his person, and plainly him discrive,  
He was in sooth, without exception,  
To speak of manhood, one the best on llve,  
There may no man again troth strive,  
For of his time, and of his age also,  
He proved was, there men should have ado.   

For one of the best thereto of bread & length  
So well maked by good proportion,  
If he had be in his deliver strength,  
But thought and sickness were occasion  
That he thus lay in lamentation,  
Gruffe on the ground, in place desolate,  
Sole by himself, awhaped and amate.   

And for me seemeth that it is fitting  
His words all to put in remembrance,  
To me that heard all his complaining,  
And all the ground of his woeful chance,  
If there withal I may you do pleasance,  
I wool to you so as I can anon,  
Like as he said, rehearse everichone.   

But who shall help me now to complain,  
Or who shall now my stile gy or lead,  
O Niobe, let now thy teeres rain  
In to my pen, and help eke in need,  
Thou woeful Myrrh that felest my heart bleed  
Of piteous woe, and mine hand eke quake,  
When that I write, for this man's sake.   

* For unto woe acordeth complaining,  
And doleful cheer unto heaviness,  
To sorrow also, sighing and weeping,  
And piteous mourning unto dreariness,  
* And who that shall write of distress,  
In party needeth to know feelingly,  
Cause and root of all such malady.   

But I alas, that am of wit but dull,  
And have no knowing of such matter,  
For to discrive, and write at the full  
The woeful complaint, which that ye shall here,  
But even like as doth a skrivenere,  
That can no more what that he shall write,  
But as his master beside doth indite.   

Right so fare I, that of no sentement,  
Say right naught in conclusion,  
But as I heard when I was present,  
This man complain, with a piteous sound,  
For even like without addicioun,  
Or disencrease, either more or less,  
For to rehearse anon I wool me dress.   

And if that any now be in this place,  
That feel in love brenning of fervence,  
Or hindered were to his lady's grace,  
With false tongues, that with pestilence  
Slay true men, that never did offence  
In word nor deed, ne in her intent,  
If any such be here now present,   

Let him of routh lay to audience,  
With doleful cheer, and sober countenance,  
To here this man, by full hie sentence,  
His mortal woe, and his perturbance,  
Complaining, now lying in a trance,  
With looks up-cast, and rueful cheer,  
Theffect of which was as ye shall here.   

The thought oppressed with inward sighs sore,  
The painful life, the body languishing,  
The woeful ghost, the heart rend and tore,  
The piteous cheer pale in complaining,  
The deedly face, like ashes in shining,  
The salt tears that from mine eyes fall,  
parcel declare ground of my pains all.   

Whose heart is ground to bleed in heaviness,  
The thought receipt of woe, and of complaint,  
The breast is chest of dole and dreariness,  
The body eke so feeble and so faint,  
With hot and cold mine axes is so maint,  
That now I chiver, for default of heat,  
And hot as gleed, now suddenly I sweat.   

Now hot as fire, now cold as ashes deed,  
Now hot for cold, now cold for heat again,  
Now cold as ice, now as coals read  
For heat I brenne, and thus betwix twain,  
I possed am, and all forecast in pain,  
So that my heat plainly as I feel,  
Of grievous cold is cause every deal.   

This is the cold of inward high disdain,  
Cold of despite, and cold of cruel hate,  
This is the cold that ever doth his besie pain,  
Against troth to fight and debate,  
This is the cold that the fire abate  
Of true meaning, alas the hard while,  
This is the cold that wool me beguile.   

For ever the better that in troth I meant,  
With all my might faithfully to serve,  
With heart and all to be diligent,  
The less thank, alas I can deserve:  
Thus for my troth danger both me starve,  
For one that should my death of mercy let,  
Hath made despite new his sword to whet   

Against me, and his grows to file,  
To take vengeance of wilful cruelty,  
And tongues false through her slightly wile,  
Han gone a were that will not stinted be,  
And false envy, wrath and invite,  
Have conspired against all right and law,  
Of her malice, that troth shall be slaw.   

And male bouch, 'gan first the tale tell,  
To slander troth of indignation,  
And false report so loud range the bell,  
That misbelief and false suspicion  
Have troth brought to his damnation,  
So that alas, wrong fully he dieth,  
And falseness now his place occupieth,   

And entered is in to trouthes' land,  
And hath thereof the full possession,  
O rightful God that first the troth fond,  
How may thou suffer soch oppression,  
That falsheed should have jurisdiction  
In truths right to slay him guiltless,  
In his fraunchise he may not live in pees.   

Falsely accused, and of his fone forjudged,  
Without answer, while he was absent,  
He damned was, and may not be excused,  
For cruelty sat in judgement,  
Of hastiness without advisement,  
And bad Disdain do execute anon,  
His judgement in presence of his fone.   

Attorney may none admitted been  
To excuse troth, ne a word to speak,  
To faith or oath the judge list not seen,  
There is no gain, but he will be wreak:  
O Lord of troth to thee I call and clepe,  
How may thou see thus in thy presence,  
Without mercy murdered innocence.   

Now God that art of troth sovereign,  
And seest how I lie for troth bound,  
So sore knit in love's fiery chain,  
Even at the death through girt with many a wound,  
That likely are never for to sound,  
And for my troutham dampened to the death,  
And not abide, but draw along the breath.   

Consider and see in thine eternal right,  
How that mine heart professed whilom was,  
For to be true with all my full might,  
Only to one the which now alas,  
Of volunte without any trespass,  
My accusers hath taken unto grace,  
And cherisheth him, my death to purchase.   

What meaneth this? what is this wonder ure?  
Of purveyance if I shall it call,  
Of god of love, that false hem so assure,  
And true alas, down of the wheel ben fall,  
And yet in sooth this is the worst of all,  
That falsehood wrongfully of troth hath the name,  
And troth a yenward of falsehood beareth the blame.   

This blind chance, this stormy adventure,  
In love hath most his experience,  
* For who that doth with troth most his cure,  
Shall for his meed find most offence,  
That serveth love with all his diligence:  
* For who can fayne under lowlyhede,  
Ne faileth not to find grace and speed.   

For I loved one, full long sith agone,  
With all mine heart, body and full might,  
And to be deed my heart can not gone  
From his hest, but hold that he hath height,  
Though I be banished out of her sight,  
And by her mouth dampened that I shall they,  
Unto my hest, yet I will ever obey.   

For ever sith that the world began,  
Who so list look, and in story read,  
He shall aye find that the true man  
Was put aback, whereas the falsehood  
Yfurthered was: for love taketh none heed  
To slay the true, and hath of him no charge,  
Where as the false goeth freely at her large.   

I take record of Palamydes,  
The true man, the noble worthy knight,  
That ever loved, and of his pain no releases,  
Notwithstanding his manhood & his might,  
Love unto him did full great unright,  
For aye the bet he did in chivalry,  
The more he was hindered by envy.   

And aye the better he did in every place,  
Through his knighthood and busy pain,  
The ferder was he from his lady's grace,  
For to her mercy might he never attain,  
And to his death he could it not refrain,  
For no daungere, but aye obey and serve,  
As he best coude, plainly till he starve.   

What was the fine also of Hercules,  
For all his conquest and his worthiness,  
That was of strength alone peerless,  
For like as books of him list express,  
He set pillars through his hie prowess,  
Away at Gades, for to signify  
That no man might him pass in chivalry.   

The which pillars far beyond Ind,  
Be set of gold, for a remembrance:  
And for all that was he set behind,  
With him that love list feebly advance,  
For him set last upon a dance,  
Against whom help may no strife,  
For all his troth he lost his life.   

Phoebus' also for all his pleasant light,  
When that he went here in yearth low,  
Unto the heart with Venus' sight,  
Ywounded was, through Cupid's bow,  
And yet his lady list him not to know,  
Though for her love his heart did bleed,  
She let him go, and took of him no heed.   

What shall I say of young Pyramus?  
Of true Tristram, for all his hie renown,  
Of Achilles, or of Antonius,  
Of Arcite, or of him Palomoune,  
What was the end of her passioune,  
But after sorrow death, and then her grave,  
Lo here the guerdon that these lovers have.   

But false jason with his doubleness,  
That was untrue at Colkos to Medee,  
And Theseus, root of unkindness,  
And with these two eke the false Enee.  
Lo thus the false aye in one degree,  
Had in love her lust and all her will,  
And save falsehood, there was none other skill.   

Of Thebes eke the false Arcite,  
And Demophon eke for his sloth,  
They had her lust and all that might delight,  
For all her falsehood and great untruth:  
Thus ever love alas, and that is routh,  
His false liege's forthereth what he may,  
And fleeth the true vngoodly day by day.   

For true Adonis was slain with the bore,  
Amid the forest in the green shade,  
For Venus' love he felt all the sore,  
But Vulcanus with her no mercy made,  
The foul chorle had many night's glade,  
Where Mars her knight and her man,  
To find mercy comfort none he can.   

Also the young fresh Ipomedes,  
So lustily free as of his courage,  
That for to serve with all his heart he che,  
Athalant so fair of her visage,  
But love alas quite him so his wage  
With cruel danger plainly at the last,  
That with the death guerdonless he passed.   

Lo here the fine of love's service,  
Lo how that love can his servants quite,  
Lo how he can his faithful men despise,  
To slay the true men, and false to respite,  
Lo how he doth the sword of sorrow bite  
In hearts, such as most his lust obey,  
To save the false and do the true day.   

For faith nor oath, word, ne assurance,  
True meaning, await, or business,  
Still port, ne faithful attendance,  
Manhood ne might in arms worthiness,  
Pursuit of worship nor high prowess,  
In strange land riding ne travail,  
Full little or nought in love doth avail.   

Peril of death, nor in see ne land,  
Hunger ne thrust, sorrow ne sickness,  
Ne great emprises for to take in hand,  
Shedding of blood, ne manful hardiness,  
Ne oft wounding at sautes by distress,  
Nor in parting of life nor death also,  
All is for nought, love taketh no heed thereto   

But lesing with her flattery,  
Through her falsehood, & with her doubleness,  
With tales new, and many feigned lie,  
By false semblaunt & counterfeit humblesse,  
Under colour depaint with steadfastness,  
With fraud covered under a pitous face,  
Accept be now rathe unto grace.   

And can himself now best magnify  
With feigned port and presumption,  
They haunce her cause with false surquidrie,  
Under meaning of double intention,  
To think one in her opinion,  
And say another, to set himself aloft,  
And hinder troth, as it is scene full oft.   

The which thing I buy now all too dear,  
Thanked be Venus, and the god Enpide,  
As it is seen by mine oppressed cheer,  
And by his arrows that sticken in my side,  
That save death I nothing abide  
From day to day, alas the hard while,  
When ever his dart that him list to file,   

My woeful heart for to rive atwo,  
For fault of mercy, and lack of pite  
Of her that causeth all my pain and woe,  
And list not ones of grace for to see  
Unto my troth through her cruelty,  
And most of all I me complain,  
That she hath joy to laugh at my pain.   

And wilfully hath my death sworn,  
All guiltless, and wot no cause why,  
Save for the troth that I had aforne  
To her alone to serve faithfully,  
O god of love, unto thee I cry,  
And to thy blind double deite,  
Of this great wrong I complain me.   

And unto thy stormy wilful variance,  
Iment with change and great unstableness,  
Now up, now down, so renning is thy chance,  
That thee to trust may be no sickerness,  
I wit it nothing but thy doubleness,  
* And who that is an archer, and is blend,  
Marketh nothing, but shooteth by wend.   

And for that he hath no discretion,  
Without advice he let his arrow go,  
For lack of sight, and also of reason,  
In his shooting it happeth oft so,  
To hurt his friend rather than his foe,  
So doth this god with his sharp flone,  
The true fleeth, and letteth the false gone.   

And of his wounding this is the worst of all,  
When he hurt doth to so cruel wretch,  
And maketh the lick for to cry and call  
Unto his so for to be his leech,  
* And hard it is for a man to seche  
Upon the point of death in jeoperdie,  
Unto his foe to find a remedy.   

Thus fareth it now even by me,  
That to my foe that gave my heart a wound,  
Mote ask grace, mercy, and pite,  
And namely there where none may be found,  
For now my sore my leech will confound,  
And god of kind so hath set mine ure,  
My life's foe to have my wound in cure.   

Alas the while now that I was borne,  
Or that I ever saw the bright son,  
For now I see that full long aforne,  
Or I was borne, my destiny was spun  
By Parca's sisterne, to slay me if they con,  
For they my death shopen or my shirt,  
Only for troth, I may it not astart.   

The mighty goddess also of Nature,  
That under God hath the governance  
Of worldly things committed to her cure,  
Disposed have through her wise purveyance,  
To give my lady so much suffisance  
Of all virtues, and therewithal puruide,  
To murder troth, hath take danger to guide.   

For bounte, beauty, shape, and seemelihede,  
Prudence, wit, passingly fairness,  
Benign port, glad cheer, with lowlihede,  
Of womanhead right plenteous largeness,  
Nature did in her fully empress,  
When she her wrought, & alther last disdain,  
To hinder troth, she made her chamberlain.   

When mistrust also, and false suspection,  
With misbeleve she made for to be  
Chief of counsel to this conclusion,  
For to exile troth, and eke pite,  
Out of her court to make mercy flee,  
So that despite now holdeth forth her rain,  
Through hasty believe of tales that men feign.   

And thus I am for my troth alas  
Murdered & slain, with words sharp and keen,  
Guiltless God wot of all trespass,  
And lie and bleed upon this cold green,  
Now mercy sweet, mercy my life's queen,  
And to your grace of mercy yet I pray,  
In your service that your man may they.   

But if so be that I shall die algate,  
And that I shall none other mercy have,  
Yet of my death let this been the date,  
That by your will I was brought to my grave,  
Or hastily, if that you list me save,  
My sharp wounds that ache so and bleed,  
Of mercy charm, and also of womanhead.   

For other charm plainly is there none,  
But only mercy, to help in this case,  
For though my wounds bleed ever in one,  
My life, my death, standeth in your grace,  
And though my guilt be nothing, alas,  
I ask mercy in all my best intent,  
Ready to die, if that ye assent.   

For there against shall I never strive  
In word ne work, plainly I ne may,  
For lever I have than to be alive  
To die sooth, and it be to her pay,  
Ye though it be this same day,  
Or when that ever her list to devose,  
Sufficeth me to die in your service.   

And God, y● knowest the thought of every wight  
Right as it is, in every thing thou mayst see,  
Yet ere I die, with all my full might,  
Lowly I pray to grant unto me,  
That ye goodly, fair, fresh, and free,  
Which only slay me for default of routh,  
Or that I die, ye may know my troth.   

For that in sooth sufficeth me,  
And she it know in every circumstance,  
And after I am well paid that she  
If that her list of death to do vengeance  
Unto me, that am under her ligeance,  
It sit me not her doom to disobey,  
But at her lust wilfully to day,   

Without grudging or rebellion  
In will or word, holy I assent,  
Or any manner contradiction,  
Fully to be at her commandment,  
And if I die, in my testament  
My heart I send, and my spirit also,  
Whatsoever she list with him to do.   

And alderlast to her womanhead,  
And to her mercy me I recommaund,  
That lie now here betwix hope and dread,  
Abiding plainly what she list command,  
For utterly this nis no demand  
Welcome to me while me lasteth breath,  
Right at her choice, where it be life or death.   

In this matter more what might I sane,  
Sith in her hand, and in her will is all,  
But life & death, my joy, and all my pain,  
And finally my hest hold I shall,  
Till my spirit by destiny fatal,  
When that her list fro my body wend,  
Have here my troth, & thus I make an end.   

And with that word he 'gan sigh as sore,  
Like as his heart rive would atwaine,  
And held his peace, & spoke no word more,  
But for to see his woe and mortal pain,  
The tears gone from mine eyes rain  
Full pitously, for very inward roth,  
That I him saw, so long wishing for troth.   

And all this while myself I kept close  
Among the bows, and myself gone hide,  
Till at the last the woeful man arose,  
And to a lodge went there beside,  
Where all the May his custom was tabide,  
Sole to complain of his pains keen,  
From year to year, under the bows green.   

And for because that it drew to the night,  
And that the sun his ark diurnal  
Ypassed was, so that his persant light,  
His bright beams and his streams all  
Were in the waves of the water fall,  
Under the bordure of our occian,  
His chair of gold, his course so swiftly ran:   

And while the twilight & the rows read  
Of Phoebus' light were deaurat alight,  
A pen I took, and 'gan me fast speed  
The woeful plaint of this man to write,  
Word by word, as he did indite,  
Like as I heard, and could him though report,  
I have here set, your hearts to disport.   

If ought be miss, lay the wit on me,  
For I am worthy for to bear the blame,  
If any thing miss reported be,  
To make this ditie for to seem lame,  
Through mine unconning, but for to said the same,  
Like as this man his complaint did express,  
I ask mercy and forgiveness.   

And as I wrote, me thought I saw afar,  
Far in the West lustily appear  
Esperus the goodly bright star,  
So glad, so fair, so persant eke of cheer,  
I mean Venus with her beams clear,  
That heavy hearts only to relieve,  
Is wont of custom for to show at eve.   

And I as fast fell adown on my knee,  
And even thus to her 'gan I to prey:   

O lady Venus so fair upon to see,  
Let not this man for his troth day,  
For that joy thou hadst when thou lay  
With Mars thy knight, when Vulcanus fond,  
And with a chain unvisible you bond   

together both tway in the same while,  
That all the court above celestial,  
At your shame 'gan laugh and smile:  
Ah, fair lady welly fond at all,  
Comfort to careful, O goddess immartall,  
Be helping now, and do thy diligence,  
To let the streams of thine influence   

Descend down, in forthering of the troth,  
Namely of him that lie in sorrow bound,  
Show now thy might,, & on her woe have routh,  
Ere false danger slay hem and confound:  
And specially let thy might be found,  
For to so cover what so that thou may  
The true man that in the herber lay.   

And all true further for his sake,  
O glad star, O lady Venus' mine,  
And cause his lady him to grace take,  
Her heart of steel to mercy so incline,  
Ere that thy beams go up to decline,  
And ere that thou now go from us adown,  
For that love thou hadst to Adoun.   

And when she was gone to her rest,  
I rose anon, and home to bed went,  
For weary, me thought it for the best,  
Praying thus in all my best intent,  
That all true, that be with danger shent,  
With mercy may in release of her pain,  
Recured be, ere May come este again.   

And for that I ne may no longer wake,  
Farewell ye lovers all that be true,  
Praying to God, and thus my leave I take,  
That ere the sun to morrow be risen new,  
And ere he have again rosin hue,  
That each of you may have such a grace,  
His own lady in arms to embrace.   

I mean thus, in all honesty,  
Without more ye may together speak  
What so ye list at good liberty,  
That each may to other her heart break,  
On jealousies only to be wreak,  
That hath so long of his malice and envy  
warred Troth with his tyranny.   

¶ Lenuoye.  

Princess, pleaseth it to your benignity  
This little ditie to have in mind,  
Of womanhead also for to see,  
Your man may your mercy find,  
And pity eke, that long hath be behind,  
Let him again be provoked to grace,  
For by my troth it is against kind,  
False Danger to occupy his place.   

Go little quaire unto my lives queen  
And my very hearts sovereign,  
And be right glad for she shall thee seen,  
Such is thy grace, but I alas in pain  
Am left behind, & not to whom to plain,  
For mercy, ruth, grace, and eke pite  
Exiled be, that I may not attain,  
Recure to find of mine adversite.    
Explicit.   

A Praise of Women.  

Although thee list of women evil to speak,  
And said of him worse than they deserve,  
I pray to God that her necks to break,  
Or on some evil death mote though janglers starve  
For every man were holden him to serve,  
And do him worship, honour, and servise,  
In every manner that they best could devise.   

For we ought first to think on with manner  
They bring us forth, and with pain they endure  
First in our birth, and sith fro year to year  
How busily they done their busy cure,  
To keep us from every misaventure  
In our youth when we have no might  
Ourself to keep, neither by day nor night.   

Alas, how may we say on him but well,  
Of whom we were fostered and ybore,  
And been all our succour, & ever true as steel,  
And for our sake full oft they suffer sore,  
* Without women were all our joy lore,  
Wherefore we ought all women to obey  
In all goodness, I can no more say.   

This is well known, and hath been or this,  
That women been cause of all lightness,  
Of knighthood, nurture, eschewing all mallis,  
Increase of worship, and of all worthiness,  
Thereto curteis & meek, & ground of all goodness,  
Glad and merry, & true in every wise  
That any gentle heart can think or devise.   

And though any would trust to your untruth,  
And to your fair words would aught assent,  
In good faith me thinketh it were great ruth,  
That other women should for her gilt be shent,  
That never knew, ne wist nought of her intent,  
Ne list not to hear the fair words ye write,  
Which ye you pain from day to day tendite.   

But who may beware of your tales untrue,  
That ye so busily paint and indite,  
For ye will swear that ye never knew,  
Ne saw the woman, neither much ne lite,  
Save only her, to whom ye had delight,  
As for to serve of all that ever ye say,  
And for her love must ye needs day.   

Then will ye swear that ye knew never before  
What love was, ne his dreadful observance,  
But now ye feel that he can wound sore,  
Wherefore ye put you into her governance,  
Whom love hath ordained you to serve & do pleasance  
With all your might your little lives space  
Which endeth soon, but if she do you grace.   

And then to bed will he soon draw,  
And soon sick ye will you then fain,  
And swear fast your Lady hath you slaw,  
And brought you suddenly inso high a pain  
that fro your death may no man you restrain,  
With a dangerous look of her eyes two,  
That to your death must ye needs go.   

Thus will ye morn, thus will ye sigh sore,  
As though your heart anon in two would breast,  
And swear fast that ye may live no more,  
Mine own Lady, that might if ye lest  
Bring mine heart somedeal into rest,  
As if you list mercy on me to have,  
Thus your untruth will ever mercy crave.   

Thus wool ye plain, though ye nothing smart,  
These innocent creatures for to beguile,  
And swear to him, so wounded is your heart  
For her love, that ye may live no while.  
Scarcely so long as one might go a mile,  
So hieth death to bring you to an end,  
But if your sovereign Lady list you to amend.   

And if for routh she comfort you in any wise  
For pity of your false oaths sere,  
So the innocent weeneth that it be as you devise,  
And weeneth your heart be as she may here,  
Thus for to comfort & somewhat do you cheer.  
Then wool these janglers dame of her full ill,  
And sane that ye have her fully at your will.   

Lo how ready her tongues been, and pressed  
To speak harm of women causeless,  
Alas, why might ye not as well say the best,  
As for to dame him thus guiltless,  
In your heart iwis there is no gentleness,  
That of your own gilt list thus women fame,  
Now by my troth, me think ye be too blame.   

* For of women cometh this worldly well,  
Wherefore we ought to worship him evermore,  
And though it mishap one, we ought for to heel,  
For it is all through our false lore,  
That day and night we pain us evermore  
With many an oath, these women to beguile  
With false tales, and many a wicked wile.   

* And if falsehood should be reckoned & told  
In women, iwis full troth were,  
Not as in men, by a thousand fold,  
From all vices iwis they stand clear,  
In any thing that I could of hear,  
But if enticing of these men it make,  
That hem to flatteren connen never slake.   

* ay would fain weet where ever ye could here,  
Without men's tising, with women did amiss,  
Further ye may get him, ye lie fro year to year  
And many a gabbing ye make to him iwis,  
For I could never hear, ne known ere this,  
Where ever ye could find-in any place,  
That ever women besought you of grace.   

There ye you pain, with all your full might,  
With all your heart, and all your business,  
To pleasen hem both by day and night,  
Praying him of her grace and gentleness,  
To have pity upon your great distress,  
And that they would on your pain have routh,  
And slay you not, sens ye mean but troth.   

Thus may ye see that they ben faultless,  
And innocent to all your works sly,  
And all your crafts that touch falseness,  
They know him not, ne may him not espy,  
So swear ye, that ye must needs die,  
But if they would of her womanhood  
Upon you rue, ere that ye be dead.   

And then your lady, and your hearts' queen  
Ye call him, and therewith ye sigh sore,  
And say, my lady I trow that it be seen  
In what plight that I have lived full yore,  
But now I hope that ye wool no more  
In these pains suffer me for to dwell,  
For all goodness twis ye be the well.   

Lo which a painted process can ye make,  
These harmless creatures for to beguile,  
And when they sleep, ye pain you to wake,  
And to bethink you on many a wicked wile,  
But ye shall see the day that ye shall curse the while  
That ye so busily did your intent  
Him to beguile, that falsehood never meant.   

For this ye know well, though I would lie,  
In women is all troth and steadfastness,  
For in good faith I never of him sie  
But much worship, bounty, and gentleness,  
Right coming, fair, & full of meekness,  
Good and glad, and lowly I you ensure,  
Is this goodly angelic creature.   

And if it hap a man be in disease,  
She doth her business, and her full pain  
With all her might, him to comfort & please  
If fro his disease she might him restrain,  
In word ne deed iwis she wool not fain,  
But with all her might she doth her business  
To bring him out of his heaviness.   

Lo what gentillesse these women have,  
If we could know it for our rudeness,  
How busy they be us to keep and save,  
Both in heal, and also in sickness,  
And always right sorry for our distress,  
In every manner, thus show they routh,  
That in hem is all goodness and troth.   

And sith we find in him gentleness & troth,  
Worship, bounty, and kindness evermore,  
Let never this gentillesse through your sloth  
In her kind troth be aught forlese  
That in women is, and hath been full yore,  
* For in reverence of the heaven's queen,  
We ought to worship all women that been.   

For of all creatures that ever were get & borne,  
This wot ye well a woman was the best,  
By her was recovered the bliss that we had lost,  
And through the woman shall we come to rest,  
And been ysaved, if that ourself lest,  
Wherefore me thinketh, if that we had grace,  
We oughten honour women in every place.   

Therefore I read, that to our life's end,  
From this time forth, while that we have space,  
That we have trespassed, pursue to amend,  
Praying our Lady well of all grace  
To bring us unto that blissful place,  
There as she & good women shall be in fere  
In heaven above, among the angels clear.   
Explicit.   

The House of Fame.  

In this Book is showed how the Deeds of all Men and Women, be they good or bad, and carried by Report to Posterity.  

GOd turn us every dream to good,  
For it is wonder thing by the Rood  
To my wit, what causeth swevens  
On the morrow, or on evens,  
And why the effect followeth of some,  
And of some it shall never come,  
Why that it is an avision,  
And why this is a revelation,  
Why this a dream, why that a sweven,  
And not to every man liche even,  
Why this a fantome, why that Oracles,  
I not: but who so of these miracles  
The causes know bet than I,  
Define he, for I certainly  
Ne ran him not, ne never think  
To busy my wit for to swink  
To know of her significations  
The gendres, ne distinctions  
Of the times of hem, ne the causes,  
Or why this is more than that is,  
Or give folk's complexions,  
Make him dream of reflections,  
Or else thus, as other sane,  
For the great feebleness of her brain,  
By abstinence, or by sickness,  
Prison, strife, or great distress,  
Or else by disordinaunce,  
Or natural accustomance,  
That some men be too curious  
In study, or Melancolius,  
Or thus, so inly full of dread,  
That no man may him boat read,  
Or else that devotion  
Of some, and contemplation.  
Causen such dreams oft,  
Or that the cruel life unsoft  
Of him that loves leden,  
Oft hopen much or dreden,  
That purely her impressions  
Causen him to have visions,  
Or if spirits han the might  
To make folk to dream on night,  
Or if the soul of proper kind,  
Be so perfect as men find,  
That it wot what is to come,  
And that he warneth all and some  
Of every of her aventures,  
By avisions, or by figures,  
But that our flesh hath no might  
To understand it aright,  
For it is warned too darkly,  
But why the cause is, not wot I,  
Well worth of this thing clerks,  
That treaten of that, and of other works,  
For I of none opinion  
Nill as now make mention,  
But only that the holy Rood  
Turn us every dream to good,  
For never sith I was borne,  
Ne no man else me before,  
Met I trow steadfastly  
So wonderful a dream as I.  
The tenth day now of December,  
The which, as I can remember,  
I wool you tell everydeal,  
But at my beginning trusteth well,  
I wool make invocation,  
With a devout special devotion  
Unto the god of sleep anon,  
That dwelleth in a cave of stone,  
Upon a stream that cometh fro let,  
That is a flood of hell unsweet,  
Beside a Fulke, that men clepe Cimerie,  
There sleepeth aye this God unmerie,  
With his sleepy thousand sons,  
That always to sleep her won is,  
And to this God that I of read,  
Pray I, that he wool me speed,  
My sweven for to tell aright,  
If every dream stand in his might,  
And he that mover is of all  
That is and was, and ever shall,  
So give him joy that it here,  
Or all that they dream to year,  
And for to stand all in grace  
That hem were levest for to stoned,  
And shield him from poverty and shond,  
And from every unhap and disease,  
And send him that may hem please,  
That taketh well and scorneth nought,  
Ne it misdeem in her thought,  
Through malicious intention,  
And who so through presumption,  
Or hate, or scorn, or through envy,  
Despite, or yape, or felony,  
Misdeem it, pray I jesus good,  
Dream he barefoot, or dream he should,  
That every harm that any man  
Hath had sith the world began,  
Befall him thereof, or he starve,  
And grant that he may it deserve.  
Lo, with right such a conclusion,  
As had of his avision  
Croesus, that was king of Lide,  
That high upon a gibbet died,  
This prayer shall he have of me,  
I am not bette in charity.   

NOw harken, as I have you said,  
What that I met or I abrayd,  
Of December the tenth day,  
When it was night, to sleep I lay,  
Right as I was wont to done,  
And fell asleep wonder soon,  
As he that was weary forgo,  
On pilgrimage miles two  
To the corpses of saint Leonard,  
To maken lithe, that erst was hard.  
But as I slept, me met I was  
Within a temple maked of glass,  
In which there were more Images  
Of gold, standing in sundry stages,  
In more rich Tabernacles,  
And with perre more pinnacles,  
And more curious portraitures,  
And quaint manner of figures  
Of gold work, than I saw ever.  
But certainly I nist never  
Where that it was, but well wist I,  
It was of Venus readily  
This temple, for in portreiture,  
I saw a non right her figure  
Naked fleeting in a see,  
And also on her head pard,  
Her rose garland white and red,  
And her comb to comb her head,  
Her doves, and Dan Cupid,  
Her blind son, and Vulcano,  
That in his face was full brown.  
But as I rome up and down,  
I found that on the wall there was  
Thus written on a table of bras.  
I wool now sing if that I can,  
The arms, and also the man,  
That first came through his destiny  
Fugitife from Troy the country,  
Into Itaile, with full much pine,  
Unto the strands of Lavine,  
And though began the story anon,  
As I shall tell you eachone.  
First saw I the destruction  
Of Troy, through the Greek Sinon,  
With his false untrue forswearing,  
And with his cheer and his lesing  
Made a horse, brought into Troy,  
By which Troyans lost all her joy.  
And after this was graved, alas,  
How Ilion's castle assailed was  
And won, and king Priamus slain,  
And Polites his son certain,  
Dispitously of Dan Pirrus.  
And next that saw I how Venus  
When that she saw the castle burnt,  
Down from heaven she 'gan descend,  
And bad her son Aeneas to flee,  
And how he fled, and how that he  
Escaped was from all the prees,  
And took his father, old Anchises,  
And bore him on his back away,  
Crying alas and wellaway,  
The which Anchises in his hand  
Bore though the gods of the land,  
Thilk that unbrenned were.  
Then saw I next all in fere,  
How Crusa, Dan Aeneas wife,  
Whom that he loved all his life,  
And her young son julo,  
And eke Ascanius also,  
Fledden eke with dreary cheer,  
That it was pity for to here,  
And in a Forest as they went,  
At a tourning of a went,  
How Crusa was ylost, alas,  
That read not I, how that it was,  
How he her sought, and how her ghost  
Bade him fly the greeks host,  
And said he must into Itaile,  
As was his destiny, sans fail,  
That it was pity for to hear,  
When her spirit 'gan appear  
The words that she to him said,  
And for to keep her son him prayed.  
There saw I graven eke how he,  
His father eke, and his mien,  
With his ships 'gan to sail  
Toward the country of Itaile,  
As straight as they mighten go.  
There saw I eke the cruel juno,  
That art Dan jupiters' wife,  
That hast yhated all thy life  
All the Trojan blood,  
Ren and cry as thou were wood  
On Aeolus, the god of Winds,  
To blown out of all kinds  
So loud, that he should drench  
Lord, Lady, groom, and wench  
Of all the Trojans nation,  
Without any of her salvation.  
There saw I such tempest arise,  
That every heart might agrize,  
To see it painted on the wall.  
There saw I eke graven withal  
Venus, how ye my Lady dear,  
Weeping with full woeful cheer,  
Praying jupiter on high  
To save and keep that navy  
Of that Trojan Aeneas,  
Sith that he her son was.  
There saw I Ioues Venus kiss,  
And granted was of the tempest lisse.  
There saw I how the tempest stint,  
And how with all pipe he went,  
And p●iuely took a rivage  
Into the country of Carthage,  
And on the morrow how that he,  
And a Knight that height Achate,  
Metten with Venus that day,  
Going in a quaint array,  
As she had be an hunter esse,  
With wind blowing upon her tress,  
And how Aeneas began to plain,  
When he knew her, of his pain,  
And how his Ships dreint were,  
Or else ylost, he nist where,  
How she 'gan him comfort tho,  
And bade him to Cartage go,  
And there he should his folk find,  
That in the sea were left behind,  
And shortly of this thing to pace,  
She made Aeneas so in grace  
Of Dido, Queen of that country,  
That shortly for to tell, she  
Became his love, and let him do  
All that wedding longeth to,  
What should I speak it more acquaint,  
Or pain me my words to paint,  
To speak of love, it wool not be,  
I cannot of that faculty,  
And eke to tell of the manner  
How they first acquainted were,  
It were a long process to tell,  
And over long for you to dwell.  
There saw I grave, how Aeneas  
Told to Dido every case,  
That him was tidde upon the see.  
And est graven was how that she  
Made of him shortly at a word,  
Her life, her love, her lust, her lord,  
And did to him all reverence,  
And laid on him all the dispense,  
That any woman might do,  
weening it had all be so,  
As he her swore, and hereby deemed  
That he was good, for he such seemed.  
* Alas, what harm doth appearance,  
When it is false in existence,  
For he to her a traitor was,  
Wherefore she slow herself alas.  
* Lo, how a woman doth amiss,  
To love him that unknowen is,  
For by Christ lo thus it fareth,  
* It is not all gold that glareth,  
For also brook I well mine head,  
There may be under goodlihead  
Covered many a shrewd vice,  
Therefore be no wight so nice,  
To take a love only for cheer,  
Or speech, or for friendly manere,  
For this shall every woman find,  
That some man of his pure kind  
wol shown outward the fairest,  
Till he have caught that what him left,  
And then wool he causes find,  
And swear how she is unkind,  
Or false, or privy, or double was,  
All this say I by Aeneas  
And Dido, and her nice jest,  
That loved all to soon a guest,  
Wherefore I wool say o proverb,  
* That he that fully knoweth the herb,  
May safely lay it to his eye,  
Withouten dread this is no lie.  
But let us speak of Aeneas,  
How he betrayed her, alas,  
And left her full unkindly.  
So when she saw all utterly,  
That he would her of troth fail,  
And wenden from her into Itaile,  
She 'gan to wring her hands two.  
Alas (qd. she) that me is woe,  
Alas, is every man thus true,  
That every year wool have a new,  
If it so long time endure,  
Or else three paraventure,  
And thus of one he wool have fame  
In magnifying of his own name,  
Another for friendship sayeth he,  
And yet there shall the third be,  
That is taken for delight,  
Lo, or else for singular profit,  
In such words 'gan complain  
Dido of her great pain,  
As me met dreaming readily,  
None other author allege wool I.  
Alas (qd. she) my sweet hart,  
Have pity on my sorrow's smart,  
And slay me not, go not away.  
O woeful Dido, wellaway  
(Qd. she) unto herself tho.  
O Aeneas what wool ye do,  
O that your love ne your bond,  
That ye swore with your right hon,  
Ne my cruel death (qd. she)  
May hold you still here with me.  
O, have ye of my death no pite,  
Iwis mine own dear heart ye  
Know full well that never yet,  
As far as ever I had wit,  
Agilt you in thought ne in deed.  
O, have ye men such goodlihede  
In speech, and never a deal of troth,  
Alas that ever had routh  
Any woman on a false man.  
Now I see well, and tell can,  
We wretched women can no art,  
For certain, for the more part,  
Thus we been served everyone,  
How sore that ye men can groan,  
Anon as we have you received,  
Certainly we been deceived,  
For though your love lest a season,  
Wait upon the conclusion,  
And eke how ye determine,  
And for the more part define,  
O wellaway that I was borne,  
For through you my name is lost,  
And mine acts red and sung  
Over all this land in every tongue.  
O wicked fame, for there nis  
Nothing so swift lo as she is,  
O sooth is every thing is witted,  
Though it be covered with the mist,  
Eke though I might durens ever,  
That I have done recover I never,  
That it ne shall be said, alas,  
I shamed was through Aeneas,  
And that I shall thus judged be.  
Lo right as she hath done, now she  
Wool done eftsoons hardly,  
Thus say the people privily,  
But that is done nis not to done,  
But all her complaint ne her moan  
Certain availed her not a stre,  
And when she wist sooth he  
Was forth into his ship agone,  
She into chamber went anon,  
And called on her sister Anne,  
And 'gan her to complain than,  
And said, that she cause was,  
That she first loved him alas,  
And first counselled her thereto,  
But what, when this was said and do,  
She roft her seluen to the hart,  
And deide through the wounds smart,  
But all the manner how she deide,  
And all the words how she said,  
Who so to know it hath purpose,  
Reed Virgile in Eneidos,  
Or the Pistels of ovid,  
What that she wrote or that she died,  
And ne'er it too long to indite,  
By God I would it here write,  
But wellaway, the harm and routh  
That hath betid for such untruth,  
As men may oft in books read,  
And all day seen it yet in deed,  
That for to thinken it tene is.  
Lo Demophon, Duke of Athenis,  
How he forswore him falsely,  
And traied Phillis wickedly,  
That king's daughter was of Thrace,  
And falsely 'gan his term pace,  
And when she wist that he was false,  
She hung herself right by the half,  
For he had done her such untruth,  
Lo, was not this a woe and routh.  
Eke look how false and reckless  
Was to Briseida Achilles,  
And Paris to Oenone,  
And jason to Hipsiphile,  
And eft jason to Medea,  
And Hercules to Dianira,  
For he left her for jolee,  
That made him take his death pard.  
How false was eke Theseus,  
That as the story telleth us,  
How he betrayed Adriane,  
The devil be his soul's bane,  
For had he laughed or yloured,  
He must have been all devoured,  
If Adriane ne had be,  
And for she had of him pite,  
She made him from the death escape,  
And he made her a full false jape,  
For after this within a while,  
He left her sleeping in an Isle,  
Desert alone right in the see,  
And stale away, and let her be,  
And took her sister Phedra though  
With him, and 'gan to ship go,  
And yet he had sworn to here,  
On all that ever he could swear,  
That so she saved him his life,  
He would taken her to his wife,  
For she desired nothing else,  
In certain, as the book us tells.  
But for to excuse this Aeneas  
Fulliche of all his great trespass,  
The book saith sans fail,  
The gods bade him go to Itaile,  
And leaven Africa's region,  
And fair Dido and her town,  
Tho saw I grave how to Itaile  
Dan Aeneas 'gan for to sail,  
And how the tempest all began,  
And how he lost his steersman,  
Which that the stern, or he took keep,  
Smote over the board as he sleep.  
And also saugh I how Sibile  
And Aeneas beside an Isle,  
To hell went for to see  
His father Anchises the free,  
And how he there found Palimurus,  
And also Dido, and Deiphobus,  
And everiche tourment eke in hell  
Saw he, which long is for to tell,  
Which pains who so list to know,  
He must read many a row  
In Vergile or in Claudian,  
Or Daunt, that it tell can.  
Tho saw I eke all the arivaile  
That Aeneas had made in Itaile,  
And with king Latin his treat,  
And all the battles that he  
Was at himself, and his knights,  
Or he had all iwonne his rights,  
And how he Turnus reft his life,  
And wan Lavina to his wife,  
And all the marvelous signals  
Of the god's celestials,  
How maugre juno, Aeneas  
For all her sleight and her compass  
Acheved all his adventure,  
For jupiter took on him cure,  
At the prayer of Venus,  
Which I pray always save us,  
And us aye of our sorrow's light.  
When I had seen all this sight  
In this noble temple thus,  
hay Lord, thought I, that madest us,  
Yet saw I never such noblesse  
Of Images, nor such richesse,  
As I see graven in this church,  
But nought wot I who did him worch,  
Ne where I am, ne in what country,  
But now will I out gone and see  
Right at the wicket if I can  
Seen aught where stirring any man,  
That may me tell where I am.  
When I out of the door came,  
I fast about me beheld,  
Then saw I but a large field,  
As far as ever I might see,  
Without town, house, or tree,  
Or bush, or grass, or eared land,  
For all the field was but of sand,  
As small as men may see at eye  
In the desert of Lybye,  
Ne no manner creature,  
That is yformed by nature,  
Ne saw I, me to read or wisse:  
O Christ, thought I, that are in bliss,  
From fanton and illusion  
Me save, and with devotion  
Mine eyes to the heaven I cast,  
Tho was I beware lo at the last,  
That fast by the sun on hie,  
As ken might I with mine eye,  
Me thought I saw an Eagle sore,  
But that it seemed much more,  
Than I had any Eagle yseine,  
This is as soothe as death certain,  
It was of gold, and shone so bright,  
That never saw men such a sight,  
But if the heaven had ywonne  
All new of God another son,  
So shone the Eagles' feathers bright,  
And somewhat downward 'gan it light.   
Explicit liber primus.   

NOw harken every manner man,  
That English understand can,  
And listeth of my dream to here,  
For now at erst shall ye lere  
So silly and so dreadful a vision,  
That I say neither Scipion,  
Ne king Nabugodonosore,  
Pharaoh, Turnus, ne Alcanore,  
Ne metten such a dream as this,  
Now fair blissful, O Cyprus,  
So be my favour at this time,  
That ye me tendite and rhyme  
Helpeth, that in Pernaso dwell,  
Beside Elicon the clear well.  
O thought, that wrote all that I met,  
And in the treasury it set  
Of my brain, now shall men see  
If any virtue in thee be,  
To tell all my dream aright,  
Now kithe thy engine and thy might.  
This Eagle of which I have you told,  
That with feathers shone all of gold,  
Which that so high 'gan to sore,  
I 'gan behold more and more,  
To seen her beauty and the wonder,  
But never was that dent of thunder,  
Ne that thing that men call sendre,  
That smite sometime a tower to poudre,  
And in his swift coming burnt,  
That so swithe 'gan downward descend,  
As this foul when it beheld,  
That I a room was in the field,  
And with his grim paws strong,  
Within his sharp nails long,  
Me fleeing at a swap he hent,  
And with his sours again up went,  
Me carrying in his claws stark,  
As lightly as I had been a lark,  
How high, I cannot tell you,  
For I came up, I nist never how,  
For so astonished and asweved  
Was every virtue in me heaved,  
What with his sours and my dread,  
That all my feeling 'gan to dead,  
For why, it was a great affray.  
Thus I long in his claws lay,  
Till at last he to me spoke  
In man's voice, and said awake,  
And be not aghast so for shame,  
And called me tho by my name,  
And for I should better abraid,  
Me to awake, thus he said,  
Right in the same voice and stevin,  
That useth one that I can nevin,  
And with that voice, sooth to sane,  
My mind came to me again,  
For it was goodly said to me,  
So nas it never wont to be,  
And herewithal I 'gan to steer,  
As he me in his feet bear,  
Till that he felt that I had heat,  
And felt eke though mine hart beat,  
And though 'gan he me to disport,  
And with gentle words me comfort,  
And said twice, saint Mary,  
Thou art a noyous thing to carry,  
And nothing needeth it pard,  
For also wise God help me,  
As thou no harm shalt have of this,  
And this case that betiddeth thee is,  
Is for thy lore and for thy prow,  
Let see, dar'st thou look yet now,  
Be full insured boldly,  
I am thy friend, and therewith I  
'Gan for to wonder in my mind.  
O God, qd. ay, that madest all kind,  
Shall I none otherwise die,  
Whether jove will me stellify,  
Or what thing may this signify,  
I am neither Enocke, ne Helie,  
Ne Romulus, ne Ganymede,  
That were boar up as men read,  
To heaven with dan jupiter,  
And made the god's buteler,  
Lo, this was though my fantasy,  
But he that bore 'gan aspie,  
That I so thought and said this,  
Thou deemest of thyself amiss,  
For jove is not thereabout,  
I dare thee put full out of doubt  
To make of thee yet a star,  
But ere I bear thee much far,  
I will the tell what I am,  
And whider thou shalt, and why I came,  
To do this, so that thou take  
Good heart, and not for fear quake.  
Gladly, qd. ay, now well, qd. he:  
First, I that in my feet have the,  
Of whom thou hast fear and wonder,  
I am dwelling with the god of thunder,  
Which men call jupiter,  
That doth me flien full oft for  
To do all his commandment,  
And for this cause he hath me sent  
To thee: Hark now by thy troth,  
Certain he hath of thee routh,  
That thou hast so truly  
Long served ententifely  
His blind new Cupid,  
And fair Venus also,  
Without guerdon ever yet,  
And nevertheless hast set thy wit,  
Although in thy head full little is,  
To make books, songs, and ditties  
In rhyme, or else in Cadence,  
As thou best canst in reverence  
Of love, and of his servants eke,  
That have his service sought and seek,  
And painest thee to praise his art,  
Although thou hadst never part,  
Wherefore also God me bless,  
Iouis halt it great humblesse,  
And virtue eke, that thou wilt make  
A might full oft thine head to ache,  
In thy study so thou writest,  
And evermore of love enditest,  
In honour of him and praisings,  
And in his folk's furtherings,  
And in her matter all devisest,  
And not him ne his folk dispisest,  
Although thou mayst go in the dance  
Of him, that him list not advance,  
Wherefore as I said iwis,  
jupiter considreth well this,  
And also beausire, of other things,  
That is, thou haste no tidings  
Of love's folk, if they be glade,  
Ne of nothing else that God made,  
And not only fro far country,  
That no tidings come to thee,  
Not of thy very neighbours,  
That dwellen almost at thy doors,  
Thou hearest neither that ne this,  
For when thy labour all done is,  
And hast made all thy reckonings  
In stead of rest and of new things,  
Thou goest home to thine house anon,  
And also dumb as a stone,  
Thou sittest at another book,  
Till fully dazed is thy look,  
And livest thus as an Hermit,  
Although thine abstinence is light,  
And therefore Iouis through his grace  
Will that I bear thee to a place,  
Which that height the house of Fame,  
And to do the sport and game  
In some recompensation  
Of thy labour and devotion  
That thou hast had, lo causeless,  
To god Cupid the reckless,  
And thus this God through his merit  
Will with some manner thing thee quite,  
So that thou wilt be of good cheer,  
For trust well that thou shalt here,  
When we ben come there as I say,  
more wonder things dare I lay,  
And of love's folk more tidings,  
Both soothsawes and lesing,  
And more loves new begun,  
And long served till love is won,  
And more lovers casually,  
That been betid, no man wot why,  
But as a blind man starteth an Hare,  
And more jolite and welfare,  
While they find love of steel,  
As think men, and over all we'll,  
more discords, and more jealousies,  
more murmurs, and more novelries,  
And also more dissimulations,  
And eke feigned reparations,  
And more berdes in two hours  
Without razor or sisours  
maked, than grains be of sands,  
And eke more holding in more hands,  
And also more renovelaunces  
Of old forseten aqueintaunces,  
more love days, and more accords  
Than on instruments been cords,  
And eke of love more exchanges,  
Than ever corn were in graunges,  
Vnneth mayest thou trowen this,  
Qd. he, no so help me God as wis  
Qd. I, Now why, qd. he, for it  
Were impossible to my wit,  
Though Fame had all the pries  
In all a realm and all aspies,  
How that yet he should hear all this,  
Or they espien: O yes, yes,  
Qd. he, to me, that can I prove  
By reason, worthy for to leave,  
So that thou give thine advertence  
To understand my sentence.  
First shalt thou here where she dwelleth,  
Right so as thine own book telleth,  
Her palais standeth as I shall say  
Right even amids of the way  
Between heaven, earth, and see,  
That whatsoever in all these three  
Is spoken in privy or apert,  
The way thereto is so overt,  
And stant eke in so just a place,  
That every swoon mote to it pace,  
Or what so cometh from any tongue,  
Be row, red, or song,  
Or spoken in surety or dread,  
Certain it moat thither need.  
Now harken well, for why I will  
Tellen thee a proper skill,  
And a worthy demonstration  
In mine imagination.  
Geffray, thou wottest well this,  
That every kindly thing that is,  
Hath a kindly stead there he  
May best in it conserved be,  
Unto which place every thing,  
Through his kindly inclining,  
Meveth for to come to,  
When that it is away therefrom,  
As thus. Lo how thou mayst all day see,  
Take any thing that heavy be,  
As stone or lead, or thing of weight,  
And bear it never so high on height,  
Let go thine hand, it falleth down,  
Right so say. I by fire or sown  
Or smoke, or other things light,  
Always they seek upward on height,  
Light things up, and downward charge,  
While everich of him be at large,  
And for this cause thou mayst well see,  
That every river unto the see  
Inclined is to go by kind,  
And by these skills, as I find,  
Have fishes dwelling in flood and see,  
And trees eke on the earth be,  
Thus every thing by his reason  
Hath his own proper mansion,  
To which he seeketh to repair,  
There as it should nat appair.  
Lo, this sentence is known couth  
Of every Philosopher's mouth,  
As Aristotle and dan Platone,  
And other clerks many one,  
And to confirm my reasoun,  
Thou wost well that speech is sound,  
Or else no man might it here,  
Now hark what I wool thee lere.  
Sown is not but eyre ybroken,  
And every speech that is spoken,  
Loud or privy, foul or fair,  
In his substance is but air,  
For as flame is but lighted smoke,  
Right so is sown eyre ybroke,  
But this may be in many wise,  
Of which I will thee devise,  
As swoon cometh of pipe or harp,  
For when a pipe is blown sharp,  
The eyre is twist with violence,  
And rend: Lo, this is my sentence  
Eke, when men harp strings smite,  
whether it be much or light,  
Lo, with the stroke the eyre it breaketh,  
And right so breaketh it when men speaketh,  
Thus wost thou well what thing is speech,  
Now henceforth I will thee teach,  
How everich speech, voice, or sound,  
Through his multiplicatioun,  
Though it were piped of a mouse,  
Mote needs come to Fame's house,  
I prove it thus, take heed now  
By experience, for if that thou  
Threw in a water now a stone,  
Well wost thou it will make anon  
A little roundel as a cercle,  
Paraventure as broad as a covercle,  
And right anon thou shalt see well,  
That wheel cercle will cause another wheel,  
And that the third, and so forth brother,  
Every cercle causing other,  
Broader than himself was,  
And thus from roundel to compass,  
Each about other going,  
Causeth of others stering,  
And multiplying evermo,  
Till it be so far go  
That it at both brinks be,  
Although thou may it not see  
Above, yet goeth it always under,  
Though thou think it a great wonder,  
And who so saith of troth I vary,  
Bid him prove the contrary,  
And right thus every word iwis,  
That loud or privy yspoken is,  
Moveth first an eyre about,  
And of his moving out of doubt  
Another eyre anon is moved,  
As I have of the water proved,  
That every cercle causeth other,  
Right so of eyre my leave brother,  
Euerich eyre in other stireth  
More and more, and speech up beareth,  
Or voice or noise, word or sound,  
Ay through multiplicatioun,  
Till it be at the house of Fame,  
Take it in earnest or in game,  
Now have I told, if thou have mind,  
How speech or swoon, of pure kind  
Inclined is upward to move,  
This mayest thou feel well by preue,  
And that same stead iwis,  
That every thing inclined to is,  
Hath his kindliche stead,  
That showeth it without dread,  
That kindly the mansioun  
Of everich speech of every sound,  
Be it either foul or fair,  
Hath his kind place in air,  
And sith that every thing iwis  
Out of his kind place iwis,  
Moveth thither for to go,  
If it away be therefrom,  
As I have before proved thee,  
It showeth every son pard,  
Moveth kindly to pace,  
As up into his kind place,  
And this place of which I tell,  
There as Fame list to dwell,  
Is set amids of these three,  
Heaven, earth, and eke the see,  
As most conseruatife the sound,  
Then is this the conclusion,  
That every speech of every man,  
As I thee tell first began,  
Moveth up on height to place  
Kindly to Fame's place.  
Tell me this now faithfully,  
Have I not proved thus simply,  
Without any subtelty  
Of speech, or great prolixity,  
Of terms of Philosophy,  
Of figures of Poetry,  
Or colours of Rhetoric,  
Perdie it ought thee to like,  
For hard language, and hard matter  
Is incombrous for to here  
At ones, wost thou not well this?  
And I answered and said yes.  
Ah ah, qd. he, lo so I can,  
Lewdly unto a lewd man  
Speke, and show him such skills,  
That he may shake him by the bills,  
So palpable they shoulden be,  
But tell me this now pray I thee,  
How thinketh thee my conclusioun?  
A good persuasion,  
Qd. I, it is, and like to be,  
Right so as thou hast proved me,  
By God, qd. he, and as I leave,  
Thou shalt have it or it be eve,  
Of every word of this sentence,  
A proof by experience,  
And with thine ears hearen well,  
Top and tail, and everidell,  
That every word that spoken is,  
Come into Fame's house iwis,  
As I have said, what wilt thou more,  
And with this word upper to sore,  
He began and said by saint jame,  
Now will we speak all of game.  
How farest thou now, qd. he, to me,  
Well, qd. ay, now see, qd. he,  
By thy troth yond adown,  
Where that thou knowest any town,  
Or house, or any other thing,  
And when thou hast of aught knowing,  
Look that thou warn me,  
And I anon shall tell thee,  
How far that thou art now therefrom.  
And I adown 'gan to look tho,  
And beheld fields and plains,  
Now hills, and now mountains,  
Now valeis, and now forests,  
And now unneath great beests,  
Now rivers, now cities,  
Now towns, now great trees,  
Now ships sailing in the see.  
But thus soon in a while he,  
Was flown from the ground so hie,  
That all the world as to mine eye,  
No more seemed than a prick,  
Or else was the eyre so thick  
That I might it not discern:  
With that he spoke to me so yearn,  
And said: Seest thou any token,  
Or aught that in this world of spoken?  
I said nay, no wonder is,  
Qd. he, for never half so hie as this,  
Nas Alexander of Macedon  
King, Ne of Rome dan Scipion,  
That saw in dream at point devose,  
Heaven and earth, helf and paradise,  
Ne eke the wretch Dedalus,  
Ne his child nice Icharus,  
That flew so high, that the heat  
His wings molte, and he fell weet  
In mid the sea, and there he dreint,  
For whom was made a great complaint.  
Now turn upward, qd. he, thy face,  
And behold this large place,  
This eyre, but look that thou ne be  
Adread of him that thou shalt see,  
For in this region certain,  
Dwelleth many a citezeine,  
Of which speaketh dan Plato,  
These been the eyrishe beests lo,  
And though saw I all the menie,  
Both gone and also fly.  
Lo, qd. he, cast up thine eye,  
See yonder lo, the Galaxy,  
The which men clepe the milky way,  
For it is white: And some parfay  
Callen it watling street,  
That ones was brent with the heat,  
When the Sun's son the read,  
That height Pheton, would lead  
Algate his father's cart, and gie.  
The cart horse 'gan well aspie,  
That he could no governance,  
And 'gan for to leap and prance,  
And bear him up, and now down,  
Till he saw the Scorpioun,  
Which that in heaven a sign is yet,  
And he for fere lost his wit  
Of that, and let the reins gone  
Of his horse, and they anon  
Soon up to mount, and down descend  
Till both eyre and earth brende,  
Till jupiter lo, at the last  
Him slew, and fro the cart cast.  
Lo, is it not a great mischance,  
To let a fool have governance  
Of things that he can not demaine?  
And with this word sooth for to sane,  
He 'gan always upper to sore,  
And gladded me then more and more,  
So faithfully to me spoke he.  
Tho 'gan I to look under me,  
And beheld the eyrish beests,  
Clouds, mists, and tempests,  
Snows, hails, reins, and winds,  
And thengendring in her kinds,  
All the way through which I came;  
O God, qd. ay, that made Adame,  
Much is thy might and nobles.  
And though thought I upon Boece,  
That writeth a thought may fly so high,  
With feathers of Philosophy  
To passen everich Element,  
And when he hath so far ywent,  
Then may be seen behind his back,  
Cloud, and earth, and all that I of spoke.  
Tho 'gan I wax in a were,  
And said, I wot well I am here,  
But whether in body or in ghost,  
I not iwis, but God thou woost,  
For more clear intendment,  
Nas me never yet send,  
And then thought I on Marcian,  
And eke of Anticlaudian,  
That sooth was her description  
Of all the heaven's region,  
As far as that I saw the preve,  
And therefore I can him leave.  
With that the Eagle 'gan to cry,  
Let be, qd. he, thy fantasy,  
Wilt thou learn of stars ought?  
Nay certainly, qd. ay, right nought.  
And why, qd. he? for I am old:  
Or else would I thee have told,  
Qd. he, the stars names lo,  
And all the heaven's signs to,  
And which they be. No force, qd. I.  
Yes pard, qd. he, wost thou why,  
For when thou readest poetry,  
How the gods can stellify  
Bird, fish, or him, or her,  
As the Ravine and other,  
Or Ariones' harp fine,  
Cassor, Polexe, or Delphine,  
Or Athalantes daughters seven,  
How all these are set in heaven,  
For though thou have him oft in hand,  
Yet nost thou nat where they stand.  
No force, qd. ay, it is no need,  
As well I leave so God me speed,  
Hem that written of this matter,  
As though I knew her places here,  
And eke they semen here so bright,  
It should shenden all my sight,  
To look on him: that may well be,  
Qd. he, and so forth hare he me  
A while, and though he 'gan to cry,  
(That never heard I thing so high)  
Hold up thine heed, for all is well,  
Saint julian lo, bonue hostel,  
See here the house of Fame lo,  
Mayst thou not here that I do?  
What, qd. I?, the great swoon  
Qd. he, that rombleth up and down  
In Fame's house full of tidings,  
Both of fair speech and chide,  
And of false and sooth compouned,  
Harken well it is not row.  
Hearest thou not the great swough?  
Yes perde, qd. ay, well enough,  
And what swoon is it like, qd. he?  
Peter, like the beating of the see,  
Qd. I, against the roches halow,  
When tempests done her ships swallow,  
And that a man stand out of doubt,  
A mile thence, and here it rout.  
Or else like the humbling  
After the clap of a thuisoring,  
When Iouis hath the eyre ybete,  
But it doth me for fear sweet,  
Nay, dread thee not thereof, qd. he,  
It is nothing that will bitten thee,  
Thou shalt have no harm truly,  
And with that word both he and I  
As nigh the place arrived were,  
As men might cast with a spear,  
I niste how, but in a street  
He set me fair on my feet,  
And said, walk forth a pace  
And tell thine adventure and case,  
That thou shalt find in fame's place.  
Now, qd. ay, while we have space  
To speak, or that I go from thee,  
For the love of God tell me,  
In sooth, that I will of thee lere,  
If this noise that I here  
Be as I have heard thee tell,  
Of folk that done in earth dwell,  
And cometh here in the same wise,  
As I thee herd or this device,  
And that here lives body nis  
In all that house that yonder is,  
That maketh all this loud fare.  
No, qd. he, by saint Clare,  
And also wisse God read me,  
But o thing I will warn thee,  
Of the which thou wilt have wonder.  
Lo, to the house of Fame yonder,  
Thou woste how cometh every speech,  
It needeth not the eft to reach,  
But understand now right well this,  
When any speech ycomen is,  
Up to the palais anon right,  
It waxeth like the same wight,  
Which that the word in earth spoke,  
Be he clothed in reed or black,  
And hath so very his likeness,  
And spoke the word that thou wilt guess,  
That it the same body be,  
Man or woman, he or she.  
And is not this a wonder thing,  
Yes, qd. I though, by heaven king,  
And with this word farewell, qd. he,  
And here will I abide thee,  
And God of heaven send thee grace,  
Some good to learn in this place,  
And I of him took leave anon,  
And 'gan forth to the palace gone.  
Explicit liber secundus.   

GOd of Science and of light,  
Apollo through thy great might,  
This little last book now thou gie,  
Now that I will for mastery,  
Here art potential be showed,  
But for the rhyme is light and lewd,  
Yet make it somewhat agreeable,  
Though some verse fail in a syllable,  
And that I do no diligence,  
To show craft, but sentence,  
And if divine virtue thou  
Wilt help me to show now,  
That in my heed ymarked is,  
Lo, that is for to meanen this,  
The house of Fame for to discriue,  
Thou shalt see me go as believe  
Unto the next laurer I see,  
And kiss it, for it is thy tree,  
Now entre in my breast anon.  
When I was from the Eagle gone,  
I 'gan behold upon this place,  
And certain or I further pass,  
I wool you all the shape device,  
Of house and city, and all the wise,  
How I 'gan to this place approach,  
That stood upon so high a roch,  
Hyer standeth none in Spain,  
But up I clomb with much pain,  
And though to climb grieved me,  
Yet I ententife was to see,  
And for to poren wondre low,  
If ay coude any wise yknow  
What manner stone this roche was,  
For it was like a limed glass,  
But that it shone full more clear,  
But of what congealed matter  
It was, I niste readily,  
But at the last espied I,  
And found that it was everydeal,  
A roche of ice and not of steel,  
Thought I by saint Thomas of Kent,  
This were a feeble fundament,  
To builden on a place high,  
He ought him little to glorify,  
That hereon bilte, God so me save.  
Tho saw I all the hall ygrave  
With famous folk's names feel,  
That had been in much we'll,  
And her fames wide yblow,  
But well unneath might I know  
Any letters for to read  
Her names by, for out of dread,  
They weren almost of thawed so,  
That of the letters one or two  
Were molte away of every name,  
So unfamous was wax her fame,  
But men say, what may ever last.  
Tho 'gan I in mine heart cast,  
That they were molte away for heat,  
And not away with storms beat,  
For on that other side I say,  
Of this hill, that Northward lay,  
How it was written full of names,  
Of folk that had afore great fames,  
Of old time, and yet they were  
As fresh as men had written him there  
The self day, or that hour  
That I on hem 'gan to pour,  
But well I wist what it made,  
It was conserved with the shade,  
All the writing that I sie,  
Of a Castle that so stood on high,  
And stood eke in so cold a place,  
That heat might it not deface.  
Tho 'gan I on this hill to gone,  
And found on the cop a won,  
That all the men that been on live,  
Ne han the cunning to discriue  
The beauty of that ilke place,  
Ne could cast no compass,  
Soch another for to make,  
That might of beauty be his make,  
Ne so wonderly ●●rought,  
That it astonieth yet my thought,  
And maketh all my wit to swink  
On this Castle for to think,  
So that the great beauty,  
The cast, craft, and curiosity,  
Ne can I not to you device,  
My wit ne may me not suffice,  
But nevertheless all the substance  
I have yet in my remembrance,  
For why me thought by saint Gile,  
All was of stone of Berile,  
Both the Castle and the Tower,  
And eke the hall, and every bower,  
Without pieces or joinings,  
But many subtle compassings,  
As babeuries and pinnacles,  
Imageries and tabernacles,  
I saw, and full eke of windows,  
As flakes fallen in great Snows,  
And eke in each of the pinnacles  
Weren sundry habitacles,  
In which stooden all withouten,  
Full the castle all abouten,  
Of all manner of Min●●rales,  
And jestours, that tell tales  
Both of weeping and of game,  
And of all that longeth unto Fame,  
There heard I play on an Harp,  
That souned both well and sharp,  
Him Orpheus' full craftily,  
And on this side fast by  
Sat the Harper Orion,  
And Gacides Chirion,  
And other Harpers many one,  
And the Briton Glaskirion,  
And small Harpers with her glees,  
Sat under him in divers sees,  
And gone on him upward to gape,  
And counterfeited hem as an Ape,  
Or as craft counterfeit kind.  
Tho saw I stand him behind,  
A far from him, all by hemselue,  
Many a thousand times twelve,  
That made loud Minstralcies  
In Cornmuse and Shalmies,  
And many another pipe,  
That craftily began to pipe,  
Both in Douced and in Reed,  
That been at feasts with the breed,  
And many a Floite and litling horn,  
And pipes made of green Corn,  
As have these little heard grooms,  
That keepen beasts in the Brome's.  
There saw I then dan Citherus,  
And of Athenes dan Proserus,  
And Mercia that lost her skin,  
Both in face, body, and chin,  
For that she would enuien lo,  
To pipen bette than Apollo.  
There saw I eke famous old and young,  
Pipers of all the Dutch tongue,  
To learn love dances, springs,  
Reyes, and the strange things.  
Tho saw I in another place,  
Standing in a large space  
Of him that maken bloody sound,  
In trump beme, and Clarioun,  
For in fight and bloodsheddings  
Is used gladly clarionings.  
There heard I trump, Messenus,  
Of whom that speaketh Vergilius.  
There heard I joab trump also,  
Theodomas, and other more,  
And all that used clarion,  
In Casteloigne and Arragon,  
That in her times famous were,  
To learnen saw I trumpen there.  
There saw I sit in other sees,  
Playing upon other sundry glees,  
Which that I cannot neven,  
Mother than Stars been in heaven,  
Of which I nill as now not rhyme,  
For ease of you, and loss of time:  
* For time ylost, this know ye,  
By no way may recovered be.  
There saw I p●aying jogelours,  
Magiciens, and Tragetours,  
And Phetonisses, Charmeresses,  
Old Witches, Sorceresses,  
That usen Exorsisations,  
And eke Subfumigations,  
And clerks eke, which con well  
All this Magic naturel,  
That craftily do her intents,  
To maken in certain ascendants,  
Images lo, through which Magic,  
To maken a man ben hole or sike.  
There saw I the queen Medea,  
And Circe's eke, and Caliophia.  
There saw I Hermes Ballenus,  
Limote, and eke Simon Magus.  
There saw I, and knew by name,  
That by such art done men have fame.  
There saw I Coll Tragetour  
Upon a table of Sicamour  
Play an uncouth thing to tell,  
I saw him carry a wind Mell  
Under a Walnote shalt.  
What should I make longer tale,  
Of all the people that I say,  
I could not tell till Domisdey.  
When I had all this folk behold,  
And found me lose and not hold,  
And I amused a long while  
Upon this wall of Berile,  
That shone lighter than a glass,  
And made well more than it was,  
As kind thing of fame is,  
And then anon after this,  
I 'gan forth romen till I fond  
The castle yate on my right hon,  
Which so well coruen was,  
That never such another nas,  
And yet it was by adventure  
Ywrought by great and subtle cure;  
It needeth not you more to tell,  
To make you too long dwellen,  
Of these yates' florishing,  
Ne of compaces, ne of karuing,  
Ne how the hacking in Masonries',  
As corbets, and Imageries,  
But Lord so fair it was to show,  
For it was all with gold behewe,  
But in I went, and that anon  
There met I crying many one,  
A largesse a largesse, hold up well  
God save the Lady of this pell,  
Our own gentle Lady Fame,  
And him that willen to have a name  
Of us, thus heard I crien all,  
And fast come out of the hall,  
And shaken nobles and starlings,  
And crowned were as kings,  
With crowns wrought full of Losing,  
And many ribans, and many fringes  
Were on her clothes truly.  
Tho at the last espied I,  
That Pursevauntes and Heraudes,  
That crien rich folks laudes,  
It weren, all and every man  
Of him, as I you tell can  
Had on him throw a vesture,  
Which men clepe a coat armure,  
Embroudred wonderly rich,  
As though they were not yliche,  
But nought will I, so moat I thrive,  
Be about to discriue  
All these arms that there weren,  
That they thus on her coats weren,  
For to me were impossible,  
Men might make of him a bible,  
Twenty foot thick as I trow,  
For certain who so could know,  
Might there all the arms seen,  
Of famous folk that had been  
In Africa, Europe, and asia,  
Sith first began chivalry.  
Lo, how should I now tell all this,  
Ne of the hall eke what need is,  
To tell you that every wall  
Of it, and roof and flore with all,  
Was plated half a foot thick  
Of gold, and that nas not wick,  
But for to prove in all wise,  
As fine as ducat in Venise,  
Of which to light all in my pouch is,  
And they were set as thick of ouches  
Fine, of the finest stones fair,  
That men reden in the Lapidaire,  
Or as Grasses grown in a Mede,  
But it were all to long to read  
The names, and therefore I place,  
But in this lusty and rich place,  
That Fame's hall called was,  
Full much prees of folk there nas,  
Ne crowding, for to much prees,  
But all on high above a dees,  
Sat in a see Imperial,  
That made was of Ruby royal,  
Which that a Carbuncle is called,  
I saw perpetually ystalled,  
A feminine creature,  
That never form by nature  
Was such another thing I say:  
For alther first, soothe to say,  
Me thought that she was so light,  
That the length of a cubite,  
Was longer than she seemed be,  
But thus soon in a while she,  
Herself tho wonderly straight,  
That with her feet she th'earth reight,  
And with her head she touched heaven,  
There as shineth the Stars seven,  
And thereto yet, as to my wit,  
I saw a great wonder yet,  
Upon her iyens to behold,  
But certainly I him never told,  
For as feel iyen had she,  
As feathers upon fowls be,  
Or weren on the beasts four,  
That God's throne can honour,  
As writeth john in the Apocalypses,  
Her here that was owndie and crips,  
As burned gold it shone to see.  
And sooth to tell also she,  
Had also feel up standing ears,  
And tongues, as on beast been hears,  
And on her feet waxed saw I,  
Partriche wings readily.  
But Lord the perrie and the richesse,  
I saw sitting on the Goddess,  
And the heavenly melody,  
Of songs full of armonie,  
I heard about her throne ysong,  
That all the palais wall rung,  
So song the mighty Muse she,  
That cleped is Calliope,  
And her seven sisterne eke,  
That in her faces seemen meek,  
And evermore eternally,  
They song of Fame though heard I,  
Heried be thou and thy name,  
Gods of renown and of Fame.  
Tho was I beware at the last,  
As I mine iyens 'gan up cast,  
That this ilke noble Queen,  
On her shoulders 'gan sustain  
Both the arms and the name  
Of though that had large Fame,  
Alexander, and Hercules,  
That with a sherte his life did less,  
And thus found I sitting this Goddess,  
In noble honour and richesse,  
Of which I stint a while now,  
Other thing to tell you.  
Tho saw I stand on tother side,  
Straight down to the doors wide,  
From the dees many a pillere  
Of metal, that shone not full clear,  
But though they were of no richesses,  
Yet were they made for great noblesse,  
And in him great sentence,  
And folk of high and digne reverence,  
Of which to tell will I fond.  
Upon a pillar saw I stoned,  
Alder first there I sie,  
Upon a pillar stoned on high,  
That was of lead and of Iron fine,  
Him of the sect Saturnine,  
The Ebraike josephus the old,  
That of jews gests told,  
And he bore on his shoulders high,  
The fame up of the jury,  
And by him stoden other seven,  
Wise and worthy for to neven,  
To helpen him bear up the charge,  
It was so heavy and so large,  
And for they written of battles,  
As well as of other marvels,  
Therefore was lo, this pillere,  
Of which I you tell here,  
Of Lead and Iron both iwis,  
For Iron Martes metal is,  
Which that God is of battle,  
And the Lead withouten fail,  
Is lo, the metal of Saturn,  
That hath full large wheel to turn,  
To stand forth on either row  
Of him, which I could know,  
Though I by order him not tell,  
To make you to long to dwell.  
These, of which I 'gan read,  
There saw I stand out of dread,  
Upon an Iron pillar strong,  
That painted was all endlong,  
With Tigers blood in every place,  
The Tholason that height Stace,  
That bore of Thebes up the name,  
Upon his shoulders, and the fame  
Also of cruel Achilles,  
And by him stood withouten lees,  
Full wonder high upon a pillar  
Of Iron, he the great Omer,  
And with him Dares and Titus  
Before, and eke he Lollius,  
And Guido eke the Colempnis,  
And English Galfride eke iwis,  
And each of these as I have joy,  
Was busy to hear up Troy,  
So heavy thereof was the fame,  
That for to bear it was no game,  
But yet I 'gan full well espy,  
Between hem was a little envy,  
One said that Omer made lies,  
Feigning in his Poetries,  
And was to the greeks favourable,  
Therefore held he it but fable.  
Tho saw I stand on a pillere,  
That was of Tinned Iron clear,  
The Latin Poet Virgile,  
That hath boar up a long while  
The fame of Pius Aeneas.  
And next him on a pillar was,  
Of Copper, Venus' clerk, Duide,  
That hath sown wondrous wide  
The great god of love's fame,  
And there he bore up well his name,  
Upon this pillar also high,  
As I might see it with mine iye:  
For why this hall whereof I read,  
Was wox on height, length, and breed,  
Well more by a thousand deal,  
Than it was erst, that saw I weal.  
Tho saw I on a pillar by,  
Of Iron wrought full sternly,  
The great Poet dan Lucan,  
That on his shoulders bore up than,  
As high as that I might see,  
The fame of julius, and Pompee,  
And by him stoden all these clerks,  
That write of Rome's mighty works,  
That if I would her names tell,  
All to long must I dwell.  
And next him on a pillar stood,  
Of Sulphur, liche as he were wood,  
Dan Claudian, sooth for to tell,  
That bore up all the fame of hell,  
Of Pluto, and of Proserpina,  
That Queen is of the dark pine,  
What should I more tell of this,  
The hall was all full iwis,  
Of him that written old jests,  
As been on trees Rokes nests,  
But it a full confuse matter  
Were all these jests for to here,  
That they of write, and how they height.  
But while that I beheld this sight,  
I heard a noise approach believe,  
That fareth as Bees done in an hive,  
Against her time of out flying,  
Right such a manner murmuring,  
For all the world it seemed me.  
Tho 'gan I look about and see,  
That there come entering into the hall,  
A right great company withal,  
And that of sundry regions,  
Of all kind of conditions,  
That dwell in yearth under the Moon,  
Poor and rich, and all so soon  
As they were come into the hall,  
They 'gan on knees down to fall,  
Before this ilke noble Queen,  
And said, grant us Lady sheen,  
Each of us of thy grace a bone,  
And some of him she granted soon,  
And some she warned well and fair,  
And some she granted the contraire  
Of her ask utterly:  
But this I say you truly,  
What her grace was, I nist,  
For of these folk full well I wist,  
They had good fame each deserved,  
Although they were diversely served,  
Right as her sister dame Fortune  
Is wont to serve in common.  
Now harken how she 'gan to pay  
Hem that 'gan her of grace pray,  
And yet lo, all this company  
Saiden sooth, and not a lie.  
Madame, said they, we be  
Folk that here beseech thee,  
That thou grant us now good fame,  
And let our works have good name,  
In full recompensacioun  
Of good work, give us good renown.  
I warn it you (qd. she) anon,  
Ye get of me good fame none,  
By God, and therefore go your way.  
Alas (qd. they) and wellaway,  
Tell us what your cause may be.  
For me list it not (qd. she)  
No wight shall speak of you iwis,  
Good ne harm, ne that ne this.  
And with that word she 'gan to call  
Her messenger that was in hall,  
And bad that he should fast gone,  
Upon pain to be blind anon,  
For Aeolus the god of Wind,  
In Trace there ye shall him find,  
And bid him bring his clarioun,  
That is full divers of his sound,  
And it is cleped clear Laude,  
With which he want is to herald  
Him that me list ypraised be:  
And also bid him how that he  
Bring eke his other clarioun,  
That height Slander in every town,  
With which he want is to diffame  
Hem that me list, and do him shame.  
This messenger 'gan fast to gone,  
And found where in a cave of stone,  
In a country that height Trace,  
This Aeolus with hard grace,  
Held the Winds in distress,  
And 'gan him under him to press,  
That they gone as the Beres roar,  
He bound and pressed him so sore.  
This messenger 'gan fast cry,  
Rise up (qd. he) and fast thee high,  
Till thou at my Lady be,  
And take thy clarious eke with thee,  
And speed thee fast: and he anon,  
took to one that height Tritone,  
His clarions to bearen tho,  
And let a certain wind go,  
That blewe so hidously and high,  
That it ne left not a sky  
In all the Welkin long and broad.  
This Aeolus no where and broad,  
Till he was come to Fame's feet,  
And eke the man that Triton heat,  
And there he stood as still as stone,  
And herewithal there came anon  
Another huge company  
Of good folk and 'gan to cry,  
Lady, grant us now good Fame,  
And let our works have that name,  
Now in honour of gentleness,  
And also God your soul bless,  
For we han well deserved it,  
Therefore is right that we be quit.  
As thrive I (qd. she) ye shall fail,  
Good works shall you not avail,  
To have of me good Fame as now,  
But wot ye what, I grant you,  
That ye shall have a shrewd name,  
And wicked loose and worse fame,  
Though ye good loose have well deserved,  
Now goeth your way for you been served:  
And thou Dan Aeolus (qd. she)  
Take forth thy trump anon let see,  
That is cleped Slander light,  
And blow her loose, that every wight  
Speak of him harm and shrewdness,  
In stead of good and worthiness,  
For thou shalt trump all the contraire,  
Of that they have done well and fair.  
Alas thought I, what aventures  
Have these sorry creatures,  
That they among all the pres,  
Should thus be shamed guiltless?  
But what, it must needs be.  
What did this Aeolus, but he  
took out his black trump of bras,  
That fouler than the Devil was,  
And 'gan this trump for to blow,  
As all the world should overthrow,  
Throughout every region,  
Went this foul trumps sound,  
As swift as a pellet out of a gone,  
When fire is in the powder run,  
And such a smoke 'gan out wend,  
Out of the foul trumps end,  
Black, blue, grenishe, swartish, read,  
As doth where that men melt lead,  
Lo, all on high from the tewel,  
And thereto one thing saw I well,  
That the ferther that it ran,  
The greater wexen it began,  
As doth the river from a well,  
And it stanke as the pit of hell,  
Alas, thus was her shame yrong,  
And guiltless on every tongue.  
Tho came the third company,  
And gone up to the dees to high,  
And down on knees they fell anon,  
And saiden, we been everyone  
Folke that han full truly  
Deserved fame rightfully,  
And prayed you it might be know,  
Right as it is and forth blow.  
I grant (qd. she) for now me list  
That your good works shall be witted,  
And yet ye shall have better loose,  
Right in despite of all your foes,  
Than worthy is, and that anon:  
Let now (qd. she) thy trump gone,  
Thou Aeolus that is so black,  
And out thine other trump take  
That height Laude, and blow it so  
That through the world her fame go,  
All easily and not too fast,  
That it be known at the last.  
Full gladly Lady mine he said,  
And out his trump of gold he brayed  
Anon, and set it to his mouth,  
And blewe it East, West, and South,  
And North, as loud as any thunder,  
That every wight hath of it wonder,  
So broad it ran or that it stint,  
And certes all the breath that went  
Out of his trumps mouth smelde,  
As men a pot full of balm held  
Among a basket full of roses,  
This favour did he to her loses.  
And right with this I 'gan espy,  
There came the fowerth company,  
But certain they were wonder few,  
And gone to standen on a rue,  
And saiden, certes Lady bright,  
We have done well with all our might,  
But we ne keep to have fame,  
Hide our works and our name,  
For God's love, for certes we  
Have surely done it for bounty,  
And for no manner other thing.  
I grant you all your ask,  
(Qd. she) let your works be dead.  
With that about I turned my head,  
And saw anon the fifth rout  
That to this Lady 'gan lout,  
And down on knees anon to fall,  
And to her tho besoughten all,  
To hiden her good works eke,  
And said, they give not a leek  
For no fame, ne such renown,  
For they for contemplacioun,  
And God's love had it wrought,  
Ne of fame would they nought.  
What (qd. she) and be ye wood,  
And ween ye for to do good,  
And for to have of that no fame,  
Have ye despite to have my name,  
Nay ye shall lien everyone:  
Blow thy trump and that anon,  
(Qd. she) thou Aeolus I hot,  
And ring these folk's works by note,  
That all the world may of it hear:  
And he 'gan blow her loose so clear,  
In his golden clarioun,  
Through the world went the sound,  
Also kindly and eke so soft,  
That their fame was blow aloft.  
Tho came the sixth company,  
And 'gan fast to Fame cry,  
Right verily in this manere,  
They saiden, mercy Lady dear,  
To tell certain as it is,  
We have done neither that ne this,  
But idle all our life hath be,  
But nevertheless yet pray we,  
That we may have as good a fame,  
And great renome and known name,  
As they that have do noble jests,  
And achieved all her quests,  
As well of love as other thing,  
All was us never broche ne ring,  
Ne else what fro women sent,  
Ne ones in her heart yment,  
To maken us only friendly cheer,  
But might temen us on bear,  
Yet let us to the people seem  
such as the world may of us deem,  
That women love us for wood,  
It shall do us as much good,  
And to our heart as much avail,  
The counterpeise, ease, and travail,  
As we had won with labour,  
For that is dear bought honour,  
At regard of our great ease:  
And yet ye must us more please,  
Let us be hold eke thereto,  
Worthy, wise, and good also,  
And rich, and happy unto love.  
For God's love that sitteth above,  
Though we may not the body have  
Of women, yet so god me save,  
Let men glue on us the name,  
Sufficeth that we have the fame.  
I grant (qd. she) by my troth,  
Now Eolius withouten sloth,  
Take out thy trump of gold (qd. she)  
And blow as they have asked me,  
That every man ween him at ease,  
Though they go in full bad lease,  
This Eolus-gan it so blow,  
That through the world it was i know.  
Tho came the seventh rout anon,  
And fill on knees everyone,  
And said, Lady grant us soon,  
The same thing, the same boon,  
That this nexte folk have done.  
Fie on you (qd. she) everyone,  
Ye masty swine, ye idle wretches,  
Full of rotten slow tetches,  
What false thieves where ye would,  
Been famed good, and nothing nold  
Deserve why, ne never thought,  
Men rather you to hangen ought,  
* For ye be like the sleepy Cat,  
That would have fish: but wost thou what?  
He wool nothing wet his claws,  
Evil thrift come to your jaws,  
And on mine, if I it grant,  
Or do favour you to avaunt.  
Then Aeolus, thou king of Thrace,  
Go blow this folk a sorry grace,  
Qd. she, anon, and wost thou how,  
As I shall tell thee right now,  
Say these ben they that would honour  
Have, and do no kins labour,  
Ne do no good, and yet have laud,  
And that men wend that belle I saved,  
Ne coude hem not of love werne,  
And yet she that grint at querne,  
Is all too good to ease her heart.  
This Aeolus anon up start,  
And with his black clarioun  
He 'gan to blazons out a sound,  
As loud as belleth wind in hell,  
And eke therewith sooth to tell,  
This swoon was so full of iapes,  
As ever mows were in apes,  
And that went all the world about,  
That every wight 'gan on him shout,  
And for to laugh as they were wood,  
such game found they in her hood.  
Tho came another company,  
That had ydone the treachery,  
The harm and great wickedness,  
That any heart couden guess,  
And prayed her to have good fame,  
And that she nolde do hem no shame,  
But give him loose and good renown,  
And do it blow in clarioun.  
Nay wis, qd. she, it were a vice,  
All b● there in me no justice,  
Me●st not to do it now,  
Ne this I nill grant it you.  
Tho came there leaping in a rout,  
And 'gan clappen all about,  
Every man upon the crown  
That all the hall 'gan to sown,  
And said, lady lief and dear,  
We ben such folks as ye may here,  
To tell all the tale aright,  
We hen shrews every wight,  
And have delight in wickedness,  
As good folk have in goodness,  
And joy to been known shrews,  
And full vice and wicked thews,  
Wherefore we pray you on a row,  
That our fame be such yknow,  
In all things right as it is.  
I grant it you, qd. she, iwis,  
But what art thou that sayest this tale,  
That wearest on thy hose a pale,  
And on thy tippet such a bell?  
Madame, qd. he, sooth to tell,  
I am that ilke shrew iwis  
That brent the temple of Isidis  
In Athenes, lo that city.  
And wherefore didst thou so, qd. she?  
By my troth, qd. he, madam,  
I would fain have had a name,  
As other folk had in the town,  
Although they were of great renown  
For her virtue and her thews,  
Thought I, as great fame have shrews:  
(Though it be nought) for shrewdness,  
As good folk have for goodness,  
And sithen I may not have that one,  
That other nill I not forgone,  
As for to get a fame here,  
The temple set I all on fire.  
Now done our loose be blow swithe,  
As wisely be thou ever blithe.  
Gladly, qd. she, thou Aeolus,  
Heress thou not what they prayen us,  
Madam yes, full well, qd. he,  
And I will trumpen it pard:  
And took his black trump fast,  
And 'gan to puffen and to blast,  
Till it was at the world's end.  
With that I 'gan about wend,  
For one that stood right at my back,  
Me thought full goodly to me spoke,  
And said, friend what is thy name?  
Art thou come hider to have fame?  
Nay forsooth friend, qd. ay,  
I come not hither, grant mercy,  
For no such cause by my heed,  
Sufficeth me as I were deed,  
That no wight have my name in hand  
I wot myself best how I stoned,  
For what I dry or what I think,  
I wool myself all it drink,  
Certain for the more part,  
As ferforth as I can mine art.  
What dost thou here then (qd. he?)  
(Qd. I) that wool I tell thee,  
The cause why I stand here,  
Some new tidings for to lere,  
Some new thing, I not what,  
Tidings either this or that,  
Of love, or such things glade,  
For certainly he that me made  
To come hither, said to me  
I should both hear and see,  
In this place wonder things,  
But these be no such tidings  
As I meant of: No (qd. he)  
And I answer no pard,  
For well I wot ever yet,  
Sith that first I had wit,  
That some folk han desired fame,  
Diversely, and loose and name,  
But certainly I nist how,  
Ne where that fame dwelled or now,  
Ne eke of her description,  
Ne also her condition,  
Ne the order of her doom,  
Knew I not till I hider come.  
Why then be lo these tidings,  
That thou now hither brings,  
That thou hast herd (qd. he) to me,  
But now no force for well I see  
What thou desirest for to lere,  
Come forth and stand no longer here,  
And I wool thee without dread,  
Into such another place lead,  
There thou shalt here many one.  
Tho 'gan I forth with him gone,  
Out of the castle sooth to say.  
Tho saw I stand in a valley,  
Under the castle fast by,  
An house, that domus Dedali,  
That Laborintus cleped is,  
Nas made so wonderly iwis,  
Ne half so quaintly ywrought,  
And evermo, as swift as thought,  
This quaint house about went,  
That nevermo it still stint,  
And there came out so great a noise,  
That had it stoned upon Dyse,  
Men might have heard it easily  
To Rome, I trow sickerly,  
And the noise which that I heard,  
For all the world right so it feared,  
As doth the routing of the stone,  
That fro thengine is letyn gone.  
And all this house of which I read,  
Was made of twigs, sallow, read,  
And green eke, and some were white,  
Such as men to the cages twhite,  
Or maken of these paniers,  
Or else hutches or dossers,  
That for the swough and for the twigs,  
This house was also full of gigges,  
And also full eke of chickinges,  
And of many other werkings,  
And eke this house hath of entrees  
As many as leaves been on trees,  
In summer when they been green,  
And on the roof yet men may seen  
A thousand holes, and well more,  
To let the swoon out go,  
And by day in every tide  
Been all the doors open wide,  
And by night each one unshet,  
Ne porter is there none to let  
No manner tidings in to place,  
Ne never rest is in that place,  
That it nis filled full of tidings,  
Either loud or of whisper,  
And ever all the houses angles,  
Is full of rowning and of jangles,  
Of wars, of peace, of marriages,  
Of rests, and of labour, of viages,  
Of abode, of death, and of life,  
Of love, of hate, accord, of strife,  
Of loss, of lore, and of win,  
Of heal, of sickness, or of lesing,  
Of fair wether, and eke of tempests,  
Of qualm, of folk, and of beests,  
Of divers transmutations,  
Of estates and eke of regions,  
Of trust, of dread, of iasousie,  
Of wit, of winning, of folly,  
Of plenty, and of great famine,  
Of cheap, dearth, and of ruin,  
Of good or misgovernment,  
Of fire, and of divers accident.  
And lo, this house of which I write,  
Syker be ye it nas not light,  
For it was sixty mile of length,  
All was the timber of no strength,  
Yet it is founded to endure,  
While that it lift to adventure,  
That is the mother of tidings,  
As the sea of wells and springs,  
And it was shapen like a cage.  
Certes (qd. I) in all mine age,  
Ne saw I such an house as this,  
And as I wondered me iwis,  
Upon this house though ware was I,  
How mine Eagle fast by,  
Was perched high upon a stone,  
And I 'gan straight to him gone,  
And said thus, I pray thee  
That thou a while abide me  
For god's love, and let me seen  
What wonders in that place been,  
For yet paraunter I may lere  
Some good therein, or somewhat here,  
That lief me were, or that I went.  
Peter that is now mine intent,  
(Qd. he to me) therefore I dwell,  
But certain one thing I thee tell,  
That but I bring thee therein,  
Ne shall thou never con the gin,  
To come into it out of doubt,  
So fast it whirleth lo about,  
But sith that Ioues of his grace,  
As I have said will the solace,  
Finally with these things  
Uncouth sighs and tidings,  
To pass with thine evinesse,  
such routh hath he of thy distress,  
That thou sufferedest debonairly,  
And woste they seluen utterly,  
Desperate of all bliss,  
Sith that fortune hath made a miss,  
The sweet of all thine hearts rest,  
Languish and eke in point to breast,  
But he through his mighty melite,  
Will do thee ease, all be it light,  
And gave in express commandment,  
To which I am obedient,  
To further thee with all my might,  
And wish and teach thee aright,  
Where thou mayst most tidings here,  
Thou shalt here many one lere.  
With this word he right anon,  
Hent me up between his tone,  
And at a window in me brought,  
That in this house was as me thought,  
And therewithal me thought it stint,  
And nothing it about went,  
And me set in the floor adoun  
But such a great congregacioun  
Of folk as I saw room about,  
Some within and some without,  
Nas never seen, ne shall be eft  
That certes in this world nis left,  
So many form by nature,  
Ne need so many a creature,  
That well unneath in that place  
Had I a foot breed of space,  
And every wight that I saw there,  
Rowned every in others cere,  
A new tiding privily,  
Or else he told it all openly  
Right thus, and said: Nost not thou  
That is betidde, lo right now.  
Not (qd. he) tell me what,  
And then he told him this and that,  
And swore thereto that it was sooth,  
Thus hath he said, and thus he doth,  
And this shall be, and thus heard I say,  
That shall be found that dare I lay:  
That all the folk that is on live,  
Ne have the cunning to discriue,  
Tho things that I heard there,  
What a loud, and what in ere,  
But all the wonder most was this,  
When one had herd a thing iwis,  
He came straight to another wight  
And 'gan him tell anon right,  
The same that him was told  
Or it a forlong way was old,  
And 'gan somewhat for to each  
To this tiding in his speech,  
More than ever it spoken was,  
And nat so soon departed nas  
Tho from him that he ne met  
With the third, and erhe set  
Any stound he told him also,  
Where the tidings sooth or false,  
Yet would he tell it nevertheless,  
And evermore with more increases,  
Than it was erst: thus north and south,  
Went every tiding from mouth to mouth,  
And that increasing evermo,  
As fire is wont to quicken and go  
From a sparkle sprongen amiss,  
Till a city brent up is.  
And when that was full up sprung,  
And waxen more on every tongue  
Than ever it was, and went anon  
Up to a window out to gone,  
Or but it might out there pass,  
It 'gan out creep at some crevasse,  
And flew forth fast for the nonce.  
And sometime I saw there at ones,  
A leasing and a sad sooth saw,  
That gonnen of adventure draw,  
Out at a window for to place,  
And when they metten in that place,  
They were achecked both two,  
And neither of them might out go,  
For each other they gone so crowd  
Till each of him 'gan crien loud,  
Let me gone first, nay but let me,  
And here I wool ensuren thee,  
With vows that thou wolt do so,  
That I shall never fro thee go,  
But be thine own sworn brother,  
We wool meddle us each in other,  
That no man be he never so wroth,  
Shall have one two, but both  
At ones, as beside his leave,  
Come we a morrow or on eve,  
But we cried or still yrowned:  
Thus saw I self and sooth componed,  
together fly for o tiding,  
Thus out at holes gone wring,  
Every riding straight to Fame,  
And she 'gan give each his name,  
After her disposition,  
And give him eke duration,  
Some to wax and wane soon,  
As doth the fair white moon,  
And let him gone, there might I seen  
Winged wonders fast flien,  
Twenty thousand in a rout,  
As Aeolus him blue about,  
And lord this house in all times  
Was full of shipmen and pilgrims,  
With scrippes brette full of leasings,  
Entermelled with tidings,  
And eke alone by hem selue.  
O many thousand times twelve  
Saw I eke of these paadoners,  
Currours, and eke messaungers,  
With boxes crommed full of lies  
As ever vessel was with lies.  
And as I alther fastest went  
About, and did all mine intent,  
Me for to playen and for to lere,  
And eke a tiding for to here,  
That I had herd of some country  
That shall not now be told for me,  
For it no need is readily  
Folke can sing it bet than I,  
For all mote out late or rather,  
All the sheves in the father.  
I heard a great noise withal  
In a corner of the hall,  
There men of love tidings told  
And I 'gan thitherward behold,  
For I saw renning every wight,  
As fast as that they hadden might,  
And everich cried what thing is that,  
And some said I not never what,  
And when they were all on a heap,  
Tho behind gone up leap,  
And clamben up on other fast  
And up the noise on highen caste,  
And treden fast on others heel's  
And stamp as men done after eyes.  
At the last I saw a man,  
Which that I nought ne can,  
But he seemed for to be  
A man of great authority.  
And therewithal I abraide  
Out of my sleep half afraid,  
Remembering well what I had seen  
And how high and far I had been  
In my ghost, and had great wonder  
Of that the god of thunder  
Had let me known, and began to write  
Like as ye have herd me indite,  
Wherefore to study and read always,  
I purpose to do day by day.  
Thus in dreaming and in game,  
Endeth this little book of Fame.   
¶ Here endeth the book of Fame.   


The Prologue of the Testament of Love.  
MAny men there been, that with eres openly sprad, so much swalowen the deliciousness of jests and of rhyme, by quaint knitting colours, that of the goodness or of the badness of the sentence, take they little heed or else none.  
soothly dull wit and a thoughtful soul so sore have mined & graffed in my spirits, that such craft of enditing wool nat been of my acquaintance. And for rude words & boistous percen the hart of the hearer to the intest point, and planten there the sentence of things, so that with little help it is able to spring. This book that nothing hath of the great flood of wit, ne of semeliche colours, is doluen with rude words and boistous, and so draw together to maken the catchers thereof been the more ready to hent sentence.  
Some men there been that painten with colours rich, & some with vers, as with red ink, & some with coals & chalk: And yet is there good matter to the lewd people of thilk chalky purtreyture, as hem thinketh for the time, and afterward the sight of the better colours given to him more joy for the first lewdness. So sooth this lewd cloudy occupation is not to praise, but by the lewd, for commonly lewd lewdness commendeth. Eke it shall give sight, that other precious things shall be the more in reverence. In Latin and French hath many sovereign wits had great delight to indite, and have many noble things fulfilleth, but certes there been some that speaken their poisie mater in French, of which speech the French men have as good a fantasy as we have in hearing of French mens English. And many terms there been in English, which unneath we English men connen declare the knowledging: How should then a french man borne such terms con iumpere in his matter, but as the jay chatereth English, right so truly the understanding of English men wol not stretch to the privy terms in French, what so ever we bosten of strange langage. Let then Clerks enditen in Latin, for they have the property of science, and the knowing in that faculty: and let Frenchmen in their French also enditen their quaint terms, for it is kindly to their mouths, & let us show our fantasies in such words as we learneden of our dames tongue. And although this book be little thank worthy for the lewdness in travail, yet such writings exciten men to thilk things that been necessary: for every man thereby may as by a perpetual mirror seen the vices or virtues of other, in which thing lightly may be conceived to escheve perils, & necessaries to catch after, as aventures have fallen to other people or persons. persons Certes, the soveraignst thing of desire and most creature reasonable, have or else should have full appetite to their perfection: unreasonable beasts mown not, sith reason hath in him no working: Then reasonable that wool not, is comparisoned to unreasonable, and made like him. Forsooth the most sovereign and final perfection of man, is in knowing of a sooth, withouten any intent deceivable, and in love of one very God, that is inchaungeable, that is, to know and love his creator.  
Now principally, the mean to bring in knowledging and loving his creator, is the consideration of things made by the creator, where through be thilk things that been made, understanding here to our wits, be the unseen priveties of God, made to us sightfull and knowing in our contemplation and understonding. These things then forsooth much bringen us to the full knowledging sooth, and to that perfect love of the maker of heavenly things. Lo David faith: thou hast delighted me in making: as who saith, to have delight in the tune how God hath lent me in consideration of thy making. Whereof Aristotle in the book de Animalibus, saith to naturel Philosophers: * It is a great liking in love of knowing their creator: & also in knowing of causes, in kindly things considered. Forsooth the forms of kindly things, & the shape, a great kindly love me should have to the workmen that him made. * The craft of a workman is showed in the work. Herefore truly the Philosophers with a lively study many noble things, right precious & worthy to memory written, and by a great sweet and travail to us leften of causes the properties in natures of things, to which therefore Philosophers it was more joy, more liking, more hearty lust in kindly virtues & matters of reason, the perfection by busy study to know, than to have had all the treasure, all the richesse, all the vainglory that the passed Emperors, Princes, or Kings hadden. Therefore the names of him in the book of perpetual memory, in virtue and peace arne written: and in the contrary, that is to say, in Styx, the foul pit of hell, be thilk pressed that such goodness hated. And because this book shall be of love, and the prime causes of stering in that doing with passions and diseases for wanting of desire, I will that this book be cleped the Testament of Love..  
But now thou Reader, who is thilk that will not in scorn laugh, to hear a dwarf or else half a man, say he will rend out the sword of Hercules hands: And also he should set Hercules gades a mile yet ferther, and over that he had power and strength to pull up the spear that Alexander the noble might never wag.  
And that passing all thing to been master of France by might, there as the noble gracious Edward the third for all his great prowess in victories ne might all yet conquer.  
Certes, I wot well there shall be made more scorn & jape of me, that I so unworthely clothed all together in the cloudy cloud of unconning, will putten me in prees to speak of love, or else of the causes in that matter, sithence all the greatest clerks han had enough to done, and as who laith, gathered up clean toforne hem, and with their sharp scythes of cunning all mown, and made there of great rekes and noble, full of all plenties to feed me and many another. * Envy forsooth commendeth nought his reason, that he hath in vain, be it never so trusty. And although these noble reapers, as good workmen, & worthy their hire, han all draw and bound up in the sheves, and made many shocks, yet have I ensample to gather the small crumbs, and fullin my wallet of though that fallen from the board among the small hounds, notwithstanding the travail of the almoigner, that hath draw up in the cloth all the remissailes, as trenchers, and the relief to bear to the alms. Yet also have I leave of that noble husband Boece, although I be a stranger of cunning to come after his doctrine, & these great work men, and glean my handfuls of the shedding after their hands, & if me fail aught of my full, to increase my portion with that I shall draw by privities out of shocks: a sly servant in his own help is often much commended, knowing of troth in causes of things, was more hardy in the first seechers, and so saith Aristotle, and lighter in us that han followed after. For their passing study han freshed our wits, & our understanding han excited, in consideration of troth, by sharpness of their reasons. Utterly these things be no dreams ne yapes, to throw to hogs, it is lifelyche meat for children of troth, and as they me betiden when I pilgrimaged out of my kithe in Winter, when the weather out of measure was boistous, and the wild wind Boreas, as his kind asketh, with drying colds, maked the wawes of the Decian sea so to arise unkindly over the commune banks, that it was in point to spill all the earth.  
¶ Thus endeth the Prologue, and hereafter followeth the first book of the Testament of Love..   

The Testament of Love.  
This book is an Imitation of Boetius de Consolation Philosophiae; in the first part whereof, Love (by way of Legacy) doth bequeath to all them which follow her lore, the knowledge of Truth from Error, whereby they may rightly judge of the Causes of cross Fortune, and such Adversities as befall them, whether in their Suits of Love, or otherwise, and so in the end obtain their wished Desires. In this second part she reacheth the Knowledge of one very God our Creator, as also the State of Grace, and the State of Glory; all the which good things are figured by a Margarite Pearl. Chaucer did compile this book as a Comfort to himself after great Griefs conceived for some rash Attempts of the Commons, with whom he had joined, and thereby was in fear to lose the Favour of his best Friends; and also therein to set end to all his Writing, being commanded by Venus (as appeareth by Gower in the end of his eighth Book, entitled Confessio Amantis) so to do, as one that was Venus' Clerk, even as Gower had made his Confessio Amantis his last Work, and shrift of his former Offences.  
ALas Fortune alas, I that sometime in delicious hours was wont to enjoy blissful stounds, am now drive by unhappy heaviness to bewail my sundry evils in tene. Truly I leave, in mine heart is writ of perdurable letters all the intentions of lamentation that now been ynempned: for any manner disease outward in sobbing manner, she weth sorrowful yexing from within. Thus from my comfort I gin to spill, sith she that should me solace, is far from my presence. Certes, her absence is to me an hell, my steruing death thus in woe it myneth, that endless care is throughout mine heart clenched, bliss of my joy, that oft me murthed is turned into gall, to think on thing that may not at my will in arms me hent. Mirth is changed into tene, when swink is there continually, that rest was wont to sojourn and have dwelling place. Thus witless thoughtful, sightless looking, I endure my penance in this dark prison, caitisned from friendship and acquaintance, and forsaken of all that any word dare speak. Strange hath by way of intrusion made his home there me should be, if reason were heard as he should. Never the later, yet heartily lady, precious Margarite, have mind on thy servant, & think on his disease, how sightless he liveth, scythe the beams brennende in love of thine eyes be so bewet, that worlds and cloud atween us fifty, wol not suffer my thoughts of him to be enlumined. Think that one virtue of a Margarite precious is amongst many other the sorrowful to comfort yet will of that me sorrowful to comfort, is my lust to have nought else at this time, deed ne death, ne no manner travyle hath no power mine heart so much to fade, as should to hear of a twinkling in your disease. Ah, God forbid that, but yet let me day, let me starve withouten any measure of penance, rather than mine heartily thinking comfort in aught were diseased. What may my service aveile in absence of her, that my service should accept? is this not endless sorrow to think? Yes, yes, God wot, mine heart breaketh nigh asunder: how should the ground without kindly nurture▪ bringen forth any fruits? How should a ship withouten a stern in the great sea be governed? How should I withouten my bliss, my heart, my desire, my joy, my goodness endure in this contrarious prison, that think every hour in the day an hundred Winter? Well may now Eve sayne to me Adam, In sorrow fallen from wealth, driven art thou out of Paradise, with sweat thy sustenance to beswinke. Deep in this pining pit, with woe I lig ystocked, with chains linked of care and of tene. It is so high from thence I lie, & of the common yearth, there ne is cable in no land maked, that might stretch to me, to draw me into bliss, ne steyers to stay on is none, so that without recover endless, here to endure I wot well I purueide. O, where art thou now friendship, that sometime with laughande cheer, madest both face and countenance to me wards? Truly now art thou went out of town, but ever me thinketh, he weareth his old clothes, and that the soul, in the which the life of friendship was in, is drawn out from his other Spirits. Now then farewell friendship, and farewell felawes, me thinketh ye all han taken your ●eaue: no force of you all at ones.  
But lady of love, ye wot what I mean, yet think on thy servant, that for thy love spilleth, all things have I forsake, to follow, en thine hests: reward me with a thought, though ye do naught else. Remembrance of love lithe so sore under my breast, that other thought cometh not in my mind, but gladness to think on your goodness, and your merry cheer, friends and sorrow, to think on your wretch and your danger, from which Christ me save. My great joy it is to have in meditations the bounties, the virtues, the nobley in you printed: sorrow and hell come at ones, to suppose that I be veined. Thus with care, sorrow, and tene am I shaped, meyne end with death to make. Now good goodly think on this.  
O wretched fool that I am fallen into so low, the heat of my brenning tene hath me all defaced: how should ye Lady set prize on so foul filth? My cunning is thin, my wit is exiled, like to a fool naturel am I comparisoned. Truly lady, but your mercy the more were, I wot well all my labour were in idle: your mercy then passeth right.  
God grant that proposition to be verified in me, so that by trust of good hope I mow come to the haven of ease, and sith it is impossible, the colours of your qualities to change: & forsooth I wot well, wemme ne spot may not abide, there so noble virtue aboundeth, so that the defacing to you is verily imaginable, as countenance of goodness, with encresing virtue, is so in you knit to abide by necessary manner, yet if the rivers might fall, which is against kind, I wot well mine heart, ne should therefore naught flit, by the lest point of Geometry, so sadly is it fonded, that away from your service in love, may he not depart, O love, when shall I been pleased? O charity, when shall I been leased? O good goodly, when shall the dice turn? O full of virtue, do the chance of comfort upward to fall. O love, when wolt thou think on thy servant? I can no more, but here outcast of all welfare, abide the day of my death, or else to see the sight that might all my welling sorrows void, and of the flood make an ebb. These diseases mown well by duresse of sorrow make my life to unbodie, and so for to die: but certes, ye Lady in a full perfection of love, been so knit with my soul, that death may not thilk knot unbind ne depart, so that ye and my soul together, as endless, in bliss should dwell, and there shall my soul at the full been eased, that he may have your presence, to show the intent of his desires: Ah dear God, that shall be a great joy. Now earthly Goddess, take regard of thy servant, though I be feeble, for thou art wont to praise them better, that would conserve in love, all be he full meaner than Kings or Princes, that wool not have that virtue in mind. Now precious Margarite, that with thy noble virtue, hall drawn me into love first, me weening thereof to have bliss, as Gall and Aloes are so much sprung, that savour of sweetness may I not atast. Alas that your benign eyes, in which that mercy seemeth to have all his nurture, nill by no way turn the clearness of mercy to me wards. Alas, that your brennande virtues, shining among all folk, and enluminyng all other people, by abundance of increasing, showeth to me but smoke, and no light. These things to think in mine heart, maketh every day weeping in mine eyes to run. These liggen on my back so sore, that importable burden me seemeth on me back to be charged, it maketh me backward to move, when my steps by common course even forth pretend: These things also on right side and left, have me so enuolued with care, that wanuehope of help is throughout me run truly, and leave that graceless is my Fortune, which that ever showeth it me wards by a cloudy disease, all ready to make storms of rene, and the blissful side halt still awayward, and wool it not suffer to me wards to turn: no force, yet wool I not been conquered.  
O, alas that your nobley, so much among all other creatures, commended by flowing stream, by all manner virtues, but there been wondered, I not which that let the flood to come into my soul, wherefore purely mated with sorrow through sought, myself I cry on your goodness, to have pity on this captife, that in the inrest degree of sorrow and disease is left, and without your goodly will, from any help and recovery. These sorrows may I not sustain, but if my forrowe should be told, and to you wards showed, although much space is between us twain, yet me thynketh, that by such joleining words, my disease ginneth ebb. Truly me thynketh, that the swoon of my lamentations weeping, is right now flow into your presence, and there cryeth after mercy and grace, to which thing me seemeth, thee lift none answer to give, but with a deinous cheer ye commanded it to avoid, but God forbid that any word should of you spring, to have so little ruth. Pard, pity and mercy in every Margarite is closed by kind, amongst many other virtues, by qualities of comfort, but comfort is to me right naught worth, withouten mercy and pity of you alone, which things hastily God me grant for his mercy.  
REhearsing these things and many other, without time or moment of rest, me seemed for anguish of disease, that all together I was ravished, I cannot tell how, but holly all my passions and feelings weten lost, as it seemed for the time, and suddenly a manner of dread light in me all at ones, nought such fear as folk have of an enemy, that were mighty, and would him greue, or done him disease: for I trow this is well know to many persons, that otherwhile if a man be in his Sovereign's presence, a manner of feardnesse creepeth in his heart, not for harm, but of goodly subjection: namely, as men readen that Angels been afeard of our Saviour in heaven. And pard, there ne is ne may no passion of disease be, but it is to mean, that Angels been adread, not by fiends of dread, sithen they been perfectly blissed, as affection of wonderfulness, and by service of obedience: such feared also han these lovers in presence of their loves, and subjects aforne their Soveraines: right so with ferdnesse mine heart was caught. And I suddenly astonished, there entered into the place there I was lodged, a lady, the seem liche and most goodly to my sight that ever toforne appeared to any creature, and truly in the blustering of her look she gave gladness & comfort suddenly to all my wits, and right so she doth to every wight that cometh in her presence. And for she was so goodly (as me thought) mine heart began somedeal to be enbolded, and wext a little hardy to speak, but yet with a quaking-voice, as I durst, I salved her, and enquired what she was, and why she so worthy to sight, dained to enter into so foul a dungeon, and namely a prison, without leave of my keepers. For certes, although the virtue of deeds of mercy stretchen to visiten the poor prisoners, and hem after that faculties been had to comfort, me seemed that I was so far fallen into misery and wretched hid caitifenesse, that me should no precious thing neigh: and also tha● for my sorrow every wight should been heavy, and wish my recovery. But when this lady had somedeal apperceived, as well by my words, as by my cheer, what thought busied me within, with a good womanly countenance she said these words: O my norie, we nest thou that my manner be to foryet my friends or my servants? Nay (qd. she) it is my full intent to visit and comfort all my friendships and allies, as well in time of perturbation, as of most property of bliss, in me shall unkindness never be founden. And also sithen I have so few especial true now in these days, wherefore I may well at more leisar come to him that me deserven, and if my coming may in any thing avail, weet well I wool come often.  
Now good lady (qd. I) that art so fair on to look, ryning honey be thy words, bliss of paradise be thy lookings, joy and comfort are thy move, What is thy name? How is it that in you is so mokell werking virtues enpight, as me seemeth, & in none other creature, that ever saw I with mine eyes? My disciple (qd. she) me wondereth of thy words, and on thee, that for a little disease hast foryetten my name. Wost thou not well that I am Love, that first thee brought to thy service? O good Lady (qd. I) is this worship to thee, or to thine excellence, for to come into so foul a place? Pard sometime though I was in prosperity, and with foreign goods enuolued, I had mokell to done to draw thee to mine hostel, and yet many werning thou madest, ere thou lift fully to grant, thine home to make at my dwelling place: and now thou comest goodly by thine own vice, to comfort me with words, and so there through I gin remember on passed gladness. Truly lady, I ne wot whether I shall say welcome or none, sithen thy coming wool as much do me tene and sorrow, as gladness and mirth: see why. For that me comforteth to think on passed gladness, that me anoyeth eft to be in doing: thus thy coming both gladdeth and teneth, and that is cause of much sorrow: lo lady, how then I am comforted by your coming: and with that I 'gan in tears is distil, and tenderly weep. Now certes (qd. Love's) I see well (and that me overthinketh) that wit in thee faileth, and art in point to dote. Truly (qd. I) that have ye maked, and that ever will I rue. Wottest thou not well (qd. she) that every shepherd ought by reason to seek his sperkeland sheep that be ron into wilderness, among bushes and perils, and hem to their pasture again bring, and take of him privy busy cure and keepping? And though the unconning Sheep scattered, would been lost, renning to wilderness, and to deserts draw, or else woulden put himself to the swallowing Wolf, yet shall the shepherd, by business and travail, so put him forth, that he shall not let him be lost by no way. * A good shepherd putteth rather his life to be lost for his sheep.  
But for thou shalt not ween me, being of werse condition, truly for everiche of my folk, and for all though that to me ward be knit in any condition, I wool rather die than suffer him through error to been spilt. For me list, and it me liketh, of all mine a Shepherdess to be cleped. Wost thou not well, I failed never wight, but he me refused, and would negligently go with unkindness? And yet pard, have I many such holp and releved, and they have oft me beguiled, but ever at the end it descended in their own necks. Hast thou not radde how kind I was to Paris, Priamus' son of Troy? How jason me falsed for all his falls behest? How Sesars' sunk, I left it for no tene, till he was troned in my bliss for his service. What (qd. she) most of all, maked I not a love day between God and mankind, and cheese a maid to be nompere to put the quarrel at end? Lo, how I have travailed to have thank on all sides, and yet list me not to rest, and I might find on whom I should werche. But truly, mine own disciple, because I have thee found at all assays in thy will to be ready mine hests to have followed, and hast been true to that Margarite Pearl that ones I thee showed, and she always ayenward hath made but dangerous cheer, I am come in proper person to put thee out of errors, and make thee glad by ways of reason, so that sorrow ne disease shall no more hereafter thee amaistrie. Wherethrough I hope, thou shalt lightly come to the grace that thou long hast desired of thilk jewel. Hast thou not heard many ensamples, how I have comforted and relieved the scholars of my lore? Who hath worthied Kings in the field? Who hath honoured Ladies in hour, by a perpetual mirror of their truth in my service? Who hath caused worthy folk to void vice and shame? Who hath hold cities and realms in prosperity? If thee lift cleape again thine old remembrance, thou couldst every point of this declare in especial, and say that I thy masters have be cause, causing these things, and many more other.  
Now iwis madam (qd. I) all these things I know well myself, and that thine excellence passeth the understanding of us beasts, and that no man's wit earthly may comprehend thy virtues. Well then (qd. she) for I see thee in disease and sorrow, I wot well thou art one of mine nories, I may not suffer thee so to make sorrow, thine own self to shend: but I myself come to be thy fere, thine heavy charge to make to seem the less, for woe is him that is alone: * And to the sorry to been mon by a sorrowful wight, it is great gladness. Right so with my sick friends I am sick, and with sorry, I cannot else but sorrow make, till when I have him relieved, in such wise, that gladness in a manner of counterpaising shall restore as mokell in joy, as the passed heaviness before did in tene. And also qd. she) when any of my servaunts been alone in solitary place, I have yet ever busied me to be with him, in comfort of their hearts, and taught him to make songs of plaint and of bliss, and to enditen letters of rhetoric in quaint understandings, and to bethink him in what wise they might best their Ladies in good service please, and also to learn manner in countenance, in words, and in bearing, and to ben meek and lowly to every wight, his name and fame to increase, and to give great yefts and large, that his renome may springen: but thee thereof have I excused, for thy loss and great costages, wherethrough thou art needy, be nothing to me unknowen, but I hope to God sometime it shall been amended, as thus, as I said. In nurture have I taught all mine, and in courtesy made him expert their Lady's hearts to win, and if any would endeynous, or proud, or be envious, or of wretch's acquaintance, hasteliche have such voided out of my school: for all vices truly I hate: virtues and worthiness in all my power I advance.  
Ah worthy creature (qd. I) and by just cause, the name of goddess dignely ye mow beat: in thee lithe the grace through which any creature in this world hath any goodness, truly all manner of bliss and preciousness in virtue out of thee springen, and wellen, as brooks and rivers procceden from their springs: and like as all waters by kind drawn to the sea, so all kindly things threst●●, by full appetite of desire, to draw after thy steps, and to thy presence approach, as to their kindly perfection: how dare then beasts in this world aught forfete against thy Divine purveyance? Also lady ye known all the privy thoughts, in hearts no counsel may been hid from your knowing. Wherefore I wait well Lady, that ye know yourself, that I in my conscience am, and have been willing to your service, all could I never do as I should, yet forsooth feigned I never to love otherwise than was in mine heart: & if I could have made cheer to one, and ythought another, as many other done all day afore mine eyes, I trow it would not me have vailed. Certes (qd. she) hadst thou so done, I would not now have thee here visited. Ye weet well Lady eke (qd. I) that I have not played raket, Nettle in, Dock out, & with the Weathercock waved, and truly there ye me set, by accord of my conscience I would not fly, till ye and reason by apert strength maden mine heart to turn.  
In good faith (qd. she) I have know thee ever of tho conditions, & sithen thou wouldst (in as much as in thee was) a made me privy of thy counsel, and judge of thy conscience, though I forsook it in though days, till I saw better my time, would never God that I should now fail, but ever I wool be ready, witnessing thy sooth, in what place that ever I shall, against all though that wool the contrary sustain: and for as much as to me is naught unknowen, ne hid of thy privy heart, but all hast thou though things made to me open at the full, that hath caused my coming into this prison, to void the webs of thine eyes, to make thee clearly to see the errors thou hast been in: & because that men been of divers conditions, some adread to say a sooth, and some for a sooth anon ready to fight, & also that I may nor myself been in place, to withsay thilk men that of thee speaken otherwise than the sooth, I wool and charge thee, in virtue of obedience that thou to me dwest, to written me words, and set him in writings, that they mow as my witnessing been noted among the people. For books written neither dreden ne shamen, ne strive con, but only shown the intent of the w●●ter, and yeve remembrance to the hearer: & if any wool in thy presence say any thing to tho writers, look boldly trust on Mars to answer at the full. For certes, I shall him inform of all the troth in thy love, with thy conscience, so that of his help thou shalt not vary at thy need. I trow the strongest and the best that may be found, wool not transvers thy words, whereof then wouldst thou dread.  
GReatly was I tho gladded of these words, and as who saith, wexen somedele light in heart, both for the authority of witness, and also for sickerness of help of the foresaid behest, and said: Truly Lady now am I well gladded through comfort of your words, be it now liking unto your nobly, to show which folk diffame your servants, sith your service ought above all other things to been commended. Yet (qd. she) I see well thy soul is not all out of the amazed cloud: thee were better to hear thing, that thee might light out of thine heavy charge, and after knowing of thine own help, then to stir sweet words, and such reasons to hear: for in a thoughtful soul (& namely such one as thou art) wol not yet such things sinken. Come of therefore, & let me seen thy heavy charge, that I may the lightlier for thy comfort purveigh.  
Now certes Lady (qd. I) the most comfort I might have, were utterly to w●te me be sure in heart of that Margarite I serve, & so I think to done with all mights, while my life dureth. Then (qd she) mayst thou thereafter, in such wise that mispleasaunce ne enter? In good faith (qd. I) there shall no mispleasance be caused through trespass on my side. And I do thee to weten (qd. she) I set never yet person to serve in no place (but if he caused the contrary in defaults and trespaces) that he ne sped of his service. Mine own earthly lady (quoth I tho) and yet remember to your worthiness, how long sithen, by many revolving of years, in time when October his leave ginneth take, and November showeth him to sight, when Bernes been full of goods, as is the Qutte on every halke, & then good land tilers ginneth shape for the yearth, with great travail to bring forth more Corn to man's sustenance against the next years following. In such time of plenty, he that hath an home, and is wise, list not to wander mar veils to seech, but he be constrained or excited: of the loath thing is done by excitation of other man's opinion, which woulden fain have mine abiding, take in heart of lust to travail, and see the winding of the yearth, in that time of Winter, by woods that large streets weren in, by small paths, that Swine and Hogs hadden made, as lanes with ladels, there mast to seech, I walked thinking alone, a wonder great while, and the great beasts that the wood haunt and adorneth all manner forests, and herds gone too wisd: then ere I was ware, I neighed to a sea bank, and for feared of the beasts, shipcraft I cried: for lady I trow ye weet well yourself, nothing is werse than the beasts, that should●n been tame, if they catch her wisdnesse; and gin again wax ramage: Thus forsooth was I afeard, and to Ship me hied. Then were there enough to lach mine hands, and draw me to Ship, of which many I know well the names. Sight was the first, Lust was another, Thought was the thirde, and Will eke was there a Master: these broughten me within board of this Ship of travail. So when the sail was sprad, and this Ship 'gan to move, the Wind and Water 'gan for to rise, and overthwartly to turn the Welkin, the wawes seemden as they kissed together, but often under colour of kissing, is mokell old hate privily closed and kept. The storm so strangely, and in a devouring manner, 'gan so fast us assail, that I supposed the date of my death should have made there his beginning, now up, now down, now under the wawe, and now aboven, was my Ship a great while. And so by mokell duresse of weathers, and of storms, and with great avowing pilgrimages, I was driven to an Isle, where utterly I wend first to have be rescued, but truly at the first beginning, it seemed me so perilous, the haven to catch, that but through grace I had been comforted, of life I was full despaired. Truly Lady, if ye remember aright of all manner things, yourself came hastily to seen us sea driven, and to weten what we weren: but first ye were deignous of cheer, after which ye gone better alight, and ever as me thought ye lived in great dread of disease, it seemed so by your cheer. And when I was certified of your name, the longer I looked on you, the more I you goodly dread, and ever mine heart on you opened the more, & so in a little time my Ship was out of mind. But Lady as ye me lad, I was ware both of beasts and of fishes, a great number thronging together: among which a Muscle in a blue shell had enclosed a Margarite Pearl, the most precious and best that ever toforne came in my sight, & ye tolden yourself, that ilke jewel in his kind was so good & so virtuous, that her better should I never find, all sought I thereafter to the world's end, and with that I held my peace a great while: and ever sithen I have me bethought on the man, that sought the precious Margarites, and when he had founden one to his liking, he sold all his good to buy that jewel: Iwis, thought I, and yet so I think, now have I founden the jewel that mine heart desireth, whereto should I seeche further, truly now wol I stint, and on this Margarite I set me for ever. Now than also, sithen I wist well it was your will, that I should to such a service me take, and so to desire that thing of which I never have bliss, there liveth none, but he hath disease: your might then, that brought me to such service, that to me is cause of sorrow and of joy, I wonder of your word that ye sane, to bringen men into joy, & pard ye wot well, that default ne trespass may not reasonable been put to me wards, as for as my conscience knoweth: but of my disease me list now a while to speak, & to inform you in what manner of bliss ye have me throng. For truly I ween, that all gladness, all joy, and all mirth is beshet under lock, and the key throw in such place, thet it may not be found: my brenning, who hath, altered all my hue. When I should sleep, I wallow and I think, and me disport. Thus cumbered, I seem that all folk had me mased. Also lady mine, desire hath long dured, some speaking to have, or else at the least, have been enmoised with sight: & for wanting of these things, my mouth would, and he durst, plein right sore, sithen evils for my goodness arn manifold to me holden. I wonder Lady truly, save evermore your reverence, how ye mow for shame such things suffer on your servant, to be so multiplied: wherefore kneeling with a low heart, I pray you to rue on his caitiff, that of nothing now may serve. Good Lady, if you list now your help to me show, that am of your pryviest servants, at all assays in this time, and under your wings of protection. No help to me wards is shapen, how shall then strangers in any wise after succour look, when I that am so privy, yet of help I do fail? Further may I not, but thus in this prison abide: what bonds and chains me holden, Lady ye see well yourself? A reniant foriudged hath not half the care. But thus sighing and sobbing I wail here alone, and ne'er it for comfort of your presence, right here would I starve. And yet a little am I gladded, that so goodly such grace, and none hap have I hent, graciously to find the precious Margarite, that all other left, men should buy, if they should therefore sell all her substance. Woe is me, that so many let games, and purpose breakers, been maked waiters, such prisoner's as I am, evermore to overlook and to hinder, and for such lettours, it is hard any such jewel to win. Is this lady an honour to thy deity? Me thynketh by right, such people should have no mastery, ne been overlookers over none of thy servants. * Truly were it leeful unto you, to all the gods would I plain, that ye rule your Divine purveyance among your servants, nothing as ye should. Also Lady, my moeble is insuffisaunte to countervail the price of this jewel, or else to make the exchange: eke no wight is worthy such pearls to wear, but Kings or Princes, or else their peers: This jewel for virtue, would adorn and make fair all a realm, the nobley of virtue is so much, that her goodness over all is commended. Who is it that would not wail, but he might such riches have at his will, the virtue thereof out of this prison may me deliver, & nought else. And if I be not therethorowe holpen, I see myself withouten recovery: although I might hence void, yet would I not, I would abide the day that destiny hath me ordained, which I suppose is without amendment, so sore is mine heart bounden, that I may thinken none other. Thus strait (Lady hath sir Danger laced me in stocks, I leave it be not your will: & for I see you taken so little heed, as me thinketh, and wool not maken by your might the virtue in mercy of the Margarite, on me for to stretch, so as ye mow well, in case that you list: my bliss & my mirth arn field, sickness and sorrow been always ready, the cope of tene is wound about all my body, that standing is me best, unneath may I lig for pure miseasie sorrow, and yet all this is little enough to be the earnest silver in forward of this bargain, for treble fold, so mokell must I suffer, ere time come of mine ease. * For he is worthy no wealth, that may no woe suffer. And certes, I am heavy to think on these things, but who shall give me water enough to drink, lest mine eyes dry for renning streams of tears? Who shall waylen with me mine own happy heaviness? Who shall counsel me now in my liking tene, and in my goodly harse? I not. For ever the more I burn, the more I coveit: the more that I sorrow, the more thirst I in gladness. Who shall then give me a contrarious drink, to staunch the thirst of my blissful bitterness? Lo thus I brens and I drench, I shiver and sweat, to this reversed evil was never yet ordained salve, forsooth all leches ben unconning, save the Margarite alone, any such remedy to purvey.  
And with these words I braced out to weep, that every tear of mine eyes for greatness seemed they borens out the ball of my sight, and that all the water had been outronne. Then thought me, that love 'gan a little too heavy for miscomfort of my cheer, and 'gan soberly and in easy manner speak, well avising what she said. * Commonly the wise speaken easily and soft for many skils: One is, their words are the better believed, and also in easy speaking, avisement men may catch, what to put forth, and what to holden in. And also the authority of easy words is the more, and eke they given the more understanding to other intention of the matter. Right so this Lady easily and in a soft manere 'gan say these words.  
Marvel (qd. she) great it is, that by no manner of semblaunt, as far as I can espy, thou list not to have any recour, but ever thou plainest and sorrowest, and ways of remedy for foolish wilfulness thee list not to seech: but inquire of thy next friends, that is thine inwit, and me that have been thy mistress, and the recour and fine of thy disease, for of disease is gladness and joy, with a full vessel so helded, that it quencheth the feeling of the first tenes. But thou that were wont not only these things remember in thine heart, but also fools thereof to enfourmen, in adnulling of their errors, and in destroying of their derk opinions, and in comfort of their sear thoughts: now canst thou not been comfort of thine own soul, in thinking of these things. O where hast thou be so long commensall, that hast so mikell eaten of the potages of forgetfulness, and drunken so of ignorance, that the old souking, which thou hadst of me, be a mastered and lost from all manner of knowing? O this is a worthy person to help other, that cannot counsel himself. And with these words for pure and strong shame I wox all reed.  
And she then seeing me so astonished by divers stounds, suddenly (which thing kind hateth) 'gan deliciously me comfort with sugared words, putting me in full hope, that I should the Margarite gotten, if I followed her hests, and 'gan with a fair cloth to wipen the tears that hingen on my cheeks: and then said I in this wise. Now well of wisdom and of all wealth, withouten thee may nothing been learned, thou bearest the keys of all privy things. In vain travail men to catch any stedship, but if ye lady first the lock unshet, ye lady learn us the ways and the by-paths to heaven: ye lady maken all the heavenly bodies goodly and benignly to done her course, that governen us beasts here on earth. Ye armen your servants against all debates, with imperciable harness, ye setten in her hearts insuperable blood of hardness, ye leaden hem to the perfect good. Yet all thing desireth, ye werne no man of help, that we'll done your lore, grant me now a little of your grace, all my sorrows to cease. Mine own servant (qd. she) truly thou sittest nigh mine heart, and thy bad cheer 'gan sorely me greue: but among thy plaining words, me thought thou allegest things to be letting of thine helping, and thy grace to hinder, wherethrough me thinketh that wanhope is crope through thine heart: God forbid that nice unthrifty thought should come in thy mind thy wits to trouble, sithence every thing in coming is contingent, wherefore make no more thy proposition by an impossible. But now I pray thee rehearse me again though things, that thy mistrust causen, and thilk things I think by reason to distroyen, and put full hope in thine heart. What understandest thou there (qd. she) by that thou saidst, many let games are thine overlookers? And also by that thy moeble is insuffisaunt? I not what thou thereof meanest.  
Truly (qd. I) by the first, I say that janglers evermore arn speaking rather of evil than of good, for every age of man rather inclineth to wickedness, than any goodness to advance. Also false words springen so wide, by the stering of false lying tongues, that fame als swiftly flieth to her ears, and faith many wicked tales, and as soon shall falseness ben leve, as troth, for all his great soothness. Now by that other (qd. I) me thinketh thilk jewel so precious, that to no such wretch as I am, would virtue thereof extend, and also I am too feeble in worldly joys, any such jewel to countrevail. For such people that worldly joys han at her will, been set at the highest degree, and most in reverence been accepted, for false weening maketh felicity therein to be supposed: but such caitiffs' as I am evermore been hindered. Certes (qd. she) take good heed, and I shall by reason to thee shown, that all these things mow not let thy purpose, by the least point that any wight coude prick.  
Remember'st nat (qd. she) ensample is one of the strongest manner, as for to prove a man's purpose. Then if I now by ensample induce thee to any proposition, is it nat proved by strength? Yes forsooth, qd. I. Well, qd. she, raddest thou never how Paris of Troy and Helaine loved together, and yet had they not entrecommuned of speech? Also Acrisius shete Dane his daughter in a tower, for surety that no wight should of her have no mastery in my service, and yet jupiter by signs, without any speech, had all his purpose against her father's will. And many such more have been knit in troth, and yet spoke they never together, for that is a thing enclosed under secretness of privity, why fifty persons entremellen hearts after a sight. The power in knowing of such things so preven shall nat all utterly be given to you beasts, for many things in such precious matters, been reserved to judgement of divine purveyance, for among living people, by man's consideration mown they not be determined. Wherefore I say, all the envye, all the jangling, that welnie people upon my servants maken eft, is rather cause of esploite, than of any hindering. Why then qd. ay, suffer ye such wrong, and moun when ye list, lightly all such evils abate? me seeineth to you it is a great unworship. O, qd. she, hold now thy peace, I have founden too many that han been to me unkind, y● truly I wool suffer every wight in that wise to have disease, & who that continue to the end well and truly, hem wool I helpen, and as for one of mine into bliss to wend, as martial doing in Greece. Who was ycrowned, by GOD not the strongest, but he that rathe come and longest abode & continued in the journey, and spared nat to travail as long as the play lest. But thilk persons that proffered him now to my service therein, is a while, & anon voideth, and ready to another, and of now one he thinketh, and now another, and into water entereth, and anon respireth, such one list me nat into perfect bliss of my service bring. * A tree oft set in divers places, wool not by kind endure to bring forth fruits. Look now I pray thee, how mine old servants of time passed continued in her service, and follow thou after their steps, and then might thou not fail, in case thou work in this wise. Certes, qd. ay, it is nothing liche, this world to time passed, eke this country hath one manner, & another country hath another. And so may nat a man alway put to his eye, the salve that he healed with his heel: For this is sooth, betwyxe two things lyche, oft diversity is required. Now, qd. she, that is sooth, diversity of nation, diversity of law, as was maked by many reasons, for that diversity cometh in by the contrarious malice of wicked people, that han envious hearts against other. But truly my law to my servants ever hath been in general, which may not fail: for right as man's law, that is ordained by many determinations, may not be known for good or bad, till assay of the people han proved it, and to what end it draweth, and then it showeth the necessity thereof, or else the impossibility: right so the law of my servants so well hath been proved in general, that hitherto hath it not failed. Witted thou not well, that all the law of kind is my law, and by God ordained & established to dure by kind reasoun: wherefore all law, by man's wit purveied, aught to be underput to law of kind, which yet hath be common to every kindly creature, that my statutes and my laws that been kindly, be general to all peoples. * Old doings, and by many turnings of years used, & with the people's manner proved, mown not so lightly been defaced, but new doings contrariaunts such old, often causen diseases, and breaken many purposes. Yet say I nat therefore, that again new mischief, men should not ordain a new remedy, but always look it contrary not the old, no ferther than the malice stretcheth. Then followeth it, the old doings in love han been universal, as for most exploit for thee used: Wherefore I would not yet that of my laws nothing be annulled.  
But then to thy purpose, such iangelers and lookers, & waiters of games, if they think in aught they mow dear, yet love well always, & set him at nought, & let thy port been low in every wights presence, & ready in thine heart to maintain that thou hast begun, & a little thee fain with meekness in words, and thus with sleight shalt thou surmount & dequace the evil in their hearts. * And wisdom yet is to seem fly otherwhile there a man wool fight. Thus with such things the tongues of evil shall been stilled: else fully to grant thy full meaning, forsooth ever was & ever it shall be, that mine enemies been afeard to trust to any fight: & therefore have thou no cowards heart in my service, no more than sometime thou hadst in the contrary, for if thou dread such janglers thy voyage to make: understand well, That he that dreadeth any rain to sow his corns, he shall have thin bernes: also he that is afeard of his clothes, let him dance naked: Who nothing undertaketh, and namely in my service, nothing atcheveth: After great storms the weather is often merry & smooth. * After much clattering, there is mokell rowning: thus after jangling words cometh huisht, peace, and be still. O good lady, qd. I then, see now how seven year passed, & more, have I graffed & groubed a vine, and with all the ways that I could, I sought to a feed me of the grape, but fruit have I none found. Also I have this seven year served Laban to a wedded Rachel his daughter, but blear eyed Lia is brought to my bed, which always engendereth my tene, and is full of children in tribulation and in care: and although the clippynges and kissyng of Rachel should seem to me sweet, yet is she so barren, that gladness ne joy by no way wol spring, so that I may weep with Rachel, I may not been counseled with solace, sithen issue of mine heartily desire is failed. Now than I pray that to me soon freedom and grace in this eight year, this eyghteth mow to me both by kynreste and masseday after these seven work days of travail, to follow the christian law: and what ever ye do else, that thilk Margarite be holden so lady in your privy chamber, that she in this case to none other person be committed. Look then, qd. she, in this case to none other person be committed: Look then, qd. she, thou persever in my service, in which I have thee grounded, that thilk scorn in thy enemies mow thus on thy person be not soothed: lo this man began to edify, but for his fundament is bad, to the end may he it nat bring. For meekness in countenance, with a manly heart in deeds & in long continuance, is the conisance of my livery, to all my retinue delivered. What weenest thou that me list advance such persons as love the first sit at feasts, the highest stoles in churches, and in hall, louting of peoples in markets and fairs, unsteadfast to bide in one place any while together, weening his own wit more excellent than other, scorning all manner device but his own? Nay, nay, God wot, these shall nothing parten of my bliss. Truly my manner heretoforne hath been, worship with my bliss, * Lion's in the field, and Lambs in chamber, Eagles at assault, and Maidens in hall, Foxes in counsel, still in their deeds, and their protection is granted ready to been a bridge, and their banner is ar●ered like Wolves in the field. Thus by these ways shall men been advanced: ensample of David, that from keeping of sheep was drawn up into the order of kingly governance, and jupiter from a bull to been Europe's fere, and julius Cesar from the lowest degree in Rome to be master of all earthly princes, and Aeneas from hell to be King of the country, there Rome is now standing. And so to thee I say thy grace by bearing thereafter, may set thee in such plight, that no jangling may grieve the jest tuck of thy hems, that all their jangles is nought to count at a cress in thy disadvantage.  
EVer, qd. she, hath the people in this world desired to have had great name in worthiness, and hated foul to bear any fame, and that is one of the objections thou allegest to be again thine hearty desire. Ye forsooth, qd. ay, and that so commonly the people wool lie and bring about such enfame. Now, quoth she, if men with leasings put on the enfame, weenest thyself thereby been enpeired? the wening is wrong, see why, for as much as they lain thy Merit increaseth, and make thee been more worthy to him that known of thee the sooth, by what thing thou art apeired, that in so mokell thou art increased of thy beloved friends: & sooth, a wound of thy friend to the lass harm, yea sir, and better than a false kissing in deceivable glozing of thine enemy, above that then to be well with thy friend, maketh such enfame, Ergo thou art increased and nat apeired. Lady, qd. ay, sometime yet if a man be in disease, the estimation of the envious people ne looketh nothing to deserts of men, ne to the merits of their doings, but only to the adventure of fortune, and thereafter they given their sentence. And some looken the voluntary will in his heart, & thereafter telleth his judgement, not taking heed to reason ne to the quality of the doing, as thus: if a man be rich & fulfilled with worldly welefulnesse, some commenden it, & sane it is so lent by just cause, and he that hath adversity, they sane he is weaked, & hath deserved thilk annoy. The contrary of these things some men holden also, and sane that to that rich, prosperity is purveied unto his confusion: & upon this matter, many authorities of many & great witted clerks they allegen. And some mensayne, though all good estimation forsaken folk that han adversity, yet is it merit and increase of his bliss: so that these purposes be so wonderful in understanding, that truly for mine adversity, now I not how the sentence of the indifferent people will iudgen my fame. Therefore, qd. she, if any wight should give a true sentence on such matters, the cause of the disease mayst thou see well, understand thereupon after what end it draweth, that is to say, good or bad, so ought it to have his fame, or by goodness enfame by badness: For every reasonable person, & namely of a wise man, his wit ought not without reason toforne heard, suddenly in a matter to judge. After the saws of the wise, thou shalt not judge ne dame toforne thou know. Lady, qd. ay, ye remember well, that in most laud & praising of certain saints in holy church, is to rehearsen their conversation from bad into good, and that is so rehearsed, as by a perpetual mirror of remembrance in worshipping of tho saints, and good ensample to other misdoers in amendment. How turned the Roman Zedeories from the Romans, to be with Hannibal against his kind nation: And afterwards him seeming the romans to be at the next degree of confusion, turned to his old allies, by whose wit after was Hannibal discomfited. Wherefore to inform you lady, the manner, why I mean, see now now in my youth I was draw to be assentaunt, and in my mights helping to certain conjurations, & other great matters of ruling of citezins, & thilk things been my drawers in, and excitours to though matters werne so painted & coloured, that at the prime face me seemed then noble and glorious to all the people: I then wening mikell merit, have deserved in furthering and maintenance of tho things, busied and laboured with all my diligence, in working of thilk matters to the end. And truly lady, to tell you the sooth, me wrought little of any hate of the mighty Senators in thilk city, ne of communes malice, for two skills: One was, I had comfort to been in such plight, that both profit were to me and to my friends: Another was, for common profit in communality, is not but peace & tranquillity, with just governance proceden from thilk profit, sithen by counsel of mine inwit, me thought the first painted things, malice and evil meaning, withouten any good avayling to any people, and of tyranny purposed: and so for pure sorrow and of my meddling, and bad infame that I was in run, though tears lashed out of mine eyes, were thus away wash, than the underhyd malice and the rancour of purposing envy, fornecaste and imagined, in destruction of mokel people showed so openly, that had I been blind, with mine hands all the circumstance I might well have feeled.  
Now than though people that such things have cast to redress, for wrath of my first meddling, shopen me to dwell in this pynande prison, till Lachases my thread no longer would twyne. And ever I was sought, if me list to have grace of my life, and freeness of that prison, I should openly confess how peace might been enduced to enden all the first rancours. It was fully supposed my knowing to be full in though matters. Then Lady I thought that every man, that by any way of right, rightfully done, may help any common help to been saved, which thing to keep above all things I am holde to maintain, & namely in destroying of a wrong, all should I therethrough enpeach mine own fere, if he were guilty, & to do misdeed assentaunt. And master ne friend may nought avail to the soul of him that in falseness dieth, and also that I ne'er desired wrath of the people, ne indignation of the worthy, for nothing that ever I wrought or did, in any doings myself else, but in the maintenance of these foresaid errors, and in hiding of the privities thereof. And that all the people's hearts holding on the errors side, weren blind, and of eld so far forth beguiled, that debate and strife they maintained, and in destruction on that other side, by which cause, the peace, that most in commonalties should be desired, was in point to be broken and annulled. Also the city of London, that is to me so dear and sweet, in which I was forth grown, and more kindly love have I to the place, than to any other in yearth, as every kindly creature hath full appetite to that place of his kindly engendrure, and to wilne rest and peace in that steed to abide: thilk peace should thus there have been broken, which of all wise is commended and desired. * For know thing it is, all men that desiren to come to the parfit peace everlasting, must the peace by God commended, both maintain and keep. This peace by angel's voice was confirmed, our God entering in this world: This, as for his testament, he left to all his friends, when he returned to the place from whence he came: This his Apostle admonesteth to holden, without which man perfectly may have none insight. Also this God by his coming made not peace alone between heavenly and earthly bodies, but also among us on earth, so he peace confirmed, that in one heed of love one body we should perform. Also I remember me well, how the name of Athens was rather after the GOD of peace than of battle, showing that peace most is necessary to Commonalties and Cities. I then so stired by all these ways toforne nempned, declared certain points in this wise. First that thilk persons that hadden me drawn to their purposes, and me not witting the privy intent of their meaning, drawn also the feeble witted people, that have none insight of gubernatife prudence, to clamure and to cry on matters that they stirred, & under points for common advantage, they embolded the passife to take in the actives doing, and also stirred innocents' of cunning to cry after things, which (qd. they) may not stand but we been executours of tho matters, & authority of execution by common election to us be delivered, & that must enter by strength of your maintenance, for we out of such degree put, oppression of these old hinderers shall again surmounten and putten you in such subjection, that in endless woe ye shall complain. The governments (qd. they) of your city, left in the hands of torcencious citizens, shall bring in pestilence and destruction to you good men, and therefore let us have the commune administration to abate such evils. Also (qd. they) * It is worthy the good to commend, and thy guilty deserts to chastise. There been citizens many for ferd of execution that shall be done, for extortions by hem committed, been evermore against these purposes, and all other good meanings. Never the latter, Lady, truly the meaning under these words, was fully to have appeached the mighty Senators which hadden heavy heart for the misgovernaunce that they seen. And so Lady, when it fell that free election, by great clamour of much people for great disease of misgovernaunce so fervently stooden in her election, that they him submitted to every manner face, rather than have suffered the manner & the rule of the hated governor's, notwithstanding that in the contrary helden much common meinie that have no consideration, but only to voluntary lusts withouten reason. But then thilk governor so forsaken, feigning to scorn his undoing, for misrule in his time, shaped to have letted thilk election, and have made a new himself to have been chosen, and under that mokell roar have arreared. These things Lady known among the Princes, and made open to the people, draweth in amendment, that every degree shall been ordained to stand there as he should, and that of errors coming hereafter, men may lightly toforn hand purvey remedy in this wise, peace and rest to be furthered and hold. Of the which things Lady, thilk persons broughten in answer toforne their most sovereign judge, not coarted by paining dures openly knowledgeden, and asked thereof grace, so that apertly it preveth my words been sooth, without forging of leasings.  
But now it grieveth me to remember these divers sentences, in jangling of these sheepie people: certes, me thinketh they oughten to maked joy that a sooth may be know. For my troth and my conscience been witness to me both, that this knowing sooth have I said, for no harm ne malice of tho persons, but only for troth of my sacrament in my liegeaunce, by which I was charged on my King's behalf. But see ye not now Lady, how the felonous thoughts of this people, and covins of wicked men, conspiren again my soothfast troth. See ye not every wight that to these erroneous opinions were assentaunt, and helps to the noise, and known all these things better than I my seluen, apparailen to finden new friends, and cleapen me false, and studien how they mown in her mouths werse plight nempne? O God, what may this be, that thilk folk which that in time of my maintenance, & when my might availeth to stretch to the foresaid matters, though me commended, and gave me name of troth, in so manifold manners, that it was nigh in every wights ear, there as any of thilk people weren: and on the other side, thilk company sometime passed, giving me name of bad loose. Now both though peoples turned the good into bad, and bad into good, which thing is wonder, that they knowing me saying but sooth, arn now tempted to reply her old praisings, and known me well in all doings to ben true, and said openly that I false have said many things. And they alleged nothing me to been false or untrue, save thilk mater knowledged by the party's himself: and God wot other mater is none. Ye also Lady know these things for true, I avaunt not in praising of myself, thereby should I less the precious secre of my conscience. But ye see well that false opinion of the people for my troth, in telling out of false conspired matters, and after the judgement of these Clerks I should not hide the sooth of no manner person, master ne other, wherefore I would not dread, were it put in the consideration of true and of wise. And for comers hereafter shullen fully out of denwere, all the sooth know of these things in act, but as they wern, I have put it in Scripture, in perpetual remembrance of true meaning. For truly Lady me seemeth that I ought to bear the name of troth, that for the love of rightwiseness have thus me submitten: But now then the false fame which that Clerks said flieth as fast as doth the fame of troth, shall so wide spread, till it be brought to the jewel that I of mean, and so shall I been hindered withouten any measure of troth.  
THen 'gan Love sadly me behold, and said in a changed voice, lower than she had spoken in a time. Fain would I (qd. she) that thou were holpen, but hast thou said any thing, which thou might not proven? Pardee (qd. I) the persons every thing as I have said, han knowledged himself. Yea (qd. she) but what if they hadden naied, how wouldst thou have maintained it? Sooth (qd. I) it is well wist both amongst the greatest, and other of the Realm, that I proffered my body so largely in to proving of tho things, that Mars should have judged th'end: but for soothness of my words they durst not to thilk judge trust. Now certes (qd. she) above all fames in this world, the name of martial doings most pleasen to Ladies of my lore, but sithen thou were ready, and thine adversaries in thy presence refused thilk doing, thy fame ought to be so born, as if in deed it had take to the end. And therefore every wight that any drop of reason hath, and heareth of the infame, for these things hath this answer to say: truly thou saidst, for thine adversaries thy words affirmed. And if thou hadst lied, yet are they discomfited, the prize leaned on thy side, so that fame shall hold down infame, he shall bring upon none half. What grieveth thee thine enemy to said their own shame, as thus: We arn discomfited and yet our quarrel is true. Shall not the loose of thy friends, ayenward dequace thilk enfame, and say they granted a sooth without a stroke or fight. Many men in battle been discomfited and overcome in a rightful quarrel, that is gods privy judgement in heaven: but yet although the party be yoleden, he may with words say his quarrel is true, and to yield him in the contrary for dread of death, he is compelled, and he that granted and no stroke hath feeled, he may not creep away in this wise by none excusation. Indifferent folk will say, ye who is true, who is false himself knowledgeth tho things. Thus in every side fame showeth to thee good and no bad. But yet (qd. I) some will say I ne should for no death have discovered my mistress, and so by unkindness they wool knet infame to pursue me about: thus enemies of will in manifold manner wool sech privy serpentines queintises, to quench & destroy by venom of many businesses, the light of troth, to make hearts to murmur against my person, to have me in hain, withouten any cause. Now (qd. she) hear me a few words, and thou shalt fully been answered, I trow. Me thinketh (qd. she) right now by thy words that Sacrament of swearing, that is to say, charging by Oath, was one of the causes to make thee discover the malicious imaginations tofore nempned: every oath by knitting of copulation, must have these laws, that is, true judgement and rightwiseness, in which thing, if any of these lack, the oath is iturned into the name of perjury: then to make a true serment, must needs these things follow, for oft times a man to say sooth, but judgement and justice follow, he is forsworn: ensample of Herodes for holding of his serment, was dampened.  
Also to say troth rightfullithe, but in judgement, other while is forboden, by that all sothes be not to sane. Therefore in judgement in troth and rightwisenesses, is every creature bounden upon pain of perjury full knowing to make, though it were of his own person, for dread of sin, after that word better is it to die than live false: and all would perverted people, false report make in unkindness, in the intent thy fame to raise, when light of truth in these matters is forth sprongen, and openly published among commons, then shall not such dark enfame dare appear for pure shame of his falseness, as some men there been that their own enfame, can none otherwise void or else excuse, but by hindering of other men's fame, which that by none other cause cleapen other men's false, but for with their own falseness, mown they not been avaunsed: or else by false sclaundring words, other men shendin their own true slander, to make seem the lass, for if such men woulden their iyens of their conscience revoluen, shoulden seen the same sentence they legen on other, spring out of their sides, with so many branches, it were impossible to number: to which therefore may it be said in that thing, this man thou deemest, therein thyself thou condempnest. But (qd. she) understand not by these words, that thou ween me say thee, to be worthy slander, for any matter tofore written, truly I would witness the contrary, but I say that the beams of sclaundring words may not been done away, till the day of doom. For how should it not yet amongst so great plenty of people, been many shrews, sithen when no more but eight persons, in noah's ship were closed, yet one was a shrew, and scorned his father. These things (qd. she) I trow, shown that false fame is not to dread, ne of wise persons to accept, and namely not of thy Margarite, whose wisdom hereafter I think to declare, wherefore I wot well such thing shall not her astart, then of unkindness, thine oath hath thee excused at the full. But now if thou wouldst not greue, me list a few things to show. Say on (qd. I) what ye wol, I trow ye mean but troth, and my profit in time coming. Truly (qd. she) that is sooth, so thou con well keep these words, and in the inrest secret chamber of thine heart, so fast him close, that they never flit, then shalt thou find him availing. Look now what people hast thou served, which of him all in time of thine exile ever thee refreshed, by the value of the least coigned plate that walketh in money. Who was sorry, or made any ruth for thy disease? If they hadden gotten their purpose of thy misaventure, set they not an haw. Lo when thou were imprisoned, how fast they hied in help of thy deliverance. I ween of thy death, they give but lite: They looked after no thing, but after their own lusts. And if thou list say the sooth, all that meinie that in this brigge thee broughten, lokeden rather after thine helps, than thee to have relieved.  
Owen not yet some of him money for his commons? Paidest not thou for some of her dispenses, till they were turned out of Seland? Who gave thee ever ought, for any riding thou madest? Yet perdie, some of him tooken money for thy Chamber, and put though pens in his purse, unweting of the renter.  
Lo, for which a company thou meddlest, that neither thee, ne themselves mighten help of unkindness, now they bear the name, that thou supposest of him for to have. What might thou more have done, than thou didst, but if thou wouldst in a false quarrel, have been a stinking martyr? I ween thou fleddest as long as thou might, their privity to conceal, which thing thou helest longer than thou shouldest. And thilk that ought thee money, no penny would pay, they wend thy return had been an impossible. How might thou better have him proved, but thus in thy needy diseases? Now hast thou ensample, for whom thou shalt meddle: truly this lore is worth many goods.  
OFt 'gan love to stern me these words, think on my speech, for truly hereafter, * it wool do thee liking, and how so ever thou see fortune shape her wheel to turn, this meditation by no way revolve. For certes, Fortune showeth her fairest, when she thinketh to beguile. And as me thought here toforne, thou saidst thy loose in love, for thy rightwiseness ought to be raised, should be allowed in time coming: thou might in love so thee have, that loose and fame shall so been raised, that to thy friends comfort, and sorrow to thine enemies, endless shall endure.  
But if thou were that one Sheep amongst the hundred, were lost in desert, and out of the way had erred, and now to the flock art restored, the Shepeheard hath in thee no joy, and thou again to the Forest turn. But that right as the sorrow and anguish was great, in time of thine out way going, right so joy and gladness shall be doubled, to seen thee converted, and not as Loathes wife again looking, but hole counsel with the Sheep following, and with them grass and herbs gather. Never the later (qd. she) I say not these things for no wantrust that I have, in supposing of thee otherwise than I should: for truly I wot well, that now thou art set in such a purpose, out of which thee list not to part: But I say it, for many men there been that to knowing of other men's doings setten all their cure, and lightly desiren the bad to clatter, rather than the good, and have no will their own manner to amend. They also hate of old rancour lightly haven, and there that such thing abideth, suddenly in their mouths proceedeth the abundance of the heart, and words as stones, stones out throw. Wherefore my counsel is evermore, openly and apertly, in what place thou sit, counterplete therrors and meanings, in as far as thou hem wistest false, and leave for no wight, to make him be know in every body's ear: & be always patient, and use Jacob's words, what so ever men of thee clappen, I shall sustain my Lady's wrath, which I have deserved, so long as my Margarite hath rightwised my cause. And certes (qd. she) I witness myself, if thou thus converted, sorrowest in good meaning in thine heart, wolt from all vanity perfectly depart, in consolation of all good pleasance of that Margarite, which that thou desirest after will of thine heart, in a manner of a mother's pity, shul fully accept thee into grace. For right as thou rentest clothes in open sight, so openly to sow him at his worship, withouten reproof commended: Also, right as thou were ensample of much fold error, right so thou must be ensample of manifold correction, so good favour to foregoing all error destroying, causeth diligent love with many plaited praisings to follow, and then shall all the first errors make the following worships to seem hugely increased, black and white set together, every for other more seemeth, and so doth every things contrary in kind. But infame that goeth always tofore, and praising worship by any cause following after, maketh to rise thilk honour, in double of wealth, and that quencheth the spot of the first enfame. Why weenest I say these things, in hindering of thy name? Nay nay God wot, but for pure increasing worship, thy rightwiseness to commend, and thy troth to seem the more. Woste not well thyself, that thou inform of making, passeth not Adam that eat of the apple. Thou passeth not the steadfastness of No, the eating of the grape became drunk. Thou passeth not the chastity of Loath, that lay by his daughter. Eke the nobly of Abraham, whom God reproved by his pride. Also David's meekness, which for a woman made Vry be slaw. What also Hector of Troy, in whom no default might be found: yet is he reproved that he ne had with manhood not suffered the war begon, ne Paris to have went into Grece, by whom 'gan all the sorrow: for * truly him lacketh no venom of privy consenting, which that openly leaveth a wrong to withsay. Lo eke an old proverb, among many other. * He that is still, seemeth as he granted.  
Now by these ensamples, thou might fully understand, that these things been writ to your learning, & in rightwiseness of tho people, as thus: To every wight his default committed, made goodness afterwards done be the more in reverence, and in open showing, for ensample is it not song in holy church? Lo how necessary was Adam's sin, David the king got Solomon the king, of her that was Vries wife. Truly for reproof is none of these things writ: Right so though I rehearse thy before deed, I reprove thee never the more, ne for no villainy of thee are they rehearsed, but for worship, so thou continue well hereafter: and for profit of thyself, I read thou on him think.  
Then said I right thus: Lady of unity and accord, envy & wrath lurken there thou comest in place, ye weten well your selue & so done many other, the while I administered the office of common doing, as in ruling of the establishments amongst the people, I defouled never my conscience for no manner deed, but ever by wit & by counsel of the wisest, the matters weren drawn to their right ends. And thus truly for you Lady, I have desired such cure, & certes in your service was I not idle, as far as such doing of my cure stretcheth. That is a thing (qd. she) that may draw many hearts of noble, & voice of common into glory, and fame is not but wretched and fickle.  
Alas, that mankind coveteth in so lewd a wise, to be rewarded of any good deed, sith glory of Fame in this world, is not but hindering of glory in time coming. And certes, qd. she, yet at the hardest such fame into heaven is not the yearth but a centre to the cercle of heaven. A prick is wonderful little in respect of all the cercle, & yet in all this prick may no name be born in manner of piercing, for many obstacles, as waters and wilderness, and strange languages, & not only names of men been stilled & holden out of knowledging by these obstacles, but also cities and realms of prosperity ben letted to be know, and their reason hindered, so that they mow not been perfectly in men's proper understanding. How should then the name of a singular Londenoys pass the glorious name of London, which by many it is commended, and by many it is lacked, and in many more places in earth not known, then known: for in many countries little is London in knowing, or in speech, and yet among one manner of people may not such fame in goodness come, for as many as praisen commonly as many lacken. Fie then on such manner fame, sleep and suffer him that knoweth privity of hearts, to deal such fame in thilk place, there nothing against a sooth shall neither speak, ne dare appear, by attorney, ne by other manner. How many great named, & many great in worthiness loosed, han be tofore this time, that now out of memory are slidden, & cleanly forgotten, for default of writings, & yet scriptures for great eld so been defaced, that no perpetualty may in hem been judged. But if thou wolt make comparison to ever, with joy mayst thou have in earthly name it is a fair likeness, a pees or one grain of Wheat, to a thousand ships full of corn charged. What number is between the one and the other, and yet mow both they be numbered, and end in reckoning have. But truly all that may be numbered, is nothing to reckon, as to thilk that may not be numbered, for oft things ended is made comparison, as one little, an other great, but in things to have an end, and an other no end, soch comparisoun may not be founden. Wherefore in heaven to been loosed, with God hath none end, but endless endureth, and thou canst nothing done aright, but thou desire the rumour thereof be healed, and in every wights ear, and that dureth but a prick, in respect of the other. And so thou seekest reward of folks, small words, and of vain praisings. Truly therein thou lesest the guerdon of virtue, and lesest the greatest valour of conscience, and unhap thy renome everlasting. * Therefore boldly renome of fame of the yearth should be hated, & fame after death should be desired, of werks of virtue asketh guerdoning, and the soul causeth all virtue. Then the soul delivered out of prison of yearth, is most worthy such guerdon among to have in the everlasting fame, and not the body, that causeth all man's yvils.  
OF twain things art thou answered, as me thinketh (qd. Love's) and if any thing be in doubt in thy soul, show it forth thine ignorance to clear, and leave it for no shame. Certes (qd. I) there ne is no body in this world, that aught could say by reason, against any of your skills, as I leave: and by my wit now feel I well that evil speakers, or bearers of enfame, may little greue or let my purpose, but rather by such thing my quarrel to be furthered. Yea (qd. she) and it is proved also, that the like jewel in my keeping shall not there through be stired, of the lest moment that might be imagined. That is sooth (qd. I.) Well (qd. she) then leaveth there, to declare that thy insuffisaunce is no manner letting, as thus: for that she is so worthy, thou shouldest not climb so high, for thy moebles and thine estate arne voided, thou thinkest fallen in such misery, that gladness of thy pursuit wool not on thee descend. Certes (qd. I) that is sooth: right such thought is in mine heart, for commonly it is spoken, and for an old Proverb it is ledged: * He that heweth to high, with chips he may less his sight. Wherefore I have been about in all that ever I might, to study ways of remedy, by one side or by an other. Now (qd. she) God forbid, ere thou seek any other doings but such as I have learned thee in our resting while, and such herbs as been planted in our Gardens. Thou shalt well understand, that above man, is but one God alone. How (qd. I) han men to forne this time, trusted in writs and chauntements, and in helps of Spirits, that dwellen in the air, and thereby they han gotten their desires, where as first for all his manly power he danced behind.  
O (qd. she) fie on such matters, for truly that is sacrilege, and that shall have no sort with any of my servants, in mine eyes shall such thing not be looked after. How often is it commanded by these passed wise, that to one God shall men serve, & not two Gods. And who that list to have mine helps, shall ask none help of foul Spirits. Alas, is not man maked semblable to God? Woste thou not well, that all virtue of liveliche werking by God's purueighance, is underput to reasonable creature in earth, is not every thing a thishalf God? made buxom to man's contemplation, understanding in heaven & in earth, and in hell. Hath not man being with stones, soul of waxing with trees and herbs.  
Hath he not soul of feeling with beasts, fishes, and fouls, and he hath soul of reason and understanding with Angels, so that in him is knit all manner of livings, by a reasonable proportion. Also man is made of all the four Elements. All university is reckoned in him alone: he hath under god principality above all things. Now is his soul here, now a thousand mile hence, now far, now nigh, now high, now low, as far in a moment, as in maintenance of ten Winter, & all this is in man's governance & disposition. Then showeth it, that men been lich unto gods, & children of most height. * But now sithen all things underput to the will of reasonable creatures, God forbid any man to win that Lordship, & ask help of any thing lower than himself, and then namely of foul things innominable.  
Now then, why shouldest thou ween to love to high, sithen nothing is thee above, but God alone. Truly I wot well, that the ilk jewel is in a manner, even in line of degree, there thou art thy selue, & nought above, save thus: Angel upon Angel, Man upon Man, & Devil upon Devil, han a manner of Sovereignty, & that shall cease at the day of Dome: & so I say, though thou be put to serve thilk jewel during thy life, yet is that no servage of underputting, but a manner of travailing pleasance, to conquer and get that thou hast not.  
I set now the hardest in my service now thou deydest for sorrow of wanting in thy desires: Truly all heavenly bodies, with one voice shul come & make melody in thy coming, & say welcome our fere, and worthy to enter into jupiters' joy, for thou with might hast overcome death, thou wouldst never flit out of thy service, & we all shul now pray to the gods, row by row, to make thilk Margarite, that no routh had in this person, but unkindly without comfort let thee die, shall beset herself in such wise, that in yearth for part of vengeance, shall she no joy have in love's service: and when she is dead, then shall her soul been brought up into thy presence, and whider thou wilt cheese, thilk soul shall been committed. Or else after thy death, anon all the foresaid heavenly bodies by one accord, shall be nommen from thilk pearl, all the virtues that first her were taken, for she hath hem forfeited, by y● on thee my servant, in thy live she would not suffer to work all virtues, withdrawn by might of the high bodies: Why then shouldest thou ween so any more. And if thee list to look upon the law of kind, and with order, which to me was ordained, sooth none age, none overtourning time, but hitherto had no time ne power, to change the wedding, ne that knot to unbind of two hearts, through one assent in my presence, together accord to endurens till death him depart. What trowest thou every idiot wot the meaning & the privy intent of these things? They ween forsooth that such accord may not be, but the Rose of maidenhead be plucked, do way do way, they know nothing of this: * For consent of two hearts alone, maketh the fastening of the knot, neither law of kind, ne man's Low determineth, neither the age, ne the quality of persons, but only accord between thilk tway. And truly, after time that such accord, by their consent in heart, is ensealed & put in my tresory, amongst my privy things, then ginneth the name of spousaile: and although they breken forward both, yet such matter ensealed, is kept in remembrance for ever. And see now that spouses have the name anon after accord, though the Rose be not take. The Angel bad joseph take Mary his spouse, and to Egypt wend: Lo she was cleped spouse, and yet toforne ne after, neither of hem both meant, no fleshly lust know, wherefore the words of troth accord, that my servant's shoulden forsake both father and mother, & be adherand to his spouse, and they two in unity of one flesh, shoulden accord, And this wise two that werne first, in a little manner disaccordaunt, higher that one, and lower that other, been made evenliche in gree to stoned.  
But now to inform thee, that ye been liche God's, these Clerks said, and in determination shown, that three things haven the names of Gods been cleped, that is to sane, Man, Devil, and Images, but yet is there but one God, of whom all goodness, all grace, and all virtue cometh, & he is loving and true, and everlasting, & prime cause of all being things: but men been gods, loving & true, but not everlasting, & that this by adoption, of the everlasting God. Devils been gods, stirring by a manner of living, but neither been they true, ne everlasting, & their name of godlihed, they han by usurpation, as the Prophet sayeth: All Gods of Gentiles, that is to say, paynims, are Devils. But Images been Gods by nuncupation, & they been neither living, ne true, ne everlasting: After these words they clepe Gods, Images, wrought with men's hands.  
But now reasonable creature, that by adoption alone, art to the great god everlasting, & thereby thou art good cleped: let thy father's manners so entre thy wits, that thou might follow, in as much as longeth to thee, thy father's worship, so that in nothing, thy kind from his will decline, ne from his nobley poverty. In thus wise if thou werche, thou art above all other things, save Ood alone, and to say no more thine heart, to serve in too high a place.  
FVlly have I now declared, thine estate to be good, so thou follow thereafter, and that the objection first by thee alleged, in worthiness of thy Margarite, shall not thee let, as it shall further thee, and increase thee: it is now to declare, the last objection in nothing may greue. Yes certes (qd. I) both greue, and let must it needs, the contrary may not been proved, and see now why. While I was glorious in worldly welfulness, and had such goods in wealth, as maken men rich, though was I draw into companies that loose, prize, and name given: Thomas loureden blasours, though curreiden glosours, though welcomeden flatteres, though worshipped thilk, that now deinen not to look. Every wight in such earthly weal abundant, is hold noble, precious, benign, & wise, to do with he shall, in any degree that men him set, all be it that the soothe be in that contrary of all though things: But he that can, ne never so well in him behave, and hath virtue abundant, in manifold manners, and be not wealthed with such earthly goods, is hold for a fool, and said his wit is but sotted. Lo how false for ever is hold true. Lo how true is cleped false, for wanting of goods. Also Lady, dignities of office maken men mikell commended, as thus: he is so good, were he out, his peer should men not find. Truly I trow of some such that are so praised, were they out one's, an other should make him so be know, he should of no wise no more been looked after: but only fools well I wot, desiren such new things. Wherefore I wonder that thilk governor, out of whom alone the causes proceden, that governeth all things, which that hath ordained this world, in works of the kindly bodies so be governed, not with unsteadfast or happious thing, but with rules of reason, which shown the course of certain things: why suffreth he such sliding changes, that misturnen soch noble things as been we men, that be a fair persel of the yearth, & holden the upperest degree under GOD, of benign things, as ye saiden right now yourself, should never man have been set in so worthy a place, but if his degree were ordained noble. Alas, thou that knittest the purveyance of all things, why lookest thou not to amenden these defaults: I see shrews that han wicked manners, siten in chairs of domes, Lambs to punishen, there Wolves should been punished. Lo, virtue shined naturally, for poverty lurketh, & is hid under cloud: but the Moon false forsworn, as I know myself, for aver and yeftes hath usurped, to shine by day light, with painture of other men's praisings: & truly thilk forged light foully should fade, were the troth away of colours feigned. Thus is night turned into day, and day into night, Winter into Summer, & Summer into Winter, not in deed but in miscleaping of foolish people.  
Now (qd. she) what weenest thou of these things? How feelest thou in thine heart, by what governance that this cometh about?  
Certes (qd. I) that wot I never, but if it be, that Fortune hath grant from abode to lead the end of men as her liketh. Ah now I see (qd. she) the intent of thy meaning: Lo, because thy worldly goods, been fullich dispent, thou bereft out of dignity of office, in which thou madest thy gathering of thilk goods, and yet didst in that office, by counsel of wise, any thing were ended: and true were unto him, whose profit thou shouldest look, and seest now many, that in the ilke harvest made of thee mokell, and now for glozing of other, deigneth thee nought to further, but enhaunsen falls shrews, by witnessing of truth: These things greeveth thine heart, to seen thyself thus abated, and then frailty of mankind ne setteth but little, by the lesers of such rechesse, have he never so much virtue, and so thou weenest of thy jewel, to run in despite, and not been accepted into grace: All this shall thee nothing hinder. Now (qd. she) first thou woste well, thou lostest nothing that ever mightest thou challenge for thine own: When nature brought thee forth, come thou not naked out of thy mother's womb? Thou hadst no richesse, and when thou shalt enter into the end of every fleshly body, what shalt thou have with thee then? So every richesses thou haste in time of thy living nis but leaned, thou might therein challenge no property. And see now, every thing that is a man's own, he may do therewith what him liketh, to give or to keep: but richesse thou plainest from thee lost, if thy might had stretched so ferforth, fain thou wouldes have him kept, multiplied with more other: & so against thy will been they departed from thee, wherefore they were never thine. And if thou laudest and joyest any wight, for he is stuffed with such manner richesses, thou art in that believe beguiled, for thou weenest thilk joy to be silliness, or else ease, and he that hath lost such haps, to been unseily. Ye forsooth (qd. I.) Well (qd. she) then wool I prove that unsely, in that wise is to praise, and so the tother is the contrary to be lacked. How so (qd. I?) For unsely (qd. she) beguileth not, but showeth the intent of her working. Et è contra. silliness beguileth, for in prosperity, she maketh a jape in blindness, that is, she windeth him to make sorrow when she withdraweth. Wolte thou not (qd. she) praise him better, that showeth to thee his heart, though it be with bitande words, and despitous than him that gloseth, and thinketh in their absence, to do thee many harms. Certes (qd. I) the one is to commend, & the other to lack and despise. A ha (qd. she) right so ease while he lasteth, gloseth & flattereth, & lightly voideth when she most pleasantly showeth, and ever in her absence, she is about to dothee tene and sorrow in heart: But unsely all be it with betande cheer, showeth what she is, and so doth not that other, wherefore unsely doth not beguile. silliness disceiveth: unsely put away doubt. That one maketh men blind, that other openeth their iyens, in showing of wretchedness. The one is full of dread, to less that is not his own: That other is sober, and maketh men discharged of mokel heaviness in burden: The one draweth a man from very good, the other haileth him to virtue, by the hooks of thoughts. And weenest thou not, that thy disease hath done thee mokell more to win, than ever yet thou lostest, & more than ever the contrary made thee win? Is not a great good to thy thinking, for to know the hearts of thy soothfast friends? Pard they been proved to the full, and the true have discevered from the false. Truly at the going of thilk brotell joy, there go no more away, than the ilke that was not thine proper: He was never from that lightly departed, thine own good therefore leaveth it still with thee. Now good (qd. she) for how much wouldst thou sometime have bought, this very knowing of thy friend, from the flattering flies that they glossed, when thou thought thyself silly? But thou the plainest of loss in richesse, haste founden the most dear worthy thing: that thou cleapest unsilly, hath made the moche thing to winnen. And also for conclusioun of all, * He is friend that now leaveth not his heart from thine helps. And if that Margarite denieth now not to suffer her virtues shine to thee wards, with spreading beams, as far or farther than if thou were silly in worldly joy: Truly I say not else but she is some deal to blame.  
Ah, peace (qd. I) and speak no more of this, mine heart breaketh now thou touchest any such words. A well (qd. she) then let us singen, thou hearest no more of these things at this tyme.  
¶ Thus endeth the first book of the Testament of Love, and hereafter followeth the second.   

VEry wealth may not be founden in all this world, and that is well seen: Lo how in my most comfort, as I wend and most supposed to have had full answer of my contrary thoughts, suddenly it was vanished. And all the works of man faren in the same wise, when folk wenen best her intent for to have, and wills to perform, anon changing of the lift side to the right halve, turneth it so clean into another kind, that never shall it come to the first plight in doing.  
O this wrongful steering so soon, other-wised out of knowing but for my purpose was at my beginning, & so dureth yet, if God of his grace time wool me grant, I think to perform this work, as I have begone in love, after as my thin wit, with inspiracition of him that hildeth all grace wool suffer. Grecuously God wot have I suffered a great throw, that the Romayn Emperor, which in unity of love should accord and every with other, in cause of other to auance, and namely sith this Empire to be corrected of so many sects in heresy, of faith, of service, of rule in love's religion. Truly all were it but to shend erroneous opinions, I may it no longer suffer: For many men there been that said love to been in gravel and sand, that with Sea ebbing and flowing wooeth, as riches that suddenly wanisheth. And some said that love should be in windy blasts, that stoundmele tournerh as a fane, and glory of renome, which after lusts of the variant people is areyse or stilled. Many also we●en that in the Sun and the Moon, and other Sters, love should been founden, for among all other Planets most soverainly they shinen, as dignities in reverence of estates rather than good han, and occupien. Full many also there been that in oaks and in huge posts supposen love to been grounded, as in strength and in might, which mown not helpen their own wretchedness, when they gi'en to fall. But such diversity of sects against the rightful believe of love, these errors ●een forth spread, that loves servants in the true rule and steadfast faith, in no place darn appear: Thus irrecuparable joy is went, and annoy endless is entered. For no man aright deproveth such errors, but comfirmen their words, and said that bad is noble good, and goodness is bad, to which folk the Prophet biddeth, woe without end.  
Also many tongues of great false teachings in guiling manner, principally in my times, not only with words, but also with arms, loves servants and profess in his religion of true rule, pursewen to confounden and to distroien. And for as much as holy Fathers, that our Christian faith approved and strengthened to the jews, as to men reasonable, and of divinity learned, proved thilk faith with reasons, and with aucthoritees of the old Testament, and of the new, her pertinacy to destroy: But to Paynims, that for beests and hounds were hold, to put him out of their error, was miracles of God showed. These things were figured by coming of th'angel to the shepherds, and by the star to paynims kings, as who saith: Angel reasonable, to reasonable creature, and star of miracle to people bestial not learned, wern sent to inform. But I lover's clerk in all my cunning and with all my mights, truly I have no such grace in virtue of miracles, ne for no discomfit falsehedes sufficeth not auctorities alone, sithen that such heretics and maintainors of falsities. Wherefore I wot well sithen that they been men, and reason is approved in him, the cloud of error hath her reason bewond probable reasons, which that catchend wit rightfully may not with sit. But my travailing study. I have ordained him, with that authority misglosed by man's reason, to grant shall be enduced.  
Now ginneth my pen to quake, to thinken on the sentences of the envious people, which always been ready, both rider and goer to scorn and to jape this lewd book and me for rancour and hate in their hearts they shullen so despise, that although my book be lewd, yet shall it been more lewd holden, and by wicked words in many manner apaired. Certes me thinketh the sown of their bad speech, right now is full both mine ears. O good precious Margarite, mine heart should weep, if I wist ye token heed of such manner speech, but truly I wot well in that your wisdom shall not astart. For of God maker of kind witness I took, that for none envy ne jewel have I draw this matter together, but only for goodness to maintain, and errors in falsetes to destroy. Wherefore (as I said) with reason I think, thilk foresaid errors to destroy and dequace. These reasons and such other, if they induce men in love's service, true to believe of perfect bliss, yet to full faith in credence of desert, fully mow they not suffice, sithen faith hath no merit of meed, when man's reason showeth experience in doing. For utterly no reason the perfect bliss of love by no way may make to be comprehended. Lo what is a persell of lover's joy, perfect science in good service, of their desire to comprehend in bodily doing, the liking of the soul, nat as by a glass to have contemplation of time coming, but thilk first imagined and thought, after face to face in beholding: what heart, what reason, what understanding can make his heaven to be feeled and know without assay of doing? Certes none. Sithen then of love cometh such fruit in bliss, and love in himself is the most among other virtues, as Clerks said: The seed of such springing in all places, in all country's, in all worlds should been sow.  
But o well away, thilk seed is forsake, and mown not been suffered the land tilers to set a work, without meddling of cockle, bad weeds which sometime stonken hath caught the name of love among idiots and bad meaning people. Never the latter, yet how so it be that men cleap thilk King preciousest in kind, with many eke names, that other things, that the foul given the ilke noble name, it showeth well that in a manner men have great liking in worshipping thilk name, wherefore this work have I writ, and to the titled of love's name, I have it avowed in a manner of sacrifice, that where ever it be rad, it mow in merit by the excellence of thilk name the more wax in authority and worship of taking in heed, and to what intent it was ordained, the in fears mown been moved. Euerything to whom is owe and occasion done as for his end. Aristotle supposeth that the acts of every thing been in a manner his final cause. A final cause is nobler, or else even as noble as thilk thing that is finally to thilk end, wherefore action of thing everlasting is deemed to be eternal, and not temporal, sithen it is his final cause: Right so the acts of my book love, and love is noble, wherefore though my book be lewd, the cause with which I am stired, and for whom I ought it done, noble forsooth been both. But because that in cunning I am young, and can yet but creep, this lewd A, b, c, have I set into learning, for I can not passen the telling of three as yet: and if God will in short time, I shall amend this lewdness in joining of syllables, which thing for dulness of wit I may not in three letters declare. For truly I say the goodness of my Margarite pearl would give matter enditing to many Clerks: Certes her mercy is more to me swetter than any livings, wherefore my lips mown not suffice in speaking of her full laud and worship as they should. But who is that in knowing of the orders of Heaven, and putteth his reasons in the earth: I forsooth may not with blear eyes, the shining Sun of virtue in bright wheel of this Margarite behold, therefore as yet I may her not discriue in virtue as I would. In time coming in another treatise thorough god's grace, this Sun, clearness of virtue to be know, and how she enlumineth all this day, I think to declare.  
IN this mean while this comfortable lady 'gan sing a wonder mater of enditing in Latin, but truly the noble colours in Rhetoric, wise knit were so craftily, that my cunning wool not stretch to remember, but the sentence I trow somedele have I in mind. Certes they were wonder sweet of swoon, and they were touched all in lamentation wise, and by no werbelles of mirth: Lo thus 'gan she sing in Latin, as I may constrew it in our English tongue.  
Alas that these heavenly bodies their light and course shown, as nature gave hem in commandment at the beginning of the first age, but these things in free choice of reason han none understanding: but man that ought to pass all thing of doing, of right course in kind, overwhelmed soothness by wrongful title, and hath drawn the Star of envy to gone by his side, that the ciypes of me that should be his shinand Sun, so oft is say, that it weaned thilk error thorough hem come in, should been mine own default. Trewely therefore I have me withdraw, and made my dwelling out of land in an isle by myself, in the Occian closed, and yet say there many they have me harberowed, but God wot they fail. These things me grieven to think, and namely on poised gladness, that in this world was wont me disport of high and low, and now it is failed: they that wolden masteries me have in thilk stounds, in heaven on high above Satur's sphere, in seasonable time were they lodged, but now come quaint counsellors that in no house wool suffer me sojourn, whereof is pity: And yet said some that they me have in cellar with wine shut, in garnere there corn is laid, covered with wheat, in sack sowed with wool, in purse with money fast knit, among pans mouled in a which, in press among clothes laid, with rich pelure arrayed, in stable among horse and other beasts, as hogs, sheep, and neat, and in other manner wise. But thou maker of light (in winking of thine eye the sun is quaint) wost right well that I in true name was never thus herberowed. Sometime toforn the sun in the seventh party was smitten, I bore both cross & mitre, to give it where I would. With me the Pope went a foot, & I though was worshipped of all holy church, kings baden me their crowns holden. holden The law was set as it should: to fore the judge as well the poor durst show his grief as the rich, for all his money. I defended though tailages, & was ready for the poor to pay. I made great feasts in my time, and noble songs, & married damosels of gentle feature, withouten gold or other richesse. Poor Clerks for wit of school, I set in churches, and made such persons to preach: and though was service in holy churches honest and devout, in pleasance both of God and of the people. But now the lewd for simony is avaunted, & shendeth all holy church. * Now is steward for his achates, now is courtior for his debates, now is escheator for his wrongs, now is lozel for his songs, personer and provendre alone, with which many thrifty should increase. And yet is this shrew bebind, * Free heart is forsake, and losengeour is take. Lo it acordeth, for such there been that voluntary lusts haunt in court with ribaudry, That till midnight and more wool play and wake, but in the Church at matins he is behind, for evil disposition of his stomach: therefore he should eat bean bred, and so did his sire, his estate therewith to strengthen. His altar is broke, and low lithe in point to gone to the yearth, but his horse must been easy and high to hear him over great waters. His chalice poor, but he hath rich cups. No towayl but a sheet, there God shall been handled: and on his meat board there shall been board clothes and towells many pair. At mass serveth but a clergion: five squires in hall. Poor chancel, open holes in every side: beds of silk with tapites going all about his chambre. Poor mass book & lewd chapelain, and broken Surplice with many an hole: good hounds and many, to hunt after Hart and Hare, to feed in their feests. Of poor men have they great care, for they ever crave, and nothing offren, they wolden have him doluen. But among legystres there dare I not come, my doing they said maken him needy, they ne would for nothing have me in town, for than were tort and forth naught worth an haw about, and pleasen no men, but thilk grievous and torcious been in might and in doing: these things toforn said mow well if men list rhyme, truly they accord nothing. And for as much as all things by me shulden of right been governed, I am sorry to see the governance faileth, as thus: To seen small and low govern the high, & bodies above. Certes that policy is nought, it is forbade by them that of governance treaten and enformen. * And right as beastly wit should been subject to reason, so earthly power in itself, the lower should been subject to the hire.  
What is worth thy body but it be governed with thy soul? right so little or nought is worth earthly power, but if regnatife prudence in heeds govern the small, to which heeds the small owen to obey, and suffer in their governance. But sovereigness ayenward should think in this wise; I am servant of these creatures to me delivered: not Lord, but defender: not Master, but enformer: not possessor, but in possession, and to him lich a tree, in which sparows shullen stelen, her birds to nourish and forth bring under surety against all reveinous fouls and beasts, and not to be tyrant themselves. And then the small in rest and quiet, by the heeds well disposed, owen for their soverains health and prosperity to pray, and in other doings, in maintenance thereof perform, withouten other administration in rule of any manner governance. And they wit have in him, and grace to come to such things, yet should they cease till their heeds them cleped, although profit and pleasance should follow. But truly other governance ne other meddling aught they not to claim, ne the heeds on him to put. Truly amongst cozenage dare I not come, but if richesses be my mean, sooth she & other bodily goods maketh nigh cozenage, there never propinquite ne alliance in live was, ne should have be, ne'er it for her meddling manners, wherefore kindly am I not there leged. Povert of kindred is behind, richesse suffreth him to pass: truly he saith he come never of japhets' children: whereof I am sorry that japhets' children for poverty, in no lineage ben reckoned, & cain's children for riches be maked japhets heirs. Alas this is a wonder change bitweens though two noah's children, sithen that of japhets' offspring comden knights, and of Cain descended the line of servage to his brother's children. Lo how gentilesse and seruage, as cousins, both descended out of two brothers of one body: * Wherefore I say in soothnes, that gentilesse in kindred maken not gentle lineage in succession, without desert of a man's own self. Where is now the line of Alisaundrie the noble, or else of Hector of Troy? Who is descended of right blood of line from king Artour? Pard sir Perdiccas, whom that king Alisandre made to been his heir in Greece, was of no king's blood, his dame was a tombistere: of what kindred been the Gentiles in our days: * ay trow therefore if any good be in gentilesse, it is only that it seemeth a manner of necessity be input to gentlemen, that they shoulden not varien from the virtue's of their ancestors. Certes all manner lineage of men been even lich in birth, for one father, maker of all goodness, informed him all, and all mortal folk of one seed are greyned. Whereto avaunt men of her lineage, in cozenage, or in eld fathers. Look now the beginning, & to God maker of man's person, there is no clerk ne no worthy in gentilesse: & he that nourisheth his corare with vices and unresonable lusts, and leaveth the kind course, to which end him brought forth his birth, truly he is ungentil, and among clerks may not been nempned. And therefore he that wool been gentle, he moat daunten his flesh from vices that causen ungentilnes, and leave also reigns of wicked lusts, * and draw to him virtue, that in all places gentleness gentlemen maketh. And so speak I in feminine gendre in general, of though persons at the reverence of one, whom every wight honoureth, for her bounty and her nobleness maked her to God so dear, that his mother she became, and she me hath had so great in worship, that I nill for nothing in open declare that in any thing against her sect may so ween: for all virtue and all worthiness of pleasance in hem aboundeth. And although I would any thing speak, truly I can not, I may find in evil of him no manner mater.  
RIght with these words she stint of that lamentable melody, and I 'gan with a lively heart to pray, if that it were liking unto her noble grace, she would her deyn to declare me the mater that first was begun, in which she left, and stint to speak before she ganne to sing.  
O (qd. she) this is no new thing to me to seen you men desiren after mater, which yourself caused to void.  
Ah good Lady (qd. I) in whom victory of strength is proved above all other thing, after the judgement of Esdram, whose lordship all lignes: Who is that right as Emperor hem commandeth, whether thilk been not women, in whose likeness to me ye aperens. For right as man halt the principality of all thing under his being, in the masculine gender, and no more genders been there but masculine, and feminine, all the remnant been no genders but of grace, in faculty of Grammar. Right so in the feminine, the women holden the upperest degree of all things, under thilk gender contained. Who bringeth forth kings, which that been lords of see and of yearth, and all peoples of women been born: they nourish him that raffen vines, they maken men comfort in their glad cheres. Her sorrow is death to man's heart. * Without women the being of men were impossible. They con with their sweetness the cruel heart ravish, and make it meek, buxom, and benign, without violence meving. In beauty of their eyes, or else of other manere features is all men's desires, ye more than in Gold, Precious stones, either any richesse. And in this degree Lady yourself many hearts of men have so bounden, that perfect bliss in womankind to been men wenen, and in nothing else. Also Lady, the goodness, the virtue of women, by property of discretion, is so well known, by littelnesse of malice, that desire to a good asker by no way con they warn: and ye then that wool not pass the kind werching of your sects by general discretion, I wot well is wool so incline to my prayer, that grace of my request shall fully been granted. Certes (qd. she) thus for the more part fareth all mankind to pray, and to cry after woman's grace, and fain many fantasies to make hearts to incline to your desires: and when these silly women freely of their kind believen your words, and wenen all be Gospel the promise of your behests, then grant they to you their hearts, and full fillen your lusts, where through their liberty in mastership that they toforn had, is thralled, and so maked Sovereign and to be prayed, that first was servant, and voice of prayer used. Anon as filled is your lust, many of you be so true, that little heed take ye of such kindness, but with traisoun anon ye think him beguile, and set light of that thing which first ye maked to you wonders dear: so what thing to women it is to love any wight ere she him well know, and have him proved in many half, for every glittering thing is not gold, and under colour of fair speech many vices may be hid and concealed. Therefore I read no wight to trust on you too rather, men's cheer & her speech right guileful is full oft, wherefore without good assay it is not worth on many on you to trust: truly it is right kindly to every man that thinketh women betray, and shown outward all goodness, till he have his will performed. Lo the bird is beguiled with the merry voice of the foulers whistle. When a woman is closed in your net, then wool ye causes finden, and bear unkindness her on hand, or falsety upon her put, your own malicious treason with soch thing to excuse. Lo then han women none other wretch in vengeance, but blober and weep till him list stint, and sorily her mishap complain, & is put into weening that all men been so untrue. How often have men changed her loves in a little while, or else for failing their will in their places him set? for friendship shall be one, and fame with another him list for to have, & a third for delight, or else were he lost both in pack & in clothes: is this fair? nay God wot. I may nat tell by thousand parts, the wrongs in treachery of such false people, for make they never so good a bond, all set ye at a mite when your heart tourneth: and they that wenen for sorrow of you day, the pite of your false heart is flow out of town. * Alas therefore, that ever any woman would take any wight in her grace, till she know at the full on whom she might at all assays trust. Women con no more craft in quaint knowing, to understand the false deceivable conjectments of man's beguilings. Lo how it fareth, though ye men gronen & crien, certes it is but deceit, & y● proveth well by thend in your werking. How many women have been lorn, and with shame foul shent by long lasting time, which thorough men's guile have been deceived? ever their fame shall dure, & their deeds rad and song in many londs, that they han done recoveren shall they never, but always been deemed lightly, in such plight again should they fall, of which slanders & tenes ye false men & wicked been the very causes, on you by right ought these shames and these reproves all holy descend. Thus arn ye all nigh untrue, for all your fair speech your heart is full fickel. What cause han ye women to despise? better fruit than they been, ne sweeter spices to your behoof, mow ye not find, as far as worldly bodies stretchen. Look to their forming at the making of their persons by God in joy of Paradise, for goodness of man's proper body were they maked, after the saws of the Bible, rehearsing Gods words in this wise: It is good to mankind that we make to him an helper. Lo in paradise for your help was this tree graffed, out of which all lineage of man descendeth: if a man be noble fruit, of noble fruit it is sprongen: the bliss of Paradise to men's sorry hearts, yet in this tree abideth. O noble helps been these trees, and gentle jewel to been worshipped of every good creature: * He that hem anoieth, doth his own shame, it is a comfortable perl against all tenes. Every company is mirthed by their present being. Truly I wist never virtue, but a woman were thereof the root. What is heaven the worse, tho Saracens on it lain? Is your faith untrue, though renogates maken thereon leasings. If the fire doth any wight brens, blame his own wit that put himself so far in the heat. Is not fire gentillest, & most element comfortable amongst all other? fire is chief worker in forthering sustenance to mankind, shall fire been blamed, for it burnt a fool naturally, by his own stultie wit in stirring? Ah wicked fools, for your proper malice, and shrewdness of yourself, ye blame and despise the precious thing of your kind, and which things among other most ye desiren. Truly Nero and his children been shrews, that dispisen so their dames. The wickedness and giling of men, in disclaundring of thilk that most hath hem gladded & pleased, were impossible to write or to nempne. Never the later yet I say, he that knoweth a way, may it lightly pass: eke an herb proved may safely to smertande sores be laid: so I say in him that is proved is nothing such evils to guess. But these things have I rehearsed to warn you women all at ones, that to lightly without good assay ye assenten not to man's speech. The Sun in the day light, is to known from the Moon that shineth in the night. Now to thee thyself (qd. she) as I have oft said, I know well thine heart, thou art none of all the tofore nempned people, for I know well the continuance of thy service, that never sithen I set thee a work, might thy Margarite for pleasance, friendship, ne fairehede of none other be in point moved from thine heart, wherefore into mine household hastily I wool that thou entre, and all the perfect privite of my werking make it be know in thy understanding, as one of my privy familiars. Thou desirest (qd. she) feign to hear of tho things there I left. Ye forsooth (qd. I) that were to me a great bliss. Now (qd. she) for thou shalt not ween that woman's conditions for fair speech, such thing belongeth.  
THou shalt (qd. she) understand first among all other things, that all the cure of my service, to me in the perfect bliss in doing, is desired in every man's heart, be he never so much a wretch, but every man travaileth by divers study, and seek thilk bliss by divers ways, but all the ends are knit in silliness of desire in the perfect bliss, that is soch joy, when men it have gotten, there liveth no thing more to been coveited: But how the desire of such perfection in my service be kindly set in lover's hearts, yet her erroneous opinions misturn it by falseness of weening. And although men's understanding be misturned, to know which should been the way unto my person, and whither it abideth: yet wot they there is a love in every wight, weeneth by that thing that he coveiteth most, he should come to thilk love, and that is perfect bliss of my servants, but then full bliss may not be, and there lack any thing of that bliss in any side. Eke it followeth then, that he that must have full bliss, lack no bliss in love on no side.  
Therefore Lady (qd. I though) thilk bliss I have desired, and sooth to forne this myself by ways of riches, of dignity, of power, and of renome, weening me in though thrages had been thilk bliss, but against the here it tourneth. When I supposed best thilk bliss have get and come to the full purpose of your service, suddenly was I hindered, and thrown so for aback, that me thinketh an impossible to come there I left. I wool well (qd. she) & therefore hast thou failed, for thou goest not by the high way, a little misgoing in the beginning, causeth mikell error in the end, wherefore of thilk bliss thou failedst, for having of richesses, ne none of tother things thou nempnedst, mown not make soch perfect bliss in love, as I shall show. Therefore they be not worthy to thilk bliss, and yet somewhat must been cause and way to thilk bliss: Ergo, there is some such thing, and some way, but it is little in usage, and that is not openly iknow. But what feelest in thine heart of the service, in which by me thou art entered: weenest aught thyself, yet be in the high way to my bliss? I shall so show it to thee, thou shalt not con say the contrary.  
Good Lady (qd. I) although I suppose it in my heart, yet would I hear thine words, how ye meanen in this matter? (qd. she) that I shall with my good will. The ilke bliss desired, somedeal ye known, although it be not perfectly, for kindly entencion leadeth you thereto, but in three manner livings, is all such ways showed. Every wight in this world to have this bliss, one of the ilk three ways of lives must proceed, which after opinions of great Clerks, arn by names cleped, beastiallich, reasonablich, in virtuous: Manlich is worldlich, beastialich is lusts and delitable, nothing restrained by bridle of reason: all that joyeth and giveth gladness to the heart, and it be against reason, is likened to bestial living, which thing followeth lusts and delights, wherefore in such thing may not that precious bliss, that is master of all virtues, abide. Your fathers toforne you have cleped such lusty livings, after the flesh, passions of desire, which are innominable tofore God and man both. Then after determination of such wise, we accord, that such passions of desire shall not been nempned, but holden for absolute from all other livings and proving, and so liveth into livings, manlich and reasonable, to declare the matters begon. But to make thee fully have understanding in manlich livings, which is holden worldlich in these things, so that ignorance be made no letter. I wool (qd. she) nempn these foresaid ways by names and conclusions.  
First riches, dignity, renome, and power, shall in this work be cleped bodily goods, for in hem hath been a great throw, man's trust of silliness in love, as in riches suffisance to have maintained that was begun by worldly cattle in dignity, honour, and reverence of him that wern underput, by mastery thereby to obey. In renome glory of people's praising, after lusts in their heart without heed taking to quality and manner of doing, and in power, by troth of Lordship's maintenance, thing to proceed forth in doing. In all which things a long time, man's covetise in common hath been greatly grounded, to come to the bliss of my service, but truly they were beguiled, and for the principal must needs fail, and in helping mow not avail. See why for holdest him not poor that is needy? Yes pard (qd. I.) And him for dishonoured, that much folk dein not to reverence. That is sooth (qd. I.) And what him that his mights failen, and mow not helpen. Certes (qd. I) me seemeth of all men he should be holden a wretch. And weenest not (qd she) that he that is little in renome, but rather is out of the praisings, of more men than a few be not in shame? Forsooth (qd. I) it is shame and villainy to him that coveiteth renome, that more folk not praise in name, than praise. Sooth (qd. she) thou sayest sooth, but all these things are followed of such manner doing, and wenden in riches suffisance, in power might, in dignity worship, and in renome glory, wherefore they descended into deceivable weening, and in that service deceit is followed. And thus in general, thou and all such other that so worchen, failen of my bliss, that ye long han desired, wherefore truly in life of reason is the high way to this bliss, as I think more openly to declare hereafter. Never the latter, yet in a little to comfort thy heart, in showing of with way thou art entered thyself, and that thy Margarite may know thee set in the high way, I wool inform thee in this wise. Thou hast failed of thy first purpose, because thou wentest wrong, and leftest the high way on thy right side, as thus, thou lookedst on worldly living, and that thing thee beguiled, and lightly therefore as a little assay thou songedst, but when I turned thy purpose, and showed thee a part of the high way, though thou abode therein, & no death ne ferdnesse of none enemy might thee out of thilk way reave, but ever one in thine heart, to come to thilk bliss, when thou were arrested, and first time imprisoned, thou were loath to change thy way, for in thy heart thou wendest to have been there thou shouldest, & for I had ruth to seen thee miscarried, & wist well thine ableness my service to further & increase, I come myself without other mean to visit thy person, in comfort of thy heart: and pard in my coming thou were greatly gladded, after which time, no disease, no care, no tene might move me out of thy heart. And yet I am glad & greatly enpited, How continually thou hadst me in mind, with good avisement of thy conscience, when thy king & his princes, by huge words & great, looked after variance in thy speech, and ever thou were ready for my sake, in pleasance of that Margarite pearl, and many more other, thy body to oblige into Marces doing, if any contraried thy saws, steadfast way maketh steadfast heart, with good hope in the end. Truly I wool that thou it well know, for I see thee so set, and not changing heart hadst in my service, and I made thou hadst grace of thy king, in forgiveness of mikell misdeed: to the gracious king art thou mikell holden, of whose grace and goodness, sometime hereafter I think to inform, when I show the ground, where as moral virtue groweth. Who brought thee to work? Who brought this grace about? Who made thy heart hardy? Truly it was I, for hadst thou of me failed, then of this purpose had never taken in this wise. And therefore I say, thou might well trust to come to thy bliss, sithen thy beginning hath been heard, but ever graciously after thy hearts desire hath proceeded. Silver fined with many heats, men known for true, and safely men may trust in thee always in werking. This diseases hath proved, what way hence forward thou thinkest to hold. Now in good faith Lady (qd. I though) I am now in, me seemeth it is the high way and the right. Yea forsooth (qd. she) and now I wool disprove thy first ways, by which many men wenen to get thilk bliss. But for as much as every heart that hath caught full love, is tied with quaint knit, thou shalt understand, that love, and thilk foresaid bliss, toforn declared, in this prooving, shall hot the knot in the heart. Well (qd. I) this impossession I wool well understand. Now also (qd. she) for the knot in the heart must been from one to another, and I know thy desire: I wool thou understand these matters, to been said of thyself, in disproouing of thy first service, and in strengthening of thilk that thou hast undertake to thy Margarite pearl. A Gods half (qd. I) right well I feel, that all this case is possible and true, and therefore I admitted all together. Vnderstanden well (qd. she) these terms, and look no contradiction thou grant. If God wool (qd. I) of all these things wool I not fail, and if I grant contradiction, I should grant an impossible, and that were a foul inconvenience, from which things Lady iwis hereafter I think me to keep.  
WEll (qd. she) thou knowest that every thing is a cause, wherethrough any thing hath being, that is cleped caused: then if riches causen knot in heart, thilk riches be cause of the ilke precious thing being: But after the sentence of Aristotle, * Every cause is more in dignity, than his thing caused, wherethrough it followeth, riches to been more in dignity than thilk knot, but richesses arn kindly naughty, bad, and needy, and the ilke knot is thing kindly, good, most praised, and desired: Ergo thing naughty, bad, and needy, in kindly understanding, is more worthy, than thing kindly, good, most desired and praised: The consequence is false, needs the antecedent moat been of the same condition. But that richesses' been bad, naughty, and needy, that wool I prove, wherefore they mow cause no such thing, that is so glorious & good: * The more richesse thou hast, the more need hast thou of help, him to keep. Ergo thou needest in richesse, which need thou shouldest not have, if thou hem wantest. Then must riches been needy, that in their having maken thee needy to helps, in surety thy richesse to keepen, wherethrough followeth richesse to been needy. Every thing causing evils, is bad and naughty: but riches in one causen misease, in another they mown not evenly stretchen all about. Whereof cometh plea, debate, theft, begiling, but riches to win, which things been bad, and by richesses arn caused: ergo the ilk richesse been bad, which badness & need been knit into riches, by a manner of kindly property, and every cause, and caused accord: so that it followeth the ilk richesse, to have the same accordance, with badness & need, that their cause asketh. Also every thing hath his being by his cause, then if the cause be destroyed, the being of caused is vanished: And so if richesses causen love, and richesses weren destroyed, the love should vanish, but the ilke knot and it be true, may not vanish for no going of no richesses: Ergo richesse is no cause of the knot. And many men, as I said, setten the cause of the knot in richesse, the ilke knitten the richesse, and nothing the evil: the ilke persons, what ever they been, wenen that richesse is most worthy to be had, and that make they the cause▪ and so ween they thilk riches be better than the person. Commonly such asken rather after the quantity, than after the quality, and such wenen as well by himself, as by other, that conjunction of his life and of his soul is no more precious, but in as mikell as he hath of richesse. Alas, how may he holden such things precious or noble, that neither han life ne soul, ne ordinance of werching limbs: such richesses been more worthy, when they been in gathering, in departing ginneth his love of other man's praising. And avarice gathering, maketh be hated, and needy to many out helps: and when leaveth the possession of such goods, and they gin vanish, then entereth sorrow and tene in their hearts. O bad and straight been thilk, that at their departing maketh men tenefull and sorry, and in the gathering of him make men needy: Much folk at ones mown not together much thereof have. * A good guest gladdeth his host, and all his meinie, but he is a bad guest, that maketh his host needy, and to be afeard of his guest's going. Certes (qd. I) me wondereth therefore, that the common opinion is thus: he is worth no more, than that he hath in ca●tell. O (qd. she) look thou be not of that opinion, for if gold or money, or other manner of riches shinen in thy sight, whose is that? Not thine: and though they have a little beauty, they be nothing in comparison of our kind, and therefore ye should not set your worthiness in thing lower than yourself: for the richesse, the fairness, the worthiness of thilk goods, if there be any such preciousness in hem, are not thine, thou madest him so never, from other they come to thee, & to other they shall from thee: wherefore embracest thou other wights goods, as though they were thine? Kind hath draw him by himself. It is soothe the goods of the yearth been ordained in your food and nourishing, but if thou wolt hold thee apayed with that sufficeth to thy kind, thou shalt not be in danger of no such riches. riches To kind sufficeth little thing, who that taketh heed. * And if thou wolt algates with superfluity of riches be athroted, thou shalt hastelich be annoyed, or else evil at ease. And fairness of fields, ne of habitations, ne multitude of meinie may not be reckoned as riches, that are thine own, for if they be bad, it is great slander and villainy to the occupier, and if they be good or fair, the matter of the workman that hem made, is to praise. How should otherwise bounty be counted for thine, the ilke goodness and fairness be proper to though things himself, then if they be not thine, sorrow not when they wend, ne glad thee not in pomp and in pride, when thou hem haste, for their bounty and their beauties, cometh out of their own kind, and not of thine own person: as fair been they in their not having, as when thou hast him, they be not fair, for thou hast him, but thou hast gotten him for the fairness of themselves. And there the valance of men is deemed in riches outforth, wenen me to have no proper good in themselves, but seech it in strange things. Truly the condition of good weening is in thee mistourned, to ween your nobleness be not in yourself, but in the goods and beauty of other things. Pard the beasts that han but feeling souls, have suffisance in their own self: and ye that been like to God, seken increase of suffisance, from so excellent a kind, of so low things, ye do great wrong to him, that you made sords over all earthly things, & ye put your worthiness under the number of the feet, of lower things and foul, when ye judge thilk riches to be your worthiness, than put ye yourself by estimation, under thilk foul things, and then leave ye the knowing of yourself▪ so be ye viler than any dumb beast, that cometh of shrewd vice. Right so thilk persons that love none evil, for dear worthiness of the person, but for strange goods, and saith the adornment in the knot lieth in such thing, his error is perilous and shrewd, and he wrieth much venom, with much wealth, and that knot may not be good, when he hath it gotten. Certes, thus hath riches with flickering light annoyed many: and often when there is a throw out shrew, he cometh all the gold, all the precious stones that mown be founden to have in his bandon, he weeneth no wight be worthy to have such things but he alone. How many hast thou know now in late time, that in their riches, supposed suffisance have followed, and now it is all failed. Ye lady qd. I that is for miss meddling, and other wise governed thilk riches, than they should. Yea (qd. she though) had not the flood greatly areised, & throw to hemward both gravel and sand, he had made no meddling. And right as sea giveth flood, so draweth sea ebb, and pulleth again under wawe, all the first out throw, but if good piles of noble governance in Love, in well meaning manner, been sadly grounded, to which hold thilk gravel, as for a while, that again lightly mow not it turn: and if the piles ben true, the gravel and sand wol abide. And certes, full warning in love shalt thou never through hem get ne cover, that lightly with an ebb ere thou beware, it will again move.  
* In riches many men have had tenes & diseases, which they should not have had, if thereof they had failed. Through which now declared, partly it is showed, that for riches should the knot in heart, neither been caused in one, ne in other: truly knot may been knit, and I trow more steadfast in love, though richesse failed, and else in richesse is the knot, and not in heart. And then such a knot is false, when the sea ebbeth and withdraweth the gravel, that such richesse voideth, thilk knot wool unknit. Wherefore no trust, no way, no cause, no perfect being is in richesse, of no such knot, therefore another way must we have.  
HOnour in dignity is weaned to given ● full knot. Ye certes (qd. I) and of that opinion ben many, for they sayne, dignity, with honour, and reverence, causen hearts to encheinen, and so abled to knit together, for the excellence in sovereignty of such degrees.  
Now (qd. she) if dignity, honour, and reverence, causen thilk knot in heart, this knot is good & profitable. For every cause of a cause, is cause of thing caused: Then thus, good things & profitable, been by dignity, honour, and reverence caused. Ergo they accord, & dignities been good with reverences and honour, but contraries mown not accord: wherefore by reason there should no dignity, no reverence, none honour accord with shrews, but that is false: They have been cause to shrews, in many shreuduesse, for with him they accord. Ergo from beginning, to argue ayenward, till it come to the last conclusion, they are not cause of the knot. Lo all day at eye arne shrews not in reverence, in honour, & in dignity? Yes forsooth, rather than the good. Then followeth it, the shrew's rather than good, shul ben cause of this knot. But of this contrary, of all lovers is believe, & for a sooth openly determined to hold.  
Now (qd. I) fain would I hear, how such dignities accord with shrews.  
O (qd. she) that wool I show in manifold wise. Ye ween (qd. she) that dignities of office here in your City, is as the Sun, it shineth bright withouten any cloud: which thing, when they come in the hands of malicious tyrants, there cometh much harm, and more grievance thereof, than of the wild fire, though it brende all a street. Certes, in dignity of office, the werks of the occupier shown the malice and the badness in the person, with shrews they maken manifold harms, and much people shamen. How often han rancours, for malice of the governor should been maintained? Hath not then such dignities caused debate, rumours, & evils? Yes God wot, by such things have been trusted to, make man's understanding incline to many quaint things. Thou wottest well what I mean. Ye (qd. I) therefore as dignity such thing in tene ywrought, so againward the substance in dignity changed, relied to bring again good plight in doing. Do way, do way (qd. she) if it so betid, but that is seld that such dignity is betake in a good man's governance. What thing is to reckon in the dignities goodness? Pard the bounty and goodness is hers, that usen it in good governance, & therefore cometh it, that honour and reverence should been done into dignity, because of increasing virtue in the occupier, and not to the ruler, because of sovereignty in dignity. Sithen dignity may no virtue cause, who is worthy worship for such goodness? Not dignity, but person, that maketh goodness in dignity to shine. This is wonder thing (qd. I) for me thinketh, as the person in dignity is worthy honour for goodness, so though a person for hadnesse, maugre hath deserved, yet the dignity le●eth to be commended. Let be (qd. she) thou errest right foul, dignity with hadnesse, is helper to perform the fello● us doing: pard were it kindly good, or any property of kindly virtue, hadden in himself, shrews should him never have, with hem should they never accord. Water & fire that been contrarious, mown not together been assembled, kind wool not suffer such contraries to join. And sithen at eye by experience in doing, we seen the shrew's have him more often than good men, siker mayest thou be, that kindly good in such things is not appropered. Pard were they kindly good, as well one as other shoulden evenlich in virtue of governance ben worth: but one faileth in goodness, another doth the contrary, and so it showeth kindly goodness, in dignity not be grounded. And this same reason (qd. she) may be made in general, on all the bodily goods, for they come oft to throw out shrews. After this he is strong, that hath might to have great burdens, & he is light and swift, that hath sovereignty in running to pass other: right so he is a shrew, on whom shrewd things and bad han most werching. And right as Philosophy maketh philosophers, and my service maketh lovers: right so if dignities weren good or virtuous, they should maken shrews good, and turn her malice, and make him be virtuous, but that do they not, as it is proved, but causen rancour and debate: Ergo they be not good, but utterly bad. Had Nero never been Emperor, should never his dame have be slain, to maken open the privity of his engendrure. Herodes for his dignity slew many children. The dignity of king john would have destroyed all England. Therefore mokell wisdom & goodness both needeth in a person, the malice in dignity, s●ily to bridle, and with a good bit of areste to withdraw, in case it would prance otherwise than it should: truly ye give to dignities wrongful names in your cleping. They should heat not dignity, but monster of badness, and maintainer of shrews. Pard, shine the Sun never so bright, and it bring forth no heat, ne seasonably the herbs out bring of the yearth, but suffer frosts and cold, and th'earth barren to lig, by time of his compass in circuit about, ye would wonder and dispreise that Sun. It the Moon be at full, and showeth no light, but dark & dim to your sight appeareth, and make destruction of the waters, wool ye not suppose it be under cloud, or in clips? And that some privy thing, unknown to your wits, is cause of such contrarious doing? Then if clerks, that han full insight & knowing of such impediments, inform you of the sooth, very idiots ye been, but if ye given credence to thilk clerks words. And yet it doth me te●e, to seen many wretch's rejoycen in such many Planets. Truly little con they on Philosophy, or else on my lore, that any desire haven such lighting Planets, in that wise any more to show. Good Lady, (qd. I) tell ye me how ye mean in these things. Lo (qd. she) the dignities of your city, Sun and Moon, nothing in kind show their shining as they should. For the Sun made no brenning heat in love, but fresed envy in men's hearts, for feebleness of shining heat: and the Moon was about under an old cloud, the livings by waters to destroy. Lady (qd I) it is supposed they had shined as they should. Ye (qd. she) but now it is proved at the full, their beauty in kindly shining failed: wherefore dignity of himseluen, hath no beauty in fairness, ne driveth not away vices, but increaseth, and so be they no cause of the knot. Now see in good truth, hold ye not such son's worthy of no reverence and dignities, worthy of no worship, that maketh men to do the more harms? I not (qd I.) No (qd. she) and thou see a wise good man, for his goodness and wiseness wolt thou not do him worship? Thereof he is worthy. That is good skill (qd. I) it is due to such, both reverence and worship to have. Then (qd. she) a shrew for his shrewdness, although he be put forth toforne other for feared, yet is he worthy for shrewdness to be unworshipped: of reverence no part is he worthy to have, to contrarious doing belongeth, and that is good skill. For right as he besmiteth the dignities, thilk same thing ayenward him smiteth, or else should smite. And over this thou wost well (qd. she) that fire in every place heateth where it be, and water maketh wet: Why? For kindly werking is so yput in hem to do such things: for every kindly in werking showeth his kind. But though a wight had been Mayor of your city many Winter together, & come in a strange place, there he were not known, he should for his dignity have no reverence. Then neither worship ne reverence is kindly proper in no dignity, sithen they shoulden done their kind in such doing, if any were. And if reverence ne worship kindly be not set in dignities, and they more therein been showed than goodness, for that in dignity is showed, but it proveth, that goodness kindly in hem is not grounded. Iwis neither worship ne reverence, ne goodness in dignity, done none office of kind, for they have none such property in nature of doing, but by false opinion of the people. Lo, how sometime, thilk that in your City wern in dignity noble, if thou list him nempne, they been now overturned, both in worship, in name, and in reverence, wherefore such dignities have no kindly ●er●hing of worship, and of reverence, he that hath no worthiness on itself. Now it riseth, and now it vanisheth, after the vigilant opinion in false hearts of unstable people.  
Wherefore, if thou desire the knot of this jewel, or else if thou wouldst suppose she should set the knot on thee for such manner of dignity, than thou weenest beauty or goodness of the ilk somewhat increaseth the goodness or virtue in the body: but dignity of himself ben not good, ne given reverence ne worship by their own kind, how should they then give to any other a thing that by no way mow they have himself? It is seen in dignity of the Emperor, and of many more other, that they mow not of hemselue keep their worship, ne their reverence, that in a little while it is now up, and now down, by unsteadfast hearts of the people. What bounty mow they give, that with cloud lightly leaveth his shining? Certes, to the occupier is mokell apeired, sithen such doing doth villainy to him that may it not maintain, wherefore thilk way to the knot is crooked: and if any desire to come to the knot, he must leave this way on his left side, or else shall he never come there.  
Avails aught (qd. she) power of might, in maintenance of worthy, to come to this knot. Pard (qd. I) ye, for hearts ben ravished from such manner things. Certes (qd. she) though a fool's heart is with thing ravished, yet therefore is no general cause of the powers, ne of a siker perfect heart, to be looked after. Was not Nero the most shrew, one of thilk that men read, and yet had he power to make Senators, justices, and Princes of many lands? Was not that great power? Yes certes (qd. I.) Well (qd. she) yet might he not help himself out of disease, when he 'gan fall. How many ensamples canst thou remember of kings, great and noble, and huge power holden, and yet they might not keep hemselue from wretchedness. How wretched was king Henry Curtmantill ere he died? He had not so much as to cover with his members: and yet was he one of the greatest kings of all the Normands offspring, and most possession had. O, a noble thing and clear is power, that is not founden mighty to keep himself.  
Now truly, a great fool is he, that for such thing would set the knot in thine heart. Also power of realms is not thilk greatest power, amongst the worldly powers reckoned? And if such powers han wretchedness in himself, it followeth other powers of feebler condition to been wretched, and then that wretchedness should been cause of such a knot. But every wight that hath reason, wot well that wretchedness by no way may been cause of none such knot, wherefore such power is no cause. That powers have wretchedness in himself, may right lightly been proved.  
If power lack on any side, on that side is no power, but no power is wretchedness: for all be it so, the power of emperors or kings, or else of their realms (which is the power of the Prince) stretchen wide & broad, yet besides is there mokel folk, of which he hath no commandment ne lordship, and there as lacketh his power, his nonpower entereth, where under springeth that maketh hem wretches. No power is wretchedness, and nothing else: but in this manner hath kings more portion of wretchedness, than of power. Truly such powers been unmighty, forever they been in dread, how thilk power from losing may be keeped of sorrow, so dread sorrily pricks ever in their hearts: Little is that power, which careth and feardeth itself to maintain. Vnmighty is the wretchedness, which is entered by the feardfull wening of the wretch himself: and knot maked by wretchedness, is between wretches, & wretches all thing bewaylen: wherefore the knot should be bewailed, and there is no such perfect bliss that we supposed at the beginning. Ergo power in nothing, should cause such knots. Wretchedness is a kind property in such power, as by way of dread, which they mow not eschew, ne by no way live in sickerness. For thou wost well (qd. she) he is nought mighty, that would done that he may not done ne perform. Therefore (qd. I) these kings and lords that han suffisaunte at the full, of men and other things, mown well been holden nughty: their commandments been done, it is never more denied. Fool (qd. she) or he wot himself mighty, or wot it not: * For he is nought mighty, that is blind of his might, & wot it not. That is forth (qd. I) Then if he wot it, he must needs been adread to lesen it. He that wot of his might, is in doubt that he moat needs less, & so leadeth him dread to been unmighty. And if he reach not to le●e, little is the worth, that of the losing reason retcheth nothing: and if it were mighty in power or in strength, the leasing should ben withset, & when it cometh to the leasing, he may it not withsitte. Ergo thilk might is lewd & naughty. Such mights be ylike to posts and pillars that upright stonden, and great might han to bear many charges, and if they croak on any side, little thing maketh him overthrow. This is a good ensample (qd. I) to pillars and posts that I have seen overthrowed myself, and hadden they ben underput with any helps, they had not so lightly fall. Then holdest thou him mighty, that hath many men armed, & many servants, and ever he is adread of him in his heart, & for he gasteth him sometime, he moat the more fear have. * Commonly he that other agasteth, other in him ayenward werchen the same: & thus warnished mote he be, and of warnish the hour dread: Little is that might, and right lewd, who so taketh heed. Then seemeth it (qd. I) that such famulers about kings and great lords, shul great might have. Although a cipher in augrim have no might in signification of it selue, yet he giveth power in signification to other, & these clepe I the helps to a post, to keep him from falling. Certes (qd. she) thilk skill been ●eaud. Why? but if the shores been well grounded, the helps shullen sliden and suffer the charge to fall, her might little availeth. And so me thinketh (qd. I) that a post alone standing upright upon a base, may longer in great burden endure, than crooked pillars for all their helps, and her ground he not siker. That is sooth (qd. she) for as the blind in bearing of the lame gin stumble, both should fall, right so such pillars so environed with helps in failing of the ground, faileth all together: how oft then such famulers in their most pride of prosperity been suddenly overthrown? Thou hast know many in a moment so far overthrow, that recover might they never, when the heaviness of such falling cometh by case of fortune, they mow it not eschew: and might and power, if there were any, should of strength such things void and weive, and so it is not. Lo than which things is this power, y● though men han it they been aghast, & in no time of full having be they siker: and if they would wave dread, as they mow not, little is in worthiness. Fie therefore on so naughty thing any knot to cause. Lo in adversity, thilk been his foes that glossed and seemed friends in wealth, thus be his familiars his foes & his enemies: * And nothing is werse ne more mighty for to annoy, than is a familiar enemy, & these things may they not weive, so truly their might is not worth a cress. And over all thing, he that may not withdraw the bridle of his fleshly lusts and his wretched complaints (now think on thyself) truly he is not mighty: I can seen no way that lithe to the knot. Thilk people then that setten their hearts upon such mights & powers, often been beguiled. Pard he is not mighty, that may do any thing, that another may done him the selue, & that men have as reat power over him, as he over other. A justice that deemeth men, ayenward hath been often deemed. Buserus slew his guests, & he was slain of Hercules his guest. Hugest betraished many men, and of Collo was be betrayed. * He y● with sword smiteth, with sword shall be smitten. Then 'gan I to studien a while on these things, and made a countenance with my hand in manner to been huisht. Now let seen (qd. she) me thinketh somewhat there is within thy soul, that troubleth thy understanding, say on what it is. (Qd. I tho) me thinketh that although a man by power have such might over me, as I have over other, that disprooueth no might in my person, but yet may I have power and might never the later. See now (qd. she) thine own lewdness: He is mighty that may without wretchedness, and he is unmighty that may it not withsitte: but then he that might over thee, and he wool put on the wretchedness, thou might it not withsitte. Ergo thou seest thyself what followeth. But now (qd. she) wouldst thou not scorn and thou see a fly han power to done harm to another fly, and thilk have no might ne ayenturning himself to defend. Yes certes (qd. I) Who is a frailer thing (qd. she) than the fleshly body of a man, over which have oftentime flies, and yet lass thing than a fly mokell might in grievance and annoying, withouten any withsitting, for all thi●●e man's mights. And sithen thou seest thine fleshly body in kindly power fail, how should then the accident of a thing been in more surety of being then substantial: wherefore thilk things that we cleape power, is but accident to the fleshly body, and so they may not have that surety in might, which wanteth in the substantial body. Why there is no way to the knot, that looketh aright after the high way as he should.  
Verily it is proved, that richesse, dignity, and power, been not true way to the knot, but as rather by such things the knot to be vnbound: Wherefore on these things I read no wight trust, to get any good knot. But what should we say of renome in the people's mouths, should that been any cause, what supposest thou in thine heart?  
Certes (qd. I) yes I trow, for your sly reasons I dare not safely it say. Then (qd. she) wool I prove, that shrews as rather shall been in the knot as the good, and that were against kind. Fain (qd. I) would I that hear, me thinketh wonder how renome should as well knit a shrew as a good person: renome in every degree hath advanced, yet wist I never the contrary: should then renown accord with a shrew? It may not sink in my stomach till I hear more. Now (qd. she) have I nat said always, that shrews shall not have the knot. What needeth (qd. I) to rehearse that any more, I wot well every wight by kindly reason, shrews in knitting wool eschew. Then (qd. she) the good aught thilk knot to have. How else (qd. I.) It were great harm (qd. she) that the good were weived and put out of espoire of the knot, if he it desired. O (qd. I) alas, on such thing to think, I ween that heaven weepeth to see such wrongs here been suffered on yearth: the good ought it to have, and no wight else. The goodness (qd. she) of a person may not been know outfoorth, but by renome of the knowers, wherefore he must be renowned of goodness to come to the knot. So must it be (qd. I) or else all lost that we carpen. Sooth (qd. she) that were great harm, but if a good man might have his desires in service of thilk knot, and a shrew to be weaned, and they been not known in general but by lacking and praising and in renome, and so by the consequence it followeth, a shrew been praised and knit, and a good to be forsake and unknit. Ah (qd. I though) have ye lady been here abouten, yet would I see by grace of our arguments better declared, how good and bad do accord by lacking and praising, me thinketh it against kind. Nay (qd. she) & that shalt thou see as yearn: these elements han contrarious qualities in kind, by which they mow not accord no more than good and bad: and in qualities they accord, * So that contraries by quality accord by quality. Is not yearth dry, and water that is next & between the earth, is wete, dry & weet been contrary, and mown not accord, and yet this discordance is bound to accord by clouds, for both elements been cold. Right so the eyre that is next the water, is wete, and eke it is hot. This eyre by his heat contrarieth water that is cold, but thilk contrariously is oned by moisture, for both be they moist. Also the fire that is next the yearth, and it encloseth all about, is dry, wherethrough it contrarieth eyre that is wete: and in he●e they accord, for both they been hot. Thus by these accordaunces, discordaunts been joined, and in a manner of accordance they accord by connection, that is knitting together: of that accord cometh a manner of melody, that is right noble. Right so good and bad arne contrary in doings, by lacking and praising: good is both lacked and praised of some, and bad is both lacked and praised of some: wherefore they contrariously accord both by lacking and praising. Then followeth it, though good be never so mokell praised, oweth more to ben knit than the bad: or else bad for the renome that he hath, must be taken as well as the good, and that oweth not. No forsooth (qd. I.) Well (qd. she) then is renome no way to the knot: lo fool (qd. she) how clerks written of such glory of renown. * O glory, glory, thou art none other thing to thousands of folk, but a great sweller of ears. Many one hath had full great renome by false opinion of vigilant people: And what is fouler than folk wrongfully to been praised, or by malice of the people guiltless lacked? Needs shame followeth thereof to him y● with wrong praiseth, & also to the deserts praised, and villainy and reproof of him that disclaundreth.  
Good child (qd. she) what echeth such renome to the conscience of a wise man, that looketh & measureth his goodness, not by sleeveless words of the people, but by soothfastness of conscience: by God nothing. And if it be fair a man's name be eched by much folks praising, & fouler thing y● more folk not praisen. I said to thee a little here before, that no folk in strange countries nought praisen, such renown may not come to their ears, because of unknowing, & other obstacles, as I said: Wherefore more folk not praisen, and that is right foul to him the renome desireth, to weet less folk praisen, than renome enhance. * ay trow the thank of a people is naught worth, in remembrance to take, ne it proceedeth of no wise judgement, never is it steadfast perdurable: It is vein & slaying, with wind wasteth and increaseth. Truly such glory ought to be hated. If gentillesse be a clear thing, renome & glory to enhance, as in reckoning of thy lineage, than is gentillesse of thy kin, for why it seemeth that gentillesse of thy kin, is but praising & renome that come of thine auncestres' deserts, & if so be that praising & renome of their deserts, make their clear gentilesse, then moat they needs been gentle for their gentle deeds, & not thou: for of thyself cometh not such manner gentillesse, praising of thy deserts. * Then gentillesse of thine ancestors, that foreign is to thee, maketh thee not gentle, but ungentle and reproved, & if thou continuest not their gentillesse. * And therefore a wise man ones said: Better is it thy kin to ben by thee gentled, than thou to glorify of thy kins gentillesse, & hast no desert thereof thyself.  
How passing is the beauty of fleshly bodies? More flitting than movable flours of Summer. And if thine eyes weren as good as the Linx, that may seen thorough many stone walls, and both fair & foul in their entrails, of no manner hue should appear to thy sight, that were a foul sight. Then is fairness by feeblesse of eyes, but of no kind, wherefore thilk should be no way to the knot: When thilk is went, the knot wendeth after. Lo now at all proves, none of all these things mow perfectly been in understanding, to been way to the during bliss of the knot. But now to conclusion of these matters, harkeneth these words. Very summer is know from the winter: in shorter course draweth the days of December, than in the month of june: The springs of May faden & followen in October. These things be not unbounden from their old kind, they have not lost her work of their proper estate. Men of voluntarious will withsit that heavens governeth. Other things suffren things patiently to werche: * Man in with estate he be, yet would he been changed. Thus by quaint things bliss is desired, and the fruit that cometh of these springs, nis but anguis and bitter, although it be a while sweet, it may not be withhold, hastily they depart: * Thus all day faileth things that fools wend. Right thus hast thou failed in thy first weening. He that thinketh to sail, & draw after the course of that star, de Polo Antartico, shall he never come Northward to the contrary star of Polus Articus: of which things if thou take keep, thy first outwaye going, prison and exile may be cleped. The ground falsed underneath, and so haste thou failed. No wight I ween blameth him that stinteth in misgoing, and seecheth ready way of his bliss. Now me thinketh (qd. she) that it sufficeth in my showing the ways: by dignity, richesse, renome, and power, if thou look clearly, be no ways to the knot.  
EVery argument lady (qd. I though) that ye han maked in these fore nempned matters, me thinketh him in my full wit conceived, shall I no more, if God will, in the contrary be beguiled: But fain would I, and it were your will, bliss of the knot to me were declared, I might feel the better how my heart might assent to pursue the end in service, as he hath begun. O (qd. she) there is a melody in heaven, which clerks cleapen armony, but that is not in breaking of voice, but it is a manner sweet thing of kindly werching, that causeth joy out of number to reckon, and that is joined by reason and by wisdom, in a quantity of proportion of knitting. God made all thing in reason & in wit of proportion of melody, we mow not suffice to show. It is written by great clerks & wise, that in earthly things lightly by study & by travail, that knowing may be gotten: but of such heavenly melody, mokell travail wool bring out in knowing right little. Sweetness of this paradise hath you ravished, it seemeth ye slepten, rested from all other diseases, so kindly is your hearts therein ygrounded. * Bliss of two hearts in full love knit, may not aright been imagined: ever is their contemplation in full of thoughty study to pleasance, matter in ringing comfort every to other. And therefore of earthly things, mokell matter lightly cometh in your learning. Knowledge of understanding that is nigh after ye, but not so nigh the covetise of knitting in your hearts: * More sovereign desire hath every wight in little hearing of heavenly cunning, than of mokell material purposes in yearth. Right so it is in property of my servants, that they been more affyched in stirring of little thing in his desire, than of mokell other matter, lass in his conscience. This bliss is a manner of swoon delicious, in a quaint voice touched, & no din of notes: there is none impression of breaking labour. I can it not otherwise nempne, for wanting of privy words, but paradise terrestre, full of delicious melody, withouten travail in sown perpetual service in full joy coveited to endure. Only kind maketh hearts in understanding so to sleep, that otherwise may it not been nempned, ne in other manere names for liking sweetness can I nat it declare, all sugar & honey, all minstrelsy & melody been but soot & gall in comparison, by no manner proportion to reckon, in respect of this blissful joy. This armony, this melody, this perdurable joy may nat be in doing, but between heavens & elements, or fifty kindly hearts, full knit in troth of naturel understanding, withouten weening and deceit, as heavens and planets, which things continually for kindly accordaunces, foryeteth all contrarious meving, that into passive diseases may sown, evermore it thirsteth after more werking. These things in proportion be so well joined, that it undoth all thing, which into badness by any way may be accounted. Certes (qd. I) this is a thing precious & noble. Alas, that falseness ever or wantrust should ever be maintained, this joy to void. Alas that ever any wretch should thorough wrath or envy, jangling dare make, to shove this melody so far aback, that openly dare it not been used: truly wretches been fulfilled with envy & wrath, & no wight else. Flebring and tales in such wretches dare appear openly in every wights ear, with full mouth so charged, mokell malice moved many innocents' to shend, God would their soul therewith were strangled. Lo, troth in this bliss is hid, & over all under covert him hideth: He dare nat come a place for waiting of shrews. Commonly badness, goodness amaistereth with myself & my soul this joy would I buy, if the goodness were as much as y● nobly in melody. O (qd. she) with goodness may be accounted more in this material world, truly none, y● shalt thou understand. Is not every thing good that is contrariaunt and destroying evil? How else (qd. I.) Envy, wrath, and falseness been general (qd. she) and that wot every man being in his right mind, the knot the which we have in this bless, is contrariaunt, & destroyeth such manner evils. * Ergo it is good, with hath caused any wight to do any good deed? Find me any good, but if this knot be the chief cause: Needs moat it be good, that causeth so many good deeds. * Every cause is more, and worthier than thing caused, & in that mores possession, all things less been counted. As the king is more than his people, & hath in possession all his realm after: Right so the knot is more than all other goods, thou might reckon all things lass, & that to him longeth oweth into his moors causes of worship and of will do turn, it is else rebel, and out of his mores defending to void. Right so of every goodness into the knot & into the cause of his worship oweth to turn. And truly, every thing that hath being, profitably is good, but nothing hath to been more profitably than this knot: Kings it maintaineth, & him their powers to maintain: It maketh miss to been amended, with good governance in doing: It closeth hearts so together, the rancour is outthresten: Who that it longest keepeth, longest is gladded. I trow (qd. I) heretics, and miss meaning people hence forward wool maintain this knot, for therethrough shall they been maintained, & utterly wool turn, & leave their old evil understanding, and knit this goodness, & proffer so for in service that name of servants might they have. Their jangles shall cease, me thinketh hem lacketh matter now to allege. Certes (qd. Love's) if they of good will thus turned as thou sayest woollen truly perform, yet shall they be abled party of this bliss to have: and they wol not, yet shall my servaunts that werr well sustain in mine help of maintenance to the end. And they for their good travail shullen in reward so been meded, the endless joy, body & soul together, in this shullen abiden, there is ever action of bliss withouten possible corruption, there is action perpetual in work without travail, there is everlasting passyfe withouten any of labour: continual plight without ceasing coveited to endure. No tongue may tell, ne heart may think the least point of this bliss. God bring me thither (qd. I then.) Continueth well (qd. she) to the end, and thou might not fail then, for though thou speed not here, yet shall the passion of thy martyred life been written, & read toforne the great jupiter, that God is of routh, an high in the hollowness of heaven, there he sit in his throne, and ever thou shalt forward been holden among all these heavens for a knight, that mightest with no penance been discomfited. He is a very martyr, that livingly going, is gnawn to the bones. Certes (qd. I) these been good words of comfort, a little mine heart is rejoiced in a merry wise. Ye (qd. she) and he that is in heaven feeleth more joy, than when he first heard thereof speak. So it is (qd. I) but wist I the sooth, that after disease comfort would follow with bliss, so as ye have often declared, I would well suffer this passion with the better cheer, but my thoughtful sorrow is endless, to think how I am cast out of a welfare, & yet daineth not this evil none heart none heed to meward throw, which things would greatly me by ways of comfort disport, to weten in myself a little with other me been ymoned: and my sorrows peisen not in her balance the weight of a pease: slings of her danger so heavily peisen, they draw my causes so high, that in her eyes they semen but light and right little.  
O, for (qd. she) heaven with skies, that foul clouds maken, and dark wethers, with great tempests and huge, maketh the merry days with soft shining sons. Also the year withdraweth flowers, and beauty of herbs & of yearth. The same years maketh springes & jollity in Vere so to renovel with painted colours, that earth seemed as gay as heaven. Sees that blasteth, & with wawes throweth ships of which the living creatures for great peril of him dreden: right so the same sees maketh smooth waters and golden sailing, and comforteth him, with noble haven that first were so feared. Hast thou not (qd. she) learned in thy youth, * That jupiter hath in his wardrobe both garments of joy & of sorrow? What wost thou how soon he wool turn of thee that garment of care, and cloth thee in bliss? Pard it is not far from thee. Lo an old proverb alleged by many wise: * When bale is greatest, then is boat a nigh bore. bore Whereof wilt thou dismay? Hope well, & serve well, and that shall thee save, with thy good believe. Ye, ye (qd. I) yet see I not by reason how this bliss is coming, I wot it is contingent, it may fall another. O (qd. she) I have mokell to done to clear thine understanding, & void these errors out of thy mind, I wool prove it by reason thy woe may not always enduren. Every thing kindly (qd she) is governed & ruled by the heavenly bodies, which haven full werching here on earth, and after course of these bodies, all course of your doings here been governed and ruled by kind. Thou wost well by course of planets all your days proceeden, & to every of singular hours be enterchaunged stoundmele about, by submitted worching naturally to suffer, of which changes cometh these transitory times, that maketh revolving of your years thus stoundmele, every hath full might of worching, till all seven han had her course about. Of which worching and possession of hours, the days of the week have take her names, after denomination in these seven planets. Lo your sunday ginneth at the first hour after noon on the saturday, in which hour is then the sun in full might of worching, of whom sunday taketh his name. Next him followeth Venus, & after Mercurius, & then the Moon, so then Saturnus, after whom Iouis, & then Mars, and again then the Sun, and so forth be xxiiii. hours together, in which hour, ginning in the two. day stant the Moon, as master for the time to rule, of whom Monday taketh his name, & this course followeth of all other days generally in doing. This course of nature of these bodies changing, stinten at a certain term, limited by their first kind, and of him all governments in this elemented world proceden, as in springs, constellations, engendrures, & all that followen kind & reason, wherefore the course that followeth sorrow and joy, kindly moten enterchaungen their times, so that always one well as always one woe may not endure. Thus seest thou apertly thy sorrow into well moat been changed, wherefore in such case to better side evermore incline thou shouldest. * Truly next the end of sorrow anon entereth joy, by manner of necessity, it wool ne may none other betid, & so thy contigence is disproved: if thou hold this opinion any more, thy wit is right lewd. Wherefore in full conclusion of all this, thilk Margarit thou desirest, hath been to thee dear in thy heart, & for her haste thou suffered many thoughtful diseases, hereafter shall be cause of mokell mirth and joy, and look how glad canst thou been, and cease all thy passed heaviness with manifold joys: & then wool I as blithely here thee speaken thy mirths in joy, as I now have yheard thy sorrows & thy complaints. And if I mow in aught thy joy increase, by my troth on my side shall nat be leaved for no manner travail, that I with all my mights right blithely wool help, & ever been ready you both to please. And then thanked I that lady with all goodly manner that I worthily could, and truly I was greatly rejoiced in mine heart of her fair behests, and proffered me to be slaw in all that she me would ordain while my life lested.  
ME thinketh (qd. I) that ye have right well declared, that way to the knot should not been in none of these disproovyng things, and now order of our purpose this asketh, that ye should me show if any way be thither, and which thilk way should been, so that openly may be say the very high way in full confusion of these other things.  
Thou shalt (qd she) understand, that one of three lives (as I first said) every creature of mankind is sprongen, & so forth proceedeth. These lives been thorough names departed in three manner of kinds, as bestiallich, manlich, & reasonabliche, of which two been used by fleshly body, & the third by his soul. Bestial among reasonables is foreboden in every law and every feet, both in Christian and other, for every wight despiseth him that liveth by lusts & delights, as him that is thrall and bounden servaunt to things right foul, such been counted werse than men, he shall nat in their degree been reckoned, ne for such one allowed. Heriticks sane they chosen life bestial, that voluptuously liuen, so that (as I first said to thee) in manly and reasonable liings, our matter was to declare but manly life in lyving after flesh, or else fleshly ways to cheese, may nat bliss in this knot be conquered, as by reason it is proved. Wherefore by reasonable life he must needs it have sith a way is to this knot, but nat by the first twain lives, wherefore needs moat it been to the third: and for to live in flesh, but nat after flesh, is more reasonablich than manlych reckoned by clerks. Therefore how this way cometh in, I wool it blithely declare.  
See now (qd. she) that these bodily goods of manlich livings, yeelden sorrowfully stounds and smertand hours. Who so well remember him to their ends, in their worching they ben thoughtful and sorry. Right as a be that hath had his honey, anon at his flight beginneth to sting: So thilk bodily goods at the last mote away, and then sting they at her going, wherethrough entereth and clean voideth all bliss of this knot.  
Forsooth (qd. I.) me thinketh I am well served, in showing of these words. Although I had little in respect among other great and worthy, yet had I a fair parcel, as me thought for the time, in forthering of my sustenance, which while it dured, I thought me having mokell honey to mine estate. I had richesses sufficiauntly to weive need, I had dignity to be reverenced in worship. Power me thought that I had to keep fro mine enemies, and me seemed to shine in glory of renome, as manhood asketh in mean, for no wight in mine administration, could none evils ne treachery by sooth cause on me put. Lady, your selue weten well, that of though confederacies, maked by my sovereigns, I nas but a servant, & yet mokell mean folk wool fullye against reason thilk matters maintain, in which maintenance glorien themselves, and as often ye haven said, thereof ought nothing in evil to be laid to me wards, sithen as repentant I am turned, & no more I think, neither though things ne none such other to sustain, but utterly destroy without meddling manner, in all my mights. How am I now cast out of all sweetness of bliss, and mischeevously stongen my passed joy? Sorrowfully must I bewail, and live as a wretch. Every of tho joys is turned into his contrary: for richesse, now have I poverty, for dignity now am I imprisoned, in steed of power, wretchedness I suffer, & for glory of renome I am now despised, & foulich hated: thus hath farne fortune, that suddenly am I overthrown, & out of all wealth despoiled. Truly me thinketh this way in entry is right hard, God grant me better grace ere it be all passed, that other way lady, me thought right sweet. Now certes (qd. Love's) me list for to chide. What aileth thy dark dulness? wol it not in clearness been sharped. Have I not by many reasons to thee showed, such bodily goods failen to give bless, their might so far fo●th wool not stretch? Shame (qd. she it is to say) thou liest in thy words. Thou ne haste wist but right few, that these bodily goods had all at ones, commonly they dwellen not together. * He that plenty hath in riches, of his kin is ashamed: another of lineage right noble and well know, but poverty him handleth, he were lever vnknowe. Another hath these, but renome of people's praising may he not have, over all he is hated, & defamed of things right foul. Another is fair and seemly, but dignity him faileth: and he that hath dignity, is crooked or lame, or else mishapen, and foully despised. Thus partable these goods dwellen, commonly in one household been they but ●ilde. Lo how wretched is your trust, on thing y● wool not accord. Me thinketh thou clepest thilk plight thou were in, silliness of fortune, & thou sayest for that the silinesse is departed, thou art a wretch. Then followeth this upon thy words, every soul reasonable of man way not die, and if death endeth silliness, & maketh wretches, as needs of fortune maketh it an end. Then souls after death of the body, in wretchedness should lyven. But we know many that han gotten the bliss of heaven after their death. How then may this life maken men blissful, that when it passeth, it giveth no wretchedness, & many time's bliss, if in this life he con live as he should. And wolt thou account with Fortune, that now at the first she hath done thee tene and sorrow: if thou look to the manner of all glad things and sorrowful, thou mayst not nay it, that yet, & namely now, thou standest in noble plight in a good beginning, with good forth going hereafter. And if thou ween to be a wretch, for such wealth is passed, why then art thou not well fortunate, for bad things & anguis wretchedness ben passed? Art thou now come first into the hostry of this life, or else that both of this world, art thou now a sudden guest into this wretched exile? Weenest there be any thing in this yearth stable? Is not thy first arrest passed, that brought thee in mortal sorrow? Ben these not mortal things agone, with ignorance of bestial wit, and haste received reason in knowing of virtue? What comfort is in thy heart? The knowing sikerly in my service be grounded. And wost thou not well, as I said, that death maketh end of all fortune? What then, standest thou in noble plight, little heed or recking to take, if thou let fortune pass ding, or else that she fly when she list, now by thy live. Pard a man hath nothing so lief as his life, & for to hold that, he doth all his cure & diligent travail. Then say I thou art blissful and fortunate silly, if thou know thy goods, that thou hast yet be loved, which nothing may doubt, that they ne been more worthy than thy life? What is that (qd. I) Good contemplation (qd. she) of well doing in virtue, in time coming, both in pleasance of me, & of thy Margarite pearl: hastily thine heart in full bliss, with her shall be eased. Therefore dismay thee not, fortune in hate grievously against thy bodily person, ne yet to great tempest hath she not sent to thee, sithen the holding cables and anchors of thy life holden by knitting so fast, that thou discomfort thee nought of time that is now, ne despair thee not of time to come, but given thee comfort in hope of well doing, & of getting again the double of thy losing, with increasing love of thy Margarite pearl thereto. For this hiderto thou hast had all her full danger, & so thou might amend all that is miss, and all defaults that sometime thou didst, & that now in all thy time, to the ilke Margarite in full service of my lore, thine heart hath continued, wherefore she ought much the rather incline from her dangerous seat. These things been yet knit, by the holding anchor in thy live, & holden mote they: To God I pray all these things at full been performed. For while this anchor holdeth, I hope thou shalt safely escape, and while thy true meaning service about bring, in despite of all false meaners, that thee of new haten, for this true service, thou art now entered.  
CErtes (qd. I) among things I asked a question, which was the way to the knot. Truly lady, how so it be, I tempt you with questions and answers, in speaking of my first service, I am now in full purpose in the prick of the heart, that thilk service was an enprisonment, & always bad & naughty, in no manner to be desired. Ne that in getting of the knot may it nothing avail. A wise gentle heart looketh after virtue, & none other bodily joys alone. And because toforne this, in though ways I was set, I wot well myself I have erred, & of the bliss failed, & so out of my way hugely have I ron. Certes (qd. she) that is sooth, & there thou hast miswent, eschew that path from hence forward I read. Wonder I truly, why the mortal folk of this world seech these ways outforth, and it is prived in yourself. Lo how ye been confounded with error and folly. The knowing of very cause and way, is goodness and virtue. Is there any thing to thee more precious than thyself? Thou shalt have in thy power, that thou wouldst never less, and that in no way may be taken from thee, and thilk thing is that is cause of this knot. And if death mow it not reave, more than an earthly creature, thilk thing than abideth with thyself soul. And so our conclusion, to make such a knot thus gotten, abideth with this thing, & with the soul, as long as they last. * A soul dieth never, virtue and goodness evermore with the soul endureth, and this knot is perfect bliss. Then this soul in this bliss, endless shall endurens. Thus shall hearts of a true knot been eased: thus shall their souls been pleased: thus perpetually in joy shul they sing. In good truth (qd. I) here is a good beginning, give us more of this way. (Qd. she) I said to thee not long sithen, that reasonable life was one of three things, & it was proved to the soul. Every soul of reason, hath two things of stering life, one in virtue, & another in the bodily working: * And when the soul is the master over the body, then is a man master of himself: and a man to be a master over himself, liveth in virtue, & in goodness, and as reason of virtue teacheth. So the soul and the body worching virtue together, liuen reasonable life, which clerks clepe felicity in living, and therein is the high way to this knot. These old Philosophers, that hadden no knowing of Divine grace of kindly reason alone, wenden that of pure nature, without any help of grace, me might have ishoned the other livings, reasonably have I lived: and for I think hereafter, if GOD wool (and I have space) thilk grace after my lewd knowing declare: I leave it as at this tyme. But (as I said) he that out forth looketh after the ways of this knot, cunning with which he should know the way in forth, sleepeth for the time, wherefore he that wool this way know, must leave the looking after false ways out forth, and open the iyen of his conscience, and unclose his heart. Seest not he that hath trust in the bodily life, is so busy bodily wounds to anoint, in keeping from smart (for all out may they not be healed) that of wounds in his true understanding, he taketh no heed, the knowing even forth sleepeth so hard, but anon as in knowing awake, then ginneth the privy medicines, for healing of his true intent, inwards lightly healeth conscience, if it be well handled. Then must needs these ways come out of the soul by stering life of the body, and else may no man come to perfect bliss of this knot: and thus by this way he shall come to the knot, and to the perfect silinesse that he wend have had in bodily goods outfoorth? Ye (qd. I) shall he have both knot, riches, power, dignity, and renome in this manner way? Ye (qd. she) that shall I show thee. * Is he no rich that hath suffisance, and hath the power that no man may amaistrien? Is not great dignity to have worship and reverence? And hath he not glory of renome, whose name perpetual is during, & out of number in comparation? These be things that men wenen to gotten out forth (qd. I.) Ye (qd. she) they that looken after a thing that naught is, thereof in all ne in party, long mow they gapen after: that is sooth (qd. I) therefore (qd. she) they that sechen gold in green trees, and ween to gather precious stones among vines, & lain her nets in mountains to fish, & thinken to hunt in deep Seas after Harte & Hind, and sechen in yearth thilk things that surmounteth Heaven. What may I of him say? But foolish ignorance, misledeth wand'ring wretches by uncouth ways, that shullen be forleten, and maketh him blind fro the right path of true way, that should been used. Therefore in general error in mankind, departeth thilk goods by miss seching, which he should have hole, and he sought by reason. Thus goeth he beguiled of that he sought, in his hood men have blow a jape. Now (qd. I) if a man be virtuous, and all in virtue liveth, how hath he all these things? That shall I proven (qd. she) What power hath any man, to let an other of living in virtue? For prisonment or any other disease, he take it patiently, discomfiteth he not, the tyrant over his soul, no power may have? then hath that man so tourmented such power, that he nill be discomfit, ne overcome may he not been, sithen patience in his soul overcometh, and as not overcome. Soch thing that may not be a mastered, he hath need to nothing, for he hath suffisance enough to help himself. And thilk thing that thus hath power and suffisance, and no tyrant may it reave, and hath dignity to set at naught all things, here it is a great dignity that death may a mastery. Wherefore thilk power suffisance so enclosed with dignity, by all reason renome must have. This is thilk riches with suffisance ye should look after: this is thilk worshipful dignity ye should coveit: this is thilk power of might, in which ye should trust: this is thilk renome of glory, the endless endureth, & all nis but substance in virtuous living. Certes (qd. I) all this is sooth, and so I see well the virtue with full gripe, encloseth all these things. Wherefore in sooth I may say, by my troth virtue of my Margarite, brought me first into your service, to have knitting with that jewel, not sudden longynges ne folks small words, but only our conversation together: and then I seeing th'intent of her true meaning, with flourishing virtue of Patience, that she used nothing in evil, to quite the wicked lease, that false tongues oft in her have laid. I have say it myself, goodly forgiveness hath sprung out of her heart, unity and accord above all other things, she desireth in a good meek manner, & suffreth many wicked tales.  
Truly Lady, to you it were a great worship, that such things by due chastisement were amended. Ye (qd. she) I have thee excused, all such things as yet mow not be redressed: thy Margarites virtue I commend well the more, that patiently such annoys suffreth. David king was meek, and suffered mokell hate, and many evil speeches: no despite ne shame that his enemies him deden, might not move patience out of his heart, but ever in one plight mercy he used. Wherefore GOD himself took reward to the things, and thereon such punishment let fall. Truly by reason it ought be ensample of dread, to all manner people's mirth. A man vengeable in wrath, no governance in punishment ought to have. * Plato had a cause his servant to scourge, and yet cleped he his neighbour, to perform the doing himself would not, least wrath had him a mastered, and so might he have laid on to much: evermore grounded virtue showeth the intent fro within. And truly I wot well for her goodness and virtue, thou hast desired my service, to her pleasant well the more, and thyself thereto fully hast proffered. Good Lady (qd. I) is virtue the high way to this knot, that long we have ihandled? Ye forsooth (qd. she) and without virtue, goodly this knot may not be gotten. Ah now I see (qd. I) how virtue in me faileth, and I as a sere tree, without burioning or fruit always welk, and so I stoned in despair of this noble knot, for virtue in me hath no manner working. A wide where about have I traveiled. Peace (qd. she) of thy first way thy travail is in idle, and as touching the second way, I see well thy meaning. Thou wouldst conclude me if thou couldst, because I brought thee to service, and every of my servants I help to come to this bliss, as I said here before: and thou saidst thyself, thou mightest not be holpen as thou weenest, because the virtue in thee faileth. And this bliss perfectly without virtue, may not be gotten, thou weenest of these words, contradiction to follow. Pard at the hardest I have no servant, but he be virtuous in deed & thought, I brought thee in my service, yet art thou not my servant: but I say, thou might so werch in virtue hereafter, that then shalt thou be my servant, and as for my servant accounted. * For habit maketh no Monk, ne wearing of guilt spurs, maketh no Knight. Never the later, in comfort of thine heart, yet wool I otherwise answer. Certes Lady (qd. I though) so ye must needs, or else I had nigh caught such a cordiacle for sorrow, I wot it well I should it never have recovered. And therefore now I pray to inform me in this, or else I hold me without recovery. I may not long eudure, till this lesson be learned, and of this mischief the remedy known. Now (qd. she) be not wroth, * For there is no man on live, that may come to a precious thing, long coveited, but he sometime suffer tenefull diseases, and weenest thyself to been unlich to all other? That may not been: * And with the more sorrow that a thing is gotten, the more he hath joy, the ilk thing afterwards to keep, as it fareth by children in School, that for learning arn beaten, when their lesson they foryetten, commonly after a good disciplining with a yard, they keep right well doctrine of their School.  
RIght with these words, on this Lady I threw up mine iyens, to see her countenance and her cheer, and she apperceiving this fantasy in mine heart, 'gan her semblant goodly on me cast, and said in this wise.  
It is well know, both to Reason and Experience in doing, every active woorcheth on his passive, and when they been together, active and passive, been icleaped by these Philosophers, if fire be in place, chafing thing able to be chafed or heat, and the ilk things been set in such a distance, that the one may werche, the other shall suffer. The ilk Margarite thou desirest, is full of virtue, and able to be active in goodness: But every herb showeth his virtue, outfoorth from within, the Sun giveth light, that things may be say.  
Every fire heateth the like thing that it neighed, & it be able to be heat, virtue of this Margarit outforth wreath, & nothing is more able to suffer woorching, or work catch of the actife, but passife of the same actife, and no passife to virtues of this Margarite, but thee in all my donet can I find, so that her virtue must needs on thee werche, in what place ever thou be, within distance of her worthiness, as her very passife thou art closed: but virtue may thee nothing profit, but thy desire be performed, and all thy sorrows ceased. Ergo through werching of her virtue, thou shalt easily been holpen, and driven out of all care, and welcome to this long by thee desired.  
Lady (qd. I) this is a good lesson, in beginning of my joy: But weet ye well forsooth, though I suppose she have much virtue, I would my spousale were proved, and then may I live out of doubt, & rejoice me greatly, in thinking of tho virtues so showed. I heard thee say (qd. she) at my beginning, when I received thee first for to serve, that thy jewel, thilk Margarite thou desirest, was closed in a musk, with a blue shell. Ye forsooth (qd. I) so I said, & so it is Well (qd. she) every thing kindly, showeth itself, this jewel closed in a blue shell, excellence of colours, showeth virtue from within, * and so every wight should rather look to the proper virtue of things, than to his foreign goods. If a thing be engendered of good matter, commonly, and for the more part it followeth, after the congelement virtue of the first matter, and it be not corrupt with vices, to proceed with increase of good virtues: Eke right so it fareth of bad. * Truly great excellence in virtue of lineage, for the more part descendeth by kind to the succession in virtues to follow. Wherefore I say, the colours of every Margarite, showeth from within the fineness in virtue.  
Kindly heaven, when merry weather is a loft, appeareth in man's eye of colour in Blue, steadfastness in peace, betokening within and without: Margarite is engendered by heavenly Dew, and showeth in itself, by fineness of colour, whether the engendrure, were maked on morrow or on eve: thus saith kind of this pearl. This precious Margarite that thou servest, showeth itself descended by nobley of virtue, from this heavenlich dew, nourished and congealed in meekness, that mother is of all virtues, and by werks that men seen withouten the signification of the colours, been showed mercy and pity in the heart, with peace to all other, and all this is iclosed in a Muscle, who so readily these virtue's look. All thing that hath soul, is reduced into good by mean things, as thus: Into GOD man is reduced by souls reasonable, and so forth beasts, or bodies that mow not moven, after place been reduced into man, by beasts move that moven from place to place: so that thilk bodies that han feeling souls, and move not from places, holden the lowest degree of soling things in feeling, and such been reduced into man by means. So it followeth, the Muscle as mother of all virtues, halt the place of meekness, to his lowest degree descendeth down of heaven, and there by a manner of virgin engendrure, arn these Margarites engendered, and afterward congealed. Made not meekness so low the high heaven, to enclose and catch out thereof so noble a dew, that after congelement a Margarite, with endless virtue and everlasting joy, was with full vessel of grace given to every creature, that goodly would it receive. Certes (qd. I) these things been right noble, I have ere this heard the same saws. Then (qd. she) thou wost well these things been sooth? Ye foresothe (qd. I) at the full. Now (qd. she) that this Margarite is full of virtue, it is well proved, wherefore some grace, some mercy among other virtues, I wot right well on thee shall descend? Ye (qd. I) yet would I have better declared virtues in this Margarite, kindly to been grounded. That shall I show thee (qd. she) (& thou wouldst it learn? Learn, qd. ay, what needeth such words: were ye not well Lady yourself, that all my cure, all my diligence, and all my might, have turned by your counsel, in pleasance of that pearl, all my thought and all my study, with your help desireth, in worship thilk jewel, to increase all my travail, and all my business in your service, this Margarite to glad in somhalue: me were lever her honour, her pleasance, and her good cheer, thorough me for to be maintained and kept, and I of such thing in her liking to be cause, than all the wealth of bodily goods ye could reeken. And would never GOD, but I put myself in great jeopardy of all that I would, that is now no more but my life alone, rather than I should suffer thilk jewel in any point been blemished, as far as I may suffer, and with my might stretch. Soch thing (qd. she) may mokell further thy grace, and thee in my service auance. But now (qd. Love's) wilt thou grant me thilk Margarite to been good? O good good (qd. I) why tempt ye me and tene with such manner speech: I would grant that, though I should anon die, and by my troth fight in the quarrel, if any wight would counterplead. It is so much the lighter (qd. Love's) to prove our intent. Ye (qd. I) but yet would I hear, how ye would prove, that she were good by reasonable skill, that it mow not been denied, for although I know, and so doth many other, manifold goodness and virtue in this Margarite been Printed, yet some men there been, that no goodness speaken: and where ever your words been heard, and your reasons been showed, such evil speakers Lady, by authority of your excellence, shullen been stopped and ashamed. And more, they that han none acquaintance in her person, yet mow they know her virtues, and been the more informed in what wise they mow set their hearts, when hem list into your service any entry make, for truly all this to begin, I wot well myself, that thilk jewel is so precious a pearl as a womanly woman in her kind, in whom of goodness, of virtue, and also of answering, shape of limbs, and features so well in all points according, nothing faileth: I leave that kind her made with great study, for kind in her person nothing hath foryet, & that is well seen. In every good wights heart, she hath grace of commending, and of virtuous praising. Alas that ever kind made her deadly, save only in that I wot well, that Nature in forming of her, in nothing hath erred.  
CErtes (qd. Love's) thou hast well begun, and I ask thee this question: Is not in general every thing good? I not (qd. I) No (qd. she) save not GOD every thing that he made, and wern right good. Then is wonder (qd. I) how evil things come a place, sithen that all things weren right good. Thus (qd. she) I wool declare: every quality, and every action, and every thing that hath any manner of being, it is of GOD, and GOD it made, of whom is all goodness, and all being, of him is no badness: * Bad to be is naught: Good to be is somewhat, and therefore good and being, is one in understanding. How may this be (qd. I) for often han shrews me assailed, and mokell badness therein have I founden, and so me seemeth bad, to be somewhat in kind. Thou shalt (qd. she) understand that such manner of badness, which is used to purify wrong doers is somewhat, and GOD it made, and being hath, and that is good: * Other badness no being hath utterly, it is in the negative of somewhat, and that is naught, and nothing being. The parties essential of being, be said in double wise, as that it is, and these parties ben found in every creature, for all thing a this half the first being, is being through participation, taking party of being, so that every creature is difference, between being, and of him through whom it is and his own being: right as every good is a manner of being, so is it good through being, for it is naught other to be: and every thing though it be good, it is not of himself good, but it is good by that, it is ordinable to the great goodness. This duality after Clerks determission, is founden in every creature, be it never so single of onhed. Ye (qd. I) but there as it is isaid, that God saw every thing of his making, and were right good, as yourself said to me, not long time sithen: I ask whether every creature is isaid good, through goodness unformed, either else form, and afterward if it be accept utterly good? I shall say thee (qd. she) these great passed Clerks, han divided good, into good being alone, and that is nothing but good, for nothing is good in that wise, but God: Also in good by participation, and that is icleaped good, for far fet, and representative of goodly goodness. * And after this manifold good is said, that is to say, good in kind, and good in gender, and good of grace, and good of joy.  
Of good in kind, Augustine saith, all that been, been good: but peraunter thou wouldst weet, whether of himself it be good, or else of an others goodness, for naturel goodness of every substance, is nothing else than his substaunciall being, which is icleaped goodness, after comparison that he hath to his first goodness, so as it is inductatife, by means into the first goodness. Boece showeth this thing at the full, that this name good, is in general name in kind, as it is comparisoned generally to his principal end, which is God, knot of all goodness. Every creature crieth GOD us made, and so they han full appetite to thilk God by affection, such as to him belongeth: and in this wise all things been good, of the great God, which is good alone. This wonder thing (qd. I) how ye have by many reasons proved, my first way to be error and misgoing, & cause of badness and feeble meaning, in the ground ye alleged to be rooted: whence is it, that such badness hath springes, sithen all things thus in general been good, and badness hath no being, as ye have declared: I ween if all things been good, I might then with the first way, in that good have ended, and so by goodness have come to bliss in your service desired. All thing (qd. she) is good by being in participation, out of the first goodness, which goodness is corrupt by badness, and bad meaning manners: GOD hath in good things, that they been good by being, & not in evil, for there is absence of rightful Love, for badness is nothing only but evil will of the user, and through guilts of the doer, wherefore at the beginning of the world, every thing by himself was good, & in universal they wern right good. a iye or a hand is fairer & better in a body, set in his kindly place, than from the body deceivered. Every thing in his kindly place being kindly, good doth werch, and out of the place voided, it dissolveth and is defouled him selue. Our noble GOD in gliterand wise by armony this world ordained, as in purtreitures, storied with colours meddled, in which black and other dark colours, commenden the golden, and the Assured painture, every put in kindly place, one beside an other, more for other glittereth: right so little fair, maketh right fair, more glorious: and right so of goodness, and of other things in virtue. Wherefore other bad, and not so good pearls as this Margarite, that we han of this matter, given by the air little goodness, and little virtue, right mokell goodness, and virtue in thy Margarite to been proved, in shining wise to be found & showed. How should ever goodness of peace have been know, but if unpeace sometime reign, and mokell evil wrath? How should mercy been proved, and no trespass were, by due justification to be punished? Therefore grace and goodness of a wight is found, the sorrowful hearts in good meaning to endure, been comforted, unite, and accord between hearts knit in joy to abide.  
What weenest thou I rejoice, or else account him among my servants, that pleaseth Pallas, in undoing of Mercury, all be it that to Pallas he be knit by title of Law, not according to the reasonable conscience: and Mercury in doing, have grace to been suffered: or else him that weeneth the Moon, for fairness of the eve Star. Lo, otherwhile by night's light of the Moon, greatly comforteth in dark thoughts and blind. Understanding of love, giveth great gladness: Who so list no believe, when a sooth tale is showed, adieu and adieu bliss, his name is entered. Wise folk and worthy in gentillesse, both of virtue and of living, given full credence in soothness of love with a good heart, there as good evidence or experience in doing, showeth not the contrary. Thus mightst thou have full proof in thy Margarites goodness, by commendment of other jewels badness, and ivelnesse in doing. Stoundmele diseases giveth several hours in joy.  
Now by my troth (qd. I) this is well declared, that my Margarite is good, for sithence other been good, and she passeth many other in goodness and virtue, wherethrough by manner necessary she must be good: and goodness of this Margarite is nothing else but virtue, wherefore she is virtuous, and if there failed any virtue in any side, there were lack of virtue: bade nothing else is ne may be, but lack and want of good and goodness, & so should she have that same lack, that is to said bad, and that may not be, for she is good, and that is good me thinketh all good: and so by consequence me seemeth virtuous, & no lack of virtue to have. But the Sun is not know but he shine, ne virtues herbs but they have her kind werching, ne virtue but it stretch in goodness or profit to another, is no virtue. Then by all ways of reason, sithen mercy & pity been most commended among other virtues, and they might never been showed refreshment of help and of comfort, but now at my most need, & that is the kind werking of these virtues: truly I ween I shall not vary from these helps.  
Fire, and if he give none heat, for fire is not deemed. The Sun but he shine, for sun is not accounted. Water, but it weet, the name shall been changed. Virtue but it werch, of goodness doth it fail, & in to his contrary the name shall be reversed, & these been impossible: wherefore the contradictory that is necessary, needs must I leave. Certes (qd. she) in thy person and out of thy mouth these words lain well to been said, and in thine understanding to be leve, as in intent of this Margarite alone: and here now my speech in conclusion of these words.  
IN these things (qd. she) that me list now to show openly, shall be found the matter of thy sickness, and what shall been the medicine that may he thy sorrows, list and comfort, as well thee as all other that amiss have erred, and out of the way walked, so that any drop of good will in amendment been dwelled in their hearts. Proverbes of Solomon openly teacheth, how sometime an innocent walked by the way in blindness of a dark night, whom met a woman (if it be lefelly to say) as a strumpet arrayed, readily purveyed in turning of thoughts with vein janglings, and of rest impatient by dissimulation of my terms, saying in this wise: come and be we drunken of our sweet paps, use we covetous collinges. And thus drawn was this innocent, as an Ox to the larder. Lady (qd. I) to me this is a quaint thing to understand: I pray you of this parable declare me the intent. This innocent (qd. she) is a scholar learning of my lore, in seching of my bliss, in which thing the day of his thought turning inclineth in to eve, and the Son of very light failing, maketh dark night in his cunning. Thus in darkness of many doubts he walketh, and for blindness of understanding, he ne wot in with way he is in: forsooth such one may lightly been beguiled. To whom came love feigned, not clothed of my livery, but unleeful lusty habit, with soft speech and merry, and with fair honeyed words heretics and miss meaning people, sklerens and wimplen their errors. Austen witnesseth of an heretic that in his first beginning, he was a man right expert in reasons, and sweet in his words, and the werkes' miscorden. Thus fareth feigned love in her first werchinges: thou knowest these things for true, thou hast him proved by experience. Sometime in doing to thine own person, in which thing thou hast found matter of mokell disease. Was not feigned love readily purveyed, thy wits to catch & turn thy good thoughts? truly she hath wounded the conscience of many, with flourishing of mokell jangling words: and good worth thanked I it for no gloze, I am glad of my Prudence thou hast so manly her veined. To me art thou much holden, that in thy kind course of good meaning I return thy mind: I trow ne had I showed thee thy Margarite, thou hadst never returned. Of first in good perfect joy was ever feigned love impatient, as the water of Syloe, which evermore floweth with stillness & privy noise till it come nigh the brink, & then ginneth it so out of measure to bolne, with novelleries of changing storms, that in course of every running, it is in point to spill all his circuit of banks. Thus feigned love privily at the fullest of his flowing, new storms debate to arayse. And all be it that Mercurius often with hole understanding, known soch perilous matters, yet Veneriens so lusty been and so lewd in their wits, that in soch things right little or naught done they feel, & written and cryens to their fellows: here is bliss, here is joy, & thus in to one same error, mokel folk they drawn. Come they sayne, and be we drunken of our paps, that been fallas & lying gloze of which mow they not souke milk of health, but deadly venom & poison, corruption of sorrow. * Milk of fallas, is venom of deceit: Milk of lying gloze is venom of corruption. Lo what thing cometh out of these paps: use we coveited collinges, desire we & meddle we false words with sote, & sote with false, truly this is the soriness of feigned love, needs of these surfeits, sickness must follow. * Thus as an Ox to thy langoring death wert thou drawn, the sote of the smoke hath thee all defaced. Ever the deeper thou sometime wadest, the sooner thou it found: if it had thee killed it had be little wonder. But on that other side, my true servants not feign ne deceive con, sooth their doing is open, my fundament endureth, be the burden never so great, ever in one it lasteth: it giveth life and blissful goodness in the last ends, though the ginnings been sharp. Thus of two contraries, contrary been the effects. And so thilk Margarite thou servest, shall seen thee by her service, out of perilous tribulation delivered, because of her service in to new disease fallen, by hope of amendment in the last end, with joy to be gladded, wherefore of kind pure, her mercy with grace of good help, shall she grant, and else I shall her so strain, that with pity shall she been amaistred. Remember in thine heart how horrible sometime to thine Margarite thou trespassest, & in a great wise against her thou forfeitest: cleape again thy mind, and know thine own guilts. What goodness, what thine own guilts. What goodness, what bounty, with mokell following pity found thou in that time? Wert thou not goodly accepted in to grace? By my plucking, was she to forgiveness inclined. And after I her stired to draw thee to house, and yet wendest thou utterly for ever have been refused. But well thou woste, sithen that I in such sharp disease might so greatly avail, with thinkest in thy wit? How far may my wit stretch? And thou lach not on thy side I wool make the knot: Certes in thy good bearing I wool accord with the Psauter. I have found David in my service true, and with holy oil of peace and of rest long by him desired, utterly he shall be anointed. Trust well to me, and I wool thee not fail. The lening of the first way with good heart of continuance, that I see in the grounded, this purpose to perform, draweth my by manner of constraining, that needs must I been thine helper: although mirth a while be tarried, it shall come at soch season, that thy thought shall been joyed: & would never GOD, sithen thine heart to my reasons be assented, and openly haste confessed thine amiss going, and now criest after mercy, but if mercy followed: thy bliss shall been ready iwis, thou ne wost how soon.  
Now be a good child I read. The kind of virtues in thy Margarite rehearsed, by strength of me in thy person shall werch. Comfort thee in this, for thou mayst not miscarry. And these words said, she straight her on length and rested a while.  
¶ Thus endeth the second book, and hereafter followeth the third book.   

OF nombre said these clerks that it is naturel some of discrete things, as in telling one, two, three, and so forth: but among all numbers three is determined for most certain. Wherefore in nombre certain this work of my besie lewdness, I think to end and perform.  
Ensample by this world in three times is divided: Of which the first is cleped Dematian, that is to say, going out of true way: & all that tho dieden, in hell were thy punished for a man's sin, till grace and mercy fet him thence, & there ended the first time. The second time lasteth from the coming of merciable grace, until the end of transitory time, in which is showed the true way in fordoing of the bad, and that is cleped time of grace: & that thing is not given by desert of yielding, one benefit for another, but only through goodness of the yever of grace in thilk tyme. Who so can well understand, is shapen to be saved in souled bliss. The third time shall gi'en when transitory things of worlds han made their end, and that shall been in joy, glory, and red both body and soul, that well han deserved in the time of grace. And thus in the heaven together shall they dwell perpetuelly, without any ymaginatife evil in any halue. These times are figured by tho three days that our God was closed in yearth, and in the third arose, showing our resurrection to joy & bliss, of though that it deserven, by his merciable grace. So this lewd book in three matters accordant to though times, lightely by a good inseer may been understand, as in the first error of miss going is showed with sorrowful pine, punished is cried after mercy. In the second is grace in good way proved, which is failing without desert, thilk first miss amending in correction of tho errors and even way to bring with comfort of welfare, in to amendment waxing. And in the third joy and bliss, granted to him that well can deserve it, and hath savour of understanding in the time of grace. Thus in joy of my third book shall the matter be till it end. But special cause I have in my heart to make this process of a Margarit pearl, that is so precious a gem, with clear and little of which stones or jewel, the tongues of us English people tourneth the right names, and clepeth hem Margery pearls: thus varieth our speech from many other languages. For truly Latin, French, and many more other languages clepeth hem Margery peerless, the name Margarites or Margarit perls: wherefore in that denomination I wool me accord to other men's tongues, in that name cleping. These clerks that treaten of kinds, & studien out the property there of things, sayne the Margarit is a little white pearl, throughout hollow and round, and virtuous, and on the sea sides in the more Britain, in muscle shells, of the heavenly dew the best been engendered: in which by experience been found three fair virtues. One is, it giveth comfort to the feeling spirits in bodily people of reason. Another is good, it is profitable health against passions of sorry men's hearts. And the third it is needful and noble in staunching of blood, there else too much would out ren. To which pearl and virtues me list to liken at this time Philosophy, with her three speces, that is, naturel, and moral, and reasonable: of which things heareth what sane these great Clerks. Philosophy is knowing of divinely and manly things joined with study of good living, and this stante in two things, that is, cunning and opinion: cunning, is when a thing by certain reason is conceived: but wretches, and fools, and lewd men, many will conceive a thing & maintain it as for a sooth, though reason be in the contrary, wherefore cunning is a stranger. Opinion is while a thing 〈◊〉 in non certain, and hid from men's very knowledging, and by no perfect reason fully declared, as thus: if the son be so mokel as men wenen, or else if it be more than the earth. For in soothness the certain quantity of that Planet is unknowen to erthly dwellers, & yet by opinion of some men, it is holden for more than middle earth. The first spece of Philosophy is naturel, which in kindly things treaten, & showeth causes of heaven, & strength of kindly course: as by Arsmetrike, Geometry, Music, & by Astronomy, teacheth ways and course of Heavens, of Planets, and of Stars about Heaven & Earth, & other Elements. The second spece is moral, which in order of living manners teacheth, & by reason proveth virtues of soul most worthy in our living, which been Prudence, justice, Temperance, & Strength. Prudence is goodly wisdom in knowing of things: Strength voideth all adversities aliche even. Temperance destroyeth bestial living with easy bearing. And justice rightfully judgeth, and judging, departeth to every wight that is his own. The third spece tourneth in to reason of understanding, all things to be said sooth & discussed, and that in two things is divided: one is Art, another is Rhetoric, in which two all laws of man's reason been grounded or else maintained. And for this book is all of Love, & thereafter beareth his name, and Philosophy and law must hereto accord by their clergial descriptions: as Philosophy for love of wisdom is declared: Law for maintenance of peace is holden: and these with love must needs accord, therefore of hem in this place have I touched. Order of homely things and honest manner of living in virtue, with rightful judgement in causes, & profitable administration in commonalties of Realms & Cities, by evenhede profitably to rain, nat by singular advantage, ne by privy envy, ne by solein purpose in covetise of worship or of goods, been disposed in open rule showed, by Love, Philosophy, & law, and yet love toforne all other. Wherefore as susterne in unity they accord & one end that is peace & rest, they causen nourishing, & in the joy mainteynen to endure. Now then, as I have declared, my book acordeth with description of three things, and the Margarite in virtue is likened to Philosophy, with the three speces. In which matters ever fifty been accordant with bodily reason, & the third with the soul: But in conclusion of my book and of this Margarit pearl, in knitting together law by three sundry manners shall be likened, that is to say, Law, Right, & Custom, which I wool declare: all that is law, cometh of God's ordinance by kindly worching: & thilk things ordained by man's wits be icleped right, which is ordained by many manners and in constitution written: But custom is a thing that is accepted for right or for law, there as law & right fail, and there is no difference, whether it come of Scripture or of reason. Wherefore it showeth that law is kindly governance: right cometh out of man's probable reason: and custom is of come usage by length of time used, and custom nat write is usage, and if it be writ constitution it is iwritten and cleped: But law of kind is come to every nation, as conjunction of man & woman in love, succession of children in heritance, restitution of thing by strength taken or leaned, & this law among all other halt the soveraynest gree in worship, which law began at the beginning of reasonable creature, it varied yet never for no changing of time: cause forsooth in ordaining of Law, was to constrain men's hardiness in to peace, & withdrawing his evil will, & turning malice into goodness, and the innocence sickerly withouten teneful annoy among shrews, safely might inhabit by protection of safe conduct, so that shrew's harm for harm by bridle of feardenesse shoulden restrayn. But forsooth in kindly law nothing is commended, but such as Gods will hath confirmed, ne nothing denied but contraryoustie of Gods will in Heaven: eke then all laws or custom, or else constitution by usage, or writing, that contrarien law of kind, utterly been repugnant & adversary to our gods will of Heaven. Truly law of kind for gods own lusty will is verily to maintain, under which law (and unworthy) both profess and regular arn obediencer and bounden to this Margarit pearl, as by knot of love's statutes & establishment in kind, which the goodly may not been withsetten. Lo under this bond am I constrained to abide, & man under living law ruled, by that law oweth after deserts to been rewarded by pain or by meed, but if mercy weive the pain: so than be part, reasonfully may be say, that mercy both right & law passeth, th'intent of all these matters, is the lest clear understanding, to weten at the end of this third book full knowing thorough God's grace, I think to make neverthelater, yet if these things han a good and a sleght inseer which that can souke honey of the hard stone, oil of the dry rock, may lightly feel nobly of matter in my lewd imagination closed.  
But for my book shall be of joy (as I said) and I so far set from thilk place, fro whence gladness should come, my cord is to short to let my boket ought to catch of the water, and few men be abouten my cord to each, & many in full purpose been ready it shorter to make, & to enclose thenter, that my boket of joy nothing should catch, but empty return, my careful sorrows to increase, & if I die for pain, that were gladness at their hearts. Good Lord send me water in to the cop of these Mountains, & I shall drink thereof my thrusts to staunch: and say these be comfortable wells in to health of goodness of my saviour am I holpen. And yet I say more, the house of joy to me is not opened. How dare my sorrowful ghost then in any matter of gladness think to treat? for ever sobbings & complaints be ready refrete in his meditations, as werbles in manifold stounds coming about I not than. And therefore what manner of joy coude indite, but yet at door shall I knock, if the key of David would the lock unshyt and he bring me in, which that children's tongues both openeth and closeth. Whose spirit, where he well worcheth, departing goodly as him liketh. Now to God's laud & reverence, profit of the readers, amendment of manners of the hearers, increasing of worship among love's servants, relieving of my heart in to grace of my jewel, & friendship pleasance of this pearl, I am stired in this making, & for nothing else: & if any good thing to men's liking in this scripture be found, thanketh the master of grace which that of that good and all other is author, & principal doer. And if any thing be insufficient or else misliking, with y● that the lewdness of mine unable cunning, for body in disease annoyeth the understanding in soul. A disesely habitation letteth the wits many things, and namely in sorrow. The custom never the later of love, be long time of service in terms I think to pursue, which been lively to give understanding in other things. But now to inform thee of this Margarites goodness, I may her not half praise. Wherefore not she for my book, but this book for her is worthy to be commended, though my book be lewd: right as things nat for places, but places for things ought to be desired and praised.  
NOw (qd. Love's) truly thy words I have well understand. Certes me thinketh him right good, and me wondereth why thou so lightly passest in the law. soothly (qd. I) my wit is lewd and I am right blind and that mater deep, how should I then have waded, lightly might I have drenched and spilt there myself. Yea (qd. she) I shall help thee to swim. * For right as law punisheth brekers of precepts, and the contrary doers of the written constitutions: right so ayenward, law rewardeth and giveth meed to him that law strengthen. By one law this rebel is punished, & this innocent is meed, the shrew is imprisoned, & this rightful is corowned. The same law that joineth by wedlock without forsaking, the same law giveth libel of departition because of divorce, both deemed & declared. Ye ye (qd. I) I find in no law to meed & reward in goodness, the guilty of deserts. Fool (qd. she) guilty converted in your law, mickle merit deserveth. Also Pauly of Rome was corowned, that by him the maintainers of Pompeus weren known & destroyed: & yet toforn was this Paulin chief of Pompeus counsel. This law in Rome hath yet his name of mesuring in meed, the bewraying of the conspiracy, ordained by tho senators the death. julius Cesar is accounted into caton's rightwiseness, for ever in troth flourisheth his name among the knowers of reason. Perdiccas was crowned in the heritage of Alexander the great, for telling of a privy hate the king Porrus to Alexander had. Wherefore every wight by reason of law after his rightwiseness apertly his meed may challenge: & so thou y● maintainest law of kind, & therefore disease hast suffered in the law, reward is worthy to be rewarded and ordained, & apertly thy meed might thou challenge. Certes (qd. I) this have I well learned, & ever henceforward I shall draw me thereafter in one head of will to abide this law, both maintain & keep, and so hope I best entre in to your grace, well deserving in o worship of a wight, without needful compulsion ought medefully to be rewarded. Truly (qd. Love's) that is sooth, & though by constitution good service in to profit & avauntage stretch, utterly many men it demen to have more desert of meed, then good will nat compelled. See now (qd. I) how may men holden of this the contrary. And with is good service? Of you would I here this question declared. I shall say thee (qd. she) in a few words, reasonable workings in pleasance & profit of thy sovereign. How should I this perform (qd. I.) Right well (qd. she) & here me now a little. It is hardly (qd. she) to understand, that right as mater by due overchaunging followeth his perfection & his form: right so every man by rightful werkings ought to follow the lawful desires in his heart, & see toforne to with end he deserveth, for many times he that looketh not after th'ends, but utterly thereof is unknown, befalleth often many evils to done, wherethrough ere he be ware shamefully he is confounded, th'end thereof neden to be before looked to every desire of such foresight, in good service three things specially needeth to be rulers in his works. First that he do good, next that he do by his election in his own heart, & the third, that he do godly withouten any surquedry in thoughts. That your works shoulden be good in service, or in any other acts, authorities many may be alleged, never the latter, by reason thus may it be showed. All your works be cleped second & moven in virtue of the first wercher, which in good works wrought you to proceed, & right so your werks moven in to virtue of the last end, & right in the first working were nat, no man should in the second werch. Right so but ye feeled to with end, and sen their goodness closed, ye should no more retch with ye wrought but the beginning 'gan with good, and there shall it ceafe in the last end, if it be well considered. Wherefore the middle, if other ways it draw then accordant to thend, there stinteth the course of good, and another manner course entereth, & so it is a party by him selue, & every part be not accordant to his all, is foul & aught to be eschewed, wherefore every thing that is wrought & be nat good, is nat accordant to th'ends of his all hole, it is foul, and aught to be withdraw. * Thus the persons that neither done good ne harm, shamen foul their making: Wherefore without working of good acts in good service, may no man been accepted. * truely thlike that han might to do good, and done it not, the crown of worship shall be take from him, and with shame shul they be annulled. And so to make one work accordant with his ends, every good servant by reason of consequence must do good needs. Certes it sufficeth not alone to do good but goodly withal follows, the thank of goodness else in nought he deserveth: For right as all your being, come from the greatest good, in whom all goodness is closed. Right so your ends been direct to the same good. * Aristotel determineth the end & good been one, & convertible in understanding, & he that in will doth away good, & he that looketh not to th'end looketh not to good, but he that doth good and doth not goodly, draweth away thy direction of the end, not goodly, must needs be bad. Lo bad is nothing else, but absence or negative of good, as darkness is absence or negative of light. Then he that doth goodly directeth thilk good into th'end of bad. So must thing not good follow, eke badness to such folk oft followeth. Thus contrariaunt workers of th'end that is good, been worthy the contrary of th'end that is good to have. How (qd. I) may any good deed be done, but if goodly it help. Yes (qd. Love's) the Devil doth many good deeds, but goodly he leaveth behind, for even badly & in desceivable wise he worketh. Wherefore the contrary of th'end him followeth. And do he never so many good deeds, because goodly is away, his goodness is not reckoned. Lo then though a man do good, but he do good, but he do goodly th'end in goodness wol not follow, and thus in good service both good deed and goodly done, musten join together, and that it be done with free choice in heart: and else deserveth he nat the merit in goods, that wool I prove. For if thou do any thing good by chance or by hap, in what thing art thou thereof worthy to be commended? for nothing by reason of that, turneth in to thy praising ne lacking. Lo thilk thing done by hap by thy will is nat caused, and thereby should I thank or lack deserve: and sithen that faileth, th'end which the well should reward, must needs fail. Clerk's sane, no man but willing is blessed, a good deed that he hath done is not done of free choice willing, without which blissedness may nat follow. Ergo nether thank of goodness ne service in that is contrary of the good end, so then to good service longeth good deed goodly done, thorough free choice in heart. Truly (qd. I) this have I well understand. Well (qd. she) every thing thus done sufficient by law that is cleped justice, after reward claim. For law & justice was ordained in this wise, such deserts in goodness after quantity in doing, by meed to reward, and of necessity of such justice, that is to say, rightwiseness was free choice in deserving of well or of evil granted to reasonable creatures. Every man hath free arbitrement to choose good or jewel to perform. Now (qd. I) though if I by my good will deserve this Margarit pearl, & am thereto compelled, & have free choice to do with me liketh: She is then holden as me thinketh to reward th'intent of my good will. Gods forbade else (qd. Love's) no wight meaneth otherwise I trow, free will of good heart after meed deserveth. Hath every man (qd. I) free choice by necessary manner of will in every of his doings, that him liketh by God's proper purveyance, I would see that well declared to my lewd understanding, for necessary & necessity been words of mokel intention, closing (as to say) so moat it be needs, & otherwise may it nat betid. This shalt thou learn (qd. she) so thou take heed in my speech. If it were nat in man's own liberte of free will to do good or bad, but to y● one tied by bond of God's preordinaunce: Then do he never so well it were by needful compulsion of thilk bond & not by free choice, whereby nothing he desireth, & do he never so evil it were not man for to wit, but onelich to him that such thing ordained him to don. Wherefore he ne aught for bad be punished, ne for no good deed be rewarded, but of necessity of rightwiseness was therefore free choice of arbitrement, put in man's proper disposition: truly if it were otherwise, it contraried God's charity, the badness & goodness, rewardeth after desert of pain, or of meed. Me thinketh this wonder (qd. I) for God by necessity forwote all things coming, & so moat it needs be: and thilk things that ben done, be our free choice comen nothing of necessity, but only by will: how may this stand together? and so me thinketh truly, the free choice fully repugneth God's forweting. Truly lady, me seemeth they mow not stand together.  
THen 'gan love nigh me near, & with a noble countenance of visage & limbs, dressed her nigh my sitting place. Take forth (qd. she) thy pen, and readily write these words, for if God wool, I shall him so inform to thee, that thy lewdness, which I have understand in the matter, shall openly be cleared, & thy sight in full looking therein amended. First, if thou think that Gods prescience, repugn liberty of arbetrie of arbitrement, it is impossible that they should accord in onehood of sooth to understanding. Ye (qd. I) forsooth so I it conceive. Well (qd. she) if thilk impossible were away, the repugnance that seemeth to be therein, were utterly removed. Show me th'absence of that impossibility (qd. I.) So (qd. she) I shall. Now I suppose that they mow stand together, prescience of God, whom followeth necessity of things coming, & liberty of arbitrement, through which thou believest many things, to be without necessity. Both these proportions be sooth (qd. I) and well mow stand together, wherefore this case as possible I admit. Truly (qd. she) and this case is impossible. How so (qd. I.) For hereof (qd. she) followeth and waxeth an other impossible. Prove me that (qd. I.) That I shall (qd. she) for something is coming without necessity, and God wot that toforne, for all thing coming he before wot, and that he before wot of necessity is coming: as he before wot, be the case by necessary manner then, or else thorough necessity, is something to be without necessity, and whiderto every wight that hath good understanding, is seen these things to be repugnant. Prescience of GOD, which that followeth necessity, and liberty of arbitrement, from which is removed necessity, for truly it is necessary, that God have forweting of thing, withouten any necessity coming. Ye (qd. I) but yet remove ye not away fro mine understanding, the necessity following Gods before witting, as thus. GOD beforn wot me in service of Love, to be bounden to this Margarite pearl, and therefore by necessity, thus to love am I bound, & if I not had loved, through necessity had I been kept from all love deeds. Certes (qd. Love's) because this matter is good & necessary to declare, I think herein well to abide, and not lightly to pass. Thou shalt not (qd. she) say all only God before wot me to be a lover, or no lover, but thus: GOD beforn wot me to be a lover, without necessity. And so it followeth, whither thou love, or not love, every of hem is & shall be. But now thou seest the impossibility of the case, and the possibility of thilk that thou wendest had been impossible, wherefore the repugnance is anulled. Ye (qd. I) and yet do ye not away the strength of necessity, when it is said, though necessity it is me in love to abide, or not to love without necessity, for God beforn wot it. This manner of necessity forsooth, seemeth to some men into coaction, that is to said, constraining, or else prohibition that is defending, wherefore necessity is me to love of will. I understand me to be constrained, by some privy strength, to the will of loving, and if no love to be defended from the will of loving, and so through necessity me seemeth to love, for I love, or else not to love, if I not love, wherethrough neither thank ne maugre, in though things may I deserve.  
Now (qd. she) thou shalt well understand that often we said thing, through necessity, to be that by no strength, to be neither is coacted, ne constrained, and thorough necessity not to be, that with no defending is removed, for we said, it is thorough necessity, GOD to be immortal nought dedlich, and it is necessity, GOD to be rightful, but not that any strength of violent manner constraineth him to be immortal, or defendeth him to be unrightful, for nothing may make him deadly or unrightful. Right so if I say, through necessity is thee to be a lover or else none, only thorough will, as GOD beforn weet: it is not to understand, that any thing defendeth or forbit thee thy will, which shall not be, or else constraineth it to be, which shall be: that same thing forsooth God before wot, which he before seeth, any thing commend of only will, that will neither is constrained ne defended through any other thing. And so through liberty of arbitrement it is do, that is done of will. And truly my good child, if these things be well understand, I ween that none inconvenient shalt thou find, between God's forweting, and liberty of arbitrement, wherefore, I wot well they may stand together. Also farthermore, who that understanding of Prescience, properlich considereth, through the same wise, that any thing be afore wist, is said for to be coming, it is pronounced, there is nothing toforne wist, but thing coming, fore wetting is but of troth, doubt may not be witted: wherefore, when I say, that God toforn wot any thing, through necessity is thilk thing to be coming, all is one if I say, if it shall be, but this necessity neither constraineth, ne defendeth any thing to be, or not to be. Therefore sooth if love is put to be, it is said of necessity to be, or else for it is put not to be, it is affirmed not to be of necessity: not for that necessity constraineth or defendeth, love to be, or not to be. For when I say, if love shall be of necessity, it shall be, here followeth necessity. The thing toforn put, it is as much to say, as if it were thus pronounced: that thing shall be: none other thing signifieth this necessity, but only thus, that shall be, may not together be, and not be. Euenlich also it is sooth, love was, and is, and shall be, not of necessity, and need is to have be all that was, and needful is to be all that is, and coming to all that shall be: and it is not the same to say, love to be passed, and love passed to be passed, or love present to be present, and love to be present; or else love to be coming, and love coming to be coming: * diversity in setting of words, maketh diversity in understanding, although in the same sentence they accord of signification, right as it is not all one: love sweet to be sweet, and love to be sweet: for much love is bitter, and sorrowful ere hearts been eased, and yet it gladdeth thilk sorrowful heart on such love to think. Forsooth (qd. I) otherwhile I have had mokell bliss in heart of love, that stoundmele hath me sorily annoyed: and certes lady for I see myself thus knit, with this Margarite pearl, as by bond of your service, and of no liberty of will, my heart will now not accord this service to love: I can deemin in myself none otherwise, but through necessity am I constrained in this service to abide. But alas then, if I through needful compulsion, maugre me be withhold, little thank for all my great travail have I then deserved. Now (qd. this lady) I say as I said: Me liketh this matter to declare at the full, and why: For many men have had divers fantasies and reasons, both on one side thereof, & in the other. Of which right soon I trow, if thou wilt understand, thou shalt con give the sentence, to the party more probable by reason, and in sooth knowing, by that I have of this matter maked an end. Certes (qd. I) of these things, long have I had great lust to be learned, for yet I ween, Gods will and his prescience acordeth with my service, in loving of this precious Margarite pearl. After whom ever in my heart, with thirsting desire weet I do brens, unwasting I langour and fade, and the day of my destiny, in death or in joy I unbide, but yet in the end I am comforted be my supposail in bliss, and in joy to determine after my desires. That thing (qd. Love's) hastily to thee neigh, God grant of his grace and mercy, and this shall be my prayer, till thou be likened in heart at thine own will. But now to inform thee in this matter (qd. this Lady) thou wost where I left, that was love to be sweet, and love sweet to be sweet, is not all one for to say: For a tree is not always by necessity white, sometime ere it were white it might have be not white: & after time it is white, it may be not white: but a white tree evermore needful is to be white: for neither toforn ne after it was white, might it be together white & not white. Also love by necessity is not present, as now in thee, for ere it were present, it might have be, that it should now not have be, & yet it may be, that it shall not be present: but thy love present, which to her Margarite thee hath bound, needful is to be present. Truly some doing of action, not by necessity, is coming far toforn it be, it may be that it shall not be coming: thing forsooth coming, needful is to be coming, for it may not be that coming shall not be coming. And right as I have said of present and of future times, the same sentence in soothness is of the preterite, that is to say, time passed, for thing passed, must needs be passed, and ere it were it might have not be, wherefore it should not have passed. Right so when love coming is said of love that is to come, needful is to be that is said, for thing coming never, is not coming, and so oft the same thing, we said of the same, as when we said every man is a man, or every lover is a lover, so must it be needs, in no way may he be man, and no man together. And if it be not by necessity, that is to say, needful all thing coming to be coming, than some thing coming is not coming, and that is impossible, right as these terms needful, necessity and necessary, betoken and signifying needs to be, and it may not otherwise be. Right these terms impossible signifieth, that thing is not, & by no way may it be then through pert necessity, all thing coming is coming, but that is by necessity, followeth with nothing to be constrained. Lo when that coming is said of thing, not always thing through necessity is, although it be coming. For if I say to morrow, love is coming in this Margarites heart, not therefore through necessity shall thilk love be, yet it may be that it shall not be, although it were coming. Never the later, sometime it is sooth, that some thing be of necessity, that is said to come: and if I say to morrow by coming the rising of the Sun. If therefore with necessity I pronounce coming of thing to come, in this manner love to morn coming in thine Margarite, to thee ward by necessity is coming, or else the rising of the Sun to morn coming through necessity, is coming. Love sooth, which may not be of necessity alone following, through necessity coming it is made certain. For future of future is said, that is to sane, coming of coming is said: as if to morrow coming, is through necessity coming it is. Arising of the Sun through two necessities in coming, it is to understand, that one is to foregoing necessity, which maketh thing to be, therefore it shall be, for needful is that it be. Another is following necessity, which nothing constraineth to be, and so by necessity it is to come, why: for it is to come.  
Now then, when we sane, that God before wot thing coming needful, is to be coming, yet therefore make we not in certain, evermore thing to be through necessity coming. Sooth thing coming may not be, not coming by no way, for it is the same sentence of understanding: as if we say thus, If God beforn wot any thing, needful is that to be coming. But yet therefore followeth not the prescience of God, thing through necessity to be coming: for although God toforn wot all things coming, yet not therefore he beforn wot every thing coming thorough necessity. Some things he before wot, coming of free will, out of reasonable creature. Certes (qd. I) these terms, need and necessity, have a quaint manner of understanding, they woulden dullen many men's wits. Therefore (qd. she) I wool him openly declare, and more clearly than I have toforne, ere I depart hence. Here of this matter (qd. she) thou shalt understand, that right as it is not needful God to wiln that he will, no more in many things is not needful a man to wiln that he wool. And ever right as needful is to be, what that God wool, right so to be it is needful, that man wool in tho things which that God hath put into man's subjection of willing: as if a man wool love, that he love: and if he ne wool love, that he love not: & of such other things in man's disposition. For why: now then, that God wool, may not be, when he wool the will of man thorough no necessity to be constrained, or else defended for to wiln, and he wool the effect to follow the will, then is it needful will of man to be free, & also to be that he wool. In this manner it is sooth, that thorough necessity is man's work in loving, that he wool do, although he wool it not with necessity. (Qd. I then) how stant it in love of thilk will, sithen men love willing of free choice in heart. Wherefore if it be thorough necessity, I pray you Lady of an answer this question to assoil. I wool (qd. she) answer thee blively: right as men will not thorough necessity, right so is not love of will thorough necessity, ne thorough necessity wrought thilk same will, for if he would it not with good will, it should not have been wrought, although that he doth it is needful to be done. But if a man do sin, it is nothing else but to will, that he should not: right so sin of will is not to be manner necssary done, no more than will is necessary. Never the later, this is sooth, if a man wool sin, it is necessary him to sin, but though thilk necessity, nothing is constrained ne defended in the will, right so thilk thing that free will wool and may, and not may, not wiln, & needful is that to wilne he may not wilne, but thilk to wilne needful is, for impossible to him it is one thing, and the same to wiln, he may not wiln, but thilk to wiln needful is: for impossible to him it is one thing and the same to wiln, and not to wiln.  
The work forsooth of will, to whom it is give, that it be that he hath in will, and that he wool not, voluntary of spontany it is, for by spontany will it is do, that is to say, with good will, not constrained: then by will not constrained, it is constrained to be, and that is it may not together be. If this necessity maketh liberty of will, which that aforn they weren, they might have been eschewed and shunned: God then, which that knoweth all truth, and nothing but truth, all these things, as they arn spontany, or necessary sight, and as he seeth, so they ben: and so with these things well considered, it is open at the full, that without all manner repugnance, God beforn wot all manner things been done by free will, which aforn they weren, might have been never they should be, and yet been they thorough a manner necessity, from free will descendeth.  
Hereby may (qd. she) lightly been know, that not all things to be is of necessity, though God have him in his prescience, for some things to be, is of liberty of will: and to make thee to have full knowing of Gods before witting, hear me (qd. she) what I shall say. Blithely lady (qd. I) me list this matter entirely to understand. Thou shalt (qd. she) understand, that in heaven is Gods being, although he be over all by power, yet there is abiding of divine person, in which heaven is everlasting presence, withouten any movable time there, fool have I not said toforn this, as time hurteth, right so ayenward, time healeth and rewardeth: * and a tree oft failed, is hold more in dainty, when it fruit forth bringeth.  
A Merchant that for ones losing in the Sea, no more to adventure thinketh, he shall never with adventure come to richesse: so oft must men on the Oak smite, till the happy dent have entered, which with the Oaks own sway maketh it to come all at ones. So oft falleth the lethy water on the hard rock, till it have through pierced it. The even draught of the Wire drawer maketh the wire to ben even, & supple werching, and if he stinted in his draught, the wire breaketh asunder. Every tree well springeth, when it is well grounded, and not often removed. What shall this fruit be (qd. I) now it ginneth ripe? Grace (qd. she) in perfect joy to endure, and therewith thou begun. Grace (qd. I) me thinketh, I should have a reward for my long travail? I shall tell thee (qd. she) retribution of thy good wills, to have of thy Margarite pearl, it beareth not the name of meed, but only of good grace, and that cometh not of thy desert, but of thy Margarites goodness and virtue alone. (Quoth I) should all my long travail have no reward, but through grace, & sometime your seluen said, rightwiseness evenlich rewardeth to quite one benefit for another. That is sooth (qd. Love's) ever as I said, as to him that doth good, which to done, he were neither holden, ne yet constrained. That is sooth (qd. I.) Truly (qd. she) all that ever thou dost, thine Margarite pearl, of will, of love, and of reason, thou owest to done it, yet is it nothing else but yielding of thy debt, in quiting of thy grace, which she thee lent, when ye first met. I ween (qd. I) right little grace to me she delivered. Certes it was hard grace, it hath nigh me astrangled. That it was good grace, I wot well thou wilt it grant, ere thou depart hence. If any man give to another wight, to whom that he ought not, & which that of himself nothing may have, a garment or a coat, though he wear the coat, or else thilk clothing, it is not to put to him that was naked, the cause of his clothing, but only to him that was yever of the garment. Wherefore I say, thou y● were naked of love, and of thyself none have mightst, it is not to put to thine own person, sithen thy love came through thy Margarite pearl, Ergo she was yever of the love, although thou it use, and there sent she thee grace, thy service to begin. She is worthy the thank of this grace, for she was the yever.  
All the thoughts, busy doings, and pleasance in thy might, and in thy words, that thou canst devose, been but right little, in quiting of thy debt: had she not been, such thing had not been studied. So all these matters kindly drawn homeward to this Margarite pearl, for from thence were they borrowed, all is holly hers, to wit, the love that thou havest, and thus quitest thou thy debt, in that thou steadfastly servest. And keep well that love, I thee read, that of her thou hast borrowed, and use it in her service, thy debt to quite, and then art thou able right soon to have grace, wherefore after meed, in none halue mayst thou look.  
Thus thy beginning and ending is but grace alone, and in thy good deserving, thy debt thou acquitest: without grace is nothing worth, whatsoever thou werch. Thank thy Margarite of her great grace, that hitherto thee hath guided, and pray her of continuance forth in thy werks hereafter, and that for no mishap thy grace overthwartly turn. Grace, glory, and joy, is coming through good folk's deserts, and by getting of grace, therein shullen end. And what is more glory, or more joy than wisdom, and love in perfect charity, which God hath granted to all though that well can deserve. And with that, this Lady all at ones start into mine heart: here wool I onbide (qd. she) for ever, and never wool I gone hence, and I wool keep thee from meddling, while me list here onbide: thine entremeting manners into steadfastness shullen be changed.  
SOberliche though threw I up mine eyes, and hugely though was I astonished of this sudden adventure, and fain would I have learned how virtues shoulden been known, in which things I hope to God hereafter she shall me enformen, and namely sithence her resting place is now so nigh at my will: and anon all these things that this lady said, I remembered me by myself, and revolved the lives of mine understanding wits.  
Tho found I fully all these matters perfectly there written, how miss rule by feigned love both realms and cities hath governed a great throw. How lightly me might the faults espy, how rules in love should been used, how sometime with feigned love foul I was beguiled, how I should love have know, and how I shall in love with my service proceed.  
Also furthermore, I found of perdurable letters, wonderly there graven, these matters, which I shall nempne. Certes, none age, ne other thing in yearth, may the least syllable of this is no point deface, but clearly as the sun in mine understanding soul they shinen. This may never out of my mind, how I may not my love keep, but through willing in heart: wiln to love may I not, but I loving have. Love have I none, but through grace of this Margarite perl. It is no manner doubt, that will wool not love, but for it is loving, as will wool not rightfully, but for it is rightful it selue. Also will is not loving, for he wool love, but he wool love, for he is loving: it is all one to will to be loving, and loving in possession to have. Right so will wool not love, for of love hath he no party, and yet I deny not loving, will wiln more love to have, which that he hath not, when he would more than he hath, but I say he may no love wiln, if he no love have, through which thilk love he should wiln: but to have this loving will, may no man of himself, but only through grace toforn going: right so may no man it keep, but by grace following. Consider now every man aright, and let sen if that any wight of himself mow this loving well get, and he thereof first nothing have: for if it should of himself spring, either it must be willing or not willing. Willing by himself may he it not have, sithence him faileth the matter that should it forth bring, the matter him faileth: why? He may thereof have no knowing, till when grace put it in his heart. Thus willing by himself, may he it not have, and not willing may he it not have. Pard every conceit of every reasonable creature, otherwise will not grant: will in affirmatife with not willing by no way mow accord. And although this loving wool come in mine heart by freeness of arbitrement, as in this book fully is showed, yet owe I not therefore as much allow my free will, as grace of that Margarite, to me leaned, for neither might I without grace toforn going, and afterward following, thilk grace get ne keep, & less shall I it never, but if free will it make, as in willing otherwise than grace hath me granted. For right as when any person taketh, willing to be sober, and throweth that away, willing to be drunk, or else taketh will of drinking out of measure: which thing anon, as it is done, maketh through his own guilt by free will, that loseth his grace. In which thing therefore, upon the nobley of grace I moat trust, and my busy cure set thilk grace to keep, that my free will otherwise than by reason it should werch, cause not my grace to void: for thus must I both look to free will and to grace. For right as naturel usage in engendering of children may not been without father, ne also but with the mother, for neither father ne mother in begetting may it lack: right so grace and free will accord, and without him both may not loving, will in no party been gotten. But yet is not free will, in getting of that thing, so mokell thank worthy as is grace, ne in the keeping thereof so much thank deserveth, and yet in getting and keeping both done they accord. Truly oftentime grace, free will helpeth in fordoing of contrary things, y● to willing love not accord, and strength will adversities to withsit, wherefore all together to grace oweth to been accepted, that my willing deserveth: Free will to loving in this wise is accorded. I remember me well, how all this book (who so heed taketh) considereth all things, to werching of mankind evenly acordeth, as in tourning of this word love into troth, or else rightwiseness, whether that it like. For what thing that falleth to man, in helping of free arbitrement, thilk rightwiseness to take, or else to keep, through which a man shall be saved, of which thing all this book mention hath maked, in every point thereof, grace oweth to be thanked.  
Wherefore I say, every wight having this rightwiseness, rightful is, and yet therefore I feel not in my conscience, that to all rightful is behoten the bliss everlasting, but to him that been rightful, withouten any unrightfulnesse. Some man after some degree may rightfully been accounted, as chaste men in living, and yet been they janglers, and full of envy pressed: to hem shall this bliss never been delivered. For right as very bliss is without all manner need, right so to no man shall it be given, but to the rightful, void from all manner unrightfulnesse found, so no man to her bliss shall been followed, but he be rightful, and with unrightfulnesse not bound, and in that degree fully be know. This rightfulness in as much as in himself is, of none evil it is cause, and of all manner goodness truly it is mother. This helpeth the spirit to withsit the lewd lusts of fleshly liking: this strengtheth and maintaineth the law of kind, and if that otherwhile me weeneth harm of this precious thing to follow, there through is nothing the cause, of somewhat else cometh it about, who so taketh heed. By rightfulness forsooth werne many holy Saints, good savour in sweetness to God almighty, but that to some folks they weren savour of death, into deadly end, that come not of the saints rightwiseness, but of other wicked men's badness hath proceeded. Truly thilk will, which that the Lady of Love me learned, affection of will to nempne, which is in willing of profitable things, evil is not, but when to fleshly lusts it consenteth, against reason of soul: but that this thing more clearly be understand, it is for to know whence and how thilk will is so vicious and so ready evil deeds to perform.  
Grace at the beginning ordained thilk will in goodness, ever to have endured, and never to badness have assented: men should not believe, that God thilk will maked to be vicious. Our first father, as Adam and Eve, for vicious appetites, and vicious will to such appetites consenting, been not one thing in kind, other thing is done for the other. And how this will first into man first assented, I hold it profitable to show: but if the first condition of reasonable creature wool be considered and apertly looked, lightly the cause of such will may been showed. Intention of God was, that rightfully and blessed should reasonable nature been maked, himself for to keep, but neither blissful ne rightful might it not be, withouten will in them both. Will of rightfulness is thilk same rightfulness, as heretoforn is showed: but will of bliss is not thilk bliss, for every man hath not thilk bliss, in whom the will thereof is abiding. In this bliss, after every understanding, is suffisance of covenable commodities, without any manner need, whether it be bliss of Angels, or else thilk, that grace first in Paradise suffered Adam to have. For although Angel's bliss be more than adam's was in Paradise, yet may it not be denied, that Adam in Paradise ne had suffisance of bliss: for right as great heart is without all manner of coldness, and yet may another heart more heat have, right so nothing defended Adam in Paradise to been blissed, without all manner need.  
Although Angel's bliss be much more, forsooth it followeth not, lass than another to have therefore him needeth, but for to want a thing, which that behoveth to been had, that may need been cleped, and that was not in Adam, at the first beginning: God and the Margarite weten what I mean. Forsooth where as is need, there is wretchedness: God without cause toforn going, made not reasonable creature wretched, for him to understand and love, had he first maked. God made therefore man blissed, without all manner indigence, together and at ones took reasonable creatures bliss, and of will of blissedness, and will of rightfulness, which is rightfulness it selue, and liberty of arbitrement, that is free will, with which thilk rightfulness may he keep and less. So and in that wise ordained thilk two, that will, which that instrument is cleped, as heretoforn mention is maked, should use thilk rightfulness, by teaching of his soul to good manner of governance, in thought and in words, and that it should use the bliss in obedient manner, withouten any incommodity. Bliss forsooth into man's profit, and rightwiseness into his worship, God delivered at ones: but rightfulness so was yeven, that man might it less, which if he not lost had not, but continuelly have it kept, he should have deserved the advancement into the fellowship of Angels, in which thing, if he that lost, never by himself forward should he it mow ayenward recover: and as well the bliss that he was in, as Angel's bliss, that to himwards was coming, should be nome at ones, and he deprived of them both. And thus fill man unto likeness of unreasonable beasts, and with hem to corruption and unlusts appetites was he under thrown, but yet will of bliss dwelleth, that by indigence of good, which that he lost through great wretchedness, by right should he been punished. And thus for he weived rightfulness, lost hath he his bliss: but fail of his desire in his own commodity may he not, and were commodities to his reasonable nature, which he hath lost may he not have. To false lusts, which been bestial appetites, he is turned: folly of unconning hath him beguiled, in weening that thilk been the commodities that owen to ben desired. This affection of will by liberty of arbitrement, is enduced to wiln thus thing that he should not, and so is will not maked evil, but unrightful, by absence of rightfulness, which thing by reason ever should he have. And freeness of arbitrement may he not wiln, when he it not haveth, for while he it had, thilk help it not to keep: so that without grace may it not been recovered. Will of commodity, in as much as unrightful it is maked, by willing of evil lusts, willing of goodness may he not wiln, for will of instrument to affection of will, is thralled, sithen that other thing may not it wiln, for will of instrument to affection desireth, and yet been both they will cleped: for that instrument wool, through affection it wilneth, and affection desireth thilk thing, whereto instrument him leadeth. And so free will to unlusty affection full servant is maked, for unrightfulnes may he not relieve, and without rightfulness full freedom may it never have. For kindly liberty of arbitrement without it, vein and idle is forsooth. Wherefore yet I say, as often have I said the same, * When instrument of will lost hath rightfulness, in no manner but by grace may he again return rightfulness to wiln. For sithence nothing but rightfulness alone should he wiln, what that ever he wilneth without rightfulness, unrightfully he it wilneth. These then unrightful appetites and unthrifty lusts which the flies desireth, in as mokel as they been in kind, been they not bad, but they been unrightful and bad, for they been in reasonable creature, where as they being in no way should been suffered. In unreasonable beasts neither been they evil, ne unrightful, for there is their kind being.  
Known may it well been now, of these things toforne declared, that man hath not always thilk rightfulness, which by duty of right evermore haven he should, and by no way by himself may he it get ne keep, and after he it hath, if he it less, recover shall he it never, without especial grace: wherefore the common sentence of the people in opinion, that every thing after destiny is ruled, false & wicked is to believe: For though predestination be as well of good as of bad, sithen that it is said God hadnest made, which he never ne wrought, but for he suffereth him to be maked, as that he hardeth when he nought missayeth, or led into temptation, when he not delivereth, wherefore it is none inconvenient, if in that manner be said, God toforn have destenied both bad, and her bad werks, when hem ne their evil deeds neither amendeth, ne thereto hem grace leveth. But speciallich predestination of goodness, alone is said by these great clerks, for in him God doth that they been, and that is goodness they werchen. But the negatife hereof in badness is holden, as the lady of love hath me learned, who so aright in this book looketh. And utterly it is to weren, that predestination properly in God may not been deemed, no more than befornweting. For in the chapitre of Gods befornweting, as love me rehearsed, all these matters apertly may been founden. * All things to God been now together and in presence during. Truly presence and predestination in nothing disaccorden, wherefore as I was learned, how Gods before witting and free choice of will mow stonden together, me thinketh the same reason me leadeth, that destiny and free will accord, so that neither of hem both to other in nothing contrarieth. And reasonablich may it not been deemed, as often as any thing falleth free will werching, as if a man another man wrongfully annoyeth, wherefore he him fleeth, that it be constrained to that end, as mokel folk crieth and saith: Lo, as it was destenied of God toforn know, so it is thorough necessity fall, and otherwise might it not betid. Truly neither he that the wrong wrought, ne he that himself venged, none of thilk things through necessity wrought: for if that with free will there had it not willed, neither had wrought that he performed: and so utterly grace that free will in goodness bringeth and keepeth and fro badness it tourneth, in all thing most thank deserveth. This grace maketh sentence in virtue to abide, wherefore in body and in soul of full plenty of cunning, after their good deserving in the everlasting joy, after the day of doom shall they endless dwell, & they shall ben learned, that in kingdom with so mokell affect of love and of grace, that the least joy shall of the greatest in glory rejoice & been gladded, as if he the same joy had. What wonder sith God is the greatest love, and thee ne aught to look things with reasoning to prove, and so is instrument of will, will: and yet varieth he from effect and using both. Affection of will also for will is cleped, but it varieth from instrument in this manner wise, by that name, lich when it cometh into mind, anon right it is in willing desired, & the negatife thereof with willing may not accord: this is closed in heart, though usage & instrument sleep. This sleepeth, when instrument and us waken: and of such manner affection truly, some man hath more, and some man less. Certes, true lovers wenen ever thereof too little to have. False lovers in little wenen have right mokel. Lo instrument of will in false & true both evenlich is proportioned, but affection is more in some place than in some, because of goodness that followeth, and that I think hereafter to declare. Use of this instrument is will, but it taketh his name, when wilned thing is in doing. But utterly grace to catch in thy bliss, desired to been rewarded. Thou must have then affection of will at the full, and use when his time asketh, wisely to been governed. Sooth my disciple, without fervent affection of will may no man been saved: this affection of good service in good love, may not been grounded, without fervent desire to the thing in will coveited. But he that never retcheth to have, or not to have, affection of will in that hath no resting place. Why? for when thing cometh to mind, and it be not taken in heed to cumin or not come, therefore in that place affection faileth: & for thilk affection is so little, thorough which in goodness he should come to his grace, the littleness will it not suffer to avail by no way into his helps: Certes grace & reason thilk affection followeth. This affection with reason knit, dureth in everich true heart, and evermore is increasing, no feardnesse, no strength may it remove, while truth in heart abideth. Sooth when falsehood ginneth entre, truth draweth away grace and joy both, but then thilk falsehood that truth hath thus voided, hath unknit the bond of under standing reason, between will & the heart. And who so that bond undoth, & unknitteth will to be in other purpose than to the first accord, knitteth him with contrary of reason, and that is unreason. Lo then, will and unreason bringeth a man from the bliss of grace, which thing of pure kind, every man ought to shun and to eschew, and to the knot of will and reason confirm. Me thinketh (qd. she) by thy student looks, thou weenest in these words me to contrarien from other sayings heretoforn in other place, as when thou were sometime in affection of will, to things that now han brought thee in disease, which I have thee counselled to void, & thine heart discover, and there I made thy will to ben changed, which now thou weenest I argue to withhold & to keep. Shortly I say, that revers in these words may not been found: for though drunkenness be forboden, men shul not always been drinkelesse. I trow right for thou thy will out of reason should not turn, thy will in one reason should not unbind, I say thy will in thy first purpose with unreason was closed: Construe forth of the remnant what thee good liketh. Truly that will and reason should be knit together, was free will of reason, after time thine heart is assentaunt to them both, thou might not change, but if thou from rule of reason vary, in which variance to come to thilk bliss desired, contrariously thou werchest: and nothing may know will and reason but love alone. Then if thou void love, than wevest the bond that knitteth, and so needs or else right lightly, that other gone a sundry, wherefore thou seest apertly, that love holdeth this knot, & amaistreth him to be bound. These things, as a ring, in circuit of wretch ben knit in thy soul without departing. Ah let be, let be (qd. I) it needeth not of this no rehersail to make, my soul is yet in perfect blyss, in thinking of that knot.  
NOw truly lady, I have my ground well understand, but what thing is thilk spire that into a tree should wax: expone me that thing, what ye thereof mean. That shall I (qd. she) blithely, & take good heed to the words I thee read. Continuance in thy good service, by long process of time in full hope abiding, without any change to wilne in thine heart: this is the spire, which if it be well kept and governed, shall so hugely spring, till the fruit of grace is plenteously out sprongen: For although thy will be good, yet may not therefore thilk bliss desired, hastily on thee discenden, it must abide his sesonable time. And so by process of growing, with thy good travail, it shall into more and more wax, till it be found so mighty, that winds of evil speech, ne scorns of envy make nat the travail overthrow, ne frosts of mistrust, ne hails of jealousy right little might have in harming of such springs. Every young settling lightly with small storms is apeired, but when it is waxed somedeal in greatness, then han great blasts and weathers but little might, any disadvantage to him for to werch. Mine own sovereign lady (qd. I) & wealth of mine heart, & it were liking unto your noble grace, therethrough not to be displeased, I suppose ye err, now ye maken jealousy envy, & distourbour to him that ben your servants. I have learned oft toforn this time, that in every lover's heart great plenty of jealousies grieves been sow, wherefore me thinketh ye ne aught in no manner account thilk thing among these other welked winers & venomous serpents, as envy, mistrust, & evil speech. O fool (qd. she) mistrust with folly, with evil will meddled, engendereth the welked pad. Truly if they were destroyed, jealousy undone were for ever, & yet some manner of jealousy I wot well is ever ready in all the hearts of my true servants, as thus: to be jealous over himself, lest he be cause of his own disease. This jealousy in full thought ever should be kept for ferdnesse to less his love by miskeping thorough his own doing in kindness, or else thus: Lest she that thou servest so fervently, is beset there her better liketh, that of all thy good service she counteth nat a cress. These jealousies in heart for acceptable qualities been deemed: these oughten every true lover by kindly evermore haven in his mind, till fully that grace and bliss of my service be on him descended at will. And he that then jealousy catcheth, or else by weening of his own foolish wilfulness mistrusteth, truly with fantasy of venom he is foul beguiled. Evil will hath grounded thilk matter of sorrow in his lewd soul, & yet nat for then to every wight should me not trust, ne every wight should me not trust, ne every wightfully misbeleeve the mean of these things owen to be used. * Sooth, withouten causeful evidence, mistrust in jealousy should not be weaned in no wise person commonly, such lewd wickedness should me nat find. find He that is wise, & with evil will nat be acomered, can abide well his time, till grace & bliss of his service following have him so mokel eased, as his abiding tofore hand hath him diseased. Certes lady (qd. I though) of nothing me wondereth, sithen thilk bliss so precious is & kindly good & well is, and worthy in kind, when it is meddled with love & reason, as ye toforn have declared. Why, anon as high one is sprung, why springeth not the t'other? & anon as the one cometh, why receiveth not the other? For every thing that is out of his kindly place, by full appetite, ever cometh thiderward kindly to draw, & his kindly being thereto him constraineth. And the kindly stead of this bliss, is in such will meddled to unbide, & needs in that it should have his kindly being. Wherefore me thinketh anon as that will to be showed, & kind him proffereth, thilk bliss should him high thilk will to receive, or else kind of goodness worchen not in him as they should. Lo, be the sun never so far, ever it hath his kind werching in earth: great weight on hie on loft carried, stinteth never till it come to this resting place. Waters to the seaward ever been they drawing: thing that is light, blithely will not sink, but ever ascendeth, and upward draweth. Thus kind in every thing his kindly course & his being place showeth: Wherefore be kind on this good will, anon as it were sprung, this bliss should thereon descend, her kind would they dwelleden togider, & so have ye said yourself. Certes (qd. she) thine heart sitteth wonder sore this bliss for to have, thine heart is sore aggrieved that it tarrieth so long, and if thou durstest, as me thinketh by thine words, this bliss wouldst thou blame. But yet I say, thilk bliss is kindly good, and his kindly place in the will to unbide. Never the later, there coming together after kinds ordinance nat suddenly may betid, it must abide time, as kind giveth him leave, for if a man, as this will meddled gone him show, and thilk bliss in haste followed, so lightly coming should lightly cause going, long time of thrusting causeth drink to be the more delicious when it is atasted. How is it (qd. I then) that so many blisses see I all day at mine eye, in the first moment of a sight with such will accord. Yea, and yet other while with will assenteth, singularly by himself there reason faileth, travail was none, service had no time. This is a quaint manner thing, how such doing cometh about. O (qd. she) that is thus, the earth kindly after seasons and times of the year, bringeth forth innumerable herbs and trees both profitable and other, but such as men might leave though they were nought in nourishing to man's kind serven, or else such as tournen soone unto men's confusion, in ease that thereof they atast, come forth out of the earth by their own kind, withouten any man's cure or any business in travail: & thilk herbs y● to men's livelihood necessarily serven without, which goodly in this life creatures mown not endurens, & most been nourishen to mankind, without great travail, great tilth, and long abiding time, come not out of the earth, and it with seed toforn ordained such herbs to make spring & forth grow. Right so the perfect bliss, that we have in meaning of during time to abide, may nat come so lightly, but with great travail and right busy tilth, and yet good seed to be sow, for oft the crop faileth of bad seed, be it never so well traveled. And thilk bliss thou spoke of so lightly in coming, truly is nat necessary ne abiding: and but it the better be stamped, and the venomous jeuse out wrongen, it is likely to enpoysonen all though that thereof tasten. Certes, right bitter been the herbs that shown first the year of her own kind. Well the more is the harvest, that yieldest many grains, though long and sore it hath been travailed. What wouldst thou demen, if a man would give three quarters of nobles of gold, that were a precious gift? Ye certes (qd. I.) And what (qd. she) three quarters full of pearls? Certes (qd. I) that were a rich gift. And what (qd. she) of as mokell azure? (Qd. I) a precious gift at full. Were not (qd. she) a noble gift of all these at ones? In good faith (qd. I) for wanting of English, naming of so noble a word, I cannot for preciousness give it a name: Rightfully (qd. she) hast thou deemed, & yet love knit in virtue, passeth all the gold in this earth. Good will accordant to reason, with no manner property may be countervailed, all the azure in the world is not to account in respect of reason, love that with good will and reason acordeth, with none earthly riches may not been amended. This yeft hast thou given I know it myself, and thy Margarite thilk gift hath received, in which thing to reward she hath herself bound. But thy gift, as I said, by no manner riches may be amended, wherefore with thing that may nat be amended, thou shalt of thy Margarites rightwiseness be rewarded. Right suffered yet never, but every good deed sometime to be yold. All would thy Margarite with no reward thee quite. Right that never more dieth, thy meed in merit wool purvey. Certes, such sudden bliss as thou first nempnest, right will him reward, as the well is worthy, and though at thine eye it seemeth the reward the desert to pass, right can after send such bitterness evenly it to reward: so the sudden bliss by always of reason in great goodness may not be accounted, but bliss long, both long it abideth, and endless it wool last. See why thy will is endless, for if thou lovedst ever, thy will is ever there tabide, and never more to change: even head of reward must been done by right: then must needs thy grace and this bliss endless in joy to unbide. Euenlich disease asketh evenlich joy, which hastily thou shalt have. A (qd. I) it sufficeth not then alone good will, be it never so well with reason meddled, but if it be in good service long travailed. And so through service should men come to the joy, and this me thinketh should be the waxing tree, of which ye first moved.  
VEry troth (qd. she) hast thou now conceived of these things in thine heart, hastily shalt thou be able very joy and perfect bliss to receive. And now I wot well thou desirest to know the manner of branches, that out of the tree should spring. Thereof lady (qd. I) heartily I you pray: For then leave I wool, that right soon after I shall ataste of the fruit that I so long have desired. Thou haste heard (qd. she) in with wise this tree toforn this have I declared, as in ground & in stock of waxing. First the ground should be thy free will full in thine heart, and the stock (as I said) should be continuance in good service, by long time in travail, till it were in greatness right well waxed. And when this tree such greatness hath caught, as I have rehearsed, the branches then that the fruit should forth bring, speech must they be needs in voice of prayer, in complaining wise used. Out alas (qd. I that) he is sorrowfully wounded, that hideth his speech, and spareth his complaints to make, what shall I speak that care: but pain even like to hell, sore hath me assailed, and so ferforth in pain me throng, that I leave my tree is ser, & never shall it fruit forth bring. * Certes, he is greatly eased, that dare his prevy moan discover to a true fellow, that cunning hath and might, wherethrough his pleint in any thing may be amended. And mokel more is he joied, that with heart of hardiness dare complain to his lady, what cares that he suffreth, by hope of mercy with grace to be auanced. Truly I say for me, sith I came this Margarite to serve, durst I never me discover of no manner disease, & well the later hath mine heart hardied such things to done, for the great bounties & worthy refreshments that she of her grace goodly, without any desert on my halue oft hath me reckoned, and ne'er her goodness the more with grace and with mercy meddled, which passen all deserts, travels, & servings, that I in any degree might indite, I would ween I should be without recover in getting of this bliss for ever. Thus have I stilled my disease, thus have I covered my care, that I brens in sorrowful annoy, as gledes and coals wasten a fire under dead ashen. Well the hotter is the fire, that with ashen is overlein: right long this woe have I suffered. Lo (qd. Love's) how thou farest: me thinketh the palsy evil hath acomered thy wits, as fast as thou highest forward, anon suddenly backward thou movest. Shall nat yet all thy lewdness out of thy brains? Dull been thy skilful understandings, thy will hath thy wit so amaistred. Wost thou not well (qd. she) but every tree in his seasonable time of bourioning, show his blomes fro within, in sign of with fruit should out of him spring, else the fruit for that year men halt delivered, be the ground never so good. And though the stock be mighty at the full, & the branches seer, & no burions show, & Farewell the gardener, he may pipe with an ivy leaf, his fruit is failed. Wherefore thy branches must burionen in presence of thy lady, if thou desire any fruit of thy lady's grace, but beware of thy life, that thou no woe delay use, as in ask of things that stretchen into shame, for than might thou not speed by no way that I can espy. * Virtue wool not suffer villainy out of himself to spring. Thy words may not be quaint, ne of subtel manner understanding. Freel witted people supposen in such poesies to be beguiled, in open understanding must every word be used. * Voice without clear understanding of sentence, saith Aristotle, right nought printeth in heart. Thy words then to abide in heart, & clean in full sentence of true meaning, platly must thou show, & ever be obedient her hests & her wills to perform, & be thou set in such a wit to wete by a look evermore with she meaneth. And he that list nat to speak, but stilly his disease suffer, with wonder is it though he never come to his bliss? * Who that travaileth unwist, and coveiteth thing vnknow, unweting he shall be quited, and with vnknow thing rewarded. Good lady (qd. I then) it hath oft be seen, that weathers and storms so hugely have fall in burioning time, & by pert duresse han beaten off the springs so clean, wherethrough the fruit of thilk year hath failed. It is a great grace when burions han good wethers, their fruits forth to bring. Alas then after such storms how hard is it to avoid, till eft wedring and years han maked her circuit course all about, ere any fruit be able to be tasted, he is shent for shame, y● foul is rebuked of his speech. He that is in fire brenning, sore smarteth for disease, Him thinketh full longer the water come that should the fire quench. * While men gone after a leech, the body is buried. Lo how seemly this fruit waxeth, me thinketh that of though fruits may no man atast, for pure bitterness in favour. In this wise both fruit & the tree waste away together, though mokell busy occupation have be spent to bring it so for forth that it was able to spring. A little speech hath maked, that all this labour is in idle. I not (qd. she) whereof it serveth thy question to assoil, me thinketh thee now duller in wits, than when I with thee first met, although a man be lewd, commonly for a fool he is not deemed, but if he no good wool learn: sots and fools let lightly out of mind the good that men teacheth him. I said therefore thy stock must be strong, and in greatness well hearted, the tree is full feeble, that at the first dent faileth: and although fruit faileth one year or two, yet shall such a season come one time or other, that shall bring out fruit that is nothing preterite, ne passed there is nothing future ne coming, but all things together in that place been present everlasting without any meving, wherefore to God all thing is as now: and though a thing be nat in kindly nature of things as yet, and if it should be hereafter, yet evermore we shall say God it maketh be time present, & now for no future ne preterite in him may be found. Wherefore his witting & his before witting, is all one in understanding. Then if witting & before witting of God putteth in necessity to all things which he wot or before wot ne thing after eternity, or else after any time he wool or doth of liberty, but all of necessity, which thing if thou ween it be against reason, nat thorough necessity, to be or nat to be, all thing that God wot or before wot, to be or nat to be, & yet nothing defendeth any thing to be witted, or to be before wist of him in our wills or our doings to be done, or else coming to be for free arbitrement. When thou hast these declarations well understand, then shalt thou find it reasonable at prove, & that many things be nat thorough necessity, but thorough liberty of will, save necessity of free will, as I tofore said: & as me thinketh all utterly declared. Me thinketh lady (qd. I) so I should you nat displease, & evermore your reverence to keep, that these things contrarien in any understanding, for ye said sometime is thorough liberty of will, & also thorough necessity: of this have I yet no savour, without better declaration. What wonder (qd. she) is there in these things, sithen all day thou shalt see at thine eye, in many things receiuen in himself reverses, thorough divers reasons, as thus. I pray thee qd. she) which things been more reverses than come & gone: For if I bid thee come to me, & thou come, after when I bid thee go, and thou go, thou reversest from thy first coming. That is sooth (qd. I:) And yet (qd. she) in thy first alone by divers reason was full reversing to understand. As how (qd. I) That shall I show thee (qd. she) by ensample of things that have kindly moving. Is there any thing that moveth more kindly than doth the heavens eye, which I clepe the Sun. Sooth (qd. I) me seemeth it most kindly to move. Thou sayest sooth (qd. she.) Then if thou look to the Sun, in what part he be under heaven, evermore be heigheth him in moving fro thilk place, and heigheth meving toward thilk same place, to thilk place from which he goth, he heigheth coming, & without any ceasing to the place he heigheth, from which he is changed and withdraw. But now in these things, after diversity of reason, revers in one thing may be say without repugnance. Wherefore in the same wise, without any repugnance by my reasons tofore maked, all is one to believe, somethyng to be thorough necessity coming, for it is coming, & yet with no necessity constrained to be coming, but with necessity that cometh out of free will, as I have said. Tho list me a little to speak, & 'gan stint my pen of my writing, & said in this wise. Truly lady, as me thinketh, I can allege authorities great that contrarien your sayings. job sayeth of man's person, Thou hast put his term, which thou might nat pass. Then say I the no man may short ne length the day, ordained of his doing, although sometime to us it seemeth some man to do a thing of free will, wherethrough his death he henteth. Nay forsooth (qd. she) it is nothing against my saying, for God is nat beguiled, ne he seeth nothing whether it shall come of liberty or else of necessity, yet it is said to be ordained at God immovable, which at man, or it be done, may be changed. Such thing also is, that Paul the Apostle sayeth of him that toforne werne purposed to be Saints, as thus, which that God before wist, & hath predestined, conforms of images of his son that he should been the first begeten, that is to say, here amongst many brethren, & whom he hath predestined, him he hath cleped, & whom he hath cleped, hem he hath justified, & whom he hath justified, hem he hath magnified. This purpose, after which they been cleped Saints, or holy in the everlasting present, where is neither time passed, ne time coming, but ever it is only present, and now as mokell a moment, as seven thousand Winter, & so ayenward, withouten any meving, is nothing liche temporal presence, for thing that there is ever present. Yet among you men, ere it be in your presence, it is movable through liberty of arbitrement. And right as in the everlasting present, no manner thing was, ne shall be, but only is, and now here in your temporal time somethyng was, & is, & shall be, but moving stounds, & in this is no manner repugnance. Right so in the everlasting presence, nothing may be changed: and in your temporal time, otherwhile it is proved movable by liberty of will, or it be do, withouten any inconvenience thereof to follow. In your temporal time is no such presence, as in that other, for your present is done, when passed & to come ginnen entre, which times here amongst you, everich easily followeth other, but the present everlasting dureth in one head, withouten any imaginable changing, and ever is present & now. Truly the course of the planets, and overwhelming of the Sun in days and nights, with a new beginning of his circuit after it is ended, that is to say, one year to follow another. These maken your transitory times, with changing of lives, & mutation of people. But right as your temporal presence coveiteth every place, & all things in every of your times be contained, & as now both say & wist to Gods very knowing. Then (qd. I) me wondereth why Poule spoke these words, by voice of signification in time passed, that God his saints before wist, hath predestined, hath cleped, hath justified, & hath magnified: me thinketh he should have said though words in time present, & that had been more accordant to the everlasting present, than to have spoke in preterite voice of passed understanding. O (qd. Love's) by these words I see well thou hast little understanding of the everlasting presence, or else of my before spoken words, for never a thing of though thou hast nempned, was tofore other, or after other, but all at on's evenlich, at the God ben, & all together in the everlasting present, be now to understanding, the eternal presence, as I said, hath enclose together in one, all times, in which close & one all things, that been in divers times, & in divers places temporal, without posteriority or priority, been closed therein perpetual now, and maked to dwell in present sight. But there thou sayest that Poule should have spoke thilk foresaid sentence be time present, and the most should have been accordant to the everlasting presence, why gabbest thee to thy words? Sooth I say Poule moved the words, by signification of time passed, to show fully that thilk words were not put for temporal signification, for all thilk time were not thilk Saints temporallich borne, which that Poule pronounced, GOD have tofore know, and have cleped them magnified, wherethrough it may well be know, that Paul used though words of passed signification, for need & lack of a word in man's bodily speech, betokening the everlasting presence. And therefore word is most semelich in likeness to everlasting presence, he took his sentence for things, that here before ben passed, utterly be immovable, ilike to the everlasting presence. As thilk that been, there never mow not been present, so things of time passed, ne mow in no wise not been passed: but all things in you temporal, presence y● passen in a little while, shullen been not present. So then in that it is more similitude to the everlasting presence, signification of time passed, than of time temporal present, and so more in accordance. In this manner what thing of these that ben done through free arbitrement, or else as necessary, holy writ pronounceth, after eternity he speaketh, in which presence is everlasting sooth, & nothing but sooth immovable, that after time, in which naught always been your wills & your acts, & right as while they be not, it is not needful hem to be: so oft it is not needful, that sometime they should be. As how (qd. I) for yet must I be learned by some ensample. Of love (qd. she) wool I now ensample make, sithen I know the head knot in the yelke. Lo, sometime thou writest no art, ne art then in no will to write, and right as while thou writest not, or else wolt not write, it is not needful thee to write, or else wilne to write.  
And for to make thee know utterly, that things been otherwise in the everlasting presence, than in temporal time: see now my good child, for something is in the everlasting presence, than in temporal time, it was not in eternity time, in eterne presence shall it not be. Then no reason defendeth, that something ne may be in time temporal moving, that in etern is immovable. Forsooth it is no more contrary ne reverses, for to be movable in time temporal, & movable in eternity, than not to be in any time, & to be always in eternity, and have to be, or else to come in time temporal, and not have be, ne nought coming to be in eternity. Yet never the latter, I say not same thing to be never in time temporal, that ever is eternity, but all only in some time not to be. For I say not thy love to morn in no time to be, but to day alone I deny ne it to be, and yet never the later, it is always in eternity.  
Also (qd. I) it seemeth to me, the coming thing, or else passed, here in your temporal time to be, in eternity ever now, and present oweth not to be deemed, & yet followeth not thilk thing, that was, or else shall be, in no manner thereto been passed, or else coming: then utterly shall we deny, for there without reasing, it is in his present manner. O (qd. she) mine own disciple, now ginnest thou able to have the name of my servant, Thy wit is cleared, away is now error of cloud in unconning, away is blindness of love, away is thoughtful study of meddling manners, hastily shalt thou entre into the joy of me, that am thine own masters.  
Thou hast (qd. she) in a few words well and clearly concluded mokell of my matter. And right as there is no reverses, ne contrariousty in though things, right so withouten any repugnance it is said some thing to be movable in time temporal, and for it be, that in eternity dwelleth immovable, not afore it be, or after that it is, but without cessing, for right naught is there after time, the same is there everlasting, the temporallich sometime nis, & toforne it be, it may not be, as I have said. Now soothly (qd. I) this have I well understand, so that now me thinketh, that prescience of God, and free arbitrement, withouten any repugnance accord, and that maketh the strength of eternity, which encloseth by presence, during all times, and all things that been, han been, and shall been in any time.  
I would now (qd. I) a little understand, sithen that all thing thus before wot, whether thilk witting be of tho things, or else thilk things to been of Gods witting, & so of God nothing is: and if every thing be through Gods witting, and thereof take his being, then should GOD be maker and author of bad werks, and so he should not rightfully punish evil doings of mankind. (Qd. Love) I shall tell thee this lesson to learn, mine own true servant, the noble Philosophical Poet, in English, which evermore him busieth and travaileth right sore, my name to increase, wherefore all that willen me good, owe to do him worship and reverence both, truly his better ne his peer, in school of my rules could I never find: He (qd. she) in a treatise that he made of my servant Troilus, hath this matter touched, & at the full this question assoiled. Certainly his noble sayings can I not amend: in goodness of gentle manliche speech, without any manner of nicety of flarieres' imagination, in wit & in good reason of sentence, he passeth all other makers. In the book of Troilus, the answer to thy question mayst thou learn, never the later, yet may lightly thine understanding somedeal been learned, if thou have knowing of these toforne said things, with that thou have understanding, of two the last chapiters of this second book, that is to say, good to be some thing, & bad to want all manner being, for bad is nothing else, but absence of good, and that God in good maketh that good deeds been good, in evil he maketh that they ben but naught, that they been bad: for to nothing is badness to be. I have (qd. I though) enough knowing therein, me needeth of other things to hear, that is to say, how I shall come to my bliss so long desired.  
IN this matter toforne declared (qd. Love's) I have well showed, that every man hath free arbitrement of things in his power to do or undo what him liketh. Out of this ground must come the Spire, that by process of time shall in greatness spread to have branches and blossoms, of waxing fruit in grace, of which the taste and the savour is endless bliss in joy ever to onbide.  
Now Lady (qd. I) that tree to set, fain would I learn. So thou shalt (qd. she) ere thou depart hence. The first thing, thou must set thy work on ground siker and good, accordant to thy springs. For if thou desire grapes, thou goest not to the Hasell, ne for to tetchen Roses, thou seekest not on Okes: and if thou shalt have Honey soukles, thou leavest the fruit of the sour Dock. Wherefore if thou desire this blyss in perfect joy, thou must set thy purpose there virtue followeth, & not to look after the bodily goods, as I said when thou were writing in thy second book. And for thou hast set thyself in so noble a place, & utterly lowed in thine heart the misgoing of thy first purpose, this setteles is the easier to spring, & the more lighter thy soul in grace to be lissed. And truly, thy desire, that is to say, thy will, algates mote been steadfast in this matter, without any changing, for if it be steadfast, no man may it void. Yes pard (qd. I) my will may been turned by friends, and disease of menace, and threatening in losing of my life, and of my limbs, and in many other wise, that now cometh not to mind. * And also it moat oft been out of thought: For no remembrance may hold one thing continuelly in heart, be it never so lusty desired. Now see (qd. she) thou thy will shall follow, thy free will to be grounded, continuelly to abide: It is thy free will that thou lovest & hast loved, & yet shalt love this Margarite pearl, and in thy will thou thinkest to hold it. Then is thy will knit in love, not to change for no new lust beside: This will teacheth thine heart from all manner varying. But then, although thou be threatened in death, or else in other wise, yet is it in thine arbitrement to choose, thy love to void, or else to hold: & thilk arbitrement is in a manner a judgement, between desire and thy heart. And if thou deem to love, thy good will faileth, than art thou worthy no bliss, that good will should deserve: & if thou choose continuance in thy good service, than thy good will abideth, needs bliss following of thy good will, must come by strength of thilk judgement: for thy first will, that taught thine heart to abide, and halt it from the eschange, with thy reason is accorded. Truly this manner of will thus shall abide, impossible it were to turn, if thy heart be true, and if every man diligently the meanyngs of his will consider, he shall well understand, that good will knit with reason, but in a false heart never is voided: for power & might of keeping this good will, is through liberty of arbitrement in heart, but good will to keep may nat fail. Eke than if it fail, it showeth itself, that good will in keeping is not there. And thus false will, that putteth out the good, anon constraineth the heart to accord in loving of thy good will, & this accordance between false will and thine heart, in falsity been likened together. Yet a little wool I say thee in good will, thy good wills to raise & strength. Take heed to me (qd. she) how thy wills thou shalt understand. Right as ye han in your body divers members, and five sundry wits, everich apart to his own doing, which things as instruments ye usen, as your hands apart to handle, feet to go, tongue to speak, eye to see: right so the soul hath in him certain steryngs and strengths, which he useth as instruments to his certain doings. Reason is in the soul, which he useth things to know and to prove, and will, which he useth to wilne: And yet is neither will ne reason all the soul, but every of hem is a thing by himself in the soul. And right as every hath thus singular instruments by himself, they han as well divers aptes, and divers manner usings, and thilk aptes mown in will been cleped affections. Affection is an instrument of willing in his appetites. Wherefore mokell folk sane, if a reasonable creatures soul any thing fervently wilneth, affectuously he wilneth, and thus may will by term of equivocas, in three ways been understand: one is instrument of willing, another is affection of this instrument, and the third is use, that setteth it a work. Instrument of willing is the ilke strength of the soul, which thee constraineth to wilne, right as reason is instrument of reasons, which ye use when ye looken. Affection of this instrument is a thing, by which ye be draw desirously any thing to wilne in covetous manner, all be it for the time out of your mind: as if it come in your thought thilk thing to remember, anon ye been willing thilk to done, or else to have. And thus is instrument will, and affection is will also, to wilne thing as I said? as for to wilne health, when will nothing thereon thinketh: for anon as it cometh to memory, it is in will, and so is affection to wilne sleep, when it is out of mind, but anon as it is remembered, will wilneth sleep, when his time cometh of the doing. For affection of will never acordeth to sickness, ne always to wake. Right so in a true lover's affection of willing instrument, is to wiln truth in his service, & this affection always abideth, although he be sleeping, or threatened, or else not thereon thinking, but anon as it cometh to mind, anon he is steadfast in that will to abide. Use of this instrument forsooth is another thing by himself, & that have ye not, but when ye be doing, in willed thing by affect or instrument of will, purposed or desired, & this manner of usage in my service, wisely needeth to be ruled, from waiters with envy closed, from speakers full of jangeling words, from proud folk and hautaine that lambs & innocents' both scornen & dispisen. Thus in doing varieth the acts of willing everich from other, & yet been they cleped will, & the name of will utterly owen they to have, as instrument of will is will, when ye turn into purpose of any thing to done, be it to sit or to stand, or any such thing else. This instrument may been had, although affect & usage be left out of doing, right as ye have sight & reason, and yet always use ye greatest wisdom, in hem shall he be, and they in GOD. Now then, when all false folk be ashamed, which wenen all bestialty & earthly thing be sweeter and better to the body, than heavenly is to the soul: this is the grace and the fruit that I long have desired, it doth me good the savour to smell. Christ now to thee I cry of mercy and of grace, and grant of thy goodness to every manner reader, full understanding in this lewd pamphlet to have, and let no man ween other cause in this work, than is verily the sooth: for envy is ever ready all innocents' to shend, wherefore I would the good speech envy evermore hinder. But no man ween this work be sufficiently maked, for God's work passeth man's, no man's wit to perfect work may by no way purvey the end: how should I then, so lewd, aught ween of perfection any end to get? Never the later, grace, glory, and laud, I yield and put with worshipful reverence, to the soothfast God in three, with unity closed, which that the heavy langour of my sickness hath turned into mirth of health to recover: for right as I was sorrowed, through the glutton cloud of manifold sickly sorrow, so mirth again coming, health hath me gladded & greatly comforted. I beseech and pray therefore, and I cry on God's great pite, and on his mokell mercy, that this present scourges of my flesh mow make medicine and leech craft of my inner man's health, so that my passed trespass and tenes through weeping of mine eyes been wash, and I voided from all manner disease, & no more to weep hereafter, I now be kept thorough God's grace: so that God's hand, which merciablye me hath scourged, hereafter in good plight from thence merciably me keep and defend. In this book be many privy things wimpled and fold, unneath shul lewd men the plights unwind, wherefore I pray to the Holy ghost, he leanly of his ointments men's wits to clear: and for Gods love no man wonder, why or how this question cum to my mind, for my grate lusty desire was of this lady to been informed, my lewdness to amend. Certes I know not other men's wits, what I should ask, or in answer what I should say, I am so lewd myself, that mokell more learning yet me behoveth. I have made therefore as I could, but not sufficiently as I would, & as matter gave me sentence, for my dull wit is hindered, by stepmother of foryeting, and with cloud of uncunning, that stoppeth the light of my Margarite pearl, wherefore it may not shine on me as it should. I desire not only a good reader, but also I coveite and pray a good book amender, in correction of words and of sentence: and only this meed I coveit for my travail, that every inseer and hearer of this lewd fautasie, devout orisons and prayers, to God the dread judge yelden, and praien for me, in that wise that in his doom, my sins mow been released & forgiven: he that prayeth for other, for himself travaileth. Also I pray that every man perfectly mow know, through what intention of heart this treatise have I draw. How was it the sightful Manna in desert, to children of Israel was spiritual meat: bodily also it was, for men's bodies it nourished: And yet never the later, Christ it signified. Right so a jewel betokeneth a gemine: and that is a stone virtuous or else a pearl. Margarite a woman betokeneth grace, learning, or wisdom of God, or else holy Church. If bread through virtue is made holy flesh, what is that our God saith? saith It is the spirit that giveth life, the flesh of nothing it profiteth. Flesh is fleshly understanding: Flesh without grace and love, naught is worth. * The letter fleeth, the spirit giveth lifelich understanding. Charity is love, and love is charity, God grant us all therein to be friended. And thus the Testament of Love is ended.   
¶ Here endeth the Testament of Love..   


The Lamentation of Mary Magdalen.  
This Treatise is taken out of S. Origen, wherein Mary Magdalen lamenteth the Cruel Death of her Saviour Christ.  

plunged in the wawe of mortal distress,  
Alas for woe, to whom shall I complain,  
Or who shall devoid this great heaviness,  
Fro me woeful Mary, woeful Magdalen,  
My lord is gone, alas who wrought this tein  
This sudden chance pierceth my heart so deep,  
That nothing can I do, but wail & weep.   

My lord is gone y● here in grave was laid,  
After his great passion and death cruel,  
Who hath him thus again betrayed?  
Or what man here about can me tell  
Where he is become, the Prince of Israel,  
jesus of Nazareth, my ghostly succour,  
My perfect love and hope of all honour.   

What creature hath him hence carried?  
Or how might this so suddenly befall?  
I would I had here with him tarried,  
And so should I have had my purpose all,  
I bought ointments full precious and royal,  
Wherewith I hoped his corpse to anointed,  
But he thus gone, my mind is dispointed.   

While I therefore advertise and behold,  
This piteous chance here in my presence,  
Full little marvel though my heart be cold,  
Considering lo, my Lord's absence  
Alas that I so full of negligence  
Sold be found, because I come so late,  
All men may say I am infortunate.   

'Cause of my sorrow you may understand  
(Quia tulerunt Dominum meum)  
An other is, that I ne may fond,  
I wot ne'er, Ubi posuerunt eum,  
Thus I must bewail, Dolorem meum,  
With hearty weeping, I can no better deserve  
Till death approach my heart for to carve.   

My heart oppressed with sudden adventure,  
By fervent anguish is be wrapped so,  
That long this life I may not endure,  
such is my pain, such is my mortal woe,  
Nevertheless to what party shall I go,  
In hope to find mine own turtle true,  
My life's joy, my sovereign Lord jesus.   

Sith all my joy that I call his presence,  
Is thus removed, now I am full of moan,  
Alas the while I made no providence,  
For this mishap, wherefore I sigh and groan,  
Secure to find to what place might I gone,  
Fain I would to some man my heart break,  
I not to whom I may complain or speak.   

Alone here I stand, full sorry and full sad,  
Which hoped to have seen my lord and king,  
Small cause have I to be merry or glad,  
Remembering his bitterfull departing,  
In this world is no creature living  
That was to me so good and gracious,  
His love also than gold more precious.   

Full sore I sigh, without comfort again,  
There is no cure to my salvation,  
His brenning love my heart so doth constrain,  
Alas here is a woeful permutation,  
Whereof I find no joy nor consolation,  
Therefore my pain all only to confess,  
With death I fear wool end my heaviness.   

This woe and anguish is intolerable,  
If I bide here life can I not sustain,  
If I go hence my pains be uncurable,  
Where him to find, I know no place certain,  
And thus I not of these things twain,  
Which I may take and which I may refuse,  
My heart is wounded hereon to think or muse.   

A while I shall stand in this mourning,  
In hope if any vision would appear,  
That of my love might tell some good tiding,  
Which into joy might change my weeping cheer,  
I trust in his grace & his mercy dear,  
But at the least though I therewith me kill,  
I shall not spare to wail and weep my fill.   

And if that I die in soch adventure,  
I can no more but welcome as my chance,  
My bones shall rest here in this sepulture,  
My life, my death, is at his ordinance,  
It shall be told in everlasting remembrance,  
Thus to depart is to me no shame,  
And also thereof I am nothing to blame.   

Hope against me hath her course tale,  
There is no more, but thus shall I die,  
I see right well my Lord hath me forsake,  
But in my conceit, cause know I none why,  
Though he be far hence and nothing nigh,  
Yet my woeful heart after him doth seek,  
And causeth tears to ren down my cheek.   

Thinking alas I have lost his presence,  
Which in this world was all my sustenance,  
I cry and call with hearty diligence,  
But there is no wight giveth attendance,  
Me to certify of mine enquirance,  
Wherefore I will to all this world be wray  
How that my Lord is slain and borne away.   

Though I mourn it is no great wonder,  
Scythe he is all my joy in special,  
And now I think we be so far asunder,  
That him to see I fear never I shall,  
It helpeth no more after him to call,  
Ne after him to inquire in any cost,  
Alas how is he thus gone and lost?   

The jews I think full of misery,  
Set in malice, by their busy cure,  
With force and might with gileful treachery,  
Hath entermined my Lord's sepulture,  
And borne away that precious figure,  
Leaving of it nothing, if they have done so,  
Marred I am, alas what shall I do.   

With their vengeance insatiable,  
Now have they him entreated so,  
That to report it is to lamentable,  
They beat his body from top to the toe,  
Never man was borne that felt such woe,  
They wounded him alas with all grevance,  
The blood down reiled in most abundance.   

The bloody rows stremed down over all,  
They him assailed so maliciously  
With their scourges and strokes bestial,  
They spared not but smote incessantly,  
To satisfy their malice, they were full busy,  
They spit in his face they smote here & there,  
He groaned full sore, and sweat many a tere.   

They crowned him with thorns sharp & keen,  
The veins rend, the blood ran down apace,  
With blood overcome with both his iyens,  
And bolne with strokes was his blessed face,  
They him entreated as men without grace,  
They kneeled to him, & made many a scorn,  
Like hellhounds they have him all to torn.   

Upon a mighty cross in length and breed,  
These turmentors showed their cursedness,  
They nailed him without pity or dread,  
His precious blood braced out in largeness,  
They strained him along as men merciless,  
The very jointes all, to mine appearance,  
Rived asunder for their great violence.   

All this I beholding with mine iyen twain,  
Stood there beside with rueful attendance,  
And ever me thought he being in that pain,  
Looked on me with deadly countenance,  
As he had said in his special remembrance,  
Farewell Magdalen depart must I needs hens,  
My heart is Tanquam cera liquescens.   

Which rueful sight when I 'gan behold,  
Out of my wit I almost distraught,  
Tear my here, my hands wrong and fold,  
And of the sight my heart drank such a draught,  
That many a fall swooning there I caught,  
I bruised my body falling on the ground,  
Whereof I feel many a grevous wound.   

Then these wretches full of all frowardness,  
Gave him to drink Eisel tempered with gall,  
Alas, that poison full of bitterness,  
My love's cheer caused then to appall,  
And yet thereof might he not drink at all,  
But spoke these words as him thought best,  
Father of heaven, Consummatum est.   

Then kneeled I down in pains outrage,  
Clipping the cross within mine arms twain,  
His blood distilled down on my visage,  
My clothes eke the drops did distain,  
To have died for him I would full fain,  
But what should it avail if I did so,  
Sith he is, Suspensus in patibulo.   

Thus my Lord full deer was all disguised  
With blood, pain, and wounds many one,  
His veins braced, his joints all to rived,  
Parting asunder the flesh from the bone,  
But I saw he hang not there alone,  
For Cum inquis deputatus est,  
Not like a man, but like a leprous be'st.   

A blind knight men called Longias,  
With a spear approached unto my sovereign,  
Launsing his side full pitously alas,  
That his precious heart he clave in twain,  
The purple blood eke fro the hearts vain,  
Down railed right fast in most rueful wise,  
With crystal water brought out of Paradise.   

When I beheld this woeful passion,  
I wot not how by sudden adventure,  
My heart was peersed with very compassion,  
That in me remained no life of nature,  
Strokes of death I felt without measure,  
My death's wound I caught with woe oppressed,  
And brought to point as my heart should breast.   

The wound, heart, and blood of my darling,  
Shall never slide fro my memorial,  
The bitter pains also of tourmenting,  
Within my soul be graven principal,  
The spear alas that was so sharp withal,  
So thrilled my heart as to my feeling,  
That body and soul were at departing.   

As soon as I might I relieved up again,  
My breath I coude not very well restore,  
Feeling myself drowned in so great pain,  
Both body & soul me thought were all to tore,  
Violent falls grieved me right sore,  
I wept, I bled, and with myself I fared,  
As one that for his life nothing had cared.   

I looking up to that rueful Rood,  
Saw first the visage pale of that figure,  
But so piteous a sight spotted with blood,  
Saw never yet no living creature,  
So it exceeded the bounds of measure,  
That man's mind with all his wits five,  
Is nothing able that pain for to discriue.   

Then 'gan I there mine arms to unbrace,  
Up lifting my hands full mourningly,  
I sighed and sore sobbed in that place,  
Both heaven & earth might have herd me cry,  
Weeping, and said alas incessantly,  
Ah my sweet heart, my ghostly paramour,  
Alas I may nat thy body socour.   

O blessed lord, how fierce and how cruel  
These cursed wights now hath thee slain,  
Keruing alas thy body everidell,  
Wound within wound, full bitter is thy pain,  
Now would that I might to thee attain,  
To nail my body fast unto thy tree,  
So that of this pain thou might go free.   

I can not report ne make no rehersaile  
Of my demening with the circumstance,  
But well I wot the spear with every nail  
Thirled my soul by inward resemblance,  
Which never shall out of my remembrance,  
During my life it wool cause me to wail  
As oft as I remember that battle.   

Ah ye jews, worse than dogs rabiate,  
What moved you thus cruelly him to array,  
He never displeased you nor caused debate,  
Your love and true hearts he coveted aye,  
He preached, he teched, he showed the right way,  
Wherefore ye like tyrant's wood & wayward,  
Now have him thus slain for his reward.   

Ye ought to have remembered one thing special,  
His favour, his grace, and his magnificence,  
He was your prince borne and Lord over all,  
How be it ye took him in small reverence,  
He was full meek in suffering your offence,  
Nevertheless ye devoured him with one assent,  
As hungry wolves doth the lamb innocent.   

Where was your pite, o people merciless,  
Arming yourself with falsehood and treason,  
On my lord ye have showed your woodness,  
Like no men, but beasts without reason,  
Your malice he suffered all for the season,  
Your pain wool come think it not to slack,  
* Man without mercy of mercy shall lack.   

O ye traitors & maintainers of madness,  
Unto your folly I ascribe all my pain,  
Ye have me deprived of joy and gladness,  
So dealing with my Lord and sovereign,  
Nothing should I need thus to complain,  
If he had lived in peace and tranquillity,  
Whom ye have slain through your iniquity.   

Farewell your nobleness that sometime did rain,  
Farewell your worship, glory, and fame,  
Hereafter to live in hate and disdain,  
Marvel ye not for your trespass & blame,  
Unto shame is turned all your good name,  
Upon you now wool wonder every nation,  
As people of most vile reputation.   

These wicked wretches, these hounds of hell,  
As I have told plain here in this sentence,  
Were not content my dear love thus to quell,  
But yet they must embesile his presence,  
As I perceive by covert violence  
They have him conveyed to my displeasure,  
For here is lafte but naked sepulture.   

Wherefore of troth & rightful judgement,  
That their malice again may be acquitted,  
After my verdict and avisement,  
Of false murdre they shall be indicted,  
Of theft also which shall not be respited,  
And in all hast they shall be hanged and draw,  
I wool myself plead this cause in the law.   

Alas if I with true attendance,  
Had still abidden with my lord's corpse,  
And kept it still with true perseverance,  
Then had not befall this woeful divorce,  
But as for my pain welcome and no force,  
This shall be my song where so ever I go,  
* Departing is ground of all my wo.   

I see right well now in my pains smart,  
There is no wound of so grevous dolour,  
As is the wound of my careful hart,  
Sith I have lost thus my paramour,  
All sweetness is turned into sour,  
Mirth to my heart nothing may convey,  
But he that beareth thereof both look & key.   

The joy excellent of blissed paradise,  
May me alas in no wise comfort,  
Song of angel nothing may me suffice,  
As in min heart now to make disport,  
All I refuse but that I might resort  
Unto my love the well of goodliheed,  
For whose longing I trow I shall be deed.   

Of painful labour and tourment corporal,  
I make thereof none exception,  
Pains of hell I wol pass over all,  
My love to find in mine affection,  
So great to him is my delectation,  
A thousand times martyred would I be,  
His blessed body ones if I might see.   

About this world so large in all compass,  
I shall not spare to run my life during,  
My feet also shall not rest in one place,  
Till of my love I may hear some tiding,  
For whose absence my hands now I wring,  
To think on him cease shall never my mind,  
O gentle jesus where shall I thee find.   

jerusalem ay wol search place from place,  
Zion, the vale of josaphat also,  
And if I find him not in all this space,  
By mount Olivet to Bethany wol I go,  
These ways wol I wander and many more,  
Nazareth, Bethleem, Mountana, jude,  
No travail shall me pain him for to see.   

His blessed face if I might see and find,  
Search I would every cost and country,  
The farthest part of Egypt or hot Ind,  
Should be to me but a little journey,  
How is he thus gone or taken away,  
If I knew the full troth and certente,  
Yet from this care released might I be.   

Into wilderness I think best to go,  
Sith I can no more tidings of him here,  
There may I my life lead to and fro,  
There may I dwell, and to no man apere,  
To town ne village wool I come ne'er,  
Alone in woods, in rocks, and in caves deep,  
I may at mine own will both wail and weep.   

Mine eyes twain withouten variance  
Shall never cease, I promise faithfully  
There to weep with great abundance,  
Bitter tears renning incessantly,  
The which tears meddled full piteously,  
With the very blood ever shall run also,  
Expressing in mine hart the grievous wo.   

Worldly food & sustenance I desire none,  
Such living as I find such wool I take,  
Roots that grown on the craggy stone,  
Shall me suffice with water of the lake,  
Then thus may I say for my lords sake,  
Fuerunt mihi lachrymae meae  
In Deserto Panes, Die ac Nocte.   

My body to cloth it maketh no force,  
A mourning mantle shall be sufficient,  
The grevous wounds of his pirous corpse,  
Shall be to me a full royal garment,  
He departed thus I am best content,  
His cross with nails and scourges withal,  
Shall be my thought and pain special.   

Thus wol I live as I have here told,  
If I may any long time endure,  
But I fear death is over me so bold,  
That of my purpose I can not be sure,  
My pains increase without measure,  
* For of long life who can lay any reason,  
All thing is mortal and hath but a season.   

I sigh full sore and it is far yfet,  
Mine heart I feel now bleedeth inwardly,  
The bloody tears I may in no wise let,  
Sith of my pain I find no remedy,  
I thank God of all if I now die,  
His will performed I hold me content,  
My soul let him have that hath it me lent.   

For longer to endure it is intolerable,  
My woeful heart is inflamed so huge,  
That no sorrow to mine is comparable,  
Sith of my mind I find no refuge,  
Yet I him require as rightful judge,  
To devoid from me the inward sorrow,  
Lest I live not to the next morrow.   

Within mine hart is impressed full sore,  
His royal form, his shape, his seemliness,  
His port, his cheer, his goodness evermore,  
His noble person with all gentleness,  
He is the well of all part fitness,  
The very redeemer of all mankind,  
Him love I best with hart, soul, and mind.   

In his absence my pains full bitter be,  
Right well I may it feel now inwardly,  
No wonder is though they hurt or slay me,  
They cause me to cry so ruefully,  
Mine hart oppressed is so wonderfully,  
Only for him which so is bright of blee,  
Alas I trow I shall him never see.   

My joy is translate full far in exile,  
My mirth is changed into pains cold,  
My life I think endureth but a while,  
Anguish and pain is that I behold,  
Wherefore my hands thus I wring & fold,  
Into his grave I look, I call, I pray,  
Death remaineth, and life is borne away.   

Now must I walk & wander here & there,  
God wot to what parts I shall me dress,  
With quaking hart, weeping many a tere,  
To seek out my love & all my sweetness,  
I would he wist what mortal heaviness  
About mine hart reneweth more and more,  
Then would he nat keep pite long in store.   

Without him I may not long endure,  
His love so sore worketh within my breast,  
And ever I weep before this sepulture,  
Sighing full sore as mine heart should breast,  
During my life I shall obtain no rest,  
But mourn & weep where that ever I go,  
Making complaint of all my mortal wo.   

Fast I cry but there is no audience,  
My coming hider was him for to please,  
My soul oppressed is here with his absence,  
Alas he list not to set mine heart in ease,  
Wherefore to pain myself with all disease,  
I shall not spare till he take me to grace,  
Or else I shall starve here in this place.   

Ones if I might with him speak,  
It were all my joy, with perfect pleasance,  
So that I might to him my heart break,  
I should anon devoid all my grievance,  
For he is the bliss of very recreaunce,  
But now alas I can nothing do so,  
For in steed of joy naught have I but wo.   

His noble corpse within mine heart's rote,  
Deep is graved which shall never slake,  
Now is he gone to what place I ne wot,  
I mourn, I weep, and all is for his sake,  
Sith he is past, here a vow I make,  
With heartily promise, & thereto I me bind,  
Never to cease till I may him find.   

Unto his mother I think for to go,  
Of her haply some comfort may I take,  
But one thing yet me feareth and no more,  
If I any mention of him make,  
Of my words she would trimble and quake,  
And who could her blame she having but one,  
* The son borne away, the mother wol moan.   

Sorrows many hath she suffered truly,  
Sith that she first conceived him and bare,  
And seven things there be most specially,  
That drowneth her heart in sorrow & care,  
Yet lo, in no wise may they compare,  
With this one now, the which if she knew,  
She would her pains everyone renew.   

Great was her sorrow by man's saying,  
When in the temple Simeon justus,  
Showing to her, these words prophesying,  
Tuam Animam pertransibit Gladius,  
Also when Herode that tyrant furious,  
Her child pursued in every place,  
For his life went neither mercy ne grace.   

She mourned when she knew him gone,  
Full long she sought or she him found again,  
When he went to death his cross him upon,  
It was to her sight a rewful pain,  
When he hung thereon, between thiefs twain  
And the spear unto his heart thrust right,  
She swooned, & to the ground there pight.   

When deed and bloody in her lap lay  
His blessed body, both hands & feet all tore,  
She cried out and said, now well away,  
Thus arrayed was never man before,  
When haste was made his body to be boar  
Unto his sepulture, here to remain,  
Vnnethes for woe she coude her sustain.   

These sorrows seven, like swerds every one,  
His mother's heart wounded from side to side,  
But if she knew her son thus gone,  
Out of this world she should with death ride,  
For care she coude no longer here abide,  
Having no more joy nor consolacioun,  
Than I here standing in this stacioun.   

Wherefore her to see I dare nat presume,  
From her presence I wol myself refrain,  
Yet had I lever to die and consume,  
Than his mother should have any more pain,  
Nevertheless her son I would see full fain,  
His presence was very joy and sweetness,  
His absence is but sorrow and heaviness.   

There is no more, sith I may him nat meet,  
Whom I desire above all other thing,  
Nede I must take the sour with the sweet,  
For of his noble corpse I here no tiding,  
Full oft I cry, and my hands wring,  
Mine heart alas relenteth all in pain,  
Which will braced both senew and vain.   

* Alas how unhappy was this woeful hour,  
Wherein is thus mispended my service,  
For mine intent and eke my true labour,  
To none effect may come in any wise,  
Alas I think if he do me despise,  
And list not take my simple observance,  
There is no more, but death is my finance.   

I have him called, Sed non respondet mihi,  
Wherefore my mirth is turned to mourning  
O dear Lord Quid mali feci tibi,  
That me to comfort I find no erthly thing,  
Alas, have compassion of my crying,  
If from me, Faciem tuam abscondis,  
There is no more, but Consumere me vis.   

Within mine heart is grounded thy figure,  
That all this world's horrible tourment,  
May it not assuage, it is so without measure,  
It is so brenning, it is so fervent,  
Remember Lord I have been diligent,  
Ever thee to please only and no more,  
Mine heart is with thee where so ever I go.   

Therefore my dear darling, Trahe me post te,  
And let me not stand thus desolate,  
Quia non est, qui consoletur me,  
Mine heart for thee is disconsolate,  
My pains also nothing me moderate,  
Now if it list thee to speak with me alive,  
Come in haste, for my heart asunder will rive.   

To thee I proffer lo my poor service,  
Thee for to please after mine own intent,  
I offer here, as in devout sacrifice,  
My box replete with precious ointment,  
Mine eyes twain, weeping sufficient,  
Mine heart with anguish fulfilled is alas,  
My soul eke ready for love about to pass.   

Naught else have I thee to please or pay,  
For if mine heart were gold or precious stone,  
It should be thine without any delay,  
With hearty cheer thou should have it anon,  
Why sufferest thou me then to stand alone,  
Thou hast I trow my weeping in disdain,  
Or else thou knowest nat what is my pain.   

If thou withdraw thy noble dalliance,  
For aught that ever I displeased thee,  
Thou knowest right well it is but ignorance,  
And of no knowledge for certainty,  
If I have offended Lord forgive it me,  
Glad I am for to make full repentance,  
Of all thing that hath been to thy grievance:   

Mine heart alas swelleth within my breast  
So sore oppressed with anguish & with pain,  
That all to pieces forsooth it wool breast,  
But if I see thy blessed corpse again,  
For life ne death I can nat me refrain,  
If thou make delay thou mayst be sure  
Mine heart wool leap into this sepulture.   

Alas my lord, why farest thou thus with me,  
My tribulation yet have in mind,  
Where is thy mercy? where is thy pite?  
Which ever I trusted in thee to find,  
Sometime thou were to me both good & kind,  
Let it please thee my prayer to accept,  
Which with tears I have here bewept.   

On me thou oughtest to have very routh,  
Sith for thee is all this mourning,  
For sith I to thee yplighted first my troth,  
I never varied with discording,  
That knowest thou best, my own darling,  
Why constrainest thou me thus to wail?  
My woe forsooth can thee nothing avail.   

I have endured without variance,  
Right as thou knowest, thy lover just & true,  
With heart & thought aye at thine ordinance,  
Like to the saphire always in one hue,  
I never changed thee for no new,  
Why withdrawest thou my presence,  
Sith all my thought is for thine absence,   

With heart intier, sweet Lord I cry to thee,  
Incline thine ears to my petition,  
And come, Voliciter exaudi me,  
Remember mine hearts' dispositioun,  
It may not endure in this condition,  
Therefore out of these pains, Libera me,  
And where thou art, Pone me juxta te.   

Let me behold, O jesus thy blissed face,  
Thy fair glorious angelic visage,  
Bow thine ears to my complaint, alas,  
For to convey me out of this rage,  
Alas my lord, take from me this damage,  
And to my desire for mercy condescend,  
For none but thou may my grevance amend.   

Now yet good Lord, I thee beseech & pray,  
As thou raised my brother Lazarous  
From death to life, the fourth day  
Came again in body and soul precious:  
As great a thing mayst thou show unto us,  
Of thyself, by power of thy godhead,  
As thou did of him, lying in grave dead.   

Mine heart is wounded with thy charity,  
It brenneth, it flameth incessantly,  
Come my dear Lord, Ad adjuvandum me,  
Now be not long, my pain to multiply,  
Lest in the mean time I depart and die:  
In thy grace I put both hope & confidence,  
To do as it pleaseth thy high magnificence.   

Floods of death, and tribulatioun,  
Into my soul I feel entered full deep,  
Alas that here is no consolatioun,  
Ever I wail, ever I mourn and weep,  
And sorowhath wounded mine heart full deep,  
O dear love, no marvel though I die,  
Sagittae tuae infixae sunt mihi.   

Wand'ring in this place, as in wilderness,  
No comfort have I, ne yet assurance,  
Desolate of joy, replete with faintness,  
No answer receiving of mine enquiraunce,  
Mine heart also grieved with displeasance,  
Wherefore I may say, O Deus, Deus,  
Non est dolor sicut dolor meus.   

Mine heart expresseth, Quod dilexi multum,  
I may not endure though I would feign,  
For now Solum superest Sepulchrum,  
I know it right well by my huge pain,  
Thus for love I may not life sustain,  
But O God, I muse what aileth thee,  
Quod sic repent praecipitas me.   

Alas, I see it wol none otherwise be,  
Now must I take my leave for evermore,  
This bitter pain hath almost discomfit me,  
My love's corpse I can in no wise restore,  
Alas to this woe that ever I was boar,  
Here at this tomb now must I die & starve,  
Death is about my heart for to carve.   

My testament I wool begin to make,  
To God the father my soul I commend,  
To jesus my love, that died for my sake,  
My heart and all both I give and send,  
In whose love my life maketh end,  
My body also, to this monument,  
I here bequeath both box and ointment.   

Of all my wills, lo now I make the last,  
Right in this place, within this sepulture.  
I wool be buried when I am dead and past,  
And upon my grave I wool have this scripture:  
Here within resteth a ghostly creature,  
Christ's true lover, Marry Magdalaine,  
Whose hart for love broke in pieces twain.   

Ye virtuous women, tender of nature,  
Full of pity and of compassion,  
Resort I pray you unto my sepulture,  
To sing my dirige with great devotion,  
Show your charity in this condition,  
Sing with pity, and let your hearts weep,  
Remembering I am dead and laid to sleep.   

Then when ye begin to part me fro,  
And ended have your mourning observance,  
Remember wheresoever that ye go,  
Always to search & make due enqueraunce  
After my love, mine hearts' sustenance,  
In every town and in every village,  
If ye may here of this noble image.   

And if it hap by any grace at last,  
That ye my true love find in any cost,  
Say that his Magdaleine is dead and past,  
For his pure love hath yielded up the ghost,  
Say that of all thing I loved him most,  
And that I might not this death eschew,  
May pains so sore did ever renew,   

And in token of love perpetual,  
When I am buried in this place present  
Take out mine heart, the very root and all,  
And close it within this box of ointment,  
To my dear love make thereof a present,  
Kneeling down with words lamentable,  
Do your message, speak fair and treatable.   

Say that to him myself I commend  
A thousand times, with heart so free,  
This poor token say to him I send,  
Pleaseth his goodness to take it in gree,  
It is his own of right, it is his fee  
Which he asked, when he said long before,  
* Give me thy heart, and I desire no more.   

Adieu my Lord, my love so fair of face,  
Adieu my turtle dove, so fresh of hue,  
Adieu my mirth, adieu all my solace,  
Adieu alas my saviour Lord jesus,  
Adieu the gentillest that ever I knew.  
Adieu my most excellent paramour,  
Fairer than rose, sweeter than lily flour.   

Adieu my hope of all pleasure eternal,  
My life, my wealth, and my prosperity,  
Mine heart of gold, my pearl oriental,  
Mine adamant of perfect charity,  
My chief refuge, and my felicity,  
My comfort, and all my recreatioun,  
Farewell my perpetual saluatioun.   

Farewell mine Emperor Celestial,  
Most beautiful prince of all mankind,  
Adieu my lord, of heart most liberal,  
Farewell my sweetest, both soul and mind,  
So loving a spouse shall I never find,  
Adieu my sovereign, and very gentleman,  
Farewell dear heart, as hertely as I can.   

Thy words eloquent flowing in sweetness,  
Shall no more alas my mind recomfort,  
Wherefore my life must end in bitterness,  
For in this world shall I never resort  
To thee, which was mine heavenly disport,  
I see alas it wool none other be,  
Now farewell the ground of all dignity.   

Adieu the fairest that ever was boar,  
Alas I may not see your blessed face,  
Now wellaway that I shall see no more  
Thy blessed visage, so replete with grace,  
Wherein is printed my perfect solace,  
Adieu mine hearts root and all for ever,  
Now farewell, I must from thee discever.   

My soul for anguish is now full thirsty,  
I faint right sore for heaviness,  
My lord, my spouse, Cur me dereliquisti?  
Sith I for thee suffer all this distress,  
What causeth thee to seem thus merciless,  
Sith it thee pleaseth of me to make an end,  
(In Manus tuas) my spirit I commend.   
¶ Finis.   


The Prologue to the Remedy of LOVE.  

SEeing the manifold inconvenience  
Falling by unbridled prosperity,  
Which is not tempered with mortal prudence,  
Nothing more wealthy than youths freeltie,  
Moved I am, both of right and equity,  
To youths we'll somewhat to write  
Whereby he may himself safecondite.   

First I note, as thing most noyous  
Unto youth a grievous malady,  
Among us called love encombrous,  
Vexing young people strangely,  
Oft by force causeth him to die,  
Age is eke tormented by love,  
Bineath the girdle, and not above.   

Wherefore this work, which is right laborous  
For age me need nat in hand to take,  
To youth me oweth to be obsequious,  
Now I begin thus to work for his sake,  
Which may the fervence of love aslake  
To the lover, as a mitigative,  
To him that is none a preservative.   

That mighty lord which me governeth,  
Youth I mean, measure if I place  
In every matter which him concerneth,  
First, as is behooveful, I wool ask grace,  
And forthwithall in this same place,  
Ere I begin, I wool kneel and sa  
These few words, and him of help pray.   

Flowering youth, which hast avauntage  
In strength of body, in lust and beauty,  
Also a precelling haste above age  
In many a singular commodity,  
Howbeit, one thing he hath beyond thee,  
To thy most profit & greatest avail,  
Which should the conduit, I mean sad counsel.   

And yet good lord, of a presumption,  
I nill deprave thy might and deity,  
I live but under thy protection,  
I am thy subject, I wear thy livery,  
For thou art ground of my prosperity,  
And freshest flower of all my garland,  
My singular aid, as I well understand.   

But as he that oweth his lord best service,  
And entire faith, his honour to support,  
Right so I speak, and in none other wise,  
I knowledge myself one of the least sort  
Of thy seruannts, to our elders comfort,  
Draw sad counsel to thee if thou list,  
thou and thy power, who may then resist.   

Fie on age, under words few,  
And his erroneous opinion,  
What speakest of him, which saith most untrue,  
All youth to be of ill dispositioun,  
damneth us all without exceptioun,  
And for a colerable avauntage,  
He saith in him resteth counsel sage.   

Well may sad counsel in him rest,  
But yet his deeds been far therefrom,  
He may say with our parish priest,  
* Do as I say, but not as I do,  
For I myself know one or two,  
Well stricken in age, for neighbourhed  
wol to their neighbour's wife's bed.   

He will in presence of the young man  
Her clip and kiss, ye and down lay,  
To blear his eye, thus he sayeth than,  
* O suffer ye old Morel to play,  
Now have I done that I can or may,  
Thus he sayeth her husband to queme,  
That he nor no man should not misdeem.   

In word nor deed needeth him not be coy,  
It is impossible that he do amiss,  
If the young man speak, anon he saith boy,  
To rebuke age, beseemeth thee not iwis,  
Thus his old face aye his warrant is,  
All is in him sleight and subtilty,  
And far from reason I tell thee.   

And shortly age is not above me,  
Age is impotent, and of no resistance,  
Age unwieldy may not fight nor flee,  
What were age, without my defence  
(Sad counsel sayest thou giveth him assistence)  
Reason is freshest where that I am,  
Wherefore in thy saying thou art to blame.   

Sith reason to me is rather accompanied  
Than unto age, which is the opinion  
Of every wise man not to be denied,  
And sith sad counsel proceedeth of reason,  
Sad counsel in me hath his chief mansion,  
This is no nay, but what is the end  
Of this thy suasion, what dost intend.   

Age to compare unto thine excellence,  
I nill presume him so to dignify,  
Ye be not equal, howbeit experience  
Him advantageth, for she most certainly,  
Him teacheth what thing to him is contrary,  
And oft to foresee it, and warily eschew  
Which thou never assaidest yet nor knew.   

knew Experience maketh a man most certain  
Of any thing earthly, and of necessity,  
Sad counsel requireth certainty plain,  
So far to move thus whereto need we  
But to my purpose, as thou commandest me,  
Shortly mine intent is thus, & none other,  
Under thy licence to counsel my brother.   

How shouldst thou give any counsel so young.  
Lacking experience unto thine own speech,  
I report me, I wot well as for thy tongue  
Will serve thee right well, but then for to teach,  
I doubt me lest that thy wit wool not reach,  
Youth & experience thou sayest be not convert,  
How shouldest thou then teach well unexpert.   

* Scripture witnesseth, that God will oft shit  
From the high witted man, & show it to the child,  
To him I mean that of his own wit  
Presumeth not, but is debonair and mild,  
By counsel I intend virtue for to build,  
Which of mine elders part have I borrowed,  
And part of Experience, which I have sorowed.   

Well then, if it be as thou lettest far,  
Show forth thy doctrine, be not aghast,  
I wool thee support, look thou not spare,  
Maugre age, though he frete or gnast,  
To ask age counsel herein, were but waist,  
Boldly begin, go forth to the process,  
Fear not sith thou art of such sureness.   

Grant mercy lord, sith it thee doth like  
To licence me, now I wool dare boldly  
Assail my purpose, with scriptures authentic,  
My work wool I ground, underset, & fortify,  
Aspire my beginning, O thou wood fury,  
Allecto, with thy susters, and in especial  
To the mother of jealousy juno I call.   
Explicit Prologus.   

The Remedy of Love.  
This Book, drawn for the most part out of the Proverbs of Solomon, is a warning to take heed of the deceitful company of Women.  

THis work who so shall see or read,  
Of any incongruity do me not impeach,  
Ordinately behoveth me first to proceed  
In deduction thereof, in manner as the leche  
His patient's sickness oweth first for to seche,  
The which known, medicine he should apply,  
And shortly as he can, than shape a remedy.   

Right so by counsel, willing thee to exhort,  
O young man prosperous, which doth abound  
In thy flowers of lust belongeth on thee sort,  
Me first to consider what is root and ground  
Of thy mischief, which is plainly found,  
Woman farced with fraud and deceit,  
To thy confusion most allective bait.   

Fly the miswoman, lest she thee deceive,  
Thus saith Solomon, which taught was fully  
The falsehood of women in his days to conceive,  
The lips of a strumpet been sweeter than honey,  
Her throat he saith souple with oil of flattery,  
Howbeit, the end and effect of all  
Bitterer is than any wormwood or gall.   

Fly the miswoman, loving thy life,  
Beware the stranger's bland eloquence,  
Strange I call her that is not thy wife,  
Of her beauty have no concupiscence,  
Her countenance pretending benevolence,  
* Beware her signs, and eye so amiable,  
Hold is for farm, they been deceivable.   

Lo an ensample what women be  
In their signs and countenance shortly,  
I wool show thee how lovers three  
Loved one woman right entirely,  
Each of them knew others malady,  
Wherefore was all their daily labour,  
Who could approach next in her favour.   

At sundry seasons, as fortune requireth,  
Severally they came to see her welfare,  
But ones it happened, love them so fireth,  
To see their Lady they all would not spare,  
Of others coming none of them were ware,  
Till all they met, whereas they in place  
Of her Lady saw the desired face.   

To supper set, full smally they eat,  
Full sober and demure in countenance,  
For there tarried none of him for any meat,  
But on his Lady to give attendance,  
And in secret wise some signifiance  
Of love to have, which perceiving she,  
Fetely executed thus her property.   

In due season, as she always espied  
Every thing to execute conveniently,  
Her one lover first friendly she eyed,  
The second she offered the cup courtly,  
The third she gave token secretly,  
Underneath the board she trade on his foot,  
Through his entrails tikled the heart root.   

By your leave, might I here ask a question  
Of you my masters, that self loves trace,  
To you likely belongeth the solution,  
Which of these three stood now in grace?  
clearly to answer ye would ask long space,  
The matter is doubtful and opinable,  
To acertaine you I wool myself enable.   

Of the foresaid three myself was one,  
No man can answer it better than I,  
Hertely of us beloved was there none,  
* But Wattes' pack we bore all by and by,  
Which at last I myself 'gan aspie,  
In time as me thought then I left the dance,  
O thoughtful heart, great is thy grievance.   

Hence from me hence, that me for to indite  
Halpe aye here afore, O ye muses nine,  
Whilom ye were wont to be mine a●d & light,  
My pen to direct, my brain to illumine,  
No longer alas may I sew your doctrine,  
The fresh lusty metres, that I want to make  
Have been here afore, I utterly forsake.   

Come hither thou Hermes, & ye furies all,  
Which for been under us, nigh that neither pole,  
Where Pluto reigneth, O king infernal,  
Send out thine arpies, send anguish & dole,  
Misery and woe, leave ye me not sole,  
Of right be present must pain & eke tourment,  
The pale death beseemeth not to be absent.   

To me now I call all this loathsome sort,  
My pains t'increase, my sorrows to augment,  
For worthy I am to be bare of all comfort,  
Thus sith I have consumed and misspent  
Not only my days, but my 5 fold talon,  
That my lord committed me, I can't recompense  
I may not too derely abye my negligence.   

By the path of penance yet wool I revert  
To the well of grace, mercy there to fetch,  
* Despisest not God the meek contrite heart  
Of the cock crow, alas that I would not retch,  
And yet it is not late in the second wetch,  
Mercy shall I purchase by incessant crying,  
The mercies of our lord ever shall I sing.   

But well mayst thou wail wicked woman,  
That thou shouldst deceive thus any innocent  
And in recompense of my sin, so as I can,  
To all men wol I make & leave this monument,  
In showing part of thy falsehood is mine intent,  
For all were too much, I cannot well I wot,  
The cause showeth plainly he that thus wrote.   

wrote If all the yearth were parchment scribable,  
Speedy for the hand, and all manner wood  
Were hewed and proportioned to pens able,  
All water ink, in dam or in flood,  
Every man being a perfect Scribe and good,  
The cursedness yet and deceit of women  
Could not he showed by the mean of pen.   

I fly all odious resemblances,  
The devil's brand call women I might,  
Whereby man is incensed to mischances,  
Or a stinking rose that fair is in sight,  
Or deadly empoison, like the sugar white,  
* Which by his sweetness causeth man to taste,  
And suddenly fleeth & bringeth him to his last.   

It is not my manner to use such language,  
But this my doctrine, as I may lawfully,  
I wool holly ground with authority sage,  
Willing both wisdom, and virtue edify,  
* Wine and women into apostasy,  
'Cause wisemen to fall, what is that to say,  
Of wisdom cause them to forget the way.   

Wherefore the wiseman doth thee advise,  
In whose words can be found no leasing,  
With the stranger to sit in no wise,  
Which is not thy wife, fall not in clipping  
With her, but beware eke of her kissing,  
Keep with her in wine no altercation,  
Lest that thine heart fall by inclination.   

May a man thinkest hide and safe lay  
Fire in his bosom, without empairement,  
And brenning of his clothes? or whider he may  
Walk on hot coals, his feet not brent?  
As who saith nay, and whereby is meant  
This foresaid proverb and similitude,  
But that thou rid thee plainly to denude.   

From the flatterers forgetting her guide,  
The guide of her youth, I mean shamefastness,  
Which should cause her maidenhead to abide,  
Her god's behest eke she full reckless,  
Not retching, committeth it to forgetfulness,  
* Neither God ne shame in her having place,  
Needs must such a woman lack grace.   

And all that neigh her in way of sin  
To turn, of grace shall lack the influence,  
The paths of life no more to come in,  
Wherefore first friend thee with Sapience,  
Remembering God, and after with Prudence,  
To thine own weal that they thee keep,  
Unto thine heart lest her words creep.   

In his book where I take my most ground,  
And in his proverbs, sage Solomon  
Telleth a tale, which is plainly found  
In the fifth chapter, whider in deed done,  
Or meekly feigned to our instruction,  
Let clerks determine, but this am I sure,  
Much like thing I have had in ure.   

At my window saith he I looked out,  
Fair young people, where I saw many,  
Among him all, as I looked about,  
To a young man fortuned I lent mine eye,  
Estranged from his mind it was likely,  
By the street at a corner nigh his own house,  
He went about with eye right curious.   

When that the day his light 'gan withdraw,  
And the night approached in the twilight,  
How a woman came and met him I saw,  
Talking with him under shade of the night,  
Now blessed be God (qd. she) of his might,  
Which hath fulfilled mine hearts desire,  
Assaked my pains, which were hot as fire.   

And yet mine author, as it is skill,  
To follow, I must tell her arrayment,  
She was full nice, souls like to spill,  
As nice in countenance yet as in garment,  
For jangling she was of rest impatient,  
Wand'ring still, in no place she stood,  
But restless now, and now out she yode.   

Now in the house, now in the street,  
Now at a corner she standeth in await,  
incessantly busy her prey for to get,  
To bring to the lure whom she doth lait.  
Now where I left, unto my matter straight  
I wool turn again, how she him met,  
Sweetly kissed, and friendly hem great.   

With words of courtesy many and divers,  
Right as in part I have before told,  
Now as I can, I purpose to rehearse,  
How she flattering said with visage bold,  
I have made vows and offerings manifold  
For thy sake, O mine heart, O my love dear,  
This day I thank God all performed were.   

Therefore I came out, & made thus astart,  
Very desirous your welfare to see,  
Now I have seen you, pleased is mine heart,  
In faith shall none have my love but ye,  
As true as I am to you, be to me,  
I pray you hertely dear heart come home,  
No man should be to me so welcome.   

And in good faith, the sooth for to say,  
Your coming to me ran in my thought,  
Hark in your ear, my bed fresh and gay,  
I have behanged with tapets new bought,  
From Egypt, & from far countries brought,  
stained with many a lusty fresh hue,  
Exceeding gold or jasper in value.   

My chamber is strewed with myrrh & incense,  
With sote savouring aloes, & with cinnamon,  
Breathing an aromatic redolence,  
Surmounting Olibane, in any man's doom,  
Ye shall between my breasts rest if ye come,  
Let us have our desired halsing,  
For we may safe be till in the morning.   

Mine husband is not at home, he is went  
Forth in his journey, a far way hence,  
A bag with money he hath with him hent,  
As him thought needful for his expense,  
Unto my word give faith and credence,  
Now is the Moon young, and of light dull,  
Ere he come home, it wool be at the full.   

Thus craftily hath she him beset  
With her lime rods, panter, and snare,  
The silly soul caught in her net,  
Of her sugared mouth alas nothing ware,  
Thus is he left graceless and bare  
Of help, comfort, and ghostly succour,  
And furthermore, as saith mine author.   

As a beast led to his death, doth pant,  
This young man followeth her in that stound,  
And as a wanton Lamb full ignorant,  
How he is pulled and drawn to be bound,  
Unto the time he hath his death's wound,  
And like a bird that hasteth to the grin,  
Not knowing the peril of his life therein.   

Now gentle son, saith Solomon, take heed  
My words in thy breast keep and make fast,  
Let her not thy mind in her ways mislede,  
Be not deceived, less not thy taste,  
Many hath she wounded, many down cast,  
Many strong by her hath lost their breath,  
Her ways, ways of hell leading to death.   

And in this little narration precedent,  
The woman's manifold gilt I attend,  
The young man alas how she hath shent,  
Deceived her husband, her own next friend,  
In these both, her God she doth offend,  
To break her spousail, to her is of no weight,  
Furthermore to show woman's craft & sleight.   

A woman at her door sat on a stall,  
To see folk pass by streets of the cite,  
With eye and countenance eke she 'gan call,  
If there be any pretty one come ne'er to me,  
Come hither ye piggesnye, ye little babe,  
At last she said to a young man heartless,  
Of her deceit unware and defenceless:   

* Much sweeter she saith, & more acceptable  
Is drink, when it is stolen privily,  
Tha when it is taken in form avowable:  
Bread hid and gotten jeoperdously,  
Must needs be sweet, and semblably,  
* Venison stolen is aye the sweeter,  
The ferther the narrower fet the better.   

And whom this woman (saith Salom.) festes,  
The young man woteth not whom she doth feed,  
Of the dark deepness of hell been her guests,  
Beware young man therefore I thee read,  
And how be it chiefly for thy good speed,  
This work to compile I have take in charge,  
I must of pity my charity enlarge.   

With the silly man which is thus beguiled,  
Her husband I mean, I wool weep and wail  
His painful infortune, whereby reviled  
Causeless he is, never to convaile,  
Every man young and old wool him assail  
With words of occasion, with the loath name,  
And alas good soul, he nothing to blame.   

But she that could so ill do and would,  
Hers be the blame for her demerit,  
And leave that opprobrous name cokold,  
To aproper to him as in despite,  
ransack yet we would if we might,  
Of this word the true Orthography,  
The very descent and Etymology.   

The well and ground of the first invention,  
To know the orthography we must derive,  
Which is coke and cold, in composition,  
By reason, as nigh as I can contrive,  
Then how it is written we know believe,  
But yet lo, by what reason and ground,  
Was it of these two words compound.   

As of one cause to give very judgement,  
Themilogie let us first behold:  
Each letter an hole word doth represent,  
As C, put for cold, and O, for old,  
K, is for knave, thus divers men hold,  
The first part of this name we have found,  
Let us ethimologise the second.   

As the first finder meant I am sure,  
C, for calot, for of, we have O,  
L, for lewd, O, for demeanour,  
The craft of the enuentour ye may see lo,  
How one name signifieth people two,  
A cold old knave, cokold himself weening,  
And eke a calot of lewd demeaning.   

The second cause of th'imposition,  
Of this foresaid name of jealousy,  
To be jelouse is greatest occasion  
To be cokold, that men can aspie,  
And though the passion be very fiery,  
And of continual fervence and heat,  
The patient aye suffreth cold on his feet.   

And who that is jealous, and aye in a dread,  
Is full of Melancholy and galley ire,  
His wife's nose (if she miss tread,)  
He wool cut off, ye and conspire  
His death who that wool her desire:  
Which she perceiving brasteth his gall,  
And anon his great woodness doth fall.   

As soon as she hath knit him that knot,  
Now is he tame that was so ramagious,  
Mekely sitteth he down and taketh his lot,  
Laid been now his looks so furious,  
And he but late as a cock bataylous,  
Hot in his quarrel, to avenge him bold,  
Now is he called both coke and cold.   

This saying, to all courtesy dissonant,  
Which seemeth that it of malice grew,  
In this rude treatise I wool not plant,  
As parcel thereof, but only to show,  
The opinion of the talcatife shrew,  
* Which in ill saying is ever merry,  
No man as I thereof so weary.   

But I as parcel of this my book,  
Wool graft in some sad counsel whereby,  
The wedded man, if he deign to look  
In it, the better shall mow him gie,  
And provide for his said infortunie,  
Which as I have said, with him complain  
I wool, as partner of his great pain.   

As most expedient to his weal,  
I would all jealousy were abject,  
If he be jealous, that he it conceal,  
And in his labour be circumspect,  
To know her ways if they seem suspect,  
* And not for to break, for one word broken,  
She wool not miss but she wool be wroken.   

* Forbid her not, that thou noldest have done,  
For look what thing she is forbade,  
To that of all things she is most prone,  
Namely if it be ill and no good,  
Till it be executed she is nigh wood,  
such is a woman, and such is her feat,  
* Her craft by craft, labour to defeat.   

If thou hereafter, now a single man,  
Shouldest be jealous if thou hadst a wife,  
Wed not but if thou can trust woman,  
For else shouldest lead a careful life,  
That thou most loathest should be full rife,  
Yet I nill gainsay Matrimony,  
* But Melius est nubere quam uri.   

That is to say, better is in Wedlock,  
A wife to take, as the church doth ken,  
Than to been under the flesh's yoke,  
In fleshly lust always for to brenne.  
But as I said, for all jealous men,  
* So they live chaste, I hold it lass ill,  
That they wed not, than themselves spill.   

The single man which is yet to wed,  
And not the wedded man, thus I read,  
To warn him now he is too far sped,  
It is too late him to forbedde,  
But let him take as for his own need,  
such counsel as is him before told,  
These words following eke to behold.   

Thy water to keep the wiseman doth teach,  
That thou in no wise let it have issue,  
At a narrow rifte, way it wool search,  
And semblably the woman untrue,  
To give her free walk in all wise eschew,  
* If she at large, not at thine hand walk,  
She wool thee shame, thou shalt it not balk.   

Wedded or single, thus saith the wiseman,  
* Her that both day and night evermore,  
Lithe in thy bosom, wife or yet leman,  
Love not to hot, lest thou repent sore,  
Lest she thee bring into some ill lore,  
Thy wife not to love yet I nill support,  
But that thou dote not, thus I thee exhort.   

Lo if thou love her, love eke thine honesty,  
Be she not idle, for what wool betid,  
* If she sit idle, of very necessity,  
Her mind wool search far and eke wide,  
Namely if she be not accompanied,  
How accompanied, not with young men,  
But with maidens I mean or women.   

Maiden servants be right convenient,  
In house to help to do her service,  
In whom she may use her commandment,  
In the season at her own device:  
To teach him good, give her thine advice,  
To make them huswives, thus business  
May yet refrain her from idleness.   

But bide not her that thou wolt have do,  
Of thine intent that might be letting,  
But craftily encourage her thereto  
By other means, as by commending,  
And not too much, but duly menging  
Both praise and blame, and in thy reason  
First praise wisely the place and season.   

Of faithful will, and heart full tender,  
One thing I call into remembrance  
Again which, though my wit be slender,  
After my power and suffisance,  
I purpose to make a purveyance,  
Sith women of nature been unchaungeable,  
Freale, not ware, also deceivable.   

Be it that thy wife be excellently good,  
That none be better of disposition,  
In process of time she might turn her mood,  
By some miss livers instigation,  
* divers men to thilk occupation,  
Aplien daily, mind and eke heart,  
From her goodness women to pervert.   

If thou aspie any suspect person,  
Draw to thy wife, beware in all wise  
To him nor her of thy suspection  
Break not one word, though thine heart agrize,  
* Kindle no fire, no smoke wool arise,  
Though he be of a corrupt intent,  
She peraventure is not of assent.    
Explicit.   

The Complaint of Mars and Venus.  

GLadeth ye lovers in the morrow grey,  
Lo Venus risen among you Rows read,  
And flowers fresh honour ye this day,  
For when the sun uprist than would they spread,  
But ye lovers that lie in any dread,  
Flieth least wicked tongues you aspie,  
Lo yond the Sun, the candle of jealousy.   

With tears blue, & with a wounded heart  
Taketh your leave, & with saint john to borrow  
Apeseth somewhat of your pains smart,  
Time cometh eft, that cessen shall your sorrow,  
* The glad night is worth an heavy morrow,  
Saint Valentine, a foul thus heard I sing,  
Upon thy day, or Sun 'gan up spring.   

Yet sang this foul, I read you all awake,  
And ye that have not chosen in humble wise,  
Without repenting chooseth your make,  
Yet at the least, renoveleth your service:  
And ye that have full chosen as I device,  
confirmeth it perpetually to dure,  
And patiently taketh your adventure.   

And for the worship of this high feast,  
Yet wool I my birds wise sing,  
The sentence of the complaint at the least,  
That woeful Mars made at the departing  
From fresh Venus in a morowning,  
When Phoebus with his fiery torches read,  
ransacked hath every lover in his dread.   

Whilom the three heavens lord above,  
As well by heavenlich revolution,  
As by desert hath won Venus his love,  
And she hath take him in subjection,  
And as a mistress taught him his lesson,  
Commanding him never in her service,  
He were so bold no lover to despise.   

For she forbade him jealousy at all,  
And cruelty, and boast, and tyranny,  
She made him at her lust so humble & tall,  
That when she dained to cast on him her iye,  
He took in patience to live or die,  
And thus she bridleth him in her manner,  
With nothing, but with scorning of her cheer.   

Who reigneth now in bliss but Venus,  
That hath this worthy knight in governance  
Who singeth now but Mars that serveth thus,  
The fair Venus, causer of pleasance,  
He bint him to perpetual obeisance,  
And she binte her to love him for ever,  
But so be that his trespass it discever.   

Thus be they kint, & reignen as in heaven,  
By looking most, as it fell on a tide,  
That by her both assent was set a steven,  
That Mars shall entre as fast as he may glide,  
In to her next palais to abide,  
Walking his course till she had him tale,  
And he prayed her to hast her for his sake.   

Then said he thus, mine hearts' lady sweet,  
Ye know well my mischief in that place,  
For sickerly till that I with you meet,  
My life stante there in adventure and grace,  
But when I see the beauty of your face,  
There is no dread of death may do me smart,  
For all your lusts is ease to mine heart,   

She hath so great compassion of her knight,  
That dwelleth in solitude till she come,  
For it stood so, that ilke time no wight,  
Counselled him, ne said to him welcome,  
That nigh her wit for sorrow was overcome  
Wherefore she spedded as fast in her way,  
Almost in one day as he did in twain.   

The great joy that was betwixt him two,  
When they be met, there may no tongue tell,  
There is no more but unto bed they go,  
And thus in joy and bliss I let him dwell,  
This worthy Mars that is of knighthood well,  
The flower of fairness happeth in his arms,  
And Venus kisseth Mars the God of arms.   

Sojourned hath this Mars, of which I read  
In chambre amid the palais privily,  
A certain time, till him fell a dread,  
Through Phoebus' that was come hastily,  
Within the palais gates sturdy,  
With torch in hon, of which that streams bright  
On Venus' chambre, knockeden full light.   

The chambre there as lay this fresh queen,  
Depainted was with white boles great,  
And by the light she knew that shone so sheen,  
That Phoebus come to burn hem with his heat  
This silly Venus nigh dreint in tears weet,  
embraceth Mars, and said alas I die,  
The torch is come, that all this world wol wry.   

Up start Mars, him list not to sleep,  
When he his lady heard so complain,  
But for his nature was not for to weep,  
instead of tears from his eyes twain,  
The fiery sparkles sprongen out for pain,  
And hent his hauberke that lay him beside,  
Fly would he nought, ne might himself hide.   

He throweth on his helm of huge weight,  
And girt him with his sword, & in his hand  
His mighty spear, as he was wont to fight,  
He shoketh so, that it almost to wonde,  
Full heavy was he to walken over land,  
He may not hold with Venus' company,  
But had her fly lest Phoebus her espy.   

O woeful Mars alas, what mayst thou said  
That in the palais of thy disturbance,  
Art left behind in peril to be slain,  
And yet there to is double thy penance,  
For she that hath thine heart in governance,  
Is passed half the streams of thine eyes,  
That thou ne'er swift, well mayst thou weep and crien.   

Now flieth Venus in to Ciclinius tour,  
With void corpse, for fear of Phoebus' light,  
Alas and there hath she no succour,  
For she ne found ne say no manner wight,  
And eke as there she had but little might,  
Wherefore her selven for to hide and save,  
Within the gate she fled in to a cave.   

Dark was this cave, & smoking as the hell  
Nat but two pace within the yate it stood,  
A naturel day in dark I let her dwell,  
Now wol I speak of Mars furious & wood,  
For sorrow he would have seen his heart blood,  
Sith that he might have done her no company,  
He ne wrought not a mite for to die.   

So feeble he wext for heat and for his woe,  
That nigh he swelled, he might uneath endure  
He passeth but a star in days two,  
But nevertheless, for all his hevy armure,  
He followeth her that is his lives cure,  
For whose departing he took greater ire,  
Than for all his brenning in the fire.   

After he walketh softly a pace,  
Complaining that it pity was to here,  
He said, O lady bright Venus alas,  
That ever so wide a compass is my sphere,  
Alas, when shall I meet you heart dear,  
This twelve days of April I endure,  
Through jealous Phoebus this misaventure.   

Now God help silly Venus alone,  
But as God would it happened for to be,  
That while the weeping Venus made her moan  
Ciclinius riding in his chyvanche,  
Fro Venus Valanus might this palais see,  
And Venus he salveth, and maketh cheer,  
And her receiveth as his friend full dear,   

Mars dwelleth forth in his adversity,  
Complaining ever in her departing,  
And with his complaint was remembreth me,  
And therefore in this lusty morowning,  
As I best can, I wol it sane and sing,  
And after that I wool my leave take,  
And God give every wight joy of his make.    

The Complaint of Mars.  

THe order of complaint requireth skilfully,  
That if a wight shall plain pitously,  
There moat be cause wherefore that men plain,  
Or men may dame he plaineth foolily,  
And causeless, alas that am not I,  
Wherefore the ground & cause of all my pain,  
So as my troubled wit may it attain,  
I wol rehearse, not for to have redress,  
But to declare my ground of heaviness.   

The first time alas, that I was wrought,  
And for certain effects hider brought,  
By him that lorded each intelligence,  
ay gave my true service and my thought,  
For evermo, how dear I have it bought,  
To her that is of so great excellence,  
That what wight that showeth first her offence,  
When she is wroth & taketh of him no cure,  
He may not long in joy of love endure.   

This is no feigned mater that I tell,  
My lady is the very sours and well  
Of beauty, lust, freedom, and gentleness,  
Of rich array, how dear men it sell,  
Of all disport in which me friendly dwell,  
Of love and play, and of benign humblesse,  
Of swoon of instruments of all sweetness,  
And thereto so well fortuned and thewed,  
That through yeworld her goodness is showed.   

What wonder is then though that I be set  
My service on such one that may me knet  
To well or woe, sith it lithe in her might,  
Therefore mine heart for ever I to her heat,  
Ne truly for my death shall I not let,  
To been her truest servant & her knight,  
I flatter nat, that may weet every wight,  
For this day in her service shall I die,  
But grace be, I see her never with eye.   

To whom shall I plain of my distress,  
Who may me help, who may my heart redress?  
Shall I complain unto my lady free,  
Nay certes, for she hath such heaviness,  
For fear and eke for woe, that as I guess,  
In little time it would her bane be,  
But were she safe, it were no force of me,  
Alas that ever lovers more endure,  
For love so many perilous adventure.   

For though so be that lovers be as true,  
As any metal that is forged new,  
In many a case hem tideth oft sorrow,  
Sometime her ladies wool nat on him rue,  
Sometime if that jealousy it knew,  
They might lightly lay her heed to borrow,  
Sometime envious folk with tongs horow,  
Depraven hem alas, whom may they please,  
But he befalse, no lover hath his ease.   

But what availeth such a long sermonun,  
Of aventures of love up and down,  
I wol return and speaken of my pain,  
The point is this of my destruction,  
My right lady, my saluacioun,  
Is in affray, and not to whom to plain,  
O heart sweet, O lady sovereign,  
For your disease I ought well swoon & swelled,  
Though I none other harm ne dread felt.   

To what fine made the God that sit so high,  
Beneath him love other company,  
And straineth folk to love maugre her heed,  
And then her joy for aught I can espy,  
Ne lasteth not the twinkling of an eye,  
And some have never joy till they be deed,  
What meaneth this, what is this mistiheed,  
Whereto constraineth he his folk so fast,  
Thing to desire but it should last.   

And though he made a lover love a thing,  
And maketh it seem steadfast and during,  
Yet putteth he in it such misaventure,  
That rest nis there in his yeving.  
And that is wonder that so just a king,  
Doth such hardness to his creature,  
Thus whether love break or else dure,  
Algates he that hath with love to done,  
Hath after woe, then changed is the Moon.   

It seemeth he hath to lover's enmity,  
And like a fisher, as men may all day se,  
Baited his angle hook with some pleasance,  
Till many a fish is wood till that he be  
Ceased therewith, and then at erst hath he  
All his desire, and therewith all mischance,  
And though the line break he hath penance,  
For with that hook he wounded is so sore,  
That he his wages hath for evermore.   

The broche of Thebes was of such kind,  
So full of rubies and of stones of Ind,  
That every wight that set on it an eye,  
He wend anon to worth out of his mind,  
So sore the beauty would his heart bind,  
Till he it had, him thought he must die,  
And when that it was his then should he dry,  
such woe for dread aye while that he it had,  
That well-nigh for the fear he should mad.   

And when it was fro his possession,  
Then had he double woe and passion,  
That he so fair a jewel hath forgo,  
But yet this broche, as in conclusion,  
Was not the cause of his confusion,  
But he that wrought it enfortuned it so,  
That every wight that had it should have woe,  
And therefore in the worcher was the vice,  
And in the coveitour that was so nice.   

So fareth it by lovers, and by me,  
For though my lady have so great beauty,  
That I was mad till I had get her grace,  
She was not cause of mine adversity,  
But he that wrought her, as moat I thee,  
That put such a beauty in her face,  
That made me coveiten and purchase  
Mine own death, him wit I, that I die,  
And mine unwit that ever I clomb so high,   

But to you hardy knights of renown,  
Sith that ye be of my devistowne,  
All be I not worthy to so great a name,  
Yet sane these clerks I am your patron,  
Therefore ye ought have some compassion  
Of my disease, and take it nat a game,  
The proudest of you may be made full tame,  
Wherefore I pray you of your gentilesse,  
That ye complain for mine heaviness.   

And ye my ladies that be true and stable,  
By way of kind ye ought to ben able,  
To have pite of folk that been in pain,  
Now have ye cause to clothe you in sable,  
Sith that your empress the honourable,  
Is desolate, well ought you to plain,  
Now should your holy tears fall and rain,  
Alas your honour and your emprice,  
Nigh deed for dread, ne can her not chevice.   

Complaineth eke ye lovers all in fere,  
For her that with unfeigned humble cheer,  
Was ever ready to do you socour,  
Complaineth her that ever hath be you dear,  
Complaineth beauty, freedom, & manere,  
Complaineth her that endeth your labour,  
Complaineth thilk ensample of all honour,  
That never did but gentleness,  
Kytheth therefore in her some kindness.    

The Complaint of Venus.  

THere nis so high comfort to my pleasance,  
When that I am in any heaviness,  
As to have ●ayser of remembrance,  
Upon the manhood and the worthiness,  
Upon the troth, and on the steadfastness,  
Of him whose I am all while I may dure,  
There aught to blame me no creature,  
For every wight praiseth his gentillesse.   

In him is bounty, wisdom, & governance,  
Well more than any man's wit can guess,  
For grace hath would so ferforth him auance,  
That of knighthood he his parsite richesses,  
Honour honoureth him for his noblesse,  
Thereto so well hath form him nature,  
That I am his forever I him ensure,  
For every wight praiseth his gentillesse.   

And nat withstanding all his suffisance,  
His gentle heart is of so great humblesse,  
To me in word, in work, & in countenance,  
And me to serve is all his business,  
That I am set in very sickerness,  
Thus ought I bliss well mine aventour,  
Sith that him list me sernen and honour,  
For every wight praiseth his gentillesse.   

Now certes, love, it is right covenable  
That men full dear abye thy noble things,  
As wake a bed, and fasten at the table,  
Weeping to laugh & sing in complain,  
And down to cast visage and lookings,  
Often to change visage and countenance,  
Play in sleeping, and dremen at the dance,  
All the reverses of any glad feeling.   

jealousy he hanged by a cable,  
She would all know through her espying,  
There doth no wight nothing so reasonable,  
That all nis harm in her imagining,  
Thus dear about is love in giving,  
Which oft he giveth without ordinance,  
As sorrow enough, and little of pleasance,  
All the reverses of any glad feeling.   

A little time his yeft is agreeable,  
But full accombrous is the using,  
For subtel jealousy the deceivable,  
Full often time causeth distourbing,  
Thus been we ever in dread and suffering,  
In no certain, we languishen in penance,  
And have well oft many an hard mischance,  
All the reverses of any glad feeling.   

But certes love, I say not in such wise,  
That for to scape out of your ●ace I meant,  
For I so long have been in your service,  
That for to lete of will I never assent,  
No force though jealousy me tourment,  
Sufficeth me to see him when I may,  
And therefore certes to my ending day,  
To love him best, shall me never repent.   

And certes love, when I me well advise,  
Of any estate that man may represent,  
Then have ye made me through your franchise  
Thief the best that ever in earth went,  
Now love well heart, & look thou never stint,  
And let the jealous put it in assay,  
That for no pain wool I not say nay,  
To love him best, shall I never repent.   

Herte to thee it ought enough suffice,  
That love so high a grace to you sent,  
To choose the worthies in all wi●e,  
And most agreeable unto mine intent,  
Seek no ferther, neither way ne went,  
Sith ye have suffisance unto my pay,  
Thus wol I end this complaining or this lay,  
To love him best shall I never repent.   

¶ Envoy.  
Princes receiveth this complaining in gree,  
Unto your excellent benignity,  
Direct after my little suffisance,  
For eld, that in my spirit dulleth me,  
Hath of enditing all the subtelty  
Well-nigh bereft out of my remembrance:  
And eke to me it is a great penance,  
Sith rhyme in English hath such scarcity,  
To follow word by word the curiosity  
Of Gransonflour, of him that make in France.   
Explicit.   

The Letter of Cupid.  
This Letter was made by Thomas Occleve of the Office of the privy Seal, Chaucer's Scholar; and was by him termed, A Treatise of the Conversation of Men and Women in the little Island of Albion; which got him such hatred among the Gentlewomen of the Court, that he was enforced to recant in that Book of his, called Planctas proprius.  

CVpid, unto whose commandment,  
The gentle kindred of gods on high,  
And people infernal been obedient,  
And all mortal folk serven busily,  
Of the goddess son Cythera only,  
To all though that to our deite,  
Been subjects, hertely greeting send we.   

In general we wool that ye know,  
That ladies of honour and of reverence,  
And other gentlewomen haven sow  
such seed of complaint in our audience,  
Of men that do him outrage and offence,  
That it our ears grieveth for to here,  
So piteous is th'effect of this matter,   

Passing all lands, on the little isle  
That cleped is Albion, they most complain,  
They say that there is crop and rote of guile,  
So con though men dissimule and fain,  
With standing drops in her eyes twain,  
When that hertes feeleth no distress,  
To blinden women with her doubleness,   

Her words spoken be so sighingly,  
With so piteous cheer and countenance,  
That every wight that meaneth truly,  
Deemeth they in heart have such grievance,  
They say so importable is her penance,  
That but her lady lust to show him grace,  
They right anon must starven in the place.   

Ah lady mine, they say, I you ensure,  
As doth me grace, and I shall ever be  
(While that my life may last and endure)  
To you as humble and low in each degree,  
As possible is, and keep all things as secre,  
Right as yourself list that I do,  
And else mine heart mote braced in two.   

* Full hard it is to know a man's heart,  
For outward may no man the troth dame,  
When word out of mouth may none start,  
But it by reason seemed every wight to queme,  
So it is said of heart as it would seem,  
O faithful woman full of innocence,  
Thou art deceived by false appearance.   

By process moveth oft woman's pite,  
weening all thing were as these men say,  
They grant him grace of her benignity,  
For that men should not for her sake day,  
And with good heart set him in the weigh  
Of blissful love, keep it if they con,  
And thus otherwhile women bethe ywonne.   

And when this man the pan hath by the steel,  
And fully is in his possession,  
With the woman keepeth he no more to deal,  
After if he may find in the town  
Any woman his blind affection  
Unto bestow, evil mote he prove,  
A man for all his oaths is hard to believe.   

* And for that every false man hath a make,  
As unto every wight is light to know,  
When this traitor this woman hath forsake,  
He fast speedeth him unto his fellow,  
Till he be there his heart is on a low,  
His false deceit may him not suffice,  
But of his treason telleth all the wise.   

Is this a fair avaunt, is this honour,  
A man himself accuse thus and diffame,  
Is it good to confess himself a traitor?  
And bring a woman to sclandrous name,  
And tell how he her body hath do shame?  
No worship may he thus to him conquer,  
But great disclaunder unto him and her.   

To her nay, yet was it no reproof,  
For all for virtue was that she wrought,  
But he that brewed hath all this mischief,  
That spoke so fair, & falsely inward thought,  
His be the slander, as it by reason aught,  
And unto her thank perpetual,  
That in such a need help can so well.   

Although through men's sleight & subtlety,  
A silly simple and innocent woman  
Betrayed is, no wonder sith the city  
Of Troy, as the s●orie tell can,  
Betrayed was through the deceit of man,  
And set on fire, & all down overthrow,  
And finally destroyed as men know.   

Betray nat men cities great, and kings,  
What wight is it that can shape remedy  
Against these falsely purposed things,  
Who can by craft such crafts espy  
But man, whose wit is ever ready taply  
To thing that swooning is to falsehood?  
Women bethe ware of false men I read.   

And farthermore have these men in usage,  
That where they nat likely been to speed,  
such as they ben, with a double visage,  
They procuren for to pursue her need,  
He prayeth him in his cause to proceed,  
And largely guerdoneth he his travail,  
Little wot women how men him assail.   

Another wretch unto his fellow saith,  
Thou fishest fair, she that thee hath fired  
Is false inconstant, and hath no faith,  
She for the road of folk is so desired,  
And as an horse from day to day she is hired,  
That when thou twinnest fro her company,  
Come another, and bleared is thine eye.   

Now prick on fast, and ride thy journey  
While thou art there, for she behind thy back  
So liberal is, she wool nothing withsey,  
But smattly of another take a smack,  
Thus fare these women all the pack,  
* Who so hem trusteth hanged mote he be,  
Ever they desire change and nolveltee.   

Whereof proceedeth this, but of envy?  
For he himself her ne win may,  
He speaketh her reproof and villainy,  
As man's blabbing tongue is wont always,  
Thus divers men full oft make assay  
For to disturb folk in sundry wise,  
For they may not obtain her emprise.   

Many one eke would for no good,  
That hath in love his time spent and used,  
Men wish that his lady his ask withstood,  
Ere that he were of her plainly refused,  
Or waste and vain all that he had mused,  
Wherefore he can none other remedy,  
But on his lady shaperh him to lie.   

Cvery woman he saith is light to get,  
Can none say nay, if she be well ysought,  
Who so may leiser have with her to treat,  
Of his purpose shall he fail nought,  
But he on madness be so deep brought,  
That he shende all with open homelynesse,  
That loven women, they doten as I guess.   

To slander women thus what may profit,  
To gentillesse namely, that hem arm should  
In defence of women, and him delight,  
As that the ordre of gentillesse wood,  
If that a man list gentle to be hold,  
* He must all eschew that thereto is contrary,  
A slanderous tongue is his great adversary.   

A foul vice is, of tongue to be light,  
For who so much clappeth gabbeth oft,  
The tongue of man so swift is and so wight,  
That when it is raised up on loft,  
Reason is showed so slowly and soft  
That it him never overtake may,  
Lord so these men been trusty in assay.   

Albeit that men find one woman nice,  
inconstant, reckless, and variable,  
Deignous, proud, fulfilled of malice,  
Without faith, or love, and disceivable,  
Sly, quaint, false, in all untrust coulpable,  
Wicked, feirse, or full of cruelty,  
Yet followeth it not that such all women be.   

When the high God angels form had,  
Among him all were there none  
That founden was malicious and bad?  
Yet all men wot there were many one  
That for her pride fill from heaven anon,  
Should men for thy yeve all angels proud name  
Nay, he that thee sustaineth is to blame.   

Of twelve Apostles, one a traitor was,  
The remnant yet good were and true:  
So if it hap men find percaas,  
O woman false, such, good is to eschew,  
And dame not that they all therefore be untrue,  
* I see well men's own falseness,  
Him causeth women to trust the less.   

O every man ought have an herte tendre  
Unto a woman, and deem her honourable,  
Where his shape be thick or slender,  
Or he be good or bad, it is no fable:  
Every wight wot, that wit hath reasonable,  
That of a woman he descended is,  
Then is it shame of her to speak amiss.   

A wicked tree good fruit may none forth bring,  
For such the fruit is as is the tree,  
Take heed of whom thou took thy beginning,  
Let thy mother be mirror unto thee,  
Honour her, if thou wolte honoured be,  
Despise her then not in no manner,  
Lest that thereby thy wickedness appear.   

An old proverb said is in English,  
* That bird or foul is full dishonest,  
What that he be, and hold full churlish,  
That useth to defoul his own nest:  
Men to say well of women it is the best,  
And naught to despise him ne deprave,  
If they wool her honour keep or save.   

The ladies ever complain him on clerks,  
That they have made books of her diffame,  
In which they despise women & her werks,  
And speak of him great reproof and shame,  
And causeless yeve him a wicked name,  
Thus they despised be on every side,  
disclandered and blown on full wide.   

Tho sorry books maken mention  
How women betrayed in especial,  
Adam, David, Samson, and Solomon,  
And many one more, who may rehearse him all,  
The treason that they have do and shall,  
The world her malice may not comprehend,  
As clerks sane, for it hath none end.   

ovid in his book called Remedy  
Of love, great reproof of women writeth,  
Wherein I trow he did great folly,  
And every wight that in such case him delighteth,  
A clerks custom is when he enditeth,  
Of women, be it prose, time, or verse,  
Say they be wicked, all know he the reverses.   

And the book scholars learned in her childhede,  
For they of women beware should in age,  
And to love him ever be in dread,  
Sith to deceive is set all her courage,  
They say, of peril men should cast thavauntageadvantage,  
Namely of such as men have in bewrapped,  
For many a man by women hath mishapped.   

No charge is what so these clerks sane,  
Of all her writing I do no cure,  
All her labour and travail is in vain,  
For between me and my lady nature,  
Shall not be suffered, while the world may dure  
Thus these clerks by her cruel tyranny,  
On silly women kithen her mastery.   

Whilom for many of him were in my chain  
Tied, and now for unwedly age,  
And unlust, may not to love attain,  
And sane now that love is but very dotage,  
Thus for they himself lacken courage,  
They folk excite by her wicked saws,  
For to rebel against me, and my laws.   

But maugre him that blame women most  
Such is the force of mine impression,  
That suddenly I can fallen her boast,  
And all her wrong imagination,  
It shall not be in her election,  
The foulest glut in all the town to refuse,  
If that me lust, for all that they con muse.   

But her in heart as brenningly desire,  
As though she were a duchess or a queen,  
So can I folks hertes set on sire,  
And as me list send him joy or teen,  
They that to women be whet so keen,  
My sharp piercing strokes how they smite,  
Shul feel and know, how they carve & bite.   

Pard this clerk, this subtle ovid,  
And many another deceived have be,  
Of women, as it is know full wide,  
What no men more, & that is great dainty,  
So excellent a clerk as was he,  
And other more that couden full well preach,  
Betrapped were, for aught that they could teach.   

And trusteth well that it is no marvel,  
For women known plainly her intent,  
They wist how softly they could assail  
Him, and what falsehood they in heart ment,  
And thus they clerks in her danger hent,  
* With o venom another is destroyed,  
And thus these clerks oft were annoyed.   

These ladies, ne these gentiles nevertheless,  
Were none of though that wrought in this wise,  
But such as were vertulesse,  
They quitten thus these old clerks wise,  
To clerks less ought suffice,  
Then to disprave women generally,  
For worship shall they none get thereby.   

If that these men, that lovers him pretend,  
To women were faithful, good, and true,  
And dread him to deceive, or to offend,  
Women to love him would not eschew,  
* But every day hath man an heart new,  
It on one abide can no while,  
What force is it such a wight to beguile.   

Men bear eke women upon hon,  
That lightly and without any pain  
They wonen be, they can no wight withstand,  
That his disease list to him complain,  
They be so freele, they may him not refrain,  
But who so liketh him, may lightly have,  
So be her hertes easy into grave.   

To master johan de Moon, as I suppose  
Then it was a lewd occupacioun,  
In making of the Romante of the rose,  
So many a sigh imaginacioun,  
And perilies for to rollen up and down,  
The long process, so many a slight cautel,  
For to deceive a silly damosel.   

Nought can I say, ne my wit comprehend,  
That art pain, and subtlety should sail,  
For to conquer, and soon make an end,  
When men a feeble place shall assail,  
And soon also to vanquish a battle,  
Of which no wight may make resistance,  
Ne heart hath none to make any defence.   

Then moat follow of necessity,  
Sith art asketh so great engine and pain,  
A woman to deceive what so she be,  
Of constance be they not so barren,  
As that some of these clerks sane,  
But they be as women ought to be,  
Sad, constant, and fulfilled of pity.   

How friendly was Medea to jason,  
In conquering of the fleece of gold,  
How falsely quit he her true affection,  
By whom victory he gate as he would,  
How may this man for shame be so bold  
To falsen her, that fro his death and shame  
Him kept, and gate him so great prize & name.   

Of Troy also the traitor Aeneas,  
The faithless wretch, how he him forswore  
To Dido, that queen of Cartage was,  
That him relieved of his smertes sore,  
What gentillesse might she have do more,  
Then she with heart unfeigned to him kid,  
And what mischief to her thereof after betidde.   

In my legend of natures may men find,  
Who so liketh therein for to read,  
That oath ne behest may man bind,  
Of reprovable shame have they no dread,  
In man's heart troth hath no stead,  
The soil is naught, there may no troth grow,  
To women namely it is not vnknow.   

Clerk's sane also there is no malice,  
Unto woman's wicked crabbidnesse,  
O woman, how shalt thou thyself chevice,  
Sith men of thee soch harm witness,  
Beth beware women of her sikelnesse,  
Keep thine own, what men clap or crack,  
And some of hem shall smart I undertake.   

Malice of women what is it to dread,  
They slay no man, destroy no cities,  
Ne oppress folk, ne overlede,  
Betray Empires, Realms, or Duchees,  
Ne bireven men her lands ne her me's,  
Enpoison folk, ne houses set on fire,  
Ne false contracts make for no hire.   

Trust, perfect love, entire charity,  
Fervent will, and entalented courage,  
All thews good, as sitteth well to be,  
Have women ever of custom and usage,  
And well they con man's ire assuage,  
With soft words, discrete & benign,  
What they be inward, they show outward by sign.   

Woman's heart unto no cruelty  
Inclined is, but they be charitable,  
piteous, devoute, full of humility,  
Shame fast, debonair, and amiable,  
dreadful, and of words measurable,  
What women these have not paraventure,  
Followeth not the way of her nature.   

Men sane our first mother nevertheless  
Made all mankind less his liberty,  
And naked it of joy doubtless,  
For God's hest disobeyed she,  
When she presumed to taste of the tree  
That God forbade that she eat thereof should,  
And ne had the devil be, no more she would.   

The envious swelling, that y● fend our foe,  
Had unto man in heart for his wealth,  
Sent a serpent, and made her for to go  
To deceive Eve: & thus was man's wealth  
Birafte him by the fiend in a stealth,  
The woman not knowing of that deceit,  
God wot full far was it from her conceit.   

Wherefore I say, this good woman Eve,  
Our father Adam disceived nought,  
There may no man for deceit it prove,  
Properly, but that she in heart and thought,  
Had it compassed first or she it wrought,  
And for such was not her impression,  
Men may it call no deceit of her, by reason.   

Ne no wight disceiveth, but he purpose  
The fend this deceit cast, and nothing she:  
Then is it wrong to deem or suppose,  
That of his harm she should the cause be,  
Wit the fiend, and his be the maugre,  
And excused have her innocence,  
Save only that she broke obedience.   

And touching this, full few men there be,  
Vnnethes any dare I safely say,  
Fro day to day, as men may all day see,  
But that the hest of God they disobey,  
Have this in mind sirs I you pray,  
If that ye be discrete and reasonable,  
Ye wool her hold the more excusable.   

And where men say, in man is steadfastness,  
And woman is of her courage unstable:  
Who may of Adam bear such a witness?  
Telleth me this, was he not changeable?  
They both weren in o case semblable,  
Save willing the fiend disceived Eve,  
And so did she not Adam, by your leave.   

Yet was this sin happy to mankind,  
The fiend deceived was for all his sleight,  
For aught he could him in his sleights wind:  
For his trespass, came fro heaven on height  
God, to discharge man of his weight,  
Flesh and blood took of a virgin,  
And suffered death, him to deliver of pine.   

And God, to whom there may nothing hid be,  
If he in woman known had such malice,  
As men record of hem in generalte,  
Of our Lady of life reperatrice,  
Nolde have be borne, but that she of vice  
Was void, and full of virtue well he wist,  
Endowed, of her to be borne him list.   

Her heaped virtue hath such excellence,  
That all to lean is man's faculty  
To declare it, and therefore in suspense,  
Her due praising put needs must be,  
But thus I say, verily that she  
Next God, best friend is that to man longeth,  
The key of mercy by her girdle hongeth.   

And of mercy hath every man such need,  
That resing that, farewell the joy of man,  
And of her power now taketh right good heed  
She mercy may well, and purchase can,  
Displeaseth her not, honoureth that woman,  
And other women all for her sake,  
And but ye do, your sorrow shall awake.   

In any book also where can ye find,  
That of the works of death or of life  
Of jesus, spelleth or maketh any mind,  
That women him forsook, for woe or strife?  
Where was there any wight so ententife  
About him, as woman? proved none,  
The Apostles him forsoken everyone.   

Women forsook him not, for all the faith  
Of holy church in woman left only,  
This is no lees, for thus holy writ saith,  
Look and ye shall so find it hardly:  
And therefore I may well prove thereby,  
* That in woman reigneth stable constance,  
And in men is the change of variance.   

Thou precious gem of martyrs, Margarite,  
That of thy blood dreadest none effusion,  
Thou lover true, thou maiden mansuete,  
Thou constant woman in thy passion,  
Overcame the fiends temptation,  
And many a wight converted thy doctrine  
Unto the faith of holy God thou virgin.   

But vnderstandeth this, I only commend her nought  
By encheason of her virginity,  
Trusteth it came never in my thought,  
For ever were I against chastity,  
And ever shall, but lo this meveth me,  
Her loving heart, and constant to her lay,  
Drive out of remembrance I ne may.   

Now holdeth this for farm, and for no lie,  
That this true and just commendation  
Of women, tell I for no flattery,  
Ne because of pride or elation,  
But only lo, for this entencion,  
To yeve him courage of pierce veraunce  
In virtue, and her honour to advance.   

* The more virtue, the lass is the pride,  
Virtue so digne is and so noble in kind,  
That vice and he wool not in fere abide,  
He putteth vices clean out of his mind,  
He flieth from him, he leaveth him behind,  
O woman that of virtue art hostresse,  
Great is thy honour and thy worthiness.   

Then wool I thus conclude and define,  
We you command our ministers eachone,  
That ready ye be our hests to incline,  
That of these false men our rebel fone,  
Ye do punishment and that anon,  
Void hem our court, & banish him for ever,  
So that therein more come they never.   

Fulfilled be it, ceasing all delay,  
Look there be none excusation,  
Written in the lusty month of May,  
In our paleis where many a million  
Of lovers true have habitation,  
The year of grace joyful and jocund,  
A thousand four hundred and second.   
Explicit.   

A Ballad in Commendation of our Lady.  

A Thousand stories could I more rehearse  
Of old Poetes, touching this matter  
How that Cupid the hearts 'gan so pierce,  
Of his servants setting him in fere,  
Lo here the fine of therror and the fere,  
Lo here of love the guerdon and grievance,  
That ever with woe her servants do advance.   

Wherefore now plainly I wol my stile dress  
Of one to speak, at need that wool not fail,  
Alas for dole I ne can ne may express  
Her passing prize, and that is no marvel,  
O wind of grace, now blow unto my sail,  
O auriate liquour of Cleo for to write,  
My pen euspire of that I wool indite.   

Alas, unworthy I am and unable  
To love such one, all women surmounting,  
But she be benign to me and merciable,  
That is of pity the well and eke the spring,  
Wherefore of her in laud and in praising,  
So as I can, supported by her grace,  
Right thus I say, kneeling tofore her face.   

O star of stars with thy streams clear,  
Star of the sea, to shipmen light and guide,  
O lusty living most pleasant to appear,  
Whose bright beams the clouds may not hide,  
O way of life to them that go or ride,  
Haven after tempest surest up to rive,  
On me have mercy for thy joys five.   

O rightful rule, O boat of holiness,  
And lightsome line of pity for to plain,  
Original beginning of grace & all goodness,  
And cleanest conduit of virtue most sovereign  
Mother of Mercy, our trouble to restrain,  
Chamber and closet clennest of chastity,  
And named her borough of the deity.   

O closet garden all void of weeds wick,  
Crystalline well, of clearness clear consigned,  
Fructified olive of oils, fair and thick,  
And redolent Cedre most dear worthy digned  
Remember on sinners that to thee be assigned,  
Or wicked fiends her wrath on hem wretch,  
Lantern of light thou her life's leech.   

Paradise of pleasance, gladsome to all good,  
Benign braunchelet of the Pine tree,  
Vinary enuermailed, refresher of our blood,  
Liquour again all langour, that palled may not be,  
Blissful blomy blossom, biding in bounty,  
Thy mantle of mercy on our misery spread,  
And oer woe awake wrap us under thy weed.   

O rody rosier, flowering without spin,  
Fountain all filthlesse, as byrel currant clear,  
Some drop of thy graceful dew to us propine,  
O light without nebule, shining in thy sphere,  
Medicine to mischeves, pucel without peer,  
Flame down the doleful light of thine influence,  
Remembering thy servants for thy magnificence.   

Of all christian protectrice and tutele,  
Return of exiled put in the proscription,  
To him that err in the path of her sequel,  
To weary forwandred, tent and pavilion,  
To faint and to fresh the pausation,  
Unto unresty, both rest and remedy,  
Fruitful to all though that in her affy.   

To him that rennen thou art itenerary,  
O blissful bravy to knights of thy war,  
To weary workmen she is diourne denary,  
Mede unto mariners that have sailed far,  
Laureate crown streming as a star,  
To him that put him in palastre for thy sake,  
Cours of her conquest, thou white as any lake.   

O mirth of martyrs, sweeter than Sitole,  
Of Confessors also richest donatife,  
Unto virgins eternal Lauriole,  
Afore all women having prerogarife,  
Mother and maid, both widow and wife,  
Of all the world is none but thou alone,  
Now sith thou may, be succour to my moan.   

O trusty turtle truefastest of all true,  
O courtesy columbe, replete of all meekness,  
O Nightingale with thy notes new,  
O Popiniay pured with all cleanness,  
O laveroke of love, singing with sweetness,  
Phoebus awaiting till on thy breast he light,  
Under thy wing at doomsday us dight.   

O ruby rubified in the passion  
Of thy son, us have among in mind,  
O steadfast diametre of duration,  
That few feres any time might thou find,  
For none to his was founden half so kind,  
O hardy herte, O loving creature,  
What was it but love that made thee so endure.   

Seemly saphre, deep loupe & blue ewage,  
Stable as the loupe ewage of pity,  
This is to say the freshest of visage,  
Thou lovest unchaunged him that serven thee,  
And if offence or varying in him be,  
Thou art ay ready upon her woe to rue,  
And hem receivest with heart full true.   

O goodly gladded when that Gabriel  
With joy thee great, that may not be numbered,  
Or half the bliss who coude write or tell,  
When the holy ghost to thee was obumbred,  
Wherethrough fends were biterly encumbered,  
O wemlesse maid embellished in his birth,  
That man & angel thereof hadden mirth.   

Lo here the blosme & the bud of glory,  
Of which the prophet so long spoke before,  
Lo here the fame that was in memory  
Of Esay, so long or she was borne,  
Lo here of David the delicious corn,  
Lo here the ground of life in to build,  
Becoming man our ransom for to yield.   

O glorious viol and vite inviolate,  
O fiery Titan, piercing with thy beams,  
Whose virtuous brightnes was in breast vibrat  
That all the world embellished with the leams,  
Conseruatrice of kings, dukes, and realms,  
Of Isaies' seed sweet Sunamite,  
Measure my mourning mine own Margarite.   

O soveraignest sought out of Zion,  
Cockle with gold dew from above berained,  
Due bush unbrent firelesse fire set on,  
Flaming with fervence not with heat pained,  
During daisy that no weather stained,  
Fleece undefouled of Gentilest Gedion,  
And fructifying fairest the yard of Aaron.   

The mighty arch, probatise piscine,  
Laughing aurore, and of peace olive,  
column and base, up bearing from abym,  
Why ne'er I cunning here to discriue,  
Chosen of joseph, whom he took to wive,  
Unknowing him, childing by miracle,  
And of our manly figure the tabernacle.   

I have none English convenient & digne,  
Mine hearts heal lady thee with to honour,  
ivory clean, therefore I will resign  
Into thine hand, till thou list soccour,  
To help my making both flourish and flour,  
Then should I show in love how I burnt.  
In songs making, thy name to commend.   

For if I could before thine excellence  
Singen in love I would what I feel,  
And ever stand Lady in thy presence,  
To show in open how I love you well,  
And sith although your heart be made of steel,  
To you withouten any disceveraunce,  
J'ay on vous toute ma fiance.   

Where might I love ever better beset,  
Than in this Lily liking to behold  
That lace of love, the bond so well thou knit,  
That I may see thee or mine heart cold,  
And or I pass out of my days old,  
Tofore singing evermore utterly,  
Your eyes two wol slay me suddenly.   

For love I langour, blissed be such sickness,  
Sith it is for you my hertily suffisance,  
I can not else say in my distress,  
So fair one hath mine heart in governance,  
And after that I begin on esperance,  
With feeble entune, though it thine heart pierce,  
Yet for thy sake this letter I do rehearse.   

God wot on music I can not, but I guess  
Alas why so, that I might say or sing,  
So love I you mine own sovereign mistress,  
And ever shall without departing,  
Mirror of beauty, for you out should I ring  
In remembrance eke of your eyes clear,  
Thus for from you my sovereign Lady dear.   

So would God your love would me s●o,  
Sith for your sake I sing day by day,  
heart why nilt thou break atwo,  
Sith with my lady dwell I ne may,  
Thus many a roundel & many a virelay,  
In fresh English, when I me laiser find,  
I do record, on you to have mind.   

Now lady mine, sith I you love & dread,  
And you unchanged ever find in o degree,  
Whose grace ne may fly fro your womanhead,  
Disdaineth not for to remember on me,  
Mine heart bleedeth for I may not you see,  
And sith ye wot my meaning desirous,  
Plores pour moy s'il vous playst amoureus.   

What marvel is though I in pain be,  
I am departed from you my sovereign,  
Fortune alas, dont vient la destiny,  
That in no wise I can ne may attain  
To see the beauty of your eyes twain,  
Wherefore I say, for tristesse doth me grame,  
Tant me fait mal departir de ma dame.   

Why ne'er my wissing brought to such esploit,  
That I might say for joy of your presence,  
Or a mon coeur ce quae voulloit,  
Or a mon coeur, the highest excellence  
That ever had wight, & sith mine advertence  
Is in you, rueth on my pains smart,  
I am so sore wounded to the heart.   

To live well merry two lovers were yfere,  
So may I say withouten any blame,  
If any man too wild were,  
I could him teach for to be tame,  
Let him go love, and see where it be game,  
For I am bridled unto soberness,  
For her that is of women chief princess.   

But ever when thought my heart should enbrace,  
Then unto me is best remedy,  
When I look on your goodly fresh face,  
So merry a mirror could I never espy,  
And if I could, I would it magnify,  
For never none was so fair ifound,  
To reken him all, and also Rosamound.   

And finally, with mouth and will present  
Of double eye without repentance,  
Mine heart I give you Lady in this intent,  
That ye shall holly thereof have governance,  
Taking my leave with hearts' obeisance,  
(Salve regina) singing last of all,  
To be our help when we to thee call.   

All our love is but idleness,  
Save your love alone, who might thereto attain,  
Who so wool have a name of gentillesse,  
I countable him in love that he not fain,  
Thou sweet Lady, refute in every pain,  
Whose mercy most to me availeth,  
To gie by grace, when that fortune faileth.   

Nought may be told withouten any fable,  
Your high renome, your womanly beauty,  
Your governance to all worship able,  
Putteth every heart in ease in his degree,  
O violet, O flower desire,  
Sith I am for you so amorous,  
Estreignes moy de coeur joyeus.   

With fervent heart my breast hath burst on fire,  
L'ardant espoer en mon coeur point est mort,  
D'auoir l'amour de celle que je desire,  
I mean you sweet most pleasant of port,  
Et je say bien que ce n'est pas mon tort,  
That for you sing, so as I may for moon  
For your departing, alone I live alone.   

Though I might, I would none other cheese,  
In your service I would been founden sad,  
Therefore I love no labour that ye less,  
When in longing forest ye be stadde,  
Look up you lovers, and be right glad  
Against saint Valentine's day,  
For I have cheese that never forsake I may.   
Explicit.   

John Gower unto the Noble King Henry the Fourth.  

O Noble worthy King Henry the ferthe,  
In whom the glad fortune is befall,  
The people to govern here upon earth,  
God hath thee chosen in comfort of us all,  
The worship of this land, which was down fall,  
Now stant upright through grace of thy goodness,  
Which every man is hold for to bless.   

The high God of his justice alone,  
The right which longeth to thy regaly,  
Declared hath to stand in thy person,  
* And more than God may no man justify,  
Thy title is know upon thine ancestry,  
The lands folk hath eke thy right affirmed,  
So stant thy reign, of God & man confirmed.   

There is no man may say in otherwise,  
That God himself ne hath the right declared,  
Whereof the land is bound to thy service,  
Which for default of help hath long cared,  
But now there is no man's heart spared,  
To love & serve, and worch thy pleasance,  
And all this is through God's purveyance.   

* In all thing which is of God begun,  
There followeth grace, if it be well governed,  
Thus tell they which old books con,  
Whereof my lord I wot well thou art learned,  
* Ask of thy God, so shalt thou not be warned  
Of no request, which is reasonable,  
For God unto the good is favourable.   

King Solomon, which had at his ask,  
Of God what thing him was levest crave,  
He chase wisdom unto governing  
Of God's folk, the which he would save,  
And as he chase, it fill him for to have,  
For through his wit while that his reign last,  
He gate him peace and rest into his last.   

But Alexander, as telleth his story,  
Unto the God besought in other way,  
Of all the world to win the victory,  
So that under his sword it might obey,  
In war he had all that he would pray,  
The mighty God behight him that behest  
The world won, and had it of conquest.   

But though it fill at thilk time so  
That Alexander his ask hath achieved,  
This sinful world was all Painem tho,  
Was none which hath the high God believed,  
* No wonder was though thilk world was grieved,  
Though a tyrant his purpose might win,  
All was vengeance and infortune of sin.   

But now the faith of Christ is come a place  
Among the princes in this yearth here,  
It sit him well to do pity and grace,  
But yet it must be tempored in manner,  
For they finden cause in the matter  
Upon the point, what afterward betid,  
The law of right shall not be laid aside.   

So may a king of war the voyage  
Ordain and take, as he thereto is hold,  
To claim and ask his rightful heritage  
In all places where it is withhold,  
But otherwise if God himself would,  
Affirm love & peace between the kings,  
* Peace is the best above all earthly things.   

* Good is to eschew war, and nathelees,  
A king may make war upon his right,  
For of battle the final end is pees,  
Thus stant the law, that a worthy knight  
Upon his troth may go to the fight,  
But if so were that he might cheese,  
Better is the peace, of which may no man less.   

To steer peace ought every on live,  
First for to set his liege lord in rest,  
And eke these other men that they ne strive,  
For so this land may stand at best,  
* What king that would be the worthiest,  
The more he might our deadly war cease,  
The more he should his worthiness increase.   

* Peace is the chief of all the world's wealth,  
And to the heaven it leadeth eke the way,  
Peace is of soul and life the man's health,  
Of pestilence, and doth the war away,  
My liege lord take heed of that I say,  
If war may be left, take peace on hand,  
Which may not be without god's sand.   

With peace stant every creature in rest,  
Without peace there may no life be glad,  
Above all other good peace is the best,  
Peace hath himself when were is all bestead,  
The peace is safe, the war is ever dread,  
Peace is of all charity the key,  
Which hath the life and soul for to way.   

My liege lord, if that thee list to seech  
The sooth ensamples with the war hath wrought  
Thou shalt well here of wise man's speech,  
That deadly war turneth into nought,  
For if these old books be well ysought,  
There might thou see what thing the war hath do,  
Both of conquest and conqueror also.   

For vain honour, or for the world's good,  
They that whilom the strong wars made,  
Where be they now, bethink well in thy mood,  
* The day is gone, the night is dark & fade,  
Her cruelty which made him then glade,  
They sorrowen now, & yet have naught the more  
The blood is shed, which no man mayrestore.   

The war is mother of the wrongs all,  
It fleeth the priest in holy church at mass,  
Forlith the maid, and doth her flour to fall,  
The war maketh the great city lass,  
And doth the law his rules ouerpasse,  
There is nothing whereof mischief may grow,  
Which is not caused of the war I trow.   

* The war bringeth in poverty at his heels,  
Whereof the come people is sore grieved,  
The war hath set his cart on thilk wheels,  
Where that fortune may nat be believed:  
For when men ween best to have achieved,  
Full oft it is all new to begin,  
The war hath nothing siker, though he win.   

For thy, my worthy prince in Christ's halue,  
As for a part, whose faith thou hast be guide,  
Ley to this old sore a new save,  
And do the war away, what so betid,  
Purchase peace and set it by thy side,  
And suffer nat thy people be devoured,  
So shall thy name ever after stand honoured.   

If any man be now, or ever was,  
Again the peace thy prevy counsellor,  
Let God be of thy counsel in this case,  
And put away the cruel warrior,  
* For God which is of man the creator,  
He would not men slough his creature,  
Without cause of deadly forfeiture.   

* Where needeth most, behoveth most to look,  
My lord, how so thy wars be without,  
Of time passed, who that heed took,  
Good were at home to see right well about,  
* For evermore, the worst is for to doubt,  
But if thou mightest perfect peace attain,  
There should be no cause for to plain.   

About a king good counsel is to praise,  
Above all other things most available,  
But yet a king within himself shall poise,  
And seen the things that be reasonable,  
And there upon he shall his wit's stable,  
Among the men to set peace in evin,  
For love of him which is the king of hevin.   

* A, well is him that shed never blood,  
But if it were in cause of rightwiseness,  
For if a king the peril understood,  
What is to slay the people, than I guess,  
The deadly wars and the heaviness,  
Whereof peace distourbed is full oft,  
Should at some time cease and were soft.   

O king, fulfilled of grace and knighthood,  
Remember upon this point for Christ's sake,  
If peace be proffered unto thy manhood,  
Thine honour save, let it not be forsake,  
Though thou the wars dar'st well undertake,  
After reason yet temper thy courage,  
For like to peace there is none avauntage.   

My worthy lord, think well how so befall  
Of thilk lore, as holy books sane,  
* Christ is the head, and we be members all,  
As well the subject as the sovereign,  
So sit it well, that charity be plain,  
Which unto God himself most acordeth,  
So as the lore of Christ's word recordeth.   

In the old law or Christ himself was boar,  
Among the ten commandments I read,  
How that manslaughter should be forbore,  
Such was the will that time of the godhead,  
But afterward when Christ took his manhood  
Peace was the first thing he let do cry  
Against the world's rancour and envy.   

And or Christ went out of this earth here,  
And stighed to heaven, he made his testament,  
Where he bequeath to his disciples there,  
And gave his peace, which is the fundament  
Of charity, without whose assent  
The world's peace may never well be tried,  
Ne love kept, ne law justified.   

The jews with the painims hadden were,  
But they among himself stood ever in peace,  
Why should then our peace stand out of err,  
Which Christ hath chose unto his own increase,  
For Christ is more than was Moses,  
And Christ hath set the perfect of the law,  
The which should in no wise be withdraw.   

* To give us peace, was cause why Christ died,  
Without peace, may nothing stoned availed,  
But now a man may see on every side  
How Christ's faith is every day assailed,  
With painims destroyed and so batailed,  
That for default of help and of defence,  
Vnneth hath Christ his due reverence.   

The right faith to keep of holy church,  
The first point is named of knighthood,  
And every man is hold for to worch  
Upon the point that stant to his manhood:  
But now alas, the fame is spread so broad,  
That every man this thing complaineth,  
And yet is there no man that help ordaineth.   

The world's cause is waited over all,  
There be the wars ready to the full,  
But Christ's own cause in special,  
There been the swerds and the spears dull,  
And with the sentence of the Pope's bull,  
As for to done the folk pain obey,  
The church is turned all another way.   

It is wonder above any man's wit,  
Without war how Christ's faith was won,  
And we that be upon this earth yet,  
Ne keep it nat as it was first begun,  
To every creature under the son  
Christ bade himself that we should preach,  
And to the folk his evangely teach.   

* More light it is to keep than to make,  
But that we founden made tofore hand,  
We keep not, but let it lightly slake,  
The peace of Christ hath all to broke his bond,  
We rest ourself, and suffrens every land  
To slay each other, as thing undefended,  
So stant the war, and peace is not amended.   

But though the head of holy church above  
Ne do not all his hole business,  
Among the people to set peace & love,  
These kings oughten of her rightwiseness  
Her own cause among himself redress,  
* Tho Peter's ship as now hath lost his steer,  
It lithe in him the barge for to steer.   

If holy church after the duty  
Of Christ's word ne be nat all avised  
To make peace, accord, and unity  
Among the kings that be now devised,  
Yet nevertheless the law stant assised  
Of man's wit to be so reasonable,  
Without that to stand himself stable.   

Of holy church we been children all,  
And every child is hold for to bow  
Unto the mother, how that ever it fall,  
Or else he must reason disallow,  
And for that cause a knight shall first avow  
The right of holy church to defend,  
That no man shall the privilege offend.   

Thus were it good to set all in evin  
The world's princes and the prelate's both,  
For love of him which is the king of hevin,  
And if men should algate wexen wroth,  
The saracens, which unto Christ been loath,  
Let men be armed against him to fight,  
So may the knight his deed of arms right.   

Upon three points stant Christ's peace oppressed,  
First holy church in herself divided,  
Which ought of reason first to be redressed,  
But yet so high a cause is not decided,  
And thus when humble patience is prided,  
The remnant which that they should rule,  
No wonder is though it stand out of rule.   

* Of that the head is sick, the limbs aken,  
These reigns that to Christ's peace belongen,  
For world's good these deadly wars maken,  
Which helpless, as in balance hongen,  
The head above hem hath nat underfongen  
To set peace, but every man fleeth other,  
And in this wise hath charity no brother.   

The two defauts that bringen in the third,  
Of miscreants that seen how we debate,  
Between the two, they fallen in amid,  
Where now all day they find an open gate,  
Lo, thus the deadly war stant algate,  
But ever I hope of king Henry's grace,  
That he it is which shall the peace embrace.   

My worthy noble prince and king anoint,  
Whom God hath of his grace so preserved,  
Behold and see the world upon this point,  
As for thy part, that Christ's peace be served,  
So shall thy high meed be deserved,  
To him which all shall quite at last,  
* For this life here may no while last.   

See Alexander, Hector, and julius,  
See Machabeus, David, and joshua,  
See Charlemaive, Godefray, and Arthus,  
Fulfilled of war and of mortality,  
Her fame abitte, but all is vanity,  
For death, which hath the wars under foot,  
Hath made an end, of which there is no boot.   

So many a man the sooth wete and know,  
That peace is good for every king to have,  
* The fortune of the war is ever vnknow,  
But where peace is, there is the marches save,  
That now is up, to morrow is under grave,  
* The mighty God hath all grace in hand,  
Without him men may not long stand.   

At the ten to win or less a chase,  
May no life wete or that the ball be run,  
* All stant in God, with thing men shall purchase,  
The end is in him or that it be begun,  
* Men sane the wool when it is well spun,  
Doth that the cloth is strong and profitable,  
And else it may never be durable.   

The world's chances upon adventure  
Ben ever set, but thilk chance of pees  
Is so behovely to the creature,  
That is above all other peerlees,  
But it may not beget nathelees  
Among the men to last any while,  
But where the heart is plain without guile.   

The peace is as it were a sacrament  
Tofore the God, and shall with words plain,  
Without any double intendment  
Be treated, for the troth cannot feign,  
* But if the men within himself been vain,  
The substance of the peace may not be true,  
But every day it changeth upon new.   

But who that is of charity perfect,  
He voideth all sleights far away,  
And set his word upon the same plight,  
Where that his heart hath found a siker way,  
And thus when conscience is truly way,  
And that these ben handled with the wise,  
It shall abide, and stand in all wise.   

The Apostle saith, saith There may no life be good  
Which is not grounded upon charity,  
For charity ne shed never blood,  
So hath the war as there no property,  
For thilk virtue which is said pity,  
With charity so ferforth is acquainted,  
That in her may no false semblant be painted.   

Cassodore, whose writing is authorised,  
Saith: saith Where that pity reigneth, is grace,  
Through which the peace hath all his wealth assised,  
So that of war he dreadeth no menace,  
Where pity dwelleth in the same place,  
There may no deadly cruelty sojourn,  
Whereof that mercy should his way turn.   

To see what pity forthwith mercy doth,  
The cronique is at Rome in thilk empire  
Of Constantine, which is a tale sooth,  
When him was lever his own death desire,  
Than do the young children to martyr,  
Of cruelty he left the quarrel,  
Pity he wrought, and pity was his heel.   

For thilk man's pity which he deed,  
God was piteous, and made him hole at all,  
Silvester came, and in the same stead  
gave him baptism first in special,  
Which did away the sin original,  
And all his lepre it hath so purified,  
That his pity for ever is magnified.   

Pity was cause why this Emperor  
Was hole in body and in soul both,  
And Rome also was set in thilk honour  
Of Christ's faith, so that they leave or loath,  
Which hadden be with Christ tofore wroth,  
Received were unto Christ's lore,  
Thus shall pity be praised evermore.   

My worthy liege lord, Henry by name,  
Which England hast to govern and right,  
Men ought well thy pity to proclaim,  
Which openliche in all the world's sight  
Is showed, with the help of God almight,  
To give us peace, which long hath be debated,  
Whereof thy prize shall never be abated.   

My lord, in whom hath ever yet be found  
Pity, without spot of violence,  
Keep thilk peace always within bound,  
Which God hath planted in thy conscience,  
So shall the cronique of thy patience  
Among the saints be taken into memory  
To the legend of perdurable glory.   

And to thine earthly prize, so as I can,  
Which every man is hold to commend,  
I Gower, which am all thy liege man,  
This letter unto thine excellence I send,  
As I which ever unto my life's end  
wol pray for the state of thy person,  
In worship of thy sceptre and thy throne.   

Not only to my king, of peace I write,  
But to these other princes christian all,  
That each of him his own heart indite,  
And seize the war or more mischief fall,  
Set eke the rightful Pope upon his stall,  
Keep charity, and draw pity to hand,  
Maintain law, and so the peace shall stand.   
Explicit carmen de pacis commendatione, quod ad laudem & memoriam seremssimi principis domini regis Henrici Quarti, suus humilis orator Johannes Gower composuit.   

Electus Christi, pie rex Henrici fuisti  
Qui bene venisti, cum propria regna petisti  
Tu mala vicistique bonis bona restituisti  
Et populo tristi, nova gaudia contribuisti  
Est mihi spes lata, quod adhuc per te renovata  
Succedent fata, veteri probitare beata  
Est tibi nam grata, gratia sponte data.  
Henrici quarti, primus regni fuit annus  
Quo mihi defecit visus ad acta mea,  
Omnia tempus habent finem natura ministrat  
Quem virtute sua frangere nemo potest,  
Ultra posse nihil quamvis mihi velle remansit  
Amplius ut scribam non mihi posse manet,  
Dum potui scripsi, sed nunc quia curva senectus,  
Turbavit sensus scripta relinquo scholis,  
Scribat qui veniet post me discretior alter.  
Ammodo namque manus & mea penna silent,  
Hoc tamen in fine verborum queso meorum,  
Prospera quod statuat regna futura Deus.  
Explicit.   

¶ A Saying of Dan john.  
THere be four things that maketh man fool,  
Honour first putteth him in outrage,  
And alder next, solitary and soole,  
The second is unwieldy crooked age,  
Women also bring men in dotage,  
And mighty wine in many divers wise  
Distempren folk which been holden wise.  

¶ Yet of the same.  
THere been four things causing great folly,  
Honour first, and unwieldy age,  
Women and wine I dare eke specify,  
Make wise men fallen in dotage,  
Wherefore by counsel of Philosophers sage,  
In great honour learn this of me,  
With thine estate have humility.   

Balade de bon consail.  
IF it befall that God thee list visit  
With any tourment or adversite,  
Thank first the lord, and thyself to quite,  
Upon suffrance and humility  
Found thou thy quarrel, what ever that it be:  
Make thy defence, & thou shalt have no loss,  
The remembrance of Christ and of his cross.   
Explicit.   

Of the Cuckoo and the Nightingale.  
Chaucer dreameth that he heareth the Cuckoo and the Nightingale contend for excellency in singing.  

* THE God of love and benedicite,  
How mighty & how great a lord is he,  
For he can make of low hearts high,  
And of high low, and like for to die,  
And hard hearts he can maken free.   

He can make within a little stound  
Of sick folk hole, fresh, and sound,  
And of hole he can make seek,  
He can bind and unbinden eke  
That he wool have bounden or vnbound.   

To tell his might my wit may not suffice,  
For he can make of wise folk full nice,  
For he may do all that he wool device,  
And lithy folk to destroyen vice,  
And proud hearts he can make agrize.   

Shortly all that ever he wool he may,  
Against him dare no wight say nay,  
For he can glad and greve whom him liketh,  
And who that he wool, he lougheth or siketh,  
And most his might he sheddeth ever in May.   

For every true gentle heart free,  
That with him is or thinketh for to be,  
Again May now shall have some stering,  
Or to joy or else to some mourning,  
In no season so much, as thinketh me.   

For when they may here the birds sing,  
And see the flowers and the leaves spring,  
That bringeth into her remembrance  
A manner ease, meddled with grevaunce,  
And lusty thoughts full of great longing.   

And of that longing cometh heaviness,  
And thereof groweth of great sickness,  
And for lack of that that they desire,  
And thus in May been hearts set on fire,  
So that they brennen forth in great distress.   

I speak this of feeling truly,  
If I be old and unlusty,  
Yet I have felt of the sickness through May  
Both hot and cold, and axes every day,  
How sore iwis there wot no wight but I   

I am so shaken with the fevers white,  
Of all this May sleep I but a light,  
And also it is not like to me,  
That any heart should sleepy be,  
In whom that love his fiery dart wool smite.   

But as I lay this other night waking,  
I thought how lovers had a tokening,  
And among hem it was a common tale,  
That it were good to here the Nightingale,  
Rather than the lewd Cuckoo sing.   

And then I thought anon as it was day,  
I would go some where to assay  
If that I might a Nightingale here,  
For yet had I none heard of all that year,  
And it was tho the third night of May.   

And anon as I the day aspide,  
No longer would I in my bed abide,  
But unto a wood that was fast by,  
I went forth alone boldly,  
And held the way down by a brook side.   

Till I came to a land of white and green,  
So fair one had I never in been,  
The ground was green, ypoudred with daisy  
The flowers and the greves like hy,  
All green and white, was nothing else seen.   

There sat I down among the fair flours,  
And saw the birds trip out of her bours,  
There as they rested him all the night,  
They were so joyful of the day's light,  
They began of May for to done hours.   

They could that service all by rote,  
There was many a lovely note,  
Some song loud as they had plained,  
And some in other manner voice yfained,  
And some all out with the full throat.   

They proyned him, & made him right gay,  
And daunceden and lepten on the spray,  
And evermore two and two in fere,  
Right so as they had chosen him to year  
In Feverere upon saint Valentine's day.   

And the river that I sat upon,  
It made such a noise as it run,  
Accordaunt with the birds armony,  
Me thought it was the best melody  
That might been yheard of any mon.   

And for delight, I wot never how  
I fell in such a slumber and a swow,  
Nat all asleep, ne fully waking,  
And in that swow me thought I heard sing  
The sorry bird the lewd cuckoo.   

And that was on a tree right fast by,  
But who was then evil paid but I:  
Now God (qd. I) that died on the crois,  
Yeve sorrow on thee, and on thy lewd vois,  
Full little joy have I now of thy cry.   

And as I with the cuckoo thus 'gan chide,  
I heard in the next bush beside  
A nightingale so lustily sing,  
That with her clear voice she made ring  
Through all the green wood wide.   

Ah, good nightingale (qd. I then)  
A little hast thou been too sung hen,  
For here hath been the lewd cuckoo,  
And songen songs rather than hast thou,  
I pray to God evil fire her brens.   

But now I wool you tell a wonder thing,  
As long as I lay in that swooning,  
Me thought I wist what the birds meant,  
And what they said, & what was her intent,  
And of her speech I had good knowing.   

There heard I the nightingale say,  
Now good cuckoo go somewhere away,  
And let us that can singen dwellen here,  
For every wight escheveth thee to here,  
Thy songs be so elenge in good faith.   

What (qd. she) what may thee aylen now,  
It thinketh me, I sing as well as thou,  
For my song is both true and plain,  
And though I cannot crakell so in vain,  
As thou dost in thy throat, I wot never how.   

And every wight may understand me,  
But nightingale so may they not done thee,  
For thou hast many a nice quaint cry,  
I have thee heard sane, ocy, ocy,  
How might I know what that should be?   

Ah fool (qd. she) wost thou not what it is,  
When that I say, ocy, ocy, iwis,  
Then mean I that I would wonder fain,  
That all they were shamefully yslaine,  
That meanen ought again love amiss.   

And also I would that all though were deed,  
That think not in love her life to lead,  
For who so that wol not the God of love serve,  
I dare well say he is worthy to starve,  
And for that skill, ocy, ocy, I greed.   

Eye (qd. the cuckoo) this is a quaint law,  
That every wight shall love or be to draw,  
But I forsake all such company,  
For mine intent is not for to die,  
Ne never while I live on love's yoke to draw.   

* For lover's been the folk that been on live,  
That most disease have, and most unthrive,  
And most endure sorrow, woe, and care,  
And lest feelen of welfare,  
What needeth it against troth to strive.   

What (qd. she) thou art out of thy mind,  
How might thou in thy churlenesse find  
To speak of love's servants in this wise,  
For in this world is none so good service  
To every wight that gentle is of kind.   

For thereof truly cometh all goodness,  
All honour, and all gentleness,  
Worship, ease, and all heart's lust,  
Perfect joy, and full assured trust,  
jollity, pleasance, and freshness,   

Lowlyhead, largesse, and courtesy,  
Semelyhead, and true company,  
dread of shame for to done amiss:  
* For he that truly loves servant is,  
Were loather be shamed than to die.   

And that this is sooth that I say,  
In that believe I will live and day,  
And cuckoo so I read that thou do iwis:  
Then (qd. he) let me never have bliss,  
If ever I unto that counsel obey.   

Nightingale thou speakest wonder fair,  
But for all that is the sooth contraire,  
* For love is in young folk but rage,  
And in old folk a great dotage,  
Who most it useth, most shall enpaire.   

* For thereof cometh disease & heaviness,  
So sorrow & care, and many a great sickness,  
Despite, debate, anger, and envy,  
Depraving, shame, untrust, and jealousy,  
Pride, mischief, poverty, and woodness.   

* Loving is an office of despair,  
And one thing is therein that is not fair,  
For who that getteth of love a little bliss,  
But if he be always therewith iwis,  
He may full soon of age have his hair.   

And Nightingale therefore hold thee nigh,  
For leave me well, for all thy quaint cry,  
If thou be far or long fro thy make,  
Thou shalt be as other that been forsake,  
And then thou shalt hoten as do I.   

Fie (qd. she) on thy name and on thee,  
The god of Love ne let thee never ythee,  
For thou art worse a thousandfold than wood,  
* For many one is full worthy and full good,  
That had be naught ne had love ybee.   

* For evermore love his servants amendeth,  
And from all evil taches hem defendeth,  
And maketh him to brenne right in a fire,  
In troth and in worshipful desire,  
And when him liketh, joy enough him sendeth.   

Thou Nightingale he said, be still,  
* For love hath no reason, but it is will,  
For oft time untrue folk he easeth,  
And true folk so bitterly he displeaseth,  
That for default of courage he let him spill.   

Then took I of the Nightingale keep,  
How she cast a sigh out of her deep,  
And said, alas that ever I was boar,  
I can for tene not say one word more,  
And right with the word she braced out to weep.   

Alas (qd. she) my heart wool to break,  
To hearen thus this lewd bird speak  
Of love, and of his worshipful service,  
Now God of love thou help me in some wise,  
That I may on this Cuckoo been awreake.   

Me thought then he start up anon,  
And glad was I that he was agone,  
And evermore the Cuckoo as he flay,  
Said farewell, farewell Popingay,  
As though he had scorned me alone.   

And then came the Nightingale to me,  
And said, friend forsooth I thank thee,  
That thou hast liked me to rescue,  
And one avow to love make I now,  
That all this May I wool thy singer be.   

I thanked her, and was right well apaied:  
Ye (qd. she) and be thou not dismayed,  
Tho thou have herd the Cuckoo erst than me,  
For if I live, it shall amended be  
The next May, if I be not affrayed.   

And one thing I wool read thee also,  
Ne leave thou not the Cuckoo, ne his loves so,  
For all that he hath said is strong leasing:  
Nay (qd. I) thereto shall nothing me bring,  
For love and it hath do me much wo.   

Ye, use (qd. she) this medicine  
Every day this May or thou dine,  
Go look upon the fresh Daisy,  
And though thou be for woe in point to die,  
That shall full greatly ●essen thee of thy pine.   

And look always that thou be good and true,  
And I wool sing one of the songs new  
For love of thee, as loud as I may cry:  
And then she began this song full high,  
I shrew all hem that been of love untrue.   

And when she had sung it to the end,  
Now farewell (qd. she) for I moat wend,  
And god of love, that can right well, & may,  
As much joy send thee this day,  
As any yet lover he ever send.   

Thus taketh the Nightingale her leave of me,  
I pray to God always with her be,  
And joy of love he send her evermore,  
And shield us from the Cuckoo and his lore,  
For there is not so false a bird as he.   

Forth she flew the gentle Nightingale  
To all the birds that were in that dale,  
And gate him all into a place in fere,  
And besoughten hem that they would here  
Her disease, and thus began her tale.   

The Cuckoo, well it is not for to hide  
How the Cuckoo and I fast have chide,  
Ever sithen it was day light,  
I pray you all that ye do me right  
On that foul false unkind bridde.   

Then spoke o bird for all, by one assent,  
This matter asketh good avisement,  
For we been birds here in fere,  
And soothe it is, the Cuckoo is not here,  
And therefore we wool have a parliament.   

And thereat shall the Eagle be our Lord,  
And other peers that been of record,  
And the Cuckoo shall be after sent,  
There shall be give the judgement,  
Or else we shall finally make accord.   

And this shall be without nay  
The morrow after saint Valentine's day,  
Under a Maple that is fair and green,  
Before the chamber window of the queen,  
At Woodstock upon the green lay.   

She thanked him, & then her leave took,  
And into an Hauthorne by that broke,  
And there she sat and sung upon that tree,  
Term of life love hath withhold me,  
So loud that I with that song awoke.   
Explicit.   


O Lewd book with thy foul rudeness,  
Sith thou haste neither beauty ne eloquence,  
Who hath thee caused or give thee hardiness  
For to appear in my Lady's presence,  
I am full siker thou knowest her benevolence,  
Full agreeable to all her abying,  
For of all good she is the best living.   

Alas that thou ne hadst worthiness,  
To show to her some pleasant sentence,  
Sith that she hath through her gentillesse  
Accepted the servant to her digne reverence,  
O, me repenteth that I ne had science  
And leiser als, to make thee more flourishing,  
For of all good she is the best living.   

Beseech her meekly with all lowliness,  
Though I be far from her in absence,  
To think on my troth to her & steadfastness,  
And to abridge of my sorrows the violence,  
Which caused is, whereof knoweth your sapience,  
She like among to notify me her liking  
For of all good she is the best living.   

Lenuoye.  
A Vrore of gladness, and day of lustiness,  
Lucern a night with heavenly influence  
Illumined, root of beauty and goodness,  
Suspires which I effunde in silence,  
Of grace I beseech allege let your writing,  
Now of all good, sith ye be best living.   
Explicit.   

Scogan unto the Lords and Gentlemen of the King's House.  
In the written Copies the Title hereof is thus: Here followeth a moral Ballad to the Prince, the Duke of Clarence, the Duke of Bedford, the Duke of Gloucester, the King's Sons; by Henry Scogan, at a Supper among the Merchants in the Vintry at London, in the House of Lewis John.  

MY noble sons and eke my lords dear,  
I your father called unworthely,  
Send unto you this little Treatise here,  
Written with mine own hand full rudely,  
Although it be that I not reverently  
Have written to your estates, I you pray  
Mine unconning taketh benignly  
For God's sake, and harken what I say.   

I complain me sore when I remember me  
The sudden age that is upon me fall,  
But more I complain my misspent jwentute  
The which is impossible again for to call,  
But certainly the most complaint of all,  
Is to think, that I have be so nice,  
That I ne would virtues to me call  
In all my youth, but vices aye cherice.   

Of which I ask mercy of the Lord,  
That art almighty God in majesty,  
Beseking to make so even accord  
Betwixt thee and my soul, that vanity,  
Worldly lust, ne blind prosperity,  
Have no lordship over my flesh so frele,  
Thou Lord of rest and perfect unity,  
Put from me vice, and keep my soul he'll.   

And give me might while I have life & space,  
Me to confirm fully to thy pleasance,  
Show to me the abundance of thy grace,  
And in good werks grant me perseverance,  
Of all my youth forget the ignorance,  
Yeve me good will to serve thee ay to queme,  
Set all my life after thine ordinance,  
And able me to mercy or thou dame.   

My lords dear, why I this complaint write  
To you, whom I love most entirely,  
Is for to warn you as I can indite,  
* That time lost in youth foolily,  
Greueth a wight bodily and ghostly,  
I mean him that to lust and vice intend,  
Wherefore lords I pray you specially,  
Your youth in virtue shapeth to dispend.   

* Plant the root of youth in such a wise,  
That in virtue your growing be always,  
Look always goodness be in your exercise,  
That shall you mighty make at each assay,  
The fiend to withstand at each affray,  
Passeth wisely this perilous pilgrimage,  
Think on this word, and work it every day,  
That shall you give a perfect flowered age.   

Taketh also heed how that these noble clerks  
Written in her books of great saprence,  
Saying that faith is ded withouten works,  
And right so is estate with negligence  
Of virtue, and therefore with diligence  
* Shapeth of virtue so to plant the root,  
That ye thereof have full experience  
To worship of your life and soul's boot.   

* Taketh also heed, that lordship ne estate  
Without virtue may not long endure,  
Thinketh eke how vices & virtue at debate  
Have been and shall while the world may dure,  
And ever the vicious by adventure  
Is overthrow, and thinketh evermore  
That God is Lord of all virtue, and figure  
Of all goodness, and therefore follow his lore.   

My master Chaucer, God his soul save,  
That in his language was so curious,  
He said that the father which is dead & grave,  
Biqueth nothing his virtue with his house  
Unto his children, and therefore labourous  
Ought ye be, beseeking God of grace  
To give you might for to be virtuous,  
Through whichye might have part of his place.   

* Hear may ye see that virtuous noblesse  
Come not to you by way of auncestry,  
But it cometh by lawful business  
Of honest life, and not by slogardry,  
Wherefore in youth I read you edisie  
The house of virtue in such a manere,  
That in your age may you keep and gie  
From the tempest of world's wawes here.   

* Thinketh how betwixe virtue and estate  
There is a perfect blessed Marriage,  
Virtue is cause of peace, vice of debate  
In man's soul, the which be full of courage,  
Cherisheth then virtue, vices to outrage,  
Driveth him away, let him have no woning  
In your souls, loseth not the heritage  
Which God hath give to virtuous living.   

* Take heed also how men of poor degree  
Through virtue have beset in great honour,  
And ever have lived in great prosperity  
Through cherishing of virtuous labour,  
Thinketh also how many a governor  
Called to estate, hath be set full low  
Through misusing of right and of error,  
And therefore I cousaile you virtue to know   

Thus by your ancestors ye may nothing claim,  
As that my master Chaucer saith express,  
But temporal thing, that men may hurt or maim,  
Then is God stock of virtuous noblesse,  
And sith that he is lord of blessedness,  
And made us all, and for us all deide,  
Followeth him in virtue with full business,  
And of this thing hark how my master said.   

The first stock, father of gentleness,  
What man that claimeth gentle for to be,  
Must follow his trace, and all his wits dress,  
Virtue to look, and vices for to fly,  
For unto virtue longeth dignity,  
And not the revers safely dare I dame,  
All wear the mitre, crown, or Diadem.   

The first stock was full of rightwiseness,  
True of his word, sober, piteous, and free,  
Clean of his ghost, and loved business  
Against the vice of sloth in honesty,  
And but his heir love virtue, as did he,  
He is not gentle though he rich seem,  
All wear he mitre, crown, or Diadem.   

Vice may be an heir to old richesses,  
* But there may no man, all men may see,  
Biqueth his heir his virtuous noblesse,  
That is appropried unto no degree,  
But to the first father of Majesty,  
That maketh his heir's hem that can him queme,  
All wear he mitre, crown, or Diadem.   

Lo, hear this noble Poet of Britain  
How lightly in virtuous sentence  
The loss on youth of virtue can complain,  
Therefore I pray you with your diligence,  
For your profit and God's reverence,  
Tempereth fully virtue in your mind,  
That when ye come to your judges presence,  
Ye be not vertulesse then behind.   

Many lords have a manner now adays,  
Though one show him a virtuous matter,  
Her fervent youth is of so false alleys,  
That of that art they have no joy to here,  
But as a ship that is without a steer,  
Driveth up and down without governance,  
weening that calm would last year by year,  
Right so fare they for very ignorance.   

* For very shame know they not by reason,  
That after an ebb there cometh a flood full rage,  
In the same wise when youth passeth his season  
Come crooked and unwieldy palied age,  
And soon after comen the Kalends of dotage,  
And if the her youth have no virtue provided,  
All men wool say fie on her vassalage,  
Thus hath her sloth from worship him divided.   

Boecius the clerk, as men may read and see,  
Saith in his book of Consolation,  
What man desires of Vine or tree,  
Plenteous fruit in reaping season,  
Must ever eschew to do oppression  
Unto the root, while it is young and green,  
Thus may ye see well by that inclusion,  
* That youth vertulesse doth much tene.   

* Now seeth there against how virtuous nobleness,  
Rooted in youth with good perseverance,  
Driveth away all vices and wretchedness,  
As slogardry, riot, and distance,  
Seeth eke how virtue causeth suffisance,  
Seeth eke how virtue voideth all vice,  
And who so hath virtue, hath all abundance  
Of well, as far as reason can devose.   

Take heed of Tullius Hostilius,  
That fro povert came to high degree  
Through virtue, readeth eke of julius  
The conqueror, how poor a man was he,  
Yet through his virtue and humility,  
Of many country had he in governance,  
Thus virtue bringeth a man to great degree,  
Each wight that lust to do him entendaunce.   

Reed here against now of Nero vertulees,  
Taketh heed also of proud Balthasare,  
They hated virtue, equity, and pees,  
And look how Antiochus fill fro his chare,  
That he his skin and bones all to tore,  
Look what mischance they had for her vices,  
Who so wool not by these signs beware,  
I dare well say infortunate and nice is.   

I can no more now say, but hereby may ye see,  
How virtue causeth perfect sickerness,  
And vices exilen all prosperity,  
The best is each man to choose as I guess,  
Doth as you list, I me excuse express,  
I would be right sorry if that ye mischese,  
God confirm you in virtuous noblesse,  
So that through negligence ye not it less.   
Explicit.   


* SOmetime the world so steadfast was and stable,  
That man's word was an obligatioun,  
And now it is so false and deceivable,  
That word and deed as in conclusioun  
Is nothing like, for turned is up so down  
All the world, through meed and fikelnesse,  
That all is lost for lack of steadfastness.   

What maketh the world to be so variable  
But lust, that men have in dissension,  
* For among us a man is hold unable,  
But if he can by some collusion  
Do his neighbour wrong and oppression:  
What causeth this but wilful wretchedness,  
That all is lost for lack of steadfastness.   

* Troth is put down, reason is hold fable,  
Virtue hath now no domination,  
Pity is exiled, no man is merciable,  
Through covetise is blended discretion,  
The world hath made a permutation,  
From right to wrong, fro troth to fikelnesse,  
That all is lost for lack of steadfastness.   

Lenvoye.  
Prince desire to be honourable,  
Cherish thy folk, and hate extortion,  
Suffer nothing that may be reprovable  
To thine estate, done in thy region,  
Show forth the yard of castigation,  
dread God, do law, love troth & worthiness,  
And wed thy folk again to steadfastness.   
Explicit.   

Good Counsel of Chaucer.  

FLY fro the press, & dwell with soothfastness,  
* Suffice unto thy good though it be small,  
* For horde hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse,  
Press hath envy, and well is blended over all,  
* Savour no more than thee behoove shall,  
Reed well thyself that other folk canst read,  
And troth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.   

* Pain thee not each crooked to redress  
In trust of her that tourneth as a ball,  
* Great rest standeth in little business,  
Beware also to spurn again a awl,  
Strive not as doth a crock with a wall,  
wall Demetrius thyself that demest others deed,  
And troth thee shall deliver it is no dread.   

* That thee is sent receive in buxomness,  
The wrestling of this world asketh a fall,  
Here is no home, here is but wilderness,  
Forth pilgrim, forth beast out of thy stall,  
* Look up on high, and thank God of all,  
* Weive thy lusts, and let thy ghost thee lead,  
And troth thee shall deliver, it is no dread.   
Explicit.   

A Ballad of the Village without Painting.  

Plaintiff to Fortune.  

THis wretched world's transmutation,  
As well and woe, now poor, & now honour,  
Without order or due discretion,  
Governed is by Fortune's error,  
But nevertheless the lack of her favour  
Ne may not do me sing, though that I die,  
L'ay tout pardu, mon temps & labour.  
For finally fortune I defy.   

Yet is me left the sight of my reasoun,  
To know friend from foe in thy mirror,  
So much hath yet thy tourning up & down  
Ytaught me to known in an hover,  
But truly no force of thy reddour  
To him that over himself hath maistre,  
* My suffisance shall be my succour,  
For finally fortune I defy.   

O Socrates thou steadfast champion,  
She might never be thy tormentor,  
Thou never dredest her oppression,  
Ne in her cheer found thou no favour,  
Thou knew the deceit of her colour,  
And that her most worship is for to lie,  
I know her eke a false dissimulour,  
For finally fortune I defy.    

The answer of Fortune.  

* No man is wretched, but himself it ween,  
Ne that hath in himself suffisance,  
Why sayest thou then I am to thee so keen,  
That hast thyself out of my governance?  
Say thus, grant mercy of thine abundance  
that thou hast lent or this, thou shalt not strive,  
What wost thou yet how I thee wool auance,  
And eke thou hast thy best friend alive.   

I have thee taught division between  
Friend of effect, and friend of countenance,  
Thee needeth not the gall of an Hine,  
That cureth eyes dark for her penance  
Now seest thou clear that were in ignorance,  
* Yet holt thine anchor, & yet thou maistarrive  
There bounty beareth the key of my substance,  
And eke thou hast thy best friend alive.   

How many have I refused to sustain,  
Sith I have thee fostered in thy pleasance,  
Wolt thou then make a statute on thy queen,  
That I shall be aye at thine ordinance,  
Thou born art in my reign of variance,  
About the wheel with other must thou drive,  
My lore is bet, than wick is thy grievance,  
And eke thou hast thy best friend alive.    

The answer to Fortune.  
Thy lore I damn, it is adversity,  
My friend mayst thou not reave blind goddess,  
That I thy friends know, I thank it thee,  
* Take hem again, let him go lie a press,  
The niggards in keeping her richesses,  
Pronoslike is, thou wolt her tower assail,  
* Wicke appetite cometh aye before sickness,  
In general this rule may not fail.   

Fortune.  
Thou pinchest at my mutability,  
For I thee lent a drop of my richesses,  
And now me liketh to withdraw me,  
Why shouldest thou my royalty oppress,  
The sea may ebb and flow more and less,  
The welkin hath might to shine, rain, & hail,  
Right so must I kithe my brotilnesse,  
In general this rule may not fail.   

The Plaintiff.  
Lo, the execution of the majesty,  
That all purueigheth of his rightwiseness,  
That same thing fortune clepe ye,  
Ye blind beasts full of lewdness,  
* The heaven hath property of sickerness,  
This world hath ever restless travail,  
The last day is end of mine entresse,  
In general this rule may not fail.   

Thenuoye of Fortune.  
Princes I pray you of your gentleness  
Let not this man and me thus cry and plain,  
And I shall quite you this business,  
And if ye list relieve him of his pain,  
Pray ye his best friend of his noblesse,  
That to some better state he may attain.  

Envoy.  

TO broken been the statutes high in heaven,  
That create were eternally tendure,  
Scythe that I see the bright Gods seven,  
Mowe weep and wail, and passion endure,  
As may in yearth a mortal creature:  
Alas, fro whence may this thing proceed,  
Of which error I die almost for dread.   

By word eterne whilom was it shape,  
That fro the fifth cercle in no manner,  
Ne might of tears down escape,  
But now so weepeth Venus in her sphere,  
That with her tears she wol drench us here,  
Alas Scogan this is for thine offence,  
Thou causest this deluge of pestilence.   

Hast thou not said in blaspheme of the goddis,  
Through pride, or through thy great rekelnes,  
Such things as in the law of love forbade is,  
That for thy lady saw not thy distress,  
Therefore thou gave her up at Mighelmesse?  
Alas Scogan of old folk ne young,  
Was never erst Scogan blamed for his tongue.   

Thou drew in scorn Cupid eke to record,  
Of thilk rebel word that thou hast spoken,  
For which he wool no longer be thy Lord,  
And Scogan, though his bow be not broken,  
He wool not with his arrows be wrought  
On thee ne me, ne none of our figure,  
We shall of him have neither hurt ne cure.   

Now certes friend I dread of thine unhape,  
Lest for thy guilt the wretch of love proceed  
On all hem that been hore & round of shape,  
That be so likely folk to speed,  
Then we shall of our labour have our meed,  
But well I wot thou wolt answer and say,  
* Lo old Grisell list to run and play.   

Nay Scogan say not so, for I me excuse,  
God help me so, in no rhyme doubtless,  
Ne think I never of sleep wake my muse,  
That rusteth in my sheath still in pees,  
While I was young I put her forth in prees,  
But all shall pass that men prose or time,  
Take every man his turn as for his time.   

* Scogan thou knelest at the streams head  
Of grace, of all honour, and of worthiness,  
In th'end of which I am dull as dead,  
Forgotten in solitary wilderness,  
Yet Scogan think on Tullius' kindness,  
Mind thy friend there it may fructify,  
Farewell, and look thou never eft love defy.     
Explicit.   


* GO forth King, rule thee by Sapience,  
Bishop be able to minister doctrine,  
Lord to true counsel give audience,  
womanhood to chastity ever incline,  
Knight let thy deeds worship determine,  
Be righteous judge in saving thy name,  
Rich do almose, lest thou less bliss with shame.   

* People obey your king and the law,  
Age be ruled by good religion,  
True servant be dreadful & keep thee under awe,  
And thou poor, fie on presumption,  
Inobedience to youth is utter destruction,  
Remember you how God hath set you lo,  
And do your part as ye be ordained to.    

Th. Occleve to his empty Purse.  

TO you my purse and to none other wight  
Complain I, for ye be my Lady dear,  
I am sorry now that ye be light,  
For certes ye now make me heavy cheer,  
Me were as lief laid upon a bear,  
For which unto your mercy thus I cry,  
Be heavy again or else moat I die.   

Now vouchsafe this day or it be night,  
That I of you the blissful swoon may here,  
Or see your colour like the sun bright,  
That of yelowness had never peer,  
Ye be my life, ye be my hearts steer,  
Queen of comfort and of good company,  
Be heavy again, or else moat I die.   

Now purse that art to me my life's light,  
And saviour, as down in this world here,  
Out of this town help me by your might,  
Sith that you wool not be my treasure,  
* For I am shave as ne'er as any frere,  
But I pray unto your courtesy,  
Be heavy again, or else moat I die.   
Explicit.   

Occleve unto the King.  
O Conqueror of Brutus' Albion,  
Which that by line and free election  
Been very king, this to you I send,  
And ye that may all harms amend,  
Have mind upon my supplication.  
Explicit.   

A Ballad of good counsel, translated out of Latin verses into English by Dan John Lidgate, cleped the Monk of Bury.  

COnsider well every circumstance,  
Of what estate ever thou be,  
rich, strong, or mighty of puissance,  
Prudent or wise, discrete or besie,  
The doom of folks in such thou may not fly,  
* What ever thou dost trust well this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

For in thy port or in apparel,  
If thou be clad and honestly be sane,  
Anon the people of malice wool not fail,  
Without advice or reason for to said,  
That thine array is made or wrought in vain.  
Suffer him speak, and trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wol always dame amiss.   

Thou will to kings be equipolent,  
With great lords evin and peregall,  
And if thou be torn, all to rend,  
Then wool they say, and jangle over all,  
Thou art a slougarde that never thrive shall,  
Suffer him speak, and trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

* If it befall that thou take a wife,  
They wool falsely say in their intent,  
Thou art likely ever to live in strife,  
Void of all rest, without aledgment,  
Wife's ben masters, this is their judgement,  
Suffren all their speech, & trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

* If thou be fair and excellent of beauty,  
Yet wool they say that thou art amorous,  
If thou be foul and ugly on to see,  
They wool affirm that thou art vicious,  
The people of language is so despitous,  
Suffer all their speech, & trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

If so be that of parfitenesse,  
Thou hast vowed to live in chastity,  
Then wool folk, of thy person express,  
Thou art impotent tengendre in thy degree,  
And thus where thou be chaste or des●avy,  
Suffer him speak, and trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

If thou be fat other corpolent,  
Then wol they said thou art a great gloton,  
A devourer, or else vinolent,  
If thou be lean or megre of fashion,  
Call thee a niggard in their opinion,  
Suffer them speak, and trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

If thou be rich, some wool yeve thee laude,  
And say it cometh of prudent governance,  
And some wol sane it cometh of fraud,  
Other by sleight, or false chevisaunce,  
To said the worst, folk have so great pleasance,  
What suffer him say, & trust right weis this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

If thou be sad or sober of countenance,  
Men wool said thou thinkest some treason,  
And if thou be glad of dalliance,  
Men wool dame it dissolution,  
And call fair speech adulation,  
Yet let him speak, and trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wol always dame amiss.   

Who that is holy by perfection,  
Men of malice wool clip him hypocrite,  
And who is merry of clean intention,  
Men said in riot he doth him delight,  
Some mourn in black, some love in clothes white,  
Suffer men speak, and trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

Honest array men dame it pomp and pride,  
And who goeth poor, men call him a waster,  
And who goeth still men mark him on the side,  
Seine that he is a spy or agiler:  
Who wasteth not, men said he hath treasure,  
Whereof conclude and trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue will always dame amiss.   

Who speaketh much men clepeth him prudent,  
Who that debateth, men sane that he is hardy,  
And who saith little with great sentement,  
Some folk yet wol wit him of folly,  
Troth is put down, and up goth flattery,  
And who that list plainly know the cause of this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

For though a man were as patient,  
As was David throw his humility,  
Or with Solomon in wisdom as prudent,  
Or in knighthood equal with joshua,  
Or manly proved, as judas Machabe,  
Yet for all that, trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

And though a man had the prowess  
Of worthy Hector, Troy's Champioun,  
The love of Troilus, or the kindness,  
Or of Cesar the famous high renown,  
With all Alexaunders dominacioun,  
Yet for all that trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

Or though a man of high or low degree,  
Of Tullius had the sugared eloquence,  
Or of Seneca the moralitee,  
Or of Caton foresight and providence,  
The conquest of Charles, Artures magnificence,  
Yet for all that trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wool always dame amiss.   

Touching of women, the perfect Innocence  
Though that they had, of Hester the nobleness,  
Or of Gresilde, the humble patience,  
Or of judith, the previd stableness,  
Or Polixcenes virginal cleanness,  
Yet dare I seive, and trust right well this,  
* Some wicked tongue would dame of them amiss.   

The wifely troth of Penelope  
Though they it had in her possession,  
Helenes beauty, the kindness of Medee,  
The love unfeigned of Martia Caton,  
Or Alcestes true affection,  
Yet dare I sane and trust right well this,  
A wicked tongue wol always dame amiss.   

Than sooth it is that no man may eschew  
The sword of tongues, but it will kerve & bite,  
Full hard it is a man for to remew,  
Out of their danger him for to acquit,  
* woe to the tongues that himself delight,  
To hinder or slander, & set their study in this,  
And their pleasances to dame always amiss.   

Most noble princes, cherishers of virtue,  
Remembreth you of high discretion,  
* The first virtue most pleasing to jesus,  
(By the writing and sentence of Caton)  
Is a good tongue in his opinion,  
Chastise the reverse of wisdom do this,  
Voideth your hearing from all y● dame amiss.    

A Ballad in the Praise and Commendation of Master Geoffrey Chaucer, for his golden Eloquence.  
Master Geffray Chaucer, that now lithe in grave,  
The noble Rhetorition, and Poet of great Britain,  
That worthy was the laurer of Poetry to have  
For this his labour, and the palm to attain,  
Which first made to distil, and rain,  
The gold dew drops, of speech & eloquence,  
Into English tongue, through his excellence.  
Explicit.    

Here followeth certain Works of Geffrey Chaucer, annexed to the Impressions printed in the Years 1561, and 1602. All collected and adjoined to his former Works by John Stowe.  

A Ballad made by Chaucer, teaching what is gentilness, or whom is worthy to be called gentle.  

THE first stock Father of gentleness,  
What man desireth gentle for to be,  
Must follow his trace, and all his wits dreiss,  
Virtue to love, and vices for to flee,  
For unto virtue longeth dignity,  
And not the revers falsely dare I dame,  
All wear he mitre, crown or diadem.   

This first stock was full of rightwiseness,  
True of his word, sober, piteous and free,  
Clean of his ghost and loved besineffe,  
Against the vice of sloth in honest,  
* And but his eyre love virtue as did he,  
He is not gentle though he rich seem,  
All wear he mitre, crown or diadem.   

* Vicesse may well be heir to old richesses,  
But there may no man, as men may well see,  
Byquethe his eyre his virtue's nobleness,  
That is appropried unto no degree,  
But to the first father in majesty,  
That maketh his eyres them that him queme  
All wear he mitre, crown or diadem.   
Explicit.   

A Proverb against Covetise and Negligence.  
WHat shall these clothes manifold  
Lo this hot summer's day,  
* After great heat cometh cold,  
No man cast his pilch away,  
Of all this world the large compass  
It will not in mine arms twain,  
Who so mokel wool enbrace,  
Little thereof he shall distrain.  
Explicit.   

A Ballad which Chaucer made against Women unconstant.  

Madam, for your new fangleness,  
Many a servaunt have you put out of your grace,  
I take my leave of your unstedfastness,  
For well I wot, while ye to live have space,  
Ye cannot love full half year in a place,  
* To new things your lust is ever keen,  
In stead of blue, thus may ye wear all green.   

Right as a mirror that nothing may enpresse,  
But lightly as it cometh, so moat it pass,  
So fares your love, your works bear witness  
There is no faith may your heart enbrace,  
But as a wedercocke, that turneth his face  
With every wind, ye fare, and that is seen,  
In stead of blue, thus may ye wear all green.   

Ye might be shrined, for your brothilnes,  
Better than Dalyda, Cresseide, or Candace,  
For ever in changing stondeth your sikernesses,  
That catch may no wight, from your heart a race,  
If ye lose one, ye can well twein purchase  
* All light for somar, ye wot well with I meene,  
In stead of blue, thus may ye wear all green.   
Explicit.   

Here followeth a Ballad which Chaucer made in the Praise, or rather Dispraise, of Women, for their Doubleness.  

THis world is full of variance,  
In every thing who taketh heed  
That faith and trust, and all constancy,  
Exiled been this is no dread,  
And save only in womanhead,  
I can see no sekerness,  
But for all that, yet as I read,  
Beware always of doubleness.   

* Also that fresh summer flowers,  
White and read, blue and green,  
Been suddenly, with winter showers,  
Made feinte and fade, without ween:  
That trust is none as ye may seen,  
In no thing, nor no steadfastness,  
Except in women, thus I meene,  
Yet aye beware of doubleness.   

The crooked Moon, this is no tale,  
Some while yshene and bright of hue,  
And after that full dark and pale,  
And every month changeth new,  
That who the very sooth knew,  
knew All things is bilt on brotleness,  
Save that women aye be true,  
Yet aye beware of doubleness.   

The lusty fresh summer's day,  
And Phoebus with his beams clear,  
Towards night they draw away  
And none longer list appear,  
* That in this present life now here,  
Nothing abideth in his faireness,  
Save women aye be found intere,  
And devoid of doubleness.   

The sea eke, with his stern wawes,  
Each day floweth new again,  
And by concourse of his laws  
The ebb floweth in certain:  
* After great drought, there cometh a rain,  
That farewell here all stabelness,  
Save that women be hole and plain,  
Yet aye beware of doubleness.   

* Fortune's wheel goeth round about,  
A thousand times, day and night,  
Whose course standeth ever in doubt,  
For to transmew, she is so light,  
For which adverteth in your sight,  
The untrust of worldy fikelness,  
Save women, which of kindly right,  
Ne hath no teach of doubleness.   

What man may the wind restrain,  
Or hold a snake by the tail,  
Or a slipper eel constrain,  
That it will void, without fail,  
Or who can drive so a nail,  
To make sure new fongleness,  
* Save women that can gie their sail,  
To row their boot with doubleness.   

At every haven they can arrive,  
Where as they wot is good passage,  
Of innocence they can not strive,  
With wawes nor no rocks rage,  
So happy is their lodemanage,  
With needle and stone their course to dress,  
* That Solomon was not so sage,  
To find in them no doubleness.   

Therefore who so them accuse,  
Of any double entencion,  
To speak, rowne, other to muse,  
To pinch at their condition,  
All is but false collusion,  
I dare rightwell the sooth express,  
They have no better protection,  
But shroud them under doubleness.   

* So well fortuned is their chance,  
The dice to turn up so down,  
With size and sink they can advance,  
And then by revolution,  
They set a fell conclusion,  
Of ●ombes, as in soothfastness,  
Though clerks make mention,  
Their kind is fret with doubleness.   

Samson had experience,  
That women were full true yfound,  
When Dalyda of innocence,  
With shears 'gan his here to round,  
To speak also of Rosamound,  
And Cleopatris faithfulness,  
The stories plainly will confound,  
Men that apeche their doubleness.   

Single thing ne is not praised,  
Nor of old is of no renown,  
In balance when they be poised,  
For lack of weight they be boar down,  
And for this cause of just reason.  
These women all of rightwiseness,  
Of choice and free election,  
Most love exchange and doubleness.   

Lenuoye.  
O Ye women which been inclined,  
By influence of your nature,  
To been as pure as gold yfined,  
In your truth for to endure,  
Arm yourself in strong armure,  
Lest men assail your sikerness,  
Set on your breast yourself to assure,  
A mighty shield of doubleness.   
Explicit.   

This Work following was compiled by Chaucer, and it is called the Craft of Lovers.  

MOral is a similitude who list their ballads sew,  
The craft of Love's curious arguments,  
For some been false and some been founden true,  
And some been double of entendements,  
Thus lovers with their moral documents,  
And eloquent langage they can examplifie,  
The craft of love what it doth signify.  
Who list unto this ballads have inspection,  
Think that love's lordships excellent,  
Is remedy for disease and correction,  
To woeful heart and body impotent,  
Suppose the maker that he be negligent  
In his compiling hold him excusable,  
Because his spirits be sorry and lamentable.   

Most sovereign lady surmounting your nobleness,  
O intenuate jenipre & daisy delicious  
My trust, mine health, my cordial foundress,  
O Medicine sanatife to sores langorous,  
O comfortable creature of lovers amorous,  
O excellent herber of lovely countenance,  
Ye register my love in your remembrance.   

Certes sir your painted eloquence,  
So gay, so fresh and eke so talcatife,  
It doth transcend the wit of dame Prudence,  
For to declare your thought or to discrive,  
So gloriously glad langage ye contrive,  
Of your conceit, your thought, & your intent,  
I will beware for dread or I be stint.   

O rubicunde Rose, and white as the lily,  
O clarified Crystal of worldly portraiture,  
O Courfin figure resplendent with glory,  
O Gem of beauty, o Carboncle shining pure,  
Your fairness exceedeth the craft of dame nature  
Most womanly behaving your lovely countenawce,  
Ye register my love in your remembrance.   

What availeth sir your proclamation,  
Of curious talking, not touching to sadness,  
It is but wind, flattering, and adulation,  
Imesurable thought of worldly wildness,  
Which is chief cause of ghostly feebleness,  
Your will, your thought, your double intendment,  
* I will beware of dread, or I be shent.   

My wit, my thought, and mine invention,  
Is for to please you my lady sovereign,  
And for your love throw many a region  
I would be exiled, so that ye would not disdain  
To have pity on me when I complain,  
In well and woe to suffer perturbance,  
So that ye wool have me in remembrance.   

What is your will plainly ye do express,  
That maketh this curious supplication,  
Say on sir on heartily tenderness,  
Beth well advised of vain delectation,  
* At your beginning think on the termination,  
Pass not your bounds be not too negligent,  
And ever beware for dread or ye be shent.   

Your goodly behaving your beauty & countenance  
Maketh me incline to do you reverence,  
Your lovely looking your glorious governance  
Overcometh my spirits my wit & my prudence  
Some drop of grace, of your magnificence,  
Unto your servaunt ye show attendance,  
And register my love in your remembrance.   

O cumbrous thought of man's fragility,  
O fervent will of lusts furious,  
O cruel courage causing adversity,  
Of women's corruption & eke contrarious,  
* Remember man that change is perilous,  
To break the virginity of virgins innocent,  
Wherefore beware wankind or thou be shent.   

My peine is prevy, impossible to deserve  
My lamentable thoughts by casting mourning,  
O general judge jesus sitting superne,  
Graciously convert the love of my sweet thing,  
O amiable lady gracious and benign,  
I put me wholly in your governance,  
Exile me not out of your remembrance.   

Me seemeth by langage ye be some protestate  
Or else some curious gloser discevable,  
What is your name mekely I make regrate,  
Or of what science or craft commendable,  
I am a lady excellent, and honourable,  
* He must be gay that should be to mine intent,  
Wherefore I will be ware or I be shent.   

Lord God this is a sharp examination,  
Of her that is most in my memory,  
Unto you lady I make certification,  
My name is true love of carnal desidery,  
Of man's copulation the very exemplary,  
Which am one of your servants of pleasance,  
I must be chief called to remembrance.   

I have sought true love of years great process,  
Yet found I never love but for a season,  
* Some men be divers & know no gentleness,  
And some lack both wisdom and reason,  
In some men is trust, in some men is treason,  
Wherefore I will conclude my avisement,  
And ever beware for dread that I be shent.   

The rector Tullius so gay of eloquence,  
And Ovide that showeth the craft of love express,  
With abundance of Salomon's prudence,  
And pulcritude of Absalon's fairness,  
And I were possessed with jobs great richesses  
Manly as Samson my person to auance,  
Yet should I submit me in your remembrance.   

Now sir if that it pleaseth your nobleness  
To give advertence to my question,  
What thing is pleasure of sweetness,  
And is most bitter in final succession?  
Or what thing giveth man occasion  
In tender age for to be concupiscent?  
Resolve this question or dread sir ye be shent.   

My sovereign lady, ovid in his writing  
* Saith that desire of worldly concupiscence  
As for a time is sweet in his worching,  
And in his end he causeth great offence:  
Notwithstanding my lady dame Prudence,  
Green flowering age, a manly countenance  
Causeth ladies to have it in remembrance.   

Your goodly answer so notable in substance,  
Would cause the heart of womanhead convert  
Unto delight of natural pleasance:  
But of one thing I would fain be expert,  
Why mens langage wol procure & transuert  
The will of women and virgins innocent?  
Wherefore I am afeard or I be shent.   

Let never the love of true love be loosed,  
(My sovereign lady) in no manner wise,  
In your confidence my words I have closed,  
My amiable love to you I do promise,  
* So that ye knit the knot of exercise,  
Both lock and key ye have in governance,  
Emprint my love in your remembrance.   

O very trust and I were certified,  
The plain intention of your hearts cordial,  
Me seemeth in bliss than were I glorified,  
Unto your pleasure I would be at your call,  
But ever I fear of chances casual,  
Of fraud, deceit, and langage insolent,  
Then were I sure maidenhed should be shent.   

There was never treasure of terrestrial riches,  
Nor precious stones reckoned innumerable,  
To be of comparison unto your high goodness,  
Above all creatures to me most amiable,  
Trust not the contrary I was never discevable,  
* Keep well true love, forge no dissemblance,  
And graciously take me to your remembrance.   

Me seemeth by feiture of womanly property,  
Ye should be trusty and true of promise,  
I find in you no false duplicity,  
Wherefore true love ye have my here I wis,  
And evermore shall endure so have I bliss,  
The federasie made with good avisement,  
God grant grace that nether of us be shent.   

When Phoebus fresh was in chare splendent,  
In the month of May early in a morning,  
I hard two lover's proffer this argument,  
In the year of our Lord a M. by reckoning,  
CCCXL. and VIII. year following,  
O potent princess conserve true lovers all,  
And grant them thy region & bliss celestial.   
Explicit the craft of lovers.   

A Ballad.  

OF their nature they greatly them delight,  
With holy face feigned for the nonce,  
* In saintwary their friends to visit,  
More for relics than for saints bones,  
Though they be closed under precious stones,  
To get them pardon like their old usages,  
* To kiss no shrines but lusty quick Images.   

When maidens are wedded & household have take,  
All their humility is exiled away,  
And the cruel hearts beginneth to awake,  
They do all the besie cure that they can or may,  
To vex their household masters the soothe for to say  
Wherefore ye young men I read you for thy,  
* Beware always, the blind eats many a fly.   

Of this mater I dare make no longer relation,  
For in default of sleep my spirits wexen faint  
In my study I have had so long an habitation  
That my body & my ghost are grievously attaint  
And therefore of this process I make no longer  
But whether the blind eat flesh or fish complaint  
* I prey God keep the fly out of my dish.   

Now I make an end, & lay me down to rest,  
For I know by experience verament,  
If maidens and wives knew and wist,  
Who made the matter he should be shent,  
Wherefore I pray God omnipotent,  
Him save and keep both night and day,  
Written in the lusty season of May.   
Explicit.   

The Ten Commandments of Love.  

CErtes far extendeth yet my reason,  
This matter as it should be, to discriue,  
But I trust your grace will in this season,  
Consider how with cunning that I strive,  
For in his favour could I never arrive,  
Eloquence this Ballad hath in great despite,  
The maker lacketh manner to indite.   

Of Love's commandments x. is the number,  
As afterward shall rudely be rehearsed,  
And lovers in no wise depart asunder,  
Where as they be observed and redressed,  
Danger and unkindness been oppressed,  
And that is commanded this to make,  
Is your own all other to forsake.   

Faith.  
Faith is the first and principally to tell,  
Very love requireth such credence,  
That each believe other as true as the Gospel,  
Without adulation or flattering audience,  
In true meaning and trusty confidence,  
* Paint not your cunning with colour ne fable,  
For then your love must needs be unstable.   

Entencion.  
In the second to treat of Entencion,  
Your lover to please do your busy cure,  
For as min author Romance maketh mention,  
Without intent your love may not endure,  
* As women will thereof I am right sure,  
Endeavour with heart, will, and thought,  
To please him only that her love hath sought.   

Discretion.  
* In your dealing ever be discrete,  
Set not your love there as it shall be loosed,  
Advertise in your mind whether he be meet,  
That unto him your heart may be disclosed,  
And after as you find him then disposed,  
Point by discretion your hour, time, & place,  
Conveniently meeting with arms to embrace.   

Patience.  
Of these commandments, the iv. is patience,  
* Tho by irous courage your lover be moved,  
With soft words and humble obedience,  
His wrath may soon be suaged and relieved,  
And thus his love obtained and achieved,  
Will in you root with greater diligence,  
Because of your meek & womanly patience.   

Secretness.  
Secretly behave you in your werks,  
In showing countenance or meving of your iye,  
Though such behaviour to some folk be dark,  
He that hath loved will it soon aspie,  
Thus yourself your counsel may descry,  
* Make privy to your deling as few as ye may  
For three may keep a counsel if twain be away.   

Prudence.  
* Let prudence be governor of your bridle rhene,  
Set not your love in so fervent wise,  
But that in goodly haste ye may refreine,  
If your lover list you to despise,  
* romance mine author would you this advice,  
To slack your love, for if ye do not so,  
That wanton lust will turn you into wo.   

Perseveraunce.  
* Establish your love in so steadfast wise,  
If that ye think your lover will be true,  
As entirely as you can devose,  
Love him only and refuse all new,  
Then shall not your worship change his hue,  
For certes masteres then is he to blame,  
But if that he will quite you with the same.   

Pity.  
* Be piteous to him as womanhod requireth  
That for your love endureth pains smart,  
Whom so sore your pleasant look enfireth,  
That printed is your beauty in his hart,  
And wounded lieth without knife or dart,  
There let your pity spread without restraint,  
For lack of pity, let not your servant faint.   

Measure.  
Take measure in your talking, be not outrage  
For this rehearseth Romance de la Rose,  
* A man endued with plenteous langage,  
Oft time is denied his purpose,  
Take measure in langage, wisdom in gross,  
* For measure as right well proved is by reason  
Things unseasonable setteth in season.   

Mercy.  
Soch danger exile him utterly,  
Over all mercy to occupy his place,  
To piteous complaints your ears apply,  
And receive your servant in grace,  
To him that bound is in love's lace,  
Show favour lady and be not merciless,  
Lest ye be called a common murderess.  

Lenuoye.  

When ye unto this ballad have inspection,  
In my making hold me excusable,  
It is submitted unto your correction,  
Consider that my cunning is disable,  
To write to you the figure uniable,  
All devoid of cunning and experience,  
Manner of inditing, reason and eloquence.   

Trust it well the maker your own,  
You to obey while his life may endure,  
To do you service as a man unknown,  
No guerdon desiring of earthly treasure,  
But if it might accord with your pleasure,  
For true service him to advance,  
And call him into your remembrance.     
Explicit the Ten Commandments of Love.   

The Nine Ladies worthy.  

Queen Sinope.  
PRofulgent in preciousness, O Sinope queen,  
Of all feminine bearing the sceptre and regaly,  
Subduing the large country of Armenia as it was seen,  
Maugre their mights thou brought them to apply,  
Thine honour to increase, thy power to magnify,  
O renowned Hercules with all thy pompous boast,  
This Princes took the prisoner and put to flight thine host.   

Lady Ipolite.  
Yet Hercules waxed red for shame, when I spoke of Ipolite,  
Chief patrons & captain of the people of sinope,  
Which with amorous there & courageous might,,  
Smote thee to ground for all thy cruelty,  
Wherefore the dukeship of Diomedes & dignity,  
Unto her great land and glory perpetual,  
Attributed is with triumph Laureall.   

Lady Deifile.  
The noble triumph of this Lady Deifile,  
In relieve & succour of the great duke of Athenes,  
She chastised & brought into perpetual exile,  
The aureat citizens of mighty Thebes,  
The strong brazen pillars there had no reles,  
But she with her sister Argia them did down cast,  
And with furious fire the city brent at last   

Lady Teuca.  
O pulchrior sole in beauty full lucident,  
Of all femine most formous flour,  
In Italy reigning with great chivalry right fervent,  
Chastised the Romans as maieres & conqueror  
O lady Teuca much was thy glory & honour,  
Yet much more was to commend thy benignity  
In thy perfect living and virginal chastity.   

Queen Pantasile.  
Oye Trogeans for this noblequene Pantasile  
Sorrow her mortality with dolorous compassion  
Her love was to you so pregnant & fertile,  
That against the proud Greeks made defension  
With her victorious handwas all her affection  
To lash the Greks to ground was her hearts' joy,  
To revenge the coward death of Hector of Troy   

Queen Thamiris.  
O thou rigorous queen Thamiris invincible,  
Upon the strong & hideous people of cities reining,  
Which by thy power & wits sensible  
Thou tookest in battle Cyrus the great king  
Of Perce & Mede, his head of in blood lying,  
Thou badest him drink the blood had thirsted,  
And xxii. M. of his host there were distressed.   

Lady Lampedo.  
The famous trump of gold forged so bright,  
Hath blown so up the fame & glory environ,  
Of this lady Lampedo with her sister Marthesi  
That all the land of Feminie, Europe, & Epheson  
Be yelden & applied lowly to her subjection,  
Many an high tower she raised, & built towers long  
perpetuelly to last with huge walls strong.   

Queen Semiramys.  
Lo here Semiramys queen of great Babylon,  
Most generous gem & flower of lovely favour,  
Whose excellent power from Mede unto septentrion  
Flourished in her regallyas a mighty conqueror  
Subdued all Barbary: & zorast the king of honour  
she slew in Ethiop, & conquered Armony in Ind  
In which none entered but Alexander & she as I find.   

Lady Menalip.  
Also the lady Menalip thy sister dear,  
Whose martial power no man could withstand,  
Through the world was not found her peer,  
The famous duke Thesus she had in hand,  
She chastised him and all his land,  
The proud greeks mightily she did assail,  
Over came and vanquished them in battle.   
Explicit the Ballads of the nine Worthies of Ladies.   


ALone walking  
In thought plaining  
And sore sighing  
All desolate.   

Me remembering  
Of my living  
My death wishing  
Both early and late.   

Infortunate  
Is so my fate  
That wot ye what  
Out of measure   

My life I hate:  
Thus desperate  
In such poor estate  
Do I endure.   

Of other cure  
Am I not sure,  
Thus to endure  
Is hard certain.   

Such is my ure  
I you ensure,  
What creature  
May have more pain.   

My truth so plain  
Is take in vain  
And great disdain  
In remembrance.   

Yet I full fain  
Would me complain  
Me to abstain  
From this penance.   

But in substance  
None allegiance  
Of my grievance  
Can I not find.   

Right so my chance  
With displeasance  
Doth me advance.  
And thus an end.   
Explicit.   

A Ballad.  

IN the season of Feverere when it was full cold,  
Frost, & Snow, Hail, Rain, hath domination,  
With changeable elements, and winds manifold,  
Which hath ground, flour, and herb, under jurisdiction,  
For a time to dispose after their correction,  
And yet April with his pleasant shours,  
Dissolveth the snow, & bringeth forth his flours.   

Of whose invention ye lovers may be glad,  
For they bring in the Kalends of May,  
And ye with countenance demure, meek & sad,  
Owe for to worship, the lusty flowers always,  
And in especial one is called see of the day,  
The Daisee, a flower white and read,  
And in French called La bele Margarete.   

O commendable flower and most in mind,  
O flower so gracious of excellence,  
O amiable Margarite exalted of native kind,  
Unto whom I must resort with all my diligence  
With heart, will, & thought, with most lowly obedience  
Ay to be your servant, & ye my regent,  
For life ne death never to repent.   

Of this process now forth will I proceed,  
Which happeth me with great disdain,  
As for the time thereof I take lest heed,  
For unto me was brought the sore pain,  
Therefore my cause was the more to complain,  
Yet unto me my grievance was the less,  
That I was so nigh my lady and mistress.   

There where she was present in this place,  
I having in heart great adversity,  
Except only the fortune and good grace  
Of her, whose I am, the which relieved me,  
And my great dures unlased hath she,  
And brought me out of the fearful grevance,  
If it were her ease, it were to me pleasance.   

As for the woe which I did endure,  
It was to me a very pleasant pain,  
Seing it was for that fair creature,  
Which is my Lady and sovereign,  
In whose presence to rest I would be fain,  
So that I wist it were her pleasure,  
For she is from all distance my protector.  
Though unto me dreadful were the chance,  
No manner of gentleness oweth me to blame:  
For I had lever suffer of death the penance,  
Than sheshuld for me have dishonour or shame,  
Or in any wise lose a drop of her good name,  
So wisely God for his endless mercy,  
Grant every true love, to have joy of his lady.   
Explicit.   

A Ballad.  

O Merciful and O merciable,  
King of Kings, and father of pity,  
Whose might and mercy is incomperable,  
O Prince eterne, O mighty Lord say we,  
To whom mercy is given of property,  
On thy servant that lieth in prison bound,  
Have thou mercy or that his heart be wound.   

And that thou wilt grant to him thy prisoner,  
Free liberty, and lose him out of pain,  
All his desires and all his heavy cheer,  
To all gladness they were restored again,  
Thy high vengeance, why should thou not refrain  
And show mercy, sith he is penitent,  
Now help him lord, & let him not be shent.   

But sith it is so, there is a trespass done,  
Unto Mercy let yield the trespassour,  
It is her office to redress it soon,  
For trespass to mercy is a mirror,  
And like as the sweet, hath the price by ●our,  
* So by trespass, mercy hath all her might,  
Without trespass, mercy hath lack of light.   

* What should Physic do but if sickness were,  
What needeth salve, but if there were sore,  
What needeth drink, where thirst hath no power  
What should mercy do, but trespass go afore,  
But trespass be, mercy wool be little store,  
Without trespass never execution,  
May mercy have ne chief perfection.   

The cause at this time of my writing,  
And touching mercy to whom I make moan,  
Is for fear lest my sovereign and sweting,  
I mean her that loverlier is none,  
With me is displeased for causes more than one,  
What causes they be that knoweth God & she,  
But so do not I alas it forthinketh me.   

What see she in me, what default or offence,  
What have I do that she on me disdain,  
How might I do come to her presence,  
To tell my complaint whereof I were fain,  
I dread to look, to speak, or to complain,  
To her that hath my heart every deal,  
So help me God I would all thing were weal.   

For in this case came I never or now,  
* In love's dance so far to hold the trace,  
For with mine ease, scape I ne mow  
Out of this danger except her good grace,  
For though my countenance be merry in her face,  
As seemeth to her by word or by cheer,  
Yet her good grace sitteth mine heart full ne'er.   

And if the my sovereign have any marvel,  
Why I to her now and afore have wrote,  
She may well think it is no great travail  
To him that is in love brought so hot:  
It is a simple tree that falleth with one stroke,  
That mean I, though that my sovereign toforn,  
Me hath denied, yet grace may come to morn.   

But masters for the good will that I have you ought,  
And evermore shall as long as my life dureth,  
Pity your servant & keep him in your thought  
And give him some comfort or medicine, & cureth  
His fervent ague, that increaseth that reneweth,  
So grevous been his pains & his sighs sore,  
That without your mercy, his days be all forlore.   

Go little bill, go forth and high thee fast,  
And recommand me, & excuse me as thou can,  
For very feebleness thus am I at the last,  
My pen is woren, my hue is pale and wan,  
My iyens been sunken, disfigured like no man,  
Till death his dart, that causeth for to smart,  
My corpse have consumed, then farewell sweet hart.   

O daughter of Phoebus in virtuous appearance,  
My love elect in my remembrance,  
My careful heart distreined cause of absence,  
Till ye my Emprise me release my grevance,  
Upon you is set my life & mine attendance,  
Without recure I wis until  
Ye grant true heart to have his will.   

Thus my dear sweting in a trance I do lie,  
And shall till sum drops of pity from you spring,  
I mean your mercy that lieth my heart me,  
That me may rejoice, & cause me for to sing  
These terms of love, lo I have won the ring,  
My goodly masters. Thus of his good grace  
God grant her bliss in heaven to have a place.   
Explicit.   

Here followeth how Mercury with Pallas, Venus, and Minerva, appeared to Paris of Troy, he sleeping by a Fountain.  

Pallas loquitur ad Parisum de Troiae.  
Son of Priamus gentle Paris of Troie,  
Wake of thy sleep, behold us Gods three,  
We have brought to thee increase of joy,  
To thy discretion reporting our beauty,  
Take here this Apple and well devose thee,  
Which of us is fairest in thy sight,  
And give thou it, we pray thee gentle knight.   

Pallas loquitur primo.  
If so be thou give it unto me Parise,  
This shall I give unto thy worthiness,  
Honour, conquest, nobley, lose and prize,  
Victory, courage, force, and hardiness,  
Good adventure, and famous manliness,  
For that Apple all this give I to thee,  
Consider this Parise, and give it unto me.   

Venus' loquitur ad Parisum.  
Nay give it me and this shall I you give,  
Glad aspect with favour and fairness,  
And love of ladies also while that ye live,  
Famous stature, and Princely seemliness,  
According to your native gentleness,  
Understand this gift well I you advice,  
And give it me hardly Parise.   

Minerva loquitur ad Parisum.  
Ye ye Paris take heed unto me,  
Thou art a Prince borne by descent,  
And for to rule thy royal dignity,  
I shall thee give first intendment,  
Discretion, prudence in right judgement,  
Which in a Prince, is thing most covenable,  
Give it me I am to have it able.   
Explicit.   

A Ballad pleasant.  

I Have a Lady where so she be,  
That seldom is she sovereign of my thought,  
On whose beauty when I behold and see,  
Remembering me how well she is wrought,  
I thank fortune y● to her grace me brought,  
So fair is she but nothing angelic,  
Her beauty is to none other like.   

For hardly and she were made of brass,  
Face and all, she hath enough fairness,  
Her eyes been hollow & green as any grass,  
And Ravinish yellow is her sounitresse,  
Thereto she hath of every comeliness  
Such quantity given her by nature,  
That with the least she is of her stature.   

And as a bolt her brows been ybent,  
And betill browed she is also withal,  
And of her wit as simple and innocent,  
As is a child that can no good at all,  
She is not thick, her stature is but small,  
Her fingers been little, and nothing long,  
Her skin is smooth as any Ox's tongue.   

Thereto she is so wise in dalliance,  
And beset her words so womanly,  
That her to hear it doth me displeasance,  
For that she saith, is said so cunningly,  
That when there be no more than she and I,  
I had lever she were of talking still,  
Then that she should so goodly speech spill.   

And sloth none shall ye have in her entresse,  
So diligent is she and vertulesse,  
And so busy aye all good to undress,  
That as a she Ape she is harmless,  
And as an Harnet meek and pitiless,  
With that she is so wise and circumspect,  
That prudence none her folly can infect.   

Is it not joy that such one of her age,  
Within the bounds of so great tenderness,  
Should in her work be so sad and sage,  
That of the wedding saw all the noblesse  
Of queen jane, and was tho as I guess,  
But of the age of years ten and five,  
I trow there are not many such alive.   

For as jesus my sinful soul save,  
There nis creature in all this world living,  
Like unto her that I would gladly have,  
So pleaseth mine heart that goodly sweet thing,  
Whose soul in haste unto his bliss bring,  
That first her formed to be a creature,  
For were she well, of me I did no cure.   
Explicit the discriving of a fair Lady.   

Another Ballad.  

O Mossy Quince hanging by your stalk,  
The which no man dare pluck away nor take,  
Of all the folk that pass forth by or walk,  
Your flowers fresh be fallen away and shake:  
I am right sorry mistress for your sake,  
Ye seem a thing that all men have forgotten,  
Ye be so ripe, ye wa●e almost rotten.   

Your ugly cheer deinous and froward,  
Your green eyes frowning, and not glad,  
Your cheeks enbolned like a mellow C●stard,  
Colour of Orange, your breasts Satournad,  
Gilt upon warrantise, the colour will not fade,  
Bawsin buttocked, bellied like a tonn,  
* Men cry S. Barbary at the losing of your gonn.   

My lovely lewd masters take consideration,  
I am so sorrowful there as ye be absent,  
The flour of the barkfat, the foulest of all the nation,  
To love you but a little is mine intent,  
The swear't hath yswent you, the smoke hath you shent,  
I trow ye have been laid upon some kell to dry,  
You do me so much worship there as ye be present,  
Of all women I love you best a m. times fie.   
Explicit.   

A Ballad, warning men to beware of deceitful women.  

* Look well about ye that lovers be,  
Let not your lusts lead you to do●age,  
* Be not enamoured on all things that ye see,  
Samson the fort, and Solomon the sage  
Deceived were for all their great courage,  
Men dame it right that they see with e●e,  
* Beware therefore, the blind eateth many a fly.   

I mean of women for all their cheres quaint,  
Trust them not too much, their truth is but geason,  
The fairest outward well can they paint,  
Their steadfastness endureth but a season,  
For they fain friendliness, & worchen treason,  
And for they are changeable naturally,  
Beware therefore, the blind eateth many a fly.  
What wight on live trusseth on their cheres,  
Shall have at last his guerdon and his meed,  
For women can shave nearer than razors or shear,  
* All is not gold that shineth, men take heed  
Their gall is hid under a sugared weed,  
It is full quaint their fantasy to aspie,  
Beware therefore, the blind eateth many a fly.   

Though all the world do his busy cure  
To make women stand in stableness,  
It would not be, it is against nature,  
The world is do when they lack doubleness,  
For they can laugh & love not, this is express,  
To trust on them it is but fantasy,  
Beware therefore, the blind eateth many a fly.   

Women of kind hath conditions three,  
The first is, they be full of deceit,  
To spin also is their property,  
And women have a wonder full conceit,  
For they can weep oft, and all is a sleit,  
And ever when they list, the tear is in the eye,  
Beware therefore, the blind eateth many a fly.   

* In sooth to say, though all the earth so won  
Were parchment smooth, white, & scribabell,  
And the great sea, that called is the Ociane,  
Were turned into ink blacker than Sabell,  
Every stick a pen, each man a scrivener able,  
Not could they write woman's treachery,  
Beware therefore, the blind eateth many a fly.   
Explicit.   

These Verses next following were compiled by Geffrey Chaucer, and in the written Copies follow at the end of the Complaint of Pity.  

THe long nights, when every creature  
Should have their rest in somewhat as by kind,  
Or else ne may their life not long endure:  
It falleth most into my woeful mind,  
How I so far have brought myself behind,  
That safe the death there may nothing me lisse,  
So dispaired I am from all kin bliss.   

This same thought me lasteth till the morrow,  
And from the morrow forth till it be eve,  
There needeth me no care for to borrow,  
For both I have good laiser and good leave,  
There is no wight that will my woe bireve,  
To weep enough, and wailen all my fill:  
The sore spark of my pain now doth me spill.   

'tis love that hath me set in such a place,  
That my desire will never fulfil:  
For neither Pity, Mercy, neither Grace  
Can I not find, yet from my sorrowful hart,  
For to be deed, I can it not arace,  
The more I love, the more she doth me smart,  
Thorough which I see without remedy,  
That from the death I may no wise astart.   

Now soothly what she height I wool rehearse,  
Her name is Bounty, set in womanhead,  
Sadness in youth, and Beauty pridelesse,  
And Plesaunce, under Governance & dread:  
Her surname is eke fair Ruthless,  
The Wise eknit unto good Adventure,  
That for I love her, she fleeth me guiltless,  
Her love I best, and shall while I may dure.   

Bet then myself a hundred thousand deal,  
Than all this world's riches or creature:  
Now hath not love me bestowed well,  
To love there I never shall have part,  
Alas right thus, is turned me the wheel:  
Thus am I slain with love's furious dart,  
I can but love her best my sweetest so,  
Love hath me taught no more of all his art,  
But serve always, and stinten for no wo.   

In my true careful heart there is  
So much woe and so little bliss,  
That woe is me that ever I was boar,  
For all that thing which I desire, I miss,  
And all that ever I would not I wisse,  
That find I ready to me evermore:  
And of all this I not to whom me plain,  
For she that might me out of this bring,  
Ne reacheth nought whether I weep or sing,  
So little ruth hath she upon my pain.   

Alas, when sleeping time is, lo then I wake,  
When I should dance, for fere lo then I quake:  
This heavy life I lead lo for your sake,  
Though ye thereof in no wise heed do take,  
Mine hearts' lady, and hole my life's queen,  
For truly durst I say, as that I feel,  
Me seemeth that your sweet heart of steel  
Is whetted now against me to keen.   

My dear heart, and best beloved foe,  
Why liketh you to do me all this woe,  
What have I done, that grieveth you, or said,  
But for I serve and love you and no more,  
And whilst I live I will ever do so:  
And therefore sweet, ne bethe not evil paid,  
For so good and so fair as ye be,  
It were right great wonder but if ye had  
Of all servants both of good and bad,  
And best worthy of all them I am he.   

But nevertheless, my right lady sweet,  
Though that I be unkonning and unmeeet  
To serve as I could best aye your highness,  
Yet is there none fairer, that would I heat,  
Than I, to do you ease or else beat,  
What so I wist that were to your highness,  
And had I might as good as I have will,  
Then should ye feel where it were so or none:  
For in this world living then is there none  
That feigner would your hearts will fulfil.   

For both I love and eke dread you so sore,  
And algates mote & have done you full yore,  
That better loved is none ne never shall:  
And yet I would beseech you of no more,  
But leaveth well, and be not wroth therefore,  
And let me serve you forth, lo this is all,  
For I am nought so hardy ne so wood,  
For to desire that ye should love me,  
For well I wot alas that may not be,  
I am so little worthy and ye so good,  
For ye be one the worthiest on live,  
And I the most unlikely for to thrive.   

Yet for all this, weteth ye right well,  
That ye ne should me from your service drive,  
That I ne will aye with all my wits five  
Serve you truly, what woe so that I feel,  
For I am set so hic upon your wheel,  
That though ye never will upon me rue,  
I must you love, and been ever as true,  
As any man can or may on live.   

But the more that I love you goodly free,  
The lass find I that ye love me,  
Alas when shall that hard wit amend,  
Where is now all your womanly pite,  
Your gentleness and your debonaire,  
Will ye nothing thereof upon me spend,  
And so hole sweet as I am yours all,  
And so great will as I have you to serve,  
Now certes, and ye let me thus starve,  
Yet have ye won thereon but small.   

For at my knowing I do nought why,  
And thus I will beseech you heartily,  
That ever ye find whiles ye live  
A truer servant to you than am I,  
Leueth then, and fleeth me hardly,  
And I my death to you will all forgive,  
And if ye find no truer verily,  
Wool ye suffer then that I thus spill,  
And for no manner gilded but my good will,  
As good were then untrue as true to be.   
Explicit.   

A Ballad, declaring that women's chastity Doth much excel all treasure worldly.  

IN womanhead as authors do all write,  
Most thing commended is their honesty,  
Thing most slanderous their nobles to atwite,  
As when women of hasty fraelty,  
Ex●eeden the bonds, of wifely chastity,  
For what availeth lineage or royal blood,  
When of their living the report is not good.   

The holy bed defoiled of marriage,  
For ones defoiled may not recovered be,  
The vice goeth forth, & the froward language  
By many a realm, and many a great cite,  
* Slander hath a custom, & that is great  
True or falls, by a contrarious son,  
Ones areised it goeth not lightly down.   

For when a lecher by force or by mastery,  
Defouled hath of virgins the cleanness,  
Widows oppressed, and lie in adultery,  
Assailed wives that stood in stableness,  
Who may then their slanderous harm redress,  
When their good name is hurt by such report,  
* For fame lost ones, can never have his resort.   

A thief may rob a man of his richesses,  
And by some mean make restitution,  
And some man may disherit and oppress  
A poor man from his possession,  
And after make again satisfaction,  
* But no man may restore in no degree,  
A maid robbed of her virginity.   

A man may also beat a castle down,  
And built it after more fresh to the sight,  
Exile a man out of his region,  
And him revoke whether it be wrong or right,  
* But no man hath the power ne the might  
For to restore the palais virginal  
Of chastity when broken is the wall.   

Men may also putten out of service,  
And officers remove out of their place,  
And at a day when fortune list devose,  
They may again restored be to grace,  
* But there nis time, nother set down, ne space,  
Nor never in story, neither rad ne sane,  
That maidenhed lost, recovered was again.   

For which all men should have a conscience  
To rewen in their heart, and repent sore,  
And have remorse of such a great offence,  
To ravish thing, which they may not restore:  
For it is said, and hath be said full yore,  
* The emeraud green, of perfect chastity,  
Stole ones away, may not recovered be.   

And hard it is to ravish a treasure,  
Which of nature is not recuparable:  
Lordship may not, of King nor Emperor,  
Reform a thing which is nat reformable:  
* Rust of defame is inseparable,  
* And maidenhead once lost of new or yore,  
No man of live may it again restore.   

The Romans old through their patience  
Suffered tyrants in their tyrannies  
On their cities to do great violence,  
The people to oppress, with their robberies:  
But to do punish, they set great espies,  
On false avouterers; as it is well couth,  
Which widows ravish, and maidens in their youth.   
Explicit.   

The Court of Love.  
This Book is an imitation of the Romaunt of the Rose, showing that all are subject to love, what impediments soever to the contrary: containing also those twenty Statutes which are to be observed in the Court of Love.  

WIth timorous heart, and trembling hand of dread,  
Of cunning naked, bare of eloquence,  
Unto the flower of port in womanhead  
I write, as he that none intelligence  
Of metres hath, ne flowers of sentence:  
Saufe that me list my writing to convey,  
In that I can to please her high nobley.  
The blosomes fresh of Tullius garden soot  
Present they not, my matter for to born:  
Poems of Virgil taken here no root,  
Ne craft of Galfride, may not here sojourn:  
Why name I cunning? O well may I mourn  
For lack of science, that I cannot write  
Unto the princes of my life aright.   

No terms digne unto her excellence,  
So is she sprung of noble stirpe and high:  
A world of honour and of reverence  
There is in her, this will I testify,  
Calliope thou sister wise and sly,  
And thou Minerva, guide me with thy grace,  
That language rude, my matter not deface.   

Thy sugar drops sweet of Helicon  
Distil in me, thou gentle muse I pray,  
And thee Melpomene I call anon,  
Of ignorance the mist to chase away:  
And give me grace so for to write and say,  
That she my lady of her worthiness  
Accept in gree this little short treatesse,   

That is entitled thus, The Court of Love:  
And ye that been Metriciens me excuse,  
I you beseech for Venus' sake above,  
For what I mean in this, ye need not muse:  
And if so be my lady it refuse  
For lack of ornate speech, I would be woe,  
That I presume to her to written so.   

But my intent and all my busy cure  
Is for to write this treatesse, as I can,  
Unto my lady, stable, true, and sure,  
Faithful and kind, sith first that she began  
Me to accept in service as her man:  
To her be all the pleasure of this book,  
That when her like she may it read and look.   

WHen I was young, at eighteen year of age,  
Lusty and light, desirous of pleasance,  
Approaching on full sad and ripe courage,  
Love arted me to do my observance  
To his estate, and done him obeisance,  
Commanding me the Court of Love to see,  
Alight beside the mount of Citharee.   

There Cytherea goddess was and queen:  
Honoured highly for her majeste,  
And eke her son, the mighty God I ween,  
Cupid the blind, that for his dignity  
A M. lover's worship on their knee,  
There was I bid in pain of death to peer,  
By Mercury the winged messengere.   

So then I went by strange & for countries,  
Enquiring aye what coast had to it drew  
The Court of Love: & thiderward as bees,  
At last I see the people 'gan pursue:  
And me thought some wight was there that knew  
Where that the court was holden far or nigh,  
And after them full fast I 'gan me high.   

Anon as I them overtook, I said:  
Heile friends, whither purpose ye to wend?  
Forsooth (qd. oft) that answered liche a maid,  
To Love's Court now go we gentle friend.  
Where is that place (qd. I) my fellow heard?  
At Cithaeron, sir said he, without doubt,  
The king of Love and all his noble rout   

Dwelleth within a castle rially.  
So then apace I journed forth among,  
And as he said, so fond I there truly:  
For I beheld the towers high and strong,  
And high pinnacles, large of height and long,  
With plate of gold bespread on every side,  
And precious stones, the stone work for to hide.   

No Saphire in Ind, no Rub rich of price,  
There lacked then, nor Emeraud so green,  
Bales Turks, ne thing to my device,  
That may the castle maken for to sheen:  
All was as bright as stars in Winter been,  
And Phoebus shone to make his peace again,  
For trespass done to high estates tweine.   

Venus and Mars, the god & goddess clear,  
When he them found in arms cheined fast,  
Venus was then full sad of heart and cheer:  
But Phoebus' beams straight as is the mast,  
Upon the castle ginneth he to cast,  
To please the lady, princes of that place,  
In sign he looketh after love's grace.   

For there nis God in heaven or hell iwis,  
But he hath been right soget unto love:  
jove, Pluto, or whatsoever he is,  
Ne creature in yearth, or yet above,  
Of these the reverses may no wight approve:  
But furthermore, the castle to descry,  
Yet saw I never none so large and high.   

For unto heaven it stretcheth, I suppose,  
Within and out depeinted wonderly,  
With many a thousand daisy read as rose,  
And white also, this saw I verily:  
But who tho daisies might do signify,  
Can I not tell, safe that the queens flower,  
Alceste it was that kept there her sojoure:   

Which under Venus' lady was and queen,  
And Admete king & sovereign of that place,  
To whom obeyed the ladies good nineteen,  
With many a thousand other bright of face:  
And young men feel came forth with lusty pace,  
And aged eke, their homage to dispose,  
But what they were, I could not well disclose.   

Yet ne'er and ne'er forth in I 'gan me dress  
Into an hall of noble apparel,  
With arras spread, and cloth of gold I guess,  
And other silk of esyer avail:  
Under the cloth of their estate sans fail  
The king and queen there sat as I beheld:  
It passed joy of Helise the field.   

There saints have their coming & resort,  
To seen the king so rially beseine  
In purple clad, and eke the queen in sort,  
And on their heads saw I crownes tweine,  
With stones fret, so that it was no pain,  
Withouten meat and drink to stand & see  
The king's honour and the rialtee.   

And for to treat of states with the king,  
That been of council chief, & with the queen:  
The king had Danger ne'er to him standing,  
The queen of love, Disdain, & that was seen:  
For by the faith I shall to God, I ween  
Was never stranger none in her degree,  
Than was the queen in casting of her eye.   

And as I stood perceiving her apart,  
And eke the beams shining of her eyes,  
Me thought they weren shapen lich a dart,  
Sharp & piercing, & small and straight of line:  
And all her hair it shone as gold so fine,  
Dishivil crisp, down hanging at her back  
A yard in length: and sooth then I spoke.   

O bright regina, who made thee so fair?  
Who made thy colour vermelet and white?  
Where wonneth that God, how far above the air?  
Great was his craft, & great was his delight.  
Now marvel I nothing that ye do height  
The queen of love, and occupy the place  
Of Cithare: now sweet lady thy grace.   

In mewet spoke I so, that nought astart  
By no condition word, that might be hard:  
But in my inward thought I 'gan advert,  
And oft I said my wit is dull and hard:  
For with her beauty, thus God wot I feared,  
As doth the man yravished with sight,  
When I beheld her crystal eyes so bright:   

No respect having what was best to done,  
Till right anon beholding here and there,  
I spied a friend of mine, and that full soon,  
A gentlewoman was the chamberere  
Unto the queen, that hot as ye shall here,  
Philobone, that loved all her life:  
When she me say, she led me forth as blife:   

And me demanded how and in what wise  
I thither come, and what my errand was?  
To seen the Court (qd. I) and all the guise,  
And eke to sue for pardon and for grace,  
And mercy ask for all my great trespass,  
That I none erst come to the court of love:  
Foryeve me this, ye gods all above.   

That is well said (qd. Philobone) indeed:  
But were ye not assomoned to appear  
By Mercurius, for that is all my dread:  
Yes gentle feire (qd. I) now am I here,  
Ye yet what though though that be true my deer:  
Of your free will ye should have come unsent,  
For ye did not, I dame ye will be shent.   

For ye that reign in youth and lustiness,  
Pampired with ease, and jalous in your age,  
Your duty is, as far as I can guess,  
To love's court to dressen your voyage,  
As soon as nature maketh you so sage,  
* That ye may know a woman from a swan,  
Or when your foot is grown half a span.   

But sith that ye by wilful negligence  
This xviii. year hath kept yourself at large,  
The greater is your trespass and offence,  
And in your neck you moat bear all the charge:  
For better were ye been withouten barge  
Amid the sea in tempest and in rain,  
Then biden here, receiving woe and pain   

That ordained is for such as them absent  
From love's court by years long and feel.  
I lay my life ye shall full soon repent,  
For love will reive your colour, lust, and he'll:  
Eke ye must bait on many an heavy meal:  
No force iwis: I stirred you long agone  
To draw to court (qd. little) Philobone.   

Ye shall well see how rough and angry face  
The king of Love will show, when ye him se:  
By mine advice kneel down & ask him grace,  
Eschewing peril and adversity,  
For well I wot it wool none other be,  
Comfort is none, ne counsel to your ease,  
Why will ye then the king of Love displease?   

O mercy God (qd. iche) I me repent,  
Caitiff & wretch in heart, in will and thought,  
And after this shall be mine hole intent  
To serve & please, how dear that love be bought:  
Yet sith I have mine own penance ysought,  
With humble spirit shall I it receive,  
Though that the king of Love my life bereive.   

And though that fervent love's quality  
In me did never wortch truly: yet I  
With all obeisance and humility,  
And benign heart shall serve him till I die:  
And he that lord of might is great and high,  
Right as him list me chastise and correct,  
And punish me with trespass thus infect.   

These words said, she caught me by the lap,  
And led me forth in till a temple round,  
Both large and wide: and as my blessed hap  
And good adventure was, right soon I found  
A tabernacle raised from the ground,  
Where Venus sat, and Cupid by her side,  
Yet half for dread I can my visage hide.   

And eft again I looked and beheld,  
Seeing full sundry people in the place,  
And mister folk, & some that might not wield  
Their limbs well, me thought a wonder case,  
The temple shone with windows all of glass,  
Bright as the day, with many a fair image,  
And there I see the fresh queen of Cartage   

Dido, that brent her beauty for the love  
Of false Aeneas, and the weimenting  
Of her Annelida, true as Turtle dove,  
To Arcite falls: and there was in peinting  
Of many a prince, and many a doughty king,  
Whose martyrdom was showed about the walls  
And how that feel for love had suffered falls.   

But sore I was abashed and astonished  
Of all though folk that there were in that tide,  
And then I asked where they had wonned:  
In divers courts (qd. she) here beside,  
In sundry clothing mantill wise full wide  
They were arrayed, and did their sacrifice  
Unto the God, and goddess in their guise.   

Lo yonder folk (qd. she) y● kneel in blue,  
They wear the colour aye and ever shall,  
In sign they were and ever will be true  
Withouten change: and sooth yonder all  
That ben in black, and mourning cry and call  
Unto the gods, for their loves been,  
Some sick, some deed, some all to sharp & keen.   

Yea then (qd. I) with done these priests here,  
Nonnes and Hermit's, Freres, and all though,  
That sit in white, in russet, and in green:  
Forsooth (qd. she) they waylen of their wo.  
O mercy Lord, may they so come and go  
Freely to court, and have such liberty?  
Yea men of each condition and degree,   

And women eke: For truly there is none  
Exception made, ne never was ne may:  
This court is open and free for everyone,  
The king of love he will not say them nay:  
He taketh all in poor or rich array,  
That meekly sew unto his excellence  
With all their heart and all their reverence.   

And walking thus about with Philobone  
I see where come a messengere in high  
Straight from the king, which let command anon,  
Throughout the court to make an ho & cry:  
All new come folk abide, and wot ye why,  
The king's lust is for to seen you soon:  
Come ne'er let see, his will moat need be done.   

Then 'gan I me present tofore the king,  
Trembling for fere with visage pale of hue,  
And many a lover with me was kneeling,  
Abashed sore, till unto the time they knew  
The sentence give of his intent full true:  
And at the last the king hath me behold  
With stern visage, & said, what doth this old   

Thus far ystope in years, come so late  
Unto the court? forsooth, my liege (qd. I)  
An hundred time I have been at the gate  
Afore this time, yet could I never espy  
Of mine acquaintance any in mine eye:  
And shame fastness away me 'gan to chase,  
But now I me submit unto your grace.   

Well, all is pardoned with condition  
That thou be true from henceforth to thy might  
And serven love in thine intention,  
Swear this, & then as far as it is right,  
thou shalt have grace here in thy queens sight.  
Yes by the faith I owe to your crown, I swear,  
Though death therefore me thir●th with his spear.   

And when the king hod seen us everychone,  
He let command an Officer in high  
To take our faith, and show us one by one  
The statutes of the court full busily:  
Anon the book was leid before their eye,  
To read and see what thing we must observe  
In Love's Court, till that we die and starve.   

ANd for that I was lettered, there I red  
The statutes hole of Love's Court & hall:  
The first statute that on the book was spread,  
Was to be true in thought and deeds all  
Unto the king of Love the lord rial,  
And to the queen as faithful and as kind,  
As I could think with heart, will and mind.   

The Second statute secretly to keep  
Council of love, not blowing every where  
All that I know, and let it sink and fleet,  
It may not sown in every wights ere:  
Exiling slander aye for dread and fere,  
And to my lady which I love and serve,  
Be true and kind her grace for to deserve.   

The Third statute was clearly writ also,  
Withouten change to live & die the same,  
None other love to take for we'll ne woe,  
For blind delight, for earnest nor for game:  
Without repent for laughing or for grame,  
To biden still in full perseverance,  
All this was hole the king's ordinance.   

The Fourth statute to purchase ever to here,  
And stirren folk to love, and beaten fire  
On Venus' altar, here about and there,  
And preach to them of love and hot desire,  
And tell how love will quiten well their hire:  
This must be kept, and loath me to displease:  
If love be wroth, pass: for there by is ease.   

The fifth statute, not to be dangerous,  
If that a thought would reave me of my sleep:  
Nor of a sight to be over squemous,  
And so verily this statute was to keep,  
To turn and wallow in my bed and weep,  
When that my lady of her cruelty  
Would from her heart exilen all pity.   

The sixth statute, it was for me to use,  
Alone to wander, void of company,  
And on my lady's beauty for to muse,  
And to think it no force to live or die,  
And eft again to think the remedy,  
How to her grace I might anon attain,  
And tell my woe unto my sovereign.   

The Seventh statute, was to be patient,  
Whether my lady joyful were or wroth,  
For words glad or heavy, diligent,  
whether that she me helden lief or loath:  
And hereupon I put was to mine oath,  
Her for to serve, and lowly to obey,  
In showing her my cheer ye xx. sith aday.   

The Eight statute to my remembrance,  
Was to speaken and pray my lady dear,  
With hourly labour & great entendaunce,  
Me for to love with all her heart enter,  
And me desire and make me joyful cheer,  
Right as she is surmouning every fair,  
Of beauty well and gentle debonair.   

The Ninth statute, with letters writ of gold,  
This was the sentence how that I and all,  
Should ever dread to be to overbold  
Her to displease, and truly so I shall,  
But been content for thing that may fall,  
And meekly take her chastisement, and yard,  
And to offend her ever been afeard.   

The Tenth statute, was equally to discern,  
Between the lady and thine ability,  
And think thyself art never like to yearn,  
By right her mercy nor her equity,  
But of her grace and womanly pity:  
For though thyself be noble in thy strene,  
A thousand fold more noble is thy queen.   

Thy life's lady, and thy sovereign,  
That hath thine heart all hole in governance,  
Thou mayest no wise it taken to disdain,  
To put thee humbly at her ordinance,  
And give her free the rain of her Plesaunce,  
* For liberty is thing that women look,  
And truly else the matter is a crook.   

The xi. statute, thy signs for to know  
With eye and finger, and with smiles soft,  
And low to couch, and always for to show,  
For dread of spies, for to winken oft:  
And secretly to bring up a sigh aloft,  
* But still beware of overmuch resort,  
For that paraventure spilleth all thy sport.   

The xii. statute remember to observe:  
For all the pain thou hast for love and woe,  
All is too light her mercy to deserve,  
Thou musten think, wherever thou ride or go:  
And mortal wounds suffer thou also,  
All for her sake, and think it well beset  
Upon thy love, for it may not be bette.   

The xiii. statute, whilom is to think,  
What thing may best thy lady like & please,  
And in thine hearts' bottom let it sink:  
Some thing device, & take for it thine ease,  
And send it her, that may her heart appease:  
Some heart, or ring, or letter, or device,  
Or precious stone, but spare not for no price.   

The xiiii. statute eke thou shalt assay,  
Formely to keep the most part of thy life:  
Wish that thy Lady in thine arms lay,  
And nightly dream, thou hast thy night's hearts wife,  
Sweetly in arms, straining her as blife:  
And when thou seest it is but fantasy,  
See that thou sing not over merely.   

* For too much joy hath oft a woeful end,  
It longeth eke this statute for to hold,  
To dame thy lady evermore thy friend,  
And think thyself in no wise a cokold.  
In every thing she doth but as she should:  
* Construe the best, believe no tales new,  
For many a lie is told, that seemeth full true.   

But think that she, so bounteous & fair,  
Could not be false: imagine this algate,  
And think the tongues wicked would her appair,  
Sclandering her name & worshipful estate,  
And lovers true to setten at debate:  
And though thou seest a fault right at thine eye,  
Excuse it believe, and gloze it prettily.   

The xv. statute, use to swear and stare,  
And counterfeit a losing hardly,  
To save thy ladies honour every where,  
And put thyself for her to fight boldly:  
Say she is good, virtuous, and ghostly,  
Clear of intent, & heart, yea, thought & will,  
And argue not for reason ne for skill.   

Again thy lady's pleasure ne intent:  
For love will not be countrepleted indeed:  
* Say as she saith, then shalt thou not be shent,  
The Crow is white, ye truly so I read:  
And aye with thing that she thee will forbid,  
Eschew all that, and give her soveraintee,  
Her appetite follow in all degree.   

The xuj. statute keep it if thou may,  
* Seven sith at night thy lady for to please,  
And seven at midnight, seven at morrow day,  
And drink a caudle early for thine ease.  
Do this, and keep thine head from all disease,  
And win the garland here of lovers all,  
That ever came in court, or ever shall.   

Full few, think I, this statute hold & keep:  
But truly this my reason giveth me feel,  
That some lovers should rather fall asleep,  
Than take on hand to please so oft and well.  
There lay none oath to this statute adele,  
But keep who might, as gave him his courage  
Now get this garland lusty folk of age:   

Now win who may ye lusty folk of youth,  
This garland fresh, of flowers red and white,  
Purple and blue, and colours fell uncouth,  
And I shall crown him king of all delight,  
In all the court there was not to my sight  
A lover true, that he ne was adrede,  
When he express hath heard the statute read.   

The xvii. statute, when age approacheth on,  
And lust is laid, and all the fire is quaint,  
As freshly than thou shalt begin to fonne  
And dote in love, and all her image paint  
In thy remembrance, till thou begin to faint,  
As in the first season thine heart began:  
And her desire, though thou ne may ne can.   

Perform thy living actuell, and lust,  
Register this in thine remembrance: rust,  
Eke when thou mayst not keep thy thing from  
Yet speak and talk of pleasant dalliance,  
For that shall make thine heart rejoice & dance,  
* And when thou mayst no more the game assay,  
The statute bid thee pray for them that may.   

The xviii. statute, holy to commend,  
To please thy lady, is that thou eschew  
With sluttishness thyself for to offend,  
Be jollife, fresh, and feet, with things new,  
Courtly with manner, this is all thy due,  
* Gentille of port, and loving cleanliness,  
This is the thing, that liketh thy mistress.   

And not to wander liche a dulled Ass,  
Ragged and torn, disguised in array,  
Ribald in speech, or out of measure pass,  
Thy bound exceeding, think on this always:  
* For women been of tender hearts aye,  
And lightly set their pleasure in a place,  
When they misthinke, they lightly let it pass.   

The nineteen. statute, meat and drink forget:  
Each other day, see that thou fast for love,  
* For in the court, they live withouten meet,  
Save such as cometh from Venus all above,  
They take none heed, in pain of great reprove  
Of meat and drink, for that is all in vain,  
Only they live by sight of their sovereign.   

The xx. statute, last of everychone,  
enrol it in thine hearts' privitee:  
To wring & wail, to turn, & sigh & groan,  
When that thy lady absent is from thee,  
And eke renew the words all that she  
Between you twain hath said, & all the cheer  
That thee hath made, thy life's lady dear.   

And see thine heart in quiet, ne in rest  
Sojourn, till time thou seen thy Lady eft,  
But where she won, by south, or east, or west,  
With all thy force, now see it be not left:  
Be diligent, till time thy life be reft,  
In that thou mayest, thy lady for to see,  
This statute was of old antiquity.   

An officer of high authority,  
Cleped Rigour, made us to swear anon:  
He nas corrupt with partiality,  
Favour, prayer, ne gold that clearly shone:  
Ye shall (qd. he) now sweren here eachone,  
Young and old, to keep in that they may  
The statutes truly, all after this day.   

O God thought I, hard is to make this oath:  
But to my power shall I them observe,  
In all this world nas matter half so loath  
To swear for all: for though my body starve,  
I have no might them hole to observe.  
But harken now, the case how it befell,  
After my oath was made, the troth to tell,   

I turned leaves, looking on this book,  
Where other statutes were of women sheen,  
And right forthwith Rigour on me 'gan look  
Full angrily, and said unto the queen  
I traitor was, and charged me let been,  
There may no man (qd. he) the starute know,  
That long to women, high degree ne low.   

In secret wise they kepten been full close,  
They son eachone to liberty, my friend,  
Pleasant they be, & to their own purpose,  
There wot no wight of them, but God and fiend,  
Ne naught shall wit, unto the world's end.  
The queen hath give me charge in pain to die  
Never to read ne seen them with mine eye.   

* For men shall not so ne'er of counsel been  
With womanhood, ne known of her guise,  
Ne with they think, ne of their wit then give,  
I me report to Solomon the wise,  
And mighty Samson, which beguiled thrice  
With Dalida was, he wot that in a throw,  
There may no man statute of women know.   

* For it peraventure may right so befall,  
That they be bound by nature to deceive,  
And spin, & weep, and sugar strew on gall,  
The heart of man to ravish and to reive,  
And whet their tongue as sharp as sword or gleve,  
It may betid, this is their ordinance,  
So must they lowly done their observance,   

And keep the statute given them of kind,  
Of such as love hath give him in their life.  
* Men may not weet why turneth every wind,  
Nor waxen wise, nor been inquisitife  
To know secret of maid, widow, or wife,  
For theytheir statutes have to them reserved,  
And never man to know them hath deserved.   

Now dress you forth, the God of love you guide  
(Qd. Rigour then) & seek the temple bright  
Of Cythera, goddess here beside,  
Beseech her by influence and might  
Of all her virtue, you to teach aright,  
How for to serve your ladies, and to please  
Ye that been sped, and set your heart in ease.   

And ye that been unpurveyed, pray her eke  
Comfort you soon with grace and destiny,  
That ye may set your heart there ye may like,  
In such a place, that it to love may be  
Honour and worship, and felicity  
To you for aye, now goeth by one assent.  
Grant mercy sir (qd. we) and forth we went,   

Devoutly soft and easy pace to see  
Venus the goddess Image all of gold:  
And there we found a thousand on their knee,  
Some fresh and fair, some deadly to behold,  
In sundry Mantils' new, and some were old,  
Some painted were with flames red as fire,  
Outward to show their inward hot desire.   

With doleful cheer, full fell in their complaint,  
Cried Lady Venus, rue upon our sore,  
Receive our bills, with tears all bedreint,  
We may not weep, there is no more in store  
But woe and pain, us fretteth more and more:  
Thou blissful Planet, lover's star so sheen,  
Have routh on us, that sigh & careful been.   

And punish Lady, grievously we pray,  
The false untrue, with counterfeit pleasance:  
That made their oath, be true to live or day,  
With cheer assured, & with countenance:  
And falsely now they footen love's dance,  
Barren of routh, untrue of that they said,  
Now that their lust and pleasure is allayed.   

Yet eft again a thousand million  
Rejoicing love, leading their life in bliss,  
They said Venus, redress of all division,  
Goddess eternal, thy name Ihired is:  
By love's bond is knit all thing iwis,  
Beast unto beast, the yearth to water wan,  
Bird unto bird, and woman unto man.   

This is the life of joy that we been in,  
Resembling life of heavenly paradise,  
* Love is exiler aye of vice and sin,  
Love maketh hearts lusty to devose,  
Honour and grace, have they in every wise,  
That been to love's law obedient,  
Love maketh folk benign and diligent,   

* Ay stering them to dread vice and shame:  
In their degree, it maketh them honourable,  
And sweet it is of love to bear the name,  
So that his love be faithful, true, and stable:  
Love pruneth him, to semen amiable,  
Love hath no fault, there it is erercised,  
But sole with them that have all love despised.   

Honour to thee celestial and clear  
Goddess of Love, and to thy celsitude,  
That givest us light so for down from thy spear,  
Piercing our hearts with thy pulcritude,  
Comparison none of similitude  
May to thy grace be made in no degree,  
That hast us set with Love in unity.   

Great cause have we to praise thy name & thee,  
For through thee we live in joy and bliss.  
Blessed be thou, most sovereign to see,  
Thy holy court of gladness may not miss:  
* A thousand sith we may rejoice in this,  
That we been thine with heart and all yfere,  
Inflamed with thy grace, and heavenly fere.   

Musing of though that spaken in this wise,  
I me bethought in my remembrance  
Mine orison right goodly to devose,  
And pleasantly with hearts' obeisance,  
Beseech the goddess voiden my grievance,  
For I loved eke, saufe that I wist not where,  
Yet down I set and said as ye shall here.   

Fairest of all, that ever were or be,  
Liquour and light, to pensive creature,  
Mine hole affiance, and my lady free,  
My goddess bright, my fortune and my ure,  
I give and yield my heart to thee full sure,  
Humbly beseeching lady of thy grace  
Me to bestow now in some blessed place.   

And here I vow me, faithful, true, and kind,  
Without offence of mutability,  
Humbly to serve, while I have wit and mind,  
Mine hole affiance, and my lady free,  
In thilk place, there ye me sign to be:  
And sith this thing of new is give me aye  
To love and serve, needly must I obey.   

Be merciable with thy fire of grace,  
And fix mine heart, there beauty is and routh:  
For hot I love, determine in no place,  
Saufe only this, by God and by my troth  
Troubled I was, with slumber, sleep, & sloth  
This other night, and in a visioun  
I see a woman romen up and down,   

Of mean stature, and seemly to behold,  
Lusty and fresh, demure of countenance,  
Young & well shape, with hair shone as gold,  
With eyes as crystal, ferced with pleasance,  
And she 'gan stir mine heart a light to dance:  
But suddenly she vanish 'gan right there,  
Thus I may say, I love and wot not where.   

For what she is, ne her dwelling I not,  
And yet I feel that love distreineth me:  
Might iche her know, her would I feign God wot  
Serve and obey with all benignity,  
And if that other be my destiny,  
So that no wise I shall her never see,  
Then grant me her that best may liken me.   

With glad rejoice to live in perfect heel,  
Devoid of wrath, repent or variance:  
And able me to do that may be well  
Unto my lady, with hearts high pleasance:  
And mighty gods through thy purveyance  
My wit, my thoght, my lust & love so guide,  
That to thine honour I may me provide   

To set mine heart in place there I may like,  
And gladly serve with all affection,  
Great is the pain, which at mine heart doth stick,  
Till I be sped by thine election:  
Help Lady goddess, that possession  
I might of her have, that in all my life  
I clepe shall my queen, and hearts wife.   

And in the court of Love to dwell for aye  
My will it is, and done thee Sacrifice:  
Daily with Diane eke to fight and fray,  
And holden were, as might will me suffice:  
That goddess chaste, I keepen in no wise  
To serve, a Fig for all her chastity,  
Her law is for Religiousity.   

And thus 'gan finish prayer, laud, & preice,  
Which that I yove to Venus on my knee,  
And in mine heart to ponder and to piece,  
I 'gan anon her Image fresh beauty:  
Heile to that figure sweet, and heile to thee  
Cupid (qd. I) and rose and go my weigh,  
And in the temple as I go, I say   

A shrine surmounting, all in stones rich,  
Of which the force was pleasance to mine eye,  
With Diamond or Saphire, never liche  
I have none seen, ne wrought so wonderly:  
So when I met with Philobone in high,  
I 'gan demand, who is this sepulture,  
Forsooth (qd. she) a tender creature   

Is shrined there, and Pity is her name,  
She saw an Eagle wreak him on a fly,  
And pluck his wing, & eke him in his game,  
And tender heart of that hath made her die:  
Eke she would weep & mourn right pitously  
To seen a lover si●ffer great distress,  
In all the court nas none, as I do guess,   

That could a lover half so well avail,  
Ne of his woe the torment or the rage  
Asken, for he was sure withouten fail,  
That of his grief she could the heat assuage.  
In steed of Pity, speedeth hot courage  
The matters all of court, now she is dead,  
I me report in this to womanhood.   

For weil and weep, and cry, & speak, & pray,  
Women would not have pity on thy plaint,  
Ne by that mean, to ease thine heart convey,  
But thee receiuen for their own talon:  
And say that Pity causeth thee in consent  
Of ruth to take thy service and thy pain,  
In that thou mayst, to please thy sovereign.   

But this is counsel, keep it secretly,  
(Qd. she) I nolde for all the world about,  
The queen of Love it wist, and wit ye why,  
For if by me this matter springen out,  
In court no longer should I out of doubt  
Dwellen, but shame in all my life endry,  
Now keep it close (qd. she) this hardly.   

Well, all is well, now shall ye seen she said  
The fairest lady under Sun that is:  
Come on with me, demean you lich a maid,  
With shamefast dread, for ye shall speak iwis  
With her that is the mirror joy and bliss:  
But somewhat strange & sad of her demean  
She is, beware your countenance be seen   

Nor over light, ne reckless, ne too bold,  
Ne malapert, ne renning with your tongue,  
For she will you obeisen and behold,  
And you demand why ye were hence so long  
Out of this court, without resort among:  
And Roseal her name is hot aright,  
Whose heart as yet is given to no wight.   

And ye also been, as I understand,  
With love but light auanced, by your word,  
Might ye by hap your freedom maken bond,  
And fall in grace with her, and we'll accord,  
Well might ye thank the God of Love & lord,  
For she that ye saw in your dream appear,  
To love such one, what are they then the ne'er.   

Yet wot ye what, as my remembrance  
Me giveth now, ye fain where that ye say,  
That ye with love had never acquaintance,  
Save in your dream right late this other day:  
Why yes pard, my life that durst I lay,  
That ye were caught upon an heath, when I  
Saw you complain, and sigh full pitously.   

Within an herber, and a garden fair  
Where flowers grow, and herbs virtuous,  
Of which the savour sweet was and the air,  
There were yourself full hot and amorous:  
Iwis ye been too nice and dangerous,  
I would ye now repent, and love some new,  
Nay by my troth, I said I never knew   

The goodly wight, whose I shall be for aye:  
Guide me the lord, that love hath made & me.  
But forth we went into a chamber gay,  
There was Roseal, womanly to see,  
Whose streams, sotells piercing of her eye,  
Mine heart 'gan thrill for beauty in the stound,  
Alas (qd. I) who hath me give this wound.   

And then I dread to speak, till at the last  
I great the lady reverently and we'll,  
When that my sigh was gone and overpast,  
Then down on keens full humbly 'gan I knee,  
Beseeching her my fervent woe to keel,  
For there I took full purpose in my mind  
Unto her grace, my painful heart to bind.   

For if I shall all fully her discriue,  
Her head was round, by compass of nature,  
Her hair as gold, she passed all on live,  
And Lily forehead had this creature,  
With liveliche brows, flaw of colour pure,  
Between the which was mean disceveraunce  
From every brow, to show a due distance.   

Her nose directed straight, and even as line,  
With form and shape thereto convenient,  
In which the god's milk white path doth shine,  
And eke her eyes been bright & orient,  
As is the smaragd, unto my judgement,  
Or yet these stars heavenly small & bright,  
Her visage is of lovely read and white.   

Her mouth is short, and shit in little space,  
Flaming somedeal, not over red I mean,  
With pregnant lips, & thick to kiss percace,  
* For lips thin not fat, but ever lean,  
They serve of naught, they be not worth a bean,  
For if the base been full, there is delight,  
Maximian truly thus doth he write.   

But to my purpose, I say white as snow  
Been all her teeth, and in order they stoned  
Of one stature, and eke her breath I trow  
Surmounteth all odours that ever I found  
In sweetness, and her body, face, and hon  
Been sharply slender, so that from the head  
Unto the foot, all is but womanhood.   

I hold my peace, of other things hid,  
Here shall my soul, and not my tongue bewray,  
But how she was arrayed, if ye me bid,  
That shall I well discover you and say,  
A bend of gold and silk, full fresh and gay,  
With her intresse, broudered full well,  
Right smoothly kept, and shining everydeal.   

About her neck a flower of fresh device,  
With Rubies set, that lusty were to seen,  
And she in goun was light and summer wise,  
Shapen full well, the colour was of green,  
With aureat sent about her sides clean,  
With divers stones, precious and rich,  
Thus was she rayed, yet saw I never her lich.   

For if that jove had but this lady seine,  
Tho Calixto ne yet Alemenia,  
They never hadden in his arms leine,  
Ne he had loved the fair Eurosa,  
Ye ne yet Dane ne Antiopa,  
For all their beauty stood in Roseal,  
She seemed lich a thing celestial.   

In bounty, favour, port, and seemliness,  
Pleasant of figure, mirror of delight,  
Gracious to seen, and root of all gentleness,  
With angel visage, iusty red and white:  
There was not lack, saufe danger had alight  
This goodly fresh in rule and governance,  
And somedeal strange she was for her pleasance.   

And truly soon I took my leave and went,  
When she had me enquired what I was,  
For more and more impressen 'gan the dent  
Of love's dart, while I beheld her face,  
And eft again I come to seeken grace,  
And up I put my bill, with sentence clear,  
That followeth after, read and ye shall here.   

O ye fresh, of beauty the root,  
That nature hath form so well and made  
Princes and queen, and ye that may do boot  
Of all my langour with your words glad,  
Ye wounded me, ye made me woe bestead,  
Of grace redress my mortal grief, as ye  
Of all my harm the very causer be.   

Now am I caught, and unware suddenly  
With persant streams of your eye so clear,  
Subject to been, and serven you mekely,  
And all your man, iwis my lady dear,  
Abiding grace, of which I you require,  
That merciless ye cause me not to starve,  
But guerdon me, liche as I may deserve.   

For by my troth, all the days of my breath  
I am and will be your in will and heart,  
Patient and meek, for you to suffer death  
If it require, now rue upon my smart,  
And this I swear, I never shall out start  
From love's court for none adversity,  
So ye would rue on my distress and me.   

My destiny, my fate, and hour I bliss,  
That have me set to been obedient  
Only to you, the flower of all iwis,  
I trust to Venus never to repent,  
For ever ready, glad, and diligent,  
Ye shall me find in service to your grace,  
Till death my life out of my body race.   

Humble unto your excellence so digne,  
Enforcing aye my wits and delight  
To serve and please with glad heart and benign,  
And been as Troilus Troy's knight,  
Or Antony for Cleopatra bright,  
And never you me thinks to renay,  
This shall I keep unto mine ending day.   

Enprint my speech in your memorial  
Sadly my princes, salve of all my sore,  
And think, that for I would becomen thrall,  
And been your own, as I have said before,  
Ye must of pity cherish more and more  
Your man, and tender after his desert,  
And give him courage for to been expert.   

For where y● one hath set his heart on fire,  
And findeth neither refute ne pleasance,  
Ne word of comfort, death will quite his hire,  
Alas that there is none allegiance  
* Of all their woe, alas the great grievance  
To love unloved, but ye my lady dear,  
In other wise may govern this matter.   

Truly gramercy friend of your good will,  
And of your proffer in your humble wise,  
But for your service, take and keep it still,  
And where ye say, I ought you well to cherise,  
And of your grief the remedy device,  
I know not why: I nam acquainted well  
With you, ne wot not soothly where ye dwell.   

In art of love I write, and songs make,  
That may be song in honour of the king  
And queen of Love, and then I undertake,  
He that is sad, shall then tull merry sing,  
And dangerous not been in every thing  
Beseech I you, but seen my will and read,  
And let your answer put me out of dread.   

What is your name, rehearse it here I pray,  
Of whence and where, of what condition  
That ye been of, let see come off and say,  
Feign would I know your disposition  
Ye have put on your old intention,  
But what ye mean, to serve me I ne wot,  
Saufe that ye say ye love me wonder hot.   

My name, alas, my heart why makes thou strange,  
Philogenet I called am for & ne'er,  
Of Cambrige clerk, that never think to change  
Fro you that with your heavenly streams clear  
Ravish mine heart and ghost, and all infere,  
Since at the first I write my bill for grace,  
Me think I see some mercy in your face.   

And with I mean, by gods that all hath wrought,  
My bill now maketh small mention,  
That ye been lady in mine inward thought  
Of all mine heart withouten offention,  
That I best love, and sith I begon  
To draw to court, lo then what might I say,  
I yield me here unto your nobley.   

And if that I offend, or wilfully  
By pomp of heart your precept disobey,  
Or done again your will unskilfully,  
Or grieven you for earnest or for play,  
Correct ye me right sharply than I pray,  
As it is seen unto your womanhead,  
And rue on me, or else I nam but deed.   

Nay God forbid to fez you so with grace,  
And for a word of sugared eloquence,  
To have compassion in so little space,  
Then were it time that some of us were hens,  
Ye shall not find in me such insolence:  
* Eye what is this, may ye not suffer sight,  
How may ye look upon the candle light?   

That clearer is and hotter than mine eye,  
And yet ye said the beams pierce and frete,  
How shall ye then the candle light endrie,  
For well wot ye, that hath the sharper heat,  
And there ye bid me, you correct and beat,  
If ye offend, nay that may not be done,  
There come but few, that speden here so soon.   

* Withdraw your eye, withdraw from presence eke:  
Hurt not yourself, through folly with a look,  
I would be sorry so to make you sick,  
A woman should beware eke whom she took:  
The beth a clerk, go serchen well my book,  
If any women been so light to win,  
Nay bide a while, though ye were all my kin.   

So soon ye may not win mine heart in truth,  
The guise of court will seen your steadfastness:  
And as you done to have upon you ruth,  
Your own desert, and lowly gentleness,  
That will reward you joy for heaviness,  
And though ye waxen pale, and green and deed,  
Ye must it use a while withouten dread,   

And it accept and grutchen in no wise,  
But where as ye me heartily desire  
To leanly to love, me think ye be not wise,  
Cease of your language, cease I you require,  
For he that hath this twenty year been here,  
May not obtain, then marvel I that ye  
Be now so bold of love to treat with me.   

Ah mercy heart, my lady and my love,  
My rightwise princess and my lives guide,  
Now may I plain to Venus all above,  
That ruthless ye me gave this wound so wide:  
What have I done, why may it not betid,  
That for my troth I may received be?  
Alas then, your danger and your cruelty.   

* In woeful hour I got was, wellaway,  
In woeful hour fostered and ifedde,  
In woeful hour iborne, that I ne may  
My supplication sweetly have I sped,  
The frosty grave and cold must be my bed,  
Without ye list your grace & mercy show,  
Death with his axe so fast on me doth hew.   

So great disease and in so little while,  
So little joy that felt I never yet,  
And at my woe Fortune ginneth to smile,  
That never erst I felt so hard a fit:  
Confounden ben my spirits and my wit,  
Till that my lady take me to her cure,  
Which I love beast of erthly creature.   

But that I like, that may I not come by,  
Of that I plain, that have I abundance,  
Sorrow & thought they sit me wonder nigh,  
Me is withhold that might be my pleasance:  
Yet turn again my worldly suffisance,  
O lady bright, and saufe your faithful true,  
And or I die yet ones upon me rue.   

With that I fell in sound & deed as stone,  
With colour slain and won as ash pale,  
And by the hand she caught me up anon.  
* Arise (qd. she) what have ye drunken dwale,  
Why slepen ye it is no nitertale:  
Now mercy sweet (qd. I) iwis affrayed:  
What thing (qd. she) hath made you so dismayed.   

Now wot I well that ye a lover be,  
Your hue is witness in this thing, she said:  
If ye were secret, ye might know (qd. she)  
Curteise and kind, all this should be alaid:  
And now mine heart, all that I have missaid,  
I shall amend and set your heart in ease.  
That word it is (qd. I) that doth me please.   

But this I charge, that ye the stents keep,  
And break them not for sloth nor ignorance.  
With that she 'gan to smile & laughen deep,  
Iwis (qd. I) I will do your pleasance:  
The xuj. statute doth me great grievance,  
But ye must that release or modify.  
I grant (qd. she) and so I will truly.   

And softly then her colour 'gan appear,  
As Rose so red throughout her visage all,  
Wherefore me think it is according here,  
That she of right be cleped Roseal:  
Thus have I won with words great and small  
Some goodly word of her, that I love best,  
And trust she shall yet set mine heart in rest.   

Goes on, she said to Philobone, and take  
This man with you, & lead him all about  
Within the court, and show him for my sake  
What lovers dwell within, and all the rout  
Of officers him show, for he is out of doubt  
A stranger yet: come on (qd. Philobone)  
Philogenet with me now must ye gone.   

And stalking soft with easy pace, I saw,  
About the king stonden all environ,  
Attendance, Diligence, and their fellow  
Fortherer, Asperaunce, and many one,  
Dred to offend, there stood, and not alone,  
For there was eke the cruel adversair,  
The lover's foe that cleped is Dispair.   

Which unto me spoke angrily and fell,  
And said, my lady me disseive ne shall:  
Trowest thou (qd. she) that all that she did tell,  
Is true, nay nay, but under honey gall,  
Thy birth and hers they be nothing equal:  
Cast of thine heart, for all her words white,  
For in good faith she loveth thee but alight.   

And eke remember thine hability,  
May not compare with her, this well thou wot:  
Ye than came Hope & said, my friend let be,  
Believe him not: Despair he ginneth dote,  
Alas (qd. I) here is both cold and hot:  
The one me biddeth love, the toder nay,  
Thus wot I not what me is best to say.   

But well wot I, my lady granted me,  
Truly to be my wounds remedy,  
Her gentleness may not infected be  
With doubleness, thus trust I till I die,  
So cast I to void despairs company,  
And taken hope to council and to friend.  
Yea keep that well (qd. Philobone) in mind.   

And there beside within a bay window,  
Stod one in green full large of bread & length,  
His beard as black as feathers of the Crow,  
His name was lust of wonder might & strength,  
And with Delight to argue there he think'th,  
For this was all his opinion,  
That love was sin: and so he hath begun   

To reason fast, and ledge authority:  
* Nay (qd. Delight) love is a virtue clear,  
And from the soul his progress holdeth he:  
Blind appetite of lust doth often steer,  
And that is sin: for reason lacketh there,  
* For thou dost think thy neighbour's wife to win:  
Yet think it well that love may not be sin.   

For God, and saint, they love right verily,  
Void of all sin and 'vise this know I well,  
* Affection of flesh is sin truly,  
But verray love is virtue as I feel,  
For love may thy freill desire ackele:  
For verray love is love, withouten sin:  
Now stint (qd. Lust) thou speakest not worth a pin.   

And there I left them in their arguing,  
Roaming ferther in the castle wide,  
And in a corner Liar stood talking,  
Of lesing fast, with flattery there beside,  
* He said that woman wear attire of pride,  
And men were found of nature vigilant,  
And could be false & shown beaw semblant.   

Than flattery bespoke and said, iwis  
See so she goth on patens fair and feet,  
It doth right well: what pretty man is this,  
That roameth here, now truly drink ne meet  
Nede I not have, mine heart for joy doth beat  
Him to behold, so is he goodly fresh:  
It seemeth for love his heart is tender & nesh.   

This is the court of lusty folk and glad,  
And well becometh their abite and array,  
O why be some so sorry and so sad,  
Complaining thus in black & white & grey,  
Freres they ben, and Monks in good faith:  
Alas for routh great dole it is to seen,  
To see them thus bewail and sorry been.   

See how they cry & wring their hands white,  
For they so soon went to religion,  
And eke the Nonnes with veil and wimple plight,  
Their thought is, they been in confusion:  
Alas they said we fain perfection,  
In clothes wide and lack our liberty,  
But all the sin mote on our friends be.   

For Venus wot, we would as fain as ye,  
That been attired here and welbesene,  
Desiren man and sove in our degree,  
Ferm and faithful right as would the queen:  
Our friend's wick in tender youth and green,  
Against our will made us religious,  
That is the cause we mourn & wa●len thus.   

Then said the Monk and Freres in the tide,  
Well may we curse our Abbes and our place,  
Our statutes sharp to sing in copes wide,  
Chastely to keep us out of love's grace,  
And never to feel comfort ne solace:  
Yet suffer we the heat of love's fire,  
And after that some other haply we desire.   

O Fortune cursed, why now & wherefore  
Hast thou, they said, bereft us liberty,  
scythe nature gave us instrument in store,  
And appetite to love and lovers be?  
Why moat we suffer soch adversity,  
Diane to serve, and Venus to refuse,  
Full often scythe this matters doth us muse?   

We serve and honour sore against our will,  
Of chastity the gods and the queen,  
Us leefer were with Venus biden still,  
And have reward for love and soget been  
Unto these women courtly, fresh, and sheen,  
Fortune we curse thy wheel of variance,  
There we were well thou revist our pleasance.   

Thus leave I them with voice of plaint and care,  
In raging woe crying full piteously,  
And as I go full naked and full bare,  
Some I behold looking dispitously,  
On poverty that deadly cast their eye,  
And wellaway they cried, and were not fain,  
For they ne might their glad desire attain.   

For lack of richesses worldly and good,  
They ban and curse, and weep, & said alas,  
That poverty hath us hent that whilom stood  
At hearts' ease, and free and in good case,  
But now we dare not show ourselves in place,  
Ne us embold to dwell in company,  
There as our heart would love right faithfully.   

And yet againward shrieked every Nun,  
The pang of love so straineth them to cry:  
Now woe the time (qd. they) that we be boun  
This hateful ordre nice will done us die,  
We sigh and sob, and bleden inwardly,  
Freting ourselves with thoght & hard complaint,  
That nigh for love we waxen wood and faint.   

And as I stood beholding here and there,  
I was ware of a sort full languishing,  
Savage and wild, of looking and of cheer,  
Their mantles and their clothes ay tering,  
And oft they were of nature complaining,  
For they their members lacked, foo● & hand,  
With visage wry, and blind I understand.   

They lacked shape, and beauty to prefer  
Themselves in love: and said that God & kind,  
Hath forged them to worshippen the star,  
Venus the bright, and leften all behind,  
His other works clean and out of mind:  
For other have their full shape and beauty,  
And we (qd. they) been in deformity.   

And nigh to them there was a company,  
That have the susters waried and missaide,  
I mean the three of fatal destiny,  
That be our workers: suddenly abraide  
Out 'gan they cry as they had been afraid,  
We curse (qd. they) that ever hath nature,  
Iformed us this woeful life to endure.   

And there eke was contrite and 'gan repent,  
Confessing hole the wound that Cithere  
Hath with the dart of hot desire him sent,  
And how that he to love must subject be,  
Then held he all his scorns vanity,  
And said that lovers held a blissful life,  
Young men & old, and widow, maid & wife.   

Bereve me goddess (qd. he) of thy might  
My scorns all and scoffs, that I have  
No power for to moken any wight,  
That in thy service dwell: for I did rave:  
This know I well right now so god me save,  
And I shall be the chief post of thy faith,  
And love uphold, the reverses who so saith.   

Dissemble stood not far from him in troth,  
With party mantil party hood and hose,  
And said he had upon his lady routh,  
And thus he wound him in, & 'gan to gloze  
Of his intent full double I suppose,  
In all the world he said he loved her well,  
But ay me thought he loved her near a deal.   

Eke shamefastness was there as I took heed,  
That blushed read, and durst nat ben aknow  
She lover was, for thereof had she dread,  
She stood and hang her visage down allow,  
But such a sight it was to seen I trow,  
As of these roses rody on their stalk,  
There could no wight her spy to speak or talk.   

In love's art so 'gan she to abash,  
Ne durst not utter all her previty:  
Many a stripe and many a grevous lash  
She gaven to them that wolden lovers be,  
And hindered sore the simple cominalty,  
That in no wise durst grace & mercy crave,  
For were not she they need but ask & have.   

Where if they now aprochein for to speak,  
Then shamefastness returneth them again:  
They think, if we our secrets counsel break,  
Our ladies will have scorn on us certain,  
And peraventure thinken great disdain:  
Thus shame fastness may bringer in despair,  
When she is deed the toder will be heir.   

Come forth a Vaunter, now I ring thy bell,  
I spied him soon, to God I make a vow,  
He looked black as fiends doth in hell,  
The first (qd. he) that ever I did woo,  
Within a word she come, I wot not how,  
So that in arms was my lady free,  
And so hath been a thousand more than she.   

In England, Britain, Spain, & Picardy,  
Artois, and France, and up in high Holland,  
In Burgoine, Naples, and Italy,  
Naverne, and Grece, and up in heathen land  
Was never woman yet that would withstand,  
To been at commandment when I would,  
I lacked neither silver, coin, ne gold.   

And there I met with this estate and that,  
And here I broached her, and her I trow:  
Lo there goeth one of mine, & wot ye what?  
You fresh attired have I laid full low,  
And such one yonder eke right well I know:  
I kept the statute when we lay ifere,  
And yet yond same hath made me right good cheer.   

Thus hath a Vaunter blown every where,  
All that he knoweth, and more a thousand fold  
His auncestry of kin was to liar,  
For first he maketh promise for to hold  
His lady's council, and it not unfold,  
* Wherefore the secret when he doth unshitte,  
Then lieth he, that all the world may wit.   

For falsing so his promise and behest,  
I wonder sore he hath such fantasy,  
He lacketh wit I trow or is a beast,  
That can no bet himself with reason gie,  
By mine advice, love shall be contrary  
To his avail, and him eke dishonour,  
So that in court he shall no more sojour.   

Take heed (qd. she) this little Philobone,  
Where envy rocketh in the corner yond,  
And sitteth dirke, and ye shall see anon  
His lean body, fading both face and hon,  
Himself he fretteth, as I understand,  
Witness of Ovid Methamorphosose,  
The lover's foe he is, I will not gloze.   

* For where a lover thinketh him promote,  
Envy will grudge, repining at his well,  
It swelleth sore about his hearts' rote,  
That in no wise he cannot live in heel,  
And if the faithful to his lady steel,  
* Envy will noise and ring it round about,  
And say much worse than done is out of doubt.   

And privy thought rejoicing of himself,  
Stood not far thence in abite marvelous,  
Yond is (thought I) some spirit or some elf,  
His subtle Image is so curious:  
How is (qd. I) that he is shaded thus  
With yonder cloth, I not of what colour?  
And ne'er I went and 'gan to lere and poor.   

And framed him a question full hard,  
What is (qd. I) the thing thou lovest best,  
Or what is boat unto thy pains hard,  
Me think thou livest here in great unrest,  
Thou wanderest aye from south to east & west,  
And east to north as far as I can see,  
There is no place in Court may holden thee.   

Whom followest thou where is thy hertiset,  
But my demand asoile I thee require,  
Me thought (qd. he) no creature may let  
Me to ben here, and where as I desire:  
For where as absence hath done out the fire,  
My merry thought it kindleth yet again,  
That bodily me think with my sovereign.   

I stand & speak, & laugh, & kiss, and halfe:  
So that my thought comforteth me full oft,  
I think god wot, though all the world be false,  
I will be true, I think also how soft  
My lady is in speech, and this on loft  
Bringeth min heart with joy & great gladness,  
This privy thought allayeth mine heaviness.   

And with I think or where to be, no man  
In all this earth can tell Iwis but I:  
And eke there nis no swallow swift, ne swan  
So wight of wing, ne half so yearn can fly,  
For I can been and that right suddenly,  
In heaven, in hell, in Paradise, and here,  
And with my lady when I will desire.   

I am of counsel, far and wide I wot,  
With lord and lady, and their previtie  
I wot it all, and be it cold or hot,  
They shall not speak without licence of me,  
I mine in such as seasonable be,  
For first the thing is thought within that hart,  
Ere any word out from the mouth astart.   

And with the word Thought bad farewell and go:  
Eke forth went I to seen the courts guise,  
And at the door came in so God me speed,  
Twenty courteours of age and of assize,  
Liche high, and broad, and as I me advise,  
The golden love, and leden love they height,  
The tone was sad, the toder glad and light.   

Yes draw your heart with all your force & might,  
To lustiness and benas ye have said,  
And think that I no drop of favour height,  
Ne never had unto your desire obeyed,  
Till suddenly me thought me was affrayed,  
To seen you ware so deed of countenance,  
And pite bade me done you some pleasance.   

Out of her shrine she rose from death to live,  
And in mine care full privily she spoke,  
Doth not your servant hens away to drive,  
Rosial (qd. she) and then mine heart it drake,  
For tenderich: & where I found much lack,  
In your person, than I myself bethought,  
And said, this is the man mine heart hath sought.   

Gramercy Pity, might I but suffice,  
To give due laud unto thy shrine of gold,  
God wot I would: for sith that thou did rise  
From death to live for me, I am behold,  
To thank you a thousand times told,  
And eke my lady Rosial the sheen,  
Which hath in comfort set mine heart iwene.   

And here I make mine protestation,  
And deeply swear as mine power to been  
Faithful, devoid of variation,  
And her forbear in anger or in tene,  
And serviceable to my world's queen,  
With all my reason and intelligence,  
To done her honour high and reverence.   

I had not spoke so soon the word, but she,  
My sovereign, did thank me hertely,  
And said abide ye shall dwell still with me,  
Till season come of May, for then truly,  
The king of love and all his company,  
Shall hold his feste full rially and well,  
And there I bided till that the season fell.   

ON May day when the lark began to rise,  
To matins went the lusty Nightingale,  
Within a temple shapen Hauthorn wise,  
He might not sleep in all the nightertale,  
But Domine labia 'gan he cry and gale,  
My lips open lord of love I cry,  
And let my mouth thy preising now bewry.   

The Eagle sang Venite bodies all,  
And let us joy to love that is our health,  
And to the desk anon they 'gan to fall,  
And who came late he preced in by stealth:  
Then said the Falcon our own hearts wealth,  
Domine Dominus noster I wot,  
Ye be the God y● done us burn thus hot.   

Coeli enarrant said the Popingay,  
Your might is told in heaven & firmament,  
And then came in the gold finch fresh and gay,  
And said this Psalm with hertily glad intent  
Domini est terra, This latin intent,  
The God of love hath earth in governance:  
And then the Wren 'gan scippen & to dance.   

Jube Domino O Lord of love, I pray  
Command me well this lesson for to read,  
This legend is of all that woulden day  
Marters for love, God yet the souls speed:  
And to thee Venus sing we out of dread,  
By influence of all thy virtue great,  
Beseeching thee to keep us in our heat.   

The second lesson Robin Redebrest sang,  
Hail to the god and gods of our lay,  
And to the lectorn amorously he sprung,  
Hail now (qd. eke) O fresh season of May,  
Our month glad that singen on the spray,  
Hail to the flowers, read, and white, & blue,  
Which by their virtue maketh our lust new.   

The third lesson the turtle dove took up,  
And thereat lough the Mavis in a scorn,  
He said, O God, as moat I dine or sup,  
This foolish Dove will give us all an horn,  
There been right here a M. better borne,  
To read this lesson, which as well as he,  
And eke as hot, can love in all degree.   

The turtle dove said, welcome, welcome May,  
Gladsome and light to lovers that been true:  
I thank thee lord of love that doth purvey,  
For me to read this lesson all of dew,  
For in good sooth of courage I pursue,  
To serve my make till death us must depart,  
And then Tu autem sang he all apart.   

Te deum amoris sang the Thrustel cock,  
Tubal himself the first Musician,  
With key of armony coude not on lock,  
So sweet tewne as that the Thrustel can:  
The lord of love we praisen (qd. he) than,  
And so done all the fowls great and light,  
Honour we May, in falls lover's despite.   

Dominus regnavit said the Peacock there,  
The lord of love that mighty prince iwis,  
He is received here and every where:  
Now jubilate sing: what meaneth this  
Said then the Linnet? welcome lord of bliss:  
Out start the Owl with Benedicite,  
What meaneth all this merry fare (qd. he.)   

Laudate sang the Lark with voice full shrill,  
And eke the Kite O admirabile,  
This quere will thorough mine ears pers and thril,  
But what, welcome this May season (qd. he)  
And honour to the lord of love moat be,  
That hath this feste so solemn and so high,  
Amen said all, and so said eke the Pie.   

And forth the Cockow 'gan proceed anon,  
With Benedictus thanking God in haste,  
That in this May would visit them echon,  
And gladden them all while the feast shall last:  
And therewithal a laughter out he braced,  
I thank it God that I should end the song,  
And all the Service which hath been so long.   

Thus sang they all the service of the fest,  
And that was done right early to my doom,  
And forth goth all the court both most & lest,  
To fetch the flowers fresh, & branch & bloom,  
And namely Hauthorn brought both page & groom  
With fresh garlants party blue & white,  
And then rejoysen in their great delight.   

Eke each at other threw the flowers bright,  
The Primrose, the Violete, & the gold,  
So then as I beheld the royal fight,  
My lady 'gan me suddenly behold,  
And with a true love plited many a fold:  
She smote me through the very heart as believe,  
And Venus yet I thank I am alive.   
Explicit.   

Chaucer's DREAM, never Printed before the Year 1597. That which heretofore hath gone under the name of his Dream, is the Book of the Duchess: or the Death of Blanch, Duchess of Lancaster.  
This Dream, devised by Chaucer, seemeth to be a covert report of the Marriage of John of Gaunt the King's Son, with Blanch the Daughter of Henry Duke of Lancaster, who, after long love, (during the time whereof the Poet feigneth them to be dead) were in the end by consent of Friends happily Married: figured by a Bird bringing in her Bill an Herb which restored them to life again. Here also is showed Chaucer's match with a certain Gentlewoman, who, although she was a Stranger, was notwithstanding so well liked and loved of the Lady Blanch and her Lord, as Chaucer himself also was, that gladly they concluded a Marriage between them.  

WHen Flora the queen of pleasance,  
Had whole achieved thobeisance  
Of the fresh and new season,  
Thorough out every region,  
And with her mantle whole covert  
That winter made had discovert,  
Of adventure without light,  
In May I lay upon a night  
Alone, and on my lady thought,  
And how the Lord that her wrought,  
Couth well entail in Imagery  
And showed had great mastery,  
When he in so little space  
Made such a body and a face,  
So great beauty with switch features  
More than in other creatures.  
And in my thoughts as I lay  
In a lodge out of the way,  
Beside a well in a forest,  
Where after hunting I took rest,  
Nature and kind so in me wrought,  
That half on sleep they me brought,  
And 'gan to dream to my thinking,  
With mind of knowliche like making,  
For what I dreamt as me thought  
I saw it, and I slept nought,  
Wherefore is yet my full beleeue,  
That some good spirit that eve,  
By mean of some curious port,  
Bore me, where I saw pain and sport,  
But whether it were I work or slept,  
Well wot I of, I lough and wept,  
Wherefore I wool in remembrance,  
Put whole the pain, and the pleasance,  
Which was to me axen and heel,  
Would God ye wist it every deal,  
Or at the least, ye might o night  
Of such another have a sight,  
Although it were to you a pain,  
Yet on the morrow ye would be fain,  
And wish it might long dure,  
Then might ye say ye had good cure,  
For he that dreams, and wenes he see,  
Much the better yet may he  
Wit what, and of whom, and where,  
And eke the lass it wool hindere,  
To think I see this with mine e'en,  
Iwis this may not dream keen,  
But sign or signifiance,  
Of hasty thing souning pleasance,  
For on this wise upon a night,  
As ye have heard without light,  
Not all waking, ne full on sleep  
About such hour as lovers weep.  
And cry after their lady's grace,  
Befell me this wonder case,  
Which ye shall hear and all the wise,  
So wholly as I can devose,  
In plain English evil written,  
For sleep writer well ye witten,  
Excused is, though he do mis,  
More than one that waking is,  
Wherefore here of your gentleness,  
I you require my boistousnesse  
Ye let pass, as thing rude  
And heareth what I wool conclude,  
And of the enditing taketh no heed,  
Ne of the terms so God you speed,  
But let all pass as nothing were,  
For thus befell, as you shall here.   

Within an isle me thought I was,  
Where wall, and yate was all of glass,  
And so was closed round about,  
That leavelesse none come in ne out,  
Uncouth and strange to behold,  
For every yate of fine gold,  
A thousand fanes, aye turning,  
Entuned had, and briddes singing,  
divers, and on each fane a pair,  
With open mouth again th'air,  
And of a suit were all the towers,  
Subtly coruen after flowers,  
Of uncouth colours during aye,  
That never been none seen in May,  
With many a small turret high,  
But man on live could I non sie,  
Ne creatures, save ladies play,  
Which were such of their array,  
That as me thought of goodlihead,  
They passeden all, and womanhood,  
For to behold them dance and sing,  
It seemed like none earthly thing,  
Such was their uncouth continuance,  
In every play of right usance,  
And of one age everyone,  
They seemed all save only one,  
Which had of years' suffisance,  
For she might neither sing ne dance,  
But yet her countenance was so glad,  
As she so few years had had,  
As any lady that was there  
And as little it did her dear,  
Of lustiness to laugh and tale  
As she had full stuffed a male  
Of disports and new plays:  
Fair had she been in her days,  
And mistress seemed well to be,  
Of all that lusty company,  
And so she might I you ensure  
For one the cunningest creature  
She was, and so said everyone,  
That ever her knew, there failed none,  
For she was sober, and well avised,  
And from every fault disguised,  
And nothing used but faith and truth,  
That she nas young it was great ruth,  
For every where and in each place,  
She governed her, that in grace  
She stood always with poor and rich,  
That at a word was none her liche,  
Ne half so able masters to be,  
To such a lusty company.   

Befell me so, when I avised  
Had, the isle that me sufficed,  
And whole the state every where,  
That in that lusty isle was there,  
Which was more wonder to devose,  
Than the joieux paradise,  
I dare well say, for flower ne tree,  
Ne thing wherein pleasance might be,  
There failed none, for every wight,  
Had they desired, day and night,  
Riches, heal, beauty, and ease,  
With every thing that them might please,  
Think and have, it cost no more,  
In such a country there before,  
Had I not been ne heard tell,  
That lives creature might dwell.  
And when I had thus all about,  
The isle avised throughout,  
The state, and how they were arrayed,  
In my heart I wax well paid,  
And in myself I me assured,  
That in my body I was well ured,  
Sith I might have such a grace,  
To see the ladies and the place,  
Which were so fair I you ensure,  
That to my doom though that nature,  
Would ever strive and do her pain,  
She should not con ne mowattaine,  
The least feature to amend,  
Though she would all her cunning spend,  
That to beauty might avail,  
It were but pain and lost travail,  
Such part in their nativity,  
Was them alarged of beauty,  
And eke they had a thing notable,  
Unto their death, ay durable,  
And was, that their beauty should dure,  
Which was never seen in creature,  
Save only there (as I trow)  
It hath not be witted ne know,  
Wherefore I praise with their cunning,  
That during beauty, rich thing,  
Had they been of their lives certain,  
They had been quite of every pain,  
And when I wend thus all have seen,  
The state, the riches, that might been,  
That me thought impossible were,  
To see one thing more than was there,  
That to beauty or glad cunning,  
Serve or avail might any thing.  
All suddenly as I there stood,  
This lady that couth so much good,  
Unto me came with smiling cheer,  
And said Benedicite, this year  
Saw I never man here but you,  
Tell me how ye come hider now?  
And your name, and where ye dwell?  
And whom ye seek eke moat ye tell,  
And how ye come be to this place,  
The sooth well told may cause you grace,  
And else ye moat prisoner be,  
Unto the ladies here, and me,  
That have the governance of this isle:  
And with that word she 'gan to smile,  
And so did all the lusty rout  
Of ladies that stood her about.  
Madam (qd. I) this night past,  
Lodged I was and slept fast,  
In a forest beside a well,  
And now am here, how should I tell,  
Wots I not, by whose ordinance,  
But only fortune's purveyance,  
Which puts many as I guess,  
To travail, pain, and business,  
And lets nothing for their truth,  
But some fleeth eke, and that is ruth,  
Wherefore I doubt her brittilnes,  
Her variance and unsteadfastnes,  
So that I am as yet afraid,  
And of my being here amaid,  
For wonder thing seemeth me,  
Thus many fresh ladies to see,  
So fair, so cunning, and so young,  
And no man dwelling them among:  
Not I not how I hider come,  
Madam (qd. I) this all and some,  
What should I feign a long process  
To you that seem such a princess,  
What please you command or say,  
Here I am you to obey,  
To my power, and all fulfil,  
And prisoner bide at your will,  
Till you duly informed be,  
Of every thing ye ask me.   

This lady there right well paid,  
Me by the hand took, and said,  
Welcome prisoner adventurus,  
Right glad am I ye have said thus,  
And for ye doubt me to displease,  
I will assay to do you ease:  
And with that word, ye anon,  
She, and the lady's everichon  
Assembled, and to counsel went,  
And after that soon for me sent,  
And to me said on this manner,  
Word for word, as ye shall here.   

To see you here us think marvel,  
And how without boat or sail,  
By any subtlety or wile,  
Ye get have entre in this isle,  
But not for that, yet shall ye see,  
That we gentle women be,  
Loath to displease any wight,  
Notwithstanding our great right,  
And for ye shall well understand  
The old custom of this land,  
Which hath continued many year,  
Ye shall well weet that with us here  
Ye may not bide, for causes twain,  
Which we be purposed you to sane.  
th'one is this, our ordinance,  
Which is of long continuance,  
Wool not, soothly we you tell,  
That no man here among us dwell,  
Wherefore ye moat needs return,  
In no wise may you here sojourn.  
Tother is eke, that our Queen  
Out of the Realm, as ye may seen,  
Is, and may be to us a charge,  
If we let you go here at large,  
For which cause the more we doubt,  
To do a fault while she is out,  
Or suffer that may be noisance,  
Again our old accustomance.  
And when I had these causes twain  
Herd, O God what a pain  
All suddenly about mine hart,  
There came at ones and how smart,  
In creeping soft as who should steal,  
Or do me rob of all mine heal,  
And made me in my thought so afraid,  
That in courage I stood dismayed.  
And standing thus, as was my grace,  
A Lady came more than apace,  
With huge press her about,  
And told how the Queen without  
Was arrived and would come in,  
Well were they that thither might twin,  
They hied so they would not abide,  
The bridling their horse to ride,  
By five, by six, by two, by three,  
There was not one abode with me,  
The queen to meet everyone,  
They went, and bode with me not one,  
And I after a soft pace,  
Imagining how to purchase  
Grace of the Queen, there to bide,  
Till good fortune some happy guide  
Me send might, that would me bring  
Where I was borne to my woning,  
For way ne foot knew I none,  
Ne witherward I nist to gone,  
For all was sea about the isle,  
No wonder though me list not smile,  
Seeing the case uncouth and strange,  
And so in like a perilous change,  
Imagining thus walking alone,  
I saw the Ladies everyone,  
So that I might somewhat offer,  
Sun after that I drew me ne'er,  
And though I was ware of the Queen,  
And how the Ladies on their kneene,  
With joyous words, gladly advised,  
Her welcomed so that it sufficed,  
Though she prince's hole had be,  
Of all environed is with see:  
And thus avising, with cheer sad,  
All suddenly I was glad,  
That greater joy as mote I thrive,  
I trow had never man on live,  
Than I tho, ne heart more light,  
When of my Lady I had sight,  
Which with the queen come was there,  
And in one clothing both they were,  
A knight also there well beseen,  
I saw that come was with the queen,  
Of whom the Ladies of that isle  
Had huge wonder long while,  
Till at the last right soberly,  
The queen herself full cunningly,  
With soft words in good wise,  
Said to the Ladies young and nice,  
My sisters how it hath befall,  
I trow ye know it one and all,  
That of long time here have I been,  
Within this isle biding as queen,  
Living at ease, that never wight  
More perfect joy have ne might,  
And to you been of governance,  
Such as you found in whole pleasance,  
In every thing as ye know,  
After our custom and our low,  
Which how they first found were,  
I trow ye wot all the manere,  
And who queen is of this isle,  
As I have been long while,  
Each seven years not of usage,  
Visit the heavenly armitage,  
Which on a rock so high stonds,  
In strange sea out from all londs,  
That to make the pilgrimage  
Is called a long perilous voyage,  
For if the wind be not good friend,  
The journey dures to the end  
Of him that it undertakes,  
Of twenty thousand one not 'scapes,  
Upon which Rock growth a tree,  
That certain years bears apples three,  
Which three apples who may have,  
Been from all displeasance save,  
That in the seven year may fall,  
This wot you well one and all,  
For the first apple and the bext,  
Which growth unto you next,  
Hath three virtues notable,  
And keepeth youth aye durable,  
Beauty and look, ever in one,  
And is the best in everyone.  
The second apple red and green,  
Only with looks of your yene,  
You nourishes in pleasance,  
Better than Partridge or Fesaunce,  
And feeds every life's wight  
Pleasantly with the sight.  
The third apple of the three,  
Which groweth lowest on the tree,  
Who it bears may not fail  
That to his pleasance may avail,  
So your pleasure and beauty rich,  
Your during youth ever liche,  
Your truth, your cunning, and your weal,  
Hath aye flowered, and your good heal,  
Without sickness or displeasance,  
Or thing that to you was noisance,  
So that you have as goddesses,  
Lived above all princesses:  
Now is befall as ye may see,  
To gather these said apples three,  
I have not failed again the day,  
Thitherward to take the way,  
weening to speed as I had oft,  
But when I come, I find aloft  
My sister which that here stands,  
Having those apples in her hands,  
Auising them and nothing said,  
But looked as she were well paid:  
And as I stood her to behold,  
Thinking how my joys were cold,  
Sith I those apples have ne might,  
Even with that so came this knight,  
And in his arms of me aware,  
Me took, and to his ship me bare,  
And said, though him I never had seen,  
Yet had I long his lady been,  
Wherhfore I should with him wend,  
And he would to his lives end  
My servant be, and 'gan to sing  
As one that had won a rich thing,  
Tho were my spirits from me gone,  
So suddenly everyone,  
That in me appeared but death,  
For I felt neither life ne breath,  
Ne good ne harm none I knew,  
The sudden pain me was so new,  
That had not the hasty grace be  
Of this lady, that fro the tree  
Of her gentleness so hied  
Me to comfort, I had died,  
And of her three apples, one  
In mine hand there put anon,  
Which brought again mind and breath,  
And me recovered from the death,  
Wherhfore to her so am I hold,  
That for her all things do I would,  
For she was lech of all my smart,  
And from great pain so quite mine hart,  
And as God wot, Right as ye hear,  
Me to comfort with friendly cheer,  
She did her prowess and her might,  
And truly eke so did this knight,  
In that he couth, and oft said,  
That of my woe he was ill paid,  
And cursed the ship that them there brought,  
The mast, the master that it wrought,  
And as each thing moat have an end,  
My sister here your brother friend,  
Con with her words so womanly  
This knight entreat, and cunningly,  
For mine honour and his also,  
And said that with her we should go  
Both in her ship, where she was brought,  
Which was so wonderfully wrought,  
So clean, so rich, and so arrayed,  
That we were both content and paid,  
And me to comfort and to please,  
And mine heart to put at ease,  
She took great pain in little while,  
And thus hath brought us to this isle,  
As ye may see, wherefore eachone,  
I pray you thank her one and one,  
As heartily as ye can devose,  
Or imagine in any wise,  
At once there though men might seen  
A world of Ladies fall on kneen  
Before my Lady that there about  
Was left none standing in the rout,  
But altogether they went at ones  
To kneel, they spared not for the stones,  
Ne for estate, ne for their blood,  
Well showed there they couth much good,  
For to my Lady they made such feast,  
With such words, that the least,  
So friendly and so faithfully  
Said was, and so cunningly,  
That wonder was seeing their youth,  
To here the language they couth,  
And wholly how they governed were,  
In thanking of my Lady there,  
And said by will and mandment,  
They were at her commandment,  
Which was to me as great a joy,  
As winning of the town of Troy  
Was to the hardy greeks strong,  
When they it won with slege long,  
To see my Lady in such a place,  
So received as she was,  
And when they talked had a while  
Of this and that, and of the isle,  
My lady, and the ladies there,  
Altogether as they were,  
The Queen herself began to play,  
And to the aged lady say:  
Now seemeth you not good it were,  
Sith we be altogether here,  
To ordain and devose the best,  
To set this knight and me at rest,  
For woman is a feeble wight,  
To rear a war against a knight,  
And sith he here is in this place,  
At my lift, danger, or grace,  
It were to me great villainy,  
To d● him any tyranny,  
But fain I would, now will ye here,  
In his own country that he were,  
And I in peace, and he at ease,  
This were a way us both to please,  
If it might be, I you beseech,  
With him hereof you fall in speech.  
This lady though began to smile,  
Auising her a little while,  
And with glad cheer she said anon,  
Madam I will unto him gone,  
And with him speak, and of him feel  
What he desires every deal:  
And soberly this lady tho,  
Herself and other ladies two  
She took with her, and with sad cheer,  
Said to the knight on this manner,  
Sir, the princes of this isle,  
Whom for your pleasance many mile,  
Ye sought have, as I understand,  
Till at the last ye have her fond,  
Me sent hath here, and ladies twain,  
To hear all thing that ye sane,  
And for what cause ye have her sought,  
Feign would she wot, & whole your thought,  
And why you do her all this woe,  
And for what cause you be her so,  
And why of every wight unware,  
By force ye to your ship her bare,  
That she so nigh was agone,  
That mind ne speech had she none,  
But as a painful creature,  
Dying, abode her adventure,  
That her to see endure that pain,  
Here we'll say unto you plain,  
Right on yourself ye did amiss,  
Seing how she a princes is.  
This knight the which cowth his good,  
Right of his truth moved his blood,  
That pale he wox as any lead,  
And looked as he would be dead,  
Blood was there none in nother cheek,  
Worldlesse he was and seemed sick,  
And so it proved well he was,  
For without moving any pace,  
All suddenly as thing dying,  
He fell at once down swooning,  
That for his woe, this lady afraid,  
Unto the queen her hied and said,  
Cometh on anon as have you bliss,  
But ye be wise, thing is amiss,  
This knight is dead or will be soon,  
Lo where he lieth in a swoone,  
Without word, or answering  
To that I have said, any thing:  
Wherefore I doubt, that the blame,  
Might be hindering to your name,  
Which flowered hath so many year,  
So long, that for nothing here,  
I would in no wise he died,  
Wherefore good were that ye hied,  
His life to save at the least,  
And after that his woe be ceased,  
Command him void, or dwell,  
For in no wise dare I more mell  
Of thing wherein such peril is,  
As like is now to fall of this.  
This queen right though full of great fear,  
With all the ladies present there,  
Unto the knight came where he lay,  
And made a Lady to him say:  
Lo here the queen, awake for shame,  
What will you do, is this good game?  
Why lie you here, what is your mind?  
Now is well seen your wit is blind,  
To see so many Ladies here,  
And ye to make none other cheer,  
But as ye set them all at nought,  
Arise, for his love that you bought:  
But what she said, a word not one  
He spoke, ne answer gave her none.  
The Queen of very pity tho,  
Her worship, and his like also,  
To save there she did her pain,  
And quoke for fear, and 'gan to sane:  
For woe alas what shall I do,  
What shall I say this man unto,  
If he die here, lost is my name,  
Now shall I play this perilous game?  
If any thing be here amiss,  
It shall be said, it rigour is,  
Whereby my name impair might,  
And like to die eke is this knight:  
And with that word her band she laid  
Upon his breast, and to him said,  
Awake my knight, lo it am I  
That to you speak, now tell me why  
Ye fare thus, and this pain endure,  
Seing ye be in country sure,  
Among such friends that would you heal,  
Your hearts ease eke and your weal,  
And if I wist what you might ease,  
Or know the thing that you might please,  
I you ensure it should not fail,  
That to your heal you might avail:  
Wherefore with all my heart I pray  
Ye rise, and let us talk and play,  
And see how many Ladies here,  
Be comen for to make good cheer.  
All was for nought, for still as stone  
He lay, and word spoke none,  
Long while was or he might braid,  
And of all that the Queen had said,  
He wist no word but at the last,  
Mercy twice he cried fast,  
That pity was his voice to hear,  
Or to behold his painful cheer,  
Which was not feigned well was to sein,  
Both by his visage and his eyn,  
Which on the queen at once he cast,  
And sighed as he would to braced,  
And after that he shright so,  
That wonder was to see his woe,  
For sith that pain was first named,  
Was never more woeful pain attained,  
For with voice dead he 'gan to plain,  
And to himself these words sane,  
I woeful wight full of malure,  
Am worse than dead, and yet dure,  
Maugre any pain or death,  
Against my will I fell my breath:  
Why name I dead sith I ne serve,  
And sith my Lady will me starve,  
Where art thou death art thou aghast,  
Well shall we meet yet at the last,  
Though thou thee hide it is for nought,  
For where thou dwellest thou shalt be sought,  
Maugre thy subtle double face,  
Here will I die right in this place,  
To thy dishonour and mine ease,  
Thy manner is no wight to please,  
What needs thee sith I thee seche,  
So thee to hide my pain to each,  
And well wost thou I will not live,  
Who would me all this world here give,  
For I have with my cowardice,  
Lost joy, and heal, and my service,  
And made my sovereign Lady so,  
That while she lives I trow my foe  
She will be ever to her end,  
Thus have I neither joy ne friend,  
Wot I not whether haste or sloth,  
Hath caused this now by my troth,  
For at the hermitage full high,  
When I her saw first with mine iye,  
I hied till I was aloft,  
And made my pace small and soft,  
Till in mine arms I had her fast,  
And to my ship bare at the last,  
Whereof she was displeased so,  
That endless there seemed her woe,  
And I thereof had so great fere,  
That me repent that I come there,  
Which hast I trow 'gan her displease,  
And is the cause of my disease:  
And with that word he 'gan to cry,  
Now death, death, twy or thry,  
And motred wot I not what of sloth.  
And even with that the Queen of routh,  
Him in her arms took and said,  
Now mine own knight be not evil paid,  
That I a lady to you sent,  
To have knowledge of your intent,  
For in good faith I meant but well,  
And would ye wist it every deal,  
Nor will not do to you iwis,  
And with that word she 'gan him kiss,  
And prayed him rise, and said she would  
His welfare by her truth, and told  
Him how she was for his disease  
Right sorry, and fain would him please,  
His life to save: these words tho,  
She said to him and many more,  
In comforting for from the pain,  
She would he were delivered fain,  
The knight though up cast his e'en,  
And when he saw it was the queen,  
That to him had these words said,  
Right in his woe he 'gan to braid,  
And him up dresses for to knee,  
The queen aussing wonder well:  
But as he rose he overthrew,  
Wherefore the queen, yet eft anew  
Him in her arms anon taken,  
And piteous 'gan on him look,  
But for all that nothing she said,  
Ne spoke not like she were well paid,  
Ne no cheer made, nor sad, ne light,  
But all in one to every wight,  
There was seen, cunning, with estate,  
In her without noise or debate,  
For save only a look piteous,  
Of womanhood undispiteous,  
That she showed in countenance,  
For seemed her heart from obeisance,  
And not for that she did her rain,  
Him to recure from the peine,  
And his heart to put at large,  
For her intent was to his barge  
Him to bring against the eve,  
With certain ladies and take leave,  
And pray him of his gentleness,  
To suffer her thenceforth in peace,  
As other Princes had before,  
And from thence forth for evermore,  
She would him worship in all wise,  
That gentleness might devose,  
And pain her wholly to fulfil,  
In honour, his pleasure and will.  
And during thus this knight's woe,  
Present the queen and other more,  
My lady and many another wight,  
Ten thousand ships at a sight,  
I saw come over the wawy flood,  
With sail and ore, that as I s●ood  
Them to behold, I 'gan marvel,  
From whom might come so many a sail,  
For sith the time that I was boar,  
Such a navy there before,  
Had I not seen, ne so arrayed,  
That for the sight my heart played  
To and fro within my breast,  
For joy, long was or it would rest,  
For there was sails full of flowers,  
After castles with huge towers,  
Seeming full of arms bright,  
That wonder lusty was the sight,  
With large tops, and masts long,  
Richly depeint and rear among,  
At certain times 'gan repair  
Small birds down from th'air,  
And on the ships bounds about,  
Sat and sung with voice full out,  
Ballads and Lays right joyously,  
As they cowth in their harmony,  
That you to write that I there see,  
Mine excuse is it may not be,  
For why, the matter were to long  
To name the birds and write their song,  
Whereof anon the ridings there  
Unto the queen soon brought were,  
With many alas, and many a doubt,  
Showing the ships there without,  
Tho 'gan the aged lady weep,  
And said alas our joy on sleep  
Soon shall be brought, ye long or night,  
For we descried been by this knight,  
For certes it may none other be,  
But he is of yond company,  
And they be come him here to seche,  
And with that word her failed speech,  
Without remedy we be destroyed,  
Full oft said all, and 'gan conclude,  
Holy at once at the last,  
That best was, shit their yates fast,  
And arm them all in good langage,  
As they had done of old usage,  
And of fair words make their shot,  
This was their counsel and the knot,  
And other purpose took they none,  
But armed thus forth they gone  
Toward the walls of the isle,  
But or they come there long while,  
They met the great lord of 'bove,  
That called is the god of Love,  
That them avised with such cheer,  
Right as he with them angry were,  
Availed them not their walls of glass,  
This mighty lord let not to pass,  
The shutting of their yates fast,  
All they had ordained was but waist,  
For when his ships had found land,  
This lord anon with bow in hand,  
Into this isle with huge press,  
Hied fast and would not cease,  
Till he came there the knight lay,  
Of Queen ne lady by the way,  
took he no heed but forth past,  
And yet all followed at the last,  
And when he came where lay the knight,  
Well showed he, he had great might,  
And forth the Queen called anon,  
And all the ladies everyone,  
And to them said, is not thus routh,  
To see my servant for his troth,  
Thus lean, thus sick, and in this pain,  
And wot not unto whom to plain,  
Save only one without more,  
Which might him heal and is his foe,  
And with that word, his heavy brow  
He showed the Queen and looked row,  
This mighty lord forth though anon,  
With o look her faults eachone  
He can her show in little speech,  
Commanding her to be his leech,  
Withouten more shortly to say  
He thought the Queen soon should obey,  
And in his hon he shaken his bow,  
And said right soon he would be know,  
And for she had so long refused  
His service, and his laws not used,  
He let her wit that he was wroth,  
And bent his bow and forth he goth  
A pace or two, and even there  
A large draught, up to his ear  
He drew, and with an arrow ground  
Sharp and new, the Queen a wound  
He gave, that piersed unto the hart,  
Which afterward full sore 'gan smart,  
And was not whole of many year,  
And even with that be of good cheer,  
My knight, qd. he, I will thee heel,  
And thee restore to perfect well,  
And for each pain thou hast endured,  
To have two joys thou art cured,  
And forth he passed by the rout,  
With sober cheer walking about,  
And what he said I thought to hear,  
Well wist he which his servants were,  
And as he passed anon he fond  
My lady and her took by the hon,  
And made her cheer as a Gods,  
And of beauty called her princes,  
Of bounty eke gave her the name,  
And said there was nothing blame  
In her, but she was virtuous,  
Saving she would no pity use,  
Which was the cause that he her sought,  
To put that far out of her thought,  
And sith she had whole richesses  
Of womanhood, and friendliness,  
He said it was nothing fitting,  
To void pity his own legging,  
And 'gan her preach and with her play,  
And of her beauty told her aye,  
And said she was a creature,  
Of whom the name should endure,  
And in books full of pleasance  
Be put for ever in remembrance,  
And as me thought more friendly  
Unto my lady, and goodlely  
He spoke, than any that was there,  
And for the appuls, I trow it were,  
That she had in possession,  
Wherefore long in procession,  
Many a pace arm under other,  
He welke, and so did with none other,  
But what he would command or say,  
Forthwith needs all must obey,  
And what he desired at the jest,  
Of my lady, was by request,  
And when they long together had been,  
He brought my lady to the Queen,  
And to her said, so God you speed,  
Show grace, consent, that is need,  
My lady though full cunningly,  
Right well avised, and womanly  
Down 'gan to kneel upon the flowers,  
Which April nourished had with showers,  
And to this mighty lord 'gan say,  
That pleaseth you, I wool obey,  
And me restrain from other thought,  
As ye wool all thing shall be wrought,  
And with that word kneeling she quoke,  
That mighty lord in arms her took,  
And said you have a servant one,  
That truer living is there none,  
Wherhfore good were, seeing his troth,  
That on his pains ye had routh,  
And purpose you to hear his speech,  
Fully avised him to leech,  
For of one thing ye may be sure,  
He will be yours, while he may dure,  
And with that word right on his game  
Me thought he lough, and told my name,  
Which was to me marvel, and fere,  
That what to do I nist there,  
Ne whether was me bet or none,  
There to abide, or thus to gone,  
For well wend I my lady would  
Imagen, or dame, that I had told  
My counsel whole, or made complaint  
Unto that lord, that mighty saint,  
So verily, each thing unsought,  
He said as he had known my thought,  
And told my troth and mine unease,  
Bet than I couth have for mine ease,  
Though I had studied all a week,  
Well wist that lord that I was seek,  
And would be leched wonder fain,  
No man me blame, mine was the pain:  
And when this lord had all said,  
And long with my lady played,  
She 'gan to smile with spirit glade,  
This was the answer that she made,  
Which put me there in double peine,  
That what to do, ne what to seine  
Witted I not, ne what was the best,  
Far was my heart then from his rest,  
For as I thought, that smiling sign  
Was token, that the heart incline  
Would to requests reasonable,  
Because smiling is favourable  
To every thing that shall thrive,  
So thought I though anon believe,  
That wordless answer in no town  
Was ta'en for obligatioun,  
Ne called surety in no wise,  
Amongst them that called been wise.  
Thus was I in a joyous doubt,  
Sure and unsurest of that rout,  
Right as mine heart thought it were,  
So more or less wax my fere,  
That if one thought made it well,  
Another shent it every deal,  
Till at the last I couth no more,  
But purposed as I did before,  
To serve truly my life's space,  
Awaiting ever the year of grace,  
Which may fall yet or I starve,  
If it please her that I serve,  
And served have, and wool do ever,  
For thing is none, that me is lever,  
Than her service, whose presence  
Mine heaven is whole, and her absence  
An hell, full of divers pains,  
Which to the death full oft me strains,  
Thus in my thoughts, as I stood,  
That unneath felt I harm ne good,  
I saw the Queen a little pace  
Come where this mighty lord was,  
And kneeled down in presence there  
Of all the ladies that there were,  
With sober countenance avised,  
In few words that well sufficed,  
And to this lord anon present  
A bill, wherein whole her intent  
Was written, and how she besought,  
As he knew every will and thought,  
That of his godhead and his grace  
He would forgive all old trespass,  
And undispleased be of time past,  
For she would ever be steadfast,  
And in his service to the death  
Use every thought while she had breath,  
And sight and wept, and said no more,  
Within was written all the sore:  
At which bill the lord 'gan smile,  
And said he would within that isle  
Be lord and sire, both east and west,  
And called it there his new conquest,  
And in great council took the Queen,  
Long were the tales them between,  
And over her bill he read thrice,  
And wonder gladly 'gan devose  
Her features fair, and her visage,  
And bad good thrift on that Image,  
And said he trowed her compleint  
Should after cause her be corseint,  
And in his sleeve he put the bill,  
Was there none that knew his will,  
And forth he walk apace about,  
Beholding all the lusty rout,  
Half in a thought with smiling cheer,  
Till at the last, as ye shall here,  
He turned unto the Queen again,  
And said to morn, here in this pleine,  
I wool ye be, and all yours,  
That purposed been to wear flours,  
Or of my lusty colour use,  
It may not be to you excuse,  
Ne none of yours in no wise,  
That able be to my service,  
For as I said have here before,  
I will be lord for evermore  
Of you, and of this isle, and all,  
And of all yours, that have shall  
joy, peace, ease, or in pleasance  
Your lives use without noisance;  
Here will I in state be seen,  
And turned his visage to the Queen,  
And you give knowledge of my will,  
And a full answer of your bill,  
Was there no nay, ne words none,  
But very obeisaunt seemed eachone,  
Queen and other that were there,  
Well seemed it they had great fere,  
And there took lodging every night,  
Was none departed of that night,  
And some to read old Romances,  
Them occupied for their pleasances,  
Some to make verelays, and lays,  
And some to other divers plays:  
And I to me a Romance took,  
And as I reading was the book,  
Me thought the sphere had so run,  
That it was rising of the Sun,  
And such a prees into the piaine  
Assemble gone, that with great pain  
One might for other go ne stand,  
Ne none take other by the hand,  
Withouten they distourbed were,  
So huge and great the prees was there.  
And after that within two hours,  
This mighty lord all in flowers  
Of divers colours many a pair,  
In his estate up in the air,  
Well two fathom, as his height,  
He set him there in all their sight,  
And for the Queen and for the Knight,  
And for my lady, and every wight,  
In hast he sent, so that never one  
Was there absent, but come eachone:  
And when they thus assembled were,  
As ye have heard me say you here,  
Without more tarrying on height,  
There to be seen of every wight,  
Up stood among the prees above  
A counsellor, servant of love,  
Which seemed well, of great estate,  
And showed there, how no debate  
Owe ne goodly might be used  
In gentleness, and be excused,  
Wherhfore he said, his lords will,  
Was every wight there should be still,  
And in pees, and one accord,  
And thus commanded at a word,  
And can his tongue to swiche language  
Turn, that yet in all mine age  
Herd I never so cunningly  
Man speak, ne half so faithfully,  
For every thing he said there,  
Seemed as it insealed were,  
Or approved for very true:  
Swiche was his cunning language new,  
And well according to his cheer,  
That where I be, me think I here  
Him yet always, when I mine one  
In any place may be alone:  
First con he of the lusty isle  
All thestate in little while  
Rehearse, and wholly every thing,  
That caused there his lords coming,  
And every we'll and every woe,  
And for what cause each thing was so,  
Well showed he there in easy speech,  
And how the sick had need of leech:  
And that whole was, and in grace,  
He told plainly why each thing was,  
And at the last he con conclude,  
Voided every language rude,  
And said, that prince, that mighty lord,  
Or his departing, would accord  
All the parties there present,  
And was the fine of his intent,  
Witness his presence in your sight,  
Which sits among you in his might:  
And kneeled down withouten more,  
And not o word spoke he more.   

Tho 'gan this mighty lord him dress,  
With cheer avised, to do largesse,  
And said unto this knight and me,  
Ye shall to joy restored be,  
And for ye have been true ye twain,  
I grant you here for every pain  
A thousand joys every week,  
And look ye be no longer seek,  
And both your ladies, lo hem here,  
Take each his own, beeths of good cheer,  
Your happy day is new begun,  
Sith it was rising of the sun,  
And to all other in this place,  
I grant wholly to stand in grace,  
That serveth truly, without sloth,  
And to advanced be by troth.  
Tho can this knight, and I down kneel,  
Wening to do wonder well,  
Seeing O Lord your great mrrcy,  
Us hath enriched, so openly,  
That we deserve may never more,  
The least part, but evermore  
With soul and body truly serve  
You and yours till we starve.  
And to their Ladies there they stood,  
This knight that couth so mikel good,  
Went in haste, and I also,  
joyous, and glad were we tho,  
And also rich in every thought,  
As he that all hath and ought nought,  
And them besought in humble wise,  
Us taccept to their service,  
And show us of their friendly cheers,  
Which in their treasure many years  
They kept had, us to great pain,  
And told how their servants twain,  
Were and would be, and so had ever,  
And to the death change would we never,  
Ne do offence, ne think like ill,  
But fill their ordinance and will:  
And made our oaths fresh new,  
Our old service to renew,  
And wholly theirs for evermore,  
We there become, what might we more,  
And well awaiting, that in sloth,  
We made ne fault, ne in our troth,  
Ne thought not do, ay you ensure,  
With our will, where we may dure.   

This season past, again an eve,  
This Lord of the Queen took leave,  
And said he would hastily return,  
And at good leisure there sojourn,  
Both for his honour, and for his ease,  
Commanding fast, the knight to please,  
And gave his statutes in papers,  
And ordent divers officers,  
And forth to ship the same night  
He went, and soon was out of sight.  
And on the morrow when the air  
Attempered was, and wonder fair,  
Early at rising of the sun,  
After the night away was run,  
Playing us on the rivage,  
My Lady spoke of her voyage,  
And said she made small journeys,  
And held her in strange countries,  
And forthwith to the Queen went,  
And showed her wholly her intent,  
And took her leave with cheer weeping,  
That pity was to see that parting:  
For to the Queen it was a pain,  
As to a Martyr new yssaine,  
That for her woe, and she so tender,  
Yet I weep oft when I remember,  
She offered there to resign,  
To my Lady eight times or nine,  
Thastate, the isle, shortly to tell,  
If it might please her there to dwell,  
And said, for ever her lineage,  
Should to my Lady do homage,  
And hers be hole withouten more,  
Ye, and all theirs for evermore:  
Nay God forbid, my Lady oft,  
With many cunning word and soft,  
Said, that ever such thing should been,  
That I consent should, that a Queen  
Of your estate, and so well named,  
In any wise should be attamed:  
But would be fain with all my heart,  
What so befell, or how me smart,  
To do thing that you might please,  
In any wise, or be your ease,  
And kissed there, and bad good night,  
For which leave wept many a wight,  
There might men here my Lady praised,  
And such a name of her araised,  
What of cunning and friendliness,  
What of beauty with gentleness,  
What of glad and friendly cheare●●,  
That she used in all her years,  
That wonder was here every wight  
To say well, how they did their might,  
And with a prees upon the morrow,  
To ship her brought, and what a sorrow  
They made, when she should under sail,  
That and ye wist, ye would marvel.  
Forth goeth the ship, out goeth the fond,  
And I as wood man unbond,  
For doubt to be behind there,  
Into the sea withouten fere,  
Anon I ran, till with a waw,  
All suddenly I was overthraw,  
And with the water to and fro,  
Backward and forward travailed so,  
That mind and breath, nigh was gone,  
For good ne harm knew I none,  
Till at the last with hooks tweine,  
Men of the ship with mikel peine,  
To save my life, did such travail,  
That and ye wist ye would marvel,  
And in the ship me drew on high,  
And saiden all that I would die,  
And laid me long down by the mast,  
And of their clothes on me cast,  
And there I made my testament,  
And wist myself not what I meant,  
But when I said had what I would,  
And to the mast my woe all told,  
And ta'en my leave of every wight,  
And closed mine eyes, and lost my sight,  
Auised to die, without more speech,  
Or any remedy to seech  
Of grace new, as was great need:  
My lady of my pain took heed;  
And her bethought how that for troth  
To see me die it were great routh,  
And to me came in sober wise,  
And softly said, I pray you rise,  
Come on with me, let be this fare,  
All shall be well, have ye no care,  
I will obey ye and fulfil  
Holy in all that lords will,  
That you and me not long ago,  
After his list commanded so,  
That there again no resistance  
May be without great offence,  
And therefore now what I say,  
I am and will be friendly aye,  
Rise up behold this avauntage,  
I grant you inheritage,  
Peaceably without strive,  
During the days of your live,  
And of her apples in my sleeve  
One she put, and took her leave  
In words few and said good heel,  
He that all made you send and we'll,  
Wherewith my pains all at ones  
took such leave, that all my bones,  
For the new durense pleasance,  
So as they couth, desired to dance,  
And I as whole as any wight,  
Up rose with joyous heart and light,  
Hole and unsicke, right we'll at ease,  
And all forget had my disease,  
And to my lady where she played,  
I went anon, and to her said:  
He that all joys persons to please  
First ordained with perfect ease,  
And every pleasure can depart,  
Send you madam, as large a part,  
And of his goods such plenty,  
As he has done you of beauty,  
With heel and all that may be thought;  
He send you all as he all wrought:  
Madam (quoth I) your servant true,  
Have I been long, and yet will new,  
Without change or repentance,  
In any wise or variance,  
And so will do as thrive I ever,  
For thing is none that me is lever  
Than you to please, how ever I fare,  
Mine heart's lady and my welfare,  
My life, mine heel, my lech also,  
Of every thing that doth me woe,  
My help at need, and my surety  
Of every joy that longs to me,  
My succours whole in all wise,  
That may be thought or man devose,  
Your grace Madam such have I found,  
Now in my need that I am bound  
To you for ever so Christ me save,  
For heal and live of you I have,  
Wherefore is reasoun I you serve,  
With due obeisance till I starve,  
And dead and quick be ever yours,  
Late, early, and at all hours,  
Tho came my lady small alight,  
And in plain english con consite  
In words few, whole her intent  
She showed me there, and how she meant  
To meward in every wise,  
Wholly she came at their device,  
Without process or long travel,  
Charging me to keep counsel,  
As I would to her grace attain,  
Of which commandment I was fain.  
Wherefore I pass over at this time,  
For counsel cords not well in rhyme,  
And eke the oath that I have swore,  
To break, me were better unborn,  
Why for untrue for evermore  
I should be hold, that nevermore  
Of me in place should be report  
Thing that avail might, or comfort  
To mewards in any wise,  
Andech wight would me despise  
In that they couth, and me reprieve,  
Which were a thing sore for to grieve,  
Wherefore hereof more mention  
Make I not now ne long sermon,  
But shortly thus I me excuse,  
To rhyme a council I refuse.  
Sailing thus two days or three,  
My lady towards her country,  
Over the waves high and green,  
Which were large and deep between,  
Upon a time me called and said,  
That of my heel she was well paid,  
And of the Queen and of the isle,  
She talked with me long while,  
And of all that she there had seen,  
And of the state, and of the queen,  
And of the lady's name by name,  
Two hours or more, this was her game,  
Till at the last the wind 'gan rise,  
And blew so fast, and in such wise,  
The ship that every wight can say,  
Madame er eve he of this day,  
And God tofore, ye shall be there,  
As ye would fainest that ye were,  
And doubt not within six hours,  
Ye shall be there, as all is yours,  
At which words she 'gan to smile,  
And said that was no long while,  
That they her set and up she rose,  
And all about the ship she goose,  
And made good cheer to every wight,  
Till of the land she had a sight,  
Of which sight glad God it wot,  
She was abashed and aboot,  
And forth goeth shortly you to tell,  
Where she accustomed was to dwell,  
And received was as good right,  
With joyous cheer and hearts light,  
And as a glad new adventure,  
Pleasant to every creature,  
With which landing though I work,  
And found my chamber full of smoke,  
My cheeks eke unto the ears,  
And all my body wet with tears,  
And all so feeble and in such wise,  
I was, that unneath might I rise,  
So fare travailed and so faint,  
That neither knew I kirk ne saint,  
Ne what was what, ne who was who,  
Ne avised, what way I would go,  
But by a venturous grace,  
I rise and walked, sought pace and pace,  
Till I a winding stair found,  
And held the vice aye in my hon,  
And upward softly so 'gan creep,  
Till I came where I thought to sleep  
More at mine ease, and out of press,  
At my good leisure, and in peace,  
Till somewhat I recomfort were  
Of the travel and great fear  
That I endured had before,  
This was my thought without more,  
And as a wight witless and faint,  
Without more, in a chamber paint  
Full of stories old and divers,  
More than I can now rehearse,  
Unto a bed full soberly,  
So as I might full soothly,  
Place after other, and nothing said,  
Till at the last down I me laid,  
And as my mind would give me leave,  
All that I dreamt had that eve,  
Before all I can rehearse,  
Right as a child at school his verse  
Doth after that he thinketh to thrive,  
Right so did I for all my live,  
I thought to have in remembrance,  
Both the pain and the pleasance,  
The dream whole, as it me befell,  
Which was as ye hear me tell,  
Thus in my thoughts as I lay,  
That happy or unhappy day,  
Wot I not so have I blame,  
Of the two, which is the name:  
Befell me so, that there a thought,  
By process new on sleep me brought,  
And me governed so in a while,  
That again within the isle,  
Me thought I was, whereof the knight,  
And of the ladies I had a sight,  
And were assembled on a green,  
Knight and lady, with the queen,  
At which assembly there was said,  
How they all content and paid,  
Were wholly as in that thing,  
That the knight there should be king,  
And they would all for sure witness  
Wedded be both more and less,  
In remembrance without more,  
Thus they consent for evermore,  
And was concluded that the knight  
Depart should the same night,  
And forthwith there took his voyage,  
To journey for his marriage,  
And return with such an host,  
That wedded might be least and most,  
This was concluded, written and sealed,  
That it might not be repealed  
In no wise but aye be firm,  
And all should be within a term,  
Without more excusation,  
Both feast and coronation,  
This knight which had thereof the charge,  
Anon into a little barge,  
Brought was late against an eve,  
Where of all he took his leave,  
Which barge was as a man's thought,  
After his pleasure to him brought,  
The Queen herself accustomed aye  
In the same barge to play,  
It needeth neither mast ne rother,  
I have not heard of such another,  
No master for the governance,  
High sailed by thought and pleasance,  
Without labour East and West,  
All was one, calm, or tempest,  
And I went with at his request,  
And was the first prayed to the fest.  
When he came in his country,  
And passed had the wavy see,  
In an haven deep and large  
He left his rich and noble barge,  
And to the court shortly to tell,  
He went, where he wont was to dwell,  
And was received as good right,  
As heir, and for a worthy knight,  
With all the states of the land,  
Which came anon at his first fond,  
With glad spirits full of troth,  
Loath to do fault or with a sloth,  
Attaint be in any wise,  
Their riches was their old service,  
Which ever true had be fond,  
Sith first inhabit was the land,  
And so received there her King,  
That forgotten was no thing,  
That owe to be done ne might please,  
Ne their sovereign Lord do ease,  
And with them so shortly to say,  
As they of custom had done aye,  
For seven year past was and more,  
The father, the old wise and door  
King of the land took his leave  
Of all his barons on an eve,  
And told them how his days past  
Were all, and comen was the last,  
And hertily prayed him to remember  
His son, which young was and tender,  
That borne was their prince to be,  
If he return to that country  
Might, by adventure or grace,  
Within any time or space,  
And to be true and friendly aye,  
As they to him had been always:  
Thus he them prayed, without more,  
And took his leave for evermore.  
Known was, how tender in age,  
This young prince a great voyage  
Uncouth and strange, honours to seche,  
took in hon with little speech,  
Which was to seek a princes,  
That he desired more than riches,  
For her great name that flowered so,  
That in that time there was no more  
Of her estate, ne so well named,  
For borne was none that ever her blamed:  
Of which princes somewhat before,  
Here have I spoke, and some will more.  
So thus befell as ye shall hear,  
Unto their lord they made such cheer,  
That joy was there to be present  
To see their troth and how they meant,  
So very glad they were each one,  
That them among there was no one,  
That desired more riches,  
Than for their Lord such a princes,  
That they might please, and that were fair,  
For fast desired they an heir,  
And said great surety were iwis.  
And as they were speaking of this,  
The prince himself him avised,  
And in plain English undisguised,  
Them showed hole his journey,  
And of their counsel 'gan them prey,  
And told how he insured was,  
And how his day he might not pass,  
Without diffame and great blame,  
And to him for ever shame,  
And of their counsel and avise,  
There he prayeth them once or twice,  
And that they would, within ten days,  
Advice and ordain him such ways,  
So that it were no displeasance,  
Ne to this Realm over great grievaunce,  
And that he have might to his feast,  
Sixty thousand at the least,  
For his intent within short while  
Was to return unto his isle  
That he came fro, and keep his day,  
For nothing would he be away.  
To counsel though the Lords anon,  
Into a chamber everychone,  
Together went, them to devose,  
How they might best and in what wise,  
Purvey for their Lord's pleasance,  
And the Realm's continuance  
Of honour, which in it before  
Had continued evermore,  
So at the last they found the ways,  
How within the next ten days,  
All might with pain and diligence  
Be done, and cast what the dispense  
Might draw, and in conclusion,  
Made for each thing provision.  
When this was done, wholly tofore  
The prince, the lords all before  
Come, and showed what they had done,  
And how they couth by no reason  
Find, that within the ten days  
He might depart by no ways,  
But would be fifteen at the least,  
Or he return might to his feast:  
And showed him every reason why  
It might not be so hastily,  
As he desired, ne his day  
He might not keep by no way,  
For divers causes wonder great:  
Which when he heard, in such an heat  
He fell, for sorrow and was seek,  
Still in his bed whole that week,  
And nigh the tother for the shame,  
And for the doubt, and for the blame  
That might on him be art,  
And oft upon his breast he her,  
And said alas, mine honour for aye,  
Have I here lost clean this day,  
Dead would I be, alas my name  
Shall aye he more henceforth in shame,  
And I dishonoured and reproved,  
And never more shall be believed:  
And made switch sorrow, that in troth,  
Him to behold it was great routh:  
And so endured the days fifteen,  
Till that the Lords on an even  
Him come, and told they ready were,  
And showed in few words there,  
How and what wise they had purveyed  
For his estate, and to him said,  
That twenty thousand knights of name,  
And forty thousand without blame,  
All come of noble ligine,  
together in a compane,  
Were lodged on a river's side,  
Him and his pleasure there tabide,  
The prince though for joy up rose,  
And where they lodged were, he goes  
Without more that same night,  
And these his supper made to right,  
And with them bode till it was they,  
And forthwith to take his journey,  
Leving the straight, holding the large,  
Till he came to his noble barge,  
And when this prince, this lusty knight  
With his people in arms bright,  
Was comen where he thought to pass,  
And knew well none abiding was  
Behind, but all were there present,  
Forthwith anon all his intent  
He told them there, and made his cries  
Through his oft that day twice,  
Commanding every life's wight,  
There being present in his sight,  
To be the morrow on the rivage,  
Where he begin would his voyage.  
The morrow come, the cry was kept,  
Few was there that night that slept,  
But trussed and purveyed for the morrow,  
For fault of ships was all their sorrow,  
For save the barge, and other two,  
Of ships there saw I no more:  
Thus in their douths as they stood,  
Waxing the sea, coming the flood,  
Was cried to ship go every wight,  
Then was but high, that high might,  
And to the barge me thought eachone  
They went, without was left not one,  
Horse, male, truss, ne baggage,  
Salad, spear, guard brace, ne page,  
But was lodged and room enough,  
At which shipping me thought I lough,  
And 'gan to marvel in my thought,  
How ever such a ship was wrought,  
For what people that can increase,  
Ne never so thick might be the press,  
But all had room at their will,  
There was not one was lodged ill,  
For as I trow, myself the last  
Was one, and lodged by the mast,  
And where I looked I saw such room,  
As all were lodged in a town.  
Forth goth the ship, said was the creed,  
And on their knees for their good speed,  
Down kneeled every wight a while,  
And prayed fast that to the isle  
They might come in safety,  
The prince and all the company,  
With worship and without blame,  
Or disclaunder of his name,  
Of the promise he should return,  
Within the time he did sojourn,  
In his land biding his host,  
This was their prayer least and most,  
To keep the day it might not been,  
That he appointed had with the queen,  
To return without sloth,  
And so assured had his troth,  
For which fault this prince, this knight,  
During the time slept not a night,  
Such was his woe and his disease,  
For doubt he should the queen displease,  
Forth goeth the ship with such speed,  
Right as the prince for his great need  
Desire would after his thought,  
Till it unto the isle him brought,  
Where in haste upon the sand,  
He and his people took the land,  
With hearts glad, and cheer light,  
Weening to be in heaven that night:  
But or they passed a while,  
Entering in toward that isle,  
All clad in black with cheer piteous,  
A lady which never dispiteous  
Had be in all her life tofore,  
With sorry cheer, and heart to tore,  
Unto this prince where he 'gan ride,  
Come and said, abide, abide,  
And have no haste, but fast return,  
No reason is ye here sojourn,  
For your untruth hath us descried,  
Wo worth the time we us allied  
With you, that are so soon untrue,  
Alas the day that we you knew,  
Alas the time that ye were boar,  
For all this land by you is lore,  
Accursed be he you hider brought,  
For all your joy is turned to nought,  
Your acquaintance we may complain,  
Which is the cause of all our pain.  
Alas madam quoth though this knight,  
And with that from his horse he light,  
With colour pale, and cheeks lean,  
Alas what is this for to mean,  
What have ye said, why be ye wroth,  
You to displease I would be loath,  
Know ye not well the promise  
I made have to your princess,  
Which to perform is mine intent,  
So moat I speed as I have meant,  
And as I am her very true,  
Without change or thought new,  
And also fully her seruand,  
As creature or man livand  
May be to lady or princess,  
For she mine heaven, and whole richesse  
Is, and the lady of mine heal,  
My world's joy and all my weal,  
What may this be, whence comes this speech,  
Tell me Madam I you beseech,  
For fith the first of my living,  
Was I so fearful of nothing,  
As I am now to hear you speak,  
For doubt I feel mine heart break:  
Say on madam, tell me your will,  
The remnant is it good or ill,  
Alas (qd. she) that ye were boar,  
For, for your love this land is lore,  
The queen is dead and that is ruth,  
For sorrow of your great untruth,  
Of two parts of the lusty rout,  
Of ladies that were there about,  
That wont were to talk and play,  
Now are dead and clean away,  
And under earth ta'en lodging new,  
Alas that ever ye were untrue,  
For when the time ye set was past,  
The queen to counsel soon in haste,  
What was to do, and said great blame,  
Your acquaintance cause would and shame,  
And the ladies of their avise  
Prayed, for need was to be wise,  
In eschewing tales and songs,  
That by them make would ill tongs,  
And say they were lightly conquest,  
And prayed to a poor feast,  
And foul had their worship weived,  
When so unwisely they conceived,  
Their rich treasure, and their heal,  
Their famous name, and their weal,  
To put in such an adventure,  
Of which the slander ever dure  
Was like, without help of appeal,  
Wherefore they need had of counsel,  
For every wight of them would say,  
Their closed isle an open way  
Was become to every wight,  
And well appreved by a knight,  
Which he alas without paysaunce,  
Had soon achieved thobeisaunce:  
All this was moved at counsel thrice,  
And concluded daily twice,  
That bet was die without blame,  
Than lose the riches of their name,  
Wherefore the death's acquaintance  
They cheese, and left have their pleasance,  
For doubt to live as reproved,  
In that they you so soon believed,  
And made their oaths with one accord,  
That eat, ne drink, ne speak word,  
They should never, but ever weeping  
Bide in a place without parting,  
And use their days in penance,  
Without desire of allegiance,  
Of which the truth anon con prove,  
For why the queen forth with her leave  
Took at them all that were present,  
Of her defauts fully repent,  
And died there withouten more,  
Thus are we lost for evermore,  
What should I more hereof rehearse,  
Comen within come see her hearse,  
Where ye shall see the piteous sight,  
That ever yet was shown to knight,  
For ye shall see ladies stoned,  
Each with a great rod in bond,  
Clad in black with visage white,  
Ready each other for to smite,  
If any be that will not weep,  
Or who that makes countenance to sleep,  
They be so bet, that all so blew  
They be as clothe that died is new,  
Such is their perfect repentance,  
And thus they keep their ordinance,  
And will do ever to the death▪  
While them endures any breath.   

This knight though in arms twain,  
This lady took and 'gan her sane,  
Alas my birth, woe worth my life,  
And even with that he drew a knife,  
And through gown, doublet, and shirt,  
He made the blood come from his heart,  
And set him down upon the green,  
And full repent closed his even,  
And save that ones he drew his breath,  
Without more thus he took his death,  
For which cause the lusty host,  
Which in a battle on the coast,  
At once for sorrow such a cry  
'Gan rear, thorough the company,  
That to the heaven heard was the swoon,  
And under th'earth als for adown,  
That wild beasts for the fear,  
So suddenly afraid were,  
That for the doubt, while they might dure,  
They ran as of their lives unsure,  
From the woods unto the plain,  
And from the valleys the high mountain  
They sought, and ran as beasts blind,  
That clean forgotten had their kind.  
This woe not ceased, to counsel went  
These Lords, and for that lady sent,  
And of avise what was to done,  
They her besought she say would soon,  
Weeping full sore all clad in black,  
This lady softly to them spoke,  
And said, my lords by my troth,  
This mischief it is of your flouth,  
And if ye had that judge would right,  
A prince that were a very knight,  
Ye that been of estate eachone,  
Die for his fault should one and one,  
And if he hold had the promise,  
And done that longs to gentleness,  
And fulfilled the prince's behest,  
This hasty farm had been a feast,  
And now is unrecoverable,  
And us a slander aye durable,  
Wherhfore I say as of counsel,  
In me is none that may avail,  
But if ye list for remembrance,  
Purvey and make such ordinance,  
That the queen that was so meek,  
With all her women deed or seek,  
Might in your land a chapel have,  
With some remembrance of her grave,  
Showing her end with the pity,  
In some notable old city,  
Nigh unto an high way,  
Where every wight might for her pray,  
And for all hers that have ben true,  
And even with that she changed hew,  
And twice wished, after the death,  
And sight, and thus passed her breath.  
Then said the Lords of the host,  
And so conclude least and most,  
That they would ever in houses of thank,  
Their lives lead, and wear but black,  
And forsake all their pleasances,  
And turn all joy to penances,  
And bear the dead prince to the barge,  
And named them should have the charge,  
And to the hearse where lay the queen,  
The remnant went and down on kneen,  
Holding their honds on high gone cry,  
Mercy, mercy, everish thrie,  
And cursed the time that ever sloth  
Should have such masterdom of troth,  
And to the barge a long mile,  
They hare her forth, and in a while  
All the Ladies one and one,  
By companies were brought eachone,  
And past the sea and took the land,  
And in new hearses on a sand,  
Put and brought were all anon,  
Unto a City closed with stone,  
Where it had been used aye  
The kings of the land to lay,  
After they reigned in honours,  
And writ was which were conquerors,  
In an abbey of Nuns which were black,  
Which accustomed were to wake,  
And of usage rise each a night,  
To pray for every life's wight,  
And so befell as in the guise,  
Ordeint and said was the service,  
Of the prince and of the queen,  
So devoutly as might been,  
And after that about the hearses,  
Many orisons and verses,  
Without note full softly,  
Said were and that full heartily,  
That all the night till it was day  
The people in the Church con pray,  
Unto the holy Trinity,  
Of those souls to have pity.   

And when the night past and run  
Was, and the new day begun,  
The young morrow with rays red,  
Which from the Sun over all con spread,  
Atempered clear was and fair,  
And made a time of wholesome air,  
Befell a wonder case and strange,  
Among the people and 'gan change  
Soon the word and every woe,  
Unto a joy, and some to two:  
A bird all fedred blue and green,  
With bright rays like gold between,  
As small thread over every joint,  
All full of colour strange and coint,  
Uncouth, and wonderful to sight,  
Upon the queen's hearse con light,  
And song full low and softly,  
Three songs in her harmony,  
Vnletted of every wight,  
Till at the last an aged knight,  
Which seemed a man in great thought,  
Like as he set all thing at nought,  
With visage and ein all forwept,  
And pale, as man long unslept,  
By the hearses as he stood,  
With hasty hondling of his hood,  
Unto a prince that by him past,  
Made the bridde somewhat aghast,  
Wherefore she rose and left her song,  
And depart from us among,  
And spread her wings for to pass  
By the place he entered was,  
And in his haste shortly to tell,  
Him hurt, that backward down he fell,  
From a window richly peint,  
With lives of many divers saint,  
And bet his wings and bled fast,  
And of the hurt thus died and passed,  
And lay there well an hour and more,  
Till at the last of briddes a score,  
Come and sembled at the place  
Where the window broken was,  
And made swiche wamentacioun,  
That pity was to hear the sound,  
And the warbles of their throats,  
And the complaint of their notes,  
Which from joy clean was reversed,  
And of them one the glass soon pierced,  
And in his beke of colours nine,  
An herb he brought flourelesse all green,  
Full of small leaves and plain,  
Swart and long with many a vain,  
And where his fellow lay thus deed,  
This herb down laid by his heed,  
And dressed it full softily,  
And hung his head and stood thereby,  
Which herb in less than half an hour,  
'Gan over all knit, and after flower  
Full out and wax ripe the seed,  
And right as one another feed  
Would, in his beak he took the grain,  
And in his fellow's beak certain  
It put, and thus within the third  
Up stood, and pruned him the bird,  
Which dead had be in all our sight,  
And both together forth their flight  
took, singing from us, and their leave,  
Was none disturb him would ne greue,  
And when they parted were, and gone  
Thabbess the seeds soon eachone  
gathered had, and in her hand  
The herb she took, well avisand  
The leaf, the seed, the stalk, the flower,  
And said it had a good savour,  
And was no common herb to find,  
And well approved of uncouth kind,  
And than other more virtuous,  
Who so have it might for to use  
In his need, flower, leaf, or grain,  
Of their heal might be certain:  
And laid it down upon the hearse  
Where lay the queen, and 'gan rehearse,  
Echone to other that they had seen,  
And taling thus the seed wax green,  
And on the dry hearse 'gan spring,  
Which me thought a wondrous thing,  
And after that flower and new seed,  
Of which the people all took heed,  
And said, it was some great miracle,  
Or medicine fine more than treacle,  
And were well done there to assay,  
If it might ease in any way,  
The corpses, which with torch light,  
They waked had there all that night,  
Soon did the lords there consent,  
And all the people thereto content,  
With easy words and little fare,  
And made the queen's visage bare,  
Which showed was to all about,  
Wherefore in swoone fell whole the rout,  
And were so sorry most and least,  
That long of weeping they not ceased,  
For of their lord the remembrance,  
Unto them was such displeasance,  
That for to live they called a pain,  
So were they very true and plain,  
And after this the good abbess,  
Of the grain 'gan these and dress,  
Three, with her fingers clean and small,  
And in the queen's mouth by tale,  
One after other full easily,  
She put and full cunningly,  
Which showed soon such virtue,  
That proved was the medicine true,  
For with a smiling countenance  
The Queen uprose, and of usance,  
As she was wont to every wight,  
She made good cheer, for which sight,  
The people kneeling on the stones,  
Thought they in heaven were soul & bones:  
And to the prince where he lay,  
They went to make the same assay,  
And when the Queen it understood,  
And how the medicine was good,  
She prayed she might have the grains,  
To relieve him from the pains  
Which she and he had both endured,  
And to him went and so him cured,  
That within a little space,  
Lusty and fresh on live he was,  
And in good heel, and hole of speech,  
And lough, and said gramercy leech,  
For which the joy throughout the town,  
So great was that the bells sown  
Afraid the people, a journay,  
About the city every way,  
And come and asked cause and why  
They rongen were so stately?  
And after that the queen, th'abbess  
Made diligence or they would cease,  
Such, that of ladies soon a rout,  
Sewing the queen was all about,  
And called by name eachone and told,  
Was none forgotten young ne old,  
There might men see joys new,  
When the medicine fine and true,  
Thus restored had every wight,  
So well the queen as the knight,  
Unto perfect joy and heel,  
That fleeting they were in such we'll  
As folk that would in no wise,  
Desire more perfect paradise.  
And thus when passed was the sorrow,  
With mikle joy soon on the morrow,  
The king, the queen, and every lord,  
With all the Ladies by one accord,  
A general assembly  
Great cry through the country,  
The which after as their intent  
Was turned to a Parliament,  
Where was ordained and avised,  
Every thing and devised,  
That please might, to most and least,  
And there concluded was the feast,  
Within the isle to be hold  
With full consent of young and old,  
In the same wise as before,  
As thing should be withouten more,  
And shipped and thither went  
And into strange Realms sent,  
To kings, queens, and duchesses',  
To divers princes and princesses,  
Of their lineage and can pray,  
That it might like them at that day  
Of marriage, for their sport,  
Come see the isle, and them disport,  
Where should be jousts and turnays,  
And arms done in other ways,  
Signifying over all the day  
After April within May,  
And was avised that lady's tweine,  
Of good estate and well beseine,  
With certain knights and squires,  
And of the queen's officers,  
In manner of an ambassade,  
With certain letters closed and made,  
Should take the barge and depart,  
And seek my lady every part,  
Till they her found for any thing,  
Both charged have queen and king,  
And as their lady and mistress,  
Her to beseek of gentleness,  
At the day there for to been,  
And oft her recommaund the queen,  
And prays for all loves to haste,  
For but she come all wool be waist,  
And the feast, a business  
Without joy or lustiness:  
And took them tokens and good speed  
Prayed God send, after their need.  
Forth went the ladies and the knights,  
And were out fourteen days and nights,  
And brought my lady in their barge,  
And had well sped and done their charge:  
Whereof the queen so heartily glad  
Was, that in sooth such joy she had,  
When the ship approached land,  
That she my lady on the fond  
Met, and in arms so constrain,  
That wonder was behold them twain,  
Which to my doom during twelve hours,  
Neither for heat ne watery showers,  
Departed not no company,  
Saving themselves but none them by,  
But gave them leisure at their ease,  
To rehearse joy and disease,  
After the pleasure and courages,  
Of their young and tender ages:  
And after, with many a knight,  
Brought were, where as for that night  
They parted not, for to pleasance,  
Content, was heart and countenance,  
Both of the queen, and my mistress,  
This was that night their business:  
And on the morrow with huge rout,  
This prince of lords him about,  
Come and to my Lady said,  
That of her coming glad and well paid  
He was, and full commingly  
Her thanked and full heartily,  
And lough and smiled, and said iwis,  
That was in doubt, in safety is:  
And commanded do diligence,  
And spare for neither gold ne expense,  
But make ready, for on the morrow,  
Wedded with saint john to borrow,  
He would be, withouten more,  
And let them wit this less and more.  
The morrow come, and the service  
Of marriage in such a wise  
Said was, that with more honour,  
Was never prince ne conqueror  
Wed, ne with such company,  
Of gentleness in chivalry,  
Ne of Ladies so great routs  
Ne so beseen as all abouts  
They were there, I certify  
You on my life withouten lie.   

And the feast hold was in tentis,  
As to tell you mine intent is,  
In a room a large plain  
Under a wood in a champain,  
Betwixt a river and a well,  
Where never had abby, ne sell  
Ben, ne kirk, house, ne village,  
In time of any man's age:  
And dured three months the feast,  
In one estate and never ceased,  
From early the rising of the son,  
Till the day spent was and yronne,  
In just, dancing, and lustiness,  
And all that swooned to gentleness.   

And as me thought the second morrow,  
When ended was all old sorrow,  
And in surety every wight  
Had with his lady slept a night,  
The Prince, the Queen, and all the rest,  
Unto my lady made request,  
And her besought oft and prayed,  
To mewards to be well apaied,  
And consider mine old troth,  
And on my pains have routh,  
And me accept to her service,  
In such form and in such wise,  
That we both might be as one,  
Thus prayed the Queen, and everyone:  
And for there should be no nay,  
They stint just all a day,  
To pray my lady and reqire,  
Be content and out of fere,  
And with good heart make friendly cheer,  
And said it was a happy year:  
At which she smiled and said iwis,  
I trow well he my servant is,  
And would my welfare as I trist,  
So would I his, and would he wist  
How and I knew that his troth  
Continue would without sloth,  
And be such as ye here report,  
Restraining both courage and sport,  
I couth consent at your request,  
To be named of your fest,  
And do after your usance,  
In obeying your pleasance,  
At your request this I consent,  
To please you in your intent,  
And eke the sovereign above,  
Commanded hath me for to love,  
And before other him prefer,  
Against which Prince may be no were,  
For his power over all reigneth,  
That other would for nought him paineth,  
And sith his will and yours is one,  
Contrary in me shall be none,  
Tho (as me thought) the promise  
Of marriage before the mese,  
Desired was of every wight,  
To be made the same night,  
To put away all manner doubts  
Of every wight thereabouts,  
And so was do, and on the morrow,  
When every thought and every sorrow  
Dislodged was out of mine heart,  
With every woe and every smart,  
Unto a tent Prince and Princes,  
Me thought, brought me and my masters,  
And said we were at full age  
There to conclude our marriage,  
With ladies, knights, and squires,  
And a great host of ministers,  
With instruments and sons divers,  
That long were here to rehearse,  
Which tent was church perochiall,  
Ordaint was in especial,  
For the feast and for the sacre,  
Where archbishop, and archdiacre  
Song full out the service,  
After the custom and the guise,  
And the church's ordinance,  
And after that to dine and dance  
Brought were we, and to divers plays,  
And for our speed each with preys,  
And merry was most and least,  
And said amended was the feast,  
And were right glad lady and lord,  
Of the marriage and th'accord,  
And wished us hearts pleasance,  
joy, heel, and continuance,  
And to the minstrels made request,  
That in increasing of the fest,  
They would touch their cords,  
And with some new joyeux accords,  
Move the people to gladness,  
And praiden of all gentleness,  
Each to pain them for the day,  
To show his cunning and his play,  
Tho began 'sounds marvelous,  
Entuned with accords joyous,  
Round about all the tents,  
With thousands of instruments,  
That every wight to dance them pained,  
To be merry was none that feigned,  
Which sown me troubled in my sleep,  
That fro my bed forth I leap,  
Wening to be at the feast,  
But when I work all was seast,  
For there nas lady ne creature,  
Save on the walls old portraiture  
Of horsemen, hawks, and hounds,  
And hurt dear full of wounds,  
Some like bitten, some hurt with shot,  
And as my dream seemed that was not,  
And when I wake, and knew the troth,  
And ye had seen of very routh,  
I trow ye would have wept a week,  
For never man yet half so seek,  
I went escaped with the life,  
And was for fault that sword ne knife  
I find ne might my life tabridge,  
De thing that kerued, ne had edge,  
Wherewith I might my woeful pains  
Have voided with bleeding of my veins,  
Lo here my bliss, lo here my pain,  
Which to my lady I do complain,  
And grace and mercy her require,  
To end my woe and busy fear,  
And me accept to her service,  
After her service in such avise,  
That of my dream the substance  
Might turn once to cognisance,  
And cognisance to very preue,  
By full consent, and good leave,  
Or else without more I pray,  
That this night, or it be day,  
I moat unto my dream return,  
And sleeping so forth aye sojourn  
About the isle of pleasance,  
Under my lady's obeisance,  
In her service, and in such wise,  
As it please her may to devose,  
And grace ones to be accept,  
Like as I dreamt when I slept,  
And dure a thousand year and ten,  
In her good will, Amen, Amen.   

Fairest of fair, and goodliest on live,  
All my secret to you I plain, and shrive,  
Requiring grace and of complaint,  
To be healed or martyred as a saint,  
For by my troth I swear, & by this book,  
Ye may both heal, and slay me with a look.   

Go forth mine own true heart innocent,  
And with humblesse, do thine observance,  
And to thy lady on thy knees present  
Thy service new, & think how great pleasance  
It is to live under thobeisance  
Of her that may with her looks soft  
Give thee the bliss that thou desirest oft.   

Be diligent, awake, obey, and dread,  
And not too wild of thy countenance,  
But meek and glad, and thy nature feed,  
To do each thing that may her pleasance,  
When thou shalt sleep, have aye in remembrance  
Thimage of her which may with looks soft  
Give thee the bliss that thou desirest oft.   

And if so be that thou her name find  
Written in book, or else upon wall,  
Look that thou as servant true and kind,  
Thine obeisance as she were therewithal,  
Feigning in love is breeding of a fall  
From the grace of her, whose looks soft  
May give the bliss that thou desirest oft.   

Ye that this Ballad read shall,  
I pray you keep you from the fall.    

The Flower and the Leaf.  
A Gentlewoman out of an Arbour in a Grove, seeth a great company of Knights and Ladies in a Dance upon the green Grass: the which being ended, they all kneel down, and do honour to the Daisy, some to the Flower, and some to the Leaf. Afterward this Gentlewoman learneth by one of these Ladies the meaning hereof, which is this: They which honour the Flower, a thing fading with every blast, are such as look after Beauty and worldly Pleasure. But they that honour the Leaf, which abideth with the Root, notwithstanding the Frosts and Winter storms, are they which follow Virtue and during Qualities, without regard of worldly Respects.  

WHen that Phoebus his chair of gold so high  
Had whirled up the sterry sky aloft,  
And in the Boole was entered certainly,  
When showers sweet of rain descended oft,  
Causing the ground feel times and oft,  
Up for to give many an wholesome air,  
And every plain was clothed fair   

With new green, & maketh small flowers  
To springen here & there in field & in meed,  
So very good and wholesome be the showers,  
That it reneweth that was old and deed,  
In winter time, and out of every seed  
Springeth the herb, so that every wight  
Of this season waxeth glad and light.   

And I so glad of the season sweet,  
Was happened thus upon a certain night,  
As I lay in my bed, sleep full unmeeet  
Was unto me, but why that I ne might  
Rest, I ne witted, for there nas earthly wight  
As I suppose had more hearts ease  
Than I, for I and sickness nor disease.   

Wherefore I marvel greatly of myself,  
That I so long withouten sleep lay,  
And up I rose three hours after twelfe,  
About the springing of the day,  
And on I put my gear and mine array,  
And to a pleasant grove I 'gan pass,  
Long or the bright son up risen was.   

In which were Okes great, straight as a line,  
Under the which the grass so fresh of hue,  
Was newly sprung, and an eight foot or nine  
Every tree well fro his fellow grew,  
With branches broad, lad with leaves new,  
That sprongen out again the sun sheen,  
Some very red, and some a glad light green.   

Which as me thought was right a pleasant sight,  
And eke the birds song for to here,  
Would have rejoiced any earthly wight,  
And I that couth not yet in no manner  
Hear the Nightingale of all the year,  
Full busily harkened with heart and with ear,  
If I her voice perceive could any where.   

And at the last a path of little bread  
I found, that greatly had not used be,  
For it forgrowne was with grass and weed,  
That well unneath a wight might it see:  
Thought I this path some whider goth pard,  
And so I followed, till it me brought  
To right a pleasant herber well ywrought,   

That benched was, and with turfs new  
Freshly turned, whereof the green grass,  
So small, so thick, so short, so fresh of hue,  
That most like unto green well wot I it was,  
The hag also that go in compass,  
And closed in all the greene herbere,  
With sicamour was set and eglatere.   

Writhe in fere so well and cunningly,  
That every branch and leaf grew by measure,  
Plain as a board, of an height by and by,  
I see never thing I you ensure,  
So well done, for he that took the cure  
It to make ytrow, did all his peine  
To make it pass all though that men have seine.   

And shapen was this herber roof and all  
As a pretty parlour, and also  
The hag as thick as a castle wall,  
That who that list without to stoned or go,  
Though he would all day prien to and fro,  
He should not see if there were any wight  
Within or no, but one within well might   

Perceive all though that yeden there without  
In the field that was on every side  
Covered with corn and grass, y● out of doubt,  
Though one would seek all the world wide,  
So rich a field could not be espied  
On no coast, as of the quantity,  
For of all good thing there was plenty.   

And I that all this pleasant sight sie,  
Thought suddenly I felt so sweet an air  
Of the eglentere, that certainly  
There is no heart I dame in such despair,  
Ne with thoughts froward and contraire,  
So overlaid, but it should soon have boat,  
If it had ones felt this savour sote.   

And as I stood and cast aside mine eye,  
I was ware of the fairest Meddle tree  
That ever yet in all my life I sie,  
As full of blossoms as it might be,  
Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile  
From bough to bough, and as him list he eet  
Here and there of buds and flowers sweet.   

And to the herber side was joining  
This fair tree, of which I have you told,  
And at the last the bird began to sing,  
When he had eaten what he eat wood,  
So passing sweetly, that by manifold  
It was more pleasant than I could devose,  
And when his song was ended in this wise,   

The Nightingale with so merry a note  
Answered him, that all the wood rung  
So suddenly, that as it were a sote,  
I stood astonished, so was I with the song  
Thorough ravished, that till late and long,  
I ne witted in what place I was, ne where,  
And again me thought she sung even by mine ere.   

Wherefore I waited about busily  
On every side, if I her might see,  
And at the last I 'gan full well aspie  
Where she sat in a fresh green laurer tree,  
On the further side even right by me,  
That gave so passing a delicious smell,  
According to the eglentere full well.   

Whereof I had so inly great pleasure,  
That as me thought I surely ravished was  
Into Paradise, where my desire  
Was for to be, and no ferther pass  
As for that day, and on the sweet grass  
I sat me down, for as for mine intent,  
The birds song was more convenient,   

And more pleasant to me by manifold,  
Than meat or drink, or any other thing,  
Thereto the herber was so fresh and cold,  
The wholesome favours eke so comforting,  
That as I deemed, sith the beginning  
Of the world was never seen or than  
So pleasant a ground of none earthly man.   

And as I sat the birds harkening thus,  
Me thought that I heard voices suddenly,  
The most sweetest and most delicious  
That ever any wight I trow truly  
Herd in their life, for the armony  
And sweet accord was in so good music,  
That the voice to Angels most was like.   

At the last out of a grove even by,  
That was right goodly and pleasant to sight,  
I sie where there came singing lustily  
A world of ladies, but to tell aright  
Their great beauty, it lieth not in my might,  
Ne their array, nevertheless I shall  
Tell you a part, though I speak not of all.   

The surcotes white of velvet well sitting,  
They were in clad, and the seems eachone,  
As it were a manner garnishing,  
Was set with Emerauds one and one,  
By and by, but many a rich stone  
Was set on the purfles out of doubt  
Of colours, sleves, and trains round about.   

As great pearls round and orient,  
Diamonds fine and rubies red,  
And many another stone, of which I went  
The names now, and every on her head  
A rich fret of gold, which without dread  
Was full of stately rich stones set,  
And every lady had a chapelet   

On her head of fresh and green,  
So we'll wrought, and so marvelously,  
That it was a noble sight to seen,  
Some of laurer, and some full pleasantly  
Had chapelets of woodbine, and sadly  
Some of Agnus castus were also  
Chapelets fresh, but there were many of though   

That danced and eke sung full soberly,  
But all they go in manner of compass,  
But one there go in mid the company,  
Soole by herself, but all followed the pace  
That she kept, whose heavenly figured face  
So pleasant was, and her we'll shape person,  
That of beauty she passed him everyone.   

And more richly beseen by manifold  
She was also in every manner thing,  
On her head full pleasant to behold,  
A crown of gold rich for any King,  
A branch of Agnus castus eke bearing  
In her hand, and to my sight truly,  
She lady was of the company.   

And she began a roundel lustily,  
That Suse le foil, de vert moy, men call,  
Seen & money jolly cuer en dormy,  
And then the company answered all,  
With voice sweet entuned, and so small,  
That me thought it the sweetest melody  
That ever I heard in my life sooth.   

And thus they came dancing and singing  
Into the midst of the meed eachone,  
Before the herber where I was sitting,  
And God wot me thought I was well bigone,  
For than I might avise him one by one,  
Who fairest was, who could best dance or sing,  
Or who most womanly was in all thing.   

They had not danced but a little throw,  
When that I heard not far off suddenly,  
So great a noise of thundering trumps blow,  
As though it should have departed the sky,  
And after that within a while I sie,  
From the same grove where the ladies come out,  
Of men of arms coming such a rout,   

As all the men on earth had been assembled  
In that place, we'll horsed for the nonce,  
stirring so fast, that all the earth trembled:  
But for to speak of riches and stones,  
And men and horse I trow the large wones,  
Of Pretir john ne all his tresory,  
Might not unneath have bought the tenth party.   

Of their array who so list hear more,  
I shall rehearse so as I can alight:  
Out of the grove that I spoke of before,  
I sie come first all in their cloaks white,  
A company that ware for their delight,  
Chapelets fresh of oaks seriall,  
Newly sprung, and trumpets they were all.   

On every trump hanging a broad banere  
Of fine Tartarium were full richly beat,  
Every trumpet his lords arms here  
About their necks with great pearls seat,  
Collar's broad for cost they would not lete,  
As it would seem for their schochones eachone,  
Were set about with many a precious stone.   

Their horse harness was all white also,  
And after them next in one company,  
Came kings of arms and no more  
In cloaks of white cloth of gold richly,  
Chapelets of green on their heads on high,  
The crowns that they on their scochones bear,  
Were set with pearl, ruby, and saphere.   

And eke great Diamonds many one,  
But all their horse harness and other gear  
Was in a suit according everychone,  
As ye have heard the foresaid trumpets were,  
And by seeming they were nothing to lere,  
And there guiding, they did so mannerly,  
And after hem came a great company   

Of herauds and pursevaunts eke,  
Arrayed in clothes of white velvet,  
And hardily they were no thing to seek,  
How they on hem should the harness set,  
And every man had on a chapelet  
Scochones and eke horse harness indeed,  
They had in suit of him that before him go.   

Next after hem came in armour bright  
All save their heads, seemly knights nine,  
And every clasp and nail as to my sight  
Of their harness, were of red gold fine,  
With cloth of gold, and furred with ermine  
Were the trappors of their steads strong,  
Wide & large, that to the ground did hung.   

And every boss of bridle and paitrell  
That they had, was worth as I would ween,  
A thousand pound, and on their heads well  
Dressed were crowns of laurer green,  
The best made that ever I had seen,  
And every knight had after him riding  
Three henshmen on him awaiting.  
Of which every on a short tron●houn  
His lords helm bare, so richly dight,  
That the worst was worth the ransoun  
Of a king, the second a shield bright  
Bare at his neck, the thread bore upright  
A mighty spear, full sharp ground and keen,  
And every child ware of leaves green   

A fresh chapelet upon his hairs bright,  
And cloaks white of fine velvet they were,  
Their steeds trapped and rayed right  
Without difference as their lords were,  
And after him on many a fresh corsere,  
There came of armed knights such a rout,  
That they besprad the large field about.   

And all they beware after their degrees  
Chaplets new made of laurer green,  
Some of oak, and some of other trees,  
Some in their honds bare boughs sheen,  
Some of laurer, and some of oaks keen,  
Some of hawthorn, and some of woodbine,  
And many more which I had not in mind.   

And so they came their horses freshly stirring  
With bloody sows of her trumps loud,  
There sie I many an uncouth disguising  
In the array of these knights proud,  
And at the last as evenly as they could,  
They took their places in midst of the meed,  
And every knight turned his horse heed   

To his fellow, and lightly laid a spear  
In the rest, and so justes begun  
On every part about here and there,  
Some broke his spear, some drew down horse & man,  
About the field astray the steeds ran,  
And to behold their rule and governance,  
I you ensure it was a great pleasance.   

And so the jousts last an hour and more,  
But though that crowned were in laurer green,  
Won the prize, their dints were so sore,  
That there was none against him might abstain,  
And the just all was left off clean,  
And fro their horse the ninth alight anon,  
And so did all the remnant everyone.   

And forth they go together twain & twain,  
That to behold it was a worthy sight  
Toward the ladies on the green plain,  
That song & danced as I said now right:  
The ladies as soon as they goodly might,  
They broke of both the song and dance,  
And go to meet him with full glad semblance.   

And every lady took full womanly  
By the hand a knight, and forth they go  
Unto a fair laurer that stood fast by,  
With leaves lad the boughs of great breed,  
And to my doom there never was indeed  
Man, that had seen half so fair a tree,  
For underneath there might it well have be   

An hundred persons at their own pleasance  
Shadowed from the heat of Phoebus' bright,  
So that they should have felt no grevance  
Of rain ne hail that him hurt might,  
The savour eke rejoice would any wight,  
That had be sick or melancolius,  
It was so very good and virtuous.   

And with great reverence they inclining low  
To the tree so soot and fair of hue,  
And after that within a little throw  
They began to sing and dance of new,  
Some song of love, some plaining of untrue,  
Enuironning the tree that stood upright,  
And ever go a lady and a knight.   

And at the last I cast mine eye aside,  
And was wax of a lusty company  
That came roaming out of the field wide,  
Hond in hand a knight and a lady,  
The ladies all in surcotes, that richly  
Purfiled were with many a rich stone,  
And every knight of green ware mantles on.   

Embrouded well so as the surcotes were,  
And every had a chapelet on her head,  
Which did right well upon the shining here,  
Made of goodly flowers white and red,  
The knights eke that they in hon led  
In suit of him aware chapelets everychone,  
And before hem went minstrels many one.   

As Harps, Pipes, Lutes, and Sautry  
All in green, and on their heads bare  
Of divers flowers made full craftily  
All in a suit goodly chapelets they beware,  
And so dancing into the meed they fare,  
In mid the which they found a tuft that was  
All oversprad with flowers in compass.   

Whereto they inclined everychone  
With great reverence, and that full humbly,  
And at the last there began anon  
A lady for to sing right womanly  
A Bargaret in praising the daisy,  
For as me thought among her notes sweet,  
She said Si douset & la Margarete.   

Then they all answered her in fere,  
So passingly well, and so pleasantly,  
That it was a blissful noise to here,  
But I not it happened suddenly,  
As about noon the son so fervently  
Wax hot, that the pretty tender flowers  
Had lost the beauty of her fresh colours.   

For shrunk with heat, the ladies eke to brent,  
that they ne wist where they him might bestow,  
The knights swelled for lack of shade nigh shent,  
And after that within a little throw,  
The wind began so sturdily to blow,  
That down goeth all the flowers everyone,  
So that in all the meed there haft not one, leaves,   

Save such as succoured were among the  
From every storm that might him assail,  
Growing under hedges and thick greves,  
And after that there came a storm of hail,  
And rain in fere, so that withouten fail,  
The ladies ne the knight's nade o thread  
Dry on them, so dropping was her weed.   

And when the storm was clean passed away,  
Tho in white that stood under the tree,  
They felt nothing of the great affray,  
That they in green without had in ybe,  
To them they go for routh and pite,  
Them to comfort after their great disease,  
So fain they were the helpless for to ease.   

Then I was aware how one of him in green  
Had on a crown rich and well sitting,  
Wherefore I deemed well she was a Queen,  
And though in green on her were awaiting,  
The ladies then in white that were coming  
Toward them, and the knights in fere  
Began to comfort him, and make him cheer.   

The Queen in white, that was of great beauty,  
Took by the hand the queen that was in green,  
And said, sister, I have right great pity  
Of your annoy, and of the troublous tene,  
Wherein ye and your company have been  
So long alas, and if that it you please  
To go with me, I shall do you the ease,   

In all the pleasure that I can or may,  
Whereof the tother humbly as she might,  
Thanked her, for in right ill array  
She was with storm and heat I you behight,  
And every lady then anon right  
That were in white, one of them took in green  
By the hon, which when the knights had seen,   

In likewise each of them took a knight  
Clad in green, & forth with hem they fare,  
To a hag, where they anon right  
To make their justs they would not spare  
Boughs to hew down, & eke trees square,  
Wherewith they made him stately fires great,  
To dry their clothes that were wring wet.   

And after that of herbs that there grew,  
They made for blisters of the sun brenning,  
Very good and wholesome ointments new,  
Where that they go the sick fast anointing,  
And after that they go about gadering  
Pleasant salads which they made him eat,  
For to refresh their great unkindly heat.   

The lady of the Leaf then began to pray  
Her of the Flower (for so to my seeming  
They should be as by their array)  
To soup with her, and eke for any thing,  
That she should with her all her people bring:  
And she again in right goodly manner,  
Thanketh her of her most friendly cheer,   

Saying plainly that she would obey  
With all her heart all her commandment,  
And then anon without longer delay  
The lady of the Leaf hath one send  
For a palfrey, after her intent,  
Arrayed well and fair in harness of gold,  
For nothing lacked, that to him long should.   

And after that to all her company  
She made to purvey horse and every thing  
That they needed, and then full lustily,  
Even by the herber where I was sitting  
They passed all so pleasantly s●nging,  
That it would have comforted any wight,  
But then I sie a passing wonder sight.   

For then the nightingale, that all the day  
Had in the laurer seat, and did her might  
The whole service to sing longing to May,  
All suddenly 'gan to take her flight,  
And to the lady of the Leaf forthright  
She flew, and set her on her hon softly,  
Which was a thing I marveled of greatly.   

The goldfinch eke, that fro the meddle tree  
Was fled for heat into the bushes cold,  
Unto the Lady of the Flower 'gan flee,  
And on her hon he set him as he would,  
And pleasantly his wings 'gan to fold,  
And for to sing they pained hem both as sore,  
As they had do of all the day before.   

And so these ladies road forth a great pace,  
And all the rout of knights eke in fere,  
And I that had seen all this wonder case,  
Thought I would assay in some manere,  
To know fully the troth of this matter,  
And what they were that road so pleasantly,  
And when they were the herber passed by,   

I dressed me forth, and happened to meet anon  
Right a fair Lady I you ensure,  
And she come riding by herself alone,  
All in white, with semblance full demure:  
I saluted her, and bad her good adventure  
Might her befall, as I could most humbly,  
And she answered, my daughter gramercy.   

Madam (qd. I) if that I durst inquire  
Of you I would feign of that company  
Wit what they be that past by this arbere,  
And she again answered right friendly:  
My fair daughter, all though that passed here by  
In white clothing, be servants everyone  
Unto the Leaf, and I myself am one.   

See ye not her that crowned is (qd. she)  
All in white? Madam (qd. I) yes:  
That is Diane, goddess of chastity,  
And for because that she a maiden is,  
In her hon the branch she beareth this,  
That Agnus castus men call properly,  
And all the ladies in her company   

Which ye see of that herb chaplets wear,  
Be such as han kept always her maidenheed:  
And all they that of laurer chaplets bear,  
Be such as hardy were and manly indeed,  
Victorious name which never may be deed,  
And all they were so worthy of their hon,  
In her time that none might him withstand.   

And though that wear chaplets on their heed  
Of fresh woodbine, be such as never were  
To love untrue in word, thought, ne deed,  
But aye steadfast, ne for pleasance ne fere,  
Though that they should their hearts all to tere,  
Would never flit but ever were steadfast,  
Till that their lives there asunder braced.   

Now fair madam (qd. I) yet I would pray,  
Your ladyship if that it might be,  
That I might know by some manner way,  
Sith that it hath liked your beauty,  
The troth of these Ladies for to tell me,  
What that these knights be in rich armour,  
And what tho be in green & wear the flour?   

And why that some did reverence to the tre,  
And some unto the plot of flowers fair:  
With right good will my fair daughter (qd. she)  
Sith your desire is good and debonair,  
Tho nine crowned be very exemplaire,  
Of all honour longing to chivalry,  
And those certain be called the nine worthy.   

Which ye may see riding all before,  
That in her time did many a noble deed,  
And for their worthiness full oft have boar  
The crown of Laurer leaves on their heed,  
As ye may in your old books read,  
And how that he that was a conqueror,  
Had by laurer always his most honour.   

And though that bear bows in their hon  
Of the precious laurer so notable,  
Be such as were I wool ye understand,  
Noble knights of the round table,  
And eke the douseperis honourable,  
Which they bear in sign of victory,  
It is witness of their deeds mightily.   

Eke there be knights old of the Garter,  
That in her time did right worthily,  
And the honour they did to the laurer,  
Is for by they have their laud wholly,  
Their triumph eke, and marshal glory,  
Which unto them is more perfect richesse,  
Than any wight imagine can or guess.   

For one leaf given of that noble tree  
To any wight that hath done worthily,  
And it be done so as it ought to be,  
Is more honour than any thing earthly,  
Witness of Rome that founder was truly  
Of all knighthood and deeds marvellous,  
Record I take of Titus Livius.   

And as for her that crowned is in green,  
It is Flora, of these flowers goddess,  
And all that here on her awaiting been,  
It are such that loved idleness,  
And not delight of no business,  
But for to hunt & hawk, and play in medes,  
And many other such idle deeds.   

And for the great delight and pleasance  
They have to the Flower, and so reverently  
They unto it do such obeisance,  
As ye may see, now fair Madam (qd. I)  
If I durst ask what is the cause and why,  
That knights have the sign of honour,  
Rather by the Leaf than the Flour.   

Sooth daughter (qd. she) this is the troth,  
For knights ever should be persevering,  
To seek honour without feintise or sloth,  
Fro we'll to better in all manner thing,  
In sign of which with leaves aye lasting,  
They be rewarded after their degree,  
Whose lusty green May, may not appaired be.   

But aye keeping their beauty fresh & green,  
For there nis storm that may hem deface,  
Hail nor snow, wind nor frosts keen,  
Wherefore they have this property & grace,  
And for the Flower within a little space  
wol be lost, so simple of nature  
They be, that they no grievance may endure.   

And every storm will blow them soon away,  
Ne they last not but for a season,  
That is the cause, the very troth to say,  
That they may not by no way of reason  
Be put to no such occupation,  
Madam (qd. I) with all mine whole service,  
I thank you now in my most humble wise.   

For now I am acertained throughly  
Of every thing I desired to know,  
I am right glad that I have said sooth  
Aught to your pleasure if ye will me trow.  
(Qd. she again) but to whom do ye owe  
Your service, and which will ye honour,  
Tell me I pray, this year, the leaf or the Flour.   

Madam (qd. I) though I least worthy,  
Unto the Leaf I owe mine observance:  
That is (qd. she) right well done certainly,  
And I pray God to honour you advance,  
And keep you fro the wicked remembrance  
Of male bouch, and all his cruelty,  
And all that good and well conditioned be.   

For here may I no longer now abide,  
I must follow the great company  
That ye may see yonder before you ride,  
And forth as I couth most humbly,  
I took my leave of her as she 'gan high,  
After them as fast as ever she might,  
And I drow homeward, for it was nigh night   

And put all that I had seen in writing  
Under support of them that lust it to read.  
O little book, thou art so unconning,  
How dar'st thou put thyself in prees for dread,  
It is wonder that thou wexest not read,  
Sith that thou wost full light who shall behold  
Thy rude language, full boistously unfold.   
Explicit.   

Chaucer's A. B. C. called Lafoy Priere de nostre Dame.  
Chaucer's A. B. C. called Lafoy Priere de nostre Dame: made, as some say, at the request of Blanch, Duchess of Lancaster, as a Prayer for her private use, being a Woman in her Religion very devout.  

A  
ALmighty and all merciable Queen,  
To whom all this world fleeth for succour,  
To have release of sin, of sorrow, of tene,  
Glorious Virgin of all flouris flour,  
To thee I flee confounded in error,  
Help and relieve almighty debonair,  
Have mercy of mine perilous langour,  
Venquist me hath my cruel adversaire.   

B  
Bounty so fix hath in my heart his tent,  
That well I wot thou will my succour be,  
Thou canst not warn that with good intent,  
Axith thine help, thine heart is aye so free:  
Thou art largesse of plain felicity,  
Haven and refute of quiet and of rest,  
Lo how that Thevis seven chasen me,  
Help Lady bright, or that mine ship to breast.   

C  
Comfort is none, but in you Lady dear,  
For lo mine sin and mine confusion,  
which ought not in thine presence for to apere,  
Han taken on me a grievous action,  
Of veray right and disperatioun,  
And as by right they mighten well sustain,  
That I were worthy mine damnation,  
Near mercy of you blissful Queen.   

D  
Dout is there none, Queen of misericord,  
That thou nart cause of grace & mercy here,  
God vouchsafe through thee with us to accord:  
For certis, Christ is blissful mother dear,  
Were now the bow bend in swiche manere,  
As it was first of justice and of ire,  
The rightful God would of no mercy here:  
But through thee han we grace as we desire.   

E  
Ever hath mine hope of refute in thee be:  
For here before full oft in many a wise,  
Unto mercy hast thou received me,  
But mercy Lady at the great assize,  
When we shall come before the high justise,  
So little freut shall then in me ben found,  
That but thou or that day correct me,  
Of very right mine work will me confound.   

F  
Flying, I flee for succour to thine tent,  
Me for to hide from tempest full of dread,  
Beseking you, that ye you not absent,  
Though I be wick: O help yet at this need,  
All have I been a beast in wit and deed,  
Yet Lady thou me close in with thine own grace,  
Thine enemy & mine, lady take heed,  
Unto mine death in point is me to chase.   

G  
Gracious maid & mother, which that never  
Were bitter nor in earth nor in see,  
But full of sweetness and of mercy ever,  
Help that mine fader be not wroth with me:  
Speak thou, for I ne dare him not see,  
So have I done in earth, alas the while,  
That certes but if thou mine succour be,  
To sink eterne he will mine ghost exile.   

H  
He vouchedefafe, tell him, as was his will,  
Become a man as for our alliance,  
And with his blood he wrote that blissful bill  
Upon the cross as general acquetaunce,  
To every penitent in full criaunce:  
And therefore Lady bright, thou for us prey,  
Then shalt thou stint all his grievance,  
And maken our foe to failen of his prey.   

I  
I wot well thou wilt been our succour,  
Thou art so full of bounty in certain,  
For when a soul falleth in error,  
Thine pity goeth, and haileth him again,  
Then makest thou his peace which his sovereign,  
And bringest him out of the crooked street:  
Who so thee loveth, shall not love in vain,  
That shall he find, as he the life shall lete.   

K  
Kalenderis enlumined been they,  
That in this world been lighted with thine name,  
And who so goeth with thee the right weigh,  
Him that not dread in soul to been lame,  
Now Queen of comfort, sith thou art the same,  
To whom I seech for my medicine:  
Let not mine foe no more mine woundentame,  
Mine heel into thine hon all I resine.   

L  
Lady, thine sorrow can I not portrey  
Under the cross, ne his grievous penance:  
But for your bothiss peine, I you prey,  
Let not our alder foe make his bostaunce,  
That he hath in his lestis with mischance,  
Convict that, ye both han bought so dear:  
As I said erst, thou ground of substance,  
Continue on us thine piteous eyes clear.   

M  
Moses that saw the bosh of flambis read  
Brenning, of which then never a sticke-brend,  
Was sign of thine unwemmed maidenhead,  
Thou art the bosh, on which there can descend  
The Holyghost, which that Moses weaned  
Had been on fire: and this was in figure.  
Now Lady from the fire us defend,  
Which that in hell eternally shall dure.   

N  
Noble princess, that never hadst peer,  
Certes if any comfort in us be,  
That cometh of thee, Christis mother dear,  
We han none other melody ne glee,  
Us to rejoice in our adversity,  
Ne advocate none, that will and dare so prey  
For us, and that for as little hire as ye,  
That helpen for an Auemary or fifty.   

O  
O very light of eyes though been blind,  
O very lust of labour and distress,  
O treasorere of bounty to mankind,  
The whom God cheese to mother for humblesse,  
From his ancelle he made thee mistress  
Of heaven and earth, our bill up to bede,  
This world awaiteth ever on thine goodness,  
For thou ne failedest never wight at need.   

P  
Purpose I have sometime for to inquire,  
Wherefore & why the holy ghost thee sought,  
When Gabrielis voice come to thine ere,  
He not to were us switch a wonder wrought,  
But for to save us, that sithen bought:  
Then needeth us no weapon us to save,  
But only there we did not as us aught,  
Do penitence, and mercy ask and have.   

Q  
Queen of comfort, right when I me bethink,  
That I agilt have both him and thee,  
And that mine soul is worthy for to sink:  
Alas I caitiff, whether shall I flee,  
Who shall unto thine son mine mean be?  
Who but thine self, that art of pity well,  
Thou hast more routh on our adversity,  
Than in this world might any tongue tell.   

R  
Redress me mother, and eke me chastise,  
For certainly my faders chastising  
Ne dare I not abiden in no wise,  
So hideous is his full reckoning,  
Mother of whom our joy 'gan to spring,  
Be ye mine judge, and eke my soul's leech,  
For ever in you is pity abounding,  
To each that of pity will you beseech.   

S  
Sooth is, he ne granteth no pity  
Without thee: for God of his goodness  
Forgiveth none, but it like unto thee:  
He hath thee made ●icaire and mistress  
Of all this world, and eke governeresse  
Of heaven: and represseth his justise  
After thine will: and therefore in witness  
He hath thee crowned in so royal wise.   

T  
Temple devout, there God cheese his woning,  
For which these misbelieved deprived been,  
To you mine soul penitent I bring,  
Receive me, for I can no ferther fleen.  
With thornis venomous, heaven Queen,  
For which the earth accursed was full sore,  
I am so wounded, as ye may well seen,  
That I am lost almost, it smart so sore.   

V  
Virgin that art so noble of apparel,  
That leadest us into the high tower  
Of Paradise, thou me wish and counsel,  
How I may have thy grace and thy succour:  
All have I been in filth and in error,  
Lady on that country thou me adjourn,  
That cleped is thine bench of fresh flour,  
There as that mercy ever shall sojourn.   

X  
Xpen thine son that in this world alight  
Upon a cross to suffer his passion,  
And suffered eke that Longeus his hart pight,  
And made his heart blood run adown,  
And all this was for my saluatioun:  
And I to him am falls and eke unkind,  
And yet he will not mine dompnatioun:  
This thank I you, succour of all mankind.   

Y  
Ysaac was figure of his death certain,  
That so far forth his fader would obey,  
That him ne wrought nothing for to be slain:  
Right so thy son list a lamb to day:  
Now Lady full of mercy I you prey,  
Sith he his mercy sured me so large,  
Be ye not scant, for all we sing or say,  
That ye been fro vengeance aye our targe.   

Z  
Zacharie you clepeth the open well,  
That wished sinful soul out of his guilt,  
Therefore this lesson out I will to tell,  
That ne'er thine tender heart, we were spilt.  
Now Lady bright, sith thou canst and wilt  
Been to the seed of Adam merciable,  
Bring us to that paleis that is built  
To penitentis, that been to mercy able.   
Explicit.   

Jack Upland.  
In this Treatise is set forth the blind ignorance and variable Discord of the Churchmen, how rude and unskilful they were in Matters and Principles of our Christian Institution. This is thought to be that Crede which the Pelican speaketh of in the Ploughman's Tale, in these Words: 
Of Freers I have told before,  
In a making of a Crede,  
And yet I could tell worse and more,  
But men would werrien it to read.   
IAck Vpland make my moan to very God, and to all true in Christ, that antichrist and his disciples (by colour of holiness) walking and deceiving Christ's Church by many false figures, wherethrough (by antichrist and his) many virtues been transposed to vices.  
But the felliest folk that ever Antichrist found, been last brought into the church, and in a wonder wise, for they been of divers sects of antichrist, sown of divers countries & kindreds. And all men known well, that they be not obedient to bishops, ne legemen to kings: neither they tell, ne sown, weden, ne reapen wood, corn, ne grass, neither nothing that man should help; but only themselves their lives to sustain. And these men han all manner power of God, as they sein, in heaven and in yearth, to sell heaven and hell to whom that hem liketh, and these wretches weet never where to been themselves.  
And therefore (freer) if thine order and rules been grounded on Goddis law, tell thou me jack Vpland, that I ask of thee, and if thou be or thinkest to be on Christ's side, keep thy paciens.  
Saint Paul teacheth, That all our deeds should be do in charity, & else it is nought worth, but displeasing to God and harm to our own souls. And for that freers challenge to be greatest clerks of the church, and next following Christ in living: men should for charity ask them some questions, and pray them to ground their answers in reason and holy writ, for else their answer would nought be worth, be it flourished never so fair, and as me think men might skilfully ask thus of a freer.  
1 Freer, how many orders be in earth, and which is the perfectest order? Of what order art thou? Who made thine order? What is thy rule? Is there any perfecter rule than Christ himself made? If Christ's rule be most perfect, why rulest thou thee not thereafter? Without more, why shall a freer be more punished if he break the rule that his patron made, than if he break the hests that God himself made?  
2 approveth Christ any more religions than one, That S. james speaketh of? If he approveth no more, why hast thou left his rule, and takest another? Why is a freer apostata that leaveth his order, and taketh another sect, sith there is but one religion of Christ?  
3 Why be ye wedded faster to your habits than a man is to his wife? For a man may leave his wife for a year or two, as many men done: and if you leave your habit a quarter of a year, ye should be holden apostates.  
4 Maketh your habit you men of religion or no? If it do, than ever as it weareth, your religion weareth, and after that your habit is better, your religion is better, and when ye have liggen it beside, then lig ye your religion beside you, and been apostates: why buy ye you so precious clothes, sith no man seeketh such, but for vain glory, as S. Gregory saith.  
What betokeneth your great hood, your scaplerie, your knotted girdle, and your wide cope?  
5 Why use ye all one colour, more than other christian men do? What betokeneth that ye been clothed all in one manner clothing?  
If ye say it betokeneth love and charity, certes than ye be oft hypocrites, when any of you hateth another, and in that that ye wol be said holy by your clothing.  
Why may not a freer wear clothing of another sect of freers, sith holiness stondeth not in the clothes?  
6 Why hold ye silence in one house more than another, sith men ought over all to speak the good and leave the evil?  
Why eat you flesh in one house more than in another, if your rule and your order be perfect, and the patron that made it?  
7 Why get ye your dispensations to have it more easy? Certes, either it seemeth that ye be unperfect, or he that made it, so hard, that ye may not hold it. And siker, if ye hold not the rule of your patrons, ye be not then her freers, and so ye lie upon yourselves.  
8 Why make you as deed men, when ye be professed, and yet ye be not deed, but more quick beggars than you were before? and it seemeth evil a deed man to go about and beg.  
9 Why will ye not suffer your novises hear your counsels in your chapter house, ere that they have been professed, if your counsels been true, and after God's law?  
10 Why make ye you so costly houses to dwell in? sith Christ did not so, and deed men should have but graves, as falleth it to deed men, and yet ye have more courts than many lords of England: for ye now wenden through the realm, and each night will lig in your own courts, and so mow but right few lords do.  
11 Why heir you to farm your limitors, giving therefore each year a certain rent, and will not suffer one in another's limitation, right as ye were yourselves lords of countries?  
Why be ye not under your bishop's visitations, and seegemen to our king?  
Why ask ye no letters of bretherheads of other men's prayers, as ye desire that other men should ask letters of you?  
If your letters be good, why grant ye them not generally to all manner of men for the more charity?  
12 Mowe ye make any man more perfect brether for your prayers, than God hath by our beleeue? by our baptism and his own grant? if ye mow, certes than ye be above God.  
Why make ye men believe that your golden trental sung of you, to take therefore ten shillings, or at least five shillings, wool bring souls out of hell, or out of purgatory? if this be sooth, certes ye might bring all souls out of pain, and that wool ye nought, and then ye be out of charity.  
13 Why make ye men believe, that he that is buried in your habit, shall never come in hell, and ye weet not of yourself whether ye shall to hell or no? and if this were sooth, ye should sell your high houses to make many habits for to save many men's souls.  
14 Why steal ye men's children for to make him of your sect, sith that theft is against God's hests, and sith your sect is not perfect? ye know not whether the rule that ye bind him to, be best for him or worst.  
15 Why underneme ye not your brethren for their trespass after the law of the Gospel, sith that underneming is the best that may be? but ye put them in prison oft, when they do after God's law, and by S. Augustine's rule: If any do amiss, and would not amend him, ye should put him from you.  
16 Why coveit ye shrift, and burying of other men's parishens, and none other sacrament that falleth to christian folk?  
Why busy ye not to hear to shrift of poor folk, as well as of rich lords and ladies, sith they mow have more plenty of shrift fathers than poor folk mow?  
Why say ye not the gospel in houses of bedrid men, as ye do in rich men's, that mow go to church and hear the gospel?  
Why covet you not to bury poor folk among you? sith that they been most holy, (as ye sane that ye been for your poverty?)  
17 Why will ye not be at her diriges as ye have been at rich men's? sith God praiseth him more than he doth other men.  
What is thy prayer worth? sith thou wilt take therefore, for all chapmen ye need to be most wise for dread of simony.  
What cause hast thou, that thou wilt not preach the gospel, as God saith that thou shouldst? sith it is the best lore and also our beleeue.  
Why be ye evil paid that secular priests should preach the gospel? sith God himself hath bodden him.  
18 Why hate ye the gospel to be preached, sith ye be so much hold thereto? for ye win more by year with In principio, than with all the rules that ever your patroness made, and in this minstrels been better than ye, for they contrarien not to the mirths that they maken, but ye contrarien the gospel both in word and deed.  
19 Freer, when thou receivest a penny for to say a mass, whether sellest thou God's body for that penny, or thy prayer, or else thy travel? if thou sayest thou wolt not travel for to say the mass, but for the penny, that certes if this be sooth, than thou lovest too little meed for thy soul: and if thou sellest God's body, other thy prayer, than it is very simony, and art become a chapman worse than judas, that sold it for thirty pence.  
20 Why writest thou her names in thy tables that giveth thee money? sith God knoweth all thing: for it seemeth by thy writing, that God would not reward him, but thou writest in thy tables, God would else forgotten it.  
Why bearest thou God in hand and slanderest him that he begged for his meat? sith he was Lord over all, for than had he been unwise to have begged, and have no need thereto.  
Freer, after what law rulest thou thee? where findest thou in God's law that thou shouldest thus beg?  
21 What manner men needeth for to beg?  
For whom oweth such men to beg?  
Why beggest thou so for thy brethren?  
If thou sayest, for they have need, than thou dost it for the more perfection, or else for the least, or else for the mean. If it be the most perfection of all, then should all thy brethren do so, and then no man needed to beg but for himself, for so should no man beg but him needed. And if it be the least perfection, why lovest thou then other men more than thyself? For so thou art not well in charity, sith thou shouldest seek the more perfection after thy power, living thyself most after God. And thus leaving that imperfection, thou shouldst not so beg for them. And if it is a good mean thus to beg as thou dost, then should no man do so, but they been in this good mean, and yet such a mean granted to you may never be grounded on God's law, for then both lerid and lewd that been in mean degree of this world, should go about and beg as ye do. And if all should do so, certes well nigh all the world should go about and beg as ye done, and so should there be ten beggars against one yever.  
Why procurest thou men to give thee their alms, and sayest it is so needful, and thou wilt not thyself win thee that meed?  
22 Why wilt thou not beg for poor bedrid men, that been poorer than any of your sect, that liggen and mow not go about to help himselfes, sith we be all brethren in God, and that brotherhood passeth any other that ye or any man could make, and where most need were, there were most perfection, either else ye hold them not your pure brethren, but worse, but than ye be unperfect in your begging?  
Why make ye so many masters among you, sith it is against the teaching of Christ and his Apostles?  
23 Whose been all your rich courts that ye han, and all your rich jewels? sith ye seen that ye han nought ne in proper ne in common. If ye sane they been the Popes, why gather ye then of poor men and lords so much out of the king's hand to make your pope rich? And sith ye said that it is great perfection to have nought in proper be in common, why be ye so fast about to make the pope, that is your father, rich, and put on him imperfection? sithen ye sane that your goods been all his, and he should by reason be the most perfect man, it seemeth openlich that ye been cursed children so to slander your father, and make him imperfect. And if ye sane that the goods be yours, then do ye against your rule; and if it be not against your rule, than might ye have both plough and cart, and labour as other good men done, and not so to beg by losengery, and idle as ye done. If ye say that it is more perfection to beg, than to travel or to worch with your hand, why preach ye not openly, and teach all men to do so? sith it is the best and most perfect life to the help of their souls, as ye make children to beg the might have been rich heirs.  
Why make ye not your feasts to poor men, and giveth him yefts, as ye done to the rich? sith poor men han more need than the rich?  
What betokeneth that ye go tweine and tweine together? if ye be out of charity, ye accord not in soul.  
Why beg ye and take salaries thereto more than other priests? sith he that most taketh, most charge hath.  
24 Why hold ye not S. Francis rule and his testament? sith Francis saith, that God showed him this living and this rule: and certes if it were Gods will, the Pope might not fordo it: or else Francis was a liar, that said in this wise. And but this testament that he made, accord with Gods will, or else erred: he is a liar that were out of charity: and as the law saith, he is accursed that letteth the rightful last will of a dead man. And this testament is the last will of Francis that is a dead man, it seemeth therefore that all his freers been cursed.  
25 Why will ye not touch no coined money with the cross, ne with the king's head, as ye done other jewels both of gold and silver? certes if ye despise the cross or the king's head, than ye be worthy to be despised of God and the king: and sith ye will receive money in your hearts, and not with your hands, and it seemeth that ye hold more holiness in your hands than in your hearts, and then be false to God.  
26 Why have ye exempt you from our king's laws, and visiting of our bishops more than other christian men that liuen in this realm, if ye be not guilty of traitorie to our realm, or trespassers to your bishops? But ye will have the king's laws for the trespass do to you, and ye will have power of other bishops more than other priests, and also have leave to prison your brethren as lords in your courts more than other folks han that been the king's leegemen.  
27 Why shall some sect of you freers pay each a year a certain to her general provincial or minister, or else to her sovereigns: but if he steal a certain number of children (as some men sane) and certes if this ben sooth, than ye be constrained upon certain pain to do theft against God's commandment, Non furtum facies.  
28 Why be ye so hardy to grant by letters of fraternity to men and women, that they shall have part and merit of all your good deeds, and ye weten never whether God be apayed with your deeds because of your sin? Also ye witten never whether that man or woman be in state to be saved or damned, then shall he have no merit in heaven for his own deeds ne for none other man's. And all were it so, that he should have part of your good deeds: yet should he have no more than God would give him after that he were worthy, and so much shall each man have of Gods yeft without your limitation. But if ye will say that ye been Gods fellows, and that he may not do without your assent, then be ye blasphemers to God.  
29 What betokeneth that ye have ordained, that when such one as ye have made your brother or sister, and hath a letter of your seal, that letter might be brought in your holy chapter, and there be rad, or else ye will not pray for him. And but ye willen pray especially for all other that were not made your brethren or sisters, than were ye not in right charity, for that aught to be come, and namely in ghostly things.  
30 Freer, what charity is this, to overcharge the people by mighty begging, under colour of preaching or praying, or masses singing? Sith holy write biddeth not thus, but even the contrary: for all such ghostly deeds should be done freely, as God giveth them freely?  
31 Freer, what charity is this, to beguile children or they come to discretion, and bind him to your orders, the ben not grounded in God's law, against her friends will? Sithen by this folly been many apostates, both in will and deed, and many been apostates in her will during all her life, that would gladly be discharged, if they wist how, and so many ben apostates, that shoulden in other states have been true men.  
32 Freer, what charity is this, to make so many freers in every country to the charge of the people? sith parsons and vicar's alone, ye secular priests alone, ye monks and cannons alone, with bishops above them, were enough to the church to do the priests office. And to add more than enough, is a foul error, and great charge to the people, and this openly against God's will, that ordained all things to be done in weight, number, and measure. And Christ himself was apaied with twelve apostles and a few disciples, to preach and do priests office to all the whole world, than was it better do than is now at this time by a thousand deal. And right so as four fingers with a thumb in a man's hand, helpeth a man to worch, and double number of fingers in one hand should let him more, and so the more number that there were passing the measure of God's ordinance, the more were a man letted to worch: right so (as it seemeth) it is of these new orders that been added to the church, without ground of holy write and God's ordinance.  
33 Freer, what charity is this, to the people to lie, and say that ye follow Christ in poverty more than other men done? and yet in curious and costly housing, and fine and precious clothing, and delicious and liking feeding, and in treasure and jewels, and rich ornaments, freers passen lords and other rich worldly men, and soon they should bring her cause about (be it never so costly) though God's law be put aback.  
34 Freer, what charity is this, to gather up the books of holy write, and put him in treasury, and so emprison them from secular priests and curates, and by this cautel let him to preach the gospel freely to the people without worldly meed, and also to defame good priests of heresy, and lain on him openly for to let him to show God's law by the holy gospel to the christian people?  
35 Freer, what charity is this, to fain so much holiness in your bodily clothing (that ye clepe your habit) that many blind fools desiren to die therein more than in another? and also that a freer that leaveth his habit late founden of men, may not be assoiled till he take again, but is apostata as ye sane, and cursed of God and man both? The freer believeth truth, and patience, chastity, meekness and sobriety, yet for the more part of his life he may soon be assoiled of his prior, and if he bring home to his house much good by the year (be it never so falsely begged and peeled of the poor and needy people in countries about) he shall behold a noble freer, O Lord whether this be charity?  
36 Freer, what charity is this, to press upon a rich man, and to entice him to be buried among you from his parish church, and to such rich men give letters of fraternity confirmed by your general seal, and thereby to bear him in hand that he shall have part of all your masses, matins, preachings, fastings, wake, and all other good deeds done by your brethren of your order (both whilst he liveth, and after that he is dead) and yet he witten never whether your deeds be acceptable to God, ne whether that man that hath that letter be able by good living to receive any part of your deeds, and yet a poor man (that ye wit well or supposen in certain to have no good of) ye ne given to such letters, though he be a better man to God than such a rich man: nevertheless, this poor man doth not retch thereof. For as men supposen, such letters and many other that freers behoten to men, be full false deceits of freers, out of all reason, and God's law and Christian men's faith.  
37 Freer, what charity is this, to be confessors of lords and ladies, and to other mighty men, and not amend him in her living? but rather as it seemeth, to be the bolder to pill her poor tenants and to live in lechery, and there to dwell in your office of confessor for winning of worldly goods, and to be hold great by colour of such ghostly offices? this seemeth rather pride of friars, than charity of God.  
38 Freer, what charity is this, to said that who so liveth after your order, liveth most perfectly, and next followeth the state of Apostles in poverty and penance, and yet the wisest and greatest clerks of you wend or send, or procure to the court of Rome to be made cardinals or bishops of the pope's chaplains, and to be assoiled of the vow of poverty and obedience to your ministers, in the which (as ye said) standeth most perfection and merit of your orders, and thus ye faren as Pharisees that said one and do an other to the contrary.  
Why name ye more the patron of your order in your Confiteor when ye begin mass, than other Saints, Apostles, or Martyrs, that holy church hold more glorious than hem, and clepe him your patrons and your avowries?  
Freer, whether was S. Francis in making of his rule that he set thine order in, a fool and a liar, or else wise and true? If ye said that he was not a fool, but wise: ne a liar, but true: why show you contrary by your doing, when by your suggestion to the Pope ye said, that your rule that Francis made was so hard, that ye mow not live to hold it without declaration and dispensation of the pope, and so by your deed? Ne let your patron a fool that made a rule so hard that no man may well keep, and eke your deed proveth him a liar, where he saith in his rule, that he took and learned it of the Holy Ghost. For how might ye for shame pray the pope undo that the holy Ghost bit, as when ye prayed him to dispense with the hardness of your order?  
Freer, which of the four orders of friars is best to a man that knoweth not which is the best, but would fain enter into the best, and none other? If thou sayest that thine is the best, than sayest thou that none of the other is as good as thine, and in this each freer in the three other order's wool say that thou liest, for in the selfsame manner each other freer wool say that his order is best. And thus to each of the four orders been the other three contrary in this point: in the which if any say sooth, that is one alone, for there may but one be the best of four. So followeth it, that if each of these orders answered to this question as thou dost, three were false, and but one true, and yet no man should wit who that were. And thus it seemeth, that the most part of freers been or should be liars in this point, and they should answer thereto. If you say that another order of the freers is better than thine, or as good; why took ye not rather thereto as to the better, when thou mightst have chose at the beginning? And eke why shouldst thou be an apostata to leave thine order and take thee to that is better, and so why goest thou not from thine order into that?  
Freer, is there any perfecter rule of religion than Christ Gods son gave in his gospel to his brethren? Or than that religion that S. james in his epistle maketh mention of? If you say yes, than puttest thou on Christ (that is the wisdom of God the father) unkunning, unpower, or evil will: for than he could not make his rule so good as an other did his. And so he had be unkunning, that he might not so make his rule so good as an other man might, and so were he unmighty, and not God, as he would not make his rule so perfect as an other did his, and so he had been evil willed, namely to himself.  
For if he might and could, and would have made a rule perfect without default, and did not, he was not God's son almighty. For if any other rule be perfecter, than Christ's, then must Christ's rule lack of that perfection by as much as the other weren more perfecter, and so were default, and Christ had failed in making of his rule: but to put any default or failing in God, is blasphemy. If thou say that Christ's rule, and that religion which S. james maketh mention of, is perfectest; why holdest thou not thilk rule without more? And why clepest thou the rather of S. Francis or S. Dominiks' rule or religion or order, than of Christ's rule or Christ's order?  
Freer, canst thou any default or assign in Christ's rule of the gospel (with the which he taught all men likerly to be saved) if they kept it to her ending? If thou say it was too hard, than sayest thou Christ lied; for he said of his rule: My yoke is soft, and my burden light. If thou say Christ's rule was too light, that may be assigned for no default, for the better it may be kept. If thou sayest that there is no default in Christ's rule of the Gospel, sith Christ himself saith it is light and easy: what need was it to patrons of freers to add more thereto? and so to make an harder religion to save freers, than was the religion of Christ's apostles and his disciples helden and were saved by. But if they woulden that her freers saten above the apostles in heaven for the harder religion that they keepen here, so would they sitten in heaven above Christ himself, for their more and strict observations, than so should they be better than Christ himself with mischance.  
Go now forth and fraine your clerks, and ground ye you in God's law, and give jack an answer, and when ye han assoiled me that I have said sadly in truth, I shall soil thee of thine orders, and save thee to heaven.  
If freers kun not or mow not excuse him of these questions asked of him, it seemeth that they be horrible guilty against God, and her even christian; for which guilts and defaults it were worthy that the order that they call their order were fordone. And it is wonder that men sustain him or suffer her live in such manner. For holy write biddeth that thou do well to the meek, and give not to the wicked, but forbed to give him bread, lest they be made thereby mightier through you.   

Chaucer's Words unto his own Scrivener.  
ADam Scrivener if ever it thee befall,  
Boece or Bacchanalss for to write new,  
Under thy long locks thou mayst have the scall,  
But after my making thou write more true,  
So oft a day I moat thy work renew,  
It to correct and eke to rub and scrape,  
And all is thorough thy negligence and rape.  
Et sic est finis.   
Thus Endeth the Works of Geffrey Chaucer.   

THE Story of THEBES, Compiled by John Lidgate, Monk of Bury.  

The Prologue to the Story of THEBES.  
WHen bright Phoebus passed was the Ram  
Mid of April, and into the Bull came,  
And Saturn old, with his frosty face,  
In Virgin taken had his place,  
Melancolike, and slough of motion,  
And was also in the opposition  
Of Lucina the Moon, moist and pale,  
That many shower from heaven made avail,  
When Aurora was in the morrow red,  
And jupiter in the Crabs head  
Hath take his paleis and his mansion,  
The lusty time, and jolly fresh season,  
When that Flora the noble mighty queen  
The so●le hath clad in new tender green,  
With her flowers craftily meint,  
Branch & bough with red & white depeint,  
Fleeting the Baume on hills and on vales,  
The time in sooth, when Canterbury tales,  
Complete and told at many a sundry stage  
Of estates in the pilgrimage,  
Eueriche man like to his degree,  
Some of disport, some of morality,  
Some of knighthood, love, and gentillesse,  
And some also of perfect holiness,  
And some also, in sooth of ribaudry,  
To make laughter in the company,  
Each admitted, for none would other greue,  
Like as the Cook, the Miller, and the Reue,  
Acquit hemselfes, shortly to conclude  
Boistously in her terms rude,  
When they hadden well drunken of the bowl,  
And eke also with his peeled noll,  
The Pardoner beardless all his chin,  
Glasie eyes, and face of Cherubin,  
Telling a tale, to anger with the Frere,  
As openly the story can you lere  
Word by word, with every circumstance,  
Echone ywrit, and put in remembrance,  
By him that was, if I shall not fain,  
Flower of Poetes, throughout all Bretaine,  
Which sooth had most of excellence  
In Rhetoric, and in eloquence,  
Reed his making, who list the troth find,  
Which never shall appallen in my mind,  
But always fresh been in mine memory,  
To whom be yove prize, honour, and glory  
Of well seeing, first in our language,  
Chief Registrer in this pilgrimage,  
All that was told, foryeting nought at all,  
Feigned tales, nor thing historical,  
With many Proverbes divers and uncouth,  
By rehearsaile of his sugared mouth,  
Of each thing keeping in substance  
The sentence hole, without variance,  
Voiding the chaff, sooth for to sane,  
Enlumining the true piked greine,  
By crafty writing of his saws sweet,  
From the time that they did meet.  
First the Pilgrims sooth everychone,  
At tabbard assembled one by one,  
And fro Southwerke, sooth for to say,  
To Canterbury riding on her weigh,  
Telling a tale, as I rehearse can,  
Liche as the host assigned every man,  
None so hardy, his bidding disobey,  
And thus while that the pilgrims ley  
At Canterbury, well lodged one and all,  
I not in sooth what I may it call,  
Hap or Fortune, in conclusioun,  
That me befell, to enter into the town,  
The holy saint plainly to visit,  
After my sickness vows to acquit,  
In a Cope of black, and not of green,  
On a palfrey, slender, long, and lean,  
With rusty bridle, made not for the sale,  
My man toforne, with a void male,  
That of Fortune took mine Inn anon,  
Where the pilgrim's were lodged everychone,  
The same time her governor the host,  
standing in hall, full of wind and boast,  
Liche to a man wonder stern and fers,  
Which spoke to me, & said anon dan Pers,  
Dan Dominike, dan Godfray, or Clement,  
Ye be welcome newly into Kent,  
Though your bridle have nother boos ne bell,  
Beseeching you, that ye will tell  
First of your name, and what country,  
Without more, shortly that ye be,  
That look so pale, all devoid of blood,  
Upon your head a wonder threadbare hood,  
Well arrayed for to ride late?  
I answered, my name was Lidgate,  
Monk of Bury, nigh fifty year of age,  
Come to this town to do my pilgrimage,  
As I have height, I have thereof no shame.  
Dan john (qd. he well brook ye your name,  
Though ye be sole, beeth right glad and light,  
Praying you to soup with us this night,  
And ye shall have made at your devis  
A great pudding, or a round hagis,  
A franche moil, a tanse, or a froise,  
To been a Monk, slender is your coise,  
Ye have been sick, I dare mine head assure,  
Or let feed in a faint pasture,  
Lift up your head, be glad, take no sorrow,  
And ye should home ride with us to morrow,  
I say, when ye rested have your fill,  
After supper sleep will done none ill,  
Wrap well your head clothes round about,  
Strong nottie ale will make you to rout,  
Take a pillow, that ye lie not low,  
If need be, spare not to blow,  
To hold wind, by mine opinion,  
Will engender Colles passion,  
And make men to greven on her rops,  
When they have filled her maws & her crops,  
But toward night eat some Fennel read,  
Annis, Commin, or Coriander seed,  
And like as I power have and might,  
I charge you rise not at midnight,  
Though it so be the Moon shine clear,  
I will myself be your Orlogere  
To morrow early when I see my time,  
For we will forth parcel afore prime,  
Accompany pard shall do you good,  
What look up Monk, for by Cock's blood  
Thou shalt be merry, who so that say nay,  
For to morrow anon as it is day,  
And that it gin in the East to daw,  
Thou shalt be bound to a new law,  
At going out of Canterbury town,  
And lain aside thy professioun,  
Thou shalt not cheese, nor thyself withdraw,  
If any mirth be found in thy maw,  
Like the custom of this company,  
For none so proud, that dare me deny,  
Knight nor knave, Cannon, Priest, ne Nun  
To tell a tale plainly as they con,  
When I assign, and see time oportune,  
And for that we our purpose wool contune,  
We will homeward the same custom use,  
And thou shalt not plainly thee excuse:  
Be now well ware, study well to night,  
But for all this, be of heart light,  
Thy wit shall be the sharper and the bet.  
And we anon were to supper set,  
And served well unto our pleasance,  
And soon after by good governance,  
Unto bed goeth every manner wight,  
And toward morrow, as soon as it was light,  
Every pilgrim, both bet and worse,  
As bad our host, took anon his horse,  
When the Sun rose in the East full clear,  
Fully in purpose to come to dinere  
Unto Ospring, and break there our fast.  
And when we werne fro Canterbury past,  
Nought the space of a bow draught,  
Our host in haste hath my bridle reached,  
And to me said, as it were in game,  
Come forth dan john, by your christian name,  
And let us make some manner mirth or play,  
* Shete your ports a twenty devil way,  
Is no disport so to patere and say,  
It wool make your lips wonder dray,  
Tell some tale, and make thereof a jape,  
For by my Rouncie thou shalt it not escape,  
But preach not of none holiness,  
Gin some tale of mirth or of gladness,  
And nod not with thine heavy beck,  
Tell us some thing that draweth to effect,  
Only of joy make no longer let.  
And when I saw it would be no bet,  
I obeyed unto his bidding,  
So as the law me bound in all thing,  
And as I could, with a pale cheer,  
My tale I 'gan anon, as ye shall hear.  
Finitur Prologus de Thebes. Et sequitur quoque pars prima libri.   

Here beginneth the History of the Destruction of the City of THEBES.  
SIrs (qd. I) sith of your courtesy  
I entered am into your company,  
And admitted a tale for to tell,  
By him that hath power to compel,  
I mean our host, governor and guide  
Of you eachone riding here beside:  
Though that my wit barren be and dull,  
I will rehearse a story wonderful,  
Touching the siege and destruction  
Of worthy Thebes, the mighty royal town,  
Built and begun of old antiquity,  
Upon the time of worthy joshua,  
By diligence of king Amphion,  
Chief cause first of his foundation,  
For which his fame, which never shall away,  
In honour flowereth yet unto this day,  
And in story remembered is and praised,  
But how the walls were on height raised,  
It is wonder and marvel for to here,  
But if you list, I shall you platly lere  
The manner hole, platly in sentence,  
Under support of your patience,  
As write mine author, and Bochas both two,  
Reed her books, and ye shall find it so,  
How this king, this prudent Amphion,  
With his sweetness and melodious sound,  
The city built, that whilom was so strong,  
By Armonie of his sweet song,  
And virtue only of the werbles sharp  
That he made in Mercury's Harp,  
Of which the strengs were not touched soft,  
Whereby the walls raised were aloft,  
Without craft of any man's hand,  
Full yore ago, mid of greeks land,  
Which is a thing of Poets told,  
Never yseine nother of young nor old,  
But as Bocchas list to specify,  
Clear expouning this dark Poesy,  
Sith Mercury, god of eloquence,  
gave by the might of heavenly influence,  
Unto this King, at his Nativite,  
Through glad aspects, that he should be  
Most excellent, by craft of Rhetoric,  
That in this world was none to him like,  
Which signifieth, to him that ben prudent,  
The Musical, the lusty instrument,  
I mean the harp most melodious,  
Yove to this King by Mercurious,  
And his song, this author can you teach,  
Was nothing but the crafty speech  
Of this King, ycalled Amphion,  
Whereby he made the Countries environ  
To have such lust in his words sweet,  
That were so pleasant, favourable, & meet  
In her ears, that shortly there was none  
Disobeisaunt with the King to gone,  
Wheresoever that him list to assign:  
His cheer, his port was eft so benign,  
That through his stering and exhortation  
With him they went first to build this town,  
And forsook each man his country,  
By one assent to make this city  
Royal and rich, that liche was none,  
And thus the walls, made of lime and stone,  
Were raised first by singing of this king,  
Liche as Poetes feign in her writing,  
Passing rich, and royal of entail,  
Here may ye see how much may avail  
The goodlihede, and the lowliness of a king,  
And specially in cheer and in speaking  
To his liege's, and to bearen him fair  
In his apport, and show him debonair,  
And not to been to strange ne solein,  
In countenance outward, ne disdain,  
Which causeth oft, who that can advert,  
Great hatred in the people's heart,  
And thereupon prively wool rowne,  
When a Prince doth upon him frown,  
Shortly dame for all his excellence,  
Among himself out of his presence,  
Everiche conclude liche his fantasy,  
And thus full oft gendered is envy  
In folk's hearts, of soleinte and pride,  
For such as list not ones to look aside,  
To reward him when they low lout,  
* And again kind it is out of doubt,  
That any head, by record of the wise,  
Should the foot of disdain despise,  
Which beareth him up, who so can take heed,  
And sustaineth in his most need,  
As his pillar, and his supportaile:  
* For finally, ne were the pooraile  
Her bearer up, and supportation,  
Farewell Lordship and domination,  
Throughout the Land, of every high estate:  
Wherefore me seemeth, more is fortunate  
Of Mercury, the soot sugared Harp,  
Than Mars sword whetted keen & sharp,  
More accepted, with aspects good,  
Than is this God, with his looks wood:  

What the goodlihead of a Prince availeth, to win the hearts of his People.  
* For humble speech, with glad countenance  
May a Prince sooth advance,  
Among his people hearts for to win  
Of inward love, which will not twin,  
Than gold, richesse, pride, or tyranny,  
Other disdain, danger, or surquedy,  
For of lords, clerks can report,  
But that love her crown do support,  
The fine is not, in conclusion,  
I take record of King Amphion,   

Example good of King Amphion.  
That built Thebes, by his eloquence,  
More than of pride, or of violence,  
Noble and rich, that like was no where none,  
And thus the walls made of lime and stone,  
Were raised first by singing of this king,  
Like as Poet's feinen in her writing.   

How, after the opinion of some Authors, King Cadmus built first the city of Thebes.  
But sooth yet, some expositors  
Grounding him upon old authors,  
Saine, that Cadmus, the famous old man,  
Full long afore the city first began,  
And the ground of building set,  
And the bounds by compass out met,  
With thongs out carve of a Bull's side,  
Which environ, stretch might wide,  
To get in land a full large space,  
Whereupon to build a dwelling place   

How the Country of Boece took first its name of a Bull's skin, and after called Thebes. And how King Cadmus was exiled out of Thebes, by Prowess of King Amphion.  
And called was the soil thus gotten in,  
Whilom Boece, of the Bull's skin,  
The name after into Thebes turned:  
But Cadmus hath not there long sojourned,  
Like in story as it is compiled,  
For shortly, he fro thence was exiled,  
Never after for to dwell in the town,  
By the knighthood of this Amphioun,  
Which up performeth, rich for the nonce,  
The city Thebes, of mighty square stones,  
As I you told a light heretoforne,  
And Cadmus thus his kingdom hath lost,  
Sceptre and crown, and his power royal,  
Now have I told unto you ground of all,  
That ye well know by information  
clearly the pith and the exposition  
Of this matter, as clerks can you tell,  
It were but vain longer for to dwell,  
To tarry you on this matter,  
Sith my tale, which that ye shall here  
Upon our way, will last a long while;  
The space in sooth as I suppose of seven. mile:  
And now ye know first how Amphion  
Built and began this city and this town,  
Reigning there long after, as I read.  
Of him no more, for I will proceed  
To my purpose, that I first began,  
Not telling here how the line ran   

How the Line of Amphion by descent was conveyed to King Laius.  
Fro king to king, by succession,  
Conveying down by the stock of Amphion  
Seriously by line all the descent:  
But leave all this, plainly of intent  
To tell forth, in books as I read,  
How Laius by process 'gan succeed   

Here beginneth the Story of King Laius, and jocasta his Wife.  
TO bear the Crown in this mighty land,  
Holding the sceptre of Thebes in his hand,  
Manly and wise during all his life,  
And jocasta called was his wife:  
Full womanly the story saith certain  
For a time, though she were barren,  
Till Laius in full humble wise,  
To have a child, did sacrifice  
First to Apollo in his chair so bright,  
And jupiter, that hath so great a might,  
Beseeching him with devout reverence,  
To grant only through her influence,  
That his request executed may be,  
And specially to goddesses three,  
He besought Pallas, and juno,  
And Diane, for to help also,  
That he be not defrauded of his boon:  
And his prayer accepted was full soon,  
That finally through his rites old,  
Even like as his heart would,  
The Queen jocasta hath anon conceived,  
Which when the King fully hath perceived,  
He made in haste, him list not to abide,  
Through his kingdom Messengers ride  
Fro coast to coast, the story can devose,  
For Divinours and Philosophers wise,  
For such as were famous Phisiciens,  
And well expert Astronomiens,  
To come in haste unto his presence,  
To find out shortly in sentence  
By craft only of calculation,  
The child's fate and disposition,   

How the Astronomiens and Philosophers of Thebes calcled out the fate of Edippus.  
And thereupon to give a judgement,  
The root I take, at the ascendent  
Truly sought out by minute and degree,  
The self hour of his nativite  
Not foryet, the heavenly mansions,  
Clearly searched by small fractions,  
First by seconds, terces, and eke quartes,  
On Augrime stones, and on white carts  
Iprived out by diligent labour,  
In tables correct, devoid of all error,  
justly sought, and found out of both two,  
The years collect, and expanse also,  
Considered eke by good inspection,  
Every hour, and constellation,  
And each aspect and look eke divers,  
Which were good, and which also perverse,  
Where they were toward, or at debate,  
Happy, wilful, or iufortunate:   

The cursed Constellation and Disposition of the Heaven at the Nativity of Edippus.  
And finally, in conclusion  
They found Saturn in the Scorpion,  
Heavy chered melancholic and loath,  
And wood Mars furious and wroth,  
Holding his sceptre in the Capricorn,  
The same hour when this child was borne,  
Venus direct, and contrarious,  
And depressed in Mercurious house,  
That the doom and judgement final  
Of these clerks to speak in special  
By fatal sort, that may not be withdraw  
That with his sword his father shall be slaw,   

How the fate of Edippus disposed, that he should slay his own Father.  
There may no man help it ne excuse,  
On which thing the king 'gan sore muse,  
And cast he would on that other side  
Again her doom for himself provide  
Shape away, and remedy toforne,  
Bidding the queen, when the child were borne,  
Without mercy or motherly pite  
That he be dead it may none other be,  
And in all haste, like as he hath sent,  
She obeyed his commandment  
With woeful heart, and piteous look,  
And face pale, her young son she took,  
Tender and green both of flesh and bones,  
To certain men ordained for the nonce,  
From point to point in all manner thing,  
To execute the bidding of the king,  
They durst not delay it, nor abide,  
But to a forest that stood there beside,  
They tooken her way, and fast 'gan him speed,  
The king's will to perform indeed,  
Having thereof passing heaviness?  
But when that they beheld the fairness  
Of the child, and excellent beauty,  
In her heart they had great pity,  
And plainly cast, among hem was no strife,  
That the child should have his life,  
And anon high upon a tree,  
In place that no man might it see,  
They heng him up, the story can rehearse,  
But first his feet they 'gan through pierce,  
And on bows tender, tough, and small,  
They knit him up shortly this is no tale,  
Him to preserve from beasts wild and rage,  
And after that they tooken her voyage  
Toward Thebes, in all the hast they may:  
But of fortune, thilk same day  
With her hounds searching up and down,  
The hunts went of king Polibon  
Through the forest, 'gan for to find  
Some aforne, and some come behind,  
And 'gan search and seek wonder sore  
Among the hills, and the holts hore,  
And as they rengen the trenches by and by,  
They heard a noise, and a piteous cry   

How the hunts of King Polibon found the child in the forest, and presented him unto the King.  
Of this child, honging on a tree:  
And all at ones drough hem for to see,  
And left not, till they have him found,  
And took him down, and his feet vnbound,  
And bore him home unto Polibon,  
King of arcady the famous region:  
And when that he the child first can see,  
Of his wounds he had great pity  
To behold his tender feet so bleed,  
And called him Edippus, as I read,  
Which is to sane platly, this is no fage,  
Bored the feet, as in that language.  
And first the king in his royal hall  
Made his men a norice for to call,  
This young child to foster and to keep  
With her milk, that he might ne weep,  
And his Leeches he charged eke also,  
Till he were whole, her devoir for to do,  
Fully in purpose, for this child was feire,  
After his day to maken him his heir,  
For cause only, who so taketh heed,  
Son had he none, by line to succeed,  
And that he had a wife or none,  
I find it not, and therefore I let it gone,  
But by process of days and of years,  
This Edippus, among his playing fears,  
Was in port passing full of pride,  
That none with him might in peace abide,  
In heart he was so inly surquidous,  
melancholic and contrarious,  
Full of despite, and of high disdain,  
That no wight durst shortly him withsaine,  
Till on a day, he 'gan with one debate,  
To whom he had specially great hate,  
Which of rancour, and of hasty tene,  
As he that might his pride not sustain,  
'Gan upon him cruelly to braid,  
And unto him felly thus he said:  
Whereto (qd. he) art thou so proud of port,  
Contraire also ever in any disport,  
Froward and fell, lasting ever in one,  
As thou were lord of us everyone,  
And presumest fully in werking,  
Like as thou were son unto the King,  
And descended of his royal blood?  
But whether so thou be wroth or wood,  
Thou art nothing, if thee list take heed,  
Appertaining unto his kindred,  
But in a forest founden and vnknow  
When thou were young, therefore bear thee low,  
And utterly remember thee if thee list,  
Thy birth and blood are both two untwist,  
This is the fine shortly of my tale,  
Wherewith Edippus 'gan to wax pale,  
And change also cheer and countenance,  
And 'gan apeint in his remembrance  
Word by word, and forgot right nought,  
And felly mused on this, and above thought,  
And cast he would, without more tarrying,  
The troth inquire of Polibon the King:  
And when he saw opportune space,  
And the King in a secret place,  
He him be sought lowly on his knee,  
To his request benignly to see.   

The request of Edippus unto the King Polibon.  
And that he would plainly, and not spare,  
Of his birth the true ground declare,  
And make him sure of this thing anon,  
If he were his very son or none?  
And Polibon only of gentillesse,  
When he beheld the great heaviness  
Of Edippus, and the woeful pain,  
He 'gan dissimule, and in a manner fain,  
Liche as he had been verily his heir:  
But more and more he falleth in despair,  
And down again on knees 'gan fall,  
Him conjuring by the Gods all,  
To tell troth and nothing to hide,  
Affirming eke, he will not abide  
Longer with him, but ridden and inquire,  
Till time he may the very sooth lere  
In any part of hap or of fortune,  
And for that he was so importune  
In his desire, the King without abode  
Curiously told him how it stood.   

The Answer of the King unto Edippus.  
In a forest first how he was found  
Upon a tree, by the feet ybound,  
And how he cast in conclusion  
To make him King of that region  
After his day, shortly for to tell,  
But Edippus would no longer dwell,  
But took leave, and in haste 'gan ride  
To a temple fast there beside  
Of Apollo, in story as is told,  
Whose statute stood in a chair of gold  
On wheels four, burned bright and sheen,  
And within a spirit full unclean  
By fraud only, and falls illusion,  
Answer gave to every question,  
Bringing the people in full great error,  
Such as to him did false honour,  
By rites used in the old daws,  
After the custom of Paganims laws,  
And Edippus with full humble chiere  
To Apollo made his priere,  
Beseeching him on his knees low  
By some sign, that he might know  
Through evidence, shortly comprehended  
Of what kindred that he was descended?  
And when Edippus by great devotion  
Finished had fully his orison,  
The fiend anon, within invisible,  
With a voice dreadful and horrible,  
Bade him in haste take his voyage  
Toward Thebes, where of his lineage  
He hearen shall, and he certified:  
And on his way anon he hath him hied  
By hasty journey, so is his horse constrained  
Day by day, till he hath attained  
Unto a castle, Pilots called,  
Rich and strong, and we'll above ywalled,  
Adjacent by site of the country  
And apertinent to Thebes the city,  
King Laius being there present,  
For to hold a manner of tournament,  
With his knights young and courageous,  
And other folk, that were desirous  
To prove himself, shortly for to tell,  
Who that by force other might excel,  
Or get a name, through his prowess,  
Euerich of him did his business  
On horseback, and eke on foot,  
All be that some found it full unsoot,  
Rather a play of war than of peace:  
Where Edippus put himself in press,  
As he that was aye ready to debate,  
Enforcing him to enter in at gate,  
Maugre all though that him would let,  
And in the press, of adventure, he met   

How Edippus slough his Father by ignorance, at the Castle of Pilots.  
King Laius, and cruelly him slough,  
Though the story telleth not hough,  
Ne no wight can of all the company,  
By no sign, it verily aspy  
By whose hon the King was slaw,  
For Edippus 'gan him in haste withdraw,  
And kept him coy of entencioun,  
Great was the noise and piteous sound  
In the castle, for slaughter of the king,  
Dole and complaint, sorrow, and weeping.  
* But for they saw that heaviness & thought,  
Against death availeth light or nought,  
They ordain with rites full royal,  
For the feast called Funeral,  
And eke the custom of the days old,  
The corpse they brent into ashes cold,  
And in a vessel round made as a ball,  
They closed him in gold and metal,  
And after that did her busy cure,  
In Thebes to make a Sepulture,  
And richly, him list no longer let,  
The ashes they did enclose and shut,  
Of this matter there is no more to say,  
But to Edippus I will return again,  
Which him enhasteth aye from day to day,  
Toward Thebes, in all that ever he may,  
Brenning in heart as hot as any fire,  
The fine to know of his fatal desire,  
But for that he failed of a guide,  
Out of his way went for aside,  
Through a wild and a waste country,  
By a mountain that stood upon the see.   

How Edippus passed by the hill where the Monster lay, that was called Sphinx.  
Where that Monsters, of many divers kind  
Were conversant, in story as I find,  
Among which sooth there was one,  
So inly cruel that no man durst gone,  
For dread of death forth by that passage,  
This Monster was so mortal in his rage,  
Which had also by description,  
Body and foot, of a fierce Lion,  
And like a maid, in sooth, was head and face,   

The destruction of the foul Monster.  
Fell of his look and cruel to menace,  
And odious of countenance and sight,  
And as I read Sphinx that Monster height,  
Worse than Tiger, Dragon, or Serpent,  
And I suppose by enchantment,  
He was ordained on the hill tabide,  
To slay all though that passeden beside,  
And specially, all that did fail  
To expone his misty devinaile,  
His problem eke, in words plain and bare,  
Without avise fully to declare:  
Or with the life he might not escape,  
This is very sooth plainly and no jape:  
And if that he by declaration,  
gave thereupon clear exposition,  
He should in haste, there was none other mean,  
Slaen this Monster for all his cruel tene,  
There may of mercy be none other grant.  
But of all this Edippus ignorant,  
This dreadful hill, standing on a roch,  
Or he was ware, full nigh 'gan approach,  
More perilous platly than he wend:  
And suddenly the Monster 'gan descend,  
To stoppen his way and let his passage,  
Thus abreding with a fell courage   

The words of the foul Monster.  
Said, I have in heart inly great disport,  
That fortune hath brought thee to my fort,  
To make a proof if thou may endure  
The fatal end of this adventure,  
Set at a fine, sooth, by days old:  
And by and by all the case him told,  
Charging him to be well aware and wise,  
Get the palm and bear away the prize,  
Touching this thing set atween us tweine,  
Of life or death, which we shall drain,  
And this Monster, with a despitous cheer,  
His problem 'gan thus as ye shall hear.   

The Problem that Sphinx put to Edippus.  
There is a beast marvellous to see,  
The which in sooth at his nativity  
Is of his might so tender and so green,  
That he may himself not sustain  
Upon his feet, though he had it sworn,  
But if that he be of his mother borne,  
And afterward by process of age,  
On four feet he maketh his passage,  
And then upon three if I shall not fain,  
And alder last he goeth upright on twain,  
divers of port and wonderful of cheers,  
Till by length of many sundry years,  
Naturally he goeth again on three,  
And sithence on four, it may none other be,  
And finally this is the troth plein,  
He recovereth kindly ayein,  
To the matter which that he came fro,  
Lo here my problem is all ido,  
Muse hereupon without war or strife,  
It to declare, or else less thy life.  
And when Edippus can this thing advert,  
Well assured in his manly heart,  
'Gan in his heart, search up and down,  
And of prudence cast in his reasoun  
By great avise, what thing this may be,  
Seing also, that he may not flee,  
And how there was counsel non ne read,  
To tell troth or else to be deed,  
And by full good deliberation,  
Thus he answered, in conclusion:  
Thou Sphinx (qd. he) false and fraudolent,  
Thou foul Monster, thou dragon, thou serpent,  
That on this hill like as I conceive,  
Liest in wait folks to deceive,  
But trust well for all thy sleghty wit,  
Thy false fraud shall anon be quit,  
Me list not to whispre neither roune,  
But thy problem I shall anon expone,  
So openly, thou shalt not go therefrom,  
Lo this it is take good heed thereto:   

How Edippus expounded the Problem that Sphinx put to him.  
Thilk beast thou spoke of here toforne,  
Is every man in this world iborne,  
Which may not go his limbs be so soft,  
But as his mother beareth him aloft  
In her arms, when he doth cry, or weep:  
And after that he ginneth for to creep  
On four feet, in his tender youth,  
By experience as it is oft couth,  
Aforne irekened his hands both two:  
And by process thou mayest consider also,  
With his two feet for all thy fell tene,  
He hath a staff himself to sustain,  
And then he goeth shortly upon three,  
And alderlast, as it must needs be,  
Voiding his staff he walketh upon tweine,  
Till it so be through age he attain  
That lust of youth wasted be and spent,  
Then in his hand he taketh a potent,  
And on three feet thus he goeth again,  
I dare affirm thou mayst it not withsein.  
And soon after through his unwieldy might,  
By influence of nature's right,  
And by experience as every man may know,  
Like a child on four he creepeth low,  
* And for he may here no while sojourn,  
To yearth again he must in haste return,  
Which he came fro, he may it not remew,  
For in this world no man may eschew,  
This very sooth shortly and no doubt,  
When the wheel of kind cometh about,  
And naturally hath his course ironne,  
By circuit as doth the shear son,  
That man, and child, of high and low estate,  
It gaineth not to make more debate,  
His time isette that he must fine,  
When Atropos, of malice doth untwine  
His life's thread, by Cloto first compounded.  
Lo here thy problem is expounded,  
Of every meeting as I took on hand,  
To the law that thou must needs stoned,  
And in all haste of mine honds deie,  
For of reason thou canst it not withseie.  
And this Sphinx awaped and amate,  
Stood all dismayed and disconsolate,  
With cheer down cast heavy as any led,  
And Edippus anon smote of the head  
Of this fiend stinking and unsweet,  
And the country set holly in quiet,  
Whereby he hath such a price won,  
That his fame in every coast is run,  
Through all the land that this monster was slaw:  
And line right to Thebes he 'gan draw,  
Well received for his worthiness,  
For his manhood and his prowess,  
And for they seigh he was a seemly knight,  
Well favoured in every man's sight,  
And saw also Thebes, the mighty town,  
Not only they but all the region  
Were destitute of a governor,  
Again her soon having no succour,  
Him to defend, but the Queen alone,  
Among hemselfes making full great moan,  
For there was none as books specify,  
The Sceptre and crown to occupy,  
For which the Lords all by one assent,  
Within the town set a parliament,  
Shortly concluding if it might been,  
Prudently to treat with the Queen,  
Namely they that held him self most sage,  
To condescend by way of marriage,  
She to be joined to this manly knight,  
Passing prudent and famous eke of might,  
Most holle man, as they can discern,  
The worthy city to keep and govern:  
And through counsel of the lords all,  
To their desire plainly she is fall,  
And accorded without more tarrying,  
That of Thebes, Edippus shall be king,  
By full assent was none that said nay,  
And time set, ayein a certain day,  
Among hem self, and finally devised,  
The wedding was in Thebes solemnised,  
Full rially, that needs must unthrive,  
Only for he, his mother took to wive,  
Vnwist of both he was of her blood,  
And ignorant shortly how it stood,  
That he toforne had his father slaw,  
For which this wedding was against the law,  
* And tofore God is neither fair ne good,  
Nor acceptable blood to touch blood,  
Which cause hath be of great confusion  
In many a land, and many a region,  
Ground and root of unhap and mischance,  
The fine concluding always with vengeance,  
As men have sein by clear experience,  
And holy writ recordeth in sentence,  
How Herode falsely in his life,  
By violence took his brother's wife,  
For she was fair, and pleasant to his sight,  
And kept her still by force through his might,  
Although to her title had he none,  
And for her sake the holy man saint john  
For his troth in prison lost his head,  
Wherefore I read every man take heed,  
Whether so he be Lord, Prince, or King,  
That he beware to eschew such wedding,  
Ere that the sword of vengeance him menace,  
Lest he less hap, fortune, and grace,  
Taking ensample in all manner thing,  
Of Edippus, in Thebes crowned king,  
All be that he wrought of ignorance,  
Full dark and blind of his woeful chance,  
And if unwist, that he of innocence,  
As ye have herd fell in soch offence,  
For which he was punished & brought low,  
What are they worthy that her error know,  
And from the knot list not to abstain,  
Of such spousaile to God and man unclean,  
I can not sem ne more thereof device,  
deemeth yourself that prudent been, & wise,  
And eke Edippus, haveth among in mind,  
Of whom the wedding like as ye may find,  
Unhappy was and passing odious,  
Infortunate, and eke ungracious,  
I am weary more thereof to write,  
The hateful process also to indite,  
I pass over fully of intent,  
For Imeneus was not there present,  
Nor Lucina list not there to shine,  
Ne there was none of the Muses nine,  
But one accord to maked melody,  
For there song not by heavenly armony,  
Neither Clio, nor Calliope,  
None of the sustrens in number thrice three,  
As they did when Philolaie,  
Ascended up high above the sky,  
To be wedded, this Lady virtuous,  
Unto her Lord the God Mercurius,  
And as Matrician, inamed de Copelle,  
In his book of wedding can you tell,  
There concluding in his marriage,  
The Poet, that whilom was so sage,  
That this Lady called Sapience,  
Iwedded was unto Eloquence,  
As it sat well by heavenly purveyance,  
Him to be joined by knot of alliance,  
But both two sooth of intent,  
At wedding in Thebes were absent,  
That caused after great adversity,  
For final end of that solemnity,  
Was sorrow and woe, and destruction,  
Utter ruin of this royal town,  
There may no man help it ne succour,  
For a time in joy though they flower.   

The Names of the People, being at the Wedding of the King Edippus, and of Jocasta the Queen.  
But at his wedding plainly for to tell,  
Was Cerberus, chief porter of hell,  
And Herebus, fader to Hatred,  
Was there present with his holle kindred,  
His wife also with her brows black,  
And her daughters, sorrow for to make,  
Hidously cheered and ugly for to see,  
Megaera, and Thesiphonee,  
Allecto eke, with Labour and Envy,  
Drede, Fraud, and false Treachery,  
Treason, Povert, Indigence and Need,  
And cruel death in his rend weed,  
Wretchedness, Compleint, and eke Rage,  
Fearful, Pale, drunkenness, crooked Age,  
Cruel Mars, and many a Tiger wood,  
Brenning Ire, and unkind blood,  
Fraternal hate deep set in the root,  
Saufe only Death, that there nas no boot,  
Assured oaths at fine Untrue,  
All these folk were at wedding new,  
To make the town desolate and bare,  
As the story after shall declare:  
But aye in Thebes, with his walls strong,  
Edippus reigneth many a day and long,  
And as mine author write in words plain,  
By jocasta he had sons twain,  
Ethiocles, and also Polimite,  
And in books as sundry clerks write,  
Daughters two, full goodly on to see,  
Of which that one height Antigonee,  
And that other called was Imein,  
Of her beauty, inly soverein.  
Edippus aye devoid of war and strife,  
With jocasta led a merry life,  
Till fortune of her iniquity  
Had envy of his prosperity,  
For when he shone most rich in his renown,  
From her wheel she plunged him adown,  
Out of his joy into sudden woe,  
As she is wont frowardly to do,  
And namely him that setten her affiance  
Of heartily trust in her variance:  
For when the king passing of great might,  
Sat with the queen upon a certain night,  
casually, when his folk eachone,  
Out of chamber suddenly were gone,  
Ere he was ware jocasta 'gan behold  
The carectes of his wounds old,  
Upon his feet, emprented wonder deep,  
Tourning her face breast out for to weep,  
So secrely, he might it not espy,  
And she anon fell into a fantasy,  
Aye on this thing musing more and more,  
And in her bed 'gan to sighen sore,  
And when the king conceiveth her distress,  
He 'gan inquire of her heaviness,  
Fully the cause and thoccasion,  
For he will wit in conclusion  
What her eileths, and why she fared so.  
My Lord (qd. she) without words more,  
Parcel cause of this sudden rage,  
Is for that I in my tender age,  
Had a Lord inamed Laius,  
King of this town, a man right virtuous,  
By whom I had a son right wonder feire,  
Likely to been his successor and heir,  
But because his Divinours told  
At his birth soothly that he should,  
If he had life, by fatal destinee,  
Slaen his fader it might none other be:  
For which the king his fate to eschew,  
Bad men in haste as him thought due,  
To slay the child, and have thereof no roth,  
And I anon bad without sloth,  
To certain men up pein of judgement,  
To execute the commandment  
Of the king as I gave hem in charge,  
And forth they gone to a forest large,  
Adjacent unto this country,  
Piercing his feet, and heng him on a tree,  
Not performing th'execution,  
On him they had such compassion,  
Left him there, and resorted home again,  
Being in doubt and uncertain,  
At their repair as they tolden all,  
Of this child what afterward is befall,  
Saufe they said huntes had him found,  
Which ladden him forth & his feet vnbound,  
But to what coast they could not declare:  
Which parcel is of mine evil fare,  
Ground and cause of mine heavy cheer,  
Considered eke the wounds that appear  
Upon your feet, and wot not what they mean:  
And o thing aye is at mine hart green,  
My Lord alas but of new date,  
King Laius slain was but late,  
At a Castle nigh this country,  
Upon your coming into this city,  
All this yweied and reckoned into one,  
Maketh mine hart as heavy as a stone,  
So that I can counsel none ne red,  
And with that word the king lift up his head,  
And abreid with sharp sighs smart,  
And all this thing by order can advert,  
Curiously by good avisement,  
And by signs clear and evident,  
Conceiveth well and sore 'gan repent,  
It was himself that jocasta meant:  
And when the king sigh in manners pleine,  
By her Gods she 'gan him constrain  
To show out the cause of his affray  
And it expone and make no delay,  
Crop and root shortly why that he  
Entered first into that country,  
From whence he came, and from what region,  
But he her put in delusion,  
As he had done it for the nonce,  
Till at last he braced out at ones,  
Unto the Queen, and 'gan a process make,  
First how he was in the forest take,  
Wounded the feet, and so forth every thing,  
Of his cherishing with Polibon the king,  
And holle the cause why he him forsook,  
And in what wise he the way took  
Toward Thebes as Apollo bade,  
And of fortune how that he was lad  
Where that Sphinx kept the Mounteine,  
And how that he also slow in certain  
King Laius at Castell gate,  
Toward night when it was full late,  
And how to Thebes that he 'gan him speed,  
To find out the stock of his kindred,  
Which unto him 'gan wax couth,  
For by process of his green youth,  
He found out well by reckoning of his life,  
That she was both his mother, and his wife:  
So that all night and suing on the morrow,  
Between him two began a new sorrow,  
Which unto me were piteous for to tell,  
For thereupon yif I should dwell,  
A long space it would you occupy,  
But ye may read in a Tragedy   

Tragediae Senecae de Egypto Reg. Thebax.  
Of Moral Senek fully his ending,  
His dooll, his mischief, and his compleining,  
How with sorrow, and unwieldy age,  
This Edippus fell in dotage,  
Lost his wit and his worldly delight,  
And how his sons had him in despite,  
And of disdain took of him no keep,  
And eke books sane, his iyens out he weep,  
And as mine author liketh to devose,  
As his sons rebuke him and despise,  
Upon a day in a certain place,  
Out of his head, his iyens he 'gan race,  
And cast at him, he can no other boot,  
And of malice they trade him under foot,  
Fully devoid both of love and dread,  
And when Edippus for mischief was thus ded  
Within a pit made in the earth low,  
Of cruelty his sons 'gan him throw,  
Worse than Serpent, or any Tiger wood,  
* But of cursed stock cometh unkind blood,  
As in story ye may read heretoforne,  
Although the Rose grow out of the thorn.  
Thus of Edippus when he was blind & old,  
The wretched end I have you plainly told.  
* For which shortly to man and child I read,  
To be well aware and take heed,  
Of kindly right and of conscience,  
To do honour and due reverence   

How every Man ought of Duty, to do Reverence to his Father and Mother, or else there will fall Vengeance.  
To father and mother of what estate they be,  
Or certain else they shall never thee:  
For who that is not to him debonair,  
In speech, in port, for to treat him fair,  
Him to obey, in honesty and dread,  
And him to cherish of what they have need,  
I dare affirm excepting none estate,  
That he shall first be infortunate  
In all his work both on Sea and land,  
And of what thing that he take in hon,  
For the time froward to him and contraire,  
Wast of his goods plainly and appair,  
Find plenty of conteke, war, and strife,  
Unhappy end and shortness of life,  
And graceless of what he hath to do,  
Hatred of God, and man also:  
Therefore no man be thereof reckless,  
But make your mirror of Ethiocles,  
And his brother called Polimite,  
Which in such things greatly were to wit,  
As ye shall here of him how it fill,  
And when we been descended down this hill,  
As I passed here the low veil,  
I shall begin the remnant of my tale.  
Explicit prima pars istius Codialli.   

Immediate sequitur secunda pars ejusdem.  
PAssed the Thrope of Broughton on the blee,  
By my Calendar I 'gan anon to see,  
Through the Sun, that full clear 'gan shine,  
Of the clock that it drew to nine,  
And saw also as silver drops sheen,  
Of the dew like pearls on the green,  
Vapoured up into the air aloft,  
When Zephyrus with his blowing soft,  
The weather made lusty, smooth, and fair,  
And right attempre was the wholesome air:  
The same hour all the holle rout  
Of the pilgrims riding round about,  
In my tale when I 'gan proceed,  
Rehearsing forth as it was in deed,  
When Edippus buried was and grave,  
How his sons the kingdom for to have,   

How the Sons of Edippus, debated for the Crown.  
Among himself by full mortal hate,  
For the crown, gone for to debate,  
Which of him justly shall succeed,  
And the Sceptre of the town possede,  
Auerting nought, neither to right ne wrong,  
But each of him to make his party strong,  
And his querele proudly to sustain,  
From whose hearts was devoided clean,  
Of brotherhood the faithful alliance,  
False covetise so made him at distance,  
Fully werching into destruction,  
And ruin of this noble town,  
So hot brent of hatred and envy,  
Of both two through pompous surquedy,  
That neither would plainly in a point,  
Other forbear, they stood in such disjoinct,  
Like as they had of birth been foreins:  
Till of the town the noble citizens,  
Knights, Barons, with many a worthy lord,  
Shaped a way to make him of accord,  
And to set him in quiet and in pees:  
But for his part this Ethiocles,  
Allege 'gan, that he was first borne,  
For which he ought of reason go toforne  
In the city, to be crowned king,  
Sith by law there was no letting,  
For unto him longeth the heritage  
By descent, and by title of age.   

The controversy of the two Brethren.  
But Polimite of full high disdain,  
All openly 'gan reply again,  
And for his part said in especial,  
Reason was none that he should have all,  
Both Regaly and dominatioun,  
And the lordship wholly of the town,  
And he right nought out of the city,  
But live in sile and in poverty,  
Concluding without fere or dread,  
Rather than it suffer, he would be deed,  
And thus alas, through her envious strife,  
At end every lost his life,  
At great mischief as ye shall after here,  
But thilk time the Lords all in fere,  
Full besily did her diligence,  
By great avise, and full high prudence,  
To set him in quiet and in rest,  
Counselling him plainly for the best,  
To leave her strife, of wisdom and of reason,  
And condescend to some conclusion,  
Which to both might most avail.  
And finally through her governaile   

The common Union between these two Brethren.  
The Lords all, though being present,  
Have him brought to been of one assent,  
Of one heart, as brother unto brother,  
Euerich of him to reign after other,  
Year by year as it cometh about,  
So that the town shall absent him out,  
Fully that year and himself gie,  
By his manhood and his chivalry,  
Haunt himself, in deeds Martial,  
While his brother in his See rial,  
Holdeth his Sceptre the city to govern:  
And when the year his course hath run yearn,  
And is come out, he shall have repair,  
To reign in Thebes like as Lord and heir,  
There to receive fully his dignity,  
While that other voideth the city,  
Patiently taking his adventure,  
Till he again his honour may recure,  
Thus interchange, every year they shall,  
That one ascendeth that other hath a fall,  
They must obey of heart and take it well,  
Like as that one resorteth of the weal,  
For this was holle the composition  
Between the brethren, and convention  
Fully knit up by great avisement,  
Tofore the Gods by oath of Sacrament,  
Never after to grudge ne to vary,  
But accomplish shortly, and not tarry,  
Like as th'accord, enroled in the town,  
From point to point, made mencioun.  
But alder first by reason of his age,  
Ethiocles had the advantage,  
To reign aforne, and wear the crown,  
Polimite him hasting out of town,  
During that year it may none other be,  
Whiles his brother sat in his rialte,  
Full richly upon Fortunes wheel.  
And road him forth armed bright in steel.  
This Polimite soothly as I read,  
Himself alone on a rial stead,  
Without guide all the long day,  
Being afeard to keep the high way,  
In his heart having suspicion,  
To his brother, of malice and treason,  
Lest he pursue through falls & unkind blood,  
To have him dead for covetise of good,  
That he alone might have possession,  
During his life fully of the town:  
For which in haste, having no fellow,  
Polimite aside 'gan him withdraw,  
By a forest joining to the See,  
Knowing right nought the site of the country,  
Full of hills and of high mountains,  
Craggie Roches, and but few pleines,  
Wondre dreadful and loathsome of passage,  
And therewithal full of beasts rage,  
Holding his way of heart nothing light,  
Mate and weary, till it draweth to night,  
And all the day beholding environ,  
He neither saw castle, Tours, ne town,  
The which thing grieveth him full sore,  
And suddenly the see began to roar,  
Wind and tempest hidiously tarise,  
The rain down beat in full grisly wise,  
That many a beast thereof was adread,  
And nigh for fere 'gan to wax mad,  
As it sempte by the woeful sows  
Of Tigers, Beres, Boars, and Liones,  
Which for refute, him self for to save,  
Euerich in haste, draweth unto his Cave,  
But Polymite, in this tempest huge,  
Alas the while, findeth no refuge,  
Ne him to shroud saw nowhere no succour,  
Till it was passed almost midnight hour  
A large space, that the stars clear,  
The clouds voided, in heaven did appear,  
So that this knight out of the Forest large,  
'Gan approach, into the land of Arge.   

How Polimite first came into the Lond of Arge.  
Seeing a palace mighty of building,  
Of which Adrastus, called was the king,  
A lusty man, rich, and wondre sage,  
And yronne was somdel into age,  
Borne of the Isle that called is Chifon,  
And sometime Son of the king Cholon,  
And for his wit in story as is couth,  
He chosen was in his tender youth,  
Of Arge to be crowned king,  
Thief of all Greece, be record of writing,  
Not by descent nor succession,  
And but alonely of free election,  
He held of Arge, the Sceptre in his hand,  
As most worthy of all greeks land,  
Loved and drade, for wisdom and justice:  
And as the story plainly can devose,  
This worthy king had daughters two,  
Passing fair, and right good also,  
It were to long, her beauty to descriue.   

Argive and Deiphile, the daughters tweine of King Adrastus.  
And the eldest called was Argive,  
Deiphile ynamed the second:  
And Adrastus, like as it is found,  
This worthy king had son none,  
To succeed after he be gone,  
For which he was during all his life  
Triste in heart add passingly pensife,  
But holy his trust and his hope stood,  
By alliance of some worthy blood,  
Brought in by mean of his daughters twein,  
That he shall be relessed of his peine,  
Through recomfort of some high Marriage,  
And soothly yet full oft in his courage,  
He troubled was by occasion  
Of a swevene and of a vision,   

The Dream of King Adrastus of a wild Boar and a fers Lion.  
showed to him upon a certain night,  
For as him thought, his inward sight,  
While he slept, by clear inspection,  
A wild Boor and a fers Lion,  
Possede shul, these beasts in her rage,  
His daughters two by bond of Marriage,  
In short time within a certain day:  
Which brought his heart in full great affray.  
* But thing in sooth that destiny hath shape,  
Here in this world full hard it is tescape,  
And marvelous a man to eschew his fate.  
And Polimite of whom I spoke late,  
With the tempest beat, and all bereined,  
By grate only the City hath atteined,  
Where Adrastus' full stately of degree,  
Thilk time held his royal see,  
The troubled might, merke and obscure,  
Hath brought this knight only by adventure  
Through the City enclosed with a wall,  
Unto the palace chief and principal,  
Where as the king in his chambre aloft,  
Lay in his bed and slept wonder soft,  
Eke all his folk had her chambres take,  
Like as Fortune paraventure had shape,  
The self time because it was so late,  
And casuely the porter at the gate,  
As it had by right for the nonce,  
And in a porch built of square stones,  
Full mightily enarched enuiroun,  
Where the domes and bless of the town  
Were executed, and laws of the king,  
And there this knight without more tarrying,  
Weary and mate, from his stead alight,  
Hanging the rain in all the hast he might,  
Upon his arm, sure him for to keep,  
And leid him down and 'gan anon to sleep,  
As him seemed that time for the best:  
And while that he lay thus for to rest,  
Of adventure there came a knight riding,  
One of the worthiest of the world living,  
Curteis, lowly, and right virtuous,  
As saith mine Author, called Tideus,  
Virous in arms and manly in werking,  
Of his birth Son unto the king  
Of Callidoine, a land of great renown,  
As he alas, out of that region  
Exiled was, for he his brother slow,  
As the stage of Thebes writ the manner how,  
All be that he to him no malice meant:  
For on a day as they on hunting went,  
In a forest for heart and for hind,  
So as he stood under a great lined,  
And casuely lete his A-row slip,  
He slough his brother called Menelippe,  
Through mortal sort his hand was beguiled,  
For which he was banished and exiled,  
As the law narrow set his charge:  
As for this case he came first to Arge,  
Into the porch where Polimite did sleep,  
Of adventure ere he took any keep,  
The same night hidously besein,  
With the tempest of thondre and of rain,  
And felt also annoy and great damage,  
Through the forest holding his passage,  
As Polimite had do toforne,  
In peril oft likely to be lost,  
With beasts rage's set on every side,  
Till of grace without any guide,  
He road through Arge the great mighty town,  
Streght unto the palace, & to the chief dungeon,  
Like as I told, where Polimite lay,  
And at his coming made a great affray,  
For he was blind through darkness of the night,  
And him to guy he ne fond no light,  
When he came in, of priket ne of torch,  
Till he unwarely entered in to the porch,  
And would have take there his herbergage:  
But Polimite start up in a rage,  
Suddenly awaked as I read,  
With the nying of his proud stead,  
And first of all when that he beheld,  
A knight armed, and on his breast a shield,  
And 'gan the manner of this ray advert,  
Of veray ire upon his horse he start,  
And cruelly 'gan Tideus inquire,  
Whence he come, and what he did there,  
And bad in haste his answer to devose.  
And Tideus in full humble wise,  
Answered again of verray gentillesse,  
And said, in sooth of high distress  
Of the tempest and the dark night,  
He driven was, like an errand knight,  
Of need only and great necessity,  
And him constrained of great adversity,  
To take lodging where so that he might,  
And in that Court therefore he alight,  
Without more thinking none outrage,  
Ne to no wight meaning no damage.  
Then Polimite of malice, and of pride,  
Told him shortly he should not abide,  
Ne lodge there, though he had it sworn,  
For I (qd. he) took it up before,  
And will it keep during all this night,  
I say thee platly maugre all thy might.  
(Qd. Tideus) then, it is no courtesy,  
Me to devoid but rather villainy,  
Yef ye take heed that seem a gentle knight,  
And as I suppose ye have no title of right,  
To this lodging by way of heritage,  
More than have I, for all your fell rage,  
And pard yet it shall be no disease,  
Till to morrow though ye do me ease,  
Of gentillesse only with your leave,  
To suffer me it shall but little greue,  
But aye the more Tideus spoke fair,  
Polimite was froward and contraire,  
And shortly saith, it geineth not to strive,  
That of force he shall devoid bliue,  
Or utterly atween him both two,  
This thing to try he must have do.  
And Tideus seeing no better mean,  
Full like a knight in steel armed clean,  
Without abode fast 'gan him speed,  
Wondre lively for to stride his stead,  
And thus these knights pompous and elate,  
For little cause fellen at debate.   

How Tideus and Polimite striven for her Lodging.  
And as they run together on horseback,  
Either on other first his spear broke,  
And after that full surquedous of pride,  
With sharp swords they together ride,  
Full irously these mighty Champions,  
In her fury, like Tigers or Lions,  
As they hurtel, that all the palace shook,  
And king Adrastus out of his sleep woke,  
And made in hast his Chambreleins call,  
And through the Court his worthy knights all,  
Commanding him to descend and see,  
And report what it might be,  
This wonderful noise in his Court by night,  
And when he seigh two strange knights fight,  
In plates thick, and bright mail,  
Without judge, they had great marvel,  
And were dismayed of this uncouth thing,  
And as they found told to the king,  
And Adrastus for darkness of the night,  
From his chambre with many torches light,  
Into the Court is descended down,  
All his mien standing environ,  
Of these knights having great wondre,  
And of manhood he put him first asondre,  
Him commanding like a gentle king,  
To leaven her strife and cessen off fight,  
And entered in with a knightly look,  
And first from hem her swords both he took,  
Affirming eke as to his fantasy,  
It was a rage and a great folly,  
So wilfully her lives jeopart,  
Withouten judge her quarrel to depart,  
And specially in the dark night,  
When neither might of other have sight,  
Charging him up peine of her life,  
To dissever and stinten of her strife.  
And though Tideus in all the hast he might,  
Full humbly from his steed alight,  
And right meekly with cheer & countenance,  
Put him holly in the governance  
Of Adrastus, in all manere thing,  
And Polimite eke made no tarrying,  
To high him also, and would not withsey  
The kings bidding, lowly to obey,  
So as him ought with due reverence:  
And as they stood both in his presence,  
He 'gan inquire first of her estate,  
The cause also why they were at debate,  
Of her countries soothly, and her age,  
And asked him eke touching her lineage,  
By descent of what stock they were born?  
And Tideus, his answer gave before,  
Told plainly and made no losing,  
How he was son unto the King,  
Of Calcidoine, and rightful heir thereto,  
And of his exile the cause he told also,  
As ye have herd in the story rad.  
And Polimite with cheer and face sad,  
Unto the king touching his Country,  
Said he was borne in Thebes the city,  
And jocaste the great famous queen,  
His mother was without any ween,  
But of his father whilom king and lord,  
For very shame he spoke never a word,  
Only, for yif I shall not feign,  
His fader was, and brother, both tweine,  
The which in sooth he was full loath to tell,  
And eke the king would him not compel,  
Of gentillesse, but bad without blame,  
Of his birth for to have no shame,  
For holly the case he knew every deal,  
Touching his kin he knew the ground fulwele,  
Like as it was by full clear report:  
Enforcing him for to do comfort,  
With all his might, and all besie peine,  
This manly king, to these knight's tweine,  
And to him said, before him as they stood,  
He wist well that of full worthy blood  
They were descended, touching her kindred,  
And made in hast his officers lead,  
The strange knights being at debate,  
Through his palace, to chambre of estate,  
Each by himself for to take his ease,  
And every thing in sooth that might hem please,  
Was offered him like her estates,  
And when they were disarmed of her plates,  
Cushions, Greves, and her Sabatons,  
Her Harness voided, and her Habergeons,  
Two mantles unto hem were brought,  
Fret with pearl, and rich stones wrought,  
Of cloth of gold and Violet crimson,  
Full richly ●urred with Ermine,  
To lap him in against the cold morrow,  
After the rage of her night's sorrow,  
To take her rest till the son arise,  
And when the king in full prudent wise,  
First of all he was not rekeles,  
The knight's hearts for to set in pees,  
That ever after I dare 〈◊〉 it well,  
Each was to other true as any steel,  
During her life both in word and deed,  
Vndre a knot bound of brotherhood.  
And Adrastus the worthy king famous,  
A feast made rich and plenteous,  
To these knights, himself thereat present,  
And after meet full goodly he hath sent,  
This noble king, for his daughters dear,  
Of gentillesse for to make cheer,  
To the knights come fro so far:  
And like in sooth as Lucifer the star,  
Gladeth the morrow at his vprising,  
So the ladies at her in coming,  
With the streams of her eyes clear,  
Goodly apport and womanly manner,  
Countenances, and excellent fairness,  
To all the Court broughten in gladness,  
For the freshness of her heavenly cheres,  
So agreeable was unto the straungeres,  
At her entry, that in especial,  
Hem thought it like a thing celestial,  
Enhasting him in full knightly wise,  
Against hem goodly to arise,  
And as they met with humble countenance,  
Full cunningly did her observance,  
Him conveying in to her sitting place,  
But soothly I have leiser none ne space,  
To rehearse and put in remembrance,  
Holly the manner of her dalliance,  
It were to long for you to abide,  
But well I wot that the god Cupid,  
By influence of his mighty hon,  
And the fervence of his fiery brand,  
Her meeting first fortuned hath so well,  
That his arrows of gold, and not of steel,  
Yperced han the knights hearts tweine,  
Through the breast with such a lusty peine,  
That there abode sharp, as spear, or lance,  
Deep yficched the point of remembrance,  
Which may not lightly razed be away,  
And thus in joy they drive forth the day,  
In play and revel for the knight's sake,  
And toward night they her chambre take,  
At ●ue time as her fader bad,  
And on her weigh the knights him lad,  
Reverently up by many a stair,  
Taking leave 'gan anon repair  
To her lodging in full stately a Tower,  
Assigned to him by the herbeiour,  
And after ipices plenty, and the wine  
In cups great, wrought of gold full fine,  
Without tarrying, to bedde strait they gone,  
Touching her rest whether they sleep or non,  
deemeth ye lovers, that in such manner thing,  
By experience have fully knowledging,  
For it is not declared in my book,  
But as I find, the king all night woke,  
Thoughtful in heart the story specifies,  
Musing sore and full of fantasies,  
First adverting the great worthiness  
Of these knights and the seemliness,  
Her lusty youth, her force, and her manhood,  
And how they were come of royal blood,  
And this he 'gan to revolve about,  
And in his heart having a manner of doubt,  
atween two hanging in a balance,  
whether he should make an alliance  
Atweens his daughters & the knight's tweine,  
For one thing ay his heart 'gan constrain,  
The remembrance of his avision,  
Of which aforne made is amention,  
Touching the Lion, and the wild Boar,  
It needeth not to rehearse it no more,  
Casting always in his fantasy,  
What it might clearly signify,  
This dark dream, that was hid and close.  
But on the morrow Adrastus up arose,  
And to the Temple the right way he took,  
And 'gan pray devoutly on his book,  
To the gods of his dream to specify,  
And they him bede homeward for to high,  
And to behold in the knight's shields,  
The fell beasts painted in the fields,  
Which shall to him be clear inspection,  
Full plainly making declaration  
Of his dream which he had on the night:  
And Adrastus enhasted him full right,  
In her shields wisely to behold,  
Where that he saw, as the gods told,  
In the shields hanging upon hooks,  
The beasts rage with her mortal crooks,  
And to purpose like as write Bochas,  
Polimite full streite enbraced was,  
In the hide of a fierce lion,  
And Tideus above his Habergeoun,  
A gipoun had, hideous sharp and hoor,  
Wrought of the bristles of a wild Boor,  
The which beasts as the story leres,  
Were wrought and beat upon her baneres,  
Displayed broad when they should fight,  
Wherefore the king when he had a sight,  
At his repair in heart was full glad,  
And with a face full demure and sad,  
With his lords that he about him had,  
To the temple he the knights lad,  
And when they had with all circumstances,  
Of Rites old done her obseruances,  
Home to the Court they return ayein,  
And in hall, rich, and well besein,  
This worthy king of heart liberal,  
Made a feast, solemn and rial,  
Which in deintees surely did excel,  
But it were vein every course to tell,  
Her strange sews and other soteltees,  
Ne how they sat like her degrees,  
For lack of time I let overslide.  
And after meat, Adrastus took aside  
The knights two, and like a prudent man,  
In secree wise thus his tale he 'gan.   

How Adrastus spoke to the Knights in secret touching the marriage of his Daughters.  
Sirs (qd. he) I ne doubt it nought,  
That it is fresh & green ay in your thought,  
How that first by god's ordinance,  
And after next through fate's purveyance,  
And by werking of fortunes hand,  
How ye were brought in to this land,  
Both tweine, but now this last night,  
Of who's coming I am full glad and light,  
First in myself shortly to express,  
When I consider and see the likeliness  
Of your persons with the circumstances,  
And holle the manner of your governances,  
Seing full well whereto should I feign,  
Ye been likely hereafter to attain  
To great estate and abundance of good,  
Through your birth and your rial blood,  
Ye may not fail but ye have wrong,  
For ye are both manly and right strong:  
And for to set your hearts more at rest,  
My purpose is I hope for the best,  
So that in you be no variance,  
To make a knot as be alliance,  
atween you and my daughters two,  
If your hearts' accord we'll thereto,  
And for I am fully in despair,  
To succeed for to have an heir,  
Therefore ye shall have possession,  
During my life of half my region,  
Forth with in hon, and all after my day,  
There is no man that thereto shall say nay,  
And soothly after when that I am grave,  
Each of you shall his part have  
Of this kingdom as I have provided,  
This is to say, it shall be divided  
atween you two everich to be crowned,  
Your properties be equity compounded,  
So egaly, in every man's sight,  
That each of you enjoy shall his right,  
And in your wit ye shall the land amend,  
And of manhood knightly it defend,  
against our enemies and our mortal soon,  
And for the days passed been and goon,  
Of my desires and my lusty youth,  
I am full set for to make it couth,  
That ye shall have like mine opinion,  
The governance of all this region.  
To this intent me seemeth for the best,  
Ye to govern and I to live in rest,  
Fully to follow the lust of my desires,  
Hunt, and hawk, in woods and rivers,  
When so ever I have thereto pleasance,  
And for to have none other attendance  
Unto nothing but to mine ease,  
For which shortly yif it agree and please,  
That I have said to you that ben so wise,  
And be according unto your avise,  
Delayeth not but in words plein,  
That you seemeth give answer again.  
And when Adrastus had his tale fined,  
Tideus with head full low inclined,  
As he that was a veray gentle knight,  
With his power and his full might,  
Full humbly thanked the king,  
Touching his proffer and so high a thing,  
And for his party said he would assent,  
Fully of heart never to repent,  
To all that ever the king hath said:  
And Polimite was also apaid,  
In the story as it is comprehended,  
On every part fully is holle descended,  
The king's will to fulfil in deed,  
From point to point & there upon proceed,  
Whether so that ever they win or less,  
And Tideus made his brother cheese,  
Of gentleness and of courtesy,  
Which that was most to his fantasy,  
Of the Sisters for to have to wive,  
And he in sooth chosen hath Argive,  
Which eldest was full womanly to see,  
And Tideus took Deiphile,  
Of her beauty most sovereign excellent.  
Adrastus throughout his land hath sent,  
For his lords, and his Baronage,  
To be present at the marriage  
Of the knights, and make no letting,  
And they each one come at his bidding,  
In goodly wise, meek and full benign,  
Ayein the day that he did assign,  
And thidre come full many a lusty knight,  
Full we'll besein, and many a lady bright,  
From every cost and many a fresh squire,  
The story seith and many a communer,  
To behold the great rialte,  
And the manner of this solemnity,  
But to tell all the circumstances  
Of just, revel, and the divers dances,  
The feasts rich, and the yeftes great,  
The painful sighs and the fervent heat  
Of love's folk, brenning as the gleed,  
And devose of many a solein weed,  
The touches stole, and the amorous looks,  
By sotell craft leide out lines and hokes,  
The jealous folk to traien and beguile,  
In their awaits with many a sundry wile,  
All this in sooth descriven I ne can,  
But well I, the new fame ran  
This mean while with some swift passage,  
Unto the Thebes, of this marriage,  
And be report true and not feigned,  
Tho when thereof the ears hath attained,  
Mine Author writ of Ethiocles,  
Touching the honour, and the great increases  
Of Polimite highly magnified,  
And that he newly was allied  
With Adrastus in the land of Arge,  
The which thing he greatly 'gan to charge,  
Dreading inly, that this Marriage  
Shall after time turn to his damage,  
Sore musing, and casting up and down  
The great power and the high renown  
Of Adrastus, the which of Greeks land  
Had all the power soget to his hon,  
Lest that he for Polimites sake,  
Would upon him a new war make,  
But if that he like the conventioun,  
At time set deliver up the town  
To his brother, by bond of oath sworn,  
And by covenant assured here toforne,  
If ye remember, late as I you told,  
Which he was in purpose for to hold,  
But for his best, cast him for to vary,  
And thereupon list no longer tarry,  
Liche his desires to shape remedies,  
And first he sent for his next allies,  
In whom he had his most affiance,  
For his lords that had governance  
Of his kingdom, to come to him anon,  
And when they weren present everichon,  
He said plainly weening for the best,  
That his heart shall never be in rest,  
But in sorrow and in a manner of dread,  
Till his brother utterly be dead,  
That he in Thebes in his royal seat  
Might alone reign in quiet,  
He meant himself, shortly and none other,  
Vnpertourbed of Polimite his brother,  
And at his counsel divers of intent,  
I find written three folks were present,  
Some in sooth that faithful were and true,  
And some also that can change of new,  
And other eke that between tweine,  
Covertly could under colour feign.   

Commendation of Troth.  
* THE first said, above all thing,  
Troth should long unto a king,  
Of his word not be variable,  
But plein and hool, as a contre stable.   

How Troth is preferred in the Book of Esdre aforne Kings, Women, and Wine.  
For troth first without any ween,  
Is chief pillar that may a king sustain  
In joy and honour for to lead his life,  
For troth sometime had a prerogative,  
As of Esdre, the book can specify,  
Record I take of prudent Neemie,  
That worthy kings for all her great pride,  
Wine, and women, been eke set aside,  
With all power and domination,  
Having reward in comparison  
To trouths might, and trouths worthiness,  
For as Esdre plainly both express,  
Who so taketh heed in the same place,  
The influence soothly and the grace,  
Of troth alone this old Neemie  
Got him licence to re-edify  
The walls new of Jerusalem,  
Which is treasure chief of every Realm,  
* For Solomon write, how the things tweine,  
Troth, and mercy, linked in a chain   

Troth and Mercy preserven a King from all Adversity.  
Preserve a king, like to his decree,  
From all mischief and all adversity:  
Alas therefore that any doubleness,  
Variance, or else unsikernesse,   

Change nor doubleness should not be in a King.  
Change of word or mutability,  
Fraud or deceit, or instabilite,  
Should in a king have domination,  
To causen after his destruction.  
Of kings readeth the story down by row,  
And seeth how many have been overtrowe  
Through her falsehood, from fortunes wheel,  
For unto God, it pleaseth never adele  
A king to be double of intent,  
For it may hap that the world is went,  
Full oft sith, by sleight of her werking,  
But thus the truth God seeth in every thing,  
Right as it is, for there may be no cloud  
Toforne his sight, troth for to shroud,  
It may be clipsed and darked by deceit,  
By false engine ligging in aweite,  
As a serpent for to undermine,  
But at last it will clearly shine,  
Who that saith nay, & show his bright beams,  
For it in sooth of kingdoms and of realms,  
Is bearer up and conservatrice,  
From all mischief and soothfast mediatrice,  
To God above who so list to see,  
To keep a king in prosperity,  
On every side as I affirm dar,  
For which ye kings & lords beeths we'll war,  
Your behests justly for to hold,  
And thinketh how Thebes, with his walls old,  
Destroyed was platly this is no les,  
For the doubleness of Ethiocles,  
That with his people sore after bought,  
Only for that he not by conseil wrought,  
Of him that were both true and wise,  
Him list not work by her avise,  
But left troth, and set his fantasy  
To be governed by false flattery,   

The Counsel of false Flatterers.  
That bade him think how he was a knight,  
And to hold of force more than of right,  
During his life the lordship of the town,  
And not to less his possession,  
For no bond nor hests made toforn,  
* But let his brother blow in an horn  
Where that him list, or pipe in a read:  
This was the counseil platly and the read  
Of such as list not to say the sooth,  
But falsely flatter, with her words smooth.  
And when they had holle her tale fined,  
Ethiocles fully is inclined,  
Whosoever thereat laugh or weep,  
Like her counseil, possession to keep,  
Who that saith nay, or grudgeth there ayein,  
Him to contraire, him thought was but vein.   

How the year was come out that Ethiocles reigned in Thebes.  
But in this while that the sheen son,  
The xii. signs round about had run,  
Sith Ethiocles by just rekening,  
In Thebes was crowned lord and king,  
Holding the Sceptre and the Diadem,  
That by reason as it would seem,  
The time was full complete and the space  
Of covenant he should void his place,  
And Polimite eke his journey make  
Toward Thebes possession to take,  
Of due title but he had wrong,  
Which thought in sooth, the year was wondre long:  
Of his exile or that it come about  
And for he had in heart a manner of doubt,  
Lest in his brother were falsehood found,  
To acquit himself like as he was bound,  
To Adrastus he 'gan declare his heart,  
Beseeching him this matter to advert,  
And thereupon to give counsel soon,  
Touching his right what was best to done,  
Whether it were best to go or to abide,  
Or like a knight, manly to ride  
Himself alone and make no message,  
For to challenge his rightful heritage,  
Within Thebes either by pees or strife,  
And thereupon to jeoperd his life,  
Thus was he set, for all his fers brother:  
But Adrastus soothly thought another  
Bet was to send, than himself to gone,  
Lest he were trapped among his mortal fone,  
Having his brother suspect in this case,  
That by fraud or by some fallas,  
He would work his destructioun,  
If he were hardy to entre into the town,  
For which he had him prudently take heed,  
Fully concluding how it were more speed  
That some other be to Thebes sent,  
To perceive fully th'intent  
Of Ethiocles inward by some sign,  
And if that he his crown will resign,  
For thilk year like as he made his oath,  
And when he knew how his purpose goth,  
Thereupon to werken and proceed,  
And thus Adrastus wisely 'gan him read.   

How Tideus took upon him to do the message of Polimite his Brother.  
And while they treat upon this matter,  
Tideus with a manly cheer,  
Said utterly for his brother's sake,  
This message he would undertake,  
With whole themprise of thenbassiate,  
Were it welefull or infortunate,  
He will not spare whatsoever betid.  
But Adrastus, on that other side,  
And Polimite in conclusion,  
Were contraire to that opinion,  
And said sooth as hem thought right,  
Sith that he was so well a proved knight,  
And descended of so worthy blood,  
That they nold for none earthly good,  
For all Thebes with the regalty,  
Put his body in such jeopardy:  
But all this thing availeth him right nought,  
For he will forth, how dear that it be bought,  
Taking leave first of all the estates,  
And armed him in mail, and sure plates,  
And shaped him forth upon his journey,  
Who made then sorrow, but Deiphile.   

The sorrow of Deiphile, when Tideus went toward Thebes the City.  
With bitter tears dewed all her face,  
Full oft scythes, swooning in the place,  
Trist and mourning in her black weed:  
And when she saw that he took his stead,  
So inwardly increased 'gan her moan,  
Seeing her lord so riding forth alone  
Upon his way, this worthy Tideus:  
And in all haste, the story telleth us,  
He speedeth him so, making no delays,  
That in the space of few days  
The high towers of Thebes he 'gan see,  
And entered is into that city,  
Wisely enquiring where the palace stood,  
And like a knight thither straight he road,  
Marked full well in many a man's sight,  
Like Mars himself, in steel armed bright,  
Till he attained hath the chief dungeon,  
Where as the king held his mansion,  
And through the palace with a knightly look,  
Into the hall the right way he took,  
From his stead, when he light adown,  
Not afeard, but hardy as lion,  
Where as the king, with lords a great rout,  
In the hall sitting round about,  
He entered in, most manful of courage,  
To execute the fine of his message,  
And as him thought, convenient and due,  
Full cunningly he 'gan the king salve,  
Requiring him of kingly excellence,  
In goodly wise to give him audience,  
And not disdain, neither in port ne cheer,  
Sith he was come as a messangere  
From Polimite his own brother dear,  
Ginning his tale thus as ye shall here.   

How wisely and how knightly Tideus did his message.  
QVod he, unto your worthiness  
My purpose is briefly to express  
The effect holly, as in sentement,  
Of the message, why that I am sent,  
It were long process to make,  
But of my matter the very ground to take,  
In eschewing of prolixity,  
And void away all superfluity,  
Sith yourself best aught to understand  
The cause fully, that we have on hon,  
And eke conceive the intent of my meaning,  
Of rightwiseness longing to a king:  
First considered, if that ye take heed,  
When Edippus the old king was deed,  
How that yourself, and your brother believe,  
For the crown contagiously 'gan strive,  
As mortal foes, by full great hatred,  
Which of you two should first succeed,  
Till that ye were by means reconciled,  
Ye to reign, and he to been exiled  
Out of this town for a years space,  
And then ayeine resort into his place,  
To reign as king, and ye to voiden out,  
So as your turn by process cometh about,  
every of you patiently tendure  
Thentrechaunging of his adventure,  
Who were put out, or stood in his estate,  
Thereupon to make no debate,  
Liche the covenant and conventioun,  
Enrolled up by lords of the town,  
Which of reason may not be denied,  
Sithen ye have a year occupied:   

The request that Tideus made in the name of Polimite, under the title of Convention.  
Polimite requireth you of right,  
To acquit you as a true knight,  
In eschewing of mortal war and strife,  
Sith ye had a prerogative,  
As eldest brother, for to reign aforne,  
And thinketh how that ye be sworn  
Your oath to keep, and make no tarrying,  
Holly adverting, liche a prudent king,  
* That troth is more in comparison,  
Than all the treasure of your region,  
More acceptable unto God and man,  
Than all the richesses that ye reken can,  
Wherefore in haste, and let there be no sloth,  
Quiteth yourself justly in your troth  
Unto your brother, avoiding this city,  
And let him reign in his royal see,  
The crown of Thebes a year to occupy,  
Then will all Greece praise and magnify  
Your high renown, and may say none other,  
But ye acquit you justly to your brother:  
This whole th'effect of all that I will said,  
Answer expectant what ye will send ayain.  
When Tideus had told his tale,  
Ethiocles triste and wonder pale,  
His conceit first in manner hath refreined,  
Dissimuling under colour feigned,  
Showing a cheer in manner debonair,  
To his intent wonderly contraire,  
Inward in heart wood and furious,  
Tourning his face towards Tideus,  
He 'gan abreid and at last out spoke,  
And even thus unto him he spoke.   

The Answer of King Ethiocles.  
I have great marvel (qd. he) in my thought,  
Of the message which that thou hast brought,  
That my brother, as thou hast expounded,  
Desireth so in Thebes to be crowned,  
Having regard to the abundance,  
The great plenty, and the suffisance,  
That he hath now with the king of Arge,  
That me seemeth he should little charge  
To have Lordship or dominian  
In the bounds of this little town,  
Sith he reigneth so freshly in his flours,  
Surmounting all his predecessors,  
By new increase, through fortunes might:  
Wherefore in heart I am right glad & light,  
Fully trusting, if I had need,  
To his help, that without dread,  
Like a brother, that I should him find  
To me ward faithful, true, and kind,  
Supposing plainly evermore,  
Of this reign he set but little store,  
Nor casteth him not for so short a while,  
As for a year his brother to exile,  
To live in poverty, and in great distress,  
He will not suffer it of his high noblesse,  
It were no token of no brother heed,  
But a sign rather of hatred,  
To interrupt my possession  
Of this little poor Region.  
All that he spoke, who so could advert,  
Of very scorn rooted in his heart,  
As hem seempt, the story can you teach,  
By the surplus sooth of his speech,  
He might no longer him restrain,  
But plainly said, as between us tweine,  
I mean thus, Polimite and me,  
There is no bond nor surety,  
Ne faith maked, that may him avail,  
As he claimeth, to give the governaile  
Of this city, neither year ne day,  
For I shall let him, sooth if I may,  
That he shall not by title of his bond,  
Enjoy in Thebes half a foot of land,  
Let him keep that he hath won,  
For I purpose, as I have begun,  
To reign in Thebes henceforth all my live,  
Maugre all hem that thereayen strive,  
And in despite of his friends all,  
Or the counsel that him list to call,  
Let him be sure, and know this right well,  
His manacing I dread never a deal,  
And sikerly, as to my device,  
It showeth well that thou art not wise,  
But suppressed with a manner of rage,  
To take on thee this surquedous message,  
And presumest to do so high offence,  
So boldly to speak in my presence,  
But all in fere, avail shall right nought,  
For the tithings that thou hast brought  
Shall unto him be disencreace,  
He better were to have been in peace,  
Than of folly and presumption,  
Against me to seech occasion,  
For I live, and thereto here mine hon,  
As I said erst, he winneth here no land,  
While the wall of this town may stoned,  
For plainly I do thee to understand,  
That they shall first be beat down full low,  
And all the towers to the earth ythrow,  
Ere he in Thebes have any thing ado,  
Lo here is all, return and say him so.  
When Tideus saw the fervent ire  
Of the king, with anger set on fire,  
Full of despite, and of Melancholy,  
Conceiving eke the great felony  
In his apport, like as he were wood,  
This worthy knight a little while stood  
Sad and demure, ere he would ought seine,  
But at last thus he said ayeine.   

The knightly Answer that Tideus gave ayeine to the King.  
Certes (qd. he) I conceive of new,  
About thee thy counsel is untrue,  
I dare it sane, and vow it at best,  
Ne thou art not faithful of thy behest,  
Stable of thy word that thou hast said toforne,  
But deceivable, and falsely eke forsworn,  
And eke perjurate of thine assured oath:  
But whether so be that thou be lief or wroth,  
I say thee shortly, hold it for no fage,  
All this shall turn unto thy damage,  
Trist it well, and in full cruel wise  
All greeks land shall upon thee arise,  
To be avenged, and manly to redress  
The great untruth and the high falseness  
Which that thou hast again thy brother wrought,  
It shall full dear after this be bought,  
And verily indeed, as thou shalt lere,  
King Adrastus will meddle in this matter,  
And all the Lords about him environ,  
That bounden be to his subjection,  
Princes, Dukes, and many a noble Knight,  
In sustaining of thy brothers right,  
Shall on a day with spear and with shield  
Against thee be gadred in a field,  
Knightly to prove all by one assent,  
That thou art falls, and double of intent,  
Of thy promise attaint, and eke outrayed,  
And leave me well, it shall not be delayed,  
But in all hast execute in deed:  
* Like thy desert, thou shalt have thy meed,  
For God above, and his rightwiseness,  
Such open wrong shall in haste redress,  
And of his might all such collusion  
Reform ayeine, and all extortion,  
* For this the fine, Falshood shall not veil,  
Against troth in field to holden battle,  
Wrong is crooked, both halt and lame,  
And here anon in my brother's name,  
As I that am his next ally,  
At his querele, shortly I defy,  
Fully avised, with all mine hole intent,  
And ye Lords, that been here present,  
I you require of your worthiness,  
To say troth, and bear witness  
When time cometh, and justly to record,  
How your king falsely 'gan discord  
From his hest, of false variance,  
And think on, how ye of faith and ligeance  
Are bound eachone, ye may not go therefrom,  
For to obey and serve both two  
This next year, now anon following,  
As to your lord, and to your true king  
Polimite, though he be now absent,  
By just accord made in Parliament,  
At your device, which sitten here a row,  
Engrossed was up, as it is well know,  
And enroled only for witness  
In your Registers to void all falseness,  
That none of you vary may of new  
From that I say, but if he be vnt●ew,  
For which I read yourself to acquit,  
Let no time longer lie in respite,  
But at ones, without more tarrying,  
Of manly force fet home your king,  
Maugre your fone, like as ye are bound,  
And let in you no sloth be found  
To put him justly in possession,  
This is my counsel in conclusion.   

How manly Tideus departed from the King.  
When Tideus had his message said,  
Like to the charge that was on him said,  
As he that list no longer there sojourn,  
From the king he 'gan his face turn,  
Not astonished, nor in his heart afeard,  
But full proudly laid hon on his sword,  
And in despite, who was lief or loath,  
A stern pace through the hall he goth  
Through the court, and manly took his stead,  
And out of Thebes fast 'gan him speed,  
Enhasting him, till he was at large,  
And sped him forth toward the land of Arge.  
Thus leave I him riding forth a while,  
Whiles that I return ayeine my stile  
Unto the king, which in the hall stood  
Among his lords, furious and wood,  
And his heart wroth, and evil apaied  
Of the words that Tideus had said,  
Specially having remembrance  
On the proud despitous defiance,  
Whiles that he fat in his royal See,  
Upon which he would avenged be  
Full cruelly, what that ever befall,  
And in his ire he 'gan to him call  
Chief Constable of his Chivalry,  
Charging him fast for to high,  
With all the worthy chose of his household,  
Such as he knew most manful and bold,  
In all haste Tideus for to sue,  
Tofore or he out of his land remue,  
Up peine of life, and losing of her head,  
Without mercy anon that he be dead.   

How falsely Ethiocles laid an Ambushment in the way to have slain Tideus in his repair.  
And of knights fifty were in number,  
Mine author saith, unwarely him to cumber,  
Armed eachone in mail and thick steel,  
And therewithal yhorsed wonder well,  
At o postern forth they gone to ride,  
By a gein path, that lay out aside,  
Secretly, that no man him aspy,  
Only of treason, and of felony,  
They hast him forth all the long day  
Of cruel malice, for to stop his way,  
Through a forest, all of one assent,  
Full covertly for tolay a ambushment  
Under an hill at a straight passage,  
To fallen on him at more avauntage,  
The same way that Tideus 'gan draw,  
At thilk mount where the Sphinx was slaw,  
He nothing ware in his opinion,  
Of the compassed conspiration,  
But innocent, like a gentle knight,  
Road aye forth, till it drow to night,  
Sole by himself without company,  
Having no man him to wise or gie,  
But at last, lifting up his heed,  
Toward eve he 'gan to take heed,  
Mid of his way, right as any line,  
Thought he saw against the Moon shine  
Shields fresh, and plates burned bright,  
The which environ, cast a great light,  
Imagining in his fantasy,  
There was treason or conspiracy  
Wrought by the king, his journey for to let,  
And of all that he nothing set,  
But well assured in his manly heart,  
List not ones aside to divert,  
But kept his way, his shield upon his breast,  
And cast his spear manly in the rest:   

How worthy Tideus outrayed fifty Knights, lying in await for to slaen him.  
And the first platly that he met,  
Through the body proudly he him smette,  
That he fell dead, chief master of him all,  
And then at ones they upon him fall,  
On every pace, by compass environ,  
But Tideus through his high renown,  
His bloody sword let about him glide,  
He fleeth and killeth upon every side,  
In his ire and his mortal tene,  
That marvel it was how he might so sustain  
Against him all, on every half beset,  
But his sword was so sharp whet,  
That his foemen found it full unsoot,  
But he alas was made light on foot,  
By force grounded in full great distress,  
But of knighthood and of high prowess  
Up he rose, maugre all his fone,  
And as they came, he slough him one by one,  
Like a Lion rampant in his rage,  
And on this hill he found a narrow passage,  
Which that he took, of full high prudence,  
And liche a Bore standing at his defence,  
As his foemen proudly him assail,  
Upon the plein her blood he made to rail,  
All environ, that the soil wax red,  
Now here, now there, as they fellen dead,  
That here lay one, and there lay two or three,  
So merciless in his cruelty  
Thilk day he was upon him found,  
And at ones his enemy did confound,  
Where as he stood, this mighty champion,  
Beside he saw with water turned down,  
An huge stone, large, round and square,  
And suddenly ere that they were ware,  
As it had lain there for the nonce,  
Upon his foes he rolled it at ones,  
That ten of him wenten unto wrack,  
And the remnant amazed, drew aback,  
For one by one they went to mischance:  
Thus finally he brought to outrance  
Him everychone, Tideus as believe,  
That none but one left of him alive,  
Himself yhurt and ywounded keen,  
Through his harness bleeding on the green,  
The Theban knights in compass round about,  
In the valley slain all the whole rout,  
Which pitously again the Moon gape,  
For none of him shortly might escape,  
But dead eachone, as they have deserved,  
Save one except, the which was reserved  
By Tideus, of this intention  
To the king to make relation,  
How his knights have on her journey sped,  
Euerich of him his life left for a wed,  
And at meeting how they have him borne,  
To tell all, he assured was and sworn  
To Tideus, full lowly on his knee,  
By which ensample openly ye may see,   

How Truth with little Multitude hath ever in the fine, Victory of Falsehood.  
Ayens troth falsehood hath no might,  
Fie on quarrels, not grounded upon right,  
Without which may be no victory,  
For every man have this in memory,  
That great power shortly to conclude,  
Plenty of good, or great multitude,  
Sleight or engine, force or felony,  
Arne too feeble to hold a champarty  
Against troth, who that list take heed,  
For at end falsehood may not speed  
Tendure long, ye shall find it thus,  
Record I take of worthy Tideus,  
That arted his hon through troths excellence,  
Fifty knights slough in his defence,  
But one except, as I late told,  
Sworn and assured, with his hand uphold,  
The king tenforme how they were attaint:  
And Tideus of bleeding was wonder faint,  
Mate and weary, and in great distress,  
And overlaid of very feebleness,  
But as he might tho himself sustain,  
He took his horse standing on the green,  
Worthed up, and forth he 'gan to ride  
An easy pace, with his wounds wide,  
And sooth yet, in his opinion,  
He was always afeard of treason,  
But anguishous, and full of busy peine,  
He road him forth, till he did attain  
Into the bounds of Ligurgus' land,  
A worthy king, and manly of his hon,   

How Tideus all to wounded, came into Ligurgus' land.  
And he full pale only for lack of blood,  
Tideus saw where a Castle stood,  
Strong and mighty, built upon a roche,  
Toward which fast he 'gan approach,  
Conveyed thither by clearness of the stone,  
That by night, ayens the Moon shone,  
On high towers, with crests Martial,  
And joining almost to the wall,  
Was a garden, little out beside,  
Into which Tideus 'gan to ride  
Of adventure, by a gate small,  
And there he found, for to reken all,  
A lusty Erber, unto his device,  
Sweet and fresh, like a Paradise,  
Very heavenly of inspectioun,  
And first of all he alight adoun,  
The goodly place when that he beheld,  
And from his neck he voided hath his shield,  
Drew the bridle from his horse heed,  
Let him go, and took no manner heed,  
Through the garden that enclosed was,  
Him to pasture on the soot grass,  
And Tideus more heavy than is Led,  
Upon the herbs green, white, and red,  
As him thought that time for the best,  
He laid him down for to take his rest,  
Of weariness, desirous to sleep,  
And none await his body for to keep,  
And with dreams grudged ever among,  
There he lay till the Lark song  
With notes new, high up in the air,  
The glad morrow rody and right fair,  
Phoebus also casting up his beams,  
The high hills gilded with his streams,  
The silver dew upon the herbs round,  
There Tideus lay upon the cold ground,  
At uprist of the sheen Sun,  
And stoundmeale his green wounds run  
Round about, that the soil depeint  
Was of the green with the red meint.   

How Ligurgus Daughter found Tideus sleeping in the Herber, all forwounded.  
And every morrow, for wholesomeness of air,  
Ligurgus' daughter did make her repair  
Of custom aye among the flowers new  
In the garden, of many a divers hue,  
Such joy had she for to take heed,  
On her stalks for to seen hem spread,  
In the allures walking to and fro:  
And when she had a little while go,  
Herself alone casting up her sight,  
She beheld where an armed knight  
Lay to rest him on the herbs cold,  
And him beside she 'gan eke behold  
His mighty stead walking here and there,  
And she anon fell in a manner fere,  
Specially when she saw the blood  
Sprad on the green, about there she stood,  
But at last she caught hardiness,  
And womanly 'gan her for to dress  
Toward the knight, having a manner dread,  
And great doubt lest that he were deed:  
And of her will sooth this was chief,  
That she thought for to make a priefe,  
How that it stood of this man full oft,  
And forth she goeth, and toucheth him soft,  
Where as he lay, with her honds small:  
And with a face deadly bleike and pale,  
Liche as a man adawed in a swough,  
He up start, and his sword drought,  
Not fully out, but put it up ayeine,  
Anon as he hath the Lady seine,  
Beseeching her only of her grace,  
To have pity on his trespass,  
And rue on him of her womanhead,  
For of a fray he was fall in dread,  
Lest he had been assailed of new  
Of the Thebans, proved full untrue,  
For dread of which he was so rechlees,  
Full humbly him yielding to the pees,  
Trist in himself, that he passed had his bounds.  
And when that she saw his mortal wounds,  
She had routh, of very gentillesse,  
Of his disease and his distress,  
And had he should be nothing dismayed,  
Nor in heart sorrifull nor affrayed,  
Discomfort him in no manner thing,  
For I (qd. she) am daughter to the king  
Called Ligurge, which greatly me delight  
Every morrow this garden to visit,  
It is to me so passingly disport,  
Wherefore (qd. she) beth of good comfort:   

How womanly the Lady acquit her to Tideus in his Disease.  
For no wight here touching your voyage,  
Shall hinder you, ne do you no damage,  
And if ye list of all your adventure  
The plain troth unto me discure,  
I will in sooth do my business,  
To reform your grievous heaviness  
With all my might, and whole my diligence,  
That I hope of your great offence,  
Ye shall have help in your adversity,  
And as ferreforth as it lieth in me,  
Trusteth right well, ye shall no fault find:  
And when he saw that she was so kind,  
So womanly, so goodly and benign  
In all her port by many a divers sign,  
He unto her by order will not spare,  
His aventures fully to declare  
In Thebes first touching his message,  
And at hill of the woody rage,  
Of his wounds and of his hurts sore,  
It were but vain to rehearse it more,  
By and by he told it everydeal,  
The which in sooth she liked never adele,  
But had routh and compassion  
Of his mischief, wrought by false treason,  
Riding in haste, that he should her sue,  
And womanly, as her thought due,  
To a chamber she led him up aloft,  
Full well beseine, there in a bed right soft,  
Richly abouten apparrailed,  
With cloth of gold all the flower irailed  
Of the same, both in length and breed,  
And first this Lady, of her womanhead,  
Her women did bid, as goodly as they can,  
To be attendant unto this wounded man,  
And when he was unarmed to his shirt,  
She made first wash his wounds smart,   

How Tideus was refreshed in the Castle of the Lady.  
And search him well with divers instruments,  
And made fet sundry ointments,  
And Leeches eke, the best she could find,  
Full craftily to staunch him and to bind:  
And every thing that may done him ease,  
To suage his peine, or his woe tapease,  
Was in the Court and in the Castle sought,  
And by her bidding to her chamber wrought,  
And for his sake, she hath after sent  
For such dainties as were convenient,  
Most nutritife by Physics lore,  
Hem that were seek or wounded, to restore,  
Making her women eke to taken keep,  
And await on him on nights when he sleep,  
And be well aware that nothing astart,  
That was or might be lusty to his hart.  
And with all this, she prayed him abide,  
Till he were strong and mighty for to ride,  
In the Castle to play him and disport,  
And at leiser home ayeine resort,  
When he might by wield him at his large,  
But all for nought he will home to Arge,  
took his leave on the next day,  
Without abode to hast him on his way,  
Lowly thanking unto her goodness,  
Of her freedom and bounteous largesse,  
So womanly, that her list take heed,  
Him to refresh in his great need,  
Behoting her with all his full might,  
He would be her servant and her true knight  
While he liveth, of what she will him charge,  
And forth he road till he come to Arge,   

How Tideus repeired is home to Arge.  
In full great haste, & would no where dwell,  
But what should I rehearse, either tell  
Of his repair, the coasts or the pleines,  
The great roches, or the high mountains,  
Or all the manere of his home coming,  
Of the meeting, nor the welcoming,  
Nor the joy that Adrastus made,  
Nor how his sister or his wife were glade,  
Nor how that they, whereto should I write,  
Enbraced him in her arms white,  
Nor the gadering about him, or the prees,  
Nor the sorrow that Polimites  
Made in himself, to see him sore wounded,  
His grievous hurts, his sores eke unsounded,  
His deadly look, and his face pale,  
Of all this to gin a new tale,  
It were in sooth a manner idleness,  
Nor how himself in order did express,  
First how that he in Thebes hath him borne,  
Ne how the king falsely was forsworn,  
Nor of thawait nor treason that he set,  
When fifty knights on the way him met,  
As ye have heard all the manere how,  
Without which my tale is long enough:  
But Adrastus made men to seach  
In every coast for many a divers Leach,  
To come in haste, and make no tarrying  
Upon a peine, by bidding of the king  
To done her craft, that he were recured,  
And of his force in every part assured.  
And they eachone so her cunning show,  
That in space of a days few  
He was all whole made of his sickness,  
There was though joy, & then was their gladness,  
Throughout the court, & through all the town,  
For every man hath such opinion  
In Tideus, for his gentillesse,  
For his manhood, and his lowliness,  
That he was hold the most famous knight,  
And best beloved in every man's sight,  
Throughout Greece in every region.  
But now must I make a digression,  
To tell shortly, as in sentement,  
Of thilk knight that Tideus hath sent  
Into Thebes, only to declare  
Of the great mischief and the evil fare,  
Unto the king, how it is befall,  
The open troth of his knights all,  
How Tideus hath slain him everychone,  
That save himself, there escaped none,  
Which was reserved from shedding of his blood,  
The king to tell plainly how it stood:  
And when he had rehearsed every point,  
Ethiocles stood in such disjoint,   

How Ethiocles sore was astonished, when he heard the death of his Knights.  
Of hateful ire he wext nigh wood,  
And in his teen and in his fell mood,  
Of cruel malice to the knight he spoke,  
And felly said, that it was for lack  
Only of manhood, & through her cowardice,  
That they were slain in so mortal wise,  
And hanged be he high by the neck,  
That of your death or of your slaughter reck,  
Or you compleine, either one or all,  
Of the mischief that is you befall,  
I do no force that none of you astart,  
But sigh upon your false coward heart,  
That o knight hath through his renown  
Brought you all to confusion,  
Full graceless and full unhappy to:  
Nay (qd. this knight) it is nothing so.  
It is thine unhap plainly, and not ours,  
That so many worthy warriors,  
Which all her life never had shame,  
Except this querele, taken in thy name,  
That grounded was, & rooted on falseness,  
This was cause in very soothness,  
Of our unhap, I wot well, and none other,  
With thine untruth done unto thy brother,  
And that thou were so openly forsworn,  
And parcel cause, why that we were lost,  
Was falls breaking of thine assured oath.  
And though the king, mad almost for wroth,  
In purpose was for to slay this knight,  
Only for he said, unto him right,  
The which alas, both at eve and morrow,  
Suppressed was with a deadly sorrow,  
Renning aye in his remembrance,  
With the piteous and unhappy chance  
Of the great mischief and misaventure,  
Touching the death and discomfiture  
Of his fieres, and of himself also,  
That the shamefast importable woe  
So was on him, with such a mortal strife,  
That he was weary of his own life,  
Hent he hath a sword, and aside start,  
And rove himself even to the heart,  
The king himself being tho present:  
And the rumour and the noise is went  
Through Thebes, of the wood rage,  
By such as weren joined by lineage  
To the knights, slain at hill,  
That all at ones of one heart and will,  
They would have arisen throughout the City,  
Upon the king avenged for to be,  
Which of her death was chief occasion:  
But the Barons and Lords of the town  
Full busy were this rumour and disease,  
Of high prudence, to stint and appease,  
In quiet every thing to set:  
And after that, the body's home they fet  
Of the knights, like as ye have herd  
Afore yslaine, with the bloody sword  
Of Tideus, full sharp whet and ground,  
And in the field, so as they him found,  
Only of love, and of affection,  
Solemnly they brought him to the town,  
And like the manner of the rites old,  
They were first brent into ashes cold,  
And each one yburied, like to his degree,  
Lo here the kalends of adversity,  
Sorrow upon sorrow, and destruction,  
First of the king, and all the region,  
For lack only, like as I you told,  
That behests truly were not hold:  
The first ground and root of this ruin,  
As the story clearly shall determine,  
And my tale hereafter shall you lere,  
If that you list the remnant for to here.   

Finitur Pars secunda, sequitur Pars tertia.  
O Cruel Mars, full of Melancholy,  
And of thy kind, hot, combust, and dry,  
As the sparkles shown from so far,  
By the streams of the red star,  
In thy Sphere as it about goth,  
What was cause that thou were so wroth  
With hem of Thebes, through who's fervent ire  
The City brent, and was set on fire,  
As books old well rehearse con,  
Of cruel hate, rooted and begun,  
And engendered, the story maketh mind,  
Only of blood corrupt and unkind,  
By infection, called original,  
Causing a strife dreadful and mortal,  
Of which the mischief through all Grece ran,  
And King Adrastus' alderfirst began,  
Which hath him cast a conquest for to make  
Upon Thebes, for Polimites sake,  
In knightly wise there to prove his might,  
Of full intent to recure his right.  
And first of all he set a Parliament,  
And hath his letters and messengers sent  
Through Greece, to many sundry Kings,  
Hem to enhast, and make no let,  
And round about, as made is mention,  
He sent also to many a region  
For Princes, Dukes, Earls, and Barons,  
To taken up in cities and in towns,  
And to chesen out the most likeliest,  
And such as weren proved for the best,  
As of manhood, and send him up each one,  
And in her hon receive her pay anon,  
With Adrastus to Thebes for to ride,  
And though lords that with him abide   

The great purveyaunce of King Adrastus toward the City of Thebes.  
In household still, have her leave take  
To ridden home, her return to make  
In her countries, as they were of degree,  
To sustene hem, to take up mien,  
And to make him strong with knights and squeres,  
With spears, bows, and arbalasteres,  
In all the hast possible that they may,  
And to return in her best array,  
At term set, full manly to be seine  
Toforne Arge moustrens in a pleine:   

The Kings and Princes that come to Adrastus.  
And as I read full worthy of degree,  
thither come first Prothonolope,  
The which was by record of writing,  
Of Archade, son unto the king,  
And full prudent found in war and pees:  
There came also the king Gilmichenes,  
As I find, full famous of renown,  
thither come eke the king Ipomedoun:  
And passing all of knighthood and of name,  
And excelling by worthiness of fame  
The noble king, called Campaneus,  
Came eke to Arge, the story telleth thus,  
Proved full well, and had ridden fer:  
And thither come the king Meleager,  
King Genor eke, that held his royal see,  
Mine author saith, in the land of Greece:  
King Locris, and king Pirrus,  
And eke the king called Tortolonus,  
And renowned in many a region,  
There come the king called Palenon,  
Oft assayed, and found a manly knight,  
That with him brought in steel armed bright,  
Full many worthy out of his country,  
And Tideus most knightly for to see,  
That noble man, that worthy warrior,  
As he that was of worthiness the flour,  
Master and Mirror by prowess of his hon,  
Hath sent also into the mighty land  
Of Calcedoine, of which he was heir,  
That is his kingdom, both rich and feire,  
Charging his counsel and officers also,  
In all the haste that it may be do,  
To seeken out the best werriours  
Of famous knights and proved soldiers  
Through all the land, & leid on him this charge  
Without abode for to come to Arge:  
And they obey full lowly his bidding,  
Enhasting him, and made no letting,  
But sped him fast upon her journey.  
And from Thebes the mighty strong city,  
Came down knights, with many another man,  
Maugre the king, to help what they can,  
Considered first his falsehood and treason,  
Ymeved only of troth and of reason,  
Polimites, as they were sworn of yore,  
To his Crown justly him restore:  
And when they were at large out of the town,  
Unto Arge they be descended down,  
And like her oath, and her assurance,  
As they were bound only of ligeance,  
To him they come in full lowly wise,  
Lowly to done what him list devose.  
And when he had her troth full conceived,  
He hath to grace goodly hem received,  
Assigning him her place amid the host,  
Assembled there, from many a divers coast:  
That finally, in this company  
Ygadred was the flower of Chivalry,  
Ychosen out of all greeks land,  
The most knightly and manful of her hon,  
That as I trow, sith the world began,  
There was not seen so many a manly man,  
So we'll horsed with spear and with shield,  
together sembled sooth in a field:  
There men might see many strange guises  
Of arming new, and uncouth devices,  
Every man after his fantasy,  
That if I should in order specify,  
Every piece longing to armure,  
And thereupon do my busy cure,  
It were in sooth almost a day's work,  
And the terms also been so dark,  
To rehearse him clearly, and to rhyme,  
I pass over for lack of time,  
And tell I will forth of her lodging,  
How Adrastus the noble worthy king,  
Hath every lord like to his degree,  
Received well within the city,  
And there they had like to her pleasance,  
Of what needeth fulsome abundance,  
For men and horse plenty of victual,  
Commanding that nothing ne fail,  
That all these noble worthy werriours,  
Both high and low and poor soldiers,  
Yserued were of what they have need,  
For Adrastus presently took heed,   

That it availeth a King to pay his People truly her fond.  
Full lich a King, touching her term day,  
That they toforne were served to her pay,  
He was so free he list nothing restrain,  
And no man had cause to complain  
For hunger, thrust, ne for indigence,  
But all thing ready was unto her presence:  
And in a Prince it is full great reprieve,  
To suffer his people live at mischief,  
It is full heavy and grevous in her thought,  
If he habound and they have right nought,  
He may not both possede body and hart,  
He to be rich and seen his people smart,  
He may the body, of power well constrain,  
But her heart hath a full long rain,  
Maugre his might, to love at her large,  
* There may no King, on hearts set a charge,  
Ne hem coarten from her liberty,  
Men sane full often how that thought is free,  
For which each prince, Lord and governor,  
And specially each conqueror,  
Let him beware for all his high noblesse,  
That bounty, free doom, plenty, and largesse,  
By one accord, that they his bridle lead,  
Lest of his people, when he hath most need,  
He be defrauded, when he is but alone,  
Then is too late for to make his moan,  
But in his Court let him first device  
To exile Scarcehead and Covetise,  
Then is likely with freedom if he gin  
Love of his people evermore to win,  
To reign long in honour and contune,  
Ay to increase by favour of Fortune,  
And his enemies manly to oppress,  
* For love is more than great richesse.   

How love availeth more to a King, than Gold or Riches.  
Gold faileth oft, but love will abide,  
For life or death by a lords side,  
And the treasure shortly of a king  
Stondeth in love above all thing,  
Farewell lordship both morrow and eve,  
Specially when love taketh his leave,  
And who so list it Mirror for to make  
Of knightly freedom, let him ensample take  
Of Adrastus, the manly king famous,  
So liberal and so bounteous  
Unto his people at all times found,  
Which made him strong, his foemen to confound,  
And love only, his enemies to werrey,  
All Greece made his bidding to obey,  
Of one accord to knightly by his side,  
All at ones to Thebes for to ride,  
For t'avenge, sith they were so strong,  
The great injury and importable wrong  
Unto his son, and to his next ally,  
As ye to forne have heard me specify.  
But whiles greeks rest a time in pees,  
I will resort unto Ethiocles,  
Which in Thebes warily hath espied,  
By his friends as he was certified  
Of the greeks wholly the ordinance,  
Her purpose eke, and her purveyance,  
And thereof had in heart a manner dread,  
And first he took his counsel and his read   

How Ethiocles made him strong against the coming of the Greeks.  
Of the Lords and Barons of the town,  
And of the wisest of his region,  
How he might maken resistance,  
Manly to stonden at defence,  
To be so strong that there were no doubt:  
And in the country's adjacent about,  
And eke also in foreign regions  
He hath withhold all the champions,  
And thereupon he sent out his espies,  
And his friends, and his next allies,  
And all the worthy dwelling enuiroun,  
Young, fresh, and lusty, he gathered to the town,  
Maskewed his walls and his towers,  
And stuffed him with manly soldiers,  
Round about he set many gonnes,  
Great and small, and some large as tons,  
In his hasty passing fervent heat,  
He spent his treasure, and gave yefts great  
Unto knights, and worthy men of name,  
* And evermore to increase his fame,  
He gave to lords jewels manifold,  
Clothes of Velvet, Damask, and of gold,  
To get him hearts, sooth as I read,  
To help him now in his great need,  
And prudently purveyed him toforne  
Of flesh, of fish, of wine, and of corn,  
Set his Captains early and late  
With full great stuff standing at every gate,  
And made also by workmen that were true,  
Barbicans and bulwarks strong and new,  
Barreres, cheines & ditches wonder deep,  
Making his avow the city for to keep,  
While he liveth, despite of all his fone,  
And by his gods of mettle and of stone,  
Full oft he swore both of heart and thought,  
That it shall first full dear been ybought,  
And many a man, with pole-axe, sword, & knife,  
Before this town shall first less his life,  
And there shall eke many sides bleed,  
Ere that his brother possibly possede  
The town in pees, like as greeks ween:  
But at end the troth it shall be seen,  
Let him beware, and we'll toforne provide  
For Adrastus on that other side  
For his party was not negligent,  
But on a day held his parliament,  
All his lords sitting environ,  
To drive shorteley a pleine conclusion,  
And up tapoint the fine of her intent,  
But some thought it full expedient,  
Ere they proceed, to work by thaviseadvice  
Of one that was full prudent and wise,  
And circumspect in his works all,  
A worthy Bishop into age fall,  
And called was sooth by his name  
Amphiorax, of whom the great fame,   

How the Bishop Amphiorax was sent for to come unto the Greeks.  
Through all the lands, both East and South,  
Among the greeks passingly was couth,  
A man in sooth of old antiquity,  
And most accept of authority,  
First by reason of his high estate,  
And eke he was so fortunate,  
And in his works was also secre  
With the gods, knowing her privite,  
By grant of whom, as books specify,  
He had a spirit of true prophecy,  
And could aforne full openly divine  
Things begon, how they should fine,  
And eke by craft of calculation  
Yeve a doom of every question,  
And had in Magic great experience,  
And find could by heavenly influence,  
And by meving of the high stars,  
A final doom of conteke and of wars.   

The Prophecy of Amphiorax the Bishop.  
And wist well, as his gods told,  
That if Greeks forth her journey hold,  
It turn shall platly, this is no fage,  
To great mischief and great damage  
Of him eachone, and in especial,  
The most blood, right of the blood royal  
Through all Greece, it may not be withdraw  
In this voyage shortly shall be slaw,  
And of him, why the greeks went,  
Who that ever wept him or bement,  
This is the fine, and may not be succoured,  
Of the earth he should be devoured  
Quick as he was, he knew it in certain,  
And for he saw there nas none other gain  
To save his life, nor no bette defence,  
Than utterly to withdraw his presence,  
Praying his wife for him to provide,  
If he were sought, that she should him hide,  
And womanly for to keep him close,  
And of troth conceiling his purpose,  
For all his trust, touching his grievance,  
Was full set in her purveyance,  
I hope to God, that he there not dread  
Of no deceit, in her womanhead,  
She was so true, as women been eachone,  
And also close and mute as a stone,  
That she ne would, as the mill stood,  
Discuren him for no world's good.  
But finally, the greeks of intent,  
In all his dread have for this Bishop sent,   

How the Wife of Amphiorax, of conscience to save her Oath, discured her Husband.  
And sosughten so long, ere they might him find,  
For cause his wife was to him so kind,  
That so surely hath locked up his corpse,  
But for she had a manner remors  
In herself, grieving her conscience,  
Dreading to fall in great offence,  
Lest her soul were in peril lost,  
When she by oath compelled was and sworn,  
They requiring, if she could tell  
Where her lord the Bishop should dwell,  
Which to discure, her heart was full loath,  
Till time she 'gan remember on her oath,  
And could a troth of custom not deny,  
And had also great conscience to lie,  
Wonder heavy, with a sorrifull face,  
Maugre her lust, taught him to the place  
Where as he was shit up in a tower,  
All alone, having no succour,  
They fell on him, ere that he was ware,  
And set him up in a full rich chare.  
* A fool he was to jeoparde his life,  
For to discure his counsel to his wife,  
And yet she was full sorry for his sake,  
And specially when she saw him take:  
* But I hope that her heaviness  
'Gan tassuage full soon by process  
In short time, when that he was gone,  
gone There is no tempest may lest ever in one:  
But this Bishop by very force and might  
Unto greeks conveyed was full right,  
This door grey in his chair sitting,  
And they full glad weren of his coming,  
Having a trist and full opinion,  
Through the cause and occasion  
Of his wisdom and his sapience,  
And by virtue of his high prescience,  
They should eschew all adversity  
Possible to fall as in her journey,  
And as the story fully hath devised,  
Full circumspect, and right well avised,  
He hath pronounced in the parliament,  
Tofore the Lords, and the Precedent,  
His clear conceit in very sickerness,  
Not entriked with no doubleness,  
Her dismal days, and her fatal hours,  
Her aventures, and her sharp showers,  
The froward sort, and unhappy stounds,  
The complaint of her deadly wounds,  
The woeful wrath and the contrariosty  
Of fell Mars, and his cruelty,  
And how by mean of his grey mood  
There shall be shed all the worthy blood  
Of the greeks, it may not been eschewed,  
If her purpose be execute and sued,  
There is no more, this shall be the fine,  
The high noblesse shall draw to decline  
Of Greeks blood, in mischief, sorrow, & woe,  
And with all this, I myself also,  
As my fate hath before disposed,  
Deep in the ground I shall be enclosed  
And locked up in the dark vale  
Of cruel death: lo this was the tale  
That the Bishop to Adrastus told,  
Him counselling his purpose to withhold,  
In escheving of more mischief and sorrow,  
For all his gods he took to borrow,  
If the Thebans and the greeks meet,  
The fine thereof shall be so unsweet,  
That all Greece after shall it rue,  
Warning him, if they the mischief knew  
That shall follow, which no man may let,  
They would abstain a siege for to set  
Unto Thebes, and her purpose leave.  
With whose words the lords 'gan him greue,  
And therein had but full small delight,  
And every of heartily high despite,  
They abreide, and se●d he was untrue,  
And a contrever of prophecies new,  
And eke also, for all his long beard,  
An old dotard, a coward, and afeard,  
And of rancour gone to defy  
Both his calcling and his Astronomy,  
And shortly said, they took thereof none heed,  
Ne will no thing govern him by his read.  
This was the clamour & noise in every coast  
Of high and low, throughout all the host,  
And specially of the poor soldiers,  
And of lords reigning in her flours,  
And of the estates effectually I mean,  
Which of age were but tender and green,  
That have not had of Marces influence  
Of the were great experience.  
* Hear if ye list ye may consider and see,  
Of coveiting, great adversity,  
How that youth no peril cast aforne,  
Till he in mischief suddenly be lost,  
There as age provideth every thing,  
Ere he begin to casten the ending.   

How Age and Youth been of divers Opinions.  
* Youth is governed by a large reine,  
To start forth, and can him not refreine,  
But of head set on all at ones,  
As he that hurteleth against hard stones,  
Broseth himself, and unwarely perbraketh:  
But Age expert, nothing undertaketh,  
But he toforne by good discretion  
Make a due examination  
How it will turn either to bad or good:  
But youth, as fast as stirred is the blood,  
Taketh emprises of hasty wilfulness,  
joy at beginning, the end is wretchedness.  
The old prudent in all his governance,  
Full long aforne maketh purveyance:  
But youth alas by counseil will not work,  
For which full oft he stumbleth in the dark.  
Thus seld is seen, the troth to termine,  
That age and youth draw by o line,  
And where that folly hath domination,  
Wisdom is put in subjection:   

How that Wisdom without Supportation availeth little or nought.  
Like as this bishop with all his high prudence,  
For cause he might have none audience,  
All his wisdom and his prophecy  
Of the greeks was holden but folly,  
For though Plato, and wise Socrates,  
Moral Seneke, and Diogenes,  
Albumaser, and prudent Theolonee,  
And Tullius, that had soveraintee  
Whilom in Rome, as of eloquence,  
Though all these, shortly in sentence,  
Were alive, most cunning and expert,  
And no man list her counsel to advert,  
Nor of her saws for to taken heed,  
What might avail, and it come to need:  
* For where as prudence can find no succour,  
And providence hath no favour,  
Farewell wisdom, and farewell discretion,  
For lack only of supportation.  
For unsupported with his locks door,  
Amphiorax sighen 'gan full sore,  
With head inclined, & many an heavy thought,  
When that he saw his counsel s●ood for nought:  
For utterly, the greeks, as I told,  
Have fully cast her journey for to yhold,  
Made him ready, and gone for to hostey  
Toward Thebes, the city for to werrey,  
And in Greece will no longer tarry,  
And forth with hem Amphiorax they carry,  
Set in his chair with a doleful heart,  
When he wist he might not astart  
Of his fate the disposition,  
And hosteying into the region  
Of Ligurge, Greeks can approach  
A sundry land, with many a craggy roche,  
But all the way sooth that they gone,  
For horse ne man water was there none,  
So dry were the valleys and the pleines,  
For all that year they had had no reins,  
But full great drought, as made is mention,  
And all the land searching environ,   

The great Mischief that the Greeks had for default of Water.  
They nother found Well ne Rivere,  
Him to refresh, nor water that was clear,  
That they alas no refute ne con,  
So importable was the sheen Son,  
So hot on him, in folds where they lay,  
That for mischief men and horse they day,  
Gaping full dry upward into the South,  
And some putten her swords in her mouth,  
And spear heads, in story as it is told,  
Tassuage her thirst with the iron cold,  
And of his life full many one despaired,  
In this mischief is home again repeired:  
Till on a day worthy Tideus,  
And with him eke the king Campaneus  
Of purpose road throughout the country,  
If they might any water see,  
From coast to coast, both far and ne'er,  
Till of fortune they entered an herbere,  
With trees shadowed from the sun sheen,  
Full of flowers, and of herbs green,  
Wonder wholesome of sight and air,  
Therein a lady, that passingly was fair,  
Sitting as though under a Laurer tree,  
And in her arms a little child had she,  
Full gracious of look and of visage,  
And was also wonder tender of age,  
Son of the king, borne to succeed,  
Called Ligurgus, in story as we read,  
Whose hearts joy, and worldly eke disport,  
All his mirth eke, pleasance, and comfort,  
Was in this child of excellent fairness:  
And this lady, mirror of seemliness,  
All suddenly, as she cast up her sight,  
Upon his stead saw an armed knight,  
Greatly abashed, 'gan her anon remue,  
But Tideus 'gan after fast to sue:   

How Tideus complained to the Lady in the Herber for Water.  
And said sister, beth nothing dismayed  
In yourself, displeased, nor affrayed,  
For we are come only to this place,  
You to beseech of mercy and of grace,  
Us to succour in our great need,  
Declaring you how it stand indeed:  
Here fast by, almost at hon,  
The worthiest of all Greeks land,  
Kings, Princes, be lodged in the field,  
And many other with pole-axe and with shield,  
Which in mischief, peril, and great dread,  
For want of water, are likely to be deed,  
For there was none of high ne low degree,  
In all our host, now passed days three,  
That drank alas, I except none estate,  
Our fate is so infortunate,  
Praying you of womanly pity,  
Benignly and graciously to see,  
How of Greece all the chivalry  
Of her life's stonds in jeopardy,  
That ye would of womanhood tell,  
If ye know any river, spring, or well,  
Specially now in our care,  
Of gentillesse unto us declare,  
Lo here is all, if ye lust to hear,  
That I will seine, mine own sister dear.  
And when this lady, inly virtuous,  
The complaint heard of worthy Tideus,  
Of very pity changeth cheer and hue,  
And in her heart upon his woe 'gan rue,  
And full goodly, seeing his distress,  
Said unto him in all his heaviness.   

How the Lady courteously taught Tideus to the Well.  
Certes (qd. she) if I were at large,  
Touching this child, which I have in charge,  
I should in haste of all that doth you greue,  
To my power help you and relieve,  
Only of routh, and of compassion,  
And leave all other occupation,  
Convey you, and be your true guide,  
To a river, but little here beside,  
But I dare not so much me assure,  
This little child to put in adventure,  
I am so fearful from it to depart,  
But for your sake yet I shall do part  
My life, my death, of true affection,  
To provide for your salvation:  
took the child, and leid it in her lap,  
And richly in clothes 'gan it wrap,  
And couched it among the herbs sote,  
And leid about many an wholesome rote,  
And flowers eke, both blue and read,  
And supprised with a manner of dread,  
With Tideus forth anon she went,  
As she in troth, that no treason meant,  
And on her weigh would never dwell,  
Till she him brought to a right fair well,  
And to a river of water full habound,  
But who was glad, and who was though jocund  
But Tideus, seeing the river,  
Which in all hast sent his messenger  
To Adrastus, and had him not abide,  
But down descend to the river side,  
With all his host, liquour for to have  
At this river, her lives for to save.  
And they enhasted him, making none abode,  
All at ones to the River road,  
For to drink, they had so great lust  
Of appetite, for to staunch her thirst,  
And some drank, and found it did him good,  
And some were so fervent and so wood  
Upon the water, that in sickerness,  
Through undiscreet and hasty greediness,  
Out of measure the water so they drink,  
That they fell dead even upon the brink,  
And some naked into the River run,  
Only for heat of the Summer Sun,  
To bathen hem, the water was so cold,  
And some also, as I have you told,  
I mean though that prudent were and wise,  
The water drank in measurable wise,  
That of the thirst they have before endured,  
They were refreshed fully, and recured:  
And greeks then, of high and low degree,  
For her profit, and her commodity,  
Compass the river, Christalin of sight,  
Of one accord they her tents pight,  
To rest him there in reles of here peine,  
Only the space of a day or tweine.  
And whiles Greeks upon the river lay,  
This Tideus upon the same day,  
Full knightly hath done his diligence,  
This young lady with great reverence,  
To Adrastus' goodly to present,  
At whose coming the king himself went,  
Again her, she falling down on knees,  
All th'estates though present and degrees,  
Of Greeks land absent was not one,  
And in his arms took her up anon,  
Thanking her of her business,  
Of her labour, and her kindness,  
Behoting her like as he was hold,  
If any thing plainly that she would,  
That he may don she should it ready find,  
And also Greeks all, the story maketh mind,  
Of th'estates being tho present,  
Thanked her with all her holle intent,  
For the freshing done to many a Greek,  
And for her part they behight her eke,  
With her bodies and goods both two,  
What her list command him for to do,  
To be ready partly and not fail.  
And here my Author maketh rehersaile,  
That this lady so fair upon to see,  
Of whom the name was Isiphile,  
To Adrastus told as ye may read,  
Lineally, the stock of her kindred,  
Sometime how she a king's daughter was,  
rehearsing to him all the hal●e case,  
First how that she out of her country went,  
Shortly for she wol nat assent,  
To execute a conspiration,  
Made by the woman of that region,  
A thing contrary again all right,  
That each of him upon a certain night,  
By one accord shall warily take keep,  
Fader, brother, and husbands in her sleep,  
With knives sharp, and rasours keen,  
Kit her thortes in that mortal rene:  
Unto this fi●e ●s Bochas tell can,  
In all that land be not found a man,  
But slain echove, to this conclusion,  
That women might have domination,  
In that kingdom, and reign at liberte,  
And on no parties interrupted be.  
But for this lady passing debonair,  
To this matter was froward and contraire,  
Kept her fader that he was not slawe,  
But from the death preserved & withdraw,  
For which alas she fled Country,  
And of a Pirate taken in the See,  
To king Ligurgus brought in all her dread,  
And for her troth and her womanhood,  
To her be taken his young child to keep,  
Which in the herber she left alone to sleep,  
When Tideus she brought to the well.  
And by ●ason, some books tell,  
That this lady had sons two,  
When that he, and Hercules also,  
Toward Colchos, by her country came,  
For raccomplish the conquest of the Kam,  
But who that list by and by to see,  
The story holle of Isophilee,  
Her fathers name of which also I write,  
Though some sein, he named was Thorite,  
And some books Vermos' eke him call,  
But to know the aventures all,  
Of this lady Isophile the fair,  
So faithful aye and inly debonair,  
Look on the book that john Bachas made,  
Whilom of women with Rhetoric's glade,  
And direct by full sovereign stile,  
To fair jane, the Queen of Cesile,  
Reed there the R●brike of Isophile,  
Of her troth and of her bounty,  
Full craftily compiled for her sake.  
And when that she her leave hath take  
Of Adrastus, homeward in her weigh,  
Tideus 'gan her to convey,  
To the Garden till she is repaired.  
But now alas my matter is despaired,  
Of all joy, and of all wilfulness,  
And destitute of all mirth and gladness,  
For now of w● begin the sharp hours,  
For this lady hath found among the flowers,   

How the Child was slain of a foul Serpent in the Herber.  
Her little Child turned up the face,  
Slain of a Serpent in the self place,  
Her tail hurled with scales silver sheen,  
The venom was so piercing and so keen,  
So mortal eke the perilous violence,  
Caused alas through her long absence,  
She was to slow homeward for to high:  
But now can she, but weep, wail, and cry,  
Now can she nought but sigh & compleine,  
And woefully wring her honds tweine,  
Deadly of look, pale of face and cheer,  
And 'gan to rend her gilt tresses clear,  
And oft scythe 'gan to say alas,  
I woeful wretch unhappy in this case,  
What shall I do or whider shall I turn,  
For this the fine if I here sojourn,  
I wot right well, I may it not escape,  
The piteous fa●e that is for me shape,  
Soccour is there none, ne none other read,  
Liche to my desert but that I moat be deed,  
For through my sloth and my negligence,  
I have alas done to great offence,  
That my guilt, I may it not excuse,  
Shall to the king of treason me accuse,  
Through my offence and sloth both two,  
His son is ded and his heir also,  
Which he loved more than all his good,  
For treasure none so nigh his heart stood,  
Nor was so deep grave in his courage,  
That he is likely to fallen in a rage,  
When it is so mine odious offence,  
Reported be unto his audience,  
So importable shall be his heaviness,  
And well wot I in verray sothfastneise,  
That when the queen hath this thing espied,  
To mine excute it may not be denied,  
I doubt it nat there geineth no pite,  
Without respite she will avenged be,  
On me alas as I have deserved,  
That from the death I may not be preserved,  
Nother by bill nor by supplication,  
For the rage of my transgression,  
Requireth death, and none other meed.  
And thus alas she quaking in her dread,  
None other help ne remedy can,  
But dreint in sorrow to the Greeks she ran,  
Of hertely woe, face, and cheer distreined,  
And her cheeks with weeping albereined,  
In high affray distraught and furious,  
Tofore all thost she came to Tideus,  
Fell on knees and 'gan her compleint make,  
And told plainly that for the Greeks sake,  
She must be ded, and shortly in substance,  
rehearsing him, the ground of her grievance,  
First how by trains of a false serpent,  
The child was slain when she was absent:  
And when that he her mischief understood,  
In what disjoint and peril that she stood,  
Unto her full knightly he behight,  
To help and further all that ever he might,  
Her piteous woe to stinten and appease.  
And for to find unto her disease,  
Hasty comfort, he went a full great pace  
To Adrastus and told him all the case,  
Of this unhappy woeful adventure,  
Beseeching him to done his busy cure,  
As he was bound of equity and right,  
And eke advertise and to have a sight  
How she quit her to Greeks here toforne,  
That they were likely to have ben lost,  
The succour void of her womanhead,  
For which he must of knighthood take heed,  
To remedien this unhappy thing.  
And Adrastus like a worthy king,  
Taquite himself, the story maketh mind,  
To this lady will not be found unkind,  
Neither for cost ne for no travail,  
But busy was in all that might avail,  
To her succour considered all things,  
And by thavife of all the worthy kings,  
Of Greeks land they been accorded thus,  
Princes, Dukes, and with hem Tideus,  
To hold her way, and all at ones ride,  
To Ligurgus dwelling there beside,  
Of one intent if they may purchase,  
In any wise for to get grace,  
For this lady called Isophilee,  
They would assay if it might be.  
And to his palace full royally built of stone,  
The worthy Greeks came riding everyone,  
Every lord full freshly on his stead,  
And Ligurgus example of manlyhood,  
Anon as he knew of her coming,  
Tacquite himself like a gentle king,  
Again hem went to meet him on the way,  
Full well besein and in good array,  
Receiving him with a full knightly cheer,  
And to Adrastus, said as ye shall here:  
Cousin (qd. he) and 'gan him to embrace,  
Ye be welcome to your own place,  
Thanking hertely to your high noblesse,  
That so goodly of your gentillesse,  
Towards me ye list you to acquit,  
Yourself this day your Cousin to visit,  
In this castle to take your lodging,  
That never yet I was so glad of thing,  
In all my life, and thereto here my troth,  
And evermore there shall be no sloth,  
That the chambres and the large towers,  
Shall be delivered to your herberioures,  
That every lord as he is of degree,  
Unto his lodging assigned shall be,  
Your officers let him self devose,  
If the housing largely may suffice,  
To you and yours, stretchen and attain,  
That none estate have cause to compleine,  
And all your host lodged here beside,  
Which ententifely upon you abide,  
Let him fet by my authority,  
victual enough here in my city,  
And all that may him succour or save,  
And at o word all that ever I have  
Is full and holle at your commandment.   

How Adrastus and all the states of Greeks preiden Ligurgus for the life of Isophile.  
(Qd. Adrastus) that is not our intent,  
Nor no part cause of our coming,  
For we be come all for another thing,  
A certain gift of you to reqire,  
Benignly if ye list to here,  
Which may Greeks passingly avail,  
Of our request if we do not fail,  
Which we dare not openly express,  
Withouten that ye will of your gentillesse,  
Your grant affirm, confirm, and ratify,  
Then were we bold it to specify.  
(qd. Ligurgus') what thing ever it be,  
Not excepted but only things three,  
The first is this, it touch not my life,  
My young son plainly, nor my wife,  
Take all my good and what ye list provide,  
Of my treasure, and set these thing aside,  
All the surplus I count nat a mite.  
Then Adrastus astomed was a light,  
When Ligurgus in conclusion,  
Of his son made exception.  
And whiles they treat thus in fere,  
There came forth one with a woeful cheer,  
Of face and look, pale, and nothing red,  
And loud crieth, the king's son is ded,  
Alas the while that whilom was so feire,  
After Ligurgus borne to ben his heir,  
The which alas hath yolden up the breath  
Of a Serpent stung unto the death,  
And with his wound new fresh and green,  
In the herber lieth that pity is to seen,  
And hath so lain almost all this day.  
But when Ligurgus heard this affray,  
And wist his child was dead and had no more,  
Little wonder though that he was woe,  
For suddenly the importable smart  
Ran anon and hent him by the hart,   

The sorrow that King Ligurgus made for the death of his Child, and the lamentation of the Queen.  
That for constraint of his deadly peine,  
Throughout he felt coruen every vein,  
The rage 'gan mine on him so deep,  
That he could not but sob, sigh, and weep,  
And with the noise and lamentacioun,  
The Queen distraught is descended down,  
And when she knew the ground of all this sorrow,  
It needed her no tears for to borrow,  
But twenty time upon a row,  
Aswound she fell to the earth low,  
And stoundmell for this mischance,  
Still as a stone she lieth in a trance,  
But when the child into court was brought  
Tofore Ligurgus, alas I wit him nought,  
Upon the corpse with a mortal face  
He fell atones, and 'gan it to embrace,  
Sore to grispe, and again up sert:  
Then when Adrastus this thing can advert,  
Of kingly routh and compassion,  
From his eyes the tears fell adown,  
Eke Kings, Dukes, that about stood,  
Only of pity that is in gentle blood,  
No power had the tears to restrain,  
That on her cheeks down began to rhene:  
But all a day would not suffice,  
All her sorrows in order to devose,  
First of the king, and the queen also,  
To tell all I should never have do,  
Not in the space almost of an hour.  
But when the storms and the teary shower  
Of her weeping was somewhat overgone,  
The little Corpse was graven under stone,  
And Adrastus in the same tide,  
Ligurgus took a little out a side,  
And full wisely with his prudent speech,  
The Queen present, 'gan him for to tech,  
That so to sorrow, avail may right nought,  
To murdre himself with his own thought,  
* Ayeinst death may be no recure,  
Though in woe perpetually endure,  
All helpeth not when the soul is go,  
And our life here, thus taketh heed thereto,  
Is but an exile and a pilgrimage,  
Full of tourment and of bitter rage,  
Liche See renning to and fro,  
Suing an Ebb when the flood is do,  
Little space abiding at full,  
Of whose sojourn the Pope giveth no bull,  
For king is none, Duke, ne Emperor,  
That may him shroud against his fatal shower,  
Of cruel death when him list menace,  
To mark a man with his mortal mace,  
Then geineth not to his salvation,  
Neither franchise, ne protection,  
And little or nought may helpen in this case,  
Sauf●ondir either supersedeas,  
For in this world who so looketh aright,  
Is none so great of power nor of might,  
None so rich, shortly nor so bold,  
That he must die either young or old,  
And who in youth passeth his passage,  
He escaped is all the wood rage,  
All sorrow, all trouble of this present life,  
Replenished with conteke war and strife,  
Which seld or never stondeth in surety:  
Wherefore best is, as it seemeth me,  
No man grudge, but of high prudence,  
The sonde of God he taketh in patience,  
And ye that been so wise and manly to,  
Yourself to drown in torment and in woe,  
For loss of thing, and ye list to see,  
That in no wise may recured be,  
Is great folly and undiscretioun.  
And thus Adrastus hath conveyed down  
The substance whole of that he would say,  
Till that he found a ti● for to pray  
Conuement for Isophilee,  
Beseeching him for to have pite,  
Of that she hath offended his highness,  
Not wilfully but of reckelesnesse,  
First that he would his domes so divide,  
Mercy prefer and set right aside,  
At request and prayer of him all,  
Of this unhap and mischief that is fall,  
By hasty rigour not to do vengeance,  
But think aforne in his purveyance,  
* Who too wretches doth mercy in her dread,  
Shall mercy find when he hath most need:  
And sith he hath power might and space,  
Let him take this lady into his grace,  
For lack of routh that she nat thus die.  
But though the Queen 'gan again reply,   

How the Queen will algate have the Serpent dead.  
And platly said as in this matter:  
Avails neither request, nor prayer,  
Pite, mercy, nor remission,  
But if it be by this condition,  
That the Serpent, cause of all sorrow,  
Through his labour lay his head to borrow:  
This is final and utter recompense,  
To find grace for her great offence,  
Or else shortly, shed blood for blood.  
And when Greeks her answer understood,  
Of one actord in her best wise,  
Took on him this aventurous emprise,  
For love only of Isophile,  
And gone to ride environ the contre,  
By hills, valeis, roches, and caves,  
In diches dark, and in old graves,  
By every cost searching up and down,  
Till at last full famous of renown,  
The worthy knight Parthonolope,  
Was the first that happened for to see  
This hideous Serpent by a River side,  
Great and horrible, stern and full of pride,  
Under a Roch by a bank low,  
And in all hast he bend a sturdy bow,  
And therein set an arrow filled keen,  
And through the body spotted blue & green,   

How Parthonolope slew the Serpent.  
Full mightily he made it for to glide,  
And hent out a sword hanging by his side,  
Smote of his head and anon it hent,  
And therewithal 'gan the Queen present,  
Wherethrough parcel she 'gan tasswage:  
And thus of prowess and of high courage,  
This manly man, this Parthonolope,  
Hath reconciled fair Isophile,  
Unto grace fully of the Queen,  
Her Ire voided and her old tene,  
And by Adrastus' mediation,  
King Ligurgus granted a pardon  
To this lady, from all danger free,  
She was restored to her liberte,  
In his palace all her life to dwell,  
Though john Bochas the contrary tell:  
For this author affirmeth out of dread,  
That when the child was by the serpent deed,  
She durst not for her great offence,  
Never after come in presence  
Of Ligurgus, but of intention,  
Fled anon out of that region,  
At heart she took the child's death so sore:  
What felle of her, find I can no more,  
Than ye have herd aforne me specify.  
And the kingdom, but if books lie,   

Nota, de Ligurgo Rege Traceae.  
Of Lycurgus, called was Trace.  
And as I read, in an other place,  
He was the same mighty Champion,  
To Athenes that came with Palamon  
Against his Brother that called was Arcite,  
Yled in his chair with iiii. Bolles white,  
Upon his head a wretch of gold full fine.  
And I find eke how Bacchus god of wine,   

Bacchus, Deus Vini.  
With this king was whilom at debate,  
Only for he, pompous and elate,  
Destruction did to his vines,  
And for he first set allay on wines,  
Meint with water, when they were too strong:  
And this Bacchus for the great wrong,  
Broke his limbs, and dreint him in the see:  
Of Ligurgus, ye get no more of me,  
But the troth if ye list verify,  
Reed of gods the Genealogy.   

Nota, de duodecim arboribus in libra Bochacii de genealogia Deorum.  
Lineally her kindred by degrees,  
Ybranched out upon xii. trees,  
Made by Bocchas, Decertaldo called,  
Among poets in Itaile stalled,  
Next Fraunceis Petrarke suing in certain.  
Now unto Greeks I will return again,  
To tell forth shortly if I con,  
Of her journey, that they have begun.  
Here Adrastus hath his leave take  
Of Ligurgus with his brows black,  
And departing with saint John to borrow,  
Made his wards on the next morrow  
So well besein, so mighty and so strong,  
Wondre early when the lark song,  
With a trumpet warned every man,  
To be ready in all the hast they can,  
For to remue and no letting make:  
And so they have the right weigh take  
Toward Thebes the Greeks everyone,  
That such a nombre gadred into one,  
Of worthy knights, never aforn was sein,  
When they in fear were moustred in a plein,  
And they ne stint by none occasion,  
Till they be comen even afore the town,  
And pight her tents proudly as I read,  
Under the walls in a green Mede,  
And when the Thebans were beset about,  
The manly knights would have priked out,  
And have scarmished in her hasty pride,  
With her foemen ou that other side,  
But by bidding of Ethiocles,  
All thilk night they kept himself in pees,  
Because only that it was so late,  
With great wait set at every gate,  
Men of arms all the night walking  
On the walls, by bidding of the king,  
Lest there were train, or treason,  
And on the towers, and in the chief dungeon,  
He set men to make mortal sows,  
With brazen horns, and loud Clariounes,  
Of full intent the watches for to keep,  
In his ward that no man ne sleep.  
And Greeks proudly all the long night,  
Kindled fires and made full great light,  
Set up lodging upon every side,  
Like as they should ever there abide,  
Compass the town, there was no void space,  
But all be set her foemen to menace,  
And whiles they tofore the cite ley,  
On every coast they sent out to forreie,   

The Forrey that the Greeks made in the Country about Thebes.  
Bren towns, Thropes, and villages,  
With great raving, making her pilages,  
Spoil & rob, and brought home victual,  
And all manere sorts of bestaile,  
Sheep and Neat, in her cruel rage,  
With hounds slain all that was savage,  
heart and Hind, both Buck and Do,  
The black Bear, and the wild Ro,  
The fat Swine, and the tusky Boar,  
Carrying all home for the Greeks store,  
Wheat and wine, for her advantage,  
Hay, and Oats, foddre and forage.  
With the Kalendes, as him thought due,  
The Greeks 'gan the Thebans salve,  
Ministering hem occasions fell,  
The siege set, shortly for to tell,  
Of full intent in her hateful pride,  
For life or death thereupon tabide,  
Who so ever thereat be aggrieved,  
Till they fully her purpose have achieved,  
There may thereof be made no reles.  
And of all this full ware Ethiocles,  
'Gan in party greatly to marvel,  
When he saw the great apparel  
Of the Greeks the city round about,  
And in himself had a manner doubt,  
Now at point, what was best to do,  
For thilk time it stood with him so,  
That to some abiding in the town,  
He had in heart a great suspicion,  
Lest toward him that they were unstable,  
And to his Brother in party favourable.   

The variance in Thebes among himself.  
For in the cite there was variance,  
That unto him was a great mischance:  
For in his need shortly he ne witted  
Upon whom that he might trist,  
For they were nat all of one intent,  
Wherefore he hath for his counseil scent,  
All his lords, and the old Queen,  
such as he dempte that were pure & clean,  
Holle of one heart and not variable,  
Of old expert and always found stable,  
Requering hem because they were wise,  
All openly to tell her avise,  
Where it were better plainly in her sight,  
With his brother to treaten, or to fight?  
And some gave a full blunt sentence,  
Which had of were none experience,  
Said it was best and not been afeard,  
To try his right manly with the sword:  
And some also that were more prudent,  
Spoke unto him by good avisement,  
And list not spare but her conceit told,  
How it was best his covenant to hold,  
And to perform his hest made toforn  
To his Brother, lich as he was sworn,  
So that his word, the worse make him to speed,  
* Be not found variant from the deed,  
For none hatred rancour ne pride:  
And though the Queen took him out aside,   

The words of the worthy Queen Jocasta unto Ethiocles.  
Told him plainly, it was full unfitting,  
such doubleness to finden in a king:  
And said him eke, although he were strong,  
Unto his Brother he did wrong,  
As all the town will record in deed,  
And bear witness if it come to need:  
Wherefore let us shape an other mean,  
In this matter while that it is green,  
Ere this querele, thus gone of volunte,  
Turn in the fine to more adversity,  
For if it be darreyned by battle,  
Who trusteth most may full lightly fail,  
* And it is folly by short avisement,  
To put a strife in Martes judgement:  
For hard it is when a judge is wood,  
To treat aforne him without loss of blood:  
And if we put our mater holle in Marte,  
Which with his sword his laws doth coarte,  
Then may it hap, where ye be glad or wroth,  
Thou and thy Brother shall repent both,  
And many another that is here present,  
Of your trespass that been very innocent,  
And many a thousand percas shall complein,  
For the debate only of you tweine,  
And for your strife shall find full unswote,  
And for thou art ginner, ground and rote  
Of this injury and this great unright,  
To the gods, that hereof han a sight,  
Thou shall accounts and a rekning make,  
For all though that perishen for thy sake.  
And now the cause driven is so far,  
Suddenly pees either hasty were,  
Mot follow anon for the fatal chance,  
Of life and death dependeth in balance,  
And thou ne mayst by no craft restrain,  
That upon one, platly of you tweine,  
The sort moat fall ilke as it doth turn,  
Who so ever thereat either laugh or mourn,  
And thou art driven so narrow to the stake,  
That thou mayst not more delays make,  
But fight or treat this is the utter fine,  
By none engine thou canst it not decline,  
* An hasty case, as folk said that been wise,  
Redress requireth by full short avise,  
For to treat long now availeth nought,  
For to the point soothly thou art brought,  
Either to keep thy possession,  
Or in all hast devoid out of this town,  
Where thou therewith be wroth or well apaid,  
Now note well all that I have said,  
And by my counsel wisely condescend,  
Wrong wrought of old newly to amend,  
The time is come it may be none other,  
Wherefore in hast treat with thy brother,  
And again him make no resistance,  
But to thy lords fully give credence,  
By whose counsel ●ithe they be so sage,  
Let Polimite enjoy his heritage,  
And that shall turn most to thine avail,  
Loo here is holle the fine of our Counsel.   

The Treaty that Ethiocles sent unto his Brother.  
And shortly tho for ire wroth,  
Though he hereto froward was and loath,  
According is, hearing all the prees,  
If he algate shall treat for a pees,  
It must be by this condition,  
That he will have the domination,  
First in chief to himself reserved,  
As him thought he had it well deserved,  
And save to him holle the sovereintee,  
And under him in Thebes the city,  
He to grant with a right good cheer,  
Polimite the reign for a year,  
Then tavoide and not resort again,  
For more to claim was all but in vein,  
This would he done only for her sake,  
And otherwise he will none end make  
With greeks, what fortune ever befall.  
And finally among his lords all,  
There nas not one of high or low estate,  
That would gone on this Ambassiat,  
Out of the town ne for bet ne worse,  
Till jocasta made saddle her horse,  
And cast herself to gone on this treat,  
To make an end if it would be:  
And this was done the morrow right by time,  
Upon the hour when it drew to prime,  
And with her went, here young daughters tweine,  
Antigone, and the fair Imeine,  
Of her mien full many one about,  
At gate she was conveied out,  
And of purpose she made first her went,  
On horseback to King Adrastus' tent,  
He and his lords being all in fere,  
And they receive her with a right glad cheer,  
Showing her, like to her degree,  
On every half full great humanity,  
Polimitie rising from his place,  
And humbly his mother 'gan embraee,  
Kissed her, and then Antigone,  
And eke Imeine, excellent of beauty,  
And for that they passingly were fair,  
Great was the pres, concourse, and repair  
Of the ladies for to have a sight:  
And jocasta proceedeth anon right,  
To Adrastus the matter to propose,  
And 'gan to him openly to disclose  
The intent and will of Ethiocles,  
And by what mean he desireth pees,  
To him reserve, as she 'gan specify,  
The honour whole, and the regalie,  
With sceptre & crown, from him not divided,  
But whole to him, as he hath provided,  
And Polimite by this condition,  
Under him to reign in the town,  
As a soget by sufferance of his Brother.  
But the Greeks thoughten all another,   

The knightly Answer of worthy Tideus.  
And specially worthy Tideus,  
Pleiuly affirming it should nat be thus,  
For he will have no conditions,  
But set aside all exceptions,  
Nothing reserve as in special,  
But hole the lordship regally and all,  
Be Polimites it fully to possede,  
In Thebes crowned verily in deed,  
And rightful king put in possession,  
Like the couenaunts and convention,  
maked of old assured and ensealed,  
That shall not now, of new be repealed,  
But stable and holle in his strength stoned,  
And let him platly so understand,  
And first that he devoid him out of town,  
And deliver the Sceptre and the crown  
To his Brother, and make thereof no more,  
And shortly else it shall be bought full sore,  
Or this matter brought be to an end,  
For greeks be there none, that shul hens wend,  
Ere that our right that is us denied,  
With life and death, darreined be and tried,  
We will not erst from this town remewe,  
And if him list all this thing eschew,  
And all mischief stinten and appeses,  
To either part he may do great ease,  
Thus I mean for his avauntage,  
Deliver up whole the true heritage,  
To his brother for heir to endure,  
And greeks shall fully him assure,  
By what bond that him list devose,  
The year complete in our best wise,  
To him deliver again possession,  
Without strife or contradition,  
And to this fine justly hold us to,  
And if it fall that he will not so,  
Let him not wait but only after were,  
The hour is come we will it not defer,  
Lo here is all, and thus ye may report  
To him ayein when that ye resort,  
From which appointment we cast us nat to vary,  
And yet to him Amphiorax the contrary  
Full plainly said in conclusion,  
This fine shall cause a destruction,  
Of hem eachone if it forth proceed,  
To be performed and execute in deed:  
But thilk time for all his eloquence,  
He had in sooth but little audience,  
For whether so he meant good or ill,  
King Adrastus bade him to be still.  
And though jocasta, as wisdom did her tech,  
Humble of her port with full soft speech,  
'Gan sech means in her fantasy,  
If she might the ire modify  
Of the greeks, to make him to incline,  
In any wise her rancour for to fine,  
She did her devour, and her besie cure,  
But than befell a wonder adventure,  
Cause and ground of great confusion,  
Greeks perturbing and eke the town,  
And it to tell I may not assert,  
For which a while my stile I moat advert,   

Of a tame Tiger dwelling in Thebes.  
And shortly tell by descriptioun  
Of a Tiger, dwelling in the town,  
Which from a kingdom, besiden adjacent,  
Out of Egypt was to Thebes sent,  
Which beast, by record of scripture,  
Is most swift as of his nature,  
And of kind also most savage,  
And most cruel when he is in his rage,  
And as clerks maken mention,  
He of body resembleth the Lion,  
And like a greyhound the mosel and the head,  
And of eyes as any fire red,  
Eke of his skin, written as I find,  
Like a Panther, conversant in Ind,  
With all manner hues and colours,  
And is full oft deceived with Mirrors,  
By fraud of huntes and false appearance,  
showed in glass withouten existence,  
When his kindeles are by sleights take,  
And he destreined, may no rescus make:  
And like a lamb was this Tiger tame,  
Against kind, mine Author writ the same,  
And this beast marvellous to see,  
Was sent to Imeine and Antigone,  
That unto him did great comfort,  
And could play and make good disport,  
Like a whelp that is but young of age,  
And to no wight did no damage,  
No more in sooth than doth a little hound,  
And it was worth many an hundred pound,  
Unto the king for ay in his grievance,  
There was nothing that did him more pleasance  
That for no treasure it might not be bought,  
For when that he was pensive or in thought,  
It put him out of his heaviness:  
And thilk time the story doth express,  
That jocaste treated for a pees,  
This tame Tiger in party rekeles,  
Out at gates in sight of many a man,  
In to the field wildly out ran,  
And casually renning to and fro,  
In and out as doth the tame Ro,  
Greeks weening that were young of age,  
That this Tiger had be savage,  
And cruelly besetting all the place,  
Round about 'gan him to enchase,  
Till he was ded and slain in the field:  
The slaughter of whom when that they beheld,  
The proud Thebans which on the walls stood,  
They ran down furious and wood,  
weening he be slain of despite,  
Taking her horse without more respite,  
Fully purposed with greeks for to fight,  
The Tigers death t'avenge if they might,  
And forth they road without governaile,  
And full proudly Greeks gone assail,  
And of hatred and full high desdain,  
Fellen on him that han the Tiger slein,  
And cruelly quitten him her meed,  
That many a Greek in the green meed,  
By the force and the great might,  
Of her foemen, lay slain in this fight,  
The Tigers death so sore they about,  
So mortally Thebans on hem wrought,  
That all the host in the field ligging,  
Was astonished of this sudden thing.  
And in this wise of rancour rekeles,  
Out of Thebes road Ethiocles,  
And with him eke the worthy king Tremour,  
Of his hon a noble warrior,  
That made Greeks to forsake her place,  
And to her tents 'gan him to enchase,  
And mid the field as they together met,  
On horseback, with spears sharply whet,  
Of very hate and envious pride,  
Full many one was dead on either side:  
The which thing when Tideus espieth,  
Wood as a Lion to horseback he hieth,  
As he that was never a deal afeard,  
But ran an hem and met●e him in the beard,  
And maugre him in his cruelty,  
He made him flee home to her city,  
Him pursuing of full deadly hate,  
That many one lay slain at gate,  
Gaping upright with her wounds wide,  
That utterly they durst not abide,  
Tofore the sword of Tideus,  
He was on him so passing furious,  
So many Thebans he roof to the heart,  
That when jocasta the slaughter can advert,  
Polimite she prey 'gan full fair,  
To make Greeks home again repair,  
And that they woulden stint to assail,  
For thilk time, and ceassen her battle.  
At who's request plainly and preire,  
And at reverence of his mother dear,  
Polimite her heart to comfort,  
greeks made home ayein resort,  
And Tideus to stinten of his chase,  
And they of Thebes hasting a great pace,  
Full trist & heavy been entered in to the town:  
And for the Tiger in conclusioun,  
As ye have herd, first began the strife,  
But many a Theban that day lost his life,  
And recureless hath given up the breath,  
Of thavenging of the Tiger's death.  
And all this while duly as she ought,  
The Queen jocasta humbly besought,  
King Adrastus' holly of his grace,  
Some mean weigh wisely to purchase,  
To make a pees between the brethren twein,  
And the tretee so prudently ordain,  
On either part that no blood be shed:  
And thus Adrastus avised and right sad,  
For Greeks party answer gave anon,  
That other end shortly gate she non,  
Lich as the lords fully been avised,  
Than Tideus to forn hath devised.  
And when she saw it may none other be,  
She leave took and home to the cite  
She is repaired, having to her guide,  
Polimite riding by her side,  
And Tideus led Antigone,  
And of Archade, Protonolope  
The worthy king, did his belie peine  
To be attendant upon fair Imeine,  
Whos heart she hath to her service lured,  
And he ayein hath portreied and figured  
Mid of his breast, which lightly may not pass,  
Holly the features of her treshly face,  
Him thought she was so fair a creature,  
And though that he durst him not discure,  
Yet in his heart as ferforth as he can,  
He hath aluowed to be her true man,  
Vnwist to her plainly and vnknow  
How he was marked with Cupid's bow,  
With his arrow suddenly werreied,  
And to the yares the Ladies conveied,  
Been entered in, for it drew to eve,  
Greeks of hem taking though her leave,  
Though some of him were loath to depart,  
Yet of wisdom they durst not 〈◊〉  
Under a conduct to enter into the town,  
Lest it turned to her confusion,  
Though some books the contraire said,  
But mine author is plain there again,  
And affirmeth in this opinion,  
That Tideus of high discretion,  
Of wilfulness nor of no folly,  
Ne would as tho put in jeopardy,  
Neither himself ne none of his feres,  
And the Ladies with her heavenly cheres,  
Angelic of look and countenance,  
Liche as it is put in remembrance,  
At her entering from Greeks into the town,  
Polimite of great affection,  
The queen besought, that thilk night not fine  
For tassay if she might incline  
Ethiocles of conscience and right,  
To keep covenant, as he hath behight  
Full yore agone, with surplusage,  
Lest the contraire come to damage,  
First of himself and many another more,  
And thus from Thebes the Greeks been ago  
To her Tents and rest him all that night,  
And Lucina the Moon shone full bright  
Within Thebes on the deep dungeon,  
When jocasta made relation  
Unto the king and told him all the gise,  
How that greeks utterly despise  
His proffer made by false conclusion,  
Only except the convention,  
Of old engrossed by great purveyance,  
Which is enroled and put in remembrance,  
Upon which they finally will rest,  
Him counselling her thought for the best,  
To conform him to that he was bound,  
Lest in the fine falseness him confound,  
But all her counsel he set it at no price,  
He dempt himself, so prudent and so wise,  
For he was wilful, and he was indurate,  
And in his heart of malice obstinate,  
And utterly avised in his thought,  
Within Thebes his brother get right naught.  
And in his error thus I let him dwell,  
And of the greeks forth I will you tell,  
Which all that night kept him self close,  
And on the morrow when Titan up arose,  
They armed him, and 'gan him ready make,  
And of assent have the field itake,  
With the Thebans, the day without doubt  
For to fighten if they issue out,  
And Adrastus in full thrifty wise,  
In the field his wards can devose,  
As he that was of all deceits ware,  
And richly armed in his chair,  
Amphiorax, came with his meinee,  
Full renowned of antiquity,  
And well expert because he was old.  
And while that greeks, as I have you told,  
Were besiest her wards to ordain,  
Mid of the field befell a case sudden,  
Full unhappy, loathsome and audible,  
For lich a thing that were invisible,  
This old bishop with horse and chare certain,  
Disapered and no more was sein,  
Only of fate which no man can repel,  
The yearth opened and he fell down to hell.   

How the Bishop Amphiorax fell down into Hell.  
With all his folk that upon him abode,  
And suddenly the ground that he on road,  
Clased ayein and gidre shut,  
That never after the Greeks with him met,  
And thus the Devil for his old outrages,  
Liche his desert paid him his wages,  
For he full low is descended down  
Into the dark and black region,  
Where that Pluto is crowned and istalled,  
With his queen Proserpina icalled,  
With whom this bishop hath made his mansion  
Perpetuelly as for his guerdon,  
* Lo here the meed of Idolatry,  
Of rites old and false Maumetry,  
Lo what availen incantations,  
Of exorcisms and conjurisons,  
What stood in stead his Necromancy,  
Calculation or Astronomy,  
What vailed him the heavenly mansions,  
Divers aspects or constellations,  
* The end is not but sorrow and mischance,  
Of him that setten her utter affiance  
In such works superstitious,  
Or trist on him he is ungracious,  
Record I take shortly for to tell,  
Of this bishop sunken down to hell:  
Whose woeful end, down in every cost,  
Such a rumour hath made in the host,  
That the noise of this uncouth thing,  
Is ironne and come unto the king,  
How this vengeance is unwarely fall,  
And he anon made a Trumpet call,  
All his people out of the field again,  
And everyone assembled upon a plain,  
For the king and also round him about,  
Euerich man of his life in doubt,  
Full piteous 'gan to sorrow and louvre,  
Lest that the ground hem all would devour,  
And swelwen hem in his dark cave,  
And they ne con no recure him to save,  
For neither force nor manhood doth avail  
In such mischief the value of a mail,  
For he that wisest and could most,  
To search and seek throughout the host,  
Amphiorax, when he least wend,  
To hell is sunken, and could him not defend,  
To him the time unknown and unwist,  
In whom whilom was all the Greeks trist,  
Her whole comfort, and whole affiance,  
But all at ones for this sudden chance,  
And this mischief, they 'gan him to despair,  
Home to Greece that they will repair.  
This was the purpose of him everyone,  
And on the walls of Thebes lay her fone,  
Rejoicing him, of this unhappy ure,  
Swooning thereby greatly to recure:  
And on her towers as they looken out,  
They on Greeks enviously 'gan to shout,  
And of despite and great enmity,  
Bad hem fools gone home to her country,  
Sith they han lost her comfort and succour,  
Her false Prophet and her Divinour,  
Wherethrough her party greatly is empeired  
And in this wise the Greeks despaired,  
Dempte plainly by tokens evident,  
This case was fall by some Enchantment,  
By Witchcraft, and by Sorcery,  
Again which may be no remedy,  
Trusty defence help ne succour.  
And when Adrastus' herd this clamour,  
He besie was again this perturbance,  
To provide some manner chevisance,  
And to him calleth such counsel as he wist,  
For life or death that he might trist,  
Requiring him but in words few,  
In this mischief her motion to show,  
And declare by good avisement,  
What to Greeks were most expedient,  
To remedien and make no delay,  
The uncouth noise, and the great affray,  
That Greeks made with clamour importune,  
And now, and now, ever in one contune,  
And they that were most manly and wise,  
Shortly said it were a cowardice,  
The high emprise that they have undertake,  
For dread of death so suddenly to forsake,  
It were to him perpetuelly a shame,  
And after hindering to the Greeks name,  
And better it were to every warreour,  
Manly to die with worship and honour,  
Than like a coward with the life endure:  
* For ones shamed, hard is to recure  
His name ayein, of what estate he be,  
And sith that Greeks of old antiquity,  
As of knighthood who so list take heed,  
Been so famous and so worthy of deed,  
If now of new the shining of her fame,  
Eclipsed were with any spot of blame,  
It were a thing uncouth for to here,  
Of whose renown the beams yet been clear,  
Through all the world where that they have pased,  
And be not yet derked ne defaced,  
By no report, neither on sea nor land,  
Thing to forsake that they took on hon,  
And by ensample of our progenitors,  
That sometime were so manly conquerors,  
Tofore that we into Grece wend:  
Of thing begun let us make an end,  
And part not nor severe from this town,  
Till it be brought to destruction,  
Walls, towers, and crests enbattailed,  
And for war strongly apparelled,  
Be first down beat, that nothing be sein,  
But all together with the yearth plein,  
Below laid ere that we resort,  
That afterward men may of us report,  
That we began, we knightly have achieved,  
Upon our fone, with worship unrepreved.  
This was the counsel shortly and thaviseadvice,  
Of the Greeks that manly were and wise,  
That never afore marked were with blame,  
And specially such as dread shame,  
And fully cast, what fortune ever ride,  
On her purpose to the end abide,  
That on no part her honour not appall:  
And to this counsel, Greeks one and all,  
Be condescended and after best red,  
In stead of him that was so late dead,  
Amphiorax, buried deep in hell,  
That could whilom to the Greeks tell  
Of things hid, how it should fine aforne,  
In steed of whom now they have him lost,  
They casten him wisely to purchase  
Some prudent man to occupy his place,  
That in such thing might him most avail,  
Through mystery of his divinaile,  
By craft of sort, or of Prophecy,  
If any such they couden out espy:  
Among him all her purpose to attain,  
As I find they have chosen twain,   

How the Greeks chosen a new Divinour in steed of Amphiorax.  
Most renowned of hem everyone,  
And Menalippus called was that one,  
And Tredimus eke that other height,  
And for he had most favour in her sight,  
This Tredimus was chosen and preferred,  
And in her choice greeks have not erred,  
For whilom he learned his emprise  
Of his Master, Amphiorax the wise,  
And was disciple under his doctrine,  
And of intent that he shall termine  
Unto greeks things that shall fall,  
As a Bishop mitred in his stall,  
They done for him many an uncouth wise  
In the temple, to God's Sacrifice:  
And thus confirmed and stabled in his See,  
A few days stood in his degree,  
After her Master, with full great honour,  
Of greeks chose to be successor.  
And all this time in story as it is told,  
Full great mischief, of hunger, thirst, & cold,  
And of Thebans as they issue out,  
Lay many one slain in the rout,  
On either part of fortune as they met,  
Her mortal swerds, were so sharp whet,  
And Tideus among hem of the town,  
From day to day playeth the Lion,  
So cruelly, where so that he road,  
That Theban non aforne his face abode,  
He made of him through his high renown,  
So great slaughter and occisioun,  
That as the death from his sword they fled,  
For who came next laid his life to wed,  
He quit himself so like a manly knight,  
That where he went he put him to the flight,  
And maugre him, in his cruelty,  
He drove him home into her city,  
Him pursuing proudly to the gate,  
That unto him they bear so deadly hate,  
That they him cast by sleight or some engine,  
To bring him unwarely unto his fine,  
And lay await for him day and night:  
But alas this noble manly knight,   

How piteous this worthy Tideus was slain with a quarrel.  
Upon a day as he 'gan him chase,  
And mortally made him less her place,  
And sued him almost to the town,  
That cause was of his destructioun:  
For one alas that on the walls stood,  
Which all that day upon him abode,  
With a quarrel sharp heeded for his sake,  
Marked him with a bow of brake,  
So cruelly making none a rest,  
Till it was passed both back and breast,  
Where through alas there was none other read  
Ne Lechcraft that he moat be deed,  
There may thereof be maked no delays,  
And yet he was holden in his days,  
The best knight and most manly man,  
As mine author well rehearse can,  
But for all that was there no defence,  
Against the stroke of death's violence.  
But Bocchas write ere he were fully dead,  
He was by greeks presented with the head  
Of him that gave his last fatal wound,  
And he was called like as it is found,  
Menalippus, I can none other tell,  
But thilk day Thebans wax so fell,  
Upon greeks, that under her city,  
The manly king Parthonope,  
Yslaine was even afore the gates,  
And there also armed bright in plates,  
The famous king called Ipomedon,  
The same day as made is mention,  
On horseback manly as he fought,  
At bridge, even upon the draught,  
Beset with press, casually was drowned:  
And thus fortune hath on greeks frowned,  
On every side thilk unhappy day,  
But all the manere tell I ne may,  
Of her fight nor her slaughter in sooth,  
More to declare than mine author doth.  
But thilk day, I find as ye may seen,  
When Phoebus was passed Meridene,  
And from the South, Westward can him draw,  
His guilt tresses to bathen in the wawe,  
The Thebanking fell Ethiocles,  
Root and unrest and causer of unpees,  
The slaughter of Greeks, when that he beheld,  
Armed in steel he came out into the field,  
Full desirous in that sudden heat,  
Polimite in the field to meet,  
singularly with him to have a do,  
For in this world he hated no man so,  
He sat so nigh printed in his heart,  
Whose coming out his brother 'gan advert,  
Upon his steed in the opposite,  
And had againward also great delight  
To meet him if fortune will assent,  
Thenuious fire so her hearts brent,  
Which hate was cankered of unkind blood,  
And like two Tigers in her rage wood,  
With spears sharp ground for the nonce,  
So as they ran and met both at ones,  
Polimite through plate, mail, and shield,  
roof him throughout & smote him into the field,  
But when he saw the streams of his blood,  
Rail about in manner of a flood,  
All suddenly of compassion,  
From his coursour he light adoune.   

How each of the Theban Brethren slough other, even tofore the city.  
And brotherly with a piteous face,  
To save his life 'gan him to unbrace,  
And from his wound of new affection,  
Full besie was to pull out the trunchon,  
Of love only handling him right soft:  
But out alas, while he lay aloft,  
Full iriously Ethiocles the fell,  
Of all this sorrow very course and well,  
With a dagger, in all his peines smart,  
His brother roof unwarely to the hart,  
Which all her life had be so wroth,  
And thus the Thebans were islaw both,  
At entry even afore the town  
But Greeks tho been availed down,  
In the field the worthy knights all,  
In Thebes land as such thing shall,  
The cry arose when her king was dead,  
And to the gates, armed foot and head,  
Out of the town came many a proud Theban,  
And some of him upon the walls ran,  
And 'gan to shout that pity was to here,  
And they without of her life in were,  
Without comfort or consolatioun,  
Dispeired run home to the town,  
And Greeks followen after at back,  
That many one, that day goeth to wrack,  
And as her foemen proudly him assail,  
Full many Greeks, both through plate & mail,  
Was shut throughout, pressing at walls,  
And beaten off with great round balls,  
That here lay one, and another yonder,  
And the noise more hideous than thunder,  
Of gunneshot, and of Arblates eke,  
So loud out rung, that many a worthy Greek  
There lost his life, they were on him so fell,  
And at gates shortly for to tell,  
As Greeks preasen to enter the city,  
They of Thebes in her cruelty  
With hem met, full furious and wood,  
And mortally, as they again him stood,  
Men might see spears shiver asunder,  
That to behold it was a very wonder,  
How they foin with daggers & with swerds,  
Through the viser aiming at berds,  
Piercing also through the round nails,  
Rend out pieces of her aventailes,  
That nought availeth, the mighty Gesseran,  
Through neck and breast, that the spears ran,  
Her weapons were so sharp ground & whet  
In their armour, that they were not let,  
For there lay one trodden under foot,  
And yonder one pierced to the heart root,  
Here lieth one dead, and there another lame,  
This was the play and the mortal game  
Atween Thebans and the Greeks proud,  
That the swoughs and the cries loud  
Of him that lay and yoleden up the ghost,  
Was heard full far about in many a cost.   

How all the royal blood both of Greeks side, and on the City side, islain were upon o day.  
And at gates and sailling of the wall  
Is●aine was all the blood royal,  
Both of the town, and of the Greeks land,  
And all the worthy knights of her hand,  
And of Lords, if I shall not feign,  
On Greeks side alive were but tweine,  
King Adrastus, and Campaneus,  
That day to hem was so ungracious.  
And for Titan Westred was so low,  
That no man might unneths other know,  
Of the town they shit her gates fast,  
With barrers round maked for to last,  
In which no wight carve may ne hue,  
And Adrastus with a Greeks few  
Repeired is home to his tent,  
And all that night he wasted hath and spent  
For his unhap in sorrow complaining,  
And they in Thebes the next day suing  
Her devoir did, and her busy cure,  
To ordain and make a sepulture  
For her King, yssaine in the field,  
And offer up his banner and his shield,  
His helm, his sword, and also his penon,  
Therein of gold ybeaten a Dragon,  
High in the temple, that men might seen,  
And jocasta the infortunate Queen  
Her son's death sore 'gan complain:  
And also eke her young daughters tweine,  
Both Imeine and Antigoine  
Crien and weep, that pity was to see,  
But to her sorrows there was no refute,  
And thus the city bare and destitute,  
Having no wight to govern him ne guy,  
For dead and slain was all her chivalry,  
And no wight left almost in the town,  
To reign on hem by succession:  
But for they saw, and tooken heed,  
Without this, that they had an head,  
In the city they may not dure long:  
* For though it so be, the commons be strong  
With multitude, and have no governaile  
Of an head, full light it may avail,  
Therefore they have unto her succour  
Ichosen hem a new governor,   

How Creon the old tyrant ychosen was to be King of Thebes.  
An old tyrant, that called was Creon,  
Full acceptable to him everychone,  
And crowned him, without more letting,  
To reign in Thebes, and to been her king,  
Although he had no title by descent,  
But by free choice made in Parliament,  
And thereto him like, as it is found,  
By her ligeance of new they were bound  
For to be true while the city stood  
To him only, with body and with good,  
Thus they were sworn, & sured everyone,  
And he againward to save him fro her fone,  
And him defend with all his full might,  
And maintain him in all manner right:  
This was the accord, as in sentement.  
And in this while hath Adrastus sent  
From the siege of Thebes the city  
A wounded knight home to his country,  
Through all Grece plainly to declare  
All the slaughter and the evil fare  
Of which Greeks, right as it is fall,  
And how that he hath lost his Lords all,  
At more mischief than any man can mouth:  
And when this thing was in Grece couth,  
First to Argive, and to Deiphile,  
And to the Ladies eke in the country,  
And of Provinces abouten adjacent,  
They came down all by one assent,  
Worthy Queens, and with hem Duchess',  
And other eke, that called were Countesses.   

How all the Ladies of Graece arrayed him toward Thebes.  
And all the ladies and women of degree  
Been assembled in Arge the city,  
Like as I read, and all in clothes black,  
That to behold the sorrow that they make  
It were a death to any man alive:  
And if I should by and by discriue  
Her tender weeping, and her woeful souns,  
Her complaints and lamentatiouns,  
Her oft swooning, with faces dead and pale,  
Thereof I might make a new tale,  
Almost a day you to occupy,  
And as mine author doth clearly certify,  
Throughout all Grece, from all regiouns,  
Out of cities and royal touns  
Came all the ladies and women of estate,  
Full heavy cheered, and disconsolate  
To this assembly, toforne as I you told,  
In purpose fully her journey for to hold  
Toward Thebes, they sorrowful creatures,  
There to bewail her woeful aventures,  
Tacquite himself of troth & womanhood  
To her Lords, which in field lay dead,  
And as the story liketh to declare,  
All this journey they went on foot bare,  
Like as they had gone on pilgrimage,  
In token of mourning, barbed the visage,  
Wimpled eachone in burnet weeds,  
Not in chairs, drawn forth with steeds,  
Nor on palfreys, black neither white,  
Like as mine author liketh to indite,  
To holden her way, but barefoot forth they went,  
So faithfully everychone they meant,  
Through heaviness, defaced of her hue,  
And as I find, they weren all true,  
Now was not that a wonder for to see  
So many true out of o country,  
At ones gathered in a company,  
And faithful all, books cannot lie,  
Both in her port, and inward in meaning,  
Unto my doom it was an uncouth thing,  
Among a thousand women, or tweine,  
Not to find one that could in heart feign,  
It was a marvel, not oft seen toforne,  
* For seld in fields groweth any corn,  
But if some weed spring up there among,  
Men alloy Wines when they be too strong,  
But her troth was meint with none alleys,  
They were so true found at all assays,  
And they ne stint upon her journey,  
Till that they come there they would be,  
Where Adraitus, written as I find,  
Lay in his tent, all of colour Ind,  
And greatly marvelled, when that he beheld  
The number of him, spread through all the field,  
Clad all in black, and barefoot everychone,  
Out of his tent he dressed him anon,  
Upon his hand the King Campaneus,  
Full trist in heart, and face right piteous,  
Again the women forth they went in fere,  
And to behold the woeful heavy cheer,  
The doleful cries also when they met,  
The sorrowful sighs in her breasts shut,  
The tears new distilling on her faces,  
And so swooning in many sundry places,  
When they her Lords alive not ne found,  
But in the field, through girt with many a wound  
Lay 'straught upright, plainly to indite,  
With deadly eyes turned up the white,  
Who made sorrow, or felt her heart rive  
For her Lord, but the fair Argive,  
Who can now weep, but Deiphilee,  
Tideus for she ne might see,  
Whose constreints were so fell and keen,  
That Adrastus might not sustain,  
To behold the Ladies so compleine,  
Wishing his heart coruen were in tweine.   

How the old cursed Creon will not suffer the bodies neither to be brent nor buried.  
And yet alas both even and morrow,  
O thing there was that doubled all her sorrow  
That old Creon fader of felony,  
Ne would suffer through his tyranny,  
The dead bodies be buried neither brent,  
But with beasts and hounds to be rend,  
He made him all upon an heap be laid,  
Whereof the women thirst and evil paid,  
For very dole as it was no wonder,  
Her hearts felt almost rive asunder,  
And as my master Chaucer list to indite,  
All clad in black with her wimples white,  
With great honour, and due reverence,  
In the Temple of the goddess Clemence,  
They bided the space of a fortnight,  
Till Theseus the noble worthy knight,  
Duke of Athenes, with his chivalry,  
Repaired home out of Feminy,  
And with him led, full fair upon to seen,  
Through his manhood Ipolita the Queen,  
And her sister called Emely:  
And when these women first 'gan espy  
The worthy Duke, as he came riding,  
King Adrastus him all conveying,  
The women brought unto his presence,  
Which him besought to give him audience,  
And all at ones swooning in the place,  
Full humbly besoughten him of grace,  
To rue on him, her harms to redress:  
But if ye list to see the gentillesse  
Of Theseus, and how he hath him borne,  
If ye remember, as ye have heard toforne  
Well rehearsed, at Depford in the vale,  
In the beginning of the knight's tale.   

How the final destruction of Thebes is compendiously rehearsed in the Knight's tale.  
First how that he when he herd him speak,  
For very routh he felt his heart break,  
And her sorrows when he 'gan advart,  
From his courser down anon he start,  
Him comforting in full good intent,  
And in his arms he him all up hent,  
The Knight's tale rehearsen everydele,  
From point to point, if ye look it well,  
And how this Duke, without more abode,  
The same day toward Thebes road,  
Full like in sooth a worthy conqueror,  
And in his coast of chivalry the flour:  
And finally to speaken of this thing,  
With old Creon, that was of Thebes king,  
How that he fought, & slough him like a knight,  
And all his host put unto the flight,  
Yet as some authors make mention,  
Or Theseus entered into the town,  
The women first with pekois & with malles,  
With great labour beat down the walls,  
And in her writing, also as they sane,  
Campaneus was in the walls slain,  
With cast of stones he was so overlade,  
For whom Adrastus such a sorrow made,  
That no man may release him of his pain,  
And jocasta, with her daughters twain,  
Full wilfully oppressed of her cheres,  
To Athenes were sent as prisoners,  
What fell of him, more can I not sane,  
But Theseus, mine author write certain,  
Out of the field, ere he from Thebes went,  
He beat it down, and the houses brent,  
The people slough, for all her crying loud,  
He made her walls and her towers proud,  
Round about, even upon a row,  
With the soil to be said full low,  
That nought was left but the soil bare,  
And to the women, in release of her care,   

How that Duke Theseus delivered to the Ladies the Bodies of their Lords.  
The bodies of her Lords that were slain,  
This worthy Duke restored hath again,  
But what should I any longer dwell,  
The old rites by and by to tell,  
Nor the obsequies in order to devose,  
Nor declare the manner and the guise,  
How the bodies were to ashes brent,  
Nor of the goms in the flaume spent,  
To make the air sweeter of reles,  
Of Frankincense, Mirre, and Aloes,  
Nor how the women round about stood,  
Some with milk, and some also with blood,  
And some of him with urns made of gold,  
When the ashes fully were made cold,  
To enclose him of great affection,  
And bear him home unto her region,  
And how that other, full deadly of her look,  
For love only, of the bones took,  
Him to keep for a remembrance,  
That to rehearse every observance  
That was done in the fires bright,  
The wake plays during all the night,  
Nor of the wrestling, telling point by point,  
Of him that were naked and anoint,  
How every other lug can and shake,  
Ne how the women have her leave take  
Of Theseus, with full great humblesse,  
Thanking him of his high worthiness,  
That him list upon her woe to rue,  
And how that he, his freedom to renew,  
With the women of his high largesse  
Iparted hath eke, of his richesses,  
And how this Duke Theseus him forsook,  
And to Athenes the right way took,  
With Laurer crowned in sign of victory,  
And the palm of conquest and of glory,  
Did his honour duly unto Mart,  
And how the women wept when they part   

How King Adrastus, with the Ladies, repaired home again to Arge.  
With King Adrastus, home ayein to Arge,  
To tell all, it were too great a charge:  
And eke also, as ye shall understand,  
At beginning I took no more on hand,  
By my promise, in conclusion,  
But to rehearse the destruction  
Of mighty Thebes, and no more,  
And thus Adrastus with his locks door,  
Still abode in Arge his city  
Unto his end, ye get no more of me,  
Sauf as mine author liketh to compile,  
After that he lived but a while,  
For he was old ere the siege began,  
And thought and sorrow so upon him ran,  
The which in sooth shorted hath his days,  
And time set, Death maketh no delays,  
And all his joy passed was and gone,  
For of his lords alive was not one,  
But slain at Thebes, ye known all the case,  
And when this King in Arge buried was  
Full royally with great solemnity,  
It was accounted in books ye may see,   

Four hundred year tofore the foundation of Rome was the City of Thebes destroyed.  
CCCC. year, as made is mention,  
Tofore the building and foundation  
Of great Rome, so royal and so large,  
When the Ladies departed from Arge  
To her countries, full trist and desolate,  
Lo here the fine of conteke and debate,  
Lo here the might of Mars the froward star,  
Lo what it is to begin a were,  
How it concludeth, ensample ye may see,  
First of the Greeks, & sith of the Thebans cite,  
For either part hath matter to complain,  
And in her strife ye may see things twain.   

How all the worthy Blood of Greece destroyed was at siege, and the City brought to nought, to final loss of both parties.  
The worthy blood of all Greece spilt,  
And Thebes eke of Amphion first built,  
Without recure brought to ruin,  
And with the soil made plain as any line,  
To wilderness turned, and desert,  
And Greeks eke fall into poverty,  
Both of her men, and also of her good,  
For finally all the gentle blood  
Was shed out there, her wounds were so wide,  
To loss final unto either side,  
For in the war is none exception  
Of high estate, ne low condition,  
But as fate and fortune both in fere,  
List to dispose with her double cheer,   

Bellona goddess is of battle.  
And Bellona the goddess in her chare  
* Aforn provideth: Wherefore every man beware  
Vnavised war to begin,  
For no man wot who shall less or win,  
And hard it is when either part loseth,  
And doubtless neither of hem chooseth,  
That they must in all such mortal rage,  
Maugre her lust, feelen great damage,  
It may not be by man's might restrained,  
And war in sooth was never ordained  
But for sinful folks to chastise,  
And as the Bible truly can devose,   

How that War first began in Heaven, by the high Pride and Surquedy of Lucifer.  
High in heaven, of pride and surquedy,  
Lucifer fader of Envy,  
The old Serpent the Leviathan,  
Was the first that ever war began,  
When Michael, the heavenly champion,  
With his feres venquished the Dragon,  
And to hell cast him down full low,  
The which Serpent hath the Coccle sow,  
Through all earth, of envy and debate,  
* That unneths is there none estate,  
Without strife can live in charity,  
For every man of high and low degree,  
Envieth now that other should thrive:  
And ground & cause, why that men so strive,  
Is covetise, and false Ambition,  
That every would have domination  
Over other, and tread him underfoot,  
Which of all sorrow beginning is and root,  
And Christ recordeth, read, look, & ye may see,  
For lack of love with mischief there shall be:   

Surget gens contra gentem. Luc. xxi.  
For o people, as he doth devose,  
Against another of hate shall arise:  
And after telleth what divisions  
There shall be between regions,  
Eueriche busy other to oppress,  
And all such strife, as he beareth witness,  
Kalends been, I take his word to borrow,  
And a beginning of mischief and of sorrow,  
Men have it found by experience:  
But the venom and the violence  
Of strife, of war, of conteke and of debate,  
That maketh londs bare and desolate,  
Shall be proscript, and voided out of place,  
And Martes swords shall no more menace,  
Nor his spear, grievous to sustain,  
Shall now no more whetted be so keen,  
For he no more shall his hauberke shake,  
But love and peace shall in hearts awake,  
And Charity, both in length and bread,  
Of new shall her bright beams spread  
Through grace only in divers nations,  
For to reform atween Regions  
Peace and quiet, concord, and unity,  
And that is both one, two, and three,  
Eke three in one, and sovereign lord of pees,  
Which in this exile, for our sake cheese  
For love only our troubles to termine,  
For to be borne of a pure virgin,  
And let us pray to him that is most good,  
That for mankind shed his heart blood,  
Through beseeching of that heavenly queen,  
Wife and mother, and maiden clean,  
To send us peace in this life here present,  
And of our sins perfect amendment,  
And joy eternal, when we hence wend,  
And of my tale thus I make an end.    
Here now endeth, as ye may see, The Destruction of Thebes the city.   

The Old and Obscure Words in Chaucer explained,  
whereof either by Nature or Derivation, 

Some are Arabic, Noted with a.  
Some Greek, Noted with g.  
Some Latin, Noted with l.  
Some Italian, Noted with i.  
Some French, Noted with f.  
Some Dutch, Noted with d.  
Some Dialects within this our Country of Britain are many of them derived from the Saxon Tongue, Noted with b.    
The rest are explained by way of Analogy.  
Annotations also upon several Words and Places.  

ABandon, f. liberty.  
abandon, f. give over.  
abandoning, f. rejectment.  
abawed, b. daunted, abashed.  
abet, b. setting on.  
abedge, b. abye.  
abying, b. state.  
abit, b. abideth, dwelleth.  
abidst, b. suffered.  
abode, received.  
abode, b. tarrying.  
abraid, b. arose, recovered.  
abraid, b. broke off, upstart.  
abreding, upbraiding.  
ablusions, l. cleansings.  
abyme, l. from below.  
acale, d. cold.  
access, b. ague.  
accidie, l. wanhope.  
accoy, f. assuage.  
acoyed, f. pampered, made quiet.  
achecked, b. stayed.  
acheked, b. choked.  
ackele, b. cool.  
acloyeth, b. overchargeth.  
acroke, b. awry.  
acquit, f. match, to dispatch.  
adassed, b. abashed.  
adawed, b. awaked.  
adjacent, l. adjoining.  
advertence, l. audience: also mind, or thought.  
advert, l. mark.  
adventaile, f. coat of Armour.  
afare, f. a noise, a business.  
afyne, f. fined.  
affis, f. have trust.  
affray, b. fear, stir, assault.  
affrey, f. sturdiness, also fear.  
agasteth, b. skarreth.  
agiler, f. a marker of men.  
agilted, b. offended.  
agilt, b. committed, offended.  
agre, to please, to content.  
agredge, f. aggravate, to gather together.  
agrize, b. afraid.  
agrisen, b. afeard.  
agrize, b. faint, terrify, grieve.  
agriseth, b. beginneth to quake.  
agramed, d. greeved.  
agrose, b. was greeved, daunted.  
agroted, d. cloyed, made big, swelled.  
agrutched, abridged.  
aiust, b. remove.  
alleys, b. ways; also temperance.  
* Alnath. Alnath is a fixed Star in the horns of. Aries, from whence the first mansion of the Moon taketh his name, and is called Alnath.  
alledgement, i. ease.  
alleged, i. diminished.  
Alderan, a. a Star in the Neck of the Lion.  
algate, b. notwithstanding, ever, forsooth, even now, altogether.  
alcali, a. Nightshade, salt wort.  
* Algezer, Algezira, a City in Spain, near the straits of Gibraltar.  
als, d. also: as well.  
alestake, d. Maypole.  
Almagist, a. a work of Astronomy, written by Ptolemy.  
alembic, a. a stillitory.  
allures, f. walks, alleys.  
algomisa, a. (Canis minor) the less dog star.  
alder, b. all alone, only, chief.  
alhabor, a. (Canis major) the greater dog star.  
alswa, d. also.  
ally, f. b. kin.  
alien, f, ally.  
Alisandre, Alexandria in Egypt, now called Scanderia.  
almurie, a. the denticle of Capricorn.  
algrim, a. (algebra.) The art of figurate numbers.  
alterate, l. changed.  
Almicanteras, a. the name of the Circles, which are imagined to pass thorough every degree of the Meridian parallei to the Horizon, up to the Zenith.  
alose, l. commend.  
aldebaran, a. (oculus Tauri) the Bull's eye.  
allege, i ease.  
almanac, a. g. a Month, a Calendar.  
all a boon, b. made request.  
allegiance, i. ease.  
Allidatha, a. the Index of the Astrolabe.  
allaundes, f. greyhounds.  
Amadriades, g. Nymphs, that live and die with the Trees.  
Amalgaming, using a mixture of quicksilver and metals.  
amate, d. daunted.  
ametised, f. quenched.  
amenused, f. diminished.  
amorits, lovers favours.  
amortised, l. killed.  
Amphibologies, g. forms of speaking, wherein one Sentence hath contrary senses.  
ancelle, l. an handmaid.  
anigate, occasion.  
anhowve, b. hoover.  
Anelace, (Prologue.) a falchion or wood-knife. Which I gather out of Matthew Paris, page 535, where he writeth thus; Quorum unus videns occiduam partem dorsi (of Richard Earl Marshal, then fight for his life in Ireland) minus armis communitam, peroussit eum in posteriora (loricam sublevando) cum quodam genere cul●elli, quod vulgariter Anelacitus nuncupatur, & laetaliter vulnerabat eum cultellum usque ad manubrium immergendo; which Annelace was worn about the girdlesteed of the Body, as was the pouch or purse: For thus, pag. 542. writeth the same Matthew Paris; Inter quos Petrus de Rivalis primus in causam vocatus apparuit coram rege in habitu clericali, cum ●onsura, & lata corona, analaceo tamen alumbali dependentè, etc.  
anney, b. annoy.  
annueller, f. secular.  
annoy, forethink.  
antiphoner, g. a certain service book.  
anhowue, to hover.  
anticlaudianus, a certain book written by one Alanus de Insulis.  
antem, g. a song.  
appall, b. decay.  
appayre, b. decay.  
apparel, f. prepare.  
appalled, unpleasant.  
appeteth, l. desireth.  
append, l. belong.  
apoplexy, g. dead palsy.  
apposen, i. demand, object.  
aprentise, f. skill.  
aprise, b. adventure, or show.  
aquiler, f. needle-case.  
arace, f. to deface.  
arblasters, f. Crossbows.  
arrest, f. durance, quietness, stay, an assault, also he that tarrieth still.  
aretteth, art, impute, layeth blame.  
areest, f. quietness.  
arrest, f. standers, remainers.  
aretted, b. accounted.  
arere, f. behind.  
Argonauticon, g. A book written by Apollonius Rhodius Alexandrinus, wherein he speaketh of Jason, and of them which went with him to Colchos to fetch the golden Fleece.  
argoile, f. clay.  
arret, i. to charge.  
ariet, the sign Aries.  
arite, arrest, stay.  
arist, b. arose.  
ark diurne, l. day.  
ark, f. compass, bow.  
armipotent, l. mighty in arms.  
armonie, g. music.  
arsnecke, i. Zanderacha, Orpin made of red Ceruse burned.  
arten, l. restrain.  
arted, l. forced.  
arted, l. constrained.  
ascaunces, as who should say, as though.  
asterte, let pass.  
assize, f. order.  
asks, d. ashes.  
astart, b. scaped, passed.  
aspect, l. face, or look.  
Asterlagour, g. an Astrolabe.  
* Astronomy, He that will be a Physician according to Homer's Prescription, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is, equivalent to any, aught to be skilful in Astronomy, and Magic natural. For if by Astronomy he be not able to judge in what state the Heavens stood, and what their Aspects were, when his patient sickened: and by Magic natural to calculate his Nativity, thereby to know which of the heavenly bodies ruled most in his birth, he shall hardly, or but by chance, conjecture to what end his Sickness will sort.  
aswith, b. forthwith.  
azure, f. blue.  
asckance, b. as if, aside.  
ashate, f. buying.  
assised, sure,  
asseth, assent.  
asweved, b. amazed.  
asterten, b. escape.  
assoil, b. answer, declare.  
as, how.  
as wis, b. as verily.  
attaint, f. tried.  
atamed, b. set on brooch.  
atterly, b. earnestly.  
attoure, b. towards, also attire.  
attoure, f. attire for women.  
at erst, b. in earnest.  
* Athalanta, was daughter to Gaeneus, who contending in running with them which did woe her, was at the last overcome by Hippomenes, who cast three golden Apples in her way, which stayed her in taking of them up, and so she was overcome.  
athroted, d. choked.  
atwin, b. asunder.  
attempre, f. moderate.  
attenes, b. at ones.  
attwite, b. to make blame worthy, to upbraid.  
* Athalus, That Athalus Asiaticus was the first Inventor of the Chess, Johannes Sarisburiensis in his Policraticon, lib. 1. chap. 5. doth witness, from whence (no doubt) Chaucer had it, as he had many things else, being a work full of variety and skill, and therefore justly commended by J. Lipsius. There it may appear, that Athalus invented the game called Abacus, the which word, as it hath divers significations, so it is taken for Latrunculorum lusus, that is, the Chess play, as out of Macrobius and others may be proved.  
aureat, l. golden.  
aumener, b. cupboard.  
aurore, l. morning.  
augrim stones, a. pebbles to cast account withal.  
auntreth, b. maketh adventure.  
austrine, l. froward.  
authentic, f. of authority.  
aumer, Amber.  
autremite, f. another attire.  
avail, f. go down.  
availed, assaulted.  
avail, f. send down.  
avaunt, f. a brag, forward, apace, set forward.  
avaunt, f. forward, apace.  
avenant, f. agreeable, comely.  
aver, i bribery, richesse.  
await, watch, circumspection.  
await, d. watch by way:  
awayts, (insidiae) b. ambushments.  
await, b. tarrying, watching, pending, secrecy.  
award, b. judgement:  
awhaped, b. amazed, daunted.  
awhere, desire.  
awrecketh, b. revengeth.  
axes, b. the ague.  
ay, egg.  
ail, b. ever.  
Azimutes, a. great circles meeting in the Zenith, and passing all the degrees of the Horizon.   

B.  
Bandon, d. company, sect, custody.  
bargenet, A song or sonnet.  
bargaret, A kind of dance.  
barm, b. lap.  
bawsin, big, some say it is a Badger or Grace.  
baggingly, (tumide) disdainfully.  
baronage, f. lords.  
base, g. the foundation or ground of any thing.  
balais of entail, f. precious stones engraved.  
bawdry, b. bravery.  
barmecloth, (limas) b. an Apron or safeguard.  
bath, b. both.  
bale, b. sorrow.  
barbicans, b. watch Tours, in the Saxon Tongue, borough kennings.  
baldric, f. furniture, a sword girdle.  
barkefat, b. Tanner's tub.  
baselards, (si●ae) swords, dagger's.  
balk, d. scape, fault.  
bawd, d. brave, bold, lusty.  
barb, f. a mask or vizard.  
battled, made with battlements.  
bay, b. stake.  
baleful, b. sorrowful.  
babeuries, f. Antiquets.  
bane, b. destruction.  
bandon, i. company, sect.  
baggingli, (tumidae) b. swellingly, disdainfully.  
bailli, f. government.  
baggeth, disdaineth.  
bayne, f. a bath.  
beausir, f. fair sir.  
belchier, f. good countenance.  
beed, continued.  
bearing, b. behaviour.  
beams, Trumpets.  
beat, b. make, also abate, placed, also to help.  
beaten, b. made.  
bedeth, b. offereth.  
behote, b. promise.  
beshet, d. shut up.  
benimmeth, d. bereaveth.  
beknew, learned out.  
behight, b. promised.  
belchose, f. fair choice.  
barn, b. bear, convey.  
bede, b. put, offer.  
bessegeden, d. besieged.  
beat, b. help.  
behoteth, promiseth.  
bede, dwelled, continued.  
bewared, b. spent.  
bewrien, b. to bewray.  
belle, f. good.  
be'st, f. a beast.  
bell Isaude, f. well spoken.  
behete, behight, b. promised.  
benison, f. b. blessing.  
bends, f. bands.  
bey, b. obey.  
bend, b. a steep place.  
betressed, deceived.  
bewrowned, b. spoken in the ear.  
besien, b. trouble.  
bewri, b. declare.  
bend, b. a muffler or cale.  
beaten, f. to make a band, to kindle.  
believe, b. anon.  
besey, b. become.  
beareth, b. behaveth.  
belomie, f. fair or good friend.  
bey, b. buy.  
behete, b. promise.  
Belmari, Taken to be that Country in Barbary, called by Vassens, Benamarin.  
Besant, g. A Greekish Coin called Byzantium, as William Malmesbury saith, because it was the Coin of Constantinople, sometime called Byzantium.  
barn, b. to carry.  
beset, set packing.  
bewrecke, b. revenged.  
behew, b. guilded.  
beck, f. b. bill, beak.  
belt, b. girdle.  
betrens, b. sprinkled; also winding about.  
betrassed, b. deceived, betrayed.  
beat, abate.  
bette, d. better, quickly.  
benes, b. bones.  
bemeint, b. lamented, bemoaned.  
beyet, b. begotten.  
bismar, f. (bizarre) fantastical strangeness.  
birell, i fine glass, also a kind of precious stone.  
Bialacoile, f. fair welcoming.  
bid, d. pray.  
bit, b. bad, commanded.  
bineme, d. bereave.  
bint, b. bound.  
bigin, bigot, f. superstitious hypocrite, or hypocritical woman.  
bittor, b. a certain water-foul.  
bidding, abiding.  
biker, b. a fray.  
bigami, g. twice married.  
blankemanger, f. custard.  
blue Euage, (cyanaeus) of blue colour.  
blithe, d. merry.  
believe, b. quickly, gladly.  
blind, b. cease.  
blasons, f. praises.  
blanche, f. white.  
blandish, l. soothe up.  
blande, l. flattering.  
blankers, f. white.  
black buried, Hell.  
bleine, b. a bile.  
blended, d. stayed, turned back, also blind.  
blee, b. sight, hue, favour, look.  
blend, b. blind, to make blind.  
bleve, dleven, tarry, abide.  
blink, b. looking aside.  
blo, b. blue.  
blondrens, d. toil, bluster.  
bode, b. message or news.  
bode, d. tidings; also, could, was able.  
bodeth, b. showeth.  
boistous, f. halting; also plain, rude, great.  
bounty, f. goodness.  
bosche, l. a bush.  
bower, b. house.  
boon, f. b. good.  
borne, to burnish.  
bolne, b. to swell.  
bottom, f. bud.  
boun, b. ready.  
boot, b. help.  
board, d. a trencher, b. a table.  
bordels, f. brothelhouses.  
boot of bale, b. ease of sorrow.  
board, board, b. jest.  
borace, i soldar.  
boon, b. ready.  
bolne, b. swelled.  
bowl, a Bull.  
borrow, a pledge, a surety.  
borrell, d. plain, rude.  
bout, b. without.  
boat, b. did bite.  
borrell, f. attire on the head.  
bowke, b. the body, or belly, or the Stomach.  
bone, b. request.  
* Board begon, Prologues. This Knight being often among the Knights of the Dutch Order, called Ordo Teutonicus, in Prussia, was for his Worthiness placed by them at the Table, before any of what Nation soever. If any desire to know the Profession of these Knights called Teutonicis, it was thus: They having their dwelling at Jerusalem, were bound to entertain Pilgrims, and at Occasions to serve in War against the Saracens. They were apparelled in white, and upon their uppermost Garment did wear a black Cross. And for that this Order was first begun by a certain rich Almaigne, none were received into the same, save only Gentlemen of the Dutch Nation. After Jerusalem was last taken by the Saracens, Anno 1184. these Knights retired to Tolemaida; and that being taken, into Germany, their own Country. And when as there also the People of Prussia used Incu●sions upon their Confines, they went unto Frederick the Second, than Emperor, Anno 1220. who granted them leave to make Wars upon them, and to turn the spoil to the maintenance of their Order. After this Conquest of Prussia, these Knights grew rich, and builded there many Temples and Places of Residence for Bishops, who also were enjoined to wear the Habit of the Order. Chaucer will have his Knight of such Fame, that he was both known and honoured of this Order.  
braudris, b. graven work.  
braying, f. b. sounding.  
brawns, b. sinews, muskles.  
broke, steel.  
braket, b. a drink made of water and honey.  
bravi, l. reward.  
brat b. a rag.  
braid, b. arose, awaked, took, broke out.  
braced, b. break.  
brayed, b. a burnt, strange fare.  
breed, b. breadth.  
breed, a bride.  
bredgen, b. abridge.  
brens, b. bran.  
breed, abroad.  
brecke, (ruptura) d. a bruise, a breach.  
breme, b. (ferociter) fiercely.  
bretfull, b. top full.  
brige, breach.  
brike, b. astrait, or narrow.  
bronde, d. fury, fire.  
broke, b. enjoy, to like.  
broken, b. brook.  
brocking, b. throbbing.  
brotells, b. brickle.  
brocage, b. means, spokesmen.  
browded, b. embroidered.  
browke, b. to enjoy.  
burnet's, f. hoods, attire for the head.  
bugle, b. black horn.  
bumbeth, b. soundeth.  
but, except.  
burled, armed.  
burdon, b. a deep base.  
burned, b. brightly filled, burnished.  
burell, f. fine glass, a precious stone.  
burdon, f. a staff.  
burly brand, b. a great sword.  
burned, burnished.  
burnet, f. woollen.  
buxioning, f. budding.  
buxum, b. dutiful.  
buxumnesse, b. lowliness.  
biddeth, d. prayeth.  
big, b. build.  
by rue, b. in order.  
bywoxens, b. made senseless, overwept.   

C.  
* Caere Inda, Some think it should be Caere Lud, that is, the City of Lud, called London.  
caleweyes, Calure, as Salmon, or other red Fish.  
canceline, f. chamlet.  
camysed, f. flat nosed.  
cankedore, i woeful case.  
call, d. (pulchrum) bravery.  
callot, b. a lewd woman.  
canell, d. a Sinnamon tree.  
carects, g. marks, prints.  
cardiacle, g. wring at the heart.  
canon, g. a rule.  
caitisned, l. chained.  
cadence, l. proof.  
cassidoni, g. a stone growing in Aethiopia, which shineth like Fire. Ex Lib. de Natura Rerum.  
capel, b. an horse.  
caroll, f. a song or dance.  
calsening, f. bringing any metal into powder.  
catapuce, g. spurge.  
cameline, f. chamlet.  
calked, l. cast.  
* Ceruse, White Lead, the Composition whereof is thus: Fossa fiat in Terra: claudatur circumquaque muro paruo: demum accipiantur laminae plumbeae oblongae formae quadrangulae, & projiciantur ex circumfuso super foveam: postmodum projiciatur in fovea acetum forte, bullietque projectum super superficiem terrae, & vapour inde resolutus inficiet plumbum: post spacium vero vinus diei vel amplius rade ab illis laminis, quod illis adhaeret, & illud desicca ad solemn, & erit Cerusa.  
certres, i undoubtful signs:  
centure, g. the point in the midst of a circle.  
censing, b. casting the smoke, Frankincense.  
celerer, d. butler.  
cell, d. a study.  
chasteleine, f. a gentlewoman of a great house.  
chanters, f. singers.  
chaffer, d. goods, wares.  
chauntepleure, f. that weepeth and singeth together.  
chapelet, f. a garland.  
charters, f. writings.  
chaffer, d. buying and selling.  
chalons, f. blankets, cover.  
champartie, f. maintaining a quarrel.  
chapter, b. chief Rulers in Abbeys.  
charge, hurt, harm.  
chekelaton, b. a stuff of Checker-work, made of Cloth of Gold.  
chevisance, f. merchandise, devise, a bargain.  
cheese, b. choose.  
chevice, f. redeem; also to effect.  
cheorte, f. love, jealousy, pity.  
chest, (subjectum) receptable.  
cheve, d. thrive.  
chest, (opprobrium) slander.  
chevesayle, f. a gorget.  
chert, f. love.  
cherisaunce, b. comfort.  
cherts, f. merry folks.  
chevesayle, f. a gorget.  
chike, a chekin.  
chincheri, f. nigardliness.  
chiver, b. to shake.  
Christopher, l. a picture of a Man, carrying a Child on his shoulders over a River.  
chinch, f. niggardly.  
chirking, b. a noise, making a noise.  
chirking, (stridens) crashing.  
chite, b. chiteth.  
chilandris, f. a goldfinch.  
chivancie, f. chivalry, riding.  
churliche, b. plain, homely.  
churl, b. slave.  
church Reves, b. Churchwardens.  
chymbe, d. the uttermost part of a barrel.  
citrination, perfect digestion, or the colour proving the Philosopher's stone.  
citrine, f. yellow.  
citriall, i. a gittern, or dulcimer, called Sambuca.  
cierges, f. Wax Candles, Lamps.  
clarions, d. trumpets.  
cleape, b. call.  
clare, clari, b. wine and honey mingled (Vinum rubedum) d. red wine.  
clepe, b. call.  
clergion, g. a clerk.  
clenched, b. fastened.  
clevis, b. cliffs, rocks.  
clergicall, g. learned.  
climb, b. found.  
clip, clippeth, d. embraceth, kisseth.  
climate, g. a portion of the Firmament between South and North, varying in one day half an hours space.  
clicket, b. an Instrument of Iron to lift up a latch.  
clotlefe, (personata) b. the great Burleaf.  
clomben, d. ascended.  
clum, a note of silence.  
cockney, b. a wizard, disard, fool.  
controve, f. devise.  
controuer, f. deviser.  
* Constellation, the motion or inward working of the stars or heavenly elements, upon our earthly bodies.  
covercle, f. a cover, a lid.  
contemplance, l. private study.  
* Collect, Expans, years, and Roots, are terms belonging to the Tolitane Tables, and so be his Centres, his Arguments, Proportionels, etc. Face and Term be dignities belonging to the Planets.  
costei, d. to walk.  
convaile, recover.  
compeer, f. d. gossip.  
commensall, f. a table companion.  
convention, l. a bargain.  
corare, f. overcome.  
costrell, b. a wine-pot.  
controuer, f. deviser.  
courtepie, d. a short gawberdine, or upper Garment.  
corrumpeth, i. stinketh, putrifieth.  
couth, b. known perfectly.  
cog, a cogbote.  
columbine, l. dovelike.  
cordewane, f. dry leather.  
conteke, f. strife.  
costage, d. charge, cost.  
corigeth, l. correcteth.  
corven, d. taken, carved.  
couched, f. interlaied, underlaied.  
covent, b. a number of thirteen Friars.  
con, d. know, be able.  
coitu, l. copulation.  
confecture, l. a medicine.  
coy, coyen, f. to quiet, to flatter, also secret, dainty, nice.  
cop, d. f. top.  
conisance, f. knowledge.  
covine, b. deceit.  
connen, d. can.  
coagulate, l. curdled, joined.  
colfox, b. a black or fearful Fox.  
corare, i. overcome.  
controve, f. to fain, to devise.  
combust, l. burnt, scorched.  
coins, f. quinches.  
coynt, f. strange.  
counterpleted, b. controlled.  
corosive, l. eating, wasting.  
commoning, l. part taking.  
coupe gorge, f. cut throat.  
corbets, f. d. places in walls, where Images stand.  
cornmuse, l. Music on Cornets.  
covenable, f. convenient.  
coulpe, l. fault.  
coure, b. kneel, stoop.  
commaunce, f. community.  
coilons, f. stones.  
coyse, b. joliness, niceness.  
coart, l. enforce.  
courfine, f. fine heart.  
compinable, f. fit for company.  
cope, f. a cloak.  
crampisheth, crampesh, d. gnaweth.  
crallit, b. engraven.  
creanseth, f. dealeth on credit.  
creance, f. faith or trust.  
crepusculis, l. crepuscles, or dawning.  
cress, f. a rush.  
crisp, l. curled.  
Croiseri, b. they for whom Christ suffered upon the Cross.  
crock, crucke, f. d. a cup, or stean, an earthen pot.  
crouched, b. blessed.  
crone, b. an old prating Woman.  
crop, f. top.  
crouch, i. cross, bless.  
crowdest, d. thrustest.  
crosslet, f. a melting pot.  
crockes, d. locks of hair.  
croupe, f. buttock.  
crull, d. curled.  
curreidew, b. curry favour.  
cure bulli, f. tanned leather:  
eucurbite, l. a kind of long necked Glass.  
* Curfew, William the Conqueror in the first year of his reign, commanded, That in every Town and Village a Bell should be rung every night at eight of the Clock, and that all People should then put forth their Fire and Candle, and go to Bed. The ringing of this Bell was called in the French Tongue Curfew, that is, Cover Fire.  
culpons, parts, or streiks; heaps.  
culleth, b. pulleth, enforceth.   

D.  
* Dan Burnell, Nigellus Wireker, Monk of Canterbury, a Man of great Reading and Judgement, as Leland writeth of him, was not afraid to write of the faults of Curates, & the misspending of Church Goods; even to William Longshampe, Bishop of Ely, and Lord Chancellor of England, a Man of all Men under the Sun most malicious. He did write in Verse to the foresaid William, a Book, under the Title of Brunellus, called Speculum stultorum; And this is it which Chaucer calleth here, Burnell the Ass. He lived, Anno 1200. in the Days of King John.  
daws, b. days, time.  
daweth, b. springeth, beginneth.  
daren, darreigne, b. attempt, challenge.  
daw, b. wax day.  
dare, b. stare.  
daffe, b. dasterd.  
dags, (fractura) latchets cut of leather.  
dagon, (fractura) a piece or remnant.  
dagged, b. slitted.  
dates, b. accounts.  
dayned, f. vouchsafed.  
defayted, decayed, senseless.  
dear, b. hurt, grieve.  
deluge, l. a flood.  
deviant, l. far off, wandering.  
definished, l. proved.  
desiderie, l. lust.  
debonairely, f. meekly.  
this, b. a seat.  
debonair, f. gentle, humble.  
deaurat, l. shining.  
denwere, b. doubt.  
destrer, f. horse of Arms.  
de pardeux, f. by God.  
debate, f. to fight.  
darn, (dirus) earnest, careful, secret.  
dainty, desire.  
decoped, d. peaked.  
demean, f. behave.  
deficate, l. deified.  
deiden, died.  
dame, condemn.  
deep lowpe, (transparens) giving through light.  
deslavi, d. lecherous, servile, beastly.  
day, dead; also 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a dairy woman.  
demaine, f. toll, custom, possession, also to rule.  
demoniake, g. possessed of a Devil.  
demin, b. Judge.  
dely, b. small.  
devoir, f. labour, endeavour, duty.  
dent, b. stroke.  
demean, f. complain, behave.  
delve, d. dig, ditch.  
deignous, f. disdainful.  
devinals, l. wizards.  
defended, d. forbade, forbidden.  
dequace, b. dash.  
dexe, a desk.  
defouled, shamed.  
defence, f. charge, forbidding.  
determinate, l. limited.  
dispaired, b. discouraged.  
dissentori, a kind of still.  
digne, l. worthy, meet; also lieth, gentle, yielding, also to vouchsafe.  
divinistre, l. a divine.  
dike, b. ditch.  
diapered, f. diversified.  
divinaile, (Aenigma) g. a riddle.  
dight, b. made ready, handled, used; also to cover.  
distance, l. discord, danger.  
dispended, l. wasted.  
dim, b. obscure.  
dishevild, f. barehairred.  
dite, b. a treatise.  
disconsolate, l. without comfort.  
dismal, l. (dies malus) unluckey.  
dispone, l. dispose.  
disparage, f. disgrace.  
distreineth, effecteth.  
discever, spend.  
distraineth, vexeth.  
diameter, g. a line dividing any figure into two equal parts.  
disease, b. vexation.  
disapered, l. vanished.  
discure, b. show.  
diverseth, l. turneth.  
disjoint, b. jeopardy.  
dissoned, l. dissonant.  
docked, b. cut off.  
done hours, b. do servise to God.  
doleth, l. grieveth.  
douced, a pipe made of box, sounding most sweetly.  
domesman, b. judged.  
doughty, b. stout.  
dortoure, f. dormitorium, a sleeping place.  
domed, b. judged.  
dormant, l. unremoved.  
doced, f. a sweet Instrument.  
dole, b. sorrow.  
doluen, d. buried.  
donet, l. a book so called.  
dowtremere, f. fair wearing.  
dowl, b. deal.  
dow, b. give.  
dretching, delay.  
dreri, b. heavy, sorrowful.  
dretch, to stay, to hinder, to tarry, to dream.  
draftie, d. irksome, filthy.  
drerines, b. sorrow.  
drenched, b. overcome, drowned.  
dreariness, b. heart-grief.  
dreint, b. drowned.  
dray, drey, dry.  
dri, drien, b. to suffer.  
drovi, d. filthy.  
drug, b. toil.  
drury, modesty, sobriety, comeliness.  
drough, b. drew.  
drenching, taking in.  
drunkelew, d. given to drink, drunken.  
* Dulcarnon, is a proportion in Euclid, lib. 1. Theorem. 33. propos. 47. which was found out by Pythagoras after an whole years study, and much beating of his Brain: In thankfulness whereof, he sacrificed an Ox to the Gods; which Sacrifice he called Dulcarnon. Alexander Neckam an ancient Writer, in his Book De Naturis Rerum, compoundeth this word of Dulia, and Caro, and will have Dulcarnon to be quasi sacrificium Carnis. Chaucer aptly applieth it to Creseide in this place; showing that she was as much amazed how to answer Troilus, as Pythagoras was wearied to bring his desire to effect.  
duresse, f. hardness.  
dwale, (solanum soporiferum) d. nightshade, provoking sleep.  
dwined, d. dried, consumed.   

E.  
Ebracke, Hebrew.  
ebracke, Jews.  
ecclesiast, g. a churchman.  
ecliptic line, g. the circumference of the circle, wherein the Sun finisheth his yearly motion.  
echen, each, b. increase, draw out.  
echeth, b. helpeth.  
eft, b. again, soon.  
effunde, l. utter.  
effated, f. sorted, defaced.  
eftris, efters, entries, ways, galleries.  
egment, b. procurement.  
eigteth mow, d. may grant.  
elate, l. stout.  
elenge, b. strange.  
eel, help.  
eldeth, b. maketh old.  
elth, eld, old age.  
elvish, b. wicked, froward.  
impaired, much grieved.  
emplede, f. sue.  
embolfe cercle, g. the oblique circle.  
embosed, hanged out his tongue with weariness.  
emforth, after, according.  
emispere, g. half the compass of the visible heaven.  
emplaster, f. set out, paint.  
emprise, f. enterprise; also fashion, order.  
enbolned, b. swelled.  
enchafeth, (flagrat) burneth.  
Eneidos', g. a work written by Virgil, of the travels of Aeneas.  
endry, b. endure.  
engined, d. racked.  
enhansed, f. exalted.  
enhauncen, lift up, raise.  
engine, f. wit, devise.  
engluting, f. stopping.  
imbibing, l. sucking.  
enewed, renewed.  
enmoised, f. comforted.  
encontrewayle, f. prevent, to meet.  
encheason, f. cause, occasion.  
enchafed, f. heated.  
enpited, delighted.  
enlangored, f. languishing.  
ensise, b. quality, fashion, order.  
entreteden, d. handle.  
entalenten, f. move, stir up.  
entail, f. graved work.  
entremete, f. deal, meddle.  
entermined, l. undermined.  
entered, l. buried.  
entalented, f. engrafted.  
enteched, f. defiled.  
entetched, f. qualified, spotted.  
entame, touch, handle.  
entailed, f. carved.  
entriketh, b. entrappeth.  
entriked, deceived; also mingled.  
enteched, f. qualified, or spotted.  
entremes, f. intermingled.  
enuelopt, f. wrapped.  
environ, f. round, round about.  
equinoctial, l. when the nights and days be all of one length.  
ernes, b. promise.  
reke, b. weary, loathing.  
earn, greatly.  
ernefull, b. sorrowful.  
* Erisychthon, g. Whereas some Copies have Hereos, some Hernes, and some such like counterfeit word, whereof can be given no reason; I have set down Eros, i. Cupid: as most agreeing in my Opinion with the matter; which I gather thus: Lucian, in his second Dialogue bringeth in Cupid teaching Jupiter how to becomeamiable, and in him, how lovers may be made acceptable to their ladies; not by weeping, watching, and fasting, nor by furious melancholic fits, but by comely behaviour. The words in the Greek, are thus much in Latin: Si voles amabilis esse neque concutias Aegida, neque fulmen geras: sed suavissimum teipsum exhibe: & vestem sume purpuream, crepidas subliga auratas: ad tibiam & ad Timpana composito gressu incede, & videbis quod plures te sequentur, quam Bacchum Maenades. So that the lovers of Eros, that is, Cupid's Servants, do carry themselves comely in all their Passions, and their Maladies are such as show no open distemperature of body or mind. which mediocrity this Arcite was far from keeping. And whereas some will have us read Heroes, i Noblemen; I cannot dislike their Opinion, for it may fitly stand with the sense of the place.  
err, f. way.  
erst, b. earnest.  
escrite, f. a writing.  
esperance, f. hope.  
esploit, perfection.  
espiritueles, l. heavenly.  
essoine, f. delay.  
eth, b. easy.  
etymologise, g. to show the true interpretation of a word.  
evin, b. equal.  
evin, b. upright.  
exiteth, l. moveth.  
exorcisms, g. adjurations.  
expleiten, f. make show, sergeant.  
eyth, b. easle.  
ay, an egg.   

F.  
Fast, wedded.  
fare, f. gone.  
falding, a kind of course cloth.  
fare, fair.  
faith, f. truth.  
fast frets, full fraughteth.  
farce, f. paint.  
fage, a fable.  
fare, b. cheer.  
farden, b. fared.  
famulers, l. helpers.  
falsed, l. deceived.  
fallas, l. deceit.  
fame, defame, slander.  
fassed, l. stuffed.  
faitors, i deceivers, flatterers.  
faith, l. truly, also fidelity.  
fairy, b. a goodly sight, the place where Hobgolins and Fairies dwell.  
fantom, f. fancy, vain vision.  
falke, b. people, folk.  
faugh, b. glad, joyful.  
fare, f. to go, also a stir.  
fauns, g. rustical gods.  
falsen, f. deceive.  
fantom, f. vain vision.  
facond, i. speech.  
fendli, b. ugly.  
fern year, February.  
fetise, b. handsome.  
farthing, b. a thin scale.  
fermerere, an overseer of cattle.  
feel, many, also feeling.  
ferd, b. fared.  
fermases, g. medicines.  
* Fen, Avicen divideth his Canons into partitions, which he calleth Fens.  
ferth, b. the fourth.  
fermentation, l. giving Life to the Philosopher's stone.  
feeled, known.  
fers, the queen in Chess-play.  
feature, f. handsomeness.  
fend, b. devil.  
fern, b. long time.  
feestlych, d. pleasant.  
fendish, b. devilish.  
ferly, b. strange.  
ferd, b. fared.  
felon, f. deadly, cruel.  
feel, b. knowledge.  
feathered, b. shaked his wings.  
fez, b. endue.  
feel, find.  
feel homages, f. faithful subjection.  
fell, b. the skin.  
seest, b. mirth, joy.  
fere, b. a companion.  
ferth, b. the fourth.  
feet, b. fine.  
fine, l. cease.  
finance, f. end.  
flaming, red.  
flash of flames, sheaf of Arrows.  
flaw, yellow.  
flay, did fly.  
flebring, b. flattering, slander.  
fleten, b. abound.  
flemer, b. expeller.  
flone, an arrow.  
flemed, b. daunted.  
fleming, conquest.  
flid, b. fly.  
flite, flight, b. chide.  
* Floreine, A Coin of the value of 3 s. 4 d. or thereabouts, and such were called Florenes de Scuto. Others there were called Florenes Regales, contained within the price of 2 s. 10 d. q.  
flow, an arrow.  
flood, abounded,  
floreth, l. flourisheth.  
floiting, f. d. whistling.  
fonden, labour.  
fond, make, contend, to labour; also to make a fool.  
fonge, b. take.  
fonne, b. fool: also to be foolish.  
fonnes, devises.  
fone, fine, l. make an end.  
father, b. a Wain-load of twenty hundred weight.  
forstraught, b. dazzled.  
fore, gone.  
forfraught, beset.  
forrei, f. to provide horse meat.  
forage, f. fodder, course meat.  
forcer, f. copher or chest.  
forward, course, condition, promise.  
forwined, d. dried up.  
fordo, overthrown.  
for thy, b. therefore.  
forpined, consumed.  
forleten, forlete, forsake, broken off.  
forloine, rechase, terms of hunting.  
forleien, d. wander.  
fordo, b. kill.  
forleten, foryetten, let pass, neglected, forlorn.  
fortuna maior, l. Jupiter.  
forgist, forgiving.  
forth, theft.  
forwelked, (marcidus) d. dried up.  
forlaine, forsaken.  
fort, l. strong.  
forleteth, giveth over.  
forlyth, spoileth.  
forsongen, b. weary with singing.  
forge, f. work.  
foreyne, b. a Jaques.  
formel, his make.  
forfare, b. forlorn.  
fore, fared, gone.  
foredid, killed.  
foryede, b. overwent.  
fordo, undone, lost.  
fone, b. enemies.  
foison, f. plenty.  
foiterers, f. vagabonds.  
foothot, b. forthwith.  
fowlefaile, b. err greatly.  
folili, f. rashly.  
foemen, b. enemies.  
fongeth, taketh use.  
found, framed.  
foils, f. leaves.  
frape, b. a company, a rabble.  
frained, restrained, also asked.  
fret, b. a circle.  
freneth, maketh strange noise.  
fret, f. fraught.  
friend, fremd, b. strange.  
freelti, b. frail.  
froy, from you.  
franks, f. french crowns.  
freten, b. devour.  
franchise, f. freedom.  
freel, b. frail.  
fretteth, f. rubbeth, chafeth.  
fret, f. turn, fraught.  
frouncen, d. f. wrinkling.  
fremed, b. wild, strange.  
fret full, set full.  
frened, b. strange.  
frounce, f. a wrinkle.  
froise, (frixura) f. a Pancake, or Tansey.  
frounklesse, f. plain.  
frith, b. a wood.  
fullich, fully.  
fulke, an hollow place.  
furiall, f. cruel.  
fusible, l. that may be molten.  
fuir, i. fury.  
fie, defy.  
fined, l. ended.  
fish, the sign Pisces.  
fire levin, b. lightning.   

G.  
Gabbing, b. lying.  
gadling, b. straggling.  
garnison, f. preparation.  
Garnade, Garnata in Spain.  
garrison, f. a defence.  
gable, the fore front of an House.  
galoch, f. a kind of shoe.  
gaytere berries, (virga sanguinea) prickwood.  
gastnes, b. terror.  
gargoning, f. strange speaking.  
gab, b. prate or lie.  
* Ganilion, which betrayed the Army of the Christians, under Charlemagne, to the Saracens, and was therefore torn in pieces with four Horses.  
galaxi, (lactea via) g. a tract of ●stars called Watling-street.  
gale, b. yawl.  
gale, b. flout, also cha●e.  
galpeth, b. belcheth.  
gallard, f. lusty, frolic.  
garrison, f. to defend.  
* Gavin, This Gavin was Sister's Son to Arthur the great, King of the Britain's, a most famous man in War, and in all manner of Civility; As in the Acts of the Britain's we may read. In the year 1082. in a Province of Wales, called Rose, was his Scpulchre found, and his Body, affirmed by many, to have been of the length of fourteen foot.  
galliens, Galens works.  
gate, occasion.  
gaudi, b. brave.  
gawreth, b. stareth.  
gawre, b. stare.  
god, b. a trifle.  
geri, gerifull, mutable, also cruel.  
gend, f. seemly.  
gear, b. jest, frenzy.  
gergon, b. chattering, prating.  
geomancy, g. conjuration by circles in the earth.  
gent, f. d. comely, proper.  
gesseran, a breastplate.  
giplere, f. a bag or pouch.  
gippon, a doublet, or light coat.  
gigges, b. drabs.  
gird, b. strike.  
gigging, sounding.  
gigges, (garrulitas) babbling.  
gite, a gown.  
gisarme, gasa, a certain weapon.  
gipe, a coat full of pleits.  
gigges, babble.  
giglotlyke, b. strumpet like.  
gladly, commonly.  
glapeth, b. glistereth.  
gleed, b. fire, embers, flame, sparkles, ashes.  
gle, b. melody.  
glent, b. glanced, cast.  
gleire, b. white.  
glass, b. to gloze.  
gleden, d. gone, slidden.  
gledes, embers, also flames.  
gleve, b. a spear.  
glitteren, b. glister, shine.  
glittering, b. shining.  
glode, b. ascended.  
glowed, b. stared.  
glombe, b. frown.  
gloten, covering.  
gloze, persuade.  
gloze, b. flatter, also the exposition of a dark speech.  
gleed, b. puttock.  
glowden, d. shined.  
glittrens, b. shine.  
gnarre, b. an hard knot, as in wood; a short thick grub.  
gnast, gnash.  
gnew, b. gnawed.  
gnosse, i. fool, chuff, miser.  
gods sonn, b. that God sendeth.  
gods half, b. on God's side.  
gorget, f. a throat.  
gore, (lacinia) a pleat or fold.  
golyerdies, f. ravenously mouthed.  
gowreth, b. stareth.  
gonfennon, f. a little flag.  
gonge, b. Jaques.  
gossomor, b. things that fly in the Air in Summer time like Cobwebs.  
Goodmes, f. good time, or mood.  
gourd, b. a bottle, made of a gourd.  
golit, d. throat.  
gotysh, i sottish.  
gore, an arbour under a gourd.  
goodlihead, gay show.  
grame, i. sorrow, mishap, d. anger.  
graythed, devised.  
grapenel, an Instrument with many hooks.  
graspeth, b. catcheth fast.  
gratch, b. apparel.  
graven, d. buried.  
grant mercy, f. I thank you.  
grave, bury.  
graieth, b. to make trim.  
great see (Mar maggiore) anciently Pontus' Euxinus.  
grece, f. grey, grey amise of Russie Squirrels.  
greith, b. remove.  
great, b. weep.  
grenehed, rashness.  
gre, f. good part.  
grith, b. agreement.  
greves, b. trees, boughs, leaves, grass.  
great, b. saluted.  
greyned, made.  
greed, b. cried.  
grint, b. grinded.  
grispe, d. gripe.  
grisly, b. abominably, ghastly, fearfully.  
grill, b. could.  
grofly, b. flat on the ground.  
groin, b. a froward look.  
growbed, b. digged.  
gruffe, groufe, b. grovelling:  
gruel, b. pottage.  
guerdon, f. reward.  
guerdonless, f. unrewarded.  
guerring, i. brawling.  
gullet, d. a throat.  
gye, b. guide.  
gyre, b. trance.   

H  
* Harrolds, whereas in some books it is, my King of Harrolds shalt thou be; it is now corrected thus (my King of Harlots shalt thou be.) For so it is in the French Moralization of Molinet, 149. where he is called Roi des Ribaulds, which is the King of Harlots, or wicked Persons: an Office of great account in times past, and yet used in the Court of France. Of this office speaketh Johannes tilius in his second book De rebus Gallicis, under the title De Praefecto praetorio Regis. But more hereof when time shall serve in M. F. Thin● Comment.  
halfe, d. a neck.  
hazard, d. dise.  
haw, a yard, black, have.  
halfe, b. charge.  
hair, haircloth.  
hays, f. hedges.  
haketon, f. a Jacket without sleves.  
hawberke, f. a gorget.  
halpe, b. helped.  
halke, (angulus) b. corner,  
herne, valley.  
haubergion, (lorica) f. a coat of male.  
hate, b. benamed.  
habit, l. plight.  
harlotrise, b. bawdry.  
halt, b. held purpose.  
hauten, comely.  
haried, b. pulled.  
hayne, f. hatred.  
hafe, lifted.  
hace, b. hath.  
han, b. have.  
hawbacke, b. return.  
hardly, b. stoutly, also verily.  
hackeney, d. a trotting horse.  
hameled, d. cut off, abated.  
halow, hollow.  
halsing, b. embracing.  
harrow, (apagesis) away, away, fie, fie.  
happeth, b. covereth embraceth.  
hauselines, (faemoralia) breeches.  
hat, b. was called.  
hallows, b. Saint.  
haulues, d. parts.  
hawtently, b. solemnly.  
halt, held, holdeth, judgeth.  
haunt, b. use.  
haunce, set out.  
hanceled, cut off.  
halt, b. performeth, holdeth.  
halteth, (trahit) draweth.  
havoire, f. possession.  
henten, hent, b. catch.  
he'll, heyle, b. health.  
hethens, b. mockery.  
hewn, hewed, b. coloured.  
hecled, wrapped.  
herbigage, f. lodging.  
held, account, accounted.  
hereid, b. praised, honoured.  
hewed, b. coloured.  
hew, hewis, b. colours, welfare, beauty.  
hests, b. wills, promise, commandments.  
heyne, b. to labourer, drudge,  
heaven, b. to shove, to lift.  
hewmond, new made.  
healed, b. covered, heard.  
heroner, a special long winged Hawk.  
hent, b. catched.  
herborow, d. lodging.  
heriing, b. praise.  
herawdes, b. furious parts in a play.  
here and houne, hare and hound.  
helmed, b. defended.  
heal, heel, b. hold, cover.  
here and hace, b. hoarse and harsh.  
healed, heard.  
helded, b. holden down.  
herieth, b. praiseth.  
helest, did hold.  
heard, b. gentle.  
hernia, g. the disease called bursting.  
hot, heat, heten, d. vow, promise.  
* Heisugge, The Heisugge, called Curruca, is a little Bird in whose nest the Cuckoo layeth her-Eggs, and when they be hatched, and grown to some bigness, they eat the Bird that bred them.  
hew, welfare.  
herden, did hear.  
heaven, b. rise up.  
him, them.  
heath, b. brabes or such like.  
her, their.  
heat, d. was named.  
henters, b. catchers.  
height, b. were named.  
heap, b. help.  
heraud, d. proclaim, set forth.  
hew, to hover.  
henten, b. to catch.  
hemisphere, g. half the compass of the visible Heaven.  
highest, maketh haste.  
height, b. promised.  
hierdesse, b. herdwoman.  
hith, b. make haste.  
heighten, b. promise.  
hip, b. the red berry on the brier.  
hideous, f. b. great.  
hite, heat, hot, d. is called.  
held, b. poured.  
hidiously, b. fiercely, fearfully.  
holt, holden.  
hoten, b. called.  
horologe, g. a clock.  
hot the knot, make fast.  
hoppen, d. leap.  
howten, b. hollow.  
howgates, how.  
hore, b. white.  
holoure, b. horemonger.  
hostei, to lay siege.  
homicide, g. murderer.  
hoten, b. make an unpleasant noise.  
hopesteres, (gubernaculum tenentes) pilots.  
horde, b. heap.  
howselin, b. receive the Sacrament.  
homager, f. subject.  
howuer, an hoverer.  
hold, withheld.  
hoved, b. tarried.  
hoker, b. stoutness, frowardness.  
horrow, (squalidus) beastly, base, slanderous.  
have, b. lifted up, to hover, also a show.  
horoscope, g. the ascendent of one's Nativity.  
hough, how.  
hostel, f. a town house.  
hot, b. promise, bid.  
hostilements, necessaries.  
hold, beholden.  
holtes hore, b. woods white.  
holt, d. a grove.  
hoting, d. promising.  
hurleth, f. falleth, maketh a noise.  
* Hugh of Lincoln, In the 20th year of Henry the Third, eighteen Jews were brought to London from Lincoln, and hanged for crucifying a Child of eight years old; which was this Hugh, whereof Chaucer speaketh, as may be proved out of Matthew Paris, and Walsingham.  
hurleth, (obstrepit) f. maketh a noise.  
hurtell, skirmish:  
hurtlest, carrieth, throweth.  
hurtlen, b. thrust.  
hulstred, b. hidden.  
hurtelen, b. provoke.  
humling, b. sounding.  
hyldeth, yieldeth.  
hyne, b. a hiend or husbandman.  
hyerd, herdsman, Governor.  
hyerds, b. guides.   

I.  
jape, Jest, a Word by abuse grown odious, and therefore by a certain curious Gentlewoman scraped out in her Chaucer; whereupon her serving man writeth thus: 
My Mistress cannot be content,  
To take a Jest as Chaucer meant,  
But using still a Woman's fashion,  
Allows it in the last Translation:  
She cannot with a word dispense,  
Although I know she loves the sense.  
For such an use the World hath got  
That words are sins, but deeds are not.   
iambeux, f. armour for the legs.  
iane, half pence of Janua, or Galy half pence.  
iapedst, b. jested.  
iangleresses, b. brablers.  
ibet, stamped.  
ibete, set forth.  
icond, b. learned.  
ich, b. myself.  
ido, b. undone, spoiled.  
idolater, g. idolator.  
jet, b. devise.  
jewry, the Jews street or synagogue.  
iewise, reward by revenge, also a gibber.  
ifete, b. effect.  
ifere, b. together.  
ificched, f. fixed.  
ifounded, b. sunk.  
ifretten, d. devoured.  
igourd, fly.  
igraven, d. buried.  
ihight, b. called, accounted.  
ihired, honoured.  
ikend, b. known.  
ilimed, taken.  
ilke, b. same.  
illusion, l. deceit.  
imasked, f. covered.  
imeint, b. mingled.  
imped, b. grafted.  
impetrens, l. entreat.  
incantations, i charms.  
in a threw, b. quickly.  
innerest, f. inward.  
indulgence, l. pardon.  
ingot, the mass or wedge of gold after it is molten, as also the trough wherein it is molten.  
intermete, f. meddle.  
incubus, l. the night mare.  
indigence, l. want.  
intremes, f. middle servise, intermingled.  
intresse, lining.  
i not, I know not.  
intermeting, changing.  
inome, d. taken.  
interual, l. distance of time.  
iniquitance, l. disquiet.  
induration, l. making hard.  
inde, f. azure colour.  
in high, in haste.  
i'th', b. thrive.  
itwight, b. drawn.  
ineched, put in.  
inomen, d. obtained.  
inhild, b. infuse.  
iombre, b. join, jumble.  
ionglerie, d. juggling.  
jordans, b. double urinals.  
ioleming, d. joyful.  
iossa, turn.  
ioyeux, f. joyful.  
iprived, searched.  
ipulled, smoothed.  
irayled, covered, spread.  
i se, beheld.  
isped, (expeditus) dispatched.  
ishad, b. scattered.  
isperi, g. Orison.  
ishet, b. shut.  
ispended, l. considered.  
ishone, set forth.  
iswent, b. swinged.  
* justinian, In the eleventh Book of the Code, De mendicantibus validis; where it is enacted, that if any shall beg, having no cause either by need, or maim, the same shall be examined and searched; and who so shall find him to counterfeit, and proveth the same, Dominium ejus consequetur: and saith Bartoll. He shall be punished, Ad arbitrium Judicis.  
iwentute, l. youth.  
iupart, b. adventure.  
iubeli, l. joy, gladness for freedom.  
iub, b. bottle.  
iudicum, l. book of Judges.  
iwri, iwrien, hidden.  
iwri, covered, hanged.  
iwimpled, d. muffled, hooded.   

K.  
Calendar, chief, first.  
kalends, preamble.  
keiked, kiken, b. stared.  
keinard, micher, hedg-creeper.  
keep, b. care.  
* Kenelm, This Kenelmus king of the Mercians was innocently slain by his Sister Quendrida, whereby he obtained his Name of a Martyr. In the same place, for Mereturick we now read Mercenrick, which is the Kingdom of Mercia, as the Etymology of the word doth teach. For Rik in the Saxon Tongue signifieth a Kingdom, and Mercen, the marches or bounds of a country. So that Mercenrick is regnum Mercia, whereof both Kenulph and Kenelm were Kings.  
keel, b. to cool.  
kest, b. cast.  
keep, b. to care.  
comb, d. deck.  
kemeling, a Brewer's vessel.  
kernels, holes or corners in battelments.  
kerueth, greveth.  
ken, d. teach, know.  
kers, (nasturtium) d. waterdresses.  
kever, b. recover.  
keen, b. sharp.  
ken, b. made me know.  
* Kichell, A Cake which Horace calleth Libum: Vtque sacerdotis fugitibus liba recuso: and with us it is called a Gods Kichell, because Godfathers and Godmothers used commonly to give one of them to their Godchilds, when they asked blessing.  
kith, b. acquaintance.  
kinrest, quiet rest.  
kithen, b. show.  
kinds, kindles, (faetus) b. young ones.  
kirked, b. turned upward.  
kith, b. make known, show, acknowledge.  
kid, b. known, made known.  
kitheth, b. showeth.  
kin, b. kind.  
knarri, b. stubby.  
kned, knit.  
knittest, settlest.  
knockeden, d. did knock.  
knopped, d. tied, laced.  
kon, b. can.  
koveren, f. to hide.   

L.  
Lake, fine cloth like lawn.  
largesse, i. liberality.  
lachesse, f. leysines.  
latered, l. lazy, loitering.  
laas, (laqueus) d. net or gin●  
laud, l. praise.  
langorous, f. pining:  
lack, dispraise.  
haft, lest off, enclosed.  
lack, d. offence: also lie, to dispraise.  
lay, a song.  
laven, b. draw empty.  
laudes, i. morning servise.  
languerth, i. languisheth.  
latonne, f. copper.  
lacert, i. sinew.  
layvers, (corrigiae) thongs.  
lay, b. law.  
land, b. a plain between trees.  
lavender, i. f. laundress.  
laved, b. drew.  
lath, b. a barn.  
laften, forsaken.  
lass, less.  
lach, f. lazy.  
larson, f. robbery.  
lacking, dispraising.  
lacken, extenuate, dispraise.  
Lettow, Lituania, part of Sarmatia, joining to Polonia.  
Leyes, taken to be Levissa, upon the Continent not far from Rhodes.  
lestis, temptations, lusts, pleasures.  
ley, a song.  
lees, leasing, also lost, release.  
lewd, b. ignorant.  
leave, believe, live, relieve, grant, dear.  
jet, lete, b. leave forsake,  
leden, language.  
leanly, b. lend.  
leaveth, beareth.  
lever, better.  
lech, b. a surgeon.  
leave, b. dear.  
lete, b. left off, to leave.  
lends, (lumbi) d. loins.  
lettrure, f. book learning.  
ledge, d. lay.  
lessel, (umbraculum) bush or hovel.  
lele, right, lawful.  
leite, light.  
legends, l. tales.  
lere, d. to teach.  
lever, lief, d. wont. dear, willing, rather.  
leaveth, remaineth.  
legisters, i lawyers.  
leged, resident.  
lete, b. deemed, made show, showed.  
lease, praise.  
letting, leaving.  
leaveth, relieveth, also taketh leave.  
lemes, b. flames, light.  
lectorne, a desk.  
legging, d. lodging.  
letest fare, b. makest show.  
levesell, a bush.  
lere, complexion, colour, skin.  
letargi, g. a drowsy disease causing forgetfulness.  
lest, lust.  
* Litarge, f. white lead; The Composition whereof, as I find it in an old written book, is thus: Accipiter plumbum, & funditur in olla, & projiciuntur interius testae alterius ollae, & postea moveatur olla fortiori manu, quousque commisceantur testae & plumbum, praeterea projiciatur illud totum, & illud est litargirum: hoc modo preparatur plumbum ad plumbaciones ollarum.  
line aloes, a bitter kind of wood out of India and Arabia.  
licand, b. in good plight.  
limitation, i. circuit.  
liard, b. nimble.  
lich, lech, b. like.  
limaile, i dust that cometh of filing.  
light, to make light.  
lithe, lieth.  
lisse, f. end, limit, border.  
lisse, lees, release.  
lisse, b. ease.  
line, f. line.  
lithe, (membrum) a limb.  
lifthalfe, b. left side.  
lithe, lieth, also plain.  
liege, league, f. lawful, true.  
lignes, liketh, yieldeth.  
litherly, b. slothful.  
liggen, b. lie.  
liart, b. gentle, lithe, smooth.  
liuen, b. believe.  
lithi, lethy, b. soft gentle.  
lissed, f. bounded.  
lisse, to have less, to wax less.  
lieges, f. subjects.  
lithe, b. to ease.  
lorrell, (lurco) devourer.  
lombes, lambs.  
loose, lose, f. praise, also order.  
lozel, d. crafty fellow.  
lovedays, arbitrements.  
lop, b. a spider.  
lodemanage, skill of Navigation by stone and needle.  
lollar, b. a breaker of fasting days.  
look, a fellow receiver.  
lorco, a devourer, a gulligut.  
Loi, Dunstan, julian, Runian, and what they were, may be known in the Legend, Festival, and Votaries.  
louting, b. kneeling, honouring.  
longen, belong.  
lore, b. learning, knowledge.  
lost, b. lost.  
losenger, f. flatterer or liar.  
londles, b. runagates.  
lout, b. to bow or bend.  
lozenge, f. square.  
losengeri, f. flattery.  
loteby, companion, or love.  
loath, b. loathed.  
lozenges, f. square figures.  
lore, b. lost.  
loode, led.  
lozenge, f. square.  
lostheld, accounted lost.  
lodesmen, b. guides.  
lore, (ratio) regard, doctrine.  
low, fire, flame: also to allow, or like.  
lordeth, ruleth.  
lucerne, l. candle.  
lug, b. pull.  
lushbrough, a base Coin in the days of Edward the Third.   

M.  
* Magic, He meaneth this Physician was skilful in Astrology, and could make his election of fortunate hours, wherein to minister his Potions to his Patient; and likewise that he was practised in Magic natural, as in making of Sigils or Characters stamped in Metal in their due times, fitted to that sign that governed that part of the Body, wherein the Malady was; as the stamp of Aries for the disease in the Head, and of Leo for the Reins, etc. Hereof he speaketh in the third Book of Fame. 
And Clerks eke which con well  
All this Magic naturel,  
That craftily do her intents,  
To maken in certain ascendants  
Images lo, through which Magic  
They make a man be whole and sick.   
* Martes mark, A Scar or Cut which the Children born in his Regiment have, and that in some part of their face: but this good Wife of Bath will needs have two; one for the Character of her principal Planet, and the other, etc.  
maintenance, threatening.  
masteling, shining.  
mazeline, a mazer.  
menace, f. threaten.  
malady, disease.  
make his beard, deceive him.  
malles, b. hammers, betils.  
maumetri, b. worship of false Gods.  
martyrdom, torment.  
maskewed, fenced, fortified.  
makeles, b. matchless.  
mate, d. daunted, tame, mad, pined, consumed.  
maugre, f. despite.  
martereth, i. dieth.  
mark of Adam, mankind.  
malison, b. a curse.  
malleable, b. abiding the hammer.  
marris, b. a fen.  
nails, d. round rings.  
magonell, an instrument to cast stones.  
malt, b. melted.  
mansuete, l. gentle.  
mammet, mohammed, b. a toil, babble, idol.  
mannish, (virago) b. stout.  
mavis, f. a bushel.  
make it, hinder it.  
maint, mingled.  
malt, melted.  
matire, f. matter.  
many, g. madness.  
masday, b. holy day:  
maysondew, f. an hospital.  
malure, f. mischance.  
malebouch, f. wicked mouth.  
* Mercury crude, l. Quicksilver; for the killing whereof I read thus; Argentum vivum extinguitur cum forti admixtione salivae hominis, donec dispereat, & dico, quod si projeceris super ipsum aquam fluentem, si redierit ad primam dispositionem, non est extinctum: cum vere non redierit, bene est extinctum. Ipsum autem argentum vivum terra est.  
* Meritot, b. A sport used by Children by swinging themselves in bell-ropes, or such like, till they be giddy. In Latin it is called Oscillum, and is thus described by an old Writer: Oscillum est genus ludi, scilicet cum funis dependitur de trabe, in quo pueri & puellae sedentes impelluntur huc & illuc.  
metamorphoseos, g. a work written by Ovid of the Transmutation of things.  
merke, b. dark.  
meek, b. be gentle.  
meet, mote, b. must, might.  
medes, b. to boot.  
meed, b. reward, help.  
mesel, f. leper or lazerman.  
meint, b. mingled.  
met, dreamt.  
meridional, l. of the South.  
meed, (hydromeli) d. honey and water sodden together.  
messagri, f. diligence in doing a message.  
mendicants, l. Beggars.  
me's, b. Meadows.  
mew, secret.  
most, b. most.  
meet, deal, yield.  
methe, a kind of sweet drink.  
metten, dream.  
melite, power.  
megre, f. b. lean.  
* Minoresse, the right reading is moveresse, as we have now printed it; that is, a stirrer of debate: for so it is in the French Verses in the oldest written Copies. Sembla byen estre moveresse.  
ministralcie, any instrument of Music, or Music itself.  
miscreants, f. Infidels.  
misqueame, b. displease.  
missat, b. became not.  
mistaken, misused.  
misfill, miscarried.  
mirror, f. a glass.  
mistere, f. occupation, manner, fashion, service, strange thing: also need.  
mineth, l. threateneth.  
mistihede, darkness, mystery.  
mitches, f. manchets.  
misericorde, l. compassion.  
minge, b. mingle.  
mine, b. to intend: also to dig.  
misbode, wrong.  
minotaur, g. a monster, half a bull, and half a man.  
* Moses and King Solomon, Out of Josephus and Petrus Comestor magister historiarum, qui claruit, Anno 1260.  
moyson, f. ripeness.  
monest, l. admonish.  
munch, b. to take up all.  
mourdant, i. the tongue of a buckle.  
mokell, mikell, b. much.  
mortresse, a meat made of boiled hens, crumbed bread, yolks of eggs, and saffron, all boiled together.  
mokell, d. stature, making, bigness.  
modefie, l. moderate.  
mountaunce, quantity.  
mollock, b. earth, dung.  
mown, (posse) be able.  
mormall, a canker:  
moniours, f. coiners.  
moeble, f. householdstuff.  
mow, mon, b. might.  
mosel, mouth, snout.  
mowlen, b. wax mould.  
moten, d. must do.  
moil, a dish made of marrow and grated bread.  
mortar, f. a lamp.  
mote, d. must go.  
molles, kistrels.  
momblishnes, d. talk.  
move, moved.  
mute, f. silent.  
muckre, b. hoard up.  
musard, f. lingerer.  
mynting, labouring.   

N.  
Nadir, a. the point opposite to Zenith, or the point under the Horizon right under our feet.  
nakoners, i. (crotalum) cymbals.  
nas, was not.  
nart, art not.  
nad, had not.  
ale, b. the alehouse.  
narcotise, d. stupefactive, making senseless.  
nat wilne, not desire.  
nam, am not.  
name, d. took.  
ne'er, were not.  
need, needs, b. business.  
neighen, neigh, b. touch, to draw near.  
nest, b. next.  
neven, nevin, b. name, named.  
nerfe, i. sinew, gristle.  
needily, of necessity.  
nesh, b. tender.  
ne'er, until, were it not.  
nempt, b. named, name, tell.  
need, needed.  
nerthes, herdsmen.  
needs cost, of necessity.  
neders, adders.  
nice, nice, b. foolish.  
nicete, folly, curiosity.  
niterall, saltpetre.  
nigh, b. almost.  
nighen, draw near.  
nist, knew not.  
nil, will not.  
nigon, nigeon, f. dolt, niggard.  
nigges, b. niggards.  
nigh, near, to draw near.  
nightspell, b. a prayer against the night mare.  
nightertale, by night.  
nymphs, g. maidens of the sea.  
nowell, signifieth Deus nobiscum: and is taken for Christmas, & 20. or 30. days next before.  
nortelri, nurture.  
nor, f. comfort, nourishing.  
note, a Saint called Neotes.  
nonce, b. condition, purpose.  
nori, i. nurse.  
nost, knowest.  
nome, taken, numbed.  
nowth, now.  
note, business.   

O.  
Obey, abide.  
observance, l. honour.  
obstacles, l. let's.  
occision, l. murder.  
occisier, l. murderer.  
octogami, g. eight times married.  
audible, l. hateful.  
offitorie, l. a song or lesson in the time of offering.  
oftsithes, b. sundry times.  
of plat then edge, of ease then grief.  
offrend, f. d. offering.  
onde, (halitus) b. breath: also fury.  
on high, apace.  
oned, united.  
onis, once.  
on knew, d. one knee.  
on press, adown.  
openheed, bareheaded.  
orde, l. point.  
ordainor, d. governor.  
oratory, l. a Temple, a Chapel.  
orisons, f. d. Prayers.  
* Ordall, Ordalia is a trial of chastity, and other things by going over hot burning cultures of iron barefooted, as did Emma, and Gunegond the Wife of Henry the fifteenth, Emperor of Romans, as writeth Cra●tius in his Chronicles of Almain. This Ordall was used among the Saxons, and since the Conquest among the Normans: but in the time of King John it was taken away by the Court of Rome: And afterward in England by the authority of Henry the third.  
ordered, b. having taken orders of priesthood.  
(Orders four.) The four orders of Friars were these:  
1 Friars Minors or grey friars, Franciscans.  
2 Friars preachers or blackfriars, Dominicanes.  
3 Friars Carmelites, or white friars.  
4 Friars Augustine's.  
* Orfrayes, Aurifrisium, frizzled cloth of gold, made and used in England both before and since the Conquest, worn both by the Clergy, and the Kings themselves, as may appear out of Matthew Paris, where he speaketh of the Ornaments sent by the Abbots of England to the Pope: And also by a Record in the Tower, where the King commandeth the Templars to deliver such Jewels, garments, and ornaments as they had of the Kings in keeping. Among the which he nameth Dalmaticum velatum de Orefreis: that is, a Damask garment guarded with Orfrayes.  
orisont, g. the part of the firmament to us seen.  
oriental, bright, beautiful.  
oriental, i bright.  
orpiment, the herb Orpin.  
orloge, f. g. a dial.  
ouch, b. a boss or button of gold: also a wedge of gold.  
overfret, spread.  
overthrowing, haste.  
outraie, depart, run.  
outrance, destruction.  
out take, except.  
owhere, any where.  
ownding, f. guarding like waves.  
owndy, f. waving.  
owls, b. hooks, pinsars.   

P.  
* Palmer's, A Pilgrim and a Palmer did differ thus: The Pilgrim had some dwelling place, the Palmer had none: the Pilgrim traveled to some certain place, the Palmer to all and not to any one: the Pilgrim might go at his own charge, the Palmer must profess wilful poverty: the Pilgrim might give over his profession, the Palmer must be constant until he had obtained the Palm; that is, victory over his ghostly enemies, and life by death.  
* Pasiphae, wife of Minos' king of Crect, who having kept company with a bull, but rather as Festus saith, with a man called Taurus, brought forth Minotaurus, who was half a man and half a bull.  
palladium, g. the image of Pallas in Troy.  
pale, f. a spangle: also a robe of state.  
palastere, g. a combat.  
pay, b. robe.  
pain mane, f. white bread.  
paling, cutting in pains.  
pace, b. appease.  
(Palathi) Palathia in Anatolia.  
papelard, f. hypocrite.  
pankers, f. toils to take deer.  
parage, f. parentage.  
patere, b. prate.  
partner, by parts.  
pan, b. brain.  
panter, f. a pitfall.  
pad, b. a bundle.  
parfay, f. verily.  
paynim, b. heathenish.  
paramours, f. lovers, pleasures.  
pardieux, f. verily.  
paplardi, f. hypocrisy.  
paraments, Robes of state, or the place where they are kept.  
par, for.  
pavade (pugio) a dagger or baslard.  
penon, f. a long streamer.  
pierce, f. sky colour.  
pens feel, many pence.  
pencil, d. a piece.  
perionet, a young pear tree.  
perry, f. precious stones, bravery with precious stones.  
pekois, a pickaxe.  
perturben, f. disturb.  
perriwrigh, embroidered with pearl.  
permagall, equal.  
peregrine, f. strange.  
peri, d. a pear tree.  
perpendicular, l. down right.  
* Peruise, f. A bar: and here it is understood of the conference called the Peruis amongst the young Counsellors, Pleaders, Attorneys, or Students of the Law, such as at this day might resemble the course in the houses of Court, or Chancery called mootes, and bolts: wherein the form of pleading and arguing a case is exercised: For so doth Fortescue in his 51. chapter of his Book, commending those laws, prove, when he saith: that after the Judges were risen at 11 of the clock from hearing of causes at Westminster, Placitantes tunc se divertunt ad pervisum, & alibi consulentes cum servientibus ad legem & aliis conciliariis suis.  
parcel, f. partly.  
pert, l. manifest.  
perre, f. a monument erected for remembrance.  
peraunter, b. perchance.  
peregall, equal.  
pepire, (philtrum) i. Pharmacum amatorium, a drink causing love.  
pel, d. house, cell.  
pease, stay.  
pencil, d. banner.  
penible, f. painful.  
physiologus, g. any writer of natural Philosophy.  
pine, d. pity, sorrow, desire, pain, toil: also a pit.  
pight, b. cast.  
pine, to rack, to pain:  
pinent, a pined creature:  
pined, pained.  
piment, (pigmentum) a drink of wine and honey.  
pillar, f. a pillar, (columna.)  
pike, b. peep.  
pight, b. propped, struck, settled.  
pirate, a drink made of pears.  
pithonesse, g. a witch.  
plumtuous, fruitful.  
plumage, f. feathers.  
plat, b. flat.  
plagues, l. parts.  
plain, b. to play, or sport.  
plenere, l. fully.  
plate then edge, ease then sorrow.  
platly, f. plainly.  
plight, f. turned, catched.  
pounced, cut: also pressed.  
porpheri, f. a marble mingled with red.  
possed, b. tossed.  
potent, f. a staff.  
portray, f. draw.  
popere, a bodkin.  
possede, l. succeed.  
post, i. power.  
pommel, f. round.  
polive, f. a pulley:  
posteme, (struma) f. botch or wen.  
porthose, a service book so called.  
pointell, f. a writing pin.  
power, b. stare, look.  
power, d. poor estate.  
powdered, embroidered.  
powder merchant, Alephanginae species: powders whereof ginger bread is made.  
poked, b. jogged.  
pole arctic, g. a star called the North-pole.  
poignant, f. sharp.  
popelot, d. puppet or youngwench.  
porraile, base, beggarly.  
pomely grise, f. dapple-gray.  
polite, l. eloquent.  
pose, suppose.  
proveth, reproveth.  
pregnant, i full, thick.  
prime, l. nine of the clock.  
precious, i fine, curious, of account.  
previd, f. hardy.  
press, d. subjection.  
perfect, l. a magistrate.  
prefer, l. excel.  
prove, a proof.  
presen, tread on.  
prill and poiten, goore and strike.  
prickesoure, a rank rider.  
pray, request.  
pry, f. pray.  
priket, a small wax-candle.  
prien, b. look.  
probatine pistant, l. g. the sheep's pool.  
processions, l. perambulations about the fields in the gang week.  
pronosticke, g. foretelling.  
predication, l. preaching.  
problem, g. an hard question or riddle.  
prow, f. profit, power, honour.  
propheme, g. a preface.  
Pruce, Prussi●, a Country by Almain and Russie.  
pruce, of Prussia.  
Puella & Rubeus, The names of two figures in Geomancy, representing two Constellations in heaven. Puella signifieth Mars retrograde, and R●●beus Mars direct.  
pugnant, l. pricking.  
purveiance, f. providence.  
purfled, guarded, fringed.  
pullayle, f. wildfowl, poultry.  
purfill, guard, or fringe.  
puruay, f. provide.  
purprise, f. enclosure, device.  
pusell, f. ●amfel.  
pulchritude, l. beauty.  
putre, ● whoredom.   

Q.  
Quacke, b. daunt.  
quappe, b. quail, shake, stir.  
acquaint gires, b. strange fits.  
qualm, b. calmness.  
qualm, b. grief.  
quad, d bad.  
quarrels, arrow-heads.  
queem, quemen, b. please.  
quent, b. quenched, strange.  
querele, i. quarrel, complaint.  
quell, d. destroy, dash.  
quentise, curiosity.  
querror, f. stone-digger.  
quinible, a treble.  
quistron, f. beggar.   

R.  
Raa, b. a Roe.  
takestele, b. the rake-handle.  
tabiat, i mad.  
rade vore, tapestry, loomework.  
rackell, d. hasty, to be hasty.  
racine, f. root.  
rank, b. hoarse.  
rath, b. quickly.  
reached, went, reached.  
ravished, f. taken, overcome, carried.  
raffles, f. rifling.  
rathe, b. soon.  
rape, d. haste.  
ramagious, f. wild.  
rape, l. quickly; also haste.  
ramage, f. wild.  
ravishing, f. a swift sway.  
raft, b. rent.  
ragounces,, a kind of precious stone.  
raskayle, b. trash.  
ravish, f. to rob.  
ravenish, black.  
railed, b. ran.  
rays, songs, rondels.  
recreant, f. out of hope, untrusty.  
redowbting, praising, setting forth.  
renomie, f. good name, fame.  
rest, rose.  
reight, b. reached.  
retrograde, l. that goeth backward.  
renovelences, f. renewings.  
reniant, f. revolter.  
readeth, b. adviseth.  
red, b. the meaning.  
revesten, f. to apparel.  
remuable, f. mutable, ready.  
reave, f. spoil, rob.  
renegade, a Christian turned Turk.  
renkes, b. ranks.  
resagor, ratsbane.  
rekelnesse, d. rashness.  
reins, fine cloth, of the place where it is made.  
redelesse, b. helpless.  
renovell, f. renew.  
rehete, b. promise.  
recketh, b. careth.  
refreide, f. refrain:  
renable, (mobilis) b. ready quick.  
rescous of our lay, defence of our Law.  
rear, (rarus) divided.  
regrate, f. lamentation, sorrowful suit.  
rue, b. take pity.  
rebecke, an old trot.  
reme, take away, deny.  
rethe, l. a net.  
read, b. to advise.  
replication, l. reply, gainsaying.  
renovelen, f. newly return.  
reave, b. pull away.  
revel, b. sport.  
reck, b. d. care.  
reverse, f. contrary.  
refrete, f. full.  
redouting, setting forth.  
rejoice, enjoy.  
renged, f. compassed.  
recreance, i. comfort.  
regali, i princely power.  
repair, issue, consequent.  
recure, b. recover.  
refrain, a stop.  
reign, i. kingdom.  
remord, f. give remorse.  
read, d. help, advise, speech, art▪ also to advise.  
refrroiden, f. cool, cease.  
releyes and lymers, f. standers at advantage with darts to kill the deer.  
realte, i. royalty.  
recreandise, f. infidelity, wanhope.  
ren, b. pull, get.  
recreance, f. beyond credit.  
refuit, i. help.  
reign, l. kingdom.  
remew, f. remove.  
redowre, f. turning, doubling.  
reketh, b. smoketh.  
reach, b. care.  
reverberation, l. a striking back.  
ribaude, (leno) i. a bawd.  
ribyb, f. an old bawd.  
ribbons, d. borders.  
ribaned, guarded.  
rife, d. rifel.  
riddeled, chequered.  
ribibble, rebeck, f. a gittern, or fiddle.  
rining, b. dropping.  
rimpled, (rugatus) d. wrinkled.  
rise, f. beauty.  
rive, b. rend.  
riven, d. thrust.  
riveling, turning in and out.  
reignous, f. ruinous.  
rocket, a linen garment.  
romer, b. wider.  
romed, b. walked.  
rone, b. reigned.  
ronn, cease.  
roch, f. a rock.  
roil, b. d. range.  
romant, a brief history.  
* Rosamond. This Rosamond the fair Daughter of Walter Lord Clifford, was forced to be Concubine unto Henry the Second, who builded for her at Woodstock an house with a Labyrinth under the ground, much whereof at this day is to be seen: as also a goodly Bath or Well, called to this day Rosamonds Well. In the end she was poisoned by Queen Elinor, some write, and being dead, was buried at Godstow in an House of Nuns besides Oxford. Not long since, her Grave was digged, where some of her bones were found, and her teeth so white, (as the dwellers there report) that the Beholders did much wonder at them.  
rosary, a book so called.  
rosere, f. a roseplat.  
routhlesse, b. pitiless.  
row, b. angrily.  
rove, b. did rend.  
roune, b. to tell in the ear, to whisper.  
room, b. walking.  
roine, f. a scar.  
rosial, l. red.  
row, b. d. spoken softly.  
rows, b. streiks.  
roundel, d. a kind of song.  
roggeth, joggeth.  
ronges, d. the sides of a ladder.  
rouken, d. lie snort.  
rowning, b. talking secretly, silence.  
roth, ruth, b. pity.  
row, d. rough.  
rowketh, b. lieth.  
wrought, b. cared.  
rote, d. course.  
row, d. ugly, bloodily.  
rote, an instrument of Music usual in Wales.  
rownsy, rowncevall, f. a great Jade.  
* Rubric, In the Canon-Law the Arguments of every Chapter was written with red Letters, which was called the Rubric, and the Text with black.  
rubicunde, l. red.  
rubifying, d. making red.  
rucking, d. lying snorting.  
rud, b. complexion.  
rule bone, f. of the French word Riole, that is, diversely coloured: an Antistaecon in many words derived from another Language; as, in Law from Loy; and Roy from Rex.  
ru, b. lament.  
ruse, b. praise.   

S.  
Sarge, f. saycloth.  
salew, f. honour.  
sand, sending.  
sailors, f. dancers.  
sat me sore, touched me near.  
saturnade, swart, black.  
saw, b. speech.  
sat, became.  
sallow, b. white.  
sawsefleame, red faced.  
sare, b. sore.  
sarlinish, a kind of Silk like Sarsenet.  
saws, b. sayings, words.  
(Satali) A City in Anatolia, called sometime Atalia.  
sanguine, i red.  
salueth, f. saluteth.  
samet, f. Satin.  
sabatons, soldiers boots.  
sance, f. without.  
save, d. sage.  
sautri, b. an instrument like to an harp, but far more pleasant.  
sarpiesis, satchels, packs, or fardels.  
S. john to borrow, with good speed.  
sane also, seen also.  
sanatine, l. healing.  
saut, b. assault.  
sange, d. a song.  
saintwarie, (Asylum) a Priviledge-place.  
* Scholars hall, or University-Hall, founded by the Chancellor and Masters of the University, Anno 1326. but since united to the foundation of the Lady Elizabeth de Burgo, Countess of Clare, and called Clare-hall.  
schall, shall.  
scathlike, b. harmful.  
scrip, a wallet.  
schoolelay, exhibition.  
scrivenish, subtly.  
scantilone, a measure.  
scarceheed want.  
sciled, closed.  
scorning, changing.  
sees, b. seats.  
settels, grafts.  
setrone, bright, clear.  
say, saw, seen.  
sewis, b. follow.  
secular, l. a layman, worldly.  
singe, d. burn.  
seker, d. in like sort.  
secre, f. secret.  
seld, b. seldom.  
seinde, b. scorch.  
sele, f. seal.  
say, seen.  
septentrion, l. the North.  
segge, d. say.  
semicope, l. a short cloak.  
sear, b. divers.  
septentrional, l. belonging to the North.  
signory, f. power.  
senten, seut.  
sendal, a thin stuff like cypress.  
silliness, felicity.  
sew, sown.  
sempt, b. seemed.  
saint, f. a girdle.  
semblable, b. like.  
sewing, placed.  
serment, f. an oath.  
sewen, sow.  
sentement, f. l. one's own device: also sense, feeling.  
set, f. becometh.  
sew, b. follow.  
sequedris, i. presumption.  
senged, b. scorched.  
cementing, fastening together.  
seemed, thought.  
sews, b. broths.  
seat, did sit.  
sere, pockets, burned clouts.  
silly, happy, also wonderful.  
seker, verily.  
say, seen, saw.  
saw Shields, Shields, in French called Escus, are French crowns, wherein this Merchant did deal by return.  
sheen, shining bright.  
shullen, b. shall.  
shenden, d. blame, to spoil, to mar.  
shed, depart.  
shewres, b. brunts.  
sheriff, Reve, or Governor of the Shire.  
shendeth, b. hurteth.  
shaw, a shadow, a tuft of trees.  
shepen, b. simple, fearful.  
shetten, b. closed.  
shond, b. harm.  
shield, b. defend.  
should, d. head, bush of hair.  
shoder, d. shoulder.  
shemering, d. glimmering.  
shove, put.  
shete, b. shoot.  
shepens, sheep-coots.  
shore, d. a cleft.  
shift, bestow.  
shed, fell.  
shent, d. harmed, troubled.  
shright, b. crying out.  
shent, b. d. infected.  
showfe, b. put off.  
sib, b. d. a kin.  
sith, b. by and by; also, time.  
sitole, the sweet music of the Dulcimer, called Sambuca.  
* Sign of the Lion, For then is Saturn in his Detriment, and in opposition to his own house.  
sie, sigh, seigh, b. saw.  
sike, sigh, also sick.  
sie, b. to see, to fall sideling.  
sigh, saugh, b. faugh.  
sikerer, b. certainer, truer.  
sitwell, is meet.  
sithnesse, seeing that.  
symphony, g. music.  
sikerly, b. truly.  
cider, a drink made of apples.  
sike, a sigh.  
signals, l. tokens.  
sile, banishment.  
sin, b. since.  
siker, d. sure I.  
sit, b. fitteth.  
sith, after.  
sithen, b. after.  
skaffant, an engine of war.  
skinketh, poureth out.  
skills, expositions.  
skath, b. harm.  
skilful, reasonable.  
skleren, cover.  
scale, b. scab.  
skorchlith, scorcheth.  
skarmoch, d. skirmish.  
skere, b. fray.  
sleite, b. sleight, craft.  
slough, b. ditch.  
slittered, b. cut.  
slider, (labilis) d. slippery.  
sliding, faint.  
sleveles, b. vain.  
sli, b. a subtle fellow, wise.  
slough, foreslow.  
slow, b. a sluggard.  
sliver, b. a parcel.  
sio, b. kill.  
slough, b. killed.  
slight, b. rent, tere.  
sligh, b. coming.  
slew, slew.  
slaked, d. pierced, loosed.  
slouthlich, slovenish.  
smart, quick.  
smart, grieved.  
smete, b. smitten.  
smoterlich, d. snoutfair, or painted.  
snewed, did snow.  
sownen, b. sound.  
soaken, b. trade, dealing.  
sourd, f. rise, spring.  
swooned, b. ordained.  
sowke, b. spend, draw out.  
sowled, b. inspired.  
solein, l. only.  
sonnish, bright.  
supple, f. gentle, pliable.  
sotells, d. subtle.  
soigne, f. care, diligence.  
soother, b. truer.  
sophisms, g. subtleties.  
son or weet, dry or wet.  
sooth, b. truth.  
fond, sand.  
soot, d. sweet.  
solstitium, l. the stay of the sun, when he cannot go either higher or lower.  
sorry, d. easy, soi●, feeble.  
sours, f. spring.  
soft, quietly.  
sown, b. speech, sound.  
soiour, f. dwelling, settling.  
sojourn, a journey, a tarrying, also to tarry.  
sowth saws, b. true speeches.  
sowpen, b. sup.  
sowgh, b. sound.  
sonenesse, f. noise.  
sound, to heal, to be healed.  
soukle, d. wretched, poor.  
sow and plight, b. seal and fold.  
soget, subject, subject.  
sonitresse, hair shining as the sun.  
fond, b. will, mind, pleasure, commandment.  
sort, l. chance.  
spinge, i. sprinkle, intrude.  
splendent, l. bright.  
spray, sprig, or bow.  
speris, b. asketh.  
sperm, g. seed.  
sped, handled; also hasted.  
speces, l. parts.  
spiritueles, l. heavenly graces.  
speedful, (efficax) earnest.  
spannew, b. very new.  
sperid, b. asked.  
sperd, b. shut up.  
splay, to spread.  
springowlds, b. youngmen.  
sperkell, wand'ring.  
sparch, (bipennis) d. a double axe.  
spell, b. a tale, word.  
sphere, g. a figure in all parts equally round.  
spanishing, d. full breadth.  
spense, d. a buttery.  
sparth, a spear.  
squames, i stales.  
squire, a carpenters rule.  
squireth, waiteth.  
Storke, This bird breedeth in the chimney tops of houses, and, as it is written of him, if the man or the wife commit adultery, he presently forsaketh the place. And as Aristotle saith, If his female play false, he will, if he can, kill her; or else utterly forsake her. Therefore Chaucer calleth him the wreker of adultery.  
stopen, stowped.  
stripe, strene, l. kindred.  
sterelich, d. earnestly.  
stondmeale, a little after, small, little.  
stad, b. cumbered.  
steds, d. places.  
stound, b. suddenly.  
stole, i. a tipper.  
stenten, b. way.  
statu, i. picture.  
stout, d. stood.  
stound, b. d. time, course, moment.  
stern, b. stiff, stout.  
stot, a young horse.  
stoure, b. skirmish.  
stith, b. an anvil.  
steer, b. make a motion.  
steel, d. an handle.  
stedship, d. staiedness.  
stremeden, d. gushed out.  
stark stoures, b. sharp assaults.  
stead, b. a gelding.  
steer, stern.  
sire, b. a straw.  
stamin, l. hemp.  
stired, b. dealt withal.  
steer, to make.  
stighed, d. ascended.  
strand, (tractus) d. bank, a coast, or region.  
staulketh, b. walketh, strideth.  
steven, b. sound, time, meeting.  
stew, b. a small pond for fish.  
steven, b. sound, also time.  
stall, d. set.  
stead, d. place.  
strake, b. to pass, to stride.  
stemed, b. gave out hear, or redness.  
stern, to lay down.  
strepe, rob, strip.  
stound ill, bad case.  
stownds, b. sorrows, dumps: also courses.  
steire, a stern.  
stark, b. stiff.  
stereles, b. without stern.  
'straught, (extentus) b. stretched.  
sturte, strangle, scuffle.  
stames, (subergmen) l. warp.  
subalter, and sept, the Streits between Spain and Barbary.  
sued, f. followed.  
surplus, d. remnant.  
surquidris, f. presumption.  
surpires, l. sighs, sobs.  
suckney, a white attire like a Rocher.  
superne, l. above.  
suspires, l. sighs.  
subliming, l. ascending.  
supprised, f. overcome.  
surquidous, l. presumptuous.  
surcote, a Gown with a Hood of the same.  
sursanure, (quasi súr sum sanatum) a sore festered inward, and whole without.  
sublimatory, a kind of still.  
superficie, l. the overmost part of any thing.  
supplien, f. make entreaty.  
supporaile, upholder.  
superlatife, l. highest.  
swyre, b. neck.  
switch, b. such.  
sweven, a dream.  
swinker, a labourer.  
sawtry, f. dancing, instrumental music, or the instrument.  
swilke, b. such.  
swolow, b. gulf.  
switch, b. quickly.  
swain, b. a servant.  
swow, a sleep.  
swelled, b. swooned.  
swear't, d. sun-burned, black.  
swough, b. sound.  
swith, b. swift, swiftly.  
swa, b. also, so.  
swelwen, b. devour.  
swonken, b. laboured.  
swoll, b. swelled.  
swegh (impetus) b. force.  
swelled, b. die.  
sykes, sighs.  
siker, b. assurance, steady.  
sykerd, d. allied.  
sye, b. to fall.  
sith, b. afterward, times.   

T.  
Tabard, d. A Jacket or sleeveless Coat, worn in times passed by Noblemen in the Wars, but now only by Heralds, and is called their Coat of Arms in service. It was the sign of an Inn in Southwark by London, within the which was the Lodging of the Abbot of Hyde by Winchester. This was the Hostelry where Chaucer and the other Pilgrims met together, and with Henry Baily their Host, accorded about the manner of their Journey to Canterbury. And whereas through time it had been much decayed, it was then by Mr. J. Preston, with the Abbot's house thereto adjoined, newly repaired, and with convenient Rooms much increased, for the Receipt of many Guests. It is now the Sign of the Talbot.  
tapinage, f. secrecy, slilyness.  
tailages,, toll, customs.  
tapes, b. strings.  
Taurs, & Mars therein, Taurus being properly Venus' house, under the which Sign this woman was born, Mars then ruling in the same, prognosticateth great Incontinency.  
tackle, b. feather, arrow.  
taas, f. d. an heap.  
taboure, a drum.  
tallages, payments.  
talagiers, tole-gatherers.  
tapite, d. tapestry.  
taling, d. telling tales.  
tacoy, to pluck to, or draw.  
tabourens, d. sound.  
targe, l. a target.  
tatch, tetch, b. craft.  
tatterwags, b. rags, jaggs.  
tale, rail.  
ta'en, b. take.  
talon, f. i. desire.  
tassed, b. tasselled.  
tassey, to aslay.  
testes, certain devices to try gold and silver.  
testeres, f. skulls, salads.  
tene, b. sorrow.  
testify, f. wild brained.  
teme, an Ingot of metal.  
teme, g. a text.  
termine, l. to end.  
terrestre, f. l. earthly.  
temen, lay, or bind.  
temps, f. l. time.  
tell no store, take no regard.  
tetch, b. a trick, a stain, frowardness.  
tenhance, set out.  
tewell, b. chimney.  
tercelet, d. Falco masculus.  
textuele, textele, l. skilful in the text.  
thrages, busy matters.  
theophra, In his Book De Frugalitate, else in his Treatise De Loquacitate mulierum.  
thereout, without.  
threke, thrust.  
thirled, pierced.  
thence, catch, find, yet.  
thanks, acts, enterprises, labour, reward.  
thews, qualities.  
thenne, thence.  
thilk, same.  
threpe, b. affirm.  
there, there: also needeth.  
thirled, (jugulavit) strangled.  
thacked, b. beat, smote.  
thringing, thrusting, clustering together.  
throw, a short time.  
thriveth, b. springeth.  
though, those, although.  
thascry, outcry.  
thorruke, an heap.  
thrilled, killed.  
thrope, d. a village.  
thankheeld, thankworthy.  
theke, such.  
throw, anger, haste.  
threst, oppress.  
three mot, the blast of an horn.  
then, although.  
thank held, d. bestow labour or liking.  
thopposite, l. overagainst.  
tholed, b. suffered.  
thaventaile, coat of male.  
thringe, d. thrust.  
thedom, b. thriving.  
theich, plain, smooth.  
thore, before.  
threte, curse, threaten.  
timbesters, players on sounding Instruments.  
tid, b. happened, befallen.  
tiflers, triflers.  
tight, b. befalleth.  
tilleth, b. ploweth.  
tiren, tear, rent,  
tides, b. happeneth.  
tissu, f. a lace.  
told, took care, made account.  
tout, b. hole.  
* Tortuous, Tortuous the signs are, which are called Obliquae ascendentia: that is, all from Capricorn to Cancer. So he calleth the Ascendent unfortunate, because it is one of those signs, and had at the same time the Lord of that sign in his fall, which is in the Sign contrary to his exaltation.  
toteth, b. looketh:  
tone, b. claws.  
* Tolitane tables, Alphonsus' tables to calculate the motion of the Planets for the meridian of Taledo.  
towel, tail.  
torcentions, using extortion.  
toder, b. the other.  
tomblesters, tumblers.  
told no tale, took no care.  
toll, f. clout, toy.  
tournet, f. a tower.  
tort, i extortion.  
torrets, rings, or the fastening of dog's Collars.  
tottis, b. dizzy.  
totoler, prater.  
Tramissene, a City in Barbary, in the Province sometime called Mauritania Tingitana, or Caesariensis, as hath Melanghton.  
trave, b. a trevis to snoo a wild horse in.  
trate, trot, old drab.  
transcend, l. pass, exceed.  
trepeget, an Instrument to cast stones.  
trowen, to trust.  
trice, pull.  
trist, (meta) a mark.  
tressed, broided up.  
trental, thirty masses.  
tress, (funiculus) d. the broiding up of the hair.  
tretis, straight.  
travers, f. overthwart, a curtain.  
trip, b. a piece.  
true, truce.  
trausmew, i. change.  
trill, b. d. to turn, to drop.  
trenchant, f. bending: also sharp.  
trail, f. an arbour.  
trist, l. b. sad: also to believe.  
trai●rie, f. treason.  
tregetor, a juggler.  
troce, d. wreath or with.  
tresses, hair, braids of hair.  
truandise, d. idleness.  
treat, handle.  
trects, straight.  
treget, deceit.  
trophy, i. victory.  
tulsurelike, f. tilekill-like.  
tull, lure, allure.  
twittel, b. a knife.  
twin, b. depart; also separate.  
twiereth, singeth.  
twy, d. two.  
twynned, b. parted.  
twight, b. pulled.  
twin, to take away, to depart, to turn.  
twifold, d. double.  
twitten, b. carved out.  
twist, (ramus) b. a bow.  
twist, b. pinch, hold.  
twy, t●●y, d. two.   

V.  
Valerie and theophra, Some will have us read Valery and his Paraphrast. This Valery wrote a Book De non ducenda uxore, with a Paraphrase upon it, which I have seen in the Study of Mr. Allen of Oxford, (a man of as rare Learning, as he is stored with rare Books.) His Name was Gualterus Maape, archdeacon of Oxford, in the days of King Henry the Second, but changed his Name, because he would not have the Author known, and termed it Valerius ad Rusinum. But yet there was one called Valerius, who wrote a Book of the same Argument, printed among St. Jerome's Works. And likewise one called Theophrastus Eresius, who among many things did write a Book, wherein he reasoneth, whether it be convenient for a wise man to marry. Johannes Sarisburiensis, in his Policraticon hath translated some things in this Book out of Greek and Latin, as may appear, lib. 8. cap. 11. De molestiis & oneribus Conjugiorum: out of which Chapter, Cha●cer hath taken much for this Argument, as may be seen in the Merchant's Tale: but more in the Wife of Bath's Prologue, where between 30 and 40 Verses are translated from thence. And if the whole Work at this day were by some sufficient Scholar translated, it would deserve as much commendation as many Books, which learned men, not without great commendation, have heretofore translated.  
valence, i. cloth of Valencia in Spain.  
vapoured, l. ascended.  
vasselage, f. service, subjection.  
van, f. a fan.  
vavesoure, f. a Lord.  
Vernacle, a cloth or napkin, wherein was the figure of Christ's Face.  
vernage, i sweet wine to be drank in Winter.  
vent, forepart.  
verge, f. a garden.  
vermell, vermayle, f. red.  
ventosing, f. cupping.  
veived, weved, put away.  
verre, f. glass.  
vechons, Hedgehogs.  
vecke, i. an old woman.  
veneri, l. hunting.  
Vigils. It was the manner in times past, upon festival Evens, called Vigiliae, for Parishioners to meet in their Church-houses, or Churchyards, and there to have a drinking fit for the time. Here they used to end many quarrels between Neighbour and Neighbour. Hither came the Wives in comely manner, and they which were of the better sort had their Mantles carried with them, as well for show, as to keep them from cold at the Table. These Mantles also many did use in the Church at morrow masses and other times.  
via Appia, l. an Highway or Causey from Rome to Campaigne.  
vinari enuermayled, f. vineyard made red.  
virelay, a kind of song.  
vite, l. a vine.  
vinolent, l. drunk, smelling of wine.  
visage it, f. face it out.  
viended, f. having plenty of flesh meat.  
umple, b. fine lawn.  
uncouth, b. strange.  
unselines, misfortune.  
underneme, excommunicate.  
unpliten, b. make plain.  
unwrie, uncover.  
underne, b. afternoon.  
unneath, b. scarce.  
unberd, laid open.  
unwist, b. unknown.  
unyolden, b. not yielding.  
undernome, felt.  
underspore, b. put under.  
unset steven, b. unappointed time.  
unsounded, unhealen.  
undermeles, b. afternoons.  
unsilly, unhappy.  
underfonge, take in hand.  
unsperd, b. unlocked.  
vomes, f. foaming.  
volunde, i. will.  
voluper, a kercher.  
volage, f. unconstant.  
voundstone, free stone.  
volatili, i wild fowl.  
volage, l. pleasure.  
upswale, (intumescebat) started, swollen up.  
upplight, b. taken up.  
uphap, b. overcover.  
urn, l. an earthen pot.  
ure, b. hap, chance, use.  
urns, l. pitchers.  
uttrance, f. extremity.   

W.  
Wastel bread, (libellus) fine Cymnel.  
wangs, b. (molares) great teeth.  
waltering, b. wallowing.  
waymenting, b. lamenting.  
waren, d. afflict.  
waget, warchet colour.  
warri, d. to make war.  
warn, assure.  
waives, b. to turn fro.  
wait, b. mark.  
wardcorse, an overseer.  
wones, d. dwellings.  
waived, removed.  
wanger, d. a male, or bouget.  
warren, d. grant, defend.  
Wades boat. Concerning Wade and his Boat, called Guingelot; as also his strange Exploits in the same. Because the matter is long and fabulous, I pass it over.  
Warriangles, be a kind of birds full of noise, and very ravenous, preying upon others, which when they have taken, they use to hang upon a thorn or prick, and tear them in pieces, and devour them. And the common Opinion is, That the thorn whereupon they thus fasten them and eat them, is afterward poisonsome. In Staffordshire and Shropshire the Name is common.  
warned, denied.  
wawes, b. waves.  
wait, b. know.  
warbles, werbles, notes of music.  
walthsome, d. loathsome.  
waped, daunted.  
warenstored, defended.  
warnestore, fortify.  
wantrust, b. mistrust.  
warish, save, deliver.  
warished, eased, delivered.  
ware, b. mark thou.  
wailed, b. changed, old.  
warison, reward.  
way, to guide.  
werds, guides.  
well, to spring.  
wenen wisely, b. thinketh verily.  
welkin, b. the sky.  
wexen, wish.  
welden, to move.  
were, b. a doubt, a maze, also a place where Fishers lay their nets to take fish.  
wetten, b. know.  
werch, b. work.  
works, b. acheth.  
wenden, b. think.  
weldy, b. nimble.  
ween, a doubt, also weaned.  
western, to draw west.  
were, weary, b. curse, also destroy.  
werne, deny.  
wax, increase.  
wend, b. thought, think, by guess,  
wearied, d. banished, confounded.  
werth, deserving.  
wilnest, art willing.  
ween, b. thought, doubt.  
wemlesse, b. blameless.  
welmeth, d. riseth.  
went, (via) a way, a walk, a doubt.  
west, set at west.  
welkneth, d. drieth, fainteth.  
weed, b. apparel.  
welt, b. ruled.  
welked, d. withered.  
wed, d. pledge, gage.  
westreth, setteth at west.  
werriest, b. curfest.  
wendest, b. goest.  
wete, b. knoweth.  
wield, b. hold, govern.  
weive, b. forsake, reject.  
welked wyners, d. withered vine branches.  
wenden, b. think, knew.  
werne, b. forbid, put aside.  
werning, denials.  
wield, b. to rule, also to find.  
welked, d. withered.  
welefull, b. wealthy.  
whilk, b. which.  
wheel, round.  
Wine Ape, Vinum Apianum: that maketh one in such taking, that he cannot with a straw hit a broad fan: the cause is, for that after the drinking thereof unmeasurably, one thing seemeth two to the eyes, as saith Juvenal: Geminis exurgit mensa lucernis. And Horace, Saltat Milonius, ut semel icto accessit fervor capiti, numerusque lucernis.  
wist, b. known.  
wisse, b. show, make known: also wish, d. direct in truth.  
wisse, know, instruct.  
wile, b. deceit.  
witest, b. blamest.  
wis, b. verily.  
warred, oppressed.  
wight, b. weight; also swift.  
wish, d. washed.  
wisse, wise, to advise; also to wish.  
wight, b. swift, strong.  
wight, d. weight.  
wilneth, desireth.  
wissy, verily.  
wick, bad, stinking, noisome; also counterfeit.  
wiche, an ark or chest.  
winsing, b. stirring.  
wisse, save themselves.  
wit, b. know.  
wit, d. white.  
wlate, d. loath, hate.  
woneden, d. dwell.  
wost, d. knowest.  
woned, b. wont, used; also dwelled.  
woddeth, b. waxeth mad.  
won, won, store, plenty, remedy.  
woning, d. dwelling.  
worth up, ascend.  
won, store.  
wodshaw, woodside or shadow.  
word, turn back.  
wonnen, b. conquered.  
wood, b. mad.  
wonneth, d. dwelleth.  
worker, wreker, d. (ultor) revenger.  
won, remedy, also wont.  
wound, bended together.  
worth, b. mounted.  
wrien, covered, change.  
wrath him, anger him.  
writheth, casteth off.  
wrenches, b. traps.  
wryeth, getteth.  
wrathed, moved to anger.  
wroth, sorrowful.  
wrale, b. bestow in brawling.  
wreck, shipwreck.  
wro, grief, anger.  
wreken, d. revenge.  
wrekery, d. revenge.  
wroth, disagreeing.  
wrawnes, b. frowardness.  
wrigh, covered.  
wreme, to compass about.  
wreck, b. revenge.  
wright, b. a carpenter.  
wrech, d. revenge, wrath.  
wrene, wrine, cover.  
wry, to cover, to stir.  
wyerds, destinies.  
wyver, a kind of serpent much like to a dragon.  
wythsit, withstand.  
wyshen, wash.  
wimple, d. a kercher.  
wythsay, b. deny.  
wynt, windeth, draweth.  
wynder, d. to cover, or trim.  
wit, b. blame.  
wyntred, wringled.  
wound, go.  
win, d. to complain.   

Y.  
Yalt, b. goeth.  
yare, b. ready.  
yate, b. gate.  
yave, regarded.  
ybet, b. made.  
ycast, left.  
yclenched, cross-barred, covered.  
ycoruen, cut.  
ycrased, broken.  
ydo, stayed.  
Ye know what I mean. An Aposiopesis often used by Chaucer; as that which he is said to have written with his Diamond sometime in glass-windows, expounded by his man Wat; which was thus:  
A married man, and yet, qd. Chaucer.  
A merry man, qd. Wa●.  
He is a knave that wrote me that, qd. Chaucer.  
yearn, b. quickly; also loud, earnestly.  
go, yeden, b. went.  
yfrounced, f. frowning.  
yfretten, devoured.  
yfere, b. together.  
yeats, b. gates.  
yelp, b. prate, talk.  
yedding, (jurgandi) of brawling, (some say) of gadding up and down (others) of loud singing.  
yerning, b. profit.  
yard, b. rod, or plague: also government.  
yearn, b. to desire, also to take grief, to deserve.  
yellow goulds, marigolds.  
yetten, lay up, gotten.  
yexing, b. sobbing.  
yfter this, even as.  
yhed, on high.  
yhold, accounted.  
yif, and if.  
isle, (inanis) d. empty.  
ymeint, b. mingled.  
ind, black.  
yove, gave, given.  
yode, b. went.  
yoleden, b. yielded.  
yore, b. before, long, long ago.  
hippocras, Hipocrates Works.  
yqueint, b. quenched.  
yreken, b. raked.  
yrens, displeasure, destruction.  
ysaine, seen.  
ythee, b. thrive.  
ywrien, b. covered.   

Z.  
Zenith, a. the point of the Firmament, directly over ones Head, wheresoever he be.  
Zephyrus, g. the West wind.  
Zodiac, g. a Circle in Heaven, wherein are the twelve signs.    

So much of the Latin in Chaucer translated, as is not by himself Englished  

AMOR vincit omnia, Love conquereth all things.  
A questio Juris, A question of the Law.  
Alma redemptoris Mater, O Mother of our Saviour.  
Ad adjuvandum me, To help me.  
Associate profugum Tideus, etc. The Arguments of the twelve Books of Statius.  
The first doth show, that Tideus and Polimite are combined in Friendship.  
In the second Tideus' Message is taught, and the Treacheries disclosed.  
The third doth speak of Harmonia, and of Amphiaraus, who hid himself.  
The fourth setteth out the Battles of the seven Kings.  
The fifth noteth out the outrage of the Women of Lemnos, toucheth the Adder, and the Death of Archemorus.  
In the sixth, the games are declared.  
In the seventh, Amphiaraus the wise man is no more seen.  
In the eighth, Tideus, the stay of the Greeks, is slain.  
In the ninth, Hippomedon and Parthenope die.  
In the tenth Capan●us in scaling the Walls is slain.  
In the eleventh, Etteocles and Polynices kill one another.  
The twelfth setteth out, Adrastus their hard case bewailing, and Thebes burning.  
Benedicite, Praise ye.  
Benedictus, Blessed.  
Cor meum eructavit, My heart hath belched out.  
Consummatum est, It is finished.  
Cum iniquis deputatus est, He was reckoned among the wicked.  
Consumere me vis? Wilt thou destroy me?  
Cur me dereliquisti? Why hast thou forsaken me?  
Coeli enarram, The Heavens declare.  
Corpus Domini, The Lord's Body.  
De septem peccatis mortalibus, Of the seven deadly Sins.  
De Invidia, Of Envy.  
De Ira, Of Anger.  
De Accidia, Of Accidy.  
De Avaritia, Of Covetousness.  
De Luxuria, Of Lechery.  
Dolorum meum, My Grief.  
Domine Laba, etc. O Lord open my Lips.  
Domine Dominus noster, O Lord our God.  
Domine est Terra, The Earth is the Lords.  
Dominus regnavit, The Lord is King.  
Explicit secunda pars poenitentiae, & sequitur pars tertia. 
 Here endeth the second part of Repentance, and here followeth the third  
Fuerunt mihi Lachrimae me in Deserts Panes Die ac nocte, My Tears were my Bread in the Wilderness Day and Night.  
Faciem tuam abscondis, Dost thou hide thy Face.  
Jesus Nazarenus, Jesus of Nazareth.  
Iras●imini &: nolite peccare, Be angry, but sin not.  
In nomine Jesus, In the Name of Jesus.  
In manus ●uas, Into thy hands.  
Jube Domine, Command Lord.  
Jubilate, Rejoice.  
Ignotum per ignotius, One Obscurity, by a more Obscurity.  
Libera me, Save me.  
Laudate, Praise ye.  
Mulier est Hominis Confusio, A Woman is Man's Destruction.  
Non est Dolour sicut Dolor meus, There is no Grief like to mine.  
Non est aliud Nomen sub Coelo, etc. There is no other Name under Heaven.  
O admirabile, O wonderful.  
O Deus, Deus meus, O God, my God.  
Pone me juxta te, Set me by thee.  
Qui Gladio percutit, He that striketh with the Sword.  
Quia tulerunt Dominum meum, Because they have taken away my Lord.  
Quid mali feci tibi? What harm have I done thee?  
Quia non est, qui consoletur me, Because there is none to comfort me.  
Quod dilexi multum, Because I love much.  
Quod sic repent praecipitas me, That thou dost so suddenly cast me down.  
Radix omnium malorum est Cupiditas, Covetousness is the root of all evil.  
Remedium contra Peccatum acidiae, An help against the sin of wanhope.  
Remedium contra Peccatum Avaritiae, An help against the Sin of Covetousness.  
Remedium contra Peccatum Luxuriae, An help against the Sin of Lechery.  
Sanctus Deus, Holy God.  
Sanctissimus, Most holy.  
Sequitur de Gula, Concerning Gluttony.  
Sequitur secunda pars Poenitentiae, Here followeth the second part of Repentance.  
Suspensus in Patibulo, Hung upon the Cross.  
Sed non respondes mihi, But thou dost not answer me.  
Sagittae tuae infixae sunt mihi, Thy Arrows have pierced me sore.  
Solum superest Sepulchrum, There only remaineth a Grave.  
Tanquam Cera liquescens, Like melting Wax.  
Tuam animam pertransibit Gladius, The Sword shall pierce thy Soul.  
Trahe me post te, Draw me after thee.  
Tu autem, And thou.  
Te Deum amoris, Thee the God of Love.  
Turpe lucrum, Filthy Gain:  
Vbi posuerunt eum? Where have they laid him?  
Velociter exaudi me, Speedily hear me.  
Venite, Come ye.    

The French in Chaucer translated.  

A Moi, qui voy, To me which see.  
Bien moneste, Well admonished.  
Bien & loialement, Well and dutifully.  
C'est sans dire, etc. It is without saying, etc.  
Don vient la destiny, From whom cometh destiny.  
En diu est, In God is.  
Entierement vostre, Yours wholly.  
Estreignes moy de coeur joyeux, Strain me with a joyful heart.  
Et je scay bien, que ce n'est pas mon tort, And I know well that it is not my hurt.  
Jay tout perdu mon temps, & mon labeur, I have altogether lost my Time and Labour.  
Jay en vous toute ma fiance, I repose all my trust in you.  
Je vouldray, ay will.  
Je vous dy, I say to you.  
Je vous dy sans doute, I say to you without doubt.  
La belle dame sans mercy, The fair Lady without mercy.  
L'ardant espoir en mon coeur point est mort, d'avoir l'amour de celle, que je desire, The earnest hope within my heart is not dead, to have the love of her whom I desire.  
Meulx un, One best in heart.  
Onques puis lever, I can never rise.  
Or à mon coeur, Now to my Heart.  
Or à mon coeur ce qui vouloy, Now to my Heart that which I would.  
Pleures pour moy, s'il vou playst amoreux, Weep for me if you please, lovely Lady.  
Plus ne pourroy, I can do no more.  
Qui est la, Who is there?  
Qui bien aime, tard oublie, He that loveth well is slow to forget.  
Sans ose je dire, Without, shall I be bold to say.  
Sans que jamais, etc. Without ever, etc.  
Sans ose je, ou diray? But dare I, or shall I say?  
Si douce est la marguerite, So sweet is the daisy.  
son & mon joly coeur endormi, Her lively Heart and mine fallen asleep.  
Soyes asseurè, Be ye assured.  
S●s lafoy feville devers moy, Upon the Leaf towards me.  
Tant que je puis, As much as I can.  
Tant me fait mal departir de ma dame, It grieveth me so much to depart from my Lady.  
Vn sans changer, One without changing.    

The Authors cited by G. Chaucer in his Works, by Name declared.  

ALhazen, an Arabian, wrote seven Books of Perspectives.  
Arnoldus de nova villa, did write the Book called Rosarium Philosophorum.  
Anselmus, Bishop of Canterbury, a great Writer in Divinity, 1061.  
Agathon, a Philosopher of Samos, did write Histories.  
Augustine, that famous Doctor and Bishop, wrote more Books than ever did any in the Church of the Latins.  
Avicen, a Physician of Sevil, wrote a multitude of Books.  
Averroys, a Physician of Corduba, floruit, 1149.  
Albumasar, alias Japhar, a great Astrologian, wrote of sundry things in that Art.  
Aesopus, a Philosopher born in Phrygia in the days of Croesus, King of Lydia, to whom he dedicated the Fables which he wrote.  
Aristotle, a famous Philosopher, Scholar to Plato, and Master to King Alexander. He was 345 years before Christ.  
Ambrose, the worthy Bishop of Milan, in the year of our Lord, 373.  
Alcabutius, a Writer in Astronomy; as of the Conjunction of the Planets, etc.  
Alanus, among other things wrote a Book De Planctu Naturae.   

B.  
Bocatius, born at Florence in Italy, set out many things in his own Tongue, claruit, 1375.  
Bernardus de Gordonio, a Frenchman born, Reader of Physic at Mount Pelier.  
Bernardus Abbas Clarevallensis, a Burgonian, and a singular Divine, set forth many things, 1140.  
Basilius Magnus, Bishop of Caesarea, 367.   

C.  
Cato, a learned man among the Romans, before the Incarnation, 182.  
Corinna, a Theban Woman, and a Lyrike Poet; she wrote 50 Books and Epigrams; as Suidas and Pausanias' report.  
Claudianus, born in Alexandria in Egypt, among many things wrote a Book of the stealing away of Proserpina.  
Chrysippus did write a Book against the pleasure of the Body.  
Constantine the Monk did translate and write many things in Physic, and among other, Lib. de coitu, quibus modis augeatur & diminuatur.   

D.  
Dantes Aligeras', an Italian, and born in Florence, lived, 1341.  
Dares Phrigius did write the Trojan War in Greek, where he himself was a Soldier.  
Ditis Historicus did write a Book of the Trojan War, found in a certain Sepulchre.  
Damascenus Presbyter did write many things in the Greek Tongue.  
Dioscorides, a worshipful Knight of Egypt, wrote in Greek, of the natures of divers Herbs: He lived under Cleopatra and Antonius.   

E.  
Aesculapius did write a Book of the original, cause, and descriptions of Diseases.   

F.  
Franciscus Petrarcha, an Italian born, did write when Chaucer was a young man, floruit, 1374.   

G.  
Gatisden and Gilbertin, Englishmen born, and writers in Physic.  
Guido de Columna, a Sicilian, did write of the Trojan War, 1287.  
Galfride Vinesause, was a Norman by his Parents, but born in England: he did write in his Book entitled de artificio loquendi, by way of Example of Mourning, under the Rhetorical figure of Apostrophe, a complaint for the Death of Richard the First, who was slain with an Arrow at the Siege of the Castle of Chalne in Normandy, and lived in the time of King John, An. Dom. 1210  
Galenus, a most singular Physician, did write a multitude of Books, 160.  
Gregorius Magnus did write much in Divinity, claruit, An. 369.  
Galfridus Monumethensis, an Englishman born, translated into our Tongue the History of England, floruit, 1152.   

H.  
Homerus, the chiefest of all Poets, wrote in the Greek Tongue two works, the one called his Ilias, and the other his Odyssea.  
Helowis, Maximinian, Livian, Aurora, Zansis, and divers others alleged by Chaucer, have none or few of their works extant.  
Haly wrote a Book of the Compositions of Medicines.  
Hieronimus Stridonensis did write among other things, a defence of Virginity, in two Books, against Jovinian.  
Hypocrates Cous, a most ancient Physician, and Prince of all others, lived in the days of Artaxerxes.  
Hermes, an Egyptian, Disciple to Plato, did write of many strange things.   

I.  
Josephus wrote in Greek the Battle and Destruction of the Jews. He was after the Incarnation seventy six years.  
Johannes Damascenus, a Writer in Physic, 1158.  
Innocentius Papa, born in Company, wrote a Book of the happy state of Mankind.  
Juvenalis, a Poet, which wrote Satyrs.  
Justinian, an Emperor of Rome, who caused to be written the Books of the Laws, called the Digests, Institutions, and the Code, containing the Decrees of the Emperors. He was after the Incarnation five hundred and seventy years.   

L.  
Lollius, an Italian Historiographer, born in the City of Urbine.  
Lucanus, a famous Poet, that wrote the Battle between Caesar and Pompey.   

M.  
Macrobius Aurellius wrote a Commentary on Scipio's Dream.  
Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus, a Monk, among many things wrote of the state of the Soul.  
Marcianus Capella did write of the Liberal Sciences: and also of the marriage of Philologi and Mercury.   

O.  
Ovid, a famous Latin Poet and Orator, advanced to be Senator of Rome: He lived when Christ was conversant on Earth.   

P.  
Petrus Alfonsus, a Jew, turned to the Faith, before called Moses, was baptised by King Alphonsus, and bore his Name: he did write many Books, 1100.  
Pamphilus' Presbyter, Kinsman to Eusebius, after much pains in writing, suffered Martyrdom in Caesaria, under the Persecution of Maximinus.  
Papinius Statius, a Neapolitan, wrote of the Destruction of Thebes. He lived under Domitian.  
Ptolemeus lived in the Time of Anthony the Emperor: he wrote divers works, and restored out of Darkness the Mathematical Sciences.  
Pythagoras, an excellent Philosopher of Samos, at whose Wisdom Plato did wonder. He was before the Incarnation 522 years.  
Petrus Cassiodorus, an Italian, a Noble man, and learned, did write to the Church of England, and persuaded them to cast off their Obedience to the Roman Bishops, and to beware of their Tyranny, 1302.   

R.  
Rasis, an Arabian Physician.  
Rufus, a Physician of Ephesus in the time of Trajan the Emperor.   

S.  
Statius, a noble Poet, which wrote twelve Books of the Theban War.  
Senior Zadith did write a Book of Alchemy, Gesner.  
Seneca, a Spaniard, born in Corduba, a singular Philosopher, did write many things; he lived in the time of Nero, by whom he was put to Death.  
Serapion, an Arabian, did write of the Composition of Medicines.  
Suetonius wrote the Lives of the Roman Emperors.  
Strode, a man of great Learning, Fellow of Merton College in Oxford, 1380.   

T.  
Tertullian did write a Book of the attire of Women.  
Titus Livius, the most excellent Writer of the Romans History.  
Tho. Bradwarden was Bishop of Canterbury, who did write a Book De causa Dei, contra Pelagianos, and dedicated it to the Society of Merton College in Oxford. He did write many other Books, one of the Trinity, one of Predestination, one of all Sciences, one of the Principles of Geometry; also a book of the Reward of them which shall be saved, and another called the Sum of Divinity. He flourished in the year of Grace, 1270.  
Trotula set forth a book of the cure of Diseases in and after Childbirth.  
Theophrastus' Eresius, Disciple to Aristotle, writing a great number of Books, hath one De frugalitate.  
Tullius, a Senator of Rome, Father of Eloquence, and pure Fountain of the Latin Tongue. He flourished about forty years before Christ's Incarnation.   

V.  
Valerius Maximus, wrote to Tiberius Caesar a Book of the memorable deeds and sayings of worthy Men.  
Virgilius, the most famous Poet of Mantua, whose Life Petrus Crinitus hath set down at large in Lib. 3. de Poetis Latinis.  
Vitellio did write ten books of Perspectives.   

W.  
William S. Aymour, a Frenchman, did write a Commentary on the Apocalypse, much inveighing against the Pope: and was therefore banished, and his Books burned.    

ADVERTISEMENT.  
WHilst this Work was just finishing, we happened to meet with a Manuscript, wherein we found the Conclusion of the Cook's Tale, and also of the Squire's Tale, (which in the Printed Books are said to be lost, or never finished by the Author,) but coming so late to our hands, they could not be inserted in their proper places, therefore the Reader is desired to add them, as here directed.  

Immediately after what you find of the Cook's Tale, add this:  
What thorough himself & his fellow y● fought,  
Unto a mischief both they were brought,  
The tone ydamned to prison perpetually,  
The tother to death, for he couth not of clergy,  
And therefore young men learn while ye may,  
That with many divers thoughts beth pricked all the day,  
Remember you what mischief cometh of misgovernaunce,  
Thus mow ye learn worship and come to substance:  
Think how grace and governance hath brought aboune  
Many a poor man'ies Son chief state of the Town.  
Ever rule thee after the best man of name,  
And God may grace thee to come to the same.   

Immediately after these words, at the end of the Squire's Tale,  
Apollo whirleth up his chare so high,  
Until the God Mercurius house he fly.  

Let this be added,  
But I here now maken a knot,  
To the time it come next to my lot,  
For here been felawes behind, an heap truly,  
That wolden talk full besily,  
And have here sport as well as I,  
And the day passeth certainly,  
So on this matter I may no longer dwell,  
But stint my clack, and let the other tell,  
Therefore oft taketh now good heed  
Who shall next tell, and late him speed.    
FINIS.