Lines 423–819

The Owl in silence sat, and heard,
And held in heart word after word,
And then bethought her how she might
An answer give, both fit and right;
For every man must take good heed
When he, 'gainst trick of word must plead.
"Thou askest me," she quoth, "this thing,
Why I, in winter cry and sing —
It is with men a custom good,
From the beginning hath it stood,
That each good man should, with his friend,
From time to time, in gladness spend
Some hours with him, in house, and board,
With gracious speech, and gracious word,
And specially at Christ's own Feast,
When rich and poor, greatest, and least,
Their Antiphon sing, night and day —
I fain would help them, an I may,
My mind is set on other thing
Than just to play, or eke, to sing,
And, answer were I fain to find,
I have one ready to my mind;
For summer-tide is all too fair,
And man full oft misdoeth there;
For Purity he careth naught,
On Lust, I trow, is all his thought,

"And thou thyself art there among,
In that of Lust is all thy song,
"And when thine hour of passion's o'er
I trow thy song is heard no more.

"Now art thou ta'en, what thinkest thou?
Art rightly overcome, I trow!"

"Nay, Nay," she quoth, the Nightingale,
"Now shalt thou hear another tale,
Not yet our speech fore- judged shall be,
Now hold thee still, and list to me;
With but one word I'll swiftly teach
How all of naught it is, thy speech!"
"That were not right," the Owl then said,
"Thou at thy will thy plaint hast made,
And I have answered even so —
Now, ere we both to judgment go,
Here I set forth my cause 'gainst thee,
Thou, in thy turn, shalt speak 'gainst me,
And answer me, if so thou might!
But tell me now, thou wretched wight,
If thou hast any merit still
Save that thy throat be loud, and shrill?
No good art thou for anything,
Naught dost thou know, save chattering,
For small thou art, and weak shalt be,
Thy plumage nothing is to see,
What good I pray, dost do 'mid men?
. No more than doth a wretched wren
In thee men find none other good
Save that thou criest in the wood,
And if thy song be past and gone
Of other wisdom hast thou none.
King Alfred said, a wise man he,
And well he spake, for true it be:
'There is no man who, for his song,
Is loved or cherished over-long,
For he is but a worthless thing
Who knoweth naught, save how to sing,'
And thou art but a thing of naught,
Nor, save thy chatter, hast thou aught;
Of dim and dull hue art, withal,
Naught but a little sooty ball!
"What dost thou eat, save only lice?
Spiders thou lovest, and foul flies,
And worms, if such thou mayest find
In crevices of bark, and rind.
But true and good my service is,
I watch men's dwellings well, I wis,
And men, they deem my service good,
For that I help them with their food.
The mouse I take in barn withal,
And eke in church, when dusk doth fall;
For dear to me shall be Christ's House,
Gladly I cleanse it from the mouse,
And never shall there come thereto
Vermin, if I my will may do.
And if it so shall please me well
To 'void the place where men may dwell,
I have within the wood a tree,
Thick and well-clad its boughs shall be,
And ivy green doth it o'er grow,
Ever the same that tree shall show;
Its hue, I trow, is never lost,
Whether it be or snow or frost;
Therein I have a sure stronghold,
In winter warm, in summer cold,
My house stands ever bright and green
When of thy dwelling naught is seen."

The Nightingale herself bethought,
Good counsel to her aid she brought,
Seeking 'mid hard and tough, I trow,
Until her rede seemed good enow,
And she an answer fit had found
To do her service at this stound.
"Owl," thus she quoth, "fain would'st thou know
If I another skill may show
Save to sing sweet in summer-tide,
And bliss to spread both far and wide.
Why ask what further skill be mine?
Better my one than all of thine —
Better one song from me to win
Than all the songs of all thy kin —
Hearken, and hear wherefore — I wot
Man, he was born but to this lot
That he should come to Heaven's bliss,
Which is but song and mirth, I wis,
And every man doth strive thereto
Who aught of good doth know, or do.
Therefore in Holy Church men sing,
And clerks their skill in music bring
That men be minded by their song
Whither they go, and thereto long;
That men shall of true bliss be fain,
And thereof think, thereto attain,
Since by the church good proof is given
How glad shall be the bliss of Heaven.
Thus clerks, and monks, and canons all,
Who dwell within this holy wall,
Rise from their couches at midnight,
And sing a song of Heaven's light;
And priests, throughout the land they sing,
Whenas the light of day doth spring;
And I, I help as best I may
And sing with them both night and day.
And thus for me more joy they know,
For me their song doth swifter flow,
So do I warn men for their good
That they should be of blithesome mood,
And thus I bid them seek alway
That self-same song that lasts for aye.
Now, Owl, thou well mayst sit and blink,
Here is no chatter, so I think,
Ready am I afar to fare
And from the Pope my judgment bear.
Yet, natheless, shalt a little stay
And hear what I have yet to say,
Nor shalt thou, for this English land,
My words with any truth withstand.

"Thou deemest me the worse for this
That but one craft I know, I wis,

"Cast thou thy crafts together, still
The mine shall be the better skill.
The hounds the fox to death can drive,
The cat can save himself alive
Tho' never trick he know save one —
The fox, such good trick knoweth none
Altho' he hath full many a wile,
And deems each hound he may beguile.
The fox knows secret paths enow —
The cat, he hangeth on the bough
So that the hound doth go astray,
And turneth oft another way.
The fox, he thro' the hedge doth crawl,
And from his first path bend withal,
Full oft he doth such cunning show
The dogs the scent no longer know,
Nor know whether, upon the track
'T were best to go afore, or back.
Thus doth the fox his wiles expend
That to his earth he, at the end,
Hath safely come, — yet, sooth to tell,
Altho' his tricks may serve him well,
Spite of his wiles, at last he'll be
Robbed of his red coat, verily.
The cat, he knows but one trick still,
Whether he fly by fen, or hill,
He knows right well to climb, alway,
So can he ward his coat of gray.
Thus my one craft, I say to thee,
Better than all thy twelve shall be!"

"Abide, abide," the Owl did cry,
"Thy plaint, it leans to treachery,
Thou glozest so thy words alway
That men shall deem thou sooth dost say.
Abide, abide, I'll answer thee
So that all men shall truly see
That here dost much, and greatly, lie,
I'll show thine untruth, verily.
Thou say'st, that by thy song, Mankind
Be taught their way from hence to find
Up to the song that lasts for aye —
In sooth I wonder, and well may,
Thou darest to lie thus openly —
Dost think that thou, so easily,
Shalt bring to Heaven's bliss by song?
Nay, nay, they needs must find ere long
That, with sore tears and weeping, they
Must for their sins still pardon pray
Ere they may hope that bliss to find —
I rede men that they bear in mind
Rather to weep, than thus to sing,
An they would fain see Heaven's King.
For there be no man void of sin,
Therefore needs must, ere hence he win,
That he with grief and tears entreat
He find that sour, that erst was sweet —
Thereto I'll help him as I may
Therefore I sing no empty lay;
My song is all with longing blent,
At whiles it turneth to lament,
That man bethink him well, I wis,
And mourn what he hath done amiss,
Thus would I urge him by my song
To groan for this, his guilt, and wrong.
If here would'st take to arguing
Better I weep than thou dost sing,
If right shall go ahead of wrong
Better my mourning than thy song.
And tho' some men be truly good,
And pure in heart, of righteous mood,
Natheless they yearn from hence to go
That they be here, it brings them woe,
Tho' they themselves be saved, I ween,
Here have they naught but sorrow keen;
For other's sins they weep alway,
Ever for them Christ's Mercy pray.
Thus in both ways I help enow,
And two-fold aid I give, I trow;
The good I urge to yearning strong,
His longing quickens at my song,
And I the sinful help also,
Teaching, his way doth lead to woe.

"But thou dost sing of lustfulness,
Man finds in thee no holiness.

"Why dost not seek some other land
Where folk in greater need shall stand?
In Ireland thou dost never sing,
To Scotland ne'er thy flight dost wing,
Why dost not fare to Norroway,
Or sing to men of Galloway?
For there be men who little know
Of how a song should sweetly flow;
Why to their priests dost thou not sing
And knowledge of thy trilling bring?
Couldst teach them by thy voice, I wis,
How angels sing in Heavenly bliss.
Nay, as a useless well dost do
That springeth by a streamlet's flow,
The down it leaveth parched and dry
And, useless, runs the waters by.
But I, both North and South I roam,
In every land I be at home,
Both far and near, both East and West,
I do mine office with the best,
And warn men by my voice to heed
Lest thy false song should them mislead.
I warn them well, by this my song,
That they in sin dwell not o'erlong;
I pray them cease their sin alway
Nor that they should themselves betray;
Better by far bemoan them here
Than be the mate of Devils drear!

"Once didst thou sing, 't is sooth indeed,
In lady's bower, and fain would lead
That dame a secret love to know —
There didst thou sing both loud and low,
Wouldst lead her to a deed of shame
And wrong against her wifely fame.
Her lord was well aware that time,
And cunning snare of gin, and lime,
He set to catch thee there withal,
Full soon into the trap didst fall;
Taken thou wast in cunning snare
Fast by the foot it held thee there.
This was thy doom, and this the law,
Wild horses should thy body draw.
Seek, if thou wilt, by evil rede
Or wife, or maiden, to mislead,
Such profit shalt thou win, by hap,
That thou shalt dangle from a trap!"

The Nightingale, at this same word,
With knightly art of spear and sword,
An she were man, were fain to fight,
So hath she done as best she might,
And wise, did ward her with her tongue,
"Who speaks well, fights well," saith the song,
Thus, in her tongue her trust she laid
"'Who speaks well, fights well,' Alfred said;
Wouldst shame me by this tale? I trow
Thereof the lord had grief enow;
He was so jealous of his wife
That he would not, for very life,
That with another man she spake,
It went full nigh his heart to break.
He locked her in a bower ere long,
That builded was full sure and strong,
I but took pity on her woe,
And sorrow for her lot would show;
Fain would I please her with my song,
Early I sang, and late, and long.
Therefore the knight with me was wroth,
For envy, I to him was loath,
He thought on me to wreak his shame,
But all was turned to his blame.
Henry the King thereof had dole,
(Jesu have mercy on his soul!)
He set his ban upon the knight
Who thus had sinned against the right
In such a good king's land and state,
For envy sheer, and foulest hate,
A little bird did cruelly snare
And, limb from limb, asunder tear.
'T was to the honour of my kin,
Thereby the knight small joy did win,
He gave for me an hundred pound —
Thereof my birds, much joy they found,
Such bliss was theirs, and sheer delight,
They blithely sang, as well they might,
Since I was so avenged, I hold
My speech henceforth shall be more bold,
Since Fate thus once hath dealt with me,
Ever the blither shall I be.
Now may I sing both loud and low,
No man may wrath against me show.
But thou, thou miserable ghost,
I wot that ne'er a nook thou knowest,
No hollow bush to hide, withal,
Where no man's grasp on thee shall fall.
Master, and servant, children, be
All of one mind to worry thee,
If they may see thee sit alone
Swift do they take to them a stone,
With turf, and stones on thee they fall,
Thy bones are fain to. break withal.
If thou to death be smitten, or shot,
Then first art thou of use, I wot,
Men hang thee then upon a stick
And with thy feathers, foul and thick.
And with thy claws that erstwhile fore,
Guardest the wheat, from the barn door.
Tho' thou art naught as flesh and blood
Thou art as scare-crow very good!
And when men would their new seeds sow,
Sparrow, nor goldfinch, rook, nor crow,
Never to come anigh will dare
If so thy body hangeth there.
And so the tree shall surely blow,
And the young seeds shall spring and grow,
And never bird comes there among
If thou shalt be above them hung.
Thy life is vile and foully sped,
Thou art no use, save thou be dead.
So shalt thou know, of surety,
Thy features all right grisley be
The while thou livest, when dost see
That when thou, dead, hanged high shalt be,
They dread of thee the very sight
Those birds, who cried upon thy flight.
I trow with reason men be wroth
'Gainst thee, thy song to them is loath,
Early and late, I trow, thy song
Is ever of man's loss and wrong,
Men well may dread to hear thy cry, —
Thou singest ere some man shall die;
Ever thy song, it bodeth woe —
A man shall loss of riches know;
Perchance a friend shall ruined be;
Perchance his house burnt presently;
Or thieves, or foemen, steal by night;
Or murrain shall his cattle smite;
The folk shall suffer scarcity;
Or wife bereft of husband be;
Ever foretellest misery —
Ever of harm to man dost sing,
Sorrow and poverty dost bring;
In very sooth thou singest ne'er
Save when thou would'st some ill declare.
That thou be shunned by all, 't is meet,
And that men should thee pelt, and beat
With sticks, and stones, with turf, and clout,
So that thou findest no way out.
Woe to the herald who shall ne'er
A message save of evil, bear,
Who ever bringeth tidings ill,
Whose speech is but of mischief still;
Yea, God with him full wroth shall be,
And all who wear such livery!"
The Owl, she tarried not o'erlong,
But gave an answer sharp and strong
"What?" so she quoth, "shalt cowled be
That thus thou cursest laity?
Priest's office here thou fain wouldst do
Say, hast thou been ordained thereto?
I know not if thou Mass canst sing
But loud enow thy curses ring
'T is but for thine old jealousy
That thus thou layest blame on me.
Here is an answer good alway;
'Draw to thee!' doth the carter say;
Wouldst here reproach me with insight,
For knowledge deep, and secret might?