Lines 820–1233

For, in good sooth, I be full wise,
And know what in the future lies,
For I of war and famine know;
Whether a man live long, or no;
I know what wife shall widowed be;
What land shall waste and violence see;
Who breathes on gallows his last breath,
Or dies some other evil death;
When men shall forth to battle fare
The victor I could well declare;
I know when pest shall smite the kine;
I know when deer for hunger pine;
Right well I know which tree shall blow;
Right well I know if corn shall grow;
I know which house with fire shall burn;
Who from his foe in flight shall turn;
I know when seas o'er-whelm the ship;
I know when frost and snow shall grip;
And yet I trow I know e'en more —
Well am I learned in book-lore,
And of the Gospels know I well
Far more than I can rightly tell;
For I full oft to churches turn
And much of wisdom there I learn.
Of Symbols I the meaning know,
And many another thing also;
If ill to any man befell
And I its coming may foretell,
Full oft, for this, my mickle wit,
Right sad and sorrowful I sit.
For when I see that woe and ill
Draw near, I must bemoan me still.
I would that men thereof take heed
And find aforetime fitting rede.
Alfred in wisdom spake this word —
He well may ponder who hath heard —
'The ill that thou canst well foresee
Of half its strength it robbed shall be.'
Tho' hard the dints, their force is less
If I keep me in wariness,
And all in vain the shaft shall wing
If thou hast seen it leave the string.
For thou right well may'st turn aside
And flee, if thou its course hast spied.
And if disgrace a man befall
Should he reproach me therewithal?
Tho' I afore his harm have seen
It was not caused by me I ween.
So dost thou see one who is blind,
Who the straight path may nowise find,
Shall follow a false road withal
Till in the ditch and mire he fall.
Dost ween because the harm I see
It therefore falls more speedily?
E'en so it fareth with my wit
The while upon my bough I sit
I know, and see, with sight full clear,
That harm to some man draweth near;
Shall he, who naught thereof may know
Reproach me, if the thing be so?
Shall he the mischief lay to me
Because I wiser am than he?
But when I see that grief and pain
Be nigh to man, I sore complain,
And pray that he himself may guard
For that misfortune's ways be hard.
But tho' I mourn, both loud and still,
All that betides is thro' God's Will.
Then why should men blame me, forsooth,
In that I warn them of the truth?
For tho' I warn throughout the year
Evil to them Is not more near,
But for this reason do I sing
That they may understand this thing,
That some misfortune draweth nigh
Whenas they hear me hoot and cry.
For no man so assured hath been
But that he well may dread, I ween,
That harm shall sometime him befall
Altho' he see it not withal.
King Alfred, very well he spake,
(And men his words as Gospel take)
That each man shall the better speed
The better that he taketh heed,
And trusts to none his wealth, I trow,
In haste, tho' folk he have enow.
No heat there be but cold may grow;
No white so pure but stain may know;
Nothing so dear but may wax loath;
No gladness but may make men wroth;
But all that ever was, I wis,
Is fleeting, as is this world's bliss.
Here may'st thou know full speedily
That thou dost speak but giddily,
All that thou sayest for my shame
It turneth ever to thy blame,
Go as it may, it chances yet
Thou fallest to thine own onset;
The words thou dost against me spend
Turn to mine honour in the end,
Nay, better must thy plaint begin
If aught but shame dost think to win!"
The Nightingale, she sat, and sighed,
Right woeful was she at that tide,
For that the Owl spake in this wise
And laid her speech in such like guise.
Good counsel to her heart she laid
Pondering what she thereafter said,
Natheless, her part she understood —
"What, Owl," she quoth, "say, art thou wood?
Of secret wisdom speakest aye,
Thou know'st not whence it comes alway
Save that in witchcraft it hath share;
Thereof, thou wretch, should'st well beware,
If thou midst men in peace would'st be
Else from the land thou need'st must flee,
For all who in such dealings share
From days of yore accursed were
By priest, and such thou yet shalt be —
From witchcraft ne'er hast set thee free.
In such wise did I speak but now
And thou didst ask of me, I trow,
In mockery, if 'cowled' I were,
That ban, it reacheth everywhere,
And tho' no priest in land were seen,
A cursed wretch thou still hadst been.
For every child shall call thee foul,
Each man, 'A miserable owl,' —
Yea, I have heard, and sooth it be,
That men be star-wise, verily,
And thus may future things foretell,
Thou sayest what is known full well.
But, wretch, what know'st thou of a star
Save that thou see'st it from afar?
So doth full many a beast and man
Who of such knowledge nothing can;
An ape may well a book behold
And turn its leaves, its pages fold,
But for all that he knows no more
Nor first, nor last, of clerkly lore;
And thus, tho' thou the stars shalt see
Never the wiser shalt thou be.
Again, foul thing, thou chidest me,
And dost reproach me wrathfully,
Saying, that by my song alway
Wives learn their husbands to betray.
Thou liest, I wis, thou wretched thing,
Shame did I ne'er on marriage bring;
But sooth it is I sing alway
For ladies sweet, and maidens gay.
And sooth it is of love I sing,
For marriage many a wife doth bring
To give to this, her husband true,
A love that ne'er her lover knew.
And maidens well such love may choose
That they their honour never lose,
But love with rightful love that same
Who hath the right their love to claim;
Such love I teach, such love they learn,
Thereto my song their heart doth turn."

The Owl rejoiced at such a tale,
But yet bethought the Nightingale,
Tho' she at first the sooth would say,
At last had somewhat gone astray.
She quoth: "Now, of a sooth, I find
That maidens' weal be in thy mind,
Dost cherish them, and guard them well
And art full fain their praise to tell,
Ladies full often turn to me,
And let me oft their sorrow see.

"For there be husbands manifold
Who know not how a wife to hold,
If others speak with her, I trow,
He deems she'll break her marriage vow;
Nay, to behold if she but dare
Another man, or speak him fair,
He shuts her in with lock and key,
Thereby shall vows oft broken be,
For oft by wrong shall she be brought
To do what ne'er was in her thought.
Woe to him who so swift shall speak
That his wife shall such vengeance wreak!
Thereof the ladies' plaint shall be
Full oft, and sore it troubleth me,
My heart, I trow, for grief is fain
To break, when I behold their pain,
With them I needs must weep full sore,
And pray Christ's Mercy evermore,
To aid that lady ere too late,
And send to her a better mate.
Another tale I 'ld now begin:
And thou shalt ne'er, to save thy skin,
With "answer fit o'er this prevail
But thy contention here shall fail.
Many a merchant, many a knight,
Doth love, and hold his wife, aright,
And many a bondsman, even so —
The good wife, she the same shall do,
And serves her lord, by bed and board,
With gentle deed, and gentle word,
And ever seeks in service true
The thing that to her lord is due.
Full oft it doth her lord befall
To fare afield, when need doth call,
Then is that good wife sad at heart
In that she from her lord must part;
She sits, and sigheth evermore,
For woe her heart is grieved full sore,
And, all for this her dear lord's sake,
Watcheth by 'day, by night doth wake,
And very long it seems, the while,
Each step, she deemeth it a mile.
When others sleep her couch about,
I, alone, hearken there without;
And, since I know her mournful mood,
At night I sing, for this, her good,
And of my song, for this, her sake,
Sometime a lamentation make,
Thus, in her sorrow take a share
Therefore she gives me welcome fair.
Thus do I help her all I may
For that she treads the rightful way.
But thou hast shamed me bitterly,
My heart thereof shall heavy be,
So that, in sooth, I scarce may speak
But yet my wrath I needs must wreak.
Thou sayest, that I to man be loth,
That every man is with me wroth
With sticks and stones doth threaten me,
Beats me, and tears me, willingly;
And when at last I shall be slain
To take and hang me they be fain,
That I may scare the pie and crow
From off the furrows where they sow.
Say it were sooth, I do them good,
And for their profit shed my blood,
I die, and serve them at that same —
Wherefore to thee the greater blame;
When thou art dead, shrivelled and dry,
Thy death helps no man, verily!
In sooth, I know not how it might
For thou art but a wretched wight!
But tho' my life be shot away
Good service may I do alway,
For men may set me on a stick
There, where the wood grows close and thick,
And thus may draw unto their snare
The little birds, and catch them there.
And so thro' me it doth befall
Man findeth roast for food withal —
But thou, thou ne'er, alive or dead,
To profit man didst stand in stead,
I know not why dost rear thy brood
Alive, or dead, thou art no good!"

The Nightingale heard well enow
And hopped upon the leafy bough;
Higher she perched than she did ere —
"Owl," so she quoth, "now be thou ware,
With thee I think to plead no more
For thou hast lost the rightful lore,
Thou criest, thou to man art loth,
That every man with thee is wroth;
That with thy cry, and with thy yell,
Thou art accurst, thou knowest well.
Thou say'st that grooms take thee in snare,
High on a rod they hang thee there,
They tear thee, and in pieces shake,
And some a scare-crow of thee make.
Methinks, that thou hast lost the game,
Thou criest aloud of thine own shame,
Methinks, dost play into mine hand
Crying thy shame throughout the land."
When she had said this word, I trow,
She sat her on a leafy bough
And lifted up her voice on high
And sang so shrill, so piercingly,
That far and near men heard her song —
Anon, unto that tree they throng,
Thrush, throstle, wood-hatch, song-birds all,
Of fowls, I trow, both great and small,
For that they deemed the Nightingale
The Owl had vanquished, without fail,
Therefore they cried and sang, I wis,
Among the boughs with mickle bliss.
E'en so men heap upon him shame
Who, playing dice, hath lost the game.
The Owl the clamour heard withal:
"Would'st thou," she cried, "an army call?
And would'st thou, wretch, against me fight?
Nay, nay, thereto hast thou no might.
Why dost thou call them here to thee?
Methinks, would'st lead them against me,
But thou shalt know, ere hence thou go,
How my kin guard them 'gainst a foe,
All they whose bills be strong and hooked,
All they whose claws be sharp and crooked,
All they be of my kin, indeed,
All they will come to me at need.
The very cock, who well can fight,
Should hold with me, I trow, of right,
We both have voices loud and strong,
And both, by night we sing our song;
Should I my loudest cry 'gainst thee
The stronger army mine should be.
'Pride goeth aye before a fall';
A turf were more than worth ye all I
And ere the day be turned to eve
I 'ld not a quill upon ye leave.
But 't was our forward fast and true
Ere yet to thither-ward we drew,
That we should other daysman seek
Who judgment fair 'twixt us should speak,
And now would'st from that forward shrink —
The judgment all too hard dost think
Never thou durst that doom abide
So would'st thou, wretch, now fight and chide.
But would ye all my counsel take
Ere hue and cry 'gainst ye I make,
Then ye our strife would now let be,
And from this place would swiftly flee
For, by the claws of which I boast,
If ye should now await my host,
Ye soon another song shall sing,
And curse all strife and quarrelling,
For none so keen shall be this tide,
I trow, mine onslaught to abide."
The Owl, she spake right valiantly,
Tho' she would not, so speedily,
After her army straightway fare,
Yet would she, natheless, answer there
The Nightingale with fitting word —
For many a man, with spear and sword,
Hath little strength, or e'en with shield,
But yet may well upon the field,
With valiant words, so brave appear
He makes his foe to sweat for fear.
The wren, who sang well, at that same,
In morning-tide, she thither came,
To help the Nightingale withal;
For tho' her voice, it was but small,
Her notes were very clear and shrill,
And many songs had she at will;
The wren for wise men ever hold,
Tho' she were born upon the wold,
Yet among men had she been taught,
And all her lore from them she brought,
And she might speak where'er she would,
Before the King, if so she should.
"Listen," she quoth, "the word I'll take,
What, think ye here the peace to break,
And do unto the King such shame?
Yet is he neither dead nor lame,
And harm and shaming shall ye win
An ye break peace his land within.
Let be, and make your peace, I pray,
And to your judgment go straightway,
And take the verdict on your plea
E'en as ye sware it so should be."
"That will I," quoth the Nightingale,
"Yet, Wren, I go not for thy tale
But all for sake of lawfulness;
I would not, of unrighteousness
Be at the ending overcome —
In sooth, I fear for no man's doom,
But I have said, and hold for truth,
That Master Nichole, who, in sooth,
Is wise, should judge between us two,
And still I deem he so will do.
But say, where shall we find him now?"
The Wren sat on a linden bough;
"What, know ye not," quoth she, "his home?
He dwelleth sure at Portesholme,
In Dorset that same town shall be
Beside an inlet of the sea.
There judgment doth he deal aright,
And many wise saws doth indite,
And thro' his mouth, and thro' his hand,
Bettered we be to Scottish land. '
Easy it is to seek his face
For he hath but one dwelling-place.
I trow that doth the bishops shame,
And every man who of his name
Hath heard, and knoweth of his deed —
Why seek they not from him good rede
That he among them oft shall be
To teach them wisdom, verily,
Find him a place, and goodly rent,
That so his time with them be spent?"

"Certes," the Owl quoth, "that is so,
And these rich men much wrong they do
When they a good man leave aside —
(Who is in wisdom true and tried —
And office give to whom they will
Unheeding, and neglect him still.
But with their kin are they more free,
And children office-holders be,
Ill judgment on their wit they pass,
As sheweth Master Nicholas.
But let us now unto him fare
For judgment swift awaits us there."
"That do we," quoth the Nightingale,
"But who shall now rehearse our tale,
And set it forth ere judgment fall?"
"That," quoth the Owl, "I'll do withal,
For our debate, in order fair,
Word after word, I will declare,
And if thou think'st I speak amiss
Then shalt thou check my tale, I wis."
Then with these words away they flew
Alone, nor followers with them drew;
To Portesholme, I trow, they came,
But how they fared at that same
That can I you in no wise tell,
I know no more of what befell.