The Regement

Hye and noble prince excellent,
My lorde the prince, O, my lorde gracious,
I, humble servaunt and obedient
Unto your estate hye and glorious,
Of whiche I am fulle tendir and fulle jelous,
Me recomaunde unto your worthynesse,
With hert entier and spirite of mekenesse,

Right humbly axyng of you licence,
That withe my penne I may to you declare,
So as that kan my wittes innocence,
Myne inwarde wille that thurstethe the welefare
Of your persone ; and elles be I bare
Of blisse, whan that the colde stroke of dethe
My lyfe hathe quenchede and me byraft my brethe.

Thoughe that my livelode and possessioun
Be skant, I riche am of-benevolence ;
To you therof kan I be no nygoun ;
Goode have I none by whiche your excellence
May plesed be, and for myne impotence,
Stoppethe the way to do as I were holde,
I write as he that your goode lyfe fayne wolde.

Arestotle, most famous philosofre,
His Epistles to Alisaundre sent,
Whos sentence is wel bette that gold in cofre,
And more holsomer grounded to trewe entent ;
For alle that ever tho Epistles ment,
To sette was this worthy conquerour
In reule, how to sustene his honour.

The tendir love and the fervent chiertee
That this worthy clerk ay to this kyng bere,
Trustyng his welthe durable to be,
Unto his hert stak and satte so nere,
That by writyng his counseille yave he clere
Unto his lorde, to kepe hym fro myschaunce,
As witnessethe his booke of governaunce.

Of whiche and of Gyles of Regement
Of Prynces plotmele thynke I to translate ;
And thoughe that symple be my sentement,
O worthy prynce, I you beseche algate
Considerethe how that endityng hathe in hate
My dulle conceyte, and not accorde may
Withe my childhode, I am so childisshe ay.

Also beseche I that the altitude
Of your estate, thoughe this pampflet.
None ordre holde, ne in hym enclude,
Not greved be, for I kan do no bette.
Another day whan witte and I be mette,
Whiche longe is to, and han us frendely kiste,
Discover I wole that now is not wiste.

Natheles suche as is my smalle kunnyng,
Withe al so trewe an hert I wole it oute
As tho two did, or ever clerk livyng ;
But tremblyng is my spirite out of doute,
That to perfourme that I am aboute,
Allas! the stuffe of sadde intelligence
Me failethe, to speke in so hye presence.

Symple is my gost, and scarce my lettrure,
Unto your excellence for to write
Myne inwarde love; and yit in aventure
Wole I me putte, thoughe I can but lite.
My dere maister, God his soule quyte !
And fader Chaucers fayne wolde me han taught ;
But I was dulle, and lernede right naught.

Allas! my worthy maister honorable,
This londes verray tresour and richesse,
Dethe by thy dethe hathe harme irreperable
Unto us done, hir vengeable duresse
Dispoilede hathe this londe of swetnesse
Of rethoryk fro us, to Tullius
Was never man so like amonge us.

Also who was hyer in philosofye
To Aristotle in our tunge but thow ?
The steppes of Virgile in poysye
Thou folwedest eke, men wote wele ynow.
That combreworlde that my maister slow,
Wolde I slayne were! dethe was to hastyfe,
To renne on the and reve the thy lyfe.

Dethe hathe but smalle consideracioun
Unto the vertuous, I have espiede,
Nomore, as shewethe the probacioun,
Than to a vicious maister loselle triede ;
Amonge an hepe every man is maistriede ;
Withe hir as wele the poore as the riche,
Lerede and lewde, alle stonden eliche.

She myght han taryede hir vengeaunce a while,
Til that some man hade egalle to the be.
Nay, lete be that! she knewe wele that this yle
May never man bryng forthe like to the,
And hir office nedes do mote she ;
God bade hir do so, I truste for the beste,
O maister, maister, God thy soule reste !

Now to my matere, as that I began ;
There is a booke, Jacob de Cessoles,
Of the ordre of Prechours, made, a worthy man,
That the Chesse moralisede clepede is,
In whiche I purpose eke to laboure ywis,
And here and there, as that my litelle witte
Afforthe may, I thynke translate it.

And al be it that in that place square
Of the lystes, I mene the eschekere,
A man may lerne to be wise and ware ;
I that have aventurede many a yere,
My witte therein is but litelle the nere,
Save that somwhat I knowe a kynges draught,
Of other draughtes lernede have I naught.

And for that amonge the draughtes everychone,
That unto the chesse appertene may,
Is none so nedefulle unto your persone
To knowe, as that of the cheerté verray
That I have hade unto your noblesse ay,
And shalle, yf your plesaunce it be to here,
A kynges draught reporte I shalle now here.

I am sure that the bookes alle thre
Redde hathe and seen your innat sapience ;
And as I hope, her vertues folwen ye ;
But unto you compile I this sentence,
That, at the goode luste of your excellence,
In short ye may beholde and rede
That in hem thre is skaterede ferre in brede.

And althoughe it be no maner of nede
Yow to counseile what to done or leve,
Yf that you liste of stories to take hede,
Somwhat it may profite, by your leve ;
At hardest whan that ye ben in chambre at eve,
They ben goode to drive forthe the nyght,
They shulle not harme, yf they be herd aright.

To your hyenesse thynke it not to longe,
Thoughe in that draught I somwhat wade deepe ;
The thewes vertuous that to it longe
Wacchen my gost, and letten hym to slepe.
Now God in vertu mayntene you and kepe,
And I beseche your magnificence,
Yeve unto me benigne audience.

For thoughe I to the steppes clergyalle
Of thise clerkes thre not atteyne,
Yit for to putte in prees my conceyte smalle
Goode wille me artethe take on me the peyne ;
But sore in me quappethe every veyne,
So dredefulle am I of myne ignoraunce,
The crosse of Criste me spede and avaunce!

Now, gracious prince, agayn that the corone
Honoure you shalle withe roial dignitee,
Beseche I hym that sitte on hye in trone,
That, when that charge receyvede han ye,
Suche governaunce men may fele and see
In yow, as may be to his plesaunce,
Profite to us, and your goode loos avaunce.

First and forwarde the dignitee of a kyng
Impressed be in the botme of your mynde ;
Consideryng how chargeable a thyng
That office is, for so shalle ye it fynde.
Unto goode reule ye you knytte and bynde,
Of Goddes wreche have ay drede and awe,
Do right to grete and smalle, and kepe your lawe.

Ones there was a kyng, as I have redde,
Whan to hym his corone was brought,
Or he it tooke, in thought he was alle sadde,
And thus he seide, after he hade thought,
O thou corone, noble and faire ywrought,
Whatt man the receyvethe or admyttethe,
More ese than he wenethe fro hym flittethe.

Who so the perelle knowethe and charge and fere
That is in the, thoughe thou at the erthe lay,
He wolde the nought up areise nor rere,
But lete the lye stille, and go his way.
For sothe is this, and hathe and shalle ben ay,
This worldes hoke sore envye hathe to his bayte,
And ay hathe highe degree sore in awaite.

Now, noble prynce, though I be not wise,
Welwillede am I, as I first you tolde,
In the name of Jhesu, wirke after thavise
That I amplye out of thise auctours olde ;
And yf I not the wey of reson holde,
Folwe me not, and yf that I do, thenne
Do as I shalle reporte with my penne.

Thoo othes that at your creacioun
Shalle thurghe your tonge passe, hem wele observe ;
Lete no colourede excusacioun
You make fro hem slippe aside or swerve ;
Holde up her hede, and lete hem not in yow sterve ;
It is not knyghtly from an othe to varie ;
A kyng of trouthe ought ben exemplarie.

Loo thus Arestotle in his booke seithe
To Alisaundre, and be ware hym bitte,
That he ne breke his boundes ne his feythe ;
For to folke untrewe longethe itte ;
He seithe that grace in hym not abitte,
But wikked ende and cursed aventure
Hym folwethe, that to forswere hym hathe no cure.

By the feithe is made the congregacioun
Of peple and of citees enhabityng ;
By feithe han kynges domynacioun ;
Feithe causethe eke of men the comenyng ;
Castels by feithe dreden none assailyng ;
By feithe the citees stonden unwerreiede,
And kynges of her sugettes ben obeiede.

Who lesethe feithe, gretter thyng may he none leese ;
Or a man speke or bynde hym by his sele,
And hathe his fulle libertee and may chese
What he wille do, hym ought avise hym wele
Or he promytte, and hete nought a dele
By worde ne bonde, but yf he wole it laste ;
For who so dothe, shalle smerten atte laste.

Litelle enchesoun hathe he for to speke,
To whos wordes is yoven no credence ;
Perilous it is a man his feithe to breke.
Feithe by necessitee ne indigence
Not arted is; disceyte and apparence
Of trouthe outwarde, and inwarde fikilnesse,
Bultethe out shame, and causethe grete smertnesse.

What was the cause of the distruccioun
Of the peple of Scites and of Arabee,
But for her kynges indiscepcioun
Of men and citees nye to her contree?
Her othes useden by soteltee,
Brekyng bondes that stablisshede were
Mankynde to profite, and nat to dere,

And for that synne Goddes rightwisnesse,
That punysshethe falshode and trecherie,
Myght not hem suffre endure in that wodenesse,
But they distroiede were, it is no lie.
Untrouthe, allas! the ordre of chivalrie
Dampnethe it, thoughe that the persone yt use,
Knyghthode it self mote algate it refuse.

To God truste I no lorde in alle this londe
Is gilty of that inconvenience.
Fy! what ? a lorde breke his heste or bonde ?
Nay, God forbede that suche pestilence
In a lorde dwelle or holde residence ;
For yf that he that wikkede gest recette,
By suche a lorde wolde honour not sette.

Whan Marcus Regulus was, as I rede,
Vengwisshte in a bataile of the see
By hem of Cartage, home withe hem thei lede
This prisonere, and after sent was he
By hem to Rome, his owen contree,
Sworne to retourne to Cartage ageyn,
As Tullius and eke seint Austyne seyn.

The cause why they to Rome hym sent
Was to do to Romayns her message,
Wetyng of hym yf that they wolde assent
That, sithin there were Romayns in Cartage
In prisoun, and Romayns hade eke in cage
Cartagiens, suffre hem at large go,
And the Romayns go shulde also.

When Marcus done hade as that he was bode,
The Senat axede hym what was his rede;
And he answerde and seide thus for gode,
Alle this, rede I, lete slippen and be dede;
It may by no wey synke into myne hede
That to us Romayns it were covenable ;
Suche an eschaunge is but unprofitable.

We Romayns that they have in prisoun loke
Ben but yonge frotthe, unlernede in bataile,
And other feble folke withe age ybroke,
Of whiche I am one; we may not availe,
Of us no loste is, but withouten faile
Your prisoners ben myghty men and wise,
And folke in armes prevede at devise.

His frendes wolde han holde hym there,
But they ne myght, he wolde alwey retourne ;
To breke his othe his goste was ay in fere,
He thought not in his contré sojourne.
Do what hem liste, whether they be glad or mourne,
Unto his foes he as blive hym dressethe,
And knewe wele to be dede, the booke witnessethe.

He helde it bette his othe to observe,
And deye in honour as a knyght sholde,
Than by perjurie his lyfe to preserve,
Of such unknyghtly trikkes he not wolde.
I trowe now adayes, thoughe men be olde,
His heir fulle harde were in this londe to fynde ;
Men list not so ferforthe to trouthe hem bynde.

Yit not onely to preise is this Marcus
For trouthe, but, as it seemethe me,
His renoune ought doublede ben, as thus :
Where as the eschaunge myght have made hym free,
Quyte of his fees of prisoun, gretter cheertee
He hade of the profite universelle
Than of hym self, his dethe it preevede wele.

Amonge alle thynges in a knyght
Trouthe is a thyng that he ne lakke may,
Yf his honour shalle bere his hede upright.
Valerye tellethe how withe grete aray,
Kyng Alisaundre and his hoost on a day,
Mevede of ire and of malyncolye,
Unto a citee dressed hem on hye,

Whiche that called was and clept Lapsat,
Purposyng hym to bete it to the erthe adoune.
And, or that this kyng fully come therat,
There was a philosofre in the toune,
A man of excellent discrecioune,
That to this kyng somtyme hade maister be,
Fulle sore abasshede of hym and his meyné.

Oute of the toune he sped hym on his wey,
Also hastely as he couthe or myght,
Towarde the kyng, of grace for to prey ;
And assone as the kyng hade of hym sight,
He knewe hym and his menyng, and on hight
He seide hym thus, By the goddes, I swere,
Alle thy labour shalle not be worthe a pere.

At thy prayere done wole I no thyng.
This philosofre of his othe toke gode hede,
And seide, O, worthy conquerour and kyng,
Then pray I the unto the towne the spede,
And it distroye, bothe in lengthe and brede,
Have on it no pitee, but alle doune caste,
This pray I the, that it be done as faste.

And whan the kyng his prayer undirstode,
Alle his angre and his errenous talent
Refraynede he, he wolde for no goode
On the towne venge hym, as he hade ment;
He rather chese to be disobedient
To his vengeable wille, and his othe kepe,
Than be forsworne of that he swore so depe.

Or a kyng swere, it is fulle necessarie
Avise hym wele, for whan it is paste
He may his othe in no wise contrarie,
Yf he of shame or repreef be agaste.
A kyng ought of worde to be stedefaste,
No thyng bihete but yf he it perfourme,
Yf he wole hym unto his estate confourme.

A grete clerk, whiche clept is Crisostomus,
Where he of nature of sweryng tretethe,
Thise arn the wordes that he writte to us,
Whatt man the custume of othes not letethe
In sweryng oft, what he seithe foryetethe ;
Usage of othes of perjurie is cause.
And more seith he eke in the same clause.

He seithe perjurie engendrede is of othis,
For right as he that custumably
Clappethe and jangelethe, and to stynte lothe is,
Mote other while speke unsittyngly,
Right so usage of sweryng enemy
To trouthe is, and makethe men hem forswere,
Fulle necessarie is othes to forbere.

Sweryng hathe thise thre condicions
Folwyng, as trouthe, doome, and rightwisnesse.
Othe axethe trouthe, and no discepcions,
But swere in his entent sothefastnesse ;
Doome mote discretely, left alle hastynesse,
Swere and not nedeles ; and justice also
Leefully swere and justely evermo.

Quyntelyan seithe that unto hye degree
Unsittyng is to swere in ony wise,
But it be caused of necessitee ;
For, as he seithe and other clerkes wise,
A kyng or prynces worde ought suffise
Welmore than ought a marchauntes othe,
And to go there agayn to be more lothe.

And sithen a prynces othe or his promesse,
Whan they not holden ben hym dishonour ;
His lettre and seel, whiche more open witnesse
Beren than they, is gode take hede and cure
That they be kept ; writyng wole endure ;
What a man is it prest is for to preve,
Outher honoure it shalle hym or repreve.

Now yf it happe, as it hathe happede ofte,
A kyng in nede borwe of his marchauntes,
Grete wisdom were it trete faire and softe,
And holden hem truly her covenauntes.
For truste it wele, whan her covenaunt is
Not to hem kept as that her bonde requirethe,
The kyng hathe shame, and eke it hem myscherethe.

Lothe wole hem be eftsones for to lene;
He that is brent, men seithe, dredethe the fire.
Be his day kept, he rekkethe not a bene,
But elles siker Dunne is in the myre.
Witheout doute, a marchauntes desire
Is withe gode hert his kyng honour and plese,
And to his myght to refresshe and done hym ese.

In hem is the substaunce of ony lone.
What folk chevyse so muche as done they ?
Excellent prynce, I deeme your persone
To hem and to alle other, in goode fey,
Wole holde that ye hoten hem alwey ;
And so to do God, the auctour of trouthe,
You graunte, and elles were it routhe.

Yf that a poore man breke his beheste,
Or do agein his othe, seel, or lettir,
Men hent hym by the hede and hym areste,
And to prison he gothe; he gette no bettir,
Til his maynpernour his areste unfettir ;
And yit he mote the cours of lawe abide,
Or his maynpernour mote defende his side.

Amonge the poore peple thus it gothe,
They for untrouthe han smerte and open shame.
And yf a lorde his worde breke, or his othe,
For sothe it is a foule spotte in his name;
Thoughe men dar not openly hym defame,
They thynke al be it that they no thyng speke,
In such lordes is untrouthe yreke.

And sithen a kyng by wey of his office
To God ylikned is as in manere,
And God is trouthe it self, than may the vice
Of untrouthe in a kyng not appere,
If his office shalle to God refere ;
A besy tunge bryngethe in suche witte,
He that by worde not gittethe is parfite.

A, Lorde, what! it is faire and honorable,
A kyng fro moche speche hym refreyne ;
It sitte hym to ben of wordes mesurable,
For moche clappe wole his estate disteyne.
Yf he his tonge withe mesures reyne
Governe, than his honour it conservethe ;
And by the revers deyethe it and stervethe.

Bette is the peples eres thurst and renne
Her kyng or princes wordes for to here,
Than that his tonge go so faste and yerne
That mennes eres dulle of his matere ;
For dullyng hem dullethe the hert in fere
Of hem that yeven to hym audience ;
In moche speche wantethe not offence.

Who so that hatethe moche clappe or speche,
Quenchethe malice; and he that his mouthe kepethe,
Kepethe his soule, as the booke techethe.
Unbridelede wordes ofte man bywepethe.
Prudence wakethe whan the tunge slepethe,
And slepethe ofte whan the tunge wakethe ;
Moderate speche engendrethe rest and makethe.

Alle natures of bestes and briddes,
And of serpentes, ben ymakede tame ;
But tunge of man, as it wele knowe and kidde is,
Not may be tamede; O, fy! man, for shame !
Silence of tunge is wardein of good fame ;
And after repreef fisshethe, clappethe, and foulethe,
The tunge of man alle the body defoulethe.

And that oute of tunge of kyng procedethe
The peple specially beren awey.
Wherfore unto a kyng the more it nedethe
Avise hym what he speke shalle alwey.
In mochelle speche some behest may
Lightly asterte, that may not be holde ;
And than trouthe begynnethe to colde.

O worthy prince, this loo mevethe me
Of trouthe for a touche thus sadly,
For that I wolde that the hye degree
Of chivalrie universally
Bare up his hede, and bent not awry.
Of his honour untrouthe a knyght unlacethe,
And his renoune alle uttirly defacethe.

And failyng it, the chief flour of his stile
Fadethe and fallethe, and begynnethe to dye.
Honoure appropred is to chivalry.
But now passe over, touche I wole a while
Of rightwisnesse, whiche that out of this ile
Purposethe fully for to fare and wende,
So is our reule unthrifty and unthende.

Seint Ancelme seithe, justice is liberté
Of wille, yevyng unto every wight
That longethe to his propre dignité ;
To God obedience, as it is right ;
And he that poore is of degree and myght
Unto his better honour and reverence ;
The grete eke to the smale lore and science.

To thyne egalle concorde, unto thy foo
Suffraunce, and to thy self holynesse ;
To the nedy greved with wrecchede wo
Mercy in dede, and rewe his distresse
After thy powere, and releve in hevynesse,
And rewe upon hym, yf that thy myght faile ;
For that wille shalle thy dede countervayle.

Who so it be that justice verray
Desirethe folowe, first mote he God drede,
And love also hertily as he kan and may.
It not suffisethe to do no noyous dede ;
But who annoye hym wolde it forbede,
For none anoye is no rightwisnesse,
But it is abstinence of wikkednesse.

Of counceille and of helpe be we doctoures
Eche to other, by right of bretherhede ;
For whan a man yfalle into errour is,
His brother ought hym counceille and rede
To correcte and amende his wikked dede ;
And yf he be vexede withe maladie,
Mynystre hym helpe his greef to remedie.

Every man owethe to studie and muse
To teche his brother what thyng is for to do,
And what byhovethe for to refuse,
That that is goode, provokyng hym therto ;
And thus he mote counseile his brother, lo,
Do that right is and goode to Goddes paye,
In word not only, but in werk alwaye.

Lawfulle justice is as in manere
Alle vertu, and who wole have this justice,
The lawe of Crist to kepe mote he lere.
Now yf that lawe forbede every vice,
And comaunde every gode thyng and it cherice,
Fulfille lawe it is vertu parfite,
And in justice is of alle vertu quite.

Justice is of the kynde and nature
Of God, and he hathe made it and ordeynede
On reames and on every creature.
By justice is shedyng of blode refreynede,
And gilt punysshed whan it is compleynede ;
Justice defendethe possessions,
And peple kepethe from oppressions.

A kyng is made to kepe and mayntene
Justice, for she makethe obeisaunt
The mysdoers that proude ben and kene ;
And hem that ben in vertu abundaunt
Chericethe a kyng, it is by covenaunt
Of othe makede in his coronacioun,
And bounden to justices salvacioun.

And a kyng in fulfillyng of that is
To God, like whiche is verray rightwisnesse ;
And men of Inde seyn and holden this,
A kynges justice is as grete richesse
Unto his peple as plentee or largesse
Of erthely goode, and better than reyne
Fallyng at even fro heven, they seyne.

Fulle often sothe it is wist and seyne,
That for the wronge and the unrightwisnesse
Of kynges mynistres, that kynges bene
Holden gilty, where as in sothefastnesse
They knowen no thyng of that wikkednesse ;
Unjuste mynystres often her kyng accusen,
And they that juste ben of wronge hem excusen.

Yf the mynistres do not but justice
To poore peple, in the contree as they go,
Thoughe the kyng be unjuste, yit is his vice
Hidde to the peple, they wene ever mo
The kyng be juste, his men guyen hem so ;
But mynistres to seelde wele hem governe,
Oppressioun regnethe in every herne.

A kyng, me thynkethe, for the seurtee
Of his gode loos, behovethe to enquere
Of hem that han his estate in cheertee
What fame that his poore peple hym bere ;
He of justice is bounden hem to were,
And to defende, and yf that they be grevede,
By hym they mote be holpen and relevede.

Excuse shalle not his ignoraunce ;
He mote enquere of wronge and it redresse.
For that he the peple hath in governaunce
He clept is kyng; yf his men peple oppresse
Wetyng hym, and not rekke of the duresse,
He may by right be cleped no governour,
But of his peple a wilfulle destroyour.

O worthy kyng benigne, Edwarde the laste,
Thow hadest ofte in thyne hart a drede impressede,
Whiche that thyne humble goste fulle sore agaste,
And to knowe yf thow cursed were or blessede,
Amonge the peple ofte hast thow the dressede
Into the contrey, in symple aray alone,
To heere what men seide of thy persone.

Althoughe a kyng have abundaunce of myght
In his londe, at his lust knytte and unknytte,
Goode is that he his power use aright,
That fro the way of justice he ne flitte,
Lest our Lorde God his grace from hym shitte,
Of whom alle rightwis powere is deryvede ;
For yf he do, of blis he shalle be pryvede.

I fynde how that Theodorus Surcene,
For that he to the kyng of Lysemak
Tolde his defautes, the kyng lete for tene
Crucifye hym ; and as he hyng and stak
Upone the crosse, thus to the kyng he spak,
This peyne, or other like therto, mote falle
Upon thy fals counceilours alle.

Not rekke thoughe I rote on hye or lowe,
As he that of dethe hathe no gastnesse ;
I dye an innocent, I do the knowe ;
I dye to defende rightwisnesse.
Thy flaterers, enhauncede in richesse,
Dreden to suffre for right suche a peyne ;
But I therby not sette risshes tweyne.

There was a duk Romayne clept Camelus
Leide ones a siege to a citee,
Falex namede, as seithe Valerius,
Of whiche the men of moste autorité,
And grettest of power and of degree,
To a maister in the citee dwellyng
Bytooke her childrene by wey of lernyng.

What dothe me this maister but on a day
Some of thise childrene out of the towne ledde,
The most expert in science, and the way
Streight to the Romayne tentes he hym spedde ;
And the duk thus counceiled he and redde,
Havethe thise children in possessioun,
And kepethe hem in holde and in prisoun ;

The faders of hem han in governaunce
Falex the citee, at her owen liste,
In hye and lowe after her ordenaunce
Is alle thyng done; whan it is to hem wiste,
That ye her children han undir your fiste,
Ye shulle wele see, her children lyfe to save,
Hem and the citee shulle ye wynne and have.

The duk answerede anone to this traitour,
Thoughe thow be fals unto thyne owen towne,
And rekkest not of shame or dishonour,
But percaas to gete of me guerdowne
Desirest Falexes destrucciowne,
Not were it knyghtly me to consente,
That taken hast so traiterous entente.

We Romayns kepen rytes of bataile
Also truly as the rytes of pees ;
Our custume is no children to assaile ;
Though we the towne hade ywonne doutles
There shulde no childe amonge alle the prees
For us han greved be; we armes bere
Ageyn the armed men, hem for to dere,

And not ageyn children undefensable.
In that the is, thy myght hast thow do,
Thurghe wikked tresoun fals and deceyvable,
Thy citee to distroien and fordo ;
But I, Romayne, agree me not therto,
By vertu of armes I wole it wynne,
For alle the myght of men that ben therynne.

The duk comaundede, shortly for to seyne,
His hondes hym behynde to be bounde,
And bade the chyldren lede hym ageyne
To her faders; whiche whan they hade founde
So grete justice in this duk abounde,
The senat hem clept and thus to hem tolde,
The hertes bygan to chaunge of yonge and olde.

Alle they seiden of hye gentilnesse,
Groundede upone hye justice, did he this,
And also of chyvalrous prowesse ;
They seiden, It to us moste sittyng is
Our yates open and offre to ben his,
Is none so goode as lete us mollifie
Our hertes, and stonde to his gentrie,

And of his pees requyre hym and prey.
They diden so, but what was folowyng,
Not have I redde, wherfore I kan not sey ;
But this juste duk, as by my supposyng,
Was to hem suche, in wille and in werkyng,
That he hem quytte, so as myght hem queeme ;
What shulde I elles of suche a lorde deeme ?

Of Lancastre goode duk Herry also,
Whos justice is writen and auctorisede,
Why shulde I not the rekene amonge tho
That in her tyme han justice exercisede ?
Yit that vertu onely not hathe suffisede
To the, but alle that longethe to knyghthode
Was ynnede in thyne excellent manhode.

I rede also how that, hangyng a stryfe
Bitwene kyng Porrus and a lord clept Fabrice,
The leche of this kyng, a cursed caytyfe,
Involved and ywrappede in the vice
Of covetise, shope hym for to trice
His owen lorde the kyng, and hym to kille,
Yf that it hade ben Fabrices wille.

This leche unto Fabrices hous by nyght
Also pryvely as he couthe went,
And unto hym ensurede and behight,
Yf hym liste to the dede consent,
He was so glade to plese hym and content,
His lorde the kyng withe venyme wolde he fede,
So that therthurghe sterve shoulde he nede.

This lorde, withe that, bade men his hondes teye,
And lede unto the kyng this traiterous wight,
And alle this tresoun unto hym bewreye.
Whan this was done, the kyng seide anone right,
See here the trouthe and manhode of a knyght ;
Men may the sonne as lightly his cours reve,
As this Fabrice make his trouthe leve.

In Perce ones ther was by juggement
A man to dethe dampned in wronge wise,
For wratthe and hate and irous talent
That to this ilke man bare the justise ;
And whan the knowleche of this fals jewyse
Was come unto the kynges audience,
This doome he yafe as blive and this sentence :

He bade men flee hym quyk out of the skynne,
And therwithe cover the judicialle see,
And make his sone to be sette therynne,
That juge after his fader shulde be,
To this ende and entencioun, that he
Shulde be ware how he doomes yaf,
And lene alwey to rightwisnesses staf.

Nought ought a juge, for hate or love,
Other wey deeme than trouthe requerethe ;
But at the reverence of God above
Right ay favoure whan that it apperethe.
Dede of justice ay conscience clerethe,
Chacyng awey thoughtes on wronge ygroundede ;
Who juggethe wrongfully ys feendly woundede.

What jugge in doome eke yevethe juste sentence,
Awaityng upone a golden draggee,
To God he dothe displesaunce and offence ;
For the justice, whiche of duetee
He shulde do, cursidly sellethe he,
For love of meede hym provokethe therto,
And rightwisnesse no thyng so to do.

To suche a jugge withdrawe the hope
Of money, and he fro justice flittethe ;
Where he supposethe money to grope,
Juste juggement he in his hert admyttethe.
But who so that his honde fro yiftes shittethe,
As unto us witnessethe Ysaye,
He shalle in heven dwelle and sitte fulle hye,

Cristen men yilde oughten juste juggement
Freely, for unleefulle is it to selle ;
Thoughe it be leefulle and convenient
A wise man for rewarde his rede to telle,
A jugges purs withe golde shulde not swelle ;
Yf on justice he shape his doome to bilde,
His juggementes he yiftles most yilde.

And he that dothe of justice rigour,
Lete hym beware to have-no delite
In punysshyng of the defendour
That hathe done the trespas, or the wite ;
Never hym rejoise of his noiaunce lite,
Ne the maner excede in suche caas,
Or quantité of the gilte or the trespas.

Even as a soule is bodyes livelynesse,
And when that it is twynnede from a wight
The hert is dede, so farethe rightwisnesse ;
For when a reame is reulede by hir myght,
Than may the peple be fulle glad and light,
The londe may bathen in prosperitee ;
And lost is alle yf that absent be she.

There was a lawe ymade upone a tyme
At Roome, by the counceiles assent,
That who so were gilty of the cryme
Of advowtrye, and were therynne hent,
His eyen bothe shuld out be brent.
Now fille it so, a man, that sone was
To a counceile, was taken in this trespas.

And whan that the myshappe of this persone
Was to the peple knowen of the towne,
They loved his fader so everychone,
And hade hym in so grete affeccioun,
They seiden that none execucioun
Shulde on his sone for this dede falle,
And to the counceyle so they preiden alle.

To whiche the fader gan replye tho,
And thus alleggede he for hym, and seide,
Considerethe, sires, I am one of tho
That to this lawe consentede and obeide,
Shulde I now the same breke, he seide,
For favour of my self or eny of myne ?
Nay, sires, therto may I not enclyne.

Pardé that were wrong and vilonye!
The lawe shalle forthe, thoughe it felle on me.
They gan to rumble and clappe and crye,
And the counceiles preide of the citee
The revers, and thus overcome was he,
So at the laste he sawe none other wey,
But in partie he most her lust obey.

Now kothe he, Sithen it may be no bette,
Somwhat to yow me confourme wole I,
So that the lawe shalle not be lette,
Thoughe that it myght observede be fully ;
Thus wole I and none other truly,
One of myne eyen wole I now forgo,
My sone another, it shalle be right so.

We two wole have but o mannes sight.
Thus was it done; but not alle at the plesaunce
Of the peple, but they none other myght.
Now yf to morwe fille there suche a chaunce,
Shulde men fynde so juste governaunce ?
Nay, nay, this londe is alle to scars and lyte,
To fynde one that so justely wolde hym quyte.

Prince excellent, have your lawes in chere,
Observe hem, and offende hem by no wey ;
By othe to kepe it bounden is the powere
Of kyng, and by it is kynges nobley
Sustened ; lawe is bothe lokke and key
Of seurté; while lawe is kept in londe,
A prynce in his estate may syker stonde.

And douteles yf that fordone be lawe,
A prynces power may go pley hym thenne.
For they that nought ne have, withe knyfe ydrawe
Wole on hem that ben myghty of goode renne,
And hurte hem, and her houses fire and brenne,
And robbe and slee, and alle suche folye,
When no man wole to hem lawe justifye.

Now in goode feithe I pray God it amende,
Lawe is nye flemede out of this contree ;
For fewe ben that dreden it to offende.
Correccioun, and alle this is longe on the;
Why suffrest thow so many assemblé
Of armed folke, welnye in every shire ?
Partie is made to venge her cruelle ire.

They withe her hande wrong to hem done redresse,
Hem deynethe not an accioun atame
At comon lawe; suche unbuxomnesse
Suffrede, us wole make of seurtee lame.
Who so may this correcte, is worthy blame
That he ne dothe not; allas! this suffraunce
Wole us distroye by contynuance.

Is there no lawe this to remedie ?
I kan nomore, but and this forthe growe,
This lande shalle it repente and sore abie.
And alle suche mayntenaunce, as men wele knowe,
Sustenede is not by persones lowe ;
But cobbes grete this ryot sustene ;
Correcte it gode is, while that it is grene.

For and it hore, this londe is but loste;
He that our hede is sore it shalle repent ;
And this to amende axethe no grete coste,
But by lawe in no vengeable entent,
Sey I, but for the better hem take and hent,
And punysshe hem by lawfulle rightwisnesse,
And suffre not eche other thus to oppresse.

Smalle tendirnesse is hade nowe of our lawes ;
For yf so be that one of the grete wattes
A dede do, whiche that ageyn the lawe is,
Not at alle he punysshede for that is.
Right as, lop-webbes flyes smale and gnattes
Taken, and suffren grete flyes go,
For alle this world lawe is reulede so.

The riche and myghty man, thoughe he trespace,
No man seithe ones that blak is his eye ;
But to the poore is denyed alle grace,
He snybbed is, and putte to turmentrye ;
He not asterte may, he shalle abye ;
He caught is in the webbe, and may not twynne ;
Moche goode rule is sowe and springithe thynne.

Of this growethe stryfe, bataile, and discorde ;
And by the grete poore folk ben grevede.
For he that noble is of blode and lorde
In stile, and nought hathe, stired is, and mevede
Unto rapyne, this is often prevede.
The poore it feelethe, thus of lawe the lak
Norisshethe wrong, and castethe right abak.

Whan a kyng dothe his peyne and diligence
His reame by lawe and resoun to gye,
He stondethe more in benevolence
Of God, and more his werk shalle fructifye,
And have gretter meede, it is no lye,
Then they that suche cure have none in honde ;
Thus fynde I writen, as I undirstonde.

Who so that in hye dignitee is sette,
And may do grevous wrong and crueltee,
Yf he forbere hem, to comende is bette,
And gretter shalle his meede and merite be
Than they that may not kithe inequitee,
Ne nought may done ; for yf some man were of myght,
Often wolde he do grete harme and unright.

Hye dignitee, the philosofre writethe,
Prevethe a man what he is in his dede;
When that a prince in vertu hym delitethe,
Then is his peple warisshede of drede ;
Then may they sey and syng and grede,
Honour and long lyfe, joye and cristes blissyng,
Mote have our susteynour our prynce and kyng.

When that an emperour in dayes olde
Crowned was, after as blive anone
Makers of toumbes come unto hym sholde,
And aske hym of what metalle or what stone
His toumbe shulde be, and forthe they gone
With suche device as the lorde luste devise,
And up they make it in her best wise.

Thus was it done to bryng in memorie
That he was but a man corruptible,
And that this worldes joye is transitorie,
And the truste on it slipir and fallible ;
And this considerede ought hym be penyble
His reame wele for to governe and gye,
For who so livethe wele, wele shalle dye,

Like a bridelle is dethes remembraunce,
That mannes hert refreynethe fro vice.
That kyng that knyghtly is of governaunce,
That is to sey, dothe justly his office,
Of love and pees and rest is norice ;
And when he is out of this worlde went,
Thus sey men that gone by his monument,

In heven mote this kynges soule reste,
This worthy kyng, grete was the pees
That men hade in his tyme, he was the beste
That myght be, he kept his peple harmeles ;
In his comyng glad was alle the pres,
And sory were of his departyng.
O gracious prynce, suche be your wirchyng.

Thus, my gode lorde, wynnethe peples voice ;
For peples voice is Goddes voice, men seyne.
And he that for us starfe upone the croice
Shalle quyte it you, I doute it not certeyne ;
Your labour shalle not idle be in veyne.
No goode dede unrewarded is or quytte,
Ne evylle unpunysshede, as seithe holy writte.

In your prosperitee and in your welthe
Remembrethe ever amonge that ye shalle dye,
And wote not whan, it comethe in a stelthe,
Have often him before your myndes eye ;
For whan none hert may hide ne wrye,
His secrete thoughtes God alle wote and weyethe,
Hym love and drede and his lawes obeyethe.

Now sithen a kyng is to his lawes swore,
And lawe biddethe free eleccioun
In chirches passe, my goode lorde, therfore,
Let no favour ne none affeccioun :
So meve your wise circumspeccioun,
To lette hem of her lawefulle libertee ;
Lete hem rejoice her propre duetee.

The chapitre of a chirche cathedralle,
When they han chosen her hede and pastour,
Whiche as hem thynkethe sufficient at alle
Hem for to reule and be her governour,
Writethe unto the pope in her favour,
Besekyng humbly his faderhede
It to conferme, and that is a juste dede.

And yf the lawe suffre you to write
For eny man apart, herkenethe now me,
Lete vertu then therto yow excite,
Loke that the man have abilitee,
That shalle receyve that hye dignitee,
That is to sey, he be clene of livyng,
Discrete, juste, and of sufficient kunnyng.

And yf the pope to that estate provyde
A persone at your prayere and instaunce,
Your sonde he takethe to the bettir side ;
He holdethe the persone of suffisaunce
To have suche a cure in governaunce,
For so witnessethe the suggestioun
That to hym made is, for his promocioun.

To kynges lettres yeven is credence ;
Be ware how that ye write in suche matere,
Leste that ye hurte and mayme conscience.
For yf that execute be your preiere
The persone unworthy, ye shalle fulle dere
Rewe it, no smalle charge is the soules cure
Of alle a diocise, I yow ensure.

Yf suche writyng be of right suffrable,
And the man able suche charge to receyve
For whom ye write, that is comendable ;
And elles wole it your soule deceyve.
Helpe hym that able is, and unable weyve ;
Weyve favelle withe his polisshede speche,
And helpe hym that wele kan do and teche.

But certes favelle hathe caught so sadde foote
In lordes courtes, he may not thens slide,
Who come or go, algate abide he mote ;
His crafte is ay to sustene the wrong side,
And fro vertu his lord to divide ;
And, for sothe sawes ben to lordes lothe,
Nought wole he sothe seyne, he hathe made his othe,

Lete favelle passe, foute mote hym falle!
Forthe in justice wole I now procede.
There was a knyght, I note what men hym calle,
A juste man and a trewe in alle his dede,
Whiche on a tyme, as thought hym was nede
The frowarde peple by sharp lawes bynde,
Lawes fulle juste he made, and in sharp kynde.

And whan they were before hem radde,
They made hem wonder wrothe, and seiden alle,
They were not so nyce ne so madde
To hem to assente, for ought that may befalle ;
They wolden hem not to the lawes thralle,
And wolden han arted this knyght repele,
Makyng ageyn hym an haynous quarele.

Whan he sawe this, he blive to hem seide,
I made hem not, it was god Appollo ;
And on my bak the charge he leide
To kepe hem ; sires, what sey ye therto ?
As he me chargede, so have I do.
And therto anone answerede the prees,
We wole hem not admytte doutles.

Wele, kothe he then, is goode or ye hem breke,
That unto god Appollo I me dresse,
To trete of this matere and withe hym speke ;
Witheouten hym, I may it not redresse.
Beseche hym I wole, of his gentilnesse,
To repele hem, syne that they to streyte be,
And do my dever, right wele ye shalle see.

But, or I go, ye shal unto me swere
The lawes to kepe til I ageyne come,
And breke hem not. To whiche they gan answere,
Ye, ye, man, we graunt it alle and some.
They made her othe, and he his wey hathe nome.
He not to Appollo but to Grece went,
And there abode til that the dethe hym hent.

And whan that his last day gan to appeere,
He bade hem throwe his body in the see,
Lest upone the londe made were his beere,
The peple myght unto her citee
His bones carye, and at her large be
Quyte of her othe, as to her juggement ;
Thus he devysede in his testament.

Sithen I spoke have of justice, as ye knowe,
Unto pitee, whiche mote ben hade algates,
And namely in princes ought it growe,
I wole me dresse ; she openethe the yates
Of helthe to hym that in sikenesse estate is ;
She esethe many a wight that is distressede,
That nere hir helpe shulde be sore oppressede.

Prince nought elles is, I undirstonde,
But gode wille inwarde of debonaire hert,
And outwarde speche, and werk of man to fonde
To helpe hym that men seen in myschief smert.
Men selde hym seen into wikked dethe stert,
That pitevous is, but they han cruelle dethe
Often whos crueltee cruelly slethe.

Whilom ther was a tyraunt dispitous,
That so delited hym in crueltee,
That of no thyng was he so desirous.
Now shope it so a man that to pitee
Foo was, and frende to iniquitee,
A sotelle werkman in craft of metalle,
Wrought in this wise, as I you telle shalle.

His lorde the kyng he thought to plese and glade,
And craftely he made a bole of bras ;
And in the side of it he slily made
A litelle wiket, that ordeynede was
To receyve hem that stoden in dethes cas;
Undir the whiche men shulde sharp fire make,
Tho folke to dethe for to brenne and bake.

And yit moreover, the kyng for to meve
The lessee unto pitee, it was made so
By sotelle craft the dampned folke to greve,
That whan to crye compelled hem her wo,
Her voice was like a boles evermo,
And no thyng like a mannes voice in soune,
As in the scripture made is mencioune.

But our Lorde God, of pitee the auctour,
Displesed withe the cruelle ordinaunce,
Suche rewarde shope unto this losengeour,
That it abatede alle his countenaunce :
And for to preve his feendly purvyaunce,
How sharpe it was and couthe folke distreyne,
The first he was that entrede in that peyne.

For whan the kyng his cruelle werk hade seyne,
The craft of it comended he fulle wele,
But the entent he fully helde ageyne,
And seide, thou that art more cruelle
Than I, the maidenhede of this jewelle
Shalt preeve anone, this is my juggement. F
And so as blive he was therynne brent.

Men may see here how favelle hym enclynethe
Ay to his lordes luste, what so it be ;
Unto that ende he besiethe hym and pynethe,
And no consideracioun hathe be,
Thoughe it be harme to his lordes degree,
Or ageyn feithe, honour, or conscience,
In fals plesaunce is alle his diligence.

To what thyng it be, yf that his lorde like,
He hym confermethe, he never denyethe
His lordes resons, but, a thanke to pike,
His lordes wille and witte he justifiethe,
While favelle lyvethe, no fals counseile dyethe ;
Favelle is wedded to plesaunt disceyte,
And in that wedlok trewe is his conceyte.

Grounde of tresoun, o thou cruelle favelle,
How longe shalt thow be a potestate ?
In lordes courtes thow pleyest thy parcelle,
So that it strecchethe to thy lordes mate ;
For thow hast never thy lordes estate
To hert chere, but alle thy besynesse
Is for thy lucre and thy cofres warmenesse.

Favelle was never freendly man unto ;
Lordes, bethe ware, it nedethe truly.
Senek by hem that folowed Nero
Seithe thus, a flye folowethe the hony,
The wolf careyn, he seithe; so wele wote I
That companye foloweden her pray,
And not the man, and so do men this day.

While that the swetnesse of richesse endurethe,
Unto the riche is many a man plesaunt ;
Onely the richesse therto hem lurethe,
What he comaundethe, they ben obedient
To do, while that he of goode is abundaunt.
But whan the pray, the rychesse, is go,
The man forsaken they for evermo.

O favelle, a blynde marchaunt art thow one,
That for worldly goode and grace and favour,
Whiche passe shalle and faile and overcome,
Suche diligence thou doost, and suche labour,
That thow thy soule from our Savyour
Twynnest, and sleest thy lordes soule also,
And causest hem to peyne eternalle go.

There is a longe and a large difference
Bitwene vertuous plesaunce and flaterye.
Goode plesaunce is of suche benevolence,
That what goode dede he may in man espye,
He preisethe it, and rebukethe folye ;
But favelle takethe alle another parte,
In wrong preisyng is all his craft and arte.

A gloser also kepethe his silence
Often, where he his lorde seethe hym mystake,
Leste that his answere myght done offence
Unto his lorde, and hym displesed make.
He holt his pees, and not a worde dar he crake;
And for he nought ne seithe, he his assent
Yevethe therto, by mannes juggement.

Who so that wote the purpose of a wight,
That is ygroundede upone wikkednesse,
And not ne lettethe it unto his myght,
Favourethe it, as the booke kan expresse ;
Who so it lookethe, fynde it shalle no lesse.
But of alle this now make I here an ende,
And to my tale of pitee wole I wende.

A prince mote ben of condicioun
Pitevous, and his angre refreyne and ire,
Leste unavised commocioun
Hym chaufe, and sette his hert so afire,
That hym to venge as blive he desire,
And fulfille it in dede, hym owethe knowe
His errour, and quenche that firy lowe.

Arestotle amonestethe wonder fast,
In his booke whiche that he to Alisaundre wrote,
Yf he wolde have his reigne endure and last,
That for none ire he never be so hote
Blode of man to shede; and God seithe wele, I wote,
That unto hym receyvede is vengeaunce,
Who so that sleethe shalle have the same chaunce.

But this ment is not by the cours of lawe,
That put a man to dethe for cryme orrible.
When he a man ymurdrede hathe and slawe,
A man to slee by lawe it is lisible,
That slaughter afore God is admyttible ;
And yf a kyng do suche murdrers grace
Of lyfe, he boldethe hym efte to trespace.

A kyng of this londe, whilom herde I seyne,
For mannes dethe a pardone hade be grauntede
Unto a man, whiche afterwarde ageyne
The same gilte hade in another hauntede.
After whos dethe, he homely hym avauntede
He nas nat so frendeles, he wolde do
Wele ynoughe, thoughe he hede slayne other two.

Of frendes, kothe he, have I large wone,
That for that they han hade and shulle of myne,
Before the kyng for me shalle knele echone ;
They atte fulle kun his hert myne.
Thider wole I go streight as ony lyne;
And they that now anoyen me or greve,
I shalle hem quyte herafter, and I leve.

He came unto the kyng, and axed grace
Of that he wrought hade so synfully.
The kyng avised hym wele of his fate,
And seide, Frende, me thynkethe how that I
Have unto the done grace or this sothely ;
I grauntede ones a chartre to the
Of mannes dethe, as I remembre me.

Hast thow now slayn another man also ?
Now stoode a foole sage the kyng beside,
And or the kyng spak ony wordes mo,
He to hym seide, For God that dide,
Why deeme ye this man an homycide ?
He slowe hym not, for ye your self hym slow,
And, by your leve, I shalle tellen how.

Yf that the lawe myght his cours han hadde,
This man here hade ben for the first man dede ;
Foryeve hym now; and yf he be dradde
To slee the third, than gurd of myne hede.
Now be avisede wele, it is my rede,
How ye your pardoun graunt, lest errour
Of nyce pitee be your accusour.

This kyng wel thought that he seide hym trouthe,
And chartirles gothe this man fulle of drede,
And afterwarde of whos desert was routhe
The lawe hym yafe that longede to his mede.
My tale is done, now sothely it is nede
Tho grauntes to withstonde, that procure
Mischevous dethe to many a creature.

Pitee availethe moche, but not there ;
For better is to slee the murderman,
Than suffre hym reigne, for he hathe no fere
His hande to use forthe as he began.
And in my conceyte feele wele I kan,
That of suche pitee is the abstinence
Of gretter pitee for the consequence.

Yf rightfulle dethe of o man kepe and save
Two innocentes lives, thynkethe me
By resoun more merite ought hym have
That comaundethe this gilty man dede to be,
Than he that lyfe hym grauntethe; why, lete see ?
The gilty man is no wronge done unto,
But wronge is done unto thise other two.

Every man wote wele for to save tweyne
Is gretter grace than to save but one.
Of murdre is cause grete to compleyne,
Tho pardons alle to lightly passe and gone.
Avise hem that favour hem, by seint Johane,
Who so it be that therto the kyng mevethe,
Wel more than he wote his soule he grevethe.

Avise the kyng eke for ony request
Unto hym made, by grete estate or mene,
That he favoure it not; it is the best
The request to werne and voide clene,
Of suche in sothe as murders ben, I mene.
But and one be by malice of his foes
Enditede, pardoun be to hym not cloos.

Yf that be sothe, lete pitee walke large ;
For she and mercy therto wille assente.
It is a perelle of either charge,
Routhe were it the giltles to turmente.
Pitee shalle soule of man to God presente ;
And God, that yave us ensaumple of pitee,
To pitous folk salvacioun shalle be.

The pitous hert of Marcus Marcellus
Wel worthy is to be drawen in memorie ;
He may ensaumple and myrrour be to us.
For, as Valerye writethe in a storie,
Whan this Mark opteynede the victorie
By siege leide to men of Siracuse,
As I shalle seyne, he hevily gan muse.

He went hym on hye upone a tree,
Where he beholde myght alle the citee,
And how fortune hade shape hym, that he did see.
Withe hert tendre than considerede be,
And hade of folkes dethes suche pitee,
That fro wepyng myght he hym not restreyne,
Alle his tryumphe was to hym but peyne.

Who so hade stonde by hym in that tide,
And hym avisede on his countenaunce,
Wolde han supposede that that other side
Rather hade putte hym to the outraunce,
Than he hade had of hem so faire a chaunce.
O worthy knyght, who shalle thy steppes sue,
Thy successour holt hym to longe in mue.

O citee, sithen fortune was contrarie
To the in o part, yit hir gentilnesse
Purveiede the a benygne adversarie.
Thanke hir for that, for thy desire is lesse,
Falle in the daunger of lambes humblesse,
Than be withe cruelle wolves alle tofrete;
A lambe is not so gredy on hir mete.

There nys no thyng, as witnessethe the storie,
Makethe a knyght so shynyng in renoune,
Whan that he of his foes hathe the victorie,
As rewe on hym that throwen is adoune,
And if he blode eschewe effusioune.
A bestes kynde is, that is wilde and wode,
Victorie not desirethe but the blode.

So whan that the kyng of Ermenye
Venquysshede was in bataile by Pompeye,
This kyng fille doune unto his foote on hye,
And from hym cast his diademe awey ;
But Pompeyus, as blive of his nobley
Stert unto hym and up hym lifte and hent,
And many a worde benygne on hym spent.

He did his myght hym to comforte and queeme,
And right anone, witheout ony delay,
Upone his hede bade sette his diademe
Ageyn, and so was it do, it was no nay.
Whan Cesar emperour upon a day
Pompey sawe before hym ledde and bounde,
Cesar in teres salt gan abounde.

Whan Alisaundre eke, as Valerye hathe tolde,
Was on a tyme in the feelde withe his oste,
And an aged knyght of his, for verray colde,
His lively myght lorne hade allemoste,
So grevous tempest tho fille in that cooste,
And whan this worthy kyng this hade espiede,
Out of his see he roos and to hym hyede.

And by the honde this olde knyght he tooke,
Comfortyng hym in his best manere,
And ledde hym unto his tent, as seithe the booke,
And in his ryalle siege and his chaire
As blyve hym sette; thus may kynges lere
Distrecede knyghtes to helpe and releve,
To take ensample of this it shalle not greve.

What wonder was it, thoughe that knyghtes tho
Desireden so noble prynces to serve,
Sithen that lever hym was for to forgo
His dignitee, and her helthe to conserve,
Than his estate kepe, and hym suffre sterve ?
Yit hope I to see his heir in this provynce,
And that shalle ye be, my goode lorde the prynce.

Before a jugge eke in poynte to be dede
Of Julius Cesar there was a knyght,
That withe an hye voice, for to save his hede,
To his lorde Cesar cryede alowde right,
Besechyng hym that, of his gracious myght,
He wold hym helpe and rewe on his estate ;
And Cesar sent hym a goode advocate.

And to that than this knyght as blive thus
On height wele, that alle the peple herde,
Withe manly cheere spake to Julius,
His lorde, and in this wise hym answerde,
Han ye forgote how sharp it withe you ferde,
Whan ye were in the werres of Asye?
Pardee your lyfe stode in jupardye.

And advocate ne sent I none to yow,
But my self putte in prees, and for you faught ;
My woundes bere goode witnesse ynow
That I sothe sey, and, lest ye leeve it naught,
I shall you shewe what harme I have caught,
The doute out of your hert for to drive.
He naked hym, and shewed hym as blive.

Of whiche Cesar fulle sore was ashamede,
And in his hert sorwe made and mone,
He heelde hym self worthy to be blamede.
My frend, he seide, lete me now alone,
And advocate wole I be in my persone
For the, I am wele holden to do so.
And thus this knyght his dethe he saved fro.

He dredde hym, yf he nadde thus ywrought,
The peple wolde hym have for a proude man deemede,
And ungentille, and that he couthe nought,
As that shulde eke unto hym have seemede,
Thanke hym that worthy were to be queemede.
What prince, kothe he, peynethe hym not wynne
His knyghtes love, his love is to hym thynne.

Out of pitee growethe mercy and springethe,
For piteeles man kan do no mercy.
What prynce hem lakkethe, not aright he kyngethe,
And, for that they ben neighbores so ny,
To pitee joyne mercy now wole I.
Excellent prynce, have in hym goode savour,
And elles alle in veyne is your labour.

Mercy, after the worde of seint Austyn,
Of hert is a verray compassioun
Of other mennes harme, and that comethe yn
By yifte of God, and by remissioun ;
As yf injurye or oppressioun
Be done to us, that gilt foryeve us ought,
For love of Criste that by dethe us bought.

Who so wronge to hym wole foryeve,
The better part of mercy yet holt he.
Thus fynde I writen in auctoritee ;
But fully may there no man doe mercie,
But yf he releeve the nedy,
His synne shalle to hym be foryeve,
Thoughe that he no thyng of his goodes yeve.

Thoughe that a man be sobre, chaaste, and trewe,
And be withe many an hye vertu endowede,
And yeve, and not foryeve, it shalle hym rewe ;
Where as our werkes most ben avowede,
The unmerciable shalle be disalowede.
Who nought foryevethe, mercy dothe he none,
And mercyles man mercy shalle forgone.

Mercy Crist caused to ben incarnate,
And humblede hym to take our bretherhede.
God immortalle, rewyng our sike estate,
Mortalle became, to punysshe our synfulle dede.
Hym lothed not his precious body to sprede
Upon the croice, the Lord benygne and goode,
He wrote our chartre withe his owen bloode.

Of hym his handwerk and his creature
For to be merciable aright may lerne ;
This lyfe present shalle but a while dure,
And lastyng it your mercy nought ne werne.
O worthy prynce, for to God eterne
It fulle plesaunt is, dothe your mercy here,
For to late is after ye gone to the beere.

Take hede, gracious prince, of your grauntsire,
How in his werkes was he merciable ;
He that for mercy dide quite his hire,
He never was in alle his lyfe vengeable,
But ever foryafe the gilty and coupable.
Our liege lorde, your fader, dothe the same ;
Now folowe hem two, my lorde, in Goddes name.

They ofte hade grete cause hem to venge,
But her spirites benygne and pesible
Thought that craft unlusty and alenge,
And forbare it, they knewe it unlesible.
To mercy were her hertes ay flexible ;
For why withe mercy God shalle quyte hem welle,
After the wordes writen in the gospelle.

It is to leeve and deeme, yf a kyng shyne
In vertu, that his sone shalle sue
And to his faders maners enclyne,
And wikked tacches and vices eschue.
Thus ought it be, this to nature is due;
He mote considre of whom he toke his kynde,
And folowe his vertu, as men writen fynde.

He moste is like to God, as seithe Bernarde,
That holdethe no thyng more precious
Than to be mercyfulle; it is fulle harde
To lak mercy, and to ben unpitous.
Mercy wole I, seithe our Lord glorious ;
He that denyethe God that he wolde have,
God nay hym shalle that he wole axe or crave.

Senek seithe how the kyng and the leder
Of bees prikles hathe he right none,
Wherwithe to stynge or anoye or dere;
But other bees prikles han everychone.
Nature wolde she shulde hir forgone,
And do no crueltee unto the swarme,
But mekely hym governe, and do none harme.

Of this ensample shulde kynges take,
And prynces that han peple for to gye ;
For to hem longethe it, for Goddes sake,
To wayve crueltee and tyrannye,
And to pitee her hertes howe and wrye,
And reule her peple esily and faire :
It is knyghtly to be meke and debonaire.

I rede of a kyng that Pirus was namede,
Whan hym was tolde how men of Tarent
Hade at a feste his estate defamede,
He for the same folk blive sent,
And whan they came axede to what entent
They of hym spake so, and so foule ferde ;
And one of hem, as ye shalle here, answerde,

My lorde, yf that the wyne not failede hadde,
Alle that we spake nere but game and play,
Havyng rewarde to the wordes badde
That we thought have spoke, in gode fay.
The kyng tooke up a laughtir, and went his way,
And of alle that he helde hem excused ;
He seide it was wyne that so hem accusede.

Vengeaunce in this lorde hade no stede,
But mercy and humble disposicioune
Dispendede he with tho men, and grace hem did,
And thriste undir fote crueltee adoune.
O myghty prynce, this condicioune
To your hyenesse is fulle accordaunt,
And to God almyghty right plesaunt.

Power without mercy a kyng turnethe
Into a tyrant, ware that feendly spek ;
For in what man that crueltee sojournethe,
Unto his soule it is an odious spek.
The men of God have neither looke ne bek,
But yf it be bekkes of manace,
Where as his mercy folowethe moche grace.

Salamon in his proverbes expressethe,
Mercy and trouthe wardeins ben of kynges,
And withe justice also, as he witnessethe,
His trone is strengthed; what man a kyng is,
But yf he, amonge other thynges,
Endowed be of alle thise thre,
Men say he haltethe in his hye degree.

A noble and glorious signe of mercy is
A knyght to spare, whan that he slee may.
There was a duke ycalled Pisistarus,
That a yonge doughter hade, a faire may,
Whiche withe her moder walked on a day,
Not seithe the booke whider, ne what to done,
But thus it shope, as I shalle telle sone.

A yonge fresshe lusty wele byseyne man
So brent in love, he wende for to dey,
Ravisshede of the beautee of this womman,
This tendre yonge morselle, this doughter, I sey,
And as this yonge man mette hir in the wey
He at a lope was at hir, and hir kist ;
The moder angry woode whan she it wist.

She right anone hir lorde the duke besought
To putte hym to the dethe for his trespace.
He seide nay, to do that never he thought,
Shulde we slee hem that loven us, allas!
What shulde we than in the contrarie cas,
That is to seyne, done to our ennemyes ?
Thus seide this duke merciable and wise.

Allas ! why was this womman so vengeable ?
Certes in that she lakkede wommanhede.
This lover hade ben dede, it is no fable,
Yf this duke hade be like to hir in dede;
But mercy hym forbade ony blode shede,
She and pitee weren of one accorde,
And sent pacience to this lorde.

And for as muche as that pacience
To mercy as in lyne of bloode atteynethe,
Now wole I do my peyne and diligence
To telle how hir benygnitee restreynethe
The fervent hete that the hert peynethe,
Wreche crueltee to take, and eke vengeaunce,
Of that the hert of man feelethe grevaunce.

Gregory seithe, pacience verray
Is of harme done to man softe suffraunce,
And not be wrothe by no maner of way
Withe hym that hathe done a man noisaunce.
Socrates seithe, no mannes governaunce
Iwis is nought, but it be by suffraunce prevede ;
A gode man suffrethe wronge and is not grevede.

The kynde of pacience is to sustene
Mightily wronges, and hem never wreke ;
But foryeve hem, and wratthe and yrous tene
Out of the hert for to spere and steke.
Hir kynde is not to lete a worde out breke
That harmefulle is, for hert voide of ire
Hethe not wherwithe to sette a tunge afire.

O pacient, o humble kyng benygne,
O kyng David, thy pacient mekenesse
Not meved was ageyn Semy maligne,
Whos hye malice and crabbede wikkednesse
Yafe grete enchesoun to thy worthynesse
To venge the, but thy benygnitee
Forbade thyne hande to kithe crueltee.

As thys kyng ones came to Bahurym,
Out came this man malicious Semy,
Sone of Gera, and suche dispite did hym
And to his men, as by hym wenten they
Castyng stones unto hym alwey,
That wonder was; for which one Abusay
Wolde hym have slayne, but the kyng seide nay.

Lete hym curse, after the comaundement
Of God; whan he seethe myne affliccioun,
And my disese, and my grevous turment,
He wole for this dayes malisoun
Peraventure do me some guerdoun.
Thus undirstonde I ywriten is in the bible,
Whiche is a booke autentyke and credible.

The pacience of Job men may not hide,
The comon voice wole algate it bewrey ;
And Alisaundre, whos fame is spredde fulle wide,
Fulle pacient was, as the bookes sey.
A sadde wise knyght of his, withe lokkes grey,
Grucchyng ageyne his flesshely lustes, seide
Unto his flesshe, and thus he hym upbreide,

O Alisaundre, it is uncovenable
The for to have the peples regyment,
Sithen that thy lust bestialle and miserable
Hathe queynt thy resoun and intendement,
So ferforthe that the hete violent
Of lecherie is in the, lorde and sire ;
Repreef, I drede, quyte shalle thyne hire.

Fy! shameles unworthy governour.
And whan the knyghtes tale was alle endede,
The kyng answerede, I knowe myne errour ;
And paciently seide, I have offendede,
I wote it wele, and it shalle ben amendede.
A man also to Julius Cesar ones
Crabbedly seide, and sharply for the nones,

And amonge other wordes that he speke,
Julius, kothe he, make it not so toughe,
For of thy birthe art thow not worthe a leeke,
Whens that thow come, men knowen wel ynoughe.
Wenest thow not that I kan telle houghe
Thy fader was a baker ? o lete be,
Make it not so queynte, I pray the.

Smylyng spake to hym this emperour,
Whether supposest thow bette that noblesse
Begynne in me, or noblesse and honour
Defaile in the ? This questioun, I gesse,
Was in suche cas but answer of softnesse ;
For that was seide in repreef of his name
His pacience, as who seithe, toke it in game.

To the chyvalerous worthy Sciphio
Of Affrike spake ones a wight,
And seide in armes durst he but smalle do,
He faught but smalle whan he came to fight.
And paciently answerde he anone right,
My moder me bare a childe feble and smalle,
And forthe me brought, and no fighter at alle.

Senek seithe how that kyng Antigone
Herd ones folk speke of hym wikkedly ;
For there nas but a curtyne, as seithe he,
Twixte hym and hym; and when he his tyme sy,
Aside he drewe the curtyne sodeinly,
And seide, Gothe hens, lest the kyng yow here,
For the curtyne hathe herde alle your matere.

Of duke Pisastaris eke wole I telle,
He had a frende, Arispus was his name,
Whiche ones hastely withe wordes felle
Rebuked so this duke, that it was shame
To here it, and yit withe sorwe and grame
He in dispite spette in this dukes face ;
And he therto no worde spake in that place.

He hade hym so in porte, worde, and chere,
Right as hym hade be done no vilanye,
But lokede forthe in a frendely manere.
Now there were in this dukes companye
His sones two, that buskede hem on hye
To this Arispus, and wolden fulle fayne
That her fader wolde hem have lete hym slayne.

The next day after this Arispus
To take gan consideracioun,
How that he to the duke mysbare hym thus,
And made more waymentacioun
Than I kan make of now mensioun;
He wolde have slayne hym self, it is no lees,
But that this duk brought it alle to rest and pees.

Whan he knewe how it with Arispus stode,
He dressed hym to hym, and that as swithe,
And bade hym to be glad of chere and mode ;
He seide and swore to hym often sithe,
A frendely wole I be and stande as ny the
As I did ever ; and thus his pacience
And mekenesse hathe quenchede alle this offence.

Salamon seithe, in hym is pacience
That is endowede withe benigne humblesse ;
Grace of the holy gost no residence
Holdethe in that man that lakkethe mekenesse.
God toke upone hym humble buxomnesse,
Whan he hym wrappede in our mortalle rynde,
That ought a myrrour be to alle mankynde.

Plesaunt to God was that virginitee
Of his moder, but verray God and man
Conceyved was thurghe the humylitee
Whiche he beheld in that blissed womman.
O humble maide, who is it that kan
The debonaire humblesse tellen alle,
Restyng in thy clennesse virginalle.

Thoughe the humble were a foule habite,
Yit in vertue glorious is he;
But the proude stant in another plite,
Thoughe his aray be faire and fresshe to see,
His dedes and his werkes foule be.
What hye estate that a man represent,
Humble to be lete hym sette his entent.

Humilitee verray, as seithe Cesarie,
May never be withouten charitee ;
And she is of vertues most necessarie
Amonges alle vertues that be.
She over hem alle obtenethe dignitee ;
They from the reigne of God hem self divide,
That charitee wayven and casten aside.

Right as a man ne may not thider go
Where he purposethe hym, but yf a way
Be thidirwarde, seint Ancelme seithe right so,
Withouten charitee, men go ne may
Aright unto God-warde, men mowen ay
Done as hem list, yf they be charitable ;
But lakkyng it, is no thyng profitable.

Onely kepyng of charitee us prevethe
That we disciples ben of God almyghty ;
What thyng it be that harmethe man or grevethe,
By goodenesse it overcome is paciently.
No seint to heven comethe, as rede I,
But by kepyng of pacience, and how
Men may it lere, I wole shewe yow.

Take hede how whan that Crist our savyour
Was bobbed, and his visage alle bespette,
And grete despite done hym and dishonour,
Bounden and scourgede and grevousely bette,
Crowned withe thorne, nailed on the gibette,
Yit for alle this turment no worde he speke,
So was he pacient, benygne, and meke.

And sithen our Lord God was of suche suffraunce,
Than is it to his creature shame
On greef to hym done take ony vengeaunce.
Man ought rather sorwe for the blame
That God shal kun hym that hathe done the grame,
Than for the harme that the greevede hathe hent;
So dothe the charitable and pacient.

To chastitee purpose I now to haste,
Whiche covenable is and convenient
Unto a kyng for to savoure and taste ;
What prynce that withe unclennesse is brent,
And therin settethe his lust and talent,
No profitable dede or werk hym folowe may,
But he his hert caste to Goddes pay.

Right as the persone of a prynce outwarde
Honourede is withe clothes precious,
So ought his hert clothede be ynwarde
Withe vertu, and hym kepe vertuous ;
Fresshe apparaile and hert lecherous
Unsittyngly is in a prynce joynte,
Namely in a cristen kyng enoynte.

In as moche as dignitee of a kyng
Excedethe other folk in reverence,
The more hym ought peyne hym, lest alle thyng
Other folk passe in vertuous excellence.
Honour nought elles is in existence,
Than reverence yoven in witnesse
Of vertu, as the scripture dothe expresse.

Honour whiche was goten vertuously
Ne was not first by dignitee purchacede,
As that the booke tellethe expressely ;
But dignitees honours was embracede
Withe vertu, dignitee hade be unlacede
And ungurt of honour nade vertu be,
For vertu hathe her propre dignitee.

Aristotle counceilethe Alisaundre
To lecherie he not enclyne sholde,
For it is hogges lyfe, whiche were disclaundre
To hym yf he the weyes take wolde
That bestes resonles taken and holde.
For of body it is distruccioun,
And eke of alle vertu corrupcioun.

Sithen they that not were of cristen bapteme
Counceilede men eschue lecherie,
Than ought us cristen men that vice fleme,
And suche lustes in us mortifie.
Who so thynkethe into blisse stie,
That firy sparkelle algates moste he quenche,
And lustes leve of lady and of wenche.

The scripture seithe, no fornicatour
The reigne of Crist and God shalle enherite ;
It seithe eke that hym and the advoutour
God deeme shalle, he kan her labour quite
Fulle sharply, that in tho tweyne delite ;
And so he wole, but yf correccioun
Be mannes sheelde and his proteccioun.

Affrican Scipio, that noble knyght,
Whan he was twenty yere and foure of age,
And by his prowesse, manhode, and myght
Cartagiens putte had into servage,
There was a maide sent hym into hostage,
Of yeres ripe ynoughe and of beautee
Most excellent that men myghte owher see.

And whan this worthy prince honorable
This womman saughe, of hir he toke gode yeeme,
Thynkyng that she was of beautee able
The worthiest on life for to queeme,
And in hym multipliede thoughtes breeme ;
But natheles, for alle this besy thought,
Enquere he gan yf she wyfe were or nought.

She truthede was to Indibal, men seide,
A lorde of that citee, and Scipio
On a mynystre of his the charge leide
For hir fader and moder blive to go.
They at his heste came to hym tho,
And in hir clene virginalle estate
Restorede he this maid inviolate.

The golde eke that for hir redempcioun
Purveyed was foryafe he uttirly,
In helpe and encrece and promocioun
Of hir wedlok; and whan Indiballe sy
And knewe how Scipio thus nobly
Demenede hym, he was fulle wele paide
Of that he grucched first and afraide.

He went to thestates of the toune,
And tolde hem alle the cas, as it befille :
And they this lorde gave laude and hye renoune
For that, and alle withe one hert and wille
Submytted hem to this prynces wille.
Thus hert chaste and tendir gentilnesse
Conquerethe rather hertes than duresse.

Or Marcus Marcellus hade the citee
Of Ciracuse taken or ynome,
He lete do crye amonge his meyné,
That whan the citee he hade overcome,
And his folk therin entred were and come,
None be so hardy the wommen to oppresse,
Ne touche hem by wey of unclennesse.

There was also a semely fresshe yonge man,
To whom nature suche favour hade lent
Of shappe and beautee, that ther nas womman
That ones hade a looke on hym dispent,
But that hir hert yafe flesshely consent ;
And natheles eschued he the taste
Of unclennesse, and kept his body chaste.

By tokens knewe he her unclene entent,
And withe his nailes cracched he his face,
And skocched it withe knyves and torent,
And it so wondirly gan deface,
That beautee refused hade hir place ;
Alle this did he hir hertes to remewe
From hym, and hem unclennesse to eschewe.

Jerom tellethe ageyne Jovynyan,
A faire womman, a maide, clepede Ulye,
Ywedded was unto an aged man,
A Romayne smyten withe the palsye ;
But she in chastité was sette so hye,
That an ensample verray was she
To alle tho that lovede chastitee.

Hir husbonde ones hade an enemy,
Whiche that seide and spake in his repreef,
That his brethe stanke as he stode hymby,
Wherof he toke grete hevynesse and greef ;
He gothe home to his wyfe, and this myscheef
Fulle hevyly to hir he gan compleyne,
And thus of hir he gan to axe and freyne.

Why, wife, kothe he, have ye not or this tyme
Ywarned me how that it withe me stode ?
Sire, it was not, kothe she, espied by me,
I helde your brethe ay as swete and gode
As other mennes ben, I undirstode
None other yit, ne do in sothefastnesse.
Fulle fewe men hade she kissed, as I gesse.

She hyely was to preise and to comende,
That nought ne knewe by other mennes mouthes
Hir makes vice, it was alle wele she wende.
For to fynde many suche fulle uncouthe is ;
Lete us awaite wele whan the wynde southe is
And northe at ones blowyng in the sky,
And fynde suche an hepe than hardely.

Plato his patrimonye and his contree
Lefte and forsoke, and dwelt in wildernesse,
For to refreyne flesshely nycetee ;
And his disciples loved so clennesse,
And for to falle hade suche gastnesse,
That her eyen out of her hedes they brent,
Lest the sight of hem myght spotte her entent.

Demostenus his hondes ones putte
In a wommans bosome japyngly,
Of face faire, but of hir body a slutte ;
Withe you to dele, seide he, what shalle I
You yeve? Fourty pens, kothe she, sothely.
He seide nay, so dere he bye nolde
A thyng for whiche he repent sholde.

I fynde how that two doughters of a duchesse,
The flesshely touches of men for to flee,
Whan men of Hungarye hem wolde oppresse,
In conservyng of her virginitee,
They hem purveyede a goode soteltee ;
They chykens flesshe putte undir her pappes,
Hem to defende from unclenly happes.

Beholde of wommen here a noble wile,
Withe short avisement, who kan do bette;
By that this flesshe thus hade leyne a while,
And that it was ychaufed wele and hette,
It stanke so foule, that it hathe ylette
Tho men, that wery they were of her pray,
And forsoke the wommen, and went her way.

O wommanhede, in the reignethe vertu
So excellent, that to feble is my witte
To expresse it; wherfore I am eschu
To medle or make a longe sermoun of itte.
Som mannes mouthe yit wolde I were shitte,
That vice to wommen sparethe not to bewrey,
For alle sothes ben not to sey.

But for to talke forthe of contynence,
Or chastitee, who so chaste live shalle
Mote scourge his flesshely lust withe abstinence,
Thriste hym doune, yeve hym no place at alle;
Metes and drynkes maken a soule thralle,
Yf the body be reuled by excesse,
For thy it nedethe taken of hem the lesse.

Excesse of mete and drynke is wombes frende,
And wombe is next to our membres pryvee ;
O glotenye is fulle plesaunt to the fende,
To lecherie redy patthe is she.
The fend lithe in awaite of our freeltee,
And stirethe a man to drynkes delicate,
To make ageyns chastité debate.

A man shulde ete and drynke in suche wise
As may be to his helthes sustenyng,
After the doctrine of Senek the wise.
Som man drynkethe the wyne, that is wenyng,
When he drynkethe his witte more is preisyng,
And honorable a man compleyne of thrist,
Than drunken be whan he the cuppe hathe kist.

Thus seide Jerom unto a virgyne,
O doughter, sithen that the apostle sore dredde
Luste of his flesshe, and did his body pyne,
And helde it lowe, and symply it fedde,
Wherthurghe the vice of unclennesse he fledde,
Of contynence how maist thow siker be,
That of foode delicate hast plentee ?

And specially now in thy youthes hete ;
For who so willethe to be contynent,
Many a luste superflu mote he lete,
And likerous, by mesure his talent
Mesure he mote; when reson is regent
Of man, than reignethe no delicacye ;
Resoun a man defendethe from folie.

The wynes delicate and swete and strong
Causethe fulle many an inconvenience ;
Yf that a man outrageousli hem fonge,
They birien witte, and forbede silence
Of counseil, they outraien pacience,
They kyndlen ire, and firen lecherie,
And causen bothe body and soule to dye.

And truly it is fulle perelous
Unto a prynce, whiche that hathe a lande
In governaunce, in that to be vicious ;
It nedethe hym take hede unto his hande,
That that vice combre hym not, for and
It do, he shalle not reigne but a throwe ;
For many a man hathe excess overthrowe.

Of Babiloyne the kyng Baltazar
Not hade ben ypryvede of his life,
Yf he of drunkenesse hade be ware ;
But that therin he was defectife,
It of his dethe was verray causatife.
By nyghtertale he was slayn of kyng Darye ;
Thus payethe glotoun to excesse his salarie.

Thurghe drunkenesse how toke his dethe Naballe ?
And how slowe Tholomé also Symon ?
Allas ! that drynke so man serve shalle!
How leide Lothes doughters hem adoune
By her fadir ? When his discrecioun
Was dreynte withe wyne, he withe hem flesshely delt,
And therof no thyng ne wiste nor felt.

How was eke Olyferne by Judithe
The womman slayne, but thurghe drunkenesse ?
What prynce it be that spotted is therwithe,
His welthe hathe but a brotille stablenesse ;
Of whiche stories mo wolde I expresse,
But for I ne kan, I lete hem passe,
I am as lewde and dulle as is an asse.

Withe litelle foode content is nature,
And bette the body farethe withe a lite
Then whan it charged is out of mesure.
Loke what thyng may the body profite,
And the soule shalle in the same delite ;
What thyng distemprethe it or disesethe,
The soule it hurtethe, for it God displesethe.

Wratthe the body of man inwarde fretethe,
And therwithe God displesed is fulle sore ;
Envye also of God and man hir getethe
Like thank and ese, and shalle done evermore ;
And lecherie, as techethe smertes lore,
The body it wastethe and the soule grevethe,
And foode delicate therto men mevethe.

Beholde also, whan the paunche is fulle,
A fume clymbethe up into the hede,
And makethe a man alle lustles and alle dulle,
He wexethe hevy as a pece of lede.
Who so that than shulde yeve hym rede,
To loke in a booke of devocioun,
I trowe in ydelle were his occupacioun.

But counceile hym to trotte unto the wyne,
And, for alle his excesse and outrage, :
He therto wole assent wele afyne,
And there wole he uttre his langage,
And do to Bacus and Venus homage;
For none of hem kan wele be from other,
They loven as wele as suster and brother.

And after mote he rowne withe a pilwe,
His lyfeles resons there to despende.
We bestes resonable, allas! why wil we
Ageyn resoun werrey, and hir offende.
O goode God, thy grace to us sende,
That we may flee suche superfluitee,
And alle thyng that is foo to chastitee,

Or magnanymytee now wole I trete,
That is to sey, strong hert or grete corage,
Whiche in knyghthode hathe stablisshed hir sete.
Ye, gracious prynce, of blode and of lynage
Descended ben to have in usage,
Mars hathe ever be frende to your worthy lyne,
Ye mote of kynde to manhode enclyne.

He that is strong of corage and of hert,
Yf he worship have or grete richesse,
Or that fortune styng hym overthwert,
Is alwey one in welthe and in distresse.
He lucre and losse weiethe in evennesse ;
He settethe litelle by goode temporelle,
How ever the worlde shape, he takethe it ay welle.

But for to speke of corage of a kyng,
He of his peple owethe be so chere,
That her profite he mote for eny thyng
Promote withe his myght and his powere ;
And for his reame hym take so nere,
That unto perels of bataile
He mote hym putte, and hym travaile.

And in defence of holy chirche also,
And for our feithe putte hym in juperdie.
Other causes ben thereittee mo
Why a kyng ought to bataile him hie,
And in tho causes drede hym not to dye,
But kithe hym a goode knyght amonge his foos ;
Thus wonne is magnanymytees loos.

Right as we seen by resoun and nature
Part of mannes body defendethe alle ;
As an arme puttethe hym in aventure
For the body, that not perisshe it shalle,
Right so a kynges cheerté speciale,
Yf he God love and his peple and lande,
Whan nede is, mote defende it with his hande.

Thurghe grete emprises wonne is hye renoune,
Renoune is called glorie and honour ;
Magnanimitee hathe this condicioune,
That in bataile, how sharp be the stour,
Hym lever is to suffre dethes showr
Than cowardly and shamefully flee,
So manly of corage and hert is he.

He medlethe never but of thynges grete
And hye and vertuous, he never is mevede
With smale thynges, as the booke dothe trete ;
And suche a drede hathe for to be repreved,
That unto thyng that may be knowe or prevede
For vileynous, or foule, or reprevable,
He never obeyethe, this knyght honourable.

I have yredde of one clept Coadrus,
That was prynce of the oste Athynyens,
How in the felde a lawe made was thus
Twixte his oste and hem of Polypolens,
Withe tryumphe shulde that part go thens
Whos duke or prynce were unarmede slawe,
In habite straunge, lo, suche was the lawe.

Hym lever was hym self for to dye,
And his men leve, than see hem bestadde
So streite, that by violent maistrie
His foes hade hem venguysshede or overladde.
Adayes now is none suche cheertee hade ;
Algates I ne kan not seen it used,
Knyghtes ben lothe therof to ben accusede.

O worthy prynce, I trust in your manhode,
Medled withe prudence and discrecioun,
That ye shulle make many a knyghtly rode,
And the pride of our foes threste adoune.
Manhode and witte conqueren hye renoune ;
And who so lakkethe eny of the tweyne,
Of armes wantethe the bridelle and the reyne.

Yf the ordre of knyghthode be receyvede,
Fulle nedefulle is a man to be prudent,
Elles that oste may lightly be deceyvede
That is unto her governaunce ybent ;
Presumptuous is disobedient
Alday, and not by wisdom wole hym gye,
Alle justifiethe his obstynacie.

Ofte in bataile hathe be seen or this
A side suffred to have discomfiture,
Whiche an unwise hede gyed hathe amys.
What knyght on hym takethe that charge or cure,
Yf he in knyghtly honour shalle endure,
Hym ought endowed be in sapience,
And have in armes grete experience.

Experience and arte in a bataile
Of the prudent knyght, more may profite
Than hardynesse or force may availe
Of hym that therof knowethe nought or lite.
Hardynesse in effect not worthe a myte
Is to victorious conclusioun,
But withe hym medle arte, witte, and resoun.

Whan reuled witte and manly hardynesse
Ben knytte togider, as yok of mariage,
There folowethe of victorie the swetnesse,
For to sette on hym whettethe his corage,
And witte restreyne his wille kan and swage,
In tyme good, and due and covenable;
And thus tho two joynt benne fulle profitable.

But be a knyght wise and corageous,
Or have hem bothe at ones at his luste,
If that his hert of goode be desirous,
On his manhode is ther but litelle truste.
God graunte knyghtes rubbe awey the ruste
Of covetise, yfit her hertes cankir,
And graunte hem to picche in suffisaunce an ankir.

Now for as muche as magnanymytee
May no foote holde, yf that the hert of man
Gretely unto ricchesse enclyned be,
Than is the best rede that I see kan,
A kyng therin delite hym not, for whan
His hert is in that vice ficchede hye,
Smalle prowesse in hym wole it signifie.

And yf a kynges honour shalle be queynte
Withe a fowle and a cursed covetise,
His peples trust in hym shalle be but feynte.
A kyng ne may not governe hym in that wise.
The coveitous may do no grete emprise ;
For whan his hert lurkethe in his cofre,
His body in bataile dar he not profre.

Yf that a kyng sette his felicitee
Principalle on richesse and on money,
His peple it turnethe to adversitee,
For he ne rekkethe in what wise or wey
He pylle hem; allas! that kynges nobley
Turne shulde into stile of tyrannye ;
Allas! the perelle, harme, and vilanye!

God I beseche your hert to enlumyne,
Gracious prynce, that the fende, our foo,
No power have so your hert to myne,
But of his grace so kepe you therfro,
And graunte you to governe you so,
As most holsome is for body and soule;
That desire I, by God and by seint Poule.

Whan that Marcus Curcius, a Romayne,
Unto the Beneventans a siege leide,
For he was poore, as that they herde sayne,
They a grete somme of golde hym sent, and preide
Withdrawe his seege; and he answerde and seide,
To hym retournethe that you hider sent,
And thus to hym declarethe myne entent.

Sey hem Marcus Curcius lever is
Riche men to have at his comaundement,
Than to be riche hym self; telle hym this,
He may withe golde not be corrupt ne blent,
Of force of men eke they ben impotent
To venquysshe hym, for there her art shalle faile,
Her blynde profres shalle hem not availe.

To Alisaundre, as I shalle letten here, i
A knyght, whiche was to hym specialle,
Thus spake, and blamed hym in this manere ;
He seide, Yf our goddes thy body smalle
To thy gredy desire hade made egalle,
Alle the worlde hade not be suffisaunt
To have receyvede so large a jeaunt.

For withe thy right honde thow the orient
Shuldest have touchede, I am sure of that;
And withe thy lift honde eke the occident.
Now sithen thy body answerethe nat
Unto thy wille, what shalle I sey, what ?
Outher thow art a man, or a god, or nought ;
Mochelle of the mervaile I in my thought.

Yf thow be god, folowe most his trace,
And not men of her goode robbe nor reve ;
But hem releeve, and hem ese and grace.
If thow be man, considre eke, by thy leve,
Thou art mortal, thou maist be dede or eve.
If thou be no thyng, the putte out of mynde,
As he that is no nature of kynde.

There is none hye estate so sadde and stable,
Remembre wele, lete it not be foryete,
But he to falle in perelle is fulle able ;
By dethe a lyoun made is briddes mete,
And bestes also his flesshe gnawe and frete.
The answere of the kyng not have I herde,
My booke not tellethe how he was answerde.

Senek seithe the poore Diogenes
Kyng Alisaundre in richesse past ;
For he ne myght, as he seithe douteles,
Yeve hym so mochel golde ne on hym cast
As he refuse wolde. O atte last
Men thynken shulle they to moche have hade,
And of this worldes muk be fulle unglade.

Desire of goode a kyng mote ley apart,
And peyne hym to purchace hym a goode fame ;
Therin lete hym laboure and do his part,
Ther is no thyng unto worthy name.
And yf a kyng it lakke, it were his shame;
And shame is contrarie unto worthynesse ;
Good loos decerned is grettest richesse.

And for largesse wynnethe gode renoune,
Therof thynke I now to trete a litelle stounde.
A prynce and a kyng of alle a regioune
Mote avarice threste doune to grounde ;
To hym that lithe in helle deepe ybounde
The, avarice, betake I to kepe;
Thou pynchepeny, there ay mote thou slepe.

Golde wolde for fals prisonyng a writte
Sue ageyne the, yf he at large were ;
But he so fast is in thy cofre shitte,
He may not out. O fals prisonere,
Largesse wolde be withe shelde and spere
Even in thy berde, yf he brake out to morwe,
And for his sake do the care and sorwe.

Thow to largesse doost fulle mochelle wronge,
That hast hir servaunt undir thy servage ;
On the and not on hir it is alonge
That golde is lette to go on hir message.
She hathe hym sent on many a viage
Or this, and that was the comon profite,
The whiche to lette is ever thy delite.

Largesse onely not luste golde servaunt be
Unto hir self, but the peple she wolde
Hade as gode part of hir service as she.
To hir is alle the comon peple yholde ;
But thou makest the peples hertes colde ;
Thou sleest an hepe whiche that she wolde save,
Thou no wight helpest, thoughe he thyne help crave.

Me liste nomore speke of the this tyme,
But of myne helpely lady sovereyne ;
Of largesse, my lady, now wold I ryme,
And afterwarde of thy cursed careyne
I speke shalle, not a worde wole I feyne,
But as scriptures treten of the wrecche,
I touche shalle, the develle the hens fecche !

Aristotle of largesse tellethe thus,
How vertuous largesse lust to be,
Considre first of what power he is,
And eke the tymes of necessitee,
And as the men deserven so be free,
Yeve in mesure to the indigent,
And the worthy, and that is wele dispent.

And who dothe otherwise in his yevyng,
Largesses reule passethe and excedethe,
He neither worthy is thonke ne preisyng,
That to hym that no nede hathe yiftes bedethe.
Of verray folye also it procedethe
To yeve the unworthy, for the coste
Alle mysdespendede is, for it is loste.

And he that dispendethe out of mesure,
Shalle taste anone povertes bitternesse ;
Fool largesse is therto a verray lure.
Of hym also he berethe the liknesse,
That on hym self, as the boke berethe witnesse,
Victorie yevethe to his enemyse ;
And he that so dispendethe is not wise.

Largesse stont not in moche yevyng,
But it is after the wille and the myght
Of hym that yeveth after his havyng.
For it may somtyme happe that a wight,
Whiche of ricchesse berethe not but light,
Yevethe but smalle, and yit larger is he
Than he that yevethe gretter quantitee.

After his goode man may yeve and dispende
Where as nede is, but he that alle dispendethe
And wastethe, shalle hym self first offende.
Foole large alday wrecchedly endethe,
Many a man here foule outrage hem shendethe ;
But of largesses goode governaunce
Bothe to God and to man it is plesaunce.

Even as a mannes bloode is norisshyng
To his body, yf it corrupte not be,
So ben richesses to soules fedyng
Holsom, yf they were as necessitee
Axethe dispent, and also yf he
Whiche that hem wan, gate hem with rightwisnesse ;
For heven and helle ben goten by richesse.

A croked hors never the better is entecchede,
Althoughe his bridelle glistre of golde and shyne ;
Right so a man that vicious is and wrecchede,
And his richesse goten hathe of rapyne,
And as evylle as man kan ymagyne
Dispendethe hem, not for hem the better is,
But moche wers, gode is to take hede of this.

He that his flesshe dispendethe and his blode,
My lorde, in your service, hym yiftes bede ;
Ther is largesse mesurable goode.
A kyng so bounden is, he mote do so nede,
Service unquytte and murdre it is no drede,
As clerkes writen, and disheritaunce,
Before almyghty God axen vengeaunce.

Of foole largesse wole I talke a space,
How it befille, I note in what contree,
But ther was one named Johan of Canace,
A riche man, and two doughters hade he,
That unto twey worthy men of a citee
He wedden lete; and ther was gladnesse
And revelle more than I kan expresse.

The fader his doughters and her husbondes
Loved fulle wele, and hade hem leef and dere ;
Tyme and tyme he yafe hem withe his hondes
Of his goode passyngly, and they suche chere
Hym made, and were so plesaunt manere,
That he ne wist how to be better at ese,
They coude hym so wele cherisshe and plese.

For he as muche haunted in partie
Her hous as he did his owen hous.
They helde hym up with her flatrye,
That of dispence he was outrageous ;
And of goode they were ay desirous ;
Alle that they axed haden they redy,
And they ever were on hym gredy.

This sely man contynued his outrage,
Til alle his goode was wasted and gone ;
And they felt his expenses swage,
And were to hym unkynde right anone.
For after hade he cherisshyng none ;
They wery were of his companye,
And he was wise and shope a remedye.

He to a marchaunt gothe of his notice,
Whiche that his trusty frende hade be fulle yore,
Besechyng hym that he wolde hym chevyce
Of ten thousande pounde, ne lenger ne more
Than dayes thre, and he wolde it restore
At his day ; this was done, the somme he hent,
And to his owen hous therwithe he went.

And on the morwe praide he to sopere
His sones bothe, and his doughters also.
They to hym came, withouten eny daungere ;
How that they ferde lete it passe and go.
They ferden wele, without wordes mo.
To his kunnyng grete disport he hem made,
He did his myght to chere hem and glade.

After soper, whan they her tyme sye,
They toke her leve, and home they wolde algate;
And he answerde and seide hem sikerly,
This nyght shulle ye not passe out at this yate,
Your hous is ferre, and it is derk and late;
Speke it not, for it shalle not betide.
And so alle nyght he made hem to abide.

The fader logged hem, of sly purpos,
In a chambre next to his joynyng.
But betwixt hem nas ther but a parclos
Of borde, not but of homely makyng ;
Thurgheout the whiche, at many a chynnyng,
In eche chambre they myghten beholde
And see what other did, yf that they wolde.

I kan not sey how they slept that nyght,
Also it longethe not to my matere ;
But on the morwe, at brode day light,
The fader roos, and for they shulde here
What that he did, in a boistous manere
Unto his chest, whiche thre lokkes hadde,
He went, and therat wrestede he fulle sadde.

And whan it was yopenede and unshette,
The bagged golde that the marchaunt hym lent
He hathe uncofrede, and streightforthe with it
Unto his beddes fete gone is and went.
What dothe than this felle man and prudent,
But out this golde on a tapite hathe shotte,
That in the bagges left ther no grotte ?

And alle this did he not but for a wile,
As that ye shulle wele knowe afterwarde ;
He shope his sones and doughtres to begile.
His noise made hem dresse hem upwarde ;
They caste her eres to his chamberwarde,
And herde of golde the russhyng and the soune,
As that he rudely threwe hem adoune.

And to the parclos they hem haste and hye,
To wite and knowe what her fader wrought.
In at the chynnes of the bordes they prye,
And sye how he amonge the nobles sought
Yf defectyfe were eny, as hym thought ;
And one his naile he threwe hem ofte and caste,
And bagged hem and coffrede hem at the laste.

And openede his dore, and doune gothe his wey.
And after blive out of her bedde they rise,
And came doune blive, her fader thanken they
Of his goode chere in her best wise,
And alle was for the goldes covetise.
And to gone home they axed of hym leve ;
They ben departede, and there they hym leve.

Walkyng homwarde they jangled fast, and speke
Of the golde whiche they sawe her fader have.
One seide, I wonder theron ; And I eke,
Kothe another, for, also God me save,
Yisterday, thoughe I shulde in to my grave
Have crept, I durst on it have leide my lyfe,
That golde withe hym not hade be so ryfe.

Now lete hem muse on that what so hem leste ;
And to her fader now wole I me dresse. ;
He alle this golde now takethe out of his cheste,
And to the marchaunt paide it more and lesse,
Thankyng hym ofte of his kyndnesse ;
And thens gothe he home unto his mete,
And to his sones hous whan he hade ete.

Whan he came thider, they made of hym more
Than that they were wont, by many folde ;
So grete disport they made hym not fulle yore.
Fader, kothe they, this is your owen housholde ;
In feithe ther is no thyng within our holde,
But it shalle be at your comaundement.
Wolde God that ye were of our assent,

Than we shulde ay togider dwelle.
Alle what they menten wist he wel ynoughe.
Sones and doughters, kothe he, sothe to telle,
My wille is goode also to be withe yow.
How shulde I merier be? not wote I how,
Than withe you for to be contynuelle ;
Your companye likethe me fulle welle.

Now shope it so they helde hous in fere
Save the fader, and as they loughe and pleide,
His doughtres bothe withe laughyng chere
Unto her fader spake, and thus they seide,
And to assoile her questioun hym preide.
What so ever it be, kothe the fader, now
And I kan or may, I shalle it telle yow.

Now, goode fader, how muche money
In your stronge bounde cheste is, I you prey ?
Ten thousand pounde, kothe he, and lyed lowde.
I tolde hem, kothe he, not fulle longe ago,
And that as redily as that I coude.
Yf ye wille after this do to me so
As ye have done, ye shulle have alle tho.

After this day they alle in one hous were,
Til the day come of her faders dying ;
Goode mete and drynke and clothes for to were
He hade, and paide nought to his endyng.
Whan he sawe the tyme of his departyng,
His sones and his doughters did he calle,
And in this wise he spake to hem alle.

Not purpose I to make other testament,
But of that is in my stronge chest ybounde ;
And right anone, or I be hens hent,
An hundrede pounde of nobles gode and rounde
Takethe to the prechours, tariethe it no stounde ;
An hundred pounde eke to the freres grey ;
And to karmes fifty; tarye not, I you prey.

And whan I buryed am, of hem the keyes
Of my cheste takethe, for they hem kepe ;
By every key writen ben the weyes
Of my wille. This golde was not suffrede slepe,
It was anone delt, for her hertes depe
Stak in his bounden coffre, and alle her hope
Was goode bagges, therynne for to grope.

To every chirche and recluse of the toune
Bade he yeve eke of golde a quantitee ;
Alle as he bade, thei were prest and boune,
And did it blive. But, so mote I thee,
Fully slily deceyvede he this meyné,
His sones and his doughtres bothe I mene ;
Her berdes shaved he bothe smothe and clene.

Whan he was dede, and his obsequies do
Solempnely, they to the freres yede,
And bade tho keyes deliver hem unto ;
And as they hem beden so they dede.
Tho joyfulle sones dressen hem to the stede
Where as the strong bounden chest stoode,
But or they twynned thens they pekked moode.

They opened the cheste, and fonde right nought
But a passyng grete sergeantes mace,
In whiche there gaily made was and wrought
This same scripture, I, Johan of Canace,
Make suche testament here in this place ;
Who berethe charge of other men, and is
Of hem dispisede, slayne be he with this.

Amonge folies alle, is none I leeve
More than a man his goode foole largely
Dispende, in hope men wole hym releeve.
Whan his goode is dispent uttirly,
The indigent men sette no thyng therby.
I, Occleve, in suche caas am gilty, this me touchethe,
So seithe povert, that on foole large hym vouchethe.

For thoughe I never were of hye degree,
Ne hade moche goode, ne grete richesse,
Yit hathe the vice of prodegalitee
Smertede me, and do me hevynesse.
He that but litelle hathe may done excesse
In his degree, as wele as may the riche,
Thoughe her dispenses be not eliche.

So have I plukked at my purses strenges,
And made hem oft for to gape and gane ;
That his smalle stuffe hathe take hym to his wenges,
And hathe sworne to be my welthes bane,
But yf releef my sorwe awey plane;
And whens it come shalle kan I not gesse,
My lord, but it procede of your hyenesse.

I me repente of my mysreulede lyfe ;
Wherfore in the wey of savacioun
I hope I be, my dotage excessife
Hathe putte me to suche castigacioun,
That indigence hathe domynacioun
Of me; O hade I helpe, now wolde I thrive,
And so did I never yit in my live.

My yerely guerdoun, myne annuitee,
That was me grauntede for my longe labour,
Is alle behynde, I may not paide be ;
Whiche causethe me to live in langour.
O liberalle prynce, ensaumple of honour,
Unto your grace like it to promote
My poore estate, and to my woo bethe boote.

And, worthy prynce, at Cristes reverence,
Herkenethe what I shalle sey, and bethe not grevede,
But lete me stonde in your benevolence ;
For yf myne hertes wille wist were and prevede,
How yow to love it sterede is and mevede,
Ye shulde knowe, I your honour and welthe
Thurste and desire, and eke your soules helthe.

In alle my booke ye shalle not see ne fynde
That I your dedes lak, or hem dispreise ;
But that I wolde that ye hade in mynde
Suche thyng as your renoune myght upreise.
I write as my symple conceyte may peise ;
Truste wele, alle that my penne seithe
Procedethe of goode hert and trewe in feithe.

What kyng that dothe more excessife dispences
Than his lande may to suffice or atteyne,
Shalle be distroyede, after the sentences
Of Aristotle, he shalle not flee the peyne.
Foole largesse and avarice, tho tweyne,
Yf that a kyng eschewe, and large be,
Rejoise shalle he his roial dignitee.

How foole largesse a kyng distroye may
As blive wole I unto you declare.
Foole largesse yevethe so muche away,
That it the kynges cofres makethe bare ;
And than awakethe poore peples care,
For alle that she dispendede hathe and wastede,
They mote releve, therto ben they hastede.

The tilyer withe his poore cote and lande,
That may unnethes gete his sustenaunce,
And that hathe nought but by labour of hande,
Is oft putte unto fulle grete noisaunce.
Goode is beware of Goddes long suffraunce,
Thoughe he to venge hym tarye and be suffrable,
Whan the stroke comethe it is importable.

Nought speke I ageyn dysmes uttirly ;
In some cas they ben goode and necessarie ;
And whan they gone to incustumably,
The peple it makethe to grucche and warie.
And yf they be dispended in contrarie
Of that they grauntede of the peple were,
The more grucchen they the coste to bere.

The potte so longe to the water gothe,
That home it comethe atte last ybroke.
Whan that the peple, withe a chere lothe,
Her purses emptede have, and eke her poke,
Hem thynkethe that they to ny ben soke.
What harme of that to kynges hathe betidde,
It may not be helede in no wise ne hidde.

But favelle not reportethe tho scriptures,
His lordes soules salve fro hym he hidethe :
He bisiethe hym in so sly portratures,
That homely trouthe not withe hym abidethe.
The swete venyme of his tonge gidethe
His lord unto the valey of derkenesse,
And he governe hym by his fikelnesse.

The trewe man, yf that he may apperceyve
A defaute in his lorde, as otherwhile
It happethe, he his lorde it redethe weyye,
And bitte hym to vertu hym reconcile ;
And yit favelle, the nette of fraude and gile,
The thanke hathe, and that other the maugree.
O God, that verray trouthe art for to see !

Who that, for drede of ony lorde or sire,
Hidethe the trouthe, and wille it not outsey,
He upone hym provokethe Goddes ire,
For that he more of man than God hathe ey.
They that the trouthe of hertes bewrey
To lordes, and tellen hem her wikked lyfe,
No grace in hym fynde for her motife.

But bette for trouthe is to suffre turment,
Than richely enhaunced be for glose.
Yf this lyfe here be not wele dispent,
I wote it wele, I wole it not suppose,
God wole his regne from us hide and close.
Here is the wey to peyne or to blis,
Who so wele dothe, of joye he may not mys.

Eternal God, the blissed trinité,
Whiche that every man of cristen bileeve
Knowethe, and undevided unité,
His mercy and his grace kithe and preve
In you, my lorde, so that your dedes cheve,
As that your soule after this lyfe present
To heven blis may be take and hent.

Now go we to the avaricious,
To whom none abundaunce may suffise.
A chynche never kan be plentevous,
Thoughe alle were his, suche is his covetise ;
To thruste ay after more it is his gise.
He is the swolwe that is never fulle ;
At avarice now have here a pulle.

She may, as God forbede, undo a kyng
Thurghe hir insatiable gredynesse.
Hir hert is sette upone none other thyng,
But she may golde hepe, alle in derknesse
Lurkethe the purchas of hir egernesse ;
In bagges undir lokke hir golde she threstethe,
Alle to the cofre it gothe, and alle she chestethe.

There is it hidde, no sonne it sethe ne moone;
Thoughe alle the worlde sterve shulde on a day,
For lakke of goode not were it for to done,
To borwe of hir, ever hir answere is nay,
That she nought hathe also she swerethe ay ;
Hir nature is to kepe and not dispende,
And hir desire of goode hathe none ende.

Avarice is a love immoderate
Richesse temporelle for to purchace ;
She desirethe hye in every estate ;
She Shapethe hir alle the worlde to enbrace,
Fro the more to the lesse hir trace
To sewe studien men, seithe Ysaye ;
And she the thraldome is of mawmetrie.

She is a covetise excessife
Of other mennes goode, and of hir owen she
So streyte and harde is, and so retentife,
That it profite may in no degree.
O avaricious, what eilethe the ?
The goodes whiche that ben unto the lent,
Why hidest thow ? ywis thou wolt be shent.

Wenest thou, that thou dost not wikkedly
That so many mannes sustenaunce
Thy self withholdest so? yis hardely.
Thou that of richesse hast grete abundaunce,
And to the nedy yevest no pitaunce,
No lesse offendest thou, than he that shakethe
Men out of her goode, and fro hem it takethe.

Thus may thy stile yliknede be to thefte ;
As a theef in this worlde is honged here
For gode whiche he of the peple refte,
So shalt thou honge in helle, and bye it dere,
But yf so be, or thou go to thy bere,
Thou correcte thy gredy appetite,
And of streit kepyng empte thy delite.

The brede of the hungry peple thou withholdest,
And shettest up the naked mannes clothe
i That cover hem shulde; yf thow ought of god toldest,
For to do so, thou woldest be fulle lothe.
Alle that thou getest to hidde place it gothe,
As many men her goode thou hem revest,
As thou releeve myghtest, and thou it levest.

Wo so that fro the poore mannes cry
Stoppethe his eres, thoughe he lowde erye,
Shalle not ben herde; and moreover rede I,
His dayes shulle encrece and multiplye
That avarise hatethe, that is no lye.
Wers is no thyng than to love money,
As that the Ecclesiastres kan sey.

Ambrose seithe, Ware, man, that thow ne shitte
Withein thy purs the nedy peples hele,
And to the buriels not commytte
The lyfe of poore men ; yeve hem and dele
Part of thy goode, o thy bagges unsele,
Open hem, her knyttyng alle to sore anoiethe,
Thy pyned stuffe many man distroiethe.

Thou seyest percaas, Yf I noman bireve
His good with wronge, myne owen it is to hide
And multiplie. O chynche, by thy leve,
What seyest thou is thyne, what was thyne that tide
Thou came into this worlde, thou homycide ;
Thou broughtest not clayme ne propretee
Of thing that ought comon to be.

Thy talkyng and thy clappyng is alle of erthe,
And the grounde for thy shalle answere the ;
For that the love of muk sitte so ner the,
Of hym that hathe of goodes so grete plentee
Of god and man mochelle axed shalle be.
Thou shalt be reckenede withe there as a chynche,
Where as thou shalt not at thyne accountes pynche.

By what title that thou getest thy goode,
Thou countest not the value of a myte;
Thyn hert is evermore on golde so woode,
That in no thyng elles kanst thow delite.
Of conscience rekkest thou so lite,
What goodes thou getest of rapyne
Thou hem affermest by goode title thyne.

Feithe and prowesse leyest thou under foote,
And techest folk to have in hem pride ;
And crueltee hathe caught the in suche roote,
That she ne slippe may fro the ne slide.
And every vertu throwest thou aside ;
O every prynce and kyng mote ben eschu,
In alle maner, of thy lyme and thy glu.

For elles it is light to undirstonde
To every man that witte kan and resoun,
Is is not likly a kyng for to stonde
In his welthe but a litelle sesoun,
For avarice may ben enchesoun
His peple to distroien and oppresse ;
And, as I sey, so may foole largesse.

Foole largesse is a sikenesse curable
Outher of indigence, or elles of age ;
He that foole large is in youthe is fulle able
In elde to abate it and asswage.
For aged folk ben more in the servage
Of avarice than ben folke in youthe;
And what I shalle eke seyne, herkenethe nouthe.

Of nede eke may it ben cured and helede,
A man may to large dispenses make,
Til alle his goode be dispended and deled.
And whan his purs empted is and shake,
Than begynnethe indigence to awake,
By whiche he curede is of the sikenesse
Of prodigalitee, or of foole largesse.

But avarice, he seithe, uncurable is;
For ay the more a man therin procedethe,
And wexethe olde, so much more ywis
He avaricious is, in hym not bredethe
But thought and wo, for ay his hert dredethe
His goode to lese, and more for to hepe
His thoughtes stynten, here and there to kepe.

Now yf the hede of alle, a regioun
By whom that alle governede is and gyed,
Be of so sikely a condicioun
That it may by no cure be maistriede,
Than is he to the wers part applied ;
And as the philosofre seithe us to,
The lesse wik is foole large of the two.

The philosofre prevethe avarice
Wel wers than is prodigalitee ;
By thre causes he holt it gretter vice.
First, he seithe it is better sike to be
Of a sikenesse or infirmitee
Of whiche a man may have recoveryng,
Than of suche one as there is none helyng.

The seconde cause is, prodigalitee
Is more nye to vertu many dele
Than avarice, and why ye shalle wele see :
He that is liberalle not luste so wele
For to receyve ony goode or catelle
As yeve, but what man that is foole large
To take and yeve yiftes hathe he no charge.

Wherfore he seithe, ther is no difference
Betwixt foole large and liberalitee,
Save the foole large of his imprudence
Of his dispences is to lavee,
And yevethe there as ought not to be;
And for what cause also and for what skille
He yeve shalle, none hede take he wille.

And sithen foole large on golde settethe his hert
Nomore than the liberalle, than may
Foole large into liberalitee stert
Lightly ynoughe; for vertu is kynges pray.
He avarice eschewe mote alway,
Because she more is contrarious
To vertu than the large outrageous.

The thirde skile is, for a kyng is sette
In his reame for his peples ese and releef,
For they shulde for hym fare the bette ;
But the streit chynche quenchethe never greef,
His golde is never salve to myscheef,
Onely to gadre and kepe he hym delitethe,
But the foole large many man profitethe.

Yit vices ben they grete bothe tweyne ;
O worthy prince, take on you largesse ;
Dothe so, O gracious lorde, for Goddes peyne;
Largesse yputte is unto the lyknesse
Of vessels whos mouthes han grete widnesse,
And hilden out her licour abundantly,
Thus seithe the philosofre truly.

And in as mochelle as a welle also,
At whiche many folk her water fecche,
Nedethe to have the larger mouthe; right so
The largesse of a kyng mote ferther strecche,
Yf he of his estate eny thyng recche,
Than other mennes, for impotence
Strecchethe not so ferre as his influence.

Largesse is liberalité ycallede,
And liknede is to hem that ben free ;
But he that avaricious is, is thrallede
To money. A kyng mote algates flee
A chynches hert, for his honestee,
And for the profite, as I seide above,
Of his peple, yf he thynke wynne her love.

Victorie and honour he shalle hym purchace,
That is of yiftes free, but ware alway
That he not tarie and delay his grace,
Drive it not forthe unto another day ;
Whan hym luste anone he yeve may,
Yeve it as blive, his thonke is wel the more ;
This vouche I, on holy scriptures lore.

The vertu is of liberalitee,
Yeve and dispende in tyme and place due ;
Right as largesse dothe in suche degree,
They bothe mote in her conceites chue
Where is goode to yeve, and where to eschue,
The persone and the somme, and the cause why ;
What ye yeven, yeve it vertuously.

But it longethe not to the liberalle
To yeve hym goode that usethe flaterye ;
His menyng and his entencioun fynalle
On fals plesaunce it is for briberie.
He is the verray coffre of trecherie ;
His doublenesse his lorde overthrowethe ;
The sede of his confusioun he sowethe.

That man yborne is in a blissed houre
Whom that pitee, deserte, or kyndenesse,
Stiren to yeve or mynystre hym socoure,
That infortunes strokes bittirnesse
Ywounded hathe withe povertes sikenesse.
Nought yeve hem hire, and fees, and wages,
That han at the dice lost her heritages.

But tho that welthy men han be bifore,
And vertuous ben, and han her goode lost,
And kan not begge, to be dede therefore,
On hem fulle wele bystowede is the cost.
But, welaway, as harde as is a post,
A post, nay, as a stone, ben hertes now!
Lordes, for shame! what thyng eilethe yow ?

A gentille hert for to begge hathe shame,
His rody shamefastnesse dar not prey ;
Ye that of gentilnesse han stile and name,
Lete not your poore brethren by yow dey ;
See unto hem, thoughe they not speke or sey.
Is pitee fro yow fledde? calle hir ageyn ;
For hir absence hathe many a goode man slayn.

Senek seithe, he hathe not that thyng for nought
That beyethe it, by speche or by prayere.
Ther is no thyng that is in the erthe wrought,
As he seithe, that is bought so dere ;
It stondethe streite, whan it shalle appere,
For it is voice of wrecchednesse and sorwe,
Whan a man shalle pray, or begge, or borwe,

Allas! thoughe that a man discover and pleyne
To many a lorde of his mischevous myserie,
The lorde not deynethe understonde his peyne,
He settethe not therby a blakberie.
Welthe in the lordes saile blowethe fulle merie ;
But the nedy berethe his saile so lowe,
That no wynde of comfort may it blowe.

Of liberalitee yit ferthermore
I telle wole, as that I have herd seyne
Amonge wise folke, gone is fulle yore.
What man a leder is or a chiefteyne
Of peple, his labour is alle waste and veyne,
But he be free unto his souldiours,
Yf that he seeke conquest or honours.

And specially that he her duetee
Abregge not, ne not syncope her wages
That hem assigned ben in certayntee ;
Perelle and shame folowen suche usages.
Whan alle accountede is, the avauntages
That foundede ben of wrong and repreef
Ben not but avauntages of myscheef.

This makethe covetise or avarice
Roote of alle harmes, for to conscience
Of wikked purchace is she emperice,
And mochel hathe, and ay hathe indigence.
She rather wille live in abstinence
Of mete and drynke, for hertes skantnesse,
Than for the soule or bodyes holsomnesse.

Prince excellent, so mote ye werk and wille,
As may your soules helthe edifie ;
And amonge alle other thynges, that your wille
Be not effect withe no wrecched chyncherie.
Largesse mesurable unto you tye,
And foole largesse voidethe from you clene ;
For free largesse is a vertuous mene.

And, gracious prynce, like it you to wite
That touche I thynke of a kynges prudence,
As that I fynde in bookes write.
Prudence is called witte and sapience,
And nedes mote roial magnificence
Be prudent, as the scripture us lerethe,
Yf he shalle be as his estate requerethe.

Prudence and temperance, strengthe and ryght,
Tho foure ben vertues principalle.
Prudence gothe before, and yevethe light
Of counceille, what the other thre do shalle,
That they may wirke, be it grete or smalle,
After her rede, without whom no man
As unto God ne the world live kan.

Prudence is vertu of entendement ;
She makethe man by resoun hym governe.
Who so that luste be wise and prudent,
And the light folwe of hir lanterne,
He most cast his looke in every herne
Of thynges past, and that ben, and shulle be ;
The ende seethe and eke mesurethe she.

There is no wight that she shapethe to deceyve;
And, thoughe men casten hem hir to begile,
Nought wole it be, by witte she wole it weyve.
Eke she observethe so wele trouthes stile,
And therto so wele kan hir tung file,
That, lest the favour of frenships corde,
Other than trouthe kan she not recorde.

She behotethe by goode avisement,
And yevethe more than hir luste promytte.
She yevethe to men eke comaundement
Not in fortune truste, nor by hir sette ;
And alle the trust out of her hert shette
Of myght, of worldly domynacioun ;
Vertu gyethe hir operacioun.

Prudence hathe lever loved be than dradde.
There may no prince in his estate endure,
Ne therin ony while endure sadde,
But he be lovede, or love his armure
Of seurtee. O, take on you the cure,
Excellent prynce, love to enbrace,
And than your hert is sette in siker place.

Now yf that ye graunte by your patent
To your servauntes a yerely guerdoun,
Crist shilde that your wille or your entent
Be sette to make a retraccioun
Of payement; for that condicioun
Exilethe the peples benevolence,
And kyndlethe hate undir privé silence.

Bethe wele avised, or your graunte outgo,
How ye that charge may perfourme and bere
Whan it is past ; observe it wele also,
For elles it wole you anoye and dere.
For your honour moche better it were
No graunt to make at alle, than that your graunt
You preeve a breker of covenaunt,

He that is loved, men hym offende ;
But he that dradde and not beloved is,
As Tullius seithe, lightly may descende,
And the worthyshippe lese that was his.
And Senek seithe also, touchyng this,
The soget hatethe whom he hathe in drede ;
And hate is harde, yf he his venyme shede,

Was never drede yet a goode wardeyne
To holde lordshippe in his sikirnesse,
But onely love is thyng most sovereyne ;
Love is norice of welthe and of gladnesse ;
But out of love spryngethe ferefulnesse,
And fere is goode that on love hym groundethe,
But other fere not helethe, but woundethe.

Love without a gode governaile
A kyng hathe none; for, thoughe men no worde sey,
Yf he his peple oppresse, it is no faile
They love hym not in no maner wey.
They may his heste outwarde wele obey,
But in her hertes is smalle obeisaunce,
And unto God they compleyne her grevaunce.

And suche a kyng is not prudent ne wise,
That of his people purchacethe hym hate ;
For love excedethe alle tresour in prise,
So that it be, and be wole algate.
When that richesses ebben and abate,
Yf love endure, it may hym restore,
And love is goten by prudences lore,

By wise counseille sette your hye estate
In suche an ordre as ye live may
Of your goode propre, in reule moderate,
Is it knyghtly to live on rapyne? nay.
For Cristes sake, so you gyethe ay,
As that may strecche unto your peples ese,
And therwithealle ye shalle God hyely plese.

It appertenethe a kyng for to be
A kyng in verray sothe and existence.
A kyng of office and of dignitee
The name is; he mote done his diligence
His peple for to gye by prudence ;
For that he reule hem shulde duely,
The stile of a kyng he berethe certeinly.

As an archer may not his arwe shete
Even at a mark, but he the mark see ;
Nomore may a kyng, I you behete,
Governe his peple in right and equitee,
But by prudence he reule his degree ;
Yf that he wele, his peple han sikirnesse
Of rest and pees, welthe, joy, and gladnesse.

Begynnyng of wisdom is God for to drede.
What kyng that dredethe that is goode and juste
To his peple ; bethe suche, my lorde, I rede,
In love and awe of God ficchethe your luste;
Than ben ye wise, and than ye nedes muste,
After your worldly septre transitorie,
In heven regne in perpetuelle glorie.

To trete now purpose I how to a kyng
It nedefulle is to do by counseile ay ;
Withouten whiche goode is hym do no thyng.
For a kyng is but a man soole perfay,
And be his witte never so goode, he may
Erre and mystake hym otherwhile amonge ;
Where as goode counceile may exclude alle wrong.

Excellent prince, in axyng of rede,
Discover not your wille in no manere;
What that ye thynke to do, lete it be dede,
As for the tyme, lete no worde appere;
But what every man seithe, herken wele and here.
And yit whan goode counseille is yoven yow,
What ye do wole, kepe it cloos ynow.

Wil it like you to perfourme it in dede,
And yf it shalle be do, lete it not tarie;
For that is perilous withouten drede.
Ther is no thyng may make a lande myscarie
More than suche delay ; fulle necessarie
It is a gode purpos perfourme as blive,
And that ye not out of mynde it drive.

And yf that a man of symple degree,
Or poore of birthe, or yonge be, goode counseile
Yow yeve, admytte his resoun and take it in gree.
Why nat, my goode lorde ? what shulde you eile?
But men done not so, wherof I merveile ;
The worlde favourethe ay the riches sawe,
Thoughe that his counceile be not worth an hawe.

What he seithe is up to the cloudes bore ;
But and the poore speke worthe the twey,
His sede not spryng may, it is but lore,
They seyne, What is he, this ? lete hym go pley.
O worthy prynce, beth wele ware, I pray,
That your hye dignitee and sadde prudence
No disdeyne have of the poores sentence.

Thoughe men contrarie eke your oppynyoun,
They may percaas counceile you the best ;
Also ye ben at your owen eleccioun
To do or leve, as your self lest.
If it be goode, ympresse it in your chest
Of your memorie, and execute itte ;
If it be nought, to leve it is a witte,

And yf you list your conceilour to preeve,
Ye feyne mote ye han necessitee
Of golde, and yf he stire you and meeve
Your jewels ley in wedde, certein he
Lovethe your estate and prosperitee ;
But he that redethe you your peple to oppresse,
He hatethe you, certeyn, it is no lesse.

And yf a man, in tyme of suche a nede,
Of his goode yeve you a gode substaunce,
Suche men cherisshethe, and elles God forbede,
Kunnethe hym thanke of his goode chevysaunce.
For hym lever is to suffre penaunce
Hym self, than that your peple shulde smert,
There is a preef of trewe lovyng hert.

In axyng eke of rede, ware of favelle ;
Also be ware of the avaricious ;
For none of the two kan counceille welle,
Her rede and counceile is envenymous,
They bothe ben of gold so desirous,
They rekke not what brike her lorde be ynne,
So that they may gold and silver wynne.

And yf that your counceile that ye have take
Unto the knowleche or the audience
Of your foes come be, than lete it slake,
And witterly putte it in abstinence.
For to execute it it were grete prudence,
In suche a caas it is wisdom to chaunge ;
Gode is that your counceile be to your foes straunge.

Counceile may wele be liknede to a bridelle,
Whiche that an hors kepethe up fro fallyng,
If man do by counceile; but alle in ydelle
His rede is yf man not folwe it in wirkyng.
Do no thyng redeles, do by counceilyng
Of hedes wise, and than no repentaunce
Ther folwe you shalle in your governaunce.

Comendable is counseille taken of the wise,
And not of fooles, for they may not love
But suche thyng as hem likethe in alle wise.
Your counceilour chesethe our Lorde God above,
Chesethe eke gode men, and awey shove
The wikkede, whos counceile is deceyvable ;
Thus biddethe holy writte, it is no fable.

Chesethe men eke of olde experience,
Her witte and intellect is glorious ;
Of her counceile holsom is the sentence.
The olde mannes rede is fructuous ;
Be ware of yong counceile, it is perilous,
Roboame fonde it so, whan he forsoke
Olde counceile, and to yong hym toke.

The entent wote I wele of the yong man
As lovyng is and trewe as of the olde,
Thoughe that he nat so wele counceile kan.
Yong men strong ben, hardy, and bolde,
And more weldy to fight, yf they sholde ;
But aske the olde in the tyme of pees and werre
Rede and counceile, it shalle not be the werre.

He that is fresshe and lusty now this day,
By lengthe of yeres shalle no thyng be so ;
Fresshnesse and luste may not endure alway,
Whan age is come, he comaundethe ho.
But lete see, who considerethe this, who ?
Goode is that age sette in governaile,
And youthe it sue, thus it may availe.

Excellent prince, eke on the holydayes
Bethe ware that ye not your counceiles holde ;
As for the tyme putte hem in delayes ;
Thynkethe wele this, ye wel apaide be nolde
Yf your sogettes not by your hest tolde,
Right so our Lorde God, kyng and comaundour
Of kynges alle, is wrothe withe that errour.

In the longe yere ben werkdayes ynowe,
If they be wele spent, for to entende
To counceiles ; to God your hert bowe,
If ye desire men her hertes bende
To you; what kyng not dredethe God offende,
Ne not rekkethe do hym disobeisance,
He shalle be disobeyede eke perchaunce.

The first fynder of our faire langage
Hathe seide in cas semblable, and other mo,
So hyely wele, that it is my dotage
For to expresse or touche ony of tho.
Allas! my father fro the worlde is go,
My worthy maister Chaucers, hym I mene;
Be thou advocate for hym, heven quene.

As thou wele knowest, blissede virgyne,
Withe lovyng hert and hye devocioun
In thyne honour he wrote fulle many a stile ;
O now thyne helpe and thy promocion,
To God thy sone make a mocioun
How he thy servaunt was, maide Marie,
And lete his soule floure and fructifie.

Althoughe his lyfe queynte be, the resemblaunce
Of hym hathe in me so fresshe livelynesse,
That to putte other men in remembraunce
Of his persone I have here the liknesse
Do make to this ende in sothefastnesse,
That they that have of hym lost thought and mynde,
By this peynture may ageyn hym fynde.

The ymages that in the chirches ben
Maken folk thynke on God and on his seyntes,
Whan they the ymages beholden and seen,
Wher as unsight of hem causethe restreintes
Of thoughtes goode; whan a thyng depeynt is
Or entailede, yf men taken of it hede,
Thought of the liknesse it wole in hem brede.

Yit some holden oppynyoun and sey
That none ymages shulde ymakede be.
They erren foule, and gone out of the wey
Of trouthe; han they skant sensibilitee.
Passe over now, that blissede trinité
Upone my maisters soule mercy have,
For hym, lady, eke thy mercy I crave.

More other thyng wolde I fayne speke and touche
Here in this booke, but suche is my dulnesse,
For that alle voide and empty is my pouche,
That alle my luste is queynt withe hevynesse.
An hevy spirite commaundethe stilnesse,
And have I spoke of peis, I shalle be stille ;
God sende us pees, yf it be his wille!

Touche I wole here of pees a word or two,
As the scriptures maken mensioun ;
And than my booke is endede alle and do.
To Criste ordeynethe he a mansioun,
Whiche in his hertes habitacioun
Embracethe pees; where pees is, Criste is there,
For Criste not luste abide elleswhere.

Amonge cristen folk, wrecche is he none
That pacyently suffrethe a duresse ;
But sikirly a wrecche is he one
That makethe strife, and hym suethe gladnesse,
Whiche that of pees counceilethe the swetnesse.
Our pees also-and concorde brothirly
Is sacrifice to God Almyghty.

Thynges that leden men to pees ben thre:
Confourmyng to God in our self humblesse,
And withe our neighbours tranquillitee.
First sey I that we mote our willes dresse,
And hem confourmen alle more and lesse
To Goddes wille; alle thyng is in his myght,
Save onely that he may do none unright.

Even as a man is ever in werre and strife
That bisiethe hym withstande a man whiche he
Not may ; right so hath he pesible lyfe
Contynuelly whos willes fully be
To Goddes wille confourmyng ; O pardee,
Agein God helpethe there no resistence,
So stronge and myghty is his residence.

Humylitee to pees eke may men lede ;
Men sey two grete may eville in o sak;
But symple humblesse is of suche godlyhede,
That she of troubly hate hathe no smak ;
She stryvethe not, of discorde hathe she lak,
She voide and empty is of crueltee.
Humble spirite desirethe unitee.

The thirde is eke tranquilitee of thought,
That gidethe man to pees; for as a wight
May in a bedde of thornes rest nought,
Right so he that is withe grevous thoughtes twight
May with hym self nor othir folk aright
Have no pees; a man mote nedes smert,
Whan irous thoughtes occupiethe his hert.

And even as upone a pilwe softe
Man may hym rest wele, and take his ese,
Right so that lorde that sitte in heven alofte,
Hert pesible kan so like and plese,
That he wole entre therin, and it sese,
And occupie it as juste possessour ;
In place of pees restethe our Savyour.

But alle another pees ther is also,
Whiche is nought worthe, it is envenymous,
For it is unto verray pees a foo,
Whan men in a purpose malicious
Accorden, that pees is to God grevous ;
Suche pees was betwixte Herodes and Pilate,
And in suche cas pees is wers than debate.

A feyned pees eke is to pees verray
Foo, and suche was the pees of Judas,
Kissyng Crist ; Lorde, whether that this day
Any suche pees used is as that was ?
Ye, so I drede me, by seint Thomas ;
The cosse of Judas is now wide spradde ;
Tokens of pees ben, but smalle love is hadde.

Men counterfeten in wordes Tullius,
And folwe in werk Judas, or Guenyloun.
Many an hony worde and many a cus
Ther is, but waite on the conclusioun,
And preve galle, alle turnethe up-so-doune ;
There levethe nought of pees but countenaunce, e
For alle the peyntede chere and daliaunce,

There is also a pees inordinate,
Whan the gretter obeye to the lesse ;
As thus, whan to his soget a prelate
Obeyethe, and whan resoun the blyndnesse
Suethe of sensualitees madnesse,
Obeying it, alle soche pees is haynous,
For it is to God pees contrarious.

Right suche a pees Adam hade withe Eve,
Whan that he unto hir desire obeide ;
He was percas adredde for to greve,
Wherfore he did as that she hym seide.
In that obedience he foleide,
For God hir hym toke hym to obey ;
But I adredde am, that I thus ferre sey.

Yf that this come unto audience
Of wommen, I sure am I shalle be shent,
For that I touche of suche obedience,
Many a browe shalle on me be bent.
They wolden waite to be equipolent,
And somwhat more, unto her husbondes ;
And some men seyne suche usage in this londe is,

And yit no wonder is, as seemethe me,
Whan I me bethought have alle aboute,
Thoughe that wommen desiren sovereyntee,
And her husbondes make to hem loute ;
They made were of a rybbe, it is no doute,
Whiche more stronge is and substancialle
Than slyme of erthe, and clenner therwithealle.

Wherfore it seemethe that the worthynesse
Of wommen passethe mennes certeyn ;
And yit som nyce men of lewdenesse
In repreef of hem holden there ageyne,
For croked was the rybbe, and speke and seyne
That alle croked is her curtesye ;
But agein that strongly wole I replye.

For in the writyng and in the scripture
Of philosofres men may see and rede,
Cerclelyk shappe is most perfite figure,
Betokenyng in gemetrie onehede ;
And crokednesse a part is that may lede
Somwhat unto a sercle or a compas ;
What so men seyne, wommen stonde in goode cas.

For therby shewethe it, that crokidnesse
Strecchethe unto the gretter perfeccioun,
Than dothe a thyng that is of evennesse ;
Of this helpethe no contradiccioun,
For it sothe is, it is no ficcioun,
Every perfite body that man kan neven,
Is rounde and crokede, and not streight ne even.

Begynne first at heven, and rounde it is;
The sonne and mone and sterres also ;
Hede of man, yen, mouthe, and hert ywis,
Ben alle rounde, and other ben there mo
Than I expresse as now, but, or I go,
Yit shalle I bette wommans part sustene ;
So biddethe pees, and that to folwe I mene.

Now for to speke or touche of that place
In whiche that man and womman fourmed were :
Almyghty God to womman shope suche grace,
That she was fourmed in the worthiere,
In paradys men wote wele he made hir ;
But man ymade was out of paradys,
In place of lesse worthynesse and pris.

And of the maner of formacioun
Of bothe two, herkenethe now wele, I prey ;
The token or the significacioun
Of makyng of Adam may by no wey
Strecche to so parfite-a good, as I sey,
As did the formacioun of Eve;
And that as swithe here I shalle yt preve.

For more have I for her partie yit.
Makyng of Eve tokenede the makyng
Of holy chirche, and sacramentes of it ;
As of the side of Adam hym slepyng
Eve was made, so our Lorde Crist dying
Upon the crosse, holy chirche of his side
And the sacramentes made were in that tide.

Fro tyme eke Crist was twelve yere of age
Unto thritty, he withe his moder ay
Was servyng hir, with plesaunt corage ;
To teche humylitee, he toke the way
Fro heven hider, and mekenesse verray
Taught he the most partie of his life,
While he was withe his moder and his wyfe.

For she was bothe two, and sithen she hadde
So longe of hir husbonde the maistrie,
Wommen I trowe ben not now so madde
That style to forgo; nay suche folye
What man that kan in a womman espye,
Is worthy to be shrynede, but God save hem alle,
And graunte her hye corage not to palle.

Holy writte seithe, yf womman sovereyntee
Of her husbondes have, how that they
Unto her husbondes contrarious be ;
The tixt is suche, I wote wele, but what they,
That tixte I understonde thus alwey,
Whan that husbondes hem mystake and erre.
Ageyn that vice wives maken werre.

Thoughe a womman hir husbonde contrarie
In his oppynyoun erroneous,
Shalle men for that deeme hir his adversarie ?
Strawe ! be he never so outrageous,
Yf he and she shalle dwelle in one hous,
Goode is he suffre, therby pees may spryng ;
Husbondes pees is pesible suffryng.

By concorde, smale thynges multiplien ;
And by discorde, hate, ire, and rancour,
Perisshen thynges grete, and waste, and dyen.
Pees hathe the fruyte, ese in his favour ;
To gete pees holsom is the labour,
And kepe it wele, whan that a man hathe it caught,
That ire ne discorde banysshe it nought.

How plesaunt to God is of pees the myrthe,
What delyte eke in pees and unyoune,
The prince of pees hathe shewede in his birthe,
By aungels delytable songe and soune ;
Also after his resurreccioune,
He pees bade, and whan he to heven sty,
He lefte pees in erthe truly.

That yift of pees, that precious jewelle,
Yf men it kepe, and do it not away,
Sones of Crist they may be clept fulle welle.
But stryfe, that moche is to the fendes pay,
Amonge us fervent is, so welaway !
We cristen folk, what within and withoute,
Have so grete stryfe, that ther may no pees route.

The ryot that hathe ben withyn this lande
Amonge our self fulle many wyntres space,
Hathe to the swerde putte many a thousande.
The gredy hert, that wolde alle enbrace,
Withe irous wille, and crabbed pale face,
And swepir fendly and stroke vengeable,
Hathe many a womman made clothede in sable.

This is no doute, that ambicioun
And covetise firethe alle this debate ;
Tho two ben of wikked condicioun,
No wight holt hym content of his estate.
Every man willethe to ben exaltate,
Thoughe he be grete, yit hier wolde he go;
And thise ben causes of our stryfe and wo.

Werre withein our self is most harmefulle,
And perilous, and moste is ageyn kynde.
Therwithe this londe hath wrestlede many a pulle,
The smert is suche it may not out of mynde;
For it hathe cast our welthe fer behynde,
And ferther wole, but the werres stynte ;
No goode may come of werres wrathfulle dynte.

Whiles that Romayns were in hert alle one,
And undevided alle hole stode, they were
Lordes of alle the worlde, for was ther none
Outwarde, as who seithe, myght hem greve or dere;
But alle save welthe may men suffre and bere.
Withein him self spronge suche divisioun,
That it hem brought to confusion.

What causede her inwarde werre and murmur
But avarice ? she refte hem her wele.
Whiles they hade in cheertee and favour
Profite comon, they hade by the stele
Prosperitee, but it awey gan stele
Whan they hem drowe to profite syngulere,
And of profite comon not weren chere.

Beholde how avarice crepethe in,
And kyndlethe werre, and quenchethe unytee.
O favelle, thou myght be of hir kyn,
For suche a breke-pees as is she,
Right suche another may I name the;
Thou rekkest not ne dredest not to wende
For mukke to helle into the ferrest ende.

This favelle is of pees a distourbour,
Bitwene God and mannes soule he werre reisethe ;
This worlde is blent by this dissymylour ;
Vertu he blamethe, and vices he preisethe ;
Sore in the bowe of trecherie he teisethe ;
His shot is gay, but his eye venymede ;
His fikel art may not aright be rymede.

Vertuous trouthe, hide thou thyne hede,
Thou maist as wele, thyne arte may not availe ;
Out of this worldes grace art thou as dede.
But favelle, traytour, thy fals governaile
Makethe fulle many shippes to saile
Into thy coffre, warme is thyne office ;
That trouthe lesethe wynne kan thy vice.

Allas! so many a worthy clerk famous
In Oxenforde, and in Cambrigge also,
Stonde unavauncede, where as the vicious
Favelle hathe chirches and prebendes mo
Than God is plesede withe ; allas ! of tho
That wernen vertu so to be promotede ;
And they helples in whom vertu is rootede.

The knyght or squier on that other side,
Or the man that hathe in pees or in werres
Dispent with his lorde his bloode, but he hide
The trouthe and cory favelle, he not the ner is
His lordes grace, and untrouthe fulle ferre is
From hym, that worthy corage hathe honourede ;
Grace of his lorde by favelle is devourede.

Now to my mater of werre inwarde
Resorte I; but to seeke stories olde
No nede is, syn this day sharpe werre and harde
Is at the dore here, as men may beholde.
Fraunce, no wonder is thoughe thyne hert colde,
And brenne also, sithen suche is thyne agonye,
Thy self manacethe thy self for to dye.

Thy self destroye, and feble is thy victorie ;
Thou hast in thy self stryven ofte or now,
And hast apesede alle, have in memorie
Thurghe thy prudence wost thou not wele how
Slaughtre is defendede, and not rekkest thow
To rebelle agein God, that it forbedethe ;
For the myne hevy gost besily dredethe.

What eny part offendede hathe to other,
Redresse it faire and charitably,
By lawe of God, ye ben other brother.
O now adayes is none enemy
Like one that is to other of bloode ny ;
Beware, correcte it, lest men of you sey,
Loo! whilom this was Fraunce of hye nobley.

I am an Englisshe man, and am thy foo,
For thou a foo art to my lygeaunce ;
And yit myne hert stuffed is withe wo,
To see thyne unkyndely disseveraunce ;
Accordethe you, gurdethe you withe suffraunce ;
Ye greven God, and your self harme and shame,
And your foes therof han disporte and game.

Allas ! also the grete dissencioun,
The pitous harme, the hatefulle discorde,
That hathe endurede bitwene this regioun
And other landes cristen ! he that lorde
Of remes alle is, the actour of concorde
And pees, therwithe sore is meved, but we
Not dreden for to offende his majestee.

Of France and Engelonde o cristen princes,
Sithen that your stile of worthynesse is ronge
Thurgheout the worlde in alle the provynces,
If that of you myght be radde or songe
That ye were one in hert, there is no tonge
That myght expresse how profitable and goode
Unto the peple it were of cristen bloode.

Yeve hem ensample, ye ben her myrrours,
They folwe you, what sorwe lamentable
Is caused of your werres sharp shours
There wote no wight, it is irreparable.
O noble cristen princes honorable,
For hym that suffrede for you passioun,
Of cristen bloode have compassioun.

Allas! what peple hathe your werre slayne!
What cornes wastede, and doune trode and shent !
How many a wyfe and maide hathe be forlayne,
Castels doune bete, and tymbred houses brent
And drawen doune, and alle totore and rent!
The harme ne may not rekened be ne tolde ;
This werre wexethe alle to hore and olde.

To wynne worldeley tresour and richesse ;
Is of your stryfe your longe contynuance ;
Wherby it seemethe ye have scantenesse
Of goode, or ye kun have no suffisance
Of plentee; and yf there be abundance
In your coffres, and in your hertes nede,
Of lordes conceyte may it not procede.

Whan Alisaundre dede was, and in his grave,
And his toumbe of golde wrought fulle richely,
As kynges dignytee wole axe or crave,
Divers philosofres drowe hem ny
Therto, and as one of hem stode therby,
He seide thus, amonge the folkes alle,
Seethe suche a chaunce now newe is falle.

This Alisaundre made yisterday
Of golde his tresour, but golde makethe now
Tresour of hym, as ye beholde may.
Another philosofre seide eke how
Alle this worlde yisterday was not ynow
To stoppen Alisaundres covetise,
And now thre elles of clothe hym do suffise.

O worthy prynces, to that now take hede,
As hardy dethe is you to assaile
As he did Alisaundre, whom in drede
Hade alle this worlde; what myght his force availe
Ageyn the dethe? No thyng, saunz faile.
For thoughe that he swerde were of chyvalrie,
Dethe threwe hym to grounde, and lete hym lie.

Witheout grete labour, or withoute grete peyne,
Men wynne goode, and to the worlde leve it shalle ;
Unto the pytte gothe not but the careyne,
And thoughe golde were grave therwithe alle,
Nought myght it helpe; bethe not goldes thralle,
Sufficithe to your goode, ye prynces bothe,
Withe pees and rest arme you and clothe.

Whan ye have stryven and foughten alle your fille,
Pees folwe mote; but goode were it or than
That pees were hade; what luste have ye to spille
The bloode that Crist withe his bloode bought, whan
He on the crosse starfe? O lady seint Anne,
Thy doughter pray to beseche hir sone
To stynte of werres the dampnable wone.

The booke of revelacions of Bride
Expressethe how Crist thus seide hir unto,
I am pees verray, there I wole abide
Where as pees is, none other wole I do.
Of Fraunce and Engelonde the kynges two,
If they wole have pees, pees perpetuelle
They shulle have; thus hir booke seithe wote I welle.

But verray pees may be hade by no way,
But yf trouthe and justice loved be;
And for that o kyng hathe right, ther may
By matrymonye pees and unitee
Ben hade, Cristes plesaunce is suche ; thus he
That right heir is may the reame rejoise,
Cecyng alle strife, debate, werre, and noise.

Now sithen the wey is open, as ye see.
How pees to gete in vertuous manere,
For love of hym that dide upone the tree,
And of Marie, his blissfulle moder dere,
Folwethe that wey, and your strife ley on bere ;
Purchacethe pees by wey of mariage,
And ye therynne shulle fynde avauntage.

Now, pees, approche, and drive out werre and strife ;
Frenship appere, and bannysshe thou hate ;
Tranquillitee, thou reve ire hir lyfe,
That fervent is and leef to debate ;
Ye thre vertues, now lete see abate
The malice of the foule vices thre,
That verray foes ben to alle cristentee.

O cristen princes, for the love and awe
Of hym that is kyng of kynges alle,
Softethe your hertes, and to pees you drawe ;
Considerethe what goode may therof falle.
The hony takethe, and levethe the galle ;
The steerne jugge in his juggement
May do but right for his punysshement.

What disobeisance and rebellioun,
What wille unbuxome, what unkyndenesse,
May he preeve in you that distruccioun
Done of men, his hondwerk sothely, I gesse,
It mote nede stire his rightwisnesse
Agein you, styntethe at his reverence,
Suethe his grace and his benevolence.

From hensforthe lete ther betwixt you be
So vertuous a lyfe, for Cristes sake,
That ye of love and pees and charitee
May be; lete your pitee now awake,
That hathe slept, and pees bitwene you make,
And on the foes of Crist your redemptour
Werrethe, there kithethe your vigour.

Upone the myscreauntes to make werre, :
And hem to the feithe of Crist to bryng,
Goode werre therynne, may he no thyng erre,
That were a meritorie werreying ;
That is the wey to the conqueryng
Of heven blisse, that is endeles,
To whiche you bryng the actour of pees. Amen.

O litelle booke, who yafe the hardynesse
Thy wordes to pronounce in the presence
Of kynges impe and princes worthynesse,
Syn thou alle naked art of eloquence ?
And why approchest thou his excellence
Unclothede, save thy kirtelle bare allone ?
I am right sure his humble pacience
The yevethe hardynesse so to done.

But o thyng wote I wele, go where thou go,
I am so privé to thy sentence,
Thou hast and art and wolt ben evermo
To his hyenesse of suche benevolence,
Thoughe thou not do to hym due reverence
In wordes, thy cheerté not is the lesse ;
And yf lust be, to his magnificence
Do by thy rede, his welthe it shalle witnesse.

Beseche hym of his gracious noblesse
The holde excusede of thyne innocence
Of endityng ; and withe hertes mekenesse,
If ony thyng the passe of necligence,
Beseche hym of mercy and indulgence,
And that, for thy gode hert, he be not fo
To the that alle seest of loves fervence,
That knowethe he that no thyng is hidde fro.