In my riht hond my Penne I holde, 300 And in my left the swerd I kepe, And in my barm ther lith to wepe Thi child and myn, which sobbeth faste. Now am I come unto my laste: Fare wel, for I schal sone deie, And thenk how I thi love abeie." The pomel of the swerd to grounde Sche sette, and with the point a wounde Thurghout hire herte anon sche made, And forth with that al pale and fade 310 Sche fell doun ded fro ther sche stod. The child lay bathende in hire blod Out rolled fro the moder barm, And for the blod was hot and warm, He basketh him aboute thrinne. Ther was no bote forto winne, For he, which can no pite knowe, The king cam in the same throwe, And sih how that his dowhter dieth And how this Babe al blody crieth; 320 Bot al that mihte him noght suffise, That he ne bad to do juise Upon the child, and bere him oute, And seche in the Forest aboute Som wilde place, what it were, To caste him out of honde there, So that som best him mai devoure, Where as noman him schal socoure. Al that he bad was don in dede: Ha, who herde evere singe or rede 330 Of such a thing as that was do? Bot he which ladde his wraththe so Hath knowe of love bot a lite; Bot for al that he was to wyte, Thurgh his sodein Malencolie To do so gret a felonie. Forthi, my Sone, how so it stonde, Be this cas thou miht understonde That if thou evere in cause of love Schalt deme, and thou be so above 340 That thou miht lede it at thi wille, Let nevere thurgh thi Wraththe spille Which every kinde scholde save. For it sit every man to have Reward to love and to his miht, Ayein whos strengthe mai no wiht: And siththe an herte is so constreigned, The reddour oghte be restreigned To him that mai no bet aweie, Whan he mot to nature obeie. 350 For it is seid thus overal, That nedes mot that nede schal Of that a lif doth after kinde, Wherof he mai no bote finde. What nature hath set in hir lawe Ther mai no mannes miht withdrawe, And who that worcheth therayein, Fulofte time it hath be sein, Ther hath befalle gret vengance, Wherof I finde a remembrance. 360 Ovide after the time tho Tolde an ensample and seide so, How that whilom Tiresias, As he walkende goth per cas, Upon an hih Montaine he sih Tuo Serpentz in his weie nyh, And thei, so as nature hem tawhte, Assembled were, and he tho cawhte A yerde which he bar on honde, And thoghte that he wolde fonde 370 To letten hem, and smot hem bothe: Wherof the goddes weren wrothe; And for he hath destourbed kinde And was so to nature unkinde, Unkindeliche he was transformed, That he which erst a man was formed Into a womman was forschape. That was to him an angri jape; Bot for that he with Angre wroghte, Hise Angres angreliche he boghte. 380 Lo thus, my Sone, Ovide hath write, Wherof thou miht be reson wite, More is a man than such a beste: So mihte it nevere ben honeste A man to wraththen him to sore Of that an other doth the lore Of kinde, in which is no malice, Bot only that it is a vice: And thogh a man be resonable, Yit after kinde he is menable 390 To love, wher he wole or non. Thenk thou, my Sone, therupon And do Malencolie aweie; For love hath evere his lust to pleie, As he which wolde no lif grieve. Mi fader, that I mai wel lieve; Al that ye tellen it is skile: Let every man love as he wile, Be so it be noght my ladi, For I schal noght be wroth therby. 400 Bot that I wraththe and fare amis, Al one upon miself it is, That I with bothe love and kinde Am so bestad, that I can finde No weie how I it mai asterte: Which stant upon myn oghne herte And toucheth to non other lif, Save only to that swete wif For whom, bot if it be amended, Mi glade daies ben despended, 410 That I miself schal noght forbere The Wraththe which that I now bere, For therof is non other leche. Now axeth forth, I yow beseche, Of Wraththe if ther oght elles is, Wherof to schryve. Sone, yis. Of Wraththe the secounde is Cheste, Which hath the wyndes of tempeste To kepe, and many a sodein blast He bloweth, wherof ben agast 420 Thei that desiren pes and reste. He is that ilke ungoodlieste Which many a lusti love hath twinned; For he berth evere his mowth unpinned, So that his lippes ben unloke And his corage is al tobroke, That every thing which he can telle, It springeth up as doth a welle, Which mai non of his stremes hyde, Bot renneth out on every syde. 430 So buillen up the foule sawes That Cheste wot of his felawes: For as a Sive kepeth Ale, Riht so can Cheste kepe a tale; Al that he wot he wol desclose, And speke er eny man oppose. As a Cite withoute wal, Wher men mai gon out overal Withouten eny resistence, So with his croked eloquence 440 He spekth al that he wot withinne: Wherof men lese mor than winne, For ofte time of his chidinge He bringth to house such tidinge, That makth werre ate beddeshed. He is the levein of the bred, Which soureth al the past aboute: Men oghte wel such on to doute, For evere his bowe is redi bent, And whom he hit I telle him schent, 450 If he mai perce him with his tunge. And ek so lowde his belle is runge, That of the noise and of the soun Men feeren hem in al the toun Welmore than thei don of thonder. For that is cause of more wonder; For with the wyndes whiche he bloweth Fulofte sythe he overthroweth The Cites and the policie, That I have herd the poeple crie, 460 And echon seide in his degre, "Ha wicke tunge, wo thee be!" For men sein that the harde bon, Althogh himselven have non, A tunge brekth it al to pieces. He hath so manye sondri spieces Of vice, that I mai noght wel Descrive hem be a thousendel: Bot whan that he to Cheste falleth, Ful many a wonder thing befalleth, 470 For he ne can nothing forbere. Now tell me, Sone, thin ansuere, If it hath evere so betidd, That thou at eny time hast chidd Toward thi love. Fader, nay: Such Cheste yit unto this day Ne made I nevere, god forbede: For er I sunge such a crede, I hadde levere to be lewed; For thanne were I al beschrewed 480 And worthi to be put abak With al the sorwe upon my bak That eny man ordeigne cowthe. Bot I spak nevere yit be mowthe That unto Cheste mihte touche, And that I durste riht wel vouche Upon hirself as for witnesse; For I wot, of hir gentilesse That sche me wolde wel excuse, That I no suche thinges use. 490 And if it scholde so betide That I algates moste chide, It myhte noght be to my love: For so yit was I nevere above, For al this wyde world to winne That I dorste eny word beginne, Be which sche mihte have ben amoeved And I of Cheste also reproeved. Bot rathere, if it mihte hir like, The beste wordes wolde I pike 500 Whiche I cowthe in myn herte chese, And serve hem forth in stede of chese, For that is helplich to defie; And so wolde I my wordes plie, That mihten Wraththe and Cheste avale With tellinge of my softe tale. Thus dar I make a foreward, That nevere unto my ladiward Yit spak I word in such a wise, Wherof that Cheste scholde arise. 510 This seie I noght, that I fulofte Ne have, whanne I spak most softe, Per cas seid more thanne ynowh; Bot so wel halt noman the plowh That he ne balketh otherwhile, Ne so wel can noman affile His tunge, that som time in rape Him mai som liht word overscape, And yit ne meneth he no Cheste. Bot that I have ayein hir heste 520 Fulofte spoke, I am beknowe; And how my will is, that ye knowe: For whan my time comth aboute, That I dar speke and seie al oute Mi longe love, of which sche wot That evere in on aliche hot Me grieveth, thanne al my desese I telle, and though it hir desplese, I speke it forth and noght ne leve: And thogh it be beside hire leve, 530 I hope and trowe natheles That I do noght ayein the pes; For thogh I telle hire al my thoght, Sche wot wel that I chyde noght. Men mai the hihe god beseche, And he wol hiere a mannes speche And be noght wroth of that he seith; So yifth it me the more feith And makth me hardi, soth to seie, That I dar wel the betre preie 540 Mi ladi, which a womman is. For thogh I telle hire that or this Of love, which me grieveth sore, Hire oghte noght be wroth the more, For I withoute noise or cri Mi pleignte make al buxomly To puten alle wraththe away. Thus dar I seie unto this day Of Cheste in ernest or in game Mi ladi schal me nothing blame. 550 Bot ofte time it hath betidd That with miselven I have chidd, That noman couthe betre chide: And that hath ben at every tide, Whanne I cam to miself al one; For thanne I made a prive mone, And every tale by and by, Which as I spak to my ladi, I thenke and peise in my balance And drawe into my remembrance; 560 And thanne, if that I finde a lak Of eny word that I mispak, Which was to moche in eny wise, Anon my wittes I despise And make a chidinge in myn herte, That eny word me scholde asterte Which as I scholde have holden inne. And so forth after I beginne And loke if ther was elles oght To speke, and I ne spak it noght: 570 And thanne, if I mai seche and finde That eny word be left behinde, Which as I scholde more have spoke, I wolde upon miself be wroke, And chyde with miselven so That al my wit is overgo. For noman mai his time lore Recovere, and thus I am therfore So overwroth in al my thoght, That I myself chide al to noght: 580 Thus for to moche or for to lite Fulofte I am miself to wyte. Bot al that mai me noght availe, With cheste thogh I me travaile: Bot Oule on Stock and Stock on Oule; The more that a man defoule, Men witen wel which hath the werse; And so to me nys worth a kerse, Bot torneth on myn oghne hed, Thogh I, til that I were ded, 590 Wolde evere chyde in such a wise Of love as I to you devise. Bot, fader, now ye have al herd In this manere how I have ferd Of Cheste and of dissencioun, Yif me youre absolucioun. Mi Sone, if that thou wistest al, What Cheste doth in special To love and to his welwillinge, Thou woldest flen his knowlechinge 600 And lerne to be debonaire. For who that most can speke faire Is most acordende unto love: Fair speche hath ofte brought above Ful many a man, as it is knowe, Which elles scholde have be riht lowe And failed mochel of his wille. Forthi hold thou thi tunge stille And let thi witt thi wille areste, So that thou falle noght in Cheste, 610 Which is the source of gret destance: And tak into thi remembrance If thou miht gete pacience, Which is the leche of alle offence, As tellen ous these olde wise: For whan noght elles mai suffise Be strengthe ne be mannes wit, Than pacience it oversit And overcomth it ate laste; Bot he mai nevere longe laste, 620 Which wol noght bowe er that he breke. Tak hiede, Sone, of that I speke. Mi fader, of your goodli speche And of the witt which ye me teche I thonke you with al myn herte: For that world schal me nevere asterte, That I ne schal your wordes holde, Of Pacience as ye me tolde, Als ferforth as myn herte thenketh; And of my wraththe it me forthenketh. 630 Bot, fader, if ye forth withal Som good ensample in special Me wolden telle of som Cronique, It scholde wel myn herte like Of pacience forto hiere, So that I mihte in mi matiere The more unto my love obeie And puten mi desese aweie. Mi Sone, a man to beie him pes Behoveth soffre as Socrates 640 Ensample lefte, which is write: And for thou schalt the sothe wite, Of this ensample what I mene, Althogh it be now litel sene Among the men thilke evidence, Yit he was upon pacience So sett, that he himself assaie In thing which mihte him most mispaie Desireth, and a wickid wif He weddeth, which in sorwe and strif 650 Ayein his ese was contraire. Bot he spak evere softe and faire, Til it befell, as it is told, In wynter, whan the dai is cold, This wif was fro the welle come, Wher that a pot with water nome Sche hath, and broghte it into house, And sih how that hire seli spouse Was sett and loked on a bok Nyh to the fyr, as he which tok 660 His ese for a man of age. And sche began the wode rage, And axeth him what devel he thoghte, And bar on hond that him ne roghte What labour that sche toke on honde, And seith that such an Housebonde Was to a wif noght worth a Stre. He seide nowther nay ne ye, Bot hield him stille and let hire chyde; And sche, which mai hirself noght hyde, 670 Began withinne forto swelle, And that sche broghte in fro the welle, The waterpot sche hente alofte And bad him speke, and he al softe Sat stille and noght a word ansuerde; And sche was wroth that he so ferde, And axeth him if he be ded; And al the water on his hed Sche pourede oute and bad awake. Bot he, which wolde noght forsake 680 His Pacience, thanne spak, And seide how that he fond no lak In nothing which sche hadde do: For it was wynter time tho, And wynter, as be weie of kinde Which stormy is, as men it finde, Ferst makth the wyndes forto blowe, And after that withinne a throwe He reyneth and the watergates Undoth; "and thus my wif algates, 690 Which is with reson wel besein, Hath mad me bothe wynd and rein After the Sesoun of the yer." And thanne he sette him nerr the fer, And as he mihte hise clothes dreide, That he nomore o word ne seide; Wherof he gat him somdel reste, For that him thoghte was the beste. I not if thilke ensample yit Acordeth with a mannes wit, 700 To soffre as Socrates tho dede: And if it falle in eny stede A man to lese so his galle, Him oghte among the wommen alle In loves Court be juggement The name bere of Pacient, To yive ensample to the goode Of pacience how that it stode, That othre men it mihte knowe. And, Sone, if thou at eny throwe 710 Be tempted ayein Pacience, Tak hiede upon this evidence; It schal per cas the lasse grieve. Mi fader, so as I believe, Of that schal be no maner nede, For I wol take so good hiede, That er I falle in such assai, I thenke eschuie it, if I mai. Bot if ther be oght elles more Wherof I mihte take lore, 720 I preie you, so as I dar, Now telleth, that I mai be war, Som other tale in this matiere. Sone, it is evere good to lere, Wherof thou miht thi word restreigne, Er that thou falle in eny peine. For who that can no conseil hyde, He mai noght faile of wo beside, Which schal befalle er he it wite, As I finde in the bokes write. 730 Yit cam ther nevere good of strif, To seche in all a mannes lif: Thogh it beginne on pure game, Fulofte it torneth into grame And doth grevance upon som side. Wherof the grete Clerk Ovide After the lawe which was tho Of Jupiter and of Juno Makth in his bokes mencioun How thei felle at dissencioun 740 In manere as it were a borde, As thei begunne forto worde Among hemself in privete: And that was upon this degree, Which of the tuo more amorous is, Or man or wif. And upon this Thei mihten noght acorde in on, And toke a jugge therupon, Which cleped is Tiresias, And bede him demen in the cas; 750 And he withoute avisement Ayein Juno yaf juggement. This goddesse upon his ansuere Was wroth and wolde noght forbere, Bot tok awey for everemo The liht fro bothe hise yhen tuo. Whan Jupiter this harm hath sein, An other bienfait therayein He yaf, and such a grace him doth, That for he wiste he seide soth, 760 A Sothseiere he was for evere: Bot yit that other were levere, Have had the lokinge of his yhe, Than of his word the prophecie; Bot how so that the sothe wente, Strif was the cause of that he hente So gret a peine bodily. Mi Sone, be thou war ther by, And hold thi tunge stille clos: For who that hath his word desclos 770 Er that he wite what he mene, He is fulofte nyh his tene And lest ful many time grace, Wher that he wolde his thonk pourchace. And over this, my Sone diere, Of othre men, if thou miht hiere In privete what thei have wroght, Hold conseil and descoevere it noght, For Cheste can no conseil hele, Or be it wo or be it wele: 780 And tak a tale into thi mynde, The which of olde ensample I finde. Phebus, which makth the daies lihte, A love he hadde, which tho hihte Cornide, whom aboven alle He pleseth: bot what schal befalle Of love ther is noman knoweth, Bot as fortune hire happes throweth. So it befell upon a chaunce, A yong kniht tok hire aqueintance 790 And hadde of hire al that he wolde: Bot a fals bridd, which sche hath holde And kept in chambre of pure yowthe, Discoevereth all that evere he cowthe. This briddes name was as tho Corvus, the which was thanne also Welmore whyt than eny Swan, And he that schrewe al that he can Of his ladi to Phebus seide; And he for wraththe his swerd outbreide, 800 With which Cornide anon he slowh. Bot after him was wo ynowh, And tok a full gret repentance, Wherof in tokne and remembrance Of hem whiche usen wicke speche, Upon this bridd he tok this wreche, That ther he was snow whyt tofore, Evere afterward colblak therfore He was transformed, as it scheweth, And many a man yit him beschreweth, 810 And clepen him into this day A Raven, be whom yit men mai Take evidence, whan he crieth, That som mishapp it signefieth. Be war therfore and sei the beste, If thou wolt be thiself in reste, Mi goode Sone, as I the rede. For in an other place I rede Of thilke Nimphe which Laar hihte: For sche the privete be nyhte, 820 How Jupiter lay be Jutorne, Hath told, god made hire overtorne: Hire tunge he kutte, and into helle For evere he sende hir forto duelle, As sche that was noght worthi hiere To ben of love a Chamberere, For sche no conseil cowthe hele. And suche adaies be now fele In loves Court, as it is seid, That lete here tunges gon unteid. 830 Mi Sone, be thou non of tho, To jangle and telle tales so, And namely that thou ne chyde, For Cheste can no conseil hide, For Wraththe seide nevere wel. Mi fader, soth is everydel That ye me teche, and I wol holde The reule to which I am holde, To fle the Cheste, as ye me bidde, For wel is him that nevere chidde. 840 Now tell me forth if ther be more As touchende unto Wraththes lore. Of Wraththe yit ther is an other, Which is to Cheste his oghne brother, And is be name cleped Hate, That soffreth noght withinne his gate That ther come owther love or pes, For he wol make no reles Of no debat which is befalle. Now spek, if thou art on of alle, 850 That with this vice hast ben withholde. As yit for oght that ye me tolde, Mi fader, I not what it is. In good feith, Sone, I trowe yis. Mi fader, nay, bot ye me lere. Now lest, my Sone, and thou schalt here. Hate is a wraththe noght schewende, Bot of long time gaderende, And duelleth in the herte loken, Til he se time to be wroken; 860 And thanne he scheweth his tempeste Mor sodein than the wilde beste, Which wot nothing what merci is. Mi Sone, art thou knowende of this? My goode fader, as I wene, Now wot I somdel what ye mene; Bot I dar saufly make an oth, Mi ladi was me nevere loth. I wol noght swere natheles That I of hate am gulteles; 870 For whanne I to my ladi plie Fro dai to dai and merci crie, And sche no merci on me leith Bot schorte wordes to me seith, Thogh I my ladi love algate, Tho wordes moste I nedes hate; And wolde thei were al despent, Or so ferr oute of londe went That I nevere after scholde hem hiere; And yit love I my ladi diere. 880 Thus is ther Hate, as ye mai se, Betwen mi ladi word and me; The word I hate and hire I love, What so me schal betide of love. Bot forthere mor I wol me schryve, That I have hated al my lyve These janglers, whiche of here Envie Ben evere redi forto lie; For with here fals compassement Fuloften thei have mad me schent 890 And hindred me fulofte time, Whan thei no cause wisten bime, Bot onliche of here oghne thoght: And thus fuloften have I boght The lie, and drank noght of the wyn. I wolde here happ were such as myn: For how so that I be now schrive, To hem ne mai I noght foryive, Til that I se hem at debat With love, and thanne myn astat 900 Thei mihten be here oghne deme, And loke how wel it scholde hem qweme To hindre a man that loveth sore. And thus I hate hem everemore, Til love on hem wol don his wreche: For that schal I alway beseche Unto the mihti Cupido, That he so mochel wolde do, So as he is of love a godd, To smyte hem with the same rodd 910 With which I am of love smite; So that thei mihten knowe and wite How hindringe is a wofull peine To him that love wolde atteigne. Thus evere on hem I wayte and hope, Til I mai sen hem lepe a lope, And halten on the same Sor Which I do now: for overmor I wolde thanne do my myht So forto stonden in here lyht, 920 That thei ne scholden finde a weie To that thei wolde, bot aweie I wolde hem putte out of the stede Fro love, riht as thei me dede With that thei speke of me be mowthe. So wolde I do, if that I cowthe, Of hem, and this, so god me save, Is al the hate that I have, Toward these janglers everydiel; I wolde alle othre ferde wel. 930 Thus have I, fader, said mi wille; Say ye now forth, for I am stille. Mi Sone, of that thou hast me said I holde me noght fulli paid: That thou wolt haten eny man, To that acorden I ne can, Thogh he have hindred thee tofore. Bot this I telle thee therfore, Thou miht upon my beneicoun Wel haten the condicioun 940 Of tho janglers, as thou me toldest, Bot furthermor, of that thou woldest Hem hindre in eny other wise, Such Hate is evere to despise. Forthi, mi Sone, I wol thee rede, That thou drawe in be frendlihede That thou ne miht noght do be hate; So miht thou gete love algate And sette thee, my Sone, in reste, For thou schalt finde it for the beste. 950 And over this, so as I dar, I rede that thou be riht war Of othre mennes hate aboute, Which every wysman scholde doute: For Hate is evere upon await, And as the fisshere on his bait Sleth, whan he seth the fisshes faste, So, whan he seth time ate laste, That he mai worche an other wo, Schal noman tornen him therfro, 960 That Hate nyle his felonie Fulfille and feigne compaignie Yit natheles, for fals Semblant Is toward him of covenant Withholde, so that under bothe The prive wraththe can him clothe, That he schal seme of gret believe. Bot war thee wel that thou ne lieve Al that thou sest tofore thin yhe, So as the Gregois whilom syhe: 970 The bok of Troie who so rede, Ther mai he finde ensample in dede. Sone after the destruccioun, Whan Troie was al bete doun And slain was Priamus the king, The Gregois, whiche of al this thing Ben cause, tornen hom ayein. Ther mai noman his happ withsein; It hath be sen and felt fulofte, The harde time after the softe: 980 Be See as thei forth homward wente, A rage of gret tempeste hem hente; Juno let bende hire parti bowe, The Sky wax derk, the wynd gan blowe, The firy welkne gan to thondre, As thogh the world scholde al to sondre; Fro hevene out of the watergates The reyni Storm fell doun algates And al here takel made unwelde, That noman mihte himself bewelde. 990 Ther mai men hiere Schipmen crie, That stode in aunter forto die: He that behinde sat to stiere Mai noght the forestempne hiere; The Schip aros ayein the wawes, The lodesman hath lost his lawes, The See bet in on every side: Thei nysten what fortune abide, Bot sette hem al in goddes wille, Wher he hem wolde save or spille. 1000 And it fell thilke time thus: Ther was a king, the which Namplus Was hote, and he a Sone hadde, At Troie which the Gregois ladde, As he that was mad Prince of alle, Til that fortune let him falle: His name was Palamades. Bot thurgh an hate natheles Of some of hem his deth was cast And he be tresoun overcast. 1010 His fader, whan he herde it telle, He swor, if evere his time felle, He wolde him venge, if that he mihte, And therto his avou behihte: And thus this king thurgh prive hate Abod upon await algate, For he was noght of such emprise To vengen him in open wise. The fame, which goth wyde where, Makth knowe how that the Gregois were 1020 Homward with al the felaschipe Fro Troie upon the See be Schipe. Namplus, whan he this understod, And knew the tydes of the flod, And sih the wynd blew to the lond, A gret deceipte anon he fond Of prive hate, as thou schalt hiere, Wherof I telle al this matiere. This king the weder gan beholde, And wiste wel thei moten holde 1030 Here cours endlong his marche riht, And made upon the derke nyht Of grete Schydes and of blockes Gret fyr ayein the grete rockes, To schewe upon the helles hihe, So that the Flete of Grece it sihe. And so it fell riht as he thoghte: This Flete, which an havene soghte, The bryghte fyres sih a ferr, And thei hem drowen nerr and nerr, 1040 And wende wel and understode How al that fyr was made for goode, To schewe wher men scholde aryve, And thiderward thei hasten blyve. In Semblant, as men sein, is guile, And that was proved thilke while; The Schip, which wende his helpe acroche, Drof al to pieces on the roche, And so ther deden ten or twelve; Ther mihte noman helpe himselve, 1050 For ther thei wenden deth ascape, Withouten help here deth was schape. Thus thei that comen ferst tofore Upon the Rockes be forlore, Bot thurgh the noise and thurgh the cri These othre were al war therby; And whan the dai began to rowe, Tho mihten thei the sothe knowe, That wher they wenden frendes finde, Thei founden frenschipe al behinde. 1060 The lond was thanne sone weyved, Wher that thei hadden be deceived, And toke hem to the hihe See; Therto thei seiden alle yee, Fro that dai forth and war thei were Of that thei hadde assaied there. Mi Sone, hierof thou miht avise How fraude stant in many wise Amonges hem that guile thenke; Ther is no Scrivein with his enke 1070 Which half the fraude wryte can That stant in such a maner man: Forthi the wise men ne demen The thinges after that thei semen, Bot after that thei knowe and finde. The Mirour scheweth in his kinde As he hadde al the world withinne, And is in soth nothing therinne; And so farth Hate for a throwe: Til he a man hath overthrowe, 1080 Schal noman knowe be his chere Which is avant, ne which arere. Forthi, mi Sone, thenke on this. Mi fader, so I wole ywiss; And if ther more of Wraththe be, Now axeth forth per charite, As ye be youre bokes knowe, And I the sothe schal beknowe. Mi Sone, thou schalt understonde That yit towardes Wraththe stonde 1090 Of dedly vices othre tuo: And forto telle here names so, It is Contek and Homicide, That ben to drede on every side. Contek, so as the bokes sein, Folhast hath to his Chamberlein, Be whos conseil al unavised Is Pacience most despised, Til Homicide with hem meete. Fro merci thei ben al unmeete, 1100 And thus ben thei the worste of alle Of hem whiche unto wraththe falle, In dede bothe and ek in thoght: For thei acompte here wraththe at noght, Bot if ther be schedinge of blod; And thus lich to a beste wod Thei knowe noght the god of lif. Be so thei have or swerd or knif Here dedly wraththe forto wreke, Of Pite list hem noght to speke; 1110 Non other reson thei ne fonge, Bot that thei ben of mihtes stronge. Bot war hem wel in other place, Where every man behoveth grace, Bot ther I trowe it schal hem faile, To whom no merci mihte availe, Bot wroghten upon tiraundie, That no pite ne mihte hem plie. Now tell, my Sone. Fader, what? If thou hast be coupable of that. 1120 Mi fader, nay, Crist me forbiede: I speke onliche as of the dede, Of which I nevere was coupable Withoute cause resonable. Bot this is noght to mi matiere Of schrifte, why we sitten hiere; For we ben sett to schryve of love, As we begunne ferst above: And natheles I am beknowe That as touchende of loves throwe, 1130 Whan I my wittes overwende, Min hertes contek hath non ende, Bot evere it stant upon debat To gret desese of myn astat As for the time that it lasteth. For whan mi fortune overcasteth Hire whiel and is to me so strange, And that I se sche wol noght change, Than caste I al the world aboute, And thenke hou I at home and oute 1140 Have al my time in vein despended, And se noght how to ben amended, Bot rathere forto be empeired, As he that is welnyh despeired: For I ne mai no thonk deserve, And evere I love and evere I serve, And evere I am aliche nerr. Thus, for I stonde in such a wer, I am, as who seith, out of herre; And thus upon miself the werre 1150 I bringe, and putte out alle pes, That I fulofte in such a res Am wery of myn oghne lif. So that of Contek and of strif I am beknowe and have ansuerd, As ye, my fader, now have herd. Min herte is wonderly begon With conseil, wherof witt is on, Which hath resoun in compaignie; Ayein the whiche stant partie 1160 Will, which hath hope of his acord, And thus thei bringen up descord. Witt and resoun conseilen ofte That I myn herte scholde softe, And that I scholde will remue And put him out of retenue, Or elles holde him under fote: For as thei sein, if that he mote His oghne rewle have upon honde, Ther schal no witt ben understonde. 1170 Of hope also thei tellen this, That overal, wher that he is, He set the herte in jeupartie With wihssinge and with fantasie, And is noght trewe of that he seith, So that in him ther is no feith: Thus with reson and wit avised Is will and hope aldai despised. Reson seith that I scholde leve To love, wher ther is no leve 1180 To spede, and will seith therayein That such an herte is to vilein, Which dar noght love and til he spede, Let hope serve at such a nede: He seith ek, where an herte sit Al hol governed upon wit, He hath this lyves lust forlore. And thus myn herte is al totore Of such a Contek as thei make: Bot yit I mai noght will forsake, 1190 That he nys Maister of my thoght, Or that I spede, or spede noght. Thou dost, my Sone, ayein the riht; Bot love is of so gret a miht, His lawe mai noman refuse, So miht thou thee the betre excuse. And natheles thou schalt be lerned That will scholde evere be governed Of reson more than of kinde, Wherof a tale write I finde. 1200 A Philosophre of which men tolde Ther was whilom be daies olde, And Diogenes thanne he hihte. So old he was that he ne mihte The world travaile, and for the beste He schop him forto take his reste, And duelte at hom in such a wise, That nyh his hous he let devise Endlong upon an Axeltre To sette a tonne in such degre, 1210 That he it mihte torne aboute; Wherof on hed was taken oute, For he therinne sitte scholde And torne himself so as he wolde, To take their and se the hevene And deme of the planetes sevene, As he which cowthe mochel what. And thus fulofte there he sat To muse in his philosophie Solein withoute compaignie: 1220 So that upon a morwetyde, As thing which scholde so betyde, Whan he was set ther as him liste To loke upon the Sonne ariste, Wherof the propretes he sih, It fell ther cam ridende nyh King Alisandre with a route; And as he caste his yhe aboute, He sih this Tonne, and what it mente He wolde wite, and thider sente 1230 A knyht, be whom he mihte it knowe, And he himself that ilke throwe Abod, and hoveth there stille. This kniht after the kinges wille With spore made his hors to gon And to the tonne he cam anon, Wher that he fond a man of Age, And he him tolde the message, Such as the king him hadde bede, And axeth why in thilke stede 1240 The Tonne stod, and what it was. And he, which understod the cas, Sat stille and spak no word ayein. The kniht bad speke and seith, "Vilein, Thou schalt me telle, er that I go; It is thi king which axeth so." "Mi king," quod he, "that were unriht." "What is he thanne?" seith the kniht, "Is he thi man?" "That seie I noght," Quod he, "bot this I am bethoght, 1250 Mi mannes man hou that he is." "Thou lyest, false cherl, ywiss," The kniht him seith, and was riht wroth, And to the king ayein he goth And tolde him how this man ansuerde. The king, whan he this tale herde, Bad that thei scholden alle abyde, For he himself wol thider ryde. And whan he cam tofore the tonne, He hath his tale thus begonne: 1260 "Alheil," he seith, "what man art thou?" Quod he, "Such on as thou sest now." The king, which hadde wordes wise, His age wolde noght despise, Bot seith, "Mi fader, I thee preie That thou me wolt the cause seie, How that I am thi mannes man." "Sire king," quod he, "and that I can, If that thou wolt." "Yis," seith the king. Quod he, "This is the sothe thing: 1270 Sith I ferst resoun understod, And knew what thing was evel and good, The will which of my bodi moeveth, Whos werkes that the god reproeveth, I have restreigned everemore, As him which stant under the lore Of reson, whos soubgit he is, So that he mai noght don amis: And thus be weie of covenant Will is my man and my servant, 1280 And evere hath ben and evere schal. And thi will is thi principal, And hath the lordschipe of thi witt, So that thou cowthest nevere yit Take o dai reste of thi labour; Bot forto ben a conquerour Of worldes good, which mai noght laste, Thou hiest evere aliche faste, Wher thou no reson hast to winne: And thus thi will is cause of Sinne, 1290 And is thi lord, to whom thou servest, Wherof thou litel thonk deservest." The king of that he thus answerde Was nothing wroth, bot whanne he herde The hihe wisdom which he seide, With goodly wordes this he preide, That he him wolde telle his name. "I am," quod he, "that ilke same, The which men Diogenes calle." Tho was the king riht glad withalle, 1300 For he hadde often herd tofore What man he was, so that therfore He seide, "O wise Diogene, Now schal thi grete witt be sene; For thou schalt of my yifte have What worldes thing that thou wolt crave." Quod he, "Thanne hove out of mi Sonne, And let it schyne into mi Tonne; For thou benymst me thilke yifte, Which lith noght in thi miht to schifte: 1310 Non other good of thee me nedeth." This king, whom every contre dredeth, Lo, thus he was enformed there: Wherof, my Sone, thou miht lere How that thi will schal noght be lieved, Where it is noght of wit relieved. And thou hast seid thiself er this How that thi will thi maister is; Thurgh which thin hertes thoght withinne Is evere of Contek to beginne, 1320 So that it is gretli to drede That it non homicide brede. For love is of a wonder kinde, And hath hise wittes ofte blinde, That thei fro mannes reson falle; Bot whan that it is so befalle That will schal the corage lede, In loves cause it is to drede: Wherof I finde ensample write, Which is behovely forto wite. 1330 I rede a tale, and telleth this: The Cite which Semiramis Enclosed hath with wall aboute, Of worthi folk with many a route Was enhabited here and there; Among the whiche tuo ther were Above alle othre noble and grete, Dwellende tho withinne a Strete So nyh togedre, as it was sene, That ther was nothing hem betwene, 1340 Bot wow to wow and wall to wall. This o lord hadde in special A Sone, a lusti Bacheler, In al the toun was non his pier: That other hadde a dowhter eke, In al the lond that forto seke Men wisten non so faire as sche. And fell so, as it scholde be, This faire dowhter nyh this Sone As thei togedre thanne wone, 1350 Cupide hath so the thinges schape, That thei ne mihte his hand ascape, That he his fyr on hem ne caste: Wherof her herte he overcaste To folwe thilke lore and suie Which nevere man yit miht eschuie; And that was love, as it is happed, Which hath here hertes so betrapped, That thei be alle weies seche How that thei mihten winne a speche, 1360 Here wofull peine forto lisse. Who loveth wel, it mai noght misse, And namely whan ther be tuo Of on acord, how so it go, Bot if that thei som weie finde; For love is evere of such a kinde And hath his folk so wel affaited, That howso that it be awaited, Ther mai noman the pourpos lette: And thus betwen hem tuo thei sette 1370 And hole upon a wall to make, Thurgh which thei have her conseil take At alle times, whan thei myhte. This faire Maiden Tisbee hihte, And he whom that sche loveth hote Was Piramus be name hote. So longe here lecoun thei recorden, Til ate laste thei acorden Be nihtes time forto wende Al one out fro the tounes ende, 1380 Wher was a welle under a Tree; And who cam ferst, or sche or he, He scholde stille there abide. So it befell the nyhtes tide This maiden, which desguised was, Al prively the softe pas Goth thurgh the large toun unknowe, Til that sche cam withinne a throwe Wher that sche liketh forto duelle, At thilke unhappi freisshe welle, 1390 Which was also the Forest nyh. Wher sche comende a Leoun syh Into the feld to take his preie, In haste and sche tho fledde aweie, So as fortune scholde falle, For feere and let hire wympel falle Nyh to the welle upon therbage. This Leoun in his wilde rage A beste, which that he fond oute, Hath slain, and with his blodi snoute, 1400 Whan he hath eten what he wolde, To drynke of thilke stremes colde Cam to the welle, where he fond The wympel, which out of hire hond Was falle, and he it hath todrawe, Bebled aboute and al forgnawe; And thanne he strawhte him forto drinke Upon the freisshe welles brinke, And after that out of the plein He torneth to the wode ayein. 1410 And Tisbee dorste noght remue, Bot as a bridd which were in Mue Withinne a buissh sche kepte hire clos So stille that sche noght aros; Unto hirself and pleigneth ay. And fell, whil that sche there lay, This Piramus cam after sone Unto the welle, and be the Mone He fond hire wimpel blodi there. Cam nevere yit to mannes Ere 1420 Tidinge, ne to mannes sihte Merveile, which so sore aflihte A mannes herte, as it tho dede To him, which in the same stede With many a wofull compleignynge Began his handes forto wringe, As he which demeth sikerly That sche be ded: and sodeinly His swerd al nakid out he breide In his folhaste, and thus he seide: 1430 "I am cause of this felonie, So it is resoun that I die, As sche is ded be cause of me." And with that word upon his kne He fell, and to the goddes alle Up to the hevene he gan to calle, And preide, sithen it was so That he may noght his love as tho Have in this world, that of her grace He miht hire have in other place, 1440 For hiere wolde he noght abide, He seith: bot as it schal betide, The Pomel of his swerd to grounde He sette, and thurgh his herte a wounde He made up to the bare hilte: And in this wise himself he spilte With his folhaste and deth he nam; For sche withinne a while cam, Wher he lai ded upon his knif. So wofull yit was nevere lif 1450 As Tisbee was, whan sche him sih: Sche mihte noght o word on hih Speke oute, for hire herte schette, That of hir lif no pris sche sette, Bot ded swounende doun sche fell. Til after, whanne it so befell That sche out of hire traunce awok, With many a wofull pitous lok Hire yhe alwei among sche caste Upon hir love, and ate laste 1460 Sche cawhte breth and seide thus: "O thou which cleped art Venus, Goddesse of love, and thou, Cupide, Which loves cause hast forto guide, I wot now wel that ye be blinde, Of thilke unhapp which I now finde Only betwen my love and me. This Piramus, which hiere I se Bledende, what hath he deserved? For he youre heste hath kept and served, 1470 And was yong and I bothe also: Helas, why do ye with ous so? Ye sette oure herte bothe afyre, And maden ous such thing desire Wherof that we no skile cowthe; Bot thus oure freisshe lusti yowthe Withoute joie is al despended, Which thing mai nevere ben amended: For as of me this wol I seie, That me is levere forto deie 1480 Than live after this sorghful day." And with this word, where as he lay, Hire love in armes sche embraseth, Hire oghne deth and so pourchaseth That now sche wepte and nou sche kiste, Til ate laste, er sche it wiste, So gret a sorwe is to hire falle, Which overgoth hire wittes alle. As sche which mihte it noght asterte, The swerdes point ayein hire herte 1490 Sche sette, and fell doun therupon, Wherof that sche was ded anon: And thus bothe on o swerd bledende Thei weren founde ded liggende. Now thou, mi Sone, hast herd this tale, Bewar that of thin oghne bale Thou be noght cause in thi folhaste, And kep that thou thi witt ne waste Upon thi thoght in aventure, Wherof thi lyves forfeture 1500 Mai falle: and if thou have so thoght Er this, tell on and hyde it noght. Mi fader, upon loves side Mi conscience I woll noght hyde, How that for love of pure wo I have ben ofte moeved so, That with my wisshes if I myhte, A thousand times, I yow plyhte, I hadde storven in a day; And therof I me schryve may, 1510 Though love fully me ne slowh, Mi will to deie was ynowh, So am I of my will coupable: And yit is sche noght merciable, Which mai me yive lif and hele. Bot that hir list noght with me dele, I wot be whos conseil it is, And him wolde I long time er this, And yit I wolde and evere schal, Slen and destruie in special. 1520 The gold of nyne kinges londes Ne scholde him save fro myn hondes, In my pouer if that he were; Bot yit him stant of me no fere For noght that evere I can manace. He is the hindrere of mi grace, Til he be ded I mai noght spede; So mot I nedes taken hiede And schape how that he were aweie, If I therto mai finde a weie. 1530 Mi Sone, tell me now forthi, Which is that mortiel enemy That thou manacest to be ded. Mi fader, it is such a qwed, That wher I come, he is tofore, And doth so, that mi cause is lore. What is his name? It is Daunger, Which is mi ladi consailer: For I was nevere yit so slyh, To come in eny place nyh 1540 Wher as sche was be nyht or day, That Danger ne was redy ay, With whom for speche ne for mede Yit mihte I nevere of love spede; For evere this I finde soth, Al that my ladi seith or doth To me, Daunger schal make an ende, And that makth al mi world miswende: And evere I axe his help, bot he Mai wel be cleped sanz pite; 1550 For ay the more I to him bowe, The lasse he wol my tale alowe. He hath mi ladi so englued, Sche wol noght that he be remued; For evere he hangeth on hire Seil, And is so prive of conseil, That evere whanne I have oght bede, I finde Danger in hire stede And myn ansuere of him I have; Bot for no merci that I crave, 1560 Of merci nevere a point I hadde. I finde his ansuere ay so badde, That werse mihte it nevere be: And thus betwen Danger and me Is evere werre til he dye. Bot mihte I ben of such maistrie, That I Danger hadde overcome, With that were al my joie come. Thus wolde I wonde for no Sinne, Ne yit for al this world to winne; 1570 If that I mihte finde a sleyhte, To leie al myn astat in weyhte, I wolde him fro the Court dissevere, So that he come ayeinward nevere. Therfore I wisshe and wolde fain That he were in som wise slain; For while he stant in thilke place, Ne gete I noght my ladi grace. Thus hate I dedly thilke vice, And wolde he stode in non office 1580 In place wher mi ladi is; For if he do, I wot wel this, That owther schal he deie or I Withinne a while; and noght forthi On my ladi fulofte I muse, How that sche mai hirself excuse, If that I deie in such a plit. Me thenkth sche mihte noght be qwyt That sche ne were an homicide: And if it scholde so betide, 1590 As god forbiede it scholde be, Be double weie it is pite. For I, which al my will and witt Have yove and served evere yit, And thanne I scholde in such a wise In rewardinge of my servise Be ded, me thenkth it were a rowthe: And furthermor, to telle trowthe, Sche, that hath evere be wel named, Were worthi thanne to be blamed 1600 And of reson to ben appeled, Whan with o word sche mihte have heled A man, and soffreth him so deie. Ha, who sawh evere such a weie? Ha, who sawh evere such destresse? Withoute pite gentilesse, Withoute mercy wommanhede, That wol so quyte a man his mede, Which evere hath be to love trewe. Mi goode fader, if ye rewe 1610 Upon mi tale, tell me now, And I wol stinte and herkne yow. Mi Sone, attempre thi corage Fro Wraththe, and let thin herte assuage: For who so wole him underfonge, He mai his grace abide longe, Er he of love be received; And ek also, bot it be weyved, Ther mihte mochel thing befalle, That scholde make a man to falle 1620 Fro love, that nevere afterward Ne durste he loke thiderward. In harde weies men gon softe, And er thei clymbe avise hem ofte: Men sen alday that rape reweth; And who so wicked Ale breweth, Fulofte he mot the werse drinke: Betre is to flete than to sincke; Betre is upon the bridel chiewe Thanne if he felle and overthrewe, 1630 The hors and stikede in the Myr: To caste water in the fyr Betre is than brenne up al the hous: The man which is malicious And folhastif, fulofte he falleth, And selden is whan love him calleth. Forthi betre is to soffre a throwe Than be to wilde and overthrowe; Suffrance hath evere be the beste To wissen him that secheth reste: 1640 And thus, if thou wolt love and spede, Mi Sone, soffre, as I the rede. What mai the Mous ayein the Cat? And for this cause I axe that, Who mai to love make a werre, That he ne hath himself the werre? Love axeth pes and evere schal, And who that fihteth most withal Schal lest conquere of his emprise: For this thei tellen that ben wise, 1650 Wicke is to stryve and have the werse; To hasten is noght worth a kerse; Thing that a man mai noght achieve, That mai noght wel be don at Eve, It mot abide til the morwe. Ne haste noght thin oghne sorwe, Mi Sone, and tak this in thi witt, He hath noght lost that wel abitt. Ensample that it falleth thus, Thou miht wel take of Piramus, 1660 Whan he in haste his swerd outdrowh And on the point himselve slowh For love of Tisbee pitously, For he hire wympel fond blody And wende a beste hire hadde slain; Wher as him oghte have be riht fain, For sche was there al sauf beside: Bot for he wolde noght abide, This meschief fell. Forthi be war, Mi Sone, as I the warne dar, 1670 Do thou nothing in such a res, For suffrance is the welle of Pes. Thogh thou to loves Court poursuie, Yit sit it wel that thou eschuie That thou the Court noght overhaste, For so miht thou thi time waste; Bot if thin happ therto be schape, It mai noght helpe forto rape. Therfore attempre thi corage; Folhaste doth non avantage, 1680 Bot ofte it set a man behinde In cause of love, and that I finde Be olde ensample, as thou schalt hiere, Touchende of love in this matiere. A Maiden whilom ther was on, Which Daphne hihte, and such was non Of beaute thanne, as it was seid. Phebus his love hath on hire leid, And therupon to hire he soghte In his folhaste, and so besoghte, 1690 That sche with him no reste hadde; For evere upon hire love he gradde, And sche seide evere unto him nay. So it befell upon a dai, Cupide, which hath every chance Of love under his governance, Syh Phebus hasten him so sore: And for he scholde him haste more, And yit noght speden ate laste, A dart thurghout his herte he caste, 1700 Which was of gold and al afyre, That made him manyfold desire Of love more thanne he dede. To Daphne ek in the same stede A dart of Led he caste and smot, Which was al cold and nothing hot. And thus Phebus in love brenneth, And in his haste aboute renneth, To loke if that he mihte winne; Bot he was evere to beginne, 1710 For evere awei fro him sche fledde, So that he nevere his love spedde. And forto make him full believe That no Folhaste mihte achieve To gete love in such degree, This Daphne into a lorer tre Was torned, which is evere grene, In tokne, as yit it mai be sene, That sche schal duelle a maiden stille, And Phebus failen of his wille. 1720 Be suche ensamples, as thei stonde, Mi Sone, thou miht understonde, To hasten love is thing in vein, Whan that fortune is therayein. To take where a man hath leve Good is, and elles he mot leve; For whan a mannes happes failen, Ther is non haste mai availen. Mi fader, grant merci of this: Bot while I se mi ladi is 1730 No tre, but halt hire oghne forme, Ther mai me noman so enforme, To whether part fortune wende, That I unto mi lyves ende Ne wol hire serven everemo. Mi Sone, sithen it is so, I seie nomor; bot in this cas Bewar how it with Phebus was. Noght only upon loves chance, Bot upon every governance 1740 Which falleth unto mannes dede, Folhaste is evere forto drede, And that a man good consail take, Er he his pourpos undertake, For consail put Folhaste aweie. Now goode fader, I you preie, That forto wisse me the more, Som good ensample upon this lore Ye wolden telle of that is write, That I the betre mihte wite 1750 How I Folhaste scholde eschuie, And the wisdom of conseil suie. Mi Sone, that thou miht enforme Thi pacience upon the forme Of old essamples, as thei felle, Now understond what I schal telle. Whan noble Troie was belein And overcome, and hom ayein The Gregois torned fro the siege, The kinges founde here oghne liege 1760 In manye places, as men seide, That hem forsoke and desobeide. Among the whiche fell this cas To Demephon and Athemas, That weren kinges bothe tuo, And bothe weren served so: Here lieges wolde hem noght receive, So that thei mote algates weyve To seche lond in other place, For there founde thei no grace. 1770 Wherof they token hem to rede, And soghten frendes ate nede, And ech of hem asseureth other To helpe as to his oghne brother, To vengen hem of thilke oultrage And winne ayein here heritage. And thus thei ryde aboute faste To gete hem help, and ate laste Thei hadden pouer sufficant, And maden thanne a covenant, 1780 That thei ne scholden no lif save, Ne prest, ne clerc, ne lord, ne knave, Ne wif, ne child, of that thei finde, Which berth visage of mannes kinde, So that no lif schal be socoured, Bot with the dedly swerd devoured: In such Folhaste here ordinance Thei schapen forto do vengance. Whan this pourpos was wist and knowe Among here host, tho was ther blowe 1790 Of wordes many a speche aboute: Of yonge men the lusti route Were of this tale glad ynowh, Ther was no care for the plowh; As thei that weren Folhastif, Thei ben acorded to the strif, And sein it mai noght be to gret To vengen hem of such forfet: Thus seith the wilde unwise tonge Of hem that there weren yonge. 1800 Bot Nestor, which was old and hor, The salve sih tofore the sor, As he that was of conseil wys: So that anon be his avis Ther was a prive conseil nome. The lordes ben togedre come; This Demephon and Athemas Here pourpos tolden, as it was; Thei sieten alle stille and herde, Was non bot Nestor hem ansuerde. 1810 He bad hem, if thei wolde winne, They scholden se, er thei beginne, Here ende, and sette here ferste entente, That thei hem after ne repente: And axeth hem this questioun, To what final conclusioun Thei wolde regne Kinges there, If that no poeple in londe were; And seith, it were a wonder wierde To sen a king become an hierde, 1820 Wher no lif is bot only beste Under the liegance of his heste; For who that is of man no king, The remenant is as no thing. He seith ek, if the pourpos holde To sle the poeple, as thei tuo wolde, Whan thei it mihte noght restore, Al Grece it scholde abegge sore, To se the wilde beste wone Wher whilom duelte a mannes Sone: 1830 And for that cause he bad hem trete, And stinte of the manaces grete. Betre is to winne be fair speche, He seith, than such vengance seche; For whanne a man is most above, Him nedeth most to gete him love. Whan Nestor hath his tale seid, Ayein him was no word withseid; It thoghte hem alle he seide wel: And thus fortune hire dedly whiel 1840 Fro werre torneth into pes. Bot forth thei wenten natheles; And whan the Contres herde sein How that here kinges be besein Of such a pouer as thei ladde, Was non so bold that hem ne dradde, And forto seche pes and grith Thei sende and preide anon forthwith, So that the kinges ben appesed, And every mannes herte is esed; 1850 Al was foryete and noght recorded. And thus thei ben togedre acorded; The kinges were ayein received, And pes was take and wraththe weived, And al thurgh conseil which was good Of him that reson understod. Be this ensample, Sone, attempre Thin herte and let no will distempre Thi wit, and do nothing be myht Which mai be do be love and riht. 1860 Folhaste is cause of mochel wo; Forthi, mi Sone, do noght so. And as touchende of Homicide Which toucheth unto loves side, Fulofte it falleth unavised Thurgh will, which is noght wel assised, Whan wit and reson ben aweie And that Folhaste is in the weie, Wherof hath falle gret vengance. Forthi tak into remembrance 1870 To love in such a maner wise That thou deserve no juise: For wel I wot, thou miht noght lette, That thou ne schalt thin herte sette To love, wher thou wolt or non; Bot if thi wit be overgon, So that it torne into malice, Ther wot noman of thilke vice, What peril that ther mai befalle: Wherof a tale amonges alle, 1880 Which is gret pite forto hiere, I thenke forto tellen hiere, That thou such moerdre miht withstonde, Whan thou the tale hast understonde. Of Troie at thilke noble toun, Whos fame stant yit of renoun And evere schal to mannes Ere, The Siege laste longe there, Er that the Greks it mihten winne, Whil Priamus was king therinne; 1890 Bot of the Greks that lyhe aboute Agamenon ladde al the route. This thing is knowen overal, Bot yit I thenke in special To my matiere therupon Telle in what wise Agamenon, Thurgh chance which mai noght be weived, Of love untrewe was deceived. An old sawe is, "Who that is slyh In place where he mai be nyh, 1900 He makth the ferre Lieve loth": Of love and thus fulofte it goth. Ther while Agamenon batailleth To winne Troie, and it assailleth, Fro home and was long time ferr, Egistus drowh his qweene nerr, And with the leiser which he hadde This ladi at his wille he ladde: Climestre was hire rihte name, Sche was therof gretli to blame, 1910 To love there it mai noght laste. Bot fell to meschief ate laste; For whan this noble worthi kniht Fro Troie cam, the ferste nyht That he at home abedde lay, Egistus, longe er it was day, As this Climestre him hadde asent, And weren bothe of on assent, Be treson slowh him in his bedd. Bot moerdre, which mai noght ben hedd, 1920 Sprong out to every mannes Ere, Wherof the lond was full of fere. Agamenon hath be this qweene A Sone, and that was after sene; Bot yit as thanne he was of yowthe, A babe, which no reson cowthe, And as godd wolde, it fell him thus. A worthi kniht Taltabius This yonge child hath in kepinge, And whan he herde of this tidinge, 1930 Of this treson, of this misdede, He gan withinne himself to drede, In aunter if this false Egiste Upon him come, er he it wiste, To take and moerdre of his malice This child, which he hath to norrice: And for that cause in alle haste Out of the lond he gan him haste And to the king of Crete he strawhte And him this yonge lord betawhte, 1940 And preide him for his fader sake That he this child wolde undertake And kepe him til he be of Age, So as he was of his lignage; And tolde him over al the cas, How that his fadre moerdred was, And hou Egistus, as men seide, Was king, to whom the lond obeide. And whanne Ydomeneux the king Hath understondinge of this thing, 1950 Which that this kniht him hadde told, He made sorwe manyfold, And tok this child into his warde, And seide he wolde him kepe and warde, Til that he were of such a myht To handle a swerd and ben a knyht, To venge him at his oghne wille. And thus Horestes duelleth stille, Such was the childes rihte name, Which after wroghte mochel schame 1960 In vengance of his fader deth. The time of yeres overgeth, That he was man of brede and lengthe, Of wit, of manhod and of strengthe, A fair persone amonges alle. And he began to clepe and calle, As he which come was to manne, Unto the King of Crete thanne, Preiende that he wolde him make A kniht and pouer with him take, 1970 For lengere wolde he noght beleve, He seith, bot preith the king of leve To gon and cleyme his heritage And vengen him of thilke oultrage Which was unto his fader do. The king assenteth wel therto, With gret honour and knyht him makth, And gret pouer to him betakth, And gan his journe forto caste: So that Horestes ate laste 1980 His leve tok and forth he goth. As he that was in herte wroth, His ferste pleinte to bemene, Unto the Cite of Athene He goth him forth and was received, So there was he noght deceived. The Duc and tho that weren wise Thei profren hem to his servise; And he hem thonketh of here profre And seith himself he wol gon offre 1990 Unto the goddes for his sped, As alle men him yeven red. So goth he to the temple forth: Of yiftes that be mochel worth His sacrifice and his offringe He made; and after his axinge He was ansuerd, if that he wolde His stat recovere, thanne he scholde Upon his Moder do vengance So cruel, that the remembrance 2000 Therof mihte everemore abide, As sche that was an homicide And of hire oghne lord Moerdrice. Horestes, which of thilke office Was nothing glad, as thanne he preide Unto the goddes there and seide That thei the juggement devise, How sche schal take the juise. And therupon he hadde ansuere, That he hire Pappes scholde of tere 2010 Out of hire brest his oghne hondes, And for ensample of alle londes With hors sche scholde be todrawe, Til houndes hadde hire bones gnawe Withouten eny sepulture: This was a wofull aventure. And whan Horestes hath al herd, How that the goddes have ansuerd, Forth with the strengthe which he ladde The Duc and his pouer he hadde, 2020 And to a Cite forth thei gon, The which was cleped Cropheon, Where as Phoieus was lord and Sire, Which profreth him withouten hyre His help and al that he mai do, As he that was riht glad therto, To grieve his mortiel enemy: And tolde hem certein cause why, How that Egiste in Mariage His dowhter whilom of full Age 2030 Forlai, and afterward forsok, Whan he Horestes Moder tok. Men sein, "Old Senne newe schame": Thus more and more aros the blame Ayein Egiste on every side. Horestes with his host to ride Began, and Phoieus with hem wente; I trowe Egiste him schal repente. Thei riden forth unto Micene, Wher lay Climestre thilke qweene, 2040 The which Horestes moder is: And whan sche herde telle of this, The gates weren faste schet, And thei were of here entre let. Anon this Cite was withoute Belein and sieged al aboute, And evere among thei it assaile, Fro day to nyht and so travaile, Til ate laste thei it wonne; Tho was ther sorwe ynowh begonne. 2050 Horestes dede his moder calle Anon tofore the lordes alle And ek tofor the poeple also, To hire and tolde his tale tho, And seide, "O cruel beste unkinde, How mihtest thou thin herte finde, For eny lust of loves drawhte, That thou acordest to the slawhte Of him which was thin oghne lord? Thi treson stant of such record, 2060 Thou miht thi werkes noght forsake; So mot I for mi fader sake Vengance upon thi bodi do, As I comanded am therto. Unkindely for thou hast wroght, Unkindeliche it schal be boght, The Sone schal the Moder sle, For that whilom thou seidest yee To that thou scholdest nay have seid." And he with that his hond hath leid 2070 Upon his Moder brest anon, And rente out fro the bare bon Hire Pappes bothe and caste aweie Amiddes in the carte weie, And after tok the dede cors And let it drawe awey with hors Unto the hound and to the raven; Sche was non other wise graven. Egistus, which was elles where, Tidinges comen to his Ere 2080 How that Micenes was belein, Bot what was more herd he noght sein; With gret manace and mochel bost He drowh pouer and made an host And cam in rescousse of the toun. Bot al the sleyhte of his tresoun Horestes wiste it be aspie, And of his men a gret partie He made in buisshement abide, To waite on him in such a tide 2090 That he ne mihte here hond ascape: And in this wise as he hath schape The thing befell, so that Egiste Was take, er he himself it wiste, And was forth broght hise hondes bounde, As whan men han a tretour founde. And tho that weren with him take, Whiche of tresoun were overtake, Togedre in o sentence falle; Bot false Egiste above hem alle 2100 Was demed to diverse peine, The worste that men cowthe ordeigne, And so forth after be the lawe He was unto the gibet drawe, Where he above alle othre hongeth, As to a tretour it belongeth. Tho fame with hire swifte wynges Aboute flyh and bar tidinges, And made it cowth in alle londes How that Horestes with hise hondes 2110 Climestre his oghne Moder slowh. Some sein he dede wel ynowh, And som men sein he dede amis, Diverse opinion ther is: That sche is ded thei speken alle, Bot pleinli hou it is befalle, The matiere in so litel throwe In soth ther mihte noman knowe Bot thei that weren ate dede: And comunliche in every nede 2120 The worste speche is rathest herd And lieved, til it be ansuerd. The kinges and the lordes grete Begonne Horestes forto threte To puten him out of his regne: "He is noght worthi forto regne, The child which slowh his moder so," Thei saide; and therupon also The lordes of comun assent A time sette of parlement, 2130 And to Athenes king and lord Togedre come of on accord, To knowe hou that the sothe was: So that Horestes in this cas Thei senden after, and he com. King Menelay the wordes nom And axeth him of this matiere: And he, that alle it mihten hiere, Ansuerde and tolde his tale alarge, And hou the goddes in his charge 2140 Comanded him in such a wise His oghne hond to do juise. And with this tale a Duc aros, Which was a worthi kniht of los, His name was Meneste
s, And seide unto the lordes thus: "The wreeche which Horeste dede, It was thing of the goddes bede, And nothing of his crualte; And if ther were of mi degree 2150 In al this place such a kniht That wolde sein it was no riht, I wole it with my bodi prove." And therupon he caste his glove, And ek this noble Duc alleide Ful many an other skile, and seide Sche hadde wel deserved wreche, Ferst for the cause of Spousebreche, And after wroghte in such a wise That al the world it oghte agrise, 2160 Whan that sche for so foul a vice Was of hire oghne lord moerdrice. Thei seten alle stille and herde, Bot therto was noman ansuerde, It thoghte hem alle he seide skile, Ther is noman withseie it wile; Whan thei upon the reson musen, Horestes alle thei excusen: So that with gret solempnete He was unto his dignete 2170 Received, and coroned king. And tho befell a wonder thing: Egiona, whan sche this wiste, Which was the dowhter of Egiste And Soster on the moder side To this Horeste, at thilke tide, Whan sche herde how hir brother spedde, For pure sorwe, which hire ledde, That he ne hadde ben exiled, Sche hath hire oghne lif beguiled 2180 Anon and hyng hireselve tho. It hath and schal ben everemo, To moerdre who that wole assente, He mai noght faille to repente: This false Egiona was on, Which forto moerdre Agamenon Yaf hire acord and hire assent, So that be goddes juggement, Thogh that non other man it wolde, Sche tok hire juise as sche scholde; 2190 And as sche to an other wroghte, Vengance upon hireself sche soghte, And hath of hire unhappi wit A moerdre with a moerdre quit. Such is of moerdre the vengance. Forthi, mi Sone, in remembrance Of this ensample tak good hiede: For who that thenkth his love spiede With moerdre, he schal with worldes schame Himself and ek his love schame. 2200 Mi fader, of this aventure Which ye have told, I you assure Min herte is sory forto hiere, Bot only for I wolde lere What is to done, and what to leve. And over this now be your leve, That ye me wolden telle I preie, If ther be lieffull eny weie Withoute Senne a man to sle. Mi Sone, in sondri wise ye. 2210 What man that is of traiterie, Of moerdre or elles robberie Atteint, the jugge schal noght lette, Bot he schal slen of pure dette, And doth gret Senne, if that he wonde. For who that lawe hath upon honde, And spareth forto do justice For merci, doth noght his office, That he his mercy so bewareth, Whan for o schrewe which he spareth 2220 A thousand goode men he grieveth: With such merci who that believeth To plese god, he is deceived, Or elles resoun mot be weyved. The lawe stod er we were bore, How that a kinges swerd is bore In signe that he schal defende His trewe poeple and make an ende Of suche as wolden hem devoure. Lo thus, my Sone, to socoure 2230 The lawe and comun riht to winne, A man mai sle withoute Sinne, And do therof a gret almesse, So forto kepe rihtwisnesse. And over this for his contre In time of werre a man is fre Himself, his hous and ek his lond Defende with his oghne hond, And slen, if that he mai no bet, After the lawe which is set. 2240 Now, fader, thanne I you beseche Of hem that dedly werres seche In worldes cause and scheden blod, If such an homicide is good. Mi Sone, upon thi question The trowthe of myn opinion, Als ferforth as my wit arecheth And as the pleine lawe techeth, I woll thee telle in evidence, To rewle with thi conscience. 2250 The hihe god of his justice That ilke foule horrible vice Of homicide he hath forbede, Be Moi5ses as it was bede. Whan goddes Sone also was bore, He sende hise anglis doun therfore, Whom the Schepherdes herden singe, Pes to the men of welwillinge In erthe be among ous here. So forto speke in this matiere 2260 After the lawe of charite, Ther schal no dedly werre be: And ek nature it hath defended And in hir lawe pes comended, Which is the chief of mannes welthe, Of mannes lif, of mannes helthe. Bot dedly werre hath his covine Of pestilence and of famine, Of poverte and of alle wo, Wherof this world we blamen so, 2270 Which now the werre hath under fote, Til god himself therof do bote. For alle thing which god hath wroght In Erthe, werre it bringth to noght: The cherche is brent, the priest is slain, The wif, the maide is ek forlain, The lawe is lore and god unserved: I not what mede he hath deserved That suche werres ledeth inne. If that he do it forto winne, 2280 Ferst to acompte his grete cost Forth with the folk that he hath lost, As to the wordes rekeninge Ther schal he finde no winnynge; And if he do it to pourchace The hevene mede, of such a grace I can noght speke, and natheles Crist hath comanded love and pes, And who that worcheth the revers, I trowe his mede is ful divers. 2290 And sithen thanne that we finde That werres in here oghne kinde Ben toward god of no decerte, And ek thei bringen in poverte Of worldes good, it is merveile Among the men what it mai eyle, That thei a pes ne conne sette. I trowe Senne be the lette, And every mede of Senne is deth; So wot I nevere hou that it geth: 2300 Bot we that ben of o believe Among ousself, this wolde I lieve, That betre it were pes to chese, Than so be double weie lese. I not if that it now so stonde, Bot this a man mai understonde, Who that these olde bokes redeth, That coveitise is on which ledeth, And broghte ferst the werres inne. At Grece if that I schal beginne, 2310 Ther was it proved hou it stod: To Perce, which was ful of good, Thei maden werre in special, And so thei deden overal, Wher gret richesse was in londe, So that thei leften nothing stonde Unwerred, bot onliche Archade. For there thei no werres made, Be cause it was bareigne and povere, Wherof thei mihten noght recovere; 2320 And thus poverte was forbore, He that noght hadde noght hath lore. Bot yit it is a wonder thing, Whan that a riche worthi king, Or other lord, what so he be, Wol axe and cleyme proprete In thing to which he hath no riht, Bot onliche of his grete miht: For this mai every man wel wite, That bothe kinde and lawe write 2330 Expressly stonden therayein. Bot he mot nedes somwhat sein, Althogh ther be no reson inne, Which secheth cause forto winne: For wit that is with will oppressed, Whan coveitise him hath adressed, And alle resoun put aweie, He can wel finde such a weie To werre, where as evere him liketh, Wherof that he the world entriketh, 2340 That many a man of him compleigneth: Bot yit alwei som cause he feigneth, And of his wrongful herte he demeth That al is wel, what evere him semeth, Be so that he mai winne ynowh. For as the trew man to the plowh Only to the gaignage entendeth, Riht so the werreiour despendeth His time and hath no conscience. And in this point for evidence 2350 Of hem that suche werres make, Thou miht a gret ensample take, How thei her tirannie excusen Of that thei wrongfull werres usen, And how thei stonde of on acord, The Souldeour forth with the lord, The povere man forth with the riche, As of corage thei ben liche, To make werres and to pile For lucre and for non other skyle: 2360 Wherof a propre tale I rede, As it whilom befell in dede. Of him whom al this Erthe dradde, Whan he the world so overladde Thurgh werre, as it fortuned is, King Alisandre, I rede this; How in a Marche, where he lay, It fell per chance upon a day A Rovere of the See was nome, Which many a man hadde overcome 2370 And slain and take here good aweie: This Pilour, as the bokes seie, A famous man in sondri stede Was of the werkes whiche he dede. This Prisoner tofor the king Was broght, and there upon this thing In audience he was accused: And he his dede hath noght excused, Bot preith the king to don him riht, And seith, "Sire, if I were of miht, 2380 I have an herte lich to thin; For if the pouer were myn, Mi will is most in special To rifle and geten overal The large worldes good aboute. Bot for I lede a povere route And am, as who seith, at meschief, The name of Pilour and of thief I bere; and thou, which routes grete Miht lede and take thi beyete, 2390 And dost riht as I wolde do, Thi name is nothing cleped so, Bot thou art named Emperour. Oure dedes ben of o colour And in effect of o decerte, Bot thi richesse and my poverte Tho ben noght taken evene liche. And natheles he that is riche This dai, tomorwe he mai be povere; And in contraire also recovere 2400 A povere man to gret richesse Men sen: forthi let rihtwisnesse Be peised evene in the balance. The king his hardi contienance Behield, and herde hise wordes wise, And seide unto him in this wise: "Thin ansuere I have understonde, Wherof my will is, that thou stonde In mi service and stille abide." And forth withal the same tide 2410 He hath him terme of lif withholde, The mor and for he schal ben holde, He made him kniht and yaf him lond, Which afterward was of his hond And orped kniht in many a stede, And gret prouesce of armes dede, As the Croniqes it recorden. And in this wise thei acorden, The whiche of o condicioun Be set upon destruccioun: 2420 Such Capitein such retenue. Bot forto se to what issue The thing befalleth ate laste, It is gret wonder that men caste Here herte upon such wrong to winne, Wher no beyete mai ben inne, And doth desese on every side: Bot whan reson is put aside And will governeth the corage, The faucon which that fleth ramage 2430 And soeffreth nothing in the weie, Wherof that he mai take his preie, Is noght mor set upon ravine, Than thilke man which his covine Hath set in such a maner wise: For al the world ne mai suffise To will which is noght resonable. Wherof ensample concordable Lich to this point of which I meene, Was upon Alisandre sene, 2440 Which hadde set al his entente, So as fortune with him wente, That reson mihte him non governe, Bot of his will he was so sterne, That al the world he overran And what him list he tok and wan. In Ynde the superiour Whan that he was ful conquerour, And hadde his wilful pourpos wonne Of al this Erthe under the Sonne, 2450 This king homward to Macedoine, Whan that he cam to Babiloine, And wende most in his Empire, As he which was hol lord and Sire, In honour forto be received, Most sodeinliche he was deceived, And with strong puison envenimed. And as he hath the world mistimed Noght as he scholde with his wit, Noght as he wolde it was aquit. 2460 Thus was he slain that whilom slowh, And he which riche was ynowh This dai, tomorwe he hadde noght: And in such wise as he hath wroght In destorbance of worldes pes, His werre he fond thanne endeles, In which for evere desconfit He was. Lo now, for what profit Of werre it helpeth forto ryde, For coveitise and worldes pride 2470 To sle the worldes men aboute, As bestes whiche gon theroute. For every lif which reson can Oghth wel to knowe that a man Ne scholde thurgh no tirannie Lich to these othre bestes die, Til kinde wolde for him sende. I not hou he it mihte amende, Which takth awei for everemore The lif that he mai noght restore. 2480 Forthi, mi Sone, in alle weie Be wel avised, I thee preie, Of slawhte er that thou be coupable Withoute cause resonable. Mi fader, understonde it is, That ye have seid; bot over this I prei you tell me nay or yee, To passe over the grete See To werre and sle the Sarazin, Is that the lawe? Sone myn, 2490 To preche and soffre for the feith, That have I herd the gospell seith; Bot forto slee, that hiere I noght. Crist with his oghne deth hath boght Alle othre men, and made hem fre, In tokne of parfit charite; And after that he tawhte himselve, Whan he was ded, these othre tuelve Of hise Apostles wente aboute The holi feith to prechen oute, 2500 Wherof the deth in sondri place Thei soffre, and so god of his grace The feith of Crist hath mad aryse: Bot if thei wolde in other wise Be werre have broght in the creance, It hadde yit stonde in balance. And that mai proven in the dede; For what man the Croniqes rede, Fro ferst that holi cherche hath weyved To preche, and hath the swerd received, 2510 Wherof the werres ben begonne, A gret partie of that was wonne To Cristes feith stant now miswent: Godd do therof amendement, So as he wot what is the beste. Bot, Sone, if thou wolt live in reste Of conscience wel assised, Er that thou sle, be wel avised: For man, as tellen ous the clerkes, Hath god above alle ertheli werkes 2520 Ordeined to be principal, And ek of Soule in special He is mad lich to the godhiede. So sit it wel to taken hiede And forto loke on every side, Er that thou falle in homicide, Which Senne is now so general, That it welnyh stant overal, In holi cherche and elles where. Bot al the while it stant so there, 2530 The world mot nede fare amis: For whan the welle of pite is Thurgh coveitise of worldes good Defouled with schedinge of blod, The remenant of folk aboute Unethe stonden eny doute To werre ech other and to slee. So is it all noght worth a Stree, The charite wherof we prechen, For we do nothing as we techen: 2540 And thus the blinde conscience Of pes hath lost thilke evidence Which Crist upon this Erthe tawhte. Now mai men se moerdre and manslawhte Lich as it was be daies olde, Whan men the Sennes boghte and solde. In Grece afore Cristes feith, I rede, as the Cronique seith, Touchende of this matiere thus, In thilke time hou Pele
s 2550 His oghne brother Phocus slowh; Bot for he hadde gold ynowh To yive, his Senne was despensed With gold, wherof it was compensed: Achastus, which with Venus was Hire Priest, assoilede in that cas, Al were ther no repentance. And as the bok makth remembrance, It telleth of Medee also; Of that sche slowh her Sones tuo, 2560 Ege
s in the same plit Hath mad hire of hire Senne quit. The Sone ek of Amphioras, Whos rihte name Alme
s was, His Moder slowh, Eriphile; Bot Achilo the Priest and he, So as the bokes it recorden, For certein Somme of gold acorden That thilke horrible sinfull dede Assoiled was. And thus for mede 2570 Of worldes good it falleth ofte That homicide is set alofte Hiere in this lif; bot after this Ther schal be knowe how that it is Of hem that suche thinges werche, And hou also that holi cherche Let suche Sennes passe quyte, And how thei wole hemself aquite Of dedly werres that thei make. For who that wolde ensample take, 2580 The lawe which is naturel Be weie of kinde scheweth wel That homicide in no degree, Which werreth ayein charite, Among the men ne scholde duelle. For after that the bokes telle, To seche in al this worldesriche, Men schal noght finde upon his liche A beste forto take his preie: And sithen kinde hath such a weie, 2590 Thanne is it wonder of a man, Which kynde hath and resoun can, That he wol owther more or lasse His kinde and resoun overpasse, And sle that is to him semblable. So is the man noght resonable Ne kinde, and that is noght honeste, Whan he is worse than a beste. Among the bokes whiche I finde Solyns spekth of a wonder kinde, 2600 And seith of fowhles ther is on, Which hath a face of blod and bon Lich to a man in resemblance. And if it falle him so per chance, As he which is a fowhl of preie, That he a man finde in his weie, He wol him slen, if that he mai: Bot afterward the same dai, Whan he hath eten al his felle, And that schal be beside a welle, 2610 In which whan he wol drinke take, Of his visage and seth the make That he hath slain, anon he thenketh Of his misdede, and it forthenketh So gretly, that for pure sorwe He liveth noght til on the morwe. Be this ensample it mai well suie That man schal homicide eschuie, For evere is merci good to take, Bot if the lawe it hath forsake 2620 And that justice is therayein. For ofte time I have herd sein Amonges hem that werres hadden, That thei som while here cause ladden Be merci, whan thei mihte have slain, Wherof that thei were after fain: And, Sone, if that thou wolt recorde The vertu of Misericorde, Thou sihe nevere thilke place, Where it was used, lacke grace. 2630 For every lawe and every kinde The mannes wit to merci binde; And namely the worthi knihtes, Whan that thei stonden most uprihtes And ben most mihti forto grieve, Thei scholden thanne most relieve Him whom thei mihten overthrowe, As be ensample a man mai knowe. He mai noght failen of his mede That hath merci: for this I rede, 2640 In a Cronique and finde thus. Whan Achilles with Telaphus His Sone toward Troie were, It fell hem, er thei comen there, Ayein Theucer the king of Mese To make werre and forto sese His lond, as thei that wolden regne And Theucer pute out of his regne. And thus the Marches thei assaile, Bot Theucer yaf to hem bataille; 2650 Thei foghte on bothe sides faste, Bot so it hapneth ate laste, This worthi Grek, this Achilles, The king among alle othre ches: As he that was cruel and fell, With swerd in honde on him he fell, And smot him with a dethes wounde, That he unhorsed fell to grounde. Achilles upon him alyhte, And wolde anon, as he wel mihte, 2660 Have slain him fullich in the place; Bot Thelaphus his fader grace For him besoghte, and for pite Preith that he wolde lete him be, And caste his Schield betwen hem tuo. Achilles axeth him why so, And Thelaphus his cause tolde, And seith that he is mochel holde, For whilom Theucer in a stede Gret grace and socour to him dede, 2670 And seith that he him wolde aquite, And preith his fader to respite. Achilles tho withdrowh his hond; Bot al the pouer of the lond, Whan that thei sihe here king thus take, Thei fledde and han the feld forsake: The Grecs unto the chace falle, And for the moste part of alle Of that contre the lordes grete Thei toke, and wonne a gret beyete. 2680 And anon after this victoire The king, which hadde good memoire, Upon the grete merci thoghte, Which Telaphus toward him wroghte, And in presence of al the lond He tok him faire be the hond, And in this wise he gan to seie: "Mi Sone, I mot be double weie Love and desire thin encress; Ferst for thi fader Achilles 2690 Whilom ful many dai er this, Whan that I scholde have fare amis, Rescousse dede in mi querele And kepte al myn astat in hele: How so ther falle now distance Amonges ous, yit remembrance I have of merci which he dede As thanne: and thou now in this stede Of gentilesce and of franchise Hast do mercy the same wise. 2700 So wol I noght that eny time Be lost of that thou hast do byme; For hou so this fortune falle, Yit stant mi trust aboven alle, For the mercy which I now finde, That thou wolt after this be kinde: And for that such is myn espeir, As for my Sone and for myn Eir I thee receive, and al my lond I yive and sese into thin hond." 2710 And in this wise thei acorde, The cause was Misericorde: The lordes dede here obeissance To Thelaphus, and pourveance Was mad so that he was coroned: And thus was merci reguerdoned, Which he to Theucer dede afore. Lo, this ensample is mad therfore, That thou miht take remembrance, Mi Sone; and whan thou sest a chaunce, 2720 Of other mennes passioun Tak pite and compassioun, And let nothing to thee be lief, Which to an other man is grief. And after this if thou desire To stonde ayein the vice of Ire, Consaile thee with Pacience, And tak into thi conscience Merci to be thi governour. So schalt thou fiele no rancour, 2730 Wherof thin herte schal debate With homicide ne with hate For Cheste or for Malencolie: Thou schalt be soft in compaignie Withoute Contek or Folhaste: For elles miht thou longe waste Thi time, er that thou have thi wille Of love; for the weder stille Men preise, and blame the tempestes. Mi fader, I wol do youre hestes, 2740 And of this point ye have me tawht, Toward miself the betre sawht I thenke be, whil that I live. Bot for als moche as I am schrive Of Wraththe and al his circumstance, Yif what you list to my penance, And asketh forthere of my lif, If otherwise I be gultif Of eny thing that toucheth Sinne. Mi Sone, er we departe atwinne, 2750 I schal behinde nothing leve. Mi goode fader, be your leve Thanne axeth forth what so you list, For I have in you such a trist, As ye that be my Soule hele, That ye fro me wol nothing hele, For I schal telle you the trowthe. Mi Sone, art thou coupable of Slowthe In eny point which to him longeth? My fader, of tho pointz me longeth 2760 To wite pleinly what thei meene, So that I mai me schrive cleene. Now herkne, I schal the pointz devise; And understond wel myn aprise: For schrifte stant of no value To him that wol him noght vertue To leve of vice the folie: For word is wynd, bot the maistrie Is that a man himself defende Of thing which is noght to comende, 2770 Wherof ben fewe now aday. And natheles, so as I may Make unto thi memoire knowe, The pointz of Slowthe thou schalt knowe.

Explicit Liber Tercius



Incipit Liber Quartus

Dicunt accidiam fore nutricem viciorum, Torpet et in cunctis tarda que lenta bonis: Que fieri possent hodie transfert piger in cras, Furatoque prius ostia claudit equo. Poscenti tardo negat emolumenta Cupido, Set Venus in celeri ludit amore viri.

Upon the vices to procede After the cause of mannes dede, The ferste point of Slowthe I calle Lachesce, and is the chief of alle, And hath this propreliche of kinde, To leven alle thing behinde. Of that he mihte do now hier He tarieth al the longe yer, And everemore he seith, "Tomorwe"; And so he wol his time borwe, 10 And wissheth after "God me sende," That whan he weneth have an ende, Thanne is he ferthest to beginne. Thus bringth he many a meschief inne Unwar, til that he be meschieved, And may noght thanne be relieved. And riht so nowther mor ne lesse It stant of love and of lachesce: Som time he slowtheth in a day That he nevere after gete mai. 20 Now, Sone, as of this ilke thing, If thou have eny knowleching, That thou to love hast don er this, Tell on. Mi goode fader, yis. As of lachesce I am beknowe That I mai stonde upon his rowe, As I that am clad of his suite: For whanne I thoghte mi poursuite To make, and therto sette a day To speke unto the swete May, 30 Lachesce bad abide yit, And bar on hond it was no wit Ne time forto speke as tho. Thus with his tales to and fro Mi time in tariinge he drowh: Whan ther was time good ynowh, He seide, "An other time is bettre; Thou schalt mowe senden hire a lettre, And per cas wryte more plein Than thou be Mowthe durstest sein." 40 Thus have I lete time slyde For Slowthe, and kepte noght my tide, So that lachesce with his vice Fulofte hath mad my wit so nyce, That what I thoghte speke or do With tariinge he hield me so, Til whanne I wolde and mihte noght. I not what thing was in my thoght, Or it was drede, or it was schame; Bot evere in ernest and in game 50 I wot ther is long time passed. Bot yit is noght the love lassed, Which I unto mi ladi have; For thogh my tunge is slowh to crave At alle time, as I have bede, Min herte stant evere in o stede And axeth besiliche grace, The which I mai noght yit embrace. And god wot that is malgre myn; For this I wot riht wel a fin, 60 Mi grace comth so selde aboute, That is the Slowthe of which I doute Mor than of al the remenant Which is to love appourtenant. And thus as touchende of lachesce, As I have told, I me confesse To you, mi fader, and beseche That furthermor ye wol me teche; And if ther be to this matiere Som goodly tale forto liere 70 How I mai do lachesce aweie, That ye it wolden telle I preie. To wisse thee, my Sone, and rede, Among the tales whiche I rede, An old ensample therupon Now herkne, and I wol tellen on. Ayein Lachesce in loves cas I finde how whilom Eneas, Whom Anchises to Sone hadde, With gret navie, which he ladde 80 Fro Troie, aryveth at Cartage, Wher for a while his herbergage He tok; and it betidde so, With hire which was qweene tho Of the Cite his aqueintance He wan, whos name in remembrance Is yit, and Dido sche was hote; Which loveth Eneas so hote Upon the wordes whiche he seide, That al hire herte on him sche leide 90 And dede al holi what he wolde. Bot after that, as it be scholde, Fro thenne he goth toward Ytaile Be Schipe, and there his arivaile Hath take, and schop him forto ryde. Bot sche, which mai noght longe abide The hote peine of loves throwe, Anon withinne a litel throwe A lettre unto hir kniht hath write, And dede him pleinly forto wite, 100 If he made eny tariinge, To drecche of his ayeincomynge, That sche ne mihte him fiele and se, Sche scholde stonde in such degre As whilom stod a Swan tofore, Of that sche hadde hire make lore; For sorwe a fethere into hire brain Sche schof and hath hireselve slain; As king Menander in a lay The sothe hath founde, wher sche lay 110 Sprantlende with hire wynges tweie, As sche which scholde thanne deie For love of him which was hire make. "And so schal I do for thi sake," This qweene seide, "wel I wot." Lo, to Enee thus sche wrot With many an other word of pleinte: Bot he, which hadde hise thoghtes feinte Towardes love and full of Slowthe, His time lette, and that was rowthe: 120 For sche, which loveth him tofore, Desireth evere more and more, And whan sche sih him tarie so, Hire herte was so full of wo, That compleignende manyfold Sche hath hire oghne tale told, Unto hirself and thus sche spak: "Ha, who fond evere such a lak Of Slowthe in eny worthi kniht? Now wot I wel my deth is diht 130 Thurgh him which scholde have be mi lif." Bot forto stinten al this strif, Thus whan sche sih non other bote, Riht evene unto hire herte rote A naked swerd anon sche threste, And thus sche gat hireselve reste In remembrance of alle slowe. Wherof, my Sone, thou miht knowe How tariinge upon the nede In loves cause is forto drede; 140 And that hath Dido sore aboght, Whos deth schal evere be bethoght. And overmore if I schal seche In this matiere an other spieche, In a Cronique I finde write A tale which is good to wite. At Troie whan king Ulixes Upon the Siege among the pres Of hem that worthi knihtes were Abod long time stille there, 150 In thilke time a man mai se How goodli that Penolope, Which was to him his trewe wif, Of his lachesce was pleintif; Wherof to Troie sche him sende Hire will be lettre, thus spekende: "Mi worthi love and lord also, It is and hath ben evere so, That wher a womman is al one, It makth a man in his persone 160 The more hardi forto wowe, In hope that sche wolde bowe To such thing as his wille were, Whil that hire lord were elleswhere. And of miself I telle this; For it so longe passed is, Sithe ferst than ye fro home wente, That welnyh every man his wente To there I am, whil ye ben oute, Hath mad, and ech of hem aboute, 170 Which love can, my love secheth, With gret preiere and me besecheth: And some maken gret manace, That if thei mihten come in place, Wher that thei mihte here wille have, Ther is nothing me scholde save, That thei ne wolde werche thinges; And some tellen me tidynges That ye ben ded, and some sein That certeinly ye ben besein 180 To love a newe and leve me. Bot hou as evere that it be, I thonke unto the goddes alle, As yit for oght that is befalle Mai noman do my chekes rede: Bot natheles it is to drede, That Lachesse in continuance Fortune mihte such a chance, Which noman after scholde amende." Lo, thus this ladi compleignende 190 A lettre unto hire lord hath write, And preyde him that he wolde wite And thenke hou that sche was al his, And that he tarie noght in this, Bot that he wolde his love aquite, To hire ayeinward and noght wryte, Bot come himself in alle haste, That he non other paper waste; So that he kepe and holde his trowthe Withoute lette of eny Slowthe. 200 Unto hire lord and love liege To Troie, wher the grete Siege Was leid, this lettre was conveied. And he, which wisdom hath pourveied Of al that to reson belongeth, With gentil herte it underfongeth: And whan he hath it overrad, In part he was riht inly glad, And ek in part he was desesed: Bot love his herte hath so thorghsesed 210 With pure ymaginacioun, That for non occupacioun Which he can take on other side, He mai noght flitt his herte aside Fro that his wif him hadde enformed; Wherof he hath himself conformed With al the wille of his corage To schape and take the viage Homward, what time that he mai: So that him thenketh of a day 220 A thousand yer, til he mai se The visage of Penolope,