And I awakede therwith, witteles ner-hande,
And as a freke that fay were forth can I walken
In manere of mendenaunt mony yer after.
And many tymes of this meteles moche thouhte I hadde;
Furste how Fortune me faylede at my moste nede
And how elde manased me—so myhte happe
That I lyvede longe—leve me byhynde
And vansche alle my vertues and my fayre lokes.
And how that freres folewede folk that was ryche
And peple that was pore at litel pris setten,
Ne no cors of pore comune in here kyrke-yerde most lygge
Bote quyke he byquath hem auht or wolde helpe quyte here dettes.
And how this coveytyse overcome al kyne sectes,
As wel lered as lewede, and lorde as the bonde.
And how that lewede men ben lad, but oure lorde hem helpe,
Thorw unkunynge curatours to incurable peynes.
And how that Ymaginatyf in dremeles me tolde
Of Kynde and his connynge, and what connynge he yaf bestes,
And how lovyng he is to uch a lyf, a londe and o watere,
For alle he wisseth and yeveth wit that walketh other crepeth.
And I merveyle in herte how Ymaginatyf saide
That justus bifore Jesu in die judicii
Non salvabitur bote if vix helpe;
And when he hadde ysaide so, how sodeynliche he vanschede.
And so I musede uppon this matere, that me lust to slepe.
And thenne cam Concyence, and Clergie after,
And beden me ryse up and rome, and with Reson sholde I dyne.
And I aroos and romede forth and with Resoun we mette.
We reverensede Resoun and romede forth softly
And metten with a mayster, a man lyk a frere.
Concience knewe hym, welcomede hym fayre;
They woschen and wypeden and wenten to the dyner.
And there cam Pacience as a pore thyng and preyede mete par charite,
Ylyk Peres the Ploghman, as he a palmere were,
Cravede and cryede, for Cristes love of hevene,
A meles mete for a pore man, or moneye, yf they hadde.
Conscience knewe hem wel and welcomede hem alle;
They woschen and wipeden and wenten to sytten.
The maister was made sitte furste, as for the moste worthy;
Resoun stod and styhlede, as for styward of halle.
Pacience and I was put to be mettes,
And seten by ouresulve at a syde-table.
Clergie cald after mete and thenne cam Scripture
And served hem thus sone of sondrye metes monye,
Of Austyn, of Ambrose, of alle the foure evangelies,
Edentes et bibentes que apud illos sunt.
Ac of this mete that mayster myhte nat wel chewe;
Forthy eet he mete of more cost, mortrewes and potages.
Of that men mys-wonne they maden hem wel at ese;
Ac here sauce was over-soure and unsaverly ygrounde
In a morter, post-mortem , of many bittere peynes,
Bote yf they synge for tho soules and wepe salte teres.
Vos qui peccata hominum comeditis, nisi pro eis lacrimas effuderitis, ea que in deliciis comeditis, in tormentis evometis.
Thenne Resoun radde, anoon-riht after,
That Consience comaunde sholde to do come Scripture,
And bringe breed for Pacience, bytynge apartye,
And to me that was his mette tho, and other mete bothe.
He sette a sour lof, and saide, ‘ Agite penitentiam ,’
And sethe he drow us drynke, diu-perseverans:
‘As longe,’ quod he, ‘as lyfe and lycame may duyre.’
‘This is a semely servyce!’ saide Pacience.
Thenne cam Contricion, that hadde coked for hem all,
And brouhte forth a pytaunce, was Pro-hac-orabit-omnis-sanctus-in-tempore-oportuno .
Thenne Consience confortede us, bothe Clergie and Scripture,
And saide, ‘ Cor contritum et humiliatum, deus, non despicies .’
Pacience was wel apayed of this propre service,
And made mery with this mete; ac I mournede evere,
For a doctour that at the hey deys dranke wyn faste—
Ve vobis qui potentes estis ad bibendum vinum—
And ete manye sondry metes, mortrewes and poddynges,
Brawen and blod of gees, bacon and colhoppes.
Thenne saide I to mysulve, so Pacience hit herde:
‘Hit is nat thre daies don, this doctour that he prechede
At Poules byfore the peple what penaunce they soffrede,
Alle that coveyte to come to eny kyne joye;
And how that Poul the apostel, what penaunce he tholede
For oure lordes love, as holy lettre telleth:
In fame et frigore, &c.
Ac me wondreth in my witt why that they ne preche
As Poul the apostle prechede to the peple ofte:
Periculum in falsis fratribus!
Holy writ byt men be war and wysly hem kepe
That no fals frere thorw flatrynge hem bygyle;
Ac me thynketh loth, thogh I Latyn knowe, to lacken eny secte,
For alle be we brethrene, thogh we be diversely clothed.
Ac I wiste nevere freek that frere is ycald, of the fyve mendynants,
That tok this for his teme and tolde hit withoute glose.
They preche that penaunce is profitable to the soule,
And what meschief and mal ese Crist for man tholede;
Ac this doctour and dyvynour,’ quod I, ‘and decretistre of canon
(And also a gnedy glotoun with two grete chekes)
Hath no pyte on us pore, he performeth evele;
That he precheth he preveth nat,’ to Pacience I tolde,
And wischede witterly with will ful egre
That in the mawe of that mayster alle tho metes were,
Bothe disches and dobelares, with alle the deyntees after!
‘I schal jangle to this jurdan, with his juyste wombe,
And apose hym what penaunce is and purgatorie on erthe,
And whi he lyveth nat as he lereth!’ ‘Lat be,’ quod Pacience,
And saide, ‘Thow shalt se thus sone, when he may no more,
He shal have a penaunce in his foule paunche, and puffe at uch a worde;
And thenne shal gothelen his guttes, and gynnen to galpe.
Now he hath dronke so depe he wol devyne sone,
And preven hit by here Pocalips and the passioun of seynt Averoy,
That nother bacon ne brawn ne blaun-manger ne mortrewes
Ys nother fische ne flesche, but fode for penantes;
And take wittenesse at a trinite, and take his felowe to witnesse,
What he fond in a forel of a freres lyvynge;
And bote the furste leef be lesynges, leve me nevere after!
And thenne is tyme to take to apose this doctour
Of Dowel and of Dobet, and yf Dobet do eny penaunce.’
I sat stille, as Pacience wolde, and thus sone this doctour,
As rody as a rose, rodded his chekes,
Coughede and carpede, and Consience hym herde
And tolde hym of a trinite and toward me he lokede.
‘What is Dowel, sire doctour?’ quod I. ‘Is Dobet eny penaunce?’
‘Dowel?’ quod this doctour, and he dronke after,
‘Do thy neyhebore non harm ne thysulve nother,
And thenne dost thow wel and wysly, I dar hit wel avowe.’
‘Certes, sire,’ thenne saide I, ‘hit semeth nouht here,
In that ye parteth nat with us pore, that ye passeth Dowel,
Ne lovyeth nat as ye lereth, as oure lorde wolde.
Et visitavit et fecit redemptionem plebis sue.
And ye fare thus with youre syke freres, ferly me thynketh
Bote Dowel wol endite yow in die judicii .’
Thenne Consience ful corteyslyche a continaunce he made
And preynte uppon Pacience to preie me be stille,
And saide hymsulve, ‘Sire doctour, by so hit be youre wille,
What is Dowel and Dobet? ye devynours knoweth.’
‘I have yseide,’ quod that segg, ‘I can sey no bettre,
Bote do as doctours techeth for Dowel I hit holde;
That travayleth to teche othere I halde hit for a Dobet;
And he that doth as he techeth, I halde hit for the beste.
Qui facit et docuerit, magnus vocabitur.’
‘Now thou, Clergie,’ quod Consience, ‘carpe what is Dowel.’
‘Have me excused,’ quod Clergie, ‘be Crist, but in scole,
Shal no such motyf be meved for me, bote there,
For Peres love the palmare, that inpugnede ones
Alle kyne konnynges and alle kyne craftes,
Save love and leute and lowenesse of herte,
And no tixt ne taketh to preve this for trewe
Bote dilige deum et proximum , and domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo;
And preveth by puyre skyle inparfyt alle thynges,
Nemo bonus,
Bote lele love and treuth, that loth is to be founde.’
Quod Peres the Ploghman: ‘ Pacientes vincunt .
Byfore perpetuel pees I shal preve that I saide
And avowe byfore god, and forsaken hit nevere,
That disce, doce, dilige deum
And thyn enemy helpe emforth thy myhte.
Caste hote coles on his heved of alle kyn speche,
Fond thorw wit and word his love to wynne,
Yef hym eft and eft, evere at his nede,
Conforte hym with thy catel and with thy kynde speche,
And ley on hym thus with love til he lauhe on the;
And bote he bowe for this betynge, blynde mote he worthen!’
And whan he hadde yworded thus, wiste no man after
Where Peres the Ploghman bycam, so priveliche he wente.
And Resoun ran after and riht with hym yede;
Save Concience and Clergie I couthe no mo aspye.
And Pacience properliche spak, tho Peres was thus ypassed:
‘That loveth lely,’ quod he, ‘bote litel thyng coveyteth.
I wolde, and I will hadde, to wynnen all Fraunce
Withoute bruttenynge of burne or eny blod-shedynge;
I take wittenesse,’ quod he, ‘of holy writ a partye:
Pacientes vincunt.
For, by hym that me made, myhte nevere poverte,
Meseyse ne meschief, ne man with his tonge,
Tene the eny tyme and thou take Pacience
And bere hit in thy bosom aboute wher thou wendest
In the corner of a cart-whel, with a crowe croune.
Shal nevere burne be abasched that hath this abouten hym,
Ne nevere hete ne hayl ne helle-pouke hym greve,
Nother fuyr ne flod, ne be aferd of enemye.
Caritas expellit omnem timorem.
Ne ther is wyht in this world that wolde the lette
To have alle londes at thy likyng, and the here lord make
And maister of alle here mebles and of here moneye after,
The kyng and alle the comune and clergie to the loute
As for here lord and here ledare, and live as thow techest.’
‘This is a Dido ,’ quod this doctour, ‘a dysores tale!
Al the wit of this worlde, and wyhte menne strenghe,
Can nat performe a pees of the pope and his enemyes
Profitable for bothe parties'—and putte the bord fro hym,
And tok Clergie and Consience to conseyle, as hit were.
Ac Concience, I tok kepe, conjeyed sone this doctour,
And sethe he saide to Clergie, so that I hit herde,
‘By Crist,’ quod Consience, ‘Clergie, I wol nat lye,
Me were levere, by oure lorde, and I live sholde,
Have pacience parfitlyche then half thy pak of bokes!
Lettrure and long studie letteth ful monye,
That they knoweth nat,’ quod Concience, ‘what is kynde Pacience.
Forthy,’ quod Concience, ‘Crist I the byteche,
With Pacience wol I passe, parfitnesse to fynde.’
And as a freke that fay were forth can I walken
In manere of mendenaunt mony yer after.
And many tymes of this meteles moche thouhte I hadde;
Furste how Fortune me faylede at my moste nede
And how elde manased me—so myhte happe
That I lyvede longe—leve me byhynde
And vansche alle my vertues and my fayre lokes.
And how that freres folewede folk that was ryche
And peple that was pore at litel pris setten,
Ne no cors of pore comune in here kyrke-yerde most lygge
Bote quyke he byquath hem auht or wolde helpe quyte here dettes.
And how this coveytyse overcome al kyne sectes,
As wel lered as lewede, and lorde as the bonde.
And how that lewede men ben lad, but oure lorde hem helpe,
Thorw unkunynge curatours to incurable peynes.
And how that Ymaginatyf in dremeles me tolde
Of Kynde and his connynge, and what connynge he yaf bestes,
And how lovyng he is to uch a lyf, a londe and o watere,
For alle he wisseth and yeveth wit that walketh other crepeth.
And I merveyle in herte how Ymaginatyf saide
That justus bifore Jesu in die judicii
Non salvabitur bote if vix helpe;
And when he hadde ysaide so, how sodeynliche he vanschede.
And so I musede uppon this matere, that me lust to slepe.
And thenne cam Concyence, and Clergie after,
And beden me ryse up and rome, and with Reson sholde I dyne.
And I aroos and romede forth and with Resoun we mette.
We reverensede Resoun and romede forth softly
And metten with a mayster, a man lyk a frere.
Concience knewe hym, welcomede hym fayre;
They woschen and wypeden and wenten to the dyner.
And there cam Pacience as a pore thyng and preyede mete par charite,
Ylyk Peres the Ploghman, as he a palmere were,
Cravede and cryede, for Cristes love of hevene,
A meles mete for a pore man, or moneye, yf they hadde.
Conscience knewe hem wel and welcomede hem alle;
They woschen and wipeden and wenten to sytten.
The maister was made sitte furste, as for the moste worthy;
Resoun stod and styhlede, as for styward of halle.
Pacience and I was put to be mettes,
And seten by ouresulve at a syde-table.
Clergie cald after mete and thenne cam Scripture
And served hem thus sone of sondrye metes monye,
Of Austyn, of Ambrose, of alle the foure evangelies,
Edentes et bibentes que apud illos sunt.
Ac of this mete that mayster myhte nat wel chewe;
Forthy eet he mete of more cost, mortrewes and potages.
Of that men mys-wonne they maden hem wel at ese;
Ac here sauce was over-soure and unsaverly ygrounde
In a morter, post-mortem , of many bittere peynes,
Bote yf they synge for tho soules and wepe salte teres.
Vos qui peccata hominum comeditis, nisi pro eis lacrimas effuderitis, ea que in deliciis comeditis, in tormentis evometis.
Thenne Resoun radde, anoon-riht after,
That Consience comaunde sholde to do come Scripture,
And bringe breed for Pacience, bytynge apartye,
And to me that was his mette tho, and other mete bothe.
He sette a sour lof, and saide, ‘ Agite penitentiam ,’
And sethe he drow us drynke, diu-perseverans:
‘As longe,’ quod he, ‘as lyfe and lycame may duyre.’
‘This is a semely servyce!’ saide Pacience.
Thenne cam Contricion, that hadde coked for hem all,
And brouhte forth a pytaunce, was Pro-hac-orabit-omnis-sanctus-in-tempore-oportuno .
Thenne Consience confortede us, bothe Clergie and Scripture,
And saide, ‘ Cor contritum et humiliatum, deus, non despicies .’
Pacience was wel apayed of this propre service,
And made mery with this mete; ac I mournede evere,
For a doctour that at the hey deys dranke wyn faste—
Ve vobis qui potentes estis ad bibendum vinum—
And ete manye sondry metes, mortrewes and poddynges,
Brawen and blod of gees, bacon and colhoppes.
Thenne saide I to mysulve, so Pacience hit herde:
‘Hit is nat thre daies don, this doctour that he prechede
At Poules byfore the peple what penaunce they soffrede,
Alle that coveyte to come to eny kyne joye;
And how that Poul the apostel, what penaunce he tholede
For oure lordes love, as holy lettre telleth:
In fame et frigore, &c.
Ac me wondreth in my witt why that they ne preche
As Poul the apostle prechede to the peple ofte:
Periculum in falsis fratribus!
Holy writ byt men be war and wysly hem kepe
That no fals frere thorw flatrynge hem bygyle;
Ac me thynketh loth, thogh I Latyn knowe, to lacken eny secte,
For alle be we brethrene, thogh we be diversely clothed.
Ac I wiste nevere freek that frere is ycald, of the fyve mendynants,
That tok this for his teme and tolde hit withoute glose.
They preche that penaunce is profitable to the soule,
And what meschief and mal ese Crist for man tholede;
Ac this doctour and dyvynour,’ quod I, ‘and decretistre of canon
(And also a gnedy glotoun with two grete chekes)
Hath no pyte on us pore, he performeth evele;
That he precheth he preveth nat,’ to Pacience I tolde,
And wischede witterly with will ful egre
That in the mawe of that mayster alle tho metes were,
Bothe disches and dobelares, with alle the deyntees after!
‘I schal jangle to this jurdan, with his juyste wombe,
And apose hym what penaunce is and purgatorie on erthe,
And whi he lyveth nat as he lereth!’ ‘Lat be,’ quod Pacience,
And saide, ‘Thow shalt se thus sone, when he may no more,
He shal have a penaunce in his foule paunche, and puffe at uch a worde;
And thenne shal gothelen his guttes, and gynnen to galpe.
Now he hath dronke so depe he wol devyne sone,
And preven hit by here Pocalips and the passioun of seynt Averoy,
That nother bacon ne brawn ne blaun-manger ne mortrewes
Ys nother fische ne flesche, but fode for penantes;
And take wittenesse at a trinite, and take his felowe to witnesse,
What he fond in a forel of a freres lyvynge;
And bote the furste leef be lesynges, leve me nevere after!
And thenne is tyme to take to apose this doctour
Of Dowel and of Dobet, and yf Dobet do eny penaunce.’
I sat stille, as Pacience wolde, and thus sone this doctour,
As rody as a rose, rodded his chekes,
Coughede and carpede, and Consience hym herde
And tolde hym of a trinite and toward me he lokede.
‘What is Dowel, sire doctour?’ quod I. ‘Is Dobet eny penaunce?’
‘Dowel?’ quod this doctour, and he dronke after,
‘Do thy neyhebore non harm ne thysulve nother,
And thenne dost thow wel and wysly, I dar hit wel avowe.’
‘Certes, sire,’ thenne saide I, ‘hit semeth nouht here,
In that ye parteth nat with us pore, that ye passeth Dowel,
Ne lovyeth nat as ye lereth, as oure lorde wolde.
Et visitavit et fecit redemptionem plebis sue.
And ye fare thus with youre syke freres, ferly me thynketh
Bote Dowel wol endite yow in die judicii .’
Thenne Consience ful corteyslyche a continaunce he made
And preynte uppon Pacience to preie me be stille,
And saide hymsulve, ‘Sire doctour, by so hit be youre wille,
What is Dowel and Dobet? ye devynours knoweth.’
‘I have yseide,’ quod that segg, ‘I can sey no bettre,
Bote do as doctours techeth for Dowel I hit holde;
That travayleth to teche othere I halde hit for a Dobet;
And he that doth as he techeth, I halde hit for the beste.
Qui facit et docuerit, magnus vocabitur.’
‘Now thou, Clergie,’ quod Consience, ‘carpe what is Dowel.’
‘Have me excused,’ quod Clergie, ‘be Crist, but in scole,
Shal no such motyf be meved for me, bote there,
For Peres love the palmare, that inpugnede ones
Alle kyne konnynges and alle kyne craftes,
Save love and leute and lowenesse of herte,
And no tixt ne taketh to preve this for trewe
Bote dilige deum et proximum , and domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo;
And preveth by puyre skyle inparfyt alle thynges,
Nemo bonus,
Bote lele love and treuth, that loth is to be founde.’
Quod Peres the Ploghman: ‘ Pacientes vincunt .
Byfore perpetuel pees I shal preve that I saide
And avowe byfore god, and forsaken hit nevere,
That disce, doce, dilige deum
And thyn enemy helpe emforth thy myhte.
Caste hote coles on his heved of alle kyn speche,
Fond thorw wit and word his love to wynne,
Yef hym eft and eft, evere at his nede,
Conforte hym with thy catel and with thy kynde speche,
And ley on hym thus with love til he lauhe on the;
And bote he bowe for this betynge, blynde mote he worthen!’
And whan he hadde yworded thus, wiste no man after
Where Peres the Ploghman bycam, so priveliche he wente.
And Resoun ran after and riht with hym yede;
Save Concience and Clergie I couthe no mo aspye.
And Pacience properliche spak, tho Peres was thus ypassed:
‘That loveth lely,’ quod he, ‘bote litel thyng coveyteth.
I wolde, and I will hadde, to wynnen all Fraunce
Withoute bruttenynge of burne or eny blod-shedynge;
I take wittenesse,’ quod he, ‘of holy writ a partye:
Pacientes vincunt.
For, by hym that me made, myhte nevere poverte,
Meseyse ne meschief, ne man with his tonge,
Tene the eny tyme and thou take Pacience
And bere hit in thy bosom aboute wher thou wendest
In the corner of a cart-whel, with a crowe croune.
Shal nevere burne be abasched that hath this abouten hym,
Ne nevere hete ne hayl ne helle-pouke hym greve,
Nother fuyr ne flod, ne be aferd of enemye.
Caritas expellit omnem timorem.
Ne ther is wyht in this world that wolde the lette
To have alle londes at thy likyng, and the here lord make
And maister of alle here mebles and of here moneye after,
The kyng and alle the comune and clergie to the loute
As for here lord and here ledare, and live as thow techest.’
‘This is a Dido ,’ quod this doctour, ‘a dysores tale!
Al the wit of this worlde, and wyhte menne strenghe,
Can nat performe a pees of the pope and his enemyes
Profitable for bothe parties'—and putte the bord fro hym,
And tok Clergie and Consience to conseyle, as hit were.
Ac Concience, I tok kepe, conjeyed sone this doctour,
And sethe he saide to Clergie, so that I hit herde,
‘By Crist,’ quod Consience, ‘Clergie, I wol nat lye,
Me were levere, by oure lorde, and I live sholde,
Have pacience parfitlyche then half thy pak of bokes!
Lettrure and long studie letteth ful monye,
That they knoweth nat,’ quod Concience, ‘what is kynde Pacience.
Forthy,’ quod Concience, ‘Crist I the byteche,
With Pacience wol I passe, parfitnesse to fynde.’
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