Thus Rechelessnesse in a rage aresenede Clergie
And Scripture scornede, that many skilles shewede,
Til that Kynde cam, Clergie to helpe,
And in the myrour of Mydel-erthe made hym efte to loke,
To knowe by uch a creature Kynde to lovye.
 And I bowed my body, bihelte al aboute,
And saw the sonne and the see and the sond after,
And where that briddes and bestis by here make thei yeden,
Wilde wormes in wodes and wonderful foules
With flekede fetheres and of fele colours.
Man and his make I myhte se bothe,
Poverte and plente, bothe pees and werre,
Blisse and bale, bothe I saw at ones,
And how that men mede toke and mercy refusede.
 Resoun I saw sothly sewe alle bestes
In etynge and drynkyng, in engendrure of kynde;
Aftur cors of concepcion noon toke kepe of other,
As when thei hadde roteyed anon they reste after.
Males drow hem to males a morwenynge by hemsulve,
And femeles to femeles ferddede and drowe.
Ther ne was cow ne cow-kynde that conseyved hadde,
That wolde bere after bole, ne bore aftur sowe.
Ther ne was no kyne kynde that conseyved hadde,
That ne lees the lykynge of lust, of flesch, as hit were,
Save man and his make; and ther-of me wondrede,
For out of resoun they ryde and rechelesliche taken on,
As in derne dedes, bothe drynkyng and elles.
 Briddes I beheld in bosches made nestes,
Hadde nevere weye wyt to worche the leste.
I hadde wonder at whan and where the pye
Lernede to legge stikkes that ley on here neste;
Ther is no wriht, as I wene, sholde worch here nest to paye.
If eny mason made a molde therto, moche wonder me thynketh.
 And yut I merveylede more, mony of the briddes
Hudden and helede here egges dernely
For no foul sholde hit fynde but his fere and hymsulve.
And som treden, I toke kepe, and on trees bredde,
And brouhte forth here briddes al above the grounde.
In mareys and in mores, in myres and in watres,
Dompynges dyvede; ‘Dere god,’ I sayde,
‘Where hadde thise wilde suche wit, and at what scole?’
And how the pocok caukede, therof toke I kepe,
How un-corteysliche that cok his kynde forth strenede,
And ferlyede of his fayrenesse and of his foul ledene.
 And sethe I lokede on the see and so forth on sterres;
Mony selcouthes I saw, aren nat to segge nouthe,
Ne what on floures on felde, and of here fayre coloures,
And how out of greut and of gras growe so many hewes,
And some soure and some swete, selcouthe me thouhte.
Of here kynde and of here colours to carpe hit were to longe.
 Ac that moste mevede me and my mod chaungede
Was that I saw Resoun sewen alle bestes
Save man and mankynde; mony tymes me thoughte
Resoun ruled hem nat, nother ryche ne pore.
 Thenne I resonede Resoun and ryht til hym I sayde:
‘I have wonder in my wit, so wys as thow art holden,
Wherefore and why, as wyde as thow regneste,
That thow ne reuledest rather renkes then other bestes?
I se non so ofte sorfeten, sothly, so mankynde;
In mete out of mesure and mony tymes in drynke,
In wommen, in wedes, and in wordes bothe,
They overdon hit day and nyhte and so doth nat other bestes;
They reule hem al by resoun, ac renkes ful fewe.
And therfore merveileth me, for man, as in makynge,
Is most yliche the of wit and of werkes,
Why he ne loveth thy lore and liveth as thou techest?’
 And Resoun aresounede me and sayde: ‘Reche the nevere
Why I soffre or nat soffre—certes,’ he sayde,
‘Uch a segge for hymsulve, Salamon us techeth:
  De re que te non molestat, noli certare.
Who soffreth more then god?’ quod he; ‘no gome, as I leve!
He myht amende in a mynte-while al that amys standeth,
Ac he soffreth, in ensaumple that we sholde soffren alle.
 Ys no vertue so fair, ne of valewe ne profit,
So is soffrance sovereynliche, so hit be for godes love.
And so witnesseth wyse and wisseth the Frenche:
Bele vertue est suffraunce, mal dire est petit vengeance;
Ben dire e ben suffrer fait lui suffrable a bien venir.
Forthy,’ quod Resoun, ‘I rede thow reule thy tonge evere,
And ar thow lacke eny lyfe, loke who is to preyse.
For is no creature under Crist that can hymsulve make,
And if creatures Cristene couth make hemsulve
Uche a lede wolde be lacles, leef thow non other!
Man was made of such matere he may nat wel asterte
That some tyme hym bitit to folewen his kynde;
Caton acordeth ther-with— nemo sine crimine vivit .’
 Tho cauhte I colour anon and comesede to ben aschamed,
And awaked therwith; wo was me thenne
That I ne hadde met more, so merye as I slepte,
And saide anon to mysulve, ‘Slepynge, hadde I grace
To wyte what Dowel is, ac wakynge nevere!’
 And thenne was ther a wyhte, what he was I ne wiste:
‘What is Dowel?’ quod that wyhte. ‘Ywis, syre,’ I saide,
‘To se moche and soffre al, certes, is Dowel.’
 ‘Haddestow soffred,’ he sayde, ‘slepyng tho thow were,
Thow sholdest have yknowe that Clergie can, and more conseyved thorw Resoun;
For Resoun wolde have rehersed the riht as Clergie seide.
Ac for thyn entermetynge her artow forsake:
  Philosophus esses, si tacuisses. Et alibi: Locutum me aliquando penituit, tacuisse nunquam.
Adam, the whiles he spak nat, hadde paradys at wille,
Ac when he mamelede aboute mete and musede for to knowe
The wisdom and the wit of god, he was put out of blisse.
Rihte so ferde Resoun by the for thy rude speche,
And for thow woldest wyte why of Resones pryvete.
 For pruyde and presompcion of thy parfit lyvynge
Resoun refusede the and wolde nat reste with the,
Ne Clergie of his connynge kepeth the nat shewe.
For shal nevere, ar shame come, a shrewe wel be chaste.
For lat a dronkene daffe in a dykke falle,
Lat hym lygge, lok nat on hym, til hym luste to aryse;
For thogh Resoun rebuke hym thenne, recheth he nevere,
Ne of Clergie ne of Kynde wyt counteth he nat a rusche;
To blame hym or to bete hym thenne I halde hit but synne.
Ac when Nede nymeth hym up, anon he is aschamed,
And thenne wot he wherfore and why he is to blame.’
 ‘Ye seggeth soth, by my soule,’ quod I, ‘I have sey hit ofte:
Ther smyt no thyng so smerte, ne smelleth so foule
As Shame; ther he sheweth hym, uch man shoneth his companye.
Why ye worden to me thus was for I aresonede Resoun.’
 ‘Ye, certes,’ quod he, ‘that is soth’, and shop hym to walke;
And I aros up riht with that and reverensed hym fayre,
And yf his wille were, he wolde his name telle?