Chapter 12

Of Rome tho was EmperourCrassus, which was so coveitous,That he was evere desirous    2070Of gold to gete the pilage;Wherof that Puile and ek CartageWith Philosophres wise and greteBegunne of this matiere trete,And ate laste in this degreTher weren Philosophres thre,To do this thing whiche undertoke,And therupon thei with hem tokeA gret tresor of gold in cophres,To Rome and thus these philisophres    2080Togedre in compainie wente,Bot noman wiste what thei mente.Whan thei to Rome come were,So prively thei duelte there,As thei that thoghten to deceive:Was non that mihte of hem perceive,Til thei in sondri stedes haveHere gold under the ground begraveIn tuo tresors, that to beholdeThei scholden seme as thei were olde.    2090And so forth thanne upon a dayAl openly in good araiTo themperour thei hem presente,And tolden it was here ententeTo duellen under his servise.And he hem axeth in what wise;And thei him tolde in such a plit,That ech of hem hadde a spirit,The which slepende a nyht appierethAnd hem be sondri dremes lereth    2100After the world that hath betid.Under the ground if oght be hidOf old tresor at eny throwe,They schull it in here swevenes knowe;And upon this condicioun,Thei sein, what gold under the tounOf Rome is hid, thei wole it finde,Ther scholde noght be left behinde,Be so that he the halvendelHem grante, and he assenteth wel;    2110And thus cam sleighte forto duelleWith Covoitise, as I thee telle.This Emperour bad redilyThat thei be logged faste byWhere he his oghne body lay;And whan it was amorwe day,That on of hem seith that he metteWher he a goldhord scholde fette:Wherof this Emperour was glad,And therupon anon he bad    2120His Mynours forto go and myne,And he himself of that covineGoth forth withal, and at his hondThe tresor redi there he fond,Where as thei seide it scholde be;And who was thanne glad bot he?Upon that other dai secoundeThei have an other goldhord founde,Which the seconde maister tokUpon his swevene and undertok.    2130And thus the sothe experienceTo themperour yaf such credence,That al his trist and al his feithSo sikerliche on hem he leith,Of that he fond him so relieved,That thei ben parfitli believed,As thogh thei were goddes thre.Nou herkne the soutilete.The thridde maister scholde mete,Which, as thei seiden, was unmete    2140Above hem alle, and couthe most;And he withoute noise or bostAl priveli, so as he wolde,Upon the morwe his swevene toldeTo themperour riht in his Ere,And seide him that he wiste whereA tresor was so plentivousOf gold and ek so preciousOf jeueals and of riche stones,That unto alle hise hors at ones    2150It were a charge sufficant.This lord upon this covenantWas glad, and axeth where it was.The maister seide, under the glas,And tolde him eke, as for the MynHe wolde ordeigne such engin,That thei the werk schull undersetteWith Tymber, that withoute letteMen mai the tresor saufli delve,So that the Mirour be himselve    2160Withoute empeirement schal stonde:And this the maister upon hondeHath undertake in alle weie.This lord, which hadde his wit aweieAnd was with Covoitise blent,Anon therto yaf his assent;And thus they myne forth withal,The timber set up overal,Wherof the Piler stod upriht;Til it befell upon a nyht    2170These clerkes, whan thei were warHou that the timber only barThe Piler, wher the Mirour stod,—Here sleihte noman understod,—Thei go be nyhte unto the MyneWith pich, with soulphre and with rosine,And whan the Cite was a slepe,A wylde fyr into the depeThey caste among the timberwerk,And so forth, whil the nyht was derk,    2180Desguised in a povere araiThei passeden the toun er dai.And whan thei come upon an hell,Thei sihen how the Mirour fell,Wherof thei maden joie ynowh,And ech of hem with other lowh,And seiden, “Lo, what coveitiseMai do with hem that be noght wise!”And that was proved afterward,For every lond, to Romeward    2190Which hadde be soubgit tofore,Whan this Mirour was so forloreAnd thei the wonder herde seie,Anon begunne desobeieWith werres upon every side;And thus hath Rome lost his prideAnd was defouled overal.For this I finde of Hanybal,That he of Romeins in a dai,Whan he hem fond out of arai,    2200So gret a multitude slowh,That of goldringes, whiche he drowhOf gentil handes that ben dede,Buisshelles fulle thre, I rede,He felde, and made a bregge also,That he mihte over Tibre goUpon the corps that dede wereOf the Romeins, whiche he slowh there.Bot now to speke of the juise,The which after the covoitise    2210Was take upon this Emperour,For he destruide the Mirour;It is a wonder forto hiere.The Romeins maden a chaiereAnd sette here Emperour therinne,And seiden, for he wolde winneOf gold the superfluite,Of gold he scholde such plenteReceive, til he seide Ho:And with gold, which thei hadden tho    2220Buillende hot withinne a panne,Into his Mouth thei poure thanne.And thus the thurst of gold was queynt,With gold which hadde ben atteignt.Wherof, mi Sone, thou miht hiere,Whan Covoitise hath lost the stiereOf resonable governance,Ther falleth ofte gret vengance.For ther mai be no worse thingThan Covoitise aboute a king:    2230If it in his persone be,It doth the more adversite;And if it in his conseil stonde,It bringth alday meschief to hondeOf commun harm; and if it groweWithinne his court, it wol be knowe,For thanne schal the king be piled.The man which hath hise londes tiled,Awaiteth noght more redilyThe Hervest, than thei gredily    2240Ne maken thanne warde and wacche,Wher thei the profit mihten cacche:And yit fulofte it falleth so,As men mai sen among hem tho,That he which most coveiteth fasteHath lest avantage ate laste.For whan fortune is therayein,Thogh he coveite, it is in vein;The happes be noght alle liche,On is mad povere, an other riche,    2250The court to some doth profit,And some ben evere in o plit;And yit thei bothe aliche soreCoveite, bot fortune is moreUnto that o part favorable.And thogh it be noght resonable,This thing a man mai sen alday,Wherof that I thee telle mayA fair ensample in remembrance,Hou every man mot take his chance    2260Or of richesse or of poverte.Hou so it stonde of the decerte,Hier is noght every thing aquit,For ofte a man mai se this yit,That who best doth, lest thonk schal have;It helpeth noght the world to crave,Which out of reule and of mesureHath evere stonde in aventureAls wel in Court as elles where:And hou in olde daies there    2270It stod, so as the thinges felle,I thenke a tale forto telle.In a Cronique this I rede.Aboute a king, as moste nede,Ther was of knyhtes and squiersGret route, and ek of Officers:Some of long time him hadden served,And thoghten that thei have deservedAvancement, and gon withoute;And some also ben of the route    2280That comen bot a while agon,And thei avanced were anon.These olde men upon this thing,So as thei dorste, ayein the kingAmong hemself compleignen ofte:Bot ther is nothing seid so softe,That it ne comth out ate laste;The king it wiste, and als so faste,As he which was of hih Prudence,He schop therfore an evidence    2290Of hem that pleignen in that cas,To knowe in whos defalte it was.And al withinne his oghne entente,That noman wiste what it mente,Anon he let tuo cofres makeOf o semblance and of o make,So lich that no lif thilke throweThat on mai fro that other knowe:Thei were into his chambre broght,Bot noman wot why thei be wroght,    2300And natheles the king hath bedeThat thei be set in prive stede.As he that was of wisdom slih,Whan he therto his time sih,Al prively, that non it wiste,Hise oghne hondes that o kisteOf fin gold and of fin perrie,The which out of his tresorieWas take, anon he felde full;That other cofre of straw and mull    2310With Stones meind he felde also.Thus be thei fulle bothe tuo,So that erliche upon a dayHe bad withinne, ther he lay,Ther scholde be tofore his bedA bord upset and faire spred;And thanne he let the cofres fette,Upon the bord and dede hem sette.He knew the names wel of tho,The whiche ayein him grucche so,    2320Bothe of his chambre and of his halle,Anon and sende for hem alle,And seide to hem in this wise:“Ther schal noman his happ despise;I wot wel ye have longe served,And god wot what ye have deserved:Bot if it is along on meOf that ye unavanced be,Or elles it be long on you,The sothe schal be proved nou,    2330To stoppe with youre evele word.Lo hier tuo cofres on the bord:Ches which you list of bothe tuo;And witeth wel that on of thoIs with tresor so full begon,That if ye happe therupon,Ye schull be riche men for evere.Now ches and tak which you is levere:Bot be wel war, er that ye take;For of that on I undertake    2340Ther is no maner good therinne,Wherof ye mihten profit winne.Now goth togedre of on assentAnd taketh youre avisement,For bot I you this dai avance,It stant upon youre oghne chanceAl only in defalte of grace:So schal be schewed in this placeUpon you alle wel afyn,That no defalte schal be myn.”    2350Thei knelen alle and with o voisThe king thei thonken of this chois:And after that thei up arise,And gon aside and hem avise,And ate laste thei acorde;Wherof her tale to recorde,To what issue thei be falle,A kniht schal speke for hem alle.He kneleth doun unto the king,And seith that thei upon this thing,    2360Or forto winne or forto lese,Ben alle avised forto chese.Tho tok this kniht a yerde on honde,And goth there as the cofres stonde,And with assent of everichonHe leith his yerde upon that on,And seith the king hou thilke sameThei chese in reguerdoun be name,And preith him that thei mote it have.The king, which wolde his honour save,    2370Whan he hath herd the commun vois,Hath granted hem here oghne choisAnd tok hem therupon the keie.Bot for he wolde it were seieWhat good thei have, as thei suppose,He bad anon the cofre unclose,Which was fulfild with straw and stones:Thus be thei served al at ones.This king thanne in the same stedeAnon that other cofre undede,    2380Where as thei sihen gret richesse,Wel more than thei couthen gesse.“Lo,” seith the king, “nou mai ye seThat ther is no defalte in me;Forthi miself I wole aquyte,And bereth ye youre oghne wyteOf that fortune hath you refused.”Thus was this wise king excused,And thei lefte of here evele specheAnd mercy of here king beseche.    2390Somdiel to this matiere likI finde a tale, hou Frederik,Of Rome that time Emperour,Herde, as he wente, a gret clamourOf tuo beggers upon the weie.That on of hem began to seie,“Ha lord, wel mai the man be richeWhom that a king list forto riche.”That other saide nothing so,Bot, “He is riche and wel bego,    2400To whom that god wole sende wele.”And thus thei maden wordes fele,Wherof this lord hath hiede nome,And dede hem bothe forto comeTo the Paleis, wher he schal ete,And bad ordeine for here meteTuo Pastes, whiche he let do make.A capoun in that on was bake,And in that other forto winneOf florins al that mai withinne    2410He let do pute a gret richesse;And evene aliche, as man mai gesse,Outward thei were bothe tuo.This begger was comanded tho,He that which hield him to the king,That he ferst chese upon this thing:He sih hem, bot he felte hem noght,So that upon his oghne thoghtHe ches the Capoun and forsokThat other, which his fela tok.    2420Bot whanne he wiste hou that it ferde,He seide alowd, that men it herde,“Nou have I certeinly conceivedThat he mai lihtly be deceived,That tristeth unto mannes helpe;Bot wel is him whom god wol helpe,For he stant on the siker side,Which elles scholde go beside:I se my fela wel recovere,And I mot duelle stille povere.”    2430Thus spak this begger his entente,And povere he cam and povere he wente;Of that he hath richesse soght,His infortune it wolde noght.So mai it schewe in sondri wise,Betwen fortune and covoitiseThe chance is cast upon a Dee;Bot yit fulofte a man mai seYnowe of suche natheles,Whiche evere pute hemself in press    2440To gete hem good, and yit thei faile.And forto speke of this entaileTouchende of love in thi matiere,Mi goode Sone, as thou miht hiere,That riht as it with tho men stodOf infortune of worldes good,As thou hast herd me telle above,Riht so fulofte it stant be love:Thogh thou coveite it everemore,Thou schalt noght have o diel the more,    2450Bot only that which thee is schape,The remenant is bot a jape.And natheles ynowe of thoTher ben, that nou coveiten so,That where as thei a womman se,Ye ten or tuelve thogh ther be,The love is nou so unavised,That wher the beaute stant assised,The mannes herte anon is there,And rouneth tales in hire Ere,    2460And seith hou that he loveth streite,And thus he set him to coveite,An hundred thogh he sihe aday.So wolde he more thanne he may;Bot for the grete covoitiseOf sotie and of fol empriseIn ech of hem he fint somwhatThat pleseth him, or this or that;Som on, for sche is whit of skin,Som on, for sche is noble of kin,    2470Som on, for sche hath rodi chieke,Som on, for that sche semeth mieke,Som on, for sche hath yhen greie,Som on, for sche can lawhe and pleie,Som on, for sche is long and smal,Som on, for sche is lyte and tall,Som on, for sche is pale and bleche,Som on, for sche is softe of speche,Som on, for that sche is camused,Som on, for sche hath noght ben used,    2480Som on, for sche can daunce and singe;So that som thing to his likingeHe fint, and thogh nomore he fiele,Bot that sche hath a litel hiele,It is ynow that he therforeHire love, and thus an hundred score,Whil thei be newe, he wolde he hadde;Whom he forsakth, sche schal be badde.The blinde man no colour demeth,But al is on, riht as him semeth;    2490So hath his lust no juggement,Whom covoitise of love blent.Him thenkth that to his covoitiseHou al the world ne mai suffise,For be his wille he wolde have alle,If that it mihte so befalle:Thus is he commun as the Strete,I sette noght of his beyete.Mi Sone, hast thou such covoitise?Nai, fader, such love I despise,    2500And whil I live schal don evere,For in good feith yit hadde I levere,Than to coveite in such a weie,To ben for evere til I deieAs povere as Job, and loveles,Outaken on, for havelesHis thonkes is noman alyve.For that a man scholde al unthryveTher oghte no wisman coveite,The lawe was noght set so streite:    2510Forthi miself withal to save,Such on ther is I wolde have,And non of al these othre mo.Mi Sone, of that thou woldest so,I am noght wroth, bot over thisI wol thee tellen hou it is.For ther be men, whiche otherwise,Riht only for the covoitiseOf that thei sen a womman riche,Ther wol thei al here love affiche;    2520Noght for the beaute of hire face,Ne yit for vertu ne for grace,Which sche hath elles riht ynowh,Bot for the Park and for the plowh,And other thing which therto longeth:For in non other wise hem longethTo love, bot thei profit finde;And if the profit be behinde,Here love is evere lesse and lesse,For after that sche hath richesse,    2530Her love is of proporcion.If thou hast such condicion,Mi Sone, tell riht as it is.Min holi fader, nay ywiss,Condicion such have I non.For trewli, fader, I love oonSo wel with al myn hertes thoght,That certes, thogh sche hadde noght,And were as povere as Medea,Which was exiled for Creusa,    2540I wolde hir noght the lasse love;Ne thogh sche were at hire above,As was the riche qwen Candace,Which to deserve love and graceTo Alisandre, that was king,Yaf many a worthi riche thing,Or elles as Pantasilee,Which was the quen of Feminee,And gret richesse with hir nam,Whan sche for love of Hector cam    2550To Troie in rescousse of the toun,—I am of such condicion,That thogh mi ladi of hirselveWere also riche as suche tuelve,I couthe noght, thogh it wer so,No betre love hir than I do.For I love in so plein a wise,That forto speke of coveitise,As for poverte or for richesseMi love is nouther mor ne lesse.    2560For in good feith I trowe this,So coveitous noman ther is,Forwhy and he mi ladi sihe,That he thurgh lokinge of his yheNe scholde have such a strok withinne,That for no gold he mihte winneHe scholde noght hire love asterte,Bot if he lefte there his herte;Be so it were such a man,That couthe Skile of a womman.    2570For ther be men so ruide some,Whan thei among the wommen come,Thei gon under proteccioun,That love and his affecciounNe schal noght take hem be the slieve;For thei ben out of that believe,Hem lusteth of no ladi chiere,Bot evere thenken there and hiereWher that here gold is in the cofre,And wol non other love profre:    2580Bot who so wot what love amountethAnd be resoun trewliche acompteth,Than mai he knowe and taken hiedeThat al the lust of wommanhiede,Which mai ben in a ladi face,Mi ladi hath, and ek of graceIf men schull yiven hire a pris,Thei mai wel seie hou sche is wysAnd sobre and simple of contenance,And al that to good governance    2590Belongeth of a worthi wihtSche hath pleinli: for thilke nyhtThat sche was bore, as for the nonesNature sette in hire at onesBeaute with bounte so besein,That I mai wel afferme and sein,I sawh yit nevere creatureOf comlihied and of fetureIn eny kinges regiounBe lich hire in comparisoun:    2600And therto, as I have you told,Yit hath sche more a thousendfoldOf bounte, and schortli to telle,Sche is the pure hed and welleAnd Mirour and ensample of goode.Who so hir vertus understode,Me thenkth it oughte ynow suffiseWithouten other covoitiseTo love such on and to serve,Which with hire chiere can deserve    2610To be beloved betre ywissThan sche per cas that richest isAnd hath of gold a Milion.Such hath be myn opinionAnd evere schal: bot nathelesI seie noght sche is haveles,That sche nys riche and wel at ese,And hath ynow wherwith to pleseOf worldes good whom that hire liste;Bot o thing wolde I wel ye wiste,    2620That nevere for no worldes goodMin herte untoward hire stod,Bot only riht for pure love;That wot the hihe god above.Nou, fader, what seie ye therto?Mi Sone, I seie it is wel do.For tak of this riht good believe,What man that wole himself relieveTo love in eny other wise,He schal wel finde his coveitise    2630Schal sore grieve him ate laste,For such a love mai noght laste.Bot nou, men sein, in oure daiesMen maken bot a fewe assaies,Bot if the cause be richesse;Forthi the love is wel the lesse.And who that wolde ensamples telle,Be olde daies as thei felle,Than mihte a man wel understondeSuch love mai noght longe stonde.    2640Now herkne, Sone, and thou schalt hiereA gret ensample of this matiere.To trete upon the cas of love,So as we tolden hiere above,I finde write a wonder thing.Of Puile whilom was a king,A man of hih complexiounAnd yong, bot his affecciounAfter the nature of his ageWas yit noght falle in his corage    2650The lust of wommen forto knowe.So it betidde upon a throweThis lord fell into gret seknesse:Phisique hath don the besinesseOf sondri cures manyonTo make him hol; and theruponA worthi maister which ther wasYaf him conseil upon this cas,That if he wolde have parfit hele,He scholde with a womman dele,    2660A freissh, a yong, a lusti wiht,To don him compaignie a nyht:For thanne he seide him redily,That he schal be al hol therby,And otherwise he kneu no cure.This king, which stod in aventureOf lif and deth, for medicineAssented was, and of covineHis Steward, whom he tristeth wel,He tok, and tolde him everydel,    2670Hou that this maister hadde seid:And therupon he hath him preidAnd charged upon his ligance,That he do make porveanceOf such on as be covenableFor his plesance and delitable;And bad him, hou that evere it stod,That he schal spare for no good,For his will is riht wel to paie.The Steward seide he wolde assaie:    2680Bot nou hierafter thou schalt wite,As I finde in the bokes write,What coveitise in love doth.This Steward, forto telle soth,Amonges al the men alyveA lusti ladi hath to wyve,Which natheles for gold he tokAnd noght for love, as seith the bok.A riche Marchant of the londHir fader was, and hire fond    2690So worthily, and such richesseOf worldes good and such largesseWith hire he yaf in mariage,That only for thilke avantageOf good this Steward hath hire take,For lucre and noght for loves sake,And that was afterward wel seene;Nou herkne what it wolde meene.This Steward in his oghne herteSih that his lord mai noght asterte    2700His maladie, bot he haveA lusti womman him to save,And thoghte he wolde yive ynowhOf his tresor; wherof he drowhGret coveitise into his mynde,And sette his honour fer behynde.Thus he, whom gold hath overset,Was trapped in his oghne net;The gold hath mad hise wittes lame,So that sechende his oghne schame    2710He rouneth in the kinges Ere,And seide him that he wiste whereA gentile and a lusti onTho was, and thider wolde he gon:Bot he mot yive yiftes grete;For bot it be thurgh grete beyeteOf gold, he seith, he schal noght spede.The king him bad upon the nedeThat take an hundred pound he scholde,And yive it where that he wolde,    2720Be so it were in worthi place:And thus to stonde in loves graceThis king his gold hath abandouned.And whan this tale was full rouned,The Steward tok the gold and wente,Withinne his herte and many a wenteOf coveitise thanne he caste,Wherof a pourpos ate lasteAyein love and ayein his rihtHe tok, and seide hou thilke nyht    2730His wif schal ligge be the king;And goth thenkende upon this thingToward his In, til he cam homInto the chambre, and thanne he nomHis wif, and tolde hire al the cas.And sche, which red for schame was,With bothe hire handes hath him preidKnelende and in this wise seid,That sche to reson and to skileIn what thing that he bidde wile    2740Is redy forto don his heste,Bot this thing were noght honeste,That he for gold hire scholde selle.And he tho with hise wordes felleForth with his gastly contienanceSeith that sche schal don obeissanceAnd folwe his will in every place;And thus thurgh strengthe of his manaceHir innocence is overlad,Wherof sche was so sore adrad    2750That sche his will mot nede obeie.And therupon was schape a weie,That he his oghne wif be nyhteHath out of alle mennes sihteSo prively that non it wisteBroght to the king, which as him listeMai do with hire what he wolde.For whan sche was ther as sche scholde,With him abedde under the cloth,The Steward tok his leve and goth    2760Into a chambre faste by;Bot hou he slep, that wot noght I,For he sih cause of jelousie.Bot he, which hath the compainieOf such a lusti on as sche,Him thoghte that of his degreTher was noman so wel at ese:Sche doth al that sche mai to plese,So that his herte al hol sche hadde;And thus this king his joie ladde,    2770Til it was nyh upon the day.The Steward thanne wher sche layCam to the bedd, and in his wiseHath bede that sche scholde arise.The king seith, “Nay, sche schal noght go.”His Steward seide ayein, “Noght so;For sche mot gon er it be knowe,And so I swor at thilke throwe,Whan I hire fette to you hiere.”The king his tale wol noght hiere,    2780And seith hou that he hath hire boght,Forthi sche schal departe noght,Til he the brighte dai beholde.And cawhte hire in hise armes folde,As he which liste forto pleie,And bad his Steward gon his weie,And so he dede ayein his wille.And thus his wif abedde stilleLay with the king the longe nyht,Til that it was hih Sonne lyht;    2790Bot who sche was he knew nothing.Tho cam the Steward to the kingAnd preide him that withoute schameIn savinge of hire goode nameHe myhte leden hom ayeinThis lady, and hath told him pleinHou that it was his oghne wif.The king his Ere unto this strifHath leid, and whan that he it herde,Welnyh out of his wit he ferde,    2800And seide, “Ha, caitif most of alle,Wher was it evere er this befalle,That eny cokard in this wiseBetok his wif for coveitise?Thou hast bothe hire and me beguiledAnd ek thin oghne astat reviled,Wherof that buxom unto theeHierafter schal sche nevere be.For this avou to god I make,After this day if I thee take,    2810Thou schalt ben honged and todrawe.Nou loke anon thou be withdrawe,So that I se thee neveremore.”This Steward thanne dradde him sore,With al the haste that he maiAnd fledde awei that same dai,And was exiled out of londe.Lo, there a nyce housebonde,Which thus hath lost his wif for evere!Bot natheles sche hadde a levere;    2820The king hire weddeth and honoureth,Wherof hire name sche socoureth,Which erst was lost thurgh coveitiseOf him, that ladde hire other wise,And hath himself also forlore.Mi Sone, be thou war therfore,Wher thou schalt love in eny place,That thou no covoitise embrace,The which is noght of loves kinde.Bot for al that a man mai finde    2830Nou in this time of thilke rageFul gret desese in mariage,Whan venym melleth with the SucreAnd mariage is mad for lucre,Or for the lust or for the hele:What man that schal with outher dele,He mai noght faile to repente.Mi fader, such is myn entente:Bot natheles good is to have,For good mai ofte time save    2840The love which scholde elles spille.Bot god, which wot myn hertes wille,I dar wel take to witnesse,Yit was I nevere for richesseBeset with mariage non;For al myn herte is upon onSo frely, that in the personeStant al my worldes joie al one:I axe nouther Park ne Plowh,If I hire hadde, it were ynowh,    2850Hir love scholde me suffiseWithouten other coveitise.Lo now, mi fader, as of this,Touchende of me riht as it is,Mi schrifte I am beknowe plein;And if ye wole oght elles sein,Of covoitise if ther be moreIn love, agropeth out the sore.Mi Sone, thou schalt understondeHou Coveitise hath yit on honde    2860In special tuo conseilours,That ben also hise procurours.The ferst of hem is Falswitnesse,Which evere is redi to witnesseWhat thing his maister wol him hote:Perjurie is the secounde hote,Which spareth noght to swere an oth,Thogh it be fals and god be wroth.That on schal falswitnesse bere,That other schal the thing forswere,    2870Whan he is charged on the bok.So what with hepe and what with crokThei make here maister ofte winneAnd wol noght knowe what is sinneFor coveitise, and thus, men sain,Thei maken many a fals bargain.Ther mai no trewe querele ariseIn thilke queste and thilke assise,Where as thei tuo the poeple enforme;For thei kepe evere o maner forme,    2880That upon gold here conscienceThei founde, and take here evidence;And thus with falswitnesse and othesThei winne hem mete and drinke and clothes.Riht so ther be, who that hem knewe,Of thes lovers ful many untrewe:Nou mai a womman finde ynowe,That ech of hem, whan he schal wowe,Anon he wole his hand doun leinUpon a bok, and swere and sein    2890That he wole feith and trouthe bere;And thus he profreth him to swereTo serven evere til he die,And al is verai tricherie.For whan the sothe himselven trieth,The more he swerth, the more he lieth;Whan he his feith makth althermest,Than mai a womman truste him lest;For til he mai his will achieve,He is no lengere forto lieve.    2900Thus is the trouthe of love exiled,And many a good womman beguiled.And ek to speke of Falswitnesse,There be nou many suche, I gesse,That lich unto the provisoursThei make here prive procurours,To telle hou ther is such a man,Which is worthi to love and canAl that a good man scholde kunne;So that with lesinge is begunne    2910The cause in which thei wole procede,And also siker as the credeThei make of that thei knowen fals.And thus fulofte aboute the halsLove is of false men embraced;Bot love which is so pourchacedComth afterward to litel pris.Forthi, mi Sone, if thou be wis,Nou thou hast herd this evidence,Thou miht thin oghne conscience    2920Oppose, if thou hast ben such on.Nai, god wot, fader I am non,Ne nevere was; for as men seith,Whan that a man schal make his feith,His herte and tunge moste acorde;For if so be that thei discorde,Thanne is he fals and elles noght:And I dar seie, as of my thoght,In love it is noght descordableUnto mi word, bot acordable.    2930And in this wise, fader, IMai riht wel swere and salvely,That I mi ladi love wel,For that acordeth everydel.It nedeth noght to mi sothsaweThat I witnesse scholde drawe,Into this dai for nevere yitNe mihte it sinke into mi wit,That I my conseil scholde seieTo eny wiht, or me bewreie    2940To sechen help in such manere,Bot only of mi ladi diere.And thogh a thousend men it wiste,That I hire love, and thanne hem listeWith me to swere and to witnesse,Yit were that no falswitnesse;For I dar on this trouthe duelle,I love hire mor than I can telle.Thus am I, fader, gulteles,As ye have herd, and natheles    2950In youre dom I put it al.Mi Sone, wite in special,It schal noght comunliche faile,Al thogh it for a time availeThat Falswitnesse his cause spede,Upon the point of his falshiedeIt schal wel afterward be kid;Wherof, so as it is betid,Ensample of suche thinges blindeIn a Cronique write I finde.    2960The Goddesse of the See Thetis,Sche hadde a Sone, and his name isAchilles, whom to kepe and warde,Whil he was yong, as into wardeSche thoghte him salfly to betake,As sche which dradde for his sakeOf that was seid in prophecie,That he at Troie scholde die,Whan that the Cite was belein.Forthi, so as the bokes sein,    2970Sche caste hire wit in sondri wise,Hou sche him mihte so desguiseThat noman scholde his bodi knowe:And so befell that ilke throwe,Whil that sche thoghte upon this dede,Ther was a king, which LichomedeWas hote, and he was wel begonWith faire dowhtres manyon,And duelte fer out in an yle.Nou schalt thou hiere a wonder wyle:    2980This queene, which the moder wasOf Achilles, upon this casHire Sone, as he a Maiden were,Let clothen in the same gereWhich longeth unto wommanhiede:And he was yong and tok non hiede,Bot soffreth al that sche him dede.Wherof sche hath hire wommen bedeAnd charged be here othes alle,Hou so it afterward befalle,    2990That thei discovere noght this thing,Bot feigne and make a knowleching,Upon the conseil which was nome,In every place wher thei comeTo telle and to witnesse this,Hou he here ladi dowhter is.And riht in such a maner wiseSche bad thei scholde hire don servise,So that Achilles underfongethAs to a yong ladi belongeth    3000Honour, servise and reverence.For Thetis with gret diligenceHim hath so tawht and so afaited,That, hou so that it were awaited,With sobre and goodli contenanceHe scholde his wommanhiede avance,That non the sothe knowe myhte,Bot that in every mannes syhteHe scholde seme a pure Maide.And in such wise as sche him saide,    3010Achilles, which that ilke whileWas yong, upon himself to smyleBegan, whan he was so besein.And thus, after the bokes sein,With frette of Perle upon his hed,Al freissh betwen the whyt and red,As he which tho was tendre of Age,Stod the colour in his visage,That forto loke upon his chekeAnd sen his childly manere eke,    3020He was a womman to beholde.And thanne his moder to him tolde,That sche him hadde so begonBe cause that sche thoghte gonTo Lichomede at thilke tyde,Wher that sche seide he scholde abydeAmong hise dowhtres forto duelle.Achilles herde his moder telle,And wiste noght the cause why;And natheles ful buxomly    3030He was redy to that sche bad,Wherof his moder was riht glad,To Lichomede and forth thei wente.And whan the king knew hire entente,And sih this yonge dowhter there,And that it cam unto his EreOf such record, of such witnesse,He hadde riht a gret gladnesseOf that he bothe syh and herde,As he that wot noght hou it ferde    3040Upon the conseil of the nede.Bot for al that king LichomedeHath toward him this dowhter take,And for Thetis his moder sakeHe put hire into compainieTo duelle with Deïdamie,His oghne dowhter, the eldeste,The faireste and the comeliesteOf alle hise doghtres whiche he hadde.Lo, thus Thetis the cause ladde,    3050And lefte there Achilles feigned,As he which hath himself restreignedIn al that evere he mai and canOut of the manere of a man,And tok his wommannysshe chiere,Wherof unto his beddefereDeïdamie he hath be nyhte.Wher kinde wole himselve rihte,After the Philosophres sein,Ther mai no wiht be therayein:    3060And that was thilke time seene.The longe nyhtes hem betueneNature, which mai noght forbere,Hath mad hem bothe forto stere:Thei kessen ferst, and overmoreThe hihe weie of loves loreThei gon, and al was don in dede,Wherof lost is the maydenhede;And that was afterward wel knowe.For it befell that ilke throwe    3070At Troie, wher the Siege layUpon the cause of MenelayAnd of his queene dame Heleine,The Gregois hadden mochel peineAlday to fihte and to assaile.Bot for thei mihten noght availeSo noble a Cite forto winne,A prive conseil thei beginne,In sondri wise wher thei trete;And ate laste among the grete    3080Thei fellen unto this acord,That Protheus, of his recordWhich was an AstronomienAnd ek a gret Magicien,Scholde of his calculacionSeche after constellacion,Hou thei the Cite mihten gete:And he, which hadde noght foryeteOf that belongeth to a clerk,His studie sette upon this werk.    3090So longe his wit aboute he caste,Til that he fond out ate laste,Bot if they hadden AchillesHere werre schal ben endeles.And over that he tolde hem pleinIn what manere he was besein,And in what place he schal be founde;So that withinne a litel stoundeUlixes forth with DiomedeUpon this point to Lichomede    3100Agamenon togedre sente.Bot Ulixes, er he forth wente,Which was on of the moste wise,Ordeigned hath in such a wise,That he the moste riche aray,Wherof a womman mai be gay,With him hath take manyfold,And overmore, as it is told,An harneis for a lusti kniht,Which burned was as Selver bryht,    3110Of swerd, of plate and ek of maile,As thogh he scholde to bataille,He tok also with him be Schipe.And thus togedre in felaschipeForth gon this Diomede and heIn hope til thei mihten seThe place where Achilles is.The wynd stod thanne noght amis,Bot evene topseilcole it blew,Til Ulixes the Marche knew,    3120Wher Lichomede his Regne hadde.The Stieresman so wel hem ladde,That thei ben comen sauf to londe,Wher thei gon out upon the strondeInto the Burgh, wher that thei foundeThe king, and he which hath facounde,Ulixes, dede the message.Bot the conseil of his corage,Why that he cam, he tolde noght,Bot undernethe he was bethoght    3130In what manere he mihte aspieAchilles fro DeïdamieAnd fro these othre that ther were,Full many a lusti ladi there.Thei pleide hem there a day or tuo,And as it was fortuned so,It fell that time in such a wise,To Bachus that a sacrifiseThes yonge ladys scholden make;And for the strange mennes sake,    3140That comen fro the Siege of Troie,Thei maden wel the more joie.Ther was Revel, ther was daunsinge,And every lif which coude singeOf lusti wommen in the routeA freissh carole hath sunge aboute;Bot for al this yit nathelesThe Greks unknowe of AchillesSo weren, that in no degreThei couden wite which was he,    3150Ne be his vois, ne be his pas.Ulixes thanne upon this casA thing of hih Prudence hath wroght:For thilke aray, which he hath broghtTo yive among the wommen there,He let do fetten al the gereForth with a knihtes harneis eke,—In al a contre forto sekeMen scholden noght a fairer se,—And every thing in his degre    3160Endlong upon a bord he leide.To Lichomede and thanne he preideThat every ladi chese scholdeWhat thing of alle that sche wolde,And take it as be weie of yifte;For thei hemself it scholde schifte,He seide, after here oghne wille.Achilles thanne stod noght stille:Whan he the bryhte helm behield,The swerd, the hauberk and the Schield,    3170His herte fell therto anon;Of all that othre wolde he non,The knihtes gere he underfongeth,And thilke aray which that belongethUnto the wommen he forsok.And in this wise, as seith the bok,Thei knowen thanne which he was:For he goth forth the grete pasInto the chambre where he lay;Anon, and made no delay,    3180He armeth him in knyhtli wise,That bettre can noman devise,And as fortune scholde falle,He cam so forth tofore hem alle,As he which tho was glad ynowh.But Lichomede nothing lowh,Whan that he syh hou that it ferde,For thanne he wiste wel and herde,His dowhter hadde be forlein;Bot that he was so oversein,    3190The wonder overgoth his wit.For in Cronique is write yitThing which schal nevere be foryete,Hou that Achilles hath begetePirrus upon Deïdamie,Wherof cam out the tricherieOf Falswitnesse, whan thei saideHou that Achilles was a Maide.Bot that was nothing sene tho,For he is to the Siege go    3200Forth with Ulixe and Diomede.Lo, thus was proved in the dedeAnd fulli spoke at thilke while:If o womman an other guile,Wher is ther eny sikernesse?Whan Thetis, which was the goddesse,Deïdamie hath so bejaped,I not hou it schal ben ascapedWith tho wommen whos innocenceIs nou alday thurgh such credence    3210Deceived ofte, as it is seene,With men that such untrouthe meene.For thei ben slyhe in such a wise,That thei be sleihte and be queintiseOf Falswitnesse bringen inneThat doth hem ofte forto winne,Wher thei ben noght worthi therto.Forthi, my Sone, do noght so.Mi fader, as of FalswitnesseThe trouthe and the matiere expresse,    3220Touchende of love hou it hath ferd,As ye have told, I have wel herd.Bot for ye seiden otherwise,Hou thilke vice of CovoitiseHath yit Perjurie of his acord,If that you list of som recordTo telle an other tale alsoIn loves cause of time ago,What thing it is to be forswore,I wolde preie you therfore,    3230Wherof I mihte ensample take.Mi goode Sone, and for thi sakeTouchende of this I schall fulfilleThin axinge at thin oghne wille,And the matiere I schal declare,Hou the wommen deceived are,Whan thei so tendre herte bere,Of that thei hieren men so swere;Bot whan it comth unto thassay,Thei finde it fals an other day:    3240As Jason dede to Medee,Which stant yet of AuctoriteIn tokne and in memorial;Wherof the tale in specialIs in the bok of Troie write,Which I schal do thee forto wite.In Grece whilom was a king,Of whom the fame and knowlechingBeleveth yit, and PeleüsHe hihte; bot it fell him thus,    3250That his fortune hir whiel so laddeThat he no child his oghne haddeTo regnen after his decess.He hadde a brother natheles,Whos rihte name was Eson,And he the worthi kniht JasonBegat, the which in every londAlle othre passede of his hondIn Armes, so that he the besteWas named and the worthieste,    3260He soghte worschipe overal.Nou herkne, and I thee telle schalAn aventure that he soghte,Which afterward ful dere he boghte.Ther was an yle, which ColchosWas cleped, and therof arosGret speche in every lond aboute,That such merveile was non outeIn al the wyde world nawhere,As tho was in that yle there.    3270Ther was a Schiep, as it was told,The which his flees bar al of gold,And so the goddes hadde it set,That it ne mihte awei be fetBe pouer of no worldes wiht:And yit ful many a worthi knihtIt hadde assaied, as thei dorste,And evere it fell hem to the worste.Bot he, that wolde it noght forsake,Bot of his knyhthod undertake    3280To do what thing therto belongeth,This worthi Jason, sore alongethTo se the strange regiounsAnd knowe the condiciounsOf othre Marches, where he wente;And for that cause his hole ententeHe sette Colchos forto seche,And therupon he made a specheTo Peleüs his Em the king.And he wel paid was of that thing;    3290And schop anon for his passage,And suche as were of his lignage,With othre knihtes whiche he ches,With him he tok, and Hercules,Which full was of chivalerie,With Jason wente in compaignie;And that was in the Monthe of Maii,Whan colde stormes were away.The wynd was good, the Schip was yare,Thei tok here leve, and forth thei fare    3300Toward Colchos: bot on the weieWhat hem befell is long to seie;Hou Lamedon the king of Troie,Which oghte wel have mad hem joie.Whan thei to reste a while him preide,Out of his lond he hem congeide;And so fell the dissencion,Which after was destruccionOf that Cite, as men mai hiere:Bot that is noght to mi matiere.    3310Bot thus this worthi folk GregeisFro that king, which was noght curteis,And fro his lond with Sail updraweThei wente hem forth, and many a saweThei made and many a gret manace,Til ate laste into that placeWhich as thei soghte thei aryve,And striken Sail, and forth as blyveThei sente unto the king and toldenWho weren ther and what thei wolden.    3320Oëtes, which was thanne king,Whan that he herde this tydingOf Jason, which was comen there,And of these othre, what thei were,He thoghte don hem gret worschipe:For thei anon come out of Schipe,And strawht unto the king thei wente,And be the hond Jason he hente,And that was ate paleis gate,So fer the king cam on his gate    3330Toward Jason to don him chiere;And he, whom lacketh no manere,Whan he the king sih in presence,Yaf him ayein such reverenceAs to a kinges stat belongeth.And thus the king him underfongeth,And Jason in his arm he cawhte,And forth into the halle he strawhte,And ther they siete and spieke of thinges,And Jason tolde him tho tidinges,    3340Why he was come, and faire him preideTo haste his time, and the kyng seide,“Jason, thou art a worthi kniht,Bot it lith in no mannes myhtTo don that thou art come fore:Ther hath be many a kniht forloreOf that thei wolden it assaie.”Bot Jason wolde him noght esmaie,And seide, “Of every worldes cureFortune stant in aventure,    3350Per aunter wel, per aunter wo:Bot hou as evere that it go,It schal be with myn hond assaied.”The king tho hield him noght wel paied,For he the Grekes sore dredde,In aunter, if Jason ne spedde,He mihte therof bere a blame;For tho was al the worldes fameIn Grece, as forto speke of Armes.Forthi he dredde him of his harmes,    3360And gan to preche him and to preie;Bot Jason wolde noght obeie,Bot seide he wolde his porpos holdeFor ought that eny man him tolde.The king, whan he thes wordes herde,And sih hou that this kniht ansuerde,Yit for he wolde make him glad,After Medea gon he bad,Which was his dowhter, and sche cam.And Jason, which good hiede nam,    3370Whan he hire sih, ayein hire goth;And sche, which was him nothing loth,Welcomede him into that lond,And softe tok him be the hond,And doun thei seten bothe same.Sche hadde herd spoke of his nameAnd of his grete worthinesse;Forthi sche gan hir yhe impresseUpon his face and his stature,And thoghte hou nevere creature    3380Was so wel farende as was he.And Jason riht in such degreNe mihte noght withholde his lok,Bot so good hiede on hire he tok,That him ne thoghte under the heveneOf beaute sawh he nevere hir evene,With al that fell to wommanhiede.Thus ech of other token hiede,Thogh ther no word was of record;Here hertes bothe of on acord    3390Ben set to love, bot as thoTher mihten be no wordes mo.The king made him gret joie and feste,To alle his men he yaf an heste,So as thei wolde his thonk deserve,That thei scholde alle Jason serve,Whil that he wolde there duelle.And thus the dai, schortly to telle,With manye merthes thei despente,Til nyht was come, and tho thei wente,    3400Echon of other tok his leve,Whan thei no lengere myhten leve.I not hou Jason that nyht slep,Bot wel I wot that of the Schep,For which he cam into that yle,He thoghte bot a litel whyle;Al was Medea that he thoghte,So that in many a wise he soghteHis witt wakende er it was day,Som time yee, som time nay,    3410Som time thus, som time so,As he was stered to and froOf love, and ek of his conquesteAs he was holde of his beheste.And thus he ros up be the morweAnd tok himself seint John to borwe,And seide he wolde ferst beginneAt love, and after forto winneThe flees of gold, for which he com,And thus to him good herte he nom.    3420Medea riht the same wise,Til dai cam that sche moste arise,Lay and bethoughte hire al the nyht,Hou sche that noble worthi knihtBe eny weie mihte wedde:And wel sche wiste, if he ne speddeOf thing which he hadde undertake,Sche mihte hirself no porpos take;For if he deide of his bataile,Sche moste thanne algate faile    3430To geten him, whan he were ded.Thus sche began to sette redAnd torne aboute hir wittes alle,To loke hou that it mihte falleThat sche with him hadde a leisirTo speke and telle of hir desir.And so it fell that same dayThat Jason with that suete mayTogedre sete and hadden spaceTo speke, and he besoughte hir grace.    3440And sche his tale goodli herde,And afterward sche him ansuerdeAnd seide, “Jason, as thou wilt,Thou miht be sauf, thou miht be spilt;For wite wel that nevere man,Bot if he couthe that I can,Ne mihte that fortune achieveFor which thou comst: bot as I lieve,If thou wolt holde covenantTo love, of al the remenant    3450I schal thi lif and honour save,That thou the flees of gold schalt have.”He seide, “Al at youre oghne wille,Ma dame, I schal treuly fulfilleYoure heste, whil mi lif mai laste.”Thus longe he preide, and ate lasteSche granteth, and behihte him this,That whan nyht comth and it time is,Sche wolde him sende certeinlySuch on that scholde him prively    3460Al one into hire chambre bringe.He thonketh hire of that tidinge,For of that grace him is begonneHim thenkth alle othre thinges wonne.The dai made ende and lost his lyht,And comen was the derke nyht,Which al the daies yhe blente.Jason tok leve and forth he wente,And whan he cam out of the pres,He tok to conseil Hercules,    3470And tolde him hou it was betid,And preide it scholde wel ben hid,And that he wolde loke aboute,Therwhiles that he schal ben oute.Thus as he stod and hiede nam,A Mayden fro Medea camAnd to hir chambre Jason ledde,Wher that he fond redi to beddeThe faireste and the wiseste eke;And sche with simple chiere and meke,    3480Whan sche him sih, wax al aschamed.Tho was here tale newe entamed;For sikernesse of MariageSche fette forth a riche ymage,Which was figure of Jupiter,And Jason swor and seide ther,That also wiss god scholde him helpe,That if Medea dede him helpe,That he his pourpos myhte winne,Thei scholde nevere parte atwinne,    3490Bot evere whil him lasteth lif,He wolde hire holde for his wif.And with that word thei kisten bothe;And for thei scholden hem unclothe,Ther cam a Maide, and in hir wiseSche dede hem bothe full servise,Til that thei were in bedde naked:I wot that nyht was wel bewaked,Thei hadden bothe what thei wolde.And thanne of leisir sche him tolde,    3500And gan fro point to point enformeOf his bataile and al the forme,Which as he scholde finde there,Whan he to thyle come were.Sche seide, at entre of the pasHou Mars, which god of Armes was,Hath set tuo Oxen sterne and stoute,That caste fyr and flamme abouteBothe at the mouth and ate nase,So that thei setten al on blase    3510What thing that passeth hem betwene:And forthermore upon the greneTher goth the flees of gold to kepeA Serpent, which mai nevere slepe.Thus who that evere scholde it winne,The fyr to stoppe he mot beginne,Which that the fierce bestes caste,And daunte he mot hem ate laste,So that he mai hem yoke and dryve;And therupon he mot as blyve    3520The Serpent with such strengthe assaile,That he mai slen him be bataile;Of which he mot the teth outdrawe,As it belongeth to that lawe,And thanne he mot tho Oxen yoke,Til thei have with a plowh tobrokeA furgh of lond, in which aroweThe teth of thaddre he moste sowe,And therof schule arise knihtesWel armed up at alle rihtes.    3530Of hem is noght to taken hiede,For ech of hem in hastihiedeSchal other slen with dethes wounde:And thus whan thei ben leid to grounde,Than mot he to the goddes preie,And go so forth and take his preie.Bot if he faile in eny wiseOf that ye hiere me devise,Ther mai be set non other weie,That he ne moste algates deie.    3540“Nou have I told the peril al:I woll you tellen forth withal,”Quod Medea to Jason tho,“That ye schul knowen er ye go,Ayein the venym and the fyrWhat schal ben the recoverir.Bot, Sire, for it is nyh day,Ariseth up, so that I mayDelivere you what thing I have,That mai youre lif and honour save.”    3550Thei weren bothe loth to rise,Bot for thei weren bothe wise,Up thei arisen ate laste:Jason his clothes on him casteAnd made him redi riht anon,And sche hir scherte dede uponAnd caste on hire a mantel clos,Withoute more and thanne aros.Tho tok sche forth a riche TyeMad al of gold and of Perrie,    3560Out of the which sche nam a Ring,The Ston was worth al other thing.Sche seide, whil he wolde it were,Ther myhte no peril him dere,In water mai it noght be dreynt,Wher as it comth the fyr is queynt,It daunteth ek the cruel beste,Ther may no qued that man areste,Wher so he be on See or lond,Which hath that ring upon his hond:    3570And over that sche gan to sein,That if a man wol ben unsein,Withinne his hond hold clos the Ston,And he mai invisible gon.The Ring to Jason sche betauhte,And so forth after sche him tauhteWhat sacrifise he scholde make;And gan out of hire cofre takeHim thoughte an hevenely figure,Which al be charme and be conjure    3580Was wroght, and ek it was thurgh writeWith names, which he scholde wite,As sche him tauhte tho to rede;And bad him, as he wolde spede,Withoute reste of eny while,Whan he were londed in that yle,He scholde make his sacrifiseAnd rede his carecte in the wiseAs sche him tauhte, on knes doun bent,Thre sithes toward orient;    3590For so scholde he the goddes pleseAnd winne himselven mochel ese.And whanne he hadde it thries rad,To opne a buiste sche him bad,Which sche ther tok him in present,And was full of such oignement,That ther was fyr ne venym nonThat scholde fastnen him upon,Whan that he were enoynt withal.Forthi sche tauhte him hou he schal    3600Enoignte his armes al aboute,And for he scholde nothing doute,Sche tok him thanne a maner glu,The which was of so gret vertu,That where a man it wolde caste,It scholde binde anon so fasteThat noman mihte it don aweie.And that sche bad be alle weieHe scholde into the mouthes throwenOf tho tweie Oxen that fyr blowen,    3610Therof to stoppen the malice;The glu schal serve of that office.And over that hir oignement,Hir Ring and hir enchantementAyein the Serpent scholde him were,Til he him sle with swerd or spere:And thanne he may saufliche ynowhHis Oxen yoke into the plowhAnd the teth sowe in such a wise,Til he the knyhtes se arise,    3620And ech of other doun be leidIn such manere as I have seid.Lo, thus Medea for JasonOrdeigneth, and preith theruponThat he nothing foryete scholde,And ek sche preith him that he wolde,Whan he hath alle his Armes don,To grounde knele and thonke anonThe goddes, and so forth be eseThe flees of gold he scholde sese.    3630And whanne he hadde it sesed so,That thanne he were sone agoWithouten eny tariynge.Whan this was seid, into wepingeSche fell, as sche that was thurgh nomeWith love, and so fer overcome,That al hir world on him sche sette.Bot whan sche sih ther was no lette,That he mot nedes parte hire fro,Sche tok him in hire armes tuo,    3640An hundred time and gan him kisse,And seide, “O, al mi worldes blisse,Mi trust, mi lust, mi lif, min hele,To be thin helpe in this quereleI preie unto the goddes alle.”And with that word sche gan doun falleOn swoune, and he hire uppe nam,And forth with that the Maiden cam,And thei to bedde anon hir broghte,And thanne Jason hire besoghte,    3650And to hire seide in this manere:“Mi worthi lusti ladi dere,Conforteth you, for be my troutheIt schal noght fallen in mi sloutheThat I ne wol thurghout fulfilleYoure hestes at youre oghne wille.And yit I hope to you bringeWithinne a while such tidinge,The which schal make ous bothe game.”Bot for he wolde kepe hir name,    3660Whan that he wiste it was nyh dai,He seide, “A dieu, mi swete mai.”And forth with him he nam his gere,Which as sche hadde take him there,And strauht unto his chambre he wente,And goth to bedde and slep him hente,And lay, that noman him awok,For Hercules hiede of him tok,Til it was undren hih and more.And thanne he gan to sighe sore    3670And sodeinliche abreide of slep;And thei that token of him kep,His chamberleins, be sone there,And maden redi al his gere,And he aros and to the kingHe wente, and seide hou to that thingFor which he cam he wolde go.The king therof was wonder wo,And for he wolde him fain withdrawe,He tolde him many a dredful sawe,    3680Bot Jason wolde it noght recorde,And ate laste thei acorde.Whan that he wolde noght abide,A Bot was redy ate tyde,In which this worthi kniht of GreceFul armed up at every piece,To his bataile which belongeth,Tok ore on honde and sore him longeth,Til he the water passed were.Whan he cam to that yle there,    3690He set him on his knes doun strauht,And his carecte, as he was tawht,He radde, and made his sacrifise,And siththe enoignte him in that wise,As Medea him hadde bede;And thanne aros up fro that stede,And with the glu the fyr he queynte,And anon after he atteinteThe grete Serpent and him slowh.Bot erst he hadde sorwe ynowh,    3700For that Serpent made him travaileSo harde and sore of his bataile,That nou he stod and nou he fell:For longe time it so befell,That with his swerd ne with his spereHe mihte noght that Serpent dere.He was so scherded al aboute,It hield all eggetol withoute,He was so ruide and hard of skin,Ther mihte nothing go therin;    3710Venym and fyr togedre he caste,That he Jason so sore ablaste,That if ne were his oignement,His Ring and his enchantement,Which Medea tok him tofore,He hadde with that worm be lore;Bot of vertu which therof camJason the Dragon overcam.And he anon the teth outdrouh,And sette his Oxen in a plouh,    3720With which he brak a piece of londAnd sieu hem with his oghne hond.Tho mihte he gret merveile se:Of every toth in his degreSprong up a kniht with spere and schield,Of whiche anon riht in the fieldEchon slow other; and with thatJason Medea noght foryat,On bothe his knes he gan doun falle,And yaf thonk to the goddes alle.    3730The Flees he tok and goth to Bote,The Sonne schyneth bryhte and hote,The Flees of gold schon forth withal,The water glistreth overal.Medea wepte and sigheth ofte,And stod upon a Tour alofte:Al prively withinne hirselve,Ther herde it nouther ten ne tuelve,Sche preide, and seide, “O, god him spede,The kniht which hath mi maidenhiede!”    3740And ay sche loketh toward thyle.Bot whan sche sih withinne a whileThe Flees glistrende ayein the Sonne,Sche saide, “Ha, lord, now al is wonne,Mi kniht the field hath overcome:Nou wolde god he were come;Ha lord, that he ne were alonde!”Bot I dar take this on honde,If that sche hadde wynges tuo,Sche wolde have flowe unto him tho    3750Strawht ther he was into the Bot.The dai was clier, the Sonne hot,The Gregeis weren in gret doute,The whyle that here lord was oute:Thei wisten noght what scholde tyde,Bot waiten evere upon the tyde,To se what ende scholde falle.Ther stoden ek the nobles alleForth with the comun of the toun;And as thei loken up and doun,    3760Thei weren war withinne a throwe,Wher cam the bot, which thei wel knowe,And sihe hou Jason broghte his preie.And tho thei gonnen alle seie,And criden alle with o stevene,“Ha, wher was evere under the heveneSo noble a knyht as Jason is?”And welnyh alle seiden this,That Jason was a faie kniht,For it was nevere of mannes miht    3770The Flees of gold so forto winne;And thus to talen thei beginne.With that the king com forth anon,And sih the Flees, hou that it schon;And whan Jason cam to the lond,The king himselve tok his hondAnd kist him, and gret joie him made.The Gregeis weren wonder glade,And of that thing riht merie hem thoghte,And forth with hem the Flees thei broghte,    3780And ech on other gan to leyhe;Bot wel was him that mihte neyhe,To se therof the proprete.And thus thei passen the citeAnd gon unto the Paleis straght.Medea, which foryat him naght,Was redy there, and seide anon,“Welcome, O worthi kniht Jason.”Sche wolde have kist him wonder fayn,Bot schame tornede hire agayn;    3790It was noght the manere as tho,Forthi sche dorste noght do so.Sche tok hire leve, and Jason wenteInto his chambre, and sche him senteHire Maide to sen hou he ferde;The which whan that sche sih and herde,Hou that he hadde faren outeAnd that it stod wel al aboute,Sche tolde hire ladi what sche wiste,And sche for joie hire Maide kiste.    3800The bathes weren thanne araied,With herbes tempred and assaied,And Jason was unarmed soneAnd dede as it befell to done:Into his bath he wente anonAnd wyssh him clene as eny bon;He tok a sopp, and oute he cam,And on his beste aray he nam,And kempde his hed, whan he was clad,And goth him forth al merie and glad    3810Riht strawht into the kinges halle.The king cam with his knihtes alleAnd maden him glad welcominge;And he hem tolde the tidingeOf this and that, hou it befell,Whan that he wan the schepes fell.Medea, whan sche was asent,Com sone to that parlement,And whan sche mihte Jason se,Was non so glad of alle as sche.    3820Ther was no joie forto seche,Of him mad every man a speche,Som man seide on, som man seide other;Bot thogh he were goddes brotherAnd mihte make fyr and thonder,Ther mihte be nomore wonderThan was of him in that cite.Echon tauhte other, “This is he,Which hath in his pouer withinneThat al the world ne mihte winne:    3830Lo, hier the beste of alle goode.”Thus saiden thei that there stode,And ek that walkede up and doun,Bothe of the Court and of the toun.The time of Souper cam anon,Thei wisshen and therto thei gon,Medea was with Jason set:Tho was ther many a deynte fetAnd set tofore hem on the bord,Bot non so likinge as the word    3840Which was ther spoke among hem tuo,So as thei dorste speke tho.Bot thogh thei hadden litel space,Yit thei acorden in that placeHou Jason scholde come at nyht,Whan every torche and every lihtWere oute, and thanne of other thingesThei spieke aloud for supposingesOf hem that stoden there aboute:For love is everemore in doute,    3850If that it be wisly governedOf hem that ben of love lerned.Whan al was don, that dissh and cuppeAnd cloth and bord and al was uppe,Thei waken whil hem lest to wake,And after that thei leve takeAnd gon to bedde forto reste.And whan him thoghte for the beste,That every man was faste aslepe,Jason, that wolde his time kepe,    3860Goth forth stalkende al privelyUnto the chambre, and redelyTher was a Maide, which him kepte.Medea wok and nothing slepte,Bot natheles sche was abedde,And he with alle haste him speddeAnd made him naked and al warm.Anon he tok hire in his arm:What nede is forto speke of ese?Hem list ech other forto plese,    3870So that thei hadden joie ynow:And tho thei setten whanne and howThat sche with him awey schal stele.With wordes suche and othre feleWhan al was treted to an ende,Jason tok leve and gan forth wendeUnto his oughne chambre in pes;Ther wiste it non bot Hercules.He slepte and ros whan it was time,And whanne it fell towardes prime,    3880He tok to him suche as he tristeIn secre, that non other wiste,And told hem of his conseil there,And seide that his wille wereThat thei to Schipe hadde alle thingeSo priveliche in thevenynge,That noman mihte here dede aspieBot tho that were of compaignie:For he woll go withoute leve,And lengere woll he noght beleve;    3890Bot he ne wolde at thilke throweThe king or queene scholde it knowe.Thei saide, “Al this schal wel be do:”And Jason truste wel therto.Medea in the mene while,Which thoghte hir fader to beguile,The Tresor which hir fader haddeWith hire al priveli sche ladde,And with Jason at time setAwey sche stal and fond no let,    3900And straght sche goth hire unto schipeOf Grece with that felaschipe,And thei anon drowe up the Seil.And al that nyht this was conseil,Bot erly, whan the Sonne schon,Men syhe hou that thei were agon,And come unto the king and tolde:And he the sothe knowe wolde,And axeth where his dowhter was.Ther was no word bot Out, Allas!    3910Sche was ago. The moder wepte,The fader as a wod man lepte,And gan the time forto warie,And swor his oth he wol noght tarie,That with Caliphe and with galeieThe same cours, the same weie,Which Jason tok, he wolde take,If that he mihte him overtake.To this thei seiden alle yee:Anon thei weren ate See,    3920And alle, as who seith, at a wordThei gon withinne schipes bord,The Sail goth up, and forth thei strauhte.Bot non espleit therof thei cauhte,And so thei tornen hom ayein,For al that labour was in vein.Jason to Grece with his preieGoth thurgh the See the rihte weie:Whan he ther com and men it tolde,Thei maden joie yonge and olde.    3930Eson, whan that he wiste of this,Hou that his Sone comen is,And hath achieved that he soughteAnd hom with him Medea broughte,In al the wyde world was nonSo glad a man as he was on.Togedre ben these lovers tho,Til that thei hadden sones tuo,Wherof thei weren bothe glade,And olde Eson gret joie made    3940To sen thencress of his lignage;For he was of so gret an Age,That men awaiten every day,Whan that he scholde gon away.Jason, which sih his fader old,Upon Medea made him bold,Of art magique, which sche couthe,And preith hire that his fader youtheSche wolde make ayeinward newe:And sche, that was toward him trewe,    3950Behihte him that sche wolde it do,Whan that sche time sawh therto.Bot what sche dede in that matiereIt is a wonder thing to hiere,Bot yit for the novellerieI thenke tellen a partie.Thus it befell upon a nyht,Whan ther was noght bot sterreliht,Sche was vanyssht riht as hir liste,That no wyht bot hirself it wiste,    3960And that was ate mydnyht tyde.The world was stille on every side;With open hed and fot al bare,Hir her tosprad sche gan to fare,Upon hir clothes gert sche was,Al specheles and on the grasSche glod forth as an Addre doth:Non otherwise sche ne goth,Til sche cam to the freisshe flod,And there a while sche withstod.    3970Thries sche torned hire aboute,And thries ek sche gan doun louteAnd in the flod sche wette hir her,And thries on the water therSche gaspeth with a drecchinge onde,And tho sche tok hir speche on honde.Ferst sche began to clepe and calleUpward unto the sterres alle,To Wynd, to Air, to See, to londSche preide, and ek hield up hir hond    3980To Echates, and gan to crie,Which is goddesse of Sorcerie.Sche seide, “Helpeth at this nede,And as ye maden me to spede,Whan Jason cam the Flees to seche,So help me nou, I you beseche.”With that sche loketh and was war,Doun fro the Sky ther cam a char,The which Dragouns aboute drowe:And tho sche gan hir hed doun bowe,    3990And up sche styh, and faire and welSche drof forth bothe char and whelAbove in thair among the Skyes.The lond of Crete and tho partiesSche soughte, and faste gan hire hye,And there upon the hulles hyheOf Othrin and Olimpe also,And ek of othre hulles mo,Sche fond and gadreth herbes suote,Sche pulleth up som be the rote,    4000And manye with a knyf sche scherth,And alle into hir char sche berth.Thus whan sche hath the hulles sought,The flodes ther foryat sche nought,Eridian and Amphrisos,Peneie and ek Spercheïdos,To hem sche wente and ther sche nomBothe of the water and the fom,The sond and ek the smale stones,Whiche as sche ches out for the nones,    4010And of the rede See a part,That was behovelich to hire art,Sche tok, and after that abouteSche soughte sondri sedes outeIn feldes and in many greves,And ek a part sche tok of leves:Bot thing which mihte hire most availeSche fond in Crete and in Thessaile.In daies and in nyhtes Nyne,With gret travaile and with gret pyne,    4020Sche was pourveid of every piece,And torneth homward into Grece.Before the gates of EsonHir char sche let awai to gon,And tok out ferst that was therinne;For tho sche thoghte to beginneSuch thing as semeth impossible,And made hirselven invisible,As sche that was with Air enclosedAnd mihte of noman be desclosed.    4030Sche tok up turves of the londWithoute helpe of mannes hond,Al heled with the grene gras,Of which an Alter mad ther wasUnto Echates the goddesseOf art magique and the maistresse,And eft an other to Juvente,As sche which dede hir hole entente.Tho tok sche fieldwode and verveyne,Of herbes ben noght betre tueine,    4040Of which anon withoute letThese alters ben aboute set:Tuo sondri puttes faste bySche made, and with that hastelyA wether which was blak sche slouh,And out therof the blod sche drouhAnd dede into the pettes tuo;Warm melk sche putte also thertoWith hony meynd: and in such wiseSche gan to make hir sacrifice,    4050And cride and preide forth withalTo Pluto the god infernal,And to the queene Proserpine.And so sche soghte out al the lineOf hem that longen to that craft,Behinde was no name laft,And preide hem alle, as sche wel couthe,To grante Eson his ferste youthe.This olde Eson broght forth was tho,Awei sche bad alle othre go    4060Upon peril that mihte falle;And with that word thei wenten alle,And leften there hem tuo al one.And tho sche gan to gaspe and gone,And made signes manyon,And seide hir wordes therupon;So that with spellinge of hir charmesSche tok Eson in bothe hire armes,And made him forto slepe faste,And him upon hire herbes caste.    4070The blake wether tho sche tok,And hiewh the fleissh, as doth a cok;On either alter part sche leide,And with the charmes that sche seideA fyr doun fro the Sky alyhteAnd made it forto brenne lyhte.Bot whan Medea sawh it brenne,Anon sche gan to sterte and renneThe fyri aulters al aboute:Ther was no beste which goth oute    4080More wylde than sche semeth ther:Aboute hir schuldres hyng hir her,As thogh sche were oute of hir myndeAnd torned in an other kynde.Tho lay ther certein wode cleft,Of which the pieces nou and eftSche made hem in the pettes wete,And put hem in the fyri hete,And tok the brond with al the blase,And thries sche began to rase    4090Aboute Eson, ther as he slepte;And eft with water, which sche kepte,Sche made a cercle aboute him thries,And eft with fyr of sulphre twyes:Ful many an other thing sche dede,Which is noght writen in this stede.Bot tho sche ran so up and doun,Sche made many a wonder soun,Somtime lich unto the cock,Somtime unto the Laverock,    4100Somtime kacleth as a Hen,Somtime spekth as don the men:And riht so as hir jargoun strangeth,In sondri wise hir forme changeth,Sche semeth faie and no womman;For with the craftes that sche canSche was, as who seith, a goddesse,And what hir liste, more or lesse,Sche dede, in bokes as we finde,That passeth over manneskinde.    4110Bot who that wole of wondres hiere,What thing sche wroghte in this matiere,To make an ende of that sche gan,Such merveile herde nevere man.Apointed in the newe Mone,Whan it was time forto done,Sche sette a caldron on the fyr,In which was al the hole atir,Wheron the medicine stod,Of jus, of water and of blod,    4120And let it buile in such a plit,Til that sche sawh the spume whyt;And tho sche caste in rynde and rote,And sed and flour that was for bote,With many an herbe and many a ston,Wherof sche hath ther many on:And ek Cimpheius the SerpentTo hire hath alle his scales lent,Chelidre hire yaf his addres skin,And sche to builen caste hem in;    4130A part ek of the horned Oule,The which men hiere on nyhtes houle;And of a Raven, which was toldOf nyne hundred wynter old,Sche tok the hed with al the bile;And as the medicine it wile,Sche tok therafter the boueleOf the Seewolf, and for the heleOf Eson, with a thousand moOf thinges that sche hadde tho,    4140In that Caldroun togedre as blyveSche putte, and tok thanne of OlyveA drie branche hem with to stere,The which anon gan floure and bereAnd waxe al freissh and grene ayein.Whan sche this vertu hadde sein,Sche let the leste drope of alleUpon the bare flor doun falle;Anon ther sprong up flour and gras,Where as the drope falle was,    4150And wox anon al medwe grene,So that it mihte wel be sene.Medea thanne knew and wisteHir medicine is forto triste,And goth to Eson ther he lay,And tok a swerd was of assay,With which a wounde upon his sideSche made, that therout mai slydeThe blod withinne, which was oldAnd sek and trouble and fieble and cold.    4160And tho sche tok unto his usOf herbes al the beste jus,And poured it into his wounde;That made his veynes fulle and sounde:And tho sche made his wounde clos,And tok his hond, and up he ros;And tho sche yaf him drinke a drauhte,Of which his youthe ayein he cauhte,His hed, his herte and his visageLich unto twenty wynter Age;    4170Hise hore heres were away,And lich unto the freisshe Maii,Whan passed ben the colde shoures,Riht so recovereth he his floures.

Of Rome tho was EmperourCrassus, which was so coveitous,That he was evere desirous    2070Of gold to gete the pilage;Wherof that Puile and ek CartageWith Philosophres wise and greteBegunne of this matiere trete,And ate laste in this degreTher weren Philosophres thre,To do this thing whiche undertoke,And therupon thei with hem tokeA gret tresor of gold in cophres,To Rome and thus these philisophres    2080Togedre in compainie wente,Bot noman wiste what thei mente.Whan thei to Rome come were,So prively thei duelte there,As thei that thoghten to deceive:Was non that mihte of hem perceive,Til thei in sondri stedes haveHere gold under the ground begraveIn tuo tresors, that to beholdeThei scholden seme as thei were olde.    2090And so forth thanne upon a dayAl openly in good araiTo themperour thei hem presente,And tolden it was here ententeTo duellen under his servise.And he hem axeth in what wise;And thei him tolde in such a plit,That ech of hem hadde a spirit,The which slepende a nyht appierethAnd hem be sondri dremes lereth    2100After the world that hath betid.Under the ground if oght be hidOf old tresor at eny throwe,They schull it in here swevenes knowe;And upon this condicioun,Thei sein, what gold under the tounOf Rome is hid, thei wole it finde,Ther scholde noght be left behinde,Be so that he the halvendelHem grante, and he assenteth wel;    2110And thus cam sleighte forto duelleWith Covoitise, as I thee telle.This Emperour bad redilyThat thei be logged faste byWhere he his oghne body lay;And whan it was amorwe day,That on of hem seith that he metteWher he a goldhord scholde fette:Wherof this Emperour was glad,And therupon anon he bad    2120His Mynours forto go and myne,And he himself of that covineGoth forth withal, and at his hondThe tresor redi there he fond,Where as thei seide it scholde be;And who was thanne glad bot he?

Upon that other dai secoundeThei have an other goldhord founde,Which the seconde maister tokUpon his swevene and undertok.    2130And thus the sothe experienceTo themperour yaf such credence,That al his trist and al his feithSo sikerliche on hem he leith,Of that he fond him so relieved,That thei ben parfitli believed,As thogh thei were goddes thre.Nou herkne the soutilete.

The thridde maister scholde mete,Which, as thei seiden, was unmete    2140Above hem alle, and couthe most;And he withoute noise or bostAl priveli, so as he wolde,Upon the morwe his swevene toldeTo themperour riht in his Ere,And seide him that he wiste whereA tresor was so plentivousOf gold and ek so preciousOf jeueals and of riche stones,That unto alle hise hors at ones    2150It were a charge sufficant.This lord upon this covenantWas glad, and axeth where it was.The maister seide, under the glas,And tolde him eke, as for the MynHe wolde ordeigne such engin,That thei the werk schull undersetteWith Tymber, that withoute letteMen mai the tresor saufli delve,So that the Mirour be himselve    2160Withoute empeirement schal stonde:And this the maister upon hondeHath undertake in alle weie.This lord, which hadde his wit aweieAnd was with Covoitise blent,Anon therto yaf his assent;And thus they myne forth withal,The timber set up overal,Wherof the Piler stod upriht;Til it befell upon a nyht    2170These clerkes, whan thei were warHou that the timber only barThe Piler, wher the Mirour stod,—Here sleihte noman understod,—Thei go be nyhte unto the MyneWith pich, with soulphre and with rosine,And whan the Cite was a slepe,A wylde fyr into the depeThey caste among the timberwerk,And so forth, whil the nyht was derk,    2180Desguised in a povere araiThei passeden the toun er dai.And whan thei come upon an hell,Thei sihen how the Mirour fell,Wherof thei maden joie ynowh,And ech of hem with other lowh,And seiden, “Lo, what coveitiseMai do with hem that be noght wise!”And that was proved afterward,For every lond, to Romeward    2190Which hadde be soubgit tofore,Whan this Mirour was so forloreAnd thei the wonder herde seie,Anon begunne desobeieWith werres upon every side;And thus hath Rome lost his prideAnd was defouled overal.For this I finde of Hanybal,That he of Romeins in a dai,Whan he hem fond out of arai,    2200So gret a multitude slowh,That of goldringes, whiche he drowhOf gentil handes that ben dede,Buisshelles fulle thre, I rede,He felde, and made a bregge also,That he mihte over Tibre goUpon the corps that dede wereOf the Romeins, whiche he slowh there.

Bot now to speke of the juise,The which after the covoitise    2210Was take upon this Emperour,For he destruide the Mirour;It is a wonder forto hiere.The Romeins maden a chaiereAnd sette here Emperour therinne,And seiden, for he wolde winneOf gold the superfluite,Of gold he scholde such plenteReceive, til he seide Ho:And with gold, which thei hadden tho    2220Buillende hot withinne a panne,Into his Mouth thei poure thanne.And thus the thurst of gold was queynt,With gold which hadde ben atteignt.

Wherof, mi Sone, thou miht hiere,Whan Covoitise hath lost the stiereOf resonable governance,Ther falleth ofte gret vengance.For ther mai be no worse thingThan Covoitise aboute a king:    2230If it in his persone be,It doth the more adversite;And if it in his conseil stonde,It bringth alday meschief to hondeOf commun harm; and if it groweWithinne his court, it wol be knowe,For thanne schal the king be piled.The man which hath hise londes tiled,Awaiteth noght more redilyThe Hervest, than thei gredily    2240Ne maken thanne warde and wacche,Wher thei the profit mihten cacche:And yit fulofte it falleth so,As men mai sen among hem tho,That he which most coveiteth fasteHath lest avantage ate laste.For whan fortune is therayein,Thogh he coveite, it is in vein;The happes be noght alle liche,On is mad povere, an other riche,    2250The court to some doth profit,And some ben evere in o plit;And yit thei bothe aliche soreCoveite, bot fortune is moreUnto that o part favorable.And thogh it be noght resonable,This thing a man mai sen alday,Wherof that I thee telle mayA fair ensample in remembrance,Hou every man mot take his chance    2260Or of richesse or of poverte.Hou so it stonde of the decerte,Hier is noght every thing aquit,For ofte a man mai se this yit,That who best doth, lest thonk schal have;It helpeth noght the world to crave,Which out of reule and of mesureHath evere stonde in aventureAls wel in Court as elles where:And hou in olde daies there    2270It stod, so as the thinges felle,I thenke a tale forto telle.

In a Cronique this I rede.Aboute a king, as moste nede,Ther was of knyhtes and squiersGret route, and ek of Officers:Some of long time him hadden served,And thoghten that thei have deservedAvancement, and gon withoute;And some also ben of the route    2280That comen bot a while agon,And thei avanced were anon.These olde men upon this thing,So as thei dorste, ayein the kingAmong hemself compleignen ofte:Bot ther is nothing seid so softe,That it ne comth out ate laste;The king it wiste, and als so faste,As he which was of hih Prudence,He schop therfore an evidence    2290Of hem that pleignen in that cas,To knowe in whos defalte it was.And al withinne his oghne entente,That noman wiste what it mente,Anon he let tuo cofres makeOf o semblance and of o make,So lich that no lif thilke throweThat on mai fro that other knowe:Thei were into his chambre broght,Bot noman wot why thei be wroght,    2300And natheles the king hath bedeThat thei be set in prive stede.As he that was of wisdom slih,Whan he therto his time sih,Al prively, that non it wiste,Hise oghne hondes that o kisteOf fin gold and of fin perrie,The which out of his tresorieWas take, anon he felde full;That other cofre of straw and mull    2310With Stones meind he felde also.Thus be thei fulle bothe tuo,So that erliche upon a dayHe bad withinne, ther he lay,Ther scholde be tofore his bedA bord upset and faire spred;And thanne he let the cofres fette,Upon the bord and dede hem sette.He knew the names wel of tho,The whiche ayein him grucche so,    2320Bothe of his chambre and of his halle,Anon and sende for hem alle,And seide to hem in this wise:“Ther schal noman his happ despise;I wot wel ye have longe served,And god wot what ye have deserved:Bot if it is along on meOf that ye unavanced be,Or elles it be long on you,The sothe schal be proved nou,    2330To stoppe with youre evele word.Lo hier tuo cofres on the bord:Ches which you list of bothe tuo;And witeth wel that on of thoIs with tresor so full begon,That if ye happe therupon,Ye schull be riche men for evere.Now ches and tak which you is levere:Bot be wel war, er that ye take;For of that on I undertake    2340Ther is no maner good therinne,Wherof ye mihten profit winne.Now goth togedre of on assentAnd taketh youre avisement,For bot I you this dai avance,It stant upon youre oghne chanceAl only in defalte of grace:So schal be schewed in this placeUpon you alle wel afyn,That no defalte schal be myn.”    2350Thei knelen alle and with o voisThe king thei thonken of this chois:And after that thei up arise,And gon aside and hem avise,And ate laste thei acorde;Wherof her tale to recorde,To what issue thei be falle,A kniht schal speke for hem alle.He kneleth doun unto the king,And seith that thei upon this thing,    2360Or forto winne or forto lese,Ben alle avised forto chese.Tho tok this kniht a yerde on honde,And goth there as the cofres stonde,And with assent of everichonHe leith his yerde upon that on,And seith the king hou thilke sameThei chese in reguerdoun be name,And preith him that thei mote it have.The king, which wolde his honour save,    2370Whan he hath herd the commun vois,Hath granted hem here oghne choisAnd tok hem therupon the keie.Bot for he wolde it were seieWhat good thei have, as thei suppose,He bad anon the cofre unclose,Which was fulfild with straw and stones:Thus be thei served al at ones.This king thanne in the same stedeAnon that other cofre undede,    2380Where as thei sihen gret richesse,Wel more than thei couthen gesse.“Lo,” seith the king, “nou mai ye seThat ther is no defalte in me;Forthi miself I wole aquyte,And bereth ye youre oghne wyteOf that fortune hath you refused.”Thus was this wise king excused,And thei lefte of here evele specheAnd mercy of here king beseche.    2390

Somdiel to this matiere likI finde a tale, hou Frederik,Of Rome that time Emperour,Herde, as he wente, a gret clamourOf tuo beggers upon the weie.That on of hem began to seie,“Ha lord, wel mai the man be richeWhom that a king list forto riche.”That other saide nothing so,Bot, “He is riche and wel bego,    2400To whom that god wole sende wele.”And thus thei maden wordes fele,Wherof this lord hath hiede nome,And dede hem bothe forto comeTo the Paleis, wher he schal ete,And bad ordeine for here meteTuo Pastes, whiche he let do make.A capoun in that on was bake,And in that other forto winneOf florins al that mai withinne    2410He let do pute a gret richesse;And evene aliche, as man mai gesse,Outward thei were bothe tuo.This begger was comanded tho,He that which hield him to the king,That he ferst chese upon this thing:He sih hem, bot he felte hem noght,So that upon his oghne thoghtHe ches the Capoun and forsokThat other, which his fela tok.    2420Bot whanne he wiste hou that it ferde,He seide alowd, that men it herde,“Nou have I certeinly conceivedThat he mai lihtly be deceived,That tristeth unto mannes helpe;Bot wel is him whom god wol helpe,For he stant on the siker side,Which elles scholde go beside:I se my fela wel recovere,And I mot duelle stille povere.”    2430

Thus spak this begger his entente,And povere he cam and povere he wente;Of that he hath richesse soght,His infortune it wolde noght.So mai it schewe in sondri wise,Betwen fortune and covoitiseThe chance is cast upon a Dee;Bot yit fulofte a man mai seYnowe of suche natheles,Whiche evere pute hemself in press    2440To gete hem good, and yit thei faile.

And forto speke of this entaileTouchende of love in thi matiere,Mi goode Sone, as thou miht hiere,That riht as it with tho men stodOf infortune of worldes good,As thou hast herd me telle above,Riht so fulofte it stant be love:Thogh thou coveite it everemore,Thou schalt noght have o diel the more,    2450Bot only that which thee is schape,The remenant is bot a jape.And natheles ynowe of thoTher ben, that nou coveiten so,That where as thei a womman se,Ye ten or tuelve thogh ther be,The love is nou so unavised,That wher the beaute stant assised,The mannes herte anon is there,And rouneth tales in hire Ere,    2460And seith hou that he loveth streite,And thus he set him to coveite,An hundred thogh he sihe aday.So wolde he more thanne he may;Bot for the grete covoitiseOf sotie and of fol empriseIn ech of hem he fint somwhatThat pleseth him, or this or that;Som on, for sche is whit of skin,Som on, for sche is noble of kin,    2470Som on, for sche hath rodi chieke,Som on, for that sche semeth mieke,Som on, for sche hath yhen greie,Som on, for sche can lawhe and pleie,Som on, for sche is long and smal,Som on, for sche is lyte and tall,Som on, for sche is pale and bleche,Som on, for sche is softe of speche,Som on, for that sche is camused,Som on, for sche hath noght ben used,    2480Som on, for sche can daunce and singe;So that som thing to his likingeHe fint, and thogh nomore he fiele,Bot that sche hath a litel hiele,It is ynow that he therforeHire love, and thus an hundred score,Whil thei be newe, he wolde he hadde;Whom he forsakth, sche schal be badde.The blinde man no colour demeth,But al is on, riht as him semeth;    2490So hath his lust no juggement,Whom covoitise of love blent.Him thenkth that to his covoitiseHou al the world ne mai suffise,For be his wille he wolde have alle,If that it mihte so befalle:Thus is he commun as the Strete,I sette noght of his beyete.

Mi Sone, hast thou such covoitise?

Nai, fader, such love I despise,    2500And whil I live schal don evere,For in good feith yit hadde I levere,Than to coveite in such a weie,To ben for evere til I deieAs povere as Job, and loveles,Outaken on, for havelesHis thonkes is noman alyve.For that a man scholde al unthryveTher oghte no wisman coveite,The lawe was noght set so streite:    2510Forthi miself withal to save,Such on ther is I wolde have,And non of al these othre mo.

Mi Sone, of that thou woldest so,I am noght wroth, bot over thisI wol thee tellen hou it is.For ther be men, whiche otherwise,Riht only for the covoitiseOf that thei sen a womman riche,Ther wol thei al here love affiche;    2520Noght for the beaute of hire face,Ne yit for vertu ne for grace,Which sche hath elles riht ynowh,Bot for the Park and for the plowh,And other thing which therto longeth:For in non other wise hem longethTo love, bot thei profit finde;And if the profit be behinde,Here love is evere lesse and lesse,For after that sche hath richesse,    2530Her love is of proporcion.If thou hast such condicion,Mi Sone, tell riht as it is.

Min holi fader, nay ywiss,Condicion such have I non.For trewli, fader, I love oonSo wel with al myn hertes thoght,That certes, thogh sche hadde noght,And were as povere as Medea,Which was exiled for Creusa,    2540I wolde hir noght the lasse love;Ne thogh sche were at hire above,As was the riche qwen Candace,Which to deserve love and graceTo Alisandre, that was king,Yaf many a worthi riche thing,Or elles as Pantasilee,Which was the quen of Feminee,And gret richesse with hir nam,Whan sche for love of Hector cam    2550To Troie in rescousse of the toun,—I am of such condicion,That thogh mi ladi of hirselveWere also riche as suche tuelve,I couthe noght, thogh it wer so,No betre love hir than I do.For I love in so plein a wise,That forto speke of coveitise,As for poverte or for richesseMi love is nouther mor ne lesse.    2560For in good feith I trowe this,So coveitous noman ther is,Forwhy and he mi ladi sihe,That he thurgh lokinge of his yheNe scholde have such a strok withinne,That for no gold he mihte winneHe scholde noght hire love asterte,Bot if he lefte there his herte;Be so it were such a man,That couthe Skile of a womman.    2570For ther be men so ruide some,Whan thei among the wommen come,Thei gon under proteccioun,That love and his affecciounNe schal noght take hem be the slieve;For thei ben out of that believe,Hem lusteth of no ladi chiere,Bot evere thenken there and hiereWher that here gold is in the cofre,And wol non other love profre:    2580Bot who so wot what love amountethAnd be resoun trewliche acompteth,Than mai he knowe and taken hiedeThat al the lust of wommanhiede,Which mai ben in a ladi face,Mi ladi hath, and ek of graceIf men schull yiven hire a pris,Thei mai wel seie hou sche is wysAnd sobre and simple of contenance,And al that to good governance    2590Belongeth of a worthi wihtSche hath pleinli: for thilke nyhtThat sche was bore, as for the nonesNature sette in hire at onesBeaute with bounte so besein,That I mai wel afferme and sein,I sawh yit nevere creatureOf comlihied and of fetureIn eny kinges regiounBe lich hire in comparisoun:    2600And therto, as I have you told,Yit hath sche more a thousendfoldOf bounte, and schortli to telle,Sche is the pure hed and welleAnd Mirour and ensample of goode.Who so hir vertus understode,Me thenkth it oughte ynow suffiseWithouten other covoitiseTo love such on and to serve,Which with hire chiere can deserve    2610To be beloved betre ywissThan sche per cas that richest isAnd hath of gold a Milion.Such hath be myn opinionAnd evere schal: bot nathelesI seie noght sche is haveles,That sche nys riche and wel at ese,And hath ynow wherwith to pleseOf worldes good whom that hire liste;Bot o thing wolde I wel ye wiste,    2620That nevere for no worldes goodMin herte untoward hire stod,Bot only riht for pure love;That wot the hihe god above.Nou, fader, what seie ye therto?

Mi Sone, I seie it is wel do.For tak of this riht good believe,What man that wole himself relieveTo love in eny other wise,He schal wel finde his coveitise    2630Schal sore grieve him ate laste,For such a love mai noght laste.Bot nou, men sein, in oure daiesMen maken bot a fewe assaies,Bot if the cause be richesse;Forthi the love is wel the lesse.And who that wolde ensamples telle,Be olde daies as thei felle,Than mihte a man wel understondeSuch love mai noght longe stonde.    2640Now herkne, Sone, and thou schalt hiereA gret ensample of this matiere.

To trete upon the cas of love,So as we tolden hiere above,I finde write a wonder thing.Of Puile whilom was a king,A man of hih complexiounAnd yong, bot his affecciounAfter the nature of his ageWas yit noght falle in his corage    2650The lust of wommen forto knowe.So it betidde upon a throweThis lord fell into gret seknesse:Phisique hath don the besinesseOf sondri cures manyonTo make him hol; and theruponA worthi maister which ther wasYaf him conseil upon this cas,That if he wolde have parfit hele,He scholde with a womman dele,    2660A freissh, a yong, a lusti wiht,To don him compaignie a nyht:For thanne he seide him redily,That he schal be al hol therby,And otherwise he kneu no cure.

This king, which stod in aventureOf lif and deth, for medicineAssented was, and of covineHis Steward, whom he tristeth wel,He tok, and tolde him everydel,    2670Hou that this maister hadde seid:And therupon he hath him preidAnd charged upon his ligance,That he do make porveanceOf such on as be covenableFor his plesance and delitable;And bad him, hou that evere it stod,That he schal spare for no good,For his will is riht wel to paie.

The Steward seide he wolde assaie:    2680Bot nou hierafter thou schalt wite,As I finde in the bokes write,What coveitise in love doth.This Steward, forto telle soth,Amonges al the men alyveA lusti ladi hath to wyve,Which natheles for gold he tokAnd noght for love, as seith the bok.A riche Marchant of the londHir fader was, and hire fond    2690So worthily, and such richesseOf worldes good and such largesseWith hire he yaf in mariage,That only for thilke avantageOf good this Steward hath hire take,For lucre and noght for loves sake,And that was afterward wel seene;Nou herkne what it wolde meene.

This Steward in his oghne herteSih that his lord mai noght asterte    2700His maladie, bot he haveA lusti womman him to save,And thoghte he wolde yive ynowhOf his tresor; wherof he drowhGret coveitise into his mynde,And sette his honour fer behynde.Thus he, whom gold hath overset,Was trapped in his oghne net;The gold hath mad hise wittes lame,So that sechende his oghne schame    2710He rouneth in the kinges Ere,And seide him that he wiste whereA gentile and a lusti onTho was, and thider wolde he gon:Bot he mot yive yiftes grete;For bot it be thurgh grete beyeteOf gold, he seith, he schal noght spede.The king him bad upon the nedeThat take an hundred pound he scholde,And yive it where that he wolde,    2720Be so it were in worthi place:And thus to stonde in loves graceThis king his gold hath abandouned.And whan this tale was full rouned,The Steward tok the gold and wente,Withinne his herte and many a wenteOf coveitise thanne he caste,Wherof a pourpos ate lasteAyein love and ayein his rihtHe tok, and seide hou thilke nyht    2730His wif schal ligge be the king;And goth thenkende upon this thingToward his In, til he cam homInto the chambre, and thanne he nomHis wif, and tolde hire al the cas.And sche, which red for schame was,With bothe hire handes hath him preidKnelende and in this wise seid,That sche to reson and to skileIn what thing that he bidde wile    2740Is redy forto don his heste,Bot this thing were noght honeste,That he for gold hire scholde selle.And he tho with hise wordes felleForth with his gastly contienanceSeith that sche schal don obeissanceAnd folwe his will in every place;And thus thurgh strengthe of his manaceHir innocence is overlad,Wherof sche was so sore adrad    2750That sche his will mot nede obeie.And therupon was schape a weie,That he his oghne wif be nyhteHath out of alle mennes sihteSo prively that non it wisteBroght to the king, which as him listeMai do with hire what he wolde.For whan sche was ther as sche scholde,With him abedde under the cloth,The Steward tok his leve and goth    2760Into a chambre faste by;Bot hou he slep, that wot noght I,For he sih cause of jelousie.

Bot he, which hath the compainieOf such a lusti on as sche,Him thoghte that of his degreTher was noman so wel at ese:Sche doth al that sche mai to plese,So that his herte al hol sche hadde;And thus this king his joie ladde,    2770Til it was nyh upon the day.The Steward thanne wher sche layCam to the bedd, and in his wiseHath bede that sche scholde arise.The king seith, “Nay, sche schal noght go.”His Steward seide ayein, “Noght so;For sche mot gon er it be knowe,And so I swor at thilke throwe,Whan I hire fette to you hiere.”The king his tale wol noght hiere,    2780And seith hou that he hath hire boght,Forthi sche schal departe noght,Til he the brighte dai beholde.And cawhte hire in hise armes folde,As he which liste forto pleie,And bad his Steward gon his weie,And so he dede ayein his wille.And thus his wif abedde stilleLay with the king the longe nyht,Til that it was hih Sonne lyht;    2790Bot who sche was he knew nothing.

Tho cam the Steward to the kingAnd preide him that withoute schameIn savinge of hire goode nameHe myhte leden hom ayeinThis lady, and hath told him pleinHou that it was his oghne wif.The king his Ere unto this strifHath leid, and whan that he it herde,Welnyh out of his wit he ferde,    2800And seide, “Ha, caitif most of alle,Wher was it evere er this befalle,That eny cokard in this wiseBetok his wif for coveitise?Thou hast bothe hire and me beguiledAnd ek thin oghne astat reviled,Wherof that buxom unto theeHierafter schal sche nevere be.For this avou to god I make,After this day if I thee take,    2810Thou schalt ben honged and todrawe.Nou loke anon thou be withdrawe,So that I se thee neveremore.”This Steward thanne dradde him sore,With al the haste that he maiAnd fledde awei that same dai,And was exiled out of londe.

Lo, there a nyce housebonde,Which thus hath lost his wif for evere!Bot natheles sche hadde a levere;    2820The king hire weddeth and honoureth,Wherof hire name sche socoureth,Which erst was lost thurgh coveitiseOf him, that ladde hire other wise,And hath himself also forlore.

Mi Sone, be thou war therfore,Wher thou schalt love in eny place,That thou no covoitise embrace,The which is noght of loves kinde.Bot for al that a man mai finde    2830Nou in this time of thilke rageFul gret desese in mariage,Whan venym melleth with the SucreAnd mariage is mad for lucre,Or for the lust or for the hele:What man that schal with outher dele,He mai noght faile to repente.

Mi fader, such is myn entente:Bot natheles good is to have,For good mai ofte time save    2840The love which scholde elles spille.Bot god, which wot myn hertes wille,I dar wel take to witnesse,Yit was I nevere for richesseBeset with mariage non;For al myn herte is upon onSo frely, that in the personeStant al my worldes joie al one:I axe nouther Park ne Plowh,If I hire hadde, it were ynowh,    2850Hir love scholde me suffiseWithouten other coveitise.Lo now, mi fader, as of this,Touchende of me riht as it is,Mi schrifte I am beknowe plein;And if ye wole oght elles sein,Of covoitise if ther be moreIn love, agropeth out the sore.

Mi Sone, thou schalt understondeHou Coveitise hath yit on honde    2860In special tuo conseilours,That ben also hise procurours.The ferst of hem is Falswitnesse,Which evere is redi to witnesseWhat thing his maister wol him hote:Perjurie is the secounde hote,Which spareth noght to swere an oth,Thogh it be fals and god be wroth.That on schal falswitnesse bere,That other schal the thing forswere,    2870Whan he is charged on the bok.So what with hepe and what with crokThei make here maister ofte winneAnd wol noght knowe what is sinneFor coveitise, and thus, men sain,Thei maken many a fals bargain.Ther mai no trewe querele ariseIn thilke queste and thilke assise,Where as thei tuo the poeple enforme;For thei kepe evere o maner forme,    2880That upon gold here conscienceThei founde, and take here evidence;And thus with falswitnesse and othesThei winne hem mete and drinke and clothes.

Riht so ther be, who that hem knewe,Of thes lovers ful many untrewe:Nou mai a womman finde ynowe,That ech of hem, whan he schal wowe,Anon he wole his hand doun leinUpon a bok, and swere and sein    2890That he wole feith and trouthe bere;And thus he profreth him to swereTo serven evere til he die,And al is verai tricherie.For whan the sothe himselven trieth,The more he swerth, the more he lieth;Whan he his feith makth althermest,Than mai a womman truste him lest;For til he mai his will achieve,He is no lengere forto lieve.    2900Thus is the trouthe of love exiled,And many a good womman beguiled.

And ek to speke of Falswitnesse,There be nou many suche, I gesse,That lich unto the provisoursThei make here prive procurours,To telle hou ther is such a man,Which is worthi to love and canAl that a good man scholde kunne;So that with lesinge is begunne    2910The cause in which thei wole procede,And also siker as the credeThei make of that thei knowen fals.And thus fulofte aboute the halsLove is of false men embraced;Bot love which is so pourchacedComth afterward to litel pris.Forthi, mi Sone, if thou be wis,Nou thou hast herd this evidence,Thou miht thin oghne conscience    2920Oppose, if thou hast ben such on.

Nai, god wot, fader I am non,Ne nevere was; for as men seith,Whan that a man schal make his feith,His herte and tunge moste acorde;For if so be that thei discorde,Thanne is he fals and elles noght:And I dar seie, as of my thoght,In love it is noght descordableUnto mi word, bot acordable.    2930And in this wise, fader, IMai riht wel swere and salvely,That I mi ladi love wel,For that acordeth everydel.It nedeth noght to mi sothsaweThat I witnesse scholde drawe,Into this dai for nevere yitNe mihte it sinke into mi wit,That I my conseil scholde seieTo eny wiht, or me bewreie    2940To sechen help in such manere,Bot only of mi ladi diere.And thogh a thousend men it wiste,That I hire love, and thanne hem listeWith me to swere and to witnesse,Yit were that no falswitnesse;For I dar on this trouthe duelle,I love hire mor than I can telle.Thus am I, fader, gulteles,As ye have herd, and natheles    2950In youre dom I put it al.

Mi Sone, wite in special,It schal noght comunliche faile,Al thogh it for a time availeThat Falswitnesse his cause spede,Upon the point of his falshiedeIt schal wel afterward be kid;Wherof, so as it is betid,Ensample of suche thinges blindeIn a Cronique write I finde.    2960

The Goddesse of the See Thetis,Sche hadde a Sone, and his name isAchilles, whom to kepe and warde,Whil he was yong, as into wardeSche thoghte him salfly to betake,As sche which dradde for his sakeOf that was seid in prophecie,That he at Troie scholde die,Whan that the Cite was belein.Forthi, so as the bokes sein,    2970Sche caste hire wit in sondri wise,Hou sche him mihte so desguiseThat noman scholde his bodi knowe:And so befell that ilke throwe,Whil that sche thoghte upon this dede,Ther was a king, which LichomedeWas hote, and he was wel begonWith faire dowhtres manyon,And duelte fer out in an yle.

Nou schalt thou hiere a wonder wyle:    2980This queene, which the moder wasOf Achilles, upon this casHire Sone, as he a Maiden were,Let clothen in the same gereWhich longeth unto wommanhiede:And he was yong and tok non hiede,Bot soffreth al that sche him dede.Wherof sche hath hire wommen bedeAnd charged be here othes alle,Hou so it afterward befalle,    2990That thei discovere noght this thing,Bot feigne and make a knowleching,Upon the conseil which was nome,In every place wher thei comeTo telle and to witnesse this,Hou he here ladi dowhter is.And riht in such a maner wiseSche bad thei scholde hire don servise,So that Achilles underfongethAs to a yong ladi belongeth    3000Honour, servise and reverence.For Thetis with gret diligenceHim hath so tawht and so afaited,That, hou so that it were awaited,With sobre and goodli contenanceHe scholde his wommanhiede avance,That non the sothe knowe myhte,Bot that in every mannes syhteHe scholde seme a pure Maide.And in such wise as sche him saide,    3010Achilles, which that ilke whileWas yong, upon himself to smyleBegan, whan he was so besein.

And thus, after the bokes sein,With frette of Perle upon his hed,Al freissh betwen the whyt and red,As he which tho was tendre of Age,Stod the colour in his visage,That forto loke upon his chekeAnd sen his childly manere eke,    3020He was a womman to beholde.And thanne his moder to him tolde,That sche him hadde so begonBe cause that sche thoghte gonTo Lichomede at thilke tyde,Wher that sche seide he scholde abydeAmong hise dowhtres forto duelle.

Achilles herde his moder telle,And wiste noght the cause why;And natheles ful buxomly    3030He was redy to that sche bad,Wherof his moder was riht glad,To Lichomede and forth thei wente.And whan the king knew hire entente,And sih this yonge dowhter there,And that it cam unto his EreOf such record, of such witnesse,He hadde riht a gret gladnesseOf that he bothe syh and herde,As he that wot noght hou it ferde    3040Upon the conseil of the nede.Bot for al that king LichomedeHath toward him this dowhter take,And for Thetis his moder sakeHe put hire into compainieTo duelle with Deïdamie,His oghne dowhter, the eldeste,The faireste and the comeliesteOf alle hise doghtres whiche he hadde.

Lo, thus Thetis the cause ladde,    3050And lefte there Achilles feigned,As he which hath himself restreignedIn al that evere he mai and canOut of the manere of a man,And tok his wommannysshe chiere,Wherof unto his beddefereDeïdamie he hath be nyhte.Wher kinde wole himselve rihte,After the Philosophres sein,Ther mai no wiht be therayein:    3060And that was thilke time seene.The longe nyhtes hem betueneNature, which mai noght forbere,Hath mad hem bothe forto stere:Thei kessen ferst, and overmoreThe hihe weie of loves loreThei gon, and al was don in dede,Wherof lost is the maydenhede;And that was afterward wel knowe.

For it befell that ilke throwe    3070At Troie, wher the Siege layUpon the cause of MenelayAnd of his queene dame Heleine,The Gregois hadden mochel peineAlday to fihte and to assaile.Bot for thei mihten noght availeSo noble a Cite forto winne,A prive conseil thei beginne,In sondri wise wher thei trete;And ate laste among the grete    3080Thei fellen unto this acord,That Protheus, of his recordWhich was an AstronomienAnd ek a gret Magicien,Scholde of his calculacionSeche after constellacion,Hou thei the Cite mihten gete:And he, which hadde noght foryeteOf that belongeth to a clerk,His studie sette upon this werk.    3090So longe his wit aboute he caste,Til that he fond out ate laste,Bot if they hadden AchillesHere werre schal ben endeles.And over that he tolde hem pleinIn what manere he was besein,And in what place he schal be founde;So that withinne a litel stoundeUlixes forth with DiomedeUpon this point to Lichomede    3100Agamenon togedre sente.Bot Ulixes, er he forth wente,Which was on of the moste wise,Ordeigned hath in such a wise,That he the moste riche aray,Wherof a womman mai be gay,With him hath take manyfold,And overmore, as it is told,An harneis for a lusti kniht,Which burned was as Selver bryht,    3110Of swerd, of plate and ek of maile,As thogh he scholde to bataille,He tok also with him be Schipe.And thus togedre in felaschipeForth gon this Diomede and heIn hope til thei mihten seThe place where Achilles is.

The wynd stod thanne noght amis,Bot evene topseilcole it blew,Til Ulixes the Marche knew,    3120Wher Lichomede his Regne hadde.The Stieresman so wel hem ladde,That thei ben comen sauf to londe,Wher thei gon out upon the strondeInto the Burgh, wher that thei foundeThe king, and he which hath facounde,Ulixes, dede the message.Bot the conseil of his corage,Why that he cam, he tolde noght,Bot undernethe he was bethoght    3130In what manere he mihte aspieAchilles fro DeïdamieAnd fro these othre that ther were,Full many a lusti ladi there.

Thei pleide hem there a day or tuo,And as it was fortuned so,It fell that time in such a wise,To Bachus that a sacrifiseThes yonge ladys scholden make;And for the strange mennes sake,    3140That comen fro the Siege of Troie,Thei maden wel the more joie.Ther was Revel, ther was daunsinge,And every lif which coude singeOf lusti wommen in the routeA freissh carole hath sunge aboute;Bot for al this yit nathelesThe Greks unknowe of AchillesSo weren, that in no degreThei couden wite which was he,    3150Ne be his vois, ne be his pas.Ulixes thanne upon this casA thing of hih Prudence hath wroght:For thilke aray, which he hath broghtTo yive among the wommen there,He let do fetten al the gereForth with a knihtes harneis eke,—In al a contre forto sekeMen scholden noght a fairer se,—And every thing in his degre    3160Endlong upon a bord he leide.To Lichomede and thanne he preideThat every ladi chese scholdeWhat thing of alle that sche wolde,And take it as be weie of yifte;For thei hemself it scholde schifte,He seide, after here oghne wille.

Achilles thanne stod noght stille:Whan he the bryhte helm behield,The swerd, the hauberk and the Schield,    3170His herte fell therto anon;Of all that othre wolde he non,The knihtes gere he underfongeth,And thilke aray which that belongethUnto the wommen he forsok.And in this wise, as seith the bok,Thei knowen thanne which he was:For he goth forth the grete pasInto the chambre where he lay;Anon, and made no delay,    3180He armeth him in knyhtli wise,That bettre can noman devise,And as fortune scholde falle,He cam so forth tofore hem alle,As he which tho was glad ynowh.But Lichomede nothing lowh,Whan that he syh hou that it ferde,For thanne he wiste wel and herde,His dowhter hadde be forlein;Bot that he was so oversein,    3190The wonder overgoth his wit.For in Cronique is write yitThing which schal nevere be foryete,Hou that Achilles hath begetePirrus upon Deïdamie,Wherof cam out the tricherieOf Falswitnesse, whan thei saideHou that Achilles was a Maide.Bot that was nothing sene tho,For he is to the Siege go    3200Forth with Ulixe and Diomede.

Lo, thus was proved in the dedeAnd fulli spoke at thilke while:If o womman an other guile,Wher is ther eny sikernesse?Whan Thetis, which was the goddesse,Deïdamie hath so bejaped,I not hou it schal ben ascapedWith tho wommen whos innocenceIs nou alday thurgh such credence    3210Deceived ofte, as it is seene,With men that such untrouthe meene.For thei ben slyhe in such a wise,That thei be sleihte and be queintiseOf Falswitnesse bringen inneThat doth hem ofte forto winne,Wher thei ben noght worthi therto.Forthi, my Sone, do noght so.

Mi fader, as of FalswitnesseThe trouthe and the matiere expresse,    3220Touchende of love hou it hath ferd,As ye have told, I have wel herd.Bot for ye seiden otherwise,Hou thilke vice of CovoitiseHath yit Perjurie of his acord,If that you list of som recordTo telle an other tale alsoIn loves cause of time ago,What thing it is to be forswore,I wolde preie you therfore,    3230Wherof I mihte ensample take.

Mi goode Sone, and for thi sakeTouchende of this I schall fulfilleThin axinge at thin oghne wille,And the matiere I schal declare,Hou the wommen deceived are,Whan thei so tendre herte bere,Of that thei hieren men so swere;Bot whan it comth unto thassay,Thei finde it fals an other day:    3240As Jason dede to Medee,Which stant yet of AuctoriteIn tokne and in memorial;Wherof the tale in specialIs in the bok of Troie write,Which I schal do thee forto wite.

In Grece whilom was a king,Of whom the fame and knowlechingBeleveth yit, and PeleüsHe hihte; bot it fell him thus,    3250That his fortune hir whiel so laddeThat he no child his oghne haddeTo regnen after his decess.He hadde a brother natheles,Whos rihte name was Eson,And he the worthi kniht JasonBegat, the which in every londAlle othre passede of his hondIn Armes, so that he the besteWas named and the worthieste,    3260He soghte worschipe overal.Nou herkne, and I thee telle schalAn aventure that he soghte,Which afterward ful dere he boghte.

Ther was an yle, which ColchosWas cleped, and therof arosGret speche in every lond aboute,That such merveile was non outeIn al the wyde world nawhere,As tho was in that yle there.    3270Ther was a Schiep, as it was told,The which his flees bar al of gold,And so the goddes hadde it set,That it ne mihte awei be fetBe pouer of no worldes wiht:And yit ful many a worthi knihtIt hadde assaied, as thei dorste,And evere it fell hem to the worste.Bot he, that wolde it noght forsake,Bot of his knyhthod undertake    3280To do what thing therto belongeth,This worthi Jason, sore alongethTo se the strange regiounsAnd knowe the condiciounsOf othre Marches, where he wente;And for that cause his hole ententeHe sette Colchos forto seche,And therupon he made a specheTo Peleüs his Em the king.And he wel paid was of that thing;    3290And schop anon for his passage,And suche as were of his lignage,With othre knihtes whiche he ches,With him he tok, and Hercules,Which full was of chivalerie,With Jason wente in compaignie;And that was in the Monthe of Maii,Whan colde stormes were away.The wynd was good, the Schip was yare,Thei tok here leve, and forth thei fare    3300Toward Colchos: bot on the weieWhat hem befell is long to seie;Hou Lamedon the king of Troie,Which oghte wel have mad hem joie.Whan thei to reste a while him preide,Out of his lond he hem congeide;And so fell the dissencion,Which after was destruccionOf that Cite, as men mai hiere:Bot that is noght to mi matiere.    3310Bot thus this worthi folk GregeisFro that king, which was noght curteis,And fro his lond with Sail updraweThei wente hem forth, and many a saweThei made and many a gret manace,Til ate laste into that placeWhich as thei soghte thei aryve,And striken Sail, and forth as blyveThei sente unto the king and toldenWho weren ther and what thei wolden.    3320Oëtes, which was thanne king,Whan that he herde this tydingOf Jason, which was comen there,And of these othre, what thei were,He thoghte don hem gret worschipe:For thei anon come out of Schipe,And strawht unto the king thei wente,And be the hond Jason he hente,And that was ate paleis gate,So fer the king cam on his gate    3330Toward Jason to don him chiere;And he, whom lacketh no manere,Whan he the king sih in presence,Yaf him ayein such reverenceAs to a kinges stat belongeth.And thus the king him underfongeth,And Jason in his arm he cawhte,And forth into the halle he strawhte,And ther they siete and spieke of thinges,And Jason tolde him tho tidinges,    3340Why he was come, and faire him preideTo haste his time, and the kyng seide,“Jason, thou art a worthi kniht,Bot it lith in no mannes myhtTo don that thou art come fore:Ther hath be many a kniht forloreOf that thei wolden it assaie.”Bot Jason wolde him noght esmaie,And seide, “Of every worldes cureFortune stant in aventure,    3350Per aunter wel, per aunter wo:Bot hou as evere that it go,It schal be with myn hond assaied.”The king tho hield him noght wel paied,For he the Grekes sore dredde,In aunter, if Jason ne spedde,He mihte therof bere a blame;For tho was al the worldes fameIn Grece, as forto speke of Armes.Forthi he dredde him of his harmes,    3360And gan to preche him and to preie;Bot Jason wolde noght obeie,Bot seide he wolde his porpos holdeFor ought that eny man him tolde.The king, whan he thes wordes herde,And sih hou that this kniht ansuerde,Yit for he wolde make him glad,After Medea gon he bad,Which was his dowhter, and sche cam.And Jason, which good hiede nam,    3370Whan he hire sih, ayein hire goth;And sche, which was him nothing loth,Welcomede him into that lond,And softe tok him be the hond,And doun thei seten bothe same.Sche hadde herd spoke of his nameAnd of his grete worthinesse;Forthi sche gan hir yhe impresseUpon his face and his stature,And thoghte hou nevere creature    3380Was so wel farende as was he.And Jason riht in such degreNe mihte noght withholde his lok,Bot so good hiede on hire he tok,That him ne thoghte under the heveneOf beaute sawh he nevere hir evene,With al that fell to wommanhiede.Thus ech of other token hiede,Thogh ther no word was of record;Here hertes bothe of on acord    3390Ben set to love, bot as thoTher mihten be no wordes mo.The king made him gret joie and feste,To alle his men he yaf an heste,So as thei wolde his thonk deserve,That thei scholde alle Jason serve,Whil that he wolde there duelle.And thus the dai, schortly to telle,With manye merthes thei despente,Til nyht was come, and tho thei wente,    3400Echon of other tok his leve,Whan thei no lengere myhten leve.I not hou Jason that nyht slep,Bot wel I wot that of the Schep,For which he cam into that yle,He thoghte bot a litel whyle;Al was Medea that he thoghte,So that in many a wise he soghteHis witt wakende er it was day,Som time yee, som time nay,    3410Som time thus, som time so,As he was stered to and froOf love, and ek of his conquesteAs he was holde of his beheste.And thus he ros up be the morweAnd tok himself seint John to borwe,And seide he wolde ferst beginneAt love, and after forto winneThe flees of gold, for which he com,And thus to him good herte he nom.    3420

Medea riht the same wise,Til dai cam that sche moste arise,Lay and bethoughte hire al the nyht,Hou sche that noble worthi knihtBe eny weie mihte wedde:And wel sche wiste, if he ne speddeOf thing which he hadde undertake,Sche mihte hirself no porpos take;For if he deide of his bataile,Sche moste thanne algate faile    3430To geten him, whan he were ded.Thus sche began to sette redAnd torne aboute hir wittes alle,To loke hou that it mihte falleThat sche with him hadde a leisirTo speke and telle of hir desir.And so it fell that same dayThat Jason with that suete mayTogedre sete and hadden spaceTo speke, and he besoughte hir grace.    3440And sche his tale goodli herde,And afterward sche him ansuerdeAnd seide, “Jason, as thou wilt,Thou miht be sauf, thou miht be spilt;For wite wel that nevere man,Bot if he couthe that I can,Ne mihte that fortune achieveFor which thou comst: bot as I lieve,If thou wolt holde covenantTo love, of al the remenant    3450I schal thi lif and honour save,That thou the flees of gold schalt have.”He seide, “Al at youre oghne wille,Ma dame, I schal treuly fulfilleYoure heste, whil mi lif mai laste.”Thus longe he preide, and ate lasteSche granteth, and behihte him this,That whan nyht comth and it time is,Sche wolde him sende certeinlySuch on that scholde him prively    3460Al one into hire chambre bringe.He thonketh hire of that tidinge,For of that grace him is begonneHim thenkth alle othre thinges wonne.

The dai made ende and lost his lyht,And comen was the derke nyht,Which al the daies yhe blente.Jason tok leve and forth he wente,And whan he cam out of the pres,He tok to conseil Hercules,    3470And tolde him hou it was betid,And preide it scholde wel ben hid,And that he wolde loke aboute,Therwhiles that he schal ben oute.Thus as he stod and hiede nam,A Mayden fro Medea camAnd to hir chambre Jason ledde,Wher that he fond redi to beddeThe faireste and the wiseste eke;And sche with simple chiere and meke,    3480Whan sche him sih, wax al aschamed.Tho was here tale newe entamed;For sikernesse of MariageSche fette forth a riche ymage,Which was figure of Jupiter,And Jason swor and seide ther,That also wiss god scholde him helpe,That if Medea dede him helpe,That he his pourpos myhte winne,Thei scholde nevere parte atwinne,    3490Bot evere whil him lasteth lif,He wolde hire holde for his wif.And with that word thei kisten bothe;And for thei scholden hem unclothe,Ther cam a Maide, and in hir wiseSche dede hem bothe full servise,Til that thei were in bedde naked:I wot that nyht was wel bewaked,Thei hadden bothe what thei wolde.And thanne of leisir sche him tolde,    3500And gan fro point to point enformeOf his bataile and al the forme,Which as he scholde finde there,Whan he to thyle come were.

Sche seide, at entre of the pasHou Mars, which god of Armes was,Hath set tuo Oxen sterne and stoute,That caste fyr and flamme abouteBothe at the mouth and ate nase,So that thei setten al on blase    3510What thing that passeth hem betwene:And forthermore upon the greneTher goth the flees of gold to kepeA Serpent, which mai nevere slepe.Thus who that evere scholde it winne,The fyr to stoppe he mot beginne,Which that the fierce bestes caste,And daunte he mot hem ate laste,So that he mai hem yoke and dryve;And therupon he mot as blyve    3520The Serpent with such strengthe assaile,That he mai slen him be bataile;Of which he mot the teth outdrawe,As it belongeth to that lawe,And thanne he mot tho Oxen yoke,Til thei have with a plowh tobrokeA furgh of lond, in which aroweThe teth of thaddre he moste sowe,And therof schule arise knihtesWel armed up at alle rihtes.    3530Of hem is noght to taken hiede,For ech of hem in hastihiedeSchal other slen with dethes wounde:And thus whan thei ben leid to grounde,Than mot he to the goddes preie,And go so forth and take his preie.Bot if he faile in eny wiseOf that ye hiere me devise,Ther mai be set non other weie,That he ne moste algates deie.    3540“Nou have I told the peril al:I woll you tellen forth withal,”Quod Medea to Jason tho,“That ye schul knowen er ye go,Ayein the venym and the fyrWhat schal ben the recoverir.Bot, Sire, for it is nyh day,Ariseth up, so that I mayDelivere you what thing I have,That mai youre lif and honour save.”    3550Thei weren bothe loth to rise,Bot for thei weren bothe wise,Up thei arisen ate laste:Jason his clothes on him casteAnd made him redi riht anon,And sche hir scherte dede uponAnd caste on hire a mantel clos,Withoute more and thanne aros.Tho tok sche forth a riche TyeMad al of gold and of Perrie,    3560Out of the which sche nam a Ring,The Ston was worth al other thing.Sche seide, whil he wolde it were,Ther myhte no peril him dere,In water mai it noght be dreynt,Wher as it comth the fyr is queynt,It daunteth ek the cruel beste,Ther may no qued that man areste,Wher so he be on See or lond,Which hath that ring upon his hond:    3570And over that sche gan to sein,That if a man wol ben unsein,Withinne his hond hold clos the Ston,And he mai invisible gon.The Ring to Jason sche betauhte,And so forth after sche him tauhteWhat sacrifise he scholde make;And gan out of hire cofre takeHim thoughte an hevenely figure,Which al be charme and be conjure    3580Was wroght, and ek it was thurgh writeWith names, which he scholde wite,As sche him tauhte tho to rede;And bad him, as he wolde spede,Withoute reste of eny while,Whan he were londed in that yle,He scholde make his sacrifiseAnd rede his carecte in the wiseAs sche him tauhte, on knes doun bent,Thre sithes toward orient;    3590For so scholde he the goddes pleseAnd winne himselven mochel ese.And whanne he hadde it thries rad,To opne a buiste sche him bad,Which sche ther tok him in present,And was full of such oignement,That ther was fyr ne venym nonThat scholde fastnen him upon,Whan that he were enoynt withal.Forthi sche tauhte him hou he schal    3600Enoignte his armes al aboute,And for he scholde nothing doute,Sche tok him thanne a maner glu,The which was of so gret vertu,That where a man it wolde caste,It scholde binde anon so fasteThat noman mihte it don aweie.And that sche bad be alle weieHe scholde into the mouthes throwenOf tho tweie Oxen that fyr blowen,    3610Therof to stoppen the malice;The glu schal serve of that office.And over that hir oignement,Hir Ring and hir enchantementAyein the Serpent scholde him were,Til he him sle with swerd or spere:And thanne he may saufliche ynowhHis Oxen yoke into the plowhAnd the teth sowe in such a wise,Til he the knyhtes se arise,    3620And ech of other doun be leidIn such manere as I have seid.

Lo, thus Medea for JasonOrdeigneth, and preith theruponThat he nothing foryete scholde,And ek sche preith him that he wolde,Whan he hath alle his Armes don,To grounde knele and thonke anonThe goddes, and so forth be eseThe flees of gold he scholde sese.    3630And whanne he hadde it sesed so,That thanne he were sone agoWithouten eny tariynge.

Whan this was seid, into wepingeSche fell, as sche that was thurgh nomeWith love, and so fer overcome,That al hir world on him sche sette.Bot whan sche sih ther was no lette,That he mot nedes parte hire fro,Sche tok him in hire armes tuo,    3640An hundred time and gan him kisse,And seide, “O, al mi worldes blisse,Mi trust, mi lust, mi lif, min hele,To be thin helpe in this quereleI preie unto the goddes alle.”And with that word sche gan doun falleOn swoune, and he hire uppe nam,And forth with that the Maiden cam,And thei to bedde anon hir broghte,And thanne Jason hire besoghte,    3650And to hire seide in this manere:“Mi worthi lusti ladi dere,Conforteth you, for be my troutheIt schal noght fallen in mi sloutheThat I ne wol thurghout fulfilleYoure hestes at youre oghne wille.And yit I hope to you bringeWithinne a while such tidinge,The which schal make ous bothe game.”

Bot for he wolde kepe hir name,    3660Whan that he wiste it was nyh dai,He seide, “A dieu, mi swete mai.”And forth with him he nam his gere,Which as sche hadde take him there,And strauht unto his chambre he wente,And goth to bedde and slep him hente,And lay, that noman him awok,For Hercules hiede of him tok,Til it was undren hih and more.And thanne he gan to sighe sore    3670And sodeinliche abreide of slep;And thei that token of him kep,His chamberleins, be sone there,And maden redi al his gere,And he aros and to the kingHe wente, and seide hou to that thingFor which he cam he wolde go.The king therof was wonder wo,And for he wolde him fain withdrawe,He tolde him many a dredful sawe,    3680Bot Jason wolde it noght recorde,And ate laste thei acorde.Whan that he wolde noght abide,A Bot was redy ate tyde,In which this worthi kniht of GreceFul armed up at every piece,To his bataile which belongeth,Tok ore on honde and sore him longeth,Til he the water passed were.

Whan he cam to that yle there,    3690He set him on his knes doun strauht,And his carecte, as he was tawht,He radde, and made his sacrifise,And siththe enoignte him in that wise,As Medea him hadde bede;And thanne aros up fro that stede,And with the glu the fyr he queynte,And anon after he atteinteThe grete Serpent and him slowh.Bot erst he hadde sorwe ynowh,    3700For that Serpent made him travaileSo harde and sore of his bataile,That nou he stod and nou he fell:For longe time it so befell,That with his swerd ne with his spereHe mihte noght that Serpent dere.He was so scherded al aboute,It hield all eggetol withoute,He was so ruide and hard of skin,Ther mihte nothing go therin;    3710Venym and fyr togedre he caste,That he Jason so sore ablaste,That if ne were his oignement,His Ring and his enchantement,Which Medea tok him tofore,He hadde with that worm be lore;Bot of vertu which therof camJason the Dragon overcam.And he anon the teth outdrouh,And sette his Oxen in a plouh,    3720With which he brak a piece of londAnd sieu hem with his oghne hond.Tho mihte he gret merveile se:Of every toth in his degreSprong up a kniht with spere and schield,Of whiche anon riht in the fieldEchon slow other; and with thatJason Medea noght foryat,On bothe his knes he gan doun falle,And yaf thonk to the goddes alle.    3730The Flees he tok and goth to Bote,The Sonne schyneth bryhte and hote,The Flees of gold schon forth withal,The water glistreth overal.

Medea wepte and sigheth ofte,And stod upon a Tour alofte:Al prively withinne hirselve,Ther herde it nouther ten ne tuelve,Sche preide, and seide, “O, god him spede,The kniht which hath mi maidenhiede!”    3740And ay sche loketh toward thyle.Bot whan sche sih withinne a whileThe Flees glistrende ayein the Sonne,Sche saide, “Ha, lord, now al is wonne,Mi kniht the field hath overcome:Nou wolde god he were come;Ha lord, that he ne were alonde!”Bot I dar take this on honde,If that sche hadde wynges tuo,Sche wolde have flowe unto him tho    3750Strawht ther he was into the Bot.

The dai was clier, the Sonne hot,The Gregeis weren in gret doute,The whyle that here lord was oute:Thei wisten noght what scholde tyde,Bot waiten evere upon the tyde,To se what ende scholde falle.Ther stoden ek the nobles alleForth with the comun of the toun;And as thei loken up and doun,    3760Thei weren war withinne a throwe,Wher cam the bot, which thei wel knowe,And sihe hou Jason broghte his preie.And tho thei gonnen alle seie,And criden alle with o stevene,“Ha, wher was evere under the heveneSo noble a knyht as Jason is?”And welnyh alle seiden this,That Jason was a faie kniht,For it was nevere of mannes miht    3770The Flees of gold so forto winne;And thus to talen thei beginne.With that the king com forth anon,And sih the Flees, hou that it schon;And whan Jason cam to the lond,The king himselve tok his hondAnd kist him, and gret joie him made.The Gregeis weren wonder glade,And of that thing riht merie hem thoghte,And forth with hem the Flees thei broghte,    3780And ech on other gan to leyhe;Bot wel was him that mihte neyhe,To se therof the proprete.And thus thei passen the citeAnd gon unto the Paleis straght.

Medea, which foryat him naght,Was redy there, and seide anon,“Welcome, O worthi kniht Jason.”Sche wolde have kist him wonder fayn,Bot schame tornede hire agayn;    3790It was noght the manere as tho,Forthi sche dorste noght do so.Sche tok hire leve, and Jason wenteInto his chambre, and sche him senteHire Maide to sen hou he ferde;The which whan that sche sih and herde,Hou that he hadde faren outeAnd that it stod wel al aboute,Sche tolde hire ladi what sche wiste,And sche for joie hire Maide kiste.    3800The bathes weren thanne araied,With herbes tempred and assaied,And Jason was unarmed soneAnd dede as it befell to done:Into his bath he wente anonAnd wyssh him clene as eny bon;He tok a sopp, and oute he cam,And on his beste aray he nam,And kempde his hed, whan he was clad,And goth him forth al merie and glad    3810Riht strawht into the kinges halle.The king cam with his knihtes alleAnd maden him glad welcominge;And he hem tolde the tidingeOf this and that, hou it befell,Whan that he wan the schepes fell.

Medea, whan sche was asent,Com sone to that parlement,And whan sche mihte Jason se,Was non so glad of alle as sche.    3820Ther was no joie forto seche,Of him mad every man a speche,Som man seide on, som man seide other;Bot thogh he were goddes brotherAnd mihte make fyr and thonder,Ther mihte be nomore wonderThan was of him in that cite.Echon tauhte other, “This is he,Which hath in his pouer withinneThat al the world ne mihte winne:    3830Lo, hier the beste of alle goode.”Thus saiden thei that there stode,And ek that walkede up and doun,Bothe of the Court and of the toun.

The time of Souper cam anon,Thei wisshen and therto thei gon,Medea was with Jason set:Tho was ther many a deynte fetAnd set tofore hem on the bord,Bot non so likinge as the word    3840Which was ther spoke among hem tuo,So as thei dorste speke tho.Bot thogh thei hadden litel space,Yit thei acorden in that placeHou Jason scholde come at nyht,Whan every torche and every lihtWere oute, and thanne of other thingesThei spieke aloud for supposingesOf hem that stoden there aboute:For love is everemore in doute,    3850If that it be wisly governedOf hem that ben of love lerned.

Whan al was don, that dissh and cuppeAnd cloth and bord and al was uppe,Thei waken whil hem lest to wake,And after that thei leve takeAnd gon to bedde forto reste.And whan him thoghte for the beste,That every man was faste aslepe,Jason, that wolde his time kepe,    3860Goth forth stalkende al privelyUnto the chambre, and redelyTher was a Maide, which him kepte.Medea wok and nothing slepte,Bot natheles sche was abedde,And he with alle haste him speddeAnd made him naked and al warm.Anon he tok hire in his arm:What nede is forto speke of ese?Hem list ech other forto plese,    3870So that thei hadden joie ynow:And tho thei setten whanne and howThat sche with him awey schal stele.With wordes suche and othre feleWhan al was treted to an ende,Jason tok leve and gan forth wendeUnto his oughne chambre in pes;Ther wiste it non bot Hercules.

He slepte and ros whan it was time,And whanne it fell towardes prime,    3880He tok to him suche as he tristeIn secre, that non other wiste,And told hem of his conseil there,And seide that his wille wereThat thei to Schipe hadde alle thingeSo priveliche in thevenynge,That noman mihte here dede aspieBot tho that were of compaignie:For he woll go withoute leve,And lengere woll he noght beleve;    3890Bot he ne wolde at thilke throweThe king or queene scholde it knowe.Thei saide, “Al this schal wel be do:”And Jason truste wel therto.

Medea in the mene while,Which thoghte hir fader to beguile,The Tresor which hir fader haddeWith hire al priveli sche ladde,And with Jason at time setAwey sche stal and fond no let,    3900And straght sche goth hire unto schipeOf Grece with that felaschipe,And thei anon drowe up the Seil.And al that nyht this was conseil,Bot erly, whan the Sonne schon,Men syhe hou that thei were agon,And come unto the king and tolde:And he the sothe knowe wolde,And axeth where his dowhter was.Ther was no word bot Out, Allas!    3910Sche was ago. The moder wepte,The fader as a wod man lepte,And gan the time forto warie,And swor his oth he wol noght tarie,That with Caliphe and with galeieThe same cours, the same weie,Which Jason tok, he wolde take,If that he mihte him overtake.To this thei seiden alle yee:Anon thei weren ate See,    3920And alle, as who seith, at a wordThei gon withinne schipes bord,The Sail goth up, and forth thei strauhte.Bot non espleit therof thei cauhte,And so thei tornen hom ayein,For al that labour was in vein.

Jason to Grece with his preieGoth thurgh the See the rihte weie:Whan he ther com and men it tolde,Thei maden joie yonge and olde.    3930Eson, whan that he wiste of this,Hou that his Sone comen is,And hath achieved that he soughteAnd hom with him Medea broughte,In al the wyde world was nonSo glad a man as he was on.Togedre ben these lovers tho,Til that thei hadden sones tuo,Wherof thei weren bothe glade,And olde Eson gret joie made    3940To sen thencress of his lignage;For he was of so gret an Age,That men awaiten every day,Whan that he scholde gon away.Jason, which sih his fader old,Upon Medea made him bold,Of art magique, which sche couthe,And preith hire that his fader youtheSche wolde make ayeinward newe:And sche, that was toward him trewe,    3950Behihte him that sche wolde it do,Whan that sche time sawh therto.Bot what sche dede in that matiereIt is a wonder thing to hiere,Bot yit for the novellerieI thenke tellen a partie.

Thus it befell upon a nyht,Whan ther was noght bot sterreliht,Sche was vanyssht riht as hir liste,That no wyht bot hirself it wiste,    3960And that was ate mydnyht tyde.The world was stille on every side;With open hed and fot al bare,Hir her tosprad sche gan to fare,Upon hir clothes gert sche was,Al specheles and on the grasSche glod forth as an Addre doth:Non otherwise sche ne goth,Til sche cam to the freisshe flod,And there a while sche withstod.    3970Thries sche torned hire aboute,And thries ek sche gan doun louteAnd in the flod sche wette hir her,And thries on the water therSche gaspeth with a drecchinge onde,And tho sche tok hir speche on honde.Ferst sche began to clepe and calleUpward unto the sterres alle,To Wynd, to Air, to See, to londSche preide, and ek hield up hir hond    3980To Echates, and gan to crie,Which is goddesse of Sorcerie.Sche seide, “Helpeth at this nede,And as ye maden me to spede,Whan Jason cam the Flees to seche,So help me nou, I you beseche.”With that sche loketh and was war,Doun fro the Sky ther cam a char,The which Dragouns aboute drowe:And tho sche gan hir hed doun bowe,    3990And up sche styh, and faire and welSche drof forth bothe char and whelAbove in thair among the Skyes.The lond of Crete and tho partiesSche soughte, and faste gan hire hye,And there upon the hulles hyheOf Othrin and Olimpe also,And ek of othre hulles mo,Sche fond and gadreth herbes suote,Sche pulleth up som be the rote,    4000And manye with a knyf sche scherth,And alle into hir char sche berth.Thus whan sche hath the hulles sought,The flodes ther foryat sche nought,Eridian and Amphrisos,Peneie and ek Spercheïdos,To hem sche wente and ther sche nomBothe of the water and the fom,The sond and ek the smale stones,Whiche as sche ches out for the nones,    4010And of the rede See a part,That was behovelich to hire art,Sche tok, and after that abouteSche soughte sondri sedes outeIn feldes and in many greves,And ek a part sche tok of leves:Bot thing which mihte hire most availeSche fond in Crete and in Thessaile.

In daies and in nyhtes Nyne,With gret travaile and with gret pyne,    4020Sche was pourveid of every piece,And torneth homward into Grece.Before the gates of EsonHir char sche let awai to gon,And tok out ferst that was therinne;For tho sche thoghte to beginneSuch thing as semeth impossible,And made hirselven invisible,As sche that was with Air enclosedAnd mihte of noman be desclosed.    4030Sche tok up turves of the londWithoute helpe of mannes hond,Al heled with the grene gras,Of which an Alter mad ther wasUnto Echates the goddesseOf art magique and the maistresse,And eft an other to Juvente,As sche which dede hir hole entente.Tho tok sche fieldwode and verveyne,Of herbes ben noght betre tueine,    4040Of which anon withoute letThese alters ben aboute set:Tuo sondri puttes faste bySche made, and with that hastelyA wether which was blak sche slouh,And out therof the blod sche drouhAnd dede into the pettes tuo;Warm melk sche putte also thertoWith hony meynd: and in such wiseSche gan to make hir sacrifice,    4050And cride and preide forth withalTo Pluto the god infernal,And to the queene Proserpine.And so sche soghte out al the lineOf hem that longen to that craft,Behinde was no name laft,And preide hem alle, as sche wel couthe,To grante Eson his ferste youthe.

This olde Eson broght forth was tho,Awei sche bad alle othre go    4060Upon peril that mihte falle;And with that word thei wenten alle,And leften there hem tuo al one.And tho sche gan to gaspe and gone,And made signes manyon,And seide hir wordes therupon;So that with spellinge of hir charmesSche tok Eson in bothe hire armes,And made him forto slepe faste,And him upon hire herbes caste.    4070The blake wether tho sche tok,And hiewh the fleissh, as doth a cok;On either alter part sche leide,And with the charmes that sche seideA fyr doun fro the Sky alyhteAnd made it forto brenne lyhte.Bot whan Medea sawh it brenne,Anon sche gan to sterte and renneThe fyri aulters al aboute:Ther was no beste which goth oute    4080More wylde than sche semeth ther:Aboute hir schuldres hyng hir her,As thogh sche were oute of hir myndeAnd torned in an other kynde.Tho lay ther certein wode cleft,Of which the pieces nou and eftSche made hem in the pettes wete,And put hem in the fyri hete,And tok the brond with al the blase,And thries sche began to rase    4090Aboute Eson, ther as he slepte;And eft with water, which sche kepte,Sche made a cercle aboute him thries,And eft with fyr of sulphre twyes:Ful many an other thing sche dede,Which is noght writen in this stede.Bot tho sche ran so up and doun,Sche made many a wonder soun,Somtime lich unto the cock,Somtime unto the Laverock,    4100Somtime kacleth as a Hen,Somtime spekth as don the men:And riht so as hir jargoun strangeth,In sondri wise hir forme changeth,Sche semeth faie and no womman;For with the craftes that sche canSche was, as who seith, a goddesse,And what hir liste, more or lesse,Sche dede, in bokes as we finde,That passeth over manneskinde.    4110Bot who that wole of wondres hiere,What thing sche wroghte in this matiere,To make an ende of that sche gan,Such merveile herde nevere man.

Apointed in the newe Mone,Whan it was time forto done,Sche sette a caldron on the fyr,In which was al the hole atir,Wheron the medicine stod,Of jus, of water and of blod,    4120And let it buile in such a plit,Til that sche sawh the spume whyt;And tho sche caste in rynde and rote,And sed and flour that was for bote,With many an herbe and many a ston,Wherof sche hath ther many on:And ek Cimpheius the SerpentTo hire hath alle his scales lent,Chelidre hire yaf his addres skin,And sche to builen caste hem in;    4130A part ek of the horned Oule,The which men hiere on nyhtes houle;And of a Raven, which was toldOf nyne hundred wynter old,Sche tok the hed with al the bile;And as the medicine it wile,Sche tok therafter the boueleOf the Seewolf, and for the heleOf Eson, with a thousand moOf thinges that sche hadde tho,    4140In that Caldroun togedre as blyveSche putte, and tok thanne of OlyveA drie branche hem with to stere,The which anon gan floure and bereAnd waxe al freissh and grene ayein.Whan sche this vertu hadde sein,Sche let the leste drope of alleUpon the bare flor doun falle;Anon ther sprong up flour and gras,Where as the drope falle was,    4150And wox anon al medwe grene,So that it mihte wel be sene.Medea thanne knew and wisteHir medicine is forto triste,And goth to Eson ther he lay,And tok a swerd was of assay,With which a wounde upon his sideSche made, that therout mai slydeThe blod withinne, which was oldAnd sek and trouble and fieble and cold.    4160And tho sche tok unto his usOf herbes al the beste jus,And poured it into his wounde;That made his veynes fulle and sounde:And tho sche made his wounde clos,And tok his hond, and up he ros;And tho sche yaf him drinke a drauhte,Of which his youthe ayein he cauhte,His hed, his herte and his visageLich unto twenty wynter Age;    4170Hise hore heres were away,And lich unto the freisshe Maii,Whan passed ben the colde shoures,Riht so recovereth he his floures.

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