And upon this matiere alsoA question betwen the tuoThus writen in a bok I fond;Wher it be betre for the lond 4150A king himselve to be wys,And so to bere his oghne pris,And that his consail be noght good,Or other wise if it so stod,A king if he be viciousAnd his conseil be vertuous.It is ansuerd in such a wise,That betre it is that thei be wiseBe whom that the conseil schal gon,For thei be manye, and he is on; 4160And rathere schal an one manWith fals conseil, for oght he can,From his wisdom be mad to falle,Thanne he al one scholde hem alleFro vices into vertu change,For that is wel the more strange.Forthi the lond mai wel be glad,Whos king with good conseil is lad,Which set him unto rihtwisnesse,So that his hihe worthinesse 4170Betwen the reddour and PiteDoth mercy forth with equite.A king is holden overalTo Pite, bot in specialTo hem wher he is most beholde;Thei scholde his Pite most beholdeThat ben the Lieges of his lond,For thei ben evere under his hondAfter the goddes ordinaunceTo stonde upon his governance. 4180Of themperour AnthoniusI finde hou that he seide thus,That levere him were forto saveOon of his lieges than to haveOf enemis a thousend dede.And this he lernede, as I rede,Of Cipio, which hadde beConsul of Rome. And thus to seDiverse ensamples hou thei stonde,A king which hath the charge on honde 4190The comun poeple to governe,If that he wole, he mai wel lerne.Is non so good to the plesanceOf god, as is good governance;And every governance is dueTo Pite: thus I mai argueThat Pite is the foundementOf every kinges regiment,If it be medled with justice.Thei tuo remuen alle vice, 4200And ben of vertu most vailableTo make a kinges regne stable.Lo, thus the foure pointz tofore,In governance as thei ben bore,Of trouthe ferst and of largesse,Of Pite forth with rihtwisnesse,I have hem told; and over thisThe fifte point, so as it isSet of the reule of Policie,Wherof a king schal modefie 4210The fleisschly lustes of nature,Nou thenk I telle of such mesure,That bothe kinde schal be servedAnd ek the lawe of god observed.The Madle is mad for the the femele,Bot where as on desireth fele,That nedeth noght be weie of kinde:For whan a man mai redy findeHis oghne wif, what scholde he secheIn strange places to beseche 4220To borwe an other mannes plouh,Whan he hath geere good ynouhAffaited at his oghne heste,And is to him wel more honesteThan other thing which is unknowe?Forthi scholde every good man knoweAnd thenke, hou that in mariageHis trouthe pliht lith in morgage,Which if he breke, it is falshode,And that descordeth to manhode, 4230And namely toward the grete,Wherof the bokes alle trete;So as the Philosophre techethTo Alisandre, and him betechethThe lore hou that he schal mesureHis bodi, so that no mesureOf fleisshly lust he scholde excede.And thus forth if I schal procede,The fifte point, as I seide er,Is chastete, which sielde wher 4240Comth nou adaies into place;And natheles, bot it be graceAbove alle othre in special,Is non that chaste mai ben all.Bot yit a kinges hihe astat,Which of his ordre as a prelatSchal ben enoignt and seintefied,He mot be more magnefiedFor dignete of his corone,Than scholde an other low persone, 4250Which is noght of so hih emprise.Therfore a Prince him scholde avise,Er that he felle in such riote,And namely that he nassoteTo change for the wommanhedeThe worthinesse of his manhede.Of Aristotle I have wel rad,Hou he to Alisandre bad,That forto gladen his corageHe schal beholde the visage 4260Of wommen, whan that thei ben faire.Bot yit he set an essamplaire,His bodi so to guide and reule,That he ne passe noght the reule,Wherof that he himself beguile.For in the womman is no guileOf that a man himself bewhapeth;Whan he his oghne wit bejapeth,I can the wommen wel excuse:Bot what man wole upon hem muse 4270After the fool impressionOf his ymaginacioun,Withinne himself the fyr he bloweth,Wherof the womman nothing knoweth,So mai sche nothing be to wyte.For if a man himself exciteTo drenche, and wol it noght forbere,The water schal no blame bere.What mai the gold, thogh men coveite?If that a man wol love streite, 4280The womman hath him nothing bounde;If he his oghne herte wounde,Sche mai noght lette the folie;And thogh so felle of compainieThat he myht eny thing pourchace,Yit makth a man the ferste chace,The womman fleth and he poursuieth:So that be weie of skile it suieth,The man is cause, hou so befalle,That he fulofte sithe is falle 4290Wher that he mai noght wel aryse.And natheles ful manye wiseBefoled have hemself er this,As nou adaies yit it isAmong the men and evere was,The stronge is fieblest in this cas.It sit a man be weie of kindeTo love, bot it is noght kindeA man for love his wit to lese:For if the Monthe of Juil schal frese 4300And that Decembre schal ben hot,The yeer mistorneth, wel I wot.To sen a man fro his astatThurgh his sotie effeminat,And leve that a man schal do,It is as Hose above the Scho,To man which oghte noght ben used.Bot yit the world hath ofte accusedFul grete Princes of this dede,Hou thei for love hemself mislede, 4310Wherof manhode stod behinde,Of olde ensamples as I finde.These olde gestes tellen thus,That whilom Sardana Pallus,Which hield al hol in his empireThe grete kingdom of Assire,Was thurgh the slouthe of his corageFalle into thilke fyri rageOf love, which the men assoteth,Wherof himself he so rioteth, 4320And wax so ferforth wommannyssh,That ayein kinde, as if a fisshAbide wolde upon the lond,In wommen such a lust he fond,That he duelte evere in chambre stille,And only wroghte after the willeOf wommen, so as he was bede,That selden whanne in other stedeIf that he wolde wenden oute,To sen hou that it stod aboute. 4330Bot ther he keste and there he pleide,Thei tawhten him a Las to breide,And weve a Pours, and to enfileA Perle: and fell that ilke while,On Barbarus the Prince of MedeSih hou this king in wommanhedeWas falle fro chivalerie,And gat him help and compaignie,And wroghte so, that ate lasteThis king out of his regne he caste, 4340Which was undon for everemo:And yit men speken of him so,That it is schame forto hiere.Forthi to love is in manere.King David hadde many a love,Bot natheles alwey aboveKnyhthode he kepte in such a wise,That for no fleisshli covoitiseOf lust to ligge in ladi armesHe lefte noght the lust of armes. 4350For where a Prince hise lustes suieth,That he the werre noght poursuieth,Whan it is time to ben armed,His contre stant fulofte harmed,Whan thenemis ben woxe bolde,That thei defence non beholde.Ful many a lond hath so be lore,As men mai rede of time aforeOf hem that so here eses soghten,Which after thei full diere aboghten. 4360To mochel ese is nothing worth,For that set every vice forthAnd every vertu put abak,Wherof priss torneth into lak,As in Cronique I mai reherse:Which telleth hou the king of Perse,That Cirus hihte, a werre haddeAyein a poeple which he dradde,Of a contre which Liddos hihte;Bot yit for oght that he do mihte 4370As in bataille upon the werre,He hadde of hem alwey the werre.And whan he sih and wiste it wel,That he be strengthe wan no del,Thanne ate laste he caste a wyleThis worthi poeple to beguile,And tok with hem a feigned pes,Which scholde lasten endeles,So as he seide in wordes wise,Bot he thoghte al in other wise. 4380For it betidd upon the cas,Whan that this poeple in reste was,Thei token eses manyfold;And worldes ese, as it is told,Be weie of kinde is the norriceOf every lust which toucheth vice.Thus whan thei were in lustes falle,The werres ben foryeten alle;Was non which wolde the worschipeOf Armes, bot in idelschipe 4390Thei putten besinesse aweieAnd token hem to daunce and pleie;Bot most above alle othre thingesThei token hem to the likingesOf fleysshly lust, that chasteteReceived was in no degre,Bot every man doth what him liste.And whan the king of Perse it wiste,That thei unto folie entenden,With his pouer, whan thei lest wenden, 4400Mor sodeinly than doth the thunderHe cam, for evere and put hem under.And thus hath lecherie loreThe lond, which hadde be toforeThe beste of hem that were tho.And in the bible I finde alsoA tale lich unto this thing,Hou Amalech the paien king,Whan that he myhte be no weieDefende his lond and putte aweie 4410The worthi poeple of Irael,This Sarazin, as it befell,Thurgh the conseil of BalaamA route of faire wommen nam,That lusti were and yonge of Age,And bad hem gon to the lignageOf these Hebreus: and forth thei wenteWith yhen greye and browes benteAnd wel arraied everych on;And whan thei come were anon 4420Among thebreus, was non insihte,Bot cacche who that cacche myhte,And ech of hem hise lustes soghte,Whiche after thei full diere boghte.For grace anon began to faile,That whan thei comen to batailleThanne afterward, in sori plitThei were take and disconfit,So that withinne a litel throweThe myht of hem was overthrowe, 4430That whilom were wont to stonde.Til Phinees the cause on hondeHath take, this vengance laste,Bot thanne it cessede ate laste,For god was paid of that he dede:For wher he fond upon a stedeA couple which misferde so,Thurghout he smot hem bothe tuo,And let hem ligge in mennes yhe;Wherof alle othre whiche hem sihe 4440Ensamplede hem upon the dede,And preiden unto the godhiedeHere olde Sennes to amende:And he, which wolde his mercy sende,Restorede hem to newe grace.Thus mai it schewe in sondri place,Of chastete hou the clennesseAcordeth to the worthinesseOf men of Armes overal;Bot most of alle in special 4450This vertu to a king belongeth,For upon his fortune it hongethOf that his lond schal spede or spille.Forthi bot if a king his willeFro lustes of his fleissh restreigne,Ayein himself he makth a treigne,Into the which if that he slyde,Him were betre go besyde.For every man mai understonde,Hou for a time that it stonde, 4460It is a sori lust to lyke,Whos ende makth a man to sykeAnd torneth joies into sorwe.The brihte Sonne be the morweBeschyneth noght the derke nyht,The lusti youthe of mannes myht,In Age bot it stonde wel,Mistorneth al the laste whiel.That every worthi Prince is holdeWithinne himself himself beholde, 4470To se the stat of his persone,And thenke hou ther be joies noneUpon this Erthe mad to laste,And hou the fleissh schal ate lasteThe lustes of this lif forsake,Him oghte a gret ensample takeOf Salomon, whos appetitWas holy set upon delit,To take of wommen the plesance:So that upon his ignorance 4480The wyde world merveileth yit,That he, which alle mennes witIn thilke time hath overpassed,With fleisshly lustes was so tassed,That he which ladde under the laweThe poeple of god, himself withdraweHe hath fro god in such a wise,That he worschipe and sacrifiseFor sondri love in sondri stedeUnto the false goddes dede. 4490This was the wise ecclesiaste,The fame of whom schal evere laste,That he the myhti god forsok,Ayein the lawe whanne he tokHis wyves and his concubinesOf hem that weren Sarazines,For whiche he dede ydolatrie.For this I rede of his sotie:Sche of Sidoyne so him ladde,That he knelende his armes spradde 4500To Astrathen with gret humblesse,Which of hire lond was the goddesse:And sche that was a MoabiteSo ferforth made him to deliteThurgh lust, which al his wit devoureth,That he Chamos hire god honoureth.An other Amonyte alsoWith love him hath assoted so,Hire god Moloch that with encenseHe sacreth, and doth reverence 4510In such a wise as sche him bad.Thus was the wiseste overladWith blinde lustes whiche he soghte;Bot he it afterward aboghte.For Achias Selonites,Which was prophete, er his decess,Whil he was in hise lustes alle,Betokneth what schal after falle.For on a day, whan that he metteJeroboam the knyht, he grette 4520And bad him that he scholde abyde,To hiere what him schal betyde.And forth withal Achias casteHis mantell of, and also fasteHe kut it into pieces twelve,Wherof tuo partz toward himselveHe kepte, and al the remenant,As god hath set his covenant,He tok unto Jeroboas,Of Nabal which the Sone was, 4530And of the kinges court a knyht:And seide him, “Such is goddes myht,As thou hast sen departed hiereMi mantell, riht in such manereAfter the deth of SalomonGod hath ordeigned therupon,This regne thanne he schal divide:Which time thou schalt ek abide,And upon that divisionThe regne as in proporcion 4540As thou hast of mi mantell take,Thou schalt receive, I undertake.And thus the Sone schal abieThe lustes and the lecherieOf him which nou his fader is.”So forto taken hiede of this,It sit a king wel to be chaste,For elles he mai lihtly wasteHimself and ek his regne bothe,And that oghte every king to lothe. 4550O, which a Senne violent,Wherof so wys a king was schent,That the vengance in his personeWas noght ynouh to take al one,Bot afterward, whan he was passed,It hath his heritage lassed,As I more openli toforeThe tale tolde. And thus therforeThe Philosophre upon this thingWrit and conseileth to a king, 4560That he the surfet of luxureSchal tempre and reule of such mesure,Which be to kinde sufficantAnd ek to reson acordant,So that the lustes ignoranceBe cause of no misgovernance,Thurgh which that he be overthrowe,As he that wol no reson knowe.For bot a mannes wit be swerved,Whan kinde is dueliche served, 4570It oghte of reson to suffise;For if it falle him otherwise,He mai tho lustes sore drede.For of Anthonie thus I rede,Which of Severus was the Sone,That he his lif of comun woneYaf holy unto thilke vice,And ofte time he was so nyce,Wherof nature hire hath compleignedUnto the god, which hath desdeigned 4580The werkes whiche Antonie wroghteOf lust, whiche he ful sore aboghte:For god his forfet hath so wrokeThat in Cronique it is yit spoke.Bot forto take remembranceOf special misgovernanceThurgh covoitise and injusticeForth with the remenant of vice,And nameliche of lecherie,I finde write a gret partie 4590Withinne a tale, as thou schalt hiere,Which is thensample of this matiere.So as these olde gestes sein,The proude tirannyssh RomeinTarquinus, which was thanne kingAnd wroghte many a wrongful thing,Of Sones hadde manyon,Among the whiche Arrons was on,Lich to his fader of maneres;So that withinne a fewe yeres 4600With tresoun and with tirannieThei wonne of lond a gret partie,And token hiede of no justice,Which due was to here officeUpon the reule of governance;Bot al that evere was plesanceUnto the fleisshes lust thei toke.And fell so, that thei undertokeA werre, which was noght achieved,Bot ofte time it hadde hem grieved, 4610Ayein a folk which thanne hihteThe Gabiens: and al be nyhteThis Arrons, whan he was at homIn Rome, a prive place he nomWithinne a chambre, and bet himselveAnd made him woundes ten or tuelveUpon the bak, as it was sene;And so forth with hise hurtes greneIn al the haste that he mayHe rod, and cam that other day 4620Unto Gabie the Cite,And in he wente: and whan that heWas knowe, anon the gates schette,The lordes alle upon him setteWith drawe swerdes upon honde.This Arrons wolde hem noght withstonde,Bot seide, “I am hier at your wille,Als lief it is that ye me spille,As if myn oghne fader dede.”And forthwith in the same stede 4630He preide hem that thei wolde se,And schewede hem in what degreHis fader and hise brethren bothe,Whiche, as he seide, weren wrothe,Him hadde beten and reviled,For evere and out of Rome exiled.And thus he made hem to believe,And seide, if that he myhte achieveHis pourpos, it schal wel be yolde,Be so that thei him helpe wolde. 4640Whan that the lordes hadde seinHou wofully he was besein,Thei token Pite of his grief;Bot yit it was hem wonder liefThat Rome him hadde exiled so.These Gabiens be conseil thoUpon the goddes made him swere,That he to hem schal trouthe bereAnd strengthen hem with al his myht;And thei also him have behiht 4650To helpen him in his querele.Thei schopen thanne for his heleThat he was bathed and enoignt,Til that he was in lusti point;And what he wolde thanne he hadde,That he al hol the cite laddeRiht as he wolde himself divise.And thanne he thoghte him in what wiseHe myhte his tirannie schewe;And to his conseil tok a schrewe, 4660Whom to his fader forth he senteIn his message, and he tho wente,And preide his fader forto seieBe his avis, and finde a weie,Hou they the cite myhten winne,Whil that he stod so wel therinne.And whan the messager was comeTo Rome, and hath in conseil nomeThe king, it fell per chance soThat thei were in a gardin tho, 4670This messager forth with the king.And whanne he hadde told the thingIn what manere that it stod,And that Tarquinus understodBe the message hou that it ferde,Anon he tok in honde a yerde,And in the gardin as thei gon,The lilie croppes on and on,Wher that thei weren sprongen oute,He smot of, as thei stode aboute, 4680And seide unto the messager:“Lo, this thing, which I do nou hier,Schal ben in stede of thin ansuere;And in this wise as I me bere,Thou schalt unto mi Sone telle.”And he no lengere wolde duelle,Bot tok his leve and goth withalUnto his lord, and told him al,Hou that his fader hadde do.Whan Arrons herde him telle so, 4690Anon he wiste what it mente,And therto sette al his entente,Til he thurgh fraude and tricherieThe Princes hefdes of GabieHath smiten of, and al was wonne:His fader cam tofore the SonneInto the toun with the Romeins,And tok and slowh the citezeinsWithoute reson or pite,That he ne spareth no degre. 4700And for the sped of this conquesteHe let do make a riche festeWith a sollempne SacrifiseIn Phebus temple; and in this wiseWhan the Romeins assembled were,In presence of hem alle there,Upon thalter whan al was dihtAnd that the fyres were alyht,From under thalter sodeinlyAn hidous Serpent openly 4710Cam out and hath devoured alThe Sacrifice, and ek withalThe fyres queynt, and forth anon,So as he cam, so is he gonInto the depe ground ayein.And every man began to sein,“Ha lord, what mai this signefie?”And therupon thei preie and crieTo Phebus, that thei mihten knoweThe cause: and he the same throwe 4720With gastly vois, that alle it herde,The Romeins in this wise ansuerde,And seide hou for the wikkidnesseOf Pride and of unrihtwisnesse,That Tarquin and his Sone hath do,The Sacrifice is wasted so,Which myhte noght ben acceptableUpon such Senne abhominable.And over that yit he hem wisseth,And seith that which of hem ferst kisseth 4730His moder, he schal take wriecheUpon the wrong: and of that specheThei ben withinne here hertes glade,Thogh thei outward no semblant made.Ther was a knyht which Brutus hihte,And he with al the haste he myhteTo grounde fell and therthe kiste,Bot non of hem the cause wiste,Bot wenden that he hadde spornedPer chance, and so was overtorned. 4740Bot Brutus al an other mente;For he knew wel in his ententeHou therthe of every mannes kindeIs Moder: bot thei weren blinde,And sihen noght so fer as he.Bot whan thei leften the CiteAnd comen hom to Rome ayein,Thanne every man which was RomeinAnd moder hath, to hire he bendeAnd keste, and ech of hem thus wende 4750To be the ferste upon the chance,Of Tarquin forto do vengance,So as thei herden Phebus sein.Bot every time hath his certein,So moste it nedes thanne abide,Til afterward upon a tydeTarquinus made unskilfullyA werre, which was fastebyAyein a toun with walles strongeWhich Ardea was cleped longe, 4760And caste a Siege theraboute,That ther mai noman passen oute.So it befell upon a nyht,Arrons, which hadde his souper diht,A part of the chivalerieWith him to soupe in compaignieHath bede: and whan thei comen wereAnd seten at the souper there,Among here othre wordes gladeArrons a gret spekinge made, 4770Who hadde tho the beste wifOf Rome: and ther began a strif,For Arrons seith he hath the beste.So jangle thei withoute reste,Til ate laste on Collatin,A worthi knyht, and was cousinTo Arrons, seide him in this wise:“It is,” quod he, “of non empriseTo speke a word, bot of the dede,Therof it is to taken hiede. 4780Anon forthi this same tydeLep on thin hors and let ous ryde:So mai we knowe bothe tuoUnwarli what oure wyves do,And that schal be a trewe assay.”This Arrons seith noght ones nay:On horse bak anon thei lepteIn such manere, and nothing slepte,Ridende forth til that thei comeAl prively withinne Rome; 4790In strange place and doun thei lihte,And take a chambre, and out of sihteThei be desguised for a throwe,So that no lif hem scholde knowe.And to the paleis ferst thei soghte,To se what thing this ladi wroghteOf which Arrons made his avant:And thei hire sihe of glad semblant,Al full of merthes and of bordes;Bot among alle hire othre wordes 4800Sche spak noght of hire housebonde.And whan thei hadde al understondeOf thilke place what hem liste,Thei gon hem forth, that non it wiste,Beside thilke gate of bras,Collacea which cleped was,Wher Collatin hath his duellinge.Ther founden thei at hom sittingeLucrece his wif, al environedWith wommen, whiche are abandoned 4810To werche, and sche wroghte ek withal,And bad hem haste, and seith, “It schalBe for mi housebondes were,Which with his swerd and with his spereLith at the Siege in gret desese.And if it scholde him noght displese,Nou wolde god I hadde him hiere;For certes til that I mai hiereSom good tidinge of his astat,Min herte is evere upon debat. 4820For so as alle men witnesse,He is of such an hardiesse,That he can noght himselve spare,And that is al my moste care,Whan thei the walles schulle assaile.Bot if mi wisshes myhte availe,I wolde it were a groundles pet,Be so the Siege were unknet,And I myn housebonde sihe.”With that the water in hire yhe 4830Aros, that sche ne myhte it stoppe,And as men sen the dew bedroppeThe leves and the floures eke,Riht so upon hire whyte chekeThe wofull salte teres felle.Whan Collatin hath herd hire telleThe menynge of hire trewe herte,Anon with that to hire he sterte,And seide, “Lo, mi goode diere,Nou is he come to you hiere, 4840That ye most loven, as ye sein.”And sche with goodly chiere ayeinBeclipte him in hire armes smale,And the colour, which erst was pale,To Beaute thanne was restored,So that it myhte noght be mored.The kinges Sone, which was nyh,And of this lady herde and syhThe thinges as thei ben befalle,The resoun of hise wittes alle 4850Hath lost; for love upon his partCam thanne, and of his fyri dartWith such a wounde him hath thurghsmite,That he mot nedes fiele and witeOf thilke blinde maladie,To which no cure of SurgerieCan helpe. Bot yit nathelesAt thilke time he hield his pes,That he no contienance made,Bot openly with wordes glade, 4860So as he couthe in his manere,He spak and made frendly chiere,Til it was time forto go.And Collatin with him alsoHis leve tok, so that be nyhteWith al the haste that thei myhteThei riden to the Siege ayein.Bot Arrons was so wo beseinWith thoghtes whiche upon him runne,That he al be the brode Sunne 4870To bedde goth, noght forto reste,Bot forto thenke upon the besteAnd the faireste forth withal,That evere he syh or evere schal,So as him thoghte in his corage,Where he pourtreieth hire ymage:Ferst the fetures of hir face,In which nature hadde alle graceOf wommanly beaute beset,So that it myhte noght be bet; 4880And hou hir yelwe her was trescedAnd hire atir so wel adresced,And hou sche spak, and hou sche wroghte,And hou sche wepte, al this he thoghte,That he foryeten hath no del,Bot al it liketh him so wel,That in the word nor in the dedeHire lacketh noght of wommanhiede.And thus this tirannysshe knyhtWas soupled, bot noght half ariht, 4890For he non other hiede tok,Bot that he myhte be som crok,Althogh it were ayein hire wille,The lustes of his fleissh fulfille;Which love was noght resonable,For where honour is remuable,It oghte wel to ben avised.Bot he, which hath his lust assisedWith melled love and tirannie,Hath founde upon his tricherie 4900A weie which he thenkth to holde,And seith, “Fortune unto the boldeIs favorable forto helpe.”And thus withinne himself to yelpe,As he which was a wylde man,Upon his treson he began:And up he sterte, and forth he wenteOn horsebak, bot his ententeTher knew no wiht, and thus he namThe nexte weie, til he cam 4910Unto Collacea the gateOf Rome, and it was somdiel late,Riht evene upon the Sonne set,As he which hadde schape his netHire innocence to betrappe.And as it scholde tho mishappe,Als priveliche as evere he myhteHe rod, and of his hors alyhteTofore Collatines In,And al frendliche he goth him in, 4920As he that was cousin of house.And sche, which is the goode spouse,Lucrece, whan that sche him sih,With goodli chiere drowh him nyh,As sche which al honour supposeth,And him, so as sche dar, opposethHou it stod of hire housebonde.And he tho dede hire understondeWith tales feigned in his wise,Riht as he wolde himself devise, 4930Wherof he myhte hire herte glade,That sche the betre chiere made,Whan sche the glade wordes herde,Hou that hire housebonde ferde.And thus the trouthe was deceivedWith slih tresoun, which was receivedTo hire which mente alle goode;For as the festes thanne stode,His Souper was ryht wel arraied.Bot yit he hath no word assaied 4940To speke of love in no degre;Bot with covert subtiliteHis frendly speches he affaiteth,And as the Tigre his time awaitethIn hope forto cacche his preie.Whan that the bordes were aweieAnd thei have souped in the halle,He seith that slep is on him falle,And preith he moste go to bedde;And sche with alle haste spedde, 4950So as hire thoghte it was to done,That every thing was redi sone.Sche broghte him to his chambre thoAnd tok hire leve, and forth is goInto hire oghne chambre by,As sche that wende certeinlyHave had a frend, and hadde a fo,Wherof fell after mochel wo.This tirant, thogh he lyhe softe,Out of his bed aros fulofte, 4960And goth aboute, and leide his EreTo herkne, til that alle wereTo bedde gon and slepten faste.And thanne upon himself he casteA mantell, and his swerd al nakedHe tok in honde; and sche unwakedAbedde lay, but what sche mette,God wot; for he the Dore unschetteSo prively that non it herde,The softe pas and forth he ferde 4970Unto the bed wher that sche slepte,Al sodeinliche and in he crepte,And hire in bothe his Armes tok.With that this worthi wif awok,Which thurgh tendresce of wommanhiedeHire vois hath lost for pure drede,That o word speke sche ne dar:And ek he bad hir to be war,For if sche made noise or cry,He seide, his swerd lay faste by 4980To slen hire and hire folk aboute.And thus he broghte hire herte in doute,That lich a Lomb whanne it is sesedIn wolves mouth, so was desesedLucrece, which he naked fond:Wherof sche swounede in his hond,And, as who seith, lay ded oppressed.And he, which al him hadde adrescedTo lust, tok thanne what him liste,And goth his wey, that non it wiste, 4990Into his oghne chambre ayein,And clepede up his chamberlein,And made him redi forto ryde.And thus this lecherouse prideTo horse lepte and forth he rod;And sche, which in hire bed abod,Whan that sche wiste he was agon,Sche clepede after liht anonAnd up aros long er the day,And caste awey hire freissh aray, 5000As sche which hath the world forsake,And tok upon the clothes blake:And evere upon continuinge,Riht as men sen a welle springe,With yhen fulle of wofull teres,Hire her hangende aboute hire Eres,Sche wepte, and noman wiste why.Bot yit among full pitouslySche preide that thei nolden dreccheHire housebonde forto fecche 5010Forth with hire fader ek also.Thus be thei comen bothe tuo,And Brutus cam with Collatin,Which to Lucrece was cousin,And in thei wenten alle threTo chambre, wher thei myhten seThe wofulleste upon this Molde,Which wepte as sche to water scholde.The chambre Dore anon was stoke,Er thei have oght unto hire spoke; 5020Thei sihe hire clothes al desguised,And hou sche hath hirself despised,Hire her hangende unkemd aboute,Bot natheles sche gan to louteAnd knele unto hire housebonde;And he, which fain wolde understondeThe cause why sche ferde so,With softe wordes axeth tho,“What mai you be, mi goode swete?”And sche, which thoghte hirself unmete 5030And the lest worth of wommen alle,Hire wofull chiere let doun falleFor schame and couthe unnethes loke.And thei therof good hiede toke,And preiden hire in alle weieThat sche ne spare forto seieUnto hir frendes what hire eileth,Why sche so sore hirself beweileth,And what the sothe wolde mene.And sche, which hath hire sorwes grene, 5040Hire wo to telle thanne assaieth,Bot tendre schame hire word delaieth,That sondri times as sche minteTo speke, upon the point sche stinte.And thei hire bidden evere in onTo telle forth, and therupon,Whan that sche sih sche moste nede,Hire tale betwen schame and dredeSche tolde, noght withoute peine.And he, which wolde hire wo restreigne, 5050Hire housebonde, a sory man,Conforteth hire al that he can,And swor, and ek hire fader bothe,That thei with hire be noght wrotheOf that is don ayein hire wille;And preiden hire to be stille,For thei to hire have al foryive.Bot sche, which thoghte noght to live,Of hem wol no foryivenesse,And seide, of thilke wickednesse 5060Which was unto hire bodi wroght,Al were it so sche myhte it noght,Nevere afterward the world ne schalReproeven hire; and forth withal,Er eny man therof be war,A naked swerd, the which sche barWithinne hire Mantel priveli,Betwen hire hondes sodeinlySche tok, and thurgh hire herte it throng,And fell to grounde, and evere among, 5070Whan that sche fell, so as sche myhte,Hire clothes with hire hand sche rihte,That noman dounward fro the kneScholde eny thing of hire se:Thus lay this wif honestely,Althogh sche deide wofully.Tho was no sorwe forto seke:Hire housebonde, hire fader ekeAswoune upon the bodi felle;Ther mai no mannes tunge telle 5080In which anguisshe that thei were.Bot Brutus, which was with hem there,Toward himself his herte kepte,And to Lucrece anon he lepte,The blodi swerd and pulleth oute,And swor the goddes al abouteThat he therof schal do vengance.And sche tho made a contienance,Hire dedlich yhe and ate lasteIn thonkinge as it were up caste, 5090And so behield him in the wise,Whil sche to loke mai suffise.And Brutus with a manlich herteHire housebonde hath mad up sterteForth with hire fader ek alsoIn alle haste, and seide hem thoThat thei anon withoute letteA Beere for the body fette;Lucrece and therupon bledendeHe leide, and so forth out criende 5100He goth into the Market placeOf Rome: and in a litel spaceThurgh cry the cite was assembled,And every mannes herte is trembled,Whan thei the sothe herde of the cas.And therupon the conseil wasTake of the grete and of the smale,And Brutus tolde hem al the tale;And thus cam into remembranceOf Senne the continuance, 5110Which Arrons hadde do tofore,And ek, long time er he was bore,Of that his fadre hadde doThe wrong cam into place tho;So that the comun clamour toldeThe newe schame of Sennes olde.And al the toun began to crie,“Awey, awey the tirannieOf lecherie and covoitise!”And ate laste in such a wise 5120The fader in the same whileForth with his Sone thei exile,And taken betre governance.Bot yit an other remembranceThat rihtwisnesse and lecherieAcorden noght in compaignieWith him that hath the lawe on honde,That mai a man wel understonde,As be a tale thou shalt wite,Of olde ensample as it is write. 5130At Rome whan that Apius,Whos other name is Claudius,Was governour of the cite,Ther fell a wonder thing to seTouchende a gentil Maide, as thus,Whom Livius VirginiusBegeten hadde upon his wif:Men seiden that so fair a lifAs sche was noght in al the toun.This fame, which goth up and doun, 5140To Claudius cam in his Ere,Wherof his thoght anon was there,Which al his herte hath set afyre,That he began the flour desireWhich longeth unto maydenhede,And sende, if that he myhte spedeThe blinde lustes of his wille.Bot that thing mai he noght fulfille,For sche stod upon Mariage;A worthi kniht of gret lignage, 5150Ilicius which thanne hihte,Acorded in hire fader sihteWas, that he scholde his douhter wedde.Bot er the cause fully spedde,Hire fader, which in RomanieThe ledinge of chivalerieIn governance hath undertake,Upon a werre which was takeGoth out with al the strengthe he haddeOf men of Armes whiche he ladde: 5160So was the mariage left,And stod upon acord til eft.The king, which herde telle of this,Hou that this Maide ordeigned isTo Mariage, thoghte an other.And hadde thilke time a brother,Which Marchus Claudius was hote,And was a man of such rioteRiht as the king himselve was:Thei tuo togedre upon this cas 5170In conseil founden out this weie,That Marchus Claudius schal seieHou sche be weie of covenantTo his service appourtenantWas hol, and to non other man;And therupon he seith he canIn every point witnesse take,So that sche schal it noght forsake.Whan that thei hadden schape so,After the lawe which was tho, 5180Whil that hir fader was absent,Sche was somouned and assentTo come in presence of the kingAnd stonde in ansuere of this thing.Hire frendes wisten alle welThat it was falshed everydel,And comen to the king and seiden,Upon the comun lawe and preiden,So as this noble worthi knyhtHir fader for the comun riht 5190In thilke time, as was befalle,Lai for the profit of hem alleUpon the wylde feldes armed,That he ne scholde noght ben harmedNe schamed, whil that he were oute;And thus thei preiden al aboute.For al the clamour that he herde,The king upon his lust ansuerde,And yaf hem only daies tuoOf respit; for he wende tho, 5200That in so schorte a time appiereHire fader mihte in no manere.Bot as therof he was deceived;For Livius hadde al conceivedThe pourpos of the king tofore,So that to Rome ayein therforeIn alle haste he cam ridende,And lefte upon the field liggendeHis host, til that he come ayein.And thus this worthi capitein 5210Appiereth redi at his day,Wher al that evere reson mayBe lawe in audience he doth,So that his dowhter upon sothOf that Marchus hire hadde accusedHe hath tofore the court excused.The king, which sih his pourpos faile,And that no sleihte mihte availe,Encombred of his lustes blindeThe lawe torneth out of kinde, 5220And half in wraththe as thogh it were,In presence of hem alle thereDeceived of concupiscenceYaf for his brother the sentence,And bad him that he scholde seseThis Maide and make him wel at ese;Bot al withinne his oghne ententeHe wiste hou that the cause wente,Of that his brother hath the wyteHe was himselven forto wyte. 5230Bot thus this maiden hadde wrong,Which was upon the king along,Bot ayein him was non Appel,And that the fader wiste wel:Wherof upon the tirannie,That for the lust of LecherieHis douhter scholde be deceived,And that Ilicius was weyvedUntrewly fro the Mariage,Riht as a Leon in his rage, 5240Which of no drede set acompteAnd not what pite scholde amounte,A naked swerd he pulleth oute,The which amonges al the routeHe threste thurgh his dowhter side,And al alowd this word he cride:“Lo, take hire ther, thou wrongfull king,For me is levere upon this thingTo be the fader of a Maide,Thogh sche be ded, that if men saide 5250That in hir lif sche were schamedAnd I therof were evele named.”Tho bad the king men scholde aresteHis bodi, bot of thilke heste,Lich to the chaced wylde bor,The houndes whan he fieleth sor,Tothroweth and goth forth his weie,In such a wise forto seieThis worthi kniht with swerd on hondeHis weie made, and thei him wonde, 5260That non of hem his strokes kepte;And thus upon his hors he lepte,And with his swerd droppende of blod,The which withinne his douhter stod,He cam ther as the pouer wasOf Rome, and tolde hem al the cas,And seide hem that thei myhten liereUpon the wrong of his matiere,That betre it were to redresceAt hom the grete unrihtwisnesse, 5270Than forto werre in strange placeAnd lese at hom here oghne grace.For thus stant every mannes lifIn jeupartie for his wifOr for his dowhter, if thei bePassende an other of beaute.Of this merveile which thei siheSo apparant tofore here yhe,Of that the king him hath misbore,Here othes thei have alle swore 5280That thei wol stonde be the riht.And thus of on acord uprihtTo Rome at ones hom ayeinThei torne, and schortly forto sein,This tirannye cam to mouthe,And every man seith what he couthe,So that the prive tricherie,Which set was upon lecherie,Cam openly to mannes Ere;And that broghte in the comun feere, 5290That every man the peril draddeOf him that so hem overladde.Forthi, er that it worse falle,Thurgh comun conseil of hem alleThei have here wrongfull king deposed,And hem in whom it was supposedThe conseil stod of his ledingeBe lawe unto the dom thei bringe,Wher thei receiven the penanceThat longeth to such governance. 5300And thus thunchaste was chastised,Wherof thei myhte ben avisedThat scholden afterward governe,And be this evidence lerne,Hou it is good a king eschuieThe lust of vice and vertu suie.To make an ende in this partie,Which toucheth to the PolicieOf Chastite in special,As for conclusion final 5310That every lust is to eschueBe gret ensample I mai argue:Hou in Rages a toun of MedeTher was a Mayde, and as I rede,Sarra sche hihte, and RaguelHir fader was; and so befell,Of bodi bothe and of visageWas non so fair of the lignage,To seche among hem alle, as sche;Wherof the riche of the cite, 5320Of lusti folk that couden love,Assoted were upon hire love,And asken hire forto wedde.On was which ate laste spedde,Bot that was more for likinge,To have his lust, than for weddinge,As he withinne his herte caste,Which him repenteth ate laste.For so it fell the ferste nyht,That whanne he was to bedde dyht, 5330As he which nothing god besechethBot al only hise lustes secheth,Abedde er he was fully warmAnd wolde have take hire in his Arm,Asmod, which was a fend of helle,And serveth, as the bokes telle,To tempte a man of such a wise,Was redy there, and thilke emprise,Which he hath set upon delit,He vengeth thanne in such a plit, 5340That he his necke hathe writhe atuo.This yonge wif was sory tho,Which wiste nothing what it mente;And natheles yit thus it wenteNoght only of this ferste man,Bot after, riht as he began,Sexe othre of hire housebondesAsmod hath take into hise bondes,So that thei alle abedde deiden,Whan thei her hand toward hir leiden, 5350Noght for the lawe of Mariage,Bot for that ilke fyri rageIn which that thei the lawe excede:For who that wolde taken hiedeWhat after fell in this matiere,Ther mihte he wel the sothe hiere.Whan sche was wedded to Thobie,And Raphael in compainieHath tawht him hou to ben honeste,Asmod wan noght at thilke feste, 5360And yit Thobie his wille hadde;For he his lust so goodly ladde,That bothe lawe and kinde is served,Wherof he hath himself preserved,That he fell noght in the sentence.O which an open evidenceOf this ensample a man mai se,That whan likinge in the degreOf Mariage mai forsueie,Wel oghte him thanne in other weie 5370Of lust to be the betre avised.For god the lawes hath assissedAls wel to reson as to kinde,Bot he the bestes wolde bindeOnly to lawes of nature,Bot to the mannes creatureGod yaf him reson forth withal,Wherof that he nature schalUpon the causes modefie,That he schal do no lecherie, 5380And yit he schal hise lustes have.So ben the lawes bothe saveAnd every thing put out of sclandre;As whilom to king AlisandreThe wise Philosophre tawhte,Whan he his ferste lore cawhte,Noght only upon chastete,Bot upon alle honestete;Wherof a king himself mai taste,Hou trewe, hou large, hou joust, hou chaste 5390Him oghte of reson forto be,Forth with the vertu of Pite,Thurgh which he mai gret thonk deserveToward his godd, that he preserveHim and his poeple in alle weltheOf pes, richesse, honour and heltheHier in this world and elles eke.Mi Sone, as we tofore spiekeIn schrifte, so as thou me seidest,And for thin ese, as thou me preidest, 5400Thi love throghes forto lisse,That I thee wolde telle and wisseThe forme of Aristotles lore,I have it seid, and somdiel moreOf othre ensamples, to assaieIf I thi peines myhte allaieThurgh eny thing that I can seie.Do wey, mi fader, I you preie:Of that ye have unto me toldI thonke you a thousendfold. 5410The tales sounen in myn Ere,Bot yit min herte is elleswhere,I mai miselve noght restreigne,That I nam evere in loves peine:Such lore couthe I nevere gete,Which myhte make me foryeteO point, bot if so were I slepte,That I my tydes ay ne kepteTo thenke of love and of his lawe;That herte can I noght withdrawe. 5420Forthi, my goode fader diere,Lef al and speke of my matiereTouchende of love, as we begonne:If that ther be oght overronneOr oght foryete or left behindeWhich falleth unto loves kinde,Wherof it nedeth to be schrive,Nou axeth, so that whil I liveI myhte amende that is mys.Mi goode diere Sone, yis. 5430Thi schrifte forto make plein,Ther is yit more forto seinOf love which is unavised.Bot for thou schalt be wel avisedUnto thi schrifte as it belongeth,A point which upon love hongethAnd is the laste of alle tho,I wol thee telle, and thanne ho.Explicit Liber Septimus.
And upon this matiere alsoA question betwen the tuoThus writen in a bok I fond;Wher it be betre for the lond 4150A king himselve to be wys,And so to bere his oghne pris,And that his consail be noght good,Or other wise if it so stod,A king if he be viciousAnd his conseil be vertuous.It is ansuerd in such a wise,That betre it is that thei be wiseBe whom that the conseil schal gon,For thei be manye, and he is on; 4160And rathere schal an one manWith fals conseil, for oght he can,From his wisdom be mad to falle,Thanne he al one scholde hem alleFro vices into vertu change,For that is wel the more strange.
Forthi the lond mai wel be glad,Whos king with good conseil is lad,Which set him unto rihtwisnesse,So that his hihe worthinesse 4170Betwen the reddour and PiteDoth mercy forth with equite.A king is holden overalTo Pite, bot in specialTo hem wher he is most beholde;Thei scholde his Pite most beholdeThat ben the Lieges of his lond,For thei ben evere under his hondAfter the goddes ordinaunceTo stonde upon his governance. 4180
Of themperour AnthoniusI finde hou that he seide thus,That levere him were forto saveOon of his lieges than to haveOf enemis a thousend dede.And this he lernede, as I rede,Of Cipio, which hadde beConsul of Rome. And thus to seDiverse ensamples hou thei stonde,A king which hath the charge on honde 4190The comun poeple to governe,If that he wole, he mai wel lerne.Is non so good to the plesanceOf god, as is good governance;And every governance is dueTo Pite: thus I mai argueThat Pite is the foundementOf every kinges regiment,If it be medled with justice.Thei tuo remuen alle vice, 4200And ben of vertu most vailableTo make a kinges regne stable.
Lo, thus the foure pointz tofore,In governance as thei ben bore,Of trouthe ferst and of largesse,Of Pite forth with rihtwisnesse,I have hem told; and over thisThe fifte point, so as it isSet of the reule of Policie,Wherof a king schal modefie 4210The fleisschly lustes of nature,Nou thenk I telle of such mesure,That bothe kinde schal be servedAnd ek the lawe of god observed.
The Madle is mad for the the femele,Bot where as on desireth fele,That nedeth noght be weie of kinde:For whan a man mai redy findeHis oghne wif, what scholde he secheIn strange places to beseche 4220To borwe an other mannes plouh,Whan he hath geere good ynouhAffaited at his oghne heste,And is to him wel more honesteThan other thing which is unknowe?Forthi scholde every good man knoweAnd thenke, hou that in mariageHis trouthe pliht lith in morgage,Which if he breke, it is falshode,And that descordeth to manhode, 4230And namely toward the grete,Wherof the bokes alle trete;So as the Philosophre techethTo Alisandre, and him betechethThe lore hou that he schal mesureHis bodi, so that no mesureOf fleisshly lust he scholde excede.And thus forth if I schal procede,The fifte point, as I seide er,Is chastete, which sielde wher 4240Comth nou adaies into place;And natheles, bot it be graceAbove alle othre in special,Is non that chaste mai ben all.Bot yit a kinges hihe astat,Which of his ordre as a prelatSchal ben enoignt and seintefied,He mot be more magnefiedFor dignete of his corone,Than scholde an other low persone, 4250Which is noght of so hih emprise.Therfore a Prince him scholde avise,Er that he felle in such riote,And namely that he nassoteTo change for the wommanhedeThe worthinesse of his manhede.
Of Aristotle I have wel rad,Hou he to Alisandre bad,That forto gladen his corageHe schal beholde the visage 4260Of wommen, whan that thei ben faire.Bot yit he set an essamplaire,His bodi so to guide and reule,That he ne passe noght the reule,Wherof that he himself beguile.For in the womman is no guileOf that a man himself bewhapeth;Whan he his oghne wit bejapeth,I can the wommen wel excuse:Bot what man wole upon hem muse 4270After the fool impressionOf his ymaginacioun,Withinne himself the fyr he bloweth,Wherof the womman nothing knoweth,So mai sche nothing be to wyte.For if a man himself exciteTo drenche, and wol it noght forbere,The water schal no blame bere.What mai the gold, thogh men coveite?If that a man wol love streite, 4280The womman hath him nothing bounde;If he his oghne herte wounde,Sche mai noght lette the folie;And thogh so felle of compainieThat he myht eny thing pourchace,Yit makth a man the ferste chace,The womman fleth and he poursuieth:So that be weie of skile it suieth,The man is cause, hou so befalle,That he fulofte sithe is falle 4290Wher that he mai noght wel aryse.And natheles ful manye wiseBefoled have hemself er this,As nou adaies yit it isAmong the men and evere was,The stronge is fieblest in this cas.It sit a man be weie of kindeTo love, bot it is noght kindeA man for love his wit to lese:For if the Monthe of Juil schal frese 4300And that Decembre schal ben hot,The yeer mistorneth, wel I wot.To sen a man fro his astatThurgh his sotie effeminat,And leve that a man schal do,It is as Hose above the Scho,To man which oghte noght ben used.Bot yit the world hath ofte accusedFul grete Princes of this dede,Hou thei for love hemself mislede, 4310Wherof manhode stod behinde,Of olde ensamples as I finde.
These olde gestes tellen thus,That whilom Sardana Pallus,Which hield al hol in his empireThe grete kingdom of Assire,Was thurgh the slouthe of his corageFalle into thilke fyri rageOf love, which the men assoteth,Wherof himself he so rioteth, 4320And wax so ferforth wommannyssh,That ayein kinde, as if a fisshAbide wolde upon the lond,In wommen such a lust he fond,That he duelte evere in chambre stille,And only wroghte after the willeOf wommen, so as he was bede,That selden whanne in other stedeIf that he wolde wenden oute,To sen hou that it stod aboute. 4330Bot ther he keste and there he pleide,Thei tawhten him a Las to breide,And weve a Pours, and to enfileA Perle: and fell that ilke while,On Barbarus the Prince of MedeSih hou this king in wommanhedeWas falle fro chivalerie,And gat him help and compaignie,And wroghte so, that ate lasteThis king out of his regne he caste, 4340Which was undon for everemo:And yit men speken of him so,That it is schame forto hiere.
Forthi to love is in manere.King David hadde many a love,Bot natheles alwey aboveKnyhthode he kepte in such a wise,That for no fleisshli covoitiseOf lust to ligge in ladi armesHe lefte noght the lust of armes. 4350For where a Prince hise lustes suieth,That he the werre noght poursuieth,Whan it is time to ben armed,His contre stant fulofte harmed,Whan thenemis ben woxe bolde,That thei defence non beholde.Ful many a lond hath so be lore,As men mai rede of time aforeOf hem that so here eses soghten,Which after thei full diere aboghten. 4360
To mochel ese is nothing worth,For that set every vice forthAnd every vertu put abak,Wherof priss torneth into lak,As in Cronique I mai reherse:Which telleth hou the king of Perse,That Cirus hihte, a werre haddeAyein a poeple which he dradde,Of a contre which Liddos hihte;Bot yit for oght that he do mihte 4370As in bataille upon the werre,He hadde of hem alwey the werre.And whan he sih and wiste it wel,That he be strengthe wan no del,Thanne ate laste he caste a wyleThis worthi poeple to beguile,And tok with hem a feigned pes,Which scholde lasten endeles,So as he seide in wordes wise,Bot he thoghte al in other wise. 4380For it betidd upon the cas,Whan that this poeple in reste was,Thei token eses manyfold;And worldes ese, as it is told,Be weie of kinde is the norriceOf every lust which toucheth vice.Thus whan thei were in lustes falle,The werres ben foryeten alle;Was non which wolde the worschipeOf Armes, bot in idelschipe 4390Thei putten besinesse aweieAnd token hem to daunce and pleie;Bot most above alle othre thingesThei token hem to the likingesOf fleysshly lust, that chasteteReceived was in no degre,Bot every man doth what him liste.And whan the king of Perse it wiste,That thei unto folie entenden,With his pouer, whan thei lest wenden, 4400Mor sodeinly than doth the thunderHe cam, for evere and put hem under.And thus hath lecherie loreThe lond, which hadde be toforeThe beste of hem that were tho.
And in the bible I finde alsoA tale lich unto this thing,Hou Amalech the paien king,Whan that he myhte be no weieDefende his lond and putte aweie 4410The worthi poeple of Irael,This Sarazin, as it befell,Thurgh the conseil of BalaamA route of faire wommen nam,That lusti were and yonge of Age,And bad hem gon to the lignageOf these Hebreus: and forth thei wenteWith yhen greye and browes benteAnd wel arraied everych on;And whan thei come were anon 4420Among thebreus, was non insihte,Bot cacche who that cacche myhte,And ech of hem hise lustes soghte,Whiche after thei full diere boghte.For grace anon began to faile,That whan thei comen to batailleThanne afterward, in sori plitThei were take and disconfit,So that withinne a litel throweThe myht of hem was overthrowe, 4430That whilom were wont to stonde.Til Phinees the cause on hondeHath take, this vengance laste,Bot thanne it cessede ate laste,For god was paid of that he dede:For wher he fond upon a stedeA couple which misferde so,Thurghout he smot hem bothe tuo,And let hem ligge in mennes yhe;Wherof alle othre whiche hem sihe 4440Ensamplede hem upon the dede,And preiden unto the godhiedeHere olde Sennes to amende:And he, which wolde his mercy sende,Restorede hem to newe grace.
Thus mai it schewe in sondri place,Of chastete hou the clennesseAcordeth to the worthinesseOf men of Armes overal;Bot most of alle in special 4450This vertu to a king belongeth,For upon his fortune it hongethOf that his lond schal spede or spille.Forthi bot if a king his willeFro lustes of his fleissh restreigne,Ayein himself he makth a treigne,Into the which if that he slyde,Him were betre go besyde.For every man mai understonde,Hou for a time that it stonde, 4460It is a sori lust to lyke,Whos ende makth a man to sykeAnd torneth joies into sorwe.The brihte Sonne be the morweBeschyneth noght the derke nyht,The lusti youthe of mannes myht,In Age bot it stonde wel,Mistorneth al the laste whiel.
That every worthi Prince is holdeWithinne himself himself beholde, 4470To se the stat of his persone,And thenke hou ther be joies noneUpon this Erthe mad to laste,And hou the fleissh schal ate lasteThe lustes of this lif forsake,Him oghte a gret ensample takeOf Salomon, whos appetitWas holy set upon delit,To take of wommen the plesance:So that upon his ignorance 4480The wyde world merveileth yit,That he, which alle mennes witIn thilke time hath overpassed,With fleisshly lustes was so tassed,That he which ladde under the laweThe poeple of god, himself withdraweHe hath fro god in such a wise,That he worschipe and sacrifiseFor sondri love in sondri stedeUnto the false goddes dede. 4490This was the wise ecclesiaste,The fame of whom schal evere laste,That he the myhti god forsok,Ayein the lawe whanne he tokHis wyves and his concubinesOf hem that weren Sarazines,For whiche he dede ydolatrie.For this I rede of his sotie:
Sche of Sidoyne so him ladde,That he knelende his armes spradde 4500To Astrathen with gret humblesse,Which of hire lond was the goddesse:
And sche that was a MoabiteSo ferforth made him to deliteThurgh lust, which al his wit devoureth,That he Chamos hire god honoureth.
An other Amonyte alsoWith love him hath assoted so,Hire god Moloch that with encenseHe sacreth, and doth reverence 4510In such a wise as sche him bad.Thus was the wiseste overladWith blinde lustes whiche he soghte;Bot he it afterward aboghte.
For Achias Selonites,Which was prophete, er his decess,Whil he was in hise lustes alle,Betokneth what schal after falle.For on a day, whan that he metteJeroboam the knyht, he grette 4520And bad him that he scholde abyde,To hiere what him schal betyde.And forth withal Achias casteHis mantell of, and also fasteHe kut it into pieces twelve,Wherof tuo partz toward himselveHe kepte, and al the remenant,As god hath set his covenant,He tok unto Jeroboas,Of Nabal which the Sone was, 4530And of the kinges court a knyht:And seide him, “Such is goddes myht,As thou hast sen departed hiereMi mantell, riht in such manereAfter the deth of SalomonGod hath ordeigned therupon,This regne thanne he schal divide:Which time thou schalt ek abide,And upon that divisionThe regne as in proporcion 4540As thou hast of mi mantell take,Thou schalt receive, I undertake.And thus the Sone schal abieThe lustes and the lecherieOf him which nou his fader is.”
So forto taken hiede of this,It sit a king wel to be chaste,For elles he mai lihtly wasteHimself and ek his regne bothe,And that oghte every king to lothe. 4550O, which a Senne violent,Wherof so wys a king was schent,That the vengance in his personeWas noght ynouh to take al one,Bot afterward, whan he was passed,It hath his heritage lassed,As I more openli toforeThe tale tolde. And thus therforeThe Philosophre upon this thingWrit and conseileth to a king, 4560That he the surfet of luxureSchal tempre and reule of such mesure,Which be to kinde sufficantAnd ek to reson acordant,So that the lustes ignoranceBe cause of no misgovernance,Thurgh which that he be overthrowe,As he that wol no reson knowe.For bot a mannes wit be swerved,Whan kinde is dueliche served, 4570It oghte of reson to suffise;For if it falle him otherwise,He mai tho lustes sore drede.
For of Anthonie thus I rede,Which of Severus was the Sone,That he his lif of comun woneYaf holy unto thilke vice,And ofte time he was so nyce,Wherof nature hire hath compleignedUnto the god, which hath desdeigned 4580The werkes whiche Antonie wroghteOf lust, whiche he ful sore aboghte:For god his forfet hath so wrokeThat in Cronique it is yit spoke.Bot forto take remembranceOf special misgovernanceThurgh covoitise and injusticeForth with the remenant of vice,And nameliche of lecherie,I finde write a gret partie 4590Withinne a tale, as thou schalt hiere,Which is thensample of this matiere.
So as these olde gestes sein,The proude tirannyssh RomeinTarquinus, which was thanne kingAnd wroghte many a wrongful thing,Of Sones hadde manyon,Among the whiche Arrons was on,Lich to his fader of maneres;So that withinne a fewe yeres 4600With tresoun and with tirannieThei wonne of lond a gret partie,And token hiede of no justice,Which due was to here officeUpon the reule of governance;Bot al that evere was plesanceUnto the fleisshes lust thei toke.And fell so, that thei undertokeA werre, which was noght achieved,Bot ofte time it hadde hem grieved, 4610Ayein a folk which thanne hihteThe Gabiens: and al be nyhteThis Arrons, whan he was at homIn Rome, a prive place he nomWithinne a chambre, and bet himselveAnd made him woundes ten or tuelveUpon the bak, as it was sene;And so forth with hise hurtes greneIn al the haste that he mayHe rod, and cam that other day 4620Unto Gabie the Cite,And in he wente: and whan that heWas knowe, anon the gates schette,The lordes alle upon him setteWith drawe swerdes upon honde.This Arrons wolde hem noght withstonde,Bot seide, “I am hier at your wille,Als lief it is that ye me spille,As if myn oghne fader dede.”And forthwith in the same stede 4630He preide hem that thei wolde se,And schewede hem in what degreHis fader and hise brethren bothe,Whiche, as he seide, weren wrothe,Him hadde beten and reviled,For evere and out of Rome exiled.And thus he made hem to believe,And seide, if that he myhte achieveHis pourpos, it schal wel be yolde,Be so that thei him helpe wolde. 4640
Whan that the lordes hadde seinHou wofully he was besein,Thei token Pite of his grief;Bot yit it was hem wonder liefThat Rome him hadde exiled so.These Gabiens be conseil thoUpon the goddes made him swere,That he to hem schal trouthe bereAnd strengthen hem with al his myht;And thei also him have behiht 4650To helpen him in his querele.Thei schopen thanne for his heleThat he was bathed and enoignt,Til that he was in lusti point;And what he wolde thanne he hadde,That he al hol the cite laddeRiht as he wolde himself divise.And thanne he thoghte him in what wiseHe myhte his tirannie schewe;And to his conseil tok a schrewe, 4660Whom to his fader forth he senteIn his message, and he tho wente,And preide his fader forto seieBe his avis, and finde a weie,Hou they the cite myhten winne,Whil that he stod so wel therinne.And whan the messager was comeTo Rome, and hath in conseil nomeThe king, it fell per chance soThat thei were in a gardin tho, 4670This messager forth with the king.And whanne he hadde told the thingIn what manere that it stod,And that Tarquinus understodBe the message hou that it ferde,Anon he tok in honde a yerde,And in the gardin as thei gon,The lilie croppes on and on,Wher that thei weren sprongen oute,He smot of, as thei stode aboute, 4680And seide unto the messager:“Lo, this thing, which I do nou hier,Schal ben in stede of thin ansuere;And in this wise as I me bere,Thou schalt unto mi Sone telle.”And he no lengere wolde duelle,Bot tok his leve and goth withalUnto his lord, and told him al,Hou that his fader hadde do.Whan Arrons herde him telle so, 4690Anon he wiste what it mente,And therto sette al his entente,Til he thurgh fraude and tricherieThe Princes hefdes of GabieHath smiten of, and al was wonne:His fader cam tofore the SonneInto the toun with the Romeins,And tok and slowh the citezeinsWithoute reson or pite,That he ne spareth no degre. 4700And for the sped of this conquesteHe let do make a riche festeWith a sollempne SacrifiseIn Phebus temple; and in this wiseWhan the Romeins assembled were,In presence of hem alle there,Upon thalter whan al was dihtAnd that the fyres were alyht,From under thalter sodeinlyAn hidous Serpent openly 4710Cam out and hath devoured alThe Sacrifice, and ek withalThe fyres queynt, and forth anon,So as he cam, so is he gonInto the depe ground ayein.And every man began to sein,“Ha lord, what mai this signefie?”And therupon thei preie and crieTo Phebus, that thei mihten knoweThe cause: and he the same throwe 4720With gastly vois, that alle it herde,The Romeins in this wise ansuerde,And seide hou for the wikkidnesseOf Pride and of unrihtwisnesse,That Tarquin and his Sone hath do,The Sacrifice is wasted so,Which myhte noght ben acceptableUpon such Senne abhominable.And over that yit he hem wisseth,And seith that which of hem ferst kisseth 4730His moder, he schal take wriecheUpon the wrong: and of that specheThei ben withinne here hertes glade,Thogh thei outward no semblant made.Ther was a knyht which Brutus hihte,And he with al the haste he myhteTo grounde fell and therthe kiste,Bot non of hem the cause wiste,Bot wenden that he hadde spornedPer chance, and so was overtorned. 4740Bot Brutus al an other mente;For he knew wel in his ententeHou therthe of every mannes kindeIs Moder: bot thei weren blinde,And sihen noght so fer as he.Bot whan thei leften the CiteAnd comen hom to Rome ayein,Thanne every man which was RomeinAnd moder hath, to hire he bendeAnd keste, and ech of hem thus wende 4750To be the ferste upon the chance,Of Tarquin forto do vengance,So as thei herden Phebus sein.
Bot every time hath his certein,So moste it nedes thanne abide,Til afterward upon a tydeTarquinus made unskilfullyA werre, which was fastebyAyein a toun with walles strongeWhich Ardea was cleped longe, 4760And caste a Siege theraboute,That ther mai noman passen oute.So it befell upon a nyht,Arrons, which hadde his souper diht,A part of the chivalerieWith him to soupe in compaignieHath bede: and whan thei comen wereAnd seten at the souper there,Among here othre wordes gladeArrons a gret spekinge made, 4770Who hadde tho the beste wifOf Rome: and ther began a strif,For Arrons seith he hath the beste.So jangle thei withoute reste,Til ate laste on Collatin,A worthi knyht, and was cousinTo Arrons, seide him in this wise:“It is,” quod he, “of non empriseTo speke a word, bot of the dede,Therof it is to taken hiede. 4780Anon forthi this same tydeLep on thin hors and let ous ryde:So mai we knowe bothe tuoUnwarli what oure wyves do,And that schal be a trewe assay.”This Arrons seith noght ones nay:On horse bak anon thei lepteIn such manere, and nothing slepte,Ridende forth til that thei comeAl prively withinne Rome; 4790In strange place and doun thei lihte,And take a chambre, and out of sihteThei be desguised for a throwe,So that no lif hem scholde knowe.And to the paleis ferst thei soghte,To se what thing this ladi wroghteOf which Arrons made his avant:And thei hire sihe of glad semblant,Al full of merthes and of bordes;Bot among alle hire othre wordes 4800Sche spak noght of hire housebonde.And whan thei hadde al understondeOf thilke place what hem liste,Thei gon hem forth, that non it wiste,Beside thilke gate of bras,Collacea which cleped was,Wher Collatin hath his duellinge.Ther founden thei at hom sittingeLucrece his wif, al environedWith wommen, whiche are abandoned 4810To werche, and sche wroghte ek withal,And bad hem haste, and seith, “It schalBe for mi housebondes were,Which with his swerd and with his spereLith at the Siege in gret desese.And if it scholde him noght displese,Nou wolde god I hadde him hiere;For certes til that I mai hiereSom good tidinge of his astat,Min herte is evere upon debat. 4820For so as alle men witnesse,He is of such an hardiesse,That he can noght himselve spare,And that is al my moste care,Whan thei the walles schulle assaile.Bot if mi wisshes myhte availe,I wolde it were a groundles pet,Be so the Siege were unknet,And I myn housebonde sihe.”With that the water in hire yhe 4830Aros, that sche ne myhte it stoppe,And as men sen the dew bedroppeThe leves and the floures eke,Riht so upon hire whyte chekeThe wofull salte teres felle.Whan Collatin hath herd hire telleThe menynge of hire trewe herte,Anon with that to hire he sterte,And seide, “Lo, mi goode diere,Nou is he come to you hiere, 4840That ye most loven, as ye sein.”And sche with goodly chiere ayeinBeclipte him in hire armes smale,And the colour, which erst was pale,To Beaute thanne was restored,So that it myhte noght be mored.
The kinges Sone, which was nyh,And of this lady herde and syhThe thinges as thei ben befalle,The resoun of hise wittes alle 4850Hath lost; for love upon his partCam thanne, and of his fyri dartWith such a wounde him hath thurghsmite,That he mot nedes fiele and witeOf thilke blinde maladie,To which no cure of SurgerieCan helpe. Bot yit nathelesAt thilke time he hield his pes,That he no contienance made,Bot openly with wordes glade, 4860So as he couthe in his manere,He spak and made frendly chiere,Til it was time forto go.And Collatin with him alsoHis leve tok, so that be nyhteWith al the haste that thei myhteThei riden to the Siege ayein.Bot Arrons was so wo beseinWith thoghtes whiche upon him runne,That he al be the brode Sunne 4870To bedde goth, noght forto reste,Bot forto thenke upon the besteAnd the faireste forth withal,That evere he syh or evere schal,So as him thoghte in his corage,Where he pourtreieth hire ymage:Ferst the fetures of hir face,In which nature hadde alle graceOf wommanly beaute beset,So that it myhte noght be bet; 4880And hou hir yelwe her was trescedAnd hire atir so wel adresced,And hou sche spak, and hou sche wroghte,And hou sche wepte, al this he thoghte,That he foryeten hath no del,Bot al it liketh him so wel,That in the word nor in the dedeHire lacketh noght of wommanhiede.And thus this tirannysshe knyhtWas soupled, bot noght half ariht, 4890For he non other hiede tok,Bot that he myhte be som crok,Althogh it were ayein hire wille,The lustes of his fleissh fulfille;Which love was noght resonable,For where honour is remuable,It oghte wel to ben avised.Bot he, which hath his lust assisedWith melled love and tirannie,Hath founde upon his tricherie 4900A weie which he thenkth to holde,And seith, “Fortune unto the boldeIs favorable forto helpe.”And thus withinne himself to yelpe,As he which was a wylde man,Upon his treson he began:And up he sterte, and forth he wenteOn horsebak, bot his ententeTher knew no wiht, and thus he namThe nexte weie, til he cam 4910Unto Collacea the gateOf Rome, and it was somdiel late,Riht evene upon the Sonne set,As he which hadde schape his netHire innocence to betrappe.And as it scholde tho mishappe,Als priveliche as evere he myhteHe rod, and of his hors alyhteTofore Collatines In,And al frendliche he goth him in, 4920As he that was cousin of house.And sche, which is the goode spouse,Lucrece, whan that sche him sih,With goodli chiere drowh him nyh,As sche which al honour supposeth,And him, so as sche dar, opposethHou it stod of hire housebonde.And he tho dede hire understondeWith tales feigned in his wise,Riht as he wolde himself devise, 4930Wherof he myhte hire herte glade,That sche the betre chiere made,Whan sche the glade wordes herde,Hou that hire housebonde ferde.And thus the trouthe was deceivedWith slih tresoun, which was receivedTo hire which mente alle goode;For as the festes thanne stode,His Souper was ryht wel arraied.Bot yit he hath no word assaied 4940To speke of love in no degre;Bot with covert subtiliteHis frendly speches he affaiteth,And as the Tigre his time awaitethIn hope forto cacche his preie.Whan that the bordes were aweieAnd thei have souped in the halle,He seith that slep is on him falle,And preith he moste go to bedde;And sche with alle haste spedde, 4950So as hire thoghte it was to done,That every thing was redi sone.Sche broghte him to his chambre thoAnd tok hire leve, and forth is goInto hire oghne chambre by,As sche that wende certeinlyHave had a frend, and hadde a fo,Wherof fell after mochel wo.
This tirant, thogh he lyhe softe,Out of his bed aros fulofte, 4960And goth aboute, and leide his EreTo herkne, til that alle wereTo bedde gon and slepten faste.And thanne upon himself he casteA mantell, and his swerd al nakedHe tok in honde; and sche unwakedAbedde lay, but what sche mette,God wot; for he the Dore unschetteSo prively that non it herde,The softe pas and forth he ferde 4970Unto the bed wher that sche slepte,Al sodeinliche and in he crepte,And hire in bothe his Armes tok.With that this worthi wif awok,Which thurgh tendresce of wommanhiedeHire vois hath lost for pure drede,That o word speke sche ne dar:And ek he bad hir to be war,For if sche made noise or cry,He seide, his swerd lay faste by 4980To slen hire and hire folk aboute.And thus he broghte hire herte in doute,That lich a Lomb whanne it is sesedIn wolves mouth, so was desesedLucrece, which he naked fond:Wherof sche swounede in his hond,And, as who seith, lay ded oppressed.And he, which al him hadde adrescedTo lust, tok thanne what him liste,And goth his wey, that non it wiste, 4990Into his oghne chambre ayein,And clepede up his chamberlein,And made him redi forto ryde.And thus this lecherouse prideTo horse lepte and forth he rod;And sche, which in hire bed abod,Whan that sche wiste he was agon,Sche clepede after liht anonAnd up aros long er the day,And caste awey hire freissh aray, 5000As sche which hath the world forsake,And tok upon the clothes blake:And evere upon continuinge,Riht as men sen a welle springe,With yhen fulle of wofull teres,Hire her hangende aboute hire Eres,Sche wepte, and noman wiste why.Bot yit among full pitouslySche preide that thei nolden dreccheHire housebonde forto fecche 5010Forth with hire fader ek also.
Thus be thei comen bothe tuo,And Brutus cam with Collatin,Which to Lucrece was cousin,And in thei wenten alle threTo chambre, wher thei myhten seThe wofulleste upon this Molde,Which wepte as sche to water scholde.The chambre Dore anon was stoke,Er thei have oght unto hire spoke; 5020Thei sihe hire clothes al desguised,And hou sche hath hirself despised,Hire her hangende unkemd aboute,Bot natheles sche gan to louteAnd knele unto hire housebonde;And he, which fain wolde understondeThe cause why sche ferde so,With softe wordes axeth tho,“What mai you be, mi goode swete?”And sche, which thoghte hirself unmete 5030And the lest worth of wommen alle,Hire wofull chiere let doun falleFor schame and couthe unnethes loke.And thei therof good hiede toke,And preiden hire in alle weieThat sche ne spare forto seieUnto hir frendes what hire eileth,Why sche so sore hirself beweileth,And what the sothe wolde mene.And sche, which hath hire sorwes grene, 5040Hire wo to telle thanne assaieth,Bot tendre schame hire word delaieth,That sondri times as sche minteTo speke, upon the point sche stinte.And thei hire bidden evere in onTo telle forth, and therupon,Whan that sche sih sche moste nede,Hire tale betwen schame and dredeSche tolde, noght withoute peine.And he, which wolde hire wo restreigne, 5050Hire housebonde, a sory man,Conforteth hire al that he can,And swor, and ek hire fader bothe,That thei with hire be noght wrotheOf that is don ayein hire wille;And preiden hire to be stille,For thei to hire have al foryive.Bot sche, which thoghte noght to live,Of hem wol no foryivenesse,And seide, of thilke wickednesse 5060Which was unto hire bodi wroght,Al were it so sche myhte it noght,Nevere afterward the world ne schalReproeven hire; and forth withal,Er eny man therof be war,A naked swerd, the which sche barWithinne hire Mantel priveli,Betwen hire hondes sodeinlySche tok, and thurgh hire herte it throng,And fell to grounde, and evere among, 5070Whan that sche fell, so as sche myhte,Hire clothes with hire hand sche rihte,That noman dounward fro the kneScholde eny thing of hire se:Thus lay this wif honestely,Althogh sche deide wofully.
Tho was no sorwe forto seke:Hire housebonde, hire fader ekeAswoune upon the bodi felle;Ther mai no mannes tunge telle 5080In which anguisshe that thei were.Bot Brutus, which was with hem there,Toward himself his herte kepte,And to Lucrece anon he lepte,The blodi swerd and pulleth oute,And swor the goddes al abouteThat he therof schal do vengance.And sche tho made a contienance,Hire dedlich yhe and ate lasteIn thonkinge as it were up caste, 5090And so behield him in the wise,Whil sche to loke mai suffise.And Brutus with a manlich herteHire housebonde hath mad up sterteForth with hire fader ek alsoIn alle haste, and seide hem thoThat thei anon withoute letteA Beere for the body fette;Lucrece and therupon bledendeHe leide, and so forth out criende 5100He goth into the Market placeOf Rome: and in a litel spaceThurgh cry the cite was assembled,And every mannes herte is trembled,Whan thei the sothe herde of the cas.And therupon the conseil wasTake of the grete and of the smale,And Brutus tolde hem al the tale;And thus cam into remembranceOf Senne the continuance, 5110Which Arrons hadde do tofore,And ek, long time er he was bore,Of that his fadre hadde doThe wrong cam into place tho;So that the comun clamour toldeThe newe schame of Sennes olde.And al the toun began to crie,“Awey, awey the tirannieOf lecherie and covoitise!”And ate laste in such a wise 5120The fader in the same whileForth with his Sone thei exile,And taken betre governance.Bot yit an other remembranceThat rihtwisnesse and lecherieAcorden noght in compaignieWith him that hath the lawe on honde,That mai a man wel understonde,As be a tale thou shalt wite,Of olde ensample as it is write. 5130
At Rome whan that Apius,Whos other name is Claudius,Was governour of the cite,Ther fell a wonder thing to seTouchende a gentil Maide, as thus,Whom Livius VirginiusBegeten hadde upon his wif:Men seiden that so fair a lifAs sche was noght in al the toun.This fame, which goth up and doun, 5140To Claudius cam in his Ere,Wherof his thoght anon was there,Which al his herte hath set afyre,That he began the flour desireWhich longeth unto maydenhede,And sende, if that he myhte spedeThe blinde lustes of his wille.Bot that thing mai he noght fulfille,For sche stod upon Mariage;A worthi kniht of gret lignage, 5150Ilicius which thanne hihte,Acorded in hire fader sihteWas, that he scholde his douhter wedde.Bot er the cause fully spedde,Hire fader, which in RomanieThe ledinge of chivalerieIn governance hath undertake,Upon a werre which was takeGoth out with al the strengthe he haddeOf men of Armes whiche he ladde: 5160So was the mariage left,And stod upon acord til eft.
The king, which herde telle of this,Hou that this Maide ordeigned isTo Mariage, thoghte an other.And hadde thilke time a brother,Which Marchus Claudius was hote,And was a man of such rioteRiht as the king himselve was:Thei tuo togedre upon this cas 5170In conseil founden out this weie,That Marchus Claudius schal seieHou sche be weie of covenantTo his service appourtenantWas hol, and to non other man;And therupon he seith he canIn every point witnesse take,So that sche schal it noght forsake.Whan that thei hadden schape so,After the lawe which was tho, 5180Whil that hir fader was absent,Sche was somouned and assentTo come in presence of the kingAnd stonde in ansuere of this thing.Hire frendes wisten alle welThat it was falshed everydel,And comen to the king and seiden,Upon the comun lawe and preiden,So as this noble worthi knyhtHir fader for the comun riht 5190In thilke time, as was befalle,Lai for the profit of hem alleUpon the wylde feldes armed,That he ne scholde noght ben harmedNe schamed, whil that he were oute;And thus thei preiden al aboute.
For al the clamour that he herde,The king upon his lust ansuerde,And yaf hem only daies tuoOf respit; for he wende tho, 5200That in so schorte a time appiereHire fader mihte in no manere.Bot as therof he was deceived;For Livius hadde al conceivedThe pourpos of the king tofore,So that to Rome ayein therforeIn alle haste he cam ridende,And lefte upon the field liggendeHis host, til that he come ayein.And thus this worthi capitein 5210Appiereth redi at his day,Wher al that evere reson mayBe lawe in audience he doth,So that his dowhter upon sothOf that Marchus hire hadde accusedHe hath tofore the court excused.
The king, which sih his pourpos faile,And that no sleihte mihte availe,Encombred of his lustes blindeThe lawe torneth out of kinde, 5220And half in wraththe as thogh it were,In presence of hem alle thereDeceived of concupiscenceYaf for his brother the sentence,And bad him that he scholde seseThis Maide and make him wel at ese;Bot al withinne his oghne ententeHe wiste hou that the cause wente,Of that his brother hath the wyteHe was himselven forto wyte. 5230Bot thus this maiden hadde wrong,Which was upon the king along,Bot ayein him was non Appel,And that the fader wiste wel:Wherof upon the tirannie,That for the lust of LecherieHis douhter scholde be deceived,And that Ilicius was weyvedUntrewly fro the Mariage,Riht as a Leon in his rage, 5240Which of no drede set acompteAnd not what pite scholde amounte,A naked swerd he pulleth oute,The which amonges al the routeHe threste thurgh his dowhter side,And al alowd this word he cride:“Lo, take hire ther, thou wrongfull king,For me is levere upon this thingTo be the fader of a Maide,Thogh sche be ded, that if men saide 5250That in hir lif sche were schamedAnd I therof were evele named.”
Tho bad the king men scholde aresteHis bodi, bot of thilke heste,Lich to the chaced wylde bor,The houndes whan he fieleth sor,Tothroweth and goth forth his weie,In such a wise forto seieThis worthi kniht with swerd on hondeHis weie made, and thei him wonde, 5260That non of hem his strokes kepte;And thus upon his hors he lepte,And with his swerd droppende of blod,The which withinne his douhter stod,He cam ther as the pouer wasOf Rome, and tolde hem al the cas,And seide hem that thei myhten liereUpon the wrong of his matiere,That betre it were to redresceAt hom the grete unrihtwisnesse, 5270Than forto werre in strange placeAnd lese at hom here oghne grace.For thus stant every mannes lifIn jeupartie for his wifOr for his dowhter, if thei bePassende an other of beaute.
Of this merveile which thei siheSo apparant tofore here yhe,Of that the king him hath misbore,Here othes thei have alle swore 5280That thei wol stonde be the riht.And thus of on acord uprihtTo Rome at ones hom ayeinThei torne, and schortly forto sein,This tirannye cam to mouthe,And every man seith what he couthe,So that the prive tricherie,Which set was upon lecherie,Cam openly to mannes Ere;And that broghte in the comun feere, 5290That every man the peril draddeOf him that so hem overladde.Forthi, er that it worse falle,Thurgh comun conseil of hem alleThei have here wrongfull king deposed,And hem in whom it was supposedThe conseil stod of his ledingeBe lawe unto the dom thei bringe,Wher thei receiven the penanceThat longeth to such governance. 5300And thus thunchaste was chastised,Wherof thei myhte ben avisedThat scholden afterward governe,And be this evidence lerne,Hou it is good a king eschuieThe lust of vice and vertu suie.
To make an ende in this partie,Which toucheth to the PolicieOf Chastite in special,As for conclusion final 5310That every lust is to eschueBe gret ensample I mai argue:Hou in Rages a toun of MedeTher was a Mayde, and as I rede,Sarra sche hihte, and RaguelHir fader was; and so befell,Of bodi bothe and of visageWas non so fair of the lignage,To seche among hem alle, as sche;Wherof the riche of the cite, 5320Of lusti folk that couden love,Assoted were upon hire love,And asken hire forto wedde.On was which ate laste spedde,Bot that was more for likinge,To have his lust, than for weddinge,As he withinne his herte caste,Which him repenteth ate laste.For so it fell the ferste nyht,That whanne he was to bedde dyht, 5330As he which nothing god besechethBot al only hise lustes secheth,Abedde er he was fully warmAnd wolde have take hire in his Arm,Asmod, which was a fend of helle,And serveth, as the bokes telle,To tempte a man of such a wise,Was redy there, and thilke emprise,Which he hath set upon delit,He vengeth thanne in such a plit, 5340That he his necke hathe writhe atuo.This yonge wif was sory tho,Which wiste nothing what it mente;And natheles yit thus it wenteNoght only of this ferste man,Bot after, riht as he began,Sexe othre of hire housebondesAsmod hath take into hise bondes,So that thei alle abedde deiden,Whan thei her hand toward hir leiden, 5350Noght for the lawe of Mariage,Bot for that ilke fyri rageIn which that thei the lawe excede:For who that wolde taken hiedeWhat after fell in this matiere,Ther mihte he wel the sothe hiere.Whan sche was wedded to Thobie,And Raphael in compainieHath tawht him hou to ben honeste,Asmod wan noght at thilke feste, 5360And yit Thobie his wille hadde;For he his lust so goodly ladde,That bothe lawe and kinde is served,Wherof he hath himself preserved,That he fell noght in the sentence.O which an open evidenceOf this ensample a man mai se,That whan likinge in the degreOf Mariage mai forsueie,Wel oghte him thanne in other weie 5370Of lust to be the betre avised.For god the lawes hath assissedAls wel to reson as to kinde,Bot he the bestes wolde bindeOnly to lawes of nature,Bot to the mannes creatureGod yaf him reson forth withal,Wherof that he nature schalUpon the causes modefie,That he schal do no lecherie, 5380And yit he schal hise lustes have.So ben the lawes bothe saveAnd every thing put out of sclandre;As whilom to king AlisandreThe wise Philosophre tawhte,Whan he his ferste lore cawhte,Noght only upon chastete,Bot upon alle honestete;Wherof a king himself mai taste,Hou trewe, hou large, hou joust, hou chaste 5390Him oghte of reson forto be,Forth with the vertu of Pite,Thurgh which he mai gret thonk deserveToward his godd, that he preserveHim and his poeple in alle weltheOf pes, richesse, honour and heltheHier in this world and elles eke.
Mi Sone, as we tofore spiekeIn schrifte, so as thou me seidest,And for thin ese, as thou me preidest, 5400Thi love throghes forto lisse,That I thee wolde telle and wisseThe forme of Aristotles lore,I have it seid, and somdiel moreOf othre ensamples, to assaieIf I thi peines myhte allaieThurgh eny thing that I can seie.
Do wey, mi fader, I you preie:Of that ye have unto me toldI thonke you a thousendfold. 5410The tales sounen in myn Ere,Bot yit min herte is elleswhere,I mai miselve noght restreigne,That I nam evere in loves peine:Such lore couthe I nevere gete,Which myhte make me foryeteO point, bot if so were I slepte,That I my tydes ay ne kepteTo thenke of love and of his lawe;That herte can I noght withdrawe. 5420Forthi, my goode fader diere,Lef al and speke of my matiereTouchende of love, as we begonne:If that ther be oght overronneOr oght foryete or left behindeWhich falleth unto loves kinde,Wherof it nedeth to be schrive,Nou axeth, so that whil I liveI myhte amende that is mys.
Mi goode diere Sone, yis. 5430Thi schrifte forto make plein,Ther is yit more forto seinOf love which is unavised.Bot for thou schalt be wel avisedUnto thi schrifte as it belongeth,A point which upon love hongethAnd is the laste of alle tho,I wol thee telle, and thanne ho.
Explicit Liber Septimus.