Mi Sone, if reson be wel peised,Ther mai no vertu ben unpreisedNe vice non be set in pris.Forthi, my Sone, if thou be wys, 2080Do no viser upon thi face,Which as wol noght thin herte embrace:For if thou do, withinne a throweTo othre men it schal be knowe,So miht thou lihtli falle in blameAnd lese a gret part of thi name.And natheles in this degreeFulofte time thou myht seOf suche men that now adayThis vice setten in a say: 2090I speke it for no mannes blame,Bot forto warne thee the same.Mi Sone, as I mai hiere talkeIn every place where I walke,I not if it be so or non,Bot it is manye daies gonThat I ferst herde telle this,How Falssemblant hath ben and isMost comunly fro yer to yereWith hem that duelle among ous here, 2100Of suche as we Lombardes calle.For thei ben the slyeste of alle,So as men sein in toune aboute,To feigne and schewe thing withouteWhich is revers to that withinne:Wherof that thei fulofte winne,Whan thei be reson scholden lese;Thei ben the laste and yit thei chese,And we the ferste, and yit behindeWe gon, there as we scholden finde 2110The profit of oure oghne lond:Thus gon thei fre withoute bondTo don her profit al at large,And othre men bere al the charge.Of Lombardz unto this covine,Whiche alle londes conne engine,Mai Falssemblant in specialBe likned, for thei overal,Wher as they thenken forto duelle,Among hemself, so as thei telle, 2120Ferst ben enformed forto lereA craft which cleped is Fa crere:For if Fa crere come aboute,Thanne afterward hem stant no douteTo voide with a soubtil hondThe beste goodes of the londAnd bringe chaf and take corn.Where as Fa crere goth toforn,In all his weie he fynt no lette;That Dore can non huissher schette 2130In which him list to take entre:And thus the conseil most secreOf every thing Fa crere knoweth,Which into strange place he bloweth,Where as he wot it mai most grieve.And thus Fa crere makth believe,So that fulofte he hath deceived,Er that he mai ben aperceived.Thus is this vice forto drede;For who these olde bokes rede 2140Of suche ensamples as were ar,Him oghte be the more warOf alle tho that feigne chiere,Wherof thou schalt a tale hiere.Of Falssemblant which is believedFul many a worthi wiht is grieved,And was long time er we wer bore.To thee, my Sone, I wol therforeA tale telle of Falssemblant,Which falseth many a covenant, 2150And many a fraude of fals conseilTher ben hangende upon his Seil:And that aboghten gultelesBothe Deianire and Hercules,The whiche in gret desese felleThurgh Falssemblant, as I schal telle.Whan Hercules withinne a throweAl only hath his herte throweUpon this faire Deianire,It fell him on a dai desire, 2160Upon a Rivere as he stod,That passe he wolde over the flodWithoute bot, and with him ledeHis love, bot he was in dredeFor tendresce of that swete wiht,For he knew noght the forde ariht.Ther was a Geant thanne nyh,Which Nessus hihte, and whanne he sihThis Hercules and Deianyre,Withinne his herte he gan conspire, 2170As he which thurgh his tricherieHath Hercules in gret envie,Which he bar in his herte loke,And thanne he thoghte it schal be wroke.Bot he ne dorste nathelesAyein this worthi HerculesFalle in debat as forto feihte;Bot feigneth Semblant al be sleihteOf frendschipe and of alle goode,And comth where as thei bothe stode, 2180And makth hem al the chiere he can,And seith that as here oghne manHe is al redy forto doWhat thing he mai; and it fell soThat thei upon his Semblant triste,And axen him if that he wisteWhat thing hem were best to done,So that thei mihten sauf and soneThe water passe, he and sche.And whan Nessus the privete 2190Knew of here herte what it mente,As he that was of double entente,He made hem riht a glad visage;And whanne he herde of the passageOf him and hire, he thoghte guile,And feigneth Semblant for a whileTo don hem plesance and servise,Bot he thoghte al an other wise.This Nessus with hise wordes slyheYaf such conseil tofore here yhe 2200Which semeth outward profitableAnd was withinne deceivable.He bad hem of the Stremes depeThat thei be war and take kepe,So as thei knowe noght the pas;Bot forto helpe in such a cas,He seith himself that for here eseHe wolde, if that it mihte hem plese,The passage of the water take,And for this ladi undertake 2210To bere unto that other strondeAnd sauf to sette hire up alonde,And Hercules may thanne alsoThe weie knowe how he schal go:And herto thei acorden alle.Bot what as after schal befalle,Wel payd was Hercules of this,And this Geant also glad is,And tok this ladi up alofteAnd set hire on his schuldre softe, 2220And in the flod began to wade,As he which no grucchinge made,And bar hire over sauf and sound.Bot whanne he stod on dreie groundAnd Hercules was fer behinde,He sette his trowthe al out of mynde,Who so therof be lief or loth,With Deianyre and forth he goth,As he that thoghte to dissevereThe compaignie of hem for evere. 2230Whan Hercules therof tok hiede,Als faste as evere he mihte him spiedeHe hyeth after in a throwe;And hapneth that he hadde a bowe,The which in alle haste he bende,As he that wolde an Arwe sende,Which he tofore hadde envenimed.He hath so wel his schote timed,That he him thurgh the bodi smette,And thus the false wiht he lette. 2240Bot lest now such a felonie:Whan Nessus wiste he scholde die,He tok to Deianyre his scherte,Which with the blod was of his herteThurghout desteigned overal,And tolde how sche it kepe schalAl prively to this entente,That if hire lord his herte wenteTo love in eny other place,The scherte, he seith, hath such a grace, 2250That if sche mai so mochel makeThat he the scherte upon him take,He schal alle othre lete in veinAnd torne unto hire love ayein.Who was tho glad bot Deianyre?Hire thoghte hire herte was afyreTil it was in hire cofre loke,So that no word therof was spoke.The daies gon, the yeres passe,The hertes waxen lasse and lasse 2260Of hem that ben to love untrewe:This Hercules with herte neweHis love hath set on Eolen,And therof spieken alle men.This Eolen, this faire maide,Was, as men thilke time saide,The kinges dowhter of Eurice;And sche made Hercules so nyceUpon hir Love and so assote,That he him clotheth in hire cote, 2270And sche in his was clothed ofte;And thus fieblesce is set alofte,And strengthe was put under fote,Ther can noman therof do bote.Whan Deianyre hath herd this speche,Ther was no sorwe forto seche:Of other helpe wot sche non,Bot goth unto hire cofre anon;With wepende yhe and woful herteSche tok out thilke unhappi scherte, 2280As sche that wende wel to do,And broghte hire werk aboute soThat Hercules this scherte on dede,To such entente as she was bedeOf Nessus, so as I seide er.Bot therof was sche noght the ner,As no fortune may be weyved;With Falssemblant sche was deceived,That whan sche wende best have wonne,Sche lost al that sche hath begonne. 2290For thilke scherte unto the bonHis body sette afyre anon,And cleveth so, it mai noght twinne,For the venym that was therinne.And he thanne as a wilde manUnto the hihe wode he ran,And as the Clerk Ovide telleth,The grete tres to grounde he fellethWith strengthe al of his oghne myght,And made an huge fyr upriht, 2300And lepte himself therinne at onesAnd brende him bothe fleissh and bones.Which thing cam al thurgh Falssemblant,That false Nessus the GeantMade unto him and to his wif;Wherof that he hath lost his lif,And sche sori for everemo.Forthi, my Sone, er thee be wo,I rede, be wel war therfore;For whan so gret a man was lore, 2310It oghte yive a gret conceipteTo warne alle othre of such deceipte.Grant mercy, fader, I am warSo fer that I nomore darOf Falssemblant take aqueintance;Bot rathere I wol do penanceThat I have feigned chiere er this.Now axeth forth, what so ther isOf that belongeth to my schrifte.Mi Sone, yit ther is the fifte 2320Which is conceived of Envie,And cleped is Supplantarie,Thurgh whos compassement and guileFul many a man hath lost his whileIn love als wel as otherwise,Hierafter as I schal devise.The vice of SupplantaciounWith many a fals collacioun,Which he conspireth al unknowe,Full ofte time hath overthrowe 2330The worschipe of an other man.So wel no lif awayte canAyein his sleyhte forto caste,That he his pourpos ate lasteNe hath, er that it be withset.Bot most of alle his herte is setIn court upon these grete OfficesOf dignitees and benefices:Thus goth he with his sleyhte abouteTo hindre and schowve an other oute 2340And stonden with his slyh compasIn stede there an other was;And so to sette himselven inne,He reccheth noght, be so he winne,Of that an other man schal lese,And thus fulofte chalk for cheseHe changeth with ful litel cost,Wherof an other hath the lostAnd he the profit schal receive.For his fortune is to deceive 2350And forto change upon the whelHis wo with othre mennes wel:Of that an other man avaleth,His oghne astat thus up he haleth,And takth the bridd to his beyete,Wher othre men the buisshes bete.Mi Sone, and in the same wiseTher ben lovers of such emprise,That schapen hem to be relievedWhere it is wrong to ben achieved: 2360For it is other mannes riht,Which he hath taken dai and nihtTo kepe for his oghne StorToward himself for everemor,And is his propre be the lawe,Which thing that axeth no felawe,If love holde his covenant.Bot thei that worchen be supplaunt,Yit wolden thei a man supplaunte,And take a part of thilke plaunte 2370Which he hath for himselve set:And so fulofte is al unknet,That som man weneth be riht fast.For Supplant with his slyhe castFulofte happneth forto moweThing which an other man hath sowe,And makth comun of propreteWith sleihte and with soubtilite,As men mai se fro yer to yere.Thus cleymeth he the bot to stiere, 2380Of which an other maister is.Forthi, my Sone, if thou er thisHast ben of such professioun,Discovere thi confessioun:Hast thou supplanted eny man?For oght that I you telle can,Min holi fader, as of the dedeI am withouten eny dredeAl gulteles; bot of my thoghtMi conscience excuse I noght. 2390For were it wrong or were it riht,Me lakketh nothing bote myht,That I ne wolde longe er thisOf other mannes love ywissBe weie of SupplantaciounHave mad apropriaciounAnd holde that I nevere boghte,Thogh it an other man forthoghte.And al this speke I bot of on,For whom I lete alle othre gon; 2400Bot hire I mai noght overpasse,That I ne mot alwey compasse,Me roghte noght be what queintise,So that I mihte in eny wiseFro suche that mi ladi serveHire herte make forto swerveWithouten eny part of love.For be the goddes alle aboveI wolde it mihte so befalle,That I al one scholde hem alle 2410Supplante, and welde hire at mi wille.And that thing mai I noght fulfille,Bot if I scholde strengthe make;And that I dar noght undertake,Thogh I were as was Alisaundre,For therof mihte arise sklaundre;And certes that schal I do nevere,For in good feith yit hadde I levereIn my simplesce forto die,Than worche such Supplantarie. 2420Of otherwise I wol noght seieThat if I founde a seker weie,I wolde as for conclusiounWorche after Supplantacioun,So hihe a love forto winne.Now, fader, if that this be Sinne,I am al redy to redresceThe gilt of which I me confesse.Mi goode Sone, as of SupplantThee thar noght drede tant ne quant, 2430As for nothing that I have herd,Bot only that thou hast misferdThenkende, and that me liketh noght,For godd beholt a mannes thoght.And if thou understode in sothIn loves cause what it doth,A man to ben a Supplantour,Thou woldest for thin oghne honourBe double weie take kepe:Ferst for thin oghne astat to kepe, 2440To be thiself so wel bethoghtThat thou supplanted were noght,And ek for worschipe of thi nameTowardes othre do the same,And soffren every man have his.Bot natheles it was and is,That in a wayt at alle assaiesSupplant of love in oure daiesThe lief fulofte for the levereForsakth, and so it hath don evere. 2450Ensample I finde therupon,At Troie how that AgamenonSupplantede the worthi knyhtAchilles of that swete wiht,Which named was Brexeida;And also of Criseida,Whom Troilus to love ches,Supplanted hath Diomedes.Of Geta and Amphitrion,That whilom weren bothe as on 2460Of frendschipe and of compaignie,I rede how that SupplantarieIn love, as it betidde tho,Beguiled hath on of hem tuo.For this Geta that I of meene,To whom the lusti faire AlmeeneAssured was be weie of love,Whan he best wende have ben aboveAnd sikerest of that he hadde,Cupido so the cause ladde, 2470That whil he was out of the weie,Amphitrion hire love aweieHath take, and in this forme he wroghte.Be nyhte unto the chambre he soghte,Wher that sche lay, and with a wyleHe contrefeteth for the whyleThe vois of Gete in such a wise,That made hire of hire bedd arise,Wenende that it were he,And let him in, and whan thei be 2480Togedre abedde in armes faste,This Geta cam thanne ate lasteUnto the Dore and seide, “Undo.”And sche ansuerde and bad him go,And seide how that abedde al warmHir lief lay naked in hir arm;Sche wende that it were soth.Lo, what Supplant of love doth:This Geta forth bejaped wente,And yit ne wiste he what it mente; 2490Amphitrion him hath supplantedWith sleyhte of love and hire enchaunted:And thus put every man out other,The Schip of love hath lost his Rother,So that he can no reson stiere.And forto speke of this matiereTouchende love and his Supplant,A tale which is acordantUnto thin Ere I thenke enforme.Now herkne, for this is the forme. 2500Of thilke Cite chief of alleWhich men the noble Rome calle,Er it was set to Cristes feith,Ther was, as the Cronique seith,An Emperour, the which it laddeIn pes, that he no werres hadde:Ther was nothing desobeissantWhich was to Rome appourtenant,Bot al was torned into reste.To some it thoghte for the beste, 2510To some it thoghte nothing so,And that was only unto thoWhos herte stod upon knyhthode:Bot most of alle of his manhodeThe worthi Sone of themperour,Which wolde ben a werreiour,As he that was chivalerousOf worldes fame and desirous,Began his fadre to besecheThat he the werres mihte seche, 2520In strange Marches forto ride.His fader seide he scholde abide,And wolde granten him no leve:Bot he, which wolde noght beleve,A kniht of his to whom he triste,So that his fader nothing wiste,He tok and tolde him his corage,That he pourposeth a viage.If that fortune with him stonde,He seide how that he wolde fonde 2530The grete See to passe unknowe,And there abyde for a throweUpon the werres to travaile.And to this point withoute faileThis kniht, whan he hath herd his lord,Is swore, and stant of his acord,As thei that bothe yonge were;So that in prive conseil thereThei ben assented forto wende.And therupon to make an ende, 2540Tresor ynowh with hem thei token,And whan the time is best thei loken,That sodeinliche in a GaleieFro Romelond thei wente here weieAnd londe upon that other side.The world fell so that ilke tide,Which evere hise happes hath diverse,The grete Soldan thanne of PerseAyein the Caliphe of EgipteA werre, which that him beclipte, 2550Hath in a Marche costeiant.And he, which was a poursuiantWorschipe of armes to atteigne,This Romein, let anon ordeigne,That he was redi everydel:And whan he was arraied welOf every thing which him belongeth,Straght unto Kaire his weie he fongeth,Wher he the Soldan thanne fond,And axeth that withinne his lond 2560He mihte him for the werre serve,As he which wolde his thonk deserve.The Soldan was riht glad with al,And wel the more in specialWhan that he wiste he was Romein;Bot what was elles in certein,That mihte he wite be no weie.And thus the kniht of whom I seieToward the Soldan is beleft,And in the Marches now and eft, 2570Wher that the dedli werres were,He wroghte such knihthode there,That every man spak of him good.And thilke time so it stod,This mihti Soldan be his wifA Dowhter hath, that in this lifMen seiden ther was non so fair.Sche scholde ben hir fader hair,And was of yeres ripe ynowh:Hire beaute many an herte drowh 2580To bowe unto that ilke laweFro which no lif mai be withdrawe,And that is love, whos natureSet lif and deth in aventureOf hem that knyhthode undertake.This lusti peine hath overtakeThe herte of this Romein so sore,That to knihthode more and moreProuesce avanceth his corage.Lich to the Leoun in his rage, 2590Fro whom that alle bestes fle,Such was the knyht in his degre:Wher he was armed in the feld,Ther dorste non abide his scheld;Gret pris upon the werre he hadde.Bot sche which al the chance ladde,Fortune, schop the Marches so,That be thassent of bothe tuo,The Soldan and the Caliphe eke,Bataille upon a dai thei seke, 2600Which was in such a wise setThat lengere scholde it noght be let.Thei made hem stronge on every side,And whan it drowh toward the tideThat the bataille scholde be,The Soldan in gret priveteA goldring of his dowhter tok,And made hire swere upon a bokAnd ek upon the goddes alle,That if fortune so befalle 2610In the bataille that he deie,That sche schal thilke man obeieAnd take him to hire housebonde,Which thilke same Ring to hondeHire scholde bringe after his deth.This hath sche swore, and forth he gethWith al the pouer of his londUnto the Marche, where he fondHis enemy full embatailled.The Soldan hath the feld assailed: 2620Thei that ben hardy sone assemblen,Wherof the dredfull hertes tremblen:That on sleth, and that other sterveth,Bot above all his pris deservethThis knihtly Romein; where he rod,His dedly swerd noman abod,Ayein the which was no defence;Egipte fledde in his presence,And thei of Perse upon the chacePoursuien: bot I not what grace 2630Befell, an Arwe out of a boweAl sodeinly that ilke throweThe Soldan smot, and ther he lay:The chace is left for thilke day,And he was bore into a tente.The Soldan sih how that it wente,And that he scholde algate die;And to this knyht of Romanie,As unto him whom he most triste,His Dowhter Ring, that non it wiste, 2640He tok, and tolde him al the cas,Upon hire oth what tokne it wasOf that sche scholde ben his wif.Whan this was seid, the hertes lifOf this Soldan departeth sone;And therupon, as was to done,The dede body wel and faireThei carie til thei come at Kaire,Wher he was worthily begrave.The lordes, whiche as wolden save 2650The Regne which was desolat,To bringe it into good astatA parlement thei sette anon.Now herkne what fell therupon:This yonge lord, this worthi knihtOf Rome, upon the same nihtThat thei amorwe trete scholde,Unto his Bacheler he toldeHis conseil, and the Ring with alHe scheweth, thurgh which that he schal, 2660He seith, the kinges Dowhter wedde,For so the Ring was leid to wedde,He tolde, into hir fader hond,That with what man that sche it fondSche scholde him take to hire lord.And this, he seith, stant of record,Bot noman wot who hath this Ring.This Bacheler upon this thingHis Ere and his entente leide,And thoghte more thanne he seide, 2670And feigneth with a fals visageThat he was glad, bot his corageWas al set in an other wise.These olde Philosophres wiseThei writen upon thilke while,That he mai best a man beguileIn whom the man hath most credence;And this befell in evidenceToward this yonge lord of Rome.His Bacheler, which hadde tome, 2680Whan that his lord be nihte slepte,This Ring, the which his maister kepte,Out of his Pours awey he dede,And putte an other in the stede.Amorwe, whan the Court is set,The yonge ladi was forth fet,To whom the lordes don homage,And after that of MariageThei trete and axen of hir wille.Bot sche, which thoghte to fulfille 2690Hire fader heste in this matiere,Seide openly, that men mai hiere,The charge which hire fader bad.Tho was this Lord of Rome gladAnd drowh toward his Pours anon,Bot al for noght, it was agon:His Bacheler it hath forthdrawe,And axeth ther upon the laweThat sche him holde covenant.The tokne was so sufficant 2700That it ne mihte be forsake,And natheles his lord hath takeQuerelle ayein his oghne man;Bot for nothing that evere he canHe mihte as thanne noght ben herd,So that his cleym is unansuerd,And he hath of his pourpos failed.This Bacheler was tho consailedAnd wedded, and of thilke EmpireHe was coroned Lord and Sire, 2710And al the lond him hath received;Wherof his lord, which was deceived,A seknesse er the thridde morweConceived hath of dedly sorwe:And as he lay upon his deth,Therwhile him lasteth speche and breth,He sende for the worthiesteOf al the lond and ek the beste,And tolde hem al the sothe tho,That he was Sone and Heir also 2720Of themperour of grete Rome,And how that thei togedre come,This kniht and he; riht as it was,He tolde hem al the pleine cas,And for that he his conseil tolde,That other hath al that he wolde,And he hath failed of his mede:As for the good he takth non hiede,He seith, bot only of the love,Of which he wende have ben above. 2730And therupon be lettre writeHe doth his fader forto witeOf al this matiere as it stod;And thanne with an hertly modUnto the lordes he besoghteTo telle his ladi how he boghteHire love, of which an other gladeth;And with that word his hewe fadeth,And seide, “A dieu, my ladi swete.”The lif hath lost his kindly hete, 2740And he lay ded as eny ston;Wherof was sory manyon,Bot non of alle so as sche.This false knyht in his degreeArested was and put in hold:For openly whan it was toldOf the tresoun which is befalle,Thurghout the lond thei seiden alle,If it be soth that men suppose,His oghne untrowthe him schal depose. 2750And forto seche an evidence,With honour and gret reverence,Wherof they mihten knowe an ende,To themperour anon thei sendeThe lettre which his Sone wrot.And whan that he the sothe wot,To telle his sorwe is endeles,Bot yit in haste nathelesUpon the tale which he herdeHis Stieward into Perse ferde 2760With many a worthi Romein eke,His liege tretour forto seke;And whan thei thider come were,This kniht him hath confessed thereHow falsly that he hath him bore,Wherof his worthi lord was lore.Tho seiden some he scholde deie,Bot yit thei founden such a weieThat he schal noght be ded in Perse;And thus the skiles ben diverse. 2770Be cause that he was coroned,And that the lond was abandonedTo him, althogh it were unriht,Ther is no peine for him diht;Bot to this point and to this endeThei granten wel that he schal wendeWith the Romeins to Rome ayein.And thus acorded ful and plein,The qwike body with the dedeWith leve take forth thei lede, 2780Wher that Supplant hath his juise.Wherof that thou thee miht aviseUpon this enformaciounTouchende of Supplantacioun,That thou, my Sone, do noght so:And forto take hiede alsoWhat Supplant doth in other halve,Ther is noman can finde a salvePleinly to helen such a Sor;It hath and schal ben everemor, 2790Whan Pride is with Envie joint,He soffreth noman in good point,Wher that he mai his honour lette.And therupon if I schal setteEnsample, in holy cherche I findeHow that Supplant is noght behinde;God wot if that it now be so:For in Cronique of time agoI finde a tale concordableOf Supplant, which that is no fable, 2800In the manere as I schal telle,So as whilom the thinges felle.At Rome, as it hath ofte falle,The vicair general of alleOf hem that lieven Cristes feithHis laste day, which non withseith,Hath schet as to the worldes ije,Whos name if I schal specefie,He hihte Pope Nicolas.And thus whan that he passed was, 2810The Cardinals, that wolden saveThe forme of lawe, in the conclaveGon forto chese a newe Pope,And after that thei cowthe agropeHath ech of hem seid his entente:Til ate laste thei assenteUpon an holy clerk reclus,Which full was of gostli vertus;His pacience and his simplesseHath set him into hih noblesse. 2820Thus was he Pope canonized,With gret honour and intronized,And upon chance as it is falle,His name Celestin men calle;Which notefied was be bulleTo holi cherche and to the fulleIn alle londes magnified.Bot every worschipe is envied,And that was thilke time sene:For whan this Pope of whom I meene 2830Was chose, and othre set beside,A Cardinal was thilke tideWhich the papat longe hath desiredAnd therupon gretli conspired;Bot whan he sih fortune is failed,For which long time he hath travailed,That ilke fyr which Ethna brennethThurghout his wofull herte renneth,Which is resembled to Envie,Wherof Supplant and tricherie 2840Engendred is; and nathelesHe feigneth love, he feigneth pes,Outward he doth the reverence,Bot al withinne his conscienceThurgh fals ymaginaciounHe thoghte Supplantacioun.And therupon a wonder wyleHe wroghte: for at thilke whyleIt fell so that of his lignageHe hadde a clergoun of yong age, 2850Whom he hath in his chambre affaited.This Cardinal his time hath waited,And with his wordes slyhe and queinte,The whiche he cowthe wysly peinte,He schop this clerk of which I telleToward the Pope forto duelle,So that withinne his chambre anyhtHe lai, and was a prive wyhtToward the Pope on nyhtes tide.Mai noman fle that schal betide. 2860This Cardinal, which thoghte guile,Upon a day whan he hath whileThis yonge clerc unto him tok,And made him swere upon a bok,And told him what his wille was.And forth withal a Trompe of brasHe hath him take, and bad him this:“Thou schalt,” he seide, “whan time isAwaite, and take riht good kepe,Whan that the Pope is fast aslepe 2870And that non other man by nyh;And thanne that thou be so slyhThurghout the Trompe into his Ere,Fro hevene as thogh a vois it were,To soune of such prolaciounThat he his meditaciounTherof mai take and understonde,As thogh it were of goddes sonde.And in this wise thou schalt seie,That he do thilke astat aweie 2880Of Pope, in which he stant honoured,So schal his Soule be socouredOf thilke worschipe ate lasteIn hevene which schal evere laste.”This clerc, whan he hath herd the formeHow he the Pope scholde enforme,Tok of the Cardinal his leve,And goth him hom, til it was Eve,And prively the trompe he hedde,Til that the Pope was abedde. 2890And at the Midnyht, whan he knewhThe Pope slepte, thanne he blewhWithinne his trompe thurgh the wal,And tolde in what manere he schalHis Papacie leve, and takeHis ferste astat: and thus awakeThis holi Pope he made thries,Wherof diverse fantasiesUpon his grete holinesseWithinne his herte he gan impresse. 2900The Pope ful of innocenceConceiveth in his conscienceThat it is goddes wille he cesse;Bot in what wise he may relesseHis hihe astat, that wot he noght.And thus withinne himself bethoght,He bar it stille in his memoire,Til he cam to the Consistoire;And there in presence of hem alleHe axeth, if it so befalle 2910That eny Pope cesse wolde,How that the lawe it soffre scholde.Thei seten alle stille and herde,Was non which to the point ansuerde,For to what pourpos that it menteTher was noman knew his entente,Bot only he which schop the guile.This Cardinal the same whileAl openly with wordes pleineSeith, if the Pope wolde ordeigne 2920That ther be such a lawe wroght,Than mihte he cesse, and elles noght.And as he seide, don it was;The Pope anon upon the casOf his Papal AutoriteHath mad and yove the decre:And whan that lawe was confermedIn due forme and al affermed,This innocent, which was deceived,His Papacie anon hath weyved, 2930Renounced and resigned eke.That other was nothing to seke,Bot undernethe such a japeHe hath so for himselve schape,That how as evere it him beseme,The Mitre with the DiademeHe hath thurgh Supplantacion:And in his confirmacionUpon the fortune of his graceHis name is cleped Boneface. 2940Under the viser of Envie,Lo, thus was hid the tricherie,Which hath beguiled manyon.Bot such conseil ther mai be non,With treson whan it is conspired,That it nys lich the Sparke fyredUp in the Rof, which for a throweLith hidd, til whan the wyndes bloweIt blaseth out on every side.This Bonefas, which can noght hyde 2950The tricherie of his Supplant,Hath openly mad his avantHow he the Papacie hath wonne.Bot thing which is with wrong begonneMai nevere stonde wel at ende;Wher Pride schal the bowe bende,He schet fulofte out of the weie:And thus the Pope of whom I seie,Whan that he stod on hih the whiel,He can noght soffre himself be wel. 2960Envie, which is loveles,And Pride, which is laweles,With such tempeste made him erre,That charite goth out of herre:So that upon misgovernanceAyein Lowyz the king of FranceHe tok querelle of his oultrage,And seide he scholde don hommageUnto the cherche bodily.Bot he, that wiste nothing why 2970He scholde do so gret serviseAfter the world in such a wise,Withstod the wrong of that demande;For noght the Pope mai comandeThe king wol noght the Pope obeie.This Pope tho be alle weieThat he mai worche of violenceHath sent the bulle of his sentenceWith cursinge and with enterdit.The king upon this wrongful plyt, 2980To kepe his regne fro servage,Conseiled was of his BarnageThat miht with miht schal be withstonde.Thus was the cause take on honde,And seiden that the PapacieThei wolde honoure and magnefieIn al that evere is spirital;Bot thilke Pride temporalOf Boneface in his persone,Ayein that ilke wrong al one 2990Thei wolde stonden in debat:And thus the man and noght the statThe Frensche schopen be her mihtTo grieve. And fell ther was a kniht,Sire Guilliam de Langharet,Which was upon this cause set;And therupon he tok a routeOf men of Armes and rod oute,So longe and in a wayt he lay,That he aspide upon a day 3000The Pope was at Avinoun,And scholde ryde out of the tounUnto Pontsorge, the which isA Castell in Provence of his.Upon the weie and as he rod,This kniht, which hoved and abodEmbuisshed upon horse bak,Al sodeinliche upon him brakAnd hath him be the bridel sesed,And seide: “O thou, which hast desesed 3010The Court of France be thi wrong,Now schalt thou singe an other song:Thin enterdit and thi sentenceAyein thin oghne conscienceHierafter thou schalt fiele and grope.We pleigne noght ayein the Pope,For thilke name is honourable,Bot thou, which hast be deceivableAnd tricherous in al thi werk,Thou Bonefas, thou proude clerk, 3020Misledere of the Papacie,Thi false bodi schal abyeAnd soffre that it hath deserved.”Lo, thus the Supplantour was served;For thei him ladden into FranceAnd setten him to his penanceWithinne a tour in harde bondes,Wher he for hunger bothe hise hondesEet of and deide, god wot how:Of whom the wrytinge is yit now 3030Registred, as a man mai hiere,Which spekth and seith in this manere:Thin entre lich the fox was slyh,Thi regne also with pride on hihWas lich the Leon in his rage;Bot ate laste of thi passageThi deth was to the houndes like.Such is the lettre of his CroniqueProclamed in the Court of Rome,Wherof the wise ensample nome. 3040And yit, als ferforth as I dar,I rede alle othre men be war,And that thei loke wel algateThat non his oghne astat translateOf holi cherche in no degreeBe fraude ne soubtilite:For thilke honour which Aaron tokSchal non receive, as seith the bok,Bot he be cleped as he was.What I schal thenken in this cas 3050Of that I hiere now aday,I not: bot he which can and may,Be reson bothe and be natureThe help of every mannes cure,He kepe Simon fro the folde.For Joachim thilke Abbot toldeHow suche daies scholden falle,That comunliche in places alleThe Chapmen of such mercerieWith fraude and with Supplantarie 3060So manye scholden beie and selle,That he ne may for schame telleSo foul a Senne in mannes Ere.Bot god forbiede that it wereIn oure daies that he seith:For if the Clerc beware his feithIn chapmanhod at such a feire,The remenant mot nede empeireOf al that to the world belongeth;For whan that holi cherche wrongeth, 3070I not what other thing schal rihte.And natheles at mannes sihteEnvie forto be preferredHath conscience so differred,That noman loketh to the viceWhich is the Moder of malice,And that is thilke false Envie,Which causeth many a tricherie;For wher he may an other seThat is mor gracious than he, 3080It schal noght stonden in his mihtBot if he hindre such a wiht:And that is welnyh overal,This vice is now so general.Envie thilke unhapp indrowh,Whan Joab be deceipte slowhAbner, for drede he scholde beWith king David such as was he.And thurgh Envie also it fellOf thilke false Achitofell, 3090For his conseil was noght achieved,Bot that he sih Cusy believedWith Absolon and him forsake,He heng himself upon a stake.Senec witnesseth openlyHow that Envie proprelyIs of the Court the comun wenche,And halt taverne forto schencheThat drink which makth the herte brenne,And doth the wit aboute renne, 3100Be every weie to compasseHow that he mihte alle othre passe,As he which thurgh unkindeschipeEnvieth every felaschipe;So that thou miht wel knowe and se,Ther is no vice such as he,Ferst toward godd abhominable,And to mankinde unprofitable:And that be wordes bot a feweI schal be reson prove and schewe. 3110Envie if that I schal descrive,He is noght schaply forto wyveIn Erthe among the wommen hiere;For ther is in him no matiereWherof he mihte do plesance.Ferst for his hevy continanceOf that he semeth evere unglad,He is noght able to ben had;And ek he brenneth so withinne,That kinde mai no profit winne, 3120Wherof he scholde his love plese:For thilke blod which scholde have eseTo regne among the moiste veines,Is drye of thilke unkendeli peinesThurgh whiche Envie is fyred ay.And thus be reson prove I mayThat toward love Envie is noght;And otherwise if it be soght,Upon what side as evere it falle,It is the werste vice of alle, 3130Which of himself hath most malice.For understond that every viceSom cause hath, wherof it groweth,Bot of Envie noman knowethFro whenne he cam bot out of helle.For thus the wise clerkes telle,That no spirit bot of maliceBe weie of kinde upon a viceIs tempted, and be such a weieEnvie hath kinde put aweie 3140And of malice hath his steringe,Wherof he makth his bakbitinge,And is himself therof desesed.So mai ther be no kinde plesed;For ay the mor that he envieth,The more ayein himself he plieth.Thus stant Envie in good espeirTo ben himself the develes heir,As he which is his nexte licheAnd forthest fro the heveneriche, 3150For there mai he nevere wone.Forthi, my goode diere Sone,If thou wolt finde a siker weieTo love, put Envie aweie.Min holy fader, reson woldeThat I this vice eschuie scholde:Bot yit to strengthe mi corage,If that ye wolde in avantageTherof sette a recoverir,It were tome a gret desir, 3160That I this vice mihte flee.Nou understond, my Sone, and se,Ther is phisique for the seke,And vertus for the vices eke.Who that the vices wolde eschuie,He mot be resoun thanne suieThe vertus; for be thilke weieHe mai the vices don aweie,For thei togedre mai noght duelle:For as the water of a welle 3170Of fyr abateth the malice,Riht so vertu fordoth the vice.Ayein Envie is Charite,Which is the Moder of Pite,That makth a mannes herte tendre,That it mai no malice engendreIn him that is enclin therto.For his corage is tempred so,That thogh he mihte himself relieve,Yit wolde he noght an other grieve, 3180Bot rather forto do plesanceHe berth himselven the grevance,So fain he wolde an other ese.Wherof, mi Sone, for thin eseNow herkne a tale which I rede,And understond it wel, I rede.Among the bokes of latinI finde write of ConstantinThe worthi Emperour of Rome,Suche infortunes to him come, 3190Whan he was in his lusti age,The lepre cawhte in his visageAnd so forth overal aboute,That he ne mihte ryden oute:So lefte he bothe Schield and spere,As he that mihte him noght bestere,And hield him in his chambre clos.Thurgh al the world the fame aros,The grete clerkes ben asentAnd come at his comandement 3200To trete upon this lordes hele.So longe thei togedre dele,That thei upon this medicineApointen hem, and determineThat in the maner as it stodThei wolde him bathe in childes blodWithinne sevene wynter age:For, as thei sein, that scholde assuageThe lepre and al the violence,Which that thei knewe of Accidence 3210And noght be weie of kinde is falle.And therto thei acorden alleAs for final conclusioun,And tolden here opiniounTo themperour: and he anonHis conseil tok, and theruponWith lettres and with seales outeThei sende in every lond abouteThe yonge children forto seche,Whos blod, thei seiden, schal be leche 3220For themperoures maladie.Ther was ynowh to wepe and crieAmong the Modres, whan thei herdeHou wofully this cause ferde,Bot natheles thei moten bowe;And thus wommen ther come ynowheWith children soukende on the Tete.Tho was ther manye teres lete,Bot were hem lieve or were hem lothe,The wommen and the children bothe 3230Into the Paleis forth be broghtWith many a sory hertes thoghtOf hem whiche of here bodi boreThe children hadde, and so forloreWithinne a while scholden se.The Modres wepe in here degre,And manye of hem aswoune falle,The yonge babes criden alle:This noyse aros, the lord it herde,And loked out, and how it ferde 3240He sih, and as who seith abreideOut of his slep, and thus he seide:“O thou divine pourveance,Which every man in the balanceOf kinde hast formed to be liche,The povere is bore as is the richeAnd deieth in the same wise,Upon the fol, upon the wiseSiknesse and hele entrecomune;Mai non eschuie that fortune 3250Which kinde hath in hire lawe set;Hire strengthe and beaute ben besetTo every man aliche fre,That sche preferreth no degreAs in the disposiciounOf bodili complexioun:And ek of Soule resonableThe povere child is bore als ableTo vertu as the kinges Sone;For every man his oghne wone 3260After the lust of his assayThe vice or vertu chese may.Thus stonden alle men franchised,Bot in astat thei ben divised;To some worschipe and richesse,To some poverte and distresse,On lordeth and an other serveth;Bot yit as every man deservethThe world yifth noght his yiftes hiere.Bot certes he hath gret matiere 3270To ben of good condicioun,Which hath in his subjecciounThe men that ben of his semblance.”And ek he tok a remembranceHow he that made lawe of kindeWolde every man to lawe binde,And bad a man, such as he woldeToward himself, riht such he scholdeToward an other don also.And thus this worthi lord as tho 3280Sette in balance his oghne astatAnd with himself stod in debat,And thoghte hou that it was noght goodTo se so mochel mannes blodBe spilt for cause of him alone.He sih also the grete mone,Of that the Modres were unglade,And of the wo the children made,Wherof that al his herte tendreth,And such pite withinne engendreth, 3290That him was levere forto cheseHis oghne bodi forto lese,Than se so gret a moerdre wroghtUpon the blod which gulteth noght.Thus for the pite which he tokAlle othre leches he forsok,And put him out of aventureAl only into goddes cure;And seith, “Who that woll maister be,He mot be servant to pite.” 3300So ferforth he was overcomeWith charite, that he hath nomeHis conseil and hise officers,And bad unto hise tresorersThat thei his tresour al abouteDeparte among the povere routeOf wommen and of children bothe,Wherof thei mihte hem fede and clotheAnd saufli tornen hom ayeinWithoute lost of eny grein. 3310Thurgh charite thus he despendethHis good, wherof that he amendethThe povere poeple, and contrevailethThe harm, that he hem so travaileth:And thus the woful nyhtes sorweTo joie is torned on the morwe;Al was thonkinge, al was blessinge,Which erst was wepinge and cursinge;Thes wommen gon hom glade ynowh,Echon for joie on other lowh, 3320And preiden for this lordes hele,Which hath relessed the querele,And hath his oghne will forsakeIn charite for goddes sake.Bot now hierafter thou schalt hiereWhat god hath wroght in this matiere,As he which doth al equite.To him that wroghte chariteHe was ayeinward charitous,And to pite he was pitous: 3330For it was nevere knowe yitThat charite goth unaquit.The nyht, whan he was leid to slepe,The hihe god, which wolde him kepe,Seint Peter and seint Poul him sende,Be whom he wolde his lepre amende.Thei tuo to him slepende appiereFro god, and seide in this manere:“O Constantin, for thou hast servedPite, thou hast pite deserved: 3340Forthi thou schalt such pite haveThat god thurgh pite woll thee save.So schalt thou double hele finde,Ferst for thi bodiliche kinde,And for thi wofull Soule also,Thou schalt ben hol of bothe tuo.And for thou schalt thee noght despeire,Thi lepre schal nomore empeireTil thou wolt sende theruponUnto the Mont of Celion, 3350Wher that Silvestre and his clergieTogedre duelle in compaignieFor drede of thee, which many dayHast ben a fo to Cristes lay,And hast destruid to mochel schameThe prechours of his holy name.Bot now thou hast somdiel appesedThi god, and with good dede plesed,That thou thi pite hast bewaredUpon the blod which thou hast spared. 3360Forthi to thi salvacionThou schalt have enformacioun,Such as Silvestre schal the teche:The nedeth of non other leche.”This Emperour, which al this herde,“Grant merci lordes,” he ansuerde,“I wol do so as ye me seie.Bot of o thing I wolde preie:What schal I telle unto SilvestreOr of youre name or of youre estre?” 3370And thei him tolden what thei hihte,And forth withal out of his sihteThei passen up into the hevene.And he awok out of his swevene,And clepeth, and men come anon:He tolde his drem, and theruponIn such a wise as he hem tellethThe Mont wher that Silvestre duellethThei have in alle haste soght,And founde he was and with hem broght 3380To themperour, which to him toldeHis swevene and elles what he wolde.And whan Silvestre hath herd the king,He was riht joiful of this thing,And him began with al his witTo techen upon holi writFerst how mankinde was forlore,And how the hihe god therforeHis Sone sende from above,Which bore was for mannes love, 3390And after of his oghne choisHe tok his deth upon the crois;And how in grave he was beloke,And how that he hath helle broke,And tok hem out that were him lieve;And forto make ous full believeThat he was verrai goddes Sone,Ayein the kinde of mannes woneFro dethe he ros the thridde day,And whanne he wolde, as he wel may, 3400He styh up to his fader eveneWith fleissh and blod into the hevene;And riht so in the same formeIn fleissh and blod he schal reforme,Whan time comth, the qwike and dedeAt thilke woful dai of drede,Where every man schal take his dom,Als wel the Maister as the grom.The mihti kinges retenueThat dai may stonde of no value 3410With worldes strengthe to defende;For every man mot thanne entendeTo stonde upon his oghne dedesAnd leve alle othre mennes nedes.That dai mai no consail availe,The pledour and the plee schal faile,The sentence of that ilke dayMai non appell sette in delay;Ther mai no gold the Jugge plie,That he ne schal the sothe trie 3420And setten every man upriht,Als wel the plowman as the kniht:The lewed man, the grete clerkSchal stonde upon his oghne werk,And such as he is founde tho,Such schal he be for everemo.Ther mai no peine be relessed,Ther mai no joie ben encressed,Bot endeles, as thei have do,He schal receive on of the tuo. 3430And thus Silvestre with his saweThe ground of al the newe laweWith gret devocion he precheth,Fro point to point and pleinly techethUnto this hethen Emperour;And seith, the hihe creatourHath underfonge his charite,Of that he wroghte such pite,Whan he the children hadde on honde.Thus whan this lord hath understonde 3440Of al this thing how that it ferde,Unto Silvestre he thanne ansuerde,With al his hole herte and seithThat he is redi to the feith.And so the vessel which for blodWas mad, Silvestre, ther it stod,With clene water of the welleIn alle haste he let do felle,And sette Constantin therinneAl naked up unto the chinne. 3450And in the while it was begunne,A liht, as thogh it were a Sunne,Fro hevene into the place comWher that he tok his cristendom;And evere among the holi talesLich as thei weren fisshes skalesTher fellen from him now and eft,Til that ther was nothing beleftOf al his grete maladie.For he that wolde him purefie, 3460The hihe god hath mad him clene,So that ther lefte nothing sene;He hath him clensed bothe tuo,The bodi and the Soule also.Tho knew this Emperour in dedeThat Cristes feith was forto drede,And sende anon hise lettres outeAnd let do crien al aboute,Up peine of deth that noman weyveThat he baptesme ne receive: 3470After his Moder qweene HeleineHe sende, and so betwen hem tweineThei treten, that the Cite allWas cristned, and sche forth withall.This Emperour, which hele hath founde,Withinne Rome anon let foundeTuo cherches, which he dede makeFor Peter and for Poules sake,Of whom he hadde avisioun;And yaf therto possessioun 3480Of lordschipe and of worldes good.Bot how so that his will was goodToward the Pope and his Franchise,Yit hath it proved other wise,To se the worchinge of the dede:For in Cronique this I rede;Anon as he hath mad the yifte,A vois was herd on hih the lifte,Of which al Rome was adrad,And seith: “To day is venym schad 3490In holi cherche of temporal,Which medleth with the spirital.”And hou it stant of that degreeYit mai a man the sothe se:God mai amende it, whan he wile,I can ther to non other skile.Bot forto go ther I began,How charite mai helpe a manTo bothe worldes, I have seid:And if thou have an Ere leid, 3500Mi Sone, thou miht understonde,If charite be take on honde,Ther folweth after mochel grace.Forthi, if that thou wolt pourchaceHow that thou miht Envie flee,Aqueinte thee with charite,Which is the vertu sovereine.Mi fader, I schal do my peine:For this ensample which ye toldeWith al myn herte I have withholde, 3510So that I schal for everemoreEschuie Envie wel the more:And that I have er this misdo,Yif me my penance er I go.And over that to mi matiereOf schrifte, why we sitten hiereIn privete betwen ous tweie,Now axeth what ther is, I preie.Mi goode Sone, and for thi loreI woll thee telle what is more, 3520So that thou schalt the vices knowe:For whan thei be to thee full knowe,Thou miht hem wel the betre eschuie.And for this cause I thenke suieThe forme bothe and the matiere,As now suiende thou schalt hiereWhich vice stant next after this:And whan thou wost how that it is,As thou schalt hiere me devise,Thow miht thiself the betre avise. 3530Explicit Liber Secundus
Mi Sone, if reson be wel peised,Ther mai no vertu ben unpreisedNe vice non be set in pris.Forthi, my Sone, if thou be wys, 2080Do no viser upon thi face,Which as wol noght thin herte embrace:For if thou do, withinne a throweTo othre men it schal be knowe,So miht thou lihtli falle in blameAnd lese a gret part of thi name.And natheles in this degreeFulofte time thou myht seOf suche men that now adayThis vice setten in a say: 2090I speke it for no mannes blame,Bot forto warne thee the same.Mi Sone, as I mai hiere talkeIn every place where I walke,I not if it be so or non,Bot it is manye daies gonThat I ferst herde telle this,How Falssemblant hath ben and isMost comunly fro yer to yereWith hem that duelle among ous here, 2100Of suche as we Lombardes calle.For thei ben the slyeste of alle,So as men sein in toune aboute,To feigne and schewe thing withouteWhich is revers to that withinne:Wherof that thei fulofte winne,Whan thei be reson scholden lese;Thei ben the laste and yit thei chese,And we the ferste, and yit behindeWe gon, there as we scholden finde 2110The profit of oure oghne lond:Thus gon thei fre withoute bondTo don her profit al at large,And othre men bere al the charge.Of Lombardz unto this covine,Whiche alle londes conne engine,Mai Falssemblant in specialBe likned, for thei overal,Wher as they thenken forto duelle,Among hemself, so as thei telle, 2120Ferst ben enformed forto lereA craft which cleped is Fa crere:For if Fa crere come aboute,Thanne afterward hem stant no douteTo voide with a soubtil hondThe beste goodes of the londAnd bringe chaf and take corn.Where as Fa crere goth toforn,In all his weie he fynt no lette;That Dore can non huissher schette 2130In which him list to take entre:And thus the conseil most secreOf every thing Fa crere knoweth,Which into strange place he bloweth,Where as he wot it mai most grieve.And thus Fa crere makth believe,So that fulofte he hath deceived,Er that he mai ben aperceived.Thus is this vice forto drede;For who these olde bokes rede 2140Of suche ensamples as were ar,Him oghte be the more warOf alle tho that feigne chiere,Wherof thou schalt a tale hiere.
Of Falssemblant which is believedFul many a worthi wiht is grieved,And was long time er we wer bore.To thee, my Sone, I wol therforeA tale telle of Falssemblant,Which falseth many a covenant, 2150And many a fraude of fals conseilTher ben hangende upon his Seil:And that aboghten gultelesBothe Deianire and Hercules,The whiche in gret desese felleThurgh Falssemblant, as I schal telle.Whan Hercules withinne a throweAl only hath his herte throweUpon this faire Deianire,It fell him on a dai desire, 2160Upon a Rivere as he stod,That passe he wolde over the flodWithoute bot, and with him ledeHis love, bot he was in dredeFor tendresce of that swete wiht,For he knew noght the forde ariht.Ther was a Geant thanne nyh,Which Nessus hihte, and whanne he sihThis Hercules and Deianyre,Withinne his herte he gan conspire, 2170As he which thurgh his tricherieHath Hercules in gret envie,Which he bar in his herte loke,And thanne he thoghte it schal be wroke.Bot he ne dorste nathelesAyein this worthi HerculesFalle in debat as forto feihte;Bot feigneth Semblant al be sleihteOf frendschipe and of alle goode,And comth where as thei bothe stode, 2180And makth hem al the chiere he can,And seith that as here oghne manHe is al redy forto doWhat thing he mai; and it fell soThat thei upon his Semblant triste,And axen him if that he wisteWhat thing hem were best to done,So that thei mihten sauf and soneThe water passe, he and sche.And whan Nessus the privete 2190Knew of here herte what it mente,As he that was of double entente,He made hem riht a glad visage;And whanne he herde of the passageOf him and hire, he thoghte guile,And feigneth Semblant for a whileTo don hem plesance and servise,Bot he thoghte al an other wise.This Nessus with hise wordes slyheYaf such conseil tofore here yhe 2200Which semeth outward profitableAnd was withinne deceivable.He bad hem of the Stremes depeThat thei be war and take kepe,So as thei knowe noght the pas;Bot forto helpe in such a cas,He seith himself that for here eseHe wolde, if that it mihte hem plese,The passage of the water take,And for this ladi undertake 2210To bere unto that other strondeAnd sauf to sette hire up alonde,And Hercules may thanne alsoThe weie knowe how he schal go:And herto thei acorden alle.Bot what as after schal befalle,Wel payd was Hercules of this,And this Geant also glad is,And tok this ladi up alofteAnd set hire on his schuldre softe, 2220And in the flod began to wade,As he which no grucchinge made,And bar hire over sauf and sound.Bot whanne he stod on dreie groundAnd Hercules was fer behinde,He sette his trowthe al out of mynde,Who so therof be lief or loth,With Deianyre and forth he goth,As he that thoghte to dissevereThe compaignie of hem for evere. 2230Whan Hercules therof tok hiede,Als faste as evere he mihte him spiedeHe hyeth after in a throwe;And hapneth that he hadde a bowe,The which in alle haste he bende,As he that wolde an Arwe sende,Which he tofore hadde envenimed.He hath so wel his schote timed,That he him thurgh the bodi smette,And thus the false wiht he lette. 2240
Bot lest now such a felonie:Whan Nessus wiste he scholde die,He tok to Deianyre his scherte,Which with the blod was of his herteThurghout desteigned overal,And tolde how sche it kepe schalAl prively to this entente,That if hire lord his herte wenteTo love in eny other place,The scherte, he seith, hath such a grace, 2250That if sche mai so mochel makeThat he the scherte upon him take,He schal alle othre lete in veinAnd torne unto hire love ayein.Who was tho glad bot Deianyre?Hire thoghte hire herte was afyreTil it was in hire cofre loke,So that no word therof was spoke.
The daies gon, the yeres passe,The hertes waxen lasse and lasse 2260Of hem that ben to love untrewe:This Hercules with herte neweHis love hath set on Eolen,And therof spieken alle men.This Eolen, this faire maide,Was, as men thilke time saide,The kinges dowhter of Eurice;And sche made Hercules so nyceUpon hir Love and so assote,That he him clotheth in hire cote, 2270And sche in his was clothed ofte;And thus fieblesce is set alofte,And strengthe was put under fote,Ther can noman therof do bote.Whan Deianyre hath herd this speche,Ther was no sorwe forto seche:Of other helpe wot sche non,Bot goth unto hire cofre anon;With wepende yhe and woful herteSche tok out thilke unhappi scherte, 2280As sche that wende wel to do,And broghte hire werk aboute soThat Hercules this scherte on dede,To such entente as she was bedeOf Nessus, so as I seide er.Bot therof was sche noght the ner,As no fortune may be weyved;With Falssemblant sche was deceived,That whan sche wende best have wonne,Sche lost al that sche hath begonne. 2290For thilke scherte unto the bonHis body sette afyre anon,And cleveth so, it mai noght twinne,For the venym that was therinne.And he thanne as a wilde manUnto the hihe wode he ran,And as the Clerk Ovide telleth,The grete tres to grounde he fellethWith strengthe al of his oghne myght,And made an huge fyr upriht, 2300And lepte himself therinne at onesAnd brende him bothe fleissh and bones.Which thing cam al thurgh Falssemblant,That false Nessus the GeantMade unto him and to his wif;Wherof that he hath lost his lif,And sche sori for everemo.
Forthi, my Sone, er thee be wo,I rede, be wel war therfore;For whan so gret a man was lore, 2310It oghte yive a gret conceipteTo warne alle othre of such deceipte.
Grant mercy, fader, I am warSo fer that I nomore darOf Falssemblant take aqueintance;Bot rathere I wol do penanceThat I have feigned chiere er this.Now axeth forth, what so ther isOf that belongeth to my schrifte.
Mi Sone, yit ther is the fifte 2320Which is conceived of Envie,And cleped is Supplantarie,Thurgh whos compassement and guileFul many a man hath lost his whileIn love als wel as otherwise,Hierafter as I schal devise.
The vice of SupplantaciounWith many a fals collacioun,Which he conspireth al unknowe,Full ofte time hath overthrowe 2330The worschipe of an other man.So wel no lif awayte canAyein his sleyhte forto caste,That he his pourpos ate lasteNe hath, er that it be withset.Bot most of alle his herte is setIn court upon these grete OfficesOf dignitees and benefices:Thus goth he with his sleyhte abouteTo hindre and schowve an other oute 2340And stonden with his slyh compasIn stede there an other was;And so to sette himselven inne,He reccheth noght, be so he winne,Of that an other man schal lese,And thus fulofte chalk for cheseHe changeth with ful litel cost,Wherof an other hath the lostAnd he the profit schal receive.For his fortune is to deceive 2350And forto change upon the whelHis wo with othre mennes wel:Of that an other man avaleth,His oghne astat thus up he haleth,And takth the bridd to his beyete,Wher othre men the buisshes bete.
Mi Sone, and in the same wiseTher ben lovers of such emprise,That schapen hem to be relievedWhere it is wrong to ben achieved: 2360For it is other mannes riht,Which he hath taken dai and nihtTo kepe for his oghne StorToward himself for everemor,And is his propre be the lawe,Which thing that axeth no felawe,If love holde his covenant.Bot thei that worchen be supplaunt,Yit wolden thei a man supplaunte,And take a part of thilke plaunte 2370Which he hath for himselve set:And so fulofte is al unknet,That som man weneth be riht fast.For Supplant with his slyhe castFulofte happneth forto moweThing which an other man hath sowe,And makth comun of propreteWith sleihte and with soubtilite,As men mai se fro yer to yere.Thus cleymeth he the bot to stiere, 2380Of which an other maister is.
Forthi, my Sone, if thou er thisHast ben of such professioun,Discovere thi confessioun:Hast thou supplanted eny man?
For oght that I you telle can,Min holi fader, as of the dedeI am withouten eny dredeAl gulteles; bot of my thoghtMi conscience excuse I noght. 2390For were it wrong or were it riht,Me lakketh nothing bote myht,That I ne wolde longe er thisOf other mannes love ywissBe weie of SupplantaciounHave mad apropriaciounAnd holde that I nevere boghte,Thogh it an other man forthoghte.And al this speke I bot of on,For whom I lete alle othre gon; 2400Bot hire I mai noght overpasse,That I ne mot alwey compasse,Me roghte noght be what queintise,So that I mihte in eny wiseFro suche that mi ladi serveHire herte make forto swerveWithouten eny part of love.For be the goddes alle aboveI wolde it mihte so befalle,That I al one scholde hem alle 2410Supplante, and welde hire at mi wille.And that thing mai I noght fulfille,Bot if I scholde strengthe make;And that I dar noght undertake,Thogh I were as was Alisaundre,For therof mihte arise sklaundre;And certes that schal I do nevere,For in good feith yit hadde I levereIn my simplesce forto die,Than worche such Supplantarie. 2420Of otherwise I wol noght seieThat if I founde a seker weie,I wolde as for conclusiounWorche after Supplantacioun,So hihe a love forto winne.Now, fader, if that this be Sinne,I am al redy to redresceThe gilt of which I me confesse.
Mi goode Sone, as of SupplantThee thar noght drede tant ne quant, 2430As for nothing that I have herd,Bot only that thou hast misferdThenkende, and that me liketh noght,For godd beholt a mannes thoght.And if thou understode in sothIn loves cause what it doth,A man to ben a Supplantour,Thou woldest for thin oghne honourBe double weie take kepe:Ferst for thin oghne astat to kepe, 2440To be thiself so wel bethoghtThat thou supplanted were noght,And ek for worschipe of thi nameTowardes othre do the same,And soffren every man have his.Bot natheles it was and is,That in a wayt at alle assaiesSupplant of love in oure daiesThe lief fulofte for the levereForsakth, and so it hath don evere. 2450
Ensample I finde therupon,At Troie how that AgamenonSupplantede the worthi knyhtAchilles of that swete wiht,Which named was Brexeida;And also of Criseida,Whom Troilus to love ches,Supplanted hath Diomedes.
Of Geta and Amphitrion,That whilom weren bothe as on 2460Of frendschipe and of compaignie,I rede how that SupplantarieIn love, as it betidde tho,Beguiled hath on of hem tuo.For this Geta that I of meene,To whom the lusti faire AlmeeneAssured was be weie of love,Whan he best wende have ben aboveAnd sikerest of that he hadde,Cupido so the cause ladde, 2470That whil he was out of the weie,Amphitrion hire love aweieHath take, and in this forme he wroghte.Be nyhte unto the chambre he soghte,Wher that sche lay, and with a wyleHe contrefeteth for the whyleThe vois of Gete in such a wise,That made hire of hire bedd arise,Wenende that it were he,And let him in, and whan thei be 2480Togedre abedde in armes faste,This Geta cam thanne ate lasteUnto the Dore and seide, “Undo.”And sche ansuerde and bad him go,And seide how that abedde al warmHir lief lay naked in hir arm;Sche wende that it were soth.Lo, what Supplant of love doth:This Geta forth bejaped wente,And yit ne wiste he what it mente; 2490Amphitrion him hath supplantedWith sleyhte of love and hire enchaunted:And thus put every man out other,The Schip of love hath lost his Rother,So that he can no reson stiere.And forto speke of this matiereTouchende love and his Supplant,A tale which is acordantUnto thin Ere I thenke enforme.Now herkne, for this is the forme. 2500
Of thilke Cite chief of alleWhich men the noble Rome calle,Er it was set to Cristes feith,Ther was, as the Cronique seith,An Emperour, the which it laddeIn pes, that he no werres hadde:Ther was nothing desobeissantWhich was to Rome appourtenant,Bot al was torned into reste.To some it thoghte for the beste, 2510To some it thoghte nothing so,And that was only unto thoWhos herte stod upon knyhthode:Bot most of alle of his manhodeThe worthi Sone of themperour,Which wolde ben a werreiour,As he that was chivalerousOf worldes fame and desirous,Began his fadre to besecheThat he the werres mihte seche, 2520In strange Marches forto ride.His fader seide he scholde abide,And wolde granten him no leve:Bot he, which wolde noght beleve,A kniht of his to whom he triste,So that his fader nothing wiste,He tok and tolde him his corage,That he pourposeth a viage.If that fortune with him stonde,He seide how that he wolde fonde 2530The grete See to passe unknowe,And there abyde for a throweUpon the werres to travaile.And to this point withoute faileThis kniht, whan he hath herd his lord,Is swore, and stant of his acord,As thei that bothe yonge were;So that in prive conseil thereThei ben assented forto wende.And therupon to make an ende, 2540Tresor ynowh with hem thei token,And whan the time is best thei loken,That sodeinliche in a GaleieFro Romelond thei wente here weieAnd londe upon that other side.The world fell so that ilke tide,Which evere hise happes hath diverse,The grete Soldan thanne of PerseAyein the Caliphe of EgipteA werre, which that him beclipte, 2550Hath in a Marche costeiant.And he, which was a poursuiantWorschipe of armes to atteigne,This Romein, let anon ordeigne,That he was redi everydel:And whan he was arraied welOf every thing which him belongeth,Straght unto Kaire his weie he fongeth,Wher he the Soldan thanne fond,And axeth that withinne his lond 2560He mihte him for the werre serve,As he which wolde his thonk deserve.
The Soldan was riht glad with al,And wel the more in specialWhan that he wiste he was Romein;Bot what was elles in certein,That mihte he wite be no weie.And thus the kniht of whom I seieToward the Soldan is beleft,And in the Marches now and eft, 2570Wher that the dedli werres were,He wroghte such knihthode there,That every man spak of him good.And thilke time so it stod,This mihti Soldan be his wifA Dowhter hath, that in this lifMen seiden ther was non so fair.Sche scholde ben hir fader hair,And was of yeres ripe ynowh:Hire beaute many an herte drowh 2580To bowe unto that ilke laweFro which no lif mai be withdrawe,And that is love, whos natureSet lif and deth in aventureOf hem that knyhthode undertake.
This lusti peine hath overtakeThe herte of this Romein so sore,That to knihthode more and moreProuesce avanceth his corage.Lich to the Leoun in his rage, 2590Fro whom that alle bestes fle,Such was the knyht in his degre:Wher he was armed in the feld,Ther dorste non abide his scheld;Gret pris upon the werre he hadde.Bot sche which al the chance ladde,Fortune, schop the Marches so,That be thassent of bothe tuo,The Soldan and the Caliphe eke,Bataille upon a dai thei seke, 2600Which was in such a wise setThat lengere scholde it noght be let.Thei made hem stronge on every side,And whan it drowh toward the tideThat the bataille scholde be,The Soldan in gret priveteA goldring of his dowhter tok,And made hire swere upon a bokAnd ek upon the goddes alle,That if fortune so befalle 2610In the bataille that he deie,That sche schal thilke man obeieAnd take him to hire housebonde,Which thilke same Ring to hondeHire scholde bringe after his deth.This hath sche swore, and forth he gethWith al the pouer of his londUnto the Marche, where he fondHis enemy full embatailled.
The Soldan hath the feld assailed: 2620Thei that ben hardy sone assemblen,Wherof the dredfull hertes tremblen:That on sleth, and that other sterveth,Bot above all his pris deservethThis knihtly Romein; where he rod,His dedly swerd noman abod,Ayein the which was no defence;Egipte fledde in his presence,And thei of Perse upon the chacePoursuien: bot I not what grace 2630Befell, an Arwe out of a boweAl sodeinly that ilke throweThe Soldan smot, and ther he lay:The chace is left for thilke day,And he was bore into a tente.
The Soldan sih how that it wente,And that he scholde algate die;And to this knyht of Romanie,As unto him whom he most triste,His Dowhter Ring, that non it wiste, 2640He tok, and tolde him al the cas,Upon hire oth what tokne it wasOf that sche scholde ben his wif.Whan this was seid, the hertes lifOf this Soldan departeth sone;And therupon, as was to done,The dede body wel and faireThei carie til thei come at Kaire,Wher he was worthily begrave.
The lordes, whiche as wolden save 2650The Regne which was desolat,To bringe it into good astatA parlement thei sette anon.Now herkne what fell therupon:This yonge lord, this worthi knihtOf Rome, upon the same nihtThat thei amorwe trete scholde,Unto his Bacheler he toldeHis conseil, and the Ring with alHe scheweth, thurgh which that he schal, 2660He seith, the kinges Dowhter wedde,For so the Ring was leid to wedde,He tolde, into hir fader hond,That with what man that sche it fondSche scholde him take to hire lord.And this, he seith, stant of record,Bot noman wot who hath this Ring.
This Bacheler upon this thingHis Ere and his entente leide,And thoghte more thanne he seide, 2670And feigneth with a fals visageThat he was glad, bot his corageWas al set in an other wise.These olde Philosophres wiseThei writen upon thilke while,That he mai best a man beguileIn whom the man hath most credence;And this befell in evidenceToward this yonge lord of Rome.His Bacheler, which hadde tome, 2680Whan that his lord be nihte slepte,This Ring, the which his maister kepte,Out of his Pours awey he dede,And putte an other in the stede.
Amorwe, whan the Court is set,The yonge ladi was forth fet,To whom the lordes don homage,And after that of MariageThei trete and axen of hir wille.Bot sche, which thoghte to fulfille 2690Hire fader heste in this matiere,Seide openly, that men mai hiere,The charge which hire fader bad.
Tho was this Lord of Rome gladAnd drowh toward his Pours anon,Bot al for noght, it was agon:His Bacheler it hath forthdrawe,And axeth ther upon the laweThat sche him holde covenant.The tokne was so sufficant 2700That it ne mihte be forsake,And natheles his lord hath takeQuerelle ayein his oghne man;Bot for nothing that evere he canHe mihte as thanne noght ben herd,So that his cleym is unansuerd,And he hath of his pourpos failed.
This Bacheler was tho consailedAnd wedded, and of thilke EmpireHe was coroned Lord and Sire, 2710And al the lond him hath received;Wherof his lord, which was deceived,A seknesse er the thridde morweConceived hath of dedly sorwe:And as he lay upon his deth,Therwhile him lasteth speche and breth,He sende for the worthiesteOf al the lond and ek the beste,And tolde hem al the sothe tho,That he was Sone and Heir also 2720Of themperour of grete Rome,And how that thei togedre come,This kniht and he; riht as it was,He tolde hem al the pleine cas,And for that he his conseil tolde,That other hath al that he wolde,And he hath failed of his mede:As for the good he takth non hiede,He seith, bot only of the love,Of which he wende have ben above. 2730And therupon be lettre writeHe doth his fader forto witeOf al this matiere as it stod;And thanne with an hertly modUnto the lordes he besoghteTo telle his ladi how he boghteHire love, of which an other gladeth;And with that word his hewe fadeth,And seide, “A dieu, my ladi swete.”The lif hath lost his kindly hete, 2740And he lay ded as eny ston;Wherof was sory manyon,Bot non of alle so as sche.
This false knyht in his degreeArested was and put in hold:For openly whan it was toldOf the tresoun which is befalle,Thurghout the lond thei seiden alle,If it be soth that men suppose,His oghne untrowthe him schal depose. 2750And forto seche an evidence,With honour and gret reverence,Wherof they mihten knowe an ende,To themperour anon thei sendeThe lettre which his Sone wrot.And whan that he the sothe wot,To telle his sorwe is endeles,Bot yit in haste nathelesUpon the tale which he herdeHis Stieward into Perse ferde 2760With many a worthi Romein eke,His liege tretour forto seke;And whan thei thider come were,This kniht him hath confessed thereHow falsly that he hath him bore,Wherof his worthi lord was lore.Tho seiden some he scholde deie,Bot yit thei founden such a weieThat he schal noght be ded in Perse;And thus the skiles ben diverse. 2770Be cause that he was coroned,And that the lond was abandonedTo him, althogh it were unriht,Ther is no peine for him diht;Bot to this point and to this endeThei granten wel that he schal wendeWith the Romeins to Rome ayein.And thus acorded ful and plein,The qwike body with the dedeWith leve take forth thei lede, 2780Wher that Supplant hath his juise.
Wherof that thou thee miht aviseUpon this enformaciounTouchende of Supplantacioun,That thou, my Sone, do noght so:And forto take hiede alsoWhat Supplant doth in other halve,Ther is noman can finde a salvePleinly to helen such a Sor;It hath and schal ben everemor, 2790Whan Pride is with Envie joint,He soffreth noman in good point,Wher that he mai his honour lette.And therupon if I schal setteEnsample, in holy cherche I findeHow that Supplant is noght behinde;God wot if that it now be so:For in Cronique of time agoI finde a tale concordableOf Supplant, which that is no fable, 2800In the manere as I schal telle,So as whilom the thinges felle.
At Rome, as it hath ofte falle,The vicair general of alleOf hem that lieven Cristes feithHis laste day, which non withseith,Hath schet as to the worldes ije,Whos name if I schal specefie,He hihte Pope Nicolas.And thus whan that he passed was, 2810The Cardinals, that wolden saveThe forme of lawe, in the conclaveGon forto chese a newe Pope,And after that thei cowthe agropeHath ech of hem seid his entente:Til ate laste thei assenteUpon an holy clerk reclus,Which full was of gostli vertus;His pacience and his simplesseHath set him into hih noblesse. 2820Thus was he Pope canonized,With gret honour and intronized,And upon chance as it is falle,His name Celestin men calle;Which notefied was be bulleTo holi cherche and to the fulleIn alle londes magnified.Bot every worschipe is envied,And that was thilke time sene:For whan this Pope of whom I meene 2830Was chose, and othre set beside,A Cardinal was thilke tideWhich the papat longe hath desiredAnd therupon gretli conspired;Bot whan he sih fortune is failed,For which long time he hath travailed,That ilke fyr which Ethna brennethThurghout his wofull herte renneth,Which is resembled to Envie,Wherof Supplant and tricherie 2840Engendred is; and nathelesHe feigneth love, he feigneth pes,Outward he doth the reverence,Bot al withinne his conscienceThurgh fals ymaginaciounHe thoghte Supplantacioun.And therupon a wonder wyleHe wroghte: for at thilke whyleIt fell so that of his lignageHe hadde a clergoun of yong age, 2850Whom he hath in his chambre affaited.This Cardinal his time hath waited,And with his wordes slyhe and queinte,The whiche he cowthe wysly peinte,He schop this clerk of which I telleToward the Pope forto duelle,So that withinne his chambre anyhtHe lai, and was a prive wyhtToward the Pope on nyhtes tide.
Mai noman fle that schal betide. 2860This Cardinal, which thoghte guile,Upon a day whan he hath whileThis yonge clerc unto him tok,And made him swere upon a bok,And told him what his wille was.And forth withal a Trompe of brasHe hath him take, and bad him this:“Thou schalt,” he seide, “whan time isAwaite, and take riht good kepe,Whan that the Pope is fast aslepe 2870And that non other man by nyh;And thanne that thou be so slyhThurghout the Trompe into his Ere,Fro hevene as thogh a vois it were,To soune of such prolaciounThat he his meditaciounTherof mai take and understonde,As thogh it were of goddes sonde.And in this wise thou schalt seie,That he do thilke astat aweie 2880Of Pope, in which he stant honoured,So schal his Soule be socouredOf thilke worschipe ate lasteIn hevene which schal evere laste.”
This clerc, whan he hath herd the formeHow he the Pope scholde enforme,Tok of the Cardinal his leve,And goth him hom, til it was Eve,And prively the trompe he hedde,Til that the Pope was abedde. 2890And at the Midnyht, whan he knewhThe Pope slepte, thanne he blewhWithinne his trompe thurgh the wal,And tolde in what manere he schalHis Papacie leve, and takeHis ferste astat: and thus awakeThis holi Pope he made thries,Wherof diverse fantasiesUpon his grete holinesseWithinne his herte he gan impresse. 2900The Pope ful of innocenceConceiveth in his conscienceThat it is goddes wille he cesse;Bot in what wise he may relesseHis hihe astat, that wot he noght.And thus withinne himself bethoght,He bar it stille in his memoire,Til he cam to the Consistoire;And there in presence of hem alleHe axeth, if it so befalle 2910That eny Pope cesse wolde,How that the lawe it soffre scholde.Thei seten alle stille and herde,Was non which to the point ansuerde,For to what pourpos that it menteTher was noman knew his entente,Bot only he which schop the guile.
This Cardinal the same whileAl openly with wordes pleineSeith, if the Pope wolde ordeigne 2920That ther be such a lawe wroght,Than mihte he cesse, and elles noght.And as he seide, don it was;The Pope anon upon the casOf his Papal AutoriteHath mad and yove the decre:And whan that lawe was confermedIn due forme and al affermed,This innocent, which was deceived,His Papacie anon hath weyved, 2930Renounced and resigned eke.That other was nothing to seke,Bot undernethe such a japeHe hath so for himselve schape,That how as evere it him beseme,The Mitre with the DiademeHe hath thurgh Supplantacion:And in his confirmacionUpon the fortune of his graceHis name is cleped Boneface. 2940
Under the viser of Envie,Lo, thus was hid the tricherie,Which hath beguiled manyon.Bot such conseil ther mai be non,With treson whan it is conspired,That it nys lich the Sparke fyredUp in the Rof, which for a throweLith hidd, til whan the wyndes bloweIt blaseth out on every side.This Bonefas, which can noght hyde 2950The tricherie of his Supplant,Hath openly mad his avantHow he the Papacie hath wonne.Bot thing which is with wrong begonneMai nevere stonde wel at ende;Wher Pride schal the bowe bende,He schet fulofte out of the weie:And thus the Pope of whom I seie,Whan that he stod on hih the whiel,He can noght soffre himself be wel. 2960Envie, which is loveles,And Pride, which is laweles,With such tempeste made him erre,That charite goth out of herre:So that upon misgovernanceAyein Lowyz the king of FranceHe tok querelle of his oultrage,And seide he scholde don hommageUnto the cherche bodily.Bot he, that wiste nothing why 2970He scholde do so gret serviseAfter the world in such a wise,Withstod the wrong of that demande;For noght the Pope mai comandeThe king wol noght the Pope obeie.This Pope tho be alle weieThat he mai worche of violenceHath sent the bulle of his sentenceWith cursinge and with enterdit.
The king upon this wrongful plyt, 2980To kepe his regne fro servage,Conseiled was of his BarnageThat miht with miht schal be withstonde.Thus was the cause take on honde,And seiden that the PapacieThei wolde honoure and magnefieIn al that evere is spirital;Bot thilke Pride temporalOf Boneface in his persone,Ayein that ilke wrong al one 2990Thei wolde stonden in debat:And thus the man and noght the statThe Frensche schopen be her mihtTo grieve. And fell ther was a kniht,Sire Guilliam de Langharet,Which was upon this cause set;And therupon he tok a routeOf men of Armes and rod oute,So longe and in a wayt he lay,That he aspide upon a day 3000The Pope was at Avinoun,And scholde ryde out of the tounUnto Pontsorge, the which isA Castell in Provence of his.Upon the weie and as he rod,This kniht, which hoved and abodEmbuisshed upon horse bak,Al sodeinliche upon him brakAnd hath him be the bridel sesed,And seide: “O thou, which hast desesed 3010The Court of France be thi wrong,Now schalt thou singe an other song:Thin enterdit and thi sentenceAyein thin oghne conscienceHierafter thou schalt fiele and grope.We pleigne noght ayein the Pope,For thilke name is honourable,Bot thou, which hast be deceivableAnd tricherous in al thi werk,Thou Bonefas, thou proude clerk, 3020Misledere of the Papacie,Thi false bodi schal abyeAnd soffre that it hath deserved.”
Lo, thus the Supplantour was served;For thei him ladden into FranceAnd setten him to his penanceWithinne a tour in harde bondes,Wher he for hunger bothe hise hondesEet of and deide, god wot how:Of whom the wrytinge is yit now 3030Registred, as a man mai hiere,Which spekth and seith in this manere:
Thin entre lich the fox was slyh,Thi regne also with pride on hihWas lich the Leon in his rage;Bot ate laste of thi passageThi deth was to the houndes like.
Such is the lettre of his CroniqueProclamed in the Court of Rome,Wherof the wise ensample nome. 3040And yit, als ferforth as I dar,I rede alle othre men be war,And that thei loke wel algateThat non his oghne astat translateOf holi cherche in no degreeBe fraude ne soubtilite:For thilke honour which Aaron tokSchal non receive, as seith the bok,Bot he be cleped as he was.What I schal thenken in this cas 3050Of that I hiere now aday,I not: bot he which can and may,Be reson bothe and be natureThe help of every mannes cure,He kepe Simon fro the folde.For Joachim thilke Abbot toldeHow suche daies scholden falle,That comunliche in places alleThe Chapmen of such mercerieWith fraude and with Supplantarie 3060So manye scholden beie and selle,That he ne may for schame telleSo foul a Senne in mannes Ere.Bot god forbiede that it wereIn oure daies that he seith:For if the Clerc beware his feithIn chapmanhod at such a feire,The remenant mot nede empeireOf al that to the world belongeth;For whan that holi cherche wrongeth, 3070I not what other thing schal rihte.And natheles at mannes sihteEnvie forto be preferredHath conscience so differred,That noman loketh to the viceWhich is the Moder of malice,And that is thilke false Envie,Which causeth many a tricherie;For wher he may an other seThat is mor gracious than he, 3080It schal noght stonden in his mihtBot if he hindre such a wiht:And that is welnyh overal,This vice is now so general.
Envie thilke unhapp indrowh,Whan Joab be deceipte slowhAbner, for drede he scholde beWith king David such as was he.And thurgh Envie also it fellOf thilke false Achitofell, 3090For his conseil was noght achieved,Bot that he sih Cusy believedWith Absolon and him forsake,He heng himself upon a stake.
Senec witnesseth openlyHow that Envie proprelyIs of the Court the comun wenche,And halt taverne forto schencheThat drink which makth the herte brenne,And doth the wit aboute renne, 3100Be every weie to compasseHow that he mihte alle othre passe,As he which thurgh unkindeschipeEnvieth every felaschipe;So that thou miht wel knowe and se,Ther is no vice such as he,Ferst toward godd abhominable,And to mankinde unprofitable:And that be wordes bot a feweI schal be reson prove and schewe. 3110
Envie if that I schal descrive,He is noght schaply forto wyveIn Erthe among the wommen hiere;For ther is in him no matiereWherof he mihte do plesance.Ferst for his hevy continanceOf that he semeth evere unglad,He is noght able to ben had;And ek he brenneth so withinne,That kinde mai no profit winne, 3120Wherof he scholde his love plese:For thilke blod which scholde have eseTo regne among the moiste veines,Is drye of thilke unkendeli peinesThurgh whiche Envie is fyred ay.And thus be reson prove I mayThat toward love Envie is noght;And otherwise if it be soght,Upon what side as evere it falle,It is the werste vice of alle, 3130Which of himself hath most malice.For understond that every viceSom cause hath, wherof it groweth,Bot of Envie noman knowethFro whenne he cam bot out of helle.For thus the wise clerkes telle,That no spirit bot of maliceBe weie of kinde upon a viceIs tempted, and be such a weieEnvie hath kinde put aweie 3140And of malice hath his steringe,Wherof he makth his bakbitinge,And is himself therof desesed.So mai ther be no kinde plesed;For ay the mor that he envieth,The more ayein himself he plieth.Thus stant Envie in good espeirTo ben himself the develes heir,As he which is his nexte licheAnd forthest fro the heveneriche, 3150For there mai he nevere wone.
Forthi, my goode diere Sone,If thou wolt finde a siker weieTo love, put Envie aweie.
Min holy fader, reson woldeThat I this vice eschuie scholde:Bot yit to strengthe mi corage,If that ye wolde in avantageTherof sette a recoverir,It were tome a gret desir, 3160That I this vice mihte flee.
Nou understond, my Sone, and se,Ther is phisique for the seke,And vertus for the vices eke.Who that the vices wolde eschuie,He mot be resoun thanne suieThe vertus; for be thilke weieHe mai the vices don aweie,For thei togedre mai noght duelle:For as the water of a welle 3170Of fyr abateth the malice,Riht so vertu fordoth the vice.Ayein Envie is Charite,Which is the Moder of Pite,That makth a mannes herte tendre,That it mai no malice engendreIn him that is enclin therto.For his corage is tempred so,That thogh he mihte himself relieve,Yit wolde he noght an other grieve, 3180Bot rather forto do plesanceHe berth himselven the grevance,So fain he wolde an other ese.Wherof, mi Sone, for thin eseNow herkne a tale which I rede,And understond it wel, I rede.
Among the bokes of latinI finde write of ConstantinThe worthi Emperour of Rome,Suche infortunes to him come, 3190Whan he was in his lusti age,The lepre cawhte in his visageAnd so forth overal aboute,That he ne mihte ryden oute:So lefte he bothe Schield and spere,As he that mihte him noght bestere,And hield him in his chambre clos.Thurgh al the world the fame aros,The grete clerkes ben asentAnd come at his comandement 3200To trete upon this lordes hele.So longe thei togedre dele,That thei upon this medicineApointen hem, and determineThat in the maner as it stodThei wolde him bathe in childes blodWithinne sevene wynter age:For, as thei sein, that scholde assuageThe lepre and al the violence,Which that thei knewe of Accidence 3210And noght be weie of kinde is falle.And therto thei acorden alleAs for final conclusioun,And tolden here opiniounTo themperour: and he anonHis conseil tok, and theruponWith lettres and with seales outeThei sende in every lond abouteThe yonge children forto seche,Whos blod, thei seiden, schal be leche 3220For themperoures maladie.Ther was ynowh to wepe and crieAmong the Modres, whan thei herdeHou wofully this cause ferde,Bot natheles thei moten bowe;And thus wommen ther come ynowheWith children soukende on the Tete.Tho was ther manye teres lete,Bot were hem lieve or were hem lothe,The wommen and the children bothe 3230Into the Paleis forth be broghtWith many a sory hertes thoghtOf hem whiche of here bodi boreThe children hadde, and so forloreWithinne a while scholden se.The Modres wepe in here degre,And manye of hem aswoune falle,The yonge babes criden alle:This noyse aros, the lord it herde,And loked out, and how it ferde 3240He sih, and as who seith abreideOut of his slep, and thus he seide:
“O thou divine pourveance,Which every man in the balanceOf kinde hast formed to be liche,The povere is bore as is the richeAnd deieth in the same wise,Upon the fol, upon the wiseSiknesse and hele entrecomune;Mai non eschuie that fortune 3250Which kinde hath in hire lawe set;Hire strengthe and beaute ben besetTo every man aliche fre,That sche preferreth no degreAs in the disposiciounOf bodili complexioun:And ek of Soule resonableThe povere child is bore als ableTo vertu as the kinges Sone;For every man his oghne wone 3260After the lust of his assayThe vice or vertu chese may.Thus stonden alle men franchised,Bot in astat thei ben divised;To some worschipe and richesse,To some poverte and distresse,On lordeth and an other serveth;Bot yit as every man deservethThe world yifth noght his yiftes hiere.Bot certes he hath gret matiere 3270To ben of good condicioun,Which hath in his subjecciounThe men that ben of his semblance.”And ek he tok a remembranceHow he that made lawe of kindeWolde every man to lawe binde,And bad a man, such as he woldeToward himself, riht such he scholdeToward an other don also.And thus this worthi lord as tho 3280Sette in balance his oghne astatAnd with himself stod in debat,And thoghte hou that it was noght goodTo se so mochel mannes blodBe spilt for cause of him alone.He sih also the grete mone,Of that the Modres were unglade,And of the wo the children made,Wherof that al his herte tendreth,And such pite withinne engendreth, 3290That him was levere forto cheseHis oghne bodi forto lese,Than se so gret a moerdre wroghtUpon the blod which gulteth noght.Thus for the pite which he tokAlle othre leches he forsok,And put him out of aventureAl only into goddes cure;And seith, “Who that woll maister be,He mot be servant to pite.” 3300So ferforth he was overcomeWith charite, that he hath nomeHis conseil and hise officers,And bad unto hise tresorersThat thei his tresour al abouteDeparte among the povere routeOf wommen and of children bothe,Wherof thei mihte hem fede and clotheAnd saufli tornen hom ayeinWithoute lost of eny grein. 3310Thurgh charite thus he despendethHis good, wherof that he amendethThe povere poeple, and contrevailethThe harm, that he hem so travaileth:And thus the woful nyhtes sorweTo joie is torned on the morwe;Al was thonkinge, al was blessinge,Which erst was wepinge and cursinge;Thes wommen gon hom glade ynowh,Echon for joie on other lowh, 3320And preiden for this lordes hele,Which hath relessed the querele,And hath his oghne will forsakeIn charite for goddes sake.
Bot now hierafter thou schalt hiereWhat god hath wroght in this matiere,As he which doth al equite.To him that wroghte chariteHe was ayeinward charitous,And to pite he was pitous: 3330For it was nevere knowe yitThat charite goth unaquit.The nyht, whan he was leid to slepe,The hihe god, which wolde him kepe,Seint Peter and seint Poul him sende,Be whom he wolde his lepre amende.Thei tuo to him slepende appiereFro god, and seide in this manere:“O Constantin, for thou hast servedPite, thou hast pite deserved: 3340Forthi thou schalt such pite haveThat god thurgh pite woll thee save.So schalt thou double hele finde,Ferst for thi bodiliche kinde,And for thi wofull Soule also,Thou schalt ben hol of bothe tuo.And for thou schalt thee noght despeire,Thi lepre schal nomore empeireTil thou wolt sende theruponUnto the Mont of Celion, 3350Wher that Silvestre and his clergieTogedre duelle in compaignieFor drede of thee, which many dayHast ben a fo to Cristes lay,And hast destruid to mochel schameThe prechours of his holy name.Bot now thou hast somdiel appesedThi god, and with good dede plesed,That thou thi pite hast bewaredUpon the blod which thou hast spared. 3360Forthi to thi salvacionThou schalt have enformacioun,Such as Silvestre schal the teche:The nedeth of non other leche.”
This Emperour, which al this herde,“Grant merci lordes,” he ansuerde,“I wol do so as ye me seie.Bot of o thing I wolde preie:What schal I telle unto SilvestreOr of youre name or of youre estre?” 3370And thei him tolden what thei hihte,And forth withal out of his sihteThei passen up into the hevene.And he awok out of his swevene,And clepeth, and men come anon:He tolde his drem, and theruponIn such a wise as he hem tellethThe Mont wher that Silvestre duellethThei have in alle haste soght,And founde he was and with hem broght 3380To themperour, which to him toldeHis swevene and elles what he wolde.And whan Silvestre hath herd the king,He was riht joiful of this thing,And him began with al his witTo techen upon holi writFerst how mankinde was forlore,And how the hihe god therforeHis Sone sende from above,Which bore was for mannes love, 3390And after of his oghne choisHe tok his deth upon the crois;And how in grave he was beloke,And how that he hath helle broke,And tok hem out that were him lieve;And forto make ous full believeThat he was verrai goddes Sone,Ayein the kinde of mannes woneFro dethe he ros the thridde day,And whanne he wolde, as he wel may, 3400He styh up to his fader eveneWith fleissh and blod into the hevene;And riht so in the same formeIn fleissh and blod he schal reforme,Whan time comth, the qwike and dedeAt thilke woful dai of drede,Where every man schal take his dom,Als wel the Maister as the grom.The mihti kinges retenueThat dai may stonde of no value 3410With worldes strengthe to defende;For every man mot thanne entendeTo stonde upon his oghne dedesAnd leve alle othre mennes nedes.That dai mai no consail availe,The pledour and the plee schal faile,The sentence of that ilke dayMai non appell sette in delay;Ther mai no gold the Jugge plie,That he ne schal the sothe trie 3420And setten every man upriht,Als wel the plowman as the kniht:The lewed man, the grete clerkSchal stonde upon his oghne werk,And such as he is founde tho,Such schal he be for everemo.Ther mai no peine be relessed,Ther mai no joie ben encressed,Bot endeles, as thei have do,He schal receive on of the tuo. 3430And thus Silvestre with his saweThe ground of al the newe laweWith gret devocion he precheth,Fro point to point and pleinly techethUnto this hethen Emperour;And seith, the hihe creatourHath underfonge his charite,Of that he wroghte such pite,Whan he the children hadde on honde.Thus whan this lord hath understonde 3440Of al this thing how that it ferde,Unto Silvestre he thanne ansuerde,With al his hole herte and seithThat he is redi to the feith.And so the vessel which for blodWas mad, Silvestre, ther it stod,With clene water of the welleIn alle haste he let do felle,And sette Constantin therinneAl naked up unto the chinne. 3450And in the while it was begunne,A liht, as thogh it were a Sunne,Fro hevene into the place comWher that he tok his cristendom;And evere among the holi talesLich as thei weren fisshes skalesTher fellen from him now and eft,Til that ther was nothing beleftOf al his grete maladie.For he that wolde him purefie, 3460The hihe god hath mad him clene,So that ther lefte nothing sene;He hath him clensed bothe tuo,The bodi and the Soule also.
Tho knew this Emperour in dedeThat Cristes feith was forto drede,And sende anon hise lettres outeAnd let do crien al aboute,Up peine of deth that noman weyveThat he baptesme ne receive: 3470After his Moder qweene HeleineHe sende, and so betwen hem tweineThei treten, that the Cite allWas cristned, and sche forth withall.This Emperour, which hele hath founde,Withinne Rome anon let foundeTuo cherches, which he dede makeFor Peter and for Poules sake,Of whom he hadde avisioun;And yaf therto possessioun 3480Of lordschipe and of worldes good.Bot how so that his will was goodToward the Pope and his Franchise,Yit hath it proved other wise,To se the worchinge of the dede:For in Cronique this I rede;Anon as he hath mad the yifte,A vois was herd on hih the lifte,Of which al Rome was adrad,And seith: “To day is venym schad 3490In holi cherche of temporal,Which medleth with the spirital.”And hou it stant of that degreeYit mai a man the sothe se:God mai amende it, whan he wile,I can ther to non other skile.
Bot forto go ther I began,How charite mai helpe a manTo bothe worldes, I have seid:And if thou have an Ere leid, 3500Mi Sone, thou miht understonde,If charite be take on honde,Ther folweth after mochel grace.Forthi, if that thou wolt pourchaceHow that thou miht Envie flee,Aqueinte thee with charite,Which is the vertu sovereine.
Mi fader, I schal do my peine:For this ensample which ye toldeWith al myn herte I have withholde, 3510So that I schal for everemoreEschuie Envie wel the more:And that I have er this misdo,Yif me my penance er I go.And over that to mi matiereOf schrifte, why we sitten hiereIn privete betwen ous tweie,Now axeth what ther is, I preie.
Mi goode Sone, and for thi loreI woll thee telle what is more, 3520So that thou schalt the vices knowe:For whan thei be to thee full knowe,Thou miht hem wel the betre eschuie.And for this cause I thenke suieThe forme bothe and the matiere,As now suiende thou schalt hiereWhich vice stant next after this:And whan thou wost how that it is,As thou schalt hiere me devise,Thow miht thiself the betre avise. 3530
Explicit Liber Secundus