Incipit Liber Quintus

Incipit Liber QuintusObstat auaricia nature legibus, et queLargus amor poscit, striccius illa vetat.Omne quod est nimium viciosum dicitur aurum,Vellera sicut oues, seruat auarus opes.Non decet vt soli seruabitur es, set amoriDebet homo solam solus habere suam.Ferst whan the hyhe god beganThis world, and that the kinde of manWas falle into no gret encress,For worldes good tho was no press,Bot al was set to the comune.Thei spieken thanne of no fortuneOr forto lese or forto winne,Til Avarice broghte it inne;And that was whan the world was woxeOf man, of hors, of Schep, of Oxe,    10And that men knewen the moneie.Tho wente pes out of the weieAnd werre cam on every side,Which alle love leide asideAnd of comun his propre made,So that in stede of schovele and spadeThe scharpe swerd was take on honde;And in this wise it cam to londe,Wherof men maden dyches depeAnd hyhe walles forto kepe    20The gold which Avarice encloseth.Bot al to lytel him supposeth,Thogh he mihte al the world pourchace;For what thing that he may embraceOf gold, of catel or of lond,He let it nevere out of his hond,Bot get him more and halt it faste,As thogh the world scholde evere laste.So is he lych unto the helle;For as these olde bokes telle,    30What comth therinne, lasse or more,It schal departe neveremore:Thus whanne he hath his cofre loken,It schal noght after ben unstoken,Bot whanne him list to have a syhteOf gold, hou that it schyneth brihte,That he ther on mai loke and muse;For otherwise he dar noght useTo take his part, or lasse or more.So is he povere, and everemore    40Him lacketh that he hath ynowh:An Oxe draweth in the plowh,Of that himself hath no profit;A Schep riht in the same plitHis wolle berth, bot on a dayAn other takth the flees away:Thus hath he, that he noght ne hath,For he therof his part ne tath.To seie hou such a man hath good,Who so that reson understod,    50It is impropreliche seid,For good hath him and halt him teid,That he ne gladeth noght withal,Bot is unto his good a thral,And as soubgit thus serveth he,Wher that he scholde maister be:Such is the kinde of thaverous.Mi Sone, as thou art amerous,Tell if thou farst of love so.Mi fader, as it semeth, no;    60That averous yit nevere I was,So as ye setten me the cas:For as ye tolden here above,In full possession of loveYit was I nevere hier tofore,So that me thenketh wel therfore,I mai excuse wel my dede.Bot of mi will withoute drede,If I that tresor mihte gete,It scholde nevere be foryete,    70That I ne wolde it faste holde,Til god of love himselve woldeThat deth ous scholde part atuo.For lieveth wel, I love hire so,That evene with min oghne lif,If I that swete lusti wifMihte ones welden at my wille,For evere I wolde hire holde stille:And in this wise, taketh kepe,If I hire hadde, I wolde hire kepe,    80And yit no friday wolde I faste,Thogh I hire kepte and hielde faste.Fy on the bagges in the kiste!I hadde ynogh, if I hire kiste.For certes, if sche were myn,I hadde hir levere than a MynOf Gold; for al this worldesricheNe mihte make me so richeAs sche, that is so inly good.I sette noght of other good;    90For mihte I gete such a thing,I hadde a tresor for a king;And thogh I wolde it faste holde,I were thanne wel beholde.Bot I mot pipe nou with lasse,And suffre that it overpasse,Noght with mi will, for thus I woldeBen averous, if that I scholde.Bot, fader, I you herde seieHou thaverous hath yit som weie,    100Wherof he mai be glad; for heMai whanne him list his tresor se,And grope and fiele it al aboute,Bot I fulofte am schet theroute,Ther as my worthi tresor is.So is mi lif lich unto this,That ye me tolden hier tofore,Hou that an Oxe his yock hath boreFor thing that scholde him noght availe:And in this wise I me travaile;    110For who that evere hath the welfare,I wot wel that I have the care,For I am hadd and noght ne have,And am, as who seith, loves knave.Nou demeth in youre oghne thoght,If this be Avarice or noght.Mi Sone, I have of thee no wonder,Thogh thou to serve be put underWith love, which to kinde acordeth:Bot, so as every bok recordeth,    120It is to kinde no plesanceThat man above his sustienanceUnto the gold schal serve and bowe,For that mai no reson avowe.Bot Avarice natheles,If he mai geten his encressOf gold, that wole he serve and kepe,For he takth of noght elles kepe,Bot forto fille hise bagges large;And al is to him bot a charge,    130For he ne parteth noght withal,Bot kepth it, as a servant schal:And thus, thogh that he multeplieHis gold, withoute tresorieHe is, for man is noght amendedWith gold, bot if it be despendedTo mannes us; wherof I redeA tale, and tak therof good hiede,Of that befell be olde tyde,As telleth ous the clerk Ovide.    140Bachus, which is the god of wyn,Acordant unto his divinA Prest, the which Cillenus hihte,He hadde, and fell so that be nyhteThis Prest was drunke and goth astraied,Wherof the men were evele apaiedIn Frigelond, where as he wente.Bot ate laste a cherl him henteWith strengthe of other felaschipe,So that upon his drunkeschipe    150Thei bounden him with chenes faste,And forth thei ladde him als so fasteUnto the king, which hihte Myde.Bot he, that wolde his vice hyde,This courteis king, tok of him hiede,And bad that men him scholde ledeInto a chambre forto kepe,Til he of leisir hadde slepe.And tho this Prest was sone unbounde,And up a couche fro the grounde    160To slepe he was leid softe ynowh;And whanne he wok, the king him drowhTo his presence and dede him chiere,So that this Prest in such manere,Whil that him liketh, there he duelleth:And al this he to Bachus telleth,Whan that he cam to him ayein.And whan that Bachus herde seinHow Mide hath don his courtesie,Him thenkth it were a vilenie,    170Bot he rewarde him for his dede,So as he mihte of his godhiede.Unto this king this god appierethAnd clepeth, and that other hiereth:This god to Mide thonketh faireOf that he was so debonaireToward his Prest, and bad him seie:What thing it were he wolde preie,He scholde it have, of worldes good.This king was glad, and stille stod,    180And was of his axinge in doute,And al the world he caste aboute,What thing was best for his astat,And with himself stod in debatUpon thre pointz, the whiche I findeBen lievest unto mannes kinde.The ferste of hem it is delit,The tuo ben worschipe and profit.And thanne he thoghte, “If that I craveDelit, thogh I delit mai have,    190Delit schal passen in myn age:That is no siker avantage,For every joie bodilySchal ende in wo: delit forthiWol I noght chese. And if worschipeI axe and of the world lordschipe,That is an occupacionOf proud ymaginacion,Which makth an herte vein withinne;Ther is no certain forto winne,    200For lord and knave al is o weie,Whan thei be bore and whan thei deie.And if I profit axe wolde,I not in what manere I scholdeOf worldes good have sikernesse;For every thief upon richesseAwaiteth forto robbe and stele:Such good is cause of harmes fele.And also, thogh a man at onesOf al the world withinne his wones    210The tresor myhte have everydel,Yit hadde he bot o mannes delToward himself, so as I thinke,Of clothinge and of mete and drinke,For more, outake vanite,Ther hath no lord in his degre.”And thus upon the pointz diverseDiverseliche he gan reherceWhat point him thoghte for the beste;Bot pleinly forto gete him reste    220He can so siker weie caste.And natheles yit ate lasteHe fell upon the coveitiseOf gold; and thanne in sondri wiseHe thoghte, as I have seid tofore,Hou tresor mai be sone lore,And hadde an inly gret desirTouchende of such recoverir,Hou that he mihte his cause availeTo gete him gold withoute faile.    230Withinne his herte and thus he preisethThe gold, and seith hou that it peisethAbove al other metall most:“The gold,” he seith, “may lede an hostTo make werre ayein a King;The gold put under alle thing,And set it whan him list above;The gold can make of hate loveAnd werre of pes and ryht of wrong,And long to schort and schort to long;    240Withoute gold mai be no feste,Gold is the lord of man and beste,And mai hem bothe beie and selle;So that a man mai sothly telleThat al the world to gold obeieth.”Forthi this king to Bachus preiethTo grante him gold, bot he excedethMesure more than him nedeth.Men tellen that the maladieWhich cleped is ydropesie    250Resembled is unto this viceBe weie of kinde of Avarice:The more ydropesie drinketh,The more him thursteth, for him thinkethThat he mai nevere drinke his fille;So that ther mai nothing fulfilleThe lustes of his appetit:And riht in such a maner plitStant Avarice and evere stod;The more he hath of worldes good,    260The more he wolde it kepe streyte,And evere mor and mor coveite.And riht in such condiciounWithoute good discreciounThis king with avarice is smite,That al the world it myhte wite:For he to Bachus thanne preide,That wherupon his hond he leide,It scholde thurgh his touche anonBecome gold, and therupon    270This god him granteth as he bad.Tho was this king of Frige glad,And forto put it in assaiWith al the haste that he mai,He toucheth that, he toucheth this,And in his hond al gold it is,The Ston, the Tree, the Lef, the gras,The flour, the fruit, al gold it was.Thus toucheth he, whil he mai lasteTo go, bot hunger ate laste    280Him tok, so that he moste nedeBe weie of kinde his hunger fede.The cloth was leid, the bord was set,And al was forth tofore him fet,His disch, his coppe, his drinke, his mete;Bot whanne he wolde or drinke or ete,Anon as it his mouth cam nyh,It was al gold, and thanne he syhOf Avarice the folie.And he with that began to crie,    290And preide Bachus to foryiveHis gilt, and soffre him forto liveAnd be such as he was tofore,So that he were not forlore.This god, which herde of his grevance,Tok rowthe upon his repentance,And bad him go forth redilyUnto a flod was faste by,Which Paceole thanne hyhte,In which as clene as evere he myhte    300He scholde him waisshen overal,And seide him thanne that he schalRecovere his ferste astat ayein.This king, riht as he herde sein,Into the flod goth fro the lond,And wissh him bothe fot and hond,And so forth al the remenant,As him was set in covenant:And thanne he syh merveilles strange,The flod his colour gan to change,    310The gravel with the smale StonesTo gold thei torne bothe at ones,And he was quit of that he hadde,And thus fortune his chance ladde.And whan he sih his touche aweie,He goth him hom the rihte weieAnd liveth forth as he dede er,And putte al Avarice afer,And the richesse of gold despiseth,And seith that mete and cloth sufficeth.    320Thus hath this king experienceHou foles don the reverenceTo gold, which of his oghne kindeIs lasse worth than is the rindeTo sustienance of mannes fode;And thanne he made lawes goodeAnd al his thing sette upon skile:He bad his poeple forto tileHere lond, and live under the lawe,And that thei scholde also forthdrawe    330Bestaile, and seche non encressOf gold, which is the breche of pes.For this a man mai finde write,Tofor the time, er gold was smiteIn Coign, that men the florin knewe,Ther was welnyh noman untrewe;Tho was ther nouther schield ne spereNe dedly wepne forto bere;Tho was the toun withoute wal,Which nou is closed overal;    340Tho was ther no brocage in londe,Which nou takth every cause on honde:So mai men knowe, hou the florinWas moder ferst of malenginAnd bringere inne of alle werre,Wherof this world stant out of herreThurgh the conseil of Avarice,Which of his oghne propre viceIs as the helle wonderfull;For it mai neveremor be full,    350That what as evere comth therinne,Awey ne may it nevere winne.Bot Sone myn, do thou noght so,Let al such Avarice go,And tak thi part of that thou hast:I bidde noght that thou do wast,Bot hold largesce in his mesure;And if thou se a creature,Which thurgh poverte is falle in nede,Yif him som good, for this I rede    360To him that wol noght yiven here,What peine he schal have elleswhere.Ther is a peine amonges alleBenethe in helle, which men calleThe wofull peine of Tantaly,Of which I schal thee redelyDevise hou men therinne stonde.In helle, thou schalt understonde,Ther is a flod of thilke office,Which serveth al for Avarice:    370What man that stonde schal therinne,He stant up evene unto the chinne;Above his hed also ther hongethA fruyt, which to that peine longeth,And that fruit toucheth evere in onHis overlippe: and theruponSwich thurst and hunger him assaileth,That nevere his appetit ne faileth.Bot whanne he wolde his hunger fede,The fruit withdrawth him ate nede,    380And thogh he heve his hed on hyh,The fruit is evere aliche nyh,So is the hunger wel the more:And also, thogh him thurste soreAnd to the water bowe a doun,The flod in such condiciounAvaleth, that his drinke arecheHe mai noght. Lo nou, which a wreche,That mete and drinke is him so couth,And yit ther comth non in his mouth!    390Lich to the peines of this flodStant Avarice in worldes good:He hath ynowh and yit him nedeth,For his skarsnesse it him forbiedeth,And evere his hunger after moreTravaileth him aliche sore,So is he peined overal.Forthi thi goodes forth withal,Mi Sone, loke thou despende,Wherof thou myht thiself amende    400Bothe hier and ek in other place.And also if thou wolt pourchaceTo be beloved, thou most useLargesce, for if thou refuseTo yive for thi loves sake,It is no reson that thou takeOf love that thou woldest crave.Forthi, if thou wolt grace have,Be gracious and do largesse,Of Avarice and the seknesse    410Eschuie above alle other thing,And tak ensample of Mide kingAnd of the flod of helle also,Where is ynowh of alle wo.And thogh ther were no matiereBot only that we finden hiere,Men oghten Avarice eschuie;For what man thilke vice suie,He get himself bot litel reste.For hou so that the body reste,    420The herte upon the gold travaileth,Whom many a nyhtes drede assaileth;For thogh he ligge abedde naked,His herte is everemore awaked,And dremeth, as he lith to slepe,How besi that he is to kepeHis tresor, that no thief it stele.Thus hath he bot a woful wele.And riht so in the same wise,If thou thiself wolt wel avise,    430Ther be lovers of suche ynowe,That wole unto no reson bowe.If so be that thei come above,Whan thei ben maistres of here love,And that thei scholden be most glad,With love thei ben most bestad,So fain thei wolde it holden al.Here herte, here yhe is overal,And wenen every man be thief,To stele awey that hem is lief;    440Thus thurgh here oghne fantasieThei fallen into Jelousie.Thanne hath the Schip tobroke his cable,With every wynd and is muable.Mi fader, for that ye nou telle,I have herd ofte time telleOf Jelousie, bot what it isYit understod I nevere er this:Wherfore I wolde you beseche,That ye me wolde enforme and teche    450What maner thing it mihte be.Mi Sone, that is hard to me:Bot natheles, as I have herd,Now herkne and thou schalt ben ansuerd.Among the men lacke of manhodeIn Mariage upon wifhodeMakth that a man himself deceiveth,Wherof it is that he conceivethThat ilke unsely maladie,The which is cleped Jelousie:    460Of which if I the propreteSchal telle after the nycete,So as it worcheth on a man,A Fievere it is cotidian,Which every day wol come aboute,Wher so a man be inne or oute.At hom if that a man wol wone,This Fievere is thanne of comun woneMost grevous in a mannes yhe:For thanne he makth him tote and pryhe,    470Wher so as evere his love go;Sche schal noght with hir litel tooMisteppe, bot he se it al.His yhe is walkende overal;Wher that sche singe or that sche dance,He seth the leste contienance,If sche loke on a man asideOr with him roune at eny tyde,Or that sche lawghe, or that sche loure,His yhe is ther at every houre.    480And whanne it draweth to the nyht,If sche thanne is withoute lyht,Anon is al the game schent;For thanne he set his parlementTo speke it whan he comth to bedde,And seith, “If I were now to wedde,I wolde neveremore have wif.”And so he torneth into strifThe lust of loves duete,And al upon diversete.    490If sche be freissh and wel araied,He seith hir baner is displaiedTo clepe in gestes fro the weie:And if sche be noght wel beseie,And that hir list noght to be gladd,He berth an hond that sche is maddAnd loveth noght hire housebonde;He seith he mai wel understonde,That if sche wolde his compaignie,Sche scholde thanne afore his ije    500Schewe al the plesir that sche mihte.So that be daie ne be nyhteSche not what thing is for the beste,Bot liveth out of alle reste;For what as evere him liste sein,Sche dar noght speke a word ayein,Bot wepth and holt hire lippes clos.Sche mai wel wryte, “Sanz repos,”The wif which is to such on maried.Of alle wommen be he waried,    510For with this Fievere of JalousieHis echedaies fantasieOf sorghe is evere aliche grene,So that ther is no love sene,Whil that him list at hom abyde.And whan so is he wol out ryde,Thanne hath he redi his aspieAbidinge in hir compaignie,A janglere, an evel mouthed oon,That sche ne mai nowhider gon,    520Ne speke a word, ne ones loke,That he ne wol it wende and crokeAnd torne after his oghne entente,Thogh sche nothing bot honour mente.Whan that the lord comth hom ayein,The janglere moste somwhat sein;So what withoute and what withinne,This Fievere is evere to beginne,For where he comth he can noght ende,Til deth of him have mad an ende.    530For thogh so be that he ne hiereNe se ne wite in no manereBot al honour and wommanhiede,Therof the Jelous takth non hiede,Bot as a man to love unkinde,He cast his staf, as doth the blinde,And fint defaulte where is non;As who so dremeth on a StonHou he is leid, and groneth ofte,Whan he lith on his pilwes softe.    540So is ther noght bot strif and cheste;Whan love scholde make his feste,It is gret thing if he hir kisse:Thus hath sche lost the nyhtes blisse,For at such time he gruccheth evereAnd berth on hond ther is a levere,And that sche wolde an other wereIn stede of him abedde there;And with tho wordes and with moOf Jelousie, he torneth fro    550And lith upon his other side,And sche with that drawth hire aside,And ther sche wepeth al the nyht.Ha, to what peine sche is dyht,That in hire youthe hath so besetThe bond which mai noght ben unknet!I wot the time is ofte cursed,That evere was the gold unpursed,The which was leid upon the bok,Whan that alle othre sche forsok    560For love of him; bot al to lateSche pleigneth, for as thanne algateSche mot forbere and to him bowe,Thogh he ne wole it noght allowe.For man is lord of thilke feire,So mai the womman bot empeire,If sche speke oght ayein his wille;And thus sche berth hir peine stille.Bot if this Fievere a womman take,Sche schal be wel mor harde schake;    570For thogh sche bothe se and hiere,And finde that ther is matiere,Sche dar bot to hirselve pleine,And thus sche suffreth double peine.Lo thus, mi Sone, as I have write,Thou miht of Jelousie witeHis fievere and his condicion,Which is full of suspecion.Bot wherof that this fievere groweth,Who so these olde bokes troweth,    580Ther mai he finden hou it is:For thei ous teche and telle this,Hou that this fievere of JelousieSomdel it groweth of sotieOf love, and somdiel of untrust.For as a sek man lest his lust,And whan he may no savour gete,He hateth thanne his oughne mete,Riht so this fieverous maladie,Which caused is of fantasie,    590Makth the Jelous in fieble plitTo lese of love his appetitThurgh feigned enformacionOf his ymaginacion.Bot finali to taken hiede,Men mai wel make a liklihiedeBetwen him which is averousOf gold and him that is jelousOf love, for in on degreThei stonde bothe, as semeth me.    600That oon wolde have his bagges stille,And noght departen with his wille,And dar noght for the thieves slepe,So fain he wolde his tresor kepe;That other mai noght wel be glad,For he is evere more adradOf these lovers that gon aboute,In aunter if thei putte him oute.So have thei bothe litel joyeAs wel of love as of monoie.    610Now hast thou, Sone, at my techingeOf Jelousie a knowlechinge,That thou myht understonde this,Fro whenne he comth and what he is,And ek to whom that he is lik.Be war forthi thou be noght sikOf thilke fievere as I have spoke,For it wol in himself be wroke.For love hateth nothing more,As men mai finde be the lore    620Of hem that whilom were wise,Hou that thei spieke in many wise.Mi fader, soth is that ye sein.Bot forto loke therayein,Befor this time hou it is falle,Wherof ther mihte ensample falleTo suche men as be jelousIn what manere it is grevous,Riht fain I wolde ensample hiere.My goode Sone, at thi preiere    630Of suche ensamples as I finde,So as thei comen nou to myndeUpon this point, of time gonI thenke forto tellen on.Ovide wrot of manye thinges,Among the whiche in his wrytingesHe tolde a tale in Poesie,Which toucheth unto Jelousie,Upon a certein cas of love.Among the goddes alle above    640It fell at thilke time thus:The god of fyr, which VulcanusIs hote, and hath a craft forthwithAssigned, forto be the SmithOf Jupiter, and his figureBothe of visage and of statureIs lothly and malgracious,Bot yit he hath withinne his housAs for the likynge of his lifThe faire Venus to his wif.    650Bot Mars, which of batailles isThe god, an yhe hadde unto this:As he which was chivalerous,It fell him to ben amerous,And thoghte it was a gret piteTo se so lusti on as scheBe coupled with so lourde a wiht:So that his peine day and nyhtHe dede, if he hire winne myhte;And sche, which hadde a good insihte    660Toward so noble a knyhtli lord,In love fell of his acord.Ther lacketh noght bot time and place,That he nys siker of hire grace:Bot whan tuo hertes falle in on,So wys await was nevere non,That at som time thei ne mete;And thus this faire lusti sweteWith Mars hath ofte compaignie.Bot thilke unkynde Jelousie,    670Which everemor the herte opposeth,Makth Vulcanus that he supposethThat it is noght wel overal,And to himself he seide, he schalAspie betre, if that he may;And so it fell upon a day,That he this thing so slyhli ledde,He fond hem bothe tuo abeddeAl warm, echon with other naked.And he with craft al redy maked    680Of stronge chenes hath hem bounde,As he togedre hem hadde founde,And lefte hem bothe ligge so,And gan to clepe and crie thoUnto the goddes al aboute;And thei assembled in a routeCome alle at ones forto se.Bot none amendes hadde he,Bot was rebuked hiere and thereOf hem that loves frendes were;    690And seiden that he was to blame,For if ther fell him eny schame,It was thurgh his misgovernance:And thus he loste contienance,This god, and let his cause falle;And thei to skorne him lowhen alle,And losen Mars out of hise bondes.Wherof these erthli housebondesFor evere myhte ensample take,If such a chaunce hem overtake:    700For Vulcanus his wif bewreide,The blame upon himself he leide,Wherof his schame was the more;Which oghte forto ben a loreFor every man that liveth hiere,To reulen him in this matiere.Thogh such an happ of love asterte,Yit scholde he noght apointe his herteWith Jelousie of that is wroght,Bot feigne, as thogh he wiste it noght:    710For if he lete it overpasse,The sclaundre schal be wel the lasse,And he the more in ese stonde.For this thou myht wel understonde,That where a man schal nedes lese,The leste harm is forto chese.Bot Jelousie of his untristMakth that full many an harm arist,Which elles scholde noght arise;And if a man him wolde avise    720Of that befell to Vulcanus,Him oghte of reson thenke thus,That sithe a god therof was schamed,Wel scholde an erthli man be blamedTo take upon him such a vice.Forthi, my Sone, in thin officeBe war that thou be noght jelous,Which ofte time hath schent the hous.Mi fader, this ensample is hard,Hou such thing to the heveneward    730Among the goddes myhte falle:For ther is bot o god of alle,Which is the lord of hevene and helle.Bot if it like you to telleHou suche goddes come aplace,Ye mihten mochel thonk pourchace,For I schal be wel tawht withal.Mi Sone, it is thus overalWith hem that stonden misbelieved,That suche goddes ben believed:    740In sondri place sondri wiseAmonges hem whiche are unwiseTher is betaken of credence;Wherof that I the differenceIn the manere as it is writeSchal do the pleinly forto wite.Er Crist was bore among ous hiere,Of the believes that tho wereIn foure formes thus it was.Thei of Caldee as in this cas    750Hadde a believe be hemselve,Which stod upon the signes tuelve,Forth ek with the Planetes sevene,Whiche as thei sihe upon the hevene.Of sondri constellacionIn here ymaginacionWith sondri kerf and pourtretureThei made of goddes the figure.In thelementz and ek alsoThei hadden a believe tho;    760And al was that unresonable:For thelementz ben servicableTo man, and ofte of Accidence,As men mai se thexperience,Thei ben corrupt be sondri weie;So mai no mannes reson seieThat thei ben god in eny wise.And ek, if men hem wel avise,The Sonne and Mone eclipse bothe,That be hem lieve or be hem lothe,    770Thei soffre; and what thing is passibleTo ben a god is impossible.These elementz ben creatures,So ben these hevenly figures,Wherof mai wel be justefiedThat thei mai noght be deified:And who that takth awey thonourWhich due is to the creatour,And yifth it to the creature,He doth to gret a forsfaiture.    780Bot of Caldee nathelesUpon this feith, thogh it be les,Thei holde affermed the creance;So that of helle the penance,As folk which stant out of believe,They schull receive, as we believe.Of the Caldeus lo in this wiseStant the believe out of assisse:Bot in Egipte worst of alleThe feith is fals, hou so it falle;    790For thei diverse bestes thereHonoure, as thogh thei goddes were:And natheles yit forth withalThre goddes most in specialThei have, forth with a goddesse,In whom is al here sikernesse.Tho goddes be yit cleped thus,Orus, Typhon and Isirus:Thei were brethren alle thre,And the goddesse in hir degre    800Here Soster was and Ysis hyhte,Whom Isirus forlai be nyhteAnd hield hire after as his wif.So it befell that upon strifTyphon hath Isre his brother slain,Which hadde a child to Sone Orayn,And he his fader deth to herteSo tok, that it mai noght asterteThat he Typhon after ne slowh,Whan he was ripe of age ynowh.    810Bot yit thegipcienes troweFor al this errour, which thei knowe,That these brethren ben of myhtTo sette and kepe Egipte upriht,And overthrowe, if that hem like.Bot Ysis, as seith the Cronique,Fro Grece into Egipte cam,And sche thanne upon honde namTo teche hem forto sowe and eere,Which noman knew tofore there.    820And whan thegipcienes syheThe fieldes fulle afore here yhe,And that the lond began to greine,Which whilom hadde be bareigne,—For therthe bar after the kindeHis due charge,—this I finde,That sche of berthe the goddesseIs cleped, so that in destresseThe wommen there upon childingeTo hire clepe, and here offringe    830Thei beren, whan that thei ben lyhte.Lo, hou Egipte al out of syhteFro resoun stant in misbelieveFor lacke of lore, as I believe.Among the Greks, out of the weieAs thei that reson putte aweie,Ther was, as the Cronique seith,Of misbelieve an other feith,That thei here goddes and goddesses,As who seith, token al to gesses    840Of suche as weren full of vice,To whom thei made here sacrifice.The hihe god, so as thei seide,To whom thei most worschipe leide,Saturnus hihte, and king of CreteHe hadde be; bot of his seteHe was put doun, as he which stodIn frenesie, and was so wod,That fro his wif, which Rea hihte,Hise oghne children he to plihte,    850And eet hem of his comun wone.Bot Jupiter, which was his SoneAnd of full age, his fader bondAnd kutte of with his oghne hondHise genitals, whiche als so fasteInto the depe See he caste;Wherof the Greks afferme and seie,Thus whan thei were caste aweie,Cam Venus forth be weie of kinde.And of Saturne also I finde    860How afterward into an yleThis Jupiter him dede exile,Wher that he stod in gret meschief.Lo, which a god thei maden chief!And sithen that such on was he,Which stod most hihe in his degreAmong the goddes, thou miht knowe,These othre, that ben more lowe,Ben litel worth, as it is founde.For Jupiter was the secounde,    870Which Juno hadde unto his wif;And yit a lechour al his lifHe was, and in avouterieHe wroghte many a tricherie;And for he was so full of vices,Thei cleped him god of delices:Of whom, if thou wolt more wite,Ovide the Poete hath write.Bot yit here Sterres bothe tuo,Saturne and Jupiter also,    880Thei have, althogh thei be to blame,Attitled to here oghne name.Mars was an other in that lawe,The which in Dace was forthdrawe,Of whom the clerk VegeciusWrot in his bok, and tolde thus,Hou he into Ytaile cam,And such fortune ther he namThat he a Maiden hath oppressed,Which in hire ordre was professed,    890As sche which was the PrioresseIn Vestes temple the goddesse,So was sche wel the mor to blame.Dame Ylia this ladi nameMen clepe, and ek sche was alsoThe kinges dowhter that was tho,Which Mynitor be name hihte.So that ayein the lawes ryhteMars thilke time upon hire thatRemus and Romulus begat,    900Whiche after, whan thei come in Age,Of knihthode and of vassellageYtaile al hol thei overcomeAnd foundeden the grete Rome;In Armes and of such empriseThei weren, that in thilke wiseHere fader Mars for the mervaileThe god was cleped of bataille.Thei were his children bothe tuo,Thurgh hem he tok his name so,    910Ther was non other cause why:And yit a Sterre upon the SkyHe hath unto his name applied,In which that he is signified.An other god thei hadden eke,To whom for conseil thei beseke,The which was brother to Venus,Appollo men him clepe thus.He was an Hunte upon the helles,Ther was with him no vertu elles,    920Wherof that enye bokes karpe,Bot only that he couthe harpe;Which whanne he walked over londe,Fulofte time he tok on honde,To gete him with his sustienance,For lacke of other pourveance.And otherwhile of his falshedeHe feignede him to conne aredeOf thing which after scholde falle;Wherof among hise sleyhtes alle    930He hath the lewed folk deceived,So that the betre he was received.Lo now, thurgh what creacionHe hath deificacion,And cleped is the god of witTo suche as be the foles yit.An other god, to whom thei soghte,Mercurie hihte, and him ne roghteWhat thing he stal, ne whom he slowh.Of Sorcerie he couthe ynowh,    940That whanne he wolde himself transforme,Fulofte time he tok the formeOf womman and his oghne lefte;So dede he wel the more thefte.A gret spekere in alle thingesHe was also, and of lesingesAn Auctour, that men wiste nonAn other such as he was on.And yit thei maden of this thiefA god, which was unto hem lief,    950And clepede him in tho believesThe god of Marchantz and of thieves.Bot yit a sterre upon the heveneHe hath of the planetes sevene.But Vulcanus, of whom I spak,He hadde a courbe upon the bak,And therto he was hepehalt:Of whom thou understonde schalt,He was a schrewe in al his youthe,And he non other vertu couthe    960Of craft to helpe himselve with,Bot only that he was a SmithWith Jupiter, which in his forgeDiverse thinges made him forge;So wot I noght for what desirThei clepen him the god of fyr.King of Cizile YpolitusA Sone hadde, and EolusHe hihte, and of his fader grantHe hield be weie of covenant    970The governance of every yleWhich was longende unto Cizile,Of hem that fro the lond foreinLeie open to the wynd al plein.And fro thilke iles to the londeFulofte cam the wynd to honde:After the name of him forthiThe wyndes cleped EoliTho were, and he the god of wynd.Lo nou, hou this believe is blynd!    980The king of Crete Jupiter,The same which I spak of er,Unto his brother, which NeptuneWas hote, it list him to comunePart of his good, so that be SchipeHe mad him strong of the lordschipeOf al the See in tho parties;Wher that he wroghte his tyrannyes,And the strange yles al abouteHe wan, that every man hath doute    990Upon his marche forto saile;For he anon hem wolde assaileAnd robbe what thing that thei ladden,His sauf conduit bot if thei hadden.Wherof the comun vois arosIn every lond, that such a losHe cawhte, al nere it worth a stre,That he was cleped of the SeeThe god be name, and yit he isWith hem that so believe amis.    1000This Neptune ek was thilke also,Which was the ferste foundour thoOf noble Troie, and he forthiWas wel the more lete by.The loresman of the Schepherdes,And ek of hem that ben netherdes,Was of Archade and hihte Pan:Of whom hath spoke many a man;For in the wode of Nonarcigne,Enclosed with the tres of Pigne,    1010And on the Mont of ParasieHe hadde of bestes the baillie,And ek benethe in the valleie,Wher thilke rivere, as men seie,Which Ladon hihte, made his cours,He was the chief of governoursOf hem that kepten tame bestes,Wherof thei maken yit the festesIn the Cite Stinfalides.And forth withal yit natheles    1020He tawhte men the forthdrawingeOf bestaile, and ek the makingeOf Oxen, and of hors the same,Hou men hem scholde ryde and tame:Of foules ek, so as we finde,Ful many a soubtiel craft of kindeHe fond, which noman knew tofore.Men dede him worschipe ek therfore,That he the ferste in thilke londWas which the melodie fond    1030Of Riedes, whan thei weren ripe,With double pipes forto pipe;Therof he yaf the ferste lore,Til afterward men couthe more.To every craft for mannes helpeHe hadde a redi wit to helpeThurgh naturel experience:And thus the nyce reverenceOf foles, whan that he was ded,The fot hath torned to the hed,    1040And clepen him god of nature,For so thei maden his figure.An other god, so as thei fiele,Which Jupiter upon SameleBegat in his avouterie,Whom, forto hide his lecherie,That non therof schal take kepe,In a Montaigne forto kepe,Which Dyon hihte and was in Ynde,He sende, in bokes as I finde:    1050And he be name Bachus hihte,Which afterward, whan that he mihte,A wastour was, and al his renteIn wyn and bordel he despente.Bot yit, al were he wonder badde,Among the Greks a name he hadde;Thei cleped him the god of wyn,And thus a glotoun was dyvyn.Ther was yit EsculapiusA godd in thilke time as thus.    1060His craft stod upon Surgerie,Bot for the lust of lecherie,That he to Daires dowhter drowh,It felle that Jupiter him slowh:And yit thei made him noght forthiA god, and was no cause why.In Rome he was long time alsoA god among the Romeins tho;For, as he seide, of his presenceTher was destruid a pestilence,    1070Whan thei to thyle of Delphos wente,And that Appollo with hem senteThis Esculapius his Sone,Among the Romeins forto wone.And there he duelte for a while,Til afterward into that yle,Fro whenne he cam, ayein he torneth,Where al his lyf that he sojornethAmong the Greks, til that he deide.And thei upon him thanne leide    1080His name, and god of medicineHe hatte after that ilke line.An other god of HerculesThei made, which was nathelesA man, bot that he was so strong,In al this world that brod and longSo myhti was noman as he.Merveiles tuelve in his degre,As it was couth in sondri londes,He dede with hise oghne hondes    1090Ayein geantz and Monstres bothe,The whiche horrible were and lothe,Bot he with strengthe hem overcam:Wherof so gret a pris he nam,That thei him clepe amonges alleThe god of strengthe, and to him calle.And yit ther is no reson inne,For he a man was full of sinne,Which proved was upon his ende,For in a rage himself he brende;    1100And such a cruel mannes dedeAcordeth nothing with godhede.Thei hadde of goddes yit an other,Which Pluto hihte, and was the brotherOf Jupiter, and he fro youtheWith every word which cam to mouthe,Of eny thing whan he was wroth,He wolde swere his commun oth,Be Lethen and be Flegeton,Be Cochitum and Acheron,    1110The whiche, after the bokes telle,Ben the chief flodes of the helle:Be Segne and Stige he swor also,That ben the depe Pettes tuoOf helle the most principal.Pluto these othes overalSwor of his commun custummance,Til it befell upon a chance,That he for Jupiteres sakeUnto the goddes let do make    1120A sacrifice, and for that dedeOn of the pettes for his medeIn helle, of which I spak of er,Was granted him; and thus he therUpon the fortune of this thingThe name tok of helle king.Lo, these goddes and wel moAmong the Greks thei hadden tho,And of goddesses manyon,Whos names thou schalt hiere anon,    1130And in what wise thei deceivenThe foles whiche here feith receiven.So as Saturne is sovereinOf false goddes, as thei sein,So is Sibeles of goddessesThe Moder, whom withoute gessesThe folk Payene honoure and serve,As thei the whiche hire lawe observe.Bot forto knowen upon thisFro when sche cam and what sche is,    1140Bethincia the contre hihte,Wher sche cam ferst to mannes sihte;And after was Saturnes wif,Be whom thre children in hire lifSche bar, and thei were cleped thoJuno, Neptunus and Pluto,The whiche of nyce fantasieThe poeple wolde deifie.And for hire children were so,Sibeles thanne was also    1150Mad a goddesse, and thei hire calleThe moder of the goddes alle.So was that name bore forth,And yit the cause is litel worth.A vois unto Saturne toldeHou that his oghne Sone him scholdeOut of his regne putte aweie;And he be cause of thilke weie,That him was schape such a fate,Sibele his wif began to hate    1160And ek hire progenie bothe.And thus, whil that thei were wrothe,Be Philerem upon a daiIn his avouterie he lai,On whom he Jupiter begat;And thilke child was after thatWhich wroghte al that was prophecied,As it tofore is specefied:So that whan Jupiter of CreteWas king, a wif unto him mete    1170The Dowhter of Sibele he tok,And that was Juno, seith the bok.Of his deificacionAfter the false oppinion,That have I told, so as thei meene;And for this Juno was the queeneOf Jupiter and Soster eke,The foles unto hire sieke,And sein that sche is the goddesseOf Regnes bothe and of richesse:    1180And ek sche, as thei understonde,The water Nimphes hath in hondeTo leden at hire oghne heste;And whan hir list the Sky tempeste,The reinbowe is hir Messager.Lo, which a misbelieve is hier!That sche goddesse is of the SkyI wot non other cause why.An other goddesse is Minerve,To whom the Greks obeie and serve:    1190And sche was nyh the grete layOf Triton founde, wher sche layA child forcast, bot what sche wasTher knew noman the sothe cas.Bot in Aufrique sche was leidIn the manere as I have seid,And caried fro that ilke placeInto an Yle fer in Trace,The which Palene thanne hihte,Wher a Norrice hir kepte and dihte.    1200And after, for sche was so wysThat sche fond ferst in hire avisThe cloth makinge of wolle and lyn,Men seiden that sche was divin,And the goddesse of SapienceThei clepen hire in that credence.Of the goddesse which PallasIs cleped sondri speche was.On seith hire fader was Pallant,Which in his time was geant,    1210A cruel man, a bataillous:An other seith hou in his housSche was the cause why he deide.And of this Pallas some ek seideThat sche was Martes wif; and soAmong the men that weren thoOf misbelieve in the rioteThe goddesse of batailles hoteShe was, and yit sche berth the name.Now loke, hou they be forto blame.    1220Saturnus after his exilFro Crete cam in gret perilInto the londes of Ytaile,And ther he dede gret mervaile,Wherof his name duelleth yit.For he fond of his oghne witThe ferste craft of plowh tilinge,Of Eringe and of corn sowinge,And how men scholden sette vinesAnd of the grapes make wynes;    1230Al this he tawhte, and it fell so,His wif, the which cam with him tho,Was cleped Cereres be name,And for sche tawhte also the same,And was his wif that ilke throwe,As it was to the poeple knowe,Thei made of Ceres a goddesse,In whom here tilthe yit thei blesse,And sein that TricoloniusHire Sone goth amonges ous    1240And makth the corn good chep or dere,Riht as hire list fro yer to yeere;So that this wif be cause of thisGoddesse of Cornes cleped is.King Jupiter, which his likingeWhilom fulfelde in alle thinge,So priveliche aboute he laddeHis lust, that he his wille haddeOf Latona, and on hire thatDiane his dowhter he begat    1250Unknowen of his wif Juno.And afterward sche knew it so,That Latona for drede fleddeInto an Ile, wher sche heddeHire wombe, which of childe aros.Thilke yle cleped was Delos;In which Diana was forthbroght,And kept so that hire lacketh noght.And after, whan sche was of Age,Sche tok non hiede of mariage,    1260Bot out of mannes compaignieSche tok hire al to venerieIn forest and in wildernesseFor ther was al hire besinesseBe daie and ek be nyhtes tydeWith arwes brode under the sideAnd bowe in honde, of which sche slowhAnd tok al that hir liste ynowhOf bestes whiche ben chacable:Wherof the Cronique of this fable    1270Seith that the gentils most of alleWorschipen hire and to hire calle,And the goddesse of hihe helles,Of grene trees, of freisshe welles,They clepen hire in that believe,Which that no reson mai achieve.Proserpina, which dowhter wasOf Cereres, befell this cas:Whil sche was duellinge in Cizile,Hire moder in that ilke while    1280Upon hire blessinge and hire hesteBad that sche scholde ben honeste,And lerne forto weve and spinne,And duelle at hom and kepe hire inne.Bot sche caste al that lore aweie,And as sche wente hir out to pleie,To gadre floures in a pleine,And that was under the monteineOf Ethna, fell the same tydeThat Pluto cam that weie ryde,    1290And sodeinly, er sche was war,He tok hire up into his char.And as thei riden in the field,Hire grete beaute he behield,Which was so plesant in his ije,That forto holde in compainieHe weddeth hire and hield hire soTo ben his wif for everemo.And as thou hast tofore herd telleHou he was cleped god of helle,    1300So is sche cleped the goddesseBe cause of him, ne mor ne lesse.Lo, thus, mi Sone, as I thee tolde,The Greks whilom be daies oldeHere goddes hadde in sondri wise,And thurgh the lore of here apriseThe Romeins hielden ek the same.And in the worschipe of here nameTo every godd in specialThei made a temple forth withal,    1310And ech of hem his yeeres daiAttitled hadde; and of araiThe temples weren thanne ordeigned,And ek the poeple was constreignedTo come and don here sacrifice;The Prestes ek in here officeSolempne maden thilke festes.And thus the Greks lich to the bestesThe men in stede of god honoure,Whiche mihten noght hemself socoure,    1320Whil that thei were alyve hiere.And over this, as thou schalt hiere,The Greks fulfild of fantasieSein ek that of the helles hiheThe goddes ben in special,Bot of here name in generalThei hoten alle Satiri.Ther ben of Nimphes proprelyIn the believe of hem also:Oreades thei seiden tho    1330Attitled ben to the monteines;And for the wodes in demeynesTo kepe, tho ben Driades;Of freisshe welles Naiades;And of the Nimphes of the SeeI finde a tale in proprete,Hou Dorus whilom king of Grece,Which hadde of infortune a piece,—His wif forth with hire dowhtres alle,So as the happes scholden falle,    1340With many a gentil womman thereDreint in the salte See thei were:Wherof the Greks that time seiden,And such a name upon hem leiden,Nereïdes that thei ben hote,The Nimphes whiche that thei noteTo regne upon the stremes salte.Lo now, if this believe halte!Bot of the Nimphes as thei telle,In every place wher thei duelle    1350Thei ben al redi obeissantAs damoiselles entendantTo the goddesses, whos serviseThei mote obeie in alle wise;Wherof the Greks to hem besekeWith tho that ben goddesses eke,And have in hem a gret credence.And yit withoute experienceSalve only of illusion,Which was to hem dampnacion,    1360For men also that were dedeThei hadden goddes, as I rede,And tho be name Manes hihten,To whom ful gret honour thei dihten,So as the Grekes lawe seith,Which was ayein the rihte feith.Thus have I told a gret partie;Bot al the hole progenieOf goddes in that ilke timeTo long it were forto rime.    1370Bot yit of that which thou hast herd,Of misbelieve hou it hath ferd,Ther is a gret diversite.Mi fader, riht so thenketh me.Bot yit o thing I you beseche,Which stant in alle mennes speche,The godd and the goddesse of love,Of whom ye nothing hier aboveHave told, ne spoken of her fare,That ye me wolden now declare    1380Hou thei ferst comen to that name.Mi Sone, I have it left for schame,Be cause I am here oghne Prest;Bot for thei stonden nyh thi brestUpon the schrifte of thi matiere,Thou schalt of hem the sothe hiere:And understond nou wel the cas.Venus Saturnes dowhter was,Which alle danger putte aweieOf love, and fond to lust a weie;    1390So that of hire in sondri placeDiverse men felle into grace,And such a lusti lif sche ladde,That sche diverse children hadde,Nou on be this, nou on be that.Of hire it was that Mars beyatA child, which cleped was Armene;Of hire also cam Andragene,To whom Mercurie fader was:Anchises begat Eneas    1400Of hire also, and EriconBiten begat, and therupon,Whan that sche sih ther was non other,Be Jupiter hire oghne brotherSche lay, and he begat Cupide.And thilke Sone upon a tyde,Whan he was come unto his Age,He hadde a wonder fair visage,And fond his Moder amourous,And he was also lecherous:    1410So whan thei weren bothe al one,As he which yhen hadde noneTo se reson, his Moder kiste;And sche also, that nothing wisteBot that which unto lust belongeth,To ben hire love him underfongeth.Thus was he blind, and sche unwys:Bot natheles this cause it is,Why Cupide is the god of love,For he his moder dorste love.    1420And sche, which thoghte hire lustes fonde,Diverse loves tok in honde,Wel mo thanne I the tolde hiere:And for sche wolde hirselve skiere,Sche made comun that desport,And sette a lawe of such a port,That every womman mihte takeWhat man hire liste, and noght forsakeTo ben als comun as sche wolde.Sche was the ferste also which tolde    1430That wommen scholde here bodi selle;Semiramis, so as men telle,Of Venus kepte thilke aprise,And so dede in the same wiseOf Rome faire Neabole,Which liste hire bodi to rigole;Sche was to every man felawe,And hild the lust of thilke lawe,Which Venus of hirself began;Wherof that sche the name wan,    1440Why men hire clepen the goddesseOf love and ek of gentilesse,Of worldes lust and of plesance.Se nou the foule mescreanceOf Greks in thilke time tho,Whan Venus tok hire name so.Ther was no cause under the MoneOf which thei hadden tho to done,Of wel or wo wher so it was,That thei ne token in that cas    1450A god to helpe or a goddesse.Wherof, to take mi witnesse,The king of Bragmans DindimusWrot unto Alisandre thus:In blaminge of the Grekes feithAnd of the misbelieve, he seithHow thei for every membre haddenA sondri god, to whom thei spraddenHere armes, and of help besoghten.Minerve for the hed thei soghten,    1460For sche was wys, and of a manThe wit and reson which he canIs in the celles of the brayn,Wherof thei made hire soverain.Mercurie, which was in his dawesA gret spekere of false lawes,On him the kepinge of the tungeThei leide, whan thei spieke or sunge.For Bachus was a glotoun eke,Him for the throte thei beseke,    1470That he it wolde waisshen ofteWith swote drinkes and with softe.The god of schuldres and of armesWas Hercules; for he in armesThe myhtieste was to fihte,To him tho Limes they behihte.The god whom that thei clepen MartThe brest to kepe hath for his part,Forth with the herte, in his ymageThat he adresce the corage.    1480And of the galle the goddesse,For sche was full of hastifesseOf wraththe and liht to grieve also,Thei made and seide it was Juno.Cupide, which the brond afyreBar in his hond, he was the SireOf the Stomak, which builleth evere,Wherof the lustes ben the levere.To the goddesse Cereres,Which of the corn yaf hire encress    1490Upon the feith that tho was take,The wombes cure was betake;And Venus thurgh the Lecherie,For which that thei hire deifie,Sche kept al doun the remenantTo thilke office appourtenant.Thus was dispers in sondri wiseThe misbelieve, as I devise,With many an ymage of entaile,Of suche as myhte hem noght availe;    1500For thei withoute lyves chiereUnmyhti ben to se or hiereOr speke or do or elles fiele;And yit the foles to hem knele,Which is here oghne handes werk.Ha lord, hou this believe is derk,And fer fro resonable wit!And natheles thei don it yit:That was to day a ragged tre,To morwe upon his majeste    1510Stant in the temple wel besein.How myhte a mannes resoun seinThat such a Stock mai helpe or grieve?Bot thei that ben of such believeAnd unto suche goddes calle,It schal to hem riht so befalle,And failen ate moste nede.Bot if thee list to taken hiedeAnd of the ferste ymage wite,Petornius therof hath write    1520And ek Nigargorus also;And thei afferme and write so,That Promotheus was toforeAnd fond the ferste craft therfore,And Cirophanes, as thei telle,Thurgh conseil which was take in helle,In remembrance of his lignageLet setten up the ferste ymage.Of Cirophanes seith the bok,That he for sorwe, which he tok    1530Of that he sih his Sone ded,Of confort knew non other red,Bot let do make in remembranceA faire ymage of his semblanceAnd sette it in the market place,Which openly tofore his faceStod every dai to don him ese.And thei that thanne wolden pleseThe fader, scholden it obeie,Whan that they comen thilke weie.    1540And of Ninus king of AssireI rede hou that in his empireHe was next after the secoundeOf hem that ferst ymages founde.For he riht in semblable casOf Belus, which his fader wasFro Nembroth in the rihte line,Let make of gold and Stones fineA precious ymage richeAfter his fader evene liche;    1550And therupon a lawe he sette,That every man of pure detteWith sacrifice and with truageHonoure scholde thilke ymage:So that withinne time it fell,Of Belus cam the name of Bel,Of Bel cam Belzebub, and soThe misbelieve wente tho.The thridde ymage next to thisWas, whan the king of Grece Apis    1560Was ded, thei maden a figureIn resemblance of his stature.Of this king Apis seith the bokThat Serapis his name tok,In whom thurgh long continuanceOf misbelieve a gret creanceThei hadden, and the reverenceOf Sacrifice and of encenceTo him thei made: and as thei telle,Among the wondres that befelle,    1570Whan Alisandre fro CandaceCam ridende, in a wilde placeUndur an hull a Cave he fond;And Candalus, which in that londWas bore, and was Candaces Sone,Him tolde hou that of commun woneThe goddes were in thilke cave.And he, that wolde assaie and haveA knowlechinge if it be soth,Liht of his hors and in he goth,    1580And fond therinne that he soghte:For thurgh the fendes sleihte him thoghte,Amonges othre goddes moThat Serapis spak to him tho,Whom he sih there in gret arrai.And thus the fend fro dai to daiThe worschipe of ydolatrieDrowh forth upon the fantasieOf hem that weren thanne blindeAnd couthen noght the trouthe finde.    1590Thus hast thou herd in what degreOf Grece, Egipte and of CaldeeThe misbelieves whilom stode;And hou so that thei be noght goodeNe trewe, yit thei sprungen oute,Wherof the wyde world abouteHis part of misbelieve tok.Til so befell, as seith the bok,That god a poeple for himselveHath chose of the lignages tuelve,    1600Wherof the sothe redely,As it is write in Genesi,I thenke telle in such a wiseThat it schal be to thin apprise.After the flod, fro which NoëWas sauf, the world in his degreWas mad, as who seith, newe ayein,Of flour, of fruit, of gras, of grein,Of beste, of bridd and of mankinde,Which evere hath be to god unkinde:    1610For noght withstondende al the fare,Of that this world was mad so bareAnd afterward it was restored,Among the men was nothing moredTowardes god of good lyvynge,Bot al was torned to likingeAfter the fleissh, so that foryeteWas he which yaf hem lif and mete,Of hevene and Erthe creatour.And thus cam forth the grete errour,    1620That thei the hihe god ne knewe,Bot maden othre goddes newe,As thou hast herd me seid tofore:Ther was noman that time bore,That he ne hadde after his choisA god, to whom he yaf his vois.Wherof the misbelieve camInto the time of Habraham:Bot he fond out the rihte weie,Hou only that men scholde obeie    1630The hihe god, which weldeth al,And evere hath don and evere schal,In hevene, in Erthe and ek in helle;Ther is no tunge his miht mai telle.This Patriarch to his lignageForbad, that thei to non ymageEncline scholde in none wise,Bot here offrende and sacrifiseWith al the hole hertes loveUnto the mihti god above    1640Thei scholden yive and to no mo:And thus in thilke time thoBegan the Secte upon this Erthe,Which of believes was the ferthe.Of rihtwisnesse it was conceived,So moste it nedes be receivedOf him that alle riht is inne,The hihe god, which wolde winneA poeple unto his oghne feith.On Habraham the ground he leith,    1650And made him forto multeplieInto so gret a progenie,That thei Egipte al overspradde.Bot Pharao with wrong hem laddeIn servitute ayein the pes,Til god let sende MoisesTo make the deliverance;And for his poeple gret venganceHe tok, which is to hiere a wonder.The king was slain, the lond put under,    1660God bad the rede See divide,Which stod upriht on either sideAnd yaf unto his poeple a weie,That thei on fote it passe dreieAnd gon so forth into desert:Wher forto kepe hem in covert,The daies, whan the Sonne brente,A large cloude hem overwente,And forto wissen hem be nyhte,A firy Piler hem alyhte.    1670And whan that thei for hunger pleigne,The myhti god began to reyneManna fro hevene doun to grounde,Wherof that ech of hem hath foundeHis fode, such riht as him liste;And for thei scholde upon him triste,Riht as who sette a tonne abroche,He percede the harde roche,And sprong out water al at wille,That man and beste hath drunke his fille:    1680And afterward he yaf the laweTo Moises, that hem withdraweThei scholden noght fro that he bad.And in this wise thei be lad,Til thei toke in possessionThe londes of promission,Wher that Caleph and JosuëThe Marches upon such degreDeparten, after the lignageThat ech of hem as Heritage    1690His porpartie hath underfonge.And thus stod this believe longe,Which of prophetes was governed;And thei hadde ek the poeple lernedOf gret honour that scholde hem falle;Bot ate moste nede of alleThei faileden, whan Crist was bore.Bot hou that thei here feith have bore,It nedeth noght to tellen al,The matiere is so general:    1700Whan Lucifer was best in heveneAnd oghte moste have stonde in evene,Towardes god he tok debat;And for that he was obstinat,And wolde noght to trouthe encline,He fell for evere into ruine:And Adam ek in Paradis,Whan he stod most in al his prisAfter thastat of Innocence,Ayein the god brak his defence    1710And fell out of his place aweie:And riht be such a maner weieThe Jwes in here beste plit,Whan that thei scholden most parfitHave stonde upon the prophecie,Tho fellen thei to most folie,And him which was fro hevene come,And of a Maide his fleissh hath nome,And was among hem bore and fedd,As men that wolden noght be spedd    1720Of goddes Sone, with o voisThei hinge and slowhe upon the crois.Wherof the parfit of here laweFro thanne forth hem was withdrawe,So that thei stonde of no merit,Bot in truage as folk soubgitWithoute proprete of placeThei liven out of goddes grace,Dispers in alle londes oute.And thus the feith is come aboute,    1730That whilom in the Jewes stod,Which is noght parfihtliche good.To speke as it is nou befalle,Ther is a feith aboven alle,In which the trouthe is comprehended,Wherof that we ben alle amended.The hihe almyhti majeste,Of rihtwisnesse and of pite,The Sinne which that Adam wroghte,Whan he sih time, ayein he boghte,    1740And sende his Sone fro the heveneTo sette mannes Soule in evene,Which thanne was so sore falleUpon the point which was befalle,That he ne mihte himself arise.Gregoire seith in his aprise,It helpeth noght a man be bore,If goddes Sone were unbore;For thanne thurgh the ferste Sinne,Which Adam whilom broghte ous inne,    1750Ther scholden alle men be lost;Bot Crist restoreth thilke lost,And boghte it with his fleissh and blod.And if we thenken hou it stodOf thilke rancoun which he payde,As seint Gregoire it wrot and sayde,Al was behovely to the man:For that wherof his wo beganWas after cause of al his welthe,Whan he which is the welle of helthe,    1760The hihe creatour of lif,Upon the nede of such a strifSo wolde for his creatureTake on himself the forsfaitureAnd soffre for the mannes sake.Thus mai no reson wel forsakeThat thilke Senne originalNe was the cause in specialOf mannes worschipe ate laste,Which schal withouten ende laste.    1770For be that cause the godhedeAssembled was to the manhedeIn the virgine, where he nomOure fleissh and verai man becomOf bodely fraternite;Wherof the man in his degreStant more worth, as I have told,Than he stod erst be manyfold,Thurgh baptesme of the newe lawe,Of which Crist lord is and felawe.    1780And thus the hihe goddes myht,Which was in the virgine alyht,The mannes Soule hath reconsiled,Which hadde longe ben exiled.So stant the feith upon believe,Withoute which mai non achieveTo gete him Paradis ayein:Bot this believe is so certein,So full of grace and of vertu,That what man clepeth to Jhesu    1790In clene lif forthwith good dede,He mai noght faile of hevene mede,Which taken hath the rihte feith;For elles, as the gospel seith,Salvacion ther mai be non.And forto preche theruponCrist bad to hise Apostles alle,The whos pouer as nou is falleOn ous that ben of holi cherche,If we the goode dedes werche;    1800For feith only sufficeth noght,Bot if good dede also be wroght.Now were it good that thou forthi,Which thurgh baptesme proprelyArt unto Cristes feith professed,Be war that thou be noght oppressedWith Anticristes lollardie.For as the Jwes prophecieWas set of god for avantage,Riht so this newe tapinage    1810Of lollardie goth abouteTo sette Cristes feith in doute.The seintz that weren ous tofore,Be whom the feith was ferst upbore,That holi cherche stod relieved,Thei oghten betre be believedThan these, whiche that men knoweNoght holy, thogh thei feigne and bloweHere lollardie in mennes Ere.Bot if thou wolt live out of fere,    1820Such newe lore, I rede, eschuie,And hold forth riht the weie and suie,As thine Ancestres dede er this:So schalt thou noght believe amis.Crist wroghte ferst and after tawhte,So that the dede his word arawhte;He yaf ensample in his persone,And we the wordes have al one,Lich to the Tree with leves grene,Upon the which no fruit is sene.    1830The Priest Thoas, which of MinerveThe temple hadde forto serve,And the Palladion of TroieKepte under keie, for monoie,Of Anthenor which he hath nome,Hath soffred Anthenor to comeAnd the Palladion to stele,Wherof the worschipe and the weleOf the Troiens was overthrowe.Bot Thoas at the same throwe,    1840Whan Anthenor this Juel tok,Wynkende caste awei his lokFor a deceipte and for a wyle:As he that scholde himself beguile,He hidde his yhen fro the sihte,And wende wel that he so mihteExcuse his false conscience.I wot noght if thilke evidenceNou at this time in here estatzExcuse mihte the Prelatz,    1850Knowende hou that the feith discrescethAnd alle moral vertu cesseth,Wherof that thei the keies bere,Bot yit hem liketh noght to stereHere gostliche yhe forto seThe world in his adversite;Thei wol no labour undertakeTo kepe that hem is betake.Crist deide himselve for the feith,Bot nou our feerfull prelat seith,    1860“The lif is suete,” and that he kepeth,So that the feith unholpe slepeth,And thei unto here ese entendenAnd in here lust her lif despenden,And every man do what him list.Thus stant this world fulfild of Mist,That noman seth the rihte weie:The wardes of the cherche keieThurgh mishandlinge ben myswreynt,The worldes wawe hath welnyh dreynt    1870The Schip which Peter hath to stiere,The forme is kept, bot the matiereTransformed is in other wise.Bot if thei weren gostli wise,And that the Prelatz weren goode,As thei be olde daies stode,It were thanne litel nedeAmong the men to taken hiedeOf that thei hieren Pseudo telle,Which nou is come forto duelle,    1880To sowe cokkel with the corn,So that the tilthe is nyh forlorn,Which Crist sew ferst his oghne hond.Nou stant the cockel in the lond,Wher stod whilom the goode grein,For the Prelatz nou, as men sein,Forslowthen that thei scholden tile.And that I trowe be the skile,Whan ther is lacke in hem above,The poeple is stranged to the love    1890Of trouthe, in cause of ignorance;For wher ther is no pourveanceOf liht, men erren in the derke.Bot if the Prelatz wolden werkeUpon the feith which thei ous teche,Men scholden noght here weie secheWithoute liht, as now is used:Men se the charge aldai refused,Which holi cherche hath undertake.Bot who that wolde ensample take,    1900Gregoire upon his OmelieAyein the Slouthe of PrelacieCompleigneth him, and thus he seith:“Whan Peter, fader of the feith,At domesdai schal with him bringeJudeam, which thurgh his prechingeHe wan, and Andrew with AchaieSchal come his dette forto paie,And Thomas ek with his beyeteOf Ynde, and Poul the routes grete    1910Of sondri londes schal presente,And we fulfild of lond and rente,Which of this world we holden hiere,With voide handes schul appiere,Touchende oure cure spirital,Which is our charge in special,I not what thing it mai amonteUpon thilke ende of oure accompte,Wher Crist himself is Auditour,Which takth non hiede of vein honour.”    1920Thoffice of the ChancellerieOr of the kinges TresorieNe for the writ ne for the tailleTo warant mai noght thanne availe;The world, which nou so wel we trowe,Schal make ous thanne bot a mowe:So passe we withoute mede,That we non otherwise spede,Bot as we rede that he spedde,The which his lordes besant hedde    1930And therupon gat non encress.Bot at this time natheles,What other man his thonk deserve,The world so lusti is to serve,That we with him ben all acorded,And that is wist and wel recordedThurghout this Erthe in alle londesLet knyhtes winne with here hondes,For oure tunge schal be stilleAnd stonde upon the fleisshes wille.    1940It were a travail forto precheThe feith of Crist, as forto techeThe folk Paiene, it wol noght be;Bot every Prelat holde his SeeWith al such ese as he mai geteOf lusti drinke and lusti mete,Wherof the bodi fat and fullIs unto gostli labour dullAnd slowh to handle thilke plowh.Bot elles we ben swifte ynowh    1950Toward the worldes Avarice;And that is as a sacrifice,Which, after that thapostel seith,Is openly ayein the feithUnto thidoles yove and granted:Bot natheles it is nou haunted,And vertu changed into vice,So that largesce is Avarice,In whos chapitre now we trete.Mi fader, this matiere is bete    1960So fer, that evere whil I liveI schal the betre hede yiveUnto miself be many weie:Bot over this nou wolde I preieTo wite what the branches areOf Avarice, and hou thei fareAls wel in love as otherwise.Mi Sone, and I thee schal deviseIn such a manere as thei stonde,So that thou schalt hem understonde.    1970Dame Avarice is noght soleine,Which is of gold the Capiteine;Bot of hir Court in sondri wiseAfter the Scole of hire apriseSche hath of Servantz manyon,Wherof that Covoitise is on;Which goth the large world aboute,To seche thavantages oute,Wher that he mai the profit winneTo Avarice, and bringth it inne.    1980That on hald and that other draweth,Ther is no day which hem bedaweth,No mor the Sonne than the Mone,Whan ther is eny thing to done,And namely with Covoitise;For he stant out of al assisseOf resonable mannes fare.Wher he pourposeth him to fareUpon his lucre and his beyete,The smale path, the large Strete,    1990The furlong and the longe Mile,Al is bot on for thilke while:And for that he is such on holde,Dame Avarice him hath withholde,As he which is the principalOutward, for he is overalA pourveour and an aspie.For riht as of an hungri PieThe storve bestes ben awaited,Riht so is Covoitise afaited    2000To loke where he mai pourchace,For be his wille he wolde embraceAl that this wyde world beclippeth;Bot evere he somwhat overhippeth,That he ne mai noght al fulfilleThe lustes of his gredi wille.Bot where it falleth in a lond,That Covoitise in myhti hondIs set, it is ful hard to fiede;For thanne he takth non other hiede,    2010Bot that he mai pourchace and gete,His conscience hath al foryete,And not what thing it mai amonteThat he schal afterward acompte.Bote as the Luce in his degreOf tho that lasse ben than heThe fisshes griedeli devoureth,So that no water hem socoureth,Riht so no lawe mai rescoweFro him that wol no riht allowe;    2020For wher that such on is of myht,His will schal stonde in stede of riht.Thus be the men destruid fulofte,Til that the grete god alofteAyein so gret a covoitiseRedresce it in his oghne wise:And in ensample of alle thoI finde a tale write so,The which, for it is good to liere,Hierafterward thou schalt it hiere.    2030Whan Rome stod in noble plit,Virgile, which was tho parfit,A Mirour made of his clergieAnd sette it in the tounes ijeOf marbre on a piler withoute;That thei be thritty Mile abouteBe daie and ek also be nyhteIn that Mirour beholde myhteHere enemys, if eny were,With al here ordinance there,    2040Which thei ayein the Cite caste:So that, whil thilke Mirour laste,Ther was no lond which mihte achieveWith werre Rome forto grieve;Wherof was gret envie tho.And fell that ilke time so,That Rome hadde werres strongeAyein Cartage, and stoden longeThe tuo Cites upon debat.Cartage sih the stronge astat    2050Of Rome in thilke Mirour stonde,And thoghte al prively to fondeTo overthrowe it be som wyle.And Hanybal was thilke whileThe Prince and ledere of Cartage,Which hadde set al his corageUpon knihthod in such a wise,That he be worthi and be wiseAnd be non othre was conseiled,Wherof the world is yit merveiled    2060Of the maistries that he wroghteUpon the marches whiche he soghte.And fell in thilke time also,The king of Puile, which was tho,Thoghte ayein Rome to rebelle,And thus was take the querele,Hou to destruie this Mirour.

Obstat auaricia nature legibus, et queLargus amor poscit, striccius illa vetat.Omne quod est nimium viciosum dicitur aurum,Vellera sicut oues, seruat auarus opes.Non decet vt soli seruabitur es, set amoriDebet homo solam solus habere suam.

Ferst whan the hyhe god beganThis world, and that the kinde of manWas falle into no gret encress,For worldes good tho was no press,Bot al was set to the comune.Thei spieken thanne of no fortuneOr forto lese or forto winne,Til Avarice broghte it inne;And that was whan the world was woxeOf man, of hors, of Schep, of Oxe,    10And that men knewen the moneie.Tho wente pes out of the weieAnd werre cam on every side,Which alle love leide asideAnd of comun his propre made,So that in stede of schovele and spadeThe scharpe swerd was take on honde;And in this wise it cam to londe,Wherof men maden dyches depeAnd hyhe walles forto kepe    20The gold which Avarice encloseth.Bot al to lytel him supposeth,Thogh he mihte al the world pourchace;For what thing that he may embraceOf gold, of catel or of lond,He let it nevere out of his hond,Bot get him more and halt it faste,As thogh the world scholde evere laste.So is he lych unto the helle;For as these olde bokes telle,    30What comth therinne, lasse or more,It schal departe neveremore:Thus whanne he hath his cofre loken,It schal noght after ben unstoken,Bot whanne him list to have a syhteOf gold, hou that it schyneth brihte,That he ther on mai loke and muse;For otherwise he dar noght useTo take his part, or lasse or more.So is he povere, and everemore    40Him lacketh that he hath ynowh:An Oxe draweth in the plowh,Of that himself hath no profit;A Schep riht in the same plitHis wolle berth, bot on a dayAn other takth the flees away:Thus hath he, that he noght ne hath,For he therof his part ne tath.To seie hou such a man hath good,Who so that reson understod,    50It is impropreliche seid,For good hath him and halt him teid,That he ne gladeth noght withal,Bot is unto his good a thral,And as soubgit thus serveth he,Wher that he scholde maister be:Such is the kinde of thaverous.

Mi Sone, as thou art amerous,Tell if thou farst of love so.

Mi fader, as it semeth, no;    60That averous yit nevere I was,So as ye setten me the cas:For as ye tolden here above,In full possession of loveYit was I nevere hier tofore,So that me thenketh wel therfore,I mai excuse wel my dede.Bot of mi will withoute drede,If I that tresor mihte gete,It scholde nevere be foryete,    70That I ne wolde it faste holde,Til god of love himselve woldeThat deth ous scholde part atuo.For lieveth wel, I love hire so,That evene with min oghne lif,If I that swete lusti wifMihte ones welden at my wille,For evere I wolde hire holde stille:And in this wise, taketh kepe,If I hire hadde, I wolde hire kepe,    80And yit no friday wolde I faste,Thogh I hire kepte and hielde faste.Fy on the bagges in the kiste!I hadde ynogh, if I hire kiste.For certes, if sche were myn,I hadde hir levere than a MynOf Gold; for al this worldesricheNe mihte make me so richeAs sche, that is so inly good.I sette noght of other good;    90For mihte I gete such a thing,I hadde a tresor for a king;And thogh I wolde it faste holde,I were thanne wel beholde.Bot I mot pipe nou with lasse,And suffre that it overpasse,Noght with mi will, for thus I woldeBen averous, if that I scholde.Bot, fader, I you herde seieHou thaverous hath yit som weie,    100Wherof he mai be glad; for heMai whanne him list his tresor se,And grope and fiele it al aboute,Bot I fulofte am schet theroute,Ther as my worthi tresor is.So is mi lif lich unto this,That ye me tolden hier tofore,Hou that an Oxe his yock hath boreFor thing that scholde him noght availe:And in this wise I me travaile;    110For who that evere hath the welfare,I wot wel that I have the care,For I am hadd and noght ne have,And am, as who seith, loves knave.Nou demeth in youre oghne thoght,If this be Avarice or noght.

Mi Sone, I have of thee no wonder,Thogh thou to serve be put underWith love, which to kinde acordeth:Bot, so as every bok recordeth,    120It is to kinde no plesanceThat man above his sustienanceUnto the gold schal serve and bowe,For that mai no reson avowe.Bot Avarice natheles,If he mai geten his encressOf gold, that wole he serve and kepe,For he takth of noght elles kepe,Bot forto fille hise bagges large;And al is to him bot a charge,    130For he ne parteth noght withal,Bot kepth it, as a servant schal:And thus, thogh that he multeplieHis gold, withoute tresorieHe is, for man is noght amendedWith gold, bot if it be despendedTo mannes us; wherof I redeA tale, and tak therof good hiede,Of that befell be olde tyde,As telleth ous the clerk Ovide.    140

Bachus, which is the god of wyn,Acordant unto his divinA Prest, the which Cillenus hihte,He hadde, and fell so that be nyhteThis Prest was drunke and goth astraied,Wherof the men were evele apaiedIn Frigelond, where as he wente.Bot ate laste a cherl him henteWith strengthe of other felaschipe,So that upon his drunkeschipe    150Thei bounden him with chenes faste,And forth thei ladde him als so fasteUnto the king, which hihte Myde.Bot he, that wolde his vice hyde,This courteis king, tok of him hiede,And bad that men him scholde ledeInto a chambre forto kepe,Til he of leisir hadde slepe.And tho this Prest was sone unbounde,And up a couche fro the grounde    160To slepe he was leid softe ynowh;And whanne he wok, the king him drowhTo his presence and dede him chiere,So that this Prest in such manere,Whil that him liketh, there he duelleth:And al this he to Bachus telleth,Whan that he cam to him ayein.And whan that Bachus herde seinHow Mide hath don his courtesie,Him thenkth it were a vilenie,    170Bot he rewarde him for his dede,So as he mihte of his godhiede.Unto this king this god appierethAnd clepeth, and that other hiereth:This god to Mide thonketh faireOf that he was so debonaireToward his Prest, and bad him seie:What thing it were he wolde preie,He scholde it have, of worldes good.This king was glad, and stille stod,    180And was of his axinge in doute,And al the world he caste aboute,What thing was best for his astat,And with himself stod in debatUpon thre pointz, the whiche I findeBen lievest unto mannes kinde.The ferste of hem it is delit,The tuo ben worschipe and profit.And thanne he thoghte, “If that I craveDelit, thogh I delit mai have,    190Delit schal passen in myn age:That is no siker avantage,For every joie bodilySchal ende in wo: delit forthiWol I noght chese. And if worschipeI axe and of the world lordschipe,That is an occupacionOf proud ymaginacion,Which makth an herte vein withinne;Ther is no certain forto winne,    200For lord and knave al is o weie,Whan thei be bore and whan thei deie.And if I profit axe wolde,I not in what manere I scholdeOf worldes good have sikernesse;For every thief upon richesseAwaiteth forto robbe and stele:Such good is cause of harmes fele.And also, thogh a man at onesOf al the world withinne his wones    210The tresor myhte have everydel,Yit hadde he bot o mannes delToward himself, so as I thinke,Of clothinge and of mete and drinke,For more, outake vanite,Ther hath no lord in his degre.”And thus upon the pointz diverseDiverseliche he gan reherceWhat point him thoghte for the beste;Bot pleinly forto gete him reste    220He can so siker weie caste.And natheles yit ate lasteHe fell upon the coveitiseOf gold; and thanne in sondri wiseHe thoghte, as I have seid tofore,Hou tresor mai be sone lore,And hadde an inly gret desirTouchende of such recoverir,Hou that he mihte his cause availeTo gete him gold withoute faile.    230Withinne his herte and thus he preisethThe gold, and seith hou that it peisethAbove al other metall most:“The gold,” he seith, “may lede an hostTo make werre ayein a King;The gold put under alle thing,And set it whan him list above;The gold can make of hate loveAnd werre of pes and ryht of wrong,And long to schort and schort to long;    240Withoute gold mai be no feste,Gold is the lord of man and beste,And mai hem bothe beie and selle;So that a man mai sothly telleThat al the world to gold obeieth.”Forthi this king to Bachus preiethTo grante him gold, bot he excedethMesure more than him nedeth.Men tellen that the maladieWhich cleped is ydropesie    250Resembled is unto this viceBe weie of kinde of Avarice:The more ydropesie drinketh,The more him thursteth, for him thinkethThat he mai nevere drinke his fille;So that ther mai nothing fulfilleThe lustes of his appetit:And riht in such a maner plitStant Avarice and evere stod;The more he hath of worldes good,    260The more he wolde it kepe streyte,And evere mor and mor coveite.And riht in such condiciounWithoute good discreciounThis king with avarice is smite,That al the world it myhte wite:For he to Bachus thanne preide,That wherupon his hond he leide,It scholde thurgh his touche anonBecome gold, and therupon    270This god him granteth as he bad.Tho was this king of Frige glad,And forto put it in assaiWith al the haste that he mai,He toucheth that, he toucheth this,And in his hond al gold it is,The Ston, the Tree, the Lef, the gras,The flour, the fruit, al gold it was.Thus toucheth he, whil he mai lasteTo go, bot hunger ate laste    280Him tok, so that he moste nedeBe weie of kinde his hunger fede.The cloth was leid, the bord was set,And al was forth tofore him fet,His disch, his coppe, his drinke, his mete;Bot whanne he wolde or drinke or ete,Anon as it his mouth cam nyh,It was al gold, and thanne he syhOf Avarice the folie.And he with that began to crie,    290And preide Bachus to foryiveHis gilt, and soffre him forto liveAnd be such as he was tofore,So that he were not forlore.This god, which herde of his grevance,Tok rowthe upon his repentance,And bad him go forth redilyUnto a flod was faste by,Which Paceole thanne hyhte,In which as clene as evere he myhte    300He scholde him waisshen overal,And seide him thanne that he schalRecovere his ferste astat ayein.This king, riht as he herde sein,Into the flod goth fro the lond,And wissh him bothe fot and hond,And so forth al the remenant,As him was set in covenant:And thanne he syh merveilles strange,The flod his colour gan to change,    310The gravel with the smale StonesTo gold thei torne bothe at ones,And he was quit of that he hadde,And thus fortune his chance ladde.And whan he sih his touche aweie,He goth him hom the rihte weieAnd liveth forth as he dede er,And putte al Avarice afer,And the richesse of gold despiseth,And seith that mete and cloth sufficeth.    320Thus hath this king experienceHou foles don the reverenceTo gold, which of his oghne kindeIs lasse worth than is the rindeTo sustienance of mannes fode;And thanne he made lawes goodeAnd al his thing sette upon skile:He bad his poeple forto tileHere lond, and live under the lawe,And that thei scholde also forthdrawe    330Bestaile, and seche non encressOf gold, which is the breche of pes.For this a man mai finde write,Tofor the time, er gold was smiteIn Coign, that men the florin knewe,Ther was welnyh noman untrewe;Tho was ther nouther schield ne spereNe dedly wepne forto bere;Tho was the toun withoute wal,Which nou is closed overal;    340Tho was ther no brocage in londe,Which nou takth every cause on honde:So mai men knowe, hou the florinWas moder ferst of malenginAnd bringere inne of alle werre,Wherof this world stant out of herreThurgh the conseil of Avarice,Which of his oghne propre viceIs as the helle wonderfull;For it mai neveremor be full,    350That what as evere comth therinne,Awey ne may it nevere winne.Bot Sone myn, do thou noght so,Let al such Avarice go,And tak thi part of that thou hast:I bidde noght that thou do wast,Bot hold largesce in his mesure;And if thou se a creature,Which thurgh poverte is falle in nede,Yif him som good, for this I rede    360To him that wol noght yiven here,What peine he schal have elleswhere.

Ther is a peine amonges alleBenethe in helle, which men calleThe wofull peine of Tantaly,Of which I schal thee redelyDevise hou men therinne stonde.In helle, thou schalt understonde,Ther is a flod of thilke office,Which serveth al for Avarice:    370What man that stonde schal therinne,He stant up evene unto the chinne;Above his hed also ther hongethA fruyt, which to that peine longeth,And that fruit toucheth evere in onHis overlippe: and theruponSwich thurst and hunger him assaileth,That nevere his appetit ne faileth.Bot whanne he wolde his hunger fede,The fruit withdrawth him ate nede,    380And thogh he heve his hed on hyh,The fruit is evere aliche nyh,So is the hunger wel the more:And also, thogh him thurste soreAnd to the water bowe a doun,The flod in such condiciounAvaleth, that his drinke arecheHe mai noght. Lo nou, which a wreche,That mete and drinke is him so couth,And yit ther comth non in his mouth!    390Lich to the peines of this flodStant Avarice in worldes good:He hath ynowh and yit him nedeth,For his skarsnesse it him forbiedeth,And evere his hunger after moreTravaileth him aliche sore,So is he peined overal.Forthi thi goodes forth withal,Mi Sone, loke thou despende,Wherof thou myht thiself amende    400Bothe hier and ek in other place.And also if thou wolt pourchaceTo be beloved, thou most useLargesce, for if thou refuseTo yive for thi loves sake,It is no reson that thou takeOf love that thou woldest crave.Forthi, if thou wolt grace have,Be gracious and do largesse,Of Avarice and the seknesse    410Eschuie above alle other thing,And tak ensample of Mide kingAnd of the flod of helle also,Where is ynowh of alle wo.And thogh ther were no matiereBot only that we finden hiere,Men oghten Avarice eschuie;For what man thilke vice suie,He get himself bot litel reste.For hou so that the body reste,    420The herte upon the gold travaileth,Whom many a nyhtes drede assaileth;For thogh he ligge abedde naked,His herte is everemore awaked,And dremeth, as he lith to slepe,How besi that he is to kepeHis tresor, that no thief it stele.Thus hath he bot a woful wele.

And riht so in the same wise,If thou thiself wolt wel avise,    430Ther be lovers of suche ynowe,That wole unto no reson bowe.If so be that thei come above,Whan thei ben maistres of here love,And that thei scholden be most glad,With love thei ben most bestad,So fain thei wolde it holden al.Here herte, here yhe is overal,And wenen every man be thief,To stele awey that hem is lief;    440Thus thurgh here oghne fantasieThei fallen into Jelousie.Thanne hath the Schip tobroke his cable,With every wynd and is muable.

Mi fader, for that ye nou telle,I have herd ofte time telleOf Jelousie, bot what it isYit understod I nevere er this:Wherfore I wolde you beseche,That ye me wolde enforme and teche    450What maner thing it mihte be.

Mi Sone, that is hard to me:Bot natheles, as I have herd,Now herkne and thou schalt ben ansuerd.

Among the men lacke of manhodeIn Mariage upon wifhodeMakth that a man himself deceiveth,Wherof it is that he conceivethThat ilke unsely maladie,The which is cleped Jelousie:    460Of which if I the propreteSchal telle after the nycete,So as it worcheth on a man,A Fievere it is cotidian,Which every day wol come aboute,Wher so a man be inne or oute.At hom if that a man wol wone,This Fievere is thanne of comun woneMost grevous in a mannes yhe:For thanne he makth him tote and pryhe,    470Wher so as evere his love go;Sche schal noght with hir litel tooMisteppe, bot he se it al.His yhe is walkende overal;Wher that sche singe or that sche dance,He seth the leste contienance,If sche loke on a man asideOr with him roune at eny tyde,Or that sche lawghe, or that sche loure,His yhe is ther at every houre.    480And whanne it draweth to the nyht,If sche thanne is withoute lyht,Anon is al the game schent;For thanne he set his parlementTo speke it whan he comth to bedde,And seith, “If I were now to wedde,I wolde neveremore have wif.”And so he torneth into strifThe lust of loves duete,And al upon diversete.    490If sche be freissh and wel araied,He seith hir baner is displaiedTo clepe in gestes fro the weie:And if sche be noght wel beseie,And that hir list noght to be gladd,He berth an hond that sche is maddAnd loveth noght hire housebonde;He seith he mai wel understonde,That if sche wolde his compaignie,Sche scholde thanne afore his ije    500Schewe al the plesir that sche mihte.So that be daie ne be nyhteSche not what thing is for the beste,Bot liveth out of alle reste;For what as evere him liste sein,Sche dar noght speke a word ayein,Bot wepth and holt hire lippes clos.Sche mai wel wryte, “Sanz repos,”The wif which is to such on maried.

Of alle wommen be he waried,    510For with this Fievere of JalousieHis echedaies fantasieOf sorghe is evere aliche grene,So that ther is no love sene,Whil that him list at hom abyde.And whan so is he wol out ryde,Thanne hath he redi his aspieAbidinge in hir compaignie,A janglere, an evel mouthed oon,That sche ne mai nowhider gon,    520Ne speke a word, ne ones loke,That he ne wol it wende and crokeAnd torne after his oghne entente,Thogh sche nothing bot honour mente.Whan that the lord comth hom ayein,The janglere moste somwhat sein;So what withoute and what withinne,This Fievere is evere to beginne,For where he comth he can noght ende,Til deth of him have mad an ende.    530For thogh so be that he ne hiereNe se ne wite in no manereBot al honour and wommanhiede,Therof the Jelous takth non hiede,Bot as a man to love unkinde,He cast his staf, as doth the blinde,And fint defaulte where is non;As who so dremeth on a StonHou he is leid, and groneth ofte,Whan he lith on his pilwes softe.    540So is ther noght bot strif and cheste;Whan love scholde make his feste,It is gret thing if he hir kisse:Thus hath sche lost the nyhtes blisse,For at such time he gruccheth evereAnd berth on hond ther is a levere,And that sche wolde an other wereIn stede of him abedde there;And with tho wordes and with moOf Jelousie, he torneth fro    550And lith upon his other side,And sche with that drawth hire aside,And ther sche wepeth al the nyht.Ha, to what peine sche is dyht,That in hire youthe hath so besetThe bond which mai noght ben unknet!I wot the time is ofte cursed,That evere was the gold unpursed,The which was leid upon the bok,Whan that alle othre sche forsok    560For love of him; bot al to lateSche pleigneth, for as thanne algateSche mot forbere and to him bowe,Thogh he ne wole it noght allowe.For man is lord of thilke feire,So mai the womman bot empeire,If sche speke oght ayein his wille;And thus sche berth hir peine stille.

Bot if this Fievere a womman take,Sche schal be wel mor harde schake;    570For thogh sche bothe se and hiere,And finde that ther is matiere,Sche dar bot to hirselve pleine,And thus sche suffreth double peine.

Lo thus, mi Sone, as I have write,Thou miht of Jelousie witeHis fievere and his condicion,Which is full of suspecion.Bot wherof that this fievere groweth,Who so these olde bokes troweth,    580Ther mai he finden hou it is:For thei ous teche and telle this,Hou that this fievere of JelousieSomdel it groweth of sotieOf love, and somdiel of untrust.For as a sek man lest his lust,And whan he may no savour gete,He hateth thanne his oughne mete,Riht so this fieverous maladie,Which caused is of fantasie,    590Makth the Jelous in fieble plitTo lese of love his appetitThurgh feigned enformacionOf his ymaginacion.

Bot finali to taken hiede,Men mai wel make a liklihiedeBetwen him which is averousOf gold and him that is jelousOf love, for in on degreThei stonde bothe, as semeth me.    600That oon wolde have his bagges stille,And noght departen with his wille,And dar noght for the thieves slepe,So fain he wolde his tresor kepe;That other mai noght wel be glad,For he is evere more adradOf these lovers that gon aboute,In aunter if thei putte him oute.So have thei bothe litel joyeAs wel of love as of monoie.    610

Now hast thou, Sone, at my techingeOf Jelousie a knowlechinge,That thou myht understonde this,Fro whenne he comth and what he is,And ek to whom that he is lik.Be war forthi thou be noght sikOf thilke fievere as I have spoke,For it wol in himself be wroke.For love hateth nothing more,As men mai finde be the lore    620Of hem that whilom were wise,Hou that thei spieke in many wise.

Mi fader, soth is that ye sein.Bot forto loke therayein,Befor this time hou it is falle,Wherof ther mihte ensample falleTo suche men as be jelousIn what manere it is grevous,Riht fain I wolde ensample hiere.

My goode Sone, at thi preiere    630Of suche ensamples as I finde,So as thei comen nou to myndeUpon this point, of time gonI thenke forto tellen on.

Ovide wrot of manye thinges,Among the whiche in his wrytingesHe tolde a tale in Poesie,Which toucheth unto Jelousie,Upon a certein cas of love.Among the goddes alle above    640It fell at thilke time thus:The god of fyr, which VulcanusIs hote, and hath a craft forthwithAssigned, forto be the SmithOf Jupiter, and his figureBothe of visage and of statureIs lothly and malgracious,Bot yit he hath withinne his housAs for the likynge of his lifThe faire Venus to his wif.    650Bot Mars, which of batailles isThe god, an yhe hadde unto this:As he which was chivalerous,It fell him to ben amerous,And thoghte it was a gret piteTo se so lusti on as scheBe coupled with so lourde a wiht:So that his peine day and nyhtHe dede, if he hire winne myhte;And sche, which hadde a good insihte    660Toward so noble a knyhtli lord,In love fell of his acord.Ther lacketh noght bot time and place,That he nys siker of hire grace:Bot whan tuo hertes falle in on,So wys await was nevere non,That at som time thei ne mete;And thus this faire lusti sweteWith Mars hath ofte compaignie.Bot thilke unkynde Jelousie,    670Which everemor the herte opposeth,Makth Vulcanus that he supposethThat it is noght wel overal,And to himself he seide, he schalAspie betre, if that he may;And so it fell upon a day,That he this thing so slyhli ledde,He fond hem bothe tuo abeddeAl warm, echon with other naked.And he with craft al redy maked    680Of stronge chenes hath hem bounde,As he togedre hem hadde founde,And lefte hem bothe ligge so,And gan to clepe and crie thoUnto the goddes al aboute;And thei assembled in a routeCome alle at ones forto se.Bot none amendes hadde he,Bot was rebuked hiere and thereOf hem that loves frendes were;    690And seiden that he was to blame,For if ther fell him eny schame,It was thurgh his misgovernance:And thus he loste contienance,This god, and let his cause falle;And thei to skorne him lowhen alle,And losen Mars out of hise bondes.Wherof these erthli housebondesFor evere myhte ensample take,If such a chaunce hem overtake:    700For Vulcanus his wif bewreide,The blame upon himself he leide,Wherof his schame was the more;Which oghte forto ben a loreFor every man that liveth hiere,To reulen him in this matiere.Thogh such an happ of love asterte,Yit scholde he noght apointe his herteWith Jelousie of that is wroght,Bot feigne, as thogh he wiste it noght:    710For if he lete it overpasse,The sclaundre schal be wel the lasse,And he the more in ese stonde.For this thou myht wel understonde,That where a man schal nedes lese,The leste harm is forto chese.Bot Jelousie of his untristMakth that full many an harm arist,Which elles scholde noght arise;And if a man him wolde avise    720Of that befell to Vulcanus,Him oghte of reson thenke thus,That sithe a god therof was schamed,Wel scholde an erthli man be blamedTo take upon him such a vice.

Forthi, my Sone, in thin officeBe war that thou be noght jelous,Which ofte time hath schent the hous.

Mi fader, this ensample is hard,Hou such thing to the heveneward    730Among the goddes myhte falle:For ther is bot o god of alle,Which is the lord of hevene and helle.Bot if it like you to telleHou suche goddes come aplace,Ye mihten mochel thonk pourchace,For I schal be wel tawht withal.

Mi Sone, it is thus overalWith hem that stonden misbelieved,That suche goddes ben believed:    740In sondri place sondri wiseAmonges hem whiche are unwiseTher is betaken of credence;Wherof that I the differenceIn the manere as it is writeSchal do the pleinly forto wite.

Er Crist was bore among ous hiere,Of the believes that tho wereIn foure formes thus it was.Thei of Caldee as in this cas    750Hadde a believe be hemselve,Which stod upon the signes tuelve,Forth ek with the Planetes sevene,Whiche as thei sihe upon the hevene.Of sondri constellacionIn here ymaginacionWith sondri kerf and pourtretureThei made of goddes the figure.

In thelementz and ek alsoThei hadden a believe tho;    760And al was that unresonable:For thelementz ben servicableTo man, and ofte of Accidence,As men mai se thexperience,Thei ben corrupt be sondri weie;So mai no mannes reson seieThat thei ben god in eny wise.And ek, if men hem wel avise,The Sonne and Mone eclipse bothe,That be hem lieve or be hem lothe,    770Thei soffre; and what thing is passibleTo ben a god is impossible.These elementz ben creatures,So ben these hevenly figures,Wherof mai wel be justefiedThat thei mai noght be deified:And who that takth awey thonourWhich due is to the creatour,And yifth it to the creature,He doth to gret a forsfaiture.    780Bot of Caldee nathelesUpon this feith, thogh it be les,Thei holde affermed the creance;So that of helle the penance,As folk which stant out of believe,They schull receive, as we believe.

Of the Caldeus lo in this wiseStant the believe out of assisse:Bot in Egipte worst of alleThe feith is fals, hou so it falle;    790For thei diverse bestes thereHonoure, as thogh thei goddes were:And natheles yit forth withalThre goddes most in specialThei have, forth with a goddesse,In whom is al here sikernesse.Tho goddes be yit cleped thus,Orus, Typhon and Isirus:Thei were brethren alle thre,And the goddesse in hir degre    800Here Soster was and Ysis hyhte,Whom Isirus forlai be nyhteAnd hield hire after as his wif.So it befell that upon strifTyphon hath Isre his brother slain,Which hadde a child to Sone Orayn,And he his fader deth to herteSo tok, that it mai noght asterteThat he Typhon after ne slowh,Whan he was ripe of age ynowh.    810Bot yit thegipcienes troweFor al this errour, which thei knowe,That these brethren ben of myhtTo sette and kepe Egipte upriht,And overthrowe, if that hem like.Bot Ysis, as seith the Cronique,Fro Grece into Egipte cam,And sche thanne upon honde namTo teche hem forto sowe and eere,Which noman knew tofore there.    820And whan thegipcienes syheThe fieldes fulle afore here yhe,And that the lond began to greine,Which whilom hadde be bareigne,—For therthe bar after the kindeHis due charge,—this I finde,That sche of berthe the goddesseIs cleped, so that in destresseThe wommen there upon childingeTo hire clepe, and here offringe    830Thei beren, whan that thei ben lyhte.Lo, hou Egipte al out of syhteFro resoun stant in misbelieveFor lacke of lore, as I believe.

Among the Greks, out of the weieAs thei that reson putte aweie,Ther was, as the Cronique seith,Of misbelieve an other feith,That thei here goddes and goddesses,As who seith, token al to gesses    840Of suche as weren full of vice,To whom thei made here sacrifice.The hihe god, so as thei seide,To whom thei most worschipe leide,Saturnus hihte, and king of CreteHe hadde be; bot of his seteHe was put doun, as he which stodIn frenesie, and was so wod,That fro his wif, which Rea hihte,Hise oghne children he to plihte,    850And eet hem of his comun wone.Bot Jupiter, which was his SoneAnd of full age, his fader bondAnd kutte of with his oghne hondHise genitals, whiche als so fasteInto the depe See he caste;Wherof the Greks afferme and seie,Thus whan thei were caste aweie,Cam Venus forth be weie of kinde.And of Saturne also I finde    860How afterward into an yleThis Jupiter him dede exile,Wher that he stod in gret meschief.Lo, which a god thei maden chief!And sithen that such on was he,Which stod most hihe in his degreAmong the goddes, thou miht knowe,These othre, that ben more lowe,Ben litel worth, as it is founde.

For Jupiter was the secounde,    870Which Juno hadde unto his wif;And yit a lechour al his lifHe was, and in avouterieHe wroghte many a tricherie;And for he was so full of vices,Thei cleped him god of delices:Of whom, if thou wolt more wite,Ovide the Poete hath write.Bot yit here Sterres bothe tuo,Saturne and Jupiter also,    880Thei have, althogh thei be to blame,Attitled to here oghne name.

Mars was an other in that lawe,The which in Dace was forthdrawe,Of whom the clerk VegeciusWrot in his bok, and tolde thus,Hou he into Ytaile cam,And such fortune ther he namThat he a Maiden hath oppressed,Which in hire ordre was professed,    890As sche which was the PrioresseIn Vestes temple the goddesse,So was sche wel the mor to blame.Dame Ylia this ladi nameMen clepe, and ek sche was alsoThe kinges dowhter that was tho,Which Mynitor be name hihte.So that ayein the lawes ryhteMars thilke time upon hire thatRemus and Romulus begat,    900Whiche after, whan thei come in Age,Of knihthode and of vassellageYtaile al hol thei overcomeAnd foundeden the grete Rome;In Armes and of such empriseThei weren, that in thilke wiseHere fader Mars for the mervaileThe god was cleped of bataille.Thei were his children bothe tuo,Thurgh hem he tok his name so,    910Ther was non other cause why:And yit a Sterre upon the SkyHe hath unto his name applied,In which that he is signified.

An other god thei hadden eke,To whom for conseil thei beseke,The which was brother to Venus,Appollo men him clepe thus.He was an Hunte upon the helles,Ther was with him no vertu elles,    920Wherof that enye bokes karpe,Bot only that he couthe harpe;Which whanne he walked over londe,Fulofte time he tok on honde,To gete him with his sustienance,For lacke of other pourveance.And otherwhile of his falshedeHe feignede him to conne aredeOf thing which after scholde falle;Wherof among hise sleyhtes alle    930He hath the lewed folk deceived,So that the betre he was received.Lo now, thurgh what creacionHe hath deificacion,And cleped is the god of witTo suche as be the foles yit.

An other god, to whom thei soghte,Mercurie hihte, and him ne roghteWhat thing he stal, ne whom he slowh.Of Sorcerie he couthe ynowh,    940That whanne he wolde himself transforme,Fulofte time he tok the formeOf womman and his oghne lefte;So dede he wel the more thefte.A gret spekere in alle thingesHe was also, and of lesingesAn Auctour, that men wiste nonAn other such as he was on.And yit thei maden of this thiefA god, which was unto hem lief,    950And clepede him in tho believesThe god of Marchantz and of thieves.Bot yit a sterre upon the heveneHe hath of the planetes sevene.

But Vulcanus, of whom I spak,He hadde a courbe upon the bak,And therto he was hepehalt:Of whom thou understonde schalt,He was a schrewe in al his youthe,And he non other vertu couthe    960Of craft to helpe himselve with,Bot only that he was a SmithWith Jupiter, which in his forgeDiverse thinges made him forge;So wot I noght for what desirThei clepen him the god of fyr.

King of Cizile YpolitusA Sone hadde, and EolusHe hihte, and of his fader grantHe hield be weie of covenant    970The governance of every yleWhich was longende unto Cizile,Of hem that fro the lond foreinLeie open to the wynd al plein.And fro thilke iles to the londeFulofte cam the wynd to honde:After the name of him forthiThe wyndes cleped EoliTho were, and he the god of wynd.Lo nou, hou this believe is blynd!    980

The king of Crete Jupiter,The same which I spak of er,Unto his brother, which NeptuneWas hote, it list him to comunePart of his good, so that be SchipeHe mad him strong of the lordschipeOf al the See in tho parties;Wher that he wroghte his tyrannyes,And the strange yles al abouteHe wan, that every man hath doute    990Upon his marche forto saile;For he anon hem wolde assaileAnd robbe what thing that thei ladden,His sauf conduit bot if thei hadden.Wherof the comun vois arosIn every lond, that such a losHe cawhte, al nere it worth a stre,That he was cleped of the SeeThe god be name, and yit he isWith hem that so believe amis.    1000This Neptune ek was thilke also,Which was the ferste foundour thoOf noble Troie, and he forthiWas wel the more lete by.

The loresman of the Schepherdes,And ek of hem that ben netherdes,Was of Archade and hihte Pan:Of whom hath spoke many a man;For in the wode of Nonarcigne,Enclosed with the tres of Pigne,    1010And on the Mont of ParasieHe hadde of bestes the baillie,And ek benethe in the valleie,Wher thilke rivere, as men seie,Which Ladon hihte, made his cours,He was the chief of governoursOf hem that kepten tame bestes,Wherof thei maken yit the festesIn the Cite Stinfalides.And forth withal yit natheles    1020He tawhte men the forthdrawingeOf bestaile, and ek the makingeOf Oxen, and of hors the same,Hou men hem scholde ryde and tame:Of foules ek, so as we finde,Ful many a soubtiel craft of kindeHe fond, which noman knew tofore.Men dede him worschipe ek therfore,That he the ferste in thilke londWas which the melodie fond    1030Of Riedes, whan thei weren ripe,With double pipes forto pipe;Therof he yaf the ferste lore,Til afterward men couthe more.To every craft for mannes helpeHe hadde a redi wit to helpeThurgh naturel experience:And thus the nyce reverenceOf foles, whan that he was ded,The fot hath torned to the hed,    1040And clepen him god of nature,For so thei maden his figure.

An other god, so as thei fiele,Which Jupiter upon SameleBegat in his avouterie,Whom, forto hide his lecherie,That non therof schal take kepe,In a Montaigne forto kepe,Which Dyon hihte and was in Ynde,He sende, in bokes as I finde:    1050And he be name Bachus hihte,Which afterward, whan that he mihte,A wastour was, and al his renteIn wyn and bordel he despente.Bot yit, al were he wonder badde,Among the Greks a name he hadde;Thei cleped him the god of wyn,And thus a glotoun was dyvyn.

Ther was yit EsculapiusA godd in thilke time as thus.    1060His craft stod upon Surgerie,Bot for the lust of lecherie,That he to Daires dowhter drowh,It felle that Jupiter him slowh:And yit thei made him noght forthiA god, and was no cause why.In Rome he was long time alsoA god among the Romeins tho;For, as he seide, of his presenceTher was destruid a pestilence,    1070Whan thei to thyle of Delphos wente,And that Appollo with hem senteThis Esculapius his Sone,Among the Romeins forto wone.And there he duelte for a while,Til afterward into that yle,Fro whenne he cam, ayein he torneth,Where al his lyf that he sojornethAmong the Greks, til that he deide.And thei upon him thanne leide    1080His name, and god of medicineHe hatte after that ilke line.

An other god of HerculesThei made, which was nathelesA man, bot that he was so strong,In al this world that brod and longSo myhti was noman as he.Merveiles tuelve in his degre,As it was couth in sondri londes,He dede with hise oghne hondes    1090Ayein geantz and Monstres bothe,The whiche horrible were and lothe,Bot he with strengthe hem overcam:Wherof so gret a pris he nam,That thei him clepe amonges alleThe god of strengthe, and to him calle.And yit ther is no reson inne,For he a man was full of sinne,Which proved was upon his ende,For in a rage himself he brende;    1100And such a cruel mannes dedeAcordeth nothing with godhede.

Thei hadde of goddes yit an other,Which Pluto hihte, and was the brotherOf Jupiter, and he fro youtheWith every word which cam to mouthe,Of eny thing whan he was wroth,He wolde swere his commun oth,Be Lethen and be Flegeton,Be Cochitum and Acheron,    1110The whiche, after the bokes telle,Ben the chief flodes of the helle:Be Segne and Stige he swor also,That ben the depe Pettes tuoOf helle the most principal.Pluto these othes overalSwor of his commun custummance,Til it befell upon a chance,That he for Jupiteres sakeUnto the goddes let do make    1120A sacrifice, and for that dedeOn of the pettes for his medeIn helle, of which I spak of er,Was granted him; and thus he therUpon the fortune of this thingThe name tok of helle king.

Lo, these goddes and wel moAmong the Greks thei hadden tho,And of goddesses manyon,Whos names thou schalt hiere anon,    1130And in what wise thei deceivenThe foles whiche here feith receiven.

So as Saturne is sovereinOf false goddes, as thei sein,So is Sibeles of goddessesThe Moder, whom withoute gessesThe folk Payene honoure and serve,As thei the whiche hire lawe observe.Bot forto knowen upon thisFro when sche cam and what sche is,    1140Bethincia the contre hihte,Wher sche cam ferst to mannes sihte;And after was Saturnes wif,Be whom thre children in hire lifSche bar, and thei were cleped thoJuno, Neptunus and Pluto,The whiche of nyce fantasieThe poeple wolde deifie.And for hire children were so,Sibeles thanne was also    1150Mad a goddesse, and thei hire calleThe moder of the goddes alle.So was that name bore forth,And yit the cause is litel worth.

A vois unto Saturne toldeHou that his oghne Sone him scholdeOut of his regne putte aweie;And he be cause of thilke weie,That him was schape such a fate,Sibele his wif began to hate    1160And ek hire progenie bothe.And thus, whil that thei were wrothe,Be Philerem upon a daiIn his avouterie he lai,On whom he Jupiter begat;And thilke child was after thatWhich wroghte al that was prophecied,As it tofore is specefied:So that whan Jupiter of CreteWas king, a wif unto him mete    1170The Dowhter of Sibele he tok,And that was Juno, seith the bok.Of his deificacionAfter the false oppinion,That have I told, so as thei meene;And for this Juno was the queeneOf Jupiter and Soster eke,The foles unto hire sieke,And sein that sche is the goddesseOf Regnes bothe and of richesse:    1180And ek sche, as thei understonde,The water Nimphes hath in hondeTo leden at hire oghne heste;And whan hir list the Sky tempeste,The reinbowe is hir Messager.Lo, which a misbelieve is hier!That sche goddesse is of the SkyI wot non other cause why.

An other goddesse is Minerve,To whom the Greks obeie and serve:    1190And sche was nyh the grete layOf Triton founde, wher sche layA child forcast, bot what sche wasTher knew noman the sothe cas.Bot in Aufrique sche was leidIn the manere as I have seid,And caried fro that ilke placeInto an Yle fer in Trace,The which Palene thanne hihte,Wher a Norrice hir kepte and dihte.    1200And after, for sche was so wysThat sche fond ferst in hire avisThe cloth makinge of wolle and lyn,Men seiden that sche was divin,And the goddesse of SapienceThei clepen hire in that credence.

Of the goddesse which PallasIs cleped sondri speche was.On seith hire fader was Pallant,Which in his time was geant,    1210A cruel man, a bataillous:An other seith hou in his housSche was the cause why he deide.And of this Pallas some ek seideThat sche was Martes wif; and soAmong the men that weren thoOf misbelieve in the rioteThe goddesse of batailles hoteShe was, and yit sche berth the name.Now loke, hou they be forto blame.    1220

Saturnus after his exilFro Crete cam in gret perilInto the londes of Ytaile,And ther he dede gret mervaile,Wherof his name duelleth yit.For he fond of his oghne witThe ferste craft of plowh tilinge,Of Eringe and of corn sowinge,And how men scholden sette vinesAnd of the grapes make wynes;    1230Al this he tawhte, and it fell so,His wif, the which cam with him tho,Was cleped Cereres be name,And for sche tawhte also the same,And was his wif that ilke throwe,As it was to the poeple knowe,Thei made of Ceres a goddesse,In whom here tilthe yit thei blesse,And sein that TricoloniusHire Sone goth amonges ous    1240And makth the corn good chep or dere,Riht as hire list fro yer to yeere;So that this wif be cause of thisGoddesse of Cornes cleped is.

King Jupiter, which his likingeWhilom fulfelde in alle thinge,So priveliche aboute he laddeHis lust, that he his wille haddeOf Latona, and on hire thatDiane his dowhter he begat    1250Unknowen of his wif Juno.And afterward sche knew it so,That Latona for drede fleddeInto an Ile, wher sche heddeHire wombe, which of childe aros.Thilke yle cleped was Delos;In which Diana was forthbroght,And kept so that hire lacketh noght.And after, whan sche was of Age,Sche tok non hiede of mariage,    1260Bot out of mannes compaignieSche tok hire al to venerieIn forest and in wildernesseFor ther was al hire besinesseBe daie and ek be nyhtes tydeWith arwes brode under the sideAnd bowe in honde, of which sche slowhAnd tok al that hir liste ynowhOf bestes whiche ben chacable:Wherof the Cronique of this fable    1270Seith that the gentils most of alleWorschipen hire and to hire calle,And the goddesse of hihe helles,Of grene trees, of freisshe welles,They clepen hire in that believe,Which that no reson mai achieve.

Proserpina, which dowhter wasOf Cereres, befell this cas:Whil sche was duellinge in Cizile,Hire moder in that ilke while    1280Upon hire blessinge and hire hesteBad that sche scholde ben honeste,And lerne forto weve and spinne,And duelle at hom and kepe hire inne.Bot sche caste al that lore aweie,And as sche wente hir out to pleie,To gadre floures in a pleine,And that was under the monteineOf Ethna, fell the same tydeThat Pluto cam that weie ryde,    1290And sodeinly, er sche was war,He tok hire up into his char.And as thei riden in the field,Hire grete beaute he behield,Which was so plesant in his ije,That forto holde in compainieHe weddeth hire and hield hire soTo ben his wif for everemo.And as thou hast tofore herd telleHou he was cleped god of helle,    1300So is sche cleped the goddesseBe cause of him, ne mor ne lesse.

Lo, thus, mi Sone, as I thee tolde,The Greks whilom be daies oldeHere goddes hadde in sondri wise,And thurgh the lore of here apriseThe Romeins hielden ek the same.And in the worschipe of here nameTo every godd in specialThei made a temple forth withal,    1310And ech of hem his yeeres daiAttitled hadde; and of araiThe temples weren thanne ordeigned,And ek the poeple was constreignedTo come and don here sacrifice;The Prestes ek in here officeSolempne maden thilke festes.And thus the Greks lich to the bestesThe men in stede of god honoure,Whiche mihten noght hemself socoure,    1320Whil that thei were alyve hiere.And over this, as thou schalt hiere,

The Greks fulfild of fantasieSein ek that of the helles hiheThe goddes ben in special,Bot of here name in generalThei hoten alle Satiri.Ther ben of Nimphes proprelyIn the believe of hem also:Oreades thei seiden tho    1330Attitled ben to the monteines;And for the wodes in demeynesTo kepe, tho ben Driades;Of freisshe welles Naiades;And of the Nimphes of the SeeI finde a tale in proprete,Hou Dorus whilom king of Grece,Which hadde of infortune a piece,—His wif forth with hire dowhtres alle,So as the happes scholden falle,    1340With many a gentil womman thereDreint in the salte See thei were:Wherof the Greks that time seiden,And such a name upon hem leiden,Nereïdes that thei ben hote,The Nimphes whiche that thei noteTo regne upon the stremes salte.Lo now, if this believe halte!Bot of the Nimphes as thei telle,In every place wher thei duelle    1350Thei ben al redi obeissantAs damoiselles entendantTo the goddesses, whos serviseThei mote obeie in alle wise;Wherof the Greks to hem besekeWith tho that ben goddesses eke,And have in hem a gret credence.

And yit withoute experienceSalve only of illusion,Which was to hem dampnacion,    1360For men also that were dedeThei hadden goddes, as I rede,And tho be name Manes hihten,To whom ful gret honour thei dihten,So as the Grekes lawe seith,Which was ayein the rihte feith.

Thus have I told a gret partie;Bot al the hole progenieOf goddes in that ilke timeTo long it were forto rime.    1370Bot yit of that which thou hast herd,Of misbelieve hou it hath ferd,Ther is a gret diversite.

Mi fader, riht so thenketh me.Bot yit o thing I you beseche,Which stant in alle mennes speche,The godd and the goddesse of love,Of whom ye nothing hier aboveHave told, ne spoken of her fare,That ye me wolden now declare    1380Hou thei ferst comen to that name.

Mi Sone, I have it left for schame,Be cause I am here oghne Prest;Bot for thei stonden nyh thi brestUpon the schrifte of thi matiere,Thou schalt of hem the sothe hiere:And understond nou wel the cas.Venus Saturnes dowhter was,Which alle danger putte aweieOf love, and fond to lust a weie;    1390So that of hire in sondri placeDiverse men felle into grace,And such a lusti lif sche ladde,That sche diverse children hadde,Nou on be this, nou on be that.Of hire it was that Mars beyatA child, which cleped was Armene;Of hire also cam Andragene,To whom Mercurie fader was:Anchises begat Eneas    1400Of hire also, and EriconBiten begat, and therupon,Whan that sche sih ther was non other,Be Jupiter hire oghne brotherSche lay, and he begat Cupide.And thilke Sone upon a tyde,Whan he was come unto his Age,He hadde a wonder fair visage,And fond his Moder amourous,And he was also lecherous:    1410So whan thei weren bothe al one,As he which yhen hadde noneTo se reson, his Moder kiste;And sche also, that nothing wisteBot that which unto lust belongeth,To ben hire love him underfongeth.Thus was he blind, and sche unwys:Bot natheles this cause it is,Why Cupide is the god of love,For he his moder dorste love.    1420And sche, which thoghte hire lustes fonde,Diverse loves tok in honde,Wel mo thanne I the tolde hiere:And for sche wolde hirselve skiere,Sche made comun that desport,And sette a lawe of such a port,That every womman mihte takeWhat man hire liste, and noght forsakeTo ben als comun as sche wolde.Sche was the ferste also which tolde    1430That wommen scholde here bodi selle;Semiramis, so as men telle,Of Venus kepte thilke aprise,And so dede in the same wiseOf Rome faire Neabole,Which liste hire bodi to rigole;Sche was to every man felawe,And hild the lust of thilke lawe,Which Venus of hirself began;Wherof that sche the name wan,    1440Why men hire clepen the goddesseOf love and ek of gentilesse,Of worldes lust and of plesance.

Se nou the foule mescreanceOf Greks in thilke time tho,Whan Venus tok hire name so.Ther was no cause under the MoneOf which thei hadden tho to done,Of wel or wo wher so it was,That thei ne token in that cas    1450A god to helpe or a goddesse.Wherof, to take mi witnesse,

The king of Bragmans DindimusWrot unto Alisandre thus:In blaminge of the Grekes feithAnd of the misbelieve, he seithHow thei for every membre haddenA sondri god, to whom thei spraddenHere armes, and of help besoghten.

Minerve for the hed thei soghten,    1460For sche was wys, and of a manThe wit and reson which he canIs in the celles of the brayn,Wherof thei made hire soverain.

Mercurie, which was in his dawesA gret spekere of false lawes,On him the kepinge of the tungeThei leide, whan thei spieke or sunge.

For Bachus was a glotoun eke,Him for the throte thei beseke,    1470That he it wolde waisshen ofteWith swote drinkes and with softe.

The god of schuldres and of armesWas Hercules; for he in armesThe myhtieste was to fihte,To him tho Limes they behihte.

The god whom that thei clepen MartThe brest to kepe hath for his part,Forth with the herte, in his ymageThat he adresce the corage.    1480

And of the galle the goddesse,For sche was full of hastifesseOf wraththe and liht to grieve also,Thei made and seide it was Juno.

Cupide, which the brond afyreBar in his hond, he was the SireOf the Stomak, which builleth evere,Wherof the lustes ben the levere.

To the goddesse Cereres,Which of the corn yaf hire encress    1490Upon the feith that tho was take,The wombes cure was betake;

And Venus thurgh the Lecherie,For which that thei hire deifie,Sche kept al doun the remenantTo thilke office appourtenant.

Thus was dispers in sondri wiseThe misbelieve, as I devise,With many an ymage of entaile,Of suche as myhte hem noght availe;    1500For thei withoute lyves chiereUnmyhti ben to se or hiereOr speke or do or elles fiele;And yit the foles to hem knele,Which is here oghne handes werk.Ha lord, hou this believe is derk,And fer fro resonable wit!And natheles thei don it yit:That was to day a ragged tre,To morwe upon his majeste    1510Stant in the temple wel besein.How myhte a mannes resoun seinThat such a Stock mai helpe or grieve?Bot thei that ben of such believeAnd unto suche goddes calle,It schal to hem riht so befalle,And failen ate moste nede.Bot if thee list to taken hiedeAnd of the ferste ymage wite,Petornius therof hath write    1520And ek Nigargorus also;And thei afferme and write so,That Promotheus was toforeAnd fond the ferste craft therfore,And Cirophanes, as thei telle,Thurgh conseil which was take in helle,In remembrance of his lignageLet setten up the ferste ymage.

Of Cirophanes seith the bok,That he for sorwe, which he tok    1530Of that he sih his Sone ded,Of confort knew non other red,Bot let do make in remembranceA faire ymage of his semblanceAnd sette it in the market place,Which openly tofore his faceStod every dai to don him ese.And thei that thanne wolden pleseThe fader, scholden it obeie,Whan that they comen thilke weie.    1540

And of Ninus king of AssireI rede hou that in his empireHe was next after the secoundeOf hem that ferst ymages founde.For he riht in semblable casOf Belus, which his fader wasFro Nembroth in the rihte line,Let make of gold and Stones fineA precious ymage richeAfter his fader evene liche;    1550And therupon a lawe he sette,That every man of pure detteWith sacrifice and with truageHonoure scholde thilke ymage:So that withinne time it fell,Of Belus cam the name of Bel,Of Bel cam Belzebub, and soThe misbelieve wente tho.

The thridde ymage next to thisWas, whan the king of Grece Apis    1560Was ded, thei maden a figureIn resemblance of his stature.Of this king Apis seith the bokThat Serapis his name tok,In whom thurgh long continuanceOf misbelieve a gret creanceThei hadden, and the reverenceOf Sacrifice and of encenceTo him thei made: and as thei telle,Among the wondres that befelle,    1570Whan Alisandre fro CandaceCam ridende, in a wilde placeUndur an hull a Cave he fond;And Candalus, which in that londWas bore, and was Candaces Sone,Him tolde hou that of commun woneThe goddes were in thilke cave.And he, that wolde assaie and haveA knowlechinge if it be soth,Liht of his hors and in he goth,    1580And fond therinne that he soghte:For thurgh the fendes sleihte him thoghte,Amonges othre goddes moThat Serapis spak to him tho,Whom he sih there in gret arrai.And thus the fend fro dai to daiThe worschipe of ydolatrieDrowh forth upon the fantasieOf hem that weren thanne blindeAnd couthen noght the trouthe finde.    1590

Thus hast thou herd in what degreOf Grece, Egipte and of CaldeeThe misbelieves whilom stode;And hou so that thei be noght goodeNe trewe, yit thei sprungen oute,Wherof the wyde world abouteHis part of misbelieve tok.Til so befell, as seith the bok,That god a poeple for himselveHath chose of the lignages tuelve,    1600Wherof the sothe redely,As it is write in Genesi,I thenke telle in such a wiseThat it schal be to thin apprise.

After the flod, fro which NoëWas sauf, the world in his degreWas mad, as who seith, newe ayein,Of flour, of fruit, of gras, of grein,Of beste, of bridd and of mankinde,Which evere hath be to god unkinde:    1610For noght withstondende al the fare,Of that this world was mad so bareAnd afterward it was restored,Among the men was nothing moredTowardes god of good lyvynge,Bot al was torned to likingeAfter the fleissh, so that foryeteWas he which yaf hem lif and mete,Of hevene and Erthe creatour.And thus cam forth the grete errour,    1620That thei the hihe god ne knewe,Bot maden othre goddes newe,As thou hast herd me seid tofore:Ther was noman that time bore,That he ne hadde after his choisA god, to whom he yaf his vois.Wherof the misbelieve camInto the time of Habraham:Bot he fond out the rihte weie,Hou only that men scholde obeie    1630The hihe god, which weldeth al,And evere hath don and evere schal,In hevene, in Erthe and ek in helle;Ther is no tunge his miht mai telle.This Patriarch to his lignageForbad, that thei to non ymageEncline scholde in none wise,Bot here offrende and sacrifiseWith al the hole hertes loveUnto the mihti god above    1640Thei scholden yive and to no mo:And thus in thilke time thoBegan the Secte upon this Erthe,Which of believes was the ferthe.Of rihtwisnesse it was conceived,So moste it nedes be receivedOf him that alle riht is inne,The hihe god, which wolde winneA poeple unto his oghne feith.On Habraham the ground he leith,    1650And made him forto multeplieInto so gret a progenie,That thei Egipte al overspradde.Bot Pharao with wrong hem laddeIn servitute ayein the pes,Til god let sende MoisesTo make the deliverance;And for his poeple gret venganceHe tok, which is to hiere a wonder.The king was slain, the lond put under,    1660God bad the rede See divide,Which stod upriht on either sideAnd yaf unto his poeple a weie,That thei on fote it passe dreieAnd gon so forth into desert:Wher forto kepe hem in covert,The daies, whan the Sonne brente,A large cloude hem overwente,And forto wissen hem be nyhte,A firy Piler hem alyhte.    1670And whan that thei for hunger pleigne,The myhti god began to reyneManna fro hevene doun to grounde,Wherof that ech of hem hath foundeHis fode, such riht as him liste;And for thei scholde upon him triste,Riht as who sette a tonne abroche,He percede the harde roche,And sprong out water al at wille,That man and beste hath drunke his fille:    1680And afterward he yaf the laweTo Moises, that hem withdraweThei scholden noght fro that he bad.And in this wise thei be lad,Til thei toke in possessionThe londes of promission,Wher that Caleph and JosuëThe Marches upon such degreDeparten, after the lignageThat ech of hem as Heritage    1690His porpartie hath underfonge.And thus stod this believe longe,Which of prophetes was governed;And thei hadde ek the poeple lernedOf gret honour that scholde hem falle;Bot ate moste nede of alleThei faileden, whan Crist was bore.Bot hou that thei here feith have bore,It nedeth noght to tellen al,The matiere is so general:    1700Whan Lucifer was best in heveneAnd oghte moste have stonde in evene,Towardes god he tok debat;And for that he was obstinat,And wolde noght to trouthe encline,He fell for evere into ruine:And Adam ek in Paradis,Whan he stod most in al his prisAfter thastat of Innocence,Ayein the god brak his defence    1710And fell out of his place aweie:And riht be such a maner weieThe Jwes in here beste plit,Whan that thei scholden most parfitHave stonde upon the prophecie,Tho fellen thei to most folie,And him which was fro hevene come,And of a Maide his fleissh hath nome,And was among hem bore and fedd,As men that wolden noght be spedd    1720Of goddes Sone, with o voisThei hinge and slowhe upon the crois.Wherof the parfit of here laweFro thanne forth hem was withdrawe,So that thei stonde of no merit,Bot in truage as folk soubgitWithoute proprete of placeThei liven out of goddes grace,Dispers in alle londes oute.

And thus the feith is come aboute,    1730That whilom in the Jewes stod,Which is noght parfihtliche good.To speke as it is nou befalle,Ther is a feith aboven alle,In which the trouthe is comprehended,Wherof that we ben alle amended.

The hihe almyhti majeste,Of rihtwisnesse and of pite,The Sinne which that Adam wroghte,Whan he sih time, ayein he boghte,    1740And sende his Sone fro the heveneTo sette mannes Soule in evene,Which thanne was so sore falleUpon the point which was befalle,That he ne mihte himself arise.

Gregoire seith in his aprise,It helpeth noght a man be bore,If goddes Sone were unbore;For thanne thurgh the ferste Sinne,Which Adam whilom broghte ous inne,    1750Ther scholden alle men be lost;Bot Crist restoreth thilke lost,And boghte it with his fleissh and blod.And if we thenken hou it stodOf thilke rancoun which he payde,As seint Gregoire it wrot and sayde,Al was behovely to the man:For that wherof his wo beganWas after cause of al his welthe,Whan he which is the welle of helthe,    1760The hihe creatour of lif,Upon the nede of such a strifSo wolde for his creatureTake on himself the forsfaitureAnd soffre for the mannes sake.Thus mai no reson wel forsakeThat thilke Senne originalNe was the cause in specialOf mannes worschipe ate laste,Which schal withouten ende laste.    1770For be that cause the godhedeAssembled was to the manhedeIn the virgine, where he nomOure fleissh and verai man becomOf bodely fraternite;Wherof the man in his degreStant more worth, as I have told,Than he stod erst be manyfold,Thurgh baptesme of the newe lawe,Of which Crist lord is and felawe.    1780

And thus the hihe goddes myht,Which was in the virgine alyht,The mannes Soule hath reconsiled,Which hadde longe ben exiled.So stant the feith upon believe,Withoute which mai non achieveTo gete him Paradis ayein:Bot this believe is so certein,So full of grace and of vertu,That what man clepeth to Jhesu    1790In clene lif forthwith good dede,He mai noght faile of hevene mede,Which taken hath the rihte feith;For elles, as the gospel seith,Salvacion ther mai be non.And forto preche theruponCrist bad to hise Apostles alle,The whos pouer as nou is falleOn ous that ben of holi cherche,If we the goode dedes werche;    1800For feith only sufficeth noght,Bot if good dede also be wroght.Now were it good that thou forthi,Which thurgh baptesme proprelyArt unto Cristes feith professed,Be war that thou be noght oppressedWith Anticristes lollardie.For as the Jwes prophecieWas set of god for avantage,Riht so this newe tapinage    1810Of lollardie goth abouteTo sette Cristes feith in doute.The seintz that weren ous tofore,Be whom the feith was ferst upbore,That holi cherche stod relieved,Thei oghten betre be believedThan these, whiche that men knoweNoght holy, thogh thei feigne and bloweHere lollardie in mennes Ere.Bot if thou wolt live out of fere,    1820Such newe lore, I rede, eschuie,And hold forth riht the weie and suie,As thine Ancestres dede er this:So schalt thou noght believe amis.

Crist wroghte ferst and after tawhte,So that the dede his word arawhte;He yaf ensample in his persone,And we the wordes have al one,Lich to the Tree with leves grene,Upon the which no fruit is sene.    1830

The Priest Thoas, which of MinerveThe temple hadde forto serve,And the Palladion of TroieKepte under keie, for monoie,Of Anthenor which he hath nome,Hath soffred Anthenor to comeAnd the Palladion to stele,Wherof the worschipe and the weleOf the Troiens was overthrowe.Bot Thoas at the same throwe,    1840Whan Anthenor this Juel tok,Wynkende caste awei his lokFor a deceipte and for a wyle:As he that scholde himself beguile,He hidde his yhen fro the sihte,And wende wel that he so mihteExcuse his false conscience.I wot noght if thilke evidenceNou at this time in here estatzExcuse mihte the Prelatz,    1850Knowende hou that the feith discrescethAnd alle moral vertu cesseth,Wherof that thei the keies bere,Bot yit hem liketh noght to stereHere gostliche yhe forto seThe world in his adversite;Thei wol no labour undertakeTo kepe that hem is betake.Crist deide himselve for the feith,Bot nou our feerfull prelat seith,    1860“The lif is suete,” and that he kepeth,So that the feith unholpe slepeth,And thei unto here ese entendenAnd in here lust her lif despenden,And every man do what him list.Thus stant this world fulfild of Mist,That noman seth the rihte weie:The wardes of the cherche keieThurgh mishandlinge ben myswreynt,The worldes wawe hath welnyh dreynt    1870The Schip which Peter hath to stiere,The forme is kept, bot the matiereTransformed is in other wise.Bot if thei weren gostli wise,And that the Prelatz weren goode,As thei be olde daies stode,It were thanne litel nedeAmong the men to taken hiedeOf that thei hieren Pseudo telle,Which nou is come forto duelle,    1880To sowe cokkel with the corn,So that the tilthe is nyh forlorn,Which Crist sew ferst his oghne hond.Nou stant the cockel in the lond,Wher stod whilom the goode grein,For the Prelatz nou, as men sein,Forslowthen that thei scholden tile.And that I trowe be the skile,Whan ther is lacke in hem above,The poeple is stranged to the love    1890Of trouthe, in cause of ignorance;For wher ther is no pourveanceOf liht, men erren in the derke.Bot if the Prelatz wolden werkeUpon the feith which thei ous teche,Men scholden noght here weie secheWithoute liht, as now is used:Men se the charge aldai refused,Which holi cherche hath undertake.

Bot who that wolde ensample take,    1900Gregoire upon his OmelieAyein the Slouthe of PrelacieCompleigneth him, and thus he seith:“Whan Peter, fader of the feith,At domesdai schal with him bringeJudeam, which thurgh his prechingeHe wan, and Andrew with AchaieSchal come his dette forto paie,And Thomas ek with his beyeteOf Ynde, and Poul the routes grete    1910Of sondri londes schal presente,And we fulfild of lond and rente,Which of this world we holden hiere,With voide handes schul appiere,Touchende oure cure spirital,Which is our charge in special,I not what thing it mai amonteUpon thilke ende of oure accompte,Wher Crist himself is Auditour,Which takth non hiede of vein honour.”    1920Thoffice of the ChancellerieOr of the kinges TresorieNe for the writ ne for the tailleTo warant mai noght thanne availe;The world, which nou so wel we trowe,Schal make ous thanne bot a mowe:So passe we withoute mede,That we non otherwise spede,Bot as we rede that he spedde,The which his lordes besant hedde    1930And therupon gat non encress.Bot at this time natheles,What other man his thonk deserve,The world so lusti is to serve,That we with him ben all acorded,And that is wist and wel recordedThurghout this Erthe in alle londesLet knyhtes winne with here hondes,For oure tunge schal be stilleAnd stonde upon the fleisshes wille.    1940It were a travail forto precheThe feith of Crist, as forto techeThe folk Paiene, it wol noght be;Bot every Prelat holde his SeeWith al such ese as he mai geteOf lusti drinke and lusti mete,Wherof the bodi fat and fullIs unto gostli labour dullAnd slowh to handle thilke plowh.Bot elles we ben swifte ynowh    1950Toward the worldes Avarice;And that is as a sacrifice,Which, after that thapostel seith,Is openly ayein the feithUnto thidoles yove and granted:Bot natheles it is nou haunted,And vertu changed into vice,So that largesce is Avarice,In whos chapitre now we trete.

Mi fader, this matiere is bete    1960So fer, that evere whil I liveI schal the betre hede yiveUnto miself be many weie:Bot over this nou wolde I preieTo wite what the branches areOf Avarice, and hou thei fareAls wel in love as otherwise.

Mi Sone, and I thee schal deviseIn such a manere as thei stonde,So that thou schalt hem understonde.    1970

Dame Avarice is noght soleine,Which is of gold the Capiteine;Bot of hir Court in sondri wiseAfter the Scole of hire apriseSche hath of Servantz manyon,Wherof that Covoitise is on;Which goth the large world aboute,To seche thavantages oute,Wher that he mai the profit winneTo Avarice, and bringth it inne.    1980That on hald and that other draweth,Ther is no day which hem bedaweth,No mor the Sonne than the Mone,Whan ther is eny thing to done,And namely with Covoitise;For he stant out of al assisseOf resonable mannes fare.Wher he pourposeth him to fareUpon his lucre and his beyete,The smale path, the large Strete,    1990The furlong and the longe Mile,Al is bot on for thilke while:And for that he is such on holde,Dame Avarice him hath withholde,As he which is the principalOutward, for he is overalA pourveour and an aspie.For riht as of an hungri PieThe storve bestes ben awaited,Riht so is Covoitise afaited    2000To loke where he mai pourchace,For be his wille he wolde embraceAl that this wyde world beclippeth;Bot evere he somwhat overhippeth,That he ne mai noght al fulfilleThe lustes of his gredi wille.Bot where it falleth in a lond,That Covoitise in myhti hondIs set, it is ful hard to fiede;For thanne he takth non other hiede,    2010Bot that he mai pourchace and gete,His conscience hath al foryete,And not what thing it mai amonteThat he schal afterward acompte.Bote as the Luce in his degreOf tho that lasse ben than heThe fisshes griedeli devoureth,So that no water hem socoureth,Riht so no lawe mai rescoweFro him that wol no riht allowe;    2020For wher that such on is of myht,His will schal stonde in stede of riht.Thus be the men destruid fulofte,Til that the grete god alofteAyein so gret a covoitiseRedresce it in his oghne wise:And in ensample of alle thoI finde a tale write so,The which, for it is good to liere,Hierafterward thou schalt it hiere.    2030

Whan Rome stod in noble plit,Virgile, which was tho parfit,A Mirour made of his clergieAnd sette it in the tounes ijeOf marbre on a piler withoute;That thei be thritty Mile abouteBe daie and ek also be nyhteIn that Mirour beholde myhteHere enemys, if eny were,With al here ordinance there,    2040Which thei ayein the Cite caste:So that, whil thilke Mirour laste,Ther was no lond which mihte achieveWith werre Rome forto grieve;Wherof was gret envie tho.And fell that ilke time so,That Rome hadde werres strongeAyein Cartage, and stoden longeThe tuo Cites upon debat.Cartage sih the stronge astat    2050Of Rome in thilke Mirour stonde,And thoghte al prively to fondeTo overthrowe it be som wyle.And Hanybal was thilke whileThe Prince and ledere of Cartage,Which hadde set al his corageUpon knihthod in such a wise,That he be worthi and be wiseAnd be non othre was conseiled,Wherof the world is yit merveiled    2060Of the maistries that he wroghteUpon the marches whiche he soghte.And fell in thilke time also,The king of Puile, which was tho,Thoghte ayein Rome to rebelle,And thus was take the querele,Hou to destruie this Mirour.

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