Chapter 5

Filler.

Passus Sextus de Visione, ut supra."T3794HIS were a wikkede wey,But who so hadde a gyde,That wolde folwen us ech a foot;"Thus this folke hem mened.Quod Perkyn the Plowman,"By seint Peter of Rome!3800I have an half acre to erieBy the heighe weye;Hadde I eryed this half acre,And sowen it after,I wolde wende with yow,And the wey teche.""This were a long lettyng,"Quod a lady in scleyre,"What sholde we wommenWerche the while?"3810"Somme shul sowe the sak," quod Piers,"For shedyng of the whete;And ye, lovely ladies,With youre longe fyngres,That ye have silk and sandelTo sowe, whan tyme is;Chesibles for chapeleyns,Chirches to honoure."Wyves and widewes,Wolle and flex spynneth;3820Maketh cloth, I counseille yow,And kenneth so youre doughtres;The nedy and the naked,Nymeth hede how thei liggeth,And casteth hem clothes,For so comaundeth Truthe.For I shallevenhem liflode,But if the lond faille,Flesshe and breed botheTo riche and to poore,3830As long as I lyve,For the Lordes love of hevene;And alle manere of menThat thorugh mete and drynke libbeth,Helpeth hym to werche wightliche,That wynneth youre foode.""By Crist!" quod a knyght thoo,"He kenneth us the beste;Ac on the teme, trewely,Taught was I nevere;3840But kenne me," quod the knyght,"And by Crist I wole assaye!""By seint Poul!" quod Perkyn,"Ye profre yow so faire,That I shal swynke and swete,And sowe for us bothe,And othere labours do for thi loveAl my lif tyme,In covenaunt that thow kepeHoly kirke and myselve3850Fro wastours and fro wikked menThat this world destruyeth.And go hunte hardilicheTo hares and to foxes,To bores and to brokkesThat breken doun myne hegges;And so affaite thi fauconsWilde foweles to kille;For swiche cometh to my croft,And croppeth my whete."3860Curteisly the knyght thanneComsed thise wordes;"By my power, Piers!" quod he,"I plighte thee my trouthe,To fulfille this forwarde,Though I fighte sholde;Als longe as I lyveI shal thee mayntene.""Ye, and yet a point," quod Piers,"I preye yow of moore,3870Loke ye tene no tenaunt,But Truthe wole assente;And though ye mowe amercy hem,Lat mercy be taxour,And mekenesse thi maister,Maugree Medes chekes.And though povere men profre yowPresentes and giftes,Nyme it noght, an aventureYe mowe it noght deserve;3880For thow shalt yelde it ayeinAt one yeres tyme,In a ful perilous place,Purgatorie it hatte."And mys-bede noght thi bonde-men,The bettre may thow spede;Though he be thyn underlyng here,Wel may happe in heveneThat he worth worthier set,And with moore blisse.3890Amice, ascende superius.For in charnel at chircheCherles ben yvel to knowe,Or a knyght from a knave there,Knowe this in thyn herte.And that thow be trewe of thi tonge,And tales that thow hatie,But if thei ben of wisdom or of witThi werkmen to chaste.Hold with none harlotes,3900Ne here noght hir tales,And namely at the meteSwiche men eschuwe;For it ben the develes disours,I do the to understonde.""I assente, by seint Jame!"Seide the knyght thanne,"For to werche by thi wordesThe while my lif dureth.""And I shal apparaille me," quod Perkyn,3910"In pilgrymes wise,And wende with yow I wile,Til we fynde Truthe;And caste on my clothesY-clouted and hole,My cokeres and my coffes,For cold of my nailes;And hange myn hoper at myn halsIn stede of a scryppe.A busshel of bred corn3920Brynge me therinne;For I wol sowe it myself,And sithenes wol I wendeTo pilgrymage, as palmeres doon,Pardon for to have.And who so helpeth me to erieAnd sowen here er I wende,Shal have leve, by oure Lorde!To lese here in hervest,And make hem murie thermyd,3930Maugree who so bi-gruccheth it.And alle kynne crafty-men,That konne lyven in truthe,I shal fynden hem fode,That feithfulliche libbeth."Save Jagge the jogelour,And Jonette of the stuwes,And Danyel the dees-pleyere,And Denote the baude,And frere the faitour,3940And folk of hire ordre,And Robyn the ribaudourFor hise rusty wordes.Truthe tolde me ones,And bad me telle it after,Deleantur de libro viventium,I sholde noght dele with hem,For holy chirche is hote of hemNo tithe to take;Qui cum justis non scribantur;3950They ben ascaped good aventure,God hem amende!"Dame Werch-whan-tyme-isPiers wif highte;His doughter highte Do-right-so,-Or-thi-dame-shal-thee-bete;His sone highte Suffre-thi-sovereyns-To-haven-hir-wille,-Deme-hem-noght,-for-if-thow-doost,-Thow-shalt-it-deere-abugge.3960Lat God y-worthe with al,For so his word techeth;For now I am old and hoor,And have of myn owene,To penaunce and to pilgrimageI wol passe with thise othere."For-thi I wole er I wendeDo write my biqueste,In Dei nomine, Amen,I make it myselve;3970He shal have my soule,That best hath deserved it;And fro the fend it defende,For so I bileve,Til I come to hise acountes,As my Credo me telleth,To have a relees and a remission,On that rental I leve."The kirke shal have my caroyne,And kepe my bones;3980For of my corn and catelShe craved the tithe;I paide it ful prestly,For peril of my soule.For-thi is he holden I hopeTo have me in his masse,And mengen in his memorieAmonges alle cristene."My wif shal have of that I wanWith truthe, and na-moore,3990And dele among my doughtres,And my deere children;For though I deye to day,My dettes are quyte;I bar hom that I borwed,Er I to bedde yede."And with the residue and the remenaunt,By the Rode of Lukes!I wol worshipe therwithTruthe by my lyve,4000And ben his pilgrym atte plow,For povere mennes sake.My plow-foot shall be my pikstaf,And picche a-two the rotes,And helpe my cultour to kerveAnd clense the furwes."Now is Perkyn and hise pilgrimesTo the plow faren;To erie his half acreHolpen hym manye;4010Dikeres and delveresDigged up the balkes.Therwith was Perkyn a-payed,And preised hem faste.Othere werkmen ther wereThat wroghten ful yerne;Ech man in his manereMade hymself to doone,And somme to plese PerkynPiked up the wedes.4020At heigh prime PiersLeet the plowgh stonde,To over-sen hem hymself,And who so best wroghteHe sholde be hired therafter,Whan hervest tyme come.And thanne seten somme,And songen atte nale,And holpen ere this half acreWith "How, trolly lolly."4030"Now, by the peril of my soule!" quod Piers,All in pure tene,"But ye arise the ratherAnd rape yow to werche,Shal no greyn that growethGlade yow at nede,And though ye deye for doel,The devel have that reccheth."Tho were faitours a-fered,And feyned hem blynde;4040Somme leide hir legges a-liry,As swiche losels konneth,And made hir mone to Piers,And preide hym of grace;"For we have no lymes to laboure with,Lord, y-graced be the;Ac we preie for yow, Piers,And for youre plowgh bothe,That God of his graceYoure greyn multiplie,4050And yelde yow for youre almesseThat ye gyve us here;For we may noght swynke ne swete,Swich siknesse us eyleth.""If it be sooth," quod Piers, "that ye seyn,I shal it soone aspie.Ye ben wastours, I woot wel,And Truthe woot the sothe;And I am his olde hyne,And highte hym to warne,4060Whiche thei were in this worldHise werkmen apeired.Ye wasten that men wynnenWith travaille and with tene;Ac Truthe shal teche yowHis teme to dryve,Or ye shul eten barley breed,And of the broke drynke."But if he be blynd or broke-legged,Or bolted with irens,4070He shall ete whete breed,And drynke with myselve,Til God of his goodnesseAmendement hym sende.Ac ye myghte travaille, as Truthe wolde,And take mete and hyre,To kepe kyen in the feld,The corn fro the beestes,Diken or delven,Or dyngen upon sheves,4080Or helpe make morter,Or bere muk a-feld."In lecherie and in losengerieYe lyven, and in sleuthe;And al is thorugh suffraunce,That vengeaunce yow ne taketh."Ac ancres and heremitesThat eten noght but at nones,And na-moore er the morwe,Myn almesse shul thei have,4090And of catel to kepe hem with,That han cloistres and chirches."Ac Robert RenabouteShal noght have of myne,Ne postles, but thei preche konneAnd have power of the bisshope;Thei shul have payn and potage,And make hemself at ese,For it is an unreasonable religionThat hath right noght of certein."4100And thanne gan Wastour to wrathen hym,And wolde have y-foughte;And to Piers the PlowmanHe profrede his glove;A bretoner, a braggere,A-bosted Piers als,And bad hym go pissen with his plowgh,"For-pynede sherewe!Wiltow or neltow,We wol have oure wille4110Of thi flour and of thi flesshe,Fecche whanne us liketh;And maken us murye thermyde,Maugree thi chekes."Thanne Piers the PlowmanPleyned hym to the knyghte,To kepen hym as covenaunt wasFro cursede sherewes,And fro thise wastours wolves-kynnesThat maketh the world deere;4120"For tho wasten and wynnen noght,And that ilke whileWorth nevere plentee among the peple,The while my plowgh liggeth."Curteisly the knyght thanne,As his kynde wolde,Warnede Wastour,And wissed hym bettre,"Or thow shalt abigge by the lawe,By the ordre that I bere!"4130"I was noght wont to werche," quod Wastour,"And now wol I noght bigynne;"And leet light of the lawe,And lasse of the knyghte;And sette Piers at a pese,And his plowgh bothe;And manaced Piers and his men,If thei mette eft soone."Now, by the peril of my soule!" quod Piers,"I shal apeire yow alle;"4140And houped after Hunger,That herde hym at the firste,"A-wreke me of thise wastours," quod he,"That this world shendeth."Hunger in haste thooHente Wastour by the wombe,And wrong him so by the wombe,That bothe hise eighen watrede.He buffeted the bretonerAboute the chekes,4150That he loked lik a lanterneAl his lif after.He bette hem so bothe,He brast ner hire guttes;Ne hadde Piers with a pese loofPreyed Hunger to cesse,They hadde be dolven,Ne deme thow noon oother."Suffre hem lyve," he seide,"And lat hem ete with hogges,4160Or ellis benes or brenY-baken togideres,Or ellis melk and mene ale;"Thus preied Piers for hem.Faitours for fere herofFlowen into bernes,And flapten on with flailesFro morwe til even;That Hunger was noght so hardyOn hem for to loke,4170For a potful of pesesThat Piers hadde y-maked.An heep of heremytesHenten hem spades,And kitten hir copes,And courtepies hem maked,And wente as werkmenWith spades and with shovelesAnd dolven and dikeden,To dryve awey hunger.4180Blynde and bed-redenWere bootned a thousande,That seten to begge silver,Soone were thei heeled;For that was bake for bayarde,Was boote for many hungry;And many a beggere for benesBuxum was to swynke;And eche a povere man wel a-paiedTo have pesen for his hyre,4190And what Piers preide hem to do,As prest as a sperhauk;And therof was Piers proud,And putte hem to werke,And yaf hem mete as he myghte aforthe,And mesurable hyre.Thanne had Piers pité,And preide Hunger to wendeHoom unto his owene yerd,And holden hym there;4200"For I am wel a-wrokeOf wastours, thorugh thy myghte.Ac I preie thee, er thow passe,"Quod Piers to Hunger,"Of beggeris and of bidderisWhat best be to doone.For I woot wel, be thow went,Thei wol werche ful ille;For meschief it makethThei be so meke nouthe,4210And for defaute of hire foodeThis folk is at my wille."Thei are my blody bretheren," quod Piers,"For God boughte us alle.Truthe taughte me onesTo loven hem echone;And to helpen hem of alle thyngAy as hem nedeth.And now wolde I wite of theeWhat were the beste;4220And how I myghte a-maistren hem,And make hem to werche.""Here now," quod Hunger,"And hoold it for a wisdom;Bolde beggeris and biggeThat mowe hir breed bi-swynke,With houndes breed and horse breedHoold up hir hertes;A-bate hem with benes,For bollynge of hir wombes;4230And if the gomes grucche,Bidde hem go swynke,And he shal soupe swetterWhan he it hath deserved."And if thow fynde any frekeThat fortune hath apeired,Or any manere false men,Fonde thow swiche to knowe;Conforte hym with thi catel,For Cristes love of hevene;4240Love hem and leve hem,So lawe of God techeth,Alter alterius onera portare."And alle manere of menThat thow myght aspie,That nedy ben and noughty,Help hem with thi goodes;Love hem and lakke hem noght,Lat God take the vengeaunce;Theigh thei doon yvele,4250Lat God y-worthe.Mihi vindictam, et ego retribuam."And if thow wilt be gracious to God,Do as the gospel techeth,And bi-love thee amonges lewed men,So shaltow lacche grace;=Facite vos amicos de Mammone iniquitatis.""I wolde noght greve God," quod Piers,"For al the good on grounde.4260Mighte I synne-lees do as thow seist?"Seide Piers thanne."Ye, I bi-hote thee," quod Hunger,"Or ellis the Bible lieth;Go to Genesis the geaunt,The engendrour of us alle:In sudoreand swynkThow shalt thi mete tilie,And laboure for thi liflode,And so oure Lorde highte.4270And Sapience seith the same,I seigh it in the Bible,Piger præ frigoreNo feeld nolde tilie,And therfore he shal begge and bidde,And no man bete his hunger."Mathew with mannes faceMouthed thise wordes,Thatservus nequamhadde a mnam,And for he wolde noght chaffare,4280He hadde maugree of his maisterEvere moore after,And by-nam hym his mnam,For he ne wolde werche,And yaf that mnam to hymThat ten mnames hadde;And with that he seide,That holy chirche it herde,He that hath shal haveAnd helpe there it nedeth;4290And he that noght hath shal noght have,And no man hym helpe,And that he weneth wel to haveI wole it hym bi-reve.Kynde wit woldeThat ech a wight wroghte,Or in dikynge or in delvynge,Or travaillynge in preieres;Contemplatif lif or actif lifCrist wolde thei wroghte.4300The Sauter seith in the PsalmeOfBeati omnes,The freke that fedeth hymselfWith his feithful labour,He is blessed by the bookIn body and in soule."Labores manuum tuarum, etc."Yet I preie yow," quod Piers,"Par charité, and ye konneAny leef of leche-craft,4310Lere it me, my deere;For some of my servauntz,And myself bothe,Of al a wike werche noght,So oure wombe aketh.""I woot wel," quod Hunger,"What siknesse yow eyleth;Ye han manged over muche,And that maketh yow grone.Ac I hote thee," quod Hunger,4320"As thow thyn hele wilnest,That thow drynke no dayEr thow dyne som what.Ete noght, I hote thee,Er hunger thee take,And sende thee of his sauceTo savore with thi lippes;And keep som til soper-tyme,And sitte noght to longe,And rys up er appetit4330Have eten his fille.Lat noght sire SurfetSitten at thi borde.Leve hym noght, for he is lecherous,And likerous of tunge,And after many maner metesHis mawe is a-fyngred."And if thow diete thee thus,I dar legge myne eris,That Phisik shal hise furred hodes4340For his fode selle,And his cloke of Calabre,With alle the knappes of golde,And be fayn, by my feith!His phisik to lete,And lerne to laboure with lond,For liflode is swete.For murthereris are manye leches,Lord hem amende!They do men deye thorugh hir drynkes,4350Er destynee it wolde.""By seint Poul!" quod Piers,"Thise arn profitable wordes!Wend now, Hunger, whan thow wolt,That wel be thow evere!For this is a lovely lesson,Lord it thee for-yelde!""Bi-hote God!" quod Hunger,"Hennes ne wole I wende,Til I have dyned bi this day,4360And y-dronke bothe.""I have no peny," quod Piers,"Pulettes to bugge,Ne neither gees ne grys,But two grene cheses,A fewe cruddes and creme,And an haver cake,And two loves of benes and branY-bake for my fauntes;And yet I seye, by my soule!4370I have no salt bacon,Ne no cokeney, by Crist!Coloppes for to maken."Ac I have percile and porettes,And manye cole plauntes,And ek a cow and a calf,And a cart mareTo drawe a-feld my donge,The while the droghte lasteth;And by this liflode we mote lyve4380Til Lammesse tyme.And by that, I hope to haveHervest in my crofte,And thanne may I dighte thi dyner,As me deere liketh."Al the povere peple thoPescoddes fetten,Benes and baken applesThei broghte in hir lappes,Chibolles and chervelles,4390And ripe chiries manye,And profrede Piers this presentTo plese with Hunger.Al Hunger eet in haste,And axed after moore.Thanne povere folk, for fere,Fedden Hunger yerne,With grene poret and pesen,To poisone hym thei thoghte.By that it neghed neer hervest,4400And newe corn cam to chepyng;Thanne was folk fayn,And fedde Hunger with the beste,With goode ale, as Gloton taghte,And garte Hunger go slepe.And tho wolde Wastour noght werche,But wandren aboute,Ne no beggere ete breedThat benes inne were,But of coket and cler-matyn,4410Or ellis of clene whete;Ne noon halfpeny aleIn none wise drynke,But of the beste and of the brunnesteThat in burghe is to selle.Laborers that have no landTo lyve on but hire handes,Deyned noght to dyne a dayNyght-olde wortes;May no peny ale hem paye,4420Ne no pece of bacone,But if it be fresshe flessh outher fisshe,Fryed outher y-bake,And thatchaudandplus chaud,For chillynge of hir mawe;And but if he be heighliche hyred;Ellis wole he chide,And that he was werkman wroghtWaille the tyme,Ayeins Catons counseil4430Comseth he to jangle.=Paupertatis onus patienter ferre memento.He greveth hym ageyn God,And gruccheth ageyn Reson,And thanne corseth he the kyng,And al his counseil after,Swiche lawes to lokeLaborers to greve.Ac whiles Hunger was hir maister,4440Ther wolde noon of hem chide,Ne stryven ayeins his statut,So sterneliche he loked.Ac I warne yow, werkmen,Wynneth whil ye mowe,For Hunger hiderwardHasteth hym faste.He shal a-wake with waterWastours to chaste;Er fyve be fulfilled,4450Swich famyn shal a-ryse,Thorugh flodes and thorugh foule wedresFruytes shul faille,And so seide Saturne,And sente yow to warne.Whan ye se the sonne a-mys,And two monkes heddes,And a mayde have the maistrie,And multiplie by eighte,Thanne shal deeth with-drawe,4460And derthe be justice,And Dawe the dykereDeye for hunger;But God of his goodnesse4464Graunte us a trewe.

Passus Sextus de Visione, ut supra.

"T3794HIS were a wikkede wey,But who so hadde a gyde,That wolde folwen us ech a foot;"Thus this folke hem mened.

"T3794

3794

HIS were a wikkede wey,

But who so hadde a gyde,

That wolde folwen us ech a foot;"

Thus this folke hem mened.

Quod Perkyn the Plowman,"By seint Peter of Rome!3800I have an half acre to erieBy the heighe weye;Hadde I eryed this half acre,And sowen it after,I wolde wende with yow,And the wey teche."

Quod Perkyn the Plowman,

"By seint Peter of Rome!

3800

I have an half acre to erie

By the heighe weye;

Hadde I eryed this half acre,

And sowen it after,

I wolde wende with yow,

And the wey teche."

"This were a long lettyng,"Quod a lady in scleyre,"What sholde we wommenWerche the while?"

"This were a long lettyng,"

Quod a lady in scleyre,

"What sholde we wommen

Werche the while?"

3810"Somme shul sowe the sak," quod Piers,"For shedyng of the whete;And ye, lovely ladies,With youre longe fyngres,That ye have silk and sandelTo sowe, whan tyme is;Chesibles for chapeleyns,Chirches to honoure.

3810

"Somme shul sowe the sak," quod Piers,

"For shedyng of the whete;

And ye, lovely ladies,

With youre longe fyngres,

That ye have silk and sandel

To sowe, whan tyme is;

Chesibles for chapeleyns,

Chirches to honoure.

"Wyves and widewes,Wolle and flex spynneth;3820Maketh cloth, I counseille yow,And kenneth so youre doughtres;The nedy and the naked,Nymeth hede how thei liggeth,And casteth hem clothes,For so comaundeth Truthe.For I shallevenhem liflode,But if the lond faille,Flesshe and breed botheTo riche and to poore,3830As long as I lyve,For the Lordes love of hevene;And alle manere of menThat thorugh mete and drynke libbeth,Helpeth hym to werche wightliche,That wynneth youre foode."

"Wyves and widewes,

Wolle and flex spynneth;

3820

Maketh cloth, I counseille yow,

And kenneth so youre doughtres;

The nedy and the naked,

Nymeth hede how thei liggeth,

And casteth hem clothes,

For so comaundeth Truthe.

For I shallevenhem liflode,

But if the lond faille,

Flesshe and breed bothe

To riche and to poore,

3830

As long as I lyve,

For the Lordes love of hevene;

And alle manere of men

That thorugh mete and drynke libbeth,

Helpeth hym to werche wightliche,

That wynneth youre foode."

"By Crist!" quod a knyght thoo,"He kenneth us the beste;Ac on the teme, trewely,Taught was I nevere;3840But kenne me," quod the knyght,"And by Crist I wole assaye!"

"By Crist!" quod a knyght thoo,

"He kenneth us the beste;

Ac on the teme, trewely,

Taught was I nevere;

3840

But kenne me," quod the knyght,

"And by Crist I wole assaye!"

"By seint Poul!" quod Perkyn,"Ye profre yow so faire,That I shal swynke and swete,And sowe for us bothe,And othere labours do for thi loveAl my lif tyme,In covenaunt that thow kepeHoly kirke and myselve3850Fro wastours and fro wikked menThat this world destruyeth.And go hunte hardilicheTo hares and to foxes,To bores and to brokkesThat breken doun myne hegges;And so affaite thi fauconsWilde foweles to kille;For swiche cometh to my croft,And croppeth my whete."

"By seint Poul!" quod Perkyn,

"Ye profre yow so faire,

That I shal swynke and swete,

And sowe for us bothe,

And othere labours do for thi love

Al my lif tyme,

In covenaunt that thow kepe

Holy kirke and myselve

3850

Fro wastours and fro wikked men

That this world destruyeth.

And go hunte hardiliche

To hares and to foxes,

To bores and to brokkes

That breken doun myne hegges;

And so affaite thi faucons

Wilde foweles to kille;

For swiche cometh to my croft,

And croppeth my whete."

3860Curteisly the knyght thanneComsed thise wordes;"By my power, Piers!" quod he,"I plighte thee my trouthe,To fulfille this forwarde,Though I fighte sholde;Als longe as I lyveI shal thee mayntene."

3860

Curteisly the knyght thanne

Comsed thise wordes;

"By my power, Piers!" quod he,

"I plighte thee my trouthe,

To fulfille this forwarde,

Though I fighte sholde;

Als longe as I lyve

I shal thee mayntene."

"Ye, and yet a point," quod Piers,"I preye yow of moore,3870Loke ye tene no tenaunt,But Truthe wole assente;And though ye mowe amercy hem,Lat mercy be taxour,And mekenesse thi maister,Maugree Medes chekes.And though povere men profre yowPresentes and giftes,Nyme it noght, an aventureYe mowe it noght deserve;3880For thow shalt yelde it ayeinAt one yeres tyme,In a ful perilous place,Purgatorie it hatte.

"Ye, and yet a point," quod Piers,

"I preye yow of moore,

3870

Loke ye tene no tenaunt,

But Truthe wole assente;

And though ye mowe amercy hem,

Lat mercy be taxour,

And mekenesse thi maister,

Maugree Medes chekes.

And though povere men profre yow

Presentes and giftes,

Nyme it noght, an aventure

Ye mowe it noght deserve;

3880

For thow shalt yelde it ayein

At one yeres tyme,

In a ful perilous place,

Purgatorie it hatte.

"And mys-bede noght thi bonde-men,The bettre may thow spede;Though he be thyn underlyng here,Wel may happe in heveneThat he worth worthier set,And with moore blisse.3890Amice, ascende superius.For in charnel at chircheCherles ben yvel to knowe,Or a knyght from a knave there,Knowe this in thyn herte.And that thow be trewe of thi tonge,And tales that thow hatie,But if thei ben of wisdom or of witThi werkmen to chaste.Hold with none harlotes,3900Ne here noght hir tales,And namely at the meteSwiche men eschuwe;For it ben the develes disours,I do the to understonde."

"And mys-bede noght thi bonde-men,

The bettre may thow spede;

Though he be thyn underlyng here,

Wel may happe in hevene

That he worth worthier set,

And with moore blisse.

3890

Amice, ascende superius.

For in charnel at chirche

Cherles ben yvel to knowe,

Or a knyght from a knave there,

Knowe this in thyn herte.

And that thow be trewe of thi tonge,

And tales that thow hatie,

But if thei ben of wisdom or of wit

Thi werkmen to chaste.

Hold with none harlotes,

3900

Ne here noght hir tales,

And namely at the mete

Swiche men eschuwe;

For it ben the develes disours,

I do the to understonde."

"I assente, by seint Jame!"Seide the knyght thanne,"For to werche by thi wordesThe while my lif dureth."

"I assente, by seint Jame!"

Seide the knyght thanne,

"For to werche by thi wordes

The while my lif dureth."

"And I shal apparaille me," quod Perkyn,3910"In pilgrymes wise,And wende with yow I wile,Til we fynde Truthe;And caste on my clothesY-clouted and hole,My cokeres and my coffes,For cold of my nailes;And hange myn hoper at myn halsIn stede of a scryppe.A busshel of bred corn3920Brynge me therinne;For I wol sowe it myself,And sithenes wol I wendeTo pilgrymage, as palmeres doon,Pardon for to have.And who so helpeth me to erieAnd sowen here er I wende,Shal have leve, by oure Lorde!To lese here in hervest,And make hem murie thermyd,3930Maugree who so bi-gruccheth it.And alle kynne crafty-men,That konne lyven in truthe,I shal fynden hem fode,That feithfulliche libbeth.

"And I shal apparaille me," quod Perkyn,

3910

"In pilgrymes wise,

And wende with yow I wile,

Til we fynde Truthe;

And caste on my clothes

Y-clouted and hole,

My cokeres and my coffes,

For cold of my nailes;

And hange myn hoper at myn hals

In stede of a scryppe.

A busshel of bred corn

3920

Brynge me therinne;

For I wol sowe it myself,

And sithenes wol I wende

To pilgrymage, as palmeres doon,

Pardon for to have.

And who so helpeth me to erie

And sowen here er I wende,

Shal have leve, by oure Lorde!

To lese here in hervest,

And make hem murie thermyd,

3930

Maugree who so bi-gruccheth it.

And alle kynne crafty-men,

That konne lyven in truthe,

I shal fynden hem fode,

That feithfulliche libbeth.

"Save Jagge the jogelour,And Jonette of the stuwes,And Danyel the dees-pleyere,And Denote the baude,And frere the faitour,3940And folk of hire ordre,And Robyn the ribaudourFor hise rusty wordes.Truthe tolde me ones,And bad me telle it after,Deleantur de libro viventium,I sholde noght dele with hem,For holy chirche is hote of hemNo tithe to take;Qui cum justis non scribantur;3950They ben ascaped good aventure,God hem amende!"

"Save Jagge the jogelour,

And Jonette of the stuwes,

And Danyel the dees-pleyere,

And Denote the baude,

And frere the faitour,

3940

And folk of hire ordre,

And Robyn the ribaudour

For hise rusty wordes.

Truthe tolde me ones,

And bad me telle it after,

Deleantur de libro viventium,

I sholde noght dele with hem,

For holy chirche is hote of hem

No tithe to take;

Qui cum justis non scribantur;

3950

They ben ascaped good aventure,

God hem amende!"

Dame Werch-whan-tyme-isPiers wif highte;His doughter highte Do-right-so,-Or-thi-dame-shal-thee-bete;His sone highte Suffre-thi-sovereyns-To-haven-hir-wille,-Deme-hem-noght,-for-if-thow-doost,-Thow-shalt-it-deere-abugge.3960Lat God y-worthe with al,For so his word techeth;For now I am old and hoor,And have of myn owene,To penaunce and to pilgrimageI wol passe with thise othere.

Dame Werch-whan-tyme-is

Piers wif highte;

His doughter highte Do-right-so,-

Or-thi-dame-shal-thee-bete;

His sone highte Suffre-thi-sovereyns-

To-haven-hir-wille,-

Deme-hem-noght,-for-if-thow-doost,-

Thow-shalt-it-deere-abugge.

3960

Lat God y-worthe with al,

For so his word techeth;

For now I am old and hoor,

And have of myn owene,

To penaunce and to pilgrimage

I wol passe with thise othere.

"For-thi I wole er I wendeDo write my biqueste,In Dei nomine, Amen,I make it myselve;3970He shal have my soule,That best hath deserved it;And fro the fend it defende,For so I bileve,Til I come to hise acountes,As my Credo me telleth,To have a relees and a remission,On that rental I leve.

"For-thi I wole er I wende

Do write my biqueste,

In Dei nomine, Amen,

I make it myselve;

3970

He shal have my soule,

That best hath deserved it;

And fro the fend it defende,

For so I bileve,

Til I come to hise acountes,

As my Credo me telleth,

To have a relees and a remission,

On that rental I leve.

"The kirke shal have my caroyne,And kepe my bones;3980For of my corn and catelShe craved the tithe;I paide it ful prestly,For peril of my soule.For-thi is he holden I hopeTo have me in his masse,And mengen in his memorieAmonges alle cristene.

"The kirke shal have my caroyne,

And kepe my bones;

3980

For of my corn and catel

She craved the tithe;

I paide it ful prestly,

For peril of my soule.

For-thi is he holden I hope

To have me in his masse,

And mengen in his memorie

Amonges alle cristene.

"My wif shal have of that I wanWith truthe, and na-moore,3990And dele among my doughtres,And my deere children;For though I deye to day,My dettes are quyte;I bar hom that I borwed,Er I to bedde yede.

"My wif shal have of that I wan

With truthe, and na-moore,

3990

And dele among my doughtres,

And my deere children;

For though I deye to day,

My dettes are quyte;

I bar hom that I borwed,

Er I to bedde yede.

"And with the residue and the remenaunt,By the Rode of Lukes!I wol worshipe therwithTruthe by my lyve,4000And ben his pilgrym atte plow,For povere mennes sake.My plow-foot shall be my pikstaf,And picche a-two the rotes,And helpe my cultour to kerveAnd clense the furwes."

"And with the residue and the remenaunt,

By the Rode of Lukes!

I wol worshipe therwith

Truthe by my lyve,

4000

And ben his pilgrym atte plow,

For povere mennes sake.

My plow-foot shall be my pikstaf,

And picche a-two the rotes,

And helpe my cultour to kerve

And clense the furwes."

Now is Perkyn and hise pilgrimesTo the plow faren;To erie his half acreHolpen hym manye;4010Dikeres and delveresDigged up the balkes.Therwith was Perkyn a-payed,And preised hem faste.

Now is Perkyn and hise pilgrimes

To the plow faren;

To erie his half acre

Holpen hym manye;

4010

Dikeres and delveres

Digged up the balkes.

Therwith was Perkyn a-payed,

And preised hem faste.

Othere werkmen ther wereThat wroghten ful yerne;Ech man in his manereMade hymself to doone,And somme to plese PerkynPiked up the wedes.

Othere werkmen ther were

That wroghten ful yerne;

Ech man in his manere

Made hymself to doone,

And somme to plese Perkyn

Piked up the wedes.

4020At heigh prime PiersLeet the plowgh stonde,To over-sen hem hymself,And who so best wroghteHe sholde be hired therafter,Whan hervest tyme come.

4020

At heigh prime Piers

Leet the plowgh stonde,

To over-sen hem hymself,

And who so best wroghte

He sholde be hired therafter,

Whan hervest tyme come.

And thanne seten somme,And songen atte nale,And holpen ere this half acreWith "How, trolly lolly."

And thanne seten somme,

And songen atte nale,

And holpen ere this half acre

With "How, trolly lolly."

4030"Now, by the peril of my soule!" quod Piers,All in pure tene,"But ye arise the ratherAnd rape yow to werche,Shal no greyn that growethGlade yow at nede,And though ye deye for doel,The devel have that reccheth."

4030

"Now, by the peril of my soule!" quod Piers,

All in pure tene,

"But ye arise the rather

And rape yow to werche,

Shal no greyn that groweth

Glade yow at nede,

And though ye deye for doel,

The devel have that reccheth."

Tho were faitours a-fered,And feyned hem blynde;4040Somme leide hir legges a-liry,As swiche losels konneth,And made hir mone to Piers,And preide hym of grace;"For we have no lymes to laboure with,Lord, y-graced be the;Ac we preie for yow, Piers,And for youre plowgh bothe,That God of his graceYoure greyn multiplie,4050And yelde yow for youre almesseThat ye gyve us here;For we may noght swynke ne swete,Swich siknesse us eyleth."

Tho were faitours a-fered,

And feyned hem blynde;

4040

Somme leide hir legges a-liry,

As swiche losels konneth,

And made hir mone to Piers,

And preide hym of grace;

"For we have no lymes to laboure with,

Lord, y-graced be the;

Ac we preie for yow, Piers,

And for youre plowgh bothe,

That God of his grace

Youre greyn multiplie,

4050

And yelde yow for youre almesse

That ye gyve us here;

For we may noght swynke ne swete,

Swich siknesse us eyleth."

"If it be sooth," quod Piers, "that ye seyn,I shal it soone aspie.Ye ben wastours, I woot wel,And Truthe woot the sothe;And I am his olde hyne,And highte hym to warne,4060Whiche thei were in this worldHise werkmen apeired.Ye wasten that men wynnenWith travaille and with tene;Ac Truthe shal teche yowHis teme to dryve,Or ye shul eten barley breed,And of the broke drynke.

"If it be sooth," quod Piers, "that ye seyn,

I shal it soone aspie.

Ye ben wastours, I woot wel,

And Truthe woot the sothe;

And I am his olde hyne,

And highte hym to warne,

4060

Whiche thei were in this world

Hise werkmen apeired.

Ye wasten that men wynnen

With travaille and with tene;

Ac Truthe shal teche yow

His teme to dryve,

Or ye shul eten barley breed,

And of the broke drynke.

"But if he be blynd or broke-legged,Or bolted with irens,4070He shall ete whete breed,And drynke with myselve,Til God of his goodnesseAmendement hym sende.Ac ye myghte travaille, as Truthe wolde,And take mete and hyre,To kepe kyen in the feld,The corn fro the beestes,Diken or delven,Or dyngen upon sheves,4080Or helpe make morter,Or bere muk a-feld.

"But if he be blynd or broke-legged,

Or bolted with irens,

4070

He shall ete whete breed,

And drynke with myselve,

Til God of his goodnesse

Amendement hym sende.

Ac ye myghte travaille, as Truthe wolde,

And take mete and hyre,

To kepe kyen in the feld,

The corn fro the beestes,

Diken or delven,

Or dyngen upon sheves,

4080

Or helpe make morter,

Or bere muk a-feld.

"In lecherie and in losengerieYe lyven, and in sleuthe;And al is thorugh suffraunce,That vengeaunce yow ne taketh.

"In lecherie and in losengerie

Ye lyven, and in sleuthe;

And al is thorugh suffraunce,

That vengeaunce yow ne taketh.

"Ac ancres and heremitesThat eten noght but at nones,And na-moore er the morwe,Myn almesse shul thei have,4090And of catel to kepe hem with,That han cloistres and chirches.

"Ac ancres and heremites

That eten noght but at nones,

And na-moore er the morwe,

Myn almesse shul thei have,

4090

And of catel to kepe hem with,

That han cloistres and chirches.

"Ac Robert RenabouteShal noght have of myne,Ne postles, but thei preche konneAnd have power of the bisshope;Thei shul have payn and potage,And make hemself at ese,For it is an unreasonable religionThat hath right noght of certein."

"Ac Robert Renaboute

Shal noght have of myne,

Ne postles, but thei preche konne

And have power of the bisshope;

Thei shul have payn and potage,

And make hemself at ese,

For it is an unreasonable religion

That hath right noght of certein."

4100And thanne gan Wastour to wrathen hym,And wolde have y-foughte;And to Piers the PlowmanHe profrede his glove;A bretoner, a braggere,A-bosted Piers als,And bad hym go pissen with his plowgh,"For-pynede sherewe!Wiltow or neltow,We wol have oure wille4110Of thi flour and of thi flesshe,Fecche whanne us liketh;And maken us murye thermyde,Maugree thi chekes."

4100

And thanne gan Wastour to wrathen hym,

And wolde have y-foughte;

And to Piers the Plowman

He profrede his glove;

A bretoner, a braggere,

A-bosted Piers als,

And bad hym go pissen with his plowgh,

"For-pynede sherewe!

Wiltow or neltow,

We wol have oure wille

4110

Of thi flour and of thi flesshe,

Fecche whanne us liketh;

And maken us murye thermyde,

Maugree thi chekes."

Thanne Piers the PlowmanPleyned hym to the knyghte,To kepen hym as covenaunt wasFro cursede sherewes,And fro thise wastours wolves-kynnesThat maketh the world deere;4120"For tho wasten and wynnen noght,And that ilke whileWorth nevere plentee among the peple,The while my plowgh liggeth."

Thanne Piers the Plowman

Pleyned hym to the knyghte,

To kepen hym as covenaunt was

Fro cursede sherewes,

And fro thise wastours wolves-kynnes

That maketh the world deere;

4120

"For tho wasten and wynnen noght,

And that ilke while

Worth nevere plentee among the peple,

The while my plowgh liggeth."

Curteisly the knyght thanne,As his kynde wolde,Warnede Wastour,And wissed hym bettre,"Or thow shalt abigge by the lawe,By the ordre that I bere!"

Curteisly the knyght thanne,

As his kynde wolde,

Warnede Wastour,

And wissed hym bettre,

"Or thow shalt abigge by the lawe,

By the ordre that I bere!"

4130"I was noght wont to werche," quod Wastour,"And now wol I noght bigynne;"And leet light of the lawe,And lasse of the knyghte;And sette Piers at a pese,And his plowgh bothe;And manaced Piers and his men,If thei mette eft soone.

4130

"I was noght wont to werche," quod Wastour,

"And now wol I noght bigynne;"

And leet light of the lawe,

And lasse of the knyghte;

And sette Piers at a pese,

And his plowgh bothe;

And manaced Piers and his men,

If thei mette eft soone.

"Now, by the peril of my soule!" quod Piers,"I shal apeire yow alle;"4140And houped after Hunger,That herde hym at the firste,"A-wreke me of thise wastours," quod he,"That this world shendeth."

"Now, by the peril of my soule!" quod Piers,

"I shal apeire yow alle;"

4140

And houped after Hunger,

That herde hym at the firste,

"A-wreke me of thise wastours," quod he,

"That this world shendeth."

Hunger in haste thooHente Wastour by the wombe,And wrong him so by the wombe,That bothe hise eighen watrede.

Hunger in haste thoo

Hente Wastour by the wombe,

And wrong him so by the wombe,

That bothe hise eighen watrede.

He buffeted the bretonerAboute the chekes,4150That he loked lik a lanterneAl his lif after.He bette hem so bothe,He brast ner hire guttes;Ne hadde Piers with a pese loofPreyed Hunger to cesse,They hadde be dolven,Ne deme thow noon oother.

He buffeted the bretoner

Aboute the chekes,

4150

That he loked lik a lanterne

Al his lif after.

He bette hem so bothe,

He brast ner hire guttes;

Ne hadde Piers with a pese loof

Preyed Hunger to cesse,

They hadde be dolven,

Ne deme thow noon oother.

"Suffre hem lyve," he seide,"And lat hem ete with hogges,4160Or ellis benes or brenY-baken togideres,Or ellis melk and mene ale;"Thus preied Piers for hem.

"Suffre hem lyve," he seide,

"And lat hem ete with hogges,

4160

Or ellis benes or bren

Y-baken togideres,

Or ellis melk and mene ale;"

Thus preied Piers for hem.

Faitours for fere herofFlowen into bernes,And flapten on with flailesFro morwe til even;That Hunger was noght so hardyOn hem for to loke,4170For a potful of pesesThat Piers hadde y-maked.

Faitours for fere herof

Flowen into bernes,

And flapten on with flailes

Fro morwe til even;

That Hunger was noght so hardy

On hem for to loke,

4170

For a potful of peses

That Piers hadde y-maked.

An heep of heremytesHenten hem spades,And kitten hir copes,And courtepies hem maked,And wente as werkmenWith spades and with shovelesAnd dolven and dikeden,To dryve awey hunger.

An heep of heremytes

Henten hem spades,

And kitten hir copes,

And courtepies hem maked,

And wente as werkmen

With spades and with shoveles

And dolven and dikeden,

To dryve awey hunger.

4180Blynde and bed-redenWere bootned a thousande,That seten to begge silver,Soone were thei heeled;For that was bake for bayarde,Was boote for many hungry;And many a beggere for benesBuxum was to swynke;And eche a povere man wel a-paiedTo have pesen for his hyre,4190And what Piers preide hem to do,As prest as a sperhauk;And therof was Piers proud,And putte hem to werke,And yaf hem mete as he myghte aforthe,And mesurable hyre.

4180

Blynde and bed-reden

Were bootned a thousande,

That seten to begge silver,

Soone were thei heeled;

For that was bake for bayarde,

Was boote for many hungry;

And many a beggere for benes

Buxum was to swynke;

And eche a povere man wel a-paied

To have pesen for his hyre,

4190

And what Piers preide hem to do,

As prest as a sperhauk;

And therof was Piers proud,

And putte hem to werke,

And yaf hem mete as he myghte aforthe,

And mesurable hyre.

Thanne had Piers pité,And preide Hunger to wendeHoom unto his owene yerd,And holden hym there;4200"For I am wel a-wrokeOf wastours, thorugh thy myghte.Ac I preie thee, er thow passe,"Quod Piers to Hunger,"Of beggeris and of bidderisWhat best be to doone.For I woot wel, be thow went,Thei wol werche ful ille;For meschief it makethThei be so meke nouthe,4210And for defaute of hire foodeThis folk is at my wille.

Thanne had Piers pité,

And preide Hunger to wende

Hoom unto his owene yerd,

And holden hym there;

4200

"For I am wel a-wroke

Of wastours, thorugh thy myghte.

Ac I preie thee, er thow passe,"

Quod Piers to Hunger,

"Of beggeris and of bidderis

What best be to doone.

For I woot wel, be thow went,

Thei wol werche ful ille;

For meschief it maketh

Thei be so meke nouthe,

4210

And for defaute of hire foode

This folk is at my wille.

"Thei are my blody bretheren," quod Piers,"For God boughte us alle.Truthe taughte me onesTo loven hem echone;And to helpen hem of alle thyngAy as hem nedeth.And now wolde I wite of theeWhat were the beste;4220And how I myghte a-maistren hem,And make hem to werche."

"Thei are my blody bretheren," quod Piers,

"For God boughte us alle.

Truthe taughte me ones

To loven hem echone;

And to helpen hem of alle thyng

Ay as hem nedeth.

And now wolde I wite of thee

What were the beste;

4220

And how I myghte a-maistren hem,

And make hem to werche."

"Here now," quod Hunger,"And hoold it for a wisdom;Bolde beggeris and biggeThat mowe hir breed bi-swynke,With houndes breed and horse breedHoold up hir hertes;A-bate hem with benes,For bollynge of hir wombes;4230And if the gomes grucche,Bidde hem go swynke,And he shal soupe swetterWhan he it hath deserved.

"Here now," quod Hunger,

"And hoold it for a wisdom;

Bolde beggeris and bigge

That mowe hir breed bi-swynke,

With houndes breed and horse breed

Hoold up hir hertes;

A-bate hem with benes,

For bollynge of hir wombes;

4230

And if the gomes grucche,

Bidde hem go swynke,

And he shal soupe swetter

Whan he it hath deserved.

"And if thow fynde any frekeThat fortune hath apeired,Or any manere false men,Fonde thow swiche to knowe;Conforte hym with thi catel,For Cristes love of hevene;4240Love hem and leve hem,So lawe of God techeth,Alter alterius onera portare.

"And if thow fynde any freke

That fortune hath apeired,

Or any manere false men,

Fonde thow swiche to knowe;

Conforte hym with thi catel,

For Cristes love of hevene;

4240

Love hem and leve hem,

So lawe of God techeth,

Alter alterius onera portare.

"And alle manere of menThat thow myght aspie,That nedy ben and noughty,Help hem with thi goodes;Love hem and lakke hem noght,Lat God take the vengeaunce;Theigh thei doon yvele,4250Lat God y-worthe.Mihi vindictam, et ego retribuam.

"And alle manere of men

That thow myght aspie,

That nedy ben and noughty,

Help hem with thi goodes;

Love hem and lakke hem noght,

Lat God take the vengeaunce;

Theigh thei doon yvele,

4250

Lat God y-worthe.

Mihi vindictam, et ego retribuam.

"And if thow wilt be gracious to God,Do as the gospel techeth,And bi-love thee amonges lewed men,So shaltow lacche grace;=Facite vos amicos de Mammone iniquitatis."

"And if thow wilt be gracious to God,

Do as the gospel techeth,

And bi-love thee amonges lewed men,

So shaltow lacche grace;

Facite vos amicos de Mammone iniquitatis."

"I wolde noght greve God," quod Piers,"For al the good on grounde.4260Mighte I synne-lees do as thow seist?"Seide Piers thanne.

"I wolde noght greve God," quod Piers,

"For al the good on grounde.

4260

Mighte I synne-lees do as thow seist?"

Seide Piers thanne.

"Ye, I bi-hote thee," quod Hunger,"Or ellis the Bible lieth;Go to Genesis the geaunt,The engendrour of us alle:In sudoreand swynkThow shalt thi mete tilie,And laboure for thi liflode,And so oure Lorde highte.4270And Sapience seith the same,I seigh it in the Bible,Piger præ frigoreNo feeld nolde tilie,And therfore he shal begge and bidde,And no man bete his hunger.

"Ye, I bi-hote thee," quod Hunger,

"Or ellis the Bible lieth;

Go to Genesis the geaunt,

The engendrour of us alle:

In sudoreand swynk

Thow shalt thi mete tilie,

And laboure for thi liflode,

And so oure Lorde highte.

4270

And Sapience seith the same,

I seigh it in the Bible,

Piger præ frigore

No feeld nolde tilie,

And therfore he shal begge and bidde,

And no man bete his hunger.

"Mathew with mannes faceMouthed thise wordes,Thatservus nequamhadde a mnam,And for he wolde noght chaffare,4280He hadde maugree of his maisterEvere moore after,And by-nam hym his mnam,For he ne wolde werche,And yaf that mnam to hymThat ten mnames hadde;And with that he seide,That holy chirche it herde,He that hath shal haveAnd helpe there it nedeth;4290And he that noght hath shal noght have,And no man hym helpe,And that he weneth wel to haveI wole it hym bi-reve.Kynde wit woldeThat ech a wight wroghte,Or in dikynge or in delvynge,Or travaillynge in preieres;Contemplatif lif or actif lifCrist wolde thei wroghte.4300The Sauter seith in the PsalmeOfBeati omnes,The freke that fedeth hymselfWith his feithful labour,He is blessed by the bookIn body and in soule."Labores manuum tuarum, etc.

"Mathew with mannes face

Mouthed thise wordes,

Thatservus nequamhadde a mnam,

And for he wolde noght chaffare,

4280

He hadde maugree of his maister

Evere moore after,

And by-nam hym his mnam,

For he ne wolde werche,

And yaf that mnam to hym

That ten mnames hadde;

And with that he seide,

That holy chirche it herde,

He that hath shal have

And helpe there it nedeth;

4290

And he that noght hath shal noght have,

And no man hym helpe,

And that he weneth wel to have

I wole it hym bi-reve.

Kynde wit wolde

That ech a wight wroghte,

Or in dikynge or in delvynge,

Or travaillynge in preieres;

Contemplatif lif or actif lif

Crist wolde thei wroghte.

4300

The Sauter seith in the Psalme

OfBeati omnes,

The freke that fedeth hymself

With his feithful labour,

He is blessed by the book

In body and in soule."

Labores manuum tuarum, etc.

"Yet I preie yow," quod Piers,"Par charité, and ye konneAny leef of leche-craft,4310Lere it me, my deere;For some of my servauntz,And myself bothe,Of al a wike werche noght,So oure wombe aketh."

"Yet I preie yow," quod Piers,

"Par charité, and ye konne

Any leef of leche-craft,

4310

Lere it me, my deere;

For some of my servauntz,

And myself bothe,

Of al a wike werche noght,

So oure wombe aketh."

"I woot wel," quod Hunger,"What siknesse yow eyleth;Ye han manged over muche,And that maketh yow grone.Ac I hote thee," quod Hunger,4320"As thow thyn hele wilnest,That thow drynke no dayEr thow dyne som what.Ete noght, I hote thee,Er hunger thee take,And sende thee of his sauceTo savore with thi lippes;And keep som til soper-tyme,And sitte noght to longe,And rys up er appetit4330Have eten his fille.Lat noght sire SurfetSitten at thi borde.Leve hym noght, for he is lecherous,And likerous of tunge,And after many maner metesHis mawe is a-fyngred.

"I woot wel," quod Hunger,

"What siknesse yow eyleth;

Ye han manged over muche,

And that maketh yow grone.

Ac I hote thee," quod Hunger,

4320

"As thow thyn hele wilnest,

That thow drynke no day

Er thow dyne som what.

Ete noght, I hote thee,

Er hunger thee take,

And sende thee of his sauce

To savore with thi lippes;

And keep som til soper-tyme,

And sitte noght to longe,

And rys up er appetit

4330

Have eten his fille.

Lat noght sire Surfet

Sitten at thi borde.

Leve hym noght, for he is lecherous,

And likerous of tunge,

And after many maner metes

His mawe is a-fyngred.

"And if thow diete thee thus,I dar legge myne eris,That Phisik shal hise furred hodes4340For his fode selle,And his cloke of Calabre,With alle the knappes of golde,And be fayn, by my feith!His phisik to lete,And lerne to laboure with lond,For liflode is swete.For murthereris are manye leches,Lord hem amende!They do men deye thorugh hir drynkes,4350Er destynee it wolde.""By seint Poul!" quod Piers,"Thise arn profitable wordes!Wend now, Hunger, whan thow wolt,That wel be thow evere!For this is a lovely lesson,Lord it thee for-yelde!"

"And if thow diete thee thus,

I dar legge myne eris,

That Phisik shal hise furred hodes

4340

For his fode selle,

And his cloke of Calabre,

With alle the knappes of golde,

And be fayn, by my feith!

His phisik to lete,

And lerne to laboure with lond,

For liflode is swete.

For murthereris are manye leches,

Lord hem amende!

They do men deye thorugh hir drynkes,

4350

Er destynee it wolde."

"By seint Poul!" quod Piers,

"Thise arn profitable wordes!

Wend now, Hunger, whan thow wolt,

That wel be thow evere!

For this is a lovely lesson,

Lord it thee for-yelde!"

"Bi-hote God!" quod Hunger,"Hennes ne wole I wende,Til I have dyned bi this day,4360And y-dronke bothe."

"Bi-hote God!" quod Hunger,

"Hennes ne wole I wende,

Til I have dyned bi this day,

4360

And y-dronke bothe."

"I have no peny," quod Piers,"Pulettes to bugge,Ne neither gees ne grys,But two grene cheses,A fewe cruddes and creme,And an haver cake,And two loves of benes and branY-bake for my fauntes;And yet I seye, by my soule!4370I have no salt bacon,Ne no cokeney, by Crist!Coloppes for to maken.

"I have no peny," quod Piers,

"Pulettes to bugge,

Ne neither gees ne grys,

But two grene cheses,

A fewe cruddes and creme,

And an haver cake,

And two loves of benes and bran

Y-bake for my fauntes;

And yet I seye, by my soule!

4370

I have no salt bacon,

Ne no cokeney, by Crist!

Coloppes for to maken.

"Ac I have percile and porettes,And manye cole plauntes,And ek a cow and a calf,And a cart mareTo drawe a-feld my donge,The while the droghte lasteth;And by this liflode we mote lyve4380Til Lammesse tyme.And by that, I hope to haveHervest in my crofte,And thanne may I dighte thi dyner,As me deere liketh."

"Ac I have percile and porettes,

And manye cole plauntes,

And ek a cow and a calf,

And a cart mare

To drawe a-feld my donge,

The while the droghte lasteth;

And by this liflode we mote lyve

4380

Til Lammesse tyme.

And by that, I hope to have

Hervest in my crofte,

And thanne may I dighte thi dyner,

As me deere liketh."

Al the povere peple thoPescoddes fetten,Benes and baken applesThei broghte in hir lappes,Chibolles and chervelles,4390And ripe chiries manye,And profrede Piers this presentTo plese with Hunger.

Al the povere peple tho

Pescoddes fetten,

Benes and baken apples

Thei broghte in hir lappes,

Chibolles and chervelles,

4390

And ripe chiries manye,

And profrede Piers this present

To plese with Hunger.

Al Hunger eet in haste,And axed after moore.Thanne povere folk, for fere,Fedden Hunger yerne,With grene poret and pesen,To poisone hym thei thoghte.By that it neghed neer hervest,4400And newe corn cam to chepyng;Thanne was folk fayn,And fedde Hunger with the beste,With goode ale, as Gloton taghte,And garte Hunger go slepe.

Al Hunger eet in haste,

And axed after moore.

Thanne povere folk, for fere,

Fedden Hunger yerne,

With grene poret and pesen,

To poisone hym thei thoghte.

By that it neghed neer hervest,

4400

And newe corn cam to chepyng;

Thanne was folk fayn,

And fedde Hunger with the beste,

With goode ale, as Gloton taghte,

And garte Hunger go slepe.

And tho wolde Wastour noght werche,But wandren aboute,Ne no beggere ete breedThat benes inne were,But of coket and cler-matyn,4410Or ellis of clene whete;Ne noon halfpeny aleIn none wise drynke,But of the beste and of the brunnesteThat in burghe is to selle.

And tho wolde Wastour noght werche,

But wandren aboute,

Ne no beggere ete breed

That benes inne were,

But of coket and cler-matyn,

4410

Or ellis of clene whete;

Ne noon halfpeny ale

In none wise drynke,

But of the beste and of the brunneste

That in burghe is to selle.

Laborers that have no landTo lyve on but hire handes,Deyned noght to dyne a dayNyght-olde wortes;May no peny ale hem paye,4420Ne no pece of bacone,But if it be fresshe flessh outher fisshe,Fryed outher y-bake,And thatchaudandplus chaud,For chillynge of hir mawe;And but if he be heighliche hyred;Ellis wole he chide,And that he was werkman wroghtWaille the tyme,Ayeins Catons counseil4430Comseth he to jangle.=Paupertatis onus patienter ferre memento.

Laborers that have no land

To lyve on but hire handes,

Deyned noght to dyne a day

Nyght-olde wortes;

May no peny ale hem paye,

4420

Ne no pece of bacone,

But if it be fresshe flessh outher fisshe,

Fryed outher y-bake,

And thatchaudandplus chaud,

For chillynge of hir mawe;

And but if he be heighliche hyred;

Ellis wole he chide,

And that he was werkman wroght

Waille the tyme,

Ayeins Catons counseil

4430

Comseth he to jangle.

Paupertatis onus patienter ferre memento.

He greveth hym ageyn God,And gruccheth ageyn Reson,And thanne corseth he the kyng,And al his counseil after,Swiche lawes to lokeLaborers to greve.Ac whiles Hunger was hir maister,4440Ther wolde noon of hem chide,Ne stryven ayeins his statut,So sterneliche he loked.

He greveth hym ageyn God,

And gruccheth ageyn Reson,

And thanne corseth he the kyng,

And al his counseil after,

Swiche lawes to loke

Laborers to greve.

Ac whiles Hunger was hir maister,

4440

Ther wolde noon of hem chide,

Ne stryven ayeins his statut,

So sterneliche he loked.

Ac I warne yow, werkmen,Wynneth whil ye mowe,For Hunger hiderwardHasteth hym faste.He shal a-wake with waterWastours to chaste;Er fyve be fulfilled,4450Swich famyn shal a-ryse,Thorugh flodes and thorugh foule wedresFruytes shul faille,And so seide Saturne,And sente yow to warne.

Ac I warne yow, werkmen,

Wynneth whil ye mowe,

For Hunger hiderward

Hasteth hym faste.

He shal a-wake with water

Wastours to chaste;

Er fyve be fulfilled,

4450

Swich famyn shal a-ryse,

Thorugh flodes and thorugh foule wedres

Fruytes shul faille,

And so seide Saturne,

And sente yow to warne.

Whan ye se the sonne a-mys,And two monkes heddes,And a mayde have the maistrie,And multiplie by eighte,Thanne shal deeth with-drawe,4460And derthe be justice,And Dawe the dykereDeye for hunger;But God of his goodnesse4464Graunte us a trewe.

Whan ye se the sonne a-mys,

And two monkes heddes,

And a mayde have the maistrie,

And multiplie by eighte,

Thanne shal deeth with-drawe,

4460

And derthe be justice,

And Dawe the dykere

Deye for hunger;

But God of his goodnesse

4464

Graunte us a trewe.

Filler.

Passus Septimus de Visione, ut supra.T4465REUTHE herde telle herAnd to Piers he sente,To maken his temeAnd tilien the erthe,And purchaced hym a pardone4470A pœna et a culpa,For hym and for hise heires,For evere moore after,And bad hym holde hym at home,And erien hise leyes.And alle that holpen hym to erye,To sette or to sowe,Or any oother mestierThat myghte Piers availle,Pardon with Piers Plowman4480Truthe hath y-graunted.Kynges and knyghtes,That kepen holy chirche,And rightfully in remesRulen the peple,Han pardon thorugh purgatorieTo passen ful lightly,With patriarkes and prophetesIn paradis to be felawe.Bysshopes y-blessed,4490If thei ben as thei sholde,Legistres of bothe lawes,The lewed therwith to preche,And in as muche as thei moweAmenden alle synfulle,Arn peres with the Apostles,This pardon Piers sheweth,And at the day of domeAt the heighe deys sitte.Marchauntz in the margyne4500Hadde manye yeres,Ac noona pœna et a culpaThe pope nolde hem graunte,For thei holde noght hir hali-dayesAs holy chirche techeth,And for thei swere by hir soule,And so God moste hem helpe,Ayein clene Conscience,Hir catel to selle.Ac under his secret seel4510Truthe sente hem a lettre,That thei sholde buggen boldelyThat hem best liked,And sithenes selle it ayein,And save the wynnyng,And amende meson-dieux thermyd,And mys-eise folk helpe,And wikkede weyesWightly amende,And do boote to brugges4520That to-broke were,Marien maydenes,Or maken hem nonnes,Povere peple and prisonsFynden hem hir foode,And sette scolers to scole,Or to som othere craftes,Releve religion,And renten hem bettre;"And I shal sende yow myselve4530Seint Michel myn archangel,That no devel shal yow dere,Ne fere yow in youre deying,And witen yow fro wanhope,If ye wol thus werche,And sende youre soules in sauftéTo my seintes in joye."Thanne were marchauntz murie,Manye wepten for joye,And preiseden Piers the Plowman,4540That purchaced this bulle.Men of lawe leest pardon hadde,That pleteden for Mede;For the Sauter saveth hem noght,Swiche as take giftes,And nameliche of innocentzThat noon yvel ne konneth.=Super innocentem munera non accipies.Pledours sholde peynen hem4550To plede for swiche and helpe;Princes and prelatesSholde paie for hire travaille.=A regibus et principibus erit merces eorum.Ac many a justice and jurourWolde for Johan do mooreThanpro Dei pietate,Leve thow noon oother.Ac he that spendeth his speche,4560And speketh for the povereThat is innocent and nedy,And no man apeireth,Conforteth hym in that caasWithouten coveitise of giftes,And sheweth lawe for oure Lordes love,As he it hath y-lerned,Shal no devel at his deeth dayDeren hym a myte,That he ne worth saaf and his soule,4570The Sauter bereth witnesse:=Domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo tuo?Ac to bugge water, ne wynd,Ne wit, ne fir the ferthe,Thise foure the fader of heveneMade to this foold in commune.Thise ben Truthes tresoresTrewe folk to helpe,That nevere shul wexe ne wanye,4580Withouten God hymselve.Whan thei drawen on to deye,And indulgences wolde have,Hir pardon is ful petitAt hir partyng hennes,That any mede of mene menFor hir motyng taketh.Ye legistres and lawieres,Holdeth this for truthe,That if that I lye,4590Mathew is to blame,For he bad me make yow this,And this proverbe me tolde,Quodcunque vultis ut faciant vobishomines, facite eis.Alle libbynge laborersThat lyven with hir hondes,That treweliche taken,And treweliche wynnen,And lyven in love and in lawe,4600For hir lowe hertesHaveth the same absolucionThat sent was to Piers.Beggeres ne bidderesNe beth noght in the bulle,But if the suggestion be soothThat shapeth hem to begge.For he that beggeth or bit,But if he have nede,He is fals with the feend,4610And defraudeth the nedy;And also he bi-gileth the gyvere,Ageynes his wille;For if he wiste he were noght nedy,He wolde gyve that anotherThat were moore nedy than he,So the nedieste sholde be holpe.Caton kenneth me thus,And the clerc of stories;Cui des videto,4620Is Catons techyng.And in the stories he techethTo bistowe thyn almesse.Sit elemosina tua in manu tua,donec studes cui des.Ac Gregory was a good man,And bad us gyven alleThat asketh for his loveThat us al leneth.Non eligas cui miserearis, ne forte4630prætereas illum qui mereturaccipere. Quia incertum estpro quo Deo magis placeas.For wite ye nevere who is worthi,Ac God woot who hath nede;In hym that taketh is the trecherie,If any treson walke.For he that yeveth, yeldeth,And yarketh hym to reste;And he that biddeth, borweth,4640And bryngeth hymself in dette.For beggeres borwen evere mo,And hir borgh is God almyghty,To yelden hem that yeveth hem,And yet usure moore.Quare non dedisti pecuniam meamad mensam, ut ego veniam cumusuris exigere?For-thi biddeth noght, ye beggeres,But if ye have gret nede;4650For who so hath to buggen hym breed,The book bereth witnesse,He hath y-nough that hath breed y-nough,Though he have noght ellis.Satis dives est, qui non indiget pane.Lat usage be youre solas,Of seintes lyves redyng,The book banneth beggerie,And blameth hem in this manere:Junior fui, et jam senui, et non vidi4660justum derelictum, nec semenejus, etc.For ye lyve in no love,Ne no lawe holde;Manye of yow ne wedde noghtThe womman that ye with deele,But as wilde bestes with 'wehee!'Worthen uppe and werchen,And bryngen forth barnes,That bastardes men calleth;4670Or the bak or som boonHe breketh in his youthe,And siththe goon faiten with youre fauntesFor evere moore after.Ther is moore mys-shapen pepleAmonges thise beggeres,Than of alle manere menThat on this moolde walketh.And thei that lyve thus hir lif,Mowe lothe the tyme4680That evere thei were men wroght,Whan thei shal hennes fare.Ac olde men and hore,Than help-lees ben of strengthe,And wommen with childeThat werche ne mowe,Blynde and bed-reden,And broken hire membres,That taken thise myschiefs mekeliche,As mesels and othere,4690Han as pleyn pardonAs the plowman hymselve.For love of hir lowe hertes,Oure Lord hath hem grauntedHir penaunce and hir purgatorieHere on this erthe."Piers," quod a preest thoo,"Thi pardon moste I rede;For I wol construe ech clause,And kenne it thee on Englisshe."4700And Piers at his preiereThe pardon unfoldeth;And I by-hynde hem botheBiheld al the bulle,And in two lynes it lay,And noght a leef more,And was writen right thus,In witnesse of Truthe:=Et qui bona egerunt, ibunt in vitam eternam.4710Qui vero mala, in ignem eternum."Peter," quod the preest thoo,"I kan no pardon fynde,But do wel and have wel,And God shal have thi soule,And do yvel and have yvel,Hope thow noon oother,But after thi deeth-dayThe devel shal have thi soule."And Piers for pure tene4720Pulled it a-tweyne,And seideSi ambulavero in medioumbræ mortis, non timebo mala,quoniam tu mecum es.="I shal cessen of my sowyng," quod Piers,"And swynke noght so harde,Ne aboute my bely joyeSo bisy be na-moore;Of preieres and of penaunce4730My plough shal ben herafter,And wepen whan I sholde slepe,Though whete-breed me faille."The prophete his payn eetIn penaunce and in sorwe,By that the Sauter seith,So dide othere manye;That loveth God lelly,His liflode is ful esy.Fuerunt mihi lacrimæ meæ panes4740die ac nocte."And but if Luc lye,He lereth us by foweles,We sholde noght be to bisyAboute the worldes blisse;Ne soliciti sitis,He seith in the Gospel,And sheweth us by ensamplesUs selve to wisse.The foweles in the feld,4750Who fynt hem mete at wynter?Have thei no gerner to go to,But God fynt hem alle.""What!" quod the preest to Perkyn,"Peter! as me thynketh,Thow art lettred a litel:—Who lerned thee on boke?""Abstynence the abbesse," quod Piers,"Myn a.b.c. me taughte;And Conscience cam afterward,4760And kenned me muche moore.""Were thow a preest," quod he,"Thou myghtest preche where thou sholdest,As divinour in divinité,WithDixit insipiensto thi teme.""Lewed lorel!" quod Piers,"Litel lokestow on the Bible;On Salomons sawesSelden thow biholdest:Ejice derisores et jurgia cum eis, ne4770crescant, etc."The preest andPerkynOpposeden either oother.And I thorugh hir wordes a-wook,And waited aboute,And seigh the sonne in the southSitte that tyme,Mete-lees and monei-leesOn Malverne hulles,Musynge on this metels,4780And my wey ich yede.MANY tyme this metelsHath maked me to studieOf that I seigh slepynge,If it so be myghte,And also for Piers the PlowmanFul pencif in herte,And which a pardon Piers haddeAl the peple to conforte,And how the preest impugned it4790With two propre wordes.Ac I have no savour in songewarie,For I se it ofte faille;Caton and canonistresCounseillen us to leveTo sette sadnesse in songewarie,Forsompnia ne cures.Ac for the book BibleBereth witnesseHow Daniel divined4800The dreem of a kyng,That was NabugodonosorNempned of clerkes.Daniel seide, "Sire kyng,Thi dremels bitoknethThat unkouthe knyghtes shul comeThi kyngdom to cleyme;Amonges lower lordesThi lond shal be departed."And as Daniel divined,4810In dede it fel after;The kyng lees his lordshipe,And lower men it hadde.And Joseph mette merveillouslyHow the moone and the sonneAnd the ellevene sterresHailsed hym alle.Thanne Jacob juggedJosephes swevene."Beau fitz," quod his fader,4820"For defaute we shullen,I myself and my sones,Seche thee for nede."It bifel as his fader seide,In Pharaoes tyme,That Joseph was justiceEgipte to loke;It bifel as his fader tolde,Hise frendes there hym soughte,And al this maketh me4830On this metels to thynke.And how the preest prevedNo pardon to Do-wel,And demed that Do-welIndulgences passed,Biennals and triennals,And bisshopes lettres;And how Do-wel at the day of domeIs digneliche underfongen,And passeth al the pardon4840Of seint Petres cherche.Now hath the pope powerPardon to graunte the peple,Withouten any penaunceTo passen into hevene;This is oure bileve,As lettred men us techeth:Quodcumque ligaveris super terram,=erit ligatum et in cœlis, etc.4850And so I leve leelly,Lordes forbode ellis!That pardon and penaunceAnd preieres doon saveSoules that have synnedSeven sithes dedly;Ac to truste to thise triennals,Trewely me thynketh,Is noght so siker for the soule,Certes, as is Do-wel.4860For-thi I rede yow, renkes,That riche ben on this erthe,Upon trust of youre tresorTriennals to have,Be ye never the bolderTo breake the .x. hestes;And namely ye maistres,Meires and jugges,That have the welthe of this worldAnd for wise men ben holden,4870To purchace yow pardonAnd the popes bulles.At the dredful dome,Whan dede shulle rise,And comen alle to-fore CristAcountes to yelde,How thow laddest thi lif here,And hise lawes keptest,And how thow didest day by day,The doom wole reherce.4880A poke ful of pardon there,Ne provincials lettres,Theigh ye be founde in the fraternitéOf alle the foure ordres,And have indulgences double-fold,But if Do-wel yow helpe,I sette youre patentes and youre pardonAt one pies hele.For-thi I counseille alle CristeneTo crie God mercy,4890And Marie his moderBe oure meene bitwene,That God gyve us grace here,Er we go hennes,Swiche werkes to wercheWhile we ben here,That after oure deeth-dayDo-wel reherceAt the day of dome,4899We dide as he highte.

Passus Septimus de Visione, ut supra.

T4465REUTHE herde telle herAnd to Piers he sente,To maken his temeAnd tilien the erthe,And purchaced hym a pardone4470A pœna et a culpa,For hym and for hise heires,For evere moore after,And bad hym holde hym at home,And erien hise leyes.And alle that holpen hym to erye,To sette or to sowe,Or any oother mestierThat myghte Piers availle,Pardon with Piers Plowman4480Truthe hath y-graunted.

T4465

4465

REUTHE herde telle her

And to Piers he sente,

To maken his teme

And tilien the erthe,

And purchaced hym a pardone

4470

A pœna et a culpa,

For hym and for hise heires,

For evere moore after,

And bad hym holde hym at home,

And erien hise leyes.

And alle that holpen hym to erye,

To sette or to sowe,

Or any oother mestier

That myghte Piers availle,

Pardon with Piers Plowman

4480

Truthe hath y-graunted.

Kynges and knyghtes,That kepen holy chirche,And rightfully in remesRulen the peple,Han pardon thorugh purgatorieTo passen ful lightly,With patriarkes and prophetesIn paradis to be felawe.

Kynges and knyghtes,

That kepen holy chirche,

And rightfully in remes

Rulen the peple,

Han pardon thorugh purgatorie

To passen ful lightly,

With patriarkes and prophetes

In paradis to be felawe.

Bysshopes y-blessed,4490If thei ben as thei sholde,Legistres of bothe lawes,The lewed therwith to preche,And in as muche as thei moweAmenden alle synfulle,Arn peres with the Apostles,This pardon Piers sheweth,And at the day of domeAt the heighe deys sitte.

Bysshopes y-blessed,

4490

If thei ben as thei sholde,

Legistres of bothe lawes,

The lewed therwith to preche,

And in as muche as thei mowe

Amenden alle synfulle,

Arn peres with the Apostles,

This pardon Piers sheweth,

And at the day of dome

At the heighe deys sitte.

Marchauntz in the margyne4500Hadde manye yeres,Ac noona pœna et a culpaThe pope nolde hem graunte,For thei holde noght hir hali-dayesAs holy chirche techeth,And for thei swere by hir soule,And so God moste hem helpe,Ayein clene Conscience,Hir catel to selle.

Marchauntz in the margyne

4500

Hadde manye yeres,

Ac noona pœna et a culpa

The pope nolde hem graunte,

For thei holde noght hir hali-dayes

As holy chirche techeth,

And for thei swere by hir soule,

And so God moste hem helpe,

Ayein clene Conscience,

Hir catel to selle.

Ac under his secret seel4510Truthe sente hem a lettre,That thei sholde buggen boldelyThat hem best liked,And sithenes selle it ayein,And save the wynnyng,And amende meson-dieux thermyd,And mys-eise folk helpe,And wikkede weyesWightly amende,And do boote to brugges4520That to-broke were,Marien maydenes,Or maken hem nonnes,Povere peple and prisonsFynden hem hir foode,And sette scolers to scole,Or to som othere craftes,Releve religion,And renten hem bettre;"And I shal sende yow myselve4530Seint Michel myn archangel,That no devel shal yow dere,Ne fere yow in youre deying,And witen yow fro wanhope,If ye wol thus werche,And sende youre soules in sauftéTo my seintes in joye."

Ac under his secret seel

4510

Truthe sente hem a lettre,

That thei sholde buggen boldely

That hem best liked,

And sithenes selle it ayein,

And save the wynnyng,

And amende meson-dieux thermyd,

And mys-eise folk helpe,

And wikkede weyes

Wightly amende,

And do boote to brugges

4520

That to-broke were,

Marien maydenes,

Or maken hem nonnes,

Povere peple and prisons

Fynden hem hir foode,

And sette scolers to scole,

Or to som othere craftes,

Releve religion,

And renten hem bettre;

"And I shal sende yow myselve

4530

Seint Michel myn archangel,

That no devel shal yow dere,

Ne fere yow in youre deying,

And witen yow fro wanhope,

If ye wol thus werche,

And sende youre soules in saufté

To my seintes in joye."

Thanne were marchauntz murie,Manye wepten for joye,And preiseden Piers the Plowman,4540That purchaced this bulle.

Thanne were marchauntz murie,

Manye wepten for joye,

And preiseden Piers the Plowman,

4540

That purchaced this bulle.

Men of lawe leest pardon hadde,That pleteden for Mede;For the Sauter saveth hem noght,Swiche as take giftes,And nameliche of innocentzThat noon yvel ne konneth.=Super innocentem munera non accipies.

Men of lawe leest pardon hadde,

That pleteden for Mede;

For the Sauter saveth hem noght,

Swiche as take giftes,

And nameliche of innocentz

That noon yvel ne konneth.

Super innocentem munera non accipies.

Pledours sholde peynen hem4550To plede for swiche and helpe;Princes and prelatesSholde paie for hire travaille.=A regibus et principibus erit merces eorum.

Pledours sholde peynen hem

4550

To plede for swiche and helpe;

Princes and prelates

Sholde paie for hire travaille.

A regibus et principibus erit merces eorum.

Ac many a justice and jurourWolde for Johan do mooreThanpro Dei pietate,Leve thow noon oother.

Ac many a justice and jurour

Wolde for Johan do moore

Thanpro Dei pietate,

Leve thow noon oother.

Ac he that spendeth his speche,4560And speketh for the povereThat is innocent and nedy,And no man apeireth,Conforteth hym in that caasWithouten coveitise of giftes,And sheweth lawe for oure Lordes love,As he it hath y-lerned,Shal no devel at his deeth dayDeren hym a myte,That he ne worth saaf and his soule,4570The Sauter bereth witnesse:=Domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo tuo?

Ac he that spendeth his speche,

4560

And speketh for the povere

That is innocent and nedy,

And no man apeireth,

Conforteth hym in that caas

Withouten coveitise of giftes,

And sheweth lawe for oure Lordes love,

As he it hath y-lerned,

Shal no devel at his deeth day

Deren hym a myte,

That he ne worth saaf and his soule,

4570

The Sauter bereth witnesse:

Domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo tuo?

Ac to bugge water, ne wynd,Ne wit, ne fir the ferthe,Thise foure the fader of heveneMade to this foold in commune.Thise ben Truthes tresoresTrewe folk to helpe,That nevere shul wexe ne wanye,4580Withouten God hymselve.

Ac to bugge water, ne wynd,

Ne wit, ne fir the ferthe,

Thise foure the fader of hevene

Made to this foold in commune.

Thise ben Truthes tresores

Trewe folk to helpe,

That nevere shul wexe ne wanye,

4580

Withouten God hymselve.

Whan thei drawen on to deye,And indulgences wolde have,Hir pardon is ful petitAt hir partyng hennes,That any mede of mene menFor hir motyng taketh.Ye legistres and lawieres,Holdeth this for truthe,That if that I lye,4590Mathew is to blame,For he bad me make yow this,And this proverbe me tolde,Quodcunque vultis ut faciant vobishomines, facite eis.

Whan thei drawen on to deye,

And indulgences wolde have,

Hir pardon is ful petit

At hir partyng hennes,

That any mede of mene men

For hir motyng taketh.

Ye legistres and lawieres,

Holdeth this for truthe,

That if that I lye,

4590

Mathew is to blame,

For he bad me make yow this,

And this proverbe me tolde,

Quodcunque vultis ut faciant vobis

homines, facite eis.

Alle libbynge laborersThat lyven with hir hondes,That treweliche taken,And treweliche wynnen,And lyven in love and in lawe,4600For hir lowe hertesHaveth the same absolucionThat sent was to Piers.

Alle libbynge laborers

That lyven with hir hondes,

That treweliche taken,

And treweliche wynnen,

And lyven in love and in lawe,

4600

For hir lowe hertes

Haveth the same absolucion

That sent was to Piers.

Beggeres ne bidderesNe beth noght in the bulle,But if the suggestion be soothThat shapeth hem to begge.For he that beggeth or bit,But if he have nede,He is fals with the feend,4610And defraudeth the nedy;And also he bi-gileth the gyvere,Ageynes his wille;For if he wiste he were noght nedy,He wolde gyve that anotherThat were moore nedy than he,So the nedieste sholde be holpe.Caton kenneth me thus,And the clerc of stories;Cui des videto,4620Is Catons techyng.

Beggeres ne bidderes

Ne beth noght in the bulle,

But if the suggestion be sooth

That shapeth hem to begge.

For he that beggeth or bit,

But if he have nede,

He is fals with the feend,

4610

And defraudeth the nedy;

And also he bi-gileth the gyvere,

Ageynes his wille;

For if he wiste he were noght nedy,

He wolde gyve that another

That were moore nedy than he,

So the nedieste sholde be holpe.

Caton kenneth me thus,

And the clerc of stories;

Cui des videto,

4620

Is Catons techyng.

And in the stories he techethTo bistowe thyn almesse.Sit elemosina tua in manu tua,donec studes cui des.

And in the stories he techeth

To bistowe thyn almesse.

Sit elemosina tua in manu tua,

donec studes cui des.

Ac Gregory was a good man,And bad us gyven alleThat asketh for his loveThat us al leneth.Non eligas cui miserearis, ne forte4630prætereas illum qui mereturaccipere. Quia incertum estpro quo Deo magis placeas.

Ac Gregory was a good man,

And bad us gyven alle

That asketh for his love

That us al leneth.

Non eligas cui miserearis, ne forte

4630

prætereas illum qui meretur

accipere. Quia incertum est

pro quo Deo magis placeas.

For wite ye nevere who is worthi,Ac God woot who hath nede;In hym that taketh is the trecherie,If any treson walke.For he that yeveth, yeldeth,And yarketh hym to reste;And he that biddeth, borweth,4640And bryngeth hymself in dette.For beggeres borwen evere mo,And hir borgh is God almyghty,To yelden hem that yeveth hem,And yet usure moore.Quare non dedisti pecuniam meamad mensam, ut ego veniam cumusuris exigere?

For wite ye nevere who is worthi,

Ac God woot who hath nede;

In hym that taketh is the trecherie,

If any treson walke.

For he that yeveth, yeldeth,

And yarketh hym to reste;

And he that biddeth, borweth,

4640

And bryngeth hymself in dette.

For beggeres borwen evere mo,

And hir borgh is God almyghty,

To yelden hem that yeveth hem,

And yet usure moore.

Quare non dedisti pecuniam meam

ad mensam, ut ego veniam cum

usuris exigere?

For-thi biddeth noght, ye beggeres,But if ye have gret nede;4650For who so hath to buggen hym breed,The book bereth witnesse,He hath y-nough that hath breed y-nough,Though he have noght ellis.Satis dives est, qui non indiget pane.

For-thi biddeth noght, ye beggeres,

But if ye have gret nede;

4650

For who so hath to buggen hym breed,

The book bereth witnesse,

He hath y-nough that hath breed y-nough,

Though he have noght ellis.

Satis dives est, qui non indiget pane.

Lat usage be youre solas,Of seintes lyves redyng,The book banneth beggerie,And blameth hem in this manere:Junior fui, et jam senui, et non vidi4660justum derelictum, nec semenejus, etc.

Lat usage be youre solas,

Of seintes lyves redyng,

The book banneth beggerie,

And blameth hem in this manere:

Junior fui, et jam senui, et non vidi

4660

justum derelictum, nec semen

ejus, etc.

For ye lyve in no love,Ne no lawe holde;Manye of yow ne wedde noghtThe womman that ye with deele,But as wilde bestes with 'wehee!'Worthen uppe and werchen,And bryngen forth barnes,That bastardes men calleth;4670Or the bak or som boonHe breketh in his youthe,And siththe goon faiten with youre fauntesFor evere moore after.Ther is moore mys-shapen pepleAmonges thise beggeres,Than of alle manere menThat on this moolde walketh.And thei that lyve thus hir lif,Mowe lothe the tyme4680That evere thei were men wroght,Whan thei shal hennes fare.Ac olde men and hore,Than help-lees ben of strengthe,And wommen with childeThat werche ne mowe,Blynde and bed-reden,And broken hire membres,That taken thise myschiefs mekeliche,As mesels and othere,4690Han as pleyn pardonAs the plowman hymselve.For love of hir lowe hertes,Oure Lord hath hem grauntedHir penaunce and hir purgatorieHere on this erthe.

For ye lyve in no love,

Ne no lawe holde;

Manye of yow ne wedde noght

The womman that ye with deele,

But as wilde bestes with 'wehee!'

Worthen uppe and werchen,

And bryngen forth barnes,

That bastardes men calleth;

4670

Or the bak or som boon

He breketh in his youthe,

And siththe goon faiten with youre fauntes

For evere moore after.

Ther is moore mys-shapen peple

Amonges thise beggeres,

Than of alle manere men

That on this moolde walketh.

And thei that lyve thus hir lif,

Mowe lothe the tyme

4680

That evere thei were men wroght,

Whan thei shal hennes fare.

Ac olde men and hore,

Than help-lees ben of strengthe,

And wommen with childe

That werche ne mowe,

Blynde and bed-reden,

And broken hire membres,

That taken thise myschiefs mekeliche,

As mesels and othere,

4690

Han as pleyn pardon

As the plowman hymselve.

For love of hir lowe hertes,

Oure Lord hath hem graunted

Hir penaunce and hir purgatorie

Here on this erthe.

"Piers," quod a preest thoo,"Thi pardon moste I rede;For I wol construe ech clause,And kenne it thee on Englisshe."

"Piers," quod a preest thoo,

"Thi pardon moste I rede;

For I wol construe ech clause,

And kenne it thee on Englisshe."

4700And Piers at his preiereThe pardon unfoldeth;And I by-hynde hem botheBiheld al the bulle,And in two lynes it lay,And noght a leef more,And was writen right thus,In witnesse of Truthe:=Et qui bona egerunt, ibunt in vitam eternam.4710Qui vero mala, in ignem eternum.

4700

And Piers at his preiere

The pardon unfoldeth;

And I by-hynde hem bothe

Biheld al the bulle,

And in two lynes it lay,

And noght a leef more,

And was writen right thus,

In witnesse of Truthe:

Et qui bona egerunt, ibunt in vitam eternam.

4710

Qui vero mala, in ignem eternum.

"Peter," quod the preest thoo,"I kan no pardon fynde,But do wel and have wel,And God shal have thi soule,And do yvel and have yvel,Hope thow noon oother,But after thi deeth-dayThe devel shal have thi soule."And Piers for pure tene4720Pulled it a-tweyne,And seideSi ambulavero in medioumbræ mortis, non timebo mala,quoniam tu mecum es.

"Peter," quod the preest thoo,

"I kan no pardon fynde,

But do wel and have wel,

And God shal have thi soule,

And do yvel and have yvel,

Hope thow noon oother,

But after thi deeth-day

The devel shal have thi soule."

And Piers for pure tene

4720

Pulled it a-tweyne,

And seideSi ambulavero in medio

umbræ mortis, non timebo mala,

quoniam tu mecum es.

="I shal cessen of my sowyng," quod Piers,"And swynke noght so harde,Ne aboute my bely joyeSo bisy be na-moore;Of preieres and of penaunce4730My plough shal ben herafter,And wepen whan I sholde slepe,Though whete-breed me faille.

"I shal cessen of my sowyng," quod Piers,

"And swynke noght so harde,

Ne aboute my bely joye

So bisy be na-moore;

Of preieres and of penaunce

4730

My plough shal ben herafter,

And wepen whan I sholde slepe,

Though whete-breed me faille.

"The prophete his payn eetIn penaunce and in sorwe,By that the Sauter seith,So dide othere manye;That loveth God lelly,His liflode is ful esy.Fuerunt mihi lacrimæ meæ panes4740die ac nocte.

"The prophete his payn eet

In penaunce and in sorwe,

By that the Sauter seith,

So dide othere manye;

That loveth God lelly,

His liflode is ful esy.

Fuerunt mihi lacrimæ meæ panes

4740

die ac nocte.

"And but if Luc lye,He lereth us by foweles,We sholde noght be to bisyAboute the worldes blisse;Ne soliciti sitis,He seith in the Gospel,And sheweth us by ensamplesUs selve to wisse.The foweles in the feld,4750Who fynt hem mete at wynter?Have thei no gerner to go to,But God fynt hem alle."

"And but if Luc lye,

He lereth us by foweles,

We sholde noght be to bisy

Aboute the worldes blisse;

Ne soliciti sitis,

He seith in the Gospel,

And sheweth us by ensamples

Us selve to wisse.

The foweles in the feld,

4750

Who fynt hem mete at wynter?

Have thei no gerner to go to,

But God fynt hem alle."

"What!" quod the preest to Perkyn,"Peter! as me thynketh,Thow art lettred a litel:—Who lerned thee on boke?"

"What!" quod the preest to Perkyn,

"Peter! as me thynketh,

Thow art lettred a litel:—

Who lerned thee on boke?"

"Abstynence the abbesse," quod Piers,"Myn a.b.c. me taughte;And Conscience cam afterward,4760And kenned me muche moore."

"Abstynence the abbesse," quod Piers,

"Myn a.b.c. me taughte;

And Conscience cam afterward,

4760

And kenned me muche moore."

"Were thow a preest," quod he,"Thou myghtest preche where thou sholdest,As divinour in divinité,WithDixit insipiensto thi teme."

"Were thow a preest," quod he,

"Thou myghtest preche where thou sholdest,

As divinour in divinité,

WithDixit insipiensto thi teme."

"Lewed lorel!" quod Piers,"Litel lokestow on the Bible;On Salomons sawesSelden thow biholdest:Ejice derisores et jurgia cum eis, ne4770crescant, etc."

"Lewed lorel!" quod Piers,

"Litel lokestow on the Bible;

On Salomons sawes

Selden thow biholdest:

Ejice derisores et jurgia cum eis, ne

4770

crescant, etc."

The preest andPerkynOpposeden either oother.And I thorugh hir wordes a-wook,And waited aboute,And seigh the sonne in the southSitte that tyme,Mete-lees and monei-leesOn Malverne hulles,Musynge on this metels,4780And my wey ich yede.

The preest andPerkyn

Opposeden either oother.

And I thorugh hir wordes a-wook,

And waited aboute,

And seigh the sonne in the south

Sitte that tyme,

Mete-lees and monei-lees

On Malverne hulles,

Musynge on this metels,

4780

And my wey ich yede.

MANY tyme this metelsHath maked me to studieOf that I seigh slepynge,If it so be myghte,And also for Piers the PlowmanFul pencif in herte,And which a pardon Piers haddeAl the peple to conforte,And how the preest impugned it4790With two propre wordes.Ac I have no savour in songewarie,For I se it ofte faille;Caton and canonistresCounseillen us to leveTo sette sadnesse in songewarie,Forsompnia ne cures.

ANY tyme this metels

Hath maked me to studie

Of that I seigh slepynge,

If it so be myghte,

And also for Piers the Plowman

Ful pencif in herte,

And which a pardon Piers hadde

Al the peple to conforte,

And how the preest impugned it

4790

With two propre wordes.

Ac I have no savour in songewarie,

For I se it ofte faille;

Caton and canonistres

Counseillen us to leve

To sette sadnesse in songewarie,

Forsompnia ne cures.

Ac for the book BibleBereth witnesseHow Daniel divined4800The dreem of a kyng,That was NabugodonosorNempned of clerkes.

Ac for the book Bible

Bereth witnesse

How Daniel divined

4800

The dreem of a kyng,

That was Nabugodonosor

Nempned of clerkes.

Daniel seide, "Sire kyng,Thi dremels bitoknethThat unkouthe knyghtes shul comeThi kyngdom to cleyme;Amonges lower lordesThi lond shal be departed."And as Daniel divined,4810In dede it fel after;The kyng lees his lordshipe,And lower men it hadde.

Daniel seide, "Sire kyng,

Thi dremels bitokneth

That unkouthe knyghtes shul come

Thi kyngdom to cleyme;

Amonges lower lordes

Thi lond shal be departed."

And as Daniel divined,

4810

In dede it fel after;

The kyng lees his lordshipe,

And lower men it hadde.

And Joseph mette merveillouslyHow the moone and the sonneAnd the ellevene sterresHailsed hym alle.

And Joseph mette merveillously

How the moone and the sonne

And the ellevene sterres

Hailsed hym alle.

Thanne Jacob juggedJosephes swevene."Beau fitz," quod his fader,4820"For defaute we shullen,I myself and my sones,Seche thee for nede."

Thanne Jacob jugged

Josephes swevene.

"Beau fitz," quod his fader,

4820

"For defaute we shullen,

I myself and my sones,

Seche thee for nede."

It bifel as his fader seide,In Pharaoes tyme,That Joseph was justiceEgipte to loke;It bifel as his fader tolde,Hise frendes there hym soughte,And al this maketh me4830On this metels to thynke.And how the preest prevedNo pardon to Do-wel,And demed that Do-welIndulgences passed,Biennals and triennals,And bisshopes lettres;And how Do-wel at the day of domeIs digneliche underfongen,And passeth al the pardon4840Of seint Petres cherche.

It bifel as his fader seide,

In Pharaoes tyme,

That Joseph was justice

Egipte to loke;

It bifel as his fader tolde,

Hise frendes there hym soughte,

And al this maketh me

4830

On this metels to thynke.

And how the preest preved

No pardon to Do-wel,

And demed that Do-wel

Indulgences passed,

Biennals and triennals,

And bisshopes lettres;

And how Do-wel at the day of dome

Is digneliche underfongen,

And passeth al the pardon

4840

Of seint Petres cherche.

Now hath the pope powerPardon to graunte the peple,Withouten any penaunceTo passen into hevene;This is oure bileve,As lettred men us techeth:Quodcumque ligaveris super terram,=erit ligatum et in cœlis, etc.

Now hath the pope power

Pardon to graunte the peple,

Withouten any penaunce

To passen into hevene;

This is oure bileve,

As lettred men us techeth:

Quodcumque ligaveris super terram,

erit ligatum et in cœlis, etc.

4850And so I leve leelly,Lordes forbode ellis!That pardon and penaunceAnd preieres doon saveSoules that have synnedSeven sithes dedly;Ac to truste to thise triennals,Trewely me thynketh,Is noght so siker for the soule,Certes, as is Do-wel.

4850

And so I leve leelly,

Lordes forbode ellis!

That pardon and penaunce

And preieres doon save

Soules that have synned

Seven sithes dedly;

Ac to truste to thise triennals,

Trewely me thynketh,

Is noght so siker for the soule,

Certes, as is Do-wel.

4860For-thi I rede yow, renkes,That riche ben on this erthe,Upon trust of youre tresorTriennals to have,Be ye never the bolderTo breake the .x. hestes;And namely ye maistres,Meires and jugges,That have the welthe of this worldAnd for wise men ben holden,4870To purchace yow pardonAnd the popes bulles.At the dredful dome,Whan dede shulle rise,And comen alle to-fore CristAcountes to yelde,How thow laddest thi lif here,And hise lawes keptest,And how thow didest day by day,The doom wole reherce.4880A poke ful of pardon there,Ne provincials lettres,Theigh ye be founde in the fraternitéOf alle the foure ordres,And have indulgences double-fold,But if Do-wel yow helpe,I sette youre patentes and youre pardonAt one pies hele.

4860

For-thi I rede yow, renkes,

That riche ben on this erthe,

Upon trust of youre tresor

Triennals to have,

Be ye never the bolder

To breake the .x. hestes;

And namely ye maistres,

Meires and jugges,

That have the welthe of this world

And for wise men ben holden,

4870

To purchace yow pardon

And the popes bulles.

At the dredful dome,

Whan dede shulle rise,

And comen alle to-fore Crist

Acountes to yelde,

How thow laddest thi lif here,

And hise lawes keptest,

And how thow didest day by day,

The doom wole reherce.

4880

A poke ful of pardon there,

Ne provincials lettres,

Theigh ye be founde in the fraternité

Of alle the foure ordres,

And have indulgences double-fold,

But if Do-wel yow helpe,

I sette youre patentes and youre pardon

At one pies hele.

For-thi I counseille alle CristeneTo crie God mercy,4890And Marie his moderBe oure meene bitwene,That God gyve us grace here,Er we go hennes,Swiche werkes to wercheWhile we ben here,That after oure deeth-dayDo-wel reherceAt the day of dome,4899We dide as he highte.

For-thi I counseille alle Cristene

To crie God mercy,

4890

And Marie his moder

Be oure meene bitwene,

That God gyve us grace here,

Er we go hennes,

Swiche werkes to werche

While we ben here,

That after oure deeth-day

Do-wel reherce

At the day of dome,

4899

We dide as he highte.

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