The Vision and Creed of Piers Ploughman, Volume 1

Passus Secundus de Visione, ut supra.

ET I courbed on my knees,

Were fretted with gold wyr,

And theron rede rubies

As rede as any gleede,

And diamaundes of derrest pris,

And double manere saphires,

Orientals and ewages,

Envenymes to destroye.

Hire robe was ful riche,

Of reed scarlet engreyned,

With ribanes of reed gold

And of riche stones.

Hire array me ravysshed,

Swich richesse saugh I nevere;

I hadde wonder what she was,

And whos wif she were.

"What is this womman," quod I,

"So worthili atired?"

"That is Mede the mayde," quod she,

"Hath noyed me ful ofte,

And y-lakked my lemman

That Leautee is hoten,

And bi-lowen hire to lordes

That lawes han to kepe.

"In the popes paleis

She is pryvee as myselve;

But soothnesse wolde noght so,

For she is a bastarde;

For fals was hire fader

That hath a fikel tonge,

And nevere sooth seide

Sithen he com to erthe;

And Mede is manered after hym,

Right as kynde asketh

Qualis pater talis filius.

Bonus arbor bonum fructum facit.

"I oughte ben hyere than she,

I kam of a bettre;

My fader the grete God is

And ground of alle graces,

So God withouten gynnyng,

And I his goode doughter,

And hath yeven me mercy

To marie with myselve,

And what man be merciful

And leelly me love,

Shal be my lord and I his leef

In the heighe hevene.

"And what man taketh Mede,

Myn heed dar I legge,

That he shal lese for hire love

A lappe of caritatis.

"How construeth David the king

Of men that taketh Mede,

And men of this moolde

That maynteneth truthe,

And how ye shul save yourself,

The sauter bereth witnesse:

Domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo tuo, etc.

"And now worth this Mede y-maried

Unto a mansed sherewe,

To oon fals fikel tonge,

A fendes biyete;

Favel thorugh his faire speche

Hath this folk enchaunted,

And al is Lieres ledynge,

That she is thus y-wedded.

"To-morwe worth y-maked

The maydenes bridale,

And there myghtow witen, if thow wilt,

Whiche thei ben alle

That longen to that lordshipe,

The lasse and the moore.

Knowe hem there, if thow kanst,

And kepe thow thi tonge,

And lakke hem noght, but lat hem worthe

Till leauté be justice,

And have power to punysshe hem,

Thanne put forth thi reson.

Now I bikenne thee Crist," quod she,

"And his clene moder,

And lat no conscience acombre thee

For coveitise of Mede."

Thus lefte me that lady

Liggynge a-slepe;

And how Mede was y-maried

In metels me thoughte,

That al the riche retenaunce

That regneth with the false,

Were boden to the bridale

On bothe two sides,

Of alle manere of men

The meene and the riche;

To marien this mayde

Were many men assembled,

As of knyghtes and of clerkes,

And oother commune peple,

As sisours and somonours,

Sherreves and hire clerkes,

Bedelles and baillifs,

And brocours of chaffare,

Forgoers and vitaillers,

And advokettes of the arches;

I kan noght rekene the route

That ran aboute Mede.

Ac Symonie and Cyvylle,

And sisours of courtes,

Were moost pryvee with Mede

Of any men, me thoughte.

Ac Favel was the firste

That fette hire out of boure,

And as a brocour broughte hire

To be with Fals enjoyned.

Whan Symonye and Cyvylle

Seighe hir bothe wille,

Thei assented, for silver,

To seye as bothe wolde.

Thanne leep Liere forth, and seide,

"Lo here a chartre!"

That Gile with hise grete othes

Gaf hem togidere,

And preide Cyvylle to see,

And Symonye to rede it.

Thanne Symonye and Cyvylle

Stonden forth bothe,

And unfoldeth the feffement

That Fals hath y-maked,

And thus bigynnen thise gomes

To greden ful heighe:

Sciant præsentes et futuri, etc.

Witeth and witnesseth,

That wonieth upon this erthe,

That Mede is y-maried

Moore for hire goodes

Than for any vertue or fairnesse,

Or any free kynde.

Falsnesse is fayn of hire,

For he woot hire riche;

And Favel with his fikel speche

Feffeth by this chartre,

To be princes in pride

And poverte to despise,

To bakbite and to bosten,

And bere fals witnesse,

To scorne and to scolde,

And sclaundre to make,

Unbuxome and bolde

To breke the ten hestes.

And the erldom of Envye

And Wrathe togideres,

With the chastilet of Cheste,

And Chaterynge out of reson.

The countee of Coveitise,

And alle the costes aboute,

That is Usure and Avarice,

Al I hem graunte,

In bargaynes and in brocages,

With al the burghe of Thefte,

And al the lordshipe of Leccherie

In lengthe and in brede,

As in werkes and in wordes,

And in waitynges with eighes,

And in wedes and in wisshynges,

And with ydel thoughtes,

There as wil wolde

And werkmanshipe fayleth.

Glotonye he gaf hem ek,

And grete othes togidere,

And al day to drynken

At diverse tavernes,

And there to jangle and jape,

And jugge hir even cristen;

And in fastynge dayes to frete

Er ful tyme were,

And thanne to sitten and soupen

Til sleep hem assaille;

And breden as burghe swyn,

And bedden hem esily,

Til sleuthe and sleep

Sliken hise sydes,

And thanne wanhope to awaken hem so

With no wil to amende,

For he leveth be lost,

This is hir laste ende.

And thei to have and to holde,

And hire heires after,

A dwellynge with the devel,

And dampned be for evere,

With alle the appurtinaunces of purgatorie

Into the pyne of helle.

Yeldynge for this thyng,

At one dayes tyme,

Hire soules to Sathan,

To suffre with hym peynes,

And with hym to wonye with wo

While God is in hevene.

In witnesse of which thyng,

Wrong was the firste,

And Piers the pardoner

Of Paulynes doctrine,

Bette the bedel

Of Bokyngham shire,

Reynald the reve

Of Rutland sokene,

Maude the millere,

And many mo othere.

In the date of the devel

This dede I ensele,

By sighte of Sire Symonie

And Cyvyles leeve.

Thanne tened hym Theologie,

Whan he this tale herde;

And seide unto Cyvyle,

"Now sorwe mote thow have,

Swiche weddynges to werche,

To wrathe with truthe;

And er this weddynge be wroght,

Wo thee bitide!

"For Mede is muliere

Of Amendes engendred,

And God graunteth to gyve

Mede to Truthe;

And thow hast gyven hire to a gilour;

Now God gyve thee sorwe!

Thi text telleth thee noght so,

Truthe woot the sothe;

For Dignus est operarius

His hire to have,

And thow hast fest hire to Fals,

Fy on thi lawe!

For al bi lesynges thow lyvest

And lecherouse werkes.

Symonye and thiself

Shenden holi chirche;

The notaries and ye

Noyen the peple;

Ye shul a-biggen it bothe,

By God that me made!

"Wel ye witen, wernardes,

But if youre wit faille,

That Fals is feithlees

And fikel in hise werkes,

And was a bastarde y-bore

Of Belsabubbes kynne;

And Mede is muliere,

A maiden of goode,

And myghte kisse the kyng

For cosyn, and she wolde.

"For-thi wercheth by wisdom,

And by wit also;

And ledeth hire to Londone,

There it is y-shewed,

If any lawe wol loke

Thei ligge togideres;

And though justices juggen hire

To be joyned to Fals,

Yet be war of weddynge;

For witty is Truthe,

And Conscience is of his counseil,

And knoweth yow echone,

And if he fynde yow in defaute

And with the false holde,

It shal bi-sitte youre soules

Ful soure at the laste."

Herto assenteth Cyvyle,

Ac Symonye ne wolde,

Til he hadde silver for his service,

And also the notaries.

Thanne fette Favel forth

Floryns ynowe,

And bad Gile to gyven

Gold al aboute,

And namely to the notaries

That hem noon ne faille,

And feffe false witnesses

With floryns ynowe,

"For thei may Mede a-maistrye,

And maken at my wille."

Tho this gold was y-gyve,

Gret was the thonkyng

To Fals and to Favel

For hire faire giftes,

And comen to conforten

From care the false,

And seiden, "Certes, sire,

Cessen shul we nevere,

Til Mede be thi wedded wif

Thorugh wittes of us alle;

For we have Mede a-maistried

With oure murie speche,

That she graunteth to goon,

With a good wille,

To London, to loken

If the lawe wolde

Juggen yow joyntly

In joie for evere."

Thanne was Falsnesse fayn,

And Favel as blithe,

And leten somone alle segges

In shires aboute,

And bad hem alle be bown,

Beggers and othere,

To wenden with hem to Westmynstre

To witnesse this dede.

Ac thanne cared thei for caples

To carien hem thider,

And Favel fette forth thanne

Foles ynowe,

And sette Mede upon a sherreve

Shoed al newe.

And Fals sat on a sisour,

That softeli trotted;

And Favel on a flaterere

Fetisly atired.

Tho hadde notaries none,

Anoyed thei were,

For Symonye and Cyvylle

Sholde on hire feet gange.

Ac thanne swoor Symonye,

And Cyvylle bothe,

That somonours sholde be sadeled

And serven hem echone,

And late apparaille thise provisours

In palfreyes wise,

Sire Symonye hymself

Shal sitte upon hir bakkes.

"Denes and southdenes,

Drawe yow togideres,

Erchdekenes and officials,

And alle youre registrers,

Lat sadle hem with silver

Oure synne to suffre,

As avoutrye and divorses,

And derne usurie,

To bere bisshopes aboute

A-brood in visitynge.

"Paulynes pryvees

For pleintes in consistorie,

Shul serven myself

That Cyvyle is nempned.

"And cart-sadle the commissarie,

Oure cart shal he lede,

And fecchen us vitailles.

At Fornicatores.

And maketh of Lyere a lang cart

To leden alle thise othere,

As freres and faitours,

That on hire feet rennen."

And thus Fals and Favel

Fareth forth togideres,

And Mede in the middes,

And alle thise men after.

I have no tome to telle

The tail that hire folwed;

Ac Gyle was for-goer,

And gyed hem alle.

Sothnesse seigh hem wel,

And seide but litel,

And priked his palfrey,

And passed hem alle,

And com to the kynges court,

And Conscience it tolde;

And Conscience to the kyng

Carped it after.

"Now, by Crist," quod the kyng,

"And I cacche myghte

Fals or Favel,

Or any of hise feeris,

I wolde be wroken of tho wrecches

That wercheth so ille,

And doon hem hange by the hals,

And alle that hem maynteneth;

Shal nevere man of this molde

Meynprise the leeste,

But right as the lawe wol loke,

Lat falle on hem alle."

And comaunded a constable

That com at the firste,

To attachen tho tyrauntz,

"For any thyng I hote,

And fettreth faste Falsnesse,

For any kynnes giftes,

And girdeth of Gyles heed,

And lat hym go no ferther;

And if ye lacche Lyere,

Lat hym noght ascapen

Er he be put on the pillory,

For any preyere, I hote;

And bryngeth Mede to me

Maugree hem alle."

Drede at the dore stood,

And the doom herde,

And how the kyng comaunded

Constables and sergeauntz

Falsnesse and his felawshipe

To fettren and to bynden.

Thanne Drede wente wyghtliche,

And warned the False,

And bad hym fle for fere,

And hise felawes alle.

Falsnesse for fere thanne

Fleigh to the ffreres,

And Gyle dooth hym to go,

A-gast for to dye;

Ac marchauntz metten with hym

And made hym abide,

And bi-shetten hym in hire shoppes

To shewen hire ware,

Apparailed hym as apprentice

The peple to serve.

Lightliche Lyere

Leep awey thanne,

Lurkynge thorugh lanes,

To-lugged of manye.

He was nowher welcome,

For his manye tales,

Over al y-honted,

And y-hote trusse,

Til pardoners hadde pité,

And pulled hym into house.

They wesshen hym and wiped hym.

And wounden hym in cloutes,

And senten hym with seles

On Sondayes to chirches,

And yeven pardoun for pens

Pounde-mele aboute.

Thanne lourede leches,

And lettres thei sente,

That he sholde wonye with hem

Watres to loke.

Spycers speken with hym,

To spien hire ware;

For he kouthe of hir craft,

And knewe manye gommes.

And mynstrales and messagers

Mette with hym ones,

And helden hym an half-yeer

And ellevene dayes.

Freres with fair speche

Fetten hym pennes,

And for knowynge of comeres

Coped hym as a frere;

Ac he hath leve to lepen out,

As ofte as hym liketh,

And is welcome whan he wile,

And woneth with hem ofte.

Alle fledden for fere,

And flowen into hernes;

Save Mede the mayde,

Na-mo dorste abide.

Ac trewely to telle,

She trembled for drede,

And ek wepte and wrong,

Whan she was attached.

Passus Tertius de Visione, ut supra.

OW is Mede the mayde,

Gentilliche with joye;

The justices somme

Busked hem to the bour

Ther the burde dwellede,

To conforten hire kyndely,

By clergies leve;

And seiden, "Mourne noght, Mede,

Ne make thow no sorwe;

For we wol wisse the kyng,

And thi wey shape,

To be wedded at thi wille,

And wher thee leef liketh,

For al Consciences cast

Or craft, as I trowe."

Mildely Mede thanne

Merciede hem alle

Of hire grete goodnesse,

And gaf hem echone

Coupes of clene gold,

And coppes of silver,

Rynges with rubies,

And richesses manye;

The leeste man of hire meynee

A moton of golde.

Than laughte thei leve

Thise lordes at Mede.

With that comen clerkes

To conforten hire the same,

And beden hire be blithe;

"For we beth thyne owene,

For to werche thi wille,

The while thow myght laste."

Hendiliche heo thanne

Bi-highte hem the same,

To loven hem lelly,

And lordes to make,

And in the consistorie at the court

Do callen hire names;

"Shal no lewednesse lette

The leode that I lovye,

That he ne worth first avaunced;

For I am bi-knowen,

There konnynge clerkes

Shul clokke bi-hynde."

Thanne cam ther a confessour,

Coped as a frere;

To Mede the mayde

He meved thise wordes,

And seide ful softely,

In shrift as it were,

"Theigh lewed men and lered men

Hadde leyen by thee bothe,

And Falsnesse hadde y-folwed thee

Alle thise fifty wynter,

I shal assoille thee myself

For a seem of whete,

And also be thi bedeman,

And bere wel thi message

Amonges knyghtes and clerkes,

Conscience to torne."

Thanne Mede for hire mysdedes

To that man kneled,

And shrof hire of hire sherewednesse,

Shamelees, I trowe;

Tolde hym a tale,

And took hym a noble,

For to ben hire bedeman

And hire brocour als.

Thanne he assoiled hire soone,

And sithen he seide,

"We have a wyndow in werchynge

Wole sitten us ful hye,

Woldestow glaze that gable

And grave therinne thy name,

Syker sholde thi soule be

Hevene to have."

"Wiste I that," quod that womman,

"I wolde noght spare

For to be youre frend, frere,

And faile yow nevere,

While ye love lordes

That lecherie haunten,

And lakketh noght ladies

That loven wel the same.

It is freletee of flesshe,

Ye fynden it in bokes,

And a cours of kynde

Wherof we comen alle.

Who may scape sclaundre,

The scathe is soone amended;

It is synne of the sevene

Sonnest relessed.

"Have mercy," quod Mede,

"Of men that it haunteth,

And I shal covere youre kirk,

Youre cloistre do maken,

Wowes do whiten,

And wyndowes glazen,

Do peynten and portraye,

And paie for the makynge,

That every segge shal seye

I am suster of youre house."

Ac God to alle good folk

Swich gravynge defendeth,

To writen in wyndowes

Of hir wel dedes,

An aventure pride be peynted there,

And pomp of the world;

For Crist knoweth thi conscience,

And thi kynde wille,

And thi cost and thi coveitise,

And who the catel oughte.

For-thi I lere yow, lordes,

Leveth swiche werkes;

To writen in wyndowes

Of youre wel dedes,

Or to greden after Goddes men

Whan ye dele doles,

On aventure ye have youre hire here,

And youre hevene als.

Nesciat sinistra quid faciat dextra.

Lat noght thi left half

Late ne rathe

Wite what thow werchest

With thi right syde;

For thus by the gospel

Goode men doon hir almesse.

Maires and maceres,

That menes ben bitwene

The kyng and the comune

To kepe the lawes,

To punysshe on pillories

And pynynge-stooles,

Brewesters and baksters,

Bochiers and cokes,

For thise are men on this molde

That moost harm wercheth

To the povere peple

That percel-mele buggen;

For thei enpoisone the peple

Pryveliche and ofte,

Thei richen thorugh regratrie,

And rentes hem biggen,

With that the povere peple

Sholde putte in hire wombe.

For toke thei on trewely,

Thei tymbred nought so heighe,

Ne boughte none burgages,

Be ye ful certeyne.

Ac Mede the mayde

The mair hath bi-sought

Of alle swiche selleris

Silver to take,

Or presentz withouten pens,

As pieces of silver,

Rynges or oother richesse,

The regratiers to mayntene;

"For my love," quod that lady,

"Love hem echone,

And suffre hem to selle

Som del ayeins reson."

Salomon the sage

A sermon he made,

For to amenden maires

And men that kepen lawes;

And tolde hem this teme,

That I telle thynke,

Ignis devorabit tabernacula eorum

qui libenter accipiunt munera,

etc.

Among thise lettrede leodes

This Latyn is to mene,

That fir shal falle and brenne

Al to bloo askes

The houses and homes

Of hem that desireth

Yiftes or yeres-yeves

By cause of hire offices.

The kyng fro the conseil cam,

And called after Mede,

And of sente hire as swithe

With sergeauntz manye,

And broughte hire to boure

With blisse and with joye.

Curteisly the kyng thanne

Comsed to telle,

To Mede the mayde

He meveth thise wordes,

"Unwittily, womman,

Wroght hastow ofte,

Ac worse wroghtestow nevere

Than tho thow Fals toke.

But I forgyve thee that gilt,

And graunte thee my grace;

Hennes to thi deeth day

Do so na-moore.

"I have a knyght Conscience,

Cam late fro biyonde;

If he wilneth thee to wif,

Wiltow hym have?"

"Ye, lord," quod that lady,

"Lord forbede it ellis!

But I be holly at youre heste,

Lat hange me soone."

And thanne was Conscience called

To come and appere

Bifore the kyng and his conseil,

As clerkes and othere.

Knelynge Conscience

To the kyng louted,

To wite what his wille were,

And what he do wolde.

"Woltow wedde this womman," quod the kyng,

"If I wole assente?

For she is fayn of thi felaweshipe,

For to be thi make."

Quod Conscience to the kyng,

"Crist it me forbede!

Er I wedde swich a wif,

Wo me bitide!

For she is frele of hire feith,

Fikel of hire speche,

And maketh men mysdo

Many score tymes;

Trust of hire tresor

Bitrayeth ful manye.

"Wyves and widewes

Wantonnes she techeth,

And lereth hem lecherie

That loveth hire giftes.

Youre fader she felled

Thorugh false biheste,

And hath enpoisoned popes,

And peired holy chirche.

Is noght a bettre baude,

By hym that me made!

Bitwene hevene and helle,

In erthe though men soughte.

For she is tikel of hire tail,

And tale-wis of hire tonge;

As commune as a cartwey

To ech a knave that walketh,

To monkes, to mynstrales,

To meseles in hegges.

"Sisours and somonours,

Swiche men hire preiseth;

Sherreves of shires

Were shent if she ne were;

For she dooth men lese hire lond

And hire lif bothe;

She leteth passe prisoners,

And paieth for hem ofte,

And gyveth the gailers gold

And grotes togidres,

To unfettre the fals

Fle where hym liketh;

And taketh the trewe bi the top

And tieth hem faste,

And hangeth hem for hatrede

That harm dide nevere.

"To be corsed in consistorie

She counteth noght a bene;

For she copeth the commissarie,

And coteth hise clerkes.

She is assoiled as soone

As hireself liketh;

And may neigh as muche do

In a monthe one,

As youre secret seel

In sixe score dayes.

For she is pryvee with the pope,

Provisours it knoweth;

For sire Symonie and hirselve

Seleth hire bulles.

"She blesseth thise bisshopes,

Theigh thei be lewed;

Provendreth persones,

And preestes maynteneth,

To have lemmans and lotebies

Alle hire lif daies,

And bryngeth forth barnes

Ayein forbode lawes.

Ther she is wel with the kyng,

Wo is the reaume;

For she is favourable to fals,

And de-fouleth truthe ofte.

"By Jhesus! with hire jeweles

Youre justices she shendeth,

And lith ayein the lawe,

And letteth hym the gate,

That feith may noght have his forth,

Hire floryns go so thikke.

She ledeth the lawe as hire list,

And love-daies maketh,

And doth men lese thorugh hire love,

That lawe myghte wynne

The maze for a mene man,

Though he mote hire evere.

Lawe is so lordlich

And looth to maken ende,

Withouten presentz or pens

She pleseth wel fewe.

"Barons and burgeises

She bryngeth in sorwe,

And al the comune in care

That coveiten lyve in truthe;

For clergie and coveitise

She coupleth togidres.

This is the lif of that lady;

Now Lord gyve hire sorwe!

And alle that maynteneth hire men,

Meschaunce hem bitide!

For povere men may have no power

To pleyne hem, though thei smerte.

Swich a maister is Mede

Among men of goode."

Thanne mournede Mede,

And mened hire to the kynge

To have space to speke,

Spede if she myghte.

The kyng graunted hire grace,

With a good wille,

"Excuse thee, if thow kanst;

I kan na-moore seggen.

For Conscience accuseth thee,

To congeien thee for evere."

"Nay, lord," quod that lady,

"Leveth hym the werse,

Whan ye witen witterly

Wher the wrong liggeth.

Ther that meschief is gret,

Mede may helpe.

And thow knowest, Conscience,

I kam noght to chide

Ne deprave thi persone,

With a proud herte.

Wel thow woost, wernarde,

But if thow wolt gabbe,

Thow hast hanged on myn half

Ellevene tymes,

And also griped my gold,

Gyve it where thee liked;

And whi thow wrathest thee now,

Wonder me thynketh.

Yet I may as I myghte

Menske thee with giftes,

And mayntene thi manhode

Moore than thow knowest.

"Ac thow hast famed me foule

Bifore the kyng here;

For killed I nevere no kyng

Ne counseiled therafter,

Ne dide as thow demest

I do it on the kynge.

"In Normandie was he noght

Noyed for my sake;

Ac thow thiself soothly

Shamedest hym ofte,

Crope into a cabane

For cold of thi nayles,

Wendest that wynter

Wolde han y-lasted evere,

And dreddest to be ded

For a dym cloude,

And hyedest homward

For hunger of thi wombe.

"Withouten pité, pilour,

Povere men thow robbedest;

And bere hire bras at thi bak

To Caleis to selle,

Ther I lafte with my lord,

His lif for to save.

I made his men murye,

And mournynge lette;

I batred hem on the bak,

And boldede hire hertes,

And dide hem hoppe for hope

To have me at wille.

Hadde I ben marchal of his men,

By Marie of hevene!

I dorste have leyd my lif,

And no lasse wedde,

He sholde have be lord of that lond

In lengthe and in brede,

And also kyng of that kith

His kyn for to helpe,

The leeste brol of his blood

A barones piere.

"Cowardly thow, Conscience,

Conseiledest hym thennes,

To leven his lordshipe

For a litel silver,

That is the richeste reaume

That reyn over-hoveth.

"It bi-cometh to a kyng

That kepeth a reaume,

To yeve mede to men,

That mekely hym serveth,

To aliens and to alle men,

To honouren hem with giftes;

Mede maketh hym bi-loved

And for a man holden.

"Emperours and erles,

And alle manere lordes,

For giftes han yonge men

To renne and to ryde.

"The pope and alle the prelates

Presentz underfongen,

And medeth men hemselven

To mayntene hir lawes.

"Sergeauntz for hire servyce,

We seeth wel the sothe,

Taken mede of hir maistres,

As thei mowe acorde.

"Beggeres for hir biddynge,

Bidden men mede.

"Mynstrales for hir myrthe,

Mede thei aske.

"The kyng hath mede of his men,

To make pees in londe.

"Men that teche children,

Craven after mede.

"Preestes that prechen the peple

To goode, asken mede,

And massepens and hire mete

At the meel-tymes.

"Alle kynne craftes men

Craven mede for hir prentices.

"Marchauntz and Mede

Mote nede go togideres.

No wight, as I wene,

Withouten mede may libbe."

Quod the kyng to Conscience,

"By Crist! as me thynketh,

Mede is well worthi

The maistrie to have."

"Nay," quod Conscience to the kyng,

And kneled to the erthe,

"Ther are two manere of medes,

My lord, with youre leve.

"That oon God of his grace

Graunteth in his blisse

To tho that wel werchen,

While thei ben here;

The prophete precheth therof,

And putte it in the Sauter,

Domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo tuo?

"Lord, who shal wonye in thi wones,

And with thyne holy seintes,

Or resten in thyne holy hilles?

This asketh David;

And David assoileth it hymself,

As the Sauter telleth.

Qui ingreditur sine macula et operatur justitiam.

"Tho that entren of o colour,

And of one wille,

And han y-wroght werkes

With right and with reson;

And he that useth noght

The lyf of usurie,

And enformeth povere men,

And pursueth truthe.

Qui pecuniam suam non dedit ad

usuram, et munera super innoc. etc.

"And alle that helpen the innocent,

And holden with the rightfulle,

Withouten mede doth hem good,

And the truthe helpeth,

Swiche manere men, my lord,

Shul have this firste mede

Of God at a gret nede,

Whan thei gon hennes.

"Ther is another mede mesurelees,

That maistres desireth,

To mayntene mysdoers

Mede thei take,

And therof seith the Sauter

In a salmes ende,

In quorum manibus iniquitates

sunt, dextra eorum repleta est

muneribus.

"And he that gripeth hir gold,

So me God helpe!

Shal abien it bittre,

Or the book lieth.

"Preestes and persons

That plesynge desireth,

That taken mede and moneie

For masses that thei syngeth,

Taken hire mede here,

As Mathew us techeth.

Amen, Amen, recipiebant mercede suam.

"That laborers and lowe folk

Taken of hire maistres,

It is no manere mede,

But a mesurable hire.

"In marchaundise is no mede,

I may it wel avowe,

It is a permutacion apertly,

A penyworth for another.

"Ac reddestow nevere Regum?

Thow recrayed Mede,

Whi the vengeaunce fel

On Saul and on his children?

God sente to Saul

By Samuel the prophete,

That Agag of Amalec,

And al his peple after,

Sholden deye for a dede

That doon hadde hire eldres.

"For-thi seide Samuel to Saul,

'God hymself hoteth

Thee be buxom at his biddynge,

His wil to fulfille;

Weend to Amalec with thyn oost,

And what thow fyndest there sle it,

Burnes and beestes

Bren hem to dethe,

Widwes and wyves,

Wommen and children,

Moebles and un-moebles,

And al thow myght fynde,

Bren it, bere it noght awey,

Be it never so riche,

For mede ne for monee,

Loke thow destruye it,

Spille it and spare it noght,

Thow shalt spede the bettre.'

"And for he coveited hir catel,

And the kyng spared,

Forbar hym and his beestes bothe,

As the Bible witnesseth,

Oother wise than he was

Warned of the prophete,

God seide to Samuel

That Saul sholde deye,

And al his seed for that synne

Shenfulliche ende.

Swich a meschief Mede made

Saul the kyng to have,

That God hated hym for evere,

And alle hise heires after.

"The culorum of this cas

Kepe I noght to telle,

On aventure it noyed men,

Noon ende wol I make,

For so is this world went

With hem that han power,

That who so seith hem sothest

Is sonnest y-blamed.

"Conscience knowe this,

For kynde wit it me taughte,

That Reson shal regne

And reaumes governe,

And right as Agag hadde,

Happe shul somme,

Samuel shal sleen hym,

And Saul shal be blamed,

And David shal be diademed,

And daunten hem alle;

And oon cristene kyng

Kepen hem alle.

Shal na-moore Mede

Be maister, as she is nouthe;

Ac love and lowenesse

And leautee togideres,

Thise shul ben maistres on moolde,

Truthe to save.

"And who so trespaseth ayein truthe,

Or taketh ayein his wille,

Leauté shal don hym lawe,

And no lif ellis;

Shall no sergeaunt for his service

Were a silk howve,

Ne no pelure in his cloke

For pledynge at the barre.

Mede of mysdoeres

Maketh manye lordes,

And over lordes lawes

Ruleth the reaumes.

"Ac kynde love shal come yit,

And conscience togideres,

And make of lawe a laborer;

Swich love shal arise,

And swich a pees among the peple,

And a perfit truthe,

That Jewes shul wene in hire wit,

And wexen wonder glade,

That Moyses or Messie

Be come into this erthe,

And have wonder in hire hertes

That men beth so trewe.

"Alle that beren baselarde,

Brood swerd or launce,

Ax outher hachet,

Or any wepene ellis,

Shal be demed to the deeth,

But if he do it smythye

Into sikel or to sithe,

To shaar or to kultour;

Conflabunt gladios suos in vomeres, etc.

"Ech man to pleye with a plow,

Pykoise or spade,

Spynne or sprede donge,

Or spille hymself with sleuthe.

"Preestes and persons

With Placebo to hunte,

And dyngen upon David

Eche day til eve.

Huntynge or haukynge

If any of hem use,

His boost of his benefice

Worth by-nomen hym after.

Shal neither kyng ne knyght,

Constable ne meire,

Overlede the commune,

Ne to the court sompne,

Ne putte hem in panel

To doon hem plighte hir truthe;

But after the dede that is doon

Oon doom shal rewarde,

Mercy or no mercy,

As truthe wole acorde.

"Kynges court and commune court,

Consistorie and chapitle,

Al shal be but oon court,

And oon baron be justice.

Thanne worth Trewe-tonge a tidy man

That tened me nevere;

Batailles shul none be,

Ne no man bere wepene;

And what smyth that any smytheth,

Be smyte therwith to dethe.

Non levabit gens contra gentem

gladium, etc.

"And er this fortune falle,

Fynde men shul the worste,

By sixe sonnes and a shipe,

And half a shef of arwes,

And the myddel of a moone,

Shal make the Jewes to torne,

And Sarzynes for that sighte

Shul synge Gloria in excelsis, etc.

For Makometh and Mede

Mys-happe shul that tyme,

For melius est bonum nomen quam divitiæ multæ."

Al so wroth as the wynd

Weex Mede in a while,

"I kan no Latyn," quod she,

"Clerkes wite the sothe;

Se what Salomon seith

In Sapience bokes,

That thei that gyven giftes

The victorie wynneth,

And moost worshipe hadde therwith

As holy writ telleth:

Honorem adquiret qui dat munera, etc.

"Leve wel, lady," quod Conscience,

"That thi Latyn be trewe;

Ac thow art lik a lady

That radde a lesson ones,

Was omnia probate,

And that plesed hire herte;

For that lyne was no lenger

At the leves ende.

Hadde she loked that oother half,

And the leef torned,

She sholde have founden fele wordes

Folwynge therafter,

Quod bonum est tenete;

Truthe that text made.

And so ferde ye, madame,

Ye kouthe na-moore fynde,

Tho ye loked on Sapience

Sittynge in youre studie.

This text that ye han told

Were good for lordes;

Ac yow fayled a konnynge clerk

That kouthe the leef han torned.

And if ye seche Sapience eft,

Fynde shul ye that folweth,

A ful teneful text

To hem that taketh mede;

And that is animam autem aufert accipientium, etc.,

And that is the tail of the text;

Of that that she shewed,

That theigh we wynne worshipe,

And with mede have victorie,

The soule that the sonde taketh

By so muche is bounde."