The Vision and Creed of Piers Ploughman, Volume 2

Passus Decimus Octavus, etc. et Tertius de Do-bet.

OLLEWARD and weet-shoed

Withouten spores other spere,

Spakliche he lokede,

As is the kynde of a knyght

That cometh to be dubbed,

To geten hym gilte spores,

Or galoches y-couped.

Thanne was Feith in a fenestre,

And cryde a fili David,

As dooth an heraud of armes,

Whan aventrous cometh to justes.

Old Jewes of Jerusalem

For joye thei songen,

Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.

Thanne I frayned at Feith,

What al that fare by-mente,

And who sholde juste in Jerusalem.

"Jhesus," he seide,

"And fecche that the fend claymeth,

Piers fruyt the Plowman."

"Is Piers in this place?" quod I.

And he preynte on me:

"This Jhesus of his gentries

Wol juste in Piers armes,

In his helm and in his haubergeon,

Humana natura;

That Crist be noght bi-knowe here

For consummatus Deus.

In Piers paltok the Plowman

This prikiere shal ryde.

For no dynt shal hym dere,

As in deitate Patris."

"Who shal juste with Jhesus?" quod I,

"Jewes or scrybes?"

"Nay," quod he; "The foule fend,

And fals doom and deeth.

Deeth seith he shal for-do

And a-doun brynge

Al that lyveth and loketh

In londe and in watre.

"Lif seith that he lieth,

And leieth his lif to wedde,

That for al that deeth kan do

Withinne thre daies

To walke and fecche fro the fend

Piers fruyt the Plowman,

And legge it ther hym liketh,

And Lucifer bynde,

And for-bete and a-doun brynge

Bale deeth for evere."

O mors, ero mors tua.

Thanne cam Pilatus with muche peple,

Sedens pro tribunali,

To se how doghtiliche Deeth sholde do,

And deme hir botheres right.

The Jewes and the justice

Ayeins Jhesu thei weere,

And al the court on hym cryde

Crucifige sharpe.

Tho putte hym forth a pilour

Bifore Pilat, and seide,

"This Jhesus of oure Jewes temple

Hath japed and despised,

To for-doon it on o day,

And in thre dayes after

Edifie it eft newe;

Here he stant that seide it;

And yit maken it as muche

In alle manere poyntes,

Bothe as long and as large,

Bi lofte and by grounde."

"Crucifige!" quod a cachepol;

"I warrante hym a wicche."

"Tolle! tolle!" quod another,

And took of kene thornes,

And bigan of kene thorn

A garland to make,

And sette it sore on his heed,

And seide in envye,

"Ave, Raby," quod that rybaud,

And threw reedes at hym,

Nailed hym with thre nailes

Naked on the roode,

And poison on a poole

Thei putte up to hise lippes,

And beden hym drynken his deeth yvel,

Hise daies were y-done,

"And if that thow sotil be,

Help now thiselve;

If thow be Crist and kynges sone,

Com down of the roode;

Thanne shul we leve that lif thee loveth,

And wol noght lete thee deye."

"Consummatum est," quod Crist,

And comsede for to swoune

Pitousliche and pale,

As a prison that deieth.

The lord of lif and of light

Tho leide hise eighen togideres.

The day for drede withdrough,

And derk bicam the sonne;

The wal waggede and cleef,

And al the world quaved;

Dede men for that dene

Come out of depe graves,

And tolde why that tempeste

So longe tyme durede;

"For a bitter bataille,"

The dede body seide,

"Lif and deeth in this derknesse

Hir oon for-dooth hir oother.

Shal no wight wite witterly

Who shal have the maistrie

Er Sonday aboute sonne risyng;"

And sank with that til erthe.

Some seide that he was Goddes sone

That so faire deide.

Vere filius Dei erat iste.

And some seide he was a wicche,

"Good is that we assaye

Wher he be deed or noght deed,

Doun er he be taken."

Two theves also

Tholed deeth that tyme,

Upon a croos besides Crist,

So was the comune lawe.

A cachepol cam forth

And craked bothe hire legges,

And the armes after

Of either of tho theves.

Ac was no body so boold

Goddes body to touche;

For he was knyght and kynges sone,

Kynde for-yaf that tyme,

That noon harlot were so hardy

To leyen hond upon hym.

Ac ther cam forth a knyght,

With a kene spere y-grounde,

Highte Longeus, as the lettre telleth,

And longe hadde lore his sighte.

Bifore Pilat and oother peple

In the place he hoved;

Maugree his manye teeth,

He was maad that tyme

To take the spere in his hond,

And justen with Jhesus.

For alle thei were unhardy,

That hoved on horse or stode,

To touchen hym or to tasten hym,

Or taken doun of roode.

But this blynde bacheler

Baar hym thorugh the herte;

The blood sprong doun by the spere,

And unspered the knyghtes eighen.

Thanne fil the knyght upon knees,

And cryde hym mercy;

"Ayein my wille it was, Lord,

To wownde yow so soore."

He sighed and seide,

"Soore it me a-thynketh,

For the dede that I have doon

I do me in youre grace.

Have on me ruthe! rightful Jhesu!"

And right with that he wepte.

Thanne gan Feith felly

The false Jewes despise,

Callede hem caytyves

Acorsed for evere;

"For this foule vileynye

Vengeaunce to yow falle!

To do the blynde bete hym y-bounde,

It was a boyes counseille.

Cursede caytif!

Knyghthood was it nevere

To mys-do a deed body

By daye or by nyghte.

The gree yit hath he geten,

For al his grete wounde.

"For youre champion chivaler,

Chief knyght of yow alle,

Yilt hym recreaunt rennyng

Right at Jhesus wille.

For be this derknesse y-do,

His deeth worth avenged;

And ye, lurdaynes, han y-lost,

For lif shal have the maistrye;

And youre fraunchise, that fre was,

Fallen is in thraldom,

And ye, cherles, and youre children

Cheve shulle nevere

To have lordshipe in londe,

Ne no lond tilye,

But al barayne be,

And usurie usen,

Which is lif that oure Lord

In alle lawes acurseth.

Now youre goode dayes arn doon,

As Daniel prophecied,

Whan Crist cam, of hir kyngdom

The crowne sholde cesse."

Cum veniat sanctus sanctorum, cessabit

unctio vestra.

What for feere of this ferly,

And of the false Jewes,

I drow me in that derknesse

To descendit ad inferna;

And there I saugh soothly

Secundum Scripturas

Out of the west coste

A wenche, as me thoughte,

Cam walkynge in the wey,

To helle-ward she loked.

Mercy highte that mayde,

A meke thyng withalle,

A ful benigne burde,

And buxom of speche.

Hir suster, as it semed,

Cam soothly walkynge.

Evene out of the est,

And west-ward she lokede,

A ful comely creature,

Truthe she highte,

For the vertue that hire folwede

A-fered was she nevere.

Whan thise maydenes mette,

Mercy and Truthe,

Either asked oother

Of this grete wonder,

Of the dyn and of the derknesse,

And how the day rowed,

And which a light and a leme

Lay bifore helle.

"Ich have ferly of this fare,

In feith!" seide Truthe,

"And am wendynge to wite

What this wonder meneth."

"Have no merveille," quod Mercy,

"Murth it bitokneth.

A maiden that highte Marie,

And moder withouten felyng

Of any kynnes creature,

Conceyved thorugh speche

And grace of the Holy Goost,

Weex greet with childe,

Withouten wem

Into this world she broghte hym;

And that my tale be trewe,

I take God to witnesse.

"Sith this barn was y-bore

Ben .xxx.^ti wynter passed,

Which deide and deeth tholed

This day aboute myd-day,

And that is cause of this clips

That closeth now the sonne,

In menynge that man shal

Fro merknesse be drawe,

The while this light and this leme

Shal Lucifer a-blende.

For patriarkes and prophetes

Han preched herof ofte:

That man shal man save

Thorugh a maydenes helpe;

And that was tynt thorugh tree,

Tree shal it wynne;

And that deeth a-down broughte,

Deeth shal releve."

"That thow tellest," quod Truthe,

"Is but a tale of Waltrot.

For Adam and Eve,

And Abraham, with othere,

Patriarkes and prophetes,

That in peyne liggen,

Leve thow nevere that yon light

Hem a-lofte brynge,

Ne have hem out of helle.

Hold thi tonge, Mercy!

It is but a trufle that thow tellest;

I, Truthe, woot the sothe.

For he that is ones in helle,

Out cometh he nevere.

Job the prophete patriark

Repreveth thi sawes."

Quia in inferno nulla est redemptio.

Thanne Mercy ful myldely

Mouthed thise wordes,

"Thorugh experience," quod she,

"I hope thei shul be saved.

For venym for-dooth venym;

And that preve I by reson.

For of alle venymes

Foulest is the scorpion,

May no medicyne helpe

The place ther he styngeth,

Til he be deed, and do therto,

The yvel he destruyeth,

The firste venymousté

Thorugh venym of hymselve.

"So shal this deeth for-do,

I dar my lif legge,

Al that deeth for-dide first

Thorugh the develes entisyng;

And right as thorugh gile

Man was bi-giled,

So shal grace that bi-gan

Make a good sleighte."

Ars ut artem falleret.

"Now suffre we," seide Truthe;

"I se, as me thynketh,

Out of the nyppe of the north

Noght ful her hennes

Rightwisnesse come rennynge.

Reste we the while;

For he woot moore than we,

He was er we bothe."

"That is sooth," seide Mercy;

"And I se here by sowthe

Where Pees cometh pleyinge,

In pacience y-clothed.

Love hath coveited hire longe,

Leve I noon oother,

But he sente hire som lettre,

What this light by-meneth

That over-hoveth helle thus,

She us shal telle."

When Pees in pacience y-clothed

Approched ner hem tweyne,

Rightwisnesse hire reverenced,

By hir riche clothyng,

And preide Pees to telle hire

To what place she wolde,

And in hire gaye garnementz

Whom she grete thoughte.

"My wil is to wende," quod she,

"And welcome hem alle

That many day myghte I noght se

For merknesse of synne,

Adam and Eve,

And othere mo in helle;

Moyses and many mo

Mercy shul have,

And I shal daunce therto,

Do thow so, suster,

For Jhesus justede wel,

Joy bigynneth dawe.

Ad vesperum demorabitur fletus, et

ad matutinum lætitia.

"Love, that is my lemman,

Swiche lettres me sente,

That Mercy, my suster, and I

Mankynde sholde save,

And that God hath for-gyven

And graunted me pees and mercy,

To be mannes meynpernour

For evere moore after.

Lo here the patente!" quod Pees,

"In pace in idipsum.

And that this dede shal dure,

Dormiam et requiescam."

"What! ravestow?" quod Rightwisnesse,

"Or thow art right dronke?

Levestow that yond light

Unlouke myghte helle,

And save mannes soule?

Suster, wene it nevere.

For God the bigynnere

Gaf the doom hymselve,

That Adam and Eve,

And alle that hem suwede,

Sholden deye down righte,

And dwelle in pyne after,

If that thei touchede a tree,

And the fruyt eten.

"Adam afterward

Ayeins his defence

Freet of that fruyt,

And forsook, as it weere,

The love of oure Lord

And his loore bothe,

And folwede that the fend taughte,

And his felawes wille,

Ayeins reson and rightwisnesse,

Recorde thus with truthe,

That hir peyne be perpetuel,

And no preiere hem helpe.

For-thi lat hem chewe as thei chosen,

And chide we noght, sustres;

For it is bote-lees bale,

The byte that thei eten."

"And I shal preve," quod Pees,

"Hir peyne moot have ende,

And from wo into wele

Mowe wenden at the laste.

For hadde thei wist of no wo,

Wele hadde the noght knowen.

For no wight woot what wele is,

That nevere wo suffrede;

Ne what is hoot hunger,

That hadde nevere defaute.

"If no nyght ne weere,

No man, as I leeve,

Sholde nevere wite witterly

What day is to meene.

Sholde nevere right riche man,

That lyveth in reste and ese,

Wite what wo is,

Ne were the deeth of kynde.

"So God, that bigan al

Of his goode wille,

Bicam man of a mayde

Mankynde to save;

And suffrede to be sold,

To se the sorwe of deying,

The which unknytteth alle care,

And comsynge is of reste.

For til modicum mete with us,

I may it wel avowe,

Woot no wight, as I wene,

What y-nogh is to mene.

"For-thi God of his goodnesse

The firste gome Adam

Sette hym in solace,

And in sovereyn murthe;

And siththe he suffred hym synne,

Sorwe to feele,

To wite what wele was

Kyndeliche and knowe it.

And after God auntrede hymself,

And took Adames kynde,

To wite what he hath suffred

In thre sondry places,

Bothe in hevene and in erthe,

And now til helle he thenketh

To wite what alle wo is,

And what is alle joye.

"So it shal fare by this folk,

Hir folie and hir synne

Shal lere hem what langour is

And lisse withouten ende.

Woot no wight what werre is

Ther that pees regneth,

Ne what is witterly wele

Til weylawey! hym teche."

Thanne was ther a wight

With two brode eighen,

Book highte that beau-peere,

A bold man of speche;

"By Goddes body!" quod this Book,

"I wol bere witnesse

That tho this barn was y-bore,

Ther blased a sterre

That alle the wise of this world

In o wit acorden,

That swich a barn was y-bore

In Bethleem the citee,

That mannes soule sholde save,

And synne destroye.

And alle the elementz," quod the Book,

"Herof beren witnesse,

That he was God that al wroghte,

The wolkne first shewed.

"Tho that weren in hevene

Token stella cometa,

And tendeden it as a torche

To reverencen his burthe;

The light folwede the Lord

Into the lowe erthe.

"The water witnessed that he was God,

For he wente on it.

Peter the apostel

Parceyved his gate,

And as he wente on the water,

Wel hym knew, and seide,

Jube me venire ad te super aquas.

"And lo! how the sonne gan louke

Hire light in hirselve,

Whan she seigh hym suffre,

That sonne and see made.

"The erthe for hevynesse

That he wolde suffre,

Quaked as quyk thyng,

And al biquasshed the roche.

"Lo! helle myghte nat holde,

But opnede tho God tholede,

And leet out Symondes sone

To seen hym hange on roode.

And now shal Lucifer leve it,

Though hym looth thynke;

For Gigas the geaunt

With a gyn hath engyned

To breke and to bete a-doun

That ben ayeins Jhesus.

And I, Book, wole be brent,

But Jhesus rise to lyve

In alle myghtes of man,

And his moder gladie,

And conforte al his kyn

And out of care brynge,

And al the Jewene joye

Unjoynen and unlouken,

And but thei reversen his roode,

And his resurexion,

And bileve on a newe lawe,

Be lost lif and soule."

"Suffre we," seide Truthe;

"I here and see bothe

How a spirit speketh to helle,

And biddeth unspere the yates."

Attolite portas, etc.

A vois loude in that light

To Lucifer crieth,

"Prynces of this place,

Unpynneth and unlouketh!

For here cometh with crowne

That kyng is of glorie."

Thanne sikede Sathan,

And seide to hem alle,

"Swich a light ayeins oure leve

Lazar out fette;

Care and encombraunce

Is comen to us alle!

If this kyng come in,

Mankynde wole he fecche,

And lede it ther hym liketh,

And lightliche me bynde.

Patriarkes and Prophetes

Han parled herof longe,

That swich a lord and light

Sholde lede hem alle hennes."

"Listneth," quod Lucifer,

"For I this lord knowe.

Bothe this lord and this light,

Is longe a-go I knew hym.

May no deeth hym dere,

Ne no develes queyntise;

And where he wole is his wey,

Ac ware hym of the perils.

If he reveth me my right,

He robbeth me by maistrie;

For by right and by reson

The renkes that ben here

Body and soule beth myne,

Bothe goode and ille.

For hymself seide,

That sire is of hevene,

If Adam ete the appul,

Alle sholde deye

And dwelle with us develes;

This thretynge he made.

And he that soothnesse is,

Seide thise wordes.

And sithen I seised

Sevene hundred wynter,

I leeve that lawe nyl noght

Lete hym the leeste."

"That is sooth," seide Sathan;

"But I me soore drede.

For thow gete hem with gile,

And his gardyn breke,

And in semblaunce of a serpent

Sete upon the appul-tree,

And eggedest hem to ete,

Eve by hirselve;

And toldest hire a tale,

Of treson were the wordes;

And so thow haddest hem out,

And hider at the laste.

It is noght graithly geten,

Ther gile is the roote.

For God wol noght be bi-giled,"

Quod Gobelyn, "ne by-japed;

We have no trewe title to hem,

For thorugh treson were thei dampned."

"Certes, I drede me," quod the devel,

"Lest Truthe wol hem fecche;

Thise thritty wynter, as I wene,

Hath he gon and preched.

I have assailled hym with synne,

And som tyme y-asked

Wheither he were God or Goddes sone;

He yaf me short answere.

And thus hath he trolled forth

Thise two and thritty wynter.

And whan I seigh it was so,

Lepynge I wente

To warne Pilates wif

What done man was Jhesus.

For Jewes hateden hym,

And han doon hym to dethe.

I wolde have lengthed his lif;

For I leved if he deide,

That his soule wolde suffre

No synne in his sighte.

For the body, while it on bones yede,

Aboute was evere

To save men from synne,

If hemself wolde.

And now I se wher a soule

Cometh hiderward seillynge,

With glorie and with gret light,—

God it is, I woot wel.

I rede that we fle," quod he,

"Faste alle hennes;

For us were bettre noght be,

Than biden his sighte.

For thi lesynges, Lucifer,

Lost is al oure praye.

"First thorugh the we fellen

Fro hevene so heighe,

For we leved on thi lesynges;

Y-lorn we have Adam,

And al oure lordshipe, I leve,

A-londe and a-watre."

Nunc princeps hujus mundi ejicietur foras.

Eft the light bad unlouke;

And Lucifer answerede,

"What lord artow?" quod Lucifer.

Quis est iste?

"Rex Gloriæ,"

The light soone seide,

"And lord of myght and of man,

And alle manere vertues.

Dominus virtutum.

Dukes of this dymme place,

Anoon undo thise yates,

That Crist may come in,

The kynges sone of hevene!"

And with that breeth helle brak,

With Belialles barres,

For any wye or warde,

Wide opned the yates.

Patriarkes and prophetes,

Populus in tenebris,

Songen seint Johanes song,

Ecce agnus Dei.

Lucifer loke ne myghte,

So light hym a-blente.

And tho that oure Lord lovede

Into his light he laughte;

And seide to Sathan,

"Lo! here my soule to amendes

For alle synfulle soules,

To save tho that ben worthi.

Myne thei ben and of me,

I may the bet hem cleyme.

And though Reson recorde

And Right, of myselve,

That if he ete the appul

Alle sholde deye;

I bi-highte hem noght here

Helle for evere.

For the dede that thei dide,

Thi deceite it made;

With gile thow hem gete,

Ageyn alle reson.

For in my paleis Paradis,

In persone of an addre,

Falsliche thow fettest

Thyng that I lovede.

"Thus y-lik a lusard,

With a lady visage,

Thefliche thow me robbedest;

And the olde lawe graunteth

That gilours be bigiled,

And that is good reson.

Dentem pro dente et oculum pro oculo.

Ergo soule shal soule quyte,

And synne to synne wende,

And al that man hath mys-do

I, man, wole amende;

Membre for membre

By the olde lawe was amendes,

And lif for lif also,

And by that lawe I clayme it,

Adam and al his issue

At my wille herafter,

And that deeth in hem for-dide

My deeth shal releve,

And bothe quykne and quyte

That queynt was thorugh synne.

And that grace gile destruye,

Good feith it asketh.

So leve I noght, Lucifer,

Ayein the lawe I fecche hem;

But by right and by reson

Raunsone here my liges.

Non veni solvere legem, sed adimplere.

"Thow fettest myne in my place

Ayeins alle reson,

Falsliche and felonliche;

Good feith me it taughte,

To recovere hem thorugh raunson,

And by no reson ellis.

So that thorugh gile thow gete,

Thorugh grace it is y-wonne.

Thow Lucifer in liknesse

Of a luther addere

Getest bi gile

Tho that God lovede.

"And I in liknesse of a leode,

That lord am of hevene,

Graciousliche thi gile have quyt;

Go gile ayein gile.

And as Adam and alle

Thorugh a tree deyden;

Adam and alle thorugh a tree

Shul turne ayein to lyve;

And gile is bi-giled,

And in his gile fallen.

Et cecidit in foveam quam fecit.

"Now bi-gynneth thi gile

Ageyn thee to turne,

And my grace to growe

Ay gretter and widder;

That art doctour of deeth,

Drynk that thow madest.

"For I that am lord of lif,

Love is my drynke;

And for that drynke to-day

I deide upon erthe.

I faught so, me thursteth yit,

For mannes soule sake;

May no drynke me moiste,

Ne my thurst slake,

Til the vendage falle

In the vale of Josaphat,

That I drynke right ripe must,

Resurrectio mortuorum;

And thanne shal I come as a kyng,

Crouned with aungeles,

And have out of helle

Alle mennes soules.

"Fendes and fyndekynes

Bifore me shul stande,

And be at my biddyng

Wher so evere me liketh;

And to be merciable to man

Thanne my kynde asketh.

For we beth bretheren of blood,

But noght in baptisme alle.

Ac alle that beth myne hole bretheren

In blood and in baptisme.

Shul noght be dampned to the deeth

That is withouten ende.

Tibi soli peccavi, etc.

"It is noght used in erthe,

To hangen a feloun

Ofter than ones,

Though he were a tretour.

And if the kyng of that kyngdom

Come in that tyme

There feloun thole sholde

Deeth or oother juwise,

Lawe wolde he yeve hym lif,

If he loked on hym.

And I, that am kyng of kynges,

Shal come swich a tyme

Ther doom to the deeth

Dampneth alle the wikked;

And if lawe wole I loke on hem,

It lith in my grace

Wheither thei deye or deye noght

For that thei diden ille;

Be it any thyng a-bought

The boldnesse of hir synnes,

I do mercy thorugh rightwisnesse,

And alle my wordes trewe;

And though holy writ wole that I be wroke

Of hem that diden ille,—

Nullum malum impunitum, etc.—

Thei shul be clensed clerliche,

And wasshen of hir synnes,

In my prisone Purgatorie,

Til parce it hote,

And my mercy shal be shewed

To manye of my bretheren.

For blood may suffre blood,

Bothe hungry and a-cale;

Ac blood may noght se blood

Blede, but hym rewe.

Audivi arcana verba quæ non licet

homini loqui.

"Ac my rightwisnesse and right

Shul rulen al helle,

And mercy al mankynde

Bifore me in hevene.

For I were an unkynde kyng,

But I my kynde helpe,

And nameliche at swich a nede.

Ther nedes help bihoveth.

Non intres in judicium cum servo tuo.

"Thus by lawe," quod oure Lord,

"Lede I wole fro hennes

Tho that me lovede

And leved in my comynge.

And for thi lesynge, Lucifer,

That thow leighe til Eve,

Thow shalt abyen it bittre;"—

And bond hym with cheynes.

Astroth and al the route

Hidden hem in hernes;

They dorste noght loke on oure Lord,

The boldeste of hem alle,

But leten hym lede forth whom hym liked,

And lete whom hym liste.

Manye hundred of aungeles

Harpeden and songen,

Culpat caro, purgat caro,

Regnat Deus Dei caro.

Thanne pipede Pees

Of Poesie a note,

Clarior est solito post maxima nebula Phœbus,

Post inimicitias, etc.

"After sharpe shoures," quod Pees,

"Moost shene is the sonne;

Is no weder warmer

Than after watry cloudes;

Ne no love levere,

Ne lever frendes,

Than after werre and wo,

Whan Love and Pees ben maistres.

Was nevere werre in this world,

Ne wikkednesse so kene,

That ne Love, and hym liste,

To laughynge ne broughte,

And pees thorugh pacience

Alle perils stoppeth."

"Trewes," quod Truthe;

"Thow tellest us sooth, by Jhesus!

Clippe we in covenaunt,

And ech of us clippe oother."

"And leteth no peple," quod Pees,

"Perceyve that we chidde.

For inpossible is no thyng

To hym that is almyghty."

"Thow seist sooth," quod Rightwisnesse;

And reverentliche hire kiste.

"Pees and pees here!

Per sæcula sæculorum."

Misericordia et veritas obviaverunt

sibi, justitia et pax osculatæ sunt.

Truthe trumpede tho,

And song Te Deum laudamus;

And thanne lutede,

In a loud note,

Ecce quam bonum et quam jocundum, etc.

Til the day dawed

Thise damyseles dauncede,

That men rongen to the resurexion.

And right with that I wakede,

And callede Kytte my wif,

And Calote my doghter;

And bad hem rise and reverence

Goddes resurexion;

And crepe to the cros on knees,

And kisse it for a juwel,

For Goddes blissede body

It bar for oure boote;

And it a-fereth the fend,

For swich is the myghte,

May no grisly goost

Glide there it walketh.

Passus Decimus Nonus, explicit Do-bet, et incipit Do-best.

HUS I awaked and wroot

Hise colours and his cote armure;

Ac he that cometh so blody

Is Crist with his cros,

Conquerour of cristene."

"Why calle hym Crist," quod I,

"Sithen Jewes calle hym Jhesus?

Patriarkes and prophetes

Prophecied bifore

That alle kynne creatures

Sholden knelen and bowen,

Anoon as men nempned

The name of God Jhesu.

Ergo is no name

To the name of Jhesus;

Ne noon so nedeful to nempne

By nyghte ne by daye.

For alle derke develes

Arn a-drad to heren it;

And synfulle aren solaced

And saved by that name.

And ye callen hym Crist;

For what cause telleth me?

Is Crist moore of myght,

And moore worthi name,

Than Jhesu or Jhesus,

That al oure joye com of?"

"Thow knowest wel," quod Conscience,

"And thow konne reson,

That knyght, kyng, conquerour,

May be o persone.

To be called a knyght is fair,

For men shul knele to hym;

To be called a kyng is fairer,

For he may knyghtes make;

Ac to be conquerour called,

That cometh of special grace,

And of hardynesse of herte,

And of hendenesse,

To make lordes of laddes

Of lond that he wynneth,

And fre men foule thralles

That folwen noght hise lawes.

"The Jewes that were gentil men,

Jhesus thei despised,

Bothe his loore and his lawe;

Now are thei lowe cherles.

As wide as the world is,

Noon of hem ther wonyeth

But under tribut and taillage,

As tikes and cherles;

And tho that bicome cristene

Bi counseil of the baptisme,

Aren frankeleyns, free men,

Thorugh fullynge that thei toke,

And gentil men with Jhesu;

For Jhesu was y-fulled,

And upon Calvarie on cros

Y-crouned kyng of Jewes.

"It bicometh to a kyng

To kepe and to defende;

And conquerour of conquest

Hise lawes and his large.

And so dide Jhesus the Jewes,

He justified and taughte hem

The lawe of lif,

That laste shal evere;

And defended from foule yveles,

Feveres and fluxes,

And from fendes that in hem were,

And false bileve.

Tho was he Jhesus of Jewes called,

Gentile prophete,

And kyng of hir kyngdom,

And croune bar of thornes.

"And tho conquered he on cros,

As conquerour noble.

Mighte no deeth hym for-do,

Ne a-doun brynge,

That he naroos and regnede,

And ravysshed helle:

And tho was he conquerour called

Of quyke and of dede.

For he yaf Adam and Eve

And othere mo blisse,

That longe hadde y-leyen bifore

As Luciferis cherles.

"And sith he yaf largely

Alle hise lele liges

Places in Paradis,

At hir partynge hennes;

He may wel be called conquerour,

And that is Crist to mene.

"Ac the cause that he cometh thus

With cros of his passion,

Is to wissen us therwith

That whan that we ben tempted,

Therwith to fighte and defenden us

Fro fallynge to synne.

And so bi his sorwe,

That who so loveth joye

To penaunce and to poverte

He moste puten hymselven,

And muche wo in this world

To willen and suffren.

"Ac to carpe moore of Crist,

And how he com to that name,

Faithly for to speke,

His firste name was Jhesus;

Tho he was born in Bethleem,

As the book telleth,

And cam to take mankynde,

Kynges and aungeles

Reverenced hym faire

With richesses of erthe,

Aungeles out of hevene

Come knelynge and songe,

Gloria in excelsis Deo, etc.

"Kynges that come after

Knelede, and offrede

Mirre and muche gold,

Withouten mercy askynge

Or any kynnes catel,

But knowelichynge hym sovereyn

Bothe of lond, sonne, and see,

And sithenes thei wente

Into hir kyngene kith,

By counseil of aungeles.

And there was that word fulfilled

The which thow of speke.

Omnia cælestia terrestria flectantur

in hoc nomine Jhesu.

"For alle the aungeles of hevene

At his burthe knelede,

And al the wit of the world

Was in tho thre kynges,

Reson and rightwisnesse

And ruthe thei offrede;

Wherfore and why

Wise men that tyme,

Maistres and lettred men,

Magi hem callede.

"That o kyng cam with reson,

Covered under sense.

"The seconde kyng siththe

Soothliche offrede

Rightwisnesse under reed gold,

Resones felawe.

For gold is likned to leautee

That laste shal evere.

"The thridde kyng tho kam

Knelynge to Jhesu,

And presented hym with pitee,

Apperynge by mirre.

For mirre is mercy to mene

And mylde speche of tonge.

"Thre y-liche honeste thynges

Were offred thus at ones,

Thorugh thre kynne kynges

Knelynge to Jhesu,

"Ac for alle thise preciouse presentz,

Oure Lord kyng Jhesus

Was neither kyng ne conquerour,

Til he gan to wexe

In the manere of a man,

And that by muchel sleighte,

As it bi-cometh a conquerour

To konne manye sleightes,

And manye wiles and wit,

That wole ben a ledere.

And so dide Jhesu in hise dayes,

Who so hadde tyme to telle it.

"Som tyme he suffrede,

And som tyme he hidde hym;

And some tyme he faught faste,

And fleigh outher while;

And som tyme he gaf good,

And grauntede heele bothe,

Lif and lyme,

As hym liste he wroghte.

As kynde is of a conquerour,

So comsede Jhesu,

Til he hadde alle hem

That he for bledde.

"In his juventee this Jhesus

At Jewene feeste

Water into wyn turnede,

As holy writ telleth.

And there bigan God

Of his grace to do-wel.

For wyn is likned to lawe

And lif-holynesse,

And lawe lakkede tho,

For men lovede noght hir enemys.

And Crist counseileth thus,

And comaundeth bothe,

To lered and to lewede

To lovyen oure enemys.

So at the feeste first,

As I bifore tolde,

Bigan God of his grace

And goodnesse to do-wel.

And thanne was he called

Noght holy Crist, but Jhesu,

A faunt fyn ful of wit,

Filius Mariæ.

For bifore his moder Marie

Made he that wonder;

That she first and formest

Ferme sholde bileve

That he thorugh grace was gete,

And of no gome ellis.

He wroghte that by no wit,

But thorugh word one;

After the kynde that he cam of,

There comsede he do-wel.

"And whan he woxen was moore,

In his moder absence,

He made lame to lepe,

And yaf light to blynde,

And fedde with two fisshes,

And with fyve loves,

Sore a fyngred folk

Mo than fyve thousand.

"Thus he confortede carefulle

And caughte a gretter name,

The which was Do-bet,

Where that he wente,

For deve thorugh hise doynges to here

And dombe speke he made,

And alle he heeled and halp

That hym of grace askede.

And tho was he called in contré

Of the comune peple,

For the dedes that he dide,

Fili David, Jhesus.

For David was doghtiest

Of dedes in his tyme.

The burdes tho songe,

Saul interfecit mille, et David decem millia.

"For-thi the contree ther Jhesu cam

Called hym fili David,

And nempned hym of Nazareth,

And no man so worthi

To be kaiser or kyng

Of the kyngdom of Juda,

Ne over Jewes justice,

As Jhesus was, hem thoughte.

"Wherof Cayphas hadde envye,

And othere of the Jewes;

And for to doon hym to dethe

Day and nyght thei casten,

Killeden hym on cros wise

At Calvarie on Friday,

And sithen buriede his body,

And beden that men sholde,

Kepen it fro nyght comeris

With knyghtes y-armed,

For no frendes sholde hym fecche.

For prophetes hem tolde

That that blissede body

Of burieles risen sholde,

And goon into Galilee,

And gladen hise apostles,

And his moder Marie;

Thus men bifore demede.

"The knyghtes that kepten it

Bi-knewe it hemselven,

That aungeles and archaungeles

Er the day spronge

Come knelynge to the corps,

And songen Christus resurgens,

Verray men bifore hem alle,

And forth with hem he yede.

"The Jewes preide hem be pees,

And bi-soughte the knyghtes

Telle the comune that ther cam

A compaignie of hise apostles,

And bi-wicched hem as thei woke,

And awey stolen it.

"Ac Marie Maudeleyne

Mette hym by the weye,

Goynge toward Galilee

In godhede and manhede,

And lyves and lokynge,

And she a-loud cride

In ech a compaignie ther she cam,

Christus resurgens.

"Thus cam it out that Crist over-coom,

Recoverede and lyvede

Sic oportet Christum pati et intrare, etc.

For that that wommen witeth,

May noght wel be counseille.

"Peter parceyved al this,

And pursued after,

Bothe James and Johan,

Jhesu for to seke,

Thaddee and ten mo,

With Thomas of Inde.

And as alle thise wise wyes

Weren togideres,

In an hous al bi-shet,

And hir dore y-barred,

Crist cam in, and al closed

Bothe dore and yates,

To Peter and to thise apostles,

And seide pax vobis!

And took Thomas by the hand,

And taughte hym to grope,

And feele with hise fyngres

His flesshliche herte.

"Thomas touched it,

And with his tonge seide,

'Deus meus et Dominus meus—

Thow art my lord, I bi-leve,

My God, lord Jhesu;

Thow deidest and deeth tholedest,

And deme shalt us alle,

And now art lyvynge and lokynge,

And laste shalt evere.'

"Crist carpede thanne,

And curteisliche seide,

'Thomas, for thow trowest this,

And treweliche bi-levest it,

Blessed mote thow be,

And be shalt for evere;

And blessed mote thei alle be

In body and in soule

That nevere shul se me in sighte,

As thow doost nowthe,

And lelliche bi-leve al this,

I love hem and blesse hem.'

Beati qui non viderunt, etc.

"And whan this dede was doon,

Do-best he taughte,

And yaf Piers power,

And pardon he grauntede,

To alle maner men

Mercy and forgifnesse,

Hym myght to assoille

Of alle manere synne,

In covenaunt that thei come

And kneweliched to paie

To Piers pardon the Plowman,

Redde quod debes.

"Thus hath Piers power,

By his pardon paied,

To bynde and unbynde,

Bothe here and ellis where;

And assoille men of alle synnes,

Save of dette one.

"Anoon after an heigh

Up into hevene

He wente, and wonyeth there,

And wol come at the laste,

And rewarde hym right wel

That reddit quod debet,

Paieth parfitly,

As pure truthe wolde;

And what persone paieth it nought,

Punysshen he thenketh,

And demen hem at domes day

Bothe quyke and dede.

The goode to the godhede

And to greet joye,

And wikkede to wonye

In wo withouten ende."

Thus Conscience of Crist

And of the cros carpede,

And counseiled me to knele therto.

And thanne cam, me thoughte,

Oon spiritus paraclitus

To Piers and to hise felawes

In liknesse of a lightnynge

He lighte on hem alle,

And made hem konne and knowe

Alle kynne langages.

I wondred what that was,

And waggede Conscience,

And was a-fered of the light,

For in fires lightnesse

Spiritus paraclitus

Over-spradde hem alle.

Quod Conscience, and knelede,

"This is Cristes messager,

And cometh fro the grete God,

And Grace is his name.

Knele now," quod Conscience,

"And if thow kanst synge,

Welcome hym and worshipe hym

With Veni creator spiritus."

Thanne song I that song,

So dide manye hundred,

And cride with Conscience,

"Help us, God of Grace!"

And thanne bigan Grace

To go with Piers Plowman,

And counseillede hym and Conscience

The comune to sompne;

"For I wole dele to-day

And gyve divine grace

To alle kynne creatures

That han hir fyve wittes,

Tresour to lyve by

To hir lyves ende,

And wepne to fighte with

That wole nevere faille.

For Antecrist and hise

Al the world shul greve,

And acombre thee, Conscience,

But if Crist thee helpe.

"And false prophetes fele,

Flatereris and gloseris,

Shullen come and be curatours

Over kynges and erles,

And Pride shal be pope,

Prynce of holy chirche,

Coveitise and unkyndenesse

Cardinals hym to lede;

For-thi," quod Grace, "er I go,

I wol gyve yow tresor,

And wepne to fighte with

Whan Antecrist yow assaileth."

And gaf ech man a grace

To gide with hymselven,

That ydelnesse encombre hym noght,

Envye ne pride.

Divisiones gratiarum sunt, etc.

Some he yaf wit

With wordes to shewe,

Wit to wynne hir liflode with,

As the world asketh,

As prechours and preestes,

And prentices of lawe,

They lelly to lyve

By labour of tonge,

And by wit to wissen othere

As grace hem wolde teche.

And some he kennede craft

And konnynge of sighte,

With sellynge and buggynge

Hir bilyve to wynne.

And some he lered to laboure,

A lele lif and a trewe;

And some he taughte to tilie,

To dyche and to thecche,

To wynne with her liflode

Bi loore of his techynge.

And some to devyne and divide,

Noumbres to kenne;

And some to compace craftily,

And colours to make;

And some to se and to seye

What sholde bi-falle,

Bothe of wele and of wo,

Telle it er it felle,

As astronomyens thorugh astronomye,

And philosofres wise.

And some to ryde, and to recovere

That wrongfully was wonne;

He wissed hem to wynne it ayein

Thorugh wightnesse of handes,

And fecchen it fro false men

With folvyles lawes.

And some he lered to lyve

In longynge to ben hennes,

In poverte and in penaunce,

To preie for alle cristene.

And alle he lered to be lele,

And ech a craft love oother;

And forbad hem alle debat,

That noon were among hem.

"Though some be clenner than some,

Ye se wel," quod Grace,

"That he that useth the faireste craft,

To the fouleste I kouthe have put hym.

Thynketh alle," quod Grace,

"That grace cometh of my gifte;

Loketh that no man lakke oother,

But loveth alle as bretheren.

"And who that moost maistries kan

Be myldest of berynge;

And crouneth Conscience kyng,

And maketh Craft youre stiward,

And after Craftes conseil

Clotheth yow and fede.

For I make Piers the Plowman

My procuratour and my reve,

And registrer to receyve,

Redde quod debes.

My prowor and my plowman

Piers shal ben on erthe,

And for to tilie truthe

A teeme shal he have."

Grace gaf Piers a teeme

Of foure grete oxen.

That oon was Luk, a large beest,

And a lowe chered;

And Mark, and Mathew the thridde,

Myghty beestes bothe;

And joyned to hem oon Johan,

Moost gentil of alle,

The pris neet of Piers Plow,

Passynge all othere.

And Grace gaf Piers

Of his goodnesse foure stottes;

Al that hise oxen eriede,

Thei to harewen after.

Oon highte Austyn,

And Ambrose another,

Gregori the grete clerk,

And Jerom the goode.

Thise foure the feith to teche

Folweth Piers teme,

And harewede in an hand while

Al holy Scripture,

With two harewes that thei hadde,

An oold and a newe.

Id est, vetus testamentum et novum.

And Grace gaf greynes,

The cardynal vertues,

And sew hem in mannes soule,

And sithen he tolde hir names.

Spiritus prudentiæ.

The firste seed highte;

And who so ete that,

Ymagynen he sholde

Er he deide any deeth,

Devyse wel the ende;

And lerned men a ladel bugge

With a long stele,

And caste for to kepe a crokke

To save the fatte above.

The seconde seed highte

Spiritus temperantiæ.

He that ete of that seed

Hadde swich a kynde,

Sholde nevere mete ne muchel drynke

Make hym to swelle,

Ne no scornere ne scolde

Out of skile hym bringe,

Ne wynnynge ne wele

Of worldliche richesse,

Waste word of ydelnesse

Ne wikked speche moeve;

Sholde no curious clooth

Comen on his rugge,

Ne no mete in his mouth

That maister Johan spicede.

The thridde seed that Piers sew

Was spiritus fortitudinis.

And who ete that seed,

Hardy was he evere

To suffren al that God sente,

Siknesse and angres;

Mighte no lesynges ne lyere,

Ne los of worldly catel,

Maken hym for any mournynge

That he nas murie in soule,

And bold and abidynge

Bismares to suffre;

And pleieth al with pacience

And parce mihi domine;

And covered hym under conseille

Of Caton the wise:

Esto forti animo, cum sis dampnatus inique.

The ferthe seed that Piers sew

Was spiritus justitiæ.

And he that ete of that seed,

Sholde be evere trewe,

With God, and naught a-gast,

But of gile one;

For gile gooth so pryvely,

That good feith outher while

Maye nought ben espied,

For spiritus justitiæ.

Spiritus justitiæ.

Spareth noght to spille

Hem that ben gilty,

And for to correcte

The kyng, if he falle

In gilt or in trespas.

For counteth he no kynges wrathe,

Whan he in court sitteth

To demen as a domesman,

A-drad was he nevere

Neither of duc ne of deeth,

That he ne dide lawe,

For present or for preiere,

Or any prynces lettres;

He dide equité to alle

Evene forth his power.

Thise foure sedes Piers sew;

And siththe he dide hem harewe

With olde lawe and newe lawe,

That love myghte wexe

Among tho foure vertues,

And vices destruye.

For comunliche in contrees

Cammokes and wedes

Foulen the fruyt in the feld,

Ther thei growen togideres;

And so doon vices

Vertues worthi.

Quod Piers, "Hareweth alle that konneth kynde wit,

By conseil of thise doctours;

And tilieth after hir techynge

The cardynale vertues."

"Ayeins thei greynes," quod Grace,

"Bi-gynneth for to ripe,

Ordeigne thee an hous, Piers,

To herberwe inne thi cornes."

"By God! Grace," quod Piers,

"Ye moten gyve tymber,

And ordeyne that hous,

Er ye hennes wende."

And Grace gaf hym the cros,

With the croune of thornes,

That Crist upon Calvarie

For mankynde on pyned,

And of his baptisme and blood

That he bledde on roode

He made a manere morter,

And mercy it highte.

And therwith Grace bi-gan

To make a good foundement,

And watlede it and walled it

With his peyne and his passion,

And of al holy writ

He made a roof after,

And called that hous Unitee,

Holy chirche on Englisshe.

And whan this dede was doon,

Grace devysede

A cart highte cristendom

To carie Piers sheves;

And gaf hym caples to his carte,

Contricion and confession;

And made preesthod hayward,

The while hymself wente

As wide as the world is

With Piers to tilie truthe.

Now is Piers to the plow;

And Pride it aspide,

And gadered hym a greet oost,

For to greven he thynketh

Conscience and alle cristene

And cardinale vertues,

Blowe hem doun and breke hem,

And bite a-two the mores;

And sente forth Surquidous,

His sergeaunt of armes,

And his spye Spille-love,

Oon Spek-yvel bihynde.

Thise two coome to Conscience,

And to cristen peple,

And tolde hem tidynges,

That tyne thei sholde the sedes

That Piers there hadde y-sowen,

The cardynale vertues;

"And Piers bern worth y-broke,

And thei that ben in Unitee

Shulle come out, and Conscience

And youre two caples,

Confession and Contricion;

And youre carte the bileeve

Shal be coloured so queyntely,

And covered under sophistrie,

That Conscience shal noght

Knowe by Contricion

Ne by Confession

Who is cristene or hethene;

Ne no manere marchaunt

That with moneie deleth,

Wheither he wynne with right,

With wrong, or with usure.

"With swiche colours and queyntise

Cometh Pride y-armed,

With the lord that lyveth after

The lust of his body,

To wasten on welfare,

And in wikked lyvynge,

Al the world in a while

Thorugh oure wit," quod Pryde.

Quod Conscience to alle cristene tho,

"My counseil is to wende

Hastiliche into Unitee,

And holde we us there;

And praye we that a pees weere

In Piers berne the Plowman.

For witterly I woot wel,

We beth noght of strengthe

To goon agayn Pride,

But Grace weere with us."

And thanne kam Kynde Wit

Conscience to teche,

And cryde and comaundede

Alle cristene peple

For to delven a dych

Depe aboute Unitee,

That holy chirche stode in Unitee,

As it a pyl weere.

Conscience comaundede tho

Alle cristene to delve,

And make a muche moot,

That myghte ben a strengthe

To helpe holy chirche

And hem that it kepeth.

Thanne alle kynne cristene,

Save comune wommen,

Repenteden and refused synne,

Save thei one,

And false men, flatereris,

Usurers, and theves,

Lyeris, and queste-mongeres

That were for-sworen ofte,

Witynge and wilfully

With the false helden,

And for silver were for-swore,

Soothly they wiste it.

Ther nas no cristene creature

That kynde wit hadde,

Save sherewes one

Swiche as I spak of,

That he ne halp a quantité

Holynesse to wexe,

Some thorugh bedes biddynge,

And some thorugh pilgrymages

And othere pryvé penaunces,

And somme thorugh penyes delynge.

And thanne wellede water

For wikkede werkes,

Egreliche ernynge

Out of mennes eighen,

Clennesse out of comune,

And clerkes clene lyvynge,

Made Unitee holy chirche

In holynesse to stonde.

"I care noght," quod Conscience,

"Though Pride come nouthe.

The lord of lust shal be letted

Al this lente, I hope.

Cometh," quod Conscience,

"Ye cristene, and dyneth,

That han laboured lelly

Al this lenten tyme.

Here is breed y-blessed,

And Goddes body therunder:

Grace, thorugh Goddes word,

Yaf Piers power

And myghtes to maken it,

And men to ete it after

In helpe of hir heele

Ones in a monthe,

Or as ofte as thei hadde nede,

Tho that hadde y-paied

To Piers pardon the Plowman.

Redde quod debes."

"How?" quod al the comune,

"Thow conseillest us to yelde

Al that we owen any wight,

Er we go to housel?"

"That is my conseil," quod Conscience,

"And cardinale vertues,

That ech man for-gyve oother,

And that wol the pater-noster.

Et dimitte nobis debita nostra, etc.

And so to ben assoilled,

And siththen ben houseled."

"Ye, baw!" quod a brewere,

"I wol noght be ruled,

By Jhesu! for al youre janglynge

With spiritus justitiæ,

Ne after Conscience, by Crist!

While I kan selle

Bothe dregges and draf,

And drawe it out at oon hole

Thikke ale and thynne ale,

For that is my kynde,

And noght hakke after holynesse.

Hold thi tonge, Conscience!

Of spiritus justitiæ,

Thow spekest muche on ydel."

"Caytif!" quod Conscience,

"Cursede wrecche!

Un-blessed artow, brewere,

But if thee God helpe.

But thow lyve by loore

Of spiritus justitiæ,

The chief seed that Piers sew,

Y-saved worstow nevere.

But Conscience the comune fede,

And cardinale vertues,

Leve it wel, thei ben lost,

Bothe lif and soule."

"Thanne is many a man lost,"

Quod a lewed vicory.—

"I am a curatour of holy kirke,

And cam nevere in my tyme

Man to me, that me kouthe telle

Of cardinale vertues,

Or that acountede Conscience

At a cokkes fethere or an hennes.

I knew nevere cardynal,

That he ne cam fro the pope;

And we clerkes, whan thei come,

For hir comunes paieth,

For hir pelure and hir palfreyes mete,

And pilours that hem folweth.

"The comune clamat cotidie

Ech a man til oother,

The contree is the corseder

That cardinals comme inne;

And ther thei ligge and lenge moost,

Lecherie there regneth.

"For-thi," quod this vicory,

"By verray God! I wolde

That no cardynal coome

Among the comune peple;

But in hir holynesse

Helden hem stille

At Avynone among the Jewes,—

Cum sancto sanctus eris, etc.—

Or in Rome, as hir rule wole,

The relikes to kepe;

And thow, Conscience, in kynges court,

And sholdest nevere come thennes;

And Grace, that thow graddest so of,

Gyour of alle clerkes;

And Piers with his newe plow,

And ek with his olde,

Emperour of al the world,

That alle men were cristene.

"Inparfit is that pope

That al the world sholde helpe,

And sendeth swiche that sleeth hem

That he sholde save.

"And wel worthe Piers the Plowman,

That pursueth God in doynge,

Qui pluit super justos

Et injustos at ones,

And sent the sonne to save

A cursed mannes tilthe,

As brighte as to the beste man,

Or to the beste womman.

"Right so Piers the Plowman

Peyneth hym to tilye

As wel for a wastour

And wenches of the stewes,

As for hymself and his servauntz,

Save he is first y-served;

And travailleth and tilieth

For a tretour also soore

As for a trewe tidy man,

Alle tymes y-like.

And worshiped be he that wroghte al,

Bothe good and wikke,

And suffreth that synfulle be,

[Tyl som tyme that thei repenten].

And God amende the pope!

That pileth holy kirke,

And cleymeth bifore the kyng

To be kepere over cristene;

And counteth noght though cristene ben

Killed and robbed;

And fynt folk to fighte,

And cristen blood to spille,

Ayein the olde lawe and newe lawe,

As Luc therof witnesseth.

Non occides, mihi vindictam, etc.

"It semeth, bi so

Hymself hadde his wille,

That he reccheth right noght

Of al the remenaunt.

And Crist of his curteisie

The cardinals save,

And torne hir wit to wisdom,

And to welthe of soule!

For the comune," quod this curatour,

"Counten ful litel

The counseil of Conscience,

Or cardinale vertues.

But if thei seighe, as by sighte,

Som what to wynnyng,

Of gile ne of gabbyng

Gyve thei nevere tale.

For spiritus prudentiæ

Among the peple is gyle;

And alle tho faire vertues

As vices thei semeth.

Ech man subtileth a sleighte

Synne for to hide,

And coloureth it for a konnynge,

And a clene lyvynge."

Thanne lough ther a lord,

And "By this light!" seide,

"I holde it right and reson

Of my reve to take

Al that myn auditour,

Or ellis my styward,

Counseilleth me bi hir acounte

And my clerkes writyng.

With spiritus intellectus

Thei seke the reves rolles;

And with spiritus fortitudinis

Fecche it I wole after."

And thanne cam ther a kyng,

And, by his croune! seide,

"I am kyng with croune

The comune to rule,

And holy kirke and clergie

From cursed men to fende;

And if me lakketh to lyve by,

The lawe wole I take it

Ther I may hastilokest it have.

For I am heed of lawe;

And ye ben but membres,

And I above alle.

And sith I am youre aller heed,

I am youre aller heele,

And holy chirches chief help,

And chieftayn of the comune;

And what I take of yow two,

I take it at the techynge

Of spiritus justitiæ,

For I jugge yow alle.

So I may boldely be housled,

For I borwe nevere,

Ne crave of my comune,

But as my kynde asketh."

"In condicion," quod Conscience,

"That thow konne defende

And rule thi reaume in reson,

Right wel and in truthe,

Take thow mayst in reson

As thi lawe asketh.

Omnia tua sunt ad defendendum,

sed non ad deprædandum."

The viker hadde fer hoom,

And faire took his leeve;

And I awakned therwith,

And wroot as me mette.