Passus Undecimus.
And a skile tolde,
And lakked me in Latyn,
And light by me she sette,
And seide "Multi multa sciunt
Et seipsos nesciunt."
Tho wepte I for wo
And wrathe of hir speche;
And in a wynkynge wrathe 6580
Weex I a-slepe.
A merveillous metels
Mette me thanne,
That I was ravysshed right there,
And Fortune me fette,
And into the lond of longynge
Allone she me broughte,
And in a mirour that highte middel-erthe
She made me to biholde.
"Sone," she seide to me, 6590
"Here myghtow se wondres,
And knowe that thow coveitest,
And come therto, peraunter."
Thanne hadde Fortune folwynge hire
Two faire damyseles;
Concupiscentia-carnis
Men called the elder mayde,
And Coveitise-of-eighes
Y-called was that oother.
Pride-of-parfit-lyvynge 6600
Pursued hem bothe,
And bad me for my contenaunce
Acounten Clergie lighte.
Concupiscentia-carnis
Colled me aboute the nekke,
And seide, "Thow art yong and yeepe,
And hast yeres y-nowe
For to lyve longe,
And ladies to lovye;
And in this mirour thow myght se 6610
Myghtes ful manye,
That leden thee wole to likynge
Al thi lif tyme."
The secounde seide the same,
"I shal sewe thi wille;
Til thow be a lord and have lond,
Leten thee I nelle,
That I ne shal folwe thi felawshipe,
If Fortune it like."
"He shal fynde me his frend," 6620
Quod Fortune therafter;
"The freke that folwede my wille
Failled nevere blisse."
Thanne was ther oon that highte Elde,
That hevy was of chere;
"Man," quod he, "if I mete with thee,
By Marie of hevene!
Thow shalt fynde Fortune thee faille
At thi mooste nede,
And Concupiscentia-carnis 6630
Clene thee forsake.
Bittrely shaltow banne thanne
Bothe dayes and nyghtes
Coveitise-of-eighe,
That evere thow hir knewe,
And Pride-of-parfit-lyvynge
To muche peril thee brynge."
"Ye, recche thee nevere," quod Rechelesnesse,
Stood forthe in raggede clothes,
"Folwe forth that Fortune wole, 6640
Thow hast wel fer til Elde;
A man may stoupe tyme y-nogh,
Whan he shal tyne the crowne.
"Homo proponit quod a poete,
And Plato he highte,
And Deus disponit quod he,
Lat God doon his wille.
If Truthe wol witnesse it be wel do
Fortune to folwe,
Concupiscentia-carnis, 6650
Ne Coveitise-of-eighes,
Ne shal noght greve thee gretly,
Ne bigile, but if thow wolt thiselve."
"Ye, fare wel Phippe and Faunteltee,"
And forth gan me drawe,
Til Concupiscentia-carnis
Acorded alle my werkes.
"Alas! eighe," quod Elde
And Holynesse bothe,
"That wit shal torne to wrecchednesse, 6660
For wil to have his likyng."
Coveitise-of-eighes
Conforted me anoon after,
And folwed me fourty wynter
And a fifte moore,
That of Do-wel ne Do-bet
Ne deyntee me thoughte.
I hadde no likyng, leve me if thee list,
Of hem ought to knowe.
Coveitise-of-eighes 6670
Com ofter in mynde
Than Do-wel or Do-bet,
Among my dedes alle.
Coveitise-of-eighes
Conforted me ofte,
And seide, "Have no conscience
How thow come to goode.
Go confesse thee to som frere,
And shewe hym thi synnes;
For whiles Fortune is thi frend 6680
Freres wol thee lovye,
And fecche thee to hir fraternitee,
And for the biseke
To hir priour provincial
A pardon for to have,
And preien for thee pol by pol,
If thow be pecuniosus."
Sed pœna pecuniaria non sufficit pro
spiritualibus delictis.
By wissynge of this wenche I wroughte, 6690
Hir wordes were so swete,
Til I for-yat youthe,
And yarn into elde.
And thanne was Fortune my foo,
For al hir faire speche;
And poverte pursued me,
And putte me lowe.
And tho fond I the frere a-fered,
And flittynge bothe
Ayeins oure firste for-warde; 6700
For I seide I nolde
Be buried at hire hous,
But at my parisshe chirche.
For I herde ones
How Conscience it tolde,
That there a man were cristned
Be kynde he sholde be buryed;
Or where he were parisshen,
Right there he sholde be graven.
And for I seide thus to freres, 6710
A fool thei me helden,
And loved me the lasse
For my lele speche.
Ac yet I cryde on my confessour,
That heeld hymself so konnyng;
"By my feith! frere," quod I,
"Ye faren lik thise woweris
That wedde none widwes
But for to welden hir goodes.
Right so, by the roode! 6720
Roughte ye nevere
Where my body were buryed,
By so ye hadde my silver.
"Ich have muche merveille of yow,
And so hath many another,
Whi youre covent coveiteth
To confesse and to burye,
Rather than to baptize barnes
That ben catecumelynges.
Baptizynge and buryinge 6730
Bothe beth ful nedefulle;
Ac muche moore meritorie,
Me thynketh it is to baptize.
For a baptized man may,
As thise maistres telleth,
Thorugh contricion come
To the heighe hevene.
Sola contritio, etc.
Ac barn withouten bapteme
May noght so be saved. 6740
Nisi quis renatus fuerit.
Loke ye, lettred men,
Wheither I lye or do noght."
And Lewté loked on me,
And I loured after.
"Wherfore lourestow?" quod Lewtee,
And loked on me harde.
"If I dorste," quod I, "amonges men
This metels avowe!"
"Yis, by Peter and by Poul!" quod he, 6750
And took hem bothe to witnesse.
"Non oderis fratres secrete in corde
tuo, sed publice argue illos."
"They wole aleggen also," quod I,
"And by the Gospel preven:
Nolite judicare quemquam."
"And wherof serveth lawe?" quod Lewtee,
"If no lif undertoke it,
Falsnesse ne faiterie,
For som what the apostle seide, 6760
Non oderis fratrem.
And in the Sauter also
Seith David the prophete,
Existimasti inique quod ero tui similis, etc.[1]
"It is licitum for lewed men
To sigge the sothe,
If hem liketh and lest,
Ech a lawe it graunteth;
Excepte persons and preestes, 6770
And prelates of holy chirche,
It falleth noght for that folk
No tales to telle,
Though the tale be trewe,
And it touche synne.
"Thyng that al the world woot,
Wherfore sholdestow spare
To reden it in retorik
To a-rate dedly synne?
Ac be nevere moore the firste 6780
Defaute to blame;
Though thow se yvel, seye it noght first,
Be sory it nere amended.
No thyng that is pryvé,
Publice thow it nevere;
Neither for love preise it noght,
Ne lakke it for envye.
Parum lauda, vitupera parcius."
"He seith sooth," quod Scripture tho,
And skipte an heigh, and preched. 6790
Ac the matere that she meved,
If lewed men it knewe,
The lasse, as I leve,
Lovyen it thei wolde.
This was hir teme and hir text,
I took ful good hede;
Multi to a mangerie
And to the mete were sompned;
And whan the peple was plener comen,
The porter unpynned the yate, 6800
And plukked in Pauci pryveliche,
And leet the remenaunt go rome.
Al for tene of hir text
Trembled myn herte;
And in a weer gan I wexe,
And with myself to dispute
Wheither I were chosen or noght chosen.
On holi chirche I thoughte,
That under-fonged me atte font
For oon of Goddes chosene. 6810
For Crist cleped us alle,
Come if we wolde,
Sarzens and scismatikes,
And so he dide the Jewes.
O vos omnes sitientes, venite, etc.
And bad hem souke for synne
Safly at his breste,
And drynke boote for bale,
Brouke it who so myghte.
"Thanne may alle cristene come, quod I,"[1]
"And cleyme there entree 6822
By the blood that he boughte us with
And thorugh bapteme after.
Qui crediderit et baptizatus fuerit, etc.[1]
For though a cristen man coveited
His cristendom to reneye,
Rightfully to reneye
No reson it wolde. 6830
"For may no cherl chartre make,
Ne his catel selle,
Withouten leve of his lord;
No lawe wol it graunte.
Ac he may renne in arerage,
And rome so fro home,
And as a reneyed caytif
Recchelesly rennen aboute.
And Reson shal rekene with hym,
And casten hym in arerage, 6840
And putten hym after in a prison
In purgatorie to brenne,
For hise arerages rewarden hym there
To the day of dome;
But if Contricion wol come,
And crye, by his lyve,
Mercy for hise mysdedes,
With mouthe and with herte,"
"That is sooth," seide Scripture;
"May no synne lette 6850
Mercy al to amende,
And mekenesse hir folwe.
For thei beth, as oure bokes telleth,
Above Goddes werkes."
Misericordia ejus super omnia opera ejus.[1]
"Ye, baw for bokes," quod oon
Was broken out of helle,
Highte Trojanus, hadde ben a trewe knyght,
Took witnesse at a pope, 6860
How he was ded and dampned
To dwellen in pyne,
For an uncristene creature;
"Clerkes wite the sothe,
That al the clergie under Crist
Ne myghte me cracche fro helle,
But oonliche love and leautee,
And my laweful domes.
"Gregorie wiste this wel,
And wilned to my soule 6870
Savacion for soothnesse
That he seigh in my werkes;
And after that he wepte,
And wilned me were graunted
Grace; withouten any bene biddyng
His boone was under-fongen,
And I saved, as ye see,
Withouten syngynge of masses.
By love and by lernyng
Of my lyvynge, in truthe, 6880
Broughte me fro bitter peyne
Ther no biddyng myghte."
Lo! ye lordes, what leautee dide
By an emperour of Rome,
That was an uncristene creature,
As clerkes fyndeth in bokes.
Nought thorugh preiere of a pope,
But for his pure truthe,
Was that Sarsen saved.
As seint Gregorie bereth witnesse. 6890
Wel oughte ye, lordes, that lawes kepe,
This lesson to have in mynde,
And on Trojanus truthe to thenke,
And do truthe to the peple.
"Lawe, withouten love," quod Trojanus,
"Ley ther a bene,
Or any science under sonne,
The sevene artz and alle,
But thei ben lerned for oure Lordes love,
Lost is al the tyme;" 6900
For no cause to cacche silver therby,
Ne to be called a maister,
But al for love of oure Lord,
And the bet to love the peple,
For seint Johan seide it,
And sothe arn hise wordes.
Qui non diligit, manet in morte.
Who so loveth noght, leve me,
He lyveth in deep deyinge;
And that alle manere men, 6910
Enemyes and frendes,
Love hir eyther oother,
And leve hem, as hemselve,
Who so leveth noght, he loveth noght,
God woot the sothe!
Crist comaundeth ech a creature
To conformen hym to lovye,
And sovereynly the povere peple,
And hir enemyes after.
For hem that haten us 6920
Is oure merite to lovye,
And povere peple to plese,
Hir preieres maye us helpe.
And oure joye and oure heele
Jhesu Crist of hevene
In a povere mannes apparaille
Pursued us evere;
And loketh on us in hir liknesse,
And that with lovely chere,
To knowen us by oure kynde herte 6930
And castynge of oure eighen,
Wheither we love the lordes here
Bifore the Lord of blisse;
And exciteth us by the Euvangelie
That whan we maken festes,
We sholde noght clepe oure kyn therto,
Ne none kynnes riche.
Cum facitis convivia, nolite invitare amicos.[1]
"Ac calleth the carefulle therto, 6940
The croked and the povere.
For youre frendes wol feden yow,
And fonde yow to quyte
Youre festynge and youre faire gifte;
Ech frend quyteth so oother.
"Ac for the povere I shal paie,
And pure wel quyte hir travaille,
That gyveth hem mete or moneie,
Or loveth hem for my sake."
For the beste ben som riche, 6950
And some beggeres and povere.
For alle are we Cristes creatures,
And of his cofres riche,
And bretheren as of oo blood,
As wel beggeres as erles.
For on Calvarie of Cristes blood
Cristendom gan sprynge,
And blody bretheren we bicomen there
Of o body y-wonne,
As quasi modo geniti, 6960
And gentil-men echone;
No beggere ne boye amonges us,
But if it synne made.
Qui facit peccatum, servus est peccati.
"In the olde lawe,
As holy lettre telleth,
Mennes sones
Men callen us echone,
Of Adames issue and Eve,
Ay til God man deide; 6970
And after his resurexcion
Redemptor was his name,
And we hise bretheren thorugh hym y-brought,
Bothe riche and povere.
"For-thi love we as leve bretheren,
And ech man laughe of oother;
And of that ech man may forbere
Amende there it nedeth;
And every man helpe oother,
For hennes shul we alle. 6980
Alter alterius onera portate.
"And be we noght un-kynde of oure catel,[1]
Ne of oure konnyng neither.
For woot no man how neigh it is
To ben y-nome fro bothe.
For-thi lakke no lif oother,
Though he moore Latyn knowe;
Ne under-nyme noght foule;
For is noon withoute defaute. 6990
For what evere clerkes carpe
Of cristendom or ellis,
Crist to a commune womman seide,
In commune at a feste,
That fides sua sholde saven hire,
And salven hire of synnes.
"Thanne is bileve a lele help,
Above logyk or lawe.
Of logyk or of lawe
In Legenda Sanctorum 7000
Is litel alowaunce maad,
But if bileve hem helpe.
For it is over longe er logyk
Any lesson assoille;
And lawe is looth to lovye,
But if he lacche silver.
Bothe logyk and lawe,
That loveth noght to lye,
I conseille alle cristene
Clyve noght theron to soore; 7010
For some wordes I fynde writen,
That were of feithes techyng,
That saved synful men,
As seint Johan bereth witnesse.
Eadem mensura qua mensi fueritis,
remetietur vobis.
"For-thi lerne we the lawe of love,
As oure Lord taughte,
And as seint Gregorie seide
For mannes soule helthe: 7020
Melius est scrutari scelera nostra,
quam naturas rerum.
"Why I meve this matere,
Is moost for the povere;
For in hir liknesse oure Lord
Ofte hath ben y-knowe.
Witnesse in the Pask wyke
Whan he yede to Emaüs;
Cleophas ne knew hym noght
That he Crist were, 7030
For his povere apparaille,
And pilgrymes wedes,
Til he blessede and brak
The breed that thei eten;
So bi hise werkes thei wisten
That he was Jhesus,
Ac by clothyng thei knewe hym noght,
Ne by carpynge of tunge.
And al was in ensample
To us synfulle here, 7040
That we sholde be lowe
And loveliche of speche,
And apparaille us noght over proudly,
For pilgrymes are we alle.
"And in the apparaille of a povere man,
And pilgrymes liknesse,
Many tyme God hath ben met
Among nedy peple,
Ther nevere segge hym seigh
In secte of the riche. 7050
"Seint Johan and othere seintes
Were seyen in poore clothyng,
And as povere pilgrymes
Preyed mennes goodes.
"Jhesu Crist on a Jewes doghter lighte,
Gentil womman though she were,
Was a pure povere maide,
And to a povere man y-wedded.
"Martha on Marie Maudeleyne
An huge pleynt made, 7060
And to oure Saveour self
Seide thise wordes:
Domine, non est tibi curæ quod
soror mea reliquit me solam
ministrare.
"And hastily God answerde,
And eitheres wille folwed,
Bothe Marthaes and Maries,
As Mathew bereth witnesse;
Ac poverte God putte bifore, 7070
And preised that the bettre.
Maria optimam partem elegit, quæ non, etc.[1]
"And alle the wise that evere were,
By aught I kan aspye,
Preiseden poverte for best lif,
If pacience it folwed,
And bothe bettre and blesseder
By many fold than richesse.
For though it be sour to suffre, 7080
Therafter cometh swete;
As on a walnote withoute
Is a bitter barke,
And after that bitter bark,
Be the shelle aweye,
Is a kernel of confort
Kynde to restore.
"So is after poverte or penaunce
Paciently y-take;
For it maketh a man to have mynde 7090
In God, and a gret wille
To wepe and to wel bidde,
Wherof wexeth mercy,
Of which Crist is a kernelle
To conforte the soule.
And wel sikerer he slepeth,
The man that is povere,
And lasse he dredeth deeth,
And in derke to ben y-robbed,
Than he that is right riche, 7100
Reson bereth witnesse.
Pauper ego ludo, dum tu dives meditaris.[1]
"Al though Salomon seide,
As folk seeth in the Bible,
Divitias nec paupertates, etc.
Wiser than Salomon was
Bereth witnesse and taughte
That parfit poverte was
No possession to have, 7110
And lif moost likynge to God,
As Luc bereth witnesse:
Si vis perfectus esse, vade et vende.
"And is to mene to men
That on this moolde lyven,
Who so wole be pure parfit
Moot possession forsake,
Or selle it, as seith the Book,
And the silver dele
To beggeris that goon and begge 7120
And bidden good for Goddes love.
For failed nevere man mete
That myghtful God serveth,
As David seith in the Sauter
To swiche that ben in wille
To serve God goodliche,
Ne greveth hym no penaunce:
Nihil inpossibile volenti.
Ne lakketh nevere liflode,
Lynnen ne wollen. 7130
Inquirentes autem Dominum non
minuentur omni bono.
"If preestes weren parifite,
Thei wolde ne silver take
For masses ne for matyns,
Noght hir mete of usureres,
Ne neither kirtel ne cote,
Theigh thei for cold sholde deye,
And thei hir devoir dide,
As David seith in the Sauter: 7140
Judica me, Deus, et decerne causam meam.[1]
"Spera-in-Deo speketh of preestes
That have no spendyng silver,
That if thei travaille truweliche
And truste in God almyghty,
Hem sholde lakke no liflode,
Neyther lynnen ne wollen.
And the title that ye take ordres by
Telleth ye ben avaunced; 7150
Thanne nedeth yow noght to take silver
For masses that ye syngen.
For he that took yow youre title,
Sholde take yow youre wages,
Or the bisshop that blessed yow,
If that ye ben worthi.
"For made nevere kyng no knyght,
But he hadde catel to spende
As bifel for a knyght,
Or foond hym for his strengthe. 7160
It is a careful knyght,
And of a caytif kynges makyng,
That hath no lond ne lynage riche,
Ne good loos of hise handes.
"The same I segge, for sothe,
By alle swiche preestes
That han neither konnynge ne kyn,
But a crowne one,
And a title, a tale of noght,
To his liflode at his meschief. 7170
He hath moore bileve, as I leve,
To lacche through his croune
Cure, than for konnyng,
Or knowen for clene berynge.
I have wonder for why
And wherefore the bisshope
Maketh swiche preestes,
That lewed men bitrayen.
"A chartre is chalangeable
Bifore a chief justice; 7180
If fals Latyn be in the lettre,
The lawe it impugneth,
Or peynted parentrelynarie,
Or percelles over-skipped;
The gome that gloseth so chartres
For a goky is holden.
"So is it a goky, by God!
That in his gospel failleth,
Or in masse or in matyns
Maketh any defaut. 7190
Qui offendit in uno, in omnibus est reus.[1]
"And also in the Sauter
Seith David to over-skipperis,
Psallite Deo nostro, psallite, quoniam
rex terræ Deus Israel,
psallite sapienter.
"The bisshop shal be blamed
Bifore God, as I leve,
That crouneth swiche Goddes knyghtes 7200
That konneth noght sapienter
Synge, ne psalmes rede,
Ne seye a masse of the day.
And never neither is blame-lees
The bisshope ne the chapeleyn;
For hir either is endited,
And that is, ignorantia
Non excusat episcopos
Nec idiotes preestes.
"This lokynge on lewed preestes 7210
Hath doon me lepe from poverte,
The which I preise ther pacience is
Moore perfit than richesse."
Ac muche moore in metynge thus
With me gan oon dispute;
And slepynge I seigh al this.
And sithen cam Kynde,
And nempned me by my name,
And bad me nymen hede,
And thorugh the wondres of this world 7220
Wit for to take.
And on a mountaigne that myddel-erthe
Highte, as me thoughte,
I was fet forth
By ensamples to knowe
Thorugh ech a creature and kynde
My creatour to lovye.
I seigh the sonne and the see,
And the sond after;
And where that briddes and beestes 7230
By hir makes yeden;
Wilde wormes in wodes,
And wonderful foweles
With fleckede fetheres
And of fele colours.
Man and his make
I myghte bothe biholde;
Poverte and plentee;
Bothe pees and werre;
Blisse and bale bothe 7240
I seigh al at ones;
And how men token mede,
And mercy refused.
Reson I seigh soothly
Sewen alle beestes,
In etynge, in drynkynge,
And in engendrynge of kynde;
And after cours of concepcion,
Noon took kepe of oother
As whan thei hadde ryde in rotey tyme, 7250
Anoon right therafter
Males drowen hem to males
A-morwenynges by hemselve,
And in evenynges also
The males ben fro femelles.
Ther ne was cow ne cow-kynde
That conceyved hadde,
That wolde belwe after boles,
Ne boor after sowe;
Bothe hors and houndes, 7260
And alle othere beestes,
Medled noght with hir makes
That with fole were.
Briddes I biheld
That in buskes made nestes,
Hadde nevere wye wit
To werche the leeste.
I hadde wonder at whom
And wher the pye lerned
To legge the stikkes 7270
In whiche she leyeth and bredeth.
Ther nys wrighte, as I wene,
Sholde werche hir nestes to paye;
If any mason made a molde therto,
Muche wonder it were.
Ac yet me merveilled moore,
How many othere briddes
Hidden and hileden
Hir egges ful derne
In mareys and moores, 7280
For men sholde hem noght fynde;
And hidden hir egges,
Whan thei therfro wente,
For fere of othere foweles,
And for wilde beestes.
And some troden hir makes,
And on trees bredden,
And broughten forth hir briddes so
Al above the grounde;
And some briddes at the bile 7290
Thorugh brethyng conceyved;
And some caukede; and took kepe
How pecokkes bredden.
Muche merveilled me
What maister hem made,
And who taughte hem on trees
To tymbre so heighe,
Ther neither burn ne beest
May hir briddes rechen.
And sithen I loked upon the see, 7300
And so forth upon the sterres;
Manye selkouthes I seigh,
Ben noght to seye nouthe.
I seigh floures in the fryth,
And hir faire colours;
And how among the grene gras
Growed so manye hewes,
And some soure and some swete,
Selkouth me thoughte;
Of hir kynde and hir colour 7310
To carpe it were to longe.
Ac that moost meved me
And my mood chaunged,
That Reson rewarded
And ruled alle beestes,
Save man and his make;
Many tyme and ofte
No reson hem folwede.
And thanne I rebukede
Reson, and right 7320
Til hymselven I seyde:
"I have wonder of thee," quod I,
"That witty art holden,
Why thow ne sewest man and his make,
That no mysfeet hem folwe."
And Reson a-rated me,
And seide, "Recche thee nevere;
Why I suffre or noght suffre,
Thiself hast noght to doone.
Amende thow it, if thow myght, 7330
For my tyme is to abide.
Suffraunce is a soverayn vertue,
And a swift vengeance.
Who suffrede moore than God?" quod he;
"No gome, as I leeve.
He myghte amende in a minute while
Al that mys-standeth;
Ac he suffreth for som mannes goode,
And so it is oure bettre,
The wise and the witty 7340
Wroot thus in the Bible:
De re quæ te non molestat, noli certare.
"For be a man fair or foul,[1]
It falleth noght for to lakke
The shap ne the shaft
That God shoop hymselve;
For al that he dide was wel y-do,
As holy writ witnesseth:
Et vidit Deus cuncta quæ fecerat, et 7350
erant valde bona.
"And bad every creature
In his kynde encreesse;
Al to murthe with man,
That moste wo tholie
In fondynge of the flessh,
And of the fend bothe.
For man was maad of swich a matere,
He may noght wel a-sterte
That ne som tyme hym bitit 7360
To folwen his kynde.
Caton a-cordeth therwith,
Nemo sine crimine vivit."
Tho caughte I colour anoon,
And comsed to ben ashamed,
And awaked therwith.
Wo was me thanne,
That I in metels ne myghte
Moore have y-knowen.
And thanne seide I to myself, 7370
And chidde that tyme,
"Now I woot what Do-wel is," quod I,
"By deere God! as me thynketh."
And as I caste up myne eighen,
Oon loked on me and asked
Of me, what thynge it were:
"Y-wis, sire," I seide,
"To se muche and suffre moore,
Certes," quod I, "is Do-wel."
"Haddestow suffred," he seide, 7380
"Slepynge tho thow were,
Thow sholdest have knowen that Clergie kan,
And contreved moore thorugh reson.
For Reson wolde have reherced thee
Right as Clergie seide.
Ac for thyn entre-metynge,
Here artow forsake.
Philosophus esses, si tacuisses.
"Adam, whiles he spak noght,
Hadde paradis at wille; 7390
Ac whan he mamelede aboute mete,
And entre-metede to knowe
The wisedom and the wit of God,
He was put fram blisse.
"And right so ferde Reson bi thee;
Thow with thi rude speche
Lakkedest and losedest thyng
That longed the noght to doone.
Tho hadde he no likyng
For to lere the moore. 7400
"Pryde now and presumpcion
Peraventure wol thee appele,
That Clergie thi compaignye
Kepeth noght to suwe.
Shal nevere chalangynge ne chidynge
Chaste a man so soone,
As shal shame, and shenden hym,
And shape hym to amende.
For lat a dronken daffe
In a dyk falle, 7410
Lat hym ligge, loke noght on hym,
Til hym liste aryse.
For though Reson rebuked hym thanne,
It were but pure synne.
Ac whan nede nymeth hym up
For doute lest he sterve,
And shame shrapeth hise clothes,
And hise shynes wassheth.
Thanne woot the dronken daffe
Wherfore he is to blame." 7420
"Ye siggen sooth," quod I;
"Ich have y-seyen it ofte,
Ther smyt no thyng so smerte,
Ne smelleth so soure,
As shame, there he sheweth hym;
For every man hym shonyeth.
Why ye wisse me thus," quod I,
"Was for I rebuked Reson."
"Certes," quod he, "that is sooth;"
And shoop hym for to walken. 7430
And I aroos up right with that,
And folwed hym after,
And preyde hym of his curteisie
To telle me his name. 7434