Chapter XVI: Part 16

Mi Sone, take it as I seie; If maidenhod be take aweie 6430 Withoute lawes ordinance, It mai noght failen of vengance. And if thou wolt the sothe wite, Behold a tale which is write, Hou that the King Agamenon, Whan he the Cite of Lesbon Hath wonne, a Maiden ther he fond, Which was the faireste of the Lond In thilke time that men wiste. He tok of hire what him liste 6440 Of thing which was most precious, Wherof that sche was dangerous. This faire Maiden cleped is Criseide, douhter of Crisis, Which was that time in special Of thilke temple principal, Wher Phebus hadde his sacrifice, So was it wel the more vice. Agamenon was thanne in weie To Troieward, and tok aweie 6450 This Maiden, which he with him ladde, So grete a lust in hire he hadde. Bot Phebus, which hath gret desdeign Of that his Maiden was forlein, Anon as he to Troie cam, Vengance upon this dede he nam And sende a comun pestilence. Thei soghten thanne here evidence And maden calculacion, To knowe in what condicion 6460 This deth cam in so sodeinly; And ate laste redyly The cause and ek the man thei founde: And forth withal the same stounde Agamenon opposed was, Which hath beknowen al the cas Of the folie which he wroghte. And therupon mercy thei soghte Toward the god in sondri wise With preiere and with sacrifise, 6470 The Maide and hom ayein thei sende, And yive hire good ynouh to spende For evere whil sche scholde live: And thus the Senne was foryive And al the pestilence cessed.

Lo, what it is to ben encressed Of love which is evele wonne. It were betre noght begonne Than take a thing withoute leve, Which thou most after nedes leve, 6480 And yit have malgre forth withal. Forthi to robben overal In loves cause if thou beginne, I not what ese thou schalt winne. Mi Sone, be wel war of this, For thus of Robberie it is.

Mi fader, youre ensamplerie In loves cause of Robberie I have it riht wel understonde. Bot overthis, hou so it stonde, 6490 Yit wolde I wite of youre aprise What thing is more of Covoitise.

With Covoitise yit I finde A Servant of the same kinde, Which Stelthe is hote, and Mecherie With him is evere in compainie. Of whom if I schal telle soth, He stalketh as a Pocok doth, And takth his preie so covert, That noman wot it in apert. 6500 For whan he wot the lord from home, Than wol he stalke aboute and rome; And what thing he fint in his weie, Whan that he seth the men aweie, He stelth it and goth forth withal, That therof noman knowe schal. And ek fulofte he goth a nyht Withoute Mone or sterreliht, And with his craft the dore unpiketh, And takth therinne what him liketh: 6510 And if the dore be so schet, That he be of his entre let, He wole in ate wyndou crepe, And whil the lord is faste aslepe, He stelth what thing as him best list, And goth his weie er it be wist. Fulofte also be lyhte of day Yit wole he stele and make assay; Under the cote his hond he put, Til he the mannes Purs have cut, 6520 And rifleth that he fint therinne. And thus he auntreth him to winne, And berth an horn and noght ne bloweth, For noman of his conseil knoweth; What he mai gete of his Michinge, It is al bile under the winge. And as an hound that goth to folde And hath ther taken what he wolde, His mouth upon the gras he wypeth, And so with feigned chiere him slypeth, 6530 That what as evere of schep he strangle, Ther is noman therof schal jangle, As forto knowen who it dede; Riht so doth Stelthe in every stede, Where as him list his preie take. He can so wel his cause make And so wel feigne and so wel glose, That ther ne schal noman suppose, Bot that he were an innocent, And thus a mannes yhe he blent: 6540 So that this craft I mai remene Withouten help of eny mene.

Ther be lovers of that degre, Which al here lust in privete, As who seith, geten al be Stelthe, And ofte atteignen to gret welthe As for the time that it lasteth. For love awaiteth evere and casteth Hou he mai stele and cacche his preie, Whan he therto mai finde a weie: 6550 For be it nyht or be it day, He takth his part, whan that he may, And if he mai nomore do, Yit wol he stele a cuss or tuo.

Mi Sone, what seist thou therto? Tell if thou dedest evere so.

Mi fader, hou?

Mi Sone, thus,— If thou hast stolen eny cuss Or other thing which therto longeth, For noman suche thieves hongeth: 6560 Tell on forthi and sei the trouthe.

Mi fader, nay, and that is routhe, For be mi will I am a thief; Bot sche that is to me most lief, Yit dorste I nevere in privete Noght ones take hire be the kne, To stele of hire or this or that, And if I dorste, I wot wel what: And natheles, bot if I lie, Be Stelthe ne be Robberie 6570 Of love, which fell in mi thoght, To hire dede I nevere noght. Bot as men sein, wher herte is failed, Ther schal no castell ben assailed; Bot thogh I hadde hertes ten, And were als strong as alle men, If I be noght myn oghne man And dar noght usen that I can, I mai miselve noght recovere. Thogh I be nevere man so povere, 6580 I bere an herte and hire it is, So that me faileth wit in this, Hou that I scholde of myn acord The servant lede ayein the lord: For if mi fot wolde awher go, Or that min hand wolde elles do, Whan that myn herte is therayein, The remenant is al in vein. And thus me lacketh alle wele, And yit ne dar I nothing stele 6590 Of thing which longeth unto love: And ek it is so hyh above, I mai noght wel therto areche, Bot if so be at time of speche, Ful selde if thanne I stele may A word or tuo and go my way. Betwen hire hih astat and me Comparison ther mai non be, So that I fiele and wel I wot, Al is to hevy and to hot 6600 To sette on hond withoute leve: And thus I mot algate leve To stele that I mai noght take, And in this wise I mot forsake To ben a thief ayein mi wille Of thing which I mai noght fulfille. For that Serpent which nevere slepte The flees of gold so wel ne kepte In Colchos, as the tale is told, That mi ladi a thousendfold 6610 Nys betre yemed and bewaked, Wher sche be clothed or be naked. To kepe hir bodi nyht and day, Sche hath a wardein redi ay, Which is so wonderful a wyht, That him ne mai no mannes myht With swerd ne with no wepne daunte, Ne with no sleihte of charme enchaunte, Wherof he mihte be mad tame, And Danger is his rihte name; 6620 Which under lock and under keie, That noman mai it stele aweie, Hath al the Tresor underfonge That unto love mai belonge. The leste lokinge of hire yhe Mai noght be stole, if he it syhe; And who so gruccheth for so lyte, He wolde sone sette a wyte On him that wolde stele more. And that me grieveth wonder sore, 6630 For this proverbe is evere newe, That stronge lokes maken trewe Of hem that wolden stele and pyke: For so wel can ther noman slyke Be him ne be non other mene, To whom Danger wol yive or lene Of that tresor he hath to kepe. So thogh I wolde stalke and crepe, And wayte on eve and ek on morwe, Of Danger schal I nothing borwe, 6640 And stele I wot wel may I noght: And thus I am riht wel bethoght, Whil Danger stant in his office, Of Stelthe, which ye clepe a vice, I schal be gultif neveremo. Therfore I wolde he were ago So fer that I nevere of him herde, Hou so that afterward it ferde: For thanne I mihte yit per cas Of love make som pourchas 6650 Be Stelthe or be som other weie, That nou fro me stant fer aweie.

Bot, fader, as ye tolde above, Hou Stelthe goth a nyht for love, I mai noght wel that point forsake, That ofte times I ne wake On nyhtes, whan that othre slepe; Bot hou, I prei you taketh kepe. Whan I am loged in such wise That I be nyhte mai arise, 6660 At som wyndowe and loken oute And se the housinge al aboute, So that I mai the chambre knowe In which mi ladi, as I trowe, Lyth in hir bed and slepeth softe, Thanne is myn herte a thief fulofte: For there I stonde to beholde The longe nyhtes that ben colde, And thenke on hire that lyth there. And thanne I wisshe that I were 6670 Als wys as was Nectanabus Or elles as was Protheus, That couthen bothe of nigromaunce In what liknesse, in what semblaunce, Riht as hem liste, hemself transforme: For if I were of such a forme, I seie thanne I wolde fle Into the chambre forto se If eny grace wolde falle, So that I mihte under the palle 6680 Som thing of love pyke and stele. And thus I thenke thoghtes fele, And thogh therof nothing be soth, Yit ese as for a time it doth: Bot ate laste whanne I finde That I am falle into my mynde, And se that I have stonde longe And have no profit underfonge, Than stalke I to mi bedd withinne. And this is al that evere I winne 6690 Of love, whanne I walke on nyht: Mi will is good, bot of mi myht Me lacketh bothe and of mi grace; For what so that mi thoght embrace, Yit have I noght the betre ferd. Mi fader, lo, nou have ye herd What I be Stelthe of love have do, And hou mi will hath be therto: If I be worthi to penance I put it on your ordinance. 6700

Mi Sone, of Stelthe I the behiete, Thogh it be for a time swete, At ende it doth bot litel good, As be ensample hou that it stod Whilom, I mai thee telle nou.

I preie you, fader, sei me hou.

Mi Sone, of him which goth be daie Be weie of Stelthe to assaie, In loves cause and takth his preie, Ovide seide as I schal seie, 6710 And in his Methamor he tolde A tale, which is good to holde.

The Poete upon this matiere Of Stelthe wrot in this manere. Venus, which hath this lawe in honde Of thing which mai noght be withstonde, As sche which the tresor to warde Of love hath withinne hir warde, Phebum to love hath so constreigned, That he withoute reste is peined 6720 With al his herte to coveite A Maiden, which was warded streyte Withinne chambre and kept so clos, That selden was whan sche desclos Goth with hir moder forto pleie. Leuchotoe, so as men seie, This Maiden hihte, and Orchamus Hir fader was; and befell thus. This doughter, that was kept so deere, And hadde be fro yer to yeere 6730 Under hir moder discipline A clene Maide and a Virgine, Upon the whos nativite Of comelihiede and of beaute Nature hath set al that sche may, That lich unto the fresshe Maii, Which othre monthes of the yeer Surmonteth, so withoute pier Was of this Maiden the feture. Wherof Phebus out of mesure 6740 Hire loveth, and on every syde Awaiteth, if so mai betyde, That he thurgh eny sleihte myhte Hire lusti maidenhod unrihte, The which were al his worldes welthe. And thus lurkende upon his stelthe In his await so longe he lai, Til it befell upon a dai, That he thurghout hir chambre wall Cam in al sodeinliche, and stall 6750 That thing which was to him so lief. Bot wo the while, he was a thief! For Venus, which was enemie Of thilke loves micherie, Discovereth al the pleine cas To Clymene, which thanne was Toward Phebus his concubine. And sche to lette the covine Of thilke love, dedli wroth To pleigne upon this Maide goth, 6760 And tolde hire fader hou it stod; Wherof for sorwe welnyh wod Unto hire moder thus he saide: “Lo, what it is to kepe a Maide! To Phebus dar I nothing speke, Bot upon hire I schal be wreke, So that these Maidens after this Mow take ensample, what it is To soffre her maidenhed be stole, Wherof that sche the deth schal thole.” 6770 And bad with that do make a pet, Wherinne he hath his douhter set, As he that wol no pite have, So that sche was al quik begrave And deide anon in his presence. Bot Phebus, for the reverence Of that sche hadde be his love, Hath wroght thurgh his pouer above, That sche sprong up out of the molde Into a flour was named golde, 6780 Which stant governed of the Sonne. And thus whan love is evele wonne, Fulofte it comth to repentaile.

Mi fader, that is no mervaile, Whan that the conseil is bewreid. Bot ofte time love hath pleid And stole many a prive game, Which nevere yit cam into blame, Whan that the thinges weren hidde. Bot in youre tale, as it betidde, 6790 Venus discoverede al the cas, And ek also brod dai it was, Whan Phebus such a Stelthe wroghte, Wherof the Maide in blame he broghte, That afterward sche was so lore. Bot for ye seiden nou tofore Hou stelthe of love goth be nyhte, And doth hise thinges out of syhte, Therof me liste also to hiere A tale lich to the matiere, 6800 Wherof I myhte ensample take.

Mi goode Sone, and for thi sake, So as it fell be daies olde, And so as the Poete it tolde, Upon the nyhtes micherie Nou herkne a tale of Poesie.

The myhtieste of alle men Whan Hercules with Eolen, Which was the love of his corage, Togedre upon a Pelrinage 6810 Towardes Rome scholden go, It fell hem be the weie so, That thei upon a dai a Cave Withinne a roche founden have, Which was real and glorious And of Entaile curious, Be name and Thophis it was hote. The Sonne schon tho wonder hote, As it was in the Somer tyde; This Hercules, which be his syde 6820 Hath Eolen his love there, Whan thei at thilke cave were, He seide it thoghte him for the beste That sche hire for the hete reste Al thilke day and thilke nyht; And sche, that was a lusti wyht, It liketh hire al that he seide: And thus thei duelle there and pleide The longe dai. And so befell, This Cave was under the hell 6830 Of Tymolus, which was begrowe With vines, and at thilke throwe Faunus with Saba the goddesse, Be whom the large wildernesse In thilke time stod governed, Weere in a place, as I am lerned, Nyh by, which Bachus wode hihte. This Faunus tok a gret insihte Of Eolen, that was so nyh; For whan that he hire beaute syh, 6840 Out of his wit he was assoted, And in his herte it hath so noted, That he forsok the Nimphes alle, And seide he wolde, hou so it falle, Assaie an other forto winne; So that his hertes thoght withinne He sette and caste hou that he myhte Of love pyke awey be nyhte That he be daie in other wise To stele mihte noght suffise: 6850 And therupon his time he waiteth.

Nou tak good hiede hou love afaiteth Him which withal is overcome. Faire Eolen, whan sche was come With Hercules into the Cave, Sche seide him that sche wolde have Hise clothes of and hires bothe, That ech of hem scholde other clothe. And al was do riht as sche bad, He hath hire in hise clothes clad 6860 And caste on hire his gulion, Which of the Skyn of a Leoun Was mad, as he upon the weie It slouh, and overthis to pleie Sche tok his grete Mace also And knet it at hir gerdil tho. So was sche lich the man arraied, And Hercules thanne hath assaied To clothen him in hire array: And thus thei jape forth the dai, 6870 Til that her Souper redy were. And whan thei hadden souped there, Thei schopen hem to gon to reste; And as it thoghte hem for the beste, Thei bede, as for that ilke nyht, Tuo sondri beddes to be dyht, For thei togedre ligge nolde, Be cause that thei offre wolde Upon the morwe here sacrifice. The servantz deden here office 6880 And sondri beddes made anon, Wherin that thei to reste gon Ech be himself in sondri place. Faire Eole hath set the Mace Beside hire beddes hed above, And with the clothes of hire love Sche helede al hire bed aboute; And he, which hadde of nothing doute, Hire wympel wond aboute his cheke, Hire kertell and hire mantel eke 6890 Abrod upon his bed he spredde. And thus thei slepen bothe abedde; And what of travail, what of wyn, The servantz lich to drunke Swyn Begunne forto route faste.

This Faunus, which his Stelthe caste, Was thanne come to the Cave, And fond thei weren alle save Withoute noise, and in he wente. The derke nyht his sihte blente, 6900 And yit it happeth him to go Where Eolen abedde tho Was leid al one for to slepe; Bot for he wolde take kepe Whos bed it was, he made assai, And of the Leoun, where it lay, The Cote he fond, and ek he fieleth The Mace, and thanne his herte kieleth, That there dorste he noght abyde, Bot stalketh upon every side 6910 And soghte aboute with his hond, That other bedd til that he fond, Wher lai bewympled a visage. Tho was he glad in his corage, For he hir kertell fond also And ek hir mantell bothe tuo Bespred upon the bed alofte. He made him naked thanne, and softe Into the bedd unwar he crepte, Wher Hercules that time slepte, 6920 And wende wel it were sche; And thus in stede of Eole Anon he profreth him to love. But he, which felte a man above, This Hercules, him threw to grounde So sore, that thei have him founde Liggende there upon the morwe; And tho was noght a litel sorwe, That Faunus of himselve made, Bot elles thei were alle glade 6930 And lowhen him to scorne aboute: Saba with Nimphis al a route Cam doun to loke hou that he ferde, And whan that thei the sothe herde, He was bejaped overal.

Mi Sone, be thou war withal To seche suche mecheries, Bot if thou have the betre aspies, In aunter if the so betyde As Faunus dede thilke tyde, 6940 Wherof thou miht be schamed so.

Min holi fader, certes no. Bot if I hadde riht good leve, Such mecherie I thenke leve: Mi feinte herte wol noght serve; For malgre wolde I noght deserve In thilke place wher I love. Bot for ye tolden hier above Of Covoitise and his pilage, If ther be more of that lignage, 6950 Which toucheth to mi schrifte, I preie That ye therof me wolde seie, So that I mai the vice eschuie.

Mi Sone, if I be order suie The vices, as thei stonde arowe, Of Covoitise thou schalt knowe Ther is yit on, which is the laste; In whom ther mai no vertu laste, For he with god himself debateth, Wherof that al the hevene him hateth. 6960

The hihe god, which alle goode Pourveied hath for mannes fode Of clothes and of mete and drinke, Bad Adam that he scholde swinke To geten him his sustienance: And ek he sette an ordinance Upon the lawe of Moises, That though a man be haveles, Yit schal he noght be thefte stele. Bot nou adaies ther ben fele, 6970 That wol no labour undertake, Bot what thei mai be Stelthe take Thei holde it sikerliche wonne. And thus the lawe is overronne, Which god hath set, and namely With hem that so untrewely The goodes robbe of holi cherche. The thefte which thei thanne werche Be name is cleped Sacrilegge, Ayein the whom I thenke alegge. 6980 Of his condicion to telle, Which rifleth bothe bok and belle, So forth with al the remenant To goddes hous appourtenant, Wher that he scholde bidde his bede, He doth his thefte in holi stede, And takth what thing he fint therinne: For whan he seth that he mai winne, He wondeth for no cursednesse, That he ne brekth the holinesse 6990 And doth to god no reverence; For he hath lost his conscience, That though the Prest therfore curse, He seith he fareth noght the wurse.

And forto speke it otherwise, What man that lasseth the franchise And takth of holi cherche his preie, I not what bedes he schal preie. Whan he fro god, which hath yive al, The Pourpartie in special, 7000 Which unto Crist himself is due, Benymth, he mai noght wel eschue The peine comende afterward; For he hath mad his foreward With Sacrilegge forto duelle, Which hath his heritage in helle. And if we rede of tholde lawe, I finde write, in thilke dawe Of Princes hou ther weren thre Coupable sore in this degre. 7010 That on of hem was cleped thus, The proude king Antiochus; That other Nabuzardan hihte, Which of his crualte behyhte The temple to destruie and waste, And so he dede in alle haste; The thridde, which was after schamed, Was Nabugodonosor named, And he Jerusalem putte under, Of Sacrilegge and many a wonder 7020 There in the holi temple he wroghte, Which Baltazar his heir aboghte, Whan Mane, Techel, Phares write Was on the wal, as thou miht wite, So as the bible it hath declared. Bot for al that it is noght spared Yit nou aday, that men ne pile, And maken argument and skile To Sacrilegge as it belongeth, For what man that ther after longeth, 7030 He takth non hiede what he doth.

And riht so, forto telle soth, In loves cause if I schal trete, Ther ben of suche smale and grete: If thei no leisir fynden elles, Thei wol noght wonden for the belles, Ne thogh thei sen the Prest at masse; That wol thei leten overpasse. If that thei finde here love there, Thei stonde and tellen in hire Ere, 7040 And axe of god non other grace, Whyl thei ben in that holi place; Bot er thei gon som avantage Ther wol thei have, and som pilage Of goodli word or of beheste, Or elles thei take ate leste Out of hir hand or ring or glove, So nyh the weder thei wol love, As who seith sche schal noght foryete, Nou I this tokne of hire have gete: 7050 Thus halwe thei the hihe feste. Such thefte mai no cherche areste, For al is leveful that hem liketh, To whom that elles it misliketh. And ek riht in the selve kinde In grete Cites men mai finde This lusti folk, that make it gay, And waite upon the haliday: In cherches and in Menstres eke Thei gon the wommen forto seke, 7060 And wher that such on goth aboute, Tofore the faireste of the route, Wher as thei sitten alle arewe, Ther wol he most his bodi schewe, His croket kembd and theron set A Nouche with a chapelet, Or elles on of grene leves, Which late com out of the greves, Al for he scholde seme freissh. And thus he loketh on the fleissh, 7070 Riht as an hauk which hath a sihte Upon the foul, ther he schal lihte; And as he were of faierie, He scheweth him tofore here yhe In holi place wher thei sitte, Al forto make here hertes flitte. His yhe nawher wole abyde, Bot loke and prie on every syde On hire and hire, as him best lyketh: And otherwhile among he syketh; 7080 Thenkth on of hem, “That was for me,” And so ther thenken tuo or thre, And yit he loveth non of alle, Bot wher as evere his chance falle. And natheles to seie a soth, The cause why that he so doth Is forto stele an herte or tuo, Out of the cherche er that he go: And as I seide it hier above, Al is that Sacrilege of love; 7090 For wel mai be he stelth away That he nevere after yelde may. Tell me forthi, my Sone, anon, Hast thou do Sacrilege, or non, As I have said in this manere?

Mi fader, as of this matiere I wole you tellen redely What I have do; bot trewely I mai excuse min entente, That nevere I yit to cherche wente 7100 In such manere as ye me schryve, For no womman that is on lyve. The cause why I have it laft Mai be for I unto that craft Am nothing able so to stele, Thogh ther be wommen noght so fele. Bot yit wol I noght seie this, Whan I am ther mi ladi is, In whom lith holly mi querele, And sche to cherche or to chapele 7110 Wol go to matins or to messe,— That time I waite wel and gesse, To cherche I come and there I stonde, And thogh I take a bok on honde, Mi contienance is on the bok, Bot toward hire is al my lok; And if so falle that I preie Unto mi god, and somwhat seie Of Paternoster or of Crede, Al is for that I wolde spede, 7120 So that mi bede in holi cherche Ther mihte som miracle werche Mi ladi herte forto chaunge, Which evere hath be to me so strange. So that al mi devocion And al mi contemplacion With al min herte and mi corage Is only set on hire ymage; And evere I waite upon the tyde. If sche loke eny thing asyde, 7130 That I me mai of hire avise, Anon I am with covoitise So smite, that me were lief To ben in holi cherche a thief; Bot noght to stele a vestement, For that is nothing mi talent, Bot I wold stele, if that I mihte, A glad word or a goodly syhte; And evere mi service I profre, And namly whan sche wol gon offre, 7140 For thanne I lede hire, if I may, For somwhat wolde I stele away. Whan I beclippe hire on the wast, Yit ate leste I stele a tast, And otherwhile “grant mercy” Sche seith, and so winne I therby A lusti touch, a good word eke, Bot al the remenant to seke Is fro mi pourpos wonder ferr. So mai I seie, as I seide er, 7150 In holy cherche if that I wowe, My conscience it wolde allowe, Be so that up amendement I mihte gete assignement Wher forto spede in other place: Such Sacrilege I holde a grace. And thus, mi fader, soth to seie, In cherche riht as in the weie, If I mihte oght of love take, Such hansell have I noght forsake. 7160 Bot finali I me confesse, Ther is in me non holinesse, Whil I hire se in eny stede; And yit, for oght that evere I dede, No Sacrilege of hire I tok, Bot if it were of word or lok, Or elles if that I hir fredde, Whan I toward offringe hir ledde, Take therof what I take may, For elles bere I noght away: 7170 For thogh I wolde oght elles have, Alle othre thinges ben so save And kept with such a privilege, That I mai do no Sacrilege. God wot mi wille natheles, Thogh I mot nedes kepe pes And malgre myn so let it passe, Mi will therto is noght the lasse, If I mihte other wise aweie. Forthi, mi fader, I you preie, 7180 Tell what you thenketh therupon, If I therof have gult or non.

Thi will, mi Sone, is forto blame, The remenant is bot a game, That I have herd the telle as yit. Bot tak this lore into thi wit, That alle thing hath time and stede, The cherche serveth for the bede, The chambre is of an other speche. Bot if thou wistest of the wreche, 7190 Hou Sacrilege it hath aboght, Thou woldest betre ben bethoght; And for thou schalt the more amende, A tale I wole on the despende.

To alle men, as who seith, knowe It is, and in the world thurgh blowe, Hou that of Troie Lamedon To Hercules and to Jasoun, Whan toward Colchos out of Grece Be See sailende upon a piece 7200 Of lond of Troie reste preide,— Bot he hem wrathfulli congeide: And for thei founde him so vilein, Whan thei come into Grece ayein, With pouer that thei gete myhte Towardes Troie thei hem dyhte, And ther thei token such vengance, Wherof stant yit the remembrance; For thei destruide king and al, And leften bot the brente wal. 7210 The Grecs of Troiens many slowe And prisoners thei toke ynowe, Among the whiche ther was on, The kinges doughter Lamedon, Esiona, that faire thing, Which unto Thelamon the king Be Hercules and be thassent Of al the hole parlement Was at his wille yove and granted. And thus hath Grece Troie danted, 7220 And hom thei torne in such manere: Bot after this nou schalt thou hiere The cause why this tale I telle, Upon the chances that befelle.

King Lamedon, which deide thus, He hadde a Sone, on Priamus, Which was noght thilke time at hom: Bot whan he herde of this, he com, And fond hou the Cite was falle, Which he began anon to walle 7230 And made ther a cite newe, That thei whiche othre londes knewe Tho seiden, that of lym and Ston In al the world so fair was non. And on that o side of the toun The king let maken Ylioun, That hihe Tour, that stronge place, Which was adrad of no manace Of quarel nor of non engin; And thogh men wolde make a Myn, 7240 No mannes craft it mihte aproche, For it was sett upon a roche. The walles of the toun aboute, Hem stod of al the world no doute, And after the proporcion Sex gates weren of the toun Of such a forme, of such entaile, That hem to se was gret mervaile: The diches weren brode and depe, A fewe men it mihte kepe 7250 From al the world, as semeth tho, Bot if the goddes weren fo. Gret presse unto that cite drouh, So that ther was of poeple ynouh, Of Burgeis that therinne duellen; Ther mai no mannes tunge tellen Hou that cite was riche of good.

Whan al was mad and al wel stod, King Priamus tho him bethoghte What thei of Grece whilom wroghte, 7260 And what was of her swerd devoured, And hou his Soster deshonoured With Thelamon awey was lad: And so thenkende he wax unglad, And sette anon a parlement, To which the lordes were assent. In many a wise ther was spoke, Hou that thei mihten ben awroke, Bot ate laste natheles Thei seiden alle, “Acord and pes.” 7270 To setten either part in reste It thoghte hem thanne for the beste With resonable amendement; And thus was Anthenor forth sent To axe Esionam ayein And witen what thei wolden sein. So passeth he the See be barge To Grece forto seie his charge, The which he seide redely Unto the lordes by and by: 7280 Bot where he spak in Grece aboute, He herde noght bot wordes stoute, And nameliche of Thelamon; The maiden wolde he noght forgon, He seide, for no maner thing, And bad him gon hom to his king, For there gat he non amende For oght he couthe do or sende.

This Anthenor ayein goth hom Unto his king, and whan he com, 7290 He tolde in Grece of that he herde, And hou that Thelamon ansuerde, And hou thei were at here above, That thei wol nouther pes ne love, Bot every man schal don his beste. Bot for men sein that nyht hath reste, The king bethoghte him al that nyht, And erli, whan the dai was lyht, He tok conseil of this matiere; And thei acorde in this manere, 7300 That he withouten eny lette A certein time scholde sette Of Parlement to ben avised: And in the wise it was devised, Of parlement he sette a day, And that was in the Monthe of Maii. This Priamus hadde in his yhte A wif, and Hecuba sche hyhte, Be whom that time ek hadde he Of Sones fyve, and douhtres thre 7310 Besiden hem, and thritty mo, And weren knyhtes alle tho, Bot noght upon his wif begete, Bot elles where he myhte hem gete Of wommen whiche he hadde knowe; Such was the world at thilke throwe: So that he was of children riche, As therof was noman his liche.

Of Parlement the dai was come, Ther ben the lordes alle and some; 7320 Tho was pronounced and pourposed, And al the cause hem was desclosed, Hou Anthenor in Grece ferde. Thei seten alle stille and herde, And tho spak every man aboute: Ther was alegged many a doute, And many a proud word spoke also; Bot for the moste part as tho Thei wisten noght what was the beste, Or forto werre or forto reste. 7330 Bot he that was withoute fere, Hector, among the lordes there His tale tolde in such a wise, And seide, “Lordes, ye ben wise, Ye knowen this als wel as I, Above all othre most worthi Stant nou in Grece the manhode Of worthinesse and of knihthode; For who so wole it wel agrope, To hem belongeth al Europe, 7340 Which is the thridde parti evene Of al the world under the hevene; And we be bot of folk a fewe. So were it reson forto schewe The peril, er we falle thrinne: Betre is to leve, than beginne Thing which as mai noght ben achieved; He is noght wys that fint him grieved, And doth so that his grief be more; For who that loketh al tofore 7350 And wol noght se what is behinde, He mai fulofte hise harmes finde: Wicke is to stryve and have the worse. We have encheson forto corse, This wot I wel, and forto hate The Greks; bot er that we debate With hem that ben of such a myht, It is ful good that every wiht Be of himself riht wel bethoght. Bot as for me this seie I noght; 7360 For while that mi lif wol stonde, If that ye taken werre on honde, Falle it to beste or to the werste, I schal miselven be the ferste To grieven hem, what evere I may. I wol noght ones seie nay To thing which that youre conseil demeth, For unto me wel more it quemeth The werre certes than the pes; Bot this I seie natheles, 7370 As me belongeth forto seie. Nou schape ye the beste weie.”

Whan Hector hath seid his avis, Next after him tho spak Paris, Which was his brother, and alleide What him best thoghte, and thus he seide: “Strong thing it is to soffre wrong, And suffre schame is more strong, Bot we have suffred bothe tuo; And for al that yit have we do 7380 What so we mihte to reforme The pes, whan we in such a forme Sente Anthenor, as ye wel knowe. And thei here grete wordes blowe Upon her wrongful dedes eke; And who that wole himself noght meke To pes, and list no reson take, Men sein reson him wol forsake: For in the multitude of men Is noght the strengthe, for with ten 7390 It hath be sen in trew querele Ayein an hundred false dele, And had the betre of goddes grace. This hath befalle in many place; And if it like unto you alle, I wolde assaie, hou so it falle, Oure enemis if I mai grieve; For I have cawht a gret believe Upon a point I wol declare.

This ender day, as I gan fare 7400 To hunte unto the grete hert, Which was tofore myn houndes stert, And every man went on his syde Him to poursuie, and I to ryde Began the chace, and soth to seie, Withinne a while out of mi weie I rod, and nyste where I was. And slep me cauhte, and on the gras Beside a welle I lay me doun To slepe, and in a visioun 7410 To me the god Mercurie cam; Goddesses thre with him he nam, Minerve, Venus and Juno, And in his hond an Appel tho He hield of gold with lettres write: And this he dede me to wite, Hou that thei putt hem upon me, That to the faireste of hem thre Of gold that Appel scholde I yive. With ech of hem tho was I schrive, 7420 And echon faire me behihte; Bot Venus seide, if that sche mihte That Appel of mi yifte gete, Sche wolde it neveremor foryete, And seide hou that in Grece lond Sche wolde bringe unto myn hond Of al this Erthe the faireste; So that me thoghte it for the beste, To hire and yaf that Appel tho. Thus hope I wel, if that I go, 7430 That sche for me wol so ordeine, That thei matiere forto pleigne Schul have, er that I come ayein. Nou have ye herd that I wol sein: Sey ye what stant in youre avis.” And every man tho seide his, And sundri causes thei recorde, Bot ate laste thei acorde That Paris schal to Grece wende, And thus the parlement tok ende. 7440

Cassandra, whan sche herde of this, The which to Paris Soster is, Anon sche gan to wepe and weile, And seide, “Allas, what mai ous eile? Fortune with hire blinde whiel Ne wol noght lete ous stonde wel: For this I dar wel undertake, That if Paris his weie take, As it is seid that he schal do, We ben for evere thanne undo.” 7450 This, which Cassandre thanne hihte, In al the world as it berth sihte, In bokes as men finde write, Is that Sibille of whom ye wite, That alle men yit clepen sage. Whan that sche wiste of this viage, Hou Paris schal to Grece fare, No womman mihte worse fare Ne sorwe more than sche dede; And riht so in the same stede 7460 Ferde Helenus, which was hir brother, Of prophecie and such an other: And al was holde bot a jape, So that the pourpos which was schape, Or were hem lief or were hem loth, Was holde, and into Grece goth This Paris with his retenance. And as it fell upon his chance, Of Grece he londeth in an yle, And him was told the same whyle 7470 Of folk which he began to freyne, Tho was in thyle queene Heleyne, And ek of contres there aboute Of ladis many a lusti route, With mochel worthi poeple also. And why thei comen theder tho, The cause stod in such a wise,— For worschipe and for sacrifise That thei to Venus wolden make, As thei tofore hadde undertake, 7480 Some of good will, some of beheste, For thanne was hire hihe feste Withinne a temple which was there.

Whan Paris wiste what thei were, Anon he schop his ordinance To gon and don his obeissance To Venus on hire holi day, And dede upon his beste aray. With gret richesse he him behongeth, As it to such a lord belongeth, 7490 He was noght armed natheles, Bot as it were in lond of pes, And thus he goth forth out of Schipe And takth with him his felaschipe: In such manere as I you seie Unto the temple he hield his weie.

Tydinge, which goth overal To grete and smale, forth withal Com to the queenes Ere and tolde Hou Paris com, and that he wolde 7500 Do sacrifise to Venus: And whan sche herde telle thus, Sche thoghte, hou that it evere be, That sche wole him abyde and se.

Forth comth Paris with glad visage Into the temple on pelrinage, Wher unto Venus the goddesse He yifth and offreth gret richesse, And preith hir that he preie wolde. And thanne aside he gan beholde, 7510 And sih wher that this ladi stod; And he forth in his freisshe mod Goth ther sche was and made her chiere, As he wel couthe in his manere, That of his wordes such plesance Sche tok, that al hire aqueintance, Als ferforth as the herte lay, He stal er that he wente away. So goth he forth and tok his leve, And thoghte, anon as it was eve, 7520 He wolde don his Sacrilegge, That many a man it scholde abegge.

Whan he to Schipe ayein was come, To him he hath his conseil nome, And al devised the matiere In such a wise as thou schalt hiere. Withinne nyht al prively His men he warneth by and by, That thei be redy armed sone For certein thing which was to done: 7530 And thei anon ben redi alle, And ech on other gan to calle, And went hem out upon the stronde And tok a pourpos ther alonde Of what thing that thei wolden do, Toward the temple and forth thei go. So fell it, of devocion Heleine in contemplacion With many an other worthi wiht Was in the temple and wok al nyht, 7540 To bidde and preie unto thymage Of Venus, as was thanne usage; So that Paris riht as him liste Into the temple, er thei it wiste, Com with his men al sodeinly, And alle at ones sette ascry In hem whiche in the temple were, For tho was mochel poeple there; Bot of defense was no bote, So soffren thei that soffre mote. 7550

Paris unto the queene wente, And hire in bothe hise armes hente With him and with his felaschipe, And forth thei bere hire unto Schipe. Up goth the Seil and forth thei wente, And such a wynd fortune hem sente, Til thei the havene of Troie cauhte; Where out of Schipe anon thei strauhte And gon hem forth toward the toun, The which cam with processioun 7560 Ayein Paris to sen his preie. And every man began to seie To Paris and his felaschipe Al that thei couthen of worschipe; Was non so litel man in Troie, That he ne made merthe and joie Of that Paris hath wonne Heleine. Bot al that merthe is sorwe and peine To Helenus and to Cassaundre; For thei it token schame and sklaundre 7570 And lost of al the comun grace, That Paris out of holi place Be Stelthe hath take a mannes wif, Wherof that he schal lese his lif And many a worthi man therto, And al the Cite be fordo, Which nevere schal be mad ayein. And so it fell, riht as thei sein, The Sacrilege which he wroghte Was cause why the Gregois soughte 7580 Unto the toun and it beleie, And wolden nevere parte aweie, Til what be sleihte and what be strengthe Thei hadde it wonne in brede and lengthe, And brent and slayn that was withinne. Now se, mi Sone, which a sinne Is Sacrilege in holy stede: Be war therfore and bidd thi bede, And do nothing in holy cherche, Bot that thou miht be reson werche. 7590

And ek tak hiede of Achilles, Whan he unto his love ches Polixena, that was also In holi temple of Appollo, Which was the cause why he dyde And al his lust was leyd asyde.

And Troilus upon Criseide Also his ferste love leide In holi place, and hou it ferde, As who seith, al the world it herde; 7600 Forsake he was for Diomede, Such was of love his laste mede.

Forthi, mi Sone, I wolde rede, Be this ensample as thou myht rede, Sech elles, wher thou wolt, thi grace, And war the wel in holi place What thou to love do or speke, In aunter if it so be wreke As thou hast herd me told before. And tak good hiede also therfore 7610 Upon what forme, of Avarice Mor than of eny other vice, I have divided in parties The branches, whiche of compainies Thurghout the world in general Ben nou the leders overal, Of Covoitise and of Perjure, Of fals brocage and of Usure, Of Skarsnesse and Unkindeschipe, Which nevere drouh to felaschipe, 7620 Of Robberie and privi Stelthe, Which don is for the worldes welthe, Of Ravine and of Sacrilegge, Which makth the conscience agregge; Althogh it mai richesse atteigne, It floureth, bot it schal noght greine Unto the fruit of rihtwisnesse. Bot who that wolde do largesse Upon the reule as it is yive, So myhte a man in trouthe live 7630 Toward his god, and ek also Toward the world, for bothe tuo Largesse awaiteth as belongeth, To neither part that he ne wrongeth; He kepth himself, he kepth his frendes, So stant he sauf to bothe hise endes, That he excedeth no mesure, So wel he can himself mesure: Wherof, mi Sone, thou schalt wite, So as the Philosophre hath write. 7640

Betwen the tuo extremites Of vice stant the propretes Of vertu, and to prove it so Tak Avarice and tak also The vice of Prodegalite; Betwen hem Liberalite, Which is the vertu of Largesse, Stant and governeth his noblesse. For tho tuo vices in discord Stonde evere, as I finde of record; 7650 So that betwen here tuo debat Largesse reuleth his astat. For in such wise as Avarice, As I tofore have told the vice, Thurgh streit holdinge and thurgh skarsnesse Stant in contraire to Largesse, Riht so stant Prodegalite Revers, bot noght in such degre. For so as Avarice spareth, And forto kepe his tresor careth, 7660 That other al his oghne and more Ayein the wise mannes lore Yifth and despendeth hiere and there, So that him reccheth nevere where. While he mai borwe, he wol despende, Til ate laste he seith, “I wende”; Bot that is spoken al to late, For thanne is poverte ate gate And takth him evene be the slieve, For erst wol he no wisdom lieve. 7670 And riht as Avarice is Sinne, That wolde his tresor kepe and winne, Riht so is Prodegalite: Bot of Largesse in his degre, Which evene stant betwen the tuo, The hihe god and man also The vertu ech of hem commendeth. For he himselven ferst amendeth, That overal his name spredeth, And to alle othre, where it nedeth, 7680 He yifth his good in such a wise, That he makth many a man arise, Which elles scholde falle lowe. Largesce mai noght ben unknowe; For what lond that he regneth inne, It mai noght faile forto winne Thurgh his decerte love and grace, Wher it schal faile in other place.

And thus betwen tomoche and lyte Largesce, which is noght to wyte, 7690 Halt evere forth the middel weie: Bot who that torne wole aweie Fro that to Prodegalite, Anon he lest the proprete Of vertu and goth to the vice; For in such wise as Avarice Lest for scarsnesse his goode name, Riht so that other is to blame, Which thurgh his wast mesure excedeth, For noman wot what harm that bredeth. 7700

Bot mochel joie ther betydeth, Wher that largesse an herte guydeth: For his mesure is so governed, That he to bothe partz is lerned, To god and to the world also, He doth reson to bothe tuo. The povere folk of his almesse Relieved ben in the destresse Of thurst, of hunger and of cold; The yifte of him was nevere sold, 7710 Bot frely yive, and natheles The myhti god of his encress Rewardeth him of double grace; The hevene he doth him to pourchace And yifth him ek the worldes good: And thus the Cote for the hod Largesse takth, and yit no Sinne He doth, hou so that evere he winne.

What man hath hors men yive him hors, And who non hath of him no fors, 7720 For he mai thanne on fote go; The world hath evere stonde so. Bot forto loken of the tweie, A man to go the siker weie, Betre is to yive than to take: With yifte a man mai frendes make, Bot who that takth or gret or smal, He takth a charge forth withal, And stant noght fre til it be quit. So forto deme in mannes wit, 7730 It helpeth more a man to have His oghne good, than forto crave Of othre men and make him bounde, Wher elles he mai stonde unbounde.

Senec conseileth in this wise, And seith, “Bot, if thi good suffise Unto the liking of thi wille, Withdrawh thi lust and hold the stille, And be to thi good sufficant.” For that thing is appourtenant 7740 To trouthe and causeth to be fre After the reule of charite, Which ferst beginneth of himselve. For if thou richest othre tuelve, Wherof thou schalt thiself be povere, I not what thonk thou miht recovere.

Whil that a man hath good to yive, With grete routes he mai live And hath his frendes overal, And everich of him telle schal. 7750 Therwhile he hath his fulle packe, Thei seie, “A good felawe is Jacke”; Bot whanne it faileth ate laste, Anon his pris thei overcaste, For thanne is ther non other lawe Bot, “Jacke was a good felawe.” Whan thei him povere and nedy se, Thei lete him passe and farwel he; Al that he wende of compainie Is thanne torned to folie. 7760

Bot nou to speke in other kinde Of love, a man mai suche finde, That wher thei come in every route Thei caste and waste her love aboute, Til al here time is overgon, And thanne have thei love non: For who that loveth overal, It is no reson that he schal Of love have eny proprete. Forthi, mi Sone, avise thee 7770 If thou of love hast be to large, For such a man is noght to charge: And if it so be that thou hast Despended al thi time in wast And set thi love in sondri place, Though thou the substance of thi grace Lese ate laste, it is no wonder; For he that put himselven under, As who seith, comun overal, He lest the love special 7780 Of eny on, if sche be wys; For love schal noght bere his pris Be reson, whanne it passeth on. So have I sen ful many on, That were of love wel at ese, Whiche after felle in gret desese Thurgh wast of love, that thei spente In sondri places wher thei wente.

Riht so, mi Sone, I axe of thee If thou with Prodegalite 7790 Hast hier and ther thi love wasted.

Mi fader, nay; bot I have tasted In many a place as I have go, And yit love I nevere on of tho, Bot forto drive forth the dai. For lieveth wel, myn herte is ay Withoute mo for everemore Al upon on, for I nomore Desire bot hire love al one: So make I many a prive mone, 7800 For wel I fiele I have despended Mi longe love and noght amended Mi sped, for oght I finde yit. If this be wast to youre wit Of love, and Prodegalite, Nou, goode fader, demeth ye: Bot of o thing I wol me schryve, That I schal for no love thryve, Bot if hirself me wol relieve.

Mi Sone, that I mai wel lieve: 7810 And natheles me semeth so, For oght that thou hast yit misdo Of time which thou hast despended, It mai with grace ben amended. For thing which mai be worth the cost Per chaunce is nouther wast ne lost; For what thing stant on aventure, That can no worldes creature Telle in certein hou it schal wende, Til he therof mai sen an ende. 7820 So that I not as yit therfore If thou, mi Sone, hast wonne or lore: For ofte time, as it is sene, Whan Somer hath lost al his grene And is with Wynter wast and bare, That him is left nothing to spare, Al is recovered in a throwe; The colde wyndes overblowe, And still be the scharpe schoures, And soudeinliche ayein his floures 7830 The Somer hapneth and is riche: And so per cas thi graces liche, Mi Sone, thogh thou be nou povere Of love, yit thou miht recovere.