Chapter IV: Part 4

The brygge watȝ brayde doun, and þe brode ȝateȝ
Vnbarred and born open vpon boþe halue.
Þe burne blessed hym bilyue, and þe bredeȝ passed;
Prayses þe porter bifore þe prynce kneled,
Gef hym God and goud day, þat Gawayn He saue, 5
And went on his way with his wyȝe one,
Þat schulde teche hym to tourne to þat tene place
Þer þe ruful race he schulde resayue.
Þay boȝen bi bonkkeȝ þer boȝeȝ ar bare;
Þay clomben bi clyffeȝ þer clengeȝ þe colde. 10
Þe heuen watȝ vp halt, bot vgly þer vnder,—
Mist muged on þe mor, malt on þe mounteȝ,
Vch hille hade a hatte, a myst-hakel huge.
Brokeȝ byled and breke bi bonkkeȝ aboute,
Schyre schaterande on schoreȝ, þer þay doun schowued. 15
Wela wylle watȝ þe way þer þay bi wod schulden,
Til hit watȝ sone sesoun þat þe sunne ryses
þat tyde.
Þay were on a hille ful hyȝe,
Þe quyte snaw lay bisyde; 20
Þe burne þat rod hym by
Bede his mayster abide.
'For I haf wonnen yow hider, wyȝe, at þis tyme,
And now nar ȝe not fer fro þat note place
Þat ȝe han spied and spuryed so specially after. 25
Bot I schal say yow for soþe, syþen I yow knowe,
And ȝe ar a lede vpon lyue þat I wel louy,
Wolde ȝe worch bi my wytte, ȝe worþed þe better.
Þe place þat ȝe prece to ful perelous is halden.
Þer woneȝ a wyȝe in þat waste, þe worst vpon erþe, 30
For he is stiffe and sturne, and to strike louies,
And more he is þen any mon vpon myddelerde,
And his body bigger þen þe best fowre
Þat ar in Arþureȝ hous, He_c_tor, oþer oþer.
He cheueȝ þat chaunce at þe chapel grene, 35
Þer passes non bi þat place so proude in his armes
Þat he ne dyn_g_eȝ hym to deþe with dynt of his honde;
For he is a mon methles, and mercy non vses,
For be hit chorle oþer chaplayn þat bi þe chapel rydes,
Monk oþer masse-prest, oþer any mon elles, 40
Hym þynk as queme hym to quelle as quyk go hymseluen.
Forþy I say þe, as soþe as ȝe in sadel sitte,
Com ȝe þere, ȝe be kylled, may þe, knyȝt, rede—
Trawe ȝe me þat trwely—þaȝ ȝe had twenty lyues
to spende. 45
He hatȝ wonyd here ful ȝore,
On bent much baret bende,
Aȝayn his dynteȝ sore
Ȝe may not yow defende.
'Forþy, goude Sir Gawayn, let þe gome one, 50
And gotȝ away sum oþer gate, vpon Goddeȝ halue!
Cayreȝ bi sum oþer kyth, þer Kryst mot yow spede,
And I schal hyȝ me hom aȝayn, and hete yow fyrre
Þat I schal swere bi God and alle His gode halȝeȝ,
As help me God and þe halydam, and oþeȝ innoghe, 55
Þat I schal lelly yow layne, and lance neuer tale
Þat euer ȝe fondet to fle for freke þat I wyst.'
'Grant merci,' quod Gawayn, and gruchyng he sayde:
'Wel worth þe, wyȝe, þat woldeȝ my gode,
And þat lelly me layne I leue wel þou woldeȝ. 60
Bot helde þou hit neuer so holde, and I here passed,
Founded for ferde for to fle, in fourme þat þou telleȝ,
I were a knyȝt kowarde, I myȝt _n_ot be excused.
Bot I wyl to þe chapel, for chaunce þat may falle,
And talk wyth þat ilk tulk þe tale þat me lyste, 65
Worþe hit wele oþer wo, as þe wyrde lykeȝ
hit hafe.
Þaȝe he be a sturn knape
To stiȝtel, and stad with staue,
Ful wel con Dryȝtyn schape 70
His seruaunteȝ for to saue.'
'Mary!' quod þat oþer mon, 'now þou so much spelleȝ
Þat þou wylt þyn awen nye nyme to þyseluen,
And þe lyst lese þy lyf, þe lette I ne kepe.
Haf here þi helme on þy hede, þi spere in þi honde, 75
And ryde me doun þis ilk rake bi ȝon rokke syde
Til þou be broȝt to þe boþem of þe brem valay.
Þenne loke a littel on þe launde, on þi lyfte honde,
And þou schal se in þat slade þe self chapel,
And þe borelych burne on bent þat hit kepeȝ. 80
Now fareȝ wel, on Godeȝ half! Gawayn þe noble;
For alle þe golde vpon grounde I nolde go wyth þe,
Ne bere þe felaȝschip þurȝ þis fryth on fote fyrre.'
Bi þat þe wyȝe in þe wod wendeȝ his brydel,
Hit þe hors with þe heleȝ as harde as he myȝt, 85
Lepeȝ hym ouer þe launde, and leueȝ þe knyȝt þere
al one.
'Bi Goddeȝ self!' quod Gawayn,
'I wyl nauþer grete ne grone;
To Goddeȝ wylle I am ful bayn, 90
And to Hym I haf me tone.'
Thenne gyrdeȝ he to Gryngolet, and gedereȝ þe rake,
Schowueȝ in bi a schore at a schaȝe syde,
Rideȝ þurȝ þe roȝe bonk ryȝt to þe dale;
And þenne he wayted hym aboute, and wylde hit hym þoȝt, 95
And seȝe no syngne of resette bisydeȝ nowhere,
Bot hyȝe bonkkeȝ and brent vpon boþe halue,
And ruȝe knokled knarreȝ with knorned stoneȝ;
Þe skweȝ of þe scowtes skayned hym þoȝt.
Þenne he houed, and wythhylde his hors at þat tyde, 100
And ofte chaunged his cher þe chapel to seche:
He seȝ non suche in no syde, and selly hym þoȝt
Sone, a lyttel on a launde, a lawe as hit we<re>,
A balȝ berȝ bi a bonke, þe brymme bysyde,
Bi a forȝ of a flode þat ferked þare; 105
Þe borne blubred þerinne as hit boyled hade.
Þe knyȝt kacheȝ his caple, and com to þe lawe,
Liȝteȝ doun luflyly, and at a lynde tacheȝ
Þe rayne and his riche with a roȝe braunche.
Þenne he boȝeȝ to þe berȝe, aboute hit he walkeȝ, 110
Debatande with hymself quat hit be myȝt.
Hit hade a hole on þe ende and on ayþer syde,
And ouergrowen with gresse in glodes aywhere,
And al watȝ holȝ inwith, nobot an olde caue,
Or a creuisse of an olde cragge, he couþe hit noȝt deme 115
with spelle.
'We! Lorde,' quod þe gentyle knyȝt,
'Wheþer þis be þe grene chapelle?
He<re> myȝt aboute mydnyȝt
Þe dele his matynnes telle! 120
'Now iwysse,' quod Wowayn, 'wysty is here;
Þis oritore is vgly, with erbeȝ ouergrowen;
Wel bisemeȝ þe wyȝe wruxled in grene
Dele here his deuocioun on þe deueleȝ wyse.
Now I fele hit is þe fende, in my fyue wytteȝ, 125
Þat hatȝ stoken me þis steuen to strye me here.
Þis is a chapel of meschaunce, þat chekke hit bytyde!
Hit is þe corsedest kyrk þat euer I com inne!'
With heȝe helme on his hede, his launce in his honde,
He romeȝ vp to þe rokke of þo roȝ woneȝ. 130
Þene herde he, of þat hyȝe hil, in a harde roche,
Biȝonde þe broke, in a bonk, a wonder breme noyse.
Quat! hit clatered in þe clyff, as hit cleue schulde,
As one vpon a gryndelston hade grounden a syþe;
What! hit wharred and whette, as water at a mulne; 135
What! hit rusched and ronge, rawþe to here.
Þenne 'Bi Godde!' quod Gawayn, 'þat gere a_s_ I trowe
Is ryched at þe reuerence me, renk, to mete
bi rote.
Let God worche, we loo! 140
Hit helppeȝ me not a mote.
My lif þaȝ I forgoo,
Drede dotȝ me no lote.'
Thenne þe knyȝt con calle ful hyȝe:
'Who stiȝtleȝ in þis sted, me steuen to holde? 145
For now is gode Gawayn goande ryȝt here.
If any wyȝe oȝt wyl, wynne hider fast,
Oþer now oþer neuer, his nedeȝ to spede.'
'Abyde,' quod on on þe bonke abouen ouer his hede,
'And þou schal haf al in hast þat I þe hyȝt ones.' 150
Ȝet he rusched on þat rurde rapely a þrowe,
And wyth quettyng awharf, er he wolde lyȝt;
And syþen he keuereȝ bi a cragge, and comeȝ of a hole,
Whyrlande out of a wro wyth a felle weppen,
A Deneȝ ax nwe dyȝt, þe dynt with <t>o ȝelde, 155
With a borelych bytte bende by þe halme,
Fyled in a fylor, fowre fote large,—
Hit watȝ no lasse bi þat lace þat lemed ful bryȝt,—
And þe gome in þe grene gered as fyrst,
Boþe þe lyre and þe leggeȝ, lokkeȝ and berde, 160
Saue þat fayre on his fote he foundeȝ on þe erþe,
Sette þe stele to þe stone, and stalked bysyde.
Whan he wan to þe watter, þer he wade nolde,
He hypped ouer on hys ax, and orpedly strydeȝ,
Bremly broþe on a bent þat brode watȝ aboute, 165
on snawe.
Sir Gawayn þe knyȝt con mete,
He ne lutte hym no þyng lowe;
Þat oþer sayde 'Now, sir swete,
Of steuen mon may þe trowe. 170
'Gawayn,' quod þat grene gome, 'God þe mot loke!
Iwysse þou art welco_m_, wyȝe, to my place,
And þou hatȝ tymed þi trauayl as truee mon schulde,
And þou knoweȝ þe couenaunteȝ kest vus bytwene:
At þis tyme twelmonyth þou toke þat þe falled, 175
And I schulde at þis nwe ȝere ȝeply þe quyte.
And we ar in þis valay verayly oure one;
Here ar no renkes vs to rydde, rele as vus likeȝ.
Haf þy helme of þy hede, and haf here þy pay.
Busk no more debate þen I þe bede þenne 180
When þou wypped of my hede at a wap one.'
'Nay, bi God' quod Gawayn, 'þat me gost lante!
I schal gruch þe no grwe for grem þat falleȝ.
Bot styȝtel þe vpon on strok, and I schal stonde stylle
And warp þe no wernyng to worch as þe lykeȝ, 185
nowhare.'
He lened with þe nek, and lutte,
And schewed þat schyre al bare,
And lette as he noȝt dutte;
For drede he wolde not dare. 190
Then þe gome in þe grene grayþed hym swyþe,
Gedereȝ vp hys grymme tole Gawayn to smyte;
With alle þe bur in his body he ber hit on lofte,
Munt as maȝtyly as marre hym he wolde:
Hade hit dryuen adoun as dreȝ as he atled, 195
Þer hade ben ded of his dynt þat doȝty watȝ euer.
Bot Gawayn on þat giserne glyfte hym bysyde,
As hit com glydande adoun on glode hym to schende,
And schranke a lytel with þe schulderes for þe scharp yrne.
Þat oþer schalk wyth a schunt þe schene wythhaldeȝ, 200
And þenne repreued he þe prynce with mony prowde wordeȝ:
'Þou art not Gawayn,' quod þe gome, 'þat is so goud halden,
Þat neuer arȝed for no here, by hylle ne be vale,
And now þou fles for ferde er þou fele harmeȝ!
Such cowardise of þat knyȝt cowþe I neuer here. 205
Nawþer fyked I ne flaȝe, freke, quen þou myntest,
Ne kest no kauelacion, in kyngeȝ hous Arthor.
My hede flaȝ to my fote, and ȝet flaȝ I neuer;
And þou, er any harme hent, arȝeȝ in hert;
Wherfore þe better burne me burde be called 210
þerfore.'
Quod Gawayn 'I schunt oneȝ,
And so wyl I no more;
Bot þaȝ my hede falle on þe stoneȝ,
I con not hit restore. 215
Bot busk, burne, bi þi fayth! and bryng me to þe poynt.
Dele to me my destiné, and do hit out of honde,
For I schal stonde þe a strok, and start no more
Til þyn ax haue me hitte: haf here my trawþe.'
'Haf at þe þenne!' quod þat oþer, and heueȝ hit alofte, 220
And wayteȝ as wroþely as he wode were.
He mynteȝ at hym maȝtyly, bot not þe mon ryueȝ,
Withhelde heterly h<i>s honde, er hit hurt myȝt.
Gawayn grayþely hit bydeȝ, and glent with no membre,
Bot stode stylle as þe ston, oþer a stubbe auþer 225
Þat raþeled is in roché grounde with roteȝ a hundreth.
Þen muryly efte con he mele, þe mon in þe grene:
'So now þou hatȝ þi hert holle, hitte me bihou<e>s.
Halde þe now þe hyȝe hode þat Arþur þe raȝt,
And kepe þy kanel at þis kest, ȝif hit keuer may.' 230
Gawayn ful gryndelly with greme þenne sayde:
'Wy! þresch on, þou þro mon, þou þreteȝ to longe.
I hope þat þi hert arȝe wyth þyn awen seluen.'
'For soþe,' quod þat oþer freke, 'so felly þou spekeȝ,
I wyl no lenger on lyte lette þin ernde 235
riȝt nowe.'
Þenne tas he hym stryþe to stryke,
And frounses boþe lyppe and browe.
No meruayle þaȝ hym myslyke
Þat hoped of no rescowe. 240
He lyftes lyȝtly his lome, and let hit doun fayre,
With þe barbe of þe bitte bi þe bare nek,
Þaȝ he homered heterly, hurt hym no more,
Bot snyrt hym on þat on syde, þat seuered þe hyde;
Þe scharp schrank to þe flesche þurȝ þe schyre grece 245
Þat þe schene blod ouer his schulderes schot to þe erþe;
And quen þe burne seȝ þe blode blenk on þe snawe,
He sprit forth spenne fote more þen a spere lenþe,
Hent heterly his helme, and on his hed cast,
Schot with his schuldereȝ, his fayre schelde vnder, 250
Braydeȝ out a bryȝt sworde, and bremely he spekeȝ;—
Neuer syn þat he watȝ burne borne of his moder
Watȝ he neuer in þis worlde wyȝe half so blyþe—
'Blynne, burne, of þy bur, bede me no mo!
I haf a stroke in þis stede withoute stryf hent, 255
And if þow recheȝ me any mo, I redyly schal quyte,
And ȝelde ȝederly aȝayn—and þer to ȝe tryst—
and foo.
Bot on stroke here me falleȝ—
Þe couenaunt schop ryȝt so 260
<Schapen> in Arþureȝ halleȝ—
And þerfore, hende, now hoo!'
The haþel heldet hym fro, and on his ax rested,
Sette þe schaft vpon schore, and to þe scharp lened,
And loked to þe leude þat on þe launde ȝede, 265
How þat doȝty, dredles, deruely þer stondeȝ
Armed, ful aȝleȝ: in hert hit hym lykeȝ.
Þenn he meleȝ muryly wyth a much steuen,
And wyth a ry<n>kande rurde he to þe renk sayde:
'Bolde burne, on þis bent be not so gryndel. 270
No mon here vnmanerly þe mysboden habbe<ȝ>
Ne kyd, bot as couenaunde at kyngeȝ kort schaped.
I hyȝt þe a strok and þou hit hatȝ; halde þe wel payed.
I relece þe of þe remnaunt of ryȝtes alle oþer.
Iif I deliuer had bene, a boffet paraunter 275
I couþe wroþeloker haf waret,—to þe haf wroȝt anger.
Fyrst I mansed þe muryly with a mynt one,
And roue þe wyth no rof sore, with ryȝt I þe profered
For þe forwarde þat we fest in þe fyrst nyȝt,
And þou trystyly þe trawþe and trwly me haldeȝ, 280
Al þe gayne þow me gef, as god mon schulde.
Þat oþer munt for þe morne, mon, I þe profered,
Þou kyssedes my clere wyf, þe cosseȝ me raȝteȝ.
For boþe two here I þe bede bot two bare myntes
boute scaþe. 285
Trwe mon trwe restore,
Þenne þar mon drede no waþe.
At þe þrid þou fayled þore,
And þerfor þat tappe ta þe.
For hit is my wede þat þou wereȝ, þat ilke wouen girdel, 290
Myn owen wyf hit þe weued, I wot wel forsoþe.
Now know I wel þy cosses, and þy costes als,
And þe wowyng of my wyf: I wroȝt hit myseluen.
I sende hir to asay þe, and sothly me þynkkeȝ
On þe fautlest freke þat euer on fote ȝede. 295
As perle bi þe quite pese is of prys more,
So is Gawayn, in god fayth, bi oþer gay knyȝteȝ.
Bot here yow lakked a lyttel, sir, and lewté yow wonted;
Bot þat watȝ for no wylyde werke, ne wowyng nauþer,
Bot for ȝe lufed your lyf; þe lasse I yow blame.' 300
Þat oþer stif mon in study stod a gret whyle,
So agreued for greme he gryed withinne;
Alle þe blode of his brest blende in his face,
Þat al he schrank for schome þat þe schalk talked.
Þe forme worde vpon folde þat þe freke meled: 305
'Corsed worth cowarddyse and couetyse boþe!
In yow is vylany and vyse þat vertue disstryeȝ.'
Þenne he kaȝt to þe knot, and þe kest lawseȝ,
Brayde broþely þe belt to þe burne seluen:
'Lo! þer þe falssyng! foule mot hit falle! 310
For care of þy knokke cowardyse me taȝt
To acorde me with couetyse, my kynde to forsake,
Þat is larges and lewté þat longeȝ to knyȝteȝ.
Now am I fawty and falce, and ferde haf ben euer
Of trecherye and vntrawþe: boþe bityde sorȝe 315
and care!
I biknowe yow, knyȝt, here stylle,
Al fawty is my fare;
Leteȝ me ouertake your wylle
And efte I schal be ware.' 320
Thenn loȝe þat oþer leude, and luflyly sayde:
'I halde hit hardily hole, þe harme þat I hade.
Þou art confessed so clene, beknowen of þy mysses,
And hatȝ þe penaunce apert of þe poynt of myn egge,
I halde þe polysed of þat plyȝt, and pured as clene 325
As þou hadeȝ neuer forfeted syþen þou watȝ fyrst borne;
And I gif þe, sir, þe gurdel þat is golde-hemmed,
For hit is grene as my goune. Sir Gawayne, ȝe maye
Þenk vpon þis ilke þrepe, þer þou forth þryngeȝ
Among prynces of prys; and þis a pure token 330
Of þe chaunce _at_ þe grene chapel _of_ cheualrous knyȝteȝ.
And ȝe schal in þis nwe ȝer aȝayn to my woneȝ,
And we schyn reuel þe remnaunt of þis ryche fest
ful bene.'
Þer laþed hym fast þe lord, 335
And sayde 'With my wyf, I wene,
We schal yow wel acorde,
Þat watȝ your enmy kene.'
'Nay, for soþe,' quod þe segge, and sesed hys helme,
And hatȝ hit of hendely, and þe haþel þonkkeȝ, 340
'I haf soiorned sadly; sele yow bytyde!
And He ȝelde hit yow ȝare þat ȝarkkeȝ al menskes!
And comaundeȝ me to þat cortays, your comlych fere,
Boþe þat on and þat oþer myn honoured ladyeȝ,
Þat þus hor knyȝt wyth hor kest han koyntly bigyled. 345
Bot hit is no ferly þaȝ a fole madde,
And þurȝ wyles of wymmen be wonen to sorȝe,
For so watȝ Adam in erde with one bygyled,
And Salamon with fele sere, and Samson eftsoneȝ
Dalyda dalt hym hys wyrde, and Dauyth þerafter 350
Watȝ blended with Barsabe, þat much bale þoled.
Now þese were wrathed wyth her wyles, hit were a wynne huge
To luf hom wel, and leue hem not, a leude þat couþe.
For þes wer forne þe freest, þat folȝed alle þe sele
Exellently of alle þyse oþer vnder heuenryche 355
þat mused;
And alle þay were biwyled
With wymmen þat þay vsed.
Þaȝ I be now bigyled,
Me þink me burde be excused.' 360

[Foot-note: 34 Hector] Hestor _MS._]

[Foot-note: 37 dyngeȝ] dynneȝ _MS._]

[Foot-note: 63 not] mot _MS._]

[Foot-note: 69 and] & & _MS._]

[Foot-note: 137 as] at _MS._]

[Foot-note: 172 welcom] welcon _MS._]

[Foot-note: 179 þy (1st)] þy þy _MS._]

[Foot-note: 237 he] he he _MS._]

[Foot-note: 322 hardily] hardilyly _MS._]

[Foot-note: 331 _at... of_ (2nd)] _transposed in MS._]

[Foot-note: 358 With] With wyth _MS._]

VI

THE PEARL

ABOUT 1375.

The facts leading to the presumption that _Pearl_ and _Sir Gawayne_ are by the same author have been mentioned in the prefatory note to _Sir Gawayne_. But the poems are markedly different in subject and tone. _Pearl_, like Chaucer's _Death of Blanche the Duchess_, is an elegy cast in the vision form made popular by the _Roman de la Rose_. The subject is a little girl, who died before she was two years old, and the treatment is deeply religious. Her death is symbolized as the loss of a pearl without spot, that slipped from its owner's hand through the grass into the earth.

On a festival day in August, the poet, while mourning his loss, falls asleep on his child's grave. His spirit passes to a land of flowers and rich fruits, where birds of flaming hues sing incomparably, where the cliffs are of crystal and beryl, and a river runs in a bed of gleaming jewels. On the other side of the river, which is lovelier still, sits a maiden dressed all in white, with coronet and ornaments of pearl. The poet recognizes his lost child, but cannot call to her for wonder and dread, until she rises and salutes him. He complains that since her loss he has been a joyless jeweller. She rebukes him gently; she is not lost, but made safe and beautiful for ever. Overjoyed, he says he will cross the river and live with her in this paradise; but she warns him against such presumption, for since Adam's fall the river may be crossed only by the way of death. He is in despair to think that now that his Pearl is found, he must still live joyless, apart from her; but he is bidden to resign himself to God's will and mercy, because rebellion will avail him nothing.

At this point begins the argument on salvation by grace or salvation by works which is here reprinted.

The maiden then continues the discussion, explaining that 'the innocent are ay safe by right', and that only those who come as little children can win the bliss sought by the man who sold his all for a matchless pearl.

Next the poet asks whence her beauty comes, and what her office is. She replies that she is one of the brides of Christ, whom St. John in the Apocalypse saw arrayed for the bridal in the New Jerusalem. He asks to see their mansions, and by special grace is allowed to view the holy city from without. He sees it as St. John saw it, gleaming with gold, with its pillars of precious stone, its gates of pearl; its streets lighted by a divine radiance, so that there is no need of moon or sun. There is no church or chapel or temple there: God himself is the minister, and Christ is the sacrifice. Mortal eye could not bear the splendour, and he stood 'as stylle as dased quayle'. At evening came the procession of the virgin brides of Christ, each bearing on her breast the pearl of perfect happiness. The Lamb leads them, in pearl-white robes, his side bleeding, his face rapt; while elders make obeisance, and angels sing songs of joy as He nears the throne of God.

Suddenly the poet sees his Pearl among her companions. Overcome with longing and delight, he tries to cross the river, only to wake in the garden where he fell asleep. Henceforth he is resigned to the pleasure of the Prince of Heaven.

The reader will be able to judge the author's poetical gift from the selection, which has been chosen as one of the less ornate passages. Even here the form distracts attention from the matter by its elaborateness. A difficult rime scheme is superimposed on the alliterative line; stanza is interlinked with stanza; each group of five stanzas is distinguished by a similar refrain, and bound to the preceding and following groups by repetition in the first and last lines. So too the close of the poem echoes the beginning. With such intricacy of plan, it is not surprising that the rime is sometimes forced, and the sense strained or obscure. It is rather a matter for wonder that, in so long a work, the author was able to maintain his marvellous technique without completely sacrificing poetry to metrical gymnastics.

The highly wrought, almost overwrought, effect is heightened when the poem is read as a whole. If _Piers Plowman_ gives a realistic picture of the drabness of mediaeval life, _Pearl_, more especially in the early stanzas, shows a richness of imagery and a luxuriance in light and colour that seem scarcely English. Yet they have their parallels in the decorative art of the time—the elaborate carving in wood and stone; the rich colouring of tapestries, of illuminated books and painted glass; the designs of the jewellers, goldsmiths, and silversmiths, which even the notaries who made the old inventories cannot pass without a word of admiration. The _Pearl_ reminds us of the tribute due to the artists and craftsmen of the fourteenth century.

The edition by C. G. Osgood, Boston 1906, is the handiest.

THE PEARL, ll. 361-612.

(MS. Cotton Nero A X (about 1400).)

Thenne demed I to þat damyselle:
'Ne worþe no wrathþe vnto my Lorde,
If rapely <I> raue, spornande in spelle;
My herte watȝ al wyth mysse remorde,
As wallande water gotȝ out of welle. 5
I do me ay in Hys myserecorde;
Rebuke me neuer wyth wordeȝ felle,
Þaȝ I forloyne, my dere endorde,
Bot _k_yþeȝ me kyndely your coumforde,
Pytosly þenkande vpon þysse: 10
Of care and me ȝe made acorde,
Þat er watȝ grounde of alle my blysse.

'My blysse, my bale, ȝe han ben boþe,
Bot much þe bygger ȝet watȝ my mon;
Fro þou watȝ wroken fro vch a woþe, 15
I wyste neuer quere my perle watȝ gon.
Now I hit se, now leþeȝ my loþe;
And, quen we departed, we wern at on;
God forbede we be now wroþe,
We meten so selden by stok oþer ston. 20
Þaȝ cortaysly ȝe carp con,
I am bot mol and ma_n_ereȝ mysse;
Bot Crystes mersy, and Mary, and Ion,
Þise arn þe grounde of alle my blysse.

'In blysse I se þe blyþely blent, 25
And I a man al mornyf mate;
Ȝe take þeron ful lyttel tente,
Þaȝ I hente ofte harmeȝ hate.
Bot now I am here in your presente,
I wolde bysech, wythouten debate, 30
Ȝe wolde me say in sobre asente
What lyf ȝe lede erly and late.
For I am ful fayn þat your astate
Is worþen to worschyp and wele, iwysse;
Of alle my ioy þe hyȝe gate 35
Hit is, _and_ grounde of alle my blysse.'

'Now blysse, burne, mot þe bytyde,'
Þen sayde þat lufsoum of lyth and lere,
'And welcum here to walk and byde,
For now þy speche is to me dere. 40
Maysterful mod and hyȝe pryde,
I hete þe, arn heterly hated here.
My Lorde ne loueȝ not for to chyde,
For meke arn alle þat woneȝ Hym nere;
And when in Hys place þou schal apere, 45
Be dep deuote in hol mekenesse;
My Lorde þe Lamb loueȝ ay such chere,
Þat is þe grounde of alle my blysse.

'A blysful lyf þou says I lede;
Þou woldeȝ knaw þerof þe stage. 50
Þow wost wel when þy perle con schede
I watȝ ful ȝong and tender of age;
Bot my Lorde þe Lombe, þurȝ Hys Godhede,
He toke myself to Hys maryage,
Corounde me quene in blysse to brede 55
In lenghe of dayeȝ þat euer schal wage;
And sesed in alle Hys herytage
Hys lef is, I am holy Hysse;
Hys prese, Hys prys, and Hys parage
Is rote and grounde of alle my blysse.' 60

'Blysful,' quod I, 'may þys be trwe?—
Dyspleseȝ not if I speke errour—
Art þou þe quene of heueneȝ blwe,
Þat al þys worlde schal do honour?
We leuen on Marye þat grace of grewe, 65
Þat ber a barne of vyrgynflour;
Þe croune fro hyr quo moȝt remwe
Bot ho hir passed in sum fauour?
Now, for synglerty o hyr dousour,
We calle hyr Fenyx of Arraby, 70
Þat freles fleȝe of hyr fasor,
Lyk to þe quen of cortaysye.'

'Cortayse Quen,' þenne s<a>yde þat gaye,
Knelande to grounde, folde vp hyr face,
'Makeleȝ Moder and myryest May, 75
Blessed Bygynner of vch a grace!'
Þenne ros ho vp and con restay,
And speke me towarde in þat space:
'Sir, fele here porchaseȝ and fongeȝ pray,
Bot supplantoreȝ none wythinne þys place. 80
Þat emperise al heueneȝ hatȝ,
And vrþe and helle in her bayly;
Of erytage ȝet non wyl ho chace,
For ho is quen of cortaysye.

'The court of þe kyndom of God alyue 85
Hatȝ a property in hytself beyng:
Alle þat may þerinne aryue
Of alle þe reme is quen oþer kyng,
And neuer oþer ȝet schal depryue,
Bot vchon fayn of oþereȝ hafyng, 90
And wolde her corouneȝ wern worþe þo fyue,
If possyble were her mendyng.
Bot my Lady, of quom Iesu con spryng,
Ho haldeȝ þe empyre ouer vus ful hyȝe;
And þat dyspleseȝ non of oure gyng, 95
For ho is quene of cortaysye.

'Of courtaysye, as saytȝ Saynt Poule,
Al arn we membreȝ of Iesu Kryst;
As heued and arme and legg and naule
Temen to hys body ful trwe and t<r>yste, 100
Ryȝt so is vch a Krysten sawle
A longande lym to þe Mayster of myste.
Þenne loke what hate oþer any gawle
Is tached oþer tyȝed þy lymmeȝ bytwyste:
Þy heued hatȝ nauþer greme ne gryste 105
On arme oþer fynger þaȝ þou ber byȝe:
So fare we alle wyth luf and lyste
To kyng and quene by cortaysye.'

'Cortaysé,' quod I, 'I leue,
And charyté grete, be yow among, 110
Bot my speche þat yow ne greue,

* * * * *

Þyself in heuen ouer hyȝ þou heue,
To make þe quen þat watȝ so ȝonge.
What more honour moȝte he acheue 115
Þat hade endured in worlde stronge,
And lyued in penaunce hys lyueȝ longe,
Wyth bodyly bale hym blysse to byye?
What more worschyp moȝt h_e_ fonge,
Þen corounde be kyng by cortaysé? 120

'That cortaysé is to fre of dede,
Ȝyf hyt be soth þat þou coneȝ saye;
Þou lyfed not two ȝer in oure þede;
Þou cowþeȝ neuer God nauþer plese ne pray,
Ne neuer nawþer Pater ne Crede; 125
And quen mad on þe fyrst day!
I may not traw, so God me spede,
Þat God wolde wryþe so wrange away;
Of countes, damysel, par ma fay!
Wer fayr in heuen to halde asstate, 130
Aþer elleȝ a lady of lasse aray;
Bot a quene!—hit is to dere a date.'

'Þer is no date of Hys godnesse,'
Þen sayde to me þat worþy wyȝte,
'For al is trawþe þat He con dresse, 135
And He may do no þynk bot ryȝt,
As Mathew meleȝ in your messe,
In sothful Gospel of God Almyȝt,
In sample he can ful grayþely gesse,
And lykneȝ hit to heuen lyȝte: 140
"My regne," He saytȝ, "is lyk on hyȝt
To a lorde þat hade a uyne, I wate.
Of tyme of ȝere þe terme watȝ tyȝt,
To labor vyne watȝ dere þe date.

'"Þat date of ȝere wel knawe þys hyne. 145
Þe lorde ful erly vp he ros,
To hyre werkmen to hys vyne,
And fyndeȝ þer summe to hys porpos.
Into acorde þay con declyne
For a pené on a day, and forth þay gotȝ, 150
Wryþen and worchen and don gret pyne,
Keruen and caggen and man hit clos.
Aboute vnder, þe lorde to marked totȝ,
And ydel men stande he fyndeȝ þerate.
'Why stande ȝe ydel?' he sayde to þos; 155
'Ne knawe ȝe of þis day no date?'

'"'Er date of daye hider arn we wonne;'
So watȝ al samen her answar soȝt;
'We haf standen her syn ros þe sunne,
And no mon byddeȝ vus do ryȝt noȝt.' 160
'Gos into my vyne, dotȝ þat ȝe conne,'
So sayde þe lorde, and made hit toȝt;
'What resonabele hyre be naȝt be runne
I yow pay in dede and þoȝte.'
Þay wente into þe vyne and wroȝte, 165
And al day þe lorde þus ȝede his gate,
And nw men to hys vyne he broȝte,
Welneȝ wyl day watȝ passed date.

'"At þe date of day of euensonge,
On oure byfore þe sonne go doun, 170
He seȝ þer ydel men ful stronge,
And sa<y>de to he_m_ wyth sobre soun:
'Wy stonde ȝe ydel þise dayeȝ longe?'
Þay sayden her hyre watȝ nawhere boun.
'Gotȝ to my vyne, ȝemen ȝonge, 175
And wyrkeȝ and dotȝ þat at ȝe moun.'
Sone þe worlde bycom wel broun,
Þe sunne watȝ doun, and hit wex late;
To take her hyre he mad sumoun;
Þe day watȝ al apassed date. 180

'"The date of þe daye þe lorde con knaw,
Called to þe reue: 'Lede, pay þe meyny;
Gyf hem þe hyre þat I hem owe;
And fyrre, þat non me may reprené,
Set hem alle vpon a rawe, 185
And gyf vchon ilyche a peny;
Bygyn at þe laste þat standeȝ lowe,
Tyl to þe fyrste þat þou atteny.'
And þenne þe fyrst bygonne to pleny,
And sayden þat þay hade trauayled sore: 190
'Þese bot on oure hem con streny;
Vus þynk vus oȝe to take more.

'"'More haf we serued, vus þynk so,
Þat suffred han þe dayeȝ hete,
Þenn þyse þat wroȝt not houreȝ two, 195
And þou dotȝ hem vus to counterfete.'
Þenne sayde þe lorde to on of þo:
'Frende no waning I wyl þe ȝete;
Take þat is þyn owne and go.
And I hyred þe for a peny agrete, 200
Quy bygynneȝ þou now to þrete?
Watȝ not a pené þy couenaunt þore?
Fyrre þen couenaunde is noȝt to plete.
Wy schalte þou þenne ask more?

'"'More weþer †louyly† is me my gyfte 205
To do wyth myn quat so me lykeȝ?
Oþer elleȝ þyn yȝe to lyþer is lyfte
For I am goude and non byswykeȝ?'
'Þus schal I,' quod Kryste, 'hit skyfte:
Þe laste schal be þe fyrst þat strykeȝ, 210
And þe fyrst be laste, be he neuer so swyft;
For mony ben calle<d>, þaȝ fewe be mykeȝ.'"
Þus pore men her part ay pykeȝ,
Þaȝ þay com late and lyttel wore;
And þaȝ her sweng wyth lyttel atslykeȝ, 215
Þe merci of God is much þe more.

'More haf I of ioye and blysse hereinne,
Of ladyschyp gret and lyueȝ blom,
Þen alle þe wyȝeȝ in þe worlde myȝt wynne
By þe way of ryȝt to aske dome. 220
Wheþer welnygh now I con bygynne—
In euentyde into þe vyne I come—
Fyrst of my hyre my Lorde con mynne,
I watȝ payed anon of al and sum.
Ȝet oþer þer werne þat toke more tom, 225
Þat swange and swat for long ȝore,
Þat ȝet of hyre no þynk þay nom,
Paraunter noȝt schal toȝere more.'

Then more I meled and sayde apert:
'Me þynk þy tale vnresounable; 230
Goddeȝ ryȝt is redy and euermore rert,
Oþer Holy Wryt is bot a fable;
In Sauter is sayd a verce ouerte
Þat spekeȝ a poynt determynable:
"Þou quyteȝ vchon as hys desserte, 235
Þou hyȝe Kyng ay pretermynable."
Now he þat stod þe long day stable,
And þou to payment com hym byfore,
Þenne þe lasse in werke to take more able,
And euer þe lenger þe lasse þe more.' 240

'Of more and lasse in Godeȝ ryche,'
Þat gentyl sayde, 'lys no ioparde,
For þer is vch mon payed ilyche,
Wheþer lyttel oþer much be hys rewarde,
For þe gentyl Cheuentayn is no chyche; 245
Queþersoeuer He dele nesch oþer harde,
He laueȝ Hys gyfteȝ as water of dyche,
Oþer goteȝ of golf þat neuer charde.
Hys fraunchyse is large þat euer dard
To Hym þat matȝ in synne rescoghe; 250
No blysse betȝ fro hem reparde,
For þe grace of God is gret inoghe.

[Foot-note: 9 kyþeȝ] lyþeȝ _MS._]

[Foot-note: 22 manereȝ] marereȝ _MS._]

[Foot-note: 36 and] in _MS._]

[Foot-note: 112 _a line omitted in MS._]

[Foot-note: 119 he] ho _MS._]

[Foot-note: 164 pay] pray _MS._]

[Foot-note: 169 date of day] day of date _MS._]

[Foot-note: 172 hem] hen _MS._]

[Foot-note: 178 and] & & _MS._]

[Foot-note: 186 ilyche] īlyche _MS._]

[Foot-note: 243 ilyche] inlyche _MS._]

VII

THE GEST HYSTORIALE OF THE DESTRUCTION OF TROY

ABOUT 1375.

The Fall of Troy was one of the most popular subjects of mediaeval story. Lydgate wrote a _Troy Book_ about 1420; fragments of another are attributed to 'Barbour', whose identity with the author of _The Bruce_ has been questioned; a third version, anonymous, is known as the _Laud Troy Book_; and Caxton chose as the first work to be printed in English the _Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye_ (about 1474). More famous than any of these full histories are two single stories detached from the cycle: Jason's Quest of the Golden Fleece, which is admirably told by Gower in the fifth book of his _Confessio Amantis_; and the Love of Troilus and Cressida, which gave a theme both to Chaucer and to Shakespeare.

The _Gest Hystoriale of the Destruction of Troy_, from which our extracts are taken, is a free rendering of the prose _Historia Troiana_ finished in 1287 by Guido de Columna (most probably the modern Terranova in Sicily). The translation, which appears to have been made in the North or North-West Midlands in the second half of the fourteenth century, is preserved only in an imperfect fifteenth-century MS. at the Hunterian Museum, Glasgow. In the Early English Text Society's print, edited by Panton and Donaldson, the text extends to over 14,000 lines.

The table of contents prefixed to the MS. promises '_the nome of the knight þat causet it_ [sc. _the story_] _to be made, and the nome of hym that translatid it out of Latyn into Englysshe_'; but the extant MS. does not fulfil the promise. The execution suggests a set task and a journeyman poet. Phrases are repeated carelessly; there is a great deal of padding; the versification is monotonous; and the writer is too often at the mercy of the alliteration to maintain a serious level. Yet he is not a slavish or a dull translator. The more romantic elements of the story, such as the matter of the _Odyssey_, had already been whittled away in his original, and he shows little desire or capacity to restore them. But he knew as well as the Old English poets the forcefulness of alliterative verse in scenes of violence, and describes with unflagging zest and vigour the interminable battles of the siege, and storms such as that which wrecked the fleet of Ajax.

The Prologue is a curious example of the pseudo-critical attitude of the Middle Ages. Homer is despised as a teller of impossible tales, and a partisan of the Greeks,—for Hector is the popular hero of the mediaeval versions. The narratives of Dares Phrygius and Dictys Cretensis, products of the taste for fictitious history that spread westward from Greek-speaking lands in the fourth and following centuries, are accepted as reliable documents; and Guido de Columna as their authoritative literary interpreter. No mention is made of Benoît de Sainte-Maure, whose _Roman de Troie_, written in French about 1184, served as source to Guido, and, directly or indirectly, as inspiration to the whole body of Western writers who dealt with the 'Matter of Troy'. For these lapses the English translator need not be held responsible. On the merits of Homer, Dares, Dictys, and Guido de Columna, he probably accepted without question the word of his master Guido.

PROLOGUE.

Maistur in magesté, Maker of alle,
Endles and on, euer to last!
Now, God, of þi grace, graunt me þi helpe,
And wysshe me with wyt þis werke for to ende
Off aunters ben olde of aunsetris nobill, 5
And slydyn vppon shlepe by slomeryng of age;
Of stithe men in stoure, strongest in armes,
And wisest in wer, to wale in hor tyme,
Þat ben drepit with deth, and þere day paste,
And most out of mynd for þere mecull age. 10
Sothe stories ben stoken vp, and straught out of mynde,
And swolowet into swym by swiftenes of yeres,
For new þat ben now next at our hond,
Breuyt into bokes for boldyng of hertes,
On lusti to loke with lightnes of wille, 15
Cheuyt throughe chaunce and chaungyng of peopull;
Sum tru for to traist, triet in þe ende,
Sum feynit o fere and ay false vnder.
Yche wegh as he will warys his tyme,
And has lykyng to lerne þat hym list after. 20
But olde stories of stithe þat astate helde
May be solas to sum þat it segh neuer,
Be writyng of wees þat wist it in dede,
With sight for to serche of hom þat suet after,
To ken all the crafte how þe case felle 25
By lokyng of letturs þat lefte were of olde.

Now of Troy for to telle is myn entent euyn,
Of the stoure and þe stryffe when it distroyet was.
Þof fele yeres ben faren syn þe fight endid,
And it meuyt out of mynd, myn hit I thinke, 30
Alss wise men haue writen the wordes before,
Left it in Latyn for lernyng of us.
But sum poyetis full prist þat put hom þerto
With fablis and falshed fayned þere speche,
And made more of þat mater þan hom maister were. 35
Sum lokyt ouer litle, and lympit of the sothe.
Amonges þat menye, to myn hym be nome,
Homer was holden haithill of dedis
Qwiles his dayes enduret, derrist of other,
Þat with the Grekys was gret, and of Grice comyn. 40
He feynet myche fals was neuer before wroght,
And turnet þe truth, trust ye non other.
Of his trifuls to telle I haue no tome nowe,
Ne of his feynit fare þat he fore with:
How goddes foght in the filde, folke as þai were! 45
And other errours vnable, þat after were knowen,
That poyetis of prise have preuyt vntrew:
Ouyde and othir þat onest were ay,
Virgille þe virtuus, verrit for nobill,
Thes dampnet his dedys, and for dull holdyn. 50
But þe truth for to telle, and þe text euyn,
Of þat fight, how it felle in a few yeres,
Þat was clanly compilet with a clerk wise,
On Gydo, a gome þat graidly hade soght,
And wist all þe werks by weghes he hade, 55
That bothe were in batell while the batell last,
And euþer sawte and assembly see with þere een.
Thai wrote all þe werkes wroght at þat tyme
In letturs of þere langage, as þai lernede hade:
Dares and Dytes were duly þere namys. 60
Dites full dere was dew to the Grekys,
A lede of þat lond, and logede hom with.
The tother was a tulke out of Troy selfe,
Dares, þat duly the dedys behelde.
Aither breuyt in a boke on þere best wise, 65
That sithen at a sité somyn were founden,
After, at Atthenes, as aunter befell.
The whiche bokes barely, bothe as þai were,
A Romayn ouerraght, and right hom hymseluyn,
That Cornelius was cald to his kynde name. 70
He translated it into Latyn for likyng to here,
But he shope it so short þat no shalke might
Haue knowlage by course how þe case felle;
For he brought it so breff, and so bare leuyt,
Þat no lede might have likyng to loke þerappon; 75
Till þis Gydo it gate, as hym grace felle,
And declaret it more clere, and on clene wise.
In this shall faithfully be founden, to the fer ende,
All þe dedis bydene as þai done were:
How þe groundes first grew, and þe grete hate, 80
Bothe of torfer and tene þat hom tide aftur.
And here fynde shall ye faire of þe felle peopull:
What kynges þere come of costes aboute;
Of dukes full doughty, and of derffe erles,
That assemblid to þe citie þat sawte to defend; 85
Of þe Grekys þat were gedret how gret was þe nowmber,
How mony knightes þere come, and kynges enarmede,
And what dukes thedur droghe for dedis of were;
What shippes þere were shene, and shalkes within,
Bothe of barges and buernes þat broght were fro Grese; 90
And all the batels on bent þe buernes betwene;
What duke þat was dede throughe dyntes of hond,
Who fallen was in fylde, and how it fore after.
Bothe of truse and trayne þe truthe shalt þu here,
And all the ferlies þat fell, vnto the ferre ende. 95
Fro this prologe I passe, and part me þerwith.
Frayne will I fer, and fraist of þere werkes,
Meue to my mater, and make here an ende.

EXPLICIT PROLOGUE.

THE XXXI BOKE: OF THE PASSAGE OF THE GREKYS FRO TROY (ll. 12463-12547).

Hyt fell thus, by fortune, þe fairest of þe yere
Was past to the point of the pale wintur. 100
Heruest, with the heite and the high sun,
Was comyn into colde, with a course low.
Trees, thurgh tempestes, tynde hade þere leues,
And briddes abatid of hor brem songe;
The wynde of the west wackenet aboue, 105
Blowyng full bremly o the brode ythes;
The clere aire ouercast with cloudys full thicke,
With mystes full merke mynget with showres.
Flodes were felle thurgh fallyng of rayne,
And wintur vp wacknet with his wete aire. 110
The gret nauy of the Grekes and the gay kynges
Were put in a purpos to pas fro the toune.
Sore longit þo lordis hor londys to se,
And dissiret full depely, doutyng no wedur.
Þai counted no course of the cold stormys, 115
Ne the perellis to passe of the pale windes.
Hit happit hom full hard in a hondqwile,
And mony of þo mighty to misse of hor purpos.
Thus tho lordes in hor longyng laghton þe watur,
Shotton into ship mong shene knightes, 120
With the tresowre of þe toune þai token before,
Relikes full rife, and miche ranke godes.
Clere was the course of the cold flodis,
And the firmament faire, as fell for the wintur.
Thai past on the pale se, puld vp hor sailes, 125
Hadyn bir at þere backe, and the bonke leuyt.
Foure dayes bydene, and hor du nyghtis,
Ful soundly þai sailed with seasonable windes.
The fyft day fuersly fell at the none,
Sodonly the softe winde vnsoberly blew; 130
A myste and a merkenes myngit togedur;
A thoner and a thicke rayne þrublet in the skewes,
With an ugsom noise, noy for to here;
All flasshet in a fire the firmament ouer;
Was no light but a laite þat launchit aboue: 135
Hit skirmyt in the skewes with a skyre low,
Thurgh the claterand clowdes clos to the heuyn,
As the welkyn shuld walt for wodenes of hete;
With blastes full bigge of the breme wyndes,
Walt vp the waghes vpon wan hilles. 140
Stith was the storme, stird all the shippes,
Hoppit on hegh with heste of the flodes.
The sea was unsober, sondrit the nauy,
Walt ouer waghes, and no way held,
Depertid the pepull, pyne to behold, 145
In costes vnkowthe; cut down þere sailes,
Ropis al torochit, rent vp the hacches,
Topcastell ouerturnyt, takelles were lost.
The night come onone, noye was the more!
All the company cleane of the kyng Telamon, 150
With þere shippes full shene, and þe shire godis,
Were brent in the bre with the breme lowe
Of the leymonde laite þat launchit fro heuyn,
And euyn drownet in the depe, dukes and other!
Oelius Aiax, as aunter befelle, 155
Was stad in the storme with the stith windes,
With his shippes full shene and the shire godes.
Thrifty and þriuaund, thretty and two
There were brent on the buerne with the breme low,
And all the freikes in the flode floterand aboue. 160
Hymseluyn in the sea sonkyn belyue,
Swalprit and swam with swyngyng of armys.
Ȝet he launchet to londe, and his lyf hade,
Bare of his body, bretfull of water,
In the slober and the sluche slongyn to londe; 165
There he lay, if hym list, the long night ouer,
Till the derke was done, and the day sprang;
Þare sum of his sort, þat soght were to lond
And than wonen of waghes, with wo as þai might,
Laited þere lord on the laund-syde, 170
If hit fell h_y_m by fortune the flodes to passe.
Þan found þai the freike in the fome lye,
And comford hym kyndly, as þere kyd lord;
With worchip and wordes wan hym to fote.
Bothe failet hym the fode and the fyne clothes. 175
Thus þere goddes with gremy with þe Grekes fore,
Mighty Myner<u>a, of malis full grete,
For Telamon, in tene, tid for to pull
Cassandra the clene out of hir cloise temple.
Thus hit fell hom by fortune of a foule ende, 180
For greuyng þere goddes in hor gret yre.
Oftsythes men sayn, and sene is of olde,
Þat all a company is cumbrit for a cursed shrewe.

[Foot-note: 168-9 _transposed in MS._]

[Foot-note: 171 hym] hom _MS._]

VIII

PIERS PLOWMAN

(1362-1400)

BY WILLIAM LANGLAND

Recent criticism of _Piers Plowman_ has done more to weaken the hold of opinions once generally accepted than to replace them by others better founded. It is still most probable that 'Long Will', who is more than once mentioned in the text as the poet, was William Langland. The earliest external evidence of his home and parentage is given in a fifteenth-century note in MS. Dublin D 4. 1, of which both the matter and the vile Latinity bear the stamp of genuineness: 'Memorandum quod Stacy de Rokayle, pater Willielmi de Langlond, qui Stacius fuit generosus, et morabatur in Schiptone under Whicwode, tenens domini le Spenser in comitatu Oxon., qui praedictus Willielmus fecit librum qui vocatur Perys Ploughman.' Shipton-under-Wychwood is near Burford in Oxfordshire. The poem shows familiarity with the Malvern Hills and the streets of London; but it is hard to say how much is fact and how much is fiction in the references to Long Will in the text itself, more especially the description of his London life added as the Sixth Passus in Version C, and reproduced here as the second extract.

Since Skeat's edition for the Early English Text Society, the many manuscripts have been grouped into three main types. The shortest, or A-text, appears from internal evidence to have been written about 1362. The B-text (about 1377) has the most compact manuscript tradition. It is distinguished by considerable additions throughout, and by the reconstruction and expansion of the visions of Dowel, Dobet, Dobest, which make up the second half of the poem. The C-text, the latest and fullest form, appears to have been completed in the last decade of the fourteenth century.

Until recently it has been assumed that these three versions represent progressive revisions by the author. But Professor Manly has found considerable support for his view that more than one writer—perhaps as many as five—had a share in the work. For the present, judgement on this question, and on the intricate problem of the relations of the different versions, is suspended until the results of a complete re-examination of all the MSS. are available. It would not be surprising to find that even when this necessary work is done differences of opinion on the larger questions remain as acute as ever.

It is impossible in short space to give an outline of the whole work, which describes no less than eleven visions. The structure is loose, and allegory is developed or dropped with disconcerting abruptness, for the writer does not curb his vigorous imagination in the interests of formal correctness.

The first part is the best known. On a May morning the poet falls asleep on the Malvern Hills and sees a 'Field full of Folk', where all classes of men are busy about their occupations, more particularly the nefarious occupations that engage the attention of the moralist. Holy Church explains that a high tower in the Field is the home of Truth; and that a 'deep dale' is the Castle of Care, where Wrong dwells with the wicked. She points out Falseness, who is about to marry Lady Meed (i.e. Reward, whether deserved reward or bribe). Lady Meed and her company are haled before the King, who, with Reason and Conscience as his guides, decides her case, and upholds the plea of Peace against Wrong.

The second vision is prefaced (in the C-text only) by the passage printed as the second selection. The poet falls asleep again, and sees Conscience preaching to the people in the Field. Representatives of the Seven Deadly Sins are vividly described. They are brought to penitence, and all set out in search of Truth. But no one knows the way. A palmer who wears the trophies of many pilgrimages to distant saints is puzzled by their inquiries, for he has never heard of pilgrims seeking Truth. Then Peter the Plowman comes forward and explains the way in allegorical terms. Here the first extract begins. The second vision closes with a general pardon given by Truth to Piers Plowman in this simple form:

Do wel, and haue wel, and God shal haue þi sowle;
And do yuel, and haue yuel, hope þow non other
But after þi ded-day þe Deuel shal haue þi sowle.

The several visions of the second part make up the lives of Dowel, Dobet, and Dobest. Piers Plowman is there identified with Christ, and the poem ends with Conscience, almost overcome by sin, setting out resolutely in search of Piers.