<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420403" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Secundus</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Incipit Liber Tercius</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ira suis paribus est par furiis Acherontis,<br>Quo furor ad tempus nil pietatis habet.<br>Ira malencolicos animos perturbat, vt equo<br>Iure sui pondus nulla statera tenet.<br>Omnibus in causis grauat Ira, set inter amantes,<br>Illa magis facili sorte grauamen agit:<br>Est vbi vir discors leuiterque repugnat amori,<br>Sepe loco ludi fletus ad ora venit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">----------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If thou the vices lest to knowe,<br>Mi Sone, it hath noght ben unknowe,<br>Fro ferst that men the swerdes grounde,<br>That ther nis on upon this grounde,<br>A vice forein fro the lawe,<br>Wherof that many a good felawe<br>Hath be distraght be sodein chance;<br>And yit to kinde no plesance<br>It doth, bot wher he most achieveth<br>His pourpos, most to kinde he grieveth, <br>As he which out of conscience<br>Is enemy to pacience:<br>And is be name on of the Sevene,<br>Which ofte hath set this world unevene,<br>And cleped is the cruel Ire,<br>Whos herte is everemore on fyre<br>To speke amis and to do bothe,<br>For his servantz ben evere wrothe.<br>Mi goode fader, tell me this:<br>What thing is Ire? Sone, it is <br>That in oure englissh Wrathe is hote,<br>Which hath hise wordes ay so hote,<br>That all a mannes pacience<br>Is fyred of the violence.<br>For he with him hath evere fyve<br>Servantz that helpen him to stryve:<br>The ferst of hem Malencolie<br>Is cleped, which in compaignie<br>An hundred times in an houre<br>Wol as an angri beste loure, <br>And noman wot the cause why.<br>Mi Sone, schrif thee now forthi:<br>Hast thou be Malencolien?<br>Ye, fader, be seint Julien,<br>Bot I untrewe wordes use,<br>I mai me noght therof excuse:<br>And al makth love, wel I wot,<br>Of which myn herte is evere hot,<br>So that I brenne as doth a glede<br>For Wrathe that I mai noght spede. <br>And thus fulofte a day for noght<br>Save onlich of myn oghne thoght<br>I am so with miselven wroth,<br>That how so that the game goth<br>With othre men, I am noght glad;<br>Bot I am wel the more unglad,<br>For that is othre mennes game<br>It torneth me to pure grame.<br>Thus am I with miself oppressed<br>Of thoght, the which I have impressed, <br>That al wakende I dreme and meete<br>That I with hire al one meete<br>And preie hire of som good ansuere:<br>Bot for sche wol noght gladly swere,<br>Sche seith me nay withouten oth;<br>And thus wexe I withinne wroth,<br>That outward I am al affraied,<br>And so distempred and esmaied.<br>A thousand times on a day<br>Ther souneth in myn Eres nay, <br>The which sche seide me tofore:<br>Thus be my wittes as forlore;<br>And namely whan I beginne<br>To rekne with miself withinne<br>How many yeres ben agon,<br>Siththe I have trewly loved on<br>And nevere tok of other hede,<br>And evere aliche fer to spede<br>I am, the more I with hir dele,<br>So that myn happ and al myn hele <br>Me thenkth is ay the leng the ferre,<br>That bringth my gladschip out of herre,<br>Wherof my wittes ben empeired,<br>And I, as who seith, al despeired.<br>For finaly, whan that I muse<br>And thenke how sche me wol refuse,<br>I am with anger so bestad,<br>For al this world mihte I be glad:<br>And for the while that it lasteth<br>Al up so doun my joie it casteth, <br>And ay the furthere that I be,<br>Whan I ne may my ladi se,<br>The more I am redy to wraththe,<br>That for the touchinge of a laththe<br>Or for the torninge of a stree<br>I wode as doth the wylde Se,<br>And am so malencolious,<br>That ther nys servant in myn hous<br>Ne non of tho that ben aboute,<br>That ech of hem ne stant in doute, <br>And wenen that I scholde rave<br>For Anger that thei se me have;<br>And so thei wondre more and lasse,<br>Til that thei sen it overpasse.<br>Bot, fader, if it so betide,<br>That I aproche at eny tide<br>The place wher my ladi is,<br>And thanne that hire like ywiss<br>To speke a goodli word untome,<br>For al the gold that is in Rome <br>Ne cowthe I after that be wroth,<br>Bot al myn Anger overgoth;<br>So glad I am of the presence<br>Of hire, that I all offence<br>Foryete, as thogh it were noght,<br>So overgladed is my thoght.<br>And natheles, the soth to telle,<br>Ayeinward if it so befelle<br>That I at thilke time sihe<br>On me that sche miscaste hire yhe, <br>Or that sche liste noght to loke,<br>And I therof good hiede toke,<br>Anon into my ferste astat<br>I torne, and am with al so mat,<br>That evere it is aliche wicke.<br>And thus myn hand ayein the pricke<br>I hurte and have do many day,<br>And go so forth as I go may,<br>Fulofte bitinge on my lippe,<br>And make unto miself a whippe. <br>With which in many a chele and hete<br>Mi wofull herte is so tobete,<br>That all my wittes ben unsofte<br>And I am wroth, I not how ofte;<br>And al it is Malencolie,<br>Which groweth of the fantasie<br>Of love, that me wol noght loute:<br>So bere I forth an angri snoute<br>Ful manye times in a yer.<br>Bot, fader, now ye sitten hier <br>In loves stede, I yow beseche,<br>That som ensample ye me teche,<br>Wherof I mai miself appese.<br>Mi Sone, for thin hertes ese<br>I schal fulfille thi preiere,<br>So that thou miht the betre lere<br>What mischief that this vice stereth,<br>Which in his Anger noght forbereth,<br>Wherof that after him forthenketh,<br>Whan he is sobre and that he thenketh <br>Upon the folie of his dede;<br>And of this point a tale I rede.<br>Ther was a king which Eolus<br>Was hote, and it befell him thus,<br>That he tuo children hadde faire,<br>The Sone cleped was Machaire,<br>The dowhter ek Canace hihte.<br>Be daie bothe and ek be nyhte,<br>Whil thei be yonge, of comun wone<br>In chambre thei togedre wone, <br>And as thei scholden pleide hem ofte,<br>Til thei be growen up alofte<br>Into the youthe of lusti age,<br>Whan kinde assaileth the corage<br>With love and doth him forto bowe,<br>That he no reson can allowe,<br>Bot halt the lawes of nature:<br>For whom that love hath under cure,<br>As he is blind himself, riht so<br>He makth his client blind also. <br>In such manere as I you telle<br>As thei al day togedre duelle,<br>This brother mihte it noght asterte<br>That he with al his hole herte<br>His love upon his Soster caste:<br>And so it fell hem ate laste,<br>That this Machaire with Canace<br>Whan thei were in a prive place,<br>Cupide bad hem ferst to kesse,<br>And after sche which is Maistresse <br>In kinde and techeth every lif<br>Withoute lawe positif,<br>Of which sche takth nomaner charge,<br>Bot kepth hire lawes al at large,<br>Nature, tok hem into lore<br>And tawht hem so, that overmore<br>Sche hath hem in such wise daunted,<br>That thei were, as who seith, enchaunted.<br>And as the blinde an other ledeth<br>And til thei falle nothing dredeth, <br>Riht so thei hadde non insihte;<br>Bot as the bridd which wole alihte<br>And seth the mete and noght the net,<br>Which in deceipte of him is set,<br>This yonge folk no peril sihe,<br>Bot that was likinge in here yhe,<br>So that thei felle upon the chance<br>Where witt hath lore his remembrance.<br>So longe thei togedre assemble,<br>The wombe aros, and sche gan tremble, <br>And hield hire in hire chambre clos<br>For drede it scholde be disclos<br>And come to hire fader Ere:<br>Wherof the Sone hadde also fere,<br>And feigneth cause forto ryde;<br>For longe dorste he noght abyde,<br>In aunter if men wolde sein<br>That he his Soster hath forlein:<br>For yit sche hadde it noght beknowe<br>Whos was the child at thilke throwe. <br>Machaire goth, Canace abit,<br>The which was noght delivered yit,<br>Bot riht sone after that sche was.<br>Now lest and herkne a woful cas.<br>The sothe, which mai noght ben hid,<br>Was ate laste knowe and kid<br>Unto the king, how that it stod.<br>And whan that he it understod,<br>Anon into Malencolie,<br>As thogh it were a frenesie, <br>He fell, as he which nothing cowthe<br>How maistrefull love is in yowthe:<br>And for he was to love strange,<br>He wolde noght his herte change<br>To be benigne and favorable<br>To love, bot unmerciable<br>Betwen the wawe of wod and wroth<br>Into his dowhtres chambre he goth,<br>And sih the child was late bore,<br>Wherof he hath hise othes swore <br>That sche it schal ful sore abye.<br>And sche began merci to crie,<br>Upon hire bare knes and preide,<br>And to hire fader thus sche seide:<br>'Ha mercy! fader, thenk I am<br>Thi child, and of thi blod I cam.<br>That I misdede yowthe it made,<br>And in the flodes bad me wade,<br>Wher that I sih no peril tho:<br>Bot now it is befalle so, <br>Merci, my fader, do no wreche!'<br>And with that word sche loste speche<br>And fell doun swounende at his fot,<br>As sche for sorwe nedes mot.<br>Bot his horrible crualte<br>Ther mihte attempre no pite:<br>Out of hire chambre forth he wente<br>Al full of wraththe in his entente,<br>And tok the conseil in his herte<br>That sche schal noght the deth asterte, <br>As he which Malencolien<br>Of pacience hath no lien,<br>Wherof the wraththe he mai restreigne.<br>And in this wilde wode peine,<br>Whanne al his resoun was untame,<br>A kniht he clepeth be his name,<br>And tok him as be weie of sonde<br>A naked swerd to bere on honde,<br>And seide him that he scholde go<br>And telle unto his dowhter so <br>In the manere as he him bad,<br>How sche that scharpe swerdes blad<br>Receive scholde and do withal<br>So as sche wot wherto it schal.<br>Forth in message goth this kniht<br>Unto this wofull yonge wiht,<br>This scharpe swerd to hire he tok:<br>Wherof that al hire bodi qwok,<br>For wel sche wiste what it mente,<br>And that it was to thilke entente <br>That sche hireselven scholde slee.<br>And to the kniht sche seide: 'Yee,<br>Now that I wot my fadres wille,<br>That I schal in this wise spille,<br>I wole obeie me therto,<br>And as he wole it schal be do.<br>Bot now this thing mai be non other,<br>I wole a lettre unto mi brother,<br>So as my fieble hand may wryte,<br>With al my wofull herte endite.' <br>Sche tok a Penne on honde tho,<br>Fro point to point and al the wo,<br>Als ferforth as hireself it wot,<br>Unto hire dedly frend sche wrot,<br>And tolde how that hire fader grace<br>Sche mihte for nothing pourchace;<br>And overthat, as thou schalt hiere,<br>Sche wrot and seide in this manere:<br>'O thou my sorwe and my gladnesse,<br>O thou myn hele and my siknesse, <br>O my wanhope and al my trust,<br>O my desese and al my lust,<br>O thou my wele, o thou my wo,<br>O thou my frend, o thou my fo,<br>O thou my love, o thou myn hate,<br>For thee mot I be ded algate.<br>Thilke ende may I noght asterte,<br>And yit with al myn hole herte,<br>Whil that me lasteth eny breth,<br>I wol the love into my deth. <br>Bot of o thing I schal thee preie,<br>If that my litel Sone deie,<br>Let him be beried in my grave<br>Beside me, so schalt thou have<br>Upon ous bothe remembrance.<br>For thus it stant of my grevance;<br>Now at this time, as thou schalt wite,<br>With teres and with enke write<br>This lettre I have in cares colde:<br>In my riht hond my Penne I holde, <br>And in my left the swerd I kepe,<br>And in my barm ther lith to wepe<br>Thi child and myn, which sobbeth faste.<br>Now am I come unto my laste:<br>Fare wel, for I schal sone deie,<br>And thenk how I thi love abeie.'<br>The pomel of the swerd to grounde<br>Sche sette, and with the point a wounde<br>Thurghout hire herte anon sche made,<br>And forth with that al pale and fade <br>Sche fell doun ded fro ther sche stod.<br>The child lay bathende in hire blod<br>Out rolled fro the moder barm,<br>And for the blod was hot and warm,<br>He basketh him aboute thrinne.<br>Ther was no bote forto winne,<br>For he, which can no pite knowe,<br>The king cam in the same throwe,<br>And sih how that his dowhter dieth<br>And how this Babe al blody crieth; <br>Bot al that mihte him noght suffise,<br>That he ne bad to do juise<br>Upon the child, and bere him oute,<br>And seche in the Forest aboute<br>Som wilde place, what it were,<br>To caste him out of honde there,<br>So that som best him mai devoure,<br>Where as noman him schal socoure.<br>Al that he bad was don in dede:<br>Ha, who herde evere singe or rede <br>Of such a thing as that was do?<br>Bot he which ladde his wraththe so<br>Hath knowe of love bot a lite;<br>Bot for al that he was to wyte,<br>Thurgh his sodein Malencolie<br>To do so gret a felonie.<br>Forthi, my Sone, how so it stonde,<br>Be this cas thou miht understonde<br>That if thou evere in cause of love<br>Schalt deme, and thou be so above <br>That thou miht lede it at thi wille,<br>Let nevere thurgh thi Wraththe spille<br>Which every kinde scholde save.<br>For it sit every man to have<br>Reward to love and to his miht,<br>Ayein whos strengthe mai no wiht:<br>And siththe an herte is so constreigned,<br>The reddour oghte be restreigned<br>To him that mai no bet aweie,<br>Whan he mot to nature obeie. <br>For it is seid thus overal,<br>That nedes mot that nede schal<br>Of that a lif doth after kinde,<br>Wherof he mai no bote finde.<br>What nature hath set in hir lawe<br>Ther mai no mannes miht withdrawe,<br>And who that worcheth therayein,<br>Fulofte time it hath be sein,<br>Ther hath befalle gret vengance,<br>Wherof I finde a remembrance. <br>Ovide after the time tho<br>Tolde an ensample and seide so,<br>How that whilom Tiresias,<br>As he walkende goth per cas,<br>Upon an hih Montaine he sih<br>Tuo Serpentz in his weie nyh,<br>And thei, so as nature hem tawhte,<br>Assembled were, and he tho cawhte<br>A yerde which he bar on honde,<br>And thoghte that he wolde fonde <br>To letten hem, and smot hem bothe:<br>Wherof the goddes weren wrothe;<br>And for he hath destourbed kinde<br>And was so to nature unkinde,<br>Unkindeliche he was transformed,<br>That he which erst a man was formed<br>Into a womman was forschape.<br>That was to him an angri jape;<br>Bot for that he with Angre wroghte,<br>Hise Angres angreliche he boghte. <br>Lo thus, my Sone, Ovide hath write,<br>Wherof thou miht be reson wite,<br>More is a man than such a beste:<br>So mihte it nevere ben honeste<br>A man to wraththen him to sore<br>Of that an other doth the lore<br>Of kinde, in which is no malice,<br>Bot only that it is a vice:<br>And thogh a man be resonable,<br>Yit after kinde he is menable <br>To love, wher he wole or non.<br>Thenk thou, my Sone, therupon<br>And do Malencolie aweie;<br>For love hath evere his lust to pleie,<br>As he which wolde no lif grieve.<br>Mi fader, that I mai wel lieve;<br>Al that ye tellen it is skile:<br>Let every man love as he wile,<br>Be so it be noght my ladi,<br>For I schal noght be wroth therby. <br>Bot that I wraththe and fare amis,<br>Al one upon miself it is,<br>That I with bothe love and kinde<br>Am so bestad, that I can finde<br>No weie how I it mai asterte:<br>Which stant upon myn oghne herte<br>And toucheth to non other lif,<br>Save only to that swete wif<br>For whom, bot if it be amended,<br>Mi glade daies ben despended, <br>That I miself schal noght forbere<br>The Wraththe which that I now bere,<br>For therof is non other leche.<br>Now axeth forth, I yow beseche,<br>Of Wraththe if ther oght elles is,<br>Wherof to schryve. Sone, yis.<br>Of Wraththe the secounde is Cheste,<br>Which hath the wyndes of tempeste<br>To kepe, and many a sodein blast<br>He bloweth, wherof ben agast <br>Thei that desiren pes and reste.<br>He is that ilke ungoodlieste<br>Which many a lusti love hath twinned;<br>For he berth evere his mowth unpinned,<br>So that his lippes ben unloke<br>And his corage is al tobroke,<br>That every thing which he can telle,<br>It springeth up as doth a welle,<br>Which mai non of his stremes hyde,<br>Bot renneth out on every syde. <br>So buillen up the foule sawes<br>That Cheste wot of his felawes:<br>For as a Sive kepeth Ale,<br>Riht so can Cheste kepe a tale;<br>Al that he wot he wol desclose,<br>And speke er eny man oppose.<br>As a Cite withoute wal,<br>Wher men mai gon out overal<br>Withouten eny resistence,<br>So with his croked eloquence <br>He spekth al that he wot withinne:<br>Wherof men lese mor than winne,<br>For ofte time of his chidinge<br>He bringth to house such tidinge,<br>That makth werre ate beddeshed.<br>He is the levein of the bred,<br>Which soureth al the past aboute:<br>Men oghte wel such on to doute,<br>For evere his bowe is redi bent,<br>And whom he hit I telle him schent, <br>If he mai perce him with his tunge.<br>And ek so lowde his belle is runge,<br>That of the noise and of the soun<br>Men feeren hem in al the toun<br>Welmore than thei don of thonder.<br>For that is cause of more wonder;<br>For with the wyndes whiche he bloweth<br>Fulofte sythe he overthroweth<br>The Cites and the policie,<br>That I have herd the poeple crie, <br>And echon seide in his degre,<br>'Ha wicke tunge, wo thee be!'<br>For men sein that the harde bon,<br>Althogh himselven have non,<br>A tunge brekth it al to pieces.<br>He hath so manye sondri spieces<br>Of vice, that I mai noght wel<br>Descrive hem be a thousendel:<br>Bot whan that he to Cheste falleth,<br>Ful many a wonder thing befalleth, <br>For he ne can nothing forbere.<br>Now tell me, Sone, thin ansuere,<br>If it hath evere so betidd,<br>That thou at eny time hast chidd<br>Toward thi love. Fader, nay:<br>Such Cheste yit unto this day<br>Ne made I nevere, god forbede:<br>For er I sunge such a crede,<br>I hadde levere to be lewed;<br>For thanne were I al beschrewed <br>And worthi to be put abak<br>With al the sorwe upon my bak<br>That eny man ordeigne cowthe.<br>Bot I spak nevere yit be mowthe<br>That unto Cheste mihte touche,<br>And that I durste riht wel vouche<br>Upon hirself as for witnesse;<br>For I wot, of hir gentilesse<br>That sche me wolde wel excuse,<br>That I no suche thinges use. <br>And if it scholde so betide<br>That I algates moste chide,<br>It myhte noght be to my love:<br>For so yit was I nevere above,<br>For al this wyde world to winne<br>That I dorste eny word beginne,<br>Be which sche mihte have ben amoeved<br>And I of Cheste also reproeved.<br>Bot rathere, if it mihte hir like,<br>The beste wordes wolde I pike <br>Whiche I cowthe in myn herte chese,<br>And serve hem forth in stede of chese,<br>For that is helplich to defie;<br>And so wolde I my wordes plie,<br>That mihten Wraththe and Cheste avale<br>With tellinge of my softe tale.<br>Thus dar I make a foreward,<br>That nevere unto my ladiward<br>Yit spak I word in such a wise,<br>Wherof that Cheste scholde arise. <br>This seie I noght, that I fulofte<br>Ne have, whanne I spak most softe,<br>Per cas seid more thanne ynowh;<br>Bot so wel halt noman the plowh<br>That he ne balketh otherwhile,<br>Ne so wel can noman affile<br>His tunge, that som time in rape<br>Him mai som liht word overscape,<br>And yit ne meneth he no Cheste.<br>Bot that I have ayein hir heste <br>Fulofte spoke, I am beknowe;<br>And how my will is, that ye knowe:<br>For whan my time comth aboute,<br>That I dar speke and seie al oute<br>Mi longe love, of which sche wot<br>That evere in on aliche hot<br>Me grieveth, thanne al my desese<br>I telle, and though it hir desplese,<br>I speke it forth and noght ne leve:<br>And thogh it be beside hire leve, <br>I hope and trowe natheles<br>That I do noght ayein the pes;<br>For thogh I telle hire al my thoght,<br>Sche wot wel that I chyde noght.<br>Men mai the hihe god beseche,<br>And he wol hiere a mannes speche<br>And be noght wroth of that he seith;<br>So yifth it me the more feith<br>And makth me hardi, soth to seie,<br>That I dar wel the betre preie <br>Mi ladi, which a womman is.<br>For thogh I telle hire that or this<br>Of love, which me grieveth sore,<br>Hire oghte noght be wroth the more,<br>For I withoute noise or cri<br>Mi pleignte make al buxomly<br>To puten alle wraththe away.<br>Thus dar I seie unto this day<br>Of Cheste in ernest or in game<br>Mi ladi schal me nothing blame. <br>Bot ofte time it hath betidd<br>That with miselven I have chidd,<br>That noman couthe betre chide:<br>And that hath ben at every tide,<br>Whanne I cam to miself al one;<br>For thanne I made a prive mone,<br>And every tale by and by,<br>Which as I spak to my ladi,<br>I thenke and peise in my balance<br>And drawe into my remembrance; <br>And thanne, if that I finde a lak<br>Of eny word that I mispak,<br>Which was to moche in eny wise,<br>Anon my wittes I despise<br>And make a chidinge in myn herte,<br>That eny word me scholde asterte<br>Which as I scholde have holden inne.<br>And so forth after I beginne<br>And loke if ther was elles oght<br>To speke, and I ne spak it noght: <br>And thanne, if I mai seche and finde<br>That eny word be left behinde,<br>Which as I scholde more have spoke,<br>I wolde upon miself be wroke,<br>And chyde with miselven so<br>That al my wit is overgo.<br>For noman mai his time lore<br>Recovere, and thus I am therfore<br>So overwroth in al my thoght,<br>That I myself chide al to noght: <br>Thus for to moche or for to lite<br>Fulofte I am miself to wyte.<br>Bot al that mai me noght availe,<br>With cheste thogh I me travaile:<br>Bot Oule on Stock and Stock on Oule;<br>The more that a man defoule,<br>Men witen wel which hath the werse;<br>And so to me nys worth a kerse,<br>Bot torneth on myn oghne hed,<br>Thogh I, til that I were ded, <br>Wolde evere chyde in such a wise<br>Of love as I to you devise.<br>Bot, fader, now ye have al herd<br>In this manere how I have ferd<br>Of Cheste and of dissencioun,<br>Yif me youre absolucioun.<br>Mi Sone, if that thou wistest al,<br>What Cheste doth in special<br>To love and to his welwillinge,<br>Thou woldest flen his knowlechinge <br>And lerne to be debonaire.<br>For who that most can speke faire<br>Is most acordende unto love:<br>Fair speche hath ofte brought above<br>Ful many a man, as it is knowe,<br>Which elles scholde have be riht lowe<br>And failed mochel of his wille.<br>Forthi hold thou thi tunge stille<br>And let thi witt thi wille areste,<br>So that thou falle noght in Cheste, <br>Which is the source of gret destance:<br>And tak into thi remembrance<br>If thou miht gete pacience,<br>Which is the leche of alle offence,<br>As tellen ous these olde wise:<br>For whan noght elles mai suffise<br>Be strengthe ne be mannes wit,<br>Than pacience it oversit<br>And overcomth it ate laste;<br>Bot he mai nevere longe laste, <br>Which wol noght bowe er that he breke.<br>Tak hiede, Sone, of that I speke.<br>Mi fader, of your goodli speche<br>And of the witt which ye me teche<br>I thonke you with al myn herte:<br>For that world schal me nevere asterte,<br>That I ne schal your wordes holde,<br>Of Pacience as ye me tolde,<br>Als ferforth as myn herte thenketh;<br>And of my wraththe it me forthenketh. <br>Bot, fader, if ye forth withal<br>Som good ensample in special<br>Me wolden telle of som Cronique,<br>It scholde wel myn herte like<br>Of pacience forto hiere,<br>So that I mihte in mi matiere<br>The more unto my love obeie<br>And puten mi desese aweie.<br>Mi Sone, a man to beie him pes<br>Behoveth soffre as Socrates <br>Ensample lefte, which is write:<br>And for thou schalt the sothe wite,<br>Of this ensample what I mene,<br>Althogh it be now litel sene<br>Among the men thilke evidence,<br>Yit he was upon pacience<br>So sett, that he himself assaie<br>In thing which mihte him most mispaie<br>Desireth, and a wickid wif<br>He weddeth, which in sorwe and strif <br>Ayein his ese was contraire.<br>Bot he spak evere softe and faire,<br>Til it befell, as it is told,<br>In wynter, whan the dai is cold,<br>This wif was fro the welle come,<br>Wher that a pot with water nome<br>Sche hath, and broghte it into house,<br>And sih how that hire seli spouse<br>Was sett and loked on a bok<br>Nyh to the fyr, as he which tok <br>His ese for a man of age.<br>And sche began the wode rage,<br>And axeth him what devel he thoghte,<br>And bar on hond that him ne roghte<br>What labour that sche toke on honde,<br>And seith that such an Housebonde<br>Was to a wif noght worth a Stre.<br>He seide nowther nay ne ye,<br>Bot hield him stille and let hire chyde;<br>And sche, which mai hirself noght hyde, <br>Began withinne forto swelle,<br>And that sche broghte in fro the welle,<br>The waterpot sche hente alofte<br>And bad him speke, and he al softe<br>Sat stille and noght a word ansuerde;<br>And sche was wroth that he so ferde,<br>And axeth him if he be ded;<br>And al the water on his hed<br>Sche pourede oute and bad awake.<br>Bot he, which wolde noght forsake <br>His Pacience, thanne spak,<br>And seide how that he fond no lak<br>In nothing which sche hadde do:<br>For it was wynter time tho,<br>And wynter, as be weie of kinde<br>Which stormy is, as men it finde,<br>Ferst makth the wyndes forto blowe,<br>And after that withinne a throwe<br>He reyneth and the watergates<br>Undoth; 'and thus my wif algates, <br>Which is with reson wel besein,<br>Hath mad me bothe wynd and rein<br>After the Sesoun of the yer.'<br>And thanne he sette him nerr the fer,<br>And as he mihte hise clothes dreide,<br>That he nomore o word ne seide;<br>Wherof he gat him somdel reste,<br>For that him thoghte was the beste.<br>I not if thilke ensample yit<br>Acordeth with a mannes wit, <br>To soffre as Socrates tho dede:<br>And if it falle in eny stede<br>A man to lese so his galle,<br>Him oghte among the wommen alle<br>In loves Court be juggement<br>The name bere of Pacient,<br>To yive ensample to the goode<br>Of pacience how that it stode,<br>That othre men it mihte knowe.<br>And, Sone, if thou at eny throwe <br>Be tempted ayein Pacience,<br>Tak hiede upon this evidence;<br>It schal per cas the lasse grieve.<br>Mi fader, so as I believe,<br>Of that schal be no maner nede,<br>For I wol take so good hiede,<br>That er I falle in such assai,<br>I thenke eschuie it, if I mai.<br>Bot if ther be oght elles more<br>Wherof I mihte take lore, <br>I preie you, so as I dar,<br>Now telleth, that I mai be war,<br>Som other tale in this matiere.<br>Sone, it is evere good to lere,<br>Wherof thou miht thi word restreigne,<br>Er that thou falle in eny peine.<br>For who that can no conseil hyde,<br>He mai noght faile of wo beside,<br>Which schal befalle er he it wite,<br>As I finde in the bokes write. <br>Yit cam ther nevere good of strif,<br>To seche in all a mannes lif:<br>Thogh it beginne on pure game,<br>Fulofte it torneth into grame<br>And doth grevance upon som side.<br>Wherof the grete Clerk Ovide<br>After the lawe which was tho<br>Of Jupiter and of Juno<br>Makth in his bokes mencioun<br>How thei felle at dissencioun <br>In manere as it were a borde,<br>As thei begunne forto worde<br>Among hemself in privete:<br>And that was upon this degree,<br>Which of the tuo more amorous is,<br>Or man or wif. And upon this<br>Thei mihten noght acorde in on,<br>And toke a jugge therupon,<br>Which cleped is Tiresias,<br>And bede him demen in the cas; <br>And he withoute avisement<br>Ayein Juno yaf juggement.<br>This goddesse upon his ansuere<br>Was wroth and wolde noght forbere,<br>Bot tok awey for everemo<br>The liht fro bothe hise yhen tuo.<br>Whan Jupiter this harm hath sein,<br>An other bienfait therayein<br>He yaf, and such a grace him doth,<br>That for he wiste he seide soth, <br>A Sothseiere he was for evere:<br>Bot yit that other were levere,<br>Have had the lokinge of his yhe,<br>Than of his word the prophecie;<br>Bot how so that the sothe wente,<br>Strif was the cause of that he hente<br>So gret a peine bodily.<br>Mi Sone, be thou war ther by,<br>And hold thi tunge stille clos:<br>For who that hath his word desclos <br>Er that he wite what he mene,<br>He is fulofte nyh his tene<br>And lest ful many time grace,<br>Wher that he wolde his thonk pourchace.<br>And over this, my Sone diere,<br>Of othre men, if thou miht hiere<br>In privete what thei have wroght,<br>Hold conseil and descoevere it noght,<br>For Cheste can no conseil hele,<br>Or be it wo or be it wele: <br>And tak a tale into thi mynde,<br>The which of olde ensample I finde.<br>Phebus, which makth the daies lihte,<br>A love he hadde, which tho hihte<br>Cornide, whom aboven alle<br>He pleseth: bot what schal befalle<br>Of love ther is noman knoweth,<br>Bot as fortune hire happes throweth.<br>So it befell upon a chaunce,<br>A yong kniht tok hire aqueintance <br>And hadde of hire al that he wolde:<br>Bot a fals bridd, which sche hath holde<br>And kept in chambre of pure yowthe,<br>Discoevereth all that evere he cowthe.<br>This briddes name was as tho<br>Corvus, the which was thanne also<br>Welmore whyt than eny Swan,<br>And he that schrewe al that he can<br>Of his ladi to Phebus seide;<br>And he for wraththe his swerd outbreide, <br>With which Cornide anon he slowh.<br>Bot after him was wo ynowh,<br>And tok a full gret repentance,<br>Wherof in tokne and remembrance<br>Of hem whiche usen wicke speche,<br>Upon this bridd he tok this wreche,<br>That ther he was snow whyt tofore,<br>Evere afterward colblak therfore<br>He was transformed, as it scheweth,<br>And many a man yit him beschreweth, <br>And clepen him into this day<br>A Raven, be whom yit men mai<br>Take evidence, whan he crieth,<br>That som mishapp it signefieth.<br>Be war therfore and sei the beste,<br>If thou wolt be thiself in reste,<br>Mi goode Sone, as I the rede.<br>For in an other place I rede<br>Of thilke Nimphe which Laar hihte:<br>For sche the privete be nyhte, <br>How Jupiter lay be Jutorne,<br>Hath told, god made hire overtorne:<br>Hire tunge he kutte, and into helle<br>For evere he sende hir forto duelle,<br>As sche that was noght worthi hiere<br>To ben of love a Chamberere,<br>For sche no conseil cowthe hele.<br>And suche adaies be now fele<br>In loves Court, as it is seid,<br>That lete here tunges gon unteid. <br>Mi Sone, be thou non of tho,<br>To jangle and telle tales so,<br>And namely that thou ne chyde,<br>For Cheste can no conseil hide,<br>For Wraththe seide nevere wel.<br>Mi fader, soth is everydel<br>That ye me teche, and I wol holde<br>The reule to which I am holde,<br>To fle the Cheste, as ye me bidde,<br>For wel is him that nevere chidde. <br>Now tell me forth if ther be more<br>As touchende unto Wraththes lore.<br>Of Wraththe yit ther is an other,<br>Which is to Cheste his oghne brother,<br>And is be name cleped Hate,<br>That soffreth noght withinne his gate<br>That ther come owther love or pes,<br>For he wol make no reles<br>Of no debat which is befalle.<br>Now spek, if thou art on of alle, <br>That with this vice hast ben withholde.<br>As yit for oght that ye me tolde,<br>Mi fader, I not what it is.<br>In good feith, Sone, I trowe yis.<br>Mi fader, nay, bot ye me lere.<br>Now lest, my Sone, and thou schalt here.<br>Hate is a wraththe noght schewende,<br>Bot of long time gaderende,<br>And duelleth in the herte loken,<br>Til he se time to be wroken; <br>And thanne he scheweth his tempeste<br>Mor sodein than the wilde beste,<br>Which wot nothing what merci is.<br>Mi Sone, art thou knowende of this?<br>My goode fader, as I wene,<br>Now wot I somdel what ye mene;<br>Bot I dar saufly make an oth,<br>Mi ladi was me nevere loth.<br>I wol noght swere natheles<br>That I of hate am gulteles; <br>For whanne I to my ladi plie<br>Fro dai to dai and merci crie,<br>And sche no merci on me leith<br>Bot schorte wordes to me seith,<br>Thogh I my ladi love algate,<br>Tho wordes moste I nedes hate;<br>And wolde thei were al despent,<br>Or so ferr oute of londe went<br>That I nevere after scholde hem hiere;<br>And yit love I my ladi diere. <br>Thus is ther Hate, as ye mai se,<br>Betwen mi ladi word and me;<br>The word I hate and hire I love,<br>What so me schal betide of love.<br>Bot forthere mor I wol me schryve,<br>That I have hated al my lyve<br>These janglers, whiche of here Envie<br>Ben evere redi forto lie;<br>For with here fals compassement<br>Fuloften thei have mad me schent <br>And hindred me fulofte time,<br>Whan thei no cause wisten bime,<br>Bot onliche of here oghne thoght:<br>And thus fuloften have I boght<br>The lie, and drank noght of the wyn.<br>I wolde here happ were such as myn:<br>For how so that I be now schrive,<br>To hem ne mai I noght foryive,<br>Til that I se hem at debat<br>With love, and thanne myn astat <br>Thei mihten be here oghne deme,<br>And loke how wel it scholde hem qweme<br>To hindre a man that loveth sore.<br>And thus I hate hem everemore,<br>Til love on hem wol don his wreche:<br>For that schal I alway beseche<br>Unto the mihti Cupido,<br>That he so mochel wolde do,<br>So as he is of love a godd,<br>To smyte hem with the same rodd <br>With which I am of love smite;<br>So that thei mihten knowe and wite<br>How hindringe is a wofull peine<br>To him that love wolde atteigne.<br>Thus evere on hem I wayte and hope,<br>Til I mai sen hem lepe a lope,<br>And halten on the same Sor<br>Which I do now: for overmor<br>I wolde thanne do my myht<br>So forto stonden in here lyht, <br>That thei ne scholden finde a weie<br>To that thei wolde, bot aweie<br>I wolde hem putte out of the stede<br>Fro love, riht as thei me dede<br>With that thei speke of me be mowthe.<br>So wolde I do, if that I cowthe,<br>Of hem, and this, so god me save,<br>Is al the hate that I have,<br>Toward these janglers everydiel;<br>I wolde alle othre ferde wel. <br>Thus have I, fader, said mi wille;<br>Say ye now forth, for I am stille.<br>Mi Sone, of that thou hast me said<br>I holde me noght fulli paid:<br>That thou wolt haten eny man,<br>To that acorden I ne can,<br>Thogh he have hindred thee tofore.<br>Bot this I telle thee therfore,<br>Thou miht upon my beneicoun<br>Wel haten the condicioun <br>Of tho janglers, as thou me toldest,<br>Bot furthermor, of that thou woldest<br>Hem hindre in eny other wise,<br>Such Hate is evere to despise.<br>Forthi, mi Sone, I wol thee rede,<br>That thou drawe in be frendlihede<br>That thou ne miht noght do be hate;<br>So miht thou gete love algate<br>And sette thee, my Sone, in reste,<br>For thou schalt finde it for the beste. <br>And over this, so as I dar,<br>I rede that thou be riht war<br>Of othre mennes hate aboute,<br>Which every wysman scholde doute:<br>For Hate is evere upon await,<br>And as the fisshere on his bait<br>Sleth, whan he seth the fisshes faste,<br>So, whan he seth time ate laste,<br>That he mai worche an other wo,<br>Schal noman tornen him therfro, <br>That Hate nyle his felonie<br>Fulfille and feigne compaignie<br>Yit natheles, for fals Semblant<br>Is toward him of covenant<br>Withholde, so that under bothe<br>The prive wraththe can him clothe,<br>That he schal seme of gret believe.<br>Bot war thee wel that thou ne lieve<br>Al that thou sest tofore thin yhe,<br>So as the Gregois whilom syhe: <br>The bok of Troie who so rede,<br>Ther mai he finde ensample in dede.<br>Sone after the destruccioun,<br>Whan Troie was al bete doun<br>And slain was Priamus the king,<br>The Gregois, whiche of al this thing<br>Ben cause, tornen hom ayein.<br>Ther mai noman his happ withsein;<br>It hath be sen and felt fulofte,<br>The harde time after the softe: <br>Be See as thei forth homward wente,<br>A rage of gret tempeste hem hente;<br>Juno let bende hire parti bowe,<br>The Sky wax derk, the wynd gan blowe,<br>The firy welkne gan to thondre,<br>As thogh the world scholde al to sondre;<br>Fro hevene out of the watergates<br>The reyni Storm fell doun algates<br>And al here takel made unwelde,<br>That noman mihte himself bewelde. <br>Ther mai men hiere Schipmen crie,<br>That stode in aunter forto die:<br>He that behinde sat to stiere<br>Mai noght the forestempne hiere;<br>The Schip aros ayein the wawes,<br>The lodesman hath lost his lawes,<br>The See bet in on every side:<br>Thei nysten what fortune abide,<br>Bot sette hem al in goddes wille,<br>Wher he hem wolde save or spille. <br>And it fell thilke time thus:<br>Ther was a king, the which Namplus<br>Was hote, and he a Sone hadde,<br>At Troie which the Gregois ladde,<br>As he that was mad Prince of alle,<br>Til that fortune let him falle:<br>His name was Palamades.<br>Bot thurgh an hate natheles<br>Of some of hem his deth was cast<br>And he be tresoun overcast. <br>His fader, whan he herde it telle,<br>He swor, if evere his time felle,<br>He wolde him venge, if that he mihte,<br>And therto his avou behihte:<br>And thus this king thurgh prive hate<br>Abod upon await algate,<br>For he was noght of such emprise<br>To vengen him in open wise.<br>The fame, which goth wyde where,<br>Makth knowe how that the Gregois were <br>Homward with al the felaschipe<br>Fro Troie upon the See be Schipe.<br>Namplus, whan he this understod,<br>And knew the tydes of the flod,<br>And sih the wynd blew to the lond,<br>A gret deceipte anon he fond<br>Of prive hate, as thou schalt hiere,<br>Wherof I telle al this matiere.<br>This king the weder gan beholde,<br>And wiste wel thei moten holde <br>Here cours endlong his marche riht,<br>And made upon the derke nyht<br>Of grete Schydes and of blockes<br>Gret fyr ayein the grete rockes,<br>To schewe upon the helles hihe,<br>So that the Flete of Grece it sihe.<br>And so it fell riht as he thoghte:<br>This Flete, which an havene soghte,<br>The bryghte fyres sih a ferr,<br>And thei hem drowen nerr and nerr, <br>And wende wel and understode<br>How al that fyr was made for goode,<br>To schewe wher men scholde aryve,<br>And thiderward thei hasten blyve.<br>In Semblant, as men sein, is guile,<br>And that was proved thilke while;<br>The Schip, which wende his helpe acroche,<br>Drof al to pieces on the roche,<br>And so ther deden ten or twelve;<br>Ther mihte noman helpe himselve, <br>For ther thei wenden deth ascape,<br>Withouten help here deth was schape.<br>Thus thei that comen ferst tofore<br>Upon the Rockes be forlore,<br>Bot thurgh the noise and thurgh the cri<br>These othre were al war therby;<br>And whan the dai began to rowe,<br>Tho mihten thei the sothe knowe,<br>That wher they wenden frendes finde,<br>Thei founden frenschipe al behinde. <br>The lond was thanne sone weyved,<br>Wher that thei hadden be deceived,<br>And toke hem to the hihe See;<br>Therto thei seiden alle yee,<br>Fro that dai forth and war thei were<br>Of that thei hadde assaied there.<br>Mi Sone, hierof thou miht avise<br>How fraude stant in many wise<br>Amonges hem that guile thenke;<br>Ther is no Scrivein with his enke <br>Which half the fraude wryte can<br>That stant in such a maner man:<br>Forthi the wise men ne demen<br>The thinges after that thei semen,<br>Bot after that thei knowe and finde.<br>The Mirour scheweth in his kinde<br>As he hadde al the world withinne,<br>And is in soth nothing therinne;<br>And so farth Hate for a throwe:<br>Til he a man hath overthrowe, <br>Schal noman knowe be his chere<br>Which is avant, ne which arere.<br>Forthi, mi Sone, thenke on this.<br>Mi fader, so I wole ywiss;<br>And if ther more of Wraththe be,<br>Now axeth forth per charite,<br>As ye be youre bokes knowe,<br>And I the sothe schal beknowe.<br>Mi Sone, thou schalt understonde<br>That yit towardes Wraththe stonde <br>Of dedly vices othre tuo:<br>And forto telle here names so,<br>It is Contek and Homicide,<br>That ben to drede on every side.<br>Contek, so as the bokes sein,<br>Folhast hath to his Chamberlein,<br>Be whos conseil al unavised<br>Is Pacience most despised,<br>Til Homicide with hem meete.<br>Fro merci thei ben al unmeete, <br>And thus ben thei the worste of alle<br>Of hem whiche unto wraththe falle,<br>In dede bothe and ek in thoght:<br>For thei acompte here wraththe at noght,<br>Bot if ther be schedinge of blod;<br>And thus lich to a beste wod<br>Thei knowe noght the god of lif.<br>Be so thei have or swerd or knif<br>Here dedly wraththe forto wreke,<br>Of Pite list hem noght to speke; <br>Non other reson thei ne fonge,<br>Bot that thei ben of mihtes stronge.<br>Bot war hem wel in other place,<br>Where every man behoveth grace,<br>Bot ther I trowe it schal hem faile,<br>To whom no merci mihte availe,<br>Bot wroghten upon tiraundie,<br>That no pite ne mihte hem plie.<br>Now tell, my Sone. Fader, what?<br>If thou hast be coupable of that. <br>Mi fader, nay, Crist me forbiede:<br>I speke onliche as of the dede,<br>Of which I nevere was coupable<br>Withoute cause resonable.<br>Bot this is noght to mi matiere<br>Of schrifte, why we sitten hiere;<br>For we ben sett to schryve of love,<br>As we begunne ferst above:<br>And natheles I am beknowe<br>That as touchende of loves throwe, <br>Whan I my wittes overwende,<br>Min hertes contek hath non ende,<br>Bot evere it stant upon debat<br>To gret desese of myn astat<br>As for the time that it lasteth.<br>For whan mi fortune overcasteth<br>Hire whiel and is to me so strange,<br>And that I se sche wol noght change,<br>Than caste I al the world aboute,<br>And thenke hou I at home and oute <br>Have al my time in vein despended,<br>And se noght how to ben amended,<br>Bot rathere forto be empeired,<br>As he that is welnyh despeired:<br>For I ne mai no thonk deserve,<br>And evere I love and evere I serve,<br>And evere I am aliche nerr.<br>Thus, for I stonde in such a wer,<br>I am, as who seith, out of herre;<br>And thus upon miself the werre <br>I bringe, and putte out alle pes,<br>That I fulofte in such a res<br>Am wery of myn oghne lif.<br>So that of Contek and of strif<br>I am beknowe and have ansuerd,<br>As ye, my fader, now have herd.<br>Min herte is wonderly begon<br>With conseil, wherof witt is on,<br>Which hath resoun in compaignie;<br>Ayein the whiche stant partie <br>Will, which hath hope of his acord,<br>And thus thei bringen up descord.<br>Witt and resoun conseilen ofte<br>That I myn herte scholde softe,<br>And that I scholde will remue<br>And put him out of retenue,<br>Or elles holde him under fote:<br>For as thei sein, if that he mote<br>His oghne rewle have upon honde,<br>Ther schal no witt ben understonde. <br>Of hope also thei tellen this,<br>That overal, wher that he is,<br>He set the herte in jeupartie<br>With wihssinge and with fantasie,<br>And is noght trewe of that he seith,<br>So that in him ther is no feith:<br>Thus with reson and wit avised<br>Is will and hope aldai despised.<br>Reson seith that I scholde leve<br>To love, wher ther is no leve <br>To spede, and will seith therayein<br>That such an herte is to vilein,<br>Which dar noght love and til he spede,<br>Let hope serve at such a nede:<br>He seith ek, where an herte sit<br>Al hol governed upon wit,<br>He hath this lyves lust forlore.<br>And thus myn herte is al totore<br>Of such a Contek as thei make:<br>Bot yit I mai noght will forsake, <br>That he nys Maister of my thoght,<br>Or that I spede, or spede noght.<br>Thou dost, my Sone, ayein the riht;<br>Bot love is of so gret a miht,<br>His lawe mai noman refuse,<br>So miht thou thee the betre excuse.<br>And natheles thou schalt be lerned<br>That will scholde evere be governed<br>Of reson more than of kinde,<br>Wherof a tale write I finde. <br>A Philosophre of which men tolde<br>Ther was whilom be daies olde,<br>And Diogenes thanne he hihte.<br>So old he was that he ne mihte<br>The world travaile, and for the beste<br>He schop him forto take his reste,<br>And duelte at hom in such a wise,<br>That nyh his hous he let devise<br>Endlong upon an Axeltre<br>To sette a tonne in such degre, <br>That he it mihte torne aboute;<br>Wherof on hed was taken oute,<br>For he therinne sitte scholde<br>And torne himself so as he wolde,<br>To take their and se the hevene<br>And deme of the planetes sevene,<br>As he which cowthe mochel what.<br>And thus fulofte there he sat<br>To muse in his philosophie<br>Solein withoute compaignie: <br>So that upon a morwetyde,<br>As thing which scholde so betyde,<br>Whan he was set ther as him liste<br>To loke upon the Sonne ariste,<br>Wherof the propretes he sih,<br>It fell ther cam ridende nyh<br>King Alisandre with a route;<br>And as he caste his yhe aboute,<br>He sih this Tonne, and what it mente<br>He wolde wite, and thider sente <br>A knyht, be whom he mihte it knowe,<br>And he himself that ilke throwe<br>Abod, and hoveth there stille.<br>This kniht after the kinges wille<br>With spore made his hors to gon<br>And to the tonne he cam anon,<br>Wher that he fond a man of Age,<br>And he him tolde the message,<br>Such as the king him hadde bede,<br>And axeth why in thilke stede <br>The Tonne stod, and what it was.<br>And he, which understod the cas,<br>Sat stille and spak no word ayein.<br>The kniht bad speke and seith, 'Vilein,<br>Thou schalt me telle, er that I go;<br>It is thi king which axeth so.'<br>'Mi king,' quod he, 'that were unriht.'<br>'What is he thanne?' seith the kniht,<br>'Is he thi man?' 'That seie I noght,'<br>Quod he, 'bot this I am bethoght, <br>Mi mannes man hou that he is.'<br>'Thou lyest, false cherl, ywiss,'<br>The kniht him seith, and was riht wroth,<br>And to the king ayein he goth<br>And tolde him how this man ansuerde.<br>The king, whan he this tale herde,<br>Bad that thei scholden alle abyde,<br>For he himself wol thider ryde.<br>And whan he cam tofore the tonne,<br>He hath his tale thus begonne: <br>'Alheil,' he seith, 'what man art thou?'<br>Quod he, 'Such on as thou sest now.'<br>The king, which hadde wordes wise,<br>His age wolde noght despise,<br>Bot seith, 'Mi fader, I thee preie<br>That thou me wolt the cause seie,<br>How that I am thi mannes man.'<br>'Sire king,' quod he, 'and that I can,<br>If that thou wolt.' 'Yis,' seith the king.<br>Quod he, 'This is the sothe thing: <br>Sith I ferst resoun understod,<br>And knew what thing was evel and good,<br>The will which of my bodi moeveth,<br>Whos werkes that the god reproeveth,<br>I have restreigned everemore,<br>As him which stant under the lore<br>Of reson, whos soubgit he is,<br>So that he mai noght don amis:<br>And thus be weie of covenant<br>Will is my man and my servant, <br>And evere hath ben and evere schal.<br>And thi will is thi principal,<br>And hath the lordschipe of thi witt,<br>So that thou cowthest nevere yit<br>Take o dai reste of thi labour;<br>Bot forto ben a conquerour<br>Of worldes good, which mai noght laste,<br>Thou hiest evere aliche faste,<br>Wher thou no reson hast to winne:<br>And thus thi will is cause of Sinne, <br>And is thi lord, to whom thou servest,<br>Wherof thou litel thonk deservest.'<br>The king of that he thus answerde<br>Was nothing wroth, bot whanne he herde<br>The hihe wisdom which he seide,<br>With goodly wordes this he preide,<br>That he him wolde telle his name.<br>'I am,' quod he, 'that ilke same,<br>The which men Diogenes calle.'<br>Tho was the king riht glad withalle, <br>For he hadde often herd tofore<br>What man he was, so that therfore<br>He seide, 'O wise Diogene,<br>Now schal thi grete witt be sene;<br>For thou schalt of my yifte have<br>What worldes thing that thou wolt crave.'<br>Quod he, 'Thanne hove out of mi Sonne,<br>And let it schyne into mi Tonne;<br>For thou benymst me thilke yifte,<br>Which lith noght in thi miht to schifte: <br>Non other good of thee me nedeth.'<br>This king, whom every contre dredeth,<br>Lo, thus he was enformed there:<br>Wherof, my Sone, thou miht lere<br>How that thi will schal noght be lieved,<br>Where it is noght of wit relieved.<br>And thou hast seid thiself er this<br>How that thi will thi maister is;<br>Thurgh which thin hertes thoght withinne<br>Is evere of Contek to beginne, <br>So that it is gretli to drede<br>That it non homicide brede.<br>For love is of a wonder kinde,<br>And hath hise wittes ofte blinde,<br>That thei fro mannes reson falle;<br>Bot whan that it is so befalle<br>That will schal the corage lede,<br>In loves cause it is to drede:<br>Wherof I finde ensample write,<br>Which is behovely forto wite. <br>I rede a tale, and telleth this:<br>The Cite which Semiramis<br>Enclosed hath with wall aboute,<br>Of worthi folk with many a route<br>Was enhabited here and there;<br>Among the whiche tuo ther were<br>Above alle othre noble and grete,<br>Dwellende tho withinne a Strete<br>So nyh togedre, as it was sene,<br>That ther was nothing hem betwene, <br>Bot wow to wow and wall to wall.<br>This o lord hadde in special<br>A Sone, a lusti Bacheler,<br>In al the toun was non his pier:<br>That other hadde a dowhter eke,<br>In al the lond that forto seke<br>Men wisten non so faire as sche.<br>And fell so, as it scholde be,<br>This faire dowhter nyh this Sone<br>As thei togedre thanne wone, <br>Cupide hath so the thinges schape,<br>That thei ne mihte his hand ascape,<br>That he his fyr on hem ne caste:<br>Wherof her herte he overcaste<br>To folwe thilke lore and suie<br>Which nevere man yit miht eschuie;<br>And that was love, as it is happed,<br>Which hath here hertes so betrapped,<br>That thei be alle weies seche<br>How that thei mihten winne a speche, <br>Here wofull peine forto lisse.<br>Who loveth wel, it mai noght misse,<br>And namely whan ther be tuo<br>Of on acord, how so it go,<br>Bot if that thei som weie finde;<br>For love is evere of such a kinde<br>And hath his folk so wel affaited,<br>That howso that it be awaited,<br>Ther mai noman the pourpos lette:<br>And thus betwen hem tuo thei sette <br>And hole upon a wall to make,<br>Thurgh which thei have her conseil take<br>At alle times, whan thei myhte.<br>This faire Maiden Tisbee hihte,<br>And he whom that sche loveth hote<br>Was Piramus be name hote.<br>So longe here lecoun thei recorden,<br>Til ate laste thei acorden<br>Be nihtes time forto wende<br>Al one out fro the tounes ende, <br>Wher was a welle under a Tree;<br>And who cam ferst, or sche or he,<br>He scholde stille there abide.<br>So it befell the nyhtes tide<br>This maiden, which desguised was,<br>Al prively the softe pas<br>Goth thurgh the large toun unknowe,<br>Til that sche cam withinne a throwe<br>Wher that sche liketh forto duelle,<br>At thilke unhappi freisshe welle, <br>Which was also the Forest nyh.<br>Wher sche comende a Leoun syh<br>Into the feld to take his preie,<br>In haste and sche tho fledde aweie,<br>So as fortune scholde falle,<br>For feere and let hire wympel falle<br>Nyh to the welle upon therbage.<br>This Leoun in his wilde rage<br>A beste, which that he fond oute,<br>Hath slain, and with his blodi snoute, <br>Whan he hath eten what he wolde,<br>To drynke of thilke stremes colde<br>Cam to the welle, where he fond<br>The wympel, which out of hire hond<br>Was falle, and he it hath todrawe,<br>Bebled aboute and al forgnawe;<br>And thanne he strawhte him forto drinke<br>Upon the freisshe welles brinke,<br>And after that out of the plein<br>He torneth to the wode ayein. <br>And Tisbee dorste noght remue,<br>Bot as a bridd which were in Mue<br>Withinne a buissh sche kepte hire clos<br>So stille that sche noght aros;<br>Unto hirself and pleigneth ay.<br>And fell, whil that sche there lay,<br>This Piramus cam after sone<br>Unto the welle, and be the Mone<br>He fond hire wimpel blodi there.<br>Cam nevere yit to mannes Ere <br>Tidinge, ne to mannes sihte<br>Merveile, which so sore aflihte<br>A mannes herte, as it tho dede<br>To him, which in the same stede<br>With many a wofull compleignynge<br>Began his handes forto wringe,<br>As he which demeth sikerly<br>That sche be ded: and sodeinly<br>His swerd al nakid out he breide<br>In his folhaste, and thus he seide: <br>'I am cause of this felonie,<br>So it is resoun that I die,<br>As sche is ded be cause of me.'<br>And with that word upon his kne<br>He fell, and to the goddes alle<br>Up to the hevene he gan to calle,<br>And preide, sithen it was so<br>That he may noght his love as tho<br>Have in this world, that of her grace<br>He miht hire have in other place, <br>For hiere wolde he noght abide,<br>He seith: bot as it schal betide,<br>The Pomel of his swerd to grounde<br>He sette, and thurgh his herte a wounde<br>He made up to the bare hilte:<br>And in this wise himself he spilte<br>With his folhaste and deth he nam;<br>For sche withinne a while cam,<br>Wher he lai ded upon his knif.<br>So wofull yit was nevere lif <br>As Tisbee was, whan sche him sih:<br>Sche mihte noght o word on hih<br>Speke oute, for hire herte schette,<br>That of hir lif no pris sche sette,<br>Bot ded swounende doun sche fell.<br>Til after, whanne it so befell<br>That sche out of hire traunce awok,<br>With many a wofull pitous lok<br>Hire yhe alwei among sche caste<br>Upon hir love, and ate laste <br>Sche cawhte breth and seide thus:<br>'O thou which cleped art Venus,<br>Goddesse of love, and thou, Cupide,<br>Which loves cause hast forto guide,<br>I wot now wel that ye be blinde,<br>Of thilke unhapp which I now finde<br>Only betwen my love and me.<br>This Piramus, which hiere I se<br>Bledende, what hath he deserved?<br>For he youre heste hath kept and served, <br>And was yong and I bothe also:<br>Helas, why do ye with ous so?<br>Ye sette oure herte bothe afyre,<br>And maden ous such thing desire<br>Wherof that we no skile cowthe;<br>Bot thus oure freisshe lusti yowthe<br>Withoute joie is al despended,<br>Which thing mai nevere ben amended:<br>For as of me this wol I seie,<br>That me is levere forto deie <br>Than live after this sorghful day.'<br>And with this word, where as he lay,<br>Hire love in armes sche embraseth,<br>Hire oghne deth and so pourchaseth<br>That now sche wepte and nou sche kiste,<br>Til ate laste, er sche it wiste,<br>So gret a sorwe is to hire falle,<br>Which overgoth hire wittes alle.<br>As sche which mihte it noght asterte,<br>The swerdes point ayein hire herte <br>Sche sette, and fell doun therupon,<br>Wherof that sche was ded anon:<br>And thus bothe on o swerd bledende<br>Thei weren founde ded liggende.<br>Now thou, mi Sone, hast herd this tale,<br>Bewar that of thin oghne bale<br>Thou be noght cause in thi folhaste,<br>And kep that thou thi witt ne waste<br>Upon thi thoght in aventure,<br>Wherof thi lyves forfeture <br>Mai falle: and if thou have so thoght<br>Er this, tell on and hyde it noght.<br>Mi fader, upon loves side<br>Mi conscience I woll noght hyde,<br>How that for love of pure wo<br>I have ben ofte moeved so,<br>That with my wisshes if I myhte,<br>A thousand times, I yow plyhte,<br>I hadde storven in a day;<br>And therof I me schryve may, <br>Though love fully me ne slowh,<br>Mi will to deie was ynowh,<br>So am I of my will coupable:<br>And yit is sche noght merciable,<br>Which mai me yive lif and hele.<br>Bot that hir list noght with me dele,<br>I wot be whos conseil it is,<br>And him wolde I long time er this,<br>And yit I wolde and evere schal,<br>Slen and destruie in special. <br>The gold of nyne kinges londes<br>Ne scholde him save fro myn hondes,<br>In my pouer if that he were;<br>Bot yit him stant of me no fere<br>For noght that evere I can manace.<br>He is the hindrere of mi grace,<br>Til he be ded I mai noght spede;<br>So mot I nedes taken hiede<br>And schape how that he were aweie,<br>If I therto mai finde a weie. <br>Mi Sone, tell me now forthi,<br>Which is that mortiel enemy<br>That thou manacest to be ded.<br>Mi fader, it is such a qwed,<br>That wher I come, he is tofore,<br>And doth so, that mi cause is lore.<br>What is his name? It is Daunger,<br>Which is mi ladi consailer:<br>For I was nevere yit so slyh,<br>To come in eny place nyh <br>Wher as sche was be nyht or day,<br>That Danger ne was redy ay,<br>With whom for speche ne for mede<br>Yit mihte I nevere of love spede;<br>For evere this I finde soth,<br>Al that my ladi seith or doth<br>To me, Daunger schal make an ende,<br>And that makth al mi world miswende:<br>And evere I axe his help, bot he<br>Mai wel be cleped sanz pite; <br>For ay the more I to him bowe,<br>The lasse he wol my tale alowe.<br>He hath mi ladi so englued,<br>Sche wol noght that he be remued;<br>For evere he hangeth on hire Seil,<br>And is so prive of conseil,<br>That evere whanne I have oght bede,<br>I finde Danger in hire stede<br>And myn ansuere of him I have;<br>Bot for no merci that I crave, <br>Of merci nevere a point I hadde.<br>I finde his ansuere ay so badde,<br>That werse mihte it nevere be:<br>And thus betwen Danger and me<br>Is evere werre til he dye.<br>Bot mihte I ben of such maistrie,<br>That I Danger hadde overcome,<br>With that were al my joie come.<br>Thus wolde I wonde for no Sinne,<br>Ne yit for al this world to winne; <br>If that I mihte finde a sleyhte,<br>To leie al myn astat in weyhte,<br>I wolde him fro the Court dissevere,<br>So that he come ayeinward nevere.<br>Therfore I wisshe and wolde fain<br>That he were in som wise slain;<br>For while he stant in thilke place,<br>Ne gete I noght my ladi grace.<br>Thus hate I dedly thilke vice,<br>And wolde he stode in non office <br>In place wher mi ladi is;<br>For if he do, I wot wel this,<br>That owther schal he deie or I<br>Withinne a while; and noght forthi<br>On my ladi fulofte I muse,<br>How that sche mai hirself excuse,<br>If that I deie in such a plit.<br>Me thenkth sche mihte noght be qwyt<br>That sche ne were an homicide:<br>And if it scholde so betide, <br>As god forbiede it scholde be,<br>Be double weie it is pite.<br>For I, which al my will and witt<br>Have yove and served evere yit,<br>And thanne I scholde in such a wise<br>In rewardinge of my servise<br>Be ded, me thenkth it were a rowthe:<br>And furthermor, to telle trowthe,<br>Sche, that hath evere be wel named,<br>Were worthi thanne to be blamed <br>And of reson to ben appeled,<br>Whan with o word sche mihte have heled<br>A man, and soffreth him so deie.<br>Ha, who sawh evere such a weie?<br>Ha, who sawh evere such destresse?<br>Withoute pite gentilesse,<br>Withoute mercy wommanhede,<br>That wol so quyte a man his mede,<br>Which evere hath be to love trewe.<br>Mi goode fader, if ye rewe <br>Upon mi tale, tell me now,<br>And I wol stinte and herkne yow.<br>Mi Sone, attempre thi corage<br>Fro Wraththe, and let thin herte assuage:<br>For who so wole him underfonge,<br>He mai his grace abide longe,<br>Er he of love be received;<br>And ek also, bot it be weyved,<br>Ther mihte mochel thing befalle,<br>That scholde make a man to falle <br>Fro love, that nevere afterward<br>Ne durste he loke thiderward.<br>In harde weies men gon softe,<br>And er thei clymbe avise hem ofte:<br>Men sen alday that rape reweth;<br>And who so wicked Ale breweth,<br>Fulofte he mot the werse drinke:<br>Betre is to flete than to sincke;<br>Betre is upon the bridel chiewe<br>Thanne if he felle and overthrewe, <br>The hors and stikede in the Myr:<br>To caste water in the fyr<br>Betre is than brenne up al the hous:<br>The man which is malicious<br>And folhastif, fulofte he falleth,<br>And selden is whan love him calleth.<br>Forthi betre is to soffre a throwe<br>Than be to wilde and overthrowe;<br>Suffrance hath evere be the beste<br>To wissen him that secheth reste: <br>And thus, if thou wolt love and spede,<br>Mi Sone, soffre, as I the rede.<br>What mai the Mous ayein the Cat?<br>And for this cause I axe that,<br>Who mai to love make a werre,<br>That he ne hath himself the werre?<br>Love axeth pes and evere schal,<br>And who that fihteth most withal<br>Schal lest conquere of his emprise:<br>For this thei tellen that ben wise, <br>Wicke is to stryve and have the werse;<br>To hasten is noght worth a kerse;<br>Thing that a man mai noght achieve,<br>That mai noght wel be don at Eve,<br>It mot abide til the morwe.<br>Ne haste noght thin oghne sorwe,<br>Mi Sone, and tak this in thi witt,<br>He hath noght lost that wel abitt.<br>Ensample that it falleth thus,<br>Thou miht wel take of Piramus, <br>Whan he in haste his swerd outdrowh<br>And on the point himselve slowh<br>For love of Tisbee pitously,<br>For he hire wympel fond blody<br>And wende a beste hire hadde slain;<br>Wher as him oghte have be riht fain,<br>For sche was there al sauf beside:<br>Bot for he wolde noght abide,<br>This meschief fell. Forthi be war,<br>Mi Sone, as I the warne dar, <br>Do thou nothing in such a res,<br>For suffrance is the welle of Pes.<br>Thogh thou to loves Court poursuie,<br>Yit sit it wel that thou eschuie<br>That thou the Court noght overhaste,<br>For so miht thou thi time waste;<br>Bot if thin happ therto be schape,<br>It mai noght helpe forto rape.<br>Therfore attempre thi corage;<br>Folhaste doth non avantage, <br>Bot ofte it set a man behinde<br>In cause of love, and that I finde<br>Be olde ensample, as thou schalt hiere,<br>Touchende of love in this matiere.<br>A Maiden whilom ther was on,<br>Which Daphne hihte, and such was non<br>Of beaute thanne, as it was seid.<br>Phebus his love hath on hire leid,<br>And therupon to hire he soghte<br>In his folhaste, and so besoghte, <br>That sche with him no reste hadde;<br>For evere upon hire love he gradde,<br>And sche seide evere unto him nay.<br>So it befell upon a dai,<br>Cupide, which hath every chance<br>Of love under his governance,<br>Syh Phebus hasten him so sore:<br>And for he scholde him haste more,<br>And yit noght speden ate laste,<br>A dart thurghout his herte he caste, <br>Which was of gold and al afyre,<br>That made him manyfold desire<br>Of love more thanne he dede.<br>To Daphne ek in the same stede<br>A dart of Led he caste and smot,<br>Which was al cold and nothing hot.<br>And thus Phebus in love brenneth,<br>And in his haste aboute renneth,<br>To loke if that he mihte winne;<br>Bot he was evere to beginne, <br>For evere awei fro him sche fledde,<br>So that he nevere his love spedde.<br>And forto make him full believe<br>That no Folhaste mihte achieve<br>To gete love in such degree,<br>This Daphne into a lorer tre<br>Was torned, which is evere grene,<br>In tokne, as yit it mai be sene,<br>That sche schal duelle a maiden stille,<br>And Phebus failen of his wille. <br>Be suche ensamples, as thei stonde,<br>Mi Sone, thou miht understonde,<br>To hasten love is thing in vein,<br>Whan that fortune is therayein.<br>To take where a man hath leve<br>Good is, and elles he mot leve;<br>For whan a mannes happes failen,<br>Ther is non haste mai availen.<br>Mi fader, grant merci of this:<br>Bot while I se mi ladi is <br>No tre, but halt hire oghne forme,<br>Ther mai me noman so enforme,<br>To whether part fortune wende,<br>That I unto mi lyves ende<br>Ne wol hire serven everemo.<br>Mi Sone, sithen it is so,<br>I seie nomor; bot in this cas<br>Bewar how it with Phebus was.<br>Noght only upon loves chance,<br>Bot upon every governance <br>Which falleth unto mannes dede,<br>Folhaste is e</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Gower">John Gower</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420403" data-title="Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Secundus de John Gower" data-description="Incipit Liber Tercius Ira suis paribus est par furiis Acherontis, Quo furor ad tempus nil pietatis habet. Ira malencolicos animos perturbat, vt equo Iure sui pondus nulla statera tenet. Omnibus in causis grauat Ira, set inter amantes, Illa magis ..."></div> </div> </div>

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