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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529740" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Regiment of Princes</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Musynge upon the restlees bysynesse <br>Which that this troubly world hath ay on honde, <br>That othir thyng than fruyt of bittirnesse <br>Ne yildith naght, as I can undirstonde, <br>At Chestres In, right faste by the Stronde, <br>As I lay in my bed upon a nyght, <br>Thoght me byrefte of sleep the force and might. 1 </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And many a day and nyght that wikkid hyne <br>Hadde beforn vexed my poore goost <br>So grevously that of angwissh and pyne <br>No rycher man was nowhere in no coost. <br>This dar I seyn, may no wight make his boost <br>That he with thoght was bet than I aqweynted, <br>For to the deeth he wel ny hath me feynted. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bysyly in my mynde I gan revolve <br>The welthe unseur of every creature, <br>How lightly that Fortune it can dissolve <br>Whan that hir list that it no lenger dure; <br>And of the brotilnesse of hir nature <br>My tremblynge herte so greet gastnesse hadde <br>That my spirites were of my lyf sadde. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Me fil to mynde how that nat longe agoo <br>Fortunes strook doun thraste estat rial <br>Into mescheef, and I took heede also <br>Of many anothir lord that hadde a fal. <br>In mene estat eek sikirnesse at al <br>Ne saw I noon, but I sy atte laste <br>Wher seuretee for to abyde hir caste. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In poore estat shee pighte hir pavyloun <br>To kevere hir fro the storm of descendynge 2 <br>For shee kneew no lower descencion <br>Sauf oonly deeth, fro which no wight lyvynge <br>Deffende him may; and thus in my musynge <br>I destitut was of joie and good hope, <br>And to myn ese nothyng cowde I grope. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For right as blyve ran it in my thoght, <br>Thogh poore I be, yit sumwhat leese I may. <br>Than deemed I that seurtee wolde noght <br>With me abyde; it is nat to hir pay <br>Ther to sojourne as shee descende may. <br>And thus unsikir of my smal lyflode, <br>Thoght leide on me ful many an hevy lode. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I thoghte eek, if I into povert creepe, <br>Than am I entred into sikirnesse; <br>But swich seurtee mighte I ay waille and weepe, <br>For povert breedith naght but hevynesse. <br>Allas, wher is this worldes stablenesse? <br>Heer up, heer doun; heer honour, heer repreef; <br>Now hool, now seek; now bountee, now mescheef. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And whan I hadde rollid up and doun <br>This worldes stormy wawes in my mynde, <br>I sy wel povert was exclusioun <br>Of al welfare regnynge in mankynde; <br>And how in bookes thus writen I fynde, <br>"The werste kynde of wrecchidnesse is <br>A man to han be weleful or this." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Allas, thoghte I, what sikirnesse is that <br>To lyve ay seur of greef and of nusance? <br>What shal I do? Best is I stryve nat <br>Ageyn the peys of Fortunes balance, <br>For wel I woot that hir brotil constance <br>A wight no whyle souffre can sojourne <br>In o plyt; thus nat wiste I how to tourne. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For whan man weeneth stonde moost constant, <br>Thanne is he nexte to his overthrowynge; <br>So flittynge is shee and so variant, <br>Ther is no trust upon hir fair lawhynge; <br>Aftir glad look, shee shapith hir to stynge. <br>I was adrad so of hir gerynesse <br>That my lyf was but a deedly gladnesse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This ilke nyght I walwid to and fro <br>Seekynge reste, but certeynly shee <br>Appeerid nat, for thoght, my cruel fo, <br>Chaced had hir and sleep away fro me. <br>And for I sholde nat allone be, <br>Ageyn my lust wach proferred his servyse, <br>And I admittid him in hevy wyse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So long a nyght ne felte I nevere noon <br>As was that same, to my jugement. <br>Whoso that thoghty is, is wo begoon; <br>The thoghtful wight is vessel of torment; <br>Ther nis no greef to him equipollent. <br>He graveth deepest of seeknesses alle: <br>Ful wo is him that in swich thoght is falle. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What wight that inly pensyf is, I trowe, <br>His moost desir is to be solitarie. <br>That this is sooth, in my persone I knowe, <br>For evere whyl that fretynge adversarie <br>Myn herte made to him tributarie <br>In sowkynge of the fressheste of my blood; <br>To sorwe soul me thoghte it dide me good. <br>For the nature of hevynesse is this: <br>If it habownde greetly in a wight, <br>The place eschueth he whereas joie is, <br>For joie and he nat mowe accorde aright. <br>As discordant as day is unto nyght, <br>And honour adversarie is unto shame, <br>Is hevynesse so to joie and game. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Whan to the thoghtful wight is told a tale, <br>He heerith it as thogh he thennes were; <br>His hevy thoghtes him so plukke and hale <br>Hidir and thidir, and him greeve and dere, <br>That his eres availle him nat a pere; <br>He undirstandith nothyng what men seye, <br>So been his wittes fer goon hem to pleye. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The smert of thoght I by experience <br>Knowe as wel as any man dooth lyvynge. <br>His frosty swoot and fyry hoot fervence, <br>And troubly dremes drempt al in wakynge, <br>My mazid heed sleeplees han of konnynge <br>And wit despoillid, and so me bejapid <br>That aftir deeth ful often have I gapid. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Passe over; whan this stormy nyght was goon <br>And day gan at my wyndowe in to prye, <br>I roos me up, for boote fond I noon <br>In myn unresty bed lenger to lye. <br>Into the feeld I dressid me in hye, <br>And in my wo I herte-deep gan wade, <br>As he that was bareyne of thoghtes glade. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">By that I walkid hadde a certeyn tyme, <br>Were it an hour I not, or more or lesse, <br>A poore old hoor man cam walkynge by me, <br>And seide, "Good day, sire, and God yow blesse!" <br>But I no word, for my seekly distresse <br>Forbad myn eres usen hir office, <br>For which this old man heeld me lewde and nyce, <br>Til he took heede to my drery cheere, <br>And to my deedly colour pale and wan. <br>Than thoghte he thus: "This man that I see heere <br>Al wrong is wrestid, by aght I see can." <br>He stirte unto me and seide, "Sleepstow, man? <br>Awake!" and gan me shake wondir faste, <br>And with a sigh I answerde atte laste: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"A, who is there?" "I," quod this olde greye, <br>"Am heer," and he me tolde the manere <br>How he spak to me, as yee herde me seye. <br>"O man," quod I, "for Crystes love deere, <br>If that thow wilt aght doon at my prayeere, <br>As go thy way, talke to me no more; <br>Thy wordes alle annoyen me ful sore. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Voide fro me, me list no conpaignie. <br>Encresse nat my greef, I have ynow." <br>"My sone, hast thow good lust thy sorwe drye <br>And mayst releeved be? What man art thow? <br>Wirke aftir me: it shal be for thy prow. <br>Thow nart but yong and hast but litil seen, <br>And ful seelde is that yong folk wyse been. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"If that thee lyke to been esid wel, <br>As suffre me with thee to talke a whyle. <br>Art thow aght lettred?" "Yee," quod I, "sumdel." <br>"Blessid be God, than hope I, by Seint Gyle, <br>That God to thee thy wit shal reconsyle <br>Which that me thynkith is fer fro thee went <br>Thurgh the assaut of thy grevous torment. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Lettred folk han gretter discrecion <br>And bet conceyve konne a mannes sawe, <br>And rather wole applie to reson, <br>And from folie sonner hem withdrawe, <br>Than he that neithir reson can ne lawe, <br>Ne lerned hath no maner letterure. <br>Plukke up thyn herte - I hope I shal thee cure." <br>"Cure, good man? Yee, thow art a fair leeche! <br>Cure thyself that tremblest as thow goost, <br>For al thyn aart wole enden in thy speeche. <br>It lyth nat in thy power, poore goost, <br>To hele me; thow art as seek almoost <br>As I! First on thyself kythe thyn aart, <br>And if aght leve, let me thanne have paart. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Go foorth thy way, I thee preye, or be stille; <br>Thow doost me more annoy than that thow weenest. <br>Thow art as ful of clap as is a mille; <br>Thow doost naght heer but greevest me and teenest. <br>Good man, thow woost but litil what thow meenest. <br>In thee lyth naght redresse my nusance, <br>And yit thow maist be wel-willid, par chance. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"It muste been a gretter man of might <br>Than that thow art that sholde me releeve." <br>"What, sone myn, thow feelist nat aright; <br>To herkne me, what shal it harme or greeve?" <br>"Petir, good man, thogh we talke heer til eeve, <br>Al is in veyn; thy might may nat atteyne <br>To hele me, swich is my woful peyne." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"What that I may or can ne woost thow noght. <br>Hardily, sone, telle on how it is." <br>"Man, at a word, it is encombrous thoght <br>That causith me thus sorwe and fare amis." <br>"Now, sone, and if ther nothyng be but this, <br>Do as I shal thee seye, and thyn estat <br>Amende I shal but thow be obstinat, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And wilfully rebelle and disobeye, <br>And list nat to my lore thee conforme; <br>For in swich cas, what sholde I speke or seye, <br>Or in my beste wyse thee enforme? <br>If thow it weyve and take anothir forme, <br>Aftir thy childissh misreuled conceit, <br>Thow doost unto thyself harm and deceit. <br>"O thyng seye I, if thow go feerelees <br>Al solitarie and conseil lakke and reed, <br>As me thynkith thy gyse is, doutelees <br>Thow likly art to bere a dotid heed. <br>Whil thow art soul, thoght his wastyng seed <br>Sowith in thee, and that in greet foysoun, <br>And thow reedlees nat canst voide his poisoun. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The Book seith thus - I redde it yore agoon: <br>'Wo be to him that list to been allone, <br>For if he falle, help ne hath he noon <br>To ryse.' This seye I by thy persone; <br>I fond thee soul and thy wittes echone <br>Fer fro thee fled and disparpled ful wyde, <br>Wherfore it seemeth thee needith a gyde, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Which that thee may unto thy wittes lede. <br>Thow graspist heer and there as dooth the blynde, <br>And ay misgoost, and yit, have I no drede, <br>If thow receyve wilt into thy mynde <br>My lore and execute it, thow shalt fynde <br>Therin swich ese that thy maladie <br>Abregge it shal and thy malencolie. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Ful holsum were it stynten of thy wo <br>And take unto thee spirit of gladnesse. <br>What profyt fyndest thow to mourne so? <br>Salomon seith that sorwe and hevynesse <br>Bones of man drieth by his duresse, <br>And herte glad makith florisshyng age; <br>Therfore I rede thow thy wo asswage. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"He seith: 'As motthes to a clooth annoyen <br>And of his wolle maken it al bare, <br>And also as wormes a tree destroien <br>Thurgh hir percynge, right so sorwe and care <br>Byreven man his helthe and his welfare <br>And his dayes abregge and shorte his lyf.' <br>Lo, what profyt is for to be pensyf? <br>"Now, goode sone, telle on thy grevance: <br>What is thy cause of thoght in special? <br>Haast thow of worldly goodes habundance <br>And carist how that it ykept be shal? <br>Or art thow needy and hast nat but smal, <br>And thristist sore a ryche man to be? <br>Or lovest hire that nat loveth thee? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I have herd seyn, in keepynge of richesse <br>Is thoght and wo and bisy awayt alway. 3 <br>The poore and needy eek hath hevynesse, <br>For to his purpos nat atteyne he may; <br>The lovere also seen men day by day <br>Prolle aftir that that he shal nevere fynde; <br>Thus thoght tormentith folk in sundry kynde. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"If thow thee feele in any of thise ygreeved <br>Or elles what, telle on, in Goddes name. <br>Thow seest al day the begger is releeved <br>That sit and beggith blynd, crookid, and lame, <br>And why? For he ne lettith for no shame <br>His harmes and his povert to bywreye <br>To folk as they goon by him in the weye. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"For and he keepe him cloos and holde his pees, <br>And nat out shewe how seek he inward is, <br>He may al day so sitten helpelees; <br>And, sone myn, althogh he fare amis <br>That hydeth so, God woot, the wyt is his; <br>But this begger his hurtes wole nat stele; <br>He wole telle al and more - he can naght hele. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Right so, if thee list have a remedie <br>Of thyn annoy that prikkith thee so smerte, <br>The verray cause of thyn hid maladie <br>Thow moot deskevere and telle out al thyn herte. <br>If thow it hyde, thow shalt nat asterte <br>That thow ne falle shalt in sum meschance; <br>Forthy amende thow thy governance. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Be waar of thoght, for it is perillous; <br>He the streight way to desconfort men ledith; <br>His violence is ful outrageous; <br>Unwys is he that bisy thoght ne dredith. <br>In whom that he his mortel venym shedith, <br>But if a vomyt aftir folwe blyve, <br>At the port of despeir he may arryve. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Sone, swich thoght lurkynge thee withynne, <br>That huntith aftir thy confusioun, <br>Hy tyme it is to voide and lat him twynne, <br>And walke at large out of thy prisoun. <br>Be waar the feendes sly conclusioun, <br>For if he may thee unto despeir brynge, <br>Thow mourne shalt, and lawhe he wole and synge. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Sum man for lak of occupacioun <br>Musith ferthere than his wit may strecche, <br>And at the feendes instigacioun <br>Dampnable errour holdith, and can nat flecche <br>For no conseil ne reed, as dide a wrecche <br>Nat fern ago, which that of heresie <br>Convict and brent was unto asshen drie. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The precious body of our Lord Jhesu <br>In forme of brede he leeved nat at al; <br>He was in nothyng abassht ne eschu <br>To seye it was but brede material. <br>He seide a preestes power was as smal <br>As a rakers or swich anothir wight, <br>And to make it hadde no gretter might. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"My lord the Prince - God him save and blesse - <br>Was at his deedly castigacioun <br>And of his soule hadde greet tendrenesse, <br>Thristynge sore his sauvacioun. <br>Greet was his pitous lamentacioun <br>Whan that this renegat nat wolde blynne <br>Of the stynkynge errour that he was ynne. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"This good lord highte him to be swich a mene <br>To his fadir, our lige lord sovereyn, <br>If he renounce wolde his error clene <br>And come unto our good byleeve ageyn, <br>He sholde of his lyf seur been and certain; <br>And souffissant lyflode eek sholde he have <br>Unto the day he clad were in his grave. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Also this noble prynce and worthy knyght - <br>God qwyte him his charitable labour - <br>Or any stikke kyndlid were or light, <br>The sacrament, our blessid Sauveour, <br>With reverence greet and hy honour, <br>He fecche leet, this wrecche to converte, <br>And make our feith to synken in his herte. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But al for naght, it wolde nat betyde; <br>He heeld foorth his oppinioun dampnable, <br>And caste our holy Cristen feith asyde <br>As he that was to the feend acceptable. <br>By any outward tokne resonable, <br>If he inward hadde any repentance, <br>That woot He that of nothyng hath doutance. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Lat the dyvynes of him speke and muse <br>Where his soule is bycome or whidir goon; <br>Myn unkonnynge of that me shal excuse; <br>Of swich mateere knowleche have I noon. <br>But wolde God tho Crystes foos echoon <br>That holde as he heeld were yserved so, <br>For I am seur that ther been many mo. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The more routhe is! Allas, what men been they <br>That hem delyten in swich surquidrye? <br>For mannes reson may nat preeve our fey <br>That they wole it dispreeven or denye. <br>To our lord God that sitte in hevenes hye, <br>Shul they desyre for to been egal? <br>Nay, that was nevere, certes, ne be shal. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"That our lord God seith in Holy Scripture <br>May nat be fals, this knowith every wight <br>But he be mad; and thogh a creature <br>In his Goddes werk feele nat aright, <br>Shal he rebelle ageyn his lordes might, <br>Which that this wyde world hath maad of noght, <br>For reson may nat knytte it in his thoght? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Was it nat eek a moustre as in nature <br>That God ybore was of a virgyne? <br>Yit is it sooth, thogh man by conjecture <br>Of reson or what he can ymagyne <br>Nat savoure it ne can it determyne. <br>He that almighty is dooth as him list; <br>He wole his konnynge hid be and nat wist. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Our feith nat were unto us meritorie <br>If that we mighten by reson it preeve. <br>Lat us nat fro God twynnen and His glorie; <br>As Holy Chirche us bit, lat us byleeve. <br>But we therto obeye, it shal us greeve <br>Importably; lat us do as shee bit; <br>Oure goode fadres olde han folwed it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Presumpcion, a benedicitee! <br>Why vexest thow folk with thy franesie, <br>Thogh nothyng elles were, I seye for me? <br>But see how that the worthy prelacie, <br>And undir hem the souffissant clergie, <br>Endowid of profounde intelligence, <br>Of al this land werreyen thy sentence. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"That selve same to me were a brydil <br>By which wolde I governed been and gyed, <br>And elles al my labour were in ydil. <br>By Holy Chirche I wole be justified; <br>To that al hoolly is myn herte applied, <br>And evere shal. I truste in Goddes grace; <br>Swich surquidrie in me shal have no place. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Sone, if God wole, thow art noon of tho <br>That wrappid been in this dampnacioun?" <br>"I? Cryst forbeede it, sire," seide I tho. <br>"I thanke it God, noon inclinacioun <br>Have I to laboure in probacioun <br>Of His hy knowleche and His mighty werkis, <br>For swich mateere unto my wit to derk is. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Of our feith wole I nat despute at al, <br>But at o word, I in the sacrament <br>Of the auter fully byleeve and shal, <br>With Goddes help, whil lyf is to me lent, <br>And in despit of the feendes talent, <br>In alle othir articles of the feith <br>Byleeve as fer as that Holy Writ seith." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Now good thrift come unto thee, sone deere; <br>Thy goost is now awakid wel, I see, <br>And sumwhat eek amendid is thy cheere. <br>And first I was ful sore agast of thee, <br>Lest that thow thurgh thoghtful adversitee <br>Nat haddest standen in thy feith aright; <br>Now is myn herte woxen glad and light. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Hast thow in me any gretter savour <br>Than that thow haddest first whan thow me sy, <br>Whan I opposid thee of thy langour? <br>Seye on the soothe." "Yee, sumdel," quod I. <br>"My sone, in feith that is seid ful feyntly; <br>Thy savour yit ful smal is, as I trowe, <br>But or aght longe I shal the soothe knowe. <br>"I woot wel, sone, of me thus wilt thow thynke: <br>This olde dotid grisel halt him wys; 4 <br>He weeneth maken in myn heed to synke <br>His lewde clap, of which sette I no prys. <br>He is a noble prechour at devys; <br>Greet noyse hath thurgh his chynned lippes drye <br>This day out past, the devel in his ye. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But thogh I old and hoor be, sone myn, <br>And poore be my clothynge and array, <br>And nat so wyde a gowne have as is thyn - <br>So smal ypynchid ne so fressh and gay - <br>My reed in hap yit thee profyte may, <br>And likly that thow deemest for folie <br>Is gretter wysdam than thow canst espie. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Undir an old poore habyt regneth ofte <br>Greet vertu, thogh it moustre poorely; <br>And whereas greet array is up on lofte, <br>Vice is but seelden hid - that wel woot I. <br>But nat reporte, I preye thee, inwardly, <br>That fressh array I generally deprave; <br>Thise worthy men mowe it wel use and have. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But this me thynkith an abusioun, <br>To see oon walke in gownes of scarlet <br>Twelve yerdes wyde, with pendaunt sleeves doun <br>On the ground, and the furrour therin set, <br>Amountyng unto twenti pound or bet. <br>And if he for it paied have, he no good <br>Hath left him wherwith for to bye an hood. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"For thogh he gette foorth among the prees <br>And overlooke every poore wight, <br>His cofre and eek his purs been penylees; <br>He hath no more than he gooth in right. <br>For land, rente, or catel he may go light; <br>The weighte of hem shal nat so moche peise <br>As dooth his gowne. Is swich array to preise? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Nay, soothly, sone, it is al mis, me thynkith, <br>So poore a wight his lord to countrefete <br>In his array; in my conceit it stynkith. <br>Certes to blame been the lordes grete, <br>If that I durste seyn, that hir men lete <br>Usurpe swich a lordly apparaille; <br>It is nat worth, my chyld, withouten faille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Sumtyme afer men mighten lordes knowe <br>By hir array from othir folk, but now <br>A man shal studie and musen a long throwe <br>Which is which. O lordes, it sit to yow <br>Amende this, for it is for your prow; <br>If twixt yow and your men no difference <br>Be in array, lesse is your reverence. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Also ther is anothir neewe get: <br>A foul waast of clooth and an excessyf <br>Ther gooth, no lesse in a mannes typet <br>Than of brood clooth a yerde, by my lyf; <br>Me thynkith this a verray inductyf <br>Unto stelthe. Waar hem of hempen lane, <br>For stelthe is medid with a chekelewe bane. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Let every lord his owne men deffende <br>Swich greet array, and thanne, on my peril, <br>This land withynne a whyle shal amende. <br>In Goddes name, putte it in exyl; <br>It is a synne outrageous and vyl; <br>Lordes, if yee your estat and honour <br>Loven, fleemeth this vicious errour. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"What is a lord withouten his meynee? <br>I putte cas that his foos him assaille <br>Sodeynly in the street: what help shal he <br>Whos sleeves encombrous so syde traille <br>Do to his lord? He may him nat availle; <br>In swich a cas he nis but a womman; <br>He may nat stande him in stide of a man. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"His armes two han right ynow to doone, <br>And sumwhat more, his sleeves up to holde. <br>The taillours, trowe I, moot heeraftir soone <br>Shape in the feeld; they shul nat sprede and folde <br>On hir bord, thogh they nevere so fayn wolde, <br>The clooth that shal been in a gowne wroght; <br>Take an hool clooth is best, for lesse is noght. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"The skynner unto the feeld moot also - <br>His hous in Londoun is to streit and scars <br>To doon his craft; sumtyme it was nat so. <br>O lordes, geve unto your men hir pars <br>That so doon, and aqweynte hem bet with Mars, <br>God of bataille; he loveth noon array <br>That hurtith manhode at preef or assay. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Who now moost may bere on his bak at ones <br>Of clooth and furrour hath a fressh renoun; <br>He is a lusty man clept, for the nones. <br>But drapers and eek skynners in the toun <br>For swich folk han a special orisoun, <br>That droppid is with curses heer and there, <br>And ay shal til they paied be for hir gere. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"In dayes olde, whan smal apparaille <br>Souffysid unto hy estat or mene, <br>Was greet houshold wel stuffid of vitaille; <br>But now housholdes been ful sclendre and lene, <br>For al the good that men may repe or glene <br>Waastid is in outrageous array, <br>So that housholdes men nat holde may. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Pryde hath wel lever bere an hungry mawe <br>To bedde than lak of array outrage. <br>He no prys settith by mesures lawe, <br>Ne takith of him clooth, mete, ne wage; <br>Mesure is out of land on pilgrimage; <br>But I suppose he shal resorte as blyve, <br>For verray neede wole us therto dryve. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Ther may no lord take up no neewe gyse <br>But that a knave shal the same up take. <br>If lordes wolden wirken in this wyse <br>For to do swiche gownes to hem make <br>As men dide in old tyme, I undirtake, <br>The same get sholde up be take and usid, <br>And al this costlewe outrage refusid. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Of Lancastre Duk John, whos soule in hevene <br>I fully deeme and truste sit ful hye - <br>A noble prince, I may allegge and nevene - <br>Othir may no man of him testifie; <br>I nevere sy a lord that cowde him gye <br>Bet lyk his estat; al knyghtly prowesse <br>Was to him girt - o God, his soule blesse! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"His garnementes weren nat ful wyde, <br>And yit they him becam wondirly wel. <br>Now wolde God the waast of clooth and pryde <br>Yput were in exyl perpetuel <br>For the good and profyt universel; <br>And lordes mighte helpe al this, if they wolde <br>The old get take, and it foorth use and holde. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Than mighte silver walke more thikke <br>Among the peple than that it dooth now. <br>Ther wolde I fayn that were yset the prikke - <br>Nat for myself, I shal do wel ynow - <br>But, sone, for that swiche men as thow, <br>That with the world wrastlen, mighte han plentee <br>Of coyn, whereas yee han now scarsetee. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Now hath this land but litil neede of bromes <br>To sweepe away the filthe out of the street, <br>Syn syde sleeves of penylees gromes <br>Wole it up likke, be it drie or weet. <br>O Engeland, stande upright on thy feet! <br>So foul a waast in so symple degree <br>Banisshe, or sore it shal repente thee. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"If a wight vertuous but narwe clothid <br>To lordes courtes now adayes go, <br>His conpaignie is unto folkes lothid; <br>Men passen by him bothe to and fro, <br>And scorne him for he is arraied so. <br>To hir conceit is no wight vertuous <br>But he that of array is outrageous. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But he that flatere can or be a baude, <br>And by tho tweyne fressh array him gete, <br>It holden is to him honour and laude. <br>Trouthe and clennesse musten men forgete <br>In lordes courtes, for they hertes frete; <br>They hyndren folk. Fy upon tonges treewe! <br>They displesance in lordes courtes breewe. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Lo, sone myn, that tale is at an eende. <br>Now, goode sone, have of me no desdeyn, <br>Thogh I be old and myn array untheende, <br>For many a yong man, woot I wel certeyn, <br>Of corage is so prowd and so hauteyn <br>That to the poore and old mannes doctryne <br>Ful seelde him deyneth bowen or enclyne. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Senek seith, age is an infirmitee <br>That leche noon can cure ne it hele, <br>For to the deeth next neigheburgh is he. <br>Ther may no wight the chartre of lyf ensele; <br>The ende is deeth of male and of femele; <br>Nothyng is more certeyn than deeth is, <br>Ne more uncerteyn than the tyme, ywis. <br>"As touchynge age, God in Holy Writ <br>Right thus seith: 'Fadir and modir honure, <br>That thow maist be long-lyved' - thus he bit. <br>Than moot it folwen upon this scripture, <br>Age is a guerdoun to a creature, <br>And long-lyved is noon withouten age, <br>Wherfore I seye, in elde is avauntage; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And the reward of God may nat be smal; <br>His giftes been ful noble and profitable; <br>Forthy ne lakke thow nat age at al. <br>Whan youthe is past is age sesonable; <br>Age hath insighte how unseur and unstable <br>This worldes cours is by lengthe of his yeeres, <br>And can deffende him from his sharpe breres. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Lord, whethir it be maistrie to knowe <br>Whan a man ofte hath sundry weyes ride, <br>Which is the beste? Nay, for soothe, I trowe, <br>Right so he that hath many a world abide <br>There he in youthe wroghte mis or dide, <br>His age it seeth and bit him it eschue <br>And seekith weyes covenable and due. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Whan that thow hast assayed bothe two, <br>Sad age, I seye, aftir thy skittissh yowthe, <br>As thow moot needes atteyne therto <br>Or sterve yong, than trowe I thow wilt bowe thee <br>To swiche conceites as I have nowthe, <br>And thanke God devoutly in thyn herte <br>That He hath suffrid thee thy yowthe asterte. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Youthe ful smal reward hath to goodnesse, <br>And peril dredith he noon, woot I wel; <br>Al his devocion and holynesse <br>At the taverne is, as for the moost del; <br>To Bachus signe and to the levesel <br>His youthe him halith, and whan it him happith <br>To chirche goon, of nycetee he clappith. <br>"The cause why men oghten thidir goon, <br>Nat cause can his wilde steerissh heed <br>To folwen it. Also, boote is it noon <br>To telle it him, for thogh men sowen seed <br>Of vertu, in a yong man it is deed; <br>As blyve his rebel goost it mortifieth. <br>Al thyng sauf folie in a yong man dieth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Whan I was yong, I was ful rechelees, <br>Prowd, nyce, and riotous for the maistrie, <br>And among othir, consciencelees. <br>By that sette I nat the worth of a flie; <br>And of hem hauntid I the conpaignie <br>That wente on pilgrimage to taverne, <br>Which before unthrift berith the lanterne. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"There offred I wel more than my tythe, <br>And withdrow Holy Chirche his duetee. <br>My freendes me conseillid often sythe <br>That I with lownesse and humilitee <br>To my curat go sholde and make his gree, <br>But straw, unto hir reed wolde I nat bowe <br>For aght they cowden preyen alle or wowe! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Whan folk wel reuled dressid hem to bedde <br>In tyme due by reed of nature, <br>To the taverne qwikly I me spedde <br>And pleide at dees whil the nyght wolde endure. <br>There the former of every creature <br>Dismembred I with oothes grete, and rente <br>Lym fro lym or that I thennes wente. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And ofte it fals was that I swoor or spak, <br>For the desir fervent of covetyse <br>Fond in perjurie no deffaute or lak, <br>But evere entyced me that in al wyse <br>Myne oothes grete I sholde excercyse, <br>And specially for lucre, in al maneere, <br>Swere and forswere with bold face and cheere. <br>"But this condicioun, lo, hadde I evere: <br>Thogh I prowd were in wordes or in speeche, <br>Whan strokes cam, a place I gan dissevere; <br>Fro my felawes soghte I nevere leeche <br>For hurt which that I took; what sholde I seeche <br>A salve whan I therof had no neede? <br>I hurtlees was ay thurgh impressid dreede. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Tho mighte I spende an hundred mark by yeer, <br>Al thyng deduct, my sone, I gabbe noght. <br>I was so prowd, I heeld no man my peere; <br>In pryde and leccherie was al my thoght. <br>No more I hadde set therby or roght <br>A wyf or mayde or nonne to deffoule <br>Than sheete or pleyen at the bal or boule. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Right nyce girles at my retenue <br>Had I an heep, wyves and othir mo - <br>What so they were, I wolde noon eschue; <br>And yeeres fele I continued so. <br>Allas, I nothyng was waar of the wo <br>That folwed me; I lookid nat behynde; <br>Conceites yonge been ful dirk and blynde. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"An office also hadde I lucratyf, <br>And wan ynow, God woot, and mochil more, <br>But nevere thoghte I in al my yong lyf <br>What I unjustly gat for to restore, <br>Wherfore I now repente wondir sore; <br>As it misgoten was, mis was despendid, <br>Of which our lord God greetly was offendid. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"He sy I nolde absteene for no good <br>Of myn outrageous iniquitee, <br>And whan that His lust was, withdrow the flood <br>Of welthe, and at ground ebbe sette He me; <br>With povert for my gilt me feffid He. <br>Swich wreche took He for my cursid synne; <br>No more good have I than I stonde ynne. <br>"Gold, silver, jewel, clooth, beddyng, array - <br>Ne have I noon othir than thow maist see; <br>Pardee, this bare old russet is nat gay, <br>And in my purs so grete sommes be <br>That ther nis contour in al Cristientee <br>Which that hem can at any noumbre sette. <br>That shalt thow see, my purs I wole unshette. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Come hidir to me, sone, and looke whethir <br>In this purs ther be any crois or crouche <br>Sauf nedel and threde and themel of lethir; <br>Heer seestow naght that man may handele or touche. <br>The feend, men seyn, may hoppen in a pouche <br>Whan that no crois therynne may appeere, <br>And by my purs the same I may seye heere. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"O, where is now al the wantoun moneye <br>That I was maistir of and governour, <br>Whan I kneew nat what povert was to seye? <br>Now is povert the glas and the mirour <br>In which I see my God, my sauveour. <br>Or povert cam, wiste I nat what God was, <br>But now I knowe and see Him in this glas. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And where be my gownes of scarlet, <br>Sangwyn, murray, and blewes sadde and lighte; <br>Greenes also, and the fair violet; <br>Hors and harneys, fressh and lusty in sighte - <br>My wikkid lyf hath put al this to flighte. <br>But, certes, yit me greeveth moost of alle, <br>My frendshipe is al clene fro me falle. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"O whyle I stood in wele, I was honurid <br>And many oon of my conpaignie glad, <br>And now I am mislookid on and lourid; <br>Ther rekkith noon how wo I be bystad. <br>O Lord, this world unstable is and unsad; <br>This world honureth nat mannes persone <br>For himself, sone, but for good allone. <br>"Ful sooth fynde I the word of Salomon, <br>That to moneie obeien alle thynges; <br>For that my coyn and coynworth is agoon, <br>Contrarien they my wil and my biddynges, <br>That in my welthe with hir flaterynges <br>Heelden with me what that I wroghte or seide; <br>Now disobeyen they that thanne obeide. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Now seyn they thus: 'I wiste wel alway <br>That him destroie wolde his fool largesse; <br>I tolde him so and evere he seide nay.' <br>And yit they lien, also God me blesse; <br>They me conforted ay in myn excesse, <br>And seide I was a manly man withalle; <br>Hir hony wordes tornen me to galle. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"God, which of His benigne courtesie, <br>And of His cheere lovynge tendrenesse, <br>He of the synful hath nat wole he die, <br>But lyve for to amende his wikkidnesse; <br>Him thanke I and His infynyt goodnesse; <br>His grace lykith that thurgh worldly peyne <br>My soule eschape may the feendes cheyne. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Job hadde an hevyer fal than I, pardee, <br>For he was clumben hyer in richesse, <br>And paciently he his adversitee <br>Took, as the Byble bere can witnesse. <br>And aftirward, God al his hevynesse <br>Torned to joie, and so may He do myn <br>Whan that it lykith to His myght devyn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Lord, as Thee list, right so Thow to me do; <br>But evere I hope seur been of that place <br>Which that Thy mercy boght us hath unto, <br>If that us list for to sue Thy grace. <br>A! Lord almighty, in my lyves space, <br>Of my gilt graunte Thow me repentance, <br>And Thy strook take in greable souffrance. <br>"I cowde of youthe han talkid more and told <br>Than I have doon, but the day passith swythe, <br>And eek me lever is by many fold <br>Thy greef to knowe which that sit so ny thee. <br>Telle on anoon, my goode sone, and hye thee, <br>And I shal herknen as thow hast doon me, <br>And, as I can, wole I conseille thee." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Grant mercy, deere fadir, of your speeche. <br>Yee han right wel me conforted and esid; <br>And hertily I preye yow and byseeche, <br>What I first to yow spak, be nat displesid; <br>It reewith me if I yow have disesid, <br>And meekly yow byseeche I of pardoun, <br>Me submittynge unto correccioun. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I woot wel first, whan that I with yow mette, <br>I was ful mad and spak ful rudely. <br>Thogh I nat slepte, yit my spirit mette <br>Ful angry dremes; thoght ful bysyly <br>Vexid my goost so that nothyng wiste I <br>What that I to yow spak or what I thoghte, <br>But heer and there I myselven soghte. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I preye yow, deemeth nat that in despyt <br>I hadde yow for age or povertee; <br>I mente it nat, but I stood in swich plyt <br>That it was nothyng likly unto me, <br>Thogh yee had knowen al my privetee, <br>That yee mighten my greef thus han abregged <br>As yee han doon, so sore I was agregged. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Fadir, as wysly God me save and speede, <br>Yee been nat he whom that I wende han fownde; <br>Yee been to me ful welcome in this neede. <br>I woot wel yee in hy vertu habownde; <br>Your wys reed hope I hele shal my wownde; <br>My day of helthe is present, as me thynkith; <br>Your confort deepe into myn herte synkith. <br>"Myn herte seith that your benevolence, <br>Of routhe meeved and verray pitee <br>Of my wo, dooth his peyne and diligence <br>Me to releeve of myn infirmitee. <br>O, goode fadir, blessid moot yee be, <br>That han swich routhe of my woful estat, <br>Which wel ny was of helthe desperat. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But, fadir, thogh ther be dyversitee <br>Ful greet betwixt your excellent prudence <br>And the folie that regneth in me, <br>Yit, God it woot, ful litil difference <br>Is ther betwixt the hete and the fervence <br>Of love which to agid folk yee have <br>And myn, althogh yee deeme I hem deprave. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"For if that I the soothe shal confesse, <br>The lak of olde mennes cherisshynge <br>Is cause and ground of al myn hevynesse <br>And encheson of my woful mournynge. <br>That shal yee knowe, if it be your lykynge <br>The cause wite of myn adversitee." <br>"Yis, telle on in the name of Cryst," seide he. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Sauf first, or thow any ferther proceede, <br>O thyng of thee wite wolde I, my sone: <br>Wher dwellist thow?" "Fadir, withouten dreede, <br>In the office of the Privee Seel I wone <br>And wryte - there is my custume and wone <br>Unto the Seel, and have twenti yeer <br>And foure come Estren, and that is neer." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Now sikir, sone, that is a fair tyme; <br>The tokne is good of thy continuance. <br>Come hidir, goode, and sitte adoun heer by me, <br>For I moot reste a whyle; it is penance <br>To me thus longe walke - it dooth nusance <br>Unto my crookid, feeble lymes olde, <br>That been so stif, unnethe I may hem folde." <br>Whan I was set adoun as he me preide, <br>"Telle on," seide he, "how is it with thee, how?" <br>And I began my tale and thus I seide: <br>"My lige lord, the kyng which that is now, <br>I fynde to me gracious ynow; <br>God yilde him, he hath for my long servyse <br>Guerdouned me in covenable wyse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"In th'eschequeer, he of his special grace <br>Hath to me grauntid an annuitee <br>Of twenti mark whyle I have lyves space. <br>Mighte I ay payd been of that duetee, <br>It sholde stonde wel ynow with me; <br>But paiement is hard to gete adayes, <br>And that me putte in many foule affrayes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"It gooth ful streite and sharpe or I it have. <br>If I seur were of it be satisfied <br>Fro yeer to yeer, thanne, so God me save, <br>My deepe-rootid greef were remedied <br>Souffissantly. But how I shal be gyed <br>Heeraftir, whan that I no lenger serve - <br>This hevyeth me so that I wel ny sterve. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"For syn that I now in myn age greene, <br>And beynge in court, with greet peyne unnethe <br>Am paid, in elde and out of court, I weene, <br>My purs for that may be a ferthyng shethe; <br>Lo, fadir myn, this dullith me to dethe. <br>Now God helpe al, for but he me socoure, <br>My future yeeres lyk been to be soure." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Service, I woot wel, is noon heritage; <br>Whan I am out of court anothir day, <br>As I moot whan upon me hastith age <br>And that no lenger I laboure may, <br>Unto my poore cote, it is no nay, <br>I moot me drawe and my fortune abyde, <br>And suffre storm aftir the mery tyde. <br>"Ther preeve I shal the mutabilitee <br>Of this wrecchid worldes affeccion, <br>Which, whan that youthe is past, begynneth flee. <br>Frendshipe, adieu! Farwel, dileccion! <br>Age is put out of your proteccion; <br>His look unlusty and his inpotence <br>Qwenchith your love and your benevolence. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"That aftirclap in my mynde so deepe <br>Yficchid is, and hath swich roote ycaght, <br>That al my joie and mirthe is leid to sleepe; <br>My ship is wel ny with despeir yfraght. <br>They that nat konne lerned be ne taght <br>By swiche ensamples smerte as they han seen, <br>Me thynkith certes over blynde been. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Allas! I see routhe and pitee exylid <br>Out of this land. Allas, conpassioun! <br>Whan shul yee thre to us be reconsylid? <br>Your absence is my grevous passioun; <br>Resorte, I preye yow, to this regioun; <br>O, come ageyn! The lak of your presence <br>Manaceth me to sterve in indigence. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"O fikil world, allas thy variance! <br>How many a gentil man may men now see <br>That whilom in the werres olde of France <br>Honured were and holde in greet cheertee <br>For hir prowesse in armes, and plentee <br>Of freendes hadde in youthe, and now, for shame, <br>Allas, hir frendshipe is crookid and lame! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Now age unourne away puttith favour <br>That floury youthe in his seson conquerde; <br>Now al forgote is the manly labour <br>Thurgh which ful ofte they hir foos aferde. <br>Now been tho worthy men bet with the yerde <br>Of neede, allas, and noon hath of hem routhe; <br>Pitee I trowe is biried, by my trouthe. <br>"If shee be deed, God have hir soule, I preye, <br>And so shal mo heeraftir preye, I trowe. <br>He that pretendith him of moost nobleye, <br>If he hir lakke, shal wel wite and knowe <br>That crueltee hir fo may but a throwe <br>Him suffre for to lyve in any welthe; <br>Herte pitous to body and soule is helthe. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Yee olde men of armes, that han knowe <br>By sight and by report hir worthynesse, <br>Lat nat mescheef tho men thus overthrowe; <br>Kythe upon hem your manly gentillesse. <br>Yee yonge men that entre into prowesse <br>Of armes eek, youre fadres olde honurith; <br>Helpe hem yourself, or sum good hem procurith. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Knyghthode, awake! Thow sleepist to longe; <br>Thy brothir, see, ny dieth for mescheef; <br>Awake and reewe upon his peynes stronge. <br>If thow heeraftir come unto swich preef, <br>Thow wilt ful sore thriste aftir releef; <br>Thow art nat seur what that thee shal befalle. <br>Welthe is ful slipir; be waar lest thow falle. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Thow that yclomben art in hy honoures, <br>And hast this worldes welthe at thy devys, <br>And bathist now in youthes lusty floures; <br>Be waar, rede I, thow standist on the ys. <br>It hath been seen, as weleful and as wys <br>As thow han slide; and thow that no pitee <br>On othir folk hast, who shal reewe on thee? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Leeve me wel, ther is noon eerthely man <br>That hath so stable a welthe but that it <br>May faille, do he what that he do can. <br>God as him list visitith folk and smit; <br>Wherfore I deeme and holde it grace and wit <br>In hy estat, man God and himself knowe, <br>And releeve hem that mescheef hath doun throwe. <br>"God wole that the needy be releeved; <br>It is oon of the werkis of mercy. <br>And syn tho men that been in armes preeved <br>Been into povert falle, treewely <br>Yee men of armes oghten specially <br>Helpe hem. Allas! han yee no pitous blood <br>That may yow stire for to doon hem good? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"O now in ernest, deere fadir myn, <br>Thise worthy men to me the mirour shewe <br>Of slipir frendshipe, and unto what fyn <br>I drawe shal withyn a yeeres fewe. <br>Upon this woful thoght I hakke and hewe <br>And muse so that unto lyte I madde, <br>And lever die than lyven I hadde. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"In feith, fadir, my lyflode, besyde <br>Th'annuite of which above I tolde, <br>May nat exceede yeerly in no tyde <br>Six marc. That sit to myn herte so colde, <br>Whan that I looke abouten and beholde <br>How scars it is, if that that othir faille, <br>That I nat glade can but mourne and waille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And as ferfoorth as I can deeme or gesse, <br>Whan I at hoom dwelle in my poore cote, <br>I fynde shal as freendly slipirnesse <br>As tho men now doon, whos frendshipe is rote. <br>Nat wolde I rekke as mochil as a mote, <br>Thogh I no more hadde of yeerly encrees, <br>So that I mighte ay payed be doutlees. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Two parties of my lyf and mochil more <br>I seur am past been - I ne doute it noght; <br>And if that I sholde in my yeeres hore <br>Forgo my duetee that I have boght <br>With my flessh and my blood, that hevy thoght, <br>Which I drede ay shal falle as I it thynke, <br>Me hastith blyve unto my pittes brynke. <br>Faylynge, fadir, myn annuitee, <br>Foot-hoot in me creepith disese and wo, <br>For they that han byfore knowen me, <br>Faylynge good, me faille wole also. <br>Who no good hath is fer his freendes fro. <br>In muk is al this worldes freendlyhede; <br>My goost is wrappid in an hevy drede. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"If that I hadde of custume or this tyme <br>Lyved in indigences wrecchidnesse, <br>The lesse heeraftir sholde it sit by me; <br>But in myn age wrastle with hardnesse, <br>That with him stroglid nevere in the grennesse <br>Of youthe - that mutacion and chaunge <br>Anothir day me seeme sholde al straunge. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"He that nevere kneew the swetnesse of wele, <br>Thogh he it lakke ay, lesse him greeve it shal <br>Than him that hath been welthy yeeres fele, <br>And in effect hath felt no greef at al. <br>O povert, God me sheelde fro thy fal! <br>O deeth! Thy strook yit is more agreable <br>To me than lyve a lyf so miserable. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Six marc yeerly and no more than that, <br>Fadir, to me me thynkith is ful lyte, <br>Considerynge how that I am nat <br>In housbondrye lerned worth a myte; <br>Scarsely kowde I charre away the kyte <br>That me byreve wolde my pullaille, <br>And more axith housbondly governaille. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"With plow can I nat medlen ne with harwe, <br>Ne woot nat what lond good is for what corn, <br>And for to lade a cart or fille a barwe, <br>To which I nevere usid was toforn; <br>My bak unbuxum hath swich thyng forsworn, <br>At instaunce of wrytynge, his werreyour, <br>That stowpynge hath him spilt with his labour. <br>"Many men, fadir, weenen that wrytynge <br>No travaille is; they holde it but a game; <br>Aart hath no fo but swich folk unkonnynge. <br>But whoso list desporte him in that same, <br>Let him continue and he shal fynde it grame; <br>It is wel gretter labour than it seemeth; <br>The blynde man of colours al wrong deemeth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"A wryter moot thre thynges to him knytte, <br>And in tho may be no disseverance: <br>Mynde, ye, and hand - noon may from othir flitte, <br>But in hem moot be joynt continuance; <br>The mynde al hool, withouten variance, <br>On ye and hand awayte moot alway, <br>And they two eek on him, it is no nay. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Whoso shal wryte, may nat holde a tale <br>With him and him, ne synge this ne that; <br>But al his wittes hoole, grete and smale, <br>Ther muste appeere and holden hem therat; <br>And syn he speke may ne synge nat, <br>But bothe two he needes moot forbere, <br>His labour to him is the elengere. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Thise artificers see I day by day, <br>In the hootteste of al hir bysynesse, <br>Talken and synge and make game and play, <br>And foorth hir labour passith with gladnesse; <br>But we laboure in travaillous stilnesse; <br>We stowpe and stare upon the sheepes skyn, <br>And keepe moot our song and wordes yn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Wrytyng also dooth grete annoyes thre, <br>Of which ful fewe folkes taken heede <br>Sauf we ourself, and thise, lo, they be: <br>Stommak is oon, whom stowpynge out of dreede <br>Annoyeth sore; and to our bakkes neede <br>Moot it be grevous; and the thridde oure yen <br>Upon the whyte mochil sorwe dryen. <br>"What man that three and twenti yeer and more <br>In wrytynge hath continued, as have I, <br>I dar wel seyn, it smertith him ful sore <br>In every veyne and place of his body; <br>And yen moost it greeveth, treewely, <br>Of any craft that man can ymagyne. <br>Fadir, in feith, it spilt hath wel ny myne. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Lo, fadir, told have I yow the substance <br>Of al my greef, so as that I can telle. <br>But wel I woot it hath been greet penance <br>To yow with me so longe for to dwelle; <br>I am right sikir it hath been an helle <br>Yow for to herkne me thus jangle and clappe, <br>So lewdly in my termes I me wrappe. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But, nathelees, truste I your pacience <br>Receyve wole in gree my wordes alle, <br>And what misseid I have of negligence, <br>Yee wole it lete asyde slippe and falle. <br>My fadir deere, unto your grace I calle; <br>Yee woot my greef; now redith me the beste, <br>Withouten whom my goost can have no reste." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Now, sone myn, hastow al seid and spoke <br>That thee good lykith?" "Yee, fadir, as now." <br>"Sone, if aght in thyn herte elles be loke, <br>Unloke it blyve. Come of, what seistow?" <br>"Fadir, I can no more telle yow <br>Than I before spoken have and said." <br>"A Goddes half, sone, I am wel apaid. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Conceyved have I that thow greet fere haast <br>Of povert for to fallen in the snare; <br>Thow haast therynne caght so deep a taast <br>That of al joie thow art voide and bare. <br>Thow ny despeired art of al welfare, <br>And the strook of povert art thow fer fro; <br>For shame, why makist thow al this wo? <br>"I putte cas, as God therfro thee keepe, <br>Thow were yfalle in indigent povert. <br>Sholdest thow grucche and thyn annoy byweepe? <br>Nay, be thow ryche or poore, or seek or qwert, <br>God thanke alway of thyn ese and thy smert; <br>Pryde thee nat for no prosperitee, <br>Ne hevye thee for noon adversitee. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Povert hath in himself ynow grevance <br>Withouten that that man him more purchace; <br>Whoso it takth in pacient souffrance, <br>It is ful plesant beforn Crystes face; <br>And whoso grucchith, forfetith that grace <br>That he sholde han if that his pacience <br>Withstood the greef and made it resistence. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"My sone, as witnessith Holy Scripture, <br>Discreet and honest povert many fold <br>Commendid is. Cryst Himself, I thee ensure, <br>To love and teche and prechen it hath wold; <br>He dide al this. Be thow nevere so bold <br>Ageyn povert heeraftir grucche, I rede; <br>For ferthermore, in Holy Writ I rede: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Beholde the lyf of our Sauveour, <br>Right fro the tyme of His nativitee <br>Unto His deeth, as that seith myn auctour, <br>And tokne in it shalt thow noon fynde or se <br>But of povert with which content was He. <br>Is man bettre than God? Shal man eschue <br>Swich lyf, syn God that same wolde ay sue? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Fy! It is to greet an abusioun <br>To seen a man that is but wormes mete <br>Desire ryche and greet possessioun, <br>Wheras our lord God wolde Him entremete <br>Of no richesse - He deyned it nat gete; <br>He lyved poorely and povert chees, <br>That mighte han been ful ryche, it is no lees. <br>"The poore man sleepith ful sikirly <br>On nyghtes, thogh his dore be nat shit, <br>Whereas the riche abedde bysyly <br>Castith and ymagyneth in his wit <br>That necessarie unto him is it <br>Barres and lokkes stronge for to have, <br>His good from theeves for to keepe and save. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And whan the deed sleep fallith atte laste <br>On him, he dremeth theeves comen yn <br>And on his cofres knokke and leye on faste; <br>And some hem pyke with a sotil gyn, <br>And up is broken lok, hasp, barre, and pyn, <br>And in the hand gooth, and the bagge out takith, <br>For sorwe of which, out of his sleep he wakith; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And up he rysith, foot and hand tremblynge, <br>As that assaillid him the palesie, <br>And at a stirt, withouten taryynge, <br>Unto his cofre he dressith him in hye; <br>Or he ther come, he is in poynt to dye; <br>He it undooth and opneth for to se <br>If that his false goddes therin be. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"He dredith fynde it as that he hath drempt. <br>This worldes power and ryche habundance <br>Of drede of peril nevere been exempt, <br>But in povert is ay sikir constance; <br>Who holdith him content hath souffissance. <br>And, sone, by my reed thow shalt do so, <br>And by desir of good nat sette a slo. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Wilful povert in princes ancien <br>So ferfoorth was that they desired more <br>Good loos than good, but now adayes men <br>Yerne and desyren aftir muk so sore <br>That they good fame han leid a watir yore, <br>And rekken nevere how longe it ther stepe <br>Or thogh it drenche, so they good may grepe. <br>"Of Sysile whilom ther was a kyng <br>With eerthen vessel served at his table, <br>And men wondrynge faste upon this thyng <br>Seide unto him, it was nat honurable <br>To his estat, ne nothyng commendable, <br>Axynge him why him list be served so; <br>To which demande he answerde tho: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"He seide, 'Thogh I kyng be of Sysile, <br>A potter was my fadir, it is no nay. <br>How longe I shal enduren or what while <br>In my prosperitee, nat knowe I may. <br>Fortunes variaunce I drede alway; <br>Right as shee made me to clymbe on highte, <br>Sodeynly so shee may me make alighte. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"'I thynke alway of my nativitee, <br>And of my poore lenage and my blood; <br>Eerthen vessel to swich a man as me <br>Ful sittyng is and acceptable and good.' <br>O fewe been ther now left of the brood <br>That he cam of - he loved bet profyt <br>Commun than his avantage or delyt. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"How seistow by Affrican Scipion - <br>Affrican clept for that he Affrik wan? <br>To povert hadde he swich affecion <br>Of his owne free wil and lust, that whan <br>He dyde, no good had this worthy man <br>Wherwith his body upon eerthe brynge, <br>But the commun cost made his enterynge. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Beforn the senat was he bore on honde, <br>Ones aftir he Affrik wonnen hadde, <br>That he was ryche, as they cowde undirstonde, <br>Of gold, to which with wordes sobre and sadde <br>Answerde he thus: 'Thogh I be feeble and badde, <br>The soothe is, unto your subjeccioun <br>I gat Affrik, of that have I renoun. <br>"'My name was al that I there gat; <br>To wynne honour was oonly the purpoos <br>Which that I took or that I cam therat. <br>Othir good had I noon than ryche loos; <br>For al the good ther was open or cloos, <br>Myn herte mighte nat so wel contente <br>As the renoun oonly that I ther hente. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Of covetyse he was nothyng coupable; <br>He sette nat therby, thow maist wel se. <br>Fy on the greedynesse insaciable <br>Of many a man that can nat content be <br>Of muk, althogh nevere so moche have he! <br>The kynde is evere of wrecchid covetyse <br>To coveite ay and have and nat souffyse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I wolde every knyght dide now the same, <br>And were of good no more coveitous <br>Than he was. What! To gete a noble fame <br>To knyghthode is tresor moost precious; <br>But I was nevere so aventurous <br>Renoun to wynne by swerdes conquest, <br>For I was bred in a peisible nest. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Upon my bak cam nevere haburgeon, <br>Ne my knyf drow I nevere in violence. <br>I may nat countrefete Scipion <br>In armes, ne his worthy excellence <br>Of wilful povert, but of indigence <br>I am as ryche as was evere any man; <br>Suffre it in pacience if that I can. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"No rycher man am I than thow maist see. <br>Of myne have I nothyng to take to; <br>I lyve of almesse. If it stood with thee <br>So streite and lyvedest as that I do, <br>I see thow woldest sorwe swiche two <br>As I; but thow hast for to lyven oon <br>A poore lyf, and swich ne have I noon. <br>"Salomon gaf conseil men sholden preye <br>Two thynges unto God in soothfastnesse. <br>Now herkne, sone, he bad men thus to seye: <br>'Enhance thow me, Lord, to no richesse, <br>Ne by miserie me so sore oppresse <br>That neede for to begge me conpelle' - <br>In his proverbes thus, lo, can he telle. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But this povert mene conseillid he <br>Men to desire that was necessarie <br>To foode and clothe, dredynge lest plentee <br>Of good hem mighte make to miscarie <br>And fro the knowlechynge of God to varie, <br>And lest smert neede made hem God reneye. <br>Now be waar, sone, lest that thow foleye. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Sone, in this mene povert holde I thee, <br>Sauf that thow canst nat taken it ful weel. <br>What thogh thow leese thyn annuitee? <br>Yit maistow lyven on that othir deel, <br>Thogh nat ful delicat shal be thy meel. <br>Of six marc yeerly, mete and drynke and clooth <br>Thow gete maist, my chyld, withouten ooth." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Yee, fadir myn, I am nat so parfyt <br>To take it so; I have had habundance <br>Of welfare ay, and now stonde in the plyt <br>Of scarsetee. It were a greet penance <br>For me - God sheelde me fro that streit chance. <br>Six marc yeerly to scars is to susteene <br>The charges that I have, as that I weene. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Tow on my distaf have I for to spynne <br>More, my fadir, than yee woot of yit, <br>Which yee shul knowe or that I fro yow twynne, <br>If your good lust be for to heeren it. <br>But for as moche as it nat to me sit <br>Your tale for to interrupte or breke, <br>Heeraftir to yow wole I therof speke. <br>"Yit o word, fadir. I have herd men seyn, <br>Whoso no good hath, that he can no good; <br>And that fynde I a plat soothe and a pleyn. <br>For althogh that myn heed undir myn hood <br>Was nevere wys, yit whyl it with me stood <br>So that I hadde silver resonable, <br>My lytil wit was sumwhat covenable. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"But now, for that I have a large lyte, <br>And likly am heeraftir to han lesse, <br>My dul wit can to me nothyng profyte; <br>I am so drad of moneyes scantnesse <br>That myn herte is al nakid of lightnesse. <br>Wisseth me how to gete a golden salve <br>And what I have I wole it with yow halve." </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Sone, as for me, neithir avaunte ne rere <br>But if disese algates shal betyde, <br>For to be pacient rede I thow lere; <br>For anythyng, withholde hir on thy syde. <br>My reed wole it nat, sone, fro thee hyde. <br>Make of necessitee, rede I, vertu, <br>For bettre reed can I noon, by Jhesu. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"My sone, they that swymmen in richesse <br>Continuelly, and han prosperitee, <br>And nevere han felt but weleful swetnesse, <br>Unscourgid ay of any adversitee, <br>Lest God forgete hem, oghten ferdful be, <br>Syn God in Holy Writ seith in this wyse: <br>'Whomso I love, him wole I chastyse.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Seint Ambroses legende seith how he <br>Ones to Romeward took his viage; <br>And in Tuscie toward that contree <br>With a ryche oost he took his herbergage. <br>Of whom, as blyve faire in his langage, <br>Of his estat enqueren he bygan, <br>And unto that answerde anoon this man: <br>"'Right at my lust have I al worldly welthe; <br>Myn estat hath been ay good, and yit is; <br>Richesse have I, frendshipe, and bodyes helthe; <br>Was nevere thyng me happid yit amis.' <br>And Seint Ambrose, astoned sore of this, <br>Anoon right rowned to his conpaignie, <br>'Sires, it is tyme that we hens hie. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"'I am adrad God is nat in this place; <br>Ga we faste hennes, lest that His vengeance <br>Falle on us.' And withynne a litil space, <br>Aftir they were agoon, shoop this meschance: <br>The ground claf and made disseverance, <br>And in sank man, womman, chyld, hous, and al <br>That to him appartened, grete and smal. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Whan this cam to Ambroses audience, <br>He seide to his felawshipe thus: <br>'Lo, brethren, seeth heere in experience <br>How merciablely our lord Jhesus, <br>Of His benigne grace, hath sparid us. <br>He sparith hem that unwelthy heere been, <br>And to the welthy dooth as that yee seen.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"This lyf, my sone, is but a chirie feire; <br>Worldly richesse, have ay in thy memorie, <br>Shal passe, al looke it nevere on men so feire. <br>Whyl thow art heere in this world transitorie, <br>Enable thee to wynne eternel glorie, <br>Wher no povert is but parfyt richesse <br>Of joie and blisse and vertuous gladnesse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"O thyng telle I thee, sone, that is sooth: <br>Thogh o man hadde as moche as men han alle, <br>But vertu that good gye, al he misdooth; <br>Al that swetnesse torne shal to galle. <br>Whan that richesse is on a man yfalle, <br>If it be wrong despendid or miskept, <br>Anothir day ful sore it shal be wept. <br>"Sum ryche is large and his good misdespendith <br>In maintenance of synne and harlotrie - <br>To swiche despenses his lust him accendith; <br>And on that othir part, his nygardrie <br>Suffrith his neighburgh by him sterve and die, <br>Rather than with a ferthyng him releeve. <br>Tho two condicions been to repreeve. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Whoso moost hath, he moost of shal answere; <br>O day shal come, sum men shal par chance <br>Desire he nevere hadde been rychere <br>Than heer han hadde his bare sustenance. <br>Whan the day comth of ire and of vengeance, <br>Than shal men seeme how in this world, I gesse, <br>Richesse is povert and povert richesse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Whyler, my sone, tolde I nat to thee <br>What habundance in yowthe I hadde of good? <br>And how me blente so prosperitee <br>That what God was I nothyng undirstood? <br>But ay whil that I in my welthe stood, <br>Aftir my flesshly lust my lyf I ledde, <br>And of His wreche nothyng I me dredde. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"And as I seide, He smoot me with the strook <br>Of povert, in which I continue yit, <br>Whos smert my good blood first so sore sook, <br>Or that I was aqweyntid wel with it, <br>That ny it hadde reft fro me my wit. <br>But sythen, thanke I God, in pacience <br>I have it take and shal for myn offense. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"If thee list flee that may povert engendre, <br>First synne eschue and God honure and drede. <br>Also, for thy lyflode is scars and sclendre, <br>Despende nat to largely, I rede. <br>Mesure is good, let hir thee gye and lede; <br>Be waar of outrage, and be sobre and wys; <br>Thus thow exclude him shalt, by myn avys. <br>"Nathelees, thow maist ageyn me replie: <br>'To sum folk, thogh they doon al as I seye, <br>Ageyn povert it is no remedie; <br>They mowe it nat eschue by no weye.' <br>I graunte wel, but than take heede, I preye. <br>The jugementz of God been to us hid; <br>Take alle in gree, so is thy vertu kid. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"To the plesaunce of God thow thee conforme; <br>Aboute that be bisy and ententyf. <br>That thow misdoon hast, thow blyve it reforme; <br>Swich laborer thee kythe heere in this lyf <br>That God thy soule, which that is His wyf, <br>Rejoise may for it is to Him due, <br>And His shal be but thow the devors sue. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"O thow Fortune, fals and deceyvable, <br>Ful sooth is it, if thow do a good deede, <br>Thow nat purposist it shal be durable; <br>Of good entente shal it nat proceede. <br>Wel oghte us thy promesses blynde dreede. <br>He slipirly stant whom that thow enhauncest, <br>For sodeynliche thow him disavauncest. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Hadde I doon, sone, as I thee consaille <br>Whan that Fortunes deceyvable cheere <br>Lawhid on me, than hadde I nat, sanz faille, <br>Been in this wrecchid plyt as thow seest heere. <br>Nat kneew my youthe hir changeable maneere, <br>For whan I sat on hy upon hir wheel, <br>Hir gladsum look me made truste hir weel. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I cowde for nothyng han wend or deemed <br>That shee aboute baar double visage; <br>I wende shee had been swich as shee seemed. <br>But nathelees yit is it avantage <br>To him that woful is, that hir usage <br>Is for to flitte fro place to place; <br>Hir variaunce is unto sum folk grace. <br>"Whomso that neede greeveth and travaillith, <br>Hir chaunge is unto him no greef or wo; <br>But the contrarie of that nothyng availlith, <br>As whan a man is wel put him therfro. <br>What shal man calle hir? Freend or elles fo? <br>I not, but calle hir freend whan that shee esith, <br>And calle hir fo whan that shee man displesith. <</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Hoccleve">Thomas Hoccleve</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=529740" data-title="The Regiment of Princes de Thomas Hoccleve" data-description="Musynge upon the restlees bysynesse Which that this troubly world hath ay on honde, That othir thyng than fruyt of bittirnesse Ne yildith naght, as I can undirstonde, At Chestres In, right faste by the Stronde, As I lay in my bed upon a nyght..."></div> </div> </div>
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