i.
[Confessor]
5
L
10
15
[Amans]
20
25
30
35
40
45
50
55
60
65
70
75
[Confessor]
80
85
90
95
100
L
105
110
115
120
125
130
135
140
145
150
155
160
165
170
175
180
185
190
195
200
Confessor
205
210
Amans
215
220
ii.
[Confessor]
L
225
230
235
Amans
240
245
250
255
260
L
265
270
275
Confessor
280
285
290
L
295
300
305
310
315
320
325
330
335
340
345
350
355
360
365
370
Confessor
Amans
375
380
Confessor
iii.
[Confessor]
385
L
390
395
400
405
410
415
420
425
430
435
440
445
450
L
Amans
455
460
465
470
475
480
485
490
495
500
505
510
515
520
525
530
535
540
545
550
Confessor
555
560
565
570
575
580
585
L
590
595
600
605
610
615
620
625
630
635
640
L
645
650
655
660
665
670
675
680
685
690
695
700
705
710
L
715
720
725
730
735
740
745
750
L
755
760
765
770
775
L
780
785
790
795
800
805
810
815
820
825
830
835
840
845
850
855
860
865
870
875
880
885
889
L
895
900
905
910
915
920
925
930
L
935
940
945
950
955
959
L
965
970
975
980
985
990
995
1000
1005
1010
L
1015
1020
1025
1030
1035
1040
1045
1050
1055
1060
1065
1070
1075
1080
L
1085
1090
1095
1100
1105
1110
1115
1120
1125
L
1130
1135
1140
1145
1150
1155
1160
1165
1170
1175
1180
1185
1190
1195
1200
1205
1210
1215
1220
1225
L
1230
1235
1240
1245
1250
1255
1260
1265
1270
1275
1280
1285
1290
1295
1300
1305
1309
L
1315
1320
1325
1330
1335
1340
1345
1350
1355
1360
1365
1370
1375
1380
1385
1390
1395
1400
1405
1410
1415
1420
1425
1430
1435
1440
1445
1450
1455
1460
1465
1470
L
1475
1480
1485
1490
1495
1500
1505
1510
1515
1520
1525
1530
1535
1540
1545
1550
1554
L
1560
1565
1570
L
1575
1580
1585
L
1590
L
L
1595
1600
1605
1610
L
1615
1620
1625
1630
1635
1640
1645
1650
1655
1660
1665
1670
1675
1680
1685
1690
1695
1700
1705
1710
1715
1720
1725
1730
1735
1740
1745
1750
1755
1760
1765
1770
1775
1780
1785
1790
1795
1800
1805
1810
1815
1820
1825
1830
1835
1840
1845
1850
1855
1860
Confessor
1865
Amans
1870
Confessor
1875
iv.
[Confessor]
1880
L
1885
1890
1895
1900
1905
1910
1915
1920
1925
L
1929
Confessio Amantis
1935
Confessor
1940
1945
1950
1955
Amans
1960
1965
1970
1975
1980
1985
1990
1995
2000
2005
2010
2015
2020
2025
2030
2035
2040
2045
2050
2055
2060
2065
2070
2075
Confessor
2080
2085
2090
2095
2100
2105
2110
2115
2120
2125
2130
2135
2140
2145
L
2150
2155
2160
2165
2170
2175
2180
2185
2190
2195
2200
2205
2210
2215
2220
2225
2230
2235
2240
2245
2250
2255
2260
2265
2270
2275
2280
2285
2290
2295
2300
2305
Confessor
2310
Amans
2315
2319
Confessor
2325
v.
[Confessor]
2330
L
2335
2340
2345
2350
2355
2360
2365
2370
2375
2380
L
2385
Confessio Amantis
2390
2395
2400
2405
2410
2415
2420
2425
Confessor
2430
2435
2440
2445
2450
L
2455
L
2460
2465
2470
2475
2480
2485
2490
2495
2500
L
2505
2510
2515
2520
2525
2530
2535
2540
2545
2550
2555
2560
2565
2570
2575
2580
2585
2590
2595
2600
2605
2610
2615
2620
2625
2630
2635
2640
2645
2650
2655
2660
2665
2670
2675
2680
2685
2690
2695
2700
2705
2710
2715
2720
2725
2730
2735
2740
2745
2750
2755
2760
2765
2770
2775
2780
2785
2790
2795
2800
L
2805
2810
2815
2820
2825
2830
2835
2840
2845
2850
2855
2860
2865
2870
2875
2880
2885
2890
2895
2900
2905
2910
2915
2920
2925
2930
2935
2940
2945
2950
2955
2960
2965
2970
2975
2980
2985
2990
2995
3000
3005
3010
3015
3020
3025
3030
L
3035
3040
3045
3050
3055
L
L
3060
3065
3070
3075
3080
3084
L
3090
3095
3100
3105
3110
vi.
[Confessor]
L
3115
3120
3125
3130
3135
3140
3145
3150
Confessor
3154
Amans
3160
Confessor
3165
3170
3175
3180
3185
3189
L
3195
3200
3205
3210
3215
3220
3225
3230
3235
3240
3245
3250
3255
3260
3264
Nota
3270
3275
3280
3285
3290
3295
3300
3305
3310
3315
3320
3325
3330
3335
3340
3345
3350
3355
3360
3365
3370
3375
3380
3385
3390
3395
3400
3405
3410
3415
3420
3425
3430
3435
3440
3445
3450
3455
3460
3465
3470
3475
3480
3485
3490
3495
Confessor
3500
3505
Amans
3510
3515
Confessor
3520
3525
3530
|
Inuidie culpa magis est attrita dolore,
Nam sua mens nullo tempore leta manet:
Quo gaudent alii, dolet ille, nec unus amicus
Est, cui de puro comoda velle facit.
Proximitatis honor sua corda veretur, et omnis
Est sibi leticia sic aliena dolor.
Hoc etenim vicium quam sepe repugnat amanti,
Non sibi, set reliquis, dum fauet ipsa Venus.
Est amor ex proprio motu fantasticus, et que
Gaudia fert alius, credit obesse sibi.1
"Now after Pride the secounde
Ther is, which many a woful stounde
Towardes othre berth aboute
Withinne himself and noght withoute;
For in his thoght he brenneth evere,
Whan that he wot another levere
Or more vertuous than he,
Which passeth him in his degré;
Therof he takth his maladie:
That vice is cleped hot Envie.
Forthi, my sone, if it be so
Thou art or hast ben on of tho,
As for to speke in loves cas,
If evere yit thin herte was
Sek of another mannes hele?"
"So God avance my querele,
Mi fader, ye, a thousend sithe:
Whanne I have sen another blithe
Of love, and hadde a goodly chiere,
Ethna, which brenneth yer be yere
Was thanne noght so hot as I
Of thilke sor which prively
Min hertes thoght withinne brenneth.
The schip which on the wawes renneth,
And is forstormed and forblowe,
Is noght more peined for a throwe
Than I am thanne, whanne I se
Another which that passeth me
In that fortune of loves gifte.
Bot, fader, this I telle in schrifte,
That is nowher bot in o place;
For who that lese or finde grace
In other stede, it mai noght grieve.
Bot this ye mai riht wel believe,
Toward mi ladi that I serve,
Thogh that I wiste for to sterve,
Min herte is full of such sotie,
That I myself mai noght chastie.
Whan I the court se of Cupide
Aproche unto my ladi side
Of hem that lusti ben and freisshe
(Thogh it availe hem noght a reisshe,
Bot only that thei ben in speche),
Mi sorwe is thanne noght to seche.
Bot whan thei rounen in hire ere,
Than groweth al my moste fere,
And namly whan thei talen longe;
Mi sorwes thanne be so stronge
Of that I se hem wel at ese,
I can noght telle my desese.
Bot, sire, as of my ladi selve,
Thogh sche have wowers ten or twelve,
For no mistrust I have of hire
Me grieveth noght, for certes, sire,
I trowe, in al this world to seche,
Nis womman that dede and speche
Woll betre avise hire what sche doth,
Ne betre, for to seie a soth,
Kepe hire honour ate alle tide,
And yit get hire a thank beside.
Bot natheles I am beknowe,
That whanne I se at eny throwe,
Or elles if I mai it hiere,
That sche make eny man good chiere,
Thogh I therof have noght to done,
Mi thought wol entermette him sone.
For thogh I be miselve strange,
Envie makth myn herte change,
That I am sorghfully bestad
Of that I se another glad
With hire; bot of othre alle,
Of love what so mai befalle,
Or that he faile or that he spede,
Therof take I bot litel heede.
Now have I seid, my fader, al
As of this point in special,
Als ferforthli as I have wist.
Now axeth further what you list."
"Mi sone, er I axe eny more,
I thenke somdiel for thi lore
Telle an ensample of this matiere
Touchende Envie, as thou schalt hiere.
Write in Civile this I finde:
Thogh it be noght the houndes kinde
To ete chaf, yit wol he werne
An oxe which comth to the berne,
Therof to taken eny fode.
And thus, who that it understode,
It stant of love in many place.
Who that is out of loves grace
And mai himselven noght availe,
He wolde another scholde faile;
And if he may put eny lette,
He doth al that he mai to lette.
Wherof I finde, as thou schalt wite,
To this pourpos a tale write.
[The Tale of Acis and Galatea]
Ther ben of suche mo than twelve,
That ben noght able as of hemselve
To gete love, and for Envie
Upon alle othre thei aspie;
And for hem lacketh that thei wolde,
Thei kepte that non other scholde
Touchende of love his cause spede.
Wherof a gret ensample I rede,
Which unto this matiere acordeth,
As Ovide in his bok recordeth,
How Poliphemus whilom wroghte,
Whan that he Galathee besoghte
Of love, which he mai noght lacche.
That made him for to waite and wacche
Be alle weies how it ferde,
Til ate laste he knew and herde
How that another hadde leve
To love there as he mot leve,
As for to speke of eny sped.
So that he knew non other red,
Bot for to wayten upon alle,
Til he may se the chance falle
That he hire love myhte grieve,
Which he himself mai noght achieve.
This Galathee, seith the poete,
Above alle othre was unmete
Of beauté, that men thanne knewe,
And hadde a lusti love and trewe,
A bacheler in his degree.
Riht such another as was sche,
On whom sche hath hire herte set,
So that it myhte noght be let
For gifte ne for no beheste,
That sche ne was al at his heste.
This yonge knyht Acis was hote,
Which hire ageinward als so hote
Al only loveth and no mo.
Hierof was Poliphemus wo
Thurgh pure Envie, and evere aspide,
And waiteth upon every side,
Whan he togedre myhte se
This yonge Acis with Galathé.
So longe he waiteth to and fro,
Til ate laste he fond hem tuo,
In privé place wher thei stode
To speke and have here wordes goode.
The place wher as he hem syh,
It was under a banke nyh
The grete see, and he above
Stod and behield the lusti love
Which ech of hem to other made
With goodly chiere and wordes glade,
That al his herte hath sette afyre
Of pure Envie: and as a fyre
Which fleth out of a myhti bowe,
Aweie he fledde for a throwe,
As he that was for love wod,
Whan that he sih how that it stod.
This Polipheme a geant was;
And whan he sih the sothe cas,
How Galathee him hath forsake
And Acis to hire love take,
His herte mai it noght forbere
That he ne roreth lich a bere;
And as it were a wilde beste,
The whom no reson mihte areste,
He ran Ethna the hell aboute,
Wher nevere yit the fyr was oute,
Fulfild of sorghe and gret desese,
That he syh Acis wel at ese.
Til ate laste he him bethoghte,
As he which al Envie soghte,
And torneth to the banke agein,
Wher he with Galathee hath seyn
Acis, whom that he thoghte grieve,
Thogh he himself mai noght relieve.
This geant with his ruide myht
Part of the banke he schof doun riht,
The which evene upon Acis fell,
So that with fallinge of this hell
This Poliphemus Acis slowh,
Wherof sche made sorwe ynowh.
And as sche fledde fro the londe,
Neptunus tok hire into honde
And kept hire in so sauf a place
Fro Polipheme and his manace,
That he with al his false Envie
Ne mihte atteigne hir compaignie.
This Galathee of whom I speke,
That of hirself mai noght be wreke,
Withouten eny semblant feigned
Sche hath hire loves deth compleigned,
And with hire sorwe and with hire wo
Sche hath the goddes moeved so,
That thei of pité and of grace
Have Acis in the same place,
Ther he lai ded, into a welle
Transformed, as the bokes telle,
With freisshe stremes and with cliere,
As he whilom with lusti chiere
Was freissh his love for to qweme.
And with this ruide Polipheme
For his Envie and for his hate
Thei were wrothe.
And thus algate,
Mi sone, thou myht understonde,
That if thou wolt in grace stonde
With love, thou most leve Envie:
And as thou wolt for thi partie
Toward thi love stonde fre,
So most thou soffre another be,
What so befalle upon the chance:
For it is an unwys vengance,
Which to non other man is lief,
And is unto himselve grief."
"Mi fader, this ensample is good;
Bot how so evere that it stod
With Poliphemes love as tho,
It schal noght stonde with me so,
To worchen eny felonie
In love for no such Envie.
Forthi if ther oght elles be,
Now axeth forth, in what degré
It is, and I me schal confesse
With schrifte unto youre holinesse."
Orta sibi solito mentalia gaudia liuor
Dum videt alterius, dampna doloris agit.
Inuidus obridet hodie fletus aliorum,
Fletus cui proprios crastina fata parant.
Sic in amore pari stat sorte iocosus, amantes
Cum videt illusos, inuidus ille quasi.
Sit licet in vacuum, sperat tamen ipse leuamen
Alterius casu, lapsus et ipse simul.2
"Mi goode sone, yit ther is
A vice revers unto this,
Which envious takth his gladnesse
Of that he seth the hevinesse
Of othre men. For his welfare
Is whanne he wot another care:
Of that another hath a fall,
He thenkth himself arist withal.
Such is the gladschipe of Envie
In worldes thing, and in partie
Fulofte times ek also
In loves cause it stant riht so.
If thou, my sone, hast joie had,
Whan thou another sihe unglad,
Schrif thee therof."
"Mi fader, yis:
I am beknowe unto you this.
Of these lovers that loven streyte,
And for that point which thei coveite
Ben poursuiantz fro yeer to yere
In loves court, whan I may hiere
How that thei clymbe upon the whel,
And whan thei wene al schal be wel,
Thei ben doun throwen ate laste,
Thanne am I fedd of that thei faste,
And lawhe of that I se hem loure;
And thus of that thei brewe soure
I drinke swete, and am wel esed
Of that I wot thei ben desesed.
Bot this which I you telle hiere
Is only for my lady diere;
That for non other that I knowe
Me reccheth noght who overthrowe,
Ne who that stonde in love upriht.
Bot be he squier, be he knyht,
Which to my ladiward poursuieth,
The more he lest of that he suieth,
The mor me thenketh that I winne,
And am the more glad withinne
Of that I wot him sorwe endure.
For evere upon such aventure
It is a confort, as men sein,
To him the which is wo besein
To sen another in his peine,
So that thei bothe mai compleigne.
Wher I miself mai noght availe
To sen another man travaile,
I am riht glad if he be let;
And thogh I fare noght the bet,
His sorwe is to myn herte a game.
Whan that I knowe it is the same
Which to mi ladi stant enclined,
And hath his love noght termined,
I am riht joifull in my thoght.
If such Envie grieveth oght,
As I beknowe me coupable,
Ye that be wys and resonable,
Mi fader, telleth youre avis."
"Mi sone, Envie into no pris
Of such a forme, I understonde,
Ne mihte be no resoun stonde.
For this Envie hath such a kinde,
That he wole sette himself behinde
To hindre with anothre wyht,
And gladly lese his oghne riht
To make another lesen his.
And for to knowe how it so is,
A tale lich to this matiere
I thenke telle, if thou wolt hiere,
To schewe proprely the vice
Of this Envie and the malice.
[The Tale of the Travelers and the Angel]
Of Jupiter this finde I write,
How whilom that he wolde wite
Upon the pleigntes whiche he herde,
Among the men how that it ferde,
As of here wrong condicion
To do justificacion.
And for that cause doun he sente
An angel, which aboute wente,
That he the sothe knowe mai.
So it befell upon a dai
This angel, which him scholde enforme,
Was clothed in a mannes forme,
And overtok, I understonde,
Tuo men that wented over londe,
Thurgh whiche he thoghte to aspie
His cause, and goth in compaignie.
This angel with hise wordes wise
Opposeth hem in sondri wise,
Now lowde wordes and now softe,
That mad hem to desputen ofte,
And ech of hem his reson hadde.
And thus with tales he hem ladde
With good examinacioun,
Til he knew the condicioun,
What men thei were bothe tuo;
And sih wel ate laste tho,
That on of hem was coveitous,
And his fela was envious.
And thus, whan he hath knowlechinge,
Anon he feigneth departinge,
And seide he mot algate wende.
Bot herkne now what fell at ende:
For thanne he made hem understonde
That he was there of Goddes sonde,
And seide hem, for the kindeschipe
That thei have don him felaschipe,
He wole hem do som grace agein,
And bad that on of hem schal sein
What thing him is lievest to crave,
And he it schal of gifte have.
And over that ek forthwithal
He seith that other have schal
The double of that his felaw axeth;
And thus to hem his grace he taxeth.
The coveitous was wonder glad,
And to that other man he bad
And seith that he ferst axe scholde,
For he supposeth that he wolde
Make his axinge of worldes good;
For thanne he knew wel how it stod,
That he himself be double weyhte
Schal after take, and thus be sleyhte,
Because that he wolde winne,
He bad his fela ferst beginne.
This envious, thogh it be late,
Whan that he syh he mot algate
Make his axinge ferst, he thoghte,
If he worschipe or profit soghte,
It schal be doubled to his fiere:
That wolde he chese in no manere.
Bot thanne he scheweth what he was
Toward Envie, and in this cas
Unto this Angel thus he seide
And for his gifte this he preide,
To make him blind of his on yhe,
So that his fela nothing syhe.
This word was noght so sone spoke,
That his on yhe anon was loke,
And his felawh forthwith also
Was blind of bothe his yhen tuo.
Tho was that other glad ynowh,
That on wepte, and that other lowh,
He sette his on yhe at no cost,
Wherof that other two hath lost.
Of thilke ensample which fell tho,
Men tellen now fulofte so,
The world empeireth comunly,
And yit wot non the cause why.
For it acordeth noght to kinde
Min oghne harm to seche and finde
Of that I schal my brother grieve;
It myhte nevere wel achieve.
What seist thou, sone, of this folie?"
"Mi fader, bot I scholde lie,
Upon the point which ye have seid
Yit was myn herte nevere leid,
Bot in the wise as I you tolde.
Bot overmore, if that ye wolde
Oght elles to my schrifte seie
Touchende Envie, I wolde preie."
"Mi sone, that schal wel be do.
Now herkne and ley thin ere to."
Inuidie pars est detraccio pessima, pestem
Que magis infamem flatibus oris agit.
Lingua venenato sermone repercutit auras,
Sic ut in alterius scandala fama volat.
Morsibus a tergo quos inficit ipsa fideles,
Vulneris ignoti sepe salute carent.
Set generosus amor linguam conseruat, vt eius
Verbum quod loquitur nulla sinistra gerat.3
"Touchende as of envious brod
I wot noght on of alle good;
Bot natheles, suche as thei be,
Yit is ther on, and that is he
Which cleped is Detraccioun.
And to conferme his accioun,
He hath withholde Malebouche,
Whos tunge neither pyl ne crouche4
Mai hyre, so that he pronounce
A plein good word withoute frounce
Awher behinde a mannes bak.
For thogh he preise, he fint som lak,
Which of his tale is ay the laste,
That al the pris schal overcaste:
And thogh ther be no cause why,
Yit wole he jangle noght forthi,
As he which hath the heraldie
Of hem that usen for to lye.
For as the netle which up renneth
The freisshe rede roses brenneth
And makth hem fade and pale of hewe,
Riht so this fals envious hewe,
In every place wher he duelleth,
With false wordes whiche he telleth
He torneth preisinge into blame
And worschipe into worldes schame.
Of suche lesinge as he compasseth,
Is non so good that he ne passeth
Betwen his teeth and is bacbited,
And thurgh his false tunge endited.
Lich to the scharnebudes kinde,
Of whos nature this I finde,
That in the hoteste of the dai,
Whan comen is the merie Maii,
He sprat his wynge and up he fleth.
And under al aboute he seth
The faire lusti floures springe,
Bot therof hath he no likinge;
Bot where he seth of eny beste
The felthe, ther he makth his feste,
And therupon he wole alyhte,
Ther liketh him non other sihte.
Riht so this janglere envious,
Thogh he a man se vertuous
And full of good condicioun,
Therof makth he no mencioun:
Bot elles, be it noght so lyte,
Wherof that he mai sette a wyte,
Ther renneth he with open mouth,
Behinde a man and makth it couth.
Bot al the vertu which he can,
That wole he hide of every man,
And openly the vice telle,
As he which of the scole of helle
Is tawht, and fostred with Envie
Of houshold and of compaignie,
Wher that he hath his propre office
To sette on every man a vice.
How so his mouth be comely,
His word sit evermore awry
And seith the worste that he may.
And in this wise now a day
In loves court a man mai hiere
Fulofte pleigne of this matiere,
That many envious tale is stered,
Wher that it mai noght ben ansuered;
Bot yit fulofte it is believed,
And many a worthi love is grieved
Thurgh bacbitinge of fals Envie.
If thou have mad such janglerie
In loves court, mi sone, er this,
Schrif thee therof."
"Mi fader, yis:
Bot wite ye how? Noght openly,
Bot otherwhile prively,
Whan I my diere ladi mete,
And thenke how that I am noght mete
Unto hire hihe worthinesse,
And ek I se the besinesse
Of al this yonge lusty route,
Whiche alday pressen hire aboute,
And ech of hem his time awaiteth,
And ech of hem his tale affaiteth,
Al to deceive an innocent,
Which woll noght ben of here assent;
And for men sein 'unknowe unkest,'
Hire thombe sche holt in hire fest
So clos withinne hire oghne hond,
That there winneth no man lond;
Sche lieveth noght al that sche hiereth,
And thus fulofte hirself sche skiereth
And is al war of 'hadde I wist.'
Bot for al that myn herte arist,
Whanne I thes comun lovers se,
That woll noght holden hem to thre,
Bot welnyh loven overal,
Min herte is envious withal,
And evere I am adrad of guile,
In aunter if with eny wyle
Thei mihte hire innocence enchaunte.
Forthi my wordes ofte I haunte
Behynden hem, so as I dar,
Wherof my ladi may be war:
I sai what evere comth to mowthe,
And worse I wolde, if that I cowthe;
For whanne I come unto hir speche,
Al that I may enquere and seche
Of such deceipte, I telle it al,
And ay the werste in special.
So fayn I wolde that sche wiste
How litel thei ben for to triste,
And what thei wolde and what thei mente,
So as thei be of double entente.
Thus toward hem that wicke mene
My wicked word was evere grene.
And natheles, the soth to telle,
In certain if it so befelle
That althertrewest man ybore,
To chese among a thousend score,
Which were alfulli for to triste,
Mi ladi lovede, and I it wiste,
Yit rathere thanne he scholde spede,
I wolde swiche tales sprede
To my ladi, if that I myhte,
That I scholde al his love unrihte,
And therto wolde I do mi peine.
For certes thogh I scholde feigne,
And telle that was nevere thoght,
For al this world I myhte noght
To soffre anothre fully winne,
Ther as I am yit to beginne.
For be thei goode, or be thei badde,
I wolde non my ladi hadde;
And that me makth fulofte aspie
And usen wordes of Envie,
Al for to make hem bere a blame.
And that is bot of thilke same,
The whiche unto my ladi drawe,
For evere on hem I rounge and gknawe
And hindre hem al that evere I mai;
And that is, sothly for to say,
Bot only to my lady selve.
I telle it noght to ten ne tuelve,
Therof I wol me wel avise,
To speke or jangle in eny wise
That toucheth to my ladi name,
The which in ernest and in game
I wolde save into my deth.
For me were levere lacke breth
Than speken of hire name amis.
Now have ye herd touchende of this,
Mi fader, in confessioun,
And therfor of Detraccioun
In love, of that I have mispoke,
Tel how ye wole it schal be wroke.
I am al redy for to bere
Mi peine, and also to forbere
What thing that ye wol noght allowe.
For who is bounden, he mot bowe.
So wol I bowe unto youre heste,
For I dar make this beheste,
That I to yow have nothing hid,
Bot told riht as it is betid.
And otherwise of no mispeche,
Mi conscience for to seche,
I can noght of Envie finde,
That I mispoke have oght behinde
Wherof love owhte be mispaid.
Now have ye herd and I have said;
What wol ye, fader, that I do?"
"Mi sone, do no more so,
Bot evere kep thi tunge stille,
Thou miht the more have of thi wille.
For as thou saist thiselven here,
Thi ladi is of such manere,
So wys, so war in alle thinge,
It nedeth of no bakbitinge
That thou thi ladi misenforme.
For whan sche knoweth al the forme,
How that thiself art envious,
Thou schalt noght be so gracious
As thou peraunter scholdest elles.
Ther wol no man drinke of tho welles
Whiche as he wot is puyson inne;
And ofte swich as men beginne
Towardes othre, swich thei finde,
That set hem ofte fer behinde,
Whan that thei wene be before.
Mi goode sone, and thou therfore
Bewar and lef thi wicke speche,
Wherof hath fallen ofte wreche
To many a man befor this time.
For who so wole his handes lime,
Thei mosten be the more unclene;
For many a mote schal be sene,
That wolde noght cleve elles there,
And that schold every wys man fere.
For whoso wol another blame,
He secheth ofte his oghne schame,
Which elles myhte be riht stille.
Forthi if that it be thi wille
To stonde upon amendement,
A tale of gret entendement
I thenke telle for thi sake,
Wherof thou miht ensample take.
[The Tale of Constance]
A worthi kniht in Cristes lawe
Of grete Rome, as is the sawe,
The sceptre hadde for to rihte;
Tiberie Constantin he hihte,
Whos wif was cleped Ytalie.
Bot thei togedre of progenie
No children hadde bot a maide,
And sche the God so wel apaide,
That al the wide worldes fame
Spak worschipe of hire goode name.
Constance, as the cronique seith,
Sche hihte, and was so ful of feith,
That the greteste of Barbarie,
Of hem whiche usen marchandie,
Sche hath converted, as thei come
To hire upon a time in Rome,
To schewen such thing as thei broghte;
Whiche worthili of hem sche boghte,
And over that in such a wise
Sche hath hem with hire wordes wise
Of Cristes feith so full enformed,
That thei therto ben all conformed,
So that baptesme thei receiven
And alle here false goddes weyven.
Whan thei ben of the feith certein,
Thei gon to Barbarie agein,
And ther the Souldan for hem sente
And axeth hem to what entente
Thei have here ferste feith forsake.
And thei, whiche hadden undertake
The rihte feith to kepe and holde,
The matiere of here tale tolde
With al the hole circumstance.
And whan the Souldan of Constance
Upon the point that thei ansuerde
The beauté and the grace herde,
As he which thanne was to wedde,
In alle haste his cause spedde
To sende for the mariage.
And furthermor with good corage
He seith, be so he mai hire have,
That Crist, which cam this world to save,
He woll believe: and this recorded,
Thei ben on either side acorded,
And therupon to make an ende
The Souldan hise hostages sende
To Rome, of princes sones tuelve:
Wherof the fader in himselve
Was glad, and with the pope avised
Tuo cardinals he hath assissed
With othre lordes many mo,
That with his doghter scholden go,
To se the Souldan be converted.
Bot that which nevere was wel herted,
Envie, tho began travaile
In destourbance of this spousaile
So prively that non was war.
The moder which this Souldan bar
Was thanne alyve, and thoghte this
Unto hirself: 'If it so is
Mi sone him wedde in this manere,
Than have I lost my joies hiere,
For myn astat schal so be lassed.'
Thenkende thus sche hath compassed
Be sleihte how that sche may beguile
Hire sone; and fell withinne a while,
Betwen hem two whan thei were,
Sche feigneth wordes in his ere,
And in this wise gan to seie:
'Mi sone, I am be double weie
With al myn herte glad and blithe,
For that miself have ofte sithe
Desired thou wolt, as men seith,
Receive and take a newe feith,
Which schal be forthringe of thi lif:
And ek so worschipful a wif,
The doughter of an emperour,
To wedde it schal be gret honour.
Forthi, mi sone, I you beseche
That I such grace mihte areche,
Whan that my doughter come schal,
That I mai thanne in special,
So as me thenkth it is honeste,
Be thilke which the ferste feste
Schal make unto hire welcominge.'
The Souldan granteth hire axinge,
And sche therof was glad ynowh.
For under that anon sche drowh
With false wordes that sche spak
Covine of deth behinde his bak.
And therupon hire ordinance
Sche made so, that whan Constance
Was come forth with the Romeins,
Of clerkes and of citezeins,
A riche feste sche hem made;
And most whan that thei weren glade,
With fals covine which sche hadde
Hire clos Envie tho sche spradde,
And alle tho that hadden be
Or in apert or in privé
Of conseil to the mariage,
Sche slowh hem in a sodein rage
Endlong the bord as thei be set,
So that it myhte noght be let;
Hire oghne sone was noght quit,
Bot deide upon the same plit.
Bot what the hihe God wol spare
It mai for no peril misfare.
This worthi maiden which was there
Stod thanne, as who seith, ded for feere,
To se the feste how that it stod,
Which al was torned into blod.
The dissh forth with the coppe and al
Bebled thei weren overal.
Sche sih hem deie on every side;
No wonder thogh sche wepte and cride
Makende many a wofull mone.
Whan al was slain bot sche alone,
This olde fend, this Sarazine,
Let take anon this Constantine
With al the good sche thider broghte,
And hath ordeined, as sche thoghte,
A nakid schip withoute stiere,
In which the good and hire in fiere,
Vitailed full for yeres fyve;
Wher that the wynd it wolde dryve,
Sche putte upon the wawes wilde.
Bot He which alle thing mai schilde,
Thre yer, til that sche cam to londe,
Hire schip to stiere hath take in honde,
And in Northumberlond aryveth.
And happeth thanne that sche dryveth
Under a castel with the flod,
Which upon Humber banke stod
And was the kynges oghne also,
The which Allee was cleped tho,
A Saxon and a worthi knyht,
Bot he believeth noght ariht.
Of this castell was chastellein
Elda the kinges chamberlein,
A knyhtly man after his lawe;
And whan he sih upon the wawe
The schip drivende alone so,
He bad anon men scholden go
To se what it betokne mai.
This was upon a somer dai,
The schip was loked and sche founde.
Elda withinne a litel stounde
It wiste, and with his wif anon
Toward this yonge ladi gon,
Wher that thei founden gret richesse.
Bot sche hire wolde noght confesse,
Whan thei hire axen what sche was.
And natheles upon the cas
Out of the schip with gret worschipe
Thei toke hire into felaschipe,
As thei that weren of hir glade.
Bot sche no maner joie made,
Bot sorweth sore of that sche fond
No Cristendom in thilke lond.
Bot elles sche hath al hire wille,
And thus with hem sche duelleth stille.
Dame Hermyngheld, which was the wif
Of Elda, lich her oghne lif
Constance loveth; and fell so,
Spekende alday betwen hem two,
Thurgh grace of Goddes pourveance
This maiden tawhte the creance
Unto this wif so parfitly,
Upon a dai that faste by
In presence of hire housebonde,
Wher thei go walkende on the stronde,
A blind man, which cam there lad,
Unto this wif criende he bad,
With bothe hise hondes up and preide
To hire, and in this wise he seide:
'O Hermyngeld, which Cristes feith,
Enformed as Constance seith,
Received hast, gif me my sihte.'
Upon his word hire herte afflihte
Thenkende what was best to done,
Bot natheles sche herde his bone
And seide, 'In trust of Cristes lawe,
Which don was on the crois and slawe,
Thou bysne man, behold and se.'
With that to God upon his kne
Thonkende he tok his sihte anon,
Wherof thei merveile everychon,
Bot Elda wondreth most of alle.
This open thing which is befalle
Concludeth him be such a weie,
That he the feith mot nede obeie.
Now lest what fell upon this thing.
This Elda forth unto the king
A morwe tok his weie and rod,
And Hermyngeld at home abod
Forth with Constance wel at ese.
Elda, which thoghte his king to plese,
As he that thanne unwedded was,
Of Constance al the pleine cas
Als goodliche as he cowthe tolde.
The king was glad and seide he wolde
Come thider upon such a wise
That he him mihte of hire avise,
The time apointed forthwithal.
This Elda triste in special
Upon a knyht, whom fro childhode
He hadde updrawe into manhode.
To him he tolde al that he thoghte,
Wherof that after him forthoghte;
And natheles at thilke tide
Unto his wif he bad him ride
To make redi alle thing
Agein the cominge of the king,
And seith that he himself tofore
Thenkth for to come, and bad therfore
That he him kepe, and told him whanne.
This knyht rod forth his weie thanne;
And soth was that of time passed
He hadde in al his wit compassed
How he Constance myhte winne.
Bot he sih tho no sped therinne,
Wherof his lust began t'abate,
And that was love is thanne hate;
Of hire honour he hadde Envie,
So that upon his tricherie
A lesinge in his herte he caste.
Til he cam home he hieth faste,
And doth his ladi t'understonde
The message of hire housebonde:
And therupon the longe dai
Thei setten thinges in arrai,
That al was as it scholde be
Of everything in his degree;
And whan it cam into the nyht,
This wif hire hath to bedde dyht,
Wher that this maiden with hire lay.
This false knyht upon delay
Hath taried til thei were aslepe,
As he that wolde his time kepe
His dedly werkes to fulfille;
And to the bed he stalketh stille,
Wher that he wiste was the wif,
And in his hond a rasour knif
He bar, with which hire throte he cutte,
And prively the knif he putte
Under that other beddes side,
Wher that Constance lai beside.
Elda cam hom the same nyht,
And stille with a privé lyht,
As he that wolde noght awake
His wif, he hath his weie take
Into the chambre, and ther liggende
He fond his dede wif bledende,
Wher that Constance faste by
Was falle aslepe; and sodeinly
He cride alowd, and sche awok,
And forthwithal sche cast a lok
And sih this ladi blede there,
Wherof swounende ded for fere
Sche was, and stille as eny ston
Sche lay, and Elda therupon
Into the castell clepeth oute,
And up sterte every man aboute,
Into the chambre and forth thei wente.
Bot he, which alle untrouthe mente,
This false knyht, among hem alle
Upon this thing which is befalle
Seith that Constance hath don this dede;
And to the bed with that he yede
After the falshed of his speche,
And made him there for to seche,
And fond the knif, wher he it leide,
And thanne he cride and thanne he seide,
'Lo, seth the knif al blody hiere!
What nedeth more in this matiere
To axe?' And thus hire innocence
He sclaundreth there in audience
With false wordes whiche he feigneth.
Bot yit for al that evere he pleigneth,
Elda no full credence tok:
And happeth that ther lay a bok,
Upon the which, whan he it sih,
This knyht hath swore and seid on hih,
That alle men it mihte wite,
'Now be this bok, which hier is write,
Constance is gultif, wel I wot.'
With that the hond of hevene him smot
In tokne of that he was forswore,
That he hath bothe hise yhen lore,
Out of his hed the same stounde
Thei sterte, and so thei weren founde.
A vois was herd, whan that they felle,
Which seide, 'O dampned man to helle,
Lo, thus hath God the sclaundre wroke
That thou agein Constance hast spoke:
Beknow the sothe er that thou dye.'
And he told out his felonie,
And starf forth with his tale anon.
Into the ground, wher alle gon,
This dede lady was begrave.
Elda, which thoghte his honour save,
Al that he mai restreigneth sorwe.
For the seconde dai a morwe
The king cam, as thei were acorded;
And whan it was to him recorded
What God hath wroght upon this chaunce,
He tok it into remembrance
And thoghte more than he seide.
For al his hole herte he leide
Upon Constance, and seide he scholde
For love of hire, if that sche wolde,
Baptesme take and Cristes feith
Believe, and over that he seith
He wol hire wedde, and upon this
Asseured ech til other is.
And for to make schorte tales,
Ther cam a Bisschop out of Wales
Fro Bangor, and Lucie he hihte,
Which thurgh the grace of God almihte
The king with many another mo
Hath cristned, and betwen hem tuo
He hath fulfild the mariage.
Bot for no lust ne for no rage
Sche tolde hem nevere what sche was;
And natheles upon the cas
The king was glad, how so it stod,
For wel he wiste and understod
Sche was a noble creature.
The hihe makere of nature
Hire hath visited in a throwe,
That it was openliche knowe
Sche was with childe be the king,
Wherof above al other thing
He thonketh God and was riht glad.
And fell that time he was bestad
Upon a werre and moste ride;
And whil he scholde there abide,
He lefte at hom to kepe his wif
Suche as he knew of holi lif,
Elda forth with the Bisschop eke.
And he with pouer goth to seke
Agein the Scottes for to fonde
The werre which he tok on honde.
The time set of kinde is come:
This lady hath hire chambre nome,
And of a sone bore full,
Wherof that sche was joiefull,
Sche was delivered sauf and sone.
The bisshop, as it was to done,
Gaf him baptesme and Moris calleth;
And therupon, as it befalleth,
With lettres writen of record
Thei sende unto here liege lord,
That kepers weren of the qweene.
And he that scholde go betwene,
The messager, to Knaresburgh,
Which toun he scholde passe thurgh,
Ridende cam the ferste day.
The kinges moder there lay,
Whos rihte name was Domilde,
Which after al the cause spilde.
For he, which thonk deserve wolde,
Unto this ladi goth and tolde
Of his message al how it ferde.
And sche with feigned joie it herde
And gaf him giftes largely,
Bot in the nyht al prively
Sche tok the lettres whiche he hadde,
Fro point to point and overradde,
As sche that was thurghout untrewe,
And let do wryten othre newe
In stede of hem, and thus thei spieke:
'Oure liege lord, we thee beseke
That thou with ous ne be noght wroth,
Though we such thing as is thee loth
Upon oure trowthe certefie.
Thi wif, which is of faierie,
Of such a child delivered is
Fro kinde which stant al amis:
Bot for it scholde noght be seie,
We have it kept out of the weie
For drede of pure worldes schame,
A povere child and in the name
Of thilke which is so misbore
We toke,5 and therto we be swore,
That non bot only thou and we
Schal knowen of this priveté.
Moris it hatte, and thus men wene
That it was boren of the qweene
And of thin oghne bodi gete.
Bot this thing mai noght be forgete,
That thou ne sende ous word anon
What is thi wille therupon.'
This lettre, as thou hast herd devise,
Was contrefet in such a wise
That no man scholde it aperceive:
And sche, which thoghte to deceive,
It leith wher sche that other tok.
This messager, whan he awok,
And wiste nothing how it was,
Aros and rod the grete pas
And tok this lettre to the king.
And whan he sih this wonder thing,
He makth the messager no chiere,
Bot natheles in wys manere
He wrot agein, and gaf hem charge
That thei ne soffre noght at large
His wif to go, bot kepe hire stille,
Til thei have herd mor of his wille.
This messager was gifteles,
Bot with this lettre natheles,
Or be him lief or be him loth,
In alle haste agein he goth
Be Knaresburgh, and as he wente,
Unto the moder his entente
Of that he fond toward the king
He tolde; and sche upon this thing
Seith that he scholde abide al nyht
And made him feste and chiere ariht,
Feignende as thogh sche cowthe him thonk.
Bot he with strong wyn which he dronk
Forth with the travail of the day
Was drunke, aslepe, and while he lay,
Sche hath hise lettres overseie
And formed in another weie.
Ther was a newe lettre write,
Which seith: 'I do you for to wite,
That thurgh the conseil of you tuo
I stonde in point to ben undo,
As he which is a king deposed.
For every man it hath supposed,
How that my wif Constance is faie;
And if that I, thei sein, delaie
To put hire out of compaignie,
The worschipe of my regalie
Is lore; and over this thei telle,
Hire child schal noght among hem duelle,
To cleymen eny heritage.
So can I se non avantage,
Bot al is lost, if sche abide.
Forthi to loke on every side
Toward the meschief as it is,
I charge you and bidde this,
That ye the same schip vitaile
In which that sche tok arivaile,
Therinne and putteth bothe tuo,
Hireself forth with hire child also,
And so forth broght unto the depe
Betaketh hire the see to kepe.
Of foure daies time I sette,
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