William Langland: Piers Plowman: The Z Version Edited by A. G. Rigg and Charlotte Brewer |
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| 3. | Passus Tercius |
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 | William Langland: Piers Plowman: The Z Version |  |
62
Passus Tercius
Now ys Mede the mayde, ant no mo of hem alle,
Wyth bedles ant bayles ybrought to the king.
The kyng cald a clerk, Y can nat ys name,
To take Mede the mayde ant maken here at ese.
“Y schal assay here mysylf ant sothelyche apose
Wat man of thys world that here were leuest;
Ant yf he wyrche by wyt ant my wille folwe,
Y wille fo[r]gyue here that gult, so me God helpe.”
Corteyseliche thys clerk, as the kyng hyghte,
Ladde this lady to lofte, that Mede his yhote.
Ac there was murthe ant mynstracie Mede to plese:
That wonyeth at Westmenstre wurcheped here alle.
Gentelyche wyth ioye the justises monye
Busked hem to the bour there the buyrde dweld;
Conforted here kyndelyche by cleregyus leue,
Seyden, “Mourne nat, Mede, ne mak thow no sorwe,
For we wyl wysse kyng ant thy way schape
For to wedde at thy wille were thow lef licuth,
For al conscienses cast ant craft, as we trowe.”
Myldelyche Mede mercyed hem alle
Of theyr grete godnesse, ant gaf hem vchone
Coupus of clene gold, coppus of syluer,
Rynges wyth rubyes ant rychesses monye,
The leste mon of here meyne a moten of gold.
Thenne lawȝte they leue, this lordus, at Mede.
Wyth that come clerkus, conforted here the same
Ant beden here be blythe, “for we beth thyn owne
For to wyrche thy wylle, wyle thow myȝt loke.”
Hendelyche he thenne byhyghte hem the same,
“To loue yow lelely wyle my lyf deureth,
Ant in the consistorye at court do calle youre name
Ant bugge benefices were yow best lycuth,
Porchase prouendres thereto, wyle my pans lasteth.
Schal no lowedenesse lette hem that Y louye
That they nar furst avaunsed, for Yc am yknowe
There connyngge clerkus cleketh byhyend.”
Wyth bedles ant bayles ybrought to the king.
The kyng cald a clerk, Y can nat ys name,
To take Mede the mayde ant maken here at ese.
“Y schal assay here mysylf ant sothelyche apose
Wat man of thys world that here were leuest;
Ant yf he wyrche by wyt ant my wille folwe,
Y wille fo[r]gyue here that gult, so me God helpe.”
Corteyseliche thys clerk, as the kyng hyghte,
Ladde this lady to lofte, that Mede his yhote.
Ac there was murthe ant mynstracie Mede to plese:
That wonyeth at Westmenstre wurcheped here alle.
Gentelyche wyth ioye the justises monye
Busked hem to the bour there the buyrde dweld;
Conforted here kyndelyche by cleregyus leue,
Seyden, “Mourne nat, Mede, ne mak thow no sorwe,
For we wyl wysse kyng ant thy way schape
For to wedde at thy wille were thow lef licuth,
For al conscienses cast ant craft, as we trowe.”
Myldelyche Mede mercyed hem alle
Of theyr grete godnesse, ant gaf hem vchone
Coupus of clene gold, coppus of syluer,
63
The leste mon of here meyne a moten of gold.
Thenne lawȝte they leue, this lordus, at Mede.
Wyth that come clerkus, conforted here the same
Ant beden here be blythe, “for we beth thyn owne
For to wyrche thy wylle, wyle thow myȝt loke.”
Hendelyche he thenne byhyghte hem the same,
“To loue yow lelely wyle my lyf deureth,
Ant in the consistorye at court do calle youre name
Ant bugge benefices were yow best lycuth,
Porchase prouendres thereto, wyle my pans lasteth.
Schal no lowedenesse lette hem that Y louye
That they nar furst avaunsed, for Yc am yknowe
There connyngge clerkus cleketh byhyend.”
The kying fro consayl com, kalde aftur Mede
Ant ofsent [hire] as swythe. Seriauns here fette
Ant browghte here to boure wyth a blithe chere.
Corteyslyche the kyng commesed to telle
To Mede the mayde, meled his wordus:
“Vnwyttyly thow, womman, wrowt hast ofte,
Ac worse wrowghtest nere as wen þow Fals toke.
Ac Y fortgyue that gult ant graunte the grace
Ant fro hennes to thy deth day do þow so no more.
I haue a knyȝt, Conscience, com lat fro byyonde;
Yf he wylneth the to wyue, wolte þow hym haue?”
“Ye, lord,” quad that lady, “lord hit me forbede
But Y be holy at youre heste—lat hange me ellus!”
Ant ofsent [hire] as swythe. Seriauns here fette
64
Corteyslyche the kyng commesed to telle
To Mede the mayde, meled his wordus:
“Vnwyttyly thow, womman, wrowt hast ofte,
Ac worse wrowghtest nere as wen þow Fals toke.
Ac Y fortgyue that gult ant graunte the grace
Ant fro hennes to thy deth day do þow so no more.
I haue a knyȝt, Conscience, com lat fro byyonde;
Yf he wylneth the to wyue, wolte þow hym haue?”
“Ye, lord,” quad that lady, “lord hit me forbede
But Y be holy at youre heste—lat hange me ellus!”
Thenne was Conscience ycald to come ant apere
Byfor the kyng ant ys consayl of clerkus ant othur.
Kneled Conscience ant to the kyng lowted,
Ant wat that ys wille were ant wat he do scholde.
“Wylt þow wedde thys lady, ant Y wyl assente?
For he ys fayn of thy fellawschippe ant for to be thy make.”
Quad Consciense to the kyng, “Cryst hit me forbede!
Ar Y wedded such a wyf, wo me bytyde!
Sche ys frele of here fayth, fikel of here speche.
A maketh men mysdo many score tyme.
In triste of here tresor he teneht ful monye;
Wyues ant wedewus wantownesse he thechet,
Lereth hem lecherye that loueyeth here yftus.
Youre fader a feld thorw false byheste;
Poyseneth popes, apeyreth holy chirche.
Ys nat a bettre bawde, by hym that me made,
Bytwene heuene ant helle ant erthe thow me sowte.
Sche ys tykel of here tayl, talewys of tonge,
As comewn as the cartway to knaues ant to alle,
To monekus, to mynstrales, to myseles in hegges,
Sysoures ant sompneres, such men here preyseth.
A doth men lesen here land, ye ant here lyf bothe.
Scheryues of schires were schent yf he nere,
For he lat passe prysones, payeth for hem ofte:
A gyueth the gaylares gold ant grotus togyderes,
To vnfetere the fals, fle were hym licut;
Taketh Trewthe by the top, tethereth hym faste,
Ant hangeth hym for hatrede that harmed nere.
To be corsed in the consistorye a cownteth nat a rysche,
For a copeth the comyssarye, coteth ys clercus;
Sche ys assoyled thus sone as heresilf licuth.
He may ney as myche do in a monthe onus
As youre secrete sel in syxe scor dayes;
For he ys pryue wyth the pope, prouisores hit knoweth,
For Symonye ant heresilf aseleth here bullus.
A blesseth thes byschopus, thow they be lewed;
Prouendreth parsones, prestes he meynteneth,
To habbe lemmanes ant luttebys alle here lyf days
Ant bryngeth forth barnes ayeyn forbode lawes.
There he ys wel wyth a kyng, wo his the rewme,
For he ys fauorable to Fals ant falleth ryght ofte.
Barones ant burgeys he bryngeth into sorwe.
By Jesus, wyth here jueles youre iustyses a schendeth
Ant lythth ayeyn lawe ant lette hem the gate,
That fayth may nat haue ys forth, here floreynes goth so thykke;
The mase for a mene man, thouȝ a mote euere,
Wythouten mony or mede or morgage ys landus:
Lawe ys so lordlyche ant loth to make hynde.
Wythouten presentus or pans a pleseth ful fewe;
He lat lawe as here lust, ant louedays makuth;
Clergyse ant coueytyse he coupleth togydere.
Thys ys the lyf of that lady. Now lord yf here sorwe,
Ant alle that meyntyneth here men meschaunce hem bytyde!
For pore men han no pouer to pleyne hem, they hey smerte:
Such a mayster ys Mede among men of gode.”
Thenne morned Mede, mened here to the kyng
To haue space to speke, spede yf a myghte.
The kynge graunted here grace wyth a god wylle:
“Excuse yf thow canst, Y can no more schewen,
For Conscience akusseth to congey the for euere.”
“Nay, lord,” quad that lady, “leue hym the worse,
Wen [ye] wyten wyturly were the wrong lyges.
There that meschef ys gret, Mede may helpe;
Ant thow knowest, Conscience, Y com nat to chyde
Ne to depraue thy persone wyth a proud herte.
Wel thow wost, weye, but yf tow wyl gabbe.
Thow hast hanged on myn half elleuene tymes,
Ant eke ygrype my gold, gef hit were thow lyked.
Ac wy thow wratheste the now, wndor me thynkeuth,
For yut Y may as Y myghte menske the wyth yftus,
Ant multiplye thy monhede more thenne thow knowest.
Ac thow hast defamed me foule afor the kyng here;
That thow seydest, for soth schalt thow nere fynde:
For me were leuere by oure lord to lyggen in peyne
Wyle that thys world last, then wyrchen so ylle.
For kyld Y nere no king, ne consayled thereaftur,
Ne dede as thow demyst—Y do yt on the kynge.
In Normawndye nas a nat anuyed for my sake;
Ac thow thysylf sothelyche schamedest ofte,
Crope into kaban for cold of thy nayles,
Wendest that wyntur wolde last euere;
Draddyst the to dey for a dymme clowde
Ant hastedest hammard for hungur of thy wombe.
Wythoute pyte, thow pylor, pore men thow robbedest,
Ant bere here bras at thy bak to Kaleys to sylle.
There Y lefte wyth my lord, ys lyf for to saue,
Ant made ys men murye ant mournyng to leue.
Y battered hem on the bak, boldede here herte,
Dede hem hoppe for hope to haue me at wylle.
Haued Y be marchal of ys men, by Mary of heuene,
Y durst haue leyd my lyf ant no lasse wedde,
A scholde haue be lord of that lond a lengthe ant of brede,
Ant eke kyng of that kyth, ys kyn for to helpe—
Ye, the leste brol of ys blod a barones pere.
Kowardelyche thow, Conscience, conseylest hym thennes,
To leuen ys lordschepe for a litel syluer
That ys the rychest rewme that reyn ouer houes.
Ac, Conscience, Cryst wot, as Y can descryue,
Out of Northfolk or Normawndye thy name was yfounde.
For thow canst selle the cow y calf ant wythouten,
Halden wyth hym ant wyth here, ay as the licuth.
Freres fyndeth the a frend that thow furst blamedest:
Thyselue art asentaunt that they schal men schryue.
Furst thow corue hem a cope, Conscience, thyselue,
Ant comawndest vche couent coueytyse to lete,
Ant nyme nat of no man but as nede hascheth.
Now ast thow coped hem in coueytyse, ant cumseth to ryde.
That weren woned to wade in wynteres ful colde,
Now beth they boted, tho bewsoun, ant bayard stowlyche bestrydeth.
The bourlyokest bornet ant blanket to selle,
They byggen hyt, nat beggen hit, to bakken thereinne.
In delys of lecherye ys lycam achoceth
That such wedus wereth, Y wyl yt avowe.
For lecherye ys delyt, ant eke aloft bothe
Letred ant vnlered lewdelyche thow techest:
Vnnethe ys ther eny man that nolde be ryche,
Ant alle the wyttus that a wot to wynnygge he schapeth.
Of alle manere men Mede ys desyred;
Conscience but at consayl countheth ful fewe:
Marchauns myghte forbere the, none man bettre.
Conscience in couetyse clercus hath robed,
Ant soyleth men for syluer, we sen wel ouresylue.
Conscience ys the cumsyng of alle skynes werkus:
Be hyt wel, be hit wo, a wot hyt at the furst.
Ys maystry ys aboue me that Mede am yhote.
Wythouten hys wyt wyrch Y not, God wot the sothe,
That thow ne art furst foundur: god fayth it knoweth.”
Byfor the kyng ant ys consayl of clerkus ant othur.
Kneled Conscience ant to the kyng lowted,
Ant wat that ys wille were ant wat he do scholde.
“Wylt þow wedde thys lady, ant Y wyl assente?
For he ys fayn of thy fellawschippe ant for to be thy make.”
Quad Consciense to the kyng, “Cryst hit me forbede!
Ar Y wedded such a wyf, wo me bytyde!
Sche ys frele of here fayth, fikel of here speche.
A maketh men mysdo many score tyme.
In triste of here tresor he teneht ful monye;
Wyues ant wedewus wantownesse he thechet,
Lereth hem lecherye that loueyeth here yftus.
Youre fader a feld thorw false byheste;
Poyseneth popes, apeyreth holy chirche.
Ys nat a bettre bawde, by hym that me made,
Bytwene heuene ant helle ant erthe thow me sowte.
Sche ys tykel of here tayl, talewys of tonge,
65
To monekus, to mynstrales, to myseles in hegges,
Sysoures ant sompneres, such men here preyseth.
A doth men lesen here land, ye ant here lyf bothe.
Scheryues of schires were schent yf he nere,
For he lat passe prysones, payeth for hem ofte:
A gyueth the gaylares gold ant grotus togyderes,
To vnfetere the fals, fle were hym licut;
Taketh Trewthe by the top, tethereth hym faste,
Ant hangeth hym for hatrede that harmed nere.
To be corsed in the consistorye a cownteth nat a rysche,
For a copeth the comyssarye, coteth ys clercus;
Sche ys assoyled thus sone as heresilf licuth.
He may ney as myche do in a monthe onus
As youre secrete sel in syxe scor dayes;
For he ys pryue wyth the pope, prouisores hit knoweth,
For Symonye ant heresilf aseleth here bullus.
A blesseth thes byschopus, thow they be lewed;
Prouendreth parsones, prestes he meynteneth,
To habbe lemmanes ant luttebys alle here lyf days
Ant bryngeth forth barnes ayeyn forbode lawes.
There he ys wel wyth a kyng, wo his the rewme,
For he ys fauorable to Fals ant falleth ryght ofte.
Barones ant burgeys he bryngeth into sorwe.
By Jesus, wyth here jueles youre iustyses a schendeth
Ant lythth ayeyn lawe ant lette hem the gate,
That fayth may nat haue ys forth, here floreynes goth so thykke;
The mase for a mene man, thouȝ a mote euere,
Wythouten mony or mede or morgage ys landus:
66
Wythouten presentus or pans a pleseth ful fewe;
He lat lawe as here lust, ant louedays makuth;
Clergyse ant coueytyse he coupleth togydere.
Thys ys the lyf of that lady. Now lord yf here sorwe,
Ant alle that meyntyneth here men meschaunce hem bytyde!
For pore men han no pouer to pleyne hem, they hey smerte:
Such a mayster ys Mede among men of gode.”
Thenne morned Mede, mened here to the kyng
To haue space to speke, spede yf a myghte.
The kynge graunted here grace wyth a god wylle:
“Excuse yf thow canst, Y can no more schewen,
For Conscience akusseth to congey the for euere.”
“Nay, lord,” quad that lady, “leue hym the worse,
Wen [ye] wyten wyturly were the wrong lyges.
There that meschef ys gret, Mede may helpe;
Ant thow knowest, Conscience, Y com nat to chyde
Ne to depraue thy persone wyth a proud herte.
Wel thow wost, weye, but yf tow wyl gabbe.
Thow hast hanged on myn half elleuene tymes,
Ant eke ygrype my gold, gef hit were thow lyked.
Ac wy thow wratheste the now, wndor me thynkeuth,
For yut Y may as Y myghte menske the wyth yftus,
Ant multiplye thy monhede more thenne thow knowest.
Ac thow hast defamed me foule afor the kyng here;
That thow seydest, for soth schalt thow nere fynde:
For me were leuere by oure lord to lyggen in peyne
67
For kyld Y nere no king, ne consayled thereaftur,
Ne dede as thow demyst—Y do yt on the kynge.
In Normawndye nas a nat anuyed for my sake;
Ac thow thysylf sothelyche schamedest ofte,
Crope into kaban for cold of thy nayles,
Wendest that wyntur wolde last euere;
Draddyst the to dey for a dymme clowde
Ant hastedest hammard for hungur of thy wombe.
Wythoute pyte, thow pylor, pore men thow robbedest,
Ant bere here bras at thy bak to Kaleys to sylle.
There Y lefte wyth my lord, ys lyf for to saue,
Ant made ys men murye ant mournyng to leue.
Y battered hem on the bak, boldede here herte,
Dede hem hoppe for hope to haue me at wylle.
Haued Y be marchal of ys men, by Mary of heuene,
Y durst haue leyd my lyf ant no lasse wedde,
A scholde haue be lord of that lond a lengthe ant of brede,
Ant eke kyng of that kyth, ys kyn for to helpe—
Ye, the leste brol of ys blod a barones pere.
Kowardelyche thow, Conscience, conseylest hym thennes,
To leuen ys lordschepe for a litel syluer
That ys the rychest rewme that reyn ouer houes.
Ac, Conscience, Cryst wot, as Y can descryue,
68
For thow canst selle the cow y calf ant wythouten,
Halden wyth hym ant wyth here, ay as the licuth.
Freres fyndeth the a frend that thow furst blamedest:
Thyselue art asentaunt that they schal men schryue.
Furst thow corue hem a cope, Conscience, thyselue,
Ant comawndest vche couent coueytyse to lete,
Ant nyme nat of no man but as nede hascheth.
Now ast thow coped hem in coueytyse, ant cumseth to ryde.
That weren woned to wade in wynteres ful colde,
Now beth they boted, tho bewsoun, ant bayard stowlyche bestrydeth.
The bourlyokest bornet ant blanket to selle,
They byggen hyt, nat beggen hit, to bakken thereinne.
In delys of lecherye ys lycam achoceth
That such wedus wereth, Y wyl yt avowe.
For lecherye ys delyt, ant eke aloft bothe
Letred ant vnlered lewdelyche thow techest:
Vnnethe ys ther eny man that nolde be ryche,
69
Of alle manere men Mede ys desyred;
Conscience but at consayl countheth ful fewe:
Marchauns myghte forbere the, none man bettre.
Conscience in couetyse clercus hath robed,
Ant soyleth men for syluer, we sen wel ouresylue.
Conscience ys the cumsyng of alle skynes werkus:
Be hyt wel, be hit wo, a wot hyt at the furst.
Ys maystry ys aboue me that Mede am yhote.
Wythouten hys wyt wyrch Y not, God wot the sothe,
That thow ne art furst foundur: god fayth it knoweth.”
| William Langland: Piers Plowman: The Z Version | |