Handlyng Synne :: :: University of Virginia Library

And on a day, as fyl to be
Þat seynt Ihon ȝaf hys charyte,
Þe bysshope Troylë, for cumforte,
with hym wentë for dysporte,
To se þe folk þat þyrdyr come
Of many cuntres þat oute were nome.
Þat ychë tyme þat chaunce gan falle,
Seynt Ihon hadde nat to ȝyue hem alle;
But a man, þat was þere,
Rouned yn seynt Ihons ere.
‘Þat he hadde broght þat ychë stounde

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tyme

To syre Troylë þyrty pounde,
And he myȝt helpë, ȝyf he wylde,
Þat hys dolë were fulfylde.’

Seynt Ihon to Troyle bygan to sermun

[_]

to speke

with ensamples of gode resun,
“Þat he hadde pyte of here cryyng;
To se hem wepe, was reuful þyng;
For God shal þanke alle at þe laste day yn dede,
Þat of þe pore for hys loue han pyte at nede.
what ys hyt wrþ to preche yn cherche,
whan men yn dedë wyl nat werche?
And now hyt ys so on þy party,
Thou hast besauntes of golde redy,
Þat þou mayst helpe, ȝyf þat þou wylt,
Þat þys pore peple be nat spylt.”

what for almes, and what for despyte,
Troylë commaunded al styte
Þat þo þrytty pounde of golde
were ȝyue þere seynt Ihōn̄ wolde.

To þe pore was hyt so delte and dryue,
Þat euery besaunt was furþ ȝyue.
whan allë haddë þat þere cam,

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Seynt Ihōn̄ and Troylë homward nam:
Troyle fyl yn a grete syknes
For sorow of hys large almes;
Þat sorow hadde hym so ouercome,
Þat þe feuer hadde hym nome.
He wende weyl þat he hadde be lore,
So lytyl hope yn hym was bore.
Hys godë hopë was ful badde,
For hym þoghte lore, þat pore men hadde.

Seynt Ihon wulde nat Troyle forgete,
He sente aftyr hym to þe mete;
But he excused hym, and seyd nay,
And seyd þat he yn þe feuer lay,
And to þe deþe he hoped weyl,
Þarefore ne myȝt he come þat sele.

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þat tyme

whan Seynt Ihon herde þat seye,
Þat Troyle supposed for to deye,
Asswyþë to hym he ȝede,
And cunseyled hym to haue no drede;
“Drede þe noght, my godë sone,
Goddës manere we owe to kone;
For alle þo þat he loueþ dere,
he chasteþ hem on many manere;
And as he sendeþ to þè, sykenes,
He wyl sende hele whan hys wyl es.”

Seynt Ihon wyst wele hys herte,
Hys sykënes, and alle hys querte;
Þarfore he seydë on þys wyse—
For he knew hys coueytyse,—
“Þy golde þat was to me so redy,
To me þou lentyst hyt, graunte mercy;
For y was yn wyl, for þe feste,
Þat euery hadde a peny, who so hadde leste.

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But y myȝt nat so of myne,
But y hadde borowed at þe of þyne;
Þo þrytty pounde, God haþ me sente,
And here þey are now, þy presente;
And asswyþe þey shul be payd,
No lenger shul þey be delayd.”

Seynt Ihon called hys chaumberleyn,
And tolde hem to Troyle, be summe certeyn.
Anoun cumforted was Troyle so weyl
Þat hys sykenes he forgate eche deyl,
And so smartly, yn tyme so lyte,
Þat þey allë myȝt wele wyte
Þat þe feuer þat hym so shoke
was for þe monye þat he toke.

He dyde on hys cloþys astyte,
And to Seynt Ihon he wrote a skryte;
Þys skryt conteyneþ, as hyt seyþ þore,
Þese samë wurdës, lesse ne more:
“God þe ȝelde, my lorde Syre Ihon,
Þe besauntes þat were delte echon,
Þat y lente þe, þrytty pounde,
Yn hande y haue hem hole and sounde.”
And Troyle dyde þe skryt weyl sele,
And syþen ros vp yn gode hele;
And went hym homë with seynt Ihon;
Of euyl felte he no more non.

But Ihesu, þat seëþ al þyng,
Shewed to Troyle þys tokenyng
How he hadde lore a rychë holde,
And for auaryce he hyt solde.

Troyle tolde, he sagh þys syght
At þe fyrst slepe of þe nyght:

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Hym was shewed a paleys,
So fayre was neuer noun, hyt seys;
For alle hyt was of betyn golde,
Alle þat euer stode on molde.
Myȝte no man aymë þe largenesse,
Ne tungë tellë þe feyrnesse.
Þer-yn was so noble atyre,
Shynyng as golde, flammyng as fyre.
Aboute þe ȝatë wrytyn was
Þat Troyle beheldë a long space,
And ofte he reddë þat wrytyng,
And haddë þeryn grete lykyng;
Þys was þere wryte,—as seynt Ihon telles,
And as men of þys story spellys,—
“Reste and hous with-outyn ende,
Þe bysshope Troylë shal to wende.”

Þus þoght Troylë yn hys bedde,
As he ofte on þe lettyr redde.
Þan wende Troylë sykyrly weyl,
Þe kyng hadde ȝyue hyt hym eche deyl;
Þarefore syre Troylë was ful gladde
Þat he swyche a paleys hadde.

Vnneþë þenne hys yȝe was glent,
Þat one fro God þydyr was sent,
And commaunded alle yn rape

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haste

A-wey þat wrytyng for to skrape.
Alle þat spakë of syre Troyle
was skraped a-wey, as who sey oyle.

Sone aftyrward, with-yn a lytyl,
was þere wryte anoþer tytyl;
Þys tytyl þat was latter wryte,
Þus moche hyt ys for to wyte,
“Rest, and hous, and wonyng,
Graunteþ, and ȝyueþ, heuene kyng,
To Ihon þe patryark so fre,

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with-outyn ende yn ioye to be,
For þrytty poundë þat he boghte,
And to almës dede hem broghte.”

And Troylë waked sone anone,
And tolde hys dremë to seynt Ihon,
Euery deyl how he hadde sen,
And was ordeyned to haue ben.
“Þarfore,” he seyde, “fro henne forward
Ne shal y neuer be to pore man hard;
So feyre ys dyȝte to hem to lyue,
Þat blely wyl to pore men ȝyue.”
But algate Troyle þat tyme had tynte
Þe fyrst paleys þat God hadde hym mynte.

Ȝe lordynges þat haue y-now,
Þys talë haue y tolde for ȝow,
Þat ȝe ne repente ȝow of largés
Þat ȝe ȝyue to ȝoure almés;
And þenkeþ on þe bysshope Troyle
Þat for large almës made grete doyle,
Þat ȝe ne lese nat þat paleys
Þat God ordeyneþ to alle curteys;
For who so ȝyueþ curteysly,
Hyt fordoþe þe synne of glotonye.

Of mete, glotonye wyl bygynne;
Almës þerof fordoþe þat synne.
Almës fordoþ alle wykkednes,
And quenchyþ synne, and makyþ hyt les.
Almës semeþ hyt cumþ of loue
Þat þou ȝyuest to man for God aboue,
Oþer for hym þat þou ȝyuest þore,
Or hym þat þou ȝyuest hyt fore.
Almës, þou wost weyl, ys a ȝyfte;
And for þe ȝyuyng, man ys vplyfte.

Ȝyue gladly, for God, þyn almës here;
Hym ȝyue þou hyt on alle manere,
And for hys loue, to hys meyne,
Ȝyf þou of hym wylt loued be.

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So wyl ȝyftys louë tylle,
And gadyr many one to gode wylle.

For ȝyftys, twey loues mayst þou haue,
And boþe be tymës mow þe saue.
Þe fyrst ys, ȝyf þou ȝyue þy þynges
To hauë louë of lordynges:
For þy ȝyfte þou mayst be herde,
And saue þy godë yn þe werlde;
But þat love lasteþ lytyl whyle,
And aȝens God hyt wyl þe fyle.

Þe toþer loue is noght for þys;
Hyt askeþ noght but heuene blys;
And þat loue ys, euery deyl,
loue of God and pore man weyl.
what ys loue vnto men pore?
Almës to hem ys recouere;
Almës dede of loue ys wey,
Noþer mysdo, noþer myssey;
Þan wyl God almyghty loue þe;
Þy loue ys þan with charyte.

Charyte ys, þe certeyn to lere,
loue of þyn euyncrysten dere.
So sone þerto, noght wyl þe lede,
Ne so moche, as wyl almës dede.
Charyte ys, þe longyng of loue,
As y haue tolde ȝow here aboue;
For alle þat euer þou mayst do,—
But loue yn charyte be þerto—
Alle þat euer hast þou wroght,
Stant þe ellës al at noght.

Se now what seynt Poulë seys
Yn a pystyl, þe samë weys,—
“Þogh y speke as weyl with tung
As any man or aungel haþ song,
And y lyue nat with charyte,
No þyng auayleþ hyt to me.
For y do þan ryȝt as þe bras,
And as þe tympan, þat bete was;

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Þe bras, to oþer, ȝyueþ grete sown,
And bet hym self vp and down.
And þogh y speke al yn prephecye,
And haue þe kunnyng of euery maystrye,
And, with gode beleue myght seye
Þe hylles to turne yn-to þe valey,
ȝyf hyt ne be with charyte wroght,
Ellës, he seyþ þat y am noght.
Þogh y ȝyue alle my wurldës gode
Vnto porë mennys fode,
And ȝyue my body for to brenne
Opunly oþer men to kenne,

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teche

But ȝyf þar be charyte with alle,
My mede þarfore shal be ful smalle.”

loke now how many godenesse þer are,
with-outë charyte noght but bare.
wylt þou know þy self, and se
Ȝyf þou wone yn charyte?

Charyte suffreþ boþe gode and yl,
And charyte ys of reuful wyl,
Charyte haþ noun enuye,
And charyte wyl no felunnye;
Charyte ys nat Irus,

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wraþful

And charyte ys nat coueytous;
Charyte wyl no bostful preysyng;
he wyl noght but ryȝtwys þyng;
Charyte loueþ no fantome,
No þynges þat euyl may of come;
He haþ no ioye of wykkednes,
But loueþ alle þat sothfast es;
Alle godenes he vp bereþ;
Alle he suffreþ, and noun he dereþ;
Gode hope he haþ yn ryghtwys þyng,
And alle he susteyneþ to þe endyng;
Charyte ne fayleþ noght,
Ne no þyng þat with hym ys wroght.
when alle prophecyes are alle gone,

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And alle tunges are leyde echone,
And alle craftys fordo shul be,
Þan lasteþ stedfast charyte.”

Þus seyþ seynt Poule, and mochë more,
Yn hys pystyl of hys lore.
Seynt charyte ys gode and hende,
lastyng with God with-outyn ende.

Gode hyt were to loue hyt weyl,
And folowe hyt with oure dede sumdeyl.
Ȝyf we þys charyte wyl haue,
Ȝyue we þe pore whan þey vs craue;
Ȝyue we hem, as hyt ys oure myȝt,
with-oute myssaw or any fyȝt;
Þan ys hyt curteys almës dede;
Þank of God þan ys oure mede,
And shal stonde ful stalwurþly
Aȝens þe synne of glotonye,
As y haue tolde ȝow here byfore,
And furþer shal y telle ȝow now more.

At þe begynnyng y spake of þys,
Ete ne drynk but þat nede ys.
who so doþ hyt oute of mesure,
Hele of body may nat dure,
And to hys soule, hyt ys dedly synne,
Þat custummable ys þer-ynne;
And penaunce harde þarfore shal go,
But we kepe vs weyl þerfro.

Loke yn þys sawe what Catoun seys,
Þat ys wyys and ryȝt curteys,
“Ȝyf þou yn hele wylt dure,
Ete and drynk of swych mesure
Þat þy strenkþe be nat þe lesse;
For, drynkyng oute of skylle,
Þy body bryng hyt wylle
To sorowe and to sykënesse.”

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And ouþer spyces haþ glotonye:
To ete þy mete ouer brennynglye
And lustly, whan þou hyt getyst,
And takest noun hede what þou etyst.

Anoþer spyce ys noght to pay,
As a beste to ete al day,
And kepyst nonë certeyn tyme,
Þe settyng at none or pryme,
Noþer ouþer tyme þat fallyþ to man,
But as a beste þat no resun kan.
Me þenkeþ weyl hyt ys resun
To callë swych a man ‘glotoun.’
Twyys on þe day ys sustynaunce
To man þat haþ gode cheuysaunce.
Þe cheuysauncë, woste þou how,
To man þat haþ metë ynow,
Þogh he be man of trauayle,
Hyt were y-now with-outë fayle.

But þo men þat haue no swynk,
Þat delyte hem yn mete or drynk,
Þe apostyl Poulë spekþ of þo,
And dampneþ many one to wo.
He seyþ “woo to þo þat erly ȝerne,
Þat go and hauntë þe tauerne,
Yn wyne or ale to haue lykyng;
Cursednes hem folowyþ at þe endyng.
Of swych, here wombës are here Cryst;
Þat ys here loue, þat ys here tryst.”
Alle þys he meneþ sykyrly
For man þat loueþ moche glotonye.

Ȝungë chyldryn, þey mow wele,
On þe day, etë þre mele;
For sum of hem wex ful tyte,
Þarefor ys more, here appetyte;
And ȝyt behoueþ tyme be þar-to,
Or men mowe wyþ hem mysdo;
For, þus seyþ þe oldë man
Yn a prouerbe þat he can,

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“Ȝyue þy chylde when he wyl kraue,
And þy whelpe whyl hyt wyl haue,
Þan mayst þou make yn a stounde
A foulë chylde and a feyrë hounde.”
So mayst þou be enchesoun
To make þy chylde a glotoun.

A-nouþer vyce ys ȝyt to graunte,
Þat rychë men mochyl haunte,
Þat many one are so daungerous,
And oute of mesure esquaymous,
Þat hys kokë may no day
Greyþë hym hys mete to pay.
Þat me þenkeþ a feble manere;
A vylanye hyt ys to here;
For euery coke wulde, at hys myȝt,
hys lordës metë were wel dyȝt:
wheþer hyt be lorde or lady,
Me þenkeþ hyt ys a spyce of glotonye.
hyt semeþ, were hyt at þy wyl,
Ouer mesure þou wuldest þe fyl.

Rerë sopers yn pryuyte,
with glotonye, echone þey be;
And þyr ys mochë wastë ynne,
And gadryng of ouþer synne.
Þefte behoueþ þe sumdele þore,
And glotonye algatë more;
And leccherye ys quene or kyng;
For hym ys all þat gaderyng.

Ȝyt are þer ouþer rere sopers,
with men þat seruë knyȝtys and squyers;
For al þe day þan wyl þey be
Before here maysters yn soberte;
But whan here maysters are broght to bedde,
Þan wyl þey fonde þat þey be fedde,
And sytte vp þare wyþ recolage

233

And ȝyt do mochë more outrage;
To þe mydnyght ys but a þrowe,
But hyt be, tyl þe cok krowe.
Þese men are clumbë on a grece
To glotonyë with þat spece.

Also fallë men yn plyght,
Þat sytte vp þe Þursday at nyght.
And ouerlong ete flesshe and drunke
Aftyr þat mydnyght ys runge,
Or fysshe or flesshe þat suffreþ dede,
Þat shulde on þe Fryday faste watyr & brede;
Swych etyng þey shul sore abeye,
But þey amende hem are þey deye.
Þe Fryday nyght ys,—þys shalt þou leue,—
Aftyr þe Þursday at eue;
Þe nyght cumþ byfore þe day,
Þat ys now of þe newë lay.

As y haue tolde of rere sopers,
Þe same falleþ of erly dyners;
Dyners are oute of skyl and resun
On þe Sunday, or hye messe be doun.
Þogh þou haue haste, here ȝyt a messe,
Al holy, and no lesse,
And nat symple, a sakare,
For hyt ys nat y-now for þe,
But hyt be for lordys powere,
Or pylgrymage þat haþ no pere.

Are þou oght ete, þys ys my rede,
Take holy watyr and holy brede;
For yn auenture kas, hyt may þe saue,
Ȝyf housel ne shryftë þou mayst haue.

Alle oþer tymes ys glotonye,
But hyt be grete enchesun why.
On oþer hygh dayys, ȝyf þat þou may,—
Þogh þat hyt be nat Sunday,—
Here þy messë ar þou dyne;

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Ȝyf þou do nat, ellys ys hyt pyne.

lordës þat haue prestes at wyl,
Me þenketh þey trespas ful yl,
Þat any day ete, are þey here messe,
But ȝyf hyt be þurgh harder dystresse.

þe men þat are of holy cherche,
Þey wetë weyl how þey shul werche;
But swych y tellë hardyly,
Þat swych a preste douþ glotonye,
Þat leuyþ hys messe on þe auter
For to go to a dyner.
So ne shuld he do, for no þyng,
For loue ne awe of no lordyng,
But ȝyf hyt were for a grete nede
Þat shuld hym falle, or a grete drede.

Now haue we tolde yn lytyl space
how þat glotonye cumþ yn place
On many maner dyuers wyse,
And how we shul knowe allë þyse.

Ȝyf any seþ hym so coupáble
Þat yn þys ys custummáble,
leuë hem, and do no more,
And askë penauncë þarefore,
And God ys curteys, and wul wele
Forȝyue þe þy trespas euery dele.
God graunte vs, for hys swete mercy,
To kepe vs alle fro glotonye!