University of Virginia Library

[A peniw]orþ [of wi]tte.

[OMITTED]

Here foloweþ how a merchande dyd hys wyfe betray).

Lystenyþ, lordyngys, y yow pray,
How a merchand dyd hys wyfe betray
Bothe be day and be nyght,
Yf ye wyll herkyn aryght!
Thys songe ys of a merchand of þys cuntre,
That had a wyfe feyre and free.
The marchand had a full gode wyfe,
Sche louyd hym trewly as hur lyfe;
What þat euyr he to hur sayde,
Euyr sche helde hur wele apayde.
Þe marchand, þat was so gay,
By a nother woman he lay;
He boght hur gownys of grete pryce,
Furryd with menyvere & with gryse,
To hur hedd ryall atyre,
As any lady myght desyre.
Hys wyfe, þat was so trewe as ston,
He wolde, ware no thyng vpon.
That was foly, be my fay,
That fayrenes schulde tru loue betray!
So hyt happenyd, as he wolde,
The marchand, ouer þe see he schulde;
To hys lemman ys he gon,
Leue at hur for to tane
With clyppyng & with kyssyng swete;
When þey schulde parte, boþe dyd þey wepe.
Tyll hys wyfe ys he gon,
Leue at hur then hath he tan:
“Dame,” he seyde, “be goddys are,
Haste any money, þou woldyst ware,
Whan y come beȝonde the see,
That y myȝt þe bye some ryche drewre?”
“Syr,” sche seyde, “as Cryst me saue,
Ye haue all that euyr y haue;
Ye schall haue a peny here:
As ye ar my trewe fere,
Bye ye me a penyworth of wytt
And in youre hert kepe wele hyt!”
Styll stode þe merchand tho,
Lothe he was, þe peny to forgoo;
Certen sothe, as y yow say,
He put hyt in hys purce & yede hys way.
A full gode wynde god hath hym sende,
Yn to Fraunce hyt can hym brynge.
A full gode schypp arrayed he
Wyth marchaundyce and spycere.
Certen sothe, or he wolde reste,
He boght hys lemman of the beste;
He boght hur bedys, brochys & ryngys,
Nowchys of golde & many feyre thyngys;
He boght hur perry to hur hedd
Of safurs and of rubyes redd.
Hys wyfe, þat was so trewe as ston,
He wolde, ware nothyng vpon.
That was foly, be my fay,
That fayrenes schulde trew loue betray!
When he had boght all þat he wolde,
The marchand, ouyr the see he schulde;
The marchandys man to hys mayster dyd speke:
“Oure dame ys peny let vs not forgete!”
The marchaund swore be seynt Anne,
Ȝyt was that a leude bargan,
To bye owre dame a penyworth of wytt:
In all Fraunce y can not fynde hyt.
An olde man in þe halle stode,
The marchandys speche he vndurȝode.
The olde man to þe marchand can say:
“A worde of counsell y yow pray,
And y schall selle yow a penyworþ of wyt,
Yf ye take gode hede to hyt.
Telle me, marchand, be thy lyfe,
Whethyr haste þou a lemman or a wyfe?”
“Syr, y haue bothe, as haue y reste,
But my paramour loue y beste!”
Then seyde þe olde man, with owten were:
“Do now, as y teche the here:
When þou comyst ouyr þe salte fome,
Olde clothys then do the vpon,
To thy lemman that thou goo
And telle hur of all thy woo!
Syke sore, do as y the say,
And telle hur, all þy gode ys loste away;
Thy schyp ys drownyd in the fom,
And all thy god ys loste the from.
When thou haste tolde hur soo,
Then to þy weddyd wyfe thou go:
Whedyr helpyth þe bettur yn thy nede,
Dwelle with hur, as Cryste the spede!”
The marchand seyde: “Wele must þou fare!
Haue here thy peny, y haue my ware!”
When he come ouer the salte fome,
Olde clothys he dyd hym vpon.
Hys lemman lokyd forþe & on hym see
And seyde to hur maydyn: “How lykyþ þe?
My loue ys comyn fro beyonde the see,
Come hedur and see hym wyth þyn eye!”
The maydyn seyde: “Be my fay,
He ys yn a febull array!”
“Go down, maydyn, in to the halle,
Yf thou mete the marchand with alle,
And yf he spyrre aftyr me,
Say, þou sawe me wyth non eye!
Yf he wyll algatys wytt,
Say, in my chaumbyr y lye sore syke;
Owt of hyt y may not wynne,
To speke with none ende of my kynne,
Noþer with hym nor with none other,
Thowe he were myn own brother.”
“Allas,” seyde the maydyn, “why sey ye soo?
Thynke, how he helpyd yow owt of moche wo!
Fyrste, when ye mett, wyth owt lesynge,
Youre gode was not worthe XX shillinge;
Now hyt ys worthe CCCC pownde,
Of golde and syluyr, that ys rounde.
Gode ys but a lante lone,
Some tyme men haue hyt & some tyme none.
Thogh all hys gode be gon hym froo,
Neuyr forsake hym in hys woo!”
“Go downe, maydyn, as y bydd thee,
Thou schalt no lenger ellys dwelle with me!”
The maydyn wente in to the halle,
There sche mett the marchand with all:
“Where ys my lemman, where ys sche?
Why wyll sche not come speke with me?”
“Syr, y do the wele to wytt,
Yn hyr chaumbyr sche lyeth full syke;
Out of hyt sche may not wynne,
To speke with non ende of hur kynne,
Nother with yow nor with non other,
Thowe ye were hur owne brother!”
“Maydyn, to my lemman that þou go
And telle hur, my gode ys loste me fro,
My schyp ys drownyd in the fom
And all my gode ys loste me from.
A gentylman haue y slawe,
Y dar not abyde the londys lawe.
Pray hur, as sche louyth me dere,
As y haue ben to hur a trewe fere,
To kepe me preuy in hur chaumbyr,
That þe kyngys baylyes take me neuyr!”
In to þe chaumbyr þe maydyn ys goon,
Thys tale sche tolde hur dame anone.
“In to þe halle, maydyn, wynde þou downe
And bydd hym, owt of my halle to goon,
Or y schall sende in to the towne
And make þe kyngys baylyes to come:
Y swere be god of grete renown,
Y wyll neuyr harbur þe kyngys feloun!”
The maydyn wente in to the halle
Ant thus sche tolde the merchand alle.
The marchand sawe none oþer spede,
He toke hys leue and forthe he yede.
Lystenyth, lordyngys, curtes and hende,
For ȝyt ys the better fytt behynde!
Lystenyth, lordyngys, grete & small!
The marchand ys now to hys own halle,
Of hys comyng hys wyfe was fayne,
Anone sche come hym agayne.
“Husbonde”, sche seyde, “welcome ye be!
How haue ye farde beyonde the see?”
“Dame,” he seyde, “be goddys are,
All full febyll hath be my fare,
All þe gode, þat euer was thyn & myn,
Hyt ys loste, be seynt Martyn!
In a storme y was bestadde,
Was y neuyr halfe so sore adrad.
Y thanke hyt god, for so y may,
That euyr y skapyd on lyue away.
My schypp ys drownyd in the fom,
And all my gode ys loste me from.
A gentylman haue y slawe,
Y may not abyde the londys lawe.
I pray the, as thou louest me dere,
As thou art my trewe weddyd fere,
In thy chaumber þou woldest kepe me dern!”
“Syr,” sche seyde, “no man schall me warne.
Be stylle, husbonde, sygh not so sore!
He þat haþe thy gode, may sende þe more.
Thowe all thy gode be fro the goo,
I wyll neuyr forsake the in thy woo;
Y schall go to the kyng & to the quene
And knele before them on my kneen,
There to knele and neuyr to cese,
Tyl of the kyng y haue getyn þy pees.
I can bake, brewe, carde and spynne,
My maydenys & y can syluyr wynne,
Euyr, whyll y am thy wyfe,
To maynten the a trewe mannys lyfe!”
Certen sothe, as y yow say,
All nyght be hys wyfe he lay.
On the morne, or he forthe yede,
He kaste on hym a ryall wede,
He bestrode a full gode stede,
And to hys lemmans hows he yede.
Hys lemman lokyd forthe & on hym see,
As he come rydyng ouyr the lee;
Sche put on hur a garment of palle
And mett the marchand in the halle;
Twyes or thryes, or euyr he wyste,
Trewly sche had hym kyste.
“Syr,” sche seyde, “be seynt John,
Ye were neuyr halfe so welcome home!”
Sche was a schrewe, as haue y hele,
There sche currayed fauell well.
“Dame,” he seyde, “be seynt John,
Ȝyt ar not we at oon:
Hyt was tolde me beyonde the see,
Thou haste another leman þen me;
All þe gode, þat was thyn & myne,
Thou haste geuyn hym, be seynt Martyn!”
“Syr, as Cryste bryng me fro bale,
Sche lyeth falsely, that tolde þe þat tale!
Hyt was thy wyfe, that olde crate,
That neuyr gode worde by me spake!
Were sche dedd, god lene hyt wolde!
Of the haue all my wylle y schulde;
Erly, late, lowde and stylle
Of the schulde y haue all my wylle!
Ye schall see, so muste y the,
That sche lyeth falsely on me!”
Sche leyde a canvas on the flore,
Longe and large, styffe and store;
Sche leyde ther on, with owten lyte,
Fyfty schetys waschen whyte,
Pecys of syluyr, masers of golde;
The marchand stode, hyt to beholde;
He put hyt in a wyde sakk
And leyde hyt on the hors bakk;
He bad hys chylde: “Go be lyue
And lede thys home to my wyue!”
The chylde on hys way ys gon,
The marchande come aftyr anon,
He caste the pakk downe in the flore,
Longe and large, styf and store.
As hyt lay on the grounde,
Hyt was wele worthe CCCC pownde.
They ondedyn the mouth aryght,
There they sawe a ryall syght.
“Syr,” sayde hys wyfe, “be the rode,
Where had ye all thys ryall gode?”
“Dame,” he seyde, “be goddys are,
Here ys thy penyworth of ware;
Yf thou thynke hyt not wele besett,
Gyf hyt a nother, can beware hyt bett!
All thys with thy peny boght y,
And therfore y gyf hyt the frely:
Do wyth all what so euyr ye lyste,
I wyll neuyr aske yow acowntys, be Cryste!”
The marchandys wyfe to hym can say:
“Why come ye home in so febull array?”
Then seyde the marchand sone ageyn:
“Wyfe, for to assay the, in certeyn:
For at my lemman was y before,
And sche by me sett lytyll store,
And sche louyd bettyr my gode þen me,
And so, wyfe, dydd neuyr ye!”
To telle hys wyfe then he began,
All that gode he had takyn fro hys lemman:
“And all was be cawse of thy peny;
Therfore y gyf hyt the frely,
And y gyf god a vowe thys howre,
Y wyll neuyr more haue paramowre,
But the, myn own derlyng & wyfe,
Wyth the wyll y lede my lyfe!”
Thus the marchandys care began to kele,
He lefte hys folye euery dele
And leuyd in clennesse and honeste:
Y pray god, that so do we.
God, that ys of grete renowne,
Saue all the gode folke of þys towne!
Jesu, as thou art heuyn kynge,
To the blys of heuyn owre soules brynge!