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[Of Envy, the 3rd Deadly Sin.]
  
  
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[Of Envy, the 3rd Deadly Sin.]

T[h]e þryd[ë] synnë ys enuye,
Þat ys ful of felunnye;
Holy wryt wytnessyþ hyt wel,
Þat hyt comþ of þe fende eche del.
Þe man þat ys ful of enuye,
He ys euer sorowful, we se with ye;
Þe gode þat he seþ, alle doþ hym euyl.
And alle ys þe tycement of þe deuyl.
Loke now þarfore, at þe bygynnyng,
ȝyf þou were euer payde of myschaunceful þyng

134

Þat befyl to any man,
Of grete enuye hyt fyrst began.
Ȝyf þou euer haddyst sorow oþer kare
Of þy neghëburs welfare,
Enuye haþ þe yn hys hand
Boundë wyþ þe deuylys band.
Ȝyf þou forþenke a mannys prowe,
Þat he haþ hegher state þan þow
Yn any manere of dygnyte,
Þat he may to, auaunssede be;
Þogh þou come nat to hys state,
But wust apeyre hyt and abate,
Þat he may nat haue hys baylè,
Dedly synne ys swyche enuye.
Ȝyf þou make one so hard stresse
Þat hys godnesse wexe þe lesse,
Or ȝyf þou euer yn placë were
Þat hys harme þe morë were,
Shryue þe wel ar þou deye,
For al þys cumþ of grete enuye.
Ȝyf þou euer on any manere
Lettydyst any man for to lere
Craftë, or ouþer queyntyse,
But fordeddyst hys apryse
[_]

lernyng,


For þou shuldest furþeryd be,
And more yn prys preysed þan he;
Beþenke þe weyl, ȝyf þou do þus,
Þat þyn herte ys ful enuyus;
For þou shalt neuere, with gode ye,
Se hym þat leryþ þy maystrye.
Ȝyf þou be enuyus, and no man trowe,
And behynde hys bak make hym þe mowe,
As who seye þat “he naght can,
No ys wurþ as a-nouþer man,”

135

Al ys þys enuyë grete;
Ȝyf þou haue do þus, y rede þe lete.
Ȝyf þou here preyse one for sum þyng,
And þou forþenkyst hys preysyng,
And felyst weyl yn þy herte
Of a lytyl sorow or smerte,
Þat þou ne art preysed furþer þan he,
Enuye hyt ys, þou mayst wel se.
Many one are of so enuyus wyl
Þat þey may preyse none but with yl;
Alle þenkeþ hym euyl þat þey se,
Þey are enuyus, what-so-euer þey be.
Enuyus man ys so ful of susspecyun
Þat euyl hym þenketh al, as a felun.
who-so kan knowe þe properte,
Enuyus man may lyknyd be
To þe Iawnes, þe whyche ys a pyne
þat men mow se yn mennys yne.
þe ye þat ys ful of Iawnes,
Alle þenkeþ hym ȝelogh yn hys auys:
So hyt fareþ on hys party,
Hys þoght ys euer ful of enuye.
Enuyus men, euyl þey sowe;
Þát men telle hem, to euyl þey trowe;
Ȝyf þey se þat one doþ more,
Enuyús þan angreþ sore;
Alle godenes þey turne to euyl;
Enuyus men are lyke þe deuyl.
Of alle þat yn þys worldë are,
Enuyús man werst shal fare.
Gladnes herë haue þey none,
But whan here neghburs haue mysgone.
Yn any maner defaute þat ys,
þan make þey ioye for þat wykkednes.
Yn þe toþer worlde þer þey shul be,
Þey are nat wurþy any ioye to se.
Here and þere þey shul haue greuaunce,

136

But þere shal be here most veniaunce.
Enuye ys onë þe werst synne
Þat þe deuyl maketh any man fal ynne.
Seynt Gregory telleþ a tale þar-by;
And as he seyþ, so wyl y.

[The Tale of the Bear which kept the Hermit's Sheep, and how it was slain by envious Monks.]

Þer were twey men of holy wyl
Þat leuyd to-gedyr, with-outen yl,
A-lonë yn an ermytage,
And, as meke as bryd yn kage;
Þe toon, men calle Eutycyus,
Þe touþer hyght Florentyus.
A gode clerk was þe toon,
he turned to þe feyþ many on.
Eutycyus was þe clerk
Þat taght þe folk of goddys werk.
Florens was nat so moche yn lore,
Yn preyours he was euermore.
þer besyde was an abbey,
And yn here tyme þe abbot gan deye;
whan þys ychë abbot was dede,
Alle þe munkës toke hem to rede,
And chese hem syre Eutycyus
To be abbot of here hous.
On alle manere fyl so here lot,
Eutycyus þey made here abbot.
Aftyr Eutycyus, Florens gan dwelle
And woned a-lonë yn hys celle.
Florens madë gretë mone
For þat he shuld dwel alone;
And had grete sorowe, and was drery,
As many be þat lese gode cumpany.

137

On a day, he bad hys orysun,
And was yn grete afflyccyon,
And preyd God he wulde hym ȝeue
Sum gode cumforte with-al to leue.
Þus preyd Florens yn hys bede
Þat Gode shuld sende hym sum felaurede.
whan he ros vp of his orysown,
he ȝede yn hys celle vp and down,
And opened hys ȝate, and loked oute,
And sagh a berë wylde and stoute.
Þys ychë bere come to þe gate
To Florens þat stode yn þe ȝate;
But when þe bere come at hym nere,
Þe bere to hym loutede, and made feyre chere,—
Feyre chere as a bere myght make,—
And was so meke þat he myȝt hym take.
þys ychë Florens hym beþoght
þat God hadde herd þat he besoght,
And þanked hym of hys swete grace,
þat he hym sent hadde swyche solace.
For a myracle, ȝe may hyt vndyrstande,
þat a wyldë bere was tame to hande.
Þys godë man hadde syxë shepe,
And noun hyrde hem for to kepe;
He badde þe bere þat he shulde go
And dryue hys shepë to and fro,
And kepe hem weyl þat noun hem dere,
“And þou shalt be my godë bere.”
Þe bere hym louted with semblant glad,
For to do as Florens hym badde;
To þe bere, he seyde hys auys,
“Euery day whan y ete twyys,
Come þou home at hygh vndurne,
And no lenger yn þe felde soiurne;
And euery day, when y faste,

138

Come at þe noun, home, at þe laste.”
So dyd þe bere, euery day,
One oure passed hym neuer away
Þat he ne come home, þe yche cele,
[_]

godly


And boþe tymeus he knew hem wele.
Þys Florens hadde cumforte and game
At hys bere, þat hyt was so tame,
And loued hyt moche with-oute fayle
For þe myracle and þe grete meruayle:
For soþë so hym byrde,
[_]

moste


For he was a merueylus hyrde.
A bere þurgh kynde shulde etë shepe;
And here as an hyrde he ȝafe to hem kepe.
Þyt yche merueyle myȝt nat be hyd,
But yn alle þe cuntre hyt was weyl kyde
Þat Florens had a tamë bere,
And was an hyrdë, shepe to were.
[_]

kepe


Þe abbot þat hyghte Eutycyus
Had foure dyscyplys ful enuyus,
Þat alle day of þys berë spakk
with grete enuye, gretely to lakk;
And seyd, alle fourë hem betwene
wyþ grete enuyë, scorne, and tene,
“More merueyl doþe Florencyus
Þan doþe oure mayster Eutycyus.”
Þey seydë “hyt shal nat so go;”
And made forward, þat bere to slo.
As þey seyd, þey dyd þat woghte;
Þe whychë dede ful soure þey boghte.
At þe tyme, þe bere, o day come noghte;
Florens had þer-of grete þoghte;
He ros and ȝede yn-to þe felde,

139

And aftyr hys berë faste behelde.
At þe laste, hys bere he fonde,
Besyde hys shepe, slayn on a londe.
Asswyþë hym self gan to rede
who hadde do þat ychë dede;
Ȝyt pleyned he more þe myschaunce
Þat þer shulde falle on hem veniaunce,
Þan he pleyned hys ownë dere
Þat þey had slayn his godë bere.
Noþeles he pleyned wundyrly sore
Þat hys solas shulde be no more.
Eutycyus þe abbot, his felawe,
herd sey hys bere was do adawe;
And come to hym on hys dysport,
To makë Florens gode cumfort.
Florens seyd Eutycyus vn-to,
“Yn God truly y tryst so,
Þat veniaunce shal on hem take
Yn þys lyfë for my sake.
Of Ihesu Cryst þey hade no drede,
To sle þat hylpe me yn my nede,
Felunlyche, as for enuye,
And he ded no man folye;
He was me sent, þurgh Goddys grace,
To be myn helpe and my solace;
Þat God wuldë hym me ȝeue,
why wuld þey nat suffre hym lyue?
God almyȝty shal do hys wyl
wyþ hem, and mo, þat do so yl.”
As he seyde, so gan hyt falle;
Gode toke veniaunce on hem alle;
Meseles þey waxë þan to pyne,
Here lemes roted before here yne;
Aboue þe erþe þey were stynkyng,

140

Þat to þe beres deþ were consentyng.
Þarfore þe pope seynt Gregory
Tellyþ þys talë, resun why,
Þat enuye ys a cursed synne,
Any man to falle þer-ynne.
Moche are they wurþy to suffre shame,
Þat for enuye brynge a man yn blame,
Or make hym lese hys wurldly aght,
[_]

gode


Or frendys also to be vnsaght.
who-so þat doþ, he may hym drede,
No þyng but peyne shal be hys mede.
Syn þys wurldë fryst bygan,
Enuye haþ be euer yn man;
Lucyfer had fyrst enuye,
Þat man was made to state so hye;
Yn paradys he made hym falle,
And seþen of hys ofspryng alle;
So that enuye haþ reyned ay
Yn alle mankynde vnto þys day;
And, Englys men namëly
Are þurgh kynde of hertë hy:
A forbyseyn ys toldë þys,
Seyd on Frenshe men and on Englys,
‘Þat Frenshe men synne yn lecherye,
And Englys men yn enuye.’

141

lecherye ys flesshly synne;
Enuye cumþ of þe soule wyþ-ynne;
lechery ys þe lesse, we fynde,
And enuye ys þe more vnkynde;
For y se noun yn hys lyue
Þat of enuye kan hym shryue;
Þogh euery day a man hyt haunte,
Ȝyt wyl no man be hyt a-graunte.
Telle to any þat he haþ enuye,
He seyþ aȝen “hyt ys a lye.”
how mow þéy þan shryue þat synne,
Þat seyn þey haue no gylt þerynne?
we Englys men þeron shulde þynke,
Þat enuyë vs nat blynk.
Bakbytyng cumþ also of enuye;
y haue ȝow tolde of þat folye;
lykenes of hem men mowe bere,
A nedder and a bakbytere;
Þe nedder makeþ þe semblant mylde,
And yn hys tayle ys venym wylde;
Þe bakbytere faryþ ryȝt so:
wyþ mylde semblant he spekth þe to,
And yn hys tayle he beryþ venym;
Behynde þy bak, he spekyþ wurdys grym.
Þe wys kyng Salamon
Seyþ þese wurdys to men echon:—
“hys lyppes,” he seyþ, “he shal make swete,
wyþ feyrë wurdys he shal þe grete,
But yn hys hertë he shal þynke
For to do þe a wykked blynke.”
So ded þe traytur, fals Iudas,

142

Þat dampned ys wyþ Satanas,
whan þys Iudas, foule felun,
weytede Ihesu with tresun.
Fyrst he grete hym and gan lagh,
And syþen he kest hym þat alle men sagh,
And yn hys herte was tresun bolde,
For to þe Iewës he had hym solde.
‘Treytur! recorde what þou hast herde
Seyde and sunge yn al þe werlde.’
Vndyr heuene ne ys so moche tresun
As yn feyre wurd of hert felun.
Þarfor, treytur, y tolde þe er,
Þy wonyng ys wyþ Lucyfer.
Þyr may no man so yware be,—
For fors, ne wysdom, ne pouste,
For byhest, ne for rychesse,
Ne powere, ne hardynesse,
For lynage, ne for onour,
For felawshepe, ne for socour,
Ne for breþerhede, ne for spousayle,—
Þat treytorhede ne wyl hym asayle;
Ne for sweryng, ne for awe,
Þat a treytur ne haþ yn þys sum sawe.
who was wyser þan Salamon?
who was feyrer þan Absolon?
who was rycher yn euery þyng
Þan Alaxandre þe ryche kyng?
who was swetter þan Ionatas,
Or better clerk þan Vyrgyle was?
Alle þese coude hem neuer were
[_]

kepe


From treytur ne fro bakbytere.
Of a treytur, þys ys þe resun smerte,

143

with feyrë wurdys, and felun herte;
Bakbytere, he haþ a lak,
He ys a treytur behynd þy bak;
Þe toon ys treytur yn þy present,
Þe toþer ys whan þou arte went.
A lyer may be on of þyse,
For he haþ of boþe a queyntyse,
Behynde þy bak, and eke before,
lesyng oueralle ys bore,
Yn þese þre men ys al tresun;
Þarfor hyt ys preued with resun
Þat þesë men, allë þre,
Mowe neuer lyghtly saued be.
Þe apostle seyþ þat God hem hatys,
Ande ouer al ouþer wyþ hem wlatys.
[_]

ys wrothe


Þarefore ȝyf any swyche men wore,
hyt behoueþ betyme repente hem sore;
And leue hyt whyl þey hauë space,
For þan y hope þey may fynde grace.
God ȝeue vs grace enuye to fle!
And alle treyturs, euyl mote þey þe!