Handlyng Synne :: :: University of Virginia Library

Men sente aftyr twey freres,
Þat perauenture were hys cunseylers;
Þese frerès cam, and by hym sate,
and askéd hym of hys state.
Þis persone lay, and loked furþ
vn-tyl a cofre yn þe florth.
Þarto þe frere ȝaf godë tente
whyderward hys yȝen glente;
Þarto he loked euer anone,
And lay styllë as a stone;
Þan asked þe ton frere,
“what ys yn þys cofre here?”
Þe personë spak no þyng,
But ȝaf a gretë syghyng.
Þe freres kalled men hem to,
Þat cofre for to vn-do:
Þe persones men come echone:
“Key,” þey seyd, “hadd þey none.”
Þe lyd vp sone þey wraste,
And brak þe lok at þe laste;
And þere þey fonde þe cofre ful
Sperd wyþ þe deuylys mul
Of florens and of goldrynges,
And of many ouþer þynges
Þat were of syluer, vesseles,
And gold and ouþer Iuweles.

Þe wrecche saw hys tresoure sperd,

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And sette hym up yn hys bedde,
And bekened þer-aftyr with hys hand:
Þe frerë seyd, “y vndyrstande
Þat he wulde haue sum of þys.”

Þey toke and fylde a syluer dysshe
Ful of pens, and to hym broght,
To se what was yn hys þoght.
he toke and fyldë ful hys fyst,
And yn-to hys mouþe þe pens kyst,
As þat he wuldë hem haue ete,
Ȝyf he myȝt hem al haue gete.
And, whan þey sagh hym þus do,
Þe frerë styrtë hym vn-to,
And toke þe dysshë of hys hand
Magre hys wylland.
And a-none he fyllë downe,
And deyd, y wenë, yn a suowne.

Seeþ now how hys louyng
Broȝt hym to euyl endyng!
Þat he haþ loued and holde faste,
with shame þey departed at þe laste;
Þerfore hyt were bettyr here
Dyspende here þyng on gode manere,
Þan for to ley hyt vp yn mucche,
Oþer yn cofre, oþer yn hucche.

Auarycë, ryche and harde,
ys a þefe, a mokerad,
whan he muccheþ pryuyly
Þat many man myȝt lyuë by.
Ryche men gadere ryche tresours
To make with ryche executours:
Þe whyles þe execútours sekke,

[_]

fyl þe bag

Of þe soulë þey ne rekke;
Þe body, whyl hyt on bere lys,
A day or two ys holde yn prys,
But whan hyt ys yn erþë broght,
Body ne soulë gete ryȝt noght;
Be he broght nobly to hys pyt,

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Dette and soule þey þynke al quyt.

loke þerfore, executore,
Ȝyf þou haue ȝyt hold yn store
Þat þou oghtest for to haue ȝyue,
But fro day to day hast hyt dryue:
Þou synnest þan wykkedly,
And doust þe soule treytory;
But þus seyþ holy story,
Þe soule þat ys yn purgatory
lokeþ fast aftyr þe socoure
Of þe gode executoure;
Ȝyf he hyt helpë for to saue,
Gretë mede þan shal he haue;
And ȝyf he do nat hys ordynaunce,
hyt askeþ of God to hym veniaunce.

Of allë fals þat beryn name,
Fals executours are maste to blame.
þe pope of þe courte of Rome,
Aȝens hem ȝyfþ he hardë dome,
And curseþ hem yn cherchys here
Fourë tymës yn þe ȝere.

Of alle executours þat men fynde,
werst are þyn ownë kynde,
And þy chyldryn specyaly
Are to þy soule vnkyndëly:
Þy chyldryn allë sey ryght þus:
“whom shuld þey ȝyuë hyt, but vs?”
y graunte weyl hyt ys ȝyue to þe;
Be þou to hem þan sumwhat fre:
Þat was heren, now hyt ys þyne;
helpe hem þerwyþ oute of pyne;
But þou mayst nat, for auaryce,
Þat haþ þe boundë yn þat vyce,
To sparë no þyng þat was hys
For to bryngë hym to blys.

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And many tymës, so hyt gos,
mennës eyres are here most fos;
Namly, an eyre þat ys a qued,

[_]

shrewe

þat desyreþ hys fadrys ded;
For oftë haue men herde and sen
Þat swych eyrës hauë ben.

yn London, þe wurde gan go,
Þat eyrës ded here fadrys slo;
And wyues wundryng was so bolde
To make here husbundes kokëwolde:
Many tymës, for swych dede,
Are eyrës mochë for to drede;
For doute þerof, þys ys þe skyle,
To queþe here landys where þey wyle;
hous and rente, and ouþer þyng,
Mow þey queþe at here endyng.

Ȝe ryche men, before ȝow se,
Þe whyles ȝe are yn ȝoure pouste;
On ȝoure soules, y rede ȝow þenke;
y warne ȝow of ȝoure eyres blenke;
Ne haueþ no trust of ȝoure sokoure,
Nat of ȝoure owne executoure;
Ȝyueþ ȝeself with ȝoure hondys,
For þe dede haþ few[ë] frendys;
For þey þat þou louyst with-alle,
For þy soule wyl ȝyue but smalle.

Of þre executurs y shal ȝou rede,
how þey halpe ones a soule yn nede.