For though that I be olde, foule, and pore,
I n'elde for all the metal ne the ore

That under erthe is grave, or lith above,
But if thy wif I were and eke thy love.

My love! quod he; nay, my dampnation.
Alas! that any of my nation

Shuld ever fo foule disparaged be.

But all for nought; the end is this, that he
Conftrained was he nedes must hire wed,
And taketh this olde wif, and goth to bed.
Now wolden fom men fayn paraventure,
That for my negligence I do no cure
To tellen you the joye and all the array
That at the fefte was that ilke day.

To which thing fhortly anfweren I shal:
I fay ther was no joye ne fefte at al;

Ther n'as but hevineffe and mochel forwe;
For prively he wedded hire on the morwe,
And all day after hid him as an oule,
So wo was him his wif loked fo foule.

Gret was the wo the knight had in his thought
Whan he was with his wif a-bed ybrought;
He walweth, and he turneth to and fro.

This olde wif lay fmiling evermo,
And faid, O dere hufbond, benedicite!
Fareth ever knight thus with wif as ye?
Is this the lawe of King Artoures hous?
Is every knight of his thus dangerous?
I am your owen love, and eke your wif,
I am the which that faved hath your lif,
And certes yet did I you never unright;
Why fare ye thus with me this firste night?
Ye faren like a man had loft his wit.
What is my gilt? for Goddes love tell it,
And it fhal ben amended if I may.

Amended! quod this knight, alas! nay, nay,
It wol not ben amended never mo;
Thou art fo lothly, and fo olde alfo,
And therto comen of fo low a kind,

That littel wonder is though I walwe and wind;
So wolde God min herte wolde breft.

Is this, quod fhe, the caufe of your unreft?
Ye certainly, quod he, no wonder is.
Now Sire, quod fhe, I coude amend all this,
If that me lift, er it were dayes three,
So wel ye mighten bere you unto me.

But for ye fpeken of fwiche gentilleffe As is defcended out of old richeffe ; That therefore fhullen ye be gentilmen; Swiche arrogance n'is not worth an hen. Loke who that is moft vertuous alway, Prive and apert, and most entendeth ay To do the gentil dedes that he can, And take him for the greteft gentilman. Crift wol we claime of him our gentilleffe, Not of our elders for hir old richeffe ; For though they yeve us all hir heritage, For which we claime to ben of high parage, Yet may they not bequethen for no thing To non of us hir vertuous living, That made hem gentilmen called to be, And bade us folwen hem in fwiche degree Wel can the wife poet of Florence, That highte Dant, fpeken of this fentence:

Lo in fwiche maner rime is Dantes tale.

Ful felde up rifeth by his branches fmale
Proweffe of man, for God of his goodneffe
Wol that we claime of him our gentilleffe;
For of our elders may we nothing claime
But temporel thing, that man may hurt and
Eke every wight wot this as wel as I, [maime.
If gentilleffe were planted naturelly
Unto a certain linage doun the line,
Prive and apert, than wold they never fine
To don of gentilleffe the faire office;
They mighten do no vilanie or vice.

Take fire, and bere it into the derkeft hous
Betwix this and the Mount of Cacafus,
And let men fhette the doers, and go thenne,
Yet wol the fire as faire lie and brenne
As twenty thousand men might it behold;
His office naturel ay wol it hold,
Up peril of my lif, til that it die.

Here may ye fee wel how that genterie
Is not annexed to poffeffion,
Sith folk ne don hir operation
Alway, as doth the fire, lo, in his kind:
For God it wot men moun ful often find
A lordes fone do fhame and vilanie.
And he that wol han pris of his genterie,
For he was boren of a gentil hous,
And had his elders noble and vertuous,
And n'ill himfelven do no gentil dedes,
Ne folwe his gentil auncestrie that ded is,
He n'is not gentil, be he duk or erl,
For vilains finful dedes make a cherl:
For gentilleffe n'is but the renomee
Of thin aunceftres for hir high bountee,
Which is a strange thing to thy persone :
Thy gentilleffe cometh fro God alone;
Than cometh our veray gentilleffe of grace;
It was no thing bequethed us with our place.
Thinketh how noble, as faith Valerius,
Was thilke Tullius Hoftilius,

That out of poverte rose to high nobleffe.
Redeth Senek, and redeth eke Boece,
Ther fhull ye feen expreffe that it no dred is
That he is gentil that doth gentil dedis:
And therefore, leve hufbond, I thus conclude,
Al be it that min aunceftres weren rude,
Yet may the highe God, and fo hope I,
Granten me grace to liven vertuously;
Than am I gentil whan that I beginne
To liven vertuoufly and weiven finne.

And ther as ye of poverte me repreve,
The highe God, on whom that we beleve,
In wilful poverte chefe to lede his lif;
And certes every man, maiden, or wif,
May understond that Jefus heven king
Ne wold not chefe a vicious living.

Glad poverte is an honeft thing certain,
This wol Senek and other clerkes fain.
Who fo that halt him paid of his poverte,
I hold him rich, al had he not a fherte.
He that coveiteth is a poure wight,
For he wold han that is not in his might;
But he that nought hath, ne coveiteth to have,
Is riche, although ye hold him but a knave.

Veray poverte is finne proprely.

Juvenal faith of poverte merily, The poure man whan he goth by the way, Beforn the theves he may fing and play. Poverte is hateful good; and, as I geffe, A ful gret bringer out of befineffe; A gret amender eke of sapience To him that taketh it in patience. Poverte is this, although it fome elenge, Poffeffion that no wight wol challenge. Poverte ful often, whan a man is low, Maketh his God and eke himself to know. Poverte a fpectakel is, as thinketh me, Thurgh which he may his veray frendes fee. And therefore, Sire, fin that I you not greve, Of my poverte no more me repreve.

Now, Sire, of elde that ye repreven me : And certes, Sire, though non auctoritee Were in no book, ye gentiles of honour Sain that men fhuld an olde wight honour, And clepe him Fader, for your gentilleffe; And auctours fhal I finden, as I geffe.

Now ther ye fain that I am foule and old, Than drede ye not to ben a cokewold; For filthe, and elde also, so mote I the, Ben grete wardeins upon chastitee. But natheles, fin I know your delit,

I fhal fulfill your wordly appetit.

But at the last he said in this manere:

My lady and my love, and wif so dere, I put me in your wife governance, Chefeth yourself which may be most plesance And most honour to you and me alfo, I do no force the whether of the two, For as you liketh it fufficeth me.

Than have I got the maiftere, quod fhe,
Sin I may chefe and governe as me left.
Ye certes, wif, quod he, I hold it beft.
Kiffe me, quod fhe, we be no lenger wrothe
For by my trouth I wol be to you bothe,
This to fayn, ye bothe faire and good.
I pray to God that I mote sterven wood
But I to you be al so good and trewe

As ever was wif fin that the world was newe
And but I be to-morwe as faire to seen
As any lady, emperice, or quene,
That is betwix the eft and eke the west,
Doth with my lif and deth right as you left.
Caft up the curtein, loke how that it is.

And whan the knight faw veraily all this,
That the fo faire was, and fo yonge therto,
For joye he hent hire in his armes two:
His herte bathed in a bath of bliffe,
A thousand time a-row he gan hire kisse :
And the obeyed him in every thing
That mighte don him plefance or liking.

In parfit joye; and Jefu Crift us fende
Hufbondes meke and yonge, and fresh a-bed,
And grace to overlive hem that we wed.
And eke I pray Jefus to fhort hir lives
That wol not be governed by hir wives;
And old and angry nigards of difpence
God fend hem fone a veray peftilence.

THIS worthy limitour, this noble Frere,
He made alway a maner louring chere
Upon the Sompnour, but for honestee
No vilains word as yet to him fpake he;
But at the last he said unto the Wif,
Dame, (quod he) God yeve you right good lif,
Ye have here touched, all fo mote I the,
In fcole matere a ful gret difficultie;
Ye han faid mochel thing right wel I say:
But, Dame, here as we riden by the way
Us nedeth not to fpeken but of game,
And let auctoritees, in Goddes name,
To preching and to fcole cke of clergie.
But if it like unto this compagnie
I wol you of a Sompnour tell a game;
Parde ye may wel knowen by the name
That of a Sompnour may no good be faid;
I pray that non of you be evil apaid:

A Sompnour is a renner up and doun With mandements for fornicatioun, And is ybete at every tounes ende.

[hende

Tho fpake our Hofte, A, Sire, ye fhuld ben
And curteis, as a man of your eftat,
In compagnie we wiln have no debat :
Telleth your Tale, and let the Sompnour be.
Nay, quod the Sompnour, let him fay by me
What fo him lift; whan it cometh to my lot,
By God I fhal him quiten every grot;
I fhal him tellen which a gret honour
It is to be a flatering limitour,

And eke of many another maner crime,
Which nedeth not rehersen at this time,
And his office I fhal him tell ywis.

Our Hofte answered, Pees, no more of this.
And afterward he said unto the Frere

Tel forth your Tale min owen maister dere.

WHILOM ther was dwelling in my contree
An archedeken, a man of high degree,
That boldely did execution

In punishing of fornication,

Of witchecraft, and eke of bauderie,

Of defamation, and avouterie,

Of chirche-reves, and of testaments,

Of contracts, and of lack of facraments,
Of ufure, and of fimonie alfo,

But certes lechours did he gretest wo;
They fhulden fingen if that they were hent,
And fmale titheres weren foule yfhent;

+ A Sompnour and the devil meeting on the way, after conference become fworn brethren, and to hell they go together. A covert invective against the bribery and corruption of the fpiritual courts in thofe days. Urry.

If any perfone wold upon hem plaine
Ther might aftert hem no pecunial peine.
For fmale tithes and fmale offering
He made the peple pitously to fing,
For er the bishop hent hem with his crook
They weren in the archedekens book;
Than had he thurgh his jurisdiction
Power to don on hem correction.

He had a Sompnour redy to his hond,
A flier boy was non in Englelond;
For fubtilly he had his efpiaille,

That taught him wel wher it might ought availle
He coude fpare of lechours on or two
To techen hem to foure-and-twenty mo:
For though this Sompnour wood be as an hare,
To tell his harlotrie I wol not fpare,

For we ben out of hir correction,
They han of us no jurifdiction,
Ne never fhul have, terme of all hir lives.
Peter, fo ben the women of the ftives,
Quod this Sompnour, yput out of our cure?
Pees, with mifchance and with mifaventure,
Our Hofte faid, and let him tell his Tale.
Now telleth forth, and let the Sompnour gale,
Ne ípaireth not, min owen maister dere.

This falfe theef, this Sompnour, quod the Frere,
Had alway baudes redy to his hond,
As any hauke to lure in Englelond,
That told him all the fecree that they knewe,
For hir acquaintance was not come of newe;
They weren his approvers prively:
He tooke himself a gret profit therby,
His maister knew not alway what he wan.
Withouten mandement a lewed man

He coude fompne up peine of Criftes curfe,
And they were inly glad to fille his purse,
And maken him gret feftes at the nale.
And right as Judas hadde purses smale,
And was a theef, right fwiche a theef was he;
His mafter hadde but half his duetee.
He was (if I fhal yeven him his laud)
A theef, and eke a Sompnour, and a baud.
He had eke wenches at his retenue,
That whether that Sire Robert or Sire Hue,
Or Jakke or Rauf, or who fo that it were
That lay by hem, they told it in his ere.
Thus was the wenche and he of on affent;
And he wold fecche a feined mandement,
And fompne hem to the chapitre bothe two,
And pill the man and let the wenche go:
Than wold he fay, Frend, I fhal for thy fake
Do ftrike thee out of oure lettres blake;
Thee thar no more as in this cas travaille;
I am thy frend ther I may thee availle.
Certain he knew of briboures many mo
Than poflible is to tell in yeres two;
For in this world n'is dogge for the bowe
That can an hurt dere from an hole yknowe
Bet than this Sompnour knew a flie lechour,
Or an avoutrer or a paramour;

And for that was the fruit of all his rent,
Therfore on it he fet all his entent,

And fo befell that ones on a day
This Sompnour, waiting ever on his praye,
Rode forth to fompne a widewe, an old ribibe,
Feining a caufe, for he wold han a bribe;
And happed that he saw beforn him ride
A gay yeman under a foreft fide;

A bow he bare, and arwes bright and kene,
He had upon a courtepy of grene.
An hat upon his hed with frenges blake.

(He dorite not for veray filth and fhame
Say that he was a Sompnour, for the name.)
De par dieux, quod this yeman, leve brother,
Thou art a baillif, and I am another.
I am unknowen as in this contree;
Of thin acquaintance I wol prayen thee,
And eke of brotherhed, if that thee lift.
I have gold and filver lying in my chift;
If that thee hap to come in to our shire
Al fhal be thin right as thou wolt defire.
Grand mercy, quod this Sompnour, by my faith.
Everich in others hond his trouthe laith
For to be fworne brethren til they dey.
In daliaunce they riden forth and pley.
This Sompnour, which that was as ful of jangles
As ful of venime ben thise wariangles,
And ever enquering upon every thing,
Brother, quod he, wher is now your dwelling,
Another day if that I fhuld you feche?

Sire, quod the Smpnour, haile, and wel atake. Welcome, quod he, and every good felaw. Whider rideft thou under this grene fhaw? (Saide this yeman) wolt thou fer to-day ?

This Sompnour him anfwerd, and faide Nay. Here fafte by (quod he) is min entent To riden, for to reifen up a rent That longeth to my lordes duetee. A! art thou than a baillif? Ye, quod he.

This yeman him answerd in softe speche,
Brother, quod he, fer in the north contree,
Wher as I hope fometime I fhall thee fee.
Or we depart I fhal thee fo wel wiffe,
That of min hous ne fhalt thou never miffe.

Now brother, quod this Sompnour, I you pray
Teche me, while that we riden by the way,
(Sith that ye ben a baillif as am I)
Som fubtiltee, and tell me faithfully
In min office how I may mofte winne;
And fpareth not for confcience or for finne,
But as my brother tell me how do ye.

Now by my trouthe, brother min, faid he,
As I fhal tellen thee a faithful Tale.
My wages ben ful ftreit and eke ful smale;
My lord is hard to me and dangerous,
And min office is ful laborious,
And therfore by extortion I leve;
Forfoth I take all that men wol me yeve :
Algates by fleighte or by violence
Fro yere to yere I win all my difpence!
I can no better tellen faithfully.

Now certes (quod this Sompnour) fo fare I;
I fpare not to taken, God it wote,
But if it be to hevy or to hote.
What I may gete in confeil prively
No maner confcience of that have I.
N'ere min extortion I might not liven,
Ne of fwiche japes wol I not be fhriven.
Stomak ne confcience know I non;

I fhrew thise fhrifte faders everich on:
Wel be we met by God and by Seint Jame.
But, leve brother, tell me than thy name,
Quod this Sompnour. Right in this mene while
This yeman gan a litel for to fmile.

Brother, quod he, wolt thou that I thee tell?
I am a fend, my dwelling is in hell,
And here I ride about my pourchasing
To wote wher men wol give me any thing:
My pourchas is th' effect of all my rent,
Loke how thou rideft for the fame entent:
To winnen good thou rekeft never how :
Right fo fare I, for riden wol I now
Unto the worldes ende for a praye.

A, quod this Sompnour, benedicite! what fay ye?

I wend ye were a yeman trewely,
Ye have a mannes fhape as wel as I :
Have ye then a figure determinat
In helle, ther ye ben in your estat?

Nay certainly, quod he, ther have we non,
But whan us liketh we can take us on,
Or elles make you wene that we ben shape
Somtime like a man, or like an ape,
Or like an angel can I ride or go;
It is no wonder thing though it be fo;
A loufy jogelour can deceiven thee,
And parde yet can I more craft than he.

Why, quod the Sompnour, ride ye than or gon In fondry fhape, and not alway in on?

For we, quod he, wol us fwiche forme make
As moft is able our preye for to take.

What maketh you to han al this labour?
Ful many a caufe, leve Sire Sompnour,
Saide this fend. But alle thing hath time;
The day is fhort, and it is paffed prime,
And yet ne wan I nothing in this day;
I wol entend to winning if I may,
And not entend our thinges to declare;
For, brother min, thy wit is al to bare
To understand, although I told hem thee.
But for thou axeft why labouren we?
For fomtime we be Goddes inftruments,
And menes to don his commandements,
Whan that him lift, upon his creatures,
In divers actes and in divers figures:
Withouten him we have no might certain,
If that him lift to ftonden theragain.
And fomtime at our praiere han we leve
Only the body and not the foul to greve;
Witneffe on Job, whom that we diden wo,
And fomtime han we might on bothe two,
This is to fain, on foule and body eke:
And fomtime be we fuffered for to feke
Upon a man, and don his foule unrefte
And not his body, and all is for the beste.
Whan he withstandeth our temptation
It is a caufe of his falvation,

Al be it that it was not our entente

He fhuld be fauf, but that we wold him hente,
And fomtime be we fervants unto man,
As to the Archebishop Seint Dunstan,
And to the apostle servant eke was I.

Yet tell me, quod this Sompnour, faithfully,
Make ye you newe bodies this alway
Of elements? The fend anfwered Nay.
Somtime we feine, and fomtime we arise
With ded bodies, in ful fondry wife,
And fpeke as renably, and faire, and wel,
As to the Phitoneffe did Samuel;
And yet wol fom men say it was not he :
I do no force of your divinitee.
But o thing warne I thee, I wol not jape,
Thou wolt algates wete how we be shape:
Thou shalt hereafterward, my brother dere,
Come wher thee nedeth not of me to lere,
For thou shalt by thin owen experience
Conne in a chaiere rede of this fentence
Bet than Virgile, while he was on live,
Or Dant allo. Now let us riden blive,

For I wol holden compagnie with thee

Til it be fo that thou forfake me.

Nay, quod this Sompnour, that shal never betide.

I am yeman knowen is ful wide;

My trouthe wol I hold, as in this cas;
For though thou were the devil Sathanas
My trouthe wol I hold to thee, my brother,
As I have fworne, and eche of us to other,
For to be trewe brethren in this cas,

And bothe we gon abouten our pourchas.
Take thou thy part, what that men wol thee yeve,
And I fhal min, thus may we both leve;
And if that any of us have more than other
Let him be trewe, and part it with his brother.
I graunte, quod the devil, by my say;

And with that word they riden forth her way,
And right at entring of the tounes ende
To which this Sompnour hope him for to wende,
They faw a cart that charged was with hay,
Which that a carter drove forth on his way.
Depe was the way, for which the carte ftood;
The carter fmote, and cried as he were wood,
Heit Scot, heit Brok; what, fpare ye for the stones?
The fend (quod he) you fecche body and bones,
As ferforthly as ever ye were foled,

So mochel wo as I have with you tholed.
The devil have al, bothe hors, and cart, and hay.

The Sompnour fayde, Here fhal we have a praye;
And nere the fend he drow, as nought ne were,
Ful prively, and rouned in his ere,
Herken my brother, herken, by thy faith;
Hereft thou not how that the carter faith?
Hent it anon, for he nath yeve it thee,
Both hay and cart, and eke his caples three.
Nay, quod the devil, God wot never a del!
It is not his entente, trust thou me wel:
Axe him thyfelf, if thou not troweft me,
Or elles ftint a while and thou shalt fee.

This carter thakketh his hors upon the croupe,
And they begonne to drawen and to ftoupe.
Heit now, quod he; ther, Jefu Crift you blesse,
And all his hondes werk bothe more and leffe!
That was wel twight, min owen Liard boy,
I pray God fave thy body and Seint Eloy.
Now is my cart out of the flough parde.

Lo, brother, quod the fend, what told I thee?
Here may ye feen, min owen dere brother,
The cherl fpake o thing but he thought another.
Let us go forth abouten our viage;
Here win I nothing upon this cariage.

Whan that they comen fomwhat out of toun
This Sompnour to his brother gan to roune;
Brother, quod he, here woneth an old rebekke
That had almoft as lefe to lefe hire nekke
As for to yeve a peny of hire good.

I wol have twelf pens though that she be wood,
Or I wol fomone hire to our office,
And yet, God wot, of hire know I no vice;
But for thou canst not as in this contree
Winnen thy coft, take here enfample of me.

This Sompnour clappeth at the widewes gate;
Come out, he fayd, thou olde very trate;

I trow thou, haft fom frere or preeft with thee.
Who clappeth? faid this wif, benedicite!