among the rich and he would get more and do better, as it appears
to me,--to have taken a part from the great, and to have spared
the little.--He sins who takes the money of the needy without
cause.
We ought not to lay such wickedness to the charge of the
king,--but to the bad counsellor, by his rapacity. The king is a
young bachelor, and is not of an age--to compass any malice, but
to do all probity.--Such counsel does general harm.
It is no trouble to the great thus to grant to the king a
tax; the simple must pay it all, which is contrary to God’s
will.--This counsel is not at all good, but polluted with
vice;--it is ill ordained, that those who grant should pay
nothing.--For those who make the grant give nothing to the king,
it is the needy only who give.
How will they perform good deeds out of the sweat of the
poor,--whom the rich ought to spare, by gift or favour?--they
ought to tax the great, for the fear of God;--and spare more the
people, who live in pain.--Thou who art rich enough, live not
thus upon the poor.
I see at the present day how people are proud,--with other
people’s goods they hold great court, which will quickly
pass.--When the high judgment comes, the great day of
wrath,--unless they make atonement, they must then perish.--The
King says to the bad, “Go:” to the good, “Come.”
O God, who wast crowned with the sharp thorn,--have pity with
divine grace upon thy people!--May the world be comforted of
such ruin!--To tell unvarnished truth, it is mere robbery.--The
property of the poor taken without their will, is as it were
stolen.
Such tribute can in no manner last long;--out of emptiness who
can give, or touch anything with his hands.--People are reduced
to such ill plight, that they can give no more;--I fear, if they
had a leader, they would rise in rebellion.--Loss of property
often makes people fools.
There is so much scarcity of money among people,--that people can
in the market, there are so few buyers,--although they may have
cloth or corn, swine or sheep,--make nothing of them, in truth,
there are so many needy people.--The people is not joyful, when
money is so scarce.
If the king would take my advice, I would praise him then,--to
take the vessels of silver, and make money of them;--it would be
better to eat out of wood, and to give money for victuals--than
to serve the body with silver, and pay with wood.--It is a sign
of vice, to pay for victuals with wood.
The commissions of those who are employed over sea are too
dear;--now the poor have not their lands to sustain the same.--I
do not know how they can save their souls,--who would live upon
other people’s goods, and save their own.--They cannot doubt but
they will be punished, who covet the property of others.
May God, for the sake of his holy name, confound errors,--and
those who meditate treason, and the disturbers of the peace!--and
take vengeance on such tormentors!--and confirm and grant love
between the kings!--May he lose consolation who breaks the peace!
Amen.
* * * * *
Although the English people were grieved by the King’s expensive
and ill-conducted foreign wars, yet they were not wanting in
commiseration for the Flemish burghers in their struggle against
France. The song which follows was composed soon after the battle
of Courtrai, in which the Comte d’Artois and his army were defeated
and destroyed by the Flemings in 1302.
SONG ON THE FLEMISH INSURRECTION.
[MS. Harl. No. 2253, fol. 73, v^o. of reign of Edw. II.]
Lustneth, lordinges, bothe ȝonge ant olde,
Of the Freynsshe-men that were so proude ant bolde,
Hou the Flemmysshe-men bohten hem ant solde
upon a Wednesday.
Betere hem were at home in huere londe,
Then for te seche Flemmysshe by the see stronde,
Wharethourh moni Frenshe wyf wryngeth hire honde,
ant singeth, weylaway!
The Kyng of Fraunce made statuz newe
In the lond of Flaundres, among false ant trewe,
That the commun of Bruges ful sore con a-rewe,
ant seiden amonges hem,
“Gedere we us togedere hardilyche at ene,
Take we the bailifs by tuenty ant by tene,
Clappe we of the hevedes an oven o the grene,
ant caste we y the fen.”
The webbes ant the fullaris assembleden hem alle,
Ant makeden huere consail in huere commune halle;
Token Peter Conyng huere kyng to calle,
ant beo huere cheventeyn.
Hue nomen huere rouncyns out of the stalle,
Ant closeden the toun withinne the walle;
Sixti baylies ant ten hue maden a-doun falle,
ant moni another sweyn.
Tho wolde the baylies, that were come from Fraunce,
Dryve the Flemisshe that made the destaunce;
Hue turnden hem aȝeynes with suerd ant with launce,
stronge men ant lyht.
Y telle ou for sothe, for al huere bobaunce,
Ne for the avowerie of the Kyng of Fraunce,
Tuenti score ant fyve haden ther meschaunce
by day ant eke by nyht.
Sire Jakes de Seint Poul y-herde hou hit was;
Sixtene hundred of horsmen asemblede o the gras;
He wende toward Bruges _pas pur pas_,
with swithe gret mounde.
The Flemmysshe y-herden telle the cas;
A-gynneth to clynken huere basyns of bras,
Ant al hem to-dryven ase ston doth the glas,
ant fellen hem to grounde.
Sixtene hundred of horsmen hede ther here fyn;
Hue leyȝen y the stretes y-styked ase swyn;
Ther hue loren huere stedes, ant mony rouncyn,
thourh huere oune prude.
Sire Jakes ascapede by a coynte gyn,
Out at one posterne ther me solde wyn,
Out of the fyhte hom to ys yn,
in wel muchele drede.
Tho the Kyng of Fraunce y-herde this, anon
Assemblede he is dousse pers everuchon,
The proude Eorl of Artoys ant other mony on,
to come to Paris.
The barouns of Fraunce thider conne gon,
Into the paleis that paved is with ston,
To jugge the Flemmisshe to bernen ant to slon,
thourh the flour-de-lis.
Thenne seide the Kyng Philip, “Lustneth nou to me,
Myn eorles ant my barouns gentil ant fre,
Goth, faccheth me the tray tours y-bounde to my kne,
hastifliche ant blyve.”
Tho suor the Eorl of Seint Poul, “_Par la goule Dé!_
We shule facche the rybaus wher thi wille be,
Ant drawen hem [with] wilde hors out of the countré,
by thousendes fyve.”
“Sire Rauf Devel,” sayth the Eorl of Boloyne,
“_Nus ne lerrum en vie chanoun ne moyne_,
Wende we forth anon ritht withoute eny assoygne,
ne no lyves man.
We shule flo the Conyng, ant make roste is loyne;
The word shal springen of him into Coloyne,
So hit shal to Acres ant into Sesoyne,
ant maken him ful wan.”
Sevene eorles ant fourti barouns y-tolde,
Fiftene hundred knyhtes proude ant swythe bolde,
Sixti thousent swyers amonge ȝunge ant olde,
Flemmisshe to take.
The Flemmisshe hardeliche hem come to-ȝeynes;
This proude Freinsshe eorles, huere knyhtes, ant huere sweynes
A-quelleden ant slowen by hulles ant by pleynes,
al for huere kynges sake.
This Frenshe come to Flaundres so liht so the hare;
Er hit were mydnyht hit fel hem to care;
Hue were laht by the net so bryd is in snare,
with rouncin ant with stede.
The Flemmisshe hem dabbeth o the het bare;
Hue nolden take for huem raunsoun ne ware;
Hue doddeth of huere hevedes, fare so hit fare,
ant thareto haveth hue nede.
Thenne seith the Eorl of Artois, “Y ȝelde me to the,
Peter Conyng by thi nome, ȝef thou art hende ant free,
That y ne have no shame ne no vylté,
that y ne be noud ded.”
Thenne swor a bocher, “By my leauté!
Shalt thou ner more the Kyng of Fraunce se,
Ne in the toun of Bruges in prisone be,
thou woldest spene bred.”
Ther by were knulled y the put-falle,
This eorles ant barouns ant huere knyhtes alle;
Huere ledies huem mowe abide in boure ant in halle
wel longe.
For hem mot huere kyng other knyhtes calle,
Other stedes taken out of huere stalle:
Ther hi habbeth dronke bittrere then the galle,
upon the drue londe.
When the Kyng of Fraunce y-herde this tydynge,
He smot doun is heved, is honden gon he wrynge.
Thourhout al Fraunce the word bygon to springe;
wo wes huem tho!
Muche wes the sorewe ant the wepinge
That wes in al Fraunce among olde ant ȝynge:
The meste part of the lond bygon for te synge
“alas! ant weylawo!”
Awey thou ȝunge pope! whet shal the to rede?
Thou hast lore thin cardinals at thi meste nede;
Ne keverest thou hem nevere for nones kunnes mede,
for sothe y the telle.
Do the forth to Rome to amende thi misdede;
Bide gode halewen hue lete the betere spede:
Bote thou worche wysloker, thou losest lont ant lede,
the coroune wel the felle.
Alas! thou seli Fraunce, for the may thunche shome,
That are fewe fullaris maketh ou so tome;
Sixti thousent on a day hue maden fot lome,
with eorl ant knyht.
Herof habbeth the Flemysshe suithe god game,
Ant suereth bi Seint Omer ant eke bi Seint Jame,
Ȝef hy ther more cometh, hit falleth huem to shame,
with huem for te fyht.
I tell ou for sothe, the bataille thus bigon
Bituene Fraunce ant Flaundres, hou hue weren fon;
Vor Vrenshe the eorl of Flaundres in prison heden y-don,
with tresoun untrewe.
Ȝe[f] the Prince of Walis his lyf habbe mote,
Hit falleth the Kyng of Fraunce bittrore then the sote;
Bote he the rathere therof welle do bote,
wel sore hit shal hym rewe.
TRANSLATION.--Listen, Lordings, both young and old,--of the
Frenchmen that were so proud and bold,--how the Flemmish men
bought and sold them--upon a Wednesday.--Better it had been
for them at home in their country,--than to seek Flemings by
the sea-strand,--through which many a French woman wrings her
hands,--and sings, weladay!
The King of France made new statutes--in the land of Flanders,
among false and true,--that the commons of Bruges full sorely
began to rue,--and said amongst themselves,--“Let us assemble
together boldly in the evening,--let us take the bailiffs by
twenties and by tens,--let us clap off their heads above on the
green,--and let us cast them in the fen.”
The weavers and the fullers assembled them all,--and held
their council in their common hall,--they took Peter Conyng to
be called their king,--and to be their chieftain.--They took
their horses out of the stable,--and closed the town within the
wall;--seventy bailiffs they made down fall,--and many another
man.
Then would the bailiffs that were come from France--drive out
the Flemings who made the disturbance;--but they turned against
them with sword and with lance,--strong men and nimble.--I tell
you for truth, in spite of their vaunting,--and in spite of the
patronage of the King of France,--four hundred and five had there
mischance--by day and also by night.
Sir Jacques de St. Paul heard how it was:--he assembled sixteen
hundred knights on the grass;--they went towards Bruges step by
step,--with a very great body of people.--The Flemings heard tell
of the case; they begin to clink their basins of brass,--and they
break them all to pieces as a stone does glass,--and fell them to
the ground.
Sixteen hundred knights had there their end;--they lay in the
streets stuck like swine;--there they lost their steeds, and many
a horse,--through their own pride;--Sir Jacques escaped by a
cunning contrivance,--out at a postern where they sold wine,--out
of the fight home to his lodging,--in very great fear.
When the King of France heard this, anon--he assembled his douze
peers every one,--the proud Comte d’Artois and others many
a one,--to come to Paris.--The barons of France began to go
thither,--into the palace that is paved with stone,--to judge the
Flemings to be burnt and slain,--through the fleur-de-lis.
Then said King Philip, “Listen now to me,--my earls and my
barons gentle and free,--go, fetch me the traitors in bonds to
my knees,--hastily and quickly.”--Then swore the Comte de Saint
Paul, “By the throat of God!--we shall fetch the ribalds wherever
it be thy will,--and draw them with wild horses out of the
country--by five-thousands.”
“Sir Ralf Devel,” says the Comte de Bologne,--“we will not leave
alive either canon or monk,--let us go forth anon right without
any excuse,--nor no man alive (?).--We shall flay the Conyng
(rabbit), and cause his loins to be roasted;--the fame of him
shall spring as far as Cologne,--so shall it to Acre and into
Saxony,--and make them full pale.”
Seven counts and forty barons in number,--fifteen hundred knights
proud and very bold,--sixty thousand squires what with young and
old,--to take the Flemings.--The Flemings boldly came against
them;--these proud French comtes, their knights, and their
men--they killed and slew over the hills and the plains,--all for
their King’s sake.
These French came to Flanders as light as the hare;--before it
was midnight there fell upon them care;--they were caught in the
net as a bird is in the snare,--with horse and with steed.--The
Flemings dab them on the bare head;--they will take for them
neither ransom nor pay;--they dod off their heads, happen what
may,--and thereto have they need.
Then saith the Comte d’Artois, “I yield me to thee,--Peter Conyng
by name, if thou art gentle and free,--that I may suffer no
shame nor disgrace,--and that I may not be slain.”--Then swore a
butcher, “By my loyalty!--thou shalt never more see the King of
France,--nor be in prison in the town of Bruges,--thou wouldest
consume bread.”
There they were heaped into the pit-full,--these counts and
barons and all their knights;--their ladies may wait for them
in bower and in hall--very long.--In their place must their
king call other knights,--and take other steeds out of their
stables:--there they have drunk bitterer than gall,--upon the dry
land.
When the King of France heard these tidings,--he cast down his
head, his hands he began to wring.--Throughout all France the
news began to spread;--woe was to them all!--Much was the sorrow
and the weeping--that was in all France among old and young;--The
greatest part of the land began to sing,--“Alas! and welaway!”
Away, thou young pope! what will be thy counsel?--Thou hast lost
thy cardinals at thy greatest need;--thou wilt never recover them
for any kind of reward,--for truth I tell thee.--Go forth to Rome
to atone for thy misdeeds;--pray to good saints that they let
thee speed better:--unless thou workest more wisely, thou losest
land and people,--the crown fell well to the. (?)
Alas! thou simple France, it may appear a shame for thee,--that
a few fullers make thee so tame;--sixty thousand in a day they
made trip quickly, (?)--with count and knight.--Thereof have
the Flemings very good game,--and swear by St. Omer and eke by
St. James,--if they come there any more, it will fall them to
shame,--with them to fight.
I tell you for truth, the battle thus begun,--between France and
Flanders, how they were foes;--for the French had put the Count
of Flanders in prison,--with treason faithlessly.--If the Prince
of Wales his life might have,--it will happen to the King of
France more bitter than soot;--unless he before-hand do make good
amends for it,--very sorely he shall rue it.
* * * * *
The following song seems to have been popular about the beginning
of the fourteenth century. The wolf and the fox pourtray exactly
the characters of the two classes of people who then oppressed and
plundered the middle and lower classes.
A SONG ON THE TIMES.
[MS. Harl. No. 913, fol. 44, v^o. written about A.D. 1308.]
Whose thenchith up this carful lif,
Niȝte and dai that we beth inne,
So moch we seeth of sorow and strif,
And lite ther is of worldis winne,
Hate and wreth ther is wel rive,
And trew love is ful thinne:
Men that beth in heiiȝist live
Mest i-charged beth with sinne.
Fals and lither is this lond,
As al dai we mai i-se:
Therin is bothe hate and onde,--
Ic wene that ever so wol be.
Coveitise hath the law an honde,
That the trewthe he ne mai i-se:
Nou is maister pride and onde;--
Alas! Loverde, whi suffrith he?
Wold holi cherch pilt is miȝte,
And law of lond pilt him to;
Than scholde coveitise and un-riȝte
Ute of lond ben y-do.
Holi cherch schold hold is riȝt
For no eie no for no love;
That hi ne schold schow har miȝt
For lordingen boste that beth above.
To entredite and amonsi
Al thai, whate hi evir be,
That lafful men doth robbi,
Whate in lond what in see;
And thos hoblurs, namelich,
That husbond benimeth eri of grund;
Men ne schold ham biri in non chirch,
Bot cast ham ute as a hund.
Thos kingis ministris beth i-schend,
To riȝt and law that ssold tak hede,
And al the lond for t’ amend,
Of thos thevis hi taketh mede.
Be the lafful man to deth i-broȝt,
And his catel awei y-nom;
Of his deth ne tellith hi noȝt,
Bot of har prei hi hab som.
Hab hi the silver, and the mede,
And the catel under-fo,
Of feloni hi ne taketh hede,
Al thilk trepas is a-go.
Of thos a vorbisen ic herd telle;
The Lion is king of all beeste,
And--herknith al to mi spelle--
In his lond he did an heste.
The Lyon lete cri, as hit was do,
For he hird lome to telle;
And eke him was i-told also
That the wolf didde noȝte welle.
And the fox, that lither grome,
With the wolf, i-wreiid was;
To-for har lord hi schold come,
To amend har trepas.
And so men didde that seli asse,
That trepasid noȝt, no did no gilte,
With ham bothe i-wreiid was,
And in the ditement was i-pilt.
The voxe hird amang al menne,
And told the wolf with the brode crune;
That on him send gees and henne,
That other geet and motune.
The seli aasse wend was saf,
For he ne eete noȝt bote grasse;
None ȝiftes he ne ȝaf,
No wend that no harm nasse.
Tho hi to har lord com to tune,
He told to ham law and skille;
Thos wikid bestis luid a-dune,
“Lord,” hi seiid, “what is thi wille?”
Tho spek the Lion hem to,
To the fox anone his wille,--
“Tel me, boi, what hast i-do?
Men beth aboute the to spille.”
Tho spek the fox first anone,
“Lord King, nou thi wille;
Thos men me wreiith of the tune,
And wold me gladlich for to spille.--
Gees no hen nad ic noȝt,
Sire, for soth ic the sigge,
Bot as ic ham dere boȝt,
And bere ham up myn owen rigge.”
”Godis grame most hi have,
That in the curte the so pilt!
Whan hit is so, ich vouchsave,
Ic forȝive the this gilte.”
The fals wolf stode behind;
He was doggid and ek felle:--
“Ic am i-com of grete kind,
Pes thou graunt me, that miȝt ful welle.”
“What hast i-do, bel amy,
That thou me so oxist pes?”
“Sire,” he seid, “I nel noȝt lie,
If thou me woldist hire a res.
For ic huntid up the doune,
To loke, Sire, mi biȝete;
Ther ic slow a motune,
Ȝe, Sir, and fewe gete.
Ic am i-wreiid, Sire, to the,
For that ilk gilt;--
Sire, ichul sker me,
I ne ȝef ham dint no pilt.”
“For soth I sigge the, bel ami,
Hi nadde no gode munde,
Thai that wreiid the to mei,
Thou ne diddist noȝt bot thi kund.--
Sei thou me, asse, wat hast i-do?
Me thenchith thou cannist no gode.
Whi nadistou, as other mo?
Thou come of lither stode.”
“Sertis, Sire, not ic noȝt;
Ic ete sage alnil gras,--
More harm ne did ic noȝt;
Therfor i-wreiid ic was.”
“Bel ami, that was mis-do,
That was aȝe thi kund,
For to ete such gras so:--
Hastilich ȝe him bind;
Al his bonis ȝe to-draw,
Loke that ȝe noȝt lete;
And that ic ȝive al for lawe,
That his fleis be al i-frette.”--
Also hit farith nou in lond,
Whose wol tak therto hede:
Of thai that habbith an hond,
Of thevis hi takith mede.
The lafful man ssal be i-bund,
And i-do in strang pine,
And i-hold in fast prisund,
Fort that he mak fine.
And the thef to skap so,
That doth ever aȝe the riȝt.
God take hede therto,
That is al ful of miȝt!
Thus farith al the world nuthe,
As we mai al i-se,
Both est and west, north and suthe;
God us help and the Trinité!
Trewth is i-faillid with fremid and sibbe,
And so wide as al this lond
Ne mai no man therin libbe,
What throȝ coveitise and throȝ onde.
Thoȝ lafful man wold hold is lif
In love, in charité, and in pes,
Sone me ssul compas is lif,
And that in a litil res.
Prude is maister and coveitise,
The thrid brother men clippith ond;
Niȝt and dai he fondith i-wisse
Lafful men, to hab har lond.
Whan erth hath erthe i-gette
And of erthe so hath i-nouȝ,
Whan he is therin i-stekke,
Wo is him that was in wouȝ!
What is the gode that man ssal hab,
Ute of this world whan he ssal go?
A sori wed,--whi ssal ic gab?--
For he broȝt him no mo.
Riȝt as he com, he ssal wend,
In wo, in pine, in poverté;--
Takith gode hede, men, to ȝure end,
For as I sigge, so hit wol be.
Y not wharof beth men so prute;
Of erthe and axen, felle and bone?
Be the soule enis ute,
A vilir caraing nis ther non.
The caraing is so lolich to see,
That under erth men mot it hide;
Bothe wif and child wol fram him fle,
Ther nis no frend that wol him bide.
What wol men for the sowle del?
Corne no mel, wel thou wost;
Bot wel seld at the mele
A rowȝ bare trenchur, other a crust.
The begger that the crust ssal hab,
Wel hokerlich he lokith theran:
Soth to sigge, and noȝt to gabbe,
Riȝt noȝt he is i-paiid a pan.
Than seiith the begger in is mode,
“The crust is bothe hard and tougth,
The wreche was hard that ow the gode,
Hard for hard is gode y-nowȝ.”
Moch misanter that for him bidde
Pater noster other crede;
Bot let him hab as he didde,
For of the ȝift nath he no mede.
Ic red up no man thou hab triste.
No uppon non other;
Ok del hit with ȝure owen fist,
Trist to soster no brother.
Anurith God and holi chirch,
And ȝiveth the pouir that habbith nede;
So Godis wille ȝe ssul wirche,
And joi of heven hab to mede.
To whoch joi us bring
Jhesus Crist heven king! AMEN.
TRANSLATION.--Whoso reflecteth upon this life which is full of
care,--night and day that we are in,--so much we see of sorrow
and strife,--and little there is of world’s joy.--Hate and wrath
there is very rife,--and true love is very rare:--men who are in
the highest station of life,--are most laden with sin.
False and wicked is this land,--as every day we may see:--in it
there is both hate and contention,--I think it will always be
so.--Covetousness hath the law in hand,--that he may not see the
truth:--Now pride is master, and contention;--Alas! Lord! why
suffereth he?
If holy church would exert its might,--and the law of the land
exert it too;--then should covetousness and injustice--out of the
land be driven.--Holy church should withhold its right--for no
fear nor for no love;--that they should not show their might--for
the boast of lordings that are above.
To interdict and admonish--all those, whatever they be,--who
lawful men do rob,--whether on the land or on the sea;--and those
hoblers in particular,--that take from the husbandman the tillage
of the ground;--men ought not to bury them in any church,--but to
throw them out like a dog.
Those king’s ministers are corrupted,--that should take heed to
right and law,--and all the land for to amend,--of these thieves
they take bribe.--If the man who acts lawfully is brought to
death,--and his property taken away;--of his death they make no
account,--but of their prey they have a share.
If they have the silver and the bribe--and the property
received,--they take no heed of felony,--every trespass is
allowed to pass.--Of these a parable I heard tell;--the Lion is
king of all beasts,--and (hearken all to my tale)--in his land he
made a command.
The Lion caused to be proclaimed, as it was done,--for he heard
frequently tell;--and eke it was told him also--that the wolf did
not well.--And the fox, that wicked fellow,--with the wolf was
accused;--before their lord they must come,--to make amends for
their trespass.
And so men did [accuse] the simple ass,--that trespassed not,
nor did any crime,--with them both he was accused,--and in
the indictment was put.--The fox heard [talk of it] among all
men,--and told the wolf with the broad crown;--the one sent to
him [the Lion] geese and hens,--the other kids and mutton.
The simple ass thought he was safe,--for he eat nothing but
grass;--no gifts he gave,--nor suspected that there was any
harm.--When they came in the presence of their Lord,--he counted
out to them law and reason;--these wicked beasts laid themselves
down [prostrate],--“Lord,” said they, “what is thy will?”
Then spake the Lion to them,--to the fox in the first place [he
declared] his will,--“Tell me, fellow, what hast thou done?--Men
are about thee to ruin.”--Then spake the fox first,--“Lord King,
now thy will;--these men accuse me of the town,--and would gladly
ruin me.
“Gees nor hen had I not,--Sire, for truth I tell thee,--but as
I bought them dearly,--and bore them upon my own back.”--“God’s
anger may they have,--that in the court so placed thee!--Since it
is so, I vouchsafe,--I forgive thee this guilt.”
The false wolf stood behind;--he was dogged and eke fell:--“I
am come of a great race,--grant thou me peace, who may full
well.”--“What hast thou done, fair friend,--that thou so askest
me peace?”--“Sire,” he said, “I will not lie,--if thou wouldst
hear me a little while.