I slew a mutton,--yea, Sire, and a few kids.--I am accused, sire,
to thee,--for that same crime;--Sire, I shall clear myself,--I
gave them neither blow nor hurt.”
“For truth I tell thee, fair friend,--they had no good
mind,--they who accused thee to me,--thou didst nothing but thy
nature.--Tell thou me, ass, what hast thou done?--Methinks thou
art capable of no good.--Why haddest thou not [done] as others
more?--thou art come of wicked place.”
“Certes, Sire, I know not;--I eat sage and only grass,--more harm
did I not;--therefore was I accused.”--“Fair friend, that was
misdone,--that was against thy nature,--for to eat such grass
so:--hastily ye him bind;
“Draw ye all his bones to pieces,--look that ye do not fail;--and
that I give all for law,--that his flesh be all torn to
pieces.”--Thus it fares now in the land,--whoever will take heed
thereto:--of they that have in hand,--of thieves they take gifts.
The man who acts according to law shall be bound,--and condemned
to strong pain,--and held in fast prison,--until he pays a
fine.--And the thief to escape so,--that acts ever against the
right!--God take heed thereto,--who is all full of might!
Thus fares all the world now,--as we may all see,--both east
and west, north and south;--God and the Trinity help us!--Truth
is failed with stranger and relation,--and as wide as all this
land--no man can live therein,--what through covetousness and
through contention.
Though the man who acts according to law would hold his life--in
love, in charity, and in peace,--soon they will compass his
life,--and that in a little space of time.--Pride is master and
covetousness--the third brother is called contention;--night and
day they labour certainly--lawful men, to have their land.
When earth has obtained earth,--and thus of earth hast
enough,--when he is stuck therein,--woe to him that was in
wickedness!--What is the good that man shall have,--when he shall
go out of this world?--A sorry garment,--why shall I joke?--For
he brought him no more.
Just as he came, he shall go,--in woe, in pain, in poverty;--take
good heed, men, to your end,--for as I say, so it will be.--I
know not of what men are so proud;--of earth, and ashes, skin and
bone?--when the soul is once out,--there is no viler carcase.
The carcase is so loathsome to see,--that under earth men must it
hide;--both wife and child will from him fly,--there is no friend
that will stay with him.--What will men for the soul give?--corn
nor meal, well thou knowest;--but very seldom at their meal,--a
rough bare trencher, or a crust.
The beggar that the crust shall have,--right scornfully he looks
thereon:--truth to say, and not to joke,--right not a pan he
is paid.--Then saith the beggar in his mood,--“The crust is
both hard and tough,--the wretch was hard that possessed the
goods,--hard for hard is good enough.”
May he have much misadventure who for him saith--Pater-noster
or creed;--but let him have as he did,--for of the gift hath he
no reward.--I counsel thee have trust in no man,--nor upon no
other;--but share it with your own fist,--trust neither to sister
nor brother.
Honour God and holy church,--and give to the poor that have
need;--Thus ye shall work God’s will,--and have for reward the
joy of heaven.--To which joy us bring--Jesus Christ heaven’s
King. AMEN.
* * * * *
The scholastic philosophy flourished through the thirteenth
century, the age of Albertus Magnus, of Grosteste, and of Roger
Bacon; but, towards the close of that period, the importance of the
schools and universities was rapidly declining. They had received
a shock from the triumph of the monks over the scholars during
the reign of St. Louis, which they could never recover. Political
events, and the great change which was then operating in the whole
political--we may perhaps say social--system, hastened their fall.
The nice quibbles of the dialectitian, although they still had
their weight in the cloister, began to be sneered at in the world
without. The following song, which perhaps belongs to the beginning
of the fourteenth century, is directed against the _artistæ_, or
those who studied the seven arts, the scholastic _trivium_ and
_quadrivium_.
SONG AGAINST THE SCHOLASTIC STUDIES.
[From MS. Cotton. Titus A. XX. fol. 66, v^o, written in reign of
Edw. II.; and MS. Bodl. Oxford. Rawl. B. 214, fol. 168, v^o, of
15th cent.]
Meum est propositum gentis imperitæ
Artes frugi reddere melioris vitæ,
Et ad artes singulas procedatis rite:
Ad mea decepti juvenes documenta venite.
Adversatur legibus omne genus cleri,
Cujus status hodie pejor est quam heri;
Sua sacra presbiter quisque vult tueri.
Ingenium magni livor detraxit Homeri.
Quando contra boream nauta pandit velum,
Et asellus vincere cursu vult camelum,
Non formidat ponere manus os in cœlum:
Vulneror et clausum porto sub pectore telum.
Præferri bidentibus capra vult hirsuta,
Stulta non considerans unde sit induta;
Illi æqua vellera non sunt attributa:
Pennatis avibus quondam testudo locuta.
Cum sint nuda gloria logici contenti,
Sub egentis propere vivunt indumenti,
Verumtamen invident opulentæ genti.
Summa petit livor, perflant altissima venti.
Modus est invidiæ semper, ut ab imis
Sursum tendant, ultima contradicunt primis:
Invidere negligit infimo sublimis.
Invidus alterius rebus macescit opimis.
Si non cupis vivere pauper et mendicus,
Semper in laboribus sicut servus Stichus,
Igni digna subjici sine fructu ficus,
Dilige sic alios ut sis tibi carus amicus.
Expedit pauperibus abhærere legi;
Insudare nimium artibus elegi.
Ignoro propterea unde possum regi,
Carmina qui quondam studio florente peregi.
Nonne circa logicam si quis laborabit,
Spinas atque tribulos illi germinabit?
In sudore nimio panem manducabit;
Vix tamen hoc illi garula lingua dabit.
In arenam logicus frustra semen serit,
Nam metendi tempore fructus nullus erit;
Circa ficum sterilem labor omnis perit.
Arbor qualis erit, talia poma gerit.
Licet sis ad apicem artium provectus,
Fies junioribus in brevi despectus;
Dicunt de te, “senio desipit affectus.”
Æmula quid cessas finem properare senectus?
Veræ pestilentiæ cathedra tu sedes,
Qui Thebanas lectitas vel Trojanas cædes;
Affluunt divitiis legistarum sedes,
Et modo vadit equis qui solet ire pedes.
Propter artes vigilans est revera stultus;
Cur circa Georgicam pateris singultus?
Ager sic per steriles jaceat incultus,
Telluris si forte velis cognoscere cultus.
Propter leges merito labor est ferendus;
Ager reddens centuplum non est deferendus.
Est libellus pauperum pauperi legendus;
Hic tibi præcipue sit pura mente colendus.
Circa dialecticam tempus cur consumis,
Tu qui nullos redditus aliunde sumis?
Colat qui per patriam natus est e summis,
Dives agro, dives positis in fænore nummis.
Dives in fallaciis discat esse fortis;
Discat capram facere de persona sortis.
Artes nunquam deserat citra tempus mortis.
Contentus fama lateat Lucanus in hortis.
Si forte deliquerit artibus imbutus,
Ad legistas fugiet si vult esse tutus:
Quia se defendere nescit plus quam mutus,
Græcorum studia nimium diuque sequutus.
Atria nobilium video patere;
Cum legista venerit dissolvuntur ceræ.
Exclusus ad januam poteris sedere,
Ipse licet venias musis comitatus, Homere.
Logicus araneæ potest comparari,
Quæ subtiles didicit telas operari,
Quæ suis visceribus volunt consummari;
Est pretium musca, si forte queat laqueari.
Si fortuna logico favet in privigno,
Vultu namque logicum respicit benigno;
Si sit dives logicus hoc sub cœli signo;
Rara avis in terra nigroque simillima cigno.
Naturæ cognoscere si velis archana,
Stude circa physicam quæ dat membra sana:
Sat quicquid expostulat egestas humana,
Sat Galienus opes et sanctio Justiniana.
TRANSLATION.--It is my design to turn the arts of an unskilful
race to the fruit of a better life, and so proceed ye to each
of the arts in order: O youth who have been deceived, come to
my lessons.--Every class of the clergy is opposed to the laws,
of whom the condition to-day is worse than it was yesterday;
every priest will hold his own rites: envy detracted from the
talents of great Homer.--When the sailor spreads his sail against
the north wind, and the ass thinks to conquer the camel in the
race, then the hand fears not to put the face towards heaven;
I am wounded and carry the weapon shut up in my breast.--The
shaggy she-goat wishes to be preferred to the sheep, in her folly
not considering with what she is clothed; so fine a fleece has
not been given to her: as the tortoise once said to the winged
birds.--Although the logicians are satisfied with naked glory,
and live under the garb of the needy, nevertheless they envy the
rich. Envy seeks the summit, the wind blows vehemently on lofty
places.--It is always the manner of envy, that they aim from
the bottom upwards, the last speak against the first: he who is
elevated does not think it worth while to envy him who is most
low. The envious man becomes lean by regarding the fatness of
another.--If you do not desire to live poor and beggarly, always
labouring like the servant Stichus, a fig-tree without fruit
worthy to be cast in the fire; love others so that thou mayest be
a dear friend to thyself.--It is good for poor men to adhere to
the law; I have chosen to labour much on the arts. I am ignorant
therefore how I may be guided, who once composed verses, while
my study flourished.--If any one will expend his labour upon
logic, will it not produce him thorns and brambles? in too much
sweat he will eat his bread; and even that his talkative tongue
will hardly give him.--The logician in vain sows his seed in the
sand, for in harvest time there will be no fruit; upon a barren
fig-tree all labour is lost. Such as is the tree, such will be
the fruit it bears.--Although you be arrived at the summit of
the arts, you will be in a short time despised by the younger
aspirants; they will say of thee, “he doats, affected with old
age.” Old age, why do you emulous cease to hasten the end?--Thou
sittest in the chair of a true pestilence, who readest the
tragedy of Thebes or of Troy; [whilst] the seats of the legists
abound in riches, and now he goes on horseback who used to go
on foot.--He who sits up at night to study the arts is truly a
fool; why do you yawn over the Georgic? thus the field may lie
neglected and barren, while by chance you may be desirous of
understanding the culture of the earth.--It is right that we
should labour upon the laws; a field that produces a hundred-fold
is not to be set aside. The book of the poor is to be read by the
poor man; this chiefly is the book to be devotedly cultivated
by thee.--Why do you consume your time upon dialectics, thou
who receivest no income from other sources? Let him cultivate
it who is born of high family in the country, rich in land and
rich in money laid out at interest.--Let the rich man learn to
be strong in fallacies; let him learn to make a she-goat of the
person of chance. Let him never desert the arts, before the hour
of his death. Satisfied with fame, let Lucan lie hid in the
gardens.--If imbued in the arts he should chance to fail, he will
fly to the legists if he will be safe: because he knows no more
how to defend himself than one who is dumb, having pursued too
much and too often the study of the Greeks.--I see the halls of
the nobles open; when the legist comes, the bolts are undone;
thou, shut out, mayest sit at the door, although thou thyself,
Homer, shouldst come along with the muses.--The logician may be
compared to a spider, which learns to spin subtle webs, that are
made out of its own bowels; the reward is a fly, if by chance
it can be netted.--If fortune favour a logician in his kindred,
for she looks upon the logician with a benignant countenance; if
a logician be rich under this sign of the heavens; he is a rare
bird upon earth, and very like a black swan.--If you wish to know
the secrets of nature, study physic which gives health to the
limbs; what man’s need requires is enough, Galen and the sanction
of Justinian are riches enough.
* * * * *
The following English verses, composed at the same period, seem
also intended as a satire upon the studies and arguments of the
dialectitians.
THE SONG OF “NEGO.”
[From MS. Harl. No. 913, fol. 58, v^o. written in 1308.]
Hit nis bot trewth, I wend, an afte
For te sette _nego_ in eni crafte;
Trewth so drawith to heven blisse,
_Nego_ doth noȝt so i-wisse.
For-sak and save is thef in lore,
_Nego_ is pouer clark in store.
Whan menne horlith ham here and there,
_Nego_ savith ham fram care.
Awei with _nego_ ute of place!
Whose wol have Goddis grace;
Whoso wol aȝens the devil fiȝte,
Ther mai _nego_ sit a-riȝte.
Ak loke that we never more
_Nego_ sette in trew lore.
For whoso can lite, hath sone i-do,
Anone he drawith to _nego_.
Now o clerk seiith _nego_;
And that other _dubito_;
Seiith another _concedo_;
And another _obligo_,
_Verum falsum_ sette therto;
Than is al the lore i-do.
Thus the fals clerkes of har hevid,
Makith men trewth of ham be revid.
TRANSLATION.--It is contrary to truth, I believe, and ...--to
set _nego_ in any craft;--truth draweth us to the joy of
heaven,--_nego_ does not so certainly.--Forsake and save is a
thief in doctrine,--_nego_ is a poor clerk in store.--When men
hurl them here and there,--_nego_ saves them from care.--Away
with _nego_ out of the place!--whoever will have God’s
grace;--he who will against the devil fight,--there may _nego_
sit rightly.--But see that we never more--set _nego_ in true
doctrine.--For he who knows little has soon done,--anon he
draws to _nego_.--Now one clerk says _nego_;--and the other
_dubito_;--saith another _concedo_;--and another _obligo_,--with
_verum falsum_ set to it;--then is all their learning done.--Thus
the false clerks of their head,--make men of truth through them
be bereaved.
* * * * *
The Scottish wars occupied incessantly the remaining years of
Edward’s reign. The following song was composed probably in the
September of the year 1306, soon after the battle of Kirkencliff,
and on the immediate occasion of the execution of Sir Simon Fraser,
who was taken prisoner there.
SONG ON THE EXECUTION OF SIR SIMON FRASER.
[MS. Harl. 2253, fol. 59, v^o. of reign of Edw. II.]
Lystneth, lordynges, a newe song ichulle bigynne,
Of the traytours of Scotlond that take beth wyth gynne;
Mon that loveth falsnesse and nule never blynne,
Sore may him drede the lyf that he is ynne,
ich understonde:
Selde wes he glad
That never nes a-sad
of nythe ant of onde.
That y sugge by this Scottes that bueth nou to-drawe,
The hevedes o Londone brugge whose con y-knawe:
He wenden han buen kynges, ant seiden so in sawe;
Betere hem were han y-be barouns ant libbe in Godes lawe,
wyth love.
Whose hateth soth ant ryht,
Lutel he douteth Godes myht,
the heye kyng above.
To warny alle the gentilmen that bueth in Scotlonde,
The Waleis wes to-drawe, seththe he was an-honge,
Al quic biheveded, ys bowels y-brend,
The heved to Londone brugge wes send
to abyde.
After Simond Frysel,
That wes traytour ant fykell,
and y-cud ful wyde.
Sire Edward oure kyng, that ful ys of pieté,
The Waleis quarters sende to is oune contré,
On four half to honge, huere myrour to be,
Theropon to thenche, that monie myhten se
ant drede.
Why nolden he be war
Of the bataile of Donbar,
hou evele hem con spede?
Bysshopes and barouns come to the kynges pes,
Ase men that weren fals, fykel, ant les,
Othes hue him sworen in stude ther he wes,
To buen him hold ant trewe for ailes cunnes res,
thrye,
That hue ne shulden aȝeyn him go,
So hue were temed tho;
weht halt hit to lye?
To the kyng Edward hii fasten huere fay;
Fais wes here foreward so forst is in May,
That sonne from the southward wypeth away:
Moni proud Scot therof mene may
to ȝere.
Nes never Scotlond
With dunt of monnes hond
allinge a-boht so duere!
The Bisshop of Glascou ychot he was y-laht;
The Bisshop of Seint André bothe he beth y-caht;
The Abbot of Scon with the Kyng nis nout saht;
Al here purpos y-come hit ys to naht,
thurh ryhte.
Hii were unwis
When hii thohte pris
aȝeyn huere kyng to fyhte.
Thourh consail of thes bisshopes y-nemned byfore,
Sire Robert the Bruytz furst kyng wes y-core,
He mai everuche day ys fon him se byfore;
Ȝef hee mowen him hente, ichot he bith forlore,
sauntz fayle.
Soht for te sugge,
Duere he shal abugge
that he bigon batayle.
Hii that him crounede proude were ant bolde,
Hii maden kyng of somere, so hii ner ne sholde,
Hii setten on ys heved a croune of rede golde,
Ant token him a kyne-ȝerde so me kyng sholde,
to deme.
Tho he wes set in see,
Lutel god couthe he
kyne-riche to ȝeme.
Now Kyng Hobbe in the mures ȝongeth,
For te come to toune nout him ne longeth;
The barouns of Engelond, myhte hue him gripe,
He him wolde techen on Englysshe to pype,
thourh streynthe:
Ne be he ner so stout,
Ȝet he bith y-soht out
o brede and o leynthe.
Sire Edward of Carnarvan, Jhesu him save ant see!
Sire Emer de Valence, gentil knyht ant free,
Habbeth y-suore huere oht that, _par la grace Dée!_
Hee wollith ous delyvren of that false contree,
ȝef hii conne.
Much hath Scotlond forlore,
Whet a-last, whet bifore,
ant lutel pris wonne.
Nou ichulle fonge ther ich er let,
Ant tellen ou of Frisel, ase ich ou byhet;
In the batayle of Kyrkenclyf, Frysel was y-take;
Ys continaunce abated eny bost to make
biside Strivelyn:
Knyhtes ant sweynes,
Fremen ant theynes,
monye with hym.
So hii weren byset on everuche halve,
Somme slaye were, ant somme dreynte hem-selve;
Sire Johan of Lyndeseye nolde nout abyde,
He wod into the water his feren him bysyde
to adrenche.
Whi nolden hii be war?
Ther nis non aȝeyn stare:--
why nolden by hem by-thenche?
This wes byfore Seint Bartholomeus masse,
That Frysel wes y-take, were hit more other lasse:
To Sire Thomas of Multone, gentil baroun ant fre,
Ant to Sire Johan Jose, bytake tho wes he
to honde:
He wes y-fetered weel
Both with yrn ant wyth steel,
to bringen of Scotlonde.
Sone therafter the tydynge to the kyng com;
He him sende to Londone with mony armed grom;
He com yn at Newegate, y telle yt ou aplyht,
A gerland of leves on ys hed y-dyht
of grene;
For he shulde ben y-knowe
Bothe of heȝe ant of lowe
for treytour, y wene.
Y-fetered were ys legges under his horse wombe;
Bothe with yrn ant with stel mankled were ys honde;
A gerland of peruenke set on ys heved;
Muche wes the poer that him wes byreved
in londe:
So God me amende!
Lutel he wende
so be broht in honde.
Sire Herbert of Morham, feyr knyht ant bold,
For the love of Frysel ys lyf wes y-sold;
A wajour he made, so hit wes y-told,
Ys heved of to smhyte ȝef me him brohte in hold,
wat so bytyde.
Sory wes he thenne,
Tho he myhte him kenne
thourh the toun ryde.
Thenne seide ys scwyer a word anon ryht,
“Sire, we beth dede, ne helpeth hit no wyht,”--
(Thomas de Boys the scwyer wes to nome)--
“Nou ychot oure wajour turneth us to grome,
so y-bate.”
Y do ou to wyte,
Here heved wes of smyte
byfore the Tour gate.
This wes on oure Levedy even, for sothe ych understonde,
The justices seten for the knyhtes of Scotlonde,
Sire Thomas of Multone, an hendy knyht ant wys,
Ant Sire Rauf of Sondwyche that muchel is told in pris,
ant Sire Johan Abel;
Mo y mihte telle by tale,
Bothe of grete ant of smale,
ȝe knowen suythe wel.
Thenne saide the justice, that gentil is ant fre,
“Sire Simond Frysel, the kynges traytour hast thou be,
In water ant in londe, that monie myhten se:
What sayst thou thareto? hou wolt thou quite the?
do say.”
So foul he him wiste,
Nede waron truste
for to segge, nay.
Ther he wes y-demed, so hit wes londes lawe,
For that he wes lord-swyke, furst he wes to-drawe,
Upon a retheres hude forth he wes y-tuht:
Sum while in ys time he wes a modi knyht,
in huerte.
Wickednesse ant sunne,
Hit is lutel wunne
that maketh the body smerte.
For al is grete poer, ȝet he wes y-laht;
Falsnesse ant swykedom, al hit geth to naht;
Tho he wes in Scotlond, lutel wes ys thoht
Of the harde jugement that him wes bysoht
in stounde.
He wes four-sithe for-swore
To the kyng ther bifore,
ant that him brohte to grounde.
With feteres ant with gyves ichot he wes to-drowe,
From the Tour of Londone, that monie myhte knowe,
In a curtel of burel a selkethe wyse,
Ant a gerland on ys heved of the newe guyse,
thurh Cheepe;
Moni mon of Engelond
For to se Symond
thideward con lepe.
Tho he com to galewes, furst he wes an-honge,
Al quic by-heveded, thah him thohte longe,
Seththe he wes y-opened, is boweles y-brend,
The heved to Londone-brugge wes send
to shonde:
So ich ever mote the!
Sum while wende he
ther lutel to stonde.
He rideth thourh the sité, as y telle may,
With gomen and wyth solas, that wes here play,
To Londone-brugge hee nome the way,
Moni wes the wyves chil that theron laketh a day,
ant seide, alas!
That he wes i-bore,
Ant so villiche for-lore,
so feir mon ase he was.
Nou stont the heved above the tu-brugge,
Faste bi Waleis, soth for te sugge;
After socour of Scotlond longe he mowe prye,
Ant after help of Fraunce wet halt hit to lye,
ich wene.
Betere him were in Scotlond
With is ax in ys hond
to pleyen o the grene.
Ant the body hongeth at the galewes faste,
With yrnene claspes longe to laste;
For te wyte wel the body, ant Scottyshe to garste,
Foure ant twenti ther beoth to sothe ate laste
by nyhte.
Ȝef eny were so hardi
The body to remuy
al so to dyhte.
Were Sire Robert the Bruytz y-come to this londe,
Ant the Erl of Asseles, that harde is an honde,
Alle the other pouraille, for sothe ich understonde,
Mihten be ful blythe ant thonke Godes sonde,
wyth ryhte:
Thenne myhte uch mon
Bothe riden ant gon
in pes withoute vyhte.
The traytours of Scotlond token hem to rede,
The barouns of Engelond to brynge to dede;
Charles of Fraunce, so moni mon tolde,
With myht ant with streynthe hem helpe wolde,
his thonkes!
Tprot, Scot, for thi strif!
Hang up thyn hachet ant thi knyf,
Whil him lasteth the lyf
with the longe shonkes.
TRANSLATION.--Listen, lordings, a new song I will begin,--of the
traitors of Scotland who are taken with a trap;--he who loves
falseness, and will never leave it,--sore may he dread the life
that he is in,--I believe:--seldom was he glad--that never was
sorrowful--for his wickedness and turbulence.
I say that of these Scots who are now drawn,--their heads on
London bridge anybody may recognise:--they thought to have been
kings, and said so in their talk;--better was it for them to have
been barons and live in God’s law,--with love.--He who hateth
truth and right,--little he fears God’s might,--the high king
above.
To be a warning to all the gentlemen who are in Scotland,--the
Wallace was drawn, and afterwards was hanged,--beheaded all
alive, his bowels burnt,--the head to London Bridge was sent--to
remain there.--Afterwards Simon Fraser, who was traitor and
fickle,--and known full wide.
Sir Edward our king, who is full of piety,--sent the Wallace’s
quarters to his own country,--to hang in four parts (of the
country), to be their mirror,--thereupon to think, in order that
many might see--and dread.--Why would they not take warning--of
the battle of Dunbar,--how ill they sped?
Bishops and barons came to the king’s peace,--as men that were
false, fickle, and lying,--oaths they swore to him in the place
where he was,--to be firm and true to him in all kinds of
moments,--thrice (?),--that they should not against him go,--so
were they tamed then;--what profits it to lie?
To King Edward they plight their faith;--false was their covenant
as frost is in May,--which the sun from the southward wipes
away;--many a proud Scot thereof may lament--in year.--Was never
Scotland--by dint of man’s hand--altogether bought so dear.
The Bishop of Glasgow, I wot he was taken;--the Bishop of St.
Andrew, too, he is caught;--the Abbot of Scone with the King is
not ...;--all their purpose is come to nothing,--by right.--They
were unwise--when they thought it praiseworthy--against their
king to fight.
Through counsel of these bishops named before,--Sir Robert the
Bruce first was chosen king,--he may every day his foes see
before him;--if they may catch him, I wot he is undone,--without
fail.--To say the truth,--dearly he shall pay--for having begun
battle.
They that crowned him were proud and bold,--they made a king of
summer, as they never should,--they set on his head a crown of
red gold,--and gave him a sceptre as one should to a king,--to
judge.--When he was set on a throne,--little good knew he--a
kingdom to rule.