2573. In the same text, the following lines are here added:--_The Vision and Creed of Piers Ploughman, Volume 2

'And also,' quath Reson,

'Ich rede yow, riche

And comuners, to acorden

In alle kynne treuthe.

Let no kynne consail

Ne covetyze yow departe,

That on wit and on wil

Alle youre wardes kepe.

Lo! in hevene on hy

Was an holy comune,

Til Lucifer the lyere

Leyved that hymselve

Were wittyour and worthiour

Than he that was hus maister.

Hold yow in unité.

And ye that hother wolde

Is cause of alle combraunce

To confounde a reame.

2586. Matt. xxv, 12.

2594. Whitaker's _Passus Sextus_ ends with this line.

2625. Before Envy's confession, and in the place of Lechery, Whitaker's

text introduces the confession of Pride--

Ich, Pruyde, patientliche

Penaunce ich aske;

For ich formest and ferst

To fader and to moder

Have y-be unboxome,

Ich beseche God of mercy;

And unboxome y-be,

Nouht abaissed to agulte

God and alle good men,

So gret was myn herte;

Inobedient to holy churche,

And to hem that ther serven,

Demed for hure yvel vices,

And excited othere

Thorw my word and al my wit

Hure yvel workes to shewe;

And scorned hem and othere,

Yf a skyle founde,

Lauhynge al aloude,

For lewede men sholde

Wene that ich were witty

And wyser than anothere;

Scorner and unskilful to hem

That skil shewede,

In all manere manners

My name to be y-knowe,

Semeng a sovereyn on,

Wer so me byfulle

To telle eny tale.

Ich trowede me wiser

To carpen other to counsaile

Than eny, lered other lewede.

Proud of aparail

In porte amonge the puple,

Otherwise than ich have,

Withynne other withoute,

Me wilnede that men wende

Ich were in aveyr

Riche and resonable,

And ryghtful of lyvynge;

Bostynge and braggynge

Wyt meny bolde othes;

Avauntyng upon my veine glorie

For eny undernemynge;

And yut so syngeler by myself

Ne non so pomp holy,

Som tyme on a secte,

Sam tyme on another;

In all kynne covetyse

Contrevede how ich myghte

Be holde for holy,

And hondred sithe by that encheison;

Wilnede that men wende

My werkes were the beste

And konnygest of my craft,

Clerkes other othere,

And strengest upon my stede,

And styvest under gurdell,

And lovelokest to loken on,

And lykyngest a-bedde;

And lykynge of such a lif

That no lawe preyseth;

Proud of my faire fetours;

And for ich songe shrille;

And what ich gaf for Godes love,

To godsybbes ich tolde,

Ther to wene that ich were

Wel holy and wel almesful.

And non so bold begger

To bydden an[d] crave,

Tales to telle

In tavernes and in stretes,

Thyng that nevere was thouhte,

And yut ich swor ich sauh hit,

And lyed on my lykame

And on my lyf bothe.

Of werkes that ich wel dude

Witnesse ich take,

And syggen to such

That sytten me bysyde,

'Lo! yf ye leyve me nouht,

Other that ye wene ich lye,

Ask of hym other of hure,

And thei conne yow telle

What ich soffrede an[d] seih,

And som tyme hadde,

And what ich knew and couthe,

Of wat kyn ich kam of;

Al ich wolde that men wuste,

When it to pruyde sonede,

As to preised among the puple,

Thauh ich povre semede.'

_Si hominibus placerem, Christi servus

non essem. Nemo potest duobus

dominis servire._

'Now God, of hus goodnesse,

Geve the grace to amende!'

Quath Repentaunce ryght with that;

And thenne roos Envye.

The description of Envy, which follows, is shorter in Whitaker's text, and

differs much from our text.

2819-2822. The discipline here described seems to have been peculiar to the

chapter-house of the monasteries. Matth. Paris, p. 848, has an anecdote

which illustrates curiously this passage of Piers Ploughman. In speaking of

the turbulent Falcasius de Breuté, who had been warned in a vision to offer

himself to suffer penance in the monastery of St. Albans, in the reign of

Henry III, he says, "Vestibus igitur spoliatus cum suis militibus,

similiter indumentis spoliatis, ferens in manu virgam quam vulgariter

_baleis_ appellamus, et confitens culpam suam, ... a singulis fratribus

disciplinas nuda carne suscepit."

2846. In the text which Whitaker has printed, the confession of Wrath was

followed by that of Luxury or Lechery. It stands as follows in the copy of

the same text in MS. Cotton. Vespas. B. xvi. (_See_ l. 8713, of our present

text.)

Thanne seide Lecherie, Alas!

And to oure Ladi criede,

'Ladi, for thi leve sone,

Loute for me nouthe,

That he have pité on me, putour,

For his pure merci.'

'With that I schal,' quod that schrewe,

'Saterdaies, for thi love,

Drynke with the doke,

And dine but ones.'

I, gulti in gost,

To God I me schrive,

As in likyng of lecherige

My licames gultes,

In wordes, in wedes,

In waityng of eyen,

To eche maide that I mette

I made here a sigge,

Semyng to synne-ward,

And summe can I taste

Aboute the mouth, and binethe

Bigon I to grope,

Til bothe oure wil was on,

To werke we yeden,

As wel fastyng daies,

And hi festes eves,

And wel in Lente as out of Lente,

Al tymes i-liche;

Swiche werkes with us

Weren nevere out of seson,

Til we mighten ne more,

Tho hadde we muri tales

Of putrige and of paramours,

And provede thorw speche,

Handelyng, and halsyng,

And also thorw cussyng,

Excityng heither other

To oure elde synne;

Sotilde songes,

And sente out elde baudes

For te wynne to my wil

Wemmen with gile;

Bi sorcerie sum time,

And sum time be maistrie,

I lai bi the lovelokest,

And lovede hem nevere aftur.

Whan I was eld and hor,

And hadde i-lorn that kynde,

I hadde likyng to lige

Of lecherous tales.

Now, lord, for thi lewté,

On lecheres have merci.

2850. _Sire Hervy._ Whitaker and Price (in Warton) suppose that there is

here a personal allusion, which at the time had become proverbial.

2874. _Symme at the Style._ Whit.

2881. _To Wy and to Wynchestre | I wente to the feyre._ Warton (Hist. of

Eng. p. ii, 55, edit. 1840) supposes Wy to be Weyhill, in Hampshire, "where

a famous fair still subsists." In fact it is one of the greatest fairs in

England, lasting ten days. For anecdotes of the celebrity of the great fair

at Winchester in former times, and for some interesting observations on

fairs in general, _see_ Warton, loc. cit.

2933. _The Roode of Bromholm._ At the Priory of Bromholm, in Norfolk, there

was a celebrated cross, said to be made of fragments of the real cross, and

much resorted to by pilgrims. It was brought from Constantinople to England

in 1223. The history of this cross, and the miracles said to have been

performed by it at Bromholm, are told by Matthew Paris (p. 268). In the MS.

Chronicle of Barthol. de Cotton, it is recorded at the date 1223, "Eo

tempore Peregrinatio de Bromholm incepit."

2949. _Frensshe ... of Northfolk._ Norfolk, it would appear by this, was

one of the least refined parts of the island.

3030. In this part of the poem, the smaller variations between the present

text and Whitaker's are very numerous. After this line, the following

passage is inserted:--

With false wordes and writes

Ich have wonne my goodes,

And with gyle and glosynge

Gadered that ich have;

Meddled my merchaundise,

And mad a good moustre,

The werst lay withynne,

A gret wit ich let hit.

And yf my neyhgebore had an hyne,

Other eny best ellys,

More profitable than myn,

Ich made meny wentes,

How ich myght have hit

Al my wit ich caste;

And bote ich hadde hit by othes away,

At last ich stal hit,

Other pryvyliche hus pors shok,

Unpiked his lokes.

And yf ich yede to the plouh,

Ich pynchede on hus half acre,

That a fot londe other a forwe

Fetchen ich wolde

Of my neyhgeboris next,

Nymen of hus erthe,

And yf y repe, over reche,

Other gaf hem red that repen

To sese to me with here sykel,

That ich sewe nevere.

In haly dayes at holy churche

Wenne ich hurde messe,

Ich hadde nevere witerlich

To byseche mercy

For my mysdedes,

That ich ne mornede ofter

For lost of good, leyve me,

Then for lycames gultes.

Thauh ich dedliche synne dude,

Ich dradde hit nat so sore

As wenne ich lenede and leyvede hit lost,

Other longe er hit were paied.

And yf [ich] sente over see

My servaunt to Brugges,

Other into Prus my prentys,

My profit to awaite,

To marchaunde with monye

And maken here eshaunge,

Myght nevere man comforty me

In the meyn time,

Neither matyns ne masse,

Ne othere manere syghtes,

And nevere penaunce performede,

Ne paternoster seyde.

That my mynde ne was