Thus consaileth Crist
In comun ous alle,
'Ho so coveyteth to come
To my kynriche,
He mot forsake hymself,
Hus suster, and hus brother,
And al that the worlde wolde,
And my wil folwen.'
_Nisi renunciaveritis omnia quæ possidetis,
etc._
Meny proverbis ich myghte have
Of meny holy seyntes,
To testifie for treuthe
The tale that ich shewe,
And poetes to preoven hit,
Porfirie and Plato,
Aristotle, Ovidius,
And ellevene hundred,
Tullius, Tholomeus,
Ich can nat telle here names,
Preoven pacient poverte
Pryns of alle vertues.
And by greyn that groweth,
God ous alle techeth.
_Nisi granum frumenti cadens in terra,
et mortuum fuit, ipsum solum manet._
Bot yf that sed that sowen is,
In the sloh sterve,
Shal nevere spir springen up,
Ne spik on strawe curne;
Sholde nevere wete wexe,
Bote wete fyrste deyde;
And other sedes also
In the same wyse,
That ben leide on louh eerthe,
Y-lore as hit were,
And thorw the grete grace of God,
Of greyn ded in erthe
Atte the laste launceth up
Werby lyven alle.
Ac sedes that ben sowen
And mowe suffre wyntres,
Aren tydyor and tower
To mannes by-hofte,
Than seedes that sowen beeth
And mowe nouht with forste,
With wyndes, ne with wederes,
As in wynter tyme,
As lynne-seed, and lik-seed,
And Lente-seedes alle,
Aren nouht so worthy as whete,
Ne so wel mowen
In the feld with the forst,
And hit freese longe.
Ryght so, for sothe,
That suffre may penaunces
Worth alowed of oure Lorde
At here laste ende,
And for here penaunce be preysed,
As for puyre martir,
Other for a confessour y-kud,
That counteth nat a ruysshe
Fere ne famyne,
Ne false menne tonges;
Bote as an hosebonde hopeth
After an hard wynter,
Yf God gyveth hym the lif
To have a good hervest,
So preoveth thees prophetes
That pacientliche suffreth
Myschiefs and myshappes,
And menye tribulacions,
Bytokneth ful triweliche
In tyme comynge after
Murthe for hus mornynge,
And that muche plenté.
For Crist seide to hus seyntes
That for hus sake tholeden
Poverte, penaunces,
Persecution of body,
Angeles in here angre
On this wise hem grate,
_Tristitia vestra vertetur in gaudium._
Youre sorwe into solas
Shal turne atte laste,
And out of wo into wele
Youre wyrdes shul chaunge.
Ac so redeth of riche,
The revers he may fynde,
How God, as the Godspel telleth,
Geveth hem foul towname,
And that hus gost shal go,
And hus good byleve,
And asketh hym after
Ho shal hit have,
The catel that he kepeth so
In coffres and in hernes,
And ert so loth to lene
Thet leve shalt needes.
_O stulte, ista nocte anima tua egrediatur,
thesauriza et ignorat._
An unredy reve
Thi residue shal spene,
That menye moththe was ynne
In a mynte while;
Upholderes on the hul
Shullen have hit to selle.
Lo! lo! lordes, lo!
And ladies taketh hede,
Hit lasteth nat longe
That is lycour swete,
Ac pees-coddes and pere-ronettes,
Plomes and chiries,
That lyghtliche launceth up,
Litel wile dureth,
And that that rathest rypeth,
Roteth most sannest.
On fat londe and ful of donge
Foulest wedes groweth,
Right so, for sothe,
Suche that ben bysshopes,
Erles and archdekenes,
And other ryche clerkes.
That chaffaren as chapmen,
And chiden bote thei wynne,
And haven the worlde at here wil
Other wyse to lyve;
Right as weodes wexen
In wose and in dunge,
So of rychesse upon richesse
Arist al vices.
Lo! lond overe-layde
With marle and with donge,
Whete that wexeth theron
Worth lygge ar hit repe;
Right so, for sothe,
For to sigge treuthe,
Over plenté pryde norssheth
Ther poverte destrueth hit.
For how hit evere be y-wonne,
Bote hit be wel dispended,
Worliche wele is wuked thynge
To hym that hit kupeth.
For yf he be feer therfro,
Ful ofte hath he drede
That fals folke fetche away
Felonliche hus godes.
And yut more hit maketh men
Meny time and ofte
To synegen, and to souchen
Soteltees of gyle,
For covetyze of that catel
To culle hem that hit kepeth;
And so is meny men y-morthred
For hus money and goodes;
And tho that duden the dede
Y-dampned therfore after,
And he, for hus harde heldynge,
In helle paraunter;
So covetise of catel
Was combraunce to hem alle.
Lo! how pans purchasede
Faire places, and drede,
That rote is robbers
The richesse withynne.
[_Passus quartus de Dowel._]
Ac wel worth Poverte,
For he may walke unrobbede,
Among pilours in pees,
Yf pacience hym folwe,
Oure prynce Jhesu poverte chees,
And hus aposteles alle,
And ay the lenger thei lyveden
The lasse good thei hadde.
_Tanquam nihil habentes, et omnia
possidentes._
Yut men that of Abraam
And Job were wonder ryche,
And out of numbre tho men
Menye meobles hadden.
Abraam, for al hus good,
Hadde muche teene,
In gret poverte was y-put,
A pryns as hit were
Bynom hym ys housewif
And heeld here hymself,
And Abraam nat hardy
Ones to letten hym,
Ne for brightnesse of here beauté
Here spouse to be byknowe.
And for he suffrede and seide nouht,
Oure Lord sente tokne,
That the kynge cride
To Abraam mercy,
And deliverede hym hus wif,
With muche welthe after.
And also Job the gentel
What joye hadde he on erthe,
How bittere he hit bouhte!
As the book telleth.
And for he songe in hus sorwe,
_Si bona accipimus a Domino_,
Dereworthe dere God,
Do we so _mala_;
Al hus sorwe to solas
Thorgh that songe turnede,
And Job bycam a jolif man,
And al hus joye newe.
Lo how patience in here poverte
Thees patriarkes relevede,
And brouhte hem al above
That in bale rotede,
As greyn that lyth in the greot
And thorgh grace atte laste
Spryngeth up and spredeth,
So spedde the fader Abraam,
And also the gentel Job,
Here joie hath non ende.
Ac leveth nouht, ye lewede men,
That ich lacke richesse,
Thauh ich preise poverte thus,
And preove hit by ensamples,
Worthiour as by holy writ,
And wise philosophers,
Bothe two but goode,
Be ye ful certayn,
And lyves that our Lorde loveth,
And large weyes to hevene.
Ac the povre pacient
Purgatorye passeth
Rathere than the ryche,
Thauh thei renne at ones.
For yf a marchaunt and a messager
Metten to-gederes,
For the parcels of hus paper
And other pryvey dettes,
Wol lette hym as ich leyve
The lengthe of a myle;
The messager doth namore
Bote hus mouth telleth,
Hus lettere and hus ernde sheweth,
And is anon delyvered;
And thauh thei wende by the wey
Tho two to-gederes.
Thauh the messager made hus wey
Amyde the whete,
Wole no wys man wroth be,
Ne hus wed take,
Ys non haiwarde y-hote
Hus wed for to take.
_Necessitas non habet legem._
Ac yf the marchaunt make hus way
Overe menne cornne,
And the haywarde happe
With hym for to mete,
Other hus hatt, other hus hed,
Other elles hus gloves,
The merchaunt mot for-go,
Other moneys of huse porse,
And yut be lett, as ich leyve,
For the lawe asketh
Marchauns for here merchandise
In meny place to tullen.
Yut thauh thei wenden on wey
As to Wynchestre fayre,
The marchaunt with hus marchaundise
May nat go so swythe
As the messager may,
Ne with so mochel ese.
For that on bereth bote a boxe,
A brevet therynne,
Ther the marchaunt ledeth a male
With meny kynne thynges;
And dredeth to be ded therefore,
And he in derke mete
With robbours and with revers
That riche men despoilen,
Ther the messager is ay murye,
Hus mouthe ful of songes,
And leyveth for hus letters
That no wight wol hym greve.
Ac yut myghte the marchaunt
Thorgh monye and other yeftes
Have hors and hardy men,
Thauh he mette theoves,
Wolde non suche asailen hym
For hem that hym folweth,
As safliche passe as the messager,
And as sone at hus hostel.
Ye, wyten wel, ye wyse men,
What this is to mene.
The marchaunt is no more to mene
Bote men that ben ryche
Aren acountable to Crist
And to the kyng of hevene,
That holden mote the heye weye,
Evene ten hestes,
Bothe lovye and lene,
The leele and the unleele,
And have reuthe, and releve
With hus grete richesse
By hus power alle manere men
In meschief y-falle,
Fynde beggars bred,
Backes for the colde,
Tythen here goodes tryweliche,
A tol as hit semeth
That oure Lord loketh after
Of eche a lyf that wyneth,
Withoute wyles other wrong,
Other wommen atte stuwes,
And yut more, to make pees,
And quyte menne dettes,
Bothe spele and spare
To spene upon the needful,
As Crist self comandeth
To alle Cristene puple.
_Alter alterius onera porta._
The messager aren the mendinans
That lyveth by menne almesse,
Beth nat y-bounde, as beeth the riche,
To bothe the two lawes,
To lene and to lere,
Ne lentenes to faste,
And other pryvey penaunces
The wiche the preest wol wel,
That the law yeveth leve
Suche lowe folke to be excused,
As none tythes to tythen,
Ne clothe the nakede,
Ne in enquestes to come,
Ne contumax thauh he worthe
Halyday other holy eve
Hus mete to deserve;
For yf he loveth and byleyveth
As the lawe techeth,
_Qui crediderit et baptizatus fuerit, etc._
Telleth the lord a tale,
As a triwe messager,
And sheweth by seel and suthe by lettere
With wat lord he dwelleth,
Kneweleche hym crystene
And of holy churche byleyve,
Ther is no lawe, as ich leyve,
Wol let hym the gate,
Ther God is gatwarde hymself
And eche a gome knoweth.
The porter of pure reuthe
May parforme the lawe
In that he wilneth and wolde
Ech wight as hemself;
For the wil is as muche worth
Of a wretche beggere
As al that the ryche may reyme
And ryght fulliche dele,
And as much mede
For a myte that he offreth,
As the riche man for al is moneye,
And more, as by the Godspel:
_Amen dico vobis quia hæc vidua paupercula,
etc._
So that povre pacient
Is parfitest lif of alle,
And alle parfit preestes
To poverte sholde drawe.
7128. Matth. xvii, 20.
7131. Psal. xxxiii, 11.
7141. Psal. xlii, 1.
7191. James ii, 10.
7194. _over-skipperis._ Those who skipped over words in reading or chanting
the service of the church. The following distich points out the classes of
defaulters in this respect:--
Ecclesiæ tres sunt qui servitium maie fallunt;
Momylers, for-scyppers, ovre-lepers, non bene psallunt.
_Reliq. Antiq._ p. 90. _Poems of Walter Mapes_, p. 148.
A still more numerous list of such offenders is given in the following
lines from MS. Lansdowne, 762, fol. 101, v^o:--
Hii sunt qui Psalmos corrumpunt nequitur almos:
Jangler cum jasper, lepar, galper quoque, draggar,
Momeler, for-skypper, for-reynner, sic et over-leper,
Fragmina verborum Tutivillus colligit horum.
Tutivillus was the popular name of one of the fiends (see Towneley
Mysteries, pp. 310, 319; Reliq. Antiq. p. 257). According to an old legend,
a hermit walking out met one of the devils bearing a large sack, very full,
under the load of which he seemed to labour. The hermit asked him what he
carried in his sack. He answered that it was filled with the fragments of
words which the clerks had skipped over or mutilated in the performance of
the service, and that he was carrying them to hell to be deposited among
the stores there.
7195. Psal. xlvi, 7, 8.
7264. _Briddes I biheld._ A similar sentiment is expressed in the following
parallel passage of a modern poet:--
But most of all it wins my admiration
To view the structure of this little work--
A bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without,
No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut,
No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert,
No glue to join; his little beak was all:
And yet how neatly finished! What nice hand,
With every implement and means of art,
And twenty years' apprenticeship to boot,
Could make me such another? Fondly then
We boast of excellence, where noblest skill
Instinctive genius foils.--_Hurdis._
7342. Ecclesiasticus xi, 9.
7344. Instead of ll. 7344-7363, Whitaker's text has the following
passage:--
'Ho suffreth more than God?' quath he,
'No gome, as ich leyve.
He myght amende in a mynt while
Al that amys stondes.
Ac he suffreth, in ensaumple
That we sholde all suffren.
Ys no vertue so feyr
Of value ne of profit,
As ys suffraunce, soveraynliche,
So hit be for Godes love,
And so wittnesseth the wyse,
And wysseth the Frenshe,
_Bele vertue est suffraunce,
Mal dire est petite venjaunce;
Bien dire e bien suffrer
Fait ly suffrable à bien vener._
For-thi.' quath Reson, 'Ich rede the,
Rewele thi tonge evere;
And er thow lacke eny lyf,
Loke ho is to preise.
For is no creature under Cryst,
That can hymselve make;
And yf cristene creatures
Couthen make hemselve,
Eche lede wolde be lacles,
Leyf thow non othere.
Man was mad of suche matere,
He may nat wel asterte,
That som tymes hym tit
To folwen hus kynde.
Caton acordeth herwith:
_Nemo sine crimine vivit._
7347. Genes. i, 31.
7363. Cato, Distich. i, 5.
Si vitam inspicias hominum, si denique mores,
Quum culpent alios, nemo sine crimine vivit.
It may be observed here, that Whitaker, in his note on this passage, has
very much misunderstood Tyrwhitt (in Chaucer, Cant. T. 3227), in making him
the authority for calling the author of the _Disticha de Moribus_ an
obscure French writer. Tyrwhitt says that the mode in which Chaucer spells
his name (Caton) seems to show that the French translation was more read
than the Latin original. The same observation would apply to the present
poem: but I am very doubtful how far it is correct. The Distiches of Cato
were translated into English, French, German, &c., and were extremely
popular. The author of these Distiches, Dionysius Cato, is supposed to have
lived under the Antonines, and has certainly no claim to the title of _an
obscure French writer_.