Part 25

Mi Sone, of that thou hast ansuerd Touchende Usure I have al herd, Hou thou of love hast wonne smale: Bot that thou tellest in thi tale And thi ladi therof accusest, Me thenkth tho wordes thou misusest. For be thin oghne knowlechinge Thou seist hou sche for o lokinge 4540 Thin hole herte fro the tok: Sche mai be such, that hire o lok Is worth thin herte manyfold; So hast thou wel thin herte sold, Whan thou hast that is more worth. And ek of that thou tellest forth, Hou that hire weyhte of love unevene Is unto thin, under the hevene Stod nevere in evene that balance Which stant in loves governance. 4550 Such is the statut of his lawe, That thogh thi love more drawe And peise in the balance more, Thou miht noght axe ayein therfore Of duete, bot al of grace. For love is lord in every place, Ther mai no lawe him justefie Be reddour ne be compaignie, That he ne wole after his wille Whom that him liketh spede or spille. 4560

To love a man mai wel beginne, Bot whether he schal lese or winne, That wot noman til ate laste: Forthi coveite noght to faste, Mi Sone, bot abyd thin ende, Per cas al mai to goode wende. Bot that thou hast me told and said, Of o thing I am riht wel paid, That thou be sleyhte ne be guile Of no brocour hast otherwhile 4570 Engined love, for such dede Is sore venged, as I rede.

Brocours of love that deceiven, No wonder is thogh thei receiven After the wrong that thei decerven; For whom as evere that thei serven And do plesance for a whyle, Yit ate laste here oghne guile Upon here oghne hed descendeth, Which god of his vengance sendeth, 4580 As be ensample of time go A man mai finde it hath be so. It fell somtime, as it was sene, The hihe goddesse and the queene Juno tho hadde in compainie A Maiden full of tricherie; For sche was evere in on acord With Jupiter, that was hire lord, To gete him othre loves newe, Thurgh such brocage and was untrewe 4590 Al otherwise than him nedeth. Bot sche, which of no schame dredeth, With queinte wordes and with slyhe Blente in such wise hir lady yhe, As sche to whom that Juno triste, So that therof sche nothing wiste. Bot so prive mai be nothing, That it ne comth to knowleching; Thing don upon the derke nyht Is after knowe on daies liht: 4600 So it befell, that ate laste Al that this slyhe maiden caste Was overcast and overthrowe. For as the sothe mot be knowe, To Juno was don understonde In what manere hir housebonde With fals brocage hath take usure Of love mor than his mesure, Whan he tok othre than his wif, Wherof this mayden was gultif, 4610 Which hadde ben of his assent. And thus was al the game schent; She soffreth him, as sche mot nede, Bot the brocour of his misdede, Sche which hir conseil yaf therto, On hire is the vengance do: For Juno with hire wordes hote, This Maiden, which Eccho was hote, Reproveth and seith in this wise: “O traiteresse, of which servise 4620 Hast thou thin oghne ladi served! Thou hast gret peine wel deserved, That thou canst maken it so queinte, Thi slyhe wordes forto peinte Towardes me, that am thi queene, Wherof thou madest me to wene That myn housbonde trewe were, Whan that he loveth elleswhere, Al be it so him nedeth noght. Bot upon thee it schal be boght, 4630 Which art prive to tho doinges, And me fulofte of thi lesinges Deceived hast: nou is the day That I thi while aquite may; And for thou hast to me conceled That my lord hath with othre deled, I schal thee sette in such a kende, That evere unto the worldes ende Al that thou hierest thou schalt telle, And clappe it out as doth a belle.” 4640 And with that word sche was forschape, Ther may no vois hire mouth ascape, What man that in the wodes crieth, Withoute faile Eccho replieth, And what word that him list to sein, The same word sche seith ayein. Thus sche, which whilom hadde leve To duelle in chambre, mot beleve In wodes and on helles bothe, For such brocage as wyves lothe, 4650 Which doth here lordes hertes change And love in other place strange.

Forthi, if evere it so befalle, That thou, mi Sone, amonges alle Be wedded man, hold that thou hast, For thanne al other love is wast. O wif schal wel to thee suffise, And thanne, if thou for covoitise Of love woldest axe more, Thou scholdest don ayein the lore 4660 Of alle hem that trewe be.

Mi fader, as in this degre My conscience is noght accused; For I no such brocage have used, Wherof that lust of love is wonne. Forthi spek forth, as ye begonne, Of Avarice upon mi schrifte.

Mi Sone, I schal the branches schifte Be ordre so as thei ben set, On whom no good is wel beset. 4670

Blinde Avarice of his lignage For conseil and for cousinage, To be withholde ayein largesse, Hath on, whos name is seid Skarsnesse, The which is kepere of his hous, And is so thurghout averous, That he no good let out of honde; Thogh god himself it wolde fonde, Of yifte scholde he nothing have; And if a man it wolde crave, 4680 He moste thanne faile nede, Wher god himselve mai noght spede. And thus Skarsnesse in every place Be reson mai no thonk porchace, And natheles in his degree Above all othre most prive With Avarice stant he this. For he governeth that ther is In ech astat of his office After the reule of thilke vice; 4690 He takth, he kepth, he halt, he bint, That lihtere is to fle the flint Than gete of him in hard or neisshe Only the value of a reysshe Of good in helpinge of an other, Noght thogh it were his oghne brother. For in the cas of yifte and lone Stant every man for him al one, Him thenkth of his unkindeschipe That him nedeth no felaschipe: 4700 Be so the bagge and he acorden, Him reccheth noght what men recorden Of him, or it be evel or good. For al his trust is on his good, So that al one he falleth ofte, Whan he best weneth stonde alofte, Als wel in love as other wise; For love is evere of som reprise To him that wole his love holde. Forthi, mi Sone, as thou art holde, 4710 Touchende of this tell me thi schrifte: Hast thou be scars or large of yifte Unto thi love, whom thou servest? For after that thou wel deservest Of yifte, thou miht be the bet; For that good holde I wel beset, For why thou miht the betre fare; Thanne is no wisdom forto spare. For thus men sein, in every nede He was wys that ferst made mede; 4720 For where as mede mai noght spede, I not what helpeth other dede: Fulofte he faileth of his game That wol with ydel hand reclame His hauk, as many a nyce doth. Forthi, mi Sone, tell me soth And sei the trouthe, if thou hast be Unto thy love or skars or fre.

Mi fader, it hath stonde thus, That if the tresor of Cresus 4730 And al the gold Octovien, Forth with the richesse Yndien Of Perles and of riche stones, Were al togedre myn at ones, I sette it at nomore acompte Than wolde a bare straw amonte, To yive it hire al in a day, Be so that to that suete may I myhte like or more or lesse. And thus be cause of my scarsnesse 4740 Ye mai wel understonde and lieve That I schal noght the worse achieve The pourpos which is in my thoght. Bot yit I yaf hir nevere noght, Ne therto dorste a profre make; For wel I wot sche wol noght take, And yive wol sche noght also, Sche is eschu of bothe tuo. And this I trowe be the skile Towardes me, for sche ne wile 4750 That I have eny cause of hope, Noght also mochel as a drope. Bot toward othre, as I mai se, Sche takth and yifth in such degre, That as be weie of frendlihiede Sche can so kepe hir wommanhiede, That every man spekth of hir wel. Bot sche wole take of me no del, And yit sche wot wel that I wolde Yive and do bothe what I scholde 4760 To plesen hire in al my myht: Be reson this wot every wyht, For that mai be no weie asterte, Ther sche is maister of the herte, Sche mot be maister of the good. For god wot wel that al my mod And al min herte and al mi thoght And al mi good, whil I have oght, Als freliche as god hath it yive, It schal ben hires, while I live, 4770 Riht as hir list hirself commande. So that it nedeth no demande, To axe of me if I be scars To love, for as to tho pars I wole ansuere and seie no.

Mi Sone, that is riht wel do. For often times of scarsnesse It hath be sen, that for the lesse Is lost the more, as thou schalt hiere A tale lich to this matiere. 4780

Skarsnesse and love acorden nevere, For every thing is wel the levere, Whan that a man hath boght it diere: And forto speke in this matiere, For sparinge of a litel cost Fulofte time a man hath lost The large cote for the hod. What man that scars is of his good And wol noght yive, he schal noght take: With yifte a man mai undertake 4790 The hihe god to plese and queme, With yifte a man the world mai deme; For every creature bore, If thou him yive, is glad therfore, And every gladschipe, as I finde, Is confort unto loves kinde And causeth ofte a man to spede. So was he wys that ferst yaf mede, For mede kepeth love in house; Bot wher the men ben coveitouse 4800 And sparen forto yive a part, Thei knowe noght Cupides art: For his fortune and his aprise Desdeigneth alle coveitise And hateth alle nygardie. And forto loke of this partie, A soth ensample, hou it is so,

I finde write of Babio; Which hadde a love at his menage, Ther was non fairere of hire age, 4810 And hihte Viola be name; Which full of youthe and ful of game Was of hirself, and large and fre, Bot such an other chinche as he Men wisten noght in al the lond, And hadde affaited to his hond His servant, the which Spodius Was hote. And in this wise thus The worldes good of sufficance Was had, bot likinge and plesance, 4820 Of that belongeth to richesse Of love, stod in gret destresse; So that this yonge lusty wyht Of thing which fell to loves riht Was evele served overal, That sche was wo bego withal, Til that Cupide and Venus eke A medicine for the seke Ordeigne wolden in this cas. So as fortune thanne was, 4830 Of love upon the destine It fell, riht as it scholde be, A freissh, a fre, a frendly man That noght of Avarice can, Which Croceus be name hihte, Toward this swete caste his sihte, And ther sche was cam in presence. Sche sih him large of his despence, And amorous and glad of chiere, So that hir liketh wel to hiere 4840 The goodly wordes whiche he seide; And therupon of love he preide, Of love was al that he mente, To love and for sche scholde assente, He yaf hire yiftes evere among. Bot for men sein that mede is strong, It was wel seene at thilke tyde; For as it scholde of ryht betyde, This Viola largesce hath take And the nygard sche hath forsake: 4850 Of Babio sche wol no more, For he was grucchende everemore, Ther was with him non other fare Bot forto prinche and forto spare, Of worldes muk to gete encress. So goth the wrecche loveles, Bejaped for his Skarcete, And he that large was and fre And sette his herte to despende, This Croceus, the bowe bende, 4860 Which Venus tok him forto holde, And schotte als ofte as evere he wolde.

Lo, thus departeth love his lawe, That what man wol noght be felawe To yive and spende, as I thee telle, He is noght worthi forto duelle In loves court to be relieved. Forthi, my Sone, if I be lieved, Thou schalt be large of thi despence.

Mi fader, in mi conscience 4870 If ther be eny thing amis, I wol amende it after this, Toward mi love namely.

Mi Sone, wel and redely Thou seist, so that wel paid withal I am, and forthere if I schal Unto thi schrifte specefie Of Avarices progenie What vice suieth after this, Thou schalt have wonder hou it is, 4880 Among the folk in eny regne That such a vice myhte regne, Which is comun at alle assaies, As men mai finde nou adaies.

The vice lik unto the fend, Which nevere yit was mannes frend, And cleped is Unkindeschipe, Of covine and of felaschipe With Avarice he is withholde. Him thenkth he scholde noght ben holde 4890 Unto the moder which him bar; Of him mai nevere man be war, He wol noght knowe the merite, For that he wolde it noght aquite; Which in this world is mochel used, And fewe ben therof excused. To telle of him is endeles, Bot this I seie natheles, Wher as this vice comth to londe, Ther takth noman his thonk on honde; 4900 Thogh he with alle his myhtes serve, He schal of him no thonk deserve. He takth what eny man wol yive, Bot whil he hath o day to live, He wol nothing rewarde ayein; He gruccheth forto yive o grein, Wher he hath take a berne full. That makth a kinde herte dull, To sette his trust in such frendschipe, Ther as he fint no kindeschipe; 4910 And forto speke wordes pleine, Thus hiere I many a man compleigne, That nou on daies thou schalt finde At nede fewe frendes kinde; What thou hast don for hem tofore, It is foryete, as it were lore. The bokes speken of this vice, And telle hou god of his justice, Be weie of kinde and ek nature And every lifissh creature, 4920 The lawe also, who that it kan, Thei dampnen an unkinde man.

It is al on to seie unkinde As thing which don is ayein kinde, For it with kinde nevere stod A man to yelden evel for good. For who that wolde taken hede, A beste is glad of a good dede, And loveth thilke creature After the lawe of his nature 4930 Which doth him ese. And forto se Of this matiere Auctorite, Fulofte time it hath befalle; Wherof a tale amonges alle, Which is of olde ensamplerie, I thenke forto specefie.

To speke of an unkinde man, I finde hou whilom Adrian, Of Rome which a gret lord was, Upon a day as he per cas 4940 To wode in his huntinge wente, It hapneth at a soudein wente, After his chace as he poursuieth, Thurgh happ, the which noman eschuieth, He fell unwar into a pet, Wher that it mihte noght be let. The pet was dep and he fell lowe, That of his men non myhte knowe Wher he becam, for non was nyh, Which of his fall the meschief syh. 4950 And thus al one ther he lay Clepende and criende al the day For socour and deliverance, Til ayein Eve it fell per chance, A while er it began to nyhte, A povere man, which Bardus hihte, Cam forth walkende with his asse, And hadde gadred him a tasse Of grene stickes and of dreie To selle, who that wolde hem beie, 4960 As he which hadde no liflode, Bot whanne he myhte such a lode To toune with his Asse carie. And as it fell him forto tarie That ilke time nyh the pet, And hath the trusse faste knet, He herde a vois, which cride dimme, And he his Ere to the brimme Hath leid, and herde it was a man, Which seide, “Ha, help hier Adrian, 4970 And I wol yiven half mi good.”

The povere man this understod, As he that wolde gladly winne, And to this lord which was withinne He spak and seide, “If I thee save, What sikernesse schal I have Of covenant, that afterward Thou wolt me yive such reward As thou behihtest nou tofore?”

That other hath his othes swore 4980 Be hevene and be the goddes alle, If that it myhte so befalle That he out of the pet him broghte, Of all the goodes whiche he oghte He schal have evene halvendel.

This Bardus seide he wolde wel; And with this word his Asse anon He let untrusse, and therupon Doun goth the corde into the pet, To which he hath at ende knet 4990 A staf, wherby, he seide, he wolde That Adrian him scholde holde. Bot it was tho per chance falle, Into that pet was also falle An Ape, which at thilke throwe, Whan that the corde cam doun lowe, Al sodeinli therto he skipte And it in bothe hise armes clipte. And Bardus with his Asse anon Him hath updrawe, and he is gon. 5000 But whan he sih it was an Ape, He wende al hadde ben a jape Of faierie, and sore him dradde: And Adrian eftsone gradde For help, and cride and preide faste, And he eftsone his corde caste; Bot whan it cam unto the grounde, A gret Serpent it hath bewounde, The which Bardus anon up drouh. And thanne him thoghte wel ynouh, 5010 It was fantosme, bot yit he herde The vois, and he therto ansuerde, “What wiht art thou in goddes name?”

“I am,” quod Adrian, “the same, Whos good thou schalt have evene half.” Quod Bardus, “Thanne a goddes half The thridde time assaie I schal”: And caste his corde forth withal Into the pet, and whan it cam To him, this lord of Rome it nam, 5020 And therupon him hath adresced, And with his hand fulofte blessed, And thanne he bad to Bardus hale. And he, which understod his tale, Betwen him and his Asse al softe Hath drawe and set him up alofte Withouten harm al esely. He seith noght ones “grant merci,” Bot strauhte him forth to the cite, And let this povere Bardus be. 5030 And natheles this simple man His covenant, so as he can, Hath axed; and that other seide, If so be that he him umbreide Of oght that hath be speke or do, It schal ben venged on him so, That him were betre to be ded. And he can tho non other red, But on his asse ayein he caste His trusse, and hieth homward faste: 5040 And whan that he cam hom to bedde, He tolde his wif hou that he spedde. Bot finaly to speke oght more Unto this lord he dradde him sore, So that a word ne dorste he sein: And thus upon the morwe ayein, In the manere as I recorde, Forth with his Asse and with his corde To gadre wode, as he dede er, He goth; and whan that he cam ner 5050 Unto the place where he wolde, He hath his Ape anon beholde, Which hadde gadred al aboute Of stickes hiere and there a route, And leide hem redy to his hond, Wherof he made his trosse and bond; Fro dai to dai and in this wise This Ape profreth his servise, So that he hadde of wode ynouh. Upon a time and as he drouh 5060 Toward the wode, he sih besyde The grete gastli Serpent glyde, Til that sche cam in his presence, And in hir kinde a reverence Sche hath him do, and forth withal A Ston mor briht than a cristall Out of hir mouth tofore his weie Sche let doun falle, and wente aweie, For that he schal noght ben adrad. Tho was this povere Bardus glad, 5070 Thonkende god, and to the Ston He goth an takth it up anon, And hath gret wonder in his wit Hou that the beste him hath aquit, Wher that the mannes Sone hath failed, For whom he hadde most travailed. Bot al he putte in goddes hond, And torneth hom, and what he fond Unto his wif he hath it schewed; And thei, that weren bothe lewed, 5080 Acorden that he scholde it selle. And he no lengere wolde duelle, Bot forth anon upon the tale The Ston he profreth to the sale; And riht as he himself it sette, The jueler anon forth fette The gold and made his paiement, Therof was no delaiement.

Thus whan this Ston was boght and sold, Homward with joie manyfold 5090 This Bardus goth; and whan he cam Hom to his hous and that he nam His gold out of his Purs, withinne He fond his Ston also therinne, Wherof for joie his herte pleide, Unto his wif and thus he seide, “Lo, hier my gold, lo, hier mi Ston!” His wif hath wonder therupon, And axeth him hou that mai be. “Nou be mi trouthe I not,” quod he, 5100 “Bot I dar swere upon a bok, That to my Marchant I it tok, And he it hadde whan I wente: So knowe I noght to what entente It is nou hier, bot it be grace. Forthi tomorwe in other place I wole it fonde forto selle, And if it wol noght with him duelle, Bot crepe into mi purs ayein, Than dar I saufly swere and sein, 5110 It is the vertu of the Ston.”

The morwe cam, and he is gon To seche aboute in other stede His Ston to selle, and he so dede, And lefte it with his chapman there. Bot whan that he cam elleswhere, In presence of his wif at hom, Out of his Purs and that he nom His gold, he fond his Ston withal: And thus it fell him overal, 5120 Where he it solde in sondri place, Such was the fortune and the grace. Bot so wel may nothing ben hidd, That it nys ate laste kidd: This fame goth aboute Rome So ferforth, that the wordes come To themperour Justinian; And he let sende for the man, And axede him hou that it was. And Bardus tolde him al the cas, 5130 Hou that the worm and ek the beste, Althogh thei maden no beheste, His travail hadden wel aquit; Bot he which hadde a mannes wit, And made his covenant be mouthe And swor therto al that he couthe To parte and yiven half his good, Hath nou foryete hou that it stod, As he which wol no trouthe holde.

This Emperour al that he tolde 5140 Hath herd, and thilke unkindenesse He seide he wolde himself redresse. And thus in court of juggement This Adrian was thanne assent, And the querele in audience Declared was in the presence Of themperour and many mo; Wherof was mochel speche tho And gret wondringe among the press. Bot ate laste natheles 5150 For the partie which hath pleigned The lawe hath diemed and ordeigned Be hem that were avised wel, That he schal have the halvendel Thurghout of Adrianes good. And thus of thilke unkinde blod Stant the memoire into this day, Wherof that every wysman may Ensamplen him, and take in mynde What schame it is to ben unkinde; 5160 Ayein the which reson debateth, And every creature it hateth.

Forthi, mi Sone, in thin office I rede fle that ilke vice. For riht as the Cronique seith Of Adrian, hou he his feith Foryat for worldes covoitise, Fulofte in such a maner wise Of lovers nou a man mai se Full manye that unkinde be: 5170 For wel behote and evele laste That is here lif; for ate laste, Whan that thei have here wille do, Here love is after sone ago. What seist thou, Sone, to this cas?

Mi fader, I wol seie Helas, That evere such a man was bore, Which whan he hath his trouthe suore And hath of love what he wolde, That he at eny time scholde 5180 Evere after in his herte finde To falsen and to ben unkinde. Bot, fader, as touchende of me, I mai noght stonde in that degre; For I tok nevere of love why, That I ne mai wel go therby And do my profit elles where, For eny sped I finde there. I dar wel thenken al aboute, Bot I ne dar noght speke it oute; 5190 And if I dorste, I wolde pleigne, That sche for whom I soffre peine And love hir evere aliche hote, That nouther yive ne behote In rewardinge of mi servise It list hire in no maner wise. I wol noght say that sche is kinde, And forto sai sche is unkinde, That dar I noght; bot god above, Which demeth every herte of love, 5200 He wot that on myn oghne side Schal non unkindeschipe abide: If it schal with mi ladi duelle, Therof dar I nomore telle. Nou, goode fader, as it is, Tell me what thenketh you of this.

Mi Sone, of that unkindeschipe, The which toward thi ladischipe Thou pleignest, for sche wol thee noght, Thou art to blamen of that thoght. 5210 For it mai be that thi desir, Thogh it brenne evere as doth the fyr, Per cas to hire honour missit, Or elles time com noght yit, Which standt upon thi destine: Forthi, mi Sone, I rede thee, Thenk wel, what evere the befalle; For noman hath his lustes alle. Bot as thou toldest me before That thou to love art noght forswore, 5220 And hast don non unkindenesse, Thou miht therof thi grace blesse: And lef noght that continuance; For ther mai be no such grevance To love, as is unkindeschipe. Wherof to kepe thi worschipe, So as these olde bokes tale, I schal thee telle a redi tale: Nou herkne and be wel war therby, For I wol telle it openly. 5230

Mynos, as telleth the Poete, The which whilom was king of Crete, A Sone hadde and Androchee He hihte: and so befell that he Unto Athenes forto lere Was send, and so he bar him there, For that he was of hih lignage, Such pride he tok in his corage, That he foryeten hath the Scoles, And in riote among the foles 5240 He dede manye thinges wronge; And useth thilke lif so longe, Til ate laste of that he wroghte He fond the meschief which he soghte, Wherof it fell that he was slain. His fader, which it herde sain, Was wroth, and al that evere he mihte, Of men of Armes he him dighte A strong pouer, and forth he wente Unto Athenys, where he brente 5250 The pleine contre al aboute: The Cites stode of him in doute, As thei that no defence hadde Ayein the pouer which he ladde.