UC-NRLF 
 
 HALLIWELL'S 
 
 ^ POETICS 
 
/ 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 Ctes 
 
NUG.E POETICS 
 
 (ONLY ONE HUNDRED COPIES FEINTED.) 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY W, A. WRIGHT, 12, FULWOOD's RENTS, HIGH HOLBORN. 
 
Nttgee 
 
 SELECT PIECES 
 
 OF 
 
 OLD ENGLISH POPULAR POETRY, 
 
 ILLUSTRATING 
 
 THE MANNERS AND ARTS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, ESQ. F.R.S. 
 
 Hon. M R. I A., Hon. M. R. S. L., F. S. A., &c. 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
 4Ln 
 LONDON : 
 
 JOHN RUSSELL SMITH, 
 
 4, OLD COMPTON STREET, SOHO SQUARE. 
 1844. 
 
-RAL 
 
To 
 THOMAS JOSEPH PETTIGREW, ESQ. 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
 
 is 
 INSCRIBED 
 
 AS A 
 
 SLIGHT TESTIMONY OF ESTEEM. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The investigators of the history of past times 
 almost always find that the remains of popular 
 literature are of less common occurrence and more 
 difficult to meet with than those of a more solid 
 character. Ballads, squibs, satires, and short poems 
 of a similar description, which were probably in the 
 hands of thousands some three or four centuries 
 since, are now either altogether lost, or perhaps 
 exist only in a few manuscripts, often inaccessible 
 even to those who would study what has been 
 happily denominated the history of the people. 
 The indications of national characters, and the 
 illustrations of the manners of our ancestors, which 
 such pieces almost invariably afford, often render 
 them extremely valuable, much more so than their 
 intrinsic merit would generally warrant. They are 
 likewise important in a philological point of view ; 
 but what has been preserved for our day has been 
 so diligently sought after and published by Ritson 
 and others, that it has really now become a very 
 
vm. 
 
 difficult matter to discover any worth printing not 
 already included in their publications. 
 
 Perhaps, therefore, the present addition to similar 
 collections already before the public may not be 
 considered unacceptable to the literary antiquary. 
 I would particularly direct the reader's attention 
 to the old fabliau entitled the " Debate of the 
 Carpenter's Tools," which is perhaps one of the 
 most curious of the kind known to exist, and it is 
 somewhat remarkable that it should have slumbered 
 so long unnoticed in a volume that has been exten- 
 sively used by Conybeare and other editors. It 
 was probably translated from the French, pieces 
 of that class being much more common in Anglo- 
 Norman, and original compositions in English of so 
 early a date being of somewhat rare occurrence. 
 The first poem, Colyn Blowbol's Testament, is a 
 composition of considerable humour, though rather 
 broad occasionally in some of its expressions, and 
 from its style may be adjudged with more proba* 
 bility to be a genuine and original example of 
 early English satirical poetry. The other pieces 
 which comprise the contents of this little volume 
 
IX. 
 
 call for little in the way of particular remark 
 beyond what will be found in the notes, and may 
 be dismissed with the observation that it is be- 
 lieved most of them will be found worthy of pre- 
 servation, though not perhaps of so inviting a 
 character as the two just mentioned. It is only 
 necessary to say in conclusion that our selection 
 has been formed from manuscripts preserved in 
 the British Museum, the Bodleian Library, the 
 Ashmolean Museum, the Public Library of the 
 University of Cambridge, and the library of Lin- 
 coln Cathedral, repositories widely distant from 
 each other, and for the most part not always readily 
 accessible to students. 
 
 J. 0. EL 
 
 GlIISTLIPE, 
 
 21 st Oct. 1844. 
 

CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1. Colyn Blowbol's Testament 1 
 
 2. Debate of the Carpenter's Tools 13 
 
 3. The Merchant and his Son 21 
 
 4. The Misogynic Nightingale 37 
 
 5. A Poem on Death 39 
 
 6. The Maid and the Magpie 42 
 
 7. Elegy on Lobe, Henry VIII.'s Fool 44 
 
 8. A Ballad on Money 46 
 
 9. Robert of Sicily 49 
 
 10. Spiritual Remedies 64 
 
 11. A Love Song .. 68 
 
 12. Notes.. 70 
 
COLYN BLOWBOL'S TESTAMENT. 
 
 Herefoloweth Colyn Blowbols Testament. 
 Whan that Bachus, the myghti lorde, 
 And Juno eke, both by one accorde, 
 Had sette a-broche of myghti wyne a tone, 
 And afterwardys into the brayn ran 
 Of Colyn Blobolle, whan he had dronke ataunt 
 Both of Teynt and of wyne Alycaunt, 
 Till he was drounke as any swyne ; 
 And after this, with a mery chere, 
 He rensyd had many an ale picher, 
 That he began to loken and to stare, 
 Like a wode bole or a wilde mare ; 
 So toty was the brayn of his hede, 
 That he desirid for to go to bede, 
 And whan he was ones therin laide, 
 With hymself mervailously he fraide ; 
 He gan to walow and turn up and downe, 
 And for to tell in conclucioun, 
 Sore he spwed, and alle up he kest 
 That he had recevyd in his brest, 
 So that it was grete pite for to here 
 His lamentacion and his hevy chere. 
 An hors wold wepe to se the sorow he maide, 
 His evy countenaunces and his colour fade. 
 I trow he was iniecte certeyn 
 With the faitpur, or the fever lordeyn, 
 Or with a sekenesse called a knave ateynt ; 
 And anon his herte he gan to faynt, 
 And afterward their toke hym many a throw 
 Of good ale bolys that he had i-blowe ; 
 
COLYN BLOWBOL'S TESTAMENT. 
 
 He lokyd furyous as a wyld catt, 
 
 And pale of hew like a drowned ratte. 
 
 And in his bake their toke hyrn one so fell, 
 
 That afterward folowed a very stynkyng semell, 
 
 That for to cast wos more unwholsom 
 
 Than aurum potable or aurum pimentum. 
 
 And whan his angwyssh somwhat gan apese, 
 
 He recovered of his dronken dessese, 
 
 He set hym up and sawe their biside 
 
 A sad man, in whom is no pride, 
 
 Right a discrete confessour, as I trow, 
 
 His name was called sir John Doclow ; 
 
 He had commensed in many a worthier place 
 
 Then ever was Padow, or Boleyn de Grace ; 
 
 Of so grete reverens werre the universites, 
 
 That men toke entrie knelyng on their kenes ; 
 
 In suche places his fader for hym had ben, 
 
 Whate shuld I tell you 1 ye wotte where I mens. 
 
 And yet in phisike he cowth no skyl at all, 
 
 Whiche men callen baas naturall ; 
 
 Good drynke he lovyd better than he did wepit, 
 
 Men called hym maister John-with-the-shorte-tipet. 
 
 Hereby men may well understonde and see, 
 
 That in scolys he had take degre, 
 
 And was well laboured in the rough byble, 
 
 For he loved in no wise to be idele ; 
 
 An able man to be aboute a pope, 
 
 Because he coude a conscience so well grope, 
 
 And make an man to bryng oute his mynde 
 
 Every thing that he had left behynde. 
 
 He gaf me many a good certacion, 
 
 With right and holsom predicacion, 
 
 That he had laboured in Venus secrete cell, 
 
 And me exponyd many a good gossepell, 
 
 And many a right swete epistell eke, 
 
 In hem perfite and not for to seke ; 
 
COLYN BLOWBOL S TESTAMENT. ; 
 
 And he had them i-lerneid and i-rade, 
 
 And all were good, I trow their were none hade. 
 
 And right like an hevynly instrument 
 
 Unto me ever his tounge wente, 
 
 It was joie for to here and see 
 
 The fructuous talkyng that he had to me ; 
 
 He behavyd hym so lich a gostly leche, 
 
 Both in countenaunce and in his speche, 
 
 And bad I shuld, by cause I was seke, 
 
 Unto Lucina and to Ciraa eke 
 
 My soule byqueth or I hens deperte, 
 
 As I wold have his prayers afterward. 
 
 He promysy d me also that he wold syng 
 
 Foure devoite masses at my biryng, 
 
 On of Bachus, anothir of Lucina, 
 
 The third of Juno, the fourth of Ciria, 
 
 And at Venus temple with grett devocion, 
 
 I have to you so grette dilection, 
 
 And for my soule ryng many a mery pele 
 
 In Venus temple and eke in hir chapell, 
 
 And also in many anothir holy stede, 
 
 Where Spado may not helpe women at ther nede ; 
 
 And bad me eke be of right good chere 
 
 Alle the wyle I shold abyde here, 
 
 And for any thing that he coude feele 
 
 That was in me, I sholde do right wele. 
 
 And yet he said, "Be myne avisement, 
 
 Withoute tarying ye make your Testament, 
 
 And by good avice alle thing well besett, 
 
 Loke ye do soo, for ye shall fare the bett ; 
 
 Whylis ye have your right memorie, 
 
 Calle unto you your owne secretory, 
 
 Maister Grombold, that can hand ell a pen, 
 
 For on booke he skrapith like an hen, 
 
 That no man may his letters know nor se, 
 
 Allethough he looke trugh spectacles thre. 
 
COLYN BLOWBOLS TESTAMENT. 
 
 Let such a man writte your Testament, 
 For he shall best folow your entent." 
 
 IN BACKUS NOMINE, AMEN ! 
 " I Colyn Blobol, all thinges to fulfill, 
 Wol that this be my last welle : 
 First, I bequeth my goost that is bareyn, 
 Whan it is depertid from the careyn, 
 Unto the godesse called Lucina, 
 And to hir sustir called Ciria ; 
 For Lucina hath the governale 
 Of the salt flodes, wher many a ship doith saile, 
 And oftentymes ther they gone to wrake ; 
 That causeth the stormes and the wawes blake ; 
 And Ciria eke, as Fulgens tellys, 
 Abideth moste in flodis and spring wellys. 
 And for because I have sette my plesaunce 
 In plente of drynke, I shall have in penaunce 
 To dwell in wayters, as for a purgatory, 
 Whan I deperte from this world transetory, 
 Unto the tyme that Dyane of hir grace 
 List ordeyn me another dwellyng place ; 
 But every sin must have his purgacion 
 Here or in annothir habitacion. 
 And for the swete wynes that arn so myghti, 
 In whom I have sette all my glorie, 
 Therfor of right it must nedis be thus, 
 My soule to dwell in waters troublous, 
 That ben salt and bitter for to taste, 
 And them to take as for my repaste ; 
 For of right, and as old bookes doon trete, 
 Sharp sawce was ordeigned for swete mete. 
 And I bequeth also my wrecchid cors, 
 Whiche of the sonle gafe litell fors, 
 In the temple of Bachus to have his sepulture, 
 That alwey hath done his best cure, 
 
COLYN BLOWBOL'S TESTAMENT. 5 
 
 To serve hym best with all his hole entent, 
 
 Erly and late and ay right diligent ; 
 
 The cause why I shall to you devyne, 
 
 For Bichus is called the god of wyne ; 
 
 And for that licour is so presious, 
 
 That oft hath made [me] dronke as any mous, 
 
 Therfor I will that ther it beryd be 
 
 My wrecchid body afore this god parde, 
 
 Mighti Bachus that is myn owen lorde, 
 
 Without variaunce to serve hym or discorde." 
 
 And after that another throw hym toke, 
 
 And therwihtalle his body alle to-shooke, 
 
 Lyke as a fever that bernned hym so hote, 
 
 And was to hym grete payne I wote ; 
 
 And other whiles such a farte he lete, 
 
 That men wend verely he had shete ; 
 
 Ther ys no storme ne tempest ay doth lest ; 
 
 But also sone as his anwhushe was past, 
 
 He procedid to performe his will : 
 
 " I byqueth, as it was right and skyll, 
 
 Unto the abbasse of this monestary, 
 
 I mene of Bachus, that myghti lorde in glorie ; 
 
 Alas Sloth, that devoute woman, 
 
 Whiche hath the proprete of a swan, 
 
 Evyr to be in plente of licour, 
 
 And in the morenyng by viij. was his houre 
 
 To be as dronke as any swyne, 
 
 With wyne, or ale, or sum licour devyne, 
 
 And to her sustres of that condicioun, 
 
 Wheir ever they dwell, in citie or in towne, 
 
 Alle the londys and passessions 
 
 That I have lying within the bowns 
 
 Of Southwerke and of the stwes syde, 
 
 As wynde-melles ande water-milles eke, 
 
 With alle their purtenaunces lying on every syde, 
 
 That be there redy and ar not for to seke, 
 
6 COLYN BLOWBOL'S TESTAMENT. 
 
 Sufficient i-nough, yf they were all told, 
 
 For to serve many a grete houshold, 
 
 By a charter to have and to hold, 
 
 Under my seale of lede made the mold, 
 
 And writen in the skyne of swyne, 
 
 What that it is made in parchemyn, 
 
 Because it shuld perpetually endure, 
 
 And unto them be both stable and sure, 
 
 Sauf only a certeyn quyte-rent, 
 
 Which that I have gevyn with good entent 
 
 To pay for me, unto my confessour, 
 
 That called is a man of grette honoure, 
 
 At the stewes side and their fast by, 
 
 To have an hous and dwell therin yerly ; 
 
 And to be paid of penaunce ten or twelve, 
 
 As good livers as he is hymselfe, 
 
 To fete it their whan he hath nede therto, 
 
 It is my will right evyn that it be so ; 
 
 And of this rent, yf that he doith faile, 
 
 I gyve hym powre to skore on the tale, 
 
 And take an stresse, yf that nede be, 
 
 Upon the grounde, one, two, or thre, 
 
 And with hym home his stressis for to cary, 
 
 And in his chamber to make them for to tar}', 
 
 Till he be paid fully of the quyte-rent, 
 
 And wel i-plesid after hys owyn entent. 
 
 And at his forsaid charter maykyng, 
 
 And also at the possession takyng, 
 
 Alle good drynkers that any where may be hade, 
 
 With braynles people and other that ben made, 
 
 Shuld be at doing of this dede ; 
 
 The blissing of Bachus I graunte hym to mede, 
 
 To be wittness of this cha[r]ter sealyng. 
 
 Because I wold they shold lor nothing 
 
 Be interupt of their possessouns, 
 
 That I have gyve them lying in the bouns 
 
COLYN BLOWBOL S TESTAMENT. 7 
 
 Of Southewerke and of the stweys syde, 
 
 But evermore with them to abyde; 
 
 To make them have the mor devocion 
 
 For me to say many an orison, 
 
 On nightes specially whan other men do wy[n]ke, 
 
 Bycause I sette my plesaunce in good drynke. 
 
 And I byqueth unto my secrytory, 
 
 Regestered a brother in the order of foly, 
 
 For his labour and his diligence, 
 
 Six marke of bruce to have for his dispence, 
 
 To this entent, that he bistow it shall 
 
 Upon good drynk, and on no mete at all ; 
 
 My custom ever hath ben to doo soo, 
 
 It is my will that he shuld the same [doo]. 
 
 And I bequeth, yef that I dey shall, 
 
 For to hold my fest funeral, 
 
 An hundreth marke of pruce money fyne, 
 
 For to bistow upon bred and wyne, 
 
 With other drynkys that dilicious be, 
 
 Whiche in ordre herafter ye shall se. 
 
 And for to be at this fest funeral 1, 
 
 I will have called in generalle 
 
 Alle tho that ben very good drynkers, 
 
 And eke also alle feoble swyvers, 
 
 And they also that can lyft a bole, 
 
 Till that the drynke hath take them by the polle ; 
 
 And they also that ben dronkyn wyce, 
 
 And othir that arn dronken fooles nyce ; 
 
 And many dronken people shalbe there, 
 
 And none of these may fayle at this dyner. 
 
 And for to s[o]moun all them to this fest, 
 
 The baily of Roston therto is the beste ; 
 
 Sauf I will have after myn owyn entent, 
 
 An hous for them, that is convenient, 
 
 And it shalbe Didalus is hous. 
 
 And every man shalbe as drownke as any mous, 
 
8 COLYN BLOWBOL'S TESTAMENT. 
 
 Or any of them from this fest passe. 
 
 And for to tell how this hows maide was, 
 
 Ther werre therto sevynty and sevin 
 
 Of dores in nombre, as poets doo nevin, 
 
 And he that was ones entered in, 
 
 Coude fynde no wey out for to wyn, 
 
 Till that he com ynto a gardeyn, 
 
 And their he shuld fynd in certeyn 
 
 A clew of yern, and therto he must wynd, 
 
 And therof take a thred by the ende, 
 
 And make a knot about hys fynger withall, 
 
 And with the thred wynd hym oute he shall, 
 
 But otherwise myght no man oute wyne, 
 
 After that he was ones entered in. 
 
 And for because so many dores be 
 
 Unto this hous, and so fer entre, 
 
 Me thingith therfore, as by my jugement, 
 
 This is a hous for them most convenient. 
 
 But whan all folk ones be entrid in, 
 
 I will these people the high borde begyn, 
 
 Tho specially that arn dronken wise, 
 
 People most able, after myne avise, 
 
 To sett their among all other thing 
 
 To make them wise in ther owyn talkyng, 
 
 And wenith thir wittes be beyonde the mone, 
 
 And medle of thynges that they have nought to done, 
 
 And deme themself as wise, withoute lees, 
 
 As ever was Aristole, Plato, or Socrates ; 
 
 And their thinges begyne to lye, 
 
 For than they ben as dronke-lyight as a flye, 
 
 And will tell of thinges that have be done, 
 
 Whereas never shyneth sone ne mone, 
 
 I will therfor for myn honesty, 
 
 At the hy dees thes people sette be. 
 
 And to begin also the secounde table, 
 
 I will ther be honest men and able, 
 
COLYN BLOWBOL'S TESTAMENT. ! 
 
 Such as wilbe as drongen as a nape, 
 
 And they will skoff now and jape, 
 
 And be also as full of nyces toyes, 
 
 As ben yong childern or elis wantown boyes ; 
 
 And they whiche also both gape and gren, 
 
 Like the ars of a squirtyng hen. 
 
 And in suche caas often tymes they be, 
 
 That one may make them play with strawes thre, 
 
 And be as nyce in a mannys hous, 
 
 As is a catt playing with a mous, 
 
 Therfor I will this people sett there, 
 
 A place ther is for them elleswhere. 
 
 The thirde table shal begyne as tyte, 
 
 They that be manly in dronkenesse for to fyte, 
 
 Whan one ther hede is sett a barly-hate, 
 
 Than arn they as manly as a gajiat, 
 
 And than they will kyll every fle and lous, 
 
 And in ther way bydith nodir ratte ne mous ; 
 
 They will kyll in that grete hete 
 
 Huge Golyas, with their wordis grete, 
 
 And also the grete Gogmagog, 
 
 Cresced worme and the water frog. 
 
 Than they begyn to swere and to stare, 
 
 And be as braynles as a Marshe hare, 
 
 When they have one their habergon of malt, 
 
 They wene to make many a man to halt, 
 
 For they be than so angry and so wraw, 
 
 And yet they will stombile at a straw. 
 
 And every table shall fulfilled be, 
 
 Men of worship and men of honeste ; 
 
 After that they shalbe servyd wele, 
 
 Bute of drynke and mete never a dele. 
 
 And will their be supervysours, 
 
 With officers, as conyng surveyours, 
 
 Bakers, bruers, and buttelers of the best, 
 
 Tene them of brede and drynke ere they rest, 
 
10 COLYN BLOWBOL'S TESTAMENT. 
 
 Till every man have plente and sufficiaunce, 
 
 Of mete and drynk right large abundaunce; 
 
 Som to serve and some for to sew 
 
 Them brede and drynke, as they sit a-raw ; 
 
 And what with gestes and with servauntes eke, 
 
 I trow their shalbe an honeste felowship. 
 
 Sauf first of ale they shall have new bake bonns, 
 
 With stronge ale bruen in fattes and in tonnes, 
 
 Pyng, Drangoll, and the Braget fyne, 
 
 Methe, Mathebru, and Mathelynge, 
 
 Rede wyn, the claret, and the white, 
 
 With Teynt and Alycaunt, in whom I delite ; 
 
 Wyn ryvers and wyn sake also, 
 
 Wyne of Langdoke and of Orliaunce therto, 
 
 Sengle bere, and othir that is dwobile, 
 
 Which causith the brayn of man to trouble ; 
 
 Spruce beer, and the beer of Hambur, 
 
 Whiche makyth oft tymes men to stambur ; 
 
 Malmasyes, Tires, and Rumneys, 
 
 With Caperikis, Campletes, and Osneys, 
 
 Verunge, Cute, and Raspays also, 
 
 Whippett and Pyngmedo, that ben lawyers therto; 
 
 And I will have also wyne de Ryne, 
 
 With new maid Clarye, that is good and fyne, 
 
 Muscadell, Terantyne, and Bastard, 
 
 With Ypocras and Pyment comyng afterwarde. 
 
 And as for mete I will that goo quyte, 
 
 For I had never therin grete dylite, 
 
 So that I my^t have drynke at my will, 
 
 Good ale or wyne my bely for to fille. 
 
 Also I will eke that John Aly, 
 
 And his brother Laurens Sty, 
 
 Be surveyours cheyff at this dynere, 
 
 And serve oute drynkes that ben both brith and 
 
 cleyre, 
 And se that every man have sufficiaunce 
 
COLYN BLOWBOL'S TESTAMENT. 11 
 
 Of all drynkys, plente and abundaunce. 
 
 Also I will that other men ther be 
 
 To serve the people everiche in degree, 
 
 That is to say, Robert Otwey, 
 
 Nicholas Inglond and Robert Horsley, 
 
 And Colin Bloboll and Robert Cure; 
 
 And to gadre in the cuppys grett and smale, 
 
 Their shall be muster William Copyndale, 
 
 And othir such they ben to fwe, 
 
 Theym for to serve and their dishes to sew. 
 
 And to se all thinges truly doone 
 
 After my deth, dwely and right sone, 
 
 I ordeyn to be myn executour 
 
 Of my last will, with a supervisour, 
 
 Aleyn Maltson, to se truly 
 
 My will performyd wele and duly, 
 
 As I have ordeynd here after myn entent, 
 
 By good avicement in my Testament. 
 
 And I will that supervisour bee 
 
 Over hym a man of honeste, 
 
 Sybour Groutehed, a man full discrette, 
 
 Whiche wilbe dronke with myghti wynes swete, 
 
 Thaugh he non drynk but semell ones therto, 
 
 I hold hym mekly therfor to have adoo, 
 
 In suche a mater of so grete a charge. 
 
 And for their labour I reward them large, 
 
 For myn executour shall have xx tl . marke, 
 
 And to my supervisour, for his besy warke, 
 
 And his labour and his diligence, 
 
 He shall have yerely viij. marke for his dispence. 
 
 Thus I Colyn Blowboll, with good avisement, 
 
 Make an end now of my Testament, 
 
 And willyng every man in his degree, 
 
 For me to pay unto the peyte 
 
 Of mighti Bachus, and of myghti Juno, 
 
 When I hens weynd, that I may coin them too ; 
 
12 COLYN BLOWBOL'S TESTAMENT. 
 
 Whiche have ever be right diligent 
 
 To serve them best, with all myn hole entent, 
 
 And so shall I doo unto my lyves ende, 
 
 So pray for me that I may to them wynde, 
 
 Whan Antropus shall twyn a-two the thirde ; 
 
 And or that tyme no man shalbe dede, 
 
 Of the mevyng of my mortall body, 
 
 That I may then entre into their glorie. 
 
 And me remember with your devocion, 
 
 Hertely with all your mencion, 
 
 With som good prayres whan ye upon me thynke, 
 
 Whiche hath ben ever a lover of goode drynke." 
 
 Thow litell quayer, how darst thow shew thy face, 
 Or com yn presence of men of honeste ] 
 Sith thow ard rude and folowist not the trace 
 Of faire langage, nor haiste no bewte ; 
 Wherefore of wysedom thus I councell the, 
 To draw the bake fer out of their sight, 
 Lest thow be had in reproef and dispite ! 
 
 Here endyth Colyn Blobollys Testament. 
 
THE 
 
 DEBATE OF THE CARPENTER'S TOOLS, 
 
 [From MS. Ashmol. 61, fol. 23-26.] 
 
 The shype ax seyd unto the wryght, 
 " Mete and drynke I schall the plyght, 
 Clene hose and clene schone, 
 Gete them wer as ever thou kane ; 
 Bot fore all that ever thou kane, 
 Thall (1) never be thryfty man, 
 Ne none that longes the craft unto, 
 Fore no thyng that thou kane do." 
 " Wherefore," seyd the belte, 
 " With grete strokes I schalle hym pelte; 
 My mayster schall full welle thene, 
 Both to clothe [and] fede his men." 
 " 3e, 36," seyd the twybylle, 
 " Thou spekes ever ageyne skylle. 
 I-wys, i-wys, it wylle not bene, 
 Ne never I thinke that he wylle thene." 
 " 3is, 313," seyd the wymbylle, 
 " I ame als rounde as a thymbyll; 
 My maysters werke I wylle remembyre, 
 I schall crepe fast into the tymbyre, 
 And help my mayster within a stounde 
 To store his cofere with xx. pounde." 
 " 3e, 36," seyd tho compas, 
 " Thou arte a fole in that case, 
 For thou spekes without vysment, 
 Therefore thou getyst not thi entent ; 
 Wyte thou wele it schall be so, 
 That lyghtly cum schall lyghtly go : 
 And thou gete more than other fy ve, 
 c 
 
14 
 
 THE DEBATE OF 
 
 3it schall thi mayster never thryve." 
 
 The groping-iren than spake he, 
 
 " Compas, who hath grevyd the ? 
 
 My mayster ^it may thryve fulle wele, 
 
 How he schall I wylle the telle ; 
 
 I ame his servant trew and gode, 
 
 I suere the, compas, by the Rode, 
 
 Wyrke I schalle bothe nyght and dey, 
 
 To gete hym gode I schall assey." 
 
 " 3e, 36," seyd the saw, 
 
 " It is bote host that thou doyst blow, 
 
 Fore thofe thou wyrke bothe dey [and] nyght, 
 
 He wyll not the, I sey the ryght ; 
 
 He wones to ny^e the ale-wyffe, 
 
 And he thouht ever fore to thryfFe." 
 
 Than seyd the whetstone, 
 
 " Thoff my mayster thryft ba gone, 
 
 I schall hym helpe within this ^ere 
 
 To gete hym xx. u merke clere ; 
 
 Hys axes schall I make fulle scharpe, 
 
 That thei may ly^htly do ther werke ; 
 
 To make my master a ryche man 
 
 I schall asey, if that I canne." 
 
 To hyrn than seyd the adys, 
 
 And seyd, " $e, ser, god glades, 
 
 To speke of thryfft it wyll not be, 
 
 Ne never I thinke that he schall the, 
 
 Fore he wyll drvnke more on a dey 
 
 Than thou cane lyghtly arne in twey ; 
 
 Therefore thi tonge I rede thou hold, 
 
 And speke no more no wordes so bold." 
 
 To the adys than seyd the fyle, 
 
 " Thou schuldes not thi mayster revyle, 
 
 Fore thoff he be unhappy, 
 
 3it fore his thryft thou schuldes se ; 
 
 Fore I thinke or tomorow at none 
 
 To arne my mayster a pay re of schone ; 
 
THE CARPENTER'S TOOLS. 15 
 
 Fore I schalle rube, with all my myght, 
 
 My mayster tolys for to dyght, 
 
 So that, within a lytell space, 
 
 My mayster puree I schall encrece." 
 
 Than seyd the chesyll, 
 
 " And ever he thry ve, he berys hym wele ; 
 
 Fore tho thou rube to thi hede ake, 
 
 His thryfte fro hym it wyll be take ; 
 
 Fore he loves gode ale so wele, 
 
 That he therfore his hod wyll selle ; 
 
 Fore some dey he wyll vij.d drynke : 
 
 How he schall thryve I canne not thinke." 
 
 " 3e, 36," seyd the lyne and the chalke, 
 
 " My mayster is lyke to many folke ; 
 
 Tho he lufe ale never so wele, 
 
 To thry v and the I schall hym telle ; 
 
 I schall merke well upone the wode, 
 
 And kepe his mesures trew and gode, 
 
 And so, by my mesures all, 
 
 To the full wele my mayster schall." 
 
 Than bespake the prykyng-knyfe, 
 
 " He duellys to ny^e the ale-wyfe ; 
 
 Sche makes oft tyme his purse full thynne, 
 
 No peny some tyme sche levys therm : 
 
 Tho thou gete more than other thre, 
 
 Thryfty man he canne not be." 
 
 " 3e, 36," seyd the persore, 
 
 " That at I sey it shall be sure ; 
 
 Whi chyd 36 iche one with other 1 
 
 Wote 30 wele I ame 3our brother ! 
 
 Therefore none contrary me, 
 
 Fore as I sey so schall it be : 
 
 My mayster 3it schall be full ryche ; 
 
 Als fere as I may stret and streche, 
 
 I wyll helpe with all my myght, 
 
 Both by dey and by nyght, 
 
 Fast to mime into the wode, 
 
16 
 
 THE DEBATE OF 
 
 And byte I schall with moth full gode, 
 
 And thus I trowe be my crowne, 
 
 To make hym schyreff of the toune." 
 
 " Soft, ser, " seyd the skantyl^on, 
 
 " I trow $our thryft be wele ny done ; 
 
 Ever to crewyll thou arte in word, 
 
 And $et thou arte not worth a tord : 
 
 Fore all the gode that thou gete myght, 
 
 He wyll spend it on a nyght. " 
 
 Than the crow byganne to speke, 
 
 Fore-why is herte was lyke to breke 
 
 To here his brother so revyld, 
 
 And seyd, " thou spekes lyke a chyld ! 
 
 Tho my mayster spend never so faste, 
 
 I-nou^e he schall have at the laste, 
 
 May forteyn as mych as ever shall he, 
 
 That drynke never peny to that he Ay^e." 
 
 " 3e, 30," seyd the rewle, 
 
 " I feyth thou arte bot a fole, 
 
 Fore and he dy^e and have ryght nought, 
 
 Who trowys thou wyll gyfe hym owght 1 
 
 Thus schall he ly upone the grownd, 
 
 And be beryed lyke an hund : 
 
 Fore and a man have ought before, 
 
 When he has nede it is gode store. " 
 
 " What, ser reule," seyd the pleyn, 
 
 " Another resone I wyll the seyne ; 
 
 ThofF my mayster have no happe, 
 
 3it thi mayster thou schudyst not lake; 
 
 Fore $it a mene I schall se, 
 
 That my mayster schall wele the : 
 
 I schalle hym helpe, both dey and nyght, 
 
 To gete hym gode with all my myght ; 
 
 I schalle clens on every syde 
 
 To helpe my mayster in his pride." 
 
 The brode ax seyd withouten mysse, 
 
 He seyd, " the pleyn my brother is ; 
 
 
THE CARPENTERS TOOLS. 
 
 We two schall clence and make full pleyne, 
 
 That no man schall us geyne-seyne, 
 
 And gete oure mayster in a ^eie 
 
 More sylver than a man may bere." 
 
 " 3e, 30," seyd the twyvete, 
 
 " Thryft I trow be fro 3our fette, 
 
 To kepe my mayster in his pride ; 
 
 In the centre 36 canne not byde, 
 
 Without 30 stele and be thef'ys, 
 
 And put meny mene to greffys ; 
 
 Fore he wylle drynke more in a houro 
 
 Than two men may gete in fowre. 
 
 When 36 have wro^ht alle that 30 canne, 
 
 3it schalle he never be thryfty mane." 
 
 Than be-spake the polyff, 
 
 With gret strong wordes and styffe, 
 
 " How, ser twyvel, me thinke 3ou grevyd ! 
 
 What devylle who hath 3ou thus mevyd ? 
 
 Thof he spend more in a 3ere 
 
 Off gold and sylver than thou may bere, 
 
 I schall hym helpe with all my myght ; 
 
 I trow to make hym 3et a knyght ! " 
 
 " What, ser," seyd the wyndas rewle, 
 
 " Me thynke thou arte bot a fole, 
 
 Fore thou spekes oute of sesone, 
 
 He may not the therfore by resone ; 
 
 A carpenter to be a knyght, 
 
 That was ever ageyne ryght ; 
 
 Therefore I schall telle the a saw, 
 
 Who so wold be hy3e he schall be law." 
 
 " 3e," than seyd the rewle-stone, 
 
 " Mayster hath many fone ; 
 
 And 30 wold helpe at his nede, 
 
 My mayster schuld the better spede, 
 
 Bot whatsoever 30 brage our boste, 
 
 My mayster 3et shall reule the roste ; 
 
 Fore as I ame a trew mane, 
 
 17 
 
18 THE DEBATE OF 
 
 I schallc liym helpe all that I canne." 
 
 The gowge seyd, " The devyles dyrte 
 
 Fore anything that thou canne wyrke ! 
 
 Fore all that ever thou canne do, 
 
 It is not worthe an old scho ! 
 
 Thow hast be prentys this vij. ^ere, 
 
 And 3it thy crafte is for to lere ; 
 
 And thou couthe wyrke als wele as he, 
 
 3et schall thi mayster never the." 
 
 " Softe, ser," seyd the gabulle-rope, 
 
 " Methinke gode ale is in $our tope, 
 
 Fore thou spekes as thou wold fyght, 
 
 Thereto and thou hade any myght ; 
 
 I schall telle the another tale, 
 
 My mayster how I schall aveyle ; 
 
 Hayle and pulle I schall fulle faste 
 
 To reyse housys, whyle I may laste, 
 
 And so, within a lytell throw, 
 
 My mayster gode schall not be know." 
 
 Than spake the wryghtes wyfe, 
 
 " Nother of $ou schall never thryfe, 
 
 Nother the mayster, ne the manne, 
 
 Fore nothinge that 36 do canne, 
 
 Fore 36 wyll spend in a moneth 
 
 More gode than iij. men hath." 
 
 The squyre seyd, " what sey 36, dame I 
 
 3e schuld not speke my mayster schame ! " 
 
 " Squyre, I have non other cause, 
 
 I suere the by Seynt Eustase ! 
 
 Fore alle the 3erne that I may spynne, 
 
 To spend at ale he thinkes no synne ! 
 
 He wylle spend more in an owre, 
 
 Than thou and I canne gete in fowre ! " 
 
 " 3it me think e 36 be to blame 
 
 To gyffe my mayster syche a name, 
 
 Fore thoff he spend more than 36 have, 
 
 3it his worschype 30 schuld save." 
 
 
THE CARPENTER'S TOOLS. 19 
 
 " Mary I schrew hym and the to, 
 
 And alle them that so canne do ! 
 
 Fore hys servaunt I trow thou be, 
 
 There thou schalle never the ; 
 
 Fore and thou lerne that craft at hym, 
 
 Thy thryft I trow schall be fulle thine ! " 
 
 The draught-nayle than spake he, 
 
 And seyd, " Arme, that is no le, 
 
 3e hafe the maner of this frekes, 
 
 That thus fore my mayster spekes ; 
 
 Bot lythe to me a lytelle space, 
 
 I schall $ow telle all the case 
 
 How that they wyrke fore ther gode, 
 
 I wylle not lye be the rode ! 
 
 When thei have wroght an oure ore two, 
 
 Anone to the ale thei wylle go, 
 
 And drinke ther whyle thei may dre, 
 
 Thou to me and I to the" 
 
 And seys the ax schall pay fore this, 
 
 Therefore the cope ons I wylle kys ; 
 
 And when thei comme to werke ageyne, 
 
 The belte to hys mayster wyll seyne, 
 
 " Mayster, wyrke no oute off resone, 
 
 The dey is vary long of seson ; 
 
 Smale strokes late us hake, 
 
 And sumtyme late us es oure bake ; 
 
 The wymbulle spekes lyke a syre, 
 
 Sevyne pens off a dey is smale hyre 
 
 Fore wryghtes that wyrke so faste, 
 
 And in owre werke have grete haste." 
 
 The groping iren says full sone, 
 
 " Mayster, wylle 36 wele done, 
 
 Late us not wyrke to we suete, 
 
 Fore cachyng of over gret hete. 
 
 For we may after cold to take, 
 
 Than on stroke may we no hake. 
 
 Than be-spake the whetstone, 
 
20 THE DEBATE OF, &C. 
 
 And seyd, Mayster, we wylle go home, 
 
 Fore fast it draw unto the nyght, 
 
 Our soper by this I wote is dyght ; 
 
 The lyne and stone, the persere and fyle, 
 
 Seys that is a gode counesylle; 
 
 The crow, the pleyn, and the squyre, 
 
 Seys we have arnyd wele our hyre ; 
 
 And thus with fraudes and falsyd, 
 
 Is many trew man desey vid ; 
 
 Therefore by ought that I canne se, 
 
 They schall never thry ve ne the ; 
 
 Therefore the craft I wylle go froo, 
 
 And to another wylle I goo." 
 
 Then ansuered the wyfe in hye, 
 
 " And I myght so wold I, 
 
 Bot I ame to hym bounde so faste, 
 
 That of my halter I may not caste ; 
 
 Therefore the preste that bounde me prentys, 
 
 He schall treuly have my curse, 
 
 And ever schall have to that I dy^e, 
 
 In what centre that ever he be !" 
 
 Therefore, wry3tes, take hede of this, 
 
 That :$e may mend that is amysse, 
 
 And treuly that 36 do ^our labore, 
 
 Fore that wylle be to ^our honour ; 
 
 And greve 3ou nothing at this song, 
 
 Bot ever make mery yourselve amonge ! 
 
 Ne 3et at hym that it dud make, 
 
 Ne envy at hym 36 take, 
 
 Ne none of 3ou do hym blame, 
 
 Fore-why the craft hath do hym schame, 
 
 By mo weys than two ore thre. 
 
 Thus seys the boke serteynlye, 
 
 God, that is both gode and hend, 
 
 GyfF 3ou grace that 36 may mend, 
 
 And bryng us alle unto his blysse, 
 
 That never fro us schall mysse ! 
 
THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 
 
 [From MS. Bib. Publ. Cantab. Ff. ii. 38.] 
 
 Here foloweth a gode mater of the marchand and 
 hys sone. 
 
 Lystenyth, ye godely gentylmen, and all that ben 
 
 hereyn, 
 Of a ryche franklyn of Ynglond a song y wyll 
 
 begyn ; 
 Many yewels and grete tresure, bothe of sylver 
 
 and golde, 
 Hors and nete he had grete plente, and many a 
 
 shyp in folde, 
 
 He had gold and sylver y-nogh leyde up in hys cofur, 
 Yf hys ne^bur had never so grete nede, he wold 
 
 hym none profur ; 
 He was a grete tenement man, and ryche of londe 
 
 and lede, 
 3yt wolde he never in all hys lyfe do no maner 
 
 almesdede ; 
 Yf ony pore man came to hys place, eyther erly or 
 
 late, 
 He schuld have neyther mete nor drynke, tho$ he 
 
 dyed ther ate. 
 Yf hys pore neghbur had nede to sylver, he wold 
 
 hym non lenne, 
 
 But yf he grauntyd to pay hym ageyn for ix. s. x. 
 By a gode oblygacion bounde, in cas he fay lyd hys 
 
 day, 
 He schulde dowbyll hyt every peny, he shuld not 
 
 sey hym nay ; 
 He wold ellys prison them full sore, and do them 
 
 mekyl care, 
 
22 
 
 THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 
 
 He had never no compascion of hys pore ne^burs 
 
 fare. 
 And he nv^t fynde hys ne3burs beste, eyther in 
 
 corne or grasse, 
 He my^t as wele gyf hym hys beste, as pay for hys 
 
 trespas ; 
 For and a beste come in hys londe, berley, pese, 
 
 or whete, 
 He wolde have a quarter of corne, thowe the beste 
 
 toke but oon bytt. 
 Yf any man boght of hys chaffere, yn case he had 
 
 nede to borowe, 
 He schulde pay the derrer for the loone, thus dydd 
 
 he moche sorowe ! 
 Hym selfe wolde pay no man for dett, neythyr for 
 
 olde ne newe, 
 But what he caght full faste he helde, soch balys 
 
 dudd he brewe. 
 Thys ryche man he had a wyfe, a semely woman 
 
 and a feyre, 
 God sende a chylde betwene them two, the whych 
 
 schulde be ther heyre : 
 Thys chylde was borne to Holy Churche, with 
 
 mekyll yoye and game, 
 There was he crystenyd veryly, and callyd Wyl- 
 
 lyam hys name. 
 In tyme of age he wente to scole, that curtes ys 
 
 and hende, 
 He cowde hys gramer wonder wele, hys felows 
 
 cowde hym not amende ; 
 He was bothe meke and mylde, as a gode chylde 
 
 owyth to bee ; 
 Whan he was comen to hys age, a godely man 
 
 was hee, 
 And welbelovyd wyth yonge ond olde, he was full 
 
 gentyll of dede, 
 
THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 23 
 
 Ther was not oon man in all thys londe that bare a 
 
 bettyr brede. 
 Hys fadur bethoght hym on a day, these wordys to 
 
 hym seyde hee, 
 " Come hedur," he seyde, " Wyllyam, my sone, 
 
 and here what y sey thee ; 
 Thou canste on boke, my sone Wyllyam, and 
 
 gramer undurstonde, 
 Y have ordeygnyd for thy levyng, tenement, 
 
 howse and londe ; 
 Thou schalt be an apersey, my sone, in mylys ij. 
 
 or thre, 
 Y wolde thou had some fayre syens to amende 
 
 wyth thy degree ; 
 I wolde thou were a man of lawe, to holde togedur 
 
 my londe, 
 Thou schalt be pletyd with, when y am gon, full 
 
 wele y undurstonde." 
 " A man of lawe," seyde Wyllyam, " that wyll 
 
 y nevyr bee ! 
 Y wolde lerne of marchandyse to passe ovyr the 
 
 see ! " 
 " Yf thou be a marchand," my sone Wyllyam, 
 
 " the sothe y can telle the, 
 I have seyn men bothe ryse and falle, hyt ys but 
 
 caswelte ! 
 Y wolde have the a man of lawe, thys ys the 
 
 schorte and longe, 
 Then mayste thou kepe that y leve the, whedyr 
 
 hyt be ry^t or wronge." 
 " Nay, gode fadur," seyde Wyllyam, " be yowre 
 
 bettur avyse, 
 
 Helpe y had a gode maystyr to teche me mar- 
 chandyse." 
 Then was Wyllyam prentys made to lerne in 
 
 marchaundyse ; 
 
24 THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 
 
 Hys fadur levyd, as he was wonte, in synne and 
 
 covetyse ; 
 So levyd he forthe many a yere, extorcyon he 
 
 wolde not leve, 
 He endytyd many a man hys pore neghburs evyr 
 
 to greve ; 
 He lovyd full ylle to pay hys tythe, owthyr in 
 
 mony or come, 
 He thoght hymselfe rychest of all, of all other men 
 
 had he scorne. 
 
 He lovyd wele, as y yow say, prestys for to endyte. 
 Yf he myght gete a mannys gode, he thoght hym 
 
 hyin nevyr to qwyte. 
 Thus he drofe forthe hys lyfe dayes wyth mekyll 
 
 trecherye, 
 Tyll sekenesse caght hym sodenly, then wyste he 
 
 wele to dye ; 
 He callyd to hym the gentylmen, the beste in that 
 
 cuntre, 
 He prayed them, wyth all hys herte, hys executurs 
 
 for to bee. 
 When they come in hys presence, they seyde hym 
 
 schortly " nay," 
 For they knewe full wele hys lyfe, how he had 
 
 levyd many a day ; 
 Then he preyed other gode yomen, and his neygh- 
 
 burs alsoo, 
 They wolde hys executurs byn, and they seyde 
 
 schortly " noo," 
 For all the cuntrey knewe full wele, and hyt wele 
 
 undurstode, 
 That wyth false extorcion he had geton moche of 
 
 hys gode. 
 Then thys frankleyn hym be-thoght, and sente 
 
 aftur Wyllyam hys sone; 
 And as soone as evyr he came, he knelyd, as he 
 
 schulde done, 
 
THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 25 
 
 Upon the grownde before hys fadur, and askyd hys 
 
 benysone. 
 " Thou schalt hyt have, my dere sone, fro the fote 
 
 up to the crowne; 
 Sone, why that y for the sende, thys ys the cawse 
 
 why, 
 Thou schalte be myn executur, for y am lyke to 
 
 dye." 
 " Forsothe, fadur, that ys not beste, take ryche men 
 
 of thys cuntre, 
 That may all yowre wylle performe ; fadur, take 
 
 this counsell of me." 
 " Sone, all they have seyde me nay, and utturly 
 
 hyt refusydd !" 
 " In feyth, fadur, so wyll y, and therfore holdyth 
 
 me excusydd." 
 " I charge the, sone, in Crystys name, thou take on 
 
 the thys dede !" 
 " On a covenaunt, fadur, y wyll, and ellys not, so 
 
 God me spede ! 
 And ye wyll do, as y yow say, and me youre 
 
 trowthe plyght, 
 That ye wyll come and speke with me upon the 
 
 thrydd nyght." 
 Thys ryche man hys testament made, and schrofe 
 
 hym of hys synne, 
 3yt wolde he no man restore for no crafte that 
 
 myght byn, 
 But all he gaf Wyllyam hys sone, to do ryght as 
 
 he wolde. 
 Then was he dedd and leyde in clay, and dolvyn 
 
 undur the molde ; 
 When hyt come to the thrydd nyght, that he 
 
 schulde come ageyn, 
 Then was he ledd with fendys blake, that wroght 
 
 hym mooche payne, 
 D 
 
26 THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 
 
 Wyth vij. yron cheynys stronge they ledd hym on 
 
 every syde, 
 They bete on hym, wyth brennyng brondys,woundys 
 
 large and wyde. 
 He was brennyng in flame of fyre, for peyne he 
 
 myght not byde, 
 The erthe tremelyd there Wyllyam stode, so dyd 
 
 the trees stode hym besyde. 
 When Wyllyam sawe that delefull syght, he knelyd 
 
 downe upon hys knee, 
 He preyed to Jhesu he schulde hym save, and to 
 
 hys modur mylde Mare, 
 " In the name of God omnypotente, spyryt, y con- 
 
 yure thee, 
 That thou do me no harme, but abyde here stylle 
 
 and speke wyth mee !" 
 " Wyllyam, sone, y am thy fadur, in peyne as thou 
 
 may see, 
 Thus schall y go to domesday, hyt wyll none othyr 
 
 bee, 
 And at the day of jugement y schall have doubull 
 
 peyne, 
 And caste into the pytt of helle and nevyr come 
 
 owt ageyne." 
 " I charge yow, fadur," seyde Wyllyam, " in the 
 
 name of God almyght, 
 
 That ye apere to me ageyne thys tyme fourtenyght!" 
 The goste toke up a gresely grone, with fendys 
 
 awey he glode ; 
 Then Wyllyam wente to hys maystyr, no lenger 
 
 he abode. 
 Here ys a fytt of thys matere; the bettur ys be- 
 
 hynde, 
 Ye schall here how gode Wyllyam to hys fadur 
 
 was full kynde. 
 
 When Wyllyam come before hys maystyr, he 
 knelyd on hys knee ; 
 
THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 27 
 
 The marchande seyde, "Wyllyam, my chylde, 
 
 what tydyngys now with thee ?" 
 " Trewly, maystyr," seyde Wyllyam, " y am come 
 
 to yow now 
 To selle yow my londys all, they falle full wele for 
 
 yow !" 
 " Thou schalt not selle thy gode, Wyllyam, be the 
 
 counsell of me, 
 Men wyll sey that here therof that thou art nevyr 
 
 lyke to the ; 
 All thys cuntre wyll speke therof bothe woman, 
 
 chylde and man, 
 
 For to selle so sone awey all that thy fadur wan." 
 " Gentyl maystyr, sey ye not so, for all my londe 
 
 hyt schall be yowrys, 
 Y wyll selle hyt yow frely, bothe townys, hallys, 
 
 and bo wry s; 
 Y muste nedys selle hyt, maystyr, trewly wyth- 
 
 owtyn any lees, 
 I have levyr that ye have hyt, then ony other man 
 
 Y-wys." 
 
 ' Y wyll not bye hyt certenly, nor no gode of thyn, 
 Y refuse hyt utturly, for hyt schall nevyr be myn." 
 " I am sory, therfore," seyde Wyllyam, " maystyr, 
 
 that ye wyll hyt not have ; 
 Y muste nedys selle hyt to some othyr man, ryght 
 
 as God me save !" 
 " Syn thou wylte nedys selle hyt," seyde the mar- 
 
 chand, " what schall y pay therfore?" 
 "A thousande marke, maystyr, yf ye wyll ; y wyll 
 
 aske yow no more." 
 " Syn thou wylt nedys selle hyt," seyde the mar- 
 
 chand, " thou schalt have money rounde, 
 Thou schalt have more then thyn askyng, thou 
 
 schalt have a thousand pounde." 
 " Fare well now, my dere maystyr, and God hyt 
 
 yow foqylde, 
 
28 
 
 THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 
 
 Y schall be hastely at yow ageyn with the mvght 
 
 of Mary mylde ! " 
 Then Wyllyam payde hys fadur dettys, as far as 
 
 he myght here; 
 To synge for hys fadyr soule he hyred bothe preste 
 
 and frere, 
 He delyd and dydd grete almesdede to many a 
 
 nedefull swayne, 
 There as hys fadur had done pore men wronge, he 
 
 restoryd hyt ageyn. 
 The xiiij. nyght was come to ende, the goste muste 
 
 pere ageyne, 
 Fendys of helle they haryed hym thedur, and 
 
 wroght hym mekyll peyne ; 
 
 He apperyd full orybully, but not as he dud before, 
 Hys flamyng fyre was awey, but all in derkenes 
 
 was he thore ; 
 
 He was black as any pyche and lothely on to loke, 
 All for-faren wyth the fyre stynk, and all of smoke. 
 "Alias, gode fadur," seyde Wyllyam, " be ye not 
 
 amendyd ^yt ? 
 To see yow come in thys degre, nere-hande y lese 
 
 my wytt ; 
 Y have amendyd all youre mys, as far as y cowde 
 
 knowe, 
 There on have y spendyd all youre gode and myn, 
 
 ye may me trowe." 
 " All thys knowe y not, my sone, forsothe asy telle 
 
 thee, 
 All my gode hyt was to lytyll to make amendys for 
 
 mee." 
 " Fadur, why appere ye thus in black, ar not yowre 
 
 synnys foryevyn 1" 
 " Sone, y am lyke to be dampnyd, but yf y have 
 
 helpe thyn." 
 * ' Fadur, full fayne y wolde yow helpe, with all my 
 
 herte and myght ; 
 
THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 29 
 
 To put myselfe to begge my mete, bothe be day 
 
 and nyght." 
 " Sone, y lovyd nevyr to paye my tythe, nor 
 
 ofFryng in Holy Chyrche ; 
 Therfore, sone, these fendys blake me moche wo 
 
 they wyrche !" 
 "Alias ! fadur, full wo ys me, that evyr y schulde 
 
 abyde thys day, 
 To see yow in thys penaunce stronge, and all youre 
 
 gode ys delte away. 
 But Jhesu, Lord Almyghty kyng, as thou madyst 
 
 me of noght! 
 And swete Lady, to the y pray, to have my fadur 
 
 in thy thoght ! 
 Moste specyall moder in vyrgynyte, beseche thy 
 
 sone so precyous, 
 That he on my fadur have mercy, that sufferyth 
 
 grete dolourys ! 
 And all the seyntys that ben in hevyn, specially to 
 
 yow y pray, 
 For my fadur to be medyatour, to helpe hym yf ye 
 
 may! 
 God graunte -me grace to do that thynge that may 
 
 turne hys soule to hele, 
 And all the holy felaschypp of hevyn youre preyers 
 
 that he may fele ; 
 Fadur, y schall do my parte to helpe yow owt of 
 
 peyne, 
 Yf y schulde leye my selfe to wedd or that ye come 
 
 ageyne." 
 " Y charge yow, fadur," seyde Wyllyam, " in ver- 
 
 tue of the Trynyte ! 
 Thys day vij. nyght that ye come ageyn, and speke 
 
 ryght here wythe me ! 
 When thys grysly gost was goon, Wyllyam thoght 
 
 in hys mode 
 
30 
 
 THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 
 
 Hys fadur had broght hym up wyth falsely getyn 
 
 gode ; 
 He wente unto hys may sty r ageyne, and knelyd 
 
 upon hys knee, 
 "Welcome, Wyllyam," seyde the marchand, 
 
 " and dere welcome to mee ! " 
 " Y am corny n to yow," seyde Wyllyam, " y pray 
 
 yow that y may spede, 
 Ye muste helpe me wyth some gode, y had nevyr 
 
 so moche nede ! " 
 " Y holde the noght," seyde the marchand, " thou 
 
 arte nevyr lyke to thee, 
 Thou haddest a thousand pounde not longe sythen 
 
 payde of mee ; 
 Thou haste pleyed hyt at the dyse, unthryfty 
 
 felaws amonge ; 
 Hyt were almes/' seyde the marchand, " on 
 
 galowes the to honge, 
 Thou wylt nevyr thry ve, y wott hyt wele, so sone 
 
 to lose thy gode, 
 Trewly of me thou getyst no more, y holde the 
 
 worse then wode ! " 
 " Now gentyll maystyr, for seynt chary te, y 
 
 pray yow sey not soo, 
 Hyt ys not loste nor played at the dyse, but put 
 
 gode use untoo ; 
 And therfore, maystyr, for Goddys love, helpe me 
 
 now, y yow beseche, 
 Y had nevyr so grete nede, ye may knowe be my 
 
 speche ! " 
 11 How woldest thou have more money, thou haste 
 
 nothyng to selle ] " 
 " 3ys, gode maystyr," seyde Wyllyam, "lystenyth, 
 
 y wyll yow telle ! 
 Y wyll selle yow myn own body to serve yow all 
 
 mylyfe!"" 
 
THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 31 
 
 " What wylt thou have 1 " seyde the marchand, 
 
 " telle me wythowten stryfe." 
 " An c. marke," seyde Wyllyam, " that muste y 
 
 have thys nyght, 
 And y wyll serve yow all my lyfe, to yow my 
 
 trowth y plyght ! " 
 An c. marke the marchand tolde, and toke hyt 
 
 Wyllyam anon ; 
 Wyllyam thanked hym curtesly, and homward 
 
 can he gon. 
 Than seyde the marchand to hys wyfe, that 
 
 rychely was cladd, 
 " Y am sekur of a goode servand, therof y am 
 
 full gladd, 
 For now have y Wyllyams trowth, that was my 
 
 gode prentys, 
 For the terme of all hys lyfe, to do me trewe 
 
 servyse." 
 " Therof am y gladd," seyde hys wyfe, " thys 
 
 tydynges lykyth me wele, 
 Wyllyam ys bothe curtes and hende, and trewe 
 
 as any stele." 
 Then Wyllyam wente into the cuntre, in every 
 
 merket dydd he crye, 
 To whosoevyr hys fadur oght money that he wolde 
 
 hyt paye sekyrlye ; 
 Yf any man he had trespaste to, or done hym 
 
 wronge trewly, 
 Come to Wyllyam hys sone, and he wyll restore 
 
 every penye. 
 He payed hys tythys and hys offryngys fo hym 
 
 to holy chyrche, 
 He made hym evyn with every man, as far as he 
 
 cowde wyrche ; 
 There he be-refte pore man ther gode, and wolde 
 
 them nevyr restore, 
 
32 THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 
 
 Hys sone restored them ageyne and amendys 
 
 therfore. 
 And evyr as he money payde, he preyed them 
 
 specyally 
 To pray for hys fadyrs soule, and have hym in 
 
 ther memorye. 
 Thus Wyllyam payde for hys fadur, as chylde 
 
 that was gode, 
 
 That gode had he no more, but ryght as he in stode. 
 " Now tryste y to God," seyde Wyllyam, " for 
 
 my fadur ys owt of payne, 
 For as ferre as y can wyt, y have contentyd every 
 
 man ; 
 
 Y thanke God that y was borne that y abode thys day, 
 My fadur ys evyn wyth all the worlde, now dar y 
 
 savely say." 
 As Wyllyam walkyd thorow a towne, in myddys 
 
 of the strete, 
 An olde man, wyth crochys twayne, sone there 
 
 can he mete ; 
 " God save yow, my maystyr Wyllyam," seyde 
 
 the pore man then, 
 Y have soght yow all thys day, y am gladd now 
 
 that y yow kenne ; 
 Youre fadur oght me why 11 he levyd of mony a 
 
 curtesye, 
 Now am y comyn to yow therfore, as ye have 
 
 made yowre crye." 
 " Alias ! alias ! " seyde Wyllyam, " that ye so 
 
 longe have byn, 
 All my money ys now goon, y have ryght noght, 
 
 y wene ! 
 What ys the dette ? " seyde Wyllyam, " telle 
 
 me in thys strete." 
 " Forsothe," seyde the pore man tho, " but for 
 
 halfe a quarter of whete." 
 
THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 33 
 
 " Y am sory," seyde Wyllyam, " that y have 
 
 noght to paye, 
 But yf ye wyll have my clothyng, ye schall have 
 
 hyt to day ; 
 But my clothys ar not worthe, that y am sory 
 
 therfore ; 
 The remnaunt y pray yow to forgyf for now and 
 
 evyrmore." 
 " Y wyll gladly," seyde the pore man, " God for- 
 
 hys soule ! " 
 rod he thanke yow," seyde Wyllyam, " and 
 
 the apostyll Poule ! 
 Y prey yow feythfully, " seyde Wyllyam, 
 
 " pray for my fadur dere." 
 " Y wyll gladly," seyde the pore man, " hertely 
 
 y forgyf hym here ! " 
 " God he thanke yow," seyde Wyllyam, " for 
 
 youre gode herty chere ; 
 Y pray to God that youre dwellyng in hevyn, hyt 
 
 muste be there." 
 Wyllyam hymselfe allone ryght evyn abowte 
 
 mydnyght, 
 He herde a voyce of aungels songe, and all the 
 
 worlde was lyght ; 
 He apperydd in grete gladnesse, as bryght as any 
 
 sonne, 
 All the yoye that myght be hadd thedyr with hym 
 
 come ; 
 Ther were aungels withowten nowmbur, that come 
 
 downe fro hevyn, 
 Wyth moche myrthe and melodye, forsothe as y 
 
 yow nevyn. 
 When Wyllyam sawe that ryall syght, in herte 
 
 he was full blythe : 
 " How stondyth hyt, fadur, wyth yow now 1 y pray 
 
 yow telle me swythe." 
 
34 
 
 THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 
 
 " Sone, all the gode thou dalte for me, hyt vaylyd 
 
 me nevyr a dele ; 
 For all that was falsely getyn, and that fonde y 
 
 full wele : 
 Tyll that thou thy selfe solde, y was nevyr lowsyd 
 
 of peyne, 
 For a ferthyng of that dydd me more gode then 
 
 dyd all myne certeyne ; 
 The syllyng of thyn owne body hath broght me 
 
 clene fro bale, 
 For thou had no more gode but thy body, hyt was a 
 
 gracyous sale ! 
 Thou haste me savydd and broght to blys fro 
 
 endeles peyne and woo, 
 Y blesse the tyme that y the gate, and the where 
 
 so thou goo ! " 
 " Y am full gladd, fadur, therof, that evyr y dydd 
 
 that dede ! " 
 " Sonne, leve forthe as thou haste done, and hevyn 
 
 schall be thy mede ; 
 And y schall pray to God in hevyn that thou may 
 
 come to me, 
 For y am safe and go to blys, thou may bothe here 
 
 and see ! " 
 Thus hys fadur yede hym fro full streyght unto 
 
 the blysse, 
 And Wyllyam yede to hys maystyr to do forthe 
 
 hys servyse. 
 When hys maystyr sawe hym come in hys schurte 
 
 allone, 
 " Wyllyam," he seyde, " how ys hyt with the 1 thow 
 
 arte a rewfull grome ; 
 Hyt were almes," seyde the marchand, " in preson 
 
 the to caste, 
 For moche gode haste thou loste and broght unto 
 
 waste ; 
 
THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 35 
 
 Y had thoght to have made the a man, y pray God 
 
 to gyf the care, 
 Y wyll no more tryste to the to go wyth my 
 
 chaffare." 
 "Maystyr, be ye not dysplesyd, hyt ys not as ye 
 
 wene." 
 " Telle me then how hyt ys, and bringe me owt of 
 
 teene." 
 He tolde hys may sty r all the case for hys fadur 
 
 how he had done ; 
 The marchand blessyd hym therfore he was a gra- 
 
 cyous sone : 
 " He may blesse the tyme that thou was borne, to 
 
 hym, thou was so kynde, 
 A man may seke now all Ynglonde or soche a 
 
 frende he fynde ; 
 Wyllyam, y have a doghtyr feyre, and sche schall 
 
 be thy wyfe, 
 Y pray to God that ye may bothe wyth yoye lede 
 
 to-gedur yowre lyfe : 
 
 All thy fadyr londys trewly now gyf y the ageyne, 
 And thou schalt have all myn also, when y am 
 
 dedd, certeyne." 
 The maryage of them ij. ys made and weddyd byn 
 
 in fere, 
 They acordydd evyr so wele to-gedyr, hyt was 
 
 grete yoye to here : 
 The marchand aftyr in a whyle grete sekenes can 
 
 hym take, 
 Then sende he for Wyllyam hys sone hys executur 
 
 hym to make. 
 When Wyllyam come before hys fadur, he was 
 
 full dere welcome, 
 The marchand then to Wyllyam seyde and tolde 
 
 hym all and some, 
 " Owt of thys worlde, sone, y muste passe, as 
 
 Goddys wylle hyt ys, 
 
36 THE MERCHANT AND HIS SON. 
 
 And all my goodys frely y gyf the wyth yoye and 
 
 and blysse, 
 
 To dyspose for my soule, as hyt beste lykyth the, 
 And as thou woldyst y dyd for the, y pray the do 
 
 for me ! " 
 " Maystyr, hyt schall be done wyth all my herte 
 
 and myght ! " 
 The marchand ^alde up hys goste, and yede to 
 
 God full ryght. 
 Wyllyam hyred for hys maystyr prestys to rede 
 
 and synge, 
 To many a pore man gaf he gode and delyd many 
 
 a schyllyng ; 
 He was a trewe executur, he performyd all hys 
 
 maystyrs wylle, 
 And to the blys of hevyn for sothe he broght hym 
 
 tylle. 
 Then Wyllyam levyd forthe many a yere, tyll 
 
 God aftur hym sende, 
 Wyth grete sekenes was he takyn and in thys 
 
 worlde made an ende ; 
 He savydd hys fadurs soule and broght hyt unto 
 
 blys, 
 Hys maystyrs soule also, wyth hys trewe mar- 
 
 chandys ! 
 
 God let nevyr no trewe man have no falser exe- 
 cutur, 
 For he was gracyously getyn and borne in a goode 
 
 houre : 
 To the blys of hevyn God hath hym broght, and 
 
 set hym on hys ryght honde ! 
 Y prey to God that he so do every gode man of 
 
 thys londe ! 
 Lythe and lystenyth, gentylmen, that have herde 
 
 thys songe to ende, 
 I pray to God at oure laste day to hevyn that we 
 
 may wende ! Amen. 
 
 
THE MISOGYNIC NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 [From MS. Bib, Publ. Cantab. Ff. v. 48.] 
 
 In a mornyng of May, as I lay on slepyng, 
 To here a song of a fowle I had gret likyng ; 
 I herd a ny^tyngale syng, I likyd hir fulle welle, 
 Sche seid to me a wondur thyng, I shalle telle the 
 
 every delle. 
 " Thynk, man, for thi curtesy and for thine owne 
 
 gode, 
 Stonde a while and sey me why thou mornyst in 
 
 thi mode." 
 
 " N^tyngale, wel y may, and wele I wot and wene, 
 I morne ny^t and day for on that is so schene." 
 " Now, clerk, for sothe thou art a fole, that thou 
 
 mournys so depe, 
 That now is hot shalbe colde, that now Iaw3gh oft 
 
 may wepe ! " 
 " Nyghtyngale, she is so gode that no thyng may 
 
 telle, 
 Fayre and trwe, mylde of mode, she may me gif 
 
 and selle." 
 
 " Be ware, clerk, I warne the, luf thou not so depe, 
 When thou levyst in luf to be, nede thou hase to 
 
 wepe ; 
 A woman is a wondur thyng, thow she be fayre 
 
 and stille, 
 She nys trwe to kyng nor kny3t ; clerke, to the 
 
 she nylle." 
 " Ny^tyngale, why seyst thou so ? Thou gabbust 
 
 in thi tale : 
 Wymmen bryng men owt [of] woo, she is bote of 
 
 alle bale; 
 Ne art thou not to lore sete, and wist of olde and 
 
 newe, 
 
 E 
 
38 THE M1SOGYNIC NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Treue thi love and lockyt bothe, that werk is not 
 
 trwe." 
 
 " Alle woo a woman began, she was begynyng ; 
 Wyttenesse Adam the formast man, that is no 
 
 lesyng." 
 " Ny3tyngale, that wot I wele, a woman wro3t a 
 
 shame, 
 Another, I telle the every delle, brost us alle to 
 
 game ! " 
 " Be stille, clerk, thou art unwyse, thou spekist 
 
 of a mayde 
 
 That bare the of paradys that our foomen frayed ; 
 Name hir to no woman, to may den nor to wyfe, 
 For thou knowist, nor I ne kan, non so trwe of life. 
 I take wyttenesse of Davyd kyng and at Salomon 
 
 the wyse, 
 That a woman for a litulle thyng ofte change hir 
 
 servyse ; 
 Luf a woman as thi lyfe, and kepe hir alle with 
 
 Wynne, 
 For a purse or for a knyfe, when on is owt another 
 
 is in." 
 " Ni^tyngale, thou gabbist me, wymmen be fayre 
 
 and hende, 
 
 Ful of game and of glee wher so thei wende ; 
 Were a mon in sorow bro3t, wymmen my^t out 
 
 hym bryng, 
 With a loking turne his tho^t, and with a kysse 
 
 turne his mournyng." 
 " Clerke, if thou wil ri3t begynne, rede and undur- 
 
 stonde, 
 Marines tho3t chaungis with synne, wel oft thou 
 
 turnyd fonde ; 
 
 Kysse of women wyrkyth wo with synne mony folde, 
 Judas kissed God also, and to the Jewes he hym 
 
 solde." 
 
THE MISOGYNIC NIGHTINGALE. 39 
 
 " Clerk, as thou art wyse, thou lovyst wel hir lokyng, 
 When thi purse shakyn is, farewel, clerk, thi 
 
 cossyng ! " 
 
 " Ny^tyngale, thou spekist no^t, late be alle thi fare, 
 How slmlde men be forth bro^t ne wymmen ware ] " 
 " Therto onswer I can, without any stodying, 
 Wymmen was for mankynd forth to bryng; 
 She was made to helpe man, and no thyng for to leve, 
 Thou my^tes that wete at Adam, but thou ne wilt 
 
 me leve. 
 I sey alle wymmen are mysse gon, on gode is not 
 
 in londe, 
 
 Men thru} wymmen be shent, and ofte bro3t in bonde ; 
 For I fynde non so gode, be way ne be strete, 
 But a man may change hir note, if his purse wey 
 
 grete." 
 
 A POEM ON DEATH. 
 
 [From the Thornton MS. in Lincoln cathedral.] 
 
 When Adam dalfe and Eve spane, 
 Go spire, if thou may spede, 
 Whare was than the pride of mane, 
 That nowe merres his mede ? 
 Of erthe and lame as was Adam 
 Makede to noye and nede, 
 We er als he maked to be, 
 Whilles we this lyfe salle lede. 
 With I. and E. borne er we, 
 As Salomone us highte, 
 To travelle here whilles we er fere, 
 As fewle unto the flyghte ! 
 
 In werlde we ware casten for care, 
 To we ware worthi to wende 
 To wele or wa, ane of thase twa 
 
40 A POEM ON DEATH. 
 
 To welde withowtene ende ; 
 
 For-thi whills thou may helpe the nowe, 
 
 Amend the, and hafe mynde, 
 
 When thou salle ga he bese thi faa, 
 
 That here was are thi frende. 
 
 With E. and I. I rede for-thi, 
 
 Umthynke the ay of thre, 
 
 What we er and whate we warre, 
 
 And whate that we salle be. 
 
 Ware thou als wysse praysede in pryce, 
 
 Als was Salomone, 
 
 Wele fairere fude, of bane and blude, 
 
 That was Absolone, 
 
 Strenghely and strange to wreke thi wrang, 
 
 As ever was Sampsone, 
 
 Thou ne myghte a day, na mare than thay, 
 
 The dede withstand allone ! 
 
 With I. and E. the dede to the 
 
 Salle come, als I the kenne, 
 
 Bot thou ne wate in whatekyn state, 
 
 Ne how, ne whare, ne whenne. 
 
 When bemes salle blawe rewly one rawe, 
 
 To rekkenynge buse us ryse ; 
 
 When he salle comme unto that domme, 
 
 Jhesu to sitt justyse, 
 
 That are was leve, thane mone be greve, 
 
 Whenne alle gastis salle ryse, 
 
 I say that thane to synfulle mane 
 
 Sary bese that assise ! 
 
 With I. and E. he salle noghte flee, 
 
 If alle he his giltes fele ; 
 
 He ne may hym hide, bot thare habyde, 
 
 Ne fra that dome appelle. 
 
 Of all thyne aughte that the was raughte, 
 
A POEM ON DEATH. 41 
 
 Salle thou noghte hafe, I hete, 
 
 Bot sevene fote, tharein to rote, 
 
 And a wyndynge schete ! 
 
 For-thi thou gyffe, whils thou may lyfe, 
 
 Or alle gase that thou may gete, 
 
 Thi gaste fra Godd, thi gudes olodde, 
 
 Thi flesche foldes undir fete. 
 
 With I. and E. fulle sekire thou be, 
 
 That thynne executurs 
 
 Of the ne wille rekke, bot skikk and skekke 
 
 Fulle baldely in thi boures. 
 
 To dome we drawe, the sothe to schawe, 
 
 In lyfe that us was lente, 
 
 No Latyne ne lawe may helpe an hawe, 
 
 Bot rathely us repente ! 
 
 The croice, the crownne, the spere bese bowne 
 
 That Jhesu ruggede and rente, 
 
 The nayles ruyde salle the conclude 
 
 With thyne awene argument ! 
 
 With E. and 0. take kepe thareto, 
 
 Als Criste hymselfe us kende ; 
 
 We comme and goo to wele or wo, 
 
 That dredfulle dome salle ende ! 
 
 Of wille and with that vesettis it 
 
 In worde, and that we wroghte, 
 
 Rekkene we mone and ^elde resone 
 
 Fulle rathely of oure thoghte ; 
 
 Salle no fallace cufere our case, 
 
 Ne consaile gette we noghte ; 
 
 No gylte ne grace nother thare gase, 
 
 Bot brwke as we hafe broghte. 
 
 With E. and I. I rede, for-thi 
 
 Be warre nowe with thi werkes, 
 
 For terymes of ^ere hafe thou nane here, 
 
 Thi medes salle be thi merkes. 
 
42 
 
 A POEM ON DEAT.H. 
 
 What so it be that we here see, 
 
 The fairehede of thi face, 
 
 Thi ble so bryghte, thi mayne, thi myghte, 
 
 Thi mouthe that myrthis mase, 
 
 Alle mone als was to powdir passe, 
 
 To grave whenne that thou gase ; 
 
 A grysely geste than bese thou preste, 
 
 In armes for to brace ; 
 
 With I. and E. for leve thou me, 
 
 Bese nane, as I the hete, 
 
 Of alle thi kyth dare slepe the with 
 
 A nyghte undire thi schete ! 
 
 THE MAID AND THE MAGPIE. 
 
 [From MS. Rawl. C. 258.] 
 
 Throughe a forest as I can ryde, 
 
 To take my sporte yn an mornyng, 
 I cast my eye on every syde, 
 
 I was ware of a bryde syngynge. 
 I sawe a faire mayde come rydyng, 
 
 I speke to hur of love I trowe ; 
 She answered me alle yn scornyng, 
 
 And sayd, the crowe shalle byte yow. 
 I pray yow, dameselle, scorne me nott, 
 
 To wyn your love ytt ys my wylle ; 
 For your love 1 have dere bought, 
 
 And I wylle take good hede thertylle. 
 Nay, for God, ser, that I nylle, 
 
 I telle the, Jenken, as I trowe ; 
 Thow shalt nott fynde me suche a gylle, 
 
 Therfore the crowe shall byte yow. 
 He toke then out a good golde ryng, 
 
 A purse of velwey tt that was soo fyne ; 
 
THE MAID AND THE MAGPIE. 43 
 
 Have ye thys, my dere swetyng, 
 With that ye wylbe lemman myne. 
 
 Be Cryst, I dare nott, for my dame, 
 To dele with hym that I do nott knowe ; 
 
 For soo I myght dyspyse my name, 
 Therfore the crow shalle byte yow. 
 
 He toke hur abowte the mydelle smalle, 
 That was soo faire of hy de and hewe ; 
 
 He kyssed hur cheke as whyte as whalle, 
 
 And prayed hur that she wolde upon hym rewe. 
 
 She scornyd hym and callyd hym Hew, 
 
 His love was as a paynted blewe, 
 To-day me, to-morowe a newe, 
 
 Therfore the crow shalle byte yow. 
 
 He toke hur abowte the myddelle smalle, 
 And layd hur downe upon the grene, 
 
 Twys or thrys he served hur soo withalle, 
 He wolde nat stynt yet as I wene. 
 
 But sythe ye have i-lyen me bye, 
 Ye wylle wedde me now, as I trowe. 
 
 I wylle be advysed, Gylle, sayd he, 
 For now the pye hathe peckyd yow. 
 
 But sythe ye have i-leyn me by, 
 
 And broght my body unto shame, 
 Some of your good ye wylle part with me, 
 
 Or elles be Cryst ye be to blame. 
 
 I wylbe advysyd, he sayde, 
 
 The wynde ys wast that thow doyst blowe ; 
 I have anoder that most be payde, 
 
 Therfore the pye hathe pecked yow. 
 
 Now sythe ye have i-leyn me bye, 
 
 A lyttle thyng ye wylle telle, 
 In case that I with chylde be, 
 
 What ys your name 1 Where doo ye dwelle 1 
 
44 
 
 THE MAID AND THE MAGPIE. 
 
 At Yorke, at London, at Clerkenwelle, 
 
 At Leycester, Cambryge, at myrye Brystowe ; 
 Some calle me Rychard,Robert, Jacke andWylle, 
 
 For now the pye hathe peckyd yow. 
 B ut, alle medons, be ware be rewe, 
 
 And lett no man downe yow throwe ; 
 For and yow doo, yee wylle ytt rewe, 
 
 For then the pye wylle pecke yow. 
 Farewell, corteore, over the medoo 
 
 Pluke up your helys, I beshrew yow ! 
 Your trace where so ever ye ryde or goo, 
 
 Crystes curse goo wythe yow ! 
 
 Thoughe a knave hathe by me leyne, 
 
 Yet am I never dede nor sleyne, 
 I trust to recover my harte agayne, 
 
 And Crystes curse goo wythe yow. 
 
 ELEGY ON LOBE, HENRY VIII.'S FOOL. 
 
 [From MS. Rawl. C. 258.] 
 The epytaphye of Lobe, the kyngesfoole. 
 O lobbe Lobe, on thy dowle God have mercye, 
 
 For as Petre ys princeps apostolorum, 
 Soo to the may be sayd clerlye, 
 
 Of alle foolys that ever was stultus stullorum. 
 Sure thy dowle ys yn regna polorum, 
 By reason of reason thow haddest none, 
 Yet alle foolys be nottdeed, Lobe,thou3 thou be gone. 
 The losse of the, Lobe, maketh many sorye, 
 
 Thou3he ytt be nott alle for thyn awn sake, 
 Butt the kyng and the quene thou madyst so merye, 
 With the many good pastimes that thou dydes 
 make. 
 
ELEGY ON LOBE, HENRY VIII. 's FOOL. 45 
 
 Thy lyfe to be bought, I dare undurtake, 
 Gold nor sylver there shuld lake none ; 
 Yet foolys be inoghe, thoi^he thou be gone. 
 
 Thow wast a foole, withowten fraude, 
 Shapte and borne of very nature, 
 
 Of alle good foolys to the may be laude, 
 For every man yn the hade gret plesure : 
 For owre kyng and quene thou wast a tresure. 
 
 Alas for them ! wher shuld we have suche on ? 
 
 Yet alle foolys be nott deed, thou^he thou be gone. 
 
 Thow wast nother Erasmus nor Luter, 
 
 Thow dydes medle no forther then thy potte ! 
 
 Agaynst hye matters thou wast noo dysputer, 
 Among the Innocentes electe was thy lotte ! 
 Glade mayst thow be thou haddyst that knotte, 
 
 For many folys by the thynke themselfe none, 
 
 Yet alle be not deed, Lobe, tho^he thou be gone. 
 
 Tyt Apguyllamys, prepare his obsequi, 
 
 Nature constrenyth yow to doo hym good, 
 The mad ladye Apylton offer the masse penye, 
 
 And ye as chefe moerner yn your own folys hode. 
 
 Your wyttes were myche lyke, tho^e nothyng 
 
 of blode, 
 Save yn hym was muche goodness and yn yow ys 
 
 none, 
 Yet ye be a foole and Lobe ys gonne. 
 
 Now lobe Lobe, God have mercy on thy mery noole, 
 And Lobe, God have mercy e on thy folyshe face ; 
 
 And Lobe, God have mercye on thy innocent sowle, 
 Whyche amonges innocentes I am sure hath a 
 
 place, 
 Or ellys my sowle ys yn a hevy case ; 
 
 Ye, ye, and moo foolys mony one, 
 
 For folys be aly ve, Lobe, though thou be gone. 
 
46 ELEGY ON LOBE, HENRY VIII. 's FOOL. 
 
 No we God have mercy e on us alle, 
 
 For wyse and folyshe alle dyethe ; 
 Let us truly to owre myndes calle, 
 
 And to say we be wyse owre dedes denyethe. 
 
 Wherfore the ende my reason thys aplyethe, 
 God amend alle folys that thynke themselfe none, 
 For many be alyve, tho^he Lobe be gone. 
 
 A BALLAD ON MONEY. 
 
 [From MS. Bib. Reg. 17 B. xlvii, fol. 160, v.] 
 
 Money, money. 
 Money, money, now hay goode day! 
 
 Money, where haste thow be 1 
 Money, money, thow goste away, 
 
 And wylt not byde wyth me. 
 
 Above all thyng thow arte a kyng, 
 And rulyst the world over all ; 
 
 Who lakythe the, all joy, parde, 
 Wyll sone then frome hym ffall. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 In every place thow makyste solas, 
 Gret joye, sporte, and welfare ; 
 
 When money ys gone, comforte ys none, 
 But thowght, sorowe, and care. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 In kynges corte wher money dothe route, 
 Yt maky th the galandes to jett ; 
 
 And for to were gorgeouse ther gere, 
 Ther cappes awry to sett. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 In they hey weyes, ther joly palfreys 
 Yt makyght to lepe and praunce ; 
 
 
A BALLAD ON MONEY. 47 
 
 It maket justynges, pleys, dysguysynges, 
 Ladys to synge and daunce. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 For he that alway wantyth money 
 
 Stondyth a mated chere ; 
 Can never wel syng, laug, daunce, norspr[y]nge, 
 
 Nor make no lusty chere. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 At cardes and dyce yt bereth the pryce, 
 
 As kyng and emperoure : 
 At tables, tennes, and al othere games, 
 
 Money hathe ever the floure. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 Wythe squyer and knyght, and every wyght, 
 
 Money maketh men fayne, 
 And causeth many in sume compeney 
 
 Theyr felowes to dysdayne. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 In marchandys who can devyse 
 
 So good a ware, I say 1 
 At al tymys the best ware ys 
 
 Ever redy money. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 Money toi[n]cresse, marchandys never to cease 
 
 Wyth many a sotell wyle ; 
 Men say the wolde, for sylver and golde, 
 
 Thur owne faders begyle. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 Women, I trowe, love money also, 
 
 To by them joly gere ; 
 For that helpythe, and oft causethe 
 
 Women to loke full fayre. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
48 A BALLAD ON MONEY. 
 
 In Westmynster hall the criers call, 
 
 The sergeauntes plede apace ; 
 Attorneys appere now here now ther 
 
 Renning in every place. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 Whatesoevery he be, and yf that he 
 
 Whante money to plede the lawe, 
 Do whate he cane in ys mater than 
 
 Shale not prove worthe a strawe. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 I know yt not, but well I wotte 
 
 I have harde oftyn tymys tell, 
 Prestes use thys guyse, ther benefyce 
 
 For money to bey and sell. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 Craftysmen that be in every cyte, 
 
 They worke and never blynne ; 
 Sum cutte, sum shave, sume knoke, sum grave, 
 
 Only money to wynne. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 The plowman hymselfe dothe dyge and delve 
 In storme, snowe, frost, and rayne, 
 
 Money to get with laboure and swete, 
 Yet small geynes and muche peyne. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 And sume for money lye by the wey, 
 
 Another mannes purse to gett ; 
 But they that long use yt amonge 
 
 Ben hangyd by the neke ! 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 The beggers eke in every strete 
 
 Ly walowyng by the wey ; 
 They begge, the crye of the cume by, 
 
 And all ys but for money. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
ROBERT OF SICILY. 49 
 
 
 
 In every coste men love yt moste, 
 In Ynglonde, Spayne, and France ; 
 
 For every man lackyng yt than 
 Is clene owte of countenaunce. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 Of whate degre soever he be, 
 
 Or verteouse conyng he have, 
 And wante mone, yet men wyll sey 
 
 That he ys but a knave. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 Where in dede, so God me spede, 
 
 Sey all men whate they cane, 
 Yt ys all-wayes sene now-a-dayes, 
 
 That money makythe the man. 
 
 Money, &c. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 ROBERT OF SICILY. 
 
 [From MS. Cantab. Ff. ii. 38.] 
 
 Pryncis that be prowde in prese, 
 I wylle that that ys no lees ; 
 Yn Cysylle was a nobulle kynge, 
 Fayre and stronge, and some dele $ynge ; 
 He had a brodur in grete Rome, 
 That was pope of alle Crystendome ; 
 Of Almayne hys odur brodur was emperowre, 
 Thorow Crystendome he had honowre. 
 The kynge was calde kynge Roberd, 
 Never man in hys tyme wyste hym aferde. 
 He was kynge of grete valowre, 
 And also callyd conquerowre ; 
 Nowhere in no lande was hys pere, 
 Kynge nor dewke, ferre nor nere, 
 F 
 
50 ROBERT OF SICILY. 
 
 And also he was of chevalrye the flowre : 
 
 And hys odur brodur was emperowre. 
 
 Hys oon brodur in ^orthe Godes generalle vykere, 
 
 Pope of Rome, as ye may here ; 
 
 Thys pope was callyd pope Urbane, 
 
 For hym lovyd bothe God and man ; 
 
 The emperowre was callyd Valamownde, 
 
 A strawnger warreowre was none fownde 
 
 Aftur hys brodur the kyng of Cysyle, 
 
 Of whome y thynke to speke a whyle. 
 
 The kynge thoght he had no pere 
 
 For to acownte, nodur far nor nere, 
 
 And thorow hys thoght he had a pryde, 
 
 For he had no pere he tho^t on no syde ; 
 
 And on a nyght of seynt Johan, 
 
 Thys kynge to the churche come 
 
 For to here hys evynsonge, 
 
 Hvs dwellynge tho3t he there to longe ; 
 
 He thoght more of worldys honowre, 
 
 Then of Cryste hys saveowre. 
 
 In magnificat he harde a vers, 
 
 He made a clerke to hym hyt to reherse 
 
 In the langage of hys owne tonge, 
 
 For in Laten wyste he not what they songe ; 
 
 The verse was thys, as y telle the, 
 
 Deposuit potentes de sede, 
 
 Et exaltavit humiles, 
 
 Thys was the verse, withowten lees ; 
 
 The clerke seyde anon ryght, 
 
 " Syr, soche ys Godys myght, 
 
 That he make may hye lowe, 
 
 And lowe hye in a lytylle thro we ! 
 
 God may do, withowten lye, 
 
 Hys wylle in the twynkelyng of an ye ! ' 
 
 The kyng seyde than, with tho^t unstabulle, 
 
 " Ye synge thys ofte and alle hys a fabulle ! 
 
ROBERT OF SICILY. 51 
 
 What man hath that powere 
 
 To make me lowear and in dawngere 1 
 
 I am flowre of chevalrye, 
 
 Alle myn enmyes y may dystroye ! 
 
 Ther levyth no man, in no lande, 
 
 That my myght may withstande ! 
 
 Then ys yowre songe a songe of noght ! " 
 
 Thys arrowre had he in hys thoght, 
 
 And in hys thoght a slepe hym toke 
 
 In hys closet, so seyth the boke. 
 
 When evynsonge was alle done, 
 
 A kynge hym lyke owte can come, 
 
 And alle men with hym can wende, 
 
 And kynge Roberd lefte behynde. 
 
 The newe kynge was, y yow telle, 
 
 Godys aungelle, hys p^de to felle ; 
 
 The aungelle in the halle yoye made, 
 
 And alle men of hym were glade ! 
 
 Kynge Roberd wakenyd that was in the kyrke, 
 
 Hys men he tho3t woo for to wyrke, 
 
 For he was lefte there allone, 
 
 And merke nyght felle hym upon : 
 
 He began to crye upon hys men, 
 
 But there was none that answeryd then, 
 
 But the sexten at the ende 
 
 Of the kyrke, and to hym can wende, 
 
 And seyde, " Lurden, what doyst thou here ? 
 
 Thou art a thefe or thefeys fere ! 
 
 Thou arte here, sykerlye, 
 
 Thys churche to robbe with felonye." 
 
 He seyde, " Fals thefe, and fowle gadlyng I 
 
 Thou lyest falsely ! y am thy kynge ! 
 
 Opyn the churche dore anon, 
 
 That y may to my pales gone !" 
 
 The sexesten went welle than 
 
 That he had be a wode man, 
 
52 ROBERT OF SICILY. 
 
 And of hym he had farlye, 
 
 And wolde delyver the churche in hye, 
 
 And openyd the dore ry^t sone in haste. 
 
 The kyng began to renne owte faste, 
 
 As a man that was nere wode, 
 
 And at hys pales $ate he stode, 
 
 And callyd the portar, " Gadlyng ! begone !" 
 
 And bad hym come faste and hye hym soone, 
 
 Anon the 3ates that thou undoo ! 
 
 The portar askyd who bad soo. 
 
 And he answeryd ryght soone anon, 
 
 " Thou schalt wytt or y hens gone, 
 
 Thy lorde y am, that schalt thou knowe, 
 
 In pryson schalt thou lye fulle lowe, 
 
 And bothe be hangyd and be drawe, 
 
 And odur moo, as be the lawe ; 
 
 I schalle yow teche me for to knawe, 
 
 And brynge yow fro yowre lyfe dawe ; 
 
 Thou schalt wyt that y am kynge, 
 
 Do opyn the $atys, thou false gadlynge !" 
 
 The porter seyde, " For sothe, y telle the, 
 
 The kyng ys in the halle with hys meyne ; 
 
 Welle, y wote, withowten dowte, 
 
 The kynge ys not thus late owte !" 
 
 The porter went into the halle, 
 
 And before the kynge can falle, 
 
 And seyde, " Ther ys, lorde, at the $ate, 
 
 A nyce fole comyn ther to late, 
 
 And seyth he ys here lorde and kynge, 
 
 And callyth me false and fowle gadlynge I 
 
 Lorde, what wylle ye that y doo ? 
 
 Let hym yn or let hym goo 1" 
 
 The aungelle seyde to hym in haste, 
 
 " Let hym in come swythe faste, 
 
 For my fole y schalle hym make ! " 
 
 The portar came unto the 3ate, 
 
ROBERT OF SICILY. 55 
 
 Lo ! how soone, be Goddys myght, 
 
 He was lowe, and that was ryght ! 
 
 He was evyr so harde bestadd, 
 
 That mete nor drynke noon he had, 
 
 But hys babulle was in hys hande. 
 
 The aungelle before hym made hym to stande, 
 
 And seyde, " Fole, art thou kynge ] " 
 
 He seyde, " Ye, wythowte lesynge, 
 
 And here-aftur kynge wylle bee ! " 
 
 The aungelle seyde, " So semyth the ! " 
 
 Honger and thurste he had fulle grete, 
 
 For he myght no mete ete, 
 
 But howndys ete of hys dysche, 
 
 Whedur hyt were flesche or fysche ; 
 
 When that the howndes had etyn ther fylle, 
 
 Then my^t he ete at hys wylle. 
 
 He was to dethe nere broght 
 
 For honger, or he wolde ete oght; 
 
 But when hyt wolde non odur be, 
 
 He ete with howndys grete plente, 
 
 With the howndes that were in the halle ; 
 
 How my^t to hym harder befalle 1 
 
 Bettur he were, to yow sey y, 
 
 So to do then for hunger dye. 
 
 Ther was not in the court grome ne page, 
 
 But they of the kyng made game and rage, 
 
 For no man myght hym not knowe, 
 
 He was so dysfygerde in a throwe. 
 
 With howndys every nyght he laye, 
 
 And ofte he cryed, welle awaye ! 
 
 That ever $yt that he was borne, 
 
 Hys ryalte he had for-lorne ! 
 
 He was to alle men undurlynge, 
 
 So lowe was never $yt no kynge ! 
 
 Yf pryde had not bene, y understande, 
 
 A wyser kynge was never in lande ; 
 
56 ROBERT OF SICILY. 
 
 With hys pryde God can hym greve, 
 
 God bo^t hym dere and wolde hym not leve ; 
 
 God made hym to knowe hys chastysynge, 
 
 To be a fole that afore was kynge. 
 
 The aungelle was kyiig fulle longe, 
 
 But in hys tyme was never no wrong, 
 
 Trechery, falsehed, nor no gyle, 
 
 Done in the lande of Cysyle ; 
 
 Of alle gode there was plente, 
 
 Amonge men love and chary te, 
 
 And in hys tyme was never stryfe 
 
 Nodur betwene man nor wyfe, 
 
 But every man lovyd welle odur, 
 
 Bettur love was never of brodur. 
 
 Then was that a yoyfulle thynge, 
 
 In londe to have soche a kynge ; 
 
 Kynge he was iij. yere and more, 
 
 And Roberd as a fole ^ede thore. 
 
 The aungelle askyd hym every day, 
 
 " Fole, art thou kyng ? thou me say." 
 
 He seyde, " Ye, that welle y knowe, 
 
 My brodur schalle brynge the fulle lowe ! " 
 
 11 That semyth the wele," seyde the aungelle, 
 
 " The crowne semyth the no thyng welle." 
 
 Than Sir Valamownde, the emperowre, 
 
 Sende lettyrs of grete honowre 
 
 To hys brodur of Cysyle the kynge, 
 
 To come to hym withowte lettynge, 
 
 That they myght bothe in same 
 
 Wende to ther brodur, the pope of Rome, 
 
 To see hys nobulle and ryalle arraye 
 
 In Rome, on Halowe Thursdaye ; 
 
 The aungelle welcomyd the messengerys, 
 
 And clad them alle in clothys of pryse, 
 
 Aud furryd them with armyne, 
 
ROBERT OF SICILY. 53 
 
 And calde hym swythe yn ther-ate. 
 
 And he began for to debate, 
 
 He smote the porter when he came yn, 
 
 That the blode braste owt at mowthe and chyn. 
 
 The portar ^alde hym hys travayle, 
 
 He smote hym agayne, withowten fayle, 
 
 That mowthe and nose braste on blode, 
 
 And then he semyd almoost wode ! 
 
 The porter and hys men in haste 
 
 Kynge Roberd in a podelle caste ; 
 
 Unsemely was hys body than, 
 
 That he was lyke non odur man ; 
 
 Then bro3t they hym before the kynge, 
 
 And seyde, " Lorde, thys gadlynge 
 
 Me hath smetyn withowten deserte, 
 
 And seyth that he ys owre kynge aperte ! 
 
 He seyde y schulde be drawe and honge, 
 
 Hys owne dome ys ryght he fonge ; 
 
 To me he seyde non odur worde, 
 
 But that he was bothe kynge and lorde ; 
 
 The traytur schulde, for hys sawe, 
 
 Be the lawe bothe be hangyd and drawe ! " 
 
 The aungelle seyde to kyng Roberde, 
 
 " Thou art a foole, that art not aferde 
 
 My men to do soche velanye, 
 
 That ylke trespas thou muste abye ! 
 
 What art thou 1 " seyde the aungelle. 
 
 Tho seyde Roberd, " Thou schalt wyt welle, 
 
 I am kynge and kynge wylle bee, 
 
 Wyth wrange thou haste my dygnyte ! 
 
 The pope of Rome ys my brodur, 
 
 The emperowre Valamownde ys the todur, 
 
 He wylle me awreke, y dar welle telle, 
 
 I wot he wylle not longe dwelle ! " 
 
 " Thou art a fole," seyde the aungelle, 
 
 " Thou schalt be schavyn ovyr ylke a dele, 
 
54 ROBERT OF SICILY. 
 
 Lyke a fole and a fole to bee, 
 Thy babulle schalle be thy dygnyte ! 
 Thy crowne schalle be newe schorne, 
 For thy crowne of golde ys lorne ; 
 Thy councellere schalle be an ape, 
 And in a clothyng ye schalle be schape, 
 And he schalle be thyn own fere, 
 Some wytt of hym 3y t may thou lere ! 
 He schalle be cladd ryght as thy brodur, 
 Of oon clothyng, hyt schalle be non odur ; 
 Howndys, how so hyt be falle, 
 Schalle ete wyth the in the halle ; 
 Thou schalt ete on the grownde, 
 Thyn assayar schalle be an hownde 
 To assaye thy mete before the, 
 For thou art a kynge of dygnyte !" 
 They broght a barbur hym beforne, 
 That as a fole schulde be schorne, 
 Alle arownde lyke a frere, 
 And then ovyr-twhart to eydur ere, 
 And on the crowne hym make a crosse, 
 Then he began to crye and make noyse ; 
 He sware that they schulde alle dye 
 That dud hym soche velanye ! 
 And ever he seyde he was ther lorde, 
 And alle men scornyd hym for that worde, 
 And every man seyde that he was wode, 
 That provyd wele he cowde no gode ; 
 For he wende, on no kyns wyse, 
 That myghtfulle God cowde devyse 
 Hym to brynge to lowar estate, 
 And with a draght he was chekmate. 
 At lowar degre he myght not bee, 
 Then become a fole, as thynkyth me, 
 And every man made scornynge 
 Of hym, that afore was a nobulle kynge ! 
 
ROBERT OF SICILY. 57 
 
 Ther was never $yt pellere half so fyne ; 
 
 And alle was set with perrye, 
 
 Ther was never no better in crystyante ; 
 
 Soche clothyng and hyt were to dyght, 
 
 Alle crysten men hyt make ne myght, 
 
 Where soche clothys were to selle, 
 
 Nor who them made, can no man telle. 
 
 On that wondyrd alle that lande, 
 
 Who wro^t those clothys with any hande. 
 
 The messengerys went with the kynge 
 
 To grete Rome, withowte lesynge ; 
 
 The fole Roberd with hym went, 
 
 Clad in a fulle sympulle garment, 
 
 With foxe tayles to renne abowte, 
 
 Men myght hym knowe in alle the rowte ; 
 
 A babulle he bare agenste hys wylle, 
 
 The aungels harte to fulfylle. 
 
 To Rome came the aungelle soone, 
 
 So ryalle a kyng came never in Rome ; 
 
 Alle men wondurd fro whens he came, 
 
 So welle hys payment sate hym on. 
 
 The aungelle was clad alle in whyte. 
 
 Ther was never in 3erthe snowe hyt lyke, 
 
 And alle was cowchyd with perlys ryche, 
 
 Bettur were nevyr nor noon them lyche ; 
 
 Alle was whyte, atyre and stede, 
 
 The sted was feyre, where that he yede, 
 
 So feyre a stede as he on rode, 
 
 Was never man that ever bestrode, 
 
 And so was alle hys apparelle dyght, 
 
 The ryches can not telle no wyght. 
 
 Of clothys, gyrdyls, and odur thynge, 
 
 Every squyer semyd a kynge. 
 
 Alle they rode in ryche array e, 
 
 But kyng Roberd, y dar wele saye, 
 
 For alle men on hym can pyke, 
 
58 
 
 ROBERT OF SICILY. 
 
 For he rode non odur lyke, 
 
 But ofte he made sory chere, 
 
 That schulde be kyng and kynges fere, 
 
 That rode in Rome and bare an ape, 
 
 And hys clothyng fulle evylle schape, 
 
 That so be foly a fole was made, 
 
 A wondur hyt were yf he were glade ! 
 
 The pope and the emperowre also, 
 
 And odur barons many moo, 
 
 Welcomyd the aungelle as for kynge, 
 
 And made yoye for hys comynge : 
 
 Forthe then came stertyng kyng Roberd, 
 
 As fole and man that was not aferde, 
 
 And lowde on hym he began to speke, 
 
 And seyde hys bredyrn schulde hym awreke 
 
 Of hym that hath, with queynt gyle, 
 
 Hys crowne and lande of Cysyle. 
 
 Pope, emperowre, nor non odur, 
 
 The fole knewe not for ther brodur ; 
 
 God put hym in odur lyknes, 
 
 For hys grete unbuxumnes ; 
 
 A mekylle fole he was holde, 
 
 More then thars be an c. folde, 
 
 To calle soche a brodurhede, 
 
 Hyt was holdyn a folys dede. 
 
 Tho thre bredyr made grete comfort, 
 
 The aungelle was made brodur be sorte ; 
 
 Wele was the pope and the emperowre, 
 
 That had a brodur of soche honowre. 
 
 Kynge Roberd began to make care, 
 
 Mekylle more then he can are : 
 
 For he trowyd of alle thynge 
 
 Hys bredur schulde have made hym kynge ; 
 
 And when hys Lope was alle awaye, 
 
 He seyde, " Alias ! and wele away !" 
 
 The pope, the emperowre, and the kynge, 
 
ROBERT OF SICILY. 
 
 Fyve wekys made they ther dwellynge ; 
 
 And when the v. the weke was alle done, 
 
 To ther own londes went they home, 
 
 Bothe the emperowre and the kynge, 
 
 There was a fey re departynge ! 
 
 When every oon of odur leeve can take, 
 
 The fole Robert grete sorow can make, 
 
 When no brodur hym can knowe, 
 
 " Alias !" he seyde, " now am y lowe !" 
 
 He thoght mekylle in that case, 
 
 How he was lowe ; he seyde, " Alias !" 
 
 He thoght upon Nabegodhonosore, 
 
 " A nobulle kynge was he before, 
 
 In alle the worlde was not hys pere, 
 
 For to acownt, nodur far nor nere ; 
 
 Wyth hym was Sir Olyverne, 
 
 Prynce of knyghtes, stowte and sterne ; 
 
 Olyverne sware evyrmore, 
 
 Be god Nabegodhonosore, 
 
 For he helde no god in lande 
 
 But Nabegodhonosore, y understande; 
 
 Nabegodhonosore was then fulle gladd, 
 
 When he the name of God hadd, 
 
 And lovyd Olyverne welle the more, 
 
 And sythen hyt grevyd them bothe fulle sore 
 
 Olyverne dyed in grete dolowre, 
 
 For he was slayne in a harde schowre ; 
 
 Nabegodhonosore was in deserte, 
 
 He durste not nowhere be aperte ; 
 
 Fyftene yere he levyd thare, 
 
 Wyth rotys, and grasse, and evylle fare, 
 
 And alle of mosse hys clothyng was, 
 
 And that came alle be Godys grace, 
 
 For pryde was that every dele, 
 
 Therwith lykyd hym nothyng wele. 
 
 He cryed mercy with sory chere, 
 
60 ROBERT OF SICILY. 
 
 And God hym restored as he was ere. 
 
 And now y am in soche a case, 
 
 Ye, and in welle warse then ever he was. 
 
 When God me gave soche honowre, 
 
 That y was callyd conquerowre ; 
 
 In every lande of Crystendome 
 
 Of me they spake, bothe alle and some, 
 
 And seyde, nowhere ys my pere, 
 
 In no lande, nodur farre nor nere ; 
 
 And thorow that worde, y felle in pryde, 
 
 As the aungelle that can of hevyn glyde, 
 
 And with the twynklyng of an eye 
 
 God for-dud alle that maystrye ; 
 
 And so hath he done my for gylte, 
 
 Now am y of my lande pylte, 
 
 And that ys ryght that y so bee, 
 
 For, Lorde, y leevyd not on the ! 
 
 I had an errowre in my harte, 
 
 And that errowre hath made me to smarte ; 
 
 For when y seyde, in my sawe, 
 
 That nothynge myght make me lawe, 
 
 And holy wrytt dyspysed withalle, 
 
 And for-thy wrech of wrechys men me calle, 
 
 And fole of alle folys y am ^y t, 
 
 For he ys a fole, God wottyth welle hyt, 
 
 That turneth hys wytt unto folye, 
 
 So have y done, mercy y crye ! 
 
 Now, mercy, Lorde, for thy pyte ! 
 
 Aftur my gylte geve not me ! 
 
 Let me abye hyt in my ly ve, 
 
 That y have synned with wyttes fy ve ; 
 
 For hyt ys ryght a fole that y bee, 
 
 Now, Lorde, of thy fole thou have pyte ! 
 
 Ryght so how that hyt befall e, 
 
 I ete with the howndys in the halle, 
 
 And leve so here for evyrmore, 
 
ROBERT OF SICILY. 61 
 
 As levyd Nabegodhonosore !" 
 
 When he to Cryste thus can calle, 
 
 Downe in swowne can he falle, 
 
 And evyr he seyde, with mylde mode, 
 
 " I thanke the, Lorde, that ys so gode ! 
 
 Of my kyngdorne me grevyth no3t, 
 
 Hyt ys for my gylt and leder thoght ! 
 
 Evyr thy fole, Lorde, wylle y bee : 
 
 Now, Lorde, of thy fole thou have pyte !" 
 
 The aungelle came into Cysyle, 
 
 He and hys men, withynne a whyle ; 
 
 When he came into the halle, 
 
 The fole he gart before hym calle, 
 
 And seyde, " Fole, art thou kynge ]" 
 
 " Nay, sir," he seyde, " withowte lesynge." 
 
 " What art thou ]" seyde the aungelle. 
 
 " Syr, a fole, that wote ye welle, 
 
 And more then a fole, and hyt may bee, 
 
 I kepe non odur dygnyte !" 
 
 The aungelle then to chaumbur went, 
 
 And aftur the fole anon he sente ; 
 
 He bad hys men forthe of the chaumbur to gone, 
 
 There was lefte noon but he allone 
 
 And the fole that stode hym by, 
 
 To hym he seyde, " Thou haste mercye ! 
 
 God hath forgevyn the thy mysdede, 
 
 And ever here-aftur loke thou hym drede ! 
 
 Thynke how thou was owte pylte 
 
 Of thy lande, for thy mysgylte, 
 
 To the lowest state that ys in lande, 
 
 That ys a fole, y undurstande ! 
 
 A fole thou were to hevyn kynge, 
 
 And therfore thou art an unduriynge ! 
 
 I am an aungelle of renowne, 
 
 Sente to kepe thy regyowne ! 
 
 More blysse me schalle befalle, 
 
62 ROBERT OF SICILY. 
 
 In hevyn amonge my ferys alle, 
 Ye in oon owre of a day, 
 Then in erthe, y dar welle saye, 
 In an hundurd thousande yere, 
 Thogh alle the worlde, far and nere, 
 Were alle myn at my lykynge : 
 I am an aungelle and thou art kynge !" 
 He went in the twynklyng of an yee, 
 No more of hym there was sye ! 
 Kyng Roberd came into the halle, 
 Hys men he gart before hym calle, 
 And alle they were at hys wylle, 
 As to ther lorde, for hyt was skylle ; 
 He loveyd God and holy kyrke, 
 And evyr he thoght welle to wyrke, 
 He levyd aftur two yere and more, 
 And loovyd God and alle hys lore. 
 The aungelle gaf hym in warnynge 
 Of the tyme of hys levynge. 
 When the tyme came of hys day soone, 
 He made to wryte ryght anone, 
 How God, be hys mekylle myght, 
 Made hym lowe, as hyt was ryght ; 
 For he wende he myght not be 
 Thorow Godes my^t at lowar degre : 
 
 He was made lowe in a lytylle throwe, 
 
 And that was kyd and fulle welle knowe, 
 
 To be a fole to every knave, 
 
 More schame myght he not have ! 
 
 He ete and laye with howndys eke, 
 
 Thogh he were prowde, hyt wolde hym meke ; 
 
 To alle men he was scornynge, 
 
 Loo ! here was a dolefulle thynge, 
 
 That he schulde so, for hys pryde, 
 
 Soche happe among hys men betyde. 
 
 Welle may ye wete hyt dyd hym gode, 
 
ROBERT OF SICILY. 63 
 
 Hyt made hym meke that arst was wode ; 
 Hyt made hym to knowe God Allmyght, 
 That hym broght to hevyn lyght. 
 Thys story he sente every dele, 
 To hys brodur undur hys sele ; 
 And to the tyme of hys laste day, 
 For that tyme he dyed, as he can saye, 
 Hys bredur thoght wele on the fole, 
 That cryed to them with mekylle dole, 
 And wyste wele that he was ther brodur, 
 And knewe sothely hyt was non odur. 
 In Cysyle knewe hyt many moo, 
 That were with hym, when hyt was soo ; 
 The pope of Rome hereof can preche, 
 And the pepulle he can teche, 
 That ther pryde they schulde forsake, 
 And to gode vertues they schulde them take ; 
 And seyde hys brodur that was kynge, 
 For hys pryde was an undurlynge; 
 For pryde ys ferre fro God Allemyght, 
 Hyt may not come in hys syght ; 
 For pryde wolde, yf hyt myght bee, 
 Ovyr-mownte Goddys dygnyte, 
 And alle at hys owne wylle, 
 Thus, thorow pryde, may man hym spy lie ! 
 Thys storye ys, withowten lye, 
 At Rome wretyn in memorye, 
 At Seynt Petur kyrke hyt ys knawe, 
 And that ys Crystys owne lawe, 
 That lowe be hye, at Godys wylle, 
 And hye lowe, thogh hyt be ylle ! 
 Prey we now to God in Trynyte, 
 That ys so gode in dygnyte, 
 That he graunt us that ylk blysse, 
 That he hath ordeyned for alle hys ! 
 Amen ! 
 
64 SPIRITUAL REMEDIES. 
 
 SPIRITUAL REMEDIES. 
 
 [From MS. Cantab. Ff. i. 6.] 
 
 As I walkyd apone a day, 
 
 To take the eyre of fylde and floure, 
 Apona mylde mornyng of May, 
 
 Whene floures ben fulle of swete savoure, 
 I harde on say, God for ay, 
 
 Hough long shalle I leve in my doloure 1 
 Apone hys kneys he gane pray, 
 
 Swete Jhesu sende me sum socoure ! 
 Maryes sone, most of honoure, 
 
 That ryche and pore may ponyche and please, 
 Lys me now in my longoure, ' 
 
 And gyf me lysens to lyve in ease. 
 
 To lyve in ease thy lawes to kepe, 
 
 Graunt me grace, Lorde, in blys soo bryght, 
 That I never in that cabane crepe, 
 
 Ther Lusifer ys lokyne withoutyne lyght. 
 My myddelle woundys they bene derne and depe, 
 
 Ther ys no plaster that persyth aryght, 
 Her smertyng wylle nat suffre me to slepe, 
 
 Tylle a leche with dewte have theme dyght. 
 Hit most be a curet, a crouned wyght, 
 
 That knowth that quaysy frome ben and pese, 
 Or ellys theyre medsyns they have no nryght 
 
 To geve a mane lysens to lyve in ease. 
 
 This wound norysshyth woundes sevyn, 
 
 Superbia ys the most prinsipalle, 
 Pryde pertly in Englysshe stevene, 
 
 For he ys more bytter thene ever was galle ; 
 I have had ther-to lechys aleven, 
 
 And they gave me medysins alle, 
 
SPIRITUAL REMEDIES. 
 
 The sovereynyst medesyne that ys under heven, 
 Hyt growes nother in ground nother walle. 
 
 Umylitas I hard a clerke it calle, 
 Had I hit I were at ease ; 
 
 Lorde, sende it unto the syke tharlle, 
 And gyff me lysens to ly ve in ease ! 
 
 A wycked wound hath me walled, 
 
 And traveyld me frome topp to too ; 
 This wracched world e hit may be called, 
 
 Hit hath many a blayne black and bloo. 
 Hit hurtys my soule, it makes me to halt, 
 
 In hed, in hond, in hart alsoo ; 
 Nad I bene babtyzyd in water and salt, 
 
 This ferdly fester wolde never me froo. 
 This leche lyssyd me lazars and moo, 
 
 Davith and Danyelle of her dysease, 
 Amend my wound that doth me woo, 
 
 And gyff me lysens to ly ve in ease. 
 
 Inmdia the therd wound ys, 
 
 A wyckkyd gnawer or venym or gowt, 
 He ys a wyckyd wound I gess, 
 
 Ther he hath power to reyne or rought ; 
 The condyssion of the wound ys this, 
 
 To brenne my brest within and withoute ; 
 I asked a lech what myght me lyss, 
 
 He toke me carytas and put it in a clout, 
 And bade me bame me welle aboute, 
 
 Whene hit wolde other water or wese, 
 And sone after, withoutyn doute, 
 
 Than shold I have lysens to lyve in ease. 
 
 Ira ys a wyckyd wound, 
 
 He ravesshith me both raw and rede, 
 And alle my cors he wolle confound, 
 
 So sore he swellyth in hart and hede ; 
 
66 SPIRITUAL REMEDIES. 
 
 There ys none erbe that growyth on grounde, 
 
 Nor no coresy may queth that qued, 
 Set amor cum paciencia in a littylle stound, 
 
 For he wylle drey ham and make hame ded. 
 Lord, sende me sum amor sede, 
 
 In my gardyn to rote and ryse, 
 Or ellys as seker as mene ote bred, 
 
 I shalle never have lysens to ly ve in ease. 
 
 Avaryssia ys a souking sore, 
 
 He bladdyrth and byldeth alle in my boure ; 
 He makyth me to swelle both flesshe and veyne, 
 
 And kepith me low lyke a cochoure. 
 I have herde of an erbe to lyss that peyne, 
 
 Mene seyth it bereth a doubylle floure, 
 Vigilate et orate, use welle they tweyne, 
 
 That shalle help the of thy doloure ; 
 As sekere as bred ys made of floure, 
 
 Smelle theme in sesyne with thy nese, 
 The swetness of that savoure 
 
 Shalle geve the lysens to ly ve in ease. 
 
 Accidia ys a souking sore, 
 
 He traveylyth me frome day to day, 
 And ever he wylle have more and more 
 
 Plasters thane he purvey may. 
 I axst a mayster of fysyke lore, 
 
 What wold hyme drye and dry ve away ; 
 Elymosina ys an erbe ther-fore, 
 
 Oon of the best that ever I say. 
 Noynte heme therwyth ay whenne thow may, 
 
 Thingk that Requiem shalle in the rente and sese, 
 And sone after, within a nyght and a day, 
 
 Thou shalt have lysens to lyve in ease. 
 
 Gula ys a grevous galle, 
 
 He bereveth my reste alle in my bed, 
 
SPIRITUAL REMEDIES. 67 
 
 So sore I streyne my stomake withalle, 
 
 Wyth many festys whene I am fulle fed ; 
 I walow as worme doth in walle, 
 
 I may nat trest tylle a schamely sched ; 
 Mercy, Lorde, to the I calle, 
 
 For us thou letteste thy breste be bled ! 
 A leche hath layd hys hed to wed, 
 
 To make a plaster, that wolde me please, 
 Off abstynaunce, and I it had 
 
 Then sholde I have lysens to lyve in ease. 
 
 Luxiria ys a lyther mormale, 
 
 Mercy, Lorde, fulle of pite ; 
 Thou bringest my body in bitter bale, 
 
 And fraille my sowle with thy frailte. 
 Sumtyme a surjoune tolde me a tale, 
 
 This was the lessyne that he lerned me, 
 The rote of an erbe I sholde up hale, 
 
 Men calle it Chastite and pounde it with peny- 
 tencie,* 
 
 Whene the ryb wode wylle on the rese, 
 Drayne it and dringke it with confescione, 
 
 Thene shalt thow have lysens to lyve in ease. 
 
 Other erbys ther bene alsoo, 
 
 That suffer the sores they may nat swelle ; 
 Orys confescio ys on of thoo, 
 
 He wylle nat suffre no ded flessche for to dwelle. 
 Cordys contrydo ys the too, 
 
 A wasshyth the woundes as doth a welle. 
 Other ys satisfactio the sovereyne savetyff, 
 
 For soth as I yow telle. 
 God that made both hevyn and helle, 
 
 Geve us grace to serve and please, 
 In that worthy blys that we may dwelle, 
 
 And gyff us alle lysens to lyve in ease ! 
 
 * A line is here wanting. See the Sloane MS. 
 
68 A LOVE SONG. 
 
 A LOYE SONG. 
 
 [From MS. Cantab. Ff. i. 6.] 
 
 Welcome be ye, my sovereine, 
 The cause of my joyfulle peine ! 
 For the while ye were away, 
 Myn herte seyd noght but walaway. 
 No more I do my mirthis fayne, 
 But in gladnesse I swym and baine, 
 Ye have my mornyng dreven away ! 
 Of your corny ng I ame so fayne, 
 That mirthes done my sorow steine, 
 And make amonge theim suche a fray, 
 That reste may they with me no day. 
 Gladnesse ye have brought me againe ! 
 
 Come home, dere herte ; your tarieng 
 Kausith me to wepe, bothe weile and wring, 
 Also to lyve evere in distresse, 
 So gret there may no wight expresse ! 
 Al my joye ye tome to mournyng. 
 Sorowe is in myne herte digging, 
 To dethe I trowe he woul me bring 
 In woful trans withoute redresse. 
 Whanne I have of you sume tiding, 
 Gret joye I have withoute failing, 
 Right as me ought with rightwisnesse ; 
 But yet may not myne heveynesse 
 Departe frome me, til your comyng. 
 
 To you my joye and my wordly plesaunce, 
 I wol shrive me with dredful countenaunce, 
 Of thiding which your letter bereth wittenesse, 
 
A LOVE SONG. 69 
 
 Therto constrained by my woful distresse, 
 Asking you absolucion and penaunce. 
 What wol ye more of me but repentaunce 1 
 God wol himselve have therof suffisaunce, 
 Mercy I seke and aske aye foryevenesse. 
 By Seynt Martyne, and ye knew my grevaunce, 
 The whiche I suffrede with long continuance, 
 Dreding ye were of my woos roghtlesse, 
 That was to me a grevous hevinesse, 
 Yett aske I mercy to be in pacience ! 
 
 There may areste me no pleasaince, 
 And our be our I fele grevaunce ; 
 I note to whome I may complaine, 
 For he that may my woo restreine, 
 Wol have of me no remembrance. 
 Sith I ame under his governaunce, 
 He shuld sett me suche ordinaunce, 
 As'I might have ease of my paine. 
 Me thinkith he might have conscience, 
 And of my woos sume suffisance, 
 Considering that I ame so plaine 
 To him ever with joye or paine, 
 Lett him have therof repentance. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 P. 1, 1. 1. Colyn Blowlols Testament. This curious sati- 
 rical piece is taken from MS. Rawl. C. 86, in the Bodleian 
 Library, a small folio volume which is fully described by Sir 
 F. Madden in his Introduction to Syr Gawayne. It was 
 written about the year 1508. The poem now printed is on a 
 style and plan very similar to the Testament of Mr. Andro 
 Kennedy, in Dunbar's Poems, vol. i. pp. 137-141. 
 
 P. 5, 1. 33. Southwerke. A notorious place in old times 
 for houses of ill-fame, and the rules and regulations by which 
 it was governed are still preserved in a curious MS. of the 
 fifteenth century in the Bodleian Library. 
 
 P. 10, 1. 9. Pyng, Drangoll. A somewhat similar list of 
 wines is given in the Squyr of Lowe Degre, . 
 
 " Ye shall have rumney and malmesyne, 
 
 Both ypocrasse, and vernage wyne, 
 
 Mount rose and wyne of Greke, 
 
 Both algrade, and respice eke, 
 
 Antioche, and bastarde, 
 
 Pyment, also, and garnarde ; 
 
 Wyne of Greke, and muscadell, 
 
 Both clare, pyment, and Rochell. 
 
 The reed your stomake to defye, 
 
 And pottes of osey set you by." 
 
 P. 21, 1. 1. The Merchant and his Son. Another poetical 
 version of the same tale, the scene laid at Bristol, occurs in 
 MS. Harl. 2382. It is in another and shorter kind of metre, 
 
 P. 21, 1.26. Ageynfor ix. s. x. The common old rate of 
 interest with professed usurers, which was also the same as 
 late as Shakespeare's time. The well known epitaph on 
 Combe the miser, ascribed erroneously to our great poet, 
 commences, " Ten in the hundred lies under this stone." 
 
 
 
NOTES. 71 
 
 P. 23, 1. 11. An apersey. That is, a person of unique 
 merit. The phrase is not uncommon in early English. 
 
 P. 44, 1. 17. Elegy on Lobe. This piece is written in a 
 style very similar to some of Skelton's poems. See that 
 author's Garland of Laurel. Douce, in his Illustrations, vol. 
 ii. p. 313, mentions John of Low, the king of Scotland's 
 fool ; and I am not certain that we should not here read Love, 
 the MS. being somewhat uncertain. I ought to add that in 
 styling him fool to the " bluff king Harry," I am authorised 
 by no other authority than the date of the MS. The mention 
 of" the mad ladye Apylton" may perhaps decide the question. 
 
 P. 49, 1.17. Robert of Sicily. Other copies of this ro- 
 mance are in MS. Harl. 525; MS. Harl. 1701 ; MS. Coll. 
 Caii Cantab. D. 16; MS. Coll. Trin. Oxon. 57. I am in- 
 formed that one of these copies has been privately printed by 
 Mr. Utterson, but have not had an opportunity of seeing it. 
 This tale has been analysed by Warton and Ellis. According 
 to Froissart, " Kyng Robert of Cicyle was a great astronomyre, 
 and full of great science." See Ritson's Notes to Minot's 
 Poems, p. 85. A play founded upon the same incidents was 
 performed at the High Cross at Chester in the year 1529. In 
 a contempory letter, printed by Mr. Collier, the following 
 account is given of this performance : 
 
 " Our moste humble duetye to your right honorable Lord- 
 shypp premysed, we holde it convenyent and proppre to 
 infourme your good Lordshyppe of a play, which som of the 
 companyes of this Cittye of Chester, at theyr costes and 
 charges, are makynge redy, for that your good Lordshyppe 
 maye see wether the same be in any wyse unfyttynge for 
 them, as honest menne and duetyfull subjectes of his Majesty e. 
 The sayde playe is not newe at thys tyme, but hath bin bifore 
 shewen, ev) n as longe agoe as the reygne of his highnes most 
 gratious father of blyssyd memorye, and yt was penned by a 
 
72 NOTES. 
 
 godly clerke, merely for delectacion, and the teachynge of the 
 people to love and feare God and his Majesty e, and all those 
 that bee in auctoryte. It is callyd Kynge Robart of Cicylye, 
 the whiche was warned by an Aungell whiche went to Rome, 
 and shewyd Kyng Robart all the powre of God, and what 
 thynge yt was to be a pore man ; and thanne, after sondrye 
 wanderynges, ledde hym backe agayne to his kingdome of 
 Cicylye, where he lyved and raygned many yeres." 
 
 P. 54, 1. 14. Assayer. A taster in palaces, and the houses 
 of the barons, to guard against poisoning. The term is here 
 used with most bitter irony. 
 
 P. 54, 1. 18. As afole schulde be schorne. The custom of 
 shaving fools, so as to give them in some measure the appear- 
 ance of friars, is frequently noticed in the old romances. See 
 Ellis's Met. Rom. iii. 146. So in the romance ot Ipomydon, 
 the hero is thus described as disguising himself as a fool. 
 "Righte unsemely, on queynte manere, 
 
 He hym dight, as ye shall here. 
 
 A harbor he callyd, withouten more, 
 
 And shove hym bothe byhynd and before, 
 
 Queyntly endentyd, oute and in ; 
 
 And also he shove halfe his chynne : 
 
 He semyd a fole, that queynte syre, 
 
 Bothe by hede and by atyre. 
 
 Armure he toke that was rusty, 
 
 And horsyd hym on an old rouncy ; 
 
 An helme as blak as any panne ; 
 
 A crokyd spere he toke hym than. 
 
 Whan that he was thus dight, 
 
 He semyd ylle a doghty knyght." 
 
 P. 64, 1. 1. Spiritual Remedies. There is a later copy of 
 this poem in MS. Sloane 747. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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