Truth

Balade de bon conseyl.

Flee fro the prees, and dwelle with sothfastnesse, Suffyce unto thy good, though hit be smal; For hord hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse, Prees hath envye, and wele blent overal; Savour no more than thee bihove shal; Werk wel thy-self, that other folk canst rede; And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.

Tempest thee noght al croked to redresse, In trust of hir that turneth as a bal: Gret reste stant in litel besinesse; And eek be war to sporne ageyn an al; Stryve noght, as doth the crokke with the wal. Daunte thy-self, that dauntest otheres dede; And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.

That thee is sent, receyve in buxumnesse, The wrastling for this worlde axeth a fal. Her nis non hoom, her nis but wildernesse: Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beste, out of thy stal! Know thy contree, look up, thank God of al; Hold the hye wey, and lat thy gost thee lede: And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.

Envoy.

Therfore, thou vache, leve thyn old wrecchednesse Unto the worlde; leve now to be thral; Crye him mercy, that of his hy goodnesse Made thee of noght, and in especial Draw unto him, and pray in general For thee, and eek for other, hevenlich mede; And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede.

Explicit Le bon counseill de G. Chaucer.