Passus Decimus Quartus, etc

"Ihave but oon hool hater," quod Haukyn; "I am the lasse to blame, Though it be soiled and selde clene: I slepe therinne o nyghtes. And also I have an houswif, Hewen and children,— Uxorem duxi, et ideo non possum venire.— That wollen by-molen it many tyme, Maugree my chekes. It hath be laved in Lente And out of Lente bothe, With the sope of siknesse, That seketh wonder depe, And with the losse of catel, Looth for to a-gulte God of any good man, By aught that I wiste; And was shryven of the preest That gaf me for my synnes To penaunce pacience And povere men to fede, Al for coveitise of my cristendom In clennesse to kepen it.

And kouthe I nevere, by Crist! Kepen it clene an houre, That I ne soiled it with sighte Or som ydel speche, Or thorugh werk, or thorugh word, Or wille of myn herte, That I ne flobre it foule Fro morwe til even."

"And I shal kenne thee," quod Conscience, "Of contricion to make That shal clawe thi cote Of alle kynnes filthe. Cordis contritio, etc. Do-wel shal wasshen and wryngen it Thorugh a wis confessour. Oris confessio, etc. Do-bet shal beten it and bouken it As bright as any scarlet, And engreyven it with good wille And Goddes grace to amende the, And sithen sende thee to satisfaccion For to sowen it after. Satisfactio Do-best.

"Shal nevere cheeste by-molen it, Ne mothe after biten it, Ne fend ne fals man Defoulen it in thi lyve. Shal noon heraud ne harpour Have a fairer garnement Than Haukyn the actif man, And thow do by my techyng; Ne no mynstrall be moore worth Amonges povere and riche, Than Haukyns wif the wafrer,

With his activa vita."

"And I shal purveie thee paast," quod Pacience, "Though no plough erye, And flour to fede folk with As best be for the soule, Though nevere greyn growed, Ne grape upon vyne. To alle that lyveth and loketh Liflode wolde I fynde, And that y-nogh shal noon faille Of thyng that hem nedeth, We sholde noght be to bisy Abouten oure liflode," Ne solliciti sitis, etc. Volucres coeli Deus pascit, etc. Patientes vincunt.

Thanne laughed Haukyn a litel, And lightly gan swerye, "Who so leveth yow, by oure Lord! I leve noght he be blessed."

"No," quod Pacience paciently; And out of his poke hente Vitailles of grete vertues For alle manere beestes, And seide, "Lo here liflode y-nogh! If oure bileve be trewe. For lent nevere was lif, But liflode were shapen, Wher-of or wher-fore Or wher-by to libbe.

"First the wilde worm Under weet erthe, Fissh to lyve in the flood,

And in the fir the criket, The corlew by kynde of the eyr Moost clennest flessh of briddes, And bestes by gras and by greyn And by grene rootes, In menynge that alle men Myghte the same Lyve thorugh leel bileve And love, as God witnesseth." Quodcunque petieritis a patre in nomine meo, etc. Et alibi: Non in solo pane vivit homo, sed in omni verbo quod procedit de ore Dei.

But I lokede what liflode it was That Pacience so preisede; And thanne was it a pece of the pater-noster, Fiat voluntas tua.

"Have, Haukyn," quod Pacience, "And et this whan the hungreth, Or whan thow clomsest for cold, Or clyngest for drye; Shul nevere gyves thee greve, Ne gret lordes wrathe, Prison ne peyne; For patientes vincunt. By so that thow be sobre Of sighte and of tonge, In etynge and in handlynge, And in alle thi fyve wittes, Darstow nevere care for corn, Ne lynnen cloth ne wollen, Ne for drynke, ne deeth drede, But deye as God liketh,

Or thorugh hunger or thorugh hete, At his wille be it. For if thow lyve after his loore, The shorter lif the bettre. Si quis amat Christum, Mundum non diliget istum.

"For thorugh his breeth beestes woxen And a-brood yeden. Dixit et facta sunt, etc. Ergo thorugh his breeth mowen Men and beestes lyven, As holy writ witnesseth, Whan men seye hir graces. Aperis tu manum tuam, et imples omne animal benedictione.

"It is founden that fourty wynter Folk lyvede withouten tulying; And out of the flynt sprong the flood That folk and beestes dronken; And in Elyes tyme Hevene was y-closed, That no reyn ne roon; Thus rede men in bokes That many wyntres men lyveden, And no mete ne tulieden.

"Sevene slepe, as seith the book, Sevene hundred wynter, And lyveden withouten liflode, And at the laste thei woken. And if men lyvede as mesure wolde, Sholde nevere moore be defaute Amonges cristene creatures, If Cristes wordes ben trewe.

"Ac unkyndenesse caristiam maketh

Amonges cristen peple; And over plentee maketh pryde Amonges poore and riche. Therfore mesure is muche worth, It may noght be to deere; For the meschief and the meschaunce Amonges men of Sodome, Weex thorugh plentee of payn, And of pure sleuthe. Otiositas et abundantia panis peccatum turpissimum nutrivit. For thei mesured noght hemself Of that thei ete and dronke, Thei diden dedly synne That the devel liked, So vengeaunce fil upon hem For hir vile synnes; Thei sonken into helle, The citees echone.

"For-thi mesure we us wel, And make oure feith oure sheltrom; And thorugh feith cometh contricion, Conscience woot wel, Which dryveth awey dedly synne, And dooth it to be venial. And though a man myghte noght speke, Contricion myghte hym save, And brynge his soule to blisse; For so that feith bere witnesse, That whiles he lyvede, he bilevede In the loore of the holy chirche. Ergo contricion, feith, and conscience Is kyndeliche Do-wel,

And surgiens for dedly synnes Whan shrift of mouthe failleth. Ac shrift of mouth moore worthi is, If man be y-liche contrit; For shrift of mouthe sleeth synne, Be it never so dedly. Per confessionem to a preest Peccata occiduntur.

"Ther contricion dooth but dryveth it down Into a venial synne, As David seith in the Sauter, Et quorum tecta sunt peccata; Ac satisfaccion seketh out the roote, And bothe sleeth and voideth, An as it nevere hadde y-be To noghte bryngeth dedly synne, That it nevere eft is sene ne soor, But semeth a wounde y-heeled."

"Where wonyeth Charité?" quod Haukyn, "I wiste nevere in my lyve Man that with hym spak, As wide as I have passed."

"Ther parfit truthe and poore herte is, And pacience of tonge, Ther is Charité the chief chaumbrere For God hymselve."

"Wheither paciente poverte," quod Haukyn, "Be moore plesaunt to our Drighte Than richesse rightfulliche wonne, And resonably despended?"

"Ye, quis est ille?" quod Pacience; "Quik laudabimus eum.

Though men rede of richesse Right to the worldes ende, I wiste nevere renk that riche was, That whan he rekene sholde, Whan he drogh to his deeth day, That he ne dredde hym soore, And that at the rekenyng in arrerage fel Rather than out of dette. Ther the poore dar plede, And preve by pure reson, To have allowance of his lord, By the lawe he it cleymeth; Joye, that nevere joye hadde, Of rightful jugge he asketh, And seith 'Lo! briddes and beestes That no blisse ne knoweth, And wilde wormes in wodes, Thorugh wyntres thow hem grevest; And makest hem wel neigh meke, And mylde for defaute; And after thow sendest hem somer, That is hir sovereyn joye, And blisse to alle that ben, Bothe wilde and tame.'

"Thanne may beggeris as beestes After boote waiten, That al hir lif han lyved In langour and in defaute, But God sente hem som tyme Som manere joye Outher here or ellis where, Kynde wolde it nevere; For to wrotherhele was he wroght That nevere was joye shapen.

Aungeles that in helle now ben Hadden joye som tyme; And Dives in the deyntees lyvede, And in douce vie. Right so reson sheweth That the men that were riche, And hir makes also, Lyvede hir lif in murthe.

"Ac God is of wonder wille, By that kynde wit sheweth, To gyve many man his mede Er he it have deserved. Right so fareth God by some riche, Ruthe me it thynketh; For thei han hir hire heer, And hevene, as it were, And greet likynge to lyve Withouten labour of bodye: And whan he dyeth, ben disalowed, As David seith in the Sauter: Dormierunt, et nihil invenerunt. And in another stede also: Velut somnium surgentium, Domine, in civitate tua, et ad nihilum rediges, etc.

"Allas! that richesse shal reve And robbe mannes soule From the love of oure Lord, At his laste ende.

"Hewen, that han hir hire afore, Arn evere moore nedy; And selden deyeth he out of dette, That dyneth er he deserve it, And til he have doon his devoir

And his dayes journée. For whan a werkman hath wroght, Than many men se the sothe What he were worthi for his werk, And what he hath deserved; And noght to fonge bifore, For drede of disalowyng.

"So I seye by yow riche, It semeth noght that ye shulle Have hevene in youre here dwellyng, And hevene also therafter; Right so as a servaunt taketh his salarie bifore, And siththe wolde clayme moore, As he that noon hadde, And hath hire at the laste. It may noght be, ye riche men, Or Mathew on God lyeth: Væ! deliciis ad delicias difficile est transire.

"Ac if ye riche have ruthe, And rewarde wel the poore, And lyven as lawe techeth, And doon leauté to hem alle, Crist of his curteisie Shal conforte yow at the laste, And rewarden alle double richesse That rewful hertes habbeth. And as an hyne that hadde His hire er he bigonne, And whan he hath doon his devoir wel Men dooth hym oother bountee, Gyveth hym a cote above his covenaunt,

Right so Crist gyveth hevene Bothe to riche and to noght riche That rewfulliche libbeth; And alle that doon hir devoir wel Han double hire for hir travaille, Here forgifnesse of hir synnes, And hevene blisse after.

"Ac it is but selde y-seien, As by holy seintes bokes, That God rewarded double reste To any riche wye. For muche murthe is amonges riche, As in mete and clothyng; And muche murthe in May is Amonges wilde beestes, And so forth while somer lasteth Hir solace dureth.

"Ac beggeris aboute Midsomer Bred-lees thei slepe. And yet is wynter for hem worse, For weet shoed thei gone, A-furst soore and a-fyngred, And foule y-rebuked, And a-rated of riche men That ruthe is to here. Now, Lord, sende hem somer, And som maner joye, Hevene after hir hennes goyng, That here han swich defaute, For alle myghtestow have maad Noon mener than oother, And y-liche witty and wise, If thee wel hadde liked. But, Lord, have ruthe on thise riche men,

That rewarde noght thi prisoners. Of the good that thow hem gyvest Ingrati ben manye; Ac, God, of thi goodnesse Gyve hem grace to amende. For may no derthe be hem deere, Droghte ne weet hem greve, Ne neither hete ne hayll; Have thei hir heele, Of that thei wilne and wolde Wanteth hem noght here.

"Ac poore peple thi prisoners, Lord, in the put of meschief, Conforte tho creatures, That muche care suffren Thorugh derthe, thorugh droghte, Alle hir dayes here, Wo in wynter tymes For wantynge of clothes, And in somer tyme selde Soupen to the fulle. Conforte thi carefulle, Crist, in thi richesse; For how thow confortest alle creatures, Clerkes bereth witnesse: Convertimini ad me, et salvi eritis.

"Thus in genere of gentries Jhesu Crist seide, To robberis and to reveris, To riche and to poore, Thou taughtest hem in the Trinité To taken bapteme, And to be clene through that cristnyng Of alle kynnes synne;

And if us fille thorugh folie To falle in synne after, Confession and knowlichynge In cravynge thi mercy, Shulde amenden us as manye sithes As man wolde desire. And if the pope wolde plede ayein, And punysshe us in conscience, He sholde take the acquitaunce as quyk, And to the queed shewen it. Pateat, etc. per passionem Domini. And putten of so the pouke, And preven us under borwe. Ac the parchemyn of this patente Of poverte be moste, And of pure pacience, And parfit bileve.

"Of pompe and of pride The parchemym decourreth, And principalliche of al the peple, But thei be poore of herte; Ellis is al on ydel, Al that evere writen Pater-nostres and penaunce, And pilgrymages to Rome; But oure spences and spendynge Sprynge of a trewe wille, Ellis is al our labour lost, Lo! how men writeth In fenestres at the freres, If fals be the foundement. For-thi cristene sholde be in commune riche, Noon coveitous for hymselve.

"For sevene synnes ther ben, That assaillen us evere; The fend folweth hem alle, And fondeth hem to helpe. Ac with richesse that ribaud He rathest men bigileth. For ther that richesse regneth, Reverence folweth; And that is plesaunt to pride, In poore and in riche. And the riche is reverenced By reson of his richesse, Ther the poore is put bihynde, And peraventure kan moore Of wit and of wisdom, That fer awey is bettre Than richesse or reautee, And rather y-herd in hevene. For the riche hath muche to rekene; And many tyme hym that walketh The heighe wey to hevene-ward, Richesse hym letteth,— Ita inpossibile diviti, etc.— Ther the poore preesseth bifore the riche, With a pak at his rugge,— Opera enim illorum sequuntur illos.— Batauntliche, as beggeris doon, And boldeliche he craveth, For his poverte and his pacience, A perpetuel blisse. Beati pauperes, quoniam ipsorum est regnum cælorum.

"And pride in richesse regneth Rather than in poverte;

Arst in the master than in the man Som mansion he haveth. Ac in poverte, ther pacience is, Pride hath no myghte, Ne none of the sevene synnes Sitten ne mowe ther longe, Ne have power in poverte, If pacience folwe. For the poore is ay prest To plese the riche, And buxom at hise biddynges, For his broke loves; And boxomnesse and boost Arn evere moore at werre, And either hateth oother In alle maner werkes.

"If wrathe wrastle with the poore, He hath the worse ende; And if thei bothe pleyne, The poore is but feble; And if he chide or chatre, Hym cheveth the worse.

"And if coveitise cacche the poore, Thei may noght come togideres; And by the nekke namely Hir noon may hente oother. For men knowen wel that coveitise Is of kene wille, And hath hondes and armes Of ful greet lengthe; And poverte nys but a petit thyng, Apereth noght to his navele; And lovely layk was it nevere Bitwene the longe and the shorte.

"And though avarice wolde angre the poore, He hath but litel myghte; For poverte hath but pokes To putten in hise goodes, Ther avarice hath almaries, And yren bounden cofres. And wheither be lighter to breke, And lasse boost maketh, A beggeris bagge Than an yren bounde cofre?

"Lecherie loveth hym noght, For he gyveth but litel silver, Ne dooth hym noght dyne delicatly, Ne drynke wyn ofte. A straw for the stuwes! Thei stoode noght, I trowe, Hadde thei no thyng but of poore men, Hir houses stoode untyled.

"And though sleuthe suwe poverte, And serve noght God to paie, Meschief is his maister, And maketh hym to thynke That God is his grettest help, And no gome ellis; And he is servaunt, as he seith, And of his sute bothe; And wheither he be or be noght, He bereth the signe of poverte, And in that secte oure Saveour Saved al mankynde. For-thi every poore that pacient is, May cleymen and asken After hir endynge here

Hevene riche blisse,

"Muche hardier may he asken, That here myghte have his wille In lond and in lordshipe, And likynge of bodie, And for Goddes love leveth al, Any lyveth as a beggere; And as a mayde for mannes love Hire moder forsaketh, Hir fader and alle hire frendes, And folweth hir make. Muche moore is to love Of hym that swich oon taketh, Than is that maiden That is maried thorugh brocage, As by assent of sondry parties, And silver to boote, Moore for coveitise of good Than kynde love of bothe. So it fareth by ech a persone That possession forsaketh, And put hym to be pacient. And poverte weddeth, The which is sib to God hymself, And so to hise seintes."

"Have God my trouthe!" quod Haukyn, "Ye preise faste poverte, What is poverte with pacience," quod he; "Proprely to mene?" "Paupertas," quod Pacience, "est odibile bonum, remotio curarum, possessio sine calumnia, donum Dei, sanitatis mater,

absque sollicitudine semita, sapientiæ temperatrix, negotium sine damno, incerta fortuna, absque sollicitudine felicitas."

"I kan noght construe al this," quod Haukyn, "Ye moste kenne me this on Englissh."

"In Englissh," quod Pacience, "It is wel hard wel to expounen; Ac som deel I shal seyen it, By so thow understonde: Poverte is the firste point That pride moost hateth; Thanne is it good by good skile, Al that agasteth pride. Right as contricion is confortable thyng, Conscience woot wel, And a sorwe of hymself, And a solace to the soule, So poverte propreliche, Penaunce and joye, Is to the body Pure spiritual helthe. Ergo paupertas est odibile bonum. And contricion confort, And cura animarum.

"Selde sit poverte, The sothe to declare; For as justice to jugge men, Enjoyned is no poore, Ne to be mair above men Ne mynystre under kynges; Selde is any poore y-put

To punysshen any peple. Remotio curarum. Ergo poverte and poore men Perfournen the comaundement, Nolite judicare Quemquam the thridde,"

"Selde is any poore riche, But of rightful heritage; Wynneth he noght with wightes false, Ne with unseled mesures, Ne borweth of hise neighebores, But that he may wel paie. Possessio sine calumnia.

"The ferthe is a fortune That florissheth the soule, With sobretee fram alle synne, And also yit moore It afaiteth the flessh Fram folies ful manye, A collateral confort, Cristes owene gifte. Donum Dei.

"The fifte is moder of helthe, A frend in alle fondynges, And for the land evere a leche, A lemman of alle clennesse. Sanitatis mater.

"The sixte is a path of pees, Ye, thorugh the paas of Aultone Poverte myghte passe Withouten peril of robbyng. For ther that poverte passeth, Pees folweth after; And ever the lasse that he bereth,

The hardier he is of herte. For-thi seith Seneca, Paupertas est absque sollicitudine semita = And an hardy man of herte, Among an heep of theves. Cantabit paupertas coram latrone viatore.

"The seventhe is welle of wisedom, And fewe wordes sheweth; Therfore lordes alloweth hym litel, Or listneth to his reson, For he tempreth the tonge to trutheward, And no tresor coveiteth Sapientiæ temperatrix.

"The eightethe is a lele labour, And looth to take moore Than he may wel deserve, In somer or in wynter. And if he chaffareth, he chargeth no losse, Mowe he charité wynne. Negotium sine damno.

"The nynthe is swete to the soule, No sugre is swetter. For pacience is payn For poverte hymselve, And sobretee swete drynke And good leche in siknesse. Thus lered me a lettred man, For oure Lordes love of hevene; Seint Austyn a blessed lif Withouten bisynesse ladde For body and for soule, Absque sollicitudine felicitas.

Now God, that alle good gyveth, Graunte his soule reste That this first wroot to wissen men What poverte was to mene!"

"Allas!" quod Haukyn the actif man tho, "That after my cristendom I ne hadde be deed and dolven For Do-welis sake! So hard it is," quod Haukyn, "To lyve and to do no synne. Synne seweth us evere," quod he, And sory gan wexe, And wepte water with hise eighen, And weyled the tyme That he evere dide dede That deere God displesed; Swound and sobbed And siked ful ofte, That evere he hadde lond outher lordshipe, Lasse other moore, Or maistrie over any man Mo than of hymselve. "I were noght worthi, woot God!" quod Haukyn, "To werien any clothes, Ne neither sherte ne shoon, Save for shame one To covere my careyne," quod he; And cride mercy faste, And wepte and wailede; And therwith I awakede.