Passus Septimus de Visione, ut supra

Treuthe herde telle her And to Piers he sente, To maken his teme And tilien the erthe, And purchaced hym a pardone A poena et a culpa, For hym and for hise heires, For evere moore after, And bad hym holde hym at home, And erien hise leyes. And alle that holpen hym to erye, To sette or to sowe, Or any oother mestier That myghte Piers availle, Pardon with Piers Plowman Truthe hath y-graunted.

Kynges and knyghtes, That kepen holy chirche, And rightfully in remes Rulen the peple, Han pardon thorugh purgatorie To passen ful lightly, With patriarkes and prophetes In paradis to be felawe.

Bysshopes y-blessed, If thei ben as thei sholde, Legistres of bothe lawes, The lewed therwith to preche, And in as muche as thei mowe Amenden alle synfulle, Arn peres with the Apostles, This pardon Piers sheweth, And at the day of dome At the heighe deys sitte.

Marchauntz in the margyne Hadde manye yeres, Ac noon a poena et a culpa The pope nolde hem graunte, For thei holde noght hir hali-dayes As holy chirche techeth, And for thei swere by hir soule, And so God moste hem helpe, Ayein clene Conscience, Hir catel to selle.

Ac under his secret seel Truthe sente hem a lettre, That thei sholde buggen boldely That hem best liked, And sithenes selle it ayein, And save the wynnyng, And amende meson-dieux thermyd, And mys-eise folk helpe, And wikkede weyes Wightly amende, And do boote to brugges That to-broke were, Marien maydenes, Or maken hem nonnes,

Povere peple and prisons Fynden hem hir foode, And sette scolers to scole, Or to som othere craftes, Releve religion, And renten hem bettre; "And I shal sende yow myselve Seint Michel myn archangel, That no devel shal yow dere, Ne fere yow in youre deying, And witen yow fro wanhope, If ye wol thus werche, And sende youre soules in saufté To my seintes in joye."

Thanne were marchauntz murie, Manye wepten for joye, And preiseden Piers the Plowman, That purchaced this bulle.

Men of lawe leest pardon hadde, That pleteden for Mede; For the Sauter saveth hem noght, Swiche as take giftes, And nameliche of innocentz That noon yvel ne konneth. Super innocentem munera non accipies. =

Pledours sholde peynen hem To plede for swiche and helpe; Princes and prelates Sholde paie for hire travaille. A regibus et principibus erit merces eorum. =

Ac many a justice and jurour Wolde for Johan do moore

Than pro Dei pietate, Leve thow noon oother.

Ac he that spendeth his speche, And speketh for the povere That is innocent and nedy, And no man apeireth, Conforteth hym in that caas Withouten coveitise of giftes, And sheweth lawe for oure Lordes love, As he it hath y-lerned, Shal no devel at his deeth day Deren hym a myte, That he ne worth saaf and his soule, The Sauter bereth witnesse: Domine, quis habitabit in tabernaculo tuo? =

Ac to bugge water, ne wynd, Ne wit, ne fir the ferthe, Thise foure the fader of hevene Made to this foold in commune. Thise ben Truthes tresores Trewe folk to helpe, That nevere shul wexe ne wanye, Withouten God hymselve.

Whan thei drawen on to deye, And indulgences wolde have, Hir pardon is ful petit At hir partyng hennes, That any mede of mene men For hir motyng taketh. Ye legistres and lawieres, Holdeth this for truthe, That if that I lye, Mathew is to blame,

For he bad me make yow this, And this proverbe me tolde, Quodcunque vultis ut faciant vobis homines, facite eis.

Alle libbynge laborers That lyven with hir hondes, That treweliche taken, And treweliche wynnen, And lyven in love and in lawe, For hir lowe hertes Haveth the same absolucion That sent was to Piers.

Beggeres ne bidderes Ne beth noght in the bulle, But if the suggestion be sooth That shapeth hem to begge. For he that beggeth or bit, But if he have nede, He is fals with the feend, And defraudeth the nedy; And also he bi-gileth the gyvere, Ageynes his wille; For if he wiste he were noght nedy, He wolde gyve that another That were moore nedy than he, So the nedieste sholde be holpe. Caton kenneth me thus, And the clerc of stories; Cui des videto, Is Catons techyng.

And in the stories he techeth To bistowe thyn almesse. Sit elemosina tua in manu tua, donec studes cui des.

Ac Gregory was a good man, And bad us gyven alle That asketh for his love That us al leneth. Non eligas cui miserearis, ne forte prætereas illum qui meretur accipere. Quia incertum est pro quo Deo magis placeas.

For wite ye nevere who is worthi, Ac God woot who hath nede; In hym that taketh is the trecherie, If any treson walke. For he that yeveth, yeldeth, And yarketh hym to reste; And he that biddeth, borweth, And bryngeth hymself in dette. For beggeres borwen evere mo, And hir borgh is God almyghty, To yelden hem that yeveth hem, And yet usure moore. Quare non dedisti pecuniam meam ad mensam, ut ego veniam cum usuris exigere?

For-thi biddeth noght, ye beggeres, But if ye have gret nede; For who so hath to buggen hym breed, The book bereth witnesse, He hath y-nough that hath breed y-nough, Though he have noght ellis. Satis dives est, qui non indiget pane.

Lat usage be youre solas, Of seintes lyves redyng, The book banneth beggerie,

And blameth hem in this manere: Junior fui, et jam senui, et non vidi justum derelictum, nec semen ejus, etc.

For ye lyve in no love, Ne no lawe holde; Manye of yow ne wedde noght The womman that ye with deele, But as wilde bestes with 'wehee!' Worthen uppe and werchen, And bryngen forth barnes, That bastardes men calleth; Or the bak or som boon He breketh in his youthe, And siththe goon faiten with youre fauntes For evere moore after. Ther is moore mys-shapen peple Amonges thise beggeres, Than of alle manere men That on this moolde walketh. And thei that lyve thus hir lif, Mowe lothe the tyme That evere thei were men wroght, Whan thei shal hennes fare. Ac olde men and hore, Than help-lees ben of strengthe, And wommen with childe That werche ne mowe, Blynde and bed-reden, And broken hire membres, That taken thise myschiefs mekeliche, As mesels and othere, Han as pleyn pardon As the plowman hymselve.

For love of hir lowe hertes, Oure Lord hath hem graunted Hir penaunce and hir purgatorie Here on this erthe.

"Piers," quod a preest thoo, "Thi pardon moste I rede; For I wol construe ech clause, And kenne it thee on Englisshe."

And Piers at his preiere The pardon unfoldeth; And I by-hynde hem bothe Biheld al the bulle, And in two lynes it lay, And noght a leef more, And was writen right thus, In witnesse of Truthe: Et qui bona egerunt, ibunt in vitam eternam. = Qui vero mala, in ignem eternum.

"Peter," quod the preest thoo, "I kan no pardon fynde, But do wel and have wel, And God shal have thi soule, And do yvel and have yvel, Hope thow noon oother, But after thi deeth-day The devel shal have thi soule." And Piers for pure tene Pulled it a-tweyne, And seide Si ambulavero in medio umbræ mortis, non timebo mala, quoniam tu mecum es.

"I shal cessen of my sowyng," quod Piers, =

"And swynke noght so harde, Ne aboute my bely joye So bisy be na-moore; Of preieres and of penaunce My plough shal ben herafter, And wepen whan I sholde slepe, Though whete-breed me faille.

"The prophete his payn eet In penaunce and in sorwe, By that the Sauter seith, So dide othere manye; That loveth God lelly, His liflode is ful esy. Fuerunt mihi lacrimæ meæ panes die ac nocte.

"And but if Luc lye, He lereth us by foweles, We sholde noght be to bisy Aboute the worldes blisse; Ne soliciti sitis, He seith in the Gospel, And sheweth us by ensamples Us selve to wisse. The foweles in the feld, Who fynt hem mete at wynter? Have thei no gerner to go to, But God fynt hem alle."

"What!" quod the preest to Perkyn, "Peter! as me thynketh, Thow art lettred a litel:— Who lerned thee on boke?"

"Abstynence the abbesse," quod Piers, "Myn a.b.c. me taughte; And Conscience cam afterward, And kenned me muche moore."

"Were thow a preest," quod he, "Thou myghtest preche where thou sholdest, As divinour in divinité, With Dixit insipiens to thi teme."

"Lewed lorel!" quod Piers, "Litel lokestow on the Bible; On Salomons sawes Selden thow biholdest: Ejice derisores et jurgia cum eis, ne crescant, etc."

The preest and Perkyn Opposeden either oother. And I thorugh hir wordes a-wook, And waited aboute, And seigh the sonne in the south Sitte that tyme, Mete-lees and monei-lees On Malverne hulles, Musynge on this metels, And my wey ich yede.

Many tyme this metels Hath maked me to studie Of that I seigh slepynge, If it so be myghte, And also for Piers the Plowman Ful pencif in herte, And which a pardon Piers hadde Al the peple to conforte, And how the preest impugned it With two propre wordes. Ac I have no savour in songewarie, For I se it ofte faille; Caton and canonistres Counseillen us to leve

To sette sadnesse in songewarie, For sompnia ne cures.

Ac for the book Bible Bereth witnesse How Daniel divined The dreem of a kyng, That was Nabugodonosor Nempned of clerkes.

Daniel seide, "Sire kyng, Thi dremels bitokneth That unkouthe knyghtes shul come Thi kyngdom to cleyme; Amonges lower lordes Thi lond shal be departed." And as Daniel divined, In dede it fel after; The kyng lees his lordshipe, And lower men it hadde.

And Joseph mette merveillously How the moone and the sonne And the ellevene sterres Hailsed hym alle.

Thanne Jacob jugged Josephes swevene. "Beau fitz," quod his fader, "For defaute we shullen, I myself and my sones, Seche thee for nede."

It bifel as his fader seide, In Pharaoes tyme, That Joseph was justice Egipte to loke; It bifel as his fader tolde, Hise frendes there hym soughte, And al this maketh me

On this metels to thynke. And how the preest preved No pardon to Do-wel, And demed that Do-wel Indulgences passed, Biennals and triennals, And bisshopes lettres; And how Do-wel at the day of dome Is digneliche underfongen, And passeth al the pardon Of seint Petres cherche.

Now hath the pope power Pardon to graunte the peple, Withouten any penaunce To passen into hevene; This is oure bileve, As lettred men us techeth: Quodcumque ligaveris super terram, erit ligatum et in coelis, etc. =

And so I leve leelly, Lordes forbode ellis! That pardon and penaunce And preieres doon save Soules that have synned Seven sithes dedly; Ac to truste to thise triennals, Trewely me thynketh, Is noght so siker for the soule, Certes, as is Do-wel.

For-thi I rede yow, renkes, That riche ben on this erthe, Upon trust of youre tresor Triennals to have, Be ye never the bolder

To breake the .x. hestes; And namely ye maistres, Meires and jugges, That have the welthe of this world And for wise men ben holden, To purchace yow pardon And the popes bulles. At the dredful dome, Whan dede shulle rise, And comen alle to-fore Crist Acountes to yelde, How thow laddest thi lif here, And hise lawes keptest, And how thow didest day by day, The doom wole reherce. A poke ful of pardon there, Ne provincials lettres, Theigh ye be founde in the fraternité Of alle the foure ordres, And have indulgences double-fold, But if Do-wel yow helpe, I sette youre patentes and youre pardon At one pies hele.

For-thi I counseille alle Cristene To crie God mercy, And Marie his moder Be oure meene bitwene, That God gyve us grace here, Er we go hennes, Swiche werkes to werche While we ben here, That after oure deeth-day Do-wel reherce At the day of dome, We dide as he highte.