Read Ebook: The Vision and Creed of Piers Ploughman Volume 1 by Langland William Wright Thomas Editor

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Ebook has 617 lines and 107809 words, and 13 pages

Bidderes and beggeres Faste aboute yede, 80 With hire belies and hire bagges Of breed ful y-crammed; Faiteden for hire foode, Foughten at the ale. In glotonye, God woot, Go thei to bedde, And risen with ribaudie, Tho Roberdes knaves; Sleep and sory sleuthe Seweth hem evere. 90

Pilgrymes and palmeres Plighten hem togidere, For to seken seint Jame, And seintes at Rome. They wenten forth in hire wey, With many wise tales, And hadden leve to lyen Al hire lif after.

I seigh somme that seiden Thei hadde y-sought seintes; 100 To ech a tale that thei tolde Hire tonge was tempred to lye, Moore than to seye sooth, It semed bi hire speche.

Heremytes on an heep With hoked staves Wenten to Walsyngham, And hire wenches after, Grete lobies and longe That lothe were to swynke; 110 Clothed hem in copes, To ben knowen from othere; And shopen hem heremytes, Hire ese to have.

I fond there freres, Alle the foure ordres, Prechynge the peple For profit of hemselve; Glosed the gospel, As hem good liked; 120 For coveitise of copes, Construwed it as thei wolde. Many of thise maistre freres Now clothen hem at likyng, For hire moneie and hire marchaundize Marchen togideres. For sith charit? hath ben chapman, And chief to shryve lordes, Manye ferlies han fallen In a fewe yeres; 130 But holy chirche and hii Holde bettre togidres, The mooste meschief on molde Is mountynge wel faste.

Ther preched a pardoner, As he a preest were; Broughte forth a bulle With many bisshopes seles, And seide that hymself myghte Assoillen hem alle, 140 Of falshede, of fastynge, Of avowes y-broken.

Lewed men leved it wel, And liked hise wordes; Comen up knelynge To kissen hise bulles. He bouched hem with his brevet, And blered hire eighen, And raughte with his rageman Rynges and broches. 150

Thus thei gyven hire gold Glotons to kepe, And leveth in swiche losels As leccherie haunten.

Were the bisshope y-blessed, And worth bothe hise eris, His seel sholde noght be sent To deceyve the peple. Ac it is noght by the bisshope That the boy precheth; 160 For the parisshe preest and the pardoner Parten the silver, That the poraille of the parisshe Sholde have, if thei ne were.

Parsons and parisshe preestes Pleyned hem to the bisshope, That hire parisshes weren povere Sith the pestilence tyme, To have a licence and leve At London to dwelle, 170 And syngen ther for symonie; For silver is swete.

Bisshopes and bachelers, Bothe maistres and doctours, That han cure under Crist, And crownynge in tokene And signe that thei sholden Shryven hire parisshens, Prechen and praye for hem, And the povere fede, 180 Liggen at Londone In Lenten and ellis.

Somme serven the kyng, And his silver tellen In cheker and in chauncelrie, Chalangen hise dettes Of wardes and of wardemotes, Weyves and streyves.

And somme serven as servauntz Lordes and ladies, 190 And in stede of stywardes Sitten and demen; Hire messe and hire matyns And many of hire houres Arn doon un-devoutliche; Drede is at the laste, Lest Crist in consistorie A-corse ful manye.

I perceyved of the power That Peter hadde to kepe, 200 To bynden and unbynden, As the book telleth; How he it lefte with love, As oure Lord highte, Amonges foure vertues, The beste of alle vertues, That cardinals ben called, And closynge yates. There is Crist in his kingdom To close and to shette, 210 And to opene it to hem, And hevene blisse shewe.

Ac of the cardinals at court That kaughte of that name, And power presumed in hem A pope to make, To han that power that Peter hadde, Impugnen I nelle; For in love and in lettrure The election bilongeth, 220 For-thi I kan and kan naught Of court speke moore.

Thanne kam ther a kyng, Knyghthod hym ladde, Might of the communes Made hym to regne.

And thanne cam kynde wit, And clerkes he made, For to counseillen the kyng, And the commune save. 230

The kyng and knyghthod, And clergie bothe, Casten that the commune Sholde hemself fynde.

The commune contreved Of kynde wit craftes, And for profit of al the peple Plowmen ordeyned, To tilie and to travaille, As trewe lif asketh. 240

The kyng and the commune, And kynde wit the thridde, Shopen lawe and leaut?, Ech man to knowe his owene.

Thanne loked up a lunatik, A leene thyng with-alle, And, knelynge to the kyng, Clergially he seide:

"Crist kepe thee, sire kyng! And thi kyng-ryche, 250 And lene thee lede thi lond, So leaut? thee lovye, And for thi rightful rulyng Be rewarded in hevene."

With that ran ther a route Of ratons at ones, And smale mees myd hem Mo than a thousand, And comen to a counseil For the commune profit; For a cat of a contree Cam whan hym liked, And overleep hem lightliche, And laughte hem at his wille, 300 And pleide with hem perillousli, And possed aboute. "For doute of diverse dredes, We dar noght wel loke; And if we grucche of his gamen, He wol greven us alle, Cracchen us or clawen us, And in hise clouches holde, That us lotheth the lif Er he late us passe. 310 Mighte we with any wit His wille withstonde, We mighte be lordes o-lofte, And lyven at oure ese."

A raton of renoun, Moost renable of tonge, Seide for a sovereyn Help to hymselve:

"And right so," quod that raton, "Reson me sheweth, To bugge a belle of bras, Or of bright silver, And knytten it on a coler For oure commune profit, Wher he ryt or rest, Or renneth to pleye; 340 And if hym list for to laike, Thanne loke we mowen, And peeren in his presence The while him pleye liketh: And, if hym wratheth, be war, And his way shonye."

Al this route of ratons To this reson thei assented. Ac tho the belle was y-brought, And on the beighe hanged, 350 Ther ne was raton in al the route, For al the reaume of Fraunce, That dorste have bounden the belle About the cattes nekke, Ne hangen it aboute the cattes hals, Al Engelond to wynne. Alle helden hem un-hardy, And hir counseil feble; And leten hire labour lost And al hire longe studie. 360

A mous that muche good Kouthe, as me thoughte, Strook forth sternely, And stood bifore hem alle, And to the route of ratons Reherced thise wordes:

Yet hoved ther an hundred In howves of selk, Sergeantz it bi-semed 420 That serveden at the barre, Pleteden for penyes And poundes the lawe; And noght for love of our Lord Unclose hire lippes ones. Thow myghtest bettre meete myst On Malverne hilles, Than gete a mom of hire mouth, Til moneie be shewed.

Cokes and hire knaves Cryden, "Hote pies, hote! Goode gees and grys! 450 Gowe, dyne, gowe!"

Taverners until hem Trewely tolden the same, Whit wyn of Oseye, And reed wyn of Gascoigne, Of the Ryn and of the Rochel, The roost to defie. 459

What this mountaigne by-meneth 460 And the merke dale, And the feld ful of folk, I shal yow faire shewe.

A lovely lady of leere, In lynnen y-clothed, Cam doun from a castel And called me faire, And seide, "Sone, slepestow? Sestow this peple, How bisie thei ben 470 Alle aboute the maze? The mooste partie of this peple That passeth on this erthe, Have thei worship in this world, Thei wilne no bettre; Of oother hevene than here Holde thei no tale."

I was a-fered of hire face, Theigh she fair weere, And seide, "Mercy, madame, 480 What is this to meene?"

"The tour on the toft," quod she, "Truthe is therinne; And wolde that ye wroughte, As his word techeth! For he is fader of feith, And formed yow alle Bothe with fel and with face, And yaf yow fyve wittes, For to worshipe hym therwith, 490 While that ye ben here. And therfore he highte the erthe To helpe yow echone, Of wollene, of lynnen, Of liflode at nede, In mesurable manere To make yow at ese; And comaunded of his curteisie In commune three thynges, Are none nedfulle but tho, 500 And nempne hem I thynke, And rekene hem by reson; Reherce thow hem after.

"That oon vesture, From cold thee to save; And mete at meel For mysese of thiselve; And drynke whan thow driest; Ac do noght out of reson, That thow worthe the wers 510 Whan thow werche sholdest.

"For-thi dred delitable drynke, And thow shalt do the bettre. 530 Mesure is medicine, Though thow muchel yerne. It is nought al good to the goost That the gut asketh, Ne liflode to thi likame; For a liere hym techeth, That is the wrecched world Wolde thee bitraye. For the fend and thi flesshe Folwen togidere. 540 This and that seeth thi soule, And seith it in thin herte; And for thow sholdest ben y-war, I wisse thee the beste."

"Madame, mercy!" quod I, "Me liketh wel youre wordes; Ac the moneie of this molde That men so faste holdeth, Tel me to whom, madame, That tresour appendeth." 550

"Go to the gospel," quod she, "That God seide hymselven; Tho the poeple hym apposede With a peny in the temple, Wheither thei sholde therwith Worshipe the kyng Cesar.

"And God asked of hym, Of whom spak the lettre, And the ymage was lik That therinne stondeth. 560

"'Cesares,' thei seiden, 'We seen it wel echone.'

Thanne I frayned hire faire, For hym that me made, "That dongeon in the dale, That dredful is of sighte, What may it be to meene, Madame, I yow biseche?" 580

"That is the castel of Care; Who so comth therinne May banne that he born was, To bodi or to soule. Therinne wonyeth a wight That Wrong is y-hote, Fader of falshede, And founded it hymselve. Adam and Eve He egged to ille; 590 Counseilled Kaym To killen his brother; Judas he japed With Jewen silver, And sithen on an eller Hanged hymselve. He is lettere of love, And lieth hem alle That trusten on his tresour; Bitrayeth he hem sonnest." 600

Thanne hadde I wonder in my wit What womman it weere, That swiche wise wordes Of holy writ shewed; And asked hire on the heighe name, Er she thennes yede, What she were witterly That wissed me so faire.

"Holi chirche I am," quod she, "Thow oughtest me to knowe; 610 I underfeng thee first, And the feith taughte; And broughtest me borwes My biddyng to fulfille, And to loven me leelly The while thi lif dureth."

Thanne I courbed on my knees, And cried hire of grace; And preide hire pitously Preye for my sinnes, 620 And also kenne me kyndely On Crist to bi-leve, That I myghte werchen his wille That wroghte me to man. "Teche me to no tresor, But tel me this ilke, How I may save my soule, That seint art y-holden."

"But Crist kyngene kyng Knyghted ten, 670 Cherubyn and seraphyn, Swiche sevene and othere And yaf hem myght in his majestee, The murier hem thoughte, And over his meene meynee Made hem archangeles; Taughte hem by the Trinitee Treuthe to knowe; To be buxom at his biddyng, He bad hem nought ellis. 680

"And alle that hoped it myghte be so, Noon hevene myghte hem holde, But fellen out in fendes liknesse Nyne dayes togideres, 700 Til God of his goodnesse Gan stablisse and stynte, And garte the hevene to stekie And stonden in quiete.

"Whan thise wikkede wenten out, In wonder wise thei fellen; Somme in the eyr, somme in erthe, And somme in helle depe; Ac Lucifer lowest lith Yet of hem alle, 710 For pride that he putte out, His peyne hath noon ende. And alle that werchen with wrong, Wende thei shulle, After hir deth day And dwelle with that sherewe.

"It is a kynde knowyng," quod she, "That kenneth in thyn herte, For to loven thi Lord Levere than thiselve, No dedly synne to do, Deye theigh thow sholdest; This I trowe be truthe. Who kan teche thee bettre, 750 Loke thow suffre hym to seye, And sithen lere it after; For truthe telleth that love Is triacle of hevene. May no synne be on hym seene, That useth that spice, And alle hise werkes be wroughte With love as hym liste; And lered it Moyses for the leveste thyng, And moost lik to hevene, 760 And al so the plentee of pees Moost precious of vertues; For hevene myghte nat holden it, It was so hevy of hymself, Til it hadde of the erthe Eten his fille.

"And whan it hadde of this fold Flesshe and blood taken, Was nevere leef upon lynde Lighter therafter, 770 And portatif and persaunt As the point of a nedle, That myghte noon armure it lette, Ne none heighe walles.

"For-thi is love ledere Of the Lordes folk of hevene, And a meene, as the mair is Bitwene the kyng and the commune; Right so is love a ledere, And the law shapeth, 780 Upon man for hise mysdedes The mercyment he taxeth. And for to knowen it kyndely It comseth by myght, And in the herte there is the heed And the heighe welle; For in kynde knowynge in herte, Ther a myght bigynneth; And that falleth to the fader That formed us alle, 790 Loked on us with love, And leet his sone dye Mekely for oure mysdedes, To amenden us alle. And yet wolde he hem no wo That wroughte hym that peyne, But mekely with mouthe Mercy bisoughte, To have pit? of that peple That peyned hym to dethe. 800

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