For it betidde upon a day, Into the pas whanne he was falle, Thembuisschementz tobrieken alle And him beclipte on every side, That fle ne myhte he noght aside: So that ther weren dede and take Tuo hundred thousend for his sake, That weren with him of his host. And thus was leid the grete bost Of him and of his tirannie: It halp no mercy forto crie To him which whilom dede non; For he unto the queene anon Was broght, and whan that sche him sih, This word sche spak and seide on hih: "O man, which out of mannes kinde Reson of man hast left behinde And lived worse than a beste, Whom Pite myhte noght areste, The mannes blod to schede and spille Thou haddest nevere yit thi fille. Bot nou the laste time is come, That thi malice is overcome: As thou til othre men hast do, Nou schal be do to thee riht so." Tho bad this ladi that men scholde A vessel bringe, in which sche wolde Se the vengance of his juise, Which sche began anon devise; And tok the Princes whiche he ladde, Be whom his chief conseil he hadde, And whil hem lasteth eny breth, Sche made hem blede to the deth Into the vessel wher it stod: And whan it was fulfild of blod, Sche caste this tirant therinne, And seide him, "Lo, thus myht thou wynne The lustes of thin appetit. In blod was whilom thi delit, Nou schalt thou drinken al thi fille." And thus onliche of goddes wille, He which that wolde himselve strange To Pite, fond mercy so strange, That he withoute grace is lore. So may it schewe wel therfore That crualte hath no good ende; Bot Pite, hou so that it wende, Makth that the god is merciable, If ther be cause resonable Why that a king schal be pitous. Bot elles, if he be doubtous To slen in cause of rihtwisnesse, It mai be said no Pitousnesse, Bot it is Pusillamite, Which every Prince scholde flee. For if Pite mesure excede, Kinghode may noght wel procede To do justice upon the riht: For it belongeth to a knyht Als gladly forto fihte as reste, To sette his liege poeple in reste, Whan that the werre upon hem falleth; For thanne he mote, as it befalleth, Of his knyhthode as a Leon Be to the poeple a champioun Withouten eny Pite feigned. For if manhode be restreigned, Or be it pes or be it werre, Justice goth al out of herre, So that knyhthode is set behinde. Of Aristotles lore I finde, A king schal make good visage, That noman knowe of his corage Bot al honour and worthinesse: For if a king schal upon gesse Withoute verrai cause drede, He mai be lich to that I rede; And thogh that it be lich a fable, Thensample is good and resonable. As it be olde daies fell, I rede whilom that an hell Up in the londes of Archade A wonder dredful noise made; For so it fell that ilke day, This hell on his childinge lay, And whan the throwes on him come, His noise lich the day of dome Was ferfull in a mannes thoght Of thing which that thei sihe noght, Bot wel thei herden al aboute The noise, of which thei were in doute, As thei that wenden to be lore Of thing which thanne was unbore. The nerr this hell was upon chance To taken his deliverance, The more unbuxomliche he cride; And every man was fledd aside, For drede and lefte his oghne hous: And ate laste it was a Mous, The which was bore and to norrice Betake; and tho thei hield hem nyce, For thei withoute cause dradde. Thus if a king his herte ladde With every thing that he schal hiere, Fulofte he scholde change his chiere And upon fantasie drede, Whan that ther is no cause of drede. Orace to his Prince tolde, That him were levere that he wolde Upon knihthode Achillem suie In time of werre, thanne eschuie, So as Tersites dede at Troie. Achilles al his hole joie Sette upon Armes forto fihte; Tersites soghte al that he myhte Unarmed forto stonde in reste: Bot of the tuo it was the beste That Achilles upon the nede Hath do, wherof his knyhtlihiede Is yit comended overal. King Salomon in special Seith, as ther is a time of pes, So is a time natheles Of werre, in which a Prince algate Schal for the comun riht debate And for his oghne worschipe eke. Bot it behoveth noght to seke Only the werre for worschipe, Bot to the riht of his lordschipe, Which he is holde to defende, Mote every worthi Prince entende. Betwen the simplesce of Pite And the folhaste of crualte, Wher stant the verray hardiesce, Ther mote a king his herte adresce, Whanne it is time to forsake, And whan time is also to take The dedly werres upon honde, That he schal for no drede wonde, If rihtwisnesse be withal. For god is myhty overal To forthren every mannes trowthe, Bot it be thurgh his oghne slowthe; And namely the kinges nede It mai noght faile forto spede, For he stant one for hem alle; So mote it wel the betre falle And wel the more god favoureth, Whan he the comun riht socoureth. And forto se the sothe in dede, Behold the bible and thou myht rede Of grete ensamples manyon, Wherof that I wol tellen on. Upon a time as it befell, Ayein Judee and Irahel Whan sondri kinges come were In pourpos to destruie there The poeple which god kepte tho,- And stod in thilke daies so, That Gedeon, which scholde lede The goddes folk, tok him to rede, And sende in al the lond aboute, Til he assembled hath a route With thritti thousend of defence, To fihte and make resistence Ayein the whiche hem wolde assaille: And natheles that o bataille Of thre that weren enemys Was double mor than was al his; Wherof that Gedeon him dradde, That he so litel poeple hadde. Bot he which alle thing mai helpe, Wher that ther lacketh mannes helpe, To Gedeon his Angel sente, And bad, er that he forther wente, Al openly that he do crie That every man in his partie Which wolde after his oghne wille In his delice abide stille At hom in eny maner wise, For pourchas or for covoitise, For lust of love or lacke of herte, He scholde noght aboute sterte, Bot holde him stille at hom in pes: Wherof upon the morwe he les Wel twenty thousend men and mo, The whiche after the cri ben go. Thus was with him bot only left The thridde part, and yit god eft His Angel sende and seide this To Gedeon: "If it so is That I thin help schal undertake, Thou schalt yit lasse poeple take, Be whom mi will is that thou spede. Forthi tomorwe tak good hiede, Unto the flod whan ye be come, What man that hath the water nome Up in his hond and lapeth so, To thi part ches out alle tho; And him which wery is to swinke, Upon his wombe and lith to drinke, Forsak and put hem alle aweie. For I am myhti alle weie, Wher as me list myn help to schewe In goode men, thogh thei ben fewe." This Gedeon awaiteth wel, Upon the morwe and everydel, As god him bad, riht so he dede. And thus ther leften in that stede With him thre hundred and nomo, The remenant was al ago: Wherof that Gedeon merveileth, And therupon with god conseileth, Pleignende as ferforth as he dar. And god, which wolde he were war That he schal spede upon his riht, Hath bede him go the same nyht And take a man with him, to hiere What schal be spoke in his matere Among the hethen enemis; So mai he be the more wys, What afterward him schal befalle. This Gedeon amonges alle Phara, to whom he triste most, Be nyhte tok toward thilke host, Which logged was in a valleie, To hiere what thei wolden seie; Upon his fot and as he ferde, Tuo Sarazins spekende he herde. Quod on, "Ared mi swevene ariht, Which I mette in mi slep to nyht. Me thoghte I sih a barli cake, Which fro the Hull his weie hath take, And cam rollende doun at ones; And as it were for the nones, Forth in his cours so as it ran, The kinges tente of Madian, Of Amalech, of Amoreie, Of Amon and of Jebuseie, And many an other tente mo With gret noise, as me thoghte tho, It threw to grounde and overcaste, And al this host so sore agaste That I awok for pure drede." "This swevene can I wel arede," Quod thother Sarazin anon: "The barli cake is Gedeon, Which fro the hell doun sodeinly Schal come and sette such ascry Upon the kinges and ous bothe, That it schal to ous alle lothe: For in such drede he schal ous bringe, That if we hadden flyht of wynge, The weie on fote in desespeir We scholden leve and flen in their, For ther schal nothing him withstonde." Whan Gedeon hath understonde This tale, he thonketh god of al, And priveliche ayein he stal, So that no lif him hath perceived. And thanne he hath fulli conceived That he schal spede; and therupon The nyht suiende he schop to gon This multitude to assaile. Nou schalt thou hiere a gret mervaile, With what voisdie that he wroghte. The litel poeple which he broghte, Was non of hem that he ne hath A pot of erthe, in which he tath A lyht brennende in a kressette, And ech of hem ek a trompette Bar in his other hond beside; And thus upon the nyhtes tyde Duk Gedeon, whan it was derk, Ordeineth him unto his werk, And parteth thanne his folk in thre, And chargeth hem that thei ne fle, And tawhte hem hou they scholde ascrie Alle in o vois per compaignie, And what word ek thei scholden speke, And hou thei scholde here pottes breke Echon with other, whan thei herde That he himselve ferst so ferde; For whan thei come into the stede, He bad hem do riht as he dede. And thus stalkende forth a pas This noble Duk, whan time was, His pot tobrak and loude ascride, And tho thei breke on every side. The trompe was noght forto seke; He blew, and so thei blewen eke With such a noise among hem alle, As thogh the hevene scholde falle. The hull unto here vois ansuerde, This host in the valleie it herde, And sih hou that the hell alyhte; So what of hieringe and of sihte, Thei cawhten such a sodein feere, That non of hem belefte there: The tentes hole thei forsoke, That thei non other good ne toke, Bot only with here bodi bare Thei fledde, as doth the wylde Hare. And evere upon the hull thei blewe, Til that thei sihe time, and knewe That thei be fled upon the rage; And whan thei wiste here avantage, Thei felle anon unto the chace. Thus myht thou sen hou goddes grace Unto the goode men availeth; But elles ofte time it faileth To suche as be noght wel disposed. This tale nedeth noght be glosed, For it is openliche schewed That god to hem that ben wel thewed Hath yove and granted the victoire: So that thensample of this histoire Is good for every king to holde; Ferst in himself that he beholde If he be good of his livinge, And that the folk which he schal bringe Be good also, for thanne he may Be glad of many a merie day, In what as evere he hath to done. For he which sit above the Mone And alle thing mai spille and spede, In every cause, in every nede His goode king so wel adresceth, That alle his fomen he represseth, So that ther mai noman him dere; And als so wel he can forbere, And soffre a wickid king to falle In hondes of his fomen alle. Nou forthermore if I schal sein Of my matiere, and torne ayein To speke of justice and Pite After the reule of realte, This mai a king wel understonde, Knihthode mot ben take on honde, Whan that it stant upon the nede: He schal no rihtful cause drede, Nomore of werre thanne of pes, If he wol stonde blameles; For such a cause a king mai have That betre him is to sle than save, Wherof thou myht ensample finde. The hihe makere of mankinde Be Samuel to Sal bad, That he schal nothing ben adrad Ayein king Agag forto fihte; For this the godhede him behihte, That Agag schal ben overcome: And whan it is so ferforth come, That Sal hath him desconfit, The god bad make no respit, That he ne scholde him slen anon. Bot Sal let it overgon And dede noght the goddes heste: For Agag made gret beheste Of rancoun which he wolde yive, King Sal soffreth him to live And feigneth pite forth withal. Bot he which seth and knoweth al, The hihe god, of that he feigneth To Samuel upon him pleigneth, And sende him word, for that he lefte Of Agag that he ne berefte The lif, he schal noght only dye Himself, bot fro his regalie He schal be put for everemo, Noght he, bot ek his heir also, That it schal nevere come ayein. Thus myht thou se the sothe plein, That of tomoche and of tolyte Upon the Princes stant the wyte. Bot evere it was a kinges riht To do the dedes of a knyht; For in the handes of a king The deth and lif is al o thing After the lawes of justice. To slen it is a dedly vice, Bot if a man the deth deserve; And if a king the lif preserve Of him which oghte forto dye, He suieth noght thensamplerie Which in the bible is evident: Hou David in his testament, Whan he no lengere myhte live, Unto his Sone in charge hath yive That he Joab schal slen algate; And whan David was gon his gate, The yonge wise Salomon His fader heste dede anon, And slouh Joab in such a wise, That thei that herden the juise Evere after dradden him the more, And god was ek wel paid therfore, That he so wolde his herte plye The lawes forto justefie. And yit he kepte forth withal Pite, so as a Prince schal, That he no tirannie wroghte; He fond the wisdom which he soghte, And was so rihtful natheles, That al his lif he stod in pes, That he no dedly werres hadde, For every man his wisdom dradde. And as he was himselve wys, Riht so the worthi men of pris He hath of his conseil withholde; For that is every Prince holde, To make of suche his retenue Whiche wise ben, and to remue The foles: for ther is nothing Which mai be betre aboute a king, Than conseil, which is the substance Of all a kinges governance. In Salomon a man mai see What thing of most necessite Unto a worthi king belongeth. Whan he his kingdom underfongeth, God bad him chese what he wolde, And seide him that he have scholde What he wolde axe, as of o thing. And he, which was a newe king, Forth therupon his bone preide To god, and in this wise he seide: "O king, be whom that I schal regne, Yif me wisdom, that I my regne, Forth with thi poeple which I have, To thin honour mai kepe and save." Whan Salomon his bone hath taxed, The god of that which he hath axed Was riht wel paid, and granteth sone Noght al only that he his bone Schal have of that, bot of richesse, Of hele, of pes, of hih noblesse, Forth with wisdom at his axinges, Which stant above alle othre thinges. Bot what king wole his regne save, Ferst him behoveth forto have After the god and his believe Such conseil which is to believe, Fulfild of trouthe and rihtwisnesse: Bot above alle in his noblesse Betwen the reddour and pite A king schal do such equite And sette the balance in evene, So that the hihe god in hevene And al the poeple of his nobleie Loange unto his name seie. For most above all erthli good, Wher that a king himself is good It helpeth, for in other weie If so be that a king forsueie, Fulofte er this it hath be sein, The comun poeple is overlein And hath the kinges Senne aboght, Al thogh the poeple agulte noght. Of that the king his god misserveth, The poeple takth that he descerveth Hier in this world, bot elleswhere I not hou it schal stonde there. Forthi good is a king to triste Ferst to himself, as he ne wiste Non other help bot god alone; So schal the reule of his persone Withinne himself thurgh providence Ben of the betre conscience. And forto finde ensample of this, A tale I rede, and soth it is. In a Cronique it telleth thus: The king of Rome Lucius Withinne his chambre upon a nyht The Steward of his hous, a knyht, Forth with his Chamberlein also, To conseil hadde bothe tuo, And stoden be the Chiminee Togedre spekende alle thre. And happeth that the kinges fol Sat be the fyr upon a stol, As he that with his babil pleide, Bot yit he herde al that thei seide, And therof token thei non hiede. The king hem axeth what to rede Of such matiere as cam to mouthe, And thei him tolden as thei couthe. Whan al was spoke of that thei mente, The king with al his hole entente Thanne ate laste hem axeth this, What king men tellen that he is: Among the folk touchende his name, Or be it pris, or be it blame, Riht after that thei herden sein, He bad hem forto telle it plein, That thei no point of soth forbere, Be thilke feith that thei him bere. The Steward ferst upon this thing Yaf his ansuere unto the king And thoghte glose in this matiere, And seide, als fer as he can hiere, His name is good and honourable: Thus was the Stieward favorable, That he the trouthe plein ne tolde. The king thanne axeth, as he scholde, The Chamberlein of his avis. And he, that was soubtil and wys, And somdiel thoghte upon his feith, Him tolde hou al the poeple seith That if his conseil were trewe, Thei wiste thanne wel and knewe That of himself he scholde be A worthi king in his degre: And thus the conseil he accuseth In partie, and the king excuseth. The fol, which herde of al the cas That time, as goddes wille was, Sih that thei seiden noght ynowh, And hem to skorne bothe lowh, And to the king he seide tho: "Sire king, if that it were so, Of wisdom in thin oghne mod That thou thiselven were good, Thi conseil scholde noght be badde." The king therof merveille hadde, Whan that a fol so wisly spak, And of himself fond out the lack Withinne his oghne conscience: And thus the foles evidence, Which was of goddes grace enspired, Makth that good conseil was desired. He putte awey the vicious And tok to him the vertuous; The wrongful lawes ben amended, The londes good is wel despended, The poeple was nomore oppressed, And thus stod every thing redressed. For where a king is propre wys, And hath suche as himselven is Of his conseil, it mai noght faile That every thing ne schal availe: The vices thanne gon aweie, And every vertu holt his weie; Wherof the hihe god is plesed, And al the londes folk is esed. For if the comun poeple crie, And thanne a king list noght to plie To hiere what the clamour wolde, And otherwise thanne he scholde Desdeigneth forto don hem grace, It hath be sen in many place, Ther hath befalle gret contraire; And that I finde of ensamplaire. After the deth of Salomon, Whan thilke wise king was gon, And Roboas in his persone Receive scholde the corone, The poeple upon a Parlement Avised were of on assent, And alle unto the king thei preiden, With comun vois and thus thei seiden: "Oure liege lord, we thee beseche That thou receive oure humble speche And grante ous that which reson wile, Or of thi grace or of thi skile. Thi fader, whil he was alyve And myhte bothe grante and pryve, Upon the werkes whiche he hadde The comun poeple streite ladde: Whan he the temple made newe, Thing which men nevere afore knewe He broghte up thanne of his taillage, And al was under the visage Of werkes whiche he made tho. Bot nou it is befalle so, That al is mad, riht as he seide, And he was riche whan he deide; So that it is no maner nede, If thou therof wolt taken hiede, To pilen of the poeple more, Which long time hath be grieved sore. And in this wise as we thee seie, With tendre herte we thee preie That thou relesse thilke dette, Which upon ous thi fader sette. And if thee like to don so, We ben thi men for everemo, To gon and comen at thin heste." The king, which herde this requeste, Seith that he wole ben avised, And hath therof a time assised; And in the while as he him thoghte Upon this thing, conseil he soghte. And ferst the wise knyhtes olde, To whom that he his tale tolde, Conseilen him in this manere; That he with love and with glad chiere Foryive and grante al that is axed Of that his fader hadde taxed; For so he mai his regne achieve With thing which schal him litel grieve. The king hem herde and overpasseth, And with these othre his wit compasseth, That yonge were and nothing wise. And thei these olde men despise, And seiden: "Sire, it schal be schame For evere unto thi worthi name, If thou ne kepe noght the riht, Whil thou art in thi yonge myht, Which that thin olde fader gat. Bot seie unto the poeple plat, That whil thou livest in thi lond, The leste finger of thin hond It schal be strengere overal Than was thi fadres bodi al. And this also schal be thi tale, If he hem smot with roddes smale, With Scorpions thou schalt hem smyte; And wher thi fader tok a lyte, Thou thenkst to take mochel more. Thus schalt thou make hem drede sore The grete herte of thi corage, So forto holde hem in servage. This yonge king him hath conformed To don as he was last enformed, Which was to him his undoinge: For whan it cam to the spekinge, He hath the yonge conseil holde, That he the same wordes tolde Of al the poeple in audience; And whan thei herden the sentence Of his malice and the manace, Anon tofore his oghne face Thei have him oultreli refused And with ful gret reproef accused. So thei begunne forto rave, That he was fain himself to save; For as the wilde wode rage Of wyndes makth the See salvage, And that was calm bringth into wawe, So for defalte of grace and lawe This poeple is stered al at ones And forth thei gon out of hise wones; So that of the lignages tuelve Tuo tribes only be hemselve With him abiden and nomo: So were thei for everemo Of no retorn withoute espeir Departed fro the rihtfull heir. Al Irahel with comun vois A king upon here oghne chois Among hemself anon thei make, And have here yonge lord forsake; A povere knyht Jeroboas Thei toke, and lefte Roboas, Which rihtfull heir was be descente. Lo, thus the yonge cause wente: For that the conseil was noght good, The regne fro the rihtfull blod Evere afterward divided was. So mai it proven be this cas That yong conseil, which is to warm, Er men be war doth ofte harm. Old age for the conseil serveth, And lusti youthe his thonk deserveth Upon the travail which he doth; And bothe, forto seie a soth, Be sondri cause forto have, If that he wole his regne save, A king behoveth every day. That on can and that other mai, Be so the king hem bothe reule, For elles al goth out of reule. And upon this matiere also A question betwen the tuo Thus writen in a bok I fond; Wher it be betre for the lond A king himselve to be wys, And so to bere his oghne pris, And that his consail be noght good, Or other wise if it so stod, A king if he be vicious And his conseil be vertuous. It is ansuerd in such a wise, That betre it is that thei be wise Be whom that the conseil schal gon, For thei be manye, and he is on; And rathere schal an one man With fals conseil, for oght he can, From his wisdom be mad to falle, Thanne he al one scholde hem alle Fro vices into vertu change, For that is wel the more strange. Forthi the lond mai wel be glad, Whos king with good conseil is lad, Which set him unto rihtwisnesse, So that his hihe worthinesse Betwen the reddour and Pite Doth mercy forth with equite. A king is holden overal To Pite, bot in special To hem wher he is most beholde; Thei scholde his Pite most beholde That ben the Lieges of his lond, For thei ben evere under his hond After the goddes ordinaunce To stonde upon his governance. Of themperour Anthonius I finde hou that he seide thus, That levere him were forto save Oon of his lieges than to have Of enemis a thousend dede. And this he lernede, as I rede, Of Cipio, which hadde be Consul of Rome. And thus to se Diverse ensamples hou thei stonde, A king which hath the charge on honde The comun poeple to governe, If that he wole, he mai wel lerne. Is non so good to the plesance Of god, as is good governance; And every governance is due To Pite: thus I mai argue That Pite is the foundement Of every kinges regiment, If it be medled with justice. Thei tuo remuen alle vice, And ben of vertu most vailable To make a kinges regne stable. Lo, thus the foure pointz tofore, In governance as thei ben bore, Of trouthe ferst and of largesse, Of Pite forth with rihtwisnesse, I have hem told; and over this The fifte point, so as it is Set of the reule of Policie, Wherof a king schal modefie The fleisschly lustes of nature, Nou thenk I telle of such mesure, That bothe kinde schal be served And ek the lawe of god observed. The Madle is mad for the the femele, Bot where as on desireth fele, That nedeth noght be weie of kinde: For whan a man mai redy finde His oghne wif, what scholde he seche In strange places to beseche To borwe an other mannes plouh, Whan he hath geere good ynouh Affaited at his oghne heste, And is to him wel more honeste Than other thing which is unknowe? Forthi scholde every good man knowe And thenke, hou that in mariage His trouthe pliht lith in morgage, Which if he breke, it is falshode, And that descordeth to manhode, And namely toward the grete, Wherof the bokes alle trete; So as the Philosophre techeth To Alisandre, and him betecheth The lore hou that he schal mesure His bodi, so that no mesure Of fleisshly lust he scholde excede. And thus forth if I schal procede, The fifte point, as I seide er, Is chastete, which sielde wher Comth nou adaies into place; And natheles, bot it be grace Above alle othre in special, Is non that chaste mai ben all. Bot yit a kinges hihe astat, Which of his ordre as a prelat Schal ben enoignt and seintefied, He mot be more magnefied For dignete of his corone, Than scholde an other low persone, Which is noght of so hih emprise. Therfore a Prince him scholde avise, Er that he felle in such riote, And namely that he nassote To change for the wommanhede The worthinesse of his manhede. Of Aristotle I have wel rad, Hou he to Alisandre bad, That forto gladen his corage He schal beholde the visage Of wommen, whan that thei ben faire. Bot yit he set an essamplaire, His bodi so to guide and reule, That he ne passe noght the reule, Wherof that he himself beguile. For in the womman is no guile Of that a man himself bewhapeth; Whan he his oghne wit bejapeth, I can the wommen wel excuse: Bot what man wole upon hem muse After the fool impression Of his ymaginacioun, Withinne himself the fyr he bloweth, Wherof the womman nothing knoweth, So mai sche nothing be to wyte. For if a man himself excite To drenche, and wol it noght forbere, The water schal no blame bere. What mai the gold, thogh men coveite? If that a man wol love streite, The womman hath him nothing bounde; If he his oghne herte wounde, Sche mai noght lette the folie; And thogh so felle of compainie That he myht eny thing pourchace, Yit makth a man the ferste chace, The womman fleth and he poursuieth: So that be weie of skile it suieth, The man is cause, hou so befalle, That he fulofte sithe is falle Wher that he mai noght wel aryse. And natheles ful manye wise Befoled have hemself er this, As nou adaies yit it is Among the men and evere was, The stronge is fieblest in this cas. It sit a man be weie of kinde To love, bot it is noght kinde A man for love his wit to lese: For if the Monthe of Juil schal frese And that Decembre schal ben hot, The yeer mistorneth, wel I wot. To sen a man fro his astat Thurgh his sotie effeminat, And leve that a man schal do, It is as Hose above the Scho, To man which oghte noght ben used. Bot yit the world hath ofte accused Ful grete Princes of this dede, Hou thei for love hemself mislede, Wherof manhode stod behinde, Of olde ensamples as I finde. These olde gestes tellen thus, That whilom Sardana Pallus, Which hield al hol in his empire The grete kingdom of Assire, Was thurgh the slouthe of his corage Falle into thilke fyri rage Of love, which the men assoteth, Wherof himself he so rioteth, And wax so ferforth wommannyssh, That ayein kinde, as if a fissh Abide wolde upon the lond, In wommen such a lust he fond, That he duelte evere in chambre stille, And only wroghte after the wille Of wommen, so as he was bede, That selden whanne in other stede If that he wolde wenden oute, To sen hou that it stod aboute. Bot ther he keste and there he pleide, Thei tawhten him a Las to breide, And weve a Pours, and to enfile A Perle: and fell that ilke while, On Barbarus the Prince of Mede Sih hou this king in wommanhede Was falle fro chivalerie, And gat him help and compaignie, And wroghte so, that ate laste This king out of his regne he caste, Which was undon for everemo: And yit men speken of him so, That it is schame forto hiere. Forthi to love is in manere. King David hadde many a love, Bot natheles alwey above Knyhthode he kepte in such a wise, That for no fleisshli covoitise Of lust to ligge in ladi armes He lefte noght the lust of armes. For where a Prince hise lustes suieth, That he the werre noght poursuieth, Whan it is time to ben armed, His contre stant fulofte harmed, Whan thenemis ben woxe bolde, That thei defence non beholde. Ful many a lond hath so be lore, As men mai rede of time afore Of hem that so here eses soghten, Which after thei full diere aboghten. To mochel ese is nothing worth, For that set every vice forth And every vertu put abak, Wherof priss torneth into lak, As in Cronique I mai reherse: Which telleth hou the king of Perse, That Cirus hihte, a werre hadde Ayein a poeple which he dradde, Of a contre which Liddos hihte; Bot yit for oght that he do mihte As in bataille upon the werre, He hadde of hem alwey the werre. And whan he sih and wiste it wel, That he be strengthe wan no del, Thanne ate laste he caste a wyle This worthi poeple to beguile, And tok with hem a feigned pes, Which scholde lasten endeles, So as he seide in wordes wise, Bot he thoghte al in other wise. For it betidd upon the cas, Whan that this poeple in reste was, Thei token eses manyfold; And worldes ese, as it is told, Be weie of kinde is the norrice Of every lust which toucheth vice. Thus whan thei were in lustes falle, The werres ben foryeten alle; Was non which wolde the worschipe Of Armes, bot in idelschipe Thei putten besinesse aweie And token hem to daunce and pleie; Bot most above alle othre thinges Thei token hem to the likinges Of fleysshly lust, that chastete Received was in no degre, Bot every man doth what him liste. And whan the king of Perse it wiste, That thei unto folie entenden, With his pouer, whan thei lest wenden, Mor sodeinly than doth the thunder He cam, for evere and put hem under. And thus hath lecherie lore The lond, which hadde be tofore The beste of hem that were tho. And in the bible I finde also A tale lich unto this thing, Hou Amalech the paien king, Whan that he myhte be no weie Defende his lond and putte aweie The worthi poeple of Irael, This Sarazin, as it befell, Thurgh the conseil of Balaam A route of faire wommen nam, That lusti were and yonge of Age, And bad hem gon to the lignage Of these Hebreus: and forth thei wente With yhen greye and browes bente And wel arraied everych on; And whan thei come were anon Among thebreus, was non insihte, Bot cacche who that cacche myhte, And ech of hem hise lustes soghte, Whiche after thei full diere boghte. For grace anon began to faile, That whan thei comen to bataille Thanne afterward, in sori plit Thei were take and disconfit, So that withinne a litel throwe The myht of hem was overthrowe, That whilom were wont to stonde. Til Phinees the cause on honde Hath take, this vengance laste, Bot thanne it cessede ate laste, For god was paid of that he dede: For wher he fond upon a stede A couple which misferde so, Thurghout he smot hem bothe tuo, And let hem ligge in mennes yhe; Wherof alle othre whiche hem sihe Ensamplede hem upon the dede, And preiden unto the godhiede Here olde Sennes to amende: And he, which wolde his mercy sende, Restorede hem to newe grace. Thus mai it schewe in sondri place, Of chastete hou the clennesse Acordeth to the worthinesse Of men of Armes overal; Bot most of alle in special This vertu to a king belongeth, For upon his fortune it hongeth Of that his lond schal spede or spille. Forthi bot if a king his wille Fro lustes of his fleissh restreigne, Ayein himself he makth a treigne, Into the which if that he slyde, Him were betre go besyde. For every man mai understonde, Hou for a time that it stonde, It is a sori lust to lyke, Whos ende makth a man to syke And torneth joies into sorwe. The brihte Sonne be the morwe Beschyneth noght the derke nyht, The lusti youthe of mannes myht, In Age bot it stonde wel, Mistorneth al the laste whiel. That every worthi Prince is holde Withinne himself himself beholde, To se the stat of his persone, And thenke hou ther be joies none Upon this Erthe mad to laste, And hou the fleissh schal ate laste The lustes of this lif forsake, Him oghte a gret ensample take Of Salomon, whos appetit Was holy set upon delit, To take of wommen the plesance: So that upon his ignorance The wyde world merveileth yit, That he, which alle mennes wit In thilke time hath overpassed, With fleisshly lustes was so tassed, That he which ladde under the lawe The poeple of god, himself withdrawe He hath fro god in such a wise, That he worschipe and sacrifise For sondri love in sondri stede Unto the false goddes dede. This was the wise ecclesiaste, The fame of whom schal evere laste, That he the myhti god forsok, Ayein the lawe whanne he tok His wyves and his concubines Of hem that weren Sarazines, For whiche he dede ydolatrie. For this I rede of his sotie: Sche of Sidoyne so him ladde, That he knelende his armes spradde To Astrathen with gret humblesse, Which of hire lond was the goddesse: And sche that was a Moabite So ferforth made him to delite Thurgh lust, which al his wit devoureth, That he Chamos hire god honoureth. An other Amonyte also With love him hath assoted so, Hire god Moloch that with encense He sacreth, and doth reverence In such a wise as sche him bad. Thus was the wiseste overlad With blinde lustes whiche he soghte; Bot he it afterward aboghte. For Achias Selonites, Which was prophete, er his decess, Whil he was in hise lustes alle, Betokneth what schal after falle. For on a day, whan that he mette Jeroboam the knyht, he grette And bad him that he scholde abyde, To hiere what him schal betyde. And forth withal Achias caste His mantell of, and also faste He kut it into pieces twelve, Wherof tuo partz toward himselve He kepte, and al the remenant, As god hath set his covenant, He tok unto Jeroboas, Of Nabal which the Sone was, And of the kinges court a knyht: And seide him, "Such is goddes myht, As thou hast sen departed hiere Mi mantell, riht in such manere After the deth of Salomon God hath ordeigned therupon, This regne thanne he schal divide: Which time thou schalt ek abide, And upon that division The regne as in proporcion As thou hast of mi mantell take, Thou schalt receive, I undertake. And thus the Sone schal abie The lustes and the lecherie Of him which nou his fader is." So forto taken hiede of this, It sit a king wel to be chaste, For elles he mai lihtly waste Himself and ek his regne bothe, And that oghte every king to lothe. O, which a Senne violent, Wherof so wys a king was schent, That the vengance in his persone Was noght ynouh to take al one, Bot afterward, whan he was passed, It hath his heritage lassed, As I more openli tofore The tale tolde. And thus therfore The Philosophre upon this thing Writ and conseileth to a king, That he the surfet of luxure Schal tempre and reule of such mesure, Which be to kinde sufficant And ek to reson acordant, So that the lustes ignorance Be cause of no misgovernance, Thurgh which that he be overthrowe, As he that wol no reson knowe. For bot a mannes wit be swerved, Whan kinde is dueliche served, It oghte of reson to suffise; For if it falle him otherwise, He mai tho lustes sore drede. For of Anthonie thus I rede, Which of Severus was the Sone, That he his lif of comun wone Yaf holy unto thilke vice, And ofte time he was so nyce, Wherof nature hire hath compleigned Unto the god, which hath desdeigned The werkes whiche Antonie wroghte Of lust, whiche he ful sore aboghte: For god his forfet hath so wroke That in Cronique it is yit spoke. Bot forto take remembrance Of special misgovernance Thurgh covoitise and injustice Forth with the remenant of vice, And nameliche of lecherie, I finde write a gret partie Withinne a tale, as thou schalt hiere, Which is thensample of this matiere. So as these olde gestes sein, The proude tirannyssh Romein Tarquinus, which was thanne king And wroghte many a wrongful thing, Of Sones hadde manyon, Among the whiche Arrons was on, Lich to his fader of maneres; So that withinne a fewe yeres With tresoun and with tirannie Thei wonne of lond a gret partie, And token hiede of no justice, Which due was to here office Upon the reule of governance; Bot al that evere was plesance Unto the fleisshes lust thei toke. And fell so, that thei undertoke A werre, which was noght achieved, Bot ofte time it hadde hem grieved, Ayein a folk which thanne hihte The Gabiens: and al be nyhte This Arrons, whan he was at hom In Rome, a prive place he nom Withinne a chambre, and bet himselve And made him woundes ten or tuelve Upon the bak, as it was sene; And so forth with hise hurtes grene In al the haste that he may He rod, and cam that other day Unto Gabie the Cite, And in he wente: and whan that he Was knowe, anon the gates schette, The lordes alle upon him sette With drawe swerdes upon honde. This Arrons wolde hem noght withstonde, Bot seide, "I am hier at your wille, Als lief it is that ye me spille, As if myn oghne fader dede." And forthwith in the same stede He preide hem that thei wolde se, And schewede hem in what degre His fader and hise brethren bothe, Whiche, as he seide, weren wrothe, Him hadde beten and reviled, For evere and out of Rome exiled. And thus he made hem to believe, And seide, if that he myhte achieve His pourpos, it schal wel be yolde, Be so that thei him helpe wolde. Whan that the lordes hadde sein Hou wofully he was besein, Thei token Pite of his grief; Bot yit it was hem wonder lief That Rome him hadde exiled so. These Gabiens be conseil tho Upon the goddes made him swere, That he to hem schal trouthe bere And strengthen hem with al his myht; And thei also him have behiht To helpen him in his querele. Thei schopen thanne for his hele That he was bathed and enoignt, Til that he was in lusti point; And what he wolde thanne he hadde, That he al hol the cite ladde Riht as he wolde himself divise. And thanne he thoghte him in what wise He myhte his tirannie schewe; And to his conseil tok a schrewe, Whom to his fader forth he sente In his message, and he tho wente, And preide his fader forto seie Be his avis, and finde a weie, Hou they the cite myhten winne, Whil that he stod so wel therinne. And whan the messager was come To Rome, and hath in conseil nome The king, it fell per chance so That thei were in a gardin tho, This messager forth with the king. And whanne he hadde told the thing In what manere that it stod, And that Tarquinus understod Be the message hou that it ferde, Anon he tok in honde a yerde, And in the gardin as thei gon, The lilie croppes on and on, Wher that thei weren sprongen oute, He smot of, as thei stode aboute, And seide unto the messager: "Lo, this thing, which I do nou hier, Schal ben in stede of thin ansuere; And in this wise as I me bere, Thou schalt unto mi Sone telle." And he no lengere wolde duelle, Bot tok his leve and goth withal Unto his lord, and told him al, Hou that his fader hadde do. Whan Arrons herde him telle so, Anon he wiste what it mente, And therto sette al his entente, Til he thurgh fraude and tricherie The Princes hefdes of Gabie Hath smiten of, and al was wonne: His fader cam tofore the Sonne Into the toun with the Romeins, And tok and slowh the citezeins Withoute reson or pite, That he ne spareth no degre. And for the sped of this conqueste He let do make a riche feste With a sollempne Sacrifise In Phebus temple; and in this wise Whan the Romeins assembled were, In presence of hem alle there, Upon thalter whan al was diht And that the fyres were alyht, From under thalter sodeinly An hidous Serpent openly Cam out and hath devoured al The Sacrifice, and ek withal The fyres queynt, and forth anon, So as he cam, so is he gon Into the depe ground ayein. And every man began to sein, "Ha lord, what mai this signefie?" And therupon thei preie and crie To Phebus, that thei mihten knowe The cause: and he the same throwe With gastly vois, that alle it herde, The Romeins in this wise ansuerde, And seide hou for the wikkidnesse Of Pride and of unrihtwisnesse, That Tarquin and his Sone hath do, The Sacrifice is wasted so, Which myhte noght ben acceptable Upon such Senne abhominable. And over that yit he hem wisseth, And seith that which of hem ferst kisseth His moder, he schal take wrieche Upon the wrong: and of that speche Thei ben withinne here hertes glade, Thogh thei outward no semblant made. Ther was a knyht which Brutus hihte, And he with al the haste he myhte To grounde fell and therthe kiste, Bot non of hem the cause wiste, Bot wenden that he hadde sporned Per chance, and so was overtorned. Bot Brutus al an other mente; For he knew wel in his entente Hou therthe of every mannes kinde Is Moder: bot thei weren blinde, And sihen noght so fer as he. Bot whan thei leften the Cite And comen hom to Rome ayein, Thanne every man which was Romein And moder hath, to hire he bende And keste, and ech of hem thus wende To be the ferste upon the chance, Of Tarquin forto do vengance, So as thei herden Phebus sein. Bot every time hath his certein, So moste it nedes thanne abide, Til afterward upon a tyde Tarquinus made unskilfully A werre, which was fasteby Ayein a toun with walles stronge Which Ardea was cleped longe, And caste a Siege theraboute, That ther mai noman passen oute. So it befell upon a nyht, Arrons, which hadde his souper diht, A part of the chivalerie With him to soupe in compaignie Hath bede: and whan thei comen were And seten at the souper there, Among here othre wordes glade Arrons a gret spekinge made, Who hadde tho the beste wif Of Rome: and ther began a strif, For Arrons seith he hath the beste. |