Chapter 31

With Covoitise yit I finde A Servant of the same kinde, Which Stelthe is hote, and Mecherie With him is evere in compainie. Of whom if I schal telle soth, He stalketh as a Pocok doth, And takth his preie so covert, That noman wot it in apert. 6500 For whan he wot the lord from home, Than wol he stalke aboute and rome; And what thing he fint in his weie, Whan that he seth the men aweie, He stelth it and goth forth withal, That therof noman knowe schal. And ek fulofte he goth a nyht Withoute Mone or sterreliht, And with his craft the dore unpiketh, And takth therinne what him liketh: 6510 And if the dore be so schet, That he be of his entre let, He wole in ate wyndou crepe, And whil the lord is faste aslepe, He stelth what thing as him best list, And goth his weie er it be wist. Fulofte also be lyhte of day Yit wole he stele and make assay; Under the cote his hond he put, Til he the mannes Purs have cut, 6520 And rifleth that he fint therinne. And thus he auntreth him to winne, And berth an horn and noght ne bloweth, For noman of his conseil knoweth; What he mai gete of his Michinge, It is al bile under the winge. And as an hound that goth to folde And hath ther taken what he wolde, His mouth upon the gras he wypeth, And so with feigned chiere him slypeth, 6530 That what as evere of schep he strangle, Ther is noman therof schal jangle, As forto knowen who it dede; Riht so doth Stelthe in every stede, Where as him list his preie take. He can so wel his cause make And so wel feigne and so wel glose, That ther ne schal noman suppose, Bot that he were an innocent, And thus a mannes yhe he blent: 6540 So that this craft I mai remene Withouten help of eny mene.

Ther be lovers of that degre, Which al here lust in privete, As who seith, geten al be Stelthe, And ofte atteignen to gret welthe As for the time that it lasteth. For love awaiteth evere and casteth Hou he mai stele and cacche his preie, Whan he therto mai finde a weie: 6550 For be it nyht or be it day, He takth his part, whan that he may, And if he mai nomore do, Yit wol he stele a cuss or tuo.

Mi Sone, what seist thou therto? Tell if thou dedest evere so.

Mi fader, hou?

Mi Sone, thus,— If thou hast stolen eny cuss Or other thing which therto longeth, For noman suche thieves hongeth: 6560 Tell on forthi and sei the trouthe.

Mi fader, nay, and that is routhe, For be mi will I am a thief; Bot sche that is to me most lief, Yit dorste I nevere in privete Noght ones take hire be the kne, To stele of hire or this or that, And if I dorste, I wot wel what: And natheles, bot if I lie, Be Stelthe ne be Robberie 6570 Of love, which fell in mi thoght, To hire dede I nevere noght. Bot as men sein, wher herte is failed, Ther schal no castell ben assailed; Bot thogh I hadde hertes ten, And were als strong as alle men, If I be noght myn oghne man And dar noght usen that I can, I mai miselve noght recovere. Thogh I be nevere man so povere, 6580 I bere an herte and hire it is, So that me faileth wit in this, Hou that I scholde of myn acord The servant lede ayein the lord: For if mi fot wolde awher go, Or that min hand wolde elles do, Whan that myn herte is therayein, The remenant is al in vein. And thus me lacketh alle wele, And yit ne dar I nothing stele 6590 Of thing which longeth unto love: And ek it is so hyh above, I mai noght wel therto areche, Bot if so be at time of speche, Ful selde if thanne I stele may A word or tuo and go my way. Betwen hire hih astat and me Comparison ther mai non be, So that I fiele and wel I wot, Al is to hevy and to hot 6600 To sette on hond withoute leve: And thus I mot algate leve To stele that I mai noght take, And in this wise I mot forsake To ben a thief ayein mi wille Of thing which I mai noght fulfille. For that Serpent which nevere slepte The flees of gold so wel ne kepte In Colchos, as the tale is told, That mi ladi a thousendfold 6610 Nys betre yemed and bewaked, Wher sche be clothed or be naked. To kepe hir bodi nyht and day, Sche hath a wardein redi ay, Which is so wonderful a wyht, That him ne mai no mannes myht With swerd ne with no wepne daunte, Ne with no sleihte of charme enchaunte, Wherof he mihte be mad tame, And Danger is his rihte name; 6620 Which under lock and under keie, That noman mai it stele aweie, Hath al the Tresor underfonge That unto love mai belonge. The leste lokinge of hire yhe Mai noght be stole, if he it syhe; And who so gruccheth for so lyte, He wolde sone sette a wyte On him that wolde stele more. And that me grieveth wonder sore, 6630 For this proverbe is evere newe, That stronge lokes maken trewe Of hem that wolden stele and pyke: For so wel can ther noman slyke Be him ne be non other mene, To whom Danger wol yive or lene Of that tresor he hath to kepe. So thogh I wolde stalke and crepe, And wayte on eve and ek on morwe, Of Danger schal I nothing borwe, 6640 And stele I wot wel may I noght: And thus I am riht wel bethoght, Whil Danger stant in his office, Of Stelthe, which ye clepe a vice, I schal be gultif neveremo. Therfore I wolde he were ago So fer that I nevere of him herde, Hou so that afterward it ferde: For thanne I mihte yit per cas Of love make som pourchas 6650 Be Stelthe or be som other weie, That nou fro me stant fer aweie.

Bot, fader, as ye tolde above, Hou Stelthe goth a nyht for love, I mai noght wel that point forsake, That ofte times I ne wake On nyhtes, whan that othre slepe; Bot hou, I prei you taketh kepe. Whan I am loged in such wise That I be nyhte mai arise, 6660 At som wyndowe and loken oute And se the housinge al aboute, So that I mai the chambre knowe In which mi ladi, as I trowe, Lyth in hir bed and slepeth softe, Thanne is myn herte a thief fulofte: For there I stonde to beholde The longe nyhtes that ben colde, And thenke on hire that lyth there. And thanne I wisshe that I were 6670 Als wys as was Nectanabus Or elles as was Protheus, That couthen bothe of nigromaunce In what liknesse, in what semblaunce, Riht as hem liste, hemself transforme: For if I were of such a forme, I seie thanne I wolde fle Into the chambre forto se If eny grace wolde falle, So that I mihte under the palle 6680 Som thing of love pyke and stele. And thus I thenke thoghtes fele, And thogh therof nothing be soth, Yit ese as for a time it doth: Bot ate laste whanne I finde That I am falle into my mynde, And se that I have stonde longe And have no profit underfonge, Than stalke I to mi bedd withinne. And this is al that evere I winne 6690 Of love, whanne I walke on nyht: Mi will is good, bot of mi myht Me lacketh bothe and of mi grace; For what so that mi thoght embrace, Yit have I noght the betre ferd. Mi fader, lo, nou have ye herd What I be Stelthe of love have do, And hou mi will hath be therto: If I be worthi to penance I put it on your ordinance. 6700

Mi Sone, of Stelthe I the behiete, Thogh it be for a time swete, At ende it doth bot litel good, As be ensample hou that it stod Whilom, I mai thee telle nou.

I preie you, fader, sei me hou.

Mi Sone, of him which goth be daie Be weie of Stelthe to assaie, In loves cause and takth his preie, Ovide seide as I schal seie, 6710 And in his Methamor he tolde A tale, which is good to holde.

The Poete upon this matiere Of Stelthe wrot in this manere. Venus, which hath this lawe in honde Of thing which mai noght be withstonde, As sche which the tresor to warde Of love hath withinne hir warde, Phebum to love hath so constreigned, That he withoute reste is peined 6720 With al his herte to coveite A Maiden, which was warded streyte Withinne chambre and kept so clos, That selden was whan sche desclos Goth with hir moder forto pleie. Leuchotoe, so as men seie, This Maiden hihte, and Orchamus Hir fader was; and befell thus. This doughter, that was kept so deere, And hadde be fro yer to yeere 6730 Under hir moder discipline A clene Maide and a Virgine, Upon the whos nativite Of comelihiede and of beaute Nature hath set al that sche may, That lich unto the fresshe Maii, Which othre monthes of the yeer Surmonteth, so withoute pier Was of this Maiden the feture. Wherof Phebus out of mesure 6740 Hire loveth, and on every syde Awaiteth, if so mai betyde, That he thurgh eny sleihte myhte Hire lusti maidenhod unrihte, The which were al his worldes welthe. And thus lurkende upon his stelthe In his await so longe he lai, Til it befell upon a dai, That he thurghout hir chambre wall Cam in al sodeinliche, and stall 6750 That thing which was to him so lief. Bot wo the while, he was a thief! For Venus, which was enemie Of thilke loves micherie, Discovereth al the pleine cas To Clymene, which thanne was Toward Phebus his concubine. And sche to lette the covine Of thilke love, dedli wroth To pleigne upon this Maide goth, 6760 And tolde hire fader hou it stod; Wherof for sorwe welnyh wod Unto hire moder thus he saide: “Lo, what it is to kepe a Maide! To Phebus dar I nothing speke, Bot upon hire I schal be wreke, So that these Maidens after this Mow take ensample, what it is To soffre her maidenhed be stole, Wherof that sche the deth schal thole.” 6770 And bad with that do make a pet, Wherinne he hath his douhter set, As he that wol no pite have, So that sche was al quik begrave And deide anon in his presence. Bot Phebus, for the reverence Of that sche hadde be his love, Hath wroght thurgh his pouer above, That sche sprong up out of the molde Into a flour was named golde, 6780 Which stant governed of the Sonne. And thus whan love is evele wonne, Fulofte it comth to repentaile.

Mi fader, that is no mervaile, Whan that the conseil is bewreid. Bot ofte time love hath pleid And stole many a prive game, Which nevere yit cam into blame, Whan that the thinges weren hidde. Bot in youre tale, as it betidde, 6790 Venus discoverede al the cas, And ek also brod dai it was, Whan Phebus such a Stelthe wroghte, Wherof the Maide in blame he broghte, That afterward sche was so lore. Bot for ye seiden nou tofore Hou stelthe of love goth be nyhte, And doth hise thinges out of syhte, Therof me liste also to hiere A tale lich to the matiere, 6800 Wherof I myhte ensample take.

Mi goode Sone, and for thi sake, So as it fell be daies olde, And so as the Poete it tolde, Upon the nyhtes micherie Nou herkne a tale of Poesie.

The myhtieste of alle men Whan Hercules with Eolen, Which was the love of his corage, Togedre upon a Pelrinage 6810 Towardes Rome scholden go, It fell hem be the weie so, That thei upon a dai a Cave Withinne a roche founden have, Which was real and glorious And of Entaile curious, Be name and Thophis it was hote. The Sonne schon tho wonder hote, As it was in the Somer tyde; This Hercules, which be his syde 6820 Hath Eolen his love there, Whan thei at thilke cave were, He seide it thoghte him for the beste That sche hire for the hete reste Al thilke day and thilke nyht; And sche, that was a lusti wyht, It liketh hire al that he seide: And thus thei duelle there and pleide The longe dai. And so befell, This Cave was under the hell 6830 Of Tymolus, which was begrowe With vines, and at thilke throwe Faunus with Saba the goddesse, Be whom the large wildernesse In thilke time stod governed, Weere in a place, as I am lerned, Nyh by, which Bachus wode hihte. This Faunus tok a gret insihte Of Eolen, that was so nyh; For whan that he hire beaute syh, 6840 Out of his wit he was assoted, And in his herte it hath so noted, That he forsok the Nimphes alle, And seide he wolde, hou so it falle, Assaie an other forto winne; So that his hertes thoght withinne He sette and caste hou that he myhte Of love pyke awey be nyhte That he be daie in other wise To stele mihte noght suffise: 6850 And therupon his time he waiteth.

Nou tak good hiede hou love afaiteth Him which withal is overcome. Faire Eolen, whan sche was come With Hercules into the Cave, Sche seide him that sche wolde have Hise clothes of and hires bothe, That ech of hem scholde other clothe. And al was do riht as sche bad, He hath hire in hise clothes clad 6860 And caste on hire his gulion, Which of the Skyn of a Leoun Was mad, as he upon the weie It slouh, and overthis to pleie Sche tok his grete Mace also And knet it at hir gerdil tho. So was sche lich the man arraied, And Hercules thanne hath assaied To clothen him in hire array: And thus thei jape forth the dai, 6870 Til that her Souper redy were. And whan thei hadden souped there, Thei schopen hem to gon to reste; And as it thoghte hem for the beste, Thei bede, as for that ilke nyht, Tuo sondri beddes to be dyht, For thei togedre ligge nolde, Be cause that thei offre wolde Upon the morwe here sacrifice. The servantz deden here office 6880 And sondri beddes made anon, Wherin that thei to reste gon Ech be himself in sondri place. Faire Eole hath set the Mace Beside hire beddes hed above, And with the clothes of hire love Sche helede al hire bed aboute; And he, which hadde of nothing doute, Hire wympel wond aboute his cheke, Hire kertell and hire mantel eke 6890 Abrod upon his bed he spredde. And thus thei slepen bothe abedde; And what of travail, what of wyn, The servantz lich to drunke Swyn Begunne forto route faste.

This Faunus, which his Stelthe caste, Was thanne come to the Cave, And fond thei weren alle save Withoute noise, and in he wente. The derke nyht his sihte blente, 6900 And yit it happeth him to go Where Eolen abedde tho Was leid al one for to slepe; Bot for he wolde take kepe Whos bed it was, he made assai, And of the Leoun, where it lay, The Cote he fond, and ek he fieleth The Mace, and thanne his herte kieleth, That there dorste he noght abyde, Bot stalketh upon every side 6910 And soghte aboute with his hond, That other bedd til that he fond, Wher lai bewympled a visage. Tho was he glad in his corage, For he hir kertell fond also And ek hir mantell bothe tuo Bespred upon the bed alofte. He made him naked thanne, and softe Into the bedd unwar he crepte, Wher Hercules that time slepte, 6920 And wende wel it were sche; And thus in stede of Eole Anon he profreth him to love. But he, which felte a man above, This Hercules, him threw to grounde So sore, that thei have him founde Liggende there upon the morwe; And tho was noght a litel sorwe, That Faunus of himselve made, Bot elles thei were alle glade 6930 And lowhen him to scorne aboute: Saba with Nimphis al a route Cam doun to loke hou that he ferde, And whan that thei the sothe herde, He was bejaped overal.

Mi Sone, be thou war withal To seche suche mecheries, Bot if thou have the betre aspies, In aunter if the so betyde As Faunus dede thilke tyde, 6940 Wherof thou miht be schamed so.

Min holi fader, certes no. Bot if I hadde riht good leve, Such mecherie I thenke leve: Mi feinte herte wol noght serve; For malgre wolde I noght deserve In thilke place wher I love. Bot for ye tolden hier above Of Covoitise and his pilage, If ther be more of that lignage, 6950 Which toucheth to mi schrifte, I preie That ye therof me wolde seie, So that I mai the vice eschuie.

Mi Sone, if I be order suie The vices, as thei stonde arowe, Of Covoitise thou schalt knowe Ther is yit on, which is the laste; In whom ther mai no vertu laste, For he with god himself debateth, Wherof that al the hevene him hateth. 6960

The hihe god, which alle goode Pourveied hath for mannes fode Of clothes and of mete and drinke, Bad Adam that he scholde swinke To geten him his sustienance: And ek he sette an ordinance Upon the lawe of Moises, That though a man be haveles, Yit schal he noght be thefte stele. Bot nou adaies ther ben fele, 6970 That wol no labour undertake, Bot what thei mai be Stelthe take Thei holde it sikerliche wonne. And thus the lawe is overronne, Which god hath set, and namely With hem that so untrewely The goodes robbe of holi cherche. The thefte which thei thanne werche Be name is cleped Sacrilegge, Ayein the whom I thenke alegge. 6980 Of his condicion to telle, Which rifleth bothe bok and belle, So forth with al the remenant To goddes hous appourtenant, Wher that he scholde bidde his bede, He doth his thefte in holi stede, And takth what thing he fint therinne: For whan he seth that he mai winne, He wondeth for no cursednesse, That he ne brekth the holinesse 6990 And doth to god no reverence; For he hath lost his conscience, That though the Prest therfore curse, He seith he fareth noght the wurse.

And forto speke it otherwise, What man that lasseth the franchise And takth of holi cherche his preie, I not what bedes he schal preie. Whan he fro god, which hath yive al, The Pourpartie in special, 7000 Which unto Crist himself is due, Benymth, he mai noght wel eschue The peine comende afterward; For he hath mad his foreward With Sacrilegge forto duelle, Which hath his heritage in helle. And if we rede of tholde lawe, I finde write, in thilke dawe Of Princes hou ther weren thre Coupable sore in this degre. 7010 That on of hem was cleped thus, The proude king Antiochus; That other Nabuzardan hihte, Which of his crualte behyhte The temple to destruie and waste, And so he dede in alle haste; The thridde, which was after schamed, Was Nabugodonosor named, And he Jerusalem putte under, Of Sacrilegge and many a wonder 7020 There in the holi temple he wroghte, Which Baltazar his heir aboghte, Whan Mane, Techel, Phares write Was on the wal, as thou miht wite, So as the bible it hath declared. Bot for al that it is noght spared Yit nou aday, that men ne pile, And maken argument and skile To Sacrilegge as it belongeth, For what man that ther after longeth, 7030 He takth non hiede what he doth.

And riht so, forto telle soth, In loves cause if I schal trete, Ther ben of suche smale and grete: If thei no leisir fynden elles, Thei wol noght wonden for the belles, Ne thogh thei sen the Prest at masse; That wol thei leten overpasse. If that thei finde here love there, Thei stonde and tellen in hire Ere, 7040 And axe of god non other grace, Whyl thei ben in that holi place; Bot er thei gon som avantage Ther wol thei have, and som pilage Of goodli word or of beheste, Or elles thei take ate leste Out of hir hand or ring or glove, So nyh the weder thei wol love, As who seith sche schal noght foryete, Nou I this tokne of hire have gete: 7050 Thus halwe thei the hihe feste. Such thefte mai no cherche areste, For al is leveful that hem liketh, To whom that elles it misliketh. And ek riht in the selve kinde In grete Cites men mai finde This lusti folk, that make it gay, And waite upon the haliday: In cherches and in Menstres eke Thei gon the wommen forto seke, 7060 And wher that such on goth aboute, Tofore the faireste of the route, Wher as thei sitten alle arewe, Ther wol he most his bodi schewe, His croket kembd and theron set A Nouche with a chapelet, Or elles on of grene leves, Which late com out of the greves, Al for he scholde seme freissh. And thus he loketh on the fleissh, 7070 Riht as an hauk which hath a sihte Upon the foul, ther he schal lihte; And as he were of faierie, He scheweth him tofore here yhe In holi place wher thei sitte, Al forto make here hertes flitte. His yhe nawher wole abyde, Bot loke and prie on every syde On hire and hire, as him best lyketh: And otherwhile among he syketh; 7080 Thenkth on of hem, “That was for me,” And so ther thenken tuo or thre, And yit he loveth non of alle, Bot wher as evere his chance falle. And natheles to seie a soth, The cause why that he so doth Is forto stele an herte or tuo, Out of the cherche er that he go: And as I seide it hier above, Al is that Sacrilege of love; 7090 For wel mai be he stelth away That he nevere after yelde may. Tell me forthi, my Sone, anon, Hast thou do Sacrilege, or non, As I have said in this manere?

Mi fader, as of this matiere I wole you tellen redely What I have do; bot trewely I mai excuse min entente, That nevere I yit to cherche wente 7100 In such manere as ye me schryve, For no womman that is on lyve. The cause why I have it laft Mai be for I unto that craft Am nothing able so to stele, Thogh ther be wommen noght so fele. Bot yit wol I noght seie this, Whan I am ther mi ladi is, In whom lith holly mi querele, And sche to cherche or to chapele 7110 Wol go to matins or to messe,— That time I waite wel and gesse, To cherche I come and there I stonde, And thogh I take a bok on honde, Mi contienance is on the bok, Bot toward hire is al my lok; And if so falle that I preie Unto mi god, and somwhat seie Of Paternoster or of Crede, Al is for that I wolde spede, 7120 So that mi bede in holi cherche Ther mihte som miracle werche Mi ladi herte forto chaunge, Which evere hath be to me so strange. So that al mi devocion And al mi contemplacion With al min herte and mi corage Is only set on hire ymage; And evere I waite upon the tyde. If sche loke eny thing asyde, 7130 That I me mai of hire avise, Anon I am with covoitise So smite, that me were lief To ben in holi cherche a thief; Bot noght to stele a vestement, For that is nothing mi talent, Bot I wold stele, if that I mihte, A glad word or a goodly syhte; And evere mi service I profre, And namly whan sche wol gon offre, 7140 For thanne I lede hire, if I may, For somwhat wolde I stele away. Whan I beclippe hire on the wast, Yit ate leste I stele a tast, And otherwhile “grant mercy” Sche seith, and so winne I therby A lusti touch, a good word eke, Bot al the remenant to seke Is fro mi pourpos wonder ferr. So mai I seie, as I seide er, 7150 In holy cherche if that I wowe, My conscience it wolde allowe, Be so that up amendement I mihte gete assignement Wher forto spede in other place: Such Sacrilege I holde a grace. And thus, mi fader, soth to seie, In cherche riht as in the weie, If I mihte oght of love take, Such hansell have I noght forsake. 7160 Bot finali I me confesse, Ther is in me non holinesse, Whil I hire se in eny stede; And yit, for oght that evere I dede, No Sacrilege of hire I tok, Bot if it were of word or lok, Or elles if that I hir fredde, Whan I toward offringe hir ledde, Take therof what I take may, For elles bere I noght away: 7170 For thogh I wolde oght elles have, Alle othre thinges ben so save And kept with such a privilege, That I mai do no Sacrilege. God wot mi wille natheles, Thogh I mot nedes kepe pes And malgre myn so let it passe, Mi will therto is noght the lasse, If I mihte other wise aweie. Forthi, mi fader, I you preie, 7180 Tell what you thenketh therupon, If I therof have gult or non.

Thi will, mi Sone, is forto blame, The remenant is bot a game, That I have herd the telle as yit. Bot tak this lore into thi wit, That alle thing hath time and stede, The cherche serveth for the bede, The chambre is of an other speche. Bot if thou wistest of the wreche, 7190 Hou Sacrilege it hath aboght, Thou woldest betre ben bethoght; And for thou schalt the more amende, A tale I wole on the despende.

To alle men, as who seith, knowe It is, and in the world thurgh blowe, Hou that of Troie Lamedon To Hercules and to Jasoun, Whan toward Colchos out of Grece Be See sailende upon a piece 7200 Of lond of Troie reste preide,— Bot he hem wrathfulli congeide: And for thei founde him so vilein, Whan thei come into Grece ayein, With pouer that thei gete myhte Towardes Troie thei hem dyhte, And ther thei token such vengance, Wherof stant yit the remembrance; For thei destruide king and al, And leften bot the brente wal. 7210 The Grecs of Troiens many slowe And prisoners thei toke ynowe, Among the whiche ther was on, The kinges doughter Lamedon, Esiona, that faire thing, Which unto Thelamon the king Be Hercules and be thassent Of al the hole parlement Was at his wille yove and granted. And thus hath Grece Troie danted, 7220 And hom thei torne in such manere: Bot after this nou schalt thou hiere The cause why this tale I telle, Upon the chances that befelle.