Chapter 6

I wolde, fader, that ye wiste, Mi conscience lith noght hiere: Yit hadde I nevere such matiere, 2430 Wherof min herte myhte amende, Noght of so mochel that sche sende Be mowthe and seide, “Griet him wel:” And thus for that ther is no diel Wherof to make myn avant, It is to reson acordant That I mai nevere, bot I lye, Of love make avanterie. I wot noght what I scholde have do, If that I hadde encheson so, 2440 As ye have seid hier manyon; Bot I fond cause nevere non: Bot daunger, which welnyh me slowh, Therof I cowthe telle ynowh, And of non other Avantance: Thus nedeth me no repentance. Now axeth furthere of my lif, For hierof am I noght gultif.

Mi Sone, I am wel paid withal; For wite it wel in special 2450 That love of his verrai justice Above alle othre ayein this vice At alle times most debateth, With al his herte and most it hateth. And ek in alle maner wise Avantarie is to despise, As be ensample thou myht wite, Which I finde in the bokes write.

Of hem that we Lombars now calle Albinus was the ferste of alle 2460 Which bar corone of Lombardie, And was of gret chivalerie In werre ayein diverse kinges. So fell amonges othre thinges, That he that time a werre hadde With Gurmond, which the Geptes ladde, And was a myhti kyng also: Bot natheles it fell him so, Albinus slowh him in the feld, Ther halp him nowther swerd ne scheld, 2470 That he ne smot his hed of thanne, Wherof he tok awey the Panne, Of which he seide he wolde make A Cuppe for Gurmoundes sake, To kepe and drawe into memoire Of his bataille the victoire. And thus whan he the feld hath wonne, The lond anon was overronne And sesed in his oghne hond, Wher he Gurmondes dowhter fond, 2480 Which Maide Rosemounde hihte, And was in every mannes sihte A fair, a freissh, a lusti on. His herte fell to hire anon, And such a love on hire he caste, That he hire weddeth ate laste; And after that long time in reste With hire he duelte, and to the beste Thei love ech other wonder wel. Bot sche which kepth the blinde whel, 2490 Venus, whan thei be most above, In al the hoteste of here love, Hire whiel sche torneth, and thei felle In the manere as I schal telle.

This king, which stod in al his welthe Of pes, of worschipe and of helthe, And felte him on no side grieved, As he that hath his world achieved, Tho thoghte he wolde a feste make; And that was for his wyves sake, 2500 That sche the lordes ate feste, That were obeissant to his heste, Mai knowe: and so forth therupon He let ordeine, and sende anon Be lettres and be messagiers, And warnede alle hise officiers That every thing be wel arraied: The grete Stiedes were assaied For joustinge and for tornement, And many a perled garnement 2510 Embroudred was ayein the dai. The lordes in here beste arrai Be comen ate time set, On jousteth wel, an other bet, And otherwhile thei torneie, And thus thei casten care aweie And token lustes upon honde. And after, thou schalt understonde, To mete into the kinges halle Thei come, as thei be beden alle: 2520 And whan thei were set and served, Thanne after, as it was deserved, To hem that worthi knyhtes were, So as thei seten hiere and there, The pris was yove and spoken oute Among the heraldz al aboute. And thus benethe and ek above Al was of armes and of love, Wherof abouten ate bordes Men hadde manye sondri wordes, 2530 That of the merthe which thei made The king himself began to glade Withinne his herte and tok a pride, And sih the Cuppe stonde aside, Which mad was of Gurmoundes hed, As ye have herd, whan he was ded, And was with gold and riche Stones Beset and bounde for the nones, And stod upon a fot on heihte Of burned gold, and with gret sleihte 2540 Of werkmanschipe it was begrave Of such werk as it scholde have, And was policed ek so clene That no signe of the Skulle is sene, Bot as it were a Gripes Ey. The king bad bere his Cuppe awey, Which stod tofore him on the bord, And fette thilke. Upon his word This Skulle is fet and wyn therinne, Wherof he bad his wif beginne: 2550 “Drink with thi fader, Dame,” he seide. And sche to his biddinge obeide, And tok the Skulle, and what hire liste Sche drank, as sche which nothing wiste What Cuppe it was: and thanne al oute The kyng in audience aboute Hath told it was hire fader Skulle, So that the lordes knowe schulle Of his bataille a soth witnesse, And made avant thurgh what prouesse 2560 He hath his wyves love wonne, Which of the Skulle hath so begonne. Tho was ther mochel Pride alofte, Thei speken alle, and sche was softe, Thenkende on thilke unkynde Pride, Of that hire lord so nyh hire side Avanteth him that he hath slain And piked out hire fader brain, And of the Skulle had mad a Cuppe. Sche soffreth al til thei were uppe, 2570 And tho sche hath seknesse feigned, And goth to chambre and hath compleigned Unto a Maide which sche triste, So that non other wyht it wiste. This Mayde Glodeside is hote, To whom this lady hath behote Of ladischipe al that sche can, To vengen hire upon this man, Which dede hire drinke in such a plit Among hem alle for despit 2580 Of hire and of hire fader bothe; Wherof hire thoghtes ben so wrothe, Sche seith, that sche schal noght be glad, Til that sche se him so bestad That he nomore make avant. And thus thei felle in covenant, That thei acorden ate laste, With suche wiles as thei caste That thei wol gete of here acord Som orped knyht to sle this lord: 2590 And with this sleihte thei beginne, How thei Helmege myhten winne, Which was the kinges Boteler, A proud a lusti Bacheler, And Glodeside he loveth hote. And sche, to make him more assote, Hire love granteth, and be nyhte Thei schape how thei togedre myhte Abedde meete: and don it was This same nyht; and in this cas 2600 The qwene hirself the nyht secounde Wente in hire stede, and there hath founde A chambre derk withoute liht, And goth to bedde to this knyht. And he, to kepe his observance, To love doth his obeissance, And weneth it be Glodeside; And sche thanne after lay aside, And axeth him what he hath do, And who sche was sche tolde him tho, 2610 And seide: “Helmege, I am thi qwene, Now schal thi love wel be sene Of that thou hast thi wille wroght: Or it schal sore ben aboght, Or thou schalt worche as I thee seie. And if thou wolt be such a weie Do my plesance and holde it stille, For evere I schal ben at thi wille, Bothe I and al myn heritage.” Anon the wylde loves rage, 2620 In which noman him can governe, Hath mad him that he can noght werne, Bot fell al hol to hire assent: And thus the whiel is al miswent, The which fortune hath upon honde; For how that evere it after stonde, Thei schope among hem such a wyle, The king was ded withinne a whyle. So slihly cam it noght aboute That thei ne ben descoevered oute, 2630 So that it thoghte hem for the beste To fle, for there was no reste: And thus the tresor of the king Thei trusse and mochel other thing, And with a certein felaschipe Thei fledde and wente awey be schipe, And hielde here rihte cours fro thenne, Til that thei come to Ravenne, Wher thei the Dukes helpe soghte. And he, so as thei him besoghte, 2640 A place granteth forto duelle; Bot after, whan he herde telle Of the manere how thei have do, This Duk let schape for hem so, That of a puison which thei drunke Thei hadden that thei have beswunke.

And al this made avant of Pride: Good is therfore a man to hide His oghne pris, for if he speke, He mai lihtliche his thonk tobreke. 2650 In armes lith non avantance To him which thenkth his name avance And be renomed of his dede: And also who that thenkth to spede Of love, he mai him noght avaunte; For what man thilke vice haunte, His pourpos schal fulofte faile. In armes he that wol travaile Or elles loves grace atteigne, His lose tunge he mot restreigne, 2660 Which berth of his honour the keie.

Forthi, my Sone, in alle weie Tak riht good hiede of this matiere.

I thonke you, my fader diere, This scole is of a gentil lore; And if ther be oght elles more Of Pride, which I schal eschuie, Now axeth forth, and I wol suie What thing that ye me wole enforme.

Mi Sone, yit in other forme 2670 Ther is a vice of Prides lore, Which lich an hauk whan he wol sore, Fleith upon heihte in his delices After the likynge of his vices, And wol no mannes resoun knowe, Till he doun falle and overthrowe. This vice veine gloire is hote, Wherof, my Sone, I thee behote To trete and speke in such a wise, That thou thee myht the betre avise. 2680

The proude vice of veine gloire Remembreth noght of purgatoire, Hise worldes joyes ben so grete, Him thenkth of hevene no beyete; This lives Pompe is al his pes: Yit schal he deie natheles, And therof thenkth he bot a lite, For al his lust is to delite In newe thinges, proude and veine, Als ferforth as he mai atteigne. 2690 I trowe, if that he myhte make His body newe, he wolde take A newe forme and leve his olde: For what thing that he mai beholde, The which to comun us is strange, Anon his olde guise change He wole and falle therupon, Lich unto the Camelion, Which upon every sondri hewe That he beholt he moste newe 2700 His colour, and thus unavised Fulofte time he stant desguised. Mor jolif than the brid in Maii He makth him evere freissh and gay, And doth al his array desguise, So that of him the newe guise Of lusti folk alle othre take; And ek he can carolles make, Rondeal, balade and virelai. And with al this, if that he may 2710 Of love gete him avantage, Anon he wext of his corage So overglad, that of his ende Him thenkth ther is no deth comende: For he hath thanne at alle tide Of love such a maner pride, Him thenkth his joie is endeles.

Now schrif thee, Sone, in godes pes, And of thi love tell me plein If that thi gloire hath be so vein. 2720

Mi fader, as touchinge of al I may noght wel ne noght ne schal Of veine gloire excuse me, That I ne have for love be The betre adresced and arraied; And also I have ofte assaied Rondeal, balade and virelai For hire on whom myn herte lai To make, and also forto peinte Caroles with my wordes qweinte, 2730 To sette my pourpos alofte; And thus I sang hem forth fulofte In halle and ek in chambre aboute, And made merie among the route, Bot yit ne ferde I noght the bet. Thus was my gloire in vein beset Of al the joie that I made; For whanne I wolde with hire glade, And of hire love songes make, Sche saide it was noght for hir sake, 2740 And liste noght my songes hiere Ne witen what the wordes were. So forto speke of myn arrai, Yit couthe I nevere be so gay Ne so wel make a songe of love, Wherof I myhte ben above And have encheson to be glad; Bot rathere I am ofte adrad For sorwe that sche seith me nay. And natheles I wol noght say, 2750 That I nam glad on other side; For fame, that can nothing hide, Alday wol bringe unto myn Ere Of that men speken hier and there, How that my ladi berth the pris, How sche is fair, how sche is wis, How sche is wommanlich of chiere; Of al this thing whanne I mai hiere, What wonder is thogh I be fain? And ek whanne I may hiere sain 2760 Tidinges of my ladi hele, Althogh I may noght with hir dele, Yit am I wonder glad of that; For whanne I wot hire good astat, As for that time I dar wel swere, Non other sorwe mai me dere, Thus am I gladed in this wise. Bot, fader, of youre lores wise, Of whiche ye be fully tawht, Now tell me if yow thenketh awht 2770 That I therof am forto wyte.

Of that ther is I thee acquite, Mi sone, he seide, and for thi goode I wolde that thou understode: For I thenke upon this matiere To telle a tale, as thou schalt hiere, How that ayein this proude vice The hihe god of his justice Is wroth and gret vengance doth. Now herkne a tale that is soth: 2780 Thogh it be noght of loves kinde, A gret ensample thou schalt finde This veine gloire forto fle, Which is so full of vanite.

Ther was a king that mochel myhte, Which Nabugodonosor hihte, Of whom that I spak hier tofore. Yit in the bible his name is bore, For al the world in Orient Was hol at his comandement: 2790 As thanne of kinges to his liche Was non so myhty ne so riche; To his Empire and to his lawes, As who seith, alle in thilke dawes Were obeissant and tribut bere, As thogh he godd of Erthe were. With strengthe he putte kinges under, And wroghte of Pride many a wonder; He was so full of veine gloire, That he ne hadde no memoire 2800 That ther was eny good bot he, For pride of his prosperite; Til that the hihe king of kinges, Which seth and knoweth alle thinges, Whos yhe mai nothing asterte,— The privetes of mannes herte Thei speke and sounen in his Ere As thogh thei lowde wyndes were,— He tok vengance upon this pride. Bot for he wolde awhile abide 2810 To loke if he him wolde amende, To him a foretokne he sende, And that was in his slep be nyhte. This proude kyng a wonder syhte Hadde in his swevene, ther he lay: Him thoghte, upon a merie day As he behield the world aboute, A tree fulgrowe he syh theroute, Which stod the world amiddes evene, Whos heihte straghte up to the hevene; 2820 The leves weren faire and large, Of fruit it bar so ripe a charge, That alle men it myhte fede: He sih also the bowes spriede Above al Erthe, in whiche were The kinde of alle briddes there; And eke him thoghte he syh also The kinde of alle bestes go Under this tre aboute round And fedden hem upon the ground. 2830 As he this wonder stod and syh, Him thoghte he herde a vois on hih Criende, and seide aboven alle: “Hew doun this tree and lett it falle, The leves let defoule in haste And do the fruit destruie and waste, And let of schreden every braunche, Bot ate Rote let it staunche. Whan al his Pride is cast to grounde, The rote schal be faste bounde, 2840 And schal no mannes herte bere, Bot every lust he schal forbere Of man, and lich an Oxe his mete Of gras he schal pourchace and ete, Til that the water of the hevene Have waisshen him be times sevene, So that he be thurghknowe ariht What is the heveneliche myht, And be mad humble to the wille Of him which al mai save and spille.” 2850

This king out of his swefne abreide, And he upon the morwe it seide Unto the clerkes whiche he hadde: Bot non of hem the sothe aradde, Was non his swevene cowthe undo. And it stod thilke time so, This king hadde in subjeccioun Judee, and of affeccioun Above alle othre on Daniel He loveth, for he cowthe wel 2860 Divine that non other cowthe: To him were alle thinges cowthe, As he it hadde of goddes grace. He was before the kinges face Asent, and bode that he scholde Upon the point the king of tolde The fortune of his swevene expounde, As it scholde afterward be founde. Whan Daniel this swevene herde, He stod long time er he ansuerde, 2870 And made a wonder hevy chiere. The king tok hiede of his manere, And bad him telle that he wiste, As he to whom he mochel triste, And seide he wolde noght be wroth. Bot Daniel was wonder loth, And seide: “Upon thi fomen alle, Sire king, thi swevene mote falle; And natheles touchende of this I wol the tellen how it is, 2880 And what desese is to thee schape: God wot if thou it schalt ascape.

The hihe tree, which thou hast sein With lef and fruit so wel besein, The which stod in the world amiddes, So that the bestes and the briddes Governed were of him al one, Sire king, betokneth thi persone, Which stant above all erthli thinges. Thus regnen under the the kinges, 2890 And al the poeple unto thee louteth, And al the world thi pouer doubteth, So that with vein honour deceived Thou hast the reverence weyved Fro him which is thi king above, That thou for drede ne for love Wolt nothing knowen of thi godd; Which now for thee hath mad a rodd, Thi veine gloire and thi folie With grete peines to chastie. 2900 And of the vois thou herdest speke, Which bad the bowes forto breke And hewe and felle doun the tree, That word belongeth unto thee; Thi regne schal ben overthrowe, And thou despuiled for a throwe: Bot that the Rote scholde stonde, Be that thou schalt wel understonde, Ther schal abyden of thi regne A time ayein whan thou schalt regne. 2910 And ek of that thou herdest seie, To take a mannes herte aweie And sette there a bestial, So that he lich an Oxe schal Pasture, and that he be bereined Be times sefne and sore peined, Til that he knowe his goddes mihtes, Than scholde he stonde ayein uprihtes,— Al this betokneth thin astat, Which now with god is in debat: 2920 Thi mannes forme schal be lassed, Til sevene yer ben overpassed, And in the liknesse of a beste Of gras schal be thi real feste, The weder schal upon thee reine. And understond that al this peine, Which thou schalt soffre thilke tide, Is schape al only for thi pride Of veine gloire, and of the sinne Which thou hast longe stonden inne. 2930

So upon this condicioun Thi swevene hath exposicioun. Bot er this thing befalle in dede, Amende thee, this wolde I rede: Yif and departe thin almesse, Do mercy forth with rihtwisnesse, Besech and prei the hihe grace, For so thou myht thi pes pourchace With godd, and stonde in good acord.”

Bot Pride is loth to leve his lord, 2940 And wol noght soffre humilite With him to stonde in no degree; And whan a schip hath lost his stiere, Is non so wys that mai him stiere Ayein the wawes in a rage. This proude king in his corage Humilite hath so forlore, That for no swevene he sih tofore, Ne yit for al that Daniel Him hath conseiled everydel, 2950 He let it passe out of his mynde, Thurgh veine gloire, and as the blinde, He seth no weie, er him be wo. And fell withinne a time so, As he in Babiloine wente, The vanite of Pride him hente; His herte aros of veine gloire, So that he drowh into memoire His lordschipe and his regalie With wordes of Surquiderie. 2960 And whan that he him most avaunteth, That lord which veine gloire daunteth, Al sodeinliche, as who seith treis, Wher that he stod in his Paleis, He tok him fro the mennes sihte: Was non of hem so war that mihte Sette yhe wher that he becom. And thus was he from his kingdom Into the wilde Forest drawe, Wher that the myhti goddes lawe 2970 Thurgh his pouer dede him transforme Fro man into a bestes forme; And lich an Oxe under the fot He graseth, as he nedes mot, To geten him his lives fode. Tho thoghte him colde grases goode, That whilom eet the hote spices, Thus was he torned fro delices: The wyn which he was wont to drinke He tok thanne of the welles brinke 2980 Or of the pet or of the slowh, It thoghte him thanne good ynowh: In stede of chambres wel arraied He was thanne of a buissh wel paied, The harde ground he lay upon, For othre pilwes hath he non; The stormes and the Reines falle, The wyndes blowe upon him alle, He was tormented day and nyht, Such was the hihe goddes myht, 2990 Til sevene yer an ende toke. Upon himself tho gan he loke; In stede of mete gras and stres, In stede of handes longe cles, In stede of man a bestes lyke He syh; and thanne he gan to syke For cloth of gold and for perrie, Which him was wont to magnefie. Whan he behield his Cote of heres, He wepte and with fulwoful teres 3000 Up to the hevene he caste his chiere Wepende, and thoghte in this manere; Thogh he no wordes myhte winne, Thus seide his herte and spak withinne: “O mihti godd, that al hast wroght And al myht bringe ayein to noght, Now knowe I wel, bot al of thee, This world hath no prosperite: In thin aspect ben alle liche, The povere man and ek the riche, 3010 Withoute thee ther mai no wight, And thou above alle othre miht. O mihti lord, toward my vice Thi merci medle with justice; And I woll make a covenant, That of my lif the remenant I schal it be thi grace amende, And in thi lawe so despende That veine gloire I schal eschuie, And bowe unto thin heste and suie 3020 Humilite, and that I vowe.” And so thenkende he gan doun bowe, And thogh him lacke vois and speche, He gan up with his feet areche, And wailende in his bestly stevene He made his pleignte unto the hevene. He kneleth in his wise and braieth, To seche merci and assaieth His god, which made him nothing strange, Whan that he sih his pride change. 3030 Anon as he was humble and tame, He fond toward his god the same, And in a twinklinge of a lok His mannes forme ayein he tok, And was reformed to the regne In which that he was wont to regne; So that the Pride of veine gloire Evere afterward out of memoire He let it passe. And thus is schewed What is to ben of Pride unthewed 3040 Ayein the hihe goddes lawe, To whom noman mai be felawe.

Forthi, my Sone, tak good hiede So forto lede thi manhiede, That thou ne be noght lich a beste. Bot if thi lif schal ben honeste, Thou most humblesce take on honde, For thanne myht thou siker stonde: And forto speke it otherwise, A proud man can no love assise; 3050 For thogh a womman wolde him plese, His Pride can noght ben at ese.

Ther mai noman to mochel blame A vice which is forto blame; Forthi men scholde nothing hide That mihte falle in blame of Pride, Which is the werste vice of alle: Wherof, so as it was befalle, The tale I thenke of a Cronique To telle, if that it mai thee like, 3060 So that thou myht humblesce suie And ek the vice of Pride eschuie, Wherof the gloire is fals and vein; Which god himself hath in desdeign, That thogh it mounte for a throwe, It schal doun falle and overthrowe.

A king whilom was yong and wys, The which sette of his wit gret pris. Of depe ymaginaciouns And strange interpretaciouns, 3070 Problemes and demandes eke, His wisdom was to finde and seke; Wherof he wolde in sondri wise Opposen hem that weren wise. Bot non of hem it myhte bere Upon his word to yeve answere, Outaken on, which was a knyht; To him was every thing so liht, That also sone as he hem herde, The kinges wordes he answerde; 3080 What thing the king him axe wolde, Therof anon the trowthe he tolde. The king somdiel hadde an Envie, And thoghte he wolde his wittes plie To sette som conclusioun, Which scholde be confusioun Unto this knyht, so that the name And of wisdom the hihe fame Toward himself he wolde winne. And thus of al his wit withinne 3090 This king began to studie and muse, What strange matiere he myhte use The knyhtes wittes to confounde; And ate laste he hath it founde, And for the knyht anon he sente, That he schal telle what he mente. Upon thre pointz stod the matiere Of questions, as thou schalt hiere.

The ferste point of alle thre Was this: “What thing in his degre 3100 Of al this world hath nede lest, And yet men helpe it althermest?”

The secounde is: “What most is worth, And of costage is lest put forth?”

The thridde is: “Which is of most cost, And lest is worth and goth to lost?”