Fyrst how Fortune me failed at mi most nede

And howe þat Elde manaced me , myght we euer meten

And how the Fryers folowed folke that was ryche

And folke that was pore , at litle price they set

And no cors in hir kyrkeyard , nor kirke was buried

But quik he bequeth hem oght , or quite part of hir dets

And howe that couetise ouercame clarkes & priestes

And how þat lewde men be ladde , but our lord hem help

Through vncunning creatures , to incurable paines

And how that imaginatiue in dreames me tolde

Of kind & of his cunning , & how curtise he is to beasts

And how louing he is to beasts on lande & on water

Leneth he no lyfe lesse ne more .

The creatures that crepen of kinde they be engendred

And sithen how imaginatiue sayde , Uix saluabitur ,

And when he had sayde so how sodenly he passed

I laye longe in thys thoughte , and at the last I slepte

And as Christ wold conscience came to confort me þat time

And bade come in his court , with cleargy shold I dyne

And for conscience of clergy spake , I came wel þe rather

And ther I se a master , what man he was I nist

That lowe he lowted , and louelye to scripture

Conscience knew him well and welcomed hym fayre

They washen and wypen and went to the dyner

And patience in the palaice stode in pilgrimes clothes

And prayed meate for charitie , for a pore hermite ,

Conscience called hym in , and curtesly sayd ,

Welcome wyght , go and washe , þou shalt sit sone

Thys maister was made sit , as for the most worthy

And than Cleargy & Conscience , & Patience came after

Patience and I were put to be matches ,

And sitten by our-selfe at the syde borde ,

Conscience called after meate , and than came scripture

And serued them thus sone , of sondrye meates manye

Of Austen of Ambrose , and of the four Euangelistes

Edentes et bibentes , que apud eos sunt .

And thys maister and hys man no maner fleshe eaten

And they eate meate of more cost , mortreux & potage

Of that men miswonne , they made hem well at ease

And their sause was ouer sour , and vnsauerly ground ,

In a morter Post mortem , of many bytter paynes

But if they singe for the soules & wepe salt teares

Uos qui peccata hominum commeditis , nisi pro eis lachrimas

Conscience full curteslye tho commaunded scripture ,

Before patience bread to bring , & me þat was his match

He set a soure lofe before vs and sayd , Agite penitentiam ,

And sythe he brought vs dryncke , diaperseueraunce

As longe quod I as I lyue , and lykam man endure .

Here preti seruice quod Patience , no prince can fare better

Then brought he forth a mes , of meat of Miserere mei

And he brought vs of Beati quorum , of Beatus virs makynge

Et quorum tecta sunt peccata . in a dishe ,

Of dernes Shrifte Dixi , and Confitebor tibi ,

Brynge Patience some pitaunce priuily quod conscience ,

And than had Patience a pitaunce .Pro hac orabit ad te . & cetera .

And Conscience conforted vs , & carped vs mery tales

Cor contritum et humiliatum deus non despicies

Patience was proude , of that proper seruice ,

And made him merye with hys meat , & I mourned euer

For this doctor on the hye deese dranke wyne so faste .

Ue vobis qui potentes estis , ad bibendum vinum .

He eate many sondry meates mortrix & poddynges

Wombe cloutes & wyld brawne , & egs fried with grese

Then sayd I to my-selfe so , Patience it harde

It is not four dayes that this freke before þe deane of Pouls

Preched of penaunce , þat Poul thapostle suffred

In fame et frigore , and flappes of scourges

Ter Cesus sum et a Iudeis quinquies quadragenas ,

And one word they ouerhypped at ech time that they preach

That Poule in hys pistle to al the puple told

Periculum est in falsis fratribus .

Holy wryte byd men beware , I will not write it here

In englyshe on auenture , it should be rehearsed to oft

And greue therwith good men , & gramarians shold read .

Unusquisque a fratre se custodiat quia vt dicitur periculum est

And I wyst neuer freke þat as a frier yead before men in english

Take it for her theme , & tel it without glosyngs

They preach that penaunce is profitable to the soule

And what mischefe & male-ease , Christ for man tholed ,

And thys gods gloton quod I , with hys greate cheakes

Hath no pitye on vs pore , he perfourmeth euyl

That he preacheth he preueth not , to Patience I told

And wyshed full wytterly with wyll full egre

That dyshes and doublers before thys ilke doctour

Were molten lead in hys mawe , & Mahound amydst

I shall iangle to thys Iurdan , with hys iuste wombe

To tel me what penaunce is , of which he preched rathe

Patience perceiued what I thought , & winked on me

And said þ / þ[ou] shalt se thus soone , whan he may no more

He shal haue a penaunce in his paunch , & puf at ech word

And than shal his guttes gottilen , & he shal gulpen after

For now he hath dronke so depe , he woll diuine sone

And preuen it by her pocalyps , & passion of saint Auareis

That nether bacon ne browne , blacke manger / bla[n]cke-manger ne mortreux

Is neyther fyshe ne flesh , but fode for a penaunt

And than shall he testifie of trinitie , & take his felow to witnes

What he found in a fraile , after a fryers liuing

And but he fyrst lyue by leasinges , leue me neuer after

And than is tyme to take , and to oppose thys doctour

Of dowel & of dobet , & if dobest be any penaunce ·

And I sate styl as Patience sayd , & thus sone this doctour

As ruddy as a rose rubbed hys chekes

Coughed and carped , and Conscience hym hearde

And tolde hym of a Trinitie , and toward vs he loked

What is dowel sir doctor quod I , is dowel any penaunce

Dowell quod this doctour , & toke the cup & drancke

Is do no euyll to thyne euen-christen not by thy power

By this daye syr doctour quod I than , ye be not in dowel

For ye haue harmed vs two , in þat ye eaten the pudynge

Mortreux and other meate , and we no morsel had

And if ye fare so in your farmery , ferly me thynketh

But chest be ther chariti shold be , & children durst pleine

I wold permute mi penaunce with you , for I am in point to do wel

Than Conscience curtesli a countenaunce made

And preynt apon Patience to praye me to be styll

And sayde hym-selfe syr doctour , and it be your will

What is dowell and dobet , ye diuinours knowe

Dowell quod thys doctour , is do as clarkes teache

And dobet is he þat teacheth , & traueleth to teach other

And dobeste doth hym-selfe so , as he sayth & precheth ,

Qui facit et docuerit , magnus vocabitur in regno celorum .

Now þou Cleargy & conscience , carpest what is dowell ,

I haue seuen sonnes he sayd seruen in a castell ,

Ther the lord of lyfe wonneth to learne what is dowel

Tyll I see the seuen and my-selfe accorden ,

I am vnhardy quod he , to any wyght to preue it

For one Pierce the Ploughman hath impungned vs al ,

And set al sciences at a Soupe , saue loue onelye

And no text ne taketh to mayntayne hys cause

But Dilige deum , And Domine quis habitabit ,

And sayeth that dowell and dobet , are two infinites

Whyche infinites wyth fayeth fynde oute dobest ,

Which shal saue mans soul , thus saith Pierce plowman

I can not here one quod Conscience , & I knowe well Pierce

He wil not gaine saie holi writ , I dare wel vndertake

Than passe we ouer til Pierce come , & preue it in dede ,

Patience hath ben in many places , & peraduenture mouthed

That no clarke ne can , as Christ beareth witnes

Patientes vincunt & . cetera .

And your praier quod Pacience tho , so no man displese him

Disce quod he , Doce , and Dilige inimicos ,

Disce and dowell , Doce , and dobet , Dilege , and do-beste ,

Thus taught me once ,

A lemman that I loued , loue was hyr name ,

With wordes & with workes quod she , & wil of thy hert

Thou loue lelly thy soule , all thy lyfe-tyme ,

And so þou learne the to loue , for the lordes loue of heuen

Thyne enimies in all wyse , euen forth with thy-selfe

Cast coles on hys heade , of all kynde of speache

Both with works & with wordes , found hys loue to wyn ,

And lay on hym thus with loue , tyl he laughe on the

And but he bowe for this beating , blind might he be

And for to fare thus with thy frynde folye it were ,

For he that loueth the lellye , lytle of thyne coueteth

Kynde loue coueteth not no cattell but speache

Wyth halfe a lumpe in latine , Ex vi transitionis ,

I beare therin aboute faste bounde Dowell ,

In a sygne of the saturday , that set fyrst the Kalender .

And al the wyt of the wenisday , of þe next weke after

The middle of the mone , as the myght of bothe

And therwyth I am welcome , there I haue it with me .

Undo it let thys doctour deme if dowell be therin

For by hym that me made , myght neuer pouertye

Myse-ase ne mischiefe ne man wyth hys tonge

Colde ne care ne company of theues ,

Ne nether heate ne hayle , ne none helle Powke ,

Ne neyther fyre ne floude , ne feare of thyne enemye

Tene the any tyme , and thou take it wyth the .

Charitas nihil timet .

It is but a Dido quod thys doctour a disertes / dis[ou]rs tale ,

All the wyt of thys worlde and wight mens strength

Can not confirme a peace betwene þe pope , & his enmies

Ne betwene .ii. / two christen kings , can no wight peace make

Profitable to either people , & put the table from hym ,

And toke cleargy and conscience to counsel as it were

That patience þou muste passe for pilgrimes can well lye

And Conscience carped loude , and curteslye sayd ,

Frendes fare well , and fayre spake to cleargy ,

For I wyl go with this gomme , if god wil giue me grace

And be pilgraime with Patient til I haue preued more ,

What quod cleargy to conscience , are ye couetouse nowe

After yeresegyft or gyftes , or yernen to read ryddels ,

I shall brynge you a byble , a boke of the olde lawe ,

And learne you if you lyke , the least poynt to know

That Patience the pylgryme , perfitlye knewe neuer

Nay by Christ quod Consience to Cleargy , god þe foryelde

For al that Patience me profereth , proude am I lyttle

And the wyll of the wye , and the wyll of folke here

Hath meued my mode to mourne for my synnes

The good wyll of a wyght was neuer bought to the full

For there is no treasure therto , to a true wyll

Had not Magdalen more for aboxe / a boxe of salue

Than zecheus for he said , Dimidium bonorum meorum do pauperibus

And the pore wydowe for a payre of mites

Than all tho that offred into Gazophilacium ,

Thus curtessye / curteslye conscience conged fyrst the fryer

And sythen softlye he sayd in cleargies eare ,

Me were leuer by our lord , and I lyue shoulde

Haue Patience perfectly , then halfe thy pack of bokes

Cleargy of Consience , no congye would take

But sayd full soberlye , thou shalt se the tyme

Whan thou arte werye for walking , wyl me to counsel

That is sothe sayd Conscience , so me god helpe

If Patience be our parting selow / [f]elow , & preuye with vs both

There nys wo in thys world , that we ne should amend

And confirmen kynges to peace , and al kynnes londs

Sarazens and Surre , & so forth al the Iewes

Turne into the true fayth , and into one beleue

That is soth quod Cleargye , I se what thou meanest

I shall dwel as I do , my deuour to shewen

And cofyrmen fauntekyns , and other folke learned

Tyll Patience haue preued the and perfect the maked

Conscience tho with patience , passed pilgrymes as it wer

Than had patience as pilgrimes haue , in his poke vitail

Sobrietie and simple speach , & soth-fast beleue

To confort hym and Conscience , if they come in place

There vnkindnes & couetous is , hongry countres both

And as they went by the way , of dowell they carped

They met wyth a mynstrell , as me tho thought

Patience posed him fyrst , and prayed he should tel

To Conscience what craft he culd , & whither he woulde

I am mynstrell quod that man , my name is Actiua vita ,

All idle iche hate , for all actyue is my name

A wafrer well ye wyt , and serue manye Lordes

And fewe roobes I song , or furred gownes

Can I lye to do men laughe , than lachen I should

Other mantell or money , amonges lords or minstrels

And for I can nether taber ne trumpe , ne tell no gests

Farten ne fyslen at feastes , ne harpen

Iape ne iuggle , ne gentilly pype

Ne nether saylen ne saute , ne syng to the gyterne

I hane / ha[u]e no good gyftes of these greate lordes

For no bred þat I bring forth , saue a venison on þe sundai

Whan þe priest praieth the puple , þe Paternoster to saie

For Pierce the plouman , and that hym profit wayten

And that am I actyue that idlenes hate

For al true trauelers , and tyllers of the earth

From Myghelmas to Mighelmas , I find hem with my wafers

Beggers and bydders of my bread crauen

Faytours and friers , & folke with brode crownes

I fynd paine for the pope , & prouender for his palfrey

And I had neuer of hym , haue god my truth

Nether prouender ne parsonage , yet of the popes gift

Saue a pardon with a piece of lede , & two poles amids

Had ich a clarke þat could wryte , I wold cast him a byll

That he sent me vnder his seale , a salue for þe pestilence

And þat his blessing & his buls botches might destroy

In nomiue / nomi[n]e meo demonia eiicient , et super egros manus im

And then wold I be priest to þe puple , paast for to make

And buxome and busie about bread and drynke

For hym and for all hys , found I that hys pardon

Myght lechen a man , as I beleue it shoulde

For sith he hath the power , that Peter hym-selfe had

He hath the pot with the salue sothely as me thynketh

Argentum et aurum non est mihi , quod autem habeo tibi do .

In nomine domini surge et ambula .

And if mighte of miracle him faile , it is for men be not worth

To haue grace of god , & no gilt of the Pope

For may no blessing done vs bote , but if we wil amend

Ther may no man make peace among christen people

Til pride be purely fordo , & through paine defaut

For ere I haue breade , a meale of mote I swete

And er þe common haue corne inough , mani cold morning

So ere my wafers ben wrought much wo I tholye

All London I leue lyketh well my wafers

And loure whan they lacke hem , it is not long passed

Ther was a careful common , when no cart came to towne

With bread from Stratford tho gonnen beggers wepe

And workmen were agast a litle this woll be thought longe

In date of our dryght in a drye Apriell

A thousande and thre hundred twyse twenty & ten

My wafers ther wer geisen whan Chicester was Mair

I toke good kepe bi Christ and Conscience both

Of Hankyn Nthe actyue man , and how he was clothed

He had a cote of christendome as holye kyrke beleueth

And it was moled in mani places with mani sondry plots

Of prid here a plotte , & ther a plot of vnboxome spech

Of schorning & of schoffinge , & of vnskilful bearinge

As in apparel & in power proud among the puple

Otherwise then he hath with hert or sight shewings

Him willyng þat al men wend he were that is not

For why , he bosteth & braggeth with many bold othes

And is vnobedient to ben vndernome of any lyfe liuing

And none so singuler by hym-selfe , nor so pope-holye

Hated as an hermet , an order by hym-selfe

Religion sans rule , and vnreasonable obedience

Lacked lettred men , and lewde men bothe

In lykinge of lele lyfe , and a lyer in Soule ,

With inwyt and out wyt , imaginen and studie

As beste for hys bodye be , to haue a bad name ,

And entermeten hym ouer all , there he hath not to do

Wylnynge that men wend , hys wytte were the beste

And if he giue ought to pore goms , tel what he delith

Pore of possession in purse and in cofer bothe

And as a Lyon on to loke , and Lordely of speach

Boldest of beggers , a boster that nought hath ,

In towne and in tauernes , tales to tell

And saye thyng þat he neuer se , and forsoth swere it ,

Of dedes that he neuer dyd , demen and bosten ,

And of warkes that he well dyd , wytnes and siggen ,

Looe if ye leue me not , or that I lye wenen

Aske at hym or at hym , and he the can tell

What I suffred and see , and sometymes had

And what I coulde and knew , & what kyn I came of

Al he would þat men wyste , of werkes and of wordes ,

Whyche myght please the puple , & prayse him-selfe .

Si hominibus placerem Christi seruus non essem ,

Et alibi , Nemo potest duobus dominis seruire .

By Christ quod Conscience tho , thy best cote Hankyn

Hath many moles and spottes , it must be washed

Yea , who-so toke hede quod HaukynN , bihinde & bifore

What on back & what on body halfe , & bi þe two sides

Men shold fynd many fowle sides , & mani fowle plots

And he turned hym as Tit , and than toke I hede

It was fowler by fell folde , than it fyrst semed

It was bydropped wyth wrath , and wycked wyll

Wyth Enuy and euyll speache , entysynge to fyght

Lyinge and laughynge , and lefe tonge to chyde

All that he wyste wycked by anye wyght , tellen it

And blame men behynd her back , & bidden hem mischaunce

And that he wyst by Wyll , tellen it to Watte ,

And that Watte wyst , Wyll wyste it after

And made of frendes fooes through a false tonge

Or with might of mouth , or through mans strength

Auenge me fell tymes , other frete my-selfe

Within as a shepesters shere , I shrewed men & cursed .

Cuius maledictione os plenum est , et amaritudine , sub lin

There is no lyfe that me loueth lastyng any whyle

For tales that I tel , no man trusteth to me

And whan I may not haue þe maistry , such melancholye I take

That I catch þe crampe , þe cardiacle sometyme

Or an ague in suche an anger , and sometyme a feuer

That taketh me all a tweluemoneth , til that I despise

Lechcrafte of our lorde , and leue of a wytche

And say that no clarke ne can , ne Christ as I leue

To þe sortry of Southwarke , or of short dytch dame Eme

And segge þat no gods word , gaue me neuer bote

But throughe a charme had I chaunce , & many chiefe heale

I wayted wisloker , and than was it soyled

Wyth lykynge of lechery , as by loking of his eyghe

For ech a maid that he met , he made hir to sygne

Semyng to synnewarde , and sometyme he gan taste

About the mouth or beneth , begynneth to croppe

Tyll eythers wyll waxeth kene , & to the werke yeden

As well on fastynges & frydayes , & forboden nightes

And as well in lent as out of lent , all tymes ylyke

Suche werkes wyth hem were neuer out of season

Tyll they myght namour , and than mery tales

And how that lechoure louen , laughen and iapen

And of her harlotry and horedome , in her age tellen

Than patience perceyued of poyntes of thys cote

Was colomy throughe couetouse , & vnkind desiryng

More to good than to god , the gomme his loue caste

And imagined howe he it myght haue

With false measures and mete , and with false wyghtes

Lened for loue of the wedde , & lothe to do trouthe

And awayte bi whych waye he myght begyle

And menged hys marchandise , & made a good maistry

The worst within was a great wyt I leete it

And if my neyghbour had any hynde , or any beast els

More profitable than myne , many sleyghtes I made

Howe I myght haue it , all my wyt I caste

And but if I had by other way , at the lest I stole it

Or priuily his purse shoke , vnpiked hys lockes

Or by nyght or by day , about was iche euer

Throughe gyle to gadren , the good that ich haue

If I yede to the ploughe , I pynched so narrow

That a fote lande or a furowe fetche I woulde

Of my next neyghbour , nymen of hys earth

And if I repe ouerrechen , or gaue hem reade that repen

And sese to me with her sycle , that I sewed neuer

And who-so borowed of me , aboughte the tyme

Wyth presentes priuilye , or payed some certayne

So would he or not woulde he , wynnen I woulde ,

And both to kyth and to kynne , vnkinde of þat iche had

And who-so cheped my chaffer , chyden I would

But he profered to paye a penye or twayne ,

More than it was worth , & yet woulde I swere

That it coste me muche more , swore many othes

In holy dayes at holy churche , when iche hard masse ,

Hadde I neuer wyll wote god wytterly to beseche

Mercye of my misdeades , that I ne mourned more ,

For loste of good , leue me , than for my likam gyltes

As if I had deadlye synne done , I dread not þat so sore ,

And whan I lenned & leued it lost , or long er it wer paied

So if I kydde any kindnes , mine euen-christen to helpe ,

Apon a cruell couetous myne herte gan hange ,

And if I sent ouer sea , my seruauntes to Bryges

Or into Pruceland my prentise , mi profit to waiten

To marchaundein with money , & make her exchaunges

Myght neuer me conforten , in the meane whyle

Nether masse ne mattens , ne none maner sightes

Ne neuer penaunce perfourmed , ne Pater noster saide

That my minde was more on my good in a doubt

Than in the grace of god , and in his greate helpe

Ubi thesaurus tuus ibi / ibi [et] cor tuum ,

Which ben the braunches that brynge a man to slouth

He þat mournith not for his mysse , ne maketh no sorowe

And penaunce that the priest inioyneth perfourmeth ill

Doth no almesdedes , dreade hym of no synne

Lyueth agayne the beleue , and no lawe holdeth

Eche day is holye daye with hym or an hyghe fery

And if he ought wyll heare , it is an harlots tonge

Whan men carpen of Christ , or of clennes of soules

He waxeth wroth & wil not hear , but words of mirth

Penaunce & pore men , & the passion of saintes

He hateth to here therof , and al that he telleth

These ben þe braunches beware , þat bringeth a man to wanhope

The lordes & the ladyes , & legates of holy kyrk

That feden foles sages , flatterers and lyers

And haue liken to lithen hem , to do you to laugh

Ue vobis qui ridetis ,

And giue hem meat and mede , and pore men to refuse

In your death diynge , I feare me full sore

Lest tho thre maner of men to much sorow you bryng ,

Consencientes et agentes pari pena punientur ,

Patriarkes & prophetes , & preachers of gods words

Sauen through her sermons mans soule from hell

Ryght so flatterers and foles , arne þe fendes disciples

To entise men throughe hyr tales , to sinne & harlotry

And clarkes that knowen holy wryte , shold ken lords

What Dauid sayth of suche men , as the psalter telleth .

Non habitabit in medio domus mee , qui facit superbiam ,

Shoulde no harlote haue audience in hall ne in chambre

There wyse men were , wytnessen goddes words

Ne no misproude man , amonge lordes ben alowed

And flatterers and fooles , through her lewde words

Leden tho that loue hem , to Lucifers feaste

With Turpiloquio , a lay of sorow & lucifers fidle

Thus Hankyn the actiue man had soyled hys cote

Til Conscience acouped him therof in a curteis maner

Why he had washed it or wyped it with a brushe .