# Piers Ploughman (Wright)/Passus 17

Passus Decimus Septimus, etc. et Secundus de Do-bet.
am Spes," quod he, "aspie 11369
And spire after a knyght, That took me a maundement Upon the mount of Synay, To rule alle reames with, I bere the writ here."
"Is it enseled?" I seide, "May men see thi lettres?"
"Nay," he seide, "seke hym That hath the seel to kepe; And that is cros and cristendom, And Crist theron to honge. 11380 And whan it is enseled so, I woot wel the sothe, That Luciferis lordshipe Laste shal no lenger."
"Lat se thi lettres," quod I, "We myghte the lawe knowe."
Thanne plukkede he forth a patente, A pece of an hard roche, Wheron were writen two wordes On this wise y-glosed. 11390 Dilige Deum et proximum tuum.
This was the tixte trewely, I took ful good yeme;​ The glose was gloriously writen, With a gilt penne. In his duobus mandatis tota lex pendet et prophetia.
"Ben here alle thi lordes lawes?" quod I. "Ye, leve me wel," he seide; And who so wercheth after this writ, 11400 I wol undertaken Shal nevere devel hym dere, Ne deeth in soule greve. For, though I seye it myself, I have saved with this charme, Of men and of wommen Many score thousand.
"Ye seien sooth," seide this heraud; "I have y-founde it ofte. Lo! here in my lappe 11410 That leeved on that charme, Josue and Judith, And Judas Macabeus, Ye, and sixti thousand biside forth, That ben noght seyen here."
"Youre wordes arn wonderfulle," quod I tho, "Which of yow is trewest, And lelest to leve so, For lif, and for soule? Abraham seith 11420 That he seigh hoolly the Trinité, Thre persones in parcelles Departable fro oother, And alle thre but o god; Thus Abraham me taughte,​ And hath saved that bileved so, And sory for hir synnes. He kan noght siggen the somme, And some arn in his lappe. What neded it thanne 11430 A newe lawe to bigynne, Sith the firste suffiseth To savacion and to blisse? And now cometh Spes and speketh, That aspied the lawe; And telleth noght of the Trinité That took hym hise lettres, To bileeve and lovye In o lord almyghty, And siththe right as myself 11440 So lovye alle peple.
"The gome that gooth with o staf, He semeth in gretter heele Than he that gooth with two staves, To sighte of us alle.
"And right so, bi the roode! Reson me sheweth That it is lighter to lewed men O lesson to knowe, Than for to techen hem two, 11450 And to hard to lerne to the leeste It is ful hard for any man On Abraham bileve; And wel awey worse yit For to love a sherewe. It is lighter to leeve In thre lovely persones, Than for to lovye and leve As wel lorels as lele."​
"Go thi gate!" quod I to Spes, 11460 "So me God helpe! Tho that lernen thi lawe, Wol litel while usen it." And as we wenten thus in the wey Wordynge togideres, Thanne seighe we a Samaritan Sittynge on a mule, Ridynge ful rapely The righte wey we yeden, Comynge from a contree 11470 That men called Jerico, To a justes in Jerusalem He chaced awey faste. Bothe the heraud and Hope And he mette at ones Where a man was wounded, And with theves taken; He myghte neither steppe ne stande, Ne stere foot ne handes, Ne helpe hymself soothly, 11480 For semy-vif he semed, And as naked as a nedle, And noon help aboute hym.
Feith hadde first sighte of hym; Ac he fleigh aside, And nolde noght neghen hym By nyne londes lengthe.
Hope cam hippynge after, That hadde so y-bosted How he with Moyses maundement 11490 Hadde many men y-holpe; Ac whan he hadde sighte of that segge Aside he gan hym drawe​ Dredfully bi this day, As doke dooth fram the faucon.
Ac so soone so the Samaritan Hadde sighte of this leode, He lighte a-down of lyard, And ladde hym in his hande, And to the wye he wente 11500 Hise woundes to biholde; And perceyved bi his pous He was in peril to dye, And but he hadde recoverer the rapelier, That rise sholde he nevere. With wyn and with oille Hise woundes he wasshed, Enbawmed hym and bond his heed, And in his lappe hym leide, And ladde hym so forth on lyard 11510 Te lex Christi, a graunge Wel sixe mile or sevene Biside the newe market; Herberwed hym at an hostrie, And to the hostiler called, And seide, "Have kepe this man Til I come fro the justes; And lo! here silver," he seide, "For salve to hise woundes." And he took hym two pens, 11520 To liflod, as it weere; And seide, "What he spendeth moore, I make thee good herafter; For I may noght lette," quod that leode; And lyard he bistrideth, And raped hym to Jerusalem-ward The righte wey to ryde.​
Feith folwede after faste, And fondede to mete hym; And Spes spakliche hym spedde, 11530 Spede if he myghte To overtaken hym and talke to hym, Er thei to towne coome.
And whan I seigh this, I sojourned noght, But shoop me to renne, And suwed that Samaritan That was so ful of pité, And graunted hym to ben his groom. "Graunt mercy!" he seide; "Ac thi frend and thi felawe," quod he, 11540 "Thow fyndest me at nede."
And I thanked hym tho, And siththe I hym tolde How that Feith fleigh awey, And Spes his felawe bothe, For sighte of that sorweful man That robbed was with theves.
"Have hem excused," quod he, "Hir help may litel availle; May no medicyne on molde 11550 The man to heele brynge, Neither feith ne fyn hope, So festred be hise woundes, Withouten the blood of a barn Born of a mayde. And he be bathed in that blood, Baptised as it were, And thanne plastred with penaunce And passion of that baby, He sholde stonde and steppe. 11560​ Ac stalworthe worth he nevere. Til he have eten al the barn, And his blood y-dronke. For wente nevere wye in this world Thorugh that wildernesse, That he ne was robbed or rifled, Rood he there or yede, Save Feith and his felawe, Spes, and myselve, And thiself now, 11570 And swiche as suwen oure werkes.
"For outlawes in the wode And under bank lotieth, And mowen ech man see, And good mark take Who is bihynde and who bifore, And who ben on horse For he halt hym hardier on horse Than he that is foote. For he seigh me that am Samaritan 11580 Suwen Feith and his felawe On my capul that highte caro, Of mankynde I took it; He was unhardy that harlot, And hidde hym in Inferno. Ac er this day thre daies, I dar undertaken, That he worth fettred, that feloun, Faste with cheynes, And nevere eft greve gome 11590 That gooth this ilke gate.
"And thanne shal Feith be forster here, And in this fryth walke,​ And kennen out comune men That knowen noght the contree Which is the wey that I wente, And wher forth to Jerusalem. And Hope the hostilers man shal be, Ther the man lith an helyng; And alle that feble and feynte be, 11600 That Feith may noght teche, Hope shal lede hem forth with love, As his lettre telleth, And hostele hem and heele Thorugh holy chirche bileve, Til I have salve for alle sike; And thanne shal I turne, And come ayein bi this contree, And conforten alle sike That craveth it and coveiteth it, 11610 Or crieth therafter. For the barn was born in Bethleem, That with his blood shal save Alle that lyven in feith And folwen his felawes techynge."
"A! swete sire," I seide tho, "Wher I shal bileve, As Feith and his felawe Enformed me bothe, In thre persones departable, 11620 That perpetuele were evere, And alle thre but o God, Thus Abraham me taughte.
"And Hope afterward He bad me to lovye O God with al my good, And alle gomes after,​ Lovye hem lik myselve, Ac oure Lord aboven alle.
"After Abraham," quod he, 11630 "That heraud of armes, Sette fully thi feith And ferme bileve; And as Hope highte thee, I hote that thow lovye Thyn evene cristene evere moore Evene forth with thiselve. And if Conscience carpe ther ayein, Or kynde wit eyther, Or eretikes with argumentz 11640 Thyn hond thow hem shewe; For God is after an hand, Y-heer now and knowe it.
"The fader was first as a fust, With o fynger foldynge; Til hym lovede and liste To unlosen his fynger, And profre it forth as with a pawme To what place it sholde,
"The pawme is purely the hand, 11650 And profreth forth the fyngres, To ministren and to make That myght of hand knoweth; And bitokneth trewely, Telle who so liketh, The Holy Goost of hevene He is as the pawme.
"The fyngres that fre ben To folde and to serve, Bitoknen soothly the Sone 11660 That sent was til erthe,​ That touched and tastede At techynge of the pawme Seinte Marie a mayde, And mankynde laughte. Qui conceptus est de Spiritu sancto, etc.
"The Fader is pawme as a fust, With fynger to touche,— Quia omnia traham ad meipsum, etc. Al that the pawme perceyveth 11672 Profitable to feele.
"Thus are thei alle but oon, As it an hand weere, And thre sondry sightes In oon shewynge, The pawme for it putteth forth fyngres, And the fust bothe; Right so redily, 11680 Reson it sheweth How he that is Holy Goost Sire and Son preveth.
"And as the hand halt harde, And alle thyng faste, Thorugh foure fyngres and a thombe Forth with the pawme; Right so the Fader and the Sone, And Seint Spirit the thridde, Al the wide world 11690 Withinne hem thre holden, Bothe wolkne and the wynd, Water and erthe, Hevene and helle, And al that is therinne.​
"Thus it is, nedeth no man Trowe noon oother, That thre thynges bilongeth In oure Lord of Hevene; And aren serelopes by hemself, 11700 A-sondry were thei nevere, Na-moore than myn hand may Meve withoute my fyngres.
"And as my fust is ful hand Y-holden togideres; So is the Fader a ful God, Formour and shappere. Tu fabricator omnium, etc. And al the myght myd hym is In makynge of thynges. 11710 The fyngres formen a ful hand To portreye or peynten, Kervynge and compasynge, As craft of the fyngres.
"Right so is the Sone The science of the Fader, And ful God as is the Fader, No febler ne no bettre.
"The pawme is pureliche the hand, And hath power by hymselve, 11720 Other wise than the writhen fust, Or werkmanshipe of fyngres. For he hath power To putte out alle the joyntes, And to unfolde the folden fust, At the fyngres wille.
"So is the Holy Goost God, Neither gretter ne lasse. Than is the Sire and the Sone,​ And in the same myghte. 11730 And alle are thei but o God; As is myn hand and my fyngres, Unfolden or folden, My fust and my pawne, Al is but an hand; Evene in the myddes, He may receyve right noght, Reson it sheweth, For the fyngres that folde sholde And the fust make, 11740 For peyne of the pawme, Power hem failleth To clucche or to clawe, To clippe or to holde.
"Were the myddel of myn hand Y-maymed or y-perissed, I sholde receyve right noght Of that I reche myghte.
"Ac though my thombe and my fyngres Bothe were to-shullen, 11750 And the myddel of myn hand Withoute male-ese, In many kynnes maneres I myghte myself helpe, Bothe mene and amende, Though alle my fyngres oke.
"By this skile, me thynketh, I se an evidence That who so synneth in the Seint Spirit, Assoilled worth he nevere, 11760 Neither here ne ellis where, As I herde telle. Qui peccat in Spiritu sancto, etc.​ For he priketh God as in the pawme, That peccat in Spiritu sancto. For God the fader is as a fust, The Sone is as a fynger, The Holy Goost of hevene Is as it were the pawme; So who so synneth in the Seint Spirit, 11770 It semeth that he greveth God, that he grypeth with, And wolde his grace quenche.
"And to a torche or a tapur The Trinité is likned; As wex and a weke Were twyned togideres, And thanne a fir flawmynge Forth out of bothe; And as wex and weke 11780 And hoot fir togideres Fostren forth a flawmbe And a fair leye, So dooth the Sire and the Sone And also Spiritus sanctus, That alle kynne cristene Clenseth of synnes And as thow seest som tyme Sodeynliche a torche, The blase therof y-blowe out, 11790 Yet brenneth the weke Withouten leye or light That the macche brenneth; So is the Holy Goost God, And grace withoute mercy To alle unkynde creatures, That coveite to destruye​ Lele love or lif That oure Lord shapte.
"And as glowynge gledes 11800 Gladeth noght thise werkmen, That werchen and waken In wyntres nyghtes, As dooth a kex or a candle That caught hath fir and blaseth; Na-moore dooth Sire ne Sone Ne Seint Spirit togidres Graunte no grace Ne forgifnesse of synnes, Til the Holy Goost gynne 11810 To glowe and to blase. So that the Holy Goost Gloweth but as a glade, Til that lele love Ligge on hym and blowe, And thanne flawmeth he as fir On Fader and on Filius, And melteth hire myght into mercy; As men may se in wyntre Ysekeles and evesynges 11820 Thorugh hete of the sonne Melte in a minut while To myst and to watre.
"So grace of the Holy Goost The greet myght of the Trinité Melteth to mercy, To merciable and to othere; And as wex withouten moore On a warm glede Wol brennen and blasen, 11830 Be thei togideres,​ And solacen hem that mowe se, That sitten in derknesse.
"So wol the Fader forgyve Folk of mylde hertes, That rufully repenten, And restitucion make, In as muche as thei mowen Amenden and paien; And if it suffise noght for assetz, 11840 That in swich a wille deyeth, Mercy for his mekenesse Wol maken good the remenaunt. And as the weke and fir Wol maken a warm flaumbe, For to murthen men myd That in the derke sitten; So wole Crist of his curteisie, And men crye hym mercy, Bothe forgyve and foryete, 11850 And yit bidde for us To the Fader of hevene Forgifnesse to have.
"Ac hewe fir at a flynt Foure hundred wynter, But thow have tow to take it with, Tonder or broches, Al thi labour is lost, And al thi long travaille; For may no fir flaumbe make, 11860 Faille it is kynde.
"So is the Holi Goost God, And grace withouten mercy To alle unkynde creatures, Crist hymself witnesseth.​ Amen dico vobis, nescio vos, etc.
"Be unkynde to thyn evene cristene, And al that thow kanst bidde, Delen and do penaunce Day and nyght evere, 11870 And purchace al the pardon Of Pampilon and Rome, And indulgences y-nowe, And be ingratus to thi kynde, The Holy Goost hereth thee noght, Ne helpe may thee by reson; For unkyndenesse quencheth hym, That he kan noght shyne, Ne brenne ne blase clere For blowynge of unkyndenesse. 11880 Poul the apostel Preveth wheither I lye. Si linguis hominum loquar, etc.
"For-thi beth war, ye wise men, That with the world deleth, That riche ben and reson knoweth, Ruleth wel youre soule, Beth noght unkynde, I conseille yow, To youre evene cristene, For manye of yow riche men, 11890 By my soule! men telleth, Ye brenne, but ye blase noght, That is a blynd bekene. Non omnis qui dicit Domine! Domine! intrabit, etc.
"Dives deyde dampned, For his unkyndenesse Of his mete and of his moneie​ To men that it nedede. Ech a riche I rede 11900 Reward at hym take, And gyveth youre good to that God That grace of ariseth; For thei that ben unkynde to hise, Hope I noon oother, But thei dwelle ther Dives is Dayes withouten ende.
"Thus is unkyndenesse the contrarie, That quencheth, as it were, The grace of the Holy Goost, 11910 Goddes owene kynde. For that kynde dooth, unkynde for-dooth; As thise corsede theves Unkynde cristene men, For coveitise and envye, Sleeth a man for hise moebles With mouth or with handes. For that the Holy Goost hath to kepe, The harlotes destruyeth, The which is lif and love, 11920 The leye of mannes body. For every manere good man May be likned to a torche, Or ellis to a tapur, To reverence the Trinité; And who morthereth a good man, Me thynketh by myn inwit, He for-dooth the levest light That oure Lord lovyeth.
"And yet in manye mo maneres 11930 Men offenden the Holy Goost. Ac this is the worste wise That any wight myghte​ Synnen ayein the Seint Spirit, Assenten to destruye For coveitise of any kynnes thyng That Crist deere boughte, That wikkedliche and wilfulliche Wolde mercy aniente.
"Innocence is next God, 11940 And nyght and day it crieth, 'Vengeaunce! vengeaunce! Forgyve be it nevere That shente us and shedde oure blood, For-shapte us, as it were!' Vindica sanguinem justorum.
"Thus 'Vengeaunce! vengeaunce!' Verrey Charité asketh. And sith holy chirche and Charité Chargeth this so soore, 11950 Leve I nevere that oure Lord Wol love that charité lakketh, Ne have pité for any preiere Ther that he pleyneth."
"I pose I hadde synned so, And sholde now deye; And now I am sory that I so The Seint Spirit a-gulte, Confesse me and crye his grace, God that al made, 11960 And myldeliche his mercy aske, Myghte I noght be saved?"
"Yis," seide the Samaritan, "So wel thow myght repente, That rightwisnesse thorugh repentaunce, To ruthe myghte turne. Ac it is but selden y-seighe Ther soothnesse bereth witnesse,​ Any creature that is coupable Afore a kynges justice, 11970 Be raunsoned for his repentaunce, Ther alle reson hym dampneth. For ther that partie pursueth, The peple is so huge, That the kyng may do no mercy Til bothe men acorde, And eyther have equité, As holy writ telleth. Nunquam dimittitur peccatum, etc.
"Thus it fareth by swich folk 11980 That falsly al hire lyves Yvele lyven, and leten noght Til lif hem forsake. Good hope, that helpe sholde, To wanhope torneth, Noght of the noun power of God, That he ne is myghtful To amende al that amys is, And his mercy gretter Than alle oure wikkede werkes, 11990 As holy writ telleth. Misericordia ejus super omnia opera ejus. Ac er his rightwisnesse to ruthe torne, Som restitucion bihoveth. His sorwe is satisfaccion, For hym that may noght paie.
"Thre thynges ther ben That doon a man by strengthe For to fleen his owene, 12000 As holy writ sheweth.
"That oon is a wikkede wif, That wol noght be chastised;​ Hir feere fleeth fro hire, For feere of hir tonge.
"And if his hous be un-hiled, And reyne on his bedde, He seketh and seketh Til he slepe drye.
"And whan smoke and smolder 12010 Smyt in his sighte, It dooth hym worse than his wif Or wete to slepe. For smoke and smolder Smyteth in hise eighen, Til he be bler-eighed, or blynd, And hoors in the throte, Cogheth, and curseth That Crist gyve hem sorwe That sholde brynge in bettre wode, 12020 Or blowe it til it brende.
"Thise thre that I telle of Ben thus to understonde; The wif is oure wikked flessh, That wol noght be chastised; For kynde clyveth on hym evere To contrarie the soule. And though it falle, it fynt skiles That freleté it made, And that is lightly forgyven 12030 And forgeten bothe, To man that mercy asketh, And amende thenketh.
"The reyn that reyneth Ther we reste sholde, Ben siknesse and sorwes That we suffren ofte; As Poul the apostle​ To the people taughte. Virtus infirmitate perficitur, etc. 12040
"And though that men make Muche doel in hir angre, And ben inpacient in hir penaunce, Pure reson knoweth That thei han cause to contrarie By kynde of hir siknesse; And lightliche oure Lord At hir lyves ende Hath mercy on swiche men, That so yvele may suffre. 12050
"Ac the smoke and the smolder That smyt in oure eighen, That is coveitise and unkyndenesse, That quencheth Goddes mercy. For unkyndenesse is the contrarie Of alle kynnes reson. For ther nys sik ne sory, Ne noon so muche wrecche, That he ne may lovye, and hym like, And lene of his herte 12060 Good wille and good word, And wisshen and willen Alle manere men Mercy and forgifnesse, And lovye hem lik hymself, And his lif amende.
"I may no lenger lette," quod he; And lyard he prikede, And went awey as wynd; And therwith I awakede. 12070