# Piers Ploughman (Wright)/Creed

THE CREED OF PIERS PLOUGHMAN.
PIERS PLOUGHMAN'S CREED.
ROS and curteis Christ 1
This begynnyng spede, For the faders frendshipe That fourmed heaven, And through the special spirit That sprong of hem tweyne, And al in one God-hed Endles dwelleth. A, and all myn a.b.c. After have I lerned, 10 And patred in my pater-noster Iche poynt after other; And after al, myne Ave-marie Almost to the end; But al my care is to comen, For I can nought my Crede. Whan I shall shewen my shrift, Shent mote I worthen; The preeste wil me punyche, And penaunce enjoyne; 20 The lengthe of a lenton Flesh moot I leve, After that Estur is y-come, And that is hard fare; And Wedenesday iche wyke​ Withouten flesh-mete. And also Jesu hymselfe To the Jewes he saide, "He that leeveth nought on me, He leseth the blisse." 30 Therfor lerne the byleve Levest me were, Gif any worldly wight Wil me [it] couthe; Other lewed or lered, That lyveth thereafter And fulliche folweth the feith, And feyneth non other; That no worldeliche wele Wilneth no tyme, 40 But liveth in lovyng of God, And his lawe holdeth; And for no gettyng of good Never his God greveth, But folweth hym the full way, As he the folke taughte. But to many maner of men This matter is asked, Both to lered and to lewed, That seyn that they liveden 50 Hollich on the grete God, And holden al his hestes. But by a fraynyng for than Faileth ther manye. For first I frayned the freres, And they me fulle tolden, That al the fruyt of the fayth Was in her foure orders; And the cofres of Christendom,​ And the keie bothen, 60 And the lock of byleve, Lieth loken in her hondes,
Then wennede I to wytten, And with a whight I mette, A Minoure in a morwe-tide; And to this man I saide, "Sire, for greate Godes love! The graith thou me tell, Of what myddel-erde man Myght I best lerne 70 My Crede? For I can it nought, My kare is the more. And therfore, for Christes love! Thy counseyl I preie. A Carm me hath y-covenant, The nede me to teche; But for thou knowest Carmes wel, Thy counsail I aske."
This Minour loked on me, And laughyng he sayde, 80 "Leve christen man, I leve that thou [art] madde: Whough shulde thei techen the god, That con non hemselve? They ben but jugulers, And japers of kynde; Lorels and lechures, And lemans holden, Neyther in order ne out, But unneth lybbeth, 90 And by-japeth the folk With gestes of Rome. It is but a faynt folke,​ Y-founded upon japes. They maketh hem Maries men, And so thei men tellen; And leieth on oure Lady Many a long tale. And that wicked folk Wymmen betraieth, 100 And begileth hem her good With glaverynge wordes, And therwith holden her hous In harlotes warkes. And, so save me God! I hold it greate synne To gyven hem any good, Swiche glotones to fynde, To mayntaynen swiche maner men That michel good destruieth. 110 Yet seyn they in her sutiltie To sottes in townes, Thei comen out of Carmeli Christ for to folwen, And feyneth hem with holynesse, That yvele hem bisemeth. Thei lyven more in lecherie, And lyeth in her tales, Than suen any good liif; But lurken in her selles, 120 And wynnen werdliche good, And wasten it in synne. And ghif thei couthen her Crede, Other on Christ leveden, Thei weren nought so hardy Swyche harlotri usen. Sikerli I can nought fynden​ Who hem first founded; But the foles foundeden hemselfe Freres of the Pye, 130 And maken hem mendynans, And marre the puple. But what glut of tho gomes May any good kachen, He wyl kepen it hemself, And cofrene it faste; And thoigh his felawes fayle good, For hym he may sterven. Her monei mai byquest, And testament maken, 140 And none obedience bere, But don as hym luste. And ryght as Robartes men Raken aboute At feyres and at full ales, And fyllen the cuppe; And precheth al of pardon, To plesen the puple. Her pacience is al pased, And put out to ferme; 150 And pride is in her povertie, That litel is to preisen. And at the lullyng of oure lady The wymmen to lyken, And miracles of mydwyves, And maken wymmen to wenen That the lace of oure Lady smok Lighteth hem of children. Thei ne prechen nought of Powel, Ne penaunce for synne; 160 But al of merci and mensk,​ That Marie may helpen. With sterne staves and stronge Thei over lond straketh, Thider as here lemmans liggeth, And lurketh in townes, Grey grete-heded quenes With gold by the eighen, And seyne that her sustern thei ben, That sojurneth aboute. 170 And thus abouten the gon, And Godes folke betrayeth. It is the puple that Powel Preched of in his tyme; He seyde of swich folke That so aboute wente, Wepyng, I warne you Of walkers aboute, It beth enemyes of the cros That Christ upon tholede. 180 Swiche slomrers in slepe, Slaughte in her ende, And glotonye is her God, With gloppynge of drynk, And gladnesse in glees, And grete joye y-maked. In the shendyng of swiche Shal mychel folk lawghe; Therfore, frend, for thy feith Fond to don beter; 190 Leve nought on tho losels, Put let hem forth pasen, For thei ben fals in her faith, And feele mo other." ​ "Alas! frere," quath I tho, "My purpos is y-failed; Now is my comfort a-cast. Canstou no bote, Wher I myght meten with a man That myghte me wyssen 200 For to conne my Crede, Christ for to folwen?"
"Certeyn, felawe," quath the frere, "Withouten any fayle, Of al men upon mold, We Minorities most sheweth The pure aposteles liif, With penance on erthe, And suen hem in sanctité, And sufferen wel harde. 210 We haunten no tavernes, Ne hobelen abouten; At marketes and miracles We medeleth us never; We hondlen no moneye, But monelich faren, And haven hunger at the mete, At ich a mel ones. We haven forsaken the world, And in wo libbeth, 220 In penaunce and poverte, And prechethe the puple By ensample of oure liif Soules to helpen; And in poverte preien For al oure parteneres, That gyveth us any good God to honouren, Other bel other book,​ Or bred to our foode, 230 Other catel, other cloth To coveren with oure bones. For we buldeth a burwgh, A brod and a large, A chirch and a chapitle, With chaumbers a-lofte; With wide wyndowes y-wrought, And walles wel heye, That mote ben portreid and paint, And pulched ful clene, 240 With gay glitering glas Glowyng as the sunne. And mightestou amenden us With moneye of thyn owen, Thou shouldest knely bifore Christ In compas of gold, In the wyde window west-ward Wel neigh in the myddel, And saint Fraunceis hymselfe Shal folden the in his cope, 250 And present the to the Trinité, And praye for thy synnes. Thy name shal noblich ben wryten And wrought for the nones, And in remembraunce of the Y-rad there for evere. And, brother, be thou nought a-ferd; Bythenk in thyne herte, Though thou conne nought thy Crede, Care thou no-more! 260 I shal asoilen the, syr, And setten it on my soule; And thou may maken this good,​ Thenk thou non other."
"Sir," I sayde, "in certaine I shal gon and asaye." And he set on me his hond, And asoiled me clene, And there I parted him fro Wythouten and peyne; 270 In covenaunt that I come agayne, Christ he me be-taught.
Then saide I to myself, "Here semeth litel treuthe! First to blame his brother, And bakbyten hym foule, There as curteis Christ Clerliche saide, Whow myght thou in thy brothers eighe A bare mote loken, 280 And in thyn owen eighe Nought a beme toten? See fyrst on thyself, And sithen on another, And clense clene thy syght, And kepe wel thyne eighe, And for another mannes eighe Ordeyne after. And also I see coveitise Catel to fongen, 290 That Christ hath clerliche forboden, And clenliche destrueden; And sayde to his sueres For sothe on this wyse, 'Nought thy neighbors good Coveyte in no tyme.' But charité and chastité​ Ben chased out clene. But Christ seide by her fruit Men shal hem ful knowen." 300 Thanne saide I, "certeine, syr, Thou demest ful trewe."
Than thought I to frayne the first Of this foure ordres; And presed to the Prechoures, To proven hir wille. Ich highed to her house, To herken of more; And when I came to that court, I gaped aboute, 310 Swich a bild bold Y-buld upon erthe heighte Say I nought in certeyn Syththe a long tyme. I semed opon that hous, And yerne theron loked, Whow the pileres weren y-paint, And pulched ful clene, And queyntly y-corven With curious knottes; 320 With wyndowes wel y-wrought, Wyde up a-lofte, And thanne I entred in, And even forth wente; And al was walled that wone, Though it wiid were, With posternes in privité To pasen when hem liste; Orcheyardes and erberes Evesed wel clene, 330 And a curious cros​ Craftly entayled, With tabernacles y-tight To toten al abouten. The pris of a plough-lond Of penies so rounde To aparaile that pyler Were pure litel. Than I munte me forth The mynstre to knowen, 340 And awaytede a woon Wonderly wel y-bild, With arches on everiche half, And bellyche y-corven, With crochetes on corneres, With knottes of gold, Wyde wyndowes y-wrought, Y-wryten ful thikke, Shynen with shapen sheldes, To shewen aboute, 350 With merkes of merchauntes Y-medeled betwene, Mo than twentie and two Twyse y-noumbbred. Ther is non heraud that hath Half swich a rolle, Right as a rageman Hath rekned hem newe. Tombes upon tabernacles Tylde opon lofte, 360 Housed in hornes, Harde set abouten, Of armede alabaustre Clad for the nones, Maad opon marbel​ In many manner wyse, Knyghtes in ther conisante Clad for the nones; Alle it semed seyntes Y-sacred opon erthe; 370 And lovely ladies y-wrought Leyen by her sydes In manye gay garnemens, That weren gold beten. Though the tax of ten yere Were trewely y-gadered, Nolde it nought maken that hous Half, as I trowe. Than cam I to that cloystre, And gaped abouten, 380 Whough it was pilered and peynt, And portreyed wel clene, Al y-hyled with leed Lowe to the stones, And y-paved with poynttyl Ich point after other; With cundites of clene tyn Closed al aboute, With lavoures of latun Loveliche y-greithed. 390 I trowe the gaynage of the ground In a gret shyre Nold aparaile that place Oo poynt tyl other ende. Thanne was that chapitre house Wrought as a greet chirche, Corven and covered; And queyntelyche entayled, With semliche selure​ Y-seet on lofte, 400 As a parlement-hous Y-peynted aboute. Thanne ferd I into fraytoure, And fond there another, An halle for an hygh kynge An houshold to holden, With brode bordes abouten Y-benched wel clene, With wyndowes of glaas Wrought as a chirche 410 Than walkede I ferrer, And went al abouten, And seigh halles full heygh, And houses ful noble, Chambres with chymeneys, And chapeles gaye, And kychenes for an high kynge In casteles to holden; And her dortoure y-dight With dores ful stronge; 420 Fermerye and fraitur, With fele mo houses, And al strong ston wal Sterne upon heithe, With gaye garites and grete, And iche hole y-glased, And other houses y-nowe To herberwe the queene. And yet thise bilderes wiln beggen A bagge ful of whete 430 Of a pure pore man, That may onethe paye Half his rent in a yere,​ And half ben byhynde.
Than turned I ayen, Whan I hadde all y-toted, And fond in a freitoure A frere on a benche, A greet chorl and a grym, Growen as a tonne, 440 With a face so fat As a ful bleddere Blowen bretful of breth, And as a bagge honged On bothen his chekes, and his chyn With a chol lollede So greet as a gos ey, Growen al of grece; That al wagged his fleish As a quick myre. 450 His cope, that bi-clypped hym, Wel clene was it folden, Of double worstede y-dyght Doun to the hele. His kyrtel of clene whiit, Clenlyche y-sewed, Hit was good y-now of ground Greyn for to beren. I haylsede that hirdman, And hendlich I sayde, 460 "Gode sire, for Godes love! Canstou me graith tellen To any worthely wiight That wissen me couthe, Whow I shulde conne my Crede, Christ for to folwe, That levede lelliche hymselfe​ And lyvede therafter, That feynede no falshede, But fully Chrise suwede? 470 For sich a certeyn man Syker wold I trosten, That he wolde telle me the trewthe, And turne to non other. And an Austyn this ender day Egged me faste, That he wolde techen me wel, He plyght me his treuthe, And seyde me "certeyn, Syghthen Christ deyed 480 Oure ordre was euelles And erst y-founde."
"First, felawe," quath he, "Fy on his pilche! He is but abortiif, Eked with cloutes, He holdeth his ordynaunce With hores and theves, And purchaseth hem pryvyleges With penyes so rounde. 490 It is a pur pardoners craft, Prove and asay; For have they thy money, A moneth therafter Certes, theigh thou come agen, He wil the nought knowen. But, felawe, oure foundement Was first of the othere, And we ben founded fulliche Withouten fayntise, 500 And we ben clerkes y-cnowen,​ Cunnyng in schole, Proved in processyon By processe of lawe. Of oure order ther beth Bichopes wel manye, Seyntes on sundri stedes That suffreden harde; And we ben proved the priis Of popes at Rome, 510 And of grettest degré, As godspelles telleth."
"A! syre," quath I thanne, "Thou seyst a grete wonder; Sithen Christ sayd hymselfe To alle his diciples, 'Which of you that is most, Most shal he werche; And who is goere byforne, First shal he serven.' 520 And seyde he saugh Satan Sytten ful heyghe, And ful low ben y-leid. In lyknesse he tolde, That in povernesse of spyrit Is spedfullest hele; And hertes of heyne Harmeth the soule. And therefore, frere, farewel; Here fynd I but pride. 530 I preise nought thy prechyns, But as a pur myte."
And angerich I wandrede The Austyns to prove, And mette with a maistre of tho men,​ And meklich I seyde, "Maistre, for the moder love That Marie men calleth! Knowest thou ought there thou comest A creature on erthe 540 That coude me my Crede teche, And trewelich enfourme, Withouten flateryng fare, And nothing feyne, That folweth fulliche the feith, And non other fables, Withouten gabinge of glose, As the godspelles telleth? A Minoure hath me holly behyght To helen my soule, 550 For he seith that her secte Is sykerest on erthe, And ben kepers of the keye That Chrystendom helpeth, And puriche in poverte The apostles they suweth." "Allaas!" quath the frere, "Almost I madde in mynde, To sen hough this Minoures Many men bygyleth. 560 Sothly somme of tho gomes Hath more good hymselve Than ten knyghtes that I knowe, Of catel in cofres. In fraytoure they faren best Of al the foure ordres, And usun ypocricie In al that thei werchen, And prechen al of perfitnesse;​ But loke now, I the prey, 570 Nought but profre hem in privité A peny for a masse, And, but his name be prest, Put out myn eighe, Though he had more money hid Than marchauntes of wolle. Loke hough this loresmen Lordes betrayen, Seyn that they folwen Fully Fraunceyses rewle, 580 That in cotinge of his cope Is more cloth y-folden Than was in Fraunceis froc Whan he hem first made. And yet under that cope A cote hathe he furred With foyns, or with fichewes, Other fyn bevere, And that is cutted to the kne, And queyntly y-botend, 590 Lest any spiritual man Aspie that gyle. Fraunceys bad his brethern Bar-fot to wenden; Now han they buclede shone, For blenyng of her heles, And hosen in harde weder Y-hamled by the ancle, And spicerie sprad in her purs To parten where hem luste. 600 Lordes loveth hem wel, For they so lowe crouchen; But knowen men her cautel​ And her queynte wordes, Thei wolde worshypen hem Nought but a litle, The ymage of ypocricie Ymped upon fendes. But, sone, gif thou wilt ben seker, Seche thou no ferther, 610 We freres beth the firste, And founded upon treuthe; Paule primus heremita Put us hymselve Away into wildernesse, The world to despisen, And there we lengeden ful long, And leveden ful harde; For to alle this freren folke Weren founden in tounes, 620 And taughten untrewely, And that we wel aspiede. And for chef charyté, We chargeden us selven In amendyng of this men, We maden oure celles To ben in cytés y-set, To styghtle the puple, Prechyng and prayeng As profetes shoulden. 630 And so we holden us the hetheved Of al holy chirche. We han power of the Pope Purliche assoylen Al that helpen oure hous In helpe of her soules; To dispensen hem with​ In dedes of synne, Al that amendeth oure hous In money other elles, 640 With corne other catel, Or clothes to beddes, Other bedys or broche, Or breed for our fode. And gif thou hast any good, And wilt thyself helpen, Help us hertelich therwith, And here I undertake Thou shalt ben brother of oure hous, And a book habben 650 At the nexte chapitre Clerliche enseled. And than oure provincial Hath power to assoylen Alle sustren and bretheren That beth of oure ordre. And though thou conne nought the Crede, Knele down here, My soule I sette for thyn, To asoile the clene, 660 In covenaunt that thou come ageyne, And katel us brynge." And thanne loutede I adoun, Add he me leve grauntede; And so I parted hym fro, And the frere lefte.
Than seide I to myself, "Here is no bote; Here pride is the pater-noster In preying of synne; 670 Her Crede is coveytise:—​ Now can I no ferthere. Yet wil I fonden forth, And fraynen the Carmes. Than toted I into a taverne, And there I aspyede Two frere Carmes With a ful coppe. There I auntrede me in, And aisliche I seyde, 680 "Leve sire, for the Lordes love That thou on levest! Lere me to som man My Crede for to lerne, That lyveth in lel liif, And loveth no synne, And gloseth nought the godspel, But halt Godes hetes, And neyther money ne mede Ne may hym nought letten, 690 But werchen after Godes word, Withouten any faile. A Prechoure y-professed Hath plight me his trewthe To techen me trewely; But wouldest thou me tellen, For they ben certeyne men, And syker on to trosten, I would quiten the thy mede As my myght were." 700
"A trefle," quath he, "trewely! His treweth is ful litel; He dynede nought with Dominic, Sithe Christ deide. For with the prynces of pryde​ The Prechours dwellen; They ben so digne as the devel That droppeth fro heven, With hartes of heynesse, Whough halwen the cherches, 710 And deleth in devynyté As dogges doth bones. Thei medeleth with mesages And mariages of grete; Thei leeven with lordes With lesynges y-nowe; Thei biggeth hem bichopriches With bagges of gold; Thei wilneth worchipes:— But waite on her dedes. 720 Harkne at Herdforthe How that they werchen, And loke when that they lyven And leeve as thou fyndest. They ben counseylours of kynges, Christ wot the sothe, Whou thei curreth kynges And her bak claweth. God leve hem laden wel In lyvynge of hevene, 730 And glose hem nought for her good To greven her soules. I pray the, where ben they pryvé With any pore whightes That may nought amenden her hous, Ne amenden hemselven? They prechen in proud herte, And preyseth her ordre, And werdlich worchype​ Wilneth in erthe. 740 Leeve it wel, lef man, And men right lokede, There is more pryvé pryde In Prechoures hertes, Than there lefte in Lucifere, Or he were lowe fallen. They bene dygne as dich-watere, That dogges in bayteth. Lok a ribaut of hem That can nought wel reden 750 His Rewel ne his Respondes, But be pure rote; Als as he were a connyng clerk, He casteth the lawes Nought lowly, but lordly, And lesynges lyeth. For right as Minoures Most hypocrice useth, Ryght so ben Prechoures proude Purlyche in herte. 760
"But, chrysten creatoure, We Carmes firste comen, Even in Elyes tyme, First of hem alle; And lyven by oure Lady, And lelly her serven, In clene commun liif Kepen us out of synne; Nowt proude as Prechoures beth, But preyen ful stylle. 770 We couuen on no quentyse, Christ wot the southe! But bisyeth us in oure bedes,​ As us best holdeth. And, therfore, leeve leelman, Leeve that iche sigge, A masse of us meene men Is of more mede, And passeth alle prayers Of this proude freres.— 780 And thou wilt ghyven us any good, I wolde ye here graunten To taken al thy penaunce In peril of my soule; And tho thou conne nought thy Crede, Clene the assoyle, So that thou mowe amenden oure house With money other elles, With som catel, other corn, Or cuppes of sylvere." 790
"Trewely, frere," quath I tho, "To tellen the the sothe, There is no peny in my pakke To payen for my mete. I have no good, ne no golde, But go thus abouten, And travaile ful trewely To wynnen with my fode. But woldest thou for Godes love Lerne me my Crede, 800 I shulde don for the wil, Whan I wele hadde."
"Trewely," quath the frere, "A fole I the holde:— Thou woldest nought wetten thy fote, And woldest fich kachen. Oure pardon and oure preieres​ So beth they nought parten, Oure power lasteth nought so feer, But we som peny fongen. 810
"Fare wel," quath the frere, "For I mot hethen fonden, And hyen to an house-wiif That hath us byquethen Ten pound in hir testament. To tellen the sothe, Ho draweth to the deth-ward; But yet I am in drede Leste ho turne hire testament, And therfore I hyghe 820 To haven hire to oure hous, And henten, gif I mighte, An anuel for myne owen use, To helpen to clothe." "Godys forbode!" quath his felawe, "But ho forth passe Whil ho is in purpos With us to departen! God let hir no lengere lyven! For letteres ben manye." 830
Thanne turnede I me forth, And talked to myselfe Of the falshede of this folke, Whow feythles thei weren. And as I wente by the way Wepynge for sorowe, I seigh a sely man me by, Opon the plough hongen. His cote was of a cloute That cary was y-called; 840 His hod was ful of holes,​ And his heare oute; With his knoppede shon Clouted ful thykke; His ton toteden out, As he the lond tredede; His hosen over-hongen his hok shynes On everich a syde, Al beslomered in fen, As he the plow folwede. 850 Tweye myteynes as meter Maad al of cloutes, The fyngres weren for-werd, And ful of fen honged. This whit waselede in the feen Almost to the ancle; Foure rotheren hym byforne, That feble were worthi; Men myghte reknen ich a ryb, So rentful they weren. 860 His wiif walked hym with, With a long gode, In a cuttede cote, Cutted ful heyghe, Wrapped in a wynwe shete To weren hire fro wederes, Bar-fot on the bare iis, That the blod folwede. And at the londes ende lath A little crom-bolle, 870 And theron lay a lytel chylde Lapped in cloutes, And tweyne of tweie yeres olde Opon another syde. And al they songen o songe,​ That sorwe was to heren; They crieden alle o cry, A kareful note. The sely man sighed sore, And seyde, "Children, beth stille!" 880 This man lokede opon me, And leet the plough stonden; And seyde, "Sely man, Whi syghest thou so harde? Gif the lakke liiflode, Lene the ich wille Swich good as God hath sent; Go we, leeve brother."
I sayde thanne, "Nay, syre, My sorowe is wel more. 890 For I can nought my Crede, I care wel harde; For I can fynden no man That fulli byleveth, To techen me the heyghe weie, And therfore I wepe. For I have fonded the freres Of the foure ordres; For there I wende have wist, But now my wit lakketh; 900 And al myn hope was on hem, And myn herte also, But thei ben fulli faithles, And the fend sueth."
"A! brother," quath he tho, "Be ware of tho foles; For Christ seyde hymself, 'Of swiche I you warne,' And false profetes in the feith​ He fulliche hem calde, 910 In vestimentis ovium, But only withinne They ben wilde werwolves That wiln the folke robben. The fen[d] founded hem first, The feyth to distrie; And by his craft thei comen in, To combren the chirche, By the covetise of his craft The curates to helpen. 920 But nowe they haven an hold, They harmen ful manye; They don nought after Dominik, But dreccheth the puple. He folwen nought Fraunceis, But falsliche lybben; And Austynes rewle They rekeneth but a fable; And purchaseth hem privilege Of popes at Rome. 930 They coveten confessiones, To kachen some hyre; And sepulturus also, Somme wayten to lacchen; But other cures of Christen They coveten nought to have, But there as wynnynge liith, He loketh non other."
"Whough shal I nemne thy name, That neyghbores the calleth?" 940 "Peres," quath he, "the pore man, The Ploughman I hatte." ​ "A! Peres!" quath I tho, "I pray the thou me telle More of thise tryflers, Hou trechurly they libbeth; For ichon of hem hath tolde me A tale of that other, Of her wikked liif, In werld that he libbeth. 950 I trowe that some wicked wight Wroughte this ordres. Trow ye that gleym of that gest That Golias is y-cald, Other els Satan hymself, Sente hem fro helle, To combren men with her crafte, Christendome to shenden."
"Dere brother," quath Peres, "The devel is ful queynte, 960 To encombren holy chirche He casteth ful harde, And fluricheth his falsnesse Opon fele wise, And fer he casteth to-forn The folk to dystroye.
"Of the kynrede of Caym He cast the freres, And founded hem on Sarysenes, Feyned for God. 970 But they with her falshe faith Mychel folk shendeth. Christ calde hem hymself Kynd ipocrites; How often he cursed hem, Wel can I tellen. He seide ons hymself​ To that sory puple: 'Who worthe you, wyghtes, Wel lerned of the lawe!' 980 Eft he seyde to hem selfe, 'Wo mote you worthen That the toumbes of profetes Bildeth up heighe! Your faderes for-deden hem, And to the deth hem broughte.' Here I touche this two, Twynnen hem I thenke. Who wilneth be wiser of lawe Than lewede freres, 990 And in multitude of men But maistres y-called, And wilneth worship of the werld, And sytten with heye, And leveth lovyng of God And lownesse byhynde, And in beldyng of toumbes Thei traveileth grete, To chargen her chirche flore, And chaungen it ofte. 1000 And the fader of the freres Defouled her soules, That was the dyggyng devel, That dreccheth men ofte. The devel by his dotage Dissaveth the chirche, And put in the Prechours, Y-paynted withouten, And by his queyntise they comen in The curates to helpen; 1010 But that harmed hem harde,​ And halp hem ful littel. But Austynes ordinaunce Was on a good treuthe; And also Dominikes dedes Weren dernelich y-used; And Fraunceis founded his folke Fulliche on treuthe, Pure parfit prestes In penaunce to libben, 1020 In love and in lownesse And lettynge of pryde, Grounded on the Godspel, As God baad hymselve. But now the glose is so greet In gladdyng tales, That turneth up two-fold Un-teyned upon treuthe, That they ben cursed of Christ, I can hem wel prove 1030 Withouten his blissyng, Bare beth thei in her werkes. For Christ seyde hymselfe To swiche as him folwede: 'Y-blissed mot they ben That mene ben in soule;' And alle power in gost God hymself blisseth. Whou fele freres fareth so, Fayne wolde I knowe, 1040 Prove hem in proces, And pynch at her ordre, And deme hem after that the don, And dredles, Y leve, Thei wiln wexon pure wroth​ Wonderliche sone, And shewen the a sharp wil In a short tyme To wiln wilfully wrathe, And werche therafter. 1050 Wytnes on Wyclif, That warned hem with trewthe. For he in goodnesse of gost Graythliche hem warned To wayven her wikednesse And werkes of synne. Whou sone this sorimen Seweden hys soule, And overal lolled hym With heritikes werkes! 1060 And so of the blissyng of God Thei bereth little mede.
"Afterward another, Onliche he blissede The meke of the myddel-erde Through myght of his fader. Fynd foure freres in a flok That folweth that rewle, Than have I tynt al my tast, Touche and assaye. 1070 Lakke hem a littel wight, And her liif blamen; But he lepe up on heigh In hardenesse of herte, And nemne the anon nought, And thy name lakke, With proude wordes apert That passeth his rewle, Bothe with 'thou leyst,' and 'thou lext,'​ In heynesse of soule, 1080 And turnnen as a tyraunt That turmenteth hymselve. A lord were lother For to leyne a knave, Thanne swich a begger, The best in a toun. Loke now, leve man, Beth nought thise y-lyke Fully to the Pharisens, In fele of these poyntes. 1090 Al her brad beldyng Ben belded with synne, And in worshipe of the world Here wynnyng they holden; They shapen her chapolories, And strecchet hem brode, And launceth heighe her hemmes With babelyng in stretes. They ben y-sewed with whight silke, And semes ful queynte, 1100 Y-stongen with stiches That stareth as sylver. And but freres ben fyrst y-set At sopers and at festes, They wiln ben wonderly wroth Y-wis, as I trowe; But they ben at the lordes borde, Louren they willeth. He mot bygynne that bord, A beggere with sorowe; 1110 And first sitten in se In her synagoges, That beth her heigh helle hous,​ Of Caymes kynd. For though a man in her mynstre A masse wolde heren, His sight shal so by set On sondrye werkes, The penonnes and the pomels And poyntes of sheldes 1120 Withdrawen his devocion, And dusken his herte. I likene it to a lim-yerde To drawen men to helle, And to worchipe of the fend, To wraththen the soules. And also Christ himself seide To swich ypocrites, He loveth in marketes ben met With gretynges of povere, 1130 And lowynge of lewed men In Lentenes tyme; For thei han of bichopes y-bought With her propre silver And purchased of penaunce The puple to asoyle. But money may maken Mesure of the peyne; After that his power is to payen, His penaunce shal fayle. 1140 God leve it be a good help For hele of the soules! And also this myster men Ben maysters i-called, That the gentill Jesus Generalliche blamed, And that poynt to his apostles​ Purly defended. But freres haven forgeten this, And the fend suweth, 1150 He that maystri loved, Lucifer the olde. Where Fraunceys or Dominik, Other Austyn ordeynde, And of this dotardes Doctur to worthe, Maysters of divinité Her matynes to leve, And cherlich as a cheveteyn Hys chaumbre to holden, 1160 With chymené, and chaple, And chosen whan hem lyste, And served as a sovereyn, And as a lord sytten. Swich a gome Godes wordes Grysliche gloseth; I trowe he toucheth nought the text, But taketh it for a tale. God forbad to his folk, And fullyche defendede, 1170 They shoulden nought stodyen biforne Ne sturren her wyttes, But sodenly the same word With here mouth shewe, That weren given hem of God, Thorugh gost of hemselve. Now mot a frere studyen And stumlen in tales, And leven his matynes, And no masse syngen, 1180 And loken hem lesynges​ That liketh the puple, To purchasen hym his purs ful, To paye for the drynke. And, brother, when bernes ben ful, And holy tyme passed, Thanne comen cursed freres, And croucheth ful lowe, A losel, a lymytoure, Over al the lond lepeth. 1190 And loke that he leve non hous, That somwhat he ne laiche; And there thei gylen hemself, And Godes word turneth, Bagges and beggyng He bad his folke leven, And only serven hymself, And his ruwel sechen, And al that nedly nedeth, That shulden hem nought lakken. 1200 Wherto beggen thise men, And ben nought so feble? Hem fayleth no furryng, Ne clothes atte fulle, But for a lustful liif In lustes to dwellen; Withouten any travail Untrulych libbeth; Thei beth nought maymed men, Ne no mete lakketh; 1210 Thei [ben] clothed in curious cloth, And clenliche arayed. It is a lawles liif, As lordynges usen, Nether ordeyned in ordre,​ But onethe libbeth.
"Christ bad blissen Bodies on erthe That wepen for wikkednesse That he byforn wroughte. 1220 That ben few of tho freres, For thei ben nere dede, And put al in pur clath, With pottes on her hedes; Thanne he warieth, and wepeth, And wicheth after heven, And fyeth on her falshedes That thei before deden. And therfore of that blissyng, Trewely, as I trowe, 1230 Thei may trussen her part In a terre powghe.
"Alle tho blissed beth That bodyliche hongreth; That ben the pore penyles, That han over-passed The poynt of her pris liif, In penaunce of werkes, And mown nought swynken ne sweten, But ben swith feble, 1240 Other mayned at meschef, Or meseles lyke, And her god is a-gon, And greveth hem to beggen. Ther is no frere, in feith, That fareth in this wyse, That he may beggen his bred, His bed is y-greithed Under a pot he shall be put​ In a pryvye chaumbre, 1250 That he shal lyven ne last But lytel whyle after. Almyghti God and man, The merciable blessed, That han mercy on men That mis-don hem here. But who so for-gabbed a frere Y-founden at the stues, And brought blod of his bodi, On back or on syde, 1260 Hym were as good greven A grete lord of rentes; He shoulde sonnere ben shryven, Shortly to tellen, Though he kilde a comly knyght, And compasd his mother, Then a buffet to beden A beggere frere.
"The clene hertes Christ He curteyliche blissed 1270 That coveten no catel But Christes fulle blysse, That leveth fulliche on God, And lelliche thenketh On his lore and his lawe, And lyveth opon trewthe. Freres han forgetten this, And folweth another, That they may henten they holden, By-hirneth it sone; 1280 Here hertes ben clen y-hid In her heighe cloystre, As curres from careyne​ That is cast in diches.
"And parfiit Christ The pesible blissede, That ben suffrant and sobre, And susteyne anger. Asay of her sobernesse, And thou might y-knowen 1290 Ther ne is no waspe in this world That wil folloke styngen, For stappyng on a too Of a styncand frere. For neyther soveren ne seget Thei ne suffereth never. Al thei blessyng of God Beouten thei walken, For of her suffraunce, for sothe, Men say but lytel. 1300
"Alle that persecution In pure liif suffren, They han the beneson of God, Blissed in erthe. I pray, parceyve now The pursut of a frere, In what mesure of a mekenesse Thise men deleth. Byhold upon Water Brut Whou bisiliche thei pursueden, 1310 For he seid hem the sothe. And yet, syre, ferther Hy may no more marren hem, But men telleth That he is an heretik, And yvele beleveth. And precheth it in pulpit​ To blenden the puple. They wolden awyrien that wight For his wel dedes, 1320 And so they chewen charité, As chewen shaf houndes. And thei pursueth the povere, And passeth pursutes, Bothe they wyln and thei wolden Y-worthen so grete, To passen any manes myght, To mortheren the soules; First to brenne the body In a bale of fiir, 1330 And sythen the sely soule slen, And senden hyre to helle. And Christ clerly forbad His christene, and defended, They shoulden nought after the face Never the folke demen."
"Sire," I seide myself, "Thou semest to blamen. Why dispisest thou thus Thise sely pore freres, 1340 None other men so mychel, Monkes ne prestes, Chanons ne charthous That in chirche serveth? It semeth that thise sely men Han somewhat the greved, Other with word, or with werk, And therfore thou wilnest To shenden other shamen hem With the sharp speche, 1350 And bannen holliche,​ And her hous greven."
"I prey the," quath Peres, "Put that out of thy mynde; Certeyn for soule hele I say the this wordes. I preise nought pocessioneres But pur lytel; For falshed of freres Hath fulliche encombred 1360 Manye of this maner men, And maad hem to leven Her charité and chasteté, And shosen hem to lustes, And waxen to werly, And wayven the trewethe, And leven the love of her God, And the werld serven. But for falshed of freres I fele in my soule, 1370 Seyng the synful liif, That sorweth myn herte, Hou they ben clothed in cloth That clennest sheweth, For angeles and archangeles Alle they whiit useth, And al aldremen That ben ante thronum. Thise toknes haven freres taken; But I trowe that a fewe 1380 Folwen fully that cloth, But falslyche that useth. For whiit, in trowthe, bytokeneth Clennes in soule:— Gif he have undernethen whiit,​ Thanne he above wereth Black, that betokeneth Bale for oure synne, And mournyng for mis-dede Of hem that this useth, 1390 And sorwe for synful liif, So that cloth asketh. I trowe there ben nought ten freres That for synne wepen. For that liif is her lust, And therby thei libben, In fraytour and in fermori Her fostryng is synne; It is her mete at ich a mel, Her most sustinaunce. 1400 Herkne opon Hildegare Hou homlich he telleth How her sustinaunce is synne; And syker, as I trowe, Weren her confessiones Clenly destrued, Hy shoulde nought beren hem so brag, Ne belden so heyghe. For the fallyng of synne Socoreth the foles, 1410 And begileth the grete With glaverynge wordes; With glosyng of godspels Thei Godes word turneth, And passen al the pryvylege That Peter after used. The power of the apostles Thie pasen in speche, For to sellen the synnes​ For selver other mede. 1420 And purliche a pœna The puple asoyleth, And a culpa also, That they may kachen Money other money-worth, And mede to fonge; And ben at lone and at bode, As burgeises useth. Thus they serven Sathanas, And soules bygyleth, 1430 Marchaunes of malisones, Mansede wrecches. Thei usen russet also Some of this freres, That bitokeneth travaile And treuth upon erthe, But loke whou this lorels Laboren the erthe. But freten the fruyt that the folke Ful lellich beswynketh; 1440 With travail of trewe men Thei tymbren her houses, And of the curiouse cloth Her copes they beggen; And als his gettyng is grete He shal ben good holden. And right as dranes doth nought But drynketh up the huny, Whan been with her busynes Han brought it to hepe, 1450 Right so fareth freres With folk opon erthe; They freten up the firste froyt,​ And falsliche lybbeth. But alle freres eten nought Y-liche good mete, But after that his wynnyng is Is his wel-fare, And after that he bringeth hom His bed shal ben graythed, 1460 And after that his richesse is raught He shal ben redy served. But se thiself in thi sight Whou somme of hem walketh With clouted shon, And clothes ful feble, Wel neigh for-werd, And the wlon offe; And his felawe in a frok Worth swhich fiftene, 1470 Arayd in rede stone, And elles were reuthe: And sexe copes or seven In his celle hongeth; Though for fayling of good His felawe shulde sterve, He wolde nought lenen hym a peny His liif for to holden. I myght tymen tho troiflardes To toylen with the erthe, 1480 Tylyen, and trewlich lyven, And her flesh tempren. Now mot ich soutere hys sone Seten to schole, And ich a beggeres brol On the book lerne. And worth to a writere​ And with a lorde dwelle; Other falsly to a frere The fend for to serven; 1490 So of that beggares brol An abbot shal worthen, Among the peres of the lond Prese to sytten, And lordes sones lowly To tho losels aloute, Knyghtes crouketh hem to And cruccheth ful lowe; And his syre a soutere Y-suled in grees, 1500 His teeth with toylyng of lether Tatered as a sawe. Alaas! that lordes of the londe Leveth swiche wrechen, And leveth swych lorels For her lowe wordes. They shulden maken abbots Her owen bretheren childre, Other of som gentil blod, And so yt best semed, 1510 And fostre none forytoures, Ne swich false freres, To maken fat and fulle And her flesh combren. For her kynde were more To y-clense diches, Than ben to sopers y-set first, And served with sylver. A grete bolle-ful of benen Were beter in hys wombe, 1520 And with the bandes of bakun​ His baly for to fillen, Then pertryches, or plovers, Or pecokes y-rosted, And comeren her stomakes With curiuse drynkes, That maketh swyche harlotes Hordom usen, And with her wikked word Wymmen bitrayeth. 1530 God wold her wonyynge Were in wildernesse, And fals freres forboden The fayre ladis chaumbres. For knewe lordes her craft, Treuly I trowe, They shulden nought haunten her house So holy on nyghtes, Ne bedden swich brothels In so brode shetes; 1540 But sheten her heved in the stre, To sharpen her wittes; Ne ben kynges confessours of custom, Ne the counsel of the rewme knowe. For Fraunceis founded hem nought To faren on that wise, Ne Domynyk dued hem nevere Swyche drynkers to worthe, Ne Helye ne Austyn Swyche liif never used, 1550 But in povert of spirit Spended her tyme. We have seyn ourself In a short tyme Whou freres wolden no flesh​ Among the folk usen; But now the harlotes Han hyd thilke reule, And for the love of oure Lord Han leyd hire in water. 1560 Wenest thou ther wolde so fele Swich warlawes worthen? Ne were werliche wele And her welfare, Thei shulden delven and dyken, And dongen the erthe, And menemong corn breed To her mete fongen, And wortes fleshles wrought, And water to drynken, 1570 And werchen and wolward gon, As we wrecches usen. An aunter gif ther wolde on, Among an hol hundred, Lyven so for Godes love In tyme of a wyntere."
"Leve Peres," quath I tho, "I pray that thou me telle Whou I may conne my Crede In Christen byleve." 1580
"Leve brother," quath he, "Hold that I segge, I wil techen the the trouthe, And tellen the the sothe.— 1584
THE CREDE.
"Leve thou in oure Loverd God 1585 That al the werld wrought, Holy heven eke on hey​ Holliche he fourmede, And is almyghti hymself Over alle his werkes. 1590 And wrought as his wil was The werld and the heven; And on gentil Jesu Christ, Engendred of hymselven, His owen onlyche sone, Lord over all y-knowen, That was clenlich conceived Clerli in trewthe Of the heye Holy Gost, This is the holy beleve. 1600 And of the maiden Marye Man was he born, Withouten synful seed, This is fully the byleve. With thorn y-crouned, crucified, And on the cros dyede, And sythen his blessed body Was in a stone byried, And descended a-doun To the derk helle, 1610 And fet out our formfaderes, And hy ful fayn weren. The thyrd day redeliche Hymself ros fram deeth, And, on a ston there he stod, He steigh up to hevene, And on his fader ryght hand Redelich he sitteth, That almyghti God, Over alle other whyghtes; 1620 And is herafter to commen,​ Christ all himselven, To demen the quyke and the dede, Withouten any doute. And in the heighe Holy Gost Holly I beleve; And generall holy chirche also, Hold this in the minde; The communion of sayntes, For soth I to the sayn; 1630 And for our great sinnes Forgivenes for to getten, And only by Christ Clenlich to be clensed; Our bodies again to risen Right as we been here; And the liif everlasting Leve ich to habben. Amen.
"Although this flatterynge freres Wyln, for her pryde, 1640 Disputen of Godes deyté, As dotardes shulden, The more the matere is moved The masedere hi worthen. Lat the loseles alone, And leve thou the trewthe; For these maystres of dyvynité Many, als I trowe, Folwen nought fully the feith, As fele of the lewede. 1650 Whough may mannes wiit, Through werk of himselve, Knowen Christes privité, That alle kynde passeth?​ It mot ben a man Of also mek an herte, That myght with his good liif The Holy Gost fongen; And thanne nedeth him nought Nevere for to studyen; 1660 He myght no maistre ben cald, For Christ that defended, Ne puten no pylion On his pild pate, But prechen in parfit liif, And no pryde usen. But al that ever I have seyd, Soth it me semeth; And al that evere I have wryten Is soth, as I trowe; 1670 And for amendyng of thise men Is most that I write. God wolde hy wolden ben war, And werchen the betere! But for I am a lewed man, Paraunter I myghte Passen par adventure, And in some poynt erren, I wil nought this matere Maistrely avowen. 1680 But gif ich have mys-said, Mercy ich aske, And pray al mannere men This matere amende, Ich a word by hymself, And al, gif it nedeth. God of his grete myght, And his good grace,​ Save alle freres That feithfulli lybben! 1690 And alle tho that ben fals, Fayre hem amende, And gyve hem wiit and good wil Swiche dedes to werch, That thei may wynnen the liif That evere shal lesten." Amen.