And that was seid in forme and reverence
And schort and quyk, and ful of high sentence.
Sownynge in1 moral vertu was his speche,

And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.

A good man was ther of religioun,

And was a pourë PERSOUN of a toun;

*

But riche he was of holy thought and werk.
He was also a lerned man, a clerk,
That Cristës gospel trewëly wolde preche;
His parischens devoutly wolde he teche.
Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,
And in adversité ful pacient;

And such he was i-proved oftë sithes 2.
Ful loth were him to curse for his tythes.
But rather wolde he yeven, out of dowte,
Unto his pourë parisschens aboute,
Of his offrynge, and eek of his substaunce.
He cowde in litel thing han suffisaunce.
Wyd was his parische, and houses fer asonder,
But he ne laftë not for reyne ne thonder,

In siknesse nor in meschief to visite

The ferreste in his parissche, moche and lite,
Upon his feet, and in his hond a staf.
This noble ensample to his scheep he yaf,

That first he wroughte, and afterward he taughte,
Out of the gospel he tho wordës caughte,
And this figure he addede eek therto,
That if gold rustë, what schal yren doo?
For if a prest be foul, on whom we truste,
No wonder is a lewëd man to ruste;
And schame it is, if that a prest tak keep,
A [filthy] schepherde and a clenë scheep;
Wel oughte a prest ensample for to yive,

By his clennesse, how that his scheep schulde lyve.
He settë not his benefice to hyre,

And leet his scheep encombred in the myre,

2

And ran to Londone, unto seyntë Poules,
To seeken him a chaunterie for soules1,
Or with a bretherhede to ben withholde;
But dwelte at hoom, and keptë wel his folde,
So that the wolf ne made it not myscarye ;
He was a schepherd and no mercenarie.
And though he holy were, and vertuous,
He was to sinful man nought despitous,
Ne of his spechë daungerous ne digne,
But in his teching discret and benigne.
To drawë folk to heven by fairnesse
By good enṣample, this was his busynesse:
But it were eny persone obstinat,
What so he were, of high or lowe estat,
Him wolde he snybbë scharply for the nonës.
A better preest, I trowe, ther nowher non is.
He waytede after no pompe and reverence,
Ne makede him a spiced conscience,
But Cristës lore, and his apostles twelve,
He taughte, but first he folwede it himselve.

THE TALE OF THE MAN OF LAWE.

[Custance is falsely charged with the murder of Dame Hermengild. The Knight who charges her is struck down for his perjury.]

Allas! Custance! thou hast no champioun
Ne fyghtë canstow nought, so weylawey!
But he, that starf for our redempcioun,
And bond Sathan (and yit lyth ther he lay)
So be thy strongë champioun this day!

4

For, but if crist open miracle kythe,
Withouten gilt thou shalt be slayn as swythe".

1 an endowment for saying masses. 3 nice, fastidious. 4 where.

2 haughty.

5 show.

• quickly.

She sette her doun on knees, and thus she sayde, ‘Immortal god, that sauedest Susanne

Fro falsë blame, and thow, merciful mayde,
Mary I menë, doughter to Seint Anne,
Bifore whos child aungelës singe Osanne,
If I be giltlees of this felonye,
My socour be, for elles I shal dye!'

Haue ye not seyn som tyme a palë face,
Among a prees, of him that hath be lad
Toward his deth, wher as him gat no grace,
And swich a colour in his face hath had,
Men myghtë knowe his face, that was bistad1,
Amongës alle the faces in that route :
So stant Custance, and looketh hir aboute.

O queenës, lyuinge in prosperitee,
Duchesses, and ladyës euerichone,
Haueth som rewthe on hir aduersitee;
An emperourës doughter stant allone;

She hath no wight to whom to make hir mone.
O blood roial! that stondest in this drede,
Fer ben thy frendës at thy gretë nede!

This Alla king hath swich compassioun,
As gentil herte is fulfild of pitee,
That from his yën ran the water doun.
'Now hastily do fecche a book,' quod he,
‘And if this knyght wol sweren how that she
This womman slow, yet wole we vs auyse
Whom that we wole that shal ben our Iustyse.'

A Briton book, writen with Euangyles,
Was fet, and on this book he swor anoon
She gilty was, and in the menë whyles
A hand him smot vpon the nekkë-boon,
That doun he fel atonës as a stoon,

And both his yën braste out of his face
In sight of euery body in that place.

And ran to Londone, unto seyntë Poules,
To seeken him a chaunterie for soules1,
Or with a bretherhede to ben withholde;
But dwelte at hoom, and keptë wel his folde,
So that the wolf ne made it not myscarye ;
He was a schepherd and no mercenarie.
And though he holy were, and vertuous,
He was to sinful man nought despitous,
Ne of his spechë daungerous' ne digne,
But in his teching discret and benigne.
To drawë folk to heven by fairnesse
By good ensample, this was his busynesse :
But it were eny persone obstinat,
What so he were, of high or lowe estat,
Him wolde he snybbë scharply for the nonës.
A better preest, I trowe, ther nowher non is.
He waytede after no pompe and reverence,
Ne makede him a spiced conscience,
But Cristës lore, and his apostles twelve,
He taughte, but first he folwede it himselve.

THE TALE OF THE MAN OF LAWE.

[Custance is falsely charged with the murder of Dame Her The Knight who charges her is struck down for his perjury

Allas! Custance! thou hast no champioun

Ne fyghtë canstow nought, so weylawey!
But he, that starf for our redempcioun,
And bond Sathan (and yit lyth ther1 he lay)
So be thy strongë champioun this day!
For, but if crist open miracle kythe3,
Withouten gilt thou shalt be slayn as swythc

.1

at tro the false blame

The londe amongës yow,

from harme and eek fro shame ..torm I se nat how.

er he was, he is yet now. 1.31 his moder dere,

1 uy syi and eek my stere1'

y weping in hir arm, Housty to him she seyde,

, I wol do thee noon harm.' zeronef of hir heed she breyde, en yen she it leyde;

Se lulleth it ful faste,

ach mir yên vp she caste.

Suc, and maydë bright, Marye,
womannës eggëment 2

" and damned ay to dye, child was on a croys yrent; eye al his torment; comparisoun bitwene

aly wo man may sustene.

'1 yslayn bifor thyn yën,
youth my litel child, parfay!

, to whom alle woful cryën,
wommanhede, thou fayrë may,
refut, bryghtë sterre of day,
ild, that of thy gentillesse
y rewful in distresse !

las! what is thy gilt,
mughtest sinne as yet, parde,
hardë fader han thee spilt ?
"Constable!' quod she;

el child dwelle heer with thee;

rst not sauen him, for blame, ones in his fadres name!'

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