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is to say, that thou that shrivest thee, and eke the preest that hereth thy confession, be veraily in the feith of holy chirche, and that a man ne be not despeired of the mercie of Jesu Crist, as Cain and Judas were. And eke a man muste accuse himself of his owen trespas and not another: but he shal blame and wite himselfe of his owen malice and of his sinne, and non other: but natheles, if that another man be encheson or enticer of his sinne, or the estate of the person be swiche by which his sinne is agregged, or elles that he may not plainly shrive him but he tell the person with whiche he hath sinned, than may he tell, so that his entent ne be not to backbite the person, but only to declare his confession.

This almesse shuldest thou do of thy propre thinges, and hastily, and prively if thou mayest: but natheles, if thou mayest not do it prively, thou shalt not forbere to do almesse, though men see it, so that it be not don for thanke of the world, but only to have thanke of Jesu Crist. For, as witnesseth Seint Mathewe, cap. v. a citee may not be hid that is sette on a mountaine, ne men light not a lanterne, to put it under a bushell, but setten it upon a candlesticke, to lighten the men in the hous: right so shal your light lighten before men, that they mowe see your good werkes, and glorifie your Fader that is in Heven.

Now as for to speke of bodily peine, it stont in praiers, in waking, in fasting, and in vertuous teching. Of orisons ye shul understond, that orisons or prayers, is to say, a pitous will of herte, that setteth it in God, and expresseth it by word outward, to remeve harmes, and to have thinges spirituel and perdurable, and somtime temporel thinges. Of which orisons, certes in the orison of the Paternoster hath Jesu Crist enclosed most thinges. Certes it is privileged of three thinges in his dignitee, for whiche it is more digne than any other prayer: for that Jesu Crist himself made it: and it is short, for it shuld be coude the more lighthimself the ofter with this orison, and for a man shuld be the lesse wery to say it, and for a man may not excuse him to lerne it, it is so shorte and so esie: and for it comprehendeth in himself all good prayers. The exposition of this holy prayer, that is so excellent and so digne, I betake to the maisters of theologie, save thus moche wol I say, that whan thou prayest, that God shuld foryeve thee thy giltes as thou foryevest hem that have agilted thee, be wel ware that thou be not out of charitee. This holy orison amenuseth eke venial sinne, and therfore it apperteineth specially to penitence.

Thou ne shalt not also make no lesinges in thy confession for humilitee, peraventure, to say that thou hast committed and don swiche sinnes, of which that thou ne were never gilty. For Seint Augustine sayth: If that thou, because of thin humilitee, makest à lesing on thyself, though thou were not in sinne before, yet arte thou than in sinne thurgh thy lesing. Thou must also shew thy sinne by thy propre mouth, but thou be dombe, and not by no letter: for thou that hast don the sinne, thou shalt have the shame of the confession. Thou shalt not eke peint thy confession, with fairely, and to hold it the more esie in herte, and helpe and subtil wordes, to cover the more thy sinne: for than begilest thou thyself, and not the preest; thou must tell it plainly, be it never so foule ne so horrible. Thou shalt eke shrive thee to a preest that is discrete to conseille thee: and eke thou shalt not shrive thee for vaine glorie, ne for ypocrisie, ne for no cause, but only for the doute of Jesu Crist, and the hele of thy soule. Thou shalt not eke renne to the preest al sodenly, to tell him lightly thy sinne, as who telleth a jape or a tale, but avisedly and with good devotion; and generally shrive thee ofte: if thou ofte fall, ofte arise by confession. And though thou shrive thee ofter than ones of sinne which thou hast be shriven of, it is more merite: and, as sayth Seint Augustine, thou shalt have the more lightly relese and grace of God, both of sinne and of peine. And certes ones a yere at the lest way it is lawful to be houseled, for sothely ones a yere all thinges in the erthe renovelen.

Explicit secunda pars penitentiæ: et sequitur tertia pars.

Now have I told you of veray confession, that is the seconde part of penitence: the thridde part is satisfaction, and that stont most generally in almesse dede and in bodily peine. Now ben ther three maner of almesse: contrition of herte, wher a man offreth himself to God: another is, to have pitee of the defaute of his neighbour: and the thridde is, in yeving of good conseil, gostly and bodily, wher as men have nede, and namely in sustenance of mannes food. And take kepe that a man hath nede of thise thinges generally, he hath nede of food, of clothing, and of herberow, he bath nede of charitable conseilling and visiting in prison and in maladie, and sepulture of his ded body. And if thou maiest not visite the nedeful in prison in thy person, visite hem with thy message and thy yeftes. Thise ben generally the almesses and werkes of charitee, of hem that have temporel richesses, or discretion in conseilling. Of thise werkes shalt thou heren at the day of dome.

This prayer must be trewely sayd, and in perfect feith, and that men prayen to God ordinately, discretly, and devoutly: and alway a man shal put his will to be subgette to the will of God. This orison must eke be sayd with gret humblenesse and ful pure, and honestly, and not to the annoyance of any man or woman. It must eke be continued with werkes of charitee. It availeth eke ayenst the vices of the soule: for, as sayth Seint Jerome, by fasting ben saved the vices of the flesh, and by prayer the vices of the soule.

After this thou shalt understonde, that bodily peine stont in waking. For Jesu Crist sayth: Wake ye and pray ye, that ye ne enter into wicked temptation. Ye shul understond also, that fasting stont in three thinges: in forbering of bodily mete and drinke, in forbering of worldly jolitee, and in for bering of dedly sinne: this is to say, that a man shall kepe him fro dedly sinne with all bis might.

And thou shal understonde also, that God ordeined fasting, and to fasting apperteineth foure thinges. Largenesse to poure folk: gladnesse of herte spirituel: not to be angry ne annoied, ne grutch for he fasteth: and also resonable houre for to ete by mesure, that is to say, a man shal not ete in untime, ne sit the longer at the table, for he fasteth.

Than shalt thou understonde, that bodily peine stont in discipline, or teching, by word, or by writ ing, or by ensample. Also in wering of here or of

stamin, or of habergeons on hir naked flesh for Cristes sake; but ware thee wel that swiche maner penances ne make not thin herte bitter or angry, ne annoied of thyself; for better is it to cast away thin here than to cast away the swetenesse of our Lord Jesu Crist. And therfore sayth Seint Poule: clothe you, as they that ben chosen of God in herte, of misericorde, debonairtee, suffrance, and swiche maner of clothing, of whiche Jesu Crist is more plesed than with the heres or habergeons.

Than is discipline eke, in knocking of thy brest, in scourging with yerdes, in kneling, in tribulation, in suffring patiently wronges that ben don to thee, and eke in patient suffring of maladies, or lesing of worldly catel, or wif, or child, or other frendes. Than shalt thou understond, which thinges distourben penance, and this is in foure maners; that is drede, shame, hope, and wanhope, that is, desperation. And for to speke first of drede, for which he weneth that he may suffre no penance, ther ayenst is remedie for to thinke, that bodily penance is but short and litel at regard of the peine of Helle, that is so cruel and so longe, that it lasteth withouten ende.

in sinne, the mercie of Crist is alway redy to receive him to mercie. Ayenst that wanhope that he demeth he shuld not longe persever in goodnesse, he shal think, that the feblenesse of the Devil may nothing do, but if men wol suffre him: and eke he shal have strength of the helpe of Jesu Crist, and of all his chirche, and of the protection of angels, if him list.

Than shul men understonde, what is the fruit of penance; and after the wordes of Jesu Crist, it is an endeles blisse of Heven, ther joye hath no contrariositee of wo ne grevance; ther all harmes ben passed of this present lif; ther as is sikernesse from the peines of Helle; ther as is the blisful compagnie, that rejoycen hem ever mo of others joye; ther as the body of man, that whilom was foule and derke, is more clere than the Sonne; ther as the body that whilom was sike and freele, feble and mortal, is immortal, and so strong and so hole, that ther ne may nothing appeire it; ther as is neither hunger ne thurste, ne colde, but every soule replenished with the sight of the parfit knowing of God. This blisful regne mowe men purchase by poverte spirituel, and the glorie by lowNow ayenst the shame that a man hath to shrivelinesse, the plentee of joye by hunger and thurst, him, and namely thise ipocrites, that wold be holden so parfit, that they have no nede to shrive hem, ayenst that shame shuld a man thinke, that by way of reson, he that hath not ben ashamed to do foule thinges, certes him ought not be ashamed to do faire thinges, and that is confessions. A man shuld also thinke, that God seeth and knoweth al his thoughtes, and al his werkes, and to him may nothing be hid ne covered. Men shuld eke remembre hem of the shame that is to come at the day of dome, to hem that ben not penitent in this present lif: for all the creatures in Heven, and in Erthe, and in Helle, shuld see apertly all that they hiden in this world.

Now for to speke of the hope of hem, that ben so negligent and slowe to shrive hem: that stondeth in two maners. That on is, that he hopeth for to live long, and for to purchase moche richesse for his delit, and than he wol shrive him: and, as he sayth, he may, as him semeth, than timely ynough come to shrift: another is, the surquedrie that he hath in Cristes mercie. Ayenst the first vice, he shal thinke that our lif is in no sikernesse, and eke that all the richesse in this world ben in aventure, and passen as a shadowe on a wall; and, as sayth Seint Gregorie, that it apperteineth to the gret rightwisnesse of God, that never shul the peine stinte of hem, that never wold withdrawe hem from sinne, hir thankes, but ever continue in sinne: for thilke perpetuel will to don sinne shall they have perpetuel peine.

and the reste by travaile, and the lif by deth and mortification of sinne: to which life he us bring, that bought us with his precious blood. Amen.

Now preye I to hem alle that herken this litel tretise or reden it, that if ther be any thing in it that liketh hem, that therof they thanken our Lord Jesu Crist, of whom procedeth all witte and all godenesse; and if ther be any thing that displeseth hem, I preye hem also that they arrette it to the defaute of myn unkonning, and not to my wille, that wold fayn have seyde better if I hadde had konning; for oure boke seyth, all that is writen is writen for oure doctrine, and that is myn entente. Wherfore I beseke you mekely for the mercie of God that ye preye for me, that Crist have mercie of me and foryeve me my giltes, [and namely of myn translations and enditinges of worldly vanitees, the which I revoke in my Retractions, as the boke of Troilus, the boke also of Fame, the boke of the five and twenty Ladies, the boke of the Duchesse, the boke of Seint Valentines Day of the Parlement of Briddes, the Tales of Canterbury, thilke that sounen unto sinne, the boke of the Leon, and many an other boke, if they were in my remembraunce, and many a song and many a lecherous.Jay, Crist of his grete mercie foryeve me the sinne. But of the translation of Boes of consolation, and other bokes of legendes of Seints, and of omelies, and moralite, and devotion, that thanke I oure Lord Jesu Crist, and his blisful mother, and alle the seintes in Heven, beseking hem that they fro hensforth unto my lyves ende sende me grace to be

Wanhope is in two maners. The first wanhope is, in the mercie of God: that other is, that they think that they ne might not long persever in good-waile my giltes, and to stodien to the savation of nesse. The first wanhope cometh of that, he demeth that he hath sinned so gretly and so oft, and so long lyen in sinne, that he shal not be saved. Certes ayenst that cursed wanhope shulde he thinke, that the passion of Jesu Crist is more stronge for to unbinde, than sinne is strong for to binde. Ayenst the second wanhope he shal thinke, that as often as he falleth, he may arisen again by penitence: and though he never so longe hath lyen

my soule,] and graunte me grace of verray penance, confession and satisfection to don in this present lif, thorgh the benigne grace of him, that is king of kinges and preste of all prestes, that bought us with the precious blode of his herte, so that I mcte ben on of hem atte the laste day of dome that shullen be saved; qui cum Deo patre et Spiritu sancto vivis et regnas Deus per omnia secula, Amen.

THE

ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE.

THIS book was begun in French verse by William de Lorris, and finished forty years after by John Clopinell, alias John Moone, born at Mewen upon the river of Loyer, not far from Paris, as appeareth by Molinet, the French author, upon the morality of the Romaunt; and afterward translated for the most part into English metre by Geffrey Chaucer, but not finished. It is entituled, The Romaunt of the Rose; or, The Art of Love: wherein is shewed the helpes and furtherances, as also the lets and impediments that lovers have in their suits. In this book the authour bath many glaunces at the hypocrisie of the clergy: whereby he got himself such batred amongst them, that Gerson, chancellour of Paris, writeth thus of him: saith he, "There was one called Johannes Meldinensis, who wrote a book called, The Romaunt of the Rose; which book if I only had, and that there were no more in the world, if I might have five hundred pound for the same, I wold rather burne it than take the money." He sayth more, that if he thought the authour thereof did not repent him for that book before he dyed, he would vouchsafe to pray for him no more than he would for Judas that betrayed Christ.

ANY menne sain that in sweueninges,

MAN

Where nis but fables and lesinges:
But menne may some sweuen seene,
Which hardely that false ne been,
But afterward ben apparaunt :
This may I drawe to warraunt
An authour that hight Macrohes,
That halte not dreames false ne lees,
Bat undoth us the auisioun,
That whilom mette king Cipioun.

And who so sayth, or weneth it be
A yape, or else nicete

To wene that dreames after fall,
Let who so liste a foole me call.
For this trow I, and say for me,
That dreames signifiaunce be

Of good and harme to many wightes,
That dreamen in hir sleep a nightes
Full many thinges couertly,
That fallen after all openly.

Within my twentie yeere of age,
When that loue taketh his courage
Of younge folke, I wente soone
To bed, as I was wont to doone:

And fast I slept, and in sleeping,
Me mette such a sweuening,
That liked me wondrous wele,
But in that sweuen is neuer a dele
That it nis afterward befall,
Right as this dreame woll tell us all.

Now this dreame woll I rime a right,
To make your heartes gay and light :
For loue it prayeth, and also
Commaundeth me that it be so.

And if there any aske me,
Whether that it be he or she,
Now this booke which is here
Shall highte, that I rede you here:
It is the Romaunt of the Rose,
In which all the art of loue I close.

The matter faire is of to make,
God graunt me in gree that she it take
For whom that it begonnen is,
And that is she, that hath I wis
So mokel prise, and thereto she
So worthie is beloued to be,
That she well ought of prise and right,
Be cleped Rose of euerie wight.
That it was Mey me thoughte tho,
It is fiue yere or more ago,
That it was Mey, thus dreamed me,
In time of loue and iolitie,
That all thing ginneth waxen gay:
For there is neither huske nor hay
In Mey, that it nill shrouded bene,
And it with newe leues wrene:
These woodes eke recoueren grene,
That drie in winter ben to sene,
And the 'erth waxeth proud withall,
For swote dewes that on it fall,
And the poore estate forget,
In which that winter had it set:
And than become the ground so proude,
That it wol have a newe shroude,

And maketh so queint his robe and faire,
That it had hewes an hundred paire,
Of grasse and floures, Inde and Pers,
And many hewes full diuers:
That is the robe I mean iwis,
Through which the ground to praisen is.
The birdes, that han left hir song,
While they han suffred cold full strong,
In wethers grille, and derke to sight,
Ben in Mey for the Sunne bright,
So glad, that they shew in singing,
That in hir heart is such liking,

That they mote singen and ben light:
Than doth the nightingale her might,
To maken noyse, and singen blith:
Than is blisfuil many a sith,
The chelaundre, and the popingaye,
Than younge folke entenden aye,
For to ben gay and amorous,
The time is then so sauorous.

Harde is his heart that loueth nought
In Mey, whan all this mirth is wrought,
Whan he may on these braunches here
The smalle birdes singen clere
Her blisfull swete song piteous,
And in this season delitous :
When loue affirmeth all thing,

Me thought one night, in my sleeping,
Right in my bed full readyly,
That it was by the morrow early,
And up I rose, and gan me cloth,
Anone I wish mine hondes both,
A siluer needle forth I drow,
Out of an aguiler queint inow,
And gan this needle thread anone,
For out of toune me list to gone,
The sound of birdes for to heare
That on the buskes singen cleare,
In the swete season that lefe is,
With a thred basting my sleuis,
Alone I went in my playing,
The smale foules song hearkening,
That payned hem full many a paire,
To sing on bowes blossomed faire:
Jolife and gay, full of gladnesse,
Toward a riuer gan I me dresse,
That I heard renne faste by,
For fairer playen none saw I
Than playen me by that riuere:

For from an hill that stood there nere,

Come doune the stream full stiffe and bold, Clere was the water, and as cold

As any well is, sooth to saine,

And somedele lasse it was than Saine,

But it was straiter, weleaway,

And neuer saw I er that day,
The water that so wele liked me,

And wonder glad was I to se

That lusty place, and that riuere:

And with that water that ran so clere,
My face I wish, tho saw I wele,
The bottome ypaued eueridele
With grauel, full of stones shene,
The meadowes softe, sote, and grene,
Beet right upon the water side,
Full clere was than the morowe tide,
And full attempre out of drede,
Tho gan I walken thorow the mede,
Dounward aye in my playing,
The riuers side coasting.

And when I had a while igone,
I saw a garden right anone,
Full long and broad, and eueridele
Enclosed was, and walled wele,
With hie walles enbatailed,
Portrayed without, and well entayled
With many riche portraitures,
And both yet images and peintures,
Can I beholde besely,

And I woll tell you readyly,
Of thilke images the semblaunce,
As farre as I haue remembraunce.

Amidde saw I Hate stonde,

That for her wrath and yre and onde,
Seemed to be a mynoresse,
An angry wight, a chideresse,
And ful of gile, and fell courage,
By semblaunt was that ilke image,
And she was nothing wele araide,
But like a wode woman afraide,
Ifrounced foule was her visage,
And grinning for dispitous rage,
Her nose snorted up for tene,
Full hidous was she for to sene,
Full foule and rustie was she this,
Her head iwrithen was iwis
Full grimly with a great towaile.

An image of another entaile,
A lifte halfe was her fast by,
Her name aboue her head saw I,
And she was called Felony.

Another image, that Uillany
Icleped was, saw I and fonde
Upon the wall on her right honde.
Uillany was like somedele
That other image, and trusteth wele
She seemed a wicked creature,
By countenaunce in portreiture,
She seemed be full despitous,
And eke full proude and outragious.
Well coud he paint I undertake,
That such an image coude make:
Full foule and churlish seemed she,
And eke villainous for to be,
And little coulde of nurture,
To worship any creature.

And next was painted Couetise,
That eggeth folke in many a gise,
To take and yeve right nought againe,
And great treasoures up to laine.

And that is she, that for usure
Leneth to many a creature
The lasse for the more winning,
So couetous is her brenning,
And that is she for pennies fele,

That teacheth for to robbe and stele

These theeues, and these smale harlotes,
And that is routhe, for by hir throtes,
Full many one hongeth at the last:
She maketh folke compasse and cast
To taken other folkes thing,
Through robberie, or miscoueting.
And that is she that maketh treachours,
And she maketh false pleadours,
That with hir termes and hir domes,

Done maidens, children, and eke gromes,
Her heritage to forgo:

Full crooked were her hondes two,

For couetise is euer wood,

To gripen other folkes good.

Couetise, for her winning,
Full lefe hath other mennes thing.
Another image set saw I,
Nexte Couetise fast by,

And she was cleped Auarice,

Full foule in painting was that vice,
Full sad and caitife was she eke,
And also grene as any leke,

So euil hewed was her colour,

Her seemed to haue liued in langour,
She was like thing for hunger dead,
That lad her life onely by bread

Kaeden with eisell strong and egre,
And thereto she was lene and megre,
And she was clad full poorely,
All in an olde torne courtpy,
As she were all with dogges torne,
And both behind and eke beforne
Clouted was she beggerly.

A mantle honge her faste by,
Upon a benche weake and small,
A burnette cote hong there withall,
Furred with no mineuere,

But with a furre rough of heere,
Of lambe skinnes heauy and blake,
It was so old I undertake.
For Auarice to cloath her wele,
Ne hasteth her neuer a dele,
For certainly it were her loth
To wearen of that ilke cloth,
And if it were forweared, she
Woulde haue full great nicete
Of clothing, er she bought her newe,
All were it bad of woll and hewe.

This Auarice held in her hand,
A purse that honge by a band,
And that she hid and bond so strong,
Men must abide wonder long,

Out of the purse er ther come ought,
For that ne commeth in her thought,
It was not certaine her entent,
That fro that purse a peny went.

And by that image nigh inough,
Was peinted Enuie, that neuer lough,
Nor neuer well in her heart ferde
But if she either saw or herde

Some great mischaunce, or great disease,
Nothing ne may so much her please
As mischeife and misauenture,

Or when she seeth discomfiture

Upon any worthy man fall,

Than liketh her right well withall.
She is full glad in hir courage,
If she see any great linage

Be brought to naught in shamefull wise:
And if a man in honour rise,

Or by his wit, or by his prowesse,
Of that bath she great heauinesse,
For trusteth well she goeth nie wood,
When any chaunce happeth good.
Enuy is of such cruelte,
That fayth ne trouth holdeth she,
To friend ne fellow, bad or good.
Ne she hath kinne none of her blood
That she nis full bir enemie,
She nolde, I dare saine hardely

Her owne father fared wele,
And sore abieth she euerie dele
Her malice, and her male talent:
For she is in so great turment

And hate such, when folke doth good,
That nye she melteth for pure wood,
Her bert kerueth and so breaketh
That God the people well awreaketh,
Enuy iwis shall neuer let,
Some blame upon the folke to set.
I trowe that if Enuie iwis,
Knew the beste man that is,
On this side or beyond the see,
Yet somewhat lacken him would she:
And if he were so hende and wise,
That she ne might all abate his prise,

Yet would she blame his worthinesse,
Or by her wordes make it lesse.
I sawe Envy in that painting,
Had a wonderfull looking,
For she ne looked but awrie,
Or overwhart, all baggingly.
And she had a foule usage,
She might looke in no visage

Of man ne woman, forth right plaine,
But shette her one eye for disdaine,
So for envie brenned shee
When she might any man see
That faire, or worthy were, or wise,
Or else stood in folkes prise.

Sorow was painted next Envie
Upon that wall of masonrie:
But well was seene in her colour
That she had lived in languour:
Her seemed to have the jaundice,
Not halfe so pale was Avarice,
Ne nothing like of leannesse,

For sorowe, thought, and great distresse,
That she had suffred daie and night,
Made her yellow, and nothing bright:
Full sad, pale, and megre also,
Was never wight yet half so wo
As that her seemed for to be,
Nor so fulfilled with yre as she,

I trow that no wight might her please
Nor doe that thing that might her ease,
Nor she ne would her sorow slake,
Nor comfort none unto her take,
So depe was her wo begonne,
And eke her heart in anger ronne,
A sorowfull thing wel seemed she:
Nor she had nothing slowe be
For to scratchen all her face
And for to rent in many place

Her clothes, and for to teare her swire,
As she that was fulfilled of yre,
And all to torne lay eke her heere
About her shoulders, here and there,
As she that had it all to rent
For anger and for male talent.

And eke I tell you certainly
How that she wept full tenderly:
In worlde nis wight so hard of heart
That had seene her sorowes smart
That nolde have had of her pite,
So wo begon a thing was she.
She all to dasht her selfe for wo
And smote togider her hands two,
To sorrow was she full ententife,
That wofull retchelesse caitife
Her wroughte little of playing,
Or of clipping or kissing;
For who so sorrowfull is in heart
Him luste not to play ne start,
Nor for to dauncen, ne to sing,
Ne may his heart in temper bring
To make joy on even or morrow,
For joy is contrarie unto sorrow.

Elde was painted after this,
That shorter was a foot iwis
Than she was wont in her yong hede,
Unneth her selfe she might fede,
So feeble and eke so old was she
That faded was all her beaute.
Full salow was waxen her colour,
Her head for hore was white as flour,

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