Piers Ploughman (Wright)/Passus 16
Passus Decimus Sextus, etc. et Primus de Do-bet.
"For youre faire shewyng;
For Haukyns love, the actif man,
Evere I shal yow lovye!
Ac yit I am in a weer
What charité is to mene."
"It is a ful trie tree," quod he, 10800
"Trewely to telle;
Mercy is the more therof,
The myddul stok is ruthe;
The leves ben lele wordes,
The lawe of holy chirche;
The blosmes beth buxom speche,
And benigne lokynge;
Pacience hatte the pure tree,
And pure symple of herte;
And so, thorugh God and thorugh goode men, 10810
Groweth the fruyt charité."
"I wolde travaille," quod I, "this tree to se,
Twenty hundred myle;
And for to have my fulle of that fruyt,
Forsake alle othere saulees.
Lord!" quod I, "if any wight wite
Whider out it groweth."
"It groweth in a gardyn," quod he,
"That God made hymselve,
Amyddes mannes body, 10820
The more is of that stokke,
Herte highte the herber
That it inne groweth.
And liberum arbitrium
Hath the lond the ferme
Under Piers the Plowman,
To piken it and to weden it."
"Piers the Plowman!" quod I tho,
And al for pure joye
That I herde nempne his name, 10830
Anoon I swowned after,
And lay longe in a lone dreem;
And at the laste, me thoughte
That Piers the Plowman
Al the place me shewed,
And bad me to toten on the tree,
On top and on roote;
With thre piles was it under-pight,
I perceyved it soone.
"Piers," quod I, "I preie thee, 10840
Whi stonde thise piles here?"
"For wyndes, wiltow wite," quod he,
To witen it fro fallyng.
Cum ceciderit justus, non collidetur,
quia Dominus supponit manum
suam.
And in blowyng tyme, abite the flowres,
But if thise piles helpe,
"The world is a wikked wynd
To hem that willen truthe; 10850
Coveitise comth of that wynd,
And crepeth among the leves,
And for-freteth neigh the fruyt
Thorugh manye faire sightes;
Thanne with the firste pil I palle hym down,
That is Potentia Dei.
"The flessh is a fel wynd,
And in flouryng tyme
Thorugh likynge and lustes
So loude he gynneth blowe, 10860
That it norisseth nyce sightes,
And som tyme wordes,
And wikkede werkes therof,
Wormes of synne,
And for-biteth the blosmes
Right to the bare leves.
"Than sette I to the secounde pil
Sapientia Dei patris;
That is the passion and the power
Of oure prince Jhesu. 10870
Thorugh preieres and thorugh penaunces,
And Goddes passion in mynde,
I save it til I se it ripen
And som del y-fruyted.
"And thanne fondeth the fend
My fruyt to destruye,
With alle the wiles that he kan;
And waggeth the roote,
And casteth up to the crop
Unkynde neighebores; 10880
Bakbiteris breke the cheste,
Brawleris and chideris,
And leith a laddre therto,
Of lesynges are the ronges,
And feccheth awey my floures som tyme
Afore bothe myne eighen.
Ac liberum arbitrium
Letteth hym som tyme,
That is lieutenaunt to loken it wel,
Bi leve of myselve. 10890
Videatis qui peccat in spiritum
sanctum nunquam remittetur,
etc. Hoc est idem, qui peccat
per liberum arbitrium non
repurgatur.
"Ac whan the fend and the flessh
Forth with the world
Manacen bihynde me
My fruyt for to fecche,
Thanne liberum arbitrium 10900
Laccheth the firste plante,
And palleth adoun the pouke,
Pureliche thorugh grace
And help of the Holy Goost,
And thus have I the maistrie."
"Now faire falle yow! Piers," quod I,
"So faire ye discryven
The power of thise postes,
And hire propre myghtes.
Ac I have thoughtes a threve 10910
Of thise thre piles,
In what wode thei woxen,
And where that thei growed;
For alle are thei aliche longe,
Noon lasse than oother,
And to my mynde, as me thinketh,
On o more thei growed,
And of o greetnesse,
And grene of greyn thei semen."
"That is sooth," quod Piers, 10920
"So it may bifalle;
I shal telle thee as tid
What this tree highte.
The ground there it groweth,
Goodnesse it hatte;
And I have told thee what highte the tree,
The Trinité it meneth."
And egreliche he loked on me;
And therfore I spared
To asken hym any moore therof, 10930
And bad hym ful faire
To discryve the fruyt
That so faire hangeth.
"Heer no bynethe," quod he tho,
"If I nede hadde,
Matrimoyne I may nyme,
A moiste fruyt withalle;
Thanne continence is neer the crop,
As kaylewey bastard,
Thanne bereth the crop kynde fruyt, 10940
And clennest of alle,
Maidenhode aungeles peeris
And rathest wole be ripe,
And swete withouten swellyng,
Sour worth it nevere."
I preide Piers tho to pulle a-doun
An appul, and he wolde,
And suffre me to assaien
What savour it hadde.
And Piers caste to the crop, 10950
And thanne comsed it to crye,
And waggede widwehode,
And it wepte after;
And whan it meved matrimoyne,
It made a foul noise.
And I hadde ruthe whan Piers rogged,
It gradde so rufulliche;
For evere as thei dropped a-doun,
The devel was redy
And gadrede hem alle togideres, 10960
Bothe grete and smale,
Adam and Abraham,
And Ysaye the prophete,
Sampson and Samuel,
And seint Johan the Baptist,
Bar hem forth bodily,
No body hym letted,
And made of holy men his hoord
In limbo inferni,
There is derknesse and drede, 10970
And the devel maister.
And Piers, for pure tene,
Of that a pil he raughte;
He hitte after hym,
Hitte how it myghte,
Filius by the fader wille,
And frenesse of Spiritus sancti,
To go robbe that rageman,
And reve the fruyt fro hym.
And thanne spak Spiritus sanctus 10980
In Gabrielis mouthe,
To a maide that highte Marie,
A meke thyng withalle,
That oon Jhesus a justices sone
Moste jouke in hir chambre,
Til plenitudo temporis
Fully comen were,
That Piers fruyt floured,
And felle to be rype,
And thanne sholde Jhesus juste therfore, 10990
By juggement of armes,
Wheither sholde fonge the fruyt,
The fend or hymselve.
The maide myldeliche tho
The messager graunted,
And seide hendeliche to hym,
"Lo me his hand-maiden
For to werchen his wille,
Withouten any synne."
Ecce ancilla Domini, fiat mihi, etc. 11000
And in the wombe of that wenche
Was he fourty woukes,
Til he weex a faunt thorugh hir flessh,
And of fightyng kouthe,
To have y-foughte with the fend
Er ful tyme come.
And Piers the Plowman
Perceyved plener tyme,
And lered hym lechecraft
His lif for to save, 11010
That though he were wounded with his enemy,
To warisshen hymselve,
And dide hym assaie his surgenrie
On hem that sike were,
Til he was perfit praktisour,
If any peril fille;
And soughte out the sike
And synfulle bothe,
And salvede sike and synfulle,
Bothe blynde and crokede, 11020
And commune wommen convertede,
And to goode turnede.
Non est sanis opus medicinæ, sed in, etc.
Bothe meseles and mute,
And in the menyson blody,
Ofte heeled swiche,
He ne held it for no maistrie,
Save tho he leched Lazar
That hadde y-leye in grave,
Quatriduanus quelt, 11030
Quyk dide hym walke.
Ac as he made the maistrie,
Mœstus cœpit esse,
And wepte water with hise eighen,
Ther seighen it manye.
Some that the sighte seighen,
Seiden that tyme
That he was leche of lif,
And lord of heigh hevene.
Jewes jangled ther ayein, 11040
And juggede lawes
And seide he wroghte thorugh wichecraft,
And with the develes myghte.
Dæmonium habet, etc.
Thanne, "are ye cherles," quod ich,
"And youre children bothe,
And Sathan youre saveour,
Ye self now ye witnessen."
"For I have saved yow self," seith Crist,
"And youre sones after, 11050
Youre bodies, youre beestes,
And blynde men holpen
And fed yow with two fisshes
And with fyve loves,
And lefte baskettesful of broke mete,
Bere awey who so wolde."
And mys-seide the Jewes manliche
And manaced hem to bete,
And knokked on hem with a corde,
And caste a-doun hir stalles 11060
That in chirche chaffareden,
Or chaungeden any moneie,
And seide it in sighte of hem alle,
So that alle herden:—
"I shal overturne this temple,
And a-doun throwe it,
And in thre daies after
Edifie it new,
And maken it as muche outher moore
In alle manere poyntes 11070
As evere it was, and as wid;
Wherfore I hote yow,
Of preieres and of perfitnesse
This place that ye callen."
Domus mea domus orationis vocabitur.[1]
Envye and yvel wil
Was in the Jewes;
Thei casten and contreveden
To kulle hym whan thei myghte, 11080
Eche day after oother
Hir tyme thei awaiteden;
Til it bifel on a Friday
A litel bifore Pasqe,
The Thursday bifore
There he made his maundee,
Sittynge at the soper
He seide thise wordes,
"I am sold thorugh oon of yow,
He shal the tyme rewe, 11090
That evere he his Saveour solde,
For silver or ellis."
Judas jangled ther ayein;
Ac Jhesus hym tolde,
It was hymself soothly,
And seide tu dicis.
Thanne wente forth that wikked man,
And with the Jewes mette,
And tolde hem a tokne
How to knowe with Jhesus, 11100
And which tokne to this day
To muche is y-used,
That is kissynge and fair countenaunce,
And unkynde wille.
And so was with Judas tho,
That Jhesus bitrayed:
"Ave, raby," quod that ribaud,
And right to hym he yede,
And kiste hym, to be caught therby,
And kulled of the Jewes. 11110
Thanne Jhesus to Judas
And to the Jewes seide,
"Falsnesse I fynde
In thi faire speche,
And gile in thi glad chere,
And galle is in thi laughyng;
Thow shalt be myrour
To many men to deceyve,
Ac the worse and the wikkednesse
Shal worthe upon thiselve. 11120
Necesse est ut veniant scandala:
Væ homini illi per quem scandalum
venit!
"Though I bi treson be take
At youre owene wille,
Suffreth myne apostles in pees
And in pays gange."
On a Thursday in thesternesse
Thus was he taken,
Thorugh Judas and Jewes, 11130
Jhesus was his name,
That on the Friday folwynge
For mankyndes sake
Justed in Jherusalem,
A joye to us alle.
On cros upon Calvarie
Crist took the bataille
Ayeins deeth and the devel,
Destruyed hir botheres myghtes,
Deide and deed for-dide, 11140
And day of nyght made.
And I awaked therwith,
And wiped myne eighen,
And after Piers the Plowman
Pried and stared
Est-ward and west-ward,
I waited after faste,
And yede forth as an ydiot
In contree to aspie,
After Piers the Plowman 11150
Many a place I soughte.
And thanne mette I with a man,
A myd-lenten Sonday,
As hoor as an hawethorn,
And Abraham he highte.
I frayned hym first
Fram whennes he come,
And of whennes he were,
And whider that he soughte.
"It falleth noght to lye,
And of Abrahames hous
An heraud of armes,
And seke after a segge
That I seigh ones,
A ful bold bacheler,
I knew hym by his blasen."
"What berth that buyrn?" quod I tho,
"So blisse thee bitide!"
"Thre leodes in oon lyth, 11170
Noon lenger than oother,
Of oon muchel and myght
In mesure and in lengthe;
That oon dooth, alle dooth,
And ech dooth bi his one.
"The firste hath myght and majestee,
Makere of alle thynges,
Pater is his propre name,
A persone by hymselve.
"The secounde of tha sire is 11180
Sothfastnesse filius,
Wardeyn of that wit hath
Was evere withouten gynnyng.
"The thridde highte the Holi Goost,
A persone by hymselve,
The light of al that lif hath
A-londe and a-watre,
Confortour of creatures,
Of hym cometh alle blisse.
"So thre bilongeth for a lord 11190
That lordshipe cleymeth,
Might and mene
To knowe his owene myghte,
Of hym and of his servaunt,
And what thei suffre bothe.
"So God that gynnyng hadde nevere,
But tho hym good thoughte,
Sente forth his sone,
As for servaunt that tyme,
To ocupie hym here, 11200
Til issue were spronge,
That is, children of charité,
And holi chirche the moder;
Patriarkes and prophetes
And apostles were the children,
And Crist and cristendom,
And cristene holy chirche,
In menynge that man moste
On o God bileve.
And there hym likede and lovede, 11210
In thre persones hym shewede,
And that it may be so and sooth,
Manhode it sheweth,
Wedlok and widwehode,
With virginité y-nempned,
In tokenynge of the Trinité
Was out of man taken.
"Adam was oure aller fader,
And Eve was of hymselve,
And the issue that thei hadde 11220
It was of hem bothe,
And either is otheres joie
In thre sondry persones,
And in hevene and here
Oon singuler name;
And thus is mankynde and manhede
Of matrimoyne y-spronge,
And bitokneth the Trinité
And trewe bileve.
"Mighty is matrimoyne, 11230
That multiplieth the erthe,
And bitokneth trewely,
Telle if I dorste,
Hym that first formed al,
The fader of hevene.
"The sone, if I it dorste seye,
Resembleth wel the widewe.
Deus meus, Deus meus, ut quid dereliquisti me![1]
"That is, creatour weex creature 11240
To knowe what was bothe.
As widewe withouten wedlok
Was nevere yit y-seighe;
Na-moore myghte God be man,
But if he moder hadde.
So widewe withouten wedlok
May noght wel stande,
Ne matrimoyne withouten muliere
Is noght muche to preise.
Maledictus homo qui non reliquit 11250
semen in Israel! etc.
"Thus in thre persones
Is perfitliche manhede;
That is man and his make
And mulliere children.
And is noght but gendre of a generacion
Bifore Jhesu Crist in hevene;
So is the fader forth with the sone,
And fre wille of bothe.
Spiritus procedens a patre et filio, etc.[1]
Which is the Holy Goost of alle, 11262
And alle is but o God.
"Thus in a somer I hym seigh
As I sat in my porche.
I roos up and reverenced hym,
And right faire hym grette,
Thre men to my sighte
I made wel at ese,
Wessh her feet and wiped hem, 11270
And afterward thei eten
Calves flessh and cake-breed,
And knewe what I thoughte!
Ful trewe toknes bitwene us is,
To telle whan me liketh.
"First he fonded me
If I lovede bettre
Hym or Ysaak myn heir,
The which he highte me kulle.
He wiste my wille bi hym, 11280
He wol me it allowe;
I am ful siker in soule therof,
And my sone bothe.
I circumscised my sone
Sithen for his sake,
Myself and my meynee,
And alle that male weere,
Bledden blood for that Lordes love,
And hope to blisse the tyme.
Myn affiaunce and my feith 11290
Is ferme in his bileve;
For himself bihighte to me,
And to myn issue bothe,
Lond and lordshipe,
And lif withouten ende;
To me and to myn issue
Moore yet he grauntede,
Mercy for oure mys-dedes,
As many tyme as we asken.
Quam olim Abrahæ promisisti et 11300
semini ejus.
"And siththe he sente me to seye
I sholde do sacrifise,
And doon hym worship with breed
And with wyn bothe;
And called me the foot of his feith,
His folk for to save,
And defende hem fro the fend,
Folk that on me leveden.
"Thus have I ben his heraud 11310
Here and in helle,
And conforted many a careful
That after his comynge waiteden.
And thus I seke hym," he seide,
"For I herde seyn late
Of a barn that baptysed hym,
Johan Baptist was his name,
That to patriarkes and to prophetes,
And to oother peple in derknesse,
Seide that he seigh here 11320
That sholde save us alle."
Ecce agnus Dei! etc.
I hadde wonder of hise wordes,
And of hise wide clothes;
For in his bosom he bar a thyng
That he blissed evere.
And I loked in his lappe,
A lazar lay therinne
Amonges patriarkes and prophetes
Pleyinge togideres. 11330
"What awaitestow?" quod he,
"And what woldestow have?"
"I wolde wite," quod I tho,
"What is in youre lappe."
"Loo!" quod he; and leet me see.
"Lord, mercy!" I seide;
"This is a present of muche pris,
What prynce shal it have?"
"It is a precious present," quod he;
"Ac the pouke it hath attached, 11340
And me thermyde," quod that man,
"May no wed us quyte,
Ne no buyrn be oure borgh,
Ne brynge us fram his daunger;
Out of the poukes pondfold
No maynprise may us feeche,
Til he come that I carpe of,
Crist is his name.
That shal delivere us som day
Out of the develes power, 11350
And bettre wed for us legge
Than we ben alle worthi,
That is lif for lif,
Or ligge thus evere
Lollynge in my lappe,
Til swich a lord us fecche."
"Allas!" I seide, "that synne
So longe shal lette
The myght of Goddes mercy,
That myghte us alle amende." 11360
I wepte for hise wordes.
With that saugh I another
Rapeliche renne forth,
The righte wey he wente.
I affrayned hym first
Fram whennes he come,
And what he highte, and whider he wolde;
And wightly he tolde. 11368
