Came to the gate and axed mete.
But there might he nothing gete
His dedely hunger for to ftaunche,
For he, which had his fulle paunche
Of alle luftes ate borde

Ne deigneth nought to speke a worde,
Onlich a crumme for to yive,
Wherof the pouer mighte live
Upon the yift of his almesse.
Thus lay this pouer in great diftreffe
A colde and hungry at the gate,
Fro which he mighte go no gate,
So was he wofully befene.
And as these haly bokes fain,
The houndes comen fro the halle,
Where that this fike man was falle,
And as he lay there for to deie,
The woundes of his malady
They licken for to done him efe.
But he was full of such disese,

That he may nought the deth escape.
But as it was that time shape,
The foule fro the body paffeth,
And he, whom nothing overpaffeth,
The highe god up to the heven
Him toke, where he hath fet him even
In Abrahames barme on high,

Where he the hevens joie figh

And had all that he have wolde.
And fell as it befalle fholde,

This riche man the same throwe
With fodein deth was overthrowe
And forth withouten any went,
Unto the helle ftraught he went,
The fende into the fire him drough,
Where that he hadde peine inough
Of flame, which that ever brenneth.
And as his eye aboute renneth,
Toward the heven he caft his loke,
Where that he figh and hede toke,
How Lazar fet was in his fee
Als fer as ever he might fee
With Abraham, and than he praide
Unto the patriarch and faide :
Send Lazar down fro thilke fete
And do, that he his finger wete
In water, so that he may droppe
Upon my tunge for to stoppe
The grete hete, in which I brenne.
But Abraham answerde thenne
And faide to him in this wife:

My fone, thou the might avise
And take into thy remembraunce,
How Lazar hadde great penaunce,
While he was in that other life.
But thou in all thy luft jolife
The bodely delices foughtest,

Forthy fo as thou thanne wroughteft,

Now shalt thou take thy rewarde
Of dedely peine here afterwarde
In helle, which shall ever last.
And this Lazar now ate laft
This worldes peine is overronne
In heven and hath his life begonne
Of joie, which is endeles.

But that thou praiest netheles,
That I fhall Lazar to the fende
With water on his finger ende
Thine hote tunge for to kele,
Thou shalt no fuche graces fele,
For to that foule place of finne,
For ever in which thou shalt ben inne,
Cometh none out of this place thider
Ne none of you may comen hider,
Thus be ye parted now a-two.
The rich ayeinward cride tho:
O Abraham, fithe it fo is,

That Lazar may nought do me this,
Whiche I have axed in this place,
I wolde pray an other grace.
For I have yet of bretherne five,
That with my fader ben a-live
To-gider dwellend in one hous,
To whom, as thou art gracious,
I praie, that thou woldest sende
Lazar, fo that he mighte wende
To warne hem, how the worlde is went,
That afterward they be nought shent

Of fuche peines as they deie.
Lo, this I praie and this I crie,
How I may nought my felf amende.
The patriarche anone fuende
To this praier answerde: Nay,
And faide him, how that every day

His bretheren mighten knowe and here
Of Moises on erthe here

And of prophetes other mo,

What hem was beft. And he faith: No,

But if there might a man arise

From deth to life in fuche a wife
To tellen hem, how that it were,
He faide, than of pure fere
They fhulden well beware therby.
Quod Abraham: Nay fikerly,
For if they now will nought obey
To fuch, as techen hem the wey
And all day preche and all day telle,
How that it ftant of heven and helle,
They woll nought thanne taken hede,
Though it befelle fo in dede,
That any dede man were arered
To ben of him no better lered,
Than of an other man alive.

If thou, my fone, canft defcrive
This tale, as Crift him self it tolde,
Thou shalt have caufe to beholde

To fe fo great an evidence,
Wherof the fothe experience

Hath fhewed openlich at eye,
That bodely delicacy

Of him, which yiveth none almeffe,
Shall after falle in great diftreffe.
And that was sene upon the riche,
For he ne wolde unto his liche
A crumme yiven of his brede,
Than afterward whan he was dede
A droppe of water him was werned.
Thus may a mannes wit be lerned
Of hem, that fo delites taken,

Whan they with deth ben overtaken,
That erft was fwete is thanne foure.
But he that is a governour

Of worldes good, if he be wife,
Within his herte he fet no prise
Of all the worlde and yet he useth
The good, that he nothing refufeth,
As he, which lord is of the thinges,
The ouches and the riche ringes,
The cloth of gold and the perrie
He taketh, and yet delicacie
He leveth, though he wear all this.
The befte mete that there is

He eteth and drinketh the beste drinke,

But how that ever he ete or drinke

Delicacie he put awey

As he, which goth the righte wey,
Nought only for to fede and clothe
His body, but his foule bothe.