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Incipit Liber Quintus.

Obftat avaricia nature legibus, et que
Largus amor pofcit, ftrictius illa vetat.
Omne, quod eft nimium, viciofum dicitur aurum,
Vellera ficut oves fervat avarus opes.

Non decet, ut foli fervabitur es, fed amori
Debet homo folam folus habere fuam.

IRST whan the highe god

began

1.

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Hic in quinto libro intendit confeffor tractare de avari

This worlde and that the kind cia, que omnium

of man

Was fall into no gret encress,

For worldes good was tho no prefs,

But all was set to the comune,
They speken than of no fortune
Or for to lefe or for to winne,

Till avarice brought it inne.

And that was whan the world was woxe
Of man, of hors, of fhepe, of oxe,
And that men knewen the money,
Tho wente pees out of the wey
And werre came on every fide,
Whiche alle love laid afide

malorum radix effe dicitur, necnon de eiufdem vicii fpeciebus, et primum ipfius avaricie naturam defcribens amanti quatenus amorem concernit

fuper hoc fpecialius opponit.

And of comun his

propre made,
So that in stede of shovel and spade
The sharpe swerd was take on honde.
And in this wife it cam to londe,
Wherof men maden diches depe
And highe walles for to kepe
The gold, which avarice encloseth.
But all to litel him supposeth,

Though he might all the world purchase.
For what thing, that he may embrace
Of golde, of catel or of londe,

He let it never out of his honde,

But

get him more and halt it fast, As though the world fhuld ever last. So is he lich unto the helle,

For as these olde bokes telle,
What cometh ther in lafs or more
It shall departe nevermore.
Thus whan he hath his cofre loken,
It shall nought after ben unftoken,
But whan him lift to have a fight
Of gold, how that it shineth bright,
That he theron may loke and muse,
For otherwise he dare nought ufe
To take his part or laffe or more.
So is he pouer, and evermore
Him lacketh, that he hath inough.
An oxe draweth in the plough
Of that him self hath no profite,
A fhep right in the fame plite

His wolle bereth, but on a day

An other taketh the flees away.

Thus hath he, that he nought ne hath,
For he therof his part ne tath,

To say how fuche a man hath good
Who fo that refon understood

It is unproperliche faid,

That good hath him and halt him taid,
That he ne gladdeth nought withall,
But is unto his good a thrall
And a fubgit thus ferveth he,
Where that he fhulde maister be,
Suche is the kinde of thavarous.
My fone, as thou art amorous,
Tell if thou fare of love fo.

My fader, as it femeth no,
That avarous yet never I was,
So as ye fetten me the cas.
For as ye tolden here above
In full poffeffion of love

Yet was I never here to-fore,

So that me thenketh well therfore, may excuse well my dede.

I

But of my will withoute drede
If I that trefor mighte gete,
It shulde never be foryete,
That I ne wolde it fafte holde,
Till god of love him felve wolde,
That deth us shuld departe atwo.
For leveth well, I love her so,

Confeffor.

Confeffio amantis.

That even with min owne life,
If I that fwete lufty wife
Might ones welden at my wille,
For ever I wold her holde ftille.
And in this wife taketh kepe,
If I her had, I wolde her kepe
And yet no friday wolde I fast,
Though I her kepte and helde fast.
Fy on the bagges in the kist,
I had inough, if I her kist.
For certes if she were min,

I had her lever than a mine
Of gold, for all this worldes riche
Ne mighte make me fo riche
As fhe, that is fo inly good.

I fette nought of other good,
For might I gette fuch a thing,
I had a trefor for a king.

And though I wolde it fafte holde,
I were thanne wel beholde.

But I might pipe now with laffe
And fuffre that it overpasse,

Nought with my will, for thus I wolde
Ben avarous if that I fholde.

But fader, I you herde say,

How thavarous hath yet fome way,
Wherof he may be glad. For he
May, whan him lift, his trefor se

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There as my worthy trefor is,
So is my life lich unto this,
That ye me tolden here to-fore,

How that an oxe his yoke hath bore
For thing that shulde him nought availe.
And in this wife I me travaile.

For who that ever hath the welfare

I wot wel that I have the care,
For I am had and nought ne have
And am as who faith loves knave.
Now demeth in your owne thought,
If this be avarice or nought.

My fone, I have of the no wonder,
Though thou to serve be put under
With love, which to kinde accordeth.
But fo as every boke recordeth,
It is to finde no plefaunce,

That men above his fuftenaunce

Unto the gold shall serve and bowe,
For that may no refon avowe.
But avarice netheles,

If he may geten his encres

Of gold, that wold he serve and kepe,
For he taketh of nought elles kepe,
But for to fille his bagges large,
And all is to him but a charge,
For he ne parteth nought withall,
But kepeth it, as a fervaunt shall,
And thus though that he multiply
His golde, without trefory

Confeffor.

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