Whan love affraieth alle thing.
Me thought a nyght, in my sleping,
Right in my bed ful redily,
That it was by the morowe erly,
And up I roos, and gan me clothe;
Anoon I wisshe myn hondis bothe;
A sylvre nedle forth Y droughe,
Out of an aguler queynt ynoughe,
And gan this nedle threde anon,
For out of toun me list to gon,
The song of briddes for to here
That in thise buskes syngen clere,
And in the swete seson that leve is;
With a threde bastyng my slevis,
Alone I wente in my plaiyng,
The smale foules song harknyng,
They peyned hem ful many peyre,
To synge on bowes blosmed feyre,
Joly and gay, ful of gladnesse,
Toward a ryver gan I me dresse,
That I herd renne faste by;
For fairer plaiyng non saugh I
Than playen me by that ryvere,
For from an hille that stood ther nere,
Cam doun the streme ful stif and bold,
Cleer was the water, and as cold
any welle is, sooth to seyn,
And somdele lasse it was than Seyn,
But it was strayghter, wel-away!
And never saugh I er that day,
The watir that so wel lykede me;
And wondir glad was I to se
That lusty place, and that ryvere;
And with that watir that ran so clere
My face I wysshe. Tho saugh I welle,
The botme paved everydelle
With gravel, ful of stones shene.
The medewe softe, swote, and grene,
Beet right up on the watir syde.
Ful clere was than the morow tyde,
And ful attempre, out of drede.
Tho gan I walke thorough the mede,
Dounward ay in my pleiyng,
The ryver syde costeiyng.
And whan I had a while goon,
I saugh a gardyn right anoon,
Ful long and brood, and everydelle
Enclosed was, and walled welle,
With highe walles enbatailled,
Portraied without, and wel entailled
With many riche portraitures;
And bothe the ymages and the peyntures
Gan I biholde bysyly.
And I wole telle you redyly,
Of thilk ymages the semblaunce,
As fer as I have in remembraunce.
Amyd saugh I a Hate stonde,
That for hir wrathe, yre, and onde,
Semede to ben an moveresse,
An angry wight, a chideresse.
And ful of gyle, and felle corage,
By semblaunt was that ilke ymage.
And she was no thyng wel arraied,
But lyk a wode womman afraied,
Frounced foule was hir visage,
And grennyng for dispitous rage,
Hir nose snorted up for tene.
Ful hidous was she for to sene,
Ful foule and rusty was she this.
Hir heed ywrithen was, y-wis,
Ful grymly with a greet towayle.
An ymage of another entayle,
A lyft half, was hir by;
Hir name above hir heed saugh I,
And she was called Felony.
Another ymage, that Vilany
Clepid was, saugh I and fonde
Upon the wal on hir right honde.
Vilany was lyk somdelle
That other ymage; and, trustith wel,
She semede a wikked creature.
By countenaunce in portrayture,
She semede be ful dispitous,
And eek ful proude and outragious.
Wel coude he peynte I undirtake,
That sich ymage coude make.
Ful foule and cherlysshe semede she,
And eek vylayneus for to be,
And litel coude of norture,
To worshipe any creature.
And next was peynted Coveitise,
That eggith folk in many gise,
To take and yeve right nought ageyne,
And gret tresouris up to leyne.
And that is that for usure
Leneth to many a creature,
The lasse for the more wynnyng,
So coveitise is her brennyng.
And that is that penyes fele,
That techith for to robbe and stele
These theves, and these smale harlotes;
And that is routh, for by her throtes,
Ful many oon hangith at the laste.
She makith folk compasse and caste
To taken other folkis thyng,
Thorough robberie, or myscoveiting.
And that is she that makith trechoures.
And she makith false pleadoures,
That with hir termes and hir domes,
Doon maydens, children, and eek gromes,
Her heritage to forgo.
Ful croked were hir hondis two,
For coveitise is evere wode,
To gripen other folkis gode.
Coveityse for hir wynnyng,
Ful leef hath other mennes thing.
Another ymage set saugh I
Next coveitise faste by,
And she was clepid Avarice.
Ful foule in peyntyng was that vice;
Ful sade and caytif was she eek,
And also grene as ony leek.
So yvel hewed was hir colour,
Hir semede to have lyved in langour.
She was lyk thyng for hungre deed,
That ladde hir lyf oonly by breed
Kneden with eisel strong and egre.
And therto she was lene and megre,
And she was clad ful porely,
Al in an old torn courtepy,
As she were al with doggis torne;
And bothe bihynde and eke biforne
Clouted was she beggarly.
A mantyl henge hir faste by,
Upon a perche, weike and smalle,
A burnet cote henge therwith alle,
Furred with no menyvere,
But with a furre rough of here,
Of lambe skynnes hevy and blake;
It was ful old I undirtake,
For Avarice to clothe hir welle,
Ne hastith hir never a delle ;
For certeynly it were hir loth
To weren ofte that ilk cloth;
And if it were forwered, she
Wolde have ful gret necessité
Of clothyng, er she bought hir newe,
Al were it bad of wolle and hewe.
This Avarice hilde in hir hande
A purs, that henge by a bande;
And that she hidde and bonde so strong,
Men must abyde wondir long,
Out of that purs er ther come ought,
For that ne cometh not in hir thought;
It was not certein hir entente,
That fro that purs a peny wente.
And by that ymage nygh ynough,
Was peynted Envye, that never lough,
Nor never wel in hir herte farede
But if she outher saugh or herede
Som gret myschaunce, or gret disese.
No thyng may so moch hir plese
As myschef and mysaventure;
Or whan she seeth discomfiture
Upon ony worthy man falle,
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