Than likith hir wel with-alle.
She is ful glade in hir corage,
If she se any grete lynage
Be brought to nought in shynful wise.
And if a man in honour rise
Or by his witte, or by his prowesse,
Of that hath she gret hevynesse,
For, trustith wel, she goth nygh wode,
Whan any chaunge happith gode.
Envie is of such crueltee,
That feith ne trouthe holdith she
To freend ne felawe, bad or good.
Ne she hath kynne noon of hir blood,
That she nys ful her enemye.
She nolde, I dar seyn hardelye,
Hir owne fadir farede welle.
And sore abieth she everydelle
Hir malice, and hir male-talent:
For she is in so gret turment
And hath such, whan folk doth good,
That nygh she meltith for pure wood.
Hir herte kervyth and so brekith
That God the puple wel a-wrekith.
Envie, i-wis, shal nevere lette
Som blame upon the folk to sette.
I trowe that if Envie, i-wis,
Knewe the beste man that is,
On this side or biyonde the see,
Yit somwhat lakken hym wolde she.
And if he were so hende and wis,
That she ne myght al abate his pris,
Yit wolde she blame his worthynesse,
Or by hir wordis make it lesse.
I saugh Envie in that peyntyng,
Hadde a wondirful lokyng;
For she ne lokide but a-wrie,
Or overthart, alle baggyngly.
And she hadde a foul usage;
She myghte loke in no visage
Of man or womman forth right pleyn,
But shette hir eien for disdeyn;
So for envie brennede she
Whan she myght any man yse
That fairer, or worthier were, or wise,
Or elles stode in folkis pryse.
Sorowe was peynted next Envie
Upon that walle of masonrye.
But wel was seyn in hir colour
That she hadde lyved in langour;
Hir semede to have the jaunyce.
Nought half so pale was Avarice,
Nor no thyng lyk of lenesse ;
For sorowe, thought, and gret distresse,
That she hadde suffred day and nyght,
Made hir ful yolare, and no thyng bright,
Ful fade, pale, and megre also.
Was never wight yit half so wo
As that hir semede for to be,
Nor so fulfilled of ire as she.
I trowe that no wight myght hir please
Nor do that thyng that myght hir ease,
Nor she ne wolde hir sorowe slake,
Nor comfort noon unto hir take.
So depe was hir wo bigonnen,
And eek hir hert in angre ronnen,
A sorowful thyng wel semede she.
Nor she hadde no thyng slowe be
For to forcracchen al hir face,
And for to rent in many place
Hir clothis, and for-to tere hir swire,
As she that was fulfilled of ire;
And al to-torn lay eek hir here
Aboute hir shuldris, here and there,
As she that hadde it al to-rent
For angre and for maltalent.
And eek I telle you certeynly
Hough that she wepe ful tendirly.
[In worlde nys wyght so harde of herte
That hadde sene hir sorowes smerte,
That nolde have had of her pytye,
So wo-begonne a thyng was she.
She al to-dasht her-selfe for woo,
And smote togyder her hondes two.
To sorowe was she ful ententyfe,
That woful rechelesse caytyfe;
Her roughte lytel of playing,
Or of clyppynge or kyssynge;
For who-so sorowful is in herte
Hym luste not to playe ne sterte,
Ne for to dauncen, ne to synge,
Ne may his herte in tempre brynge
To make joye on even or morowe,
For joye is contrarie unto sorowe.
Elde was paynted after this,
That shorter was a fote, iwys,
Than she was wont in her yonghede.
Unneth her-selfe she myghte fede;
So feble and eke so olde was she
That faded was al her beauté.
Ful salowe was waxen her coloure,
Her heed for hore was whyte as floure.
Iwys, great qualme ne were it none,
Ne synne, although her lyfe were gone.
Al woxen was her body unwelde
And drye and dwyned al for elde.
A foule forwelked thynge was she
That whylom rounde and soft hadde be.
Her eeres shoken fast withalle,
As from her heed they wolde falle.
Her face frounced and forpyned,
And both her hondes lorne for-dwined.
So olde she was that she ne wente
A fote, but it were by potente.
The tyme, that passeth nyght and daye,
And restelesse travayleth aye,
And steleth from us so prively,
That to us semeth sykerly
That it in one poynt dwelleth ever,
And certes it ne resteth never,
But goth so fast, and passeth aye,
That there nys man that thynke may
What tyme that nowe present is:
(Asketh at these clerkes this,
For men thynke it redily
Thre tymes ben ypassed by)]
The tyme, that may not sojourne,
But goth, and may never retourne,
As watir that doun renneth ay,
But never drope retourne may;
Ther may no thing as tyme endure,
Metalle, nor erthely creature,
For alle thing it frette and shalle:
The tyme eke, that chaungith alle,
And alle doth waxe, and fostred be,
And alle thing distroieth he:
The tyme, that eldith our auncessours
And eldith kynges and emperours,
And that us alle shal overcomen
Er that deth us shal have nomen:
The tyme, that hath al in welde
To elden folk, had maad hir Elde
So ynly, that to my witing
She myghte helpe hir-silf no thing,
But turned ageyn unto childhede;
She hadde no thing hir-silf to lede
Ne witte ne pithe in hir holde
More than a child of two yeer olde.
But natheles I trowe that she
Was faire sumtyme, and fresh to se,
Whan she was in hir rightful age:
But she was past al that passage
And was a doted thing bicomen.
A furred cope on hadde she nomen;
Wel hadde she clad hir-silf and warme,
For colde myght elles don hir harme.
These olde folk have alwey colde,
Her kynde is sich, whan they ben olde.
Another thing was don there write,
That semede lyk an ipocrite,
And it was clepid Poope-holy.
That ilk is she that pryvely
Ne spareth never a wikked dede,
Whan men of hir taken noon hede,
And maketh hir outward precious,
With pale visage and pitous,
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