Of marbre were and faiden this:
Here lith, which floughe him self, Iphis
For love of Araxarathen,
And in enfample of tho women,
That fuffren men to deie fo,
Her forme a man may fe also,
How it is torned flesfhe and bone
Into the figure of a stone.
He was to neisfh and fhe to harde,
Beware forthy here afterwarde,
Ye men and women bothe two,
Enfampleth you of that was tho.
Lo thus, my fone, as I the say
It greveth by diverse way
In defefpeire a man to falle,
Which is the laste braunch of alle
Of flouthe, as thou haft herd devise,
Wherof that thou thy felf avise.
Good is er that thou be deceived,
Wher that the grace of hope is weived.
My fader, how so that it stonde,
Now have I pleinly understonde
Of flouthes court the properte,
Wherof touchend in my degre
For ever I thenke to beware.
But over this fo as I dare
With all min hert I you beseche,
That ye me wolde enforme and teche,
What there is more of your apprise
In love als well as otherwise,
So that I may me clene fhrive.
My fone, while thou art alive
And haft also thy fulle minde,
Among the vices, which I finde,
There is yet one such of the seven,
Which all this world hath fet uneven
And causeth many thinges wronge,
Where he the cause hath underfonge,
Wherof hereafter thou fhalt here
The forme bothe and the matere.
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
Hic in quinto libro intendit confeffor tractare de avari
This worlde and that the kind cia, que omnium
Was fall into no gret encress,
For worldes good was tho no press,
But all was fet 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
And of comun his propre made,
So that in ftede of fhovel and spade
The sharpe fwerd 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 fuppofeth,
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 unstoken,
But whan him lift to have a fight
Of gold, how that it shineth bright,
That he theron may loke and mufe,
For otherwise he dare nought use
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 felf 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 so.
My fader, as it semeth 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,
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