Tho knew this emperour in dede,
That Criftes feith was for to drede,
And fende anone his letters out And let do crien all aboute
Up pein of deth, that no man weive, That he baptisme ne receive. After his moder quene Eleine
He fende, and so betwene hem tweine They treten, that the citee all
Was christned, and fhe forth with all. This emperour, which hele hath found,
Withinne Rome anone let founde Two churches, whiche he did make For Peter and for Poules fake, Of whom he hadde a vifion And yaf therto poffeffion
Of lordship and of worldes good. But how fo that his will was good Toward the pope and his fraunchise, Yet hath it proved otherwise To fe the worching of the dede. For in cronique thus I rede Anone as he hath made the yefte A vois was herde on high the lefte, Of which all Rome was adradde And faid: this day is venim fhadde In holy chirche of temporall, Which medleth with the spirituall. And how it ftant of that degre Yet a man may the sothe se,
ut for to go there I began, How charite may helpe a man o bothe worldes, I have faide. nd if thou have an ere laide, ly fone, thou might understonde, Echarite be take on honde, "here folweth after mochel grace. orthy if that thou wolt purchace How that thou might envie flee, cqueinte the with charite, Whiche is the vertue fovereine. My fader, I shall do my peine. or this ensample whiche ye tolde With all min herte I have witholde, o that I fhall for evermore Efcheue envie well the more. And that I have er this misdo ive me my penaunce er I go. And over that to my matere Of fhrifte, why we fitten here n privete betwene us twey, Now axeth, what there is I prey. My gode fone, and for thy lore I woll the telle, what is more, So that thou fhalt the vices knowe. For whan they be to the full knowe, Thou might hem wel the better efchue. And for this cause I thenke fue
The forme bothe and the matere, As now fuende thou fhalt here, Which vice stant nexte after this. And whan thou woft, how that it is, As thou shalt here my devise,
Thou might thy felf the better avise.
Incipit Liber Tercius.
Ira fuis paribus eft par furiis Acherontis, Quo furor ad tempus nil pietatis habet. Ira malencolicos animos perturbat, ut equo Fure fui pondus nulla ftatera tenet, Omnibus in caufis gravat ira fed inter amantes, Illa magis facili forte gravamen agit. Eft ubi vir difcors leviterque repugnat amori, Sepe loco ludi fletus ad ora venit.
F thou the vices lift to knowe,
My fone, it hath nought be unknowe
Fro firft, that men their
fwerdes grounde,
That there nis one upon this grounde
A vice foreine fro the lawe, Wherof that many a good felawe Hath be deftraught by fodein chaunce. And yet to kinde no plefaunce
It doth, but where he most acheveth His purpose moft to kinde he greveth As he, whiche out of confcience
enemy unto pacience.
And is by name one of the feven,
Whiche oft hath fet the world uneven,
Hic in tercio libro tractat fuper quinque fpeciebus ire, quarum prima malencolia dicitur, cuius vicium confeffor primo defcribens amanti fuper eodem confequen
ter opponit.
And cleped is the cruel ire, Whofe herte is evermore on fire To speke amis and to do bothe, For his fervaunts ben ever wrothe. My gode fader, tell me this Confeffor. What thinge is ire? Sone, it is That in our english wrath is hote, Whiche hath his wordes ay fo hote, That all a mannes pacience
Is fired of the violence.
For he with him hath ever five Servaunts, that helpen him to strive. The first of hem malencoly
Is cleped, whiche in compaignie An hundred times in an houre Woll as an angry befte loure, And no man wot the cause why. My fone, shrive the now forthy, Haft thou be malencolien ?
Ye fader, by faint Julien. But I untrewe wordes use
may me nought therof excufe. And all maketh love well I wote, Of which min herte is ever hote, So that I brenne as dothe a glede For wrathe, that I may nought spede. And thus full oft a day for nought Saufe onlich of min owne thought I am fo with my felven wroth, That how so that the game goth
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