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Tho knew this emperour in dede,
That Cristes feith was for to drede,
And sende 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 sende, and so betwene hem tweine
They treten, that the citee all
Was christned, and the 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 vision
And yaf therto possession
Of lordship and of worldes good.
But how so that his will was good
Toward the pope and his fraunchise,
Yet hath it proved otherwise
To se 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 said: this day is venim Thadde
In holy chirche of temporall,
Which medleth with the spirituall.
And how it stant of that degre
Yet a man may the sothe se,
iod may amende it, whan he wille,
can therto none other skille.
but for to go there I began,
low charite may helpe a man
Co bothe worldes, I have faide.
And if thou have an ere laide,
Ty sone, thou might understonde,
f charite be take on honde,
There folweth after mochel grace.
Forthy if that thou wolt purchace
How that thou might envie flee,
Acqueinte the with charite,
Whiche is the vertue sovereine.
My fader, I shall do my peine.
For this ensample whiche ye tolde
With all min herte I have witholde,
50 that I shall for evermore
Escheue envie well the more.
And that I have er this misdo
Yive me my penaunce er I go.
And over that to my matere
Of Ihrifte, why we sitten here
In privete betwene us twey,
Now axeth, what there is I prey.
My gode sone, and for thy lore
I woll the telle, what is more,
So that thou shalt the vices knowe.
For whan they be to the full knowe,
Thou might hem wel the better eschue.
And for this cause I thenke sue
The forme bothe and the matere,
As now suende thou shalt here,
Which vice stant nexte after this.
And whan thou wost, how that it is,
As thou shalt here my devise,
Thou might thy self the better avise.
quarum prima malencolia dicitur, cuius vicium con
T F thou the vices list to knowe, Hic in tercio libro
tractat super quinPe
My sone, it hath nought be que fpeciebus" ire,
O Fro first, that men their
fessor primo descrifwerdes grounde,
bens amanti super
eodem consequenThat there nis one upon this grounde ter opponit. A vice foreine fro the lawe, Wherof that many a good felawe Hath be destraught by sodein chaunce. And yet to kinde no plesaunce It doth, but where he most acheveth His purpose most to kinde he greveth As he, whiche out of conscience Is enemy unto pacience. And is by name one of the seven, Whiche oft hath set the world uneven,
And cleped is the cruel ire,
Whose herte is evermore on fire
To speke amis and to do bothe,
For his servaunts ben ever wrothe.
Amans. 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 so 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 beste loure,
And no man wot the cause why.
My fone, shrive the now forthy,
Hast thou be malencolien ?
Ye fader, by saint Julien.
But I untrewe wordes use
I may me nought therof excuse.
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 so with my selven wroth,
That how so that the game goth