Of vayn glorie excusé me,
That I ne have for lové be
The better addresséd and arraied.
And also I have ofte assaied
Roundel, baláde and virélay
For her on whom min herté lay,
To make and also for to peinte
Carollés with my wordés queinte
To setté my purpós alofte.

And thus I sang hem forth full ofte
In halle and eke in chambre aboute
And madé merie among the route :
But yet ne ferde I nought the bet.
Thus was my glorie in vayn beset
Of all the joie that I made.
For when I woldé with her glade
And of her lové songes make,
She saide, it was nought for her
sake,

And listé nought my songés here,
Ne witen what the wordés were.
So for to speke of min array
Yet couth I never be so gay
Ne so well make a songe of love,
Wherof I mighté ben above
And have enchéson1 to be glad.
But rather I am ofte adrad
For sorwé, that she saith me nay.
And nethéles I woll nought say,
That I nam glad on other side
For famé that can nothing hide.
All day woll bringe unto min ere
Of that men speken here and there,
How that my lady berth the prise,
How she is faire, how she is wise,
How she is womanlich of chere.
Of all this thing whan I may here,
What wonder is though I be fain.
And eke whan I may heré sain
Tidíngés of my ladis hele,
All though I may nought with her
dele,

Yet am I wonder glad of that. For whan I wote her good estate, 1 Encheson, occasion.

As for that time I dare well swere,
None other sorwé may me dere.
Thus am I gladed in this wise.
But, fader, of your lorés wise,
Of whiché ye be fully taught,
Now tell me if ye thenketh ought,
That I therof am for to wite."

'Of that there is, I thee acquite, My sone," he saide, "and for thy good

I wollé that thou understood,
For I thenke upon this matere
To tell a tale, as thou shalt here,
How that ayein this proudé Vice
The highé God of his justíce
Is wrothe and great vengeaúncé
doth.

Nowe herken a talé, that is soth, Though it be nought of Lovés kinde.

A great ensample thou shalt finde
This Veinglorié for to fle,
Whiche is so full of vanité.

There was a king, that mochel
might,

Which Nabugodonosor hight, þ.

Of whom that I spake here to-fore.
Yet in the bible this name is bore,
For all the worlde in thorient
Was hole at his commaundément,
As than of kingés to his liche
Was none so mighty ne so riche,
To his empire and to his lawes
As who saith all in thilké dawes
Were obeisaúnt and tribute bere,
As though he god of erthé were.
With strengthe he putté kingés
under

And wrought of Pridé many a wonder,

He was so full of Veinglorie,
That he ne hadde no memorie,
That there was any God but he
For pride of his prosperite.

1 To wite, to blame.

Till that the highé King of Kinges, Which seeth and knoweth allé thinges,

Whose eye may nothinge asterte
The privetés of mannés herte,1
They speke and sounen in his ere
As though they loudé windés were,
He toké vengeaunce of his Pride.
But for he wolde a while abide
To loke if he wolde him amende,
To him aforé token he sende.
And that was in his slepe by night
This proudé kinge a wonder sight
Had in his sweven 2 there he lay.
Him thought upon a mery day,
As he beheld the world aboute,
A tre full growe he sigh3 there oute
Which stood the world amiddés

even,

Whos heighté straught up to the heven.

The levés weren faire and large,
Of fruit it bore so ripe a charge,
That allé men it mighté fede.
He sigh also the bowés sprede
Above all erth, in whiché were
The kinde of allé briddes there.
And eke him thought he sigh also
The kinde of alle bestés go
Under the tre abouten round
And fedden hem upon the ground.
As he this wonder stood and sigh,
Him thought he herdea vois on high
Criende, and saide aboven alle:
'Hewe down this tree and let it falle,
The levés let defoule in haste
And do the fruit destruie and waste;
And let ofshreden every braunche,
But atté roote be let it staunche.
Whan all his Pride is cast to
grounde

The rooté shall be fasté bounde;

1 From whose eye the secrets of man's heart may in no wise escape.

2 Steven, dream.

3 Sigh, saw.

And shall no mannés herté bere,
But every lust he shall forbere
Of man, and lich an oxe his mete
Of gras he shall purcháce and ete,
Till al the waters of the heven
Have wasshen him by timés seven,
So that he be through-knowe
aright

What is the hevenliché might,
And be made humble to the wille
Of Him which may all save and
spille.'

This king out of his sweven abraide 1

And he upon the morwe it saide
Unto the clerkés which he hadde.
But none of hem the soth aradde,
Was none his sweven couth undo.
And it stood thilké timé so,
This kinge had in subjectión
Judee and of affectión
Above al other one Daniel
He loveth, for he couthé well
Diviné that none other couthe.
To him were allé thingés couthe,
As he it hadde of Goddes grace.
He was before the kingés face
Assent and bodé 2 that he shulde
Upon the point the kinge of tolde 3
The fortune of his sweven ex-

pounde,

As it shulde afterward be founde. Whan Daniel this sweven herde, He stood long time, er he answérde, And made a wonder hevy chere.+ The king toke hede of his manere And bad him tellé that he wiste As he to whome he mochel triste,5 And said, he woldé nought be wroth.

But Daniel was wonder loth

1 Awoke suddenly from his dream.

2 Sent for and commanded.

3 Of tolde, told of.

4 Hevy chere, sad face.

5 Triste, trusted.

And said: Upon thy fomen alle,
Sir king, thy sweven moté falle.
And nethéles touchénd of this
I woll thee tellen howe it is,
And what disese is to thee shape,
God wote if thou it shall escape.
The highé tre which thou hast sein,
With lef and fruit so wel besein,
The which stood in the world
amiddes,

So that the bestés and the briddes
Governéd were of him alone,
Sir King, betokeneth thy persóne
Which stonde above all erthely
thinges.

Thus regnen under thee the kinges
And all the people unto thee louteth1
And all the worlde thy person
douteth,2

So that with vein honoúr deceived
Thou hast the reverencé weived 3
Fro him whiche is thy kinge above,
That thou for dredé ne for love
Wolt nothing knowen of this God,
Which now for thee hath made a
rod,

Thy Vaynglorie and thy folie
With greté peinés to chastie.

And of the vois thou herdest speke,
Which bad the bowés for to breke
And hewe and fellé down the tre,
That word belongeth unto thee.
Thy regné shall be overthrowe,
And thou despuiléd for a throwe.4
But that the rooté shuldé stonde,
By that thou shalt wel understonde,
There shall abiden of thy regne
A time ayein whan thou shall regne.
And eke of that thou herdest saie
To take a mannés hert aweie
And setté there a bestiáll,
So that he lich an oxé shall

1 Louteth, bows.

2 Douteth, fears.
3 Weived, put aside.

4 Throwe, space of time.

| Pastúre, and that he be bereined By timés seven and soré peined, Till that he knowe his Goddes mightes,

Than shall he stond ayein uprightes.
All this betokeneth thine estate,
Which now with God is in debate:
Thy mannés formé shall be lassed,
Till seven yere ben overpassed,
And in the likenesse of a beste
Of gras shall be thy roiall feste,
The weder shall upon thee rayne.
And understonde, that all this payne
Which thou shalt suffre thilké tide,
Is shape all only for thy Pride
Of Vaynglorie and of the sinne
Which thou hast longé stonden inne.
So upon this condición
Thy sweven hath exposición.
But er this thing befalle in dede,
Amendé thee, this wold I rede,
Yif and departé1 thin almésse,
Do mercy forth with rightwisnésse,
Beseche and praie the highé grace,
For so thou might thy pees pur-
cháce

With God and stonde in good accorde.'

But Pride is loth to leve his lorde
And wol nought suffre Humilité
With him to stonde in no degré.
And whan a ship hath lost his stere,
Is none so wise that may him stere
Ayein the wawés in a rage.
This proudé king in his coráge
Humilité hath so forlore,
That for no sweven he sigh to-fore
Ne yet for all that Daniel
Him hath counséiléd every dele,
He let it passe out of his minde
Through Vaynglorie, and as the
blinde

He seth no weie er him be wo.
And fel withinne a timé so,

1 Departe, divide, distribute.

As he in Babiloiné wente,
The Vanité of Pride him hente.1
His hert aros of vayn glorie,
So that he drough to memorie
His lordship and his regalie
With wordés of surquederie.

And whan that he him most avaunteth,

3

In stede of meté gras and streis ; In stede of handés longé cleis ;1 In stede of man a bestés like ; 2 He sigh, and than he gan to sike 4 For cloth of golde and of perrie,5 Which him was wont to magnifie. When he beheld his cote of heres He wepte and with full wofull teres

teth,

All sodeinlich, as who saith treis,?
Where that he stood in his paleis
He toke him fro the mennés sight.
Was none of hem so ware that might
Set eye where that he becom.
And thus was he from his kingdóm
Into the wildé forest drawe,
Where that the mighty Goddés lawe
Through his powér did him trans-
forme

Fro man into a bestés forme.
And lich an oxe under the fote
He graseth as he nedés mote
To geten him his livés fode.
Tho thought him coldé grasses
goode,

That whilome ete the hoté spices,
Thus was he tornéd fro delices.
The wine which he was wont to

drinke,

He toke than of the wellés brinke
Or of the pit or of the slough,
It thought him thanné good inough.
In stede of chambres well arraied
He was than of a bussh well paied;
The hardé ground he lay upon,
For other pilwés had he non,
The stormés and the reinés fall,
The windés blowe upon him all,
He was tormented day and night.
Such was the highé Goddes might,
Till seven yere an endé toke.
Upon him self tho gan he loke:

1 Hente, seized.

2 As who seith treis, in a trice.

Wepénd and thought in this manere; Though he no wordés mighté winne, Thus said his hert and spake withinne:

O mighty God, that all hast wrought

And all might bring ayein to nought,

Now knowe I wel but all of thee
This world hath no prosperité,
In thin aspect ben alle aliche
The pouer man and eke the riche,
Withouté thee there may no wight,
And thou above all other might.
O mighty Lord, toward my vice
Thy mercy medle7 with justice,
And I woll make a covenaunt
That of my life the remenaunt
I shall it by thy grace amende
And in thy lawé so dispende,
That Vaynglorie I shall escheue,
And bowe unto thin heste, and sue
Humilité, and that I vowe.'

And so thenkend he gan down bowe,

And though him lacké vois of speche,

He gan up with his fete areche And wailend in his bestly steven S He made his plaint unto the heven. He kneleth in his wise and braieth To seché mercy and assaieth

What is to ben of Pride unthewed 2
Ayein the highé Goddés lawe,
To whom no man may be feláwe.
"Forthy my sone, také good
hede

So for to ledé thy manhede,
That thou ne be nought lich a beste.
But if thy life shall ben honéste
Thou must Humblessé take on
honde,

For thanné might thou siker stonde,
And for to speke it other wise
A proud man can no love assise. 3
For though a woman wolde him
plese,

His Pride can nought ben at ese.
There may no man to mochel blame
A Vicé which is for to blame.
Forthy men shulden nothing hide
That mighte fall in blame of Pride,
Whiche is the worsté Vice of alle,
Wherof so as it was befalle
The tale I thenke of a cronique
To telle, if that it may thee like,
So that thou might Humblessé sue
And eke the Vice of Pride escheue,

1 Showed himself no whit estranged-did not turn from him.

Unthewed, showing want of discipline against the law of the high God to whom, &c. Assise, be in session with.

Wherof the glorie is false and vaine,

Which God him self hath in disdeine,

That though it mounté for a throwe,1 It shall down falle and overthrowe. A king whilom was yonge and

wise, The which set of his wit great prise. Of depe ymaginatións

And straunge interpretations,
Problemés and demaundés eke
His wisedom was to finde and seke,
Wherof he wolde in sondry wise
Opposen hem that weren wise.
But none of hem it mighté bere
Upon his word to yive answére
Out taken one, which was a
knight,

To him was every thing so light,
That al so sone as he hem herde
The kingés wordés he answerde,
What thing the king him axe wolde,
Whereof anone the trouth he tolde.
The king somdele had an envie
And thought he wolde his wittés
plie

To seté some conclusión,
Which shuldé be confusión
Unto this knight, so that the name
And of wisdóm the highé fame
Toward him selfe he woldé winne.
And thus of all his wit withinne
This king began to studie and muse
What straungé mater he might use
The knightés wittés to confounde,
And atté last he hath it founde:
And for the knight anon he sente,
That he shall tellé what he mente.
Upon thre points stood the matere
Of questions as thou shalte here.

The firsté point of allé thre
Was this: What thing in his degré
1 Throwe, space of time.
Out taken, except.