His sweven and ellés what he wolde. And whan Silvéster hath herd the king

He was right joyfull of this thing,
And him began with all his wit
To techen upon Holy Writ.
First how mankindé was forlore,
And how the híghe God therfore
His Soné sendé from above,
Which boré was for mannés love;
And after of his owné chois

He toke his deth upon the crois;
And how in grave he was beloke,
And how that he hath hellé broke
And toke hem out that were him
leve.1

And for to make us full beleve That he was verray Goddes Sone Ayein the kinde of mannés wone Fro deth he rose the thriddé day. And whan he wolde, as he well may,

He stigh up to his Father even With flessh and blood into the heven;

And right so in the samé forme,
In flessh and blood, he shall re-

torne,

Whan timé cometh, to quicke and dede

At thilké wofull Day of Drede, Where every man shall take his dome

Als well the maister as the grome.
The mighty kingés retenue
That Day may stonde of no value
With worldés strengthé to defende;
For every man mot than entende
To stond upon his owné dedes
And leve all other mennés nedes.
That Day may no counséil availe,
The pledour and the plee shall faile;
The sentence of that ilké day
May none appele sette in delay;
1 Leve, dear.

There may no gold the jugé plie
That he ne shall the sothé trie
And setten every man upright,
As well the plowman as the knight.
The leudé man, the greté clerke
Shall stonde upon his owné werke;
And suche as he is foundé tho,
Such shall he be for evermo,
There may no peiné be relesed,
There may no joié ben encresed,
But endéles as they have do
He shall receivé one of two.

"And thus Silvester with his

sawe

The ground of all the newé lawe
With great devociön he precheth
Fro point to point and plainly
techeth
Unto this hethen emperóur
And saith:

The highe Creatour
Hath underfonge his Charité
Of that he wroughté suche pité,
Whan he the children had on honde.'
"Thus whan this lord hath un-

derstonde

Of all this thing how that it ferde,
Unto Silvéster he than answérde
With all his holé herte and saith,
That he is redy to the feith.
And so the vessell, which for blood
Was made, Silvéster, there 1 it stood
With clené water of the welle
In allé haste he let do felle
And setté Constantin therinne
All naked up unto the chinne.
And in the while it was begunne,
A light, as though it were a sunne,
Fro heven into the placé come
Where that he toke his christen-

dome,

And ever amonge the holy tales Lich as they weren fisshes scales They fellen from him now and efte, Till that there was nothing belefte 1 There, where.

Of all this greté maladie.
For he that wolde him purifie
The highé God hath made him
clene,

So that there lefté nothing sene.
He hath him clenséd bothé two
The body and the soule also.
Tho1 knew this emperoúr in dede,
That Cristés 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 baptismé ne receive.
After his moder quene Eleine
He sende, and so betwene hem
tweine

They treten, that the citee all
Was christnéd, and she forth with
all.

This emperoúr, which hele hath found,

Withinné Rome anone let founde Two churches, which that he did make 2

For Peter and for Poulés sake,
Of whom he hadde a visión
And yaf therto possessión
Of lordship and of worldés good.
And how so that his will was good
Toward the Pope and his fraunchise,
Yet hath it provéd otherwise
To se the worching of the dede.
For in croniqué thus I rede
Anone as he hath made the yefte
A vois was herde on high the lefte,3
Of which all Romé was adradde
And said: This day is venim
shadde

In Holy Chirche, of temporall

1 Tho, then.

2 Did make, caused to be made. 3 Lefte, air.

Which medleth1 with the spirituall.'
And how it stant of that degré
Yet a man may the sothe se,
God may amende it, whan he wille,
I can therto none other skille.
But for to go there I began,
How Charité may helpe a man
To bothé worldés, I have saide.
And if thou have an eré laide,
My soné, thou might understonde,
If Charité be take on honde,
There folweth after mochel grace.
Forthý if that thou wolt purcháce
How that thou might Envié flee,
Acqueinté 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,
So that I shall for evermore
Escheue Envíe well the more.
And that I have er this misdo
Yive me my penaunce er I go.
And over that to my matere
Of shrifté, why we sitten here
In priveté betwene us twey,
Now axeth what there is I prey."-

"My godé sone, and for thy lore I woll the tellé what is more, So that thou shalt the Vices knowe. For whan they be to thee full knowe,

Thou might hem wel the better eschue.

And for this cause I thenké sue The formé bothe and the matere, As now suendé thou shalt here, Which Vicé stant nexte after this. And whan thou wost how that it is, As thou shalt heré my devise, Thou might thy self the better avise.

1 Medleth, mingleth.

Is clepéd, whiche in compaignie
An hundred timés in an houre
Woll as an angry besté loure,
And no man wot the causé why.
My soné, shrive the now forthý,
Hast thou be Malencolien?"-

"Ye fader, by saint Julien.
But I untrewé wordés use
I may me nought therof excuse.
And all maketh Lové, well I wote,
Of which min herte is ever hote,
So that I brenne as dothe a glede
For wrathé that I may nought
spede.

And thus full oft a day for nought
Saufe onlich of min owné thought
I am so with my selven wroth,
That how so that the gamé goth
With other men, I am nought glad
But I am well the more unglad;
For that is other mennés game
It torneth me to puré grame.2
Thus am I with my self oppressed
Of thought the whiche I have im-
pressed,

That all wakénd I dreme and mete,3
That I with her alone mete 4
And pray her of some good answére.
But for she wol nought gladly swere,
She saith me 'Nay' withouten othe.
And thus waxe I withinné wrothe

That outward I am all affraied
And so distempred and so esmaied,
A thousand times on a day
There souneth in min eres 'Nay,'
The which she saidé me to-fore.
Thus be my wittés all forlore.
And namély1 whan I beginne
To reken with my self withinne,
How many yerés ben agone,
Sith I have truely loved one
And never toke of her other hede,
And ever a liché for to spede
I am, the more I with her dele,
So that min hap and all min hele
Me thenketh is ay the lenger the
ferre. 2

That bringeth my gladship out of herre,

Wherof my wittés ben empeired
And I, as who saith, all dispeired,
For finally whan that I muse
And thenke, how she woll me re-
fuse,

I am with Anger so bestad,

For al this world might I be glad.
And for the while that it lasteth
All up so down my joie it casteth,
And ay the further that I be
Whan I ne may my lady se,
The more I am redý to Wrathe,
That for the touching of a lath
Or for the torning of a stre3
I wode as doth the wildé see
And am so malencolioús,

That there nis servaunt in min house

Ne none of tho that be aboute,
That eche of hem ne stant in doute
And wenen that I shuldé rave,
For anger that they se me have.
And so they wonder more and lasse,
Til that they seen it overpasse.
But fader, if it so betide,

1 Namély, especially. 2 Ferre, farther.
3 Stre, straw.
4 Wode, rage madly.

That I approche at any tide
The placé where my lady is,
And thanné that her like iwis
To speke a goodly word untó me,
For all the gold that is in Romé
Ne couth I after that be wroth,
But all min anger overgoth.
So glad I am of the presence
Of hire, that I all offence
Foryete, as though it weré nought
So over glad is than my thought.
And nethéles, the soth to telle,
Ayeinward if it so befelle,
That I at thilké timé sigh

On me that she miscaste her eye,
Or that she listé nought to loke,
And I therof good hedé toke,
Anone into my first estate

I torne and am with that so mate,1
That ever it is aliché wicke.
And thus min honde ayein the
pricke

I hurte and have don many a day,
And go so forth as I go may
Full ofté biting on my lippe
And make unto my self a whippe
With whiche in many a chele and
hete

My wofull herte is so tobete,2
That all my wittés ben unsofte,
And I am wrothe I not 3 how ofte.
And all it is maléncolíe,

Which groweth on the fantasie
Of Love that me woll nought
loute.4

So bere I forth an angry snoute
Full many times in a yere.
But fader, now ye sitten here
In Lovés stede, I you beseche,
That some ensample ye me teche,
Wherof I may my self appese."-

"My soné, for thin hertés ese

1 Mate, deadened in spirit.

2 Tobete, to is an intensive prefix.

3 Not, know not.

4 Love that will not bow to me.

I shall fulfillé thy praiere,
So that thou might the better lere,
What mischefe that this Vicé stereth,
Whiche in his anger nought for-
bereth,

Wherof that after him forthenketh, Whan he is sobre, and that he thenketh

Upon the folie of his dede.

But if thou ever in cause of Love Shalt deme, and thou be so above That thou might lede it at thy wille, Let never through thy Wrathé spille Whiche every kindé shuldé save. For it sit every man to have Reward to love and to his might, Ayein whos strengthé may no wight. What Nature hath set in her lawe, Ther may no mannés might withdrawe,

And who that worcheth thereayein, Full ofté time it hath be sein, There hath befallé great vengeaúnce,

Wherof I finde a remembraunce.

"Ovide after the time tho
Tolde an ensample and saide so,
How that whilóm Tiresias,
As he walkéndé goth par cas,
Upon an high mountein he sigh
Two serpentés in his waie nigh.
And they so, as natúre hem taught,
Assembled were, and he tho cought
A yerdé, which he bare on honde,
And thoughté, that he wolde fonde1
Toletten hem, and smote hem bothe,
Wherof the goddes weren wrothe.
And for he hath destourbéd kinde
And was so to Natúre unkinde,
Unkindelich he was transformed,
That he, which erst a man was
formed,

Into a woman was forshape;
That was to him an angry jape.

1 Fonde, try.

But for that he with anger wrought His anger angerliche he bought.

"Lo, thus my sone, Ovide hath

write,

Wherof thou might by reson wite
More is a man than suche a beste,
So might it never ben honéste
A man to wrathen him to sore
Of that another doth the lore
Of kinde, in whiche is no malíce,
But only that it is a Vice.
And though a man be resonáble,
Yet after kinde he is meváble
To love where 1 he woll or none.
Thenk thou, my soné, therupon
And do Maléncolíe awey,

For love hath ever his lust to pley
As he which wold no lifé greve."-

My fader, that I may well leve 2 All that ye tellen it is skille,3 Let every man love as he wille, Be so it be nought my ladý, For I shall nought be wroth thereby. But that I wrath and fare amis Alone upon my self it is, That I with bothé love and kinde Am so bestad, that I can finde No wey howe I it may astert, Which stant upon min owné hert And toucheth to none other life Sauf onely to that sweté wife, For whom, but if it be amended, My gladdé daiés ben dispended, That I my self shall nought forbere The Wrath the whiché now I bere, For therof is none other liche. Nowe axeth forth I you beseche Of Wrathe, if there ought ellés is, Wherof to shrivé."- "Sone yis.

Of Wrathé the secónd is Chest,* Which hath the windés of tempest To kepe, and many a sodein blast He bloweth, wherof ben agast