On this metels to thynke.

And how the preest preved
No pardon to Do-wel,
And demed that Do-wel
Indulgences passed,
Biennals and triennals,
And bisshopes lettres;

4830

And how Do-wel at the day of dome
Is digneliche underfongen,
And passeth al the pardon
Of Seint Petres cherche.

Now hath the pope power
Pardon to graunte the peple,
Withouten any penaunce
To passen into hevene;
This is oure bileve,

As lettred men us techeth:

4841

Quodcumque ligaveris super ter

ram, erit ligatum et in cœlis,

etc.

And so I leve leelly, Lordes forbode ellis !

That pardon and penaunce

And preieres doon save
Soules that have synned
Seven sithes dedly:

Ac to truste to thise triennals,
Trewely me thynketh,

Is noght so siker for the soule,
Certes, as is Do-wel.

For-thi I rede yow, renkes,
That riche ben on this erthe,
Upon trust of youre tresor
Triennals to have,
Be ye never the bolder

4852

4864

To breke the .x. hestes;

And namely ye maistres,

Meires and jugges,

4865

That have the welthe of this world,

And for wise men ben holden,

To purchace yow pardon

And the popes bulles.
At the dredful dome,

Whan dede shulle rise,

And comen alle to-fore Crist

Acountes to yelde;

How thow laddest thi lif here, 4876

And hise lawes keptest,

And how thow didest day by day

The doom wole reherce.

A poke ful of pardon there,

Ne provincials lettres,

Theigh ye be founde in the fraterOf alle the foure ordres,

[nité

And have indulgences double-fold, But if Do-wel yow helpe,

I sette youre patentes and youre

At one pies hele.

[pardon

For-thi I counseille alle Cristene To crie God mercy,

And Marie his moder

Be oure meene bitwene,

That God gyve us grace here,

Er we go hennes,

Swiche werkes to werche

While we ben here,

That after oure deeth-day
Do-wel reherce

At the day of dome,

We dide as he highte.

4899

Passus Octavus de Visione, et
Primus de Do-wel.

T

HUS y-robed in russet
I romed aboute

Al a somer seson

For to seke Do-wel;
And frayned ful ofte
Of folk that I mette,
If any wight wiste

Wher Do-wel was at inne;
And what man he myghte be

Of many man I asked.

4900

Was nevere wight, as I wente, That me wisse kouthe

Where this leode lenged,

Lasse ne moore;

Til it bi-fel on a Friday
Two freres I mette,
Maistres of the menours,
Men of grete witte.
I hailsed hem hendely,
As I hadde y-lerned,
And preide hem par charité,
Er thei passed ferther,
If thei knewe any contree
Or costes, as thei wente,

4911

4923

"Where that Do-wel dwelleth 492+ Dooth me to witene."

For thei be men of this moolde
That moost wide walken,

And knowen contrees and courtes,
And many kynnes places,

Bothe princes paleises

And povere mennes cotes,
And Do-wel and Do-yvele
Wher thei dwelle bothe.

66

Amonges us," quod the Me"That man is dwellynge, [nours, And evere hath, as I hope,

And evere shal herafter.'

66

Contra," quod I as a clerc,

And comsed to disputen,

And seide hem soothly,

66

Septies in die cadit justus.”

"Sevene sithes, seith the book, Synneth the rightfulle;

And who so synneth," I seide,
"Dooth yvele, as me thynketh;
And Do-wel and Do-yvele
Mowe noght dwelle togideres.
Ergo he nys noght alwey

Amonges yow freres ;

He is outher while ellis where

To wisse the peple."

"I shal seye thee, my sone," Seide the frere thanne,

4946

"How seven sithes the sadde man On a day synneth :

By a forbisne," quod the frere,

I shal thee faire shewe.

4957

4958

Lat brynge a man in a boot,
Amydde the brode watre,
The wynd and the water
And the boot waggyng
Maketh the man many a tyme
To falle and to stonde;
For stonde he never so stif,
He stumbleth if he meve,
Ac yet is he saaf and sound,
And so hym bihoveth.

For if he ne arise the rather,
And raughte to the steere,
The wynd wolde with the water
The boot over throwe;

4969

And thanne were his lif lost,
Thorugh lachesse of hymselve.
"And thus it falleth," quod the
By folk here on erthe; [frere
The water is likned to the world
That wanyeth and wexeth;

66

The goodes of this grounde arn lik To the grete wawes,

That as wyndes and wedres

Walketh aboute;

The boot is likned to oure body

That brotel is of kynde,

4980

That thorugh the fend and the

And the frele worlde

Synneth the sadde man

A day seven sithes.

[flesshe

"Ac dedly synne doth he noght,

For Do-wel hym kepeth;

And that is charité the champion, Chief help ayein synne;

4991