For Tristesce is of such a kinde, That forto meintiene his folie, He hath with him Obstinacie, Which is withinne of such a Slouthe, That he forsaketh alle trouthe, And wole unto no reson bowe; And yit ne can he noght avowe His oghne skile bot of hed: Thus dwyneth he, til he be ded, 3440 In hindringe of his oghne astat. For where a man is obstinat, Wanhope folweth ate laste, Which mai noght after longe laste, Till Slouthe make of him an ende. Bot god wot whider he schal wende. Mi Sone, and riht in such manere Ther be lovers of hevy chiere, That sorwen mor than it is ned, Whan thei be taried of here sped 3450 And conne noght hemselven rede, Bot lesen hope forto spede And stinten love to poursewe; And thus thei faden hyde and hewe, And lustles in here hertes waxe. Hierof it is that I wolde axe, If thou, mi Sone, art on of tho. Ha, goode fader, it is so, Outake a point, I am beknowe; For elles I am overthrowe 3460 In al that evere ye have seid. Mi sorwe is everemore unteid, And secheth overal my veines; Bot forto conseile of mi peines, I can no bote do therto; And thus withouten hope I go, So that mi wittes ben empeired, And I, as who seith, am despeired To winne love of thilke swete, Withoute whom, I you behiete, 3470 Min herte, that is so bestad, Riht inly nevere mai be glad. For be my trouthe I schal noght lie, Of pure sorwe, which I drye For that sche seith sche wol me noght, With drecchinge of myn oghne thoght In such a wanhope I am falle, That I ne can unethes calle, As forto speke of eny grace, Mi ladi merci to pourchace. 3480 Bot yit I seie noght for this That al in mi defalte it is; For I cam nevere yit in stede, Whan time was, that I my bede Ne seide, and as I dorste tolde: Bot nevere fond I that sche wolde, For oght sche knew of min entente, To speke a goodly word assente. And natheles this dar I seie, That if a sinful wolde preie 3490 To god of his foryivenesse With half so gret a besinesse As I have do to my ladi, In lacke of askinge of merci He scholde nevere come in Helle. And thus I mai you sothli telle, Save only that I crie and bidde, I am in Tristesce al amidde And fulfild of Desesperance: And therof yif me mi penance, 3500 Min holi fader, as you liketh. Mi Sone, of that thin herte siketh With sorwe, miht thou noght amende, Til love his grace wol thee sende, For thou thin oghne cause empeirest What time as thou thiself despeirest. I not what other thing availeth, Of hope whan the herte faileth, For such a Sor is incurable, And ek the goddes ben vengable: 3510 And that a man mai riht wel frede, These olde bokes who so rede, Of thing which hath befalle er this: Now hier of what ensample it is. Whilom be olde daies fer Of Mese was the king Theucer, Which hadde a kniht to Sone, Iphis: Of love and he so maistred is, That he hath set al his corage, As to reguard of his lignage, 3520 Upon a Maide of lou astat. Bot thogh he were a potestat Of worldes good, he was soubgit To love, and put in such a plit, That he excedeth the mesure Of reson, that himself assure He can noght; for the more he preide, The lass love on him sche leide. He was with love unwys constreigned, And sche with resoun was restreigned: 3530 The lustes of his herte he suieth, And sche for dred schame eschuieth, And as sche scholde, tok good hiede To save and kepe hir wommanhiede. And thus the thing stod in debat Betwen his lust and hire astat: He yaf, he sende, he spak be mouthe, Bot yit for oght that evere he couthe Unto his sped he fond no weie, So that he caste his hope aweie, 3540 Withinne his herte and gan despeire Fro dai to dai, and so empeire, That he hath lost al his delit Of lust, of Slep, of Appetit, That he thurgh strengthe of love lasseth His wit, and resoun overpasseth. As he which of his lif ne rowhte, His deth upon himself he sowhte, So that be nyhte his weie he nam, Ther wiste non wher he becam; 3550 The nyht was derk, ther schon no Mone, Tofore the gates he cam sone, Wher that this yonge Maiden was And with this wofull word, "Helas!" Hise dedli pleintes he began So stille that ther was noman It herde, and thanne he seide thus: "O thou Cupide, o thou Venus, Fortuned be whos ordinaunce Of love is every mannes chaunce, 3560 Ye knowen al min hole herte, That I ne mai your hond asterte; On you is evere that I crie, And yit you deigneth noght to plie, Ne toward me youre Ere encline. Thus for I se no medicine To make an ende of mi querele, My deth schal be in stede of hele. Ha, thou mi wofull ladi diere, Which duellest with thi fader hiere 3570 And slepest in thi bedd at ese, Thou wost nothing of my desese. Hou thou and I be now unmete. Ha lord, what swevene schalt thou mete, What dremes hast thou nou on honde? Thou slepest there, and I hier stonde. Thogh I no deth to the deserve, Hier schal I for thi love sterve, Hier schal a kinges Sone dye For love and for no felonie; 3580 Wher thou therof have joie or sorwe, Hier schalt thou se me ded tomorwe. O herte hard aboven alle, This deth, which schal to me befalle For that thou wolt noght do me grace, Yit schal be told in many a place, Hou I am ded for love and trouthe In thi defalte and in thi slouthe: Thi Daunger schal to manye mo Ensample be for everemo, 3590 Whan thei my wofull deth recorde." And with that word he tok a Corde, With which upon the gate tre He hyng himself, that was pite. The morwe cam, the nyht is gon, Men comen out and syhe anon Wher that this yonge lord was ded: Ther was an hous withoute red, For noman knew the cause why; Ther was wepinge and ther was cry. 3600 This Maiden, whan that sche it herde, And sih this thing hou it misferde, Anon sche wiste what it mente, And al the cause hou it wente To al the world sche tolde it oute, And preith to hem that were aboute To take of hire the vengance, For sche was cause of thilke chaunce, Why that this kinges Sone is split. Sche takth upon hirself the gilt, 3610 And is al redi to the peine Which eny man hir wole ordeigne: And bot if eny other wolde, Sche seith that sche hirselve scholde Do wreche with hire oghne hond, Thurghout the world in every lond That every lif therof schal speke, Hou sche hirself i scholde wreke. Sche wepth, sche crith, sche swouneth ofte, Sche caste hire yhen up alofte 3620 And seide among ful pitously: "A godd, thou wost wel it am I, For whom Iphis is thus besein: Ordeine so, that men mai sein A thousend wynter after this, Hou such a Maiden dede amis, And as I dede, do to me: For I ne dede no pite To him, which for mi love is lore, Do no pite to me therfore." 3630 And with this word sche fell to grounde Aswoune, and ther sche lay a stounde. The goddes, whiche hir pleigntes herde And syhe hou wofully sche ferde, Hire lif thei toke awey anon, And schopen hire into a Ston After the forme of hire ymage Of bodi bothe and of visage. And for the merveile of this thing Unto the place cam the king 3640 And ek the queene and manye mo; And whan thei wisten it was so, As I have told it heir above, Hou that Iphis was ded for love, Of that he hadde be refused, Thei hielden alle men excused And wondren upon the vengance. And forto kepe in remembrance, This faire ymage mayden liche With compaignie noble and riche 3650 With torche and gret sollempnite. To Salamyne the Cite Thei lede, and carie forth withal The dede corps, and sein it schal Beside thilke ymage have His sepulture and be begrave: This corps and this ymage thus Into the Cite to Venus, Wher that goddesse hire temple hadde, Togedre bothe tuo thei ladde. 3660 This ilke ymage as for miracle Was set upon an hyh pinacle, That alle men it mihte knowe, And under tht thei maden lowe A tumbe riche for the nones Of marbre and ek of jaspre stones, Wherin this Iphis was beloken, That evermor it schal be spoken. And for men schal the sothe wite, Thei have here epitaphe write, 3670 As thing which scholde abide stable: The lettres graven in a table Of marbre were and seiden this: "Hier lith, which slowh himself, Iphis, For love of Araxarathen: And in ensample of tho wommen, That soffren men to deie so, Hire forme a man mai sen also, Hou it is torned fleissh and bon Into the figure of a Ston: 3680 He was to neysshe and sche to hard. Be war forthi hierafterward; Ye men and wommen bothe tuo, Ensampleth you of that was tho: Lo thus, mi Sone, as I thee seie, It grieveth be diverse weie In desepeir a man to falle, Which is the laste branche of alle Of Slouthe, as thou hast herd devise. Wherof that thou thiself avise 3690 Good is, er that thou be deceived, Wher that the grace of hope is weyved. Mi fader, hou so that it stonde, Now have I pleinly understonde Of Slouthes court the proprete, Wherof touchende in my degre For evere I thenke to be war. Bot overthis, so as I dar, With al min herte I you beseche, That ye me wolde enforme and teche 3700 What ther is more of youre aprise In love als wel as otherwise, So that I mai me clene schryve. Mi Sone, whyl thou art alyve And hast also thi fulle mynde, Among the vices whiche I finde Ther is yit on such of the sevene, Which al this world hath set unevene And causeth manye thinges wronge, Where he the cause hath underfonge: 3710 Wherof hierafter thou schalt hiere The forme bothe and the matiere.

Explicit Liber Quartus.

Incipit Liber Quintus

Obstat auaricia nature legibus, et que Largus amor poscit, striccius illa vetat. Omne quod est nimium viciosum dicitur aurum, Vellera sicut oues, seruat auarus opes. Non decet vt soli seruabitur es, set amori Debet homo solam solus habere suam.

Ferst whan the hyhe god began This world, and that the kinde of man Was falle into no gret encress, For worldes good tho was no press, Bot al was set to the comune. Thei spieken thanne of no fortune Or forto lese or forto winne, Til Avarice broghte it inne; And that was whan the world was woxe Of man, of hors, of Schep, of Oxe, 10 And that men knewen the moneie. Tho wente pes out of the weie And werre cam on every side, Which alle love leide aside And of comun his propre made, So that in stede of schovele and spade The scharpe swerd was take on honde; And in this wise it cam to londe, Wherof men maden dyches depe And hyhe walles forto kepe 20 The gold which Avarice encloseth. Bot al to lytel him supposeth, Thogh he mihte al the world pourchace; For what thing that he may embrace Of gold, of catel or of lond, He let it nevere out of his hond, Bot get him more and halt it faste, As thogh the world scholde evere laste. So is he lych unto the helle; For as these olde bokes telle, 30 What comth therinne, lasse or more, It schal departe neveremore: Thus whanne he hath his cofre loken, It schal noght after ben unstoken, Bot whanne him list to have a syhte Of gold, hou that it schyneth brihte, That he ther on mai loke and muse; For otherwise he dar noght use To take his part, or lasse or more. So is he povere, and everemore 40 Him lacketh that he hath ynowh: An Oxe draweth in the plowh, Of that himself hath no profit; A Schep riht in the same plit His wolle berth, bot on a day An other takth the flees away: Thus hath he, that he noght ne hath, For he therof his part ne tath. To seie hou such a man hath good, Who so that reson understod, 50 It is impropreliche seid, For good hath him and halt him teid, That he ne gladeth noght withal, Bot is unto his good a thral, And as soubgit thus serveth he, Wher that he scholde maister be: Such is the kinde of thaverous. Mi Sone, as thou art amerous, Tell if thou farst of love so. Mi fader, as it semeth, no; 60 That averous yit nevere I was, So as ye setten me the cas: For as ye tolden here above, In full possession of love Yit was I nevere hier tofore, So that me thenketh wel therfore, I mai excuse wel my dede. Bot of mi will withoute drede, If I that tresor mihte gete, It scholde nevere be foryete, 70 That I ne wolde it faste holde, Til god of love himselve wolde That deth ous scholde part atuo. For lieveth wel, I love hire so, That evene with min oghne lif, If I that swete lusti wif Mihte ones welden at my wille, For evere I wolde hire holde stille: And in this wise, taketh kepe, If I hire hadde, I wolde hire kepe, 80 And yit no friday wolde I faste, Thogh I hire kepte and hielde faste. Fy on the bagges in the kiste! I hadde ynogh, if I hire kiste. For certes, if sche were myn, I hadde hir levere than a Myn Of Gold; for al this worldesriche Ne mihte make me so riche As sche, that is so inly good. I sette noght of other good; 90 For mihte I gete such a thing, I hadde a tresor for a king; And thogh I wolde it faste holde, I were thanne wel beholde. Bot I mot pipe nou with lasse, And suffre that it overpasse, Noght with mi will, for thus I wolde Ben averous, if that I scholde. Bot, fader, I you herde seie Hou thaverous hath yit som weie, 100 Wherof he mai be glad; for he Mai whanne him list his tresor se, And grope and fiele it al aboute, Bot I fulofte am schet theroute, Ther as my worthi tresor is. So is mi lif lich unto this, That ye me tolden hier tofore, Hou that an Oxe his yock hath bore For thing that scholde him noght availe: And in this wise I me travaile; 110 For who that evere hath the welfare, I wot wel that I have the care, For I am hadd and noght ne have, And am, as who seith, loves knave. Nou demeth in youre oghne thoght, If this be Avarice or noght. Mi Sone, I have of thee no wonder, Thogh thou to serve be put under With love, which to kinde acordeth: Bot, so as every bok recordeth, 120 It is to kinde no plesance That man above his sustienance Unto the gold schal serve and bowe, For that mai no reson avowe. Bot Avarice natheles, If he mai geten his encress Of gold, that wole he serve and kepe, For he takth of noght elles kepe, Bot forto fille hise bagges large; And al is to him bot a charge, 130 For he ne parteth noght withal, Bot kepth it, as a servant schal: And thus, thogh that he multeplie His gold, withoute tresorie He is, for man is noght amended With gold, bot if it be despended To mannes us; wherof I rede A tale, and tak therof good hiede, Of that befell be olde tyde, As telleth ous the clerk Ovide. 140 Bachus, which is the god of wyn, Acordant unto his divin A Prest, the which Cillenus hihte, He hadde, and fell so that be nyhte This Prest was drunke and goth astraied, Wherof the men were evele apaied In Frigelond, where as he wente. Bot ate laste a cherl him hente With strengthe of other felaschipe, So that upon his drunkeschipe 150 Thei bounden him with chenes faste, And forth thei ladde him als so faste Unto the king, which hihte Myde. Bot he, that wolde his vice hyde, This courteis king, tok of him hiede, And bad that men him scholde lede Into a chambre forto kepe, Til he of leisir hadde slepe. And tho this Prest was sone unbounde, And up a couche fro the grounde 160 To slepe he was leid softe ynowh; And whanne he wok, the king him drowh To his presence and dede him chiere, So that this Prest in such manere, Whil that him liketh, there he duelleth: And al this he to Bachus telleth, Whan that he cam to him ayein. And whan that Bachus herde sein How Mide hath don his courtesie, Him thenkth it were a vilenie, 170 Bot he rewarde him for his dede, So as he mihte of his godhiede. Unto this king this god appiereth And clepeth, and that other hiereth: This god to Mide thonketh faire Of that he was so debonaire Toward his Prest, and bad him seie: What thing it were he wolde preie, He scholde it have, of worldes good. This king was glad, and stille stod, 180 And was of his axinge in doute, And al the world he caste aboute, What thing was best for his astat, And with himself stod in debat Upon thre pointz, the whiche I finde Ben lievest unto mannes kinde. The ferste of hem it is delit, The tuo ben worschipe and profit. And thanne he thoghte, "If that I crave Delit, thogh I delit mai have, 190 Delit schal passen in myn age: That is no siker avantage, For every joie bodily Schal ende in wo: delit forthi Wol I noght chese. And if worschipe I axe and of the world lordschipe, That is an occupacion Of proud ymaginacion, Which makth an herte vein withinne; Ther is no certain forto winne, 200 For lord and knave al is o weie, Whan thei be bore and whan thei deie. And if I profit axe wolde, I not in what manere I scholde Of worldes good have sikernesse; For every thief upon richesse Awaiteth forto robbe and stele: Such good is cause of harmes fele. And also, thogh a man at ones Of al the world withinne his wones 210 The tresor myhte have everydel, Yit hadde he bot o mannes del Toward himself, so as I thinke, Of clothinge and of mete and drinke, For more, outake vanite, Ther hath no lord in his degre." And thus upon the pointz diverse Diverseliche he gan reherce What point him thoghte for the beste; Bot pleinly forto gete him reste 220 He can so siker weie caste. And natheles yit ate laste He fell upon the coveitise Of gold; and thanne in sondri wise He thoghte, as I have seid tofore, Hou tresor mai be sone lore, And hadde an inly gret desir Touchende of such recoverir, Hou that he mihte his cause availe To gete him gold withoute faile. 230 Withinne his herte and thus he preiseth The gold, and seith hou that it peiseth Above al other metall most: "The gold," he seith, "may lede an host To make werre ayein a King; The gold put under alle thing, And set it whan him list above; The gold can make of hate love And werre of pes and ryht of wrong, And long to schort and schort to long; 240 Withoute gold mai be no feste, Gold is the lord of man and beste, And mai hem bothe beie and selle; So that a man mai sothly telle That al the world to gold obeieth." Forthi this king to Bachus preieth To grante him gold, bot he excedeth Mesure more than him nedeth. Men tellen that the maladie Which cleped is ydropesie 250 Resembled is unto this vice Be weie of kinde of Avarice: The more ydropesie drinketh, The more him thursteth, for him thinketh That he mai nevere drinke his fille; So that ther mai nothing fulfille The lustes of his appetit: And riht in such a maner plit Stant Avarice and evere stod; The more he hath of worldes good, 260 The more he wolde it kepe streyte, And evere mor and mor coveite. And riht in such condicioun Withoute good discrecioun This king with avarice is smite, That al the world it myhte wite: For he to Bachus thanne preide, That wherupon his hond he leide, It scholde thurgh his touche anon Become gold, and therupon 270 This god him granteth as he bad. Tho was this king of Frige glad, And forto put it in assai With al the haste that he mai, He toucheth that, he toucheth this, And in his hond al gold it is, The Ston, the Tree, the Lef, the gras, The flour, the fruit, al gold it was. Thus toucheth he, whil he mai laste To go, bot hunger ate laste 280 Him tok, so that he moste nede Be weie of kinde his hunger fede. The cloth was leid, the bord was set, And al was forth tofore him fet, His disch, his coppe, his drinke, his mete; Bot whanne he wolde or drinke or ete, Anon as it his mouth cam nyh, It was al gold, and thanne he syh Of Avarice the folie. And he with that began to crie, 290 And preide Bachus to foryive His gilt, and soffre him forto live And be such as he was tofore, So that he were not forlore. This god, which herde of his grevance, Tok rowthe upon his repentance, And bad him go forth redily Unto a flod was faste by, Which Paceole thanne hyhte, In which as clene as evere he myhte 300 He scholde him waisshen overal, And seide him thanne that he schal Recovere his ferste astat ayein. This king, riht as he herde sein, Into the flod goth fro the lond, And wissh him bothe fot and hond, And so forth al the remenant, As him was set in covenant: And thanne he syh merveilles strange, The flod his colour gan to change, 310 The gravel with the smale Stones To gold thei torne bothe at ones, And he was quit of that he hadde, And thus fortune his chance ladde. And whan he sih his touche aweie, He goth him hom the rihte weie And liveth forth as he dede er, And putte al Avarice afer, And the richesse of gold despiseth, And seith that mete and cloth sufficeth. 320 Thus hath this king experience Hou foles don the reverence To gold, which of his oghne kinde Is lasse worth than is the rinde To sustienance of mannes fode; And thanne he made lawes goode And al his thing sette upon skile: He bad his poeple forto tile Here lond, and live under the lawe, And that thei scholde also forthdrawe 330 Bestaile, and seche non encress Of gold, which is the breche of pes. For this a man mai finde write, Tofor the time, er gold was smite In Coign, that men the florin knewe, Ther was welnyh noman untrewe; Tho was ther nouther schield ne spere Ne dedly wepne forto bere; Tho was the toun withoute wal, Which nou is closed overal; 340 Tho was ther no brocage in londe, Which nou takth every cause on honde: So mai men knowe, hou the florin Was moder ferst of malengin And bringere inne of alle werre, Wherof this world stant out of herre Thurgh the conseil of Avarice, Which of his oghne propre vice Is as the helle wonderfull; For it mai neveremor be full, 350 That what as evere comth therinne, Awey ne may it nevere winne. Bot Sone myn, do thou noght so, Let al such Avarice go, And tak thi part of that thou hast: I bidde noght that thou do wast, Bot hold largesce in his mesure; And if thou se a creature, Which thurgh poverte is falle in nede, Yif him som good, for this I rede 360 To him that wol noght yiven here, What peine he schal have elleswhere. Ther is a peine amonges alle Benethe in helle, which men calle The wofull peine of Tantaly, Of which I schal thee redely Devise hou men therinne stonde. In helle, thou schalt understonde, Ther is a flod of thilke office, Which serveth al for Avarice: 370 What man that stonde schal therinne, He stant up evene unto the chinne; Above his hed also ther hongeth A fruyt, which to that peine longeth, And that fruit toucheth evere in on His overlippe: and therupon Swich thurst and hunger him assaileth, That nevere his appetit ne faileth. Bot whanne he wolde his hunger fede, The fruit withdrawth him ate nede, 380 And thogh he heve his hed on hyh, The fruit is evere aliche nyh, So is the hunger wel the more: And also, thogh him thurste sore And to the water bowe a doun, The flod in such condicioun Avaleth, that his drinke areche He mai noght. Lo nou, which a wreche, That mete and drinke is him so couth, And yit ther comth non in his mouth! 390 Lich to the peines of this flod Stant Avarice in worldes good: He hath ynowh and yit him nedeth, For his skarsnesse it him forbiedeth, And evere his hunger after more Travaileth him aliche sore, So is he peined overal. Forthi thi goodes forth withal,