Confessio Amantis or Tales of the Seven Deadly Sins by John Gower (books you have to read txt) 📖

fader, al this wel mai be,
Bot if alle othre dede so,
The world of men were sone go: 6420
And in the lawe a man mai finde,
Hou god to man be weie of kinde
Hath set the world to multeplie;
And who that wol him justefie,
It is ynouh to do the lawe.
And natheles youre goode sawe
Is good to kepe, who so may,
I wol noght therayein seie nay.
Mi Sone, take it as I seie;
If maidenhod be take aweie 6430
Withoute lawes ordinance,
It mai noght failen of vengance.
And if thou wolt the sothe wite,
Behold a tale which is write,
Hou that the King Agamenon,
Whan he the Cite of Lesbon
Hath wonne, a Maiden ther he fond,
Which was the faireste of the Lond
In thilke time that men wiste.
He tok of hire what him liste 6440
Of thing which was most precious,
Wherof that sche was dangerous.
This faire Maiden cleped is
Criseide, douhter of Crisis,
Which was that time in special
Of thilke temple principal,
Wher Phebus hadde his sacrifice,
So was it wel the more vice.
Agamenon was thanne in weie
To Troieward, and tok aweie 6450
This Maiden, which he with him ladde,
So grete a lust in hire he hadde.
Bot Phebus, which hath gret desdeign
Of that his Maiden was forlein,
Anon as he to Troie cam,
Vengance upon this dede he nam
And sende a comun pestilence.
Thei soghten thanne here evidence
And maden calculacion,
To knowe in what condicion 6460
This deth cam in so sodeinly;
And ate laste redyly
The cause and ek the man thei founde:
And forth withal the same stounde
Agamenon opposed was,
Which hath beknowen al the cas
Of the folie which he wroghte.
And therupon mercy thei soghte
Toward the god in sondri wise
With preiere and with sacrifise, 6470
The Maide and hom ayein thei sende,
And yive hire good ynouh to spende
For evere whil sche scholde live:
And thus the Senne was foryive
And al the pestilence cessed.
Lo, what it is to ben encressed
Of love which is evele wonne.
It were betre noght begonne
Than take a thing withoute leve,
Which thou most after nedes leve, 6480
And yit have malgre forth withal.
Forthi to robben overal
In loves cause if thou beginne,
I not what ese thou schalt winne.
Mi Sone, be wel war of this,
For thus of Robberie it is.
Mi fader, youre ensamplerie
In loves cause of Robberie
I have it riht wel understonde.
Bot overthis, hou so it stonde, 6490
Yit wolde I wite of youre aprise
What thing is more of Covoitise.
With Covoitise yit I finde
A Servant of the same kinde,
Which Stelthe is hote, and Mecherie
With him is evere in compainie.
Of whom if I schal telle soth,
He stalketh as a Pocok doth,
And takth his preie so covert,
That noman wot it in apert. 6500
For whan he wot the lord from home,
Than wol he stalke aboute and rome;
And what thing he fint in his weie,
Whan that he seth the men aweie,
He stelth it and goth forth withal,
That therof noman knowe schal.
And ek fulofte he goth a nyht
Withoute Mone or sterreliht,
And with his craft the dore unpiketh,
And takth therinne what him liketh: 6510
And if the dore be so schet,
That he be of his entre let,
He wole in ate wyndou crepe,
And whil the lord is faste aslepe,
He stelth what thing as him best list,
And goth his weie er it be wist.
Fulofte also be lyhte of day
Yit wole he stele and make assay;
Under the cote his hond he put,
Til he the mannes Purs have cut, 6520
And rifleth that he fint therinne.
And thus he auntreth him to winne,
And berth an horn and noght ne bloweth,
For noman of his conseil knoweth;
What he mai gete of his Michinge,
It is al bile under the winge.
And as an hound that goth to folde
And hath ther taken what he wolde,
His mouth upon the gras he wypeth,
And so with feigned chiere him slypeth, 6530
That what as evere of schep he strangle,
Ther is noman therof schal jangle,
As forto knowen who it dede;
Riht so doth Stelthe in every stede,
Where as him list his preie take.
He can so wel his cause make
And so wel feigne and so wel glose,
That ther ne schal noman suppose,
Bot that he were an innocent,
And thus a mannes yhe he blent: 6540
So that this craft I mai remene
Withouten help of eny mene.
Ther be lovers of that degre,
Which al here lust in privete,
As who seith, geten al be Stelthe,
And ofte atteignen to gret welthe
As for the time that it lasteth.
For love awaiteth evere and casteth
Hou he mai stele and cacche his preie,
Whan he therto mai finde a weie: 6550
For be it nyht or be it day,
He takth his part, whan that he may,
And if he mai nomore do,
Yit wol he stele a cuss or tuo.
Mi Sone, what seist thou therto?
Tell if thou dedest evere so.
Mi fader, hou? Mi Sone, thus,-
If thou hast stolen eny cuss
Or other thing which therto longeth,
For noman suche thieves hongeth: 6560
Tell on forthi and sei the trouthe.
Mi fader, nay, and that is routhe,
For be mi will I am a thief;
Bot sche that is to me most lief,
Yit dorste I nevere in privete
Noght ones take hire be the kne,
To stele of hire or this or that,
And if I dorste, I wot wel what:
And natheles, bot if I lie,
Be Stelthe ne be Robberie 6570
Of love, which fell in mi thoght,
To hire dede I nevere noght.
Bot as men sein, wher herte is failed,
Ther schal no castell ben assailed;
Bot thogh I hadde hertes ten,
And were als strong as alle men,
If I be noght myn oghne man
And dar noght usen that I can,
I mai miselve noght recovere.
Thogh I be nevere man so povere, 6580
I bere an herte and hire it is,
So that me faileth wit in this,
Hou that I scholde of myn acord
The servant lede ayein the lord:
For if mi fot wolde awher go,
Or that min hand wolde elles do,
Whan that myn herte is therayein,
The remenant is al in vein.
And thus me lacketh alle wele,
And yit ne dar I nothing stele 6590
Of thing which longeth unto love:
And ek it is so hyh above,
I mai noght wel therto areche,
Bot if so be at time of speche,
Ful selde if thanne I stele may
A word or tuo and go my way.
Betwen hire hih astat and me
Comparison ther mai non be,
So that I fiele and wel I wot,
Al is to hevy and to hot 6600
To sette on hond withoute leve:
And thus I mot algate leve
To stele that I mai noght take,
And in this wise I mot forsake
To ben a thief ayein mi wille
Of thing which I mai noght fulfille.
For that Serpent which nevere slepte
The flees of gold so wel ne kepte
In Colchos, as the tale is told,
That mi ladi a thousendfold 6610
Nys betre yemed and bewaked,
Wher sche be clothed or be naked.
To kepe hir bodi nyht and day,
Sche hath a wardein redi ay,
Which is so wonderful a wyht,
That him ne mai no mannes myht
With swerd ne with no wepne daunte,
Ne with no sleihte of charme enchaunte,
Wherof he mihte be mad tame,
And Danger is his rihte name; 6620
Which under lock and under keie,
That noman mai it stele aweie,
Hath al the Tresor underfonge
That unto love mai belonge.
The leste lokinge of hire yhe
Mai noght be stole, if he it syhe;
And who so gruccheth for so lyte,
He wolde sone sette a wyte
On him that wolde stele more.
And that me grieveth wonder sore, 6630
For this proverbe is evere newe,
That stronge lokes maken trewe
Of hem that wolden stele and pyke:
For so wel can ther noman slyke
Be him ne be non other mene,
To whom Danger wol yive or lene
Of that tresor he hath to kepe.
So thogh I wolde stalke and crepe,
And wayte on eve and ek on morwe,
Of Danger schal I nothing borwe, 6640
And stele I wot wel may I noght:
And thus I am riht wel bethoght,
Whil Danger stant in his office,
Of Stelthe, which ye clepe a vice,
I schal be gultif neveremo.
Therfore I wolde he were ago
So fer that I nevere of him herde,
Hou so that afterward it ferde:
For thanne I mihte yit per cas
Of love make som pourchas 6650
Be Stelthe or be som other weie,
That nou fro me stant fer aweie.
Bot, fader, as ye tolde above,
Hou Stelthe goth a nyht for love,
I mai noght wel that point forsake,
That ofte times I ne wake
On nyhtes, whan that othre slepe;
Bot hou, I prei you taketh kepe.
Whan I am loged in such wise
That I be nyhte mai arise, 6660
At som wyndowe and loken oute
And se the housinge al aboute,
So that I mai the chambre knowe
In which mi ladi, as I trowe,
Lyth in hir bed and slepeth softe,
Thanne is myn herte a thief fulofte:
For there I stonde to beholde
The longe nyhtes that ben colde,
And thenke on hire that lyth there.
And thanne I wisshe that I were 6670
Als wys as was Nectanabus
Or elles as was Prothe s,
That couthen bothe of nigromaunce
In what liknesse, in what semblaunce,
Riht as hem liste, hemself transforme:
For if I were of such a forme,
I seie thanne I wolde fle
Into the chambre forto se
If eny grace wolde falle,
So that I mihte under the palle 6680
Som thing of love pyke and stele.
And thus I thenke thoghtes fele,
And thogh therof nothing be soth,
Yit ese as for a time it doth:
Bot ate laste whanne I finde
That I am falle into my mynde,
And se that I have stonde longe
And have no profit underfonge,
Than stalke I to mi bedd withinne.
And this is al that evere I winne 6690
Of love, whanne I walke on nyht:
Mi will is good, bot of mi myht
Me lacketh bothe and of mi grace;
For what so that mi thoght embrace,
Yit have I noght the betre ferd.
Mi fader, lo, nou have ye herd
What I be Stelthe of love have do,
And hou mi will hath be therto:
If I be worthi to penance
I put it on your ordinance. 6700
Mi Sone, of Stelthe I the behiete,
Thogh it be for a time swete,
At ende it doth bot litel good,
As be ensample hou that it stod
Whilom, I mai thee telle nou.
I preie you, fader, sei me hou.
Mi Sone, of him which goth be daie
Be weie of Stelthe to assaie,
In loves cause and takth his preie,
Ovide seide as I schal seie, 6710
And in his Methamor he tolde
A tale, which is good to holde.
The Poete upon this matiere
Of Stelthe wrot in this manere.
Venus, which hath this lawe in honde
Of thing