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Passus tercius de Do-wel , etc.
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"Crist wot," quod Clergie, "knowe hit yif the lyke,
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I have do my dever the Do-wel to teche;
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And who so coveyteth don betere than the boke telleth,
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He passeth the apostolis lyf, and put him to aungelys.
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But I se now as I seye, as me soth thinkytz ,
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The were lef to lerne, but loth for to stodie .
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Thou woldest konne that I can and carpen hit after,
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Presumptuowsly, paraventure, a-pose so manye,
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That myghthe turne me to tene, and Theology bothe.
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Yif I wiste witterly thou woldest don ther after ,
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Al that thou askest a-soylen I wolde."
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Skornfully tho Scripture set up here browes,
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And on Clergie crieth, on Cristes holy name,
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That he shewe me hit ne sholde, but yif stryf were
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Of the kynde cardinal wit and cristned in a font;
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And seyde so loude, that shame me thoughthe,
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That hit were bothe skathe and sklaundre to holy cherche --
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"Sitthe Theologie the trewe to tellen hit defendeth;
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David, Godes derling, defendyth hit al-so :
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Vidi prevaricantes et tabescebam.
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'I saw synful,' he seyde, 'ther-fore I seyde no thing ,
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Til tho wrecches ben in wil here synne to lete.'
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And Poul precheth hit often -- prestes hit redyn:
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Audivi archana verba que non licet homini loqui .
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'I am not hardy,' quod he, 'that I herde with erys,
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Telle hit with tounge to synful wrecches.'
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And God graunted hit nevere ; the gospel hit witnesseth,
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In the passioun, whan Pilat a-posed God al-myghthi ,
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And asked Jesu on hy , that herden hit an hundred:
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'Quid est veritas,' quod he, 'verilyche, tel us.'
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God gaf him non answere, but gan his tounge holde.
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Right so I rede," quod she, "red thou no ferther;
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Of that he wolde wite , wis him no betere.
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For he cam not by cause to lerne to Do-wel
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But as he seyth, such I am, when he with me carpeth. "
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And when Scripture the skolde hadde this wyt y-sheued ,
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Clergie in-to a caban crepte a-non after,
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And drow the dore after him, and bad me go Do-wel ,
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Or wycke, yif I wolde -- whether me lyked.
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Than held I up myn handes to Scripture the wise,
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To be hure man yif I most, for evere more after,
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With that she wolde me wisse wher the toun were
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That Kynde Wit the confessour, hure cosyn, was inne.
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That lady than low, and laughthe me in here armes,
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And sayde, "My cosyn Kynde Wit knowen is wel wide,
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And his loggyng is with Lyf, that lord is of erthe.
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And yif thou desyre with him for to a-byde ,
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I shal the wisse where that he dwelleth."
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And thanne I kneled on my knes, and kyste her wel sone,
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And thanked hure a thousand sythes with throbbant herte.
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She called me a clerjoun
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That hyght Omnia-probate, a pore thing with alle .
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"Thou shalt wende with Wil," quod she, "whiles that him lykyth,
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Til ye come to the burgh, Quod-bonum-est-tenete.
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Ken him to my cosenes hous, that Kinde Wit hyghth;
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Sey I sente him this segge, and that he shewe hym Do-wel ."
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Thus we laughthe oure leve, lowtyng at onys,
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And wente forth on my way with Omnia-probate,
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And ere I cam to the court, Quod-bonum-est-tenete,
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Many ferlys me by-fel in a fewe yeris.
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The fyrste ferly I fond a-fyngrid me made;
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As I yede thurgh youthe a-yen prime dayes,
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I stode stille in a stodie, and stared a-bowte ;
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"Al hayl," quod on tho, and I answered, "Welcome, and with whom be ye?"
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"I am dwelling with Deth, and Hunger I hatte;
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To Lyf in his lordshepe longyt my weye,
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To kyllyn him yif I can, theigh Kynde Wite helpe;
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I shal felle that freke in a fewe dayes."
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"I wolde folwe the fayn," quod I, "but feyntise me henteth ;
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Me folweth such a feyntise, I may no ferther walke."
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"Go we forth," quod the gom: "I have a gret boyste
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At my bak of broke bred thi bely for to fylle;
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A bagge ful, of a beggere I boughthe hit at onys."
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Than maunged I with him up to the fulle;
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For the myssyng of mete no mesour I coude,
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But ete as Hunger me hete, til my belly swellyd.
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Ther bad me Hunger have gode day, but I helde me stille;
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For gronyng of my guttys I durst gon no ferther.
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With that cam a knave with a confessoures face,
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Lene and rewlyche, with leggys ful smale.
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He halsed me, and I asked him after
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Of whennes that he were, and wheder that he wolde.
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"With Deth I duelle," quod he, "dayes and nyghtes;
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Mi name is Fevere-on-the-ferthe-day; I am a-threst evere.
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I am masager of Deth -- men have I tweyne:
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That on is called Cotidian, a courrour of oure hous,
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Tercian that other, trewe drinkeres bothe.
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We han letteres of Lyf, he shal his lyf tyne;
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Fro Deth that is oure duk swyche dedis we brynge."
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"Myghth I so, God wot, youre gates wolde I holden."
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"Nay, Wil," quod that wyghth, "wend thou no ferther,
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But lyve as this lyf is ordeyned for the;
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The tomblest with a trepget, yif thou my tras folwe;
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And mannes merthe wroughth no mor than he deservyth here,
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Whil his lyf and his lykhame lesten to-gedere .
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And ther-fore do after Do-wel whil thi dayes duren,
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That thi play be plentevous in paradys with aungelys.
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Thou shalt be laughth into lyghth, with loking of an eye,
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So that thou werke the word that holy wryt techeth,
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And be prest to preyeres, and profitable werkes."
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Wille thurgh in-wit , thou wost wel the sothe,
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That this speche was spedelich, and sped him wel faste,
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And wroughthe that here is wryten, and other werkes bothe ,
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Of Peres the plowman and mechel puple al-so ;
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And whan this werk was wrought, ere Wille myghte a-spie ,
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Deth delt him a dent, and drof him to the erthe,
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And is closed under clom -- Crist have his soule!
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And so bad Johan But, busily wel ofte,
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When he saw thes sawes busyly a-legged
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By James and by Jerom, by Jop and by othere;
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And for he medleth of makyng, he made this ende.
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Now alle kenne creatures that Cristene were evere,
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God for his goudnesse gif hem swyche happes,
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To lyve as that lord lykyth that lyf in hem putte.
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Furst to rekne Richard kyng of this rewme,
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And alle lordes that lovyn him lely in herte,
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God save hem sound, by se and by land;
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Marie moder and may for man thou by-seke
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That barn bryng us to blys that bled up-on the rode.
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Amen.
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EXPLICIT DO-WEL .
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Nomen scriptorisXmt Tilot, plenus amoris.