|
Classic and Contemporary Poetry
CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 3, PART 3, by JOHN GOWER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: An old sawe is, 'who that is slyh Last Line: The pointz of slowthe thou schalt knowe. | |||
An old sawe is, "Who that is slyh In place where he mai be nyh, He makth the ferre Lieve loth": Of love and thus fulofte it goth. Ther while Agamenon batailleth To winne Troie, and it assailleth, Fro home and was long time ferr, Egistus drowh his qweene nerr, And with the leiser which he hadde This ladi at his wille he ladde: Climestre was hire rihte name, Sche was therof gretli to blame, To love there it mai noght laste. Bot fell to meschief ate laste; For whan this noble worthi kniht Fro Troie cam, the ferste nyht That he at home abedde lay, Egistus, longe er it was day, As this Climestre him hadde asent, And weren bothe of on assent, Be treson slowh him in his bedd. Bot moerdre, which mai noght ben hedd, Sprong out to every mannes Ere, Wherof the lond was full of fere. Agamenon hath be this qweene A Sone, and that was after sene; Bot yit as thanne he was of yowthe, A babe, which no reson cowthe, And as godd wolde, it fell him thus. A worthi kniht Taltabius This yonge child hath in kepinge, And whan he herde of this tidinge, Of this treson, of this misdede, He gan withinne himself to drede, In aunter if this false Egiste Upon him come, er he it wiste, To take and moerdre of his malice This child, which he hath to norrice: And for that cause in alle haste Out of the lond he gan him haste And to the king of Crete he strawhte And him this yonge lord betawhte, And preide him for his fader sake That he this child wolde undertake And kepe him til he be of Age, So as he was of his lignage; And tolde him over al the cas, How that his fadre moerdred was, And hou Egistus, as men seide, Was king, to whom the lond obeide. And whanne Ydomeneux the king Hath understondinge of this thing, Which that this kniht him hadde told, He made sorwe manyfold, And tok this child into his warde, And seide he wolde him kepe and warde, Til that he were of such a myht To handle a swerd and ben a knyht, To venge him at his oghne wille. And thus Horestes duelleth stille, Such was the childes rihte name, Which after wroghte mochel schame In vengance of his fader deth. The time of yeres overgeth, That he was man of brede and lengthe, Of wit, of manhod and of strengthe, A fair persone amonges alle. And he began to clepe and calle, As he which come was to manne, Unto the King of Crete thanne, Preiende that he wolde him make A kniht and pouer with him take, For lengere wolde he noght beleve, He seith, bot preith the king of leve To gon and cleyme his heritage And vengen him of thilke oultrage Which was unto his fader do. The king assenteth wel therto, With gret honour and knyht him makth, And gret pouer to him betakth, And gan his journe forto caste: So that Horestes ate laste His leve tok and forth he goth. As he that was in herte wroth, His ferste pleinte to bemene, Unto the Cite of Athene He goth him forth and was received, So there was he noght deceived. The Duc and tho that weren wise Thei profren hem to his servise; And he hem thonketh of here profre And seith himself he wol gon offre Unto the goddes for his sped, As alle men him yeven red. So goth he to the temple forth: Of yiftes that be mochel worth His sacrifice and his offringe He made; and after his axinge He was ansuerd, if that he wolde His stat recovere, thanne he scholde Upon his Moder do vengance So cruel, that the remembrance Therof mihte everemore abide, As sche that was an homicide And of hire oghne lord Moerdrice. Horestes, which of thilke office Was nothing glad, as thanne he preide Unto the goddes there and seide That thei the juggement devise, How sche schal take the juise. And therupon he hadde ansuere, That he hire Pappes scholde of tere Out of hire brest his oghne hondes, And for ensample of alle londes With hors sche scholde be todrawe, Til houndes hadde hire bones gnawe Withouten eny sepulture: This was a wofull aventure. And whan Horestes hath al herd, How that the goddes have ansuerd, Forth with the strengthe which he ladde The Duc and his pouer he hadde, And to a Cite forth thei gon, The which was cleped Cropheon, Where as Phoieus was lord and Sire, Which profreth him withouten hyre His help and al that he mai do, As he that was riht glad therto, To grieve his mortiel enemy: And tolde hem certein cause why, How that Egiste in Mariage His dowhter whilom of full Age Forlai, and afterward forsok, Whan he Horestes Moder tok. Men sein, "Old Senne newe schame": Thus more and more aros the blame Ayein Egiste on every side. Horestes with his host to ride Began, and Phoieus with hem wente; I trowe Egiste him schal repente. Thei riden forth unto Micene, Wher lay Climestre thilke qweene, The which Horestes moder is: And whan sche herde telle of this, The gates weren faste schet, And thei were of here entre let. Anon this Cite was withoute Belein and sieged al aboute, And evere among thei it assaile, Fro day to nyht and so travaile, Til ate laste thei it wonne; Tho was ther sorwe ynowh begonne. Horestes dede his moder calle Anon tofore the lordes alle And ek tofor the poeple also, To hire and tolde his tale tho, And seide, "O cruel beste unkinde, How mihtest thou thin herte finde, For eny lust of loves drawhte, That thou acordest to the slawhte Of him which was thin oghne lord? Thi treson stant of such record, Thou miht thi werkes noght forsake; So mot I for mi fader sake Vengance upon thi bodi do, As I comanded am therto. Unkindely for thou hast wroght, Unkindeliche it schal be boght, The Sone schal the Moder sle, For that whilom thou seidest yee To that thou scholdest nay have seid." And he with that his hond hath leid Upon his Moder brest anon, And rente out fro the bare bon Hire Pappes bothe and caste aweie Amiddes in the carte weie, And after tok the dede cors And let it drawe awey with hors Unto the hound and to the raven; Sche was non other wise graven. Egistus, which was elles where, Tidinges comen to his Ere How that Micenes was belein, Bot what was more herd he noght sein; With gret manace and mochel bost He drowh pouer and made an host And cam in rescousse of the toun. Bot al the sleyhte of his tresoun Horestes wiste it be aspie, And of his men a gret partie He made in buisshement abide, To waite on him in such a tide That he ne mihte here hond ascape: And in this wise as he hath schape The thing befell, so that Egiste Was take, er he himself it wiste, And was forth broght hise hondes bounde, As whan men han a tretour founde. And tho that weren with him take, Whiche of tresoun were overtake, Togedre in o sentence falle; Bot false Egiste above hem alle Was demed to diverse peine, The worste that men cowthe ordeigne, And so forth after be the lawe He was unto the gibet drawe, Where he above alle othre hongeth, As to a tretour it belongeth. Tho fame with hire swifte wynges Aboute flyh and bar tidinges, And made it cowth in alle londes How that Horestes with hise hondes Climestre his oghne Moder slowh. Some sein he dede wel ynowh, And som men sein he dede amis, Diverse opinion ther is: That sche is ded thei speken alle, Bot pleinli hou it is befalle, The matiere in so litel throwe In soth ther mihte noman knowe Bot thei that weren ate dede: And comunliche in every nede The worste speche is rathest herd And lieved, til it be ansuerd. The kinges and the lordes grete Begonne Horestes forto threte To puten him out of his regne: "He is noght worthi forto regne, The child which slowh his moder so," Thei saide; and therupon also The lordes of comun assent A time sette of parlement, And to Athenes king and lord Togedre come of on accord, To knowe hou that the sothe was: So that Horestes in this cas Thei senden after, and he com. King Menelay the wordes nom And axeth him of this matiere: And he, that alle it mihten hiere, Ansuerde and tolde his tale alarge, And hou the goddes in his charge Comanded him in such a wise His oghne hond to do juise. And with this tale a Duc aros, Which was a worthi kniht of los, His name was Menestes, And seide unto the lordes thus: "The wreeche which Horeste dede, It was thing of the goddes bede, And nothing of his crualte; And if ther were of mi degree In al this place such a kniht That wolde sein it was no riht, I wole it with my bodi prove." And therupon he caste his glove, And ek this noble Duc alleide Ful many an other skile, and seide Sche hadde wel deserved wreche, Ferst for the cause of Spousebreche, And after wroghte in such a wise That al the world it oghte agrise, Whan that sche for so foul a vice Was of hire oghne lord moerdrice. Thei seten alle stille and herde, Bot therto was noman ansuerde, It thoghte hem alle he seide skile, Ther is noman withseie it wile; Whan thei upon the reson musen, Horestes alle thei excusen: So that with gret solempnete He was unto his dignete Received, and coroned king. And tho befell a wonder thing: Egiona, whan sche this wiste, Which was the dowhter of Egiste And Soster on the moder side To this Horeste, at thilke tide, Whan sche herde how hir brother spedde, For pure sorwe, which hire ledde, That he ne hadde ben exiled, Sche hath hire oghne lif beguiled Anon and hyng hireselve tho. It hath and schal ben everemo, To moerdre who that wole assente, He mai noght faille to repente: This false Egiona was on, Which forto moerdre Agamenon Yaf hire acord and hire assent, So that be goddes juggement, Thogh that non other man it wolde, Sche tok hire juise as sche scholde; And as sche to an other wroghte, Vengance upon hireself sche soghte, And hath of hire unhappi wit A moerdre with a moerdre quit. Such is of moerdre the vengance. Forthi, mi Sone, in remembrance Of this ensample tak good hiede: For who that thenkth his love spiede With moerdre, he schal with worldes schame Himself and ek his love schame. Mi fader, of this aventure Which ye have told, I you assure Min herte is sory forto hiere, Bot only for I wolde lere What is to done, and what to leve. And over this now be your leve, That ye me wolden telle I preie, If ther be lieffull eny weie Withoute Senne a man to sle. Mi Sone, in sondri wise ye. What man that is of traiterie, Of moerdre or elles robberie Atteint, the jugge schal noght lette, Bot he schal slen of pure dette, And doth gret Senne, if that he wonde. For who that lawe hath upon honde, And spareth forto do justice For merci, doth noght his office, That he his mercy so bewareth, Whan for o schrewe which he spareth A thousand goode men he grieveth: With such merci who that believeth To plese god, he is deceived, Or elles resoun mot be weyved. The lawe stod er we were bore, How that a kinges swerd is bore In signe that he schal defende His trewe poeple and make an ende Of suche as wolden hem devoure. Lo thus, my Sone, to socoure The lawe and comun riht to winne, A man mai sle withoute Sinne, And do therof a gret almesse, So forto kepe rihtwisnesse. And over this for his contre In time of werre a man is fre Himself, his hous and ek his lond Defende with his oghne hond, And slen, if that he mai no bet, After the lawe which is set. Now, fader, thanne I you beseche Of hem that dedly werres seche In worldes cause and scheden blod, If such an homicide is good. Mi Sone, upon thi question The trowthe of myn opinion, Als ferforth as my wit arecheth And as the pleine lawe techeth, I woll thee telle in evidence, To rewle with thi conscience. The hihe god of his justice That ilke foule horrible vice Of homicide he hath forbede, Be Moi5ses as it was bede. Whan goddes Sone also was bore, He sende hise anglis doun therfore, Whom the Schepherdes herden singe, Pes to the men of welwillinge In erthe be among ous here. So forto speke in this matiere After the lawe of charite, Ther schal no dedly werre be: And ek nature it hath defended And in hir lawe pes comended, Which is the chief of mannes welthe, Of mannes lif, of mannes helthe. Bot dedly werre hath his covine Of pestilence and of famine, Of poverte and of alle wo, Wherof this world we blamen so, Which now the werre hath under fote, Til god himself therof do bote. For alle thing which god hath wroght In Erthe, werre it bringth to noght: The cherche is brent, the priest is slain, The wif, the maide is ek forlain, The lawe is lore and god unserved: I not what mede he hath deserved That suche werres ledeth inne. If that he do it forto winne, Ferst to acompte his grete cost Forth with the folk that he hath lost, As to the wordes rekeninge Ther schal he finde no winnynge; And if he do it to pourchace The hevene mede, of such a grace I can noght speke, and natheles Crist hath comanded love and pes, And who that worcheth the revers, I trowe his mede is ful divers. And sithen thanne that we finde That werres in here oghne kinde Ben toward god of no decerte, And ek thei bringen in poverte Of worldes good, it is merveile Among the men what it mai eyle, That thei a pes ne conne sette. I trowe Senne be the lette, And every mede of Senne is deth; So wot I nevere hou that it geth: Bot we that ben of o believe Among ousself, this wolde I lieve, That betre it were pes to chese, Than so be double weie lese. I not if that it now so stonde, Bot this a man mai understonde, Who that these olde bokes redeth, That coveitise is on which ledeth, And broghte ferst the werres inne. At Grece if that I schal beginne, Ther was it proved hou it stod: To Perce, which was ful of good, Thei maden werre in special, And so thei deden overal, Wher gret richesse was in londe, So that thei leften nothing stonde Unwerred, bot onliche Archade. For there thei no werres made, Be cause it was bareigne and povere, Wherof thei mihten noght recovere; And thus poverte was forbore, He that noght hadde noght hath lore. Bot yit it is a wonder thing, Whan that a riche worthi king, Or other lord, what so he be, Wol axe and cleyme proprete In thing to which he hath no riht, Bot onliche of his grete miht: For this mai every man wel wite, That bothe kinde and lawe write Expressly stonden therayein. Bot he mot nedes somwhat sein, Althogh ther be no reson inne, Which secheth cause forto winne: For wit that is with will oppressed, Whan coveitise him hath adressed, And alle resoun put aweie, He can wel finde such a weie To werre, where as evere him liketh, Wherof that he the world entriketh, That many a man of him compleigneth: Bot yit alwei som cause he feigneth, And of his wrongful herte he demeth That al is wel, what evere him semeth, Be so that he mai winne ynowh. For as the trew man to the plowh Only to the gaignage entendeth, Riht so the werreiour despendeth His time and hath no conscience. And in this point for evidence Of hem that suche werres make, Thou miht a gret ensample take, How thei her tirannie excusen Of that thei wrongfull werres usen, And how thei stonde of on acord, The Souldeour forth with the lord, The povere man forth with the riche, As of corage thei ben liche, To make werres and to pile For lucre and for non other skyle: Wherof a propre tale I rede, As it whilom befell in dede. Of him whom al this Erthe dradde, Whan he the world so overladde Thurgh werre, as it fortuned is, King Alisandre, I rede this; How in a Marche, where he lay, It fell per chance upon a day A Rovere of the See was nome, Which many a man hadde overcome And slain and take here good aweie: This Pilour, as the bokes seie, A famous man in sondri stede Was of the werkes whiche he dede. This Prisoner tofor the king Was broght, and there upon this thing In audience he was accused: And he his dede hath noght excused, Bot preith the king to don him riht, And seith, "Sire, if I were of miht, I have an herte lich to thin; For if the pouer were myn, Mi will is most in special To rifle and geten overal The large worldes good aboute. Bot for I lede a povere route And am, as who seith, at meschief, The name of Pilour and of thief I bere; and thou, which routes grete Miht lede and take thi beyete, And dost riht as I wolde do, Thi name is nothing cleped so, Bot thou art named Emperour. Oure dedes ben of o colour And in effect of o decerte, Bot thi richesse and my poverte Tho ben noght taken evene liche. And natheles he that is riche This dai, tomorwe he mai be povere; And in contraire also recovere A povere man to gret richesse Men sen: forthi let rihtwisnesse Be peised evene in the balance. The king his hardi contienance Behield, and herde hise wordes wise, And seide unto him in this wise: "Thin ansuere I have understonde, Wherof my will is, that thou stonde In mi service and stille abide." And forth withal the same tide He hath him terme of lif withholde, The mor and for he schal ben holde, He made him kniht and yaf him lond, Which afterward was of his hond And orped kniht in many a stede, And gret prouesce of armes dede, As the Croniqes it recorden. And in this wise thei acorden, The whiche of o condicioun Be set upon destruccioun: Such Capitein such retenue. Bot forto se to what issue The thing befalleth ate laste, It is gret wonder that men caste Here herte upon such wrong to winne, Wher no beyete mai ben inne, And doth desese on every side: Bot whan reson is put aside And will governeth the corage, The faucon which that fleth ramage And soeffreth nothing in the weie, Wherof that he mai take his preie, Is noght mor set upon ravine, Than thilke man which his covine Hath set in such a maner wise: For al the world ne mai suffise To will which is noght resonable. Wherof ensample concordable Lich to this point of which I meene, Was upon Alisandre sene, Which hadde set al his entente, So as fortune with him wente, That reson mihte him non governe, Bot of his will he was so sterne, That al the world he overran And what him list he tok and wan. In Ynde the superiour Whan that he was ful conquerour, And hadde his wilful pourpos wonne Of al this Erthe under the Sonne, This king homward to Macedoine, Whan that he cam to Babiloine, And wende most in his Empire, As he which was hol lord and Sire, In honour forto be received, Most sodeinliche he was deceived, And with strong puison envenimed. And as he hath the world mistimed Noght as he scholde with his wit, Noght as he wolde it was aquit. Thus was he slain that whilom slowh, And he which riche was ynowh This dai, tomorwe he hadde noght: And in such wise as he hath wroght In destorbance of worldes pes, His werre he fond thanne endeles, In which for evere desconfit He was. Lo now, for what profit Of werre it helpeth forto ryde, For coveitise and worldes pride To sle the worldes men aboute, As bestes whiche gon theroute. For every lif which reson can Oghth wel to knowe that a man Ne scholde thurgh no tirannie Lich to these othre bestes die, Til kinde wolde for him sende. I not hou he it mihte amende, Which takth awei for everemore The lif that he mai noght restore. Forthi, mi Sone, in alle weie Be wel avised, I thee preie, Of slawhte er that thou be coupable Withoute cause resonable. Mi fader, understonde it is, That ye have seid; bot over this I prei you tell me nay or yee, To passe over the grete See To werre and sle the Sarazin, Is that the lawe? Sone myn, To preche and soffre for the feith, That have I herd the gospell seith; Bot forto slee, that hiere I noght. Crist with his oghne deth hath boght Alle othre men, and made hem fre, In tokne of parfit charite; And after that he tawhte himselve, Whan he was ded, these othre tuelve Of hise Apostles wente aboute The holi feith to prechen oute, Wherof the deth in sondri place Thei soffre, and so god of his grace The feith of Crist hath mad aryse: Bot if thei wolde in other wise Be werre have broght in the creance, It hadde yit stonde in balance. And that mai proven in the dede; For what man the Croniqes rede, Fro ferst that holi cherche hath weyved To preche, and hath the swerd received, Wherof the werres ben begonne, A gret partie of that was wonne To Cristes feith stant now miswent: Godd do therof amendement, So as he wot what is the beste. Bot, Sone, if thou wolt live in reste Of conscience wel assised, Er that thou sle, be wel avised: For man, as tellen ous the clerkes, Hath god above alle ertheli werkes Ordeined to be principal, And ek of Soule in special He is mad lich to the godhiede. So sit it wel to taken hiede And forto loke on every side, Er that thou falle in homicide, Which Senne is now so general, That it welnyh stant overal, In holi cherche and elles where. Bot al the while it stant so there, The world mot nede fare amis: For whan the welle of pite is Thurgh coveitise of worldes good Defouled with schedinge of blod, The remenant of folk aboute Unethe stonden eny doute To werre ech other and to slee. So is it all noght worth a Stree, The charite wherof we prechen, For we do nothing as we techen: And thus the blinde conscience Of pes hath lost thilke evidence Which Crist upon this Erthe tawhte. Now mai men se moerdre and manslawhte Lich as it was be daies olde, Whan men the Sennes boghte and solde. In Grece afore Cristes feith, I rede, as the Cronique seith, Touchende of this matiere thus, In thilke time hou Peles His oghne brother Phocus slowh; Bot for he hadde gold ynowh To yive, his Senne was despensed With gold, wherof it was compensed: Achastus, which with Venus was Hire Priest, assoilede in that cas, Al were ther no repentance. And as the bok makth remembrance, It telleth of Medee also; Of that sche slowh her Sones tuo, Eges in the same plit Hath mad hire of hire Senne quit. The Sone ek of Amphioras, Whos rihte name Almes was, His Moder slowh, Eriphile; Bot Achilo the Priest and he, So as the bokes it recorden, For certein Somme of gold acorden That thilke horrible sinfull dede Assoiled was. And thus for mede Of worldes good it falleth ofte That homicide is set alofte Hiere in this lif; bot after this Ther schal be knowe how that it is Of hem that suche thinges werche, And hou also that holi cherche Let suche Sennes passe quyte, And how thei wole hemself aquite Of dedly werres that thei make. For who that wolde ensample take, The lawe which is naturel Be weie of kinde scheweth wel That homicide in no degree, Which werreth ayein charite, Among the men ne scholde duelle. For after that the bokes telle, To seche in al this worldesriche, Men schal noght finde upon his liche A beste forto take his preie: And sithen kinde hath such a weie, Thanne is it wonder of a man, Which kynde hath and resoun can, That he wol owther more or lasse His kinde and resoun overpasse, And sle that is to him semblable. So is the man noght resonable Ne kinde, and that is noght honeste, Whan he is worse than a beste. Among the bokes whiche I finde Solyns spekth of a wonder kinde, And seith of fowhles ther is on, Which hath a face of blod and bon Lich to a man in resemblance. And if it falle him so per chance, As he which is a fowhl of preie, That he a man finde in his weie, He wol him slen, if that he mai: Bot afterward the same dai, Whan he hath eten al his felle, And that schal be beside a welle, In which whan he wol drinke take, Of his visage and seth the make That he hath slain, anon he thenketh Of his misdede, and it forthenketh So gretly, that for pure sorwe He liveth noght til on the morwe. Be this ensample it mai well suie That man schal homicide eschuie, For evere is merci good to take, Bot if the lawe it hath forsake And that justice is therayein. For ofte time I have herd sein Amonges hem that werres hadden, That thei som while here cause ladden Be merci, whan thei mihte have slain, Wherof that thei were after fain: And, Sone, if that thou wolt recorde The vertu of Misericorde, Thou sihe nevere thilke place, Where it was used, lacke grace. For every lawe and every kinde The mannes wit to merci binde; And namely the worthi knihtes, Whan that thei stonden most uprihtes And ben most mihti forto grieve, Thei scholden thanne most relieve Him whom thei mihten overthrowe, As be ensample a man mai knowe. He mai noght failen of his mede That hath merci: for this I rede, In a Cronique and finde thus. Whan Achilles with Telaphus His Sone toward Troie were, It fell hem, er thei comen there, Ayein Theucer the king of Mese To make werre and forto sese His lond, as thei that wolden regne And Theucer pute out of his regne. And thus the Marches thei assaile, Bot Theucer yaf to hem bataille; Thei foghte on bothe sides faste, Bot so it hapneth ate laste, This worthi Grek, this Achilles, The king among alle othre ches: As he that was cruel and fell, With swerd in honde on him he fell, And smot him with a dethes wounde, That he unhorsed fell to grounde. Achilles upon him alyhte, And wolde anon, as he wel mihte, Have slain him fullich in the place; Bot Thelaphus his fader grace For him besoghte, and for pite Preith that he wolde lete him be, And caste his Schield betwen hem tuo. Achilles axeth him why so, And Thelaphus his cause tolde, And seith that he is mochel holde, For whilom Theucer in a stede Gret grace and socour to him dede, And seith that he him wolde aquite, And preith his fader to respite. Achilles tho withdrowh his hond; Bot al the pouer of the lond, Whan that thei sihe here king thus take, Thei fledde and han the feld forsake: The Grecs unto the chace falle, And for the moste part of alle Of that contre the lordes grete Thei toke, and wonne a gret beyete. And anon after this victoire The king, which hadde good memoire, Upon the grete merci thoghte, Which Telaphus toward him wroghte, And in presence of al the lond He tok him faire be the hond, And in this wise he gan to seie: "Mi Sone, I mot be double weie Love and desire thin encress; Ferst for thi fader Achilles Whilom ful many dai er this, Whan that I scholde have fare amis, Rescousse dede in mi querele And kepte al myn astat in hele: How so ther falle now distance Amonges ous, yit remembrance I have of merci which he dede As thanne: and thou now in this stede Of gentilesce and of franchise Hast do mercy the same wise. So wol I noght that eny time Be lost of that thou hast do byme; For hou so this fortune falle, Yit stant mi trust aboven alle, For the mercy which I now finde, That thou wolt after this be kinde: And for that such is myn espeir, As for my Sone and for myn Eir I thee receive, and al my lond I yive and sese into thin hond." And in this wise thei acorde, The cause was Misericorde: The lordes dede here obeissance To Thelaphus, and pourveance Was mad so that he was coroned: And thus was merci reguerdoned, Which he to Theucer dede afore. Lo, this ensample is mad therfore, That thou miht take remembrance, Mi Sone; and whan thou sest a chaunce, Of other mennes passioun Tak pite and compassioun, And let nothing to thee be lief, Which to an other man is grief. And after this if thou desire To stonde ayein the vice of Ire, Consaile thee with Pacience, And tak into thi conscience Merci to be thi governour. So schalt thou fiele no rancour, Wherof thin herte schal debate With homicide ne with hate For Cheste or for Malencolie: Thou schalt be soft in compaignie Withoute Contek or Folhaste: For elles miht thou longe waste Thi time, er that thou have thi wille Of love; for the weder stille Men preise, and blame the tempestes. Mi fader, I wol do youre hestes, And of this point ye have me tawht, Toward miself the betre sawht I thenke be, whil that I live. Bot for als moche as I am schrive Of Wraththe and al his circumstance, Yif what you list to my penance, And asketh forthere of my lif, If otherwise I be gultif Of eny thing that toucheth Sinne. Mi Sone, er we departe atwinne, I schal behinde nothing leve. Mi goode fader, be your leve Thanne axeth forth what so you list, For I have in you such a trist, As ye that be my Soule hele, That ye fro me wol nothing hele, For I schal telle you the trowthe. Mi Sone, art thou coupable of Slowthe In eny point which to him longeth? My fader, of tho pointz me longeth To wite pleinly what thei meene, So that I mai me schrive cleene. Now herkne, I schal the pointz devise; And understond wel myn aprise: For schrifte stant of no value To him that wol him noght vertue To leve of vice the folie: For word is wynd, bot the maistrie Is that a man himself defende Of thing which is noght to comende, Wherof ben fewe now aday. And natheles, so as I may Make unto thi memoire knowe, The pointz of Slowthe thou schalt knowe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 1, PART 2 by JOHN GOWER CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 1, PART 3 by JOHN GOWER CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 2, PART 1 by JOHN GOWER CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 2, PART 2 by JOHN GOWER CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 2, PART 3 by JOHN GOWER CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 3, PART 1 by JOHN GOWER CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 3, PART 2 by JOHN GOWER CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 4, PART 1 by JOHN GOWER CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 4, PART 2 by JOHN GOWER CONFESSIO AMANTIS: BOOK 5, PART 1 by JOHN GOWER |
|