Aftir the king made Gamèlyn,
Bothè in est and west,

The chefe justice and ridere of
Allè his fre forest.

Alle his wight yongè men the king
Forgafin them their gilt,

And sithen in gode office the king
Hath alle them ypilt.

Thus has wan yongè Gamèlyn
His londè and his lede,

And wrake of him his enemies,
And quytè them their mede.

And sir Otè, his brothir dere,
Ymade him hath his heir,
And sithen weddid Gamelyn
A wife both gode and faire.

They lividin togidir wele
Whilis that Christè wolde,
And sithen that was Gamèlyn
Ygravin undir molde;

And so shallè we allè here;
May there no man yfle

God bringin us unto the joie
That evir shull ybe!

'THUS ENDITH THE LEGEND of gamelyn, CALLED THE

COKE'S TALE.

HERE BEGINNETH

THE PLOWMAN'S PROLOGUE.

THE Plowman plucked up his plowe
Whan midsomer mone was comen in,
And saied his bestes should ete inowe,
And lige in grasse up to the chin:
Thei ben feble both oxe and cowe,
Of 'hem n'is left but bone and skinne;
He shoke of shere, and coulter' off drowe,
And honged his harnis on a pinne.

He toke his tabarde and staffe eke,
And on his hedde he set his hat,

And saied he would Sainct Thomas seke.
On pilgrimage he goth forth plat;
In scrippe he bare bothe bred lekes;
He was folswonke and all forswat:

Men might have sene through both his chekes,
And every wang tothe where it sat.

Our Hoste behelde well all about,
And sawe this man was sunne ibrent;
He knewe well by his singid snout,
And by his clothes, that were to rent,
He was a man wont walke about,
He n'as not aye in cloister pent,
Ne couthe religiousliche lout,
And therefore was he full ill shent.

Our Hoste him axed, "What man art thou?"
"Sire Hoste," (quod he) "I am an hine,
For I am wont to go to plow,
And erne my mete yet that I dine:
To swette and swinke I make avowe,
My wife and babes therewith to finde,
And servin God and I wist how,
But we lende men yben full blinde:

A

THUS ENDETH THE PRologue.

HERE FOLLOWETH

THE FIRST PART OF THE TALE'.

FULL sterne strief is stirrid newe,

In many stedis in a stounde,

Of sondry sedis that ben sewe;
It semith that some ben unsounde,
For some be grete growin on grounde,
Some ben souble, simple and small :
Whether of 'hem is falsir founde
The falsir foule mote him bifall.

That one side is that I of tell
Popis, cardinals, and prelates,
Parsons, monkis, and freris fell,
Priours, abbotes, of grete estates;

Of Heven and Hell thei kepe the yates,
And Peter's successours ben all,
And this is demid by old dates;
But falshed foule mote it befall.

The othir side ben pore and pale,
And peple yput out of prese,
And semin caitiffes sore a cale,
And er in one without encrese
Iclepid Lollers and Londlese;
Who totheth on 'hem thei ben untall;
Thei ben arayid all for pece,
But falshed foule mote it befall

Many a countrey haue I sought
To knowe the falsir of these two,
But aye my travaile was for nought
All so ferre as I have ygo,
But as I wandrid in a wro,
Within a wode beside a wall,
Two foulis sawe I sitting tho,
The falsir foule mote him befall.

A complaint against the pride and covetousness of the clergy, made no doubt by Chaucer, says the editor of Chaucer's works printed for Ad. Islip. at London, A. D. 1602. Urry.

He ordaineth by his ordinaunce
To parishe priestis a powere,
To' anothir a gretir avaunce,
A greatir point to his mistere;
But for he' is highist in erth here
To him reserveth he many' a point,
But unto Christ, that hath no pere,
Reservith he no pin no joynt.

So semith he abovin all,

And Christ abovin him nothinge,
Whan that be sittith in his stall
Dampnith and savith as him thinke;
Suche pride tofore hie God doth stinke:
An angel bad John to' him not knele,
Only to God to do his bowinge;
Soche worship-willers mote ill fele.

Thei ne clepe Christ but Sanctus Deus,
And clepe their hed Sanctissimus ;
All they that suche a secte sewis
I trowe thei.taken 'hem amisse:
In erth here they havin ther blisse,
Ther hie mastir is Beliall;

Christ his pore peple from 'hem wisse,
For al suche false will foule befall.

They mowin both ybinde and lose,
And all is for ther holy life;
To save or dampne they mowen chose;
Betwene 'hem now is a grete strife;
Many' a man is killed with a knife
To wete with havin lordship shall;
For such Christ suffrid woundis five,
For all suche falshed will foule fall.

Christ said, Qui gladio percutit,
With swerde surely he shall die.;
He bad his priestis pece and grith,
And bad 'hem not drede for to die,
And bad hem be both simple' and slie,
And carkè not for no cattell,

And truste on God that sittith on hie,
For all false shal full foule befall.

These wollin makè men to swere
Ayenst Christ'is commaundiment,
And Christ'is members al to tere,
On rode as he were new yrent:
Suche lawes thei maken by assent,
Eche on it trowith as a ball,
And thus the pore be fully shent,
But falshed foule it shulle befall.

Ne usin thei no simonie,
But selle churchis and priories,
Ne they usin to none envie,

But cursin al 'hem contraries,
And hirith men by daies and yeres
With strength to hold 'hem in ther stall,
And culle all ther advarsaries,
Therfore falshed foule thou them fall.

With purse they purchase personage,
With purse thei payin 'hem to plede,
And men of warre thei wollin wage
To bring ther enemies to ded,
And lordis livis they wol lede,
And muchil take, and give but small,
But he' it so get from it shul shede,
And make suche false right foule yfall.
VOL. I.

They halowe nothing but for hire,
Ne churche, ne font, ne vestiment,
And make orders in every shire,
But pristis pay for the parchment;
Of riatours they taken rent,
Therwith they smere the shep'is skall,
For many churches ben suspent ;
All suche falshed foule it befall.

Some livith not in lecherie,

But haunte wenchis, widows, and wives,
And punish the pore for putre,
Themselfe it useth al ther lives;
And but a man to them him shrives
To Hevin come he nevir shall,
He shall be cursed as be catives;
To Hel thei saine that he shal fall.
Ther was more mercy' in Maximine,
And Nero, that never was gode,
Than there is now in some of them
Whan he hath on his furrid hode;
They folowe Christ that shed his blode
To Heven, as bucket to the wall;
Suche wrechis yben worse than wode,
And al suche faitours foule 'hem fall.

They give ther almis to the riche,
To mainteynours and men of lawe,
For to lordis they wol be liche,

And harlots sonne not worthe an hawe;
Sothfastnessè alle suche han slawe;
They kembe ther crockettes with cristall,
And drede of God they have doune drawe;
Al suche faitours foule 'hem befall.

They make parsons for the pennie,
And canons and their cardinals;
Unnethe amongst 'hem al is any
That ne hath glosed the gospel fals,
For Christ made ner no cathedrals,
Ne with him was no cardinall
With a redde hatte, as use minstrals;
But falshed foule mote it befall.

Ther tithing and ther offring bothe
They clemith by possession,
Ne thereof n'il they none forgo,
But robbin men as a raunsome:
The tithing of turpe lucrum
With these maisters is veniall;
Tithinge of bribry and larson
Will make falshed full foule to fall.

They takin to ferme ther sompnours
To harme the peple what they may,
To pardoners and false faitours
Thei sell ther seles I dare well say,
And all to holdin gret arraie,
To multiplie 'hem more mettall,
They drede ful litel dom'is day,
Whan all suche falshed shal foule fall.

Suche harlottes shul men disclaunder,
For that they shullin make them gre,
And ben as proud as Alexander,
And sain to the pore wo be ye!
By yere eche priest shal paie his fe
For to encreşe his lemmans call;
Suche berdis shul wel ivil the,
And al suche false shul foule befall.

S s