Confessio Amantis; Or, Tales of the Seven Deadly Sins. John Gower

"Ma dame, if ye wolde have rowthe,"

       Quod I, "than wolde I telle yow."

       "Sey forth," quod sche, "and tell me how;

       Schew me thi seknesse everydiel."

       "Ma dame, that can I do wel,

       Be so my lif therto wol laste."

       With that hir lok on me sche caste,

       And seide: "In aunter if thou live,

       Mi will is ferst that thou be schrive; 190

       And natheles how that it is

       I wot miself, bot for al this

       Unto my prest, which comth anon,

       I woll thou telle it on and on,

       Bothe all thi thoght and al thi werk.

       O Genius myn oghne Clerk,

       Com forth and hier this mannes schrifte,"

       Quod Venus tho; and I uplifte

       Min hefd with that, and gan beholde

       The selve Prest, which as sche wolde 200

       Was redy there and sette him doun

       To hiere my confessioun.

       This worthi Prest, this holy man

       To me spekende thus began,

       And seide: "Benedicite,

       Mi Sone, of the felicite

       Of love and ek of all the wo

       Thou schalt thee schrive of bothe tuo.

       What thou er this for loves sake

       Hast felt, let nothing be forsake, 210

       Tell pleinliche as it is befalle."

       And with that word I gan doun falle

       On knees, and with devocioun

       And with full gret contricioun

       I seide thanne: "Dominus,

       Min holi fader Genius,

       So as thou hast experience

       Of love, for whos reverence

       Thou schalt me schriven at this time,

       I prai the let me noght mistime 220

       Mi schrifte, for I am destourbed

       In al myn herte, and so contourbed,

       That I ne may my wittes gete,

       So schal I moche thing foryete:

       Bot if thou wolt my schrifte oppose

       Fro point to point, thanne I suppose,

       Ther schal nothing be left behinde.

       Bot now my wittes ben so blinde,

       That I ne can miselven teche."

       Tho he began anon to preche, 230

       And with his wordes debonaire

       He seide tome softe and faire:

       "Thi schrifte to oppose and hiere,

       My Sone, I am assigned hiere

       Be Venus the godesse above,

       Whos Prest I am touchende of love.

       Bot natheles for certein skile

       I mot algate and nedes wile

       Noght only make my spekynges

       Of love, bot of othre thinges, 240

       That touchen to the cause of vice.

       For that belongeth to thoffice

       Of Prest, whos ordre that I bere,

       So that I wol nothing forbere,

       That I the vices on and on

       Ne schal thee schewen everychon;

       Wherof thou myht take evidence

       To reule with thi conscience.

       Bot of conclusion final

       Conclude I wol in special 250

       For love, whos servant I am,

       And why the cause is that I cam.

       So thenke I to don bothe tuo,

       Ferst that myn ordre longeth to,

       The vices forto telle arewe,

       Bot next above alle othre schewe

       Of love I wol the propretes,

       How that thei stonde be degrees

       After the disposicioun

       Of Venus, whos condicioun 260

       I moste folwe, as I am holde.

       For I with love am al withholde,

       So that the lasse I am to wyte,

       Thogh I ne conne bot a lyte

       Of othre thinges that ben wise:

       I am noght tawht in such a wise;

       For it is noght my comun us

       To speke of vices and vertus,

       Bot al of love and of his lore,

       For Venus bokes of nomore 270

       Me techen nowther text ne glose.

       Bot for als moche as I suppose

       It sit a prest to be wel thewed,

       And schame it is if he be lewed,

       Of my Presthode after the forme

       I wol thi schrifte so enforme,

       That ate leste thou schalt hiere

       The vices, and to thi matiere

       Of love I schal hem so remene,

       That thou schalt knowe what thei mene. 280

       For what a man schal axe or sein

       Touchende of schrifte, it mot be plein,

       It nedeth noght to make it queinte,

       For trowthe hise wordes wol noght peinte:

       That I wole axe of the forthi,

       My Sone, it schal be so pleinly,

       That thou schalt knowe and understonde

       The pointz of schrifte how that thei stonde."

       Betwen the lif and deth I herde

       This Prestes tale er I answerde, 290

       And thanne I preide him forto seie

       His will, and I it wolde obeie

       After the forme of his apprise.

       Tho spak he tome in such a wise,

       And bad me that I scholde schrive

       As touchende of my wittes fyve,

       And schape that thei were amended

       Of that I hadde hem misdispended.

       For tho be proprely the gates,

       Thurgh whiche as to the herte algates 300

       Comth alle thing unto the feire,

       Which may the mannes Soule empeire.

       And now this matiere is broght inne,

       Mi Sone, I thenke ferst beginne

       To wite how that thin yhe hath stonde,

       The which is, as I understonde,

       The moste principal of alle,

       Thurgh whom that peril mai befalle.

       And forto speke in loves kinde,

       Ful manye suche a man mai finde, 310

       Whiche evere caste aboute here yhe,

       To loke if that thei myhte aspie

       Fulofte thing which hem ne toucheth,