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

schal him grieve.

       The ferste of hem thou schalt believe 580

       Is Pride, which is principal,

       And hath with him in special

       Ministres five ful diverse,

       Of whiche, as I the schal reherse,

       The ferste is seid Ypocrisie.

       If thou art of his compaignie,

       Tell forth, my Sone, and schrif the clene.

       I wot noght, fader, what ye mene:

       Bot this I wolde you beseche,

       That ye me be som weie teche 590

       What is to ben an ypocrite;

       And thanne if I be forto wyte,

       I wol beknowen, as it is.

       Mi Sone, an ypocrite is this,-

       A man which feigneth conscience,

       As thogh it were al innocence,

       Withoute, and is noght so withinne;

       And doth so for he wolde winne

       Of his desir the vein astat.

       And whanne he comth anon therat, 600

       He scheweth thanne what he was,

       The corn is torned into gras,

       That was a Rose is thanne a thorn,

       And he that was a Lomb beforn

       Is thanne a Wolf, and thus malice

       Under the colour of justice

       Is hid; and as the poeple telleth,

       These ordres witen where he duelleth,

       As he that of here conseil is,

       And thilke world which thei er this 610

       Forsoken, he drawth in ayein:

       He clotheth richesse, as men sein,

       Under the simplesce of poverte,

       And doth to seme of gret decerte

       Thing which is litel worth withinne:

       He seith in open, fy! to Sinne,

       And in secre ther is no vice

       Of which that he nis a Norrice:

       And evere his chiere is sobre and softe,

       And where he goth he blesseth ofte, 620

       Wherof the blinde world he dreccheth.

       Bot yet al only he ne streccheth

       His reule upon religioun,

       Bot next to that condicioun

       In suche as clepe hem holy cherche

       It scheweth ek how he can werche

       Among tho wyde furred hodes,

       To geten hem the worldes goodes.

       And thei hemself ben thilke same

       That setten most the world in blame, 630

       Bot yet in contraire of her lore

       Ther is nothing thei loven more;

       So that semende of liht thei werke

       The dedes whiche are inward derke.

       And thus this double Ypocrisie

       With his devolte apparantie

       A viser set upon his face,

       Wherof toward this worldes grace

       He semeth to be riht wel thewed,

       And yit his herte is al beschrewed. 640

       Bot natheles he stant believed,

       And hath his pourpos ofte achieved

       Of worschipe and of worldes welthe,

       And takth it, as who seith, be stelthe

       Thurgh coverture of his fallas.

       And riht so in semblable cas

       This vice hath ek his officers

       Among these othre seculers

       Of grete men, for of the smale

       As for tacompte he set no tale, 650

       Bot thei that passen the comune

       With suche him liketh to comune,

       And where he seith he wol socoure

       The poeple, there he woll devoure;

       For now aday is manyon

       Which spekth of Peter and of John

       And thenketh Judas in his herte.

       Ther schal no worldes good asterte

       His hond, and yit he yifth almesse

       And fasteth ofte and hiereth Messe: 660

       With mea culpa, which he seith,

       Upon his brest fullofte he leith

       His hond, and cast upward his yhe,

       As thogh he Cristes face syhe;

       So that it seemeth ate syhte,

       As he al one alle othre myhte

       Rescoue with his holy bede.

       Bot yet his herte in other stede

       Among hise bedes most devoute

       Goth in the worldes cause aboute, 670

       How that he myhte his warisoun

       Encresce. And in comparisoun

       Ther ben lovers of such a sort,

       That feignen hem an humble port,

       And al is bot Ypocrisie,

       Which with deceipte and flaterie

       Hath many a worthi wif beguiled.

       For whanne he hath his tunge affiled,

       With softe speche and with lesinge,

       Forth with his fals pitous lokynge, 680

       He wolde make a womman wene

       To gon upon the faire grene,

       Whan that sche falleth in the Mir.

       For if he may have his desir,

       How so falle of the remenant,

       He halt no word of covenant;

       Bot er the time that he spede,

       Ther is no sleihte at thilke nede,

       Which eny loves faitour mai,

       That he ne put it in assai, 690

       As him belongeth forto done.

       The colour of the reyni Mone

       With medicine upon his face

       He set, and thanne he axeth grace,

       As he which hath sieknesse feigned.

       Whan his visage is so desteigned,

       With yhe upcast on hire he siketh,

       And many a contenance he piketh,

       To bringen hire in to believe

       Of thing which that he wolde achieve, 700

       Wherof he berth the pale hewe;

       And for he wolde seme trewe,

       He makth him siek, whan he is heil.

       Bot whanne he berth lowest the Seil,

       Thanne is he swiftest to beguile

       The womman, which that ilke while

       Set upon him feith or credence.

       Mi Sone, if thou thi conscience

       Entamed hast in such a wise,

       In schrifte thou thee myht avise 710

       And telle it me,