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

dai,

       Whan comen is the merie Maii,

       He sprat his wynge and up he fleth:

       And under al aboute he seth

       The faire lusti floures springe,

       Bot therof hath he no likinge; 420

       Bot where he seth of eny beste

       The felthe, ther he makth his feste,

       And therupon he wole alyhte,

       Ther liketh him non other sihte.

       Riht so this janglere Envious,

       Thogh he a man se vertuous

       And full of good condicioun,

       Therof makth he no mencioun:

       Bot elles, be it noght so lyte,

       Wherof that he mai sette a wyte, 430

       Ther renneth he with open mouth,

       Behinde a man and makth it couth.

       Bot al the vertu which he can,

       That wole he hide of every man,

       And openly the vice telle,

       As he which of the Scole of helle

       Is tawht, and fostred with Envie

       Of houshold and of compaignie,

       Wher that he hath his propre office

       To sette on every man a vice. 440

       How so his mouth be comely,

       His word sit evermore awry

       And seith the worste that he may.

       And in this wise now a day

       In loves Court a man mai hiere

       Fulofte pleigne of this matiere,

       That many envious tale is stered,

       Wher that it mai noght ben ansuered;

       Bot yit fulofte it is believed,

       And many a worthi love is grieved 450

       Thurgh bacbitinge of fals Envie.

       If thou have mad such janglerie

       In loves Court, mi Sone, er this,

       Schrif thee therof. Mi fader, yis:

       Bot wite ye how? noght openly,

       Bot otherwhile prively,

       Whan I my diere ladi mete,

       And thenke how that I am noght mete

       Unto hire hihe worthinesse,

       And ek I se the besinesse 460

       Of al this yonge lusty route,

       Whiche alday pressen hire aboute,

       And ech of hem his time awaiteth,

       And ech of hem his tale affaiteth,

       Al to deceive an innocent,

       Which woll noght ben of here assent;

       And for men sein unknowe unkest,

       Hire thombe sche holt in hire fest

       So clos withinne hire oghne hond,

       That there winneth noman lond; 470

       Sche lieveth noght al that sche hiereth,

       And thus fulofte hirself sche skiereth

       And is al war of "hadde I wist":-

       Bot for al that myn herte arist,

       Whanne I thes comun lovers se,

       That woll noght holden hem to thre,

       Bot welnyh loven overal,

       Min herte is Envious withal,

       And evere I am adrad of guile,

       In aunter if with eny wyle 480

       Thei mihte hire innocence enchaunte.

       Forthi my wordes ofte I haunte

       Behynden hem, so as I dar,

       Wherof my ladi may be war:

       I sai what evere comth to mowthe,

       And worse I wolde, if that I cowthe;

       For whanne I come unto hir speche,

       Al that I may enquere and seche

       Of such deceipte, I telle it al,

       And ay the werste in special. 490

       So fayn I wolde that sche wiste

       How litel thei ben forto triste,

       And what thei wolde and what thei mente,

       So as thei be of double entente:

       Thus toward hem that wicke mene

       My wicked word was evere grene.

       And natheles, the soth to telle,

       In certain if it so befelle

       That althertrewest man ybore,

       To chese among a thousend score, 500

       Which were alfulli forto triste,

       Mi ladi lovede, and I it wiste,

       Yit rathere thanne he scholde spede,

       I wolde swiche tales sprede

       To my ladi, if that I myhte,

       That I scholde al his love unrihte,

       And therto wolde I do mi peine.

       For certes thogh I scholde feigne,

       And telle that was nevere thoght,

       For al this world I myhte noght 510

       To soffre an othre fully winne,

       Ther as I am yit to beginne.

       For be thei goode, or be thei badde,

       I wolde non my ladi hadde;

       And that me makth fulofte aspie

       And usen wordes of Envie,

       Al forto make hem bere a blame.

       And that is bot of thilke same,

       The whiche unto my ladi drawe,

       For evere on hem I rounge and gknawe 520

       And hindre hem al that evere I mai;

       And that is, sothly forto say,

       Bot only to my lady selve:

       I telle it noght to ten ne tuelve,

       Therof I wol me wel avise,

       To speke or jangle in eny wise

       That toucheth to my ladi name,

       The which in ernest and in game

       I wolde save into my deth;

       For me were levere lacke breth 530

       Than speken of hire name amis.

       Now have ye herd touchende of this,

       Mi fader, in confessioun:

       And therfor of Detraccioun

       In love, of that I have mispoke,

       Tel how ye wole it schal be wroke.

       I am al redy forto bere

       Mi peine, and also to forbere

       What thing that ye wol noght allowe;

       For who is bounden, he mot bowe. 540

       So wol I bowe unto youre heste,

       For I dar make this beheste,

       That I to yow have nothing hid,

       Bot told riht as it is betid;

       And otherwise of no mispeche,

       Mi conscience forto seche,

       I can noght of Envie finde,

       That I mispoke have oght behinde