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

excuse;

       The vice of hem that ben ungoode

       Is no reproef unto the goode: 490

       For every man hise oghne werkes

       Schal bere, and thus as of the clerkes

       The goode men ben to comende,

       And alle these othre god amende:

       For thei ben to the worldes ije

       The Mirour of ensamplerie,

       To reulen and to taken hiede

       Betwen the men and the godhiede.

       Now forto speke of the comune,

       It is to drede of that fortune 500

       Which hath befalle in sondri londes:

       Bot often for defalte of bondes

       Al sodeinliche, er it be wist,

       A Tonne, whanne his lye arist,

       Tobrekth and renneth al aboute,

       Which elles scholde noght gon oute;

       And ek fulofte a litel Skar

       Upon a Banke, er men be war,

       Let in the Strem, which with gret peine,

       If evere man it schal restreigne. 510

       Wher lawe lacketh, errour groweth,

       He is noght wys who that ne troweth,

       For it hath proeved ofte er this;

       And thus the comun clamour is

       In every lond wher poeple dwelleth,

       And eche in his compleignte telleth

       How that the world is al miswent,

       And ther upon his jugement

       Yifth every man in sondry wise.

       Bot what man wolde himself avise, 520

       His conscience and noght misuse,

       He may wel ate ferste excuse

       His god, which evere stant in on:

       In him ther is defalte non,

       So moste it stonde upon ousselve

       Nought only upon ten ne twelve,

       Bot plenerliche upon ous alle,

       For man is cause of that schal falle.

       And natheles yet som men wryte

       And sein that fortune is to wyte, 530

       And som men holde oppinion

       That it is constellacion,

       Which causeth al that a man doth:

       God wot of bothe which is soth.

       The world as of his propre kynde

       Was evere untrewe, and as the blynde

       Improprelich he demeth fame,

       He blameth that is noght to blame

       And preiseth that is noght to preise:

       Thus whan he schal the thinges peise, 540

       Ther is deceipte in his balance,

       And al is that the variance

       Of ous, that scholde ous betre avise;

       For after that we falle and rise,

       The world arist and falth withal,

       So that the man is overal

       His oghne cause of wel and wo.

       That we fortune clepe so

       Out of the man himself it groweth;

       And who that other wise troweth, 550

       Behold the poeple of Irael:

       For evere whil thei deden wel,

       Fortune was hem debonaire,

       And whan thei deden the contraire,

       Fortune was contrariende.

       So that it proeveth wel at ende

       Why that the world is wonderfull

       And may no while stonde full,

       Though that it seme wel besein;

       For every worldes thing is vein, 560

       And evere goth the whiel aboute,

       And evere stant a man in doute,

       Fortune stant no while stille,

       So hath ther noman al his wille.

       Als fer as evere a man may knowe,

       Ther lasteth nothing bot a throwe;

       The world stant evere upon debat,

       So may be seker non astat,

       Now hier now ther, now to now fro,

       Now up now down, this world goth so, 570

       And evere hath don and evere schal:

       Wherof I finde in special

       A tale writen in the Bible,

       Which moste nedes be credible;

       And that as in conclusioun

       Seith that upon divisioun

       Stant, why no worldes thing mai laste,

       Til it be drive to the laste.

       And fro the ferste regne of alle

       Into this day, hou so befalle, 580

       Of that the regnes be muable

       The man himself hath be coupable,

       Which of his propre governance

       Fortuneth al the worldes chance.

       The hyhe almyhti pourveance,

       In whos eterne remembrance

       Fro ferst was every thing present,

       He hath his prophecie sent,

       In such a wise as thou schalt hiere,

       To Daniel of this matiere, 590

       Hou that this world schal torne and wende,

       Till it be falle to his ende;

       Wherof the tale telle I schal,

       In which it is betokned al.

       As Nabugodonosor slepte,

       A swevene him tok, the which he kepte

       Til on the morwe he was arise,

       For he therof was sore agrise.

       To Daniel his drem he tolde,

       And preide him faire that he wolde 600

       Arede what it tokne may;

       And seide: "Abedde wher I lay,

       Me thoghte I syh upon a Stage

       Wher stod a wonder strange ymage.

       His hed with al the necke also

       Thei were of fin gold bothe tuo;

       His brest, his schuldres and his armes

       Were al of selver, bot the tharmes,

       The wombe and al doun to the kne,

       Of bras thei were upon to se; 610

       The legges were al mad of Stiel,

       So were his feet also somdiel,

       And somdiel part to hem was take

       Of Erthe which men Pottes make;

       The fieble meynd was with the stronge,

       So myhte it wel noght stonde longe.

       And tho me thoghte that I sih

       A gret ston from an hull on hyh

       Fel doun of sodein aventure

       Upon the feet of this figure, 620