Of nobles fette, and took hem everichon To this chanoun, for this ilke receit; 1366 Al his werking nas but fraude and deceit.

'Sir preest,' he seyde, 'I kepe han no loos Of my craft, for I wolde it kept were cloos; And as ye love me, kepeth it secree; 1370 For, and men knewe al my subtilitee, By god, they wolden han so greet envye To me, by-cause of my philosophye, (820) I sholde be deed, ther were non other weye.'

God it forbede!' quod the preest, 'what sey ye?'

1375

Yet hadde I lever spenden al the good Which that I have (and elles wexe I wood!) Than that ye sholden falle in swich mescheef.'

'For your good wil, sir, have ye right good preef,'

Quod the chanoun, and far-wel, grant mercy!' 1380

He wente his wey and never the preest him sy

After that day; and whan that this preest
sholde
(829)

Maken assay, at swich tyme as he wolde,
Of this receit, far-wel! it wolde nat be!
Lo, thus byjaped and bigyled was he! 1385
Thus maketh he his introduccioun
To bringe folk to hir destruccioun.-

Considereth, sirs, how that, in ech estaat,

Bitwixe men and gold ther is debaat
So ferforth, that unnethes is ther noon.
This multiplying blent so many oon, 1391
That in good feith I trowe that it be
The cause grettest of swich scarsetee. (840)
Philosophres speken so mistily

In this craft, that men can nat come therby, 1395

For any wit that men han now a-dayes. They mowe wel chiteren, as doon thise jayes,

And in her termes sette hir lust and peyne, But to hir purpos shul they never atteyne. A man may lightly lerne, if he have aught, To multiplye, and bringe his good to naught! (848) 1401

Lo! swich a lucre is in this lusty game, A mannes mirthe it wol torne un-to grame, And empten also grete and hevy purses, And maken folk for to purchasen curses Of hem, that han hir good therto y-lent. O! fy! for shame! they that han been brent, 1407

Allas! can they nat flee the fyres hete? Ye that it use, I rede ye it lete,

Lest ye lese al; for bet than never is late. 1410 Never to thryve were to long a date. Though ye prolle ay, ye shul it never finde ; (859)

Ye been as bolde as is Bayard the blinde, That blundreth forth, and peril casteth

Lo, thus seith Arnold of the Newe Toun,
As his Rosarie maketh mencioun ;
He seith right thus, with-outen any lye,
Ther may no man Mercurie mortifye, 1431
But it be with his brother knowleching.
How that he, which that first seyde this
thing,
(880)

Of philosophres fader was, Hermes;
He seith, how that the dragoun, doutelees,
Ne deyeth nat, but-if that he be slayn 1436
With his brother; and that is for to sayn,
By the dragoun, Mercurie and noon other
He understood; and brimstoon by his
brother,

That out of sol and luna were y-drawe.
And therfor,' seyde he, 'tak heed to my

sawe,

1445

1441 Let no man bisy him this art for to seche, But-if that he th'entencioun and speche Of philosophres understonde can; (891) And if he do, he is a lewed man. For this science and this conning,' quod he, Is of the secree of secrees, parde.' Also ther was a disciple of Plato, That on a tyme seyde his maister to, As his book Senior wol bere witnesse, 1450 And this was his demande in soothfastnesse:

'Tel me the name of the privy stoon?'

And Plato answerde unto him anoon, 'Tak the stoon that Titanos men name.' 'Which is that?' quod he. 'Magnesia is the same,' (902) 1455

Seyde Plato. 'Ye, sir, and is it thus ?
This is ignotum per ignotius.
What is Magnesia, good sir, I yow preye?'
'It is a water that is maad, I seye,
Of elementes foure,' quod Plato.

6

1460 'Tel me the rote, good sir,' quod he tho, 'Of that water, if that it be your wille?' 'Nay, nay,' quod Plato, certein, that I nille. (910) The philosophres sworn were everichoon, That they sholden discovere it un-to noon, 1463

Ne in no book it wryte in no manere ;
For un-to Crist it is so leef and dere
That he wol nat that it discovered be,
But wher it lyketh to his deitee

Man for t'enspyre, and eek for to defende Whom that him lyketh; lo, this is the ende.'

1471

That he hath dronke, he speketh in his nose,

And fneseth faste, and eek he hath the pose.

He hath also to do more than y-nough
To kepe him and his capel out of slough;
And, if he falle from his capel eft-sone, 65
Than shul we alle have y-nough to done,
In lifting up his hevy dronken cors.
Telle on thy tale, of him make I no fors.
But yet, maunciple, in feith thou art to
пусе,

Thus openly repreve him of his vyce. 70
Another day he wol, peraventure,

Reclayme thee, and bringe thee to lure; I mene, he speke wol of smale thinges, As for to pinchen at thy rekeninges, That wer not honeste, if it cam to preef.' 'No,' quod the maunciple, that were a greet mescheef!

76

So mighte he lightly bringe me in the

snare.

Yet hadde I lever payen for the mare Which he rit on, than he sholde with me stryve; 79

I wol nat wratthe him, al-so mote I thryve! That that I spak, I seyde it in my bourde; And wite ye what? I have heer, in a gourde,

And of that drinke the cook was wonder fayn,

And thanked him in swich wyse as he coude.

Than gan our host to laughen wonder loude,

And seyde, 'I see wel, it is necessarie, 95 Wher that we goon, good drink we with us carie;

For that wol turne rancour and disese T'acord and love, and many a wrong apese.

O thou Bachus, y-blessed be thy name, That so canst turnen ernest in-to game! Worship and thank be to thy deitee! ro Of that matere ye gete na-more of me. Tel on thy tale, maunciple, I thee preye.' 'Wel, sir,' quod he, 'now herkneth what I seye.'

119

That with his singing walled that citee,
Coude never singen half so wel as he.
Therto he was the semelieste man
That is or was, sith that the world bigan.
What nedeth it his fetures to discryve?
For in this world was noon so fair on lyve.
He was ther-with fulfild of gentillesse,
Of honour, and of parfit worthinesse. (20)
This Phebus, that was flour of bachelrye,
As wel in fredom as in chivalrye,
For his desport, in signe eek of victorie
Of Phitoun, so as telleth us the storie,
Was wont to beren in his hand a bowe.

126

And countrefete the speche of every man He coude, whan he sholde telle a tale. 135 Ther-with in al this world no nightingale Ne coude, by an hondred thousand deel, Singen so wonder merily and weel.

Now had this Phebus in his hous a wyf, Which that he lovede more than his lyf, And night and day dide ever his diligence Hir for to plese, and doon hir reverence, Save only, if the sothe that I shal sayn, Jalous he was, and wolde have kept hir fayn;

(40)

Tak any brid, and put it in a cage, And do al thyn entente and thy corage (60) To fostre it tendrely with mete and drinke,

165 Of alle deyntees that thou canst bithinke, And keep it al-so clenly as thou may; Al-though his cage of gold be never so gay, Yet hath this brid, by twenty thousand fold,

Lever in a forest, that is rude and cold, 170
Gon ete wormes and swich wrecchednesse.
For ever this brid wol doon his bisinesse
To escape out of his cage, if he may;
His libertee this brid desireth ay. (70)
Lat take a cat, and fostre him wel with
milk,
175
And tendre flesh, and make his couche
of silk,

And lat him seen a mous go by the wal ;
Anon he weyveth milk, and flesh, and al,
And every deyntee that is in that hous,
Swich appetyt hath he to ete a mous. 180
Lo, here hath lust his dominacioun,
And appetyt flemeth discrecioun.

A she-wolf hath also a vileins kinde; The lewedeste wolf that she may finde, (80) Or leest of reputacion wol she take, 185 In tyme whan hir lust to han a make.

Alle thise ensamples speke I by thise