Valerian, as ded, fell doun for drede,
Whan he him saw; and up he hent him tho,
And on his book right thus he gan to rede;
"On Lord, on faith, on God withouten mo,
On Cristendom, and fader of all also
Aboven all, and over all every wher:"
Thise wordes all with gold ywriten were.
Whan this was red, than said this olde man,
"Levest thou this thing or no? say ye or nay."
"I leve all this thing," quod Valerian,
"For sother thing than this, I dare wel say,
Under the Heven no wight thinken may."
Tho vanished the olde man, he n'iste wher,
And pope Urban him cristened right ther.
Valerian goth home, and fint Cecilie
Within his chambre with an angel stonde;
This angel had of roses and of lilie
Corones two, the which he bare in honde,
And first to Cecile, as I understonde,
Ile yaf that on, and after gan he take
That other to Valerian hire make.
"With body clene, and with unwemmed thought
Kepeth ay wel thise corones two" quod he,
From Paradis to you I have hem brought,
Ne never mo ne shul they roten be,
Ne lese hire swete savour, trusteth me,
Ne never wight shal seen hem with his eye,
But he be chaste, and hate vilanie.
"And thou, Valerian, for thou so sone Assentedest to good conseil, also
Say what thee list, and thou shalt han thy bone."
"I have a brother," quod Valerian tho,
"That in this world I love no man so,
I pray you that my brother may have grace
To know the trouth, as I do in this place."
The angel sayd; "God liketh thy request,
And bothe with the palme of martirdome
Ye shullen come unto his blisful rest."
And with that word, Tiburce his brother come.
And whan that he the savour undernome,
Which that the roses and the lilies cast,
Within his herte he gan to wonder fast,
And said; "I wonder this time of the yere
Whennes that swete savour cometh so
Of roses and lilies, that I smelle here;
For though I had hem in min hondes two,
The savour might in me no deper go:
The swete smel, that in min herte I find,
Hath changed me all in another kind."
Valerian saide; "Two corones han we
Snow-white and rose-red, that shinen clere,
Which that thin eyen han no might to see:
And as thou smellest hem thurgh my praiere,
So shalt thou seen hem, leve brother dere,
If it so be thou wolt withouten slouthe
Beleve aright, and know the veray trouthe."
Tiburce answered; "Saith thou this to me
In sothnesse, or in dreme herken I this?"
"In dremes," quod Valerian, "han we be
Unto this time, brother min, ywis:
But now at erst in trothe our dwelling is." [wise?" "How wost thou this," quod Tiburce, in what Quod Valerian; "That shal I thee devise.
"The angel of God hath me the trouth ytaught, Which thou shalt seen, if that thou wilt reney The idoles, and be clene, and elles naught. [And of the miracle of thise corones twey Seint Ambrose in his preface list to sey; Solempnely this noble doctour dere Commendeth it, and saith in this manere.
The palme of martirdome for to receive,
Seinte Cecilie, fulfilled of Goddes yeft,
The world and eke hir chambre gan she weive;
Witnesse Tiburces and Ceciles shrift,
To which God of his bountee wolde shift
Corones two, of floures wel smelling,
And made his angel hem the corones bring.
The maid hath brought thise men to blisse above;
The world hath wist what it is worth certain
Devotion of chastitee to love.]
Tho shewed him Cecile all open and plain,
That all idoles ni's but a thing in vain,
For they ben dombe, and therto they ben deve,
And charged him with his idoles for to leve.
"Who so that troweth not this, a best he is," Quod this Tiburce, "if that I shall not lie." And she gan kisse his brest whan she herd this, And was ful glad he coude trouth espie: "This day I take thee for min allie," Saide this blisful faire maiden dere; And after that she said as ye may here.
"Lo, right so as the love of Crist" (quod she) "Made me thy brothers wif, right in that wise Anon for mine allie here take I thee, Sithen that thou wolt thin idoles despise. Goth with thy brother now and thee baptise, And make the clene, so that thou maist behold The angels face, of which thy brother told."
Tiburce answered, and saide; "Brother dere,
First tell me whither I shal, and to what man.
To whom?" quod he; "Com forth with goode
I wol thee lede unto the pope Urban."
"To Urban? brother min Valerian,"
Quod tho Tiburce, "wilt thou me thider lede?
Me thinketh that it were a wonder dede.
"Ne menest thou not Urban" (quod he tho)
"That is so often damned to be ded,
That woneth in halkes alway to and fro,
And dare not ones putten for his hed?
Men shuld him brennen in a fire so red,
If he were found, or that men might him spie,
And we also, to bere him compagnie.
"And while we seken thilke divinitee,
That is yhid in Heven prively,
Algate ybrent in this world shuld we be."
To whom Cecile answered boldely;
"Men mighten dreden wel and skilfully
This life to lese, min owen dere brother,
If this were living only and non other.
"But ther is better lif in other place,
That never shal be lost, ne drede thee nought:
Which Goddes sone us tolde thurgh his grace,
That fadres sone which alle thinges wrought;
And all that wrought is with a skilful thought,
The gost, that from the fader gan procede,
Hath souled hem withouten any drede.
“By word and by miracle he Goddes sone,
Whan he was in this world, declared here,
That ther is other lif ther men may wone."
To whom answerd Tiburce; "O suster dere,
Ne saidest thou right now in this manere,
Ther n'as but o God, lord in sothfastnesse,
And now of three how mayst thou bere witnesse?"
"That shal I tell," quod she, "or that I go.
Right as a man hath sapiences three,
Memorie, engine, and intellect also,
So in o being of divinitee
Three persones mowen ther righte wel be."
Tho gan she him ful besily to preche
Of Cristes sonde, and of his peines teche,
And many pointes of his passion;
How Goddes sone in this world was withhold
To don mankinde pleine remission,
That was ybound in sinne and cares cold,
All this thing she unto Tiburce told,
And after this Tiburce in good entent,
With Valerian to pope Urban he went,
That thanked God, and with glad herte and light
He cristened him, and made him in that place
Parfite in his lerning and Goddes knight.
And after this Tiburce gat swiche grace,
That every day he saw in time and space
The angel of God, and every maner bone
That he God axed, it was sped ful sone.
It were ful hard by ordre for to sain
How many wonders Jesus for hem wrought.
But at the last, to tellen short and plain,
The sergeaunts of the toun of Rome hem sought,
And hem before Almache the prefect brought,
Which hem apposed, and knew all hire entent,
And to the image of Jupiter hem sent;
And said; "Who so wol nought do sacrifice,.
Swap of his hed, this is my sentence here."
Anon thise martyrs, that I you devise,
On Maximus, that was an officere
Of the prefectes, and his corniculere,
Hem bent, and whan he forth the seintes lad,
Himself he wept for pitee that he had.
Whan Maximus had herd the seintes lore,
He gate him of the turmentoures leve,
And lad hem to his hous withouten more;
And with hir preching, or that it were eve,
They gonnen fro the turmentours to reve,
And fro Maxime, and fro his folk eche on
The false faith, to trowe in God alone.
Cecilie came, whan it was waxen night,
With preestes, that hem cristened all yfere;
And afterward, whan day was waxen light,
Cecilie hem said with a ful stedfast chere;
Now, Cristes owen knightes leve and dere,
Caste all away the werkes of derkenesse,
And armeth you in armes of brightnesse.
"Ye han forsoth ydon a gret bataille;
Your cours is don, your faith han ye conserved;
Goth to the croune of lif that may not faille;
The right ful juge, which that ye han served,
Shal yeve it you, as ye han it deserved."
And whan this thing was said, as I devise,
Men ledde hem forth to don the sacrifice.
But whan they weren to the place ybrought,
To tellen shortly the conclusioun,
They n'olde encense, ne sacrifice right nought,
But on hir knees they setten hem adoun,
With humble herte and sad devotioun,
And losten bothe hir hedes in the place;
Hir soules wenten to the king of grace.
This Maximus, that saw this thing betide,
With pitons teres told it anon right,
That he hir snules saw to Heven glide
With angels, ful of clerenesse and of light;
And with his word converted many a wight.
For which Almachius did him to-bete
With whip of led, til he his lif gan lete.
Cecilie him toke, and buried him anon
By Tiburce and Valerian softely,
Within hir burying place, under the ston.
And after this Almachius hastily
Bad his ministers fetchen openly
Cecile, so that she might in his presence
Don sacrifice, and Jupiter encense.
But they converted at hire wise lore
Wepten ful sore, and yaven ful credence
Unto hire word, and crieden more and more;
"Crist, Goddes sone, withouten difference
Is veray God, this is all our sentence,
That hath so good a servant him to serve:
Thus with o vois we trowen though we sterve."
Almachius, that herd of this doing,
Bad fetchen Cecile, that he might hire see:
And alderfirst, lo, this was his axing;
"What maner woman arte thou?” quod he.
"I ani a gentilwoman born," quod she.
"I axe thee," quod he, "though it thee greve,
Of thy religion and of thy beleve."
"Why then began your question folily,"
Quod she," that woldest two answers conclude
In o demand? ye axen lewedly."
Almache answerd to that similitude,
"Of whennes cometh thin answering so rude?"
"Of whennes?"(quod she, whan that she was freined)
"Of conscience, and of good faith unfeined."
Almachius said; "Ne takest thou non hede
Of my power?" and she him answerd this;
"Your might" (quod she) "ful litel is to drede;
For every mortal mannes power n'is
But like a bladder full of wind ywis:
For with a nedles point, whan it is blow,
May all the bost of it be laid ful low."
"Ful wrongfully begonnest thou," (quod he)
"And yet in wrong is al thy perseverance:
Wost thou not how our mighty princes free
Have thus commanded and made ordinance,
That every cristen wight shal han penance
But if that he his Cristendome withseye,
And gon al quite, if he wol it reneye?"
"Your princes erren, as your nobley doth,"
Quod tho Cecile, " and with a wood sentence
Ye make us gilty, and it is not soth:
For ye that knowen wel our innocence,
For as moche as we don ay reverence
To Crist, and for we bere a cristen name,
Ye put on us a crime and eke a blame,
"But we that knowen thilke name so
For vertuous, we may it not withseye."
Almache answered; "Chese on of thise two,
Do sacrifice, or Cristendom reneye,
That thou mow now escapen by that wey."
At which this holy blisful fayre maid
Gan for to laughe, and to the juge said;
"O juge confuse in thy nicetee,
Woldest thou that I reneye innocence ?
To maken me a wicked wight" (quod she)
"Lo, he dissimuleth here in audience,
He stareth and wodeth in his advertence."
To whom Almachius said; "Unsely wretch,
Ne wost thou not how far my might may stretch?
"Han not our mighty princes to me yeven
Ya bothe power and eke auctoritee
To maken folk to dien or to liven?
Why spekest thou so proudly than to me?"
"I ne speke nought but stedfastly," quod she,
"Not proudely, for I say, as for my side,
We haten dedly thilke vice of pride.
"And if thou drede not a soth for to here,
Than wo! I shewe al openly by right,
That thou hast made a fu! gret lesing here.
Thou saist, thy princes han thee yeven might
Both for to slee and for to quiken a wight,
Thou that ne maist but only lif bereve,
Thou hast non other power ne no leve.
"But thou maist sayn, thy princes han thee maked
Ministre of deth; for if thou speke of mo,
Thou liest; for thy power is ful naked."
"Do way thy boldnesse," said Almachius tho,
"And sacrifice to our goddes, er thou go.
I recke not what wrong that thou me proffre,
For I can suffre it as a philosophre.
"But thilke wronges may I not endure,
That thou spekest of our goddes here," quod he.
Cecile answerd; "O nice creature,
Thou saidest no word sin thou spake to me,
That I ne knew therwith thy nicetee,
And that thou were in every maner wise
A lewed officer, a vain justice.
"Ther lacketh nothing to thin utter eyen
That thou n'art blind; for thing that we seen alle
That is a ston, that men may wel espien,
That ilke ston a god thou wolt it calle.
I rede thee let thin hond upon it falle,
And tast it wel, and stop thou shalt it find,
Sin that thou seest not with thin eyen blind.
"It is a shame that the peple shal
So scornen thee, and laugh at thy folie:
For comunly men wot it wel over al,
That mighty God is in his Hevens hie;
And thise images, wel maist thou espie,
To thee ne to hemself may not profite,
For in effect they be not worth a mite."
Thise and swiche other wordes saide she,
And he wex wroth, and bade men should hire lede
Home til hire house, "and in hire hous" (quod he)
"Brenne hire right in a bath, with flames rede."
And as he bade, right so was don the dede;
For in a bathe they gonne hire faste shetten,
And night and day gret fire they under betten.
The longe night, and eke a day also,
For all the fire, and eke the bathes hete,
She sate al cold, and felt of it no wo,
It made hire not a drope for to swete:
But in that bath hire lif she muste lete,
For he Almache, with a ful wicke entent,
To sleen hire in the bath his sonde sent.
Three strokes in the nekke he smote hire tho
The turmentour, but for no maner chance
He mighte not smite all hire nekke atwo:
And for ther was that time an ordinance
That no man shulde don man swiche penance,
The fourthe stroke to smiten, soft or sore,
This turmentour ne dorste do no more;
But half ded, with hire nekke ycorven ther
He left hire lie, and on his way is went.
The cristen folk, which that aboute hire were,
With shetes han the blood ful faire yhent:
Three dayes lived she in this turment,
And never cesed hem the faith to teche,
That she had fostred hem, she gan to preche
And hem she yaf hire mebles and hire thing,
And to the pope Urban betoke hem tho,
And said; "I axed this of Heven king,
To have respit three dayes and no mo,
To recommend to you, or that I go,
Thise soules, l, and that I might do werche
Here of min hous perpetuellich a cherche."
Seint Urban, with his dekenes prively
The body fette, and buried it by night
Among his other seintes honestly:
Hire hous the cherche of Seinte Cecile hight;
Seint Urban halowed it, as he wel might,
In which unto this day in noble wise
Men don to Crist and to his seinte servise.
CHANONES YEMANNES PROLOGUE. WHAN that tolde was the lif of Seinte Cecile, Er we had ridden fully five mile, At Boughton under Blee us gan atake A man, that clothed was in clothes blake, And undernethe he wered a white surplis. His hakeney, which that was al pomelee gris, So swatte, that it wonder was to see, It semed as he had priked miles three. The horse eke that his Yeman rode.upon, So swatte, that unnethes might he gon. About the peytrel stood the fome ful hie, He was of fome as flecked as a pie. A male tweifold on his croper lay, It semed that he caried litel array, Al light for sommer rode this worthy man. And in my herte wondren I began What that he was, til that I understode, How that his cloke was sowed to his hode; For which whan I had long avised me, I demed him some chanon for to be. His hat heng at his back doun by a las, For he had ridden more than trot or pas, He had ay priked like as he were wode. A clote-lefe he had laid under his hode
For swete, and for to kepe his hed fro hete.
But it was joye for to seen him swete;
His forehed dropped, as a stillatorie
Were ful of plaintaine or of paritorie.
And whan that he was come, he gan to crie,
"God save" (quod he) " this joly compagnie.
Fast have I priked" (quod he)" for your sake,
Because that I wolde you atake,
To riden in this mery compagnie."
His Yeman was eke ful of curtesie,
And saide; "Sires, now in the morwe tide
Out of your hostelrie I saw you ride,
And warned here my lord and soverain,
Which that to riden with you is ful fain,
For his disport; he loveth daliance."
"Frend, for thy warningGod yeve thee good chance,"
Than said our Hoste; "certain it wolde seme
Thy lord were wise, and so I may wel deme;
He is ful joconde also dare I leye:
Can he ought tell a mery tale or tweie,
With which he gladen may this compagnie ?"
"Who, sire? my lord? Ye, sire, withouten lie,
He can of mirth and eke of jolitee
Not but ynough; also, sire, trusteth me,
And ye him knew al so wel as do I,
Ye wolden wondre how wel and craftily
He coude werke, and that in sondry wise.
He hath take on him many a gret emprise,
Which were ful harde for any that is here
To bring about, but they of him it lere.
As homely as he rideth amonges you,
If ye him knew, it wold be for your prow:
Ye wolden not forgon his acquaintance
For mochel good, I dare lay in balance
All that I have in my possession.
He is a man of high discression,
I warne you wel, he is a passing man.
"Wel," quod our Hoste," I pray thee tell me than, Is he a clerk, or non? tell what he is."
"Nay, he is greter than a clerk ywis," Saide this Yeman, " and in wordes fewe, Hoste, of his craft somwhat I wol you shewe. "I say, my lord can swiche a subtiltee, (But all his craft ye moun not wete of me, And somwhat help I yet to his werking) That all the ground on which we ben riding Til that we come to Canterbury toun, He coud al clene turnen up so doun, And pave it all of silver and of gold."
And whan this Yeman had this tale ytolde Unto our Hoste, he said; "Benedicite, This thing is wonder mervaillous to me, Sin that thy lord is of so high prudence, Because of which men shulde bim reverence, That of his worship rekketh he so lite; His overest sloppe it is not worth a mite As in effect to him, so mote I go; It is all baudy and to-tore also. Why is thy lord so sluttish I thee preye, And is of power better cloth to beye, If that his dede accorded with thy speche? Telle me that, and that I thee beseche." "Why?" quod this Yeman, "wherto axe ye me? God helpe me so, for he shal never the: (But I wol not avowen that I say, And therfore kepe it secree I you pray) He is to wise in faith, as I beleve. Thing that is overdon, it wol not preve Aright, as clerkes sain, it is a vice; Wherfore in that I hold him lewed and nice.
For whan a man hath overgret a wit, Ful oft him happeth to misusen it:
So doth my lord, and that me greveth sore. God it amende, I can say now no more." "Therof no force, good yeman," quod our Host, "Sin of the conning of thy lord thou wost, Telle how he doth, I pray thee hertily, Sin that he is so crafty and so sly. Wher dwellen ye, if it to tellen be?"
"In the subarbes of a toun," quod he, "Lurking in hernes and in lanes blinde, Wheras thise robbours and thise theves by kinde Holden hir privee fereful residence,
As they that dare not shewen hir presence,
So faren we, if I shal say the sothe."
"Yet," quod our Hoste," let me talken to
the;
Why art thou so discoloured of thy face?"
"Peter," quod he, "God yeve it harde grace,
I am so used the hote fire to blow,
That it hath changed my colour I trow;
I n'am not wont in no mirrour to prie,
But swinke sore, and lerne to multiplie.
We blundren ever, and poren in the fire,
And for all that we faille of our desire,
For ever we lacken our conclusion.
To mochel folk we don illusion,
And borwe gold, be it a pound or two,
Or ten or twelve, or many sommes mo,
And make hem wenen at the leste wey,
That of a pound we connen maken twey,
Yet is it false; and ay we han good hope
It for to don, and after it we grope:
But that science is so fer us beforne,
We mowen not, although we had it sworne,
It overtake, it slit away so fast;
It wol us maken beggers at the last."
While this Yeman was thus in his talking, This Chanon drow him nere, and herd all thing Which this yeman spake, for suspecion Of mennes speche ever had this Chanon: For Caton sayth, that " he that gilty is, Demeth all thing be spoken of him ywis:" That was the cause, he gan so nigh him drawe To his Yeman, to herken all his sawe, And thus he saide unto his Yeman tho; "Hold thou thy pees, and speke no wordes mo: For if thou do, thou shalt it dere abie. Thou selaundrest me here in this compagnie, And eke discoverest that thou shuldest hide." "Ye," quod our Hoste, "tell- on, what so betide;
Of all his thretening recke not a mite."
"In faith," quod he, “no more I do but lite." And whan this Chanon saw it wold not be, But his Yeman wold tell his privetee,
He fled away for veray sorwe and shame.
"A," quod the Yeman, "here shal rise a game> All that I can anon I wol you telle, Sin he is gon; the foule fend him quelle; For never hereafter wol I with him mete For peny ne for pound, I you behete. He that me broughte first unto that game, Er that he die, sorwe have he and shame. For it is ernest to me by my faith; That fele I wel, what that any man saith; And yet for all my smert, and all my grief, For all my sorwe, labour, and meschief,
I coude never leve it in no wise.
Now wolde God my wit mighte suffice
To tellen all that longeth to that art;
But natheles, yet wol I tellen part;
Sin that my lord is gon, I wol not spare,
Swiche thing as that I know, I wol declare."
CHANONES YEMANNES TALE.
WITH this Chanon I dwelt have seven yere,
And of his science am I never the nere:
All that I had, I have ylost therby,
And God wot, so han many mo than I.
Ther I was wont to be right fresh and gay
Of clothing, and of other good array,
Now may I were an hose upon min hed;
And wher my colour was both fresh and red,
Now is it wan, and of a leden hewe;
(Who so it useth, so shal he it rewe)
And of my swinke yet blered is min eye;
Lo which avantage is to multiplie !
That sliding science hath me made so bare,
That I have no good, wher that ever I fare;
And yet I am endetted so therby
Of gold, that I have borwed trewely,
That while I live, I shal it quiten never;
Let every man be ware by me for ever.
What maner man that casteth him therto,
If he continue, I hold his thrift ydo;
So help me God, therby shal he nat winne,
But empte his purse, and make his wittes thinne.
And whan he, thurgh his madnesse and folie,
Hath lost his owen good thurgh jupartie,
Than he exciteth other folk therto,
To lese hir good as he himself bath do,
For unto shrewes joye it is and ese
To have hir felawes in peine and disese.
Thus was I ones lerned of a clerk;
Of that no charge; I wol speke of our werk.
Whan we be ther as we shuln exercise
Our elvish craft, we semen wonder wise,
Our termes ben so clergial and queinte.
I blow the fire til that myn herte feinte.
What shuld I tellen eche proportion
Of thinges, whiche that we werchen upon,
As on five or six unces, may wel be,
Of silver, or som other quantitee?
And besie me to tellen you the names,
As orpiment, brent bones, yren squames,
That into poudre grounden ben ful smal ?
And in an erthen pot how put is al,
And salt yput in, and also pepere,
Beforn thise poudres that I speke of here,
And wel ycovered with a lampe of glas ?
And of moche other thing which that ther was?
And of the pottes and glasses engluting,
That of the aire might passen out no thing?
And of the esy fire, and smert also,
Which that was made? and of the care and wo,
That we bad in our materes subliming,
And in amalgaming, and calcening
Of quiksilver, ycleped mercurie crude?
For all our sleightes we can not conclude.
Our orpiment, and sublimed mercurie,
Our grounden litarge eke on the porphurie,
Of eche of thise of unces a certain
Not helpeth us, our labour is in vain.
Ne, neyther our spirites ascentioun,
Ne our materes that lien al fix adoun,
Mown in our werking nothing us availle;
For lost is all our labour and travaille,
And all the cost a twenty devil way
Is lost also, which we upon it lay.
Ther is also ful many another thing,
That is unto our craft apperteining,
Though I by ordre hem nat rehersen can,
Because that I am a lewed man,
Yet wol I telle hem, as they come to minde,
Though I ne cannot set hem in hir kinde,
As bole armoniak, verdegrese, boras;
And sondry vessels made of erthe and glas,
Our urinales, and our descensories,
Viols, croslettes, and sublimatories,
Cucuribtes, and alembikes eke,
And other swiche gere, dere ynough a leke,
What nedeth it for to reherse hem alle?
Wateres rubifying, and bolles galle,
Arsenik, sal armoniak, and brimston ?
And herbes coude I tell eke many on,
As egremoine, valerian, and lunarie,
And other swiche, if that me list to tarie;
Our lampes brenning bothe night and day,
To bring about our craft if that we may;
Our fourneis eke of calcination,
And of wateres albification,
Unslekked lime, chalk, and gleire of an ey,
Poudres divers, ashes, dong, pisse, and cley,
Sered pokettes, sal peter, and vitriole;
And divers fires made of wode and cole;
Sal tartre, alcaly, and salt preparat,
And combust materes, and coagulat;
Cley made with hors and mannes here, and oile
Of tartre, alum, glas, berme, wort, and argoile,
Rosalgar, and other materes enbibing;
And eke of our materes encorporing,
And of our silver citrination,
Our cementing, and fermentation,
Our ingottes, testes, and many thinges mo.
I wol you tell as was me taught also
The foure spirites, and the bodies sevene
By ordre, as oft I herd my lord hem nevene.
The firste spirit quiksilver cleped is;
The second orpiment; the thridde ywis
Sal armoniak, and the fourth brimston.
The bodies sevene eke, lo hem here anon.
Sol gold is, and Luna silver we threpe;
Mars iren, Mercurie quiksilver we clepe:
Saturnus led, and Jupiter is tin,
And Venus coper, by my fader kin.
This cursed craft who so wol exercise,
He shal no good have, that him may suffice,
For all the good he spendeth theraboute
He lesen shal, therof have I no doute.
Who so that listeth uttren his folie,
Let him come forth and lernen multiplie:
And every man that hath ought in his cofre,
Let him appere, and wex a philosophre,
Ascaunce that craft is so light to lere.
Nay, nay, God wot, al be he monk or frere,
Preest or chanon, or any other wight,
Though he sit at his book both day and night
In lerning of this elvish nice lore,
All is in vain, and parde mochel more
To lerne a lewed man this subtiltee;
Fie, speke not therof, for it wol not be.
And conne he letterure, or conne he non,
As in effect, he shal finde it all on ;
For bothe two by my salvation
Concluden in multiplication
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