Allas, thought I, what aventures
Han these sory creatures,
For they amonges al the pres,
Shul thus be shamed gilteles!
But what! hyt moste nedes be.
What dide this Eolus, but he
Toke out hys blake trumpe of bras,
That fouler than the Devel was,
And gan this trumpe for to blowe,
As al the worlde shuld overthrowe.
That thrughout every regioun
Wente this foule trumpes soun,
As swifte as pelet out of gonne,
Whan fire is in the poudre ronne.
And suche a smoke gan out-wende,
Out of his foule trumpes ende,
Blak, bloo, grenyssh, swarte, rede,
As doth where that men melte lede,
Loo, alle on high fro the tuelle ! 1
And therto oo thing saugh I welle,
'That the ferther that hit ran,
The gretter wexen hit began,
As dooth the ryver from a welle,
And hyt stank as the pitte of helle.
Allas, thus was her shame yronge,
And giltelesse, on every tonge.
Tho come the thridde companye, .
And gunne up to the dees to hye,
And doun on knes they fille anoon,
And seyde, "We ben everychoon
Folke that han ful truelly
Deservede fame ryghtfully,
And praye yow hit mot be knowe,
Ryght as hit is, and forth y-blowe."
"I graunte," quod she, "for me leste
That now youre good werkes be wiste;
And yet ye shul han better loos,
In dispite of alle your foos,
Than worthy is, and that anoon :
Late now," quod she, "thy trumpe goon,
Thou Eolus, that is so blake;
And out thyn other trumpe take
That highte Laude, and blowe yt soo
That thrugh the worlde her fame goo,
Esely and not to faste,
That hyt be knowen atte laste."
"Ful gladly, lady myn," he seyde;
And oute hys trumpe of golde he brayde
Anoon, and set hyt to his mouthe,
And blew it est, and west, and southe,
And northe, as lowde as any thunder,
That every wight hath of hit wonder,
So brode hyt ran or than hit stynte.
And, certes, al the breth that wente
Out of his trumpes mouthe smelde
As men a potte ful of bawme1 helde
Amonge a basket ful of roses;
This favour dide he til her loses."
1 Balm. To their praises.
And ryght with this I gan aspye,
Ther come the ferthe companye,
But certeyn they were wonder fewe,
And gunne stonden in a rewe,
And seyden, "Certes, lady bryghte,
We han doon wel with al our myghte,
But we ne kepen have no fame.
Hide our werkes and our name,
For Goddys love! for certes we
Han certeyn doon hyt for bounte,1
And for no maner other thinge."
"I graunte yow alle your askynge,"
Quod she; "let your werkes be dede."
With that aboute I clywe 2 myn hede,
And saugh anoon the fifte route
That to this lady gunne loute,
And doun on knes anoon to falle;
And to hir thoo besoughten alle,
To hiden her goode werkes eke,
And seyden, they geven noght a leke
For no fame, ne suche renoun;
For they for contemplacioun,
And Goddes love, hadde y-wrought,
Ne of fame wolde they nought.
"What?" quod she, "and be ye woode?
And wene ye for to doo goode,
And for to have of that no fame?
Have ye dispite to have my name?
Nay, ye shul lyen everychoon!
1 Goodness. 3 Turned. 8 Bow. • Mad.
66 NEITHER THAT NE THIS." Blowe thy trumpes and that anoon," Quod she, "thou Eolus yhote,1
And rynge this folkes werkes be note,
That alle the woride may of hyt here."
And he gan blowe hir loos so clere,
In his golden clarioun,
That thrugh the worlde wente the soun,
Also kenely, and eke so softe,
But atte last hyt was on lofte.
Thoo come the sexte companye,
And gunne fast on Fame crie.
Ryght verraly in this manere
They seyden: "Mercy, lady dere!
To telle certeyn as hyt is,
We han doon neither that ne this,
But ydel al oure lyfe ybe.
But, natheles, yet preye we,
That we mowe han as good fame,
And gret renoun and knowen name,
As they that han doon noble gestes,
And acheved all her lestes,2
As wel of love as other thynge;
Alle was us never broche ne rynge,
Ne elles nought from wymmen sent;
Ne ones in her herte yment,
To make us oonly frendly chere,
But myghte temen1 us upon bere,
Yet lat us to the peple seme
Suche as the worlde may of us deme
1 Named. • Desires. Although. Witness (Fr. témoin)
That wommen loven us for wode.1
Hyt shal doon us a moche goode,
And to our herte as moche avaylle
The countrepese, ese, and travaylle,
As we had wonne hyt with labour;
For that is dere boght honour,
At regard of oure grete ese.
And yet thou most us more plese;
Let us be holden, eke therto,
Worthy, wise, and goode also,
And riche, and happy unto love.
For Goddes love that sit above,
Thogh we may not the body have
Of wymmen, yet, so God yow save!
Leet men gliwe 2 on us the name;
Sufficeth that we han the fame."
"I graunte," quod she, "be my trouthe! Now, Eolus, withouten slouthe,
Take out thy trumpe of golde," quod she,
"And blow as they han axed me,
That every man wene hem at ese,
Though they goon in ful badde lese." "
This Eolus gan hit so blowe,
That thrugh the worlde hyt was yknowe.
Thoo come the seventh route anoon,
And fel on knees everychoon,
And seyde, "Lady, graunte us sone
The same thing, the same bone,
That thise nexte folke han doon."
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