But I know wele i-nough whens this counsaill cam ;
Trewlich of your own wyfe, that evil dame!
......com oppon hir body, that fals putaigne !
For trewlich, fathir, yee dote on hir, and so al men seyne. Alas! that evir a man shuld, that is of high counsaile,
Set all his wysdom in his wyvis taile !
Yee lovith hir so much, she hath benome your wyt;
And I may curs the tyme that evir ye wer y-knyt;
For now, I am in certen, I have a stepmothir;
They ben shrewis, som ther been, but few othir,
Vel fikil flaptail, such oon as she ys,
For all my pleying at dise, yit do yee more amys;
Yee have y-lost your name, your worship, and your feith;
So dote ye on hir, and levith all she sayith."
Fawnus, with the same word, gaff the chayir a but,
And lepe out of the chambir, as who seyd cut:
And swore, in verrey woodnes, be God omnipotent,
That Beryn of his wordis shuld sore repent.
Beryn set nought therof, with a proude hert
Answerd his fathir, and axid a new shert.
He gropid al about to have found oon,
As he was wont tofore, but ther was noon.
Then toke he such willokis as he fond ther,
And beheld hymself what man he wer.
And when he was arayde, then gan he first be wrothe;
For his womb lokid out, and his rigg both.
He stert aftir his fathir, and he began to cry,
"For seth myn aray; for the villany
Ys as wele yours, as it is myne."
Fawnus let him clatir, and cry wel and fyne,
And passid forth still, and spak nat a word.
Then Beryn gan to think it was nat al bord
That his fathir seyde, when he wyth hym was;
And gan to think all about; and therwyth seid, “Allas!
Now know I wele for soth, that my mothir is dede;"
For tho gan he to glow first a sory mannys hede.
Now kepe thy cut, Beryn; for thou shalt have a fit,
Somwhat of the world, to lern betir wit:
For, and thow wist sikerly what ys for to com,
Thou woldist wissh aftir thy deth full oft and y-lome; 1310 For ther nys betyng half so sore wyth staff, nethir swerd, As man to be bete with his own yerd.
The pyry is y-blowe, hop, Beryn, hop,
That ripe wol heraftir, and on thyn hede drop.
Thou tokist noon hede, whils it shoon hoot;
Therfor wynter the nyghith, asay by thy cote.
Beryn for shame to town durst he nat go ;
He toke his wey to church-ward, his frend was made his foo.
For angir, sorowe, and shame, and hevynes that he had,
Unneth he might speke, but stode half as mad.
"O alas!" quod Beryn, "what wyt had I?
That coud nat, tofore this dey, know sikerly
That my mothir dede was; but now I know to sore;
And drede more, that eche day hereaftir more and more
I shall know, and fele, that my mothir is dede.
Alas! I smote the messangere, and toke of hir noon hede.
Alas! I am right pore, alas! that I am nakid!
Alas! I sclept to fast, tyl sorowe now hath me wakid!
Alas! I hungir sore; alas! for dole and peyn!
For eche man me seith hath me in disdeyn !"
This was all his mirth, to the church-ward,
That of his mothir, Agea, he toke so litill reward.
When Beryn was within the chirch, than gan he wers fray ;
As sone as he saw the tomb where his mothir lay,
His colour gan to chaunge into a dedely hew:
"Alas! gentil mothir, so kynd you wer, and trew,
It is no mervell, for thy deth though I sore smert."
But therewythal the sorowe so fervent smote his hert,
That sodeynly he fil down stan dede in swowe;
That he had part of sorowe, me thinkith that myght I avowe. Beryn lay so long, or he myght awake,
For al his fyve wittis had clene hym forsake.
Wel myght he by hymself, when reson y-com were,
Undirstond that fortune had a sharp spere,
And eke grete power, among high and lowe,
Som to avaunce, and som to ovirthrowe.
So at last, when Beryn a litill wakid were,
He trampelid fast with his fete, and al to-tare his ere,
And his visage both, right as a woodman,
With many a bitir tere, that from his eyen ran;
And sighid many a sore sigh, and had much hevynes;
And evirmore he cursid his grete unkyndnes
To foregit his mothir, whils she was alyve;
And lenyd to hir tombe opon his tore sclyve;
And wishid a thowsand sithis, he had y-be hir by:
And beheld hir tombe with a petouse eye.
"Now, glorious God," quod Beryn, "that al thing madist of nought,
Heven and erth, man and beste; sith I am myswrought,
yowe I axe mercy, socour, and help, and grace,
For my mysdede, and foly, unthryffe, and trespase.
Set my sorowe and peyn somwhat in mesure
Fro dispeir and myscheff, as I may endure.
Lord of all lordis, though fortune be my foo,
Yit is thy myght above, to turn hym to and fro.
First my mothirs lyfe fortune hath me berevid,
And sith my fathirs love, and nakid also me levid;
What may he do more? yis, take awey my lyfe.
But for that wer myn ese, and end of al stryfe,
Therfor he doith me lyve, for my wers, I sey,
That I shuld evirmore lyve, and nevir for to dey."
Now leve I Beryn with his mothir, tyl I com aye,
And wol return me to Rame, that of hir sotilté
Bethoughte hir al aboute, when Beryn was agoon,
That it shuld be wittid hir; wherfor she anoon
In this wise seyd to Fawnus, "Sir, what have ye do ?
Althoughe I speke a mery word, to suffir your sone go
Nakid into the town? it was nat my counsail.
What wol be seyd therof? sikir without faile,
For I am his stepmodir, that I am cause of alle
The violence, the wrath, the angir, and the gall,
That is betwene yow both, it wol be wit me;
Wherfor I prey you hertly, doith hym com hom aye."
"Nay, by trowith," quod Fawnus, "for me comyth he nat yit; Sithe he of my wordis so litil prise set;
As litil shall I charge his estate also.
Sorowe have that rechith, though he nakid go!
For every man knowith that he is nat wise;
Wherfor may be supposid, his pleying at dise
Is cause of his aray, and nothyng yee, my wyff."
"Yes i-wis," quod Rame, "the tale woll be ryff
Of me, and of noon othir, I know right wel afyne:
Wherfor I prey you, gentil sir, and for love myn,
That he wer y-fet hom, and that in grete hast;
And let asay offt ageyn with feirnes hym to chaste;
And send Beryn clothis, and a new shert ;"
And made al wele in eche side, and kept close her hert.
"Now sith it is your wyll," quod Fawnus tho anoon,
"That Beryn shall home com; for your sake aloon
I woll be the message to put your hert in ese;
And els, so God me help, wer it nat yow to plese,
gras shuld grow on pament or I hym home bryng."
Yet nethirles forth he went, wyth too or thre, riding
From o strete to anithir, enqueryng to and fro
Aftir Beryn, in every plase wher he was wont to go;
Seching eviry halk, howris too or thre,
With hazardours, and othir such, ther as he was wont to be; And fond hym nat ther; but to chirch went echone,
And at dorr they stode a while, and herd Beryn made his
They herd all his compleynt, that petouse was to here.
Fawnus into the chirch pryvelych gan pire;
But al so sone as he beheld where Agea lay,
His teris ran down be his chekis, and thus he gan to sey;
"A! Agea, myn old love, and my new also!
Alas! that evir our hertis shuld depart a-too!
For in your graciouse dayis, of hertis trobilnes
I had nevir knowlech, but of all gladnes."
Remembryng in his hert, and evir gan renewe
The goodnes betwene them both, and hir hert trewe ;'
And drew hym ner to Beryn, with an hevy mode.
But as sone as Beryn knew and undirstode
That it was his fathir, he wold no longir abide ;
But anoon he voidit by the tothir side.
And Fawnus hym encountrid, and seyd, "We have the sought Through the town, my gentil sone, and therfor void the
Though I seyd a word or two, as me thought for the best,
For thyne erudicioune, to draw the onto lyfe honest,
Thou shuldist nat so fervently have take it to thyn hert.
But sith I know my wordis doith the so sore smert,
Shall no more hereaftir; and eche dey our diete
Shall be mery and solase, and this shall be forgete.
For wele I woot, for thy mothir that thou art to-tore;
Also thou hast grete sorowe, but onys nedith and no more;
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