Ne spit not lorely for no kyn mede,
Before no mon of God for drede.
Whosoever despise this lessoun ryzt,
At borde to sitt he hase no my;t;
Here endys now our fyrst talkyng,
Crist graunt us alle his dere blessyng!
HERE ENDITHE THE [FIRST] BOKE of curtasye.
YFF that thou be a zong enfaunt,
And thenke tho scoles for to haunt,
This lessoun schulle thy maister the merke,
Cros Crist the spede in alle thi werke;
Sytthen thy Pater Noster he wille the teche, 145
As Cristes owne postles con preche;
After thy Ave Maria and thi Crede,
That shalle the save at dome of drede;
Thenne aftur to blesse the with the Trinité,
In nomine Patris teche he wille the;
Then with Marke, Mathew, Luke, and Jon,
With the pro cruce and the hegh name;
To shryve the in general thou schalle lere,
Thy confiteor and misereatur in fere;
To seche the kyngdam of God, my chylde,
Thereto y rede thou be not wylde.
Therfore worschip God, bothe olde and 3ong,
To be in body and soule y-liche strong.
When thou comes to the churche dore,
Take the haly water stondand on flore;
Rede or synge or byd prayeris
To Crist, for alle thy Crysten ferys;
Be curtayse to God, and knele doun
On bothe knees with grete devocioun.
To mon thou shalle knele opon the toun,
The tother to thyself thou halde alone.
When thou ministers at the hegh autere,
With bothe hondes thou serve tho prest in fere,
The ton to stabulle, the tother
Lest thou fayle, my dere brother.
Another curtasye y wylle the teche,
Thy fadur and modur, with mylde speche,
Thou worschip and serve with alle thy my3t,
That thou dwelle the lengur in erthely ly3t.
To another man do no more amys,
Then thou woldys be done of hym and hys,
So Crist thou pleses, and gets the love
Of menne and God that syttes above.
Be not to meke, but in mene the holde,
ffor ellis a fole thou wylle be tolde.
He that to ryztwysnes wylle enclyne,
As holy wryzt says us wele and fyne,
His sede schalle never go seche nor brede,
Ne suffur of mon no shames dede.
To forgyf thou shalle the hast,
To venjaunce loke thou come on last;
Draw the to pese with alle thy strengthe.
ffro stryf and bate draw the on lengthe.
Yf mon aske the good for Goddys sake,
And the wont thyng wherof to take,
Gyf hym bone wordys on fayre manere,
With glad semblaint and pure good cher.
Also of service thou shalle be fre
To every mon in hys degré.
Thou schalle never lose for to be kynde,
That on forzets another hase in mynde.
Yf any man have part with the in gyft,
With hym thou make an even skyft;
Let hit not henge in honde for glose,
Thou art uncurtayse yf thou hyt dose.
To sayntes yf thou thy gate hase hyzt,
Thou schalle fulfylle hit with alle thy myst,
Lest God the stryk with grete venjaunce,
And pyt the into sore penaunce.
Leve not alle men that speke the fayre,
Whether that hit ben comyns, burges, or mayr;
In swete wordis the nedder was closet,
Disseyvaunt ever and mysloset;
Therfore thou art of Adams blode,
With wordis be ware, but thou be wode:
A short worde is comynly sothe,
That first slydes fro monnes tothe.
Loke lyzer never that thou become,
Kepe thys worde for alle and somme.
Lawze not to of[t] for no solace,
ffor no kyn myrth that any man mase;
Who lawes alle that men may se,
A schrew or a fole hym semes to be.
Thre enmys in thys world ther are,
That coveytene alle men to for-fare,—
The devel, the flesshe, the worlde also,
That wyrken mankynde ful mykyl wo:
Yf thou may strye these thre enmys,
Thou may be secur of hevene blys.
Also, my chylde, agaynes thy lorde
Loke thou stryfe with no kyn worde,
Ne wajour non with hym thou lay,
Ne at the dyces with him to play.
Hym that thou knawes of gretter state,
Be not hys felaw in rest ne bate.
zif thou be stad in strange contré,
Enserche no fyr then falle to the,
Ne take no more to do on honde,
Then thou may hafe menske of alle in londe.
zif thou se any mon fal by strete,
Lawegh not therat in drye ne wete,
But helpe hym up with all thy myzt,
As Seynt Ambrose the teches ryzt:
Thou that stondys so sure on sete,
Ware lest thy hede falle to thy fete.
My chylde, yf thou stonde at tho masse,
Ac undurstondis bothe more and lasse,
Yf tho prest rede not at thy wylle,
Repreve hym nozt, but holde the stylle.
To any wyzt thy counselle yf thou schewe,
Be war that he be not a schrewe,
Lest he disclaundyr the with tong,
Amonge alle men, bothe olde and 3ong.
Bekenyng fynguryng non thou use,
And pryvé rownyng loke thou refuse.
Yf thou mete knyzt, 30mon, or knave,
Halys hym anon, "Syre, God zou save."
|