| 290 |
The frere answerde, "O Thomas, dostow so? |
| What nedeth yow diverse freres seche? |
| What nedeth hym that hath a parfit leche |
| To sechen othere leches in the toun? |
| Youre inconstance is youre confusioun. |
| 295 | Holde ye thanne me, or elles oure covent, |
| To praye for yow been insufficient? |
| Thomas, that jape nys nat worth a myte. |
| Youre maladye is for we han to lyte. |
| A! yif that covent half a quarter otes! |
| 300 | A! yif that covent foure and twenty grotes! |
| A! yif that frere a peny, and lat hym go! |
| Nay, nay, Thomas, it may no thyng be so! |
| What is a ferthyng worth parted in twelve? |
| Lo, ech thyng that is oned in himselve |
| 305 | Is moore strong than whan it is toscatered. |
| Thomas, of me thou shalt nat been yflatered; |
| Thou woldest han oure labour al for noght. |
| The hye god, that al this world hath wroght, |
| Seith that the werkman worthy is his hyre. |
| 310 | Thomas, noght of youre tresor I desire |
| As for myself, but that al oure covent |
| To preye for yow is ay so diligent, |
| And for to buylden Cristes owene chirche. |
| Thomas, if ye wol lernen for to wirche, |
| 315 | Of buyldynge up of chirches may ye fynde, |
| If it be good, in Thomas lyf of Inde. |
| Ye lye heere ful of anger and of ire, |
| With which the devel set youre herte afyre, |
| And chiden heere the sely innocent, |
| 320 | Youre wyf, that is so meke and pacient. |
| And therfore, Thomas, trowe me if thee leste, |
| Ne stryve nat with thy wyf, as for thy beste; |
| And ber this word awey now, by thy feith, |
| Touchynge swich thyng, lo, what the wise seith: |
| 325 | Withinne thyn hous ne be thou no leon; |
| To thy subgitz do noon oppression, |
| Ne make thyne aqueyntances nat to flee. - |
| And, Thomas, yet eft-soones I charge thee, |
| Be war from hire that in thy bosom slepeth; |
| 330 | War fro the serpent that so slily crepeth |
| Under the gras, and styngeth subtilly. |
| Be war, my sone, and herkne paciently, |
| That twenty thousand men han lost hir lyves |
| For stryvyng with hir lemmans and hir wyves. |
| 335 | Now sith ye han so hooly and meke a wyf, |
| What nedeth yow, Thomas, to maken stryf? |
| Ther nys, ywys, no serpent so cruel, |
| Whan man tret on his tayl, ne half so fel, |
| As womman is, whan she hath caught an ire; |
| 340 | Vengeance is thanne al that they desire. |
| Ire is a synne, oon of the grete of sevene, |
| Abhomynable unto the God of hevene; |
| And to hymself it is destruccion. |
| This every lewed viker or person |
| 345 | Kan seye, how ire engendreth homycide. |
| Ire is, in sooth, executour of pryde. |
| I koude of ire seye so muche sorwe, |
| My tale sholde laste til to-morwe. |
| And therfore preye I God, bothe day and nyght, |
| 350 | An irous man, God sende hym litel myght! |
| It is greet harm and certes greet pitee |
| To sette an irous man in heigh degree. |
|
| 290 | The friar replied: "Ah, Thomas, so you say! |
| But why need you to different friars reach? |
| Why should he need, who has a perfect leech, |
| To call in other leeches from the town? |
| Your trouble from your fickleness has grown. |
| 295 | Think you that I, or at least our convent, |
| Could not suffice to pray? That's what I meant. |
| Thomas, your feeble joke's not worth a tittle; |
| Your illness lasts because you've given too little. |
| Ah, give that convent bushels four of oats! |
| 300 | Ah, give that convent four and twenty groats! |
| Ah, give that friar a penny and let him go! |
| "Nay, nay, Thomas, the thing should not be so! |
| What is a farthing worth, when split twelve ways? |
| A thing in its integrity displays |
| 305 | Far greater strength than does a unit scattered. |
| Thomas, by me you shall not here be flattered; |
| You wished you had our labour all for naught. |
| But the High God, Who all this world has wrought, |
| Says that the workman's worthy of his hire. |
| 310 | Thomas! Naught of your treasure I desire |
| As for myself, but that all our convent |
| To pray for you is always diligent, |
| And also to build up Christ's holy church. |
| Thomas! If you will learn the way to work, |
| 315 | Of building up of churches you may find |
| If it be good in Thomas' life, of Inde. |
| You lie here, full of anger and of ire, |
| Wherewith the Devil set your heart afire, |
| And you chide here this hapless innocent, |
| 320 | Your wife, who is so meek and so patient. |
| And therefore, Thomas, trust me if you please, |
| Scold not your wife, who tries to give you ease; |
| And bear this word away now, by your faith, |
| Touching this thing, lo what the wise man saith: |
| 325 | Within thy house do not the lion play, |
| Oppress thy subjects in no kind of way, |
| Nor cause thine equals and thy friends to flee. |
| And Thomas, yet again I charge you, be |
| Wary of her that in your bosom sleeps; |
| 330 | Beware the serpent that so slyly creeps |
| Under the grass and stings so treacherously. |
| Beware, my son, and hear this patiently, |
| That twenty thousand men have lost their lives |
| For quarrelling with their sweet ones, and their wives. |
| 335 | Now, since you have so holy and meek a wife, |
| Why need you, Thomas, so to stir up strife? |
| There is, indeed, no serpent so cruel, |
| When man treads on his tail, nor half so fell, |
| As woman is when she is filled with ire; |
| 340 | Vengeance is then the whole of her desire. |
| Anger's a sin, one of the deadly seven, |
| Abominable unto the God of Heaven; |
| And it is sure destruction unto one. |
| This every vulgar vicar or parson |
| 345 | Can say, how anger leads to homicide. |
| Truth, anger's the executant of pride. |
| I could of anger tell you so much sorrow |
| My tale should last until it were tomorrow. |
| And therefore I pray God both day and night, |
| 350 | An ireful man, God send him little might! |
| It is great harm and truly great pity |
| To set an ireful man in high degree. |
|
