He was in Paradys; and whan that he
Eet of the fruyt defended on the tree,
Anon he was out-cast to wo and peyne.
O glotonye, on thee wel oghte us pleyne!
O, wiste a man how many maladyes
Folwen of excesse and glotonyes,
He wolde been the more mesurable
Of his diete, sittinge at his table.
Alias! the shorte throte, the tendre mouth,
Maketh that, Est and West, and North and South,
In erthe, in eir, in water men to-swinke
To gete a glotoun deyntee mete and drinke!
Of this matere, o Paul, wel canstow trete,
“Mete un-to wombe, and wombe eek un-to mete,
Shal god destroyen bothe,” as Paulus seith.
Alias! a foul thing is it, by my feith,
To seye this word, and fouler is the dede,
Whan man so drinketh of the whyte and rede,
That of his throte he maketh his privee,
Thurgh thilke cursed superfluitee.
The apostel weping seith ful pitously,
“Ther walken many of whiche yow told have I,
I seye it now weping with pitous voys,
[That] they been enemys of Cristes croys,
Of whiche the ende is deeth, wombe is her god.”
O wombe! O bely! O stinking cod,
Fulfild of donge and of corrupcioun!
At either ende of thee foul is the soun.
Oh gluttony, full of cursedness!
Oh first cause of our ruination!
Oh origin of our damnation,
Until Christ had bought us with his blood again!
Look, at what cost, to make it brief,
Was bought that same cursed, evil deed;
Corrupted was all this world for gluttony!
Adam our father and his wife also
From Paradise to labor and to woe
Were driven for that vice, it is no doubt.
For while Adam fasted, as I read,
He was in Paradise, and when he
Ate of the fruit forbidden on the tree,
Anon he was cast out to woe and pain.
Oh gluttony, of you we ought to complain!
Oh, if only a man knew how many maladies
Followed from excess and gluttony,
He would be more temperate
In his diet, sitting at his table.
Alas! the brief sip, the tastebuds refined,
Cause, east and west, north and south,
On earth, in air, on water, men to labor
To get a glutton dainty meat and drink!
Of this matter, Paul, well can you treat:
“Meat unto stomach,10 and stomach unto meat,
Shall God destroy both,” as Paul said.
Alas! a foul thing is it, by my faith,
To say this word, and fouler is the deed,
When man so drinks of the white and red
That of his throat he makes his privy,
Through that same superfluity.
The apostle, weeping, said full piteously,11
“There walk many of you whom I have told”—
I say it now weeping with piteous voice—
“Who be enemies of Christ’s cross,
For whom the end is death: stomach is their god!”
Oh stomach! Oh belly! Oh stinking gut!
Filled full with dung and rot!
At either end of you foul is the sound.
How greet labour and cost is thee to finde!
Thise cokes, how they stampe, and streyne, and grinde,
And turnen substaunce in-to accident,
To fulfille al thy likerous talent!
Out of the harde bones knokke they
The mary, for they caste noght a-wey
That may go thurgh the golet softe and swote;
Of spicerye, of leef, and bark, and rote
Shal been his sauce y-maked by delyt,
To make him yet a newer appetyt.
But certes, he that haunteth swich delyces
Is deed, whyl that he liveth in tho vyces.
A lecherous thing is wyn, and dronkenesse
Is ful of stryving and of wrecchednesse.
O dronke man, disfigured is thy face,
Sour is thy breeth, foul artow to embrace,
And thurgh thy dronke nose semeth the soun
As though thou seydest ay “Sampsoun, Sampsoun”;
And yet, god wot, Sampsoun drank never no wyn.
Thou fallest, as it were a stiked swyn;
Thy tonge is lost, and al thyn honest cure;
For dronkenesse is verray sepulture
Of mannes wit and his discrecioun.
In whom that drinke hath dominacioun,
He can no conseil kepe, it is no drede.
Now keep yow fro the whyte and fro the rede,
And namely fro the whyte wyn of Lepe,
That is to selle in Fish-strete or in Chepe.
This wyn of Spayne crepeth subtilly
In othere wynes, growing faste by,
Of which ther ryseth swich fumositee,
That whan a man hath dronken draughtes three,
And weneth that he be at hoom in Chepe,
He is in Spayne, right at the toune of Lepe,
Nat at the Rochel, ne at Burdeux toun;
And thanne wol he seye, “Sampsoun, Sampsoun.”
But herkneth, lordings, o word, I yow preye,
That alle the sovereyn actes, dar I seye,
Of victories in th‘olde testament,
How great the labor and cost to provide for you!
These cooks, how they pound, and strain, and grind,
And turn substance into accident,12
To fulfill all your gluttonous desire!
Out of the hard bones knock they
The marrow, for they cast nothing away
That may go through the gullet soft and sweet;
Of spices, of leaf, and bark, and root
Shall sauce be made to its delight,
To make it yet a newer appetite.
But truly, he who gives himself up to such delights
Is dead, while he lives in those vices.
A lecherous thing is wine, and drunkenness
Is full of quarreling and of wretchedness.
Oh drunk man, disfigured is your face,
Sour is your breath, foul are you to embrace,
And through your drunken nose snorts the sound
As though you said ever “Samson, Samson”;13
And yet, God knows Samson never drank any wine.
You fall down, like a stuck swine;
Your tongue is lost, and all your decency,
For drunkenness is the true tomb
Of man’s wit, and his discretion.
He over whom drink has domination,
Can no counsel keep, it is no doubt.
Now keep you from the white and from the red—
And namely from the white wine of Lepe
That is for sale in Cheapside or on Fish Street.
This wine of Spain creeps subtly
Into other wines growing nearby,
From which there rises such vapor,
That when a man has drunk drafts three
And thinks that he is at home in Cheapside,
He is in Spain, right at the town of Lepe,
Not at La Rochelle, or Bordeaux town;
And then will he snore, “Samson, Samson.”
But listen, lordings, to one word I pray you:
All the supreme deeds, dare I say,
Of victories in the Old Testament,
Thurgh verray god, that is omnipotent,
Were doon in abstinence and in preyere;
Loketh the Bible, and ther ye may it lere.
Loke, Attila, the grete conquerour,
Deyde in his sleep, with shame and dishonour,
Bledinge ay at his nose in dronkenesse;
A capitayn s
houlde live in sobrenesse.
And over al this, avyseth yow right wel
What was comaunded un-to Lamuel—
Nat Samuel, but Lamuel, seye I—
Redeth the Bible, and finde it expresly
Of wyn-yeving to hem that han justyse.
Na-more of this, for it may wel suffyse.
And now that I have spoke of glotonye,
Now wol I yow defenden hasardrye.
Hasard is verray moder of lesinges,
And of deceite, and cursed forsweringes,
Blaspheme of Crist, manslaughtre, and wast also
Of catel and of tyme; and forthermo,
It is repreve and contrarie of honour
For to ben holde a commune hasardour.
And ever the hyër he is of estaat,
The more is he holden desolaat.
If that a prince useth hasardrye,
In alle governaunce and policye
He is, as by commune opinioun,
Y-holde the lasse in reputacioun.
Stilbon, that was a wys embassadour,
Was sent to Corinthe, in ful greet honour,
Fro Lacidomie, to make hir alliaunce.
And whan he cam, him happede, par chaunce,
That alle the grettest that were of that lond,
Pleyinge atte hasard he hem fond.
For which, as sone as it mighte be,
He stal him hoom agayn to his contree,
And seyde, “ther wol I nat lese my name;
Ne I wol nat take on me so greet defame,
Yow for to allye un-to none hasardours.
Sendeth othere wyse embassadours;
Through the true God, who is omnipotent,
Were done in abstinence and in prayer:
Look in the Bible, and there you may it learn.
Consider that Attila,14 the great conqueror,
Died in his sleep, in shame and dishonor,
Bleeding at his nose from drunkenness:
A captain should live in soberness.
And over all this, be you well advised
What was commanded unto Lemuel15—
Not Samuel, but Lemuel, say I—
Read the Bible, and find it speaks explicitly
About giving wine to those who decide justice.
No more of this, for it may well suffice.
And now that I have spoken of gluttony,
Now will I forbid you gambling at dice.
Gambling is the true mother of lies,
And of deceit and cursed perjuries,
Blasphemy of Christ, manslaughter and waste also
Of goods and time; and furthermore,
It is a reproach and contrary to honor
To be held a common gambler.
And the higher he is of rank
The more is he held debased:
If a prince gambles,
In all governance and policy
Common opinion holds him,
The less in reputation.
Stilbon, who was a wise ambassador,
Was sent to Corinth in full great honor,
From Sparta to win their alliance.
And when he arrived, it happened by chance
That all the great men of that land
He found playing at dice.
For which, as soon as could be,
He stole away again to his country,
And said, “There will I not lose my name,
Nor will I take on me so great dishonor,
To ally you with a company of gamblers.
Send other wise ambassadors—
For, by my trouthe, me were lever dye,
Than I yow sholde to hasardours allye.
For ye that been so glorious in honours
Shul nat allyen yow with hasardours
As by my wil, ne as by my tretee.”
This wyse philosophre thus seyde he.
Loke eek that, to the king Demetrius
The king of Parthes, as the book seith us,
Sente him a paire of dees of gold in scorn,
For he hadde used hasard ther-biforn;
For which he heeld his glorie or his renoun
At no value or reputacioun.
Lordes may finden other maner pley
Honeste y-nough to dryve the day awey.
Now wol I speke of othes false and grete
A word or two, as olde bokes trete.
Gret swering is a thing abhominable,
And false swering is yet more reprevable.
The heighe god forbad swering at al,
Witnesse on Mathew; but in special
Of swering seith the holy Jeremye,
“Thou shalt seye sooth thyn othes, and nat lye,
And swere in dome, and eek in
rightwisnesse;”
But ydel swering is a cursednesse.
Bihold and see, that in the firste table
Of heighe goddes hestes honurable,
How that the seconde heste of him is this—
“Tak nat my name in ydel or amis.”
Lo, rather he forbedeth swich swering
Than homicyde or many a cursed thing;
I seye that, as by ordre, thus it stondeth;
This knowen, that his hestes understondeth,
How that the second heste of god is that.
And forther over, I wol thee telle al plat,
That vengeance shal nat parten from his hous,
That of his othes is to outrageous.
“By goddes precious herte, and by his nayles,
And by the blode of Crist, that it is in Hayles,
For by my troth, I would rather die
Than to gamblers I should you ally.
For you who are so glorious in honors
Shall not ally yourself with gamblers
Neither by my will nor my negotiations.”
This wise philosopher, thus said he.
Look also to the king Demetrius,16
The king of Parthia, as the book tells us,
Sent a pair of golden dice in scorn,
For he had gambled there before;
For which he held his glory or his renown
At no value or reputation.
Lords may find other kinds of play
Honorable enough to drive the day away.
Now will I speak of oaths false and great
A word or two, as old books treat.
Great cursing is a thing abominable,
And false swearing is yet more reproachable.
The high God forbade swearing at all—
Witness on Matthew—but in special
Of swearing says the holy Jeremiah,17
“Thou shalt swear truly your oaths and not lie,
And swear in good judgement, and also in
righteousness;”
But vain swearing is a wickedness.
Behold and see, in Moses’ first tablet
Of high God’s ten commandments,
That the second commandment of him is this:
“Take not my name wrongly or in vain.”
Look, he forbade such swearing even
Before homicide or many a cursed thing—
I say that, in terms of order, thus it stands—
He knows this, who his commandments understands,
How the second commandment of God is that.
And furthermore, I will tell you flat
That vengeance shall not depart from his house
Who of his oaths is too outrageous.
“By God’s precious heart,” and “By his nails,”
And “By the blood of Christ that is in Hayles.18
Seven is my chaunce, and thyn is cink and treye;
By goddes armes, if thou falsly pleye,
This dagger shal thurgh-out thyn herte go”—
This fruyt cometh of the bicched bones two,
Forswering, ire, falsnesse, homicyde.
Now, for the love of Crist that for us dyde,
Leveth your othes, bothe gr
ete and smale;
But, sirs, now wol I telle forth my tale.
Thise ryotoures three, of whiche I telle,
Longe erst er pryme rong of any belle,
Were set hem in a taverne for to drinke;
And as they satte, they herde a belle clinke
Biforn a cors, was caried to his grave;
That oon of hem gan callen to his knave,
“Go bet,” quod he, “and axe redily,
What cors is this that passeth heer forby;
And look that thou reporte his name wel.”
“Sir,” quod this boy, “it nedeth never-a-del.
It was me told, er ye cam heer, two houres;
He was, pardee, an old felawe of youres;
And sodeynly he was y-slayn to-night,
For-dronke, as he sat on his bench upright;
Ther cam a privee theef, men clepeth Deeth,
That in this contree al the peple sleeth,
And with his spere he smoot his herte a-two,
And wente his wey with-outen wordes mo.
He hath a thousand slayn this pestilence:
And, maister, er ye come in his presence,
Me thinketh that it were necessarie
For to be war of swich an adversarie:
Beth redy for to mete him evermore.
Thus taughte me my dame, I sey na-more.”
“By seinte Marie,” seyde this taverner,
“The child seith sooth, for he hath slayn this yeer,
Henne over a myle, with-in a greet village,
Both man and womman, child and hyne, and page
I trowe his habitacioun be there;
To been avysed greet wisdom it were,
Seven is my chance, and yours is five and three;
By God’s arms, if you falsely play,
This dagger shall through your heart go!”
This fruit comes from the bitchy bones two19—
Perjury, anger, falseness, homicide.
Now for the love of Christ who for us died,
Cease your oaths, both great and small.
But, sirs, now will I tell forth my tale.
These three revelers of whom I tell
Long before prime rang of any bell,
Had set themselves down in a tavern to drink;
And as they sat, they heard a bell clink
Before a corpse being carried to his grave.
The one of them began calling to his knave,
“Go quick,” he said, “and ask straightaway,
What corpse is this that passes by;
And look that you get his name right.”
“Sir,” said this boy, “no need to inquire.
I learned it two hours before you arrived.
He was, by God, an old companion of yours;
And suddenly he was slain last night,
Dead drunk, as he sat on his bench upright.
There came a secret thief that men call Death,
Who has slain many in this region,
Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 57