Piers Plowman

by Sutton, Peter, Langland, William

       “Have you profited from usury,” asked Repentance, “in the past?”

  235  “No sir,” he said, “not since my youth

       When I learnt other lessons from Lombards and Jews:

       Chicanery in clipping and weighing coins,12

       And lending for love of the cross—not our Lord’s

       But on coins and accounts for the sureties I keep.

  240  I’ve amassed more manors and money from arrears

       Than I might ever make from showing mercy.

       I’ve lent out goods to lords and ladies

       And bought them back at bargain prices;

       When exchanging currency I keep a good cut,

  245  And I lend rather less that the loan contract says;

       And I take gold bars abroad for bankers

       But in Rome I deliver less than full loads.”

       “Have you loaned cash to lords to look on you kindly?”

       “I’ve lent to lords, but they surely don’t love me.

  250  For many poor knights I’ve made into merchants,

       And they paid not a penny in apprenticeship fees!”

       “Have you pity on poor men compelled to borrow?”

       “I pity the poor as a pedlar does cats:

       He catches and kills them if he can for their skins.”

  255  “Do you favor neighbors with food and refreshment?”

       “In the kitchen,” said Covetousness, “‘greedy cur’

       Is the name my neighbors know me by.”

       “Then unless you repent,” said Repentance, “I pray

       That God will deny you the grace to leave goods

  260  You’ve gathered egregiously through greed to your heirs,

       Nor permit your executors to manage your money

       But will see that it’s spent by similar rogues.

       For if I were a friar in an honest house,

       I’d refuse your funds for my clothes or the fabric,

  265  Nor take a penny to improve my pittance

       Or for burnished gold leaves to embellish a book—

       Not if I knew you were as you’ve announced.

       You’ll be others’ servant if you’re served rich sweetmeats;

       You’ll serve but yourself if you’re satisfied with bread.13

  270  You’re an unnatural scoundrel and I shall not absolve you

       Till you make restitution and return what you’ve taken,

       Every single penny of the sums that you stole,

       And they’re registered by Reason in the record of heaven:

       Restitution must go before grace and forgiveness.14

  275  And those who’ve enjoyed your generous gestures

       Are enjoined in justice, as God is my judge,

       To restore those sums; if in doubt, see the psalms:

       Have mercy on me if my mouth speaks the truth,

           For behold, thou hast loved truth.15

       For no workman in the world should profit from your wealth:

           With the holy, thou wilt be holy; and with the perverse thou wilt be perverted.”16

  280  Then the wretch felt so rueful he was ready to hang,

       Till Repentance had pity and proffered this solace:

       “Remember God’s mercy and meekly beseech it,

       For his mercy is more than his many other works:

           His tender mercies are over all his works.17

       All malice, when measured by the mercy of God,

  285  All iniquity, is equal to a spark in the sea.18

       So reflect on mercy and no more on the market,

       And earn with your hands or beg what you eat.

       For the goods you have garnered were gained by guile

       And are borrowed until you take them back.

  290  And if you’re not sure from whom you had them,

       Then hand them to the bishop and ask for his help

       In bestowing them as best will serve your soul.

       For on the Day of Doom he shall do his duty

       And answer for you and for hundreds of others,

  295  And shall tell then truly what he taught you in Lent

       And what grace he gave you in forgiving your sins.”

       Then Gluttony too began to feel guilty

       And decided to seek absolution for his sins,

       But he bumped on the way into Betty the Brewer,

  300  Who wondered where he was off to and why.

       “To church,” he chortled, “to be cheered by the Mass

       And shriven and absolved, and to sin no more.”

       “I’ve got in some ale, friend Gluttony, that’s good.”

       “Have you any hot spices besides?” he said.

  305  “I’ve pepper and peony and a pound of garlic,

       And a farthing of fennel for the Friday fish.”

       So Gluttony agreed to go with Swearing

       To the tavern where Sissy the Shoemaker sat

       With Wat the Warrener and his rabbiting wife,

  310  With Tim the Tinker and two of his mates,

       Hick the Hackneyman and Haberdasher Hugh,19

       Cock-riding Clarrie and the Clerk from the church,

       Peter the Priest and Pru from Flanders,

       Davy the Ditcher and a dozen more types—

  315  A roper, a ratcatcher, Rose who sold dishes,

       A fiddler, a foot-soldier, a forager from Cheapside,

       Godfrey from Garlickhithe and Griffith the Welshman,

       And an army of junk-dealers, out quite early,

       Greeting Gluttony with a good pint of ale.

  320  Clem the Cobbler cast off his cloak

       And said he might swap it for something better.

       Hick the Hackneyman tossed down his hood,

       Asking Bert the Butcher to back his bid.

       So dealers were picked to put a fair price

  325  On the hood and the cloak and how they worked out.

       They got together in a gaggle apart

       To weigh up what each item was worth.

       They cursed and they swore, but the quotes weren’t the same20

       And they could not in conscience come to a deal

  330  Till Robin the Roper rowed in as well

       To act as umpire and end the debate.

       Then Hick the Hackneyman was to have the cloak

       On condition that Clem would fill up the cup

       And was happy to have the hood from Hick,

  335  And if either quibbled he’d have to offer

       Sir Gluttony a gallon of golden ale.

       There was laughing and larking and “Let go the cup!”

       And swigging and swilling and settling of deals,21

       And they sat on till Evensong, singing some snatches,

  340  Till Gluttony’d
glugged down a gallon and more

       And his guts started grunting with greed like two sows.

       He pissed an Our Father’s worth, pot after pot

       And blew such a blast from his bloated behind

       That all hearing his hornpipe held their noses

  345  And wished it were wiped with a wisp of sharp furze.

       He could scarcely stand till he’d picked up his stick,

       Then he bade them farewell like a busker’s bitch,

       Tottering to this side, then to that

       Like a setter of lines to snare shelduck or snipe,

  350  And he misjudged by miles when he made it to the door,

       Catching his foot and crashing to the floor.

       Clem the Cobbler caught him round the waist

       To lift him, with luck, at least to his knees,

       But Gluttony was heavy and hard to handle

  355  And threw up thoroughly all over Clem’s thighs;

       The hungriest hound in Hertfordshire

       Wouldn’t touch such unsavory, stinking slime.

       His wife and his servant-girl struggled and strove

       To haul him to bed and heave-ho him in.

  360  Then after his outing he wouldn’t get up:

       He slept through Saturday and Sunday till sundown,

       And when he awoke and wiped his gummed eyes

       The first thing he said was, “Fetch me a flagon.”

       His wife told him off for his horrible antics

  365  And Repentance tried reason, remonstrating rightly:

       “You’ve lived a lamentable, dissolute life.

       Now say you’re ashamed and confess and be shriven.”

       “I’m a glutton,” he said, “and agree that I’m guilty.

       I’ve said things I shouldn’t on scores of occasions.

  370  I’ve sworn by saints’ relics, God’s soul and his sides

       Some nine hundred times with no real need,

       I’ve indulged at dinner and indulged then at supper

       And within a mile I’ve heaved it all up

       And wasted what would have done well for the hungry.

  375  I’ve stuffed myself silly and been drunk on saints’ days,

       And sometimes I’ve sat till I slept while I ate.

       I’ve lingered in taverns to listen to tales,

       And fed on fast-days before it’s allowed.”

       “You’ve said you’re sorry, which is something,” said Repentance.

  380  Then Gluttony wept and woefully bewailed

       The looseness of the life he had always led,

       And he firmly vowed to fast on Fridays,

       To touch not a thimble though thirsty and hungry,

       “Until Aunt Abstinence tells me it’s time—

  385  For all that I’ve hated the drab all my days!”

       Then Sloth came, beslobbered with his slimy two eyes.

       “I must sit,” he said, “or I’ll fall fast asleep;

       I can’t stand, I can’t stoop, I can’t kneel with no stool.

       If I’m tucked up in bed, unless bothered by my bowels,

  390  No ringing will rouse me till I’m ready to dine.”

       He babbled “Benedicite,” belched, beat his breast,

       And stretched and yawned and started to snore.

       “Wake up,” snapped Repentance, “and pray for a pardon.”

       “What, chant the Our Father like a chaplain in church?

  395  No, I shan’t,” said Sloth, “though I drop dead today.

       You could have ‘Robin Hood’ or ‘The Earl of Chester’

       But I don’t know a line of ‘Our Lord’ or ‘Our Lady.’

       I’ve made forty-odd vows and forgotten all forty.

       I’ve never done a penance imposed by a priest

  400  Or sincerely felt sorry for the sins I’ve performed.

       If I rattle through my rosary, unless I’m irate,

       My mind is two miles from the words of my mouth.

       I’m occupied daily, on holy days and others,

       With tavern tittle-tattle, and I talk all through church,

  405  Not caring to contemplate Christ or his Passion.

       I don’t visit the poorly or people in prison

       For I’d sooner hear smut or a shoemakers’ pageant,

       Or laugh and tell lies and belittle my neighbors,

       Than listen to Luke or Matthew or Mark,

  410  Or John, and I funk all your vigils and fasts.

       I lie abed in Lent, with my lover in my arms,

       And remember it’s Matins or Mass when it’s over

       And reckon I’m all right if I rush in at the end.

       If I feel a bit fragile or sick I’ll confess,

  415  Inventing some foolery or fable once a year.

       “I passed some thirty as the priest of a parish,

       Though I couldn’t read the stories of the saints or sing.

       I could find a hare in a field or a furrow

       More swiftly than a solitary verse of the psalms

  420  Or explain from the pulpit to people what they mean.

       I can sort out settlements and stewards’ accounts

       But I can’t read a line of Canon Law.

       If I’m lent a few coins, unless clearly listed,

       I forget it at once and if I should be asked

  425  Six times or seven, I simply deny it.

       That’s how I invariably defraud the fair.

       “Sometimes my servants get their salaries late.

       And it’s pitiful to hear their complaints over pay

       For I pay with ill grace and begrudge every groat.

  430  If anyone helps me when I happen to be broke,

       My response is surly for I don’t understand;

       I behave like a hawk that’s not lured by love

       But by tidbits held in the hawker’s hand.

       Time after time I entirely ignore them

  435  And am silent or say not a syllable of thanks

       For the generous kindnesses Christians accord me.

       I have frequently wasted food such as fish,

       And meat and milk and cheese and more,

       And butter and bread that I’ve left to go bad.

  440  I lolled in my youth, too lazy to learn

       And have been ever since a bone-idle beggar.

       Alas that I led such a wasted young life!”

       Repentance was appalled: “Do you not repent?”

       But Sloth was sliding into slumber again,

  445  Till Watchfulness woke him with water in his face

       And said, “You beware of deceitful despair

       And say to yourself, ‘I’m sorry for my sins,’

       And beat your breast and beg for God’s grace,

       For his goodness is gr
eater than the whole world’s guilt.”

  450  Then Sloth sat up straight and crossed himself

       And swore to God to shrug off his sloth.

       “Before sunrise each Sunday for seven whole years

       You’ll see me in church, save when I’m sick,

       To hear Matins and Mass as if I were a monk,

  455  And Evensong also, my oath on the cross,

       Instead of sitting and swilling after dinner.

       And if I still have it I’ll give everything back

       Acquired by means that were criminal or crooked,

       And what else I owe to anyone, I promise

  460  To pay back in full though I perish a pauper.

       With the coins I still carry, by the Cross of Chester,22

       I shall try to find Truth before traipsing to Rome.”

       Then Robert the Robber thought of “Render their dues,”23

       And wept for want of the wherewithal to pay.

  465  Yet still that sinner said to himself,

       “Christ who at Calvary died on the cross,

       Have mercy on me for remembrance’s sake,

       Since you pitied Dismas, who pleaded for pardon.24

       I cannot restore the sums that I stole

  470  But I call to you craving your incomparable mercy:

       I pray you, don’t damn me at Doomsday for my deeds!”

       What became of this criminal I cannot say,

       Though I know he acknowledged his enormity once more,

       Having lain with Larceny, Lucifer’s aunt.

  475  He copiously wept and cried to Christ

       That he’d polish his pikestaff called Penitence afresh

       And lean on it walking the length of the land.25

       Then Repentance took pity and impelled all to kneel.

       “I’ll beseech our Savior on behalf of sinners