Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50)

by Homer

  What thing that ye me wole enforme.

  Mi Sone, yit in other forme 2670

  Ther is a vice of Prides lore,

  Which lich an hauk whan he wol sore,

  Fleith upon heihte in his delices

  After the likynge of his vices,

  And wol no mannes resoun knowe,

  Till he doun falle and overthrowe.

  This vice veine gloire is hote,

  Wherof, my Sone, I thee behote

  To trete and speke in such a wise,

  That thou thee myht the betre avise. 2680

  The proude vice of veine gloire

  Remembreth noght of purgatoire,

  Hise worldes joyes ben so grete,

  Him thenkth of hevene no beyete;

  This lives Pompe is al his pes:

  Yit schal he deie natheles,

  And therof thenkth he bot a lite,

  For al his lust is to delite

  In newe thinges, proude and veine,

  Als ferforth as he mai atteigne. 2690

  I trowe, if that he myhte make

  His body newe, he wolde take

  A newe forme and leve his olde:

  For what thing that he mai beholde,

  The which to comun us is strange,

  Anon his olde guise change

  He wole and falle therupon,

  Lich unto the Camelion,

  Which upon every sondri hewe

  That he beholt he moste newe 2700

  His colour, and thus unavised

  Fulofte time he stant desguised.

  Mor jolif than the brid in Maii

  He makth him evere freissh and gay,

  And doth al his array desguise,

  So that of him the newe guise

  Of lusti folk alle othre take;

  And ek he can carolles make,

  Rondeal, balade and virelai.

  And with al this, if that he may 2710

  Of love gete him avantage,

  Anon he wext of his corage

  So overglad, that of his ende

  Him thenkth ther is no deth comende:

  For he hath thanne at alle tide

  Of love such a maner pride,

  Him thenkth his joie is endeles.

  Now schrif thee, Sone, in godes pes,

  And of thi love tell me plein

  If that thi gloire hath be so vein. 2720

  Mi fader, as touchinge of al

  I may noght wel ne noght ne schal

  Of veine gloire excuse me,

  That I ne have for love be

  The betre adresced and arraied;

  And also I have ofte assaied

  Rondeal, balade and virelai

  For hire on whom myn herte lai

  To make, and also forto peinte

  Caroles with my wordes qweinte, 2730

  To sette my pourpos alofte;

  And thus I sang hem forth fulofte

  In halle and ek in chambre aboute,

  And made merie among the route,

  Bot yit ne ferde I noght the bet.

  Thus was my gloire in vein beset

  Of al the joie that I made;

  For whanne I wolde with hire glade,

  And of hire love songes make,

  Sche saide it was noght for hir sake, 2740

  And liste noght my songes hiere

  Ne witen what the wordes were.

  So forto speke of myn arrai,

  Yit couthe I nevere be so gay

  Ne so wel make a songe of love,

  Wherof I myhte ben above

  And have encheson to be glad;

  Bot rathere I am ofte adrad

  For sorwe that sche seith me nay.

  And natheles I wol noght say, 2750

  That I nam glad on other side;

  For fame, that can nothing hide,

  Alday wol bringe unto myn Ere

  Of that men speken hier and there,

  How that my ladi berth the pris,

  How sche is fair, how sche is wis,

  How sche is wommanlich of chiere;

  Of al this thing whanne I mai hiere,

  What wonder is thogh I be fain?

  And ek whanne I may hiere sain 2760

  Tidinges of my ladi hele,

  Althogh I may noght with hir dele,

  Yit am I wonder glad of that;

  For whanne I wot hire good astat,

  As for that time I dar wel swere,

  Non other sorwe mai me dere,

  Thus am I gladed in this wise.

  Bot, fader, of youre lores wise,

  Of whiche ye be fully tawht,

  Now tell me if yow thenketh awht 2770

  That I therof am forto wyte.

  Of that ther is I thee acquite,

  Mi sone, he seide, and for thi goode

  I wolde that thou understode:

  For I thenke upon this matiere

  To telle a tale, as thou schalt hiere,

  How that ayein this proude vice

  The hihe god of his justice

  Is wroth and gret vengance doth.

  Now herkne a tale that is soth: 2780

  Thogh it be noght of loves kinde,

  A gret ensample thou schalt finde

  This veine gloire forto fle,

  Which is so full of vanite.

  Ther was a king that mochel myhte,

  Which Nabugodonosor hihte,

  Of whom that I spak hier tofore.

  Yit in the bible his name is bore,

  For al the world in Orient

  Was hol at his comandement: 2790

  As thanne of kinges to his liche

  Was non so myhty ne so riche;

  To his Empire and to his lawes,

  As who seith, alle in thilke dawes

  Were obeissant and tribut bere,

  As thogh he godd of Erthe were.

  With strengthe he putte kinges under,

  And wroghte of Pride many a wonder;

  He was so full of veine gloire,

  That he ne hadde no memoire 2800

  That ther was eny good bot he,

  For pride of his prosperite;

  Til that the hihe king of kinges,

  Which seth and knoweth alle thinges,

  Whos yhe mai nothing asterte,-

  The privetes of mannes herte

  Thei speke and sounen in his Ere

  As thogh thei lowde wyndes were,-

  He tok vengance upon this pride.

  Bot for he wolde awhile abide 2810

  To loke if he him wolde amende,

  To him a foretokne he sende,

  And that was in his slep be nyhte.

  This proude kyng a wonder syhte

  Hadde in his swevene, ther he lay:

  Him thoghte, upon a merie day

  As he behield the world aboute,

  A tree fulgrowe he syh theroute,

  Which stod the world amiddes evene,

  Whos heihte straghte up to the hevene; 2820

  The leves weren faire and large,

  Of fruit it bar so ripe a charge,

  That alle men it myhte fede:

  He sih also the bowes spriede

  Above al Erthe, in whiche were

  The kinde of alle briddes there;

  And eke him thoghte he syh also

  The kinde of alle bestes go

  Under this tre aboute round

  And fedden hem upon the ground. 2830

  As he this wonder stod and syh,

  Him thoghte he herde a vois on hih

  Criende, and seide aboven alle:

  “Hew doun this tree and lett it falle,

  The leves let defoule in haste

  And do the fruit destruie and waste,

  And let of schreden every braunche,

  Bot ate Rote let it staunche.

  Whan al his Pride is cast to grounde,

  The rote schal be faste bounde, 2840

  And schal no mannes herte bere,

  Bot every lust he schal forbere

  Of man, and lich an Oxe h
is mete

  Of gras he schal pourchace and ete,

  Til that the water of the hevene

  Have waisshen him be times sevene,

  So that he be thurghknowe ariht

  What is the heveneliche myht,

  And be mad humble to the wille

  Of him which al mai save and spille.” 2850

  This king out of his swefne abreide,

  And he upon the morwe it seide

  Unto the clerkes whiche he hadde:

  Bot non of hem the sothe aradde,

  Was non his swevene cowthe undo.

  And it stod thilke time so,

  This king hadde in subjeccioun

  Judee, and of affeccioun

  Above alle othre on Daniel

  He loveth, for he cowthe wel 2860

  Divine that non other cowthe:

  To him were alle thinges cowthe,

  As he it hadde of goddes grace.

  He was before the kinges face

  Asent, and bode that he scholde

  Upon the point the king of tolde

  The fortune of his swevene expounde,

  As it scholde afterward be founde.

  Whan Daniel this swevene herde,

  He stod long time er he ansuerde, 2870

  And made a wonder hevy chiere.

  The king tok hiede of his manere,

  And bad him telle that he wiste,

  As he to whom he mochel triste,

  And seide he wolde noght be wroth.

  Bot Daniel was wonder loth,

  And seide: “Upon thi fomen alle,

  Sire king, thi swevene mote falle;

  And natheles touchende of this

  I wol the tellen how it is, 2880

  And what desese is to thee schape:

  God wot if thou it schalt ascape.

  The hihe tree, which thou hast sein

  With lef and fruit so wel besein,

  The which stod in the world amiddes,

  So that the bestes and the briddes

  Governed were of him al one,

  Sire king, betokneth thi persone,

  Which stant above all erthli thinges.

  Thus regnen under the the kinges, 2890

  And al the poeple unto thee louteth,

  And al the world thi pouer doubteth,

  So that with vein honour deceived

  Thou hast the reverence weyved

  Fro him which is thi king above,

  That thou for drede ne for love

  Wolt nothing knowen of thi godd;

  Which now for thee hath mad a rodd,

  Thi veine gloire and thi folie

  With grete peines to chastie. 2900

  And of the vois thou herdest speke,

  Which bad the bowes forto breke

  And hewe and felle doun the tree,

  That word belongeth unto thee;

  Thi regne schal ben overthrowe,

  And thou despuiled for a throwe:

  Bot that the Rote scholde stonde,

  Be that thou schalt wel understonde,

  Ther schal abyden of thi regne

  A time ayein whan thou schalt regne. 2910

  And ek of that thou herdest seie,

  To take a mannes herte aweie

  And sette there a bestial,

  So that he lich an Oxe schal

  Pasture, and that he be bereined

  Be times sefne and sore peined,

  Til that he knowe his goddes mihtes,

  Than scholde he stonde ayein uprihtes,-

  Al this betokneth thin astat,

  Which now with god is in debat: 2920

  Thi mannes forme schal be lassed,

  Til sevene yer ben overpassed,

  And in the liknesse of a beste

  Of gras schal be thi real feste,

  The weder schal upon thee reine.

  And understond that al this peine,

  Which thou schalt soffre thilke tide,

  Is schape al only for thi pride

  Of veine gloire, and of the sinne

  Which thou hast longe stonden inne. 2930

  So upon this condicioun

  Thi swevene hath exposicioun.

  Bot er this thing befalle in dede,

  Amende thee, this wolde I rede:

  Yif and departe thin almesse,

  Do mercy forth with rihtwisnesse,

  Besech and prei the hihe grace,

  For so thou myht thi pes pourchace

  With godd, and stonde in good acord.”

  Bot Pride is loth to leve his lord, 2940

  And wol noght soffre humilite

  With him to stonde in no degree;

  And whan a schip hath lost his stiere,

  Is non so wys that mai him stiere

  Ayein the wawes in a rage.

  This proude king in his corage

  Humilite hath so forlore,

  That for no swevene he sih tofore,

  Ne yit for al that Daniel

  Him hath conseiled everydel, 2950

  He let it passe out of his mynde,

  Thurgh veine gloire, and as the blinde,

  He seth no weie, er him be wo.

  And fell withinne a time so,

  As he in Babiloine wente,

  The vanite of Pride him hente;

  His herte aros of veine gloire,

  So that he drowh into memoire

  His lordschipe and his regalie

  With wordes of Surquiderie. 2960

  And whan that he him most avaunteth,

  That lord which veine gloire daunteth,

  Al sodeinliche, as who seith treis,

  Wher that he stod in his Paleis,

  He tok him fro the mennes sihte:

  Was non of hem so war that mihte

  Sette yhe wher that he becom.

  And thus was he from his kingdom

  Into the wilde Forest drawe,

  Wher that the myhti goddes lawe 2970

  Thurgh his pouer dede him transforme

  Fro man into a bestes forme;

  And lich an Oxe under the fot

  He graseth, as he nedes mot,

  To geten him his lives fode.

  Tho thoghte him colde grases goode,

  That whilom eet the hote spices,

  Thus was he torned fro delices:

  The wyn which he was wont to drinke

  He tok thanne of the welles brinke 2980

  Or of the pet or of the slowh,

  It thoghte him thanne good ynowh:

  In stede of chambres wel arraied

  He was thanne of a buissh wel paied,

  The harde ground he lay upon,

  For othre pilwes hath he non;

  The stormes and the Reines falle,

  The wyndes blowe upon him alle,

  He was tormented day and nyht,

  Such was the hihe goddes myht, 2990

  Til sevene yer an ende toke.

  Upon himself tho gan he loke;

  In stede of mete gras and stres,

  In stede of handes longe cles,

  In stede of man a bestes lyke

  He syh; and thanne he gan to syke

  For cloth of gold and for perrie,

  Which him was wont to magnefie.

  Whan he behield his Cote of heres,

  He wepte and with fulwoful teres 3000

  Up to the hevene he caste his chiere

  Wepende, and thoghte in this manere;

  Thogh he no wordes myhte winne,

  Thus seide his herte and spak withinne:

  “O mihti godd, that al hast wroght

  And al myht bringe ayein to noght,

  Now knowe I wel, bot al of thee,

  This world hath no prosperite:

  In thin aspect ben alle liche,

  The povere man and ek the riche, 3010

  Withoute thee ther mai no wight,

  And thou above alle othre miht.

  O mihti lord, toward my vice

  Thi merci medle with justice;

  And I woll make a covenant,

&n
bsp; That of my lif the remenant

  I schal it be thi grace amende,

  And in thi lawe so despende

  That veine gloire I schal eschuie,

  And bowe unto thin heste and suie 3020

  Humilite, and that I vowe.”

  And so thenkende he gan doun bowe,

  And thogh him lacke vois and speche,

  He gan up with his feet areche,

  And wailende in his bestly stevene

  He made his pleignte unto the hevene.

  He kneleth in his wise and braieth,

  To seche merci and assaieth

  His god, which made him nothing strange,

  Whan that he sih his pride change. 3030

  Anon as he was humble and tame,

  He fond toward his god the same,

  And in a twinklinge of a lok

  His mannes forme ayein he tok,

  And was reformed to the regne

  In which that he was wont to regne;

  So that the Pride of veine gloire

  Evere afterward out of memoire

  He let it passe. And thus is schewed

  What is to ben of Pride unthewed 3040

  Ayein the hihe goddes lawe,

  To whom noman mai be felawe.

  Forthi, my Sone, tak good hiede

  So forto lede thi manhiede,

  That thou ne be noght lich a beste.

  Bot if thi lif schal ben honeste,

  Thou most humblesce take on honde,

  For thanne myht thou siker stonde:

  And forto speke it otherwise,

  A proud man can no love assise; 3050

  For thogh a womman wolde him plese,

  His Pride can noght ben at ese.

  Ther mai noman to mochel blame

  A vice which is forto blame;

  Forthi men scholde nothing hide

  That mihte falle in blame of Pride,

  Which is the werste vice of alle:

  Wherof, so as it was befalle,

  The tale I thenke of a Cronique

  To telle, if that it mai thee like, 3060

  So that thou myht humblesce suie

  And ek the vice of Pride eschuie,

  Wherof the gloire is fals and vein;

  Which god himself hath in desdeign,

  That thogh it mounte for a throwe,

  It schal doun falle and overthrowe.

  A king whilom was yong and wys,

  The which sette of his wit gret pris.

  Of depe ymaginaciouns

  And strange interpretaciouns, 3070

  Problemes and demandes eke,

  His wisdom was to finde and seke;

  Wherof he wolde in sondri wise

  Opposen hem that weren wise.

  Bot non of hem it myhte bere

  Upon his word to yeve answere,

  Outaken on, which was a knyht;

  To him was every thing so liht,

  That also sone as he hem herde,

  The kinges wordes he answerde; 3080

  What thing the king him axe wolde,

  Therof anon the trowthe he tolde.

  The king somdiel hadde an Envie,

  And thoghte he wolde his wittes plie

  To sette som conclusioun,

  Which scholde be confusioun