The other twayen was elle aferd,
They sparyd nethe stylle ne sherd,
They had lever then mydylle erd,

Ayther from other have scapyd.

The pryst toke a by pathe, wyth them he wolde not mett; Y[i]t ys hed was fowle brokyn, the blod ran dowen to ys fett;

He ran in a fyrryd gowen, he cast of alle hys clothys, alle his body gan reke.

To the bare breke

Because he wolde goo lyght.

He thought he harde the devylle loushe,

He start into a bryer boushe,

That al his skyen gan rowsshe

Of hys body quyt.

The knyth he ran into a wood, as fast as he myght

weend;

He felle apon a stake, and fowle his lege gan rentt;
Therefore he toke no care, he was aferd of the fend;

He thought yt was a longe waye to the pathes end.
But then cam alle hys care!

In at a gape as he glent

By the medylle he was hent,

Into a tre tope he went

In a bokes snarre.

The marchaunt ran apon a laund there where growyth

no thoren,

He felle apon a bollys bake, he causte hym apon hys

hornys.

"Out! alas!" he sayd, " that ever I was boren,

For now I goo to the devylle bycause I dyd hym scoren,

Unto the pytt of helle."

The bolle ran into a myre,

There he layed ower fayer syer,

For alle the world he durst not stere,

Tylle that he herde a belle.

On the morrow he was glad that he was so scapyd;
So was the pryst also, thoo he was body nakyd.
The knyght was in the tre tope, for dred fere he quaked;
The best jowelle that he had fayne he wolde forsake,
For to com dowene.

He caught the tre by the tope,

Ye and eke the calle trope;

He felle and brake hys fore tope

Apon the bare growend.

Thus they went from the game, begylyd and beglued ;
Nether on other wyst, hom they went be-shrewyd;
The parsone tolde the lady on the morrow, what mys-
chyf ther was shewed,

How that he had ronne for her love, hys merthys wer

but lewed,

He was so sore dred of dethe.

"When I shuld have beryd the corse,

The devylle cam in, the body rose,

To se alle thys my hart grese,
Alyffe I scapyd unnethe."

"Remember," the lady saythe, "what myschyfe heron

goythe;

Had I never lover yet that ever dyed good dethe." "Be that lord!" sayd the pryst, "that shope bothe ale

and mette!

Thow shaltte never be wooed for me, whylyst I have speche or brethe,

Whyle I may se or here."

Thus they to mad ther bost;

Furthe he went wythout the corse.

Then com the knyght for hys purpos,

And told her of hys fare.

"Now I hope to have your love, that I have servyd

youre;

For bought I never love soo dere syth I was man i-bore." "Hold thy pese!" the lady sayd, "therof speke thou

no more,

For by the newe bargen my love thou hast for-lore,
Alle thys hundrythe wynter."

She answered hym; he went hys way.

The marchaunt cam the same day,

He told her of hys grett afray,

And of hys hyght aventure.

"Tylle the corse shulde be beryd, be the bargen I abode;
When the body ded ryse, a grymly gost a-gleed,
Then was tyme me to stere, many a foyle I be-strood;
There was no hegge for me to hey, nor no watter to brod,
Of you to have my wylle."

The lady said, "pese, fulle blethe.

Neer," she said, "whylle thou art man on lyffe;

For I shalle shew yt to they wyff,

And alle the contré yt tylle.

And proclam ytte in the markyt towene, they care to encrese,"

Therwyth he gave her xx. marke that she shold hold

her pese.

Thus the burges of the borrowe, after hys dyses,

He endewed into the place wyth dedes of good relese,

In fee for ever more.

Thus the lady ded fre,

She kepythe her vyrgenyté,

And indewed the place wyth ffee,

And salvyd them of ther soore.

MORAL OF THE FABLE OF THE HORSE, THE GOOSE, AND THE SHEEP.

COPIES of this moral tale are common in manuscript, and it has been printed by our early printers, Caxton and Wynkyn de Worde. See MS. Lansd. 699; MS. Lamb. 306; MS. Rawl. Oxon. C. 86; MS. Bodl. Laud. 598, Bern. 1475. I have thought it sufficient to give the moral from MS. Harl. 2251, fol. 314-316.

THE MORALITÉ OF THE HORS, THE GOOSE, AND THE SHEEPE, TRANSLATED BY DAN JOHNE LIDGATE.

Or this fable conteynethe this sentence,

At goode leyser dothe the matier see,
Whiche inportithe grete intelligence,
If ye list, take the moralité !

Profitable to every comunalté,

Whiche includithe in many sundry wise,
No man shuld, of highe or low degré,✓
For no prerogatif his neyghburghe to dispise,

Trappours of golde ordeyned were for stiedis,
Sheepe in theyr pasture to grace withe mekenes,
Yitte of theyr wullis bien wonder riche wedis,
Of smothe downe made pilwes for softnes,
Fether-beddis to sleepe on whan men hem dresse,
Toward Aurora ageyn til they rise,

Rolle up this problem, thynke it dothe expresse,
For no prerogatif his neyghburghe to dispise.

The inward meanes, aforn as it is told,
The hors is taken of marcial noblesse,
Withe his bellis and boosis brode of gold,
Estate of tirauntis the poraile dothe expresse.
The wolfe in fieldis the shepe dothe grete duresse,
Rukking in foldis for fere dar nat arise,
Ye that have power be ware in yowre highnesse,
For no prerogatif yowre subgettis to dispise.

As pronostatike clerks beren witnesse,
Be ware of Phebus that erly castithe hir light,
Of reyne, storme, or myst, or of derkenesse,
Shal after folowe long or it be nyght;
Signe of grete wynter whan wielde gees take theyr

[flight,

Nat highe nor lowe presumen of his myght,✓

For no prerogatif his neyghburghe to dispise.