Fifteenth Century Prose and Verse Part 5

A slanderous tongue is his great adversary!

A foul vice is of tongue to be light.

For _whoso mochil clappeth, gabbeth oft_.

The Tongue of Man so swift is, and so wight That when it is yraised up on loft, Reason it sueth so slowly and soft, That it him never overtaken may.

Lord! so these men been trusty in a.s.say!

Albeit that men find one woman nice, Inconstant, recheless, and variable, Deignous and proud, full filled of malice, Withouten faith or love, and deceivable, Sly, quaint, false, in all untrust culpable, Wicked or fierce, or full of cruelty: Yet followeth not that such all women be!

When the high G.o.d angellis formed had, Among them alle formed were there none That founden were malicious and bad?

Yes! all men wot that there were many one That for their pride fell from heaven anon.

Should we, forthy, give all angels proud name?

Nay, he that that sustaineth, is to blame!

Of twelve Apostles, one a traitor was; The remenant yet good weren and true.

So if it happen men finden, percase, A woman false; such good is to eschew: And deeme not that they be all untrue.

I see well, that men's owne falseness Them causeth woman for to trust the less.

O, every man ought have a hearte tender Unto woman, and deem her honourable; Whether her shape be thick, or else slender, Or she be good or bad! It is no fable.

Every wight wot, that wit hath reasonable, That of a woman, he descended is: Then is it shame of her to speak amiss!

A wicked tree good fruit may none forth bring; For such the fruit is aye as is the tree.

Take heed of whom thou took thy beginning!

Let thy mother be mirror unto thee!

Honour her, if thou wilt honoured be!

Despiseth her then not, in no manere!

Lest that thereby thy wickedness appear.

An old proverb there said is, in English, _That bird or fowl, soothly, is dishonest What that he be, and holden full churlish That useth to defoulen his own nest_.

Men to say well of women, it is the best: And naught for to despise them, ne deprave; If that they will their honour keep or save.

The Ladies ever complainen them on Clerks That they have made bookis of their defame; In which they despise women and their works, And speaken of them great reproof and shame: And causeless give them a wicked name.

Thus they despised be, on every side, Dislandered and blown upon full wide.

Those sorry bookes maken mention How women betrayed in especial ADAM, DAVID, SAMPSON, and SOLOMON, And many one more; who may rehea.r.s.e them all, The treasons that they have done, and shall?

The world their malice may not comprehend (As Clerkis feign), for it ne hath none end.

OVID, in his book called _Remedy Of Love_, great reproof of woman writeth, Wherein, I know that he did great folly; And every wight who, in such case, him delighteth.

A Clerkis custom is, when he enditeth Of women (be it prose, or rhyme, or verse) Say, "They be wicked!" all know he the reverse.

And the book Scholars learned in their childhead For they of women beware should in age, And for to love them ever be in dread.

Sith to deceive is set all their courage, They say peril to cast is advantage, Namely, of such as men have in been wrapped: For many a man, by woman hath mishapped.

No charge is what so that these Clerkis sain Of all their writing I ne do no cure All their labour and travail is in vain For between me and my Lady Nature Shall not be suffred, while the world may 'dure.

Thus these Clerkis, by their cruel tyranny, On silly women kithen their mastery.

Whilom full many of them were in my chain Ytied; and now, what for unwieldy age And unl.u.s.t, they may not to love attain: And sain that "Love is but very dotage!"

Thus, for that they themself lacken courage, They folk exciten by their wicked saws For to rebell against me, and my laws!

But, maugre them that blamen women most, Such is the force of mine impression That, suddenly, I can fell all their boast, And all their wrong imagination.

It shall not be in their election The foulest s.l.u.t in all the town to refuse; If that me list, for all that they can muse:

But her in heart as brenningly desire As though she were a d.u.c.h.ess, or a Queen; So can I folkis heartis set on fire And, as me list, them senden joy or teen.

They that to women ben ywhet so keen, My sharpe piercing strokis, how they smite, Shall feel and know, and how they kerve and bite!

Pardie! this Clerk, this subtle sly OVID And many another have deceived be Of women, as it knowen is full wide.

What! no men more! and that is great dainty So excellent a Clerk as was he!

And other more, that coulde full well preach Betrapped were, for aught that they could teach!

And trusteth well, that it is no marvail!

For women knowen plainly their intent.

They wist how softily they could a.s.sail Them; and what falsehood they in hearte meant: And thus they Clerkis in their danger hent, _With one venom, another is destroyed!_ And thus these Clerkis often were annoyed.

These Ladies, ne these gentles ne'ertheless, Where none of those that wroughten in this wise; But such women as weren vertueless They quittin thus these old Clerkis wise.

To Clerkis muchil less ought to suffice Than to dispraven women generally; For worship shall they geten noon thereby.

If that these men, that lovers them pretend, To women weren faithful, good, and true, And dread them to deceive, or to offend; Women, to love them woulde not eschew.

But, every day hath man an harte new!

It upon one abiden can no while.

What force is it, such a wight to beguile?

Men bearen, eke, the women upon hand That lightly, and withouten any pain They wonnen be; they can no wight withstand That his disease list to them to complain!

They be so frail, they may them not refrain!

But whoso liketh them may lightly have; So be their heartis easy in to grave.

To Master JEAN DE MEUN, as I suppose, Then, it is a lewd occupation, In making of the _Romance of the Rose_, So many a sly imagination, And perils for to rollen up and down, So long process, so many a sly cautel For to deceive a silly damosel!

Nought can I see, ne my wit comprehend, That art, and pain, and subtilty should fail For to conquer, and soon to make an end; When men a feeble place shall a.s.sail: And soon, also, to vanquish a battle Of which no wight shall maken resistance; Ne heart hath none to stonden at defence.

Then mote it follow, of necessity, Sith art asketh so great engine and pain A woman to deceive, what so she be?

Of constancy be they not so barren As that some of these subtle Clerkis feign; But they be, as that women oughten be, Sad, constant, and fulfilled of pity.

How friendly was MEDEA to JASON In his Conquering of the Fleece of Gold!

How falsely quit he her true affection, By whom victory he gat as he would!

How may this man, for shame, be so bold To falsen her, that, from his death and shame Him kept, and gat him so great a prize and name?

Of Troy also, the traitor aeNEAS, The faithless wretch! how he himself forswor To DIDO, which that Queen of Carthage was That him relieved of his smartis sore!

What gentilesse might she have doon more Than she, with heart unfeigned, to him kidde?

And what mischief to her thereof betid!

In my _Legend of Martyrs_ may men find (Whoso that liketh therein for to read) That oathis ne behest may man not bind Of reprovable shame have they no dread In manis hearte truth ne hath no stead.

The soil is naught; there may be no trothe grow!

To women, namely, it is not unknown.

Clerkis feign also there is no malice Like unto woman's wicked crabbedness.

O Woman! how shalt thou thyself chevice; Sith men of thee so mochil harm witness?

Beth ware! O Woman! of their fickleness.

Kepeth thine owne! what men clap or crake!

And some of them shall smart, I undertake!