I obeyed his rest; there was no remedy;
My youth was past, and all my lustynes;
And right anone to us came Polizy,
With Avaryce bringing great riches;
My hole pleasure and delyte doubtles
Was set upon treasure insaciate,
It to beholde and for to aggregate.
The fleshly pleasure I had cast asyde,
Lytle I loved for to playe or daunce;
But ever I thought how I might provyde
To spare my treasure, land or substaunce.
This was my minde, and all my purveyaunce,
As upon deth I thought lytle or never,
But gadred riches as I should lyve ever.
HOWE HE WAS ARESTED BY DEATH.
BUT whan I thought longest to endure,
Deth with his darte arest me sodenly;
Obey! he sayd, as ye may be sure.
You can resist nothing the contrary
But that you must obey me naturally.
What you avayleth such treasure to take,
Sithens by force ye must it now forsake?
Alas! quod I, nothing can me ayde,
This worldly treasure I must leve behinde,
For erth of erth wyll have his dette now payde;
What is this world but a blast of wynde.
I must nedes dye, it is my native kinde.
And as I was at his last conclusyon,
To me did come dame Confession,
With dame Contricion, which gan to bewayle
My synnes great with hole repentaunce,
And Satisfaccion without any fayle,
Wyth dame Conscience, did wey in balaunce
How that they might than without doutaunce
My treasure and good so gotten wrongfully
To restore agayne to the rightfull party.
Of holy church with all humilite
My rightes I toke, and than incontinent
Nature avayled in so lowe degre
That deth was come, and all my lyfe was spent.
Out of my body my soule than it wente
To Purgatory, for to be purifyed,
That after that it might be glorified.
HOWE REMEMBRAUNCE MADE HIS EPYTAPHY ON HIS
GRAVE.
THE good dame Mercy, with dame Charite,
My body buried full right humbly,
In a fayre temple of olde antiquite:
There was for me a dirige devoutly,
And with many a masse full right solemynely; And over my grave to be in memory Remembraunce made this lytle epetaphy:
O erth! on erth, it is a wonders case,
That thou art blynde and wyll not the know,
Though upon erth thou hast thy dwellyng place;
Yet erth at last must nedes the overthrow.
Thou thinkest thou do be no erth I trow,
For if thou diddest thou woldest than apply
To forsake pleasure and to lerne to dye.
O earth! of earth why art thou so proud?
Now what thou art call to remembraunce;
Open thine eares unto my song aloude;
Is not thy beaute, strength, and puyssaunce,
Though becladde with cloth of pleasaunce,
Very erth, and also wormes fode,
When erth to erth shall turne to the blode?
And, erth, with erth why art thou so wroth?
Remembre the that it vayleth right nought,
For thou mayst thinke, of a perfyte trothe,
If with the erth thou hast a quarell sought,
Amyddes the erth there is a place ywrought,
Whan erth to erth is torned properly,
The for thy synne to perrysh wonderly.
And, erth, for erth why hast thou envy?
And the erth upon erth to be more prosperous
Than thou thy selfe fretting the inwardly?
It is a sinne right foule and vicious,
And unto God also full odious.
Thou thinkest, I trow, there is no punishment
Ordeyned for sinne by egall judgement.
Toward heven to folow on the way
Thou arte full slow, and thinkest nothing
That thy nature doth full sore decaye
And deth right fast is to the comyng.
God graunt the mercy, but no tyme enlongyng;
Whan thou hast time, take tyme and space,
Whan time is past, lost is the tyme of grace.
And whan erth to erth is nexte to reverte,
And nature low in the last age,
Of erthly treasure erth doth sette his herte
Insaciately upon covetyse to rage;
He thynketh not his lyfe shall asswage,
His good is his God, with his great ryches,
He thinketh not for to leve it doutles.
The pomped clerkes with foles delicious
Erth often fedeth with corrupt glotony;
And nothing with werkes vertuous
The soule doth fede ryght well ententifly,
But without mesure full inordinatly
The body lyveth, and wyll not remember
Howe erth to erth must his strength surrender.
The vyle carkes set upon a fyre
Doth often haunte the syne of lechery,
Fulfyllyng the foule carnall desyre:
Thus erth with erth is corrupt mervaylously,
And erth on erth wyll nothing purify,
Till erth to erth be nere subverted,
For erth with erth is so perverted.
O mortall folke! you may beholde and se
Howe I lye here, sometime a myghty knyght;
The end of joye and all prosperite
Is deth at last, through his course and myght;
After the day there cometh the derke night;
For though the day be never so longe,
At last the belles ringeth to evensonge.
And my selfe called La Graunde Amoure,
Seking adventure in the worldly glory,
For to attayne the riches and honour,
Did thinke full lytle that I should here lye,
Tyll deth dyde marke me full ryght pryvely.
Lo what I am! and wherto you must!
Lyke as I am so shall you be all dust.
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