is a Middle English poem from the 12th or 13th century, detailing a debate between an owl and a nightingale as overheard by the poem's narrator. Generally regarded as one of the earliest and finest examples of a popular medieval literary debate, The Owl and the Nightingale takes the form of a spirited dispute between two birds on the subject of the relative beauty and merit of their songs. Comprised of approximately 2,000 lines of verse in rhymed, octosyllabic couplets, this allegorical and didactic poem is usually ascribed to Master Nicholas of Guildford, an obscure Englishman of whom very little is known outside the context of the poem. Despite this attribution, however, the question of the work's actual authorship remains uncertain and is the source of ongoing scholarly dispute. Written in a familiar, conversational style and presenting arguments based on common knowledge of the time rather than on the classics, The Owl and the Nightingale combines the characteristics of burlesque comedy, parody, traditional beast fables, and popular verse satire. The poem also features an ostensible plea by its author on behalf of the above-mentioned Nicholas of Guildford, requesting his preferment for a position as an ecclesiastical judge. Whatever its original aim might have been, The Owl and the Nightingale remains one of the most well-regarded and critically scrutinized works of Middle English literature and a delightful and intriguing poem unsurpassed within its time period and genre.
Two Middle English manuscripts featuring The Owl and the Nightingale have survived into the contemporary era. Both date to the thirteenth century, although neither is viewed as the original. The elder of the two, labeled Caligula A. ix, is preserved at the British Museum in London. This parchment copy of The Owl and the Nightingale, bound with an unrelated prose historical account and several short poems, bears the signature of Sir Robert Cotton. A second manuscript of two quartos, one parchment and the other paper, is part of the Jesus College Collection, designated Jesus Coll. Oxon. 29. It contains a prose chronicle of English kings and several additional works of poetry on paper that postdates the parchment text of The Owl and the Nightingale by as much as two centuries. No autograph is attached, although scholars have determined that its diverse thirteenth-century contents were written by the same hand, suggesting it is the work of a copyist. Modern English translations of the The Owl and the Nightingale adapted from these texts are relatively plentiful. Among the most notable are those by J. W. H. Atkins (1922), Eric Gerald Stanley (1960), and Neil Cartlidge (2001).
(Cotton ms)
This is where the argument between the Owl and the Nightingale starts.
I was in a valley in springtime ; in a very secluded corner, I heard an owl and a nightingale holding a great debate. [5] Their argument was fierce, passionate, and vehement, sometimes sotto voce, sometimes loud; and each of them swelled with rage against the other and let out all her anger, and said the very worst she could think of about the other's character, [10] and especially they argued vehemently against each other's song.
The nightingale began the argument in the corner of a clearing , [15] and perched on a beautiful branch---there was plenty of blossom around it---in an impenetrable thick hedge, with reeds and green sedge growing through it. She was all the happier because of the branch, [20] and sang in many different ways; the music sounded as if it came from a harp or a pipe rather than from a living throat. [25] Nearby there stood an old stump where the owl sang her Hours , and which was all overgrown with ivy; this was where the owl lived. The nightingale looked at her, [30] and scrutinised her and despised her, and everything about the owl seemed unpleasant to her, since she is regarded as ugly and dirty.
'You nasty creature!', she said, 'fly away! The sight of you makes me sick. [35] Certainly I often have to stop singing because of your ugly face. My heart fails me, and so does my speech, when you thrust yourself on me. I'd rather spit than sing [40] about your wretched howling.'
'You nasty creature!', she said, 'fly away! The sight of you makes me sick. [35] Certainly I often have to stop singing because of your ugly face. My heart fails me, and so does my speech, when you thrust yourself on me. I'd rather spit than sing [40] about your wretched howling.'
The owl waited until it was evening; she couldn't hold back any longer, because she was so angry that she could hardly breathe, and finally she spoke:
[45] 'How does my song seem to you now? Do you think that I can't sing just because I can't twitter? You often insult me [50] and say things to upset and embarrass me. If I held you in my talons---if only I could!--and you were off your branch, you'd sing a very different tune!'
[45] 'How does my song seem to you now? Do you think that I can't sing just because I can't twitter? You often insult me [50] and say things to upset and embarrass me. If I held you in my talons---if only I could!--and you were off your branch, you'd sing a very different tune!'
[55] The nightingale answered, 'As long as I keep out of the open, and protect myself against being exposed, I'm not bothered about your threats; [60] as long as I stay put in my hedge, I don't care at all what you say. I know that you're ruthless towards those who can't protect themselves from you, and that where you can you bully small birds cruelly and harshly. [65] That is why all kinds of birds hate you , and they all drive you away, and screech and scream around you, and mob you at close quarters; and for the same reason even the titmouse [70] would gladly rip you to pieces. You're ugly to look at, and hideous in all sorts of ways; your body is squat, your neck is scrawny, your head is bigger than the rest of you put together; [75] your eyes are black as coal, and as big as if they were painted with woad . You glare as if you want to bite to death everything that you can strike with your talons. Your beak is hard and sharp, and curved [80] like a bent hook. You often make a repeated clacking noise with it, and that's one of your songs. But you're making threats against my person, and would like to crush me with your talons; [85] a frog would suit you better, squatting under a mill-wheel; snails, mice, and other vermin would be more natural and appropriate for you. You roost by day and fly by night; [90] you show that you're an evil creature. You are loathsome and unclean ---I'm talking about your nest, and also about your dirty chicks; you're bringing them up with really filthy habits. [95] You know very well what they do in their nest: they foul it up to the chin; they sit there as if they're blind. There's a proverb about that: 'Shame on the creature [100] which fouls its own nest'! The other year a falcon was breeding; she didn't guard her nest well. You crept in there one day, and laid your filthy egg in it. [105]When the time came that she hatched the eggs and the chicks emerged, she brought her chicks food, watched over the nest and saw them eat; she saw that on one side [110]her nest was fouled on the outer edge. The falcon was angry with her chicks, and screamed loudly, and scolded sternly: 'Tell me, who's done this? It was never your nature to do this kind of thing. [115] This is a disgusting thing to have happened to you. Tell me, if you know who did it!' Then they all said, 'It was actually our brother, the one over there with the big head--- [120] it's a pity nobody's cut it off! Throw him out as a reject, so that he breaks his neck!' The Falcon believed her chicks, and seized that dirty chick by the middle, [125] and threw it off that wild branch, where magpies and crows tore it to pieces. There's a fable told about this , though it's not entirely a fable: this is what happens to the villain [130] who's come from a disreputable family and mixes with respectable people; he's always letting his origins show, that he's come from a rotten egg even if he's turned up in a respectable nest; [135] even if an apple rolls away from the tree where it was growing with the others, although it's some distance from it it still reflects clearly where it's come from.' The nightingale replied with these words, [140] and after that long speech she sang as loudly and as shrilly as if a resonant harp were being played.
The owl listened to this, and kept her eyes lowered, [145] and sat puffed up and swollen with rage, as if she had swallowed a frog, because she was fully aware that the nightingale was singing to humiliate her. And nevertheless she answered:
[150] 'Why don't you fly into the open and show which of us two is brighter in colouring and prettier to look at?'
[150] 'Why don't you fly into the open and show which of us two is brighter in colouring and prettier to look at?'
'No! you have very sharp claws; I don't fancy being clawed by you. [155] You have very strong talons; you grip with them like a pair of tongs. You were planning---that's what your sort do---to trick me with flattery. I wouldn't do what you suggested to me; [160] I knew very well that you were trying to mislead me. You ought to be ashamed of your bad advice! Your deviousness has been exposed; hide your dishonesty from the light, and conceal that wickedness under good behaviour! [165] When you want to practise your villainy, see that it's not obvious; because dishonesty brings down contempt and hatred if it's open and recognized. You didn't succeed with your cunning plans, [170] because I'm cautious and can easily dodge. It's no use your pushing too hard; I would fight better with cunning than you with all your strength. [175] I have a good castle, both in breadth and length, in my branch; the wise man says,
'He who fights and runs away,
Lives to fight another day.'
But let's stop this quarrelling, because speeches like this aren't getting us anywhere; and let's begin with reasonable procedure, [180], and courteous and diplomatic language. Even if we don't agree, we can plead better politely, without quarrelling and fighting, properly and correctly; [185] and indeed each of us can say what she wants to fairly and reasonably.'
'He who fights and runs away,
Lives to fight another day.'
But let's stop this quarrelling, because speeches like this aren't getting us anywhere; and let's begin with reasonable procedure, [180], and courteous and diplomatic language. Even if we don't agree, we can plead better politely, without quarrelling and fighting, properly and correctly; [185] and indeed each of us can say what she wants to fairly and reasonably.'
Then the owl said: 'Who is there to mediate between us; who is able and willing to give us a fair judgement?'
'I know very well', said the nightingale, [190] 'there's no need for discussion about it:Master Nicholas of Guildford . He is wise and weighs his words carefully; he has very sound judgement, and detests all vices. [195] He has a good understanding of singing, who is singing well, who badly; and he can distinguish wrong from right, darkness from light.'
The owl reflected for a while, [200], and and finally spoke as follows:
'I'm quite willing that he should judge us, because although he was wild once, and fond of nightingales and other charming and dainty creatures , [205] I know that he's cooled down considerably now; he's not so bewitched by you that he'll give you priority over me because of his old love for you. You'll never charm him so much [210] that he'd give a false judgement in your favour. He's mature, and his judgement is sound; he has no desire for indiscretion now; he's no longer inclined to frivolity; he will take the right path.'
'I'm quite willing that he should judge us, because although he was wild once, and fond of nightingales and other charming and dainty creatures , [205] I know that he's cooled down considerably now; he's not so bewitched by you that he'll give you priority over me because of his old love for you. You'll never charm him so much [210] that he'd give a false judgement in your favour. He's mature, and his judgement is sound; he has no desire for indiscretion now; he's no longer inclined to frivolity; he will take the right path.'
[215] The nightingale was quite ready; she had a wide range of experience.
'Owl', she said, 'tell me the truth; why do you do what evil creatures do? You sing by night and not by day, [220] and your whole song is "Woe! Woe!". You could frighten all those who hear your hooting with your song. You shriek and scream to your mate in a way that's horrible to listen to. [225] It seems to everyone, clever or stupid, that you're wailing rather than singing. You fly by night and not by day ; I' wonder about that, and well I may, because every creature that avoids doing right [230] loves darkness and hates light; and every creature attracted by wrongdoing likes the cover of darkness for what it does. There's a wise, though coarse, proverb which is used by a lot of people,[235] because King Alfred said and wrote it: "Someone who knows he's fouled himself keeps out of the way." I think that's just what you're doing, because you always fly at night. Another thing occurs to me: [240] at night you have very sharp eyesight; during the day you're completely blind, so you can't see either branch or bark. There's a proverb which is used about that: [245] just as is the case with the villain who is up to no good, and is so full of malicious dishonesty that nobody can escape him, knows the dark path well [250] and avoids the well-lit one, so it is with those of your kind: they don't care at all for light.'
'Owl', she said, 'tell me the truth; why do you do what evil creatures do? You sing by night and not by day, [220] and your whole song is "Woe! Woe!". You could frighten all those who hear your hooting with your song. You shriek and scream to your mate in a way that's horrible to listen to. [225] It seems to everyone, clever or stupid, that you're wailing rather than singing. You fly by night and not by day ; I' wonder about that, and well I may, because every creature that avoids doing right [230] loves darkness and hates light; and every creature attracted by wrongdoing likes the cover of darkness for what it does. There's a wise, though coarse, proverb which is used by a lot of people,[235] because King Alfred said and wrote it: "Someone who knows he's fouled himself keeps out of the way." I think that's just what you're doing, because you always fly at night. Another thing occurs to me: [240] at night you have very sharp eyesight; during the day you're completely blind, so you can't see either branch or bark. There's a proverb which is used about that: [245] just as is the case with the villain who is up to no good, and is so full of malicious dishonesty that nobody can escape him, knows the dark path well [250] and avoids the well-lit one, so it is with those of your kind: they don't care at all for light.'
The owl listened for a very long time, and became really angry. [255] She said, 'You're called a nightingale, but you could better be described as achatterbox because you talk too much. Give your tongue a rest! You think you've got the day to yourself. [260] Now let me have my turn! Be quiet now, and let me speak; I'll get my revenge on you. And listen to how I can defend myself by plain truth without verbiage. [265] You say that I hide myself by day; I don't deny that. And listen, I'll tell you why, the whole reason for it. I have a hard, strong beak [270] and good, long, sharp claws, as is proper for the hawk family. It is my wish and my desire to take after my own kind; nobody can blame me for it. [275] It's obvious in my case that I'm so fierce because of my proper nature. That's why I'm hated by the small birds that fly along the ground and through thickets. They scream and squawk at me [280] and fly in flocks against me. I prefer to have peace and quiet and sit still in my nest; because I would never be any better off [285] if I attacked them with scolding, abuse, and insults, as shepherds do, or with bad language. I don't want to quarrel with the wretched creatures, so I give them a wide berth. It's the opinion of the wise--- [290] and so they often say---that one shouldn't quarrel with fools, or compete with the oven in gaping widely. I've heard howAlfred once said in his proverbs , [295] "Take care to avoid anywhere where there are arguments and quarrels; let fools quarrel, and go on your way!" And I am wise, and do just that. And from another point of view, Alfred had [300] a saying which has spread far and wide: "Anyone who has to do with someone who is dirty will never come away from him with clean hands". Do you think that the hawk is the worse for it if a crow caws at him beside the marsh, [305] and swoops at him screaming as if she means to attack him? The hawk follows a sensible plan, and flies on his way and lets her scream.
'And another thing: you raise another point against me, [310] and accuse me of not being able to sing, saying that my only song is a dirge, and distressing to listen to. That isn't true---I sing harmoniously, with full melody and a resonant voice. [315] You think that all songs sound terrible if they're not like your piping. My voice is confident, not diffident; it's like a great horn, and yours is like a whistle made from a spindly half-grown weed. [320] I sing better than you do; you gabble like an Irish priest. I sing in the evening at the proper time , and afterwards when it is time to go to bed, [325] the third time at midnight; and so I regulate my song. When I see dawn coming far off, or the morning star, I do good with my throat [330] and call people to their business. But you sing all night long, from evening till dawn, and your song lasts as long as the night does, [335] and your wretched throat keeps on trilling without stopping, night or day. You constantly assault the ears of those who live around you with your piping, and make your song so cheap [340] that it loses all its value. Every pleasure can last so long that it ceases to please; because harp and pipe and birdsong all grow tiresome if they last too long. [345] However delightful a song may be, it will seem very tedious if it goes on longer than we would like . In this way you can devalue your song; because it is true---Alfred said so, and it can be read in books: [350] "Everything can lose its value through lack of moderation and restraint." You can glut yourself with pleasure, and surfeit makes you sick; [355] and every enjoyment can pall if it is pursued constantly---except for one. That is God's kingdom, which is always full of delight and always the same; even if you drew constantly on that basket,[360] it would constantly be full to overflowing. God's kingdom is something to marvel at, always giving and always unchanged.
'And you reproach me with a further point, that I have poor eyesight, [365] and say that because I fly by night I can't see in daylight. You're lying! It's obvious that I have good eyesight, because there's no darkness so thick that my sight is obscured. [370] You think I can't see because I don't fly by day; the hare lies low all day, but nevertheless he can see. [375] If hounds run towards him, he dodges away at top speed, and turns sharply down very narrow paths, and keeps his tricks ready, and hops and leaps very fast, [380]and looks for ways to the wood. His eyesight wouldn't be up to this unless he could see really well. I can see as well as a hare, even though I stay hidden all day. [385] Where brave men are at war, and travel everywhere, and overrun many countries, and do good service at night, I follow those brave men, [390] and fly at night in their company.'
'And another thing: you raise another point against me, [310] and accuse me of not being able to sing, saying that my only song is a dirge, and distressing to listen to. That isn't true---I sing harmoniously, with full melody and a resonant voice. [315] You think that all songs sound terrible if they're not like your piping. My voice is confident, not diffident; it's like a great horn, and yours is like a whistle made from a spindly half-grown weed. [320] I sing better than you do; you gabble like an Irish priest. I sing in the evening at the proper time , and afterwards when it is time to go to bed, [325] the third time at midnight; and so I regulate my song. When I see dawn coming far off, or the morning star, I do good with my throat [330] and call people to their business. But you sing all night long, from evening till dawn, and your song lasts as long as the night does, [335] and your wretched throat keeps on trilling without stopping, night or day. You constantly assault the ears of those who live around you with your piping, and make your song so cheap [340] that it loses all its value. Every pleasure can last so long that it ceases to please; because harp and pipe and birdsong all grow tiresome if they last too long. [345] However delightful a song may be, it will seem very tedious if it goes on longer than we would like . In this way you can devalue your song; because it is true---Alfred said so, and it can be read in books: [350] "Everything can lose its value through lack of moderation and restraint." You can glut yourself with pleasure, and surfeit makes you sick; [355] and every enjoyment can pall if it is pursued constantly---except for one. That is God's kingdom, which is always full of delight and always the same; even if you drew constantly on that basket,[360] it would constantly be full to overflowing. God's kingdom is something to marvel at, always giving and always unchanged.
'And you reproach me with a further point, that I have poor eyesight, [365] and say that because I fly by night I can't see in daylight. You're lying! It's obvious that I have good eyesight, because there's no darkness so thick that my sight is obscured. [370] You think I can't see because I don't fly by day; the hare lies low all day, but nevertheless he can see. [375] If hounds run towards him, he dodges away at top speed, and turns sharply down very narrow paths, and keeps his tricks ready, and hops and leaps very fast, [380]and looks for ways to the wood. His eyesight wouldn't be up to this unless he could see really well. I can see as well as a hare, even though I stay hidden all day. [385] Where brave men are at war, and travel everywhere, and overrun many countries, and do good service at night, I follow those brave men, [390] and fly at night in their company.'
The nightingale kept all this in her mind, and considered for a long time what she might say to follow it; because she could not refute [395] what the owl had said to her, since what she said was true and accurate. And she regretted that she had let the argument get so far, and was afraid that her answer [400] would not be effectively delivered. But nevertheless she spoke out boldly; because it is wise to put on a brave show in front of one's enemy rather than giving up out of cowardice, [405] since someone who is bold if you take to flight will run away if you don't lose your nerve; if he sees that you're not cowardly he'll turn from a boar into a barrow-pig . And therefore, although the nightingale[410] was nervous, she made a bold speech.
'Owl,' she said, 'why do you behave like this? In winter you sing "Woe! Woe!' You sing like a hen in snow---everything that you sing comes out of misery. [415] In winter you sing sullenly and gloomily, and you are always dumb in summer. It's because of your wretched malice that you can't be happy with us, since you practically burn up with resentment[420] when our good times arrive. You behave like a mean-spirited man: every pleasure displeases him; complaining and scowling come easily to him if he sees that people are happy; [425] he would like to see tears in everyone's eyes; he wouldn't mind if whole troops of men were fighting each other hand-to-hand . You do the same for your part;[430] because when deep snow is lying far and wide, and every creature is miserable, you sing from evening to morning. But I bring every delight with me; every creature is glad on my account, [435] and rejoices when I come, and looks forward to my arrival. The flowers begin to open and bloom, both on the trees and in the fields. The lily with her fair complexion welcomes me, I'll have you know, [440] and invites me with her beautiful appearance to fly to her. The blushing rose, too, springing from the briar, [445] tells me to sing a joyful song for love of her. And so I do, night and day---the more I sing, the more I can---and serenade them with my singing, [450] but even so, not for too long. When I see that people are happy I don't want them to feel overloaded; when what I've come for is done, I go back, and it's sensible for me to do that. [455] When men's thoughts turn to their sheaves, and the green leaves begin to fade, I travel home and take my leave. I don't care for the deprivations of winter; when I see that harsh weather is coming, [460] I go home to my own country, and am both loved and thanked for having come and done my task here. When my work's finished, should I stay on? No! why should I? After all, anyone who stays on for a long time when they're not needed [465] is neither clever nor sensible.'
'Owl,' she said, 'why do you behave like this? In winter you sing "Woe! Woe!' You sing like a hen in snow---everything that you sing comes out of misery. [415] In winter you sing sullenly and gloomily, and you are always dumb in summer. It's because of your wretched malice that you can't be happy with us, since you practically burn up with resentment[420] when our good times arrive. You behave like a mean-spirited man: every pleasure displeases him; complaining and scowling come easily to him if he sees that people are happy; [425] he would like to see tears in everyone's eyes; he wouldn't mind if whole troops of men were fighting each other hand-to-hand . You do the same for your part;[430] because when deep snow is lying far and wide, and every creature is miserable, you sing from evening to morning. But I bring every delight with me; every creature is glad on my account, [435] and rejoices when I come, and looks forward to my arrival. The flowers begin to open and bloom, both on the trees and in the fields. The lily with her fair complexion welcomes me, I'll have you know, [440] and invites me with her beautiful appearance to fly to her. The blushing rose, too, springing from the briar, [445] tells me to sing a joyful song for love of her. And so I do, night and day---the more I sing, the more I can---and serenade them with my singing, [450] but even so, not for too long. When I see that people are happy I don't want them to feel overloaded; when what I've come for is done, I go back, and it's sensible for me to do that. [455] When men's thoughts turn to their sheaves, and the green leaves begin to fade, I travel home and take my leave. I don't care for the deprivations of winter; when I see that harsh weather is coming, [460] I go home to my own country, and am both loved and thanked for having come and done my task here. When my work's finished, should I stay on? No! why should I? After all, anyone who stays on for a long time when they're not needed [465] is neither clever nor sensible.'
The owl listened, and took in all this argument word for word, and then considered how she might [470] best find a defensible answer; because anyone who is afraid of being tricked when arguing a case must consider things very carefully.
'You ask me', said the owl, 'why I sing and cry out in winter. [475] It's customary---and has been since the world began---for every good man to acknowledge his friends and entertain them for a time in his house, at his table, [480], with friendly talk and kind words. And especially at Christmas, when rich and poor, greater and lesser, sing carols night and day, I help them as far as I can. [485] And also I'm concerned with other things than having fun and singing. I have a good answer to this point, all ready and waiting. For summertime is far too heady, [490] and makes a man's thoughts go astray; since he loses interest in chastity, he's entirely concerned with lechery. For no animal waits any longer, but each one mounts the other; [495] even the stallions in the stud go wild after the mares. And you are like them yourself, because your song is all about lechery, and towards the time you breed [500] you're very arrogant and aggressive. As soon as you've mated, you lose your voice, and instead chirp like a titmouse, squeaking hoarsely. [505] What's more, you sing worse than the hedge-sparrow, which flies along the ground among the stubble; when your desire has passed, so has your song. In summer the peasants go wild, and contort themselves into strange postures; [510] it isn't because of love, however, but the peasant's basic instinct. For as soon as he's done the deed, all his ardour collapses; [515] once he's got under a woman's skirt and shot his bolt , his love doesn't last any longer. That's what your character is like: as soon as you're sitting on your eggs, you lose your song completely. [520] That's how you behave on your branch: when you've had your fun, your voice is ruined. But when the nights draw in and bring sharp frosts, [525] only then is it clear who's got what it takes; when the going is tough, you can see who presses forward and who hangs back. It's obvious in hard times [530] when good service needs to be offered; then I'm ready and entertain and sing, and am happy to offer my performance. Winter doesn't trouble me, since I'm not a feeble wretch; [535] and also I give comfort to many creatures which have no strength of their own. They are anxious and wretched, and search desperately for warmth; I sing more often to them, [540] to lessen some of their misery. What do you think of that? Have you been cornered yet? Have you been fairly beaten?'
'You ask me', said the owl, 'why I sing and cry out in winter. [475] It's customary---and has been since the world began---for every good man to acknowledge his friends and entertain them for a time in his house, at his table, [480], with friendly talk and kind words. And especially at Christmas, when rich and poor, greater and lesser, sing carols night and day, I help them as far as I can. [485] And also I'm concerned with other things than having fun and singing. I have a good answer to this point, all ready and waiting. For summertime is far too heady, [490] and makes a man's thoughts go astray; since he loses interest in chastity, he's entirely concerned with lechery. For no animal waits any longer, but each one mounts the other; [495] even the stallions in the stud go wild after the mares. And you are like them yourself, because your song is all about lechery, and towards the time you breed [500] you're very arrogant and aggressive. As soon as you've mated, you lose your voice, and instead chirp like a titmouse, squeaking hoarsely. [505] What's more, you sing worse than the hedge-sparrow, which flies along the ground among the stubble; when your desire has passed, so has your song. In summer the peasants go wild, and contort themselves into strange postures; [510] it isn't because of love, however, but the peasant's basic instinct. For as soon as he's done the deed, all his ardour collapses; [515] once he's got under a woman's skirt and shot his bolt , his love doesn't last any longer. That's what your character is like: as soon as you're sitting on your eggs, you lose your song completely. [520] That's how you behave on your branch: when you've had your fun, your voice is ruined. But when the nights draw in and bring sharp frosts, [525] only then is it clear who's got what it takes; when the going is tough, you can see who presses forward and who hangs back. It's obvious in hard times [530] when good service needs to be offered; then I'm ready and entertain and sing, and am happy to offer my performance. Winter doesn't trouble me, since I'm not a feeble wretch; [535] and also I give comfort to many creatures which have no strength of their own. They are anxious and wretched, and search desperately for warmth; I sing more often to them, [540] to lessen some of their misery. What do you think of that? Have you been cornered yet? Have you been fairly beaten?'
'Not at all!' said the nightingale; 'You must listen to the other side. [545] This debate hasn't been submitted to judgement yet. But keep quiet and listen to me now! I'll see to it that your speech is refuted by a single statement.'
'That wouldn't be fair', the owl said. [550] 'You've brought a charge as you proposed to, and I've given you an answer. But before we set off for our judgement, I want to argue against you as you argued against me, [555] and you answer me if you can.
Tell me now, you miserable creature, do you have any use apart from having a musical voice? You're no good for anything [560] apart from knowing how to warble, because you're small and weak and your coat of feathers is scanty. What good do you do for humanity? No more than a wretched wren does! [565] Nothing useful comes from you, except that you make as much noise as if you were mad; and once your twittering is finished, you don't have any other skill. Alfred the wise said ([570] quite rightly, since it's true), 'Nobody is loved or valued very long for their singing alone', because someone who doesn't know how to do anything but sing is good for nothing. You're just a useless creature; [575] there's nothing to you but twittering. Your colouring is dark and dull; you look like a little sooty bundle. You aren't pretty, you aren't strong, [580] you aren't broad, you aren't tall. You've missed out completely on good looks, and you haven't done much good either.
I've another point to make about you: you're not clean or decent [585] when you visit human enclosures, where thorns and branches are woven together alongside hedges and thick weeds, where people often go to relieve themselves. You're attracted there, you hang around there, [590] and you avoid other, clean places. When I fly out after mice at night, I can find you at the privy; among the weeds and nettles, you sit and sing behind the seat. [595] You can most often be found where people park their bottoms.
What's more, you criticize me for my diet, and say that I eat vermin; but what do you eat---don't try to deny it!---[600] but spiders and filthy flies and worms, if you can find them in the crevices of rough bark? But I cando very good service, because I can look after human dwellings; [605] and my services are excellent, because I help with people's food supply. I can catch mice in a barn, and also at church in the dark, [610] because I like to visit Christ's house to clear it of filthy mice, and no vermin will enter it if I can catch them.
And if I don't feel like staying anywhere else, [615] I have huge trees in the wood, with thick branches, not bare but all overgrown with green ivy, which always stays in leaf and never loses its colour [620] when it snows or when it freezes. In it I have a good shelter, warm in winter, cool in summer; when my house stands bright and green, [625] yours has disappeared.
But you also accuse me of other things. You slander my chicks, saying that their nest isn't clean. That's also true of a lot of other creatures, since the horse in its stable and the ox in its stall [630] do everything that they have to there; and little children in their cradles, not just commoners but aristocrats, do everything in their youth that they give up when they're older. [635] How can the young creature help it? If it offends, it's forced to. There's a proverb which has been running for a long time, that "Need makes the old woman trot." What's more, I have a second answer. [640] Do you want to visit my nest and see how it's laid out? If you have any sense, you can learn from it. My nest is hollow and wide in the middle, so it's as soft as possible for my chicks; [645] there's a woven lattice all round it, extending outwards from the nest itself. That is where they go to relieve themselves; but I forbid them to do what you claim they do. We pay attention to human living-quarters, [650] and model ours on theirs. Humans have, among other arrangements, a privy at the far end of their bedchamber , because they don't want to go too far; and my chicks do the same. Sit still now, you chattering female! [655] You were never so tightly tied up; you'll never find an answer to this. Hang up your axe! It's time for you to be on your way.'
Tell me now, you miserable creature, do you have any use apart from having a musical voice? You're no good for anything [560] apart from knowing how to warble, because you're small and weak and your coat of feathers is scanty. What good do you do for humanity? No more than a wretched wren does! [565] Nothing useful comes from you, except that you make as much noise as if you were mad; and once your twittering is finished, you don't have any other skill. Alfred the wise said ([570] quite rightly, since it's true), 'Nobody is loved or valued very long for their singing alone', because someone who doesn't know how to do anything but sing is good for nothing. You're just a useless creature; [575] there's nothing to you but twittering. Your colouring is dark and dull; you look like a little sooty bundle. You aren't pretty, you aren't strong, [580] you aren't broad, you aren't tall. You've missed out completely on good looks, and you haven't done much good either.
I've another point to make about you: you're not clean or decent [585] when you visit human enclosures, where thorns and branches are woven together alongside hedges and thick weeds, where people often go to relieve themselves. You're attracted there, you hang around there, [590] and you avoid other, clean places. When I fly out after mice at night, I can find you at the privy; among the weeds and nettles, you sit and sing behind the seat. [595] You can most often be found where people park their bottoms.
What's more, you criticize me for my diet, and say that I eat vermin; but what do you eat---don't try to deny it!---[600] but spiders and filthy flies and worms, if you can find them in the crevices of rough bark? But I cando very good service, because I can look after human dwellings; [605] and my services are excellent, because I help with people's food supply. I can catch mice in a barn, and also at church in the dark, [610] because I like to visit Christ's house to clear it of filthy mice, and no vermin will enter it if I can catch them.
And if I don't feel like staying anywhere else, [615] I have huge trees in the wood, with thick branches, not bare but all overgrown with green ivy, which always stays in leaf and never loses its colour [620] when it snows or when it freezes. In it I have a good shelter, warm in winter, cool in summer; when my house stands bright and green, [625] yours has disappeared.
But you also accuse me of other things. You slander my chicks, saying that their nest isn't clean. That's also true of a lot of other creatures, since the horse in its stable and the ox in its stall [630] do everything that they have to there; and little children in their cradles, not just commoners but aristocrats, do everything in their youth that they give up when they're older. [635] How can the young creature help it? If it offends, it's forced to. There's a proverb which has been running for a long time, that "Need makes the old woman trot." What's more, I have a second answer. [640] Do you want to visit my nest and see how it's laid out? If you have any sense, you can learn from it. My nest is hollow and wide in the middle, so it's as soft as possible for my chicks; [645] there's a woven lattice all round it, extending outwards from the nest itself. That is where they go to relieve themselves; but I forbid them to do what you claim they do. We pay attention to human living-quarters, [650] and model ours on theirs. Humans have, among other arrangements, a privy at the far end of their bedchamber , because they don't want to go too far; and my chicks do the same. Sit still now, you chattering female! [655] You were never so tightly tied up; you'll never find an answer to this. Hang up your axe! It's time for you to be on your way.'
At these words the nightingale [660] was almost entirely lost for inspiration, and searched desperately for ideas, to see if there was anything else she could do, apart from singing, which might be useful for other purposes. [665] She had to find an answer to this point, or fall behind completely; and it is very hard to fight against truth and justice. [670] Someone who finds himself in dire straits must tackle the problem by resorting to cunning, and is forced to dissimulate; he has to embroider and wrap things up, if the mouth is to gloss things over so the heart inside can't be seen. [675] And it is easy for a speech to go wrong where the mouth is saying something inconsistent with the heart [the point is repeated in slightly different wording]. But nevertheless, in spite of this, [680] there is a possible way out if anyone can make use of it, because intelligence is never so sharp as when its best plan is in doubt; it reaches its height of cunning when it feels most at risk. [685] For Alfred said in an old proverb, which is still remembered, "When the disaster is greatest, the remedy is closest"; because intelligence increases when it is in difficulties, [690] and becomes sharper as a result. So a man is never at a loss as long as he keeps his wits about him, but if he loses them, his bag of tricks is slit right open; [695] if he can't hold on to his wits, he won't find a plan in any corner of it. So it was said by Alfred, who knew what he was about and always spoke the truth, "When the disaster is greatest, the remedy is closest." [700] The nightingale had wisely made good use of all her trouble; among the difficulties and the tensions, she had given the matter prudent and careful thought, [705] and had found a good answer in her time of crisis.
'Owl,' she said, 'you ask me if I can do anything apart from singing in summertime , [710]and bringing happiness far and wide. Why are you interrogating me about my skills? My one skill is better than all of yours; one song from my mouth is better than everything your kind was ever able to do. [715] And listen! I'll tell you why: do you know why man was born? For the bliss of the kingdom of heaven, where there is always the same level of singing and rejoicing; [720] everyone who has any idea of what is good aspires to that. That is why there is singing in Holy Church, and clerics compose songs, to remind people of where they are destined to be, and to remain eternally, so that so that they shouldn't forget the joy, [725] but think about it and obtain it, and understand from the singing in church how delightful the bliss of heaven will be. Clerics, monks, and canons [730] in good communities get up at midnight and sing about the light of heaven, and country priests sing when the dawn breaks. [735] And I help them as far as I can; I sing with them night and day, and they are in better spirits because of me, and more willing to sing. I give people a preview of the future for their good, [740] to give them comfort, and encourage them to pursue the song which is eternal. Now, Owl, you can sit there and wither away; this isn't just warbling; [745] I'm prepared to agree that we should go to judgement before the Pope of Rome himself .
But wait---you must listen to something else on this subject. You won't be able [750] to resist me in this argument, not for the whole of England. Why do you criticise me for my weakness, my small size and my short stature, and say that I'm not strong because I'm not broad or tall? [755] You've got no idea what you're talking about, and are just telling me lies, because I'm capable of deviousness and cunning, and that's why I am so confident. I know plenty of tricks and songs, [760] and don't rely on any other strength, because it's true what Alfred said: "Strength is useless against intelligence." Often a little cunning succeeds where great strength would fail; [765] castles and citadels can be won with a minimum of force; walls can be destroyed by cunning, and brave knights knocked off their horses. Brute force is of little value, [770] but wisdom never loses its value. You can see in all kinds of things that wisdom has no equal. A horse is stronger than a man, but because it has no intelligence [775] it carries heavy loads on its back, and pulls in front of large teams , and endures both stick and spur, and stands tethered at the door of the mill; and it does what it's told, [780] and because it has no understanding its strength can't protect it from having to submit to a small child. Man brings it about, by strength and intelligence, that nothing else is his equal; [785] even if all kinds of strength were combined, human intelligence would still be greater, because human skill dominates all earthly creatures. In the same way, I do better with my song [790] than you do throughout the year; I'm loved because of my skill, you're shunned because of your strength. Do you think less of me because I have only one skill? [795] If two men go to the wrestling and each of them presses the other hard, and one knows a lot of throws, and can disguise his tactics very well, and the other only knows a single throw, [800]but that works with everybody, and with that one throw he brings down all his opponents, one after another, in a short space of time, why need he bother about having a better throw than the one which is so effective for him? [805] You say that you can do a lot of services. But I'm at a different level from you; even if you combined all your skills, my single skill is still essentially better. Often, when hounds are hunting down foxes,[810] the cat survives very well, even though he only knows one trick. The fox doesn't know any trick as good as that, even though he knows so many that he thinks he can escape all the hounds, [815] since he knows straight and crooked paths, and he can hang from a branch, so the hound loses the trail and turns back to the moorland. The fox can creep along the hedge, [820] and turn off from his earlier route, and shortly afterwards double back on it. Then the hound is thrown off the scent; he doesn't know from the mingled scents whether he should go onwards or back. [825] If the fox runs out of all these ruses, he finally creeps back to his hole; but nevertheless, with all his tricks, he can't plan well enough---bold and quick as he is--- [830] to avoid losing his red pelt. The cat knows only a single trick, by hill or by dale---that he can climb very well; that's why he's still wearing his grey pelt. [835] I say just the same about myself: my one skill is worth better than twelve of yours.'
'Owl,' she said, 'you ask me if I can do anything apart from singing in summertime , [710]and bringing happiness far and wide. Why are you interrogating me about my skills? My one skill is better than all of yours; one song from my mouth is better than everything your kind was ever able to do. [715] And listen! I'll tell you why: do you know why man was born? For the bliss of the kingdom of heaven, where there is always the same level of singing and rejoicing; [720] everyone who has any idea of what is good aspires to that. That is why there is singing in Holy Church, and clerics compose songs, to remind people of where they are destined to be, and to remain eternally, so that so that they shouldn't forget the joy, [725] but think about it and obtain it, and understand from the singing in church how delightful the bliss of heaven will be. Clerics, monks, and canons [730] in good communities get up at midnight and sing about the light of heaven, and country priests sing when the dawn breaks. [735] And I help them as far as I can; I sing with them night and day, and they are in better spirits because of me, and more willing to sing. I give people a preview of the future for their good, [740] to give them comfort, and encourage them to pursue the song which is eternal. Now, Owl, you can sit there and wither away; this isn't just warbling; [745] I'm prepared to agree that we should go to judgement before the Pope of Rome himself .
But wait---you must listen to something else on this subject. You won't be able [750] to resist me in this argument, not for the whole of England. Why do you criticise me for my weakness, my small size and my short stature, and say that I'm not strong because I'm not broad or tall? [755] You've got no idea what you're talking about, and are just telling me lies, because I'm capable of deviousness and cunning, and that's why I am so confident. I know plenty of tricks and songs, [760] and don't rely on any other strength, because it's true what Alfred said: "Strength is useless against intelligence." Often a little cunning succeeds where great strength would fail; [765] castles and citadels can be won with a minimum of force; walls can be destroyed by cunning, and brave knights knocked off their horses. Brute force is of little value, [770] but wisdom never loses its value. You can see in all kinds of things that wisdom has no equal. A horse is stronger than a man, but because it has no intelligence [775] it carries heavy loads on its back, and pulls in front of large teams , and endures both stick and spur, and stands tethered at the door of the mill; and it does what it's told, [780] and because it has no understanding its strength can't protect it from having to submit to a small child. Man brings it about, by strength and intelligence, that nothing else is his equal; [785] even if all kinds of strength were combined, human intelligence would still be greater, because human skill dominates all earthly creatures. In the same way, I do better with my song [790] than you do throughout the year; I'm loved because of my skill, you're shunned because of your strength. Do you think less of me because I have only one skill? [795] If two men go to the wrestling and each of them presses the other hard, and one knows a lot of throws, and can disguise his tactics very well, and the other only knows a single throw, [800]but that works with everybody, and with that one throw he brings down all his opponents, one after another, in a short space of time, why need he bother about having a better throw than the one which is so effective for him? [805] You say that you can do a lot of services. But I'm at a different level from you; even if you combined all your skills, my single skill is still essentially better. Often, when hounds are hunting down foxes,[810] the cat survives very well, even though he only knows one trick. The fox doesn't know any trick as good as that, even though he knows so many that he thinks he can escape all the hounds, [815] since he knows straight and crooked paths, and he can hang from a branch, so the hound loses the trail and turns back to the moorland. The fox can creep along the hedge, [820] and turn off from his earlier route, and shortly afterwards double back on it. Then the hound is thrown off the scent; he doesn't know from the mingled scents whether he should go onwards or back. [825] If the fox runs out of all these ruses, he finally creeps back to his hole; but nevertheless, with all his tricks, he can't plan well enough---bold and quick as he is--- [830] to avoid losing his red pelt. The cat knows only a single trick, by hill or by dale---that he can climb very well; that's why he's still wearing his grey pelt. [835] I say just the same about myself: my one skill is worth better than twelve of yours.'
'Hold on! Hold on!' said the owl, 'Your whole approach is dishonest. You manipulate all your words [840] so that everything you say seems right; you gloss over everything, and what you say is so plausible and charming that everyone who hears it thinks that you're telling the truth. [845] Hold on! Hold on! you'll meet resistance; now it will become very clear that you've told a pack of lies, when your dishonesty's exposed. You say that you sing to humankind, [850] and teach them that they are headed out of this world, up to the song that lasts for ever. But it's really astonishing that you dare to tell such an obvious lie. Do you expect to bring them so easily [855] to God's kingdom, all singing? No, no, they'll surely realize that they must pray for a remedy for their sins with copious weeping before they can ever get there. [860] So I advise that those people who hope to reach the King of Heaven should be prepared, and weep more than they sing, because no man is without sin; and so, before he departs, he must [865] make amends with tears and weeping, so that what was once sweet to him becomes bitter. I help with this, God knows. I don't sing to ensnare them, because all my song is about longing, [870] and mingled to some extent with lamentation, so that a man should be moved by me to realize that he should bewail his guilt. [875] If you take this as a starting-point for argument, I weep better than you sing; if right goes ahead and wrong behind, my weeping is better than your singing. Although some people are thoroughly good, [880]and thoroughly pure in heart, nevertheless they long to leave this world; they regret that they are here because, although they themselves are saved, they see nothing but misery here; [885] they weep bitterly for other people, and pray for Christ's mercy on their behalf. I help both kinds of people; my mouth offers two kinds of remedy. I help the good man in longing, [890] because when he feels that desire I sing to him; and I help the sinful man as well, because I show him where misery lies.
What's more, I'd argue against you from another point of view, because when you sit on your branch, [895] you entice those people who are willing to listen to your songs to the joys of the flesh; you're hopeless on the bliss of heaven, since you don't have the voice for it. Everything you sing is about lechery, [900] as there is no holiness in you; nobody's reminded by your chirping of a priest singing in church.
And I'll put a further point to you, to see if you can explain it away. [905] Why won't you sing to other nations where it's needed much more? You never sing in Ireland, nor do you visit Scotland. Why don't you travel to Norway, [910] and sing to the folk of Galloway, where there are people who have little experience of any song under the sun? Why won't you sing to the priests and teach them through your chirruping, [915] and show them with your voice how angels sing in heaven? You behave like a useless spring, which comes up beside a swift stream, and lets the slope dry out [920] and flows uselessly down it. But I travel both north and south; I am known in every country; east and west, far and near, I do my job very well, [925] and warn people with my cries, so that your beguiling song doesn't mislead them. I guide people with my singing so that they don't sin for too long. I tell them that they should stop so that they don't get themselves trapped;[930] because it's better that they should weep in this world than be the companions of devils in the next.'
What's more, I'd argue against you from another point of view, because when you sit on your branch, [895] you entice those people who are willing to listen to your songs to the joys of the flesh; you're hopeless on the bliss of heaven, since you don't have the voice for it. Everything you sing is about lechery, [900] as there is no holiness in you; nobody's reminded by your chirping of a priest singing in church.
And I'll put a further point to you, to see if you can explain it away. [905] Why won't you sing to other nations where it's needed much more? You never sing in Ireland, nor do you visit Scotland. Why don't you travel to Norway, [910] and sing to the folk of Galloway, where there are people who have little experience of any song under the sun? Why won't you sing to the priests and teach them through your chirruping, [915] and show them with your voice how angels sing in heaven? You behave like a useless spring, which comes up beside a swift stream, and lets the slope dry out [920] and flows uselessly down it. But I travel both north and south; I am known in every country; east and west, far and near, I do my job very well, [925] and warn people with my cries, so that your beguiling song doesn't mislead them. I guide people with my singing so that they don't sin for too long. I tell them that they should stop so that they don't get themselves trapped;[930] because it's better that they should weep in this world than be the companions of devils in the next.'
The nightingale was furious, and also rather embarrassed, [935], because the owl had criticized her for the place she sat and sang in, behind the bedchamber, among the weeds, where people go to relieve themselves; and she sat and thought for a time, [940]and was well aware in her reflection that anger deprives a man of his wits, for King Alfred said so: "The man who is hated rarely intercedes successfully, and the man who is angry rarely pleads successfully"--- [945] because anger stirs up the blood in the heart so that it flows like a raging torrent and overwhelms the heart completely, so that it can't do anything but feel, and so loses all its insight, [950] so it cannot see what is true or right. The nightingale considered, and let her anger subside; it would be better for her to speak calmly than to use angry words.[955] 'Owl,' she said, 'now listen here! You'll fall, you're on a slippery slope. You say I fly around behind the bedchamber; it's true, the bedchamber is our territory. Where a lord and lady are lying, [960] I have to sing to them and perch near them. Do you think that sensible people abandon the right road because of dirty mud, or that the sun is more reluctant to shine if it's filthy in your nest? [965] Should I, because of a board with a hole in it, abandon my proper place, so that I don't sing beside the bed where a lord has his lover as a bedfellow? It is my duty, it is my rule, [970] that I should follow the highest.
Furthermore, you boast about your song, that you can screech angrily and harshly, and say that you encourage humankind to weep for their sins. [975] If everybody howled and screamed as if they were damned, if they screeched as you did, they might scare the wits out of their priest. A man should keep quiet and not make an outcry; [980] he may weep for his sins, but the proper place for praying aloud and loud singing is where Christ is worshipped; singing in church at the right time can't be too loud or too long. [985] You screech and wail, and I sing; your song is lamentation, and mine celebration. I hope you screech and weep till you drop dead, and I hope you scream so loudly [990] that both your eyes pop out! Which is better of these two things, that someone should be happy or sad? I hope that in our case you'll aways be sad, and I'll be happy. [995] And another thing: you ask why I don't travel into another country and sing there. No! What could I do among people who have always been wretched? That country isn't agreeable or pleasant; [1000] on the contrary, it's wilderness and wasteland, crags and rocky hills reaching to the sky; snow and hail are what they're used to. That country is horrible and depressing. The inhabitants are savage and miserable; [1005] they don't live in peace or harmony. They don't care how they live. They eat raw fish and meat, ripping it apart like wolves. They drink milk and whey with it--- [1010] they don't know what else to do. They don't have either wine or beer, but live like wild animals; they go round dressed in shaggy animal skins, as if they'd come out of hell. [1015] If any good man visited them---as one did recently from Rome ---to teach them to behave properly, and to give up their vices, he'd be better off staying put, [1020] because he wouldn't be able to do anything he planned; he would have more chance of teaching a bear to use a shield and spear than of persuading that savage nation to listen to me singing. [1025] What use would I be there with my song? However long I sang to them, my song would be completely wasted, since neither halter nor bridle could restrain them from their savage behaviour, [1030] nor could a man armed with steel and iron. But where a country is pleasant and agreeable, and where the natives are friendly, I exercise my throat among them, because I can do them good service there [1035] and bring them news of love, since my song includes hymns. It was said in an old proverb, and the same point is still true, that a man must harrow and sow [1040] where he expects to gain some benefit from reaping, as that man is mad who sows his seed where no grass or flowers ever grow.'
Furthermore, you boast about your song, that you can screech angrily and harshly, and say that you encourage humankind to weep for their sins. [975] If everybody howled and screamed as if they were damned, if they screeched as you did, they might scare the wits out of their priest. A man should keep quiet and not make an outcry; [980] he may weep for his sins, but the proper place for praying aloud and loud singing is where Christ is worshipped; singing in church at the right time can't be too loud or too long. [985] You screech and wail, and I sing; your song is lamentation, and mine celebration. I hope you screech and weep till you drop dead, and I hope you scream so loudly [990] that both your eyes pop out! Which is better of these two things, that someone should be happy or sad? I hope that in our case you'll aways be sad, and I'll be happy. [995] And another thing: you ask why I don't travel into another country and sing there. No! What could I do among people who have always been wretched? That country isn't agreeable or pleasant; [1000] on the contrary, it's wilderness and wasteland, crags and rocky hills reaching to the sky; snow and hail are what they're used to. That country is horrible and depressing. The inhabitants are savage and miserable; [1005] they don't live in peace or harmony. They don't care how they live. They eat raw fish and meat, ripping it apart like wolves. They drink milk and whey with it--- [1010] they don't know what else to do. They don't have either wine or beer, but live like wild animals; they go round dressed in shaggy animal skins, as if they'd come out of hell. [1015] If any good man visited them---as one did recently from Rome ---to teach them to behave properly, and to give up their vices, he'd be better off staying put, [1020] because he wouldn't be able to do anything he planned; he would have more chance of teaching a bear to use a shield and spear than of persuading that savage nation to listen to me singing. [1025] What use would I be there with my song? However long I sang to them, my song would be completely wasted, since neither halter nor bridle could restrain them from their savage behaviour, [1030] nor could a man armed with steel and iron. But where a country is pleasant and agreeable, and where the natives are friendly, I exercise my throat among them, because I can do them good service there [1035] and bring them news of love, since my song includes hymns. It was said in an old proverb, and the same point is still true, that a man must harrow and sow [1040] where he expects to gain some benefit from reaping, as that man is mad who sows his seed where no grass or flowers ever grow.'
The owl was angry and ready for a fight when she heard this, her eyes bulging.[1045] 'You say that you watch over people's bedchambers, among leaves and beautiful flowers, where two lovers lie in one bed in each other's embrace, well protected. Once you sang ---I know well where--- [1050] beside a bedchamber, and wanted to encourage the lady into an illicit affair, and sang both low and high, and taught her to prostitute her body to shameful and disgraceful acts. [1055] The lord soon discovered that, and set and laid out lime and snares and all kinds of things to catch you. Soon you came to the window; you were caught in a snare--- [1060] your legs paid the penalty for it. Your only judgement and sentence was to be torn apart by wild horses. See if you can mislead whichever you like, married women or unmarried girls, after that; [1065] your song may be so effective that you end up flapping in a snare!'
Hearing this, the nightingale would gladly have attacked with sword and spear-point if she had been a man; [1070] but since she couldn't do anything better, she fought with her clever tongue. "Whoever speaks well, fights well", it says in the song. She resorted to her tongue; "Whoever speaks well, fights well", said Alfred.[1075] 'What! Are you saying this to discredit me? The lord got into trouble for this. He was so jealous of his wife that he couldn't, to save his life, bear any man speaking to her[1080] without breaking his heart. He locked her in an inner chamber that imprisoned her strongly and securely. I had sympathy for her, and felt sorry for her unhappiness, [1085]and entertained her with my song as much as I could, early and late. Because of that the knight was angry with me; out of sheer malice he detested me. He inflicted his own shame on me, [1090] but it got him into trouble. King Henry discovered what had happened---may Jesus have mercy on his soul! He ordered the banishment of the knight who had committed such a great crime [1095] in such a good king's country: out of sheer malice and wretched envy he had arranged for the little bird to be captured and condemned it to death. It was an honour to my whole family, [1100] because the knight was deprived of his riches and gave a hundred pounds in compensation for me; and my chicks stayed safe and sound, and enjoyed prosperity afterwards, and were happy, as well they might be, [1105] since I was so well avenged. For ever afterwards I've been bolder in speaking out; since this thing happened once, I've been the happier for it ever since. Now I can sing when I want, [1110] and nobody will ever dare to trouble me again.
But you, you wretch, you miserable creature, you've no idea where to find a hollow stump where you could hide to avoid people, so nobody tweaks your hide; [1115] because children, servant-boys, villagers, and workmen all want to make you suffer. If they can see where you're sitting, they fill their pockets with stones, and throw them at you to injure you, [1120] and break your filthy bones. It's only when you're hit or shot that you become useful, as you're hung on a stick, and with your stinking carcase and your ugly neck, [1125] you guard people's corn against birds. Your life and your character are good for nothing, but you make a fine scarecrow. Now where seeds are sown, [1130] no hedge-sparrow, goldfinch, rook, or crow will dare come close if your carcase is hanging at the end of the row; when trees are flowering in Spring, and young seeds are sprouting and growing, [1135] no bird dares approach if you are hung over them. Your life is always evil and wicked; you're good for nothing unless you're dead. Now you can be sure [1140]that you look hideous while you're alive, because when you've been killed and are hanging up, the birds that screamed at you previously are still terrified of you. [1145] People are right to be hostile to you, because you're always singing about things which they hate;everything you sing, early or late, is always about people's misfortune ; when you've been screeching during the night, [1150] people are really afraid of you. You sing where somebody is about to die; you're always prophesying some kind of bad luck; your song forecasts loss of property or some friend's ruin, [1155] or you predict a house fire, or an advancing army, or a hue and cry after thieves; or you predict that there will be an epidemic among cattle, or that the population will suffer, or that a wife will lose her husband; [1160] or you predict quarrels and conflict. You're always singing about people's suffering; because of you they're miserable and wretched. You never sing at all except about some disaster. [1165] That's why people give you a wide berth, and throw things at you and beat you with sticks and stones and turves and clods, so that you can't escape anywhere. A town-crier like you deserves to be cursed, [1170] always announcing misfortune, and always bringing bad news, and always talking about unpleasant things! May almighty God, and all those who wear linen , be his enemy!'
But you, you wretch, you miserable creature, you've no idea where to find a hollow stump where you could hide to avoid people, so nobody tweaks your hide; [1115] because children, servant-boys, villagers, and workmen all want to make you suffer. If they can see where you're sitting, they fill their pockets with stones, and throw them at you to injure you, [1120] and break your filthy bones. It's only when you're hit or shot that you become useful, as you're hung on a stick, and with your stinking carcase and your ugly neck, [1125] you guard people's corn against birds. Your life and your character are good for nothing, but you make a fine scarecrow. Now where seeds are sown, [1130] no hedge-sparrow, goldfinch, rook, or crow will dare come close if your carcase is hanging at the end of the row; when trees are flowering in Spring, and young seeds are sprouting and growing, [1135] no bird dares approach if you are hung over them. Your life is always evil and wicked; you're good for nothing unless you're dead. Now you can be sure [1140]that you look hideous while you're alive, because when you've been killed and are hanging up, the birds that screamed at you previously are still terrified of you. [1145] People are right to be hostile to you, because you're always singing about things which they hate;everything you sing, early or late, is always about people's misfortune ; when you've been screeching during the night, [1150] people are really afraid of you. You sing where somebody is about to die; you're always prophesying some kind of bad luck; your song forecasts loss of property or some friend's ruin, [1155] or you predict a house fire, or an advancing army, or a hue and cry after thieves; or you predict that there will be an epidemic among cattle, or that the population will suffer, or that a wife will lose her husband; [1160] or you predict quarrels and conflict. You're always singing about people's suffering; because of you they're miserable and wretched. You never sing at all except about some disaster. [1165] That's why people give you a wide berth, and throw things at you and beat you with sticks and stones and turves and clods, so that you can't escape anywhere. A town-crier like you deserves to be cursed, [1170] always announcing misfortune, and always bringing bad news, and always talking about unpleasant things! May almighty God, and all those who wear linen , be his enemy!'
[1175] The owl did not pause for long, but came back with a bold and robust answer.
'What!' she said, 'are you ordained, or are you cursing quite without priestly authority? Because I'm sure that you're doing a priest's job. [1180] I don't know if you were ever a priest, I don't know if you can sing Mass, but you do know a fair amount about cursing . But it's because of your old envy that you cursed me once again. [1185] There's an easy answer to that, though: "Keep to your own side!" said the carter. Why do you criticize me for my insight, my intelligence, and my power? For I am wise, no doubt about it,[1190] and know everything that is to come: I know about famine, about invasion, I know whether people will live a long time, I know if a wife has lost her husband, I know where there is going to be conflict and revenge, [1195] I know who is going to be hanged or otherwise suffer a shameful death. If men have joined in battle, I know which side will be beaten. I know whether disease will infect the cattle, [1200] and whether animals will die; I know whether trees will blossom, I know whether grain will grow, I know whether houses will burn down, I know whether men will walk or ride, [1205] I know whether the sea will overwhelm the ships, I know whether armourers will do their riveting badly. And I know much more still: I have a fair amount of book-learning, and also know more about the gospel [1210] than I'm prepared to tell you, because I often go to church and learn a great deal of wisdom. I know all about prophecy, and about many other things. [1215] If there is to be a hue and cry raised after anybody, I know all about it before it happens. Often, because of my great wisdom, I feel very saddened and angry. When I see that something bad [1220] is going to happen to someone, I cry out loudly; I ask people to be vigilant, and plan sensibly ahead, for Alfred uttered a wise saying----everyone should treasure it: [1225] "If you see a threat before it has arrived, it will lose almost all its strength." And heavy blows lose their power if one is on the look-out for them; an arrow will miss its mark [1230] if you watch how it flies from the string, since you can easily duck and run if if you see it coming towards you. If any man runs into trouble, why should he blame his distress on me? [1235] Even if I see his harm coming to him in advance, that doesn't mean that it comes from me. If you see a blind man, who can't find his way, heading wrongly towards a ditch, [1240], and falling in and getting muddy, do you think, even if I saw it all, that it was more likely to happen because because of me? That's how it is with my knowledge. When I sit on my branch, [1245] I see and realize very clearly that harm is about to come to someone. Should this man, who knows nothing about it, blame me because I do know about it? Should he blame me for his misfortune [1250]because I'm better-informed than he is? When I see that some disaster is approaching people, I cry out loudly enough, and tell them often enough that they should protect themselves, since they are threatened by serious harm. [1255] But whether I cry out loudly or softly, it all happens through the will of God. Why do people want to complain about me if I worry them with the truth? Even if I warn them for a full year, [1260] the disaster is no closer to them. But I sing to them because I want them to understand clearly that something bad is hanging over them when I hoot at them. [1265] Nobody has so much security that he can't expect and fear that some disaster is approaching him, even though he can't see it coming. That is why Alfred said very aptly--- [1270] and his word was gospel---that the better off a man is, the more he should plan ahead; no-one should trust too much to his prosperity, however much he has. [1275] "Nothing is so hot that it does not grow cold, and nothing is so white that it does not grow dirty, and nothing is so much loved that it does not grow hateful, and nothing is so pleasant that it does not grow irksome; but everything which is not eternal [1280] must always pass away, and all the joy of the world".
Now you can see very well that your speeches have been consistently ill-judged, because everything that you say to insult me has always rebounded on yourself. [1285]However it goes, with every hold you're brought down by your own throw ; everything you say to discredit me ends up to my credit. Unless you want to make a fresh start,[1290] you won't get anything but humiliation.'
'What!' she said, 'are you ordained, or are you cursing quite without priestly authority? Because I'm sure that you're doing a priest's job. [1180] I don't know if you were ever a priest, I don't know if you can sing Mass, but you do know a fair amount about cursing . But it's because of your old envy that you cursed me once again. [1185] There's an easy answer to that, though: "Keep to your own side!" said the carter. Why do you criticize me for my insight, my intelligence, and my power? For I am wise, no doubt about it,[1190] and know everything that is to come: I know about famine, about invasion, I know whether people will live a long time, I know if a wife has lost her husband, I know where there is going to be conflict and revenge, [1195] I know who is going to be hanged or otherwise suffer a shameful death. If men have joined in battle, I know which side will be beaten. I know whether disease will infect the cattle, [1200] and whether animals will die; I know whether trees will blossom, I know whether grain will grow, I know whether houses will burn down, I know whether men will walk or ride, [1205] I know whether the sea will overwhelm the ships, I know whether armourers will do their riveting badly. And I know much more still: I have a fair amount of book-learning, and also know more about the gospel [1210] than I'm prepared to tell you, because I often go to church and learn a great deal of wisdom. I know all about prophecy, and about many other things. [1215] If there is to be a hue and cry raised after anybody, I know all about it before it happens. Often, because of my great wisdom, I feel very saddened and angry. When I see that something bad [1220] is going to happen to someone, I cry out loudly; I ask people to be vigilant, and plan sensibly ahead, for Alfred uttered a wise saying----everyone should treasure it: [1225] "If you see a threat before it has arrived, it will lose almost all its strength." And heavy blows lose their power if one is on the look-out for them; an arrow will miss its mark [1230] if you watch how it flies from the string, since you can easily duck and run if if you see it coming towards you. If any man runs into trouble, why should he blame his distress on me? [1235] Even if I see his harm coming to him in advance, that doesn't mean that it comes from me. If you see a blind man, who can't find his way, heading wrongly towards a ditch, [1240], and falling in and getting muddy, do you think, even if I saw it all, that it was more likely to happen because because of me? That's how it is with my knowledge. When I sit on my branch, [1245] I see and realize very clearly that harm is about to come to someone. Should this man, who knows nothing about it, blame me because I do know about it? Should he blame me for his misfortune [1250]because I'm better-informed than he is? When I see that some disaster is approaching people, I cry out loudly enough, and tell them often enough that they should protect themselves, since they are threatened by serious harm. [1255] But whether I cry out loudly or softly, it all happens through the will of God. Why do people want to complain about me if I worry them with the truth? Even if I warn them for a full year, [1260] the disaster is no closer to them. But I sing to them because I want them to understand clearly that something bad is hanging over them when I hoot at them. [1265] Nobody has so much security that he can't expect and fear that some disaster is approaching him, even though he can't see it coming. That is why Alfred said very aptly--- [1270] and his word was gospel---that the better off a man is, the more he should plan ahead; no-one should trust too much to his prosperity, however much he has. [1275] "Nothing is so hot that it does not grow cold, and nothing is so white that it does not grow dirty, and nothing is so much loved that it does not grow hateful, and nothing is so pleasant that it does not grow irksome; but everything which is not eternal [1280] must always pass away, and all the joy of the world".
Now you can see very well that your speeches have been consistently ill-judged, because everything that you say to insult me has always rebounded on yourself. [1285]However it goes, with every hold you're brought down by your own throw ; everything you say to discredit me ends up to my credit. Unless you want to make a fresh start,[1290] you won't get anything but humiliation.'
The nightingale sat and sighed, and felt worried, and with reason, because the owl had delivered and ordered her speech so well [1295] that she was anxious and uncertain about what she should say to her next; but nevertheless, she gave it careful thought.
'What!' she said, 'Owl, are you mad? You boast of your amazing wisdom; [1300] you've no understanding of where you got it from---unless it was from witchcraft. You'll have to clear yourself from that charge, you miserable creature, if you want to live among men. Otherwise you'll have to flee the country, [1305] because all those who knew about these things were put under a curse by priests long ago; you're still doing this, you've never given up witchcraft. I was speaking to you a short while back, [1310] and you asked, as an insult, whether I'd been ordained as a priest; but the cursing is so widespread that even if there were no priests in the country you would still be damned,[1315] because every child calls you filthy, and every man a wretched owl. I've heard---and it's true---that man must be very skilled in astrology who knows the inner causes from which events develop. [1320] You say this is what you normally do; you miserable creature, what do you know about stars apart from looking at them from a distance? So do plenty of animals and humans who know nothing about such things. [1325] A monkey can look at a book, and turn over the leaves, and close it again, but he can't make head or tail of it, or pick up any more scholarship as a result; if you look at the stars in that way, [1330] you're none the wiser for it. What's more, you filthy creature, you criticize me and reproach me harshly for singing close to people's houses and teaching wives to commit adultery. [1335] That's a complete lie, you filthy creature; I've never undermined marriage. But it's true that I sing and call where there are ladies and beautiful girls, and it's true that I sing about love,[1340] because a good woman can love her own husband within marriage better than her lover , and an unmarried girl can choose a lover so as not to lose her honour, [1345] and love with virtuous love the man who will be her master. I give teaching and instruction in that kind of love; all my song is about it. If a woman has a yielding character--- [1350]since women are gentle by nature---so that, talked into it by some foolish man who pleads eagerly with her and sighs deeply, she goes astray and misbehaves for a time, should I be held responsible for that? [1355] If women have a tendency to act foolishly, why do you blame their bad behaviour on me? Even if a woman is planning some illicit lovemaking, I can't refrain from singing. A woman can have a good time in bed [1360] in whichever way she chooses, licitly or illicitly, and she can act out my song in whichever way she chooses, properly or improperly, since there's nothing in the world so good that it can't do some harm [1365] if it's deliberately misused; for gold and silver are good, and nevertheless you can buy adultery and injustice with them; weapons are good for keeping the peace, [1370] but nevertheless people are killed by them illegally in many countries when thieves carry them. So it is with my song: although it's good, it can be misused,[1375] and used for indiscretion and other misbehaviour. But, you wretch, must you put the blame on love? All love between man and woman, of whatever kind, is good; [1380]but if it is stolen, then it is wicked and corrupt . May the wrath of the Holy Cross fall on those who corrupt their true nature in this way! It's surprising that they don't go mad---and in a way they do, because it's madness [1385] to start a brood without a nest. A woman's flesh is frail, and it's hard to control the desires of the flesh; it's no wonder if she hesitates, [1390] because the desires of the flesh make her slip. She isn't completely lost if she finds the flesh a stumbling-block, for many women have misbehaved and climbed up out of the mud. [1395] Not all sins are equal, as they are of two types: one arises from the desire of the flesh, the other from the disposition of the spirit. Where the flesh entices people to drunkenness, [1400] and to sloth and to lechery, the spirit sins through malice and envy, and then by pleasure in other people's misfortune, and hungers for more and more, and cares little for pity and mercy, [1405] and rises high through pride, and then lords it over inferiors. Tell me the truth, if you know what it is: which does the worse, flesh or spirit? You might say, if you like, [1410] that the flesh is less culpable; many people are chaste in the flesh, but companions of the devil in spirit. Nor should any man loudly condemn a woman and reproach her for physical desires; [1415] he may blame such a woman for lechery while sinning worse himself through pride.
Another point: if I should bring a lover to a married woman or an unmarried girl when I sing, I would side with the girl. If you can consider it properly, [1420] listen now! I will tell you why, from beginning to end: if a girl has a secret affair, she stumbles and falls in the course of nature; for although she may run wild for a time, [1425] she hasn't gone very far astray; she can free herself from her guilt in an approved way through the Church's marriage-bond, and afterwards have [1430] her lover as her husband without being blamed, and go in daylight to the man she crept to earlier in the dead of night. A young girl doesn't realize what's going on; her young blood leads her astray, [1435] and some foolish man entices her into it by every means in his power. He visits her frequently, and cajoles and presses, and stands and sits close to her, and gives her lingering looks.[1440] What can the child do if she does go wrong? She didn't understand what it was, and so she set out to try it, and discover the nature of the sport which tames such wild men. [1445] I can't restrain myself for pity, when I see the drawn expression that love brings to the young, from singing to them about pleasure. I teach them by my song[1445] that love of this kind doesn't last long; because my song lasts only a little while, and love does nothing but rest on such children, and soon passes, and its hot breath subsides. [1455] I sing with them for a while; I start high and end low, and let my songs fade away quickly. The girl realises, when I fall silent, [1460] that love is like my songs: for it is only a little breath, which comes quickly and goes quickly. The child understands it through me, and turns from folly to good sense, [1465] and sees clearly from my singing that foolish love doesn't last long.
But I really want you to be clear on this: I disapprove of married woman having affairs, and a married woman can note [1470] that I don't sing when I'm breeding. A wife should ignore a fool's proposals, even if her marriage-bond seems oppressive. It strikes me as a quite extraordinary and shocking thing, how any man could go so far as to decide [1475]to make love to another man's wife, because only one of two alternatives is possible, and no-one can imagine a third: either her lord is a brave man, [1480] or he's inadequate and worthless. If he's an honourable and brave man, no sensible man will want to dishonour him through his wife, because he has reason to fear personal injury, [1485] and losing his tackle so he has nothing left ; and even if he's not afraid of this, it's wicked and very stupid to do wrong to a good man, [1490] and seduce his wife away from him. If her lord is inadequate, and has little to offer in bed and at the table, how could there be any love when such a churl's carcase was lying on top of her? [1495] How can there be any love when a man like that is pawing her thigh? You can understand from this that the first alternative is dangerous, the second disgraceful, when stealing into another man's bed;[1500] because if her husband is a brave man, you can expect to come to grief when you're lying beside her, and if her lord is a wretch, what pleasure can you get from it?[1505] If you consider who's sleeping with her, you might pay for the pleasure with disgust. I don't know how any respectable man can pursue her after that; if he considers who she's sharing a bed with, [1510] his love may disappear completely.'
'What!' she said, 'Owl, are you mad? You boast of your amazing wisdom; [1300] you've no understanding of where you got it from---unless it was from witchcraft. You'll have to clear yourself from that charge, you miserable creature, if you want to live among men. Otherwise you'll have to flee the country, [1305] because all those who knew about these things were put under a curse by priests long ago; you're still doing this, you've never given up witchcraft. I was speaking to you a short while back, [1310] and you asked, as an insult, whether I'd been ordained as a priest; but the cursing is so widespread that even if there were no priests in the country you would still be damned,[1315] because every child calls you filthy, and every man a wretched owl. I've heard---and it's true---that man must be very skilled in astrology who knows the inner causes from which events develop. [1320] You say this is what you normally do; you miserable creature, what do you know about stars apart from looking at them from a distance? So do plenty of animals and humans who know nothing about such things. [1325] A monkey can look at a book, and turn over the leaves, and close it again, but he can't make head or tail of it, or pick up any more scholarship as a result; if you look at the stars in that way, [1330] you're none the wiser for it. What's more, you filthy creature, you criticize me and reproach me harshly for singing close to people's houses and teaching wives to commit adultery. [1335] That's a complete lie, you filthy creature; I've never undermined marriage. But it's true that I sing and call where there are ladies and beautiful girls, and it's true that I sing about love,[1340] because a good woman can love her own husband within marriage better than her lover , and an unmarried girl can choose a lover so as not to lose her honour, [1345] and love with virtuous love the man who will be her master. I give teaching and instruction in that kind of love; all my song is about it. If a woman has a yielding character--- [1350]since women are gentle by nature---so that, talked into it by some foolish man who pleads eagerly with her and sighs deeply, she goes astray and misbehaves for a time, should I be held responsible for that? [1355] If women have a tendency to act foolishly, why do you blame their bad behaviour on me? Even if a woman is planning some illicit lovemaking, I can't refrain from singing. A woman can have a good time in bed [1360] in whichever way she chooses, licitly or illicitly, and she can act out my song in whichever way she chooses, properly or improperly, since there's nothing in the world so good that it can't do some harm [1365] if it's deliberately misused; for gold and silver are good, and nevertheless you can buy adultery and injustice with them; weapons are good for keeping the peace, [1370] but nevertheless people are killed by them illegally in many countries when thieves carry them. So it is with my song: although it's good, it can be misused,[1375] and used for indiscretion and other misbehaviour. But, you wretch, must you put the blame on love? All love between man and woman, of whatever kind, is good; [1380]but if it is stolen, then it is wicked and corrupt . May the wrath of the Holy Cross fall on those who corrupt their true nature in this way! It's surprising that they don't go mad---and in a way they do, because it's madness [1385] to start a brood without a nest. A woman's flesh is frail, and it's hard to control the desires of the flesh; it's no wonder if she hesitates, [1390] because the desires of the flesh make her slip. She isn't completely lost if she finds the flesh a stumbling-block, for many women have misbehaved and climbed up out of the mud. [1395] Not all sins are equal, as they are of two types: one arises from the desire of the flesh, the other from the disposition of the spirit. Where the flesh entices people to drunkenness, [1400] and to sloth and to lechery, the spirit sins through malice and envy, and then by pleasure in other people's misfortune, and hungers for more and more, and cares little for pity and mercy, [1405] and rises high through pride, and then lords it over inferiors. Tell me the truth, if you know what it is: which does the worse, flesh or spirit? You might say, if you like, [1410] that the flesh is less culpable; many people are chaste in the flesh, but companions of the devil in spirit. Nor should any man loudly condemn a woman and reproach her for physical desires; [1415] he may blame such a woman for lechery while sinning worse himself through pride.
Another point: if I should bring a lover to a married woman or an unmarried girl when I sing, I would side with the girl. If you can consider it properly, [1420] listen now! I will tell you why, from beginning to end: if a girl has a secret affair, she stumbles and falls in the course of nature; for although she may run wild for a time, [1425] she hasn't gone very far astray; she can free herself from her guilt in an approved way through the Church's marriage-bond, and afterwards have [1430] her lover as her husband without being blamed, and go in daylight to the man she crept to earlier in the dead of night. A young girl doesn't realize what's going on; her young blood leads her astray, [1435] and some foolish man entices her into it by every means in his power. He visits her frequently, and cajoles and presses, and stands and sits close to her, and gives her lingering looks.[1440] What can the child do if she does go wrong? She didn't understand what it was, and so she set out to try it, and discover the nature of the sport which tames such wild men. [1445] I can't restrain myself for pity, when I see the drawn expression that love brings to the young, from singing to them about pleasure. I teach them by my song[1445] that love of this kind doesn't last long; because my song lasts only a little while, and love does nothing but rest on such children, and soon passes, and its hot breath subsides. [1455] I sing with them for a while; I start high and end low, and let my songs fade away quickly. The girl realises, when I fall silent, [1460] that love is like my songs: for it is only a little breath, which comes quickly and goes quickly. The child understands it through me, and turns from folly to good sense, [1465] and sees clearly from my singing that foolish love doesn't last long.
But I really want you to be clear on this: I disapprove of married woman having affairs, and a married woman can note [1470] that I don't sing when I'm breeding. A wife should ignore a fool's proposals, even if her marriage-bond seems oppressive. It strikes me as a quite extraordinary and shocking thing, how any man could go so far as to decide [1475]to make love to another man's wife, because only one of two alternatives is possible, and no-one can imagine a third: either her lord is a brave man, [1480] or he's inadequate and worthless. If he's an honourable and brave man, no sensible man will want to dishonour him through his wife, because he has reason to fear personal injury, [1485] and losing his tackle so he has nothing left ; and even if he's not afraid of this, it's wicked and very stupid to do wrong to a good man, [1490] and seduce his wife away from him. If her lord is inadequate, and has little to offer in bed and at the table, how could there be any love when such a churl's carcase was lying on top of her? [1495] How can there be any love when a man like that is pawing her thigh? You can understand from this that the first alternative is dangerous, the second disgraceful, when stealing into another man's bed;[1500] because if her husband is a brave man, you can expect to come to grief when you're lying beside her, and if her lord is a wretch, what pleasure can you get from it?[1505] If you consider who's sleeping with her, you might pay for the pleasure with disgust. I don't know how any respectable man can pursue her after that; if he considers who she's sharing a bed with, [1510] his love may disappear completely.'
The owl was pleased at this speech; she thought that the nightingale, though she had spoken well at first, had made an error at the end, [1515] and she said, 'Now I've found out about your views on girls: you take their side, and defend them, and praise them a great deal too much. The ladies turn to me, [1520], and tell me about their feelings. For it very often happens that a wife and husband are out of sympathy with each other, and because of that the husband strays, preferring to chase another woman, [1525] and spends all that he has on her, and pursues her when he has no right to, and keeps his proper wife at home in an empty house with bare walls, poorly dressed and badly fed,[1530] and leaves her without food and clothing. When he comes back home to his wife, she doesn't dare say a word; he complains and shouts like a madman, and brings nothing else worth having home with him. [1535] Everything she does he objects to, everything that she says irritates him, and often, when she's not doing anything wrong, she gets a punch in the mouth. There's no man who can't lead [1540] his wife astray with this kind of behaviour; she can be ill-treated so often that she resolves to satisfy her own needs. God knows, she can't help it if she makes him a cuckold. [1545] For it happens time and time again that the wife is very refined and gentle, good-looking and well-dressed; so it's all the more unfair that he gives his love to a woman [1550] who isn't worth one of her hairs. And there are plenty of men like this, who can't treat a wife properly; no man is allowed to talk to her; he thinks she'll instantly commit [1555] adultery if she looks at a man or speaks politely to him. He keeps her under lock and key; adultery often happens as a result, because if she's brought to that point, [1560] she does what would never have occurred to her before. A curse on anyone who gossips too much about it, if such wives take their revenge! The ladies complain about it to me, and distress me a great deal; [1565] my heart practically breaks when I see their suffering. I weep bitterly with them, and pray for Christ's mercy on them, that he may shortly rescue the lady [1570]and send her a better partner.
I can tell you another thing, for which you won't find an answer to save your skin; all your arguments will fade away. [1575] Many merchants and many knights love their wives and treat them properly, and so do many peasants. The good wife acts accordingly, and serves her husband in bed and at table [1580] with docile behaviour and pleasant conversation, and tries hard to make herself useful to him. Her lord travels out into the country on behalf of both of them, [1585] and the good wife is distressed when her husband leaves, and sits and sighs, missing him very much, and, grieving deeply on her lord's account, [1590] is sad by day and sleepless by night, and the time seems to her to pass very slowly, and every step seems like a mile. When other people around her are asleep, I alone listen to her outside, [1595] and know about her unhappiness, and sing at night for her benefit; and for her sake I modify my excellent song to some degree into a lament. I take on some of her misery, [1600] and so I am very welcome to her; I help her as far as I can, because she wants to follow the right path.
But you've really made me angry, so I'm all choked up [1605] and can hardly speak; even so, though, I want to go on. You say that people hate me, and they're all hostile to me, and threaten me with stones and sticks, [1610] and hit me and beat me, and when they've killed me, they hang me on their hedge, so I can scare off magpies and crows from what is sown there. [1615] Although it's true, I am useful to them, and shed my blood for their sake. I am useful to them through my death, which is difficult for you because if you're lying dead and shrivelling up, [1620] your death serves no useful purpose. I don't know at all what you could do, because you're just a miserable creature; but even if I've lost my life, I can still do good service. [1625] People can set me up on a little stake in the depths of the wood, and so lure and catch small birds; and so through me they can get [1630] good roast meat to eat. But you've never been of good service to man, alive or dead. I don't know what you raise your brood for; it does no good, alive or dead.'
I can tell you another thing, for which you won't find an answer to save your skin; all your arguments will fade away. [1575] Many merchants and many knights love their wives and treat them properly, and so do many peasants. The good wife acts accordingly, and serves her husband in bed and at table [1580] with docile behaviour and pleasant conversation, and tries hard to make herself useful to him. Her lord travels out into the country on behalf of both of them, [1585] and the good wife is distressed when her husband leaves, and sits and sighs, missing him very much, and, grieving deeply on her lord's account, [1590] is sad by day and sleepless by night, and the time seems to her to pass very slowly, and every step seems like a mile. When other people around her are asleep, I alone listen to her outside, [1595] and know about her unhappiness, and sing at night for her benefit; and for her sake I modify my excellent song to some degree into a lament. I take on some of her misery, [1600] and so I am very welcome to her; I help her as far as I can, because she wants to follow the right path.
But you've really made me angry, so I'm all choked up [1605] and can hardly speak; even so, though, I want to go on. You say that people hate me, and they're all hostile to me, and threaten me with stones and sticks, [1610] and hit me and beat me, and when they've killed me, they hang me on their hedge, so I can scare off magpies and crows from what is sown there. [1615] Although it's true, I am useful to them, and shed my blood for their sake. I am useful to them through my death, which is difficult for you because if you're lying dead and shrivelling up, [1620] your death serves no useful purpose. I don't know at all what you could do, because you're just a miserable creature; but even if I've lost my life, I can still do good service. [1625] People can set me up on a little stake in the depths of the wood, and so lure and catch small birds; and so through me they can get [1630] good roast meat to eat. But you've never been of good service to man, alive or dead. I don't know what you raise your brood for; it does no good, alive or dead.'
[1635] The nightingale heard this, and hopped on to a flowering branch, and sat higher than she did before.
'Owl,' she said, 'be careful now! I won't plead against you any longer, [1640] because here the right line of argument is escaping you. You boast that people hate you, and every creature is hostile to you, and you complain that you're miserable with hooting and wailing. [1645] You say that boys catch you and hang you high on a pole, and pull you to pieces and shake you to bits, and some make a scarecrow out of you. It seems to me that you're losing the game completely; [1650] you're boasting of your own humilation. It seems to me that you're submitting to me; you're boasting about your own shame.'
'Owl,' she said, 'be careful now! I won't plead against you any longer, [1640] because here the right line of argument is escaping you. You boast that people hate you, and every creature is hostile to you, and you complain that you're miserable with hooting and wailing. [1645] You say that boys catch you and hang you high on a pole, and pull you to pieces and shake you to bits, and some make a scarecrow out of you. It seems to me that you're losing the game completely; [1650] you're boasting of your own humilation. It seems to me that you're submitting to me; you're boasting about your own shame.'
When she had said this, she perched in a beautiful spot, [1655], and then tuned her voice and sang so piercingly and so clearly that it was heard far and near. And so thrushes and throstles and woodpeckers [1660] and birds both large and small flew to her at once; because it seemed to them that she had defeated the owl, they cried out and sang in all kinds of ways, and there was rejoicing in the branches, [1665] just as people jeer at a man who plays at dice and loses the game.
When the owl heard this, she said, 'Have you mobilized an army, and do you mean to fight with me, you miserable creature? [1670] No, no! You haven't got the strength! What are these new arrivals shouting? It seems to me that you're leading an army against me; you'll learn before you take to flight what kind of strength my family have, [1675]since those birds which have a hooked beak and sharp and curving talons are all related to me, and would come if I asked them. Even the cock, which is good at fighting, [1680]could legitimately take my side, because we both have clear voices and sit under the stars at night. If I call up a hue and cry against you, I'll lead such a strong army against you [1685] that your pride will collapse. I don't give a turd for the lot of you! And before darkness falls, there won't be a wretched feather remaining on you. But it was our agreement [1690] when we came here that we should keep to the terms which would give us a fair judgement. Do you want to break the agreement now? I suspect that judgment seems too demanding to you; [1695] because you daren't submit to judgement, you wretched creature, now you want to fight and quarrel. But I would advise you all, before I call up a hue and cry against you, that you leave our quarrel alone[1700] and fly away quickly; for by my talons, if you wait around for my army you'll sing a very different song and curse all fighting, [1705] since none of you is so brave that you dare face me down.'
The owl spoke very aggressively, since although she hadn't resorted to her own army so quickly, she nevertheless wanted to respond [1710] to the nightingale with what she said; for many men are not very effective with a sharp spear and shield, but nevertheless on a battlefield they make their enemies sweat with terror [1715] by bold speeches and behaviour.
The owl spoke very aggressively, since although she hadn't resorted to her own army so quickly, she nevertheless wanted to respond [1710] to the nightingale with what she said; for many men are not very effective with a sharp spear and shield, but nevertheless on a battlefield they make their enemies sweat with terror [1715] by bold speeches and behaviour.
The wren, because she could sing, had arrived there in the morning to support the nightingale, [1720] since although she had a small voice, her throat could produce a good clear song, which gave many people pleasure. The wren was considered very wise, as although she'd been bred in the woods, [1725] she had been reared among humans, and brought her wisdom from there. She could speak wherever she wanted, even if she were in the presence of the king .
'Listen!' she said, 'Let me speak! [1730] What, do you want to break this peace, and do the king such dishonour? Yes, he's not either dead or crippled. You'll be ruined and disgraced if you case a breach of the peace in his country. [1735] Let it be, and come to an agreement, and go straight to your judgement, and let the sentence put an end to this argument, just as it was previously agreed.'
'Listen!' she said, 'Let me speak! [1730] What, do you want to break this peace, and do the king such dishonour? Yes, he's not either dead or crippled. You'll be ruined and disgraced if you case a breach of the peace in his country. [1735] Let it be, and come to an agreement, and go straight to your judgement, and let the sentence put an end to this argument, just as it was previously agreed.'
'That's fine with me,' said the nightingale, [1740] 'but, wren, I'm not doing it because of your speech, but because of my respect for the law; I wouldn't want injustice to defeat me in the end. I'm not afraid of any judgement. [1745] I've promised, it's true, that the wise Master Nicholas should judge between us, and I still think that he will. But where might we find him?'
[1750] The wren sat in a lime-tree; 'What!' she said, 'didn't you know his home? He lives at Portesham, in a village in Dorset, near the sea on an inlet. [1755] There he makes a lot of sound judgements, and composes and writes all kinds of ingenious works; and through his words and his writing, things are better as far as Scotland. It's easy to find him;[1760] he has only one residence. That's a great disgrace to the bishops, and all those who've heard of his reputation and achievements. Why won't they make a decision[1765] to have him often in attendance, to advise them from his wisdom, and give him income from numerous benefices so he could often be with them?'
'To be sure.' said the owl, 'that's true; [1770] these powerful men act very wrongly when they neglect that good man who knows about so many things, and distribute income very unfairly, and don't take him seriously. [1775] They are more lenient to their families, and give out incomes to small children ; their reason tells them that they're wrong, since Master Nicholas is still waiting. But still, let's go and visit him, [1780], because our judgement is ready and waiting there.'
'Let's', said the nightingale; 'but who will read our pleas, and speak in the presence of our judge?'
'I'll give you satisfaction in that,' [1785] said the owl, because I can repeat it all, beginning to end, word for word. And if it seems to you that I'm going astray, you can object and make me stop.'
With these words they set off, [1790] without any kind of army, till they came to Portesham; but I can't tell you any more about how they succeeded with their judgement. Here there is no more of this story.
The End.
Middle English Text
Lines 1 through 100
Page 2
[folio 233r.1]
ICH was in one sumere dale,
in one suþe diȝele hale,
iherde ich holde grete tale
an hule and one niȝtingale.
Þat plait was stif & starc & strong, 5
sum wile softe & lud among;
an aiþer aȝen oþer sval,
& let þat [vue]le mod ut al.
& eiþer seide of oþeres custe
þat alre-worste þat hi wuste: 10
& hure & hure of oþere[s] songe
hi holde plaiding suþe stronge.
Þe niȝtingale bigon þe speche,
in one hurne of one breche,
Page 4
& sat up one vaire boȝe, 15
- þar were abute blosme inoȝe,-
in ore waste þicke hegge
imeind mid spire & grene segge.
Ho was þe gladur uor þe rise,
& song auele cunne wise: 20
[b]et þuȝte þe dreim þat he were
of harpe & pipe þan he nere:
bet þuȝte þat he were ishote
of harpe & pipe þan of þrote.
[Þ]o stod on old stoc þar biside, 25
þar þo vle song hire tide,
& was mid iui al bigrowe;
hit was þare hule earding-stowe.
[Þ]e niȝtingale hi iseȝ,
& hi bihold & ouerseȝ, 30
& þuȝte wel [vu]l of þare hule,
for me hi halt lodlich & fule.
"Vnwiȝt," ho sede, "awei þu flo!
me is þe w[u]rs þat ich þe so. [folio 233r.2]
Iwis for þine [vu]le lete, 35
wel [oft ich] mine song forlete;
Page 6
min horte atfliþ & falt mi tonge,
wonne þu art [to me] iþrunge.
Me luste bet speten þane singe
of þine fule ȝoȝelinge." 40
Þos hule abod fort hit was eve,
ho ne miȝte no leng bileue,
vor hire horte was so gret
þat wel neȝ hire fnast atschet,
& warp a word þar-after longe; 45
"Hu þincþe nu bi mine songe?
We[n]st þu þat ich ne cunne singe,
þeȝ ich ne cunne of writelinge?
Ilome þu dest me grame,
& seist me [boþe tone] & schame. 50
Ȝif ich þe holde on mine uote,
(so hit bitide þat ich mote!)
& þu were vt of þine rise,
þu sholdest singe an oþer w[i]se."
Þe niȝtingale ȝaf answare: 55
"Ȝif ich me loki wit þe bare,
& me schilde wit þe blete,
ne reche ich noȝt of þine þrete;
Page 8
ȝif ich me holde in mine hegge,
ne recche ich neuer what þu segge. 60
Ich wot þat þu art unmilde
wiþ hom þat ne muȝe from [þ]e schilde;
& þu tukest wroþe & vuele,
whar þu miȝt, over smale fuȝele.
Vorþi þu art loþ al fuel-kunne, 65
& alle ho þe driueþ honne,
& þe bischricheþ & bigredet,
& wel narewe þe biledet; [folio 233v.1]
& ek forþe þe sulue mose,
hire þonkes, wolde þe totose. 70
þu art lodlich to biholde,
& þu art loþ in monie volde;
þi bodi is short, þi swore is smal,
grettere is þin heued þan þu al;
þin eȝene boþ col-blake & brode, 75
riȝt swo ho weren ipeint mid wode;
þu starest so þu wille abiten
al þat þu mi[ȝ]t mid cliure smiten:
þi bile is stif & scharp & hoked,
riȝt so an owel þat is croked; 80
þar-mid þu clackes[t] oft & longe,
& þat is on of þine songe.
Ac þu þretest to mine fleshe,
mid þine cliures woldest me meshe.
þe were icundur to one frogge 85
* * * * *
Page 10
snailes, mus, & fule wiȝte,
boþ þine cunde & þine riȝte.
Þu sittest adai & fliȝ[s]t aniȝt,
þu cuþest þat þu art on vnwiȝt. 90
Þu art lodlich & unclene,
bi þine neste ich hit mene,
& ek bi þine fule brode,
þu fedest on hom a wel ful fode.
Vel wostu þat hi doþ þarinne, 95
hi fuleþ hit up to þe chinne:
ho sitteþ þar so hi bo bisne.
Þarbi men segget a uorbisne:
"Dahet habbe þat ilke best
þat fuleþ his owe nest." 100
Lines 101 through 200
Þat oþer ȝer a faukun bredde;
his nest noȝt wel he ne bihedde:
þarto þu stele in o dai,
[folio 233v.2]
& leidest þaron þi fole ey.
Þo hit bicom þat he haȝte, 105
& of his eyre briddes wraȝte;
ho broȝte his briddes mete,
bihold his nest, iseȝ hi ete:
Page 12
he iseȝ bi one halue
his nest ifuled uthalue. 110
Þe faucun was wroþ wit his bridde,
& lude ȝal & sterne chidde:
"Segget me, wo hauet þis ido?
Ov nas neuer icunde þarto:
hit was idon ov a loþ[e] [cu]ste. 115
Segge[þ] me ȝif ȝe hit wiste."
Þo quaþ þat on & quad þat oþer:
"Iwis it was ure oȝer broþer,
þe ȝond þat haue[þ] þat grete heued:
wai þat hi[t] nis þarof bireued! 120
Worp hit ut mid þe alre-[vu]rste
þat his necke him to-berste!"
Þe faucun ilefde his bridde,
& nom þat fule brid amidde,
& warp hit of þan wilde bowe, 125
þar pie & crowe hit todrowe.
Herbi men segget a bispel,
þeȝ hit ne bo fuliche spel;
al so hit is bi þan ungode
þat is icumen of fule brode, 130
Page 14
& is meind wit fro monne,
euer he cuþ þat he com þonne,
þat he com of þan adel-eye,
þeȝ he a fro nest[e] leie.
þeȝ appel trendli fro[m] þon trowe, 135
þar he & oþer mid growe,
þeȝ he bo þar-from bicume, [folio 234r.1]
he cuþ wel whonene he is icume."
Þos word aȝaf þe niȝtingale,
& after þare longe tale 140
he song so lude & so scharpe,
riȝt so me grulde schille harpe.
Þos hule luste þiderward,
& hold hire eȝe noþerwa[r]d,
& sat tosvolle & ibolwe, 145
also ho hadde one frogge isuolȝe:
for ho wel wiste & was iwar
þat ho song hire a-bisemar.
& noþeles ho ȝa[f] andsuare,
"Whi neltu flon into þe bare, 150
Page 16
& sewi [w]are unker bo
of briȝter howe, of uairur blo?"
"No, þu hauest wel scharpe clawe,
ne kepich noȝt þat þu me clawe.
þu hauest cliuers suþe stronge, 155
þu tuengst þar-mid so doþ a tonge.
Þu þoȝtest, so doþ þine ilike,
mid faire worde me biswike.
Ich nolde don þat þu me raddest,
ich wiste wel þat þu me misraddest. 160
Schamie þe for þin unrede!
Vnwroȝen is þi svikelhede!
Schild þine svikeldom vram þe liȝte,
& hud þat woȝe amon[g] þe riȝte.
Þane þu wilt þin unriȝt spene, 165
loke þat hit ne bo isene:
vor svikedom haue[þ] schome & hete,
ȝif hit is ope & underȝete.
Ne speddestu noȝt mid þine unwrenche,
for ich am war & can wel blenche. 170
Ne helpþ noȝt þat þu bo to [þ]riste: [folio 234r.2]
ich wolde viȝte bet mid liste
Page 18
þan þu mid al þine strengþe.
Ich habbe, on brede & eck on lengþe,
castel god on mine rise: 175
"Wel fiȝt þat wel fliȝt," seiþ þe wise.
Ac lete we awei þos cheste,
vor suiche wordes boþ unw[re]ste;
& fo we on mid riȝte dome,
mid faire worde & mid ysome. 180
Þeȝ we ne bo at one acorde,
we m[a]ȝe bet mid fayre worde,
witute cheste, & bute fiȝte,
plaidi mid foȝe & mid riȝte:
& mai hure eiþer wat h[e] wile 185
mid riȝte segge & mid sckile."
Þo quaþ þe hule "[W]u schal us seme,
þat kunne & wille riȝt us deme?"
"Ich wot wel" quaþ þe niȝtingale,
"Ne þaref þarof bo no tale. 190
Maister Nichole of Guldeforde,
he is wis an war of worde:
he is of dome suþe gleu,
& him is loþ eurich unþeu.
He wot insiȝt in eche songe, 195
Page 20
wo singet wel, wo singet wronge:
& he can schede vrom þe riȝte
þat woȝe, þat þuster from þe liȝte."
Þo hule one wile hi biþoȝte,
& after þan þis word upbroȝte: 200
Lines 201 through 300
"Ich granti wel þat he us deme,
vor þeȝ he were wile breme,
& lof him were niȝtingale,
& oþer wiȝte gente & smale,
ich wot he is nu suþe acoled. 205
[folio 234v.1]
Nis he vor þe noȝt afoled,
þat he, for þine olde luue,
me adun legge & þe buue:
ne schaltu neure so him queme,
þat he for þe fals dom deme. 210
He is him ripe & fast-rede,
ne lust him nu to none unrede:
nu him ne lust na more pleie,
he wile gon a riȝte weie."
Þe niȝtingale was al ȝare, 215
ho hadde ilorned wel aiware:
"Hule," ho sede, "seie me soþ,
wi dostu þat unwiȝtis doþ?
þu singist aniȝt & noȝt adai,
& al þi song is wailawai. 220
Page 22
Þu miȝt mid þine songe afere
alle þat ihereþ þine ibere:
þu sch[ri]chest & ȝollest to þine fere,
þat hit is grislich to ihere:
hit þinche[þ] boþe wise & snepe 225
noȝt þat þu singe, ac þat þu wepe.
Þu fliȝst aniȝt & noȝt adai:
þarof ich w[u]ndri & wel mai.
vor eurich þing þat schuniet riȝt,
hit luueþ þuster & hatiet liȝt: 230
& eurich þing þat is lof misdede,
hit luueþ þuster to his dede.
A wis word, þeȝ hit bo unclene,
is fele manne a-muþe imene,
for Alured King hit seide & wrot: 235
"He schunet þat hine [vu]l wot."
Ich wene þat þu dost also,
vor þu fliȝst niȝtes euer mo.
An oþer þing me is a-wene,
[folio 234v.2]
þu hauest aniȝt wel briȝte sene; 240
bi daie þu art stare-blind,
þat þu ne sichst ne bov ne strind.
Page 24
Adai þu art blind oþer bisne,
þarbi men segget a uorbisne:
"Riȝt so hit farþ bi þan ungode 245
þat noȝt ne suþ to none gode,
& is so ful of vuele wrenche
þat him ne mai no man atprenche,
& can wel þane þu[str]e wai,
& þane briȝte lat awai." 250
So doþ þat boþ of þine cunde,
of liȝte nabbeþ hi none imunde."
Þos hule luste suþe longe,
& was oftoned suþe stronge:
ho quaþ "Þu [h]attest niȝtingale, 255
þu miȝtest bet hoten galegale,
Page 26
vor þu hauest to monie tale.
Lat þine tunge habbe spale!
Þu wenest þat þes dai bo þin oȝe:
lat me nu habbe mine þroȝe: 260
bo nu stille & lat me speke,
ich wille bon of þe awreke.
& lust hu ich con me bitelle,
mid riȝte soþe, witute spelle.
Þu seist þat ich me hude adai, 265
þarto ne segge ich nich ne nai:
& lust ich telle þe wareuore,
al wi hit is & wareuore.
Ich habbe bile stif & stronge,
& gode cliuers scharp & longe, 270
so hit bicumeþ to hauekes cunne;
hit is min hiȝte, hit is mi w[u]nne,
þat ich me draȝe to mine cunde,
[folio 235r.1]
ne mai [me] no man þareuore schende :
on me hit is wel isene, 275
vor riȝte cunde ich am so kene.
Vorþi ich am loþ smale foȝle
þat floþ bi grunde an bi þuuele:
Page 28
hi me bichermet & bigredeþ,
& hore flockes to [m]e ledeþ. 280
Me is lof to habbe reste
& sitte stille in mine neste:
vor nere ich neuer no þe betere,
[ȝ]if ich mid chauling & mid chatere
hom schende & mid fule worde, 285
so herdes doþ oþer mid schit-worde.
Ne lust me wit þe screwen chide;
forþi ich wende from hom wide.
Hit is a wise monne dome,
& hi hit segget wel ilome, 290
þat me ne chide wit þe gidie,
ne wit þan ofne me ne ȝonie.
At sume siþe herde [I] telle
hu Alured sede on his spelle:
"Loke þat þu ne bo þare 295
þar chauling boþ & cheste ȝare:
lat sottes chide & uorþ þu go."
& ich am wis & do also.
& ȝet Alured seide an oþer side
a word þat is isprunge wide: 300
Lines 301 through 400
"Þat wit þe fule haueþ imene,
ne cumeþ he neuer from him cleine."
Wenestu þat haueck bo þe worse
þoȝ crowe bigrede him bi þe mershe,
Page 30
& goþ to him mid hore chirme
305
riȝt so hi wille wit him schirme?
Þe hauec folȝeþ gode rede, [folio 235r.2]
& fliȝt his wei & lat him grede."
"Ȝet þu me seist of oþer þinge,
& telst þat ich ne can noȝt singe,
310
ac al mi rorde is woning,
& to ihire grislich þing.
Þat nis noȝt soþ, ich singe efne,
mid fulle dreme & lude stefne.
Þu wenist þat ech song bo grislich,
315
þat þine pipinge nis ilich.
Mi stefne is [bold] & noȝt unorne,
ho is ilich one grete horne,
& þin is ilich one pipe,
of one smale wode unripe.
320
Ich singe bet þan þu dest:
þu chaterest so doþ on Irish prost.
Ich singe an eue a riȝte time,
& soþþe won hit is bed-time,
þe þridde siþe a[t] middel-niȝte:
325
& so ich mine song adiȝte
wone ich iso arise vorre
oþer dai-rim oþer dai-sterre.
Ich do god mid mine þrote,
& warni men to hore note.
330
Ac þu singest alle longe niȝt,
from eue fort hit is dai-liȝt,
& eure seist þin o song
so longe so þe niȝt is long:
Page 32
& eure croweþ þi wrecche crei,
335
þat he ne swikeþ niȝt ne dai.
Mid þine pipinge þu adunest
þas monnes earen þar þu wunest,
& makest þine song so unw[u]rþ
þa[t] me ne telþ of þar noȝ[t] w[u]rþ.
340
Eurich murȝþe mai so longe ileste [folio 235v.1]
þat ho shal liki wel unwreste:
vor harpe, & pipe, & fuȝeles [song]
mislikeþ, ȝif hit is to long.
Ne bo þe song neuer so murie,
345
þat he ne shal þinche wel unmurie
ȝef he ilesteþ ouer unwille:
so þu miȝt þine song aspille.
Vor hit is soþ, Alured hit seide,
& me hit mai ine boke rede:
350
"Eurich þing mai losen his godhede
mid unmeþe & mid ouerdede."
Mid este þu þe miȝt ouerquatie,
& ouerfulle makeþ wlatie:
Page 34
an eurich mureȝþe mai agon
355
ȝif me hit halt eure forþ in on,
bute one, þat is Godes riche,
þat eure is svete & eure iliche:
þeȝ þu nime eure o[f] þan lepe,
hit is eure ful bi hepe.
360
Wunder hit is of Godes riche,
þat eure spenþ & euer is iliche.
ȝut þu me seist an oþer shome,
þat ich a[m] on mine eȝen lome,
an seist, for þat ich flo bi niȝte,
365
þat ich ne mai iso bi liȝte.
Þu liest! on me hit is isene
þat ich habbe gode sene:
vor nis non so dim þusternesse
þat ich euer iso þe lasse.
370
Þu wenest þat ich ne miȝte iso,
vor ich bi daie noȝt ne flo.
Þe hare luteþ al dai,
ac noþeles iso he mai.
Ȝif hundes urneþ to him-ward, [folio 235v.2]
375
[h]e gengþ wel suiþe awai-ward,
& hokeþ paþes sviþe narewe,
& haueþ mid him his blenches ȝarewe,
& hupþ & star[t] suþe coue,
an secheþ paþes to þe groue:
380
ne sholde he uor boþe his eȝe
so don, ȝif he þe bet niseȝe.
Page 36
Ich mai ison so wel so on hare,
þeȝ ich bi daie sitte an dare.
Þar aȝte men [boþ] in worre,
385
an fareþ boþe ner an forre,
an oueruareþ fele [þ]ode,
an doþ bi niȝte gode node,
ich folȝi þan aȝte manne,
an flo bi niȝte in hore banne."
390
Þe niȝtingale in hire þoȝte
athold al þis, & longe þoȝte
wat ho þarafter miȝte segge:
vor ho ne miȝte noȝt alegge
þat þe hule hadde hire ised,
395
vor he spac boþe riȝt an red.
An hire ofþuȝte þat ho hadde
þe speche so for uorþ iladde,
an was oferd þat hire answare
ne w[u]rþe noȝt ariȝt ifare.
400
Lines 401 through 500
Ac noþeles he spac boldeliche,
vor he is wis þat hardeliche
wiþ is uo berþ grete ilete,
þat he uor areȝþe hit ne forlete:
Page 38
vor suich worþ bold ȝif þu [fliȝst],
405
þat w[u]le flo ȝif þu [n]isvicst;
ȝif he isiþ þat þu nart areȝ,
he wile of [bore] w[u]rchen bareȝ.
& forþi, þeȝ þe niȝtingale [folio 236r.1]
were aferd, ho spac bolde tale.
410
"[H]ule" ho seide " wi dostu so?
þu singest a-winter wolawo!
þu singest so doþ hen a-snowe,
al þat ho singeþ hit is for wowe.
A-wintere þu singest wroþe & ȝomere,
415
an eure þu art dumb a-sumere.
Hit is for þine fule niþe
þat þu ne miȝt mid us bo bliþe,
vor þu forbernest wel neȝ for onde
wane ure blisse cumeþ to londe.
420
þu farest so doþ þe ille,
evrich blisse him is unwille:
grucching & luring him boþ rade,
ȝif he isoþ þat men boþ glade.
Page 40
He wolde þat he iseȝe
425
teres in evrich monnes eȝe:
ne roȝte he þeȝ flockes were
imeind bi toppes & bi here.
Al so þu dost on þire side:
vor wanne snov liþ þicke & wide,
430
an alle wiȝtes habbeþ sorȝe,
þu singest from eue fort a-morȝe.
Ac ich alle blisse mid me bringe:
ech wiȝt is glad for mine þinge,
& blisseþ hit wanne ich cume,
435
& hiȝteþ aȝen mine kume.
Þe blostme ginneþ springe & sprede,
boþe ine tro & ek on mede.
Þe lilie mid hire faire wlite
wolcumeþ me, þat þu hit w[i]te,
440
bit me mid hire faire blo
þat ich shulle to hire flo.
Page 42
Þe rose also mid hire rude, [folio 236r.2]
þat cumeþ ut of þe þorne wode,
bit me þat ich shulle singe
445
vor hire luue one skentinge:
& ich so do þurȝ niȝt & dai,
þe more ich singe þe more I mai,
an skente hi mid mine songe,
ac noþeles noȝt ouerlonge;
450
wane ich iso þat men boþ glade,
ich nelle þat hi bon to sade:
þan is ido vor wan ich com,
ich fare aȝen & do wisdom.
Wane mon hoȝeþ of his sheue,
455
an falewi cumeþ on grene leue,
ich fare hom & nime leue:
ne recche ich noȝt of winteres reue.
wan ich iso þat cumeþ þat harde,
ich fare hom to min erde,
460
an habbe boþe luue & þonc
þat ich her com & hider swonk.
Þan min erende is ido,
sholde ich bileue? nai, [w]arto?
vor he nis noþer ȝep ne wis,
465
þat longe abid þar him nod nis."
Þos hule luste, & leide an hord
al þis mot, word after word,
an after þoȝte hu he miȝte
ansvere uinde best mid riȝte:
470
vor he mot hine ful wel biþenche,
þat is aferd of plaites wrenche.
"Þv aishest me," þe hule sede,
"wi ich a-winter singe & grede.
Page 44
Hit is gode monne iwone,
475
an was from þe worlde frome,
þat ech god man his frond icnowe, [folio 236v.1]
an blisse mid hom sume þrowe
in his huse at his borde,
mid faire speche & faire worde.
480
& hure & hure to Cristesmasse,
þane riche & poure, more & lasse,
singeþ cundut niȝt & dai,
ich hom helpe what ich mai.
& ek ich þenche of oþer þinge
485
þane to pleien oþer to singe.
Ich habbe herto gode ansuare
anon iredi & al ȝare:
vor sumeres-tide is al to [w]lonc,
an doþ misreken monnes þonk:
490
vor he ne recþ noȝt of clennesse,
al his þoȝt is of golnesse:
vor none dor no leng nabideþ,
ac eurich upon oþer rideþ:
þe sulue stottes ine þe stode
495
boþ boþe wilde & mere-wode.
& þu sulf art þar-among,
for of golnesse is al þi song,
an aȝen þet þu w[i]lt teme,
þu art wel modi & wel breme.
500
Lines 501 through 600
Sone so þu hau[e]st itrede,
ne miȝtu leng a word iqueþe,
ac pipest al so doþ a mose,
mid chokeringe, mid steune hose.
Page 46
ȝet þu singst worse þon þe heisugge,
505
[þ]at fliȜþ bi grunde among þe stubbe:
wane þi lust is ago,
þonne is þi song ago also.
A-sumere chorles awedeþ
& uorcrempeþ & uorbredeþ:
510
hit nis for luue noþeles,
ac is þe chorles wode res; [folio 236v.2]
vor wane he haueþ ido his dede,
ifallen is al his boldhede,
habbe he istunge under gore,
515
ne last his luue no leng more.
Al so hit is on þine mode:
so sone so þu sittest a-brode,
þu forlost al þine wise.
Al so þu farest on þine rise:
520
wane þu hauest ido þi gome,
þi steune goþ anon to shome.
Ac [w]ane niȝtes cumeþ longe,
& b[r]ingeþ forstes starke an stronge,
þanne erest hit is isene
525
war is þe snelle, [w]ar is þe kene.
At þan harde me mai auinde
[w]o geþ forþ, wo liþ bihinde.
Me mai ison at þare node,
[w]an me shal harde wike bode;
Page 48
530
þanne ich am snel & pleie & singe,
& hiȝte me mid mi skentinge:
of none wintere ich ne recche,
vor ich nam non asv[u]nde wrecche.
& ek ich frouri uele wiȝte
535
þat mid hom nabbe[þ] none miȝtte:
hi boþ hoȝfule & uel arme,
an secheþ ȝorne to þe warme;
oft ich singe uor hom þe more
for lutli sum of hore sore.
540
Hu þincþ þe? artu ȝut inume?
Artu mid riȝte ouercume?"
"Nay, nay!" sede þe niȝtingale,
" þu shalt ihere anoþer tale:
ȝet nis þos speche ibroȝt to dome. [folio 237r.1]
545
Ac bo wel stille, & lust nu to me
ich shal mid one bare worde
do þat þi speche [wurþ] forworþe."
"Þat nere noht riȝt" þe hule sede,
"þu hauest bicloped al so þu bede,
Page 50
550
an ich þe habbe iȝiue ansuare.
Ac ar we to unker dome fare,
ich wille speke toward þe
al so þu speke toward me;
an þu me ansuare ȝif þu miȝt.
555
Seie me nu, þu wrecche wiȝt,
is in þe eni oþer note
bute þu hauest schille þrote?
Þu nart noȝt to non oþer þinge,
bute þu canst of chateringe:
560
vor þu art lutel an unstrong,
an nis þi regel noþing long.
Wat dostu godes among monne?
Na mo þe deþ a w[re]cche wranne.
Of þe ne cumeþ non oþer god,
565
bute þu gredest suich þu bo wod:
an bo þi piping ouergo,
ne boþ on þe craftes namo.
Alured sede, þat was wis:
(he miȝte wel, for soþ hit is,)
570
"Nis no man for is bare songe
lof ne w[u]rþ noȝt suþe longe:
vor þat is a forworþe man
þat bute singe noȝt ne can."
Þu nart bute on forworþe þing:
575
on þe nis bute chatering.
Þu art dim an of fule howe,
an þinchest a lutel soti clowe.
Page 52
Þu nart fair, no þu nart strong, [folio 237r.2]
ne þu nart þicke, ne þu nart long:
580
þu hauest imist al of fairhede,
an lutel is al þi godede.
An oþer þing of þe ich mene,
þu nart vair ne þu nart clene.
Wane þu comest to manne haȝe,
585
þar þornes boþ & ris idraȝe,
bi hegge & bi þicke wode,
þar men goþ oft to hore node,
þarto þu draȝst, þarto þu w[u]nest,
an oþer clene stede þu schunest.
590
Þan ich flo niȝtes after muse,
I mai þe uinde ate rum-huse;
among þe wode, among þe netle,
þu sittest & singst bihinde þe setle:
þar me mai þe ilomest finde,
595
þar men worpeþ hore bihinde.
Ȝet þu atuitest me mine mete,
an seist þat ich fule wiȝtes ete.
Ac wat etestu, þat þu ne liȝe,
bute attercoppe & fule ulige,
600
Lines 601 through 700
an wormes, ȝif þu miȝte finde
among þe uolde of harde rinde?
Ȝet ich can do wel gode wike,
vor ich can loki manne wike:
an mine wike boþ wel gode,
605
vor ich helpe to manne uode.
Ich can nimen mus at berne,
an ek at chirche ine þe derne:
vor me is lof to Cristes huse,
to clansi hit wiþ fule muse,
610
ne schal þar neure come to
ful wiȝt, ȝif ich hit mai iuo.
Page 54
An ȝif me lust one mi skentinge [folio 237v.1]
to wernen oþer w[u]nienge,
ich habbe at wude tron wel grete,
615
mit þicke boȝe noþing blete,
mid iui grene al bigrowe,
þat eure stont iliche iblowe,
an his hou neuer ne uorlost,
wan hit sniuw ne wan hit frost.
620
Þarin ich habbe god ihold,
a-winter warm, a -sumere cold.
Wane min hus stont briȝt & grene,
of þine nis noþing isene.
Ȝet þu me telst of oþer þinge,
625
of mine briddes seist gabbinge,
þat hore nest nis noȝt clene.
Hit is fale oþer wiȝte imene:
vor hors a-stable & oxe a-stalle
[d]oþ al þat hom wule þar falle.
630
An lutle children in þe cradele,
boþe chorles an ek aþele,
[d]oþ al þat in hore ȝoeþe
þat hi uorleteþ in hore duȝeþe.
Wat! can þat ȝongling hit bihede?
635
Ȝif hit misdeþ, hit mo[t] nede:
a uorbisne is of olde i[vu]rne,
[þ]at node makeþ old wif urne.
Page 56
An ȝet ich habbe an oþer andsware:
wiltu to mine neste uare
640
an loki hu hit is idiȝt?
Ȝif þu art wis lorni þu [miȝt]:
mi nest is holȝ & rum amidde,
so hit is softest mine bridde.
Hit is broiden al abute,
645
vrom þe neste uor wiþute:
þarto hi go[þ] to hore node, [folio 237v.2]
ac þat þu menest ich hom forbode.
We nimeþ ȝeme of manne bure,
an after þan we makeþ ure:
650
men habbet, among oþer i[h]ende,
a rum-hus at hore bures ende,
vor þat hi nelleþ to uor go,
an mine briddes doþ al so.
Site nu stille, chaterestre!
655
nere þu neuer ibunde uastre:
herto ne uindestu neuer andsware.
Hong up þin ax! nu þu miȝt fare!"
Þe niȝtingale at þisse worde
was wel neȝ ut of rede iworþe,
660
an þoȝte ȝorne on hire mode
ȝif ho oȝt elles understode,
ȝif ho kuþe oȝt bute singe,
þat miȝte helpe to oþer þinge.
Page 58
Herto ho moste andswere uinde,
665
oþer mid alle bon bihinde:
an hit is suþe strong to fiȝte
aȝen soþ & aȝen riȝte.
He mot gon to al mid ginne,
þan þe horte boþ on [w]inne:
670
an þe man mot on oþer segge,
he mot bihemmen & bilegge,
ȝif muþ wiþute mai biwro
þat me þe horte noȝt niso:
an sone mai a word misreke
675
þar muþ shal aȝen horte speke;
an sone mai a word misstorte
þar muþ shal speken aȝen horte.
Ac noþeles ȝut upe þon,
her is to red wo hine kon:
680
vor neuer nis wit so kene [folio 238r.1]
so þane red him is a-wene.
þanne erest kume[þ] his ȝephede
wone hit is alre-mest on drede:
for Aluered seide of olde quide,
685
an ȝut hit nis of horte islide:
"Wone þe bale is alre-hecst,
þonne is þe bote alre-necst";
Page 60
vor wit west among his sore,
an for his sore hit is þe more.
690
Vorþi nis neuere mon redles
ar his horte bo witles:
ac ȝif þat he forlost his wit,
þonne is his red-purs al to-slit;
ȝif he ne kon his wit atholde,
695
ne uint he red in one uolde.
Vor Alur[e]d seide, þat wel kuþe,
eure he spac mid soþe muþe:
"Wone þe bale is alre-hecst,
þanne is þe bote alre-nest."
700
Lines 701 through 800
Þe niȝtingale al hire hoȝe
mid rede hadde wel bitoȝe;
among þe harde, among þe toȝte,
ful wel mid rede hire biþoȝte,
an hadde andsuere gode ifunde
705
among al hire harde stunde.
"[H]ule, þu axest me," ho seide,
"ȝif ich kon eni oþer dede
bute singen in sume tide,
an bringe blisse for & wide.
710
Wi axestu of craftes mine?
Betere is min on þan alle þine,
betere is o song of mine muþe
þan al þat eure þi kun kuþe:
an lust, ich telle þe wareuore. [folio 238r.2]
715
Wostu to wan man was ibore?
To þare blisse of houene-riche,
þar euer is song & murȝþe iliche:
Page 62
þider fundeþ eurich man
þat eni þing of gode kan.
720
Vorþi me singþ in holi-chirche,
an clerkes ginneþ songes wirche,
þat man iþenche bi þe songe
wider he shal, & þar bon longe:
þat he þe murȝþe ne uorȝete,
725
ac þarof þenche & biȝete,
an nime ȝeme of chirche steuene,
hu murie is þe blisse of houene.
Clerkes, munekes, & kanunes,
þar boþ þos gode wicke-tunes,
730
ariseþ up to midel-niȝte,
an singeþ of þe houene-liȝte:
an prostes upe londe singeþ,
wane þe liȝt of daie springeþ.
An ich hom helpe wat I mai,
735
ich singe mid hom niȝt & dai,
an ho boþ alle for me þe gladdere,
an to þe songe boþ þe raddere.
Ich warni men to hore gode,
þat hi bon bliþe on hore mode,
740
an bidde þat hi moten iseche
þan ilke song þat euer is eche.
Nu þu miȝt, hule, sitte & clinge:
her-among nis no chateringe:
ich graunti þat [w]e go to dome
745
tofore þe [sulfe Pope] of Rome.
Page 64
Ac abid ȝete, noþeles,
þu shalt ihere an oþer [h]es;
ne shaltu, for Engelonde, [folio 238v.1]
at þisse worde me atstonde.
750
Wi atuitestu me mine unstrengþe,
an mine ungrete & mine unlengþe,
an seist þat ich nam noȝt strong,
vor ich nam noþer gret ne long?
Ac þu nost neuer wat þu menst,
755
bute lese wordes þu me lenst:
for ich kan craft & ich kan liste,
an [þ]areuore ich am þus þriste.
Ich kan wit & song man[t]eine,
ne triste ich to non oþer maine:
760
vor soþ hit is þat seide Alured:
"Ne mai no strengþe aȝen red."
Page 66
Oft spet wel a lute liste,
þar muche strengþe sholde miste;
mid lutle strengþe, þurȝ ginne,
765
castel & burȝ me mai iwinne.
Mid liste me mai walle[s] felle,
an worpe of horsse kniȝtes snelle.
Vuel strengþe is lutel wurþ,
* * * * *
770
* * * * *
ac wisdom naueþ non euening.
An hors is strengur þan a mon;
ac for hit non iwit ne kon,
hit berþ on rugge grete semes,
775
an draȝþ biuore grete temes,
Page 68
an þoleþ boþe ȝerd & spure,
an stont iteid at mulne dure.
An hit deþ þat mon hit hot:
an for þan þat hit no wit not,
780
ne mai his strenþe hit ishilde
þat hit nabuȝþ þe lutle childe.
Mon deþ, mid strengþe & mid witte,
þat oþer þing nis non his fitte.
Þeȝ alle strengþe at one were, [folio 238v.2]
785
monnes wit ȝet more were;
vor þe mon mid his crafte,
ouerkumeþ al orþliche shafte.
Al so ich do mid mine one songe
bet þan þu al þe ȝer longe:
790
vor mine crafte men me luuieþ,
vor þine strengþe men þe shunieþ.
Telstu bi me þe wurs for þan
þat ich bute anne craft ne kan?
Ȝif tueie men goþ to wraslinge,
795
an eiþer oþer faste þringe,
an þe on can swenges suþe fele,
an kan his wrenches wel forhele,
an þe oþer ne can sweng but anne,
an þe is god wiþ eche manne,
800
Lines 801 through 900
an mid þon one leiþ to grunde
anne after oþer a lutle stunde,
[w]at þarf he recche of a mo swenge,
þone þe on him is swo genge?
Page 70
Þ[u] seist þat þu canst fele wike,
805
ac euer ich am þin unilike.
Do þine craftes alle togadere,
ȝet is min on horte betere.
Oft þan hundes foxes driueþ,
þe kat ful wel him sulue liueþ,
810
þeȝ he ne kunne wrench bute anne.
Þe fo[x] so godne ne can nanne,
þe[ȝ] he kunne so uele wrenche,
þat he wenþ eche hunde atprenche.
Vor he can paþes riȝte & woȝe,
815
an he kan hongi bi þe boȝe,
an so forlost þe hund his fore,
an turnþ aȝen eft to þan more.
Þe uox kan crope bi þe heie, [folio 239r.1]
an turne ut from his forme weie,
820
an eft sone kume þarto:
þonne is þe hundes smel fordo:
he not, þur[ȝ] þe imeinde smak,
weþer he shal auorþ þe abak.
Ȝif þe uox mist of al þis dwole,
825
at þan ende he cropþ to hole:
Page 72
ac naþeles mid alle his wrenche,
ne kan he hine so biþenche,
þeȝ he bo ȝep an suþe snel,
þat he ne lost his rede uel.
830
Þe cat ne kan wrench bute anne
noþer bi dune ne bi uenne:
bute he kan climbe suþe wel,
þarmid he wereþ his greie uel.
Al so ich segge bi mi solue,
835
betere is min on þan þine twelue."
"Abid! abid!" þe ule seide,
"þu gest al to mid swikelede:
alle þine wordes þu bileist
þat hit þincþ soþ al þat þu seist;
840
alle þine wordes boþ isliked,
an so bisemed an biliked,
þat alle þo þat hi auoþ,
hi weneþ þat þu segge soþ.
Abid! abid! me shal þe ȝene.
845
[N]u hit shal w[u]rþe wel isene
þat þu hauest muchel iloȝe,
wone þi lesing boþ unwroȝe.
Þu seist þat þu singist mankunne,
& techest hom þat hi fundieþ honne
850
vp to þe songe þat eure ilest:
ac hit is alre w[u]nder mest,
þat þu darst liȝe so opeliche. [folio 239r.2]
Wenest þu hi bringe so liȝtliche
to Godes riche al singin[d]e?
855
Nai! nai! hi shulle wel auinde
Page 74
þat hi mid longe wope mote
of hore sunnen bidde bote,
ar hi mote euer kume þare.
Ich rede þi þat men bo ȝare,
860
an more wepe þane singe,
þat fundeþ to þan houen-kinge:
vor nis no man witute sunne.
Vorþi he mot, ar he wende honne,
mid teres an mid wope bete,
865
þat him bo sur þat er was swete.
Þarto ich helpe, God hit wot!
Ne singe i[c]h hom no foliot:
for al m[i] song is of longinge,
an imend sumdel mid woninge,
870
þat mon bi me hine biþenche
þat he gro[ni] for his unwrenche:
mid mine songe ich hine pulte,
þat he groni for his gulte.
Ȝif þu gest herof to disputinge,
875
ich wepe bet þane þu singe:
ȝif riȝt goþ forþ, & abak wrong,
betere is mi wop þane þi song.
Þeȝ sume men bo þurȝut gode,
an þurȝut clene on hore mode,
880
ho[m] longeþ honne noþeles.
Þat boþ her, [w]o is hom þes:
vor þeȝ hi bon hom solue iborȝe,
hi ne soþ her nowiȝt bote sorwe.
Vor oþer men hi wepeþ sore,
885
an for hom biddeþ Cristes ore.
Page 76
Ich helpe monne on eiþer halue, [folio 239v.1]
mi muþ haueþ tweire kunne salue :
þan gode ich fulste to longinge,
vor þan hi[m] longeþ, ich him singe:
890
an þan sunfulle ich helpe alswo,
vor ich him teche þare is wo.
Ȝet ich þe ȝene in oþer wise:
vor þane þu sittest on þine rise,
þu draȝst men to fleses luste,
895
þat w[u]lleþ þine songes luste.
Al þu forlost þe murȝþe of houene,
for þarto neuestu none steuene :
al þat þu singst is of golnesse,
for nis on þe non holinesse,
900
Lines 901 through 1000
ne wene[þ] na man for þi pipinge
þat eni preost in chir[ch]e singe.
Ȝet I þe wulle an o[þ]er segge,
ȝif þu hit const ariht bilegge:
[w]i nultu singe an o[þ]er þeode,
905
þar hit is muchele more neode?
Þu neauer ne singst in Irlonde,
ne þu ne cumest noȝt in Scotlonde.
Hwi nultu fare to Noreweie,
an singin men of Galeweie?
Page 78
910
Þar beoð men þat lutel kunne
of songe þat is bineoð þe sunne.
Wi nultu þare preoste singe,
an teche of þire writelinge,
an wisi hom mid þire steuene
915
hu engeles singeð ine heouene?
Þu farest so doð an ydel wel
þat springeþ bi burue þa[t] is snel,
an let fordrue þe dune,
& flo[þ] on idel þar adune.
920
Ac ich fare boþe norþ & s[u]þ: [folio 239v.2]
in eauereuch londe ich am cuuþ:
east & west, feor & neor,
I do wel faire mi meoster,
an warni men mid mine bere,
925
þat þi dweole-song heo ne forlere.
Ich wisse men mid min[e] songe,
þat hi ne sunegi nowiht longe :
I bidde hom þat heo iswike,
þat [heo] heom seolue ne biswike:
930
for betere is þat heo wepen here,
þan elles hwar [beon] deoulene fere."
Þe niȝtingale was igr[amed]
an ek heo was sum del of[s]chamed,
for þe hule hire atwiten hadde
935
in hwucche stude he sat an gradde,
bihinde þe bure, among þe wede,
þar men goð to here neode:
Page 80
an sat sum-del, & heo biþohte,
an wiste wel on hire þohte
940
þe wraþþe binimeþ monnes red.
For hit seide þe king Alfred:
"Sel[d]e endeð wel þe loþe,
an selde plaideð wel þe wroþe."
For wraþþe meinþ þe horte blod
945
þat hit floweþ so wilde flod,
an al þe heorte ouergeþ,
þat heo naueþ no þing bute breþ,
an so forleost al hire liht,
þat heo ni siþ soþ ne riht.
950
Þe niȝtingale hi understod,
an ouergan lette hire mod:
he mihte bet speken a-sele
þan mid wraþþe wordes deale.
"[H]ule," heo seide "lust nu hider: [folio 240r.1]
955
þu schalt falle, þe wei is slider.
Þu seist ich fleo bihinde bure:
hit is riht, þe bur is ure:
þar lauerd liggeþ & lauedi,
ich schal heom singe & sitte bi.
960
Wenstu þat uise men forlete,
for fule venne, þe riȝtte strete ?
ne sunne þe later shine,
þeȝ hit bo ful ine nest[e] þine?
Sholde ich, for one hole brede,
965
forlete mine riȝte stede,
Page 82
þat ich ne singe bi þe bedde,
þar louerd haueþ his loue ibedde?
Hit is mi riȝt, hit is mi laȝe,
þa[t] to þe he[x]st ich me draȝe.
970
Ac ȝet þu ȝelpst of þine songe,
þat þu canst ȝolle wroþe & stronge,
an seist þu uisest mankunne,
þat hi biwepen hore sunne.
Solde euch mon wonie & grede
975
riȝt suich hi weren unlede,
solde hi ȝollen al so þu dest,
hi miȝte oferen here brost.
Man schal bo stille & noȝt grede;
he mot biwepe his misdede:
980
ac þar is Cristes heriinge,
þar me shal grede & lude singe.
Nis noþer to lud ne to long,
at riȝte time, chirche-song.
Þu ȝolst & wones[t], & ich singe:
985
þi steuene is wop, & min skentinge.
Euer mote þu ȝolle & wepen
þat þu þi lif mote forleten!
an ȝollen mote þu so heȝe [folio 240r.2]
þat ut berste bo þin eȝe!
990
Weþer is betere of twe[n]e twom,
þat mon bo bliþe oþer grom ?
Page 84
So bo hit euer in unker siþe,
þat þu bo sori & ich bliþe.
Ȝut þu aisheist wi ich ne fare
995
into oþer londe & singe þare?
No! wat sholde ich among hom do,
þar neuer blisse ne com to?
Þat lond nis god, ne hit nis este,
ac wildernisse hit is & weste:
1000
Lines 1001 through 1100
knarres & cludes houen[e]-tinge,
snou & haȝel hom is genge.
Þat lond is grislich & unuele,
þe men boþ wilde & unisele,
hi nabbeþ noþer griþ ne sibbe:
1005
hi ne reccheþ hu hi libbe.
Hi eteþ fihs an flehs unsode,
suich wulues hit hadde tobrode:
hi drinkeþ milc & wei þarto,
hi nute elles þat hi do:
Page 86
1010
hi nabbeþ noþ[er] win ne bor,
ac libbeþ al so wilde dor:
hi goþ bitiȝt mid ruȝe uelle,
riȝt suich hi comen ut of helle.
Þeȝ eni god man to hom come,
1015
so wile dude sum from Rome,
for hom to lere gode þewes,
an for to leten hore unþewes,
he miȝte bet sitte stille,
vor al his wile he sholde spille:
1020
he miȝte bet teche ane bore
to weȝe boþe sheld & spere,
þan me þat wilde folc ibringe [folio 240v.1]
þat hi [me] wolde ihere singe.
Wat sol[d]ich þar mid mine songe?
1025
ne sunge ich hom neuer so longe,
mi song were ispild ech del:
for hom ne mai halter ne bridel
bringe vrom hore w[o]de wise,
ne mon mid stele ne mid i[s]e.
Page 88
1030
Ac war lon[d] is boþe este & god,
an þar men habbeþ milde mod,
ich noti mid hom mine þrote,
vor ich mai do þar gode note:
an bringe hom loue tiþinge,
1035
vor ich of chirche-songe singe.
Hit was iseid in olde laȝe,
an ȝet ilast þilke soþ-saȝe,
þat man shal erien an sowe,
þar he wenþ after sum god mowe:
1040
for he is wod þat soweþ his sed
þar neuer gras ne sprinþ ne bled."
Þe hule was wroþ, to cheste rad,
mid þisse worde hire eȝen abrad:
"Þu seist þu witest manne bures,
1045
þar leues boþ & faire flores,
þar two iloue in one bedde
liggeþ biclop[t] & wel bihedde.
Enes þu sunge, ic wo[t] wel ware,
bi one bure, & woldest lere
1050
þe lefdi to an uuel luue,
an sunge boþe loȝe & buue,
Page 90
an lerdest hi to don shome
an vnriȝt of hire licome.
Þe louerd þat sone underȝat,
1055
liim & grine [&] wel eiwat,
sette & le[i]de þe for to lacche.
Þu come sone to þan hacche,
þu were inume in one grine,
al hit aboȝte þine shine:
1060
þu naddest non oþer dom ne laȝe,
bute mid wilde horse were todraȝe.
Vonde ȝif þu miȝt eft misrede,
waþer þu wult, wif þe maide:
þi song mai bo so longe genge
1065
þat þu shalt wippen on a sprenge."
Þe niȝtingale at þisse worde,
mid sworde an mid speres orde,
ȝif ho mon were, wolde fiȝte:
ac þo ho bet do ne miȝte,
1070
ho uaȝt mid hire wise tunge.
"Wel fiȝt þat wel specþ," seiþ in þe songe.
Of hire tunge ho nom red:
"Wel fiȝt þat wel specþ" seide Alured.
"Wat! seistu þis for mine shome?
1075
þe louerd hadde herof grame.
He was so gelus of his wiue,
þat he ne miȝte for his liue
iso þat man wiþ hire speke,
þat his horte nolde breke.
1080
He hire bileck in one bure,
þat hire was boþe stronge & sure:
Page 92
ich hadde of hire milse an ore,
an sori was for hire sore,
an skente hi mid mine songe
1085
al þat ich miȝte, raþe an longe.
Vorþan þe kniȝt was wiþ me wroþ,
vor riȝte niþe ich was him loþ:
he dude me his oȝene shome,
ac al him turnde it to grome.
1090
Þat underyat þe king Henri: [folio 241r.1]
Jesus his soule do merci!
He let forbonne þene kniȝt,
þat hadde idon so muchel unriȝt
ine so gode kinges londe;
1095
vor riȝte niþe & for fule onde
let þane lutle fuȝel nime
an him fordeme lif an lime.
Hit was w[u]rþsipe al mine kunne;
forþon þe kniȝt forles his wunne,
1100
Lines 1101 through 1200
an ȝaf for me an hundred punde:
an mine briddes seten isunde,
Page 94
an hadde soþþe blisse & hiȝte,
an were bliþe, & wel miȝte.
Vorþon ich was so wel awreke,
1105
euer eft ich dar[r] þe bet speke:
vor hit bitidde ene swo,
ich am þe bliþur euer mo.
Nu ich mai singe war ich wulle,
ne dar me neuer eft mon agrulle.
1110
Ac þu, eremi[n]g! þu wrecche gost!
þu ne canst finde, ne þu nost,
an holȝ stok þar þu þe miȝt hude,
þat me ne twengeþ þine hude.
Vor children, gromes, heme & hine,
1115
hi þencheþ alle of þire pine:
ȝif hi muȝe iso þe sitte,
stones hi doþ in hore slitte,
an þe totorue[þ] & toheneþ,
an þine fule bon tosheneþ.
1120
Ȝif þu art iworpe oþer ishote,
þanne þu miȝt erest to note.
Vor me þe hoþ in one rodde,
an þu, mid þine fule codde,
an mid þine ateliche s[w]ore, [folio 241r.2]
1125
biwerest manne corn urom dore.
Page 96
Nis noþer noȝt, þi lif ne þi blod:
ac þu art sh[e]ueles suþe god.
Þar nowe sedes boþe isowe,
pinnuc, golfinc, rok, ne crowe
1130
ne dar þar neuer cumen ihende,
ȝif þi buc hongeþ at þan ende.
Þar tron shulle aȝere blowe,
an ȝunge sedes springe & growe,
ne dar no fuȝel þarto uonge,
1135
ȝif þu art þarouer ihonge.
Þi lif is eure luþer & qued,
þu nar[t] noȝt bute ded.
Nu þu miȝt wite sikerliche
þat þine leches boþ grisliche
1140
þe wile þu art on lifdaȝe:
vor wane þu hongest islaȝe,
ȝut hi boþ of þe ofdradde,
þe fuȝeles þat þe er bigradde.
Mid riȝte men boþ wiþ þe wroþe,
1145
for þu singist euer of hore loþe:
al þat þu singst, raþe oþer late,
hit is euer of manne unwate:
wane þu hauest aniȝt igrad,
men boþ of þe wel sore ofdrad.
Page 98
1150
Þu singst þar sum man shal be ded:
euer þu bodest sumne qued.
Þu singst aȝen eiȝte lure,
oþer of summe frondes rure :
oþer þu bodes[t] huses brune,
1155
oþer ferde of manne, oþer þoues rune;
oþer þu bodest cualm of oreue,
oþer þat londfolc wurþ idorue,
oþer þat wif lost hire make; [folio 241v.1]
oþer þu bodest cheste an sake.
1160
Euer þu singist of manne hareme,
þurȝ þe hi boþ sori & areme.
þu ne singst neuer one siþe,
þat hit nis for sum unsiþe.
Heruore hit is þat me þe shuneþ,
1165
an þe totorueþ & tobuneþ
mid staue, & stoone, & turf, & clute,
þat þu ne miȝt nowar atrute.
Dahet euer suich budel in tune
þat euer bodeþ unwreste rune,
1170
an euer bringeþ vuele tiþinge,
an þat euer specþ of vuele þinge!
God Almiȝti w[u]rþe him wroþ,
an al þat werieþ linnene cloþ!"
Þe hule ne abo[d] noȝt swiþ[e] longe,
1175
ah ȝef ondsware starke & stronge:
" Wat," quaþ ho, " hartu ihoded ?
oþer þu kursest al unihoded ?
Page 100
For prestes wike ich wat þu dest.
Ich not ȝef þu were ȝaure prest:
1180
ich not ȝef þu canst masse singe:
inoh þu canst of mansinge.
Ah hit is for þine alde niþe,
þat þu me akursedest oþer siþe:
ah þarto is lihtlich ondsware;
1185
"Drah to þe!" cwaþ þe cartare.
Wi attwitestu me mine insihte,
an min iwit & mine miȝte?
For ich am witi ful iwis,
an wo[t] al þat to kumen is:
1190
ich wot of hunger, of hergonge:
ich wot ȝef men schule libbe longe:
ich wat ȝef wif lus[t] hire make: [folio 241v.2]
ich wat þar schal beo niþ & wrake;
ich wot hwo schal beon [an]honge,
1195
oþer elles fulne deþ afonge.
Ȝef men habbeþ bataile inume,
ich wat hwaþer schal beon ouerkume :
ich wat ȝif cwalm scal comen on orfe,
an ȝif dor schul ligge [a]storue;
Page 102
1200
Lines 1201 through 1300
ich wot ȝef treon schule blowe:
ich wat ȝef cornes schule growe :
ich wot ȝef huses schule berne:
ich wot ȝef men schule eorne oþer erne:
ich wot ȝef sea schal schipes drenche:
1205
ich wot ȝef snuw[e] schal uuele clenche.
An ȝet ich con muchel more:
ich con inoh in bokes lore,
an eke ich can of þe Goddspelle
more þan ich nule þe telle:
1210
for ich at chirche come ilome,
an muche leorni of wisdome :
ich wat al of þe tacninge,
an of oþer feole þinge.
Ȝef eni mon schal rem abide,
1215
al ich hit wot ear hit itide.
Page 104
Ofte, for mine muchele iwitte,
wel sori-mod & w[ro]þ ich sitte :
wan ich iseo þat sum wrechede
is manne neh, innoh ich grede:
1220
ich bidde þat men beon iwar[r]e,
an habbe gode reades ȝar[r]e.
For Alfred seide a wis word,
euch mon hit schulde legge on hord:
"Ȝef þu isihst [er] he beo icume,
1225
his str[e]ncþe is him wel neh binume."
An grete duntes beoþ þe lasse, [folio 242r.1]
ȝef me ikepþ mid iwarnesse,
an [flo] schal toward misȝenge,
ȝef þu isihst hu fleo of strenge;
1230
for þu miȝt blenche wel & fleo,
ȝif þu isihst heo to þe teo.
Þat eni man beo falle in [e]dwite,
wi schal he me his sor atwite?
Þah ich iseo his harm biuore,
1235
ne comeþ hit noȝt of me þaru[o]re.
Þah þu iseo þat sum blind mon,
þat nanne rihtne wei ne con,
to þare diche his dweole fulie[þ],
an falleþ, and þarone sulie[þ],
Page 106
1240
wenest þu, þah ich al iseo,
þat hit for me þe raþere beo?
Al swo hit fareþ bi mine witte:
hwanne ich on mine bowe sitte,
ich wot & iseo swiþe brihte
1245
an summe men kume[&] harm þarrihte.
Schal he, þat þerof noþing not,
hit wite me for ich hit wot?
Schal he his mishap wite me,
for ich am wisure þane he?
1250
Hwanne ich iseo þat sum wrechede
is manne neh, inoh ich grede,
an bidde inoh þat hi heom schilde,
for toward heom is [harm unmilde].
Ah þah ich grede lude an stille,
1255
al hit itid þur[h] Godes wille.
Hwi wulleþ men of me hi mene,
þah ich mid soþe heo awene?
Þah ich hi warni al þat ȝer,
nis heom þerfore harem no þe ner: [folio 242r.2]
1260
ah ich heom singe for ich wolde
þat hi wel understonde schulde
þat sum unselþe heom is ihende,
hwan ich min huing to heom sende.
Naueþ no man none sikerhede
1265
þat he ne mai wene & adrede
þat sum unhwate ne[h] him beo,
þah he ne conne hit iseo.
Forþi seide Alfred swiþe wel,
and his worde was Goddspel,
Page 108
1270
þat "euereuch man, þe bet him beo,
eauer þe bet he hine beseo:"
"ne truste no mon to his weole
to swiþe, þah he habbe ueole."
"Nis [nout] so hot þat hit nacoleþ,
1275
ne noȝt so hwit þat hit ne soleþ,
ne noȝt so leof þat hit ne aloþeþ,
ne noȝt so glad þat hit ne awroþeþ:
ac eauereeu[c]h þing þat eche nis,
agon schal, & al þis worldes blis."
1280
Nu þu miȝt wite readliche,
þat eauere þu spekest gideliche:
for al þat þu me seist for schame,
euer þe seolue hit turneþ to grome.
Go so hit go, at eche fenge
1285
þu fallest mid þine ahene swenge;
al þat þu seist for me to schende,
hit is mi wurschipe at þan ende.
Bute þu wille bet aginne,
ne shaltu bute schame iwinne."
1290
Þe niȝtingale sat & siȝte,
& hohful was, & ful wel miȝte,
for þe hule swo ispeke hadde, [folio 242v.1]
an hire speche swo iladde.
Heo was ho[h]ful, & erede
1295
hwat heo þarafter hire sede:
Page 110
ah neoþeles heo hire understod.
" Wat!" heo seide, "hule, artu wod?
þu ȝeolpest of seolliche wisdome,
þu nustest wanene he þe come,
1300
Lines 1301 through 1400
bute hit of wicchecrefte were.
Þarof þu, wrecche, mos[t] þe skere
ȝif þu wult among manne b[eo]:
oþer þu most of londe fleo.
For alle þeo þat [þ]erof cuþe,
1305
heo uere ifurn of prestes muþe
amanset: swuch þu art ȝette,
þu wiecche-crafte neauer ne lete.
Ich þe seide nu lutel ere,
an þu askedest ȝef ich were
1310
a-bisemere to preost ihoded.
Ah þe mansing is so ibroded,
þah no preost a-londe nere,
a wrecche neoþeles þu were:
for eauereuch chil[d] þe cleopeþ fule,
1315
an euereuch man a wrecche hule.
Ich habbe iherd, & soþ hit is,
þe mon mot beo wel storre-wis,
[þat] wite inno[h] of wucche þinge kume,
so þu seist þ[e] is iwune.
Page 112
1320
Hwat canstu, wrecche þing, of storre,
bute þat þu biha[u]est hi feorre?
Alswo deþ mani dor & man,
þeo of [swucche] nawiht ne con.
On ape mai a boc bih[o]lde,
1325
an leues wenden & eft folde:
ac he ne con þe bet þaruore [folio 242v.2]
of clerkes lore top ne more.
Þah þu iseo þe steorre alsw[o],
nartu þe wisure neauer þe mo.
1330
Ah ȝet þu, fule þing, me chist,
an wel grimliche me atwist
þat ich singe bi manne huse,
an teache wif breke spuse.
Þu liest iwis, þu fule þing!
1335
þ[urh] me nas neauer ischend spusing.
Ah soþ hit is ich singe & grede
þar lauedies beoþ & faire maide;
& soþ hit is of luue ich singe:
for god wif mai i[n] spusing
Page 114
1340
bet luuien hire oȝene were,
þane awe[r] hire copenere;
an maide mai luue cheose
þat hire wurþschipe ne forleose,
an luuie mid rihte luue
1345
þane þe schal beon hire buue.
Swiche luue ich itache & lere,
þerof beoþ al mine ibere.
Þah sum wif beo of nesche mode,
for wumm[e]n beoþ of softe blode,
1350
þat heo, þurh sume sottes lore
þe ȝeorne bit & sikeþ sore,
mis[r]empe & misdo sumne stunde,
schal ich þaruore beon ibunde ?
Ȝif wimmen luuieþ unrede,
1355
[w]itestu me hore misdede?
Ȝef wimmon þencheþ luuie derne,
[ne] mai ich mine songes werne.
Wummon mai pleie under cloþe,
weþer heo wile, wel þe wroþe:
1360
& heo mai do bi mine songe, [folio 243r.1]
hwaþer heo wule, wel þe wronge.
For nis a-worlde þing so god,
þat ne mai do sum ungod,
ȝif me hit wule turne amis.
1365
For gold & seoluer, god hit is:
an noþeles þarmid þu miȝt
spusbruche buggen & unriȝt.
Wepne beoþ gode griþ to halde:
ah neoþeles þarmide beoþ men acwalde
Page 116
1370
aȝeines riht [an] fale londe,
þar þeoues hi bereð an honde.
Alswa hit is bi mine songe,
þah heo beo god, me hine mai misfonge,
an drahe hine to sothede,
1375
an to oþre uuele dede.
Ah [schaltu] wrecch, luue tele ?
Bo wuch ho bo, vich luue is fele
bitweone wepmon & wimmane:
ah ȝef heo is atbroide, þenne
1380
he is unfele & forbrode.
Wroþ wurþe heom þe holi rode
þe rihte ikunde swo forbreideþ!
W[u]nder hit is þat heo nawedeþ.
An swo heo doþ, for heo beoþ wode
1385
þe bute nest goþ to brode.
Wummon is of nesche flesche,
an flesches [lust] is strong to cwesse:
nis wunder nan þah he abide.
For flesches lustes hi makeþ slide,
1390
ne beoþ heo nowt alle forlore,
þat stumpeþ at þe flesches more:
for moni wummon haueþ misdo
þat aris[t] op of þe slo.
Ne beoþ nowt ones alle sunne, [folio 243r.2]
1395
forþan hi beoþ tweire kunne:
Page 118
su[m] arist of þe flesches luste,
an sum of þe gostes custe.
Þar flesch draheþ men to drunnesse,
an to [wrouehede] & to golnesse,
1400
Lines 1401 through 1500
þe gost misdeþ þurch niþe an onde,
& seoþþe mid murhþe of [monne shonde,]
Page 120
an ȝeoneþ after more & more,
an lutel rehþ of milce & ore ;
an stiȝþ on he[h] þur[h] modinesse,
1405
an ouerhoheð þanne lasse.
Sei [me sooþ], ȝef þu hit wost,
hweþer deþ wurse, flesch þe gost?
Þu miȝt segge, ȝef þu wult,
þat lasse is þe flesches gult:
1410
moni man is of his flesche clene,
þat is mid mode deouel-imene.
Ne schal non mon wimman bigrede,
an flesches lustes hire upbreide:
swuch he may te[l]en of golnesse,
1415
þat sunegeþ wurse i[n] modinesse.
[Ȝ]et ȝif ich schulde a-luue bringe
wif oþer maide, hwanne ich singe,
ich wolde wiþ þe maide holde,
ȝif þu hit const ariht atholde:
1420
Lust nu, ich segge þe hwaruore,
vp to þe toppe from þe more.
Ȝef maide luueþ dernliche,
heo stumpeþ & falþ icundeliche:
for þah heo sum hwile pleie,
1425
heo nis nout feor ut of þe weie;
heo mai hire guld atwende
a rihte weie þur[h] chirche-bende,
an mai eft habbe to make [folio 243v.1]
hire leofmon wiþute sake,
Page 122
1430
an go to him bi daies lihte,
þat er stal to bi þeostre nihte.
An ȝunling not hwat swuch þing is:
his ȝunge blod hit draȝeþ amis,
an sum sot mon hit tihþ þarto
1435
mid alle þan þat he mai do.
He comeþ & fareþ & beod & bi[t]
an heo bistant & ouersi[t],
an bisehþ ilome & longe.
Hwat mai þat chil[d] þah hit misfonge?
1440
Hit nuste neauer hwat hit was,
forþi hit þohte fondi [þ]as,
an wite iwis hwuch beo þe gome
þat of so wilde makeþ tome.
Ne mai ich for reo[w]e lete,
1445
wanne ich iseo þe tohte ilete
þe luue bring[e] on þe ȝunglinge,
þat ich of murȝþe him ne singe.
Ich [t]eache heom bi mine songe
þat swucch luue ne lest noȝt longe:
1450
for mi song lutle hwile ilest,
an luue ne deþ noȝt bute rest
Page 124
on swuch childre, & sone ageþ,
an falþ adun þe hote breþ.
Ich singe mid heom one þroȝe,
1455
biginne on heh & endi laȝe,
an lete [mine] songes falle
an lutle wile adun mid alle.
Þat maide wot, hwanne ich swike,
þat luue is mine songes ili[k]e,
1460
for hit nis bute a lutel breþ,
þat sone kumeþ, & sone geþ.
Þat child bi me hit understond, [folio 243v.2]
an his unred to red[e] wend,
an iseȝþ wel, bi mine songe,
1465
þat dusi luue ne last noȝt longe.
Ah wel ich wule þat þu hit wite,
loþ me beoþ wiues utschute:
ah [w]if mai [of] me nime ȝeme,
ich ne singe nawt hwan ich teme.
1470
An wif ah lete so[t]tes lore,
þah spusing-bendes þuncheþ sore.
Wundere me þungþ wel starc & stor,
hu eni mon so eauar for,
þat [h]e his heorte miȝte driue
1475
[to] do hit to oþers mannes wiue:
for oþer hit is of twam þinge,
ne mai þat þridde no man bringe;
o[þ]ar þe lauerd is wel aht,
oþer aswunde, & nis naht.
1480
Ȝef he is wurþful & aht man,
nele no man, þat wisdo[m] can,
Page 126
hure of is wiue do him schame:
for he mai him adrede grame,
an þat he forleose þat þer hongeþ,
1485
þat him eft þarto noȝt ne longeþ.
An þah he þat noȝt ne adrede,
hit is unriȝt & gret sothede
[to] misdon one gode manne,
an his ibedde from him spanne.
1490
Ȝef hire lauerd is forwurde
an unorne at bedde & at borde,
hu miȝte þar beo eni luue
wanne [a] cheorles buc hire ley buue?
Hu mai þar eni luue beo,
1495
war swuch man gropeþ hire þeo?
Herbi þu miȝt wel understonde [folio 244r.1]
þat on [is a reu], þat oþer schonde,
to stele to oþres mannes bedde.
For ȝif aht man is hire bedde,
1500
Lines 1501 through 1600
þu miȝt wene þat þe mistide,
wanne þu list bi hire side.
An ȝef þe lauerd is a w[re]cche,
hwuch este miȝtistu þar uecche?
Page 128
Ȝif þu biþenchest hwo hire ofligge,
1505
þu miȝt mid wlate þe este bugge.
Ich not hu mai eni freo-man
for hire sechen after þan.
Ȝef he biþencþ bi hwan he lai,
al mai þe luue gan awai."
1510
Þe hule was glad of swuche tale:
heo þoȝte þat te nihtegale,
þah heo wel speke atte frume,
hadde at þen ende misnume :
an seide: "Nu ich habbe ifunde
1515
þat maidenes beoþ of þine imunde:
mid heom þu holdest, & heom biwerest,
an ouerswiþe þu hi herest.
Þe lauedies beoþ to me iwend,
to me heo hire mo[n]e send.
1520
For hit itit ofte & ilome,
þat wif & were beoþ unisome:
& þerfore þe were gulte,
þat leof is over wummon to pulte,
an speneþ on þare al þat he haueþ,
1525
an siueþ þare þat no riht naueþ,
Page 130
an haueþ attom his riȝte spuse,
wowes weste, & lere huse,
wel þunne isch[r]ud & iued wroþe,
an let heo bute mete & cloþe.
1530
Wan he comeþ ham eft to his wiue, [folio 244r.2]
ne dar heo noȝt a word ischire:
he chid & gred swuch he beo wod,
an ne bringþ [hom] non oþer god.
Al þat heo deþ him is unwille,
1535
al þat heo spekeþ hit is him ille:
an oft hwan heo noȝt ne misdeþ,
heo haueþ þe fust in hire teþ.
Þ[er] is nan mon þat ne mai ibringe
his wif amis mid swucche þinge:
1540
me hire mai so ofte misbeode,
þat heo do wule hire ahene neode.
La, Godd hit wot! heo nah iweld,
þa[h] heo hine makie kukeweld.
For hit itit lome & ofte,
1545
þat his wif is wel nesche & softe,
of faire bleo & wel idiht:
[For]þi hit is þe more unriht
þat he his luue spene on þare,
þat nis wurþ one of hire heare.
1550
An swucche men beoþ wel manifolde,
þat wif ne kunne noȝt ariȝt holde.
Ne mot non mon wiþ hire speke:
he ueneð heo wule anon tobreke
hire spusing, ȝef heo lokeþ
1555
oþer wiþ manne faire spekeþ.
Page 132
He hire bilu[k]þ mid keie & loke:
þar-þurh is spusing ofte tobroke.
For ȝef heo is þarto ibroht,
he deþ þat heo nadde ear iþoht.
1560
Dahet þat to swuþe hit bispeke,
þah swucche wiues [heom] awreke !
Herof þe lauedies to me meneþ,
an wel sore me ahweneþ:
wel neh min heorte wule tochine, [folio 244v.1]
1565
hwon ich biholde hire pine.
Mid heom ich wepe swi[þ]e sore,
an for heom bidde Cristis ore,
þat þe lauedi sone aredde
an hire sende betere ibedde.
1570
An oþer þing ich mai þe telle,
þat þu ne schal[t], for þine felle,
ondswere none þarto finde:
al þi sputing schal aswinde.
Moni chapmon & moni cniht
1575
luueþ & [hald] his wif ariht,
an swa deþ moni bondeman:
þat gode wif deþ after þan,
an serueþ him to bedde & to borde
mid faire dede & faire worde,
1580
an ȝeorne fondeþ hu heo muhe
do þing þat him beo iduȝe.
Þe lauerd into þare [þ]eode
fareþ ut on þare beire nede,
an is þat gode wif unbliþe
1585
for hire lauerdes hou[h]siþe,
Page 134
an sit & sihð wel sore oflonged,
an hire sore an horte ongred:
al for hire louerdes sake
haueþ daies kare & niȝtes wake:
1590
an swuþe longe hire is þe hwile,
an [ech] steape hire þunþ a mile.
Hwanne oþre slepeþ hire abute,
ich one lust þar wiþute,
an wot of hire sore mode,
1595
an singe aniȝt for hire gode:
an mine gode song, for hire þinge,
ich turne su[m]del to murni[n]ge.
Of hure seorhe ich bere sume, [folio 244v.2]
forþan ich am hire wel welcume:
1600
Lines 1601 through 1700
ich hire helpe hwat [I] mai,
for [ho geþ] þane rehte wai.
Ah þu me hauest sore igramed,
þat min heorte is wel neh alamed,
þat ich mai unneaþe speke:
1605
ah ȝet ich wule forþure reke.
Þu seist þat ich am manne [lo&],
an euereuch man is wið me wroð,
an me mid stone & lugge þreteþ,
an me tobu[r]steþ & tobeteþ,
Page 136
1610
an hwanne heo hab[b]eþ me ofslahe,
heo hongeþ me on heore hahe,
þar ich aschewele pie an crowe
fro[m] þan þe þar is isowe.
Þah hit beo soþ, ich do heom god,
1615
an for heom ich [s]chadde mi blod:
ich do heom god mid mine deaþe,
waruore þe is wel unneaþe.
For þah þu ligge dead & clinge,
þi deþ nis nawt to none þinge:
1620
ich not neauer to hwan þu miȝt,
for þu nart bute a wrecche wiȝt.
Ah þah mi lif me beo atschote,
þe ȝet ich mai do gode note:
me mai up one smale sticke
1625
me sette a-wude ine þe þicke,
an swa mai mon tolli him to
lutle briddes & iuo,
an swa me mai mid me biȝete
wel gode brede to his mete.
1630
Ah þu neure mon to gode
liues ne deaþes stal ne stode:
Page 138
ich not to hwan þu bre[d]ist þi brod, [folio 245r.1]
liues ne deaþes ne deþ hit god."
Þe nihtegale ih[e]rde þis,
1635
an hupte uppon on blowe ris,
an herre sat þan heo dude ear:
"Hule," he seide, "beo nu wear,
nulle ich wiþ þe plaidi namore,
for her þe mist þi rihte lore:
1640
þu ȝeilpest þat þu art manne loþ,
an euereuch wiht is wið þe w[ro]þ;
an mid ȝulinge & mid igrede
þu wanst wel þat þu art unlede.
Þu seist þat gromes þe ifoð,
1645
an heie on rodde þe anhoð,
an þe totwichet & toschakeð,
an summe of þe schawles makeð.
Me þunc[þ] þat þu forleost þat game,
þu ȝulpest of þire oȝe schame:
1650
me þunc[þ] þat þu me gest an honde,
þu ȝulpest of þire oȝene scho[nd]e."
Þo heo hadde þeos word icwede,
heo sat in ore faire stude,
an þarafter hire steuene dihte,
1655
an song so schille & so brihte,
Page 140
þat feor & ner me hit iherde.
Þaruore anan to hire cherde
þrusche & þrostle & wudewale,
an fuheles boþe grete & smale:
1660
forþan heom þuhte þat heo hadde
þe houle ouercome, uorþan heo gradde
an sungen alswa uale wise,
an blisse was among þe rise.
Riȝt swa me gred þe manne a schame,
1665
þat taueleþ & forleost þat gome.
Þeos hule, þo heo þis iherde, [folio 245r.2]
"Hauestu," heo seide, "ibanned ferde ?
an wultu, wreche, wið me fiȝte?
Nai! nai! nauestu none miȝte!
1670
Hwat gredeþ þeo þat hider come?
Me þuncþ þu ledest ferde to me.
Ȝe schule wite, ar ȝe fleo heonne,
hwuch is þe strenþe of mine kunne:
for þeo þe haueþ bile ihoked,
1675
an cliures [s]charpe & wel icroked,
alle heo beoþ of mine kunrede,
an walde come ȝif ich bede.
Page 142
Þe seolfe coc, þat wel can fiȝte,
he mot mid me holde mid riȝte,
1680
for [boþe] we habbeþ steuene briȝte,
an sitteþ under weolcne bi niȝte.
Schille ich an utest uppen ow grede,
ich shal swo stronge ferde lede,
þat ower pr[u]de schal aualle:
1685
a tort ne ȝiue ich for ow alle!
ne schal, ar hit beo fulliche eue,
a wreche feþer on ow bileaue.
Ah hit was unker uoreward,
þo we come hiderward,
1690
þat we þarto holde scholde,
þar riht dom us ȝiue wolde.
Wultu nu breke foreward?
Ich wene dom þe þing[þ] to hard:
for þu ne darst domes abide,
1695
þu wult nu, wreche, fiȝte & chide.
Ȝ[u]t ich ow alle wolde rede,
ar [ich] utheste uppon ow grede,
Page 144
þat ower fihtlac leteþ beo,
an ginneþ raþe awei fleo.
1700
For, bi þe cliures þat ich bere, [folio 245v.1]
Lines 1701 through 1794
ȝef ȝe abideþ mine here,
ȝe schule on oþer wise singe,
an acursi alle fiȝtinge :
vor nis of ow non so kene,
1705
þat durre abide mine onsene."
Þeos hule spac wel baldeliche,
for þah heo nadde swo hwatliche
ifare after hire here,
heo walde neoþeles ȝefe answere
1710
þe niȝtegale mid swucche worde.
For moni man mid speres orde
haueþ lutle strencþe, & mid his [s]chelde,
ah neoþeles in one felde,
þurh belde worde an mid ilete,
1715
deþ his iuo for arehþe swete.
Þe wranne, for heo cuþe singe,
þar com in þare moreȝen[i]nge
to helpe þare niȝtegale:
for þah heo hadde steuene smale,
1720
heo hadde gode þ[ro]te & schille,
an fale manne song a wille.
Þe wranne was wel wis iholde,
vor þeȝ heo nere ibred a-wolde,
ho was itoȝen among man[k]enne,
1725
an hire wisdom brohte þenne:
heo miȝte speke hwar heo walde,
touore þe king þah heo scholde.
Page 146
"Lusteþ," heo cwaþ, "lateþ me speke.
Hwat! wulle ȝe þis pes tobreke,
1730
an do þanne [kinge] swuch schame?
Ȝe[t] nis he nouþer ded ne lame.
Hunke schal itide harm & schonde,
ȝef ȝe doþ griþbruche on his londe.
Lateþ beo, & beoþ isome, [folio 245v.2]
1735
an fareþ riht to o[w]er dome,
an lateþ dom þis plaid tobreke,
al swo hit was erur bispeke."
"Ich an wel," cwað þe niȝtegale,
"ah, wranne, nawt for þire tale,
1740
ah do for mire lahfulnesse.
Ich nolde þat unrihtfulnesse
me at þen ende ouerkome:
ich nam ofdrad of none dome.
Bihote ich habbe, soþ hit is,
1745
þat Maister Nichole, þat is wis,
bituxen vs deme schul[l]e,
an ȝe[t] ich wene þat he wule.
Ah, [w]ar mihte we hine finde?"
Þe wranne sat in ore linde;
Page 148
1750
"Hwat! nu[s]te ȝe," cwaþ heo, "his hom?
He wuneþ at Porteshom,
at one tune ine Dorsete,
bi þare see in ore utlete:
þar he demeþ manie riȝte dom,
1755
an diht & writ mani wisdom,
an þurh his muþe & þurh his honde
hit is þe betere into Scotlonde,
To seche hine is lihtlich þing;
he naueþ bute one woning.
1760
Þat [is] bischopen muchel schame,
an alle [þ]an þat of his nome
habbeþ ihert, & of his dede.
Hwi nulleþ hi nimen heom to rede,
þat he were mid heom ilome
1765
for teche heom of his wisdome,
an ȝiue him rente auale stude,
þat he miȝte heom ilome be mide?"
Page 150
"Certes," cwaþ þe hule, "þat is soð: [folio 246r.1]
þeos riche men wel muche misdoð,
1770
þat leteþ þane gode mon,
þat of so feole þinge con,
an ȝiueþ rente wel misliche,
an of him leteþ wel lihtliche.
Wið heore cunne heo beoþ mildre,
1775
au ȝeueþ rente litle childre:
swo heore wit hi demþ adwole,
þut euer abid Maistre Nichole.
Ah ute we þah to him fare,
for þar is unker dom al ȝare."
1780
"Do we" þe niȝtegale seide:
"ah [w]a schal unker speche rede,
an telle touore unker deme ?"
"Þarof ich schal þe wel icweme,"
cwaþ þe houle; "for al, ende of orde,
1785
telle ich con, word after worde:
an ȝef þe þincþ þat ich misrempe,
þu stond aȝein & do me crempe."
Mid þisse worde forþ hi ferden,
al bute here & bute uerde,
1790
to Portesham þat heo bicome.
Ah hu heo spedde of heore dome,
ne [c]an ich eu namore telle:
her nis namore of þis spelle.
Ende.
This video shows the first 40 lines of the poem read in Middle English
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