That may go thurgh the gullet soft and sote:
Of spicerie, of leef, of barke, and rote,
Shal ben his sause ymaked by delit
To make him yet a newer appetit.

But certes he, that haunteth swiche delices,
Is ded, while that he liveth in tho vices.
A lecherous thing is wine, and dronkenesse
Is ful of striving and of wretchednesse.
G dronken man, disfigured is thy face,
Sour is thy breth, foul art thou to enbrace:
And thurgh thy dronken nose semeth the soun,
As though thou saidest ay, Sampsoun, Sampsoun:
And yet, God wot, Sampsoun dronk never no wine.
Thou fallest, as it were a stiked swine:
Thy tonge is lost, and all thin honest cure,
For dronkenesse is veray sepulture

Of mannes wit, and his discretion.
In whom that drinke hath domination,
He can no conseil kepe, it is no drede.
Now kepe you fro the white and fro the rede,
And namely fro the white wine of Lepe,
That is to sell in Fishstrete and in Chepe.
This wine of Spaigne crepeth subtilly
In other wines growing faste by,

Of which ther riseth swiche fumositee,
That whan a man hath dronken draughtes three,
And weneth that he be at home in Chepe,
He is in Spaigne, right at the toun of Lepe,
Not at the Rochell, ne at Burdeux toun;
And thanne wol he say, Sampsoun, Sampsoun.
But herkeneth, lordings, o word, I you pray,
That all the soveraine actes, dare I say,
Of victories in the Olde Testament,
Thurgh veray God, that is omnipotent,

Were don in abstinence and in prayere:
Loketh the Bible, and ther ye mow it lere.
Loke Attila, the grete conquerour,
Died in his slepe, with shame and dishonour,
Bleding ay at his nose in dronkenesse:
A capitaine shulde live in sobrenesse.

And over all this, aviseth you right wel, What was commanded unto Lamuel; Not Samuel, but Lamuel say I. Redeth the Bible, and find it expresly Of wine yeving to hem that have justice. No more of this, for it may wel suffice. And now that I have spoke of glotonie, Now wol I you defenden hasardrie. Hasard is veray moder of lesinges, And of deceite, and cursed forsweringes: Blaspheming of Crist, manslaughter, and wast also Of catel, and of time; and forthermo It is repreve, and contrary of honour, For to ben hold a commun hasardour. And ever the higher he is of estat, The more he is holden desolat. If that a Prince useth hasarderie, In alle governance and policie He is, as by commun opinion, Yhold the lesse in reputation.

Stilbon, that was a wise embassadour, Was sent to Corinth with ful gret honour Fro Calidone, to maken hem alliance: And whan he came, it happed him par chance, That all the gretest that were of that lond Y playing atte hasard he hem fond. For which, as sone as that it mighte be, He stale him home agein to his contree,

And sayde ther, I wol not lese my name,
Ne wol not take on me so gret defame,
You for to allie unto non hasardours.
Sendeth som other wise embassadours,
For by my trouthe, me were lever die,
Than I you shuld to hasardours allie.
For ye, that ben so glorious in honours,
Shal not allie you to non hasardours,
As by my wille, ne as by my tretee.
This wise philosophre thus sayd he.

Loke eke how to the king Demetrius
The king of Parthes, as the book sayth us,
Sent him a pair of dis of gold in scorne,
For he had used hasard therbeforne:
For which he held his glory and his renoun
At no value or reputatioun.

Lordes may finden other maner play
Honest ynough to drive the day away.
Now wol I speke of others false and grete
A word or two, as olde bookes trete.
Gret swering is a thing abhominable,
And false swering is yet more reprevable.
The highe God forbad swering at al,
Witnesse on Mathew: but in special
Of swering sayth the holy Jeremie,

Thou shalt swere soth thin othes, and not lie;
And swere in dome, and eke in rightwisnesse;
But idel swering is a cursednesse.

Behold and see, that in the firste table
Of highe Goddes hestes honourable,
How that the second hest of him is this,
Take not my name in idel or amis.
Lo, rather he forbedeth swiche swering,
Than homicide, or many an other thing.

I

say that as by ordre thus it stondeth;

This knoweth he that his hestes understondeth,

How that the second hest of God is that.
And forthermore, I wol thee tell all plat,
That vengeance shal not parten from his hous,
That of his othes is outrageous.

By Goddes precious herte, and by his nailes,
And by the blood of Crist, that is in Hailes,
Seven is my chance, and thin is sink and treye:
By Goddes armes, if thou falsely pleye,
This dagger shal thurghout thin herte go.
This fruit cometh of the bicchel bones two,
Forswering, ire, falsenesse, and homicide.

Now for the love of Crist that for us dide,
Leteth your othes, bothe gret and smale.
But, sires, now wol I tell you forth my tale.
Thise riotoures three, of which I tell,
Long erst or prime rong of any bell,
Were set hem in a taverne for to drinke:
And as they sat, they herd a belle clinke
Beforn a corps, was carried to his grave:
That on of hem gan callen to his knave,
Go bet, quod he, and axe redily,

What corps is this, that passeth here forth by:
And loke that thou report his name wel.

Sire, quod this boy, it nedeth never a del;
It was me told or ye came here two houres;
He was parde an old felaw of youres,
And sodenly he was yslain to-night,
Fordronke as he sat on his benche upright,
Ther came a privee theef, men clepen Deth,
That in this contree all the peple sleth,
And with his spere he smote his herte atwo,
And went his way withouten wordes mo.

He hath a thousand slain this pestilence:
And, maister, or ye come in his presence,
Me thinketh that it were ful necessarie,
For to beware of swiche an adversarie:
Beth redy for to mete him evermore.
Thus taughte me my dame, I say no more.
By Seinte Marie, sayd this tavernere,
The child sayth soth, for he hath slain this yere
Hens over a mile, within a gret village,
Both man and woman, child, and hyne, and page;
I trowe this habitation be there:

To ben avised gret wisdome it were,
Or that he did a man a dishonour.

Ye, Goddes armes, quod this riotour,
Is it swiche peril with him for to mete?
I shal him seke by stile and eke by strete.
I make a vow by Goddes digne bones.
Herkeneth, felawes, we three ben all ones:
Let eche of us hold up his hond to other,
And eche of us bocomen others brother,
And we wol slen this false traitour deth:
He shal be slain, he that so many sleth,
By Goddes dignitee, or it be night.

Togeder han thise three hir trouthes plight
To live and dien eche of hem for other,
As though he were his owen boren brother.
And up they stert al dronken in this rage,
And forth they gon towardes that village,
Of which the taverner had spoke beforn,
And many a grisly oth than have they sworn,
And Cristes blessed body they to-rent;
Deth shal be ded, if that we may him hent.
Whan they han gon not fully half a mile,
Right as they wold han troden over a stile,