LANGLAND, William

Piers Ploughman

…..
A lovely lady of leere,

In lynnen y-clothed,

Cam doun from a castel

And called me faire,

And seide, "Sone, slepestow?

Sestow this peple,

How bisie thei ben

Alle aboute the maze?

The mooste partie of this peple

That passeth on this erthe,

Have thei worship in this world,

Thei wilne no bettre;

Of oother hevene than here

Holde thei no tale."

I was a-fered of hire face,

Theigh she fair weere,

And seide, "Mercy, madame,

What is this to meene?"

"The tour on the toft," quod she,

"Truthe is therinne;

And wolde that ye wroughte,

As his word techeth!

For he is fader of feith,

And formed yow alle

Bothe with fel and with face,

And yaf yow fyve wittes,

For to worshipe hym therwith,

While that ye ben here.

And therfore he highte the erthe

To helpe yow echone,

Of wollene, of lynnen,

Of liflode at nede,

In mesurable manere

To make yow at ese;

And comaunded of his curteisie

In commune three thynges,

Are none nedfulle but tho,

And nempne hem I thynke,

And rekene hem by reson;

Reherce thow hem after.

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