Middle English Literature

great ability
Hathe enourmyd, on yow ys that I calle
endowed, exalted
To knowe this book, for it were grete pyte,
Syn that in yow ys sette sovereyne beaute,
But yf vertue and nurture were withe alle;
To yow therfore I speke in specyalle
And nouhte to hem of elde that bene experte
In governanunce, nurture, and honeste,
For what nedys to yeve helle peynes smerte,
Joye unto hevene, or water unto the see,
Heete to the fyre that kan nat but hoote be?
It nedys nouhte; therfore, O babees yynge,
young
My book only is made for youre lernynge.
Therfore, I pray that no man reprehende
This lytyl book, the whiche for yow I make,
But where defaute ys, latte ylke man amende
And nouhte deme yt; [I] pray thaym for youre sake.
For other mede, ywys, I kepe noone take
But that God wolde this book myhte yche man plese
And in lernynge unto yow donne somme ese.
Eke, swete children, yf there be eny worde
That yee kenne nouhte, spyrre whils yee yt ken.
ask
Whanne yee yt knowe, yee mowe holde yt in horde,
Thus thurhe spyrryng yee mowe lerne at wyse men.
Also, thenke nouhte to straungely at my penne,
In this metre for yow lyste to procede,
Men usen yt; therfore, on hit take hede.
But amonge alle that I thenke of to telle
My purpos ys first only forto trete
How yee babees in housholde that done duelle
Shulde have youre sylf whenne yee be sette at mete
behave
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And how yee shulde, whenne men lyste yow rehete,
show good will
Have wordes lovly, swete, bleste, and benyngne.
towards
In this helpe me O Marie, modir dyngne!
And eke, O lady myn, Facecia,
Cleverness, Wit
My penne thow guyde, and helpe unto me shewe,
For as the firste off alle lettres ys the A,
So artow firste modir of alle vertue.
Off myn unkunnynge, swete lady, now rewe,
And thouhe untauhte I speke of governaunce,
Withe thy swete helpe supporte myn ygnoraunce.
A, bele babees, herkne now to my lore!
Whenne yee entre into your lordis place,
Say first, “God spede,” and alle that ben byfore
Yow in this stede, salue withe humble face.
greet
Stert nat rudely, komme inne an esy pace,
Holde up youre heede, and knele but on oone kne
To youre sovereyne or lorde, whedir he be.
And yf they speke withe yow at youre komynge,
Withe stable eye loke upone them rihte,
To theyre tales and yeve yee goode herynge
Whils they have seyde; loke eke withe alle your myhte
Yee jangle nouhte; also caste nouhte your syhte
Aboute the hous, but take to them entent
Withe blythe vysage and spiryt diligent.
Whenne yee answere or speke, yee shulle be purveyde
What yee shalle say; speke eke thing fructuous.
On esy wyse latte thy resone be sayde
In wordes gentylle and also compendious,
For many wordes ben rihte tedious
To ylke wyseman that shalle yeve audience.
Thaym to eschewe therfore doo diligence.
Take eke noo seete but to stonde be yee preste;
Whils forto sytte, ye have in komaundement
Your heede, youre hande, your feet, holde yee in reste.
Nor thurhe clowyng your flesshe loke yee nat rent.
Lene to no poste whils that ye stande present
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Feasts
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194
Style and Spectacle
Byfore your lorde, nor handylle ye no thyng
Als for that tyme unto the hous touching.
At every tyme obeye unto youre lorde
Whenne yee answere, ellis stonde yee styl as stone
But yf he speke; loke withe oon accorde
That yf yee se komme inne eny persone
Better thanne yee, that yee goo bak anoone
And gyff him place; youre bak eke in no way
Turne on no wihte, as ferforthe as ye may.
far
Yiff that youre lorde also yee se drynkynge,
Looke that ye be in rihte stable sylence
Withe-oute lowde lauhtere or jangelynge,
Rounynge, japynge, or other insolence.
Yiff he komaunde also in his presence
Yow forto sytte, fulfille his wylle belyve,
quickly
And for youre seete, looke nat withe other stryve.
Whenne yee er sette, take noone unhoneste tale;
Eke forto skorne eschewe withe alle your myhte.
Latte ay youre chere be lowly, blythe, and hale,
Withe-oute chidynge as that yee wolde fyhte.
Yiff yee perceyve also that eny wihte
Lyst yow kommende that better be thanne yee,
Ryse up anoone and thanke him withe herte free.
Yif that yee se youre lorde or youre lady,
Touching the housholde, speke of eny thinge,
Latt theym alloone, for that is curtesy,
And entremete yow nouhte of theyre doynge,