Thus walk I like a resteless caitiff, And on the ground, which is my mother's gate, I knocke with my staff, both early and late, And sayen, 'Liefe[226] mother, let me in. Lo, how I vanish, flesh, and blood, and skin; Alas! when shall my bones be at rest? Mother, with you would I changen my chest, That in my chamber longe time hath be, Yea, for an haire clout to wrappe me.' But yet to me she will not do that grace, For which full pale and welked[227] is my face. "But, sirs, to you it is no courtesy To speaken to an old man villainy, But[228] he trespass in word or else in deed. In holy writ ye may yourself well read; 'Against[229] an old man, hoar upon his head, Ye should arise:' wherefore I give you rede,[230] Ne do unto an old man none harm now, No more than ye would men did to you In age, if that ye so long abide. And God be with you, where ye go or ride; I mote go thither as I have to go." "Nay, olde churl, by God, thou shalt not so," Saide this other hazardour anon; "Thou partest not so lightly, by Saint John. Thou spake right now of thilke traitor Death, That in this country all our friendes slayeth; Have here my truth, as thou art his espy; Tell where he is, or thou shalt it aby,[231] By God and by the holy sacrament; For soothly thou art one of his assent To slay us younge folk, thou false thief." "Now, sirs," quoth he, "if that you be so lief[232] To finden Death, turn up this crooked way, For in that grove I left him, by my fay, Under a tree, and there he will abide; Not for your boast he will him nothing hide. See ye that oak? right there ye shall him find. God save you, that bought again mankind, And you amend!" thus said this olde man. And evereach[233] of these riotoures ran, Till he came to that tree, and there they found Of florins fine of gold ycoined round, Well nigh an eighte bushels, as hem thought. No lenger then after Death they sought, But each of hem so glad was of that sight, For that the florins be so fair and bright, That down they set hem by this precious hoard. The worst of hem he spake the firste word. "Brethren," quoth he, "take keepe[234] what I say; My wit is great, though that I bourd[235] and play. This treasure hath fortune unto us given In mirth and jollity our life to liven, And lightly as it cometh, so will we spend. Hey! Godes precious dignity! who wend[236] To-day, that we should have so fair a grace? But might this gold be carried from this place Home to mine house, or elles unto yours, For well ye wot that all this gold is ours, Then were we in high felicity. But truely by day it may not be; Men woulden say that we were thieves strong, And for our owen treasure do us hong.[237] This treasure must ycarried be by night As wisely and as slily as it might. Wherefore I rede,[238] that cut[239] among us all Be draw, and let see where the cut will fall: