He tok thanne of the welles brinke 2980 Or of the pet or of the slowh, It thoghte him thanne good ynowh: In stede of chambres wel arraied He was thanne of a buissh wel paied, The harde ground he lay upon, For othre pilwes hath he non; [Sidenote: =P. i. 143=] The stormes and the Reines falle, The wyndes blowe upon him alle,[491] He was tormented day and nyht, Such was the hihe goddes myght,[492] 2990 Til sevene yer an ende toke. Upon himself tho gan he loke; In stede of mete gras and stres, In stede of handes longe cles, In stede of man a bestes lyke He syh; and thanne he gan to syke For cloth of gold and for perrie,[493] Which him was wont to magnefie. Whan he behield his Cote of heres, He wepte and with fulwoful teres[494] 3000 Up to the hevene he caste his chiere Wepende, and thoghte in this manere; Thogh he no wordes myhte winne, Thus seide his herte and spak withinne: ‘O mihti godd, that al hast wroght And al myht bringe ayein to noght, Now knowe I wel, bot al of thee, This world hath no prosperite: In thin aspect ben alle liche, The povere man and ek the riche,[495] 3010 Withoute thee ther mai no wight,[496] And thou above alle othre miht. O mihti lord, toward my vice Thi merci medle with justice; And I woll make a covenant, That of my lif the remenant [Sidenote: =P. i. 144=] I schal it be thi grace amende, And in thi lawe so despende That veine gloire I schal eschuie, And bowe unto thin heste and suie 3020 Humilite, and that I vowe.’ And so thenkende he gan doun bowe, And thogh him lacke vois and speche,[497] He gan up with his feet areche, And wailende in his bestly stevene He made his pleignte onto the hevene. He kneleth in his wise and braieth,[498] To seche merci and assaieth His god, which made him nothing strange, Whan that he sih his pride change. 3030 Anon as he was humble and tame, He fond toward his god the same, And in a twinklinge of a lok His mannes forme ayein he tok, And was reformed to the regne In which that he was wont to regne; So that the Pride of veine gloire Evere afterward out of memoire He let it passe. And thus is schewed What is to ben of Pride unthewed 3040 Ayein the hihe goddes lawe, To whom noman mai be felawe. [Sidenote: Confessor.] Forthi, my Sone, tak good hiede So forto lede thi manhiede, That thou ne be noght lich a beste. Bot if thi lif schal ben honeste, [Sidenote: =P. i. 145=] Thou most humblesce take on honde, For thanne myht thou siker stonde: