Oon Waryn Wisdom, And Witty his feere, 2130 Folwed hym faste, For thei hadde to doone In th'escheker and in the chauncerye, To ben descharged of thynges; And riden faste, for Reson sholde Rede hem the beste, {67} For to save hem for silver From shame and from harmes. And Conscience knew hem wel, Thei loved coveitise; 2140 And bad Reson ryde faste, And recche of hir neither. "Ther are wiles in hire wordes, And with Mede thei dwelleth; Ther as wrathe and wranglynge is, Ther wynne thei silver; Ac where is love and leautee, Thei wol noght come there. _Contritio et infelicitas in viis eorum, etc._ 2150 "Thei ne yeveth noght of God One goose wynge. _Non est timor Dei ante oculos eorum, etc._ = "For woot God thei wolde do moore For a dozeyne chicknes, Or as manye capons, Or for a seem of otes, Than for the love of oure Lord, Or alle hise leeve seintes. 2160 For-thi Reson lat hem ride, Tho riche by hemselve, For Conscience knoweth hem noght, Ne Crist, as I trowe." And thanne Reson rood faste The righte heighe gate, As Conscience hym kenned, Til thei come to the kynge. Curteisly the kyng thanne Com ayeins Reson, 2170 {68} And bitwene hymself and his sone Sette hym on benche; And wordeden wel wisely A gret while togideres. And thanne com Pees into parlement, And putte forth a bille, How Wrong ayeins his wille Hadde his wif taken, And how he ravysshede Rose Reginaldes loove, 2180 And Margrete of hir maydenhede Maugree hire chekes. "Bothe my gees and my grys Hise gadelynges feccheth, I dar noght for fere of hem Fighte ne chide. He borwed of me Bayard, He broughte hym hom nevere, Ne no ferthyng therfore, For ought I koude plede. 2190 He maynteneth hise men To murthere myne hewen, Forstalleth my feires, And fighteth in my chepyng, And breketh up my bernes dore, And bereth awey my whete, And taketh me but a taillé For ten quarters of otes; And yet he beteth me therto, And lyth by my mayde. 2200 I am noght hardy for hym Unnethe to loke." The kyng knew he seide sooth, For Conscience hym tolde {69} That Wrong was a wikked luft, And wroghte muche sorwe. Wrong was afered thanne, And Wisdom he soughte, To maken pees with hise pens; And profred hym manye, 2210 And seide, "Hadde I love of my lord the kyng, Litel wolde I recche, Theigh Pees and his power Pleyned hym evere."