The kyng and hise knyghtes 2473 To the kirke wente, To here matyns of the day And the masse after. Thanne waked I of my wynkyng, And wo was withalle, That I ne hadde slept sadder, And y-seighen moore. 2480 Ac er I hadde faren a furlong, Feyntise me hente, That I ne myghte ferther a foot For defaute of slepynge, And sat softely a-doun, And seide my bileve, And so I bablede on my bedes, Thei broughte me a-slepe. And thanne saugh I muche moore Than I bifore of tolde, 2490 For I seigh the feld ful of folk, That I bifore of seide, And how Reson gan arayen hym Al the reaume to preche, And with a cros afore the kyng Comsede thus to techen. {78} He preved that thise pestilences Were for pure synne, And the south-westrene wynd On Saterday at even 2500 Was pertliche for pure pride, And for no point ellis; Pyries and plum-trees Were puffed to the erthe, In ensaumple that the segges Sholden do the bettre; Beches and brode okes Were blowen to the grounde, Turned upward hire tailes, In tokenynge of drede 2510 That dedly synne er domes-day Shal for-doon hem alle. Of this matere I myghte Mamelen ful longe; Ac I shal seye as I saugh, So me God helpe! How pertly afore the peple Reson bigan to preche. He bad Wastour go werche, What he best kouthe, 2520 And wynnen his wastyng With som maner crafte. He preide Pernele Hir purfil to lete, And kepe it in hire cofre For catel at hire nede. Tomme Stowne he taughte To take two staves, And fecche Felice hom Fro the wynen pyne. 2530 {79} He warnede Watte His wif was to blame, For hire heed was worth half marc, And his hood noght worth a grote; And bad Bette kutte A bough outher tweye, And bete Beton therwith, But if she wolde werche. And thanne he chargede chapmen To chastizen hir children, 2540 Late no wynnyng hem for-wanye While thei be yonge, Ne for no poustee of pestilence Plese hem noght out of reson. "My sire seide so to me, And so dide my dame, That the levere child The moore loore bihoveth; And Salomon seide the same, That _Sapience_ made, 2550 _Qui parcit virgæ, odit filium_. The Englissh of this Latyn is, Who so wole it knowe Who so spareth the spring, Spilleth hise children." And sithen he prechede prelates And preestes togideres, "That ye prechen to the peple, Preve it on yowselve, And dooth it in dede, 2560 It shal drawe yow to goode; If ye leven as ye leren us, We shul leve yow the bettre."