There was laughynge and lourynge, And "lat go the cuppe;" And seten so till even-song, And songen umwhile, Til Gloton hadde y-glubbed A galon and a gille. Hise guttes bigonne to gothelen As two gredy sowes; He pissed a potel {98} In a pater-noster while, 3170 And blew his rounde ruwet At his rugge-bones ende, That alle that herde that horn Held hir noses after, And wisshed it hadde been wexed With a wispe of firses. He myghte neither steppe ne stonde, Er he his staf hadde; And thanne gan he to go Like a gle-mannes bicche, 3180 Som tyme aside, And som tyme arere, As who so leith lynes For to lacche foweles. And whan he drough to the dore, Thanne dymmed his eighen; He stumbled on the thresshfold, And threw to the erthe. Clement the cobelere Kaughte hym by the myddel, 3190 For to liften hym o-lofte; And leyde hym on his knowes. Ac Gloton was a gret cherl, And a grym in the liftyng, And koughed up a cawdel In Clementes lappe; Is noon so hungry hound In Hertford shire Dorste lape of that levynges, So un-lovely thei smaughte. 3200 With al the wo of this world, His wif and his wenche Baren hym hom to his bed, {99} And broughte hym therinne; And after al this excesse He hadde an accidie, That he sleep Saterday and Sonday, Til sonne yede to reste. Thanne waked he of his wynkyng, And wiped hise eighen; 3210 The firste word that he warpe Was "where is the bolle?" His wif gan edwyte hym tho, How wikkedly he lyvede; And Repentaunce right so Rebuked hym that tyme, "As thow with wordes and werkes Has wroght yvele in thi lyve, Shryve thee, and be shamed therof, And shewe it with thi mouthe." 3220 "I Gloton," quod the grom, "Gilty me yelde, That I have trespased with my tonge, I kan noght telle how ofte; Sworen Goddes soule, And so me God helpe! There no nede was, Nyne hundred tymes. "And over-seyen me at my soper, And som tyme at nones, 3230 That I Gloton girte it up Er I hadde gon a myle, An y-spilt that myghte be spared And spended on som hungry; Over delicatly on fastyng-dayes Dronken and eten bothe, And sat som tyme so longe there, {100} That I sleep and eet at ones. For love of tales in tavernes And for drynke, the moore I dyned; 3240 And hyed to the mete er noon, Whan fastyng-days were." "This shewynge shrift," quod Repentaunce, "Shal be meryt to the."