"Peter!" quod a plowman, And putte forth his hed, "I knowe hym as kyndely As clerk doth hise bokes; 3580 Conscience and kynde wit Kenned me to his place, And diden me suren hym sikerly To serven hym for evere, Bothe to sowe and to sette, The while I swynke myghte. I have ben his folwere Al this fifty wynter, Bothe y-sowen his seed, And suwed hise beestes, 3590 Withinne and withouten Waited his profit. I dyke and I delve, I do that Truthe hoteth; Som tyme I sowe, And som tyme I thresshe; In taillours craft and tynkeris craft, What Truthe kan devyse, I weve and I wynde, And do what Truthe hoteth, 3600 For though I seye it myselfe, I serve hym to paye; I have myn hire wel, And outher whiles moore. He is the presteste paiere That povere men knoweth; He ne withhalt noon hewe his hire, That he ne hath it at even; {111} He is as lowe as a lomb, And lovelich of speche; 3610 And if ye wilneth to wite Where that he dwelleth, I shal wisse you witterly The wey to his place." "Ye, leve Piers," quod thise pilgrimes, And profred hym huyre, For to wende with hem To Truthes dwellyng-place. "Nay, by my soules helpe!" quod Piers, And gan for to swere, 3620 "I nolde fange a ferthyng. For seint Thomas shryne; Truthe wolde love me the lasse A long tyme therafter; Ac if yow wilneth to wende wel, This is the wey thider. "Ye moten go thorugh Mekenesse, Both men and wyves, Til ye come into Conscience, That Crist wite the sothe 3630 That ye loven oure Lord God Levest of alle thynges, And thanne youre neghebores next In none wise apeire, Other wise than thow woldest He wroughte to thiselve. "And so boweth forth by a brook, Beth-buxom-of-speche, Til he fynden a ford, Youre-fadres-honoureth, 3640 _Honora patrem et matrem, etc._ Wadeth in that water, {112} And wasshe yow wel therinne, And ye shul lepe the lightloker Al youre lif tyme; And so shaltow se Swere-noght,- But-if-it-be-for-nede,- And-nameliche-on-ydel- The-name-of-God-almyghty. "Thanne shaltow come by a croft, 3650 But come thow noght therinne; That croft hatte Coveite-noght- Mennes-catel-ne-hire-wyves,- Ne-noon-of-hire-servauntz- That-noyen-hem-myghte; Loke ye breke no bowes there, But if it be youre owene. "Two stokkes ther stondeth, Ac stynte ye noght there, Thei highte Stele-noght and Sle-noght, 3660 Strik forth by bothe, And leve hem on thi lift half, And loke noght therafter, And hold wel thyn hali-day Heighe til even.