For ye lyve in no love, Ne no lawe holde; Manye of yow ne wedde noght The womman that ye with deele, But as wilde bestes with 'wehee!' Worthen uppe and werchen, And bryngen forth barnes, That bastardes men calleth; Or the bak or som boon 4670 He breketh in his youthe, And siththe goon faiten with youre fauntes For evere moore after. Ther is moore mys-shapen peple Amonges thise beggeres, Than of alle manere men That on this moolde walketh. And thei that lyve thus hir lif, Mowe lothe the tyme That evere thei were men wroght, 4680 Whan thei shal hennes fare. Ac olde men and hore, Than help-lees ben of strengthe, And wommen with childe That werche ne mowe, Blynde and bed-reden, And broken hire membres, That taken thise myschiefs mekeliche, As mesels and othere, Han as pleyn pardon 4690 As the plowman hymselve. {145} For love of hir lowe hertes, Oure Lord hath hem graunted Hir penaunce and hir purgatorie Here on this erthe. "Piers," quod a preest thoo, "Thi pardon moste I rede; For I wol construe ech clause, And kenne it thee on Englisshe." And Piers at his preiere 4700 The pardon unfoldeth; And I by-hynde hem bothe Biheld al the bulle, And in two lynes it lay, And noght a leef more, And was writen right thus, In witnesse of Truthe: _Et qui bona egerunt, ibunt in vitam eternam. = Qui vero mala, in ignem eternum._ 4710 "Peter," quod the preest thoo, "I kan no pardon fynde, But do wel and have wel, And God shal have thi soule, And do yvel and have yvel, Hope thow noon oother, But after thi deeth-day The devel shal have thi soule." And Piers for pure tene Pulled it a-tweyne, 4720 And seide _Si ambulavero in medio umbræ mortis, non timebo mala, quoniam tu mecum es._ "I shal cessen of my sowyng," quod Piers, = {146} "And swynke noght so harde, Ne aboute my bely joye So bisy be na-moore; Of preieres and of penaunce My plough shal ben herafter, 4730 And wepen whan I sholde slepe, Though whete-breed me faille. "The prophete his payn eet In penaunce and in sorwe, By that the Sauter seith, So dide othere manye; That loveth God lelly, His liflode is ful esy. _Fuerunt mihi lacrimæ meæ panes die ac nocte._ 4740 "And but if Luc lye, He lereth us by foweles, We sholde noght be to bisy Aboute the worldes blisse; _Ne soliciti sitis_, He seith in the Gospel, And sheweth us by ensamples Us selve to wisse. The foweles in the feld, Who fynt hem mete at wynter? 4750 Have thei no gerner to go to, But God fynt hem alle."