And whan I was war of his wille, To his wif gan I loute, And seide, "Mercy, madame, Youre man shal I worthe As longe as I lyve, Bothe late and rathe, 5900 For to werche youre wille The while my lif dureth, With that ye kenne me kyndely To knowe what is Do-wel." "For thi mekenesse, man," quod she, "And for thi mylde speche, I shal kenne thee to my cosyn That Clergie is hoten. He hath wedded a wif Withinne thise sixe monthes, 5910 Is sib to seven artz, Scripture is hir name. They two, as I hope, After my techyng, Shullen wissen thee to Do-wel, I dar it undertake." Thanne was I al so fayn, As fowel of fair morwe, And gladder than the gle-man That gold hath to gifte; 5920 And asked hire the heighe wey Where that Clergie dwelte, "And tel me som tokene," quod I, "For tyme is that I wende." "Aske the heighe wey," quod she, {183} "Hennes to Suffre- Both-wele-and-wo, If that thow wolt lerne, And ryd forth by Richesse, Ac rest thow noght therinne; 5930 For if thow couplest thee therwith, To Clergie comestow nevere. "And also the likerouse launde That Lecherie hatte, Leve it on thi left half A large myle or moore, Til thow come to a court, Kepe-wel-thi-tunge- Fro-lesynges-and-lither-speche- And-likerouse-drynkes. 5940 "Thanne shaltow se Sobretee, And Sympletee-of-speche, That ech wight be in wille His wit thee to shewe; And thus shaltow come to Clergie, That kan manye thynges. "Seye hym this signe, I sette hym to scole, And that I grete wel his wif, For I wroot hire manye bokes, 5950 And sette hire to Sapience, And to the Sauter glose; Logyk I lerned hire, And manye othere lawes, And alle musons in musik I made hire to knowe. "Plato the poete I putte first to boke, Aristotle and othere mo {184} To argue I taughte. 5960 "Grammer for girles I garte first to write, And bette hem with a baleys, But if thei wolde lerne, "Of alle kynne craftes I contreved tooles, Of carpentrie, of kerveres, And compased masons, And lerned hem level and lyne, Though I loke dymme. 5970 "Ac Theologie hath tened me Ten score tymes; The moore I muse therinne The mystier it seemeth, And the depper I devyne The derker me it thynketh. It is no science, for sothe, For to sotile inne; A ful lethi thyng it were, If that love nere; 5980 Ac for it leteth best bi-love, I love it the bettre. For there that love is ledere, Ther lakked nevere grace. Loke thow love lelly, If thee liketh Do-wel; For Do-bet and Do-best Ben of Loves kynne.