Ich, Pruyde, patientliche Penaunce ich aske; For ich formest and ferst To fader and to moder Have y-be unboxome, Ich beseche God of mercy; And unboxome y-be, Nouht abaissed to agulte God and alle good men, So gret was myn herte; Inobedient to holy churche, And to hem that ther serven, Demed for hure yvel vices, And excited othere Thorw my word and al my wit Hure yvel workes to shewe; And scorned hem and othere, Yf a skyle founde, Lauhynge al aloude, For lewede men sholde Wene that ich were witty And wyser than anothere; Scorner and unskilful to hem That skil shewede, In all manere manners My name to be y-knowe, Semeng a sovereyn on, Wer so me byfulle To telle eny tale. Ich trowede me wiser To carpen other to counsaile Than eny, lered other lewede. Proud of aparail In porte amonge the puple, Otherwise than ich have, Withynne other withoute, Me wilnede that men wende Ich were in aveyr Riche and resonable, And ryghtful of lyvynge; Bostynge and braggynge Wyt meny bolde othes; Avauntyng upon my veine glorie For eny undernemynge; And yut so syngeler by myself Ne non so pomp holy, Som tyme on a secte, Sam tyme on another; In all kynne covetyse Contrevede how ich myghte Be holde for holy, And hondred sithe by that encheison; Wilnede that men wende My werkes were the beste And konnygest of my craft, Clerkes other othere, And strengest upon my stede, And styvest under gurdell, And lovelokest to loken on, And lykyngest a-bedde; And lykynge of such a lif That no lawe preyseth; Proud of my faire fetours; And for ich songe shrille; And what ich gaf for Godes love, To godsybbes ich tolde, Ther to wene that ich were Wel holy and wel almesful. And non so bold begger To bydden an[d] crave, Tales to telle In tavernes and in stretes, Thyng that nevere was thouhte, And yut ich swor ich sauh hit, And lyed on my lykame And on my lyf bothe. Of werkes that ich wel dude Witnesse ich take, And syggen to such That sytten me bysyde, 'Lo! yf ye leyve me nouht, Other that ye wene ich lye, Ask of hym other of hure, And thei conne yow telle What ich soffrede an[d] seih, And som tyme hadde, And what ich knew and couthe, Of wat kyn ich kam of; Al ich wolde that men wuste, When it to pruyde sonede, As to preised among the puple, Thauh ich povre semede.' _Si hominibus placerem, Christi servus non essem. Nemo potest duobus dominis servire._ 'Now God, of hus goodnesse, Geve the grace to amende!' Quath Repentaunce ryght with that; And thenne roos Envye. The description of Envy, which follows, is shorter in Whitaker's text, and differs much from our text.