It may be observed here, that Whitaker, in his note on this passage, has very much misunderstood Tyrwhitt (in Chaucer, Cant. T. 3227), in making him the authority for calling the author of the _Disticha de Moribus_ an obscure French writer. Tyrwhitt says that the mode in which Chaucer spells his name (Caton) seems to show that the French translation was more read than the Latin original. The same observation would apply to the present poem: but I am very doubtful how far it is correct. The Distiches of Cato were translated into English, French, German, &c., and were extremely popular. The author of these Distiches, Dionysius Cato, is supposed to have lived under the Antonines, and has certainly no claim to the title of _an obscure French writer_. 7441-7642. Instead of these lines, Whitaker has the following:-- And wissede the ful ofte What Dowel was to mene, And counsailede the, for Cristes sake, No creature to bygyle, Nother to lye nor to lacke, Ne lere that is defendid, Ne to spille speche, As to speke an ydel; And no tyme to tene, Ne trywe thyng to teenen; Lowe the to lyve forth In the lawe of holy churche, Thenne dost thow wel, withoute drede, Ho can do bet no forse. Clerkes that connen al, ich hope, Thei con do bettere; Ac hit suffuseth to be saved, And to be suche as ich tauhte: Ac for to lovye and lene, And lyve wel and byleyve, Ys y-calid _Caritas_, Kynde-love in English, And that is Dobet, yf eny suche be, A blessed man that helpeth, And pees be and pacience, And povre withoute defaute. _Beatius est dare quam petere._ As catel and kynde witt Encombre ful menye, Woo is hym that hem weldeth, Bote he hym wel dispeyne. _Scientes et non facientes variis flagellis vapulabunt._ Ac comunliche connynge And unkynde rychesse, As lorels to be lordes, And lewede men techeres, And holy churche horen help, Averous and coveytous, Droweth up Dowel, And destruyeth Dobest. Ac grace is a gras therfore To don hem eft growe; Ac grace groweth nat, Til God wil gynne reyne, And wokie thorwe goode werkes Wikkede hertes; Ac er suche a wil wol wexe, God hymself worcheth, And send forth seint espirit To don love sprynge. _Spiritus ubi vult spirat, etc._ So grace withoute grace Of God and of good werkes, May nat bee, bee thow siker, Thauh we bid evere. Cleregie cometh bote of siht, And kynd witt of sterres, As to be bore other bygete In suche constellacion That wit wexeth therof, And othere wordes bothe. _Vultus hujus sæculi sunt subjecti vultibus coelestibus._ So grace is a gyfte of God, And kynde witt a chaunce, And cleregie and connyng of kynde Wittes techynge; And yut is cleregie to comende Fore Cristes love more, Than eny connynge of kynde witt, Bote cleregie hit rewele. For Moyses wutnesseth that God wrot In stoon with hus fynger, Lawe of love owre Lorde wrot, Long ere Crist were;