Section 13

TRUTH

Balade de bon Conseyl

Flee fro the prees and dwelle with sothfastnesse;

Suffyce unto thy thing, though it be small,

For hord hath hate, and climbing tickelnesse,

Prees hath envye, and wele blent overal.

Savour no more than thee bihove shal,

Reule wel thyself that other folk canst rede,

And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.

Tempest thee noght al croked to redresse

In trust of hir that turneth as a bal;

Gret reste stant in litel besinesse.

Be war therefore to sporne ayeyns an al,

Stryve not, as doth the crokke with the wal.

Daunte thyself, that dauntest otheres dede,

And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.

That thee is sente, receyve in buxumnesse;

The wrastling for this world axeth a fal.

Her is non hoom, her nis but wildernesse;

Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beste out of thy stal!

Know thy countree, look up, thank God of al;

Hold the heye wey and lat thy ghost thee lede,

And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.

Envoy

Therfore, thou Vache, leve thyn old wrecchedness;

Unto the world leve now to be thral.

Crye him mercy, that of his hy goodnesse

Made thee of noght, and in especial

Draw unto him, and pray in general

For thee, and eek for other, hevenlich mede;

And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no d rede.