Classic Poem

The laddre of heuene, I meene charitee,
Comandith vs if our brothir be falle
Into errour to haue of him pitee,
And seeke weyes in our wittes alle
How we may him ageyn to vertu calle.
And in gretter errour ne knowe I noon
Than thow, þat dronke haast heresies galle
And art fro Crystes feith twynned and goon.

Allas, þat thow þat were a manly knyght
And shoon ful cleer in famous worthynesse,
Standynge in the fauour of euery wight,
Haast lost the style of cristenly prowesse
Among alle hem þat stande in the cleernesse
Of good byleeue — and no man with thee holdith
Sauf cursid caitifs, heires of dirknesse.
For verray routhe of thee myn herte coldith.

Thow haast maad a fair permutacion
Fro Crystes lore to feendly doctryne
From honour and fro dominacion
Vnto repreef and mescheuous ruyne,
Fro cristen folk to hethenly couyne,
Fro seuretee vnto vnsikirnesse,
Fro ioie and ese vnto wo and pyne,
Fro light of trouthe vnto dirk falsnesse.

O Oldcastel! Allas, what eilid thee
To slippe into the snare of heresie?
Thurgh which thow foo art to the Trinitee
And to the blissid virgyne Marie
And to the innumerable holy compaignie
Of heuene and to al holy chirche, allas!
To longe haast thow bathid in þat folie
Ryse vp and pourge thee of thy trespas.

Seynt Austyn seith, whiles a man abydith
In heresie or scisme and list nat flee
Therfro, his soule fro God he diuidith
And may nat saued been in no degree.
For what man holdith nat the vnitee
Of holy chirche, neithir his bapteeme
Ne his almesse, how large þat it be,
To helthe him profyte ne God qweeme.

And yit moreouer he seith thus also,
Thogh þat an heretyk for Crystes name
Shede his blood and his lyf for Cryst forgo,
Shal nat him saue. Allas, the harm and shame.
May nat thy smert thy sturdy herte attame?
Obeie, obeie in the name of Ihesu.
Thow art of merit and of honur lame;
Conquere hem two and thee arme in vertu.

If thyn hy herte, bolnynge in errour,
To holy chirche can nat buxum be,
Beholde Theodosius emperour,
How humble and buxum vnto God was he.
No reward took he of his dignitee,
But as a lamb to holy chirche obeide.
In the scripture may men rede and se
How meekly of the bisshop grace he preide.

Th'offense which þat he ageyn God wroghte
Was nat so greet as thyn, by many fold,
And yit ful heuy he was and it forthoghte,
Obeyyng as þat holy chirche hath wold.
Thow þat thy soule to the feend haast sold,
Bye it agayn thurgh thyn obedience.
Thyn heresie is al to hoor and old.
Correcte thee at Crystes reuerence.

And for thy soules helthe do eek so.
Thy pryde qwenche and thy presumpcioun.
Wher thow hast been to Crystes feith a fo,
Plante in thyn herte a deep contricioun
And hennesfoorth be Crystes champioun.
The welle of mercy renneth al in brede,
Drynke therof syn ther is swich foysoun;
Thyn hertes botel therof fille, I rede.

Thow haast offendid God wondirly sore,
And nathelees, if thow the wilt amende,
Thogh thy gilt wer a thousande tymes more,
Axe him mercy and He wole it thee sende.
Thow art vnwys thogh thow thee wys pretende,
And so been alle of thyn opinioun.
To God and holy chirche thow thee bende.
Caste out thy venym thurgh confessioun.

Thow seist, confessioun auriculeer
Ther needith noon, but it is the contrarie;
Thow lookist mis, thy sighte is nothyng cleer.
Holy writ therin is thyn aduersarie,
And clerkes alle fro thy conceit varie
þat Crystes partie holden and maynteene.
Leue þat conceit, lest þat thow miscarie.
Waar of the swerd of God for it is keene.

Heere in this lyf vnto God mercy crie,
And with the ax or hamer of penance
Smyte on the stoon, slee thyn obstinacie.
Haue of thy synnes heuy remembrance.
Rowne in the preestes ere, and the greuance
Of thy soule meekly to him confesse.
And in the wal of heuene, is no doutance,
Thow shalt a qwik stoon be for thy goodnesse.

Oldcastel, how hath the feend thee blent!
Where is thy knyghtly herte? Art thow his thral?
Thow errest foule eek in the sacrament
Of the auter, but how in special
For to declare it needith nat at al;
It knowen is in many a regioun.
Now syn the feend hath youen the a fal.
Qwyte him, let see, ryse vp and slynge him doun.

Ryse vp a manly knyght out of the slow
Of heresie. O lurkere as a wrecche,
Whereas thow erred haast, correcte it now.
By humblesse thow mayst to mercy strecche;
To holy chirche go and there fecche
The holsum oyle of absolucion.
If thow of soules hurt ne shame recche,
Thow leesist heuene and al knyghtly renoun.

Par cas, thow to thyself shame it arettist
Vnto prelatz of holy chirche obeie.
If it be so, thy conceit thow missettist;
What man aright can in his herte weye
The trouthe of that? To Ihesu Cryst, I seye,
Princypally is þat obedience.
God hath ordeyned preestes to purueye
Salue of penance for mannes offense.

Vnto seint Petir and his successours
And so foorth doun God hath His power lent.
Go to the preest, correcte thyn errours,
With herte contryt vnto God ybent.
Despute no more of the sacrament.
As holy chirche biddith, folwe it.
And hennesforward, as by myn assent,
Presume nat so mochil of thy wit.

I putte cas, a prelat or a preest
Him viciously goueme in his lyuynge,
Thow oghtist reewe on it whan thow it seest
And folwe him nat; but aftir his techynge
Thow oghtest do, and for thyn obeyynge
Thow shalt be sauf; and if he teche amis
Toform God shal he yeue a rekenynge,
And þat astreit, the greet peril is his.

Lete holy chirche medle of the doctryne
Of Crystes lawes and of his byleeue,
And lete alle othir folk therto enclyne
And of our feith noon argumentes meeue.
For if we mighte our feith by reson preeue,
We sholde no meryt of our feith haue.
But nowadayes a baillif or reeue
Or man of craft wole in it dote or raue.

Somme wommen eek, thogh hir wit be thynne,
Wole argumentes make in holy writ.
Lewed calates, sittith down and spynne
And kakele of sumwhat elles, for your wit
Is al to feeble to despute of it.
To clerkes grete apparteneth þat aart;
The knowleche of þat God hath fro yow shit;
Stynte and leue of, for right sclendre is your paart.

Oure fadres olde and modres lyued wel
And taghte hir children as hemself taght were
Of holy chirche, and axid nat a del
" Why stant this word heere? and why this word there?
Why spak God thus, and seith thus elleswhere?
Why dide he this wyse, and mighte han do thus?"
Our fadres medled nothyng of swich gere.
þat oghte been a good mirour to vs.

If land to thee be falle of heritage
Which þat thy fadir heeld in reste and pees
With title iust and treewe in al his age,
And his fadir before him brygelees,
And his and his and so foorth, doutelees,
I am ful seur who so wolde it thee reue,
Thow woldest thee deffende and putte in prees.
Thy right thow woldest nat, thy thankes, leue.

Right so, where as our goode fadres olde
Possessid were and hadden the seisyne
Peisible of Crystes feith, and no man wolde
Inpugne hir right, it sit vs to enclyne
Therto, let vs no ferthere ymagyne
But as þat they dide, occupie our right
And in oure hertes fully determyne
Our title good, and keepe it with our might.

Who so hath right and nat wole it deffende,
It is no manhode, it is cowardyse.
And as in this cas he shal God offende
So greuously þat he shal nat souffyse
The maugree for to bere in no wyse
Fro Cryst þat right first greew. And if þat we
Nat shuln susteene it, we been ful vnwyse.
Himself is feith, right, trouthe, and al bontee.

The cristen emperour Iustinian,
As it is writen, who so list it see,
Made a lawe deffendyng euery man,
Of what condicion or what degree
þat he were of, nat sholde hardy be
For to despute of the feith openly;
And there vpon sundry peynes sette he
þat peril sholde eschued be therby.

Bewar, Oldcastel, and for Crystes sake
Clymbe no more in holy writ so hie
Rede the storie of Lancelot de Lake,
Or Vegece, Of the aart of chiualrie ,
The Seege of Troie or Thebes . Thee applie
To thyng þat may to th'ordre of knyght longe.
To thy correccioun now haaste and hie,
For thow haast been out of ioynt al to longe.

If thee list thyng rede of auctoritee,
To thise stories sit it thee to goon,
To Iudicum, Regum and Iosue ,
To Iudith , and to Paralipomenon ,
And Machabe . And as sikir as stoon,
If þat thee list in hem bayte thyn ye,
More autentik thing shalt thow fynde noon
Ne more pertinent to chiualrie.

Knyghtes so dide in tymes þat be past
Whan they had tendrenesse of hire office.
In Crystes feith they stooden stidefast.
And as þat the preest, hir soules norice,
Hem goostly fedde and yaf hem the notice
Of Crystes lore, with obedience
They took it. But now regneth swich malice
That buxumnesse is put in abstinence.

O Constantyn, thow prince of hy nobleye,
O Cristen emperour whos worthynesse
Desdeyned nat to holy chirche obeye
But didest al thy peyne and bisynesse
With wel disposid spirit of meeknesse
The ministres of God for to honure,
How thow wroghtist hast thow so strong witnesse
That lyue it shal whil the world wole endure.

Thow took nat on thee hir correccioun,
Ne vpon hem thow yaf no iugement,
Swich was to God thy good affeccioun.
Thow seidest: " They been goddes to vs sent.
And þat it is nothyng conuenient
That a man sholde goddes iuge and deeme."
Thow were a noble and a worthy regent.
Wel was byset on thee thy diadeeme.

Blessid be God, fro whom deryued is
Al grace, our lige lord which þat is now
Our feithful Cristen prince and kyng, in this
Folwith thy steppes. O, for shame, thow
Oldcastel, thow haast longe tyme ynow
Folwed the feend. Th at thow no lenger do,
Do by my reed, it shal be for thy prow.
Flee fro the feend, folwe tho princes two.

Reward had and consideracioun
Vnto the dignitees of tho persones,
Thow art of a scars reputacioun.
A froward herte haast thow for the nones.
Bowe and correcte thee, come of at ones.
Foule haast thow lost thy tyme many a day.
For thyn vnfeith men maken many mones.
To God retourne and with his feith dwelle ay.

Thogh God thee haue souffrid regne a whyle,
Be nat to bold, bewar of his vengeance.
He tarieth for thow sholdist reconsyle
Thee to him and leue thy mescreaunce.
Holsum to thee now were a variaunce
Fro the feend to our lord God and fro vice
Vnto vertu, þat were his hy plesaunce
And his modres, mankyndes mediatrice.

Some of thy fetheres weren plukkid late,
And mo shuln be. Thow shalt it nat asterte.
Thow art nat wys ageyn God to debate.
The flood of pryde caste out of thyn herte.
Grace is alyue, to God thee conuerte.
Thow maist been his if thee list him obeie.
If thow nat wilt so, sorrer shalt thow smerte
Than herte of man may thynke or tonge seye.

Almighty God, thow lord of al and syre,
Withouten whom is no goodnesse wroght,
This knyght of thyn habundant grace enspyre.
Remembre how deere þat thow haast him boght.
He is thyn handwerk, lord, refuse him noght
Thogh he thee haue agilt outrageously.
Thow þat for mercy deidest, change his thoght.
Benigne lord, enable him to mercy.

Yee þat peruerted him, yee folk dampnable,
Yee heretikes þat han him betrayed
That manly was, worthy and honurable,
Or þat he hadde of your venym assayed.
I doute it nat, your wages shal be payed
Sharply but yee correcte your trespas.
In your fals errour shul yee been outrayed
And been enhabited with Sathanas.

Yee, with your sly coloured argumentes
Which þat contenen nothyng but falshode,
Han in this knyght put so feendly ententes
þat he is ouercharged with the lode
Which yee han leid on his good old knyghthode,
That now a wrecchid knyght men calle may.
The lak of feith hath qwenchid his manhode.
His force ageyn God naght is at assay.

Prynce of preestes our lige lord yee calle
In scorn, but it is a style of honour.
Auctoritee of preest excedith alle
Eerthely powers, thogh it seeme sour
To the taast of your detestable errour.
They þat in the feith been constaunt and sad
In seint Petres wordes han good fauour
And fayn been to fullfille þat he bad.

All eerthely princes and othir men
Bysshops to obeie commandid he.
Yee han no ground to holde ther ayen.
Spirituel thynges passe in dignitee
Alle the thynges temporel þat be,
As moche as dooth the soule the body.
In the scriptures serche and yee shul see
þat it no lees at al is hardily.

Two lightes God made in the firmament
Of heuene. A more made he and a lesse.
The gretter light to the day hath he lent
It for to serue in his cleer brightnesse.
The smaller to the nyght in soothfastnesse
He lente also to helpe it with his light.
Two dignitees they toknen in liknesse,
Auctoritee papal and kynges might.

Looke how moche and how greet dyuersitee
Betwixt the sonne ther is and the moone;
So moche is a popes auctoritee
Aboue a kynges might. Good is to doone
þat yee aryse out of your errour soone
þat therein walwid han, goon is ful yore
And but yee do, God I byseeche a boone,
þat in the fyr yee feele may the sore.

Yee þat nat sette by preestes power,
Crystes rebels and foos men may you calle.
Yee waden in presumpcioun to fer.
Your soules to the feend yee foule thralle.
Yee seyn: " A preest in deedly synne fall,
If he so go to messe, he may not make
Crystes body." Falsly yee erren alle
þat holden so. To deepe yee ransake.

As wel may a preest þat is vicious
þat precious body make day by day
As may a preest þat is ful vertuous.
But waar the preest, his soule it hurte may
And shal, but he be cleene, it is no nay.
Be what he be, the preest is instrument
Of God, thurgh whos wordes trustith this ay.
The preest makith the blessid sacrament.

Yee medle of al thyng, yee moot shoo the goos.
How knowen yee what lyf a man is ynne?
Your fals conceites renne aboute loos.
If a preest synful be and fro God twynne,
Thurgh penitence he may ageyn God wynne.
No wight may cleerly knowen it or gesse
þat any preest, beynge in deedly synne,
For awe of God dar to the messe him dresse.

Yee seyn also: " Ther sholde be no pope,
But he the beste preest were vpon lyue."
O, wherto graspen yee so fer and grope
Aftir swich thyng? Yee mowe it neuere dryue
To the knowleche. Nothyng thereof stryue.
Medle nat therwith, let al swich thyng passe.
For if þat yee do, shul yee neuere thryue.
Yee been therin as lewde as is an asse.

Many man outward seemeth wondir good
And inward is he wondir fer therfro.
No man be iuge of þat but he be wood.
To God longith þat knowleche and no mo.
Thogh he be right synful, sooth is also
The hy power þat is to him committid
As large as Petres is, it is right so.
Amonges feithful folk, this is admittid.

What, is the lawe the werse of nature
If þat a iuge vse it nat aright?
No thyng, God wot, auyse him þat the cure
Therof hath take, looke he do but right.
Waar þat he nat stonde in his owne light.
Good is þat he his soule keepe and saue.
Your fals conceites puttith to the flight,
I rede, and Crystes mercy axe and haue.

Yee þat pretenden folwers for to be
Of Crystes disciples nat lyue sholde
Aftir the flesshly lustes, as doon yee
þat rekken nat whos wyf yee take and holde.
Swich lyf the disciples nat lyue wolde,
For cursid is the synne of aduoutrie.
But yee therin so hardy been and bolde
þat yee no synne it holden ne folie.

If yee so holy been as yee witnesse
Of your self, thanne in Crystes feith abyde.
The disciples of Cryst had hardynesse
For to appeere. They nat wolde hem hyde
For fere of deeth, but in his cause dyde.
They fledden nat to halkes ne to hernes
As yee doon þat holden the feendes syde,
Whiche arn of dirknesse the lanternes.

Ne neuere they in forcible maneere
With wepnes roos to slee folk and assaille
As yee diden late in this contree heere,
Ageyn the kyng stryf to rere and bataille.
Blessid be God, of your purpos yee faille,
And faille shuln. Yee shuln nat foorth therwith.
Yee broken meynee, yee wrecchid rascaille
Been al to weyk, yee han therto no pith.

Also yee holden ageyn pilgrimages,
Whiche arn ful goode if þat folk wel hem vse,
And eek ageyns the makynge of ymages.
What, al is nat worth þat yee clappe and muse.
How can yee by reson yourself excuse
þat yee nat erren, whan yee folk excite
To vice and stire hem vertu to refuse?
Waar Goddes strook, it peisith nat a lyte.

For to visite seintes is vertu
If þat it doon be for deuocioun.
And elles, good is be therof eschu.
Meede wirkith in good entencioun.
Be cleene of lyf and be in orisoun.
Of synne talke nat in thy viage.
Let vertu gyde thee fro toun to toun.
And so to man profitith pilgrimage.

And to holde ageyn ymages makynge,
Be they maad in entaille or in peynture,
Is greet errour. For they yeuen stirynge
Of thoghtes goode and causen men honure
The seint after whom maad is that figure,
And nat worsshipe it, how gay it be wroght.
For this knowith wel euery creature
þat reson hath, þat a seint is it noght.

Right as a spectacle helpith feeble sighte
Whan a man on the book redith or writ
And causith him to see bet than he mighte,
In which spectacle his sighte nat abit
But gooth thurgh and on the book restith it;
The same may men of ymages seye.
Thogh the ymage nat the seint be, yit
The sighte vs myngith to the seint to preye.

Ageyn possessions yee holden eek
Of holy chirche, and that is eek errour.
Your inward ye is ful of smoke and reek
While heere on eerthe was our sauueour,
Whom angels diden seruice and honour,
Purses had he. Why? For his chirche sholde
So haue eek aftir, as seith mine auctour
Yee goon al mis, al is wrong þat yee holde.

Iustinian emperour had swich cheertee
To holy chirche, as þat seith the scripture,
þat of goodes how large or greet plentee
It hadde of yifte of any creature,
Him thoghte it youe in the best mesure
þat mighte been, his herte it loued so.
Yee neuere yaf hem good, perauenture.
What title han yee aght for to take hem fro?

And if yee had aght youe hem or this tyme,
Standynge in the feith as yee oghten stonde,
Sholden they now for your charge and your cryme
Despoillid been of þat they haue in honde?
Nay, þat no skile is. Yee shul vndirstonde
They nyght and day labouren in prayeere
For hem that so yaf. Styntith and not fonde
To do so, for first boght wole it be deere.

Presumpcion of wit and ydilnesse
And couetyse of good, tho vices three
Been cause of al your ydil bysynesse.
Yee seyn eek: " Goodes commune oghten be."
þat ment is in tyme of necessitee,
But nat by violence or by maistrie
My good to take of me or I of thee,
For þat is verray wrong and robberie.

If þat a man the soothe telle shal,
How þat your hertes in this cas been set,
For to ryfle is your entente final.
Yee han be bisy longe aboute a net
And fayn wolde han it in the watir wet
The fissh to take, which yee han purposid.
But God and our lord lige hath yow let.
It nis ne shal been as yee han supposid.

Men seyn: " Yee purpose hastily appeere
The worm for to sleen in the pesecod."
Come on whan yow list, yee shul reewe it deere.
The feend is your cheef, and oure heed is God.
Thogh we had in oure handes but a clod
Of eerthe, at your heedes to slynge or caste
Were wepne ynow or a smal twig or rod.
The feith of Cryst stikith in vs so faste.

We dreden nat, we han greet auantage
Whethir we lyue or elles slayn be we
In Crystes feith. For vp to heuenes stage,
If we so die, our soules lift shul be.
And on þat othir part yee feendes, yee
In the dirk halke of hell shul descende.
And yit with vs abit this charitee,
Our desir is þat yee yow wolde amende.

Yee holden many anothir errour mo
Then may be writen in a litil space,
But lak of leisir me commandith ho.
Almighty God byseeche I of his grace
Enable yow to seen his blessid face,
Which þat is o God and persones three.
Remembre yow, heuene is a miry place
And helle is full of sharp aduersitee.

Yit, Oldcastel, for him þat his blood shadde
Vpon the crois, to his feith torne agayn.
Forgete nat the loue he to vs hadde,
þat blisful lord þat for alle vs was slayn.
From hennesforward trouble nat thy brayn,
As thow hast doon, ageyn the feith ful sore.
Cryst of thy soule glad be wolde and fayn.
Retourne knyghtly now vnto his lore.

Repente thee and with him make accord.
Conquere meryt and honour, let see.
Looke how our cristen prince, our lige lord,
With many a lord and knyght beyond the see
Laboure in armes. And thow hydest thee
And darst nat come and shewe thy visage.
O fy, for shame! How can a knyght be
Out of th'onur of this rial viage?

Sum tyme was no knyghtly turn nowhere
Ne no manhode shewid in no wyse
But Oldcastel wolde, his thankes, be there.
How hath the cursid fiend changid thy gyse!
Flee from him and all his wirkes despyse.
And þat ydoon, vnto our cristen kyng
Thee hie as faste as þat thow canst dyuyse
And humble eek thee to him for anythyng.Cest tout.