target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_fd874c47-7a20-5d26-963e-bde3eaabc62a">[315] in hym may well be shewed,
For whome[316] Tyborne groneth both daye and nyghte.
And, as I stode and kyste[317] asyde my syghte,
Dysdayne I sawe with Dyssymulacyon
Standynge in sadde communicacion. 420
But there was poyntynge and noddynge with the hede,
And many wordes sayde in secrete wyse;
They wandred ay, and stode styll in no stede:
Me thoughte, alwaye Dyscymular dyde deuyse;
Me passynge sore myne herte than gan agryse,[318]
I dempte and drede theyr talkynge was not good.
Anone Dyscymular came where I stode.
Than in his hode I sawe there faces tweyne;
That one was lene and lyke a pyned goost,
That other loked as he wolde me haue[319] slayne; 430
And to me warde as he gan for to coost,
Whan that he was euen at me almoost,
I sawe a knyfe hyd in his one sleue,
Wheron was wryten this worde, Myscheue.
And in his other sleue, me thought, I sawe
A spone of golde, full of hony swete,
To fede a fole, and for to preue a dawe;[320]
And on that sleue these wordes were wrete,
A false abstracte cometh from a fals concrete:
His hode was syde, his cope was roset graye: 440
Thyse were the wordes that[321] he to me dyde saye.
DYSSYMULATION.
How do ye, mayster? ye loke so soberly:
As I be saued at the dredefull daye,
It is a perylous vyce, this enuy:
Alas, a connynge man ne dwelle maye
In no place well, but foles with hym[322] fraye!
But as for that, connynge hath no foo
Saue hym that nought can, Scrypture sayth soo.
I knowe your vertu and your lytterature[323]
By that lytel connynge that I haue: 450
Ye be malygned sore, I you ensure;
But ye haue crafte your selfe alwaye to saue:
It is grete scorne to se a mysproude knaue
With a clerke that connynge is to prate:
Lete theym go lowse theym, in the deuylles date!
For all be it that this longe not to me,
Yet on my backe I bere suche lewde delynge:
Ryghte now I spake with one, I trowe, I see;
But, what, a strawe! I maye not tell all thynge.
By God, I saye there is grete herte brennynge 460
Betwene the persone ye wote of, you;[324]
Alas, I coude not dele so with a Jew![325]
I wolde eche man were as playne as I;
It is a worlde, I saye, to[326] here of some:
I hate this faynynge, fye vpon it, fye!
A man can not wote where to be come:
I wys I coude tell,[327]—but humlery, home;
I dare not speke, we be so layde awayte,
For all our courte is full of dysceyte.
Now, by saynte Fraunceys, that holy man and frere, 470
I hate these[328] wayes agayne you that they take:
Were I as you, I wolde ryde them full nere;
And, by my trouthe, but yf an ende they make,
Yet wyll I saye some wordes for your sake,
That shall them angre, I holde thereon a grote;
For some shall wene be hanged by the throte.
I haue a stoppynge oyster in my poke,
Truste me, and yf it come to a nede:
But I am lothe for to reyse a smoke,
Yf ye coude be otherwyse agrede; 480
And so I wolde it were, so God me spede,
For this maye brede to a confusyon,
Withoute God make a good conclusyon.
Naye, see where yonder stondeth the teder man!
A flaterynge knaue and false he is, God wote;
The dreuyll stondeth to herken, and he can:
It were more thryft, he boughte him a newe cote;
It will not be, his purse is not on flote:
All that he wereth, it is borowed ware;
His wytte is thynne, his hode is threde bare. 490
More coude I saye, but what this is ynowe:
Adewe
