The Epistle Of Grace Sent To The Seek Man

I' Gracë quen, and heuenly princesse,—  As depute be the souereyn kyng eterne,In erthe a-lowe to be the gyderesseThat liste the redy wey[ë]s for to lerne,In pilgrymagë him selff to gouerne—  Gretyng, with yerde & lore of disciplyne,To the that hast, and must be, one of myn. 
It is me don to knowe & vnderstonde,  Þat, this dethës seruaunt, malady,The hath arrest, and holdith now in hande,And the oppressith, nought knowyng the forwhi.I wil therfore, as for thi remedy,  Ordeyne[n] in my best[ë] manere wise;I rede þe that thi self þou wel aduyse. 

I haue be with the whan thu knewe it nought,  Enserchyng, lo, thi poin[t]is of conscïence,Be wich I knewe the innermost of thought.Thu hauest, thi self, with veari neclegence,And also for defawte of diligence,  Noght take heed to thi gouernaunce,Thi selffë brought in anguysshe & greuaunce.

Thu hast, with surfeet, leuyng sobirnesse,  fful greuously encombred thi corage,In lust dispending al thin besynesse,  Syn þat thu were a childe of tender age,That the now doth ful gret disauauntage;  Wherfore the nature of thi maladyeWil askë sothly a fleobotomye. 

Also I see, þat ful art thu withinne  of córrupte humour al a-bowt[ë] spred,That rennyth ay betwyn [þi] flesch and skynne,That causith þat thu kepist now thi bedde:Than ydilnesse and slouthë hath this bred;  Thu hast nought swet owt of thin eye one tere;Wich thing to the ful necessary were. 

For if thu myghtist, dayës two or thre,  With mynde upon thi foulë wrechidnessehaue suche a sweet, it wolde availë the;ffor leue it weel,—I sey it the expresse—but if thu do the rathere thi besynesse,  with suche a swet thi self[ë] to amende,This malady will of the make an ende.

Take heed[ë] nowe, and to thi self conuerte,  And see what wrechidnesse is the withinne,Or dethë take thi liffe out of thin herte;To be my reed, anon þat thu be-gynneTo make the clenë of thi sory synne,  As ferrë [forth] as þou canst think or spye,And wasshe hem out with terës of thin eye. 

For if þat deth the sudeynly assaile,  beleue it weel, he sparith no persone;With him to trete, it may no thing avayle;On the hath he no piete, thow thu grone;Complayntis sothly he rewardith none,
  But buskith you vnto the pittës brynkn this, I rede, thu besely bethink. 

Take heed, and here, how þat to euery wight  With-in[në]-forth he clepith preuely:  "Arayeth you, and be al redi dight,ffor I wil come—beleve it sikerly—Or ye be ware, parauenture sudeynly:  And me by-for ther may [no] praiere spedeNe non ne wele: I sparë for [no] mede." 

"Beholde and see, how þat this messageres,  lo, in awaitë, [now] be leyd for the.Sest thu noght Agë, with his whightë eres,hath had himselff ful nye,—canst thu not see?—And maladi[ë] hath arrest par-de.  Herist thu nowt, how thei crie lowde alwey,'what eilith vs, to tarye so al day?' 

"How oftë haue I warned the be-for,  Som while apert, somtymë preuely,That redy schuldist thu have be euermor:Witnesse upon thi self, I say the, whiThu might the nought excusë vtterly:  Synderesis, she knowith euery deel;Sche will be thin appélloure, wete it weel, 

"Aneinptes me, that alway wold thi prowe;  fful folili thu hast thi self mystakeor thu behetest—this knowist well I-nowe—Þat alle thin foli woldest thu for-sake,And woldest thi-self very clenë make,  Puttyng [thi] flesch vnder subieccioun,To be gouérned after thi reason. 

"But sekerly she euery deel reuerse  vsurped hath hire ownë ladi right,By here delites and lustës full dyuersOppressyng her with alle hir mayn & myght.
A fool is he (as semith in my sight)  That be no lore ne will his freend[is] knoweTill þat he be in myschief ouerthrowe. 

"But now I rede, take good entent & hepe,  Puttyng awey thi slombre & [thi] slouthe.A fool he is, that leith him self to slepe,To whom I springe, the veray sterre of trewthe.How ofte hast thu refused, for thi yowthe,  To herë me? and sone hast thu for-yeteMyn lusty songës veary hony-swete. 

"Now sey me, be thi feith, whethir þou were he  Alone of woman in this world I-bore,So clene of wemme, that no thing is in theTo weylë ne to wepe thi synnës sore.Nay, sekerly—and þat me for-thinke sore—  That thu ne canst [nat] se thi wrechidnesse,Thi synne, thi surfeet, and thin vnthriftynesse,

"And hard conflicte of bataile, the withinne.  Thu felë myght (but if thu be vnwys),How þat þi sowle assailed is with synne,And vnder-cast þou art of hye malice,And subiecte, thu madist thi selfe, to vice,  Wich þat of god, the Juge omnipotent,Condempned is with-owt[en] iugëment. 

"Shamë hath he þat at the cheker pleith,  Whan þat a powne saith to the kyng 'chek mate;'And shame it is, whan that thi gost obeithVnto thi flessh, þat schuld obeye algateVnto thi goost. And now, thowe it be late,  Yilte helpe thi self, and cast her vnder fote,Or elles þou art lost: þere is non other bote. 

"In bataylë, as it hath ofte be-tydde  a myghti man to falle, it is no schame,The first[ë] tyme, the secunde, and the thridde,
And rysith weel—this holde I but a game;—But gretly, me thinkith, is he to blame,  And worthi as [a] fool to be reproeved,That not enforsith him to be releuyd. 

"Now youthë may no lengere the excuse,  for age is come, and calengith his plase.Yeld thi promyse! þou myght it not refuse.A fool is he þat desobëyth grace,And is to meward fallë in trespace,  And castith him nought ámendis to make:Suche one, what wondir is, though I forsake? 

"Ful long I haue a-beden and susteyned  to haue amendës for thi forfeture;And or this tyme I haue me not compleyned.I may no more the wrechidnesse endure:I rede the do thi besynesse and cure;  Amende thi self; it is anow to me,That is the amendës þat I askë the. 

"Now chese thin port, at wich thu wilt aryve;  But to there ben, of solace and distresse:At one, thow myght thi self[en] kepe a lyve,And euere abide in ioye and lustynesse;That othir, is but care and wrechidnesse;  here comë deth; and if þat he [schal] smyteThi liffe, there is non leche that [may] respite. 

"Se now thi self, that hauest no defence!  A-bove thin heed the swerd is redy drawe;I redë the to look thi conscïence,How þou hauest lyved a-geyn thi lorde-is lawe;And after this, a-nothir wey thu drawe,  Þat alle thi tyme in foly so dispended,yit at the last[ë], lat it be amendyd.

"How oftë tyme have I the tolde & taught  The worthynesse of vertue, and the mede!how ofte haue I the from the clowches caughtOf sathanas! yitte takist thu non heed.But now be ware, and nought withowt[ë] nede;  ffor sekirly the bowe is bent ful sore  To smytë the: than may I do no more. 

"The birde that syngith on a braunche on hye,  And schewith him self a lusty Jolyvet,Vnto the deth is sinet sudeinglyOr he be ware, and takë with a net.I have the said, how deth hath the be-sette;  And almost vnder-myned is thi wall;But thu be ware, ful grevous is thi fall. 

"Allas! what thinkest thu? what wilt þou sayn,  In þat ilke day of anger and of dreed,Vn-to the heighë Iugë souereyne?What dost þou, man? whi takist thu non hede?If þou wilt be releuyd in thi nede,  What helpith it, thus [for] to preche and teche?But schewe thi soore, to me þat am thi leche, 

"And [than] I schal a-voyde the of thi fylthe,  receyvyng the anon vnder my cure.I schal the bringe in redynesse of tylthe,So that [thu] schalt thi selff[e] weel assure,Þat whan thi flesch is laid in sepulture,  Thu schalt be haved up in-to heven blisse;Eternall myrthës schalt þou neuere mysse."