"Two stokkes ther stondeth, Ac stynte ye noght there, Thei highte Stele-noght and Sle-noght, 3660 Strik forth by bothe, And leve hem on thi lift half, And loke noght therafter, And hold wel thyn hali-day Heighe til even.
"Thanne shaltow blenche at a bergh, Bere-no-fals-witnesse, He is frythed in with floryns And othere fees manye; Loke thow plukke no plaunte there, 3670 For peril of thi soule; Thanne shul ye see Seye-sooth,- So-it-be-to-doone,- In-good-manere,-ellis-noght- For-no-mannes-biddyng.
"Thanne shaltow come to a court { 113} As cler as the sonne; The moot is of Mercy The manoir aboute, And alle the walles ben of Wit, 3680 To holden Wil oute, And kerneled wit Cristendom, Mankynde to save, Botrased with Bileef-so,- Or-thow-beest-noght-saved.
"And alle the houses ben hiled, Halles and chambres, With no leed but with love, And lowe speche as bretheren; The brugg is of Bidde-wel,- 3690 The-bet-may-thow-spede; Ech piler is of penaunce, Of preieres to seyntes; Of almes-dedes are the hokes That the gates hangen on.
"Grace hatte the gatewarde, A good man for sothe; His man hatte Amende-yow, For many men hym knoweth; Telleth hym this tokene, 3700 That Truthe wite the sothe; 'I perfourned the penaunce That the preest me enjoyned, And am ful sory for my synnes, And so I shal evere, Whan I thynke theron, Theigh I were a pope.'
"Biddeth Amende-yow meke hym Til his maister ones, To wayven up the wiket 3710 { 114} That the womman shette, Tho Adam and Eve Eten apples un-rosted. _Per Evam cunctis clausa est, et per Mariam virginem patefacta est._
"For he hath the keye and the cliket, Though the kyng slepe. And if grace graunte thee To go in this wise, Thow shalt see in thiselve 3720 Truthe in thyn herte, In a cheyne of charité As thow a child were, To suffren hym and segge noght Ayein thi sires wille.
"And be war thanne of Wrathe-thee, That is a wikked sherewe; He hath envye to hym That in thyn herte sitteth, And poketh forth pride 3730 To preise thiselven. The boldnesse of thi bienfetes Maketh thee blynd thanne; And thanne worstow dryven out as dew, And the dore closed, Keyed and cliketted, To kepe thee withouten; Happily an hundred wynter Er thow eft entre. Thus myghtestow lesen his love, 3740 To lete wel by thiselve, And nevere happily eft entre, But grace thow have.