Truth

by Geoffrey Chaucer

Geoffrey Chaucer

Fle fro the pres, and dwelle with sothefastness{.e},
Suffise thin owen thing, thei it be smal;
For hord hath hate, and clymbyng tykelness{.e},
Prees hath envye, and wel{.e} blent overal.
Savour no more thanne the byhov{.e} schal;
Reule weel thiself, that other folk canst reed{.e};
And trouth{.e} schal delyvere, it is no dred{.e}.
Tempest the nought al croked to redress{.e},
In trust of hire that tourneth as a bal.
Myche wel{.e} stant in litel besyness{.e};
Bywar therfore to spurne ayeyns an al;
Stryve not as doth the crokk{.e} with the wal.
Daunt{.e} thiself, that dauntest other{.e}s ded{.e};
And trouth{.e} shal delyvere, it is no dred{.e}.
That the is sent, receyve in buxumness{.e};
The wrestlyng for the worlde axeth a fal.
Here is non home, here nys but wylderness{.e}.
Forth, pylgryme, forth! forth, beste, out of thi stal!
Know thi contr�! loke up! thonk God of al!
Hold the heye weye, and lat thi gost the led{.e};
And trouth{.e} shal delyvere, it is no dred{.e}.
[L'envoy.]
Therfore, thou Vache, leve thine olde wrechedness{.e};
Unto the world leve now to be thral.
Crie hym mercy, that of hys hie godness{.e}
Made the of nought, and in espec{.i}al
Draw unto hym, and pray in general
For the, and eke for other, hevenelyche med{.e};
And trouth{.e} schal delyvere, it is no dred{.e}.





Last updated January 14, 2019