Pearse Plueman

From The Anglish Wiki

This is a partial Anglish translation of Piers Ploughman, a Middle English poem by William Langland.

Beware, this article uses spellings which have had foreign influence reverted, and uses native English third person pronouns.

The Writ[edit]


Deal I

In a summer yeartide hwen soft was þe sun,
I scooped myself into scrudes as if I were a scepherd
I wore weed like a weastensetteller unholy of works,
and went wide into þis world, wiþ its wonders to hear.
Ack on a Þrimilk morning, on Malfern Hills,
a ferly befell me, a fairys doing, meþot.
I was weary and forwandered and went me to rest
under a broad bank by a burnside,
and as I lay and leaned ofer and looked into þe waters
I slumbered into a sleeping, for it sweyed so merry.
Þen began I to mete a wonderful swefen
I saw þat I was in a wilderness, wist I nefer hwere.
Ack as I beheld into þe east towards þe sun,
I saw a ture on a hill, well made.
A deep dale was beneaþ, a dung þerein
wiþ deep dark dicces, dreadful of sigt.
A fair feeld full of folk fund I þere between,
twas of all kind of men, þe mean and þe ric,
working and wandering as þe world asks.
Sum put emselfs to þe plue, playing full seld,
setting and sowing, to swink full hard
to win þat hwic spillers by eattelness breet.
And sum put emselfs to pride, in weed to mac,
in lite of fair cloþing hy came scrided.
In bead and deedboot many anoþer put emselfs,
all for þe luf of ure lord lifing full stern
in hope to haf heafenric bliss
Hy lifed as ankers and weastensettelers þat hold emselfs in her stows,
wiscing not for land to wander abute in,
nor for yals lifelihood to cweme her lic.
And sum ceos trade, hy fared þe better
as it seems to ure sigt þat suc men þrife.

Deal II

And sum make mirþ as scops do,
and num gold wiþ her glee; scildless I hold em.
Ack not japers and jangelers, cildren of Judas,
saring her scinelocks, making emselfs fools,
and haf wit at will to work if hy wold.
Hwat Paul teaces of em, I will not say here;
Qui loquitur turpiloquium is Lucifers hind.
In þis same land bindelstiffs and þiggers yede fast abute,
her bellies and her bags breadful crammed,
fiting for her food, figting ofer ale.
In eattelness, God wits, hy go to bed
and rise wiþ lewdness, þe þeefing knafes;
sleepy and sorry sloþness, efer seek em.
Meanhwile, pilgrims and palmers pligted emselfs togeþer
to seek Hallow Jame and oþer hallows in Rome.
Hy went forþ in her way wiþ many wise tales,
and had leaf to lie all her life after.
I saw sum þat said hy had sot hallows,
yet in eac tale þat hy told her tungs were set to lie
more þan to speak sooþ, it seemed by her speec.
A heap of weastensettelers wiþ hooked stafes
went to Walsingham, wiþ her wences coming after.
Þese were great, tall loafers hwo were loaþe to swink,
cloþed in weed to be known from oþers,
and scooped as weastensettelers to haf her eaþ.
I fund þere friars of all four orders
preacing to þe leed to gain for emselfs,
teacing þe gospel huever hy liked.
For greed of weed hy twisted þe gospel at will.
Many of þese master friars may cloþe emselfs at her liking,
for her yeeld and her goods are in step togeþer.
Sinse almsgiving has been a tradesman, and ceef to scrive lords,
many ferlies haf befallen in a few years.
But hy and þe Holy Circ hold better togeþer;
þe most misbehafing on mold is heaping up fast.
Þere preaced a foryeafer as if he were a preest.
He brot forþ a bull wiþ biscops waxtokens,
and said þat he cud foryeaf em all
of her fastingswike, and broken oaþs.
Lewd men beleeved him well and liked his words,

Deal III

And came up on her knees to kiss his seals.
He belirted em wiþ his brevet, dimmed her eyes,
And wiþ his bookfell got his rings and brooces.
Þus hy yafe here gold, eattelmen to keep
And lend it to suc lutes as follow lewdness.
If þe biscop were holy and worþ boþ his ears,
His seal scold not be sent to swike þe lede,
But a word against biscop þe knave never preac.
Parisc preest and foryeafer scare all þe silver
Þat þe parisc arm wold haf if he were not þere.
Parsons and parisc preests bemoaned to þe biscop
Þat her parisces were arm sins þe cwild time,
And asked leave in London to dwell,
And sing deaþsongs for wages, for silver is sweet.
Biscops and bacelors, boþ masters and doctors
Þat haf berþ under Crist, and þe scavenhead as token
And mark þat hy scold scrive her flock,
Preac and bead for em and feed þe arm.
Þese locg in London in Lent, and at oþer times too.
Sum þew þe king, and tell his silver
In yeeld and ott doomerns making afterspeec for his scild
Of wards and of wardmoots, castaway and runaways.
And sum work as þews to lords and ladies,
And sit instead of stewards in cear to deem
Her mass and her morning beads. Her stounds of canon
Are said troþlessly I fear at þe last
Lest Crist in his moot damn full many.
I saw of þe weeld þat Peter had to keep,
To bind and to unbind as þe book tells,
Hue he left it wiþ love as ure Lord bade
Amongst four custs, þe best of all custs
Þat are called cardinal, for hy hincg þe gates
Hwere Crist is in wolder, to close and to scut
And to open it to em and scow heafenly bliss.
But of cardinals at Rome þat nam þat name
And yeeld oferweened in em a pope to make.
Þat hy haf Peters migt wiþsake it I will not,
For to love and learning þat election belongs.
Þerefore I can, and yet cannot, of þat doomern speak more.
Þen came þere a king wiþ knigthood before him.