'This were a wikkede wey but whoso hadde a gyde 
That [myghte] folwen us ech a foot' - thus this folk hem mened. 
Quod Perkyn the Plowman, ' By Seint Peter of Rome! 
I have an half acre to erie by the heighe weye; 
Hadde I cryed this half acre and sowen it after, 
I wolde wende with yow and the wey teche.' 
'This were a long lettyng,' quod a lady in a scleyre; 

'What sholde we wommen werche the while?' 
'Somme shul sowe the sak ' quod Piers, ' for shedyng of the whete; 
And ye lovely ladies with youre longe fyngres, 
That ye have silk and sandel to sowe whan tyme is 
Chesibles for chapeleyns chirches to honoure. 
Wyves and widewes, wolle and flex spynneth
Maketh cloth, I counseille yow, and kenneth so youre doughtres. 
The nedy and the naked, nymeth hede how thei liggeth, 
And casteth hem clothes, for so commaundeth Truthe. 
For I shal lenen hem liflode, but if the lond faille, 
As longe as I lyve, for the Lordes love of hevene. 
And alle manere of men that by mete and drynke libbeth, 
Helpeth hym to werche wightliche that wynneth youre foode.' 
'By Crist!' quod a knyght thoo, 'he kenneth us the beste; 
Ac on the teme, trewely, taught was I nevere. 
Ac kenne me,' quod the knyght, 'and by Crist I wole assaye!' 
'By Seint Poul!' quod Perkyn, 'Ye profre yow so faire 
That I shal swynke and swete and sowe for us bothe, 
And [ek] labour[e] for thi love al my lif tyme, 
In covenaunt that thow kepe Holy Kirke and myselve 
Fro wastours and fro wikked men that this world destruyeth; 
And go hunte hardiliche to hares and foxes, 
To bores and to bukkes that breken down myne hegges; 
And go affaite thi faucons wilde foweles to kille, 
For thei cometh to my croft and croppeth my whete.' 
Curteisly the knyght thanne co[nseyved] thise wordes
'By my power, Piers, I plighte thee my trouthe 
To fulfille this forward, though I fighte sholde; 
Als longe as I lyve I shal thee mayntene.' 
' Ye, and yet a point,' quod Piers, 'I preye yow of moore

Loke ye tene no tenaunt but Truthe wole assente; 
And though ye mowe amercy hem, lat mercy be taxour 
And mekenesse thi maister, maugree Medes chekes. 
And though povere men profre yow presentes and yiftes, 
Nyme it noght, an aventure thow mowe it noght deserve; 
For thow shalt yelde it ayein at one yeres ende 
In a ful perilous place - Purgatorie it hatte. 
And mysbede noght thi bondemen - the bettre may thow spede; 
Though he be thyn underlyng here, wel may happe in hevene 
That he worth worthier set and with moore blisse
Amice, ascende superius. 
For in charnel at chirche cherles ben yvel to knowe, 
Or a knyght from a knave there - knowe this in thyn herte. 
And that thow be trewe of thi tonge, and tales that thow hatie, 
But if thei ben of wisdom or of wit, thi werkmen to chaste. 
Hold with none harlotes ne here noght hir tales, 
And namely at the mete swiche men eschuwe - 
For it ben the develes disours, I do the to understonde.' 
'I assente, by Seint Jame,' seide the knyght thanne, 
'For to werche by thi wordes the while my lif dureth.' 
'And I shal apparaille me,' quod Perkyn, 'in pilgrymes wise 
And wende with yow I wile til we fynde Truthe.' 
[He] caste on [hise] clothes, yclouted and hole, 
[Hise] cokeres and [hise] coffes for cold of [hise] nailes, 
And [heng his] hoper at [his] hals in stede of a scryppe

'A busshel of bred corn brynge me therinne, 
For I wol sowe it myself, and sithenes wol I wende 
To pilgrymage as palmeres doon, pardon for to have. 
And whoso helpeth me to erie or sowen here er I wende, 
Shal have leve, by Oure Lord, to lese here in hervest 
And make hym murie thermyd, maugree whoso bigruccheth it. 
And alle kynne crafty men that konne lyven in truthe, 
I shal fynden hem fode that feithfulliche libbeth - 
Save Jakke the Jogelour and Jonette of the Stuwes, 
And Danyel the Dees-pleyere and Denote the Baude, 
And Frere the Faitour, and folk of his ordre, 
And Robin the Ribaudour, for hise rusty wordes. 
Truthe tolde me ones and bad me telle it forth
Deleantur de libro vivencium - I sholde noght dele with hem, 
For Holy Chirche is hote, of hem no tithe to aske, 
Quia cum iustis non scribantur. 
Thei ben ascaped good aventure - now God hem amende!' 
Dame Werch-whan-tyme-is Piers wif highte; 
His doughter highte Do-right-so-or-thi-dame-shal-thee-bete; 
His sone highte Suffre-thi-Sovereyns-to-haven-hir-wille
Deme-hem-noght-for-if-thow-doost-thow-shalt-it-deere-abugge; 
Lat-God-yworthe-with-al-for-so-His-word-techeth. 
'For now I am old and hoor and have of myn owene, 
To penaunce and to pilgrimage I wol passe with thise othere; 
Forthi I wole er I wende do write my biqueste. 
In Dei nomine, Amen, I make it myselve. 
' He shal have my soule that best hath deserved it, 
And [defende it fro t