And I awaked therwith, witlees nerhande, 
And as a freke that fey were, forth gan I walke 
In manere of a mendynaunt many yer after, 
And of this metyng many tyme muche thought I hadde
First how Fortune me failed at my mooste nede, 
And how that Elde manaced me, myghte we evere mete; 
And how that freres folwede folk that was riche, 
And [peple] that was povere at litel pris thei sette, 
And no corps in hir kirkyerd ne in hir kirk was buryed 
But quik he biquethe hem aught or sholde helpe quyte hir dettes; 
And how this coveitise overcom clerkes and preestes; 
And how that lewed men ben lad, but Oure Lord hem helpe, 
Thorugh unkonnynge curatours to incurable peynes; 
And how that Ymaginatif in dremels me tolde 
Of Kynde and of his konnynge, and how curteis he is to bestes, 
And how lovynge he is to bestes on londe and on watre
Leneth he no lif lasse ne moore; 
The creatures that crepen of Kynde ben engendred; 
And sithen how Ymaginatif seide, ' Vix iustus salvabitur,' 
And whan he hadde seid so, how sodeynliche he passed. 
I lay down longe in this thoght, and at the laste I slepte; 

And as Crist wolde ther com Conscience to conforte me that tyme, 
And bad me come to his court - with Clergie sholde I dyne. 
And for Conscience of Clergie spak, I com wel the rather; 
And there I [merkede] a maister - what man he was I nyste - 
That lowe louted and loveliche to Scripture. 
Conscience knew hym wel and welcomed hym faire; 
Thei wesshen and wipeden and wenten to the dyner. 
Ac Pacience in the paleis stood in pilgrymes clothes, 
And preyde mete par charite for a povere heremyte. 
Conscience called hym in, and curteisliche seide, 
' Welcome, wye, go and wassh; thow shalt sitte soone.' 
This maister was maad sitte as for the mooste worthi, 
And thanne Clergie and Conscience and Pacience cam after. 
Pacience and I were put to be mettes, 
And seten bi oureselve at a side borde. 
Conscience called after mete, and thanne cam Scripture 
And served hem thus soone of sondry metes manye - 
Of Austyn, of Ambrose, of alle the foure Evaungelistes
Edentes et bibentes que apud eos sunt. 
Ac this maister ne his man no maner flessh eten, 
Ac thei eten mete of moore cost - mortrews and potages
Of that men myswonne thei made hem wel at ese. 
Ac hir sauce was over sour and unsavourly grounde 
In a morter, Post mortem, of many bitter peyne - 
But if thei synge for tho soules and wepe salte teris
Vos qui peccata hominum comeditis, nisi pro eis lacrimas et 
oraciones effuderitis, ea que in deliciis comeditis, in tormentis evometis. 
Conscience ful curteisly tho commaunded Scripture 
Bifore Pacience breed to brynge and me that was his mette. 
He sette a sour loof toforn us and seide, 'Agite penitenciam,' 
And siththe he drough us drynke'Dia perseverans - 

As longe,' quod he,-'as lif and lycame may dure.' 
' Here is propre service,' quod Pacience, 'ther fareth no prince bettre!' 
And he broughte us of Beati quorum of Beatus virres makyng, 
And thanne he broughte us forth a mees of oother mete, of Miserere mei, Deus 
Et quorum tecta sunt peccata 
In a dissh of derne shrifte, Dixi et confitebor tibi. 
'Bryng Pacience som pitaunce,' pryveliche quod Conseience; 
And thanne hadde Pacience a pitaunce, Pro hac orabit ad te 
omnis sanctus in tempore oportuno. 
And Conseience conforted us, and carped us murye tales
Cor contritum et humiliatum, Deus, non despicies. 
Pacience was proude of that propre service, 
And made hym murthe with his mete; ac I mornede evere, 
For this doctour on the heighe dees drank wyn so faste
Ve vobis qui potentes estis ad bibendum vinum ! 
He eet manye sondry metes, mortrews and puddynges, 
Wombe cloutes and wilde brawen and egges yfryed with grece. 
Thanne seide I to myself so Pacience it herde, 
' It is noght foure dayes that this freke, bifore the deen of Poules, 
Preched of penaunces that Paul the Apostle suffrede - 
In fame et frigore and flappes of scourges
Ter cesus sum et a Iudeis quinquies quadragenas &c; 
Ac o word thei overhuppen at ech a tyme that thei preche 
That Poul in his Pistle to al the peple tolde - 
Periculum est in falsis fratribus!' 

(Holi Writ bit men be war - I wol noght write it here 
In Englissh, on aventure it sholde be reherced to ofte 
And greve therwith that goode men ben - ac gramariens shul rede
Unusquisque a fratre se custodiat, quia, ut dicitur, 
periculum est in falsis fratribus. 
Ac I wiste nevere freke that as a frere yede bifore men on Englissh 
Taken it for his teme, and telle it withouten glosyng! 
They prechen that penaunce is profitable to the soule, 
And what meschief and maleese Crist for man tholede). 
'Ac this Goddes gloton,' quod I, 'with hise grete chekes, 
Hath no pite on us povere; he parfourneth yvele.