The Penn Commentary on Piers Plowman, Volume 2: C Passūs 5-9; B Passūs 5-7; A Passūs 5-8 9780812293838

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
Regularly Occurring Abbreviations
C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus5
C Passus 6; B Passus 5; A Passus5
C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passus 5–6
C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7
C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8
Bibliography
Index of Historical and Modern Works, Authors, Persons, and Topics
Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary

Citation preview

The Penn Commentary on Piers Plowman Volume 2

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The Penn Commentary on Piers Plowman VOLUME 2 C Passu¯s 5–9 C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5 C Passus 6; B Passus 5; A Passus 5 C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6 C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7 C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8 Ralph Hanna

University of Pennsylvania Press Philadelphia

Copyright 䉷 2017 University of Pennsylvania Press All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations used for purposes of review or scholarly citation, none of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without written permission from the publisher. Published by University of Pennsylvania Press Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19104-4112 www.upenn.edu/pennpress Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper 10 9 8 7 6 5

4 3 2

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data ISBN 978-0-8122-4891-3

Contents

Preface

vii

Regularly Occurring Abbreviations

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C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

1

C Passus 6; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

73

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

151

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

211

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

280

Bibliography

349

Index of Historical and Modern Works, Authors, Persons, and Topics Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary

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371

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Preface

This is the third volume to appear of a projected five-volume collaborative project. It has been preceded by book-length guides to the opening and conclusion of Langland’s poem (Galloway 2006 and Barney 2006, respectively). The remaining volumes, by Anne Middleton and Traugott Lawler, remain actively “in progress.” The substantial volumes already published present themselves in a rather “stand alone” mien. Like most published writings—yet with a strange inappropriateness, given that their subject is the ceaselessly changing Piers Plowman— they strive to obscure, as irrelevant to the product, an underlying history of discussion and changes of course. As a result, exactly how the authors’ work (and the work of subsequently published collaborators, both instant and projected) is to be construed remains slightly opaque (and has provoked some querulousness among reviewers). The following pages, a personal statement, seek to clarify the origins of our mutual project, some of the thinking that underpins it, and the goals that animate this particular contribution. It builds upon statements made long ago in public fora as to what it was we thought we were about (e.g., Middleton 1990; Hanna 1994). This preface thus substitutes for what we might, and probably should, have made clear to all our readers at the outset. In its inception, the project was the brainchild of Steve Barney. He initially had the idea of providing a modern replacement for the notes in Skeat’s edition of the poem, and he sought out and convinced all of us, as well as Murray Krieger, then director of the University of California Humanities Research Institute, Irvine, of the worthiness of this pursuit. The self-styled “Gang of Five” (originally including John A. Alford, subsequently to be replaced by Galloway, who was with us from the beginning, initially as a graduate assistant) assembled at UCHRI, Irvine, in the new year, January 1990. (Thus, this was very much a UC project, four of the team at the time we started being UC employees.) Our work began as but one focus amid a more profuse UCHRI collaborative project, a study of “Annotation” and its history (cf. Barney 1991, papers presented at a conference held to mark the end of this endeavor).

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We convened with only a hazy initial idea, that we were all interested in writing a modern commentary on Piers Plowman. However, we rapidly discovered that each of us might have differing views about what this apparently pellucid statement might mean, the inception of an ongoing and not entirely concluded debate about alternative methods. This lack of closure remains important because, although all of us have read, several times over, all that each of us has written, we have ultimately imposed no narrow program on one another. Each separate volume retains its crotchets and testifies to what will become obvious, the absence of a single way or single view. Our work, having divided the poem into five roughly equal chunks, each of us to be primarily responsible for a single portion of the text, began with— and all of us concurred in—some basic logistic guidance. I will return to a number of these decisions later, when I come to describe the construction of this volume. However, areas where we agreed were considerably more tractable than larger questions: What was a commentary? What service did it seek to perform? How did this impact on addressing Piers Plowman? One choice that we necessarily took early on deserves highlighting immediately. At the time we began, only Skeat had undertaken to provide materials that approached all three versions of the poem, and the convention was most typically to annotate B. This decision was predicated upon literary taste; B was customarily seen as the version possessing the greatest literary interest and frequently was described in terms like “the only imaginatively complete version” (a topic to which I will recur). After a good deal of discussion, we settled that, for our purposes, Piers Plowman was the poem Langland wrote, an amorphous sequence of versions, but all of them the same (developing) poem. This, we believe, was in its maker’s intention always one; its development through the versions represents the exfoliation and clarification of imaginative impulses that had driven the project from the start. Particularly germane to this volume (as well as the following Volume 3, but not, for example, to Volume 5) is a further consideration. In the second vision of Piers Plowman, my subject here, Langland’s C version substantially retools the standing B text. Some of this work involves extensive and meticulous local rewriting (Russell 1982). But more striking is a prodigious “frontloading” of materials and issues broached in the B version only in the third and fourth visions. (These materials, resituated in C, come to stand as prolepsis for issues now differently bruited in those later visions, similarly subjected to intense revision in C.) In addition, as is well known, in C Langland truncates the standing B “pardon scene” and excises altogether what is for most readers the poem’s central and abiding enigma, Piers’s tearing of the document. However, this omission is balanced (and I will argue below, in certain

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respects compensated for) by two extensive new initiatives, the dreamer’s meeting with Reason and Conscience (5.1–104) and his very long interjection into the “pardon scene” (9.71–280). Taken in sum, all these gestures amount to a substantial overhaul of my assigned portion of the poem. And indeed, my activity as a commentator, whatever form it would assume, had necessarily to address the intense work to which the poet had subjected this portion (and in both its B and C renditions). As my identification of the two large-scale additions indicates, the C second vision is much more overtly dreamer-focused than either earlier version (cf. Hanna 2015). As a consequence (and it should go without saying), this reformulation amounts to an implicit authorial rejection of the frequently read B version. Given our sense of the poem’s unity of intention, if not of execution, much of my work would be driven by and would need to account for the substantial changes, detailed and large-scale, Langland had made to these portions.

* * * At the very least, “The Gang of Five” were attempting to update and supplement a sequence of scholarly classics. There was a great deal we could amplify—much of it summary of past discoveries, some of it the results of our own scholarly investigations. But beyond such modernization, some of us were struck by a further problem. Skeat’s annotation, and indeed all annotation of the poem we knew, did not seem to at least some of us particularly rationalized in its procedures. That is, Skeat had approached the poem in a traditionally partitive manner, inherited from nineteenth-century German Philologie (and the regimen of classical studies that lies behind it). His notes, grand as they are, address the poem as a series of bits—the difficult word, the potentially untranslatable line, the subject of a verse paragraph. In a certain sense, he addresses Piers Plowman as if it were a document, but never quite as a poem. At least one of our hopes, when we assembled, was to identify, and to argue out a theory for, some other mode of procedure. This would address the (now perhaps old-fashioned) concern that a poem forms “an organic unity”—in the full consciousness that we were working with a literary object always considered particularly problematic in this regard (e.g., Lewis’s sneering reference to “fragments but not a poem,” 1936:158–61 passim). We could rather readily agree to two basic gestures in this regard, both generically forms of “mapping.” First of all, our annotation should include a division of “parts,” progressing through the entire poem. These divisions would indicate those units of sense by which the poet prosecutes his argument, a great number of

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them considerably longer than simply the “verse paragraph.” We did agree in finding in the work’s frequently remarked episodic structure and fragmentation a model for how to go about reading and explaining it. Yet such mapping was scarcely any invention of our own, but at least one model provided us by medieval commentative regimes (where Langland may well have learned it as a compositional technique). One might exemplify such a move from the first entry in Bartholomew of Brescia’s standard gloss to Gratian’s Decretum, an example we owe to Howard Bloch: This [first] distinction is divided into two parts. In the first he proves by four canons. . . . In the second part, which begins, “There is, however. . . ,” he gives seven differences. (Gratian 1993:3a [s.v. D.1])

Every serious commentator begins with a “divisio textus”; this provides a reference system predicated upon what might be described as “argumentative stages” of the text. Simultaneously, these may be seen as providing the contextual limits that govern some normative reading. But it is a naı¨ve reading of what we have written that presupposes that this step exists as authoritative end-all. Having found in the poem tranches that we consider self-consistent formulations, we agreed that we would attempt to refer these units to the discursive structures from which they had emerged, and to use that information to guide our detailed annotation. As is manifestly obvious, segmenting the text intrudes our sense of its contours upon our readers and is a thoroughly interpretative decision. Divisions address the poem as an ongoing narrative whole. In these terms, textual division may have been a sufficient gesture for medieval commentators, largely concerned with texts “proscriptive” or “argumentative” (Holy Scripture, Gratian, the Lombard). We, in contrast, were dealing with a poem, a verbal structure presumed to be integrative. Thus, we argued, reducing the limits of annotative attention to a single textual chunk had always to coexist in oscillation with integrative moments, to which we planned to give special attention. We could all agree that Langland’s poetic narrative is persistently crossed by a sort of division different from the narrative chunk, one broadly thematic. That is, as all its readers know, Piers Plowman often seems distinctive because it is engaged with, not a plot, but a vast me´lange of conflicting voiced opinions. Skeat’s partitive annotation occasionally attends to such repetitions of (often violently bruited) topics or subject matters. We thought these oscillations into reiterated nodes of contention should receive rigorous notice. Indeed, the further all of us proceeded with our work, the more forcefully the importance of

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such linkings among congruent discussions (and with them, an interest in both their developing terms and the nature of those figures enunciating these) was borne in upon us. To achieve this integration, we agreed, first of all, that we would strive for a system of extensive cross-references. This would draw together comparable discussions elsewhere in the text—highlighted by having distinguished their unique status as central within individual passages. This effort would map the poem’s development, not just vertically, through a sequence of versions, but longitudinally as developing argument, one in which later passages may qualify or extend earlier ones—and thereby reveal their perhaps unique confirmations. Not all such linkages, it seemed to us, are obvious or even overtly marked in the text. For example, see 8.341–52n; the dreamer’s prophecy of dearth has received extensive and constructive critical notice qua prophecy. Yet overlooked in all discussions is a major point of integrative connection: this is the the second vision’s second appeal to the corrective force of natural disaster (cf. 5.115–22), not to mention this passus’s second example of “houping after hunger” (8.168), the dreamer trying to voice Piers’s frustrations at non-feasant workmen. This example also highlights a further issue germane to Piers Plowman that Bartholomew’s logically ordered “divisio textus” ignores. Unlike Gratian’s presentation, textual segmentation or division in Piers Plowman seems frequently characterized by utter logical discontinuity, largely the collision of voices representing disparate discursive sites. In this example, at the end of passus 8, the dreamer angrily interjects himself into the narrative he has allegedly only dreamed passively. Yet equally, one might feel that the transition between “parts” of Langland’s poem involved some segue or another (in this case highlighted by the repetitions noted in the last paragraph). In our study of past writing about the poem, this issue of implicit connectives has come to represent perhaps the greatest difficulty it has presented to its readers. One might state as one of our annotational postulates that Langland’s juxtapositions customarily represent, not anacoluthon but connection. As a preliminary annotational goal, we determined that we should attempt to supply such implicit connectives. Doing so would indicate what we all believe, that whatever the difficulties of modern readers, Langland was engaged in trying to write a coherent and “smooth” narrative (even if addressing a subject that resisted coherence). We thus, while acknowledging its fashionable imbrication in early twenty-first-century literary practices, would reject such an argument as that of V. Smith 2009, that the poem’s inexplicitness about its own procedures keeps the text open to continual interpretation. Even in his

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generosity toward all views, we are sure Smith would agree that some proposed connectives might be less plausible and compelling than others. To these initial steps, we could concur unanimously. At this point, I turn to consider my take on the elephant that still remained in the committee room, largely a consideration of what “the commentable” might consist of. For it remained variously clear to all of us that what we were undertaking was imbedded within an essentially Victorian model of textual practice that had grown up with Philologie, in the process of recovering and presenting pre- and early modern texts. This, like the foundational textual studies of that period, had developed within a “scientistic” model, predicated upon the presumption that it was the job of the textual sciences to present “objective information” so that others might have a text on which to practice “interpretative” activities. The edited text had to be presented, it was argued, in a form arrived at through logical rigor and a scientific process (Lachmann’s recension preferred). Correspondingly, as the accompaniment to such an “objective” document, the annotator should offer only objective information—linguistic data culled from fruits of Philologie, references to specific source-texts, relevant bits of historical data (what was a friar?). As we argued about this issue, at least some of us were forced to see this procedural mode as rather a misstep—or one insufficiently theorized. Leaving aside editors’ claims to “objectivity,” any analogous claim on the part of commentators should have always been deeply suspect. Annotators had always been subject to some selective principle that defined the “needs-to-beexplained.” All had made choices concerning (a) what was in need of annotation (some standard of obscurity or difficulty, or some judgment about an implicit audience); (b) what information was to be provided; (c) how extensive a search should be undertaken in its pursuit. One of us pointed out that in even the clearest case, a direct quotation, one could fairly easily find more than one example of the same words elsewhere (a prospect now turned multiform with the possibility of online searches), and that all examples were not equally relevant to a single citation within a particular textual context. This view posed the issue pretty neatly. If the annotator cited every identical thing, s/he would achieve something approximating “objective completeness.” But if the annotator realized that not all instances of the same words were equally relevant, s/he would be engaged in an act of judgment, not “objectivity” at all. (And always providing one limit on the entire procedure was the fact that it could never be final or definitive, because there might always have been another identical evocation that one had missed.) Somehow the interpretative and the provisional and supersessible quality of all annotation had to be recognized.

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Commentary always assumes the plenitude of the text. This, for us, is not simply a function of “language languaging,” or that Langland could not constrain the text to mean as he wished (although the frequency of revision indicates his fleeting hope that he might). Rather, like medieval commentators, we assume the capacity of the author to generate multiform meanings, that he is more intelligently capacious than we, more widely read in a rich range of materials (many perhaps closed to us), and considerably more verbally adept. Thus, what we provide, however extensive, is always partial, and completeness of presentation a goal we cannot achieve. Moreover, we remain aware that only naı¨ve readings have ever seen commentaries as complete, or utterly authoritative; to cite merely one example, the most frequent medieval citations of the glossa ordinaria appear within sermons, where they serve, not simply as statements of the commonplace, but—just as Langland’s appropriations from a range of texts—as sites for individual rhetorical invention. These lucubrations suggested to us that all commentative practice responds in some way to a sense of “relevant context,” however that might be defined. Clearly, commentators have always strived to reduce anomaly, to “smoothe” [render coherent] ongoing sense. But this goal may only be achieved by a prior perception of what the sense ought to be, which depends, in turn, on the annotator’s reading of the enigma in question within some surround, and very likely one larger than the immediate line. For us, this raised a familiar, if ancient, distinction, that between the art of grammar and the art of commentary. Compare Leofranc Holford-Strevens’s passing comment, “Lacking comprehension of a poem as a whole, to which each passage, line, and word is subordinate, Gellius is at one with the despised grammatici” (2003: 213). Traditional commentaries on Piers are, in this account, “grammatical” (and there’s nothing wrong with it: the greatest commentator on Virgil, Servius, was resolutely so). But their fragmentation, the attention to the bit, while it supports the cause of objectivity, resolutely avoids the knowledge—the broader sweep of the poem—that had enabled the helpful comment in the first place. Not all the “Gang of Five” would accept the way in which I attempted to move past this impasse and construct the commentative stance I assume through what follows. I will try to illustrate this, again with an example—and some explanation of the thinking that underlies it. Although, in jumping to the very end of this volume, it prejudges a very long developing argument (unlike a grammarian, I strive to enunciate a view of the whole), I would contrast my predecessors’ and my own handling in the notes to 9.305 and subsequent lines. There Will discusses Joseph’s dreams and their outcomes.

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What we all came to call “normative [or grammatical] annotation” can unpick the issues here relatively automatically. There were, in the Middle Ages, standard ways of talking about dreams, quite familiar to all readers on the basis of Chaucer’s persistent invocation of the topic (at least one of which, at CT VII.3123–35, takes up Langland’s examples here). These my annotation notes, although not to the profusion of my predecessors. But, in my reading, these discussions might be described as resolutely inattentive to what is to be annotated here. In turn, this only emerges by engaging with the text of Piers Plowman as poem, as a continuing and situated argumentative procedure. As I argue below, Langland’s point is quite other than the conventional annotation, at a certain level rather less sophisticated and considerably more instrumental. As C 9.299 (A 8.133, B 7.150) “if hit so be myhte” [if what I saw sleeping might actually be/exist] indicates, the issue is not the truth value of dreams, the customary subject of discussion, which past annotators have attended to very well. Rather, the discussion here arises as a wish to actualize as an achieved event what has occurred only as a recollected dream. And the conventional examples here have been chosen (and “tweaked”) with that end in view. This annotative bit provides a classic (and easily repeated) example of Middleton’s “set-texts out of place” (cf. 2010:109). The poem can only be comprehensible by relying upon a surround of accepted discourses; but it can only have an argument of its own—something thus meriting annotational attention—by adapting, rereading these inherited materials in a newly imagined context. As a consequence, what is at work in Piers Plowman is not the familiarities uncovered by the conventional annotational regimen but what Middleton describes as “the difference or dislocation of the refound or reused fragment from its primary site of production.” In discussing Joseph’s dreaming, “normative annotation” recognizes the “set-text” or “primary site,” but ignores why, as all annotators note, Langland chooses here to “mis-emphasize” conventional biblical loci. The text means differently from the expected—here a signal that the dreamer has decided to make his dream real by trying to perform Piers, in the waking interlude of C 10. There, like Piers in his confrontation with the priest over the pardon-text, the dreamer will assert his untutored knowledge against that of clerical authority. Thus, this commentary is particularly conscious of a global form of such misprision endemic in past practice. While past commentaries have tended to follow the standards of nineteenth-century Philologie, they have equally made contextual assumptions about the poem that might well be queried. These are more than forgivable, because ultimately the assumptions answer what one might consider The Big Question, “What is Piers Plowman?” Annotation has

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to seek a way to situate the extraordinarily sui generis character of the poem, to define a field in which it makes some sense. This task has, of course, absorbed every critic of the poem—always with a sense that there are “pretty good” but far from absolute fits. For example, although Piers is clearly an alliterative poem, it rarely fits neatly within the developed criticism of the alliterative tradition (although cf. 21.26–198). Likewise, Duggan’s metrical studies show the uniqueness of its meter. Similarly, distinguished efforts at tackling the poem head-on have typically found it situated along unbridgeable fissures. Infamous in this regard is Bloomfield’s non-genre of “apocalypse” (1961), actually a combination of six genres, a perception constructively developed in Justice’s arguments for a poem dipping into a succession of genres (1988). Here the usual annotative moves have been predictable. Most customarily (and this is true of all its annotators), the poem is taken as “vernacular theology,” a Middle English religious text that strives to communicate the broad truths of Latinate Christendom. These are conventionally seen as erupting into the poem as Langland’s citations; the most rigorous assertion of such a view, that the poem provides a persistent doctrinal allegory (Langland’s opinion of . . .) was provided by Robertson and Huppe´ (1951; cf. Alford 1977). One episode germane to this volume, its presentation of the Seven Deadly Sins, obviously places the poem in some contiguity with the outburst of Middle English pastoralia almost exactly contemporary with Langland’s writing. A similar move, probably most pronounced in the Victorian Skeat (and much later Muscatine 1972), sees the poem’s varying twists as mimetic of social crisis, again linking the work with the contemporary scene (although in this case its historical vicissitudes). I once remarked in passing that the poem, if it reminded me of circumambient pastoral theology, did so as the deconstruction of that rhetoric. If Langland’s efforts were blandly instructive, as this siting would imply, he was a remarkably inept hand at the business. Indeed, as a variety of notes below will argue (even as I will persist in citing pastoral analogues for Langland’s detail), the poem seems persistently engaged in exposing, not the outlines of proper penitential processes, but precisely how those practices must always fail. But that perception implies that the pastoral analogues, although real, are always in negative play. The persistence of melancholic irony, in the Middle Ages called “wanhope,” throughout this portion of the poem implies that finding out about sins and their parts, precisely to avoid “wanhope,” which forms the persistent business of Middle English pastoralia, was not what concerned the poet at all.

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Rather, the primary thing about Piers Plowman is that it is a poem, indeed, as Zieman puts it (2008:150–80), the initial Middle English assay at “the literary form of sustained fiction” and thus outside the mode of instruction (it is shaped by what Middleton [2012] calls “poetic rather than pastoral discourse”). Thus, perhaps the most important thing about Piers Plowman is its reliance upon first-person narration (as opposed to the third-person voice of authority in The Prick of Conscience and normative pastoralia of its ilk), and upon personified contact. The latter feature, that the first-person engages with other speakers, immediately identifies statement with dramatic contact/conflict. Conversation or “voicing,” the poem’s most abiding mode, only occurs in a state of difference—information to which only one party is privy, disagreement about the meaning of a statement. As poem, Piers Plowman is predicated upon differing discourses, available elsewhere fragmented (yet always, within each of the individual sites, within a claim of internal discursive completeness). Yet here these separate voices are unified within the same text. Normative study, which has constructed the poem’s enigmatic status, has been predicated on a refusal to recognize that quality of “voice,” to refuse to contextualize statements. Rather, the tendency has been to take all statements, unless glaringly partial, as equally fervent statements of authorial opinion. Insofar as these are recognizable social discourses, the poet did not make, but inherits them. And, as preexisting his work, they ensured the poem’s social legibility. But, in their combination they are freed, the product of Langland’s poetic vision. The poet can appropriate any variety of publicly available discourses, but he alone is responsible for their conjointure. In joining them, he automatically places what had been nontangential forms of speech, the property of discrete communities, in collision—so that none can mean precisely the same thing as any of them had meant before in isolation (a peril to the normative annotational regime, with its interest in the sort of identity relations implicit in “source-hunting”). Further, as publicly available, these speechforms “belong” in different sites, to different communities (e.g., the Seven Deadly Sins to parish priests, the language of Statutes to the law). The poet, while conversant with all these discourses, certainly “represents” all the individual communities to which they might properly pertain. Here Langland’s self-presentation, particularly in those portions of C treated in this volume, is telling; he belongs to no community at all, to the chagrin of those who interrogate him at the head of this vision. Indeed, he is engaged, particularly aggressively in the C version, in constructing a community populated, it would appear, by himself alone. Analogously, although discourses might be associated with communities, the poet’s appropriation of them is

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defiantly non- or anti-institutional (which is also to be problematic, unplaced and estranged from the unity the poem seeks—and that the originals of the discourses, here effaced, had once allegedly provided). What follows, then, can only be imbricated in a personalized reading, not just of the fine annotators who have preceded me, but of the poem itself. There is no way of escaping the hermeneutic circle. Past annotation of Joseph’s dreaming is deeply learned, predicated on a knowledge I don’t possess. But, annotationally, it appears to me an ineffectual learnedness (what some of our group dismissively call “lore”) because it does not address what I think the poem is saying or attempting to emphasize. As a result, what follows is unabashedly interpretative; I can see no way of offering helpful annotation without a prior critical engagement. Only this gives a sense of what might be “at stake,” fundamental to deciding what might need to be explained (as well as what might need to be ignored, decisions that comparisons of the following pages with other of the poem’s annotators will highlight). At the same time, I would suggest that there is a difference, at least in underlying rhetorical invention, between my activity here and what I would undertake in a critical essay. Rather than imagining my commentative engagement as an expression of personal brilliance, I here try to imagine myself as any active and inquisitive reader, alternately comforted and shocked by words in juxtaposition, and to imagine (and to discover) the kinds of information that underwrite such excitements. Given the long space since this project’s inception, many points that should have been bruited here have appeared in the interim as “outtakes” of one sort or another (starting with my 1990). They are rarely repeated in this volume with any exactitude, and the differences between formulations on those earlier occasions and that provided on this one are salient. They indicate, both in information provided and in rhetorical mien, the difference I conceive between writing about the poem within a framework “critically interpretative” and writing a commentary. It will be for readers to judge whether this effort at depersonalization has borne fruit or not.

* * * Having identified my own take on the issue of commentary, I return to the various decisions in which I concurred with the remainder of the team. These are those decisions I have above described as “logistical” and that defined the outer limits of our common project. We readily agreed that we pursued the impossible, to replace the irreplaceable, Walter Skeat’s grand annotation of the poem in the second volume of his 1886 edition. This is an impossible task,

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because Skeat had a virtually tactile grasp of the available Middle English archive, having edited most of it (and knowing the rest of it thoroughly). His was a virtually universal knowledge none of us—and perhaps not all of us together—could match (cf. the very selective bibliography at Skeat 1896: lxxix–lxxxiv). We also could agree that for this purpose, we would rely on the texts produced by George Kane and his collaborators in the Athlone editions. (We remain particularly grateful to George Russell and to Kane for making a prepublication version of their edited C text available to us from the start.) Yet simultaneously, we agreed that one could not set out one version as somehow existing in a space that did not include the others. (This fact, although seldom discussed here, tends to undermine the Athlone editorial project, which, as has been traditional since Skeat, hermetically seals off the versions from one another; cf. Brewer’s critiques, 1996 passim.) In considering how to frame our endeavor, we decided to key our commentary to C. On the one hand, we had before us the model of Skeat, who had prioritized C; on the other, we assumed that, in its various revisions, the poem had developed, and that C had a certain priority as Langland’s considered “last words,” whether or not these are complete last words, and whether or not this is the version of the text most usually read. Largely because we recognize the continuing pedagogical priority of the B version, we decided to hypermark our text to facilitate access to our opinions on any version. (Undermarking of parallel passages is a persistent annoyance in using Skeat.) Thus, as I have already indicated, we planned to follow Skeat’s model and to present annotation to the poem, in all its versions. To a much greater degree than Skeat’s practice reveals, this decision for us meant approaching the poem as a developing object (although not necessarily one with any particular telos). In turn, this necessitated some decisions about both the poem’s trajectory of development and its extent. In our discussions, we unanimously ratified the traditional view that, in gross, the poem Langland wrote exists as three discrete versions, chronologically ordered as A, B, and C. We had, before Jill Mann’s 1994 intervention, rejected the possibility that A might have followed B; one of us subsequently wrote a detailed refutation of Mann’s views (Lawler 1996, and cf. Kane 1999), in which we all concur. Further support for this decision emerged from our agreement about the prominence of B in studies of the poem. In our discussions, we came to see the centrality of this version as, in the main, an historical accident. The B Version was what Robert Crowley found to print in 1550, and it remained almost exclusively what was in print down to Skeat’s work on the poem. The only exception to the rule, Thomas D. Whitaker (1813; cf. Brewer 1996:37–45),

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offered C, and A was not identified as a distinct version of the poem until Skeat’s researches of the 1860s. Modern critical preference has arguably enshrined as Piers Plowman a decision taken on accidental grounds (likely the availability of a copy from which to typeset a printed version) long ago. Equally, the extensive revision that converted B into C would indicate the wisdom of keying a commentary dedicated to the poem’s development to C (and arguments for this version’s incompleteness, e.g., at RK 82–88, are mistaken and have forestalled thinking on this issue; see further Hanna 1998). We equally concurred in omitting any extensive treatment of the socalled Z-text (although it occasionally appears in notes, e.g., that to B 5.226). This rendition of the poem, unique to MS Bodley 851, we find the work of an enthusiastic (and not always very savvy) admirer of William Langland, but not Langland himself. Kane’s showing in 1985, to which our various researches have presented a host of further analogous examples (e.g., Hanna 1996:195– 202), seems to us compelling. Reading the text in detail constantly reveals the Z-reviser’s misprisions of what Piers Plowman was about; a small but telling example of such obtuseness appears at Z 2.56. There “meble” is legally inept, since the following charter describes real property (as the legally literate poet was certainly aware). We further believe with the Athlone editors that the poem was promulgated thrice, and thrice only (ignoring the issue of what the term “promulgation” would mean in Langland’s case, and whether all versions were subject to identical procedures). We regard a variety of other proposals, notably Scase 1987 (a D text?) and Warner 2002/2007, as unconvincing. We agree that these arguments rest only upon an inability to conceptualize appropriately the vicissitudes of texts in manuscript transmission (see Hanna 1996:204–14, 2010; Adams and Turville-Petre 2013). We also agreed to adapt a traditional approach to the problem of versions. Our commentary, perhaps unhelpfully, has been predicated on the method of parallel texts laid out by Skeat (and now followed in Schmidt). This choice in many ways was driven by our conception of the textual problem, the view that Langland had begun with A, worked A into B and then B into C, and that our task was to outline this ordered development. As we have worked, at times we have come to feel that this may be a weak point in our procedures; certainly, considering the poem as a developing entity has often led us to believe that versional revisions may not always most usefully be predicated upon passages immediately congruent in parallel-text structure. Revision may, in a number of situations, reflect the poet’s responses to loci very distant in the texts (a point raised by Wood 2012). Our chosen form of presentation may well have precluded our noticing a great many such instances.

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Decisions like these provided our annotational group a framework within which we might proceed. It did not, however, resolve the issue of our relationship to our predecessors, to how we would handle the rich variety of suggestions about Langland’s meaning thrown up over a century and more of active scholarship since Skeat. We discussed at considerable length various rhetorical modes in which our commentary might be situated. At a relatively early stage, we rejected the possibility of a variorum commentary (which might include our own additions). Here we were especially cognizant of Pearsall’s excellent bibliography (1990) and its annual continuations in YLS. Access to a relatively complete listing of interpretative and annotational suggestions is available elsewhere. Further, variorums are fraught with rhetorical difficulties that we hoped our annotation might avoid. A true variorum, since it requires citing everything ever said, forms something of a rubble heap, every suggestion duly noted, regardless of value. At the other extreme, what one might call a “critical variorum,” would require a potentially ceaseless stream of negative commentary (e.g., even the customarily amiable Pearsall describes one study as offering “cues for misreading” [1990:96]). We agreed that we were not interested in engaging in dogfights over the value of individual contributions; equally, we found an unannotated variorum hopeless in its failure to discriminate things any interested student should read from all things, e.g., Pearsall’s dismissal of a book-length study above (or his comment on another book, “surely exaggerates the mystical element” [1990:243], a thorough rejection of the thesis argued in the work so described). We determined not to pursue exhaustiveness in favor of some more pointed goal, while affirming that we would offer references to all discussions of the point under consideration from which we had drawn useful knowledge. Unless it seemed a view thoroughly entrenched in need of detailed refutation, we agreed to allow views we did not find helpful to pass in silence. This decision may place an undue burden upon our readers, in the absence of overt statements of disagreement. However, the general arguments here pursued will implicitly indicate why we have found some statements about the poem of minimal helpfulness. Thus, we ultimately concurred in a program that would support an eclectic method, a well-defined medieval compendiary pursuit of “gathering flowers,” the best that has been thought and written, that might be most useful to a reader. (Cf. Thomas of Ireland’s prologue to his Manipulus florum, Rouse and Rouse 236.) We further agreed that, while eschewing exhaustiveness, we would not simply report the best from materials already available in the formal annotation and scholarly literature of Piers Plowman. Some past notes might

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be fruitfully extended, and many passages that remained problematic to us had never received any thorough treatment. Thus, we would rely to some extent on our own research-based knowledge, to identify the many valuable contributions of past scholars, as well as to pursue additional helpful materials. We also discussed, and were able to resolve fairly quickly, the issue of our target audience. The most recent models (or competitors) for what we envisioned, Bennett and Schmidt1were composed for neophyte readers in undergraduate teaching contexts. (This did not mean, particularly in the case of Bennett, a wise master of the uniquely Oxbridge exercise known as “critical commentary,” that there were not notes in these volumes edifying to any reader of the poem, no matter how experienced.) However, we were agreed that we wished to address a more sophisticated cadre, to offer annotation for colleagues and graduates. Thus, our model would differ from the most contemporary annotational modes and would follow those we found in Skeat, probably in Pearsall1 (originally composed for an extraordinary group of graduates at the University of York, many now prominent professors), and, in a volume that has appeared in the course of our work, Schmidt. And we remained acutely aware of a narrowing of focus in Piers Plowman studies, in which what were the basic interpretative commonplaces guiding readers as recently as the 1980s might require some form of reassertion. However, the broader issue—what a commentary was and what ends it sought—remained unresolved, and often a contentious issue among us. At the same time, we felt there was an ample arena in which work could proceed. We remained conscious of the fact that Skeat’s labors were more than a century old. Many more texts, particularly examples of devotional prose, had appeared since his time. Moreover, particularly in the years since 1949, when Donaldson had laid the vitiating “authorship controversy” to bed, the poem had appeared as an object of criticism, analyzed within any variety of provocative contexts. These had, of course, suggested new ways of explaining its contours and implicitly identified a rich surround of discussions available to Langland across a range of languages and discursive sites. And when we began, in the absence of Schmidt, no one since Skeat had attempted annotation of “the poem Piers Plowman’ ” in all its versions. The variations in explanatory technique that mark the various volumes of The Penn Commentary largely are predicated upon our laissez-faire decision made at this point—and the specific difficulties each of us found in his or her portion of the text. The explanation of procedures I have offered above seeks to explicate the form of this volume alone. As I have indicated, the commentary team agreed on these guiding procedures by sometime in spring 1990. However, because coming to completion has proved such a protracted process, our work now emerges, a prospect we

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could not have envisioned when we began, in a context in which Carl Schmidt’s full parallel text and apparatus are readily available. It is thus appropriate to offer some account of how our efforts interface with his. Certainly, Schmidt’s parallel texts offer a useful scholarly service. They helpfully expand upon the evidentiary basis on which Skeat relied and provide a considerably more satisfactory account of the poem (but for their inclusion of Z) than Skeat was able to give. However, Schmidt’s textual decisions rely too heavily upon attestation/stemmatic reasoning, and his product, as a result, is considerably less cogent than that, thought through on a variant-by-variant basis, of the Athlone editors (cf. Hanna 1997a, and for an assessment of Schmidt’s skills as grammarian and lexicographer of ME, Kane 1993). We see no reason, particularly given our decision to address a sophisticated audience, to abandon our previous decision to key our text to the Athlone edition. (Our decision to provide lemmata, as well as line references to all three versions, will facilitate the use of Schmidt’s notes, as well as those of other editions.) Schmidt’s annotation is extensive and often very helpful. But he conceives his annotational role, as in his criticism (e.g., Schmidt 1987): as someone displaying Langland as poetic craftsman, a careful shaper of often moving verse. As a result, Schmidt’s textual notes, although filled with brilliancies concerning grammatical relations and local poetic detail (a number of which I include or allude to), fall largely within what we call “grammatical annotation.” One gains very little sense from Schmidt of poetic argument (as opposed to local poetic craft), or of the poem entering a world in which many of its topics would encounter and jostle with widely dispersed discursive concerns. Our approaches should best be viewed as complementing one another.

* * * Using the traditional commentaries on Piers Plowman is relatively easy. Their authors proceed, as grammarians always have, by the line. A reader finding something puzzling in the text and seeking guidance can turn immediately to that line number in the consecutively arranged “notes” and find whatever information the commentator has provided to help resolve the dilemma. Our commentaries include a large number of the local assays familiar from these past models. But simultaneously, they are considerably more capacious. This follows from the arguments above that unraveling local enigma requires a general contextual decision that is larger than the simple line number that identifies past “grammatical annotation” of the poem. As noted above, we agreed rather early in this procedure to a commentary predicated on the medieval technique of divisio textus. We sought to identify substantial blocks

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of text, many longer than even the “verse paragraphs” demarcated by some of the poem’s most careful scribes (e.g., the copyists of LMRW of the B version). These offer a surer contextual grasp on poetic argument and its direction than merely considering lines in isolation, or within a five- to ten-line surround. However, this decision does place on our readers unaccustomed burdens. In general, our “division notes,” the headnotes that preface the varying stretches into which we have divided the text, are elaborate and detailed. They are much more so than what succeeds them, the more traditional notes addressing “grammatical” matters. These longer headnotes, as I have indicated above, present a paradox; while we segment the poem, these notes most forcefully attempt to present its continuities. Hence, the most attentive user of our volumes will need to consider both sets. (In both sets, references have been keyed to the lineation of Russell and Kane’s C version [with “L” indicating one of Langland’s Latin lines]; cross-references to corresponding passages in A and B follow in parentheses.)1 Although all of us have collected long lists of readings from all three volumes we should have preferred not to see in a printed text of the poem, we agreed, as a general rule, to accept the Athlone text of the poem’s three versions without comment. Quite infrequently we point toward printed readings that have suppressed ones we find instrumental in pursuing the poem’s argument; see, for example, 5.10n or my one protracted assay, five possible corrections included in the notes to 8.206–88 passim. All Latin, both Langland’s citations and my illustrative materials, has been translated; as a general rule, translations are my own. However, all renditions of biblical materials have been taken from the Douay-Rheims version, and I have provided Siegfried Wenzel’s elegant facing-page translation, occasionally corrected, of the many citations I have drawn from Fasciculus Morum.

* * * I am personally indebted to a large number of people. First of all, to the other five members (including our retired colleague John Alford) of our group for a generation’s worth of readings, commentary on drafts, general amiable conversations, and suggestions. Most particularly, Steve Barney and Anne Middleton were assiduous in going over every word—and more than once—and in 1. The presentation of Piers in this volume differs slightly from that outlined by my predecessors in their “Notes to the Reader” (Galloway 2006:vii; Barney 2006:ix). I cite the texts in the order C (always unmarked), then A and B, in that order. Latin lines outside the poem’s general lineation are indicated by citing the preceding numbered line, followed by “L.” For the abbreviations Galloway and Barney list in these headnotes, see p. xxvi below.

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offering comfort and suggestions. This intense level of interchange means that the text below can scarcely be presented as single-authored, since I have absorbed more material and suggestions from the remainder of the team than I can acknowledge. I am particularly sad that Anne won’t see her many contributions and inspirations in print. Our common academic patrons, UCHRI and the National Endowment for the Humanities, also deserve thanks for their generous support of the project, particularly in its earliest stages. I have also benefited from the largesse of Keble College and of the Faculty of English Language and Literature, Oxford University. A number of my colleagues have, often inadvertently and without meaning to feed my various manias, made significant contributions to this volume. I deeply regret that one, a friend and support for half a century since we were graduate students together, will not see these pages. I miss Lee Patterson’s growl (he’s the only person who has ever thought I wasn’t cynical enough) and his tenacious probity, the model lucid historical investigator and a coparticipant in the UCHRI “Annotation” project with which this volume began. My persistent interlocutors, Vincent Gillespie, Anne Hudson, Lynn Staley, Thorlac Turville-Petre, and Sarah Wood, have given me far more than they knew. Both Derek Pearsall and Robert Swanson, as they have for other volumes in this series, offered meticulous and fully detailed readings of the script, from which I profited immensely. Jerry Singerman and the University of Pennsylvania Press have performed admirably to bring some now aged computer files into an elegant published form. In spite of all these efforts at making this script into something of authority, I acknowledge my responsibility for all its shortcomings.

Regularly Occurring Abbreviations

Many primary texts, of considerably less frequent appearance in this volume, have abbreviated forms of reference listed at the beginning of the Bibliography. AN AND Bennett

CCSL CCCM Donaldson 1990

DTC EETS Kane (unqualified) KD

L ME MED OE OED Pearsall

Anglo-Norman French The Anglo-Norman Dictionary: http://www.anglo-nor man.net. Langland Piers Plowman: The Prologue and Passus I–VII of the B text . . . , ed. J. A. W. Bennett. Clarendon Medieval and Tudor Series. Oxford: Clarendon, 1972. Corpus Christianorum, series latina Corpus Christianorum, continuatio medievalis E. Talbot Donaldson, ed. Elizabeth D. Kirk and Judith H. Anderson. Will’s Vision of Piers Plowman. New York: Norton. Dictionnaire de the´ologie catholique, ed. Alfred Vacant et al. 15 vols. Paris: Letouzey et Ane´, 1903–46. Early English Text Society Piers Plowman: The A Version, ed. George Kane. London: Athlone, 1960.[also the source of all citations of A] Piers Plowman: The B Version, ed. George Kane and E. Talbot Donaldson. London: Athlone, 1975. [also the source of all citations of B] William Langland Middle English The Middle English Dictionary: http://quod.lib.umich .edu/m/med Old English The Oxford English Dictionary William Langland Piers Plowman: A New Annotated Edition of the C-text, ed. Derek Pearsall. Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2008.

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Regularly Occurring Abbreviations

Pearsall1

PL

PP RK

Salter and Pearsall Schmidt

Schmidt1

Skeat

Walther Initia

Walther Provs

Whiting

YLS

Piers Plowman by William Langland: An Edition of the Ctext, ed. Derek Pearsall. York Medieval Texts 2nd ser. London: Arnold, 1978. Patrologia Latina [the individual authors in this collection, as well as in CC, are not entered here, but all references to them appear in the index] the poem Piers Plowman (the character is always referred to by name) Piers Plowman: The C Version, ed. George Russell and George Kane. London: Athlone, 1997. [also the source of all citations of C] Piers Plowman, ed. Elizabeth Salter and Derek Pearsall. York Medieval Texts. London: Arnold, 1967. William Langland Piers Plowman: A Parallel-Text Edition of the A, B, C and Z Versions, ed. A. V. C. Schmidt. Rev. ed., 2 vols. in 3. Kalamazoo, Mich.: MedievalInstitute, 2011 [here in particular, the sequence of notes 2.ii: 516–71]. William Langland The Vision of Piers Plowman: A Critical Edition of the B-Text . . . , ed. A. V. C. Schmidt. 2nd ed. London: Dent, 1995. The Vision of William Concerning Piers the Plowman in Three Parallel Texts . . . , ed. Walter W. Skeat. 2 vols. London: Oxford University Press, 1886 et seq. Hans Walther. Initia carminum ac versuum Medii Aevi Posterioris Latinorum. 2nd ed. Go¨ttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1969. Hans Walther. Proverbia sententiaeque latin tatis medii aevi. 5 vols. Go¨ ttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1963–67. Bartlett J. Whiting. Proverbs, Sentences, and Proverbial Phrases from English Writings Mainly Before 1500. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1968. The Yearbook of Langland Studies.

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

Headnote In all three versions of the poem, a new vision begins in passus 5. L displays the materials of the first half of this dream in a different way in each text, however. The C version, which contains a number of large expansions, has three units. In the substantially new passus 5, the dreamer defends himself against Reason and Conscience, and Reason delivers his sermon (which now addresses the dreamer and his quasi-clerical status, as well as the folk in the fair field). In passus 6, the sins confess (except for Sloth, at the head of passus 7); passus 7 also includes Repentance’s speech, the meeting with Piers, and the discussion of pilgrimage. In the B version, the sermon and the acts following upon it—confession, an expansion with Repentance’s prayer for God’s absolving mercy, and the penitential pilgrimage—are all treated within a single textual unit. The A version, as usual considerably less developed, splits material between two units: passus 5 has Conscience’s sermon demanding repentance, the confession of Six Deadly Sins (Wrath does not appear in A; see 6.103n), and the initial impulse to pilgrimage; A passus 6 opposes the palmer and Piers. In C, this passus opens with a new initiative, the longest sustained waking dialogic encounter in the poem (1–108). This expands upon the more modest efforts already present in B, which correspond to 9.294–352, 10.1–67 (but see 9.293n—C’s second vision is bracketed between these two protracted waking moments), 22.1–52 (see further 1n). Here the youthful dreamer, living with a woman in Cornhill in London, enjoys a life of indolence during a harvest season; in clothing and activity, he resembles “lollares of londone and lewede Ermytes” (3). Yet he simultaneously claims to be distinguishable from such figures, either by his ability to rationally assert the meaning of their activities or by his composition of verses satirizing those actions (see 5n). In the waking interlude, L scrutinizes this ambivalent stance. Two “characters” who are nothing except productions of Will’s own dreaming now appear as if real persons. Reason chastises the dreamer for his “lollare”-like indolence, and eventually Conscience joins Reason in assessing Will’s behavior (see 6n and cf. 9.305n).

2

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

The interrogation shows Will as a figure subjected to two discourses, one civil and one ecclesiastical (Middleton 1990:74), within each of which he may be viewed critically. On the one hand, his nonfeasance exposes him to the strictures of late fourteenth-century labor legislation (particularly the 1388 promulgation of the Statute of Laborers, for which see extensively Middleton 1997): in these terms, he appears merely an able-bodied beggar, thus a parasite and an illicit drain on the community, and not currently occupying any appropriate social position. Many notes below indicate the influence of Statute language; for those addressing the 1388 act in detail, see 7–8n, 22–25n, 29–30n, 35–44n, 36n, 53–60Ln, 89–91n. Simultaneously, Will is judged by the standards of the gospels. He is potentially identifiable with the dishonest steward of Luke 16 (see 22–25n), someone who has misspent his lord’s gifts without generating any return on his behalf. This parable—and Luke 16:2—provided the text for Thomas Wimbledon’s famous sermon, preached at St. Paul’s Cross in 1388; however, connections between sermon and poem are particularly attenuated, except in the language discussed at 36n and 43Ln below. One might further note the analogy of PLM 3509–3764. This sequence describes the dreamer’s first moment of decision, the point when his pilgrimage route forks. Rather than follow the path of the rural matmaker Labor or Occupation, the dreamer chooses that guarded by Oiseuce, daughter of Peresce (among the most overt of de Deguilleville’s rewritings of The Romance of the Rose). Were he to regain his proper path, the dreamer would have to pass through a hedge of thorns separating the two ways; probably in allusion to a famous episode in the life of St. Benedict, the thorn hedge represents Penitence. To these and related charges, Will answers forcefully. He claims a continuing inheritance based on a training he received in his youth, but one no longer clearly in evidence—a claim that, if sustained, would free him from Statute jurisdiction. This is training as some form of cleric, perhaps a selfcreated but literate (not “lewed”) hermit (cf. 9.140–58n). On this basis, he has not misused his gifts and may indeed claim for himself a role other than dishonest steward (or prodigal son), an apostolic warrant predicated upon gospel injunctions (see 45–52n). From this perspective, Will can rail at Reason for not attending to more serious social disruptions, broadly associable with “simony,” and can claim, albeit through some witty transformations, to fulfill gospel precepts (see 86–88n, 98Ln). His response earns Reason and Conscience’s grudging acceptance; they leave him alone, encouraging him to go to church, where he falls asleep (to create more of his poem).

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

3

In his second dream, Will sees (as he had in the earlier versions) a sermon designed to bring the realm to contrition, delivered by Reason (in A, Conscience). This address, which fills the remainder of the C passus, consists of a series of directives enjoining appropriate behavior on various estates and statu¯s: laborers, women, husbands and fathers, the clergy (particularly regulars), the king and pope, pilgrims. In C, Reason’s sermon is significantly expanded, for the figure speaks a large section of A 11/B 10 (146–79) originally assigned to the figure Clergy. This material partially answers Will’s earlier outrage at recent social dislocations (notably 76–79), attacks abuses by the regular clergy, and concludes with a prophecy of royal correction. Other additions unique to C address unity, class cohesiveness within the kingdom, and peace throughout Christendom (182–90, 192–96).

* * * 1–108 The dreamer’s defense of his life: Among relevant discussions, one should single out Donaldson 1949:199–226, who interprets the passage as if fully autobiographical (a view re-enunciated by Burrow 1981:38–39 and 1993:83–86). Later commentators suggest that this meeting with Reason and Conscience should be viewed within contemporary systems of selfrepresentation; see Kane 1965b:esp. 7–11; Bowers 1986:165–89; and instructive parallels adduced in Thornley 1967. Pearsall, following Donaldson 1949:78 etc., sees the passage as as much an “apologia pro vita sua” as a confession—which certainly aligns it with the subsequent portraits of the Seven Deadly Sins; see further 11n. Skeat aptly compares the passage with B 12.16–28, removed in C, since, as Day first suggested (1928:1–2), it has in many ways been subsumed into this expansion (cf. B 12.20 “somwhat me to excuse” and 5n). However, C 5 differs from Imaginative’s flat rejection of Will’s poetry in B. Here L takes up the dreamer’s problematic “biography” as putting in question his relation to any legitimate status. In spite of his informing interests in the most basic socioreligious problems (voiced at 1.76–80), his self-created status (mentioned in the poem’s opening four lines) may well qualify any hope of valuable discoveries, since these may be predicated merely upon such personal enthusiasm. Yet most obviously, this waking interlude disrupts the poem as it had stood in AB and significantly changes how one might read it. Through this intrusion, the entire standing text is completely reconfigured. No longer can one read C altogether profitably in parallel with AB; the waking interlude introduces new terms of engagement, with projective effects throughout the

4

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

second vision—and extending into the third (cf. 9.293n). For differing views, see Kane 1998 and Wittig 2001 (and 6.Headnote at the end, 6.2n). Most important, this episode writes the poem into a mode familiar from earlier Continental dream visions, with their emphasis on the dreamer’s contact/dialogue with figures of authority (cf. 6n). Rather than a largely observational, third-person account, like the first two visions in AB, the “autobiographical passage” recenters the poem upon its dreamer. His person, his opinions, and his contact with other figures become a frame that governs what the poem can accomplish. A purported “biography” defines its interest, most trenchantly as the restoration of apostolic fervor to the Christian, and thus contemporary social, state of England. Equally, because the passage introduces “a life,” this interlude potentially dissolves what is always seen, on the basis of the B version, as a major divide in the poem. This falls between C passu¯s 9 and 10 (traditionally designated parts of the “Visio” and the “Vita,” respectively). This feature also acknowledges dialogue as the ground-form of the poem, accommodating C to already standing materials in the later portions of AB. Further, an outstanding feature of the C revision, its “frontloading” of materials from the third and fourth visions, not simply limited to B 12.16–28, testifies to this greater integration (as well as indicating that views highlighted early in C had, for its poet, always been at least tacit in the poem, if differently disposed and developed). One prominent example of such materials advanced in the argument is provided by a later meditation on proper poetry, the discussion of minstrelsy at 7.81–118L. In addition, the C dreamer much more readily intrudes in the second vision than he had done in the comparable portions of AB. At such moments, most notably 9.71–280, he enunciates views that follow from and echo his selfportrayal here, thereby appearing in some sense a clearly defined “character” (or more precisely, figure with established discursive interests). Not so coincidentally, these are materials associated with “nonsolicitousness”—and in the earlier versions with Piers Plowman and his tearing of the pardon. Implicitly from a very early point (perhaps first at 7n), the dreamer appears as a figure programmed to seek and to imitate a Piers, a figure of charisma deserving of grace and mercy. In contrast to AB, with their careful unity of time and place (see 1–11n), the C movement past the first vision to the second might better be described as “rupture.” The narrative moves directly from “court” to “cote,” from the guiding social pinnacle to one of London’s seedier enclaves. Simultaneously, attention shifts to, not the constructors of law, but those subject to the law (a movement answered in the interchange between Piers and the knight; see 8.19–55n).

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

5

Simultaneously, this abrupt turn might be construed as an implicit redefinition of the poetic task, associable with a different social locale. In leaving court, the poem moves from a site poetically associated with lyric complaint, the song of the despairing courtly youth. Such a figure cannot actually “vision”: “Nihtes when Y wende and wake—兩 For3i myn wonges waxe3 won” (Brown XIII, no. 77/22–23, a Harley lyric). The poem’s substitutions for such lyric “wanhope” are provided by such utterances, discovered in vision, as Ps. 6:7 (cf. “penaunce discrete” 84n) or 41:4 (cf. B 7.128L). In the dreamer’s interrogation by Reason and Conscience, biography comes to be defined as the investigation of “moral character.” In a broad sense, this emphasis guides the entire second vision, which continuously emphasizes the submission to guiding authority, most particularly penitential authority. However, as was explicit in the now-canceled B 12.16–28, the poem is more prone to speak the fervor of spiritual renewal than to enact it, to exist as nonpenitential discussion while always enjoining the activity. This keynote is struck early on in Will’s allusion to his “romynge in remembraunce” (see 11n), attempting the memorial reconstruction of the confessional, but with no abiding sense of a constructive procedure to follow. However, as Will’s inquisition makes progressively clearer, the most visible alternative to the actual practice of a “penaunce discrete” is poetic metaphor. Throughout the second vision, the poem describes, on any number of occasions, the replacement of the socially accepted yet uninspiring vehicle with an unfamiliar but vital alternative. As the poem moves from “court” to “cote,” inherent in Will’s self-defense is a redefinition of “aristocracy” itself. This term no longer strictly refers to those landholding magnates who do not have tasks but impose them on tenants (one focus of a second variety of courtly “complaint” here rejected, the social satire derived from alliterative tradition and W&W; see my 2005:247–48, 259–62). Rather, in the waking interlude Will, now the focus of his poem, reconceptualizes “estate.” Instead of magnate properties, he offers the gospel terms of a spiritual heritage (“hereditas”). Thus, the biographical episode subsumes into a speaker (and thus “maker”) the most general poetic effect associated with the second vision in all versions (see Burrow 1965, and further 5.111–200n, 7.Headnote, 7.108n, 7.161n, and 7.182–204n). Poetry here presents, in dubious garments, a “vocation” that seeks to return gospel possibility to a world where it is currently lacking. For the dreamer’s antitypes, perpetual creators of metaphors parodying the gospels, cf. 9n, 28n, and the later confessions of Gluttony and Sloth. See also Scott 2004:164–74. 1–11 The dreamer wakes in London: The London locale both accords with and complicates the geographical shape of the “Visio.” The first two dreams

6

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

mirror one another in terms of geographical movement. The first begins with the dreamer on the Malvern Hills and viewing, in the main, an indeterminate but possibly East Midland (cf. 2.114, more explicit materials at A 2.72–76, B 2.108–12) rural locale; from this, the action passes to the central court, Westminster, at 2.148–203. The second vision reverses this movement: Reason’s sermon takes place “byfore 3e kyng” (113), but the pilgrims to Truth eventually move out to the provinces again at 7.155–60, 182. And a symmetrical reference to the dreamer on Malvern, inherited from AB, occurs at 9.296. Thus, waking in a London neighborhood corresponds to the movement of the narrative. But simultaneously, this new passage disrupts the single Malvern scene inhabited by the dreamer in the AB “Visio” (not to mention the temporal unity of AB, in which the two dreams occupy but a single morning). This disruption may be responsible for the additional (and awkward) reference to Malvern unique to C (5.110). See further Prol.5n, 9.296n. This geographical placement helps to establish one of the two discursive frameworks within which L constructs the scene, statute law. Ample evidence, signaled by the use of whan (which implies a temporary residence), implies that Cornhill is not the dreamer’s proper locale. Not only does the remainder of the “Visio” occur during a Malvern morning, but, as M. L. Samuels argues (1988:201–12), L’s speech reflects the dialect of the same area, southwestern Worcestershire. Will is not in his home country, as Middleton (1990:55–59) trenchantly demonstrates. Indeed, the C Version, as she notes, pays tribute to this out-of-placeness by disrupting the B dreamer’s anagrammatic signature Wille Longe-Londe (B 15.152); cf. the replacement line “Ich haue yleued in londone monye longe 9eres” (16.288; cf. 5.24n). As a wanderer, and (as he admits; see 7–8n) an able-bodied one, he is potentially subject to all the strictures enshrined in successive promulgations of the Statute of Laborers (see especially 35–44n). 1 Thus y awakede: The boundary between the poem’s first and second dreams differs in C and in AB. In the earlier versions, the first dream ends within this passus (at A 5.3, B 5.3), and the dreamer manages only five or six lines awake before succumbing again. But in C, the final line of the preceding passus announces the dreamer’s waking, and this line only reiterates the fact, while beginning to establish the very specific parameters through which the dreamer’s waking life is represented. The same fastidiousness in achieving harmony of scene and passus boundaries occurs at the juncture of C passu¯s 7 and 8 (see 7.307–8n). As Middleton notes (1997:211–12, 269–70), in certain respects this juncture between two dreams is the most important of the poem. The extension of PP

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

7

past a single dream marks the difference between this poet and poem and any possible vernacular predecessor, e.g., W&W. The possibility of a second dream institutes the peculiar form of PP, its reliance on episodic, mirroring, and often ruptured or inconclusive visions (cf. Middleton 1982 and see further 11n). Moreover, the waking interlude here also reveals something of L’s sense of poetic structure. As I will indicate at many points (see the preceding note and esp. 8.19–55n), the poem’s second vision deliberately mirrors the first, in the main by social inversion (cf. Middleton 2013:121–24). It thus establishes one basic pattern in the poem, the arrangement of its eight “outer” dreams into four pairs. Here the waking scene creates a further structural balance. It answers the last waking interlude in the poem, the dreamer’s meeting with Need (22.1–52): just as that conversation separates the next-to-last and last visions of PP, so this one separates the first and second visions. And these two waking scenes raise similar thematic concerns—the degree to which the dreamer may be conceived to be licitly indigent, free to take what he pleases for his survival without regard to contemporary expectations about labor (see Middleton 1997:234–35, 270–72). ——— whan y wonede in Cornehull: Pearsall notes that Cornhill “had something of a reputation as a resort of London vagabonds” (cf. Hanawalt 2005:1069–71); he cites “London Lickpenny” 85–88 for the stolen-clothes market there (he might have noted the connection with its proprietors, the vphalderes of 6.374 and 12.216–18). But although the locale may have spawned its own route of ratones, it was also a place (as Pearsall sees) associated with the imposition of severe judicial punishments, the site both of a prison, the Tun, and of a pillory and stocks. Indeed, London legislation of 1359 specifically cites these stocks as those to which officials of all wards should bring false beggars capable of labor (Clopper 1992:19). See also Benson 2000. 2 Kytte and y: At 20.469, Kytte reappears—at that point probably as the dreamer’s wife (and mother of his child; cf. the actions of my wyf at 22.193). But ME wife n. is ambiguous, either “woman” or “wife,” and Kit’s status here remains unclear. Given the next line and Will’s association with—and concomitant efforts to distinguish himself from—lewede Eremytes, Kit may be simply his concubine, one of those “Walsingham wenches” L has described at Prol.52. And as I have pointed out (1997:32–34), some evidence for married hermits does exist. The name Kit, just like that of the daughter Calot who also appears at 20.469, identifies the figure as a “type-female.” The derived common noun a

8

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

kitte (7.304) refers to a wife; Kitte is also the (type-)name of the cunning tapster who dupes the Pardoner in the “Prologue to the Tale of Beryn” (see lines 65–66), and the phrase “lewde kitt(is)” describes tricky women there (lines 443–46) and as a plausible emendation at Mum 1357 (in a passage inspired by PP, perhaps this locus). Mustanoja (1970:70) provides telling examples of pet-names for Katherine to define stock feminine “abuses.” He thus cites N-Town Plays, EETS ss 11, 139/15 and 17, respectively, for Kate kell (Katherine with her hairnet?) and Kytt cakelere (Kitty, who will not—like all women—keep her mouth shut). Rather than a discernible person, L’s wife, Kytte may just represent a type—female companionship, with all those irritations misogynists, like the author of the “Prologue to Beryn,” comment upon. See further 128n below. Indeed, in many respects Will’s sexuality is a synecdoche for his identity. It is obviously relevant to two of the signatures Middleton identifies (1990:44– 52, 74): “3e longe launde 3at leccherie hatte” (A 11.118) and “3e londe of longynge and loue” (B 11.8). One might compare further Wit’s endorsement of sexuality at B 9.182–86L, a passage that suggests that the dreamer here is still yong and yeep; Concupiscentia Carnis offers similar counsel at 11.176–80, and Imaginative recalls Will’s “wilde wantownesse whiles 3ow yong were” (B 12.6). Will’s life, as he describes it here (cf. his locution, “louede wel fare” 8), is one of desire and self-indulgence; cf. the “unreasonable” life of mankind 13.151–55. In the context of Will’s later claim to perfection and a special status that would underwrite his life, and thus his poetry (see 84n below for its relation to passus 11), the repetition of the name Kitte at 7.304 (see 7.292–306n) is perhaps especially damning: Luke 14, the same biblical locus from which L will identify at 7.81–118L a blessed form of “minstrelsy,” equally condemns the man overly solicitous about his kitte. However, Kytte has normally been read here as a wife and the dreamer as some variety of failed priest, a possibility that gains some credence from Lister M. Matheson’s discovery that a “William Rokayle” was ordained to first tonsure by Wolstan de Bransford, bishop of Worcester, before 1341 (announced Hanna 2000:187). Donaldson (1949:206–8) analyzes the priestly dreamer’s relation to ordo. In his lengthy discussion, for the most part based on William Lyndwood’s Provinciale, Donaldson identifies L’s dreamer as an acolyte. Upon his marriage, he says (206–7), Will would have entered an anomalous status. He could not have advanced beyond his current rank and would have been unable to serve at the altar, thus incapable of fulfilling a truly clerical function and resembling a layperson (hence the embarrassment of Reason’s opening question in 12); but so long as he retained his tonsure (which he apparently

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

9

has done; see 56) and wore appropriate clerical clothing (see the next note but one), he would have retained his privilegium clericale (see 59–60n). Will’s identity-defining marital status, coupled with his aversion to any labor except sleep (“making”) and drink, might well recall Ch’s Pardoner at CT VI.453–54. Indeed, the central contention of the Pardoner’s performance, “For though myself be a ful vicious man, 兩 A moral tale yet I you telle kan” (VI.459–60), resonates strikingly with Will’s presentation and behavior here. Implicitly, H. Marshall Leicester, Jr.’s witty reading of the Pardoner as D. W. Robertson (1990:35–64) addresses relevant issues. However, various details of self-presentation might imply that the Pardoner shows nothing other than Ch’s parodic reading of L’s poetic. (For a similar reading of Chaucerian revision of PP, see Grady 1996.) Like our poet, the Pardoner delights in dropping in bits of Latin (CT VI.344–46), as well as (if not biblical, at least “olde”) examples to stir his auditors’ benefactions; and he shows a similar propensity to lakke others publicly (cf. B 5.86n). Moreover, in his most extensive description of his practice (435–54), the Pardoner implicitly riffs on a biblical verse integral to Will’s self-portrayal, Luke 16:3 (see 22–25n). Like Will, he defines his “profession” as neither labor nor beggary, but gainful and efficacious nonetheless. The range of Langlandian detail Ch allows his character to enunciate might be extended considerably, e.g., the Pardoner’s eunuchry, a cruel reflection of 22/B 20.193–98, or his association of undesirable labor and basketmaking a slighting depiction of Will’s claim to quasi-eremetic status (cf. 17.13–18 [B 15.286–91]). ——— in a cote: Such an abode implies that here the dreamer is just hanging on, living on next to nothing. The citations presented by MED stress the tininess of such hovels and the poverty of those inhabiting them. The term looks ahead to the depiction of grinding, mostly rural, poverty in passus 9, where the cote, in that context both “cottage” and “coat,” effectively cloaks the poor from scrutiny. See further 9.72, 85 and nn, as well as 1–108n above. ——— yclothed as a lollare: Will shortly (41) refers to his garments as longe clothes. And they are presumably the same “shroude” he makes for himself at Prol.3; for further references to hermit clothing, see, e.g., 10.1, 15.3, B 13.284–85, 20.1. Compare also the description of self-made hermits’ garments at Prol.53– 55, 8.182–87 and the logic underlying the assumption of such garments by unqualified “lollares” and “Ermytes,” apparently identical persons, at 9.204–12. These latter passages indicate that such garments deliberately imitate the opulent copes of friars, always (from Prol.59 on) described as if marking both a steady income and impressive clerical status. MED fails to note “longe clothes”

10

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

as a technical term for some kind of habit, what Wood-Legh (1965:247 and n. 1) describes as a “supertunica.” She tells of a fourteenth-century clerk in Lincoln diocese who objected to such a habit because of the very pretensions that may render it attractive both to Will and to “lollares,” “since long, tightfitting supertunice are most appropriate for learned men and men appointed to important offices, not for simple priests” (cum supertunice longe et clause non simplicibus sacerdotibus, sed doctoribus et viris preclaris in dignitate constitutis maxime conveniant). And although “longe goune” seems only a common adjective Ⳮ noun phrase, the one MED citation not from a will or account describes Wycliffe’s early disciples “dwellynge in Oxenforde, goynge barefote with longe gownes of russet” (the Harley Higden continuation of c. 1405–10, RS 8:444); for the contentious descriptions of Lollard clothing, see Hudson 1988:144–47. For the as that frequently accompanies descriptions of the dreamer’s clothing or general demeanor, cf. Prol.1–4n and 20.2n. At least one major impulse behind the subsequent confrontation with Reason is precisely the desire to explicate this complex of issues. If PP reflects a personal longing to understand salvation in some experiential fashion, what animates the person engaged in this pursuit? From what perspective can he claim, as an individual, any warrant (or license; see 5.45–52n) for his desire to avoid all “normal” forms of work to pursue understanding and, then, to write his quest? And what might lead him to believe that he can efficaciously pursue topics over which greater (and better equipped) minds have fretted for centuries? The dreamer customarily approaches the question, a major theme in the second vision, in two ways. On the one hand, he seeks to accommodate his disorderly appearance to that of some status that might confer upon its holder license and authority. More positively, as he does with lollares here, he attempts constructive redefinitions of terms in such a way as to distinguish himself from those negative examples with which he might be confused. But this very attempt proves every bit as problematic as the impulse that drives it. The dreamer looks like a lollare but will quickly claim (3–5) to be the enemy of such persons; yet on the other hand, whatever his claims to some responsible clerical status (see 5.35–67), these may already have been qualified by his status as sexual being. The word lollare—and L is the first English writer known to use the noun—has obviously been the site of numerous contentions; for discussion in various veins, see Scase 1989:147–55; Middleton 1997:242–43, 276–88, 291; Cole 2003, 2003a, 2008:25–45; Pearsall 2003; on L and his relation to specific Wycliffite points of doctrine, see Gradon 1980; Lawton 1981; Hudson 1988:398–408, 2003, von Nolcken 1988; Bowers 1992 is distinctly odd man out.

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

11

lollare appears a single time in the B Version, at 15.213, “[Charity] lyue3 no9t in lolleris ne in londleperis heremytes.” This usage occurs within the important passage (B 15.198–215) that introduces Piers as scrutinizer of wills and “as if Christ.” The sense here, “gyrovague, feigning holy man” (cf. 7ei faiten B 15.214), appears consonant with the remainder of L’s uses, without exception. In this context, in contrast to Piers, who looks like a grubby plowman and yet, in the exegetical discourse from which “id est” is derived, “is” Christ, lollares cloak a worldly will in the ostentatious garb of holiness. In Will’s first attempt, of a number of efforts in C, to subsume the role of Piers, he here develops his sense of his own “good will,” as opposed to theirs (cf. 61–69n). This appearance of the word in B 15.213, which must indicate its currency in the 1370s, predates the word lollard, to indicate “Wycliffite believer.” As is well known, the earliest record of that term occurs in mid-1382, when Henry Crumpe, who had been a member of the Blackfriars Council that condemned a selection of Wycliffe’s opinions in May, was suspended from the University of Oxford for using the term Lollardi derogatorily of the theologian’s adherents (see Hudson 1988:2–4, 87–88). Thus, these two terms are distinct, and, as several commentators have pointed out (Pearsall nn. passim and 2003, Cole 2003), like the 1381 Peasants’ Revolt, contemporary issues “overtook the poem.” A word L had used in one sense had become, in current religious culture, so similar as to be potentially associable with another, and with another sense—not necessarily what the poet had had in mind at all. Moreover, as I am grateful to Michael G. Sargent for pointing out to me, the two terms must be seen as etymologically distinct (whatever the hash OED and MED make of reporting their various uses). lollare is a transparent actant noun in OE -ere, and L at 9.214–19 offers an etymology that purports to link the noun with a parallel English verb, lollen (see further the note there). In contrast, lollard must represent a loan word from a Continental language; see the discussion at OED -ard suffix and Hudson’s reference 1988:2 n.4. Unfortunately, in contemporary usage, the two separate items had overlapped by 1390 (cf. OED’s comments on -ard/-art replacing -er/-ar in many words—a fact which implies that, confusingly, the reverse might occur as well), as the variants in Ch’s Man of Law’s Endlink will indicate. (Quite in contrast to variable Chaucerian scribal usage, only one PP manuscript, the Irish Douce 104, copied 1427, shows any evidence of having fused the words, and that fitfully; much more frequently, when they err, the scribes of PP follow the poet, who occasionally implies that a proper synonym for the word might well be lorel/losel; cf. 8.74, 9.137.)

12

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

As I have suggested above, B 15.213 proves entirely consonant with the poet’s usage elsewhere—and having been virtually invisible in the earlier versions, lollare appears in C thirteen times. Like Pearsall (2003), I doubt very much whether this profusion reflects L’s effort to distinguish his views from others deemed erroneous (although see 9.214–19n), but rather C’s attention to issues related to the dreamer, labor, and poverty. Most especially, one might draw attention to the concentration of uses (eight of them) in passus 9. There, in the context of Piers’s pardon, L offers extensive insertions that substitute for the two great enigmata he has excised from C, the tearing of the document and that passage from B 15 that most clearly addresses Piers’s powers. See further the notes there: on the whole, L is as negative about the feigningly poor holy vagrant as many contemporaries were about Wycliffites, although for very different reasons (cf. Hudson 1988:407). For differing views, not exceptionally responsive to the text, see Cole 2003a, 2008:25–45. Thus, L, as Scase and Middleton indicate, adopts a Dutch term for an ostentatious (hence, perhaps hypocritical) pray-er, which also designates a probably fraudulent religious wanderer. However, the uses of the word in the C Version second vision must involve some measure of contestation, since they occur subsequent to recorded examples of the noun “lollar(d)” in spring 1382 as a designation for Wycliffite heretics. Probably by the time L came to write this line, the Merciless Parliament in spring 1388 had instituted the examination of written materials for possible heretical content (see Richardson 1936). Theological speculation in the vernacular had become suspect, and, just as the poet might be (mis)appropriated in the interests of rebellion in 1381, so he might be construed in the post-1382 context as a religious troublemaker. L’s insistence on lollare to mean “gyrovague, un-licensed/-learned hermit” quite literally cloaks him; it distances him from being misperceived as religiously vagrant, although he still, as Harry Bailey claims of the Parson (see CT II.1173, 1183), intrudes religion into situations where it may be out of place. The waking interlude as apology indicates that the dreamer-poet does not randomly force his ideas upon the secular world, but that he must do so, since that forms his unique vocation. 5 made: “composed verses” (following Skeat and Kane 1965:64n), although Salter and Pearsall gloss “judged” (similarly Donaldson 1949:201: “whom he treated as Reason taught him,” but 1990:243/5 “wrote rhymes”). If made means “composed,” it associates the dreamer explicitly with the practice of poetry and thereby exposes him to his own condemnations, expressed at Prol.35–40 (cf. 9n, 11n below). There the C version has removed the AB distinction

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

13

between mirth-makers and janglers; L will later try to reassert such a distinction (see 7.81n below, as well as 2.240–41, 13.33–99). Given the animosity referred to in line 3, Will’s verses appear to have been satiric (and might be construed as subsumed in 9.139–61, 188–219, 241– 55). Then, the “For” that opens line 6 apparently indicates that the ensuing scene explains how the dreamer has followed Reason’s teachings in dealing with “lollares.” In those terms, the “makynges” must be absolutely selfreferential—this poem, the C Version, already conceived as the poet’s poem in that youthful moment before the work actually began. While Will here asserts that, as satirist, he resembles Reason in calling individuals to account for their antisocial behavior, Holychurch has earlier (1.116, 2.51–52; contrast 2.19–42) forbidden such activities. Perhaps the dreamer should restrain himself from satire because, since he is not a priest, he lacks any official duty to correct others; cf. Prol.118–24, 3.58, etc. But he may equally be following early London devotional texts and guild regulations that enjoin on lay Christians an absolute responsibility to chastise their erring fellows; cf. my 2005:182–212. The discussion of such a contentious satiric stance— “lakkynge” is the usual term in the poem—recurs when the dreamer, in fulfillment of Holychurch’s strictures, meets Lewte at 12.23–40L and eventually Reason at 13.194–212; see also 9.256–80n, Recklessness’s apology 13.26–30; Will at 15.78–79; Martin’s discussion of the satiric impulse (1979:66–70) and Simpson 1990a. (Although 13.194–212 represents another example of “Resoun arating,” as in line 11 below, the dreamer believes he there “pot[te3] forth [his] resoun”; cf. 13.183.) Scase (1989:150) suggests identifying the verses the dreamer may here describe with extra draft materials in the prologue of the Ilchester manuscript. But I show (1996:204–10) that Ilchester has been derived from a standard C text, as that is known from surviving manuscript circulation. Consequently, its intrusions are unlikely to represent anything like Langlandian draft materials. 6 Consience-resoun: The appearance of these figures fills a surprising absence in the earlier versions (one that sets the “Visio” apart from ME dream poetry generally). In the AB “Visio” (as again at the poem’s end), the dreamer engages in no instructional conversations with authoritative figures, what Piehler calls “potentiae” (1971:12–13), after his abortive bout with Holychurch in passus 1. Before attempting to reform the realm (see 111–200n, 112–13n), Conscience and Reason begin at the root of its troubles: since the realm as depicted here reflects only the activity of the dreamer/poet, they examine his potential as a creator, member of the commune, and ostensible contributor to the common profit. The scene distances the dreamer’s claim (5) that he has composed in

14

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

Reason’s way. Further, the relationship to Conscience he will assert at 83 may well be qualified by the echo of this line at 7.207; there Piers’s identification of Conscience as an initial step in the journey to Truth (cf. 7.184) might imply that, rather than advanced, and an authority worth heeding, the dreamer here only begins his pilgrimage. But this pair of interlocutors may be further characterized. Although as Pearsall suggests, the scene depicts “the waking dreamer’s own rational selfanalysis,” it is a self-analysis often couched within ideas of legal responsibility and legal self-justification. At the end of their preceding appearance in the poem (see esp. 4.184–86, unique to this version) Reason and Conscience hold central positions in the justice system (see Middleton 1990:57); moreover, the Statute of Laborers requires defendants to be imprisoned “tanqe il se voet justicier” (by providing sureties for future good behavior; 34 Edw. III, c. 10; SR 1:367). More to the point, the Statute penalties can be enforced on the testimony of two witnesses: “If any Man or Woman, being so required to serve, will not the same do, that proved by two true men before the Sheriff.” (25 Edw. III, c. 1; SR 1:307). Here Reason and Conscience function as the representatives of those “mayors, bailiffs, stewards, or constables” who are constantly enjoined to apprehend those violating the Statute (e.g., 12 Rich. II, c. 3; SR 2:56). Indeed, Reason, who uses my twice (13, 17) in discussing rural occupations, may be conceived as an employer seeking to impress Will into his labor force (see 12–20n). Past critics (e.g., Clopper 1989:272–74 and 1992:117–19; Simpson 1990:2–3) have associated the examination with the early Edwardian statutes, but see 7–8n below and the further references there. 7 an hot heruest: The seasonal reference recalls Pearl, the only ME vision with a similar setting; cf. 39–40: “In Augoste in a hy9 seysoun [usually taken to be Lammas, 1 August] 兩 Quen corne is coruen wyth crokez kene.” The two poems have rarely been linked, although cf. Baker’s exposition of their common “Dialectic Form” (1984) and Schmidt 1984. But connections seem particularly appropriate to this passage: like L’s dreamer who seeks to justify himself (see 28n), the poet of Pearl considers the value of using time in this world (as well as the value of labor for salvation) in his narration of the parable of the vineyard (493–576). Thomas Wimbledon, in his Paul’s Cross sermon, associates the vineyard and the heavenly reward for labor there with the account of one’s stewardship demanded in Luke 16:2; see further 22–25n. The evocation of the season has other implications, some alien to, others resembling Pearl. Both poems, for example, rely upon a commonplace association, predicated upon passages like Luke 10:2, John 4:36, and Apoc. 14:15,

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

15

between harvest and the harvest of souls at the Last Judgment. The first of these is associated with the gospel precedents Will invokes at 48–52—see the notes there; and the last is echoed in line 23. Such a topic is particularly important in later parts of the second vision, both in the difficulties Piers experiences in his field work in passus 8 and in the climactic pardon scene of passus 9, and again in the reprise of these materials in passu¯s 21–22. Perhaps unique to L’s conception of the season, as Burdach (1926–32:189) long ago suggested, is the feast of the universal church that also falls on 1 August, that of St. Peter ad vincula. This feast celebrates the miraculous liberation of Piers’s patron saint from Herod’s prison (Acts 12:4–17), his salvation from his legalistic tormentors. This allusion—certainly the dreamer hopes for a similar release from his interrogators—intrudes a potential connection of the dreamer and Peter/Piers Plowman; both have “lives” within the poem (cf. 7.200–201n), and the dreamer seeks a close integration with his subject. See further the early touches signaling this identification, at 12–21n, 61–69n, 98Ln, 100–101n. As Burdach further notes, this feast, in addition to providing an occasion for the tithe of first-fruits, was the day on which the papal tax, “Peter’s pence,” was collected in parish churches. But from 1366 on, Peter’s pence was no longer being sent overseas (cf. 4.125–30 for Reason’s resistance to such export of specie) but into the royal exchequer. 7–8 y hadde myn hele 兩 And lymes to labory with (cf. 10 In hele and unnit); 8–9 louede wel fare 兩 And no dede to do: The dreamer’s self-description places him within a widespread later fourteenth-century discourse specifically designed to distinguish the worthy poor from those deserving of no sympathy or mercy. This discourse develops as specifically secular law a long tradition of canonistic discussions concerning the appropriate recipients of charity (cf. Tierney 1959:109–33, esp. 128–32, and the fuller discussion, 8.71–79n). The original site of such a language of discrimination, the 1349 royal Ordinance of Laborers, identifies those who fall under its purview as “every Man and Woman . . . able in body (potens in corpore)” (23 Edw. III, c. 1; SR 1:307); these must labor at fixed wages for those who request their “services.” But the Ordinance equally defines all those who may labor and will not (cf. “no dede to do”): “some rather willing to beg in Idleness, than by Labour to get their Living” or “many right myghti and strong Beggars (multi validi mendicantes) . . . giving themselves to Idleness and Vice” (i.e., faryng wel; 23 Edw. III, pre. and c. 7; SR 1:307, 308). The regulation criminalizes the giving of any alms “to such, which may labour” (talibus qui commode laborare poterunt) “so that thereby they may be compelled to labour for their necessary

16

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

living” (ut sic compellantur pro vite necessariis laborare) (c. 7). And this association of beggary, the refusal to labor, and the desire to live at ease off others’ alms was repeated on numerous occasions throughout the century, beginning with the first Statute of Laborers in 1351. Cf. the documents of 1376–77 printed at Dobson PR 72–78, as well as numerous London examples, most especially the splendid 1359 attack on sturdy beggars in Riley 1868:304–5; and see further Prol.22–26n and 41–46n, 13.79–86. The Statute was initially conceived as economic legislation. As its authors themselves claimed, plague depopulation reduced the number of able-bodied laborers available for harvest work and consequently produced wage inflation (“many seeing the Necessity of Masters, and the great Scarcity of servants, will not serve unless they may receive excessive Wages,” 23 Edw. III, pre.; SR 1:307; similarly 25 Edw. III, 2, pre.; SR 1:311). Higher salaries were required to attract workers in a diminished labor pool (see further 8.163–65, 196, 335–40). However, as the century wore on, republications of the Statute show increasingly greater interest, not in wages per se, but in those who wander, presumably in search of better wages. Finally, the October 1388 version, which subsequent notes will indicate L knows very well indeed (see esp. 12–21n, 35–44n, 89–91n), addresses vagabondage and vagrancy. Indeed, this document is called not just “the Ordinances of Servants and Labourers” (as previous versions were), but of “Beggars and Vagabonds” (“mendinantz et vagerantz”) also; see 12 Rich. II, c. 9 (SR 2:58). Tuck speaks of this Statute as envisaging “stringent control of movement” (1969:236). For L’s knowledge of promulgations of the other parliament of 1388 (The Merciless Parliament), see Coleman 1981:41, 66. In virtually every reaffirmation of the Statute, Parliament describes leaving one’s home, the place where one should “serve” at agricultural labor, as the primary means of evading the intended wage freezes. In the original ordinance, promulgated by the royal council, rather than Parliament, laborers “who depart from the same Service without reasonable Cause or License, before the Term agreed,” are to be jailed (23 Edw. III, c. 2; SR 1:307); subsequent enactments offer more explicit comments on evasive, especially out-ofshire wandering (e.g. 25 Edw. III, c. 2.2 and 7, SR 1:312–13; 34 Edw. III, c. 10, SR 1:367). Moreover, Parliament perceives London and other boroughs as providing attractive refuges for such runaway laborers; London officials are specifically enjoined to enforce the Statute (31 Edw. III, c. 1.7; SR 1:350), and Parliament wishes mayors of any borough fined if they fail to surrender fugitive laborers to their rightful masters (34 Edw. III, c. 11; SR 1:367). 9 but drynke and slepe: The latter, of course, defines the me´tier of the poem, the behavior by which the poet claims to get his material. But his drinking

C Passus 5; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

17

associates him with the poem’s most ubiquitous social misfits, equally poets and equally tavern loungers who share his disinclination for labor (cf. 57, an echo of Prol.36). For discussion of the tavern and its poetry, see 28n, 6.350– 441n; and for the C version efforts at constructing a licit minstrelsy, 7.81–118n. Again, the description answers the Statute of Laborers: Parliament fears that those who refuse labor service are utterly dissolute, “having . . . regard to . . . their Ease and singular Covetise,” as 25 Edw. III, c. 2 (SR 1:311) puts it. 10 unnit: RK’s emendation (explained p. 159; the word means “uselessness”— its last MED citation c. 1225) should be rejected in favor of the manuscript reading inwitt; cf. Salter and Pearsall’s gloss, “(While I was) in this state of health and good understanding.” Rather than being openly provocative, Will admits he has no excuses to offer for his conduct, and his locution is precise— echoed at 9.116 in the description of “lunatic lollers.” At this moment, he has no claim to what he later will try to construct as a sanctified status. 11 Romynge in remembraunce: The phrase, of course, modifies me; as usual, Will is lost in idle motion, rambling. His behavior, rather than forming a selfcritical penitential survey of his past, more closely resembles the king’s charge to Meed, “ay the lengur y late the go, the lasse treuthe is with the” (3.137). But see also 94–101, in accord with the honorific echo of 13.4: “ay 3e lengere [Jesus and the apostles] lyuede, the lasse goed they hadde.” As Holychurch implies (1.138–44), memory is the way Will should rediscover the “kynde knowyng(e)” that would lead him to Truth. Here, without direction, memory leads Will, not to anything like amendment, but to a merely repetitive self-indulgence. Such romynge, which he shares with the sins who confess in the next passus, allows him to view his life always through retrospect, in terms of his initial hopes, rather than a realistic assessment of their failures (see 35–52) and produces the promise of compulsive repetition of the same activities that concludes the scene (see 94–98L). Middleton (1988:247–50, 1990:47–48) offers provocative comments on this penitential memory; the associations she draws with Imaginative suggest that L moves forward to this point in C materials he had discovered later in extending the B version (and she gives a rationale for the suppression of B 12.16–28). Particularly given the formulation of the issues there, Fletcher presents (2002) as analogous activities what are, in the poem’s argument, opposed ones. Mum 858, “Rolling in remembrance my rennyng aboute,” echoes the line. ——— resoun me aratede: One should note the echo of line 5 above, and the deliberate adjustment of the metrical emphasis here. The dramatic situation

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looks ahead to 13.183–212, when Reason will again arate the dreamer (cf. further 15.26–27, 16.158 and 177). In that passage, Will again defends a preexisting and questionable state; there are further parallels in the behavior of the wasters at 8.131–38 (who attempt to shroud themselves in claims resembling those Will makes at 84). For Reason’s role here, see 23–25n. 12–21 Reason on tasks: Labor issues are particularly important in the second vision and emanate from Holychurch’s injunctions at 1.84–87. In those terms, L here assesses the relationship of his dreamer’s hands and tongue: has he a legitimate laboring biography that Holychurch would find fit material for a poem? Reason’s interrogation asks Will to demonstrate his involvement in a “craft 3at to 3e comune nedeth” (20). But this legal figure conceives his totalizing social model, for reasons that will shortly become apparent, as the activities of the agricultural village (cf. Middleton 1997:229–34, 248); thus, this listing has a muted echo in Piers’s first speech, 7.186–92. These activities or offices he identifies in a language that reflects, to a large extent, legal terminology, that embedded in the Statute of Laborers. Thus, 14–15 Mowen . . . Repe echo the first promulgation of the Statute, “if any Reaper, Mower, or other Workman or Servant . . . depart” (23 Edw. III, c. 2; SR 1:307). For similar synecdoche, by which one prominent craft may stand for all, see 61–69n below, Prol.143–46, 7.182–204n. Later versions of the legislation provide richer vocabulary, which L also appropriates. In this case, statute language is very likely derived from the recommended sequence of manorial officers in the treatise on estate management, the Seneschaucy, ed. Oschinsky, 261–95: “Carters, Ploughmen, Drivers of the Plough, Shepherdes, Swineherds, Deies” and “Oxherd, Cowherd” (25 Edw. III, c. 1; 12 Rich. II, c. 4, which sets specific wages; SR 1:311, 2:57). Since the Statutes also freeze wages for artisans and victuallers, they include references to those who shap shon or cloth 18 as well (e.g., 23 Edw. III, c. 5; 25 Edw. III, c. 2.4; SR 1:308 and 312). In seeking to hold the dreamer to “eny other kynes craft 3at to 3e comune nedeth,” Reason places the interrogation specifically in the context of the 1388 Statute of Laborers. In this legislation, Parliament mandates harvest-time impressment of the able-bodied (cf. constrayne 54 and constringitur 60L), even if they are not agricultural laborers by trade. In Parliament’s view, the common need at this season is primarily for field workers, and this need overrides other professional considerations. “Artificers and People of Mystery as Servants and Apprentices, which be of no great Avoyr, and of which Craft or Mystery a Man hath no great Need in harvest Time (aust “August”?), shall be

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compelled to serve in Harvest, to cut, gather, and bring in the Corn” (12 Rich. II, c. 3; SR 2:56). In this context, line 18 by using the verb shap, probably indicates a trained craftsman, who can produce without aid or supervision, as distinct from an apprentice. Baldwin (1981:59, 101n9) was the first to indicate that Reason’s interrogation partly accords with the 1388 statute. 12 Can thow seruen . . . or syngen: Although the line is certainly an embarrassment for Will, it provides a necessary first interrogation under the Statutes for a person who looks like him. Since the Statute covers only agricultural “Servants and Labourers,” priests attached to specific clerical occupations are generally exempt from its provisions (although see 52n). The distinction, however, is one that the embattled dreamer will turn back on Reason in lines 54–67. For the precise force inherent in Can thow (Do you know how to?), see 35–44n. For a different perspective, emphasizing a broader concept of Christian service, see Knowles 2010 and cf. 7.185n. 14 mywen: Apparently not recorded elsewhere, the verb must be distinguished from Mowen at the head of the line. It most likely represents a causative formation with sense “to put hay into cocks,” derived from an unrecorded OE *mı¯ewan (⬍ me¯ow, pt. of ma¯wan). Cf. Donaldson 1990:244/13 “stack what’s mown” and the cokeres of the preceding line. 15 rypereue: Homans (1941:291) remarks: “At Halton, Bucks., also, there were ‘keepers of the harvest statutes.’ Such custodes autumpni seem to have been called in English reap-reeves (ripereves).” Among their duties, they restrained fellow villagers from illegal gleaning. 16–17 and be hayward: The Seneschaucy, ch. 4 (ed. Oschinsky 281), says in part: “During the hay harvest [the hayward] ought to supervise the mowers, gatherers, and carriers and in August he ought to assemble the reapers, boon workers, and hired labourers. He ought to see that the grain is well and cleanly reaped and gathered. Late and early he should keep watch that nothing is stolen, eaten by the beasts, or spoilt.” Cf. Homans’s analysis (1941:291): “Harvest was the time when people were afraid of having that stolen from them which they valued most—their crops. . . . The corn was ripe for cutting or was left standing in sheaves which could easily be spirited away, and there were a large number of harvest laborers about, who had no ties to the neighborhood and were often with justice suspected of being evil-doers. On some manors it was the duty of the hayward to watch all the crops of the village during harvest but on others the duty fell on

20

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the men who were especially elected by the people.” See further Justice 1994:178–84 and Baldwin 1990:78 (including the citations in n22). Homans (294) also identifies the horn as the hayward’s badge of office. The horn was perhaps more appropriate to the official’s usual duties as “hedge-warden” (the etymological sense of the title); the hayward looked after the hedges, set up to protect the corn from animals loosed in communal grazing areas (cf. the nursery rhyme “Little Boy Blue”). He repaired breaches, impounded any animals he caught straying in the crops, and arranged the prosecution of their owners. Like the office of rypereue, being a hayward cuts into one’s sleep, a prospect particularly unattractive to the dreamer. See further Menner 1949 (and 13.43–51); and Friedman 1995, esp. 116, 137–41. At PLM 3983–87, Orgoill appears as a hayward to prevent the dreamer from breaking through the thorn hedge of Penitence to his proper path (although given her status as Pride, her horn segues from being the hayward’s implement to an aristocrat’s hunting horn at 4180–95). 18 or shep and kyne kepe; 19 or swyn or gees dryue: These jobs may form a skeptically insulting anticlimax to Reason’s list of occupations. Hanawalt (1986:43, 51) notes the use of boys (but over six years old) for such functions: “He could not do the heavy work in the fields and the member of the family who herded was exempt from harvest work for the lord” (51). The Seneschaucy imagines cowherds, swineherds, and shepherds as responsible adults but probably is describing the person responsible for decisions about husbandry and such productive work as shearing, not the person with mundane daily guard duty. 20 eny other kynes craft: Just as prevalent in the poem as Will’s desire for a kynde knowyng that would help him save his soul (cf. 1.79–80, 137–38) is the alternate question implicitly posed here. Even at the poem’s end, in his extreme old age, he is still seeking a proper craft, one that would provide catel to meet necessities; cf. 22.207–11. 21: This line appears diversely in the two genetic families of C manuscripts. The x copies, in essence, follow the implications of Statute language. The p reading, which RK emend into the text (explained pp. 153–54), makes Will responsible for the support of licit mendicants. Hem 7at bedreden be byleue to fynden (the p version). Translate: “(Do you know any kind of craft) with which you may provide food for those who are bed-ridden?” Along with 33–34, which broach a topic with an ample later history in the poem (see 8.128n), this version of the line introduces those who

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are not required to labor for sustenance but who have claims to that produce won through the labor of others. The Statutes are uninterested in such a dole, although, from their inception, they only apply to those “able in body” (see 7–8n). At 7.107, the bedreden comprise one of the three classes of “God’s minstrels”: they are obviously infirm, if not crippled, not those who sleep in hopes of having visions (cf. line 9). That 7ou betere therby 7at byleue the fynden (the x version). Translate: “(Do you know any kind of craft) to benefit those people who provide you with food?” This form of the line, Pearsall1’s adjustment of X, preferable to the form RK print, inscribes an important false step in Reason’s argument. In spite of following on the extensive list of necessary agricultural labors that the dreamer will shortly admit he is unprepared to perform, it leaves one possibility open to him. This claim of returning a spiritual benefit to his benefactors is derived from Imaginative’s command of B 12.17: “bidde for hem 3at 9yue3 3ee breed” (see 1–108n and for another echo of the B precursor to this passage, 84n; cf. Godden 1990:7, 89). The dreamer will exploit this opening, claiming spiritual (whether communal, as Reason insists in line 20, recalling Prol.144 in addition to the Statute, is moot) benefits, at lines 48–67. Godden (1984) discusses tensions in the poem between two varieties of judgment (which he finds reconciled in this passage)—those favoring labor and those favoring the life of prayer. 22–25 Will as dishonest steward: These lines, as Pearsall suggests (see 1–108n above), cast the scene into the form of gospel parable, the story of the dishonest steward of Luke 16. When his lord hears of his steward’s alleged crimes, he calls him to account (v. 2): “redde rationem villicationis tuae; jam enim non poteris villicare” (give an account of thy stewardship, for thou canst be steward no longer). Holychurch tells Will (1.13–16) that humans are created with unique powers so that they may honor Truth, may exert these powers in a service appropriate to Him: such physical and mental strengths are loans, “talents,” for whose use humans must answer. In these terms, L follows the parable in presenting Reason as a fastidious and terrifying account-keeper (cf. the rationem of Luke 16:2), heaven’s registrar, as Alford (1988b:205–6) notes; for other examples, see B 5.272–73n. Such an accounting accords with Wimbledon’s reading of the parable; cf. lines 136–44 of his sermon. On hearing this threatening news, the steward of the gospel responds (v. 3): “Quid faciam, quia dominus meus aufert a me villicationem? fodere non valeo, mendicare erubesco” (What shall I do, because my lord taketh away from me the stewardship? To dig I am not able; to beg I am ashamed). Like the steward, Will claims that he is physically incapable of basic agricultural

22

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labor (on diking and delving, see further 6.369 and 8.350n); yet continuing his effort at distinguishing himself from lollers and lewd hermits, he will simultaneously allege that he has a licit vocation, that he is not the sort of begging faitour Reason suspects (29–30). Will’s last statement under interrogation (94– 98L) invokes a language of mercantilism equally dependent on the gospel parable and reminiscent of the steward’s unscrupulous charity to debtors, an action that moves his lord. In the claim of vocation, Will adopts a “modern” reading of the parable, one that uses it as a proof-text in support of learned Latinate activities. Conventionally, readings of Luke 16 follow Bede, In Lucam 5 (PL 92:529–30; CCSL 120:297/esp. 61–65); see Wailes 1987:245–53. In this interpretation, the call to render accounts represents death. “Digging signifies active striving for virtue, which can no longer be pursued after death. . . . Begging can be either good or bad, for it is good to beg spiritual aid in this life, but evil to reach the time of accounting so destitute of merit that one must beg, as did the five foolish girls of ‘The Ten Virgins’ ” (248). To this reference to Matt. 25:8 (cf. 1.185), Bede subjoins a second, to Prov. 20:4 (which L cites at 8.245L, in another discussion of the refusal to labor). One might further note, given L’s other uses of the parable (see below and 84n), a number of commentators who associate digging with penance (Wailes 249–50; Bede speaks of the “mattock of devout compunction” [lig[o] deuotae compunctionis]). Will develops such argumentation further in 45–52 (see the note); cf. 7.182–204n. Thomas Hoccleve’s self-presentation, with his various worries over his status as royal counsellor, persistently echo L’s preoccupations here and elsewhere; cf. DRP 981–87, 1013–28 (both an appeal for seeing writing as just as back-breaking a labor as agriculture), 1807; and Lawton’s discussion (2011: 141–44). Similarly, Rigg and Brewer’s Langlandian enthusiast caught the reference (and its penitential bearings); he ascribes “fodere non valeo” to Robert the robber at Z 5.142. But equally, there exists a “goliardic” reading of Luke 16:3 that Will adopts as appropriate for his purposes. Mann (1980:85 and n74) notes three uses, in a poem of the Archpoet, in Abelard’s Historia calamitatum (the description of the founding of the Paraclete), and in a hymn. Abelard and the Archpoet both use “fodere non valeo” to reject material physical labor. And they do so—as the Archpoet succinctly puts it, “Fodere non debeo, quia sum scolaris”—in the interest of intellectual labor. For them, as for Will here, clerical privilege should exist and should absolve one of mundane responsibilities routinely expected of others. Will’s continuing conversation with Reason attempts to fill in exactly how a person like him, who lacks overt clerical status, can nonetheless claim such a privilege and claim it in the face of such absolute restrictions on wandering and slothfulness as the 1388 Statute. (See further

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Middleton 1997:251, 253–54, 309 n57; for L and the goliardic tradition, see B Prol.139–45n.) L returns to the biblical locus, in terms more nearly resembling Bede and Wimbledon than Will and Abelard, on several occasions; see, for example, 8.234L, 9.273, 19.250L. And the poem includes a rich variety of more distant allusions to the passage, through its reliance both on biblical uses of the verb reddere (including both line 32L below and the climactic 21.258–59) and on English terms derived from the parable situation, e.g., reeue and arrerage at 11.296–98, and more distantly 12.60–71, 13.35, 21.459–64. But the discourse of gospel parable here flows together with Statute language. Just as Reason in the legal realm, Wimbledon is utterly clear in his belief that the reckoning of Luke 16 requires labor: “he 3at is nei3er traueylynge in 3is world whanne 3e day of his rekenyng come3, 3at is 3e ende of 3is lif, ry9t as he lyuede here wi3outyn trauayle, so he shal 3ere lacke 3e reward of 3e peny, 3at is 3e endeles ioye of heuene” (alluding to Matt. 20:9, etc.; cf. 7n). But Will at this moment has caught on to what is at issue in the interrogation and preempts the legal arguments he expects Reason to produce (see 29–30n for the passage in 12 Rich. II at issue). to wayke to wurcche specifies “non valeo” (Luke 16:3) but moves from the gospel to directly answer the language of the Statute: “Beggars impotent to serve (les mendinantz impotentz de servir, viz. to labor in the fields) shall abide in the Cities and Towns where they are dwelling at the Time of the Proclamation of this Statute” (12 Rich. II, c. 7; SR 2:58). Will, of course, quibbles on the degree of “impotence” at issue (see 21n and Reason’s suggestion in lines 33–34 that he demonstrate he has a debilitating injury), but his point is clear enough: as a weak beggar, he has every legal right to be and to remain where he is—in Cornhill. In a similar vein, see 89–91n below. 24 to long: The other explicit reference to the dreamer’s height occurs at 10.68, although it is always implicit in his name (e.g., in the signature at B 15.152). Here he refers to his stature with more than a touch of pride in opposing it to lowness. But (as Skeat first saw) this language, however descriptive physically, includes its own provocations, for it echoes “Grete lobies and longe 3at loth were to swynke” (Prol.53) and intensifies Will’s associations with the lollares/ lewede Ermytes whom he resembles (see 2n above) while wishing to be differentiated from them (see, e.g., 45–47n below). As Schmidt points out, the line provides only half a signature, thus exposing the dreamer to Reason’s next inquiry, “Thenne hastou londes to lyue by?” (26, my emphasis). On the proverbial suspicion of tall men, see Deskis-Hill 2004.

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26–34 Reson seeks clarification from the dreamer: The speech bounces between two poles of Statute discourse. On the one hand, Reason goes out of his way to be helpful and inviting; he feeds Will, as it were, legal lines by which he might justify his failure to labor (e.g., 26–27n and 33–34, lines that echo materials discussed in 21n, 22–25n). But equally, Reason judges the dreamer by his external appearance: either he is idle pure and simple (see 28n) or he can be conflated—as Will’s insistence upon his height has done—with those hermits for whom he has claimed to have deepest (and mutual) antipathy. 26–27 hastow . . . thy fode: The Statutes of Laborers, directed toward field hands (cf. 8.329), were never meant to apply to those with sufficient land or resources to support themselves. Thus, among the marks that single out the agrarian laborer who is its object, 23 Edw. III, c. 1 (SR 1:307) includes a person “[not] having of his own whereof he may live, nor proper Land (propriam culturam, perhaps ‘his own arable’), about whose Tillage he may himself occupy.” In very practical terms, Reason asks the dreamer-poet whether he has a patron. The conversation, most especially Will’s response as it develops after line 59, should be compared with 13.104–16, a discussion of ecclesiastical title. (13.111 “no lond ne lynage ryche ne good los of his handes” echoes this passage verbally and refers to the need, in the absence of support, to perform manual labor.) There the speaker Recklessness argues that no priest should be ordained without a patron to insure he has a living; he claims that provision of such support is analogous to a king’s provision of a fee for one of his knights (cf. line 77 below). See further 52n (on chantry priests and their stipends) and 54n (on Will’s possible self-presentation as an aristocratic, not agricultural “servant”). 28 A spendour . . . or a spilletyme: Note line 64 below, with the dreamer’s passing ad hominem appeal to his interlocutor, his later admission and justification in lines 93–101, and Reason’s further return to the theme in his sermon, lines 126–27 below. This complex of ideas—“spending speech and tyning time”—recur as Imaginative’s C Version definition of Dowel (14.4–10), that true action enjoined by Holychurch and, perhaps significantly, entirely sufficient for laypersons but not for clerics. Further, to facilitate the discussion here, L excised in the course of C revision another self-referential discussion, B 9.99–106 (cf. Aers 1975:66). In the spirit of that passage, Will here has trouble claiming he is “Goddes gleman,” not just “a goere to tavernes” involved in jangling, lakkyng, or some other impermissible minstrelsy.

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Time-wasting, the alehouse, and general engagement in “worldly vanity” are emphatically associated with both producing and consuming “romance” poetry in the prologues to five large earlier texts, some of which L surely knew (The South English Legendary, Robert Manning’s HS, CM, the London translation of Robert of Gretham’s Evangiles, and SV). A large part of the discussion of the Last Judgment at PC 5644–724 expands extensively upon time wasted, for example, the implications of Matt. 12:36, “For each idle word an account shall be rendered on the day of judgment.” The topic recurs persistently in SV (Hanna 2013:131 n.19), as well as in the Rollean Holy Boke Gracia Dei, at 16/4–17/8, 22/18–44/4 (including “jangling,” 32/10–35/12), 57/9–60/4, and 68/5–69/4 (the last two passages discussing hindrances to prayer, cf. B 12.16–17, 25–28). See further Martin 1979:62–65, Schmidt 1987:11 n21 and 16 (who insists on David as model for the psalter-clerk Will), and Burrow 2003. L loosely conjoins a variety of issues under the theme of wasteful expenditure. On the one hand, the world’s work, from which the dreamer absents himself, relies on a conception of time as an economic commodity. For the late medieval development of such a secularized time to facilitate policed labor, see Le Goff’s provocative essays, 1980:29–52 (50–51 on the sin of idleness). Cf. 3.462–63. Yet this injunction to use time in labor is neither simple nor absolute. As Piers discovers at 8.213–15, leel labour does not simply fill out duration to produce some quantum but requires a proper spirit as well (cf. such a reprise as 12.95–96). Moreover, proper temporal expenditure is subject to further qualifications, to that mesure that Holychurch makes so central to her teaching; L constantly returns to sabbatarian arguments on the need to set aside work time to meet the obligations imposed by sacramental time (see 30n; 6.182–85n, 429–32n; A 7.112; 7.226n; 8.80n; 9.220–41n). Such attitudes do not simply remain for L injunctions to religious practice (as, for example, in Sloth’s confession), however. The obligations of ecclesiastical time feed back into labor issues and provide an etiology of the bad or unwilling workman (see lines 65–69 below, 9.167–75 and nn, for example). In such theorizing, the refusal to restrain sexual urges (and to heed either the sacramental imperatives of marriage or ecclesiastical prohibitions of intercourse at certain times) becomes an indicator of a more general lack of selfdiscipline, particularly of a disinclination to foster offspring properly; as a result, children of such unions are inevitably, as if genetically, damned. Holychurch first broaches this theme at 1.24–29 (note esp. the final line) and initially tars Meed with this brush at 2.24–29L. References appear in passing at 3.188–90L and 416, Wit volubly argues the issue at 10.207–55 (and 263), and the topic is central to Will’s misreading of Kind’s creatures at 13.143–55. All

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these views are, of course, perverse in their refusal to consider grace and are eventually expelled from the poem as appropriate varieties of analysis; for a provocative first move in this direction, see 12.109–19L and cf. 61–69n. 29–30 Or beggest thy bylyue . . . 兩 Or faytest: From the earliest publication, the Statute of Laborers reflects attitudes that had developed in response to “the new poverty” of the fourteenth century, attitudes that will exercise L throughout later stages of this vision (see the citations in 7–8n above, as well as 8.209n). In the 1388 Statute, the longstanding claims that such able-bodied individuals are merely criminous produce particularly draconian measures. For the drafters of the Statute, able-bodied beggars may be construed as simple vagabonds or vagrants, lacking any defense. Like all other unlicensed wanderers, they should be returned to their homes and put to work: “Of every Person that goeth begging, and is able to serve or labour, it shall be done of him as of him that departeth out of the Hundred and other Places aforesaid without Letter Testimonial” (12 Rich. II, c. 7; SR 2:58). See 22–25n above for Will’s effort at preempting this charge. 29 beggest . . . at men hacches: Note the echo in Will’s willingness to beg with Charity at 16.337–38. But, according to Liberum Arbitrium, Charity never begs (352): his food, as described at 16.318–22, 372–74L resembles what the dreamer will ultimately here claim as his own (see 86–88) and what Patience will later show Activa Vita (15.237–59L). 30 faytest vppon frydayes or festedayes in churches: The line echoes Prol.43, where the note discusses the root faiten; see also B 15.215n. Here Reason additionally charges Will with being so irregular as to carry on what pretends to be “work” at forbidden times. He would, Reason implies, come to church only because it is an efficient way to find almsgivers. The claim of misusing church may look ahead to line 105 (and cf. 21.1–8), where, rather than honoring God, the dreamer falls asleep. But cf. 9.241–47; although Will averts the charge here, such behavior would be preferable to that he there ascribes to the inimical lollares, who find service-time handouts inadequately attractive. frydayes recur throughout the poem as those days of special obligation that they were (e.g., B 1.101, 6.182 and 352, 9.94, implicitly 9.231–35). The author of FM, who argues (214/4) that the day should be called Freday (the day of our redemption), indicates its importance with a verse mnemonic (Walther Initia, cited 214/10–12): “Salve, festa dies, que vulnera nostra coherces. 兩 Est Adam factus et eodem tempore lapsus. 兩 Angelus est missus, et passus in cruce Christus” (Hail, festival day, that contains our wounds. On Friday Adam was

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created and fell on the same day. The angel [of the Annunciation] was sent, and Christ suffered on the cross). 32 ryhtfulnesse: Justitia, essentially Reason’s self-reference. One might recall Reason at 4.144: “lawe shal ben a laborer and lede afelde donge.” His form of interrogation suggests that he desires to realize immediately that purification of Justice that he earlier couched in the terms of messianic prophecy. The related personification Righteousness (Iusticia at 20.464L) later appears as one of “the four daughters of God,” and “spiritus Iusticie” is one of the four seeds, “cardinales vertues,” Piers sows at 21.274–309. 32L Reddet . . . : Rom. 2:6 (God who will render to every man according to his works). Although it may simply mean “wherever,” the biblical context could identify 32 There with the Last Judgment (cf. 7n and 28n), when reward will be given in accord with “truth” (cf. Rom. 2:2, 8; the passage includes other relevant echoes). Both the Latin and the preceding line also echo the parable of the dishonest steward, evoked in lines 22–25. Rom. 2:6 recurs, again in a discussion of doubtful heavenly reward for uncategorizable worldly efforts (Dismas and Trajan), at 14.152L. Alford lists (1992:80) the numerous biblical variations on the verse. 35–44 When y √ut √ong was . . . and vp london bothe: The opening of Will’s very lengthy response (it runs to line 88) again combines an acute attention to the 1388 Statute with other materials, in this case a represented biography. Will wishes to emphasize the tender age at which he was enrolled in school—a kind of maiming, ultimately the tonsure—as his quasi-jesting response to Reason indicates. Other aspects of the scene (see 2n) would imply that Will is relatively young at this narrative moment, and thus that many @er hennes is exaggerated. But the dreamer, conscious that he faces interrogation under the 1388 Statute, has very good reason to emphasize his youthful education. In the absence of his dead frendes, it may be his only claim not to be required to perform agricultural labor, for the Statute declares that “He or she, which use to labour at the Plough and Cart, or other Labour or Service of Husbandry, till they be of the Age of Twelve years, that from thenceforth they shall abide at the same Labour, without being put to any Mystery or Handicraft” (12 Rich. II, c. 5; SR 2:57). Merchandising and guild crafts had always been considered occupations that placed one outside those restrictions addressed to agricultural labor (see 23 Edw. III, c. 1; SR 1:307); the 1388 Parliament, in keeping with its desire to impress apprentices for field work (see 12–21n above), sought to close off one possible evasion of manual labor by limiting entry to mercantile

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or craft status altogether. The argument looks ahead to Will’s claim to a quasiaristocratic status at line 54, and L will return to another version of this scenario at 9.204–13L; there he worries self-protectively over the genesis of lewede Ermytes out of such a cadre of disaffected agrarian teenagers. With both this passage and that in C 9, compare the diatribe at JU 40–47, directed against those “comoun peple” who “leue her trewe laboure and bicome idil men,” especially feigned religious. The reference to this particular statutory prohibition may indicate L’s knowledge of more than the published statute. For as Tuck demonstrates (1969), the Commons petition from which the Statute derives takes an even narrower view of this point. Commons (as Tuck shows, reported at Westminster Chronicle 363) wishes to prohibit either laborers or their children from learning any craft, should they be required in agriculture. Reason’s usage, Can thow 12, implies that knowing how to perform field work (as, for example, the knight does not at 8.19–22) would identify Will as a laborer’s child and without real recourse under the Commons petition. Will subsequently takes up the Commons’s position as his own; cf. children 68. See further 44n. In line 36, the dreamer avails himself of the logical opening Reason has provided at lines 26–27 (and will turn this argument violently against his interlocutor at 53–67). He has had a fyndyng. And his youthful training emphatically distances him both from those hermits whom he defines as lewede in line 4 (see further 45–52n) and from Sloth at 7.53–54L. (See further Godden 1984:154.) Moreover, in this return to origins, L’s language comes closest to that of Wimbledon’s sermon; in his own account, at least, Will’s youthful preparation has instilled in him ideals of which the homilist would have approved: “Who stirid 3e to take vpon 3e so hi9e astaate? Whe3er for 3ou woldest lyue on Goddis contemplacion, o3er forto lyue a delicious lif vpon o3er mennis trauayle and 3yself trauayle nou9t? Why also setten men here sones o3er here cosynes to scole? Whe3er forto gete hem grete auauncementis o3er to make hem 3e betere to knowen how 3ey shulden serue God?” (lines 181–87). The passage has often been pressed hard for biographical detail about L. Skeat wished to associate the scole, apparently as a guess faute de mieux, with a grammar school at Great Malvern Priory (to which L would have been sent as a younger son; see 2:xxxii). Pearsall (24n) believes the word specifically refers to university training—interrupted when L lost his support through death. More recent students, e.g., Galloway (1992:93–95, 97) and Hanna (1993:18–21), have emphasized the ambiguity of the passage, the extent to which it fails to provide any very specific information about Will’s career, much less L’s.

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However, two details perhaps imply that Pearsall’s view is at least tilted toward the more likely extreme. First, Tyl y 37 implies that Will’s training may have persisted for quite some time. Certainly, his claims for knowledge of Holy Scripture (37–39), readily substantiated in the poem, of course, imply an education beyond simply the basics, some training in sacra pagina. And further, the economics of fourteenth-century education suggests that frendes (either “relatives” or “supporters, patrons,” MED frend, senses 4 and 1b, respectively) would probably have been necessities only for expensive university training. Cf. Chaucer’s Clerk at CT I.299–302. Some such training may lie behind various of the dreamer’s antics in early sections of the search for Dowel. For example, at 10.20, he adopts a manner that he identifies as clerk[ly] (while implying that he is not such a person). Moreover, his performance there shows some knowledge (not extending either to a full citation of the Bible or to a deep understanding of syllogistic technique) of scholarly disputation (cf. his use of the verb dispute, routinely at this time referring to scholarly debate, as apposen does in some instances, perhaps 1.45 or B 3.5, more likely line 10 above or B 7.144). Of course, Will’s reported biography does not go very far toward absolving him of Reason’s charges. The labor he claims as appropriately his own is only the residue of higher family plans for him, plans that were never fully completed (cf. the plaintive echo foend 40). Romynge in remembraunce only returns him to that previous frustration, and he cannot imagine an alternative to continuing to be what he was—but no longer licitly is. The case of Covetise, and his youthful fyndynge, provides an instructive parallel; see 6.206–20n and 215n. And further afield, as Middleton (1990:74) argues, the Lollard William Thorpe in 1407 frames his apologia in strikingly similar terms: Thorpe and Will share a common inability to conceive of themselves as anything other than what they originally were. In constructing the entire situation, L may well recall the dire warnings of W&W 7–9: “Dare neuer no westren wy . . . 兩 Send his sone southewarde to see ne to here 兩 That he ne schall holden byhynde when he hore eldes.” However, such activity is not quite enough to exculpate the wandering dreamer under the 1388 Statute. For even had he stayed in school long enough to be a university scholar, he could not legally wander to beg without a license. 12 Rich. II, c. 7 (SR 2:58) requires him to carry a testimonial letter from his chancellor; see further 89–91n. 38 as the boek telleth: This off-verse might well be read as an ironic jibe at the alliterative tradition. In such poetry, this is perhaps the most widely attested second half-line, in the great majority of instances a pure throwaway

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filler; in contrast, for Will, the boek, Holy Scripture, provides the total justification for his activities. 39 by so y wol contenue: RK connect the clause with what precedes, and Skeat and Pearsall1 gloss “provided that I will persevere (in well-doing).” But they ignore the further development, 43–43L, lines that address perseverance directly as vocation. Thus, Galloway (1992:94) plausibly argues for a full stop at mid-line; he would translate, “I wish to continue in this manner,” that is, behave like a scholar all my life. Conscience echoes the line in 104. The passage hovers between honesty and self-indulgence. The impersonal lykede 41 makes it “not my fault” yet simultaneously asserts “I ought to be able to do what is pleasing to me,” and the concessive 42 “Yf y be laboure sholde lyuen” suggests that hand-work is a responsibility Will would rather not be stuck with. 41 longe clothes: See 2n above. 43L In eadem . . . : 1 Cor. 7:20 (Let every man abide in the same calling in which he was called) and Eph. 4:1, in the first case (ironically enough, given line 2), part of Paul’s rather crabby discussion of wedlock. Once again, biblical and legal discourse reinforce one another; see 35–44n above. Wimbledon cites this verse (lines 98–100) to indicate the integrity of each estate—and the impermissibility of blending them; more distantly, cf. Shakespeare’s Falstaff, at 1 Henry IV 1.2.91–92. 44 in london and vp london bothe: Will reverts to Statute concerns. Again (as in line 10) RK insert an overly provocative reading (explained p. 154), here from the p manuscripts. But the x reading and opelond bothe (“in the country, too”) is preferable, not least because it alludes to—and defends the dreamer against—the most crucial regulations promulgated by the 1388 Parliament. In the effort to arrest what it perceived as vagrancy to avoid agricultural labor, Parliament established a system of internal passports. Not only is a laborer required to serve, but once his contract ends, he cannot leave his home hundred, “unless he bring a Letter Patent containing the cause of his going, and the Time of his Return, if he ought to return, under the King’s Seal” (12 Rich. II, c. 3; SR 2:56). Through his inspecificity about his domicile, london and opelond bothe, Will hopes to place himself outside statutory penalties. He clearly has no sealed license to roam, no warrant for his activities—like Hawkin he constitutes “an [eremitic] ordre by hymselue” (B 13.284; see 91n). Thus he should be treated

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like “any Servant or Labourer found in any City or Borough [cf. 1n above for statutory suspicions about such locales] or elsewhere coming from any Place, wandering without such Letter”: “he shall be maintenant taken . . . and put in the Stocks, and kept till he hath found Surety to return to his Service, or to Serve or labour in the Town from which he came” (12 Rich. II, c. 3; SR 2:56, my emphasis). Since the dreamer, although certainly out of place, can claim no fixed locale where he “serves,” even in the absence of a license, he cannot be punished, deported as it were, under the Statute. 45–52 The lomes . . . my wombe one: The dreamer’s education avowedly is his past; now he proceeds to outline his current way of life. In his last speech, he implicitly described himself as the dishonest steward of Luke 16. As he now tries to indicate how he retains a fyndyng (cf. line 49), even if not one from the now deceased “lynage ryche” Reason expected (see 26), Will quickly transforms himself from dishonest steward into other gospel characters. The steward, fearing he has lost his office, undertakes a program of chicanery, “mak[ing] friends of the mammon of iniquity” by writing off debts owed his lord. This is a deliberate program, “that when I shall be removed from the stewardship, they may receive me into their houses” (Luke 16:4); it resembles the risky chaffer Will will describe at 94–101. But equally, Will’s vocation echoes—most trenchantly in line 52—Jesus’ instructions to his followers (Luke 9, 10; first noted Clopper 1989:276). He deliberately seeks to present himself in an apostolic status that may answer English labor law: “The harvest indeed is great, but the laborers are few” (Luke 10:2). Will claims to live by his prayers, supported by those for whose good estate and eternal well-being he importunes God. In this process, he behaves as Imaginative had told him to (at B 12.16–17) and resembles the ideal priest: “a Porthors . . . sholde be his Plow, Placebo to sigge” (B 15.125, there as a rebuke to an armed priest, cf. lines 57–58 below). Thus, he has interests in God’s kingdom comparable to those of his evangelical forebears. He is paid for this effort in food and follows a regular rotation of visits among his employers; his behavior thus accords with Jesus’ injunctions, “eating and drinking such things as they have,” “eat such things as are set before you” (Luke 10:7, 8, the first cited 15.44L)—although he ignores commands against wandering house to house (Luke 10:5–7). Further, line 52 distinguishes the bagless dreamer from the “bidding [wheedling? or, like Will, praying?] beggars” of Prol.41–42; cf. 8.128n. For these figures, bag and belly are indistinguishable. L returns to this topic again at 9.98–104, 119–25L (see the notes there), 139–40, 151–58. Throughout this later passage, possession of the external trappings of a beggar damns the man who

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carries them, ipso facto; in contrast, to lack bag and bottle is to be perfectly apostolic: “Take nothing for your journey; neither staff, nor scrip, nor bread, nor money” (Luke 9:3; for the “staff,” cf. 9.159n). Perhaps particularly important, given Will’s aggressive turn on Reason at line 53, is Jesus’ command, “salute no man by the way” (Luke 10:4; cf. B 15.3–10, partly retained at 9.122–23; cf. Chaucer’s Miller, CT I.3122–23). Although he wears the habit of a lollare, Will claims to be truly apostolic, neither a gyrovague friar like penetrans domos (22.340) nor a lollare, since he does not carry a lollare’s equipment and takes no more than his day’s food (carries nothing away with him). He thus is exactly what the gospel calls a “laborer” and acquires a “measurable hire” from his patrons in return for his prayers (see Luke 10:7). Perhaps the most comparable figure elsewhere in the poem is the pilgrim Patience who “preyde mete ‘pur charite, for a pouere heremyte’ ” (B 13.30; cf. 15.32). Donaldson (1949:208–19) pursues his autobiographical argument by urging that L was “an itinerant handy man” who dealt in prayers. This, he argues, would have been one of the few jobs open to him as “a married clerk without benefice” (208). But the dreamer, whatever ecclesiastical hopes underlay his education, may now be in some status besides priest, perhaps some variety of hermit (see further 45–47n, 91n). With this depiction, Godden (1984:162), following Allen (1927:51–61, 430–70), compares Richard Rolle’s career as a hermit. Hanna (1997:41–42) discusses evidence for hermits as patronized domestic servants; as Bullock-Davies points out of minstrels (1978:18), all household servants “while they were on duty at Court . . . had their commons provided.” Hanna also examines (40–41) the limited begging the few surviving rules allow hermits: these require, following Matt. 6:34, that a hermit seek no more than his day’s fare, especially in urban settings. 45–47 The lomes . . . seuene psalmes: Recall lines 12–21 above; the dreamer may, once again, rely on Statute language. To forestall wage inflation, Parliament requires open hiring meetings, to be held in a public place in boroughs; to these laborers are to “bring openly in their Hands . . . their Instruments” (25 Edw. III, c. 2.1; SR 1:311). The dreamer shifts allegorical—and argumentative—levels in a way that anticipates more powerful shifts of this kind later in this vision, where spiritual values become the metaphorical meanings of agrarian acts—see 7.161ffnn and the later reformulations of 8.1–4n etc., as well as the citation of B 15.125 above. Here, in self-defense, Will inverts the later technique and claims a literal hard labor out of spiritual action, cf. 48 here soules. The word lome recalls other themes. For not only does it refer to a laborer’s instrument, at GGK 2309 it refers to military weaponry, a sense that looks

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ahead to line 58 and Will’s claim to belong to a nonmilitary aristocracy. Moreover, when at line 35, the dreamer may imply that his education has been like a maiming, he suggests that he has (or should have) exchanged one lome, his penis (see WA 4877 and cf. 22.195), for a second, the (prayer-)book—and if priestly, for chastity as well. He should no longer sow physical seed but spiritual; his plowshare (cf. the uses of the implement in Jean de Meun’s Rose and Chaucer’s Miller’s Tale, and the lengthy discussion, Barney 1973) is prayer—or what Will often substitutes for it, the composition of his poem. His claim for an equality of manual and spiritual work is perhaps affirmed in B 6.247–49, lines revised out in the C version. The locution 7at y . . . with must be read with both verbs in line 45. One might further notice that deserue, an echo of lines 12 and 32, here seems to attract honorific overtones (“merit”) largely absent in the previous use in line 42 (where the word seems to mean only “earn”). Both uses pun on Statute language, where “servantz” and “servir” define, respectively, those covered by the legal prescription and the act that they are to perform; cf. the climax of this argument in Crist for to serue 61, in context opposed to to labory and lordes kyn to serue 69. When he comes to list his lomes, Will mentions a series of common prayers that he routinely repeats on behalf of others. At least in part, he is thinking of Conscience’s visionary prediction at 3.464–65 (q.v.), where these prayers, and not the manual labor enjoined on everyone else, constitute the appropriate duties of perfect, messianic-age priests. Such a memory leads up to Will’s claim to perfection in line 84, itself in part an appeal to the Conscience who spoke the lines in C 3 to defend him as fulfilling an ideal status. For the “Pater noster,” see 16.322–23n. To the prayers Conscience has already mentioned, Will here adds the primer. The word describes the “Book of Hours [of the Virgin],” the customary private prayer-book for laity. Such volumes typically include the penitential psalms and Office of the Dead as well as the hours; for their usual contents and a good introductory statement about their use, see de Hamel 1986:159–64. A much more detailed survey (unfortunately, none of the books described are English) appears in Wieck 1988; for typical contents, see esp. 149–67. Duffy 2011 provides compensating images of English examples. For the equivalent modern volume, see Officium parvum; for ME vernacular examples, see Maskell 1882, 2:1–179 (“placebo” and “dirige” at 110, 123); and The Prymer (“placebo” and “dirige” at 105:52, 56). To a certain extent, as Galloway notes (1992:96, following Donaldson 1949:221, cf. 208–9), Will’s prayers provide “a neat summary of what was considered paradigmatic by the late fourteenth century for being ‘letterede.’ ” But

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Will’s self-presentation is calculatedly poised against a specific “professional” status, that of the “lewed Ermyte.” This phrase translates Latin heremita non literatus, a term limited to one narrow discursive context, discussions of the liturgical offices assigned hermits in those few surviving rules for that status. In such contexts (see Clay 1914:201–2), the prayers assigned the lettered hermit—and apparently closed to “lewed” ones—precisely correspond to Will’s lomes (see Hanna 1997:36–38). As Skeat noted, not just the requiem masses Will is not qualified to say, but prayers also, have power to remit time in Purgatory. Cf. PC 3586–89 and the canonistic text underpinning this view, Decretum 2.13.2.22 (CJC 1:728). The dreamer’s apparent engagement in intercessory prayer should probably be read forward into his meditations at 9.318–52. His deprecation there of acts geared simply to remitting purgatorial time, rather than an effort to Dowell, represents a substantial change of opinion peculiar to this version. 49–50 fouchensaf . . . 兩 To be welcome: Vouchsafe occurs most frequently in the fourteenth century in romances to describe grants, of property, of a spouse, or of goods. The locution underwrites Will’s subsequent claims to membership in a new aristocracy (cf. line 58). In contrast to the suggestion of a back-door beggar in hacches 29, Will claims he is an honored guest in households. 50 o∂erwhile in a monthe: The adverb again echoes Imaginative’s attack on the dreamer’s poetry (cf. B 12.23), canceled in this version. The lines may lie behind the claim at Mum 193–99 that a wise king would let a truth-teller visit once a month. 52 but my wombe one: Will’s claim to an appropriately modest pay may also gain further resonances from the Statutes. For, in a situation of expansive demand and reduced labor force, government officials charged that chantry priests, like field laborers, were demanding higher wages after the Black Death. Edward III’s council appears to have perceived such activities as widespread when it promulgated the original Statute of Laborers. On publication, separate letters containing the ordinance were sent to sheriffs and to bishops, and Edward commanded the latter, inter alia, “that you likewise moderate the Stipendiary Chaplains of your said Diocese, who, as it is said, do now in like manner refuse to serve without an excessive Salary; and compel them to serve for the accustomed Salary, as it behoveth them, under Pain of Suspension and Interdict” (23 Edw. III, in fine; SR 1:308). For episcopal efforts at holding down clerical wages, the three promulgations of the constitution “Effrenata,” see

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Putnam 1908:188–89, 432–33; Putnam 1916; Harding 1984:185–86; and cf. Scase 1989:144–45. 53–60L And also . . . constringit[ur]: With a certain (mock?) deference to his interlocutor (cf. “syre resoun,” perhaps also an effort to enlist him as fellow clerk), Will presents the general case that clerics might well fall outside Reason’s legislative ambit. With their crounes (the tonsure), they form a special sort of aristocracy. He readily converts the absence of his frendes’ continuing benefactions into a claim for a spiritual inheritance in the job they had prepared him for (but that he may no longer practice). Will may be guided by the Statute in terms that recur in lines 61–64: as someone who prays for members of well-to-do households, he might be construed an aristocratic hanger-on, a special type of servant (as a minstrel also is). The 1388 Statute absolves persons with such claims from its prohibitions on unlicensed movement: “The meaning of this Ordinance is not, that any Servants, which ride or go (chivachent ou aillent) in the Business (busoignes) of their Lords or Masters, shall be comprised within the same Ordinance for the Time of the same Business” (12 Rich. II, c. 3; SR 2:56). Tuck (1969:236) suggests that this exclusion was introduced by the magnates during the process of framing the Statute language after receipt of the initial Commons petition, which lacks any such exclusion. But again, L presents biblical rhetoric and Statute discourse as mutually supportive. And although Will’s most immediate motivation is to excuse himself from knaues werkes, he at first ebulliently emphasizes the peculiarity of clerical aristocracy. While truly a special heritage, it lacks, not just requirements of labor, but requirements of any necessary participation in all those cares and responsibilities associated with aristocratic social status. Thus, 7e lawe of leuyticy 55 points toward a double freedom. Given the claim of line 57, that clerics “Sholde nother swynke ne swete,” L (as Alford 1992:44, 99 suggests) here alludes to Num. 18:20–24. This passage excludes the Levites both from land ownership (and other necessary aristocratic efforts at estate management) and from the need to work for sustenance (instead, they are given the Lord’s tithes and first-fruits, portions of which they eat). Cf. Num. 18: 20: “And the Lord said to Aaron: You shall possess nothing in their land, neither shall you have a portion among them: I am thy portion and inheritance (pars et hereditas tua; cf. line 60L) in the midst of the children of Israel.” The death of his frendes is immaterial, Will suggests, for his education and tonsuring long ago in youth earn him an immutable claim to sustenance. These verses from Numbers, together with various New Testament citations (e.g., Acts 4:34–35), had considerable social currency in the later fourteenth century. They provide standard proof-texts for Lollard attacks on

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ecclesiastical ownership of real property. For discussion, see Hudson 1988:337–42 and 146–79nn. Further distinctions between the aristocrats of this world and Will’s crowned eyres of heuene 59 occur in subsequent lines. As regards “ne swerien at enquestes” (57), Alford (1988c:50–51) provides a rich array of citations to indicate that clerics are excused from participation in legal procedures. See most pregnantly his citation of Lyndwood 91–92: “We forbid any clerk to be judge or associate in any trial touching life or member.” Cf. Patience’s presentation of poverty as remocio curarum at 16.123–28L; Mum 705–9, in discussing the “piteousness” priests should display, also cites their freedom from military and judicial service “Al for cause 3aire conscience to kepe vn-y-wemmyd.” With regard to Ne fyhte (58), an attack on priests who bear arms—rather than service books—occurs in a passage alluded to above, B 15.120–27 (and see A 11.214, parallel to 159). On the offensive, the dreamer may well overstep in his claim to retain youthful perquisites no longer descriptive of his current life (see 11n). He is not, as he seems to claim, a mynistre (cf. Conscience at line 91 below), and probably not in quoer, that portion of the church reserved for clerics (cf. AB 5.3–8n), although he might have a place there as a clerk with song-school training. His clerical training in scripture now has become sadly reduced to repeating prayers he should know by rote. 55 leuitici: Properly, of course, “of Leviticus,” where many of the priestly regulations are discussed, but L again uses the term to mean “Levites” at 17.219. 56 of kynde vnderstondynge: Presumably “plain common sense indicates” or “as plain common sense would indicate,” Will’s effort to appeal past his interlocutor to a more basic psychological faculty. 58L Non reddas . . . : Alford (1992:44) cites Prov. 20:22 (Say not: I will return evil). Alford compares the primary Christian locus, Rom. 12:17 (To no man rendering evil for evil), as well as 1 Thes. 5:15, 1 Pet. 3:9. However, the uncited preceding verse, Prov. 20:21, may be performing implicit argumentative duty here: “The inheritance gotten hastily in the beginning, in the end shall be without a blessing.” In these terms, Will wittily implies that long deferral of his career might render his contribution more efficacious, rather than the less that Reason expects. 60L Dominus . . . constringit[ur]: The first citation is Ps. 15:5: “The Lord is the portion of my inheritance,” a direct claim to heavenly heirship (and line

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59 effectively translates it as if it were being spoken by a priest). This verse traditionally provided “benefit of clergy” and defined that status as essentially Latin literacy; see further Imaginative’s discussion at 14.128–30. The verse achieved this status from its quotation during the ceremony of tonsuring new clerks (Alford 1992:80, s.v. B 12.189); cf. PLM 453–54, where Moses (representing episcopacy) tonsures aspiring clerics “seyinge hem 3at God shulde be here part and here heritage.” In de Deguilleville’s account, Reason then describes the haircuts as comic, fools’ garb, but, paradoxically, in their bare pates, hiding true wisdom (457–502); cf. B 15.1–11, 9.105–39, 22.74–79, etc. clemencia non constringit, given the preceding tag “And elsewhere (it is written),” presumably also cites a text, but one I have failed to identify; one should probably read constringitur. Pearsall aptly associates the statement “Clemency is not constrained” with Portia’s “The quality of mercy is not strained” (Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice 4.1.179). However, the valences of Portia’s claim and that here are not quite similar. One should compare two standard definitions of the virtue Clemency (a “part” of the cardinal virtue Temperance) widely cited in the Middle Ages, Cicero, De inventione 2.54.164; and Seneca, De clementia 2.3, the latter of which reads: “Clementia est . . . lenitas superioris adversus inferiorem in constituendis poenis” (Clemency is a superior’s lenience in inflicting punishment on an inferior). Clemency “is not constrained,” because it voluntarily avoids what is constrained, the proper penalty assigned to a criminous action. Equally, by its nature, it is the virtue of a noble man, a superior or eyre, who displays meekness, not a desire to impose punishment. See further Seneca’s discussion, De clementia 1.7.1–5. The remark is obviously double-edged: Will directs Reason’s attention to his potential lack of clemency, while claiming his own pure intentions. 61–69 Hit bycometh . . . to serue: If the preceding lines suggest the heedless nature of clerical aristocracy, these emphatically distinguish clerkes and knaues, the illiterate lower classes, committed to agrarian labor. The dreamer invokes canonical regulation to indicate, in yet another way, restrictions that prevent those born to manual labor from advancing to an improper degre, to a state where they might perform intellectual work. For such regulation, as it forms part of the 1388 Statute of Laborers, see 35–44n; Skeat (1886:2, xxxiv–xxxv) connects these lines with a parliamentary petition of 1391. Lines 67–68 reiterate, as two fundamental requirements for priesthood, that the candidate must be legitimate and that he must not be a slave or a beggar. The first such concern, as Middleton notes (1997:258–59), also piqued John Ball, who claimed no bastard “aptum regno Dei” (Walsingham 1:544).

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The two criteria Will invokes are of different degrees of plausibility. On the one hand, Gratian is clear that slaves, unless freed by their lord from servitude, are debarred from ordination (Decretum 1.54; CJC 1:206–14). But the discussion of whether a priest’s child, and by extension any product of an unsanctified union, may be ordained (Decretum 1.56; CJC 1:219–23) offers a range of views. These include a series of attacks on the proposition that parental sin descends to the offspring, and the authors generally would allow ordination on a showing of the candidate’s virtuous merits (succinctly Jerome in c. 8). These discussions may come as some surprise to proponents of genetic predestinarianism elsewhere in the poem, notably Holychurch at 2.24–42 and Wit at 10.203–35. (The latter, in the form of B 9.121–57, as Justice 1994:105–11 points out, is a plausible source for John Ball’s views; note the subsequent 236–55, unique to C.) For those excluded from intellectual work on these bases, carting (65) is an appropriate task. Although Reason does not mention this job in lines 13–21 above, 12 Rich. II, c. 5 (SR 2:57) uses the phrases “to labour at the Plough and Cart” as a general synecdoche for agricultural work. Carting evokes the hazards of such labor and was the equivalent of modern long-haul trucking. For the dangers of transport (which include falling asleep on the job, perhaps relevant to the dreamer’s objections), see Hanawalt 1986:126–27, 131–32; and cf. Ch, CT I.2022–23, more distantly PF 102, CT III.1537–70. In contrast, Will outlines appropriately clerical jobs in lines 61–64. The list shows some self-serving shuffling in the dreamer’s claims. Although his highest pretension, to be an eyre of heuene, apparently involves serving Christ through prayer, Will opens the possibility of other clerical labors. Thus, clerks serve not simply God but good men (62) too, qualifying the universal condemnation of Prol.90–94. Further, clerks do not just pray but “sitten and wryten, 兩 Redon and resceyuen”—perform exactly those acts associable with a reeve and his accounts (cf. Middleton 1997:251, 253, 309 n57). In this framing, the dreamer again appears a steward, here one who strives to ingratiate himself with Reason (cf. his role as defined by Holychurch at 1.50–53). Of course, the reeve rendering his account offers yet another forecast here of a character probably literally to be conceived a reeve, Piers Plowman (cf. 7.182–204n). But being such a reeve is also continuing as Will always has, “ma[kyng] of tho men as resoun me tauhte,” and a reprise of lines 22–25. 62–64 God . . . spene: RK advance these three lines, which appear in the manuscripts after line 69; their discussion (pp. 172–73) ignores the obvious explanation of misinsertion after a line ending in serue (as both 61 and 69

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do). Sledd 1940 offers a punctuation (followed by Pearsall1) that makes the manuscript order reasonably sensible. 70–81 Ac sythe . . . ychaunged: Pearsall properly notes that this long sentence to the end of line 79 is formed by a series of five parallel clauses, all dependent on Ac sythe; the remaining pair of clauses outlines the results that have occurred. Will moves naturally from insisting on keeping clerkes and knaues separate to a calamitous view of contemporary disaster, ending with a prophecy reminiscent of such earlier moments as Prol.62–65, 118–24. The depopulation following the Black Death reduced the number of available priests. In this shortage, canonical distinctions could no longer be sustained, and there were “innumerable dispensations . . . sanctioning the ordination of candidates who did not possess the usual qualifications of age, of legitimate and free birth, of education, etc.” (Putnam 1916:13). Will thus offers a different reading of the situation already discussed at Prol.81–94. This prospect reminds him of manifold analogous breakdowns. Boundaries between estates should be preserved, but in all the (hypothetical) cases Will mentions, aristocratic privilege is subject to incursions from every direction. Yet Will attacks behavior exactly analogous to his own. Will’s claim broadens the case far past his own particular merits to show Reason’s undue fastidiousness about his own apparent lawlessness; Reason irrationally selects to prosecute but one of many social distortions. Post-Plague society has become so depraved that Will’s valid claims to gentility have been undermined from every side and thus appear lacking, yet one further modern instance of depravity. Moreover, the vagueness of the concluding line—Will’s inability to imagine social improvement—is linked with his necessary vagueness about his personal amendment in subsequent lines. However, one should see that it is only within this “vague space” that the poem PP can come into existence and be written. The text answers the dreamer-poet’s disquiet at contemporary conditions, amply illustrated in the first vision (not to mention his interrogation here). Equally, as 1–108n and 11n argue at some length, the poem can only evolve (roll out) as the compulsive substitute for that penance the dreamer cannot bring himself to undertake. The passage, more directly than Will’s return to this complaint at 9.204–13L, inspires PPCrede 744–67. 70 bondemen barnes haen be mad bisshopes: At the best, Will in his doomsterism probably alludes to the use, developing through the first half of the fourteenth century, of bishoprics to support royal administrators. While no bishop during the century seems to have risen, as Will alleges, from serfdom,

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a number of candidates useful to the king for their administrative ability were branded “laicus” or “illiteratus” when presented (see Pantin 1962:13–14). In practice, in the later fourteenth century “a new type of bishop appeared, drawn from the higher aristocracy” (ibid. 23). 71 And barones bastardus haen be Erchedekenes. Lords were expected to provide benefices for their servants, household chaplains, and clerical staff, and certainly expected to look after their families. Pantin cites (1962:32) the Liber Niger Edwardi IV, which assumes that magnates will reward clerics in their service with “officialships [an erchedeken was a bishop’s chief administrative officer; cf. Pantin 1962:26–27], deaneries, prebends . . .” 72–75 And sopares . . . kynges worschipe: The word sopar has been persistently misconstrued (including by MED) and has nothing to do with soap. It means simply “shop-keeper, merchant,” as in the London street “Sopare(s) Lane” in Cheapside. The etymon is British Medieval Latin soparius, derivative of scopa/shopa/sopa “shop,” all presumably representing an unrecorded OE *scopa, *scopere. Cf. Nightingale 1995:81–82. London soap-making seems to have been a post-Langlandian industry; cf. Thrupp 1948:10; Stow, Survey 1:251. Thrupp discusses at length (1948:234–87) the efforts of merchants to penetrate the ranks of genteel landed society. Perhaps particularly interesting is the case of the grocer John Wiltshire, who could purchase his knight’s fee but could not persuade others to let him perform the associated coronation services in 1377 (see 259). Cf. O’Connor’s description (1994) of the activities of John Pyel, a fringe player who escaped prosecution by the Good Parliament in 1376. In fact, the only London merchants elevated to knighthoods in the period, mayor William Walworth and three companions, received the honor for “military service,” their aid in dispatching Wat Tyler at Smithfield in 1381; cf. Barron 2000:410–12. Here the reversal of roles resembles the exchange knight/mercer that Covetise describes at 6.248–52; the knight’s son must become a laborer, impoverish himself, in order to perform his appropriate military duty (lines 74–75 recall 1.90–106). 76–77 And monkes . . . ypurchased: The income of monasteries, which should be expended in the conventional monastic alms, hospitality to the sick and dying, and weekly doles of bread and ale, has been diverted to the militaristic aggrandizement of relations. Under William Gray, bishop of Lincoln 1431–36, the severest visitation formula for an ill-run house states, “elemosina consumitur; hospitalitas non observatur” (the funds for alms are dissipated; the rules of hospitality—often opulent and extended to wealthy patrons, not the poor—

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not observed) (cited Knowles 1957:211 n1). Instead of this socially useful occupation, in which the monk of genteel birth performs with proper spiritual gentility, a place in a religious establishment has become an extension of the family household and the assets of the community are transferred to private use (cf. the examples of abbots making personal use of revenues mentioned by Knowles 211, 213). Reason hears this complaint and addresses it in his sermon, lines 156–67 below (esp. 165–66). 78–79 Popes . . . to kepe: The dreamer addresses two similar abuses, both involving a purchase from which an individual like him, poor but noble by birth, would be excluded. From Popes, one would receive a provision to occupy a certain benefice (see Pantin 1962:47–75); patrones would hold the advowson of, the right of appointment to, a particular benefice (cf. again the discussion of 13.104–14). The notion that such appointments might be purchased leads to the charge that successful applicants are Symondus sones, the children of Simon Magus (Acts 8: 18–24); cf. 2.65–66n. 83–88 For in my Consience . . . alle thynges: Given the current state of the world, no external spiritual guidance is trustworthy. The individual can only rely on his own conscience as he pursues justice. The dreamer appeals to Conscience for support in claiming that his whole mode of lowly living— which Reason identifies as having no regimen but that lines 86–88 define in terms of the B version’s doctrine of nonsolicitousness—amounts to a penitential act (as Will will in passus 9 claim of the deserving poor en masse). However different the modality, the phrase penaunce discrete (84) recalls the end of the upcoming vision in the A and B versions. There Piers, the poem’s closest approximation to a parfit man, takes on penaunce discrete as his primary me´tier. This passage is “the displaced form of Piers’s tearing of the Pardon sent from Truth that is cancelled in C” (Middleton 1997:263, cf. 292). Here the dreamer’s effort to replace Piers and to enact this promise (in lines 105–8 below) only turns out to be a further example of the recursion he will shortly describe, a fall back into the habit of sleeping (and of poetic composition). Will also attempts to wrap himself in the ne solliciti sitis ethic prominent in AB. Skeat compares B 7.126–35, and one might also notice resemblances to the lunatic lollers of 9.105–39. But Will’s behavior might be distinguished from Patience’s invocation of the same verses at 15.244–49 and his seriousness perceived as tempered, a self-serving joke. Given the description of line 46, the pater noster, with other associated prayers, is completely responsible for any fyndyng he manages to obtain!

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Links between Will and Conscience particularly intrigue L in his revision of early portions of C. In Prol.125–38, the personification takes over materials spoken by the dreamer in B, and in their outspoken antipathy to Meed, they are progressively isolated figures throughout passus 3. The dreamer will invoke Conscience again at 9.236–40. This association is renewed in the Dowell banquet scene, especially 15.175–83, and lasts until the end of the poem (following on Clergy’s remark at B 13.203–4). Recent criticism, to which one may now add Wood 2012, following Jenkins (Martin) 1969, has typically perceived Conscience as a figure nearly as subject to mistakes as the dreamer. 84 Preeyeres of a parfit man and penaunce discrete: Later passages offer conflicting evidence about how to read Will’s implicit claim in the on-verse. On the one hand, Will’s self-associations with perfection have been inherited from B 12.24, where the dreamer alleges that not laboring, failing to say his Psalter so as to write the poem, approaches perfection. Writing is “play,” not just an opposite of labor but a foolishness easily deprecated; yet ancient wise men “Pleyden 3e parfiter to ben.” On the other hand, Will’s “perfection” reminds one of Piers’s rejection at 8.131–38 of the wasters’ excuse that they laze about in order to pray. Perhaps a more relevant gloss appears at 11.174 and 13.230; the claim to be a parfit man reflects the dreamer’s “pruyde/pruyde or presumpcioun of parfit lyuynge,” and links this self-defense to Will’s desperate immersion in the inner dream of the Land of Longing (first noted Clopper 1989:274, 278). Such associations intensify the connections with the later self-defense, Recklessness’s huge rant (including its assertion that indigence of any stripe is blessed), and with its conclusion in another rebuke from Reason (see 11n above). The phrase penaunce discrete is equally difficult to define discursively. The English phrase, so far as is known, appears in only two other places, the Lollard tracts “On Clerks Possessioners” (“Wycliffe,” English Works, EETS 74:117, cited Godden 1990:55) and “On Church Temporalities” (Arnold SEW 3:213), in both instances apparently to describe a life of self-directed penitential meekness. In these terms, private penaunce discrete would contrast with Will’s prayers undertaken on behalf of others. But equally, the phrase may reflect the technical language of penitential theory. “Confessio . . . discreta” routinely appears in widely distributed verses that enumerate the conditions (up to twenty-seven of them) for a proper confession. In this context, “discreta” means using appropriate and modest language in the confessional, intruding no trivial concerns, and, perhaps most relevantly here, following lines 70–81, concentrating upon one’s own sins

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rather than revealing those of one’s neighbor (so DTC 3:957). For the verses and discussion, see Millett 1999. Alternatively, as Sarah Wood points out to me, an authoritative source, Raymund of Penyaforte’s Summa 3.34.26, sees “discrete penance” in slightly different terms: “Likewise, confession ought to be discrete, so that the penitent confess distinctly and separately every one of his sins. This follows from Ps. 6:7, ‘Every night I will wash my bed,’ that is, I will wash my conscience of every one of my sins” (Discreta similiter debet esse confessio, scilicet vt distincte, ac separatim confiteatur singula peccata, iuxta illud: ‘Lauabo per singulas noctes lectum meum,’ etc. Id est, per singula peccata conscientiam meam). Godden (1984:132) notes that preeyeres and penaunce forms a persistent alliterative doublet in the poem and (132–33) gives examples of penance meaning “the ascetic life” elsewhere in ME. 86–88 Non de solo . . . nec in pane, Fiat . . . : Matt. 4:4, itself a quotation of Deut. 8:3, reads “Non in solo pane vivit homo” (It is written: Not in bread alone doth man live, [but in every word that proceedeth from the mouth of God]). But as Burrow argues (1993:104), L splits and extends the verse so that it reads as a rejection of the entire food cycle, production and consumption: “Man does not live of the soil, nor in bread or other food.” The subsequent Latin from the Pater Noster, Matt. 6:10 (Thy/God’s will be done), of course defines the word of God. L ultimately allows Patience to offer something like a definitive reading of these conjoined verses (see 15.244–49, 83–88n above, and 7.260Ln); given Patience’s association with holy suffering, one might also consider the analogue of Luke 22:42, “But yet not my will, but thine be done.” On the Pater Noster throughout the poem, see Gillespie 1994. Middleton (1997:246) signals the implicit connection with Matt. 10:19–20, where God will give the arrested apostle sufficient answer to hold off his tormentors. Mann (1979:30–32, followed by Barney 1988:121), adduces John 4:34: “My meat is to do the will of him who sent me.” 89–91 Quod Consience . . . to mynistre: Skeat and Pearsall suggest that Conscience here responds to 84 parfit, but one might equally argue that he is actuated by the dreamer’s claim to a clean, and extraordinarily perspicacious, conscience in the preceding line. Whitworth (1972:6) distinguishes Reason, at this point silent, as concerned with theory, Conscience with practice; the latter figure sees that the dreamer’s behavior does not entirely accord with his claims. For Conscience, the issue then becomes, not the claim of perfection per se, but a sad (stable) life of that sort (cf. 103–4). Following good monastic

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precedents, Conscience associates this, not with the individual will to be perfect, but with a stable social status, overseen by someone in an official capacity, a position analogous to the emphases of Reason’s subsequent sermon. Conscience invokes legal discourse as well and draws attention in line 91 to the statutory exception to the status Reason has attacked at 29–31. If Will looks like a “lewed” hermit (but isn’t “lewed”) and may be a priest (but may have tainted that status through sexual indulgence), he still potentially has a licit claim to beg (as Godden 1990:181 notes). The 1388 Statute extends this privilege to “People of Religion and Hermits approved (heremytes approvez) having letters testimonial of their Ordinaries” (12 Rich. II, c. 7; SR 2:58). Such supervisory figures would include the prior or mynistre (cf. MED ministre, sense 2b, usually of Franciscan provincial officials) mentioned here, although Will has already suggested (line 76) that his status may reflect precisely a failure by supervising clergy to aid deserving beggars like himself. 89 lyeth: Skeat and Pearsall1 gloss “applies, is to the point.” But Godden (1984:155), although noting OED sense 13, directs attention to the adversative Ac in the following line (glossing the word as Skeat and Pearsall do would seem to require “For”) and suggests translating “I cannot see that this doctrine (that prayer and penance is the best life) is false; and yet. . . .” A similar ambiguity occurs at B 10.112. 92–101 That is soth . . . shal turne: At this point, Will simply caves in (beknowe 92 is an admission). He accepts Reason’s earlier charges of his irregularity (see line 28) and, in return, can only offer his good will; cf. Imaginative’s discussion at 14.23–29 and Conscience’s at B 13.190–97. But here Will’s proffer, rather than fusion of his soul with “voluntas dei” (88), veers back into the very unregulated status for which he is being chastised. For all that Will can promise is compulsive and repetitive effort, the same acts over and over again—a reflection of what he has earlier identified as Romynge in remembraunce (see 11n and esp. Middleton 1988). He promises such behavior in the good hope (94 and 99, not in his later despairing behavior as Recklessness) that such repetition will somehow once manage not to be loss (as it has always been in the past) but profit (wynnyng 98). As Piers sees, when in the AB versions he tears the pardon, such a profit (salvation) can only come to pass independently of Will’s, or any individual’s, efforts to obtain it, through the mysterious infusion of grace; see further Recklessness at 12.205–9 and more distantly, Imaginative’s flailing blind man at B 12.103–12. Chaffare provides a powerful metaphor for this complex activity. Just as in the mercantilistic parables on which he relies to create his apostolic status

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(see 7n, 23–25n, 45–52n, 98Ln, 100–101n), Will invokes a widespread analogy between commerce and spirituality. Both, as in the earlier example of the dishonest steward, involve a calculus of risk and disaster; for Will, the likelihood of utter failure, total waste and loss, and concomitant repetition, overwhelms any immediate sense of possible success. (This point is taken up at length in a draft, unpublished version of Middleton 2013, which I am grateful that the author shared; and more distantly, at her 1990:46, 1997:234.) The suggestion here, intensified by wyrdes as well as the impersonal verbs of 95 and 98, is that chaffare is purely blind luck, that the mode by which salvation occurs is incomprehensible and bears no apparent relation to either desire or effort. Thus equally, the dreamer asserts that what appear to Reason his undisciplined flailings about serve a deep purpose, even if one incomprehensible, and are not to be measured by ostensible in-transit results alone. For a different reading, see Lawler 1979. Of course, this promise of repetition and recursion to the lost hopes of youth defines not simply a spiritual status and a biography but also the very me´tier of L’s poetry (cf. 1.80). Indeed the three are very nearly coterminous. At the very opening of his project, in A 1.119–20, L inscribes, through Holychurch, a Dantesque prospect that it will be possible to “enden . . . in perfite werkis.” But the working of the poem involves L in the discovery that he can only “ofte chaffare.” See further 1–108n. Such chaffering marks the poem in the most large scale and most obvious ways. It determines its gross form, its incessant visioning, the repetitive effort to approach more nearly to the heart of that mystery that Will here identifies as grace itself (and the form of his identification acknowledges, of course, his distance from it). Moreover, L’s visions are not simply repetitive but recursive: each seems to begin at some point before the last had started (see, e.g., 126n, 180–90n below), and none seems to achieve finality, only a new conflicted restatement of the issues. See further Middleton 1982, Smith 2001:184–87, and 110n. But such repeated visioning only vaguely signals the great act of recursive chaffering that L undertakes. This is the determination to write the poem over, head to end, to create Versions. Rather than some climax, some moment of prophetic vision, re-vision is the very me´tier of the poem and of L’s biography as the poem represents it. And, as the reader will find in the conversations parallel to 5.1–108 that comprise passus 6, such biographical re-vision and irresolvable verbal conflict proves to be the poem’s version of gracelessness, of scapegraceism, of sinful life itself. 97 sette . . . at a leef: Translate: “regarded . . . as of no consequence” (so MED lef n.1, sense 1d); apparently an allusive use of such idioms as “not worth a

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kres” or “not worth a leaf.” However, this sense underlies L’s common (and often provocatively placed) idiosyncratic use of leef as “bit, small part” (MED sense 2d): cf. 6.209, 15.103; B 6.254, 7.111 (the archetypal, not edited, version) and 181. 98L Simile est . . . dragmam: Will continues the chorus of gospel citations that began at line 86. The first text is Matt. 13:44 (The kingdom of heaven is like unto a treasure hidden in a field). Middleton comments (2013:133): “The field [Will] has obtained for development is Piers’s half-acre, and his project, idiosyncratically specified as penance by other means, now becomes his work, neither idleness nor courtly play.” The second citation alludes to Luke 15:8–10 (the woman who finds her lost groat). Pearsall notes that this parable immediately precedes that of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11–32, itself juxtaposed with the dishonest steward of Luke 16) and that both express the joy in heaven over a returned sinner. An equally powerful subtext, again an adjacent citation (Matt. 13:45–46, immediately following the treasure in the field), especially relevant to line 96 and to possible connections with Pearl, would be the pearl of great price: “Again the kingdom of heaven is like to a merchant seeking good pearls. Who when he had found one pearl of great price, went his way, and sold all that he had, and bought it.” With such treasure-seeking, cf. Holychurch at 1.43–53, 79–87, 136, 202 and the notes there. All these parables describe gaining the kingdom of heaven, identifying a vocacio (43L) that eventually will achieve the hereditas (60L) the dreamer has persistently claimed. 100–101 bigynne a tyme 兩 That alle tymes of my tyme to profit shal turne: Certainly the lines address the mysterious multiplier effects of capitalistic chaffare, whereby apparent loss, the constant outlay of investment, sometimes achieves a wondrous reward beyond expectation. Cf. for example, Jerome’s famous discussion of the multifold “fruits” of virtuous chastity, Adversus Jovinianum 1.3 (PL 23:213, and L’s tree of C 18), or in this context, its source, the parable of the sower (Matt. 13:3–23). This last, yet again, forecasts the appearance of Piers in the poem as a desired object. Yet equally, the lines may rely upon ecclesiastical legalism. Galloway (1992:95 n4) cites a Worcester Cathedral prior’s letter refusing to release a previously supported clerk from service to the chapter; the house “for a time and times has thus brought you up.” Galloway comments, “Education is a patron’s or institution’s proprietarial investment.” Being provided with a vocation does not necessarily create one’s freedom (reward or hereditas), but a further debt and potential loss. The locution may echo, to various effects,

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Dan. 7:22 and 25, “tempus advenit, et regnum obtinuerunt sancti” (the time came, and the saints obtained the kingdom), “usque ad tempus, et tempora, et dimidium temporis” (until a time, and times, and half a time). 102–4 Y rede the . . . ywende: Just as the dreamer has retreated, his interlocutors retreat. Their surrender (a fantasy of slack enforcement without even a prerequisite Meed-like appeal) leaves the dreamer ostensibly self-justified and self-authorized as poet. Reason and Conscience perform like the lord of Luke 16, who, in a mysterious act, accepts an ostensibly heavenly economics that relies upon worldly sharp practice. Of course, the dreamer chooses to respond to Conscience’s statement, not Reason’s; it allows him to persist in past behavior (contynue) once he has entered the church. 103 louable and leele to: Translate: “profitable and appropriate for.” The first adjective fluctuates among a range of self-reinforcing meanings— praiseworthy, licit, worthy of remuneration (cf. 8.194n, B 15.4n). See the discussions of lele labour and lawe and leaute, Prol.147n and B Prol.122n, respectively. 105–11 (B 5.3–10, A 5.3–10) The dreamer sleeps again: The first four lines in the C version have replaced the transition of AB 3–8; in these versions only characters in the dream, the king and knights of his Chamber (see GivenWilson 1986:passim, esp. 160–74, 280–86), actually go to church. Will’s repositioning in C corresponds to a potentially significant shift in tone between the versions. In AB, the dreamer is (perhaps typically) insouciant; in C, he responds immediately to Conscience’s parting command, “to 3e kyrke ywende.” In the earlier versions (AB 5.3–8), while sadder 4 forecasts the lack of steadfastness addressed in the preceding C version addition, such a failure is associated, not with labor or the pursuit of perfection, but with inefficacious sleeping. The point is expanded in faren a furlong 5; the dreamer resumes his wandering, albeit briefly, and the minimal distance he travels has been chosen for its etymological force—which associates it with plowing (generally echoed at 7.307–8.2). The brevity of even his motion—much less purpose—finds an echo in the fastidiousness of softely 7 (which, of course, also recalls the opening of the poem and the previous onset of vision). And when Will prays, he repeats a public formula, my bileue, the Creed. See further 110n. In contrast, C 105–8 sound legitimately penitential, in a way that revises both 5.30 and the dreamer’s response to Imaginative at B 12.27–28. Will enters the church and prays Byfore 7e cross—as Donaldson suggests, in the nave, like

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any other penitent layperson (a check upon any clerical pride expressed in the previous conversation). He also performs conventional gestures that indicate sorrow for his sins, thus beginning the penaunce discrete he has promised at 84. Knocking one’s breast punctuates the center of the general confession recited in every mass, the prayer “Confiteor”; there it accompanies the threefold repetitions, “peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo, et opera, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.” The gesture will recur in the confessions of the Deadly Sins; see 6.63–64 (a parody completed by 67), 7.6, 60. Will again weeps within the dream at 6.2. Equally, in C his prayer is no longer the Creed, but my paternoster, a fulfillment of his earlier assertion about the efficacy of “fiat voluntas tua” (88), as well as public formula. To this newfound seriousness in C, one might link Kerby-Fulton’s suggestion (1990:22, 53) that sleep in church identifies a vision clearly prophetic. The dreamer urges his family to attend the Easter mass at 20.468–75 and returns to church at Easter, after a delay to write his preceding vision, at 21.1–5. 109 (B 5.9, A 5.9) Thenne mette me muche more then y byfore tolde: Rather than the line being an example of aaa/xy alliteration, the cesura may fall after muche, with b-verse alliteration on more and stress on -fore and told-. In this reading, there should be a mid-line comma, and one should translate, “Then I dreamed a great deal—even more than I described previously.” 110: This line, unique to C, draws the poem back from the waking London scene to Malvern, the site, in all three texts, of the dreamer’s first vision. The poem recourses to its opening, as if intervening materials had never happened, a feature Bennett and Schmidt1 associate with bablede (AB 5.8), a muttered lulling they find reminiscent of AB Prol.10. This verb, attested nowhere else in the poem, accords with other elements of the AB portrayal and associates Will’s prayer with childish prattle or other unproductive speech; one might compare the opinion of a Lollard interrogated in the 1430s, that laypeople who pray in Latin might just as well say “bibull babull” (Hudson 1988:31). The word may be reflected in the similarly echoic formation 123 mamele; the only other use of this word in the poem, B 11.418, describes Adam’s fall. 111–200 (B 5.9–59, A 5.9–42) Reason’s sermon to the fair field of folk: John Burrow, in one of the most influential essays ever written on the poem (1965), identifies the “Action of the Second Vision” as an emphasis upon amendment. Burrow describes this as a four-part process: (1) Reason’s sermon enjoining penitence (which brings the inhabitants of the fair field to contrition, the first “part” of sacramental penitence); (2) the oral confessions of the Seven Deadly

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Sins, the second “part” (6.1–7.154); (3) pilgrimage, one possible manifestation of the acts of satisfaction, the third “part” (such satisfaction demonstrates a fulfilled desire for amendment) (7.155–9.2); and (4) absolution, the pardon for sin that Piers receives (9.3–294). Chaucer’s Parson provides a quite conventional guide to the “parts” of penance and their functions; cf. the “signposts” to his argument at CT X.107–15, 128–29, 315–21, 1029–33. The scene begins as a public occasion and follows, as Burrow says (1965:249; cf. Stokes 1984:156), from Conscience’s insistence that amendment in the realm can only follow some reformation of the commune that will render it accepting of the rule of law (4.176–78). This public governmental theme gains through L’s various revisions progressively more emphatic expression within the sermon; see 180–96nn. But the public forum dissolves at 6.1: L conceives Conscience and Reason’s reformatio regni, not within the governmental sphere of Prol.-4, but as a private sacramental act. The folk of the fair field return to the narrative at 7.155, and the language of governmental relations only at 8.6 (cf. couenant 8.26). Bennett argues that Reason’s oration forms a shifting sermo ad statu¯s, paralleled in Gower’s Vox clamantis and Miroir de l’omme. But when Owst (1926:247–65) discusses sermones ad statu¯s, as a genre distinct from either those de tempore (explanations of the daily, usually Sunday, gospel or epistle) or de sanctis (for the feast days of saints), he significantly discusses only Latin examples. These are often associated with episcopal visitations and delivered ad cleros (one prominent such status). Although John of Wales’s Communiloquium, for example, appears constructed to provide materials for addressing a wide range of social groups, sermones ad statu¯s to specific social classes represent a specialized genre, in the main confined to late twelfth- and thirteenthcentury France (cf. d’Avray 1976:134–211, and for John’s Communiloquium, the extensive description, Swanson 1989:63–166). These collections were all composed by friars, which may explain the Lollard sectarian sniping of JU 251–52: “Frere, si3 9e wolen opinli preche a9en 3e defautis of prelatis, of prestis, lordis, lawiers & marchauntis & comouns.” (cited Owst 1961:220–21, Spencer 1993:66). Owst’s voluminous demonstration of sermon commentary on different social groups (1961:210–470) thus substantially misleads. It insists on a selective presentation of sermon content, at the expense of recorded sermon form. For as Spencer points out (1993:65–67), the social commentary L here presents as Reason’s full text most usually is found in English sermons as a block of material placed within a text given over to other issues. Such reliance upon estates categories appears prominently in part 1 of Wimbledon’s sermon; for other examples from a single collection de tempore, see (the misnamed) Lollard Sermons, sermons 2/415–576; 8/200–410; 11A/202–300, 383–415; DM/524–618. The

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opening section of the first, 2/415–69, might be noted as particularly relevant here, since it addresses a series of clerical failures, including many of the topics broached at 146–67, as signs of the last days, the topic with which Reason opens. Thus, Reason’s sermon belongs within the widely dispersed discourse of estate satire, analysis of class responsibilities; for the outstanding discussion, see Mann 1973 passim (and cf. 22.229–51n). In keeping with this discourse, Reason is generally informed by a social model of the commune as a series of clearly defined statu¯s, each with delimited duties and each necessarily adhering to these in order for the entire social organism to function. (Cf. the reference to Wimbledon in 43Ln.) Further, this discourse insists upon hierarchical relationships and the obedience to that figure of authority appropriate to each status. Because of such universalism, the address to a variety of statu¯s, rather than a single one, Reason’s oration depends upon persistent analogies between figures in functionally comparable positions. After a brief introduction (115–25) filled with portents of disaster brought on by sin, the sermon follows in a lockstep manner, quite atypical of L’s usual development, Reason’s speech at 4.108–30 (cf. Alford 1988b:209, elaborating upon Dunning 1980:85). There Reason has laid out the conditions for a messianic/Utopian society; cf. 4.144–45 and its echo of Conscience at 3.452–63. Here Reason, imagining as a future the inversion of messianic hope, expresses no reuthe as he demands the removal of sinful behavior so as to redeem individuals and society (cf. Burrow 1965:249). Reason thus ticks off here in close order all his earlier critiques, from purnele porfiel (4.111, corresponding to 5.128) through to Rome-running (4.122–30 reduced to 5.197–98). With those categories Reason invokes, contrast Wimbledon’s traditional three estates, specified as priests, knights/lords and judges, laborers and merchants, respectively (lines 100–118); or in the Lollard Sermons, prelates, parsons, regular clergy; lords, gentry; and merchants, artificers, husbandmen (11A/383–415, the final triad of “commons” again at DM/548–49). Yet both Reason and Wimbledon accord with Lewte’s counsel to openly rebuke publicly known faults. Schmidt calls that figure’s advice to Will, “To reden it in retorik to arate dedly synne” (B.11.102, slightly varied at 12.36) “one of the most important lines in PP” (1987:13). The handling of the sermon across the three versions typifies L’s poetic development throughout the second vision. A, as customary elsewhere, is the briefest rendition, generally an outline of those topics L broaches in all three texts. B subjects this standing text to two types of expansion—a modest addition of materials within the sermon as presented in A (e.g., B 5.32–40, although some A manuscripts include, perhaps by legitimate archetypal descent, partial

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equivalents unprinted by Kane) and an equally outline-like smattering of new topics near the end (B 5.48–55). In contrast, C doubles the length of the sermon, in part by extensive development of B (as in the case of king and pope, 180–96). But just as the first half of this passus “front-loads” parts of the B “inquisicio de Dowell” (there Imaginative’s rebuke from B 12), so L imports into the sermon—and many subsequent passages of the second vision— materials originally treated later in the poem. Here the primary example is the prophetic attack on regular clergy (146–79, from B 10.297–335; cf. A 11.204–16). This represents but one example of a persistent form of revision in C’s third vision. There L removes a good deal of the carping on bad priests that had characterized earlier versions, most particularly A, with its several efforts at aligning “the three Do’s” with clerical status. 112–13 (B 5.11–12, A 5.11–12) resoun/Consience: Burrow (1965:250) describes the scene as “a great ecclesiastical occasion,” and, as Pearsall sees, the cross precedes a bishop in formal ecclesiastical processions, such as archiepiscopal visitations. As Pearsall also mentions (114n), Reason’s preaching is reminiscent of sermons in the open air, e.g., at St. Paul’s Cross. (Bennett in fact confuses the cross, carried in both B and C versions, with an open-air stationary cross; for an example of such a canopied preaching station, see the photo of the surviving Dominican example in Hereford, Hinnebusch 1951:plate 23, following 192.) Each version formulates the relationship between the two allegorical figures differently. In A, Conscience gives the sermon, and Reason is not mentioned; Kirk comments (1972:46) that the poem shifts from the external to the internal, “enacting what happens when conscience brings self-awareness to creatures.” In B, Reason, “more priestly” and thus “more appropriate” according to Bennett, preaches, and Conscience does not appear. And in C, Reason still preaches but is accompanied by Conscience; Whitworth argues (1972:5–6) that they appear here as universalized figures, not the private faculties he sees as having addressed the dreamer in the preceding waking episode. The C version complicates matters further, through its inclusion of a detail not present in earlier versions. At 4.184–86, the two personifications have been associated with specific governmental offices, Reason as Chancellor of the Exchequer, Conscience as King’s Justice. Reason might appropriately be conceived as an episcopal figure also performing as royal official; Treasurers of the Exchequer were frequently bishops also; see Tout 1920–33, 6:19–24. The association of Conscience with justice and his role here as liturgical acolyte is considerably more amorphous. But certainly, these judicial appointments resonate with C’s major expansion, the materials at 180–96, which imply a

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conjunction between royal and ecclesiastical legal discourses (cf. 140–45n). Stokes (1984:42–44, 60, 159 etc.) argues that lawyer and priest are comparable legalistic figures (and constructively draws attention to the imbrication of the penitential system in legal metaphor). But Reason ryht as a pope 112 is detached from a secular legal system that idealizes a strict lewte (without perversely merciful incursions from Meed). He is here associated with an office differently founded (through apostolic succession) and the vehicle of divine mercy and grace (recall Prol. 128–38 and contrast that passage with the following lines). De Deguilleville’s Reason, who first appears at the opening of the dreamer’s pilgrimage, is routinely presented as preaching or giving sermons, rather than just speaking (e.g., PLM 447, 510). She goes to a “chayre” to give a formal sermon, instruction to clerics on the responsibilities of clerical judgment, that is, penitential chastisement (PLM 589–690). She argues, in part, that clerics resemble the Cherub with burning sword who guards the New Jerusalem (cf. Gen. 3:24), the role L will assign Grace and Amend-you at 7.243–54. Conscience as Reason’s cross-bearer (113 crocer) expresses the necessity of both powers, but (as signaled at 3.437–38, 4.5) with the practical and experiential force subordinated to the more theoretical figure (cf. 5.89–91n). Reason’s directorial function is implicit in radde 125, which with reule is the action most frequently associated with the figure. Note line 181 below, where Reason speaks for Conscience. 115–22 (B 5.13–20, A 5.13–20) Sinfulness and disaster: The theme of natural disaster as a check upon human sinfulness recurs with some frequency. Wit, within a model that does not allow for any redemptive possibility, discusses Noah’s flood in this spirit at 10.220–33; and in a moment of frustration over apparently intractable labor problems, the dreamer wishes for a similar emergency, in this case famine, at 8.341–52 (see the nn. there). Imaginative lists “poustees of pestilences” among God’s warning tribulations, messages to the sinful, “Amende 3ee while 3ou my9t” (B 12.10–12L). Following Stokes (1984:203), the appearance of Death at 22.80–105 has much the same effect. Bennett refers to Bromyard and Brinton, who argue that plagues are vengeance for human vices. 117 pertliche implies that Reason finds this a reading of the storm of 1362 that requires no proof. Just as frequently, however, L perceives disaster, and perhaps especially the pestilence, as less a cure for sin than a force that fosters it. See, e.g., the dreamer at lines 70–79 above (speaking in the context of statute law created to control the effects of plague depopulation) or Study at 11.52–77. Meiss

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(1951:67–70) was perhaps the first to comment upon this bifurcated response to the plague, both severity and license. 115 (B 5.13, A 5.13) this pestelences: For the recurrent episodes of bubonic plague that began in 1348, see Prol.82n. 116 (B 5.14, A 5.14) the southweste wynde on saturday At euene: See Skeat’s lengthy note (derived from Tyrwhitt); this hurricane can be identified through L’s references to saturday and the southweste. The date of the storm (15 January 1361/2; the feast of St. Maur, as the verses cited by Lawler 2011:84, 101 indicate) provides a terminus a quo for the A version, although a shaky one: the event was remembered for years (indeed, even invoked at the time of the October 1987 storm that struck southern England). Bennett cites Anominalle Chronicle, which includes a reference to uprooted trees, both those in orchards and those in woods, very much in the spirit of subsequent lines. 121 (B 5.19, A 5.19) turned vpward here tayl: The trees with roots in the air (an unusual usage, for tail usually means a plant’s leaves or stem) expand upon the topic of a world turned vpsodoun by sin; cf. PC 608–87, where, following Innocent III, sinful mankind is compared with an inverted (and fruitless) tree. In passus 4, Reason spoke as a utopian; now those hopes have been inverted, and at 22/B 20.53–57 such an inversion will mark the Last Days of the world (and the poem); see the note there. Heist argues (1952:189–90) that L here reproduces an unusual Old French variant for the “sixth sign” before Doomsday (cf. Heist 28–29; for the more normal sanguineus ros [bloody dew]; cf. PC 4780–81); see also Kerby-Fulton 1990:16–18. Bennett identifies Beches and brode okes 120 as the most strongly rooted of all trees. For the proverbial well-rooted oak, see Trevisa DPR 973/35, 1027/ 33–34; and the grammar-school text L surely knew, Avianus’s fable 16 (the oak and the reed); cf. Chaucer, T&C 2.1180–90. 121–22 (B 5.19–20, A 5.19–20) in . . . hem: in tokenynge of drede 兩 That is not simply a metrically appropriate equivalent for as a dreadful token 兩 That “as a fearful sign that”; rather, translate, “as a revelation of their fears that.” Bennett and Pearsall identify the antecedent of hem 122 as segges 119 (although they equally note the alternation between direct and indirect address here and elsewhere). But hem actively contrasts with we 119 (AB ye), and the grammar of ar domesday is not as Bennett Pearsall suppose. Rather than an adjectival modifier of synne, the phrase is adverbial and modifies fordon. At Doomsday, the accumulated might of human sin will

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expunge Nature so as to produce a new heaven and new earth (cf. Apoc. 21:1 and PC 6343–98), but within history, continuing human sin can cause Nature to suffer before its due time. Cf. 10.228–33, where Wit accepts Nature’s destruction as an unfortunate byproduct of human sin; and Gloucester, at Shakespeare, King Lear 1.2.90: “nature is scourged with the sequent effects.” 126 (B 5.24, A 5.24) wastoures: As Stokes (1984:157) sees, Reason’s actual argument ad statu¯s opens by circling back to the very beginning of Will’s first vision, Prol.24 (cf. 93–101n). The lines, especially the greater particularity of the C revision, follow from 5.28 (q.v.). 128–39L (B 5.26–39L, A 5.26–33) Disciplining the family: Purnell introduces a series of four examples and a general admonition. These insist upon the husbandly power and responsibility to coerce domestic obedience. Purnell’s pride in her apparel indicates how a wife, left to her own devices, will behave. In the next pair of injunctions, Reason recalls to the complaisant husbands Tom and Watt their duties in controlling such wifely excess; in the final example and the admonition, he addresses fathers’ responsibilities for their children. For such a general parental responsibility, one form of patriarchal/ magisterial ordering of society, see PC 5544–59, 5578–87. Purnell will reappear as a personification of Pride at 6.3. In her preceding appearance at 4.111, as here, her name almost becomes absorbed into her purfyle, the costly fur edging on her garment (cf. 2.9); Bennett associates her fascination with her clothes with Meed’s finery—all money-generating show, as opposed to the “savings” that Reason here enjoins, recalling 1.50–53. Cf. also Ch’s description of the Monk’s sleeves, CT I.193–94, and Mann’s comments (1973:221 n27). Unusually, Chaucer’s Parson addresses pride in clothing with far greater verve than does L; see CT X.412–31. The topic was of more than modest social interest. An abortive and soon abandoned effort at sumptuary legislation paid particular attention to furred borders of garments as a way of enforcing class distinctions. See 37 Edward III (1363, repealed 1364), cc. 8–15, SR 1:380–82; and the discussion, Strohm 1989:5–7 (5–14 passim). Similar satire on fashion appears in the discussion of Wat’s wife. Women’s headdresses provide a definitive example of their concern for frivolous externals, and satiric accounts are epidemic in vernacular antifeminism, thus in analyses of this gender-based status. See Mann 1973:121 and Owst’s sermon examples 1961:390–404. The most notorious ME examples are the Wife of Bath (CT I.453–55; see Mann 1973:267 n91) and the Prioress’s wimple (and what it does not cover) (CT I.151, 154–56; Mann 1973:129–30). Robbins, in his notes (323–24) to HP no. 53, itself an example of the commonplace, cites a variety

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of vernacular parallels, to which one can add Brown XIII, no. 74/31–35 (a Harley lyric). Tom Stowe introduces a series of injunctions to fathers/husbands to discipline their families. Most commentators have cited (with not a little relish) evidence that medieval husbands were expected to whip their wives into subservience. This assumption of female wantonness, and of the consequent need for male correction, has been present in the poem, together with the discourse of antifeminist satire that underlies it, since Meed’s appearance. The argument over Meed’s proper husband (cf. 2.17, where L introduces the premise that she must “belong to” someone) is, after all, simply the question, “Under what stable (because masculine) control should she belong?” Cf. 3.121–24 and Mann’s perception (1973:121) that women are often characterized in estates literature by their marital status. And charges against Meed routinely allege that she is only a wanton female; cf. 3.57, 162–71, 188–90L, 4.158–61. But for a more normative view, see Hanawalt’s discussion of this topic (1986:206–8, 213–14), which insists that the medieval marriage necessarily had as ideal a domestic partnership. However, within this model, wives were to be obedient and husbands responsible for their correction, should they err badly. Following on his perception of a sin-filled world, Reason describes as if normative situations in fact extreme; Felice, for example, is “a wikkede wyf 3at wol nat be chasted” (19.303–4). From a husband’s responsibility for the behavior of his wife, Reason passes on to the tutelage he owes his children. At 6.15–18, Pride will assert that her career began by disobeying her parents. Consequently, “unbuxomness” is associated with this vice and with the very origins of sin itself (cf. B 1.109–13, 2.87). The topic recurs later in this vision at 6.12–29, 7.213, 8.82–91. Insistence upon paternal correction recalls Conscience’s discussion of Hophni and Phineas at Prol.109–17, although his actual moralization of that biblical anecdote is more relevant to lines 140–42 below. Wit will address the parental responsibility for “fauntokynes . . . 3at fauten inwit” at 10.183–87. With the entire passage, cf. FM 88–90 on disobedient children; their faults are laid upon their parents “for lack of correction and chastising in their youth” (propter defectum correctionis et castigationis dum fuerunt iuvenes, 88/61). The author of FM, in his effort to provide other Franciscans with sermon material of the sort L here evokes, relies heavily on bits of proverbial wisdom; in addition to Prov. 13:24 (L’s text at 139L), he cites (90/76–83) Ecclus. 30:1, 22:3, 30:2, as well as “Hendyng’ ”s English proverb, “Lef chyld lore behoueth” (cf. B 5.38). Hanawalt associates (1986:182–83) such parental tutelage with ages four to six—at the end of which, the dreamer, @ut @ong 35, was sent to school;

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she includes references to the widespread ME literature of parental instruction. See further Owst’s sermon parallels (1961:461–68). 128 (B 5.26, A 5.26) purnele: The name is a vernacular derivative of Petronella, and the saint appears in B 6.275 (the parallel 8.296 reads Poul, as do nearly all B manuscripts). Mustanoja (1970:52) shows that purnele is a common typename for the flirtatious country girl of French pastourelles. But he also draws attention (74–75) to 6.367 and 17.72, where purnele is a (priest’s) whore (to which one might add Mum 1360–61 and perhaps 6.135–36). These underlie the eventual development into OED Parnel/Pernel (a loose woman). 130 (B 5.28, A 5.28) Tomme stoue . . . : Tom needs two staues to beat Felice for her misbehavior, which has landed her in the wyuene pyne, the cuckingstool (see 3.79n). Her name corresponds with that of a willful fair in the romance Guy of Warwick, mentioned at B 12.47–48, and of a woman (coupled with a Purnell) prideful of her apparel at RichR 3.156–60. Like many details here, Tom may be a character from proverb-lore. At least, a similar figure appears in an early fourteenth-century sermon with English bits from Fountains (a Cistercian house in West Yorkshire); see Fletcher 1998:32–35. Initially introduced as “Thomas 3e Thome” (empty/idle Tom, 29–30), this figure is subsequently reidentified, under the name “Tome Stouue” (Tom the [hewn-down] stump, short Tom, 58–80), with the flesh that chops down all virtuous works. But as husband, he should be the commanding soul, not subject to his wife, the flesh; the preacher cites a couplet, “4ar Thome Stouue es at ham, 兩 God gif 3e husband schame,” to indicate his mismanagement and status as evil neighbor. 133 (B 5.31, A 5.31) here hed: In Reason’s valuation, Watt’s wife outspends him for her headdress by twenty to one (half a mark ⳱ 6 s. 8 d., a groat ⳱ 4 d.) Contrast “Hicke 3e hackenayman” (6.378), whose hood, precisely because valueless, generates social value in the tavern. 134–35 (B 5.32–33) bette, Betene: Skeat identifies the names as those of a man (Bat, from Bartholomew) and a woman (from Beatrice), respectively. Both occur elsewhere; see 2.114 and 6.353. Pearsall1 suggests that Betty is Bat’s daughter (and that the lines are thus linked with those that follow, rather than those that precede). On children’s contribution to the family economy, see Hanawalt 1986:156–68. 137 (B 5.35, A 5.33) Late no wynnynge forwanyen hem: The C version of this discussion looks suspiciously as if L revised from a B manuscript that had

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skipped from children 34 to the word’s repetition in line 40, forcing the poet to reconstruct the passage from memory. This is the only use of MED forwe¯nen v. after the early thirteenth century. However, the sense is clear from the etymon, OE wenian “to train” (the modern “wean”); hence the compound implies “train disastrously,” that is, “pamper.” 139L (B 5.39L) Qui parcit . . . : Prov. 13:24 (He that spareth the rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him correcteth him betimes). B 5.39 provides an explicit gloss that explains 139 the wyse, a translation of the common Latin sapiens (“Solomon, author of biblical wisdom books”). 140–45 (B 5.41–47, A 5.34–39) Reason advises the clergy: All three versions include a brief general address; in it, Reason offers advice to two distinct classes of “clergy.” In all texts, the complaint is the rather generalized one enunciated in, e.g., the 1410 Lollard “Disendowment Bill” (Hudson SEWW 137/86–90), “they lyven nat now ne done the office of trewe curates . . . ne they helpe nat the pore comens with here lordeshippes . . . ne they lyve nat in penaunce ne in bodely travaylle as trewe religious shulden by here profession.” Lines 140–42 address secular clergy, those having cure of souls in the world, the prelates and prestes of 140. Cf. Chaucer’s Parson and the emphasis upon his exemplary status, CT I.496–506, 527–28; and Mann 1973:65 and 237 n43. Contrasting figures occur ubiquitously in the poem, e.g., the hirelings of Prol.81–84 or the ignorant Sloth of 7.30–34. L here invokes the proverb “practice what you preach” (cf. Whiting P 358–62), as Recklessness will do at 11.233– 35L. See further Lawler 2002. In contrast, religioun comprises the regular clergy, those living according to a specific reule. L eventually specifies them in C (156, 170, 173) as the expected groups: monks, nuns, canons, and friars. For such individuals, the rule itself defines the status and acts appropriate to it, cloistered spiritual service to God and to the poor (although friars are not cloistered). All three versions of Reason’s address agree in the same relatively moderate threat. If religious do not keep the rule, they will face discipline from the appropriate authority—not an ecclesiastical figure (e.g., episcopal visitation), but 7e kyng and his consayl. Monastic performance is a matter of public policy. In describing this chastisement/correction at 144–45 (A 5.38–39, B 5.46– 47), L invokes (as he will more explicitly in the subsequent C expansion; see 163–67 et seq.nn) specifically English views of lay-monastic relationships. @oure comunes apayre literally refers to withholding food; cf. Prol.143, Piers at 8.167–68, or Donaldson’s rendition (1990:40/46), “curtail your rations.” But

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the word comunes stands by synecdoche for the whole complex of commonly held monastic possessions, as the resulting argument (e.g., lines 173–75) explains. This emphasis continues in the designation of king and council as a steward, the officer who controls domestic arrangements, both the master of festivities in a hall (cf. Reason as styward of halle 15.39) and the central administrative factotum in a great household, responsible for accounts, the movement of supplies, etc. At this point, Reason asks religioun to see that it holds its temporal possessions in revocable trust. They came to religious establishments by gift from laypersons, and king and council can enforce proper behavior by rescinding their prior donations. Rather than letting religious beneficiaries act as their own trustees, lay figures will temporarily administer the properties as intended under the original grant. Such a view relies upon English law and its common acceptation; see Plucknett 1949:92–93. Statute of Westminster II, c. 41 (1285; SR 1:91–92) builds upon earlier legislation designed to enforce payments or services due under a lease (see c. 4 at SR 1:48, c. 21 at 1:82–83). A lessee who fails to pay rent or provide services for two years can be sued for return of the property, and the action is heritable for both parties—successors in the lease and heirs of the lessor. Westminster II, c. 41 extends this right of recovery to include spiritual services, “But if the Land so given for a Chantry, Light, Sustenance of poor People, or other Alms to be maintained or done, be not aliened, but such Alms is withdrawn by the Space of Two Years, an Action shall lie for the Donor or his Heir to demand the Land so given in demean.” (The statute, thus, as Robert Swanson points out to me, actually does not threaten a monastery’s full endowment, but specific funds for spiritual purposes, perhaps particularly chantries, engaged in prayers for the patrons.) In any case, L’s position is moderate, for the return of endowments is not irrevocably to the donor’s “demesne,” but only a temporary cessation (til 145) to coerce performance. On the topic, see further Heale 2004. As an example of such a grant, cf. Thomas of Lancaster’s 1318 gift of lands to Whalley (Lancs.), a Cistercian abbey, “in free, pure, and perpetual alms, free and quit of every secular service, exaction, and demand, reserving nothing therein to myself and my heirs except prayers” (in liberam, puram, et perpetuam elemosynam, solutam et quietam ab omni seruicio seculari, exactione, et demanda, nichil nobis et heredibus nostris inde reseruando nisi preces et orationes), from Hulton 1847–49, 1:249; cf. 2:527, 4:940. Aston provides (1984:63–64) examples of legal cases brought by knights for return of their endowments on the grounds of clerical nonperformance of promised services.

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146–79 (B 10.297–335, cf. A 11.204–16) Reason chastises regular clergy and predicts their disendowment and reformation: L advances this material from Clergy’s discussion early in Dowell. The revision resembles the relocation of the adjacent B materials concerning Hophni and Phineas to Prol.95–124. Here lines 141–42 seem to recall to the preacher Clergy at B 10.257–335; see further 146–55n. In making both C revisions, L attempts to group passages with similar themes in early stages of the poem, while simultaneously streamlining and concentrating the discussion of learning in the Dowell passu¯s. There Clergy’s assault on the religious orders echoes Study’s diatribe against the rich and their dining habits. The qualified threat of Laste 144, retained from AB, is buried in the charges of this large C relocation, with its climax in the famous prophecy of disendowment at lines 176–77. Here L, without having Reason abandon his reliance on estates satire, supplements that discourse with another, the language of expropriation. Such threats, as Aston shows (1984:49–57; followed by Scase 1989:109–12), were far from uncommon c. 1358–1410; in an era when royal and magnatial policy was frequently driven by considerations of “national defense,” temporal lands under clerical ownership often appeared an attractive source of funds to underwrite military activities (cf. the emphasis on military benefits in the “Disendowment Bill,” Hudson SEWW 135/6–15). Wilks (1972:esp. 116–27) discusses the centrality of disendowment to Wycliffe’s reforming efforts at renovatio; at Opera Minora 64, he argues that founders’ heirs, if in need, have a right to reclaim church endowments. This passage introduces substantial disproportion into Reason’s sermon. Not only does it overweight one status, but it will come to breach the nonmessianic tone of the whole. The performance in C perhaps most resembles the sermon attacking avarice preached by the Lollard Nicholas Hereford on Ascension Day, 1382 (ed. Forde 1989). Like Reason’s effort, it was public (at the cross in the cemetery of the Augustinian canons, St. Frideswide’s, Oxford) and delivered “in vulgari ydeomate Anglicano” (237/13, although only surviving in a Latin notarial reportatio). And although Hereford ostensibly addressed all classes, he gave two of his main divisions over to failures of regular clergy and concluded (as Reason will not) with an invitation to disendowment and return to the apostolic life (240/[1]15–38). L presents errant monastics as personifying the violation of status-based ethics. Reason first elaborates (146–55), since religioun has apparently forgotten them, the joys of the strait inclaustration that defines this social group. But at the center of the passage (156–63), he identifies current behavior as an effort to subvert status altogether, regular clergy’s effort to claim for itself the perquisites proper to another social group, knights. Religious orders have redefined

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the verb holde; it should mean “preserve or follow [the rule],” not “seize [temporal lordship] tenaciously.” (Contrast the basic formulation of Prol.139–42 and Wimbledon’s view of status, mentioned in 43n, as well as Will’s effort in the waking interlude to redefine aristocratic “estate” as spiritual “hereditas.”). After identifying the social costs of such behaviors (164–67), Reason concludes his discussion with a prophecy of disendowment and reform (168–79). 146–55 (B 10.297–310, A 11.204–10) Reason explains the ancient religious ideal: Reason now defines “religion” as a status; he relies upon complementary and importantly, very ancient metaphors (only the first of them in A). The first is negative—that the noncloistered monk is an absurdity and a dead thing, a fish out of water. For a discussion of this commonplace, see The Riverside Chaucer 807, CT I.180n, as well as Mann’s commentary (1973:30–31). The “Verba seniorum” in the Vitae patrum is responsible for the immense dispersal of the figure; see Hanna 1987:411. In the context of Reason’s allusion to Gregory and The reule, the figure recalls Benedict’s definition of “monk” in Regula ch. 1: “gen[us] coenobitarum, id est monasteriale, militans sub regula vel abbate.” Fixity of abode and community of purpose, specified in the basic virtues the Rule inculcates (obedience, poverty, and chastity) make a monk. Benedict further specifies this status by contrast with two tribes of evil monks who wander guideless following their own wills, not a rule or superior, saraibites and gyrovagues. (The passage can be connected with Will’s interrogation and the discussions that follow from it; is Will a holy hermit, Benedict’s fourth genus monachorum, or simply, like lollares and lewede Ermytes, a graceless gyrovague?) The Benedictine ideal of communal responsibility and support underpins Reason’s second metaphor. The cloister is a nonworldly place of spiritual (L, mindful of the unaccommodated Will the scholar, has Reason add “and intellectual”) fulfillment. The comparison of cloister and heaven is an utter commonplace; see Bloomfield 1961:72, 197–98 n13. Orsten (1970:528) quotes bishop Brinton, who identifies the statement as a proverb (although Wit, as perhaps typically, manages to get the identification wrong in B 9.119–20): “iuxta vulgare, ‘si sit vita angelica in terra, aut est in studio, vel in claustro.’ ” Similarly, FM declares (684/67): “vita claustralis est vita angelica,” and see further Wenzel 2008:186, 278–79. Cf. Kaske 1957, who traces the idea to a well-known sermon ascribed to Peter Damian (but actually by a follower of Bernard, Nicholas of Clairvaux). Another example occurs in Peter of Blois’s epistle 13 (PL 207:42); see further Lawler 2013:59–60, with further citations. The evocation of heuene on erthe looks ahead to lines 171 and 186–90 (with retrospective allusions to 1.103–10). In these later passages, L makes the

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more sweeping suggestion that society at large should be reformed so as to imitate the ideal aboriginal society of prelapsarian Heaven. Until such reformation is completed, the cloister should be the closest worldly representation of that state. 146 (B 10.298, A 11.204) Gregory ∂e grete clerk: In AB, L claims that the fish out of water image comes from Gregory’s Moralia, which is incorrect: no passage of this sort occurs anywhere in Gregory. Gregory was the first monastic pope, and the evangelical mission he arranged in 597 also (as Pearsall says) brought the first monks to southern England. In addition, he was a major theorist of the monastic life, authoring, for example, the standard Vita Benedicti, book 2 of the Dialogi, PL 66:125–204. Cf. B 10.330, where, for all these reasons, L can refer to monks as Gregories godchildren. Moreover, Gregory on several occasions discusses the evils of wandering religious (see Epistolae 5.20.5, 9.108.19, 11.26.78, 12.6.27; Homeliae in Evangelia 19.7.11). The C version drops this inaccurate specificity: “Gregory disseminated (gart write, not a statement of authorship) the rule: it implies that wandering monks are like fish out of water.” 154 (B 10.307) no man to chyde ne to fyhte: Wrath seconds this view at 6.151–57, but equally argues (6.128–42) that some inclaustrated women are not so restrained. 156–62 (B 10.311–16, A 11.211–16) Reason describes dissolute modern monasticism: Just like Chaucer’s Monk, modern monastics, according to Reason, have fused two social statuses properly distinct (cf. Will at lines 76–77). While still claiming to be monks and canons, they behave like secular magnates. Cf. 167 @e leten @ow alle as lordes; or the language of “The Disendowment Bill” (Hudson SEWW 137/84–85): “worldely clerkes, bisshopes, abbotes and priours that arun so worldly lordes;” or Wimbledon, cited 5.35–44n. Not only do monks now routinely desert the cloister, but when they do so, they ryde 157, and consequently, ryde out of aray “in disorder,” with the strong undertone “out of their proper state” (and not just out of their proper habit/clothing). Cf., following Pearsall, Chaucer’s Monk as an outridere (CT I.166) and 4.116. AB have the blunter yet possibly less pointed a rydere, a rennere [archetypal B romere] by stretes. Reason highlights two aspects of these abuses. First of all, modern monastics behave as only noblemen should. Riding with hawk and hound is virtually a synecdoche for the noble life; for an early example, see Brown XIII, no. 48/ 1–3, and analogues are legion; Skeat provides historical examples of episcopal

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hunters (supplemented by Mann 1973:23–24, 221–22 n29); Aston (1984:53, 59) mentions two Lollard parallels from the 1380s, “The Petition to King and Parliament” (Arnold SEW 519–20) and Hereford’s sermon (239/65–66); Owst (1961:263–64, 282–84) cites Lollard Sermons 2/417–30, 438–42; 11A/217–46, 249–50; see also Wimbledon, lines 259–62; and the Auchinleck “Simonie” 121– 30. The specific association of this behavior with monks may be a late medieval development; at any rate, canon 15 of the fourth Lateran council (1215) banned both hawking and hunting for all religious persons in the context of a canon bemoaning the ill effects of drunken carousing on those who serve the altar (cf. the supplement to Innocent III’s Regesta, no. 211, PL 217:250, specifically of monks). Other details support this metaphor for usurpation. A emphasizes the monk’s armament, A bidowe or a baselard 214, which recalls abuses the dreamer attacks at 58 (and see 22.218–19n). The B parallel to line 162, the aristocratic monk’s reported question, who lered hym curteisie? (B 10.316), involves a status confusion Chaucer displays with the Prioress, at CT I.132, 137–41 (cf. Mann 1973:34, 225 n62, 272 n36). C manages something like the same sense with the implicit pun that joins lordeyne (rascal, lowborn fellow) with the monk’s improper “lordly” aspirations. Second, Reason charges that modern monastics interest themselves in the basic goals of lordship, the exploitation of an estate. Following Pearsall’s explanation of fram places to maneres 159 as “from one country residence to another,” they have become land-hungry proprietors of more than they need. With ypurchaced 158, cf. the comment of the Knight in the Lollard “Dialogue between a Knight and a Clerk” (Hudson SEWW 132–33/47–51): “9e [clerics] haue 3e 3ridde parte of 3is land in 9our handes, and 9it 9e be3e about to purchase and amortaise euer more and more, so 3at, 9eue 9e had 9our will, in processe of tyme 9e schuld haue all 3e possessiouns of 3is land in your handes.” The verb “amortaise” (to gain inalienable possession of properties by mortmain, “the dead hand”; cf. 17.55) alludes to one common lay objection to temporal ownership by clerical foundations; disendowment procedures sought precisely to overcome this claim to perpetual possession, a right contested between crown and clergy since Edward I. Aston (1984:62–63, 79 n94) cites parallels for such complaints, including passages from John Trevisa’s translation of ps.-Ockham’s Dialogus (contemporary with L’s composition of the C version). Trevisa was, of course, a magnate dependent and not, so far as we know, a Lollard (if perhaps, one of the Wycliffite translators). 163–67 (B 10.317–21) Reason explains how religious disrupt the parochial system: Having described the abusive result (sumptuous behavior), Reason

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now turns to its causes. As Pearsall explains, he attacks magnatial donation of the right to appoint parochial incumbents (“advowsons”; cf. persones 165 and Prol.81–84n) to religious corporations. For the ubiquity of this procedure with houses of Augustinian canons, in particular, see Southern 1970:244–48. Typically, L claims, such corporate bodies, rather than providing a rector, or even a cheap vicar, to hold services, retain the entire income of the church and redirect it to their own sumptuous uses. Not only is the parish congregation unserved and its poor unsupported, but the untended fabric collapses. Here auters 164 is particularly pointed, since in England, by custom, the parish was responsible for upkeep of the nave, the lay portion of the church, the priest/ patron for the clerical chancel. The argument recurs at 17.54–73 (although there it equally addresses the consequent pauperization of lords, with which cf. William Taylor’s sermon, 17–18/545–58). One can generate extensive parallels to the argument, especially from Lollard texts (like Taylor’s); see Skeat and Pearsall’s notes. A complaint about this abuse, seen as an English custom within a universal church infected by temporalities, heads “Twelve Conclusions of the Lollards” (1395), which mentions “chirchis . . . slayne be appropriacion to diuerse placys” (Hudson SEWW 24/8–9). Lollards are not simply complaining against clerical ownership but also against the disruption of both parochial instruction and the eleemosynary system. With regard to the latter, cf. such discussions as 8.222–36n and 288n, 9.58–70n. Thus, the double reference, to reuthe 164 and pite 166, draws attention to the appropriation of the parish’s income/tithes to sustain a superfluous lifestyle, rather than to use as alms. Cf. Holychurch at 1.186–96 (where she is, however, speaking of chaplains, rather than monastics). Reason here opposes the should-be poor—who, of course, constantly protest that they are so, in spite of chartre evidence—to the actualities of dilapidation and poverty. Like L’s related discussion at B 15.340–46, Aston (1984:45) cites Jerome, Epistolae 66.8 (PL 22:644): “Pars sacrilegii est rem pauperum dare non pauperibus” (it is a form of sacrilege to give the poor’s right to those who aren’t poor), a sentence Gratian includes in his Decretum (2.12.1,5–7, CJC 1:677–78). The tag was cited as a logic that should compel disendowment during the 1371 Parliament, as well as by Wycliffe and Lollard authors (see Aston 1984:48, 51, 60, 71 n29). But in these complaints, L expresses neither the opinion of a lunatic fringe nor his individualistic and sharply honed perception of widespread poverty; as Aston mentions (1984:64–65), Parliament passed a statute designed to curb such abuses, 15 Rich. II, c. 6 (SR 2:80). 163 (B 10.317) Lytel hadde lordes ado: As Pearsall1 points out, an example of litotes: “Surely lords could have thought of something better to do,” a topic

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to which L returns in line 172. At the conclusion of the original A discussion here (11.216), L suggests a much narrower resolution than that found in BC; Religion should look to 7e memorie of his foundours, should use the monastic church to serve benefactors by performing memorial masses that will shorten their purgatorial suffering. (Thus, when he composed A, L implied that monks should behave as the dreamer claims he does earlier in this C passus.) Such a view, given the sect’s belief in the universality of the church and in salvation by divine election, is distinctly non-Lollard; cf., as Aston (1984:53, 56) suggests, “The Twelve Conclusions,” Hudson SEWW 26/73–92; and Hudson 1988:309–10. 165 (B 10.319) be hemsulue at ese: Cf. the complaint of “The Disendowment Bill” (Hudson, SEWW 137/90–92): “But of euery estate [worldly clerics] take luste and ese and putte fro hem the travaylle and takyth profytes that shulden kome to trewe men”; and Wimbledon, lines 271–76. On the religious’ fall from their original poverty, see Mum 540–50 (perhaps particularly of Augustinian canons) and Hereford 239/65–66 “in sua prima fundacione non dedignabantur vocari et esse serui et rustici, set iam . . .” (In their first foundation, they did not disdain to be called—indeed, to be—servants and peasants, but now . . .). 166 (B 10.320) puyre chartre: The noun refers to the document recording the monastery’s endowment, the gift of secular lords. The word “charity” is presumably a loud subtext, mirroring the very suppression of their responsibilities by bad religious (cf. the “chartered streets” of Blake’s London). Cf. the similar submerged word-play of Prol.62, where one hears “chaplain,” not Chapman. 168–79 (B 10.322–35) Reason waxes prophetic: This passage, far more so than a second, more pointed example (17.204–38) was central to L’s sixteenthcentury reception. George Puttenham (1589) identifies L as a “malcontent of that time” who “bent himselfe wholy to taxe the disorders of that age and specially the pride of the Romane Clergy, of whose fall he semeth to be a very true Prophet” (60). Similarly, Crowley’s preface (1560), which specifically singles out this passage (“concerning the suppression of Abbaies”), speaks of L and Wycliffe together: “it pleased God to open the eyes of many to se hys truth, geuing them boldenes of herte, to open their mouthes and crye oute agaynste the worckes of darckenes” (Skeat 2:lxxiii–v). For these early readers, Reason’s words were apparently “fulfilled” in the 1530s. But modern readings have contentiously swung between hopes that L

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offers here a specific program and disappointment that that he merely enunciates a future hope. Readings purely prophetic appear with some frequency; by way of indicating the partiality of the Reformation reading (and in deference to the staunchly promonastic reading of the poem in Bloomfield 1961), Pearsall1 (177n) argues that L is only concerned with the millenialistic king of 3.441–42 (a view now retracted in 168–71n, which refers to the powers of an English king). In addition to Adams 1985, Kerby-Fulton 1990 provides extremely rich documentation for a generally prophetic reading. In a strenuous effort at detaching the poem from specifically English discourses, she draws attention to a mainly female visionary tradition with concerted interests in “clerical reform” and “repristination” through disendowment. For analogues and discussion relevant to this passage, see particularly 36–39, 43–45, 106 (and 108–9 on the arator as reformer in St. Bridget), 173, 175–77, 184–86 (the ME “The Last Age of the Church,” 1356), 190. Yet simultaneously, L, who has been relying upon contemporary speculation about disendowment, cannot simply shut off such language at the head of the prophecy. Skeat cites parallel passages from Gower’s CA, and Pearsall adds (168–71L) abundant Lollard parallels on royal power; both Baldwin (1981:93–94) and Simpson (1990:179–80) adduce parallel opinions from Wycliffe’s Latin works, c. 1376–79. Aers (1980:70) and Simpson (1990:179 n5) note L’s reliance here on Lollard corrective rhetoric, but, for them, the allusion to chronicles or to Cain (178) unfortunately defers practical action to some millenialistic date. This line of argument seems the most persuasive, but see the qualification introduced in 178n. 168 (B 10.322) ∂er shal come a kyng: The royal servant Reason views the king as supreme lord, whose right to coerce obedience, even from supposedly exempt clerics, must be absolute. Cf. the Lollard “Dialogue between a Knight and a Clerk” (Hudson SEWW 134/94–97): “in all 3inge 3at longe3 to temperalte, [clerics] schuld be suggetes to 3e kinge and to o3er lordes temperales, and, 9eue 3ai wi3stonde 3e temperale power, 3e kinge and 3e lordes temperals schuld chastise hem and constreyne hem, for 3erto 3ai bere3 3e swerd.” If religious have just been damned for appropriating aristocratic behavior, Reason’s discourse is asymmetrical and places the king, the center of the state and its law, under no such restriction. In fact, given the insistently sacerdotal language of confesse/bete/amende/potte to @oure penaunce in lines 168–71, Reason selfconsciously builds into his language a provocative royal usurpation of clerical discourse and power. Indeed, at lines 176–80, Reason will suggest that the particularistic claim of religioun, that it is the unique heavenly model in this

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world, overstates: he there will associate the heavenly commune with the harmonious realm itself. See further 21.424–27n. The idea invoked here, that of a “national church” under the headship of the king, may be implicit in Prol.141–42, although Clergy there is far broader than merely Religion. Skeat refers to L’s numerous passages to similar effect, e.g., 2.246–51, 3.378–85. Within the argumentative context Reason has created, the royal role extends by analogy the patriarchal injunctions concerning familial governance at 130–39L, and bete @ow 169 recalls both that passage and Conscience’s discussion of Hophni and Phineas (Prol.109–18). 169 (B 10.323) as ∂e bible telleth: Pearsall cites, rather tentatively, Isa. 32:1, Jer. 23:5 and 11–12. But L is probably thinking ahead to the verse he will cite at line 177L (and to the knok 177). 171 (B 10.325) ad pristinum statum ire: “To return to the pristine status.” Alford (1984:280–81) points out that the phrase is traditional in canonical discussions of the power of penance to remit sin, to return one to a prior state of merit (Reason’s major purpose), and he cites Gratian’s use of the term at Decretum 1.50.28 (CJC 1:189). The canonist Bartholomeo of Brescia explains Gratian succinctly: “Probat hieronimus post peractam penitentiam sacerdotes poss[unt] deo placere et sacrificare sibi sicut ante peccatum faciebant” (Jerome demonstrates that after having performed penance, priests may please God and make offerings to him, just as they did before they sinned; cited Alford 1984:281). Like the preceding appropriation of penitential language, L’s usage is figurative. Under magnate correction, a penance, religious will return to the hardship and straitness (another sense of penaunce, e.g., Prol.27–32), the apostolic life associated with their original pristine rule that defines their status (cf. Aston 1984:60). Alford (1992:67) also cites contrasting discussions by Scase (1989:88–96, 202n 14) and Baldwin (in Alford 1988:75). Simultaneously, ad pristinum statum seems to have become, by the late fourteenth century, subject to varying uses. Kerby-Fulton (1990:186–88) finds it a key to many prophecies, and Bloomfield (1961:87) identifies an example used to describe clerical reformation in the Franciscan Eulogium historiarum. But other uses seem a great deal more neutral, a catch-phrase “set things right in the old way”—e.g., in Thomas Walsingham’s Historia to describe the end of the Peasants’ Revolt and in the monk of Evesham (lines 3916, 4083), to describe the pro-Ricardian goals of the Holland Revolt of 1399/1400. At midcentury, the clause appears in a mid-fourteenth century York register to describe the restoration of a dilapidated chantry to its original form (cited

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Wood-Legh 1965:201 n2), and the London jurist Andrew Horn, in his Annales Londonienses (76/1:175) speaks of mayor Richer de Reffham’s reformist efforts (1310), both legal return to “ancient customs” and refurbishment of walls and streets, as having “serva[tus] et reforma[tus]” the City “ad pristinam dignitatem et indempnum.” Robert Swanson informs me that the phrase appears as a legal commonplace in cases where plaintiffs win suits in royal courts against sentences of outlawry, as well as in suits for defamation. 172L (B 10.327L) Hij in curribus . . . : A selective quotation of only the negative threats from Ps. 19:8–9 (Some trust in chariots, and some in horses: but we will call upon the name of the Lord our God. They are bound, and have fallen: but we are risen, and are set upright). As Skeat, Pearsall, and Schmidt indicate, L chooses the verse to answer the monastic fascination with aristocratic horsemanship described in lines 157–60 and to recall Will’s complaint at 72–77, in which true knights are unhorsed as the result of monastic activities. 173–75 (B 10.328–30): L apparently uses friars as a model for the treatment all orders can expect. Although their founders imagined them as bound by rule yet operating in the world, friars will be shut in, converted to the antique monastic form of inclaustration. Since, as subsequent verses argue, they will have shelter and not have to wander to beg, moneys that they have converted into overly elaborate buildings will be available for other, more socially useful purposes—for the truly needy poor. Cf. Aston 1984:45–48 for attacks on fraternal building programs, and 62–63 for comments on a curtailed mendicancy producing poor relief. L promises that friars will be maintained by a royal (or perhaps merely secular?) grant. constantyn, of course, through his supposed “donation” to Sylvester I, always offered a justification for church endowments. Rather than an inadvertent corrupter, who introduced the venym of temporal concerns into the church (cf. 17.220–24), the name here represents “Christian kingship,” and he corrects what is amiss, just as Reason promises an English king will. Presumably, since the only thing Constantine will cook them is Bred 174 (contrast Wrath as monastic cook at 6.132–33, or the doctor of divinity in passus 15), the grant will be, if perpetual (euere aftur 174), quite a minimal one. This is probably the freres fyndynge of 22.383, as Pearsall1, Schmidt, Kerby-Fulton (1990:34), and Clopper (1997:292–98) argue, an echo of the “daily bread” of the Pater noster. 176 (B 10.331) abbot of engelonde (Abingdon B): Skeat follows Wright in identifying Abingdon as the first truly Benedictine house in England, a product of Aethelwold’s tenth-century reforms.

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——— his nese: Cf. 6.440 “Abstinence myn aunte” for a similar example of allegory based upon familial relationships (other notable examples would include 7.278–82, 8.80–83); Tavormina 1995 includes provocative materials on familial metaphors in the poem (e.g., 48–50, 57–58, 78–82, 87–88), if not a discussion of such fitful allegorical connectives. It is just possible, however, that Reason wishes the word to imply “concubine”; the sense is not recorded under MED nece n., but cf. the parallel and al his issue B 10.331, as well as Suster B 5.642 (and distantly, MED suster n., sense 3a[c]) and Brown XIII, no. 25/7–14. 177 (B 10.332) a knok . . . and incurable ∂e wounde: This devastating blow must be read in the context of the following Latin, where baculum and virgam refer to the insignia of lordly office. Thus, it must mean the destruction of religious’ lordships, the loss of temporal endowments. Cf. the more direct 17.227: “Taketh here londes, 9e lordes, and lat hem lyue by dymes.” Contrast the implicit evocation of another baculum and virga (from Ps. 22:4) at B 7.120–21 and the echo at B 12.292L (and the notes to both). 177L (B 10.333L) Contriuit . . . : Isa. 14:5–6, fuller in B with part of v. 4 (How is the oppressor come to nothing, the tribute hath ceased? The lord hath broken the staff of the wicked, the rod of the rulers, That struck the people in wrath with an incurable wound, that brought nations under in fury, that persecuted in a cruel manner). Pearsall notes that L’s quotation is wrenched from context; in the Vulgate, the Lord breaks the rulers’ rods, with which they struck inferiors incurably, while in L’s rendition, the Lord’s breaking of such false rulers’ rod is the incurable wound. The verse is also used to promise the destruction of corrupt clergy in the Joachite prophecy De oneribus prophetarum (Kerby-Fulton 1990:177). 178 (B 10.334) cronicles me tolde (Caym shal awake B): For C’s cronicles, i.e., apocalyptic materials offered as portions of historical accounts, see KerbyFulton 1990:24, 210 n73. The revision is at least partly inspired by L’s having front-loaded the passage; the next line in B, Ac dowel shal dyngen hym adoun, relies on a personification from 10.128–38 (B 9.1–11). The allusion was sensible when the passage was spoken by B’s Clergy, but not in this earlier context. Yet L perhaps revised a bit too rigorously, and thereby lost one powerful effect present in B. For as Schmidt1 sees, one should identify Caym with Antichrist’s appearance at 22.53; and in his train come the four orders of friars whose initials comprise his name. In fact in B, Clergy forecasts Piers as the dowel whom Conscience (a kyng at 21/B19.256) will seek to set things right in the Last

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Days; the use of friars’ refounding in lines 173–75 as a model for the treatment of all orders also looks ahead to the poem’s end. C’s shal be clothed newe is, in such a context, pallid (perhaps a reference to celestial garments?), although subsequent revisions might be construed as compensation for such loss; see the discussion of lines 181 and 189 in the next note. 180–90 (B 5.48–49) Reason addresses king and commons: In the extensive C expansions at its end, L focuses Reason’s sermon in forward-looking terms, rather than the retrospective opposition to Meed inherent in the rather scrappy B materials. This passage now clearly follows from Prol.139–59 with its evocation of social groups working to common purpose. L thus truncates B 5.49, with its doubly recursive reference to tresor and tryacle (cf. 1.81, 136 and the fuller B 1.134–37, 202; and 1.146). And he drops altogether B 5.52–55, with its particularistic glance at lawyers; in the reformulation of C, the profession will become otiose. CK 61–62 probably echoes, a bit vaguely, the C Version. Rather than the narrowness of B’s treatment, the discussion of king and commune has a new global interest rooted in a return to an aboriginal pristinus status. Central to this is the injunction Holde @ow in vnite 189, which seeks to undo the original disunity and cause of sin, Lucifer’s revolt (alluded to in treson B 5.49). Pearsall compares 1.104–29, which describe this primal act of disobedience, the servant trying to escape his status to become maister; the king is to be analogous to the paterfamilias at the head of the sermon; see 128–39Ln. The emphasis upon vnite also binds this political analysis more closely with the preceding prophecy. The injunction of 189 will be echoed at 22.246, to which he 7at o7er wolde ominously alludes (cf. further 21.359, 22.75). And Reason’s bow to his helper Consience 181 has similar resonances. Not only will Conscience officiate at the poem’s conclusion, but the line summarily refers to developments in this character unique to C. Conscience now speaks the Latin speech at Prol.153–59, which emphasizes the king’s pietas, his love for his commune; as well as the expanded discussion of clerical failures (Prol.95–138), germane to the preceding prophecy. Equally relevant is the extensive grammatical metaphor of passus 3 through which Conscience tries to explain licit relationship (cf. the parallel of divine and human kingship evoked there with the use of acorde 183). For fuller discussion, see Wood 2012 passim. At moments, Reason achieves powerful rhetorical statement of the desire for vnite. For example, wit and wil 185 are conventional opposites, but in this line come into a harmony, in which the grasping desire inherent in wil is denatured (cf. the perhaps flashier locution of B 5.52). Rather than “wardships” (the only sense Alford cites at 1988c:165), wardes 185 probably refers to

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administrative units of a city and the day-by-day relationships between their inhabitants. 191–96 (B 5.50–51) Reason addresses the pope: Reason here moves past the fair field or al the reume 125 to consider the global Christian community. God’s vicar, properly another paternalistic figure like the king in his realm, should return European society at large to the harmonious stability that existed in Heaven. Reason here, as in the preceding reference to Lucifer, apparently wishes to undo history altogether, to replace rancorous memory with 192 good loue through a perpetuel for@euenesse. One might contrast the poem’s version of the future, the lewed vicory’s report on the behaviors of popes and cardinals at 21.409–58; or Meed’s argument at 3.236–64 that kingship should translate to the international sphere her particularly divisive brand of retinue politics with the injunction to surrender accions 196, legal claims, however licit they may be. As a statement of forgiveness, this discussion again looks ahead to Dobest, L’s one brush with a central topic of traditional alliterative poetry, the treatment of the conqueror, in passus 21. 192 (B 5.51) grace: That is, “penitential forgiveness” (cf. Bennett), looking ahead to line 194. B gouerne first hymselue, a statement parallel to lines 141–42, perhaps implies that evil modern popes have lost the Petrine right to dispense forgiveness (cf. Prol.128–38). In C, L makes the statement more provocative and expansive. 196 eche man loue other: Cf. John 13:34 (A new commandment I give unto you: That you love one another, as I have loved you, that you also love one another), 15:12 and 17. The injunction is to be voiced by royal confessors, in the later fourteenth century, universally friars, most usually Carmelites. B 5.54–55 in ∂e gospel: A reference to the parable of wise and foolish virgins (Matt. 25); the Latin is v. 12: “Amen I say to you I know you not.” 1.185 alludes to the same passage. Bennett wishes that L had cited another verse that would insist upon Jesus’ dismissal of those who do evil (to follow contrarie7 tru7e); he suggests as appropriate loci Matt. 7:23 or 25:41, Luke 13:27. But the B version might be construed as analogous to 1.185 and following the analysis of Prol.161–64: lawyers refuse to display their talents and thus fail to actuate love, just as do the foolish virgins. 198 (B 5.57, A 5.41) Seketh seynt treuthe: The command recalls the lying pilgrims of Prol.47–50, and Reason’s messianic reformulation of pilgrimage at

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4.122–24. This pilgrimage follows easily upon Reason’s papal universalism— one should no longer seek particular saints (as does the palmer of 7.160–81). The folk of the fair field will take up this pilgrimage at 7.155, and Piers will explain to them the actual nonspatial route to the “shrine” at 7.205–60L. Burrow argues (1965:252) that the injunction voices L’s antipathy to actual pilgrimages and (in the developing treatment of this theme in passus 7–8) his opinion that the spiritual values to be gained through pilgrimage are better discovered in nonmobile true labor. For anti-pilgrimage invective generally, see Prol.47–50n. More germane in this context may be Jerome, Epistolae 58.2 (PL 22:580): “Non Jerosolymis fuisse, sed Jerosolymis bene vixisse laudandum est” (What’s praiseworthy is not to have been in Jerusalem but to have lived in Jerusalem well), cited Polak 1970:285. The statement appears at Decretum 2.12.2.71.3 (CJC 1:711) in a context relevant to those interests L broaches at B 7.53–59. Cf. also the Lollard “Hou men shulden gon,” fol. 14, citing Augustine: “not bi goyng of feet but bi goyng of goode maners, God is to be sou9t, for her place and not her leuynge 3ei chaungen 3at rennen bi9onde 3e see.” Such citations imply a widely dispersed discourse that distinguishes pilgrimage as a truly penitential living from a physical journey. But metaphorical translations of “pilgrimage” were particularly alive in local English discussions. L’s thinking, which predates Lollard writing, resonates with the sect’s sustained invective; see Hudson 1988:307–9. L would certainly distance himself from the logic underlying Wycliffite antipathy to pilgrimage, that the systematic veneration of postbiblical saints is misbegotten idolatry. Yet simultaneously, there are striking parallels—which may reflect Lollard appropriation of L, rather than the reverse; cf. Lawton’s aperc¸u (1981:793), “Lollards had Langlandian sympathies.” In general, Lollard writers insist, as does Chaucer’s Parson (CT X.48– 51—is he “a Lollere in the wynd”?), upon pilgrimage as defining the whole of human life. See William Thorpe, lines 1237–54 (including as “pilgrimage itinerary” an instructional program that elaborates Piers’s route in C 7) or “Hou men shulden gon,” fol. 12v; for the pilgrimage of life as totalizing narrative theme, see Wenzel 1973. English heretical materials commonly include statements analogous to Reason’s “til saynt Iames be sauhte there pore sikke lyggen” (4.122); cf. “Hou men shulden gon,” fol. 13v, which urges a stay-at-home pilgrimage “wi3 3e gold and siluer 3at 3ei spenden in pilgrimages, first founden vp and stifli mayntened by couetise of fals prestes, fulfillynge 3e seuen dedis of merci to whiche euery man is bounden vp peyne of dampnacioun.” 199 (B 5.58, A 5.42) Qui cum patre et filio: “Who with the father and the son.” Skeat and Knott identify the phrases with the closing blessing of sermons, “In

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nomine Jesu Christi, qui cum patre et spiritu sancto vivit et regnit saecula saeculorum.” The former cites Chaucer, CT III.1734, a brief use of the phrase at the end of the friar’s sermon. Schmidt1 argues that the phrase is formulaic and Qui not necessarily a functioning relative, but the blessing merely restates a clause of the Apostles’ Creed, “(Credo) et in Spiritum Sanctum Dominum et vivicantem, qui cum Patre et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificatur.” Truth is the Holy Spirit, the source of love; cf. 19.184–226. ——— ∂at: “May,” elliptically introducing a volitive subjunctive, a prayer for willing listeners. 200 (B 5.59, cf. A 5.42) and Thus sayde resoun: RK’s C version is emended to accord with B, but equally plausible would seem retention of the harder manuscript verb and substitution of a synonymous alliterating particle, and [so] endede resoun. Kane prints no parallel line in A, in the belief that the manuscripts that provide one (EKWM) have borrowed it from later versions.

C Passus 6; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

Headnote Reason (with Conscience) now disappears, having through his sermon brought the folk to contrition. He will not reappear until 13.194 (B 11.376), and following his second skeptical examination of the dreamer’s credentials there, will vanish from the poem. Conscience only returns in 15.25 (B 13.22). Similarly, de Deguilleville’s Reason exits in the presence of a sacrament at PLM 793–814 (although here it is the avowedly inexplicable and “unnatural” transsubstantiated eucharist). These two personifications are abruptly and vibrantly replaced by a new one, Repentance. His activity, as Alford points out in the only extensive study (1993), is considerably expanded in the two later versions. In C, passus 6 is entirely devoted to (but, unlike the earlier versions, does not complete) the confession of the Seven Deadly Sins. At the end of this scene, when it is time for acts associated with the third “part” of penitence, satisfaction (pilgrimage), Repentance, in turn, will surrender the pilgrims to a new guide, Piers Plowman, in the sequence 7.155–82 (A 5.251–6.25, B 5.510–37). Although widely admired for its liveliness, the confession scene (in C extending through 7.154) is perhaps that portion of the poem least analyzed in detail. Scholars seem to have found it a rather inert, if amusing, handling of a fixed theme, a view belied by L’s perceived “lapses” in presenting the topic in A, his persistent expansions, and considerable C version tinkering (cf. Russell 1982). Exceptional studies, all engaged in close attention to this portion of the poem, include Dunning 1980, Gray 1986a, Kirk 1972, and Stokes 1984. Bloomfield 1952 provides the standard historical study of the Seven Deadly Sins, together with a very full survey of published English uses (PP discussed at 196–201). In addition to the discussion here (which incorporates B’s reprise, B 13.271–459), briefer listings of the sins occur at 2.87–108 (A 2.59– 68, B 2.80–101), B 14.216–61, 22/B 20.70–164, 215. Discussions with exemplary selections from the seven, dependent on distinguishing the sins of the world, flesh, and devil, appear at 7.261–64n (A 6.95–98, B 5.609–12), 18.31–52 (B 16.25–52).

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Bloomfield demonstrates that the Seven Sins developed within the tradition of apotheosis, the raising of the dead hero (or pilgrim?) through the planetary spheres, “In convers letyng everich element,” as Chaucer has it (T&C 5.1810, cf. 1807–27). Along with the elements, the hero in this tradition leaves behind worldly contagion. A fully formed schema of seven or eight principal sins appears in writings of later Desert Fathers; its formative transmission to the West occurs at Gregory’s Moralia in Iob 31.45.87–89 (PL 76:620– 22). There Gregory identifies “superbia” as the “radix” of an “exercitus” (source/root of an army) comprised of seven further sins (including “inanis gloria,” later dropped from the list as simply doubling “superbia”). (The language relies upon the metaphor of battles between virtues and vices exemplified in Prudentius’s Psychomachia or Benedict’s Regula 1, battles to which L vaguely alludes at 16.43 [B 14.202], 22/B 20.215.) Influentially, Gregory lists each sin’s constituent “partes,” since they are taken to be “capitalia” (chieftains in an army, “head-sins”). (This is their proper designation, as opposed to the usual mortalia “deadly”; cf. 19.253–300 [B 17.185–320], including extensive discussion of issues first bruited in this passus.) See further Steadman 1972, Tuve 1966:esp. 57–143; and Wenzel 1968. Bennett suggests antecedents for and analogues to L’s voiced portrayal (for which, see further below) in several medieval dramas. Pearsall refers to the other outstanding ME examples and to ME descriptions of the practice of confession (some cited passim below). In depicting the Seven Deadly Sins, L draws upon a ubiquitously dispersed discourse, catechetical, homiletic, and confessional. It is obviously futile to attempt any detailed survey of such literature here; Bloomfield et al.’s bibliography of medieval discussions (extended in Newhauser and Bejczy), after all, lists something over two thousand potentially relevant titles in Latin alone. Hence, the following notes document L’s reliance upon discursive commonplaces on an extremely selective basis. I have sought parallels in only two sources. Fre`re Lorens of Orleans’s Somme le roi, the most popular of all vernacular manuals of instruction and translated into ME on at least fifteen separate occasions (including SV, which L knew), provides a lengthy analysis of the sins; I cite from the literal ME translation, BVV. As a balance to Lorens, I also regularly cite a text that offers materials derived from sophisticated Latin traditions, the Franciscan preachers’ manual FM; the author of this work structures his discussion around the sins and their remedies. Schmidt provides extensive parallels from Ch’s ParsT, although his claim (524) that it is “a work close to PP in thought and phrasing and may reflect knowledge of it” should be ignored. See, for example, 170–95n, where the Parson is anglicizing, like L, a well-known Latin verse.

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As Wenzel notices, in the first published volume attempting a survey of late medieval traditions governing representation of any single sin (1967:135, 141–42, 147), L persistently links the sins with specific social situations. Here the idea of estates satire (cf. Mann 1973) turns out to be of limited usefulness. L emphasizes particularities Chaucer leaves unspoken (and thus falls outside Mann’s purview); for example, the specific activities of Covetise are precisely those things Chaucer’s Merchant is reticent about (although cf. Mann 1973:99– 100). Alternatively, L inverts the customary satiric expectations, e.g., Wrath’s monastic career proves unsatisfactory, since his monks strictly uphold the rule and fail to be quarrelsome (contrast Mann 27–33, 225 n62). Instead, preaching manuals like BVV or the extensive description of Coueytise/Auarice in PLM (4885–5471) display a more detailed commonality with L’s presentation than conventional literary treatments. This feature of the text may underlie the Victorian tendency to look to the poem as a record of actual social practices. In addition to Wenzel’s study, see those of his students, Newhauser 2000 and Blythe 1971. I offer these gleanings with considerable trepidation, since my most pressing sense of passus 6 is of the nearly absolute dissonance between L’s presentation of the material and these varieties of contemporary (and socially sanctioned) discussion. The rhetorical me´tier of the confessional manual, with its bases in a typically late medieval rage for categorization, remains generally at odds with the traces of L’s work, given over to precisely omissions inherent in such organizational procedures. This effort to rework, to make descriptively and poetically viable, a complex tradition thus forms a second (and, in certain respects, nonconsonant) nexus of my commentary. One flagrant example of such dissonance concerns the order in which L presents the sins. In the earlier versions, a brief description of Lechery follows that of Pride, with which it shares a number of features (see 3–62n, 170–95n). In C, L moves the lines to 170–74 (following Wrath) and, as in his portrayal of Pride, undertakes considerable complicating expansion, in the main derived from materials originally in B 13. This shift brings at least the head of the C version confessions into accord with usual handbook orders for presenting the sins (pride-envy-wrath, ultimately derived from Gregory’s Moralia). But the remainder of L’s presentation ignores this traditional order; the standard late medieval listing (that of Chaucer’s Parson’s Tale, for example) concludes sloth, avarice, gluttony, lechery. L appears to have decided, in a general way, to transpose the usual placements of Sloth and Lechery. Thus, outside the AB confessions, Lechery always appears next to Coveitise, Sloth at the end of the portrayal. The positioning of the first is not quite fixed, however. In passus 2, Lechery follows Avarice, but

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in B 13 and 14 it precedes it, just as in the C ordering here. This inconsistency may correspond to a widely dispersed alternate sin order, in which Avarice precedes Sloth (cf. Bloomfield 1952:88, 201, 424–25); in any event, the prominence of Lechery in the order in which sins are presented answers L’s marking his poetic identity through such locutions as “3e longe launde 3at leccherie hatte” (A 11.118) (cf. 5.2n). L always places Sloth last (e.g., it is the final vice mentioned in the list at 22/B 20.158ff.). In this regard, a verse from the first of the poem’s discussions of the Seven Deadly Sins is telling: “3is is his laste ende” (B 2.101, cf. “laste mede” 2.77–80). The charter says this of Wanhope, and the presentation is linked with the general tendency to despair—to give up in the face of the enormity of sin and feel repentance of no avail—in the poem. This treatment probably depends on something like BVV 26–30, the influential eighteen-step (three sets of six) discussion of acedia in Lorens’s Somme (see Wenzel 1967:79– 83). “Wanhope” is the last and most dire extension of Sloth, thus in some sense the vice in its essence, the sixth step of those “3at be3 euele and lede3 a man to 3e end” (BVV 29/10–11, cf. the definition of wanhope at 29/29–30/3). At B 14.235, Sloth and Gluttony are fused, a development signaled in Glutton’s portrait at 417 (B 5.359, cf. A 5.201), “And aftur al this exces he hadde an accidie.” For the status of Envy and Wrath, see 103–69n, and cf. Kirk 1972:59– 60, 65–67. A second problem in L’s portrayal may be signalled by the moment when Pride renames itself in mid-confession, I, pruyde 14. From this point, it is no longer clear that the original speaker, Purnell, is offering the remainder of the confession. Indeed, as many as three different voices seem to weave in and out of lines 14–60—a lay figure, probably male (e.g., in 17ff.); a clerical figure, also probably male (e.g., in 36ff.), although couent 39 could refer to a woman; and possible retentions of the Purnell-voice (perhaps 44 and 46, although the fair features and good voice of the latter can be parallelled in ME male figures, for example, at CT I.237–38, 3316, and 3331–33). Such shifting among voices typifies all the C confessions, save perhaps Lechery (362–75 serve this purpose in the Glutton narrative): the sins prove professionally indeterminate, mixtures altogether resistant to any notion of the unique person, and their failings universalized as simply “human.” Cf. 20.274–360n. On the one hand, such shifting of persons may be perceived as reinforcing that universality that follows on Reason’s address to the folk in the fair field. L converts the singleness of a “vice-voice” into a polyvocal status-marked portrayal. Cf. Godden 1990:179: “The additional material is not at all in character for Peronelle, but does extend the social range of the picture.” Carruthers

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(1973:49) associates such persistent shifts of gender and trade with “the formlessness of False.” Most germane to such shape- (or voice-) shifting is Liar’s flight from the king’s officers at 2.225–42; he has, after all, produced False’s charter (2.69–71), the document that first invokes all the sins. If Truth in the poem represents, as usually in ME, “fidelity” or “troth” (see Prol.15n, 1.12– 16nn), then Liar encompasses the force of verbal misrepresentation. This association would immediately compromise the very me´ tier of confession, dependent on speaking “the whole Truth” of the discrete person (cf. 5.84n). This theme, broadly the failure of desired or promised atonement to square with recognizably spiritual reformation, is a major focus of the portrayal; it is consonant with the dreamer’s self-defense in 5.92–98L. However, earlier penitential literature, occasionally foreshadowing L’s technique, offers an alternative reading. “The Book of Shrift,” probably an independent work interpolated into CM, includes, in the introduction, a series of specific inquiries the priest should address to different estates (CM 27232ff.). Moreover, within some interrogations, just like PP, this poem abruptly changes the person confessing. Thus Pride ends (28152–55) with questions specifically for rebellious wives, and Sloth, where a number of parallels to the PP portrayal occur, runs through a series of social roles (father, priest, master), similar in that all fail to offer proper moral leadership (e.g., 28275–83, 28360). Again, John Mirk’s IPP introduces a question for servants under Sloth (1199ff.), and at the end of a masculinized portrayal of Lechery, adduces specific questions intended for women (1399–1413). These authors perceive such portrayal, not as generalizing but as offering particular, individual inquiry. In later medieval thinking about the sacrament, penances imposed should vary with the person (cf. Mirk’s discussion, 1405– 18). Moreover, the form of penitential inquiry, into the “circumstances” of sin, was intended to allow the priest to determine the precise situation in which sin had occurred and to choose a punishment of appropriate severity. For the “circumstances,” ultimately derived from classical rhetorical topics, see Chaucer’s Parson, CT X.960–79 (and 964 n960); BVV 177/28–178/30; Manning HS 11511–14. In any reading, such fragmentation of the sinner (or generalization of the sin) becomes more prevalent in C with the front loading of materials from B 13:271–459. In the C version, the character Hawkin loses not just his English name but his coat of Christendom, the baptismal garment besmirched by the sins. By removing this garment from the C version, L consolidates his two most extensive treatments of the sins in the poem. The collapse of the two treatments is driven by a narrative economy/redundancy (cf. Russell 1982:58 et seq.).

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However extensive the treatment in B 13, in it, L essentially writes an externalized version of the penitential process. Hawkin’s sins appear as dirty splotches, taken by him (as the sins here take their callings) as the immutable nature of things, and only observed by witnesses. Given the existence of these stains on a garment, they are removed by appropriately external and mechanical means, through a literalization of the commonplace metaphor of the lavacrum conscientie (contrast 15–16 Y . . . 兩 Haue be vnbuxum with B 13.275 a plot of vnbuxom speche). In C, L acknowledges the greater power of the voiced portrayal already a property of AB passus 5. Revision in these front-loaded passages, for the most part, consists of converting the pronouns—the third person that had described Hawkin from without into the first person of the sins (although voicing occurs intermittently in Hawkin’s portrayal, e.g., at B 13.328, 362). The voicing integral to confession proves difficult in other ways as well. In passus 6, uniquely among the poem’s various descriptions of vice, L describes sinful behavior from within. Through such description, which takes the form of ostensibly confessional voicing, he attempts to address the issue of amendment, how subjects might be reconstituted into potential actors of something like an acceptable Christian good. But in this effort to evoke process, a movement from sin, both L and Repentance become constantly enmeshed in that same loop inherent in Purnell’s retreat from her early promise to perform satisfaction, to return, more extensively, to confessional biography. Cf. 12–29n. The vices, whatever their humanity, are (as Pearsall1 tangentially notes, 6.3n) personifications that by their nature exclude virtuous action. Pride, were it to perform an actual penitential process, would cease to be what it is, would require annihilation into another personification. Thus, it logically, as a psychological and a literary construction, can never perform the act for which it ostensibly has been created, but only repeat itself in all its variations. Cf. Kirk 1972:50 (a “nice question” as to whether sin and sinner are separable) and Kerby-Fulton 1990:149: “A poetic personification functions by selfpromotion,” that is, can only be or (re)present itself. From this conundrum follow several features endemic in L’s portrayal. As Rosemary Woolf points out (1969:61), the sins show “a contrition that is belied by the tone of their confessions and in particular by the revelatory continuous present tense in which most of the confession is couched.” The sins enunciate only the perpetual activity that is their names. Like the dreamer at 5.11, they can only Rom[e] in remembraunce, always the same roaming and the same memories, for, as Will is forced to admit at 5.92–98L, they are only capable of repeating the same acts ad infinitum, in hopes that some grace from

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without, something for which they can claim no responsibility, will miraculously advance them where they should go (cf. 14n and 22/B 20.386). Constructed in this way, however extensive their efforts, always doomed to repeating, Repentance will always be external to them, and they will be unable to cope with him. As a consequence confession here never forms constructive self-knowledge, but an indication of its impossibility. Contrition remains constantly on the edge of despair/wanhope, a combination of nostalgia and regret (cf. 2n). Further, in locutions like 62 aroos enuye (cf. 103, 196, 350, 7.1), the sins become reified as actors precisely at the moment they are required to lament their very existence. In L’s portrayal, sin appears to exist as an unconscious ground for human behavior, and penance only confers upon sin finite being. The sacrament gives names to behaviors that only then know themselves as what the penitential process tells them they are (cf. Piers’s houp[ing] after hunger 8.168 and its conversational aftermath, or Lawton 1987). But the sins’ consciousness of themselves as named entities adds to that preexistent ground nothing but a name; it does not confer understanding. Although penance requires that the category state itself, what can be stated is only that unregeneracy that has preexisted naming, and all the sin can do is to regress into what it has known before. In these terms, Piers’s pilgrimage, with its reliance on motion, might be conceived as a progressive narrative, one that escapes penitential categorization; but in its turn back to the heart at 7.254–60L, it equally might rebuff such a sense of advance altogether. Here, rather than an “abuse” of language, in which penitential usage may be reified as normative, L’s presentation resembles the dreamer’s escape from legal restrictions in passus 5. PP describes a linguistic contest, in which the referents of confessional language are themselves matters for inquiry and analysis. Human subjects constituted by a “worldly” discourse understand referents in a way foreign and inimical to the sacramental sense Repentance purveys (see most explicitly, 206–20n). Advance remains impossible, so long as the parties find that their identical words point toward incommensurate referents. Rather than the category-based language of interrogation, true amendment would seem to require an inspiring devotional example or rhetoric here absent. Finally, as Russell argues (1982:58), the insertion of the dreamer’s autobiography at 5.1–108 “supplies a completely new context” for this passage in C. Although the general portrayal remains constant across all three versions, AB allude to the dreamer’s complicity in the scene only passingly (cf. 2n or 168–69n). Now in C, however, the interrogation that instigates Will’s defense of his life appears the very ground-form out of which the sins have derived

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those categories they enunciate in the confessional. Thus, the confessions hover around topics strongly reminiscent of the dreamer’s earlier appearance, for example, vocation, biographical history, movement among various locales, an aggressive failure to repent linked with defense of past practices, pleas for grace. Indeed, the very penitential requirement to voice one’s past behavior, a problematic feature of the portrayal, always recalls Will’s peculiar form of voicing, his “making.” He comes to appear, not just typical of a larger syndrome (as in AB) but perhaps as having generated it, even as he pursues other ends.

* * * 1–2 (B 5.60–61, A 5.43–44) Repentance appears and calls the sins to confession: L’s new guide figure represents what would seem the actual process by which a sinner “gets well.” Repentance, who conducts the penitential interrogations and offers the solace traditional to the confessional, stands in for the priestly function necessary to oral confession, the second part of the sacrament L here presents. Yet equally, Repentance’s “running,” beyond indicating the conventional insistence that penance should be prompt, reflects the tears that he stimulates, the affirmative activity Alford presents (1993:9) as inherent in the standard medieval definition of contrition, “sorrow taken up for sins, joined with a commitment to confess and perform satisfaction” (dolor pro peccatis assumptus, cum proposito confitendi et satisfaciendi); cf. FM, cited 62–102n. Repentance thus is simultaneously institutional and, at least sometimes, a property of the sins who will appear to confess, as well (cf. Alford 1993:6 n7, citing Burrow 1965:251). Repentance’s exuberant activity evokes, however, not simply such contrition, but an opposed aggressiveness on the part of vices. Extensive discussions that include contrition and confession, indeed mini-narratives repeating this second vision, occur frequently later in the poem (cf. Alford 1993:6 n9). See 12.60–74L (B 11.125–39), where Conscience replaces Repentance; 14.110–24L (B 12.170–85), an account that insists, as does Robert Manning at HS 11423–30, 11583–618, on the importance of a learned confessor; B 14.16–28, 82–97 (omitted in C, but cf. the compensatory addition, 16.22–40); eventually the description of Will’s penance 22/B 20.212–16 (and more vaguely, the truncated 19.83–95 [B 17.93–126]). The personified Contrition momentarily replaces B’s Scripture in serving Will and Patience penitential fare at 15.59–60. At 21/B 19.331, he is one of the horses drawing Piers’s cart to bring in his grain (implicitly, “Redde quod debes”; see 308, 315, 321), and,

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to all intents and purposes, he is the central, if not most narratively prominent, of Conscience’s lieutenants in the siege of Unity (22/B 20.316–79). 1 (B 5.60, A 5.43) rehersede his teme: Bennett suggests, “announced his text.” Confessional works typically discuss the priest’s duties, for example, encouraging an educational use for the sacrament, ascertaining that the penitent knows Pater, Ave, and Creed, for example, CM 27326–31, within a 400-line treatment. This “Book of Shrift” early identifies penitence with repairing mankind’s broken ship, given us to traverse the sea of this world/tribulation (CM 25708–25; cf. 10.30–55 and PLM 6243–342, 6442–672). Among other effects, this introduction almost immediately programs the verse eventually quoted at B 5.281L, “Misericordia super omnia opera eius,” cited, along with the spark in the sea (338L [B 5.283L]), as if a life raft for those shipwrecked, at CM 25752–57. Scripture cites the verse again at 12.74L (B 11.139L). Eventually, at 8.20, L will present Repentance’s teme (text, theme encouraging right action) as subsumed in Piers’s teeme (plow-team). 2 (B 5.61, A 5.44) made will to wepe: Alford 1993:9–10 argues that the line presents Will as demonstrating the “dolor assumptus” (he translates “voluntary sorrow”) appropriate to the occasion (but contrast Envy at 64, 93). Opening in this fashion also participates in powerful structural echoes. In the AB versions, the confessions end with Robert the Robber’s tears (B 5.462, 472 [A 5.234, 246]), and this vision closes with a more productive example of penitential tears (B 7.128L [A 8.110L]). Similar tears mark three dream boundaries— the point at which the third vision lapses into the initial inner dream (11.164–65 [B 11.4–5]), the end of the fourth vision (B 14.325–35, expunged after 16.157), and, distantly, Conscience’s outcry at the conclusion of the poem (22/B 20.375–86) (cf., in part, Schmidt 1987:14 and n 26; Schmidt 326n). Equally, one should recall Meed’s earlier shameles confession and the dreamer’s immediate outrage (3.38–76 [A 3.34–64L, B 3.35–75]). In AB, there is some warrant for seeing Will here as that undirected desire or willfulness (will) that is a communal property of those in the fair field (and that has made them Meed-receptive). Earlier C revisions, however, personalize (as Skeat insists), rather than personify; here the reader already knows the dreamer to be named Will (cf. 1.5) and has, moreover, last seen him awake and in precisely the posture described (cf. 5.107–8). Following L’s intrusion of his persona into the poem in the passus 5 waking interlude, Will’s motivations, conflicted and obscure even to himself, have become a model for the sins. 3–62 (B 5.62–70, A 5.45–54) Pride’s confession: The shorter AB versions, retained in C, tend strongly toward the gestural. But in L’s last revision, they

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are overwhelmed and complicated by extensive additions, the movement of materials from later in the poem. As the headnote indicates, following line 12, L embarks on a major expansion and qualification of the AB portrayal. Part of this (14–29) is unique to this version, part (30–60) materials advanced from B 13. The new materials largely address Disobedience, the failure of Pride’s opposite, Humility. This extends both to parents (15–18) and to superiors (good men and religious, 18–29), who are subjected to Pride’s Scorn. The material from B 13, lightly revised, demonstrates further Pride’s “superbia oris,” with frequent, although not organized, attention to handbook categorizations of the vice; see 30–60n. 3–11 (B 5.62–70, A 5.45–54) The original AB confession: Pride is the only female sin (only partly so in C); the most extensive discussion is Bennett’s effort to link her with Lady Meed. In the brief AB confession, the only palpable detail, as Bennett sees, concerns Purnell’s serk 6 (as Pearsall argues, her shift), not the purfeyle 5.128 Reason associated with her, thereby linking her to antifeminist satire on her dress. Purnell, having apparently discarded her rich robe, manipulates her undergarment by a common practice of sewing a penitential hair shirt inside it (an example of the flagella “scourgings” traditionally one form of “satisfaction”). This moment involves an ease of allegorical referent unusual in the confession scene as a whole. It implies concisely a move of inner redirection that occurs while Purnell simultaneously remains within the life of this world that had corrupted her in the first instance (cf. B 7.122–23). Further, it glances at the contrite soul that necessarily remains embedded within the infectious flesh; cf. the Fountains Tom Stowe materials cited at 5.130n and 10.128–50 (A 10.1–24, B 9.1–24). Such referential allegory recurs intermittently throughout L’s portrayal, both as a nostalgia for a variety of allegorical writing he cannot entertain and as a demonstration of its descriptive limitations, persistently central to his account. Cf. 63–65n, and other “portraits” at the openings of confessions; all begin by introducing similarly iconic portrayals, only to abandon them once visual identification ends and speech begins. 3 (B 5.62, A 5.45) proude herte: C’s first two confessions are heavily weighted with references to the herte (including 78 cardiacle), and L writes in further references in later C portraits (not just 7.17, already B 5.401 of Sloth, but 146 of Wrath and 289 of Avarice as well). The sins do anything but exhibit the cor contritum the sacrament would demand; cf. the reprises 15.62 (B 13.58L) and 16.336L (B 15.194). On the second of these occasions, at 16.331–32, Charity, as an expression of pure contrition, “secheth / Pruyde with alle 3e purtinaunces

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and pakketh hem togedyres” to be washed in the laundry of his tears; cf. B 7.124–28L and the subsequent identification at 16.340 of Piers as the most perfect knower of Charity, hence of Contrition as well. Of course, true action, ever since Holychurch has first tried to define it, always begins in a purified heart; cf. 1.39, 141–43, 160–61. The completed pilgrimage to Truth, as described by Piers, ends within such a pristine locale at 7.254–60L. See further 63–65n. But proude herte, in conjunction with Pride’s other references, almost paradigmatically defines this as the originary sin from which all others derive (cf. 14–29n). These qualified hearts reveal successively behavior or conditions central to the vice, e.g., 8 heyh herte, essentially unseating God; or 18 gret . . . herte, the virtue of the heroic individual. Envy displays an opposing 63 heuy herte, depression with manifestations resembling physical disease. ——— platte here to ∂e erthe: The posture, with its excessive self-abnegation, echoes that of the uprooted trees at 5.118. (But see further 60n.) Bennett cites Dunbar, Tabill of Confessioun 7–8 for the gesture, perhaps more appropriate either to public or strictly private confession, and in Dunbar’s account undertaken before (an image of?) Jesus. The flamboyant gesture is important to AB’s exemplarily automatic portrayal. The opposition high/low of line 8 redefines Purnell’s proud heart of line 3, and she obediently identifies a properly humble language—Humility is the associated remedial virtue (7.272)—to describe her future conduct. Cf. B 5.69. Further, what one might consider all the action of confession has already occurred somewhere else before the reader sees or hears Purnell. In the earlier versions such treatment continues through a second brief (and tolerably exemplary, if also post factum) portrait, Lechour (A 5.54–57, B 5.71–74), before L displays the evasiveness of the technique. In C, where the portrayal of Pride is extended, initially by a passage unique to C, subsequently by materials derived from B 13, this process of difficulty becomes a part of experiencing the Sins from the start. See Headnote. 4 (B 5.63, A 5.46) lokede: “Looked up” (the reading of many C copies), a contrast to the preening person in later parts of the portrait, who checks to make sure that she is seen as she would wish. 7 (B 5.66, A 5.49) affayten: Translate “train, subjugate” and cf. B 14.299, more distantly B 11.384. 11 (B 5.70, A 5.53) Of alle ∂at: “From all those whom”; Purnell promises the further public abasement of an apology to her enemies.

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12–29: The static AB portrayal explodes in C into Disobedience. Although Purnell appears to have reached a repentant stasis, to have rejected her sinfulness, and to have taken appropriate penitential steps, the C version avoids this closure. Repentance’s exhortation serves, not, as it should do, to conclude; as resoun 7e tauhte specifically reminds this named sin that Reason had addressed her directly in his sermon (5.128–29) and that she should now comply fully. Instead, 9 (A 5.51, B 5.68) “soffre to be mysseyde and so dyde Y neuere,” in AB promising penitential stasis, in the final version triggers this expansion, a presentation of all those scornful critiques to which Pride has subjected others (and cf. the echo at 57). By the end of the passage, Pride has wandered back to terms recalling Reason’s rebuke, the discourse of sumptuary satire she had apparently rejected. As Pearsall implicitly sees (6n), L introduces a narrative loop; rather than the progressive movement through the traditional three stages of sacramental penance, L describes a reversion to a status quo ante. When Repentance utters the magic word shryue 13, Purnell turns away from the self-mortification she has promised and returns to the earlier stage of the sacrament the AB reader has been induced to believe she has concluded, oral confession. Like Will, Purnell suddenly begins to “roam in remembrance” (5.11; cf. 14–29n). Donne, in a sermon preached at St. Dunstan’s, 1 January 1624/5, offers a plausible gloss on L’s handling here and elsewhere: “In young men, vanity begets excesse; excesse, licentiousnesse; licentiousnesse, envy, hatred, quarrels, murders; so here is generation upon generation, here are risen Grandfather and Great-grandfather-sinnes quickly. . . . And then they grow suddainly to be habits, and they come to prescribe in us: Prescription is, when there is no memory to the contrary; and we cannot remember when that sinfull custome begun in us; yea, our sinnes come to be reverenced in us, and by us; our sinnes contract a majestie and a state, and they grow sacred to us; we dare not trouble a sinne, we dare not displace it, nor displease it” (6:196, a citation I owe to Emma Rhatigan, a graduate student at Magdalen College, Oxford). Although Donne certainly does not advocate sacramental penance, he implicitly sees how memory, invoked in the confessional to express and thereby expel sin, cannot rediscover a pure ground from which to contemn it adequately. Cf. the seminal 1.137–45 etc., with the implication that kynde knowynge is the memorial recovery of an uncorrupted original self, and 3–11n. Further, when Pride evokes skil 22, a word for rational activity (cf. the use in 25), it becomes distinguished from Reason and attached to proud and Scornful actions. Lines 23–29 debunk the power of Reason (who has supposedly stimulated this self-presentation) when displayed by others and identify ostensibly reasonable behavior as a function of sinful action. This claim to

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judgment, together with the singularity and popeholyness that Pride will subsequently mention, render Pride the obediencer, rather than the obedient, the judge and not the sinner. Will’s self-defense has established a rhetorical context through which all the sins move with a similar sense of rectitude, claiming for themselves that same power that ostensibly condemns them. Further, in 35 (B 13.281), the vice implicitly defines itself as the capacity for resistance to the situation that L ostensibly dramatizes; Pride is founded precisely on the inability to respond to the reproach integral to priestly correction. Similarly, as the portrait progresses, after line 37, Pride customarily shrouds itself in the guise of its remedial opposite, Humility. Such activity substantially qualifies the claims to meke[n] me (10), as well as the flamboyant prostration of line 3. Pride always potentially performs in just the way Repentance asks—and thereby remains proud, not contrite. The activity parallels the vice’s earlier appropriation of Reason’s language. As remains true in all the confessions, Repentance scarcely manages to advance the cause of virtue; the very language with which he would identify responsible Christian action has itself been transformed into the language of sinful self-justification. 13 sharpeliche and shak of: Certainly paradoxical, since the adverb means “rigorously, severely,” while the verb suggests ease, as if getting rid of sin is just like changing clothes (again indicating reversion, since Purnell already has done this). 14 I, pruyde: At this point, Pride renames itself. Perhaps typically of this vice, its identification begins with “I,” a positioning of the self as central repeatedly invoked in following lines (e.g., 26, 27, the superlatives of 41ff., 59–60). ——— penaunce aske: A particularly telling locution, since the sacrament is an action, something someone does (cf. Agite penitenciam, the sour loef given the dreamer and Pacience at 15.56), and mercy, grace, or absolution something one seeks or asks for (cf. 61n). Rather than the secure rejection of her past behavior that seems inherent in the AB treatment, Pride implies its ignorance, its inability, not simply to perform but even to conceive, this act (even perhaps contrition?) for itself; the vice assumes that someone (presumably God) can do it on request. 14–29: This passage is new to C (dimly suggested by B 13.275–76 and, distantly, 286–87). It destroys the discreteness of Purnell’s activity in AB. Sin here becomes conceived as “a life,” like the dreamer’s, a consuming endeavor. The C addition, then, rewrites Pride within the framework other sins (esp. Envy,

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Wrath, Avarice, and Sloth) had already achieved in (A)B. Such a move in this version accommodates all the vice-depictions to the earlier inquisition, 5.1–108. With 15 formost and furste, the vice identifies a primal moment that animates and has fixed all its subsequent actions (recalling 5.35–36). Other portraits show a similarly consuming interest in the power of some original youthful moment; this, wherever it occurs, has ineradicably formed the speaker, rendered him/her incapable of development, or indeed of narrative motion (such as the three stages of penance would seem to require). Cf. 210 and 215, 7.53–54. Pride’s initial narrative gesture evokes the moment of its inception, one of childhood disobedience. The vice describes an originary point of foundation, inasmuch as it transgresses against the first law governing human relations, Exod. 20:12 and one prominent penchant of Reason’s sermon (5.134–39L, cf. 2.87, 7.213–16L and n). Similarly, FM 86–90 devotes its entire chapter on the remedial virtues Obedience or Humility toward other men to “being humble before and obeying our parents” (parentibus humiliari et obedire, 86/4; cf. BVV 16/23–26). In this regard, the Decalogue’s formulation, “ut sis longaevus super terram, quam Dominus Deus tuus dabit tibi” (that thou mayst be longlived upon the land which the Lord thy God will give thee), might be perceived ironically, not Will’s hope of heavenly “heritage” but a promise that transgression only produces days long in their repetition of the initial act. With the subsequent attack on clerics, cf. FM 80/19–21, in a chapter arguing that tithes form an act of obedience to Holy Church: “And notice that the life of those who receive tithes, such as pastors, vicars, and prelates, is not to be examined by those who render tithes, whether they lead a good life or a wicked one, because tithes are not given to them but to God alone” (Et nota quod vita decimas recipiencium non est discucienda, cuiusmodi sunt rectores, vicarii, et prelati, sive bene vivant sive male, quia non illis set Deo solvunt). The “standard” ME exposition of the Decalogue (see BVV, EETS 217:325) alludes to such anticlerical behavior as part of an extended reading of Exod. 20:12; honoring one’s parents implies honoring those to whom one owes spiritual, as well as biological, obedience, including one’s godparents and parish priest (cf. 1.73–75). Moreover, Pride’s beginning in this way—at the beginning, in childhood—just like its confessional actions (see 12–29n), is stimulated by Repentance’s effort to introduce constructive development in virtue, and similarly undoes any advance. Repentance encourages Pride to perform as resoun

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7e tauhte 12, but the developing confession plunges back into those very disruptive behaviors (already visible in 14, with its opening I and quasiparadoxical pruyde pacientlyche) that the sermon sought to expunge. See the Headnote. 20 Demed for here vuel vices and exited o∂ere: “Judged them (the object hem 19 remains implicit), only taking into account their evil vices (and thus, none of their virtues), and incited others” (the second verb reappears with Lechery at 188). The first three C version sins are all masters of “lacking” (Envy uses the word at 98), often on an estates basis, a satiric technique they share with both Will and Reason (cf. 5.5n, 6.22n). This satiric emphasis extends further among the sins, e.g., implicitly Glutton at 361 and 385, explicitly Sloth at 7.23. 21–26: As Schmidt points out, this is one of a handful of passages that may imply that L had a London audience in the 1380s. The lines appear echoed at Thomas Usk’s TL 1.5.117–19. For further citations and discussion, see Donaldson 1949:18–19. 22 yf y a skil founde: “If I could discover any plausible pretext for doing so.” Cf. FM 46/1–2 which speak “about pride of mouth, which consists in three specific vices: speaking too much, speaking idly, and speaking ill” (de superbia oris, que in tribus specialiter consistit, scilicet in multiloquio, in vaniloquio, in maliloquio); and BVV 17/35–18/8, where the vice “scornynge,” a “part” of Pride, is especially associated with attacks on “goode holy men.” 23 Lauhyng: For laughing as L’s code for lordly bearing (in that context, lecherous), see 22/B 20.70–71n, 111–20n. 30–60 The “parts” of Pride: L advances lines 30–40 from B 13.277–83; lines 41–60 from B 13.291–312L. In the C version, the character Hawkin loses not just his English name but his coat of Christendom, the baptismal garment besmirched by the sins. 15.232 corresponds to B 13.259, the point at which dreamer, Patience, and Conscience actually notice Hawkin’s coat. The material from B 13, lightly revised, demonstrates further Pride’s “superbia oris,” with frequent, although not organized, attention to handbook categorizations of the vice. FM 60/3–4 provides perhaps the best organizational scheme in a distinctio partium, dividing the vice in four, “the deceit of hypocrisy, the practice of disobedience, the clutching of vainglory, and the arrogance of boasting” (ypocrisis simulacio, inobediencie usurpacio, vane

88

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glorie captacio, iactancie elevacio). Having treated Disobedience above, L now considers in turn Boasting (30–34, 49–58), Vainglory (35), and Hypocrisy (roughly 36–48). But other, conflicting formulations flicker in and out of the portrayal, for example, 36 synguler answers FM 38/37: “The fourth branch of pride occurs when someone despises other people and wants to appear unique and to have what he does not have” (Quarta species [superbie] est quando quis, despectis ceteris, appetit singulariter videri [cf. as to syhte?] et habere quod non habet [cf. 31]) (cf. BVV 17/10–16 for “syngulertee,” a branch of presumption or arrogance). Similarly, 41–46 (B 13.291–97) present FM 48/1–3’s “pride in deed, which consists especially in clothes, knowledge, beauty, power and rank, and noble lineage” (superbia operis . . . que specialiter consistit in vestura, in sciencia, in pulcritudine, in potentia et dignitate, in generis nobilitate). Cf. Schmidt’s 3–61n; and 31n, 36–40n, 55–58n. 31 (B 13.278) Otherwyse then y haue withynne or withouten: Cf. FM 38/32: “The third branch of pride occurs when someone brags of having what he does not have” (Tercia species [superbie] est quando quis iactat se habere quod non habet); this commonplace implies construing the line as “Pretending to have what I do not have.” The off-verse should probably be read through the B parallel wi7 herte or si@te shewyng. Pride’s nonexistent riches, displayed to others for its own aggrandizement, include powers both spiritual (withynne) and material or financial (withouten). Insofar as these are distinct, lines 32–35 slide into a discussion of the second concern, while 36–42 treat the first. 32–33 as in auer 兩 Ryche, and resonable and ryhtful of lyuynge: Translate: “(thought I was) rich in the things I owned (auer ⳱ possessions), and thus of reasonable and justified life.” reson and ryht is a legalism that identifies a just case in a dispute over property rights; cf. Satan at 20.300, AA 350, 362 (one of many alliterative uses); Alford 1988c:133–35. With such an effort at presenting a rich, and thus honorable, social exterior, one might compare Chaucer’s Merchant, CT I.274–75, 279–82, and Mann’s comments (1973:101–2; 256 n61 cites W&W 375–77). 35 (B 13.281) for eny vndernymynge: Translate “in spite of any rebuke.” Such rebukes, which Pride has always resisted in the past, form the very me´tier of confession; cf. Envy at B 5.116, Wrath’s reluctant exposure to monastic discipline at 154–59, and Glutton being Edwite[n] 421 during his hangover.

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36–40 (cf. B 13.281–85): The B version falls considerably more into the spirit of Reason’s injunctions to obedience within an ordered life directed by a superior; it thus recalls both Will’s problematic status as hermit and Conscience’s prescription at 5.91. In the C revision, the emphasis shifts toward an ego that others can worship as it mimes the virtuous acts of divine worship (although cf. 45). With these lines and 47–48, cf. FM 60/8–10: “In the sight of men hypocrites pray, fast, and do similar works that they may be seen by people; but in secret they do all the opposite, for they pray aloud that they may be heard by people” (ypocrite in conspectu hominum orant, ieiunant, et huiusmodi faciunt ut ab hominibus videantur; sed in latibulo faciunt omnia contraria, nam orant clamorose ut ab hominibus audiantur), as well as 16.265 (B 15.110). 38 in o sekte . . . another: Probably fictive, rather than a reference to an historical practice; Pride pursues associations with religious groups as some academics pursue honorary degrees. 40 enchesoun connotes “pretext.” 43 (B 13.293) styuest vnder gyrdel: While a romance stock “the firmest man alive,” as Schmidt sees, Pride converts the locution in the following off-verse to imply a prowess mainly sexual. 45 (B 13.287): The C version, “taking pleasure in a life that no law approves of,” defuses (or perhaps misunderstands a corrupt rendition of) the more pregnant line in B. Translate In likynge of lele lif, “In emulation/imitation of a truly permissible life.” The line, as well as 49–52, recalls the dreamer’s interrogation at the head of passus 5; 51 (following 5.5–9) could well describe the dreams that constitute L’s poem. 46 (cf. B 13.297) for Y song shille (most sotil of song B): Cf. Ch’s overreaching singers, Nicholas, Absalon, and Chanticleer (CT I.3213–18, 3331–33; VII.2849–58). 47–48 (B 13.299): Cf. 3.68–76, B 13.196–97 (alluding to Luke 21:1–4), and the denigration of ostentatious almsgiving at FM 544/1–16. 49–50 (B 13.302–3) non so bolde a beggare: “And no beggar, bidding and craving, was so bold as I, and in my (beggarlike) tale-telling[, I told].” Cf. 5.9, 6.394–98. Here at the end of the portrait, having told his intimates what a holy and generous person he is, Pride continues his boastful lies. His works are not

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actual (cf. “Thyng 3at neuere was thouhte” 51), but only a rather inconsistent report of what he claims he has done. 52 o my lycame and on my lyf bothe: Pride indirectly reports the precise oaths it used when it offered false witness. Unlike Glutton, Pride cannot swear a truly improper grete oth[e] 361, e.g., “by God” or “by God’s—,” but takes his own name as the standard for Truth. For parallel examples of such reported oaths, see 426, 9.25. 55–58 (B 13.307–10): Cf. FM 62/57–60: “Boasting occurs when someone by praising his own deeds or words shows off as if he had what he does not really have, such as knowledge, strength, and the like” (iactancia . . . est quando quis laudando facta propria aut dicta ostendit se habere quod non habet, puta in sciencia, in fortitudine, etc.). 58 (B 13.310) couthe and knewe: The distinction is “what I learned (thus answering the earlier claim to a super-clerical expertise at 42) and what I knew experientially (answering the pretensions of the expert gossiper at 50–51). Donaldson (1990:141/310) translates “knew or could calculate,” perhaps having determined to emend to [counte] couthe. ——— what kyn y cam of: Good lineage makes one feel superior and is thus a source of Pride, but again a paradoxical one, reversing the primal disdain shown parents at 15–17, but answering, as do the following pair of lines, both Holychurch’s cattiness at 2.31–38 and Will’s assertion of privilege from his birth at 5.35–43L, etc. 59 (cf. B 13.311) when it to pruyde souneth: Skeat glosses “when it contributed to make him proud,” but translate, “(I wanted people to know everything) about me that I am proud of (so that I might be).” 60 thow y pore seme: Translate: “even though I appear outwardly poor.” 60L (B 13.312L) Si hominibus . . . : Gal. 1:10 (If I yet pleased men, I should not be the servant of Christ) and Matt. 6:24 (No man can serve two masters). The second passage continues, “You cannot serve God and mammon,” and the discussion leads up to the condemnation of over-solicitousness so frequently invoked after the pardon-tearing. Pearsall1 punctuates as if an intruded narrative comment, outside the speech. In RK’s punctuation, followed in Pearsall, the citations belong in Pride’s speech, a preferable solution, since hominibus

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clearly echoes men 59 and peple 60. The speech then ends with Pride acknowledging the sinfulness of his behavior, although nothing more than that. 61 gyue the grace: References to Grace appear throughout the confession sequence; cf. 83–84, 102, 213, 285, 319, 345; 7.60, 120; B 5.98, 152, 261, and Piers’s description of the route to Truth 7.243–60L. Repentance is founded upon (the hope of) mercy, conveyed through grace. The poem thus vertiginously reverses its terms; in passus 2–4, Meed is perceived as dangerous because too readily merciful, but now the folk of the field are required to believe in and to hope for the ubiquitousness of an analogous divine provision. Thus, although Reason’s sermon appears to follow logically from passus 4, the position he has earlier represented, e.g., Rede me nat . . . no reuthe to haue 4.108, now appears questionable (cf. eventually 4.140–45 with 20.430–38L). To coerce the recalcitrant toward something that looks like amendment, Repentance must make extensive, Meedlike claims for the free availability of gracious mercy. Unfortunately, such a rhetorical gesture, a guarantee for penitential behavior, might induce one to regard forgiveness as an overly automatic gesture on God’s part, and thus undermine one’s perception of the need for harsh penance. B 5.71–74, A 5.54–57 Lechery’s confession: In C, L moves the lines to 170–74 and, as in his portrayal of Pride, undertakes considerable complicating expansion, in the main derived from materials originally in B 13. See further the Headnote to this passus. 62–102 (B 5.75–134, A 5.58–106) Envy’s confession: L tinkered with this confession through all three versions. C is quite heavily revamped, in the main relying on materials from B 13; its portrait is probably more carefully focused than the earlier versions, if perhaps not so amusing. In AB, Envy’s confession might be seen as falling into four parts: (a) a lengthy description, most of its details probably symbolic (B 76–89; see further 63–65n, B 5.86n); (b) a speech reporting Envy’s daily activities, mainly Detraction and its offshoots. This is roughly divided between market endeavors, supposedly dependent on cooperation and “credit” (not just financial, but one’s “good name”), and a church scene (B 105–14) depicting Envy’s failure to participate in Christian community (B 90–120); (c) Envy’s description of the disease/self-destruction created by his own bile and spleen (B 121–25); and (d) Repentance’s exhortation (as usual eliciting only repeated confession, here of marketing (B 130–34, not in A), and an ambivalent promise to amend (B 126–34).

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C subjects this structure to considerable pruning and concomitant expansion from front-loaded B 13 materials. Part (a) now is reduced to only three lines (63–65), and (b) has been completely replaced by materials from the later B confession (66–76L; cf. 258–85Ln). The portrait comes to center, through the inclusion of more materials from B 13, in Envy’s self-harming illness (77– 90), and concludes with a slightly expanded version of (d) (91–102). The phrase 63 (A 5.58, B 5.75) heuy herte establishes the tenor of the whole. Cf. FM 148/11–12: “Envy, then, is sadness about someone else’s happiness and glee about someone else’s ruin and adversity” (Est ergo invidia contristacio aliene felicitatis et exultacio alterius ruine et adversitatis; similarly FM 154/139–40). The first of these, testimony to Envy’s ineffectiveness, dominates the portrait, although cf. B 5.90–91. Ironically, Envy’s apparently appropriate penitential mien (contrition is routinely described as “dolor,” but a sorrow “voluntarie assumptus,” cf. FM 432/6–434/10 and 1–2n) is vitiated through the depiction (cf. 93). Just as Pride can perceive Reason, Humility, and holyness, not as self-substantial virtuous acts, but as properties integral to the prideful subject, sorrow proves Envy’s me´tier. He is persistently conscious of the disparity between his infinite capacity for hatred and its failure ever to achieve full execution. (Cf. 66 hadde he wesches at wille, an ambiguous locution that manages to make the Golden Rule at least potentially an envious statement; it recalls the dreamer’s longings, as well as his statement at 15.88.) The C revision focuses the speech around this sorrow and its implications and rigorously (by L’s lights) reduces much AB detail to achieve this concentration. Similar wordplay, in this case on shame occurs in B 5.90. For Envy, the word “shame” defines a social status he strives to impose on others, not (as in 90) penitential sorrow. Behind this portrayal lie the issues signaled in 68 (B 5.87) lyflode, which echoes lyf lyue in the preceding line. Envy feels surrounded by a fullness, an unqualified being to which others can attain; his sorrow and hatred stem from his perception of himself as different, as engaged in struggle, professionally involved in garnering some limited sustenance. Thus he lives, as 73 (B 13.328) says, thorwe myhte of mouthe. Envy’s speech, however ineffectual its results, has already subsumed what one might conceive as confessional power, the ability to say/know/believe the words that would free one. In 74 vrete, conjoined with the biblical citations of 76L, this myhte proves destructive, not just to others, but to Envy himself. Its greatest power is not exerted externally, upon others, but in the perpetual circularity of his own ineffectiveness. The more mighty and violent his word, the less the hope with which it was uttered can match any conceivable effect upon others, the greater Envy’s resulting frustration, the more the failed word cuts him within, the

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more he is provoked into re-uttering it, and thus resuming the cycle that defines him. While AC examine this syndrome in detail, B shows Envy, in direct speech, not (as customarily) as sorry, but glad 91, as well as ironically curtei[s] 89. Such inner destructiveness, extended further in the sicknesses of 77–90, is commonplace in depiction of the vice; e.g., FM 148/14–18: “An envious wretch makes someone else’s good into an evil for himself. Therefore he can be compared to Mount Etna, which does more harm to itself than to anyone else, as is said in the verse: ‘Nought else but itself is flaming Etna able to burn. 兩 Just so the envious man cooks himself, not others, on fire’ ” (miser talis invidus alienum bonum facit suum malum. Et ideo bene comparatur monti Ethne, qui plus nocet sibi ipsi quam alicui alteri. Unde metrice dicitur: ‘Nil aliud nisi se valet ardens Ethna cremare. 兩 Sic se, non alios, invidus igne coquit’) (cf. 152/76–78, describing Envy as a “pestis cordis”). 62 and thenne aroos enuye: In this extraordinary half-line, unique to C, the second sin abruptly enters—crowding out any further intervention by, or elaboration of the role of Repentance. On the one hand, this “ever-sorry” figure actively demands a place in a situation dedicated to holy tears and selfabasement. But more to the point, his volunteerism is driven, not by holy sorrow, but by his sin itself; he eagerly “aske[s] aftur shrift” (63) because it allows him to displace Pride, the previous speaker, and to achieve that centrality Envy always seeks. Moreover, in terms of Gregorian hamartiology (see the Headnote), his readiness proves (as Envy will show his actions always do) selfdefeating—it is only a tribute to Pride as captain, head, or root of all vices, who has simply drawn him along in his/her train. While L’s generally separable presentation follows handbook practice, this moment bares the device. The sins may be distinguished in those external acts they confess (and that handbooks exfoliate ad nauseam), but the underlying habitus of sin and its spiritual effects remain constant, a general resistance to anything smacking of amendment or redemptive action. 63–65 (cf. B 5.77–83, A 5.60–66) Envy’s clothing: In the C version, L provides only two lines and substantially reduces the iconism of AB, in which extensive physical description of the vice is made to “sign” psychic essence (cf. 3–11n). Here clothes loses any attachment to the physically descriptive and becomes simply a metaphor, referring to Envy’s external behavior. Further, in the manuscript version of the line, L forestalls any movement toward a symbolism like that of AB by reporting Envy’s own speech: corsed men represents the vice’s perception of those about him (cf. 76Ln, although Pearsall1 argues for

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reading, “men that he had cursed”). RK’s emendation, to the otherwise unrecorded corsement (followed by Pearsall), answers the paradoxical mea culpa corsynge of the preceding line. This momentary aporia (consciousness of my shortcomings forces me to curse others) replaces a potential pun implied in the A spelling cope 59. That wordplay would join Envy with a sumptuous clerical long gown, a dress that AB’s symbolic clothing implies he has not got, as well as foreshadowing such a detail as B 5.110–12 (A 5.90–92). Some AB material here has been consolidated, within a less overtly symbolic framework, at later points in C. Thus B 77 (A 60, with similar extensions unique to A 69–72) 7e palsy and B 83 (A 66) bollen for wra7e appear within a single discussion of Envy’s disease (77–90, most pointedly, 79 ague). Similarly Envy’s knyf B 79 (A 62) and the locution B 86 warp, turning a word into a poisoned missile, are subsumed in the gladius and sagitte of 76L. The details of B 5.77–85 (A 5.60–68) are supposed to be symbolic, although their exact valence has often proved controversial. Thus, 77 (A 60) pellet, following Bennett and Donaldson (1990:41/77), is a pelt, perhaps undyed wool, MED pellet n. (similarly Kane, p. 441, discussing A 5.60n) and would suggest Envy’s ashen complexion, a result of his illness. This is more compelling than “a stone ball used as a war missile,” MED pelote n. (suggested by Skeat), although a grayish lead missile might be intended. But pelote n. has another relevant meaning, since the word can refer to a medicinal pill or bolus—and hence to the vice’s apparently incurable illness. Envy’s outer clothes involve further problems. One cannot know what a caurymaury is, since the word appears only here, and perhaps in the (?) imitative cary of PPCrede 422; that later use, where Piers wears the garment to plow, would imply humble work clothes. A kirtel is simply a man’s most basic outer garment, a cloak or tunic; Envy’s lacking a hood may imply that this is again poor stuff, of the type that might be worn by a proper Franciscan (cf. “Wycliffe” English Works, EETS o.s. 74:41). Certainly, the remainder of the description enforces connections with mendicant neediness. Envy’s Courtepy is a short jacket or tabard, and at 8.185 friars in the field cut down their extravagant copes to go working in such garments. Finally, the Freres foresleues 80 imply that Envy’s clothes may be piecework, remnants, the loose bits he’s managed to appropriate from others (cf. B 109, A 89). He thus resembles friars in their squabbling pursuit of other orders’ perquisites (perhaps most notably the parochial duty of hearing confessions). This discussion L excises in C to highlight the recurrence under Wrath at 118–28. But the B echo across the two portraits is significant and important; Wrath is frequently indistinguishable in its causes from Envy and only differs

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in its eruptive expression, cf. Vppon wrath 66 “wrathfully” and 103n. Envy’s knyf 79 reminds one of the hidden one carried by Envy’s daughter Treason at PLM 4470–71, 4487. Finally, 82–84 (A 64–66) present a figure of paradox, simultaneously lean and distended. In his hatred, Envy’s healthy humors have dried up (a figure, developed extensively as social action in AB, for the failure of Charity) and, in this state, he has become victimized by morbid, unnatural growth. The leek recalls the self-destructive captatio benevolentiae of Chaucer’s Reeve with his “mowled herte,” CT I.3264–88 (esp. 3278–79); cf. Norton-Smith 1983:61, 135 n14, who glosses the leek simile as “greenish pallor,” recalling pellet. B 5.86 neddres tonge: Skeat (6.3n) refers to the appearance of the same figure in Ancrene Riwle, and cites as its source the identification of detractors with “venenum aspidum” (venom of asps) at Ps. 139:4 and Rom. 3:13 (see also Ps. 13:3). Cf. FM 150/31, where the envious man seeks “where he can spit out his venom best” (ubi melius venenum suam evomere po[test]) or BVV 22/13, which describes “enuye, 3at is 3e addre 3at al enuenime3” (cf. 59/6–19). Chaucer’s Pardoner, notably at CT VI.412–22, uses his tongue similarly (cf. 5.2n), and in PLM, Envy’s daughter Treason is described as an adder (4675–77). For the parallel A 5.69 Venym or verious or vynegre, cf. Wrath’s sour sauces in PLM, cited 128–42n. Comparable images of verbal violence, again scripturally inspired (see 76Ln), run throughout the portrait, although subject to the self-destructive reversal described in the concluding paragraphs of 62–102n. Ps. 56:5, cited at 76L, recalls Envy’s displayed knife (A 5.62, B 5.79), as well as the neddres tonge and sharre 75; the word amaritudine “bitterness” anticipates 86–90. Cf. BVV 64/2–4 for a description of the tongue as a razor or arrow. In PLM, Detraction has a spear for a tongue and teeth that forge falseness as well as rend her libelled victims. Similarly, PLM depicts Ire with a saw, Hayne (hatred), in his teeth; with it, the vice saws friends, even brothers, apart (4720–21, 4775–92). PLM also describes Envy as having fomented the scorn of the Jews for Jesus; their vituperation harmed Jesus more than Longinus’s spear, cf. 20.80–94 (PLM 4607–11 and 4687–4702, 4452–55, respectively). 68 (B 5.87) Chidynge and chalengynge: Translate the full line “He got his food through chiding (defined in 95) and challenging (the berynge of fals witnesse B 88, lodging slanderous charges).” Cf. B 5.96 (A 5.76) “bilowen hym to lordes,” a locution that echoes Holychurch’s initial salvo against Meed at 2.20–21 and offers a retrospective characterization of the courtly slanging match of passus 3. Cf. FM 166/34 for a discussion of Envy as false witness (cf. Exod. 20:16)

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and a species of perjury; see also BVV 59/28–30 and 2.21. Challenging, more normatively “rebuke, censure” (cf. 136, 156) appears twice later in B (11.425, 15.345) as a faulted alternative to true penitential shame. The B version (which adduces further details of this sort through 89) accords with A in its narrative emphasis. Unlike C, which presents Envy as an almost Spenserian syndrome, earlier versions rely heavily upon external social detail. One focus of this treatment insists upon Envy as a verbal aggressiveness that delights in the discomfiture of others, at times with grandiose plans for his own benefit, at others irrationally with no profit in mind. This discourteous (cf. B 88) behavior, an absence of any deference for others, gradually slides into (esp. at B 105, A 85) Envy’s attempt to create a divided Christian community, one which shares his alienation. In opposing Charity (his remedial virtue, cf. 7.273) and Christian fellowship, Envy creates the situation of loneliness he will poignantly describe, “I lyue louelees lik a lu3er dogge” B 5.119 (A 98). The adjectives here carry the argument; the first hovers ambiguously between subjective and objective readings (am I thoroughly incapable of love and thus unloved? or should love emanate from outside and be directed to me?), and the second, beyond evoking the despised stray, may have the additional sense “rabid”: cf. MED lither(e) adj., sense 2e, for a few uses that slide into senses like “infectious, pestilential,” and FM 162/ 66–75 for a lengthy comparison of the envious man to a rabid dog, with its poisonous saliva. The locution thus flows into the subsequent discussion of disease, brought on by Envy’s “bad diet,” his lyflode of detraction, common to all three versions. 69–76L (cf. B 5.90–120, A 5.73–98) Envy’s activities: At this point, C diverges from the other versions, importing material from B 13, functionally a replacement for B 5.86–120 (A 5.73–99), which C then omits. This version rejoins the rest smoothly (cf. 74–75) when they return to Envy’s illness. L introduces backbiting (B 88), the normal ME term for one of Envy’s four parts (see FM 158/2), detractio (alternately diffamacio, as at 148/23–24). Translate bidde hem meschaunce, “prayed that evil would befall them” (cf. chaunce 85). Cf. derisores B 7.143Ln. 70–72 (B 13.325–27) wille . . . watekyn: Probably just type names; cf. MED wat n.1 “fellow.” 72 (B 13.327) fikel: A C addition, insisting upon, not a simple misrepresentation (fals), but one unprincipled, shifting, and dynamic, Envy’s fitful effort to

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examine all alternatives, so as to create a discord that will reduce all those he meets to feelings of disaccommodation equivalent to his own. Cf. B 2.41. 75 (B 13.330) a schupestares sharre: Skeat’s note offers extensive etymological information that identifies the schupestar as a “shaper,” a dressmaker. Following him, Pearsall identifies the shears with a dressmaker’s serrated scissors for cutting linen cloth. The iconography of Envy with shears alludes to a broad range of commonplaces associated with Envy and Wrath as “cutting” speech; but here the weaponed tongue does not harm others so much as Envy himself. 76L (B 13.330L) Cuius maledicione . . . : Ps. 9A:7 (His mouth is full of cursing, and of bitterness, and of deceit: under his tongue are labor and sorrow) and Ps. 56:5 (The sons of men, whose teeth are weapons and arrows, and their tongue a sharp sword). B 5.92 weye: Skeat and Bennett identify the weight; the variety used in Essex was 50 percent larger than that common elsewhere. B 5.94 (A 5.74) bringe hym in fame: As printed, “to put his name on the common tongue.” But one should possibly read infame “shame,” a word that occurs three times in Usk (cf. B 5.166n, although the Latin-derived word infamy is a fifteenth-century creation). B 5.109 (A 5.89) my bolle and my broke shete: Commentators have generally taken the phrases to refer to a wooden bowl and a torn sheet, objects of minimal value whose use Envy nonetheless begrudges others (cf. the outrage of 67). But Kane, p. 441, suggests construing shete as past tense of the verb shiten and translates “took away my bull and fouled my brook.” B 5.110 (A 5.90) turne I myne ei√en: FM points out (156/6) that “the greatest occasion for envy arises from things that one sees” (maxima occasio invidie surgit ab illis que videntur). B 5.111 (A 5.91) Heyne ha∂ a newe cote: The name, a diminutive of “Henry,” may deliberately pun on AN haine “hatred,” yet another example of Envy attributing his own failings to the acts of others (i.e., Henry’s hateful—and despises me—because he has what I haven’t). On several occasions (first at 152/86), FM describes Dionysius of Syracuse envying, desiring, and taking for himself a clamis that he first sees on a statue (admittedly one of gold, not wool).

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B 5.112 (A 5.92) al ∂e web after: “the whole piece of cloth (from which it was cut) as well” (Skeat). 77–90 (B 5.121–25, A 5.99–102) Envy’s disease: Cf. FM 156/23: “envy can be compared to a sickness called jaundice, which arises from the disordered heat of the liver” (comparatur invidia cuidam infirmitati que vocatur jaundys, que oritur ex inordinato calore epatis). For this author, a liver ailment is appropriate, since this organ is on the body’s right side, the side associated with a fellow Christian’s prosperity. The first of Envy’s ailments (all involve bile/gall, or melan chole, black bile produced in the spleen), at least, answers the sundried leek of B 5.82 (A 5.65). Through his illnesses, Envy’s frustration becomes manifest to himself—not as psychic lack, but as mere physical sensation. In response to his state, Envy should, of course, follow a regimen provided by 81 (B 13.337) Lechecraft of our lord, a penitential reference. But he perceives his symptoms as thoroughly physical and thus dissociated from any spiritual origins (cf. the play on grace, both divine and an herbal remedy, in 83–84); they become part of those hardships that make him resume aggressive action. Handbooks, in discussions of either Pride (at CT X.607 under Wrath) or the first commandment, routinely denigrate seeking health through charms. The activity is usually seen as a denial of the faith itself (so BVV 15/5–12, although cf. 39/1–21). Cf. FM’s discussion of magic (576–86), the first variety of which (576/5) is “to bring health and end sickness by laying on madeup charms” (sanitatem et infirmitatem cum fictis carminibus [cf. charme 85] inponere et destruere). For extensive discussion of charms, among other magical practices, see Owst 1957:esp. 274, 287–88, 294–95, 296 n4, the last a reference to EETS 275:157–58). Owst quotes (302–3) a decalogue tract from British Library, MS Harley 2398 that succinctly translates Augustine’s views, as repeated in Gratian, Decretum 2.26.7.15 (CJC 1:1046): “such maner craftes [magicas artes incantationesque] mowe nou9t helpe to hel3e of syke men, no3er of syke bestes, lame or sore.” They are instead demonic, and their practitioners to be cursed. 77 (B 13.333) ytake: The construction, with ytake as past participle, follows from KD and RK’s emendation, against most BC copies, which read suche malecolie Y take “I seize such melancholy (that).” As emended, the punctuation in both Athlone editions obscures the sense, although Donaldson (1990:142/333) translates aptly. The line should have a caesural comma and no end-punctuation: “(And when I may not have the upper hand,) I have been overcome by [the malign humor] melancholy (so that).” Cf. the answering usage taketh 80 “lays hold on me.”

C Passus 6; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

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86 (B 5.121) Y myhte nat ete many √er: Bitterness produces a bilious stomach; the tradition of curing by contraries, trading sweet for sour, underlies 89 (A 5.101, B 5.124) Diapenidon (C derworth drynke), a twist of barley-sugar used as a medicine (Skeat). 90 (B 5.125) but hoso shrape my mawe: The sentence in some measure rebuffs modern punctuation. As Skeat sees, all three lines (88–90) are interrogative and end with a contrasting dependent clause: “Can no sweet thing (be found to reduce my swelling,) . . . or must someone actually scrape out my craw?” Beyond the power of either drugs or sacrament, Envy feels he requires surgery to remove his euel wil. The verse visualizes him (as typically of the sins) as thoroughly passive, manipulated by someone else, incapable of making his own new beginning. The Fountains sermon that mentions Tom Stowe (see 5.130n), includes a relevant discussion (61–64): “scrap ass and score ass, and ay hes ass ass. Et sic certe scrap 3e flesse and scoure, et semper est caro caro, et semper screwed, quia quanto melius facis cum ea, tanto maior scredula est, et forcius insurgit contra te” (Scrape the arse or cut it, it’s still always an arse. Certainly, scrape the flesh or cleanse it, it is likewise still always flesh, and always cursed, because the more pleasantly you deal with it, the greater its infection [? taking scredula as a derivative of screa “phlegm”], and the more strongly it will rise up against you). A 5.102 gret wondir: That is, grace itself, which, in the A Version, Envy cannot conceive (although at 102 the account comes round to pleading for it). 91–102 (B 5.121–25, A 5.103–6) Repentance’s final exhortation and Envy’s response: The confessor’s speech begins with 91 (A 5.103, B 5.126) @us, an emphatic affirmative, following a negative question (so Bennett and Pearsall). Here it responds directly to Envy’s phrase shame ne shryfte 90. Of the subsequent B 5.127, Stokes comments (1984:163), “Repentance accords most power to inner penitence.” But Envy’s reply merely returns to the confessional mode earlier established in AB. He has been 95 (B 5.131) brokour of bakbytynge; rather than facilitate commercial exchange, as such an agent should do, Envy traduces the goods. In B he hires a personification bakbityng as brocour. Skeat compares the oath required of all London brokers at Liber Albus 273 (apparently in error for 315). This brief intruded narrative (unique in the C portrayal) manages to qualify its surroundings; at Now it athynketh me 100 (now it makes me regret, typically a sorrowful and impersonal statement), the figure longs only for release from his frustrating cycle. But the B version concludes with an ambiguity lacking in the other accounts; when Envy promises to 102 (B

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5.134) amende 7is (C grace of amendement), does he wish to amend his salesmanship or his soul? And if the latter, does the will to amend reflect his persistent failures or his commitment to virtue (a suggestion also present in C)? 103–69 (absent in B 5.135–87, A after 5.106) Wrath’s confession: The absence of this vice in A precipitated the long-running controversy over the multiple authorship of PP. Manly (1906) links the failure of A version manuscripts to provide a description of Wrath with what he takes to be discontinuity, departure from an organized penitential narrative, in the abrupt intrusion of Robert the Robber at A 5.233 (B 5.461, in C expanded and advanced to 6.309). Manly argues that L had in fact written into A both a confessio irae, provided anew by BC, as well as a clear end to Sloth’s confession together with a full-length confession by Robert the Robber, all of them irrevocably lost to the authors of later versions. These passages had appeared, Manly argues, on the separate leaves of a conjugate bifolium, lost in the A archetype. Subsequent study, culminating in Donaldson 1949, rejects Manly’s theory of extensive disruption (and of the five authors he generates from this perception in 1909, although cf. Fowler 1961). Among other things, Manly might have noticed the omission of Wrath in the sin catalogue at A 2.60 (cf. 2.88, B 2.84). Further, the A handling of the confession scene shows marked evidence of a text in transit. Thus the A depictions of Avarice and Sloth appear particularly truncated (at end and head, respectively) in comparison with those of other versions, and A lacks altogether Repentance’s climactic speech that closes the confession scene. Moreover, L frequently considers Envy and Wrath capable of fusion. Perhaps typical is the revision of A 2.60 into “The Erldom of enuye and yre (togideres, B only)” 2.91 (B 2.84). Similarly, the two sins are joined at B 13.320– 41, indeed mostly about Envy; at B 14.224 Envy is omitted in favor of a Wrath description, and both are ignored altogether in C 22/B20. L seems to have had difficulty, especially given his conception of Wrath (see 63–65n, 103–17n), in actually distinguishing them. Similarly, in PLM, the pilgrim, already under attack by Envy’s daughters, is simultaneously assailed by Ire (cf. 4727, 4753). See further Lawler 1996:78–79. Yet Manly’s perception is valuable, however dependent upon abstract notions of narrative consistency. On the one hand, he emphatically demonstrates the poem’s incompleteness in at least one of its manifestations. This view of a dynamic poem, always subject to emendation until frozen by the author’s death (cf. A 12.103–4, although the lines introduce a false sense of finality, as Middleton 1988 argues), animates our commitment to a “vertical”

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commentary. Our work is predicated upon a sense of PP as an entity that moves through biographical as well as narrative time. Further, in his insistence upon a narratively coherent text, Manly, as Fowler does after him (cf. 118–27n), directs attention to important features of the poem. In the immediate case (although such a view could be expanded to include any number of passages in all versions), Manly reminds one of how little PP resembles its obvious and ostensible background, the organized categories of the penitential tradition. He thus suggests the profound otherness of PP, the degree to which it should attract interest, not as the reification of its society’s discourse, but as an individual effort to penetrate and understand that discourse. The poem rarely affirms paradigms, and never does so in a balanced and consistent fashion; it often works through discontinuity (as, for example, in the existence of its three discrete versions). Manly implies the very difficulty of these Langlandian procedures—the ways in which they involve the poem’s maker in hesitations, false starts, misperceptions of an earlier intent, negations; cf. Fletcher 2002, Wood 2012:esp. 149–66. 103–17 (cf. B 5.135–36) Thenne awakede wrathe: Following a two-line iconic introduction, mostly shared with B, 105–17 represent a new C version initiative. B 13 offered L nothing to revise with here, since it had devoted much of its discussion to behaviors L moved into the portrait of Envy. In the B version, L moves directly, in the equivalent to the second half of line 105, to place Wrath within a single professional group, friars, and his portrayal, while it includes the psychic phenomenology more fully developed in C, concentrates upon estate satire of regular clergy. Here L presents clerical groups (friars [and the opposed parish clergy, “prelates”] 137–52, nuns 153–68, and monks 169–87) as engaged in activities simply contentious; see esp. 119n. Although L retains in C substantial portions of this material, these achieve new focus through a more general paragraph that redirects B’s religious emphasis (cf. 115). New groups now appear (a husbandman 110–14, wives and widows 143–50). As well, lines 105–14 bow to traditional penitential discussions of Wrath, often organized as wrath in thought (110–14), wrath in word (109b), and wrath in deed (105–7, 109b). (In BVV such an analysis introduces Envy at 22/22–24/9.) Typically, such discussions perceive the vice as escalatory, reaching a crisis as Wrath achieves violent action; for a similar generative model, cf. B 5.138n. Although such portrayals animate much of L’s depiction, the C revision persistently directs attention away from the external to its inner grounding. Wrath here turns from the overt violence of stoon and staf 106 to emphasize a delight in covertness, planning, and anticipation.

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Failing to notice the important verb awakede, Manly (1906:365, 1909:115– 16), followed by Salter and Pearsall and eventually Pearsall, find this portrait troublingly unique (for Manly, its difference from the other sins stimulates his view of five authors behind the poem). Pearsall, for example, argues that “[Wrath] speaks of himself as the stirrer-up of anger in others, as a diabolical sower of discord, rather than as if he were the embodiment of anger,” and earlier, he joined with Salter in commenting, “It is the occasion of Wrath, the source of dispute, that is being specified.” L’s presentation creates Wrath, like all the other sins, as a habitus, here always present but needing stimulus for overt operation. His descriptive language returns again and again to Wrath as produced in situations, requiring external stimulus to manifest itself. Here one might direct attention to 121, 124, 126, 135, 139, 148, 158, 161, and 167, with their implied interest in coming into being, in the inception of action (and might compare the emphasis upon the inactive act of sitting, e.g., 108, 137, 143); or to the nearly oppressive language directing attention to a discontinuous temporality (cf. 112, 115, 118, 131, 137, 143, 151, 158, and 160). As Stokes (1984:164) says, L formulates Wrath as precisely that hidden, invisible, non-overt behavior that preexists (and yet motivates) the violence that Manly, Salter and Pearsall, and Pearsall (cf. his 103n) hope L will portray (and become restive when he does not). Although L’s depiction centers primarily in a well-recognized version of wrath in thought, murmuratio or grucching (cf. 111), the implications are considerably wider. Like other vices, Wrath is well aware of Patience, the virtue that should remediate his activity (cf. 7.274). But Patience is, in some sense, beyond time, a state that sublimates temporality itself and visualizes only an unchanging prolonged endurance, the eruptions within which it accepts with equanimity. (If time enters Patience’s ken at all, it comes as a hoped-for end, following Rom. 15:4, Heb. 6:11–12.) In contrast, Wrath’s perpetual Inpacien[ce] always seeks occasions. For him, like Envy, experience provides the very intransigence that motivates his own: angres 114 (distresses, afflictions; the word is synonymous with penaunces 111) preexist him as properties of experience, and his “anger” only wakes with the coming into consciousness of their pressure, potentially always present. His entire existence as sin is formed by a covert residual ground, in which my wille 113 is the only privileged force (cf. 168–69n) and always awaits a stimulus that will actuate it, basically an unpleasant restraint on wille. At this point, the sin escalates, first into words and subsequently into blows. For L, Wrath represents the perpetual suspicion, resembling Envy and often only latent, that things are not as they should be, as the will would have them. Cf. BVV’s discussion of “grucchyng” against God (65/28–66/13), perhaps esp. 65/30–32:

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“whatsoeuere God do in er3e, but it be as he wolde, aswi3e he grucche3 a9ens God.” The C version portrayal might be perceived as participating in a larger movement. Wrath is only visible as an eruption into a state rather more normative; in contrast, L presents Avarice as a living sequence of events, Gluttony through a discrete anecdote. The depictions increasingly (and unsuccessfully) try to disentangle sin as an event, and not (as personifications suggest) an ongoing stasis; such a representation would then foreground penance as equally an event, a discrete activity that L might describe in its narrative progression. But Wrath illustrates well the difficulties: in penaunces 110, the vice immediately lays claim to virtuous activity as sin-inducing occasion (cf. Envy’s “sorrow”). Although penances may be discrete events, for Wrath they are only undesired restraints; experience forms an uneven sequence, in which what Wrath can recall is not the patient flowing of things (one reason he will spare 151 the uniformity of monastic regimen) but eruption itself. The character L constructs is formed only of dispersed moments of pressure, of a consequently frustrated will, a further expressed frustration and upheaval. (One might compare the case of letyse at 7e style; although Wrath admits to hating her, actual hostilities require a specific situation within which my herte gan change 146.) The grounds on which to base ongoing temporal process, amendment, have already been written out of the portrait. In C, the particularity of the vice’s social insertion is substantially vitiated. The reference to 115 alle manere men follows neatly upon the preceding discussion, which envisions Wrath as rural everyman, an impatient husbandman (and implicitly recalls, in weder at my wille 113, the opposed description of the waiting husbandman at James 5:7; Virgil’s “iratus . . . arator” [Georgics 2:207], and Piers’s righteous anger or zeal, the puyre tene of 8.124, B 7.119, B 16.86 (cf. BVV 25/11–14). Inclement weather appears as an appropriate “penance” at 5.115–22 and as a figure for penitential illness at 19.319–26 (B 17.339–46). 103 (B 5.185) whyte eyes: “turned aside so that the whites are conspicuous” (Bennett); “rolling in anger” (Pearsall). But perhaps, following Book’s “two brode yes” (20.238), they are merely open wide so that the whites show prominently. Salter and Pearsall say of the niuilynge nose 104 (line 2 of their selection) that Wrath “is too obsessed to wipe it.” As typically, such iconic externals fix the figure described inalterably, as a force incapable of change (and thus relatively indifferent to the call of Repentance). B 5.136 and his nekke hangyng: Probably because he might potentially hang himself; since the early representation in Prudentius’s Psychomachia, the sin is

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regularly presented as self-destructive. Cf. Prudentius 110–78, esp. 149–54, 160– 61, where, frustrated by her sword’s breaking on Patience’s armor, Wrath runs herself through with the shards (“fury is enemy to itself, and she kills herself in her rage; fiery wrath dies by her own darts”). Similarly, BVV 25/16–21: “he ha3 werre wi3 hymself, for whan wra33e is ful in a man, he turmente3 his soule and his body, and o3erwhile it . . . make3 hym falle . . . into suche a sorwe 3at he take3 his de3.” 105 (B 5.137) I am wrathe: Bennett points out that this announcement is unique among the sins and follows the form of morality entries. Cf. “I, wrathe” 124, 126, 139, etc., and the discussion of the vice’s self-absorption 103–17n. 108 this seuene √er: Just as with other sins, penance turns into a perpetual report, a timeless meandering over repetitive information presented as biographical. 113 Translate: “Unless the weather performed as I wished, I blamed God as the cause (rather than seeing the possible providential benefits of tribulation [angres 114]).” 118–69 (cf. B 5.137–87) Wrath among the regular clergy (B, with some analogous lay additions in C): The B version (and in the main, C as well) associates Wrath with a sequence of regular clergy, persons precisely dedicated to “regulation,” lives of restraint under a rule. 118–27 (cf. B 5.137–52): Although Wrath appears in the confessional only to be mitigated in his effects, in the first of these three discussions, the very process designed to obliterate the vice becomes the occasion that allows him to exist. Those with spiritual power to eradicate him actually stimulate his development, bring him to life once again. Even more than Pride, who subsumes the powers of a penitential Reason (see 12–29n), Wrath becomes a force that defers any right action. As Skeat realizes, L here describes long-standing battles over the legal right to hear confessions (and to profit from financial penalties imposed as “works of satisfaction”). These contentious set-tos pitted secular priests, with their designated parochial cures of souls, against friars. FM, a Franciscan production, illustrates at 466/36–468/66 one fraternal logic for the claim that friars were, in the nature of their foundation, even if not given parishes, “privilegiati” to perform as proper parish priests and hear confessions.

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The difficulty is signalled by 121 Withoute licence and leue, an echo of the initial discussion of parochial duty at Prol.83. To perform the cura animarum, seculars required episcopal appointment or approval, generally to a single place. But mendicants, as orders of the universal church, were under no such local jurisdiction and received free right to perform parochial functions, wherever they chose, from within their individual orders. The matter was becoming particularly contentious on a different front (cf. B 5.145–48n), the right to preach freely without episcopal license; for this discussion, particularly Lollard, see Hudson 1988:355–56. Between FM and PP, the issue had become particularly contentious in English circles through the antimendicancy of Richard Fitzralph, bishop of Armagh. His activities culminated, after an earlier English preaching tour, in the 1357 Avignon sermon “Defensio curatorum.” See the extensive studies, Szittya 1986, Clopper 1997, Walsh 1981 passim, and 22.276n. Although antimendicant discussions, like this one, are scarcely foreign to the first two visions, they proliferate thereafter, beginning with the dreamer’s waking meeting with two Franciscans at 10.8–60 (A 9.8–52, B 8.61). On this basis, Fowler launches his 1961 argument for multiple authorship (cf. 103– 69n). But at this point, after Piers’s pardon-tearing in AB, the poem’s argument has shifted to consider that “nonsolicitousness” that friars publicly and discursively claim for their own—and that Piers uniquely and properly fulfills. See further 9.105–39n. The B and C versions, although they here describe the same embarrassing confrontation between conflicting legal imperatives, and although they generally concur in their handling, begin in very different modes. B relies heavily upon a traditional reservoir of satire against friars, with its emphasis upon sycophancy and undemanding penitential behavior, especially in return for cash payments (cf. Chaucer, CT I.215–33 and Mann 1973:47–50, Lawler 2002 passim). In this account, Wrath the friar begins his confession by describing how he has fostered those of his order, a pack of obsequious aggressors on others’ legal rights. In contrast, 118–21 strike an immediate balance, in which Freres . . . And prelates (here the secular clergy generally, not just holders of episcopal offices) are equally implicated. Both texts join in such a balance in later stages of the passage, and their even-handed opprobrium leads Scase (1989:17–23) to introduce the lines as virtually the epitome of her “new anticlericalism.” Ultimately, Wrath’s involvement is summarized in the locution 125 (B 5.149–50) spiritualte. In B, where the word-play is more complicated, both sides claim the moral high ground (speken of spiritualte) but both share only Wrath’s perverse spiritualte, rancor (cf. despise7 149). However, as Bennett and

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Schmidt see, and Scase (1989:20) more fully explains, an additional pun is involved. Traditionally, clerical possessions take two forms—temporalities (church properties) and spiritualities (income for spiritual services, e.g., tithes). In these terms, my spiritualte refers to curates’ meager income, any fines they collect from their hearing confessions; but the mendicant appropriation of such funds is, of course, precisely at the heart of the contention. And, as Scase argues, in claiming this allegedly modest portion for themselves, friars lose their claim to be propertyless and become, just as much as the curates they attack, possessioners. Thus, in the next line, both may equally ryden; contrast B 5.148 walke and recall 5.156–62 (of monks). 118 my fore: “The path I’ve blazed.” But a fore is implicitly a vestigium, a mark of absence or of lost presence; Wrath does not describe himself as a leader, indeed at 127 (B 5.152) quite the reverse. Like a perverse version of the trodden camomile, a common sermon figure for patience growing through adversity, Wrath only lyueth and subsequently wexe[th] an hey once he’s been trodden into action, reawakened. 119 preuen inparfit: Pearsall aptly suggests that L alludes to fraternal charges that prelates, including diocesan clergy given benefices, do not observe apostolic poverty. This was a feature of Spiritual Franciscan polemic, especially against a papacy resistant to their views of apostolic poverty; cf. Lambert’s discussion of the bill “Exiit qui seminat” (1961:esp. 144). But, as Scase indicates, by the late fourteenth century, the charge might cut both ways. Similarly contentious diction appears as B 5.145 possessioners. Skeat and Bennett point out that the term here refers to beneficed parish clergy, with their rights to various income from their parishioners. B 145 parte wi7 hem, ostensibly implying splitting the take, is ironic, since friars share what is not theirs at all and was once the property of others. But, as Scase points out (1989:19, 20, 22), in some sense sharing is mutual, if antipathetic. Given fraternal usurpation of their perquisites, curates now share with friars what friars claim as uniquely their own (but have in fact compromised through their usurpation), poverty. Yet equally, Scase argues (19, 22), the friars who seek to share become just as “possessed.” The locution ironically appropriates friars’ language, originally designed to denigrate clerical ownership of all types, monastic as well as secular, and turns it on its users. Thus, herby lyueth wrathe “these events bring me, Wrath, to life.” Equally, B 5.146 fynde7 hem in defaute alludes to the friars’ claims to a higher standard of instruction than that possessed by parish clergy and a consequent debunking of all such beneficed priests as fundamentally “lewed.” This

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fraternal claim gets snuck into the discussion again at B 5.139 lymitours and listres, a phrase implying a conjunction between wandering mendicant confessors and learned men. For the first term, cf. Ch, CT I.209 (and I.252–52b which explain how such a system works); the second term, a derivative of Latin lector, is a mendicant teaching title (perhaps explicitly a traveling Dominican preacher, as Bennett suggests). B 5.138 forto graffen Impes: On the basis of some other ME portrayals (for example, the impe-tre of Sir Orfeo, although Perdita’s comments at Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale 4.4.79–103 suggest that the idea had considerable staying power), this might be construed as an unnatural activity with demonic overtones (cf. 148n, 22/B 20.253–96). The implication is far from out of place in a discussion that emphasizes “possession.” Yet Wrath the gardener’s ministrations follow a perfectly natural development, the leues blosm[yng] to eventually produce the fruyt 142 of strife. The behavior simultaneously recalls the disgruntled farmer of the C revision, and beyond him, the dynamic agrarian metaphors shortly to become so prominent in the poem. For such materials, a stark contrast to the immutable ground of the sins, whatever their apparently energetic activity, see 7.182–204n. B 5.141 in boure: As Skeat points out, this term refers to the ladies’ quarters in a house, as earlier at 3.11 (and the description of a friar’s penetration at 38–67). Cf. also Prol.62 and Chaucer, CT I.217 and 234. 120–21 (cf. B 5.142–43) here parschiens shryuen: Skeat cites a Lollard tract (Arnold SEW 3:394, to which Pearsall1 adds 3:374) and the behavior of Sir Penetrans-domos at 22/B 20.324–79. 123 Beggares and Barones: Pearsall points out that these are contentious terms (each emanating from the opposite party) for mendicant friars who are hustling confessions to eke out their living and for ecclesiastics who live with possessions (including parish clergy with their glebes) as if magnates (cf. 5.156–62 on analogous monastic abuse). Wrath, as in his other social encounters, reduces to a murderous equality what might represent to contestants valid distinctions: either (Or 125) both parties may equally claim to be impoverished or (Or 126) both must accept that they are equally wealthy. B 5.145–48: Friars seek support for their penitential objectives through preaching tours; but through such contentious expression of their longing for profitable perquisites, they not only anger their adversaries but provide them

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with contentious materials in turn. Their freedom to thus walke about (and, not requiring episcopal licenses, to preach wherever they want) indicates the impropriety of their desires. Had they a true cure of souls, they should be fixed in a single locale. In this way, Wrath wisse[7] both parties of his bokes and confers on both a similar learned spiritualte of controversy. 127 (B 5.152) my fortune (B my grace): The two terms are roughly, as Bennett sees, equivalent; but B pregnantly recalls a variety of particularistic uses by various sins (e.g., Envy at 83–84 or Covetise at 213). 128–42 (B 5.153–68) Wrath among nuns: Central to this section is 132–33 (B 5.157–58) potager . . . ioutes of iangelynge. In PLM, Envy’s daughter Detraction cooks for her and serves up the ears of willing hearers (4601–6); similarly, Ire there says that he serves others vinegar, verjuice, and sour grains (4745–48). Both potages and ioutes are stews or soups. Just as with the over-delicate doctor of divinity at 15.43–61, the harsh fare appropriate to those committed by their rule to poverty (cf. o7er pore ladies) must be mitigated, or so nuns think. In pursuing delicacies (cf. the elegant courtliness indisposed to soffre eny payne 129), these ladies already show incipient signs of restiveness. They feel overly restricted by the rule (as Wrath himself will shortly at 151). Like the monks of 5.143–67, they want to behave like aristocrats; not only do they eat rich food, but refer to one another as dame and act like affected romance heroines who can swowe or swelte. Cf. Chaucer’s Prioress, especially her concern for mice and dogs at CT I.143–45, 148–49, and Mann’s discussion of her “courtesy” (1973:131–32). Unable to follow a small portion of their rule, concerning diet, the nuns equally violate more salient restrictions as well and rapidly descend to a level embarrassing to any true lady (cf. 138, 141–42). See Daichman 1986:3–30 (esp. 5–7, 14–15). She shows that visitation records commonly emphasize nuns’ sexual misconduct, especially with priests (cf. 135n), and discusses the aristocratic custom of placing unmarriageable daughters, who might lack any vocation, in nunneries (cf. L’s Joan and Clarice). The association of anger and food recurs throughout the portrait (cf. 147, 159–60) and is central to Repentance’s concluding injunction (168); it recalls the agrarian Wrath with which the description began (Wrath as testimony to the difficulties of gaining sustenance and thus potentially creating contention in its use). Equally, as with Envy, but to different effect, in its evocation of ingestion and digestion, the discussion indicates the ease with which external stimulus becomes reformulated as a covert resentment.

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128 (B 5.153) an Aunte: Although the line will scan with alliteration on vowels and haue, L here likely indulges in slant-alliteration on n-. 135 (B 5.160) a prestis fyle: His concubine, probably as MED file n.2, sense b, suggests, from OF fille de vie “courtesan.” Fake courtliness apparently extends to Frenchified amours; cf. Meed at 3.55–62 and Purnell’s reappearance in this role at 17.72. 136 (B 5.161) chirietyme (C chapun cote): Skeat associates the word with cherry fairs, held in orchards at picking time and apparently characterized by wantonness. On the basis of this phrase’s appearance at Mankind 234, the locution probably is synonymous with “cherry-fair,” routinely used to describe the vanity of this world (cf. Ch, T&C 5.1840, and the note at Riverside p. 1057). Pearsall finds in B “overtones of romance” and strangely applauds the shift to “ludicrous squalor” in C. ——— chalenged at ∂e eleccioun (B al oure Chapitre it wiste): Of B, Bennett notes (followed by Schmidt) that Purnell would have been called to chapter acknowledge her sins before the whole house and only then remanded to ecclesiastical courts. Cf. Daichman 1986:10–11 and for infamis B 5.166n. But Wrath himself will come to be chalanged in oure chapitrehous 156, when he tries to take his act among monks (cf. 150–59n). 137 (B 5.162) sytte . . . and disputen (B Of wikked wordes . . . hire wortes made): The ladies of C parody learned clerics, who dispute fine theological distinctions (and offer relatively sedate “Contra’ ”s, cf. 10.20, rather than the more robust vernacularisms of the next line). B also includes a pun, in some way blending cause and effect; Wrath keeps contention alive in the convent by serving “the ladies” plain veggies both made from and stimulating their cattiness toward one another. Cf. Mann 1979 and Spearing 1983:187–91 (on the blending of literal and metaphorical narration). 138 (B 5.163) thow lixt: Pearsall cites a close parallel in a sermon Owst prints (1961:459); cf. PPCrede 542, BVV 63/31–35, and the Friar and Summoner’s exchange at CT III.1618, 1761. Fortunately, the aggrieved nuns mainly “girlfight” with scratching and biting; if armed, they would prove as violent as Harry Bailey’s wife Godelief (CT VII.1893–1923), who threatens to usurp Harry’s knife (1906–7) or force him to use it (1917–19) to revenge the insults she perceives. Having stimulated this contention in others, as is his wont,

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suddenly Wrath emerges in the first person—an echo of line 103—and a threat to “roam in remembrance” through his entire career again. 143–50 More contentious women: These new C version lines follow other C Version generalizations and replace the extended discussion of nuns and their confessors in B. They intensify Wrath’s insistence upon the restricted and the covert, the ways in which he awakes in the most unlikely and unpredictable places and relies upon unpredictable weapons, quite literally anything at hand (women’s nails in 140–41, 149–50). 144 Yparroked in pues: The verb, only recorded from L, appears elsewhere (17.13) to describe holy hermits; the enclosed worshipfulness that use connotes fuels the passage. These women (clearly of substance, since typically, during services, the congregation stood in the nave) are forced together in confined space and find their resentments exacerbated by the restriction. Pearsall aptly cites the Wife of Bath at CT I.449–52 (and cf. 376–78); see Mann 1973:122–23, 266 nn78–82 and Thiery 2009:59–61. 146 haly-bred: Cf. DTC s.v. Pain be´nit (15.2: 1731–33) for the custom of distributing to laity, not the eucharist itself, but a communal “blessed bread” in the mass; and cf. Bynum’s discussion (1987:56–69) of diminishing lay access to the eucharist in the later Middle Ages. FM acknowledges that the Christian community has grown too large to receive communion more often than thrice a year and adds (414/209–13): “For this reason, not in place of the Eucharist but in commemoration of the Body of Christ, which formerly used to be given to all the faithful on that day, that is, on Sunday, now the blessed bread has been instituted to be given to all the faithful on Sunday, against the power of the devil and for the sanctification and grace of body and soul, as can be seen in its blessing” (ideo propter hoc non quasi eukaristiam set corporis Christi commemoracionem, quia tali die, id est die dominica, dari solebat quibuscumque fidelibus, panis benedictus ordinatus est omnibus fidelibus die dominico distribui contra potestatem diaboli et pro corporis et anime, ut patet in sua benedictione, sanctitate et gracia). 148 worthe on hem bothe: “Climbed upon them” (as Thopas incongruously on his horse at Ch, CT VII.751); the gesture recalls the conversion of people into beasts of burden at 2.175–93, but also may depict Wrath as an incubus who insinuates himself into his victims’ minds. (Cf. the friar of CT III.865–81 and B 5.138n.) The clothes 149 the two women tear off, as the subsequent line indicates, are those forming their fancy headdresses (see 5.133n).

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B 5.166 Seint Gregory: Tyrwhitt (quoted by Skeat) correctly identifies the legislation to which L refers as Decretales 5.38.10 (CJC 2.886–87); Bennett cites an excerpt that calls the practice “both tasteless and ridiculous” (absonum . . . et pariter absurdum). As Bennett notes, the canon was promulgated, not by Gregory the Great, but by pope Gregory IX, who sponsored this collection, also called “Extra,” in 1234. Infamis 168, according to Alford (1984:280), refers to a canonical category of “infamy.” This state, of having a bad name, deprives a nun (or cleric) of further office and forbids further activity in any office that one holds. In this case, infamy follows upon violation of the secrecy of the confessional, and is not simply women’s problem, cf. 161–65. Bennett argues that B 5.166–68, an antifeminist gesture at women’s ability to keep a secret, form an authorial intrusion, not part of Wrath’s speech. Cf. the Wife of Bath, CT III.945–80. 150–59 (B 5.169–77) Wrath unwillingly among monks: Quite contrary to the wayward nuns (not to mention Reason’s troop of aristocrats manque´ at 5.143ff.), Wrath is comically frustrated by ordered monastic discipline. Obedience, the most basic tenet of the life, is but one step removed from patience/ sufferance, his opposed virtue. Moreover, Benedict’s Regula circumscribes a life given to angres or penance, hardship and self-denial. (Wrath is incapable of noticing that it is supposed to be one primarily of prayer.) Thus, while certainly restive, Wrath’s typical urges are incapable of infecting a united and hierarchically organized community. Wrath fails to observe some of the basic strictures of Benedict’s Regula. His aversion involves a quite specific joke, since at the end of ch. 40 (“On moderation in drinking”), Benedict enjoins the monks not to engage in “murmurationes” on the subject (cf. 110–14n). 153 (B 5.172) singles out the most important officials of the house, the abbot, in charge of all things (Alford 1992:45 cites Regula 2.7, based upon Rom. 8:15); the prior, the elected head of the monks’ chapter (Benedict, in ch. 65, worries over potential fractiousness involved in electing such an officer); and the prior’s assistant, the subprior. In this context, Wrath, as one might expect, misbehaves, plainly in major ways. (Had his faults been minor, Benedict in ch. 24 would only exclude him from common table and force him to eat late and alone.) Regula 23 describes major faults: after two private rebukes from elders (the felle frekes), there should be a public rebuke in chapter, followed by expulsion. But a monk perceived as “improbus” should “be subjected to corporal discipline” (vindictae corporali subdatur) (cf. 157). Wrath finds particularly vexing the admonitions to measure in food and drink discussed in Regula 39–40 (cf. 1.17–40). Benedict approvingly cites Luke

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21:34 as a guide to avoiding “surfeiting and drunkenness.” There should be only fish, no meat from quadrupeds, and only two dishes to a table (a third with fruit, veggies, and beans is allowed, too reminiscent for Wrath of the wortes B 5.162 he fed nuns; cf. 159, B 5.173). Although Benedict knows an older dictum, “In no wise is wine appropriate for monks” (vinum omnino monachorum non esse), he believes modern times incapable of meeting its strictures and allows “(h)emin[a] vini” a day (perhaps two glasses?). Equally, he recommends abstinence as a special grace, cites the strictures of Ecclus. 19:2 (Wine and woman make wise men fall off, and shall rebuke the prudent), and commands the prior to keep an eye on the monks, so that they avoid excess. 152 (B 5.171) felle frekes: Through this alliterative stock phrase, with its emphasis upon ferocity, Wrath implies that monks create their own “heaven on earth” through hostile enforcement procedures. If nuns become wrathful through resentment, because they cannot follow the rule (and find their sisters’ lax response to it scandalous), monks institutionalize a distrust of their brethren as regulation, surveillance procedures. Ironically, Wrath, the spreader of conflict-generating rumor, has become subjected to snitches who report him—he’s certain, maliciously. Eventually in Wrath’s narrative, surveillance only reinforces his intention of taking full advantage of small opportunities that reveal themselves in the monastery. 154 (B 5.172) yf y telle eny tales: And thus violate monastic rules of silence (as Bennett points out), or spread malicious gossip; see 165n. ——— taken hem togyderes: “take counsel together (about an appropriate punishment)” (Skeat). 157 (B 5.175) balayshed on ∂e bare ers: Kaske (1968:161–62) describes at least two depictions of Wrath in this posture in parish churches near Malvern. The depiction is particularly frequent with grammar masters and their boys; see my 1999 and Scott’s image from MS Douce 104 (1990:53). 161 (B 5.179) flux: The paucity of Wrath’s opportunities in monasteries for unregulated behavior induce him to overindulge when offered any chance. Here his drinking results in a vomit attack, a presage of 163 (B 5.178) cou@e hit vp (cf. Envy at 95, Glutton at 412, Sloth at 7.6). His disgruntled hangover expresses itself in both stench and contempt (foul mouth) for others. Behind this portrayal may lie any number of biblical locutions, e.g., Ps. 5:10–11 (For

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there is no truth in their mouth: their heart is vain. Their throat is an open sepulcher: they dealt deceitfully with their tongues). 165 (B 5.183) Consayl: Repentance’s injunction not to reveal such “secrets” (which generalizes the earlier B 5.166–68) returns the entire discussion to the level of the covert, merely reestablishes the parameters within which Wrath always operates. ——— by: Modifies reherce neuer in the preceding line. 168 (B 5.186) Esto sobrius: Cf. 1 Pet. 5:8 (Be sober). The injunction literally derives from only the most recently mentioned stimulus (although it might well be extended to all, as enjoining patience in the face of restraint). But the full verse reads, “Be sober and watch, because your adversary, the devil, as a roaring lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour.” While one cannot imagine Wrath as so disciplined as to undertake monastic vigils (“vigilate”), his activity is always predicated upon being vigilant against any potential adversary and is far from so scrupulous as to limit his attentions to the devil. Peter’s “leo rugiens” may underlie the lion reference at B 13.301n. 168–69 (B 5.186–87) me (C hym): Kirk (1972:66) points out that the B reference to the dreamer is unique in the confession scene, as is Repentance here assoiling the sin. The B forms follow upon B 5.61 (⳱ 6.2), and are deliberate, given 185 7i wille and 187 wilne. In the context created in C by the dreamer’s interrogation, L appears to have found the self-reference unnecessary. 170–95 (cf. B 5.71–74, A 5.54–57) Lechery’s confession: In AB, this is a fourline automatic portrayal, similar to that of Pride, which it follows (cf. 3–11n). There Lechery addresses oure lady 170, the Virgin—as Bennett notes, the exemplar and patroness of the remedial virtue Chastity (cf. 7.273). In addition to moving the portrait to this position, more customary in the poem’s presentation of the sins (see Headnote), L expands the account with materials from B 13, in turn further expanded. After 174, L advances B 13.343–51 to 175–85a; the remainder of the portrait (185b-95) elaborates upon B 13.352–53. Each initiative works to somewhat different effect. The initial materials present “the grades or ladder of Lechery,” a version of the handbook analysis of sins moving from will to word and then to deed (cf. 103–17n, B 5.505). Here, in 177–81 (B 13.344–47), L’s description follows a commonplace verse depicting the occasions (or stages) of Lechery: “Sight and speech, touching and kisses, finally the deed” (Visus et alloquium

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[cf. tales 185, 194], contactus et oscula, factum [7e werk 181], FM 648/3, identified by Wenzel with Walther Initia 20651 and his Proverbia 33816, 33818–19 etc.; similarly BVV 43/5–13, 44/11–14; and, Schmidt’s citation, the Parson at Ch, CT X.851–62). See further Fowler 1959 (treating Spenser’s witty reprise Faerie Queene 3.1.45); and Friedman 1965–66. Compulsive repetition marks the portrait, not only in the phrase eche mayde 178, but in Lechery’s statement of his persistence at all times (182–84) and in his refusal to acknowledge physical limit or incapacity (185–88, 193–94). L’s decision to move this vice to follow Wrath throws this compulsion into high relief; Lechery’s persistent drive to expression inverts Wrath’s frequent latency. In contrast, the concluding movement emphasizes mery tales 185 (cf. 194), perpetual titillation. This C expansion neatly links Lechery with the behavior of other vices. Like all the rest, Lechery preempts that space customarily allocated to penitence, leaves it no room to exist. Tale-telling is coextensive with penitential confession, but Lechery presents these utterances as far from a healthful expulsion of vice. Tales provide the vice its first moves, the autoerotic stimulation by which it begins to recover after totally expending itself; indeed, for the impotent, tales can become 7e werk itself. Rather than in confession, language is consumed in titillation. 170 (B 5.71, A 5.54) to oure lady cryede: The Virgin reappears in 171 and 7.148 in her role as universal intercessor (oure contrasts with all those poems Lechery may have addressed to my lady dere). Skeat (followed by Bennett) points out that saturdayes were the day of the Virgin’s votive mass, and Pearsall offers further explanatory references. 172 putour: With this word (as with 186 putrie), L introduces into the C version a new vocabulary. In the only contemporary parallel (and indeed the only literary parallel for the actor-noun), Ch, CT X.886, the words, which require lengthy parenthetical explanation, clearly mean “pimp” and “prostitution,” respectively. 174 (B 5.74, A 5.57) Drynke but with ∂e doke: As Skeat notes, comparing B 14.251, to drink only water. Lechery shares properties with Gluttony as sins of the flesh, but here the similarity rests on the assumption that wine (with riotous dinners) offers an occasion or inducement to sexual behavior; cf. 1.25–31n. Cf. Ch, CT III.464–66, VI.549. 176 Translate: “(I confess) my bodily faults, specifically in the pleasure I took in lechery (through words, clothes . . .).” With the next line, cf. 2.96.

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182–85 (B 13.348–51) alle tymes ylyche: The prohibition follows on a commonplace reading of the third commandment (keep holy the sabbath day). Bishop Peter Quinell of Exeter’s Summula offers a typical explanation: “neither servile works nor sins, which are especially demeaning, should be performed on Sundays or saints’ days” (non facienda in ea opera servilia, vel peccata que maxime sunt servilia, scilicet diebus dominicis et solempnitatibus sanctorum). Inquiries into the “circumstances” (see the Headnote) routinely examine the occasion of sin, with an eye to seeing this sort of violation as particularly serious. The topic is variously formulated as quomodo? (Ch, CT X.976), ubi? (BVV 178/4–6), or Quinell’s quando?, including, “in seasons of fasting like Lent or Advent, or in the vigils of saints” (in temporibus ieiuniorum sicut in Quadragesima et in Adventu domini et in vigiliis sanctorum). Seasons of fasting also include the quadrennial “ember” or “Rogation days”; vigils are those extended evening services with devotional “watching” on the night before some saints’ feast days. For the citations, see C&S 2:1063, 1071, respectively. Cf. 5.30n and 350–441n. 186 proueden: “Investigated (them, i.e., putrie and paramours)”; the unexpressed object, carried over from the preceding clause, describes how Lechery escalates into act once it has been spoken of. 189 olde baudes: FM discusses at length (664/39–69) the “solicitations of old women called go-betweens” (suggestiones vetularum . . . qui pronube nuncupantur) and adds (664/70–666/90) a story illustrating their activities analogous to the ME tale Dame Siri7. If the bawds are carrying the soti[l] songes and those are Lechery’s gyle (professing love to gain sex), they might recall Paolo and Francesca’s bawdlike book, Dante, Inferno 5.124–38. On these figures, see Matthews 1974. 191 sorserie . . . maistrie: The contrast is apparently between covert activities (love philters, etc.) and the use of physical force. Cf. Chaucer, PF 218–29. 193 hadde ylore ∂at kynde: Cf. the modern dialect use, “lost his nature,” that is, “had become impotent.” Cf. the dreamer’s fate at 22/B 20.193–98, battered by Elde, Kynde’s henchman, as well as Chaucer’s various ancient lovers, notably the Reeve and January. 196–349 (B 5.188–295, A 5.107–45) Covetise’s confession: This is the longest, the most complex, and as L implicitly saw in revising to C, the central confession. This sin expresses the wrecked desire associated with cupiditas, as D. W.

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Robertson always reminds readers of the poem, both avarice and desire itself. C here demonstrates that same logical consolidation of view already visible in the handling of Envy. The portrait is rigorously written into a basic requirement of sacramental penance: the full satisfaction worthy of absolution demands the return of the “fruits of sin” (cf. B 5.138n), the restitution of sinfully acquired goods to their rightful owners (implicit, for example, in materials Wrath voices, cf. 118–27n). Restitution is foreign to A but is broached by Repentance on three separate occasions in BC, where 257L and 301 state matters succinctly. In addition, in C this emphasis motivates the shifting of materials from the end of the AB confession of Sloth to the end of this presentation. (This revision provides one of Manly’s arguments for multiple authorship, see 103–69n, a contention ably answered by Wenzel 1967:143–46; cf. Hanna 1995.) The account in A is truncated, only the first two, now conventional, bits of a confession: a symbolic description of the vice and a merchant’s biography, both retained with minor changes in the later versions. A ends with a concise promise of repentance and pursuit of opera satisfactionis, a local pilgrimage. In the B extension, beginning with B 5.230–36, the issue of restitution becomes central to the portrait. This, in its turn, L subjects to major innovations in the second half of C’s revision: 258–85L have been brought forward from B 13 and remove the account from a strictly mercantile one. This decision foreshadows the movement (308–30) of two thieves, certainly not merchants but practitioners of a recognized branch of Covetise, the new figure Evan and the preexisting Robert, from later Sloth materials. Again, this choice involves some minor adjustments—both thieves repent, but Covetise does not seem to do so. For a wideranging analysis of the portrait, see Ladd 2010. 196–205 (B 5.188–97, A 5.107–14) The description of Covetise: The first forty lines of L’s presentation of Covetise are relatively stable in all three versions. At the opening, as customarily, L introduces a sequence of iconic details, resonant tastes of Avarice’s status and me´tier. Perhaps the most similar ME personal description occurs at PTA 152–64, although Covetise shares a number of features that are simply those of ugly old men in ME (cf. Riverside Chaucer, p. 1069 n1369). In PTA, although it is Medill Elde who is closely associated with activities like those of L’s Covetise, the person there described in this fashion is Elde. As 200 (B 192) for elde indicates, L’s Covetise stands at the edge of his grave and faces that biographical juncture when he must, like the youthful Will in 5.1–108, “render his accounts” in a new and unwonted way. (193–95 may situate Lechery similarly.) Compare Elde’s dour concluding summary at

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PTA 635–45, with considerable Latin quotation, a message explicitly directed to the grasping Medill Elde. PTA has always, of course, been associated with another alliterative debate, W&W, largely on the strength of Robert Thornton’s manuscript presentation of the two together. Yet not simply Elde’s description, but the final speech, may suggest a different reading of the evidence. The grimmest of Elde’s citations, line 640L, although a commonplace (derived from a response in the Office of the Dead), invokes God’s unremitting justice (cf. Truth at 20.152L, Alford 1992:110). Cf. Job 7:9: “He that shall go down to hell shall not come up” (in PTA, “shall have no redemption”). Unlike the early W&W (shortly after 1352?), which likely stimulated L’s thought on various work-related issues (see Coghill 1944:304–9 and 7.81–118n), PTA may reflect PP, if rather dimly (for the most part, the work provides an extensive ubi sunt catalogue). The actual detail here represents a combination of attributes, both of excess (of acquisition, W&W’s winning) and purposeful pauperization (the refusal of unnecessary expenditure). The first is neatly implied in the pendulous purselike cheeks of 199–200, filled yet simultaneously unsatisfied (hungr[y] and holow 197), eager to ingest more. Cf. the bloated cheeks, also greasy ones (cf. 201n) of the Dominican at PPCrede 211–26 and Wimbledon’s association (435–37) of Covetise with the “amphora” of Zach. 5:5–11. Similar excess, unsatisfied voraciousness, appears in the swollen lips of 198 (echoed at PTA 158) and in Covetise’s wearing both hood . . . and hat 202 (the latter perhaps “a Flaundryssh bever” one, like Ch’s Merchant, CT I.272). Yet L’s description equally emphasizes Covetise’s continuous meanness, his unsatisfied voraciousness. Thus, besides being baburlippid, he is also bitelbrowed 198 (L is the first to use these words in ME), sullen and suspicious. Beneath these brows are blered eyes, from his constant study after profit, burning the midnight oil, the solicitousness conventionally associated with wealth (e.g., by Recklessness at 13.33–98L). The tore tabard 203 has been worn out and not replaced (to save money), and bondemannes bacoun conveys similar suggestions (see 201n). Skeat notes Chaucer’s association of a tabard with the Plowman (CT I.541, cf. its source, 20.20–25); it would thus signify Avarice’s unremitting cheapness, his instinct, like Winner’s, to hoard rather than spend. (But equally, Skeat cites a number of fifteenth-century examples from inventories for dramatic productions, where the word describes costumes to be worn in playing robed bishops). 197 (B 5.189, A 5.108) sire heruy: Skeat connects the name with the character Harvey Hafter, who holds the place of Covetise among the courtly sinners in Skelton’s Bowge of Court. There Harvey’s surname connotes fraud and deceit,

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a thread running through all Covetise’s mercantile transactions, the delicious grace of Gyle 213. 201 (B 5.193) bondemannes bacoun: Bacon and bondmen go together, since literary depictions assume this to have been one of the few animal proteins available to the very poor (cf. Dyer 1989:154). The food appears repeatedly in ME descriptions of rural poverty, e.g., later at 8.307, 331; at Ch, CT VII.2842–45; PPCrede 763, and W&W 379 (“laddes” food, cited Stokes 1984:211). The reading of virtually all B manuscripts, bondeman of his bacon . . . was bidraueled, describes Covetise directly; with his customary avidity, the mercantile aristocrat eats only the cheapest food and so eagerly stuffs it into his mouth that he leaves his beard infused with its grease. The C version, which supplies KD’s edited B, compares Covetise’s shave to a serf’s bacon. This reading has proved more difficult to explain. Among the various suggestions are “cut off in a ragged manner” (Skeat), “closely shaved, like the thin slice of bacon a peasant might expect” (Hazelton Spencer 1943:148), “roughly hacked” (Pearsall), “?unshaven” (Bennett; cf. “cheaper bacon still had bristles on the rind,” Donaldson 1990:45n). 203 (B 5.195, A 5.111) tore tabard (most B manuscripts tawny): Skeat shows that the enthusiastic B scribalism associates Avarice with Jews and other usurers, as at 241; the color-coding was still vital in the 1930s and 1940s, when the Nazis used a yellow star as a similar marker. 204–5 (B 5.196–97, A 5.112–13) a lous: As Skeat sees, a proverb, identified by Pearsall with Whiting L 473; Bennett cites another use at Castle of Perseverence 806–7. Skeat identifies 205 walch with Welsh fabric; Bennett specifies it as a rough cloth like flannel. 206–33 (B 5.198–225, A 5.115–41) Covetise’s schooling and his maturity: In his age, at the verge of extinction, Covetise confesses in the form of an organized biography (in contrast to L’s anecdotal presentation of Glutton; cf. 5.11n). This breaks into two parts. First comes a discussion of Covetise’s apprenticeship, the standard pedagogical regime of the would-be merchant. This discussion is succeeded, at 221 (A 129, B 213), by a discussion of the vice’s adulthood. Having completed his appropriate education, he marries Rose, a woman his perfect match in the skills of profit-producing attenuation and adulteration he has already mastered. 206–20 (B 5.198–212, A 5.115–28) Covetise’s schooling: As prentis, in his childhood introduction to his craft, Covetise has internalized a single preachment,

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the master’s profit. That, and how to go about getting it, has provided his only formal (and forming) schooling. In AB (cf. B 5.226–36nn), L insists upon this formation as a vernacular deceit equivalent to grammatical training, a point there elided in C. Thus Covetise lerned neuere rede on boke B 5.234 (gloss dide write B 5.242 “commanded to be/had written”). Similarly, although knowing the content of lumbardes lettres 246, his actual involvement with them involves using a tale B 5.249, a tally-stick, illustrated Clanchy 1993:plate VIII. Skeat notices the extended metaphor that gives the first half of this lengthy passage its focus. As he and Pearsall see, L elaborates this idea from lerned . . . a leef o7er tweye 209 (“I learned a folio or two of the Covetise book, how to lie”); through my firste lesson 210 (for Covetise’s “lifelong learning,” see further lesson 241) through my donet to lere 215 (“learned my grammarbook”); to rendrede a lessoun 217 (Pearsall1: “showed I could grammatically construe,” that is, offered appropriate oral recitation). As 209 to lye indicates, Covetise’s articulated language art is predicated upon misrepresentation, the very opposite of confessional frankness. Cf. the grace of Gyle 213 that serves the lad so well at fairs; the line recalls 2.201–2, 224–27 and anticipates 16.306–9L, 17.112–13, and esp. 21/B 19.451–58, 22/B 20.53–57. It is echoed in another language art, Gyle and glosynge 259 (not reading/showing the text but offering a “plausible” substitute). Like the dreamer at 5.36, Covetise has been set to school, and within a specific educational system. This has rendered him, like the dreamer, incapable of professional adjustment or of responding to alien languages. Thus, in 215– 16, the language by which Covetise describes his biographical behavior (drow me) echoes the exact form of his instruction (to drawe). Just as he learns to form cloth in a particular fashion, the manner of his instruction, a sophisticated schooling in misrepresentation, has completely determined his behavior. In his youth, Covetise required 7e grace of Gyle, presumably misrepresentation of his wares (cf. 258–61), to sell his product. Growing up, he learns from cloth dealers more active procedures for making something out of nothing. The first trick, the lengur hit semede (216 [A 5.124, B 5.208]), involves stretching the edges of cloths so that they can be sold as a larger dimension. In a lessoun 217, L depicts the peculiar rules by which Covetise’s grammar operates. Here he presents what is properly a short piece as a long one, commits a solecism, a metrical impropriety (cf. PLM 5132–38, one of many parallels to L’s portrayal here). Medieval speculative grammarians often insist upon linguistic laws as a replication of universal ones; for analyses addressing the poem, see Alford 1982, Overstreet 1984. Covetise’s multiplicatory representation produces a creation that vies with Wisdom’s world governed by measure, number, and weight (Sap. 11:21).

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(L alludes to the idea again at 22/B 20.256.) The potentially infinite mass Covetise creates out of nothing (and none of which he will disperse) contrasts with the infinity of God’s mercy; cf. the subsequent discussion of usury and B 5.254–59. This cloth-stretching technique recalls both the distension manifest in Covetise’s cheeks (199–200) and the text L implicitly here rewrites, Conscience’s idealistic argument that merchandising is a permutation apertly 3.313. FM invokes a contrasting economy in a passing discussion of the Incarnation, marked, the author says, by a “length made short” (longitudo curta, 240/116), when the immense divine majesty was circumscribed in the Virgin’s womb. This idealizing version of Coveitise’s donet, multiplying self-abnegation, is apparently a fourteenth-century preacher’s stock figure; cf. the further example, with development of the idea of solecism, Wenzel 2008:136. The issue of “restitution,” which most preoccupies L here, particularly in the expanded BC versions, derives from economics, Covetise’s me´tier, through metaphor. Such an emphasis always “misspeaks” to Covetise, whose whole formation as subject utilizes a different language, literally a grammar rendering him and Repentance mutually unintelligible. What is he to do when he is instructed to forget a lifetime’s worth of injunctions? Properly trained merchants do nothing but make deceitful profits, while penitential ones are supposed, implausibly, to tell the truth and thereby impoverish themselves, give things away for free. Such difficulties associated with polysemy and with insecure referentiality within a vernacular discourse can be widely paralleled in dispersed contemporary comments on the status of English; consequently, they might be seen as properties, not simply of Covetise’s formation, but of L’s project as well. 207 (B 5.199, A 5.116) Symme at ∂e style (AB atte Nok): The names, modern Stiles and Oakes/Nokes/Knox (from plural forms), are derived from locative phrases; cf. MED oke n., sense 4a; stile n.1, sense c. 210 (B 5.202, A 5.118) Wykkedliche to waye: Bennett and Pearsall both note the BVV discussion (40/16–41/9) of merchandising as a species of Covetise. Lorens concentrates upon use of false measures, the sale of inferior goods as if better, and general misrepresentation. In an age of dearth, where both the qualities and the measures of goods were carefully regulated, this was a major abuse of Christian community. “The Great Curse” would excommunicate “alle makerys of fals monye as clypperys and wassherys [cf. 242], and alle 3at wyttyngly and falsly makyn or vsyn false busschellys and o3ere false mesurys, elle-9erdys or met-9erdys [cf. 217–20n], false auncerys [cf. 223–24], false

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way9tes and scolys (i.e. “scales”), lesse in mesure and in wey9te 3an 3e statute askyth” (19/8–12, cf. 60/2–5); on this text, see 239–52n. In 224 (A 5.132, B 5.216), in discussing his wife Rose’s relations with her suppliers, Coveitise reveals that they both apparently weigh with an auncer (also called auncel). Rather than balance pans, an auncel was a beam-weight, in which goods, most usually wool, were measured against a standard weight (although often in measures restricted in use to only this single commodity). This measure was apparently so prone to corrupt use that, as Skeat notes, it was banned by 23 Edw. III, statute 5, c. 9 (SR 1:321). Skeat also cites archbishop Henry Chichele’s 1430 Constitution, which calls it “a deceptive variety of weighing” (doloso quodam staterae genere). 211 (B 5.203, A 5.119) wy: Skeat gives extensive information on Wyehill Fair (near Andover); cf. 4.51. Bennett recalls Hardy’s description of Wyehill fairground in The Mayor of Casterbridge. Winchester, the ancient capital, predated London as a main entrepot; the earliest surviving London trade regulations (c. 1130?) reserve Winchester merchants a privileged place in access to merchandise on City wharves. 215 (B 5.207, A 5.123) my donet: A vernacular (OF) form of Latin Donatus, referring to his Ars grammatica, the beginning of all grammar school (and consequently, all formal) education. Covetise uses the word in the common extended sense, “introduction to any art” (c. 1450 taken up by Bsp. Reginald Pecock for the title of his tract of vernacular religious instruction). 217–20 (B 5.209–12, A 5.125–28) Coveitise manipulates cloths: Cloths were subject to inspection for proper measure, the official responsible known as The King’s Aulnager (see 25 Edw. III, statute 3, c.1; SR 1:314). The standard measure for cloth was the “roll,” apparently a single piece 26 or 28 yards long (47 Edw. III, c.1; SR 1:395). Coveitise is engaged in a practice that attracted parliamentary notice in 3 Rich. II, c.2 (SR 2:13); it is there alleged that aulnagers did not perform their duty but approved cloths not the full size of the standard roll, but sewn together from bits of diverse quality. Once again, Coveitise attenuates his product; leaving aside the varying qualities of the cloth with which he begins, the same raw material (and money invested) produces greater volume, and thus charge, for the finished goods, a forecast of the usury to which Covetise admits at 240. 218 (B 5.210, A 5.126) bande (AB playte): Not the infinitive of banden “to band or to bond,” but pa. sg. of bynden “bound”; KD smooth the B grammar (C

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here derives from universal B scribalisms) so that no shift from infinitive to past tense occurs. 219 (B 5.211, A 5.127) pynned: Schmidt suggests a possible pun, the actual reading of a few AB manuscripts, on pynede (tormented). Such metaphorical usage recurs in discussions of the topic; Bennett cites a 1532 statute that refers to similar practices as “racking, straining, or tenturing.” 221–33 (B 5.213–25, A 5.129–41) Covetise’s wife Rose: While Covetise sells clothes, Rose is involved in traditional women’s work, wool-weaving (221–24) and brewing (225–33). But she earns her husband’s admiration through even sharper practices than his own. In the first profession, shared with Chaucer’s Wife of Bath, she arranges to collect doubly on each transaction; she shortchanges her supplier, the spynnestere, on wool weight, and, in turn, the customers who buy her woven cloth, since she has acquired wool that she can stretch in the loom to form a thinner but larger, more expensive cloth. Cf. the citation from FM, comparing Contrition to a poor spinning-woman, at 9.74n; and see also Pearsall’s note with further references. Cf. 210n, 218–20n. Brewing, although practiced by men, was essentially a women’s household industry; see Bennett 1996. Here Rose’s activities again profit off both ends of a transaction. Not only does she violate statutory legislation, adulterating her product by mixing different grades (or indeed, in A, simply diluting the stuff), but, as an exemplar of regrater[ye] or hokkerye, she specializes in retail sales in which small quantities (coppemele 231), mismeasured in her favor, can fetch prices out of proportion with the batch cost. Pearsall notes L’s hostility to retailing in small amounts at 3.86; that entire passage (3.80–114), beginning with the allusion to brewers, is relevant to Rose’s status as retailer. Bennett provides a variety of references to literary and artistic examples of false measure in the brewing trade. 227 (B 5.219, A 5.135) ∂at lay by hymsulue: All three Athlone texts punctuate as if hymsulue represented hemsulue (it is a licit form of that word), “laborers who slept alone;” see also Stanley 1976. That reading may well be difficilior, insofar as it remains intrusive and difficult of explanation; but, following Pearsall, construe hymsulue as “itself”—the everyday stuff was kept apart, while the best was, as 228 says, not in the shop/alehouse, but on the floor above, in private domestic space. 232 ryhte name: Translate: “She was properly surnamed ‘Regrater,’ that is, retailer.” Especially following the C version expansion on grammatical relationship in passus 3, this may represent a grammatical quibble. Certainly, it is

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an etymological one, playing off the re-stitutio shortly to become prominent in the confession, as well as the ultimate Latin root gratus (and related gratia). Richardson 1939 identifies Rose with a “Rose la Hokestere” tried for forestalling in 1350 (repeated Bloomfield 1961:89, Kane 1988:186). B 5.226–29 (A 5.142–45): A ends the confession here, in a climactic gesture of repentance, as Bennett sees. But the passage also involves county satire, a sardonic look at Norfolk provincialism (an additional Norfolk reference occurs at B 5.236). Rigg (1992:234) briefly discusses Norfolk jokes. Covetise is not just not a Latinist but a provincial bumpkin, not a good London speaker. Ekwall (1956) argues that most thirteenth-century migrants into London came from East Anglia; the pattern continued, mixed with persons from other areas, in the fourteenth century. B 5.226 (A 5.142, one manuscript only) so thee ik: The line is generally unnoticed as the earliest surviving English dialect joke. The text usually taken as holding such place is associated, as Bennett sees, with the same dialect form, used by Chaucer’s Reeve at CT I.3864; he comes from Bawdeswell (CT I.620), a locale Chaucer chooses as squarely central in Norfolk. L drops this four-line passage in C, certainly because of its over-conclusiveness, given the continuation of the discussion, but also to clear the way for Robert the Rifler’s more powerful evocation of penitential pilgrimage at 329, and probably, in its local humor, as distracting from the major point of restitution. The magpie responsible for the text in Rigg-Brewer 1983 picks up this reading at Z 5.98–99. Almost certainly he derives it from memory of a B copy (the single A manuscript that includes it has a heavy B component), and he adds an apparent allusion to a disparaging proverb about Norfolk men. A further, wildly inappropriate Norfolk insult, generated as an echo of “Normandy” (A 3.176, B 3.189, Z 3.127), appears at Z 3.148–49; see further RiggBrewer 1983:16–17. B 5.228 (A 5.144) wenden to walsyngham: Bennett notices the earlier reference to this outstanding Norfolk pilgrimage site (Prol.52 and Prol.51–55n), one that might condition the value of such a pilgrimage. All commentators offer materials on the relic of the true cross, 7e Roode of Bromholm 229, an adjacent Norfolk holy place; cf. Ch, CT I.4286 (the Reeve again). Covetise, a resolute regionalist, has absorbed Reason’s injunction of 5.197–98 quite literally and determines to engage in local pilgrimages, not because Reason tells him to avoid Rome, but because they won’t unduly strain him (or keep him long from his shop or family home).

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B 5.229 (A 5.145) dette: This word, the last in the A portrait, broaches the issue central to the BC discussions. Bennett and Schmidt may overspecify in identifying this as a spiritual debitum, that of sin. Their reading, however, corresponds with Repentance’s; he avidly seizes on the word, only to discover that Covetise doesn’t comprehend his restatement, in the “foreign language” of restitution. Given the resolutely economic grammar associated with Covetise, the word equally carries financial connotations. Kirk puts the matter backwards (1972:51) in her argument that Covetise here attempts “to enlist the very metaphor of Christian rhetoric in the service of his calling.” At the very least, Covetise believes that intercessory prayer to a sacred object will prove sufficient to his spiritual needs. Equally, having promised to cease his profiteering multiplicative efforts, Covetise may worry over future financial loss and may conceive of Broomholm’s fragment of the True Cross as a potential new multiplier that will undo losses consequent on leaving his old ways. Cf. lene for loue of 7e cros B 5.241 and contrast FM 512/69–71: “Therefore, we must not ask for anything from God, especially any temporal good, except on condition, that is to say, insofar as God himself knows what is expedient and useful for us” (Et ideo nichil petendum est, et maxime de temporalibus, nisi sub condicione a Deo, scilicet eo modo quo ipse Deus scit nobis expedire et proficere). 234–38 (B 5.230–36) Repentance first broaches restitution: When Repentance asks, Repentedest thow . . . or restiticioun madest?, he raises one of the poem’s major themes, to be invoked, in the face of Covetise’s recalcitrance, three times in this confession. The final act of sacramental penance, successful satisfaction, gains absolution. In the preceding AB lines, Covetise is perfectly willing to consider the step, if only as an untroubling bout of prayers. Repentance insists that absolution will depend on more than this. In these lines, he, following the penitent’s own admission, redefines the magic multipliers as just a species of common theft. BVV treats Theft and Raueyne as separate species of Avarice at 32/25–35/10 (cf. 2.93–95). Similarly, an English verse cited at FM 344/135 argues that nowadays “Robbyng and reuyng ys holden purchas.” ys holden here identifies a social discourse, resembling the one L attributes here to Covetise, within which vernacular senses, not pennies as Conscience would earlier (3.313) have it, have been permuted, if not multiplied. The Latin L cites at 257L (B 5.273 has the complete sentence) is central to the remainder of the confession, as well as to the poem. Translate Nunquam dimittitur . . . : “Sin is never remitted, unless what has been stolen is returned.” Originally Augustine, Epistola 153.20 (PL 33:662, cited in full by Bennett), the maxim appears repeatedly in canon law to define the basic requirement of

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penitential satisfaction. Wenzel (FM 530) refers to Gratian, Decretum 2.14.5.3 (CJC 1:739), to which Alford (1992:46) adds several citations, most notably 14.6.1 (CJC 1:742–43): “As Augustine says, one can not do penance unless one returns the property belonging to others” (Quod vero penitencia agi non possit, nisi res aliena reddatur, testatur Augustinus). If Covetise’s activities can be reduced to simple theft, then his sin is precisely to have deprived others of their goods, and he can only be absolved on the basis of restitution, repaying his ill-gotten gains. Cf. 301–2n, discussing the second most important citation on the subject here, Alford 1993:13–17, and Scase 1989:23–32. B 5.235 I wende riflynge were restitucioun: If Covetise cannot respond to Repentedestow 236 in Repentance’s question, he is even hazier about restitucioun. This word he connects with areste 231, the circumstance that allowed him to rifl[e] “plunder.” (Pearsall notes that the C version clarifies the pun; Schmidt 1987:105–6, its repetition at 10.54–55.) Most commentators construe the word “at rest,” but “arrested” is possible and conceivably more pointed. In such a construction, the chapmen would be Covetise’s competitors and his act one of restituting to himself from their property, which should have been subject to confiscation, rather than such an act of “self-help repossession.” In renaming Robert the ruyflare 315 (B 5.461, A 5.233 Robbere), consumed with performing restitution (Reddite), C solidifies the connection with this passage; see 315n. Finally, herberwed 235 recalls the various arguments about “herbergage” of CT I, another possible indication that Chaucer’s Reeve may be an imitation; he tells of a miller who, like Covetise, readily confuses “rifling” and “purchase.” This linguistic misadventure is predicated upon Covetise’s construction, his education in a language differing from that Repentance speaks. In identifying restitucioun with frenssh 236, Covetise assumes that he’s faced with a learned traders’ argot comparable to his own (as Anglo-Norman was), and not the metalanguage Repentance believes he uses. L again dramatizes the distance between Latinate religious language and workaday concerns at 7.283, q.v.; cf. 206–20n, 240n. 238 (B 5.233) hanged: The statutory penalty for theft, of course, and one Covetise (unlike the dreamer) cannot escape by pleading “benefit of clergy.” 239–52 (B 5.237–59) Repentance inquires about, and Covetise admits to, his involvement in usury: Usury, understood to be the receipt of payment for the use of money, interest on a loan, was considered sinful on the basis of biblical prohibition; Tawney (1926:43) mentions Exod. 22:25–27, Levit. 26:35–37, Luke

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6:35 (and cf. Deut. 24:6, 10–13). In “The Great Curse,” the formula of excommunication read and explicated four times a year in every parish, “opyn gouelerys,” those manifestly engaged in usury (MED gavelere n.), are viewed as exceptionally criminous. Not only were they to be cursed (and thereby removed from the Christian community), but no one short of a bishop could rent a house “to ony alyen 3at is an opyn gouelere,” and they were denied burial in consecrated ground (18/14–16, 30/13–16, 33/13–15, 60/33, 62/14–17). The last anathema, usefully in L’s context, is qualified by the clause, “tyl 3ey haue made restitucyoun” (60/32). Bennett notes that Repentance, somewhat unusually, performs here in that sharp manner priests were instructed to adopt in the confessional. (He also provides a good example of a priest’s questionnaire.) His adopting this technique testifies to the very difficulty of the conversation; this confession is unique in the failure of the penitent to achieve anything approaching absolution, a grace Repentance threatens to withhold (294–95). The discussion shows the vice engaged in his ultimate multiplicatory effort; usury creates value out of reduction, subtraction, nothingness—coins deprived of their full weight and contractual arrangements in which the substance at issue, the money, completely disappears (cf. 247, B 5.244, 246). Covetise signals why usury should be a sin, when he admits that he has lente for loue of 7e wed (B cros) 243 (B 5.241), either his fascination for the cross in the coin (B) or “out of my desire for the pledge,” in hope of forfeiture (C). Lending should aid a fellow Christian, and Covetise’s lending for other purposes (cf. 7e wed Y lette bettere 兩 . . . then the . . . men 7at y lenede 243–44), conventionally defines usury. Thus, at Summa Theologicae 2a 2ae, Q. 77, art. 4, Aquinas argues that licit mercantilism “pursues profit not as an end, but as if a reward for labor undertaken” (lucrum expetit, non quasi finem, sed quasi stipendium laboris; cited Tawney 1926:35, 295 n40). Similarly, FM (350/88–352/ 90) argues that usury is distinguishable from other profitmaking transactions by virtue of a “corrupt intention, for usury always rests upon such expectation or intention” (intencio corrupta, quia sola spes vel intencio facit usuram). Such canonistic precision typifies C; in B, L follows on Covetise’s earlier mercantile chicanery to emphasize the precise abuses whereby Covetise pursues excessive profit (extensions of the original moment described at 208). While most might agree in the evil of usury, policing it in the Middle Ages required increasing strictures, many alluded to in L’s discussion. Canonical legislation persistently emphasizes the necessity that a usurer repay, restitute, his gains; the sin thus can stand, in PP, as the cardinal example of a Christian’s penitential responsibility to his fellows. FM 528/23–530/39 (ending with citation of 257L), presents canonistic opinion—Gratian, Decretum 2.1.1.27

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(CJC 1:369–70) and Raymund de Penyaforte’s Summa 2.8.7—to show that usurious gains cannot be used for alms, but must be retained for restitution. At Lateran III (1175), usurers were prohibited from various sacramental functions, and ecclesiastics who took their offerings were to be suspended (cf. 287–304). This legislation appears as Decretales 5.19.3 (CJC 2:812); other canons in this chapter include further regulations to which L alludes, e.g., 254–55 answer Decretales 5.19.9 (CJC 2:813–14). Further canonistic thinking is germane to the passage. FM quotes at length (352/97–105) from the canons of Gregory X (at the Council of Lyons 1274), subsequently Sext 5.5.1–2 (CJC 2:1081–82). According to this text, if usurers wish to repent, they must make full restitution before being administered communion or (tellingly, for Avarice in his elde) before being buried in consecrated ground. These canons also include regulations regarding the bishop’s acceptance of ill-gotten funds as “trustee” (cf. 344–49). Finally, the Council of Vienne (1312) added extra teeth to legislation to force secular policing; cf. Clementinae 5.5.1 (CJC 2:1184). pope 256 may specifically allude to these canonical requirements as emanations of papally convened general councils. For extensive recent discussions, see Noonan 1957, Langholm 1992. In England, although ample legislation attempted to answer these ecclesiastical strictures, things were far from so clearcut. As 241 (B 5.239) lumbardus . . . and . . . iewes indicates, many of those involved were nonnative or nonChristian, tended to be royal bankers, and might be perceived as the first wave of an international commercial revolution. In England, comically enough, the crown tried to claim assets of usurers once dead (while tolerating their activities while living—they benefited perpetually cash-strapped kings). Alternatively, in the thirteenth century, efforts by English bishops to restrain Lombard bankers were hamstrung by the Lombards’ papal backers; see Tawney 1926:29, 294n27, 301 nn 80 (a parliamentary complaint of 1376) and 84. At the end of this section, L undertakes further streamlining and consolidation of the argument in C. B 5.254–59 emphasize Covetise’s grasping as it affects fellow Christians in need. He is indifferent to the claims of the virtue remediating his state, Large(ne)sse 7.275. 240 (B 5.238) saue in my √outhe: Bennett suggests that Avarice misunderstands Repentance’s query and construes “usury” as “lechery.” Only Robert Manning’s relevant usage—“To whom 3at usery is lefe 兩 Gostly he is a 3efe” (HS 2417–18)—predates PP, and Covetise may justifiably find this a “foreign” word, like so many others. But predictably, just as the dreamer frozen in status on the basis of his youthful education, the sin is frozen in its own “primal scene.”

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241 (B 5.239) lumbardus: Skeat appositely cites 4.194; Tawney mentions (1926:301 n80) that Lombards were prosecuted for precisely the offense Covetise says he learned from them, coin-clipping, in 1364. 243 (B 5.241) for loue of ∂e wed (B cros): As Skeat points out, in B the cross on the coin (not Jesus’) attracts Covetise. For images of such coins, see Alexander-Binski 1987:314–15, 492–93; for another example of the implicit comparison, see FM 448/14–17. Skeat also identifies the echoic discussion at 17.199–209 and the reappearance of the phrase at B 13.359. Bennett refers to “Wycliffe” English, EETS 74:49, for a Lollard discussion of clerics who refuse coins with royal imprint. B 5.242–43: Remove the semicolon KD print at the end of 242; the following line forms a clause of result introduced by the implicit That. Miseretur & commodat is cited from Ps. 111:5 (Acceptable is the man that sheweth mercy and lendeth). The verse describes the just man who mercifully forgives, not the language Covetise knows, that of Anglo-Norman legalisms concerning forfeitures. PP, however, emphasizes more troubling (ar)rerages, those of sin—and with them, God’s attitude to his debtors, incomparably more merciful than Covetise’s (cf. B 5.250–59). See 9.273, 11.296–98 (B 10.476– 78), 12.64–67 (B 11.128–31), 15.284 (B 14.108); all these are typically connected, as the first is explicitly, with the “villicationis”/stewardship of Luke 16:2, the “text” of the dreamer’s interrogation in passus 5. B 5.244–45 lent my chaffare: Bennett describes the practice as the use of concealed interest payments (cf. derne vsurie B 2.176). Both FM (346–52) and BVV (30/25–32/25) provide extensive lists of activities deemed usurious, many more elaborate than any to which L here alludes. Most of Covetise’s tricks fall under FM’s definition of usura palleata (cloaked usury), contractual manipulations; for parallels to L, see esp. FM 348/24–33, 348/43–350/50. Cf. Conscience’s discussion of pre manibus payments, 3.297–98: such contractual profit involves a restricted prepayment in the absence of any assurance that the profiteer will fulfill conditions of the agreement. Here Covetise performs like Envy and his Rose (cf. 95). As brocour, a middleman, he manages to double as both buyer and seller, and thus to profit twice on the same transaction. Not only does he reacquire his goods, after gaining some profit from the loan, but, in his handling of the sale, he gets the goods back cheaply, so that he can turn a second profit on a resale at inflated market rates.

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B 5.246 Eschaunges and cheuysaunces (cf. 252): Cf. the near echo, Chaucer, CT I.278–82 and Mann’s comments (1973:100). Skeat cites the phrase from a 1365 London ordinance condemning usury, Liber Albus 319, 344. 246 (B 5.248) lumbardes lettres: Bennett identifies these as bills of exchange, originally used to forward papal accounts. Pearsall explains that Covetise profits from charges for performing the service and for exchanging the different currencies involved. Bennett interprets tale B 249 as “tally” (see his note, 1945). Although tolde primarily means “counted out,” the line has a strong connotational subtext in which paper contracts pass into oral utterances. Similarly, in the C version, goods become even more attenuated: abouhte the tyme means both “paid (more) dearly at the due date of the contract,” and “paid dearly for the time (I invested).” Cf. Tawney (1926:43): “[Usury] is to sell time, which belongs to God, for the advantage of wicked men.” Cf. SV 6163–340, expanding a discussion inherited from the same source as BVV, for an elaborate discussion of using time for profit. 248 (B 5.250) loue of his (B hire) mayntenaunce: The final term emerges from Meed’s language of retainership; cf. 2.210; 3.231, 287; B 3.150, 167; 4.55. Given the ambiguous genitive, as Bennett sees, Covetise might either seek lordly support (they maintain him) or forward lords’ funds enabling them to live in appropriate sumptuousness (he maintains them). But the effect is much the same either way; BVV (31/23–32/2) identifies lending to lords as a specific form of usurious activity, essentially that described in B 5.242–43—taking the lords’ lands, rather than their goods, as security and foreclosing on the mortgage precipitately in violation of Statute Merchant. mercer and draper 250 (B 5.252) then states the logical conclusion. Following Pearsall, one should understand that Covetise has foreclosed on his security, and thus rendered the lords who are his debtors the salesmen of their finery. Although this step introduces them to the world of trade, these victims achieve one saving; they don’t have to pay the apprentice’s usual fee for his indenture, a pair of gloves. Thus, 250 should end with a comma (and the universal That of B 253 be deleted); Payed is not a past participle modifying knyht but one parallel to ymad. Pearsall firmly connects the reference with liveries and the Commons petition of 1377; see further Prescott 1992. B 5.254–59: These lines balance the preceding 250–53: a discussion of mercantile social charity to inferiors follows one about Covetise’s dealings with aristocrats. FM (346/3–4) claims that a usurer sins primarily “because he sells to his poor neighbor what he owes him freely by the law of nature, namely help in

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his need” (quia vendit pauperi proximo quod ex lege nature debet ei, scilicet subsidium in necessitate); cf. Tawney 1926:45, BVV 42/32–35, and the extensive discussion of vnkyndenesse 19.214–344. Need, although always implicit in the poem, eventually appears in the last waking interlude, 22/B 20.1–50. The lines, in their reliance on the proverbial, allow a striking return of Covetise as demotic speaker. The joke works through playing off two meanings of MED manli adj., “humane” and “macho,” and through the disparity between a human term and the animality of the proverbs. As pedlere B 5.255, Covetise “skins” his acquaintances ruthlessly, and he is like an undisciplined dog in the presence of food. hende as hound B 5.258, as Bennett notes, is Whiting H 596. It has an ironic penitential echo, cited FM 616/85–86; charity overcomes the devil “First, by heartfelt contrition and the shedding of tears, as the mastiff is driven from the kitchen with hot water” (Primo cordis contricione et lacrimarum effusione, sicut mastivus de coquina aqua calida [just like a bad dog in the kitchen scalded by water from the pot he’s overturned]). 253–57L (B 5.260–64) Repentance returns to Covetise’s failure at restitution: L visualizes Covetise in his age as expecting to care for his soul only through post mortem charitable contributions (which Bennett specifies as chantry masses or almsdeeds). But Repentance, following canon law precepts (cf. 239– 52n), insists that Covetise’s tainted acquisition is the fruit of a poisoned tree, that it will always compromise the value of his money or of any donation (cf. 342–43). The vice must undo acquisition itself, in a way Covetise cannot conceive doing, by during this life restoring his multiplied profits to those from whom he “stole” them. Otherwise, as B 5.264 argues elliptically, the recipients of Covetise’s bequests will be as wikked as Repentance believes his penitent’s mode of acquisition to have been. Schmidt notices that B in particular echoes W&W 439–44. 257 sine restitucione: “Without restitution.” For 257L, “Sin is never remitted, unless what has been stolen is returned,” see 234–38n. Pearsall notes that this is repeated at 19.290L (and B 5.281L recurs at 19.298L); the entire discussion 19.279–300 (B 17.299–320) is relevant. Pearsall also refers to Frank’s discussion (1957:106–7) and connects the Latin with Whiting S 343. Gray (1986b:53–54) cites the exact form of L’s quotation from Thomas of Chobham’s influential penitential handbook. 258–85L (B 13.358–98L) Covetise confesses more, partly about agrarian, nonmercantile trades: Although (as Pearsall argues at 260–85n) this material

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from the Hawkin scene introduces social situations different from those previously described, the discussion is inherently repetitious, and L unusually suppresses substantial portions of the forwarded B account (e.g., B 13.368–69, 375–82, 389–90). Covetise here responds only to what he can understand of 256–57—the English. (Having in the C version suppressed B 5.243 as the falsely knowing biblical allusion that it is, L first uses Latin in the C confession at this point.) The C version Covetise hears, not commands to restitution, but “no one can assoil you, not even the pope,” and he methodically assumes he must confess more—which is, of course, to confess the same, yet once more. Like everyone else, he roams in remembrance. The passage sandwiches between two stretches of further mercantile detail (258–61, 277–85L; for 259, cf. 206–20n) two blocks of other material. Lines 262–71 transfer the scene (as does the opening of Wrath in C) to the countryside, with two separate rural vignettes. The first, rather general, describes violating the tenth of Moses’s commandments, Exod. 20:17. As a minor thread in the confessions, just as with the remedial virtues, L works in references to violating virtually the entire decalogue; this looks ahead to the commandments’ appearances as way-stations on Piers’s pilgrimage, 7.213–29. The second agrarian vignette describes in more detail violating plowing and harvest statutes. Another proleptic detail, the reference half aker 267 forecasts 8.2–4, 114 (and more distantly, the account of Cain’s evil conception 10.216–18). On harvest controls, see 5.16–17n, Hanawalt 1986:23, and Ault 1972 passim; as Aers sees (1975:124), in 270 L alludes to Deut. 23:25 (this verse, cited at 17.260L, may also parody the invocation of judgment at Apoc. 14:15). Following this discussion, 272–76 segue back into merchant persona. The reported failure of mass-time devotion implicitly answers Repentance’s earlier query, Repentedest thow euere? 234, with a resounding negative; the vice shows utter distaste for ecclesiastical demands that, although careworn, he be sorry for his sin. The scene partly replaces that of Envy in a similarly unrepentant mass-mood (B 5.105–14) canceled by L in C revision. 266 vnpiked his lokes: See 8.286n. 269 (B 13.372) erthe: Not, as the silence of past editors suggests, “earth” (OE eor1e), but “plowable land” (OE ear3, yr3). Similarly, sese 271, when construed with the phrase to me, probably does not represent simple “seize,” but the legalism “put me in possession” (implied in Schmidt’s “appropriate to me”; cf. Alford 1988c:141, s.v. seisen).

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275 (B 13.386): The line probably should have only a colon at the end (KD punctuate B with a semicolon); the As at the head of the following line introduces a series of explanatory examples. 278–79 (B 13.391–92) to Bruges Or into pruyslond: For extensive histories of London merchants and their trade with the Low Countries (usually home of the Wool Staple) and Baltic, see Nightingale 1995, Sutton 2005, and Lloyd 1991, and cf. Ch’s Merchant, CT I.272–77. For the poem’s other discussions of mercantalism, see 3.77–126, 9.22–42, 13.32–97L. 285L (B 13.398L) Vbi tezaurus . . . : Matt. 6:21 (For where thy treasure is, there is thy heart also). The citation concludes Covetise’s second confession, although in the troubled context he describes, he unfortunately knows just where his cor is. He may think as well of Matt. 6:19, in which case, he may be oppressed by its closing description, not its opening injunction: “Lay not up to yourselves treasures on earth: where the rust and moth consume, and where thieves break through and steal” (cf. 12.216–18). Following on the earlier agrarian intrusions from B 13, however, the reader might well be reminded of (and Covetise consider) the “treasure hidden in a field” (5.98L). 286–307 (B 5.265–81) Repentance returns to restitution: The passage, in both versions, further elaborates the canonical restrictions on a usurer’s absolution (cf. 239–52n), particularly in 294–97, abbreviated and reformulated from B 5.270–78. At the head of the material (286–93L, expanded from B 5.265–69L), Repentance imagines a frere in good fayth, the best possible, and his response to Covetise’s alms. C’s reformulated conclusion extends the dramatization to a second figure, a complaisant parish priest who might lack that mendicant’s scruples (298–304). The C account concludes (305–7) with yet a third and contrasting figure, a penitent whore, perhaps incapable even of tithing, since her income would be totally dependent upon sin (cf. BVV 41/10–18, Owst 1961:370–74). 286–95 (B 5.265–69L) a frere in good fayth: In the C version, L follows out the logical implications of the briefer B description of the friar. In the process, Scase argues (1989:28), the passage becomes fully representative of that “new anticlericalism” already invoked by Wrath at 118–27 (cf. further 12.15–22, 22/B 20.284–93). This friar is perhaps the best modern example of the breed who can be imagined, one “in good faith.” (The phrase is not, as RK’s punctuation would indicate, necessarily parenthetical; cf. B 5.265 and RK’s mispointing of a similar phrase in 341.)

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As L has claimed since Prol.61–62, modern friars remain thoroughly implicated in Covetise’s cash nexus. The accoutrements this friar would reject—but apparently accept from others with gratitude—are standard contested items from Franciscan factional debates of the preceding century. The form of the habit (are the copes of Prol.59 really poor apostles’ clothing?) and the nature of fraternal buildings (both mentioned 288) provided occasions for vehement debate among Franciscans. For the latter, see Scripta Leonis 112, 220–22; Lambert 1961:90. The B version allusion to a book with brent gold . . . leues 268 surely turns the account to satire; Franciscan discussions of poverty often centered on whether any book ownership (even a psalter) could be construed as licit; cf. Scripta Leonis 202, 208–16. Repentance implies—as the dreamer will charge at 12.15–22—that the friars’ departures from their original status, poverty, have depended upon abuse of the penitential system, an absence of fastidiousness about the source of satisfaction payments. Further, the extension of the passage (289–93L, unique to C) whimsically develops this idea. In Repentance’s ironic imaginings, the very prevalence of worldly Covetise might contain the seeds of spiritual reformation, a return to poor fraternal origins. To save their souls from sinful contamination, friars of good faith might well forsake rich men’s festes; instead, they might come to prefer the humble wellecresses 292 that should be staples in their diets, as they were in those of the first friars. Cf. 8.300–320n. 286 lyuynge: The word, which might hover between a reference to Couetise’s “livelihood” and his “state of (religious) life,” echoes throughout the passage; cf. sterue 290, mori . . . viuere 290L, lyue 292, and the emphatic echoes in Evan’s speech 311–15. 290L Melius est . . . : As Skeat notes, the injunction is apparently derived from Tob. 3:6, “Expedit enim mihi mori magis quam vivere” (It is better for me to die, than to live), perhaps with aid from proverbs. Pearsall (1.143Ln) compares Whiting D 239, Alford (1992:36) several Latin examples. Traugott Lawler points out to me that the same wording appears in Martin of Lie` ge (PL 209:1166) and that similar proverbs occur frequently in PL, usually as injunctions against lechery (e.g., “. . . quam fornicari”). The citation also occurs at 1.143L, 17.40L (the whole passage, 17.35–64, on refusing “raueners offrynges/ Almesses,” is relevant) and is translated, as Alford notes, at 7.209–10. 293L (B 5.269L) Seruus es . . . : “Greed for rich dishes makes you another’s slave; 兩 Eat your own bread; it will your freedom save” (Donaldson’s witty translation, 1990:48/269L). The source of this elegiac distych, imitative of

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Cato’s aphorisms, has not been identified; Pearsall compares the rather distant Walther Initia 28183, and one might cf. John 8:34, 2 Pet. 2:19. Lawler (2011:66) lists this among verses L may have composed himself. 295 (cf. B 5.271) by thy myhte: Pearsall compares 8.234 and cites a similar discussion, Arnold SEW 3:174. Cf. 19.203n, 300n, 21.391–95n. B 5.272–73L And si∂en ∂at Reson rolle it: The B version returns to the conception of ratio as “accounts” that L uses in the biographical scene of passus 5 (cf. 348 below). As Bennett notes, Reason reappears in a related context at 19.287 (cf. 257n); there he speaks for strict accounts, while Restitution introduces in 19.283–84, 299–300 a conception of equitable jurisdiction. 298–307 Priest and whore: If in C, L develops hints in B’s friar, he also decenters this portrayal through the subsequent elaboration. Here easy penances, administered in hope of monetary contributions, become a problem not just of friars, but of clergy in general. L’s reader may recall canonical legislation concerning usurers’ tithes (see 239–52n), but parish priests don’t remember these laws. They must live on tithes and are not squeamish about their source. (Cf. 16.260–61 and the moneychangers in the Temple, 18.149–62.) As in Wrath’s contention, both friars and priests may have proven themselves equally inefficacious at a central religious function, helping Christians toward salvation through penitence. The conclusion of Covetise’s confession in B, broadly speaking, is doctrinal; it outlines the power of God’s forgiveness. But in revising to form C, L problematizes this very insistence on the availability of mercy; in the social situation he describes, those who tell Christians how readily available mercy is may only be boldly grasping, may express only their own avarice, and may compromise the usefulness of their counsel. In this situation, a Christian might well doubt the divine promises friars and priests urge upon him and despair of the possibility of salvation, as Covetise does in the unique B 5.279–81L. Suppressing this passage in C allows L a useful, if problematic, bridging passage at the end (305–7), where a boldly tithing whore heralds another, more powerful model, a lay sorrow apart from any ecclesiastical direction. 301–2 (B 5.276–77L) ∂e sauter glose 兩 On Ecce enim . . . : Ps. 50:8 (For behold thou hast loved truth: the uncertain and hidden things of thy wisdom thou hast made manifest to me), within the most popular of the penitential psalms, “Miserere mei deus” (Have mercy on me, O God, Ps. 50:3). The gloss here derives from Augustine, Enarrationes in Psalmos 50.11 (PL 36:592): “Lord, you

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have not left sins unpunished, even the sins of those you pardon. . . . Thus, you have granted mercy so that you may also preserve truth. You pardon the person who confesses, you pardon him—but only if he punishes himself. In this way, both mercy and truth are preserved: mercy, because man is freed; and truth, because sin is punished.” (Impunita peccata etiam eorum quibus ignoscis, non reliquisti. . . . Sic misericordiam praerogasti, ut servares et veritatem. Ignoscis confitenti, ignoscis, sed seipsum punienti: ita servatur misericordia et veritas; misericordia, quia homo liberatur; veritas, quia peccatum punitur). The punishment that will gain mercy requires restitution; contrast Reason’s rigor at 4.134–46. Not simply the gloss but the second half of the verse is relevant. Repentance speaks to manifest the “incerta et occulta sapientiae [Dei]” (cf. the “arcana verba” of 20.438L). Yet those hidden (at least partially through Repentance’s Latinity) and consequently uncertain aspects of wisdom form precisely the sticking point in the conversation and precipitate Covetise’s despair in B 5.279. God’s ability, as Repentance represents it, to balance stricture and forgiveness, justice and mercy, invokes a grammar the reverse of Covetise’s accounts; as 338L will claim, divine plenitude uses different multipliers from Covetise’s economics, predicated, like the actions of other sins, on a perception of scarcity that mandates persistent repetitive effort. Within God’s scheme, Covetise’s compulsively pursued profits, as 343 indicates, are only loss. Translate wher I mene tru7e B 5.277 “whether I’m speaking the truth”; the clause modifies loke 276. 305 ers wynnynge: The question, whether a whore can tithe from her fees, is broached on three other occasions in C; cf. 3.301–2, 13.73–75, 16.259–61, and see 8.78n. The question appears routinely in canon law commentaries as a difficult borderline case, usually answered affirmatively; see Baldwin 1970:i1, 134–37; Brundage 1989:esp. 91–93; Hanna 1995:85–87. Thus, even if she lives off her ers, as Repentance wittily points out, she will get to heaven sooner (arste 307) than a usurer. Pearsall1 cites a Lollard discussion, “Wycliffe” English, EETS 74:433. B 5.278 Cum sancto sanctus eris: Ps. 17:26 (With the holy, thou wilt be holy); Skeat notes that the verse recurs at 21.422. The quotation calls up the entire locus, vv. 25–27: “And the Lord will reward me according to my justice: and according to the cleanness of my hands before his eyes” (v. 25). Alford (1992:47) draws attention to the citation of this verse at FM 640/13–14, to restrain the repentant glutton from returning to his previous “mala societas.”

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B 5.279 weex ∂e sherewe in wanhope: In contrast to the traditional presumptions of penitential rhetoric, Repentance’s activity produces neither serenity nor a return to spiritual health. Rather, its effect proves exactly the opposite of its intent, insofar as the sinner Covetise perceives only the disparity between his wrongdoings and his capacity to atone adequately. He is overwhelmed by his inability to achieve the very health that the penitential process terrifies him into believing an utter necessity. Ironically, the more efficacious the penitential warning, the less efficacious the result may be; in its sorrow, the sin(ner) finds itself so repugnant as to be thoroughly abject, incapable of any power, and so despicable as potentially to rebuff God himself. Wanhope here represents that paralyzing awareness of the gap between wrongdoing and the potential demands of divine justice, the sense that no restitution can be possible and, thus, that even the attempt is vain. Cf. FM’s discussion of such despair (126/83–128/87): “This sin usually comes from three causes. First from faintheartedness, when a sinner thinks of the punishment that is due to his sins, such as doing seven years of penance for a mortal sin and the like; when he sees or hears that, the sinner loses heart, and in this torpor and despair does not take up his penance” (istud peccatum ex tribus solet provenire: primo ex pusillanimitate, scilicet quando quis considerat penas pro peccatis debitas, puta vero pro mortali peccato septem annos penitere et huiusmodi, quod videns et audiens peccator fit pusillanimis, et sic lassus et desperans penitenciam non aggreditur.). B 5.281L Misericordia . . . : Ps. 144:9 (The Lord is sweet to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works); as Bennett notes, an arbitrary reading of super (extended over) as if “exceeds.” L cites the verse again at 12.74L, 19.298L. Cf. with Repentance’s exhortations, FM 130/37–39: “Therefore prepare yourself, O sinner, to ask for his mercy and do not despair, for you will find him more ready to give than you are to ask. It takes much to offend God, but little to make peace with him” (Ergo para te, o peccator, ad eius misericordiam petendam et non desperes, quia ipsum prompciorem invenies ad dandum quam tu ad petendum; pro magno enim offenditur et pro minimo reconciliatur). 308–30 (cf. B 5.455–76, A 5.227–50) √euan-√elde-a√eyn and Robert the Ruyflare: In C, L suppresses B 5.279–81L altogether, another example of the last version’s rationalistic consolidation of argument, already seen in the case of Envy. But he plainly wishes to follow out this train of thought, the potential despair unleashed by penitential calls for restitution (ironically, supposed to

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obliterate sin and despair). Rather than stress, as the B version has done, consuming paralysis, L recalls more hopeful materials originally associated with Wanhope as the final development of Sloth. Thus, L advances four lines from the conclusion of Sloth’s confession and the associated speech of Roberd 7e Robbere. The first decision abruptly generates a new personification, @euan, and Robert’s professional name is converted to ruyflare, answering 236. These two sorrowing lay figures stand as replacements for those evil counselors, friars and parish priests, whom Repentance has earlier discussed (286–95n, 298–307n). In the earlier versions, Robert indicates, in his emphasis upon restitution (and discovery of a central catchword of the poem, Reddite “Give it back”), a general movement past confession toward the works of satisfaction required for absolution. In C, the figure no longer stands as conclusion to the entire confessional movement. The revision thus forms the most flagrant of a number of gestures whereby L disrupts moments of stasis, both in the depiction of this vice and elsewhere in the confession scene. In C, not only does L advance the passage, but, as Wenzel’s seminal discussion (1967:143–46) indicates, detaches it from its traditional vice associations. As Skeat is aware, Wanhope traditionally constitutes the last stage of Sloth (cf. Headnote; 7.70n), and L’s new association with Covetise is in some sense “improper.” But, as Wenzel argues, the scope of the revision is more sweeping; Wanhope materials are subsumed within a confession and specifically associated with discussion of a universal penitential topic, one both appropriate to Covetise’s monetarism and inherent in undoing all sin, restitution. 308–10 (B 5.455–56, A 5.227–28) √euan-√elde-a√eyn: Evan’s Welshness depends upon cultural stereotypes probably familiar to L as a sometime border-dweller and possible adherent of Marcher families. In the Middle Ages, Welshmen were almost proverbially thieves (cf. Hanna 1995:83–85, and the modern rhyme, “Taffy [i.e., Dafydd] was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief”). In addition, his exaggeratedly compound surname may poke fun at this tendency in Welsh. The name @euan clearly puns on @euen, as Schmidt notes; and @eldea@eyn translates reddite. Middleton’s unpublished draft of her 2013 lecture (which I am grateful for her sharing with me) draws attention to other possible affiliations underlying Evan’s Welshness. She cites 4 Henry IV (1402), c. 27, an effort, amid other anti-Welsh legislation, to prevent further eruptions of “Mischiefs which hath happened before this Tyme in the Land of Wales, by many Wastours, Rhymers,

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Minstrels, and other Vagabonds” (SR 2:140). Such individuals should not be fostered, nor allowed to make “commorths.” Middleton argues that, in the statute (and perhaps PP), wastour represents a Welsh term gwestwr (⬍ gwestgwr “hospitality man”), a vagrant who exacts free room and board, the commorth, from well-to-do houses and who might go about as a publicist, political prophet, or bearer of tidings. Certainly, such detail resonates with Will’s self-description (and cf. 362–75n). As a thief, Evan resembles Robert, and both figures are past adherents of Covetise, of which Theft is a standard species (cf. 234–38n). But unlike Covetise, both figures speak from the very bottom edge of society, not from within sophisticated and wealth-generating occupations. Thus, Robert will emphasize his lack of a craft in 322; like the whore, neither can satisfy the requirement of satisfaction, except by generating income from repetitions of their sin, a treadmill of eternal/infinite regress (but cf. 19.204–8, 299–300). One could compare Hawkin’s tears at B 14.323–35, a passage L perhaps thought he could now cancel as otiose after this revision; something of the flamboyant penitentialism there is signalled in @ut eftsones 327 “again and again, repeatedly” (answering faste 326). In a further reflection of their de´classe´ status, neither thief addresses a cleric—none would be interested—but God alone. (Repentance’s address to Robert at 331 does confirm the value of the thief’s resolve, but Robert seems already to have disappeared at 325 and thus may not hear him.) Yet from their lowly perspective, more dangerous than Covetise’s, since there exist no apparent means by which they might make restitution, both figures manage to enunciate what the poem provisionally offers as hopeful faith. 313–14 as a lorel begge: The two lines, a C addition, raise issues of licit beggary L will take up in the lengthy additions to Piers’s pardon in this version (and look ahead as well to Patience’s discussion of poverty/beggary and sin at 16.43– 113). Evan, in his enthusiasm, contemplates a possibility that has already passed Covetise by—life as ceaseless selflessness, a deliberate impoverishment in order to escape the debt of sin ar Y hennes wende. Like the dreamer of passus 5 and his echoes, the lunatics of passus 9, his poverty is of the highest sort, that voluntary state described by Jesus as the way of perfection (Matt. 19:21); unlike the dreamer, Evan plans to give something away to achieve it. The lines rewrite, in a considerably more energetic mode, those L earlier suppresses in his final revision, B 5.226–29. Somewhat unusually (L has the conventional Larg(en)esse 7.275 “liberality,” for example), FM sees “paupertas” as the virtue remediating Covetise; cf., e.g., 382/9–11: “This contempt of the world, uprooter of avarice, consists in three things . . . third, love of voluntary poverty” (iste

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mundi contemptus avaricie extirpator in tribus consistit, videlicet . . . [3] in voluntarie paupertatis dilectione). But the account in FM does not associate such poverty with the urge to restitution. For lorel, cf. 20.2–3n. 315 (B 5.461, A 5.233) Robert the ruyflare (AB Robbere): Just as in AB, Robert, in C a ruyflare (like Wrong at 4.54 and Covetise at 236), converts the stirrings of Wanhope into a more positive and eradicatory vision. Robert verbalizes what Covetise cannot; he might well despair, since he cannot perform works of satisfaction, having expended the wherewithal to do so (cf. for 7er was nat wherwith 316). Moreover, he knows no noncriminous craft by which to generate new assets (322). But recognizing his professional kinship with dysmas my brother 319, he can hope for God’s mercy, that his will can be taken for the deed. L always sees the difficulty of such a resolution, and his work persistently becomes untracked over it—notoriously at 7.287–91, again in the AB pardon scene, and most crushingly in the disrupted penitential scenes that conclude the poem. With the phrasing of 316, cf. FM 188/39–41: “Let us assume you took some worldly goods from your neighbor. I ask you: who would absolve you without your making restitution? Indeed, no one alive, if you have the means” (Posito quod abstuleris a proximo bona temporalia, rogo quis te absolveret sine restitucione? Revera, si unde haberis [alluding to Luke 7:42], nullus vivens). Robert is mentioned in the letters associated with the revolting peasants of 1381, as Piers’s antitype, perhaps the harvest thief of 267–71, requiring chastisement; see further Prol.45n. He is probably as much biblically as socially inspired, however. Manning, at HS 11367–80, presents Akor the thief (Josh. 7:19–26) as an example of “attrition,” shryf[te] . . . for drede. Such a relatively unhopeful analysis has been commonly associated with L’s figure as well; see Hort 1938:143–54, Adams 1988:101, and Alford 1993:11–12, 19–22. ——— reddite (similarly 321 reddere): Rom. 13:7 (Render therefore to all men their dues). Robert first sees the command as if a written text. In 321 the infinitive appears as a verbal noun, “the act of repaying, repayment” (implicitly repeated as direct object in C’s next line); cf. B 13.128–30, Middleton 1972, 21.186–87n. As Pearsall notes, Augustine cites the verse in the discussion from which L derives 257L. Cf. 5.32, 21/B 19.185–98, 259, 390 (and the immediately following breakdown of the commune under the injunction “to 9elde 兩 Al 3at we owen”), 22.308. 319 (B 5.465, A 5.237) dismas: Skeat sees the relevant background; the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus (ch. 10) names the two thieves crucified with Jesus

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as Gestas and Dismas. The first mocks Jesus, but the latter asks his aid. In medieval discussions he was a conventional example against Despair. Ironically, in his wanhope Will uses Dismas as an example of the inscrutability of salvation (cf. 325 and “The Book of Shrift,” CM 25782–89); see 11.252–60, Imaginative’s assoiling of this doubt at 14.128–55L, and Allen 1989. 320 (B 5.466, A 5.238) memento: Luke 23:42 (Lord, remember me when thou shalt come into thy kingdom). That the penitent thief Dismas cried out (the Latin gives his words)—and that Jesus heard him, comforted him, and promised that he would that day be with him in paradise—becomes Robert’s hope. Repentance strives to communicate this to a now silenced (and thoroughly unresponsive) Covetise. The line, also implying the salvific value of remembering the atoning sacrifice of the Crucifixion, anticipates (in B, it immediately precedes) Repentance’s grand prayer at the close of the confessions (notably 7.129–35), as well as the narrative account of passus 20. FM argues (462/80–85) that Dismas’s cry, “Lord, remember,” implies the thief’s earlier contact with Jesus: as a young man, Dismas saved and protected the holy family during the flight into Egypt. Wenzel (FM, p. 465) notes a further example of this legend at Aelred’s Informatio 48 (PL 32:1466). 322 (B 5.468, A 5.242) ∂at y knowe (AB owe; nearly all A and three B manuscripts knowe): As Skeat and Bennett point out (following a gloss in the B version manuscript L), in earlier versions L construed the clause as direct object of the infinitive wynne (win what I owe others through any handicraft), not as modifier of craft (win [it] through any handicraft that I understand, with reddere as object). Certainly, the first follows on the general tenor of the argument over Covetise, but L appears to have accepted the B scribalism in the course of the revisions that produced C. 323 (B 5.469, A 5.243) mitigacioun: A specific legalism for the occasion, “a reduction of my sentence” (Alford 1988c:100). 325 (B 5.471, A 5.245) fayre: Translate: “properly, clearly.” 328–29 (B 5.474–75, A 5.248–49): Although other readings are possible, translate the first line: “That he/Robert would polish Penance’s (⳱ Repentance’s, following the C scribes) pilgrim’s staff like new.” Robert’s staff will be refurbished through his sorrow and will become his support in the (nonliteral) repentant pilgrimage to Truth Reason earlier enjoined. (hym 329 might refer

C Passus 6; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

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either to Repentance or to the implement.) This connection is directly actuated only in A, where this passage immediately precedes the pilgrimage. Pearsall sees in the pykstaff an echo of the arming of the Christian war-/way-farer at Eph. 6:14–17 and connects it with 8.64 (cf. also 7.162). One should also note, as does Alford (1992:49), connections with the bishop’s crosier of 10.93–95; among other things, a pikestaff may be a weapon (cf. Prol.51). Thus, the line describes Robert converting a tool of his criminal trade into a different implement—and simultaneously reforming his londlepynge (eventually latro 330 and penitentia are antithetical). 330 (B 5.476, A 5.250) latro: The term (thief) used for Dismas in Luke 23:33, 39. Alford (1992:49) sees a play in the passage on the verb latere (be hidden, lurk in ambush) and noun latus (the harlot’s side by which Robert lies). 331–49 (B 5.282–95) Repentance’s final exhortation (and third instruction to repay one’s debts): In B, lacking the preceding lines of C, Repentance addresses Covetise alone. In C, however, he first speaks to Robert with encouragement (331–38L, the first three lines new here), before returning to Covetise, with a last powerful exhortation ryhte to the vsurer 339. The subsequent C lines show Repentance’s opinion that Covetise, still wed to his old economics, differs from either Evan or Robert. After further exhortations to change his life, Repentance returns to the strictures of the canonical collection Sext (and the Council of Lyons), urging Covetise to give ill-gotten gains to his bishop for restitution (cf. 239–52n); Tawney (1926:49, 298 n70) cites this episcopal responsibility as a rule from a set of French synodal statutes. But Covetise never responds, not even to the allusion to oure lordes good B 5.295. While, as Bennett sees, the locution might spiritualize Covetise’s financial metaphors, drawing on this account will not accrue further debt; it can reduce the debit side of the penitent’s ledger by lett[yng] fro synne (a divine multiplier effect foreign to worldly economies). But the C revision is more severe, and thefte 349, the last word of this confession in C, recalls Covetise to the religious reading of his customary actions and the miraculous acts, a possible new model, he has just witnessed. 331–38L (cf. B 5.282–83L): Repentance takes Robert’s speech as a pure and proper confession (331), in which desire might stand for the act of restitution, pending future good behavior. He enthusiastically offers his penitent mercy to sustain him in his rom[ynge], not now in remembrance but toward heuene. This enthusiasm about God’s mercy will later (7.270–91) be parallelled by Piers’s own. What may in fact be rhetorical overstatement is driven by the

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dramatic situation (cf. B 5.279 and 7.55–61 below) and supported by a nonbiblical citation, a statement emotionally suasive, yet not necessarily authoritative. Wanhope, the impulse to give up on salvation, to not solicit grace, demands extreme statements. Repentance, and later Piers, if they overstate the availability of mercy and grace, do so because not offering such encouragement will insure damnation through tacit toleration of lassitude. 338L (B 5.283L) Omnis iniquitas . . . : “In comparison to God’s mercy, all sin is like a spark in the middle of the sea.” Skeat cites the parallel discussion at PC 6311–19, and identifies a possible source in Augustine’s explanation of Ps. 143:2 (My mercy, and my refuge: my support and my deliverer), Enarratio in Psalmos 143.8 (PL 37:1861). Wenzel (1988:156) also discusses this source. Bennett suggests that spark and sea may be a proverbial simile (possibly a reformulation, seeing sin as a flame, of a well-attested proverb about spitting or pissing in the ocean?). Gray (1986b:59) cites a parallel exact in sense from Cambridge University Library, MS Gg.4.32, a London manuscript of Serlo of Wilton’s Summa de penitentia, copied c. 1320. FM uses the simile twice, on both occasions in discussions of slothful despair, the inability to believe in God’s mercy; cf. 126/79–82: “And Bernard comments on the verse ‘My iniquity is greater,’ etc., from Genesis, as follows: ‘You lie, Cain, because in comparison with the Savior’s mercy the malice of any man is like a spark of fire in the middle of the sea’ ” (Unde Bernardus super illud Genesis [4:13] ‘Maior est iniquitas mea,’ etc.: ‘Mentiris, inquit, o Chayn, quoniam sicut sintilla ignis in medio maris, sic misericordia Salvatoris ad maliciam omnis hominis’ [a citation that reverses what should properly follow sic and ad], another example at 440/ 170–74, accompanying citation of Ps. 144:9, as in B 5.281L). The image animates the friar’s “forbisene” at 10.30–55. 341 (B 5.285) good (B good ground): Although ground and gete surely mix metaphors (and seem confusing to Bennett), the sense of the first word is the commonplace “foundation,” and as For B 5.287 indicates, the argument reverts to the topic of Covetise’s tainted acquisition, the foundation of his wealth (cf. C’s by good fayth, not, as RK punctuate, totally parenthetical). In C, L deliberately intensifies Robert the Rifler’s paradox of desire and impotence (which makes it potentially more terrifying) by dropping B 286 and rendering this line starkly unqualified. 343 (B 5.288) borwest: That is, fall deeper into the debt of sin. Analogously, at the other end of the economic spectrum, beggars also borrow and owe God for any deception in their “winnings”; cf. B 7.79–82L. Bennett glosses B 5.286

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wi7 7i tonge “by begging,” a reading that should really depend upon a consciousness of Evan’s proclamation in 313; cf. 1.84–87. B 5.294–95 (cf. 349) lente: Following Bennett, one should see in the double use of the word (a) an allusion to that penitential habit of life that Lenten sermons were supposed to induce (cf. Owst passim); and its juncture with (b) the resulting “treasury of merit” that may be lent to aid the sinner. Bennett argues that L here alludes to Matt. 25:15 (the parable of the talents). 350–441 (B 5.296–384, A 5.146–212) Glutton’s “confession”: Perhaps the most famous passage in the poem, its anecdotal form and dramatic quality, both unique among the confessions, are widely commented upon. The opening line implies what is at stake here: the on-verse has almost the quality of an incipit, from which the off-verse constitutes a subordinated pendant, a deviation. The line thus indicates in little the divagations inherent in the narrative, Glutton’s avoidance of penance, the momentary aberration the anecdote initially promises. Bennett cites from Ancrene Wisse a discussion of the dangers of delaying confession. Perhaps the most widely disseminated example of this injunction appears at the head of Richard Rolle’s “Emendatio Vitae,” with citation of Ecclus. 5:8 “Ne tardes convertimini . . .” (Delay not to be converted to the Lord, and defer it not from day to day). The narrative presentation may be divided by its episodes: Glutton’s statement of intention and the almost immediate sensual prompting from Betty Brewster (350–60 [A 5.146–56, B 5.296–305]; cf. 221–33n), his temptation and (very literal) fall (361–414 [A 5.157–98, B 5.306–56]), and his remorse (415–41 [A 5.199–212, B 5.357–84]). Although the narrative describes physical action, Glutton’s immense stature is assumed throughout and only noted at 411. The slump into physical torpor is consonant with the vice and the pattern reminiscent of Lechery’s progression (cf. Glutton’s “out-of-time” indulgences, 352n, with 174n, 182–85n). At least part of Glutton’s incorporeal presence reflects his characterization as vilony of mouth and of mawe 433, not simply gastronomic overindulgence but also Peraldus’s “sins of the tongue,” (cf. BVV 46/20–26, PLM 2255–57, 2264–68). Initially signalled in grete o7es after 361, these include not simply curses but verbal contentiousness brought on by excess as well (cf. 395n, 426–28, 433; 2.100–102, 22/B 20.221–27, B 10.51, B 13.399). As is widely recognized, the portrait functions by ubiquitous alehouse parody of the sacred (cf. Wilcockson 1998). Gray indicates (1986a:61) one guiding outline of the portrayal: Glutton’s coupe in the opening line much too soon becomes his coppe 390 (cf. 63–65n). Similarly, the “bidding” 353 Betty

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addresses him isn’t a prayer, yet establishes an echoic pattern, in which ecclesiastical time becomes a marker of simple physical duration, e.g., 396, 399, 429. Further, the title syre glotoun 393 properly belongs to the parish priest (cf. 367n). The inclusion, at BVV 47/18–32, of “the Glutton’s hours,” a parody of liturgical forms, indicates that L here dramatizes well-recognized pulpit conventions. Most central of all, the tavern is the devil’s church (cf. 9.98, more distantly 11.108–10). FM describes the glutton as one who “more readily goes to the tavern than to the church” (cicius petit tabernam quam ecclesiam, 634/16) and as the devil’s pilgrim, recipient of parody miracles: “But gluttons make their pilgrimage to the tavern so that they may there lose their senses and the former use of their members; for there they lose their sight, their ability to walk, their brain, and the use of the other parts of their reason” (gulosi ad tabernam peregrinantur, ut sensum ibi amittant ac usum membrorum quem prius habuerant. Nam illuc perdunt visum [cf. 407], gressum [cf. 403–6], cerebrum, et omnia membra racionis [cf. 416–18 and B 9.61–67L], 636/25–27). Cf. the Pardoner at Ch, CT VI.463–71, as well as the poem’s further references to disruptive brew(est)ers (e.g. 9.108 and 190, 21.396–402), and J. Bennett passim, Hanawalt 1998:104–23. Just like Sloth (see 7.Headnote), Glutton provides one kind of ironic limit to the poet’s pretensions, his desire to recreate himself as apostolic man (cf. 362–75n). Will’s technique relies upon metaphoric transformation (see 5.1– 108n), but is practiced by a figure who associates himself, at least potentially, with both these vices (cf. 5.9n). As the descriptions develop, both reconstruct God’s word, yet not as gospel, but as persistently physical parody of the sacred. Glutton, in particular, approaches thorough carnality, “fleshiness,”—man as vocal/alimentary canal alone (and not necessarily given to its “natural motions”; cf. 399–413). In their extremity, the two vices reflect a stubborn resistance, visceral and instinctual, to any regulation, much less anything approximating penitential process. For further discussions, see Owst 1961:434–41; Bloomfield 1952:162 and 408 n39; Bennett’s notes, extended Gray 1986a:63–64; FM 84/85–86, 634–36; BVV 53/26–54/24. As Pearsall says, the most developed ME discussion occurs in Chaucer’s “Pardoner’s Tale,” CT VI.463–660. For earlier parallels perhaps influencing L, see Coghill 1944:305 on W&W 277–82, and for “goliardic” parodies, in which the tavern acquires a holiness customarily reserved for the church, Bayless 1996: 93–119. 352 Fastyng: Cf. FM 626/4: “The first branch of gluttony is eating too soon, that is, at an inappropriate time or other than the set hour” (Prima species

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[gule] est prepropere, hoc est, tempore indebito et extra horam). Gluttons eat both at forbidden times, fasting days, and over-frequently or over too extended a period (cf. the daylong binge that follows or 429–32n). FM cites Isa. 5:11, a verse lurking behind L’s portrayal (Woe to you who rise up early in the morning to follow drunkenness, and to drink till the evening, to be inflamed with wine); another important biblical locus is Prov. 23:29–35 (cf. 420n). 358–60 (B 5.303–5, A 5.153–56) eny hote spyces . . . for fastyng dayes: As I point out (1990), these serve as the medieval equivalent of tavern treats like beer-nuts and potato chips, finger-food and not a violation of fasts. Pearsall cites the parallel of Chaucer’s Summoner, CT I.634–35. Bennett suggests that fennel seeds were cures for flatulence (in which case, Betty’s are ultimately ineffectual for so great an indulgence as Glutton’s) and that brewsters stocked them. Cf. 2.103–4, also describing a tavern scene, and 2.238–39. 362–75 (B 5.307–18, A 5.158–67) The tavern crowd: L’s profusion of professional types creates an impression of an insider’s tactile knowledge of a lowly workaday world. BVV finds (48/20–30) good fellowship one of the most insidious features of Gluttony, since it not only damns the sinner but draws others to him and damns them as well. Equally, while the crowd reinforces Glutton’s submersion in the physical, it may remind one of jobs left undone, not just in church (cf. 429–32n or the crisis in the half-acre signaled at the ale 8.122–23—notice Dawe 7e dikere, ultimately to become a monitory victim of dearth at 8.351); cf. Mollat 1986:245– 50, esp. 246. The topic may be broached most pregnantly in 368 An hayward, an heremyte, the hangeman, a line that brackets someone resembling the dreamer between alternative professions that he has sought to avoid. It recalls 5.9, 16, as well as the problematic status of Will’s poetry—God’s minstrel or tavern haunter? (cf. 7.81–118L, B 9.101–6; Schmidt 1987:5–20)—and the interest in labor and in legal procedures designed to coerce labor. Details like 366 and 374 might place the scene not simply in a conflated series of down-and-out London locales but within Will’s home parish. A number of references here are quite local, and at least one resists explanation. 366 (B 5.311, A 5.162) Claryce of cockes lane and the clerc of ∂e churche: Clarice, like purnele of Flaundres, who follows a trade frequently associated with Flemish women, is a prostitute. Skeat cites the London Liber Albus 535 for regulations controlling whores that single out the street as their abode.

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C Passus 6; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

Skeat also argues that St. Peter’s Cornhill was emphatically The Church, its rector having precedence over all others in London. 367 (B 5.313) Syre peres of prydie: Bennett correctly identifies him with the clerc of the preceding line, which presupposes inserting a midline comma here. Pearsall, following Oliphant 1960, explains Prydie on the basis of Mirk IPP 1905–12. The name alludes to the opening phrase of the prayer consecrating the host, “Qui pridie quam pateretur” (Who, on the day before he was to suffer). A priest who made any subsequent error in preparing the bread and wine for communion was obliged to begin reading again at this point. The consecration of the wine begins differently, but Syre peres may well be suffering for his own “pridie” tomorrow morning (and if he doesn’t shape up, may have to say the word several times). At least, Glutton is not wasting his time in church, since he might have found no one there to confess him anyway. 369–70 harlotes Of: The use as a group noun appears unparalleled. Translate pilede in the next line “bald” (cf. Ch, CT I.627, 4306). 372 (B 5.315, A 5.165) redyngkynge: The word occurs elsewhere only at 2.115, is overlooked in MED, and is obscure in sense. Salter and Pearsall parse it as riding-king “a horse soldier,” rejected by Bennett, but about as good as one can do. It may be a later version of redyngknyht (councilor; ⬍ OE ræ ¯ dan), title of early officials of Portsoken Ward, London. Pearsall1’s revised view (2.112n) that the first element represents reeding, and the whole denotes a master thatcher, does not explain L’s first use. 375 (B 5.318, A 5.167) to hansull. Skeat’s gloss, “as a bribe,” is adequate, so long as one understands it as a “good luck” payment to set Glutton up to buy the next round in return. 376–96 (B 5.319–38, A 5.168–87) ∂e newe fayre: This barter game requires assessing the relative values of disparate traded wares and compensating (with alcohol) the party who has traded the more valuable item. In its attention to syde[s] 379 and the need for a noumper 388, the entertainment and “fellowship” must depend on squabbling and contentiousness (cf. 395n and Pearsall). Skeat cites Arnold SEW 3:167 and Manning, HS 5977–80. Games as a part of gluttonous tavern life also appear in the Pardoner’s lengthy discussion of “hasardye,” CT VI.589–628; cf. BVV 49/18–26. At times (bote sholde 382), the language recalls Wit and Wisdom’s Meedfilled efforts at amercing Wrong (4.83–89), a connection intensified in acorden

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for treuthe 386, unique to C. More tellingly, the language echoes that of penitential atonement (cf. by here Consience 386), but here being in debt is facing an emptiness that gains appropriate restitution only by being filled with drink and carrying on the bickering. Stokes (1984:171) has useful remarks on the game’s relation to the idea of debt and the spiritual debitum peccati that Glutton ignores. 387 (cf. B 5.329, A 5.178) aryse they bisouhte (virtually all B MSS aroos by ∂e Southe): This B error provides the locus classicus from which it has subsequently become clear that all versions of the poem exist in copies only more or less erratic in their representation of L’s work. See Chambers and Grattan 1931. 395 (B 5.337, A 5.186) Bargaynes and Beuereges: The game concludes, not just in good spirits, but with a certain measure of restiveness as well. The rules prevent repent[ance], grudges over, rather than security about, the outcome, yet laughter and angry looks are exchanged in 394. Both bargains and beverages can refer ambiguously to bitterness over whether one has got a bad deal, part of the potential contentiousness of “peccata linguae.” Cf. the alliterative stock to brew a bargain “to begin contentions.” 397–441 (B 5.339–84, A 5.188–212) Glutton’s fall and remorse: Glutton’s overindulgence proceeds to its natural outcome, a huge spew (cf. 413n) and an equally excessive (hangover-induced?) remorse. Although BC’s Glutton enunciates perhaps the most detailed sorrow of any sin (A is perfunctory, a promise to observe regulations governing fasting), the confession is qualified by the continuation of a physical setting and a dramatic context. Similarly, the glutton’s hours in BVV end with a hungover repentance; cf. 350–441n. 397 (B 5.339, A 5.188) a galoun and a gylle: Rather than specific measures (a gill is two ounces), perhaps “one more than he could hold,” as Bennett implicitly suggests. 398 (B 5.340) to gredy sowes: Glutton’s collapse provokes a momentary rash of animal imagery, paralleling his loss of control and of his confessional voice, now just involuntary organic noise. Skeat (n to 6.3) refers to the pig of gluttony in Ancrene Riwle; one might also recall B 2.98, 13.405–6, where Sloth seems to follow as a natural result of Gluttony (cf. Wenzel 1967:140 and 417). Kaske (1968:161) describes a relevant bench-end carving in Little Malvern, and FM (630/65–69), the great god venter as having a pig’s head; cf. BVV 46/30–47/

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C Passus 6; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

5. Cf. the gnedy glutoun 15.85, the Dominican at high table, and his rumble into vacuous speech, 15.95–96 (B 13.88–89). 399 (B 5.341, A 5.189) in a paternoster whyle: Cf. a similar measure, and in a similarly alimentary context, William of St.-Thierry, “De natura corporis et animae” 1: “Therefore, when food is taken in, first the mouth converts it into tiny bits. Prepared in this way, it is sent to the stomach through the throat and esophagus, and it is tasted for scarcely the length of a psalm (Cum igitur cibus accipitur, os primum adaptat illum in subtiles et minutas partes. . . . Sic praeparata esca transmittitur stomacho per guttur et merim, vix ad mensuram p[s]almi vim saporis producens, PL 180:697, my emphasis). See McGinn 1977:106–7 and his discussion of such measurement as usual in monastic rules 64, 65, 173. See further Middleton 2013a:34–38. 400 (B 5.342, A 5.190) And blew his rownd ruet: As Glutton slides toward unconsciousness, he offers a proleptic parody of the climax of the confession scenes, Hope’s horn at 7.151–54. While that horn sounds the hope of spiritual rebirth, Glutton’s “blast” reminds one more of the various heralds of “ill fame” in Ch’s HF—and is more striking for its redolence than its musicality, an expression of a truly Bakhtinian contempt for the proprieties. Anne Middleton points out to me another point of comparison, a line from the common hymn describing the Last Judgment, “Dies irae”: “Tuba mirum spargens sonum” (the trumpet scattering a wondrous sound). 406 (B 5.348, A 5.196) hoso layth lynes for to lacche foules: Glutton’s stagger shows him ironically lacking the malicious purpose of the master fowler, Satan, who ensnares sinners; cf. Henryson, Moral Fables 1895–1915; at PLM 3780–3894 associated with Paresce (sloth). 413 (B 5.355) nonn so hungry hound: As Gray (1986a:64–65) points out, in reference to Prov. 26:11 (As a dog that returneth to his vomit, so is the fool that repeateth his folly). Gray also connects the passage with common penitential metaphors describing the sacrament as a vomiting up of infectious matter (72 nn22–23); cf. 431, unique to C. See also Toswell 1993. Equally, FM (636/33–38) suggests that gluttons share with dogs the disease of unquenchable appetite bolismus. Following Kane’s rejection as spurious of the parallels to these lines found in the four A manuscripts UEMH3, A lacks this final moment in Glutton’s progressive passage to a moribund state; cf. Jerome, Epistolae 69.9, “a drunken man is like one dead and buried” (qui inebriatur, mortuus et sepultus est, cited FM 634/6–7; cf. Ch, CT VI.547–48).

C Passus 6; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

149

420 (B 5.362, A 5.204) who halt ∂e bolle?: “Who’s got the cup?” which was passed from hand to hand (cf. 394), as most commentators have noted. Cf. FM 628/39–41, speaking of Luke 15:17 (I perish with hunger): “This is literally true of a person who gets drunk at night: the next morning he will naturally be thirsty” (Ad litteram enim verum est de illo qui se inebriat vespere, quod necessario siciet in sequenti mane), citing Prov. 23:35 (When shall I awake and find wine again?) as a further proof text. Cf. 352n. 421 (B 5.363, A 5.205) His wif and his inwit Edwitede hym: Here inwit perhaps specifically implies “remorse,” but that has been actuated by a shrewish wife, irate, among other reasons, for the (hyberbolically described) labor she’s had getting his unconscious heft home (415). In C, L drops Repentance’s approbation This shewynge shrift B 5.378 (“showing” here ⳱ “revealing,” perhaps with undertones of “apparent”?), and indeed, Repentance is only implicitly present, as the addressee of Glutton’s confession. A 5.206 shrapide his eris: While the line echoes Envy’s earlier plaint (cf. 90n), the act is here successful. Glutton may well scrape his arse, as onlookers have wished he would (400–402), but he equally, in accord with vilony of mouth and of mawe 433, may be clearing his ears, blocked by the abusive language of the tavern. Rather than just abuse and rebuke, he can heed spiritual vndernymynge. 429–32 (B 5.371–73) ouersopped (ouerseyen B) . . . 兩 And spilde: The confession addresses more than just the unhealthy effects of overindulgence on the person. Glutton also forecasts later moments in the vision, the need for a fellowship based on more than consumption. His language recalls the dreamer as time-spiller (cf. 5.28n, possibly resonating with glemans biche 404) and thus socially disruptive. somtyme at nones 432 is a particularly powerful signal of 7.131–33L (cf. FM 218/2–6, 230/49–51, passages that describe, given the time of the Passion, Jesus as the Christian’s proper noon meal). B’s ouerseyen, in its polysemy (managed things, forgot myself totally), neatly summarizes the whole narrative, and spilde 7at y aspele myhte 432 connects Glutton and social “wasting”; translate: “destroyed anything I could save up [OE aspelian].” See further 8.263–99n. 430 (B 13.403): As Pearsall (350n) notes, the line forms the unique C importation from the very brief discussion of Gluttony’s blots on Hawkin’s coat (399–404).

150

C Passus 6; B Passus 5; A Passus 5

440 (B 5.383, A 5.211) Til Abstinence myn aunte: Abstinence, Glutton’s remedial virtue (cf. 7.272), is properly his aunte, since both belong to the same family, conceived as a tribe of food users. As Bennett notes, she reappears at B 7.137 (A 8.120); cf. PLM 6927–35, where she is “freytourere” of the ship Religion. The fysch 439 that Glutton promises to postpone eating are already penitential fare.

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

Headnote In passus 7, L completes the third and final part of that penitential narrative entirely comprehended in B 5. The passus begins with the confession of the final capital sin, Sloth (1–118L [A 5.213–26, B 5.385–454]); C has removed from this presentation the AB pendant, Robert the Robber’s confession (cf. 6.308– 30nn). The remainder, after Repentance’s prayer for God to extend his mercy to the folk (119–54 [not in A, B 5.477–509]), is given over to presentation of one of the traditional opera satisfactionis, pilgrimage. In this portion, the folk first seek the whereabouts of Truth from someone who cannot provide this information, a professional pilgrim (155–81 [A 5.251–54, 6.1–24; B 5.510–36]). They then are accosted and addressed by the title figure (182–204 [A 6.25–46, B 5.537–59]), who offers careful, if to some ineffectual, direction (205–308 [A 6.47–123, B 5.560–642]). In this presentation, C returns to something comparable to the A passus divisions, abandoned in B’s single-passus portrayal; the earliest version lets Sloth confess with the remaining sins in A 5, while A passus 6 is devoted to a single pilgrimage/satisfaction narrative (A lacks Repentance’s prayer). The C inclusion of Sloth at the passus opening implies a somewhat different framing of the issues in the last version, however. Certainly, as many commentators note, this vice of reluctance deserves last place (cf. also 6.Headnote). Moreover, as Bennett and Pearsall1 argue (417ffn and 37n, respectively), the vice often functions as a master sin, including within itself aspects of all the others (contrast Kirk 1972:49–50). Certainly, the portrayal returns on several occasions to behaviors one might associate with either Wrath (16, 37–41) or Gluttony (4–5, 19–20, 25–27, 48–52, 67). Such perceptions might suggest, and C’s advancement of materials from B 13, following the confession proper, would support seeing, connections with another passus-opening effort at imposing discipline, the dreamer’s interrogation at the head of C passus 5. The C passus is almost unremittingly engaged in that metaphoric transformation of religious conceptions which Burrow (1965) argues is central to the second vision. As Burrow demonstrates, both “pilgrim” and “pilgrimage”

152

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

become redefined in the course of the narrative here. C differs from the other versions, however, for, as part of the Sloth confession, L also brings to the head of the passus one of the poem’s most extensive meditations on proper poetry, the discussion of God’s minstrels (69–118L, originally B 13.409–56). Thus, this portrait, like that of Gluttony at the end of passus 6, reflects another detached “confessional” moment, the dreamer’s interrogation at the head of passus 5. Just as Will there transforms “aristocratic estate” into gospel “hereditas,” here the discussion of “God’s minstrels” provides a metaphoric retooling of proper aristocratic entertainment. Indeed, it goes further still, in opening a new poetic task, the spiritual purgation of specific items of English lexis; see 108n. This does not seem entirely an automatic choice, merely taken in conjunction with similar acts of consolidation of materials originally in B passus 13 in C passus 6. Moving near the head of this unit a discussion of “minstrelsy” only metaphorically such (cf. 81–95n, 97–114n, 103–8n) changes how one might read the remainder of the passus. The primary, perhaps model, metaphorical transformation in C is no longer of “pilgrim(age)” but of Will’s poetry itself. Certainly, this prioritization answers various sins’ assays at language arts in passus 6, notably those undertaken by Covetise and Glutton (not to mention Sloth’s own endeavors in this line, cf. 1–46n). Thus, the C form of the passus now might appear to be an analysis or assessment of licit poetry, of which refining the conception “pilgrim” or “pilgrimage” provides but one example. The textual unit has come to embody various kinds of poetic complicity. Repentance, for example, could be seen as a blessed poet in his attention to of god friday 7e geste 106 (cf. 129–41L), or Piers as the dreamer’s wished-for image, the instantiation of and spokesman for metaphoric values like those alleged as poetic ideals earlier (cf. 5.98Ln). Moreover, the single passus is now bracketed between a whimsically poetic Sloth and the breakdown of Piers’s pilgrimage. The defection of some pilgrims occurs under the weight of a language too engaged in metaphoric sublimation to communicate clearly (cf. 278–308n). In C, this description has been revised and extended under the aegis of the same biblical parable, the feast of Luke 14:12–24, earlier invoked as a model for divine minstrelsy. The whole passus then might be seen as addressing Will’s single desirable poetic and the (in)efficacy of its techniques. In any event, at passus’s end, this effort has foundered, at least momentarily, and Piers must undertake a new communal initiative, as well as a new bit of metaphorical instruction, early in passus 8.

* * *

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

153

1–68 (B 5.385–460, A 5.213–32) Sloth’s confession: The very brief (just twenty lines) A version only begins at 56 below. In the A presentation, Sloth proves incapable of confession and participation in the sacrament; he is already not simply Sloth, but Wanhope (cf. 59). The A description becomes the conclusion in the later texts, where it forms an echoic second attempt at rousing the vice from his lethargy and bringing him to promise amendment; cf. the echo of awake 8 at vigilate 56. As a result, the BC parallels, in their concluding portions, appear filled with echoes from the head of the passage. The history of L’s revision, however, implies that these echoes are anything but “progressive,” that they run in reverse, from the briefer form of A to the head of the passage. This recursion (a reversal of the flow presupposed by the apparently temporal narrative) answers the usual form of other confessions, where the sin does not advance but repeats. This reversal is also signaled at the conclusion of BC’s lengthy initial speech; the last thing Sloth gets round to narrating concerns his antecedents (53–54L), that initial training (here the absence of such) which has produced his ongoing indifference to any duty or profession. Cf. 6.14–29n. Sloth’s initial “confessional” gesture, remyng that turns immediately into routtyng 7, recalls Will’s entry into this vision at 5.107–8. Such self-referential connections with the vice, discussed in Bowers 1986, align the revised passage with an extensive group of C version narrative accelerations and additions. Not only does L conceive Sloth in C within the “God’s minstrels” discussion (81–118L), but his accelerated presentation of the passage within the Visio is reinforced by three major additions that introduce the related issues of the poet’s status and his attitude toward occupations deemed socially useful, 5.1– 104, 9.70–161, and 187–219. Ordinarily, one assumes that stretching like Sloth’s precedes activity, but the vice, like a cat, merely returns to his slumber. L defines Sloth comparatively (e.g., such repeated structures as Y can nat 兩 [But B] Y can 10–11) in terms of such disparities between expectations and results. Sloth is far from incapable of activity, as his claim Y am occuepied 18 indicates; as a gloss that reveals his appropriation here of that language customarily used to condemn his activities, cf. the Second Nun’s applause for virtuous occupation, Ch, CT VIII.1–28. Rather, Sloth’s activity, persistently associated with fictive behavior of one or another sort (e.g., 11, 19, 22, 75, 77; B 5.406), a revelation of his feints at action, is persistently self-indulgent (cf. the wonderful usage rype 5). Like Will, Sloth lives out the dream fantasy into which he voluntarily sinks (cf. the passing reference to “3e drede of here sweuenes” that turns slothful men from any attempt at labor, BVV 27/28). In a gesture that might compromise Will’s claims, Sloth persistently ignores those texts, esp. biblical ones (cf. 10, 20, 24, 31, 34, 74–79; B 5.418, 421), which criticize his behavior. Equally, he protects

154

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

himself in the evasion of duty through deliberate acts of forgetfulness (cf. 13, 25, 27, 36, 47; B 5.414/29n). Persisting in such fantasy-driven “occupation,” Sloth fails to comprehend either divine rule or that charity that binds Christian communities. As he says at 43 and 45, he cannot understand generous acts or respond to love. Cf. FM’s quite traditional definition of the vice (398/9–13): “Sloth is boredom with respect to the good. . . . Its characteristic is to want always to be at ease . . . and yet never to be busy but at all times to lie idle” (accidia est tedium boni. . . . Cuius proprietas est semper velle bene esse [cf. louede wel fare 5.8, or “Dowel”] . . . et nullo modo occupari set in omni tempore in desidia latitare); or BVV 26/24–25: “Slew3e, 3at is a werynesse of goode deedes” (cf. 27/11–16). Self-indulgence, the voice of inner dream, attracts both Sloth and Will; both attempt to construct this “call” as that “occupation” which holy texts define in terms of another good. Sloth exercises his fantasies of total freedom and denies the reality of anything external to his desire (the product of wikkede will 41), unless, as he notes in 35, evidence too palpable to deny gives his wishes the lie. One might compare Wrong’s refusal to acknowledge his debts (4.55–57) and contrast Truth, 7e presteste payere 195. Stokes (1984:6) sees in these lines an echo of a verse from the third penitential psalm, Ps. 37:21 (“They that render evil for good have detracted me, because I followed goodness”). 1–10 (B 5.385–94) Thenne cam sleuthe: Sloth at least arrives to confess, but the opening of the portrayal insists upon his accommodation of the holy occasion to his customary daily indolence, precisely those acts that define him as sin. “al byslobered with two slimy yes,” he has, predictably, been napping, a state to which he almost immediately seeks to return (7); his drool-stained clothing is a far cry from the formal best one expects for a visit to church. Similarly, he is aware of the proprieties of the occasion that he should kneel to the priest (2–3), but his first words form an apology for failing to do so. This detail might recall the dreamer’s rejection of awkward postures at 5.23–24; similarly inertial behavior marks other sins, e.g., Wrath at 6.108, 137, 143; Glutton and his companions at 6.362, 396 (implicitly at 392 also). Further indolent improprieties follow as a matter of course. For example, Bennett identifies Sloth’s benedicite 6 (B 5.390) with the opening of the formula for confession, “Bless me, father, for I have sinned.” But the actual liturgical formula is singular “Benedic”; Sloth may just indulge in the oath, “Excuse me,” and thus, this may be direct speech, not a liturgical signal but its parody. Rather than demonstrating any sacramental engagement, he persists in his sloppy ways. Likewise, with a bolk perhaps, like Ch, CT III.1934, puns on Ps.

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

155

44:2: “Eructavit cor meum verbum bonum; dico ego opera mea regi” (My heart hath uttered [but literally “belched, vomited forth”] a good word; I speak my works to the king), a verse also relevant to Glutton (similarly Schmidt; cf. 15.94–97). Finally, the confession proper begins, “Y can nat parfitly my paternoster” 10 (B 5.394). As Bennett points out, Sloth should have said the prayer before beginning his confession, and most instructions for confessors insist that, before confession proper, priests should insure that the penitent knows it. This first detail that the vice offers propria voce is typical; on the basis of his later description of his activities, Sloth (like Will) is indifferent to a palpable social world about him, and he finds it even easier to express indifference to a distant (and invisible) divinity. The prayer immediately places God in caelis, but Sloth perhaps particularly ignores the following clause (Matt. 6:10), “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” (cf. 5.86–88n). Further direct assimilation of “the good/ideal confession” to the works of Sloth continues through the portrait, a point Bennett elaborates very well. Thus, rape 7e to shryfte 8 (B 5.392) answers the insistence of manuals for confessors on the dangers of delaying confession (Bennett 5.350–441nn).Similarly, Nat twies in ten @er 29 (B 5.414), as Bennett points out, is designed to remind one that the seminal 21st canon of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215), “Omnis utriusque sexus” (Decretales 5.38.12, CJC 2:887–88), mandated annual confession. Cf. the descriptions of lying in sin and of recklessness, BVV 27/16–24, 28/ 15–28, as well as the initial eruption of the figure Reckessness into L’s poem, at B 11.34–36 (and subjected to enormous expansion in the final version in 11.193–13.129). The second half-line of the B version here, 7anne tel I vp gesse, exposes additional failures. Rather than being heartily sorry and having planned his confession with some attempt at recalling his sins and at thorough selfanalysis, Sloth simply provides the priest with a random list of activities (“by guess”) without any care as to whether they describe his spiritual state accurately. BVV describes this state as “for9etfulnesse” (28/15–17), also manifest in Sloth’s treatment of his creditors at 35–41. The sin thus violates all of the truncated set of four requirements for confession listed in FM (468–74), that it be “integra” (consist of all sins), “festina” (prompt), “vera et aperta” (cf. 5.84n), and “amara” (bitter, painful). From his final position in the parade of sins, Sloth systematically undoes the very narrative device that had brought them all into poetic existence in the first place. 4 (B 5.388) but yf my taylende hit made: “Unless some call of nature rendered it necessary” (Skeat).

156

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

5 (B 5.389) til y were rype to dyne: If slothful men rise, FM declares (402/101), “they hurry rather to the table than to church” (plus festinant ad mensam quam ad ecclesiam), to either of which the bell-ryngyng calls them. Cf. Chaucer, CT I.169–72. 7 (B 5.391) Raxlede and remede and rotte at ∂e laste: Unlike Skeat and MED, Donaldson (1990:51/391) appropriately takes remede as “sighed” (OE hre¯man, hrı¯eman), rather than a doublet with Raxlede “stretched”; such an interpretation gains support from the archetypal B scribe’s synonymous substitution rored. But the sigh resembles Envy’s “sorrow,” not an expression of contrite anxiety but, since it is only a yawn, of that habitus underlying past sinful performance. 11–29 (B 5.395–414) Sloth “confesses”: Having variously expressed his indifference to the confessional moment, Sloth nonetheless goes through the motions. To a certain extent, this rambly list of improper behaviors is programmed, quite typically, from a phrase at the end of B account “vp gesse” (B 5.414; cf. the belated excuse for not beginning with a “paternoster,” 1–10n). While abundantly conscious of what he should be doing—the entire speech alternates between religious duty and preferred irreligious “occupation”— Sloth simply prefers not to. Typical of the whole performance is “Y visitede neuere feble man ne fetered man in prisone” 21 (B 5.405). As Bennett sees, Sloth rejects the responsibility of performing the Seven (Corporal) Works of Mercy (here two of those mentioned in Matt. 25:36). The devotional conception of the Seven Works joins the six acts mentioned in vv. 35–36 with the burial of the dead, from Tob. 2:7–9. Typically, authors of penitential handbooks consider such works the most basic almsdeeds which form one constituent part of the works of satisfaction that undo sin. 11 (B 5.395) rymes: Since Bennett wrote his very full note, numerous studies of Robin Hood and associated medieval outlaws have appeared; see Keen 1977, Knight 1994, and Knight-Ohlgren 1997, 2000. FDR 233 cites the proverb, “And many men speken of Robyn Hood and shotte neuere in his bowe,” particularly relevant to this vice of inaction. Although he is conjoined with Robin, assigning any legendary career to Ranulf III, sixth earl of Chester (earl 1181–1232) remains difficult. Ashton (1938:196–97) cites an account from Holinshed that might imply he was the special patron of entertainers. Besieged by the Welsh in Rhuddlan Castle, Ranulf was rescued by a ragtag band thrown together from “forreners, plaiers,

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

157

musicians and other strangers,” and as a result, took special steps to protect them during local fairs. In the fourteenth century, however, earl Ranulf was best known as the liberator of Cheshire and promulgator of a local “Magna Carta.” As a charitable act in preparation for his 1218 Crusade, Ranulf dissolved all forests in the palatinate and granted to tenants free rights to use resources that they had earlier been denied under “forest law.” These tenant rights were a source of bitter contention during the mid and late fourteenth century, on at least one occasion requiring armed suppression of popular attempts to assert them (a possible allusion to this “rising” of 1353 appears at W&W 317; see further Hewitt 1929:8–18, Husain 1973:54–74). For further Cheshire detail in this portrait, see B 5.459n; and for a similar contested benefaction involving Ranulf, Galloway 2001:26. Thus, in these ydele tales 19 (contrast 81–118Ln), Robin Hood and earl Ranulf might both be considered “social bandits,” or at least instigators of popular unrest. Especially given the opposition of both to “forest law,” adherence to which was enjoined in “The Great Curse” (17/6–13), they could be seen as encouraging Sloth’s capricious use of others’ property as if his own. Certainly, both Robin and Ranulf set their own social goals against centralized procedures (and perhaps thereby encourage Sloth to ignore the greater authority of “oure lorde [and] oure lady”). 15 (cf. B 5.399) y seyh neuere ∂e tyme: The C reading responds to a B scribalism: KD conjecture, on the basis of manuscript F’s so7ly (all others drop a stave) so 7ee I. The RK punctuation may mislead; translate: “I’ve never seen the time (that I was) truly sorry for my sins.” B 5.406 Somer game: Skeat cites the Wife of Bath’s passing reference at Ch, CT III.648–49. Wenzel (1989) believes that Sloth here alludes to a craft-sponsored mystery play. Cf. “Wycliffe” English, where it is charged that great ladies might want to appoint as parish priest, among other stripes of entertainers, “a wilde pleiere of someres gomenes, for flaterynge and 9iftes goynge bitwixe” (EETS os 74:246). But given the vice’s aversion to holy occupation, L probably refers, as Bennett sees, to a widely (if mostly later) attested usage; the phrase “summer game” refers to a “Maying, parish ale, or parish benefit party,” discussed in a variety of contexts, Hutton 1994:27–34 and passim; Bennett suggests such an occasion might have included Souters’ booths. 23: “Or to slander (satirize?) men or to imitate them unpleasantly,” perhaps resembling the makynges to which Will refers at 5.5.

158

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

25 (B 5.409) Vigilies and fastyngdayes: For feast- and fast-day prohibitions, see 5.28n; 6.182–85n, 429–32n; the locution appears again at 9.234. 26 (B 5.410) ligge abedde in lente: The line echoes Prol.89. Cf. FM 402/98–100: “Many such people lie indolent in the bed of somnolence that they would much rather turn over and over and snuggle in its warmth beyond a reasonable time than go to church and attend Mass and God’s service” (Sunt nonulli quasi in lecto sompnolencie torpentes qui ultra tempus debitum plus appetunt in illo hinc inde revolvere et illo torpescere quam ad ecclesiam eundo missas et Dei officium audire); and BVV 27/15–16: “3ei had leuere lese masses 3an o slep or a swot.” 27 (B 5.411) memorie: “commemorative mention” (Pearsall). The vice may have joined a confraternity (like that described at 3.53–54); as Bennett notes, he ignores canonical regulations which require him to attend his parish church (see 22.363–76nn). Skeat cites Arnold SEW 3:420, to which one should add Fitzralph’s discussion, Defensio 41–44, 46–49, etc.; in the Land of Longing, Will entertains a similar, if ultimately frustrated, hope at 12.3–30L (cf. B 11.53– 90). Donaldson (1990:52n), annotating B, suggests that friars conducted services later than those in parish churches and thus could attract stragglers like Sloth. B 5.412 Ite missa est: “Go, you are dismissed,” the conclusion of the mass, following the postcommunion. Come I to means, “if I arrive in time for,” and L thus inverts the joke of FM 402/105, which claims that the slothful, when they bother to attend church, have difficulty lasting the length of the mass until Ite. For Sloth, divine service isn’t worth even a snooze in a pew. 30 (B 5.415) I haue be prest and persoun: As most commentators have noted, Sloth here shifts social role, from lay person (cf. 10) to priest, a technique evident in other confessions, as well as specifically with this vice in “The Book of Shrift” (see 6.Headnote). Cf. Prol.125–27; B 10.272–84; 21/B 19.221–24, etc. FM devotes a chapter to clerical sloth, but there describes only such behaviors as mumbling reading and verse-skipping while saying the divine office (418/ 37ff., cf. 13.117–28 [B 11.303–17]); L’s vice lacks even these skills. The seyntes lyf of the following line—as Ch’s Second Nun shows, a model of holy occupation—reappears at 78, B 7.87. B 5.418 in Beatus vir or in Beati omnes: Pss. 1 (on that basis, often used to refer to the entire psalter) or 32 or 111 (all of which begin “Blessed is the

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

159

man”) and Ps. 127 (which begins “Blessed are all they”). These psalms include definitions of the virtuous man which Sloth fails to heed. B 5.419 Construe clausemele and kenne it (? ⴔ 34 ne clergialiche reden): Clausemele, one of a variety of Langlandian formations on the OE suffix -mæ ¯ lum, means “clause by clause, a clause at a time”; cf. coppemele 6.231. He should break the text into its constituent grammatical units and explain them each in sequence—the format used in the traditional “sermo antiquus” and in contemporary Lollard sermons. Cf. the priest’s offer to explain the pardon, 9.281–82; and Liberum Arbitrium’s complaint, 17.108–21. 33 (B 5.420) acounte with ∂e reue (B here a Reues rekenyng): This is the first of several references to Sloth’s failures to “reckon” properly. The vice lives well off the loaned labor of others and expends much of his activity evading his worldly debtors. (He has no conception that he might have a divine debtor, and thus this is one of many passages in the poem foreshadowing 21/B 19.187.) Further, Sloth relies on a verbal fiction, the oral promise “I’ll pay,” to cajole assets; the line reminds one both of the dreamer’s status as Luftmensch and of the parable from Luke 16 which alludes to accounts at the Last Judgment and animates his portrayal in passus 5 (a suggestion intensified by the reference here to the reue). For B’s louedayes, see 3.196–97n, to which one might now add my discussion (2005:270–73), with further references. 34 (B 5.421) catoun (B Canoun nor in decretals): Bennett identifies the canonical collections, usually available in parish churches. C is more severe in its condemnation: Sloth has not mastered even the beginning grammar school text, a proverb collection. 36 (B 5.423) yf: Alliteration falls on this word, in its dialect form @yf or @ef, recorded in four of the manuscripts. Similarly, in 47, KD (followed by RK) fail to restore alliteration: transposition to sethe haue hit for@eten will restore the B line, although L accepts the corrupt B form in the C version. 40 (B 5.427) here: “hear,” not “her” (i.e., “their”), as is clearer in B here 7e. 44–45 (B 5.431–32) sumdel haukes maners: Skeat compares Chaucer, CT I.4134, III.415; hawks are trainable only by food. In 45, most B manuscripts lack the unmetrical 7er and thus present a direct question, “(but lured by) ‘what’s in it for me?’ ” FM 634/12–16, partly cited at 6.350–441n above, compares church-avoiding gluttons with a hawk: “God is despised by gluttons.

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C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

When a hungry hawk is called back by his master, he at once leaves everything and hurries to him; so does a person who is abstinent” (Ab illis despicitur Deus. Aucipiter enim famelicus cum a domino suo reclamatur, confestim omnibus dimissis ad ipsum venire festinat, set non saturatus; similiter et homo abstinens). The author implicitly draws upon a figure identifying the love of God with the falconer’s lure; cf. FM 438/100–106 and for its inverse, the devil’s lure, 664/64–69. 48 (B 5.435) In speche and in sparyng of speche: As Bennett suggests, “by speaking in a way that showed my ingratitude and by not enunciating the gratitude that I should have shown.” With the subsequent lines on wasting food, cf. Glutton at 6.429–32n. 52 (cf. B 5.438) set hous afuyre: Cf. 3.90–107, lines that imply this was a serious worry for Londoners (as would prove true in 1666). But mere inattention was apparently supplemented by deliberate (and implicitly common) arson, for “The Great Curse” excommunicates those who willfully burn houses (17/17, 59/17). 54 (B 5.440) sethe a beggare haue y be: Following on Sloth’s misspent youth in 53, he has learned no useful activity or occupation (thedom 53) and is only fit for a life of waste. L provides an etiological explanation for a social problem ubiquitous in the poem; cf. Prol.41–46, the initial discussion, and 9.204–12n. 54L (B 5.440L) Heu michi . . . : See 1.140Ln; there Holychurch addresses the line to the dreamer, another connection between him and Sloth. 56–68 (B 5.442–60, A 5.214–32) Sloth’s repentance: Although Sloth makes a hopeful beginning at sorrow for his sins and vowing better behavior, one might see the moment as variously qualified. bete thysulue 60, in the retrograde echoic system at work here, might well appear the source of the reference in 6—although there, given his preceding belch, Sloth’s breast-knocking may just as likely be clearing phlegm (a humor associated with inactivity) as expressing his contrition (cf. AB 5.3–8n). Similarly, Sloth’s avowe 63 might be perceived as qualified by line 13: Sloth always vows to do things, makes promises—words are cheaper than acts. Finally, one should perhaps see a further qualification in the vice’s claiming a possible excuse for nonperformance of divine service on grounds of seknesse 64, an echo of lines 28–29; FM 398/23–400/32 describes the propensity of the slothful to invent excuses when faced with the prospect of spiritual works.

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as y a monke were 67 does promise, however, an intense round of canonical hours which will answer the “et orate” implicit in Vigilate’s activities (cf. 56n). These are not quite monkish, however; Sloth will arise at dawn to hear mateynes, and he will return to the church for euensong. But like other laymen, he does get time off for lunch (which he promises not to extend), and he is scheduled for no afternoon offices, although he might plan to return to the church or its yard for a second sermon, often delivered at this time (see Owst 1926:144–221 passim). Cf. 9.228–40. 56 (B 5.442, A 5.214) vigilate the veile: “Until Vigilate (recursively echoed in What! awake, renke 8) the watchman (personifying Sloth’s own aroused and no longer torpid compunction) made him cry (and then revived him by splashing his own tears on his face).” L probably derives the name from Matt. 26:41: “Vigilate et orate, ut non intretis in tentationem” (Watch ye and pray that ye enter not into temptation; other possible sources would include 1 Cor. 16:13 and 1 Peter 5:8). The apostles, of course, ignore this advice, Jesus’ injunction to spiritual activity in Gethsemane; see further 9.258–59n. Bennett notes the parallels, 16.332–36L, 22.369–70. 64 (B 5.450, A 5.222) no sonday: Schmidt notes L’s effort to align the sins’ promised penances with different days of the week (cf. 6.173, 439). One might suggest that the observances are at best memorial, a single day of piety as opposed to business as usual the other six. B 5.459 (A 5.231) ∂e Rode of Chestre: Skeat discusses the prominent cross that once stood on the Roodee (⬍ OE ro¯d-e¯g), an island in the river Dee at Chester (B 5.309n, 2:88); the oath reappears in RichR Prol.56. Given the earlier reference to earl Ranulf (see 11n), Sloth, like the East Anglian Covetise and Londoner Glutton, appears at least partially imagined as a geographically localized figure. All resemble the dreamer of the passus 5 waking passage, a provincial lad now out of place in the City. B 5.460 (A 5.232) seke treu∂e: In the AB versions, the line provides a further link to the penitential pilgrimage, which ensues relatively quickly there. For discussion of the subsequent B 5.461ff. (A 5.233ff.), Robert the Robber materials removed to a different position in C, see 6.308–30 and the subsequent notes. In this AB position, the emphasis upon restitution provides an appropriate climax to the confession scene; insofar as restitution is a prerequisite for receiving absolution, the AB placement signals a shift to the third stage of penance, the satisfaction required for full absolution. In traditional penitential

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doctrine, pilgrimage follows naturally; it is one of the traditional opera satisfactionis which the sinner can perform to indicate his resolve to square accounts with God. 69–80 (B 13.409–20) ∂e braunches ∂at bryngeth men to sleuthe: Skeat and Pearsall note the prevalence of tree diagrams to show the relations of sins or of sins and their “parts”; cf. the recurrence of the metaphor to describe a basic instructional paradigm at B 15.73–76 and the analogous use with virtues in “The Tree of Charity.” L pays tribute here to perhaps the most overcategorized of all vices; Peraldus’s influential Summa de vitiis had divided Accidia into sixteen parts, and Lorens went two better than this in his Somme le roi with an eighteen-step distinctio (see Wenzel 1967:195–96, 80–82, respectively). Such a traditional diagrammatic model will be replaced by a more dynamic one in Piers’s plowing; see 182–204n, etc. bryngeth to sleuthe typifies L’s thinking about the vice (see Wenzel 1967:142, 146). The branches are properly parts of the whole, although on the basis of Peraldus and Lorens’s discussions, ordered in a descending pattern. That “ultimate Sloth” which they attain, and L’s most typical view of the vice, is wanhope, as the restatement in 80 makes clear; cf. 6.Headnote. In lines 70–73, L alludes rather vaguely to a few of the extensive “parts” of Sloth outlined in the Lorens derivative BVV. Thus one might associate line 70 with “for9etfulnesse” (28/15–28; cf. 1–68n, 29n), 71–72L with “vnbuxumnesse” (29/16–20), and 72b–73 with “vntrew3e” and “rechelesschep” (28/4–14). But, for the most part, the verse-paragraph follows on earlier detail (e.g., 10, 20, 24, and 34) and has little parallel in BVV. One might, however, single out BVV’s isolated reference, “to desire foule harlotries, as lecheries” (27/9), since L’s lines lead directly into the subsequent discussion of God’s minstrelsy, as distinguished from idle talk. In 75 and the subsequent discussion, L relies on a narrow meaning of the word harlotrie, viz. “minstrelsy”; cf. my discussion, 2013; 123, 125, 134–35. 81–118L (B 13.421–56) God’s minstrels: As a statement about L’s poetics, this passage has received considerable attention, e.g., generally, Schmidt 1987:5–20. Clopper examines (1997:21–24, 200–201) the discussion in terms of Franciscan influence and insists upon its connection with the “lunatik lollares” of passus 9. Both Turville-Petre (1987) and Hanna (1997:45–48) discuss the grounding of the discussion in L’s predecessor text W&W (for L’s initial reference to this poem, see Prol.24). All versions of the poem present Will as some variety of poet, perhaps most explicitly at A 1.137–38, where Holychurch associates him with a harp and

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presenting @eddynges at meals. Less grandiosely and specifically, in 1.134 (A 1.125, B 1.136), she addresses him as potentially an instructor of the lewed (and explicitly not of the lettred)—one might surmise, an author of commonplace instructional poetry. Issues relevant to such a poetic stance—the abuse of learning and the concomitant failures of aristocratic entertainments—occupy L at great length in the AB Dowell. Cf. B 9.98–104, 10.31–58 and 93–139—all passages severely truncated or absent in C, just as, with the removal of this passage from B 13, a reduced presentation of Hawkin as a minstrel. In his last revision, L reconceives the issue of poetry and entertainment and makes it central to his second vision, not to Dowell. This passage forms an important fulcrum in the minstrelsy argument: it looks ahead to further refinements in the added discussions of “lunatik lollares” in passus 9. Moreover, it concludes a new self-referential envelope that surrounds the entire confession passage: 5.104–8 or 6.2 finds its echo in 7.106, and Repentance’s speech, surely an example of holy minstrelsy, follows immediately. The poet of W&W alleges that he writes in a new and disrupted world where morality is in decline. Central to this failure is, he asserts, the decline of poetic patronage (see 19–20); lords no longer entertain as they once did, no longer respect and support those who purvey wisdom. True poets are exiled and get no hearing. In the derived discussion of goddes munstrals, L, as part of a continuing discussion, strives to create a newly legitimated poetry, poor and apostolic (retrospectively, sanction for behaviors Reason and Conscience found potential London labor-evasion and beggary in passus 5). L couples with this presentation, another example of Will’s poetry as metaphorical reformulation (see 103–8nn), an appropriate site for poetic presentation, a return to the old alliterative scene, the communal feast in hall, where poet and audience meet face to face. With this nostalgia, cf. Green’s argument (1980: 103–7, 110–12) that the end of the fourteenth century witnessed a transition from courtly entertainments provided by poet-reciters to those provided by professional musicians. One should also be aware, as was the poet of W&W (and L independently of him), of a broader surround. Religious Truth and romance frivolousness are commonly opposed in prologues to thirteenth-and fourteenth-century poetry of religious instruction (cf. L’s contrast between sarmoun 88 [not necessarily a formal exposition of scripture, but instructive utterance, nonetheless] and tales 90). Extensive discussions of these differing appeals, to salvation and to “vanity” and frivolous timewasting (cf. 5.28n), introduce The South English Legendary (c. 1275?), Robert Manning’s HS (1303), CM (c. 1300?—and cf. CM 23845–68), the London prose Mirror (translated from Robert of Gretham’s Anglo-Norman verse, c. 1310–20), and SV (c. 1348–70). The topos remained

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vital into the fifteenth century, e.g., in Sir John Clanvowe’s “The Two Ways” (before 1391) and one of the Lollard tracts of Cambridge University Library, MS Ii.6.26. A parallel also occurs in PLM, a religious revision of The Romance of the Rose, where Flaterye appears as a figure of courtly poetry (4359–64). These discussions probably generalize the injunction that priests “mimis, ioculatoribus et histrionibus non intendunt et tabernas prorsus evitent” (canon 16 of Lateran IV, in Decretales 3.1.15, CJC 2:453). Clanvowe, writing contemporaneously with the C revision, is perhaps especially relevant. On the one hand, he identifies aristocratic verse with panegyric and the pursuit of worldly glory, in essence L’s flatterer. (Cf. SV 7183–96, where heralds appear among the “crafts of folly” for just such activities.) Equally, he describes the recipients of such encomia, not simply as destructive warmongers but as those who “waasten and 9euen much good to hem 3at haan ynou9, and 3at dispenden oultrageously in mete, in drynke, in cloo3ing, in buyldyng, and in lyuyng in eese, slou3e, and many oo3ere synnes” (487–91; cf. 118Ln). See further Owst 1961:11–14; and Bernard of Clairvaux, “De laude novae militiae ad milites Templi liber” 4.7 (PL 182:296): “The Templars [whom Bernard praises effusively as holy knights] reject and abhor mimes, magicians, taletellers, and dirty verses, as well as the spectacles of plays, as only vanities and misleading delusions” (Mimos et magos et faulatores, scurrilesque cantilenas, atque ludorum spectacula, tanquam vanitates et insanias falsas respuunt et abominantur). The first fifteen lines here define corrupt modern minstrelsy. The remainder, following the model of gospel parable, develops a new apostolic form which confers upon L’s poetry, God’s minstrelsy, an important social power. Not only does the theory restore to lords an appropriate patronal interest in wisdom and good counsel, but their act of regarding and feeding the poor, L’s metaphorical “wise” minstrels (see 103–8nn), fulfils the precepts of charity and confers on the patron salvation. 81–95 (B 13.421–35) Perverse minstrelsy: 82 foel sages, flateres, and lyares creates a triumvirate of evil “minstrels”; none seems necessarily literally such, unless perhaps etymologically (minstrel is derived from minister “[petty] official”). All share with Sloth vacuous or fictive speech, offered in exchange for perquisites lords are willing to give. In the context of flatterers, who create those L identifies as mysproud 95, and liars, the foel sages are likely, as Skeat, Schmidt, and Donaldson (1990:145n) argue, licensed fools, perhaps ones who speak “reason in madness.” Turville-Petre, in his discussion of W&W (1987), informatively cites Amis and Amiloun 1946, 1982–83. Schmidt compares Luke

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6:26, “Woe to you when men shall bless you.” See further Wurtele 2002, with pulpit citations on flattering entertainers. These evil minstrels seek mede & mete 84, and the (money and?) food they get constitutes, ipso facto, excessive payment. They are neither needy nor have they done anything deserving remuneration. Indeed, as subsequent lines argue, evil minstrels, like friars, are mercy-mongers; they condone their patrons’ sins, indeed praise them for them, and thus create and intensify their lord’s debitum peccati. For similar puns suggesting spiritual ingestion, cf. wordes/wortes B 5.162 and morter/mortem 15.49 (contrast mortrewes 15.46). Although he addresses lords secular and religious (legatus 81), L views them as dupes, merely Consencientes 86L and capable of being better directed. Those hangers-on who use untrue speech to entertain them (and who are, thus, their minstrels) are the truly villainous parties (cf. 89–90, 93, 118). Such wasteful talkers are securely connected with Sloth through the BC emphasis on the vice’s inner fantasies, especially his interest in tales and his sloppy verbal reckonings (28–29, 39–48), as well as his excessive gourmandise (cf. 5–6, 19, 25, 32, 48–52, 67). Among their fellows or allies would be the fatuous dinnerhaunting Dominican of passus 15, alluded to in the preceding paragraph. 81 (B 13.421) legatus: A legate ranks with lords and ladies as a superior ecclesiastical power, the pope’s delegate, with his authority. Many were simply English bishops, given the title as senior in length of service among their local peers. More impressive were legates a latere (sent “from the pope’s side”), cardinals who came bearing specific charges to the English church. The most important of these (and their synods the foundations of local ecclesiastical legislation) were cardinals Otto (1237) and Ottobuono (1265–68); see C&S 1:237–61, 2:725–72. 83L (B 13.423L) Ve vobis qui ridetis: Luke 6:25 (Woe to you that laugh: for you shall mourn and weep), within a truncated version of the Beatitudes. Verse 23 designates those who weep now, the apostles, whom Jesus has chosen in vv. 13–16, as the descendants of the prophets scorned by Israel (cf. 87); moreover, the verse indicates that their laughter will be eternal in heaven. Of course, it was a medieval commonplace that the gospels never describe Jesus laughing. In contrast, those who laugh now, for example the rich, will have their only “consolatio” (v. 24) in this world. The citation, in conjunction with that at 100L, recalls details from the opening of passus 5 and more securely links Will, as a potential divine minstrel, with a purportedly apostolic life. 86L (B 13.426L) Consencientes . . . : “Those who consent to, as well as those who actually perform, will receive the identical punishment,” a legal maxim

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that appears at Decretum 2.17.4.5 and 2.22.5.1 (CJC 1:816, 883). Gray (1986b:54– 55) cites the statement, in a form identical to L’s, from Chobham’s Summa. Alford (1992:86) notes the parallel of Ch, CT X.965. 89 (B 13.429) procuratours (B disciples): The term refers to a lord’s designate, a steward or reeve, and is used normatively in this fashion to describe Piers at 21/B 19.258. The conclusion to the passage (115) reverses the relationship of lord and servant; there, flatterers lead a procession to the table of Hell, not the feast of Heaven. In the B version, L appears to have been already thinking ahead to the verse cited as 100L. In this context, the noun may carry with it a considerable satiric valence. In post-1247 Franciscan usage, the procurator was that individual who “saved” the order’s claim to poverty while practicing possession. He was the papal representative who held dominium (legal lordship) over possessions of which other Franciscans had only usus (Lambert 1961:100; cf. 97–114n). Similarly, in Wycliffite usage, the proper Lollard parish priest is the “procurator of the poor,” while the possessionate prelate is that “of the fiend” (cf. MED’s citations). 92L (B 13.432L) Non habitabit . . . : Ps. 100:7 (He that worketh pride shall not dwell in the midst of my house: he that speaketh unjust things did not prosper before my eyes), although, as perhaps typically, the entire psalm helps fuel the argument. The conclusion, in particular, describes purging the Lord’s house and city. Further, the citation echoes L’s repeated use of Ps. 14, “Domine, quis habitabit?” (Lord, who shall dwell in thy tabernacle?), throughout the Visio; cf. most proximately, 232–60L. The divisions of the house, 93 in halle ne in chaumbre, are more forceful in the B version, where they follow on Study’s lament (10.97–102) over the withdrawal of magnate charity. She associates this largesse with the communal dining area for the entire household, the halle, and decries lords’ retirement to their private quarters, the chaumbre, with only their intimates, here foel sages, etc. 97–114 (B 13.436–53) True minstrelsy defined and discussed: Although kynges munstrals 96 appear first, these are subordinated and less important. Perhaps predictably, given the metaphorical minstrelsy L will develop here, rhetorical emphasis falls on kynges and on the greater promptitude with which one should greet a servant of the King of Kings. Such an interest has been forecast in the allusion to Patriarkes and prophetes 87, who offer a sarmoun, not a tale. They will later, as the exemplary Joseph and Daniel, appear prominently in

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the dreamer’s ruminations on his vision and how to actuate it (9.305–17, cf. 9.12). They provide possible holy models for his activity, although it is here considered in a different biblical light, that of gospel parable. This biblical siting reflects Will’s apostolic aspirations, and the reformulation of aristocratic entertainment through metaphor here marks a powerful first return to the poetic me´tier he has claimed as his own in the waking interlude of passus 5. See further Craun 1997:163–86 (176–82). L presents thre manere munstrals 109, positive types, to replace the three evil groups already described. In a broad sense, his distinction derives from Luke 14:12–24 (the parable of the feast), the source also of 12.102–8 (B 11.189– 95) and of the C expansion in 292–306 below, an unfortunate mirror to this passage. Jesus enjoins his hearers not to call upon intimates who can offer “recompense” (v. 12), return invitations, for their entertainment. Rather, as L outlines here, carefully following the parable, a different kind of guest will gain the host “recompense . . . at the resurrection of the just” (v. 14). These are identified as “pauperes ac debiles ac caecos et claudos” (the poor, and the feeble, and the blind, and the lame; v. 21, cf. v. 13). The parallel parable of Matt. 22:10, told to a different moral, appears at Cleanness 51–160. L’s interpretation, at least in part, depends upon contested public uses of the verse, inspired by Richard Fitzralph (Scase 1989:63–64 etc.). These interpret “pauperes” as a generic term, narrowly defined by the following three nouns; this reading may be reflected in L’s pore 104, as specified in 105–8. In Fitzralph’s account, the verse distinguishes the worthy poor from other indigents: the worthy poor are those “pauperes et debiles (etc.)”—not just poor but infirm as well. Consequently, the text can be turned to good account against friars’ claims to perfect poverty. JU 114–19 cites the verse in this way and associates it, against these “new sects,” with the single Christian rule of James 1:27 (perhaps recalling Ancrene Wisse, Prol.7, EETS 325:3–5); one mendicant response appears at FDR 314–21. Such background is relevant to L’s discussion, since goddes munstrals are defined precisely by their status as beggares 99, and the passage thus introduces a concern, licit poverty, fundamental to and subject to increasing clarification in this C vision. However, the phrase goddes munstrals alludes to pure Franciscan foundations, not the order’s later qualified poverty (cf. 89n); thus L’s use varies from Fitzralph’s in implying the usefulness of at least portions of a Franciscan theology of poverty. Donaldson (1949:143–55) provides the most extensive and helpful discussion of C’s interest in this Franciscan topic. As he sees (146), the phrase goddes munstrals, especially in this context identifying such persons with beggars, must appropriate Franciscan discussions of the ideal friar as joculator Dei

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(God’s jester). In the “regula prima,” for example, Francis enjoins that in begging, friars should “rejoice in the company of ‘pauperes et debiles, infirmos et leprosos’ ” (cited Leff 1967, 1:59; cf. Ch, CT I.240–48). Scripta Leonis, ch. 43 (166) describes Francis’s original formulation. In the elation he feels after he composes his most famous laude, the “Canticum fratris solis,” “uolebat et dicebat, quod prius aliquis illorum predicaret populo, qui sciret predicare, et post predicationem canterent laudes Domini tanquam ioculatores Domini. Finitis laudibus, uolebat ut predicator populo diceret: ‘Nos sumus ioculatores Domini et in hiis uolumus a uobis remunerari, scilicet ut stetis in uera penitentia.’ Et dicebat, ‘Quid enim sunt serui Dei nisi quodammodo quidam ioculatores eius, qui corda hominum mouere debent et erigere ad letitiam spiritualem?’ ” Other relevant materials appear in chs. 24, 44, 64. At least one earlier English writer, Richard Rolle, in his emphasis upon eremitic activities leading to an experience of heavenly canor, may offer further analogies; cf. Hanna 1997:passim. Instructively, given the poet Will’s commitment to apostolic ideals, Francis conceives his divine minstrelsy also as part of the apostolic imitation that distinguishes his initial foundation. Holy song should inform the Franciscan mission to preach, to recall the people to the gospel message (preeminently Matt. 9:13, to be cited at 138L). Hence, the only remuneration which the joculator Dei seeks results from his audience’s penance (cf. 108n). Within L’s argument, this properly Christian attitude has been assured by the welcome the munstrals have received. Such appropriation of Franciscan discourse is stimulated by the AB Dowell’s depiction of mendicant abuse. At B 10.72–78 Study places contemporary friar preachers at the heart of a modern failure in Christian instruction. In “[fyndyng] vp swiche questions,” they have contributed to an ignorance of Christian basics and to intellectual pride—everyone wants to talk like a university master. Academic quibbles—Study cites discussions of the Trinity at B 10.52–58 (cf. 129n below for a strikingly congruent C revision) and of predestination at B 10.104–39—have now become dinnertime entertainment. Eventually, in passus 15, Will will meet at table both such a friar and a begging hermit “minstrel” (cf. 15.170). However, L substantially curtails in C most of this B version discussion. This decision is directly linked to the various minstrel materials new to the Visio. Will absorbs, as his own, Franciscan idea(l)s friars now hold in contempt; as these religious figures become more interested in ease than apostolic poverty, Will intrudes into the social niche once theirs, now vacated and thus open to his metaphorical appropriation. With his nonlaboring fellow poor

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indigents, he claims that minstrel status once the Franciscans’, as a true evangelical figure, a new apostle. Cf. the further developments of 16.310–12, 17.308–10; and the rather distant parallel of David as holy fool, 2 Reg. 6:14–16, 20–23. See further Clopper 1997:200–201. 96 (B 13.436) kynges munstrals: As Pearsall points out, minstrels formed a distinct class of paid royal domestic servants (see further Bullock-Davies 1978:16–17). Generally speaking, their duties were defined on the basis of the instruments they played (for the class of minstrels known as “waferers,” see 15.198n), and, at least on the basis of available evidence, from the late fifteenth century, string-players (cf. fithele 106, 116) spent quite restricted time at court. (Trumpeters, in contrast, had many ad lib ceremonial duties.) The Black Book of Edward IV stipulates that string-players shall only “com[e] to this courte at five festes of the yere, and then to take theyre wages of houshold after iiii d. ob. a day, if they be present in courte: and then thay to avoyde the next day after the festes be don.” In spite of such restrictions, as Bullock-Davies points out (1978:23–24, cf. 108n), royal minstrels were relatively affluent individuals. Their travel to dispersed magnate households was intended, not to eke out some meager stipend, but to enrich entertainments otherwise provided by a similar but likely less talented group, minstrel retainers of provincial lords. 100L (B 13.440L) Qui vos spernit . . . : Luke 10:16 (He that despiseth you, despiseth me: and he that despiseth me, despiseth him that sent me), where the verse forms part of the instructions Jesus gives on sending out the disciples; cf. 83Ln, 9.112–23Lnn. The ascription to John seems accountable only as an error in transmission, for as usual, L alludes to abundant details not explicitly cited from the biblical locus, e.g., v. 3 (with their exemplary model of poverty, a text the subject of contemporary social contention, cf. 5.52n), vv. 5–8 (with their insistence on staying in a single house), and the remainder of v. 16 (to spurn the disciple is to spurn him who sent him, both Jesus and, beyond him, God; one should hear him instead). Luke 10:16, particularly in L’s context, recalls the earlier allusion to the Works of Mercy (21n), acts to be performed for the disadvantaged as Jesus’ stand-ins. Of various loci from John commentators have adduced as parallel, the suggestion first offered by Pearsall, now by Schmidt, John 12:48, seems most apt. The verse, although it lacks that apostolic context L seems at pains to invoke, at least includes both the verb spernere and a reference to hearing God’s word: “He that despiseth me, and receiveth not my words, hath one that judgeth him: the word that I have spoken, the same shall judge him in the last day.”

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102 (B 13.441) y rede √ow ryche: L’s typical (and commonplace) vision of reciprocal relations which should exist between the two social orders. Cf. FM 538/106–8: “According to the law of charity the rich are held to support the poor, just as the poor on the other hand are held to pray for their benefactors” (secundum legem caritatis tenentur divites pauperibus subvenire, sicut ipsi econtrario tenentur pro ipsis orare). After citing Gal. 6:2 and 1 John 4:16, the author continues (540/112–17): “In the same manner, the rich, who are as it were blind in a spiritual way, are held to support the poor, who have nothing to sustain and support them except their alms. In exchange, the poor, who spiritually have a clear sight, are held to teach the rich the way to the banquet of heaven and to pray to God for them. In this manner, one carries another’s burden and fulfills the law of Christ” (Sic divites, qui sunt quasi ceci in spiritualibus, tenentur supportare pauperes, qui nichil habent unde sustentatur aut suppodiantur nisi per elemosinas. Et econtra pauperes, qui sunt perspicui visus in spiritualibus, tenentur divites viam versus participationem celi docere ac pro illis Deum iugiter orare. Et sic alter alterius onus supportans [cited 8.230L] adimplebit legem Christi). Cf. L’s various references to Dives and Lazarus: 8.277–81, 15.293–306L, 18.269–85, 19.228–50L. Cf. Dives and Pauper, EETS 275:213–17, cited Shepherd 1983:174n. 103–8 (B 13.442–47) The pore . . . 兩 With a lered man . . . 兩 And a blynd man . . . or a bedredene womman: L’s divine minstrels have only an associative or metaphorical claim to the status. After all, Francis not only begged with indigents like these for his livelihood, but also begged for the penance of his audience through song. But the argument blends the gospel-derived metaphor with a more literal would-be minstrel and incorporates him into the same sanctified status. Thus, L collapses the final three members of Luke 14:13, 21 into the pair of figures in 107. To these, he adds a nonbiblical figure more distinctively minstrel-like (104–6). The distinction between these two sets answers that of 78, if one reads Penaunse and pore men there together, and as enacted by the infirm of 107. The legitimate public status of the true poor is supposed to assimilate and cloak the dreamer-poet’s perhaps more questionable activities. The lered man, an allusion to Will’s biography at 5.35–41, presumably shares the indigence of his two companions, but also confers legitimacy upon L’s own activity. He is, after all, the only contemporary who fiddles up of god friday 7e geste 106 (not just in passus 20 but at 1.162–70 and in Repentance’s adjacent speech, 7.129–35). The linkage depends upon understanding the generic term geste to mean specifically “alliterative poem” (a sense implied by

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Chaucer’s two uses, CT VII.933, X.43). But even if that sense is not here primary, “gesta” implies an instructive historical narrative far removed from the vacuities of Sloth and other “bad” minstrels. The implication that Will provides holy speech while simultaneously earning for himself sustenance recalls the description of his professional endeavors at 5.45–52. 106 (B 13.446) fithele: Although at A 1.137 Holychurch implicitly identifies the dreamer as a harper, that instrument was losing its place of preeminence among royal stringmen during the reign of Edward II. Its leading role now passed to the ancestors of modern strings, fiddlelike instruments of greater range, the vielle and the geige (Bullock-Davies 1978:35). The verb fithele is surely, as Pearsall suggests, a figurative usage; cf. Donaldson’s comment (1949:147) that L “is getting farther and farther from the reality of everyday entertainment.” One should probably translate, “to perform in your presence his composition, the alliterative poem about Good Friday.” Withoute flaterynge does not simply contrast with 89–90 but suggests that the minstrel will enjoin upon his rich host harsh gospel precepts as a way For to saue [his] soule. The auditors’ sins are those that Jesus suffered for, and the ameliorative gospel precepts would include the necessity that the very presence of the learned man and his fellow beggar-minstrels enacts, the command to give alms. Cf. both the instruction Holychurch appends to her passion narrative at 1.171–74L and the reference to Tobit as an appropriate poetic subject in the parallels to 11.30 (A 11.25, B 10.33) and at 11.68–78 (cf. 21n above). 107 (B 13.447) bedredene womman: Perhaps pertinently, Dyer (1983:205) finds considerable evidence that there existed a “group of inadequately fed old people . . . only part of a large pool of underemployed and undernourished smallholders and landless in the bottom ranks of rural society.” 108 (B 13.448) crye a largesse: Skeat aptly defines as “ask for bounty,” but L wittily reverses the direction in which benefaction may pass. Poor traveling minstrels may well have lived hand to mouth by such begging cries, but king’s minstrels also did, in a more refined fashion. Although their stipulated pay as household servants was meager and seasonal, Bullock-Davies points out (1978:22) that the profession was lucrative and secure. In addition to day wages (see 96n) and livery (see 9.119n), king’s minstrels routinely received substantial tips or gratuities for their services, “largesse” or de dono payments. But God’s minstrels do not ask bounty for themselves. Having already received the good patron’s alms, their free dinner, they perform the appropriate minstrel act, the demonstration of minstrel or servant gratitude. They

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identify for God their patron’s merited good loos (the ultimate goal of traditional alliterative poetry is to demonstrate this quality, cf. GGK 258). As FM (cited 102n) implies, the boon that the infirm crave for their benefactor takes a verbal form, a prayer for the patron’s spiritual health (cf. 5.52 and the prayers by which Will claims to have “earned,” not begged, that food). This “largesse” solaseth 7e soule 112 (cf. 102) by providing that eternal laughter implied in 83L, the welhope 113 of salvation. This reversal is the first of a very large number of redefinitions Will offers through the remainder of the vision. Not only are the bad behaviors of “real” (literal) minstrels revealed and a proper minstrelsy, dedicated to God, constructed as its metaphorical replacement. In addition, as here, the usual connotations of many common English terms are shifted. The most flagrant example probably concerns the word lollare, when qualified by the adjective lunatyk (9.105–39n), but many small examples, similar to “largesse” here, are subject to similar handling (e.g., boy, 9.126–27n). Such verbal legerdemain, at bottom, defines the province of poetry—here, as Will claims, a proper “Truthtelling,” purified by its commitment to a divine and apostolic service. In this attempt to construct “Truth’s tongue,” as it were, the dreamer is probably inspired by Conscience’s efforts at 3.286–412; see the notes there and Wood 2012:112–33, 139–46. While metaphorical transformation is mainly a property of the second vision, poetic (re)definition, and its first cousin, the distinction, in which parts of a whole are rendered separate from one another, will have a very long run in the poem. The technique, as all readers know, is vexingly prominent throughout the opening passu¯s of Dowell. But examples proliferate as the text proceeds, e.g., Patience’s definition of poverty (16.114–57) or Liberum Arbitrium’s explanation of his constituent parts (16.179–205). Ultimately, and most successfully, the technique is joined to the preacher’s tool of “figural” argument—the identification of constituent elements as part of a complex tactile metaphor; examples include the Trinity (19.111–226, 263–69) or Conscience’s explanation of Jesus’ heroic career (21/B 19.15–187; see Wood 2007). Thus, not only does the discussion of God’s minstrels introduce and describe an idealized poetic, but its practice instantiates the elements that will become most central in its later pursuit. 112–13 (B 13.452–53) yfalle 兩 In . . . amongus: Both prepositional phrases modify yfalle, and the second, in addition to its contrast with luciferes feste 115, looks ahead to mel tyme of sayntes 132. Similarly, yfalle is echoed in the more purposive Leden 115, but, beyond the clever play of the coinage welhope on the

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metaphor “fall into wanhope/despair,” it also evokes that mysterious process by which grace will come, as in Will’s discussion of his own efforts at 5.92–98. 113 (B 13.453) welhope: Wanhope is the property of Sloth as word-spender (and perhaps of the dreamer-poet as well), the one who enjoys the harlotries he makes. But L here sneakily revises terms. Welhope places emphasis, not in the moral properties of the poet, but in the moral effect he can induce in his listener. The wordplay is completed by the appearance of Hope at 151; cf. 19.291–300, 22.165–69. 116 (B 13.456) turpiloquio: “Foul talk”; cf. Prol.40, in L’s first discussion of questionable poetic behavior. There is probably a submerged pun on AngloLatin turpilucrium, the “filthy lucre” that the lords have heaped up and that the flatterers hope to share. 118L Dare histrionibus: As Pearsall notes, from a statement Peter Cantor attributes to Jerome, “Paria sunt histrionibus dare et daemonibus immolare” (Giving actors money and sacrificing to demons are much the same things), Verbum abbreviatum 49.149 (PL 205:155), but see further B 15.343Ln. A similar citation appears in Thomas de Chobham, Summa de arte praedicandi, 6/1562 (CCCM 82). Chobham explicitly derives his version from Gratian’s Decretum 1.86.7 (CJC 1:299, cited Alford 1992:49). Gratian, in turn, ascribes the statement to Augustine; cf. In Iohannis evangelium tractatus 100.2 (PL 35:1891, a discussion of “falsa gloria,” explaining John 16:13–15). Histriones insists on the “normal minstrel” value of feigning, the pretense behind lying and flattering. The Latin identifies this activity as idolatry, a sacrifice to an empty monument; in contrast, the earlier Good Friday reference focuses upon the true sacrifice, of which one understands the eucharist and its communal meal as a remembrance (cf. 132n). Empty action, purely and inconsequentially verbal, is replaced by a quality of patient living in the case of God’s minstrels. B 5.455–76 (A 5.227–50) Robert the Robber: See 6.309n. 119–54 (not in B 5.477–509, A) Repentance’s plea for God’s mercy for the folk: The passage is absent in A. As Kirk (1972:71) comments of this version: “The confession scene . . . ends with no overt absolution, nor any indication of a process completed.” The confessions, she urges, emphasize “the inability of the sinner to cure himself,” and the following pilgrimage scene will show the folk’s inability to recognize Truth. In this first version of the poem, L

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assumes that the pardon, as a reward for social labor, provides an appropriate conclusion to the penitential movement. In adding this passage in BC, L emphasizes, not absolution, but a prayer for it to come. Rhetorically, the piece is a headlong run—in logical terms, the addressee God 122 is directly supplicated only by Haue reuthe 149, leading up to the climactic Latinate chorus of the conclusion. In form, as Burrow sees (1965: 251), this is a public liturgical prayer offered by a Repentance no longer a confessor but an officiating priest (as Bennett and Pearsall argue). Alford (1993:23–26) more specifically identifies it with a collect of the mass. Robertson-Huppe´ (1951:74) demonstrate extensive connections with the Creed; as a statement of Faith, the prayer leads naturally to the appearance of Hope in 151—and an implicit promise that absolution will come, after perseverance in charitable deeds of satisfaction (cf. 128Ln). The prayer, at least momentarily, might be construed as answered by the coming of the Paraclete at 21/B 19.199–212; and see further Lawler 2000:130–31. In the BC addition, then, L responds to the same impulse that leads him to extend the portrait of Avarice (and in C adds to it Evan and Robert). Like those speeches, the prayer emphasizes divine mercy, which provides sinners Hope to sustain them in their effort to atone (cf. Piers at 268–91). Moreover, the prayer’s insistence on the Incarnation indicates the Godhead’s prior mercy in taking upon itself the debt of the Fall and thus promises similarly merciful divine dealings with actual sin. The prayer is focused by persistent returns both to the incarnational similarity of God and man (129n, 132n) and to Jesus’ kingly human role as conquering knight (139n). The central phrase of Repentance’s exhortation is 149 (B 5.504) Haue reuthe. Stokes aptly recognizes (1984:178) that this statement reverses Reason’s double refusal of mercy at 4.103–8, 131–32 (cf. further 20.428–38L with 4.134– 41). The second vision thus repeats the first, with inversion both of narrative and of its terms. The first vision seeks to impose, over a clamor of other voices, a strict system of distributive justice. This founders on that allegedly overmerciful treatment of malefactors associated with Meed, and finally it rejects human mercy altogether in favor of strict justice (although the royal variety differs radically from the divine). The second vision, in contrast, begins by attempting to reduce that despair induced in sinful humans by the specter of a strict divine call to account. It emphasizes, against a steady unwillingness to accept such a proposition, divine mercy. This vision, like the first, includes a foundation of the commonwealth, another narrative inversion (see 8.5–55n); further, much of passus 8 addresses the difficulties of sympathetic and merciful communal governance. The conclusion of the vision acknowledges both the difficulty of

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imposing any just human system predicated upon mercy in a social world, and the incomprehensible and potentially terrifying nature of divine justice, once applied to human social activity. Like many details of Repentance’s prayer, the issue will be reformulated at the Harrowing of Hell, with the debate of the Four Daughters (20.114–270). 123 (B 5.481) of nauhte madest auhte: Bennett and Pearsall refer to Kellogg (1956:406–7) on the doctrine of creation ex nihilo. Cf. 1.14–16, 146–58; the subsequent narration looks ahead to 18.123–77 and to the detailed description of Holy Week, concentrating on the Saturday Harrowing of Hell, in passus 20. Bennett’s notes indicate Repentance’s reliance on the liturgy for Holy Week (which also includes Dismas’s petition at 6.319–21). The figure thus recalls the entire penitential season of Lent and implies the extension of that liturgical season into a whole life. 125 (B 5.483) for ∂e beste . . . whateuere ∂e boek telle: Bennett explains scattered medieval resistance to the doctrine of the Fortunate Fall (and the consequent omission of the following Latin from many Continental missals). Although he suggests that 7e boek means “authorities,” it surely refers to the severity of Gen. 3, an example of God’s just response to sin that Repentance hopes to expunge. 125L (B 5.483L) O felix culpa . . . : “O happy sin, O necessary sin of Adam.” Skeat identifies the source in the canticle “Exultet” sung on Holy Saturday, and Bennett provides a full citation. Bennett points out that the adjective necessarium was found theologically offensive in some quarters (he cites Udalric of Cluny, PL 149:663); this view perhaps responds to Augustine’s discussion, De civitate 14.23. But conventionally, the sin was necessarium precisely insofar as it was felix; it afforded God the opportunity to display his supernal love through atoning as man on man’s behalf. 128L (cf. B 5.486L) Ego in patre . . . : John 14:10, 9 (Do you not believe, that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? He that seeth me seeth the Father also); the revision allows L to condense the following lines on the roles of the various persons of the Trinity in the Incarnation (cf. 129n, 134–35n). The citation reenforces line 128, where L makes the simple point that creation and redemption reflect the same impulse and are acts of the same agent; cf. 20.221–22 (B 18.212–13). The physical Jesus (sone . . . body 128) contains within himself the Father (thysulue . . . soule), and humans, as divine likenesses, partake of this same combination. Cf. 143, 18.1–8, or oen Iesus a Iustices sone 18.125,

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where the Father is committed to strict accounts, but the Son, while following the family line as knight, also redeems as well. Instead of these verses, the B version cites Gen. 1:26 (Let us make man to our image and likeness), answering man liche thysulue 123; and 1 John 4:16 (He that abideth in charity, abideth in God, and God in him). The first verse is extensively discussed at B 9.31–44, and the second recurs at B 9.65L; cf. also 3.356, 402, where Conscience argues that through the Incarnation, God comes to define the gender (kynde) of the noun homo, as well as the grim parody of 22/B 20.52–53. In the B version, L simultaneously effects two ends. On the one hand, he promises the persistence of man’s divine potential, even in his current sinful state, so long as he recovers that love which defines divinity (cf. 1.81–87). On the other, as Bennett sees, the verse identifies the restoration of the ymago et similitudo as that operation effected through the Incarnation (in which Jesus appears as the personification of the love which is God). Besides associating the passage with B 16.215, Bennett provides other relevant biblical and liturgical references. 129 (B 5.487) oure secte: See further 136 and 140 (where the parallel B 5.500 reads armes and thus introduces the military metaphor of 20.21–25; such chivalric echoes are ubiquitous in the following lines, cf. 139n). All commentators have indicated the polysemy of secte, a full exploitation of both Latin etymon and Romance derivatives evoking the multiplicity and mystery of the Incarnation. Latin secta already meant “way of life,” and, as Skeat sees, either Medieval Latin or Old French provided the additional senses, “suit of clothes” and “suite, retinue” (a group which shares the same livery or set of distinctive clothing, here the flesh). Schmidt would extend the pun still further, to include the connotations “lawsuit” and “pursuit,” useful not only to later narrative developments, but as indicating ways in which Jesus’ participation in manhood enacts goals nonhuman in their inspiration. Eventually, Jesus’ human secte takes the particular form of penitential/patient poverty; cf. 11.100–154L, 16.99, 112; more distantly 19.451. B 5.487–90, as Bennett sees, introduce a theological precision which L suppresses in C, where he emphasizes the singularity of divine action, rather than acts distinct to each person. In 489–90, L describes “divine impassibility,” the doctrine that neither Jesus as Son nor the divinity in toto experienced any suffering in the passion, but that Jesus suffered only in the borrowed human secte (cf. esp. 20.25); by this representative and freely gracious act, he redeemed mankind, as the terms of Jesus’ conversation with Satan in passus 20 will indicate.

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——— as hit semed: Pearsall explicitly connects the phrase with the verb deyedest, a tribute to the surprise of the Resurrection. But it seems difficult to repress connections with in oure secte and in fourme of man, the deep mystery of infinite majesty circumscribed in weak humanity. Of course, the ambiguity is productive, the two events being deeply conjoined. B 5.490 it ladde: The Son led oure secte; he achieved his leadership by suffering in the secte and thereby elevated it into a new captivity to himself—rather than to Satan and sin. 130L (B 5.490L) Captiuam . . . : Eph. 4:8 (Wherefore he saith: Ascending on high, he led captivity captive), quoting Ps. 67:19 and alluding to 67:7. Bennett notes that Eph. 4:9 (He also descended first into the lower parts of the earth) refers to the Harrowing of Hell, a subject L introduces at 134. 131 (B 5.491) lees siht: Luke 23:44 describes the solar eclipse during the passion; cf. 20.61, 254. In contrast to the darkened world, Jesus, the true sun/son, will appear as a light (cf. John 1:4–10), the lucem magnam 134L, before hellgate at 20.269–75. On this and the next seven lines, see Schmidt’s very full notes. 132 (B 5.492) mydday . . . mel tyme of sayntes: Day (1932:317–18) draws attention to legendary accounts of Jesus feeding the saints with his blood daily; Wenzel (1988:164–65) suggests that the locution may rely upon moralized readings of Cant. 1:6: “Shew me . . . where thou feedest, where thou liest in the midday.” Day further notes that Jesus’ death occurred at the hora nona (3 p.m.), in the later Middle Ages associated with our noon. Although ful tyme of 7e daye B 5.488 appears parallel, Bennett suggests that it may refer to the plenitudo temporis of Gal. 4:4 (cited 18.126). Following Bennett, L may fuse the patriarchs in Limbo whom Jesus rescues with communicants who eat the eucharist as a memorial of his passion. He compares the familiar figure of Jesus as pelican, a bird that feeds its young with its own blood; one could add the description of Charity, 18.12–15. Cf. further FM 218/2–6: “He suffered at the ninth hour, that is, at the time when men commonly take a rest and allow themselves some refreshment in food and other bodily comforts. This hour rightly occurs at midday, when the sun is at its highest point” (Hora nona passus est, illo scilicet tempore quo homines ut communiter se reficiunt et ad maius solacium se disponunt in pastu et aliis solaciis corporalibus. Et hec hora recte in meridie diei accidit, quando sol est in maiori sua potestate).

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The exegetical topic “refrigerium sanctorum” sounds as if it should be relevant. However, given the specificity of 133 tho (implying near relation of sayntes and forfadres, simultaneously fed) it probably is not. This “refreshment” is associated with the forty or forty-five years of peace that are to follow the reign of Antichrist and precede the Last Judgment. While primarily a space in which sinners were to repent, this was for the just to be a time of “refreshment.” This reading, which appears in the ordinary gloss, ultimately derives from Jerome’s discussion of Daniel 12:12 (“The extension of the reign of the saints is proof of their patience,” PL 25:579); for discussion, see Lerner 1976:109–10, and cf. distantly PC 4623–46. The blood Jesus shares in the Incarnation appears repeatedly in the poem. At early moments, with Peace’s panne blody 4.74 or Piers’s blody bretherne 8.216, it evokes thorny issues of social justice; certainly consciousness of sin is one powerful discourse the poem mobilizes against potentially uncharitable behavior. But increasingly, L emphasizes incarnational connotations, e.g., the Samaritan’s reference to the medicinal blood (19.84–93), or the great evocation of secte as Jesus’ and man’s common blood, the latter “transsubstantiated” into a drink of love, at 20.399–442L, 450L. 133L (B 5.493L) Populus qui ambulat . . . : Isa. 9:2 (The people that walked in darkness, have seen a great light: to them that dwelt in the region of the shadow of death, light is risen), construed as a prophecy of the Harrowing of Hell and thus one biblical inspiration for the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus (cf. 130Ln, Pearsall 20.259n). But L may think directly of Nicodemus 18:1, where, when the great light appears before Hell, Isaiah quotes his own verse (in a form dependent on Matt. 4:16) to signify that his prophecy has been fulfilled. Like the apocryphal gospel, L evokes the Harrowing as a supernal act of Jesus’ mercy, an extension of his love which will undo the rigor of law. L repeats the verse at B 16.251 and at the appropriate moment during his narration of the Harrowing, 20.366 (B 18.323). 134–35 (B 5.494–95) lihte ∂at lup . . . 兩 And brouhte (B blewe): Skeat cites the description at 20.364–69, and Pearsall1 refers to the similarly active leap of the Incarnation at 14.84 (it recalls 1.149–50). Hill (1973) analyzes the B lines as elaborating theological distinctions between actions proper to various persons of the Trinity (and following on B 5.487–90). 137 (B 5.497) A synful marie: The Magdalen, at Mark 16:9, John 20:14 (the scene is described 21/B 19.157–62); as repentant sinner, she indicates Jesus’ special mission to and comfort of sinners, elaborated in the following lines.

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Cf. 11.261–62, where Will finds the issue of her sinful salvation a conundrum which contributes, not to his hope, but to his despair. 138L (B 5.498L) Non veni . . . : Matt. 9:13 or Luke 5:32 (I am not come to call the just, but sinners to penance). 139 (B 5.499) hath ymade: Skeat sees an allusion to John 1:18. Given the echo from 24, where Sloth would prefer “an harlotry” to the gospels, and the eventual reprise of this moment in passus 20, the reference underlies L’s claim to achieve there something like true biblical imitatio (cf. 106)—at long last, after beginning his work with the satirical “makings” mentioned at 5.5. The reference to douhtiokest dedes 140 further develops the idea (see 20.36). Bennett cites ME parallels for Jesus as the knightly figure who appears in passus 20 and 21 (add Ancrene Wisse 7.3–4, EETS 325:146–48). The topic again appears in sethen oure sauyour 144, an allusion to Jesus as a conqueror called Crist 147 (cf. 21/B 19.30–62). This evocation of knightly conquest places L’s poem squarely within the great subject matter of alliterative geste, just as has been promised at 106. It is comparable to such works as the alliterative Morte Arthure, Destruction of Troy, or Wars of Alexander. For further discussion, see Woolf (1958:144–45 and 1962), and for additional examples of the ubiquitous sermon set-piece that presents Jesus as knight-lover of mankind, Wenzel 2008:97–99 (with further references), 101, 110–11; Hanna 2008:197–99. Later in the same sermon which Wenzel reproduces (121), the preacher compares Jesus’ crucifixion and descent into hell with Orpheus and the harp that he uses for his powerful “minstrelsy” in hell. douhtiokest has no parallels in MED, and, although the sense is perfectly clear, the form is probably at least partially erroneous. Rather than the usual superlative, douhtiest (OE dohtig), this form represents a ME coinage in which the adjective is extended through the further adjectival suffix -lic (cf. such a pair as worthy/wor[thi]ly; and MED doughtiliche adv., with adverbial -lice). But then one should expect the word to have a medial ‘l’ (douhti[l]okest). This may have dropped out accidentally in a sequence involving four other graphemes written with ascenders; the resulting form has been preserved by fastidious scribes. 140L (B 5.500L) Verbum caro . . . : John 1:14 (And the word was made flesh, and dwelt among us), also cited at 3.356 (cf. 128Ln). 143 (B 5.503) of flesch oure bro∂er: C explicates what is left implicit in B. Bennett compares 12.109–16, 20.418–438L, while Pearsall1 aptly adds 8.216–18

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and cites a ME “lullaby” lyric that plays upon the multiple familial relations between Jesus and man (printed Ker 1965:233). 144–47: This small C addition clarifies the stages of God’s engagement with man and recalls, with new biblical warrant, the promise that underlies that historically developing relationship. seydest with thy tonge 144 alludes to the Latin of 147L, paraphrased in the intervening lines. The clause reidentifies Jesus with the Father who inspires the Jewish prophecy here quoted. But simultaneously, in naming Jesus oure bro7er, Repentance asserts an explicitly “new law” promise and restates the ubiquity of divine mercy; cf. 132n. 147L Quandocumque . . . : Cf. Jer. 31:34 (I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more). Translate L’s citation, as Marchand (1991) shows, from ps.-Ezechiel 33:12: “Whenever a sinner shall have lamented for all his iniquities, I will remember them no more.” 150 (B 5.505) in gost or in dede (B in word, ∂ou√t, or dedes): Echoed in Piers’s description of (the land of) Conscience in 204–7, language from the “Confiteor” (an echo that renders Hope’s horn in the next line particularly appropriate). Contrast the traditional description of Wrath, mentioned 6.103–17n. 151 (B 5.506) an horn of deus . . . : Ps. 84:7 (Thou wilt turn, O God, and bring us to life); cf. also Ps. 70:20 (Turning thou hast brought me to life, and hast brought me back again from the depths of the earth). As Schmidt sees, substantial portions of Ps. 70, esp. vv. 5 and 14, express David’s continuing hope in affliction. Bennett notes the aptness of the verse to Repentance’s priestly offices; it appears in the priest’s prayer following the “Confiteor.” Although he suggests that Hope’s horn may be derived from the Easter anthem “Exultet” (already cited 125L), Schmidt persuasively links it with the psalmist’s identification (17:3) of the Lord in whom he hopes as “cornu salutis meae” (the phrase also occurs at Luke 1:69). (This verse appears in the mass after the priest’s communion.) With the musical adoration which marks the end of the speech, Bennett compares Peace and Truth’s music at 20.451, 467; Aers (1988:39), less reverently, sees the music as the socially acceptable language deconstructed by Glutton’s Bakhtinian discourse of the body at 6.400– 402 (cf. Farten ne fythelyn 15.205). In PLM’s ship of Religion, Latria (proper praise), as part of her “jogelerye” of heaven, carries a horn. It is, however, not penitential, but associated with performing the canonical hours (the horn’s

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name, “In adiutorium,” is the opening phrase of each service in the Book of Hours). 152 (B 5.507) beati quorum . . . : Ps. 31:1 (Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, and whose sins are covered), the opening of the second of the seven penitential psalms, also cited at 14.117L, B 13.52–54 and 14.94. 154 (B 5.509) Homines et iumenta . . . : Ps. 35:7–8 (Men and beasts thou wilt preserve, O Lord: O how hast thou multiplied thy mercy, O God!). But regrettably, the iumenta almost immediately reappear in the English simile of 159. 155–260 (B 5.510–642, 6.1–2; A 5.251–54, 6.1–123, 7.1–2) The folk’s pilgrimage to Truth, their meeting with Piers the Plowman, and Piers’s itinerary to Truth: At this point, the formalized penitential process begun at the opening of the preceding passus has ended. Yet there remains one task for the folk to complete, the works of satisfaction that will indicate their desire for full absolution for past sins (and their willingness to continue in a life of amendment). Traditionally, one such work is pilgrimage, and the folk set about it, as L’s dreamer customarily does, with zealous good will, if not a great deal of intelligence. Immediately sidetracked by their ignorance of the way to the shrine they seek, Truth’s, they look for counsel from the first person they meet, an ostentatious professional at the task (155–81 [A 5.251–6.24, B 5.510–36]). At just the point when this conversation seems doomed to end in frustration—the palmer has never heard of a St. Truth—a true guide and pilgrim emerges. This is Piers the plowman, whose counsels and actions will govern the remainder of the second vision. As he says immediately, he knows Truth “kyndely.” Thus, his initial speech to the folk elaborates a biography devoted to laboring in Truth’s service, a balance to that life ascribed to the dreamer at the head of C passus 5 (182–204 [A 6.25–46, B 5.537–59]). Piers follows up this account of devout service with an explicit roadmap of “the way to Truth”; this begins with the most basic instruction in God’s law, the Decalogue, and ends with a description of Truth’s “place.” This locale implicitly represents the tower with which the poem’s initial vision began, but, at the conclusion, Piers suggests to his audience that actually he has been describing, not the physical journey they have expected, but an inner pilgrimage designed to end in the loving heart (205–60 [A 6.47–94, B 5.560–608]). At this point, when Piers raises the possibility of recidivism, of a return to sin, matters become fraught. In his account, it would appear, the way is

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multiplied—both spatially, without and within; and temporally, a process perpetually repeated and not finite. In an effort at rallying his audience, Piers insists, as has Repentance on several occasions, on the abundant provision of divine mercy, the potential freedom associated with accepting a discipline that appears harsh. But a number of the folk, confused by what appear obscurities in the account, remain unconvinced, and the passus ends with assertions in various modalities that Piers has outlined a “way . . . ful wikked.” Some abandon the project altogether; others request further guidance, to be provided in the following passus (261–308 [A 6.95–7.2, B 5.609–6.2]). 157 (B 5.512, A 5.254) to go to treuthe: Reason’s sermon identifies this as the appropriate goal (5.198), in an echo of the injunction at 4.122–24. The seke of the A version perhaps makes the allusion most clearly. The penitents hope, of course, for a literal one-stop trip—one that would match their momentary zeal, yet not be unduly discomfiting; in this respect, they recall Avarice’s pledged pilgrimage (B 5.228–29, dropped in C), an impulse already revealed as short-sighted in Robert the robber/rifler’s pledge at 6.329–30. 157–58 (B 5.512–13, A 5.251–6.1) mote 兩 Ac: The A version has a passus break here. In A, L creates a concluding stasis for the passus, a hope, spoken propria voce, of actual renewal; the move forms, of course, a false rounding off of the penitential scene, to be followed in A passus 6 by the failure of this impulse. The passus division highlights the confrontation of palmer and plowman, the discrepancy between geographical and spiritual pilgrimages; cf. 5.197–98n and 165–69n below. 158–81 (B 5.513–36, A 6.1–24) The folk find no guide: All three versions acknowledge the laudatory desire of the folk (A perhaps especially in its unique line 252), but all insist equally upon difficulties of achieving or executing that desire. The folk (sins), as constructed, may be truly “sorry,” as Envy has shown himself (6.93), but from such a state can find no basis for advance or development, save along the lines already exemplified in their confessions. As opposed to finding some directed via to follow, the recent penitents lack inner guidance and become reduced to an instinctual level below “kind knowing” (cf. the dreamer at 1.136, 141, an ignorance to be answered by Piers’s use of kyndely 183). The effort at pilgrimage thus replicates the same old wanderings visible since Prol.21, moments similar to Dante’s “selva oscura” or Spenser’s Error. In this situation, both a trackless landscape and an unformed desire, the pilgrims seek counsel from the first person they meet, here a professional religious tourist. Yet any relevant exchange between pilgrims and palmer is

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deferred to the end of this segment (177–81). In a disruption of expectations, the intervening account is given over to physical description of this new figure (involving a sequence of troubling details), coupled with an insistence that the pilgrims are to see in him signes of sanctity. 159 (B 5.514, A 6.2) blostrede forth as bestes: The verb in this sense, “ramble blindly,” is certainly a westernism (and perhaps explicitly a Salopsism); the only other uses cited by MED occur in Cleanness and the poems of John Audelay, in both cases associated with the proverbial blind Bayard (cf. Ch, T&C 1.218–24). Schmidt connects bestes with the iumenta of the immediately preceding Latin and, following Robertson and Huppe´ (1951:75), compares biblical passages on lost sheep, e.g., Matt. 9:36, Ps. 77:52–53. However, Nature in PP is scarcely without value; cf. Kind at 13.131–78 and Imaginative’s subsequent explanation at 14.156–90. Perhaps more directly relevant would be L’s initial description of the rats and mice at Prol.165ff. or the London journey of 2.171– 252 (see further 205n). ——— baches and hulles: Although a typically indistinct Langlandian reference to landscape, this phrase returns the poem to a clearly rural setting. At the head of this vision, Will finds London a place that is no one’s home, a center populated by wandering miscreants (cf. Middleton 1990:58–59), and the scene of the first vision is not 7e contre 2.58, but Westminster. The via of the second vision reverses that of the first (cf. the East Midland origins signalled in 2.111–13 [B 2.110–11], all swept toward London, as fourteenth-century population in fact was). Now L moves the poem from the metropolis toward the ostensible periphery, paradoxically that place where the most central social labor, agriculture, occurs. Indeed, at line 200 exportation of Westminster-style behaviors, the offering of gratuities, is rendered morally problematic; similarly, cf. 96n and 108n. In this rural locale, L will shortly replace a road with actual geographical markers that refer to a specifically English countryside with a via whose stages are entirely spiritualized; cf., for example, 2.95 with lines 223–24 below, and see further 182–204n, 205–31n. 161 (B 5.516, A 6.4) Aparayled as a paynyem in pilgrimes wyse: Insofar as he represents for L a legitimate Christian activity (in addition to Reason’s strictures, cf. Prol.47–55), the palmer resembles far too closely the penitential pilgrims he is to instruct. The externals of his discipline have replaced for him the spirit in which pilgrimage should be undertaken (and he consequently cannot know Truth). One might profitably gloss the portrayal from Culler

184

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(1988): like modern tourists, the palmer finds the plenitude of foreign, allegedly spiritual, experience beyond his ken, only comprehensible through its reduction to souvenir. But L equally insists upon another aspect of the tourist enterprise, its ostentation and one-up-manship: men sholde yknowe 兩 And se 168–69 places value, not in inner spiritual benefit, but in impressing onlookers by the energy with which travel has been pursued (similarly @e may se 174). But for the pilgrim folk, even the palmer’s open Signes prove illegible; on the assumption that he will surely have visited the most important saint they know of, they ask him where he has traveled (170) and receive, not the name they expect, but only an oriental itinerary. They must wait until line 205 to hear the route they seek, one that involves clearly redemptive action. See further 201–4n. The palmer’s clothing suggests a multiple antipathy. On the one hand, his dress is professionally appropriate, but L’s qualifications express a distaste for the profession at large (cf. 5.198n). The palmer’s external clothing resembles that of someone not a Christian at all; like John Mandeville, this man has gone native in the Eastern sites central to life of Jesus. See Pearsall’s note for evidence that this was a regular custom. His signs (see 165–69n) are all that identify his goals as specifically different from simple oriental travel, an implication also lurking in the skewed emphasis of lines 174–75, which recall both the dreamer’s (cf. Prol.4–5) and Mandeville’s interest in wonders. 162–63 (B 5.517–18, A 6.5–6) a bourdoun: Especially in the context of pyk 180 (cf. 6.328–29n), the implement should probably be associated with the hokede staues of Prol.51. Scott (1990:36–37), in her discussion of the eighteenth illustration of MS Douce 104, notes the illuminator’s attention to the brood liste 兩 In a wethewynde wyse; such a slender rod wrapped around the pilgrim’s staff in visual iconography “had come to signify a pilgrimage completed.” The detail, like the pilgrim’s Signes, draws attention to the disparity between this figure’s discrete itinerary and the perpetually repeated pilgrimage Piers describes at lines 261ff. below. 164 (B 5.519, A 6.7) A bolle and a bagge; cf. 180 scrippe: See Prol.52n, 5.52n, 9.119n. The implements also accommodate the palmer to descriptions of false beggars that will emerge in passus 9. Judas alone among the apostles had a bag (see John 12:6, 13:29), and his activity contrasts with Jesus’ injunctions to the disciples in Luke 10:4 (see 83Ln, 100Ln). As Lambert shows (1961:63–66), carrying a bag could become a contentious issue, particularly within the Franciscan order. Francis’s “Regula prima” identifies the archetypal bad brother as loculos haben[s], but Judas’s bag, in later debates over the order’s commitment to

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poverty, had become a sign that Franciscans could not claim to lack dominium over real property on apostolic warrant. In the early fourteenth century, the Spiritual Ubertino da Casale specifically attacked the use of bursarii to carry Franciscan money on journeys as an abrogation of Francis’s original intentions (Lambert 1961:188). Ironically enough, one of the palmer’s badges, his Sign[e] of syse (166, unique to C), shows that he has been to Assisi; contrast what Piers makes of a scrip at 8.60–63, with another gospel allusion. 165–69 (B 5.520–24, A 6.8–12) Signes: Past commentators offer useful identifications of these emblems with various sites, respectively Assisi, Compostella (with its “cockle-shells,” in Galicia), Rome (with Peter’s keys—see further 182n, 200–201n). For Veronica’s vernicle, preserved at St. Peter’s in Rome, see SJ 95–96, 165–72, 221–64 and the discussion there. The list continues at 170 with references to the monastery of St. Katherine at Sinai, the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Babylon (near Cairo and associated with the holy family’s flight into Egypt), Armenia (resting place of Noah’s ark), Alexandria, and Damascus. Mandeville’s Travels, in its various versions—M. C. Seymour edits the widely circulating “Defective Version” in EETS 319—offers accounts of many of these sites. 177 (B 5.532, A 6.20) corsent: The alliterating syllable, as Skeat sees, ⬍ OF cor(p)s, may insist specifically on Truth’s physicality, his availability as a locally present reliquary body. Cf. the initial terms of Will’s own search in the Vita, wher dowel was at ynne 10.4. 178 (B 5.533, A 6.21) whoderout (AB wher): Following MED, C is slightly more specific than the other texts (“in what direction?”); the form appears elsewhere only at B 16.12 and in one version of The Seven Sages of Rome. 182–204 (B 5.537–59, A 6.25–46) Piers Plowman steps forth, explains his relationship to Truth, and agrees to direct the pilgrims on the way to Truth: L begins his fitful development of this figure as the clearest approximation of the poem’s way to Truth (see further 183–84n). Piers’s longest sustained appearance in the poem will consume much of the rest of this vision; Troyer (1932) gathers together all the other appearances of and references to Piers Plowman across all three texts. Obviously enough, this figure, beyond inspiring poets of “the PP tradition” (e.g., PPCrede 795ff.; JU 73–74 and FDR 34–35, 54–55), has been the subject of considerable discussion; for biblical backgrounds/parallels and earlier antecedents, see Burdach 1926–32:31ff., 204, 221–23, 293; Dunning 1980:88, Owst 1961:569–72, Mroczkowski 1966:275n;

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Camille 1987:430. Aers (1975:77–109) provides a useful conspectus of past opinions, including Coghill’s impressive early reading (1933). Aers offers a broad and sensible suggestion about reading Piers’s appearances in the poem, that various meanings coagulate about the character according to L’s sense of the reader’s (and Will’s) capacity to accommodate them; cf. Overstreet 1989–90. At the most basic, the plowman here appears as generic everyman. He instantiates the human condition that follows from Adam’s primal sin and God’s curse on him: “Cursed is the earth in thy work; with labor and toil shalt thou eat thereof all the days of thy life. Thorns and thistles shall it bring forth to thee. . . . In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread till thou return to the earth, out of which thou wast taken” (Gen. 3:17–19; see further 8.241L). In these terms, plowing represents the “fruits” of sin, a perpetual reminder of man’s fallen state and his estrangement from divinity. Cf. the first image, showing Adam delving, in the west window genealogy of Jesus at Canterbury Cathedral, illustrated in color on the cover of Rackham 1957. Ultimately, Jesus, as “the gardener of the Resurrection scene” (cf. John 20:15 and 21/B 19.157–62), provides an antitype to this portrayal. The proofs that fill the conclusions of the gospels, that he has risen in the body, equally implicate Piers, on the basis of the character’s penultimate development, his association with the flesh that incarnates divinity, at 20.19–25. Inherently then—and this inner strength produces Piers’s enthusiastic approach to labor—plowing should be, just as pilgrimage, a penitential act. If the palmer is showy without and vacuous within, the predictably grubby Piers, called from his field work to address the pilgrims, will reveal an inner light predicated upon his enforced yet confident service. His tasks—sowing and setting, weeding, and harvesting—echo one of the great penitential metaphors of the later Middle Ages. In this depiction, all Christians are enjoined to extirpate (literally “pull up, root out”; cf. eradicate) from the soil of their hearts the vices, and, in their stead, to insert (literally “plant”) the virtues. For one of most widely distributed discussions, Lorens’s hortus deliciarum, see BVV 92– 97, also underlying a passage reprising Piers’s operation here, the Tree of Charity (18.1–119, cf. the more pointed allusions of B 16.1–87) and see 270n. Much of the poem’s later development of this imagery is implicit in the agrarian parables of Matt. 13. These suggest another “figure” for virtue as vegetative growth only actuated by the grammatical multiplication of 10.76: virtue as acquired through progressive stages. Here Gregory provided the great stimulus at Moralia 22.40.46 (PL 76:240–41), a reading of Job 31:37, “At every step (gradus) of mine.” Gregory associates this verse with the blade, the ear, and “the full corn in the ear” of Mark 4:26–29; it marks a progress to “the fruit of virtue.” Cf. A 10.121–30, BVV 23/29–24/9, SV 4273–4306.

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One of L’s most attentive readers, Edmund Spenser, implicitly understood Piers’s role in the poem as penitential. His Red Cross Knight/St. George is an English changeling brought to Faeryland and abandoned in “a heaped furrow, 兩 Where [him] a Ploughman all vnweeting fond, 兩 As he his toylesome teme that way did guyde” (Faerie Queene 1.10.66). As plowman, the lad is named Georgos, as if “geos-orge,” “tilyenge the erthe, that is his flesshe,” an etymology for the saint’s name offered by the Legenda aurea; see further Lawler 2013:71–74. Spenser highlights plowman George’s connection with Piers when, a few stanzas earlier (1.10.64), he describes the character’s willingness to give up his chivalric career to remain with Contemplation and “walke this way in Pilgrims poore estate.” Cf. Hamilton 1958, and for Spenser’s broader debt to ME verse, King 2000. For comparable connections between Piers and knighthood, to be most powerfully evoked in 20.20–25, see 139n and 8.19–55n, 167–78n. However, these penitential implications remain to be developed in the course of this vision (see, for example, 8.62–63, 92–94). Here in his initial appearance, Piers seems, both in his desire to be of helpful assistance, and following upon a sequence of earlier references, an idealized type of productive rural labor. Such a view of the plowman has been central to the poem’s discourse since its earliest moments. See, for example, Prol.22–24 and 142–46, where plowing, because of its essential role in producing the food that sustains common life, stands as a metonymy for the labors of this world (cf. Howard’s moving comments, 1966:194–200); or 3.435, 452–53; 4.144. The portrayal begins within those social discourses that have driven the first vision, in which law becomes a laborer—a servant—a possibility to be investigated, and subsequently problematized, in passus 8 where Piers’s efforts at constructing a serviceable law disintegrate (cf. 8.156–70). Such an imaginative appraisal rests upon L’s firm sense of how medieval society was constituted. Camille (1987:426) describes the plow as “the most important single piece of machinery in the feudal economy and, together with the four oxen who drag it, . . . an absolute essential in the life and prosperity of all levels of society” (cf. Kirk 1988:13). But the plow and plowman do not simply constitute the basis of society in terms of dietary well-being, but form the most ubiquitous and basic model for cooperative communal effort (cf. 5.180–90n). The usual eight-ox team typically involved, not just the contribution of more than one household, but a fairly elaborate division of labor in the field as well (see Homans 1941:46–50). Kirk (1988:5–6) reads his huyre 196 literally in identifying Piers as a hired hand, a day laborer. But a good many details in passus 8, most particularly Piers’s role in commanding the work of others, performing as a reeve should,

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C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

do not accord with such a reading, although Baldwin (1988:68) notes that a reeve “was almost inevitably a bondsman.” Plowmen were typically substantial figures in the rural community, often “half-virgate” men with two stock-beasts and about fifteen acres of arable. See Hilton 1975:21–27, Dyer 1983:196 and 1994, Homans 1941:245–48, Hanawalt 1986:114. Although the list of duties Truth enjoins (191–92), particularly that at B 5.545–48, seems deliberately expansive, including tinkering and tailoring, weaving and spinning, in excess of normal plowman responsibilities, it indicates Piers’s willingness to serve Truth in every conceivable way he’s told. However, as Kirk argues (1988), L’s invocation of this figure represents a largely new view of agricultural labor. Certainly, as for example Salter and Pearsall (in their note here) or Carruthers (1973:66) allege, rural laborers frequently play an exemplary role in the Bible as types of right action; cf. such honorific uses as the parable of the sower (Matt. 13:3–23) or the apparent commendations of 2 Tim. 2:3–7, Luke 9:62, Ecclus. 6:18–20, James 5:7, or Isa. 2:4, simply to mention a handful of examples. But in all these instances, agricultural acts remain essentially metaphorical, vehicles for some broader spiritual statement; although plowmen might be taken as types of a virtuous life, L’s insistence upon the positive value of harsh labor redefines the tradition he received, as Kirk demonstrates. Only in the fourteenth century does such labor begin to be accorded positive value. Camille (1987:esp. 430–34) discusses the positive depiction of rural labor in manuscript illumination that shortly predates L, and L’s own poem may have stimulated many of the apparent analogues, as it did the Wycliffite PPCrede, for example. As Kirk suggests, earlier literary analogues are particularly sparse. The most persuasive instance, “The Song of the Husbandman” (in the West Midlands British Library, MS Harley 2253) uses a plowman as communal spokesman. He laments against the ill times, particularly the low agricultural returns that followed the Great Famine of the late ‘teens and the equally destructive exactions of estate and royal agents. This plowman speaks for the “pickedover poor” (see 24) and despairingly laments the failure that now follows hard and honest labor, “Ase god is swynden anon as so forte swynke.” Another initially honorific account, evoking an idealized rural landscape and its laboring agricolae, appears in the Latin “De diversis ordinibus hominum” 193–208 (Wright 1841:235, the poem temp. Edward II?). However, about halfway through, this presentation turns satirical; this poet’s farmers use their Sundays for gluttonous stuffing, not rest. 182 (B 5.537, A 6.25) Peter: Although this turns out to be this plowman’s name (see 200–201n), in the narrowest sense, the name appears here as an oath of

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greeting. Peter is conventionally depicted with his keys, an indication of his role as gatekeeper of heaven (cf. Prol. 128–33). See further 243, which associates both apostle and plowman with the gateward of Piers’s pilgrimage, Grace. Bennett cites Tamplin’s discussion (1969:403–5) of GGK 813, which offers several parallels. ——— potte forth his heued: As Bennett suggests, he is in his field by 7e heye waye 8.2 and sticks his head through the hedge on overhearing the would-be pilgrims’ interrogation of the palmer. The clause echoes Holychurch’s “put forth thy resoun” (2.52), as Middleton (2013:117, 119) would argue, the constructive production of L’s poem. 183–204 (B 5.538–59, A 6.26–46) Piers and his relationship with Truth: The poem returns to that rural world of labor that forms the subject of Reason’s interrogation of the dreamer at 5.13–21. Concomitantly, L deserts the London world of Meed that he describes Will inhabiting (and that the law case of the rural character Peace has shown as being contaminated by the Meed world of Westminster at 4.45–104). In contrast, Piers follows Conscience’s definitions of passus 3 (in C 290–406, but Piers still in C thinks of B 3.255–56), as his references to huyre 194–96 and mede 200–204 indicate. He presents himself as the ideal man imagined in Conscience’s messianic rhetoric and imbued with a sense of social just return, a connection he acknowledges as basic in 184. Piers’s description of agricultural work looks ahead to the plowing scenes of passus 8 as both a renewed or purified foundation of the commonwealth and a redefinition of pilgrimage. 183–84 (B 5.538–39, A 6.26–27) I knowe hym as kyndely: Translate: “I know him in the same natural way as a learned man, by his nature literate, knows books,” a claim to be actuated in the quarrel that marks the end of the vision in AB (cf. B 7.138–39). Bennett cites materials from passus 1 (see 158–81n above), an indication that Piers responds, not just to Conscience, but to Holychurch’s teaching as well. The identification of Conscience and Kind Wit as the figures who showed the way, coupled with their conjunction at Prol.142– 46, establishes the terms for Piers’s further elaboration of pilgrimage as the labors of this world in passus 8. Note the echo at B 13.131–32, where Conscience says, “I knowe Piers.” The dreamer, who seems incapable of kind knowing, is Piers’s antitype; such an inverse relationship animates his eventual appearance at 9.285 and his lucubrations at the end of that passus. To Bennett’s references, add 1.159–64, lines that shape the climax of Piers’s pilgrimage in line 255 below.

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C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

184 (B 5.539, A 6.27) kenned me to his place: Identifies the source of the outline pilgrimage route Piers will give in a moment, since place here probably means “manor” (as in line 233 below). 185 (B 5.540, A 6.28) sykeren (AB suren) hym . . . to seruen hym: Neither term appears in Alford 1988c. However, MED seuren, sense c (not entirely distinct from sense a), offers a variety of uses associated with formal oaths, and particularly invocations of swearing one’s faith or (here redundantly and reciprocally) one’s trouth. MED sikeren, in the same sense and context, appears, for example, at GGK 394, MA 2585. For serven as a term of legal obligation (and the normal statute term for owing another one’s labor), see 5.7–8n, 12n, etc.; Piers’s usage, expressive of gracious willingness, doubly emphasizes his commitment (“work for him serviceably”?). 188 (B 5.544, A 6.34) Withynne and withouten: “Indoors and out of doors,” but not necessarily a depiction of specific activities, simply the generalized “everywhere, in all circumstances.” 188 (B 5.554, A 6.34) his profit: Piers’s language echoes Covetise’s rather different view of the topic (6.208), and within the same thematic, that of autobiographical narrative. One might contrast Winner’s charges of bad estate management lodged against the allegedly profligate Waster at W&W 233–37, 273–76, 286–93. 189 (B 5.542, A 6.30) al this forty wynter: The figure, whatever its status as a medieval “good round number,” could be associated with the dreamer’s age in Dowell, usually forty-five years (B 11.47; 14.3). Piers has known naturally what to do for Truth and has pursued this knowledge for an entire working life; the dreamer, in the Dowell biography, has frittered away an even longer period. For discussion, see Burrow 1981 and Middleton 1990:esp. 56–57. In readerly retrospection, Piers’s reference provides the first hint of the dreamer’s discovery in his “makings” of a responsible model for action and of his later desire to follow and learn from Piers, as if his similar or ally. More immediately, it contrasts with the skewed and shifting professionalism of the Seven Deadly Sins. Piers’s persistence might be taken as enacting one of the great “plowverses” of Scripture, Luke 9:62: “No man, putting his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” This persistence again recalls Will’s claim (5.35–36) that his actions are justified by their duration, since that long-ago moment when his parents and protectors set him to his task; see the

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

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note there and esp. the connection with the Lollard William Thorpe, who uses Luke 9:62 to suggest that turning from such vocation forms a total loss of identity. Just as pregnantly in the light of the events of the next passus, leaving one’s proper (i.e., one’s customary lord’s) plow was construed as a socially destructive act by the drafters of the Statute of Laborers; cf. 23 Edw. III. Pream. (SR 1:307) which speaks of “the grievous incommodities, which of the lack especially of Ploughmen and such labourers may hereafter come.” B 5.545 (A 6.33) Idyked and Idolue: Kirk cites the description of the plowman’s responsibilities from Fleta (1988:4), which identifies such spadework as a duty; in the field, the plowman tends and refurbishes the furrows and keeps the grain-bearing plants above rain run-off that might damage them. Cf. Homans 1941:45, and see 8.114 for another version of diking and delving in the field. The paired verbs in /d/ are not quite synonymous; dikes means “ditches,” implying the construction of a system to handle run-off, as opposed to more general activities. The appearance of this doublet to describe Ch’s Plowman (CT I.536) is an initial indication of the later poet’s debt to PP. 193 (B 5.549, A 6.36) to paye: “To his satisfaction” (Skeat), and cf. the prominent uses at Pearl 1 and 1212 (as well as another dozen passages). But Piers’s own satisfaction in his labor fluctuates through the next two passu¯s, and the character perhaps reveals here a certain naive self-congratulation at his own laboring efficacy (“to my satisfaction, too”; cf. the unique and more explicit A 6.35). See Kirk 1972:72, 76; Baker 1980:721–22. Bennett compares Matt. 25:23, from the parable of the talents: “Well done, good and faithful servant,” the verse continuing (as a prolepsis of C 21/B19.258–61), “Because thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will place thee over many things.” (Contrast Will as the dishonest steward of Luke 16.) 196 (B 5.552, A 6.39) his huyre ouer euen: Truth follows his own law, stated at Levit. 19:13: “The wages of him that hath been hired by thee shall not abide with thee until the morning.” Skeat recalls Conscience’s statement at 3.304–10, with its allusions to the parable of the vineyard, Matt. 20:1–16, and Bennett refers to the extended exposition of this parable at Pearl 501–88 and to B 10.481L. Sloth hopes never to pay what he owes (see 33n), and Conscience inveighs against the diametrically opposed procedure, payment pre manibus at 3.293–310. 197 (B 5.553, A 6.40) leel of his tonge (AB louelich of speche): The brief C revision emphasizes Truth’s willingness to live up to his commitments (and

192

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

recalls 3.443–44, where love, lowness, and lewte are masters); see further 237– 39n. Piers shows a similar lewte in lines 200–203 when he refuses reward for offering information not in his job description—and thus spiritual counsel, one of the seven Spiritual Works of Mercy, supposed to be given freely to his fellows (cf. Matt. 10:8 and 9.55–56n). 199 Y wol wissen √ow wel ryht: Cf. FM 276/10–12: “Christ goes before us as a good teacher and leader, showing us the right way by which we shall follow him without going astray” (Christus sicut bonus doctor et ductor nos precedit rectam viam [cf. Piers’s use of ryht] nobis ostendens quomodo sine devio illum sequemur). Of course, this is the “strait way” Jesus describes in Matt. 7:14. See further 8.1–4n (including a continuation of the FM discussion). 200–201 (B 5.556–57, A 6.43–44) Peres . . . Peres: However, L presents, not simply a generic plowman, whether unredeemed sinner or local hero, but a specific one, with the Christian name Piers. The folk may hit upon this form of address as some form of alliterating generic identification, but in the following line L affirms their choice. The Franglish sobriquet associates this plowman with St. Peter. In the poem’s ultimate identification, Piers as Grace’s “procuratour and . . . reue” (21/B 19.258), his role answers Jesus’ promise, “Thou art Peter; and upon this rock I will build my church. . . . And I will give to thee keys of the kingdom of heaven. And whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth, it shall be bound also in heaven; and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth, it shall be loosed in heaven” (Matt. 16:17–19). The verses conventionally identify Peter, the first pope, as the foundation of the Church. His papal powers include the absolute ability to remit or condemn sin, and as the custodian of the church’s “treasury of merit,” the capacity to bestow God’s gift of grace on all Christians, customarily through the sacramental system, but also outside it, through indulgences and pardons. Cf. B 15.212n. However, as Aers’s formulation, mentioned in 182–204n implies, Grace’s reeve represents only the final stage of L’s conception, and the poem might be read as every bit as much a “Vita Petri” as it is frequently read as a life of the dreamer Will. Troyer’s gathered references to Piers Plowman are a complete conspectus, but they do not attend to a considerable amount of narrative shaping in which L silently relies on a Petrine model. At this point, for example, Piers is called from his field work to offer direction; similarly, Peter’s ministry begins when he and his brother Andrew are called from laboring with their nets “to be fishers of men” (Matt. 4:18–19). As line 183 implies, “Peter and John . . . were illiterate and ignorant men” but “filled with the Holy

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

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Ghost” (Acts 4:13, 7); the implications of this particular biblical account, their confounding of Annas the high priest and his company, will be played out at 9.289–93 (see the note there). More tellingly in this context, in the immediate aftermath of Pentecost, Peter delivers the first Christian sermon (Acts 2:14–36); just as Piers here, he is asked by his uncomprehending (Judean) audience, “What shall we do?,” and he responds by teaching them, “Do penance and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ, for the remission of your sins; and you shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost” (Acts 2:38). At the same time, one must recognize that Peter’s career is scarcely exemplary in all respects. In Luke’s account, for example, he tries to refuse Jesus’ call (“I am a sinful man, O Lord,” Luke 5:8); he is among those who ignore Jesus’ command “Wake and pray” (see 56n, 9.258–59n), and will deny his Lord three times before cock-crow (Matt. 26:33–35, 69–75). Echoes of biblical loci resembling these equally inform L’s Piers narrative; see further 8.Headnote. Thus, Jesus rebukes the sinking Peter, “O thou of little faith,” when he is incapable of walking over the waves to his master (Matt. 14:24–33); the narrative resonates with the friar’s description of the shipwreck of sin at 10.30–55. Again, the “pure tene” (zealous anger?) that Piers expresses on several occasions (8.124, B 7.119, B 16.86), may reflect the apostle’s implicit restiveness at accepting Jesus’ law of infinite forgiveness (cf. Matt. 19:21–22)—as also may the fact that the apostle, unnamed in the gospels, who strikes off the servant’s ear in an effort to protect Jesus is conventionally identified as Peter (Matt. 26:51–52). A final example: Peter is one of the witnesses to the Transfiguration (Matt. 17), in which Jesus is seen as more resplendent than the “horned Moses” (Exod. 34:29) whom he supersedes as prophet. Yet in his receipt of the pardon (B 7.119 et seq.), Piers resembles more nearly the Old Law figure than the Lord he follows. See further the notes to these various episodes. 201–4 (B 5.557–59, A 6.44–46): Stoke:s (1984:233) hears in the lines an echo of B 3.239–41. for seynt Thomas shryne 202 completes the critique of the palmer’s pilgrimages in its dismissive glance at the leading center of English pilgrimage; the shrine in Canterbury Cathedral has become only a name for wealth and ornament, not testimony to the archbishop’s sanctity of life. For Piers, taking so little as a farthing for his directions would imperil his soul just as surely as taking Becket’s hoard of treasure would. 205–31 (B 5.560–584, A 6.47–71) Piers’s explanation of the pilgrimage way to Truth: Like the Peter of Acts 2, an unlearned but spiritually inspired speaker, Piers assumes a function usually reserved to clerics, educating the spatially disoriented folk in their fundamental responsibilities. For the plowman as

194

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

preacher, see Barney 1973 and Lawler’s provocative comments (2013:67–68) on the ancient pun arator/orator: for plowing as a metaphor for more general literary endeavor (Piers as the object of the dreamer’s desire; cf. Ch, CT I.886–87 and 8.19–55n), see Cerquiligni-Toulet 1997:54ff., 120, 122ff. The need for a mapping of the sort Piers here provides has inhered in the poem since the initial visionary description at Prol.14–21. There “A fair feld ful of folk,” the demarcated world of men, the “mydelerthe” (13.129) of traditional alliterative poetry, sits fixed between the tower and the dale. But its connection with either locale, or the exact program by which one moves from it to either of them, remains obscure, indeed forms an unarticulated subject matter of L’s first vision. The fair field absorbs any motion beyond itself, and its possible renovation through social action has become the poem’s central subject in all three texts. Holychurch associates this field with anything except directed motion toward a goal, the confusion and ignorance she calls “3e mase” (cf. 1.5–8), and that one may identify as the recursion, the wandering, of sin itself. Certainly the passage most immediately echoed in the narrative pilgrimage Piers describes is that ragtag journey Meed and her adherents undertake in passus 2. They, like Piers’s pilgrims, head for “a court clear as the sun”; but the place they seek turns out to be the home of dreadful justice (cf. 2.217–19) and not the place of elaborate mercy Piers (like Repentance before him) describes. And both trips, of course, end most immediately in disarray, in a rejection of the very power the travelers initially believed they were seeking (see further 278–308n). Although the poem has provided signposts that imply how the space between field and tower/dungeon might be traversed, these only begin to inform the action through Piers’s words. Holychurch at 1.129–35 indicates the most basic parameters of the journey, a rule given incontrovertible form in the pardon text of 9.288–89. The journey from the field will be dreadful—the pilgrimage of death, not of life; its precise vector will depend upon the world of life, those works (cf. worchen and ywrouhte 1.129 and 131, egerunt 9.288) each inhabitant of the field can show at personal judgment. But the instruction Holychurch offers on how to work makes little impression on the dreamer: typically, she speaks as an anointed emissary from on high (cf. Cam doun fro 7e castel 1.4), and her largely metaphoric instruction leaves Will as torpid and confused as before (cf. her evanescence, rather than re-ascent, at 2.53). As the various echoes of Holychurch in the preceding lines indicate, Piers is the dreamer’s opposite, the figure who has responded to words like hers and conscientiously attempted to enact them. He thus is a person uniquely qualified to carry forward her instructional program. (After all, he fundamentally

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

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lays out what she has already identified at 1.200 as the “gra3est way to heuene,” not, as will quickly emerge, exceptionally grei7 “direct” at all.) But Piers does know the way: as line 184 indicates, he has been taught it through his attention to an innate voice—and the further development of “the way” in the next passus relies upon this initial instruction. The path he outlines, of course, proves a narrative fixture of the poem—from such a direct repetition as Clergy’s route to Dowell at 11.139–45 to trips to a joust in Jerusalem or into the barn Unity. As largely a statement of “law,” it finds many echoes in the longest of the psalms, and one frequently included in private prayerbooks, “Beati immaculati” (Blessed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the law of the Lord, Ps. 118:1). Obviously enough, the allegorical pilgrimage has many antecedents. Skeat compares Rutebeuf’s Voie de paradis, for example; see further Wenzel 1974 and Barney 1988. Many details from Piers’s instruction are reprised at Mum 1223–66. 206 (B 5.561, A 6.48) go thorw mekenesse: Just as the Seven Deadly Sins begin with Pride, conventionally their root or origin, Piers’s map to salvation first passes through that virtue that remediates Pride, Humility (cf. 2.84–87, 6.10). Stokes (1984:183) argues that this virtue appropriately undoes Meed’s lordly behavior, citing as antecedents B 4.109, 142, 160 (the last equivalent to 4.160). The highway to Clergy begins with a stage of similar self-abnegation; see 11.104–5. 207 (B 5.562), A 6.49 yknowe of god sulue (AB ∂at crist wite ∂e so∂e): The following AB line depends on, and modifies, so7e here: “into (the land of) Conscience, so that God may know that truth, viz. that you love him.” Translate the C version: “into Conscience, and are recognized (here yknowe modifies @e) by God himself as loving him.” 208–12 (B 5.563–65, A 6.50–52): The lines allude to Jesus’ restatement of the Law (here the rendition of the Decalogue at 213–29) and prophets as reducible to two great commandments, to love God and neighbor (see Matt. 22:37–40, where Jesus recalls Deut. 6:5 and Levit. 19:18). Piers contextually associates Conscience with the first of these commandments (cf. 1.143; the second is subsequent, cf. And thenne 211), as an appropriately fearful obedience. Similarly, PC is written entirely to create humble (or obedient) dread, “3e right way 3at lyggys til blys,” in its vast audience; cf. 139–234, 9482–9511, etc. L cites from Matt. 22 at A 11.241; cf. B 10.361–63 and the next note. Bennett notes Gal. 3:24 on the Law as preparation for Jesus’ coming and refers to other passages

196

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

that describe the fulfillment, rather than abolition, of the Law at 17.297ff. and 20.395L (the climax of the lengthy debate revealing Jesus’ absolute adherence to the Law). See further 15.134, B 15.582, and Spes’s patente, 19.12–20, 36–39, 98–105, etc. 210 for drede or for preeyere: “because of anyone’s threat or plea.” This line and the previous echo 1.143. 213 (B 5.566, A 6.53) a brok beth-buxum-of-speche: Among the initial effects described in Meed’s charter of marriage, Pride will render her and her mate “Vnbuxum and bolde to breke 3e ten hestes” (2.87); as part of Meed’s removal from the poem, Piers now reinstitutes the Decalogue as an operative text to guide social life. In this restatement of the ancient truths of Exod. 20, L may feel that selective presentation is adequate (especially following lines 208–12). The brook changes valence within the description, a foretaste of later difficulties (see 219n). Initially, it rather resembles the recreational burne of AB Prol.8, an opportunity to trace out a lazy rural walk, and, as a direction to follow, the traversing of a path of obedience, not one constructed of one’s own will. However, in 214 fynde a ford L realizes this landscape differently, as a limen or transitional space that provides access to more advanced stages. Like the rural walk, this might be considered a topic from romance; battles that test and define knightly identity traditionally occur in such a locale of transition (cf. the ironic allusion at GGK 715–17). The ford/passage, explicitly associated with the fourth commandment, “Honor thy father and thy mother,” recalls another of the poem’s unfortunate openings, the head of Pride’s confession at 6.15–16; compare the absolute boundary and (to that dreamer, confusing) inversion of this commandment persistently associated with the stream in Pearl. Paradoxically both barrier and passage, entering the ford, wading and washing there, involve, not difficulty, but a greater freedom of activity. These various changes, as well as the imagery of washing, suggest that the brook should be read as the fundamental entry into Christian status, the sacrament of baptism. One can lepe 7e lihtloker after Be-buxom because the guilt of original sin has been removed. The line provides the first instance of a major topic in this account; in spite of the pilgrims’ resistance to adopting this reading, Piers routinely attempts to show Truth’s way not as constraint but freedom. Just as Jesus fulfils the Law in his absorption of Deut. 6:5, so the sacramental system absorbs the Law in its full implications. Here Holychurch’s allusion to the sacrament at 1.72–75 provides useful background; as BVV 3/10–24 and 325 indicate, the command to honor one’s parents extends to

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

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spiritual as well as corporeal superiors—first one’s godparents, those borwes who stand surety at baptism, then one’s priest. As an early step in Piers’s highway, the description qualifies the dreamer’s enthusiasm for baptism as a Christian cure-all at 10.351–76, 11.75–83. For extended compound names like Be-buxom, see 4.17–23n, as well as @euan-@elde-a@eyn 6.308–10n and lauacrum-lex-dei 19.75. 217 (B 5.570, A 7.57) but-if-it-be-for-nede: Schmidt aptly compares Glutton at 6.428. As Chaucer’s Pardoner argues (CT VI.707–8), unnecessary oaths, especially the popular ones that refer to pieces of God’s body, crucify Jesus anew (similarly BVV 321 foot). Contemporary Decalogue tracts allow swearing in a good cause, e.g., as a judicial oath (after all, a witness of Truth), e.g., BVV 1/21–2/13, 319–22. However, contemporary with PP, even this licit oath was controversial, the Wycliffite objections to the procedure outlined by Hudson (1988:371–74). 219 (B 5.572, A 7.59) a croft ac come thou nat ∂erynne: However, the pilgrimage is far from absolutely straightforward. Bennett, for example, expresses discomfort with the “surprising” direction, “Ac com thow nat 3erynne.” He thus identifies a strength of the passage that elevates it above the inertness of which many commentators have complained. For the most part, L describes locales not of achievement but of evil. For example, bere-no-fals-witnesse 227 is the place where people forswear themselves and get rewarded for it (with the floreynes and fees that make the plonte[s], its hedgelike enclosure). Thus the landscape is filled with misnomers, places known as what they are not, and, in contrast to many “houses” that typify peripatetic dream narratives, to be avoided, not entered. The directions Piers gives enact, in some measure, the advice of Ps. 36:27: “Decline from evil and do good (Declina . . . et fac bonum), and dwell for ever and ever.” The passage thus rewrites one of Will’s habitual failures, inevitable given his professed ignorance of “kind knowing.” At 1.55 and 2.4, for example, he operates, in asking for knowledge of evil, as if the Psalter had said “Declina aut fac” (or “Declina et facias”), not “et fac,” as if simple avoidance of evil would prove salvific. In Piers’s depiction, that reading of the verse has already been left far behind (cf. lines 208–10). The entire pilgrimage, properly undertaken, is the act of negation that externally identifies these prohibited locales and remains dutifully apart from worldly contamination while traversing a more difficult road. Given the localization of sin, the way that avoids it is presumptively virtuous. But it is simultaneously difficult because, within the passage, the way may only be defined

198

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

as an act of aversion, as the refusal (or the paradoxically successful failure) to stop at any of those markers that tell what it is not. Yet correspondingly, the misnomers are potentially debilitating; the road does not appear so ryht as Piers has earlier claimed (cf. after a further dose of allegorical shock therapy, Contemplation at 307–8), but a series of shunnings, turnings from. One might recall the capacity of the sins to wrap themselves in the rhetoric that Repentance believes exists only to identify them in their full sinfulness. Just like the baptismal river, Be-buxom, the other bits of landscape description reinforce the associated commandments. L here visualizes Covetnot as a croft; either a small field or a garden plot attached to a private dwelling; the description draws a clear line between a public way and that space (and its contents) properly one’s neighbor’s. (B 5.575 [A 6.62], with its reference to hedge-breaking, may specifically imply a small field.) The stokkes 223 Steal-not and Slay-not represent implements of violence; like Lady Meed (cf. 2.5 and further 1.111–19), they belong on the left hand, the side of evil. Bearno-false-witness, contextually activity directly opposed to the commands of Truth, appears as an empty image of the palace Piers will shortly describe; a hill, perhaps even a tumulus (berw), it includes no described dwelling. Unlike Truth’s place, with its open bridge, Bear-no is fenced in, enclosed; it imprisons, perhaps even is imagined as the burial place of, those who stop off there. 221 (B 5.574, A 6.61) ∂at: Bennett suggests that the emphatic pronoun introduces an independent clause: “That might harm them.” But perhaps more plausibly, since myhte does not seem altogether sensible in such a construction, construe 7at as dependent on coueyte-nat: “Don’t desire what might harm people, namely their possessions.” 226 (B 5.579, A 6.66) hold wel ∂in haliday heye til euen: Only the penultimate commandment (keep the sabbath, Exod. 20:8–11) is at all problematic in gross statement. In most contemporary tracts on the Decalogue, this commandment is associated with observing all church feasts, cf. BVV 322–24. Keeping the holiday through the whole day (cf. Sloth’s promise at lines 67–68 above) is a devotional obligation on the basis of Levit. 23:32: “From evening until evening you shall celebrate your sabbaths.” 230 (B 5.583, A 6.70) say-soth: “Tell the truth as it should be, and tell nothing else, whatever anyone entreats you to do.” The name echoes, in part, line 210 (unique to the C version). Bennett implies that the line states the antidote to Exod. 20:16, but as a positive injunction, it may summarize the entire Decalogue in a manner particularly appropriate to a world overrun by Meed. Cf.

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

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Ps. 14:3, which promises a dwelling in Truth’s palace to the man who “speaketh truth in his heart, who hath not used deceit in his tongue.” 232–60L (B 5.585–608, A 6.72–94) Piers describes Truth’s court: Like many other allegorical writings, Piers’s pilgrimage ends in a holy (in some instances, only apparently holy) house. For discussions of the tradition, see Cornelius 1930 and particularly Bauer 1973. L surely knew many previous allegories of this type; Bennett provides parallels, Schmidt cites sermon examples gathered by Owst (1961:77–85), and Bloomfield (1961:18) mentions The Abbey of the Holy Ghost. Also relevant are depictions of heaven, inspired by the New Jerusalem of Apoc. 21–22; the most prominent ME examples would include Pearl 973– 1152 and PC 8850–9383 (in the latter introduced as an original “liknes,” painstakingly allegorized and compulsively insistent upon sunny brightness). As Skeat sees, perhaps the proximate source (particularly in terms of lines 270ff.) is Robert Grosseteste’s Anglo-Norman poem depicting the Virgin as a Casteau d’amour, whose posterns are guarded by the remedial virtues; on L’s use of this text, see further the headnote to passus 20. ——— a Court as cleer as ∂e sonne: As the unique A 6.79–81 makes clear, Piers’s via ends where the poem begins, at the “tour on a toft” of B Prol.13–14; the passage thus summarizes and explicates all the prior evocations of Ps. 14 (see Mann 1994a). The description moves, in turn, from the defensive (yet equally welcoming) outworks, preserving the Church Militant; to houses offering supportive love; and finally, the penitential bridge that allows pilgrims entry. The description, one that would identify the court simply as Heaven, will come a cropper later in the passage (although cf. line 249), just as will preceding portions of the description. See further 255–60n and 278–308n, and cf. the more modest version of the structure with which the poem closes, the tithe-barn Unity. 233 (B 5.586, A 6.73) The mote is of mercy: Presumptively, L describes a moat functional because filled with penitent tears, the pilgrims’ active solicitation of divine mercy (cf. 21.366, 377–78). Bennett, perhaps troubled by the idea that a moat defends, rather than invites entry (a difficulty that L may wish to exploit), naturalizes this feature as “meeting-place rather than boundary between the Old Law and the New,” although his reading depends on a prior interpretation of lines 230–31 that seems to me dubious. However, mote might equally refer to the motte or artificial hill (the toft) constructed, when necessary, to give a castle the high ground and an imposing presence; in such a reading, Mercy becomes the foundation of the entire edifice (cf. 21.324).

200

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

234 (B 5.587, A 6.74) ∂e wallyng is of wyt for wil ne sholde hit wynne: Dunning compares (1980:93) Sawles Warde (cf. Prol.38); one might see the passage as adumbrating the meeting of Will and Wit at 10.114 and as stimulating the latter’s description of Castle Caro (10.127–49, 170–73), a severely truncated and differently focused version of this passage. Piers’s language at this point deliberately excludes the dreamer (and, insofar as they reflect him, the folk of the field). 235 (B 5.588, A 6.75) ∂at kynde: That is, Christendom, the belief itself, and by extension, its adherents. Schmidt’s suggestion, “mankind,” does not strike me as grammatical ME and overlooks the fact that, had that been what L meant, he might easily have written mankynde. 236 (B 5.589, A 6.76) bileue-so-or-thou-best-not-ysaued: Bennett notes the echo of the opening and closing clauses of the Athanasian creed. The allusion to this most minatory statement of belief looks ahead to the actual appearance of the text at 9.288–89. 237–39 (B 5.590–91, A 6.77–78) alle ∂e houses been yheled . . . 兩 The barres (lacking AB): Preceding lines describe Truth’s military architecture as defensive and exclusionary: his castle resists the onslaughts of the unfaithful and impious. But in these verses, L realizes other protective features more positively, as indwelling charity and mutual support. Similarly, PC 8798–849 introduces the description of New Jerusalem/heaven by explaining that the locale is the home of both the worldly Church Militant and the eternal Church Triumphant. Rather than being roofed in lead, heavy and inert, the entire structure— both common hall and private chamber, cf. 92Ln and B 10.97–102—is covered with love and the humble speech (so AB; in C, loyal speech, cf. 197n) among equals that love inspires. This roofing is further efficacious: lead melts easily, but love and low speech can burn with their own ardor, one capable of overcoming even staunch enmity; cf. Piers (Patience in B) at 15.142–48. The small C version expansion in line 239 reinforces these themes of mutual respect and support. The barres probably refer to a barricade placed at the entrance to the bridge: frequently in alliterative siege descriptions the term refers to smaller walls outside the main castle or its gates (cf. 20.281, 284— perhaps a portcullis?). But again the architecture is associated with the solidarity of the faithful in love. Rather than a proud military pile, the lines evoke self-abnegation as a mode of self-defense and of resolution.

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

201

240 (B 5.592) The Brygge: Piers turns from description of Truth’s castle to the actual via, the mode by which the pilgrim gains entry. This is the penitential process itself: the bridge of prayer rests upon piler[s] 241 that are sorrow for sins (and intercessory prayer), and it leads to a door whose hokes 242 are the almsdeeds associated with the works of satisfaction. The hokes answer Prol.132 and are the hinges there described; they belong to the gates of the Grace that releases one from sin. These will become at 9.320 the topic on which this vision closes. At the gates, the pilgrim cannot appeal to Grace 7e gateward 243 directly, but must first pass muster with His man amende-@ow 244: this advance is predicated upon a tokene 245 currently possessed by none of the folk, a sign that indicates the readiness for absolution, a thoroughly completed penitential activity, including works of satisfaction (which Treuthe will already know of). The tokene recalls and constructively redefines the souvenir-like signes that the palmer has earlier shown the pilgrims. The allegory in so elaborately architectural a form is a development of the B version. At A 79–81, rather than tracing a precise path to the gate, L insists on what may be more obvious, the presence of Truth, and his regality and power. The reference in A 81 to his control of De7 explicitly promises eternal life, a detail consonant with Holychurch’s instruction but intrusive within the BC development. (In later versions, uncontemplated at the time of A, the figure De7 appears in passus 20 and 22.) 245 (B 5.597, A 6.84) treuthe woet ∂e sothe: John But uses the clause, included in the poem from its earliest version, as a signal to introduce Will’s “making:” “Wille 3urgh inwit wiste wel 3e so3e” (A 12.99). B 5.602 (A 6.89, cf. 249) wayuen vp ∂e wiket: As Bennett argues, the locution suggests a low door (the pilgrim stoops humbly to enter, just as Everyman does when he reaches his tomb); thus the line may allude, once again, to the “angusta porta et arcta via” of Matt. 7:14. The C version generalizes, indeed makes the gate hye: Piers, in his enthusiasm, promises an easier access than the rather pessimistic view of the gospel (“pauci sunt qui inveniunt eam,” few there are that find it). B 5.603 (A 6.90) apples vnrosted (here bane A): Translate “uncooked fruit,” in allusion to Gen. 1:29–30, 3:16–17 (“Of every tree of paradise thou shalt eat, But . . .”). 251L (B 5.603L) Per Euam cunctis . . . : “Through Eve [the gate of heaven] was shut upon all mankind and through the Virgin Mary it was opened wide

202

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

again.” Hort (1938:167) identifies the source as an antiphon sung at Lauds in the period between Easter and Ascension. She and Schmidt refer to the exegetical tradition that names Mary the gate of paradise. It is a commonplace that the Virgin turned Eva (E! Vae! “Oh woe”) into Ave (“Hail!” Luke 1:28); see the first sermon of the York Augustinian John Waldeby’s cycle on the “Ave Maria” or Howlat 736. 252 (B 5.604, A 6.91) ∂e keye and ∂e clykat: Cf. “the lock of love” 1.197, also simultaneously gate, key, and way (1.200). Bennett associates the king’s slepe with Jesus’ stay in the Virgin’s womb. Line 253, unique to the C version, perhaps explains the earlier readings: the king can sometimes even sleep, an act a dutiful king might shun, because the merciful intercessor Mary (cf. her reprise at lines 287ff.) will remain alert to human need on an unregulated basis of love. L may allude here to Cant. 1:11: “While the king was at his repose, my spikenard sent forth the odor thereof.” Bernard twice at least subjects this verse to a Marian analysis: “cum esset rex in accubitu, id est in excelso habitaculo suo [which Bernard places “in sinu patris”], illuc quoque humilitatis odor ascendit” (while the king was at his repose, that is in his lofty dwelling [in the Father’s bosom], the odor of my humility ascended to that place). This is Sermones in Canticum 42.9 (PL 183:992); a similar analysis appears at “In assumptione Beate Virginis Mariae” 4.7 (PL 183:428). Cf. also Bernard’s “Missus est” 3.2, (PL 183:72), exegesis that insists upon both the analogy and difference of Jesus’ indwelling in the Virgin and divinity indwelling in the apostles, a connection relevant to the next note. 255–60L (B 5.606–8, A 6.93–94) se treuthe sitte in thy sulue herte: The description at this point explodes. Or perhaps better, it turns into a full circle: seeking the via that leads out of sinful self-indulgence toward fulfilment ends only by coming back into a renovated selfhood (cf. 128Ln). The motion of pilgrimage is not external and physical, as the vehicle of Piers’s description suggests, but always within, the creation of a habit(ation) of virtue. And simultaneously, pilgrimage represents, not the conclusion of a process, completed and finite, but the process itself as a mode perpetually repeated, a constant journeying within the heart (in the unique line 257 the locus of a pilgrimage church devoted to the service of all other men). Insofar as this is, as B 5.607 implies, a “childish,” youthful activity (or one learned in youthful catechism), it provides a productive “Romynge in remembraunce” (5.11), perhaps a version of the “ofte chaffar[ing]” Will struggles to define at the end of his interrogation. L quotes Jesus’ claim that only those who become as children will enter

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

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the kingdom of heaven (Matt. 18:3) at B 15.149L, as Bennett points out. The now childlike believer performs with that dutifulness that Reason has urged as an appropriately innocent childhood learning (see 5.136–39L). To suffren hym and segge no@t B 5.608 follows as a constructive echo from the considerably more restive activities of the rats and mice at Prol.211. All three versions begin from this clause, although they become progressively more expansive. This final pilgrimage gesture rewrites the very problematic AB parallels to 1.36–40 (if one believes set it B 1.41 is a subjunctive); Holychurch has laid the groundwork for such a definition of the purified heart at 1.159–63 (as Bennett notes). Cf. such later reprises of the sin-infected heart as 6.63 and 78, or in a positive vein, Patience’s riddle at B 13.152–57 (and Galloway 1995:87–94) or B 16.10 etc. (revised as C 18.3–5). Piers’s revision follows good biblical warrant—either the statement of John 14:17, that the spirit of truth resides in the faithful Christian (so Dunning 1980:94n31), or that of Luke 17:21, that the kingdom of God is within (so Bishop 1987:113). The C version, as typically more expansive, recalls in lines 257–60 1 Cor. 3:16–17: “Know you not, that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?” These verses are always seen as identifying God as inhabitant of an inner edifice; Robert Grosseteste composed a popular instructional work with the title Templum domini and with elaborate development of the architectural metaphor, and Bauer 1973 explicates the tradition behind it. B 5.607 In a cheyne of charite: Bennett sees behind the phrase the “vinculum caritatis et pacis” from the blessing at the kiss of peace in the Sarum mass (based on Col. 3:14–15, which associates these virtues with perfection). This vinculum contrasts with earlier manifestations of the image: unlike that of B Prol.145, this is a chain of loving service (like the collar of S’s worn by Lancastrian retainers), not coerced; and unlike those vincula of 1.186–94, this bond is not associated with service to sin, but is rather the paradoxically freeing lok of loue described in 1.195–98. (260L echoes 1.196.) In the C version (257–60L), L turns this innocent and reverent obedience to one’s creator toward active charity in this world; although the lines provide a context for much of the food-cycle squabbling that fills passus 8, they envision fynd[yng] fode in a way the poem cannot describe until 15.185–88 and 232–49 (B 13.216–19, 14.30–50), as spiritual nutriment and active support for one’s fellows. See the next note. 260L Quodcumque pecieritis . . . : Primarily John 14:13 (And whatsoever you ask the Father in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son), with the last clause from John 16:23 (if you ask the Father anything in my name, he will give it you). The preceding John 14:12 promises that the

204

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

believer will receive the power to perform works like those of Jesus. The citation recurs in the context mentioned in the preceding note, at 15.244L (B 14.46L), in conjunction with telling echoes of Will at 5.86–88 and of Piers at B 7.129–35. 261–308 (B 5.609–42, A 6.95–123) The reversion to sin and the collapse of the pilgrimage: In C, L substantially revises the end of the passus. 283–91 retain the form of AB, but 292–306 have been rewritten in response to a biblical parable, and two lines from the head of the following AB passus moved here, so that the following passus in C becomes focused fully upon Piers’s plowing. Piers imagines the duality of Truth’s pilgrimage—its quality both as a single movement (one’s ultimate salvation) and as a repeated biographical spiral that approaches a state of purified heart (which figures and will eventually gain that salvation). The reappearance of the sins—as if the way to Truth included an additional degree of difficulty, ambushing highwaymen (cf. PC 1235–44, a view that might look ahead to the Good Samaritan in 19.46–93)— L associates with precisely the temptation to ignore the need for constant striving, to have salvation depend upon a finite redemptive act that seals the case for good. See further 269n. 261 (B 5.609, A 6.95) Ac be war thenne of wrath: As Dunning sees (1980:92– 93), this injunction corresponds to Piers’s initial command to meekness. (Dunning, however. probably misconstrues the virtue at issue: L there refers to humilitas, rather than mansuetudo or mititudo, virtues that conventionally remediate Wrath.) L presents Wrath as giving birth to his two partners, Pride and Envy—the three conventionally identified in vernacular instructional manuals as “sins of the devil.” (In this formulation, sloth and avarice are those of the world, gluttony and lechery those of the flesh.) Cf. FM 312/1–3 where the author argues that Pride, Wrath, and Envy come first in sin lists because they are “filie diaboli propinquiores” (those daughters of his nearest to the devil). The topic, introduced by Holychurch at 1.36–40, recurs at 18.25–52. 264 (B 5.612, A 6.98) The boldenesse of thy beenfete: Translate: “your confidence in (the efficacy of) your own good deeds.” Aptly glossed as undue selfcongratulation in line 268, this provides the ultimate temptation, one against which even Piers, as the AB pardon scene shows, may not be proof. Bernard of Clairvaux presents the classic medieval formulation of the topic: in De gradibus humilitatis 4.15 (PL 182:949–50), he speaks of the initial loss of humility as the

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

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willingness to believe in the possibility of one’s own virtue, and one’s capacity to judge others. 265 (B 5.613, A 6.99) dryuen out as dew: Skeat identifies the line as an allusion to Hosea 13:3, where the prophet says that sinful Israel “shall be as a morning cloud, and as the early dew that passeth away.” But Donaldson (1990:59/613) reads as an elliptical clause “as is your due,” and translates “duly.” Reading “dew,” not “due,” deepens local resonance through biblical allusion and inverts the preceding lines 249–53: not only is the virgin mother often a “closed door,” but Gideon’s fleece provided a commonplace figure for the Incarnation—dry while the ground around it is suffused with dew and vice versa (Judges 6:36–38). The man who falls back into sin has lost his renewed divine image; cf. 128Ln. 267 (B 5.615, A 6.101) Hapliche an hundred wynter: As Bennett notes, an allusion to purgatory. 269 (B 5.617, A 6.103) geten hit agayne thorw grace: The line identifies this failure as a necessary repetition. In the sinful world, one must repeat the pilgrimage, the act of arriving at the postern again bereft of Wrath and his companions (through completed penance), of successfully soliciting Amende-9ow, and of receiving the door-keeper’s approval. The passage thus invokes, in little, the difficulties in approximating comprehension of Truth and his way that confer upon the poem at large its own recursive structure, its episodes and fragments. Yet this line introduces a further equivocation in the narrative, here latent but to be exploited powerfully in passus 9 and in the Vita. Implicitly, Grace does not reward an effort but extends a gifte; salvation may not depend on any human will or action but on some more mysterious activity that humans may only solicit, not merit. See Schmidt’s note for some references to the development of the doctrine and to Recklessness’s (in AB, Will’s own) wrestling with these issues, testimony to the extent to which they surpass human comprehension, at 11.205ff. See the extensive discussion at B 7.118–43Ln. 270 (B 5.618, A 6.104) seuene susteres: The conventional remedial virtues, each of which aids in extirpating the work of one of the Seven Deadly Sins (and customarily alluded to in each of the confessions of passu¯s 6–7). Lorens’s Somme le roi, the source from which BVV has been translated, aligns their activity with the petitions of the Pater noster, the gifts of the Holy Spirit (from Isa. 11:2ff.), and the beatitudes; it offers the outstanding vernacular discussion

206

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

of their operation. See Aarts 1969 and esp. Tuve’s tabular summary of a lengthy discussion, 1966:442. L suddenly multiplies the number of possible roads to Truth, ironically enough, given the outcome of this elaboration at lines 283ff., a statement that should render the approach to Truth less, not more, forbidding. Thus, the passage forms yet another example of the way in which L’s description resists static reduction. 274 (B 5.622, A 6.108) Pacience and pees: These virtues offer the only surprise in Piers’s presentation of the conventional “remedies” for sin, probably a tribute to L’s slightly idiosyncratic view of Wrath (see 6.103–17n, and recall his frequent fusion of this vice with Envy). Most usually, Patience (alternatively “mititudo,” Mildness, or something similar, e.g., the “equite, euennesse” of BVV 152/18–161/8) counters Wrath, and Peace does not form part of the set at all (cf. Tuve’s table 1966:442). But if Wrath is viewed as contek “strife,” as L does, then Peace is surely an appropriate opposite. If this is so, then Patience is here conceived as the virtue remediating Sloth. This is essentially a pars pro toto, since Patience is conventionally a “part” of the cardinal virtue Fortitudo, “strength, prowess, endurance,” the usual counter to that vice (cf. BVV 164/ 1–170/5, esp. 167/9–168/8). But, in any case, L seems not entirely to dissociate Patience and Peace; cf. 20.171 “pees pleyinge in pacience yclothed.” 275–77 (cf. B 5.623–24, A 6.109) Largenesse: This virtue, the antidote to Covetise, receives particular prominence through her association with almsgiving, previously allegorized as the hokes 242 to Grace’s gate, here perhaps explicitly the works of mercy (cf. 21n, 4.120–24, 16.324–29, and recalls Repentance’s inquiry into Covetise’s “restitution” at 6.234). In the parallel 7e deueles punfolde B 5.624, L focuses the action through its relevance to the sinful subject, not, as does C, those whom he may aid. Through generosity (almsdeeds are, as the confession of Covetise shows, a prominent work of satisfaction), an imprisoned lost sheep (cf. 159n) may escape domination by sin. 277 places: As Schmidt sees, with the etymological sense (cf. Latin platea) “open squares”—where malefactors were exposed to public abuse in the stocks or executed; contrast the “plateae” of Rev. 21:21, 22:2. 278–308 The collapse of Piers’s allegory/instructional metaphor: With sib to (278 [A 6.110, B 5.625]) and its repetition not syb 280, the lines look ahead to a similar universal division of good works from bad in the pardon sent to Piers (see 9.288–89). The pilgrims’ rejection of the route has been widely discussed (perhaps most trenchantly in Aers 1986; see also Bishop 1987) as a locus where

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

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L’s (in)ability to control his normal figurative me´tier becomes a thematic concern central to the text. Aers sees here a rejection of “theological allegory” by baffled, yet potentially deserving, auditors, but the problem might be more generally conceived. Allegorists always claim to clarify a text’s moral meanings and to offer more direct ethical instruction than does a nonallegorical narrative. Yet simultaneously, allegorical instruction always remains—like Piers’s pilgrimage route—less direct than flat statement. Allegory distances and estranges its audience, because the form intrudes a figure or trope, the allegedly instructive narrative, now no longer simply a litera, between reader and moral message (cf. Spenser’s “dark conceit”). In this particular context, the effect is devastating. Piers’s instruction follows principles enunciated early in the passus (and forming the basis of Burrow’s 1965 intervention) in the discussion of “God’s minstrels.” There social reformation relies upon the metaphorical use of language: a “minstrel” is a poor guest at dinner, and a learned discussion a “fiddled geste.” Similarly, at mid-passus, a true palmer has no professional signs, and a pilgrimage actually goes nowhere. The idealized poetic associated with “God’s minstrels,” metaphoric sublimation, if you will, here comes a cropper. Kinship allegories dot PP (see, for example, 6.330n, 430n) as indicators of spiritual relationship. Here Piers and poet are handicapped as instructors, even as they try to rely upon the most ubiquitous of instructional paradigms, by the literalism of their interlocutors. For the folk, the spiritual metaphor of “kinship” becomes reabsorbed into a Meed-like response to the naked vehicle—y haue no kyn there—, “having friends at court” (being part of a retinue like Meed’s), as Bishop puts it. The particularly de´classe´ individuals who desert pilgrimage here see Truth’s place as just like any other castle they know, and they know that people like themselves do not get to hang out with lovely ladies or to gain entry there. Not even Piers’s effort to resuscitate the term sib in 289 by having it straddle both literal and figurative senses (as the Virgin, physically mother and spiritually loving mediatrix, supernally does) will convince doubters. But this moment has more far-reaching disastrous implications. The metaphoric tenor, here construed literally, marks the poem’s initiating assay at this form of narration. This is Will’s response to Reason’s inquiry, “Hastow londes to lyue by . . . or lynage ryche?” (5.26). In response, of course, Will develops an alternate nobility, “hereditas,” in Piers’s B formulation, being Truth’s child. This formulation, along with the implications of divine minstrelsy that follow from it, here is subjected to at least considerable strain; the result, in passus 8, is Piers’s effort at undertaking a new metaphoric formulation of “pilgrimage.”

208

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

In the last of a series of lines in this passus unparalleled in earlier versions, the C version expansion of lines 292ff., L reduces the force of the objections as incomprehension of enigmata purely verbal. The three interlocutors new to C understand only too well (as, for example, does the brewer of 21.396–402) the relationship they are asked to enter, and reject it “on its merits.” With the AB dissipation of the journey motif and the scattering of unwilling pilgrims among questionable professions, cf. 2.220–51. 282 (B 5.629, A 6.114) bote grace be ∂e more: “unless the grace you are extended is greater.” 285 (B 5.632, A 6.117) wafrestere: Skeat points out the professional connection with Actiua Vita in passus 15; Bennett notes the association of such confectioners with bawds (he cites Chaucer, CT VI.479–80). This may be the underlying reason for KD and RK’s rejection of their archetypal readings that stipulate a feminine wafer-maker. 286 (B 5.633, A 6.118) Sholde y neuere forthere a foet: Having started on the way, the waferer/ester rejects pilgrimage. But cf. FM 484/40–41: “Although both are evil: to sin, and after confession to slide back, yet is the latter worse” (Licet utraque sit mala, scilicet peccare et post confessionem recidivare, ultimum tamen peius est), with citations of 2 Pet. 2:21 and Ecclus. 2:14 (to which one might add Luke 9:62, cited 189n). 288 (B 5.635, A 6.120) Mercy is a mayden there: Although earlier (see 233n) Mercy referred to an architectural feature, here the personification shifts referent and becomes the Virgin, traditionally “mother of mercy” (who also appears, unnamed, at 252ff.). In this reformulation, the concept becomes an inhabitant of the castle. Piers’s effort at describing the operation of grace involves confusing shifts, which recur elsewhere (cf. 270n). 291 (B 5.638, A 6.123) so thow go bytymes: Another injunction to prompt penitential activity, like those that occur earlier in the confessions of Gluttony and Sloth. 292–306: The characters and their excuses come from Luke 14:16–24, the same locus from which L derives the three minstrels of God above (see 103ffnn); cf. “The first said to him: I have bought a farm. . . . And another said: I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come” (Luke 14:18, 20 ⳱ 292, 304L). The three characters, unwilling minstrels all, refuse their invitations to the

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

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heavenly feast, and do so, as all the sins reject Repentance, to continue longingrained accustomed activities. (Allusion to the parable, of course, casts Piers within the scene as Truth’s nuntius, another position of both dutiful servant and moral advisor.) The identification of the wedded man—in the context L has created, engaged in a different type of relationship from and partially answered at 8.80—as hihte actif 299 suggests connecting all three reluctant guests with the state of Actiua vita (in B named Haukyn 7e actyf man); he appears at 15.191, and L cites Luke 14:20 as part of his portrayal, at B 14.3L (a point first noticed by Carruthers 1973:121). The married man equally recalls the dreamer and his Kyt at 5.2. The man dedicated to his five yokes of oxen might give one pause as one reads the labor-oriented narrative of passus 8; does Piers’s active labor in this passus further Truth’s work or estrange one from it? This C version collocation might lead one to question the power of readings that see L’s compositional method as driven by a tradition of a “pre-read” Bible and consequent recourse to quotation collections (as Alford 1977, Allen 1984). In this instance, L has advanced in the poem the preexisting B 13.409–59, lines that he plainly does not have to research anew and that he has associated in its B version situation with topics like “eleemosyna” (almsdeeds) or “paupertas” (poverty). But this passage draws in its train the entire biblical locus, used at this point to develop an unrelated topic (and to reject the easy entre´e to lords’ houses Piers here promises and that was recommended earlier for indigents). Such rumination upon and poetic/biographical realization of the full biblical text might be seen as the most typical of L’s procedures. For a similar caveat, see Wenzel (1988:159–61). B 5.639 pardoner: Although in the A version, L ends the passus on a high note, with Piers’s most optimistic injunctions, in BC the litany of objections continues. In the relatively brief B continuation, the pardoner, with his insistence upon his letters as a possible entry to Truth, looks ahead to the dreamer’s inner debate at the conclusion of this vision (as Bennett sees). Will bisshopes lettres (perhaps purchased without any of the contrition or satisfaction Truth seems to demand [cf. Prol.68–73, 2.230ff.]) prove as efficacious at Doomsday as the path of doing well that Piers has here outlined? (As Bishop 1987:115 suggests, cf. lines 244–47.) Bennett identifies the final claim of relationship in the passus, the whore’s promise to present herself as the pardoner’s Suster 642, unequivocally with the sense “concubine.” But one might also compare 3.67 and the possibility that the pardoner may be a representative of some variety of confraternity. As Bishop (1987:115) argues, the whore persists in a literalized sense of

210

C Passus 7; B Passus 5; A Passu¯s 5–6

relationship—she continues to believe that her entry depends on friends. Translate the unique B 5.642b “I ne woot where 3ei bicome,” “I don’t know where they went” (MED bicomen v., sense 2[b]). 304 a cleueth: An inverted echo of the marriage ceremony, “Vis habere hanc mulierem . . . et illi soli adherere . . . ?” Cf. further the gospel commandments to put behind one all worldly relationships, including those with a wife, Matt. 19:29, Luke 14:26; and Ch, CT IV.1311–18. 307–8 (B 6.1–2, A 7.1–2) ∂e way is ful wikkid: In the AB versions, this speech is ascribed to the entire group of folk and placed at the head of the subsequent passus as their complaint. But in C, L transforms the lines into an affirmative climax, the acceptance of Truth’s way (with acknowledgment of all its difficulties). The figure who speaks, Contemplation, is removed from that worldly busy-ness that Actif and the others who excuse themselves find so pressing. In the phrase Famyne and defaute 306, he becomes the first character in the poem to express his indifference to the food cycle so all-consuming in passus 8. Likewise, the reassignment of speaker represents one move in L’s effort in C to disperse into new contexts ideas associated with Piers’s AB tearing of the pardon, excised from this latest version. (Cf. the reassignment of statements ascribed to the B dreamer, as well as their massive expansion, in C’s Recklessness.) Whether, however, Contemplation actually represents the vita contemplativa, associated with a life of meditative or mystical withdrawal, is less clear; he may simply be L’s momentary evocation of a life of penance, rather than labor. Cf. Godden 1984:132–34, as well as 9.43n, 188n, 196–203n.

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

Headnote At the end of passus 7, Piers’s effort to guide the penitent pilgrims to Truth has foundered, disrupted by confused responses to the metaphorical language in which the avid instructor, following the poet’s earlier lead, has presented his roadmap. Thus, the opening of this passus finds Piers attempting to renew his instructions, in this instance through a carefully explicated effort at associating the pilgrimage way to Truth with the world’s work. Pilgrimage and plowing are carefully fused into a model of the Truth-seeking Christian community, in a capacious echo of the foundation of the commonwealth at Prol.139–58 (cf. further 5.198n). Here the prologue’s model of a commune imposed by social superiors upon a working populace is inverted (the first of many such “upside down” moments—which become progressively disquieting in the course of the passus). Piers strives to create a community dedicated to the fulfilling pursuit of Truth’s labor and bound by obedient love, not law. Piers and his folk take up their labor with enthusiasm—both Piers’s expansive promises of reward and an energy for the task reminiscent of the high hopes with which the folk had initially set out on pilgrimage. However, some do not appear to rise to Piers’s challenge, most notably a threatening Waster and “Bretoner.” They expect to share the products of pilgrimage, literal (rather than spiritual) fulfillment in foodstuffs, without participating in the process of pilgrimage labor that generates them. At this point, his constructive metaphor again under threat of dissolving, Piers feels himself forced to abandon his most effusive promises and to take punitive action. His designated social guardian, the knight, proving ineffectual, Piers himself engages in police work by withholding food—and creating a new and troubling allegorical figure, Hunger, who will coerce work from the folk, or else starve them into submission. The remainder of the passus alternates between narrating Hunger’s effects—a severely punitive attack that promptly evokes Piers’s charitable instincts—and a sequence of conversations that expose further difficulties in Piers’s efforts at associating pilgrimage and the laboring commune. Hunger

212

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

represents a purely natural (rather than spiritual) force, (the threat of) famine, yet equally, the human response to such a threat, a subsistence population’s persistent worries over having enough to eat. At the same time, Piers, apparently compelled to abandon his metaphoric pilgrimage altogether, appears equally ambiguously, as committed to carrying out Truth’s labors and yet uncertain how to pursue these in a manner congruent with the most basic sense of Truth, charitable love of all. Thus, rather than the discovery of salvific love, the passus is engaged in an ironic counterpoint. This inversion of the communal plowing narrative Piers had projected initially comes to focus in law/justice. It draws in its train the rebarbative contemporary discourses that express suspicion of and punitive controls upon the laboring populace. In this respect, the narrative reprises the poet’s interrogation at the head of passus 5, although with a slightly differing emphasis (see 209n). Both Piers and Hunger find themselves differently engaged, not in pilgrimage-plowing but in literal foodstuffs and their equitable distribution. Most prevalently, in contrast to Piers’s openness at the head of the passus, they discuss an agricultural hire that conditions the limits of love (or wending with the truthful 57). The passus is marked by its extensive discussions of those excluded from Piers’s initial largesse, e.g., at 71–79, 122–48, and, following upon Waster’s revolution, 222–36, 263–99. In contrast, Piers remains troubled by his apparently forced complicity in enforcement of a laboring standard as it collides with his longing for a loving community (cf. notably 215–21). However, this legal emphasis meets some resistance. Piers’s statute consciousness presumes that food rewards field work. But Hunger, in his guise as “hungry man,” broadens the argument beyond strictly laboring concerns. While those passages cited in the last paragraph exclude some from food, they equally introduce the conception of “discrimination of charity.” As Hunger argues, some identifiable groups cannot labor, or cannot win subsistence through labor; these should deserve, in his account, active support (see 209 et seq.nn.) This argumentative move, although it reaches no resolution in the passus, projects a moderated legalism, a broader social range of indigence than Piers has earlier imagined—and one that might evoke charity, not punishment. As the passus nears its end, Piers manages to deliver his crop and to placate Hunger. But this success exposes him and the folk to the natural corollaries of the agricultural cycle, boom and bust. Material success does not produce a restored pilgrimage metaphor, but something like license; the folk return to the unrestrained impulses (mainly Gluttony) that had created the situation of pilgrimage in the first instance. At the end of the passus, they

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

213

overtly challenge the legal restraints that had bound them to labor, and the frustrated dreamer offers a prophecy of doom. The passus thus replays the same conflict as that evident in Will’s confrontation before the sins confess in passus 5 (another recursive movement of the argument). Just as earlier, gospel precept (in Hunger’s account, qualified by a number of what appear equally authoritative scriptural passages) collides with contemporary conditions, most particularly the Statute of Laborers and the punitive discourses it draws in its train. This collision will establish the terms within which Piers tears his pardon in AB, his discovery of “nonsolicitousness.” And his act, in turn, will provoke, in the course of the problematic new pilgrimage to find Dowell, the rediscovery of his “patient poverty,” notably at 12.120–13.103 and 15.32ff. In contrast to these developments, the passus is engaged in a developing materiality and a progressive absence of religious reference (although see 53, 146–47n, 159, 190–91), an important feature now brought to critical attention by Frank (1990). Similarly, David Aers’s long engagement with PP has persistently emphasized the social intractabilities of the passus; see 1975:115–20 (where passus 8 is one of only a handful of passages receiving extensive discussion in a book-length study); 1980:13–24, 63, 68–69; 1988:20–55; and see further Hewett-Smith 1996. This apparent reticence has inspired some of the most attenuated exegetical readings of any portion of the poem, efforts at spiritualizing within a biblical nexus what often seems literally descriptive of contemporary labor difficulties; for such readings, see Robertson and Huppe´ 1951:81–85 (the “rule” of Gal. 6:10), Trower 1973 (Jesus’ two fig tree parables); Kaske 1988 (Matt. 5:6 “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after justice”). As a range of notes below will indicate, the passus evokes a variety of texts never explicitly cited. However, these are of a radically different order from those suggested by exegesis. The passus begins with a heady return to Piers as exemplaristic, a model to be followed; in its course, he is measured against a very basic model of exemplarity, a sequence of popular narratives known to all L’s readers from grammar school. These largely silent allusions, mainly to Walter of England’s Fables, might be described as “fractured fable”; in pursuing what he believes exemplary activities, Piers’s relation to these childhood models becomes at best ambiguous—and often completely inverted. (Analogously, by the passus’s end, that noble inversion of social responsibilities that has occurred in the conversation with the knight has become ventriloquized as overt language of social insurrection.) On the importance of such grammar school texts generally, see the important Mann 2006; Wheatley 1993 offers extensive evidence of the ubiquitous circulation of the Fables. In addition to relying on Walter’s Fables, the passus invokes a

214

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

largely silent inversion of the gospel miracle of loaves and fishes (as well as of John 21:15–17 “Feed my sheep”), a further example of the vita Petri discussed in 7.200–201n. See further 1–4n, 149–66n, 167–78n, 176–78n.

* * * 1–111 (B 6.3–104, A 7.3–96) Piers’s refoundation of the commonwealth and his reformulation of its central act, plowing 1–4 (B 6.3–6, A 7.3–6) Piers develops a new instructional model: In the last passus, Piers’s efforts at offering an instructional model have failed to convince his audience, largely because they reject the ambiguities inherent in metaphor, in favor of persistence in their past sinful activities. Here, Piers attempts a more laboriously progressive, or staged, effort at metaphoric transition/ translation. In passus 7, the achieved penitential pilgrimage would discover Truth sitting in one’s heart (7.255, with the B addition “in a chain of charity,” in this version “Charity’s church”). In the rephrasing of that moment here, Piers demonstrates that overcoming sin and achieving Truth involve one’s participation in that same living continuum, Jesus’ command to love both God and neighbor (cf. 7.208–12n). Here Piers attempts to show this penitential approach to Truth as actuated in the most mundane fashion, as daily occupation. This takes the form that he knows best and associates with Truth, the cooperative labor of agriculture, as Burrow indicates in his seminal article (1965:254–59, cf. 7.182–204n). The ensuing discussion is painstakingly provided in stages, the basic metaphorical connection progressively explicated, first here, then at 56–70, finally at 92–94Ⳮ109–11. At that point, the care underlying Piers’s argumentative efforts appears to be affirmed, when in line 112 the folk are now identified, for the first time, as proper “pilgrimes” (contrast 7.200). See also Stokes’s argument (1984:228–32) that Piers, in his continuing efforts to educate the folk, gropes toward, rather than asserts baldly, the exact interrelationship that should exist between worchyng and wandryng. Pearsall (his 2n) refers to Prol.145 on plowing as a synecdoche for Christian laboring and cites Owst 1933:549–54 for sermon parallels on the basic responsibility to labor. Thus, Piers offers the pilgrims an experiential knowledge of Truth, as he knows him/it, in a situation in which verbal teaching appears to have failed. FM offers a fine gloss on the procedures operating here. Continuing from the materials cited in 6.199n, on the need for a spiritual instructor to be both a ductor and a doctor, FM asserts (278/13–15): “And notice: when a road is unknown, it is not enough for the would-be traveller to get verbal instructions,

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

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but with the teacher he also needs a leader” (Et nota: quando via aliqua non est usitata, non sufficit solum quod aliquis doceat nudo verbo per illam volentem transire, verum eciam cum doctore indiget ductore). And since Jesus’ way was unknown, he adds (16–20): “Christ did not merely point the road to heaven out with a word or sign, but Christ first began to do it himself, and only afterwards to teach it, thus going before us on the way he taught” (Christus non solum docuit viam illam verbo aut signo . . . , set Christus primus cepit facere et postea docere, precedens scilicet ante nos viam quam docuit). John 14:5–6, which FM does not cite, is relevant as well; cf. further Luke 10:2, Jesus sending forth the seventy-two, “The harvest indeed is great, but the laborers are few. Pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that he send laborers into his harvest”; and ultimately (see further 121n) Apoc. 14:15: “Thrust in thy sickle and reap, for the harvest of the earth is ripe.” Pearsall1 provocatively draws attention to 1 Cor. 15:44–46, where Paul, speaking of the Resurrection, indicates that spiritual life only develops out of the requirements of the physical. For further biblical allusions, see the headnote and 60n. Walter of England’s most self-referential fable—an exemplum indicating the power of example (cf. the friar-teachers of passus 10)—uses plowing as the mode of its narrative. In the fiftieth fable, an ox is yoked to a particularly frisky calf to teach him to plow, but the calf impedes the serious ox, rather than helping him. The farmer who has devised the scheme tells the ox, apparently frustrated by his inability to proceed, “Rejoice and plow joyfully. . . . It isn’t appropriate that you sweat in your labor [i.e. actually achieve something], but that you set a good example for your smaller companion” (Gaude, letus ara . . . 兩 Non placet ut sudes, sed des exempla minori, 9–11). As Piers becomes increasingly conflicted and querulous about work and the spirit in which it proceeds in the course of the passus, he might well want to recall this wise “arator.” As typically, the text does not progress but recycles and renovates earlier materials. In evoking plowing and pilgrimage in the separate members of this sentence, Piers draws the narrative back to the poem’s initial view of the human world, filled with those worchyng and wandryng (Prol.21). Piers will redefine that spiritual activity, pilgrimage, he has described in the preceding passus as plowing, the world’s work: by this step, he will simultaneously render agricultural labor a sacred act (following 7.183–94) and suggest that penitential journeys in fact should be stay-at-home immersion in workaday social duties (see 5.198n). In this way, his half acre refocuses the initial vision of the “fair field full of folk.” Of course, this passage resonates throughout the poem, to its very end. Skeat first notes the reprise of this action at 21.258ff. (see the discussion there);

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for the disparity between the spiritual allegory of passus 21 and the plowing here, see Aers 1975:109–31. An intermediate bridging moment involves the Tree of Charity, particularly in its B incarnation (with the devil as waster and another explosion of “pure tene”; cf. 7.249–53 [more explicitly B 5.601–4]). 2 (B 6.4, A 7.4) half aker: Following Bennett, one should see the reference to a half aker as exact. Fields were normally divided into fur(row)long strips of this type, with interspersed turf balks (mentioned in 114). In order to insure equitable access to better and worse land, individuals’ holdings were scattered through a number of fields. An acre thus did not represent simply a unit of area, but a unit of specific dimensions (one furlong by four rods). A half-acre strip probably consumed about half a day’s plowing (see Homans 1941:49); on the shifting time-scale of the passus, see further 121n. The divvying out of the dispersed strips was the subject of an annual meeting of tenants, perhaps the form of local communal negotiation inspiring the opening of the passus. This procedure still obtains in the last English village practicing open-field farming, Laxton, Nottinghamshire. Kirk (1988:5–6) literalizes the verse and construes this line as describing Piers’s total holding, not just either a portion of his day’s labor, or his fastidiousness about a small, yet exemplary task. On this basis, Kirk argues that Piers must be a contract worker, someone paid day wages, neither a serf nor totally independent, a cottar or famulus. But line 121 suggests that he is an employer of others, part of a peasant aristocracy, as Lister (1982:78) and Aers (1988:41– 42) argue. Hanawalt points out the contemporary assumption that one could achieve subsistence level with a cottage garden and an acre or two of arable (1986:58) and comments, “Half an acre was not enough to feed a family” (76). In rejecting his, the reading of archetypal B 6.116 (123, A 7.108), KD argue that this line refers, not to Piers’s personal property, but to a plot owned by the landlord Truth (p. 108). Cf. Pearsall’s view (his 112n) that the work proceeds either on the common field or in the lord’s (i.e., the knight’s) demesne lands. 5–55 (B 6.7–56, A 7.7–51) Piers refounds the commonwealth as an agricultural team: Obviously enough, the agrarian scene, the half acre, recalls as a figure the fair field with which the poem begins. And through Piers, L reviews, revisions, revises his initial scene; cf. Bennett (in his headnote, p. 197): “Piers’s half-acre serves as a microcosm of the world of the Prologue.” The Prologue begins with a catalogue of errant behaviors and then moves to contain and structure these through a scene of social foundation. Here similarly, following that protracted catalogue formed by the confessions of the Seven Deadly Sins, Piers attempts his own social foundation, a pointed rewriting of Prol.139–58.

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That passage does not appear in the A version, and B’s revision of the Prologue, which creates the echoic system described here, retrospectively balances this passage: just as in Sloth’s confession, L’s echoes run backward, rather than forward, progressively. While the discussion does not return overtly to the head of Piers’s pilgrimage route, the action he envisions presupposes this as a still-present, if tacit, backdrop. Piers’s instruction relies most powerfully upon the echo “Consience and kynde wyt kenned me to his place” (7.184), as inflected against “Conscience and kynde wit and knyghthed togedres 兩 Casten 3at 3e comune sholde here comunes fynde” (Prol.143–44). (Translate “should find food for them all”; and note the subsequent lines, where Kind Wit is further identified as the inventor of crafts.) This C revision renders the connection more pointed than the now superseded B Prol.116–20, where the account represses personifications and describes a specifically human sociopolitical decision, with Kind Wit only providing tools. For the discussion here as an overt revision of the Prol. “founding of the commune,” see further lines 19ff. below, where “knyghthed” appears, not as director of, but servant to the food force. The rationale for any human society remains unchanged from Prol. As they have done from the beginning of the poem, men pursue Truth through labor in the world, and the most necessary form such labor takes is food production (a view persistently inherent in the very word comune(s), both “commonwealth” and “[edible] commons”; cf. Prol.143); cf. Prol.142–46, recalling Prol.22–24. Mankind comprises a physically consuming social body. But if worchyng and wandryng (Prol.21) animates much of the social action of this passus (see 1–4n), the off-verse of that line, as 7is world ascuth, foreshadows certain problems: are agriculture and ingestion in fact spiritual acts or imposed natural necessities (as Holychurch would seem to imply at 1.15–40)? And, as also occurs in the first vision, this social foundation will become reduced to consideration of a test case (there Peace v. Wrong). Previously, the poem has considered whether a just society may not be compromised by longings justice appears not to fulfill, by a desire for some nonrigorous acts, those of mercy. Here the question appears in inverted form, whether a foundation predicated upon that love and mercy Piers has hailed as characterizing Truth may not become compromised by a desire to find standards for just dealing (see 14–18n below for the beginnings of such a development). 5–14 (B 6.7–15, 18–20, A 7.7–22) Women’s duties: In response to his most prominent interlocutors, Piers offers his revised communal vision in two parts (5–18, 19–55), a division predicated upon function and gender. Women do not

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necessarily—although compare Piers’s wife in the Wycliffite PPCrede— participate in heavy field work, but nonetheless are assigned important social functions. In 3.462 (cf. B 5.547), spinning has a place alongside male agrarian labors, just as lines 17–18 here may urge wives to cooperative labor with their husbands (i.e., line 17 may not be a vocative, but appositive to hym 18: in this construction, the antecedent would be singular manere, cf. the phrasing of B). On women’s work generally, see Hanawalt 1986:146–51 and Hoffman 2006. Piers defines specific duties for women, a division of labor with men that follows Holychurch’s distinction between two major necessities, food/drink and clothing, at 1.20–24 (Bennett). Although Bennett wishes to see the passage as purely reformative, a replacement of deviant forms of behavior associated with Meed and the female figures at 7.285–86, 299–302, B 5.641–42, perhaps more to the point would be Reason’s insistence upon the familial unit at 5.128–35, further developed in lines 80–91 below. Cf. lines 54–55, where the knight promises “to worche by thy wit and my wyf bothe” (AB read word, not wit). Such a locution might imply that L revised this passage before he had moved to recast the C Vita, since the reference to Wit evokes the poem’s most strenuous discussion of “trewe wedded libbynge folk” and their duties as the fundamental economic/ generative social unit, which is delivered by the personification Wit in the unique B 9.105–203. The passage is involved, not just in gender, but also in class distinctions. The C version offers a pronounced allusion to alliterative stock phrasing in the address, @e worthily wymmen (AB the more neutral louely ladies) 9–10 (A 7.18–20, B 6.10–12)—and the longe fyngres have marked lordship since at least Ovid, Heroides 17.666. The reference to what other poets of the school would consider high-class burdes establishes a division (magnates v. laborers) that parallels that more carefully enunciated in the subsequent discussion between Piers and the knight. Piers distinguishes the utilitarian and broadly societyserving acts of laboring women from the recreational luxury work of the upper classes. The very gratuitousness of the church vestments leisured ladies are to sew looks ahead, not simply to the knight’s later failures as half-acre policeman, but to a variety of grudging references to clerics later in the passus (see 73–74n, 146–48n, B 6.148–51n and 247–49n). The advancement of these two lines in the BC versions perhaps makes them seem less an afterthought and equally less disruptive of Piers’s ongoing argument. Kerby-Fulton (1990:167–68) compares Piers’s foundation with Joachim of Fiore’s “oratory of the laity.” In particular, she cites one passage from the Liber figurarum that envisions, as Piers does, tasks specific to wyues and wyddewes (12–14), although the exact allocation of works in the two authors differs considerably.

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5 (B 6.7, A 7.7) slayre: A veil worn over the “horns” of a fashionable hairdo and not covering the face, Bennett says. His information relies upon one of the few other uses, in a lyric from the Vernon manuscript, “4is wymmen . . . muchel haunte3 pride 兩 Wi3 hornes on heore hed . . . 兩 Wi3 selk scleyres iset aboue.” This “lady” may to be supposed to represent the knight’s wife; cf. 55. 6 (B 6.8, A 7.8) What sholde we wommen worche ∂e whiles?: The speech balances between ennui at a noxious (and exaggerated) delay and an assumption that labor might be profitable in a war against boredom. The assumption of a finite trip, which recalls the pilgrims of 7.157, provides one rationale for the progressive way in which Piers gradually reformulates the relationship of work and wandering. Trower (1973:399) compares Luke 3:10, “And the people asked him, saying, ‘What then shall we do?’ ” Cf. Acts 2:37, cited 7.200–201n. 9–10 (B 6.10–12, A 7.18–20) √e worthily wymmen . . . That √e han selk and sendel: In the abortive sumptuary legislation of 1363—it was repealed in the following year—the use of silk in clothing was restricted. While knights had free access, the lower limits for wearing silk clothing were set at £200 per year in rents for esquires, and £1000 a year for merchants. See 37 Edw. III, cc. 9–14 (SR 1:380–81). Skeat compares Ancrene Wisse (8.166–70, with a more humble regimen), to which Bennett adds “Upon Appleton House” 123–28 (where Marvell offers the additional fillip that the holy images embroidered are mirrored in the lives of embroiderers). The reference here to copes anticipates B 6.147. The most famous products of this kind, usually liturgical vestments adorned with opus anglicanum, were the product of professionals (rather than private women seamstresses, whether aristocratic or “Appleton House’ ”s monastic ones). Often on velvet, the opulence of such garments was marked by the use of gold thread and sometimes jewels. See further King and King-Levey. 14–18 (cf. B 6.17–20, A 7.16–17, 21–22) For profit of the pore . . . : Bennett connects this injunction with the works of mercy, the command to clothe the naked at Matt. 25:35. But Piers moves beyond such a narrow formulation to see the activity as an absolute injunction associated with the communal life he constructs here, a contracted “vocational” duty, rather than simply alms. It parallels his own vow, predicated upon love, to provide the poor (hem 15) with liflode. Rather than seeking what might narrowly be construed Truth’s profit, at 7.189 part of the initial definition of his laboring rectitude, Piers will disperse profits (see 66–70n for a similar gesture), surrender freely what he has labored hard to win. Of course, as 7e lordes loue of heuene 17 indicates, the statement

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only recasts the notion of what Truth’s profits in fact are and the basis on which he rewards his servants. Line 15 introduces, as if relatively unproblematic, two concerns that will be radically interrogated very shortly. In loving generosity, Piers promises, with no qualification, a food dole to a monolithic class envisioned simply as pore. (In the terms of lines 17–18, Piers may conceive this group as simply those who cannot work.) More expansive statements will follow (e.g., line 111), only to disintegrate, under the pressure of events, by line 144: there Piers will discover that the pore does not represent a stock concept, but a term (like the antithetical “Meed”) that requires analysis. With this problem is conjoined a second. Piers here puts but a single limit to his generosity—but yf 7e lond faylle. Only dearth can, at this moment, limit the universal social charity that he envisions. Such a view presupposes an economics like that argued by Holychurch at 1.17–40, her explanation to the dreamer of the wealth of divine provision held in comune (1.20): through this allusion to food shortage as a distant prospect, Piers claims that the equitable distribution of plenty is perhaps his most basic social responsibility. But, as Frank (1990) argues, since the Great Famine of the late ‘teens, agricultural disaster was a persistent threat to subsistence; cf. the lament of the Harley Song Hus 3, “Gode 9eres and corn bo3e be3 agon” (and further 5–6, 68–70 on the devastating effect of recent “wickede wederes”; cf. the chilling conclusion at 345–46). Just at the moment when the pore becomes a problematic concept, the notion of plenty will as well (see line 160 and 209n). The perception that there exists a pore undeserving of sustenance is intimately connected with the threatening possibility of a harvest inadequate to support everyone. The noble social love and mercy Piers can envision as the basis of his ideal comune will founder on the material conditions under which he will come to perceive agriculture operating. 14 and plesaunce of √owsuluen: This off-verse, unique to C, is answered by lines 19–22, with their emphasis upon labor as a creative joy. Piers imagines activities that serve Truth not as an onerous imposed duty (one possible reading of the foundation scene in Prol.), but as a self-fulfilling and liberating act. This half-line replaces B 16 (A 15), which links social duties with the poem’s larger religious structures (cf. 120–21n below for a similar reformulation); although the line has been edited out in the C version, here the clause Consience conseyleth 13 refers more precisely to related topics; cf. Prol.142 or 3.451– 53, 461–62 (and see 53n below).

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17–18 (B 6.19–20, A 7.21–22) alle manere men ∂at by ∂e molde is susteyned: The second half-line is virtually pleonastic, since it only repeats the universalism of the first half-line. Although Piers must covenant with the knight, he can assume the presence of a proletarian workforce. The Statute of Laborers mandates that every man “if he be in convenient (congruo) Service, his estate considered, be required to serve, he shall be bounden to serve him which so shall him require” (23 Edw. III, c. 1; SR 1:307). In insisting upon such service, Piers acts as the Statute enjoins parish priests should; in the letters to bishops accompanying their copies of the first Statute, Edward III asks them to “direc[t] the Parsons, Vicars, Ministers of such Churches and others under you, to exhort and invite their Parishioners by salutary admonitions, to labour, and to observe the Ordinances aforesaid” (23 Edw. III; SR 1:108). 19–55 (B 6.21–56, A 7.23–51) Piers instructs the eager knight: This scene of social foundation inverts many presumptions of the fair field description. In the Prologue, social order is imposed from the top down on a working assumption that the law of the king, as God’s anointed, mirrors heavenly “legislation” (e.g., Prol.152–57; cf. Reason at 5.181–90). In contrast, here social relations are negotiated from below, from the peasant Piers who exchanges pledges to perform duties conceived as spiritual acts with a cooperative knight (contrast Prol.139–40). One might note the contractual language, entered by apparently equal negotiators, at lines 26 and 33–34; as well as the general equality of familiar address (both parties use 7ou, momentarily dropped in lines 35–37; cf. KD p. 170, Burnley 1990)—and such a class inversion as aristocratic humility at B 6.24. In many ways, then, the conversation enacts ideas explicit in the central lines 43–46: these identify conventional class distinctions as ephemeral or evanescent in the face of deeper spiritual imperatives. Thus cooperation replaces the Prologue’s restive and contentious sense that magnates may drive the commune to some end unexplained and potentially unshared (cf. Prol.147–218 and the more fractious B version parallels). Unlike the first vision, where peasants like Peace merely witness retinue politics and accept the results of alien negotiations, here aristocrats are put at the service of the peasantry; see further lines 35ff. (and the balancing passage, that measured respect for rulers Piers enjoins on his son at lines 84–91, unique to the C version). Following on his insistence at the end of the preceding passus upon Truth’s mercifulness, Piers constructs a society merciful in its relations, one actuated by love and mutual respect. In these terms, Piers’s ability to conceive a social contract enacts those messianic prophecies Conscience and Reason have enunciated at 3.452 and 4.144, although here and now, not at some deferred future date. (Cf. more distantly, with regard to the knight, esp.

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at lines 19–22, Conscience’s evocation of Isaiah at 3.461–63.) As those passages would suggest, Piers envisions replacing kynde wytt, the figure who, in the Prologue, most directly mediates between ruling aristocracy and serving peasantry (cf. Prol.141–50), with a figure of greater reciprocity and openness, kynde loue. But the difficulties associated with such a reformulation will, later in the passus, animate much of Piers’s and Hunger’s mutual misprision; see 237–62n. 19–22 (B 6.21–23, A 7.23–25) a knyhte: The knight responds enthusiastically (and literally, as Bennett says) to Piers’s injunction Helpi7 . . . werche wi@tly. Perhaps he is stimulated by the concluding adverb “vigorously,” another alliterative buzz-word. He assumes a complete jettisoning of previous social relations; now his aid should take the form of direct participation in the field. In this context, the primary sense of teme 20 would seem “(plow-)team,” not “theme,” Pearsall’s suggestion (but see 21.261n). The knight cannot conceive Piers’s hard labor, thinks plowing might be taken up—as the wealthy women have earlier done sewing—as recreative solace 22. He fails to see his thorough dependency upon a laboring peasantry and cannot really imagine how he would get on without their cooperation (see further 161n). Of course, the Statute of Laborers explicitly did not expect knights to “serve” in this way: a knight falls among the class of man excluded because he “ha[s] of his own whereof he may live” (23 Edw. III, c. 1; SR 1:307); contrast 5.26–27 and Will’s response. Piers must demonstrate to the knight that traditional aristocratic “solaces,” the hunt and the feast, may remain socially useful activities, even in a refined new dispensation. In his eagerness, however dimly, the knight recognizes something like that “spiritual nobility,” discussed by Simpson 1985 and 1990:70, 87–88. The poet of RichR probably recalls this passage at 3.263–67, where he argues that the ruling classes were not created “To leue al at likynge and lust of the world 兩 But to laboure on the lawe as lewde men on plowes.” RichR includes further echoes in a passage describing the true retainer, not as a follower of Meed’s “maintenance” but of Piers’s “kunnynge and conscience bothe” at 2.81–87 (cf. 1–4n). 26 (B 6.27, A 7.29) In couenant ∂at thow kepe . . . : Piers’s speech rewrites into “half-acre” terms Holychurch’s injunctions at 1.90–101. On the specific nature of the knight’s covenant (which resembles L’s statements about aristocratic responsibility throughout the poem from 1.90–101 on), Skeat cites Sir John Oldcastle’s confession and Arnold SEW 3.130, 131, 145, 206. He sees the injunction of line 36 as borrowed from Wycliffe (see Arnold 3.206). Piers’s basic conception, the knight as the internal defender of the realm’s peace (cf.

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1.90–106, 21.477–79), contrasts with Meed’s view, the propriety of overseas adventurism, at 3.235–69. Bennett sees a return, at a time when knights were progressively “becoming a rentier class,” to older ideals, which he illustrates from John of Salisbury; Schmidt alludes to similar materials in Mann (1973:106–15). 28 (B 6.29, A 7.31) go hunte hardelyche: Bennett notes not simply the agricultural despoliation wreaked by the various animals (cf. hayward 5.16–17n), but also that the right to hunt game was restricted, reserved to lords with a license of “free warren.” In contrast, the Harley Song Hus laments (35–36, 56–60), as the normal modern course of affairs, that peasants’ superiors now “hunt” their tenants, drive them from the land into beggary. Cf. the beadle “brust ase a bore” (51), a loosed wild beast who will destroy—whereas the peasant is conceived as a “hare” pursued by hounds. See also RichR 1.52–57 on the depredations of mounted Ricardian favorites, “tyrauntis of tiliers.” B 6.34 I shal ∂ee mayntene: Perhaps this promise is to be construed as the knight’s effort at a purified rhetoric. To this point in the poem, the verb appears as a narrow legalism, rather than the more general (and comforting) “support.” In the first vision, the term refers to the expectations of a member of an aristocratic and Meed-ish retinue, like Wrong (maintained, “legally supported” in that wrongdoing his name implies). The “further point” to which Piers passes in the next line may seek to correct any ambiguity in the usage (cf. “maugre mede chekes” 38), and L may have suppressed the comment entirely in C as an unduly disconcerting echo. 35–55 (B 6.37–56, A 7.38–51) Piers’s additional instructions: As 26n argues, to this point Piers has encouraged the knight in what one may construe as his active duties as defender of the realm, church, and people. He passes now, much more trenchantly, to consider those duties that fall to knights as landlords and local justiciars, before coming to a general conclusion that applauds the general social value of traditional chivalric virtues (unfortunately reprised at 161). Although obviously the most central social figure of the locale, the knight is nonetheless bound by Truth’s restrictions, and following the chilling lines 42–46, he should see himself as engaged within a spiritual democracy, in which he should act with restraint. The biblical texts underlying these injunctions can be summed up in Peter’s statement to Cornelius (Acts 10:34), “God is not a respecter of persons.” Cf. particularly Ecclus. 35:12–19, and further Deut. 10:17, 2 Chron. 19:7, Job 34:19, Wis. 6:8, as well as Romans 2:11 and a range of other Pauline examples. The dreamer often follows the somewhat less

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respectful reading, “Salute no man by the way” (Luke 10:4), e.g., B 15.5–10 (revised out at 16.158, following its recycling at 9.123L). 35 (B 6.37, A 7.38) Ye, and √ut a poynt . . . y praye √ow of more: Although the sense is scarcely problematic, it is obscured by the word order: “That’s settled (an emphatic affirmative conjectured by RK), and I ask you for (y praye @ow of) yet one further act of self-regulation” (cf. MED pointe n.1, sense 7b). 36 (B 6.38, A 7.39) Loke √e tene no tenaunt: Bennett cites various kinds of exactions; cf. Hanawalt 1986:110 (including fines for such acts as cutting wood or loosing pigs to feed on acorns). Schmidt notes (more extensively 1987:130– 31) the (non-etymologically based) wordplay whereby being a tenaunt seems inevitably to imply tene at the hands of the upper classes. Pearsall1 believes the line “illogical, given the usual sense of tene,” but certainly, in light of later narrative developments, Piers expects that some aristocratic police work may potentially be required, and thus tenants may feel vexed or aggrieved (normal senses of the verb), even if they are treated justly according to the law. Cf. the worries of the parliamentary rodents at Prol.185ff., and lines 336–38 below. 37–38 (B 6.39–40) lat mercy be taxour . . . : Piers echoes 1.158 and 4.155, respectively. See especially the note to the first usage; the only acceptable coerced payment (a “mercement”) is none, but mercy itself. As the subsequent lines 39–41 argue, in Piers’s new comune there is no place for Meed’s financially driven forms of “mercy.” But cf. the unfortunate echo, the knight now having been replaced as lord of the half-acre by the merciless Hunger, of profre @ow presentes 39 at 315–17. B 6.43–44 (A 7.42–43) yelde it ayein at one yeres ende: The C version deletion may not simply attempt to soften the purgatorial reference of the earlier texts. one yeres ende would seem to specify the annual cycle of court sessions, or a short-term agricultural lease, or the normal round of agricultural labors, as coterminous with human life (see 121n). In doing so, it would emphasize one version of Truth’s pilgrimage—that it has a terminus, concludes with death, judgment (harvest), and salvation—while minimizing the effect of the inner, repetitive pilgrimage that approaches Truth only by approximation. 43–46 (B 6.45–49, A 7.44 only) here thyn vnderling in heuene parauntur: These lines, with their evocation of a radical spiritual democracy (cf. Ch, CT X.461–69), form a BC expansion; it anticipates a further expansion, unique to C, at 278–89. For examples of the devastating pulpit commonplace, that men

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are inherently equal in their misery of their births and deaths, see Wimbledon’s sermon 522–41 (derived from Ambrose, “De Nabuthae,” PL 14:770); and PC 428–919, in the main from Innocent III’s De miseria humanae conditionis. Aristocrats often were reminded of this uncomfortable democracy through elaborate transi-tombs; like that of Chaucer’s granddaughter Alice in the church she patronized at Ewelme (Oxfordshire), these depict an elaborately clothed and detailed funeral effigy above, and beneath the rotting skeleton with its worms. For this and other forms of memorial, see Saul 2009; on the charnel, see Fletcher 1998:221–26 (cited by Pearsall). 44L (B 5.47L) Amice, ascende superius: “Friend, go up higher” (Luke 14:10, the admonition against pride of place in the parable of the wedding guests). As his work develops, L integrates more carefully this allusion to feasting with the following lines on dining ethics; see the next note. 47–52 (B 6.50–54, A 7.45–49) Ac manliche at mete suche men eschewe: In the C version, these lines derive additional force from L’s proximate association with another parable from Luke 14, one source of the discussion of goddes munstrales (7.82–119L); the revision of B line 51 into C 49 recasts aristocratic instruction of the laboring classes in their duties, the AB emphasis, in terms reminiscent of 7.105–7. With this discussion, contrast lines 71–79, yet another “bad minstrel” passage. 51 (B 6.53, A 7.48) manliche/nameliche: See KD, p. 211 n.170 and Kane’s supplementary 1988 notes to A, p. 463. The word nameliche appears to have been regularly subject to metathesis, represented in sporadic southwestern spellings (e.g., in manuscripts of John Trevisa’s works) like maynliche, and alliterates on /m/. The explicit manliche to represent “namely” appears at 9.336. 53 countreplede nat Conscience ne holy kyrke ryhtes: A direct echo of Prol.138 (where Conscience is in fact speaking to similar effect); for the legalism, also in line 88, “to enter a cross-complaint, disagree over a point,” see Alford 1988c:38. Such “counterpleas” might especially be expected over putative clerical abuse of aristocratic benefactions (see 5.140–45n) or rights of “advowson,” the power to appoint an incumbent to a post, at times in the gift of a lay figure. The line provides an appropriate climax to the exclusion of Meed-based behaviors by retrospectively alluding to her forceful “complaint” in passus 3, an activity that occurs in the royally driven, urban-centered action of the poem’s first social formation. It is echoed in Conscience’s concluding

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speech of the poem (22.384), where friars, not knights, have become the rapacious villains; cf. 73–74n. 54 (B 6.55, A 7.50) seynt Gyle (AB Seint Iame): Bennett reminds one of St. James’s military career, and thus his appropriateness to the knight. But St. Giles (as Skeat indicates, mentioned as a model hermit at B 15.272ff.) is probably more relevant in this context. In invoking him, the knight tacitly rejects Meed’s companion, Guile (2.70, 175–80, 220–24), and replaces him with a patron of the poor and indigent. Perhaps also relevant, Giles’s emblem is a deer (see B 15.279– 82), although this identification rests upon a most legendary anecdote in his legenda, in which he protects the beast from a king who hunts it. 56–79 (B 6.57–78, A 7.52–69) Fixing the metaphor and social compact: plowing and pilgrimage 56–65 (A 7.52–58, B 6.57–64) in pilgrimes wyse: Bennett makes explicit the contrast with the palmer of 7.161ff. These are Piers’s ordinary work clothes, not a uniform for gadding about, and the clothes of alle kyn craftes . . . as kynde wit hym tauhte recalls that figure’s gifts at Prol.145–47. For the precise equivalences Piers asserts, see the following notes. The passage may be inspired by the allegorical accoutrements of the pilgrim at PLM 1813–2153 (partly answering “Put you on the armor of God,” Eph. 6:11). There de Deguilleville’s figure receives from Grace a scrip representing Faith, a bordoun of Esperance, and a doublet formed of the anvil of Patience (cf. B 7.138). Cf. also the fake pilgrim Pride, PLM 4263–88. Piers here partially, yet only partially, reformulates the nature of his activity. Pilgrimage 63 (B 64), in company with the repetition of the verb wende 57, 63, implies a double motion, temporally ordered. Piers recognizes a double wey B 58 (A 53). He intends first to plow and sow, to perform those living acts associated with Truth. This “pilgrimage of life” answers his narrative at 7.205–31, with its insistence on fair dealing with one’s fellows. Only at the conclusion of this labor will he take up an actual journey (corresponding to the penitential imperatives of 7.232ff.), one that he conceives as a physical search for pardon to undo any failures in pursuing his first wey. In the context of as palmeres doen 63, this now represents the penitential pilgrimage, the work of satisfaction, the pilgrims originally pursue, but is not, apparently, to lead out of this world. In the C version, Pearsall argues, L “flags” half-acre activities so that they cannot be completely fused with pilgrimage itself; in revising three consecutive off-verses (those of lines 57–59), L deliberately recalls the language of communal foundation, in Pearsall’s view, of literal labor activity, from Prol.139–46 (and 7.184).

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

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60, 64 (B 6.61, A 7.56, both “scryppe” only) in stede of a scryppe . . . my pykstaff: Central to pilgrim garb are the implements that define the profession, “pyk [and] scryppe” (7.180). The latter, which appears here in all versions, differs markedly from the bags of most pilgrim wanderers: rather than using it to hoard provisions, Piers constantly empties it, casts away his sustenance (see the next note), in hopes of getting it back multiplied, for the use of others. Cf. the parables of sowers at Matt. 13:3–8, 18–30, 37–43; these offer useful glosses upon the various responses Piers’s communal foundation evokes, most of his hearers typifying the seed that “fell upon stony ground” or “among thorns.” In earlier versions, the pykstaff 64 is illogically delayed and dissipates the otherwise forceful conclusion of Piers’s next speech (see B 6.103–4). Like Robert’s pykstaff (see 6.328–29n), it is a defensive weapon, not a tool for lolling about: with it Piers buries the seed deep, breaking up the roots left from the fallow of his last crop, and covers the seed over to preserve it from destruction. On closing the furrow, see Kane’s critical notes to A, p. 447. See further 64n. 61 (B 6.62, A 7.57) A buschel of breedcorn: Bennett identifies this as the normal measurement for sowing a half acre. breedcorn, of course, is wheat that could be baked into bread: Piers, like all farmers, must surrender immediate gratification, using this material for food; in order to gain sustenance, he must pauperize himself to some degree during one harvest year to live through the next one. Dyer (1989:112) suggests that one-quarter of the yield had to be reserved for this purpose; see further 132n. 64 (B 6.103, A 7.95) plouhpote: The range of recorded variants here, including plow-bat and plow-staff, all refer to the same object, a plow-padel (MED padel n.1). This is a long-handled spade (hence its resemblance to a pilgrim’s staff), as Pearsall says, used to clear turf that sticks to the coulter. Skeat explains at great length the competing reading (in all WⳭ copies of B) plouhfote; see the diagram on which he relies, reproduced by Camille (1987). 66–70 (B 6.65–69, A 7.59–63) And alle ∂at helpen: Piers, having promised at line 15 to give free sustenance to what he implicitly defines as the poor incapable of labor, here shows equal generosity to those who share his labor (and consequently, his upright participation in the reformed comune). Stokes (1984:191) sees these lines, with their echo of Prol.155 (ibid.:71), as central to the entire passus; certainly, the effort at reasserting, in a social world of merciful love freely given, that just return promised in Prol.155 becomes a central concern following line 122.

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71–79 (B 6.70–77, A 7.64–69) Saue Iacke ∂e iogelour . . . : For the poet of SV, from whom L appears to have derived this material, all these professional groups provide analogous examples of Avarice. Each group can be associated with the sin because it derives its livelihood through acts inherently sinful or conducing others to sin. In this context these figures provide examples of crafts that cannot properly contribute to the communal work of the halfacre—and thus should not be supported by it. Schmidt1 aptly cites Shakespeare, Measure 3.1.147 “Whose sin’s not accidental, but a trade.” Pearsall calls these the conventional “crafts of folly” and cites Owst 1933:371 and Jacob’s Well 134 (similarly Lawton 1987:16). Following my arguments (2013), one can offer further precision about the genesis of these figures and L’s appropriation of earlier discourse. All texts derived from Lorens’s Somme le roi include, as a division of Avarice, a brief notice of “wikkede craftes,” and provide three relatively undeveloped examples (cf. BVV 41/10– 19). But in its translation of Lorens, SV expands this presentation into a gargantuan display of nine “crafts of folly” (7093–236). This source underlies Owst and Pearsall’s references, as well as, as Skeat sees, the early robardus knaues (Prol.45; cf. SV 7134 and 286n below). Here L avails himself (as an increasingly detailed pars pro toto; A has only three figures) of four of SV’s categories. Preeminent among these—and a traditional canonical test case—are prostitutes, represented by ionet and denote 71–72; cf. 78n and 6.305n. These figures are accompanied by Iacke 7e iogelour 71; in SV, “jugglers” are understood as equivalent to Chaucer’s tregetours, manufacturers of illusions who constrain their audiences to believe in the reality of what does not actually exist. Like L’s fourth derived category, Robyn 7e rybauder 75, such a figure is a “devil’s minstrel,” one of the disors the knight is instructed to avoid at 8.50–52 (cf. SV’s herlotes, a rather old-fashioned usage for “minstrel” that L invokes at 7.75, 90, 93, etc.). For frere faytour 73, a category SV associates with feigning beggars and again an inspiration directly evoked in PP, see the next note. Derivatives of Somme le roi do not present danyel 7e dees playere 72 within this categorization. But immediately following his presentation of “the crafts of folly,” Lorens turns to “4e ten3e braunche of couetise . . . euele pleyes, as at 3e tables and 3e quek and hasard, and alle o3ere suche pleies wi3 dees or o3ere wise” (BVV 41/20–22; cf. SV 7237–314). L may have confused the textual signals in SV and construed this a tenth “craft of folly,” not, as Lorens intended, a tenth form of Avarice (“crafts of folly” being the ninth one). The lewed vicory at 21.430–41 offers a rather garbled response to this speech.

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

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73–74 frere faytour and folk of ∂at ordre (B 6.72): While all the “crafts of folly” are integral to the conception of PP, certainly the most abidingly important remains frere faytour. For faytours, see Prol.41–46n, 22.5n, and further 128n below. L’s usage, which is unusual—the ME word usually has the strictly etymological sense “deceiver, imposter, cheat”—follows the restriction to mean “feigning beggar” evident at SV 7123–32 (see further 8.128n, 9.162–87 et seq.nn). This is the first of a sequence of rather grudging analyses of clerical “labor” in the passus; see further 146–48n, B 6.148–51n and 247–49n. From the inception of anti-mendicant satire in William of St. Amour’s diatribes of the 1250s, friars had been associated with Paul’s comments in 2 Thes. 3:8, 10: “Neither did we eat any man’s bread for nothing, but in labor and in toil we worked night and day, lest we should be chargeable to any of you. . . . If any man will not work, neither let him eat.” Although 2 Thes. 3:10 is never cited explicitly in the poem, cf. Hunger to similar effect at 237–62. Implicitly, friars are among those whom Paul describes as “walk[ing] disorderly” (ibid. vv. 6, 11). See further Kerby-Fulton 1990:138, who cites Szittya’s detailed analysis (1977:304–5). As Clopper shows in detail (1997), L avidly read materials associated with Franciscan debates about poverty (e.g., 185n) and certainly knew William of St. Amour’s text; like him, Jean de Meun loads the lengthy “confessional” speech of Faus semblant (hypocrisy, guile, RR 10952– 12096) with analogous materials from William. Here one might compare RR 12033–96, where Faus Semblant and his female companion Forced Abstinence (unwilling starvation) dress as fake pilgrims to attack the castle of “the rose.” L may allude to the episode at B 5.639–42, but it also provides a near analogue, given the fake pilgrims’ murder of the gateward Foul Tongue (in PP, Contrition) to the final assault on Unity in passus 22. As folk of 7at ordre implies, friars are particularly pernicious in their ability to proselytize, to set themselves up as examples that encourage the emulation of others (cf. 10.8–29). While they might reflect a proper foundation (a possibility entertained at 146), their lack of social contribution attracts imitators. Like Hawkin, in their indolence, the group too readily forms “an order by itself,” thus subject to no regulation, and draws on others who seek similarly irresponsible modes of existence. Cf. 9.204–12 and particularly 9.98n (and 5.3n for discussion of lollares). At RR 11425–80 Faus semblant offers an elaborate (and satiric) definition of the licit states of beggary; he has earlier presented (RR 11234–36) a model for the bon vivant doctor of divinity who appears in passus 15. 75 (B 6.73, A 7.65) Robyn ∂e rybauder for his rousty wordes: Although the sense is clear enough, the line involves two idiosyncratic uses. This is the only

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citation for MED ribaudoure n., and MED rusti adj. sense b provides no exact parallel for the extension here of “(morally) corroded” to mean “vile, foul (speech).” One might compare modern American slang “rasty” in the same sense, perhaps to be associated with OED reasty adj. “rancid (bacon).” With Robyn, contrast Robert the rifler/robber (6.315) and notice his similar, Robert renaboute B 6.148. The last may be the referent of John Ball’s injunction, “Chastise wel Hobbe the Robbere” (Dobson PR 381). 77–78L (B 6.75–76L, A 7.67–68L) Deleantur . . . : “Let them be blotted out of the book of the living: and with the just let them not be written” (Ps. 68.29, David’s prayer that the Lord will punish his enemies). Mum 520 cites “Deleantur” in a similarly antimendicant spirit. Schmidt compares Apoc. 3:5 and notes the chiastic echo of the opening word in dele later in the line. 78 (B 6.76, A 7.68) For holy chirche is holde of hem no tythe to aske: Bennett says simply that all these groups were automatically banned from tithing, but offers no references. Alford (1988c:155, s.v. tithe[n]) follows good medieval practice by meticulously outlining the ever-expanding list of activities subject to tithe. Cf., for example, the sixth of the “so-called Statutes of Robert Winchelsey” (archbishop of Canterbury, 1296–1313), C&S 2:1390–91: “seminum, fructuum, et bestiarum, warenarum, aucutipii, ortorum, curtilagiorum, lane, line, vini, grani, turvarum,” perhaps only one-third of this list. Piers, of course expects (100–104) that his assiduous tithing earns him a place in a(n eternal) Christian community (cf. the echoic is holdyng 103), and my corn and my catel 101 refers to a standard legal distinction between what is owing on “fruits” and on livestock and property. See further 102n. However, such canons very often offer, not simply a list of exactions, but concessive details; these inspired the lucubrations of legal theorists. Here the local triggering language occurs in a decree often attributed to Winchelsey (but actually archbishop Boniface of Savoy, 1249 x 1269): “De piscationibus autem et apibus, sicut de omnibus aliis bonis iuste adquisitis que renovantur per annum, statuimus quod decime exigantur, sed debito modo” (C&S 2:792– 97, par. 5). Cf. Celestine III’s papal pronouncement (1190s), “fidelis homo de omnibus, quae licite potest acquirere, sine diminutione decimas erogare tenetur” (Decretales 3.30.23, CJC 2:563–64). John Ayton’s standard gloss to Lyndwood’s Provinciale (1679:195), the manual of English canon law, refers to both these passages, among a raft of further citations. Discussing Boniface’s concession, he adds: “On this point, you may see further Decretales 3.20.33, in the gloss, and other learned men who put the example of the whore. Nevertheless, you say, following Innocent

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IV in the gloss there, that a whore and others of the same kind, so long as they do not repent for their behavior, ought not to pay tithes, nor their alms be accepted. However, if they repent, their tithes and alms may be taken, since, as Gratian’s Decretum 1.50.18 [CJC 1:185, citing Gregory, Moralia 18.40.67 (PL 76:164)] says, a penitent person ‘begins to be what he was not previously.’ And even if she does not repent, she may pay her tithes with the consent of the diocesan bishop” (Pro quo latius videre poteris d.c. ex transmissa, per glo. et alios Doct. qui ponunt exemplum in meretrice. Tu tamen dicis, secundum Innocen. ibi, quod a meretrice, et aliis hujusmodi quamdiu non poenitant, non debet Decima exigi, nec eorum Eleemosyna recipi. Si tamen poeniteant, debet recipi; quia poenitens incipit esse quod prius non fuit. 50 di. ferrum. Et etiamsi non poeniteat, potest Decimas solvere . . . de consensu Diocesani). See further Decretales 5.39.54 (Gregory IX, CJC 2:911–12), which allows taking tithes from an excommuncate, and Tierney’s discussion (1959:49–51). 79 (B 6.77, A 7.69) They ben ascaped good aunter: The Athlone punctuation implies that good aunter is the object of ascaped; cf. Donaldson’s translation (1990:62/77): “Their good luck has left them.” And while ascapen was frequently transitive in ME (although just as frequently construed with (out) of or fro), the usual sense of such constructions is “avoid something disagreeable or painful,” not something good. Translate, following Skeat, with good aunter as parenthetical: “They have avoided payment, and think that good luck (but it isn’t, and they should hope God will turn their hearts—or they’re damned).” 80–111 (B 6.78–104, A 7.70–96) Piers’s family, his testament, and the way forth. 80–91 (B 6.78–82, A 7.70–74) Piers, his family, and his verbal “testament” to his son: An emphasis upon cooperative, but differentiated, family relations appears in the passus from line 8; cf. further Abraham’s explanation of the Trinity as analogous to the generative human family, 18.214–38, and Tavormina’s extensive discussion of such metaphors (1995). Bennett associates all the names of Piers’s family with scriptural allusions, an appropriate contrast to the sinful “family” of the preceding lines. He further links line 82 with Will’s definition of Dowel (“To soffre”) at 13.219, and the mouse’s promise to “soffre and sey nou9t” at Prol.214. The echo of Prol.214 stimulates a unique C version expansion (lines 84–91), lines that round off the “social contract” portion of the passus (and its reprise of the Prologue) by outlining responsibilities to the king and his law. Through the addition, L clearly situates Piers (as he has not in AB) vis a` vis that complex of social issues that Aers outlines (labor shortages, vagrancy,

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the licitness of begging; see 112–21n) and that are to disrupt after only a few lines the cooperative labor Piers hopes to encourage. (Contrast the attitude toward royal justice expressed in lines 337–40.) Although Piers reforms society from the bottom up, he is no revolutionary (as his earlier conversation with the knight indicates); his pursuit of a harmonious, yet obedient, comune can be paralleled, for example, in Reason’s sermon (e.g., 5.180–90), also the source of those injunctions that form the names of Piers’s children (cf. 5.134–39L). 80 (B 6.78ff., A 7.70ff.) Dame Worch-when-tyme-is: Robertson and Huppe´ connect line 80 with Gal. 6:10 (“Therefore, whilst we have time, let us work good to all men”); and Pearsall cites Exod. 20:9 (the prohibition of sabbath work); see further 5.28n, line 10 above and esp. the parallel A 7.12. More pointedly, in the wage boom that succeeded the Black Death, the Statute writers perceive laborers’ desire for profit as so thorough as to lead them to ignore traditional holiday restrictions on labor: “no Labourer, [Servant], nor Artificer shall take no Manner of wages the festival Days” (34 Edw. III, c. 10; SR 1:367). Although “wasters” are more prominent in both PP and contemporary discourse, those unwilling to work when requested represent only one danger; overachievers, who seek to capitalize on labor shortages to their own spiritual detriment (a sanctimonious effort, supported by both aristocrats and peasants, at restraining social advancement), are the other side of the coin. Such individuals may have internalized a bit too literally John 9:4: “I must work the works of him that sent me, whilst it is day; the night cometh, when no man can work.” 86 (B 6.82, A 7.74) Lat god yworthe: “Leave the matter to God” (Kane on A 7.74, cited by Bennett). The locution may indeed be a West Midlandism (as Bennett claims 2.49n); the only close analogue at MED worthen v. comes from the north Gloucestershire William of Palerne (sense 2c [a]). In the C version, L detaches this line from the son’s name and integrates it into Piers’s ongoing speech of instruction (which might well begin in this version at the head of line 83), a paternal testament to parallel the will that immediately follows. Piers here commands his son to honor his social, as well as biological, parents, thy-souereynes. 86L, 90L Super Cathedram . . . : “The Scribes and the Pharisees have sitten on the chair of Moses. All things therefore whatsoever they say to you, observe and do; but according to their works do ye not, for they say and do not” (Matt. 23:2–3; line 91 puts the remainder of v. 3 into English, as perhaps especially deserving of comprehension). Those who sit in Moses’s seat are, for

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

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Jesus, not kings, but Scribes and Pharisees; in this context, the injunction not to imitate here doynge draws attention to hypocrisy, the gap between pronouncement and practice. Alford 1992 :69 identifies the text as standard in discussions of clerical hypocrisy and cites Gratian Decretum 2.3.7.post 7 (CJC 1:528). Cf. Imaginative at 14.64–71 (B 12.121–27). But by transforming the verse to refer to English common (rather than biblical) law, Piers implies the inefficacy of royal justice, its possible favoritism and consequent failures at enforcement. Like Jesus encouraging the listening throng to a fuller enactment of legal injunction than that displayed by their leaders, Piers commits himself to tougher enforcement procedures than those of royal magistrates, commitments that will be enacted in his and the knight’s differing responses to “wasters” at lines 161–70. Moreover, Piers’s might be perceived as an unusually optimistic (or naı¨ve) explanation of the verse. As Szittya (1977:293–301) elaborates in detail, the “eightfold woe” of Matt. 23 customarily inspires trenchant antimendicant satire (friars are the scribes and Pharisees). At RR 11599ff. Faus Semblant (in a section of his argument also extensively pillaged by Ch, for his portrait of the Friar in the “General Prologue”) discusses this verse as antimendicant. Late in his career, Wycliffe commented on the entire chapter in the same spirit, and a ME adaption of his text, “Vae Octuplex,” had a wide circulation (see Hudson SEWW 75–83). As Piers will shortly discover, he may have identified the lesser of two evils. 92–111 (B 6.83–104, A 7.75–96) Piers makes his will: After extensive rhetorical preparation, Piers firmly links his (and by extension, his colleagues’) agrarian activities with a lifelong pilgrimage. This will be one penitential in its eye to legal responsibilities, in its commitment to labor, and in its endurance of ongoing hardships. Here wend[yng]e 94 is clearly a journey down the furrow. Cf. 111 and faren 112, lines that identify the motion of this pilgrimage with the assumption of laboring stations in the field, simultaneously penaunce and . . . pilgrimage (93). As Bennett notes, preparing a will was a conventional preparation for pilgrimage, as was the offer to settle all one’s debts (cf. 107 with Margery Kempe’s Book, ch. 26). Bennett also notes accord with the usual testamentary pattern of the period (also Alford 1988c, s.v. Testament, with further references; Bishop 1996:35–39). As Steiner (2003:93–142) points out, Piers’s will is comparable to the other two documents of the Visio, Meed’s marriage contract and Piers’s pardon; certainly the commonplace legal forms of all three contrast with the often excessive textuality of subsequent passu¯s.

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In his will, Piers compactly joins legalisms associated with the rural economy (and feudal lordship) and those associated with a different system of account, God’s remission of sins (cf. the example discussed 98–99n, 10.51–55, 12.16–17). But such a fusion, a corollary of the juncture of plowing and pilgrimage, might be perceived as in itself problematic: is God’s account system commensurate with that which measures success in worldly labor? Such an attempt to read the spiritual through material economics will become a contested issue in the remainder of this passus and in passus 9. See further Stokes (1984:230–31). 94 (B 6.85, A 7.77) do wryte my biqueste: As Bennett sees, do (here causative, i.e., “I’ll have my will written”) implies that Piers does not write the document. (However, that may not mean that he cannot write, as Alford 1988c:169, s.v. Writen, points out.) The verb contrasts with I make 95, Piers’s statement that he can compose, if not copy. Bennett further links the line and the issue of literacy with 9.282–83, where he assumes the priest must read (rather than just construe) the pardon for Piers; but see B 7.136–40—given later medieval standards of “the literate,” very different from our own, Piers may be able to read but not to write with facility. For discussion of the broad range of medieval behaviors that might be thought “literate,” see Clanchy 1993, Aston 1984, Parkes 1973. 97 (B 6.88, A 7.80) defenden hit fro ∂e fende: Cf. 9.37–40 and n, probably more relevant than Bennett’s citation of B 7.118 (although see the next note). beleue here contrasts with crede in the following line (see the next note); it refers to Piers’s faith in divine protection (cf. B 7.120–21), not a specific mandated credal statement. 98–99 (B 6.89–90, A 7.81–82): Midline punctuation (which appears only in the Athlone texts and Schmidt) is absolutely essential to the sense, as are Alford’s explanations (1988c:131–32, s.v. Relees, Remissioun, Rental). Translate: “Until I come to his accounting (yet another allusion to the ‘Redde rationem’ of Luke 16:2) and get a formal release of my obligation to him. That’s what the Creed tells me, and I believe in the terms stated in that document, Truth’s rentbook, which registers my responsibilities to my lord.” The creed here, esp. given the reference to acountes and to 7.236, is the conclusion of the Athanasian creed, which is to appear, in a far less optimistic modality, in the following passus. Line 99 is compactly difficult, because its referent is my soule 96. Piers imagines his (spiritual) life as a lease, comparable to that by which he obtained

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

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use of his half-acre plot. Just like the plot, he owes God for his use of the “property.” Thus, the metaphor does not allow any very clear separation between agricultural and spiritual referents. The line then implies that penitential plowing of the flesh for the spirit’s good discussed at 6.182–204n. 100 (B 6.91, A 7.83) The kyrke shal haue my caroyne: Bennett says he intends a proper burial in his parish church, not some dealing with friars. Pearsall1 cites Fitzralph DC 72. In death, Truth becomes responsible for Piers’s spirit and its continuing life, while the church, to which he has owed worldly, material obligations, gets only his corpse. 101, 103 (B 6.92, 94; A 7.84, 86) he: The use of his in lines 103 and 104 indicates that this is not a feminine pronoun (⳱ ecclesia/Holychurch): as Skeat sees, it refers to the parish priest. For my corne and my catel, a precise legal distinction, see 78n. 102 (B 6.93, A 7.85) for perel of my soule: Failure to pay due tithes was policed by the threat of excommunication; cf. Chaucer’s Parson, CT I.486 “Ful looth was he to cursen for his tithes.” On the general obligation to tithe, see “The Great Curse,” which subjects to excommunication a far richer set of violations than one might imagine (impeding tithe-collectors, slandering priests collecting tithes, for example), e.g., 20/3–4, 24/6–25/6, 33/28–34/3, and the extensive tract on the subject 37–43. The prest payment that Piers here makes (also typifying his action in lines 108 and 115) accords with Truth’s behavior at 7.196 and contrasts with that of Sloth at 7.35–41. Bennett associates the first of these with the injunction of Deut. 24:12–13 and contrasts 4.55–57, 61. 104 (B 6.95, A 7.87) memorie: Skeat aptly recalls 7.27, and as Bennett notes, the mass—as well as most private prayerbooks, Will’s lomes (cf. 5.45–47n)— includes a regular Commemoration of the Dead. On the importance of prayers in upper-echelon peasants’ wills, see Hanawalt 1986:241, and for more extensive gentry behaviors centered in the parish church, Vale 1976. See further 109n below. amongus alle cristene is suggestive of Lollard antimendicant rhetoric, opposed to “private religion” and affirming a single community of the faithful, but Piers’s relative equanimity toward the demands of tithing largely falls outside Lollard discourse (see Hudson 1988:341–45 for the range of sectarian opinion). 105 (B 6.96, A 7.88) with treuthe and no more: Following Pearsall’s note (but not the punctuation of his printed text—the midline cesura after wan indicates

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the line’s grammatical shape), this entire half-line forms an interjected pair of phrases: “everything I gained—I acquired it the hard way, Truth’s way, and there’s no more than that.” 109 (B 6.100, A 7.92) ∂e residue and ∂e remenant: Bennett explains the conventional distribution of an estate: the deceased’s wife receives one-third, his children one-third, and the remainder forms “the dead’s part,” typically reserved for commemorative masses or a chantry (cf. Sloth’s ambiguous promise at B 5.459 or 12.216–18). Here (as Bennett points out) Piers will use his portion actively in the world, dissipate it before death, not simply compose a bequest for prayers. See further Thomson 1965:181–82. The wife’s share of one-third is a customary, not simply testamentary right, enshrined in common law (see Hanawalt 1986:71, 75); here Piers exceeds this requirement by promising her a lifetime tenure in the estate. But this may be a strict testamentary clause, as Alford (1988c:113, s.v. Residue and Remenaunt) sees, well attested in contemporary wills (“I leave the remnant of my effects, after my specific bequests [106–7] and payment of outstanding debts [there are none according to line 108].”). Piers’s residue will be not be monetary, but his laboring/pilgrimaging ability, the physical energy he can devote to the plow; this effort forms a spiritual value as well, an activity not for his profit but as free gift to all society (111; in AB only to the poor). In the course of the passus, however, a gap opens between such a gracious promise and Piers’s actual achievement: within a few lines, Piers must face the problem of discriminating among potential receivers of his largesse. 109 (B 6.100, A 7.92) the rode of lukes (A chestre): A further echo of Sloth at B 5.459. Skeat sees the ironic connection with a center of Italian usuriousness, but Pearsall dismisses this possibility. 112–21 (B 6.105–14, A 7.97–107) At the plow: a brief working interlude: FM opens (422/1–2) its discussion of the remedy for Sloth: “In order to overcome and uproot sloth, liveliness or busyness in honorable and good works now enters the ring” (ad istud vicium expugnandum et extirpandum iam procedit in medium vivacitas sive agilitas in honestis et bonis occupacionibus). And the author specifies (4–8) such occupation: “This occurs in physical work which people undertake in due season and for various necessary purposes, such as plowing, sowing, reaping, brewing, baking, tailoring, sewing, building houses, and the like” (patet in exterioribus laboribus quibus utuntur homines temporibus debitis [that is, not on Sabbath or feastdays; cf. 80n] ad diversa necessaria, sicut arando, seminando, metendo, brixando, pandoxando, scindendo,

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consuendo, edificando, et huiusmodi). In terms of the initial premise of the passus, an half aker to erye 2, this should be a morning’s work, but in the course of this description (and perhaps responsible for the breakdown of the entire enterprise), Piers indicates, as readers might now be aware, that he is thinking in very different temporal terms altogether; see 121n. 119 (B 6.112, A 7.104) hey prime: Skeat identifies the hour as 9 a.m.: Piers isn’t Sloth and has been up and at it with his helpers since gray dawn. 120–21 (B 6.113–14, A 7.105–6) To ouersey hem hymsulue: Bennett (headnote, p. 197) describes Piers as “a husbandman or overseer, with some sense of authority and responsibility” and here as “a faithful steward or reeve” (with a cross-reference to the spiritually fulfilled version of this activity at 21.258). Skeat glosses “head harvest-man” (probably slightly inaccurately). Following FM, cited 7.199n, 8.1–4n, Piers has demonstrated, both as a doctor and a ductor, the via by which he believes one may achieve Truth: at this point, he approvingly surveys his handiwork, the energy that he has instilled in the folk. The second clause of this sentence, “hoso beste wrouhte 兩 He sholde be huyred 3eraftur when heruost tyme come,” has proved problematic, both lexically and in the criticism of the poem. Most typically, 7eraftur has been construed in its strictly temporal sense, reinforced by the specifying dependent clause of line 121b; in such a reading, huyred has the usual modern sense “signed on as a laborer for wages.” Such a reading stimulates, for example, Baldwin’s argument (1981:58) that Piers issues standard harvest-time to harvest time contracts to his employees; the Statutes of Laborers in fact enjoin these, since they avoid possible abuses in offering wages by the day (see 25 Edw. III, c. 2.1; SR 1:311, and cf. the abuse of selling piecemeal 6.231). Aers (see esp. 1988:41–42) has most forcefully exploited this grammatical construction of the lines. Although Vch man in his manere 117 (according to his specific charge or vocation) at this point labors, Piers watches with an eye to discriminating among them. For Aers, the possible discriminations Piers might make among members of his workforce have potentially draconian consequences: Piers distinguishes among hired laborers who are selling their manual skills (cf. 329n) for subsistence wages and thus potentially wields life-ordeath power, depending on whether he finds them worthy of being rehired. Cf. Simpson 1990:80: “Piers . . . decides who will be hired.” But L’s sense is potentially more difficult, and consequently, less concerned with temporality or hiring procedures: “Whoever worked best would be paid a salary (presumably, given lines 126–27, inter alia, Piers envisions a share of the produce) in exact accord with his work, when harvest came.”

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Such a reading relies upon identifying 7eraftur with OED Thereafter adv., sense 2; upon construing it as modifying huyred; and seeing that verb as used in the same, very idiosyncratic way L does at line 334 below (MED hiren v., sense 1c). Such an idiosyncratic usage clearly relies upon Conscience’s earlier efforts at creating a very specific sense for the parallel noun huyre at B 3.255–58. One should further note MED hiren v., sense 1d, which suggests a distinct shock value to this usage: pre-Langlandian extended senses of this verb refer primarily to payment for criminal acts. Following Ault’s discussion of harvest hiring (1972:28–34 amid a generally relevant discussion), Aers’s reading would appear implausible; in Ault’s view, there was too much harvest work to be done in too short a time for employers actually to “black-list,” as Aers would suggest. This is the underlying reason, not simply for the provisions of the Statutes, but for regulations in village bylaws going back to the thirteenth century. 121 (B 6.114, A 7.106) when heruost tyme come: This clause finally, definitively, and vertiginously identifies Piers’s metaphoric pilgrimage. Having begun as a morning’s work, the time scheme of the passus now explodes into a sequence of variously overlapping (and equally various noncommensurate) time schemes. Most recently in the text, lines 110–11 might be taken to promise something like the (purely metaphoric?) fusion of a day and a life, as in the parable of the vineyard (Matt. 20:1–16; cf. Pearl 493–588). But with the reference to heruost, Piers drops any pretense of a very brief space. He now imagines, as Burrow first insists (1965:255), the full round of the year’s agricultural duties, from Michaelmas to Lammas and beyond, and the narrative in later portions of the passus will dutifully run through these. For this customary rota of agricultural activities, see Hanawalt 1986:125–26, with further references, particularly to H. S. Bennett 1937:77–96; and Homans 1941:353–81. Setting the seed is only the first step in achieving a crop (following the metaphor of Somme le roi, mentioned 6.182–204n, one of virtues); while these further steps needful may rebuff short-timer tourists, they might recall Will’s claimed persistence in ofte chaffar[ing] (5.94). Yet this is not all, for, as the parable of the vineyard, not to mention Piers’s will (98–100), implies, heruost also invokes the Last Judgment. Cf. Apoc. 14:15, cited 1–4n. Pearsall also compares one of the sowing parables, Matt. 13:39, for the association of harvest and the Last Judgment, and one might cite, again in the context of viticulture, the Christian communalism of John 15:1–11, in PP underlying 20.409–14, 430–38L. Trower (1973:245) invokes Matt. 21:33–36.

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122–48 (B 6.115–52, A 7.109–39) At the ale: the emergence of labor problems in the half-acre: When Piers leaves off work, leet 7e plouh stande 119, he finds that others have already stopped. Rather than applauding an ongoing labor effort, Piers is shocked to discover a work slowdown. This proves a disastrous turn in the argument of the passus; the metaphorical reading of “plowing” Piers has so strenuously endeavored to establish in the opening movement is quickly and thoroughly dismantled. The nonlaboring pubcrawlers essentially see plowing in terms of physical product, the satisfying ale made from the grain; they ignore what Piers believes his metaphor is to convey—Truth’s fulfilling process of communal industry. In his efforts to deal with these nonparticipants, Piers turns equally materialistic. He abandons his earlier processual and charity-based metaphor in an effort at insuring a sufficient product, enough food, to support his community. When Piers has mentioned wastores in his instructions to the knight (27), they seem a very distant prospect indeed; but in the context of determining an equitable return for the best working, the most assiduous, of his hands (120–21), the presence of those unwilling to labor transforms Piers from generous to outraged reeve. These fun-seeking nonworkers immediately draw Piers’s ire and outspoken severity; they are first identified as faytours by the poet (128; Piers follows suit at 138), and the abusive wastours comes in its train (139). Piers accompanies this language with punitive threats, at this point the introduction of unpleasant differentiated provisions for those who will not work (water from the village brook, not the preferred ale 142). Stock 1991 associates this moment with interpretations of the parable of the tares and the wheat (Matt. 13:24–30); on the economy thus introduced, a forecast of Need in the poem’s last waking interlude, see Galloway 2009. This moment recalls, not simply because of the two characters’ common reliance on particularistic definitions of “hire” (cf. 7.200–204), Conscience’s outrage at the beginning of his speech at 3.155–56. Just as Meed’s acts undermine Conscience’s conceptions of properly just operations in the first communal formation of the poem, the nonlaboring workmen undermine Piers’s conception of a loving and generous society in the second. Both Piers and Conscience seek a social situation in which justice strives to protect the lele (cf. 140 with 2.51–52). Whatever the sense of line 121, Aers correctly identifies Piers’s behavior here as that of a subject formed by common mid and late fourteenth-century discourses about labor and poverty. At this point, Piers seems to visualize himself (in a way that becomes progressively more uncomfortable) as a meen with social responsibilities (cf. 1.156). In the earlier versions, these are at least partly associated with Truth, whose holde hyne and worldly reeve Piers claims

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to be (B 131–33, A 123–25). But in the C version, the expansion at lines 84–91 (together with the excision of the AB passage just mentioned) identifies Piers with legal procedures, at this point the determination of who is a suitable member of the Christian community. Although either role, as Aers argues, would place Piers squarely within that ideological matrix that generates the poem, both views, in their sense of judicial accountability, conflict with the generous and merciful promises of earlier portions of the passus. In this role Piers anticipates his eventual Petrine/papal responsibility of binding and loosing, a discrimination embodied in “Redde quod debes” 21.258–59. Piers chastises his nonlaboring neighbors on the basis of a ubiquitous social distinction (which he has in fact assumed from the outset, cf. 14n). The pore, who deserve support, are those who cannot labor to get it for themselves. In contrast, the able-bodied, however much they might feign indigence, are not appropriate recipients of alms, and should labor for their keep. In his rage, he threatens a solution, not to share the harvest (contravening his most openhanded promise, at line 111); eventually, at line 168, he must accelerate this threat and make it integral to the act of labor itself. Rather than harvest, that is, apocalyptic, settlement of accounts, the world requires pay-as-you-go measures. Hence, although Piers begins by considering essentially parochial responsibilities (previously, at 70–79, he has excluded only those who cannot tithe), his interests readily align him with the legal arm of the state, with law as royal proclamation, and associate him closely with contemporary statutory efforts to regulate the work force. The most prominent statements resembling his views and the actions that follow emerge from national legislative pronouncements. Cf. the initial Statute of Laborers, which speaks of “some rather willing to beg in Idleness, than by Labour to get their Living” (23 Edw. III, Pream.; SR 1:307). A yet richer example of the discourse, because more anxious than Edward III had been in 1349, appears as a Commons petition to the Good Parliament of 1376 (cf. Prol.167–219n, ed. Dobson PR 72–74). This begins by lamenting the failure to punish those who avoid the Statutes, since “by great malice aforethought . . . as soon as their masters accuse them of bad service, or wish to pay them for their labor according to the form of the statutes, [laborers and servants] take flight and suddenly leave their employment and district.” The petition argues that a multitude of such vagrants fill the country and that “many of the said wandering laborers have become mendicant beggars in order to lead an idle life . . . although they are able-bodied and might well ease the commons by living on their labor and services, if they were willing to serve.” While Piers’s generous pronouncements have precluded having to pursue vagrants (his nonfeasant workmen have stayed nearby in the

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belief that they may count on his largesse), the parliamentary assumption that any nonlaborer is probably just an able-bodied drone informs Piers’s responses to the situation. Such legal formulations also interface with more conventional pulpit homiletics. Cf. FM 400/51–53: “The slothful person lives off other people’s labor, and what others have gained by hard and painful work, he eats up in idleness” (de alieno labore accidiosus reficitur, et quod alii duro labore et forti lucrabantur tales devorant ociose). The author has already stated (45–46) that “Slothful people may be compared to bums who sit all day lying in the sun and do no work but refuse the burden of any good activity” (tales bene comparantur trutannis contra solem tota die sedentibus et nichil boni operantibus set onus bonarum occupacionum recusantibus). Nor is this perception of the nonproductive poor strictly an English one; see Mollat’s extensive discussion (1986:191–292) of the new demonization in the later Middle Ages of poverty, once considered an unequivocally blessed state. 122 (B 6.115, A 7.107) at the ale: Cf. B 1.26, where Holychurch argues that drink impedes one’s laboring ability; and the commonplace identification of the tavern as a demonic church (references gathered at 6.350–441n). Piers’s identification of illicit workmen with a situation outside Christian community at 71–79 renders this an almost predictably automatic association; Aers well characterizes (1988:38–41) this as “demonizing” behaviors outside current social ideology. Like Aers, Dyer (1989:146) offers information that would diminish the inherent criminality of this behavior by arguing that it reflects an economic choice of how to consume: “One plausible interpretation of the period is that the feckless labourers, with no other use for their cash, squandered their earnings on ale and leisure, while a different regime operated among the sober and thrifty tenants of larger holdings.” This analysis invites comparison with the two conflicting views of (aristocratic) rural life in W&W; cf. Smith 2003:72–107. Hanawalt (1986:218) describes a manorial record that “At Broughton three men were fined for playing alepenypricke when they should have been performing their week-work for their lord.” 124 (B 6.117, A 7.109) puyre tene (A wra∂∂e): Lupack (1975) seems to have been the first to note that the phrase communicates “righteous indignation” (as Schmidt points out, with citations of Gregory and Aquinas, a recognized theological category, ira per zelum). Cf. BVV 25/11–13: “But vnderstonde wel 3at 3er is an ire 3at goode holy men han a9ens euele, 3at is vertue to destroie wi3 yuele.” Bennett and Schmidt draw attention to L’s other uses of the phrase, B 7.119 and B 16.86 (cf. Theology at 2.116). Bennett defends Piers as

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following the 1376 commons petition concerning vagrant laborers (partially cited 122–48n). 127 (B 6.120, A 7.112) for deul: Donaldson (1990:63/120) translates “once off the dole” (MED dol n.1: literally “for lack of alms”); but the manuscript spellings suggest the simpler “in/for pain or distress” (MED dol n.2). 128 (B 6.121, A 7.113) faytours: Cf. 73–74n. Here at least initially, the form nonlaboring activity takes controls the discussion. Piers identifies the nonlaboring poor as, not just layabouts, but dishonest beggars who resort to theatrics in order to appeal as if disabled—and thus licitly deserving of support. This portion of the poem has an extensive reprise, in the beekeeper’s parable at Mum 979–1086; see Shepherd 1983:173 and n., with extensive further references. Skeat cites (188n) Arnold SEW 3.372, a discussion that charges that mendicants take away the alms that should belong to the worthy poor; this Lollard text relies upon Scase’s “typical interpretation” of Luke 14:21 (see 7.97–114n). Those here labeled faytours are equally aware of such social discourse (and of L’s reliance on it). Through their feigned ailments they seek to present themselves as the biblical “caeci et claudi” (see further 143, 188); in lord god we thonketh 135 they wrap themselves in the mantle of the non-grucching patient poor. Their promised activity as “bedesmen” subsumes both the role Will has claimed for himself at 5.84–85 and the divine minstrelsy L has described at 7.108–9. Ironically enough, claims like this rely upon and invert the same trope that has underwritten both “God’s minstrels” and Piers’s “pilgrimage to Truth” in the first instance; if not literally indigent, faytours draw upon a metaphoric extension of holy otium to justify their behaviors. At this point, Piers responds to this appeal only as flattery (cf. 147; and see further 132n). This promise to praye 131 underlies L’s pervasive alliterative linkage beggares and biddares, first at Prol.44; on “beg and bid,” see KD p. 148 on B 11.278; and Schmidt’s elaborate discussion of the pun bid “pray” and bid “beg alms,” 1987:126–30. This analysis might be extended to consider bid “command” and (a)bide “endure” (as the “truly” poor, the patient, do). Again, there are obvious narrative parallels with the first vision—the issue of whether Meed is simply False or might represent legitimate Amends. See further 138, 144–49n. 129 (B 6.122, A 7.114) leyde here legges alery: A rich series of notes has explicated the clause: the wasters pretend to be maimed by tying their lower legs up behind their thighs. See Fairchild 1926, Brett 1927, E. J. Dobson 1947–48:61– 62, and Colledge 1958. Skeat (179n) cites the analogous description of faitours’ tricks, likely L’s source, at SV 7123–32.

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132 (B 6.126, A 7.118) of his grace: Cf. B 124 (A 116), apparently dropped in the B version copy that underlies the C revision. Although the claim sounds like wheedling and special pleading, it resembles that stance Piers himself adopts in the AB pardon scene (cf. B 7.122–35). There he implicitly argues that sustenance does not depend on labor, but on divine grace, that all are somehow God’s almsmen, beneficiaries of his gift. In all three texts, then, the explosive difficulties created by Piers’s simultaneous adherence both to Christian mercy and charity and to statute law lead directly toward the pardon scene. ——— √oure grayn multiplye: Agricultural success, and the avoidance of famine, depend on the ratio between the quantity harvested (and a portion of the previous year’s harvest must be saved for the next sowing, not consumed) and the quantity sown. In the Middle Ages, a three or four-to-one yield on the grain sown, perhaps 20 percent of the norm a twenty-first-century Iowan would expect, was considered good (Bennett 61n, Dyer 1989:126–27). But, as Dyer also points out (1989:41), the medieval yield per acre sown was even more impoverished, perhaps only about a sixth of modern expectations. See further 310n. 133 (B 6.127, A 7.119) here: God will repay Piers for his charity (@elde @ow of @oure Almesse), here in heaven: Bennett cites Matt. 6:4. 135–36 (cf. B 6.124, A 7.116) We haue none lymes to labory with . . . 兩 Õoure prayeres . . . and √e parfyt weren: The lines directly connect these confidently designated “wasters” with the dreamer’s earlier conflicted assertions. Like them, he has claimed to be too weak to work and to have taken up alternate tools (lomes), his prayers; see 5.23–25, 45–52 (and cf. 5.33–36). Piers’s response to the plea for sustenance here further echoes Conscience and Reason’s querulousnness, when confronted with Will’s similar appeals at 5.84–85, 90–91. Thus, the protracted discussion of discrimination in charity that fills subsequent portions of this passus and much of the next returns to themes in C prominently associated with the figure of the poet himself. For important moments in this development, see 209n, 341–52n. 136–48 (B 6.129–51, A 7.121–38): With one possible exception (see 146–48n below), the three versions, although differing in how much AB choose to expand some points, have much the same purport. The final version is most concise: line 141 collapses into L’s well-established usage, plowing as synecdoche for labor, more extensive listings (A 126–28, B 134 and 139–43), and lines 146–48 reduce both A’s expansively grudging promise to feed religious (133–

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38) and B’s similar materials, there coupled with identification of selfappointed religious wanderers who should not be fed (147–51). In the speech, Piers propounds a new distinction; he thus extends the number of excluded groups mentioned at lines 71ff. above. Most explicitly (cf. 139–40 and B 6.133) in the subsequent A 7.124–25 (which should probably be joined by a colon), an economic theory first emerges that will animate the remainder of the passus in all versions (cf. esp. line 160). In a departure from Holychurch’s optimism (see 5–55n, 14–18n), Piers envisions a Malthusian world of dearth in which a fixed quantum of food is necessary to support further food production; misuse of this quantum, expending it on healthy noncontributors, potentially can destroy all by leaving the active work force nutritionally impoverished, and thus incapable of labor. In such an economic vision, wasting, eating more than one’s share, represents not simply personal intemperance, but anticommunal criminality. 143 (B 6.136, A 7.130) or bolted with yren (A or beddrede ligge): In A, L returns to Luke 14, while BC expand the reference to allude to the works of mercy, here the command to visit prisoners in Matt. 25:36. But it is just possible, as Donaldson (1990:64n) suggests, that the “bolt” is some type of leg brace that enables the halt to move about; L’s use of bolten v. is very nearly unique, and MED bolte n., although including several uses to describe similar barlike metal implements, has no close parallels. Cf. 5.33–34 where Reason offers the dreamer this manner of exculpation. 144 Such poore: Cf. FM 534/1–3: “Alms can be compared to seed for many reasons. First, like good seed they must be entrusted to good and fitting soil, that is, to the deserving poor” (Comparatur autem elemosina semini propter multa. Et primo quia ad modum boni seminis debet terre bone et convenienti, id est bonis pauperibus commendari). The author, relevantly enough, notes the difficulty involved in distinguishing these in modern times and urges his readers to do the best they can. See further 209n. B 6.143 In lecherie . . . ye lyuen, and in Sleu∂e: As at 6.266–67 (A 7.250), the B version shows a tendency to connect Waster overtly with specific sins. Bennett (266n) notes other lines that link lechery and gluttony (1.25ff., 16.91–93), traditionally yoked as “sins of the flesh.” The divine suffraunce of the following verse, also unique to B, looks ahead to lines 225–26L (again unique). 146–48 (cf. B 6.145–51, A 7.133–38) Support of the religious: Slightly differently focused across the three versions, the lines provide one of several rather

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grudging statements that recognize the clergy as occupying an anomalous position. On the basis of the Levitical model (see 5.53–60n), those with religious duties are not held to labor (cf. 7at no werk vsi7 A 137), yet are potentially worthy of sustenance (cf. lines 190–91). These sentiments reflect opinions L may have derived from the heavily revised version of Ancrene Riwle in Cambridge, Magdalene College, MS Pepys 2498; cf. my discussion, 2005:202–12. Similarly, Faus semblant at RR 11297–316 satirizes contemporary mendicant views and argues that Jesus and the apostles, the models of priesthood, never begged (but rather received free tithes as persons with cure of souls). Faus semblant also notices that the original Christian community in Acts supported themselves by their own labor. Mum 615 complains of parish priests demanding tithes that they “haue suche a harueste and helpe not to erie”; the solution that the dreamer of Mum recommends (653–59) is to restrict the priest to his sustenance and expend the remainder on the parish poor and fabric of the church. As one might expect, A is the most straightforward and addresses itself to regular or monastic clergy alone, perhaps as a pars pro toto, the most salient instance. After a brief echo of Prol.30–32—such inclaustrated figures have no opportunity for labor—it argues that this group should be given a single daily meal; short rations will insure that they live emaciated lives of penance. This material, in truncated form, is retained across all versions. B is considerably more expansive in its scope, addressing the entire clerical status through a three-fold distinction. It adds to A a line (147) concerning secular clergy, priests with cures of souls—and thus access to support through tithes. In a further four lines (148–51), this version considers the support of unbeneficed priests, licit and otherwise (probably the dreamer’s imagined situation). The final version is considerably more summary than either predecessor, singling out only monastics and the exemplary case of the wandering friar. The flattering friar has in line 73 been identified as the model/ordre to which all “faitery” seeks to accommodate itself. As flatterer, he might be associated with the “devil’s minstrels” of 7.89 et seq.; were he not to flatter but, as friars are supposed to do, call his audience to repentance (cf. 7.106), he would be a useful religious instructor, worthy of support. In C, L seems to have decided that Piers’s earlier references to tithing as a social requirement (78n, 101n) indicate that the beneficed will receive sufficient support and that this liminal test case addressed other instances. 146 (B 6.145, A 7.133 and 135) ∂at eten but at nones: A fast-day schedule, as Skeat first points out. Cf. “Simonie” 157–58: “Religioun wot redi vch day what

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he shal don: 兩 He ne carez noht to muche for his mete at non”; the Peterhouse copy (104) reads “carez noskynnes 3ing bot for,” and later (169–74) describes monastic pyne as being restricted to drinking water only (cf. 6.155, 159). 147 and pore folke syke: The off-verse, unique to the final version, may qualify Suche pore 144; its only precursor in the earlier versions is the reference to the beddrede in A 7.130. But the unqualified reference to illness, which might be construed as a temporary debility if opposed to those “maymed or broke in membre” whom Piers has indicated he will of course support, may represent a small move from earlier strictures. Perhaps under the pressure of the reference to the prisoners of Matt. 25:36 (line 143), Piers recognizes that the gospel command to charitable almsgiving, to feed the hungry, is unqualified. In Matt. 25’s description of the Doom, Jesus identifies himself with all the hungry, not some pretested portion of them. The sick certainly resemble the maimed closely enough to render this move a minimal one. But as this passus and the next discover, the discourses of merciful gospel charity and English statute law cannot be fused and point toward radically opposed judicial systems to govern the half-acre comune. B 6.147 to cope hem: The detail follows from line 11, where aristocratic ladies embroider vestments. These figures han, serve or have cure of souls, assigned religious functions; thus, they presumably use their copes in liturgically appropriate ways, unlike those excluded in the following lines in B. See further 185n. B 6.148–51. Piers distinguishes two groups of unbeneficed wandering clergy: Rather broadly, B distinguishes traveling priests who will instruct and who have episcopal certification from other self-nominated “apostles” (probably just “preachers,” not Skeat’s Lollard hedge-priests). The first deserve support, if minimal; the latter not. In a passage canceled in the later versions (11.199– 203, and cf. 211), A probably provides the best gloss on Robert Renaboute 148, as a religious who begs because lacking any endowment (i.e. benefice). On contemporary licensing of preaching (largely an effort to forestall heresy, not to limit beggars), see Richardson 1936. potage 150 recalls Wrath’s bridling at monastic diets (6.151–63) and looks ahead to the imposition of vegetarian fare later in the passus (Schmidt cites the echo at 183). Bennett glosses Religion 151, “?religious order,” but this is probably just the common noun “devotion, ritual, creed”; his identification of an echo of Luke 10:7, in which the apostles are promised “hire” for their missionary efforts, is more helpful. Translate the concluding verse “It is an unregulated religion that has no secure hope (of regular meals).” Although the language resembles that at 22.383, I disagree

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with Schmidt, Barney, (22.253–72n, 255n, 267n), and Bishop (1996:30–31) that the point at issue here is similar. 149–66 (B 6.152–70, A 7.139–55) A peasants’ revolt, and the knight’s failure: The most aggressive nonlaborers threaten Piers with violence. Refusing to work, they promise to take what they need. Piers appeals to the knight, but he proves ineffectual at dealing with the uprising. Again, the scene should be seen as a reprise of the first vision. Peace reports having been threatened by Wrong, there a marauding magnate dependent, in the same way as Waster and Bretoner threaten Piers here; see 4.58, 62. But rather than the class conflict that he expected in his earlier address to the knight, Piers now discovers the enemy is within; opposition emerges from segments of a restive peasant community that refuse to accept either deprivation or the need to labor. The Bretoner’s eventual threat, to make off with Piers’s produce (153– 55n), resonates with Walter of England’s fifty-fifth fable, the tale of the stomach and the other members (cf. Shakespeare, Coriolanus 1.1.96–155). The connection is perhaps especially clear in a context that emphasizes the association of the true laborer and the “hand” (see 329n), since in Walter’s account, the hand leads the rebels against the stomach. The fable is at this moment in the poem thoroughly inverted, however; neither Bretoner nor Waster has labored (cf. 164), nor can Piers be associated with the “ociositas” (cf. line 1) that they attack: “Belly, learn to suffer the harsh yoke of hunger [the character whom Piers will shortly summon], or else learn to work” (Disce pati famis acre iugum uel disce labori, 5). But in the course of L’s narrative, as Piers withholds food and laborers are coerced into unwilling field work, the fable’s referents and its relation to the text might be seen to shift significantly. Certainly, in the impulse that drives his action, the ostensible well-being of the whole comune, Piers is well aware of the fable’s denouement, in which the stomach expires—and with him the members who have complained against and starved him. 150 (B 6.153, A 7.140) profrede to fyhte (AB p. his gloue): The AB rendition invokes a wildly inapposite courtliness, as if Waster issues a chivalric challenge; in the inverted social formation of this passus, the feuding aristocratic retinues of the first vision become contentious groups of agricultural laborers. Certainly, Waster’s readiness for combat contrasts strikingly with the knight’s ineffectuality (and his failure to carry through on his couenant 157 of line 34). And Waster’s promise of hostilities is echoed in the Bretoner’s claimed right of ad lib. pillage in line 154.

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151 (B 6.155, A 7.142) pyuische shrewe (A pilide s.): The half-line may modify wastor 149, but given the normal syllabic constraints operative in alliterative off-verses, the -e of pyuische must be pronounced; consequently, the phrase is a vocative. Since this implies direct quotation of Waster’s speech to Piers, one should insert quotation marks. One wonders whether this use of the verb pisse points toward colloquial currency of impolite idioms not otherwise recorded until quite recently. Should one understand something like “piss off, along with your plow” (get lost), or “take the piss, along with your plow” (you’re a silly boy, and I’m satirizing you)? 152 (B 6.152, A 7.141) A bretener: None of the explanations offered for this term are particularly cogent. Bennett’s association with Whiting’s B 556 “Britons are boasters” is simply unfortunate. All the citations, of which MA 1348 is typical, describe Arthurian “Britains,” not Bretons at all; virtually all derive from Geoffrey of Monmouth HRB 10.125–27 and report an utterance immediately ironized. The only very plausible discussion is Pearsall’s. He says the bretener may be a discharged Breton soldier, a drifting mercenary, left over from Edward III’s Continental adventures. Such figures find a place among charges to the justices appointed under the Statute of Laborers. But these persons are not identified with any national group, like Bretons, only as “those that have been Pillors and Robbers in the Parts beyond the Sea, and be now come again, and go wandering, and will not labour as they were wont in Times past” (34 Edw. III, c. 1; SR 1:364–65). More plausibly, the spelling bretener hides some French or AngloNorman word that has nothing to do with Brittany. Tobler-Lommatzsch, s.v. Breton, provide a variety of citations suggestive of a sense like “minstrel” (cf. Iacke 7e iogelour 71). More distantly, one could compare Anglo-Norman bricon “fool, rogue or scoundrel.” The word appears in a text designed to teach English speakers French vocabulary, Walter of Bibbesworth’s Tretiz, and there in a provocative context: “Yveresce fet coyfe de bricoun 兩 Rouge teinz saunz vermeilloun” (Drunkenness makes a scoundrel’s face completely red, 507–8). At least two of the manuscripts take this as a word English-speakers should know; Cambridge University Library, MS Gg.1.1 glosses it “fool,” and British Library, MS Additional 46919 “myx” (MED mix n.). Supporting that interpretation might be the verbal forms in the line, braggyng abostede, since L certainly plays with the set alliterative doublet brag and bost, in this context “behave arrogantly” (see MED brag n.1). In any event, I suspect L’s reading has probably been lost in transmission.

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153–55 (B 6.156–58, A 7.143–45): This threat, an ironic echo of Piers’s open promise at line 68, looks ahead to the appearance of Need; cf. esp. 22/B 20.10– 19, which echo Holychurch’s three categories of necessities. Yunck (1988:150– 51) wittily identifies the poem’s alternative to Redde quod debes as Rape quod potes (cf. Covetise’s confusion, B 5.235n). As Schmidt notes, the final line ironically throws Piers’s promises in 68 back in his face. 158 (B 6.161) ∂at maketh this world dere: Bennett suggests that the line should recall the discussion of W&W; he is presumably thinking of Winner’s opening sally, which leads up to the charge that Waster “this lande will he stroye” (221–45). Pearsall1 identifies dere, not as the adjective “expensive,” but a noun (⬍ OE derian), i.e., maketh dere ⳱ “do harm to.” B 6.161 wastours wolueskynnes: KD probably leave the word in this form to preserve the possible allusion to a “wolf in sheep’s clothing” (wasters remain compliant so long as they are fed, and only show their true “skins” when starved). Cf. Prol.2 and MED wolfes-hed “outlaw(ry).” But the spelling probably should be disambiguated as wolues-kynnes “wolflike, ravening.” 160 (B 6.163) and ∂e plouh lygge: Piers feels that the indolent can disrupt the entire social process: by their bad example, they will draw others from productive labor, bring plowing to a halt, and make it impossible to achieve, not just ease (plente), but that quantum of food necessary for life. This rationale underlies the retributive measures Piers finally invokes at line 168, essentially a reward in dietary terms directly correlated to the effort expended (cf. 120–21n). 161 (B 6.164, A 7.149) Courteisliche the knyhte as his kynde wolde: The response to layabouts reproduces the class disparity of laborer and knight noted above (see 19–55n, 26n, 86Ln) and echoes the king’s soft chastisement of Meed at 3.130. Although in line 25 Piers has assumed that the knight will capably identify faithful tenants, those who have legitimate claims to a share in the harvest, the knight’s courteis kynde, which Piers has actually enjoined on him in line 47, renders him soft and ineffectual. Similarly, knightly Conscience’s supposed ally, hende-speeche (a warped double of RR’s Bel Accueil) is responsible for the actual fall of Unity at the poem’s end (cf. 22.348, 354). The episode comments upon the historical failure of landowners at enforcing the Statutes of Laborers. The economic situation dictates a “courteous nature,” wooing workers back into the field—and thus the knight cannot fulfill that “kynde” that Holychurch, for example, had associated with the

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order’s proper action (cf. 1.90–101). Waster recognizes the prospect of knightly action as ineffectual in line 165. In the long run, of course, the military action the knight has claimed he would provide Piers would have been thoroughly self-destructive. It would only have depleted the available labor force, whose reduced numbers had created the perceived difficulties in the first instance. Cf. Putnam’s account (1908:102) of problems attendant on efforts to enforce the statute in Essex, 1350. As Aers suggests (1980:18), the disappearance of the knight from the poem after this contretemps foreshadows the growing social inefficacy of the aristocracy; cf. Bennett’s comments on a rentier class (cited 26n) and see further 167–78n. 163 (B 6.166, A 7.151) brynge ∂e in stokkes (AB by ∂e ordre ∂at I bere): In all versions, the knight threatens Waster with 7e lawe, most aggressively through the promised extralegal beating in the C version, a bit of ineffectual bluster— only Hunger knocks people about grievously enough to get their attention and effect “an attitude adjustment” (lines 171–73, 175, 187). Only the C version (as Aers notes, 1988:44) states the precise penalty mandated by the statutes: “those which refuse to make such Oath [to accept their past wages and not wander], or to perform that they they be sworn to, or have taken upon them, shall be put in the stocks. . . . And that Stocks be made in every Town [for] such occasion” (25 Edw. III, c. 2.2; SR 1:312). (In London, the stocks in Will’s Cornhill were used to punish those counterfeiting the legitimately begging poor; see Riley Memorials 390.) In AB, the knight anachronistically expects his will to be respected simply on the basis of his (inherited) social standing. But whatever the comment on aristocratic power, the broader point concerns Piers’s communal refoundation: his state, founded on loving mercy, lacks any systemic institution that will coerce, when necessary, compliance with any concept of law. 166 (B 8.169, A 7.154) sette Peres at a pes: The phrase, of course, conventionally identifies an object of no value (and may further allude to the echoes of Peace v. Wrong mentioned in 149–66n). But it also signals a monumental argumentative restructuring: on Hunger’s arrival, first in line 176, peas become objects of very great value indeed. With this reversal comes a train of destructive puns: the bileue “faith” that has sustained Piers in his vision of a renewed comune becomes mere bileue “food-stuffs to live on” (contrast 1.18; cf. Barney 1973:281); and the loue enacted by this social foundation turns into worry over looues, bread to eat (see Spearing 1960:245). See further 188n. Increasingly, as the passus progresses, the merciful gospel underpinnings of Piers’s comune

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confront an unsanctified materiality as Piers must rely on purely physical notions of exchange to produce labor and thus make his crop. 167–320 Piers, Hunger, and the coercion of labor 167–78 (B 6.171–82, A 7.155–70) Hunger, his coming, and Piers’s horror: The knight’s courteous, “kindly” failure leaves matters to Piers, who, if he hopes for an eventual harvest, feels he must coerce his laborers into service. With the knight’s failure, no one else remains to “rydon and rappe adoun . . . transgressores” (1.91–92), and indeed, the best one can do, if one wants a crop, is to deliberately apayre (injure 167) the recalcitrant (an echo of royal action enjoined by Reason at 5.144)—yet not so severely that they cannot work. Initially, Piers’s calling on Hunger represents withholding the midday lunch (customarily provided to laborers as part of their pay) from those who do not work/deserve it. The cessation of what Piers had conceived as constructive werchyng merits wrekyng 170; contrast B 6.226Ln. However, the immediate effects Piers witnesses horrify him, and his enforcement of a labor regime almost instantly turns to a cry for mercy and the offering of food, even if that falls outside that normally considered palatable by humans. Summoning Hunger displays Piers’s excessive zeal. He has earlier (7.195) characterized Truth as “3e presteste payere 3at eny pore man knoweth”: here, in a worldly social context, he finds it necessary to inculcate the path to Truth, not by his own example, by hire, and by encouragement, but through active withholding and deprivation. (B 6.144, 225–26L indicate how differently Truth responds to spiritual nonperformance, through a capacious patience that— removed from problems of subsistence—can wait until the Doom in hopes of a reformative gesture; cf. Matt. 13:28–30, 39–42.) This narrative moment echoes through the text, as both reminiscence and prolepsis. The immediate effect of Pier’s starvation rations is to encourage compulsive labor—but in fear and dread of starvation (179, 187, 191, 202, 214); cf. 204–21n, 215n. Piers’s act, more clearly than the knight’s threat, recalls the moment in the first vision when the wrathful king insists that he will punish malefactors. Like the king’s, Piers’s words create Dread (cf. 2.220). L describes the ultimate effects of loosing Dread in echoing language—“faytours . . . flowen into Peres bernes,” a near reproduction of “flowen into hernes” 2.249. Cf. also Wit at A 10.76–84. But as Piers will see (cf. 209n), apparent industry is every bit as much an evasion of right action and of threatened justice as is the flight of Meed’s retinue. Equally, Pearsall compares 22.80ff and n., a point further developed by Simpson (1990:238) as a “spiritualized echo” of this passage. Just as Piers will

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ask Hunger to lay off (176), the knightly “courteous” Conscience will have pity and call off Kynde (22.106–9). However, following a similarly disastrous turn of events at 22.322–23, he will change his tune at the poem’s end, where 22.384 might be read as an echo of “Awreke me of this wastors” (170). Piers’s replacement of the knight as half-acre policeman completes, in a moment of failure, the social inversion undertaken one hundred lines earlier. In this emergency situation, the plowman emerges as a more effective version of the knight, a move that underpins the appearance of the Jesus knight incarnate in Piers’s flesh at 20.8–25 (cf. the echoic “As is 3e kynde of a knyhte” 20.11). As Wheatley 1993 argues in detail, that allusion has been derived from Walter of England’s 60th fable. In Walter’s poem, a charitable plowman undertakes to defend the beleaguered citizen whom he serves against a knight who has falsely accused his employer. (Cf. “Charity urges me to take up the duel on your behalf” [Me stimulat pietas pro te perferre duellum 41].) Against expectation, the plowman, who originally appears an inept buffoon, triumphs through measured stratagems and by using rural weapons, his cudgel (claua 62). His canny behavior, and a nondestructive blow to the knight’s elbow, reduces his adversary to shamed inaction (“The knight sits” [Sedet eques 64]), ultimately to the derision of spectators. As Wheatley shows (1993:140), the customary glosses to the fable in English copies associate the plowman, committed to his employer even in a dire situation where he cannot be expected to triumph, with “fides bona et recta” or “fides sola in Deo,” that is, the service of Truth. Similarly, Piers, through the agrarian expedient of a free lunch, achieves (a momentary) triumph, where knightly force and honor are baffled. 168 (B 6.172, A 7.157) houped after hunger: Piers whooping for Hunger narrates his refusal to hire those who won’t perform a full day’s work and his curtailment of the food dole, as he has promised in lines 141ff. Mann argues (1979:30) that Piers relies on the unquoted text 2 Thes. 3:10 (see 73–74n). Line 176 immediately bares the device, in describing Piers simultaneously feeding both the personification and a recalcitrant starving workman. (Indeed, it might do so doubly, if one could construe preyede hym bileue as both the overt “pleaded with him to leave off” and “offered him food.”) The character Hunger includes that ambivalence inherent in the varying senses of Latin fames, which means both the external state “famine” and the subjective perception “a desire for food.” Like the Latin word, the character joins the external impersonal fact, starvation, with an inner human effect; cf. for example, line 181, where the faitours’ energetic activity simultaneously suppresses desire and drives off dearth by earning the pittance Piers now will give (cf. 184, 187).

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Thus, Hunger’s speeches will frequently voice the subjective sense of fames, provide the opinions of a disgruntled poverty, far more grudging, in its desire to be fed, than is Piers. Cf. Middleton’s classic analysis (1972:185). L may draw on other examples of the personification. For example, Hunger appears as the servant of Poverty, at RR 10205–30. There, she awakes Larceny as an ally to get food, a detail analogous to L’s portrayal of “lachdraweres” (see 286n). Given Will’s claims for schooling (see 5.35–44n), L may well have known and been guided by an outstanding classical portrayal of Fames, Ceres’s punishment of Erysichthon at Ovid, Metamorphoses 8.777–878. Ovid’s personification Fames shows the same objective/subjective ambiguity as L’s creation: she is a native of distant and barren Scythia, a world of dearth, but physically imposes herself on the guilty Erysichthon as a capacious “ardor edendi” (828; cf. 818–20 and 791–93). In his effort to fulfill this new master passion, Erysichthon creates dearth out of his previous riches and, finally, when he has no further assets to gain food (he even sells his daughter), dies of starvation—as Ovid describes it, consumes even his own body. 174 (B 6.177, A 7.162) lokede lyke a lanterne: Skeat persuasively cites the unique parallel, SJ 1150, where some starving people are described as “lene on to loke as lanterne hornes” (cf. 225n for a further parallel from the same locus). Medieval lanterns protected the light with horn panes, and Skeat’s suggestion “(he was so thin that) you could see right through him” is apt. Pearsall1, less plausibly, suggests that L refers to the concave walls of a lantern, that resemble the starving man’s hollow cheeks, and Pearsall includes both suggestions. 176–78 (B 6.179–82, A 7.164–70) Haue mercy on hem: In all three versions, Piers must promptly retract his grimly sanctimonious promise to harm everyone (apayre @ow alle 177). Immediately horrified at the pain he has unleashed, he shows his charitable sympathy for those he has starved (contrast the ironic pur charite 169). The A version is most extensive (and allegorically detailed) of all. In A 165, Piers subsumes completely the knight’s role as shield of the weak (another reversal, the would-be persecutor turned defender). Hitting Hunger in the next verse is the act of feeding those he has starved, an action necessarily accompanied by fisi[k], since even the rough and minimal food he now has to offer proves overly tempting and, especially given the empty bellies now filled, must be taken with temperance. As a solution to labor problems, Hunger in some sense “works”: it does get people back on the job—although, as Piers will discover (see 201–21n, 215n, 216n), for the wrong reasons. But from even Piers’s interest in enforcing

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C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

obedience to royal and divine mandates, the cost in human suffering is prohibitive, and the half-acre cannot operate (pilgrimage cannot proceed, charitable Truth cannot be sought) on the basis of continual grudging rations. See 166n. ——— pese loof . . . √eue hem benes . . . ∂at was bake for bayard: At this point, Piers can offer only real starvation rations, food considerably less pleasant than that threatened in 142. Such vegetarian substitutes (as bayard 178 indicates, really only appropriate as horse fodder) for carbohydrate-laden grain-based breads formed a staple of the poorest peasant diets, and except for the wealthiest peasants, might be seasonal staples for others (see Dyer 1983:202–5). Hanawalt discusses (1986:54–55) “a hierarchy of bread consumption” (see further 326n) and charitable village bylaws that allowed the poor to glean peas and beans from their neighbors’ plots. Dyer (1989:58) describes potage 182 as a combination of oatmeal and pulses “regarded as poor-men’s food.” FM discusses such a diet as part of an elaborate moralization of the five loaves of Matt. 14:13–21: “The first loaf,” the author says (256/39–41), “is the coarse and simple bread of the poor, made of barley or peas or beans, which hardly feeds many. This is the bread of contrition, which for many people is too hard” (Primus est panis pauperum grossus et rudis, quia ordeacius vel de pisis aut fabis, quo difficilime vescuntur plures. Et est panis contricionis, qui valde durus est multis). (Cf. further lines 224–25 below and for the continuation of the FM passage B 7.128Ln.) This passage from FM appears, in translation, in a widely dispersed sermon cycle, John Mirk’s Festial (cited Aers 1975:39). A 7.165 offers a unique variation of the pese loof common to all versions. Here Piers’s weapon against Hunger is a bene batte, “a chunk of bread made from beans”; perhaps on the basis of SJ 136 “Of battes and of broken mete,” this feed is supposed to be leftovers, a remnant no one would touch. But more importantly, SJ at this point, like the moralization from FM just cited, is discussing the gospel miracle of the loaves and fishes (Matt. 14:13–21 etc.). Thus, at this moment L writes into his poem another episode of a vita Petri; in the gospels, Jesus’ discipuli crankily seek to send the crowd away to find their own food, and none is prepared to accept the miracle of extensive free provision that ensues (cf. esp. the version at John 6:5–10). The allusion also animates the apparently innocuous English I haue no later (see 300–320n); cf. “Non habemus hic nisi” (Matt. 14:17). Of course, like much else in this passus, this bit of Petrine biography is pregnantly reformulated at later moments in the poem, e.g., with “ne soliciti sitis” (B 7.131) and Patience’s later instruction to Hawkin/Activa Vita (15.232ff., B 14.29ff.).

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B 6.181 lat hem ete wi∂ hogges: Bennett suggests on skim-milk slops, as in the line KD reject as spurious following 182. Robertson-Huppe´ (1951:84) compare the prodigal son at Luke 15:14–17. 179–203 (B 6.183–98, A 7.171–85) The return to field work “alle for fere of hunger”: The folk, chastened by temporary starvation, eagerly return to their labors, and the language of the description indicates that the knight’s ineffectual efforts are not missed. Piers’s artificial introduction of Hunger has proven a suitable stimulus, and the personification implicitly has performed in a properly courageous fashion, as a chivalric “dint-dealer” (187) or a “hardy” figure (181–82). By the same token, labor has taken on a chivalric cast, although rather than chivalric courage and derring-do, it is persistently described as fear- or dread-inspired. Thus, in 180–81, winnowing fans become weapons. Equally the etymon of “flail,” flagellum, is a conventional term for a work of satisfaction, penance in the body, not limited to literal flagellation but including fasting or wearing a hair shirt, for example. (Cf. God’s virgula “his rod [of chastisement],” a reminder of the Last Judgment that such activity is designed to avoid.) At least one later poet appears to have been captivated by L’s image of heroic labor here. In 1456, an Abingdon ironmonger wrote a poem on the construction of local bridges. This heralds the energy of a cooperative local labor force, sometimes in language echoing L’s work. See further “The Bridges at Abingdon.” 185 (B 6.188) curuen here copes and courtepies hem made: Beyond the obvious need for free movement, the description probably draws constructively upon Franciscan history. The copes mark modern dissolute friars and their imitators, especially “lewde ermytes” (cf. Prol. 54, 5.41, 5.63–65n, 9.203–11; and further PPCrede 290–97, 551–53). Behind them lies over a century of discourse on appropriate Franciscan habits, an ostensible and public indicator of where various contending parties stood on a wealth of poverty-related issues. As early as the mid-1240s, the zelani, the proto-Spiritual schismatics of the March of Ancona, are described as “wearing mantles so short that they showed their bums” (portantes mantellos curtos usque ad natos, Lambert 1961:215n2). Francis himself had apparently envisioned a short “tunica” as the habit of his friars, since he also allows them “femoralia” (underwear; Scripta Leonis ch. 74, 216). In this primal foundation, as described both in the “Regula non bullata” and his “Testamentum,” Francis expected his tunic-clad companions first to labor for labor’s sake, and only then to beg, if in need (cf. Leff 1967:57–58, Kirk 1988:17–18). Piers’s starvation rations thus return friars and

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C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

their imitators to a purified and non-”faitourous” poverty, the charitable form of life their founder had intended. Until the bitter end of the Spiritual movement, when the last adherents capitulated after John XXII had published his bull “Quorundam exigit” (1317), the short laboring habit marked Spiritual adherents to the letter of Francis’s pronouncements on poverty. It expressed the essence of Franciscanism as a pauperized “vilitas,” a heedlessness reminiscent of L’s formulation of poverty issues, beginning in the next passus. But others—who triumphed in the order—had other views: John XXII’s bull censures such habits, not simply as signs of disobedience—they are “short, tightfitting, not in adherence with custom, and filthy” (curtos, strictos, inusitatos, et squalidos, Lambert 1961:214, Leff 1967:207–10). 188 (B 6.191, A 7.177) botened: The word carries forward the medical imagery, most prominently introduced earlier at A 7.167–70 and to recur in 265–95. The word, in its distinction from bote n.1 and beten v.2 (to atone), sustains the materialistic parody of Piers’s earlier action; the usage, unique in the poem, displays the unravelling of what Piers has tried so hard to join, workaday responsibilities and salvific love. The boot here is not salvation, but a health purely physical (cf. the reprise bote 192 and the quasi-synonymous use of such words as lechede 189, helide A 179 and B 192, li7id A 180). 189 longes of bestes: Although, as Pearsall notes, this is “offal” and certainly presented as a medicinal treatment, it is protein—a nutriment in short supply in modern peasant societies. (Poor people don’t eat chitlins or lengua out of choice, although later, more affluent generations may find a memorial solidarity with their forebears by continuing to do so.) At a later (and certainly dearth-filled) moment, “the hungry gap,” Piers is unable to offer Hunger even salt bacon (307); and preferred meats only become available in the boom that follows harvest (332–33). In this context, longes, however sparse and unappetizing, may be something of a treat; L’s point may be that any animal freshly butchered (as opposed to the bacon, salted from last year’s pig) would have died of “natural causes” and thus would be an especially sickly and emaciated specimen. Stock had too great a value for grain production to be killed simply for its protein. See further Dyer 1983:205–7. 191 alle ∂e fyue ordres: As Skeat notices, the unusual locution occurs three times in the C version (cf. 9.345 and 15.80). (The normal “four orders,” Dominicans, Franciscans, Carmelites, and Augustinians, appear at Prol.56 etc.) The last of L’s usages, “3e fyue mendynantz,” indicates that the usual explanation

C Passus 8; B Passus 6; A Passus 7

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of the line (also P. L. Heyworth’s explanation of JU 83, cf. pp. 84–85) cannot be correct: the Crutched Friars, usually identified as the fifth order, did not beg. But, as customarily, Skeat sees the solution (1896:44–46, a note first published in 1868). Most likely, L’s fifth order here is the Pied Friars, an offshoot of the Carmelites who wore particolored black and white habits. Although allegedly defunct as a separate order by 1320, following efforts of the 1274 Council of Lyons to limit mendicancy, at least two Wycliffite texts contemporary with PP treat them as if an active religious group. The Pied Friars appear among Wycliffe’s other mendicant persecutors in the Lollard poem on the 1382 Blackfriars Council (which formally condemned twenty-odd theses); see Wright 1859–61:1.262: “With an O and an I, fuerunt pyed freres; 兩 Quomodo mutati sunt rogo dicat Pers” (Pied Friars were there; Piers [not necessarily our Plowman] may say, ‘I ask how they have changed?’ ”); and PPCrede 65–66, in a passage spoken by a Franciscan about Carmelites: “Sikerli y can nou9t fynden who hem first founded, 兩 But 3e foles foundeden hemself freres of the Pye 兩 And maken hem mendynauns and marre 3e puple.” Both passages apparently take the order to be an offshoot, or the full modern version, of the Carmelites. Their querulousness—translate foundeden hemself “recreated themselves as”—is predicated upon this properly heremitical order’s foundation legends—claims to descend, following direct intervention of the Blessed Virgin, from a community founded by Elijah on Mount Carmel—and their willingness to jettison such holiness for public mendicancy. Since the author of PPCrede knows only four orders (cf. 153, 284), he certainly takes “Pied Friars” to be an alternate way of referring to Carmelites generally. (I am grateful to the late Arnold Williams for help in composing this note.) But see also Pearsall’s note, identifying these as Trinitarian friars; and 15.80n, reaffirming the reference to the Crutched Friars. In the poem on the Blackfriars Council, “Quomodo mutati sunt” is a reminiscence of Virgil, Æneid 2.274 (the specter of the dead Hector). 194 lowede: The verb probably does not represent MED louen “abase oneself” but another example of L’s reliance on the discourse of the Statutes. It should be identified as an aphetic form, MED louen v.4 (d), of MED allouen v., sense 4b (and see Alford 1988c:4, s.v. Allowance, Allowen) and means “hired out, accepted pay”; cf. the uses of “allower” and “lower” at 25 Edw. III, c. 2.1 (SR 1:311) and 12 Rich. II, c. 4 (SR 2:57), respectively; and 249 below. Such a reading might be supported by the fact that, in the expected meter of alliterative poetry, the off-verse violates usual syllabic constraints, and hym may be scribal.

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195 holde hewe: The phrase answers B 6.139 and thus signals the reassertion of communal obedience in imitation of Piers’s service of Truth. Compare the extensive list of occupations, unique to C 198–203, an echo of 113–18 (and beyond that, of Piers’s exemplary list of tasks in Truth’s service, 6.185–92). These comprise those specific office[s] “duties” referred to at A 7.184, B 6.197. In line 197, Piers responds as he had to this prior show of industry; see further 204–21n. 196 lyflode . . . and his loue; cf. 203 (B 6.198, A 7.185) √af hem mete and money: This lyflode, bare subsistence, certainly contrasts with the harvest frolic of 334; it is an enforced return to that mesurable portion Holychurch has earlier defined. The “loaf,” the “plowman’s [lunch]” of British pubs, was a traditional in-kind payment to laborers (the proletarian version of collegiate “common table”); see Hanawalt 1986:58–59, 130, 139; Putnam, cited Aers 1988:28–29; and Shepherd 1983:176. In this moment of enthusiasm and sympathetic encouragement, L may present Piers as jettisoning his earlier attentiveness to enforcement of the king’s law. The off-verse of line 203, as 7ei myhte deserue, may qualify the collocation of food and payment that precedes it. But the Statute of Laborers did not simply set strict wage limits but, as Lister notes (1982:80), also mandated that such “hire” not be supplemented by offering additional food payments: “Meat or Drink, or other courtesy to be demanded, given, or taken” (25 Edw. III, c. 1; SR 1:311). In such a reading, Piers finds that not only can he not prosecute his pilgrimage as he had hoped but must, as a politic act, as well as one humane and Christian, choose to revise some of those principles that had led to his initial formulation. But Dyer (1983:213–14), who cites Gower, believes that food—perhaps the plowman’s here—routinely formed part of contemporary agrarian wages. Thus Piers, in a situation of unsettled social discourse, may only follow the most charitable of available pay scales. 199 thwytinge of pynnes: Translate: “carving wooden dowels”; the gerund provides the etymon for modern “whittle.” In company with daubynge (applying “daub,” plastering) and thekynge (preparing or repairing a thatched roof), these wooden pegs point at basic rural construction projects. Intermixed with clearly agricultural efforts, the specified tasks, new to C, may imply not just tending the crop, but readying a barn for its storage at harvest. Cf. the appearance of Unity at 21/B 19.317–28. B 6.196 as prest as a Sperhauk: Proverbial; cf. Pearl 184 “hende as hawk in halle”; contrast Sloth’s “sumdel haukes maners” (7.44n).

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204–21 (B 6.199–211, A 7.186–97) Piers’s pity and his “wobble”: This unqualified expansiveness, new to the C version, responds to the energy Piers witnesses. Unfortunately, as subsequent lines indicate, he simultaneously recognizes his enthusiasm as “allegorically inadequate.” The metaphoric readings he has sought to enforce since his appearance in the poem no longer function. Earlier, Piers hoped to indicate that labor signs forth “true pilgrimage,” alternatively, “the life of the charitable second social foundation”—in both instances, the apparent difficulty/hardship of pilgrimage accompanied by fulfilling joy. But, in the agrarian police-state governed by Hunger, visible “pilgrimage” acts no longer embody spiritual “pilgrimage” mentalities. Rather, Piers faces a signifier with content analyzable primarily in terms of its slippage from its desired original signification, a mirror of the constant allegorical slippage inherent in the figure Hunger (see 168n). As B 199 (A 186) wittily suggest, wend[yng], Piers’s favored pilgrimage term, has now become associated with banishing Hunger, not prosecuting the Christian life (cf. all texts at 298). The passage again echoes similar difficulties in the first vision, the lengthy debate over what the visible personification Meed should and does signify. Again Piers resembles Conscience: he wishes he could assert, with some communicable clarity, the simple metaphorical relations with which this narrative movement begins. He shows the same merciful charity that directs this communal foundation and that has provoked him into stopping Hunger earlier. Piers, in this moment of mercy, tries to handle Hunger as that character has been represented to this point in the poem—as a material condition, a local physical manifestation. If Hunger is merely a physical state, he ought to be subject to physical forms of correction, sent away to another place. Like Ovid’s Scythian fames, he should have a home elsewhere (see 168n). One might recall ar this moment the constructive ambiguity of exactly where Will’s home is; see 5.44n. But in making this first request that Hunger leave (see 298 for the second), Piers discovers he has created a greater monster than he has ever considered. A 7.183 makes the point rather crassly: the folk now labor “Al for coueitise of [Peres] corn,” only to feed themselves. Hunger’s presence as physical fact coincides with their perception of life as dearth and their concomitant increased desire for food: once present, Hunger can never leave, has no erd elsewhere, but lives on with hungry persistence in the attitudes of the laborers. Precisely that longing for food that worries Piers in the remainder of his speech constitutes Hunger’s voice, and creates the “wobble” in perspective on which Trower (1973:245) and Aers (1988:45) comment. 206 (B 6.200, A 7.187) erd/√erd: This variant is the first of five occasions in the next hundred lines where RK might have nodded; see further the notes at

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215, B 6.223, 246, 288. In addition to six C version copies, @erd appears in RJEU of A (and cf. hurde V), WHmMCrG of B. In all versions, the editors may have selected erd as a preferable reading because it shows markedly alliterative diction (multiple uses in the Gawain-poet, but equally a Norfolkism) and because it clearly rhymes. However, the word is not necessary for adequate rhyme, and, in any event, the rhyme vowel/h/j is fairly widely attested (cf. 253 for another potential example). @erd might well be recommended by sense: “an enclosed patch” (shut him up somewhere) or, a sense more explicit in the Norse-derived cognate “garth,” Hunger’s own veggie patch. 209 (B 6.203, A 7.189) Of beggares and biddares what beste be to done: Pearsall provides material essentially similar to Shepherd 1983 and Aers 1988 on conflicted charitable instructions. Day 1932a, a response to Coghill 1932, discusses the prevalence of the issue in C, a reflection of the new centrality of the dreamer in this version. In the two earlier versions, L presents this conflict in terms largely reminiscent of contemporary discussion. Piers views the issue as a collision of two different discourses, the same impulses as induced him to summon Hunger and then to recoil at his brutality. One imperative is charity, the humane desire to succor those in need; the other, Piers’s resolute enforcement ethic, his worry that, without Hunger, he will not coerce enough labor (note the unsympathetic usage amaistre hem 220) to bring in a crop adequate to sustain his community. This second, enforcement discourse leaves him in a true quandary, since it thoroughly compromises his merciful impulses. Cf. 14–18n. The C version, although it continues within this basic framework, complicates the issue considerably through two additions, 213–15 and 220b-21L. Earlier in C (see 86Ln, 120n), L has identified Piers with statutory enforcement, as he did not in writing AB: the added lines here show Piers trying to jettison this earlier involvement in specifically contemporary social affairs. Although Piers still wishes to amaystre his labor force, he now recognizes that this gesture involves something in excess of a politico-economic effort: he wishes to amaystre hem not simply to labory (corresponding to AB’s make hem to werche) but to louye as well. And this small addition gains support from two other added phrases, for loue 213 and RK’s fial loue 215 (see the note). Piers here seeks to escape a purely political statement of the problems that have developed in the half-acre. It isn’t enough for laborers to work for sustenance: they need to want to work, to labor cooperatively and to labor for others’ need. That’s the only way he sees to escape the disciplinary procedures that inhere in the legal system and that, to some extent, define the resistance within which Waster and his ilk have chosen to operate.

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Piers essentially demands conversion, that his laborers’ love equal his own newly discovered desire to aid them—or he’d like to. But, as typically in the poem, he has become involved in recursiveness: he wants a return to his original communal foundation, to the high hopes and the enthusiasm with which plowing began. In addition, he is replaying that recursion inherent in the Way to Truth, by which what looks like physical movement in fact represents an internal refoundation (that cannot be legislated or—perhaps the point of L’s representation—even described). But equally, Piers now is many lines down the road from those moments of possibility and, moreover, he is saddled with the interlocutor whom he has created, one who personifies desire, not love. Piers’s query, which poises the injunctions of Christian charity against the apparent demands of the Statutes of Labor (only explicitly invoked at 337–38), represents an important turn in the argument. Until the agricultural insurrection of Waster and Bretoner, Piers has been committed to the processbased metaphor of plowing as model Christian communal endeavor. Now, as plowing has been reconceived as product, as the crop that will stave off dearth for everyone, his metaphoric labor model is threatened. At this point, the terms of engagement shift—and the befuddled Piers increasingly withdraws from the text (last actively engaged with these issues at 263–68, he will not overtly speak again until he has torn his pardon in AB, in C the citational 9.159–61, q.v.). In his sequence of queries, and Hunger’s responses, the judicial discourse implied by the need to enforce labor is subordinated to that associated with the topic “the discrimination of charity.” Rather than examining labor per se, the argument, as Hunger answers Piers, takes on a more overtly Christian tinge. The issue becomes more implicitly gospel-focused: who should benefit from charitable alms, the food Piers works to produce? In C particularly, the issue echoes both the dreamer’s concerns over his support in the waking interlude of passus 5, and the prominent earlier effort at discriminating worthy from unworthy banquet guests in the discussion of God’s minstrels (7.81–118Ln). The dreamer’s growing restiveness over the issue finally breaks out in his angry prophecy at the passus end (see 341– 52n), and the issue prominently returns in the pardon sent from Truth (9.159–87 [A 8.67–88, B 7.65–106]). The gospels, as both Bennett and Schmidt point out, offer an unequivocal injunction to practice indiscriminate and open charity: “Give to every one that asketh thee, and of him that taketh away thy goods [cf. 152–55], ask them not again” (Luke 6:30; cf. 2 Cor. 9:6–7 and 1 John 3:17). Both Piers and Hunger appeal to this text as an ideal: “Treuthe tauhte me ones to . . . 兩 helpe hem of

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alle thyng as hem nedeth” (Piers at 217–18 [A 8.194–95, B 6.208–9]; cf. Hunger’s unique B 6.227–28). However, the gospel injunction presupposes a situation not clearly in evidence in the half-acre; in a world of limited resources, where one cannot help all, how does one choose one’s beneficiaries? As the most distinguished study of “discrimination” points out, “There is probably more writing in canonistic sources on this particular point than on any other problem in the field of poor relief” (Tierney 1959:54; see esp. 54–61). This canonistic discussion stems from ambiguous opinions in Gratian’s Decretum, certainly responsive to Piers’s later query, “Myhte y synneles do as thow sayst?” (236 [A 7.214, B 6.230]); see particularly 1.42 and 1.86 (CJC 1:151–53, 267–71). Fundamentally, discriminating between recipients of charity might follow one of two paths. One might appeal to a conception of the recipient’s moral desert (as in Hunger’s examples at 228–35L or 282–88, the latter in an expansion unique to C). Or one might follow a “proximity test,” choosing to support those in some direct relationship to oneself, for example, extended family members or known neighbors (for the latter, see again 282–88). Both such possibilities are explosive in this context, because neither necessarily answers the most prominent discourse currently under discussion, food as a reward for labor; neither necessarily involves any criterion of contributing to the world’s work. See further Scott 2004:40–47. A considerable English historical literature on this subject follows from Tierney’s study and fills it out with diverse, although largely repetitious, local instantiation. In the period, charity was communally organized, initially at parish level. As Wycliffites continually pointed out in their attacks on abuses of tithe (see Hudson 1988:341–45), one-third or one-fourth of the priest’s income was canonically designated as the portion for the parish poor (Tierney 41–43, 69–70; Rubin 1987:238–40; Hanawalt 1986:254). But the priest was not alone in contributing to poor relief; local guilds, both trade and parochial organizations, also offered organized benefactions, sometimes running almshouses (cf. Tierney 85–87, mesondewes 9.30), and pious testamentary benefactions routinely included support for the poor. See further Rubin 1987:237–69 (evidence from Cambridge), Hanawalt 2005 (from London). A pair of specific examples will indicate L’s responsiveness to conventional practices. Hanawalt (1986:264–65) discusses rural guilds as a form of providing disaster insurance for villagers. These usually run to a series of expected specific cases: poverty, illness, old age, blindness, loss of limb, loss of livestock, the fall of one’s house, making a pilgrimage, false imprisonment, alleviation of temporary cash shortfalls, loss by various unforeseen disasters (fire, flood, robbery, shipwreck). Guilds frequently offered a weekly allowance for “misfortune” for individuals “overtaken by folly not of his doing,” with

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limitations on the number of such appeals (cf. Hunger at 228–30L). My village still has an “allotments and relief in need charity” (the “allotments” are the strips of public land used for private vegetable gardens in the old common field, never “enclosed” [for private use] in Steventon). Again, Thomson (1965:182–83) cites four mid-late fifteenth-century London wills that make provision for poor relief while offering similar discriminations among potential beneficiaries, variously: housing for the poor who had lost their homes through ill-fortune (but are not “quarrelsome, immoral, or common beggars” [letigiosi, inhonesti, vel communes mendici], cf. again Hunger at 228–30L, here with an added test for virtuous living); similarly, “those who have fallen in poverty through worldly fortune, not their personal misgovernance” (qui fortuna mundi, et non personalem gubernacionem suam in paupertatem devenerunt); “common beggars” excluded; “mighty beggar[s]” excluded. These last two bequests, of course, address those who might work, but who choose not to, figures like Waster and Bretoner who have precipitated this crisis in the first place; cf. Hunger at 223–27, 237–62, 286–88. 215 fial/filial: RK follow a minority of the manuscripts in reading fial. This would represent a French derivative of Latin fidelis “faithful.” The word would thus be roughly synonymous with L’s common use of trewe and leel, and would emphasize proper communal relations among the laboring folk. However, as fere of famyen in the preceding line indicates, that is not Piers’s point at all. His crew labor because of terror at the punishment of starvation, not out of the reverent love that should animate working for Truth. As Hill points out (2002), Piers alludes to a common catechetical distinction between two species of timor (Domini), an improper timor servilis (serve God, because he’ll punish you if you don’t) and righteous timor filialis (love God as an obedient child does, cf. 7.213ff. etc.). For the standard distinction, see SV 398–416 and B 9.97–98. Both competing readings are ME hapax legomena. 216 (B 6.207, A 7.193) blody bretherne: Piers’s charitable instincts are predicated upon the model of Jesus’ love: just as his blood redeems all alike, it binds all mankind as a unit with mutual responsibilities. Bennett identifies the further discussions at 7.144, 12.107ff. (and the more extensive parallels at B 11.199ff.), 20.418 and 435–38. Aers (1988:45) hears an echo of Repentance’s “Christian fraternalism” at 7.144, and the invocation of spiritual similarity, of course, answers Piers’s central memento mori at lines 43–46 above. 222–36 (B 6.212–30, A 7.198–214) Hunger’s instruction for universal charity to the indigent and Piers’s response: Hunger offers a threefold distinction,

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which links both the beggares and biddares and the C version’s concern for love. Bolde beggares and bygge 7at mowe here breed byswynke 223 should receive the short (and unappetizing) rations Piers has already been dispensing in return for their work. As more forcefully at 237ff., Hunger, like the angry dreamer at the end of the passus, envies those who eat for free and resents having to labor for food when others who can will not. But Hunger at this point introduces two new groups that Piers has been unable to conceive previously. Here adopting, somewhat self-servingly, the voice of the destitute “hungry man,” Hunger speaks for those who have heretofore suffered in invisible silence and who deserve freer support than “hardy beggars.” One group can be conceived as the accidentally (and perhaps only temporarily) destitute, those 7at Fortune ha7 apeired B 6.218 (this line apparently lost or garbled in the B version manuscript behind C); the second, a more ubiquitous and amorphous congeries, the nedy or naked 7at nou@t han B 6.223 (cf. In meschief or malese 232). Neither class is defined by its ability to labor, a shock to Piers’s past conception of this issue. Hunger’s formulation, through its proliferation of possibly deserving groups, only creates new difficulties for anyone like Piers, with his desire for just enforcement. Both groups (but especially the second, all those who lack sufficiency for any reason) might be construed as representatives of Michel Mollat’s “new poverty” (1986:237–50), representatives of a broad late medieval populace who might work very hard and never achieve a subsistence wage. Both biblical and natural law (229–30) demand that the first of these two be succored; for the second, see 231–34Ln below. The allusion to “lawe of kynde” may reflect a civil law maxim; it is certainly consonant with Need’s citation of the proverbial “nede hath no lawe” (22/B 20.10); see 22.7–11n. 225 (B 6.215, A 7.201) for bollyng of here wombe: Cf. Kane’s note on A (p. 449): “the swollen belly of famine”; or Frank (1990:94): “the swollen bellies of the starving.” Cf. SJ 1149, where some starving people “swallen as swyn” (the same locus cited at 174n above). 230L (B 6.221L) Alter alterius onera portate: “Bear ye one another’s burdens” (Gal. 6:2, which continues “and so ye shall fulfill the law of Christ”), cited again at B 11.211L, C 13.78L. (The rendition in B develops into a discussion of sharing, not simply goods but intellectual gifts; cf. 9.55–56n.) The emphasis of this text falls on onera, the special disabilities such persons operate under. At RR 11599ff., Faus semblant cites (and discusses) this verse as antimendicant (in a section of his argument also extensively pillaged by Ch, for his portrait of

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the friar). Cf. RR 11722–26, where Faus semblant explains the imposed onus as “We want to prescribe in every detail the life that one should lead.” Friars abuse the scriptural locus by placing on others heavy burdens they have no intention of sharing (and Faus semblant is concording the verse with the “heavy and unsupportable burdens” (onera gravia et importabilia) of Matt. 23:4 (cf. 86Ln). 231–34L (B 6.222–28L, A 7.208–11L): Hunger, who speaks as a potential recipient of alms, offers slightly different advice in each version. A is most openended and simply enjoins giving. B anticipates that version’s discussion of beggars in Piers’s pardon (cf. esp. B 7.78–81), probably the reason for its suppression in C: Hunger acknowledges both (a) that some persons apparently destitute will actually be “strong beggars” in disguise (and needn’t be punished for their tricks by men, since God will do it, 225–26L) and (b) that almsgiving always is gracious and merits grace (227–28). The C version, briefest of all, looks to the spiritual state of the donor, not the recipient. In this formulation, Hunger argues, from his position of destitution, that all potential donors must have wonne wikkedliche; in his world, there is only “need,” and the better off must be thieves. Thus, just as Repentance enjoins Covetise, those who have should wisely and penitentially give their (ill-gotten) assets to the hungry poor (whose spiritual state is not here subject to any of the inquiries B raises, only to reject). B 6.223 (A 7.209) nedy ben or naked: KD assimilate B to A, in spite of the reading “and nou9ty,” universal in B manuscripts. The editors may respond to Skeat and Bennett’s disagreement about senses of the word, in modern English “naughty” or “nasty.” But although most commonly recorded in the modern sense “morally depraved,” this sense must represent an extension of the root “having nothing,” and there are, as Bennett points out, parallels for the B usage: SumSun 115–16 “Nedful and nawthi, naked and nawth 兩 Inome”; AA 185 “Naxte´ and nedefull, naked on night.” B 6.225 lakke hem no√t: Cf. Mollat 1986:251–62 on the new late medieval perception of poverty as a curse, rather than an apostolic state (and see 5.5n). B 6.226L Michi vindictam & ego retribuam: “It is written: Revenge is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord” (Rom. 12:19, which quotes Deut. 32:35). In this Pauline context of rendering good for evil, the apostle enjoins (v. 20) giving food and drink even to one’s needy enemy. For L’s other references to this important biblical locus, see B 10.209 and 374, 17.235, 21.446. The following

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pair of lines, unique to B, echo the beggars whom Piers initially “lacks” at B 6.124–27 above. 234 Yf thow hast wonne auht wikkedliche: Pearsall explains the canonical exemptions, that allow ill-gotten goods to be given as alms and thus don’t conflict with Repentance’s lecture to Covetise at 6.296–99 (see further 78n); he notes that L returns to the theme (and again cites the verse which forms 234L) at 19.245–49. 234L (B 6.228L, A 7.212L) Facite vobis Amicos . . . : “Make unto you friends of the mammon of iniquity(: that when ye shall fall, they may receive you into everlasting dwellings)” (Luke 16:9). For more conventional readings of the verse, associated with Will’s disinclination to work, see 5.22–25n. (Since the parable of the unjust steward is unique to Luke, matheu A 212 probably has picked up the echo from the end of that account (Luke 16:13) at Matt. 6:24. In the earlier versions, Hunger presumably means to emphasize Amicos (as most explicitly in A 212); thus, AB construe mammona iniquitatis rather neutrally, “goods.” But following the C revisions (231–34Ln above), the emphasis of the quotation shifts, to fall squarely upon the dispersal of ill-gotten gains. As a consequence, Piers’s question in the following line means something slightly different in all three versions. 237–62 (B 6.231–52L, A 7.215–36) Hunger’s response: Hunger responds “in character” to Piers’s question that ends the preceding speech: 236 (A 7.214, B 6.230) “Myhte y synneles do as thow sayst?” Although the C version may imply a tinge of guilt on Piers’s part absent from earlier forms (has he wonne auht wikkedliche, perhaps especially through his coercion of labor?), in all three versions Piers and Hunger speak at cross-purposes. Piers’s question follows from his earlier sympathy (and the end of Hunger’s immediately preceding speech, with the suggestion that enforcement give way to almsgiving); he wants to know whether indiscriminate giving is licit. But Hunger continues to respond as if one of the hungry poor, jealous of his own portion, by analyzing the licitness of a semi-starvation diet as a return for labor, with increasingly lipsmacking delight at the vicissitudes of the lazy as they seek nutriment. In the added C version lines 261–64, Piers accepts Hunger’s teaching, with its highly particularistic readings of scripture (continuing from 234L), as at least hortatory material, prouerbis 263, that may encourage the recalcitrant to labor. 241L (B 6.233, A 7.217) In labore & sudore . . . : “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread” (Gen. 3:19, God’s curse on Adam); labore & apparently is

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Hunger’s not especially imaginative gloss, answering AB and swynk (cf. also 240). Genesis is appropriately called 7e geaunt B 6.232 (A 7.216) as the longest book of the Pentateuch and longest narrative book in the Bible; and engendrour as the book that describes creation (Bennett). 245L (B 6.236, A 7.220) Piger propter frigus . . . : Because of the cold the sluggard would not plow: he shall beg therefore in the summer, and it shall not be given him” (Prov. 20:4). Sapience B 6.235 (A 7.219), perhaps directly representing Latin sapiens, may simply personify Solomon as sapiential author (see 5.139n), rather than refer to “his” book of Wisdom. As Pearsall points out, in his English verse L quotes the Vulgate reading “aestate” (In somur 244, corresponding to events to be described at lines 300–320), but the Latin here has an attested medieval variant reading that “arises by sympathetic association of winter and deprivation.” He further compares 16.13–14; see also 1.123–24. 246 (B 6.238, A 7.222) AB wi∂ mannes face: The traditional symbol of the evangelist, based upon the “four living creatures” of Ezech. 1:10, Apoc. 4:7 (Schmidt compares 21.262–66, with its parallel identification of Luke with a bull). Matthew was associated with “the face of a man” because his gospel begins with an outline of Jesus’ human genealogy (Matt. 1:1–17). The parable of the talents appears at Matt. 25:14–30 and Luke 19:12–27 (vocabulary unique to the latter, as Skeat points out, animates AB). The seruus nequam B 6.239 (A 7.223) (cf. “thou wicked servant,” Luke 19:22) is the character who, fearing his lord’s wrath and sharp practice, refuses to put his money out at interest and, consequently, can be construed by Hunger not to have labored. An allusion to the same parable appears at W&W 286 (Bennett). C substantially reduces the (distracting?) word-play of A 223–26, B 239– 42. This involves puns of varying exactness joining “nequam” (wicked), the single unproductive “mnam” (accusative, “pound” in the Douai-Rheims), “bynam” (deprived of), and more distantly, “mammon” (C 234L, etc.). As Bennett and Pearsall see, the last in particular, links the argument with that difficult usuriousness inherent in the parable of the unjust steward. The implicit argument thus generated may have appeared otiose, following the discussion of “ofte chaffar[ynge]” at 5.94–98L. To a degree not true of the earlier versions, the scribes of C seem persistently to have experienced difficulties over line boundaries. Here UD, although certainly an isolated minority, have probably retained the authorial form. B 6.247–49 (A 7.231–33) Kynde wit wolde: This double reference (cf. crist 249, to introduce the following Latin) follows on 230–31 above and alludes to the

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usual range of passages, e.g., Prol.144, 7.184. Hunger’s appeal is always first to the state of nature, to agricultural dearth, the state he understands most thoroughly. It’s not clear why L excises the passage in the C version, although it defines clergy, what Contemplatif lif seems generally to mean here, as potential drones in a way more typical of earlier versions. or tellynge 248 is certainly a doublet, but which member to join it with is uncertain: teaching and counting (beads, but not accounts) could be contemplative activities, just as tilling and labor, active ones. On the authorial version of A 7.232, see Kane’s note, p. 449; for further discussion of this bit of revision, see Godden 1990:48–49, 87, 187. 260L (B 6.252L, A 7.234L) Labores manuum tuarum . . . : “For thou shalt eat the labors of thy hands: blessed art thou, and it shall be well with thee” (Ps. 127:2). The incipit, Beati omnes, which identifies the blessed as those who “fear the Lord, that walk in his ways,” is cited at B 6.250. Bennett suggests that in body and in soule B 6.252 glosses the two members of Ps. 127:2, for the verse continues “Blessed art thou, and it shall be well with thee.” But such a reading appears to force the text, for as Schmidt points out, Hunger misinterprets the psalm, which promises prosperity to those who fear the Lord. Aers (1988:46) remarks caustically on this argumentative usage. 263–99 (B 6.253–77, A 7.232–61) Hunger’s leechcraft: As a creature of the material food cycle, Hunger could be construed as an authority about its effects on the human constitution. Typically, he rejects the possibility that Piers’s pains (or those of anyone but himself) might reflect starvation or the bad diet that would accompany it. Piers’s sympathetic identification with his laborers continues here: he, too, as Hunger sees it, responds too enthusiastically to food for his own good. The charge looks ahead to Piers’s emphatic rejection of 7e bely ioye at B 7.130 (and in the variants to 123), another example of his openness to suggestions from the reprobate (see 132n). Hunger, of course, reasserts the teachings of Holychurch: bileue “food” has been given to support bileue “faithful activity,” here Truth’s labor (cf. 1.18). His keynote is provided by Holychurch’s claim that “Mesure is medecyne” (1.33); 276, for example, vaguely echoes 1.24–32; lines 271–75 Glutton’s prayer at 6.429–35. Cf. the discussion of BVV, with a particular interest in timely eating (and not wasting time over meals): “men ete3 and drynke3 er tyme be,” including lingering “ouer late” (48/7, 49/6), BVV 48/9–49/26. This material is immediately succeeded (the discussion runs to 52/1) by the obvious eating too much. See further Stokes 1984:80; and on medicine generally in the poem, Gasse 2004.

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Hunger’s advice at this point, of course, only intensifies the paradox that Piers has already sensed—the tension between fellow-feeling and the necessity for work. Under the guise of instruction in regimen, Hunger returns to injunctions like those he has already given at lines 231–34L. Here Piers is to avoid any possibility of sorfeet 275 through a diet—a practice of self-restraint that will save food—so that it may be given away to all who ask it. Just as at 231–34L (and in contrast to the B version, which sees sin in the undeserving beggar), Hunger again argues that sin resides in the overly scrupulous or indifferent donor. Consequently, Piers should starve himself, if necessary, to give to all and thereby win both physical and spiritual benefits. Of course, Hunger’s proposition involves a certain measure of macabre comedy. He, after all, implies that Piers, by having food at all, might be conceived as a rural Dives, a man of delicat lyf 277—were it not for the poor who will save him through their entreaties. He will enact this proposition, perhaps a parody of God’s minstrels, fully at lines 330–1. The descriptive language of the passage, for example, at thy gate 283 or the bord 287, imagines Piers’s cottage as if a rich or royal establishment with a great hall (note lord B 6.124); cf. the opposed response to Truth’s fancy digs at 7.278–308n. But the variety of food Piers has to give does seem literally apt; for potage 284, see 176–78n; sowl refers to much the same kind of fare, perhaps something even less substantial, a liquid to dip bread in. 277–88 diues: For the story of the indifferent rich man and his ignoring the beggar Lazarus, here a unique C version expansion, see Luke 16:19–31. Skeat notes L’s return to this narrative at 19.228–49 (cf. 234n above) and 18.272–73 (where, following Luke 16:22, Lazarus sits in Abraham’s bosom with a promise of salvation); to these references, add 15.299–300. Lazarus as the beggar at the gate looks ahead to the appearance of Pacience 15.32–35 (B 13.29–30). Parallels, like AA 178–82: “4e praier of 3e poer may purchas 3e pes, 兩 Of 3ase 3at 9ellis at thi 9ete, 兩 Whan 3ou art set in 3i sete, 兩 With al merthes at mete,” are so widespread as to be virtually proverbial. 286 lachdraweres: Skeat (Prol.45n) discusses the term, elsewhere in the poem only at 9.193, with a rich array of references to this word, to which add an additional citation from the patent rolls, noted Harding 1984:167. See also UR, note to 349, interpolation line 6 (edn. p. 170), where snekdrawers occurs as abusive term for friars. This word, alternately “draghlatches” or northern “sneckedrawers,” (as in the extensive description, known to L, at SV 7133–62) routinely appears in collocations with “Robertsmen” and “wasters.” SV’s discussion, which indicates that “Robertsmen” is a synonym, describes these figures as pilferers, who try locks in hopes of breaking into houses to steal food.

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If confronted, the rogues present lengthy stories of their destitution in hopes of a handout (see further my 2013). lyares follows from this behavior, in its implication that all these types falsify, pretend to be something they are not. Cf. frere faytour 73, the wandering Liar of 2.225–28, and his subsequent association in 233–34 with physicians (which has a reprise here in B 273 [A 257], corrupted in the B version mansucript L used to produce C). “The presence of locks [in rural remains] indicates that villagers were fearful of intruders. These were not safe rural communities where people left their doors unlocked at night” (Hanawalt 1986:38). 287 til the bord be drawe: “Until the (trestle-)table is removed” (Skeat). 288 alle thyne nedy neyhbores: Hunger, although urging universal charity, recalls the distinction he has made at lines 222–34L. Those truly indigent should be served before those merely tolerated. But at this point Hunger abandons any interest in coercing labor, and consequently, his distinction turns, not upon the physical capacity to work, but upon geographical proximity to the donor (a point to be expanded in the lengthy meditation of 9.71ff.). Hunger argues that Piers should extend his full solicitude to those he knows best, nedy neyhbores; precisely because local and known, the adjective defines them as deserving and is not a fortuity of alliteration. Hunger’s view, of course, literalizes the sense of the biblical proximus (one’s fellow man) whom one is to treat with charity. Only after this “nedy” group has received food should the charitable dole be extended to others. This second group, persons who may have to content themselves with crommes 287 (echoing 278 and “with the crumbs that fell from the rich man’s table,” Luke 16:21), Hunger visualizes as vagrants and, ipso facto, questionable. He assumes, as did statutes and poor laws, essentially parish-oriented (see 209n), that persons from outside the neighborhood, unknown, are not victims driven to seek food by failures of local supplies but potentially vagrants pure and simple. ——— haue noen ymaked: “had their midday meal” (Pearsall). But the halfline is unmetrical; Pearsall’s translation inaccurately represents what KR print, but implies the easy repair, insertion of hire before noen. But one might suspect that none 277 has contaminated this line, and that something more extensive may have been lost. 291 (B 6.270, A 7.254) cloke of callabre: Skeat first explains that this is fur from Calabria, in southwest Italy (MED Calabre), and that physicians’ rich

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dress results from taking robes in lieu of fees. Like lawyers, doctors rely on social destitution and hope to profit by it. Thus, the physician, forced to lerne to labory with lond 293 because of communal charity and the resulting surfeit of health, parallels Conscience’s messianic prophecy of law as a laborer at 3.452. Contrast Jesus as doctor (taught by Piers in B, by Liberum Arbitrium in C) at 18.138–47 (and cf. 19.81–93); his opposite is the friar-physican with his drink of dwale at 22.169–79, 377–79. 300–320 (B 6.278–98, A 7.262–82) Hunger’s refusal to depart and “the hungry gap”: Piers’s protestation of indigence and of poor fare, the repeated “Y haue (no),” forms L’s representation of “the hungry gap” (see Frank 1990:89–90; 176–78n; and the Orkneyism 7e lang reid at Howlat 698). He and his needy neighbors have little to gather to appease (cf. B 298) their Hunger. At this point in the agricultural year—apparently, on the basis of line 311, an obscenely early point in March (Frank 1990 sees these events as typical of summer, although, much further north, the Orkneyism is associated with Lent)—all the grain stores from the previous harvest are gone, and virtually no animal protein (not even the bacon that was a staple of peasant diets; see 6.201n) remains. Piers and his companions can only eat such items (despised by medieval aristocrats) as “white meat” (dairy products), breads made from legumes rather than grain (and more appropriate as fodder for stock), and garden vegetables and fruit. Cf. Dyer 1983:207–9 and 1989:157–60; Hanawalt 1986:56; Aers (1988:68) quotes John Ball’s description of the material conditions of peasant life. See esp. Dyer (1983:208; 1989:64) for the “garleek, oynons, and eek lekes” (Ch, CT I.634) that were grown in private plots and used in farm servants’ pottage. Dyer further observes that “Garden produce had a low status and was associated with poverty or penance.” Hence FDR 296 identifies herbs, roots, and fruits as hermit diets; cf. 17.21, where Mary Magdalene eats “mores” roots. But in this context, peasant starvation rations are scarcely blessed; Mollat (1986:195) notes that such foods were believed to render one particularly susceptible to plague. Mum 600–612 (in a passage ironically imitating Reason’s sermon in passus 5) includes a huge list of peasant produce—here so that an overbearing parish priest can demand full tithes from his starving congregation. 303 (B 6.281, A 7.265) grene: “Unripe” (Bennett): to sustain themselves, Piers and his family must eat them before they mature. Cf. “Cheese had a rather low status; it was more prominent in monastic diet than those of secular households” (Dyer 1989:63).

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310 (B 6.287, A 7.271) a cart mare: For the threat of losing necessary tools, including livestock, to meet tax exactions, see Harley Song Hus 43–44, 54 (the mare), 65; similarly line 63, “to seche seluer to 3e kyng Y mi seed solde.” Hanawalt comments (1986:112): “deprivations that forced [the peasant farmer] to eat seed corn and plow animals could be devastating.” Cf. 132n. 311 (B 6.288, A 7.272) while ∂e drouthe lasteth: Frank (1990:90n5) cites Daley’s discussion (1970) of CT I.2; the time is apparently March, when dung should be spread in fields; cf. 4.144. 312 (B 6.289, A 7.273) lamasse tyme: The traditional date of the summer wheat harvest, 1 August; see further 5.7n. The harvest, when it eventually comes in line 321, lacks any eschatological sense of completion or of just returns (cf. 121n above and Trower 1973:254): plenty produces an atmosphere of carnival, in which any discipline Piers might have instilled in his labor force becomes dissipated. 321–40 (B 6.299–319, A 7.283–301) Harvest and the effects of surplus: In the cash surplus that follows the sale of the grain, the pressure of destitution vanishes, and sire sorfeet rules supreme. While mainly amusing in its depiction of gluttonous peasant feasting, as the passage nears its end, more dire social effects appear. Piers’s once starving work force are now eating like actual lords and ladies, and they begin to assume that they should have a similar social force. Thus, the conclusion to this passus ironically inverts those feelings of social exclusion that disrupted Piers’s original pilgrimage narrative at the conclusion of the previous one. Yet simultaneously, the communal metaphor that has sustained Piers’s plowing, the peasant as more socially central figure than the knight, here disintegrates. In this collapse, it reveals a perhaps shocking littera. The enfranchised peasants’ lordly airs express themselves in restiveness over the conditions in which they have been coerced into “service,” clamor against the statutes governing labor. Piers proves to be scarcely isolated in his subsumption of aristocratic social force, and the world has been turned “upsodoun,” a situation that prompts the outraged dreamer’s prophecy with which the passus concludes. As occurs inevitably in the poem, for example, in passus 7’s narration of the pilgrimage to Truth, what appears linear and goal-directed turns circular and recursive. The reformulation of fair feld as half aker, the repeated round of activities that mark the agricultural year, that temporal cycle that governs the worldly need to provide sustenance, simply alternates dearth and discipline with plenty and ungovernability. In the material world of the passus, such a

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recursive cycle seems an inevitable repetition, one in which the very success of the process automatically generates the probability of its failure. Hard labor, stimulated by the dearth of “the hungry gap,” produces that very plenty that renders labor unnecessary and hateful; at least some of the outrage (and of the apocalyptic horror Will seeks to restore) at the passus’s end reflects this sense of betrayal, the discovery that, even within this highly controlled reformulation, pilgrimage always begins again, always faces anew the same problems that it had earlier seemed capable of surmounting. 324 (B 6.302, A 7.286) And tho wolde wastor nat worche bote wandred aboute: The linkage between bad labor service and outright vagrancy is conventional in Statute discourse. From the first promulgation, drafters of the Statute of Laborers assume that a wage market for agricultural services encourages wandering: people leave their home country in search of higher wages elsewhere. Cf. 23 Edw. III, c. 2 (SR 1: 307): “If any Reaper, Mower, or other Workman or Servant, of what estate or condition that he be, retained in any Man’s Service, do depart from the said Service without reasonable Cause or License, before the Term agreed, he shall have Pain of Imprisonment.” Cf. Hanawalt’s discussion, 1986:115, 139; and 334n. Hence, for example, Hunger’s restiveness about feeding those not one’s “needy neighbors”; see 288n. This reading follows Aers’s “demonizing rhetoric.” Of course, that discourse reveals its own partiality, since wastour here performs improperly by acting as knights errant always do. But the context—where in the aftermath of harvest, there may actually be little work and ample leisure opportunity— might suggest a more neutral reading. Especially in this context of sumptuary self-indulgence, the description recalls L’s enabling text, W&W. Prol.24, where plowmen “wonne 3at 3is wastors with glotony destrueth” generally governs L’s argument. But this passus, in particular, returns to points recalling the earlier poem—Piers becomes increasingly conflicted about enforcing “winning” alone (and L thus renders W&W’s formal debate an equally inconclusive internal one); moreover, the surfeit Piers has constructed in plowing turns sumptuary, potentially an echo of the state described in W&W, e.g., “What scholde worthe of that wele if no waste come?” (253), or “Whoso wele schal wyn a wastour moste he fynde, 兩 For if it greues one gome it gladdes ano3er” (391–92). Here at the conclusion of his poem’s social narrative, L evokes the text that had initially inspired his poem, reading underlying his own beginnings in the prologue to PP. 326 (B 6.304, A 7.288) Bot clermatyn and coket and of clene whete: Because they were subsistence products, vital to everyone’s wellbeing, statute had governed the prices of bread and ale since the reign of Edward I. This “Assise of

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bread and ale” (SR 1:199–203 passim) fixes pricing according to the current price of the constituent grain content. For bread, the standard was predicated on the value accorded “wastel” (“paindemeine”), superior white bread—that grade Ch’s Prioress lavishes on her pups at CT I.147. “coket” is the next lowest grade, priced only marginally less than wastel; and “cler-matin,” from finely sifted flour (“cribatus”), the third grade, priced about two-thirds the cost of wastel. “The Assise” seems to imply that ordinary wheat bread, that is, wholemeal, should be available at about half the cost of wastel. ——— clene whete: The adjective “unadulterated” implies “pure”: without those supplements from lesser grains by which short supplies were typically eked out during times of dearth; equally, threshed and winnowed, hence without the bran; cf. B 6.183. “The Assise” uses the term “bread of the whole wheat” (panis integer de quadrante de frumento); an Oxford regulation, cited by MED, may imply that this grade is identical with the “cler-matin” of “The Assise.” 327–38 (B 6.305–6, A 7.289–90) Ne noon halpeny ale: The lines recall for Pearsall Covetise’s confession, 6.226, 228. “The Assise of bread and ale” also governs ale prices, as a function of the price of grain. peny ale must have been truly alarming stuff; at the cheapest grain price “The Assise” imagines, one could purchase two gallons of ale for a penny in cities—and in Piers’s extraurban locale, three or four gallons. 329 (B 6.307, A 7.291) Laborers ∂at han no lond to lyue on but here handes: The line refers to that same social group as the French manouvriers (see Homans 1941:246–48; Camille 1987:433). This group forms the lowest level of peasant society, and the statute-drafters’ discourse of activities appropriate to such a class lies behind the outrage here, as Aers argues (1988:47). Such people lack the wherewithal to cultivate their own half-acres in the communal fields and thus, owning none, have been forced to hire themselves out as day laborers on the plots of others. (The phrase occurs again and again in the poem; see Prol.223, 8.258 and 260, 9.58, etc.) Dyer points out (1989:14) that the 1380/1 poll taxes distinguished “cultores” or “agricolae,” those with enough land to be selfsufficient, from dependent wage laborers, “laboratores,” “servientes,” or “famuli.” 330 (B 6.308, A 7.292) a day nyhte olde wortes: “During the day (on) vegetables left over from the previous night’s meal.”

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332 (B 6.310, A 7.294) fresh: As opposed to smoked or salted. Putnam cites the case of a Lincolnshire plowman (1908:91 and n.5) who “refuses to serve except by the day and unless he has fresh meat instead of salt and finally leaves the town because no one dares engage him on these terms.” 333 (B 6.311, A 7.295) chaut and pluchaut: Apparently, on the basis of the cold fish at 9.93 (which parallels the leftovers of line 330), the point is that this food is served hot; cf. Prol.230. But there may be an allusion to Hunger’s fisik, with the heat of the fish referring to the way it has been sauced and, within the framework of medieval dietary theory, the “degree” of the “quality” caliditas (heat) in the ingredients. In either case, rather than Hunger’s starvation regimen of avoiding sorfeet, the newly paid workman doses himself expensively on the basis of the traditional medical theory of contraries: the heat of his fish sauce counteracts chillyng of h[is] mawe. 334 (B 6.312, A 7.296) heyliche yhuyred: In this continuation of Statute discourse, the workman hopes to protect his chance at further fancy eats by winning an excessive wage. His behavior, here deemed extortionate, counts upon potential employers’ need to get the harvest from the fields (and presumably to markets before there is such a surplus that the price falls). The sense “expensively” (MED heighli adv., sense 1b) indicates the laborer’s desire to disrupt what are here conceived as the controls that insure an appropriate social order (335–36L and esp. B 6.316), the wage rates frozen by the Statute of Laborers (337–40). The Statutes present themselves as entirely driven by such economic disruption: “many seeing the Necessity of Masters, and great Scarcity of Servants, will not serve unless they may receive excessive Wages” (23 Edw. III, Pream.; SR 1:307; cf. 12 Rich. II, c. 4, SR 2:57). And their fundamental tenor is to roll back any advances in wages: workers must “take only the Wages, Livery, Meed, or Salary, which were accustomed to be given in the places where he oweth to serve, the xx. year of our Reign of England, or five or six other common years next before” (23 Edw. III, c. 1; SR 1:307). 336L (B 6.315) Paupertatis onus . . . : “(Since Nature has created you a naked child,) remember to bear patiently the weight of poverty,” Distichs of Cato 1.21; one might cf. the Miller’s “He knew nat Catoun, for his wit was rude” (Ch, CT I.3228). The quotation, lacking in the A version, contrasts with the more generous sharing of others’ onera at line 230L. B 6.316 grucche∂ ageyn Reson: The unique B line hovers uncertainly between plain English idiom (“complains unreasonably”) and personification. But in

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either interpretation, it recalls Reason’s status as a figure of retributive enforcement at the end of passus 4; certainly, the laborer’s behavior is reminiscent of the Prologue’s rats and their desire to dissolve punitive functions of the state altogether. Cf. 226–27, the dreamer’s similar grucchyng with Reason (and his rebuke) in the waking interlude of C 5 and at 13.183–212; and see further 341–52n. 337 (B 6.317, A 7.298) alle ∂e kynges Iustices (and al ∂e conseil after AB): The earlier versions emphasize the body that promulgated the hateful legislation, and in this case, refer specifically to the first statute of 1349 (all later affirmations were parliamentary enactments). RK read 7e statuyt 340, rather than his statuyt “Hunger’s law” of most manuscripts. The rejected variant indicates (as the comeuppance of the courteous knight earlier) the greater power of dearth than of the law to influence labor arrangements; the reading probably preempts the shocking promise of derthe as Iustice 350. Mum 1388– 1488 provides an extensive memory of this moment, perhaps most centrally at 1457–62, where such querulousness about royal policy “longeth to no laborier.” 341–52 (B 6.320–31, A 7.302–7) The outraged dreamer prophesies coming disaster: At this point, the dreamer, heretofore a passive observer, intrudes upon the action (as he will persistently do through the next passus, most notably, in all versions, at 9.284). Just as the concluding movement here might remind one of L’s poetic roots in W&W (see 324n), Pruyde and pestilences 347 returns one to the head of the entire penitential movement in this vision, Reason’s sermon (cf. 5.115). The narrative has only concluded with that same impasse that had provoked its penitential movement in the first instance. But in this final version, the echo (and the recursion), as has been evident throughout the passus at various moments (see esp. 209n), extends much further. The prophecy is, after all, personalized—“Ac I warne . . .” 341. Given the trigger provided by the werkeman’s engagement with the Statutes of Laborers (and in B, the reference of 316), the dreamer’s outburst offers a reminiscence of Reason as his legal interrogator at the head of this C vision. Will might well be motivated by his own frustration with what he has witnessed in the passus; Aers (1982:63–64, 68–69) places the text within apocalyptic promises elsewhere in the poem, in an illuminating discussion of L’s apocalypticism as reflecting situations of social deadlock. But equally, Will here speaks as Hunger/hungry man; implicitly, the prophecy asks why, if I must defend my ([self?-]sanctified) labor as justifying my right to eat, should others get away with eating for free, as it were? More forcefully (and a good deal more unpleasantly), Will’s claim to membership in a spiritual aristocracy includes a considerable contempt for

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“bondemen” (cf. 5.62–69). Opinions like Will’s will resurface in the context of the food chain in the speeches of Hawkin/Activa Vita, e.g., 15.228–32; both of course, invert the messianic expectations of a world of justice that typify passus 3 and 4. Given this particular kind of voicing, it seems unlikely that the prophecy, while obscure (as prophecies are supposed to be), involves any of the constructive riddling that Galloway (1995) finds in Patience’s later speeches. For the most extensive past discussions, see Bloomfield (1961:91–94, 212), Bennett’s notes, and the similarly worded prognostic at 3.477–81 (and the n). Bennett compares L’s interest in accurate prognostication as true knowledge at 17.94– 106 and 21.242–44 (which includes the ability to foresee crops and weathers), and reads the prophecy as a serious statement about expectations in a time of crisis, including seeing its fulfillment at 22.80ff. In contrast, Emmerson (1993a:39–41) specifically cites this prophecy as exemplifying only a generalized warning of doom; for him, such passages are not apocalyptic predictions, but, like Reason’s sermon, castigations of the present. Although Kerby-Fulton flatly denies the connection (1990:15–16, 47, 204 n.3, etc.), the primary discourse underlying Will’s speech appears to be that of insular political prophecy. This genre, largely consisting of reformulations of materials derived from Geoffrey of Monmouth’s “Prophetiae Merlini” (Historia bk. 7), provides abundant parallels for the materials here. Given the preceding laborer’s complaint against central government, such writings are particularly appropriate to the context; their fundamental narrative form is provided by successions of rulers (all of them thoroughly imaginary and probably to be considered types). These figures are engaged in a topsy-turvy alternation of upheaval (the world “upsodoun,” with attention to conventional topics associated with “abuses of the age”) and of regeneration. Will’s account, unable to imagine a constructive outcome, obviously truncates this second movement typical of the tradition. Of course, Will’s prophecy offers contextualized parody. Prophecies of this ilk attend mainly to alternations of disastrous and constructive royal governance, not to the fantasies of peasant rule. Nonetheless, Geoffrey provides analogues for much of Will’s detail: disastrous rains, pestilence, and famine at 7.50 and 58; proud and masterful women at 7.122–24; the coming of mysterious ships at 7.167–68, 171; disruptions in the planets in company with dearth at 7.287–304. This last passage, Geoffrey’s devastating finale, includes further relevant details, references to Saturn the planet bringing mortal disease, and to the constellation Virgo (⳱ mayde B 328?) turning wanton. The schaef C 358 might represent either a handful of cornstalks or a quiver of arrows (the latter

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explicitly the case at 3.479); both appear in Geoffrey, at 7.288 and 123–24. Geoffrey also provides (7.266–68) one detail unmentioned here but proleptic of later moments in PP: a redemptive “colonus Albaniae” (Scottish farmer) who plows, only to have a serpent destroy his corn (cf. 21.335–42 and the “basiliske” of Envy, BVV 23/24–24/10). Finally, only the two monkes heddes B 327 are absent from Geoffrey’s account. For further details, particularly the numerological references, see the subsequent notes. 343 (B 6.323, A 7.304) awake thorw water: Frank, in his description of recurrent famines during L’s lifetime (1990:88, 94) provides a number of exemplary instances (and cf. the Harley Song Hus citations in 14–18n). As 346 also indicates, excessive rainfall could prove just as disastrous to the crops as drought; such ruinous weather caused failure of various crops in 1362, 1366, and 1369. Trower (1973:255) associates the waters here and in 346 with the disaster that befalls the man who built his house on sand (Matt. 7:24–27). 345 (B 6.326, A 7.307) sayth saturne: The A version ends with this invocation of the most malign of the planets. On Saturn’s baleful influence, see Klibansky et al. 1964:esp. 127–214; and such outstanding literary portrayals as Ch, CT I.2453–69, or Henryson, Testament of Cresseid 151–68. Skeat cites comparable materials from a commentary to John Thwing of Bridlington’s “Versus prophetiales.” The later versions (and C in particular, with its echo of 5.115–17 in 347), rather than concluding with A’s vague threat, insist upon retributive natural justice. Cf. 9.1n. B 6.328 a mayde haue ∂e maistrie: Norton-Smith (1983:63) associates (as does Geoffrey of Monmouth) the mayde with the constellation Virgo, zodiac sign for August, the harvest month. He then reads the full line as predicting a disastrous harvest eight years hence. 348 a vii folwynge (cf. and multiplie by ei√te B 6.328): Perhaps responding to Geoffrey’s often cryptic numerical specifications, e.g., “in aula duodecimi” (in the hall of the twelfth) 7.61, political prophecies frequently offer numerical data, apparently deeply significant (yet equally, unglossed). For an example, see the next note. One of the “Scottish prophecies” (Robbins HP no. 46) indicates that at least some of these numerals refer to a form of divination by rolling dice. In this poem, seven (the dice 6 Ⳮ 1) indicates paradise, the ideal kingdom, the king (1) and people (6) in harmony; here treacherous lords (3 “proditores” Ⳮ 4 “domini”) might provide a more apt reading. Eight should,

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following this account, indicate either a hypocritical or divided people (2 “bilingue” Ⳮ 6) or treacherous religious (5 “religiosi” Ⳮ 3). 349 Shal brynge bale and batayle on bothe half ∂e mone: Cf. “the second Scottish prophecy” (Robbins HP no. 45) 3–4: “Betuix iij. and sex—whoso wyll vnderstande—兩 Mekyll baret ande bale shall fall in Brutis lande.” 350 (B 6.329) deth withdrawe and derthe be Iustice: Death, punishment for capital crimes, provides one extreme terminus for Justice, an utterly finite one. But in its withdrawal (although death will still occur, as line 351 indicates), life will become worse than death itself, a protracted space of lingering defaute. This horrible suffering, conceived as merely physical, not the spiritual defaute underlying the penitential process, will lack any principle that animates Justice, whatever one thinks of specific legal mandates; famine indiscriminately chastises innocent as well as guilty. Such an apocalyptic vision assuredly destroys the vexing cyclicism of half-acre activities, but only at the price of dissolving the comune, or any institution predicated upon human solidarity, altogether. Like Mund the Miller (2.116), dawe 7e deluare, who has previously appeared at 6.369, is known for his profession, one integral to grain production and virtually a synecdoche for Adamic agricultural engagement, as with Ch’s Plowman, CT I.536; here, whatever his fruitful labor, it is all for naught, and he perishes alone. Schmidt finds in the lines an allusion to Death, the fourth horseman of Apoc. 6:7–8. 352–9.1 (B 6.351–7.1, A 8.1 only) trewe. 兩兩 Treuthe: Concatenation between verse units occurs widely in alliterative tradition (Pearl is but a hypermarked example). Although there are touches elsewhere in the poem (e.g., linking C 2–3, 16–17, 21–22), few examples are quite so pregnant as this. The dreamer angrily responds to “wastors” and the breakdown of pilgrimage, but can only hope for a delay before cataclysm comes. In contrast, God, the eternal goal of the pilgrimage, refuses to be frustrated by human evil and patiently anticipates a return to Him. This “truce,” not a postponement but a true reconciliation, as the next passus indicates, will be provided by taking up a penitential life.

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

Headnote Passus 9 presents the pardon Truth sends to Piers and his community, the poem’s most provoking and generative moment, from which all else flows. Indeed, as Ch recognized in constructing the character of the Pardoner as a parody of Will (see 5.2n), this might be construed as L’s signature moment. As a result, the passus has probably attracted more attention than any single portion of the whole. Yet this unit is relatively straightforward in narrative terms, or at least apparently so. In contrast to the dreamer, who only vaguely hopes for “a truce” at the end of passus 8, Truth responds immediately (1–8). He offers an apparent pactum, sends his pardon. This is presented as a supportive affirmation—either of Piers’s initial idealism, or of his vexed confusion over whether or not to support the idle. Ostensibly, Truth’s act represents the final stage in Burrow’s metaphorical argument (1965), the pardon indicating absolution, the reward for having completed the penitential process that began with Reason’s sermon in passus 5. In the earlier versions, the greater part of the passus (A 8.9–88, B 7.9–106) purports to read this document, affirming such a metaphorical view. In broad outline, the pardon offers a reprise of the Prologue, as a status-oriented discussion, albeit with slightly different emphases. As penance does, the account of the pardon appears to identify virtuous actions and to assign specific acts of satisfaction for specific sins (mainly to the statu¯s here given prominence, merchants, lawyers, and beggars). Rather than a priestly conversation with the individual, this instruction in the conditions that will receive absolution is offered as a publicly legible document. In the passus, this is imagined to take the traditional form of an indulgence; such a generic identification is most obvious in references to years remitted from purgatorial suffering as atonement for sin (e.g., 22). Although the C version retains this general outline, it is considerably less focused than the earlier versions; lines analogous to their treatment include only 9–69, 159–87; see below and 159–61n. However, when viewed, the pardon turns out not to be as advertised, not the ninety-odd lines to which readers have been exposed in B, but only two

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

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(281–92). Moreover, rather than the specificities earlier offered, it contains only a credal statement familiar to all, that the good will be rewarded and the evil punished—a perfectly unsurprising statement. However, this is a statement that, on its face, following on the difficulties of the preceding passus (cf. Piers’s “Myhte y synneles?” 8.236) offers little comfort. If even Piers cannot distinguish his beneficence from his sin (and worries over it), is there hope for others less scrupulous? The unveiling of the document is complicated by the sudden appearance of an officious priest and a quarrel he instigates with Piers (A 8.89–126L, B 7.107–43L). This confrontation, programmed by Piers’s first spoken line, opposes that character’s “kynde knowyng,” an instinctual knowledge of Truth’s way, against more learned (and here supercilious) endeavors (cf. 7.183). The priest responds to the written form he reads; once again, like the unwilling pilgrims at the end of passus 7, he literalizes what, following Burrow, is a metaphor. The “document” is only Truth’s abiding statement of his terms, merciful and just (cf. 1–8nn). In the earlier versions, Piers’s initial response to the text, and to the priest’s literalism, is to destroy the document—and with it, any sense of justification in his past acts. In its place, in a moving speech, he rejects what he presents as his thorough absorption in work and crop production—a severe response to his decision in passus 8 to battle wasters and the dearth they threaten. Instead of that labor that has heretofore defined him, Piers adopts a faithful penitentialism: citing gospel promises that God will provide, he determines to devote time freed from the world’s work to sorrow for sins. In effect, Piers shows that he has always known what Truth demands and that he does not actually need the promise inscribed in the pardon, which is only what Truth has always said. Equally (and in stark contrast to the optimism with which he entered the poem; cf. 7.193n), he feels that he has not answered the terms on offer. Again, if Piers’s career in the poem might be considered a sinful failure, one wonders about the prospects for salvation available to others. In all versions, the vision ends with the quarrel between the priest and Piers. In AB, this is set off by the Latinity of Piers’s citations; the priest interprets these, not as references to texts absorbed experientially, but as a challenge to his learned authority. (At C 293–94, the dreamer hears no conversation, but remains aware that there has been an argument.) The exchange between the characters awakens the dreamer, who spends the remainder of the passus (293–352) analyzing what he has seen; this rumination begins the poem’s longest waking interlude, extending to 10.67.

282

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

Having lamented Piers’s absence as his dream breaks up, Will seizes upon the salvific statement of the pardon, “Qui bona egerunt ibunt in vitam eternam.” He ignores (implicitly rejects) the priest’s cavils and superciliousness and resolves, in effect, to imitate Piers’s stance as a concerned, if not ecclesiastically directed, Christian. This decision affirms at least Piers’s passus 8 metaphor, a pilgrimage of life, but one engaged in pensive wandering, not working; the dreamer will seek the pardon’s promises—here the Latinate, priestly “Qui bona egerunt” translated into a mysterious vernacular “Dowell.” Through this determination, Will generates the search procedures that characterize the subsequent third dream in all versions. Were the difficulties sketched above in the AB versions not enough, the C version both simplifies and complicates. First of all, and most striking in critical accounts of the poem, it expunges altogether the pardon-tearing, together with the enigmatic resolve Piers expresses by his comments upon this action. However, in C, earlier portions of the passus, initiatives unique to this version (primarily 70–158, 188–280) have departed from the generally straightforward narration of “a pardon text” inherent in the remainder. Rather than the C reader receiving Piers’s penitentialism at the end, the dreamer intrudes actively and extensively; he offers allegedly experiential material to supplement what has been heretofore described as the pardon text. However, this new material emphasizes much the same issues that Piers expresses in earlier versions, the value of accepting a nonlaboring and penitential poverty, accompanied by the purgative suffering such acceptance involves. If in AB, Piers considers his past experience in the light of the pardon text, the C dreamer intrudes a different biographical narrative, that introduced in the waking interlude at the head of this vision, to similar ends. In this dreamer-centered account, Will subsumes those concerns differently expressed through Piers in earlier versions. Piers’s tearing of the pardon, the great—and mysterious—scene around which the poem revolves, has obviously provoked extensive discussions. Prominent among these is a series of outstanding articles that have shaped readings of it (and of the remainder of the poem): Coghill 1944, Lawlor 1950, Frank 1951, Woolf 1969, Carruthers (as Schroeder) 1970, Baker 1980, Lawler 2000, Minnis 2005. For discussion of the C revisions, where the dreamer’s discussions might now be considered “substitutions” for the absent pardontearing, see Martin 1979:131–35; very briefly, Godden 1990:189–90; and Hanna 2015. Kirk 1972:97 describes the scene in A as dramatizing that Christian folly Paul applauds at 1 Cor. 1:18–24 (full discussion 81–96).

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

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Prominent among topics bruited in the literature is the important issue of L’s theology. As introduced in Piers’s pardon-tearing and the implicit explanation he offers, scholars have primarily considered the poem’s views of the terms on which God offers salvation. The debate has most prominently opposed Augustinian opinions, in which salvation is God’s free gift of grace, and “modern” ones, associated with fourteenth-century Franciscan theologians, in which God offers salvation to those who conscientiously seek to do their best. See further B 7.118–43n. In the AB versions, the dreamer remains a relatively passive observer of metaphorical narrative. In contrast, a substantial component of the dreamer’s greater centrality to C supplements the standing metaphorical narrative of the earlier versions. Prominently here Will pursues earlier initiatives written into the last version. Following on a move that begins as early as 7.108 (see the note), the passus is marked by a variety of efforts at precise definition of terms. This constitutes a purification of language, an attempt at writing in what one might describe as “Truth’s tongue.” See further the discussion at 7.103–8nn, and the notes here to 72, 105–39, 126–27, 136, 140–58, 214–19, and cf. 256–80 (and the now suppressed B 7.119 [cf. 8.124n]).

* * * 1–8 (B 7.1–8, A 8.1–8) Truth sends Piers a pardon, the promise of salvation: Truth at this point, as Stokes (1984:214) sees, confirms Piers’s metaphoric transformation of plowing: the pardon (absolution) that should have come at the end of a penitential pilgrimage is offered for everyday, stay-at-home acts only (cf. line 5, but see B 124n below). Further, the pardon, although initially personalized (cf. hym 3), has considerably broader relevance; whatever Piers’s difficulties in coercing cooperative labor in passus 8, the pardon extends beyond him to his obedient family (line 4, a legal formula, according to Bennett) and to all those who contribute to his agriculture (lines 6–8). However, as the appearance of the actual pardon text (287–88) indicates, and as Woolf argues persuasively (1969), L here encourages active misreading. Two details of this introduction, typically overlooked, unambiguously indicate that what one is given here merely restates the obvious. The end of pilgrimage is salvation, arriving at Truth’s court, as Piers describes it at 7.248–61L (and cf. Holychurch at 1.197–203). First of all, readers tend to accommodate the term purchasede 3 to the worldly practice of pardons for sale on which the dreamer ruminates at the passus’s end. But the word does not describe such an activity at all. Rather, Truth “purchased” Piers’s and mankind’s pardon on

284

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

the cross; cf. “And hit are my blody brethern for god bouhte vs alle” (8.216, my emphasis). In these terms, the pardon anticipates 20.426–38L, and whatever else he is confused about at the passus’s end, the dreamer understands this point very well (cf. 321 et seq.nn). See further 3n. Second, Bennett’s reading of AB line 4 “For hym and for hise heires eueremoore after” sees only half of an ambiguity that L was at pains to clarify in the C revision. In AB, the off-verse might well be read (as Bennett does) as specifying a testamentary grant to one’s heirs in perpetuity. But the phrase might also be construed as modifying the preceding line—and thereby explaining the Latin of line 3 (see the note): “purchased him a pardon in secula seculorum [forever more].” The C reformation “for euere to ben assoiled” suggests that the latter was probably what L had always intended; the participle indicates that the pardon of salvation is offered only on the basis of a completed penitential process, the pilgrimage Piers earlier describes. In the context here established, this is participation in the world’s work, or equivalent (cf., for example, 185–87). 1 (B 7.1, A 8.1) Treuthe herde telle herof: The referent of “herof” remains unclear. Does Truth respond only to the deadlock at the end of passus 8 (more likely in BC, where the pardon could be taken, albeit ironically, as an example of the trewe hoped for at end) (Knott and Fowler’s view (in their note to A 8.1, p. 161). Or is it a response to the overall social problems there outlined—a suggestion that one should look to one’s own status (Bennett and Schmidt’s view)? Pearsall equivocates but finds the second view “more probable”; cf. also Woolf 1969:65, 69. But particularly in the context of the extra lines at the end of C 8/B 6, with their call for a purely natural justice bringing lives of torment, Treuthe here offers his very different standards, both just and merciful. 3 (B 7.3, A 8.3) purchasede hym a pardoun A pena & A culpa: Strictly speaking, as terms to describe a pardon, the language is excessive. It promises more than pardons provided by worldly agents, in that it does not just remit pena, temporal punishment (present satisfaction and future time in purgatory), but goes beyond that to remove culpa, the guilt of sin itself. As several commentators indicate, following Dunning (1980:109–10), the phrases had become formulaic, but the dreamer later (see 325–26nn) seems quite clear about the distinction. Cf. the echo at PPCrede 711–18, where that poet argues that contemporary friars offer absolution from both pena and culpa, but simply for money, and thus “sellen 3e synnes for siluer o3er mede” (712). He also sneeringly alludes to line 20 below in stating that these mendicants “passen the apostles” only in their presumption to power.

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

285

The pardon can have this supernal status because of the mode of its “purchase.” Piers didn’t buy it, but it is given him (cf. 7.269 for the gift of grace), and its purchase presumably refers to the act by which Jesus “buys” human redemption through his suffering on the cross (cf. 7.127–41L for Truth acting as both Father and Son in the Incarnation, and Bennett’s note to 9.1, as well as Coghill 1944:318–19, Carruthers 1973:72). The passage at large looks ahead to 21.182–96, the fully spiritualized reprise. 5 (B 7.5, A 8.5) leyes: Probably not the usual “meadows, fields,” but the specific technical term, MED leie n.3, sense 2, “unplowed or fallow ground” (cf. MED leie adj., e.g., W&W 234). As Schmidt sees, the presentation of the pardon continues the social inversion at the head of the preceding passus, where laborers precede their superiors. (Although cf. 58–60.) 8 he (B 7.8 tru∂e, A 8.8 ∂e pope): In A, L implies that the pardon comes through the pope simply as the vehicle by which God’s grace is available in this world. But this, as Woolf points out (1969:53, 55–60), is certainly a red herring. The document, once seen, does not have the form of a papal pardon (as the priest is quick to point out at 289), and a papal pardon, although it can remit pena, cannot remit culpa (only penance does that). However, the language of the passus refers routinely to the pardon as if it were such a papal document (cf. B 19, which Schmidt reads ironically). As Woolf argues, L’s language points toward a disparity between the most authoritative human hope and explanation of merit and the human perception of what Truth actually provides (see further the discussion of L’s theology, B 7.118–43Ln). 9–70 (and cf. 159–87) (B 7.9–106, A 8.9–88) The pardon glossed: The exact status of these lines, which form the body of the passus (vastly more extensive in C than in the earlier versions) is ambiguous. The lines initially appear to be the actual content of the document; pardons typically name their beneficiaries and identify those benefits that they can expect from their purchase. But when Piers, dreamer, and priest view the actual pardon, the document itself (at 285–86), it consists of only two lines and lacks any personal address. What had appeared to be content, comprising the narrative development of the passus, retrospectively comes to represent at best a gloss of a freefloating variety. Unlike contemporary glosses, it does not appear to be affixed to the document it purports to explain (although cf. such misleading attempts to make one think that it is as lines 22, 61, and A 41). The A version contains one unique passage (see A 8.42–44n) that ascribes at least copying the gloss to the dreamer himself. Were one to read this as indicating his authorship as well

286

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

(as does Woolf 1969:53–54), the passage represents his sense of how the rewards of grace should be apportioned among various social activities. The gloss thus conveys a sense of merit that is later rebuffed when Piers tears the document. Aers (1980:23, 68–69, 202 n.49) suggests that the gloss may represent Piers’s explanation (although, again, Piers’s eventual decision in AB to reduce that labor that attracted Truth’s attention—see B 124n below—might suggest that much of the material after line 21 comes from another source). Aers’s view was anticipated by Mroczkowski (1966:289). For the one portion of the gloss certainly in Piers’s voice (and unique to C), see 159–61n. The shape of the passage recalls certain aspects of the Prologue, perhaps especially in its B form. There the central discussion is framed between depictions of merchants (B Prol.31–32 ⳱ C 33–34) and lawyers (B Prol.211–16 ⳱ advanced to C 160–66). Common to both Prologue and pardon are brief, yet forceful, assertions of the value of honest labor (cf. Prol.22–24 with 58–60 below), juxtaposed with what forms L’s most distinctive revision of the estates model, his interest in the homeless and wandering (cf. Prol.35–55 with 61–281). As such, the pardon offers a perhaps unexpected symmetry (see further 295– 96n) with the opening of the poem; in the prologue, L presents a world out of joint and here offers one form of judgment on it. This feature, particularly in conjunction with the pietistic conclusion at 347–52, might point to an (otherwise untransmitted) two-vision state of the poem. The order of argument in this purported document, although stretched a great deal by extensive and wrenching C version additions, remains constant through the three texts. L first looks quite briefly at the two higher estates of society, those who fight and those who pray, personified in kings and knights (9–12) and in bishops (13–22). The document then passes on to the third estate, laborers; the actual pardon to this group, as the argument develops, turns out to be extremely brief (58–60). The vast proportion of the gloss in all three versions attempts to assess those difficult cases that have proved vexing throughout the poem, particularly the preceding passus. Thus lines 22–57 take up two groups central to Meed’s social manipulation, professions that challenge traditional estate divisions through their reliance on market economics and sale of assets for profit— merchants and lawyers. (These form a new demi-aristocracy founded on magically manipulating profit out of nothing.) And following the pardon to laborers, the concluding gloss (B 65–106, subjected to C version expansions) attempts to analyze the fate of those who have fallen below the ranks of the employed, perhaps illicitly, the Beggares and Biddares 61 who have given Piers such trouble in passus 8. Cf. Aers 1988:49, discussing the estates order, with greatest attention to the problematic third estate; Shepherd’s comment

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

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(1983:170) that “new groups outside the traditional [estates] analysis,” merchants, lawyers, and beggars, appear as a block; and Baldwin’s observation (1988:68) that the brief reference to laborers in 58–60 is scarcely isolated (comparing also lines 6–8, which link pardon as a whole with the world’s laboring with Piers). 9–22 (B 7.9–17, A 8.9–19) The pardon for lords, secular and religious Kyngus and knyhtus: The brevity of the initial paired discussions reflects the relatively nonproblematic state of these groups, central to the estate analysis of society. (Cf., for example, lines 9–10 with Piers’s conventional advice at 8.26– 27, 35–42, 53, all echoing 1.90–107.) Both groups represent direct descendants of honored biblical status. L here, in all versions, links magnates with the patriarkes of Genesis. To these BC add prophetes, probably in allusion to David, in Latin discussions “propheta” par excellence (cf. Paul as “apostolus” and see 1.102). Similarly, 20–21 present true bishops as Peres to 7e apostles, following Matt. 19:28, as Schmidt notes. The C version builds in a further symmetry by reprising both groups at the conclusion of the gloss, knights at 224–27 (with echoes of Piers on hunting 8.28–31). Bishops, however, do not fare so well in this reprise; cf. the “co-option” of apostolic status at 118 and the critique of 256–80n (further, Thought’s Dobest, 10.93–99L). B 7.14 (A 8.13) bo∂e lawes: Cf. the unredeemed characters Simony and Civil, introduced at 2.63—canon law, which defines the rights of the church, and civil law, the academic Roman law. For the status of civil law in England, cf. 2.65–66n; the unique A 8.14, “Loke on 3at o lawe, and lere men 3at o3er,” implies that this study is mainly valuable as a reference subject. As in university legal training, where “the two laws” were taught conjointly, civil law provides a body of principles that teaches one how to handle the second legal corpus, the basis of ecclesiastical regulation and jurisdiction. A 8.15 bere hem bo∂e on here bak as here baner shewi∂: This remarkably dense line, unique to A, must describe the cross on the back of a bishop’s vestment. The cross is, of course, the Christian vexillum (banner) par excellence, as Ambrose points out in his commentary on Luke 19:36 (PL 15:1796), or as the hymn by Fortunatus, often ascribed to Ambrose, says, “The banners of the king advance, gleaming with the mystery of the cross” (Vexilla regis prodeunt, 兩 Fulget crucis mysterium). Like a banner—a pole with transverse beam, from which the cloth with its emblem hangs—the cross could be conceived as having two elements, the vertical and horizontal portions, here connected with the two laws. The bishop’s warfare (his onus “burden”), as the

288

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

discussion at 220–80 (or Thought’s comments at 10.93–99L) makes clear, is the assertion of church discipline, bringing Christian behavior into accord with authoritative legal precept. A 8.17 How ∂at shabbide shep shul here wolle saue: Translate: “How (their parishioners) sheep infected with the scab of sin (cf. A 16), a disease that strips their coats, can nonetheless (be taught how to) preserve their wool, their meritorious deeds.” In this analysis, the value of the sacramental system depends upon ecclesiastical discipline, the instruction of parish clergy in an appropriate penitential doctrine. B 7.15 generalizes this playfulness and drops the reference to parish clergy, preferring to emphasize the bishop’s direct instructional and penitential involvement. In the C version, L insists upon ecclesiastical independence (14, 17–18), coupled with sanctity of life (19, recalling Reason at 5.141–42), as instrumental in instructing magnates in particular to forsake sin, a point again reprised by Thought at 10.96–99L. At C 261 (q.v.), however, Will returns suddenly to this once-rejected A version language (albeit in a negative frame); see also the next note. 16 bitynge in badde men: As in the A materials mentioned in the preceding note, this is another touch extended in the discussion at lines 261–69 below. The bishop should resemble a sheepdog, nipping at the heels of strays and thereby driving them to rejoin the flock. Skeat translates by here power 17 “so far as their power extends,” an interpretation that identifies power as moral suasion, but which would extend to such extreme discipline as the power to excommunicate. One might gloss the phrase more directly as “in accord with the power (they have through their office).” 21 (cf. B 7.17, A 8.19) And deme with hem at domesday: Pearsall aptly cites the lengthy description of those who will judge at Doomsday, from PC 6010–70. In this account, the discussion of the apostles and their similars appears at 6034– 48, with citation of Matt. 19:28. 23–44 (B 7.18–39, A 8.20–44) The pardon to merchants: As the gloss passes on to professions that are the source of social contention, not only does the discussion become more heavily qualified, but the bare document less adequate as a reflection of Truth’s pardon and its need for accompanying codicils, extra explanatory materials, more pressing. Although they have many @eres 22 in purgatory remitted, merchants’ full temporal suffering cannot be; the three following lines (24–26) indicate the gravity of their unconfessed sins (transgressions of the Decalogue) as well; cf. 6.196–349n. For halidayes 24, see 7.226n.

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

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The charge of swearing A@en clene Consience 26, that is, in perfect knowledge that their oaths (quoted indirectly in line 25) deliberately misrepresent (and violate Conscience’s injunction at 3.313), refers to behaviors in excess of Glutton’s grete othes (6.361); cf. BVV 32/2–11, 17–25; 40/14–41/9. The behavior, false assertions of the quality of the product sold, is prohibited again at A 40. The command that merchants “saue 3e wynnynge” 29, of course, denatures the whole capitalist enterprise that L has understood only too well (cf. 6.208). In earlier descriptions, 7e wynnynge is perceived either as mindless hoarding (as in Covetise’s confession in passus 6; cf. A 40) or as contributing to an equally blind social ostentation (as in 3.68–126). Here L reconceives acquisition as an act of ongoing social “restitution”: the spiritually astute merchant becomes the banker who holds fees for investment in efficacious public works, alms of a sort widely applauded in the period, and this transfer of profit from self to commune allows him to continue his financial (and inherently sinful, cf. 7.264, 9.335) bolde[nesse]. Schmidt compares Luke 16:9, cited at 8.234L. 27 (B 7.23, A 8.25) vnder his secrete seal . . . a lettre: On letters and seals, see Alford 1988c, s.v. Lettre, Patente, Prive lettre, Sele; as well as Prol.77n (with further references; there are a great many more “documents” in the poem than Steiner 2003 treats), 4.189n. Certainly, in earlier portions of the poem, the majority of these are perverse (e.g., 2.86, 110, 236; 6.246; 9.321, 343). But such documentary legerdemain will give way to at least two grand and constructive communications of this sort, that given Spes (19.4–22, like the pardon, a shockingly brief text of “two wordes”) and that sent to Peace by Love (20.173, 185). The usage here will be repeated at 138. In the strict sense, letters come in two forms: patent/open and closed/ sealed (cf. Bennett’s note). The first, like Spes’s rock, are public pronouncements; the latter, customarily sealed (that is, closed with a stamped bit of wax) are private, and generally confer, as does this example, a license or favor. Bennett and Pearsall (the latter with a reference to Smith 2003) argue that the secret letter indicates that Truth will not openly countenance trade, as it is usually conceived, for profit. But this is yet a further allusion to Luke 16, a practical program for “making friends of the mammon of iniquity”; the secret document described is thus the gospel. 29–36 (B 7.25–34, A 8.27–35) saue ∂e wynnynge [for almsdeeds]: For a similar breadth of donation, cf. the will of the London mercer John Shadworth (s. xv med.), who speaks of such pious uses and works of charity as “in the marriages of poor maidens, in repairs of damaged roads, in freeing those in prison” (in

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C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

maritagiis pauperum puellarum, reparacionibus viarum debilium, liberacione incarceratorum; cited Thomson 1965:180, a further citation from this will below at 73n). The last phrase, Thomson notes (184–85), usually refers to freeing those in debtors’ prison, or releasing one’s past debtors. See Thomson’s full discussion, 185–88, 192–94. The specific charities introduced in the following lines might be divided into three groups. They include actual religious foundations, both the provision of hospitals (mesondewes 30, in the Middle Ages “places of hospitality [for the poor and travelers],” not clinics) and of donations to religious houses (probably, given renten 36, donating to them the income associated with advowsons of churches or with other properties). For slightly later examples of such widely dispersed behaviors, one might mention [the merchant/mayor William] Wyggeston’s Hospital, Leicester (founded 1513), or the Lord Leycester Hospital, Warwick (originally the guildhall, but converted, temp. Elizabeth), or the profusion of mercantile bequests that came in the course of the fifteenth century to Syon abbey, Isleworth, originally founded by Henry V. Other charities (31–32) more explicitly form public works, the repair of roads and bridges. (In addition to their general social utility, these might be perceived as building in a capitalistic “multiplier effect”; roads, after all, serve to increase mercantile profit, dependent on transportation of goods.) One outstanding example of such behavior: Robert Knolles, a London citizen (perhaps related to a later aldermannic family) and Edward III’s war crony, financed a new bridge over the Medway at Rochester. Skeat cites Arnold SEW 3.283. Cf. Hanawalt’s survey of Bedfordshire wills, where perhaps a third of all testators left bequests to repair roads or bridges (Hanawalt 1986:261). Maintenance of such infrastructure was frequently the work of hermits; see my 1997:38–39, and contrast Will’s ungenerous reading at 189 and 204. Finally, other charities (reduced to 33b and 35 in the C version; cf. B 29–32) are thoroughly personal and advance in appropriate stations those deserving but without the means to fulfill promise on their own. Virtuous young women need dowries either to attract appropriate husbands or to meet the substantial donation required for admission by many nunneries. Cf. Bennett and Pearsall’s references to English guild records, and Mollat (1986:109, 266, and passim), who identifies providing dowries for poor but worthy girls as a traditional form of poor relief. The widows of A 32, who would prefer to live chastely (cf. the tree of Charity at 18.71–90), need support simply to sustain them in their resolve; without it, they may be forced to surrender their good intentions in return for male support. In BC, they are replaced by more general injunctions to perform the works of mercy.

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

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University scholars (A 34, B 32) typically were supported by patrons, Will’s “fader and frendes” (5.36). More usually, such support came from magnates or bishops who expected to rely on the administrative clerical services trained scholars might provide after their academic careers; for discussion, see Courtenay 1987:118–46. However, in C this patronage is to support local grammar schools, as one Agnes Scriveyn did, in exchange for memorial masses, at Ripon (North Yorkshire) in the 1340s. Thomson (1965:186–87) finds support of education rare in fifteenth-century London wills (only about 3.5 percent of testators). In his survey, this is primarily devoted, as in the AB account, to support the study of theology. Thomson associates growth in bequests for elementary education with the sixteenth century (195). AB’s “or” in this line, reminiscent of Will’s interrogation in C 5, may involve a quibble as to whether scholarship actually represents a craft. 37–38 (B 7.34–35, A 8.36–37) seynt Mihel . . . That no deuel shal √ow dere: Cf. 8.97. Michael the warrior archangel is, of course, particularly appropriate in this role: he is often depicted standing with his spear over the prostrate and bound Satan (following Apoc. 12:7–8; cf. 20.446). Bennett notes his role as addressee of in extremis prayer calling for him to defend the dying and his frequent depiction as the weigher of souls at death; as Skeat sees, A 38–39 expand on his traditional role as Christian psychopomp (and allude to John 14:2–3). ne despeyre 38 (cf. B 36) implies that merchants, surveying long careers of unjust gain, may be particularly susceptible to wanhope or suicidal despair (as Covetise is at B 5.279). For the idea that every soul faces two judgments, a general judgment at Doomsday and a personal judgment on the individual soul at death, see PC 2216–2569. This poem offers a spirited depiction of the contest between devils and angels for the soul at death. For discussion, see Gurevich 1988:136, 138–41, 145–46, who sees such discussions as “mythic” or “popular.” The earlier versions allude to a similar scene involving lawyers at A 53, B 51, revised out at 50 below. B 7.37–38 Ioye . . . ioye: For an analysis of this incipient end-rhyme, see Schmidt 1987:77–78. A 8.42–44 (cf. 42, B 7.39) √af wille for his writyng: These lines, unique to the A version, identify the dreamer Will as at least the copyist, if not the instigator, of the gloss. In the narrower sense, he copiede 7us her clause, the passage calls attention to L’s possible career (in addition to the role as “bedesman” described in passus 5) as a legal copyist, here apparently a poor one who takes

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his payment as in-kind necessities. BC substitute references to Piers and his purcha[s] of the pardon; this act is presumably passive—in the view of the document current at this point of the narrative, Piers won it through works that Truth found meritorious. With clause A 44, cf. the priest’s promise to offer Piers a grammatical reading of the pardon at 283 below. 43 ∂at parfitliche lyuede: This line, unique to C, apparently seeks to complete the social array presented. In contradistinction to merchants, whose salvation is viewed as perilously conditional, the traditional model of “perfect life” is provided by monasticism. This is, following Benedict’s rule, predicated upon poverty (the antonym of merchant wynnyng), chastity, and obedience, and devoted to a life of penitential prayer. As something that presumably goes without saying, the reference receives no qualification or discussion, but see 188n. 44–57 (B 7.40–60L, A 8.45–62) The pardon to lawyers: If the spiritual prognosis for merchants is qualified, that for lawyers is even worse. The first line— “Men of lawe hadde lest 3at loth were to plede”—sets the tone for unremitting criticism. hadde lest promises minimal pardon (“they were given fewest years of remission for their past behaviors”). The verbal phrase is succeeded by the snide off-verse (all B manuscripts read “3at pleteden for mede”), hovering uncertainly between a restrictive and an unrestrictive relative clause. Is it “at least those who,” or, as the portrayal sporadically implies, “since all of them”? The discussion moves to a climax in the concluding lines (see 55–56n, B 7.60Ln), in which nature itself is invoked to damn the profession—through a witty use of legal precept (and, as elsewhere in the discussion, witty use of that legal logic that extends a principle to meet the instant case). Parody of specific legal jargon also marks the discussion, e.g., the Anglo-Normanism “pardon . . . petyt” 53. 45 pre manibus: “Before hand,” that is, payment in advance, alluding to Conscience’s discussion at 3.292–303. See further Alford 1988c:120. B 7.42L, 44L (A 8.46L) Super innocentem . . . : “You shall not take bribes against the innocent” (Ps. 14:5, requirements for entry to the tower on the toft); and “Their reward shall be from kings and princes.” The latter is a bit of commentary inspired by Ecclus. 38:2: “For all healing is from God, and he shall receive gifts of the king” (A deo est enim omnis medela, et a rege accipiet donationem, describing a physician, not a lawyer). For the second quotation, see further Alford 1984. The unique A 45 argues that lawyers should get lest

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pardon because, being lettrid, they ought to know these verses and respect them. The pencion A 47 (similar substance in B 44, dropped altogether in C) that L envisions for them converts their avarice into public service, just as merchants, who may continue their activities, but without an eye to personal profit. As the A version will argue later, the wyt that lawyers use in their pleadings should be conceived as a 7ral 57, a servant of broad social goals, not as a tool for lordly advancement; cf. 3.452. As Tierney points out (1959:14–19, 143 nn20–21), under canon law, ecclesiastical courts were to provide free counsel and pay the expenses of poor litigants; the practice further encouraged the transfer of some secular complaints to these venues. B 7.45–46: Translate: “they would want to do more for a fellow familiar to them (and apt to offer them Meed for their efforts) than they would [want to plead at the bar] only in the hope of God’s mercy.” The Athlone text contains a suspect emendation, here bracketed; as Schmidt notes, neither a Iustice nor a Iurour in fact pleads. For the sense of pieta[s], cf. Prol.154–57; the phrase pro dei pietate, as Alford argues (1988c:122), is a concluding formula in petitions of equity—appeals for special grace after the petitioner has failed to win his suit under the common law. Here the phrase may translate directly “for oure lordis loue” A 52. L wittily suggests that lawyers have placed themselves so disadvantageously that their salvation must depend upon a divine jurisdiction analogous to a special royal one. 46 (B 7.47, A 8.49) speneth his speche: The description is analogous to the redefinition of mercantile profits (see 29–36n) and undoes the lawyerly me´tier of “mum” described at Prol.164. See further 5.28n. B 7.52–52L (A 8.54) ∂e Sauter bere∂ witness: Domine . . . : “Lord, who shall dwell in thy tabernacle?” (L’s old standard, Ps. 14:1), cited (as Bennett sees) to direct attention to the conclusion of v. 5 (see B 42Ln above): “He that doth these things shall not be moved for ever.” 55–56 (B 7.53, A 8.55) hit is symonye to sulle . . . wit and watur and wynd: A has only three items while BC extend to four, a fuller reference to the created elements, given for man’s general use (cf. 1.17–18, AB 1.17 7e er7e only). As the elaborations of B 54–55 imply, wisdom is, like the elements, the common possession of all, one of tru7es tresores to be shared by all in love (cf. 7at sent is of grace 55). For additional materials, connecting those things held in common with the civil lawyers’ concept of natural law, see 10.129–31n.

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That wisdom cannot properly be sold is a conclusion of canon law (see Post et al. 1955). The principle was originally invoked in the later twelfth century, on the basis of Jesus’ instructions to the apostles, Matt. 10:8 (“freely have you received, freely give”), to underwrite free theological instruction in cathedral schools. L offers, in the spirit of legal analysis, an analogical extension of the original canonistic logic. The unique ne wolde holy writ A 56, if at all specific, probably refers to the canonists’ verse from Matthew; Schmidt compares B 13.150. For the elements and their free profusion, see further A 10.3–4 and 15.237–44L. B 7.60L Quodcumque vultis . . . : “All things therefore whatsoever you would that men should do to you, do you also to them” (Matt. 7:12). Following B 46, L reads “the golden rule” as a particularly powerful threat to mercenary lawyers. In the litotes of B 58, the return for their past Meed-filled dealings, their petit pardon, comes from God, not man, and is damnation. Alford 1992:54 refers to Gratian’s citation of the verse at the head of his Decretum (1.1.introd, CJC 1:1); there this verse stands as the foundation of natural law. 58–70 (and cf. 159–87) (B 7.61–87 and 88–106, A 8.63–71 and 72–88) The pardon to laborers—and the question of those who don’t labor: This segment of the pardon, essentially a repetition of the introductory 9.6–8, rather cursorily rewards “loyal laborers” along with their straw-boss Piers. (C drops out a full line, most notably A 65b/B 63b “for hir lowe herte,” to be more fully developed in the interpolation that follows at C 71.) But the discussion returns at length to these people’s opposites, the wasters and other nonfeasants whose unwillingness to work disrupts Piers’s half-acre commune in the preceding passus. At 64–65 (A 8.70–71, B 7.68–69), the summation of the series of complaints stretching back to Prol.41–46, L outlines succinctly the logic for rejecting false beggars. Two of the charges, He is fals (AB fals wi7 7e fend) . . . And also gileth hym 7at gyueth, serve to link professional beggars with Meed’s companions in passus 2 and to identify their behavior as a form of unjust return. (As Piers has argued in passus 8, they should labor and win thereby the same unimpeachable hire—and pardon—promised other good workmen.) The third charge, defraudeth the nedy, which underlies the wrenching expansions of the C version, looks more directly at the economics of dearth that from mid-passus 8 has become a persistent fact of this world: in this closed system of finite resources, feigning beggars draw alms from those who have licit needs and who lack access to alternative donors.

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The A version briefly and categorically excludes beggars from the pardon; B finds the matter considerably more problematic, with respect to both donor and receiver, and examines the issue for an additional twenty lines (to 89L, the opening reproduced in C at lines 66–70). Initially, this B expansion begins as an explanation of gile7 7e gyuere 69, an assertion that donors do wish to help the neediest and thus are themselves inconvenienced (along with the needy poor) by false beggars. However, this explanation evokes further complications, for it raises the issue on which passus 8 foundered, that of whether donors should attempt discrimination among recipients (cf. Piers’s questions at 8.209, 237). The B version thus opposes the two major contemporary views on the issue (outlined by Shepherd 1983, Aers 1988, Pearsall 1988; see 8.209n), before ultimately deciding—as B had already done in its unique readings at 6.225–26L—in favor of unquestioning almsgiving. B 78 (C 70), perhaps a bit grudgingly, sees the donor’s open hand as the only responsible behavior in a world of human moral ignorance. Concomitantly, if false begging involves a sin, that sin is not the donor’s, a penalty for having dispersed his goods unjustly, but the recipient’s for having solicited alms under false pretenses (B 79–84). 59 (B 7.63, A8.65 ) Lellyche and lauhfollyche (lyuen in loue and in lawe AB): In its various formulations, this line’s doublet returns to Piers’s quandary at 8.208–21. There both workmen’s labor—and Pier’s encouragement of it— fulfill legal requirements. But in an atmosphere of fear and coercion, one lacking loue, these appear not to express true justice (lewte). See further the extensive discussion, Kean 1964, and B Prol.122n; Prol.149–51n, 2.51–52n. 62 (B 7.66, A 8.68) Bote the sugestioun be soth: “Unless the underlying motive/ prompting is proper.” Schmidt identifies the term as a legalism; cf. Alford 1998c:149 “a charge.” The apparently more usual fals sugestioun means a fraudulent representation. 68 And moste merytorie to men ∂at he √eueth fore: “And most beneficial to those men to whom he gives it.” 69 (B 7.73) Cui des videto: “Take heed to whom you give,” as L indicates, from the “Disticha Catonis,” Prol.brev. sent. 17. See further Mollat (1986:109, 207n), who offers citations from Peter the Chanter (PL 205:147–53) and Jacques de Vitry on discriminating the fake and the deserving poor; and Scase’s discussion (1989:72–73, 198n112) of the use of this and L’s subsequent Latin citations in the controversies about mendicant poverty.

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B 7.75 Sit elemosina tua . . . : “Keep your alms in your hand while you consider to whom you should give.” he 74 has as antecedent Comestor’s cognomen, 7e clerc of stories 72, that is, doctor historiarum, the title alluding to Peter’s popular commentary on the historical books of the Bible, Historia scholastica. Alford (1992) offers a number of citations he identifies as “proverbial” and does not find the reading in Comestor. But it is there (PL 198:1251–52), and Comestor reads “Desudet elemosina in manu tua donec invenias justum, cui eum trades” (Let your alms sweat [i.e., hang onto them] in your hand until you may find a just man to whom you may give alms). Like L in B 76–81, Comestor balances the verse against the gospel’s open injunction to giving, Luke 6:30 (cited 8.209n). See Lawler’s extensive account (Lawler-Hanna 2014:547–48) of the origins and wide distribution of the verse, as Comestor cites it, and its usual juxtaposition with Luke 6:30. Lawler shows that the verse is an ancient variant for Ecclus. 12:1, “If thou do good, know to whom thou dost it.” The C version drops these further B lucubrations for even more problematic considerations: in a huge addition, perhaps only paralleled in its emotional force by Shakespeare’s Lear, L goes on to “reason the need.” B 7.76–77: Schmidt (1987:50) provides an interesting analysis of the potential ambiguity of alle 74 and its relation to al 75. B 7.77L Non eligas cui miseraris . . . : “You should not choose to whom you will show mercy, lest you ignore someone who deserves to receive; it is uncertain which recipient may be more pleasing to God.” Skeat traces the citation, not to Gregory, but Jerome on Eccles. 11:6 (PL 23:1103), quoted by Bennett. However, this appears a commonplace of considerably wider attestation; see ps.-Ambrose, epistola 4.10 (PL 17:750–51); Isidore of Seville, Synonyma 2.96 (PL 83:866); ps.-Bernard of Clairvaux, “De interiori domo” 25.52 (PL 184:534). B 7.80 he ∂at yeue∂ yelde∂ and yarke∂ hym to reste: Translate, reading hym as the object of both verbs, “The giver surrenders himself (to God) and makes himself (spiritually) ready for rest.” If hym is construed only with yarke7, translate, “The giver relinquishes control (of his gift)”; in either case, as Schmidt suggests, reste ⳱ heaven. B 7.82 hir borgh: Following the reference to dette in the preceding line, translate, “Beggars always run up debts, and God is their collateral” (just as Jesus’ death provided a security for all men). As line 83 indicates, God repays the giver at an exorbitant rate (with the Meed of salvation, discussed by Conscience at B 3.232–45 and just as mesurelees as Meed herself). This is a “true”

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vsure, for no amount of Meed’s treasure can actually purchase the extravagant return that God gives. The line, as typically, visualizes salvation as a reward that so exceeds any finite human good deed as to render a conception such as merit otiose. While this line does not appear in the C version, the subsequent discussion of “lewede Ermytes” may take the word and idea up as a submerged mnemonic pun, cf. “in borwes among brewesteres” 190. Rather than count on God to reward those who give to them, these figures seek a worldly payoff and hang out where the income from begging will be predictably rich. B 7.83 To yelden hem: Bennett compares Prov. 19:17, “He that hath mercy on the poor, lendeth to the Lord; and he will repay him.” B 7.83L Quare non dedisti . . . : “Why then didst thou not give my money into the bank, that at my coming, I might have exacted it with usury?” (Luke 19:23, from the parable Hunger cites at 8.247–58). B 7.85 ha∂ to buggen hym: “Has sufficient to buy himself.” B 7.86L Satis diues est . . . : “Whoever does not lack bread is rich enough.” Insofar as the citation reflects 7e book 85, the Bible, cf. 1 Tim. 6:8 (“But having food, and wherewith to be covered, with these we are content”); the actual language is Jerome’s, Epistolae 125.20 (PL 22:1085). L momentarily veers toward a potentially redemptive view of beggars in his suggestion that in “borrowing” less, in being moderate in their demands (unlike the tavern-haunting wasters of passus 8, and the “lollares, lewede Ermytes” who will shortly appear in C), non-needy beggars are less problematic than the poem usually perceives. Rather than ostentatious claims on donors or tale-telling in the tavern, they might reduce their debt through being content with bread and adopting a spiritually useful (even if not laboring) occupation. Translate Lat vsage be youre solas . . . 88, “Let regular reading of saints’ lives comfort you,” that is, “it will make you forget you are hungry,” or, less likely, “it will provide you with exemplary lessons for coping with deprivation.” But the conciliatory mood is short-lived, since L takes up at B 90 the strident passage he had already written in A. 70–281 The C dreamer takes over the pardon gloss: In line 70, with the intrusion “As y wene,” the speaking voice abruptly changes. To this point, the discussion may well represent Piers’s explanation of his pardon (see 9–70n and 159–61n), but the first-person pronoun identifies what follows as Will’s

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C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

interjection. (Cf. further “or in ryme shewe” 82.) Just as his first-person prophecy at the end of the preceding passus echoes Piers at 8.167–68, the opening here is again echoic. The dreamer’s intrusion into the text of earlier versions picks up 8.228–34L, 282–88, the latter unique to C, and its last line one source of “nedy neyhbores.” (Cf. with the first of these discussions A 7.204–14, B 6.218–30; both include allusions to the “nedy neyhbores,” at A 7.209, B 6.223.) Both passages are speeches by Hunger, an indication that Will here speaks “in character.” Since the waking interlude at the head of this vision, he has claimed a right to sustenance, even in the absence of what appears to others as useful engagement in labor, as Schmidt sees. 71–104 “Needy neighbors” and the invisible poor: Will’s discussion begins with a double invocation of marginal groups deserving of sympathy and support, whatever their laboring status. He first introduces humble laborers, who will not beg and yet are incapable of self-support. In the discussion, they are followed by a much more unusual and largely self-referential subcategory, “lunatyk lollares” (see 105–39n). Just as in the discussion of “God’s minstrels,” with which this second discussion is closely linked, the lunatic prophet-poet is made pendant to a more conventional discussion of the poor in general. The initial move in the C revision suppresses the two B quotations following Cui des videto (69Ln) and thereby redefines the force of Cato’s injunction. Rather than the B text’s explicitly negative imperative, the speaker here translates Cato as if offering an open-ended command: instead of identifying the recalcitrant and undeserving, one must seek to find true need, those who merit charitable attention. Following on woet no man who is worthy 70, this reading of the distich transfers emphasis away from social police work of the sort that has marked passus 8; it suggests, as B does, the limits of human judgment and concomitantly, the greater power of a divine ability to sort out deserts, a theme that both undermines the effort here to particularize and leads toward the pardon itself. In subsequent lines, Will will find worthiness in the unostentatious, in situations often invisible in terms of labor contribution (or noncontribution) and situations where the definitions of passus 8 seem progressively less applicable. While Will finds that he can still invoke labor-based sanctions against the indolent, his analysis of other situations problematizes these very criteria; and while he can identify situations of “true need,” he generally evades the issue of how these are to be actively relieved. On the difficulty of the distinctions in which the discussion becomes enmeshed, see further 105–39n. In this initial move, the discussion centers upon Mollat’s “late medieval New Poor.” These he describes as laboring urban people subjected to a “discreet, almost invisible poverty, characterized by chronic malnutrition, poor

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housing and clothing, hopelessness and discomfort, largely deprived even of forms of assistance available to more notorious indigents such as beggars, tramps, and other social parasites” (1986:244, further discussion passim, notably 162–68). Their situation is exactly defined in “no catel but his craft” 90 (a reformulation of 8.329). Cf. Aers’s discussion (1988:21) of the sanctification of the passive poor, a view that he sees as distinct from that positive value inherent in poverty that St. Francis applauded (but see 105–39n). As Will develops his discussion, this activity should be compared with the persistent references to clothing later in the passus (for example, 209; cf. 140–58n). Both, perplexingly, involve forms of active duplicity and selfconcealment, although to very different ends. Bad beggars and hermits behave this way in the interests of free lunch; the noble poor will not acknowledge their need (and thus remain a socially invisible—and unrelievable—blight) out of self-reliant shame. As the passage proceeds, L develops further this problematic definition of secretive licit behavior. Just as the noble poor should be available as recipients for alms, but aren’t, Will, in the metaphorical poetic that has marked his performance since early in passus 5, imagines what is licit as any behavior other than what ostensibly represents that behavior. Ostentation, external signs that identify a particular social role or office, become suspect and degenerate (see 98n, 189n), and the proper form of the office becomes an act hidden, unmarked, and socially unavailable. Such portrayal continues the metaphoric shifts that characterize the second vision and that had reached a climax in AB with Piers’s definition of his worldly occupation, plowing, not as agrarian labor, but as penance (see B 124 below). While the C version deletes that passage, L retains much of its force in his troubled description of such marginalized social groups as the deserving poor (cf. 116–17, where the inclusion of the word welthe seems to define the poor as blessed like the lunatic; or 184–87 and its new force in the C version context). 72 puttes: “Dungeons, jail-cells,” L’s normal usage; cf. B 5.405 and the quasimetaphorical 14.174 (MED pit n., sense 1[g]). Visiting prisoners is one of the traditional “corporal works of mercy”; see Matt. 25:36. ——— in cotes: “At the lower end of the social scale was the hut of the cottar, the cottage. These were either one-room houses of about sixteen by twelve feet or possibly larger two-room houses of thirty-three by thirteen feet.” These were typically constructed of wattle and daub, an insubstantial and impermanent construction; contrast the “long house” of the virgate- or bovate-holder, generally about fifty feet long and sometimes double that. (See Hanawalt

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C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

1986:32–34, the citation at 32–33.) For the distinction between the servus (an agricultural workman, often with access to a plow) and cottar, see further Dyer 1989:11. Will’s interest in the locale is distinctly personalized; like those he describes here, he is a cottar, and his interest in women’s labor might be seen as self-referential as well, a concern for his housemate Kytte (see 5.2). At 97, the inhabitants of these poor dwellings are identified as coterelles 97 and just as deserving of attention as figures conventionally worthy of support, “crokede men and blynde.” Yet the later use of the word coterelles, at 194 to describe “lollares . . . lewede Ermytes,” seems clearly pejorative. This ambiguous usage probably implies that, just as with “lunatyk lollares” (see 105–39n), Will here attempts to construct an honorific usage from a term deeply conflicted. Just as with the metaphoric definitions mentioned in the last note, such lexical legerdemain might be construed as the construction of “Truth’s tongue.” The text attempts to adjudicate between prevalent social discourses, in which, as Mollat amply illustrates, in the later Middle Ages poverty was often perceived as a stigma and curse, not a blessed state (the prevalent earlier view). MED coterel n.1 cites a particularly provocative entry from the bilingual dictionary, Promptorium Parvulorum (c. 1440), “[The English word] coterelle means gurgustinus, a male or female tramp/bum, gurgustina, a male or female cottar; and these last two nouns are made up” (Coterelle: Gurgustinus, tugurrinus, tugurrina, gurgustina, coterellus, coterella, et hec duo nomina ficta sunt). Just as the final two terms are “ficta,” that is, Latinizations of the English term, gurgustinum/a are not, so far as I know, otherwise attested. But they must be derivatives of gurgustium “hovel,” which Lewis and Short associate with gurgulio “the throat” (because a hovel, like the throat, is narrow). However, the other Anglo-Latin uses of this root, describing a weir or sluice, suggest that the lexicographer might mean something like the abusive “empty throats” or “sucking throats” (and Cicero once uses gurgustium to mean a “drinking den”). 74 ∂at they with spynnyng may spare: Contextually (see 83), L thinks first of women apparently widowed and engaged in piecework labor for the cloth trade, “the new urban poor” of the fourteenth century (see Pearsall 1988:170– 73, 179). Mollat (1996:195) points to a description of a poor wool-spinning woman in the Me´nagier of Paris’s handbook for his wife; he suggests (207–8) that many of these may have been engaged in piecework for textile entrepreneurs. For an earlier discussion in a rather surprising context, see Chre´tien de Troyes, Yvain 5187–5342.

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“Seeking wages as a supplement to an income from agriculture was common. For cottars some wages or a cottage industry was essential. Produce from their few acres of land could only provide the sparest living, so that both husband and wife would have to seek outside income” (Hanawalt 1986:115). Women’s cottage industries included spinning (far the most common), brewing (although it involved capital outlay for tubs and malt), dairy work (cf. Ch’s “povre wydwe,” CT VII.2821–46), beating flax, and making linen thread 1986:116, 141). Cf. 8.5–14n. These women’s wakynge on nyhtes 78 suggests an around-the-clock effort, perpetual engagement in small and unremunerative tasks (cf. our “moonlighting”), to make ends meet for their children. Lines 80–81 further define this range of menial employment—unskilled jobs in the woolen and linen trades, work as laundresses and seamstresses, making rushlights. In such a presentation, the contempt for handworkers evident at 8.330 simply vanishes; the existence of such humble poor challenges all the easy equivalents of passus 8, generally based on Piers’s assumption that labor routinely provides a just, that is, living, wage. In contrast, here Will argues that labor is far from a social panacea: line 90 rewrites 8.330 into the more humane (and socially more difficult) no catel but his craft—how can craft be supplemented with justice? Cf. FM 458/15–24, where the author exemplifies contrition as a “filatrix paupercula,” a poor spinning woman: to eat, she must sell some of the wool entrusted to her, but then, in debt to the entrepreneur who employs her, must wet the wool that remains in order to make up the requisite weight. (Her sin has been driven by poverty and need, while the moistened wool shows the power of her tears of contrition, her longing to make a just account.) 73 Charged with children and chief lordes rente: Thomson (1965:18) cites a London will that includes benefactions for “the help and relief of poor men and women weighted down with children and embarrassed to beg” (auxilium et relevamen pauperum virorum et mulierum cum pueris oneratorum mendicare erubescencium). The final phrase here answers “to turne the fayre outward” 85 and the discussion in the following distich. The off-verse appears to describe something different from the hous huyre “rent” in the next line. The latter represents a lease, perhaps paid to a peasant of greater means, but does not include exactions by the lord, a basic expense, as Hanawalt (1986:110) points out, for which all peasant families had to “budget.” 75 papelotes: See 8.176–78n (this is more porridge or gruel), and cf. Dyer 1983:302. On the status of widowed women left with young children, see Hanawalt; she cites statistics for Holderness in 1260, where one-sixth of plowland

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C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

holdings were controlled by women, but “one-third of the cottars were women. These women were sometimes described as widows and sometimes as daughters of tenants” (1986:225, 93). The hapax legomenon in the next line, aglotye “stuff full,” looks ahead to the sadly ironic “poor people’s feast” of lines 92–95. 78 on nyhtes: On the utter darkness of medieval nights and their dangers, see Hanawalt 1986:29–30. She also mentions the high cost of candles to work by (ibid. 51); these poor women must make do with cheaper, and less efficient, rushes infused with a little wax. Cf. 19.172ff., esp. 187–92. reule 79 appears as a unique usage in MED s.v. ruel n., “the (in these circumstances necessarily cramped) space between a bed and the wall.” 85 to turne ∂e fayre outward: The deserving poor “put the best face on things” or “keep up appearances”: the image is of restoring a tattered garment by reversing it, putting the less-worn inner surface on the outside. Cf. Mollat (1986:179) on “the shamefaced [i.e., shamefast] poor.” 93 colde: Contrast 8.333, where chaut may convey “pipinghot, fresh cooked,” rather than bought second-hand or as day-old food. In this line, as (like the use in 92) means “as if it were”: however humble the repast, for the poor, as for Ch’s poor widow (74n), it is as fulfilling as a lordly dinner of game. 94–95 moskeles, cockes: Although Dyer (1989:61) describes shellfish and crustaceans as aristocratic fish diets (and oysters as a southeastern specialty, 67), that is plainly not what is at issue here. More to the point is Hanawalt’s observation (1986:53): “In seashore settlements women and children collected shellfish from the beaches.” The description then implies active foraging (as still occurs at Morecambe Bay in the northwest, but might occur along a tidal estuary like the Thames), rather than spending even a farthing at the fish market. Skeat computes that a farthing would buy twelve quarts of mussels in 1390. 98 with bagges: For the bagge, see 5.45–52n, 7.164n (and Pearsall 1988:178); this detail forecasts later descriptions like 139–40, 151–58 (and recall Prol.42). This qualification introduces an important moral distinction: such beggars are, ipso facto, illicit because they hoard, are not content with the rations necessary for the moment but seek enough to carry away (cf. 151, 154). Their behavior is flatly opposed to that of lunatyk lollares and violates that biblical warrant that such people are holy (cf. 110, 119–20L). Moreover, the ability to carry the (full)

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sack indicates the able-bodiedness of such beggars, their capacity for labor, and undermines their implicit claim to lollen because dismembered (cf. 214– 19). The bag, the visible sign that identifies such persons as beggars, allows them to be perceived, not as holding a vocation or office, but as flatly disobedient to any regulation. (Cf. the later visual language that damns lewede Ermytes at 241–45.) There is an extensive allusion to this passage at PPCrede 600–610, 619–24. With such figures, one might well contrast Patience the pilgrim, who does carry a poke, but it includes no food, only those virtues that sustain one in a land where no one gives alms (15.186–89, 247ff.). ——— brewhouses: Cf. 6.350–441n, 8.122n. 102 lollares lyf: For lollare, see 5.2n and 140–58n below. 105–39 lunatyk lollares: These figures, like the true poor whom Will has just described, are not as they appear. They look, as the noun that identifies them suggests, like hardy vagrants, people who ought to be at work. However, as “in hele as hit semeth 兩 Ac hem wanteth wit” 105–6 indicates, in spite of appearances, they are incapable of formulating for themselves even the imperative to survival, much less a means toward subsistence. Like the noble poor, they rebuff perception and testify to the limitations of human judgment (cf. godes secret sele 138). Will’s discussion, while it begins in a clinical mode, develops by stages, a series of associative escalations of the value to be accorded these figures. Initially, the account simply describes a condition, broadly identifiable as a sort of madness. It then passes, at first rather tentatively (cf. 112 with 118), through a discussion that associates the lunatics with the apostolic heedlessness enjoined in Luke 9 and 10. Finally, lunatics become associated with a model already established, the welcome (and well-fed) guest in an aristocratic house, the divine minstrel of 7.87ff. As a technique, Will’s discussion appears thoroughly imitative, a reprise of that gradualism by which Piers attempts in the preceding passus to convey the metaphorical plowing as pilgrimage. L identifies these figures as potentially blessed through conventional means. The figures rebuff the customary medieval perception of madness as punishment for or purgation of an individual’s sin or guilt (cf. Doob 1974:1–30). Rather, as 7e mone sit 108 and meuynge aftur 7e mone 110 indicate that they are victims of a variable planetary influence and respond in an apparently random but in fact predictable manner (more other lasse 108) to the waxing and waning phases of the moon. (Hence “lunatyk”; cf. modern “moony,” “loony.”) This influence, beyond their control, establishes such

304

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

lunatics as patient recipients of their affliction (cf. With a good will 111), just as the noble poor are. In addition, just as with the noble poor, their blight is divinely controlled and their state potentially blessed (cf. 116 and the conclusions Will draws, initially offered with some tentativeness, 117–18). The description first begins to shift in 112, where the lunatics are compared, even if in a qualified way, with Peter and Paul. Initially, their resemblance to the apostles is tangential; both groups only walk abroad, and each has a different office. Unlike the apostles, lunatics (just as other lay persons) are not to preach; their activity is the more amorphous “profecye of 3e peple, pleyinge” (114), perhaps a slightly inaccurate reminiscence of Will’s behavior at the end of the preceding passus. This skill leads to a claim (qualified by a pair of as’s 118) that lunatics might be “postles . . . or priue disciples,” the adjective linking their behavior with the hidden poor of the previous discussion. But in turn, this suggestion is hardened through a rash of detail drawn from Luke 9 and 10 (and its reflection in Franciscan hagiography, 119–26) indicating how completely the lunatics fulfill those injunctions that define apostolic life (and Will’s life, as described in passus 5). In a final move, beginning at 126, lunatics are assimilated to a category already established in the poem’s earlier argument, the (equally Franciscan) “God’s minstrels” of 7.87ff. This discussion underwrites the lunatics’ right to visit houses, to perform (apparently their prophecies), and to receive food. At the end, the lunatics have not only assimilated the role of “true minstrels” (and the associated honorific “mury burdiours,” cf. 7.107), but stand as “Godes . . . mesagers,” apparently a tribute to their prophetic ability, as well. This status as holy fools anticipates events at the very end of the poem. Those who join Conscience in the besieged barn Unity are limited to fools (22.61–67, 74–79). Everyone else has apparently heeded the siren-call of Need, and at the end of the poem, Conscience is bereft of learned advisors. Of these idiots of Unity, Kerby-Fulton argues (1990:170) that they should be associated with Joachim of Fiore’s “remnant of the faithful.” Cf. further Wit’s discussion of “folis, wi3 hem faili3 Inwit,” at A 10.58, 64–75 (B 9.68–73). At a variety of points later in B, the dreamer is associated with folly, most of these suppressed in C after the reformulation here, e.g., B 11.68, 15.3–11, 16.170. The naming of this group here—lunatyk lollares and lepares aboute (repeated in 137)—indicates something of difficulty of the distinction Will here tries to draw (cf. 72n). The generic nouns acknowledge connections with those whom Will will find among the poem’s worst offenders, while the qualifying adjective lunatyk defines a licit subgroup. But confusingly, the unqualified noun lepare here defines potential sanctity (perhaps recalling B 5.474–76, cf. 6.329–31), while such a qualified form as ouer land strikare 159, analogously to

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

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unqualified lollare, indicates a person morally suspect (and its suspicious adjective is instructively a pun on the poet’s name). In the C version, which lacks Piers’s statements at B 7.128–35, the lunatyk lollares absorb a variety of concerns associated with Piers’s quotation of the gospel command ne soliciti sitis. Will identifies the lunatics as deserving lollares, worthy of support, on the basis of their deprivation and particularly, their heedlessness about it, their mad refusal to take any interest in selfpreservation. But this very insouciance goes further; rather than a way of identifying a noncriminous version of a typically criminal activity, it becomes the basis for associating the figures with strongly positive values. Initially in this portrayal, the absence of solicitude is perceived, just as with the noble poor, as the refusal to solicit. Illicit beggary cadges, forces itself on others. In contrast, the followers of those penitential states that God willfully creates (cf. 116) accept the existence God has given them. And the relative invisibility of such groups as socially useful recipients of alms creates a situation in which, paraphrasing B 7.135, God may provide them with all. Primary in identifying this state as sanctified is a sequence of echoes from the dreamer’s self-defense at 5.1–104. There he sought to identify his unsorted form of life with gospel injunction and apostolic practice. A similar range of materials here identifies the lunatyk lollares with “his [God’s] postles . . . or his priue disciples” (118); see further 138n. Yet however deprived they were and however smitten with The Word, the apostles were never mad, only perhaps ydiotae “unlearned” (cf. Acts 4:13, 1 Cor. 3:19, although cf. Acts 26:24). But one apostle was commonly perceived as “tetched,” St. Francis of Assisi. Numerous details link this description and “pure” original Franciscan practice, not least among them the reinvocation of “God’s minstrels” materials first broached as a possible poetic self-definition at 7.87–112; these are now claimed to typify the activity of “lunatyk lollares” as well. See the notes there for a variety of references to Francis and his true followers as “joculatores Dei.” See further 108n and further details at 119n, 121n, and 125Ln. For further useful discussions, see Pearsall 1990a; Scott 2004:180–87; and Kerby-Fulton. The latter remarks (1990:16) that the discussion “throws up a chain of related passages and poses the question of L’s awareness of the Spiritual Franciscan and Joachite writings” (fuller discussion at 1990:72–73, 110–11, 193, suggesting connections with Bridget of Sweden and citing 1 Cor. 1:20–21 as L’s model). See also Bloomfield’s discussion (1961:27) of sancta rusticitas, and Gurevich’s (1988:198, 209–10) of the “simple” in medieval exempla as “the poor in spirit.”

306

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

108 madden: Original Franciscan practice was deliberately modelled upon gospel precept; the “regula prima” of 1221 begins, “This is the life of the gospel of Jesus Christ” (Lambert 1961:35). But Francis’s enactment of these precepts was extreme, and prominent in his hagiography is an insistence upon his performance as a mad holy man. For example, in his (official) Legenda Maior 6.5 (Quaracchi 8:521), Bonaventura illustrates Francis’s patience by his calm acceptance of his rejection by even his own “brothers.” He did not respond to the accusations, “Your behavior does not accord with ours, for you are illiterate, lacking eloquence, unlearned, and simpleminded” (Non convenis nobis, quia illitteratus es, elinguis, idiota et simplex). More radical materials appear in the Scripta Leonis. For example, Francis is reported as saying, “The Lord said to me that he wanted me to be a new crazy man in the world” (Dixit Dominus michi quod uolebat quod ego essem unus novellus pazzus in mundo). There “pazzus” represents Italian pazzo “fool, crazy” (the edition provides as manuscript glosses for “pazzus” “stultus” and “insanus”; ch. 114, 288). Or again, bishop Hugolino of Ostia called Francis, “frater mi simplizione” [simpleton] (ch. 61, 194). In both citations, the slip into vernacular terminology indicates exactly how alien Francis’s behavior was to conventional Latinate categories. See further B 7.138–39n, 141n. Clopper 1997 collects abundant evidence for L’s appropriation of Franciscan concepts, and the poet was clearly an avid reader of such materials. But most striking about these is their dialectical deployment in the poem, e.g., the “joculator dei” as alternative to “foel sages, flateres and lyars” (7.82); or here, the lunatyk as alternative to “lollares, lewede Ermytes.” L appears to have engaged with Franciscan materials as that place where he could discover the most fully developed arguments about what the state of poverty should entail. Franciscan writings were particularly rich in this regard, given the continuing controversies within the order about the meaning of Francis’s “apostolic poverty.” Such materials are, like L’s treatment here, also dialectical; they provide extensive examples of growing mendicant “abuse” of Francis’s ideals, customarily interpreted as a “false” poverty masquerading as the pursuit of perfection. For a different interpretation, part of a more extensive argument that, although Franciscan views are prominent early in the text, they are later superseded, see Aers (2004:111–15). 112 Riht as Peter dede and Poul: For their mission of preaching and healing, see Jesus’ various commands: Matt. 28:19–20; Mark 16:15–18, Acts 1:8 (and for more diverse labors, see 17.17–20). The second half of Acts, of course, describes Paul in mony wyde contreyes, following on his and Barnabas’s founding the first Christian community in Antioch (Acts 11:19–30, 13:14–49).

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In their witlessness, lunatic lollares are not capable of so clearly apostolic a mission, but (just as lines 55–57 enjoin upon lawyers) they devote such intellect as they have to the public good, through an ill-defined profecye . . . pleinge (114). Such behavior, which moves toward the eventual identification (126) with “God’s minstrels,” indicates a close connection between these figures and the dreamer/author. As Skeat sees, lines 121–23L deliberately recast the description of the dreamer at B 15.3–10 (also echoed in 192 below), deleted in C. Will also has prophesied at the end of the preceding passus, although the implication that that speech was “playful” is surely disingenuous (unless the term indicates merely “enigmatic”). At the same time, 114 here is clearly derived from B 12.24, another self-referential passage cancelled in C. The dreamer will further discuss his status at the end of this passus (see 305 et seq.nn). ——— saue ∂at ∂ey preche nat: The right to preach was always reserved to priests (and especially friars), and denied to lay persons. The Provenc¸al Spirituals and the associated Beguines were condemned by the archbishop of Narbonne at the council of Be´ziers in 1299 (canon 4), because they had allegedly preached without authority. “Their excuse that they were not preaching but communing with God was rejected. . . . Amongst other things they seemed to have been predicting the imminent end of the world and coming of Antichrist” (Leff 1967:203, with references). More familiar examples concern Margery Kempe’s insistence that, rather than preaching, she engages in “holy conversation” (e.g., ch. 52), or the distinction between preaching and teaching that opens Speculum Christiani. The former is only for clerics, but informal “teaching” is a lay responsibility, “a gostly almesdede, to whych euery man es bounde that hath cunnynge” (EETS 182:2/5–12). 113 Ne none muracles maken: As Peter does at Acts 3:1–11, 9:32–42; Paul, at Acts 14:7–10, 20:9–12. 115–16 seth god hath ∂e myhte 兩 To √eue vch a wyht: Recalling line 56: men of law get least pardon for abusing a free gift; lunatics, the greatest reward for having no gift at all. 118 Hit aren as his postles . . . or as his priue disciples: The association, which introduces a parade of gospel reminiscence and citation, may be predicated upon the use of “ydiotae” at Acts 4:13. This assertion begins a lengthy movement of inversion peculiar to the C version and culminating in lines 276–80. The opening of the passus has promised good bishops places in paradise as heavenly peres to 7e apostles (20); but in this world, their places are—

308

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

albeit tentatively (note the evasiveness of Will’s double as here)—taken over by these de´classe´ wanderers. The opening of the pardon gloss (cf. 15–18) associates ecclesiastical virtue with the willingness to chastise the errant, even if they are lords; at this point, Will’s discussion begins to move toward passing this duty to the lunatyk lollares (cf. 131 et seq.). But cf. the strictures on critique voiced by Lewte at 12.23–40L. As the description of the C pardon develops and runs its course, the possibility of just action seems to move steadily away from social groups traditionally constituted to perform those duties and becomes associated with marginal and isolated cases. 119 a somer garnement: Cf. Matt. 10:10 (“[Nolite possidere . . . ] duas tunicas”), Luke 9:3 (“neque duas tunicas habeatis”). On the basis of Francis’s “Testament” 4, the original friars “were content with a tunic, patched inside and out [cf. “turne 3e fayre outward” 85], with cord and breeches” (so Bonaventura, Legenda maior 7.1, cited Lambert 1961:119 and n.; see also Lambert 1961:4, Leff 1967:57, and the next note). According to the Scripta Leonis, Francis followed this apostolic practice in having but a single tunica from his conversion to his death (ch. 40, 160; cf. further chs. 66/202, 69/206–8). The Franciscan chapter-general at Paris in 1292 modified the old rule that “No brother should have two tunics” to “two new tunics” (Lambert 1961:165), and this was henceforth a contentious issue (cf. Leff 1967:156). See further 140–58n. That this is a “summer garment” indicates that it is lightweight (and that the lunatic must make do in wintry chills; cf. B 11.285). But the single cloak merely generalized as Franciscan practice a topic widely dispersed in accounts of exceptionally holy men, e.g., Hilary of Arles, Fulgentius, Germaine, and Bernard (PL 50:1229, 65:135, 124:317, and 185:540, respectively). For example, Hilary demonstrated through his example to the congregation at Arles how they should “unius tunicae tegmine aestatis ardorem et hiemis rigorem contenta toleraret” (bear contentedly, when covered by a single cloak, both the summer’s heat and the winter’s frostiness). However, this may be a detail designed as well to support the connection between the pseudo-Franciscan lunatic and minstrel practice. “In addition to his daily wage the minstrel, like any other household servant, received two sets of livery a year: a winter and summer roba, the long overdress of the period, and two pairs of shoes” (Bullock-Davies 1978:17). If Will is actuating this connection, he implies that lunatyk lollares are so heedless as to lose or give away to others items far from superfluous. 120L Quando misi vos sine pane & pera: “When I sent you without bread and scrip” (cf. Luke 22:35, with sacculo “purse,” not pane); the verse alludes to Luke

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9:3. The details of the surrounding passage are largely animated by this second locus: the somur garnement 119 answers Luke 9:3’s command “neither have two coats” (neque duas tunicas habeatis); the refusal to beg (which distinguishes lunatics from soliciting lollares) mentioned in 121, Luke 9:4 (and 10:7), verses whose insistence on being received in a single house provides the grounds of the injunction at 134ff. For the bagge 120, see further 98n. 121 Barfoot: Cf. 20.1–12, esp. 20.12n. Another allusion to proper Franciscan literalism in pursuing the gospels. In accord with Matt. 10:9 and Luke 10:4, “[Carry neither . . . ] nor shoes,” Francis permitted “those whom necessity compels to have sandals” (qui necessitate coguntur, [deberent habere] calciamenta, Scripta Leonis, ch. 69/206). In his Rotulus (1310), the Spiritual Ubertino of Casale mentions “excessive wearing of shoes by [Franciscan] masters of theology” (Lambert 1961:189; Leff 1967:149). Cf. PPCrede 298–300, 738. 123L Nemini salutaueritis per viam: “Salute no man by the way” (Luke 10:4). With the association in the biblical passage (v. 3) of the apostles—and thus lunatics—with agni inter lupos, contrast lines 260–69 below. 125L Et egenos vagosque . . . : “Bring the needy and the harborless into thy house” (Isa. 58:7). The Athlone supply of -que, to accord with the Vulgate reading, may in fact obscure Will’s sense, an effort to identify lunatics as “truly needy wanderers” (cf. Fitzralph’s reading of Luke 14:21, cited 7.97– 114n.). The reference to Matheu 124 associates the verse with Jesus’ injunction, as part of the works of mercy, his definition of useful almsdeeds, to feed the hungry (Matt. 25:35). In his “Testament” (ch. 5), Francis prescribed begging as “petendo elemosinam ostatim,” that is, begging door to door without discriminating among households, a rule that “precluded mitigation of the instability of life through recourse to wealthy, regular patrons” (Lambert 1961:41–42 and n.). This reference, which seems initially modest enough, provides an important coloring, absent from both AB, to the next one hundred fifty plus lines of the C version. First, the identification (Matt. 25:40) of the recipient of alms with Jesus himself (in effect, clothed as the poor, another example of an inner reality invisible to the hasty human observer, cf. B 11.231–47) supports the identification of lunatic and holy apostle Will argues at here. But more important, Jesus offers these instructions in the context (Matt. 25:31–46) of his grand description of the Last Judgment. Will thus alludes, at a minimum, to those meritorious acts that place one among the saved (and reinforces 125).

310

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

More pointedly, this gospel locus, which, in its discrimination of the sheep and the goats, Skeat associates with the actual pardon text when it is revealed at lines 287–88, achieves an earlier (and a more sustained) presence in the C version. In this version, first, lunatyk lollares challenge the normative notion of the apostolic succession of bishops and, subsequently (see 258 et seq.nn), bishops are viewed as false judges (and thus particularly ripe candidates for God’s negative judgment at the Doom). The scenario that AB play out more explicitly in Piers’s tearing the pardon is presented in C as a description of pardon as unequivocally divine judgment, judgment of a possibly harsh and irrevocable variety. In the process, the nonfeasant bishops to be excoriated later come to resemble the officious priest of the excised AB pardon-tearing. 126–27 munstrals of heuene: Cf. 7.103–8n. The lines redefine the learned man and the bourdyour earlier described. The earlier learned man is able to present the gospel account of the crucifixion to his audience, but the lunatic here seems to claim a deeper insight, one Will does not narrowly define (but see 131n). Cf. the priest’s charge (insipiens) against Piers, B 7.141n. ——— godes boys: Skeat notes the ambiguity of the noun boy, and it probably appears here to force a distinction, to refine a contested usage (as does, among other terms, lunatyk lollare in opposition to lollare). L’s normal usage occurs in 195, where lollares . . . lewede Ermytes are contemptuously branded “lowlifes, rogues” (cf., e.g., Prol.78). But MED boie n.1 also means simply “servant” (the modern meaning “youth” extends this usage, as did Latin puer); in this sense, lunatyks are not only among God’s household but achieve a status the dreamer pursues in the waking interlude of passus 5, a “service” not bound to agricultural labor. 127L Si quis videtur sapiens . . . : “If any man among you seem to be wise [in this world], let him become a fool, that he may be wise” (1 Cor. 3:18; the Vulgate reads “fiat,” rather than “fiet”). The verse identifies a holy folly that is not of this world. One might recall that in AB, the angered priest in his final speech identifies Piers as a fool and contextually defines such folly, not as holy chastisement, but the denial of God’s existence (B 7.141). 131 Men suffreth al.: “Men patiently accept what such persons say and construe it as entertaining” (Skeat). In accord with the discussion of “God’s minstrels” in passus 7, Will defines normal minstrels, and thus the lunatic’s minstrelsy, in a way that recalls the Renaissance fool, a licensed plain-speaker of home truths. The lunatic absorbs the ecclesiastical role, defined in lines

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

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16–18 as chastising lordly misconduct (and his “prophecies” may concern the possibility of damnation, as that to workmen at the end of passus 8 certainly does). 136 his mesagers: The sense “emissary” is clear enough, but Pearsall adduces 2.240 as a sign that messengers had a bad reputation. Thus, the term might, as Pearsall implies, provide a further example of the dreamer refining received terms (cf. 72n). However, the most proximate example, royal messengers (lunatyks represent the king of heaven), were subject to careful disciplinary supervision—failure to carry the assigned message was a serious dereliction of duty. See Hill 1961:51–54. A garbled version of the line appears in a replacement of A 7.47–49 (C 8.50–51) at Rigg-Brewer’s Z 7.48–49; cf. further Recklessness’s reprise at 13.26–99. 138 godes secret seal: Cf. 27n and the reference to priue disciples 118 (as well as the more general emphasis on hidden blessedness introduced at 72, 86, etc.). The line alludes to Col. 3:3, “For you are dead [to the world]; and your life is hid with Christ in God” (mentioned by Pearsall 105n). 140–58 “Lollares” and “lewede Ermytes”: The dreamer has invested himself as a lunatyk lollare, a facsimile of an “unreformed” and original apostolic Franciscan. But since his first protracted appearance in C, at 5.1–5, he has had competitors for this role, “lollares” pure and simple and “lewede Ermytes”; see 5.2n. He now virulently (and repeatedly, the discussion resumed intermittently at 188–219, 242–55) attacks these pretenders, as he sees it, to his apostolic status; these are, he argues, the “sturdy beggars” of late fourteenth-century enforcement discourses. Like Will, they wear friar clothing, but these are the fine “copes” associated with a dissolute Franciscan modernity, already in the poem identified (8.73) as the model for “faitery,” feigning illicit beggary. Much of the discussion is predicated upon appearance, both lollares’ public ostentation and their predilection for “copes,” the impressive outfits associated with mendicant masters from Prol.59–61 on. To a certain extent, the attack is predicated on a sequence of submerged puns; the lunatyk’s single coat (cote) links him directly to the hidden poor in their cotes; it likewise contrasts with the near homonym cope, associated with mendicant pseudo-poverty. (Cf. the devastating echo “Chapman” for expected “chaplain” at Prol.62.) The dreamer may not resemble a modern Franciscan, and he may not fully instantiate Franciscan behaviors, but he acts in what he claims to be a proper Franciscan spirit, lacking in these pretenders.

312

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

Once again, Will engages in that purification that creates “a language of Truth.” In the discussion at 105–39, the adjective lunatyk distinguishes a proper lollare from these scoundrels. Here the adjective lewede, when affixed to Ermytes, perhaps confusingly identifies a negative set. The term is indeed a legalism, identifying a person limited in his capacity to practice the office of “hermit”; unlike a “proper” hermit, enjoined to offer those prayers that form Will’s lomes, these figures are distinctly limited in their devotional capacity; see further my 1997:36–38, 189n, and 5.45–47n. This presentation should recall an earlier moment in this vision, the implicit contrast between the gaudy and ignorant palmer and the ill-dressed Piers, the proper guide to Truth (7.160–85). Just as here, on that occasion that habit that appears the visual sign of spiritual probity is revealed to lack the insight and good will that the office it allegedly designates should embody. Here the dreamer assumes the role Piers embodied in that earlier episode and undertakes to reveal the ill will that motivates his adversaries and opposites. It is no accident that on the word’s first appearance in the poem (B 15.213) “faiting” lollares are immediately juxtaposed with the Christ-like Piers, who can read men’s wills and determine their relation to charity. As he has done from the beginning of the C interpolation at line 71, Will substitutes himself for Piers, and he assumes responsibility as spokesman for that patient poverty Piers had enunciated in materials excised from C, A 8.101–25L, B 7.119–43L. See further 159–61n. 141–42 Loken louhliche . . . In hope: The same split between outer, visible habit and inner habitus that marks the noble poor and lunatics also marks lollares. But their secrecy, the part of them that is least visible, is in fact hypocrisy: they fake humility, create a spurious visible mien. They seek only creature comforts, that soft life Will describes with an almost envious zest in the following lines. 145 Drynke druie and depe: Translate “Drink until the pot is exhausted” (Pearsall1). Cf. 6.166. 153 fiscuth: In addition to Skeat’s parallel citation from GGK 1704, where it describes the fox’s twists and turns, cf. MED fisken v. and its citation of Promptorium Parvulorum (see 72n): “Fiskin abowte yn ydilnesse: Vagor, giro, girovago” (to wander, turn about, behave like a monk of no fixed residence). 159–61 quod Peres: The lines recast, in closely similar language, materials inherited from earlier versions, C 61–63 (A 8.67–69, B 7.65–67). Their assignment to Piers probably indicates that L intends that the “pardon-gloss” that

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fills most of this passus in AB should be understood to be in his voice (cf. 9–70n). However, in this context, the force of Piers’s earlier statement has been modified. Rather than representing a statement the reader might take as offering an authoritative account of pardon, the lines are used to authorize, as it were (cf. Forthy 159), the dreamer’s attack on his opposites. Will has become the authority figure, and Piers is invoked to affirm his authority. RK assign only these three lines explicitly to Piers. However, the following lines 161–87 are, just as much as these, retained from earlier versions of the “pardon-gloss” (A 8.72–88, B 7.88–106). Just as at other points in the poem (e.g., B 11.172–85), boundaries between speeches may sometimes be hazy. One might imagine Piers continuing to speak until Will’s voice incontrovertibly returns at 189 Ac Ermytes. If that is the case, C may, as some passing revisions in detail imply, be attempting to moderate some of the stridency here by assigning it to a specific speaker, the Piers who had summoned Hunger in passus 8. Consequently, one might identify true or licit beggary, the behavior of the noble poor or of lunatics, with Pier’s activities. Insofar as the C version retains some sense of an altercation over the pardon involving Piers and the priest, this utterance offers some implicit directives as to what the issues under dispute might be. Lines 155–57 provide, following the discussion of the secret poor, a moderated version of the distinction between licit and illicit beggary that Piers had tried to draw in passus 8. Knowledge of a craft remains a basic tool for identifying someone who should labor, but Piers now adds that the labor must provide an income adequate for subsistence (broadly in the terms of 1.20–24) before it disqualifies one from licit beggary. This new condition responds to such situations of extreme indigence as the poor women of lines 74ff. 159 ouer land strykars: The epithet specifies those rowdy hermits with their “hokede staues” seen in the prologue (cf. Prol.51–55n). It also resonates with contemporary parliamentary discourse; cf. MED staf n., sense 1(b.c.), and particularly the citation of the 1376 Commons petition. There “staff-striker” appears as a synonym for “wandering beggar”; see Dobson PR 74. 162–87 (B 7.88–106, A 8.72–88) The C version rejoins AB to continue the general discussion of begging: At the economic level, L’s argument compels attention, particularly within the current ideological structure of the poem. As passus 8’s knowledge of statutory restrictions on wandering and withholding work indicates, widespread contemporary opinion insisted on regulating labor. But the precise details that animate the insistence on the lawlessness of

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beggars here present, as Aers (1988:52–53) has argued, a strident demonization of another social group. The passage might be taken as the earliest of a long series of anti-proletarian attacks on the sexual mores of what will become The Working Class (cf. Hatcher 1998:76–80). Perhaps regrettably, sexual expression remains a universal form of recreation because free and, perhaps equally regrettable, natural. But cf. 13.130–211 for a more restrained view of the “bestiality” B 82—dropped in C—describes. Actually, Hanawalt’s survey of records shows that marriage was overwhelmingly prevalent among the English peasantry, in contrast to the demographics of other European societies (1986:95– 97, 142, 194–97). Similarly occluded is the appeal to experience in lines 172–73 (again toned down in C). One might again note another telling rhetorical slippage here, in the valence of the AB word wandri7. Here a comprehensible social effect (those who beg don’t necessarily enjoy it or find it a life of ease but do it from necessity, which may include being too mysshape for easy movement, much less labor) is assigned a reprehensible cause. In this account, beggars’ lack of love extends not simply to indiscriminate coupling but to an absence of parental feeling that would deliberately maim a child for profit. (Yet another touch of ill-considered stridency appears in the capricious claim that what could be construed as continuing parental solicitude, begging with a perhaps immobile crippled child [171], represents only a desire to escape the responsibility for labor.) In the light of the following lines it’s at least worth pondering how one would go about distinguishing between licit and other cripples. 163 (B 7.89) Iunior fui etenim senui . . . : “I have been young, and now am old; and I have not seen the just forsaken, nor his seed seeking bread” (Ps. 36:25). To this, C adds a second citation (“and it says elsewhere”), “My strength is weakened through poverty” (Ps. 30:11), and the additional lines 164–66 which insist upon a reading of both verses as damnatory. But the handling is reminiscent of Hunger at 8.261L, and for similar reasons. The first verse, in its biblical context, indicates, not that the just don’t beg, but that God provides sustenance for the just man; and in the second, David speaks as a man who would fall into those categories of the licit and protected poor mentioned in lines 181–82 below. A 8.74 (B 7.92): See Kane’s note, p. 450, on the difficulties of reconstructing the original in A. He offers the translation, “They marry only as beasts do, with a wild cry (instead of a sacrament)” (complete the line, “and climb on one another [and get after it, in B only]”). The printed reading of B 91 has been assimilated to A, perhaps unfortunately; the B archetype provides a direct

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charge, “Manye of yow wedde no9t 3e womman 3at ye wi3 deele.” With wehee, Bennett compares Ch, CT I.4064–66, and see further W&W 282. The detail may be biblically inspired; cf. Jer. 5:8, “They are become as amorous horses and stallions; every one neighed after his neighbor’s wife.” 169 (B 7.93, A 8.75) bastardus, beggares of kynde (A ∂at bois ben holden, ∂at bastardes men calle∂): Given Or at the head of the next line in all versions, these appear to be abandoned children, forced to rely upon community charity. AB register contemporary terms of abuse (cf. 5.66–69), while at the same time noting that these are ideologically imposed sobriquets. The last version, where the line discussed in the previous note has been dropped, is a good deal more coolly definitional. As “natural children,” born outside of wedlock, and lacking support, they are thus “naturally” forced to beg. 176 (B 7.100, A 8.82) ∂at helples ben and nedy (AB of streng∂e): This offverse, in company with That taketh thise meschiefes mekeliche 184, defines licit beggary, here allowed to offer its worldly sufferings as penaunce and purgatorie 186 and thus to receive full and instantaneous pardon (cf. Ch’s ironic accounts of marriage, CT III.489–90 and IV.1668–73). Two requirements define this blessed state, lacking in those alleged lawless and unloving attacked previously. The three consecutive off-verses (lines 176–78) define a psychological willingness, a desire to follow the imperative to work, that coexists with a physical incapacity for labor. The lines further associate the willingness to work with humble (cf. mekeliche 184) acceptance of that state God has sent, an act of love, as the restatement in line 185 (which in AB accommodates the state of the licit beggar to that of true lawful laborers in B 63) makes clear. Cf. the “good will” ascribed to lunatyk lollares at 111. 179 apayed of goddes sonde: “Content with what God has sent,” a basic definition of patient behavior. Contrast Wrath at 6.110–14 and cf. Ch’s “Man of Law’s Tale,” where Custance accepts “Goddes sonde” again and again (CT 2.523, 760, 826, 902). 179–83 men yfalle in meschief: C, rather than a distinction, provides an extensive list—expanded by an increased awareness of the extent of “accidental” poverty, quite irrespective of laboring ability. The accidents represent cases of unexpected and involuntary loss of catel 182, depletion of any capital reserve that might allow one to deal with unexpected disaster (new testimony to the narrow line that separates subsistence and starvation). In these terms, the first new C version line (179) recalls the criterion justifying lunatics in 116 and

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provides an overarching definition of a licit state in which one accepts ungrudgingly what God has sent. Cf. 8.209n, 8.229–34, and 196–203n. below. 188–219 The dreamer’s interpolation continues, with discussion of hermits, holy and “lewede”: As 162–87n indicates, the language of the preceding discussion, the materials retained from AB concerning beggars, is excessive, if not thoroughly embarrassing. In C, this may represent a continuation of the citation of Piers (cf. 159–61n). In this placement, this material encourages the lunatyk lollare dreamer to return to his attack on his opposites, lollares . . . lewede Ermytes; the most overt connective between the two discussions is the echo of “ne no lawe holden” 167 in the Latin following line 213. Just as the discussion of beggars models rhetorical excess, the dreamer rattles on excessively—certainly so in the eventual over-the-top attack on bishops (see 256–80n). At this point, whatever one may think of the moving interjections concerning the noble poor and lunatyk lolleres, Will begins to overreach himself. Here his critique begins with materials ostensibly depersonalized, yet not ostensibly germane, “alle holy Eremytes.” This move takes up the issue adumbrated in the “it goes without saying” C addition, line 43, that grants all perfect-livers pardon with Piers. The discussion has its roots in chapter 1 of Benedict’s Rule, where proper monk-hermits (as opposed to mere gyrovagi, such as “lewede Ermytes,” or potentially the dreamer himself; cf. 72n) are defined as the experienced perfecti among monks, those who may pursue their own devotions without the need of either abbatial obedience or conventual support. However, these materials are quickly turned in a highly personalized direction. The behaviors ascribed to “holy Eremytes” increasingly resemble the dreamer’s statements of his perquisites in C 5 (see 196–203n). In turn, this discussion produces a mirroring biographical account of “lollares . . . lewede Ermytes” in the subsequent lines (204–13L). These individuals, now pseudofriars known by their assumption of the clothing properly other people’s, appear as parodies of what the dreamer has attempted to present as his perfect apostolic life. (Disregard Skeat’s unduly literalistic note to line 204.) On hermits in the poem, see further Jones 1997. 188 alle holy Eremytes: As wonede in wodes 197 suggests, these noble figures are to be construed as hidden and invisible, just like the noble poor. Presumptively—since L spends far more time describing the failings of their evil imitators—they spend their time (as Prol.27 describes) in prayer and penance. Such a form of life, of course, resembles what Piers claims he will adopt

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in the AB versions (and the dreamer implicitly, in line 329)—although for both figures this will be a life outside any formal notion of ordo (see further B 7.137n). Such penitential endeavor may be what L intends through his references to “Contemplation,” e.g., at 7.305–6, B 6.249. 189 inhabiten by the heye weye: Will conveys the ostentation of false hermits through the sonorous Latinate verbs here and at 204 (which contrast with the homey wonede 197). Their proximity to thoroughfares, where they can attract attention—and thus donations—of course, recalls the contrast between the palmer in the highway (7.160) and Piers’s eventual discovery (8.111) of Truth’s highway down the furrow of his half acre (hidden from view by its hedge; cf. 7.182 et seq.nn). Similarly, the subsequent in borwes 190 recalls the London scene of 5.2, as well as the earlier B version reference to God as the beggar’s borh (B 7.82). Will, at least for a moment, loses sight of a conventional logic for road-dwelling hermits; this proximity allows them to perform public good works, infrastructure repairs (cf. 29–36n). The grammatical flow of the sentence is twice broken. Lines 189–90, with their introductory Ac, seem to promise a statement about lewede Ermytes’ place in the pardon; but this utterance simply breaks off, and the issue of pardon for these alleged idlers never arises again. The following pair of lines (191–92), which appear totally parenthetical and to offer a passing judgmental standard, cannot be dissociated from what succeeds: the phrase Al 7at 191, which controls both lines, functions as a loose appositive to the direct object 7e contrarye 194. On the incapacity of lewede Ermytes, see further 140–58n, 196–203n. There are many similarities between the description of “lewede Ermytes” and Jean de Meun’s portrayal of Faus Semblant in RR. Cf. for example, RR 11701–12 for Faus Semblant’s refusal to live as a wasteland hermit; 11922–26, lines which inquire: “What men should be honored except us, who do not cease praying openly before people, although it may be otherwise behind their backs?” (cf. the discussion of lollare, 5.2n); 11037–59 (an inversion of the proverb that the habit does not make the monk; here the robe is sanctity): 11137–39, describing “your new apostles, O church” [who are false]; and 11345–74 asserting that an able-bodied friar who takes the poor’s goods is damned. 193 lachedraweres: See 8.286n. 196–203 The nobility of holy hermits: The description ultimately is analogous to the dreamer’s earlier effort at identifying his behavior with that of lunatyk lollares’ pure Franciscanism in lines 105–25L. L takes up the issue of antique

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hermits, the desert fathers, and their means of subsistence at great length in 17.1–52L; cf. further 17.194–203 on the wandering missionary clergy of old, or (as Schmidt notices) the moralization at B 15.305–8. Not only did these holy men hide themselves away in isolated cells and consort only with beasts (rather than the complaisant brewesteres 190); unlike lewede Ermytes, they did not solicit support. They pauperized themselves voluntarily, surrendered socially central positions to live holy lives. Moreover, although some of them worked, for the most part they represent another group that, like the lunatics, practices a licit poverty without labor. In part, this status reflects their background, their ability to draw upon unforced donations or from their own inheritances, now the property of relatives. They resemble the “accidental poor” of 179–83, a passage important in establishing the contrast with their evil imitators in lines 205–7. But, as it develops, the discussion remains something less than a selfsubstantial statement of an ideal. Much of the material offered here is echoic, and the description establishes a contrast with the subsequent description of lewede Ermytes’ biographical perquisites (204–12). Although the discussion certainly echoes traditional accounts of eremiticism like the Vitae patrum or lives in the Legenda aurea, it equally echoes Will’s earlier self-depictions in the poem. Will describes holy hermits as reflecting his own experiences, as he has described these in the “autobiographical” waking interlude that precedes this vision. Lynage and lettrure 196, not to mention the frendes 200, derive from Will’s biographical account at 5.35–43L. Lynage further recalls the dreamer’s explanation of his “heritage” at 5.53–69. This second echoic discussion, invoked to contrast with “knaues werkes,” is particularly relevant here, given the association of lewede Ermytes with disenchanted laborers. Imaginative will offer the dreamer a more normative interpretation of clerical “heritage” at 14.110–30. 206 Clerkes withouten grace: The reference is revealing, since Will in passus 5, while claiming a specifically clerical status, equally accepts (5.99–101) his own gracelessness. Although he “hope[s] for a gobet,” at that point he admits that he has not achieved it. Here the implicit claim to be different from these figures might be construed as a moment of undue assurance. 209 That faytede in frere clothinge: Will makes bad friars the source and model of an insidious social type, predicated upon pretense; cf. frere faitour 8.73–74n. Once again, an external sign, clothinge, offers an implicit claim to a special status. See further 211, 248–50, and Prol.2–3nn. Contrast Charity’s indifference to clothing, 16.300–301, or the association of friar’s copes and

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chapmanry with B’s statement that Charity “ne chaffare3 no9t” (B 15.165; cf. 5.94). 212 profete: Given the following Latin, Will asks one to consider this a selfcreated status; certainly, its value may be qualified by the prophetic claims of lunatic lollares and, perhaps, of the dreamer. Pearsall compares Matt. 7:15, which identifies the false faitour prophets with the wolf of 260. But as this later passage develops, ecclesiastical laxity to false hermits flows over into an attack on a broader penitential laxity (cf. 263n, 264n), in which the wolf becomes increasingly visualized as the devil. 213L Non licet uobis legem . . . : “You are not permitted to conform the law to your will, but rather to conform your will to the law.” Alford 1975 cites several parallels, including Innocent III, De contemptu mundi 2.4 (PL 217: 718), but considerably more proximate wording, as Middleton’s graduate student Willis Johnson pointed out to me in correspondence, appears at Jerome, Epistolae 69.5 (PL 22:658). 214–19 Kyndeliche . . . ben . . . ycald lollares: This is probably the single instance in the poem in which L overtly acknowledges the word “lollard” (see 5.2n). At least, the insistence upon “3e engelische of oure eldres” implies that this usage is not to be construed a neologism, which Latin lollardus, first recorded in 1382, most certainly is. Kyndeliche in particular, while it may glance back at the evocation of lynage “(natural) descent” (196ff.), Will’s “hereditas,” as defining an appropriate hermit, here seems to mean “etymologically.” This would follow the common argument that the origins of words reveal their deep suitability to designate the things they signify. The proposed association, that the verb lollen means “to shamble, to limp,” recalls Levit. 21:17–21, with its requirement that a priest be a perfect physical specimen (the “claudus” and one with “fracto pede” specifically excluded), still a Catholic canonical requirement. Cf. also 8.129, 9.170–72. Translate for to meschief hit souneth 218 “for the term pertains to (?) a mishap.” Not erect, such lollere hermits make the law lean so that it becomes their crutch. (As 5.2n indicates, the word lollare is probably not English at all, but a loan from Dutch, like the cognate MED lullen v., that happens to correspond with a preexisting English verb.) Yet there is no evidence whatever for this sense “to limp” outside this passage. “3e engelische of oure eldres” proves to be every bit as much a neologism. Indeed it is more so, since it is an ideologism, both private language, another of Will’s attempts to construct “Truth’s tongue,” and ideological statement—as is the word “Lollard.” Cf. the comment OED loll v.1, sense 1c,

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where the usage is identified as unique: “Alleged by Langland to have formerly meant: To halt, be lame.” The obvious English source, especially given a description like 142–45 above, is the modern usage “laze about” (OED sense 4), probably attested (among other senses) in the poem at 14.152 and 18.285. An extended connotation of this sense, “lean on something,” may underlie the final claim of line 219, a near restatement of the damning line 104 above. Yet if this is not a convincing etymology, it might be seen, particularly in the context of 213L, as convincing exegesis. Will may have in mind here Ps. 17:46, “Strange children have faded away, and have halted from their paths” (my emphasis). Following Augustine’s reading in Enarrationes in Psalmos (PL 36:153), the “strange children” are the Jews, upholding their Old Law and ignoring God’s New one. Thus, they make their own law, as it were, and stray from God’s proper precepts. Peter Lombard’s reading is derived from Augustine (PL 191:202–3). See further Bernard, Sermones in Cantica 80.4 (PL 183:1168), another suggestion I owe to Willis Johnson; cf. Middleton 1997:316–17 n.86. Will’s etymology provides a bit of semantic overkill, yet another effort to revise socially accepted practice, here strictly linguistic, in the same way as Piers revises pilgrimage. Perhaps unfortunately, in the dreamer’s rising tide of indignation, such efforts will shortly receive their comeuppance (cf. the discussion of pure tene, 256–80n). 220–41 The law of Christian obedience: The evocation of obedience, “buxum to 3e lawe” answering 213L, is fairly straightforward and calls upon all laity to follow the canonical requirements of sacral observation appropriate to their status. Such injunctions to social obedience occur persistently throughout the second vision (e.g., in Reason’s sermon at 5.134–39L, near the head of Piers’s pilgrimage at 7.213–16L, the names given Piers’s children at 8.81–83) and fundamentally summarize all the objections to the behavior of Sloth at 7.25–27, 65–69. The reference to vigilies, for which see 7.25n, anticipates “Simon quasi dormit 兩 Vigilare” 258–59. 236–40: These lines, like 279–80, offer analogues to the pardon text that will appear at 287–88—in AB as a unique statement of this sort. However, in C, the dreamer actually voices a facsimile of the pardon’s content before he sees the document itself; consequently, when the actual text is revealed in C, it occasions no very great surprise, and in C alone, ideas already stated are taken up, anew and again, in the dreamer’s concluding reflections. Line 240 implicitly defines Conscience as the judge who will determine the licitness of any allowable variation from obedience (following from 5.91, where the figure is

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addressing Will, and an echo animating the subsequent passage on bishops; see 256–80n). Cf. also Conscience’s discussion of regal enfeoffment, 3.314–31. 241–55 The dreamer returns, for a final time, to “lollares”: The center of the passage, with its banquet-seeking ersatz friar, looks ahead to such a presentation as 15.39–42 et seq. 241 where, 243 where: In both instances, the form represents the word “whether,” although the usage differs. Where 241 is a subordinating conjunction, introducing an indirect question (do they violate the rule of obedience, or not?). But the second example (243), given the subsequent inversion of subject and verb, is the untranslatable ME particle introducing a direct question. The second question, in 246, is implicitly parallel, that is, “[Where se we hem] labory. . . ?” The implication of the first question, which includes the full day from the (pre)dawn matyns all the way to euensong is that lollares never attend, but sleep late like Sloth (cf. 5.30, 7.25–27), and only appear when banquets are on offer. 256–80 The dreamer attacks complaisant bishops for their failure to discipline their subordinates: In line 240, Conscience has preempted one promise made early in the pardon-gloss, the statement that bishops will offer judgment at Doomsday (20–21). At that point, they were extended this promise on the basis of being “peres to 3e apostles.” However, at this point, the dreamer has, to his own satisfaction, solidified his position as apostolic man against various pretenders, and here he bumptuously subsumes bishops’ role as moral scourge. His verbal discipline, echoing the prologue’s Conscience (cf. C Prol.96–104, 118–24), replaces the properly constituted efforts at ecclesiastical discipline that are the business of others. See further 5.5n, 5.91, 9.128Ln and 131n. At this point, Will switches targets and attaches guilt, not to the wouldbe hermit, but to the slack prelate. The bishop, that figure at the top of the hierarchy who fails to provide adequate social regulation, does not impose his will constructively. Although it is never explicitly cited, much of the imagery supporting the argument here relies upon John 10:1–16, Jesus’ self-description as perfect priest, “I am the good shepherd.” The gospel, like many of Will’s efforts here, is predicated upon contrast, and the bad bishop Will excoriates is the “hireling” whom Jesus also chastises. (Not thoroughly coincidentally, a further verse from this gospel passage, “I am the door,” is integral to much late medieval antimendicant invective—friars being the hirelings who gain entry to the cure of souls by nefarious means; recall 5.49–50n.) The poem returns

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extensively and with greater civility to the issue of bishops’ directive function in passus 17, e.g., 17.283–96; correspondingly, Will’s complaint here may be connected with the C Version suppression of another attack on bishops (inter alia), at B 9.77–96L. Whatever the cogency of the argument here (it is surely better to have directive bishops than not to, and such concerns are widespread), Will has certainly gotten above himself. In the discussion, the dreamer puts himself forward, with increasing stridency, as an apostolic figure more interested in ecclesiastical discipline than are bishops. Yet simultaneously, the attack provides a final ironic context for his continuing effort to transfer linguistic senses, and the dreamer is caught within his own device. In terms of the second vision’s narrative, this is a moment like Piers’s “pure tene,” both the use at 8.124 and that of B 7.119 (which the poet continues to hear, even as he expunges it here; cf. 258–59n). But Piers’s pure tene is “righteous anger, zeal” and a moral force (cf. 8.124n). I’m afraid Will’s attack on bishops is simply pure tene “unadulterated wrath.” The dreamer has observed Piers’s attempt to impose discipline on recalcitrant workmen, but he has absorbed only so much of what Piers meant as Hunger did—and missed Piers’s concern for his “blody bretherne” altogether. As a result, in the closing moments of the C interpolation there emerges only what Piers initially attempted—and then found charity would not let him carry through—the voice of discipline and correction, actually a return to something like Reason’s rigid fury at 4.108, 131. As well as Piers’s “pure tene,” the passage reflects the absent pardontearing in another respect. As a figure whose clerical status has been subject to intense scrutiny, the dreamer might stand in for the layman Piers in the AB controversy with the priest. Certainly, the priest finds this a moment when his clerical training and capacity as “licensed interpreter” is questioned. With considerably greater aggressiveness than the AB Piers, the dreamer here takes on himself much more basic and socially formative clerical rights. 258–59 Simon quasi dormit; 兩 Vigilare were fayrere: Cf. “Simon, sleepest thou? Couldst thou not watch one hour? Watch ye, and pray that you enter not into temptation” (Mark 14:37–38); cf. Sloth at 7.57, but more pointedly, the deliberated memory of what is no longer present in C, B 7.125 “wepen whan I sholde slepe” (the reading of all B manuscripts; cf. “ac nocte” B 7.128L). The biblical allusion in these lines (supported by the next citation, 262) is particularly telling. In recalling the garden of Gethsemane, Will implicitly contrasts that image that should inspire bishops, the suffering Jesus, with the progenitor of all bishops, the Simon Peter who neither watches nor prays; cf.

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17.187–320L (B 15.486–612L). In the garden, Jesus reveals his faithful yet tormented obedience—his sorrowful acceptance of the necessity for God’s plan, His judgment, that will not pass away. He tearfully accepts his worldly penance, the need for his sacrifice, and Simon Peter, in his sleep of sloth, knows nothing of this action. Schmidt points out that, on the basis of 1 Peter 5:1–4, Peter learned to do better. Poetically, there are further ramifications. As an action, “Simon quasi dormit” echoes 8.323 “garte hunger slepe.” Just as Hunger stops talking (more pointedly, ingesting) at that point, here Simon Peter/Piers does also (cf. further the full context of the biblical allusion discussed in 261–62n). Throughout the C interpolation, the dreamer silences what might be conceived of as alternate voices and moves himself into the center of the action, as vocalizer of those issues that had been raised by the pardon-tearing in earlier versions, itself now silenced. Within the compositional history of the poem, the origin of this technique seems to be the disastrous final slumber of Contrition, 22/B 20.363–79. For Will here, the prevalence of false hermits indicates a more extensive laxness of ecclesiastical discipline (cf. lacchesse 268, 278): in a world that requires rigid enforcement procedures in order to insure obedience, failure begins at the top. Once again, the treatment echoes the autobiographical passage, in which the possibility of a bondman as clerical figure (5.62–69, cf. 196–203n) segues easily into a diatribe arguing that the world is out of joint (5.70–81, a passage informatively identifying the “first abuse” as inappropriate bishops). The image of the bishop as true pastor, which appears immediately, recalls, not just the opening of the passus and its pairing of knights and bishops, but the responsibility of knights to destroy wolves who attack their tenants (mentioned at 224–27 and recalling Piers’s injunction at 8.28–31). Modern bishops have too often become negative apostolic models; whatever his appearance (including the absence of any sign of office) and degree of wit, Will suggests that the lunatic lollare, God’s minstrel, may be a more efficacious figure of correction. Cf. 131, itself an echo from the more extensive discussion of nonflattering moral entertainment at 7.86–95, 101–8. Through the allusion to Mark 14, L retrospectively clarifies the AB pardon scene. There the incarnate Truth laments yet accepts his submission to harsh worldly patience; at the same time, his vicar on earth simply slumbers. The C version suggests that the Piers of AB, in his tearing the pardon and accepting a life of penance, had resembled one moment in the career of the incarnate Jesus; simultaneously, the constituted clerical authority that Piers faces, the priest, images the uncomprehending Peter. Within the C version itself, as the

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diatribe against ecclesiastical pardons continues, the allusion identifies virtuous action with the patient poor and the apostolic lunatics described earlier: as vehicles for charity, they are the very image of divine action (cf. Matt. 25:40), more truly apostolic successors than those who hold the office. To the same degree that such figures are blessed, those who misuse the office the lunatics in fact fulfill are the goats of Matt. 25:32 and face the stern judgment Jesus promises in v. 41. The two major additions in the C version, then, work in tandem and answer the double emphasis of Matt. 25—the salvific nature of social charity (and the blessedness of its Jesus-like recipient) and the promise of harsh justice to those who fail in charitable duties. 261–62 Thy berkeres aren al blynde, ∂e dogge dar nat berke: Skeat identifies the allusion to Isa. 56:10: “His watchmen are all blind, they are all ignorant: dumb dogs not able to bark, seeing vain things, sleeping and loving dreams” (my emphasis; see the previous note). Pearsall further compares B 10.293, and offers a range of further parallels, biblical and ME. Translate 262 bringeth forth “scatter, disperse,” essentially an English rendering of Dispergentur in the following line; cf. Ch, Boece 2.pr7.89. 262 Dispergentur oues: “The sheep shall be dispersed” (Mark 14:27 and Matt. 26:31, citing Zech. 13:7). Zechariah’s prophecy is fulfilled in the subsequent flight of the apostles after Jesus’ capture, that occasion when, as Jesus prophesied at the Last Supper, Peter denied his Lord thrice. The apostles demonstrate their lack of faith in his mission and are thus themselves types of modern clerics who allow their flocks to be scattered. At this point Will begins to recall language earlier used in A (cf. A 8.15–18 and 16n above) to invoke a proper episcopal model. In its absence, that coercion necessary to insure social obedience must come from outside the worldly system of justice, as the promise of a more severe eternal judgment. Doomsday proves the fulfilment of social police work for which Piers had initially thought Hunger a solution. The dreamer’s notion of getting beyond the impasse of passus 8 is simply tougher enforcement procedures, in essence echoing Reason’s sermon at the opening of this vision—and not so coincidentally, “Y made of tho men as resoun me tauhte” (5.5). 263 The tarre is vntydy ∂at to ∂e tripe bylongeth: Translate: “The salve that is appropriate to (heal the sheep-scab of) their flock (MED trippe n.2) is no longer satisfactory.” For the image, cf. A 8.17n above: as subsequent lines indicate, the wool of developed virtue cannot cover the bare spots created by the scab of sin because the bishop/pastor will not apply a properly medicinal

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salve—harsh tarre. For “salving” sheep, a tedious and exacting task (and thus one bishops might well wish to avoid), see Winchester 2000: 61. This involves applying a mixture of butter and tar to the skin under the fleece. Like the hearing of confessions, this is a shepherd’s annual responsibility (customarily in November). This discussion of the wool-less sheep may have inspired the discussion of the pillaged “rascaile” at RichR 2.116–40. 264 Here salue is of supersedeas in sumnoures boxes: Instead of tar, healing but harsh, bishops have been providing sweet unguents, soft salue[s]. These are identified with the writ supersedeas, which stays a legal procedure (see 2.190n, 4.190n, and Alford 1988c:150). Bishops have been promising, not just a stay, but that the necessity of answering one’s case of sin has been suspended permanently; Will’s reminders of the Last Judgment in the following lines will explode the encouragement of such a short-sighted view. Pearsall compares the reappearance of these light salves in the poem’s catastrophe, 22/B 20.358–72. Although they should know better than this, bishops have what they consider good reasons for not healing. As the off-verse suggests, they have become like friars in their soft penances, and for the same reason, the love of pelf. The boxes that should hold healing tar have been converted to strong-boxes, treasure-chests (another reminiscence of Conscience, here Prol.96–101): rather than reaching in to extract, to give away freely, what heals, bishops, through their officials, now only put in. Rather than treasuries of merit, sources of healing tar, boxes now hold what is truly black, Meed’s gift, the treasure of this world. These containers belong to sumnoures because these figures have the right of subpoenaing into ecclesiastical court those who violate canonical regulations that coerce due obedience; like Ch’s Summoner, they happily give writs absolving court attendance to load their boxes. Recall Meed at 3.57 and various allusions to summoners winking at sexual crimes (the major business of late medieval ecclesiastical jurisdiction) at 2.187, 190–92, 194 (cf. B 2.176). If one recalls that the normal reason for giving a supersedeas was to forestall multiple prosecutions (cf. Simony at 2.159), their acts are doubly dangerous, since they do nothing to obviate the coming prosecution of the Doom. This particular formulation, even if it does not adequately represent the full dramatic force of the AB pardon-tearing, does lead directly into the final movement of the passus, where Will returns to precisely this issue of complaisant pardons communicated in “bishop’s letters.” 265L Sub molli pastore, continued in some manuscripts lupus lanam cacat, et grex Incustoditus dilaceratur eo: “Under a complaisant shepherd, the wolf

326

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shits wool, and he tears apart the unsupervised/unprotected flock.” Alford 1992 cites an available version of the proverb, expressed as an elegaic couplet (Walther 30542), in Alain of Lille’s grammar-school text, Liber parabolum (PL 210:581). Cf. the end of 8.Headnote; L again quotes Alain at 20.452L (and another of his proverbs, “De minimis granis fit maxima summa caballi,” appears at PC 3418–19, SV 5869–70). Pace Pearsall’s translation, cacat answers, not fouleth 267, but shyt 265; see Burrow 2010. The virtues of the flock form its wool, but this becomes only waste in the wolf’s maw, something the wolf excretes (as wolves actually do): the wolf/the devil consumes only the flesh, allegorically the soul itself. 267 wurye: Wolves worry sheep (grab them by the throat and suffocate them; cf. 227), and the hound (266), glossed as the bishop’s “hardy herte,” attacks the wolf the same way. As at least two scribes see, the verb probably is supposed to pun upon werrei “wage war on,” a fit action for a hardy heart. 269 falsliche is ywasche: Pearsall sees behind the line Cant. 4:2: “Thy teeth as flocks of sheep, that are shorn, which come up from the washing, all with twins and there is none barren among them.” The verse is the subject of a famous reading at Augustine, De doctrina christiana 2.6.7 (PL 34:1038–39). ywasche translates, in effect, Latin absolutus, and the idea is a commonplace, most prominently Ps. 50:4, 9; and cf. Patience at B 14.16–24, Charity at 16.331– 37L (B 15.186–94L). 270 allouance: The unusual sense (MED allouaunce n., sense 3), narrowly “an allocation of credit,” here “the return on his investment,” probably with an implicit reference to the parable of the talents (Matt. 25:14–30, which immediately precedes the account of the Last Judgment). See Alford 1988c:4; L uses the word several times later in the context of salvation (Alford cites 15.286 [B 14.110]), and that is implied here. 273 Redde . . . , 274 quyte thy dette: “Give an account of thy stewardship” (Luke 16:2, but also probably an allusion, as the last note suggests, to the parable of the talents). Cf. 5.22–25n and Alford’s discussion of Reason/ratio as an account (1988:209). L cites Luke 19:12–26, that gospel’s version of the talents, at 8.247–58 and B 7.83L. Like the reeve of Luke 16, the bishop is only a servant and must render his accounts. Because he is to increase the Lord’s goods, his mebles 271, he must give a reckoning of his stewardship. These mebles are, of course, the wool formed of the flock’s virtues, which can only grow through the penitential process that covers over the scab of sin; in 271,

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Will ominously imagines the accounts as a shearing tally—and the normal measure of wool, by a weight (the tod, two stone or 28 pounds), allows him to allude to the balance-beam of judgment. One might recall Covetise at 6.210, 223–24, etc. 274 as Y hope, hath nat to: “as I think (the nonexpectational use, northern and western in ME, as the joke at Ch, CT I.4029 indicates), has nothing that can.” 276–77 haue this for ∂at ∂o ∂at: Translate: “Here’s your reward for that occasion when (you gave out mercy in exchange for financial return).” The concluding voice of the C version pardon offers severe rebuke, not the gloss or a speaker promising the compassion and consolation that marks earlier versions. Will presents God’s emphatic voice in his mode of judgment— alliterative stress falls in my 277 (answering the stressed thow of the preceding line). The on-verse of 276, of course, echoes the English pardon-text at 290, and the echoes are gospel-generated: cf. Matt. 25:41 with the contemptuous tone of dismissal here, Matt. 25:46 with the pardon. See the extensive discussion of the passage, Lawler 2006. 281–92 (B 7.107–18, A 8.89–100) The text of the pardon revealed—and questioned: From the opening of the passus, and consistently throughout AB, readers have been allowed to believe that they are reading the text of the pardon, a generally comforting and encouraging message. However, at this point, as Woolf (1969:55–60) argues most forcefully, they are—as are L’s “characters”—shocked and bewildered to discover that the poem has deliberately misrepresented the text. The pardon, when opened, seen, and read (in translation), is a shockingly brief document (“In two lynes it lay” 285). Moreover, its text offers no comfort, being the most basic credal statement of the common truths of salvation, evident from the poem’s opening—the good will go to heaven (the tower on the toft), the evil to hell (the dungeon in the dale). A priest appears, just as abruptly as the plowman himself did at 7.182; cf. the echo, “Peter.” Offering to explain the document to Piers, whom he assumes to be at least not a Latin literate, he is perhaps most shocked of all and proclaims the document not a pardon. The confrontation (only fully actuated in AB) has been programmed from Piers’s first words in the poem; cf. 7.183–84n. For full discussion of the scene in its B incarnation, truncated in the final version, see B 7.118–143Ln below. 281 (B 7.107, A 8.89) a prest: He offers himself officiously—as a licensed interpreter. But he acts as a last vestige of that literalism seen earlier in the palmer

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of passus 7. (Pearsall connects his literal reading with Paul’s distinction of the letter and the spirit at 2 Cor. 3:6.) He responds (appropriately, to be sure) to the document as presented, but having noted that it fails to adhere to the generic forms he recognizes in the word “pardon,” the verbal formulae that typify an indulgence, he fails to perform the basic instructional function appropriate to his calling (cf. B 15–16 above), to explain the promises of the Creed. Cf. Woolf’s discussion (1969:55–60) of the play throughout the passus between “pardon,” a common noun, and “indulgence,” a specific kind of document, e.g., at line 22 or 7e bulle 285. In AB, this forms the last stage of the metaphorical narrative of substitution outlined in Burrow 1965. In a reprise of this shocker, the dreamer again observes with others expected (textual) riches in unexpectedly small compass, at B 14.47–50 (15.246– 49); as Schmidt observes, Mum 655 echoes 256. 284 (B 7.110, A 8.92) Y byhynde hem bothe: On the whole, the AB dreamer is a figure of silent observation. In these versions, he last overtly intruded himself on the action at the end of A 7/B 6 to deliver his threatening prophecy. In C, as the sequence of notes extending back to 9.70 has indicated, Will is nowhere so restrained—indeed, he has, in some measure, already coopted the text he now views (see 236–40n). Given that the C interpolation ceaselessly argues its points in a mode of contrast, the good and the evil, Will finds here only confirmation of views already expressed (and an affirmation of his good hopes as one “qui bona egit”). See further 293n. Cf. Middleton’s comments (1982:109–10), largely predicated on AB, that the pardon scene deprives Piers of the earthly vocation that seemed to give him authority, and as a consequence, the dreamer must interpose himself, function as stand-in. As the preceding notes indicate, this subsumption of Piers’s role has already occurred more powerfully and problematically in C through the dreamer’s persistent self-identification with apostolic behaviors. 286 B 7.112, (A 8.94) in witnesse of treuthe: Normal legal documents have witness lists (frequently attested by the seals of all, both contractors and witnesses), testimony to the validity of the action they record, because the witnesses have seen the parties agree to that action. But the phrase here is confusingly self-reflexive: Truth attests to his own truth as instantiated in a true document. Cf. “Y may do mercy of . . . alle myn wordes trewe” (20.431). A popular fifteenth-century text-type, “The charter of Christ,” is predicated upon similar techniques, often more fully explicated (the parchment of the charter as the actual skin of the body on the cross, the sealing as the blood shed for mankind, etc.). On the text’s documentary status, Stokes (1984:73)

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identifies three documents offered for inspection/construal in the Visio, the others at B Prol.144, 4.145; all involve contractual exchanges (107). Baker (1980:725 n27, 1984a) recognizes three later documents she sees as “correctives” to the pardon, at B 14.181–95, 20.185–92 (B 18.182–87), and 21/B 19.183–90. 287–88 (B 7.113–14, A 8.95–96) Et qui bona egerunt . . . : “And those who have done good deeds will pass to eternal life, but those who have done evil ones into eternal fire” (The Athanasian Creed, verse 41, restating John 5:29; cf. 1.129–34—apparently first identified by Burdach 1926–32:267 n1, the passus 1 echo by Burrow 1965:262). As the priest says, this is not technically or generically a pardon. More than that, as Woolf argues (1969:52, 65–70), the statement is not even offered in the tone of a pardon, with its reassurance of absolution and punishment obviated. The statement, translated in proverbial form at 291–93 (the priest at least does as he had promised, puts it into English), merely sets the conditions for salvation—and damnation. The latter seems much the point, for in its broad invocation of the Last Judgment that will settle these matters, the pardon raises the specter, not of that absolving mercy associated with pardon, but of a stern justice for failure to have performed as required. Lines 288–93 are echoed in a context identifying a concept of hereditary damnation at B 9.60–64, 123, 197–99; the text is cited again by Recklessness at 12.119L (cf. B 11.211L), in this case as an injunction that he be given alms. Another widely recognized restatement occurs at 21/B 19.192–98 (see Adams 1983:404, Baker 1984a:469, Simpson 1990:84–85, 207). A further example appears at 22/B 20.318–21, and Death and Life 13–16 may be an echo, although if of PP at all, more likely 1.129–30. Lawler 2000 presents a number of further examples. 289 (B 7.115, A 8.97) no pardoun: The phrase echoes Reason’s “no reuthe” at 4.108, 131 (as well as the associated “nullum malum . . . nullum bonum” 4.140– 41). Both appear in a context similar to this, seeking to quell a movement toward mercy, there viewed as sinister because orchestrated by Meed. Jesus revises the last of these passages at 20.430–35. In at least one still prominent, if isolated, strand of reading, the phrase is considered crucial to understanding the scene. As initially proposed in Frank 1951, the problem here might be described as documentary; from the priest’s perspective, the pardon should be replaced by an efficacious indulgence. In this account, Piers’s tearing paradoxically preserves the text, while indicating a rejection of false worldly documents (and a false clerical interlocutor) in favor of a true internal absorption and actuation of the message of Truth’s

330

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

pardon. But Piers’s anger, if the succeeding speech (A 8.104–17, B 7.120–35) is taken as explanatory of his action, appears to be directed at neither priest nor document, but with himself. This “documentary” reading, also supported by Adams (1983, 1988), depends overmuch on the dreamer’s waking conclusion and lucubrations, themselves emphasizing the priest’s dismissiveness, rather than Piers’s response. Dunning (1980:119n) refers to Clement VI’s bull “Vnigenitus” (1343); this offered a standard definition of pardons for the later Middle Ages. See Extravagantes 5.9.2, CJC 2:1304–6. 290 (B 7.116, A 8.98) do wel and haue wel: As has been clear since Burrow (1965:262), the priest’s translation is a simple proverb. Its two elements are related as cause and effect, “If you do well, then you will also have well.” L’s use here inspired a variety of parallel citations, in bishop Thomas Brinton of Rochester’s 18 May 1376 sermon to the convocation preceding the Good Parliament (edn. 2:318); and in two of the peasant letters associated with the 1381 Peasants’ Revolt (Dobson PR 381–82). An earlier example appears in a trilingual, mainly Anglo-Norman tract for nuns in the mid-thirteenth-century British Library MS Egerton 613 (Hill 1978:499, ‫ن‬22; cf. 492–93, 496). For citation and discussion, see further my 2005:250–52, 300 n17; and Middleton 2012. The Egerton citation is much to the point, since there the nuns are promised eternal reward in return for their firmness in temptation, perseverance in patience, and inner fortitude. Certainly, that is the reading Piers himself, in a response much more expansive than the priest’s contemptuous throwaway, imposes on the document in AB. Rather than the impasse of passus 8, predicated on enforcing labor, he makes of the statement what the Egerton nuns were to understand, an invitation to spiritual discipline. Those usages that respond to the poem, however, offer considerably less perspicacious materials. In Brinton’s sermon, a call to stern legislative action, the proverb provides the moral to another Langlandian importation, the fable of belling the cat (see Prol.167–219n). In this context, as well as that established by Brinton’s sermon text, James 1:25, “Not a forgetful hearer but a doer of the work; this man shall be blessed in his deed (my emphasis),” the proverb enjoins concerted, carefully planned action. Similarly, John Ball and Jack Carter dissociate the saying from any penitential self-awareness; since Ball explicitly tells Piers to stay at home and plow, this usage—Carter’s allusion to “the even” to the contrary—essentially considers the proverb within the context of passus 8, as a distinction between virtuous plowing or villainous guilt. A fifth, and much earlier appearance of the proverb, discussed by Middleton (2012), highlights the contrast between the dismissive priestly response

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and Piers’s energy. In his Similitudinarium (c. 1200), the Lincoln chancellor William de Montibus cites the proverb as an example of inadequately instructive preaching (edn. 305–6). Routine and uninviting, invested in act and legalism alone, the proverb fails to inspire, as Piers does the dreamer, anything like self-examination or -recognition. This gap opens the space that the dreamer is to explore over the next two visions, where Piers’s invocation of the exemplary Matt. 6:25 ff. (cf. B 7.131n) will prove especially generative. 293 of ∂e pardon iangelede: At this point, C has excised the subsequent AB materials. The dreamer sees only the bare text, and neither he nor the reader is party to the tearing, or the fuller arguments of AB that implicitly explain that action. Moreover, the C dreamer, having intruded himself at length earlier in the passus, is a different character from that in AB; he has been engaged in defining himself as a bonus amid a world of mali. Thus, he is actually untroubled, in most ways, by what succeeds (indeed, at 237–40 above, has basically stated all that is present in the pardon text). For him, this experience only ratifies his resolved opinion that he is a bonus uniquely suited to pursue Dowell. The aggressive disrespect for authority that marks his search, just as in the earlier versions, takes up what he understands as Piers’s contention with the dismissive priest. However, the omission of the pardon-tearing, and the earlier subsumption of Piers’s concerns in AB into Will’s interpolation, have a second powerful effect. They provide a much smoother segue into the poem’s second extended waking interlude, 10.1–67. Actually, this is the longest such episode in the poem, 127 lines extending from 9.293 to 10.67, a fact that usually passes unnoted, given the passus boundary and a major textual division. In this waking episode, another conversation/interrogation with a pair of interlocutors, like 5.1–104, the dreamer meets actual Franciscans. These represent either his mirror images as perfect Franciscan lunatyk lollare or, the spirit in which he engages at 10.20, the equally mirroring but contrasting frere faytours with whom he has associated lollare layabouts. In the event, the Franciscans prove to be the former, and considerably more astute moral instructors than Will. As a repetition of the waking episode that began this vision, this forms yet another bit of recursive rewriting. Indeed, the treatment looks back even further in the poem, as L here develops a fuller version of the sketchy locus amoenus in which the dreamer fell asleep at the poem’s opening. B 7.118–143L (A 8.101–25L) Piers “for pure tene” tears the pardon and argues with the priest: The speech from line 122 expresses Piers’s self-criticism— which consequently needs to be associated with what might have led him to

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tear the document. If a statement of anger with himself, the action has to be seen as retrospective, looking back to his last personal appearance in the poem, in passus 8, e.g., “Myhte Y synneles do as thow sayst?” (8.236). The pardon states unequivocal alternatives, good and evil. Piers’s position is less clear-cut: having pursued what he (and the reader) thought a virtuous act, the pilgrimage of plowing, he has found himself in the position of coercing labor, and thereby possibly doing evil, violating Christian charity. For further implications of the speech that reflect this impasse in passus 8, see B 7.124n. In its discussion of the soul’s deathbed reckoning (cf. 37–38n above), PC 2458–2507 offers a salient parallel, “thre skills why 兩 4at na man may trayste sikerly 兩 In hys gude dedys” (2468–70). Especially relevant here is the third reason, “our gude dedys er ofte done wrang” (2487). What is at stake here may be clarified retrospectively by later allusions to this passage. Schmidt (1987:12 n23) draws attention to the dreamer’s “tene of that text” (Matt. 22:14, which promises damnation to most; B 11.107–15), as well as to Piers’s actions with the Tree of Charity, B 16.86. Simpson describes (1990:121–22) the first of these moments as one in which Will “catches up” with Piers, discovers what he meant. For Simpson, this constitutes “a conversion.” Several critics (notably Woolf 1969:73–74; Schroeder [Carruthers] 1970:10–11, following a suggestion earlier made in J. F. Goodridge’s Penguin translation, p. 278; and Kirk 1972:87–93) have read the tearing as signalling the change enacted by typological concordances of the two Testaments. Carruthers, in particular, relies upon conventional exegesis of Exod. 32:19, where Moses destroys a similarly authoritative statement, the tablets of the law. See also Lawton (1981a: 420), who argues, in part on the basis of the AB variant atwynne, that Piers merely separates the two promises (of salvation and of damnation) and thus emulates the divine separation of sheep and goats at Doomsday (Matt. 25:32, 46). Lawler offers (2000) the more persuasive reading, that the two clauses are conjoined by the imperative of penance, so prominent in this vision. He is one among many who feel that the destruction must paradoxically involve some form of affirmation as well: at the most minimal, they argue, the tearing protects Truth’s document, implicitly an expression of something other than a legalistic interest in mankind, from whatever construction the priest wishes ignorantly to place upon it. But see B 7.124n below. Insofar as the pardon promises justice, it raises the potential disparity between the merit to be ascribed to human acts and the ability of those acts to meet just divine requirements. This is actually a very old view of the scene, e.g., Carnegy 1934:17–18, Chambers 1939:121, Dunning 1980:115. It is perhaps most eloquently expressed by Kirk (1972:86), who argues that man can only offend, not merit, and that God always freely supersedes his own promised

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justice. For Kirk, Piers recognizes “the culpable finitude which is man’s so long as he regards himself as self-justifying, complete, and psychologically independent” (96); cf. Baker 1980:723, 1984a:467. Such readings raise “perhaps the most debated topic in current discussions of L’s outlook . . . the question of his theology of grace” (Adams 1988:95, full discussion 95–98). Adams’s account would associate L with a particularly fourteenth-century mendicant view of this issue. These arguments avoid the issue of ascribing any absolute merit to human acts, by arguing that individuals will be granted salvation secundum bonum quod in se est (“according to the good, that is, intention rather than action, that is in them”). This conception, that mankind has a gracious capacity and thus will be saved on the basis of an “honest effort” at meeting divine commands, first entered discussions with Bloomfield (1961:162), who associated such a theological position with L’s Franciscanism. Major statements of the view include Coleman 1981 and Adams 1983 (esp. 370–71, 375) and 1988; for an extensive account of fourteenth-century theological discussions, and Bradwardine’s traditional Augustinian effort at counteracting such arguments, see Leff 1957. The most prominent statement affirming the poem’s Augustinian theology—and readings like those of traditional commentators, as well as Woolf, Baker, and Simpson, is now Aers 2009. So far as I can see, L’s (and the poem’s) salvation theology is fairly clearcut. That is, I doubt that the language L allows Jesus to voice at the Harrowing of Hell, 20.403–43L, is intended to be anything other than authoritative, however belated its narrative presentation. (Historically, of course, the statement is imagined to well precede the poem, its most striking example of recursive argumentation.) Jesus certainly lays out an argument that evokes bonum quod in se est—and then some. On the one hand, the statement is more than merely a conventional affirmation of the human capacity for bonum. It seems, as L does at a number of other points (e.g., 14.199–217), to imagine that, in the fervor of his love for man, Jesus offers a universal salvation that extends beyond Christians alone (cf. the references to half-brethrene at 20.417–20, 435– 38L). Moreover, such seems to have been the understanding of L’s important early reader, Julian of Norwich, whose ch. 51 shows extensive recall of the second vision; here cf. her chs. 61–63. On the other hand, Jesus’ statement may promise something less than this openness. As the passus 9 dreamer implicitly understands in subsequent lines here common to all versions (cf. 329n), the primary bonum Jesus acknowledges is relatively limited: “Be hit eny thyng abouhte, the boldenesse of here synnes 兩 Y may do mercy” (20.430–31, an echo of Truth having bought/ purchased the pardon here in the first place, as well as of such locutions as 2.90 and 7.264).

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In these terms, the argument has come full circle, for the minimal salvific requirement Jesus imagines depends upon efficacious penance (see further Lawler 2000). This view provides the logic for Jesus’ earlier statement that either worldly penance or purgatorial suffering, were it to be followed by damnation, would constitute a form of impermissible double jeopardy (20.421–25). While the penance Jesus imagines might most normally be the sacramental process laboriously described through this second vision, it need not be. Piers’s subsequent speech, which describes a private spiritual regimen—one undertaken in a situation involving opposition to an overbearing and unsupportive clerical authority—would be perfectly acceptable, and an outstanding example of Watson’s “vernacular theology” (1995). Piers’s resolve fully translates into spiritual terms the ambiguity that has stymied him since mid passus 8, that is inherent in the pardon text, and that the dreamer, in all versions, ignores. The only bonum quod in se est depends upon the acknowledgement of the more prevalent malum quod in se est. Piers’s projected action, as enunciated in his subsequent speech, is neither finite nor a statement of achievement (cf. 325n). Rather, as Piers outlines it, his new regimen involves a perpetual statement of sorrowful supplication; this expresses only a longing, a desire to atone to God, and is thus a symptom of lack, longing for a presence ceaselessly deferred. Rather than “se[ing] treuthe sitte in thy sulue herte” (7.255, B 5.606), one sees something else, “dette,” a perception of one’s own possible spiritual emptiness. Baker (1980:719–20) points out that the argument for salvation secundum bonum quod in se est renders God a debtor to man, running against all descriptions of debt in the poem (e.g., 6.308–30), although cf. Adams 1983:376. Thus, in the poetic narrative, Jesus’ version of bonum is problematic for virtually all its human participants. What one might describe as “the poem’s imaginative default setting” involves all those Augustinian doubts about one’s potential to merit that have bedeviled the poem from the head of this vision. Reluctance to confess, ultimately predicated upon wanhope (and the apparent difficulty of the procedure), will, following the theological sublime in passus 20, lead to the demise of Unity in the poem’s final passu¯s. Indeed, amid all its turns of argument, the poem routinely evokes the human incapacity to imagine a “kynde knowynge” that would also include some awareness of an inner divine spark (cf. 1.137–45). Such a reading of the poem’s theology was adumbrated long ago by Coghill (1944); he argues that the pardon text appeals doubly. On the one hand, the text expresses God’s understanding of the deep unity of his justice and mercy (cf. “Y may do mercy of my rihtwysnesse,” 20.431); yet the text simultaneously appears to man as only a paradox. Cf. Simpson 1990:117 (of B

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10.369ff.), “L not only presents the doctrine of predestination; he also reveals the emotional effects of such a doctrine,” as well as several useful formulations in his contributions of 1987 and 1990 (in the latter particularly 75–85 and 85–86n, but see also 47, 47–48n, 92–93, 110–11, 162–63). Piers seems most aware of the disparity between that minimal degree to which humans can hope to merit and what appear the stringent demands of divine injunctions to righteous behavior. The divine promise to save the righteous, in the context of God’s exacting standards of righteousness, may prove so terrifying that it creates in even the most virtuous actor of the poem doubts of the efficacy of his own behavior, doubts stimulated by his frustrations (equally associated with pure tene) in the preceding passus. In these terms, tearing the pardon must be associated with the subsequent 120–21—perhaps to be construed as a replacement text, equally two lynes and nat a lettre more 285, and an equally authoritative statement. In this case, Piers continues his respectful faith in divine beneficence (Truth thought he was offering “pardon” and hope), in spite of the minatory nature of what Truth appears prepared to offer as a promise of pardon. B 7.120–21 (A 8.102–3) Si ambulauero . . . : “For though I should walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evils, for thou art with me” (Ps. 22:4). In spite of appearances, Piers responds with that “Consience and kynde wyt” that he initially identified (7.184–85) as the basis of all his actions. Cf. B 7.128Ln, and the full context of the verse Piers cites there. In Woolf’s account, particularly, where the pardon does amount to “a death-sentence,” its tearing forms an act of remission. Cf. Baker’s Augustinian formulation (1980:718): “Faith, then, was evidence that prevenient grace was operating in man and prayer, proof that man desired to cooperate with grace.” In this context, a paraphrase of the citation should run something like, “Even should I be immersed in the very opposite of vitam eternam, I need no pardon or papers. Rather, because I have faith, I refuse to consider the prospect that Truth might abandon me, even as I recognize my sinfulness, and even in those circumstances that might most clearly indicate abandonment” (cf. John 8:12). Yet even within this pardon text, which importantly redefines the pardon from the human perspective in medio (not the divine understanding of bona and mala inscribed in 113–14), Piers remains aware of the divine presence—that potentially within him that he described at 7.254–61L—and throws himself upon that redemptive possibility. Among other things, he remembers and recalls to Truth the subsequent Ps. 22:6: “And thy mercy will follow me all the days of my life. And that I may dwell in the house of the Lord unto length of days.” One might read non timebo mala as “I will not fear

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C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

the evil things I do,” but in such a reading, one must take into account the following lines, which constitute a severe circumscription upon action. Ps. 22:4 has particular power because it so acutely answers the biographical imagery associated with Piers throughout earlier portions of the vision. “Walk/ambulare” recalls the entire pilgrimage route, in all its narrative manifestations, to which Piers has been committed since his entry into the poem. The rendition of “in medio” peculiar to KJV, “valley,” associates Piers’s career, not with the “fair field” or “half-acre,” but rather the devil’s “depe dale,” and the estranging image of the world it conveys. J. B. Allen cites (1984:352) Hugh of St. Cher’s gloss on the passage, “in the midst of the shadow of death, that is among any sinners whatsoever” (in medio vmbrae mortis, id est inter peccatores quoscumque), which he connects with the intransigent priest. But cf. the world as “dale,” PC 1044–47, 1164–69 et seq., as well as that poem’s “four likenesses” (similes, figures) for the world, including a wilderness beset with tyrannical beasts and a forest packed with thieving devils (1211–56, esp. 1225–44). “The shadow of death” Piers invokes redefines our experience as a blurred image (perhaps explicitly a reflection, cf. MED shadwe n., sense 3; cf. Fortune’s mirror B 11.3 and B 15.161–63). This blurred image cloaks something greater, and it is blurred because of our mortality (thus ultimately our sin). It simultaneously prefigures our having merited eternal death, passage to the flames of B 7.114. In these terms, the citation obviously alludes to 1 Cor. 13:12 (16.296L). A double reprise of the psalm frames B passus 12 (13L and 293L), where in some measure the enigma is resolved. Of the second echo, this verse again, Simpson comments (1990:92) that it forms “a confident affirmation of the value of human action before God.” The verse, of course, introduces another reshuffling of the poetic allegorical vehicle, and offers to Truth in Truth’s own words a definition of human life as seen from within. In contrast, in accord with 10.21–27, the dreamer’s version of Piers in the early stages of Dowell is to see sin as inevitable and not to see any way to make it up (to logically Dowell). B 7.122 (A 8.105) bely-ioye (so all B manuscripts, bilyue KD; all A manuscripts but one liflode); cf. A 8.112 bely-ioye: The contemptuous manuscript reading harks back to passus 8. In the face of Waster’s work stoppage, Piers seeks to insure a product, a crop (cf. 8.122–48n et seq.). In one of his several responses to these short rations he has imposed to dragoon a work force, as Piers here remembers, Hunger accuses him of a gourmandise that requires medical dosing; see 8.263–99n, and esp. 8.269–76, 286, 289. Here Piers dismisses his earlier thorough concentration on the world of work: even the

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

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dearth imagined in the preceding passus (and the grimly Malthusian imperative that drives Piers to discriminate among workers there) serves only the gut, not the soul. (Cf. Holychurch at 1.34–40.) The death that the pardon promises is far more terrifying in its potential effects than mere starvation: imagining a beneficent divinity who will reward, not physical labor, but the constantly increasing sorrow for sins due him is spiritually more salutary. Simultaneously, Piers’s faith leads him to undo the very categories that he so assiduously promulgated in passus 8. Still in possession of his health and capable of labor, his behavior, at least selectively (“swynke no9t so harde” 122, my emphasis), becomes like those he earlier calls wasters—although his resolution in every respect repudiates their self-indulgence. In his unanswered faith, Piers will not, waster-like, beg: he throws himself upon the hope of a beneficent providence that will provide whatever sustenance is necessary to compensate for whatever work he no longer performs and to preserve him in his penitential tears. Piers’s true, but unformulated, image in the poem is in fact the waster-like dreamer of passus 5 (and cf. the wasters’ promise of prayers at 8.129–37); Will comes to this recognition at the conclusion of the passus and sets off on that quest, the Vita, that will bring him understanding of this moment and its implications (the later development of “patient poverty”); cf. Matt. 5:3, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs in the kingdom of heaven.” B 7.124 (A 8.106) Of preiere and of penaunce my plou√ shal ben herafter: The statement not only unravels the allegorical development that occupies early portions of the preceding passus but rejects as well Truth’s intentions as narrated in lines 2, 5–8 above (see Martin 1979:22, Baker 1980:716–17). Rather than Hunger’s fisik, Piers considers Holychurch’s medicinal promise at 1.33. In passus 8, L and Piers doggedly attempt to make the workaday world into a model for a penitential act, pilgrimage. That allegory falls apart over the difficulties of enforcement that create conflict in the world of labor: Piers finds that humans, including himself, cannot measure up to those standards of charitable justice that they can imagine to govern their own communities (and thus must be even further in default if measured against a supernal heavenly kingdom). This line, along with the remainder of Piers’s speech, revises in precisely the opposite direction. Rather than subsuming penance into labor, the grounds for receipt of the pardon, Piers here takes the sole worthwhile labor on earth, his plou@, to be penitential, an effort at what appears nearly impossible—to make amends to God, to atone daily for sin, now viewed as inevitable and damning. That confidence that L is eager to ascribe to the character on his first appearance in passus 7 has now departed: the only food that

338

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matters any longer is sorrow for one’s guilt to God. Cf. the pun on payn 126—both bread and torment; and the Latin of 128L which it ambiguously reproduces, extensively discussed Schmidt 1987:89–91. The pun occurs again at 16.151. A 8.107 And beloure ∂at I belou√ er: Following Skeat, translate, “Frown over what I once laughed about” (neither verb appears in MED). The corresponding B 125 reduces the vehemence of self-accusation, although not of penitential sorrow. B 7.128L (A 8.110L) Fuerunt michi . . . : “My tears have been my bread day and night” (Ps. 41:4). 7e prophet 108 is, of course, David, but the identity of the othere manye 127 is less clear. (Skeat suggests the “justi” of Ps. 33:20.) The remainder of the biblical verse, “whilst it is said to me daily: Where is thy God?,” would identify the priest as tormenting persecutor, as the ironic reflection at B 7.141 makes clear. FM cites the verse (256/42–44) as its proof text for the identification of horsebread (bread made of beans or peas) with contrition (see 8.176–78n). The author continues: “But this loaf of bread will be broken into three bites, remorse for our sins of the past, the present, and the future” (Set iste panis in tribus frustis dividetur, scilicet in dolore peccatorum preteritorum, presencium, et futurorum). Mann implies (1979:37) that this was probably the medieval commonplace that FM always seeks; she cites a reading from Peter Cantor’s Distinctiones Abel associating the “bread of beginners” with penance, a further connection with B 7.141. The newly penitent pilgrim cites the verse at PLM 6077–99. B 7.131 (A 8.113) Ne soliciti sitis: “Be not solicitous (for your life, what you shall eat)” (Matt. 6:25; cf. the parallel Luke 12:22 and further, Philip. 4:6). Lines 133–35 expand upon the subsequent v. 26, “Behold the birds of the air, for they neither sow, nor do they reap, nor gather into barns: and your heavenly Father feedeth them.” Throughout the poem, birds, many associated with freely given food, provide, as Piers says, an ensample vs selue to wisse 132. See for example, 13.131–82, 14.156–90, B 15.276–89 and 305–17 (17.9–16, 32–36), 22.44 (Jesus’ pauperization, following Matt. 8:20, more extreme than that suffered by either fox or fowl); see further Lawler 1979:204–7. The topic recurs, with another citation of the verse, at B 14.29–82 (cf. Simpson 1990:163); cf. C 15.235 and further C 16.152–54L. An anticipation of this logic, unique to C, appears in Reason’s statement at 4.189–94.

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The verse also occurs in a prominent Franciscan context. The chaptergeneral’s appeal to the faithful of 11 July 1322 states that “the highest and most perfect poverty is that which excludes the greater anxiety, or sollicitudo, about temporal goods” (cited Lambert 1961:229 with further references). B 7.137 (A 8.119) Thow art lettred a litel: The priest’s deprecation (which becomes more pronounced in his following speech) supports his sense of professional exclusivity, broadly identifiable as Vulgate-literacy. This issue—who has the right to read (or interpret) scripture?—was to become a contested social problem in the last years of L’s work on the text; see Richardson 1936. Even in the earliest version of the poem, L’s priest shows considerable testiness on this score, although it seems less a matter of general principle than a fear that he might be shown up by a laboring parishioner. At the most constructive, he might be construed as intervening to oppose what he hears as a view that extreme worldly indigence automatically provides soul-cleansing effects similar to those of sacramental penance, and thus may substitute for it. This confrontation with the priest, a war over interpretation, images the self-ordained nature of Piers’s resolution in AB, and has extensive reverberations later in the poem. For example, it underlies the dreamer Will’s various brushes with anti-intellectual positions in the early passu¯s of the Vita. In the C version, such an unordained takeover of clerical function appears in the allegedly apostolic status of lunatics and the subsequent lines (258ff.) debunking bishops. The role-reversal is completed, as Schmidt sees, by Piers’s identification of the priest as a Lewed lorel 142, a man who proves his ignorance by forgetting his Bible (ordination does not guarantee that one is not “lewed”; cf. the vicar at 21.409–58). The dreamer’s later conjunction of antiintellectualism (first at 10.20) and straight talk animates much of Mum, e.g., 256–57. The climax of such argument probably occurs on Piers’s next (allusive) appearance in the poem, at 11.290–93; there Will identifies the plowman as exemplary of the “Lewed lele laboreres” (“lewed Iuttes” B 10.467) saved by simply a Pater noster even as clerks are damned. The issue is adjudicated by Imaginative in passus 14 and eventually in Clergy’s speech impugning all cunning in favour of “lele loue” (15.129–36, revising B 13.123–29). Yet equally, note Conscience’s conge´ from Clergy, B 13.175–214 (only 15.175–84 in C) and its disastrous effects at the end of the poem, e.g., 22.228, 375. B 7.138–39 (A 8.120–21) Abstynence ∂e Abbesse myn a b c me tau√te 兩 And Conscience cam after: Although calling Abstynence 7e Abbesse might be construed as a reference to some kind of basic instruction through a local nunnery

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(Bennett), it is probably simply a derisive pun: Abbesse and abc are homonyms. Piers does not respond literally to the priest’s inquiry. The boke 137 he knows is, in some sense, the Bible; but what he knows of it is not so much the literal text (the citations by which the priest identifies him as a potential wiseacre to be squelched) but its meaning, and particularly what it means to him in the context of the pardon. In these terms, he has learned to endure hardship and to live with minimal necessities, teachings of the virtue abstinencia (cf. 6.440). In addition, Conscience, the personification invoked to identify his most basic relationship to Truth (cf. 7.184 and its initial place on the pilgrimage route 7.207–10), has shown him how to integrate this plowman’s knowledge with basic Christian responsibilities, here the refusal of excessive labor or worry over sustenance. Cf. Schmidt 1987:87, Tarvers 1988. Somewhat less plausibly, J. B. Allen (1984:355) sees the line as referring to Latin preachers’ handbooks. These very frequently group citations and figurae under alphabetical headings, distinctiones, of which the first is very often “Abstinentia.” For discussion of outstanding examples, see Barney 1981, Bataillon 1994. For Allen, the line alludes to L’s usual compositional method, his development of prelinked chains of quotations. Those collections Allen cites offer abundant citations identifying detractors with those who use their office to deprecate others. But L is invested in Piers as a humble layman “saved and safe, no matter what detractors say.” The confrontation between the “kynde” motions of a holy man and learned detractors was always a rich source of exemplary materials. One notable example is a widely imitated anecdote from Athanasius of Alexandria’s life of Antony, ch. 45 (PL 73:158). In a similar example from Robert Holcot’s exemplum book Convertimini, a “lewed” monk, who responds only to the colored ink of the three letters in his book (cf. “a b c”) proves a greater spiritual authority than his learned and arrogant brother. There is a ME version in Oxford, St John’s College, MS 94, fols. 142v-43. Or again, an early fifteenthcentury Anglo-Latin compilation ascribes to Bonaventura a discussion of Jesus as fool: “Our Lord and God Jesus Christ was scorned and laughed at in a mocking fashion by the Jews. They said of him in their derision, ‘This guy is useless, a fool and of no standing, ignorant and foolish, and has not even learned to read’ ” (Dominus Ihesus Cristus ipsemet Deus noster vituperabatur ac eciam deridebatur subsannatorie a Iudeis in derisum de eo dicentibus, “Iste est quidam inutilis, quidam idiota et homo de nichilo, et stultus et insipiens, nec eciam literas didicit”) (Cambridge University Library, MS Ff.1.14, fol. 109; most of the tract is comprised of excerpts from Richard Rolle’s Latin). B 7.141 diuinour in diuinite: Although in all other uses in the poem diuinour describes serious theologians, here the usage appears to be the priest’s effort

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

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at a pun answering Piers’s last speech. In addition to “theologian,” the ME word means “soothsayer, diviner, enchanter” (cf. divinistre, Ch, CT I.2811), and the priest offers a comment like “you could offer up your guesswork theology.” But the opening of the dreamer’s subsequent thoughts on his dream offers a different model of such divination; see 305n. Similarly misplaced contempt appears in the response to Piers’s later words, supplemented by Patience’s “explanation,” from another clerical authority at 15.170. ——— (A 8.123) Dixit insipiens (A Quoniam literaturam non cognoui): B cites, “The fool hath said (in his heart, There is no God)” (either Ps. 13:1 or 52:1); A, “Because I have not known learning” (Ps. 70:15); see further Kolve 1997. In the B version, the priest defines Piers’s actions as an outright attack on divinity, although indiscriminately: he does not distinguish between the apparent blasphemies of tearing the pardon and of questioning his own clerical authority. He also misses his own potential pun, commonplace in medieval Latin, between incipiens “beginning” and insipiens, which would highlight Piers’s newfound resolution. B 7.143L (A 8.125L) Ejice derisores . . . : Cf. “Cast out the scoffer, and contentions shall go out with him(, and quarrels and reproaches shall cease)” (Prov. 22:10). In Prov. 22, this follows the verse discussed at 3.484–500 (Adams 1983:410–11). As Schmidt sees, Piers’s “litel lokestow on 3e bible” contemptuously responds to the priest’s “lettred a litel” B 7.137. 293–352 (B 7.144–206, A 8.126–84) The dreamer assesses his dream: Similar ruminations on the content of the vision occur at the next such break, 15.1–25, as well (Simpson 1990:142). 293 (B 7.144, A 8.126) of ∂e pardon iangelede: Although C excises the pardontearing and the subsequent recriminations, some vestiges of the scene still remain; other examples appear at 302, 319, and 324. 295–96 (B 7.146–47, A 8.128–29) the sonne in the southe . . . on Maluerne hulles: The poet wakes where he first fell asleep (Prol.6–9), and the vision has occupied an entire morning (at Prol.14 the sun is just rising; now it is noon). This unity of time and place was first noted by Frank (1951:324). The C version has broken this neat unity with its intrusion of the London scene at the head of passus 5, but retains the sense of conclusion (see further 347–52n) that marks the end of the passus universally. This perhaps reflects a(n untransmitted) two-vision form of the poem.

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C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

296–97 (B 7.147–48, A 8.129–30) Meteles . . . meteles: The pun, particularly in C, forms a last argumentative look at the dreamer’s persistent characterization through this version. One might paraphrase, “Because I dream—and then muse on my dreams—I do not engage in food production (but seek food from others, absent in this locale).” The line echoes the lunatyk lollares at 110. 300 (B 7.151, A 8.132) fole pencyf in herte: Schmidt connects the statement with love melancholy; cf. Pearl 244–46; Ch, CT V.914 var. 303–19 (B 7.149–72, A 8.134–48) The dreamer considers dreams 304 (B 7.155–56, A 8.134–34L) Caton counteth hit at nauht and Canonistres at lasse: Following Guillaume de Lorris’s invocation of Macrobius at the head of RR (designed to recall the famous discussion of true and false dreams at In Sompnium Scipionis 1.3.1–11), such discussions of the veridical value of dreams are a feature of vision-poetry. Cf. for instance, the extensive discussion in the proems of Ch’s HF, and the mock-heroic discussion in NPT—where Pertelote translates the Latin of B 156 (“Disticha Catonis” 2.31): “Ne do no fors of dremes” (CT, VII.2942). Cato’s verse continues, in a Macrobian spirit: “for what the mind chooses, what it hopes for while awake, it sees clearly through dreams” (nam mens humana quod optat, 兩 dum vigilans sperat, per somnum cernat id ipsum). See the extensive listing of analogues, Bowers 1986:27–29, Emmerson 1993a:57, 61–62 and 1993b:105–11 (cf. Woolf 1969:54–55 and Manning HS 379–478); and the imitation of this passage at Mum 874–75, 1309–33. Macrobius distinguishes dream types with an eye to indicating their possible value for prognostication, revelations of events to come. In dividing dreams into five groups, he debunks the value of those that arise from demonstrable natural causes (e.g., anxiety—as perhaps Ch, PF 99–108; overeating or eating the wrong thing—a view Pertelote expounds at length, CT VII.2923–69; or the liminal processes governed by the semiconscious mind). For Macrobius, valuable dreams are (as L’s may be) inexplicable and unpredictable, incursions of the numinous: precisely this supernatural character confers on them value as true statements about the future, prophecies. Will’s turn to the Bible (see 305n) suggests that his own prophetic interests (the hope that hit so be myhte 299) may be underwritten by the promise of such an inspiration. But equally—as the ambiguous tradition on which L here draws would suggest—the situations in which he falls asleep (see B Prol.7–10n, C 5.105–11n, etc.) would indicate the physical impulses behind his dreaming and qualify any claim he might wish to advance for the prophetic status of his activity.

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

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Both the examples Will cites here, however, couch the issue in terms slightly different from the expected (as do lines 311ff. in emphasizing Jacob’s dream-reading, not Joseph’s). The conventional discussion asks whether one should rely upon dream information as a guide that would direct worldly action. The locution hit so be myhte 299, reinforced by Will’s analyses, rather emphasizes the true outcomes that confirmed the holiness of the biblical figures’ dream-reading. The issue is then, not whether dreams offer a prudential guide to assessing possible future contingencies (as in the argument in Ch’s “Nun’s Priest’s Tale”), but whether the dream (and the model of Piers) might be converted into worldly, redemptive action (see further 305n). In the absence of anyone else to take on the project, Will, having heard qui bona egerunt granted salvation in a dream, himself resolves to do so, most immediately in the protracted waking interlude of the next passus. 304 (B 7.155, A 8.) Canonistres: Commonplace instructional materials routinely inveigh against dream interpretation, along with other forms of “sortilegium,” in discussing the imperatives of the first commandment of the Decalogue. See further Owst 1957. For example, among those whom the author of FM views as infidels who follow superstition, rather than the faith (see 6.77–80n), he mentions (578/33–36): “There are others, called soothsayers, and they interpret dreams; they have an extraordinary faith in dreams, whereas in reality dreams usually are caused by some natural and intrinsic factor” (Alii autem sunt qui coniectores dicuntur, et sunt interpretatores sompniorum, qui scilicet in talibus nimis credunt, cum tamen in rei veritate ut communiter eveniunt ex aliqua causa naturali intrinseca). One should note the reliance on Macrobius’s schema inherent in this rejection. 305 (B 7.157, A 8.135) ∂e boek bible: Perhaps inspired by Piers’s rebuke of the priest in B 7.142, Will turns to scripture. His two examples—Daniel and Joseph—are commonplaces in such discussions of the value of dreams. The reference to Daniel is somewhat garbled in AB, since Nabugodonosor B 159 would suggest that L thinks of Daniel 2 and 4, whereas the prophecy outlined in B 160–62 is that delivered at Baltasar’s feast, Dan. 5:28, an episode narrated at Cleanness 1357–1804. C avoids this inaccuracy by generalizing (and ignoring what would seem to have been the point, that Daniel’s prophetic readings were accurate). The Joseph discussion, which takes no account of Joseph as interpreter, seems equally skewed. For the dream, see Gen. 37:9–10; Jacob’s prophecy is nonbiblical—in Gen. 37:10 he rebukes his son for presumption—but finds its fulfillment in the famine in Canaan and Joseph’s ascendancy in Egypt, Gen.

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C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

41–47. But this particular framing of the story has deep motivations; the discussion identifies Joseph with Piers—as Egypt’s thrifty husbandman, destroyer of dearth, and help to others in their need. The extended narratives of these prophetic fulfillments, which necessarily occur only after delays, might recall Will’s claim (5. 94–98L) of ofte chaffar [ynge] in hopes of a single bargayn that would guarantee his ultimate (eternal) health. In this regard, both Daniel and Joseph use their dream-reading skills to emerge from situations of unjust accusation and deprivation (captivity), just as Will thinks he has done at the end of passus 5’s waking interlude. Their prophetic insight allows these biblical figures both to become respected communal advisors (they interpret for kings—as Conscience and Reason do in L’s poem) and to achieve positions of dominating authority. In such a context, Will projects the refoundation of a juster England guided by the charitable viceroy Piers Plowman—and wishes that that vision might be “real,” as opposed to the harassment he receives from the Reason and Conscience of the waking interlude. 308 what they thouhte: “What the dreams intended/meant.” 320–52 (B 7.173–206, A 8.149–84) And demede ∂at dowel indulgences passeth 320 (B 7.175, A 8.153) And demede ∂at dowel indulgences passeth: The subject presumably shifts in mid-sentence from 7e prest to Y, although uncomfortably so. The midnight musings, unique to A 150, echo Piers at B 7.125; as Will notes, they draw him from that sleep that would be a continuation of the poem—the following passus, of course, concludes its longest waking interlude. Will is simultaneously attracted by Piers and yet forced to acknowledge the propriety and the power of the priest’s rejection—it occurs thorw two propre wordes 302 (cf. wi7 two . . . B 153, al be pure resoun A 152). Pearsall and Schmidt identify these as Dixit insipiens B 7.141, but they seem more likely to be no pardon 289 (B 7.115). In this line, Will follows this rejection out to its fullest implications. He reduces the value of documentary pardons, indulgences (which, of course, is not what the priest meant at all: he is willing enough to construe and explain the legalistic proprieties, had this in fact been a document of appropriate format). But simultaneously Will is attracted to Piers as the one individual of value he has dreamed of (cf. 300), believes in the value of what Piers received (a pardoun 324, but not an indulgence), and reifies its message as dowel, an activity rather than a document. Moreover, he perceives the activity he calls

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dowel in a general way, without any very precise understanding of its ramifications, as the behaviors that Piers says in AB he will undertake—without seeing that Piers undertakes them after tearing the pardon—thus apparently rejecting any equivalence between its language, from which the word dowel comes, and his behavior. The reification of dowel in this line forms a particularly important (and frustrating) move, one that creates the possibility of the sprawl that marks the next three passu¯s. The word is, of course, drawn from the pardon clause qui bona egerunt 287; there it is a finite verb with a subject and an object and refers to God’s retrospective evaluation of that plural subject’s lives. In the priest’s construal of the document, do wel and haue wel 287 translates the clause ambivalently as verb and adverb (yet not a coalesced unit). Grammatically, do here might be an imperative, a timeless biblical command or pulpit injunction; but alternatively, do could form the center of an elliptical subjunctive clause (with if understood): although grammatically present tense, the form would merge two other tenses as well, since it enjoins future behaviors that will (as the credal text promises) be ultimately judged retrospectively as past events. These difficulties are to become central much later at B 13.128–30, where Piers is reported to have identified dowel as an uncapturable infinitive phrase (see Middleton 1972; cf. Carruthers 1973:81–84; Kirk 1972: 93–100). But the dreamer’s understanding of dowel here and subsequently is quite other. For him the word fuses verbal and adverbial complement into a single noun, and, like all other nouns in the poem, this one may instantly become an abstract entity, a personification. Moreover, the word here includes some of that queasy ambiguity associated at this point with pardoun: the disparity between a person (substantive) and an enacted behavior (verb); between the physically localizable object, the actual document Piers tears, and the abstract activity, divine forgiveness of the penitent that Piers pursues. Further references to dowel occur in lines B 177 (cf. 327 hoso doth wel), 332, 345, and 351—in the last of which “he” appears personified as if God’s account-keeper and, for men, a teacher (cf. 10.29 to wisse the peple). Such a language has, of course, long since had a qualified status within the poem; cf. such loci as 1.134 and 197, 7.254–60L etc. 321 (B 7.176, A 8.154) Bionales and trionales and bisshopes lettres: The first two terms refer to commemorative masses of varying duration, the last a license allowing pardoners to solicit (cf. Prol.66–80). prouinciales lettres 343, like the fraternite 344, refers to another document, given by the provincial head of a religious order and granting benefit of that order’s intercessory prayer (cf.

346

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

princes lettres 280). By B 11.58, Will accepts a mendicant order’s pardon, rather than face what seem the rigors of Dowell. 325–26 (B 7.179–80, A 8.156–57) pardoun to graunte 兩 To peple withouten penaunce to passe into ioye: Will’s lack of deference toward pardon depends upon an astute reading of what Piers was about when he tore the document (although it is not a reading Will can sustain through time). Literal pardons, papal documents that draw on the treasury of grace, possess, in his reading, an unfortunate automatism: through their grant (and purchase; cf. 264n and the return of Meed’s tresor 334), they can be construed as absolving people of the need to perform penance. Cf. Burrow 1965:260. Such a view, as the interrogative punctuation of the Athlone edition indicates, is not Will’s. But he fears that others may uncritically conflate pardon a culpa, only provided by Jesus’ atonement and the continuing grace available through sacramental penance, with pardon a pena, remission of time in purgatory, and may thus cease dowel. In contrast, Will can construe dowel as pass[ynge] al 7e pardon of Seint Petres cherche B 178 (334 is somewhat more restrained; cf. 16.36–40). For he identifies dowel precisely with Piers’s new-found penitentialism, his withdrawal from the world of human activity (cf. the echo of B 7.124 in 329). In making this choice, as Will sees it, Piers refuses to rely upon easily available ecclesiastical pardon and attempts seriously, in all his acts, to undo the effects of sin. And this perception motivates the closing injunction of the Visio, Will’s counsel to all to crye god mercy 347. This portion of the discussion is echoed at FDR 518–22. So far, so good, but Will fails to note what has driven Piers to this resolution and the potential ominousness of this notion. Piers’s penitential dowel will surpass pardon available through the church in this world precisely because it solicits a pardon supernally divine—but because supernally divine, such a pardon cannot be merited but only extended as a free (and unjust) gift; cf. 7.269. The point almost surfaces here, but Will predictably misses it: faith in pardons, as lines 331 and 334 see it, is a matter of excessive trust, whereas Piers’s resolution takes the extreme form it does because, even in a situation where he might logically have no firm trust, he resolves to trust—and to solicit mercy. In contrast, the dreamer’s view of dowel is subject to some slippage: in lines 341–42 and 350, for example, he can assume that the concept refers to specific actions that in themselves achieve merit, and thus reward. The failure of Piers’s best efforts in passus 8 (and Piers’s subsequent rejection of them) should conduce one to problematize this notion.

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

347

327L (B 7.181L, A 8.159L) Quodcumque ligaueris super terram . . . : “Whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth, it shall be bound also in heaven” (Matt. 16:19), traditionally taken as the source of the papal power to bind and loose, i.e. to confer grace and absolution, thus a leef of oure bileue B 181 (327 generalizes). This power underwrites Piers’s appointment as “procurator and reeue” at 21/B 19.183–90; cf. Prol.128–38. 330 (B 7.184, A 8.162) seuene sythes dedly: “Committed deadly sins seven times.” But this rather general reference, perhaps only “sinned a number of times,” exposes the dreamer’s undue spiritual optimism, because beneath “dedly” hovers the similar “daily,” in allusion to Prov. 24:16, cited 10.21 (and producing a lengthy subsequent discussion); cf. Imaginative’s explanation at 14.99–125. 333–38 (B 7.187–92, A 8.165–70): Dunning (1980:123) notes the reprise of this discussion at 19.214–26 (B 17.248–60). 336 (B 7.190, A 8.168) √e maistres, mayres and iugges: Of course, targets of abuse through the poem, e.g., Mede as master at 3.215, the complaisant mayor of 3.77–127, or men of law described earlier in this passus (alluded to in 341, where AB personalize the injunctions). In the next pair of lines, wise men ben holde 兩 To purchace @ow pardoun identifies their canniness with shrewd investment procedures—pardon forms an afterlife insurance policy, and they take it up in the same “wise” spirit (cf. the characters who appear at 4.27 and the lawyers of 51 above) as that with which they conduct all their other affairs. 340 (B 7.194, A 8.172) acountes to √elde: Another allusion to Luke 16:2 and redde racionem. 343 (B 7.197, A 8.175) pouhe-ful: The contemptuous reference assimilates the pardon-buying rich to the status of beggars with bags; both show their dereliction and spiritual emptiness by acquisition and the absence of Dowell. Cf. Ch, CT I.686–97. This locution appears to have inspired the author of Mum, who fills the end of his poem with documentary scraps from an enormous bag; see 1343–1751. 346 (B 7.200, A 8.178) a pye hele: Skeat identifies as “a left-over pie crust,” just the sort of thing one might expect to find in the beggar’s poke mentioned in 343.

348

C Passus 9; B Passus 7; A Passus 8

347–52 (B 7.201–6, A 8.179–84): Perhaps a little surprisingly, given the pyrotechnics of the passus in all versions, the conclusion strikes a quite conventional note. The lines might be paralleled in the concluding formulae of a great many ME devotional texts (and again suggest that PP might have begun— although the text in this form is never transmitted—as but a single pair of reflecting visions). But the note struck remains, in its insistence on a prayerful cry for mercy (347–48) and on the necessity of divine grace to human right action (349), an appropriate summary of issues described and discussed here. With “marie . . . be oure mene” (348), cf. 7.250L-53, 288–91 (and more distantly, 1.155–58). Cf. more generally the reformulation at 16.25–40.

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Index of Historical and Modern Works, Authors, Persons, and Topics

Literary works by known authors are listed under the authors’ names (for many medieval authors, of course, their given names), anonymous works under the names of the works. I have not indexed a number of brief textual references designed to offer parallels to the poem’s phrasing, but have attempted an extensive record of references to instructional literature, to poems certainly known to Langland (e.g., Winner and Waster and Speculum Vitae), and to poems inspired by his work (most notably the canny “Mum and the Sothsegger”). I would offer a caveat regarding one such listing, an extensive series of references, nearly all inherited from my predecessors, to “Lollard writings.” These should not be construed as statements of affiliation or influence (see p. 10), but largely the product of historical accident. Just as in Robert Crowley’s reception of the poem (see p. 64), the foundational Skeat commented on the text at a time when virtually the only devotional materials available for comparison with it were Lollard. Detailed study of the large swath of devotional materials published over the last half-century (and of yet more helpful, but still largely unpublished sermon materials, Latin and English) will indicate a broad body of orthodox “complaint” considerably more relevant to the poem than Lollard writings. References to characters and personages in Piers Plowman and in the Bible are included (but are not exhaustive for those sections where the characters are continually present). All modern scholars, excepting the editors of cited texts, are included, with initials only for their first names. None of those works that appear in the “Regularly Occurring Abbreviations” (pp. xxv–vi above) appear here, since they—as well as Alford 1988c and 1992, BVV, and FM—are persistently cited. Unlike the first two volumes of this Commentary, I do not index the contributions of the masterful Skeat (see pp. xvii–iii), who appears here with about the same frequency as Bennett or Pearsall. A number of entries refer to themes and topics central to this portion of the poem (e.g., “beggars” or “poverty”), and two entries group the partially overlapping categories “glossarial notes” and “textual suggestions.” The latter, in accord with the discussion at p. xxiii above, represents a deliberately limited set, since this is not the place to undertake a thorough assessment of Athlone editorial practice.

372

Index of Historical and Modern Works

Aarts, F., 206 Abingdon, 67, 255 Adams, R., xix, 65, 139, 329, 330, 333, 334, 341 Aers, D., 65, 131, 180, 186, 192, 206–7, 213, 216, 231–32, 237, 239–40, 241, 250, 254, 258, 259, 260, 263, 268, 271, 273, 274, 276, 286, 295, 299, 306, 314, 333 Alain of Lille, 326 Alexander, J., 128 Alford, J., vii, xv, 21, 50, 66, 73, 80, 81, 111, 119, 125, 139, 174, 209, 292, 326 Allen, D., 140 Allen, H., 32 Allen, J., 209, 336, 340 Ambrose, 225, 287 apostolic (models of) life, 2, 4, 5, 21–23, 31–32, 33, 106, 163–64, 167–69, 213, 303–11, 318, 321–24, 339. See also also minstrels; nonsolicitousness Ashton, J., 156 Aston, M., 58, 59, 62–64, 66, 67, 234 Augustine, 98, 124, 134, 139, 142, 173, 175, 320, 326, 332–34 Ault, W., 131, 238 Avianus, 53 Baker, D., 14, 191, 282, 329, 333, 334, 335, 337 Baldwin, A., 19, 20, 65, 66, 188, 237, 287 Baldwin, J., 135 Ball, John, 37–38, 230, 271, 330 Barney, S., vii, xxiii n1, 33, 43, 194, 195, 250, 340 Barron, C., 40 Bartholomew of Brescia, x, xi, 84 Bataillon, L., 340 Bauer, G., 199, 203 Bayless, M., 144 Bede, 22 beggars, 1–44 passim (esp. 7, 9, 15–16, 22–23, 26, 31–32), 138–39, 167–69, 184–85, 229, 240–41, 242–43, 260–65, 286, 294–97, 302–3, 311–15, 347. See also friars; lollares Bejczy, I., 74 Benedict of Nursia (and his rule), 2, 60, 74, 111– 12, 292. See also monks Bennett, H. 238 Bennett, J., 122, 144 Benson, C., 7 Bernard of Clairvaux, 142, 164, 202, 204–5, 308, 320 Biblical references Gen. 1:26, 176; 1:29–30, 201; 3, 175; 3:16–17, 186; 3:17–19, 186, 266; 3:24, 52; 37:9–10, 343; 41– 47, 343–44

Exod. 20, 196; 20:8–11, 198; 20:9, 232; 20:12, 86; 20:16, 95–96, 198; 20:17, 131; 22:25–27, 125–26; 32:19, 332; 34:29, 193 Levit. 19:13, 191; 19:18, 195; 21:17–21, 319; 23:32, 198; 26:35–37, 125–26 Num. 18:20–24, 35 Deut. 6:5, 195, 196; 8:3, 43; 10:17, 223; 23:25, 131; 24:6, 10–13, 125–26; 24:12–13, 235; 32:35, 265 Josh. 7:19–26, 139 Judges 6:36–38, 205 2 Reg. 6:14–16, 169 Tob. 2:7–9, 156; 3:6, 133 Job 7:9, 117; 31:37, 186; 34:19, 223 Ps. 1:1, 158–59; 5:10–11, 112–13; 6:7, 5, 43; 9A:7, 97; 13:1, 341; 13:3, 95; 14:1, 166, 199, 293; 14:5, 292; 15:5, 36; 17:26, 135; 17:46, 320; 19:8–9, 67; 22:4, 68, 335–36; 22:6, 335; 30:11, 314; 31:1–2, 158–59, 181; 33:20, 338; 35:7–8, 181; 36:25, 314; 36:27, 197; 37:21, 154; 41:4, 5, 338; 44:2, 154–55; 50:3, 8, 134; 50:4, 9, 326; 52:1, 341; 56:5, 95, 97; 67:7, 19, 177; 68:29, 230; 70:5, 14, 20, 180; 70:15, 341; 77:52–53, 183; 84:7, 180; 100:7, 166; 111:1, 158–59; 111:5, 128; 118:1, 195; 127:1, 158–59; 127:2, 268; 139:4, 95; 143:2, 142; 144:9, 136, 142 Prov. 13:24, 55, 57; 19:17, 297; 20:4, 22, 267; 20:21, 22, 36; 22:10, 341; 23:29–35, 145; 23:35, 149; 24:16, 347; 26:11, 148 Eccles. 11:6, 296 Cant. 1:6, 177; 1:11, 202; 4:2, 326 Wis. 6:8, 223; 11:21, 119 Ecclus. 2:14, 208; 5:8, 143; 6:18–20, 188; 12:1, 296; 19:2, 112; 30:1, 55; 35:12–19, 223; 38:2, 292 Isa. 2:4, 188; 5:11, 145; 9:2, 178; 11:2ff., 205–6; 14:4–6, 68; 32:1, 66; 56:10, 324; 58:7, 309 Jer. 5:8, 315; 23:5, 11–12, 66; 31:34, 180 Ezech. 1:10, 267 ps.-Ezech. 33:12, 180 Dan. 2 and 4, 344; 5:28, 344; 7:22, 25, 46–47; 12:12, 178 Hosea 13:3, 205 Zech. 5:5–11, 117; 13:7, 324 Matt. 1:1–17, 267; 4:4, 43; 4:16, 178; 4:18–19, 192; 5:3, 337; 5:6, 213; 6:4, 243; 6:10, 43, 155; 6:19, 132; 6:21, 132; 6:24, 90, 266; 6:25ff., 331, 338; 6:34, 32; 7:12, 294; 7:14, 192, 201; 7:15, 319; 7:23, 70; 7:24–27, 278; 8:20, 338; 9:13, 168, 179; 9:36, 183; 10:8, 192, 294; 10:9, 309; 10:10, 308; 10:19–20, 43; 12:36, 25; 13, 186, 227; 13:3–23, 46, 188; 13:24–30, 239; 13:28–30, 39–42, 251; 13:39, 238; 13:44–46, 46; 14:13–21, 254; 14:17, 254; 14:24–33, 193; 16:17–19, 192; 16:19, 347;

Index of Historical and Modern Works 17, 193; 18:3, 202–3; 19:21, 138; 19:21–22, 193; 19:28, 287, 288; 19:29, 210; 20:1–16, 191, 238; 20:9, 23; 21:33–36, 238; 22:10, 167; 22:14, 332; 22:37–40, 195; 23, 233; 23:2–3, 232; 23:4, 265; 25:8, 22; 25:12, 70; 25:14–30, 267, 326; 25:15, 143; 25:23, 191; 25:31–46, 309; 25:32, 324, 332; 25:35, 219, 309; 25:36, 156, 244, 246, 299; 25:40, 309, 324; 25:41, 70, 327; 25:46, 327, 332; 26:31, 334; 26:33–35, 69–75, 193; 26:41, 161; 26:51–52, 193; 28:19–20, 306 Mark 4:26–29, 186; 14:27, 324; 14:37–38, 322, 323; 16:9, 178; 16:15–18, 306 Luke 1:28, 202; 1:69, 180; 3:10, 219; 5:8, 193; 5:32, 179; 6:25, 165; 6:26, 164–65; 6:30, 261, 296; 6:35, 125–26; 7:42, 139; 9–10, 31, 303–4; 9:3, 32, 308–9; 9:4, 309; 9:62, 188, 190–91, 208; 10:2, 14, 31, 215; 10:4, 32, 184, 223–24, 309; 10:5–7, 31; 10:7, 32, 246, 309; 10:7–8, 31; 10:16, 169; 12:22, 338; 13:27, 70; 14:10, 225; 14:12–24, 8, 152, 167, 170, 208–9, 225, 244, 309; 14:21, 242; 14:26, 210; 15:8–10, 46; 15:11–32, 46; 15:14–17, 255; 15:17, 149; 16, 22–23, 31, 46–47, 159, 191; 16:2, 2, 14, 21, 128, 234, 326, 347; 16:3, 9, 22, 23; 16:4, 31; 16:9, 266, 289; 16:13, 266; 16:19–31, 269, 270; 17:21, 203; 19:12–27, 267, 297, 326; 19:36, 287; 21:1–4, 89; 21:34, 111–12; 22:35, 308–9; 22:42, 43; 23:33, 141; 23:42, 140; 23:44, 177 John 1:4–10, 177; 1:14, 179; 1:18, 179; 4:16, 176; 4:34, 43; 4:36, 14–15; 5:29, 329; 6:5–10, 254; 8:12, 335; 8:34, 134; 9:4, 232; 10:1–16, 321; 12:6, 13:29, 184; 12:48, 169; 13:34, 70; 14:2–3, 291; 14:5–6, 215; 14:9–10, 175; 14:12–13, 203; 14:17, 203; 15:1–11, 238; 16:13–15, 173; 16:23, 203; 20:14, 178; 20:15, 186; 21:15–17, 213–14 Acts 1:8, 306; 2:14–36, 38, 193, 219; 3:1–11, 307; 4:7, 192–93; 4:13, 192–93, 305, 307; 4:34–35, 35; 8:18–24, 41; 9:32–42, 307; 10:34, 223; 11:19–30, 306; 12:4–17, 15; 13:14–49; 14:7–10, 307; 20:9–12, 307; 26:24, 305 Rom. 2:2, 6, 8, 27; 3:13, 95; 8:15, 111; 12:17, 36; 12:19, 265; 13:7, 139; 15:4, 102 1 Cor. 1:18–24, 282; 1:20–21, 305; 3:16–17, 203; 3:18, 310; 3:19, 305; 7:20, 30; 13:12, 336; 15:44– 46, 215; 16:13, 161 2 Cor. 3:6, 328; 9:6–7, 261 Gal. 1:10, 90; 3:24, 195; 4:4, 177; 6:2, 170, 264; 6:10, 213, 232 Eph. 4:1, 30; 4:8–9, 177; 6:11, 226; 6:14–17, 141 Philip. 4:6, 338 Col. 3:3, 311; 3:14–15, 203 1 Thes. 5:15, 36

373

2 Thes. 3:8–10, 229, 252 1 Tim. 6:8, 297 2 Tim. 2:3–7, 188 Heb. 6:11–12, 102 James 1:25, 330; 1:27, 167; 5:7, 103, 188 1 Pet. 3:9, 36; 5:8, 113 2 Pet. 2:19, 133–34; 2:21, 208 1 John 3:17, 261; 4:16, 170 Apoc. 3:5, 230; 4:7, 267; 6:7–8, 279; 12:7–8, 291; 14:15, 14–15, 131, 215, 238; 21:1, 53–54; 21–22, 199; 21:21, 22:2, 206 Binski, P., 128 Bishop, I., 203, 206–7, 209–10 Bishop, L., 233, 246–47 bishops, 287–88, 307–8, 310–11, 321–27 the Blessed Virgin, 113, 114, 120, 201–2, 205, 207, 208, 348 Bloch, H., x Bloomfield, M., xv, 60, 65, 66, 73–74, 76, 123, 144, 199, 277, 305, 333 Blythe, J., 75 Bonaventura, 306, 308, 340 Boniface of Savoy, 230 Bowers, J., 3, 10, 153, 342 Brett, C., 242 Brewer, C., xviii Brinton, Thomas, 52, 60, 330 Bromyard, John, 52 Brundage, J., 135 Bullock-Davies, C., 32, 169, 171, 308 Burdach, K., 15, 185, 329 Burnley, D., 221 Burrow, J., 2, 5, 25, 43, 48–49, 50, 51, 71, 80, 151– 52, 174, 190, 207, 214, 238, 280, 281, 326, 328, 329, 330, 346 But, John, 201 Bynum, C., 110 Camille, M., 186, 187, 188, 274 canon law: general reference, 159; Gratian, Decretum, 34, 38, 63, 64, 71, 98, 125, 126–27, 165–66, 173, 231, 233, 262, 294; Decretales (“of Gregory IX”), 111, 127, 155, 164, 230–31; Sext, 127, 141; Clementinae, 127; Extravagantes, 330 Canterbury (and Thomas Becket), 193 Carnegy, F., 332 Carruthers, M., 76–77, 188, 209, 282, 285, 332, 345 “Cato,” the Disticha, 133–34, 159, 295, 342 CAYM, 68 Cerquiligni-Toulet, J., 194 Chambers, R., 147, 332

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Chaucer, Geoffrey: references in the main showing congruent examples of social satire, 53, 54, 57, 60, 61, 62, 71, 74, 77, 88, 89, 95, 105, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 114, 115, 117, 123, 125, 129, 132, 153, 157, 168, 171, 194, 224, 278, 315, 342; on dreams, xiv, 347; the Pardoner as image of Will, 9, 144, 146, 280; lollares and “The Man of Law’s Endlink,” 11–13; Will and the Clerk, 29; the poor widow of “The Nun’s Priest’s Tale,” 118, 301–2; the Plowman, 191 Chester, 158. See also Ranulf Chichele, Henry, 121 Cicero, 37, 300 circumstances (of sin), 77, 115 Clanchy, M., 119, 234 Clay, R., 34 “clergy” and clerical status (including Will’s “hereditas”), 2, 5, 8–9, 10, 19, 21, 22–23, 28, 34, 35–38, 46–47, 57–69, 104–13, 134, 152, 158, 207, 218, 229, 243–47, 268, 276–77, 281, 322, 323–24, 327, 329–31, 339–41 Clopper, L., 14, 31, 42, 67, 105, 162, 169, 229, 306 clothing, 9–10, 54–55, 61, 82, 93–95, 117, 133, 176– 77, 183–85, 218–19, 226–27, 299, 303, 308–9, 311–12, 318–19 Coghill, N., 117, 144, 186, 260, 282, 285, 334 Cole, A., 10–12 Coleman, J., 16, 333 Colledge, E., 242 confession, the oral second part of sacramental penance, 73–161 passim Conscience, 13–14, 33, 41–42, 43–44, 69, 195, 220, 225–26, 239, 259, 320–21, 325, 339–40, 344 Constantine the Great, 67 contrition, the first part of sacramental penance, 22, 80–81, 92, 93, 201, 281, 323; involving Piers alone, 186–87, 334–40, 346 Cornelius, R., 199 Crowley, Robert, xviii–xix, 64 Crowned King, 69 Courtenay, W., 291 Culler, J., 183–84 Cursor Mundi, 25, 77, 81, 140, 163 Daichman, G., 108, 109 Daley, A., 272 Daniel, 166–67, 343 Dante, 115, 182 David, psalmist and king, 25, 169, 180, 287, 314, 338 d’Avray, D., 49 Day, M., 3, 177, 260

Death and Life, 329 de Hamel, C., 33 Deskis, S., 24 despair. See wanhope Dismas, 139–40 Dobson, E., 242 Donaldson, E., xxi, 3, 8–9, 12, 32, 33, 47–48, 87, 100, 167, 171 Donatus, 121 Donne, John, 84 Doob, P., 303 Dowell, 172, 186, 282, 344–46 the dreamer: passim, but particularly central at 1–48, 276–78, 297–328, 337, 339, 341–48. See also 77, 78–80, 84–86, 243 Duffy, E. 33 Duggan, H., xv Dunning, T., 50, 73, 185, 203, 204, 284, 330, 332, 347 Dyer, C., 118, 171, 188, 227, 241, 243, 254, 256, 258, 271, 274, 300, 301, 302 Ekwall, E., 123 Emmerson, R., 277, 342 excommunication. See “The Great Curse” Fairchild, H., 242 the family and its responsibility of obedience, 7–8, 25–26, 54–57, 68, 86, 196–97, 202–3, 207, 217, 231–36, 283, 313–15, 320 fields (both “fair field” and Piers’s half acre), 46, 48–49, 132, 194, 215, 216, 221–22, 336. See also labor; Piers Plowman Fitzralph, Richard, 105, 158, 167, 235, 309 Fletcher, A., 17, 56, 99, 101, 225 food (including feasting and meals in hall), 20– 21, 26, 43, 118, 149, 160, 163, 166, 200, 203, 210, 211–79 passim, 336–37, 342 Fortunatus, 287 Fowler, A., 114 Fowler, D., 100–101, 105, 284 Francis and Franciscans. See friars Frank, R., 130, 213, 220, 264, 271, 272, 278, 282, 329, 341 “Friar Daw’s Reply,” 167, 185, 271, 346 friars, 9–10, 67, 68–69, 70, 94, 104–8, 132–33, 134, 158, 166, 167–69, 184–85, 229, 245, 255–56, 256– 57, 263–64, 299, 304–6, 307, 308, 309, 311, 318– 19, 321, 325, 331, 333, 339 Friedman, J., 20 Friedman, L., 114

Index of Historical and Modern Works Galloway, A., vii, xxiii n1, 28, 30, 33, 46, 157, 203, 239, 277 Gasse, R., 268 Geoffrey of Monmouth, 277–78 Gillespie, V., 43 Given-Wilson, C., 47 glossa ordinaria, xiii glossarial notes, 11–12 (lollare), 19 (mywen), 34 (lewed Ermyte), 40 (sopar), 45–46 (leef), 68 (nese), 110 (yparroked), 149 (aspele), 170–71 (geste), 225 (manliche/nameliche), 227 (plouhpote), 248 (pisse), 257 (lowede), 258 (pynnes), 265 (nou9ty), 319–20 (lollen), 324 (bringeth forth, tripe), 338 (beloure, belou9). See also textual suggestions Godden, M., 21, 28, 32, 42, 43, 44, 76, 210, 268, 282 Goodridge, J., 332 Gospel of Nicodemus, 139–40, 178 Gower, John, 49, 65 G/grace, 4, 26, 44–45, 52, 70, 78–79, 91, 108, 117– 18, 119, 122–23, 189, 192, 201, 205, 206, 243, 285, 332–36, 346, 348 Gradon, P., 10 Grady, F., 9 Gratian, x, xi. See also canon law Grattan, J., 147 Gray, N., 73, 130, 142, 143, 144, 148, 166 “The Great Curse,” 120, 126, 157, 160, 235 Green, R., 163 Gregory the Great, 60, 61, 74, 75, 93, 186, 231, 241, 296 Grosseteste, Robert: Casteau d’amour, 199; Templum Domini, 203 Gurevich, A., 291, 305 Hamilton, A., 187 Hanawalt, B., 20, 38, 55–56, 131, 144, 188, 216, 218, 224, 235, 236, 238, 241, 254, 258, 262, 270, 271, 272, 273, 290, 299–300, 301–2, 314 Hanna, R., vii, ix, xix, xxii, 5, 7, 13, 25, 28, 32, 34, 60, 112, 135, 137, 145, 159, 162, 168, 179, 228, 245, 270, 282, 290, 312, 330 Harding, A., 35, 269 harvest (mainly figurative uses), 14–15, 18–20, 31, 131, 186, 215–16, 238, 272–73, 278. See also labor Hatcher, J., 314 Heale, M., 58 Heist, W., 53 Hereford, Nicholas, 59, 62, 64 hermits, 7, 9–11, 13, 24, 28, 32, 34, 60, 311–13, 316– 20. See also lollares

375

Hewett-Smith, K., 213 Hewitt, H., 157 Hill, M., 311 Hill, T., 24, 178, 263 Hilton, R., 188 Hinnebusch, W., 51 Hoccleve, Thomas, 22 Hoffman, A., 218 Holford-Strevens, L., xiii Homans, G., 19–20, 187, 188, 191, 216, 238, 274 Horn, Andrew, 67 Hort, G., 139, 202 Howard, D., 187 Hudson, A., 10, 11–12, 36, 48, 64, 71, 105, 197, 235, 262 Hunger, 211–12, 251, 252–72, 314, 324 Huppe´, B., xv, 174, 183, 213, 232, 255 Husain, B., 157 Hutton, R., 157 Imaginative, 3, 8, 17, 21, 24, 31, 34, 37, 44, 47, 51, 52, 140, 183, 233, 318, 339, 347 Innocent III (Lothario de Segni), 53, 62, 225, 319 Jack Upland, 28, 49, 167, 185 Jacques de Vitry, 295 Jenkins. See Martin Jerome, 38, 46, 63, 71, 148, 173, 178, 296, 297, 319 John of Wales, 49 Johnson, W., 319, 320 Joseph, 166–67, 343–44 Justice, S., xv, 20, 38 Kane, G., xviii, xix, xxii, 3, 4, 12, 123 Kaske, R., 60, 112, 147, 213 Kean, M., 295 Keen, M., 156 Kellogg, A. 175 Kerby-Fulton, K., 49, 53, 65, 66, 67, 68, 78, 218, 229, 277, 304, 305 King, A., 187 King, D., 219 Kirk, E., 51, 73, 76, 78, 113, 124, 151, 173, 187, 188, 191, 216, 255, 282, 332–33, 345 Klibansky, R. et al., 278 Knight, S., 156 knighthood, 24, 40, 221–26, 247–50 Knott, T., 284 Knowles, D., 41 Knowles, J., 19 Kolve, V., 341

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labor (most normally conceived as plowing or other fieldwork), 7, 9, 12, 14–16, 18–23, 25, 32– 33, 35, 38, 47, 189, 211–23, 226–27, 236–40, 294, 298, 336–37, 346. See also nonsolicitousness; beggars; statutes Ladd, R., 116 Lambert, M., 133, 166, 184–85, 255–56, 306, 308, 309 Langholm, O., 127 Lawler, T., vii, xviii, 45, 53, 57, 60, 100, 105, 133, 134, 174, 187, 194, 282, 296, 327, 329, 332, 334, 338 Lawlor, J., 282 Lawton, D., 10, 22, 71, 79, 228, 332 learning and literacy, 22–23, 27–30, 33–34, 36–37, 118–20, 189, 192–93, 193–94, 234, 327, 339–41 Leff, G., 168, 255–56, 307, 308, 309, 333 Le Goff, J., 25 Leicester, H., 9 Lerner, R., 178 Levey, S., 219 Lewis, C., ix Liar, 77 Lister, R., 216, 258 Lloyd, T., 132 Lollard texts, 10, 42, 57, 59, 61–65 passim, 71, 94, 107, 128, 134, 135, 146, 157, 158, 164, 166, 222, 233, 235, 242, 257, 290 lollare(s), 9–12, 22, 23, 26, 32, 60, 172, 311–13, 319–20 London, 5–6, 13, 16, 30–31, 48, 87, 123, 132, 145– 46, 160, 183, 189, 250, 341 Lorens of Orleans, Somme le roi, 74, 120, 162, 186, 205–6, 228, 238 “lunatic lollares,” 41, 303–11. See also labor; poverty Lupack, A., 241 Macrobius, 342, 343 Malvern Hills, 6, 48, 112, 147, 341 Manly, J., 100–101, 102, 116 Mann, J., xviii, 22, 43, 50, 54–55, 57, 60, 62, 75, 88, 105, 108, 109, 129, 199, 223, 252, 338 Manning, Robert, 25, 77, 80, 127, 139, 146, 163, 342 Manuscripts: Cambridge University Library, MS Ff.1.14, 340; MS Ii.6.26, 164; London, The British Library, MS Egerton 613, 330; Oxford, St. John’s College, MS 94, 340 Marchand, J. 180 Martin, P., 13, 25, 42, 282, 337 Martin of Lie`ge, 133 Mary. See Blessed Virgin

Matheson, L., 8 Matthews, W., 115 McGinn, B., 148 Meiss, M., 52–53 Menner, R., 20 merchants, 118–36 passim, 286, 288–89 mercy and works of mercy, 4, 37, 52, 91, 120, 128, 134, 136, 139, 141–42, 156, 174–81 passim, 192, 194, 199, 206, 217, 221–22, 224, 244, 250–51, 259, 261–63, 299, 307, 309, 346, 348 metaphor, 5, 32, 120, 144, 151–52, 163–64, 167–73, 183, 206–7, 211, 214, 226–27, 234–35, 239, 250– 51, 259–61, 272, 283, 299 Middleton, A., vii, xiv, xvi, 2, 6–7, 8, 10, 12, 14, 17, 18, 22–23, 29, 37, 38, 41, 43, 44, 45, 46, 100, 137–38, 139, 148, 183, 189, 190, 253, 328, 330–31, 345 Millett, B., 43 Minnis, A., 282 minstrels, 4, 12–13, 17, 24, 32, 35, 145, 152, 162–73, 207, 228, 230, 248, 308, 310–11 Mirk, John, 77, 146, 254 Mollat, M., 145, 241, 264, 265, 271, 290, 295, 298– 99, 300, 302 “the monk of Evesham,” 66 monks, 40–41, 43–44, 57–69, 111–13, 245, 292 Moses, 37, 332 Mroczkowski, P., 185, 286 “Mum and the Sothsegger,” 8, 17, 34, 36, 56, 64, 195, 230, 242, 245, 271, 276, 328, 339, 342, 347 Muscatine, C., xv Mustanoja, T., 8, 56 natural disaster, 52–54, 276–79 Newhauser, R., 74, 75 Nicholas of Clairvaux, 60 Nightingale, P., 40, 132 Noonan, J., 128 nonsolicitousness, 4, 35–36, 41, 42, 90, 105, 138– 39, 176, 210, 213, 256, 281–82, 292, 305, 312, 336– 39. See also friars; labor Norfolk, 123 Norton-Smith, J., 278 nuns, 108–9, 111 O’Connor, S., 40 Ohlgren, T., 156 Oliphant, R., 146 Orsten, E., 60 Overstreet, S., 119, 186 Ovid, 218, 253, 259

Index of Historical and Modern Works Owst, G., 49, 54, 56, 62, 98, 109, 132, 144, 161, 164, 185, 199, 214, 228, 343

Putnam, B., 35, 39, 250, 258, 275 Puttenham, George, 64

Pantin, W., 40, 41 pardon, 280–321, 327–48 Parkes, M., 234 “The Parlement of the Thre Ages,” 116–17 Patience, 26, 32, 36, 41, 43, 80, 102, 104, 106, 111, 138, 172, 200, 203, 206, 226, 254, 277, 303, 323, 326, 330, 341 “patient poverty” (or penitential poverty). See nonsolicitousness Paul, St., 304, 306, 307 Pearl, 14, 46, 191, 196, 199, 238, 258, 279, 342 Pearsall, D., xx, 10–12, 295, 300, 305 Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, 12, 40, 139, 330 penance, 5, 17, 20, 22, 39, 41, 42–43, 46, 48–49, 330. See also contrition; confession; pardon; Piers Plowman; pilgrimage; satisfaction Peraldus, William, 143, 162 Peter Lombard, x Peter of Blois, 60 Peter the Chanter, 173, 295, 338 Peter Comestor, 296 Piehler, P., 13 Piers Plowman (character), including references to St. Peter, 11, 12, 15, 18, 38, 41, 44, 46, 68–69, 79, 103, 185–266 passim (esp. 185–88, 192–93, 193–94, 223, 254), 280–83, 303, 306, 307, 312–13, 322–24, 330–41, 343–44, 346 “Pierce the Ploughman’s Crede,” 39, 94, 109, 117, 118, 185, 188, 218, 255, 257, 284, 303 pilgrimage, 70–71, 123, 131, 140–41, 151–52, 161–62, 181–212, 214–16, 226–27, 233–34, 259, 282, 284, 336 The Pilgrimage of the Lyf of the Manhode, 2, 20, 37, 51, 73, 75, 81, 95, 100, 108, 119, 148, 150, 164, 180–81, 209, 226, 338 plowing. See labor; pilgrimage Plucknett, T., 58 Polak, L., 71 Post, G. et al., 294 poverty, the poor and destitute, 12, 20–21, 138– 39, 163–64, 167–73, 212, 219–20, 226, 240–41, 244, 246, 264–66, 270, 286, 290–91, 294–95, 298–311, 315–16 Prescott, A., 129 The Prick of Conscience, 25, 34, 53–54, 142, 178, 195, 199, 200, 204, 224–25, 288, 291, 326, 332, 336 Prudentius, 74, 103–4

Quinell, Peter, 115

377

Rackham, B., 187 Ranulf, earl of Chester, 156–57 Raymund of Penyaforte, 43, 126–27 Reason, 12–14, 17–21, 24, 27, 44, 50, 52, 134, 174, 275–76, 322, 324, 326, 329, 344 Recklessness, 13, 24, 42, 44, 57, 117, 155, 205, 210, 311, 329 reeves, 2, 21–23, 31, 38, 44–45, 58, 80–81, 128, 159, 166, 191, 192, 234, 237, 239–40, 266, 326–27, 347 (associated with command “Redd(it)e” and thus with accounts, debts, and restitution) Repentance, 73, 80, 84–161 passim (esp. 116, 124– 36), 173–81 restitution, 116, 120, 122–23, 124–42, 289–91 “Richard the Redeless,” 56, 222, 223, 325 Richardson, H., 12, 246, 339 Richardson, M. 123 Rigg, A., 123 Robertson, D., xv, 9, 115–16, 174, 183, 213, 232, 255 Rolle, Richard, 168 Le Roman de la rose, 33, 229, 233, 245, 253, 263– 64, 342 Rouse, R. and M., xx Rubin, M., 262 Russell, G., viii, 73, 77, 79 Samuels, M., 6 Sargent, M., 11 satire, 12–13, 37–41, 42–43, 276–79, 321–27 satisfaction, the third part of sacramental penance, 161–62, 280, 284. See also pilgrimage Saul, N., 225 Scase, W., xix, 10, 12, 13, 35, 59, 66, 105–6, 125, 132, 167, 242, 295 Schmidt, A., xxi–xxii, 14, 25, 50, 81, 125, 162, 163– 64, 224, 242, 291, 296, 332, 338, 340 Schroeder. See Carruthers Scott, A., 5, 262, 305 Scott, K., 112, 184 Scripta Leonis, 133, 168, 255, 306, 308, 309 Seneca (the younger), 37 Serlo of Wilton, 142 Shepherd, G., 170, 242, 258, 260, 286–87, 295 Skeat, W., viii, ix, x, xv, xvii–iii, xix Simpson, J., 13, 14, 65, 222, 237, 251, 329, 332, 333, 334–35, 336, 338, 341

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sins, the Seven Deadly, 73–173, 204–6, 228 Sledd, J., 39 Smith, V., xi–xii, 45, 241, 289 Solomon, 57, 267 “The Song of the Husbandman,” 188, 220, 223, 272, 278 Southern, R., 62 Spearing, A., 109, 250 Speculum Vitae, 25, 74, 129, 163–64, 186, 228, 229, 242, 263, 269–70, 326 Spencer, H., 118 Spencer, H. L., 49 Spenser, Edmund, 187, 207 Spes, 289 Stanley, E., 122 statutes, 2, 6; Statute of Westminster II 1285, 58; Assise of bread and ale, 273–74; abortive sumptuary legislation 1363, 54, 219; Statute of Laborers 1388, 2–44 passim, 257, 275; other promulgations of Ordinance and Statute of Laborers (and 1377 Commons petition), 14, 15–16, 17, 18, 24, 27, 32, 34, 191, 212–13, 221, 222, 232, 237, 240–41, 241–42, 248, 250, 257, 258, 261, 273, 275, 313; other statutes, 63, 121, 137–38 Steadman, J., 74 Steiner, E., 233, 289 stewards. See reeves Stock, L., 239 Stokes, M., 49, 52, 54, 73, 99, 102, 147, 154, 174, 193, 195, 214, 227, 234, 268, 283, 328–29 Strohm, P., 54 Sutton, A., 132 Swanson, J., 49 Swanson, R., xxiv, 49, 58, 67 Szittya, P., 105, 229, 233 Tamplin, R., 189 Tarvers, J., 340 the tavern, 16–17, 24–25, 144–46, 239, 241 Tavormina, T., 67, 231 Tawney, R. 125–26, 127, 128, 129, 130, 141 textual suggestions (including adjustments to punctuation), 17, 20–21, 30, 38–39, 72, 90, 98, 121–22, 48, 128, 132, 142, 157, 159, 216, 249, 259– 60, 263, 265, 267, 270, 276, 293, 313, 336. See also glossarial notes Thiery, D., 109 Thomas Aquinas, 126, 241 Thomas of Chobham, 130, 166, 173 Thomas of Ireland, xx Thomson, J., 236, 263, 290–91, 301 Thornley, E., 3

Thrupp, S., 40 Tierney, B., 15, 231, 262–63, 293 time(s) (including sabbatarianism), 14, 24–26, 46–47, 115, 144–45, 149, 158, 183, 198, 224, 232, 236, 238, 268 Tobit, 171 Toswell, M., 148 Tout, T., 51 Trower, K., 213, 219, 238, 259, 272, 278 Troyer, H., 185, 192 Tuck, J., 16, 28, 35 Turville-Petre, T., xix, 162, 163 Tuve, R., 74, 206 Udalric of Cluny, 175 Unity, 80–81, 195, 199, 229, 249, 258, 304, 334 Usk, Thomas, 87 Vale, M., 235 Virgil, 103, 257 Vitae patrum, 60, 318 von Nolcken, C., 10 Wailes, S., 22 Waldeby, John, 202 Walsh, K., 105 Walsingham, Thomas, 66 Walter of England, 213, 215, 247, 252 wanhope, xv, 5, 76, 79, 136–42, 162, 172–73, 291, 334 Warner, L., xix “wasters,” 18, 42, 54, 137–38, 149, 211–12, 216, 232, 239, 243, 247–48, 273, 294–97, 336–37 Watson, N., 334 Welshmen, 137–38 Wenzel, S., xxiii, 60, 71, 74, 75, 76, 114, 116, 137, 142, 147, 157, 162, 177, 179, 195, 209 Westminster, 6, 183, 189 Wheatley, E., 213, 252 Whitaker, T., xviii–xix Wieck, R., 33 Whitworth, C., 43, 51 whore’s tithe, 135, 228, 230–31 Wilcockson, C., 143 Wilks, M., 59 Will. See the dreamer William de Montibus, 331 William of St. Thierry, 148 Williams, A., 257 Wimbledon, Thomas, 2, 14, 21, 23, 28, 30, 49–50, 60, 61, 64, 117, 225 Winchelsey, Robert, 230

Index of Historical and Modern Works Winchester, A., 325 Winner and Waster, 5, 7, 29, 88, 117, 118, 130, 144, 157, 182–83, 190, 241, 249, 267, 273, 285, 315 Wittig, J., 4 Wolstan de Bransford, 8 women and their work, 122, 300 Wood, S., xix, 42, 43, 69, 101, 172 Wood-Legh, K., 10, 67

379

Woolf, R., 78, 179, 282, 283, 284, 285–86, 327–28, 329, 332, 333, 335, 342 Wurtele, D., 164 Wycliffe, John and Wycliffite ideas. See Hereford; Lollard Zieman, K., xvi “Z Version,” xix

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary

The Commentary routinely follows a parallel-text model; thus all discussions directly addressing the poem’s lines and their development across the three authorial versions appear in the expected numerical order. This is predicated on RK’s lineation of the C Version, and discussions referring to parallel discussions in A or B no longer part of C are intercalated at the appropriate points. This index, then, is primarily devoted to cross-references, places where the Commentary engages with points analogous to or supporting various local discussions. The primary index here cites simply the lineation of the C Version; passages absent from C but appearing in A and B appear in a subsidiary list “The B Version” (as do passages unique to B). Passages unique to A follow in a list “The A Version,” and a final list groups the few references here to the non-authorial “Z Version.” The C Version Prol. generally, 280 Prol.1–4, 3, 10, 318 Prol.2, 249 Prol.3, 9 Prol.4–5, 184 Prol.5, 6 Prol.6–9, 14, 341 Prol.14–21, 194 Prol.15, 77 Prol.19–21, 215–16 Prol.21, 182, 215 Prol.22–26, 16, 187, 217, 286 Prol.24, 54, 162, 273 Prol.27–32, 66, 316 Prol.30–32, 245 Prol.35–40, 12 Prol.36, 17 Prol.38, 200 Prol.40, 173 Prol.41–46, 16, 31, 160, 229, 294, 302

Prol.43, 26 Prol.44, 242 Prol.45, 139, 228 Prol.47–50, 70–71, 183 Prol.51, 141, 184 Prol.52, 7, 123, 184 Prol.53–55, 9, 23, 255, 256–57, 313 Prol.59, 9 Prol.59–62, 311 Prol.61–62, 133 Prol.62, 64, 107 Prol.62–65, 39 Prol.66–80, 345 Prol.68–73, 209 Prol.77, 289 Prol.78, 310 Prol.81–84, 57, 63 Prol.81–94, 39 Prol.82, 53 Prol.83, 105 Prol.89, 158 Prol.90–94, 38

Prol.95–124, 59, 69 Prol.96–104, 321, 325 Prol.109–17, 55, 66 Prol.118–24, 13, 39, 321 Prol.125–27, 158 Prol.125–38, 42, 52, 70, 347 Prol.128–33, 189 Prol.132, 201 Prol.138, 225 Prol.139–59, 69, 211, 216–17, 221, 226 Prol.141–42, 66, 220 Prol.143, 57 Prol.143–46, 18, 21, 187, 189, 214, 217, 226, 267–68 Prol.147, 47 Prol.147–218, 221 Prol.149–51, 295 Prol.153–59, 69, 293 Prol.155, 227 Prol.161–64, 70 Prol.162–70, 170, 183 Prol.167–219, 240, 276, 330

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary Prol.185ff., 224 Prol.211, 203 Prol.214, 231 Prol.223, 274 Prol.230, 275 1.4, 194 1.5, 81 1.5–8, 194 1.13–16, 21, 77, 175 1.17–18, 293 1.17–40, 111, 217, 220 1.18, 250 1.20–24, 218, 313 1.24–29, 25, 114 1.25ff., 244 1.30, 83 1.33, 337 1.34–40, 337 1.36–40, 203, 204 1.43–53, 46 1.45, 29 1.50–53, 38, 54 1.55, 197 1.73–75, 86, 196 1.76–80, 3, 20 1.79–87, 46, 176 1.80, 45 1.81, 69 1.84–87, 18, 143 1.90–106, 40, 222–23, 249–50, 252, 287 1.103–10, 60 1.104–29, 69 1.111–19, 198 1.116, 13 1.118–32, 268 1.123–24, 267 1.129–35, 194, 329 1.134, 163, 345 1.136, 46, 69, 182 1.138–44, 17, 20, 84, 334 1.140L, 160 1.141–43, 83, 182 1.143, 195, 196 1.143L, 133 1.146, 69 1.146–58, 175 1.149–50, 178 1.155–58, 348 1.156, 239 1.158, 224

1.159–64, 189, 203 1.160–61, 83 1.171–74L, 171 1.185, 22, 70 1.186–96, 63, 203 1.197, 202, 345 1.197–203, 283 1.200, 195, 202 1.202, 46, 69 2.4, 197 2.5, 198 2.9 (et seq.), 54, 218 2.17, 55 2.20–21, 95–96 2.24–29L, 25 2.24–42, 38 2.31–38, 90 2.42–46ff., 233 2.51–52 (and 19–42), 13, 239, 295 2.52, 189 2.53, 194 2.58, 183 2.63–66, 287 2.65–66, 41 2.69–71, 77, 270 2.70, 226 2.84–87, 195, 289 2.87, 55, 86, 196 2.87–108, 73, 76 2.88 and 91, 100 2.90, 333 2.93–95, 124, 183 2.96, 114 2.100–102, 143 2.103–4, 145 2.110, 289 2.111–13, 183 2.114, 56 2.114, 6 2.115, 146 2.116, 241, 279 2.148–203, 6, 194 2.159, 325 2.175–80, 226 2.175–93, 110 2.187–94, 325 2.201–2, 119 2.210, 129 2.220, 251 2.220–24, 226

2.224–27, 119 2.225–42, 77, 270 2.230ff., 209 2.236, 289 2.238–39, 145 2.240–41, 13, 311 2,246–51, 66, 251 2.171–252, 183 2.190, 325 2.220–51, 208 3 generally, 95, 259 3.11, 107 3.38–76, 81 3.53–54, 158 3.55–62, 109 3.57, 55, 325 3.58, 13 3.67, 209 3.68–76, 89 3.77–126, 132, 289, 347 3.79, 56 3.80–114, 122 3.90–107, 160 3.121–24, 54 3.130, 249 3.137, 17 3.155–56, 239 3.162–71, 55 3.188–90L, 25, 55 3.196–97, 159 3.215, 347 3.231, 129 3.235–69, 223 3.236–64, 70 3.286–406L, 69, 171, 189 3.287, 129 3.292–303, 292 3.293–310, 191 3.297–98, 128 3.301–2, 135 3.313, 120, 124, 289 3.314–31, 320–21 3.356 and 402, 176, 179 3.378–85, 66 3.416, 25, 55 3.435, 187 3.437–38, 52 3.441–42, 65 3.443–44, 191–92 3.451–53, 461–62, 187, 220, 221–22, 271, 293

381

382

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary

3.452–63, 50 3.462–63, 25, 218 3.464–65, 33 3.477–81, 277 3.484–500, 341 4.5, 52 4.17–23, 197 4.27, 347 4.45–104, 189 4.51, 121 4.54, 139 4.55–57 and 61, 129, 154, 235 4.58 and 62, 247 4.74, 178 4.83–89, 146–47 4.103–8, 174 4.108–31, 50, 91, 276, 322, 329 4.111, 54 4.116, 61 4.120–24, 206 4.122–24, 71, 182 4.125–30, 15 4.131–32, 174, 322 4.134–46, 135, 174 4.140–45, 91, 329 4.144, 27, 50, 187, 221, 272 4.145, 328–29 4.155, 224 4.158–61, 55 4.176–78, 49 4.184–86, 14, 51 4.189, 289 4.189–94, 338 4.190, 325 4.194, 128 5.1–104 or 108, ix, 1, 9, 21, 39, 45, 79–80, 86, 116, 144, 153, 165, 181, 212, 213, 276, 282, 305, 310, 316, 331, 337 5.1, 31 5.1–11, 4, 5–6, 7 5.2, 23, 27, 30, 75, 95, 209, 229, 280, 300, 303, 304, 311, 317, 319 5.3, 5, 6, 1, 10 5.4, 3, 28 5.5, 87, 157, 179, 265, 321, 324 5.5–9, 89 5.6, 4 5.7, 4, 23, 27, 45, 272

5.7–8, 2, 6, 14, 21, 26, 190 5.8, 8, 154 5.9, 5, 12, 21, 144, 145 5.10, xxiii, 29 5.11, 3, 5, 12, 36, 39, 42, 44, 78– 79, 84, 110, 118, 131, 141, 202 5.12, 8, 28, 190 5.12–21, 14, 15, 16, 27, 32, 38, 189 5.16–17, 223 5.21, 23, 24 5.22–25, 2, 9, 14, 18, 24, 26, 27, 38, 45, 128, 155, 159, 191, 243, 266, 267, 289, 326 5.24, 6 5.26, 23, 31, 207 5.26–27, 222 5.28, 5, 14, 17, 27, 44, 54, 149, 163, 232, 293 5.29–30, 2, 22, 23, 44, 321 5.30, 25, 47, 115 5.32, 139 5.32L, 23 5.33–34, 20, 23, 24, 244 5.33–36, 243 5.35–44, 2, 6, 16, 19, 30, 37, 55, 86, 90, 119, 170, 190, 253, 318 5.35–52, 17 5.35–67, 10 5.36, 2, 291 5.37–39, 29 5.41, 9, 255 5.43, 60 5.43L, 2, 46, 50 5.44, 28, 259 5.45–52, 2, 10, 22, 28, 45, 171, 243, 291, 302 5.45–47, 23, 235, 312 5.48–52, 15, 32 5.48–67, 21 5.49–50, 321 5.52, 19, 24, 169, 172, 184 5.53–60L, 2, 18, 244 5.54, 24, 28 5.54–67, 19, 318 5.56, 9 5.57, 17, 31 5.58, 62 5.59–60, 9 5.60L, 46 5.61–69, 11, 15, 18, 26, 35, 276– 77, 323

5.63–65, 255 5.64, 24 5.65–69, 25, 315 5.68, 28 5.70, 39–40 5.70–81, 42, 52, 323 5.72–75, 67 5.76–79, 3, 24, 44, 61 5.82, 158 5.83, 14 5.83–88, 43, 242 5.84, 5, 8, 18, 21, 22, 33, 48, 77, 155, 243 5.86–88, 2, 26, 44, 48, 155, 204 5.89, 44 5.89–91, 2, 16, 23, 29, 52, 243, 320–21 5.91, 30, 32, 36, 89, 321 5.92–101, 77, 78–79, 173, 202, 238, 267 5.94–98L, 17, 22, 344 5.94–101, 17, 24, 31, 54, 318–19 5.98L, 2, 15, 45, 132, 152 5.100–101, 14, 45, 318 5.103–4, 43 5.104, 30 5.105, 26 5.105–8, 41, 153, 163 5.105–11, 81, 342 5.110, 6, 45, 47 5.111–200, 5, 13 5.112–13, 13 5.113, 6 5.115, 53, 276 5.115–22, xi, 103, 278 5.118, 83 5.123, 48 5.126–27, 24, 45 5.128, 8, 82 5.128–29, 84 5.128–39L, 66, 69, 86, 218, 232 5.130, 82, 99 5.133, 110 5.134–39L, 320 5.136–39L, 203 5.139, 267 5.139L, 55 5.140–45, 52, 225, 251, 288 5.141–42, 70 5.143–67, 108 5.146–79, 3, 36, 50, 111 5.156–62, 67, 106, 107

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary 5.156–67, 41 5.163–67, 57 5.178, 65 5.180–90, 45, 187, 232 5.180–96, 49, 221 5.181, 52 5.182–90, 192–96, 3 5.197–98, 123, 182 5.198, 182, 184, 211, 215 6 Headnote and 6.2, 4 6.1, 49 6.1–2, 92 6.2, 48, 79, 113, 163 6.3, 54 6.3–11, 84, 113 6.8 and 18, 83 6.10, 195 6.12–29, 55, 78, 84, 86, 104 6.14, 79 6.14–29, 83, 153 6.14–60, 76 6.15–18, 55, 196 6.30–60, 82 6.36–40, 88 6.55–58, 88 6.57, 84 6.60, 83 6.61, 85 6.62, 79 6.62–102, 80, 95 6.63, 83, 203 6.63–64, 48 6.63–65, 82, 83, 91, 100, 143 6.64 and 93, 81 6.76L, 93, 95 6.77–80, 343 6.78, 82, 203 6.83–84 and 102, 91, 108 6.90, 149 6.93, 92, 182 6.95, 112, 128 6.103, 1, 79, 95, 110 6.103–5, 100 6.103–17, 104, 113, 180, 206 6.103–69, 76, 105, 116 6.108, 137, and 143, 154 6.110–14, 111, 315 6.118–28, 94–95, 101, 116, 132 6.119, 101 *6.124, 126, and 139, 104 6.127, 106

6.128–42, 61, 95 6.132–33, 67 6.135–36, 56 6.136 and 156, 96 6.146, 82 6.148, 107 6.151–57, 61, 88, 109 6.151–63, 246 6.155 and 159, 246 6.163–65, 111 6.165, 112 6.166, 312 6.168–69, 79, 102 6.170–95, 74 6.172, 143 6.173, 161 6.182–85, 25, 143, 158 6.182–204, 235, 238 6.182, 26 6.188, 87 6.193–95, 116 6.196, 79 6.196–349, 288 6.199, 214–15 6.201, 271 6.206–20, 29, 79, 122, 125, 126, 131 6.208, 190 6.209, 46 6.210 and 215, 86, 326–27 6.213, 91, 108, 118 6.221–33, 143, 183, 274 6.223–24, 326–27 6.231, 159, 237 6.234, 206 6.234–38, 130, 138, 139 6.239–52, 121, 130, 132, 134, 141 6.240, 125 6.241, 118 6.246, 289 6.247, 126 6.248–52, 40 6.257L, 124–25, 126, 134, 139 6.258–85L, 92 6.258–61, 119 6.266–67, 244 6.267–71, 139 6.285, 91 6.287–304, 127, 137 6.289, 82 6.294–95, 126 6.296–99, 266

383

6.301–2, 125 6.305, 228 6.308–10, 197 6.308–30, 151, 161, 334 6.311–15, 133 6.315, 125, 230 6.319, 91 6.319–21, 175 6.325, 140 6.328–29, 184, 227 6.329, 123 6.329–30, 182 6.330, 207 6.338L, 81, 135 6.341, 132 6.342–43, 130 6.344–49, 127 6.345, 91 6.348, 134 6.350–441, 17, 115, 159–60, 241, 303 6.350, 79 6.352, 26, 143, 149 6.353, 56 6.361, 87, 90 6.362–75, 76, 138, 144 6.362, 154 6.367, 56, 144 6.369, 22, 279 6.374, 7 6.378, 56 6.385, 87, 90 6.392 and 396, 154 6.394–98, 89 6.400–402, 180 6.412, 112 6.417, 76 6.420, 145 6.421, 88 6.426, 90 6.428, 197 6.429–35, 25, 145, 146, 158, 160, 268 6.430, 207 6.439, 161 6.440, 68, 340 7 Headnote, 5 7.1–68, 162, 165 7.1, 79 7.6, 48, 112 7.11, 161

384

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary

7.17, 82 7.21, 169, 171, 206 7.23, 87 7.25–27, 320, 321 7.27, 235 7.29, 162 7.30–34, 57 7.33, 191 7.35–41, 235 7.44, 258 7.47, 159 7.53–54L, 28, 86 7.55–61, 142, 193, 322 7.60, 48, 91 7.65–69, 320 7.67–68, 198 7.70, 137 7.78, 158, 170 7.81–118L, 4, 8, 17, 117, 145, 152, 157, 207, 225, 228, 245, 261, 298, 303, 304, 305, 323 7.81, 13 7.83L, 169, 172, 184 7.89, 167 7.92L, 200 7.96, 171 7.97–114, 166, 242, 309 7.100L, 184 7.102, 172 7.103ff., 208, 310 7.106 and 116, 169 7.107, 21 7.108, 5, 168, 283 7.118L, 164 7.120, 91 7.128L, 202, 205 7.129, 168 7.129–35, 140 7.129–41L, 152, 170, 285 7.131–33L, 149, 173 7.138L, 168 7.139, 187 7.143, 175 7.144, 263 7.148, 114 7.151–54, 148, 173 7.155, 49, 71 7.155–60 and 182, 6 7.155–82, 73 7.157, 219 7.159, 206 7.160, 317

7.160–81, 71, 226, 312 7.161, 5, 32 7.162, 141 7.164, 302 7.180, 227 7.182–84, 327 7.182–204, 5, 18, 22, 38, 107, 162, 185, 214, 215, 317 7.183 and 193, 281 7.184 and 207, 14, 217, 226, 267–68 7.184–85, 335, 340 7.185, 19 7.186–92, 18 7.189, 208, 219 7.195, 154 7.196, 235 7.197, 200 7.199, 237 7.200–204, 15, 188, 192, 214, 219, 239 7.204–7, 180 7.205–31, 226 7.205–60L, 71 7.207–10, 340 7.208–12, 214 7.209–10, 133 7.213, 55 7.213–16L, 86, 320 7.213–29, 131 7.226, 25, 288 7.232–60L, 166 7.233, 208 7.236, 234, 332 7.237–39, 192 7.242, 206 7.243, 189 7.243–54, 52 7.243–60L, 91 7.244–47, 209 7.249–53, 216 7.250L–53, 348 7.254–60L, 79, 83, 189, 214, 283, 335, 345 7.255, 334 7.260L, 43 7.261–64, 73, 289 7.264, 333 7.268–91, 174 7.269, 285, 346 7.270, 186, 208 7.270–91, 141

7.272, 83, 150 7.273, 96, 113 7.274, 102 7.275, 127, 138 7.278–82, 68 7.278–308, 269, 272 7.283, 125 7.285–86 and 299–302, 218 7.287–91, 139, 202, 348 7.292–306, 8, 167 7.304, 8 7.305–6, 317 7.307–8, 6, 198 7.307–8.2, 47 8.1–4, 32, 131, 192, 237, 303 8.2, 189 8.5–55, 174 8.5–14, 300 8.6 and 26, 49 8.10, 232 8.14–18, 260, 278 8.19–22, 28 8.19–55, 4, 7, 187, 194, 217, 249, 287 8.20, 81 8.28–31, 287, 323 8.43–46, 263 8.53, 220 8.60–63, 185, 187, 215 8.64, 141 8.66–70, 219 8.71–79, 15, 218, 225 8.73–74, 225–26, 252, 270, 311, 318 8.74, 11 8.78, 135, 235, 266 8.80, 25, 209 8.80–83, 68, 320 8.82–91, 55, 221, 252 8.86L, 260, 265 8.92–94, 187 8.97, 291 8.100–104, 230 8.112–21, 230–31, 258 8.114, 131, 191, 216 8.120–21, 215, 216, 220, 224, 260, 272 8.122–23, 145, 303 8.122–48, 336 8.124, 103, 193, 322 8.128, 20, 31, 229

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary 8.129, 319 8.129–37, 337 8.131–38, 18, 42 8.132, 227, 272 8.146–48, 218, 229 8.156–70, 187 8.160, 220 8.161, 222, 223 8.161–70, 233 8.163–65, 16 8.167–68, 57, 298 8.167–78, 187 8.168, xi, 79, 259 8.174, 264 8.176–78, 269, 301, 338 8.182–87, 9, 94 8.185, 229 8.194, 47 8.196, 16 8.206–88 passim, xxiii 8.209, 26, 212, 220, 243, 270, 276, 295, 296, 315–16 8.213–15, 25 8.215, 259–60 8.216, 178, 179, 283–84 8.222–36, 63 8.228–30L, 262–63 8.228–34L, 298, 315–16 8.230L, 170, 275 8.234, 134 8.234L, 23, 289 8.236, 262, 281 8.237, 295 8.237–62, 221, 229 8.241L, 186 8.245L, 22 8.246, 259–60 8.247–49, 218, 229 8.247–58, 297, 326 8.258 and 260, 274 8.261L, 314 8.263–68, 261 8.263–99, 149, 256, 336 8.278–89, 224 8.282–88, 298 8.286, 131, 228, 317 8.288, 63, 259–60, 273 8.298, 259 8.300–20, 133, 254 8.307 and 331, 118 8.315–17, 224 8.323, 323

8.326, 254 8.329, 24, 237, 247, 299 8.330–31, 269, 301 8.333, 302 8.334, 238 8.335–40, 16, 224, 231–32 8.341–52, xi, 52, 243, 261, 264, 304, 307, 310–11 8.345–46, 220 8.350, 22, 276 8.351, 145 9.1, 278 9.12, 166–67 9.16–18, 310–11 9.20–21, 321 9.22–42, 132 9.25, 90 9.30, 262 9.37–38, 234 9.43, 210 9.51, 347 9.55–56, 264 9.58, 274 9.58–70, 63 9.70–161, 153, 270 9.71–280, ix, 4, 138 9.72 and 85, 9, 304, 316 9.74, 122 9.93, 275 9.94, 26 9.98, 144, 229, 299 9.98–104, 31–32 9.105–39, 37, 41, 105, 162, 163, 172, 298–99, 300, 317 9.108, 144 9.110, 342 9.111, 315 9.112–23L, 169 9.116, 17 9.119, 171, 184 9.119–25L, 31–32 9.123L, 224 9.126–27, 172 9.128L and 131, 321 9.137, 11 9.139–40, 31–32, 302 9.139–61, 13 9.140–58, 2, 303, 308 9.151–58, 31–32, 302 9.159, 32

385

9.159–61 (or to 187), 261, 280, 286, 297 9.162–87, 229 9.167–75, 25 9.170–72, 319 9.187–219, 153 9.188, 210, 292 9.188–219, 13 9.189 and 204, 290, 299, 312 9.190, 144, 297 9.193, 269 9.196–203, 210, 315–16, 323 9.204–12, 9, 160, 229, 255 9.204–13L, 28, 39, 316 9.214–19, 11–12, 302–3 9.220–41, 25 9.224–27, 287 9.228–40, 161 9.231–35, 26 9.234, 158 9.236–40, 42, 328, 331 9.241–47, 26, 303 9.241–55, 13 9.256–80, 13, 287–88, 310, 316 9.258–59, 161, 193, 320, 322 9.260–69, 309 9.264, 346 9.273, 23, 128 9.276–80, 307 9.281–82, 159 9.282–83, 234, 292 9.284, 276 9.285, 189 9.287–88, 233, 283, 310, 320 9.288–89, 194, 200, 206 9.289–93, 193 9.293, 1, 4 9.294–352, 1, 209 9.295–96, 286 9.296, 6 9.299 and 305ff., xiii–xiv 9.305, 1 9.305–12, 166–67, 307, 341 9.318–52, 34 9.320, 201 9.321, 284 9.321 and 343, 289 9.325–26, 284, 334 9.329, 333 9.335, 289 9.336, 225 9.345, 256–57

386

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary

10.1, 9 10.1–67, xiv, 1, 215, 331 10.4, 185 10.8–29, 229 10.8–60, 105 10.20, 29, 109, 331, 339 10.21–27, 336, 347 10.29, 345 10.30–55, 81, 142, 193 10.51–55, 234 10.54–55, 125 10.67, 281 10.68, 23 10.76, 186 10.93–95, 141 10.93–99L, 287–88 10.114, 200 10.127–49, 200 10.128–38, 68–69 10.128–50, 82 10.129–31, 293 10.170–73, 200 10.183–87, 55 10.207–55 and 263, 25, 38 10.216–18, 131 10.220–33, 52 10.228–33, 54 10.351–76, 197 11.52–77, 52 11.68–78, 171 11.75–83, 197 11.100–54L, 176 11.108–10, 144 11.139–45 (and 104–5), 195 11.164–65, 81 11.174, 42 11.176–80, 8 11.193–13.129, 155, 210 11.205ff., 205 11.233–35L, 57 11.252–60, 140 11.261–62, 179 11.290–93, 339 11.296–98, 23, 128 12.3–30L, 158 12.15–22, 132, 133 12.16–17, 234 12.23–40L, 13, 308 12.36, 50 12.60–71, 23

12.60–74L, 80 12.64–67, 128 12.74L, 81, 136 12,95–96, 25 12.102–8, 167 12.107ff., 263 12.109–19L, 26, 179 12.119L, 329 12.120–13.103, 213 12.205–9, 44 12.216–18, 7, 132, 236 13.4, 17 13.26–30, 13 13.26–99, 311 13.33–99, 13, 117, 132 13.35, 23 13.43–51, 20 13.73–75, 135 13.78L, 264 13.79–86, 16 13.104–16, 24, 41 13.117–28, 158 13.129, 194 13.130–211, 314 13.131–78, 183, 338 13.143–55, 25 13.151–55, 8 13.183 and 194–212, 13, 18, 276 13.194 (B 11.376), 73 13.219, 231 13.230, 42 13.405–6, 147 14 in general, 339 14.3, 190 14.4–10, 24 14.23–39, 44 14.64–71, 233 14.84, 178 14.99–125, 347 14.110–24L, 80 14.110–30, 318 14.117L, 181 14.128–30, 37 14.128–55L, 140 14.152, 320 14.152L, 27 14.156–90, 183, 338 14.174, 299 14.199–217, 333

15.1–25, 341 15.3, 9 15.25, 73 15.26–27, 18 15.32, 32 15.32ff., 213 15.32–35, 269 15.39, 58 15.39–42, 67, 229, 321 15.43–61, 108 15.44L, 31 15.46 and 49, 165 15.59–60, 80 15.56, 85 15.62, 82 15.78–79, 13 15.80, 256–57 15.85 and 95–96, 92, 148 15.94–97, 155 15.103, 46 15.129–36, 339 15.134, 196 15.142–48, 200 15.170, 168, 341 15.175–83, 42, 339 15.185–88, 203 15.186–89, 303 15.198, 169, 208, 209 15.205, 180 15.228–32, 277 15.232, 87 15.232–49, 203–4, 254 15.235, 338 15.237–44, 294 15.237–59, 26 15.244–49, 41, 43, 303 15.284, 128 15.286, 326 15.299–300, 269 16.13–14, 267 16.22–40, 80, 348 16.36–40, 346 16.43, 74 16.43–113, 138 16.91–93, 244 16.99 and 112, 176 16.114–57, 172 16.123–28L, 36 16.151, 338 16.152–54L, 338 16.158 and 177, 18

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary 16.179–205, 172 16.260–61, 134, 135 16.265, 89 16.288, 6 16.296L, 336 16.300–301, 318 16.306–9L, 119 16.310–12, 169 16.318–22, 337–38, 352, 372– 74L, 26 16.322–23, 33 16.324–29, 206 16.331–37L, 326 16.332–36L, 161 16.336L (and 331–32, 340), 82–83 17.1–52L, 317–18 17.9–16 and 32–36, 338 17.13, 110 17.13–18, 9 17.17–20, 306 17.21, 271 17.35–64 and 40L, 133 17.54–73, 63 17.55, 62 17.72, 56, 109 17.94–106, 277 17.108–21, 159 17.112–13, 119 17.187–320L, 322–23 17.194–203, 318 17.204–38, 64 17.219, 36 17.220–24, 67 17.227, 68 17.235, 265 17.260L, 131 17.283–96, 321–22 17.297ff., 195–96 17.308–10, 169 18.1–119, 46, 162, 186 18.1–8, 175, 203 18.12–15, 177 18.25–52, 204 18.31–52, 73 18.71–90, 290 18.123–77, 175 18.125, 175–76 18.126, 177 18.138–47, 271

18.149–62, 134 18.214–38, 231 18.272–73, 269 18.285, 320 19.4–22, 289 19.12–30, 36–39, 98–105, 196 19.46–93, 204 19.75, 197 19.81–93, 271 19.83–95, 80, 178 19.111–226, 263–69, 172 19.172–92, 302 19.184–226, 72 19.203, 134 19.204–8, 138 19.214–26, 347 19.214–344, 130 19.228–49, 269 19.245–49, 266 19.250L, 23 19.253–300, 74, 130 19.283–300, 134 19.290L and 298L, 130, 136 19.291–300, 173 19.300, 134, 138 19.303–4, 55 19.319–26, 103 19.451, 176 20 generally, 140, 170, 175–80 20.1, 9 20.1–12, 309 20.2, 10 20.8–25, 252 20.20–25, 117, 176, 186, 187 20.27–36 (and 64–69, 104–5, 161–65L), 201 20.36, 179 20.61, 177 20.80–94, 95 20.114–270, 175 20.152L, 117 20.171, 206 20.173 and 185, 289 20.185–92, 328–29 20.221–22, 175 20.238, 103 20.254, 177 20.269–75, 177 20.274–360, 76 20.281 and 284, 200

387

20.300, 88 20.364–69, 178 20.366, 178 20.395L, 196 20.399–442L, 178, 333 20.409–14 and 430–38L, 238 20.417–20 and 435–38L, 333 20.418, 263 20.418–38L, 179 20.421–25, 334 20.428–38L, 174, 284 20.430–31, 333 20.430–38L, 91, 263, 329 20.431, 328, 334 20.438L, 135 20.446, 291 20.450L, 178 20.451 and 467, 180 20.452L, 326 20.464L, 27 20.468–75, 48 20.469, 7 21.1–8, 26, 48 21.26–198, xv, 70, 172 21.30–62, 179 21.157–62, 178, 186 21.182–96, 285 21.183–90, 328–29, 347 21.185–98, 139 21.186–87, 139, 159 21.192–98, 329 21.199–212, 174 21.221–24, 158 21.242–44, 277 21.256, 68 21.258–59, 23, 139, 166, 192, 215, 237, 239 21.258–61, 191 21.261, 222 21.262–66, 267 21.274–309, 27 21.317–28, 199, 258 21.324, 199 21.331 (and 308, 315, 321), 80–81 21.335–42, 278 21.359, 69 21.366 and 377–78, 199 21.390, 139 21.391–95, 134 21.395–402, 144, 208

388

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary

21.409–58, 70, 339 21.422, 135 21.424–27, 66 21.430–41, 228 21.446, 265 21.451–58, 119 21.459–64, 23 21.477–79, 222–23 22.1–52, 1, 7, 130, 239 22.2–3, 139 22.5, 229 22.7–11, 264 22.10–19, 249 22.44, 338 22.52–53, 176 22.53, 68 22.53–57, 53, 119 22.61–67, 304 22.70–164, 215, 73, 100 22.70–71, 87 22.74–79, 37, 304 22.75, 69 22.80–105, 52, 251–52, 201, 277 22.111–20, 87 22.165–69, 173 22.169–79, 271 22.193, 7 22.193–98, 9, 33, 115 22.207–11, 20 22.212–16, 80 22.215, 73–74 22.218–19, 62 22.221–27, 143 22.228, 339 22.229–51, 50 22.246, 69 22.253–96, 107 22.256, 120 22.276, 105 22.284–93, 132 22.308, 139 22.316–79, 80–81 22.318–21, 329 22.322–23, 252 22.324–79, 107 22.340, 32 22.348 and 354, 249 22.358–72, 325 22.363–76, 158, 229, 323 22.369–70, 161 22.375, 339

22.375–86, 81, 271 22.383, 67, 246–47 22.384, 225–26, 252 22.386, 79

The B Version Prol.7–10, 331, 342 Prol.8, 196 Prol.10, 48 Prol.13–14, 199 Prol.116–20, 217 Prol.122, 47, 295 Prol.139–45, 23, 60 Prol.144, 328–29 Prol.145, 203 1.26, 241 1.101, 26 1.109–13, 55 1.134–37, 69 2.41, 97 2.98, 147 2.108–12, 6 2.176, 128, 325 3.5, 29 3.150 and 167, 129 3.232–45, 296 3.239–41, 193 3.255–56, 189 3.255–58, 238 4.109, 142, 160, 195 5.3–8, 6, 36, 48, 160 5.38, 55 5.54–55, 70 5.69, 83 5.71–74, 83, 91 5.77–85, 94 5.79, 95 5.82, 98 5.86, 9, 91 5.86–120, 96 5.90–91, 92–93 5.96, 95 5.105–14, 131 5.109, 94 5.110–12, 94

5.116, 88 5.119, 96 5.138, 101, 110, 116 5.139 and 145–46, 106–7 5.162, 165 5.166, 97, 109, 113 5.226, xix 5.226–29, 138, 182 5.226–36, 242, and 249, 119 5.235, 249 5.236, 123 5.241, 124 5.242–43, 129 5.244 and 246, 126 5.250–59, 128 5.254–59, 120 5.265, 132 5.272–73, 21 5.273, 124–25 5.279, 142, 291 5.281L, 81, 130, 142 5.309, 161 5.390, 154 5.405, 299 5.406, 153 5.461, 100 5.474–76, 304 5.500, 176 5.414, 154, 156 5.418, 153 5.459, 157, 236 5.461ff., 161 5.547, 218 5.459, 236 5.462 and 472, 81 5.505, 113 5.575, 198 5.601–4, 216 5.639–42, 229 5.641–42, 68, 218 6.24, 221 6.103–4, 227 6.116, 216 6.124–27, 243, 265–66 6.131–33, 239–40 6.139, 258 6.144, 251 6.147–51, 218, 219, 229 6.148, 230 6.183, 274 6.192, 258

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary 6.199, 259 6.218 and 223, 264 6.218–30, 298 6.223, 259–60 6.225–26L, 295 6.226L, 251 6.227–28, 261–62 6.247–49, 33, 317 6.250, 268 6.254, 46 6.273, 270 6.275, 56 7.15–16, 327 7.51, 291 7.53–59, 71 7.78–82L, 142, 265, 317 7.83L, 326 7.87, 158 7.111 and 181, 46 7.118–43L, 41, 44, 139, 205, 213, 283, 285, 312, 327 7.118, 234 7.119, 103, 193, 241, 322 7.120–21, 68, 234 7.122–23, 82 7.122–35, 243 7.124–28L, 83, 283 7.125, 322, 344 7.128L, 5, 81, 254, 322, 335 7.129–35, 204, 304, 329–30 7.130, 268 7.131, 254, 331 7.136–40, 234 7.137, 150, 317 7.138–39, 189, 226, 306 7.141, 306, 310 7.143L, 96 7.144, 29 9.31–44, 176 9.60–64, 123, 197–99, 329 9.61–67L, 144 9.65L, 176 9.68–73, 304 9.77–96L, 322 9.97–98, 263 9.99–106, 24, 145, 163 9.105–203, 218 9.123, 329 9.119–20, 60

9.182–86L, 8 9.197–99, 329 10.31–58, 163 10.33, 171 10.51, 143 10.52–58, 168 10.72–78, 168 10.93–159, 163 10.97–102, 166, 200 10.104–39, 168 10.112, 44 10.209, 265 10.272–84, 158 10.293, 324 10.297–335 [see 5.146–79], 3, 36, 50, 51, 111 10.330, 61 10.361–63, 195 10.369ff., 334–35 10.374, 265 10.467, 339 10.481L, 191 11.3, 336 11.8, 8 11.34–36, 155 11.47, 190 11.58, 346 11.68, 304 11.107–15, 332 11.172–85, 313 11.199ff., 263 11.211L, 264, 329 11.231–47, 309 11.278, 242 11.285, 308 11.384, 83 11.418, 48 11.425, 96 12.6, 8 12.13L, 336 12.16–28, 3, 4, 5, 17, 25, 34, 42, 47, 51, 52 12.17, 21, 31 12.24, 307 12.47–48, 56 12.103–12, 44 12.292L, 68 12.293L, 336

389

13.52–54, 181 13.123–29, 339 13.128–30, 139, 345 13.131–32, 189 13.150, 294 13.152–57, 203 13.175–214, 339 13.190–97, 44, 89 13.203–4, 42 13.271–459 [see 6–7 variously], 73, 77–78, 87 13.275–76 and 286–87, 85 13.284–85, 9, 30 13.301, 113 13.320–41, 100 13.399, 143 14.3L, 209 14.16–28, 80, 326 14.29–82, 338 14.47–50, 328 14.82–97, 80, 326 14.94, 181 14.181–95, 328–29 14.216–61, 73 14.224, 100 14.235, 76 14.251, 114 14.299, 83 14.325–35, 81, 138 15.3–10, 32, 37, 307 15.4, 47 15.5–10, 223–24, 304 15.73–76, 162 15.120–27, 36 15.125, 31 15.149L, 202–3 15.152, 6, 23 15.161–63, 336 15.165, 318–19 15.212, 192 15.213–14 (and 198–215), 11–12, 312 15.215, 26 15.272ff., 226 15.276–89 and 305–17, 338 15.305–8, 318 15.340–46, 63 15.343L, 173 15.345, 96 15.582, 196

390

Index of Passages and Notes Mentioned in the Commentary

16.10, 203 16.12, 185 16.86, 103, 193, 241, 332 16.170, 304 16.215, 176 16.251, 178

The A Version 1.119–20, 45 1.137–38, 162–63, 171 5.69, 95 6.35, 191 6.79–81, 199, 201

7.12, 232 7.112, 25 7.130, 246 7.167–70, 179–80, 256 7.183, 259 8.15–18, 324 8.41, 285 10.3–4, 294 10.76–84, 251 10.121–30, 186 11.110, 195 11.118, 8, 75 11.199–203, 211, 246

11.204–16, 3, 36, 50, 111 11.214, 36 12.99, 201 12.103–4, 100

The Z Version 2.56, xix 3.148–49, 123 5.98–99, 123 5.142, 22 7.48–49, 311