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Wel can the wyse poete of Florence, That highte Dant, speken in this sentence; Lo in swich maner rym is Dantes tale: “Ful selde up ryseth by his branches smale Prowesse of man, for God, of his goodnesse, Wol that of him we clayme our gentillesse;” For of our eldres may we no-thing clayme But temporel thing, that man may hurte and mayme. Wel can the wyse poete of Florence, That highte Dant, speken in this sentence; Lo in swich maner rym is Dantes tale: “Ful selde up ryseth by his branches smale Prowesse of man, for God, of his goodnesse, Wol that of him we clayme our gentillesse;” For of our eldres may we no-thing clayme But temporel thing, that man may hurte and mayme.
Eek every wight wot this as wel as I, If gentillesse were planted naturelly Unto a certeyn linage, doun the lyne, Privee ne apert, than wolde they never fyne To doon of gentillesse the faire offyce; They mighte do no vileinye or vyce. Eek every wight wot this as wel as I, If gentillesse were planted naturelly Unto a certeyn linage, doun the lyne, Privee ne apert, than wolde they never fyne To doon of gentillesse the faire offyce; They mighte do no vileinye or vyce.
Tak fyr, and ber it in the derkeste hous Bitwix this and the mount of Caucasus, And lat men shette the dores and go thenne; Yet wol the fyr as faire lye and brenne, As twenty thousand men mighte it biholde; His office naturel ay wol it holde, Up peril of my lyf, til that it dye. Tak fyr, and ber it in the derkeste hous Bitwix this and the mount of Caucasus, And lat men shette the dores and go thenne; Yet wol the fyr as faire lye and brenne, As twenty thousand men mighte it biholde; His office naturel ay wol it holde, Up peril of my lyf, til that it dye.
Heer may ye see wel, how that genterye Is nat annexed to possessioun, Sith folk ne doon hir operacioun Alwey, as dooth the fyr, lo! in his kinde. For, God it woot, men may wel often finde A lordes sone do shame and vileinye; And he that wol han prys of his gentrye For he was boren of a gentil hous, And hadde hise eldres noble and vertuous, And nil him-selven do no gentil dedis, Ne folwe his gentil auncestre that deed is, He nis nat gentil, be he duk or erl; For vileyns sinful dedes make a cherl. For gentillesse nis but renomee Of thyne auncestres, for hir heigh bountee, Which is a strange thing to thy persone. Thy gentillesse cometh fro God allone; Than comth our verray gentillesse of grace, It was no-thing biquethe us with our place. Heer may ye see wel, how that genterye Is nat annexed to possessioun, Sith folk ne doon hir operacioun Alwey, as dooth the fyr, lo! in his kinde. For, God it woot, men may wel often finde A lordes sone do shame and vileinye; And he that wol han prys of his gentrye For he was boren of a gentil hous, And hadde hise eldres noble and vertuous, And nil him-selven do no gentil dedis, Ne folwe his gentil auncestre that deed is, He nis nat gentil, be he duk or erl; For vileyns sinful dedes make a cherl. For gentillesse nis but renomee Of thyne auncestres, for hir heigh bountee, Which is a strange thing to thy persone. Thy gentillesse cometh fro God allone; Than comth our verray gentillesse of grace, It was no-thing biquethe us with our place.

Original Text

Modern Text

Wel can the wyse poete of Florence, That highte Dant, speken in this sentence; Lo in swich maner rym is Dantes tale: “Ful selde up ryseth by his branches smale Prowesse of man, for God, of his goodnesse, Wol that of him we clayme our gentillesse;” For of our eldres may we no-thing clayme But temporel thing, that man may hurte and mayme. Wel can the wyse poete of Florence, That highte Dant, speken in this sentence; Lo in swich maner rym is Dantes tale: “Ful selde up ryseth by his branches smale Prowesse of man, for God, of his goodnesse, Wol that of him we clayme our gentillesse;” For of our eldres may we no-thing clayme But temporel thing, that man may hurte and mayme.
Eek every wight wot this as wel as I, If gentillesse were planted naturelly Unto a certeyn linage, doun the lyne, Privee ne apert, than wolde they never fyne To doon of gentillesse the faire offyce; They mighte do no vileinye or vyce. Eek every wight wot this as wel as I, If gentillesse were planted naturelly Unto a certeyn linage, doun the lyne, Privee ne apert, than wolde they never fyne To doon of gentillesse the faire offyce; They mighte do no vileinye or vyce.
Tak fyr, and ber it in the derkeste hous Bitwix this and the mount of Caucasus, And lat men shette the dores and go thenne; Yet wol the fyr as faire lye and brenne, As twenty thousand men mighte it biholde; His office naturel ay wol it holde, Up peril of my lyf, til that it dye. Tak fyr, and ber it in the derkeste hous Bitwix this and the mount of Caucasus, And lat men shette the dores and go thenne; Yet wol the fyr as faire lye and brenne, As twenty thousand men mighte it biholde; His office naturel ay wol it holde, Up peril of my lyf, til that it dye.
Heer may ye see wel, how that genterye Is nat annexed to possessioun, Sith folk ne doon hir operacioun Alwey, as dooth the fyr, lo! in his kinde. For, God it woot, men may wel often finde A lordes sone do shame and vileinye; And he that wol han prys of his gentrye For he was boren of a gentil hous, And hadde hise eldres noble and vertuous, And nil him-selven do no gentil dedis, Ne folwe his gentil auncestre that deed is, He nis nat gentil, be he duk or erl; For vileyns sinful dedes make a cherl. For gentillesse nis but renomee Of thyne auncestres, for hir heigh bountee, Which is a strange thing to thy persone. Thy gentillesse cometh fro God allone; Than comth our verray gentillesse of grace, It was no-thing biquethe us with our place. Heer may ye see wel, how that genterye Is nat annexed to possessioun, Sith folk ne doon hir operacioun Alwey, as dooth the fyr, lo! in his kinde. For, God it woot, men may wel often finde A lordes sone do shame and vileinye; And he that wol han prys of his gentrye For he was boren of a gentil hous, And hadde hise eldres noble and vertuous, And nil him-selven do no gentil dedis, Ne folwe his gentil auncestre that deed is, He nis nat gentil, be he duk or erl; For vileyns sinful dedes make a cherl. For gentillesse nis but renomee Of thyne auncestres, for hir heigh bountee, Which is a strange thing to thy persone. Thy gentillesse cometh fro God allone; Than comth our verray gentillesse of grace, It was no-thing biquethe us with our place.