Ypocras wende ne might,

But cleped his neveu, anon right,
And bad him wenden to that lond,
And that schild take an hond;
And, whan he hadde so i-do,

He scholde ayèn comen him to.
The schild was set on a palefrai,
And forht he tok the righte way.
And whan he com to that lond,
The king him tok bi the hond,
And ladde him to his sike childe.
Now Crist of hevene be ous milde!

The yonge man segh the childes peyne,
And tasted his senewe, and his veyne,
He taketh an vrinal for to sen;

1040

He ne segh nowt of the kyng, but of the

quen:

And of the child, God hit wite,

1051

He segh hit was a mis-beyete.

He gan the leuedi aside drawe.
"Dame, he saide, be aknawe
What man had biyete this child ?”
"What? sche saide, artou wild?
Who sschulde him biyete but the king?"
"Dame, he saide, that is soht no thing!
Hit n'as neuere of kinges stren.”

"Let, sche saide, swich wordes ben,
Other I schal do bete thè so,
That tho schalt neuere ride ne go."

1060

"Dame, he saide, bi swiche tale,

Thi sone schal neuere more ben hale;
Ac tal me, dame, al the cas,
Hou the child biyeten was."

"Belami, sche saide, so."

"Par fai, dame, he saide, no!"

And schok his heved vpon the quen.

"Dame, he saide, thai yhe wille me slen,

I ne mai do thi sone no bot,

But yif I wite the sothe rot,

Of what man hit was biyete."

66

Maister, sche saide, that mai no man wite. Yif mi conseil were vnhele,

Ich were i-slawe bi righte skele."

66

Dame, he seide, so mot ich thê,

I n'elle nevere biwraie thè."

"O meister, sche seide, so hit bifel;

This enderdai, in on Aueril,

The Erl of Naverne com to this thede,

Wel atired, in riche wede,

With mi louerd for to plai;
And so he dede, mani a dai.
That ich erl I gan to loue,
Al erthliche thing aboue :
And so, par gret druri,
I let that erl ligge me bi,

1070

1080

And thous hit was on me biyete.

A! leue maister, let no man wite!"

1090

"Nai, dame, for sothe, I wis
But, for he was biyeten amis,
Hit mot bothe drink and ete
Contrarius drink, contrarius mete,
Beues flesch, and drink the brotht."
He gaf the child anon therof.
The child warisscht fair and wel; !
The kyng yaf him mani a juèl,

To the leche, of silver and goold,*.*
Als mochel als he nime wold.

"He wente hom with that eighte; And Ypocras, anon right,

He asked yif that the schild was sound?
"Ye, sire, he saide, bi Seint Simond.'
He asked, "What was his medicine?"
"Beff and broth gode afine."nd
"What than was he an auetrol ?"
"Thou seist soht, sire, be mi pol."
Quath Ypocras, " Bi the gode dome,
Thou art bicome al to wis a grome!"
Ther he thoughte, ayèn resoun,
To don him strong tresoun.

"So bifel, upon a dai,

He and his neveu yede to plai,
In a fair grene gardin,

Therin wex mani an herbe fin.
On thei seghen in the grounde,

That was an herbe of gret mounde;

1100

1110

He tok and schewed hit Ypocras;

And he saide a better ther was,

For he walde his neveu bikeche;

The child stoupede swich on to reche.
Ther-while, Ypocras with a knif,
Binom that schild his swete lif;
And let him birie sikerliche,
Als he were storven sodainliche.
And sone ther after, swithe yerne,
He let alle his bokes berne.

Ac God Almighti, hevene kyng,
He oversegh alle thing

1120

1130

He sent Ypocras, for his tresoun,

Sone therafter, the menesoun.
Wel wist Ypocras, for his qued,
That he scholde sone be ded.
For al that heuer he mighte do,

His menesoun might nowt staunche tho.

He let of-sende moche and lite,

Hise neyebours him to visite,

And tolde al right anon,

Hou his deth wa[s] comen him on,

With gret right and nowt with wough,

For his neveu that he slowgh.

An empti tonne he let set,

And, of water of a pet

He let hit fille to the mouthe,

For he walde his werkes were couthe.

1140

The tresoun he gan hem alle reherse,

In a thousand stede he let the tonne perce,

And tho he hadde mad holes so fele,

In ech he pelt a dosele,

And smerede the holes al aboute.
And everiche doseil he braid oute,

No drope of water vt com than;
Mervaile hadde mani a man.
"Lo, he saide, water hi can stop,
That hit ne mai nowt bi bores drop,
Ac I ne mai nowt stop mi menesoun;
And that is al for mi tresoun,

With gret right and nowt with wough,
For mi neveu that I slow.

Ich him slow sikerliche,

For he was wiser man than iche.

Ich, ne no man under sonne,
Me gif help nou ne conne,

But mi neveu aliue ware.

Right is that ich hennes fare!"

Lo, saide the maister, hou Ypocras

Destrued his lif and solas !

Sire emprour, tak hede, and loke,

1150

1160

He slow his neveu, and brent his boke;
Might hit him ani thing profite ?”

"Nai, saide th' emperour, moche ne lite."

1170