Than seide the yonger to th' emperour, "Ther is al Virgiles tresour!

We schulle the ymage so undersette,

That we ne schal hit nothing lette,

And whan we han the gold in the grounde,
We sscholle hit make as we hit founde,
For we beth mazouns queinte of cast."
Than saide Cressus, "Goht an hast."

Thai bigonne hire werk, sannz dout,
And sette postes al about,

And bigan to mini under..

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Herkneth now a selkouth wonder!

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Thai to-rent ston fram ston,

The fondement to-brast anon.

Al dai thai mined doun right,

Til hit com to the night.

"On the morewe (thei saide to Cressus stille),

Of gold thou schalt haue thi wille."

The emperour wente to his palais;

Clerkes also and mani burgeis,
Ech man wente to his inne :

The clerkes thoughte another ginne.

Whanne ech man slepen, grete and smale,

The clerkes to the stage stale,

And bet a fir strong and sterk;

The fir fleghth up into the werk,

And falsed the siment, and the ston; ymage ouerthrew anon.

The

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And tho the clerkes seghthen this,
Awai thai flowen, for sothe I wis.
Amorewe th' emperour aros;
Of this dede him sore agros.
In his herte was kare and howe;
Awai he wolde han i-flowe.

The smale, and the poeple of Rome,

To Sire Cressus thai nome sone,
And tolde him, for coueitise,
He hadde i-loren Romes prise.

Thai ladde [him] forth in that stounde,
And to a table fast him bounde;

And red gold quik thai melte,

And nose and mouht ful thai helte,
And eren, and eghen also,
Therwhiles a drope wolde in go;
And seide," Sire, for Godes loue,
Thou hast mad thral that was aboue;
Nou artou ful; nou make thè heit,
Nou wiltou na more covèit.”
Now is he ded with mochel schame."

"O thou seist soth, he saide, dame!" "Ya, sire, for his lesingges,

That he leued twaie false gadelinges,
He turned to wel iuel fin.

Sire, swich schal be ending thin."

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e;

"Nai, dame, he saide, yif God wile."
"Yes, sire, sche saide, bi right skile
For thou leuest wel flatèrie,
That the maistres conne to the lie,
And desire to make thin air,
He that sschall the schende vair,
For he is the fendes chike;
Therwhiles he liueth thou mai sike."
"Dame, I sschal kepe me fram kare;
Right to-morewe he sschal forth-fare."
"Sire, sche saide, bi Seint Michèl,
Thanne dost thou wisliche and wel."
Morewe com, as ye mowe here;
Th' emperour aros with wroth chere,
And to his paleys he gan wende,
Righte biforen his barouns hende.
He let brenge forht his owen sone ;.
And whan he com out of prisòun,
Amideward Rome toun,

Than com riden maister Catoun.
The folk of Rome on him gan crie,

And saide," Catoun! kithe thi maistrie!
Help thi disciple in this nede!"

Catoun light adoun of his stede,
And grette th' emperour on his kne,
And vnethe he wold him se.

He seide to him, "Maister Catòun,
Thou hast me don wel gret traisòun!

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For to the, and thine fere,

I bitok mi sone to lere,

Ye taughte him to nimen forth min emprice!"— "Sire, quath Catoun, swich wordes beth nice.""And his speche is forlore."

"Nai sire, and he finde your grace bifore. Thi wif wolde he forlain haue nowt;

Yif thou hit leuest, thou art bicought.

Ac yif thou do thi sone duresse,
On the falle swich a destresse,
And swich a maner vileynie,

As hadde the burgeis for his pie."

"O, maister, he saide, what? what? I thè praie, tel me that!"

"Sire, he saide, what helpeth hit mi sawe,
Gif thi sone therwhiles beth i-slawe ?

Ac let him fechche quik ayain,
And I thè schal mi tale sain."

The emperour of Rome, Dioclician,

His sone he het fechche anon.

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THE X. TALE.

THE MAGPIE.

Nou, everich man that loueth his hale. Lestne wel Catones tale!

"A burgeis was in Rome toun, A riche man of gret renoun; Marchaunt he was of gret auoir, And had a wif was queint and fair; But sche was fikel, vnder hir lok, And hadde a parti of Eue smok:

And manie ben yit of hire kinne,

That ben al bilapped therinne!

"The burgeis hadde a pie in his halle,

That couthe telle tales alle

Apertlich, in French langage,

And heng in a fair cage,

And seth lemmans comen and gon,
And teld hire louerd sone anon;

And, for that the pie hadde i-said,
The wif was ofte iuel i-paid.
And the burgeis louede his pie,
For he wiste he couthe nowt lie.

"So hit bifil, vpon a dai,

The burgeis fram home tok his wai,

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