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Art. 89, Mon that wol of wysdam heren


Abbreviations: AND: Anglo-Norman Dictionary; ANL: Anglo-Norman Literature: A Guide to Texts and Manuscripts (R. Dean and Boulton); BL: British Library (London); Bodl.: Bodleian Library (Oxford); CT: Chaucer, Canterbury Tales; CUL: Cambridge University Library (Cambridge); DOML: Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library; FDT: French Devotional Texts of the Middle Ages (Sinclair 1979); FDT-1French Devotional Texts of the Middle Ages, . . . First Supplement (Sinclair 1982); IMEV: The Index of Middle English Verse (Brown and Robbins); MED: Middle English Dictionary; MWME: A Manual of the Writings in Middle English, 1050–1500 (Severs et al.); NIMEV: A New Index of Middle English Verse (Boffey and Edwards); NLS: National Library of Scotland (Edinburgh).

1–6 This opening stanza, naming Hending as Marcolf’s son, does not appear in the other two manuscripts. On the Marcolf and Solomon tradition in Latin and Middle English, see Ziolkowski 2008, Bradbury 2008; and Bradbury and Bradbury.

13–14 Compare Whiting, B 204.

22–23 Compare Whiting, W 417 (recorded only in Hending).

31–32 Compare Whiting, T 63.

40–41 Compare Whiting, C 216.

49–50 Compare Whiting, Y 27, Y 32, and C 210.

58-59 Compare Whiting, L 591.

67–68 Compare Whiting, E 206 (recorded only in Hending).

76–77 Compare Whiting, C 219.

85–86 Compare Whiting, F 141.

94–95 Compare Whiting, F 408.

103–04 Compare Whiting, F 366.

112–13 Compare Whiting, A 160.

121–22 Compare Whiting, B 505.

130–31 Compare Whiting, G 370 (recorded only in Hending).

139–40 Compare Whiting, C 633.

142–61 These two stanzas do not appear in the other two manuscripts.

148–53 Compare Whiting, M 194, and the saying attributed to Cato, in Chaucer’s Miller’s Tale, lines 3227–30, in reference to old John’s ill-advised marriage to young Alisoun. For further background, see The Riverside Chaucer, p. 844.

156 Bynd thine tonge with bonene wal. Compare Chaucer’s Manciple’s Tale: “My sone, God of his endeless goodnesse / Walled a tonge with teeth and lippes eke” (lines 322–24).

159–60 Compare Whiting, T 384.

168–69 Compare Whiting, L 393: “He that gives me little is on (favorably disposed to) my life.” The general sense of this proverb is “Something is better than nothing.”

177–78 Compare Whiting, B 275.

186–87 Compare Whiting, B 609.

195–96 Compare Whiting, B 22.

199 theyn. The MED notes that this word may be an error for tene. See thein (n.), sense 3.

204–05 Compare Whiting, C 201.

213–14 Compare Whiting, L 415.

222–23 Compare Whiting, O 76. For the noun edueth, see MED, edwit (n.), sense b., “scorn, shame.”

231–32 Compare Whiting, E 213.

240–41 Compare Whiting, T 217.

249–50 Compare Whiting, H 508 (recorded only in Hending).

258–59 Compare Whiting, C 166.

267–68 Compare Whiting, H 439.

276–77 Compare Whiting, W 264.

285–86 Compare Whiting, R 32.

288–96 This stanza does not appear in the other two manuscripts.

294–95 Compare Whiting, M 251 (recorded only in Hending).

303–04 Compare Whiting, W 571.

306–23 These two stanzas do not appear in the other two manuscripts.

312–13 Compare Whiting, M 191 (recorded only in Hending).

321–22 Compare Whiting, D 71.

330–31 Compare Whiting, D 402 (recorded only in Hending).

333–38 A version of these lines appears as a short lyric in London, BL, MS Royal 8.E.17, fol. 109r. See Brown 1916, 1:362.

339–40 Compare Whiting, H 468 (recorded only in Hending).

342–47 This closing stanza, which exploits the rhyme on Hendyng and endyng, does not appear in the other two manuscripts.


ABBREVIATIONS: As: Aspin; : Böddeker; Br: Brook; BS: Bennett and Smithers; BZ: Brandl and Zippel; B13: Brown 1937; Dea: J. M. Dean; Do: Dove 1969; Fl: Flood; : Förster; Fu: Furnivall; HB: Hunt and Bliss; Kem: Kemble; Ken: Kennedy; Mi: Millett; Mo: Morris and Skeat; MS: MS Harley 2253; Mu1: H. J. R. Murray; Mu2: J. A. H. Murray; NB: Noomen and van den Boogard; Pa: Patterson; Rev: Revard 2005a; Ri: Ritson 1877; Ro: Robbins 1959; SP: Short and Pearcy; Si: Silverstein; St: Stemmler 1970; Tu: Turville-Petre 1989; Ul: Ulrich; W1: Wright 1839; W2: Wright 1841; W3: Wright 1842; WH: Wright and Halliwell.

2 leren. So Bö. MS, WH, Kem, Mo: lernen.

10 Lene. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: Leue.

13 biginning. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: beginning.

17 non. So MS, Kem, Mo, Bö. WH: none.

20 where feh. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: were foh.

29 ysotht. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: ysoht.

31 thede. So MS (þede), WH, Kem, Mo. Bö: þedes.

35 lere. So Bö. MS, WH, Kem, Mo: lerne.

39 fule. So MS, WH, Kem, Mo. Bö: file.

43 lerest. So Bö. MS, WH, Kem, Mo: lernest.

49 lerneth. So MS, WH, Mo. Bö: lereth.

52 biste. So MS, WH. Kem, Bö: luste.

62 unmytht. So MS, Kem. WH: un-might. Bö: unmyht.

66 ne. So MS, WH, Kem. Bö: neuer.

74 Thenne. So MS, WH, Bo. Kem: Þen.

80 fiht. So Mo, Bö. MS, WH, Kem: fist.

83 Thath. So MS (þaþ), WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: þah.

85 fytht. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: fyht.

119 stoke. So MS (e abbreviated), Mo. WH: stokes. Kem, Bö: stok.

122 Oune. So MS, Kem, Mo, Bö. WH: onne.

124 clotht. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: cloþ.

125 wrotht. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: wroþ.

126 Thath. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: þah.
ant. So MSS CUL Gg.I.1 and Digby 86. MS, WH, Kem, Mo, Bö: omitted.

127 ploth. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: ploh.

134 notht. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: noht.

151 wot. So MS, WH. Kem: wat. Bö: whet.
brohte. So MS, WH, Kem. Bö: broõte.

153 Er syth his lyf. MS, WH, Kem, Bö: Er his lyf syth.

155–60 Written as prose in the MS.

158 mytht. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: myht.

160 nad. So MS, WH, Kem, Mo. Bö: naþ.

163 him. So MS, Mo, Bö. WH: hym.

164 unsatht. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo: un-saht. Bö: vn saht.

183 wone. So MS, Kem, Mo, Bö. WH: woue.

184 mone. So Mo, Bö. MS, WH, Kem: mowe.

198 Drath. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: Drah.

199 theyn. So MS, WH, Mo, Bö. Kem: þayn.

200 ys. So MS, Kem, Mo, Bö. WH: is.

207 land. So MS, Kem, Mo, Bö. WH: lend.
cloth. So MS, WH, Mo, Bö. Kem: claþ.

208 fol. So MS, Kem, Bö. WH, Mo: ful.

221 wythoute. So MS, WH, Kem, Mo. Bö: wiþ oute.

223 edueth. So MS, Kem. WH, Mo: edneth. Bö: eduiteþv.

239 bord. So MS, Kem, Bö. WH: boord.

254 bette. MS, WH, Kem: bettre. Bö: betere.

255 fere. So WH, Kem, Bö. MS: fore.

256 yef. So Kem, Bö. MS, WH: ye.
were. So WH, Kem, Bö. MS: wore.

258 Lytht. So MS, WH, Kem. Bö: Lyht.

264 botht. So MS, WH, Kem. Bö: boht.

278 Quoth Hendyng. So WH, Kem, Mo, Bö. MS: line omitted.

302 wythynne. So MS, WH, Kem. Bö: wiþ ynne.

306 riche. So MS, Kem, Bö. WH: ryche.

308 Thath. So MS (þaþ), WH, Kem. Bö: þah.

327 rytht. So MS, WH, Kem. Bö: ryht.

328 nytht. So MS, WH, Kem. Bö: nyht.

343 hevene. So MS, WH, Kem. Mo, Bö: heuenne.










































































¶ Mon that wol of wysdam heren
At wyse Hendyng he may leren,
        That wes Marcolves sone,
Gode thonkes ant monie thewes
Forte teche fele shrewes,
        For that wes ever is wone.

Jesu Crist al folkes red,
That for us alle tholede ded
        Upon the rode-tre;
Lene us alle to ben wys
Ant to ende in his servys.
        Amen, par charite.
“God biginning
        Maketh god endyng,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Wyt ant wysdom lurneth yerne,
Ant loke that non other werne
        To be wys ant hende,
For betere were to bue wis
Then forte where feh ant grys,
        Wherso mon shal ende.
“Wyt ant wysdom
        Is god warysoun,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Ne may no mon that is in londe,
For nothyng that he con fonde,
        Wonen at home ant spede
So fele thewes forte leorne
Ase he that hath ysotht yeorne
        In wel fele theode.
“Ase fele thede,
        Ase fele thewes,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Ne bue thi child never so duere,
Ant hit wolle unthewes lere,
        Bet hit other whyle,
Mote hit al habben is wille,
Woltou nultou, hit wol spille
        Ant bicome a fule.
“Luef child
        Lore byhoveth,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Such lores ase thou lerest
After that thou sist ant herest,
        Mon in thyne youthe,
Shule the on elde folewe,
Bothe an eve ant amorewe,
        Ant bue the fol couthe.
“Whose yong lerneth,
        Olt he ne leseth,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Yef the biste a sunne don
Ant thy thoht bue al theron,
        Yet is god to blynne,
For when the hete is overcome
Ant thou have thy wyt ynome,
        Hit shal the lyke wynne.
“Let lust overgon;
        Eft hit shal the lyke,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Yef thou art of thohtes lyht,
Ant thou falle for unmytht
        In a wycked synne,
Loke that thou do hit so selde
In that sunne that thou ne elde
        That thou ne deye therinne.
“Betere is eye sor
        Then al blynd,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Me may lere a sely fode,
That is ever toward gode,
        With a lutel lore;
Yef me nul him forther teche,
Thenne is herte wol areche
        Forte lerne more.
“Sely chyld
        Is sone ylered,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Yef thou wolt fleyshe-lust overcome,
Thou most fiht ant fle ylome
        With eye ant with huerte.
Of fleysh-lust cometh shame.
Thath hit thunche the body game,
        Hit doth the soule smerte.
“Wel fytht
        That wel flyth,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Wis mon halt is wordes ynne,
For he nul no gle bygynne
        Er he have tempred is pype.
Sot is sot, ant that is sene,
For he wol speke wordes grene
        Er then hue buen rype.
“Sottes bolt
        Is sone shote,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Tel thou never thy fomon
Shome ne teone that the is on,
        Thi care ne thy wo,
For he wol fonde, yef he may,
Bothe by nyhtes ant by day,
        Of on to make two.
“Tel thou never thy fo
        That thy fot aketh,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Yef thou havest bred ant ale,
Ne put thou nout al in thy male;
        Thou del it sum aboute.
Be thou fre of thy meeles;
Wherso me eny mete deles,
        Gest thou nout withoute.
“Betere is appel y-yeve
        Then y-ete,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Alle whyle Ich wes on erthe,
Never lykede me my werthe
        For none wynes fylle,
Bote myn ant myn owen won—
Wyn ant water, stoke ant ston —
        Al goth to my wille.
“Este bueth
        Oune brondes,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Yef the lacketh mete other clotht,
Ne make the nout forthy to wrotht,
        Thath thou byde ant borewe,
For he that haveth is god ploth
Ant of worldes wele ynoh,
        Ne wot he of no sorewe.
“Gredy is
        The godles,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Yef thou art riche ant wel ytold,
Ne be thou notht tharefore to bold,
        Ne wax thou nout to wilde,
Ah ber the feyre in al thyng,
Ant thou miht habbe blessyng,
        Ant be meke ant mylde.
“When the coppe is follest,
        Thenne ber hire feyrest,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Yef thou art an old mon,
Tac thou the no yong wommon
        Forte be thi spouse;
For love thou hire ner so muche,
Hue wol telle to the lute
        In thin oune house.
“Moni mon syngeth
When he hom bringeth
        Is yonge wyf.
Wyste wot he brohte
Wepen he mohte
        Er syth his lyf,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Thah thou muche thenche, ne spek thou nout al;       
Bynd thine tonge with bonene wal.
Let hit don synke ther hit up swal;
Thenne mytht thou fynde frend overal.
“Tonge breketh bon
        Ant nad hireselve non,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Hit is mony gedelyng,
When me him yeveth a lutel thyng,
        Waxen wol unsatht;
Hy telle he deth wel by me
That me yeveth a lutel fe,
        Ant oweth me riht naht.
“That me lutel yeveth,
        He my lyf ys on,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Mon that is luef don ylle
When the world goth after is wille,
        Sore may him drede,
For yef hit tyde so that he falle,
Men shal, of is owen galle,
        Shenchen him at nede.
“The bet the be,
        The bet the byse,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Thah the wolde wel bycome
Forte make houses roume,
        Thou most nede abyde
Ant in a lutel house wone,
Forte thou fele that thou mone
        Withouten evel pryde.
“Under boske
        Shal men weder abide,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Holde Ich no mon for unsele
Otherwhyle thah he fele
        Sumthyng that him smerte;
For when mon is in treye ant tene,
Thenne hereth God ys bene,
        That he byd myd herte.
“When the bale is hest,
        Thenne is the bote nest,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Drath thyn hond sone ageyn
Yef men the doth a wycke theyn
        Ther thyn ahte ys lend,
So that child withdraweth is hond
From the fur ant the brond,
        That hath byfore bue brend.
“Brend child
        Fur dredeth,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Such mon have Ich land my cloth
That hath maked me fol wroth
        Er hit come ageyn;
Ah he that me ene serveth so,
Ant he eft bidde mo,
        He shal me fynde unfeyn.
“Selde cometh lone
        Lahynde hom,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Yef thou trost to borewyng,
The shal fayle mony thyng
        Loth when the ware;
Yef thou have thin oune won,
Thenne is thy treye overgon,
        Al wythoute care.
“Owen ys owen
        Ant other mennes edueth,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

This worldes love ys a wrecche —
Whose hit here, me ne recche,
        Thah Y speke heye —
For Y se that on brother
Lutel recche of that other,
        Be he out of ys eye.
“Fer from eye,
        Fer from herte,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Thah, uch mon byswyke me
That of my god maketh him fre
        Forte gete word,
Ant himself is the meste qued
That may breke eny bred
        At ys oune bord.
“Of unboht hude
        Men kerveth brod thong,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Moni men seith, were he ryche,
“Ne shulde non be me ylyche
        To be god ant fre,”
For when he hath oht bygeten,
Al the fredome is foryeten
        Ant leyd under kne.
“He is fre of hors
        That ner nade non,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Moni mon mid a lutel ahte
Yeveth is dohter an unmahte,
        Ant lutel is the bette,
Ant myhte withoute fere,
Wis mon yef he were,
        Wel hire have bysette.
“Lytht chep
        Luthere yeldes,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Strong ys ahte forte gete,
Ant wicke when me hit shal lete;
        Wys mon, take thou yeme!
Al to dere is botht that ware
That ne may, wythoute care,
        Monnes herte queme.
“Dere is botht the hony
        That is licked of the thorne,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Mon that munteth over flod
Whiles that the wynd ys wod
        Abyde fayre ant stille;
Abyd stille, yef that thou may,
Ant thou shalt have another day
        Weder after wille.
“Wel abit,
        That wel may tholye,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

That Y telle an evel lype:
Mon that doth him into shype
        Whil the weder is wod —
For be he come to the depe,
He mai wrynge hond ant wepe,
        Ant be of drery mod.
“Ofte rap
                Quoth Hendyng.

Mihte the luther mon
Don al the wonder that he con,
        Al the world forferde;
He fareth so doth the luther grom
That men ever beteth on
        With one smerte yerde.
“Of alle mester men,
        Mest me hongeth theves,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Wicke mon ant wicke wyf,
When hue ledeth wicke lyf,
        Ant buen in wicked synne,
Hue ne shule hit so wende
That hit ne shal, atte ende,
        Showe himself wythynne.
“Ever out cometh
        Evel sponne web,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Betere were a riche mon
Forte spouse a god womon,
        Thath hue be sumdel pore,
Then to brynge into his hous
A proud quene ant daungerous,
        That is sumdel hore.
“Moni mon for londe
        Wyveth to shonde,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Ne leve no mon, child, ne wyf,
When he shal wende of this lyf
        Ant drawe to the dethe,
For mowe he the bones bydelve,
Ant the ahte welde hemselve,
        Of thi soule huem ys ethe.
        Ys the dede,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

The glotoun ther he fynt god ale,
He put so muche in ys male,
        Ne leteth he for non eye,
So longe he doth uch mon rytht,
That he wendeth hom by nytht
        Ant lyth ded by the weye.
“Drynke eft lasse
        Ant go by lyhte hom,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Riche ant pore, yonge ant olde,
Whil ye habbeth wyt at wolde,
        Secheth ore soule bote.
For when ye weneth alrebest
Forte have ro ant rest,
        The ax is at the rote.
“Hope of long lyf
        Gyleth mony god wyf,”
                Quoth Hendyng.

Hendyng seith soth of mony thyng.
Jesu Crist, hevene kyng,
        Us to blisse brynge,
For his swete moder love,
That sit in hevene us above,
        Yeve us god endynge. Amen.
¶ He who wants to hear wisdom
May learn from wise Hending,
        Who was Marcolf’s son,
Good principles and many morals
To teach many unruly children,
        For that was always his manner.

May Jesus Christ counsel all people,
Who for us all suffered death
        Upon the cross-tree;
Permit us all to be wise
And to die in his service.
        Amen, for charity.
“Good beginning
        Makes good ending,”
                Says Hending.

Eagerly learn wit and wisdom,
And see that no one else be hindered
        From being wise and courteous,
For better it is to be wise
Than to wear fur-lined clothes,
        However one may fare.
“Wit and wisdom
        Is good treasure,”
                Says Hending.

Nor may anyone on earth,
No matter how hard he tries,
        Stay at home and prosper
In learning many morals
So well as he who’s diligently looked
        In very many places.
“So many countries,
        So many customs,”
                Says Hending.

However precious your child is,
Should it learn evil habits,
        Or otherwise,
If it must have all its will,
Despite your wishes, it will fail
        And become a fool.
“Precious child
        Needs instruction,”
                Says Hending.

Such wisdoms as you learn
From what you see and hear,
        Man in your youth,
Shall follow you into old age,
Both morning and night,
        And be very well known to you.
“What one learns in youth,
        He does not lose in old age,”
                Says Hending.

If you are about to commit a sin
And your intent is entirely set on it,
        Still it is good to refrain,
For when the passion is overcome
And you have recovered your wits,
        It shall win you pleasure.
“Let desire be conquered;
        In return you shall be pleased,”
                Says Hending.

If you are weak of conviction,
And you fall on account of frailty
        Into a wicked sin,
See that you commit it so seldom
That you do not grow old in that sin
        Nor die therein.
“Better is eye sore
        Than all blind,”
                Says Hending.

One may teach an innocent child,
Who is ever inclined to good,
        With a bit of lore;
If one doesn’t teach him further,
Then his heart will reach out
        To learn more.
“Innocent child
        Is quickly taught,”
                Says Hending.

If you will conquer fleshly lust,
You must fight and flee often
        With eye and with heart.
From fleshly lust comes shame.
Though the body thinks it a sport,
        It does afflict the soul.
“Well fights
        That well flees,”
                Says Hending.

The wise man holds his words in,
For he will begin no minstrelsy
        Before he has tuned his pipe.
A fool is a fool, and that is clear,
For he will speak immature words
        Before they are ripe.
“A fool’s bolt
        Is soon shot,”
                Says Hending.

Never tell your enemy
A shame or injury that you’re in,
        Your care nor your distress,
For he will discover, if he may,
Both by night and by day,
        How to make two from one.
“Never tell your foe
        That your foot aches,”
                Says Hending.

If you have bread and ale,
Don’t put all in your pouch;
        Serve some of it about.
Be generous with your meals;
Wherever one serves any food,
        You’ll not go without.
“Better is apple given
        Than eaten,”
                Says Hending.

All the time I was on earth,
My possessions never pleased me
        For none satisfied me,
But my things and my own ways —
Wine and water, stick and stone —
        All goes as I wish.
“Pleasant is
        One’s own hearth fire,”
                Says Hending.

If you lack food or clothing,
Don’t be therefore too upset,
        Though you beg and borrow,
For he who has his good plow
And enough of worldly fortune,
        He knows no sorrow.
“Greedy is
        The one without goods,”
                Says Hending.

If you are rich and highly regarded,
Don’t be too proud because of that,
        Nor become too unrestrained,
But bear yourself properly in all affairs,
And you might obtain blessing,
        And be meek and humble.
“When the cup is fullest,
        Then bear it most carefully,”
                Says Hending.

If you are an old man,
Take no young woman
        To be your spouse;
For no matter how much you love her,
She will tell you too little truth
        In your own house.
“Many man sings
When he home brings
        His young wife.
If he knew what he brought,
Weep he must
        For the rest of his life,”
                Says Hending.

Though you think much, don’t say all;
Bind your tongue with bony wall.
Let it sink down where up it swelled;
Then might you find friends overall.
“Tongue breaks bone
        Though itself has none,”
                Says Hending.

There is many a fellow who,
When one gives him a small amount,
        Becomes all dissatisfied;
They say he does well by me
Who gives me a little fee,
        And owes me nothing at all.
“He who gives me little
        Benefits my life,”
                Says Hending.

One who is prone to do evil
When the world follows his will,
        Should be sorely afraid,
For should it happen that he fall,
Men will, with his own gall,
        Serve him in his need.
“The better off you are,
        The more you should take care,”
                Says Hending.

Although you would fully wish
To make houses roomy,
        You must be patient
And dwell in a little house,
As you know that you must
        Without evil pride.
“Under bush
        One must wait out weather,”
                Says Hending.

I maintain that no one is wretched
Even though he feels
        Something that pains him;
For when one is in trouble and grief,
Then God hears his request,
        Which he earnestly prays.
“When the pain is highest,
        Then is the remedy nighest,”
                Says Hending.

Withdraw your hand immediately
If one does to you a wicked turn
        Where your favor is lent,
Just as a child withdraws his hand
From the fire and the brand,
        Who’s been burnt before.
“Burnt child
        Fire dreads,”
                Says Hending.

To such men have I lent my garb
That it made me quite angry
        Before it was returned;
But he who serves me so once,
If he were to ask again,
        Will find me unwilling.
“Seldom does a loan come
        Laughing home,”
                Says Hending.

If you rely on borrowing,
Many things shall fail you
        When you least wish;
If you have your own possession,
Then your vexation is overcome,
        All without care.
“Own is one’s own
        And another man’s shame,”
                Says Hending.

This world’s love is a wretched thing —
Whoever hears it, I don’t care,
        Though I speak sternly —
For I see that one brother
Little cares about the other,
        When he’s out of sight.
“Far from eye,
        Far from heart,”
                Says Hending.

However, each one defrauds me
Who helps himself to my goods
        To gain a good reputation,
While he himself is the most miserly
Ever to break bread
        At his own table.
“From unbought leather
        One cuts a broad thong,”
                Says Hending.

Many say that, were they rich,
“There’d be none like me
        In goodness or generosity,”
But when he has obtained anything,
All the generosity is forgotten
        And hidden under knee.
“He is generous of horse
        Who never had one,”
                Says Hending.

Many a man of little property
Gives his daughter a poor match,
        And little is the better,
Yet he might without fear,
If he were a wise man,
        Have bestowed her well.
“Cheap bargain
        Yields poorly,”
                Says Hending.

Property is arduous to acquire,
And evil when one loses it;
        Wise man, take heed!
All too dearly is bought that ware
That may not, without care,
        Satisfy man’s heart.
“Dearly bought is the honey
        Licked off the thorn,”
                Says Hending.

One who intends to go over the sea
While the wind is turbulent
        Should wait patiently and calmly;
Wait calmly, if you can,
And you shall have another day
        Weather to your liking.
“Well abides,
        He who well may suffer,”
                Says Hending.

Thus I describe an evil leap:
One who boards a ship
        When the weather is wild —
Should he come into the deep,
He may wring his hands and weep,
        And be of sorry spirit.
“Often haste
                Says Hending.

The treacherous man might
Commit all the crimes that he can,
        Ravaging all the world;
He fares just like the worthless servant
Continually beaten up by men
        With a painful rod.
“Of all tradesmen,
        Thieves they hang most,”
                Says Hending.

Wicked man and wicked woman,
When they lead wicked lives,
        And remain in wicked sin,
They shall fare in such a way
That it’ll happen, in the end,
        They’ll expose their inner selves.
“Always unravels
        The evilly spun web,”
                Says Hending.

Better it were for a rich man
To marry a good woman,
        Though she be somewhat poor,
Than to bring into his house
A proud and haughty noblewoman,
        Who’s something of a whore.
“Many a man for land
        Marries to his disgrace,”
                Says Hending.

Do not trust man, child, or woman,
When [you] shall depart from this life
        And draw toward death,
For though they may bury the bones,
And the property govern themselves,
        Of your soul they are indifferent.
        Is the dead,”
                Says Hending.

Where the glutton finds good ale,
He puts so much in his belly,
        He stops for nothing.
He regales each man so long
That he travels home by night
        And lies dead by the road.
“Drink again less
        And go home by daylight,”
                Says Hending.

Rich and poor, young and old,
While you have control of your wit,
        Seek your soul’s remedy,
For when you think it’s best of all
To have peace and rest,
        The ax is at the root.
“Hope of long life
        Beguiles many a good wife,”
                Says Hending.

Hending speaks truth about many things.
Jesus Christ, heaven’s king,
        Bring us to bliss,
For his sweet mother’s love,
Who sits in heaven us above,
        Give us good ending. Amen.
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Go To Art. 90, When man as mad a kyng of a capped man, introduction
Go To Art. 90, When man as mad a kyng of a capped man, text