125ra]      5 10 15 125rb] 20 25 125va] 31 35 40 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 125vb] 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 126ra] 131 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 126rb] 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 215 220 126va] 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 126vb] 266 270 275 280 285 290 295 300 305 127ra] 310 315 320 325 330 335 340 345

¶ 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         Reweth,”                 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. “Frendles         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         Regrets,”                 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. “Friendless         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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