no man telle his counseil to his wyf,
Of such thing as he wold have secret fayn,
If that it touche his limbes or his lif.

De Ercule

Of Ercules, the sovereyn conquerour,
Singen his werkes laude and high renoun;
For in his tyme of strength he bar the flour.

He slew and rafte the skyn fro the lioún;
He of Centaures layde the boast adoun;
He Arpies slew, the cruel birddes felle;
The gold appul he raft fro the dragoún;
He drof our Cerbures the hounde of helle;
He slew the cruel tyrant Buserus,
And made his hors to eat him flesh and boon;
He slew the verray serpent venemous;
Of Achiloyus tuo hornes he raft oon;
He slew Cacus within a cave of stoon;
He slew the geaunt Anteus the stronge:
He slew the grisly bore, and that anon;
And bar the hevene upon his necke longe.

Was never wight, since the world bigan,
That slew so many monstres as dede he;
Thurghout the wide world his name ran.
What for his strengthe and for his highe bountee,
And every realme went he for to see;
He was so strong, ther might no man him lette.
At bothe the worldes endes, as saith the Trophe,
In stede of boundes he a piler sette.

A lemman hadde this noble champioun,
That highte Dejanire, fressh as May;
And as these clerkes maken mencioun,
She hath him sent a shirte fresh and gay.
Alas! this shirt, allas and wailaway!
Envenymèd was subtily withalle,
That ere he hadde wered it half a day,
It made his flesh al from his bones falle.

But nontheles som clerkes hir excusen,
That oon that highte Nessus, had it makyd.
Be as be may, I wil nought hir accusen;
But on his bak he wered this shirt al nakyd,
Til that his flesh was for the venym blackèd.
And whan he saw no other remedye,
In hote coles he hath himself i-rakèd;
For with no venym deignèd him to dye.

Thus died this mighty and worthy Ercules.
Lo! who may truste fortune eny throwe?
For he that folweth al this world of press,
Ere he be war, is oft y-layd ful lowe.
Ful wys is he that can himselven knowe!
Be war, for whan that fortune list to glose,
Than waytith she hir man to overthrowe,
By suche way as he wolde least suppose.

De Rege Nabugodonosor

The fairest children of the blood roial
Of Israel he captive took anoon,
And made each -of them for to be his thral;
Amonges othre Daniel was oon,
That was the wisest child of everyoon;
For he the dremes of the king expounèd,
When in Chaldea was ther clerkes noon
That wiste to what end his dremes sounded

This proude king let make a statu of gold,
Sixty cubites long and seven in brede,
To which ymáge bothe yonge and olde
Comaunded he to love and have in drede,
Or in a fornays ful of flames red
He shulde be brent that wolde not obeye.
But never wolde assente to that dede
Danyel nor his yonge felawes twey.

This king of kinges proud was and elate;
He wende God that sit in majestee
Never might him bireve of his estate.
But sodeynly he left his dignitee,
I-lik a beast him semèd for to be,
And eet hay as an oxe, and lay ther-oute
In rayn, with wilde bestes walkyd he,
Til certein tyme was i-come aboute.

And lik an eglis fetheres were his heres,
His hondes like a briddes clowes were,
Til God relessèd him a certeyn yeres.
And gaf him witte, and thanne with many a tere
He thanked God, and ever he is in fear
To do amys or more to trespáce.
And ere that tyme he layd was on his bere,
He knew wel God was ful of might and grace.