The Monk's Tale
Folio 91v
6 of 20 folios
This kyng of kynges / proud was and elat
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He wende / that god / that sit in magestee
Ne myghte hym nat bireue / of his estat
But sodeynly / he loste his dignytee
And lyk a beest hym semed for to be
And eet hey as an Oxe / and lay ther oute
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In reyn / with wilde beestes walked he
Til certeyn tyme / was ycome aboute
¶ And lyk an Egles fetheres / wax hise herys
Hise nayles / lyk a briddes clawes weere
Til god relessed hym / a certeyn yerys
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And yaf hym wit and thanne wt many a teere
He thanked god / and euere his lyf in feere
Was he to doon amys / or moore trespace
And til that tyme / he leyd was on his beere
He knew / that god / was ful of myght & gace
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His sone / which that highte Balthasar
That heeld the regne / after his fader day
He by his fader / koude noght be war
For proud he was / of herte and of array
And eek an ydolastre / was he ay
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His hye estat / assured hym in pryde
But Fortune caste hym down / and ther he lay
And sodeynly / his regne gan dyuyde
¶ A feste he made / vn to hise lordes alle
Vp on a tyme / and made hem blithe be
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And thanne hise Officers / gan he calle
Gooth bryngeth forth / the vessels quod he
Whiche that my fader / in his prosperitee
Out of the temple of Ierusalem / birafte
And to oure hye goddes / thanke we
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Of honour / that oure eldres / wt vs lafte
¶ His wyf / hise lordes / and hise concubynes
Ay dronken / whil hir appetites laste
Out of thise noble vessels / sondry wynes
And on a wal / this kyng hise eyen caste
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And say an hand armlees / that wroot ful faste
For feere of which / he quook / and siked soore
This hand / þt Balthasar so soore agaste
Wroot Mane techel phares / and namoore