“I shal thee faire showe. 
  Lat brynge a man in a boot, . amydde the brode watre;
  The wynd and the water . and the boot waggyng,
  Maketh the man many a tyme . to falle and to stonde;
  For stonde he never so stif, . he stumbleth if he meve,
  Ac yet is he saaf and sound, . and so hym bihoveth;
  For if he ne arise the rather, . and raughte to the steere,
  The wynd wolde with the water . the boot over throwe;
  And thanne were his lif lost, . thorough lackesse of hymselve[32]. 
  And thus it falleth,” quod the frere, . “by folk here on erthe;
  The water is likned to the world . that wanyeth and wexeth;
  The goodes of this grounde arn like . to the grete wawes,
  That as wyndes and wedres . walketh aboute;
  The boot is likned to oure body . that brotel[33] is of kynde,
  That thorough the fend and the flesshe . and the frele worlde
  Synneth the sadde man . a day seven sithes. 
  Ac[34] dedly synne doth he noght, . for Do-wel hym kepeth;
  And that is Charite the champion, . chief help ayein Synne;
  For he strengtheth men to stonde, . and steereth mannes soule,
  And though the body bowe . as boot dooth in the watre,
  Ay is thi soul saaf, . but if thou wole thiselve
  Do a deedly synne, . and drenche so thi soule,
  God wole suffre wel thi sleuthe[35] . if thiself liketh. 
  For he yaf thee a yeres-gyve,[36] . to yeme[37] wel thiselve,
  And that is wit and free-wil, . to every wight a porcion,
  To fleynge foweles, . to fisshes and to beastes: 
  Ac man hath moost thereof, . and moost is to blame,
  But if he werch wel therwith, . as Do-wel hym techeth.” 
  “I have no kynde knowyng,"[38] quod I, . “to conceyven alle your wordes: 
  Ac if I may lyve and loke, .  I shall go lerne bettre.” 
  “I bikenne thee Christ,"[39] quod he, . “that on cros deyde!”
  And I seide “the same . save you fro myschaunce,
  And gyve you grace on this grounde . goode men to worthe!"[40]
  And thus I wente wide wher . walkyng myn one,[41]
  By a wilderness, . and by a wodes side: 
  Blisse of the briddes.[42] .  Broughte me a-slepe,
  And under a lynde upon a launde[43] . lened I a stounde[44],
  To lythe the layes . the lovely foweles made,
  Murthe of hire mowthes . made me ther to slepe;
  The merveillouseste metels[45] . mette me[46] thanne
  That ever dremed wight . in worlde, as I wene. 
  A muche man, as me thoughte . and like to myselve,
  Cam and called me . by my kynde name. 
  “What artow,” quod I tho, . “that thow my name knowest.” 
  “That woost wel,” quod he, . “and no wight bettre.” 
  “Woot I what thou art?” .  “Thought,” seide he thanne;
  “I have sued[47] thee this seven yeer, . seye[48] thou me no rather."[49]
  “Artow Thought,” quod I thoo, . “thow koudest me wisse,
  Where that Do-wel dwelleth, . and do me that to knowe.” 
  “Do-wel and Do-bet, . and Do-best