51ra] 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 51rb] 41 45 50 55 60 65 70 75 80 51va] 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 51vb] 130 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 52ra] 171 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 52rb] 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 52va]    255 260 265 270 275

Un grant estrif oy l’autrer Entre Esté e sire Yver, Ly queux avereit la seignurie. Yver ad dit oncke oye: “Je su,” fet il, “seignur e mestre,   [Yver] E a bon dreit le dey estre, Quant, de la bowe, face caucé Par un petit de geelé; E quant je vueil, yl vente e pluet E negge, aprés qe l’em ne puet, Par mei, gueres bosoigne fere. Ne ja n’entera charue en terre Pur roi ne duc si je ne l’ voil. Tiel vodreit aver remoil, A cui je doins grysil e glace! E quant me plest, si lur faz grace De cotiver un jour ou deus, E pus aprés reposer trois. E n’est ce donqe grant seignorie, D’aver touz tant en ma baylye Que nul ne passera le soyl Santz anuy, si je ne l’ voil? E qui purreit, donque, desdyre Que Yver ne fust mestre e syre?” ¶ Esté respound: “Je ne l’ grant mye!   [Esté]      Ne ja ne le froy en ma vie!    De moie part, La chose serra plus oye, E quant ele ert mieux asye,    Seit sur esgart! Ce n’est pas honour ne corteisie, Ne gueres le tienk a ‘mestrie’    De vassal, Pur une petite bailie De prendre a nulle rien atye    De fere mal. Mes pus qe dire le vous dey — Avauntez estes de grant effrey,    Apertement. Uncore frez vous plus mal, ce crey, Qe dit n’avez, ne fust pur mey    Qe vous defent. Tant estes de grant demesure Qe de belté n’avez cure    A vostre vueil, Mes, tant come vostre sesone dure, Vous avez, de ma nature,    Le chaut soleyl. Ore avez mostré ta mestrie, Qe ne valt pas un alye    Qui bien l’entent. Vous n’avez cure d’autre vie Fors fere mal e freyterye    A tote gent. Mes si je pus rien oyr Qe de vous pust chose venir    Si mal noun, Je vous dirroi, sauntz mentir, De ma mesure, mon pleysir,    E la resoun.” ¶ Yver respount santz nul respit:   [Yver] “Merveille,” fet il, “avez dit, Que de moi ne vient nul bien: Donque, n’est ce pas trestot myen? E pur ma tres grant largesse Tous les conquer — nient par peresse! Nuls um est qe ov vous tienge. Ja, Dieu ne place, que me avyenge Que ne face plus honour E plus despenz en un soul jour Que vous en tote vostre vie. Si je ne vous faz aye, Cheytif, ja morrez vous de feym! E dont vous vient de mettre cleym Encountre moi qe tot pus fere! Vous n’estez mie deboneyre. Vous estes fel e froit e feynt. A mensungier serrez ateynt De ceste vostre fole emprise! Bien, est droit qe l’em vous prise Pur vostre grant noreture: Musches e mal aventure, Lesards e colures grauntz, Crapotz e serpenz puauntz Sunt reignes de ta meynee! Mes quant je vienk par lur countree, N’ad si hardy qe m’atent Que je mort ou mat ne rend. E, pur ce, vous lou je bien Qu’encontre moy ne diez rien.” ¶ Esté respound, e dit aprés:   [Esté] “Yver, vous estes molt parvers    A tote gent, De mesdire es molt engrees. Male bouche ne puet mees    Si ele mesprent. Je su,” fet il, “des fraunceis. De nul guerrer ne nul maveis,    N’ay talent, For soul Yver, qu’est engrees, Feloun, pulent, e maveis    Apertement. Mes pur ce qe bien vivre ne volez, A nul jour mes me amerez    Parfitement. Je vous noris les vins fraunceis Qe vous vont fere les gabeis    Molt sovent. Feynz, formentz, fevez, peys, Touz sunt norys en me treis meys —    Ce sevent tote gent! Mes quant vous avez la plenté Que je ay a tous abaundoné    Communement, Quant vous le avez gasté, Que ja ne averez honour ne gree    De nulle gent! Quar en vous n’est point de mesure, Tant come vyn ou cervoise dure,    En verité; Par vos tempestes, gresils, plues, ventz, Vous anuyez totes gentz,    Sauntz fauceté! Tous bestes vodrez anuyer, E totes choses vodrez gastier,    Si vous puissez; E trestous pur mey grever — Eynz puissez vous crever    Qe vous le facez! Et dites que vous me peesez — Peyse vous que rien lessez    A moun venyr! Mes quant je vienk, je porte assez Chars noveles e deintez    Pur mei servyr. Le buef freyshe e veneyson Dount ja ne enundres ton gernoun    Si n’est salee. Je ne su pas frere a glotoun Pur estrangler le viel motoun    En fumee! Pur ce, vous lou, en verité, Qe n’estes pas molt bien amé    De tote gent. De ‘seignurie’ qe vous avez clamé, Bien vous lou facez mon gree,    Sauntz jugement.” ¶ Yver respound: “Ore eit deshee   [Yver] Que cure ad de vostre gree! Aynz lerroy seignurye Que j’ay clamé par vostre vie, Quar vous n’i avetz point de dreit — Que cel vous dit vous deceit! Qui vous tendroit a seignour? Certes, nul que seit de valour, Fors danz Poydras, Maymont, Sweyn — Cyl vivent bien de poy de peyn, E autres tiels avetz assez. Mes ceus sunt vos plus privez. Les autres sunt molt bien feyteez De Loundres e d’autres cytés As hospitals e as abbeyes. En vostre temps sount lur veyes, E dorment longe matynee. Le solail chaut molt lur agree, Mes par un petit de freydour, Je les chace le feu entour! Un tiel serjaunt a son seignour En bosoigne freit grant ‘socour’ — De fere bone saulee Ou il trovassent sa guyree! Ycele n’est pas ma meynee; Tot autrement l’ay afeyté. Ne sevent vivre de francboyses, Dont les vos font grant noyses! Les miens sunt peus come li baroun De volatyl e bon braoun. Quant les vos muerent de freit, N’est nul de myenz qe poynt en eit; De le freit se puet molt bien defendre, Mes nul de vos ne puet attendre Ne robes ne sourveyl doner Quant il ne poent laborer. Ne je ne vueil nul tiel noryr Que nul bien puet deservyr. Tous avez vous aquillis, Les malveis e les faylis, E se fount coyntes d’amours, E sunt larouns e murdrysours. Pur ce, vous lou je, en bone fey, Que vous acordez ovesque mey, Quar si jugement volez atendre, Par dreit agard um vous deit pendre!” ¶ Quant Esté le oy taunt dyre,   [Esté] Yl respount e dit, sauntz ire,    Son talent: “Si vostre mal vous empyre, Soffrez un petit, bel syre,    Que vous ament. De mesdyre es trop delyvre, E de mal fere, estes plus guyvre    Que serpent. Vous estes de her seir yvre, E quanque dit vostre lyvre,    Si vous ment. Je norisse molt bone gent, Chivalers clerks ensement,    A grant plenté, Que me servent bonement. Quantque lur vient a talent    Lur ay doné. De ce que vous m’avez repris De la vermine qe je noris,    E d’autre rien, Si faz je vous, donqe je faz pis. Mes, ne sunt pas trestous amis    A qui l’em fet bien. Quanqe je faz de noreture Tot est pur Dieu creature,    Petit e grant, Mes vous metez tote vostre cure De tuer a demesure    Quanque est vivant. Si vous estes de halt parage, Bien savom de quel lignage    Estes issaunt. Dreitz est que facez utrage, Bien savoms que futes page    Parfound a val. Lucifer e son neveu De li estes meyntenu    De fere mal: Vous estes son parent e son dru, E de mal fere tenez son lu    Especial. Je ne su pas de ly apris, Quar tot le mal nous ad conquis    Daunz Lucifer; Je su de parais transmys Pur vous remuer del pays    E gent amender. Je faz russinole chaunter, Arbres floryr, fruit porter,    Sauntz countredit. Je faz floryr le verger, Fueil e flur novel porter    A grant delit. Les blees qe par vous sunt perys, Les met avant e les norys    A moun poer. Les bestes qu’avez pres ocys Je les ay en vertu mys    A moun voler. Je ne vous vueil mie deceveyr. Ceus qe sachent mon poeir,    La vostre gent, Ore entendez! Si je dy veyr, Vivre ne porrez matyn ne seyr    Seurement! Si ne nasquid greyn de forment, E autre fruitz communement,    Que frez vous? Vyn, ne claré ne piement, Ja ne bevera vostre gent,    Si noun par nous. Mes taunt, je vueil dyre Que sauntz Yver poez vyvre    A graunt honour. Mes ne puet nul contredire. Yver ne puet aver que fruyre    Si de Esté n’eit socour. Seigneurs e dames, ore emparlez, Que nos paroles oy avez    Apertement, E vous puceles que tant amez, Je vous requer que vous rendez    Le jugement.”

I heard a grand debate the other day Between Summer and Sir Winter, Over who should have lordship. Winter spoke for all to hear: “I am,” he says, “lord and master,   [Winter] And by right I ought to be, When, from mud, I make a road By a little bit of frost; And whenever I wish, it blows and rains And snows, after which men, Thanks to me, can scarcely do their work. Never will a plow enter the earth For king or duke if I don’t wish it. To those who’d like to have a thaw, I hurl hail and ice! And when it pleases me, I let them Cultivate for a day or two, And afterwards to rest three. And is this not great lordship, To have everything so fully in my power That nothing will pierce the soil Without trouble, if I don’t wish it? And who, therefore, could deny That Winter is master and lord?” ¶ Summer replies: “I don’t accept it at all!   [Summer] Nor will I ever do so in my life!    For my part, The matter will be heard further, And when it has been better tested,    Watch out! It’s neither honor nor courtesy, Nor do I think it at all ‘mastery’    In a vassal, For the sake of a small domain To accept any kind of challenge    By doing evil. But since I must speak with you — You’ve boasted of causing much trouble,    Openly. You’d do even more evil, believe me, Than you’ve said, if it weren’t for me    Who prevents you. You’re so very immoderate That you don’t care at all for beauty    By your own volition, Yet, while your season lasts, You have, on account of my nature,    The hot sun. Now you’ve displayed your power, Which isn’t worth a fig    To those who pay close attention. You don’t care for any way of life Aside from doing evil and cold violence    To everyone. But since I can’t hear Anything coming from you    Other than evil, I’ll tell you, without lying, About my own moderation, my pleasures,    And the rightness of it.” ¶ Winter answers immediately:   [Winter] “It’s incredible,” he says, “what you’ve alleged, That from me there comes no good: Now then, isn’t everything mine? And by my very great generosity I win them all over — not by idleness! There’s no one who holds with you. Indeed, never may it please God that it happen That I fail to produce more honor And dispense more in a single day Than you do in your whole life. If I didn’t help you, Wretch, you’d die of hunger! Yet you’ve just made a claim Against me that you can do everything! You’re not at all gracious. You’re evil and cold and false. You’ll be convicted of lying About this your foolish endeavor! Yes, it’s true that people value you For your great ability to nurture: Flies and bad accidents, Lizards and huge snakes, Toads and stinking serpents Are the queens of your household! But when I venture through their territory, There’s none so hardy to come against me Whom I don’t render dead or beaten. And, for this, I certainly advise you To say nothing against me.” ¶ Summer answers, then saying:   [Summer] “Winter, you’re quite perverse    Toward everyone, Whom you’re very eager to defame. An evil mouth can do nothing    But harm. I am,” he says, “French. For fighting or anything bad,    I have no desire, Except against Winter, who is savage, Vicious, stinking, and bad    Plainly. But since you don’t wish to live well, You’ll never be fond of me    Completely. I nurture for you the French wines That make you boast    Quite often. Hay, wheat, beans, peas, All are nurtured in my three months —    Everyone knows this! But when you have the bounty That I’ve freely given to all    In common, How thoroughly you’ve wasted it, Who’ll never gain honor or gratitude    From anyone! For in you there’s no moderation at all, So long as the wine or beer lasts,    In truth; With your tempests, hails, rains, winds, You’re troublesome to all people,    Without fail! You want to harass all animals, And you want to destroy all things,    If you can; And you do all this to injure me — First may you burst    Before you do it! And you say that you grieve me — It grieves you to leave anything    For my coming! But when I arrive, I carry enough New meats and delicacies    To serve my turn. Fresh beef and venison Will never moisten your whiskers    If they’re not salt-cured. I’m not akin to a glutton Who would choke an old mutton    In smoke! For this, I inform you, in truth, That you’re very little loved    By anyone. As for the ‘lordship’ you’ve claimed, It’s highly advisable that you accept my will    Before a verdict.” ¶ Winter replies: “Now curse   [Winter] Whoever cares about your will! Earlier I failed to mention the lordship That I have claimed over your life, For you’re absolutely wrong — Whoever says you’re right is fooling you! Who will accept you as lord? Certainly, no one of any worth, Only Lords Littlecloth, Mayhill, Swain — These live well with little effort, And you have plenty of others like them. But these are your closest companions. The others are very well ensconced In London and other towns Within hospices and abbeys. Yours go their own ways in your season, And they sleep late in the morning. The hot sun pleases them greatly, But with just a bit of cold, I chase them back around the fire! Servants like that give their lord Great ‘assistance’ in time of need — By getting good and drunk Where they come upon his supplies! My household is not like this; I've instructed them quite differently. They don’t think to live on raspberries, About which yours make such a big fuss! Mine are supported like barons With poultry and good meat. When yours die of cold, None of mine feel it at all; From cold they can well protect themselves, But none of yours can expect Either clothing or support When they can’t work. Nor do I wish to nurture any such Who doesn’t deserve any goods. You’ve welcomed everyone, The sinful and the lazy, And those thinking themselves clever in love, And those who are thieves and murderers. For this, I advise you, in good faith, That you come to an agreement with me, For should you wish to await a verdict, By a just judgment they ought to hang you!” ¶ When Summer hears him talk so,   [Summer] He answers and, without anger, speaks    His mind: “Since your evil is making you worse, Pay attention a bit, good sir,    To what may make you better. You’re too ready to slander, And to do evil you’re sharper tongued    Than a serpent. You’re drunk from last night, And whatever your book says,    It lies to you. I nurture many good people, Knights together with clerks,    In great number, Who serve me graciously. Whatever is to their liking    I have given them. Concerning how you’ve reproved me For the vermin I nurture,    And whatever else, I also made you, which is far worse. Indeed, they're not all friends    For whom one does good. Whatever sustenance I create Is wholly for God’s creatures,    Small and large, But you devote all your effort Toward inordinately killing    Whatever lives. Although you’re of high parentage, We know indeed from what kind of lineage    You have issued. It’s fitting you behave outrageously, For we know indeed that you were a page    In the pit below. By Lucifer and his nephew You are maintained    For evildoing: You are his kinsman and loved one, And for doing evil you hold his    Special favor. I'm not instructed by him, Since all evil was won for us    By Lord Lucifer; I'm sent from heaven To expel you from the land    And make the people better. I make the nightingale sing, Trees to bloom, bear fruit,    Without doubt. I make the orchard flourish, Bear leaves and new flowers    To great delight. The grains that are ruined by you, I advance and nurture them    By my power. The animals that you’ve nearly killed I bring back to physical strength    By my will. I don’t wish at all to deceive you. Those of you who know my power,    Winter’s people, Now listen! If I’m telling the truth, You’ll not live morning or evening    In security! If the grain of wheat is not birthed, And the other fruits equally as well,    What will you do? Wine, neither claret nor spiced, Will your people ever drink,    If we don’t provide it. Furthermore, I wish to say That without Winter you could live    In great honor. No one would ever dispute that. Winter would cause only cold destruction    If Summer didn’t provide relief. Lords and ladies, deliberate now, You who’ve heard our words    Spoken aloud, And you maidens who love so much, I ask you to pronounce    The verdict.”

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