Piers Plowman - Maybe You Like It

17.331: The wif is oure wikked flessh that wol noght be chastised,
17.332: For kynde clyveth on hym evere to contrarie the soule.
17.333: And though it falle, it fynt skiles, that "" Frelete it made,''
17.334: And ""That is lightly foryyven and foryeten bothe
17.335: To man that mercy asketh and amende thenketh.''
17.336: "The reyn that reyneth ther we reste sholde
17.337: Ben siknesses and sorwes that we suffren oughte,
17.338: As Poul the Apostle to the peple taughte:
17.338: Virtus in infirmitate perficitur.
17.339: And though that men make muche doel in hir angre,
17.340: And ben inpacient in hir penaunce, pure reson knoweth
17.341: That thei han cause to contrarie, by kynde of hir siknesse;
17.342: And lightliche Oure Lord at hir lyves ende
17.343: Hath mercy on swiche men, that so yvele may suffre.
17.344: "Ac the smoke and the smolder that smyt in oure eighen,
17.345: That is coveitise and unkyndenesse, that quencheth Goddes
mercy.
17.346: For unkyndenesse is the contrarie of alle kynnes reson;
17.347: For ther nys sik ne sory, ne noon so muche wrecche
17.348: That he ne may lovye, and hym like, and lene of his herte
17.349: Good wille, good word — bothe wisshen and wilnen
17.350: Alle manere men mercy and foryifnesse,
17.351: And lovye hem lik hymself, and his lif amende.
17.352: "I may no lenger lette!' quod he, and lyard he prikede,
17.353: And wente awey as wynd — and therwith I awakede.
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