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William Langland Biography

William Langland (/ˈlæŋlənd/; Latin: Willielmus de Langland; c. 1332 – c. 1386) is the presumed author of a work of Middle English alliterative verse generally known as Piers Plowman, an allegory with a complex variety of religious themes. The poem translated the language and concepts of the cloister into symbols and images that could be understood by a layman.

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William Langland Quotes

The Spirit of Justice is the single most important seed Piers planted; if you don't live by its teaching, your chance of salvation is nil. Unless Conscience and the Cardinal Virtues form the food that people live on, just take my word for it, they're utterly lost - every single living soul among them!

Lost, People, Teaching, Unless, Utterly, Wisdom

Like father, like son: every good tree maketh good fruits.

Father, Fruits, Like, Son, Tree

For if hevene be on this erthe, and ese to any soule,It is in cloistre or in scole.

Cloistre, Erthe, Ese, Hevene, Ifs, Scole

First impressions of mediaeval life are usually coloured by the courtly romances of Malory and his later refiners. Chaucer brings us down to reality, but his people belong to a prosperous middle-class world, on holiday and in holiday mood. Piers Plowman stands alone as a revelation of the ignorance and misery of the lower classes, whose multiplied grievances came to a head in the Peasants' Revolt of 1381.

Down, Holiday, Ignorance, Reality, Romances, World

Manye chapeleyns arn chaste, ac charite is aweye; Are none hardere than hii whan hii ben avaunced: Unkynde to hire kyn and to alle Cristene, Chewen hire charite and chiden after moore - Swich chastite withouten charite worth cheyned in helle.

Chaste, Chewen, Chiden, Hii, Whan, Withouten

Al the povere peple tho pescoddes fetten; Benes and baken apples thei broghte in hir lappe, Chibolles and chervelles and ripe chiries manye, And profrede Piers this present to plese with Hunger.

Als, Apples, Chibolles, Hir, Piers, Plese

Who will bell the cat?

Bell, Bells, Cat

A fair feeld ful of folk fond I ther bitwene -Of alle manere of men, the meene and the riche,Werchynge and wandrynge as the world asketh.

Bitwene, Feeld, Folks, Men, Wandrynge, World

For hevene myghte nat holden it, so was it hevy of hymself,Til it hadde of the erthe eten his fille. And whan it hadde of this fold flessh and blood taken,Was nevere leef upon lynde lighter therafter,And portatif and persaunt as the point of a nedle,That myghte noon armure it lette ne none heighe walles. Forthi is love ledere of the Lordes folk of hevene,And a meene, as the mair is, [inmiddes] the kyng and the commune.

Blood, Hadde, Mair, Noon, Portatif, Taken

In a somer seson, whan softe was the sonne, I shoop me into shroudes as I a sheep were, In habite an heremite unholy of werkes, Went wide in this world wondres to here.

Sheep, Somer, This World, Unholy, Whan, World

There smites nothing so sharp, nor smelleth so sour as shame.

Nothing, Shame, Sharp, Smelleth, Sour

I kan noght parfitly my Paternoster as the preest it syngeth,But I kan rymes of Robyn Hood and Randolf Erl of Chestre.

Chestre, Erl, Hood, Parfitly, Randolf

But all the wickedness in the world which man may do or think is no more to the mercy of God than a live coal dropped in the sea.

Man, Men, Mercy, Mercy Of God, Sea, Thinking