Lydgate's Minor Poems The Two Nightingale Poems. Edited from the mss. with introduction, notes and glossary by Otto Glauning |
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[I.] The Nightingale.
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[PROEM. THE DEDICATION.]
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Go, lityll quayere, And swyft thy prynses dresse,Offringe thyselfe wyth humble reuerence
Vn-to the ryght hyghe and myghty pryncesse,
The Duches of Bokyngham, and of hur excellence
Besechinge hyre, that, of hure pacyence
Sche wold the take, of hure noble grace
Amonge hyre bokys for the Asygne A place,
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Vn-to the tyme hyr ladyly goodnesseLuste for to call vn-to hyr high presence
Suche of hyre peple, that are in lustynesse
Fresschly encoragyt, as galantus in prime-tens,
Desyrous for to here the amerouse sentensce
Of the nyghtyngale, and in there mynde enbrace,
Who fauoure moste schall fynd in loues grace,
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Commandyng theym to here wyth tendernesseOf this your nightyngale the gostly sense,
Whos songe and deth declared is expresse
In englysh here, right bare of eloquence,
But notheles considred the sentence:
All loue vnlawfle, y hope, hit will deface
And fleschly lust out of theyre hertis chace,
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Meued of Corage be vertu of the seson,In prime-tens renoueled yere be yere,
Gladyng euery hert of veray reson,
When fresh[e] May in kalendes gan apere,
Phebus ascendyng, clere schynyng in hys spere,
By whom the colde of wyntyr is exiled
And lusty seson thus newly reconciled.
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To speke of sleep, hit nedes most be hadVnto the norishing of euery creature,—
With-oute whech braynes must be mad,
Outragesly wakyng oute of mesure,—
Excepte thoo that kyndely nature
Meueth to wach, as the nyghtingale,
Whych in her seson be slep[e] set no tale.
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For sche, of kynde, all the someres nyghtNe seseth not with mony a lusty note,
Wheder hit be dry or wete, derk or lyght,
Redly rehersyng her leson ay be rote—
Gret mervell is the enduryng of hir throte—
That her to here it is a second heuen,
So melodiouse ande mery is her steuen.
[THE POEM.]
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And, on a nyght in Aprile, as y layWery of sleep & of my bed all-so,
Whene that the kalendes entred were of May
(Whech of hir nature neither loueth of thoo),
My herte with mony a thoght was ouer-go
Ande with this troblus worlde sore agreued,
But, as god wold, in hast y was Releued.
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Thys blessed brid, of whom y you rehersed,As fer as that y godely myght hir here,
So thorghly my hert raueshed had and persed
Ryght with hir longyng notes, hye and clere,
Longe or the day[e]-rowes can a-pere,
Ymagynyng that sche be my propre name
Me calde ande sayde: “A-wake & Ryse, for shame,
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Oute of thy slombre-bed of slouth & sleep,Remembring the vpon this lusty seson”—
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Thenking in my conceyt, she seide me reson,
Ande walked forth—she yaf me gret encheson—
Til that y come ther as my hertis queene
Ryght freshly sang vpon a laurer grene.
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Entendyng, as y romed vp and doun,Expelling clerly all wilfle negligence,
Hir clere entoned notes and hir soun
For to perceyue with all my diligence,
And sodenly conceyued y this sentence,
Hough that this brid, a-mong hir notes glade,
Right of hir deth a note of mornyng made.
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Ande in Aurora, that is the morowe gray,Ascending vp into this tre full hye,
Me thoght she syngyng sayd this same day:
“For all my myrthes ande my melodye,
As nature will, about none shall y dye.
My curious note ne shall noght me a-vayle,
But mortall deth me sharply will a-saile.”
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Contynving so vnto the oure of prime,Vpon the bogh she euer sat and songe,
But, doun descendyng, she sayde in hasti tyme:
“My lyfe be kynde endure shall not longe.”
But notheles thorgh-oute the wode yt ronge—
Hir notes clere—so merily ande so shryll,
The wych enchesoned me tabide there styll,
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Till that hyt drogh forther of the day,Aboute the oure of tierce, right as y gesse,
That euer y-lyke with notes fresh ande gay
She cesed not, whech y can not expresse
So delitable, replet with all swetnesse,
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Whech signified, me thoght, that she shuld dye.
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Ande aftir this, when Phebus in his spereOuer all the world had sprad his bemes bright,
Cavsynge the cloudes dym for to be clere,
Ande derk[e] mystes enlumyned with his lyght,
Aboute the oure of sixt then she a-lyght
Ande singynge seet in myddes of the tre:
“Ocy, Ocy, o deth, well-come to me!”
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Thus, fro the morowe to myddes of the dayAnde all the nyght a-fore, with open eye,
This bryd hath songen, as ye haue herd me say,
Rehersyng euery tyde with melodie,
But at the last, she shright—and sodenlye,
Hir songe, hir myrth, & melodye was done
Ande she expyred aboute the oure of none.
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This brid, of whom y haue to you rehersed,Whych in her song expired thus ande deyede,
In latyn fonde y in a boke well versed,
Ande what in morall sense it signifiede,
The whech in englysh y wold were notified
To all that lusty are it for to here,
Yf that my conny[n]ge suffycyent ther-to were.
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Be this nyghtingale, that thus freshly canBothe wake and singe, as telleth vs scripture,
Is Crist hym-self ande euery cristen-man
Soule vnderstande, whech oweth of nature
Ande verray reson do diligence ande cure,
Oute of the sleep of synne to a-wake, & ryse,
Ande to remenbre, ande fully aduertise,
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That be Aurora is vnderstonden rightThe first begynny[n]g of this world of noght,
Ande how grete god, of his endles myght,
Hath heven ande yerth formed with a thoght,
And in six dayes all oder thynges wroght,
Ande hogh gret noumbre of angels bright & clere
Fell doun for pride to helle with Lucifere.
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Hygh or lowe, wheder-so-euer thow be,Enprinte that fall right myndely in thy hert
Ande arme the surely with humylite
Ayen all pride, yf thou wylt lyue in quert!
Saue thy soule, or elles shalt thou smerte
For all thy wor[l]dly pride ande veyne desyre,
Ande euer in hell be brent with endles fyre!
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Muse on this morow further, and conceyueHow that oure fader Adam ande also Eue,
Whom that the sotell serpent can deceyue
Of pure envye and caused to mischeue,—
Ande let theyr smert thi herte perse & cleue:
Thenk well that fall is to thi-self extended
Ande, nade Crist died, it had not yit be amended!
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Before whos deth the gret InfyrmyteOf that offens, cleped originall,
Thorogh-oute the world infecte had vch de-gre,
That, when they deyed, streyght to hell went all,
Tyll fro the trone a-bofe celestyall
Crist, consyderyng the gret captyuyte
Of all man-kynde, cam doune of pure pite.
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This hygh forfet whych Adam sone had donWas grounde & cause of oure mortalite
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Oo sely appell, so eten of a tre!
O welthy pepyll, in your prosperite
Thenk euery morowe how þat your wor[l]dly wele
More lykly ys, safe grace, to hyrt then hele!
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Ande in Aurora further to procede,Be-thenke thy-self, hough porely þu was born
Ande, as kynde will, þu nedes mvst succede
In pyne ande wo, lyke other the be-forn:
Deth cometh in hast, he will not be for-born,
For in the oure of thy natiuite
He entered first & manaced the to sle.
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In-to the wor[l]de what hast thou broght with theBut lamentacion, wepyng, woo, & crye?
Non other richesse, safe only lyberte,
With which god hath endowed the richly,
Ande byddeth the frely chese to lyue or dye:
Fro one of tho ne shall thou not deseuer,
In Ioie or wo to liue or dye for euer.
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Be nothyng prowde thy byrth thus to remenbre,Thou hast thy youth dispended folilye,
Ande vsest with othes gret thy lord dismenbre,
Ande other-wyse yit lyuest thou viciously.
Call to thy mynde these thinges by & by,
And euery morowe, thogh thou lust to sleep
Ande softly lye, a-wake, a-ryse, and wep!
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But, forther to declare in speciallThis oure of morowe, yf þat y connyng hade,
Ande hogh this brid thus song with voice mortall
Ande in hire song a note of mornyng made,
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That nedes y mvst in hvmble wyse exhort
You that are konning, with pacience me supporte.
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Oure lorde Ihesus, the fadres sapiens,The well of trewth & sothfastnes diuine,
The lombe vnspotted, the grounde of Innocence,
That gyltles for oure gylt lust to declyne,
This oure of morow, cleped matutyne,
Falsly be-trayed, and with þe Iewes taken,
And of hys o[w]ne disciples sone for-saken:
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O synfull man, this oure the aght remord,That standest exiled oute fro charite,
To thenke howe that thy maker & thy lord
So lowly suffred this reprefe for the,
Yevyng the ensample, that with humilite
Fro morow to nyght thou folow shuld his trace,
Yf thou in heuen with hym wilt cleyme a place.
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Fro morow to nyght be-tokenes All the tyme,Syth thou wast born streyght tyll þat thou dye.
Thus endyth the first oure and now to prime.
Ande be this oure, what we may sygnifie,
In whych this brid thus songe with melodie,
The seconde age ys clerly notyfied
When all the world with water was destryed,
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In tyme of Noe whom for hys ryghtwisnesse,And with hym seuen, all-myghty god reserued;
And elles all oder for synne ande wrechednesse,
Of verey rygour, ryght as thay had deserued,
In that gret flood were dreynt and ouer-terved.
Except viij soules, all perysched, lesse and more,
And they preserued, this world for to restore.
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This oure, to thenke that with the water wanNoght all the world was ouerflow for synne,
Aught for to exite euery maner man,
That vice ande vertu can discerne a-twynne,
All vice to eschew and vertuosly be-gynne
Oure lord to plese, thenkyng furthermore,
He hateth synne now as he dud be-fore,
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Thagh that hym lust of mercy and pite,As for a tyme, his vengance to differre,
Sith with hys precious blod vpon a tre
Hath boght oure soules—was neuer thyng boght derre:—
Ley to thy sore, & let no-thyng lye nerre
Then this same salfe, to hele with thy smert:
Full glad ys he, when so thou wilt conuert.
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For of the synner the deth he not desireth,But that he wold retorne to lyfe a-yeyn.
For, whosoeuer in dedly synne expyreth,
Ther is no pardon that may abregge his payne.
This to remembre aught cause the to restreyne
Fro euery synne þat wyll this lord displese
And for to vse that hym may queme & plese.
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Ande on this oure to thenke furthermore,When all the flood aswaged was and cesed,
They, not considryng the gret vengaunce afore,
The seed of Noe, whych gretly was encresed,
But vn-to vice on vch syde ran and presed,
For which they pvniched were with plages sore,
As in the byble more pleynly may ye here.
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O thow, that hast thus past the oure of morowAnde newly entrest in the oure of prime,
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Which in this worlde hath be a-fore thy tyme,
And of the fend, that redy is to lyme
Thy soule wyth synne & cach the in his snare,
Yif he in vertu the bareyne fynde and bare.
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Ande namely now, sith thou of InnocenceAnde of thy tendre age art past the yeres,
In which god the hath keept fro violence,
In all thy youth fro Sathan and his feres,
Dispose the nowe to sadnes and prayeres,
Remembryng specially vpon this oure of prime,
Hogh Crist acused falsly was of Cryme,
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Taken ande lad afore the presydent,Pounce Pylat, that Iuge was of the lawe,
His handes bounde, his nek with boffettes bent,
On euery syde to-togged and to-drawe.
He, ffull of pacience, suffred all & sawe
Hogh that the Iewes, fals and voide of grace,
There all defouled with spet his blessed face.
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Se, hogh this lord that all thing made of noght,To saue mannes soule, wold suffre this repref,
That myght haue staunched & cesede with a thoght
The Iewes malice & put theym to myscheef,
To oure ensample, þat we shuld suffre grefe
Aftir oure desert and paciently hit take
For hym that all wolde suffre for oure sake.
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O lusty gaylauntes in youre adolescens,Let not this oure of prime fro you deseuer!
When ye be sterede to wanton in-solence,
Restreyne your-self & in your herte thenk euer
How Salomon sayde; he cowde perceyve neuer
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For all the prudent wisdom that he kowthe!
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Thoure of pryme fynysched thus & ended,This brid all-wey perseuereth ande a-byt,
Doun on the tre a-valed and descended,
Thoure of tierce clerely syngyng yit.
The third age of the world be-tokeneth hyt,
In whech thoo folk that doun fro Noe came
Gretly encresed in tyme of Abraham,
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Which in his daies perfit was ande stable,Dredyng oure lord and lyuyng perfytly;
To whom god swore, lik sterres in-nvmerable
His seed he wolde encrese and multiplie.
But, notheles, moch peple viciously
Were in this age dampnably demeyned
Ande thorgh theire vice destreied sore & steyned.
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Their filthi synne abhominable stankAnde so displesed the blessed Trinite,
That doun to hell sodenly ther sank
Sodom, ande Gomor, and oder cites thre,
Ande now is there but the Ded[e] See.
Alas the while that euer they wolde do so!
Vnkyndly synne was cause of all their woo.
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This for to here aght cause your herte to colde,That are enprinted aftyr the ymage
Of god, and to considere and be-holde
This gret vengaunce, taken in þat age.
And namely ye that are in the third age
Of your lyfe ande passed morow & prime,
Aght euer be war to vse vnkyndly crime.
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The fende, youre enmye, lying in a-wayte,Goth fast a-boute, your soules to deceyue,
Leying hys lynes and with mony a bayte
Wsynge his hokes, on theym you to receyue,
The which thus lygh[t]ly ye may eschewe & weyfe,
This oure to thenk hogh Iewes lowde and hye
Gan: “Crucifige, crucifige!” Crye,
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Takyng oure lord and, of derisioun,In cloth of purpull clothing hym in scorne,
Ledynge hym forth, as childre of confusioun,
And on his heed a sharpe croun set of thorn;
Vpon his blessed shulder the crosse was born
Vnto the place of peynes, Caluarie:
Lo, what he suffred, thi soule fro peyne to bye!
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Thenk on this oure, thou wrecched synfull man,That in this age hast reson, strenght, and hele,
(Yf thou asayled or hurt be with Sathan),
To salf thy sore and thi wonde to hele:
Mark in thi mynde this oure for woo or wele,
Hogh that thy lord suffred for thy gylt,
To saue thy soule, whech elles had be spilt.
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Ye myghty prynces and lordes of a-state,In honoure here that are exalted hye,
Beth ware & wake, deth knokketh at your yate
And woll come in; be sure that ye shall dye!
Call to your mynde for speciall remedie
Oure lordes passion, his peyne, & pacience
As medycyne chefe & shelde of all defence.
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A myghty prince, lusty, yonge, & fiers,Amonge the peple sore lamented ys:
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Deth toke hym to whom mony sore shall mysse.
All-myghty Ihesu, receyue his soule to blisse!
Both hye & lowe, thenk well that ye shall henne,
Deth wyll you trise, ye wot not how ne whenne.
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Aftir the oure of tierce this nyghtyngale,Synging euer with notes fresh and gay,
To myddes of this tre can doun avale,
When that yt drogh to myddes of the day:
Sygnyfinge all the tydes, soth to say,
Whech that haue be fro tierce vnto syxt.
In which dayes, whoso woll rede the tyxt
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Of the byble, he may haue revth to hereHogh dampnably in mony a sondry place
Of the world that folk demeyned were,
Destryed for synne and destitute of grace.
O synfle Dathan, the yerth in lytyll space
Opened & swolowed bothe the and Abyron,
And sodenly with yow sank mony a synfle mon.
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Lo, in all ages, be freelte of nature,Thorgh all the world peple hath had delite
The fend to serue with all theire besy cure,
Which for theire seruyce no-thyng wil hem quite
But endles deth. Allas, what appetite
Haue folkes blynde, such a lord to plese,
That noght rewardeth but myscheef & desese.
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And in speciall, ye of perfyt age,This oure of sixt, in myddes of your lyfe,
Aught to be war and wayte aftir þe wage
That Crist rewardeth with-oute werre or stryfe,
Wher endles Ioye and blysse are euer ryfe.
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That, you to saue, vpon the rode wolde sterve.
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Vnto the crosse, thoure of syxte, was nayledOure lord Ihesus, hangyng ther with theves,
And for the thrist of tormentes, that hym ailed,
Eysell and gall in scornes and repreues
They offred hym—oure crym & olde mescheues,—
Doyng a-way this lambe thus crucified:
The manhed suffred, the godhed neuer died.
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We aght ryght well compassion haue & reuth,For to remenbre his peynes and repreues,
To thenk, hogh he whych grounde is of [all] trewth
Was demed to hange amyd to fals[e] theues.
O blessed lord and leche to all oure greues,
So of thy grace graunt vs to be so kynde,
To haue this oure of sixt well in oure mynde.
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Thus heng oure lord nayled to the tre,Fro the oure of sixt vnto the oure of none,—
Ande also longe was in prosperite
Oure fader Adam, tyll tyme that he had don
That high forfet for which he banyshid sone
Was in-to yerth, to lyue in langour there
Ande all his o[f]spryng,—till Longens with a spere,
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The oure of none, as Iewes hym desyred,Thirled and persed thorgh his hert & side.
He, seyng then: “Consummatum est,” expired
And heed enclyned, the gost yaf vp þat tyde
Vnto the fader. The sunne, compelled to hyde
His bemys bright, no lenger myght endure
To see the deth of the auctor of nature.
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Thus hath this brid, thus hath this nyghtyngale,Thus hath this blessed lord þat all hath wroght,
That doun to yerth fro heuen can a-vale,
Vpon a crosse oure soules dere y-bought
Ande yeuen vs cause in hert, wyll, & thought,
Hym for to serue & euer loue and drede
That, vs to saue, wold suffre his blod to shede.
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Hell despoiled, & slayn oure mortall foo,Oure lord vpryse with palme of hye victorie,
Ascended eke ayen there he come fro,
The holy gost sent from the see of glory
His precious body to vs in memory,
With holy wordes of dewe consecracioun
To be receyued to oure hele & sauacioun.
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Who may be glad but all thoo, at lest,That worthy are, in this lyues space,
For to be fed here, at this glorious fest,
Ande after, in heuen, with bryghtnes of his face,
Whom of his godhed be-seche we ande his grace,
That, fro this worlde when so we shall deseuer,
In Ioye eternall with hym ther to perseuer.
Amen.
Explicit.
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II. A Sayenge of the Nyghtyngale.
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In June, whan Titan was in Crabbes hede,Towardes Even the Saphyre-huwed sky
Was westward meynt with many Rowes Rede,
And fowlis syngen [in] theyr melody
An hevenly complyne with sugred Armonye,
As that hem nature taught[e] for the best:
They gan hem proygne and drough hem to theyr Rest—
2
That sith the tyme, forsoth, that j was borne,Hadde j nat herd suche song in downe nor daale—
And alle were gone, sauf vpon a thorne
The same tyme j herd a nyghtyngale,
So as j lay pensyf in a vale
To herken the meanyng of hir melody,
Whos hertly refreyd was euer: “Occy, occy.”
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She ment, I trowe, with hir notes nuweAnd in hir ledne, Venus to take vengeaunce
On false lovers whiche that bien vntriewe,
Ay ful of chaunge and of variaunce,
And can in oone to have no plesaunce.
This bridde ay song: “O sle theym, lady myn,
Withouten mercy and bryng hem to theyr fyn,
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To shewe ensample, that other may wele knoweHow that they shal in theyr trowth abyde!
For parde, lady, yit thy sones bowe
Nys nat broke, whiche callid is Cupide.
Let hym marke them and wounde hem in the side
Withouten mercye or any remedye,
Where-so that he suche falsehede can espye.
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And suche as bien for love langwisshyng,Cherrissh hem, lady, for trewe affectioun,
Support and help hem with thy myght to bryng
In-to thi Castell, sette in Citheron:
On dyamaundes sette is the Dungeoun,
Fret with Rubyes and Emerawdes grene.
Now herkne my song, that art of love the qwene!”
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And as I lay, and herde hir twnes cliere,And on hir notes me gretely gan delite,
Vpon the Eve the sterris dide appere,
The bawmy vapour of grassis gan vp-smyte
In-to myn hede of floures Rede and white,
That with the odour, or that I toke kepe,
I fille anon in-to a dedly sleepe.
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And than me sempte that from the god of loveTo me was sent an vnkouth messangier—
Nought from Cupide, but fro the lord above—
And, as me thought, ful fayre and fressh of chiere,
Whiche to me sayde: ‘Foole, what dostow here
Slepyng allone, gapyng vpon the mone?
Rise, folowe me, [and] thow shalt se right sone
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8
An vnkowth sight, If thow list to speede.The briddes song I shal to the vnclose,
For trust me wele, I cast the nat to leede
Nothyng towardes the gardyn of the Rose,
And I thi spirit shal otherwise dispose,
For to declare the briddis song: “Occy,”
And what she meanyth in sentence triew[e]ly.
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Thyn aduertence is gouerned wrongTowchyng the twnes thow herdest here to-forne:
“Occy, occy,” this was the briddis song,
Whiche many a lover hath thurgh foly lorne.
But thynk among vpon the sharp[e] thorne
Whiche priked hir brest with fyry remembraunce,
Lovers in vertu to encres and avaunce.
10
This briddis song, whiche we have on honde—Who that takith the moralite—
Betokenyth, playnly for to vndrestonde,
The grete fraunchise, the grete liberte,
Whiche shuld in love be so pure and fre,
Of triewe meanyng Rooted so withynne,
Fer from the conceyte of any maner synne.
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Takestow none heede, how this bridde so smalSyngeth as that she wold hir-self dismembre,
Streyneth hir throte, peyneth hir brest at al,
Shakith and qwakyth in euery Ioynt and membre?
O man vnkynde, why dostow nat Remembre
Among in hert vnto this briddes song?
If thow advert,—thow dost to god grete wrong.
12
Thow art desseued in thyn oppyniounAnd al awrong also thow dost goo,
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Thyn vndrestondyng, thy conceyt both[e] two.
This bridde, in soth, ne meanyth nothyng so:
For hir synggyng—who-so takith heede—
Nothyng Resownyth vnto flesshlyhede.
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Towchyng: “Occy”—considre wele the woord!—This brid it song of Impacience,
Of Iniuries doo vnto the lord
And wrong grete to his magnificence
Of worldly folk thurgh theyr grete offence,
Whiche can-nat knowe for theyr reklesnes
The grete love, the grete kyndenesse
14
Whiche he shewed for theyr alre goode,Whan that he, yif they kowde adverte,
For theyr sake starf vpon the Roode
And with a spere was stongen thurgh the hert:
Who felt euer for love so grete a smert
As thilk[e] lord dide for mannes sake?
And yit, allas, non hede therof they take.
15
To pay the Raunsoun of oure grete losse,He was in love so gentil and so fre,
That hym deyned be nayled vpon the crosse
And liche a thief hang vpon a tre.
Lift vp thyn hert, vnkynd man, and see!
The nyghtyngale in hir armonye
Thus day and nyght doth vpon the crye.
16
She cryeth: “Sle al tho that bien vnkyndeAnd can of love the custom nat observe,
Nor in theyr Ien no drope of pite fynde,
Nor in theyr brest, for love, no sigh conserve!
Why list the lord for mannes sake sterve
20
His hert[e]-bloode, for theyr redempcioun?
17
His woundis fyve for man he did vnclose:Of handis, of feete, and of his faire side.
Make of these fyve in thyn hert a Rose
And lete it there contynuauly abyde;
Forgete hym nought, where thow go or ride,
Gadre on an hepe these rosen-floures fyve,
In thy memorye prynt hem al thy lyve:
18
This is the Rose whiche first gan wexen rede,Spreynt oueral with dropes of purpure hewe,
Whan Crist Ihesu was for mankynd dede
And had vpon a garnement ful newe:
His holy moder, his Cousyn eke, seynt Iohn,
Suche array to-fore saugh they neuer none,
19
Whiche to behold, god wote, they were nat fayne:His blessyd body to seen so al to-Rent;
A Crowne of thorn, that thrilled thurgh his brayne;
And al the bloode of his body spent;
His hevenly Ien, Allas, deth hath I-blent;
Who myght, for Rowth, susteyne and behold
But that his hert of pite shuld cold!
20
This was the same whiche that IsayeSaugh fro Edom come, with his cloth depeynt,
Steyned in Bosra; eke dide hym aspye,
Bathed in bloode, til he gan woxen feynt;
This is he that drank galle and eysel Imeynt;
This is he that was afore Pilate atteynt
With false accusours in the consistorye,
Only to bryng mankynde to his glorye.
21
21
He was most fayre founde in his stoole,Walkyng of vertues with most multitude,
Blessyd, benyngne, and hevenly of his stoole,
Whiche with his suffraunce Sathan [can] conclude.
His humble deth dide the devil delude,
Whan he mankynd brought out of prisoun,
Makyng his fynaunce with his passioun.
22
Isaye, the most renomed prophete,Axed of hym, why his garnement
Was rede and blody, ful of dropes wete—
So disguysed was his vestyment!—
Like hem that pressen quayers of entent
In the pressour, both the Rede and white—
So was he pressid thy Raunsoun for to qwyte!—
23
‘It is, quod he, that trade it al alone.Withouten felawe I gan the wyne out-presse,
Whan on the crosse I made a doleful mone
And thurgh myn hert the sperhed gan it dresse—
Who felt euer so passyng grete duresse!—
Whan al my friendis allone me forsoke
And I my-self this Iourney on me tooke.
24
Except my moder there durst none abideOf my disciples, for to suwen me.
Seynt Iohn, for love, stode on myn other side,
Alle the Remenaunt from me diden flee.
The Iewes my flessh asonder dide tee:
Who was it but I that bode in the vyne
To presse the wyne, thy Raunsoun for to fyne?
22
25
For mannes sake with me ful hard it stoode:Forsaken of alle and eke disconsolate;
They left no drope, but d[r]ewe out al my bloode.
Was neuer none so poore in none estate!
Al my disciples left me desolate
Vpon the crosse betwene theves tweyne
And none abode to Rewe vpon my peyne.
26
O ye al that passen bi the wey,Lift vp the Ie of yowre aduertence!
Sawe ye euer any man so deye
Withouten gilt, that neuer dide offence?
Or is there any sorwe in existence
Liche the sorwe that I dide endure,
To bye mankynde, vnkynde creature?
27
For the surfete of thy synnes alle,And for the offence of thy wittes fyve
My towche, my tast, myn heryng dide apalle,
Smellyng and sight ful fieble were als blyve.
Thus, in eche part that man can contryve,
I suffred peyne and in euery membre
That any man can reken or remembre.
28
Ageyne the synnes plainly of thyn heedeI had vpon a crowne of thornes kene,
Bitter teres were medled with my brede—
For mannes trespas I felt al the tene—
My Ien blynde, that whylom shoone so sheene,
But for man, in my thurst most felle,
I drank galle tempred with eyselle.
29
For mannes lokyng fulfilled with outrage,And for his tunge ful of detractioun
I alone souffred the damage,
23
I drank galle poynaunt as poysoun;
Ageyn heringe of tales spoken in vayne
I had rebuke and sayde no word ageyne.
30
Geyn pride of beawte, where-as folkes trespas,I suffred my-self grete aduersite:
Beten and bonched in myn owne face;
Ageyns towchyng, if man list to se,
Myn handes were nayled fast vn-to the tre,
And for mysfotyng, where men went[e] wrong,
My feete thurgh-perced: Were nat my peynes strong?
31
Was it nat I that trespassed nought,That had myn hert perced even atweyne,
And neuer offendid oones in a thought,
Yit was it korve thurgh in euery veyne?
Who felt euer in erth so grete a peyne,
To Reken al, giltles as dide I?—
Wherfor this brid sang ay: “Occy, occy.”—
32
Suche as ben to me founde vnkyndeAnd have no mynd kyndly of resoun,
But of slowth have I-left behynde
The holy remembraunce of my passioun,
By meane of whiche and mediacioun
Ageyne al poysoun of the synnes seven
Triacle I brought, sent [them] downe from heven—
33
Ageyns pride, remembre my mekenesse;Geyne covetise, thynk on my pouerte;
Ageynst lecherye, thynk on my clennesse;
Agenst envye, thynk on my charite;
Agenst glotonye, aduerte in hert and se
24
Fourty dayes lyved in abstynence.’
34
“Of mekenesse he dide his [heued] enclyneAgenst the synne and the vice of pride;
Agenst envy, streyght out as a lyne,
Spradde his armes out on euery side,
[To enbrace his frendes and with them abyde,]
Shewyng hem signes, who so list to se:
Grounde of his peynes was perfite charite.
35
Agenst covetise mankynde to redresseThurgh-nayled weren his holy handis tweyne,
Shewyng of fredam his bountevous almesse,
Whan he for love suffred so grete peyne
To make mankynde his blisse to atteyne;
And his largesse to Rekene by and by,
I shal reherse his gyftes ceriously.
36
He gaf his body to man for chief repast,Restoratif best in the forme of brede,
At his maunde, or he hennys past;
His blessid bloode, in forme of wyne so Rede;
His soule in price, whan that he was dede;
And of oure synne as chief lauendere,
Out of his side he gaf vs water cliere.
37
He gaf also his purpure vestementTo the Iewis, that dide hym crucifie;
To his apostels he gaf also of entent
His blissed body, ded whan he dide lye;
And his moder, that clepid was Marie,—
The kepyng of hir he gaf to seynt Iohn;
And to his fader his gost, whan he was gon.
25
38
Agenst slowth he shewed grete doctryne,Whan he hym hasted toward his passioun;
Agenst wrath this was his disciplyne,
Whan he was brought to examynacioun:
A soft Aunswere without rebellioun;
Agenst glotenye he drank eysel and galle,
To oppresse surfayte of vicious folkes alle.
39
He gaf also a ful grete remedyeTo mankynde, his sores for to sounde,
For, ageyne the hete of lecherye,
Mekely he suffred many a grevous wounde,
For none hole skynne was in his body founde,
Nor ther was seyn other apparaile,
But bloode, allas, aboute his sides rayle.
40
There he was sone and his faders heyre,With hym allone by the eternyte:
It was a thyng incomparable fayre,
The sone to dye, to make his seruaunt free,
Hym fraunchisyng with suche liberte,
To make man, that was thurgh synne thralle,
The court to enherite above celestial.
41
These kyndenesses, whiche I to the Reherse,Lete hym devoyde from the[e] oblyvioun
And lete the nayles, whiche thurgh his feete dide perce,
Be a cliere myrrour for thy redempcioun;
Enarme thy-self for thy proteccioun,
Whan that the feendis list ageyn the stryve,
With the Carectes of his wondes fyve.
42
Agenst theyr malice be strong and wele ware,Al of his crosse Reyse vp the banner
26
To make the strong agenst theyr daungier;
Whiche whan they seen, they dare com no nere,
For trust wele, his crosse is best defence
Agenst the power of fiendes violence.
43
It is the palme, as clerkis can wele telle,To man in erth to conquest and victorye;
It is the tre, whiche that Danyell
Sawe sprad so broode, as made is memorye;
The key of heven, to bryng men to glorye;
The staf of Iacob, causyng al oure grace,
With whiche that he Iowrdan dide passe;
44
Scale and ladder of oure ascencyon;Hooke and snare of the Leviathan;
The strong pressour of oure Redempcioun,
On whiche the bloode downe be his sides Ranne,
For nothyng ellis, but for to save man;
The harp of Dauid, whiche most myght availe,
Whan that the fiend kyng Saul dide assaile.
45
This was the poole and the hygh[e] tree,Whilom sette vp by Moyses of entent—
Al Israel beholde nygh and see—
And therevpon of brasse a grete serpent,
Whiche to behold [whoo] were nat necligent,
Receyved helth, salve, and medicyne
Of al theyr hurtis, that were serpentyne.
46
This banner is most myghti of vertu,Geyns fiendes defence myghti and chief obstacle;
Most noble signe and token of Tau
To Ezechiel shewed by myracle;
Chief chaundelabre of the tabernacle,
27
Voidyng al derknesse of the clowdy nyght.
47
This was the tree of mankynde boote,Thatt stynt hir wrath and brought in al the pees,
Whiche made the water of Marath fressh and swoote,
That was to-forne most bitter dout[e]les.
This was the yerd of worthy Moyses,
Whiche made the children of Israel go free
And dry-footed thurgh the Rede See.
48
This was the slyng, [with] whiche with stones fyveWorthy David, as bookes specifie,
Gan the hede and the helme to-Rive
Of the Geaunt, that callid was Golye,
Whiche fyve stones, takyng the Allegorye,
Arn the fyve woundes, as I reherse can,
With whiche that Crist venqwisshed Sathan.
49
O synful soule, why nyltow taken kepeOf his peynes, Remembryng on the showres?
Forsake the world, and wake out of thy sleepe,
And to the gardyn of perfite paramours
Make thy passage, and gadre there thy flowres
Of verray vertu, and chaunge al thyn old lyf,
And in that gardyn be contemplatyf!
50
For this world here, both at Even and morwe,Who list considre aright in his Reasoun,
Is but an exile and a desert of sorwe,
Meynt ay with trouble and tribulacioun;
But who list fynde consolacioun
Of gostly Ioye, lete hym the worlde forsake
And to that gardyn the Right[e] wey[e] take,
28
51
Where-as [þat] god of love hym-self doth dwelleVpon an hille ferre from the mortal vale—
Canticorum the booke ful wele can telle—
Callyng his spouse with sugred notes smale,
Where that ful lowde the Amerous nyghtyngale
Vpon a thorn is wont to calle and crye
To mannes soule with hevenly Armonye:
52
‘Veni in ortum meum: soror mea.Com to my gardyn and to myn herber grene,
My fayre suster and my spouse deere,
From filth of synne by vertu made al clene;
With Cristal paved, thaleys bien so cliere.
Com, for I calle, anon and thow shalt heere.’
How Crist Ihesu, so blessid mote he be,
Callith mannes soule of perfite charite!
53
He callith hir ‘suster’ and his ‘spouse’ also:First his suster, who-so list to se,
As by nature—take goode heede herto!—
Ful nygh of kynne by consanguinite;
And eke his spouse by affinyte,—
I meane as thus: be affynite of grace,—
With gostly love whan he doth it embrace;
54
And eke his suster by semblaunce of nature,Whan that he toke oure humanyte
Of a mayde most clennest and pure,
[OMITTED]
Fresshest of floures that sprang out of Iesse,
As flour ordeyned for to Releve man,
Whiche bare the fruyt that slough oure foo Sathan.”
Of this Balade Dan Iohn
Lydgate made nomore.
| Lydgate's Minor Poems | |