St. Patrick's Purgatory Two versions of Owayne Miles and The Vision of William of Stranton: Together with the long text of the Tractatus de Purgatorio Sancti Patricii |
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 | St. Patrick's Purgatory |  |
As a cloyster yn all wyse;
Hyt was made yn selkowth wyse.
As he þer stoode and loked abowte,
Ther come fyftene vpon a rowte.
The eldest of hem, þat he þer sye,
Furste he sayde, ‘Benedycyte!’
To Owayne þey ȝaf har benesoun,
And aftur by hym þey sette hem down.
All hadde newe crownes shafe,
As prestes oweth forto haue.
The eldest mon, as hyt wolde falle,
He spake anon for hem alle.
‘Knyȝth,’ he sayde, ‘for þy synne
A grete aventur þou art inne;
But God, þat dyed on þe rode,
Fulfylle þy wyll yn all gode.
We may no lengur wyth þe dwelle,
But be sente þe to telle
Of þe fowndyng þe shall befalle;
God graunte þe to ouurcome all!
Full sone when we be wente þe fro,
The shall come oþur to do þe wo;
But loke þy þowȝth on God be styffe,
And be stedfast yn þy belefe.
Yf þey woll þe bete or bynde,
Loke þou haue þys worde yn mynde:
‘Jhesu, as þou arte full of myȝth,
Haue mercy on me, synfull knyȝth!
And euurmore haue yn þy þowght
Jhesu, þat þe so dere hath bowght.
We ne may no lenger þe preche,
But God of heuen we þe byteche.’
These holy men wenten þens þo,
But þen bygon þe knyȝtes wo.
Hyt was made yn selkowth wyse.
As he þer stoode and loked abowte,
Ther come fyftene vpon a rowte.
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Furste he sayde, ‘Benedycyte!’
To Owayne þey ȝaf har benesoun,
And aftur by hym þey sette hem down.
All hadde newe crownes shafe,
As prestes oweth forto haue.
The eldest mon, as hyt wolde falle,
He spake anon for hem alle.
‘Knyȝth,’ he sayde, ‘for þy synne
A grete aventur þou art inne;
But God, þat dyed on þe rode,
Fulfylle þy wyll yn all gode.
We may no lengur wyth þe dwelle,
But be sente þe to telle
Of þe fowndyng þe shall befalle;
God graunte þe to ouurcome all!
Full sone when we be wente þe fro,
The shall come oþur to do þe wo;
But loke þy þowȝth on God be styffe,
And be stedfast yn þy belefe.
Yf þey woll þe bete or bynde,
Loke þou haue þys worde yn mynde:
‘Jhesu, as þou arte full of myȝth,
Haue mercy on me, synfull knyȝth!
And euurmore haue yn þy þowght
Jhesu, þat þe so dere hath bowght.
We ne may no lenger þe preche,
But God of heuen we þe byteche.’
These holy men wenten þens þo,
But þen bygon þe knyȝtes wo.
As he sat þer alone by hymself,
He herde grete dyn on eche half;
As all þe layte and all þe þondur
That euur was herde heuen vndur,
And as alle þe trees and all þe stones
Shulde smyte togedyr ryȝth at oonus,
For all þe worlde, so hyt ferde,
And þerto a lowde crye he herde.
Ne hadde he be well ytawȝte byfore,
He hadde ben loste for euurmore,
For fle myȝte he nawȝte, but moste abyde.
Then come þer deueles on euury syde,
Wykked gostes, I wote, fro helle,
So mony þat no tonge myȝte telle;
They fylled þe hows yn two rowes,
Some grenned on hym and some made mowes.
Syr Owayne was aferde, y trowe,
For ȝyf he hadde myȝth, he wolde haue flowe.
Some deueles stode hym full nyȝe,
That sayden to hym all on hyȝe,
‘Thow haste don wele to come betyme,
For þou shalte beleue on owre lyme.
Oþur come not tyll þey be dede,
But þou haste don a well bettur rede.
Thow comeste hydur to do penaunce,
Wyth vs þou shall lede þe daunce.
Thow haste serued vs mony a day,
We shall þe qwyte, ȝyf we may.
As þou hast don, so shalte þou haue,
All þy kynne shall þe not saue.
Neuurþelesse, syth þou art hende,
Ȝyf þou wolte aȝeyn wende,
And lyue and do as þou haste don,
We shall þe spare tyll efteson.’
He herde grete dyn on eche half;
As all þe layte and all þe þondur
That euur was herde heuen vndur,
And as alle þe trees and all þe stones
Shulde smyte togedyr ryȝth at oonus,
For all þe worlde, so hyt ferde,
And þerto a lowde crye he herde.
Ne hadde he be well ytawȝte byfore,
He hadde ben loste for euurmore,
50
Then come þer deueles on euury syde,
Wykked gostes, I wote, fro helle,
So mony þat no tonge myȝte telle;
They fylled þe hows yn two rowes,
Some grenned on hym and some made mowes.
Syr Owayne was aferde, y trowe,
For ȝyf he hadde myȝth, he wolde haue flowe.
Some deueles stode hym full nyȝe,
That sayden to hym all on hyȝe,
‘Thow haste don wele to come betyme,
For þou shalte beleue on owre lyme.
Oþur come not tyll þey be dede,
But þou haste don a well bettur rede.
Thow comeste hydur to do penaunce,
Wyth vs þou shall lede þe daunce.
Thow haste serued vs mony a day,
We shall þe qwyte, ȝyf we may.
As þou hast don, so shalte þou haue,
All þy kynne shall þe not saue.
Neuurþelesse, syth þou art hende,
Ȝyf þou wolte aȝeyn wende,
And lyue and do as þou haste don,
We shall þe spare tyll efteson.’
| St. Patrick's Purgatory | |