 | Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century |  |
HYMNS AND SONGS OF THE PASSION.
91. The Story of the Passion
The Passioun of Christ
Compatience persis, reuth & marcy stoundis
In myddis my hert, and thirlis throw þe vanis.
Thy deid, Ihū, þi petuous cruell woundis,
Thy grym passion, gret tormentis, grevous panis,
In-grauit sadlie in my spreit remanis.
Sen me of noucht þou hes boucht with þi blude
My ene, for doloure, wofull teris ranis,
Quhen that I se the nalit on þe rude.
In myddis my hert, and thirlis throw þe vanis.
Thy deid, Ihū, þi petuous cruell woundis,
Thy grym passion, gret tormentis, grevous panis,
In-grauit sadlie in my spreit remanis.
Sen me of noucht þou hes boucht with þi blude
My ene, for doloure, wofull teris ranis,
Quhen that I se the nalit on þe rude.
In Symon lepros hous of bathany,
Thy feit anoyntit mary magdalen,
With precius balme & nardus-specatyve,
Scho passit fra tyme hir synnes wer forgevin.
Thy flesche and blude in breid and wyne betuen
Gaif thy disciplis, & Lawlie wosche þair feit.
Thy manheid dred thy passioun to sustene,
Quhen þat þou prayit on monte oliveit.
Thy feit anoyntit mary magdalen,
With precius balme & nardus-specatyve,
Scho passit fra tyme hir synnes wer forgevin.
Thy flesche and blude in breid and wyne betuen
Gaif thy disciplis, & Lawlie wosche þair feit.
Thy manheid dred thy passioun to sustene,
Quhen þat þou prayit on monte oliveit.
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To gyde the Iowis, come Iudas scariot
And kist þe, christ—all þe disciples fled.
To ane wraichit man Cayphas & Pylot,
Bund as ane theif, so wes þou harlit & led
Till Herod had in purpor habit cled,
ffor hethin halsit, blasphlemit, with mony blaw
Beft at ane pillar, blaiknit and forbled
At Locostratus, quhair þai leid þe law.
And kist þe, christ—all þe disciples fled.
To ane wraichit man Cayphas & Pylot,
Bund as ane theif, so wes þou harlit & led
Till Herod had in purpor habit cled,
ffor hethin halsit, blasphlemit, with mony blaw
Beft at ane pillar, blaiknit and forbled
At Locostratus, quhair þai leid þe law.
Cuttis for þi cot þai keist, was never sewit,
Out-throw þi hernis, þe croun of thorn þai applyit,
Wailland þin ene, into þi visage spittit,
And for derisioun ‘King of Iowis’ þai cryit.
That nycht þi name Sanct peter thris denyit.
Drownit in dule myrk was þi mynd, mary,
To wonder on, throw Ierusalem þou hyit
To se thy awin sone, þat þou fosterrit, de.
Out-throw þi hernis, þe croun of thorn þai applyit,
Wailland þin ene, into þi visage spittit,
And for derisioun ‘King of Iowis’ þai cryit.
That nycht þi name Sanct peter thris denyit.
Drownit in dule myrk was þi mynd, mary,
To wonder on, throw Ierusalem þou hyit
To se thy awin sone, þat þou fosterrit, de.
Ruffit on croce, thir wordis did repeit,
‘Scicio’; richt sone þai seruit þe with gall.
Scharpe wes þe speir, þe nalis Lang & gret.
Thy ribbis rakkit, þi face oure-spittit all,
To golgatha, godis sone celistiall,
Thy croce with force þou bure, with cure & heit.
Thy tender hid and flesche virginall
Werry, forwrecht in watter, blude and sueit.
‘Scicio’; richt sone þai seruit þe with gall.
Scharpe wes þe speir, þe nalis Lang & gret.
Thy ribbis rakkit, þi face oure-spittit all,
To golgatha, godis sone celistiall,
Thy croce with force þou bure, with cure & heit.
Thy tender hid and flesche virginall
Werry, forwrecht in watter, blude and sueit.
Throu maryis saule þe suerd of dolour thrist,
Quhen þat þou said, ‘se þair thy sone, woman’,
Commending hir to Iohnne þe ewangelist:
Scharp bludy teris hir cristell eyne out ran.
Suollit wer thy syddis for scurgis bla and wan;
Naikit and paill, ded on þe croce þou hang—
Thy wanis burssin, þi senouis schorn, þan
Crownit with thorne for scorne,—twa thevis amang.
Quhen þat þou said, ‘se þair thy sone, woman’,
Commending hir to Iohnne þe ewangelist:
Scharp bludy teris hir cristell eyne out ran.
Suollit wer thy syddis for scurgis bla and wan;
Naikit and paill, ded on þe croce þou hang—
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Crownit with thorne for scorne,—twa thevis amang.
My wofull hert is baith reiosit and sade,
Thy corps, lorde Iesu christ, quhen I behalde.
Of my redempcioun I am baith blyth & glaid;
Seand þi panis, sorelie weip I walde.
Cryand ‘hely’, þi gaistlie spreit þou ȝalde;
To longus hande þi blude ran in ane rest;
Thy wofull moder swonit stif and calde,
Quhen þou inclynit with consummatum est.
Thy corps, lorde Iesu christ, quhen I behalde.
Of my redempcioun I am baith blyth & glaid;
Seand þi panis, sorelie weip I walde.
Cryand ‘hely’, þi gaistlie spreit þou ȝalde;
To longus hande þi blude ran in ane rest;
Thy wofull moder swonit stif and calde,
Quhen þou inclynit with consummatum est.
Dyrk wes þe sone fra þe sext hour to nyne;
Montanis trymblit, hillis schuke & rochis claif.
Centurio said, ‘þou art goddis sone dewyne’;
Ioseph de-curio spicit þe in þi graif
With myr and must, most vertuis & suaif—
Thai gert þe de and forgaif berrabas.
My saule with sanctis, saluiour, resaif,
Sen þat þi passioun purgit my trespas.
Montanis trymblit, hillis schuke & rochis claif.
Centurio said, ‘þou art goddis sone dewyne’;
Ioseph de-curio spicit þe in þi graif
With myr and must, most vertuis & suaif—
Thai gert þe de and forgaif berrabas.
My saule with sanctis, saluiour, resaif,
Sen þat þi passioun purgit my trespas.
Explicit.
92. Thy Blood Thou Shed for Me
Ihū, that alle this worlde hast wroghte,
And of a clene virgyn so take oure kynde,
And with thi blode oure soules hast boughte,
My loue to þe I pray þe to bynde,
In werk, in worde, in þought of mynde.
My soule, my body, I yeue alle to the;
So kynde a frende schal I noon fynde,
ffor-why þi blode þow sched for me.
And of a clene virgyn so take oure kynde,
And with thi blode oure soules hast boughte,
My loue to þe I pray þe to bynde,
In werk, in worde, in þought of mynde.
My soule, my body, I yeue alle to the;
So kynde a frende schal I noon fynde,
ffor-why þi blode þow sched for me.
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fferst, ihū lord, sone after þi byrthe,
The .viii. day, named þi Circumcisyoun,
Thow wepte in stede of yoles myrthe,
And in a maner began thi passion;
So was þou kutte for oure transgressyoun,
With a stone knyf aboue thi kne.
I loue þe, lord, with trewe affeccioun,
ffor þus þi blode thow schedde for me.
The .viii. day, named þi Circumcisyoun,
Thow wepte in stede of yoles myrthe,
And in a maner began thi passion;
So was þou kutte for oure transgressyoun,
With a stone knyf aboue thi kne.
I loue þe, lord, with trewe affeccioun,
ffor þus þi blode thow schedde for me.
The same nyght, lord, þat þou was take,
After þi soper and wasshyng of fete,
Warnynge discyples þat þei schulde wake,
Thou prayed þi fader with dropes ful wete,
Swetyng þi blood þat is so swete.
ffor drede of deth þou wolde not fle—
A cause of loue þis is ful grete—
ffor þus þi blode þou sched for me.
After þi soper and wasshyng of fete,
Warnynge discyples þat þei schulde wake,
Thou prayed þi fader with dropes ful wete,
Swetyng þi blood þat is so swete.
ffor drede of deth þou wolde not fle—
A cause of loue þis is ful grete—
ffor þus þi blode þou sched for me.
Aftir þi takynge, lord, þou was bounde
Vnto a pyler, & scourged ful sore;
They leyde on þe wounde on wounde,
ffor thi fayre body was alle to-tore;
Noon ynche ther-of was kept in store.
Thus was þou bounde to make us fre,
Mikel am I bounde to þe þerfore,
ffor þus þi blode þou sched for me.
Vnto a pyler, & scourged ful sore;
They leyde on þe wounde on wounde,
ffor thi fayre body was alle to-tore;
Noon ynche ther-of was kept in store.
Thus was þou bounde to make us fre,
Mikel am I bounde to þe þerfore,
ffor þus þi blode þou sched for me.
A clothe of purpure on þe þe[i] cast,
And before pylat on þe next morne,
The to crucifye, þei cryed ful fast,
Puttynge on þi hede a croune of þorne
And callyd þe ‘kynge’ with iape & scorne—
The kynge of heuen, of erthe & see.
So witht þi body, þi hede was torne,
And þus þi blode þow sched for me.
And before pylat on þe next morne,
The to crucifye, þei cryed ful fast,
Puttynge on þi hede a croune of þorne
And callyd þe ‘kynge’ with iape & scorne—
The kynge of heuen, of erthe & see.
So witht þi body, þi hede was torne,
And þus þi blode þow sched for me.
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Then, berynge þe Cros to caluarie,
Vn-to þe mount þou cam at last;
Thi bodyly wounde were woxe al drye,
The purpure þer-to was cleued ful fast.
They rente it of with a grete haste,
And þat was, good lord, more peyne to þe
Than al þe scourgynge þat was now past,
And þus þi blode þou sched for me.
Vn-to þe mount þou cam at last;
Thi bodyly wounde were woxe al drye,
The purpure þer-to was cleued ful fast.
They rente it of with a grete haste,
And þat was, good lord, more peyne to þe
Than al þe scourgynge þat was now past,
And þus þi blode þou sched for me.
Lord, to þe cros then was þou nayled,
Handis & feet, & lyft up on hye,
Hangenge þer-on tyl þi lyf fayled.
All þis þou suffird us for, to bye
Oure soules to lyue when oure flessche schal dye.
What myght þou schewe more charite?
‘Graunt mercy, good lord, & mercy,’ I crye,
ffor þus þi blode þou sched for me.
Handis & feet, & lyft up on hye,
Hangenge þer-on tyl þi lyf fayled.
All þis þou suffird us for, to bye
Oure soules to lyue when oure flessche schal dye.
What myght þou schewe more charite?
‘Graunt mercy, good lord, & mercy,’ I crye,
ffor þus þi blode þou sched for me.
Whan þou was deed, þorou a blynde knyght
Wyche claf þi hert with a scharpe spere—
And with þi blode he gate his syght,
Askynge þe mercy & mercy was there.
Euer in my hert this wille I bere.
Of alle þi kyndenes blessit mote þou be!
If I forgate þe, ful vnkynde I were,
ffor .vii. tymes þi blode þou sched for me.
Wyche claf þi hert with a scharpe spere—
And with þi blode he gate his syght,
Askynge þe mercy & mercy was there.
Euer in my hert this wille I bere.
Of alle þi kyndenes blessit mote þou be!
If I forgate þe, ful vnkynde I were,
ffor .vii. tymes þi blode þou sched for me.
Oracio
Now, now, Ihū, for thi Circumcisioun,When þou was kut so in fleshe & skyn,
Make with my soule suche a conclusioun,
That I falle neuer in fleshly synne;
And for þe grete drede þat þou stode inne,
Prayinge thi fader yf deth myght passe,
Conforte my soule, þat I may wynne
Hope of þi mercy & drede þe lasse.
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And for þi skourgynge, bounde with a corde
Vnto þat pylour, al for our sake
Graunt us þat blode, o mercyful lorde,
Oure soules to washe fro synnes so blake;
And for þe thornes þei dide the take,
Crounynge þin heed in-to þe brayne,
Yeue us þat croune þat þou dide make
In heuen for us, witht al þi payne.
Vnto þat pylour, al for our sake
Graunt us þat blode, o mercyful lorde,
Oure soules to washe fro synnes so blake;
And for þe thornes þei dide the take,
Crounynge þin heed in-to þe brayne,
Yeue us þat croune þat þou dide make
In heuen for us, witht al þi payne.
And for purpure, þat cleued so faste
Whan it was drawe fro þe drye blode,
Off al þi peynys gif us a taste,
Þat þei may be oure goostly food;
And with þo naylis, so stronge & good,
That peresshid þrou both handes & feet,
Ioyne all oure hertis vnto þat roode,
That we þi kyndenes neuer forgeet.
Whan it was drawe fro þe drye blode,
Off al þi peynys gif us a taste,
Þat þei may be oure goostly food;
And with þo naylis, so stronge & good,
That peresshid þrou both handes & feet,
Ioyne all oure hertis vnto þat roode,
That we þi kyndenes neuer forgeet.
Now, last we pray, lord, of þi grace,
And for þat spere þat opynde þi syde,
That we may se þi blisful face
Whan we schal here no lenger abyde;
And in þis pryson sle al our pride
With charite, mekenes & pacience,
That, in þat kyngdom þat is so wyde,
We may reioyce euer thi presence.
And for þat spere þat opynde þi syde,
That we may se þi blisful face
Whan we schal here no lenger abyde;
And in þis pryson sle al our pride
With charite, mekenes & pacience,
That, in þat kyngdom þat is so wyde,
We may reioyce euer thi presence.
AmeN.
93. The Hours of the Cross
I hard a maydyn wepe
ffor here sonnys passyon;
yt enterd into my hart full deipe,
wyth grete contricion.
ffor here sonnys passyon;
yt enterd into my hart full deipe,
wyth grete contricion.
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Patris sapiencia,
The sonne off god almyght,
off fals judas be-trayd he was,
The maker off all lyghte.
The sonne off god almyght,
off fals judas be-trayd he was,
The maker off all lyghte.
Hys discipulis fled a-waye,
And fast from hym they went.
Hys body bare was scorgyd ther,
Hys flesche was all to-rent.
And fast from hym they went.
Hys body bare was scorgyd ther,
Hys flesche was all to-rent.
Hora prima, dominus
be-fore pylate was browthe,
Wyth fals wytnes hym to dystres
A-gaynst hym ther was sowht.
be-fore pylate was browthe,
Wyth fals wytnes hym to dystres
A-gaynst hym ther was sowht.
In the neke they smote hyme sore,
And bownde hys handdis fast,
And at the last—þat grevyd hym worst—
They spyt in-to hys facys.
And bownde hys handdis fast,
And at the last—þat grevyd hym worst—
They spyt in-to hys facys.
‘Creuce-figi!’ clamytant
The Ives, in the thyrde owre;
Hym for to scorne, wyth purpull clothyng
They cledyd owre savyowre.
The Ives, in the thyrde owre;
Hym for to scorne, wyth purpull clothyng
They cledyd owre savyowre.
Vppon hys hede a crowne of thorne
To set they wolde not spare.
Ryght pytyusly to caluery
The crosse hym-selfe he bare.
To set they wolde not spare.
Ryght pytyusly to caluery
The crosse hym-selfe he bare.
Hora sexta, dominus
Vppon the crosse was naylyde,
And as a theffe, for manys greffe,
To dethe he was be-trayd.
Vppon the crosse was naylyde,
And as a theffe, for manys greffe,
To dethe he was be-trayd.
They gaue hym to drenke
Aesell myngelyd wyth gall.
Owre sowllis to þe blysse to bryng—
In heven he ys a king.
Aesell myngelyd wyth gall.
Owre sowllis to þe blysse to bryng—
In heven he ys a king.
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Ora nona, dominus
Hys spryt he dyd vp-yelde,
Into hys fathers holey handis,
the vyctory of the felde.
Hys spryt he dyd vp-yelde,
Into hys fathers holey handis,
the vyctory of the felde.
Lungius, þat blynd knythe, wyth a sharpe spere
He smote owre sauyor into the harte;
and than be-gan the yerth to quake,
the sun dyd lese hys lythe.
He smote owre sauyor into the harte;
and than be-gan the yerth to quake,
the sun dyd lese hys lythe.
Hys mother wepte water & blode,
Standyng here dere sone by;
I can not tell wheder of them
More Rufull was to see.
Standyng here dere sone by;
I can not tell wheder of them
More Rufull was to see.
De cruce de-ponitur
Was takyn from the crosse,
And in-to the sepullture
Hys body beryd it was.
Was takyn from the crosse,
And in-to the sepullture
Hys body beryd it was.
Wyth spices swete in-bracyd,
the scrypter to fulfyll—
Hys passion kynd to haue in mynde,
As yt was euermore hys wylle.
the scrypter to fulfyll—
Hys passion kynd to haue in mynde,
As yt was euermore hys wylle.
94. The Dolours of Our Lady
Heir followis þe houris of oure ladyis dollouris
Quhat dollour persit our ladyis hert,
Quhan scho hard hir sone was tane & bund,
Syne led to Annas, þat of syn had na part,
Quhair fals witnes agane him sone wer fund.
Quhan scho hard hir sone was tane & bund,
Syne led to Annas, þat of syn had na part,
Quhair fals witnes agane him sone wer fund.
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At prime
At prime scho followit him to pilotis place,With sobing, siching, lik to fall in swone;
Thair the Iowis spittit in his face
And fals witnes spak fast to put him doun.
At terce
At terce, ‘crucify him!’ þe Iowis can cry;The quhit coit and purpour claith gaif him for scorne,
Thai scurgit him; and our lady þat stude by,
Saw him beir þe croce and crownt with thorne.
At sext
At sext þai him nakit nalit on a tre,For drink þai gaif him bitter gall;
The blud droppit doun on his moder mary;
The erd trimblit and cragis begouth to fall.
At none
At none he commendit his moder to Sanct Iohnne,Syne with gret dolour scho saw him decese.
The sone tynt licht fra þe sext till none—
His passioun betuix god and ws maid peace.
At ewinsang
Oure lady saw his syd oppinnit with a speirAt ewinsang; syne his body þai tuk doun,
And laid him with mony salt tere
In our ladyis bosum, of glore þe crowne.
At compling
Our lady saw þame to graif his body beir,And clois him þairin with a gret stane;
To keip him þe Iowis put men of weir—
And þe faith of crist remanit in our lady all[ane].
140
O mary, moder of mercy & of grace!
This houris to þi honour I refer;
To be my aduocat in euery cais,
And stand with me at þe bar.
This houris to þi honour I refer;
To be my aduocat in euery cais,
And stand with me at þe bar.
Grant me of þi sonne to haue compassioun,
And ay be ane seruand to þe;
And for my synnis do Satisfactioun,
Syne be tane to þe blis of hevin finalie.
And ay be ane seruand to þe;
And for my synnis do Satisfactioun,
Syne be tane to þe blis of hevin finalie.
95. Behold Jesus on the Cross
Godys sone þat was so fre
In-to þis world he cam,
And let hym naylyn vp-on a tre,
Al for þe loue of man.
His fayre blod, þat was so fre,
Out of his body it ran—
A dwelful syȝte it was to se.
His body heng blak & wan.
Wiþ an o & an I His coroune was mad of þorn,
And prikkede in-to his panne Boþe byhynde & a-forn.
In-to þis world he cam,
And let hym naylyn vp-on a tre,
Al for þe loue of man.
His fayre blod, þat was so fre,
Out of his body it ran—
A dwelful syȝte it was to se.
His body heng blak & wan.
Wiþ an o & an I His coroune was mad of þorn,
And prikkede in-to his panne Boþe byhynde & a-forn.
To a piler y-bowndyn,
Ihū was swiþe sore,
And suffrede many a wownde
þat scharp & betere wore.
He hadde vs euere in mynde
In al his harde þrowe;
And we ben so vnkynde
We nelyn hym nat yknowe.
Wiþ an O & an I But ȝif we loue hym trewe,
Houre peynys ben in helle Ȝarkyd euere newe.
Ihū was swiþe sore,
And suffrede many a wownde
þat scharp & betere wore.
He hadde vs euere in mynde
In al his harde þrowe;
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We nelyn hym nat yknowe.
Wiþ an O & an I But ȝif we loue hym trewe,
Houre peynys ben in helle Ȝarkyd euere newe.
Who-so wele loue trewe,
Byhold ihū on þe croys,
How he heng pale of hewe,
And cryde wiþ mylde voys—
‘Me þristiþ’ he gan to kalle—
þe iewis herdyn þys;
Eysel meynt wiþ galle,
þey bedyn hym y-wys.
Wiþ an O & an I His þrist was to seyȝe,
ffor loue of manys soule Hym longede for to deyȝe.
Byhold ihū on þe croys,
How he heng pale of hewe,
And cryde wiþ mylde voys—
‘Me þristiþ’ he gan to kalle—
þe iewis herdyn þys;
Eysel meynt wiþ galle,
þey bedyn hym y-wys.
Wiþ an O & an I His þrist was to seyȝe,
ffor loue of manys soule Hym longede for to deyȝe.
Who-so be proud in herte,
þynk on god al-myȝt
And on his wowndys smerte,
How rewly he was a-dyȝt.
Godys sone in trone,
þat heyȝest is of myȝt,
Tok batayle a-lone
ffor oure loue to fyȝt.
Wiþ an O & an I þe batayle was so stronge,
At many a betyr wownde þe ryche blod out spronge.
þynk on god al-myȝt
And on his wowndys smerte,
How rewly he was a-dyȝt.
Godys sone in trone,
þat heyȝest is of myȝt,
Tok batayle a-lone
ffor oure loue to fyȝt.
Wiþ an O & an I þe batayle was so stronge,
At many a betyr wownde þe ryche blod out spronge.
Trewe turtyl, corounyd on hylle,
þat heyȝest art of kynde,
þy loue chaungyþ my wille,
Whan þu comyst in my mynde.
þe fend I forsake anon
ffor on lady so hende—
To seruyn þe lady þan wil I gon,
ffor ȝhe is of my kende.
Wiþ an O and an I Ich am on of þo,
þat þy sone bouȝte dere He schal me nat for-go.
þat heyȝest art of kynde,
þy loue chaungyþ my wille,
Whan þu comyst in my mynde.
þe fend I forsake anon
ffor on lady so hende—
142
ffor ȝhe is of my kende.
Wiþ an O and an I Ich am on of þo,
þat þy sone bouȝte dere He schal me nat for-go.
A—M—E—N
96. The Seven Words from the Cross
Heir followis ane deuoit orisoun To be said in the
honour of þe sevin wordis that our saluiour spak
apoun þe croce.
O Lord God, O Crist Ihū,
O sueit saluiour, I þe salewe!
The quhilk sevin wordis of maist vertu,
Off þi life þe last day,
Thou said on þe croce in þi passioun
[OMITTED]
The quhilk I beseik the with supplicacioun
To haue þame in mynd we may.
O sueit saluiour, I þe salewe!
The quhilk sevin wordis of maist vertu,
Off þi life þe last day,
Thou said on þe croce in þi passioun
[OMITTED]
The quhilk I beseik the with supplicacioun
To haue þame in mynd we may.
Throu vertu of þir wordis, we pray þe,
Quhair I haue synnit þat þou gif me
[OMITTED]
The sevin deidly synnis,
Prid, Cowatice, Ire, Inwy,
Lichery, Sueirnes, and glutony,
& ask forgevinnes þat cum may I
In hevin, quhair now þou wynnis.
Quhair I haue synnit þat þou gif me
[OMITTED]
The sevin deidly synnis,
Prid, Cowatice, Ire, Inwy,
Lichery, Sueirnes, and glutony,
& ask forgevinnes þat cum may I
In hevin, quhair now þou wynnis.
And as þou prayis to þi fader but faile,
Apoun þe croce hingand full paile,
To forgif þi crucifyaris al haill
Thair mis and thair mysdeid,
Grant me sa þat I may spaire
And forgif all man, les and maire,
Hes done me noy or caire,
That for thy blude couth bleid.
Apoun þe croce hingand full paile,
To forgif þi crucifyaris al haill
Thair mis and thair mysdeid,
143
And forgif all man, les and maire,
Hes done me noy or caire,
That for thy blude couth bleid.
And as þou said vnto þe theif,
Quhilk hang besyid þe, for releif—
To the his saule wes leife—
Said, ‘into paradice
Thou sal be with me þe samyn day,’
God grant me to leif sa ay
That to me þe samyn þou may say,
‘Cum to my palice of maist price.’
Quhilk hang besyid þe, for releif—
To the his saule wes leife—
Said, ‘into paradice
Thou sal be with me þe samyn day,’
God grant me to leif sa ay
That to me þe samyn þou may say,
‘Cum to my palice of maist price.’
And as þou said to þi moder deir,
Quhilk dulit and murnit & maid gret beir,
Said to hir þan, ‘woman, Lo! heir
Sanct Iohnne, thy sone to be,
And þou his moder, mary meik.’
[OMITTED]
To þame me follow I þe be-seik,
Throu verray lufe and cherite.
Quhilk dulit and murnit & maid gret beir,
Said to hir þan, ‘woman, Lo! heir
Sanct Iohnne, thy sone to be,
And þou his moder, mary meik.’
[OMITTED]
To þame me follow I þe be-seik,
Throu verray lufe and cherite.
And as thou said þan ‘elay’
Vnto þi fader þan in hy,
That Is to say, ‘quhy left am I
And leifis me þus on þe rude’,
Sa grant me in perrell & tribulacion
In all anger, noyis & vexacioun,
Lorde, helpe me & geve me consolacioun,
That redemit me with þi blude.
Vnto þi fader þan in hy,
That Is to say, ‘quhy left am I
And leifis me þus on þe rude’,
Sa grant me in perrell & tribulacion
In all anger, noyis & vexacioun,
Lorde, helpe me & geve me consolacioun,
That redemit me with þi blude.
And as þou said þan, ‘I thrist’,
The heill of saulis quhilk þou wist
Wes in þe Lymbe in myrknes & mist,
Bydand þi cumyng, O kyng
Of erde, hevin and of hell,
That I þe luf, grant me þi-sell,
O well of weilfair, of vertu well,
In hevin with þe to ryng.
The heill of saulis quhilk þou wist
Wes in þe Lymbe in myrknes & mist,
Bydand þi cumyng, O kyng
144
That I þe luf, grant me þi-sell,
O well of weilfair, of vertu well,
In hevin with þe to ryng.
And as þi body was extendit
Apon þe croce, þi spirit commendit—
Vnto þi fader, þe quhilk ascendit
And broucht ws fra all baill—
ffor þat blist wourde, grant me þe Ioy
Off paradice & me convoy
Quhair þat þou rignis, o ryall roy,
Quhen þat I pas but faill.
Apon þe croce, þi spirit commendit—
Vnto þi fader, þe quhilk ascendit
And broucht ws fra all baill—
ffor þat blist wourde, grant me þe Ioy
Off paradice & me convoy
Quhair þat þou rignis, o ryall roy,
Quhen þat I pas but faill.
In hevin euer with þe to ring,
To þe quhilk conwoy me, o cumly queyne,
With Sanctis in solace,
Euer mair þat I may sing
And þair se thy fair face
To þe quhilk conwoy me, o cumly queyne,
With Sanctis in solace,
Euer mair þat I may sing
And þair se thy fair face
Amen.
97. The Mourners at the Cross
Sequitur Meditacio de Passione Domini nostri Ihū Cristi
There stood besyde the crosse of Ihū
Hys modyr, hyr sustyr and also Iohne,
Beholdyng his woundes bledyng all new.
They syghyd, þey sobbyd euer in on;
His modyr þus mornyng made her mone:
‘Dere sone, delyuer vs out of pyne,
Take me with the, my ioyes be gone.
Lat bothe be lyke, thy deth and myne.
Hys modyr, hyr sustyr and also Iohne,
Beholdyng his woundes bledyng all new.
They syghyd, þey sobbyd euer in on;
His modyr þus mornyng made her mone:
‘Dere sone, delyuer vs out of pyne,
Take me with the, my ioyes be gone.
Lat bothe be lyke, thy deth and myne.
145
‘Thy peynes to me they be so smert,
My sorow so sore hit wyll nat slake,
That as a swerde they perse my hert
And euer wyll do tyll dethe me take,
The peyne wherof hit maketh me quake
But well I wote to com to the
And euer ioy and myrthe to make—
Full long therto now thynketh me.’
My sorow so sore hit wyll nat slake,
That as a swerde they perse my hert
And euer wyll do tyll dethe me take,
The peyne wherof hit maketh me quake
But well I wote to com to the
And euer ioy and myrthe to make—
Full long therto now thynketh me.’
She lokyd vp hygh vnto the crosse,
She saw her son opon hit hyng.
How myght þat may haue had more losse
Than lese her son, þat was a kyng?
She myndyd well, he made all thyng
And myght haue sauyd hymsylf fro wo.
Therfore sorow to her hert dyd thryng,
That he suffred suche wreches to sle hym so.
She saw her son opon hit hyng.
How myght þat may haue had more losse
Than lese her son, þat was a kyng?
She myndyd well, he made all thyng
And myght haue sauyd hymsylf fro wo.
Therfore sorow to her hert dyd thryng,
That he suffred suche wreches to sle hym so.
‘Allas! dere son, thynkest þu nat on
How thow thyne aungell to me sent,
And seyd þu wold become a mon
To saue mankynde þat þan was shent?
He gret me with grace & good entent,
And seyd I shuld conceue with ryght
The lord on whom my loue ys lent,
For thow art my son and god of myght.
How thow thyne aungell to me sent,
And seyd þu wold become a mon
To saue mankynde þat þan was shent?
He gret me with grace & good entent,
And seyd I shuld conceue with ryght
The lord on whom my loue ys lent,
For thow art my son and god of myght.
‘Gabryell gret me all with grace,
And all with myrthe he myngyd my mode;
And now I loke opon thy face,
And se the hyng there on the rode,
Spoylyd and sprynkelyd all with blode,
Scornyd and scorgyd & all to-shent.
Now may there nothyng do me good,
For sorow and care so hath me hent.
And all with myrthe he myngyd my mode;
And now I loke opon thy face,
And se the hyng there on the rode,
Spoylyd and sprynkelyd all with blode,
Scornyd and scorgyd & all to-shent.
Now may there nothyng do me good,
For sorow and care so hath me hent.
146
‘Somtyme I lappyd the in myne arme,
And thought full kyndely the to kysse;
I weryd the wyll fro all kyn harme,
On the was all my ioy and blysse.
But now methynke hit ys all amysse
To se thy blood renne from thy hert.
But I most take hit as hyt ys,
And sofre sorow with peynes smert.
And thought full kyndely the to kysse;
I weryd the wyll fro all kyn harme,
On the was all my ioy and blysse.
But now methynke hit ys all amysse
To se thy blood renne from thy hert.
But I most take hit as hyt ys,
And sofre sorow with peynes smert.
‘Dere son, thow sokyd vppon my breste,
And coueryd me well fro all kyn care.
I know well þu made bothe man and beste,
Heuyn & erthe & mekyll mare;
But now þu lernyst another lare
And suffrest dethe withoutyn skyll.
Allas! dere son, how shall I fare?
Rewle me & gyde me euen as þu wyll.
And coueryd me well fro all kyn care.
I know well þu made bothe man and beste,
Heuyn & erthe & mekyll mare;
But now þu lernyst another lare
And suffrest dethe withoutyn skyll.
Allas! dere son, how shall I fare?
Rewle me & gyde me euen as þu wyll.
‘I lappyd the, I lullyd the, I layde the soft,
I kyssyd the oft opon my kne;
And now thow makest me syng full oft,
To se the thus hang on thys tre,
‘Allas! wyll hit no better be?
Shall all my Ioyes þus fro me go?’
Make here my ende, take me with the,
And lat me neuer abyde thys wo.’
I kyssyd the oft opon my kne;
And now thow makest me syng full oft,
To se the thus hang on thys tre,
‘Allas! wyll hit no better be?
Shall all my Ioyes þus fro me go?’
Make here my ende, take me with the,
And lat me neuer abyde thys wo.’
Than spake þat lorde wordys full mylde
As he hyng vppon the tre:
‘Woman, take Iohne here to thy chylde.’
And þan anone to Iohne seyd he:
‘Lo here þy modyr, þow may her se.’
And euer aftyr with all hys myght
He socoryd þat lady, blessyd mot she be!
And seruyd her truly bothe day & nyght.
As he hyng vppon the tre:
‘Woman, take Iohne here to thy chylde.’
And þan anone to Iohne seyd he:
‘Lo here þy modyr, þow may her se.’
And euer aftyr with all hys myght
He socoryd þat lady, blessyd mot she be!
And seruyd her truly bothe day & nyght.
147
Yet mornyd that mayden in her mynde,
When she saw þat her chylde was slayne.
Blame her nat, hit was but kynde.
Yet was ther oo þyng made her fayne,
She wyst that he shuld ryse agayne.
But for all that she was full wo
To se her chylde suffre suche payne,
And hang there dede, boþe pale & blo.
When she saw þat her chylde was slayne.
Blame her nat, hit was but kynde.
Yet was ther oo þyng made her fayne,
She wyst that he shuld ryse agayne.
But for all that she was full wo
To se her chylde suffre suche payne,
And hang there dede, boþe pale & blo.
Euer she syghyd & seyde, ‘Allas!
A carefull woman, what shall I do?
My ioy, my comfort in euery cas,
My owne dere chylde ys slayne me fro.
Why wold þese wyked Iewes do so,
To sle my son withoutyn cause?
Wyte me nat þaugh I be wo,
For I may neyther bynde ne lause.’
A carefull woman, what shall I do?
My ioy, my comfort in euery cas,
My owne dere chylde ys slayne me fro.
Why wold þese wyked Iewes do so,
To sle my son withoutyn cause?
Wyte me nat þaugh I be wo,
For I may neyther bynde ne lause.’
That blessyd lady, chosyn for chaste
To bere þat lord þat all thyng wrought—
Heuen and erthe, wode and vaste,
Water and wynde & all of nought—
Her sorow was suche þat she ne rought
To dy, for dole of her son dere;
Hyr sorow so suyd here vnsought
That nothyng myght amende here chere.
To bere þat lord þat all thyng wrought—
Heuen and erthe, wode and vaste,
Water and wynde & all of nought—
Her sorow was suche þat she ne rought
To dy, for dole of her son dere;
Hyr sorow so suyd here vnsought
That nothyng myght amende here chere.
O lorde, syth þu wolde nat her spare,
That of her body toke flesshe & blood,
But as a caytyf let her haue care
When thow hynge nakyd on the rood,
Why shuld we wreches, þat neuer dyd good,
Groge with peyne or aduersite,
But thanke & blysse the with myght & mood
In ioy or sorow, whether that we be?
That of her body toke flesshe & blood,
But as a caytyf let her haue care
When thow hynge nakyd on the rood,
Why shuld we wreches, þat neuer dyd good,
Groge with peyne or aduersite,
But thanke & blysse the with myght & mood
In ioy or sorow, whether that we be?
148
Remembre, lord, of thy goodnes,
Howe with thy blood þu bought mankynde,
And brought hym frely out of dystres
Fro the foule fende, þat dyd hym bynde
Where euer for syn he shuld haue pynyd,
But þat þu for hym dethe wold take.
Let neuer þat sorow renne fro oure mynde,
That thow wold suffer for oure sake.
Howe with thy blood þu bought mankynde,
And brought hym frely out of dystres
Fro the foule fende, þat dyd hym bynde
Where euer for syn he shuld haue pynyd,
But þat þu for hym dethe wold take.
Let neuer þat sorow renne fro oure mynde,
That thow wold suffer for oure sake.
And late þy godhede graunte vs grace
That we may mekely, with all oure myght,
Thanke þe & looue whyle we haue space,
Serue þe & blesse boþe day & nyght
And at owre [dethe] com to þat lyght,
Wheryn þu art & euer shalt be,
And euer abyde þere in þy syght.
Amen Amen, for charyte.
That we may mekely, with all oure myght,
Thanke þe & looue whyle we haue space,
Serue þe & blesse boþe day & nyght
And at owre [dethe] com to þat lyght,
Wheryn þu art & euer shalt be,
And euer abyde þere in þy syght.
Amen Amen, for charyte.
Explicit.
98. For Thy Sake Let the World Call Me Fool
A goode praier
O Ihū, lett me neuer forgett thy byttur passion,
That thou suffred for my transgression,
ffor in thy blessyd wondes is the verey scole
That must teche me with the worlde to be called a fole.
O Ihū, ihū, ihū, grauntt that I may loue the soo,
Þat the wysdom of the worlde be cleene fro me A-goo,
And brennyngly to desyre to come to see thy face,
In whom is all my comford, my joy and my solace.
Amen—Ihesus—maria—Iohannes.
149
99. The Child that Died for Us
I saruyd oure lady bothe nythte and day
the louyr that I may
the louyr that I may
wiche ded for wus on goode fryday,
and allso a childe good
þat dede for wus oppon the Rode,
and allso a childe good and free,
that ded for wus oppon the Roode tre.
100. The Wounds, as Wells of Life
Ihesus woundes so wide
ben welles of lif to þe goode,
Namely þe stronde of hys syde,
þat ran ful breme on þe rode.
ben welles of lif to þe goode,
Namely þe stronde of hys syde,
þat ran ful breme on þe rode.
ȝif þee liste to drinke,
to fle fro þe fendes of helle,
Bowe þu doun to þe brinke
& mekely taste of þe welle.
to fle fro þe fendes of helle,
Bowe þu doun to þe brinke
& mekely taste of þe welle.
101. An Alphabetical Devotion to the Cross
Here begynneth þe A.B.C. of deuocion
[CROSS] of ihū criste be euer oure spede,
And kepe vs from perel of synnes and payne!
Blessid be þat lorde þat on þe crosse dide blede,
Crist, god and man, þat for vs was slayne,
Dede he was and rose vp agayne.
Euer helpe us, crosse, with hym to a-ryse
ffro deeth to lyue and synne to dispise!
And kepe vs from perel of synnes and payne!
Blessid be þat lorde þat on þe crosse dide blede,
150
Dede he was and rose vp agayne.
Euer helpe us, crosse, with hym to a-ryse
ffro deeth to lyue and synne to dispise!
Gracyous crosse, now grawnt us þat grace
Hym for to worship with al oure mynde,
In wordes, in werkes, and in euery place,
Knelyng and kyssyng þe where we þe fynde.
Late us be neuer to hym unkynde,
Mercyfully þat made vs to be men,
No more to kepe but his heestis ten.
Hym for to worship with al oure mynde,
In wordes, in werkes, and in euery place,
Knelyng and kyssyng þe where we þe fynde.
Late us be neuer to hym unkynde,
Mercyfully þat made vs to be men,
No more to kepe but his heestis ten.
O blisful crosse, teche us al vertu
Plesyng to god, for oure saluacion,
Quenchyng alle vices in þe name of ihū,
Raunson payng for oure dampnacion.
Sende us such grace of conuersacion
That we may stye and glorified be,
Where crist is kyng þat dyed on tre.
Plesyng to god, for oure saluacion,
Quenchyng alle vices in þe name of ihū,
Raunson payng for oure dampnacion.
Sende us such grace of conuersacion
That we may stye and glorified be,
Where crist is kyng þat dyed on tre.
Crist, þat dyed on þe holy roode,
I pray þe, good lorde, with al my myght
Sende us sume part of al thy goode,
And kepe us from yuel euer day and nyght,
Contynuyng þi mercy, sauyng al ryght
Titulle of þi passion, Poynt us saue
As to thy [cross] reuerence we may haue.
I pray þe, good lorde, with al my myght
Sende us sume part of al thy goode,
And kepe us from yuel euer day and nyght,
Contynuyng þi mercy, sauyng al ryght
Titulle of þi passion, Poynt us saue
As to thy [cross] reuerence we may haue.
| Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century | |