7. An Appeal to all Mothers
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Cambridge Univ. MS. Ff. 5. 48
1
Off alle women þat euer were borne
That berys childur, abyde and se
How my son liggus me beforne
Vpon my kne, takyn fro tre.
Your childur ȝe dawnse vpon your kne
With laȝyng, kyssyng and mery chere;
Be-holde my childe, be-holde now me,
ffor now liggus ded my dere son, dere.
2
O woman, woman, wel is the,
Thy childis cap þu dose vpon;
þu pykys his here, be-holdys his ble,
þu wost not wele when þu hast done.
But euer, alas! I make my mone
To se my sonnys hed as hit is here;
I pyke owt thornys be on & on,
ffor now liggus ded my dere son, dere.
3
O woman, a chaplet chosyn þu has
Thy childe to were, hit dose þe gret likyng,
þu pynnes hit on with gret solas;
And I sitte with my son sore wepyng,
His chaplet is thornys sore prickyng,
His mouth I kys with a carfull chere—
I sitte wepyng and þu syngyng,
ffor now liggus ded my dere son, dere.
4
O woman, loke to me agayne,
That playes & kisses your childur pappys.
To se my son I haue gret payne,
In his brest so gret gap is
And on his body so mony swappys.
With blody lippys I kis hym here,
Alas! full hard me thynk me happys,
ffor now liggus ded my dere son, dere.
5
O woman, þu takis þi childe be þe hand
And seis, ‘my son gif me a stroke!’
My sonnys handis ar sore bledand;
To loke on hym me list not layke.
His handis he suffyrd for þi sake
Thus to be boryd with nayle & speyre;
When þu makes myrth gret sorow I make,
ffor now liggus ded my dere son, dere.
6
Be-holde women when þat ȝe play
And hase your childur on knees daunsand;
Ye fele ther fete, so fete ar thay
And to your sight ful wel likand.
But þe most fyngur of any hande
Thorow my sonnys fete I may put here
And pulle hit out sore bledand,
ffor now liggus ded my dere son, dere.
7
Therfor, women, be town & strete
Your childur handis when ȝe be-holde,—
Theyr brest, þeire body and þeire fete—
Then gode hit were on my son thynk ȝe wolde,
How care has made my hert full colde
To se my son, with nayle and speyre,
With scourge and thornys many-folde,
Woundit and ded, my dere son, dere.
8
þu hase þi son full holl and sounde,
And myn is ded vpon my kne;
thy childe is lawse and myn is bonde;
Thy childe is an life & myn ded is he—
Whi was this oȝt but for þe?
ffor my childe trespast neuer here.
Me thynk ȝe be holdyne to wepe with me,
ffor now liggus ded my dere son, dere.
9
Wepe with me, both man and wyfe,
My childe is youres & lovys yow wele.
If your childe had lost his life
ȝe wolde wepe at euery mele;
But for my son wepe ȝe neuer a del.
If ȝe luf youres, myne has no pere;
He sendis youris both hap and hele
And for ȝow dyed my dere son, dere.
10
Now, alle wymmen þat has your wytte
And sees my childe on my knees ded,
Wepe not for yours but wepe for hit,
And ȝe shall haue ful mycull mede.
He wolde agayne for your luf blede
Raþer or þat ȝe damned were.
I pray yow alle to hym take hede,
ffor now liggus ded my dere son, dere.
11
ffare-wel, woman, I may no more
ffor drede of deth reherse his payne.
ȝe may lagh when ȝe list & I wepe sore,
That may ȝe se and ȝe loke to me agayne.
To luf my son and ȝe be fayne
I wille luff yours with hert entere,
And he shall brynge your childur & yow sertayne
To blisse wher is my dere son, dere,
Explicit fabula
