109. Brother, Abide
[_]
Helmingham Hall MS. LJ. I. 10
(In an early XVI-cent. hand, at the end of Hardyng's Chronicle)
Here begynnyth a lamentable complaynt of our saviour cryst
kyng eternall to sinfull mane his brother naturall.
Brother, a-byde, I the desire and pray;
A-byde, a-byde and here thy brother speke.
Be-holde my body in this blody aray,
Broysed & betyne wyth whippis that wold not breke.
This ferefull force, this wo, this wrongfull wreke,
ffor the I sufferd, what canst thou do, then, lesse agayne,
But stonde a while and harke how I complayne?
A-bove the sterrys, in hevyne emperiall,
Crouned, I satte, thi lorde and thi soverayne,
Servide wyth bodies of nature ymmortall,
In Ioyes that euer shall endure & remayn.
hevyn, erth, & hell, and all thei contayne,
To me dyde owe dewe obedyence,
As to theyr prynce, most hygh in excellence.
I raynyng thus in full felicite,
Thou lyveddyst in erth, subiecte to the fende,
Wrappyd in wo & grett aduersite,
Woyde of socoure, woyde of comforde for any ffrende.
And worst of all, thou knewest no tyme nor ende
Off thy distresse; thou knewest no remedy
A-gaynst thy greffe and mortall mysery.
Pety I hade, beholdyng the this wise
Be thin enmy oppresside, in distresse;
And, of grett love, a-noone, I dyd devise
The to delyuer out of this wrechidnese.
And by and by, with-out longe procese,
I lefte my trone and regall mageste
And hither I came, a maydyns childe to be.
Borne in bedlem, lappyd and laide in strawe
Ine a powur howse wher bestys ete ther mete,
Brought to the temple after the Iues lawe
And circumcysed—this ys not to forgette,—
I lede my yought wyth children in the strette,
Poorly a-rayed in clothes bare and thyne,
Suche as my mother for me dyde make & spyne.
Myn age encresed, & then a-bought I wentt,
Prechinge scripture; & wher-sumeuer I came
I movyd the people for to be penitent,
And that I saied, was in my fathers name.
Some praysed my preching, some said I was to blame,
Some toke my techyng, sum wold nott of my scole,
Sum held me wyse, some said I was a fole.
Thus longe I lyvid, passyng frome place to place,
Bare-fotyd, caplese, wythout syluer or gold.
Payne of my traveylle a-pered in my face;
Men myght perceyve yf thei listed to be-hold.
Watch & grett labur, sharpe honger, thurst & cold
ffull ofte me brought so feble & so lowe,
That myne owne mother sum tyme dyd me not knowe.
Thus, & mych more, for the endured I.
Therfor, brother, make thou no hast to starte
Nother of my speche be thou no-thing wery,
ffor yf thou be, to blame thou arte.
To whom shuld I disclose or brek myne harte,
To whom shulde I complayne my greffe mortall,
but to the, my brother most naturall?
Harke now therfor! hark now, & take goode hede,
And of my troble a-noone thou shalt here more
To shewe my-self as god & mane in deede,
lasar I raysed, buried fowre dayes be-fore.
The people I cured of euery maner sore—
Some deffe, some dome, sum full of dropsy,
And some sore enhawnted wyth ferefull frensy,
And some-lame, of lidernes þat myght not goo nor crepe,
And sum blynde borne, by ympedyment of nature,
And some vexed, they cowde nevyr reste ne slepe,
And sum that fell dede by sodene adventure.
Bothe powur & ryche I holpe & toke to cure,
Vsyng to them noone other medycyne
But my holy worde, full of vertue divyne.
Then myn enmys begane to rage & rayle,
And said I hade the devyll at my demayne;
Some said I vsed arte magike wythought fayle,
And some said I coude not longe contynew ne rayne.
Al this I hard and litle I said a-gayne;
All that myne ennymes dyd I sufferd paciently,
And to ther wordis no countraury speche hade I.
Then they came to me, flamed wyth Ire fervent,
And said the people by me deceyvid were.
Many blynd reasons & miche froward argument
To me they made, and bade I shuld answere.
Answere I dyde, wher-to they leyed good ere,
And specyally thei gave sure attendance,
To take me wyth some fawlte in vtturaunce.
But to my saying they cowde no-thyng replye;
My resouns wer so playne and apparentte.
Never-the-lesse, so miche was ther envy,
That styll they murmorde & wold not be contente.
Cownsell they toke and, by secrett assentte,
They were a-greed to dethe me for to bete,
Wyth cloddys of erthe & stone hard & grette.
I me wyth-drewe & dyde lette theire fury passe
And, for a seasone, fro them I dyd me hyde.
Neuerthelese, a-gayn a-brode I wase,
All there malys redy for to abyde.
And by this tyme thei had gotene them a gyde—
One that I trustyd, & Iudas was his name—
Which me betrayed & hynge hyme-self for shame.
Then, to conclude ther cruell appetyght,
Thei gatherd them in a great companye,
Wyth byllys & battys, wyth torch & lanterne lyght,
me to dystresse; and so takyne was I,
And leede to prysoun wyth clamor & ought-cry,
ffast bownde in roppys, & left my-self alone—
ffor all my frendis were fro me flede & goone.
Petur, my frend, that said wyth wordis bolde
In my quarell he wolde bothe lyve & dye,
Stode by the fyere to warme hyme-self for colde,
And for his master thrise he dyde me di-nye.
Thus was I lefte no frende to stande me by,
Thus was I lefte in fere and grett danger,
A-monge myn enymys a wofull prisoner.
Be-fore pylate erly they dyd me brynge,
He as a Iuge, to here what shuld be sayde.
And too stode forth, a-gaynst me witnessyng,
And a fals mattur vnto my charge they layde.
‘Speke, manne,’ qd pylate, ‘how ys thy lyf convayed?’
And wyth that worde, wattur to whasche he callde,
And I stode styll, seke and sore appalled.
Then sodenly the folke feelle in roure,
And wyth one voyce they cryed, ‘hang vp this theff!’
Pylate stode forth & openly he swoure
He cowde lay no-thyng to my repreff.
Neuer-the-lesse, fering his propur greeff,
And wyllyng also noyse to a-pease & stylle,
He badde them take & do wyth me ther wyll.
Then they layde hande & lede me forth that day,
Wyth shotyng & crying, wyth mokry & mych dysdayne;
Some pulled me forwarde & tare my powur a-ray,
And by the here some plukkyd me bake a-gayne.
Often I stomelled & felle to the grounde for payne
And, wythout pyte of my grevance or hurte,
They spornned me vp, all betrodene in durte.
And, as people most cruell & vnkynde,
When I for woo blode & water swette,
Vnto a pylar nakyd thei dyde me bynde
And wyth sharpe scorgis thei dyde my body bette
Vnto the bonnes—the synues dyd freete—
And on my heode sharpe thorns thei dyd dystayne
Thorowgh skyne & skulle, that rane vnto my brayne.
Thus bete, thus rentte, and all to-tore,
Wyth a great crose thei dyd me charge & lade,
Which on my shuldure vp to an hill I bore,
In steppys of blode as depe as I cowde wade.
A-bowt me rennyng, myche tyrany thei made,
And as wood men thei dyde me dryve & chace,
Wyth mobbys & knockys & spettyng in my face.
This crosse soo sade a-pone my shulder ley
That bake & bone it made to bowe & bende.
Often I stomeled, & fell downe by the way
As I labored the mounteyn to ascende;
When I came vp my breth was at an ende,
I cowde not speke, in me no powur ther was,
But as in a mane redy for to passe.
Then one this crosse thei dyde me strecch & strayn,
And nayled me faste wyth naylles gret & longe,
And hyng me vppe betwene false thevis twayne,
Most shamefully, wyth moche rebuke & wronge.
I called for drynke, my thurst was grevous strong;
Thei gave me aysell, tempred wyth bitter galle,
Which I did taste & dranke therof but smalle.
My visage changed to pale & blew as byse,
My fleshe be-ganne to styff & waxid drye,
My hart lokyd lyke a plomett of Ise,
My lyff was spent, myne owre was come to dye.
Vnto my father I cryed, ‘heli, heli!’
And wyth that worde, I layde myne hede a-syde,
And dolfully gave vp the spret & dyed.
Ther honge I dede, a pytefull fygure,
And mene in harnesse were sette the place to kepe,
And, by-cawse of me thei wold be sure,
Wyth a sharpe spere my hart thei lawnsed depe.
My mother stode, but what cowde she doo but weepe?
And weepe she dyde, terrys both whight & rede,
Wrynging her handys, & fill downe by me deede.
Now, gentyll brother, be-holde this matur welle,
And myndfully make this rufull reknynge,
Loke one this processe, consider it euery delle
fro the furst to the laste, consider euery thynge:
ffurst, consider I raynyd as a kynge;
Seconde, considere, as a frend moost fre
To make the ryche, I died in pouerte.
What cowde one brother more for a-nother doo
Then my complaynte presently dothe a-pere & expresse?
What canst thou adde, or putte eny thyng þer-too,
That myght be done by brotherly kyndnesse?
Se what I suffred, thy grevanse to reddresse!
What canst thou aske or more desire of me,
Thy feythfull brother, dyeng in pouerte?
Off tendure love, all this I dyd endure;
Love dyde me lede, love dyde me thus constrayne;
And, for my dede & grevouse adventure,
More aske I nott but love for love a-gayne.
Brother, be kynde, & for a good certayne,
by-side all this, rewardede shalt thou be
in the blysse of hevyne, where ther ys no pouerte.
