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11. Stabat Mater Dolorosa

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MS. Ashmole 59 (Sum. Catal. No. 6943)

Here nowe filoweþe next a devoute Invocacioun to oure Ladye [By þe Priour of Bridlington] with þe þe [sic] refrayde Stabat mater dolorosa.
Heyle! goddes moder dolorous,
By þe crosse stonding forwepped,
While þy sone hong ful pitous,
þe swerd of sorowe þyne hert kitte.
O howe muche sorouful drede
þowe sufferd, goddes moder, þoo,
To se þy sone pitously blede!
þe stremys of blode þane rane him fro.
23

O what is he þat may not weepe
Noþer with eghe nor with hert,
Þat seeþe þe, lorde, so lowe crepe!
Þou sykest and qwakst with smert.
O whane [he] taste bitter galle,
And gaf his goste til heven kynge,
He forgaf heos enmys alle
And þeire sore turmentyng.
O þou woful moder & mayde,
Þat hadest deþe in þy dolour,
Make my gooste with þee faste tyed
To him þat is my saveour.
O dolorous mayde so bright,
Make me to mowrone with þee,
Þat never by daye ne night
Youre stronge sorowe forgote be.
O glorious þou mayde mylde,
Make me to mowrne not to misse,
Þat arte glorefyde with þy chylde,
Þat of þi love I ne misse.
O þou virgyne mylde & meke,
Make me to weepe and wayle,
Þy childes peyne and þine eke,
Þat I no love chaunge for his.
O þou, ladye of ladyes alle,
ffor þy worþy names three:
Qwene of heven þe saintes calle,
And lady of þis worlde þou be.
24

O Emparyse of helle, þy name is kouþe
To þe Ioye of al man-kynde.
þer-fore homely nowe with mouþe
þowe mayst prey heven kynge.
O þou blest virgyne clere,
Beo redy, aye bytwene god and man
fful medyate, with þy prayer,
Ay, at moste neode of synful man.
O ladye, my sight most fayle
At þe blacnesse of my deth;
My soule þane behoveþe wayle
ffor defaute of tonge & breth.
O howe myne herte þane wol qwake
ffor enmys to leye þeire lyne!
Now ladye, for þy childes sake,
Nowe helpe me, ladye, þat same tyme.
O glorious ladye ful of grace,
vowch nowe sauf to helpen me
And to withstonde þ'enmys face
And to destroye þeire gret poweste.
O ladye, remembre my preyer
þe whiche I make nowe vn-to þee,
And prey þy sone þat haþe no peer
To haue my sowle in his lovely eie.
O fayre ladye of aungelle floure,
In prophet and patryake desyre,
Dyademe of Martre and confessour,
Beaute of virgynes & sainte in feere.
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O ladye, þat arte so bright
As is þe sunne in þe ffirmament,
ffor þe gret ioye þou hadest in sight
whane þow were to heven went.
O ladye, come, þat dredful houre
Whane derk deþe shall m'assayle,
And beo to me sikur sokoure
þat alle þe feondes of me shal fay[l]e.
O lovely lady bright and sheene,
Kepe me þane frome ferdnesse,
ffrome þ'orryble sighte and kene
þat feondes make in þeire foulnesse.
O ladye of heven, þou mylde qwene,
And ladye of þis worlde þer-to,
And Emparyce of helle to beon
þe sayntes calle þee, þer fro.
O ladye, for þat gret honoure
Þat þou haste for synners sake,
Þowe helpe me in þat stronge stour
Whane þey frome hens wolde me take.
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