 | [Poems from the Vernon MS] |  |
[XXXVI. Þe Lamentacioun þat was bytwene vre lady and seynt Bernard.]
Her is a gret lamentacion betwene vr ladi & seint Bernard, Of cristes passion, hire dere sone, þat was so pyneful & so hard.
298
Lewed men be not lered in lore,
As Clerkes ben in holi writ;
Þauȝ men prechen hem bi-fore,
Hit wol not wonen in heore wit:
Þerfore is þat I syke sore,
ffor broþurhede, as God hit bit,
And, ȝif cristes wille wore,
Wel fayn I wolde amenden hit.
As Clerkes ben in holi writ;
Þauȝ men prechen hem bi-fore,
Hit wol not wonen in heore wit:
Þerfore is þat I syke sore,
ffor broþurhede, as God hit bit,
And, ȝif cristes wille wore,
Wel fayn I wolde amenden hit.
Ȝif Crist haue send mon wit at wille,
Craft of Clergye, for to preche,
Alle hise hestes scholde we fulfille
As ferforþ as we mihten areche.
Ȝonge and olde, holdeþ ow stille:
ffor broþerhed I wol ow teche—
Þe Mon þat con, and teche nille,
He mai haue drede of godes wreche.
Craft of Clergye, for to preche,
Alle hise hestes scholde we fulfille
As ferforþ as we mihten areche.
Ȝonge and olde, holdeþ ow stille:
ffor broþerhed I wol ow teche—
Þe Mon þat con, and teche nille,
He mai haue drede of godes wreche.
Þerfore ichaue on Englisch wrouȝt,
Seint Bernard witnesseþ in Latyn—
Mon may be glad in al his þouȝt
Þat his wit haþ leid þer-In.
Þe gospel nul I forsake nouȝt,
Þauȝ hit be writen in parchemyn;
Seynt Iones word, and hit be souȝt,
Þer-of hit wole be witnes myn.
Seint Bernard witnesseþ in Latyn—
Mon may be glad in al his þouȝt
Þat his wit haþ leid þer-In.
Þe gospel nul I forsake nouȝt,
Þauȝ hit be writen in parchemyn;
Seynt Iones word, and hit be souȝt,
Þer-of hit wole be witnes myn.
While Ihesu crist on eorþe eode,
Mony of his Miracles writen þei were:
Þer nis no mon þat mihte rede
Þe goodnesse þat he dude here.
Men and wymmen, ȝe schulen haue mede,
Lusteneþ alle now me I-feere;
Ȝif I sigge mis, takeþ good hede,
And wisseþ me, þat hit betere were.
299
Þer nis no mon þat mihte rede
Þe goodnesse þat he dude here.
Men and wymmen, ȝe schulen haue mede,
Lusteneþ alle now me I-feere;
Ȝif I sigge mis, takeþ good hede,
And wisseþ me, þat hit betere were.
ffader and sone and holy gost,
Al-mihtiful god in Trinite,
Myn hope is on þi Modur most,
fful of grace and of pite:
Þouȝ I be synful, as þou wel wost,
Such grace þenne þow sende me
Sum word to speken wiþ-outen bost,
Þat sum men mowe þe beter be.
Al-mihtiful god in Trinite,
Myn hope is on þi Modur most,
fful of grace and of pite:
Þouȝ I be synful, as þou wel wost,
Such grace þenne þow sende me
Sum word to speken wiþ-outen bost,
Þat sum men mowe þe beter be.
Gret del hit is to speke and say
Of him þat dyed on þe Roode,
How he vppon þe gode ffriday
ffor vs þenne schedde his herte-blode;
Alle hise disciples flowen a-way,
ffor doute of deþ þei were neiȝ wode:
Þer nis no tonge þat telle may
Þe serwe of Marie, his moder gode.
Of him þat dyed on þe Roode,
How he vppon þe gode ffriday
ffor vs þenne schedde his herte-blode;
Alle hise disciples flowen a-way,
ffor doute of deþ þei were neiȝ wode:
Þer nis no tonge þat telle may
Þe serwe of Marie, his moder gode.
Heo him bar boþe god and Mon,
And siþen him clepede swete Ihesu,
And offrede him to Symeon—
fful wel þe prophete him he kneuȝ!
An Angel warnede vre ladi þon
Of kyng Heroude, þat was vntrewȝ,
And bad hire in to Egipte gon
ffor doute of deþ of mony a Iewȝ.
And siþen him clepede swete Ihesu,
300
fful wel þe prophete him he kneuȝ!
An Angel warnede vre ladi þon
Of kyng Heroude, þat was vntrewȝ,
And bad hire in to Egipte gon
ffor doute of deþ of mony a Iewȝ.
Euer was Marie glad I-nowȝ
Whon heo hire swete sone seȝe;
Whoderward þat Ihesu drouȝ,
He nas neuere out of hire eȝe.
Siþen men duden him gret wouȝ,
Harde peynes heo seiȝ hym dreiȝe,
His honden were nayled to a bouȝ,
Vppon a treo honged wel heiȝe.
Whon heo hire swete sone seȝe;
Whoderward þat Ihesu drouȝ,
He nas neuere out of hire eȝe.
Siþen men duden him gret wouȝ,
Harde peynes heo seiȝ hym dreiȝe,
His honden were nayled to a bouȝ,
Vppon a treo honged wel heiȝe.
Þauȝ heo weore wo no wonder nas:
Heo seiȝ hym blodi, bodi and croun,
Hire sone þat so gultles was,
Wiþ stremes of blod he ron a-doun.
To sen his peynes was gret pres,
Wymmen folewede him þorw þe toun,
Sore wepynge, wiþ-outen lees,
ffor gret deol of his passion.
Heo seiȝ hym blodi, bodi and croun,
Hire sone þat so gultles was,
Wiþ stremes of blod he ron a-doun.
To sen his peynes was gret pres,
Wymmen folewede him þorw þe toun,
Sore wepynge, wiþ-outen lees,
ffor gret deol of his passion.
Ihesu tornde, þat was so meke,
And spac wordes of gret pite
To þe wymmen þat þer speke,
And seide: “Wepeþ not for me!
ffor ȝoure children ȝe mowe wepe,
Þat doþ me schome, as ȝe mowe se.”
No wonder þouȝ hire herte breke,
Þat seiȝ hir sone so beten be!
And spac wordes of gret pite
To þe wymmen þat þer speke,
301
ffor ȝoure children ȝe mowe wepe,
Þat doþ me schome, as ȝe mowe se.”
No wonder þouȝ hire herte breke,
Þat seiȝ hir sone so beten be!
Whon he was beten wiþ scourges sore,
Alle his frendes were from hym gon;
Þreo dayes vre feiþ was lore
Saue in Marie, his moder, al-on.
Bernard bereþ witnesse þerfore,
Also doþ hire Cosyn Ion:
ffor serwe þat heo hedde þore
On swouȝ heo fel sone a-non.
Alle his frendes were from hym gon;
Þreo dayes vre feiþ was lore
Saue in Marie, his moder, al-on.
Bernard bereþ witnesse þerfore,
Also doþ hire Cosyn Ion:
ffor serwe þat heo hedde þore
On swouȝ heo fel sone a-non.
Þe blod out of hire eȝen ron,
Al-most hire herte clef a-two—
Seynt Bernard, þat holy mon,
Witnesseþ wel þat hit is so.
Seint Bernard in to chirche wenden he con,
To witen of þat Ladi wo.
To him wel feire speken heo gon,
What was his wille to asken þo.
Al-most hire herte clef a-two—
Seynt Bernard, þat holy mon,
Witnesseþ wel þat hit is so.
Seint Bernard in to chirche wenden he con,
To witen of þat Ladi wo.
To him wel feire speken heo gon,
What was his wille to asken þo.
“Ladi, ȝif hit be þi wille,
Tel me, as þou art heuene-qwene,
Hou þat þou weope þin herte fille,
Whon þei duden þi sone to scheme,
Whon þei him bounden and beoten ille
And Corounden him wiþ þornes kene,
And [he] bar þe Crois meke and stille
As þauȝ on hym non harm were sene.
Tel me, as þou art heuene-qwene,
Hou þat þou weope þin herte fille,
Whon þei duden þi sone to scheme,
302
And Corounden him wiþ þornes kene,
And [he] bar þe Crois meke and stille
As þauȝ on hym non harm were sene.
“Ladi,” seide Bernard, “weore þou þere þo,
Þer Men him bounden and beoten so fast?
I wot þou weore not fer him fro,
Þin herte was stif and ful studefast!
Allas! whi nere myn herte so?
Whi is myn now so vnwrast?
Whi nolde hit cleue or breke a-two,
Or wepe while þat hit wolde last?
Þer Men him bounden and beoten so fast?
I wot þou weore not fer him fro,
Þin herte was stif and ful studefast!
Allas! whi nere myn herte so?
Whi is myn now so vnwrast?
Whi nolde hit cleue or breke a-two,
Or wepe while þat hit wolde last?
“Tel me þi serwe þin herte was in,
Whon þou seȝe þin oune fode,
Godes sone, his hed doun lyn,
Þer he hongede vppon þe Rode!
Þeiȝ he weore God, his flesch was þyn,
His bodi ron doun al on Blode.
Allas, whi nedde þi serwe be myn?
Whi nedde I stonden þer þou stode?
Whon þou seȝe þin oune fode,
Godes sone, his hed doun lyn,
Þer he hongede vppon þe Rode!
Þeiȝ he weore God, his flesch was þyn,
His bodi ron doun al on Blode.
Allas, whi nedde þi serwe be myn?
Whi nedde I stonden þer þou stode?
303
“Whon [þat] he his lyf forsook,
He bowede his hed & lafte his siȝt,
And nom his leue, his wey he tok
Vp to his fader ful of miht.
Witnesse wole þe holy book,
Þat day þe sonne les hire liht,
Þe Temple clef, þe eorþe qwok,
Þe dede a-risen to lyue apliȝt.
He bowede his hed & lafte his siȝt,
And nom his leue, his wey he tok
Vp to his fader ful of miht.
Witnesse wole þe holy book,
Þat day þe sonne les hire liht,
Þe Temple clef, þe eorþe qwok,
Þe dede a-risen to lyue apliȝt.
“Ladi, tak hit not a-gref,
Þeiȝ I speke of his peynes so;
To heren of him me is ful lef,
I ne may hit nouȝt for-go,
I seo him hongen as a þef,
Godes sone and þin also:
Ladi, þe teres þat þou þer ȝef,
Graunte me summe!” he seide þo.
Þeiȝ I speke of his peynes so;
To heren of him me is ful lef,
I ne may hit nouȝt for-go,
I seo him hongen as a þef,
Godes sone and þin also:
Ladi, þe teres þat þou þer ȝef,
Graunte me summe!” he seide þo.
“As þou art queen of heuene-blisse,
And I am here in gret perile,
Swete ladi, þow me wisse,
Þouȝ I be synful mon and vyle.
As þou art moder and Mayden I-wis:
What dude my lord in his exile?
Whon he was pyned wiþ-outen mis,
Whuche weren his wordes in þat while?”
And I am here in gret perile,
Swete ladi, þow me wisse,
Þouȝ I be synful mon and vyle.
As þou art moder and Mayden I-wis:
What dude my lord in his exile?
304
Whuche weren his wordes in þat while?”
“Bernard, þe wordes of þi Mouþ
To myn herte scheteþ a spere;
Þat speke of him bi norþ & souþ,
I-wis, þei don myn herte dere!
Wepynge is me now ful couþ,
Now þow wolt my peynes lere.
Mekeliche þow aske nouþe:
Bernard, I wol þe onswere!”
To myn herte scheteþ a spere;
Þat speke of him bi norþ & souþ,
I-wis, þei don myn herte dere!
Wepynge is me now ful couþ,
Now þow wolt my peynes lere.
Mekeliche þow aske nouþe:
Bernard, I wol þe onswere!”
Bernard seide and gon to speke:
“Mi rihte were to wepe sore:
Min herte [is hard &] nul not to-breke,
I seo not hit wole melte fore.
I wolde he were in serwe steke,
Wiþ me to wepe euer-more:
Hit nil not of myn eȝen reke
To wepe, as my wille wore.
“Mi rihte were to wepe sore:
Min herte [is hard &] nul not to-breke,
I seo not hit wole melte fore.
I wolde he were in serwe steke,
Wiþ me to wepe euer-more:
Hit nil not of myn eȝen reke
To wepe, as my wille wore.
“As þou art Qwene of heuene & helle
And baar him þat vs deore haþ bouȝt,
Hou hit is þou most me telle,
Þing þat is now in my þouȝt:
Weore þou þere as men [wold] him qwelle,
In Ierusalem, þer he was souȝt
And nomen wiþ þe Iewes felle
And siþen bi-fore Cayphas brouȝt?”
And baar him þat vs deore haþ bouȝt,
Hou hit is þou most me telle,
Þing þat is now in my þouȝt:
Weore þou þere as men [wold] him qwelle,
In Ierusalem, þer he was souȝt
305
And siþen bi-fore Cayphas brouȝt?”
Ovre ladi seide: “I was þere þo,
Sore I wep and wrong myn honde;
Whon þe Iewes him ladde me fro,
To folwe him wepinge miȝt I not wonde.
No wonder was þeiȝ me were wo,
Ac hit was wonder I miȝte stonde,
Whon I seiȝ hym to peyne go
And beo bounden in hard bonde.
Sore I wep and wrong myn honde;
Whon þe Iewes him ladde me fro,
To folwe him wepinge miȝt I not wonde.
No wonder was þeiȝ me were wo,
Ac hit was wonder I miȝte stonde,
Whon I seiȝ hym to peyne go
And beo bounden in hard bonde.
“On Cene-þursday wiþ-Inne þe niht
Cayphas him nom, him þhouȝte gome,
Wiþ swerdes and wiþ lanternes briht,
And clepede him Ihesu by his nome.
He onswerde: ‘I am her riht.
Do my disciples for me no schome!’
ffor alle þe peynes þat him were diht,
He nolde his frendes hedde no blame.
Cayphas him nom, him þhouȝte gome,
Wiþ swerdes and wiþ lanternes briht,
And clepede him Ihesu by his nome.
He onswerde: ‘I am her riht.
Do my disciples for me no schome!’
ffor alle þe peynes þat him were diht,
He nolde his frendes hedde no blame.
“ffor no chesoun of his takyng
He wolde no mon þe worse were:
Þat schewed he wel in alle þing,
Boþe here and elles-where.
Peter, for soþe, made fihtyng
And smot sone of a Iewes ere:
Mi sone him blamed for þat þing
And also-swiþe heled hit þere.
He wolde no mon þe worse were:
Þat schewed he wel in alle þing,
Boþe here and elles-where.
Peter, for soþe, made fihtyng
And smot sone of a Iewes ere:
306
And also-swiþe heled hit þere.
“Iudas was ful of þe ffend,
fful wel my sone his tresun wust:
Þer he cleped him his frend
And Mekeliche he him cust.
Þe Iewes of harm hedde non ende,
Mi sone to-beten and to-pust,
Wiþ strokes þei gunne to him wende
And leyden on hym wiþ staf & fust.”
“Ladi,” seide Bernard, “God ȝelde hit þe!
fful wel my sone his tresun wust:
Þer he cleped him his frend
And Mekeliche he him cust.
Þe Iewes of harm hedde non ende,
Mi sone to-beten and to-pust,
Wiþ strokes þei gunne to him wende
And leyden on hym wiþ staf & fust.”
Tel me more of Myn askyng:
Þi swete sone, what dude he?
Whi nolde he stonde wiþ fihtynge?
Bi kynde skil I may wel se
He mihte hem alle to deþe bringe.
Swete ladi, tel þou me
Al his semblaunt and his berynge!”
“A, Bernard, ȝif I teres had,
Nou miȝti wepe al my fille.
Of serwe nas I neuer sad,
Whon I þouȝte on his peynes ille.
Al-hou he was from me lad,
I haue told, and ȝit I wille,
And hou he was in serwe stad
And I him folewede wiþ teres grille.
Nou miȝti wepe al my fille.
Of serwe nas I neuer sad,
Whon I þouȝte on his peynes ille.
Al-hou he was from me lad,
I haue told, and ȝit I wille,
And hou he was in serwe stad
307
“Þei hudden his eȝen & boffetede him þo
And beden him reden ho hit wore,
And duden hym peynes monie mo,
Þer nis no tonge may telle fore.
Þere stoden my sustren two
Þat hedden loued hym wel ȝore;
Marie Maudeleyn dude also,
Þat trewely louede him in hire lore.
And beden him reden ho hit wore,
And duden hym peynes monie mo,
Þer nis no tonge may telle fore.
Þere stoden my sustren two
Þat hedden loued hym wel ȝore;
Marie Maudeleyn dude also,
Þat trewely louede him in hire lore.
“Hire loue was studefast and trewe,
And I hym louede ful trewelyche.
[Strong] is loue of ffrendes newe,
And of þe Moder nomeliche.
I seiȝ neuere my sone chaungen hewe,
But euere in on, as lomb I-lyche.
Sori þei were alle þat hym knewe,
And wepte for him, boþe pore & riche.
And I hym louede ful trewelyche.
[Strong] is loue of ffrendes newe,
And of þe Moder nomeliche.
I seiȝ neuere my sone chaungen hewe,
But euere in on, as lomb I-lyche.
Sori þei were alle þat hym knewe,
And wepte for him, boþe pore & riche.
“ffrom Cayphas paleis þei him drouh
Riht to Pilate, my sone to spille.
He criȝede not, as men duden him wouȝ,
He eode wiþ hem wiþ gode wille,
Euere he was Meke I-nouȝ
And heold him boþe clos and stille.
Pilat wolde not þat þei hym slouh,
In his dedes he fond non skille.
Riht to Pilate, my sone to spille.
He criȝede not, as men duden him wouȝ,
He eode wiþ hem wiþ gode wille,
Euere he was Meke I-nouȝ
And heold him boþe clos and stille.
Pilat wolde not þat þei hym slouh,
308
“Þei stripte hym þat ilke stounde,
To a piler bounden him þat day,
And beoten him whil þei warm him founde.
Þen was my song weilaway!
ffour þousend & fyf hundred wounde
Þei maden on him, for soþe to say,
And seiden on skorn vppon þe grounde:
‘Þi prophecye helpe þe ne may.’
To a piler bounden him þat day,
And beoten him whil þei warm him founde.
Þen was my song weilaway!
ffour þousend & fyf hundred wounde
Þei maden on him, for soþe to say,
And seiden on skorn vppon þe grounde:
‘Þi prophecye helpe þe ne may.’
“Mi leue Bernard, gret was my care
Whon þei criede wel faste in on:
‘Do Ihesu on þe Crois ful [ȝare]
And dilyuere vs Barraban!’
Goddes sone to Iugge þare
And leten a þef to lyue gon,
Bernard, þis was a sori fare,
Such dom hedde neuer no mon!
Whon þei criede wel faste in on:
‘Do Ihesu on þe Crois ful [ȝare]
And dilyuere vs Barraban!’
Goddes sone to Iugge þare
And leten a þef to lyue gon,
Bernard, þis was a sori fare,
Such dom hedde neuer no mon!
“Þus þe Iewes steorne and stoute
Mi sone hedden in hard bonde.
Pilate hedde of hem more doute
Þan he hedde of godes sonde:
Þat was I-sene, he ladde him oute
And dude him to þe Iewes honde.
Þe Iewes þrongen him a-boute,
And I for serwe mihte not stonde.
Mi sone hedden in hard bonde.
Pilate hedde of hem more doute
Þan he hedde of godes sonde:
Þat was I-sene, he ladde him oute
And dude him to þe Iewes honde.
Þe Iewes þrongen him a-boute,
And I for serwe mihte not stonde.
309
“Whon he was dempt and out sent,
Alle þei duden hym gret dispite.
He nom þe Cros and forþ [he] went,
Wiþ wraþþe þei driuen him, muche & lyte.
Allas þat lomb [þat] Innocent!
Wolues wolde him sore a byte.
Þe care was at myn herte lent,
Mi serwe mihte no mon wyte.
Alle þei duden hym gret dispite.
He nom þe Cros and forþ [he] went,
Wiþ wraþþe þei driuen him, muche & lyte.
Allas þat lomb [þat] Innocent!
Wolues wolde him sore a byte.
Þe care was at myn herte lent,
Mi serwe mihte no mon wyte.
“I suwede, & swouhnede mony a siþe,
Mi sustren comen a-bouten me;
I spac to him as I miȝte kiþe,
Whon I him for pres mihte se.
Mi sone hiȝede him wel blyue
And bar him-self þat heui tre,
And let me beo be-hynde vnbliþe:
Bernard, þen gomede me no gle.”
Mi sustren comen a-bouten me;
I spac to him as I miȝte kiþe,
Whon I him for pres mihte se.
Mi sone hiȝede him wel blyue
And bar him-self þat heui tre,
And let me beo be-hynde vnbliþe:
Bernard, þen gomede me no gle.”
“Merci,” seide Bernard, “heuene queene,
Þou hast so muche me i-told!
Ȝit þer is wel more I-sene,
Þat ful fayn witen I wold:
Hou bar my lord him, ladi schene,
A-Mong þe Iewes breme and bold?
His harde peynes alle be-dene
But þou me teche, myn herte is cold.
Þou hast so muche me i-told!
Ȝit þer is wel more I-sene,
310
Hou bar my lord him, ladi schene,
A-Mong þe Iewes breme and bold?
His harde peynes alle be-dene
But þou me teche, myn herte is cold.
“Ladi, of þe and of þi childe
I wolde wite a more strif:
What dude my lord meke and mylde
To þe endyng of his lyf?
I haue seȝen séé and watres wylde,
Stremes and wawes two and fyue;
Swete ladi, from schome vs schylde
And to riȝte hauene þou [do] vs ryue!
I wolde wite a more strif:
What dude my lord meke and mylde
To þe endyng of his lyf?
I haue seȝen séé and watres wylde,
Stremes and wawes two and fyue;
Swete ladi, from schome vs schylde
And to riȝte hauene þou [do] vs ryue!
“I haue seȝen men þat nolde not loute
Til þat þei þe harde I-seȝe,
And siþen for drede of deþes doute
Heore herte a-rysen vp an hiȝe.
Whon his enemys were him a-boute,
Hou miȝt he al heor scornyng driȝe?
In his face þei spitte and spoute:
Whi wolde he suffre þat vilenye?”
Til þat þei þe harde I-seȝe,
And siþen for drede of deþes doute
Heore herte a-rysen vp an hiȝe.
Whon his enemys were him a-boute,
Hou miȝt he al heor scornyng driȝe?
In his face þei spitte and spoute:
Whi wolde he suffre þat vilenye?”
Oure ladi seyde: “His herte was stif,
And mekely suffrede al her fare;
Monnus soule him was ful lef,
Wiþ his blod he bouȝte hem þare.
He seiȝ me stonde in serwe & gref,
Wiþ wepyng and wiþ muche care:
Mi serwe dude him more gref
Þen alle þe peynes he suffrede þare.
And mekely suffrede al her fare;
311
Wiþ his blod he bouȝte hem þare.
He seiȝ me stonde in serwe & gref,
Wiþ wepyng and wiþ muche care:
Mi serwe dude him more gref
Þen alle þe peynes he suffrede þare.
“And þat was ful wel I-sene,
Whon he tok me to seynt Ion;
Meke he was, wiþ-outen wene,
Þat tyme he loked me vppon.
Þen wox my serwe couþ and grene,
Of anguissche I mai make my mon.
I wol þe telle al be-deene
His harde peynes euerichon.
Whon he tok me to seynt Ion;
Meke he was, wiþ-outen wene,
Þat tyme he loked me vppon.
Þen wox my serwe couþ and grene,
Of anguissche I mai make my mon.
I wol þe telle al be-deene
His harde peynes euerichon.
“Lusten to me, my Broþer Bernard,
I wol þe telle of peynes more—
Þyn herte schal ben ful hard,
But hit greue þe ful sore;
Þauh I haue a parti spard
Of his peynes herbifore,
I wol þe telle her-afturward
His harm an hundred siþe sore.
I wol þe telle of peynes more—
Þyn herte schal ben ful hard,
But hit greue þe ful sore;
Þauh I haue a parti spard
Of his peynes herbifore,
I wol þe telle her-afturward
His harm an hundred siþe sore.
“Bernard, I saiȝ my sone honge
As þauȝ he were a Mayster-þef,
His Bak and syden sore I-swonge
Þat white were and me ful lef.
He was Crouned wiþ þornes stronge,
In eueri syde þei duden him gref,
And drowen him on þe cros a-longe,
His senewes to-bursten & to-dref.
As þauȝ he were a Mayster-þef,
His Bak and syden sore I-swonge
312
He was Crouned wiþ þornes stronge,
In eueri syde þei duden him gref,
And drowen him on þe cros a-longe,
His senewes to-bursten & to-dref.
“Þe blod ron doun bi Bodi and heued—
Þat lykede þe corsede Iewes wel!
Wiþ spotel & blod he was be-weued,
Þat he was lyk a foul Mesel.
He was to-drawen and to-dreued
And Nayled wiþ þre Nayles of stel.
Þen was my strengþe me be-reued,
And al-most a-doun I fel.
Þat lykede þe corsede Iewes wel!
Wiþ spotel & blod he was be-weued,
Þat he was lyk a foul Mesel.
He was to-drawen and to-dreued
And Nayled wiþ þre Nayles of stel.
Þen was my strengþe me be-reued,
And al-most a-doun I fel.
“I seiȝ where foure welles were
Out of his lymes ron o-blode.
Bernard frend, my sone dere
Þus him seruede þe Iewes wode!
Ich hedde gret blisse whon I him bere,
And of his þewes monye and gode:
[Þen] al wox won Bodi and leore,
Þat feirest was of alle fode.
Out of his lymes ron o-blode.
Bernard frend, my sone dere
Þus him seruede þe Iewes wode!
Ich hedde gret blisse whon I him bere,
And of his þewes monye and gode:
313
Þat feirest was of alle fode.
“So feir ȝit was neuer nomon,
As bereþ witnesse holy writ:
Þenne was his beute al a-gon,
As þe gospel telleþ hit.
I hedde a sone, nou haue I non,
Me wonteþ boþe weole and wit;
I not in world whoder to gon
ffor serwe þat in myn herte sit.
As bereþ witnesse holy writ:
Þenne was his beute al a-gon,
As þe gospel telleþ hit.
I hedde a sone, nou haue I non,
Me wonteþ boþe weole and wit;
I not in world whoder to gon
ffor serwe þat in myn herte sit.
“Bernard, hedde I honged him bi,
Sum-tyme my serwe hedde be pas.
I stod and loked vppon hiȝ,
Wher heng my ioye and my solas.
Þe Iewes seiȝ me ful sori,
Þer as I stod in þe plas:
ffor þat I made sereweful cri,
Þei beede me schome and harde gras.
Sum-tyme my serwe hedde be pas.
I stod and loked vppon hiȝ,
Wher heng my ioye and my solas.
Þe Iewes seiȝ me ful sori,
Þer as I stod in þe plas:
ffor þat I made sereweful cri,
Þei beede me schome and harde gras.
“ffaste I criȝede in my manere,
Ȝut ne was I not I-herd;
Þo I criȝede, he mihte me here,
Witnesse boþe of lewed and lered;
‘Merci!’ I criȝede to my sone dere,
‘Al-one þou leue[st] me in desert!’
Þenne he bi-tok me til a fere
And bad, I scholde not ben a-ferd.
Ȝut ne was I not I-herd;
Þo I criȝede, he mihte me here,
Witnesse boþe of lewed and lered;
‘Merci!’ I criȝede to my sone dere,
314
Þenne he bi-tok me til a fere
And bad, I scholde not ben a-ferd.
“Allas, Bernard, þat I scholde se
Mi sone hongen bifore my feete!
I seide: ‘Sone, let me dye wiþ þe,
Er þen þou þi lyf for-lete!
Mi sone, my lord and al my gle,
Þou hast euere be Milde and swete:
But þou haue pite now of me,
Þer may no mon my Bale bete.’
Mi sone hongen bifore my feete!
I seide: ‘Sone, let me dye wiþ þe,
Er þen þou þi lyf for-lete!
Mi sone, my lord and al my gle,
Þou hast euere be Milde and swete:
But þou haue pite now of me,
Þer may no mon my Bale bete.’
“I criede: ‘Maudeleyn, help now—
Mi sone haþ loued ful wel þe:
Preie him þat I dye mow,
Þat I nout for-ȝeten be!
Seost þow, Maudeleyn, now,
Mi sone is honged on a tre,
Ȝit alyue am I and þow,
And þou ne preyest not for me!’
Mi sone haþ loued ful wel þe:
Preie him þat I dye mow,
Þat I nout for-ȝeten be!
Seost þow, Maudeleyn, now,
Mi sone is honged on a tre,
Ȝit alyue am I and þow,
And þou ne preyest not for me!’
“Maudeleyn seide: ‘I con no red,
Care haþ smiten myn herte sore;
I stonde, I seo my lord neih ded,
And þi wepyng greueþ me more.
Cum wiþ me! I wol þe lede
In to þe temple her be-fore.
Mi Mournynge is boþe feble & fede,
ffor þou hast now I-wept ful ȝore.’
Care haþ smiten myn herte sore;
315
And þi wepyng greueþ me more.
Cum wiþ me! I wol þe lede
In to þe temple her be-fore.
Mi Mournynge is boþe feble & fede,
ffor þou hast now I-wept ful ȝore.’
“Ich askede þe Magdaleyn: ‘wher is þat place,
In pleyn, in valeye or in hille,
[Þer] I mai me huyde for eny cas,
Þat no serwe come me tille?
He þat al my Ioye was,
Now deþ of hym wol don his wille;
Con I me no beter solas
Þen for to wepe al my fille.’
In pleyn, in valeye or in hille,
[Þer] I mai me huyde for eny cas,
Þat no serwe come me tille?
He þat al my Ioye was,
Now deþ of hym wol don his wille;
Con I me no beter solas
Þen for to wepe al my fille.’
“Þe Maudeleyn cumfortede me þo,
To lede me þenne, heo seide, was best.
Care hedde smiten myn herte so
Þat I miȝte neuere haue no rest.
‘Soster, whoderward þat I go,
Þe wo of hym is in my Brest;
While my sone hongeþ so,
His peyne is in myn herte fest.
To lede me þenne, heo seide, was best.
Care hedde smiten myn herte so
Þat I miȝte neuere haue no rest.
‘Soster, whoderward þat I go,
316
While my sone hongeþ so,
His peyne is in myn herte fest.
“‘I seih my sone, [my] ffader dere
Heiȝe hongen vp-on a tre;
I hedde blisse whon I him bere,
And now deþ for-doþ my gle:
Scholde I leten him hongen here
And lete my sone al-one be?
Maudeleyn, þenne vnkynde I were,
Ȝif he schulde honge & I schulde fle!
Heiȝe hongen vp-on a tre;
I hedde blisse whon I him bere,
And now deþ for-doþ my gle:
Scholde I leten him hongen here
And lete my sone al-one be?
Maudeleyn, þenne vnkynde I were,
Ȝif he schulde honge & I schulde fle!
“‘Vnder þe Cros leuen I-schille
And seo my sone hongen þer-on;
Of siȝt I nedde neuere my fille,
Whon I loke[d] hym vppon.’
I bad hem gon wher was heore wille,
Þe Maudeleyn and euerichon:
‘And my-seluen be-leuen I wole,
ffor I nil fle for no mon.’”
And seo my sone hongen þer-on;
Of siȝt I nedde neuere my fille,
Whon I loke[d] hym vppon.’
I bad hem gon wher was heore wille,
Þe Maudeleyn and euerichon:
‘And my-seluen be-leuen I wole,
ffor I nil fle for no mon.’”
Bernard [seide]: “wordes swete
Þe Maudeleyn also gon say;
Ladi, [heo seiȝ] þi serwe vn-meete
And fayn [heo] wolde han it a-way
And, deore ladi, þi bale to beten;
But in riȝt resun was his way.
Ladi, ȝif I dorste þe be-sechen,
To aske þe more I wolde þe pray.
Þe Maudeleyn also gon say;
Ladi, [heo seiȝ] þi serwe vn-meete
And fayn [heo] wolde han it a-way
317
But in riȝt resun was his way.
Ladi, ȝif I dorste þe be-sechen,
To aske þe more I wolde þe pray.
“Of angussche þou hast told me strong;
Myn herte is not as Ich wolde,
I ne may hit wiþ serwe fonge,
And what my lord siggen wolde,
To aske þe more nul I not wonde,
Whon þe Iewes Breme and bolde
Naylede him þorw feet and honde,
Aftur þat Iudas hedde hym solde.”
Myn herte is not as Ich wolde,
I ne may hit wiþ serwe fonge,
And what my lord siggen wolde,
To aske þe more nul I not wonde,
Whon þe Iewes Breme and bolde
Naylede him þorw feet and honde,
Aftur þat Iudas hedde hym solde.”
“Bernard, I haue told my þouȝt:
Wolt þou now ȝit aske me more?
Be I forþere in tales brouȝt,
I-wis, þou greues me ful sore.
Ac for þou hast me be-souȝt,
Bleþeliche I wol telle þe fore;
I wot, þow art in longyng brouȝt,
To witen wat his wille wore.
Wolt þou now ȝit aske me more?
Be I forþere in tales brouȝt,
I-wis, þou greues me ful sore.
Ac for þou hast me be-souȝt,
Bleþeliche I wol telle þe fore;
I wot, þow art in longyng brouȝt,
To witen wat his wille wore.
“Whon my sone deþ scholde han,
Delful wordes wiþ him þer were:
ffurst he seide: ‘be-hold, wommon!’
And siþen he seide: ‘be-hold þou here!’
And siþen he seide to seynt Ion:
‘Kep my moder leof and dere!’
Me þouȝte myn herte al to-chon
Such wordes of hym for to here.
Delful wordes wiþ him þer were:
ffurst he seide: ‘be-hold, wommon!’
318
And siþen he seide to seynt Ion:
‘Kep my moder leof and dere!’
Me þouȝte myn herte al to-chon
Such wordes of hym for to here.
“He bed Ion, as he was hende,
Kepe me and ben al at my bone
Whoderward I wolde hym sende,
As him-self was wont to done.
‘Heþen,’ he seide, ‘I mot wende,
Mi tyme neiȝeþ swiþe sone,
I may her no lengor lende,
I mot in to my fader trone.
Kepe me and ben al at my bone
Whoderward I wolde hym sende,
As him-self was wont to done.
‘Heþen,’ he seide, ‘I mot wende,
Mi tyme neiȝeþ swiþe sone,
I may her no lengor lende,
I mot in to my fader trone.
“‘Moder, þe Bodi þat þou bere,
In hard penaunce þou miht hit se,
[ffor] al Monkynde þat dede were
ffrom deþ schal areysed be.
I seo a schep, þat was me dere,
Þat wiþ wronge was stolen from me:
I schal him bringe þer he was ere,
And of his þraldam make him fre.
In hard penaunce þou miht hit se,
[ffor] al Monkynde þat dede were
ffrom deþ schal areysed be.
I seo a schep, þat was me dere,
Þat wiþ wronge was stolen from me:
I schal him bringe þer he was ere,
And of his þraldam make him fre.
“‘Þe schep be-tokneþ al monkynde,
Mi fader wolde þat hit weore souȝt;
Wiþ-owten me may no mon [hit] fynde,
ffor wiþ my blod hit mot be bouȝt.
I wol hit bringe to riȝte mynde,
To my blisse he mot be brouȝt,
And þou [ne] schalt, moder, leue be-hynde:
Swete Moder, ne wep þow nouȝt!
Mi fader wolde þat hit weore souȝt;
Wiþ-owten me may no mon [hit] fynde,
ffor wiþ my blod hit mot be bouȝt.
I wol hit bringe to riȝte mynde,
To my blisse he mot be brouȝt,
And þou [ne] schalt, moder, leue be-hynde:
Swete Moder, ne wep þow nouȝt!
319
“‘Þauȝ þou seo me hongen heiȝe,
I prey þe, Moder, ne wep not sore;
Al þe peyne, þou seost me drye,
Hit is to saue mon þerfore.
Betere hit is þat on dye
Þen al Monkynde euer-more.
So longe schal I not lye
Þat I [ne] schal wel my deþ restore.’
I prey þe, Moder, ne wep not sore;
Al þe peyne, þou seost me drye,
Hit is to saue mon þerfore.
Betere hit is þat on dye
Þen al Monkynde euer-more.
So longe schal I not lye
Þat I [ne] schal wel my deþ restore.’
“Þus were his wordes loken in on
Þat seint Ion scholde me loke.
Þauȝ he were my kynnes-mon,
Þerfore ich him [for] sone toke.
Such wordes he speke con
Þat al my Ioye I þer for-soke.
Bernard, þow most þis wordes tan
And craftliche writen hem in boke!
Þat seint Ion scholde me loke.
Þauȝ he were my kynnes-mon,
Þerfore ich him [for] sone toke.
Such wordes he speke con
Þat al my Ioye I þer for-soke.
Bernard, þow most þis wordes tan
And craftliche writen hem in boke!
“Bernard, O þing dude me wo:
He þursted, my sone, & gon to crie.
To ȝiuen him drinke þei þouȝte þo,
Þe Iewes ful of ffelenye:
Eysel and Galle þei mengeden also,
Wiþ a sponge þei brouȝt hit an hiȝe
And wiþ a launce þei putte him to,
Þe Iewes ful of Ribaudye.
He þursted, my sone, & gon to crie.
To ȝiuen him drinke þei þouȝte þo,
Þe Iewes ful of ffelenye:
Eysel and Galle þei mengeden also,
Wiþ a sponge þei brouȝt hit an hiȝe
And wiþ a launce þei putte him to,
Þe Iewes ful of Ribaudye.
“I criede to hym: ‘ne drynk hit nouȝt!
Þe Iewes on scorn hit [haue] I-mad:
Hit is Eysel and Galle I-wrouȝt,
Ȝif hit stynke, þou miȝt be sad.’
Loueliche he me be-souȝt,
Þat I scholde boþe be bliþe and glad:
‘Þorw þis drynke Adam [is] bouȝt,
I drynke hit as my ffader bad.
Þe Iewes on scorn hit [haue] I-mad:
Hit is Eysel and Galle I-wrouȝt,
Ȝif hit stynke, þou miȝt be sad.’
Loueliche he me be-souȝt,
Þat I scholde boþe be bliþe and glad:
320
I drynke hit as my ffader bad.
“‘Þerfore I preye þe, Moder hende,
Lef þi deol, ne wep no more!
And I schal to my ffader wende
And bring hem vp þat were for-lore.
And after þe þen schal I sende:
But I mot, Moder, go bi-fore,
And after schalt þou wiþ me lende
In Ioye and blisse for euer-more.’
Lef þi deol, ne wep no more!
And I schal to my ffader wende
And bring hem vp þat were for-lore.
And after þe þen schal I sende:
But I mot, Moder, go bi-fore,
And after schalt þou wiþ me lende
In Ioye and blisse for euer-more.’
“Þenne þe Iewes ful of pride
Two þeues þei hynge my sone bi;
Þat on þat hengede bi his syde
Criȝede to my sone Merci.
Þat oþur onswerde in þat tyde:
‘He hongeþ herre þen þou or I
On þe Croys wiþ woundes wyde,
To crie Merci, þow dost foly.’
Two þeues þei hynge my sone bi;
Þat on þat hengede bi his syde
Criȝede to my sone Merci.
Þat oþur onswerde in þat tyde:
‘He hongeþ herre þen þou or I
On þe Croys wiþ woundes wyde,
To crie Merci, þow dost foly.’
“Þat oþur seide: ‘Mon, þow art wod,
Þis ilke Mon [is dampned] þorw false red,
He haþ do noþing bote gode,
He weore not worþi to be ded.
Ihesu as þou art mylde of mode,
Whon þou comest to þi godhed,
Þorw vertu of þyn holy blode
Þe riȝte wey þat þou me lede!’
Þis ilke Mon [is dampned] þorw false red,
He haþ do noþing bote gode,
He weore not worþi to be ded.
Ihesu as þou art mylde of mode,
321
Þorw vertu of þyn holy blode
Þe riȝte wey þat þou me lede!’
“Mi sone seide: ‘Mon, þou art wys,
ffor þin askyng Blessed þou be!
Þerfore I graunte þe paradys,
Þis day þou schalt my Ioye i-se.’
I stod and lokede in heore Vys,
Þo þei hongede vppon þe tre:
Þat o þef wente to heuene-blis,
Þat oþer gon to helle fle.
ffor þin askyng Blessed þou be!
Þerfore I graunte þe paradys,
Þis day þou schalt my Ioye i-se.’
I stod and lokede in heore Vys,
Þo þei hongede vppon þe tre:
Þat o þef wente to heuene-blis,
Þat oþer gon to helle fle.
“Þis was, Bernard, my grete solas,
Þat O þef so sone heuene won;
Þenne wuste I wel in heore cas,
Mi sone was studefast God and Mon.
And [as] I my-self stod in þe plas,
Mi sone ful loude crie he con:
‘Heloy, heloy,’ his criȝing was,
‘Lamaȝabatani,’ after þon.”
Þat O þef so sone heuene won;
Þenne wuste I wel in heore cas,
Mi sone was studefast God and Mon.
And [as] I my-self stod in þe plas,
Mi sone ful loude crie he con:
‘Heloy, heloy,’ his criȝing was,
‘Lamaȝabatani,’ after þon.”
Þis is now, as ȝe mowe [se],
On Englisch to vnderstonde bi:
“‘ffader,’ he seide, ‘In Trinite,
Whi forsakest þou my Merci?
Hider I com þorw red of þe,
To þe I take my soule an hiȝ.
Wiþ wrong I dye vppon þe tre,
To fulfille þe propheci.’”
On Englisch to vnderstonde bi:
“‘ffader,’ he seide, ‘In Trinite,
Whi forsakest þou my Merci?
Hider I com þorw red of þe,
To þe I take my soule an hiȝ.
Wiþ wrong I dye vppon þe tre,
To fulfille þe propheci.’”
322
“Merci, ladi,” seide Bernard,
“Swete Moder, God ȝelde hit þe!
On Serterday, I haue herd,
How he was went a-wei from þe,
And on þe ffriday how he ferd,
Þer he hongede on þe tre.
Al-how þe Iewes him bi-cherd,
Loueli ladi, lere þow me!
“Swete Moder, God ȝelde hit þe!
On Serterday, I haue herd,
How he was went a-wei from þe,
And on þe ffriday how he ferd,
Þer he hongede on þe tre.
Al-how þe Iewes him bi-cherd,
Loueli ladi, lere þow me!
“And how he was after taken adoun,
Tel me, Moder Marie Mylde,
Of þe Crois aftur þe passioun,
How þou weope for þi chylde
And geete him wiþ þis (!) orisoun
Of Pilate and of þe Iewes wylde!
Þe holy lore of þis passioun
ffrom þe fend hit may vs schilde.
Tel me, Moder Marie Mylde,
Of þe Crois aftur þe passioun,
How þou weope for þi chylde
And geete him wiþ þis (!) orisoun
Of Pilate and of þe Iewes wylde!
Þe holy lore of þis passioun
ffrom þe fend hit may vs schilde.
“Tel me, ladi briht and schene,
Wȝuche were þi frendes euerichon
Þat wolde at his buriing bene,
And how þou were saued from þi fon
In þe Temple, wiþ-outen wene;
Þe serwe of þe and of seint Ion
Tel me, ladi, al be-dene,
Of þi sone bodi and bon!”
Wȝuche were þi frendes euerichon
Þat wolde at his buriing bene,
And how þou were saued from þi fon
In þe Temple, wiþ-outen wene;
Þe serwe of þe and of seint Ion
323
Of þi sone bodi and bon!”
Oure ladi seide: “Bernard, allas,
What woltou more aske me?
Tel I þe forþure of þis cas,
Þe swerd of deþ wol neiȝ me sle.
Ioseph a-non nom his pas
And bed his bodi vppon þe tre.
Pilate him grauntede and Cayphas,
Ȝif þat þei witen, þat he ded be.
What woltou more aske me?
Tel I þe forþure of þis cas,
Þe swerd of deþ wol neiȝ me sle.
Ioseph a-non nom his pas
And bed his bodi vppon þe tre.
Pilate him grauntede and Cayphas,
Ȝif þat þei witen, þat he ded be.
“Pilate[s] kniȝtes steorne and stoute
fforþ wiþ Iosep gunne þei wende,
And oþure kniȝtes wiþ gret route,
Summe his fon and summe his frende.
ffurst þis kniȝtes wenten aboute
And bursten boþe Bak and lende;
[Bernard], þen was I in gret doute,
So han to serued my sone hende.
fforþ wiþ Iosep gunne þei wende,
And oþure kniȝtes wiþ gret route,
Summe his fon and summe his frende.
ffurst þis kniȝtes wenten aboute
And bursten boþe Bak and lende;
[Bernard], þen was I in gret doute,
So han to serued my sone hende.
“I suwed after wiþ al my miht,
Ion and my sustren two.
Here now, Bernard, al apliht,
Þe strengeste pyne of al my wo.
Be-syde þe Roode þen stod a kniȝt,
Blynd he was and lome also,
Alle þei seide Longeus he hiȝt:
Vnder þe Roode þei dude him go.
Ion and my sustren two.
Here now, Bernard, al apliht,
Þe strengeste pyne of al my wo.
Be-syde þe Roode þen stod a kniȝt,
Blynd he was and lome also,
Alle þei seide Longeus he hiȝt:
Vnder þe Roode þei dude him go.
“Þei token him a launce good
And sette hit to my sone syde,
And Longeus þruste wiþ gret mod
To my sone herte gon glyde;
Þe water & þe rede blod
Ron doun of his woundes wyde.
Doun I fel al þer I stod,
No lengor stonde I ne miȝte þat tyde.
324
And Longeus þruste wiþ gret mod
To my sone herte gon glyde;
Þe water & þe rede blod
Ron doun of his woundes wyde.
Doun I fel al þer I stod,
No lengor stonde I ne miȝte þat tyde.
“Þei weore went to sire Pilate,
And we bi-lafte wiþ reuthful rou[n].
Whon þei weore I-gon heore gate,
[I bad] Ioseph nime hym a-doun,
Til I hym hedde, me þhouȝte ful late,
Þe Iewes weoren alle ful feloun.
Ioseph seide to me wiþ þate:
‘To bringe him þe we ben ful boun.’
And we bi-lafte wiþ reuthful rou[n].
Whon þei weore I-gon heore gate,
[I bad] Ioseph nime hym a-doun,
Til I hym hedde, me þhouȝte ful late,
Þe Iewes weoren alle ful feloun.
Ioseph seide to me wiþ þate:
‘To bringe him þe we ben ful boun.’
“Nichodemus þe nayles out drowȝ,
And Ioseph nom him in his Arm;
Mi sone he louede wel I-nouȝ,
He tok hym doun wiþ-outen harm,
And nom him of þe heiȝe bouȝ
And leyde him softe in my Barm.
His swete Mouþ on me hit louh,
And ȝit ne was hit no-þing warm.
And Ioseph nom him in his Arm;
Mi sone he louede wel I-nouȝ,
He tok hym doun wiþ-outen harm,
And nom him of þe heiȝe bouȝ
And leyde him softe in my Barm.
325
And ȝit ne was hit no-þing warm.
“His loue hedde bounde me so faste,
Þo wepen I moste in alle wyse.
Hit was euere in my [gast]
Þe þridde day he scholde aryse—
Þe rihte be-leeue on me he caste,
And I Conceyuede þe rihte asyse;
Ich wuste ful wel atte laste
I schulde hym seo a-mong alle hise:
Þo wepen I moste in alle wyse.
Hit was euere in my [gast]
Þe þridde day he scholde aryse—
Þe rihte be-leeue on me he caste,
And I Conceyuede þe rihte asyse;
Ich wuste ful wel atte laste
I schulde hym seo a-mong alle hise:
“And ȝit miȝt I not for-bere,
Bernard, for to wepe sore;
Myn hondes I wrong, myn her I tere,
Whon he lay ded me be-fore.
I seiȝ wel, I durste swere,
Ȝif eny serwe In Angeles wore,
Þei miȝte wepe mony a tere
ffor þe del þat I seih þore.
Bernard, for to wepe sore;
Myn hondes I wrong, myn her I tere,
Whon he lay ded me be-fore.
I seiȝ wel, I durste swere,
Ȝif eny serwe In Angeles wore,
Þei miȝte wepe mony a tere
ffor þe del þat I seih þore.
“Siþen heuene was maad & erþe also
And wommon formed aftur mon,
More serwe ne more wo
Neuere tonge telle con
Þen we maden whon we scholde go
To bere mi sone in to þe ston.
Ion and my sustren two
fful mony siþen þei swoune gon.
And wommon formed aftur mon,
More serwe ne more wo
Neuere tonge telle con
326
To bere mi sone in to þe ston.
Ion and my sustren two
fful mony siþen þei swoune gon.
“Euere I criȝede ful pitousliche:
‘Lordynges, what haue ȝe I-þouȝt?
Hit is my sone I loue so muche,
ffor Godes loue, burie him nouȝt!’
Þei nolde not leue, þeiȝ I gon siche,
Til þat he were in graue i-brouȝt;
Þei wounden him in cloþes riche
And euer Merci [I] hem be-souȝt.
‘Lordynges, what haue ȝe I-þouȝt?
Hit is my sone I loue so muche,
ffor Godes loue, burie him nouȝt!’
Þei nolde not leue, þeiȝ I gon siche,
Til þat he were in graue i-brouȝt;
Þei wounden him in cloþes riche
And euer Merci [I] hem be-souȝt.
“Ioseph leide him in þe ston,
Nichodemes halp him wel,
And riche oynemens leyde him vp-on
And wounden him in clene sendel;
Heo seiȝ þer was no beter won,
Bote burie him þei were ful snel.
Þen loked I on my Cosyn Ion,
ffor serwe boþe a-doun we fel.
Nichodemes halp him wel,
And riche oynemens leyde him vp-on
And wounden him in clene sendel;
Heo seiȝ þer was no beter won,
Bote burie him þei were ful snel.
Þen loked I on my Cosyn Ion,
ffor serwe boþe a-doun we fel.
“Whon I stod vp and bi-held,
In world I nuste what was best;
ffor gret serwe my fingres I feld,
ffor wepyng miȝt I haue no rest:
Þe ouer-ston ouer him þei heold,
Ioseph hit wolde in close fest,
To him I fel þat was my child,
His swete Mouþ wel ofte I cust.
In world I nuste what was best;
ffor gret serwe my fingres I feld,
ffor wepyng miȝt I haue no rest:
Þe ouer-ston ouer him þei heold,
Ioseph hit wolde in close fest,
To him I fel þat was my child,
327
“Ion seiȝ I was in poynt to spille,
In my bodi I was ful seke,
Euere I stod In criȝyng schille,
Þat neiȝ myn herte dude to-breke:
He heold his serwe in herte stille
And myldeliche gon he to me speke:
‘Marie, ȝif hit beo þi wille,
Go we henne!’ þe Maudeleyn eke.
In my bodi I was ful seke,
Euere I stod In criȝyng schille,
Þat neiȝ myn herte dude to-breke:
He heold his serwe in herte stille
And myldeliche gon he to me speke:
‘Marie, ȝif hit beo þi wille,
Go we henne!’ þe Maudeleyn eke.
“And whon we to toune come,
Þer as þe wey lay a-twynne,
Vche mon leue at oþer nome,
And wenten hom to heore Inne.
Sore I sykede and I-lome,
Of wepyng miht I neuer blynne,
To speke wiþ hem [had I] no tome
ffor serwe þat myn herte was Inne.
Þer as þe wey lay a-twynne,
Vche mon leue at oþer nome,
And wenten hom to heore Inne.
Sore I sykede and I-lome,
Of wepyng miht I neuer blynne,
To speke wiþ hem [had I] no tome
ffor serwe þat myn herte was Inne.
“Þei ladde me to a Chaumbre þo
Þer my sone was woned to be,
Ion and þe Maudeleyn also,
ffor no þing nolde þei from me fle.
I lokede aboute in eueri wro,
I couþe nouȝwhere my sone se,
We set vs doun in serwe and wo
And gunne to wepe alle þre.
Þer my sone was woned to be,
Ion and þe Maudeleyn also,
ffor no þing nolde þei from me fle.
I lokede aboute in eueri wro,
I couþe nouȝwhere my sone se,
328
And gunne to wepe alle þre.
“Þus, Bernard, we weren in care,
In serwe of herte & gret Mournyng,
Til we wuste hou hit wolde fare
At my sones vp-rysyng.
Nou haue I told þe wiþ-oute spare
Alle his peynes wiþ-oute partyng.
Bernard, I was euer þare,
To witen after his vp-rysyng.”
In serwe of herte & gret Mournyng,
Til we wuste hou hit wolde fare
At my sones vp-rysyng.
Nou haue I told þe wiþ-oute spare
Alle his peynes wiþ-oute partyng.
Bernard, I was euer þare,
To witen after his vp-rysyng.”
“Graunt Merci, dame, God ȝelde hit þe,
Wyf and Maiden, Moder Milde,
Þat þou hast so muche i-told me
Of serwe of þe and of þi chylde!
Now am I siker, wher þat I teo,
In wode, in water or in felde,
To make þe foule fend to fleo,
Þat euer was so wod and wylde.
Wyf and Maiden, Moder Milde,
Þat þou hast so muche i-told me
Of serwe of þe and of þi chylde!
Now am I siker, wher þat I teo,
In wode, in water or in felde,
To make þe foule fend to fleo,
Þat euer was so wod and wylde.
“Ladi, for þi muchele wo,
Þat neuere no tonge may of telle,
Þe serwe of þe and him also
Þat him dude þe Iewes felle:
Leeue vs neuere skape þer-fro,
But euer-more In ioye to dwelle;
Whon we schul dye and henne go,
Schilde vs from þe pyne of helle!
Þat neuere no tonge may of telle,
Þe serwe of þe and him also
Þat him dude þe Iewes felle:
Leeue vs neuere skape þer-fro,
But euer-more In ioye to dwelle;
Whon we schul dye and henne go,
Schilde vs from þe pyne of helle!
Amen.”
| [Poems from the Vernon MS] | |