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 | [Poems from the Vernon MS] |  |
“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?”
| [Poems from the Vernon MS] | |