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 | [Poems from the Vernon MS] |  |
“‘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.’
| [Poems from the Vernon MS] | |