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 | [Poems from the Vernon MS] |  |
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.”
| [Poems from the Vernon MS] | |