University of Virginia Library

II. [hou þe Iewes, in despit of vre lady, þrewe a chyld in a gonge.]

Wose loueþ wel vre ladi,
Heo wol quiten his wille wel whi,
Oþur in his lyf or at his ende:
Þe ladi is so freo and hende.
Hit fel [so] sum-tyme in Parys,
As witnesseþ in holy writ Storys.
In þe Cite bi-fel þis cas:
A pore child was of porchas,
Þat wiþ þe Beggeri þat he con wynne
He fond sumdel what of his kinne,
His ffader, his Moder, and eke him-self;
He begged in Cite bi eueri half.
Þe child non oþur Craftus couþe
But winne his lyflode wiþ his Mouþe.
Þe Childes vois was swete and cler,
Men lusted his song wiþ riht good cher;
Wiþ his song þat was ful swete
He gat Mete from strete to strete.
Men herked his song ful likyngly:
Hit was an Antimne of vre lady,

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He song þat Antimne eueri-wher,
I-Called Alma Redemptoris Mater,
Þat is forþrihtly to mene:
“Godus Moder, Mylde and Clene,
Heuene ȝate and Sterre of se,
Saue þi peple from synne and we.”
Þat song was holden deynteous,
Þe child song hit from hous to hous.
ffor he song hit so lykynglye,
Þe Iewes hedde alle to hym Envye.
Til hit fel on a seters-day
Þe Childes wey þorw þe Iewerie lay:
Þe Iewes hedden þat song in hayn,
Þerfore þei schope þe child be slayn.
So lykingly þe Child song þer,
So lustily song he neuer er.
On of þe Iewes Malicious
Tilled þe child in to his hous;
His Malice þere he gan to kuyþe:
He Cutte þe childes þrote alswiþe.
Þe child ne spared nout for þat wrong,
But neuer-þe-latere song forþ his song;
Whon he hedde endet, he eft bi-gon,
His syngyng couþe stoppe no mon.
Þer-of þe Ieuh was sore anuyet.
Leste his Malice mihte ben aspyet,
Þe Ieuh bi-þouhte him of a gynne:
In to a gonge-put fer wiþ-Inne
Þe child adoun þer-Inne he þrong.
Þe child song euere þe same song;
So lustily þe child con crie,
Þat song he neuer er so hyȝe:
Men mihte him here fer and neer,
Þe Childes vois was so heiȝ and cleer.
Þe Childes moder was wont to a-byde
Euery day til þe Non-tyde,
Þen was he wont to bringe heom mete,
Such as he mihte wiþ his song gete.
Bote þat day was þe tyme a-past.
Þerfore his Moder was sore a-gast;

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Wiþ syk and serwe in eueri strete
Heo souhte wher heo mihte wiþ him mete.
Bote whon heo com in to þe Iewery,
Heo herde his vois so cler of cry.
Aftur þat vois his Modur dreuh:
Wher he was Inne, þerbi heo kneuh.
Þen of hire child heo asked a siht.
Þe Iew wiþ-nayted him anon-riht,
And seide þer nas non such child þrinne.
Þe childes Moder ȝit nolde not blinne,
But euer þe Moder criede in on.
Þe Ieuh seide euere þer nas such non.
Þen seide þe wommon: “þou seist wrong,
He is her-Inne, I knowe his song.”
Þe Ieuh bi-gon to stare and swere
And seide þer com non such child þere.
But neuer-þe-latere men mihte here
Þe child song euere so loude and clere,
And euer þe lengor, herre and herre,
Men mihte him here boþe fer and nerre.
Þe Modur coude non oþur won:
To Meir and Baylyfs heo is gon,
Heo pleyneþ þe Ieuh haþ don hire wrong
To stelen hire sone so for his song;
Heo preyeþ to don hire lawe and riht,
Hire sone don come bi-fore heore siht,
Heo preyeþ þe Meir par Charite
Of him to haue freo lyuere.
Þenne heo telleþ þe Meir a-Mong
Hou heo lyueþ bi hire sone song.
Þe Meir þen haþ of hire pite,
And sumneþ þe folk of þat Cite.
He telleþ hem of þat wommons sawe,
And seiþ he mot don hire þe lawe,
And hoteþ hem wiþ hym to wende,
To Bringe þis wommons cause to ende.
Whon þei cum þider, for al heore noyse
Anon þei herde þe childes voyse,
Riht as an Angeles vois hit were,
Þei herde him neuer synge so clere.

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Þer þe Meir makeþ entre,
And of þe child he askeþ lyuere.
Þe Ieuh may nouȝt þe Meir refuse,
Ne of þe child hym wel excuse,
But nede he moste knouleche his wrong,
A-teynt bi þe childes song.
Þe Meir let serchen hym, so longe,
Til he was founden in þe gonge,
fful depe I-drouned in fulþe of fen.
Þe Meir het drawe þe child vp þen,
Wiþ ffen and ffulþe riht foule bi-whoruen,
And eke þe childes þrote I-coruen.
Anon-riht, er þei passede forþere,
Þe Ieuh was Iugget for þat Morþere.
And er þe peple passede in-sonder,
Þe Bisschop was comen to seo þat wonder.
In presence of Bisschop and alle I-fere
Þe child song euere I-liche clere.
Þe Bisschop serchede wiþ his hond:
Wiþ-inne þe childes þrote he fond
A Lilie flour, so briht and cler,
So feir a Lylie nas neuere seȝen er,
Wiþ guldene lettres eueriwher:
Alma Redemptoris Mater.
Anon þat lilie out was taken,
Þe childes song bi-gon to slaken,
Þat swete song was herd no more;
But as a ded cors þe child lay þore.
Þe Bisschop wiþ gret solempnete
Bad bere þe cors þorw al þe Cite:
And hym-self wiþ processioun
Com wiþ þe Cors þorw al þe toun,
Wiþ prestes and clerkes þat couþen syngen,
And alle þe Belles he het hem ryngen,
Wiþ torches Brennynge and cloþus riche,
Wiþ worschipe þei ladden þat holi liche.
In to þe Munstre whon þei kem,
Bi-gonne þe Masse of Requiem,
As for þe dede Men is wont.
But þus sone þei weren i-stunt:

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Þe Cors a-Ros in heore presens,
Bi-gon þen Salue sancta parens.
Men mihte wel witen þe soþe þer-bi:
Þe child hedde i-seruet vr swete ladi,
Þat worschipede him so on erþe her
And brouhte his soule to blisse al cler.
Þerfore i rede þat eueri mon
Serue þat ladi wel as he con,
And loue hire in his beste wyse:
Heo wol wel quite him his seruise.
Now, Marie, for þi Muchele miht
Help vs to heuene þat is so briht!