 | Saint Mary Magdalene |  |
THE LAMENTATION OF Saint Mary Magdalene.
Plonged
in the wawe of mortal distresse,
Alas for wo, to whom shal I complein?
Or who shall deuoid this grete heauinesse
Fro me woful Mary, wofull Magdalein!
My Lord is gon, alas! who wrought this tein?
This sodain chaunce perseth my herte so depe,
That nothing can I do but waile and wepe.
Alas for wo, to whom shal I complein?
Or who shall deuoid this grete heauinesse
Fro me woful Mary, wofull Magdalein!
My Lord is gon, alas! who wrought this tein?
This sodain chaunce perseth my herte so depe,
That nothing can I do but waile and wepe.
My Lorde is gone that here in graue was laied,
After his grete passion and deth cruell,
Alas! who hath hym thus again betraied?
Or what man here aboutin can me tell
Where he' is become, the prince of Israell,
Iesus of Nazareth, my ghostly succour,
My parfite love, and hope of all honour!
After his grete passion and deth cruell,
Alas! who hath hym thus again betraied?
Or what man here aboutin can me tell
Where he' is become, the prince of Israell,
Iesus of Nazareth, my ghostly succour,
My parfite love, and hope of all honour!
What creture hath hym hennis caryid?
Or how might this so sodainly befall?
I would I had here with him taryid,
And so should I haue had my purpose all:
I bought ointmentes ful precious and roial,
Wherewith I hopid his corps to have anointed
But he thus gone my minde is disapointed.
Or how might this so sodainly befall?
I would I had here with him taryid,
And so should I haue had my purpose all:
I bought ointmentes ful precious and roial,
Wherewith I hopid his corps to have anointed
But he thus gone my minde is disapointed.
While I therefore aduertise and beholde
This pitous chaunce here in my presence,
Full little maruaile though my herte be colde,
Considiryng, lo! my lord'is absence;
Alas that I so full of negligence
Should be foundin! because I come so late
All men maie saie I am infortunate.
This pitous chaunce here in my presence,
Full little maruaile though my herte be colde,
Considiryng, lo! my lord'is absence;
Alas that I so full of negligence
Should be foundin! because I come so late
All men maie saie I am infortunate.
Cause of my sorowe you maie vnderstonde
(Quia tulerunt dominum meum)
An other is, that I ne maie him fonde,
I wote nere ubi posuerunt eum;
Thus I muste bewaile, dolorem meum
With hertie wepyng I can no bet deserue
Till Deth approche my herte for to kerue.
(Quia tulerunt dominum meum)
An other is, that I ne maie him fonde,
I wote nere ubi posuerunt eum;
Thus I muste bewaile, dolorem meum
With hertie wepyng I can no bet deserue
Till Deth approche my herte for to kerue.
My herte opprest with sodaine auenture,
By feruent anguish is be wrapped so,
That long this lyfe I may not endure,
Soche is my paine soch is my mortall wo;
Neuertheless to what party shall I go,
In hope to find myne owne turtill true,
My lieues ioy, my souerain Lorde Iesu?
By feruent anguish is be wrapped so,
That long this lyfe I may not endure,
Soche is my paine soch is my mortall wo;
Neuertheless to what party shall I go,
In hope to find myne owne turtill true,
My lieues ioy, my souerain Lorde Iesu?
Sith all my ioye that I call his presence,
Is thus remoued, now I am full of mone;
Alas the while I made no prouidence
For this mishap! wherefore I sigh and grone;
Succour to finde to what place might I gone,
Fain I would to some man my herte breke;
I not to whom I maie complain or speke.
Is thus remoued, now I am full of mone;
Alas the while I made no prouidence
For this mishap! wherefore I sigh and grone;
Succour to finde to what place might I gone,
Fain I would to some man my herte breke;
I not to whom I maie complain or speke.
Alone I stande full sorie and full sad,
Which hopid to haue seen my Lorde and King
Small cause haue I to be merie or glad,
Remembryng his bitterfull departyng:
In this worlde ne is no creture liuyng
That was to me so gode and gracious,
His loue also than golde more precious.
Which hopid to haue seen my Lorde and King
Small cause haue I to be merie or glad,
Remembryng his bitterfull departyng:
In this worlde ne is no creture liuyng
That was to me so gode and gracious,
His loue also than golde more precious.
Full sore I sigh without comfort again,
There is no cure to my saluacion,
His brenning loue my hert so doth constrain,
Alas, here is a wofull permutacion,
Whereof I finde no ioye nor consolacion,
Therefore my paine all onely to confesse,
With deth I fere woll ende my heauinesse.
There is no cure to my saluacion,
His brenning loue my hert so doth constrain,
Alas, here is a wofull permutacion,
Whereof I finde no ioye nor consolacion,
Therefore my paine all onely to confesse,
With deth I fere woll ende my heauinesse.
The wo and anguish is intollerable;
If I bide here, life can I not sustain,
If I go hence my paines be vncurable;
Where him to finde I know no place certain;
And thus I ne wote of these thingis twain
Which I maie take and which I maie refuse;
My hert is wounded heron to thinke or muse.
If I bide here, life can I not sustain,
If I go hence my paines be vncurable;
Where him to finde I know no place certain;
And thus I ne wote of these thingis twain
Which I maie take and which I maie refuse;
My hert is wounded heron to thinke or muse.
A while I shall stande in this morowning,
In hope if any would appere
That of my loue might tell some gode tyding,
Whiche into joy might chaunge my wepyng chere.
I trust in his grace and his mercy dere;
But at the lest, though I therewith me kill,
I shall not spare to waile and wepe my fill.
In hope if any would appere
That of my loue might tell some gode tyding,
Whiche into joy might chaunge my wepyng chere.
I trust in his grace and his mercy dere;
But at the lest, though I therewith me kill,
I shall not spare to waile and wepe my fill.
And if that I die in soche auinture
I can no more but welcome as my chaunce;
My bones shal rest here in this sepulture;
My lyfe, my deth, is at his ordinaunce;
It shal be tolde in lasting remembraunce:
Thus to departin is to me no shame,
And also thereof I am nothyng to blame.
I can no more but welcome as my chaunce;
My bones shal rest here in this sepulture;
My lyfe, my deth, is at his ordinaunce;
It shal be tolde in lasting remembraunce:
Thus to departin is to me no shame,
And also thereof I am nothyng to blame.
Hope against me hath her course ytake
That there is no more, but thus shall I die;
I se right well my Lorde hath me forsake,
But in my conceipt cause know I none why:
Although he be farre hence and nothyng nye
Yet my wofull herte after hym doeth seke,
And causeth teres to ren doun my cheke.
That there is no more, but thus shall I die;
I se right well my Lorde hath me forsake,
But in my conceipt cause know I none why:
Although he be farre hence and nothyng nye
Yet my wofull herte after hym doeth seke,
And causeth teres to ren doun my cheke.
Thinkyng, alas! I haue lost his presence,
Which in this worlde was all my sustenaunce;
I crie and call with hertie diligence,
But there is no wight giveth attendaunce,
Me to certifie of myne enquiraunce,
Wherefore I will to all this world bewraie
How that my Lorde is slaine and borne awaie.
Which in this worlde was all my sustenaunce;
I crie and call with hertie diligence,
But there is no wight giveth attendaunce,
Me to certifie of myne enquiraunce,
Wherefore I will to all this world bewraie
How that my Lorde is slaine and borne awaie.
Though that I mourne it ne is no grete wonder,
Sith he is all my joye in speciall;
And nowe I thinke we be so farre asonder
That hym to se I fere nevir I shall;
It helpith no more aftir hym to call,
Ne after hym to' enquire in any coste:
Alas! how is he thus ygone and lost?
Sith he is all my joye in speciall;
And nowe I thinke we be so farre asonder
That hym to se I fere nevir I shall;
It helpith no more aftir hym to call,
Ne after hym to' enquire in any coste:
Alas! how is he thus ygone and lost?
The Jewis I thinke full of miserie,
Ysel in malice by ther busy cure
With force and might of gilefull trecherie
Hath entermined my Lordis sepulture,
And borne awaie that precious figure,
Levyng of it nothyng; if thei have doen so
Marrid I am; alas, what shall I do!
Ysel in malice by ther busy cure
With force and might of gilefull trecherie
Hath entermined my Lordis sepulture,
And borne awaie that precious figure,
Levyng of it nothyng; if thei have doen so
Marrid I am; alas, what shall I do!
With ther vengeaunce insatiable
Now have thei hym giltless entretid so
That to reporte it is so lamentable,
Thei bete his bodie from toppe to the toe,
Nevir man was yborne that felt soche woe;
Thei woundid hym, alas! with all grevaunce,
The blode doun reilid in most habundaunce;
Now have thei hym giltless entretid so
That to reporte it is so lamentable,
Thei bete his bodie from toppe to the toe,
Nevir man was yborne that felt soche woe;
Thei woundid hym, alas! with all grevaunce,
The blode doun reilid in most habundaunce;
The blodie rowis stremid doun ovir all,
They him assailid so maliciouslie
With ther scourgis and strokis bestiall;
Thei sparid not, but smote incessauntlie;
To satisfie ther malice thei were busie:
Thei spit in his face, thei smote here and there;
He groned full sore and swete many a tere.
They him assailid so maliciouslie
With ther scourgis and strokis bestiall;
Thei sparid not, but smote incessauntlie;
To satisfie ther malice thei were busie:
Thei spit in his face, thei smote here and there;
He groned full sore and swete many a tere.
Thei crownid hym with thornes sharpe and kene,
The vainis rent, the blode ran doun apace,
With blode ovircome were bothe his eyen,
And bolne with strokis was his blessid face;
Thei hym entretid as men without grace,
They knelid to hym, and made many a scorne;
Like hellhoundis thei have hym all to torne:
The vainis rent, the blode ran doun apace,
With blode ovircome were bothe his eyen,
And bolne with strokis was his blessid face;
Thei hym entretid as men without grace,
They knelid to hym, and made many a scorne;
Like hellhoundis thei have hym all to torne:
Upon a mightie crosse in length and brede
(These turmentours shewid ther cursidnesse)
They nailid hym without pitie or drede,
His precious blode brast out in largenesse,
Thei strainid hym along as men mercilesse;
The verie jointes all to myne apparence
Rived asondir for ther grete violence.
(These turmentours shewid ther cursidnesse)
They nailid hym without pitie or drede,
His precious blode brast out in largenesse,
Thei strainid hym along as men mercilesse;
The verie jointes all to myne apparence
Rived asondir for ther grete violence.
All this I beholding with mine eyen twain
Stode there beside with rufull attendaunce,
And es me thought he beyng in that pain
Lokid on me with dedly countinaunce,
As he' had said in his speciall remembraunce,
Farewell Magdalen, depart muste I nedes hens,
My herte is tanquam cera liquescens.
Stode there beside with rufull attendaunce,
And es me thought he beyng in that pain
Lokid on me with dedly countinaunce,
As he' had said in his speciall remembraunce,
Farewell Magdalen, depart muste I nedes hens,
My herte is tanquam cera liquescens.
Whiche rufull sight when that I gan beholde
Out of my witte I almoste tho distraught,
I tare my here, my handis wrang and folde,
And of the sight my hert dranke soche a draught
That many a fall swounyng there I caught;
I brused my bodie fallyng on the grounde,
Whereof I fele many a grevous wounde.
Out of my witte I almoste tho distraught,
I tare my here, my handis wrang and folde,
And of the sight my hert dranke soche a draught
That many a fall swounyng there I caught;
I brused my bodie fallyng on the grounde,
Whereof I fele many a grevous wounde.
Then these wretchis, full of all forwardnesse,
Gave hym to drinke eisell temprid with gall;
Alas! that poison full of bittirnesse
My lovis chere causid them to appall,
And yet thereof might he not drinke at all,
But spake these wordis, as him thought it best,
Fathir of hevin! consummatum est.
Gave hym to drinke eisell temprid with gall;
Alas! that poison full of bittirnesse
My lovis chere causid them to appall,
And yet thereof might he not drinke at all,
But spake these wordis, as him thought it best,
Fathir of hevin! consummatum est.
Then knelid I doune in pain'is outrage,
Clipping the crosse with myne armis twain,
His blode distillid doune on my visage,
My clothis eke the droppis did distain;
To haue dyid for hym I would full fain,
But what shoulde I availe if I did so
Sith he'is suspensus in patibulo?
Clipping the crosse with myne armis twain,
His blode distillid doune on my visage,
My clothis eke the droppis did distain;
To haue dyid for hym I would full fain,
But what shoulde I availe if I did so
Sith he'is suspensus in patibulo?
And thus my Lorde full dere was all disgised
With blode, and pain, and woundis many one,
His veinis brast, his jointes all to rived,
Partyng asondir the fleshe fro the bone;
But I sawe that he hing there not alone,
For cum iniquis deputatus est,
Not like a man but like a leprous best.
With blode, and pain, and woundis many one,
His veinis brast, his jointes all to rived,
Partyng asondir the fleshe fro the bone;
But I sawe that he hing there not alone,
For cum iniquis deputatus est,
Not like a man but like a leprous best.
A blinde knight men ycallid Longias
With a spere aproched to my Soverain,
Lannsyng his side full pitouslie, alas!
That his precious herte he clave in twain,
The purple blode eke fro the hertis vain
Doune railid right fast in most rufull wise,
With christall water brought fro Paradise.
With a spere aproched to my Soverain,
Lannsyng his side full pitouslie, alas!
That his precious herte he clave in twain,
The purple blode eke fro the hertis vain
Doune railid right fast in most rufull wise,
With christall water brought fro Paradise.
When I behelde this wofull passion,
I wote not how, by sodain avinture
My hert was persed with very compassion,
That in me remained no life of nature,
Strokis of dethe I felt without mesure,
My deth'is wounde I caught with woe opprest,
And brought to point as my hert shuld ybrest.
I wote not how, by sodain avinture
My hert was persed with very compassion,
That in me remained no life of nature,
Strokis of dethe I felt without mesure,
My deth'is wounde I caught with woe opprest,
And brought to point as my hert shuld ybrest.
The wounde, the hert, and blode of my darling
Shal never slide fro my memorial;
The byttir paines also of tourmenting
Within my soule be gravin principal;
The spere, alas! that was so sharpe withall
So thrillid my herte, as to my feling,
That body and soule were at departing.
Shal never slide fro my memorial;
The byttir paines also of tourmenting
Within my soule be gravin principal;
The spere, alas! that was so sharpe withall
So thrillid my herte, as to my feling,
That body and soule were at departing.
Sone as I might I relevid up againe,
My brethe I coude not very wel restore,
Feling my self drownid in so grete paine,
Both body and soule me thought were al to tore,
Violent fallis grevid me right sore;
I wept, I bledde, and with my selfe I fared
As one that for his life nothing had cared.
My brethe I coude not very wel restore,
Feling my self drownid in so grete paine,
Both body and soule me thought were al to tore,
Violent fallis grevid me right sore;
I wept, I bledde, and with my selfe I fared
As one that for his life nothing had cared.
I loking up unto that rufull rode
Sawe first the visage pale of that figure,
But so pitous a sight spottid with blode
Sawe nevir yet no living creature;
So it exceded the boundes of mesure,
That mann'is minde with al his wittis five
Is nothing able that paine to discribe.
Sawe first the visage pale of that figure,
But so pitous a sight spottid with blode
Sawe nevir yet no living creature;
So it exceded the boundes of mesure,
That mann'is minde with al his wittis five
Is nothing able that paine to discribe.
Than gan I there min armis to unbrace,
Up lifting my handis ful mourningly
I sighid and sore sobbid in that place,
Both hevin and erthe might have herde me crie
Weping, and said Alas! incessauntly,
Ah, my swete herte, my gostly paramour!
Alas, I may nat thy body socour!
Up lifting my handis ful mourningly
I sighid and sore sobbid in that place,
Both hevin and erthe might have herde me crie
Weping, and said Alas! incessauntly,
Ah, my swete herte, my gostly paramour!
Alas, I may nat thy body socour!
O, blessid Lorde, how fierse and how cruel
These cursid wightis nowe hath the yslaine,
Kerving, alas! thy body eviridel
Wounde within wounde, full byttir is thy pain;
Nowe wolde God that I might to the attaine
To naile my body fast unto thy tre,
So that of this paine thou mightist go fre!
These cursid wightis nowe hath the yslaine,
Kerving, alas! thy body eviridel
Wounde within wounde, full byttir is thy pain;
Nowe wolde God that I might to the attaine
To naile my body fast unto thy tre,
So that of this paine thou mightist go fre!
I can nat reporte ne make rehersaile
Of my demening with the circumstaunce,
But all I wote the spere with every naile
Thirlid my soule by inwarde resemblaunce,
Which nevir shall out of my remembraunce;
During my life it woll cause me to waile
As ofte as I remembre that bataile.
Of my demening with the circumstaunce,
But all I wote the spere with every naile
Thirlid my soule by inwarde resemblaunce,
Which nevir shall out of my remembraunce;
During my life it woll cause me to waile
As ofte as I remembre that bataile.
Ah, ye Iewes! worse than doggis rabiate,
What moved you thus cruelly him to' aray?
He nevir displesed you, nor caused debate,
Your love and true hertes he conveytid aye;
He preched, he teched, he shewid the right way,
Wherefore ye lyke tyrantes wode and way-wode,
Nowe have him thus yslaine for his rewarde?
What moved you thus cruelly him to' aray?
He nevir displesed you, nor caused debate,
Your love and true hertes he conveytid aye;
He preched, he teched, he shewid the right way,
Wherefore ye lyke tyrantes wode and way-wode,
Nowe have him thus yslaine for his rewarde?
Ye ought to have remembrid one thing special,
His favour, grace, and his magnificence;
He was your prince borne, and lorde ovir al,
How be it ye toke him in smal reverence;
He was ful meke in suffering your offence,
Nertheless ye devoured him with one assent
As hungry wolfs doth the lambe innocent.
His favour, grace, and his magnificence;
He was your prince borne, and lorde ovir al,
How be it ye toke him in smal reverence;
He was ful meke in suffering your offence,
Nertheless ye devoured him with one assent
As hungry wolfs doth the lambe innocent.
Where was your pite, O peple mercilesse!
Arming your selfe with falshed and treson?
On my Lorde ye have shewid your wodenesse,
Like no men but bestis without reson;
Your malyce he suffrid for the seson:
Your paine wol come, ne thinke it not slacke,
Man without mercy of mercy shal lacke.
Arming your selfe with falshed and treson?
On my Lorde ye have shewid your wodenesse,
Like no men but bestis without reson;
Your malyce he suffrid for the seson:
Your paine wol come, ne thinke it not slacke,
Man without mercy of mercy shal lacke.
O traitours and maintainirs of madnesse!
Unto your foly I ascribe al my paine,
Ye have me deprived of joye and gladnesse,
So deling with my Lorde and soveraine;
Nothing ne shulde I nede thus to complaine
If he' had livid in pece and tranquillite
Whom ye have slaine through your iniquite.
Unto your foly I ascribe al my paine,
Ye have me deprived of joye and gladnesse,
So deling with my Lorde and soveraine;
Nothing ne shulde I nede thus to complaine
If he' had livid in pece and tranquillite
Whom ye have slaine through your iniquite.
Farewel, your noblenesse that some time did raine!
Farewel, your worship, your glory, and fame!
Hereaftir to lyve in hate and disdaine
Marvaile ye not; for your trespace and blame
Unto shame is tournid al your gode name:
Upon you now wol wondir every nation
As peple of a most vile reputation.
Farewel, your worship, your glory, and fame!
Hereaftir to lyve in hate and disdaine
Marvaile ye not; for your trespace and blame
Unto shame is tournid al your gode name:
Upon you now wol wondir every nation
As peple of a most vile reputation.
The wickid wretchis, the houndis of hel,
As I have tolde plaine here in this sentence,
Were not content my dere love thus to quel,
But yet they must embesile his presence,
As I perceive; by covert violence
Thei have him conveied to my displesure,
For here is laste but nakid sepulture:
As I have tolde plaine here in this sentence,
Were not content my dere love thus to quel,
But yet they must embesile his presence,
As I perceive; by covert violence
Thei have him conveied to my displesure,
For here is laste but nakid sepulture:
Wherefore of trouth and rightfull judgement,
That ther malice againe maye be acquired,
Aftir my verdite and avisement,
Of false murdre they shallin be endited,
Of theft also, which shal not be respited,
And in al haste they shal be hanged and drawe,
I wol myselfe plede this cause in the lawe.
That ther malice againe maye be acquired,
Aftir my verdite and avisement,
Of false murdre they shallin be endited,
Of theft also, which shal not be respited,
And in al haste they shal be hanged and drawe,
I wol myselfe plede this cause in the lawe.
Alas! yf I with a trewe attendaunce
Had styl abiddin with my Lord'is corse,
And kept it still with trewe perseveraunce,
Than had not befal this woful devorse;
But as for my paine welcome, and no force:
This shal be my songe where so er I go,
Departing is the grounde of al my wo.
Had styl abiddin with my Lord'is corse,
And kept it still with trewe perseveraunce,
Than had not befal this woful devorse;
But as for my paine welcome, and no force:
This shal be my songe where so er I go,
Departing is the grounde of al my wo.
I se right wel now in my painis smerte
There is no wounde of so grevous dolour
As is the wounde of my careful herte;
Sithin I have loste thus my paramour,
Al my swetenesse is tournid into sour;
Mirthe to my herte nothing ne maie convey
But he that bereth therof bothe locke and key.
There is no wounde of so grevous dolour
As is the wounde of my careful herte;
Sithin I have loste thus my paramour,
Al my swetenesse is tournid into sour;
Mirthe to my herte nothing ne maie convey
But he that bereth therof bothe locke and key.
The joye excellent of blessid Paradise
Maye me, alas! in no wise recomforte,
Songe of angel nothing may me suffise,
As in min herte nowe to make disport;
Al I refuse but that I might resorte
Unto my love, the wel of goddihede,
For whose longing I trowe I shal be ded.
Maye me, alas! in no wise recomforte,
Songe of angel nothing may me suffise,
As in min herte nowe to make disport;
Al I refuse but that I might resorte
Unto my love, the wel of goddihede,
For whose longing I trowe I shal be ded.
Of painful labour and tourment corporal,
I ne make therof none excepcion;
Painis of hel I wol passe ovir al
My love to finde in myne affeccion;
So grete to him is my delectacion,
A thousand timis martrid wolde I be
His blessid body ones if I might se.
I ne make therof none excepcion;
Painis of hel I wol passe ovir al
My love to finde in myne affeccion;
So grete to him is my delectacion,
A thousand timis martrid wolde I be
His blessid body ones if I might se.
About this worlde, so large in all compace,
I shal not spare to renne my life during;
My fete also shall not rest in one place
Tyl of my love I may here some tiding,
For whose absence my handis nowe I wring;
To thinke on him cese shal nevir my minde:
O, gentle Jesu! where shall I the finde?
I shal not spare to renne my life during;
My fete also shall not rest in one place
Tyl of my love I may here some tiding,
For whose absence my handis nowe I wring;
To thinke on him cese shal nevir my minde:
O, gentle Jesu! where shall I the finde?
Jerusalem I wol serche place fro place,
Sion, the Vale of Josaphath also,
And if I finde him not in al this space,
By Mount Olivet to Bethany woll I go;
These waies wol I wandir and many mo,
Nazareth, Bethleem, Mountana Jude;
In travaile shal me paine him for to se.
Sion, the Vale of Josaphath also,
And if I finde him not in al this space,
By Mount Olivet to Bethany woll I go;
These waies wol I wandir and many mo,
Nazareth, Bethleem, Mountana Jude;
In travaile shal me paine him for to se.
His blessid face if I might se and finde,
Serche I wolde every coste and country,
The gardist part of Egypt, or hote Inde,
Shulde be to me but a litil journey;
Howe is he thus gone or takin away!
If I knew the ful trouth and certente
Yet from this care relevid might I be.
Serche I wolde every coste and country,
The gardist part of Egypt, or hote Inde,
Shulde be to me but a litil journey;
Howe is he thus gone or takin away!
If I knew the ful trouth and certente
Yet from this care relevid might I be.
Into wildirnesse I thinke best to go,
Sithe I can no more tidinges of him here,
There may I my lyfe ledin to and fro,
There may I dwel and to no man apere;
To towne ne village woll I not come nere;
Alone in wodes, in rockes, and in caves depe,
I may at mine owne will both waile and wepe.
Sithe I can no more tidinges of him here,
There may I my lyfe ledin to and fro,
There may I dwel and to no man apere;
To towne ne village woll I not come nere;
Alone in wodes, in rockes, and in caves depe,
I may at mine owne will both waile and wepe.
Myne eyen twaine withouten variaunce
Shal nevir cese, I promise faithfully,
Here for to wepin with gret aboundaunce,
Byttir teris renning incessauntly,
The whiche teris medlid ful pitously
With the very blode es shall renne also,
Expressing in mine hert the grevous wo.
Shal nevir cese, I promise faithfully,
Here for to wepin with gret aboundaunce,
Byttir teris renning incessauntly,
The whiche teris medlid ful pitously
With the very blode es shall renne also,
Expressing in mine hert the grevous wo.
Worldely fode and sustenaunce I desire none,
Soche living as I finde soch wol I take,
Rotis that growin on the craggy stone
Shal me suffise, with water of the lake;
Than thus may I say for my Lord'is sake,
Fuerunt mihi lacrymæ meæ
In deserto panes, die ac nocie.
Soche living as I finde soch wol I take,
Rotis that growin on the craggy stone
Shal me suffise, with water of the lake;
Than thus may I say for my Lord'is sake,
Fuerunt mihi lacrymæ meæ
In deserto panes, die ac nocie.
My body to clothe it makith no forse,
A mourning mantil shal be sufficient,
The grevous woundis of his pitous corse
Shal be to me a ful royal garnement,
He departid thus I am best content;
His cross with nailis and scourgis withal
Shal be my thought and paine especial.
A mourning mantil shal be sufficient,
The grevous woundis of his pitous corse
Shal be to me a ful royal garnement,
He departid thus I am best content;
His cross with nailis and scourgis withal
Shal be my thought and paine especial.
Thus wol I live as I have here ytolde,
If I may any longe time endure,
But I fere Deth is ovir me so bolde
That of my purpose I can not be sure;
My painis encresin without mesure,
For of longe lyfe who can lay any reson?
Al thing is mortal and hath but a seson.
If I may any longe time endure,
But I fere Deth is ovir me so bolde
That of my purpose I can not be sure;
My painis encresin without mesure,
For of longe lyfe who can lay any reson?
Al thing is mortal and hath but a seson.
I sigh ful sore, and it is ferre yset;
Myne hert I fele now bledith inwardly,
The blody teres I may in no wise let;
Sithe of my paine I finde no remedye,
I thank God of al if that I nowe dye;
His will perfourmid I holde me content;
My soule let him have that hath it me lent;
Myne hert I fele now bledith inwardly,
The blody teres I may in no wise let;
Sithe of my paine I finde no remedye,
I thank God of al if that I nowe dye;
His will perfourmid I holde me content;
My soule let him have that hath it me lent;
For lengir to' endure it is intollerable
My hert is inflamid so huge
That no sorow to myne is comparable,
Sithe of my minde I ne finde no refuge,
Yet I him require as a rightful juge,
To devoide from me the inwarde sorowe,
Lest that I live not to the nexte morowe.
My hert is inflamid so huge
That no sorow to myne is comparable,
Sithe of my minde I ne finde no refuge,
Yet I him require as a rightful juge,
To devoide from me the inwarde sorowe,
Lest that I live not to the nexte morowe.
Within mine hert is impressid ful sore
His royal forme, his shappe, his semelines,
His porte, his chere, his godenes evirmore,
His noble persone, with al gentilnes;
He is the welle of alle parfitnes,
The very Redemir of al mankinde,
Him love I best with herte, and soule, and minde.
His royal forme, his shappe, his semelines,
His porte, his chere, his godenes evirmore,
His noble persone, with al gentilnes;
He is the welle of alle parfitnes,
The very Redemir of al mankinde,
Him love I best with herte, and soule, and minde.
In his absence my paines ful bittir be,
Right wel I may it fele nowe inwardely,
No wondir is though they hurte or sle me,
They causin me to crie so rufully;
Myne herte oppressed is so wondirfully
Onely for him, which so is bright of ble,
Alas, I trowe I shal him nevir se!
Right wel I may it fele nowe inwardely,
No wondir is though they hurte or sle me,
They causin me to crie so rufully;
Myne herte oppressed is so wondirfully
Onely for him, which so is bright of ble,
Alas, I trowe I shal him nevir se!
My joye is translate full farre in exile,
My myrthe is chaungid into paynis colde,
My lyfe I think endurith but a while;
Anguishe and paine is that that I beholde,
Wherfore my handis thus I wringe and folde;
Into this grave I loke, I cal, I pray,
Deth remainith and life is borne away.
My myrthe is chaungid into paynis colde,
My lyfe I think endurith but a while;
Anguishe and paine is that that I beholde,
Wherfore my handis thus I wringe and folde;
Into this grave I loke, I cal, I pray,
Deth remainith and life is borne away.
Nowe must I walke and wandir here and there,
God wote to what partis I shal me dresse,
With quaking hert, wepinge many a tere,
To seke out my love and all my swetnes;
I wolde he wyst what mortal hevines
About min herte renewith more and more,
Than wolde he nat kepe pite long in store.
God wote to what partis I shal me dresse,
With quaking hert, wepinge many a tere,
To seke out my love and all my swetnes;
I wolde he wyst what mortal hevines
About min herte renewith more and more,
Than wolde he nat kepe pite long in store.
Withoutin him I may not longe endure,
His love so sore workith within my brest,
And er I wepe before this sepulture
Sighing ful sore, as mine herte shulde ybrest;
During my lyfe I shal obtaine no rest,
But mourne and wepe where that evir I go,
Making complaint of al mortal wo.
His love so sore workith within my brest,
And er I wepe before this sepulture
Sighing ful sore, as mine herte shulde ybrest;
During my lyfe I shal obtaine no rest,
But mourne and wepe where that evir I go,
Making complaint of al mortal wo.
Fast I crie, but there is no audience,
My comming hidir was him for to plese,
My soule opprest is here with his absence;
Alas, he list not set mine herte in ese!
Wherfore to paine my selfe with al disese
I shal not spare tyl he take me to grace,
Or ellis I shal sterve here in this place.
My comming hidir was him for to plese,
My soule opprest is here with his absence;
Alas, he list not set mine herte in ese!
Wherfore to paine my selfe with al disese
I shal not spare tyl he take me to grace,
Or ellis I shal sterve here in this place.
But onis if that I might with him speke,
It were al my joy, with parfite plesaunce;
So that I might to him mine herte breke
I shulde anone devoide al my grevaunce,
For he' is the blisse of every recreaunce;
But now, alas! I can nothing do so,
For in stede of joy naught have I but wo.
It were al my joy, with parfite plesaunce;
So that I might to him mine herte breke
I shulde anone devoide al my grevaunce,
For he' is the blisse of every recreaunce;
But now, alas! I can nothing do so,
For in stede of joy naught have I but wo.
His noble corse within mine hert' is rote
Depe is ygravid, which shal nevir slake;
Nowe is he gone, to what place I ne wote,
I mourne, I wepe, and al is for his sake:
Sithin he is parte here a vowe I make
With her e promise, and thereto me binde,
Nevir to cese til that I may him finde.
Depe is ygravid, which shal nevir slake;
Nowe is he gone, to what place I ne wote,
I mourne, I wepe, and al is for his sake:
Sithin he is parte here a vowe I make
With her e promise, and thereto me binde,
Nevir to cese til that I may him finde.
Unto his mother I thinke for to go,
Of her haply some comforte may I take;
But one thinge yet me ferith and no mo,
Yf that I any mencion of him make,
Of my wordis she wolde tremble and quake;
And who coude her blame, she having but one?
The sonne borne away the mothir wol mone.
Of her haply some comforte may I take;
But one thinge yet me ferith and no mo,
Yf that I any mencion of him make,
Of my wordis she wolde tremble and quake;
And who coude her blame, she having but one?
The sonne borne away the mothir wol mone.
Sorowes many hath she suffrid trewly
Sith that she first conceivid him and bare,
And sevin thinges there be most specially
That drownith her hert in sorowe and care;
Yet lo! in no wise may they not compare
With this one now, the whiche if that she knew
She wolde her painis evirichone renewe.
Sith that she first conceivid him and bare,
And sevin thinges there be most specially
That drownith her hert in sorowe and care;
Yet lo! in no wise may they not compare
With this one now, the whiche if that she knew
She wolde her painis evirichone renewe.
Gret was her sorowe by mennis saiyng
When in the Temple Simon Justus
Shewid to her these wordis, prophesiyng,
Tuam animam pertransibit gladius:
Also whan Herode, that tyraunt furious,
Her childe pursuid in every place;
For his life went neithir mercy ne grace.
When in the Temple Simon Justus
Shewid to her these wordis, prophesiyng,
Tuam animam pertransibit gladius:
Also whan Herode, that tyraunt furious,
Her childe pursuid in every place;
For his life went neithir mercy ne grace.
She mournid sore when that she knew him gone;
Full longe she sought er she him founde aigen;
Whan he went to deth his cross him upon
It was to her sight a full reuful paine;
Whan he hong theron betwene thevis twaine,
And the spere unto his herte thrust was right,
She swounid, and to the grounde there ypight.
Full longe she sought er she him founde aigen;
Whan he went to deth his cross him upon
It was to her sight a full reuful paine;
Whan he hong theron betwene thevis twaine,
And the spere unto his herte thrust was right,
She swounid, and to the grounde there ypight.
Whan ded and blody in her lappe lay
His blissid body, bothe handes and fete al tore,
She cryid out and said, Now, welaway!
Thus arayid was nevir man before:
Whan hast was made his body to be bore
Unto sepulture here for to remaine
Unnethis for wo she coude her sustaine.
His blissid body, bothe handes and fete al tore,
She cryid out and said, Now, welaway!
Thus arayid was nevir man before:
Whan hast was made his body to be bore
Unto sepulture here for to remaine
Unnethis for wo she coude her sustaine.
The sorowes sevin like swerdes every one,
His mothir's herte woundid from syde to syde,
But if she knewe her sonne thus ygone
Out of this worlde she shuld with Deth yride,
For care she coude no longir here abide,
Having no more joy nor consolacioun
Than I here standing in this stacioun:
His mothir's herte woundid from syde to syde,
But if she knewe her sonne thus ygone
Out of this worlde she shuld with Deth yride,
For care she coude no longir here abide,
Having no more joy nor consolacioun
Than I here standing in this stacioun:
Wherfore her to se I dare nat presume;
Fro her presence I wol my selfe refraine;
Yet had I levir to dye and consume
Than his mothir shulde have any more paine,
Netheles her sonne I wolde se ful faine;
His presence was very joye and swetenes,
His absence was but sorowe and hevinesse.
Fro her presence I wol my selfe refraine;
Yet had I levir to dye and consume
Than his mothir shulde have any more paine,
Netheles her sonne I wolde se ful faine;
His presence was very joye and swetenes,
His absence was but sorowe and hevinesse.
There is no more, sith I may him not mete,
Whom I desire above al othir thing;
Nede I must take the souir with the swete,
For of his noble corse I here no tiding;
Ful often I crie, and my handis wring:
Myne herte, alas! relentith al in paine,
Whiche wol ybrastin both sinewe and vaine.
Whom I desire above al othir thing;
Nede I must take the souir with the swete,
For of his noble corse I here no tiding;
Ful often I crie, and my handis wring:
Myne herte, alas! relentith al in paine,
Whiche wol ybrastin both sinewe and vaine.
Alas, howe unhappy was this woful hour
Wherin is thus mispendid my service!
For min entent and eke my true labour
To none effecte may come in any wise;
Alas! I thinke if he do me dispise,
And list not take my simple observaunce,
There is no more, but Deth is my finaunce.
Wherin is thus mispendid my service!
For min entent and eke my true labour
To none effecte may come in any wise;
Alas! I thinke if he do me dispise,
And list not take my simple observaunce,
There is no more, but Deth is my finaunce.
I have him called, sed non respondet mihi
Wherfore my mirthe is tournid to mourning;
O, my dere Lorde! quid mali feci tibi,
That me to comforte I finde no erthly thing?
Alas! have compassion of my criyng;
Yf from me faciem tuam abscondis
There is no more but consumere me vis.
Wherfore my mirthe is tournid to mourning;
O, my dere Lorde! quid mali feci tibi,
That me to comforte I finde no erthly thing?
Alas! have compassion of my criyng;
Yf from me faciem tuam abscondis
There is no more but consumere me vis.
Within myne hert is groundid thy figure,
That al this world'is horrible tourment
May it not assuage, it' is so without mesure,
It is so brenning, it is so fervent:
Remembir, Lorde, I have ben diligent
Evir the to plese onely and no mo;
Myne herte is with the where so er I go.
That al this world'is horrible tourment
May it not assuage, it' is so without mesure,
It is so brenning, it is so fervent:
Remembir, Lorde, I have ben diligent
Evir the to plese onely and no mo;
Myne herte is with the where so er I go.
Therefore, my dere darling! trahe me post te,
And lette me not standin thus desolate;
Quia non est qui consolatur me;
Myne herte for the is so disconsolate,
My paines also nothing me moderate;
Nowe if it list the to speke with me alyve,
Come in hast; my herte asondir will rive.
And lette me not standin thus desolate;
Quia non est qui consolatur me;
Myne herte for the is so disconsolate,
My paines also nothing me moderate;
Nowe if it list the to speke with me alyve,
Come in hast; my herte asondir will rive.
To the I profir lo! my pore service,
The for to plese aftir mine owne entent;
I offre here, as in devout sacrifice
My box replete with precious oyntment,
Myne eyen twaine weping sufficient,
Myne herte with anguishe fulfilled is, alas!
My soule eke redy for love out to pas.
The for to plese aftir mine owne entent;
I offre here, as in devout sacrifice
My box replete with precious oyntment,
Myne eyen twaine weping sufficient,
Myne herte with anguishe fulfilled is, alas!
My soule eke redy for love out to pas.
Naught ellis have I the to plese or pay,
For if min herte were golde or precious stone,
It shulde be thine without any delay;
With hertely chere thou shulde have it anone,
Why suffrist thou me than to stande alone?
Thou hast I trowe my weping in disdaine,
Or do thou knowist nat what is my paine?
For if min herte were golde or precious stone,
It shulde be thine without any delay;
With hertely chere thou shulde have it anone,
Why suffrist thou me than to stande alone?
Thou hast I trowe my weping in disdaine,
Or do thou knowist nat what is my paine?
If thou withdrawe thy noble daliaunce
For ought that evir I displesid the,
Thou knowest right wel it is but ignoraunce,
And of no knowledge for a certainte:
If I' have offendid, Lorde forgive it me;
Gladde I am for to make ful repentaunce
Of all thing that hath ben to thy grevaunce.
For ought that evir I displesid the,
Thou knowest right wel it is but ignoraunce,
And of no knowledge for a certainte:
If I' have offendid, Lorde forgive it me;
Gladde I am for to make ful repentaunce
Of all thing that hath ben to thy grevaunce.
Myne herte, alas! swelleth within my brest,
So sore opprest with anguishe and with payne,
That al to pecis forsothe it wol brest
But if I se thy blyssid corse againe;
For lyfe ne deth I can nat me refraine:
If that thou make delay thou maist be sure
Myne hert wol lepe into this sepulture.
So sore opprest with anguishe and with payne,
That al to pecis forsothe it wol brest
But if I se thy blyssid corse againe;
For lyfe ne deth I can nat me refraine:
If that thou make delay thou maist be sure
Myne hert wol lepe into this sepulture.
Alas, my Lorde, why farest thou thus with me!
My tribulacion yet have in minde;
Where is thy mercy? where is thy pite?
Whiche evir I trustid in the to finde:
Some time thou were to me both gode and kinde;
Lette it plese the my prayir to accept,
Whiche with my teres I have here bewept.
My tribulacion yet have in minde;
Where is thy mercy? where is thy pite?
Whiche evir I trustid in the to finde:
Some time thou were to me both gode and kinde;
Lette it plese the my prayir to accept,
Whiche with my teres I have here bewept.
On me thou oughtist to have very routh,
Sith for the onely is al this mourning,
For sith I to the plightid firste my trouthe,
I nevir varyid with discording,
And that knowist thou best, my owne darling!
Why constrainist thou me thus for to wayle?
My wo forsothe can the nothing availe.
Sith for the onely is al this mourning,
For sith I to the plightid firste my trouthe,
I nevir varyid with discording,
And that knowist thou best, my owne darling!
Why constrainist thou me thus for to wayle?
My wo forsothe can the nothing availe.
I have endurid without variaunce,
Right as thou knowist, thy lovir just and trew,
With hert and thought aye at thyn ordinaunce,
Lyke to the saphire, alwaye in one hewe;
I nevir woulde chaungin the for no newe:
Why withdrawist thou the fro my presence,
Sithins al my thought is for thine absence?
Right as thou knowist, thy lovir just and trew,
With hert and thought aye at thyn ordinaunce,
Lyke to the saphire, alwaye in one hewe;
I nevir woulde chaungin the for no newe:
Why withdrawist thou the fro my presence,
Sithins al my thought is for thine absence?
With hert intier, swete Lorde, I crie to the,
Incline thine eres to my peticioun,
And come velociter exaudi me;
Remembre mine hert'is disposicioun,
It may not endure in this condicioun,
Therfore out of these paines libera me,
And where thou art pone me juxta te.
Incline thine eres to my peticioun,
And come velociter exaudi me;
Remembre mine hert'is disposicioun,
It may not endure in this condicioun,
Therfore out of these paines libera me,
And where thou art pone me juxta te.
Let me beholde, O Jesu! thy blessid face,
Thy faire, thy glorious angelike visage;
Bowe thine eris to my complaint, alas!
For to convey me out of this wode rage:
Alas, my Lorde! take from me this dommage;
To my desire for mercy condiscende,
For non but thou may my grevaunce amende.
Thy faire, thy glorious angelike visage;
Bowe thine eris to my complaint, alas!
For to convey me out of this wode rage:
Alas, my Lorde! take from me this dommage;
To my desire for mercy condiscende,
For non but thou may my grevaunce amende.
Now yet, gode Lorde! I the besech and pray,
As thou raisid my brothir Lazarous
From deth to life, that upon the fourth day
Came ayen in body and soule precious,
As gret a thing maist thou shewe unto us
Of thy selfe by powir of thy Godhed
As thou did of him lying in grave ded.
As thou raisid my brothir Lazarous
From deth to life, that upon the fourth day
Came ayen in body and soule precious,
As gret a thing maist thou shewe unto us
Of thy selfe by powir of thy Godhed
As thou did of him lying in grave ded.
Myne herte is woundid with thy charite,
It brennith, it flamith, incessauntly;
Come, my dere Lorde! ad adjuvandum me;
Nowe be not longe, my paine to multiplie,
Lest in the mene time I departe and die:
In thy grace I put hope and confidence
To do as plesith thy magnificence.
It brennith, it flamith, incessauntly;
Come, my dere Lorde! ad adjuvandum me;
Nowe be not longe, my paine to multiplie,
Lest in the mene time I departe and die:
In thy grace I put hope and confidence
To do as plesith thy magnificence.
Flodis of dethe and tribulacioun
Into my soule I fele entrid ful depe,
Alas, that here' is no consolacioun!
Evir I waile, evir I mourne and wepe,
And sorowe hath woundid myn hert ful depe:
O, dere love! no marvaile, though that I die,
Saggitæ tuæ infixæ sunt mihi.
Into my soule I fele entrid ful depe,
Alas, that here' is no consolacioun!
Evir I waile, evir I mourne and wepe,
And sorowe hath woundid myn hert ful depe:
O, dere love! no marvaile, though that I die,
Saggitæ tuæ infixæ sunt mihi.
Wandringe in this place, as in wildirnesse,
No comforte have I ne yet assuraunce,
Desolate of joys, replete with faintnesse,
No answere receiving of myne enquiraunce,
Myne herte also grevid with displesaunce,
Wherfore I may saye, O, Deus, Deus!
Non est dolor sicut dolor meus.
No comforte have I ne yet assuraunce,
Desolate of joys, replete with faintnesse,
No answere receiving of myne enquiraunce,
Myne herte also grevid with displesaunce,
Wherfore I may saye, O, Deus, Deus!
Non est dolor sicut dolor meus.
Myne hert expressith quod dilexi multum,
I may nat endure although I wold faine,
For now solum superest sepulchrum,
I know it right wel by my huge paine,
And thus for love I may not sustaine;
But, O, my God! I muste what aylith the,
Quod sic repente præcipitas me.
I may nat endure although I wold faine,
For now solum superest sepulchrum,
I know it right wel by my huge paine,
And thus for love I may not sustaine;
But, O, my God! I muste what aylith the,
Quod sic repente præcipitas me.
Alas, I fe' it wil non othirwise be,
Nowe must I take my leve for evirmore,
This sore paine hath almost discomfite me,
My love's corse I can in no wise restore;
Alas to this wo that er I was bore!
Here at this tombe nowe must I die and starve,
Deth is aboutin my hert for to carve.
Nowe must I take my leve for evirmore,
This sore paine hath almost discomfite me,
My love's corse I can in no wise restore;
Alas to this wo that er I was bore!
Here at this tombe nowe must I die and starve,
Deth is aboutin my hert for to carve.
My testament I wol begin to make;
To God the Fathir my soule I commende,
To Iesu, my love, that died for my sake,
My hert and al both I gyve and ysende,
In whose dere love my lyfe ymakith ende;
My body also to this monument
I here bequeth, bothe box and oyntement.
To God the Fathir my soule I commende,
To Iesu, my love, that died for my sake,
My hert and al both I gyve and ysende,
In whose dere love my lyfe ymakith ende;
My body also to this monument
I here bequeth, bothe box and oyntement.
Of all my willes, lo! nowe I make the last;
Right in this place, within this sepulture,
I woll be buried whan I'm ded and past,
And on my grave I wol have this scripture—
“Here within restith a gostly creture,
Christis true lovir, Mary Magdalaine,
Whose herte for love ybracke in pecis twaine.”
Right in this place, within this sepulture,
I woll be buried whan I'm ded and past,
And on my grave I wol have this scripture—
“Here within restith a gostly creture,
Christis true lovir, Mary Magdalaine,
Whose herte for love ybracke in pecis twaine.”
Ye vertuous women, tendir of nature,
Ful of pite and of compassion,
Resorte, I pray you, to my sepulture,
To singe my dirge with gret devocion,
Shewe your charite in the condicioun;
Sing with pite, and let your hertis wepe,
Remembring I am ded, and layd to slepe.
Ful of pite and of compassion,
Resorte, I pray you, to my sepulture,
To singe my dirge with gret devocion,
Shewe your charite in the condicioun;
Sing with pite, and let your hertis wepe,
Remembring I am ded, and layd to slepe.
Than whan that ye begin to parte me fro,
And endid have your mourning observaunce,
Remembir where so er that ye go
Alwaye to serche and make due enquiraunce
Aftir my love, mine hertis sustinaunce,
In every towne and in every village
If ye may here of his noble ymage;
And endid have your mourning observaunce,
Remembir where so er that ye go
Alwaye to serche and make due enquiraunce
Aftir my love, mine hertis sustinaunce,
In every towne and in every village
If ye may here of his noble ymage;
And if it happe by any grace at laste
That ye my trew love finde in any cost,
Say that his Magdaleine is ded and paste,
For his pure love hath yeldid up the gost;
Say that of al thing I lovid him most,
And that I ne might not this deth eschewe,
My paines so sore dyd evir renewe.
That ye my trew love finde in any cost,
Say that his Magdaleine is ded and paste,
For his pure love hath yeldid up the gost;
Say that of al thing I lovid him most,
And that I ne might not this deth eschewe,
My paines so sore dyd evir renewe.
And in token of love perpetual,
Whan I am buried in this place present,
Take out myne hert, the very rote and al,
And close it within this boxe of oyntment,
For my dere love make therof a present;
Kneling downe, with wordis lamentable,
Do your message speke fair and tretable:
Whan I am buried in this place present,
Take out myne hert, the very rote and al,
And close it within this boxe of oyntment,
For my dere love make therof a present;
Kneling downe, with wordis lamentable,
Do your message speke fair and tretable:
Say that to him my selfin I commende
A thousand timis, and with herte so fre
This povir tokin say to him I sende,
Plesith his godenesse to take it in gre,
It is his owne of right, it is his fe,
Whiche he askid whan he said longe before—
Give me thy hert, and I desire no more.
A thousand timis, and with herte so fre
This povir tokin say to him I sende,
Plesith his godenesse to take it in gre,
It is his owne of right, it is his fe,
Whiche he askid whan he said longe before—
Give me thy hert, and I desire no more.
Adue, my Lorde; my love so faire of face!
Adue, my turtle dove so freshe of hue!
Adue, my mirthe; adue, al my solace!
Adue, alas! my Saviour Lorde Iesu!
Adue, the gentillist that er I knewe!
Adue, my most excellent paramour!
Fairir than rose, swetir than lylly flour.
Adue, my turtle dove so freshe of hue!
Adue, my mirthe; adue, al my solace!
Adue, alas! my Saviour Lorde Iesu!
Adue, the gentillist that er I knewe!
Adue, my most excellent paramour!
Fairir than rose, swetir than lylly flour.
Adue, my hope of plesure eternal!
My lyfe, my welth, and my prosperite!
Mine herte of gold, my perle oriental!
Myne adamant of parfite charite!
My chefe refuge and my felycite!
My comforte and my recreacioun!
Farewel, my perpetual salvacioun!
My lyfe, my welth, and my prosperite!
Mine herte of gold, my perle oriental!
Myne adamant of parfite charite!
My chefe refuge and my felycite!
My comforte and my recreacioun!
Farewel, my perpetual salvacioun!
Farewel, mine emperour celestial!
And most beautiful prince of al mankinde!
Adue, my Lord! of hert most liberal!
Farewel, my swetist, bothe soule and minde!
So loving a spouse shal I nevir finde:
Adue, my soveraine, my gentilman!
Farewel, dere herte as hertely as I can.
And most beautiful prince of al mankinde!
Adue, my Lord! of hert most liberal!
Farewel, my swetist, bothe soule and minde!
So loving a spouse shal I nevir finde:
Adue, my soveraine, my gentilman!
Farewel, dere herte as hertely as I can.
Thy wordes eloquente flowinge in swetnesse
Shal no more, alas! my minde recomforte,
Wherfore my life must ende in bittirnesse,
For in this worlde shal I nevir resorte
To the, whiche was mine hevinly disporte;
I se, alas! it wol none othir be:
Nowe, farewel, the grounde of al dignite!
Shal no more, alas! my minde recomforte,
Wherfore my life must ende in bittirnesse,
For in this worlde shal I nevir resorte
To the, whiche was mine hevinly disporte;
I se, alas! it wol none othir be:
Nowe, farewel, the grounde of al dignite!
Adue, the fairist that evir was bore!
Alas, I may nat se your blessid face;
Nowe, welaway, that I shal se no more
Thy blessid visage, so replete with grace,
Wherin is printed my parfite solace!
Adue, my hert is rote and al for evir!
Nowe farith wel, I must from the discever!
Alas, I may nat se your blessid face;
Nowe, welaway, that I shal se no more
Thy blessid visage, so replete with grace,
Wherin is printed my parfite solace!
Adue, my hert is rote and al for evir!
Nowe farith wel, I must from the discever!
My soule for anguishe is nowe ful thrusty;
I faint, I faint, right sore for heviness;
My Lorde, my spouse, cur me dereliquisti?
Sith I for the suffre al this distresse
What causith the to seme thus mercilesse?
Sith it the plesith of me to make an ende
In manus tuas my spirite I commende.
I faint, I faint, right sore for heviness;
My Lorde, my spouse, cur me dereliquisti?
Sith I for the suffre al this distresse
What causith the to seme thus mercilesse?
Sith it the plesith of me to make an ende
In manus tuas my spirite I commende.
| Saint Mary Magdalene | |