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 | The Wheatley Manuscript |  |
49
Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam.
For thi mercy that mykil is;
Let thi pite spryng and sprede,
Of thi mercy that I noght mys.
After goostly grace I grede;
Gode God, thow graunt me this,
That I mote here my lyfe lede
So that I doo no more amys.
50
Et secundum multitudinem miseracionum tuarum, dele iniquitatem meam.
Lord, for-do my wykkednesse;
Help [me] for to hyde and hele
The blames of my bre[c]helnes.
Ȝif any strengh[e] wil me stele
Out of the close of thi clennes,
Wys me, Lorde, in wo and wele,
And kepe me for thi kyndenes.
51
Amplius laua me ab iniquitate mea, & a peccato me munda me.
And fro my gyltes clense me;
Enserche my soule bothe oute & ynne,
That it no more defoulyd bee;
And, as thyn hert[e] cleef a-twynne
With doolful deth on the rode tre,
So let me neuer werke begynne
Lorde, bot if it lyke the.
52
Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco, & peccatum meum contra me est semper.
And my synne is euer my sight agayne;
And therfore let thi pite growe,
Ihesu, þat were of Iewis slayne;
For ryche and pore, hygh and lowe,
And euer[y] wight, I am certayne,
On domesday, whan thow schal blowe,
Of thi mercy wil be fayne.
53
Tibi soli peccaui, malum coram te feci; ut iustificeris in sermonibus [tuis, et vincas cum iudicaris].
Wroght wikkedly and the not qwemed;
Þo werkys askys rightfully
Thow hast þe victory when þou art demed.
Demyd thow were wrongfully
For me þat haue [thi] f[eit]h for[y]emed;
Bot, Lord, let me neuer doo why
That I be fro thi face flemed.
54
Ecce enim in iniquitatibus conceptus sum, & in peccatis concepit me mater mea.
Of my moder, as men ere [a]lle;
Of my fadir noght I receyued
Bot boon and flesch freel to falle;
Bot sithen thi flesch, Lorde, was perceyued,
Where it was leyd ful streyt in stall,
Was ther noon synful man deceyued,
That wolde on[to] thi mercy calle.
55
Ecce enim ueritatem dilexisti; incerta & occulta sapiencie tue manifestasti michi.
And schewed me conseil of thi witte,
How thorow mercy and thorow myght
Two kyndes been to-gedir knytte:
[Thral is fre and knave is knyght],
God is man, as gospel writte,
And, if my soule in perell is pyght,
Mercy, God, and help thow itt!
56
Asperges me, Domine, ysopo, & mundabor; lauabis me, & super niuem dealbabor.
And as the snowe I schal be quyte;
For, if my soule in synne synk,
With wepying water it may be qwyte.
Deedly draghtes if I drynk,
Of repentaunce gyf me respyte;
For, on the trestly who-so thynk,
In worldes welth is no delyte.
57
Auditui meo dabis gaudium & leticiam, & exultabunt ossa humiliata.
Gladnes, to glade my boones meke;
In lowenes lerne me to leue;
Be noght to fer when I the seke;
And let me noght to deeth be dreue,
Derworth Lorde, I the beseke,
Til my synnes be foryeue
Of thoght and worde and dede[s] eke.
58
Auerte faciem tuam a peccatis meis, & omnes iniquitates meas dele.
Put al my wykkednes awey;
Greet is my gilt, gretter thi grace,
And elles fayleth oure f[ey].
Defautes many þat me deface
Makes me syng welaway
And crye mercy when I trespasse;
I woot ther is noon othir [wey].
59
Cor mundum crea in me, Deus, & spiritum rectum innoua in uisceribus meis.
A rightful goost in me renewe,
Fro seuen synnes make me schene,
Where-so thow goo þat I may sewe.
Allas! thi t[our]ment and thi tene
Made thi brest and bak al blewe;
Now g[rau]nt[e], Crist, it may be sene
With-inne my hert, thy hydouse hewe!
60
Ne proicias me a faci[e] tua, & spiritum sanctum tuum ne auferas a me.
Take noght awey thi holy goost;
For in the sight of that ymage
Is fulsomnesse and myrth[e] moost.
I haue ben wylde & doon outrage,
Vnwisely wroght, as thow wele woost;
Therfore sende me some corage
To fight agaynes the fendes oost.
61
Redde michi leticiam salutaris tui, et spiritu principali confirma me.
And strenght me with thi spirit cheef;
Alle my fyue wittes thow wysse,
That I may lyf as the is leef;
And, as thow may my langour lysse,
That broghtest man to grete bonchef,
So lat me neuer mercy mysse
When I am greuyd with goostly greef.
62
Docebo iniquos uias tuas; & impij ad te conuertentur.
Th[e] synful schal to the conuert;
Synful man, beware of wreche,
And thenk on Crist with al thin hert,
How he become thi louely leche,
And for thi sake ful sore smert;
Ther was no scorne ne spytouse speche,
Dispite ne strook þat hym astert.
63
Libera me de sanguinibus, Deus, Deus salutis [mee, et exultabit lingua mea iusticiam tuam].
Almyghty God of alle my helth;
Than schal my tonge be myry of moode
To telle[n] of thi ryghtful telth.
Thi ryghtful bloode ran doun on rode,
That wasshe vs fro oure flesshly felth,
And many a storme agayne [thow] stoode,
To wys vs fro the worldes welth.
64
Domine, labia mea aperies; & os meum annun[ciabit laudem tuam].
And my mouthe schal thi preysyng spelle;
Thi mercy and þi myght alsoo
Parfitely can no man telle;
For, whanne we dedely synnes doo,
Thei vs demen to goo to helle;
Bot, whanne we sees & can sey ‘hoo!’,
Thi mercy is oure wasshyng welle.
65
Quoniam si voluisses sacrificium, dedissem utique; [holocaustis non delectaberis].
I had it ȝeuen with hert[e] fre;
Bot thow schal haue noon lykyng
In sacrifyce of that degree;
For thow were offrid vp hongyng
For mannes sake on rode tree,
And of thin hert gan bloode oute sprynge,
Wherfore my hert I offre the.
66
Sacrificium Deo spiritus contribulatus; cor c[ontritum et humiliatum, Deus, non despicies].
The goost þat is [a]greuyd sore;
Meke hert schal thow noght despice,
Whiles repentaunce may it restore.
I haue forslowthid, Lorde, thi seruice,
And litel leuyd aftir thi lore,
Bot now I repent and aryse;
Mercy, Ihesu, I wil no more.
67
Benigne fac, Domine, in bona uoluntate tua [Sion, ut edificentur muri Ierusalem].
Þat Ierusalem walles were vp wroght;
Ierusalem, as saith seint Ion,
Is Holy Chirche, þat errith noght.
Too testamentes cordyng in oon,
Thise were walles to-gedir broght,
When Crist hym-self was corner stoon,
That mannes soule had dere boght.
68
Tunc acceptabis sacrificium iusticie, [oblaciones et holocausta; tunc imponent super altarem tuum vitulos].
Of ryghtwysnesse and treuthe entier,
And calueren aftir thy precepte
Sall men leyn on thine autier.
On Caluarie a calf there crepte,
Crist on crosse both clene and clere;
For teris that his modir wepte,
He schild vs fro the fendes fere!
| The Wheatley Manuscript | |