The Minor Poems of John Lydgate :: :: University of Virginia Library

Loo þus endeþe here þappistel of þe Regiment of Prynces þe whiche daun Aristotiles weel avised wrote vn-to þe King Alexander and filowing nowe here nexst beginneþe a seying of þe Nightingale ymagyned and compyled by Lydegate daun Johan þe monk of Bury.

1

In Iuygne whan Tytan was in þe Crabbes hed,
Towardes even þe saphyre huwed sky

222

Was westwarde meynt with many rowes red,
And fowles singen in þeyre melodye
An hevenly complyne with sugred ermonye,
As þat hem nature taught þoo for þe best,
Þey gane hem proygne, and droughe hem to þeyre rest,

2

Þat sithe þe tyme, for sooþe, þat I was borne,
Hade I not herde suche song in dovne ner daale,
And alle were goone, sauf vpon a thorne
Þe saame tyme I herde a Nightingale,
So as I lay pensyf in a vale
To herken þe menyng of hir melodye
Whos hertely refreyde was euer “ocy, ocy.”

3

She mant, I trowe, with hir notes nuwe
And in hir ledne, on Venus to taake vengeaunce
On fals louers wheeche þat beon vntruwe,
Ay ful of chaunge and of varyaunce,
And can in oone to haue no pleasaunce,
Þis bridde ay song, “O sleþe hem, lady myn,
With-outen mercy, and bring hem to hir fyn,

4

“To shewe ensaumple, þat oþer may wel knowe
Howe þat þey shal in hir trouþe abyde:
For par dy, lady, yit þy sones bowe
Nys not broke, which called is Cupyde,
Let him mark hem and wownde hem in þe syde
With-outen mercy er any remedye,
Wher so þat he suche falshode can espye.

5

“And suche as beon for loue langwysshing,
Cherisshe hem, lady, for truwe affeccyoun,
Support and help hem with þy might to bring

223

In-to þy Castell, set in Cytheron
On dyamaundis sette is þe dungeoun,
Frette with Rubyes and Emerawdes greene
Nowe herke my song, þat art of love þe qweene.”

6

And as I lay and herde hir tonys cleere,
And on hir notes me gretly gan delyte,
Vpon þe eve þe sterres did appeere,
þe bavmy vapour of graasys gan vpsmyte.
In to myn heued of floures rede and whyte
þat with þe odour, er þat I tooke keepe,
I felle anoon in to a dedly sleepe.

7

And þanne me sempte frome þe god of loue
To me was sent an vnkoupe messagier,
Nought frome Cupyde but fro þe lord aboue;
And as me thought ful fayre and fresshe of cheere,
Which to me sayde “Foole what doost þou here
Sleping alloone, gaping vpon þe moone?
Rysse, folowe me, and þou shalt se right soone

8

An vnkouþe sight, if þou list þee spede,
Þe briddes song I shal to þee vncloose;
For trust me weel I cast þee not to lede
No thing towardes þe gardin of þe roose,
And I þy spirit shal oþer-wyse dispoose
For to declare þe briddes song ‘ocy,’
And what scheo meneþe in sentence truwly.

9

Þyne aduertence is gouuerned wrong
Touching þe toynes þou haddest here to-forne;
‘Occy, Occy’ þis was þe briddes song,
Which many a lover haþe thorugh foly lorne.
But thenk amonge vpon þe sharpe thorne
Which prickeþe hir brest with fyry remembraunce,
Louers in vertu tencresce hem and avaunce.

224

10

Þis briddes song which þat we haue on honde,
Who þat take þe moralytee,
Betokeneþe pleynly for to vnderstonde
þe gret fraunchyse, þe gret liberte
Which shoulde in loue beo so pure and free
Of truwe menyng rooted so with-Inne
Fer frome þe conceyte of any maner synne.

11

Take þowe noon heede how þis bridde so smal
Singeþe as þat she wolde hir-self dismembre,
Streyneþe hir throte, peyneþe hir brest at al,
Shakeþe and qwakiþe in euery Ioynt and membre,
O man vnkynde, why doost þou not remembre
Amonge in hert vn-to þis briddes song?
Yif þou aduert, þou doost to God gret wronge.

12

Þou art deceyued in þyne opynyoun
And al awrong al so þou doost goo,
Feynt and vntruwe þyn exposicion,
Þyne vnderstonding þy conceyte boþe two.
Þis bridde in sooþe ne meneþe no-thing so;
For hir singyng, whoso takeþe heede,
No-thing resouneþe in-to flesshlyhed.

13

Touching “Occy,” consider weel þe word,
Þis bridde it song of inpacyence,
Of Iniuries doone vn-to þe lord,
And wrong[es] gret[e] to his magnyfyence
Of worldely folk, thorugh þeyre gret offence,
Which cane not knowe for þeyre reklesnesse
Þe grete loue, þe grete kyndenesse,

14

Which he shewed for þeyre alder goode
Whane þat he, yif þey koude aduerte,

225

For þeyre saake sterff vpon þe Roode
And with a spere was stongen thorugh þe hert,
Who felt euer for loue so gret a smert
As thilke lord did for mannes saake?
And yit, allas, noon heed þer-of þey taake!

15

To paye þe raunsoun of our gret losse
He was in loue so gentyle and so free
Þat hym deyned be nayled on þe crosse,
And lyche a theof hong vpon a tree;
Lifft vp þyne hert, vnkynde man, and see
Þe nightingale in hir armonye,
Þus day and night dooþe vpon þe crye.

16

Sheo cryed “Slee al þoo þat beon vnkynde,
And cane of loue þe custume not obserue,
Nor in þeyre eyghen no drope of pyte fynde,
Nor in þeyre brest for loue no sighe conserue;
Why list þee lord, for mannes saake sterve
But for to paye of fredam þe raunsoun,
His hert[e] blood for þeyre redempcioun?”

17

Hees wowndes fyve for man he did vncloose
Of hondes, of feet, and of his fayre syde;
Make of þees fyve, in þyn hert a roose
And let it þeer contynuelly abyde,
Forget hem not wher þou goo or ryde
Gadre on heepe þees rosen floures fyve,
In þy memorye enprynt hem al þy lyve.

18

Þis is þe Roos which first gan wexen reed,
Spreynt ouer al with dropes of paurpur huwe,
Whan Cryst Iesu was for mankynde ded
And hade vpon a garnement ful nuwe, [OMITTED]
His holy moder, his Cousin eek Saint Johan,
Suche array to-fore saughe þey neer noon.

226

19

Which to beholde God wot þey wer not feyne
His blessed body to seen so al to-rent,
A crowne of thorne þat throbbed thorugh his breyne,
And al þe blood of his body spent;
His hevenly eyeghen, allas, deeþe haþe eblent,
Who might for routhe susteyne and to beholde
But þat his hert of pytee shoulde colde?

20

Þis war þe saame which þat Isaye.
Saugh frome Edome came, with his clooþe depeynt
Steyned in Bosra, eeke did him aspye
Baaþed in blood, til he gan wexen feynt.
Þis is he þat drank eysell and galle emeynt,
Þis is he þat was to-fore Pylate atteynt,
With false accusours in the Consistorye,
Oonly to bring mankynde to his glorye.

21

He was moost feyre founden, in his stoole
Walkyng of vertues with mooste multytude,
Blessed, beningne and hevenly of his scoole,
Which with his souffrance Sathan can conclude,
His humble dethe did þe deuel delude,
Whane he mankynd brought out of prysoun,
Making his fynaunce with his passyoun.

22

Ysaye þe moost renommed prophete,
Axed of him, why his garnement,
Was red and blody, ful of dropes wete,
So disguysed was his vestyment;
Lyke hem þat pressin quayers of entent
In þe pressour, boþe þe rede and whyte,
So was he pressyd þy Raunsoun for to quyte.

227

23

“Hit is I,” quod he, “þat trade it al allone.
With-outen felawe I gane þe wyn outpresse,
Whane on þe crosse I made a deolful moone
And thorough myn hert þe sperehed gan hit dresse,
Who felt euer so passyng gret duresse?—
Whane alle my freondes alloone me forsooke
And I my self þis iourne on me tooke.

24

“Excepte my moder þer durst noon abyd
Of my discyples þat weren me suwende:
Saynt Iohan for loue stoode by myn oþer syde,
Alle þe remenaunt fro me dyden weende.
Þe Iewes my flesshe a-sondre dyden reende
Who was it but I þat aboode in þe vyne
To presse out wyne, þy raunsoun for to fyne?

25

“For mannes saake with me ful harde it stoode,
For-saken of alle and eeke desconsolate;
Þey lefft no drope, but druwe out al my blood;
Was neuer noon so pore in noon estate,
Alle my descyples lefft me desolate
Vpon þe crosse, bytwene theoves tweyne,
And noon aboode to rewe vpon my peyne.

26

“Oo yee alle þat passen by þe wey,
Lifft vp þe eghe of youre aduertence!
Sawe yee euer any man so dye
With-outen gilt, þat neuer did offence?
Or is þer ony sorowe in existence
Lyche þe sorowe þat I did endure
To bye mankynde, vnkynde creature?

228

27

“For þe surfeyte of þy synnes alle,
And for þoffence of þy wittes fyve,
My touche, my taast, myn hering did appalle,
Smellyng and sight ful feoble were als blyue,
Þus in yche party þat man may contryve
I suffred peyne, and in euery membre
Þat any man can reken or remembre.

28

“Ageyne þe synnes pleynly of þyn hede
I hade vpon a crowne of thornes keene;
Bitter teres were medled with my bred,
For mannes trespas I felt all þe teene,
Myne eyen blynde þat whylome shoone so sheene,
And for man in my thrust most feel,
I drank galle tempred with eyseel.

29

“For mannys looking fulfilled with outrage,
And for his tonge ful of detraccyoun,
I alloone souffred þe damage,
And ageyne falshede of adulacion
I drank galle poynaunt as poysoun;
Ageyns hering of tales speken in veyne
I hade rebuyk and sayde no worde ageyne.

30

“Geyne pryde of beaute, where as folkes trespas,
I suffred my-self gret aduersytee,
Beten and benchyd in myn owen face,
Ageyns touching, if men list to see,
Myne handes were nayled fast vn-to þe tree;
And for misfootyng, where men went wrong,
My feet thorugh percyd, were not my peynes strong?

229

31

“Was it not I þat trespassed nought,
Þat had myne hert perced even atweyne,
And neuer ofended oonys in a thought,
Yit was it kerve thorugh in euery veyne?
Who felt euer in eorþe so gret peyne
To reken al giltles as did I?
Wher-for þis bridde sang ay, ‘occy, occy’

32

“Suche as beon to me founde vnkynde
And haue no mynde kyndely of resoun,
But of slouthe haue elefft byhynde
Þe hole remembraunce of my passyoun,
By meene of which and mediacyoun
Ageyne al poysoun of þe synnes seven
Tryacle I brought, sent hem doun frome heven.

33

“Ageyns pryde, Remembre my meeknesse,
Geyne coveytyse thenk on my pouerte,
Ageyne lechcherye thenk on my clennesse,
Ageyns envye thenk on my charytee,
Ageyns gloutonye aduerte in hert and se
How þat I for mannes gret offence
Fourty dayes lyved in abstynence.”

34

Of meeknesse he did his heued enclyne
Ageyns þe synne and þe vyce of pryde,
Ageyns envye streght out as a lyne,
Spradde his armes out on euery syde
Tenbrace his freondes and with hem abyde,
Shewing hem signes, who so list to see,
Grounde of his peynes was parfyt charyte.

230

35

Ageyns coueytyse, mankynde to redresse
Thorugh-nayled weren his hooly handis tweyne,
Shewing of fredam a bounteuouse almesse
Whane he for loue suffred so gret peyne,
To make mankynde his blisse to atteyne.
And his largesse to rekken by and by
I shal rehers his gifftes ceryously.

36

He gaf his body to man for chief repaast,
Restoratyff best in þe fourme of bred,
At his maundee or he hennes past
His blessed blood in fourme of wyn ful red,
His soule in prys whanne þat he was ded,
And of oure synnes as cheef lauender
Out of his syde he gaf vs water cleere.

37

He gaf also his pourpur vestement
To þe Iewys þat did him crucefye.
To his apostilles he gaf eeke of entent
His blessed bodye, ded whane he did lye.
And his moder þat cleped was Marye,
Þe keping of hir he gaf to Saynt John
And to his fader his goost whane hit was goon.

38

Ageyns slouthe he shewed gret doctryne
Whane he him hasted towardes his passyoun,
Agenyst wrathe þis was his dicyplyne
Whane he was brought texamynacyoun,
A sofft aunswere with-oute rebellyoun,
Ageynst gloutounye he drank eysell and galle
Toppresse sourfaytes of vycyous folkes alle.

231

39

He gaf also a ful gret remedye
To mankynd hir sores for to sounde;
For ageyne þe heete of lechcherye
Meekly he souffred many a greuous wownde,
For noon hoole skyn was on his body founde,
Nor þer was seyne oþer apparayle
But blood, allas, aboute his sydes raylle!

40

Þer he was sone and his fadres heyre
With him alloone by peternytee,
Hit was a thing incomparable feyre
Þe sone to dye to make his seruaunt free,
Him fraunchysing with suche libertee;
To make man þat was thorugh synne thralle
Þe court tenheryte above celestyal.

41

Þeos kyndnesses wheeche I to þee reherce,
Let hem devoyde frome þoblyuyoun,
And let þe nayles wheche thoroughe is feet did perce
Ben cleere myrour of þy redempcyoun.
Enarme þy-self for þy proteccioun
Whanne þat þe feondes list ageyns þee stryve,
With þe carrectes of his wowndes fyve.

42

Ageyns þeyre malyce beo strong and weel ware,
Al of his crosse aryse vp þe banyer,
And thenk how he to Caluarye it bare
To make þee strong ageyns þeyre daungier;
Which whane þey seen, þey dare come no meer,
For trust weel, his crosse is best defence
Ageynst þe power of feondes vyolence.

232

43

Hit is þe palme, as clerkis can weel telle,
To a man in eorþe to conquest and victorye,
It is þe tree, which þat Danyell
Sawe spradde so broode, as makid is memorye;
Þe keye of heven, to bring men to glorye,
Þe staff of Iacob causing alle sure grace,
With which þat hee Iordan did paase.

44

Scale and laddre of oure ascencyoun,
Hooke and snaare of þe Levyatan,
Þe strong pressour of oure redempcycoun,
On which þe bloode doune by his sydes rane,
For no thing ellys but for to saue man,
Þe harp of Dauid, which mooste might avayle
Whane þat þe feonde Kyng Saule did assayle.

45

Þis was þe paale, and þe heeghe tree
Whylome sette vp by Moyses of entent,
Al Israel, beholde neghe and see
And þer vpon off brasse a gret serpent,
Which to beholde, whoo were not necgligente.
Receyued helthe, salue and medecyne
Of all þeyre hurtes þat were serpentyne.

46

Þis banier is moste mighty of vertu
Geyns feondes defence mighty and cheef obstacle
Mooste noble staue and token of Tayu
To Esechyel shewed by myracle,
Chief chaundellabre of þe tabernacle,
Wher through was caused al his cleere light
Voyding al derknesse of þe cloudy night.

233

47

Þis was þe tree of mankyndes boote,
Þat stynt hir wrathe and brought in al þe pees,
Which made þe water of maraþe fresh and swoote,
Þat was to-forne moost bitter, doutelesse,
Þis was þe yerde of werþy Moyses,
Which made þe children of Israell go free
And drye fotyd thorough þe Red See.

48

This was þe slyng which with stoones fyve
Worthy David, as bookes specefye,
Gan þe hede and þe helme to ryve
Of þe Geant þat called was Golye,
Wheeche fyve stoones taking þalegorye
Ar þe fyve woundes, as I rehers can,
With wheeche þat Cryst venqwyssht haþ Sathan.

49

O synful soule! why nyltowe taken keepe
Of his peynes remembring on þe shoures?
Forsaake þe worlde, and waake oute of þy sleep
And to þe gardeyn of parfyt paramours
Maake þy passage, and gader þer þy floures
Of verray vertu, and chaunge al þyne olde lyff;
And in þat gardyn beo contemplatyff.

50

For þis worlde here booþe at even and morowe,
Who list consider aright in his resoun,
Is but an exyle and a desert of sorowe,
Meynt ay with trouble and tribulacyoun;
But who list fynde consolacyoun
Of goostely Ioye, let him þe worlde forsake
And to þat gardin þe right wey[e] take,

234

51

Wher as þat god of loue him-self doþe dwelle
Vpon an hille, fer frome þe mortal vale,
Canticorum þe book ful weel can telle,
Calling his spouse with sugred notes smale
Where þat ful lowd þamerous nightingale
Vpon a thorne is wont to calle and crye
To mannys soule with hevenly ermonye,

Veni in ortum meum, soror mea.

“Come to my gardyn and to myn herber grene
My fayre suster and my spouse deere,
Frome filthe of synne by vertu made al clene
With Cristal paved þaleys beon so clere.
Come, for I calle.” Anoon, and þou shalt here,
Howe Cryst Ihesu, so blessed mot he be!
Calleþe mannys soule of parfyte charyte.

53

He calleþe hir suster and his spouse also,
First his suster, who-so list to see,
As by his nature, take goode heede here-to,
Full nyghe of kyn by consanguynyte,
And eeke his spouse by affynytee,
I mene as þus baffynyte of grace
With goostely loue, whane he hit dooþe enbrace.

54

And eeke his suster by semblance of nature
Whane þat he tooke oure humanyte
Of a mayde moost clennest and pure,
Fresshest of floures þat sprang oute of Iesse [OMITTED]
As flour eordeyned for to releeve man,
Which bare þe frut þat sloughe our foo Sathan.

of þis balade daune Iohn made no more.