 | The poems of John Audelay |  |
55
Sapiencia huius mundi stulticia est apud Deum.
Here may ȝe here now hwat ȝe be;
Here may ȝe cnow hwat ys þis worlde;
Here may ȝe boothe here and se
Only in God ys all comforde,
For ther nys noon odur Loorde
That can do as He can;
All thyng He made here with a worde,
Hwen He had sayde hit was y-don;
Her-to we were y-bore
To serue þat Lorde omnipotent,
And kepe wel His comanndement;
All thyng here He has vs lent
To worshyp Hym in erthe ther-fore.
Here may ȝe cnow hwat ys þis worlde;
Here may ȝe boothe here and se
Only in God ys all comforde,
For ther nys noon odur Loorde
That can do as He can;
All thyng He made here with a worde,
Hwen He had sayde hit was y-don;
Her-to we were y-bore
To serue þat Lorde omnipotent,
And kepe wel His comanndement;
All thyng here He has vs lent
To worshyp Hym in erthe ther-fore.
Then loke ȝe hoolde Hym for-warde;
Forsake ȝour pryde, ȝour veynglory,
Sett noȝt by þe ioy here of þis worlde;
Hyt ys butt vayne and vanyte.
But for þat ȝour namus wreton þay be
In þe bok of lyfe in heuen blys,
Ther to haue ioy perpetualy,
Al erthely ioy shal sone vanyshe.
Þus may ȝe se al-soo,
How men þay dyon sodenly,
And leson here ioy and veynglory
With þe twynkelyng of an ye;
Farewel, þay ben a-goo.
Forsake ȝour pryde, ȝour veynglory,
Sett noȝt by þe ioy here of þis worlde;
Hyt ys butt vayne and vanyte.
But for þat ȝour namus wreton þay be
In þe bok of lyfe in heuen blys,
Ther to haue ioy perpetualy,
Al erthely ioy shal sone vanyshe.
Þus may ȝe se al-soo,
How men þay dyon sodenly,
And leson here ioy and veynglory
With þe twynkelyng of an ye;
Farewel, þay ben a-goo.
224
Hic vir despiciens mundum.
Herfore Y haue dyspysed þis worlde
And haue ouercomen alle erthely þyng;
My ryches in heuen with dede and worde
I haue y-purchest in my leuyng,
With good ensampul to odur ȝefyng.
Loke in þis book; here may ȝe se
Hwatt ys my wyl and my wrytyng
All odur by me war for to be;
Be warre, brether, Y ȝow pray,
Ȝowre mysdedes þat ȝe amende
Owte of thys worlde or þat ȝe wende,
For alle ys good þat hath good ende;
Thus conseles Jon, the blynde Awdelay.
And haue ouercomen alle erthely þyng;
My ryches in heuen with dede and worde
I haue y-purchest in my leuyng,
With good ensampul to odur ȝefyng.
Loke in þis book; here may ȝe se
Hwatt ys my wyl and my wrytyng
All odur by me war for to be;
Be warre, brether, Y ȝow pray,
Ȝowre mysdedes þat ȝe amende
Owte of thys worlde or þat ȝe wende,
For alle ys good þat hath good ende;
Thus conseles Jon, the blynde Awdelay.
Cuius finis bonus ipsum totum bonum.
Finito libro sit laus et gloria Christo.
No mon þis book he take away,
Ny kutt owte noo leef, Y say for-why,
For hit ys sacrelege, sirus, Y ȝow say,
Beþ acursed in þe dede truly.
Ȝef ȝe w[i]l haue any copi,
Askus leeue and ȝe shul haue,
To pray for hym specialy
That hyt made ȝour soules to saue,
Jon, þe blynde Awdelay.
The furst prest to þe lord Strange he was,
Of þys chauntre here in þis place,
That made þis bok by Goddus grace,
Deeff, siek, blynd, as he lay,
Ny kutt owte noo leef, Y say for-why,
For hit ys sacrelege, sirus, Y ȝow say,
Beþ acursed in þe dede truly.
Ȝef ȝe w[i]l haue any copi,
Askus leeue and ȝe shul haue,
To pray for hym specialy
That hyt made ȝour soules to saue,
Jon, þe blynde Awdelay.
The furst prest to þe lord Strange he was,
Of þys chauntre here in þis place,
That made þis bok by Goddus grace,
Deeff, siek, blynd, as he lay,
Cuius anime propicietur Deus.
| The poems of John Audelay | |