St. Patrick's Purgatory Two versions of Owayne Miles and The Vision of William of Stranton: Together with the long text of the Tractatus de Purgatorio Sancti Patricii |
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 | St. Patrick's Purgatory |  |
And hys apostelus forsoþe he sende,
That þey shulde þe folke amende,
And to tell hem of heuen-ryche,
Ȝong and olde, pore all ylyche.
He hadde bysshoppus gode also
And oþur prechorus mony mo,
That shewed her mony a tokenyng
That he ys God and sothefast kynge;
Holy byschoppus somtyme þer w[o]re;
That tawȝte men of Goddes lore.
In Irlonde preched Seynt Patryke,
In þat londe was non hym lyke.
He prechede Goddes worde full wyde,
And tolde men what shullde betyde.
Fyrste he preched of heuen-blysse,
Whoeuur go þydur may ryght nowȝt mysse;
Sethen he preched of helle-pyne,
Howe wo þem ys þat comeþ þerinne;
And þen he preched of purgatory,
As he fonde in hys story.
But ȝet þe folke of þys contre
Beleued not þat hyt myȝth be,
And seyde, but ȝyf hyt were so,
That eny mon myth hymself go
And se all þat and come ageyn,
Then wolde þey beleue fayn.
Seynt Patryke hymself beþowȝth,
And Jhesu faste he besowȝth,
That he wolde som tokyne shewe,
So þe pepull myȝth þe bettur knowe,
And þat he myȝth þorow hys leue
Turne hem ynto þe ryȝth beleue.
Our lord come to hym vpon a day,
As he yn hys bedys lay;
Two ryche þynkes he hym ȝaf,
A booke of gospellus and a staf.
Wyth full glad chere þe byschop hem toke,
Boþe þe ryche staffe and þe booke,
And ȝet be þo ryche relyquus þere,
And at euery feste-day yn þe ȝere
They ben bore yn processioun
Wyth full gret deuocioun.
The archebysshop of þat lond
Shall bere þat staffe yn hys honde.
Whoso wyll wyte what hyt hatte,
‘Jhesu staffe’ men calle hyt ȝette.
That þey shulde þe folke amende,
And to tell hem of heuen-ryche,
Ȝong and olde, pore all ylyche.
He hadde bysshoppus gode also
And oþur prechorus mony mo,
That shewed her mony a tokenyng
That he ys God and sothefast kynge;
Holy byschoppus somtyme þer w[o]re;
That tawȝte men of Goddes lore.
In Irlonde preched Seynt Patryke,
In þat londe was non hym lyke.
He prechede Goddes worde full wyde,
And tolde men what shullde betyde.
Fyrste he preched of heuen-blysse,
Whoeuur go þydur may ryght nowȝt mysse;
Sethen he preched of helle-pyne,
Howe wo þem ys þat comeþ þerinne;
38
As he fonde in hys story.
But ȝet þe folke of þys contre
Beleued not þat hyt myȝth be,
And seyde, but ȝyf hyt were so,
That eny mon myth hymself go
And se all þat and come ageyn,
Then wolde þey beleue fayn.
Seynt Patryke hymself beþowȝth,
And Jhesu faste he besowȝth,
That he wolde som tokyne shewe,
So þe pepull myȝth þe bettur knowe,
And þat he myȝth þorow hys leue
Turne hem ynto þe ryȝth beleue.
Our lord come to hym vpon a day,
As he yn hys bedys lay;
Two ryche þynkes he hym ȝaf,
A booke of gospellus and a staf.
Wyth full glad chere þe byschop hem toke,
Boþe þe ryche staffe and þe booke,
And ȝet be þo ryche relyquus þere,
And at euery feste-day yn þe ȝere
They ben bore yn processioun
Wyth full gret deuocioun.
The archebysshop of þat lond
Shall bere þat staffe yn hys honde.
Whoso wyll wyte what hyt hatte,
‘Jhesu staffe’ men calle hyt ȝette.
God spakke to Saynt Patryke þo
By name, and badde hym wyth hym go.
He ladde hym ynto a wyldernesse,
Wher was no reste, more ne lesse,
And shewed, þat he myȝth se
Into þe erþe a pryue entre;
Hyt was yn a depe dyches ende.
‘What mon,’ he sayde, ‘þat wyll heryn wende,
And dwelle þeryn a day and a nyȝth,
And holde hys byleue [a]ryȝth,
And come aȝeyn þat he ne dwelle,
Mony a meruayle he may of telle;
And all þo þat doth þys pylgrymage,
I shall hem graunt for her wage,
Wheþur he be sqwyer or knaue,
Oþur purgatorye shall he non haue.’
Als sone as he hadde sayde hym so,
Jhesu wente þe bysshoppe fro.
Seynt Patryke þen anon ryght,
He ne stynte ner day ne nyght,
But gatte hym help fro day to day,
And made þer a fayr abbey,
And chanonus gode he dede þerinne,
Vnþur þe abbyt of Seynt Austynne.
By name, and badde hym wyth hym go.
He ladde hym ynto a wyldernesse,
Wher was no reste, more ne lesse,
And shewed, þat he myȝth se
Into þe erþe a pryue entre;
Hyt was yn a depe dyches ende.
‘What mon,’ he sayde, ‘þat wyll heryn wende,
And dwelle þeryn a day and a nyȝth,
And holde hys byleue [a]ryȝth,
40
Mony a meruayle he may of telle;
And all þo þat doth þys pylgrymage,
I shall hem graunt for her wage,
Wheþur he be sqwyer or knaue,
Oþur purgatorye shall he non haue.’
Als sone as he hadde sayde hym so,
Jhesu wente þe bysshoppe fro.
Seynt Patryke þen anon ryght,
He ne stynte ner day ne nyght,
But gatte hym help fro day to day,
And made þer a fayr abbey,
And chanonus gode he dede þerinne,
Vnþur þe abbyt of Seynt Austynne.
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