 | [Poems from the Vernon MS] |  |
IX. [Of an incontinent monk, þat was drouned, and rered aȝeyn by vre lady to lyf.]
A sexteyn was in an Abbey
Of þe Ordre of Monkes grey,
Þat louede to worschipe vr ladi;
But fallen he was In lecheri.
Whon his Breþren were to bedde i-gon,
He wolde gon as stille as ston
Out of Cloystre on his wilde-hede,
fforte parfourne his misdede.
Þauh he hiȝed faste for his Corage,
Euere he wolde grete þe ymage
Þat in þe chirche was mad of vre ladi,
As ofte as he passed hit by.
Of þe Ordre of Monkes grey,
Þat louede to worschipe vr ladi;
But fallen he was In lecheri.
Whon his Breþren were to bedde i-gon,
He wolde gon as stille as ston
Out of Cloystre on his wilde-hede,
fforte parfourne his misdede.
Þauh he hiȝed faste for his Corage,
Euere he wolde grete þe ymage
Þat in þe chirche was mad of vre ladi,
As ofte as he passed hit by.
Hit bi-fel vppon a niht,
To his walk he hedde hym diht,
Bi þat ymage passed he
And grette hit wiþ an Aue.
Vnder þe Abbeye a water Ron,
Þer-ouer was a Brugge of ston:
Ouer þat Brugge lay his pas.
But him bi-fel a wondur cas:
As a mon þat hedde ben a-teynt
He fel a-doun and was I-dreynt.
To his walk he hedde hym diht,
Bi þat ymage passed he
And grette hit wiþ an Aue.
Vnder þe Abbeye a water Ron,
Þer-ouer was a Brugge of ston:
Ouer þat Brugge lay his pas.
But him bi-fel a wondur cas:
As a mon þat hedde ben a-teynt
He fel a-doun and was I-dreynt.
Þer comen ffendes fers and felle
To fecche his soule in to helle.
To fecche his soule in to helle.
A Cumpaygnye of Angeles swete
Þorw Godus pite dude wiþ him mete,
Ȝif þei mihte þorw godus gras
Helpe þe soule of sum solas.
Þorw Godus pite dude wiþ him mete,
Ȝif þei mihte þorw godus gras
Helpe þe soule of sum solas.
Þe ffendes criȝeden sone anon:
“Ȝe wiþ þis soule haue nouȝt to don,
He is Iugget wiþ vs to gon
ffor þe Misdedes þat he haþ don.”
“Ȝe wiþ þis soule haue nouȝt to don,
He is Iugget wiþ vs to gon
ffor þe Misdedes þat he haþ don.”
Þe Angeles al astoneyet were,
ffor þei mihte schewe no good werk þere
Wherfore þei mihte him calange
And wiþ hem lede forþ in heore range.
But as þei stonden alle a-gast,
Þer com vre ladi swiþe fast.
ffor þei mihte schewe no good werk þere
Wherfore þei mihte him calange
167
But as þei stonden alle a-gast,
Þer com vre ladi swiþe fast.
Heo seide: “þis soule whi haue ȝe take,
Ȝe foule ffendes blo and Blake?”
Þei onswerde sone schortly:
“ffor he diede sodeynly
Wiþ-outen eny gode dede;
Þerfore we schulen him quite his mede.”
Ȝe foule ffendes blo and Blake?”
Þei onswerde sone schortly:
“ffor he diede sodeynly
Wiþ-outen eny gode dede;
Þerfore we schulen him quite his mede.”
Vr ladi seide: “ȝe sey falsly;
Whon-euer he went and passed me bi,
He grette me wiþ an Aue,
And þus he tok leue of me,
Als euere he, whon he com a-ȝeyn,
To sey an Aue he was fayn.
Ȝe schul not sei we take hym ow fro
Wiþ strengþe ne Manas ner-þe-Mo:
Put we hit In þe Iuggement
Of þe heiȝe kyng, verreyment.”
Whon-euer he went and passed me bi,
He grette me wiþ an Aue,
And þus he tok leue of me,
Als euere he, whon he com a-ȝeyn,
To sey an Aue he was fayn.
Ȝe schul not sei we take hym ow fro
Wiþ strengþe ne Manas ner-þe-Mo:
Put we hit In þe Iuggement
Of þe heiȝe kyng, verreyment.”
As þei þus striuen I-fere,
Þorw Maries Mylde prey[er]e
Hit lyked God, of alle souereyn,
Þe soule to þe bodi wende a-ȝeyn,
Þat he mihte here him-self aMende,
Til god wolde aftur hym sende.
Þorw Maries Mylde prey[er]e
Hit lyked God, of alle souereyn,
Þe soule to þe bodi wende a-ȝeyn,
Þat he mihte here him-self aMende,
Til god wolde aftur hym sende.
His breþeren þat slepten in here wyse
Weren awaked and wolden aryse,
Gret wonder þei hedden hem among
Whi þe sexsteyn was so long. . . [OMITTED]
Weren awaked and wolden aryse,
Gret wonder þei hedden hem among
Whi þe sexsteyn was so long. . . [OMITTED]
| [Poems from the Vernon MS] | |