[Poems from the Vernon MS]

ffor holy Churche hit singeþ meste,
Nomeliche of þis newe feste.
Ac noþeles hit is ful olde
Þat Dauid in þe psauter tolde:
ffor þis is þe latyn þat Dauid sede
Þat “Mon ete Angeles Brede;”
And þat is soþ, for so hit wes
Þe tyme of þe prophete Moyses.
[He] was in Egipte in gret truage,
And godus folk in foul seruage,
Vnder þe kyng Pharaon
Þer was mony a þousund mon.
Longe hit were al to telle;
But atte laste hit þus bifelle
Þat god nolde soffre hit no more
His owne folk in þraldam wore,
And god bad Moyses he scholde fle
Wiþ his folk þorwh þe Rede séé.

Þo Moyses to þe séé com,
Al druye his folk wiþ hym he nom:
Þe séé stod vp-riht as a wal,

170

Til þei weore I-passed al.

Kyng Pharao him suwed faste
Wiþ his Chares and his hoste;
And whon þei weore alle in þe séé,
God torned heore strengþe a-ȝe,
So þat þei were ouer-seynt,
And he and alle hise weren i-dreynt.

In þis place hit mai beo sede
Þat mon ete Angeles brede:
Þat tyme þat Moyses ladde þus
His grete host In wildernus
God dude lete reyne a-doun
As hit were flour gret foysun,
Manna, so hit is I-write,
And is I-clept Angeles Mete.
Heo hit gedrede and liueden þerbi,
And sunged sore I wol telle ou whi:
Þei gederde more, for drede of brede,
Þen vche day þei hedde to nede;
And hit nolde not ben on Morwe
fforte kepe ne for to Borwe.

171

Ich holde þis a badde store
To vche Mokerere þat biddeþ more
Of Catel þen he haþ to nede
His owne Meyne forte fede;
He buggeþ Corn aȝeyn þe ȝere
And kepeþ hit til hit beo dere.
“Þer-of he doþ wysliche,
Ȝif he departe hit skilfulliche.”

Nay, forsoþe, þenkeþ he nouht
To pore men parten ouht;
Bouȝte he neuere so good chepe,
He reweþ nout þe pore wepe;
He ne rouhte how al þe world ȝode,
So þat his owne bi-ȝete were goode.
ffor þis is þe Mokereres onswere:
“Goþ or wey, Corn is dere!”

And forsoþe, wiþ-oute gabbe,
Þe same onswere he schal habbe
Whon alle þe Angeles in heuene beoþ
And alle on eorþe þat þoleþ deþ
Schul ben at a parlement:

172

Þen þe Mokerere schal be schent;
Þer he schal vbbreyded beo
Of God him-self, þat is al freo,
In what manere he haþ spent
Þe godus þat God on eorþe him lent.
Þere god him-self schal ȝiue þe dome—
He may beo adred er he þer come;
ffor þis is þe word þat God wol say
To þe Mokerere at Domes-day,
And Certeynliche to non oþur mon
But to þe wrecche Mokerere þon:
“I hungred whon þou wernedest me mete;
I was a-ffurst, I coude not gete;
Herborweles, þou me forsoke;
Seek, in prisun, þou ne come me to loke;
A-Cold, Cloþeles also,
Naked þou me lette go:
Þerfore, Mokerere, þou wende to helle,
Wiþ alle þe deuelen þer euere to dwelle.”

Þe wrecche Mokerere onswere schal þan
“Lord, whon sauh we þe neodi Man?”

173

“Ȝus, whon ȝe warned þe leste of myne,
Ȝe warned hit me wel a-fyne;”
And þere hem tit heore onswere:
“Goþ to helle, for heuene is dere.”
At Domes-day þe meste schennes
Hit falleþ vppon þe nyþinges;
ffor þei neuermore wole hem schryue
Þat þei weore niþinges in heore lyue,
But euere heore onswere hit is þus
“We ȝiuen more þen men ȝiuen vs.”—

Torne we to vre gospelle,
Of þe folk of Ysraelle,
Hou þei gedrede Angeles brede
More þen þei hedde to nede.
Þerfore god wroþ was
Þat þei trist not to his gras,
And let hem dye; and were I-slay
ffourti þousund on a day,
ffor þat gult and oþur eke,
And godus heste þat þei breke;
Þat of sixe [hundred] and twenti þousende—
Þus muche was þe noumbre to toknynge—
Þat þer come non to londe freo
Saue tweyne, Calef and Iosue—

174

And of þulke tweyne com al þe strene
Of vre ladi, heuene-Qweene.—

Now is wel sene to-day
Þat he loueþ vs more þen þay.
ffor he ne sende hem but Angel brede,
Þat lasteþ but a day to nede,
He haþ send us a Ricchor sonde:
His owne bodi, ich vndurstonde,
Þat wol laste euere þe soule wiþ-Inne
Whil þou art out of dedly synne.
Þat was I-pyned for vre nede
To-day þou seost In ffourme of brede.
And þauh I wol ȝow schewe and telle
Beo þis ensaumple hou hit bi-felle,
Þat is writen In þe Legent
Of þi[s] holy sacrament.

Uidemus in altari formam panis, non carnis, & quare.

A Iew sum tyme and a Cristene mon
Were felawes in þe wey vppon.
And bi þe wey, as riht was,
Þe Cristene Mon herde Rynge to Mas.
Þe Cristene Mon seide: “a-byd me here,
Whil I go to my preyere!”

175

Þe cristene mon wente in to þe churche.
And þe Iew bi-gon to grucche,
ffor hym þhouȝte his felawe was
To longe biddinge atte Mas.

Þe Iew ros vp and forþ ede
In to þe Churche, to take hede.
Þen sauh he atte weuede
Þe Prest holde ouer his heuede
A ffeir child, I-woundet sore
In ffot, in hond; ȝit sauh he more
Þat þer nas nouþur wyf nor mon
Of alle þat in þe Chirche were on
Þat ne helde vp here hondes and sat on kne;
And from þat child sauh come fle
Anoþur such as he sauh stonde,
A[nd] lihte bi-twene vche monnes honde.

Þe Ieuh a-Bod, til þe Prest
Vsede þe Eukarist,
Þen sauh he him ete þe child
Þat he bi-twenen his hondes held;
And al þat weore in þe churche þermide
Þe Ieuh þhouȝte þat so heo dude.
Þe Ieuh was agrise and wente him hyde
Þer his felawe him bad abyde,
And bi him-self he seide þan:
“A grisly lyf haþ Cristen Man!”

176

Þe Cristene Mon aftur þe mas
Com to þe stude þer þe Iew was.

Þe Ieuh asked: “hou farestou?”

Þe Cristene mon seide: “better þen þou;
ffor siþen ichaue my god seye,
Þe lihtore ich holde al my weye.”

Þe Iew seide: “beo my scolle,
Wel ouhte þi wombe be fulle!
Hedde I so muchel I-ȝete,
Þis þreo dayes nolde I no mete.”

“fforsoþe,” quaþ þe cristene mon,
“To-day sayȝ I siht of non,
Non eorþliche kunnes mete
Þat my Mouþ mihte ete.”

“Let beo! I sauh wiþ myn eȝen two
Where þou and oþur mo,
Vche of ow heold a child blodie,
And siþen ȝe eten hit, I nul not lye;
Wherfore i seye þat oure lawe
Is not good.” bi þat sawe

Þe Cristen mon bi-gon to beo wroþ;
“Þou lyest, Iew, þou art me loþ;
Ȝoure lawe is fals, and so ȝe ben,
Ȝe wol not leeue but þat ȝe sen.
Þerfore al-one I go þe bi,
I kepe no more þi cumpaygni.”

177

Þe Iew seide: “ffelawe, greef þe nouht
Þeih I telle þe what I sayh and þouht,
Ac tel me bi sum oþur preue
Wher-bi I may þe soþe leue!”

“Þis is þe skile,” quaþ þe Cristene man,
“Þat god nout soffreþ þe þan
Þat þou seȝe wiþ þin eȝe
Þe sacremens þat ben so sleȝe,
Þat his fflesch mihte so ben hud
To vs cristene wiþ-inne þe bred.
And þy kun made hym dye,
Þerfore al blodi þou hym seȝe.”

“ffelawe,” quaþ þe Iew þon,
“Help þat I were a Cristene mon;
ffor leuere ichaue cristned ben
Þen euere seo such a siht aȝen.”

Þo was þe Iew cristned, and oþur mo,
ffor þe Miracle þat fel þo.—
Þis Bred þat is godus flesch,
What feiror preue wolde men esch
Þat vche part is godus entere?
Þeih hit weore parted in þreo quartere,
And þeih hit weore an hundred dole,
Vche part is his bodi al hole.

And þat loke bi skile, lo here:
Bi-hold þi-self in a schewere:

178

Þou ne sest but onliche þi faas,
Þe while al hol is þe glaas;
And brek þe glas in two or þre,
And so moni formes þou miht se.—
Beo þe makyng of þe oblee
Wel and skilfoliche me may se
Of wȝuche we make Godus fflesch,
Þis is þe saumple whose wol esch.

Hit is maad beo seuen skiles
Aȝeyn þe seuene dedly synnes:

Aȝeyn Lecherie hit is whit,
Þat was Blak and stynkynge euere ȝit.

Hit is þunne a-ȝeyn Glotenye,
Þat al to muche wole swolewye.

Hit is round and liht to þrowe,
Aȝeyn Sleuþe, þat makeþ men slowe.

Of swete whete mad hit is,
Aȝeyn Wraþþe, þat is bitternis.

Hit is mad wiþ-oute leueyn:
Aȝeyn Envye hit stont aȝeyn,
ffor Envye makeþ Men swelle
Whon he seoþ eny spede welle.

Hit is also wiþ-oute Bryn
Or eny oþur Corn þer-In:

179

Hit is a-ȝeyn Couetyse,
Þat ne reccheþ In what wyse
Eny catel vndurfonge,
Beo hit Riht beo hit wronge.

Hit is þerto clene and luyte,
Aȝeyn Pruide, þat euer ȝute
Wolde beo gret and heiȝ of wille,
As Lucifer, þat furst felle
ffor his Pruide out of heuene.
Do we þis Bred aȝeyn þis seuene!

And hou hit furst com and ede
Þat mon ete Angeles Brede,
Hit is liht soþ to telle,
ffor vche cristene mon wot hit welle.
Þe laste soper wiþ-outen wene
Was I-mad atte Ceene,
And God bad þe Apostles do so
Whon he weore to heuene I-go;
“Do þis in þe muynde of me;
I go and come to ow a-ȝe.”
Of þe Apostles þat God sent
[tok] holichurche þe sacrament.—

180

Þat is to siggen, eukarist
As goode grace com from crist.
Wel may we seyen hit is good grace
Whon hit is wardeyn in godus place!
And grace is betere þen nature,
Whose þerto wol take cure.—
I rede þe mon be in good entent
Whose takeþ þis grace in sacrement:

Seint poul seiþ, and siggen I may,
In þe pistel of to-day:
“Whose vnworþiliche ȝode
To fonge Godus fflesch and blode,
Þere he fongeþ his owne dome”—
Allas, hit falleþ so to lome!
Þerfore poul seiþ bi þat halue:
“he demeþ not God, he demeþ him-selue.”
In þulke whose i-take be,
Schal he neuere beo dampned a-ȝe;
Ȝif we vre owne dom take,
What oþur dom schal God vs make?
Þerfore make ow alle Redi
To take hit not as fool-hardi.—

181

Þeih seint Poul vs þrete þus,
Vr lord hym-self, swete Ihesus,
Þis day in Markes gospelle
To his disciples he gon telle,
And to þe Iewes þat were ryue:
“I am my-self Bred of lyue.
“Mi fflesch soþfast mete is,
And my Blod verrey drinke, iwis.
Whos eteþ mi flesch and drinkeþ my blode,

I wone wiþ hym and he wiþ me.
Mi ffader me sent and so I ȝode,

To lyue for hym and he for me:
So whose me eteþ, for me schal libbe.

Þis is þe Bred þat from heuene come,
Not lyk Manna, þat flour be sibbe,

Þei þat hit ete, weore dede bi dome,
And hose eteþ of þis brede,

He schal liue wiþ-outen ende.”
Ihesu, graunt vs so to spede

Wiþ þulke bred to heuene wende.

Amen.

Off þulke Bred in þe gospelle
Seint Ion we here þus telle:

182

Þat ȝif we ne ete of þulke brede
Ne drynke his blood, vr lyf were dede.—
And þeih we ete hit al þus here,
Hit is in heuene al entere.
So schaltou leeue, Cristene mon,
Þat in no weere þi leue beo on!
ffor þi feiþ tit no mede
Where þing of deþ takest hede;
Hit is inpossyble to serue crist
But þi be-leeue beo good and trist.
And eȝe of feiþ hit is ful kene
Þat seoþ a siht þat is not sene.
Þerfore alle þing þat we [ne] seoþ
Leeue we as holychirche deþ,
ffor þat I holde þe rihte fey
And to heuene þe nexte wey.—

To telle more I mot nede
Hou men ete Angeles Brede.
Of ffoles I herde herby-fore
Þat wyse men toke of hem heore lore,
And so a sek mon mihte teche
A good skile perauenture bifore a leche.
Þis Bred mihte neuermore be spende
Til God hym-self on eorþe hit sende,
To saue mon fro pyne of helle,
So þat he kepe hit welle.

Sum tyme such lawe þer was
Þat vche sonday after mas

183

Eueri trewe wyf and Mon
Schulde be hoseled or þei eode þon. . . .
And þat for þis enchesun,
I wol ow telle for what resun:

On was, for þat folk mis-bere
Hem-selue, whon þei hoseled were.

Þe toþer was, for þe grete trauayle
Þat holy churche hedde be þat entayle,
In nome of þat for Godus drede
Me ȝiueþ nou þe holy Brede.

Þerfore þe pope ordeyned, þries in þe ȝere
Vche mon I-hoseled were;
And bote he were ones atte leste,
Þe pope Comaundet be his heste
Þulke bodi þat so ne dede
Schuld neuer be buried in holy stude.
Þerfore beo redi, I ow Rede,
fforte fonge Angeles Brede.
And beo þis Bred I wol ȝou telle
A luytel ensaumple hou hit bi-felle.

De manu sacerdotis per hostiam penetrata.

Be-fel sum tyme In Engelonde,
Þer was a prest, ich vndurstonde,

184

Þat ladde not his lyf, as was tolde,
Also clanliche as he scholde.
God wolde he scholde hym amende,
And he hym a strong vuel gon sende,
So, he wende almost to dye.
And on a day þis siht he seȝe:
A child boþe he seih and herde,
And asked hym hou he ferde;
In his hond bret-ful he beere
Of bernynge Obeleis a paniere.

Þe prest asked: “what is þat,
And þou þat askest of my stat?”
He seide: “Ich am Godes Messagere,
And þeos Obeleis þat ben here,
Þus monye vnworþily þou fong,
Whon þat þou þi Masse song;
And ȝif þat þou nult I-leue me,
Scheuh forþ þyn hond, and þou schalt se.”

Þe prest heold forþ his hond anon,
And þe child tok vp on
Of þe obeleys þat were so rede,
And pult hit in þe prestes hond amidde.
Hit fel þorwh þe prestes hond on,
And þe child a-wey gan gon.

Þe prest let men come hym to
And tolde hem whi he ferde so:

185

“Lo,” quaþ he, “hou I am diht!
Who sauh euere such a siht?”
Þat þorw his hond me mihte se
As brod as was þat obele.
And he not I-maymed nas,
And afturward song mony a Mas,
And an hole þorwh his hond—
Þus þat soþe men hit fond.
After for a þousend pound of golde
Þe prest no more synne wolde,
But serued god wiþ gret drede,
And afturward to heuene ȝede.—

I holde þe Mon more þen mad
Þat takeþ þis bred and nis not drad
Of þe wreche þat mihte bi-falle.
So worþi bred hit is wiþ-alle
Þat for þe miht of þulke word
Þat god seide at his owne bord,
Þe same miht þat word haþ here,
To torne þe bred in oþur manere,

186

And to torne þe wyn in blode,
Þe same þat was sched on Rode.
Þe wordus perauenture I coude telle,
Ac I am not worþi and þerfore I nelle.

Ac oþur makyng of þe Mas
I dar wel telle hou hit was.
Þe Apostles seide no more
But what þei herde of cristes lore—
No more to þe masse nolde þei do,
And þe paternoster to,
vppe þe bred and vppe þe wyn—
And so hem þhouȝt hit good and fyn.
Non oþur vestimens vsud þay
But as þei wereden vche day;

187

And in vessels of treo—
Non oþur chalys hedden heo.
Þenne þe pope vrban,
Þat was a ful holy man,
Ordeynde þat þe Chalys scholde
Ben of seluer or of golde,
Wiþ a patin, to hule ouer al,
Maked of þe same Metal.
Þe pope Celestyne, ordeyned he,
A psalme Men clepeþ Iudica me
Þat vche prest þat is and was
Schulde siggen hit er he eode to Mas.
Þe Nyne kyries þat ben in Boke
Þe pope Siluestre of gru hem toke.
Þer-aftur comeþ Gloria in excelsis:
Þe Angeles of heuene furst song þis;
Of seint hillari þat was
Erche-bisschop of peytas,
He made from laudamus te
Þe remenaunt þen synge we.

188

Þenne þe pope Tollophornus,
And þat oþur pope Cynacus,
Bi-twene hem boþe ordeyned was
To synge þe Gloria to þe Mas . . . .
He hit Confermede, pope Gregori,
And made þerto þe Offertori.
Þenne þe pope Anastasius
Comaundet in lawe riht þus:
Þat no mon schulde sitte, he beede,
Whil þe gospel were to Rede.
Constantinus þe pope made þe crede,
fforte siggen hit he bede.
Pope Steuene and pope Clemens
Ordeyned þe holy vestimens.
Pope Ciluester ordeyned þe Corporas,
In tokne þat godus bodi was
In clene lynnen cloþ I-wounde
Þat tyme þat Iosep hit founde

189

In his owne toumbe of ston
And leyde a-noþur gret vppon.
Þenne þe Pope Leouns
Made alle þe Prefaciuns.
Alisaundre þe Pope ordeynde þis:
To do watur and wyn In þe Chalis,
In tokne þat boþe com watur and blode
Of Godus syde on þe Roode;
Þe blood bi-tokneþ þat he vs bouht,
Þe watur bi-tokneþ vre ffullouht.
Sixtus þe Pope ordeynde vs
Þryȝes to synge Sanctus.
Þe Pope made þe Canoun þer,
And God made þe Pater noster.
[A]nd hou and what-maner bi-felle
Þat God made þe paternoster, I wol telle.
His Apostles seide hym on a day:
“Teche vs, lord, how we schul pray.”
And seint Ion haþ tauht vs þis—
Þat is on of his disciples—

190

Þat Ihesus tauhte hem þis preyer
And bad hem seyen þe Pater noster.
And þus muchel to seyen hit is:
“Vr ffadur þat in heuene is,
Halewed mot þy nome beo.
And to þi kyngdam þat we teo.
Þi wille in heuene and eorþe beo do.
Vre vche-dayes bred send vs to.
And vre dettes for-ȝiue vs,
As we for-ȝiue vre dettours.
And lede vs in no fondynge,
But saue us from vche vuel þinge. Amen.”
Off þe holigost þe seuen ȝiftis
In þe pater noster I-touched is;
Of whuche to God þer touched þre,
And foure in on to þe.
Þis preyere, þeih hit beo schorte,
But hit beo seid wiþ a clene herte,
Hit is a-ȝein þulke man
Þat in his herte wraþþe haþ tan.

191

Þenne þe pope Innocent,
Pax domini he ordeynt,
Þat vche mon schulde cusse oþur
And holden him for suster and broþur;
In tokne þat god made pes wiþ man,
Þerfore þat pes is ȝiuen þan.
Þe laste word of þis heiȝe fest
Is I-seid Ite Missa est,
Þis is to seye “hit is i-sent
To heuene for vs, þis sacrament”;
Bi-fore þe holy Trinite
Þe furste part of þe þre,
Þat oþur for hem þat þoleþ deþ,
Þe þridde for hem þat alyue beþ.—
Hit is riȝt þat furst inempned be
Vr ladi in þe Canone:
ffor God of hire þat flesch toke
Þat neuer cristen mon forsoke;
Þat flesch he haþ take þe to fede,
Þat is i-cleped Aungel Brede.

192

Þe twelue Apostles I-nempned beþ,
ffor heore prechynge þei þolede deþ—
As þing i-sent ben þe Apostles,
And Martires ben þe Apostles witnes;
And alle þe Martires þat weore dede
ffor þei weore witnesse of þis Brede,
Þat God diȝede for loue of vs,
And þei for loue of Ihesus.
Petur and Andrew, Philip, þeos þreo
weore don vppon þe Rode-treo.
Poul, Iames, and Mathew
Were be-heuedet, and Bartholomew
Was huld al naked quike
ffor his witnesse of þis onlike.
And þat oþur Iamus,
Symon, and Taddeus,
Heore senewes for cristen lawe
Out of heore bodi were i-drawe.

193

And seint Ion þe Ewangelist,
Þat was sib to Ihesu crist,
He dronk venym, to make preue
Þat we han of þe rihte be-leeue.

And seint Thomas Didimus,
He was þorwh-stiked Riht þus.

Þer-aftur comeþ þe xij Martiris
Þat in þe Canoun Rikned is;

Of whuche summe Popes were,
Summe Bisschops þat Mitre beere,

Summe Dekenes þat weore half prest,
Summe lewede þat leeuede on crist—
ffor alle Ordres and alle degres
To þis sacrement bereþ witnes.

Leouns, Clemens, and Cletus,
Sixtus, and Cornelius,
Þeose weore Popus, þat þolede deþ
ffor þulke Bred þat we nou seoþ.

Ciprian was Bisschop of Cartiginus.
Stephene, Laurence, Vincent weore Dekenus.

194

Grisogon, Ion and Paulus,
Þei weore in heore lyue knihtus;

Cosma and Damianus,
Þei weore leches, I-writen is þus.

Cecili, and Agnes, and Agace
Diede for þis bred of grace.
Þerfore is riht heore nomes to be
Nempned in þe Canone:
ffor alle þeos diȝede In good entent
ffor to Meyntyme þe sacrament.—

Þe sacrament mot þe soule fede
Þat is i-hote Angeles Brede.
Ȝif þou worþiliche hit fonge,
Hit schal kepe þe þus longe,
ffrom þulke day þat þou ded be
Til þi bodi rise a-ȝe;
And þenne boþe bodi and soule i-fere
Schal wende to þe graunt Mangere
Where neuer-more tit no nede
To non eorþliche Brede,
But þe siht of þe Trinite

195

Schal euermore þi fode be.
Seþþhe we han þe Modur to preye þe sone,
We han þe sone to prey þe ffader,
Þe holygost we han in wone—
Þis enteere we haue to-gader:
What letteþ vs forte wynne
Þe Riche blisse is vs bi-hote,
Bote hit beo vr owne synne?
Þer nis non oþur þyng, I wote.
Of Pardoun I haue no pouste
Non to ȝow forte graunte:
But, ȝif ȝe don now aftur me,
I wol ow telle a quantite,
Hou Muchel pardoun ȝe may habbe
To ȝoure meste nede,
To come to honoure wiþ-oute gabbe
Þis ilke Angeles Brede.
Þulke þoresday þat next is
Aftur þe Trinite,
Þe pope vrban ordeynde þis
Þat hit schulde þenne be.

196

An hundred dayes of forȝiuenes
He graunted alle þay
Þat come to þe Matynes
Of þulke same day;
ffourti dayes for vche a tyde,
An hundred for þe Mas,
An hundred hose to þe Euensong abyde—
He graunteþ hem no las.
And al þat wike vche day
Þis pardoun lasteþ so,
Hose al þe seruyse hauen may;
And ȝit he schal han mo:
ffor vche dayes seruyse
An hundret dayes to bote—
Wel him ouȝte to seyen þise
On hors and eke on foote.
Þe laste pope þat was nou,
Of Ion þat was hiht,
Al þe pardun he graunteþ ow
And doubleþ hit wiþ his miht.
Meilerous, þorwh godes grace

197

Bisschop of leihlinne,
He haþ mendet in þis cas
Þorwh miht þat he ȝaf hymme:
ffourti dayes to pardoun
He haþ ȝiue þerto ȝete
To alle wiþ good deuocioun
Hereþ hit or hit rede.
So hit a-mounteþ holliche
On and ffourti ȝere
And sixcore dayes, treweliche,
Whose hereþ his seruyse here.
Ihesu graunte ow alle and some
On eorþe so forte spede
Þat þis pardoun ow make come
To þis Angeles Brede.
Þat Mon eete Angel Brede,
Þus furst we be-gon;
To heuene [hit] mot ow alle lede
Boþe Wyf and Mon,
In nomine patris wiþ ou go,
Et spiritus sancti do also.

Amen.

University of Virginia Library

XXX. De festo corporis cristi.

Uidemus in altari formam panis, non carnis, & quare.

De manu sacerdotis per hostiam penetrata.