[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.

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