[Poems from the Vernon MS]

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!

University of Virginia Library