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 | The Wheatley Manuscript |  |
2
Domine, ne in furore tuo arguas me, neque in ira tua corripias me.
In thy wreth blame þow not me;
For, if my soule be throgh soght,
In many a synne my-self I see;
And drede rennith in my thoght
Þat thow wil a-wreked be;
But, Lorde, [thow] haast me dere boght,
Spare a while til I be fre.
3
Miserere mei, Domine, quoniam infirmus sum; sana me, Domine, quoniam conturbata sunt omnia ossa mea.
Heele me, for bresid be my bones;
My fleesch is freel, my soule [hath] eke
Ful grete mister to make mones.
But, when my cors is cast in creke
And depe doluen vndir stones,
Ihesu mercyable and meke,
Lese noght þat thow boghtist ones.
4
Et anima mea turbata est ualde; set tu, Domine, usquequo?
But, Lord, how longe schal it be so?
If I do synnes more and more,
Thanne me must suffir peynes moo.
[I] lede a lyfe agayn thy lore
So wrecchidly þat me is woo;
But thy mercy may me restore,
Ther is no help whanne it is goo.
5
Conuertere, Domine, et eripe animam meam; saluum me fac propter misericordiam [tu]am.
Make me saffe for thy mercy;
For fowle with fethir ne fysch with fynne
Is noon vnstedfaster þanne I.
Whan I thenk what is me with-inne,
My consciens maketh a careful cry;
Therfore thy pytee, Lord, vnpynne,
That I may mende me ther-by.
6
Quoniam non est in morte qui memor sit tui. In inferno autem quis confitebitur tibi?
Who schal knowlech to the in helle?
Whan bodyes stynke[n] vnder stone,
Where soules been no man can telle;
Therfore, Ihesu, thow felle oure foon,
That al day on vs [y]elpe and [y]helle,
And graunt vs, or we hennes goon,
Þat we be waschen in mercy welle.
7
Laboraui in gemitu meo; lauabo per singulas noctes lectum meum; lacrimis meis stratum meum rigabo.
My bedde schal I wasch euery nyght,
And with þe terys of my wepyng
My bedde-straw water, as it is right.
Synne is cause of my mornyng,
I fele me feynt in goostly [f]ight;
Therfore I wepe and water wryngge,
As I wele owe and euery wight.
8
Turbatus est a furore oculus meus; inueteraui inter omnes inimicos meos.
I eeldid myne enemys amonge;
Wele I wote I haue doo mys
And greuyd God with werkes wrong;
And euer when I thenk on this
I crye on Criste with steuen strong,
And say, “[Lord Ihesu], kyng of blys,
To thy mercy me vndirfonge!”
9
Discedite a me omnes qui operamini iniquitatem, quoniam exaudiuit Dominus uocem fletus mei.
For God my wepyng voys hath herde.
To his fote fayn wil I falle,
And be chastied with his ȝerde.
Now, curteys Kyng, to the I calle,
Be noght vengeable, put vp thy swerde!
In heuen when thow holdist halle,
Lat me noght be ther-oute sperde!
10
Exaudiuit Dominus deprecacionem meam; Dominus oracionem meam suscepit.
And receyuid my oryson;
Therfore I hope to haue here
Some p[rofi]t of his passion.
He sweet[te] blood and water clere,
For betyng was his body broune;
Thow that boghtist man soo dere,
Lat neuer feend drawe vs [a]doun!
11
Erubescant, & conturbentur [vehementer] omnes inimici mei; conuertantur, & erubescant ualde uelociter.
Worth alle they þat myn enemys be!
Turnyd and with schame a-tamyd
Right sone be they, þat I may see!
The world, the feend, the flesch [be] namyd
Ayens man-kynde enemys three;
That I be noght thorgh hem defamyd,
Derworth Lord, I pray to the.
| The Wheatley Manuscript | |