The Minor Poems of John Lydgate :: :: University of Virginia Library

Who shal yeve vn-to myn hed a welle
Of bitter terys my sorwys to compleyne,
Or a gret condewit of troubly watrys ffelle
Down to dystylle fro myn Eyen tweyne,
To shewe the constreynt of my dedly peyne
Whan I, allas! be-holde and dyd see
My dere sone bleede in euery veyne,
Atwix two thevys nayllyd to a tre?

2

Who shal of wepyng geve me suffysaunce,
Or to my sobbyng who shal me terys ffynde,
To se my Ioie myn hertis hih plesaunce
My soote sone, that was to me so kynde,
Railled with red blood as sap doth thoruh the rynde,
Thorugh his enmyes vengable Cruelte;
Dirkened with deth his eien now maad blynde,
Atwix two thevys naylled to a tre.

3

My Ioie, my lyght, my lanterne moost Entyeer,
This hevenly Phebus is clypsed of his lyght,
This Esperus hath hyd hys bemys Cleer
And is of newe corteyned ffro my sight.

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Whan shal this day-sterre shewe me his bemys briht,
To clere the trouble of myn adversyte?
Parde, the Iewys do me to gret vnright
To naylle my sone allas on to a tre.

4

O alle ye douhtren of Ierusaleem,
Haue som compassioun of my sihes deepe,
Nat lyk the gladnesse wich I hadde in Bedleem,
Kom neer of routhe and helpe me for to wepe,
A swerd of deth doth thoruh myn herte crepe,
I ffele it ffull weell of modyrly pyte.
Craunpisshed with deth swownyng I do slepe,
To se my sone thus naylled to a tre.

5

O gentyl pryncessis and ladyes of Estaat,
And ye virgynes, in your entent most clene,
To yeve me comfort that stonde al desolaat
Renneth a pas to se the woundys grene
Of your trewe spouce, of bledyng pale & lene;
And aduertyseth and hath now rowthe on me,
Feynt for to stonde, for how sholde I sustene
To se my sone thus naylled to a tre?

6

And alle ye women, tappese myn hewynesse,
Remembreth the processe of his dredful victorie;
Se, to-for Pilat, by many fals wytnesse
How he was dampned in the Concystorye.
Radde ye euere Or sauh in his storye
Of any sorwes that may compared be
On to the sorwys grave in my memorye
To se my sone thus naylled to a tre?

7

And yif ye lyke of routhe for to leere,
And at my terys yeve ye nat dysdeyne,

326

But of compassioun meekly lyst to heere,
How a sharp swerd myn hert hath corve on tweyne,
A swerd of sorwe thoruh perced euery veyne,
Now deth hath slayn my sone, and spareth me,
Allas! fro wepyng how sholde I me restreyne
To se my sone thus naylled to a tre?

8

O peple onkynde! why wil ye noon heed take
To se the lord of helle, erthe, and hevene,
Meek as a lamb, thus offred for your sake,
To sle the dragoun with his hedys sevene,
Dauntyng the power of his Infernal levene,
Out of his thraldam to make yow go ffre,
With many mo wowndys than any man can nevene
Whan he at Calvary was naylled to a tre?

9

Is it a mervayll or any maner wonder
Though I ful offte swowne for grevaunce?
Was euere moder outher here or yonder,
That for hyr Chyld ffelte more penaunce?
Myn Inward sorwys can ffynde noon allegaunce,
Ech hour renewyng, it wyl noon other be,
Whan-euere it cometh to my remembraunce
How that my sone was naylled to a tre.

10

The lemys ffeble vp-on my feet to stonde,
Whanne I, allas, consydre and do be-holde
This pitous mateer, that we han on honde,
Ful lytell mervayll thouh myn herte colde,
Myn handys craunpisshed, I may them nat vnfolde,
To goon vpright I haue no ffoot nor kne,
My peynes passe alle tormentys newe and olde
To se my sone thus naylled to a tre.

11

Geyn the guyse of kynges riche crownes,
My dere sone weryd a Crowne of thorn,

327

Of gold and perle, ageyn ther stately gownes,
Ageyn ther ridyng gret meyne them be-forn,
My sone on ffoote hath his cros I-born;
Ageyn ther setys of stones and perre,
And for mankynde that was thoruh synne lorn,
He, pore and naked, was naylled to a tre.

12

Ageyn the beddys, stately, hih, and soffte,
Of worldly pryncys with pelwys for their hed,
Vp-on the roode my sone was lyfft a-loffte,
With bloody purpil hys mantel maad al reed,
Marked with a spere and for mankynde ded,
And grucched nothyng thoruh his humylyte,
To me noon ese, whanne that I took heed,
And sauh my sone thus naylled to a tre.

13

For Adamhis synne thus was my sone slayn,
Thoruh the olde serpent by thassent of Eve,
When thoruh my meknesse mankynde was maad ffayn,
Hir name turned ther thraldam to Releve,
And Gabryell kam, my meeknesse ffor to preve,
Sent by on accord of al the Trynyte,
But ful sore affter it dyd myn herte greve,
Whanne I my sone sauh naylled to a tre.

14

For manhis love he faught a gret batayll,
With his sevene hedys he outrayed the dragoun,
Lyk myhty Sampson with-oute plate or mayll,
In his strong ffyght he strangeled the lyoun,
Thus was my sone mankyndys Champyoun,
Thorugh his most myghty magnanymyte,
As kyng and bysshop made his oblacyoun
Vpon the hih auhter of the Roode tre,

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15

My sonys suffraunce to Sathan was gret wrak,
Whos gret meknesse dyd I nouh suffyse,
Cleerly ffygured whanne that Ysaak
Was by his ffader offred in sacryfyse,
Nat dysobeying in no maner wyse,
But lyk a lamb of lownesse lyst nat ffle,
But most myn herte that tyme did agryse
Whan I first sauh hym naylled to a tre.

16

He myhte be callid Eleasar the secounde,
The champioun, moost myghty and notable,
That gaf tholyfaunt his laste mortal wounde,
(Machabeorum this story ys no ffable),
And as Hercules, in his conquestis stable,
Bar up the hevenys in his humanyte,
For whom my sorwis wer maad most lamentable
Whan I be-held hym thus naylled to a tre,

17

Thus deth with deth was outraied and brouht lowe,
Mankyndys quarel maad vyctoryous,
For thanne leviathan was bounde and over-throwe,
Whan with his tryvmphes most synguler glorious,
My sone had faught with his blood precyous,
Conqueryd the dragoun for al his ffel pouste,
And dryue hym hom to his Infernall hous,
Whan first my sone was naylled to a tre.

18

Lat euery man in this mater take heede,
And euery woman in this world a-lyve
Come ner to me to seen his woundys bleede,
His love, his deth, his kyndenesse to descryve,
To se the mysteryes of his woundys ffyve,
As bawme and tryacle of most souereynte
Cleerly dystyllyng to fynde socour blyve,
Down fro my sone [I]nayllyd to a tre.

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19

Trust in his mercy and I wyl go be tween,
And humbly knele be forn hys fface,
For almankynde be medyatrix and mene,
Of synful folk to releve the trespace,
That he with vengaunce shal them nat manace,
Lyk ther dysmeritees to shewe his cruelte,
But shewe to them his mercy and his grace,
That for ther love was naylled to a tre.

Explicit.