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

God is myn helpere and ay shal be,
My cheef protectour and diffence
Ageyn all maner of aduersite,
And ageyn al sturdy violence,
And of his mighty excellence.
He me supportith in al my nede
And to bern vp myn Impotence
God is myn helpere, no man I drede.

2

My souereyn trust at hym began,
Chees hym to be my cheef socour;
In this wourld here I drede no man,
Prynce, Kyng, Duke, nor Emperour.
For he is the ffyn of my labour,
Guerdoun of all myn eternal neede,
And fro deeth he was my redemptour,
Whyl God lyst helpe no man I dreede.

3

He hath me holpe in many a wyse,
And preservyd fro many greet grevaunce,
Bet than my-self cowde devyse,
Myn hope, myn helpe, my suffisaunce,
My soule in virtu for to avaunce.
That lord my brydel best may lede,
Seying thus withoute varyaunce
Whyl God lyst helpe no man I drede.

4

And yif the trouthe be weel conceyved
I dar weel seyn, whoo so lyst adverte,
Nevir man yit that was disceyved
That trustith on hym with al his herte.
For which it shall me nevir asterte
What wrong that any wyght me bede,
For to seyn in al my bittyr smerte,
Whyl God lyst helpe no man I drede.

5

I haue been offte in dyvers londys
And in many dyvers regiouns,
Haue escapyd fro my foois hondys
In Citees, Castellys and in touns,
Among folk of sundry naciouns
Wente ay forth, and took noon hede,
I askyd no manere of protecciouns,
God was myn helpe agayn al drede.

6

Fals fortune in this wourld here,
Whan she semyth moost agreable,
Moost blaundysshyng of face and chere,
Suych tyme she is moost disceyvable.
Hire wheel ay ffekyl and vnstable,
Hire sylf Clad in a double weede,
And for she is to varyable,
Whyl God lyst helpe I haue no drede.

7

And in al wourldly greet prosperite
Men fynde nevir but litel sekirnesse,
But chaunge and moche mutabilyte,
Now poverte and now greet rychesse,
Now tresour and now in greet distresse,
Now strong, now myghty, now bedreede,
For which in helthe and in seknesse
Whyl God lyst helpe, no man I drede.

8

Now in gladnesse, and now in sorwe,
Now in Ioye and now in greet aduersite,
To-day good freend, my foe to-morwe,
Now flouryng in greet felicite.
Now lowe cast doun from hih degre,
As fortune lyst hire stoormys shede.
Do what she lyst, I sey for me
Whil God lyst helpe no man I drede.

9

In ellementys is offte greet trouble,
Now brightnesse, now a clowdy skye,
Chaunge of weedir, the wourld is double,
Now helthe, now sodeyn maladye,
Vpryght to-day, to-morwe dye,
It is smal frenshippe at suych a nede,
Thus al thyng stant in Iupartye,
Wher God lyst helpe ther is no drede.

10

Ful offte the somyr shene sonne
In the Oryent rysith cleer and bryght,
Yit longe or Eve the Clowdys donne
Difface the fresshnesse of hir lyght;
When day is passyd, the dirke nyght
Closith al the wourld with his blak weede;
Above al thyng is Goddys moche myght,
Wheer he lyst helpe ther is no drede.

11

Yif men leve in greet parfightnesse,
Folk calle hym thanne an Ipocryte;
Yif he hym drawe to gladnesse,
Of ffooly men wyl hym attwyte.
Lawhe beforn, and bakward byte,
And mysdeme ech mannys dede,
Wherfore ther malyce best taquyte,
Whan God lyst helpe ther is no drede.

12

Who seith the best he shal not repente,
Wheer he be yonge or Olde of age,
He that demyth weel in his entent
Shal fynde therin greet avauntage;
And Catoun wrytt in pleyn language
The first vertu whoo so lyst it rede,
Keep your tonge froom al Outrage,
And God shal helpe, it is no drede.

13

Whoo lyst to hym for helpe calle,
Of helpe at nede he may nat faylle,
His helpe nevir doth appalle,
Nowther in pees, nor in bataylle,
What Enemy euir doth hym assaylle,
On lond or see whoo lyst weel spede,
Let hym avoyde plate and maylle,
Wheer God lyst helpe, ther is no drede.

Explicet quod Lydgate.