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

Affter þe stormy tyme cesing þe rayn,
Whane for þabsence of colde þeorþe is fayn,
And þe qwyck thinges resceyue þeire vygour,
And trees bringen foorþe leeff and flour,
And by þe glad lusty sesoun of veer
Alle þe thinges, which þat wintour eyr
Consumed had by his coldes gret,
Releeued weren by þe sonnes heet,
And swoote gan to smellen euery mede,
Þe briddes eeke, warisshed of hir drede,
With lusty herte singing in þeyre greves,
Desporting hem amonge þe greene leves,
And þat þe dayes gonnen for to lenkeþe
And þe cleer wedir, by þe sonnes strenkeþe,
Echaced had awey wyntours derknesse
By þe beemys of his shyning cleernesse,

Þe which sesoun caused men for to be
Qwyckest in witt of any tyme, parde,
At whiche tyme nuwe mutacyoun
To alle grene thinges doþe consolacyoun,
And mennes thoughtes dulle in ydelnesse,
Ocupieþe and clensiþe by swettnesse,—
Of studying, loo, þus hit happend me,
Amiddes þis sesoun, lusty for to see,
With greuous study annoyed was myn hert,
Oute of þe which ne wist I howe tastert,
But to þe grenes fast I can me hye,
Wening þer to fynde remedye,
But al for nought certain it wolde not be;
For whane I hade sette me vnder a tree,
What for þe floures and þe herbes greene,
And noyse of briddes singing ay bytweene
In hir wyse me thought crafftely,
Þat suche a mirthe neuer noon herde I.
Hir song made so myn herte for to accende
Þat vnto studye holly I gan attende;
And studying enforced I my thought
To spirituel thing, and to noon oþer nought:
But flesshly lust crepte in myn hert anoon
So slelely, þat neghe past was and goon
Al my spirituel affeccion,
Til oure lord god for my correccion
Of his gret might putte þane into my mynde
Repreving my flesshe in þis kynde,
My soule, I seye, spake þus my flesshe vn-to,
If yee wol here, þus he sayde, loo,—
“O filthy flesshe þou suget vnto synne
Whome foule afeccion haþe his herbarowe Inne,
Þy foule delyte and þyne Iniquytee
Of vertuous study offten destourbeþe me,

Consider of what mater þou art ewrought,
And howe þou art into þis worlde ebrought.
Of þi conceyving ne wol I not devyse,
Ne howe þou art efedde, ne in what wyse.
I wol eschuwe it for þyne honeste,
Wherfore of þat þou getest nomore of me,
But þis I knowe and seye þat at þy birthe
Þer nys desport, Ioye, ne no mirthe.
Whane þou art borne, anoon þou gynnest wayle,
For þou þe way entrest, with-outen fayle,
Of wrecched deeth, and whyle þee lasteþe lyf
Encreesest ay of woo, annoye, and stryff.
And whan þat deeþe whome þou ne mayst astert
Þee crepiþe in and takeþe þee by þe hert
So greuously, and streyneþ þee so sore,
Þat in þis worlde þou lyve mayst no more,
Þane forþe-with al þou wexest wormes mete
Wheche shoul þy flesshe vn-to þy boones frete.
Þane affter þat lord God, Iuge of vs alle,
Schal þee and euery wight before him calle
At þe day of his steorne Iugement,
And deeme þee to ioye or to torment;
Weel if þou hast doone, to Ioye eendelesse
Of heven, wher is mirthe, rest, and pees,
Dwelling with God and with his moder deer,
And with his seyntes shyning ful cleer,
And also with þe hooly companye,
Of þaungelles, wheeche þat maken melodye
So delytable and in so goodely wyse
Þat þer nys mannes tonge to souffyse,
Þoughe þey alle were sette and put in oon
And hadde þe konnynges of þe, Omer, echoon,
To telle þe mirthe and Ioye is in þat place,—
And passing al, þe sight of Crystes face,

For it surmounteþe thorughe his dignytee,
Al Ioye and mirthe þat may erekened bee.

Also bewar nowe on þat oþer syde,
Þat if it vnto þy soule so betyde
Þat þy desertes deeme it vn-to helle,
Þer is such torment shortly for to telle
And suche noyse, and showting of feondes blaake,
So besying hem ay fyres for to make,
Þat alle men whiche haue beon or þis
Or yit beon might not þe peyne þer is
Descryven of þexcessyf tourmentrye,
Ne neuer more shoule þey þer dye,
But in þe fuyre brennyng with-owten ende.
Beware of þis or þat þou hennes weende,
O man! with-stonde þy flesshly freeltee,
Lest þat þy soule be lust ymaysterd be;
For thing þat to þy flesshe semeþe ful sweete
Is bitter to þy soule, I þee byheete.
Sith God of his bennigne courtesye
Haþe sent þe witt and reson þee to guye,
Let not þy flesshly lustes beestyal
Vnto þe feonde do make þy soule thral,
If þou canst see þyn owen wrecchednesse,
Þou hast no mater but of hevynesse,
Whyle þou art in þe mutabilitee
Of þis wreeched worldes vanytee,
Wherfore take heede and pryde þee not, I prey,
In flesshly luste, but herken what I sey,
Trees bring foorþe, þou wost weel, as I gesse,
Branch, leef, and floure, wyn oyle, and suche swettnesse,
For þy behooue by Goddes ordeynaunce,
For þou him shuldest serve to plesaunce.
Shewe foorþe þe fruyt, nowe, man þat comeþe of þee,
Howe proufitable and fayre is it? let see:

Of þee kemeþe dung, vryne, vomyt and spitting,
Lysse, nyttes, flees, and suche filthy thing.
If þat þy filthes I reherce shal,
Men shal well wit þou art nought worth at al.
O filthy man! contrarye of al clennesse,
Vessel of dung, heep of rotunnesse,
Vessel in whoome þe heete of leecherye
Lurkiþe and abydeþe þer til þat þou dye!
O wreeched man! ful varyant and vnstable
Is þy condicyoun, and right deceyvable,
Right nowe þou art, nowe stintest þou to be,
Wheþer euer þou fleest deeþe ay wol suwe þee.
His cruweltee ne wol no wight spare,
For euery man he kaccheþe in his snare.
Correcte þee, whyles þou hast tyme and space,
And preye to God oure lord, þat of his grace
He wol forgyve þee al þy wickednesse,
And sende þee might to lyven in clennesse;
And þou shalt fynden him so mercyable,
Þat þaughe þy gilt be neuer so abhomynable,
He of þe digne and worþy excellence
Of his mercy wol gif þee indulgence
Of alle þy giltes, wher-of I þee rede
Þat suche a lorde þou serve and loue and drede.
Lat not þy flesshly foule affeccyoun
Þy soule putte from his dyleccyoun,
Looke þat by raysoun þou so brydelde bee
Þat oure lord God ne bee not wroth with þee.
Sith God haþe made þee vn-to þe liknesse
Of him-self by infynyte goodnesse,
And made þee moost worþy creature

Þat in þis worlde is while þat it shal dure,
And haþ þee gyven gret posessyoun
And every thing, heer in þis eorþe adowne,
Ordeyneþe oonly for to serven þee,
And for noon oþer cause, trust þou me
Þane thenke on þis, and be þou not vnkynde
To God, which haþe þee þus preferred in kynde.
Eschuwe þou þerfore him to displeese
For dreed of him, and for þy soules eese.
Considre eeke þis, and haue it in memorye,
Þat al þis wrecched worldes Ioye and glorye,
And mighte of kynges, and hir dignytee,
And ooþer lordes mightes, what soo þey bee,
For alle hir castelles and hir toures hye
And hir possessyouns, yit shal þey dye.
Hir goode ne catel ne may hem not avaylle;
Cruwel deeþe of his pray wol not faylle.
Lifft vp þyn hert vn-to þy God abouve,
And think howe þat he dyed for þy love.
Howe might he shewe gretter kyndenesse
Þane dyen for þy synful wrecchednesse?
Looke in þyn hert þer beo contrycon,
And by thy mouþ þou make confessyon
Of þy trespas, man, whyles þou art here,
And satisfaccion þou doo eeke in feere.
Þeos three thinges shul beo þy defence,
And strenkeþe þee weel to make resistence
Ageyns þe feonde, þat wayteþe night and day
Þy soule to ouercome, if þat he may.
If þou do þus þane shal þy soule weende
To hevens blisse which þat haþe noon eende.

Amen.