The Lay Folks Mass Book or The Manner of Hearing Mass with Rubrics and Devotions for the People: In four texts: And Offices in English according to the Use of York: From manuscripts of the Xth to the XVth century: With appendix, notes, and glossary by Thomas Frederick Simmons |
 | V. | APPENDIX V. |
 | The Lay Folks Mass Book |  |
148
APPENDIX V.
MERITA MISSÆ,
BY LYDGATE.
God of hewine, that shoope Erthe And helle,
Ȝyf me grace svme word to telle
To the lewde that can not rede,
But the pater noster and the Crede;
That I may telle youe, or than I fare,
Houe ye shall praye, whan and whare,
And thowgh ye can, as welle as I,
To here my witte, hit is no follye,
For sumtym is A folle as good to here
As the word of A freer.
And there-fore, and it be youre wylle,
Whan I speke, hould youe styll.
At ewyn whane thoue to bedde shall gone,
To god thi fadir thou make thy mone,
And loke thow sese in-to thi honde
Lyf, sowlle, hows, and londe;
And say thi pater noste[r] stille,
And after thinke no man non ille.
At mid nyght, ȝif that thou maye,
Ris and to thi lord thow praye
In worshippe of his passions alle,
He had be nyght in cayface halle.
[OMITTED]
What thou hast saide that orysone.
And at morowe whan thou dost wake,
Nowe is seson with the Cred thoue take.
The nexte word after that thoue shalte nemen,
Aske thou the kyngdume of heuyne,
And for thy sowlle the sam bone,
That hit be sawyd at the daye of dome.
And thowg thy body be of claye,
Set thow most ther-for and pray,
That where in londe hit comyt or goo,
That hit be sawid fro sham or woo.
Bles the thanne, ȝif that thou maye,
And to the chyrche take the waye.
Whan thou comste to the holy place,
Caste holy water in thi face,
And pray to god that made vs alle,
Thi wenyalle sennys mot fro the ffall.
Than loke to the hy autere,
And pray to hym that hangythe there,
Where in londe that thoue wende,
That he be at thi laste Ende.
Whan thoue haste asked that longithe to þe,
Wershipe Ewyr the Ternyte.
And whan the preste rynget the belle,
Loke thou hold thy tong stylle.
His wordis are of Swyche degre,
There fallythe no man to speke but he;
And whan thou seyste the preste stylle,
Pray thou than with good wille,
Thou for hym, and he for the,
And that is a dede of charyte.
And whan the gospille shalle be rede,
Lestene as thoue were adred,
For Eury talle of a kyng
Wold haue dredfulle lestnyng;
And what man saye it is not soo,
Be redy to fyght or thou goo.
Than dare I say thou arte a knyghte,
That dare fyght in thi lordis right.
And he beddythe yove forto praye,
Loke that ye saye not naye,
But praye faste a-movng youe alle,
That no temptacion on hym falle;
For he schalle pray for youe stylle,
Hewyn blysse he bryng youe tylle.
And whan he ryngythe the cros-belle,
Pray than for a nothyr skylle,
That thow be wordy to see that syght,
That schalle be in hys handis lyght.
And whan he restit hym vp on hyght,
Knele A-downe with alle thy myght,
And ȝyf thoue aske any thyng,
Speke dredfully as to A kyng.
And loke thoue aske no thyng of ryght,
But of his grace and of hys myght.
And ye wylle a whylle duelle,
A good ensampill I will youe telle:
Ȝyf thoue forfite hous and londe,
Hit fallythe into the kyngis honde.
That fallythe thoue in that Caas,
To put it into the kyngis grace.
And ȝif thoue make a sewte of ryght
Thoue getist it newer of grace nor gysthe.
Than rede I the, nowght thou sewe of ryght,
But of hys gras and of hys myght.
And namly the ȝifte of swyche A kyng,
That may so frely ȝif alle thyng—
A kyng that mad bothe swne and mone,
Hit coste hym litill to grant a bone.
Lat thyn hart her-on dwelle,
Thare whylis I of the cecunde telle.
Ȝyf me grace svme word to telle
To the lewde that can not rede,
But the pater noster and the Crede;
That I may telle youe, or than I fare,
Houe ye shall praye, whan and whare,
And thowgh ye can, as welle as I,
To here my witte, hit is no follye,
For sumtym is A folle as good to here
As the word of A freer.
And there-fore, and it be youre wylle,
Whan I speke, hould youe styll.
At ewyn whane thoue to bedde shall gone,
To god thi fadir thou make thy mone,
And loke thow sese in-to thi honde
Lyf, sowlle, hows, and londe;
And say thi pater noste[r] stille,
And after thinke no man non ille.
At mid nyght, ȝif that thou maye,
Ris and to thi lord thow praye
In worshippe of his passions alle,
He had be nyght in cayface halle.
[OMITTED]
What thou hast saide that orysone.
149
Nowe is seson with the Cred thoue take.
The nexte word after that thoue shalte nemen,
Aske thou the kyngdume of heuyne,
And for thy sowlle the sam bone,
That hit be sawyd at the daye of dome.
And thowg thy body be of claye,
Set thow most ther-for and pray,
That where in londe hit comyt or goo,
That hit be sawid fro sham or woo.
Bles the thanne, ȝif that thou maye,
And to the chyrche take the waye.
Whan thou comste to the holy place,
Caste holy water in thi face,
And pray to god that made vs alle,
Thi wenyalle sennys mot fro the ffall.
Than loke to the hy autere,
And pray to hym that hangythe there,
Where in londe that thoue wende,
That he be at thi laste Ende.
Whan thoue haste asked that longithe to þe,
Wershipe Ewyr the Ternyte.
And whan the preste rynget the belle,
Loke thou hold thy tong stylle.
His wordis are of Swyche degre,
There fallythe no man to speke but he;
And whan thou seyste the preste stylle,
Pray thou than with good wille,
Thou for hym, and he for the,
And that is a dede of charyte.
And whan the gospille shalle be rede,
Lestene as thoue were adred,
For Eury talle of a kyng
Wold haue dredfulle lestnyng;
150
Be redy to fyght or thou goo.
Than dare I say thou arte a knyghte,
That dare fyght in thi lordis right.
And he beddythe yove forto praye,
Loke that ye saye not naye,
But praye faste a-movng youe alle,
That no temptacion on hym falle;
For he schalle pray for youe stylle,
Hewyn blysse he bryng youe tylle.
And whan he ryngythe the cros-belle,
Pray than for a nothyr skylle,
That thow be wordy to see that syght,
That schalle be in hys handis lyght.
And whan he restit hym vp on hyght,
Knele A-downe with alle thy myght,
And ȝyf thoue aske any thyng,
Speke dredfully as to A kyng.
And loke thoue aske no thyng of ryght,
But of his grace and of hys myght.
And ye wylle a whylle duelle,
A good ensampill I will youe telle:
Ȝyf thoue forfite hous and londe,
Hit fallythe into the kyngis honde.
That fallythe thoue in that Caas,
To put it into the kyngis grace.
And ȝif thoue make a sewte of ryght
Thoue getist it newer of grace nor gysthe.
Than rede I the, nowght thou sewe of ryght,
But of hys gras and of hys myght.
And namly the ȝifte of swyche A kyng,
That may so frely ȝif alle thyng—
A kyng that mad bothe swne and mone,
Hit coste hym litill to grant a bone.
151
Thare whylis I of the cecunde telle.
Whan he hathe that oste in honde,
Loke thoue neythyr sette ne stonde,
But doo the reuernce that thou can,
In tokynyng that he is bothe god and man.
There is no twnge that can telle,
The rewerence that to hym selle.
And whan he partythe the oste on twoo,
Thynke on the sorow and on the woo,
That he suferde for thy sake,
Whan the Iewyse his vaynis brake;
And how he dide for the weop
To his fader on olywete.
And ȝif thyne hert be good & kynde,
This loue thoue haue alle-waye in mynde.
And ȝif men the ypocryte calle,
Lat watyr owt of thyn eyine falle;
For lasser loue schall none bee,
Thoue wepe for hym that wepte for the.
Of more loue maye no man telle,
Than deid for loue, and goon to helle,
Bynd thyn enmye, and bete hym downe,
And on thyn hed sete a crow[n]e.
His Erytage is so fre,
In thy myschefe shall ȝyef hit the.
His aungell, at his comandemente,
Thyne enmyece slayne and all to-rente
Lat nowe no worlly thynge
This loue owt of thyne harte bryng.
And whan he is houȝelyed with that oste,
Pray than to the holy goste,
What sothen a wenture the be-falle,
Ȝef that it be yower howȝell alle,
And ȝef ye be in cheryte,
Ȝe be hoslyd as welle as he:
His loue and hys moche myght
Ȝevythe youe houȝyll in that syght.
And allso ȝe, that see him nought,
Ȝyf ye loue hym in all youre thowght,
Whedyr ye Ryden or ye goone,
Lat youre loue on hym be oone.
And whan the preste gothe to the lauatori,
Takeythe it in no veyn glorye;
But thanke god with all thy myght,
He ȝewythe the grace to se that syght.
For thow were wont whan thou ver yong,
Coweyte faste to see a kyng;
Than haste thoue sene that coste the noȝt,
The kyng that all thys world hathe wroȝt,
The kyng that mad bothe day and nyght, [OMITTED]
Ther may none Erthyly tovng tell,
The victory that to hym ffelle,
Godfray whane Ieruȝalem
And myche of hethenesse whythem.
He was the beste crystyn knyght,
That Ewyr fawght in goddys Ryght.
Charlys wane All frawnce,
And cristende spayne with-owtyn stawnce.
Kyng he was and Emperouur,
Of all cristyndome he bare the fflouur,
And Euyr-more he had in mynde
God that mad all man-kynde.
Artour com aftyr full sonne,
And conqueryde into grette Rome.
He was the beste, I ondyr-stonde,
That Euyr was kyng in Inglonde.
He bare portred far and nere
Owyr lady and her sonne dere,
And whan he was in any care,
He prayd to the Image euyr mare;
And as fayne he wolde hys mas here,
As any preste or any freer.
Take ensampyll of swyche blode,
And not of folys that can no goode,
That wylle not to the sacrament,
Doo Rewerence with good Entent.
I dar well say that pryd gothe beforen,
And schame comythe aftyr, and blawythe horne.
Whan they wollde worshype wyne,
They ar schamyd, and all here kynne.
They fare in chyrche as a lyone strong,
And meke in feld as any lomb.
Ȝif Enemys com to any coste,
There wold I se hem blow her boste,
And in her othyr beste araye,
Here long suerde and here lavncegaye.
And ȝif ye will wyn the flouur,
Clothe hym in hys cotte armowyre,
And so thoue may wyrchyp wyne,
& chewe pryd withoutyn syne.
In Envye they may be allsoo,
That no man schould be-for hem goo.
Be svyche men, I ondyr-stonde,
May be the sawacyon of all a londe!
Schameles and brethelis—(that nowt thee
May do) all a contre fle.
And, thou I klype the, prowde knapys,
That make in holy chyrche Iapis,
For he that wyll with Enymyes Fyght,
Wyll worshyp god with all hys myght.
Ther a man maye en-sampyll see,
Who wyll fyght and who wyll fle.
Tho newyr Enemys com newyr in llonde,
Thow ned the to fyght, I vndeyrstonde,
With youre flesche, and with the fende,
That Eueryday hyt wyll ȝow schende.
God that mad more and lasse,
Ȝif vs grace to here masse,
And so to Fyght, and to praye,
That we be sawyd at domys daye.
Loke thoue neythyr sette ne stonde,
But doo the reuernce that thou can,
In tokynyng that he is bothe god and man.
There is no twnge that can telle,
The rewerence that to hym selle.
And whan he partythe the oste on twoo,
Thynke on the sorow and on the woo,
That he suferde for thy sake,
Whan the Iewyse his vaynis brake;
And how he dide for the weop
To his fader on olywete.
And ȝif thyne hert be good & kynde,
This loue thoue haue alle-waye in mynde.
And ȝif men the ypocryte calle,
Lat watyr owt of thyn eyine falle;
For lasser loue schall none bee,
Thoue wepe for hym that wepte for the.
Of more loue maye no man telle,
Than deid for loue, and goon to helle,
Bynd thyn enmye, and bete hym downe,
And on thyn hed sete a crow[n]e.
His Erytage is so fre,
In thy myschefe shall ȝyef hit the.
His aungell, at his comandemente,
Thyne enmyece slayne and all to-rente
Lat nowe no worlly thynge
This loue owt of thyne harte bryng.
And whan he is houȝelyed with that oste,
Pray than to the holy goste,
What sothen a wenture the be-falle,
Ȝef that it be yower howȝell alle,
And ȝef ye be in cheryte,
Ȝe be hoslyd as welle as he:
152
Ȝevythe youe houȝyll in that syght.
And allso ȝe, that see him nought,
Ȝyf ye loue hym in all youre thowght,
Whedyr ye Ryden or ye goone,
Lat youre loue on hym be oone.
And whan the preste gothe to the lauatori,
Takeythe it in no veyn glorye;
But thanke god with all thy myght,
He ȝewythe the grace to se that syght.
For thow were wont whan thou ver yong,
Coweyte faste to see a kyng;
Than haste thoue sene that coste the noȝt,
The kyng that all thys world hathe wroȝt,
The kyng that mad bothe day and nyght, [OMITTED]
Ther may none Erthyly tovng tell,
The victory that to hym ffelle,
Godfray whane Ieruȝalem
And myche of hethenesse whythem.
He was the beste crystyn knyght,
That Ewyr fawght in goddys Ryght.
Charlys wane All frawnce,
And cristende spayne with-owtyn stawnce.
Kyng he was and Emperouur,
Of all cristyndome he bare the fflouur,
And Euyr-more he had in mynde
God that mad all man-kynde.
Artour com aftyr full sonne,
And conqueryde into grette Rome.
He was the beste, I ondyr-stonde,
That Euyr was kyng in Inglonde.
He bare portred far and nere
Owyr lady and her sonne dere,
153
He prayd to the Image euyr mare;
And as fayne he wolde hys mas here,
As any preste or any freer.
Take ensampyll of swyche blode,
And not of folys that can no goode,
That wylle not to the sacrament,
Doo Rewerence with good Entent.
I dar well say that pryd gothe beforen,
And schame comythe aftyr, and blawythe horne.
Whan they wollde worshype wyne,
They ar schamyd, and all here kynne.
They fare in chyrche as a lyone strong,
And meke in feld as any lomb.
Ȝif Enemys com to any coste,
There wold I se hem blow her boste,
And in her othyr beste araye,
Here long suerde and here lavncegaye.
And ȝif ye will wyn the flouur,
Clothe hym in hys cotte armowyre,
And so thoue may wyrchyp wyne,
& chewe pryd withoutyn syne.
In Envye they may be allsoo,
That no man schould be-for hem goo.
Be svyche men, I ondyr-stonde,
May be the sawacyon of all a londe!
Schameles and brethelis—(that nowt thee
May do) all a contre fle.
And, thou I klype the, prowde knapys,
That make in holy chyrche Iapis,
For he that wyll with Enymyes Fyght,
Wyll worshyp god with all hys myght.
Ther a man maye en-sampyll see,
Who wyll fyght and who wyll fle.
154
Thow ned the to fyght, I vndeyrstonde,
With youre flesche, and with the fende,
That Eueryday hyt wyll ȝow schende.
God that mad more and lasse,
Ȝif vs grace to here masse,
And so to Fyght, and to praye,
That we be sawyd at domys daye.
AMEN.
Explicit meryta mysse.
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