 | Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century |  |
103. Woefully Arrayed
Ho-sumeuer saith þis praier in þe worship of þe
passion shall haue .C. ȝere of pardon
Wofully araide,
My blode, man, ffor the ran,
hit may not be naide,
My body blo and wanne,
Wofully araide.
My blode, man, ffor the ran,
hit may not be naide,
My body blo and wanne,
Wofully araide.
157
Beholde me, I pray þe, with all thyne hole reson,
and be not hard hertid, for this encheson
þat I, for thi saule sake was slayne, in good seson,
Begilid and be-traide by Iudas fals treson,
Vnkindly intretid,
With sharp corde sore fretid,
Þe Iues me thretid,
The mowid, they spittid and dispisid me,
Condemned to deth as þu maiste se.
and be not hard hertid, for this encheson
þat I, for thi saule sake was slayne, in good seson,
Begilid and be-traide by Iudas fals treson,
Vnkindly intretid,
With sharp corde sore fretid,
Þe Iues me thretid,
The mowid, they spittid and dispisid me,
Condemned to deth as þu maiste se.
Thus nakid am I nailid, O man, for thi sake.
I loue þe, þenne loue me. Why slepist þu? awake!
Remember my tender hert-rote for the brake,
With paynes my vaines constrayned to crake.
This was I defasid,
Thus was my flesh rasid,
And I to deth chasid.
like a lambe led vnto sacrefise,
slayne I was in most cruell wise.
I loue þe, þenne loue me. Why slepist þu? awake!
Remember my tender hert-rote for the brake,
With paynes my vaines constrayned to crake.
This was I defasid,
Thus was my flesh rasid,
And I to deth chasid.
like a lambe led vnto sacrefise,
slayne I was in most cruell wise.
Of sharp thorne, I haue worne a crowne, on my hed,
So rubbid, so bobbid, so rufulle, so red,
Sore payned, sore strayned, and for þi loue ded.
Vnfayned, not demed, my blod for þe shed,
My fete and handis sore,
With sturde naylis bore;
What myght I suffer more
þen I haue sufferde, man, for þe?
Com when þu wilt, and welcome to me.
So rubbid, so bobbid, so rufulle, so red,
Sore payned, sore strayned, and for þi loue ded.
Vnfayned, not demed, my blod for þe shed,
My fete and handis sore,
With sturde naylis bore;
What myght I suffer more
þen I haue sufferde, man, for þe?
Com when þu wilt, and welcome to me.
DEre brother, non other thing I desire,
But geue me thi hert fre, to rewarde myne hire.
I am he that made þe erth, water and fire.
Sathanas, þat slouen and right lothely sire,
Hym haue I ouer-caste,
In hell presoune bounde faste,
Wher ay his woo shall laste.
I haue puruaide a place full clere
ffor mankynde, whom I haue bought dere.
But geue me thi hert fre, to rewarde myne hire.
I am he that made þe erth, water and fire.
Sathanas, þat slouen and right lothely sire,
158
In hell presoune bounde faste,
Wher ay his woo shall laste.
I haue puruaide a place full clere
ffor mankynde, whom I haue bought dere.
| Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century | |