 | Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century |  |
COMPLAINTS OF CHRIST.
106. What More Could Christ Have Done?
Quid vltra debuit facere
Þat lorde þat dyed for þe & me?
Cryste made mane yn þis maner of wyse:
Lyke vnto þe trynite he deyd þe dewyse,
By resoun, vertue And orygynall Iustice,
And set þe in þe plesant place of paradyse. quid vltra etc.
Lyke vnto þe trynite he deyd þe dewyse,
By resoun, vertue And orygynall Iustice,
And set þe in þe plesant place of paradyse. quid vltra etc.
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He made þe all-so to be boþe lorde and kynge,
Off erþe & off all creatures þat beth þeryne levyng,
Sonne, moone & sterrys, contynuall shynynge,
ffor thy sake fynallye he made All maner thynge. quid vltra etc.
Off erþe & off all creatures þat beth þeryne levyng,
Sonne, moone & sterrys, contynuall shynynge,
ffor thy sake fynallye he made All maner thynge. quid vltra etc.
Wyth these grete gyftis þu cowdyst not be content,
Butt by grete presumpsioun Assentyst to þe serpent;
by-cause þu woldyst be lyke god omnipotent,
thane All thy grete vertues A-none Away þey wente. quid vltra etc.
Butt by grete presumpsioun Assentyst to þe serpent;
by-cause þu woldyst be lyke god omnipotent,
thane All thy grete vertues A-none Away þey wente. quid vltra etc.
Cryst þene, beholdynge þy grete & grewous fall,
Perseywynge þe spoyled off thy gyftis naturall,
Was Anone meked with pyte paternall,
the to make fre that by synne was thrall. quid vltra etc.
Perseywynge þe spoyled off thy gyftis naturall,
Was Anone meked with pyte paternall,
the to make fre that by synne was thrall. quid vltra etc.
The to redeme He founde sone remedye,
Vsynge humylite to þi pride clene contrarye,
ffor, where-as by pryde thou nere fall dedelye,
[he] by hys humilite restored the full hylye. quid vltra etc.
Vsynge humylite to þi pride clene contrarye,
ffor, where-as by pryde thou nere fall dedelye,
[he] by hys humilite restored the full hylye. quid vltra etc.
ffor where-as by pride þu were made dede,
with grete humylyte he toke one hyme manhede;
Off A vyrgyne was I-bore þe to restore in-dede,
Off Iesse-ys lyne and off hys kynrede. quid vltra etc.
with grete humylyte he toke one hyme manhede;
Off A vyrgyne was I-bore þe to restore in-dede,
Off Iesse-ys lyne and off hys kynrede. quid vltra etc.
By frute of A tree þu felle to dampnacyoun,
thane, be-holde & see thy makers provysyoun:
howe by A tree [he] restoreed þy saluacyoun,
one the crosse whene he suffred hys passyoun. quid vltra etc.
thane, be-holde & see thy makers provysyoun:
howe by A tree [he] restoreed þy saluacyoun,
one the crosse whene he suffred hys passyoun. quid vltra etc.
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þane were þu delyuerde fro þe captyuyte.
And by feythe And baptyme restored þe,
Remyttynge þe blame of orygynall Iniquite,
And þe restored Agayne to þy fre lyberte. quid vltra etc.
And by feythe And baptyme restored þe,
Remyttynge þe blame of orygynall Iniquite,
And þe restored Agayne to þy fre lyberte. quid vltra etc.
Sethe cryste hathe þe honoured þus by hys natyuyte,
Conueynge yne one persone þy nature with þe deyte.
by merytes of hys passyoun browȝt þe to felicite,
to þis for-seyde questyoun Ane Awnswere nowe geve me: quid vltra etc.
Conueynge yne one persone þy nature with þe deyte.
by merytes of hys passyoun browȝt þe to felicite,
to þis for-seyde questyoun Ane Awnswere nowe geve me: quid vltra etc.
Explicit.
107. A Dialogue Between Natura Hominis and Bonitas Dei
Natura hominisSaluator mundi domine,
to þe, Ihesu, make I my mone,
to haue mercy Thorow þi pyte;
gracius god, now here my bone.
If I haue done owte of þo way
of ryghtfulnes thorow my foly,
Or dethe me kache & close in clay,
mercyful god, I crye mercy!
Bonitas dei
Man, qwat haue I done to þe?
qwy art þu, man, to me vnkynde?
Qwy has þu, man, for-sake me?
qwy flese þu, man? I am þi frynde.
ffurst, I þe made to my lyknes
& put al þis world in þi bayle,
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I lost my myght & toke mercy.
Natura hominis
Þu maduste me, lord, to þi lyknes,
And to þin ymage þu me schape
Þo makynge, lord, of þi godnes
let not me, lord, thorow fowle warke.
My flesche is frele & redy to fall,
þo world, þo dele, a grete enmy.
With meke hert þer-fore I cal,
Mercyful god, I crye mercy!
Bonitas dei
Man, þo rede see I partud in too,
owte of egypte qwen I browghte þe;
I was þi frynde, þu was my foo,
þu in deserte haste for-sake me;
With awngels methe þer I þe fedde,
my luf to þe þu fonde ay redy;
þer þu were worthy hell pyne to haue had,
I left my myght & toke mercy.
Natura hominis
Þat mercy, lord, take þu to mynde,
þat þu wold schewe to Maudeleyn;
Thynke þat þu art of owre kynde,
let noght mane-kynde þoro synne be sleyn.
Opone my synful sole þu rew,
as þu hit boght with þi body.
ffor dedly syne has chawngude þo hewe,
mercyful god, I cry mercy!
Bonitas dei
Mane, my prophetus I sent to the,
my lawe þe for to preche & take,
And þem þu kylduste, in spyte of me.
my-selfe, I come downe for þi sake,
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be-holde, my body is all blody.
I myghte hawe distryde þe wel, & wold noght,
I lost my myght & toke mercy.
Natura hominis
Lord, of þi mercy fygur I fynde,
on Petur qwen I caste my thoghte;
How þat he was to þe vn-kynde,
& seyde þat he knewe þe noghte.
þu lokudste one hym with mylde mode,
aftur mercy hertly can he cry.
As þu for vs wold schede þi blode,
mercyful god, I cry mercy!
Bonitas dei
Man, þe erthe I can do qwake,
for al þis word is in my hande;
Vengans also may I take,
qwere me luste, one watur or lande.
Be synus, tokunus & spekynge to,
my luf al-way þu myghte a-spye;
And for þu schulduste take hede þer-to,
I lefte my myghte & toke mercy.
Natura hominis
ffor þat I haue don wrong,
ryghte as þi chylde, þu schalte me bete.
More is þi mercy þen my mys,
gracius god, þu hit for-ȝete!
I sob, I sorow, I clepe, I call,
with sory hert & wepyng eyȝe.
As mercy passus þi werkus all,
mercyful god, I crye mercy!
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Mane, for þe my blode I bled,
& for þe was I al to-schente;
All þat me luffud fro me þai fledde,
& all my frendus fro me þai wentte.
If þu can fynde a-noþur frynde,
to do so mycul for þi foly,
Leue now me & with hym wende,
of me aske þu no more mercy.
Natura hominis
So sykur a frende was newur non borne,
to do so mycul for luf of me.
ffor any oþur frenschyp, I had bene lorne,
had þi passioun, lorde, ne be.
Syn þi frenschyp þus has me boght,
so dulfully with þi body,
Let not þin ymage now go to noght,
Mercy-ful god, I cry mercy!
Bonitas dei
Man, my byddynge þu breycus al day,
as holy kyrke wyl þe schewe;
With þi grete oþus þat þu swerus ay,
my body þu wonduste euur-more newe.
Ȝyt leue þi synnus, & turne to me,
& for þi gylte be þu sory,
And now as welcum schalte þu be
as he þat nedud neuur any mercy.
Natura hominis
Gramercy, gracius god of myght,
þat one my sowle wyl haue mercy.
To luf þe, both day & nyghte,
I ame now bowndone sycurly.
Here, al my syne now I for-sake,
& to þi mercy I wyl me hye
Gracius god, þi grace me take.
mercyful god, grawnte me mercy!
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Now, swete sole, welcum to me,
with me in blys schal þu ewur-more dwell;
I blesse þe tyme þat I boghte þe,
þe tyme þat I wente for þe to hell.
Into my kyndam, cum now with me,
into þe blysse of hewun one hye,
ffor þere in ioy schal þu now be
& ewur-more, thorowe my mercy.
108. Querela Divina: Responsio Humana
Querela diuina
O man vnkynde hafe in mynde
My paynes smert!
Beholde & see, Þat is for þe
Percyd, my hert.
My paynes smert!
Beholde & see, Þat is for þe
Percyd, my hert.
And ȝitt I wolde, Or þan þu schuld
þi saule forsake,
On cros with payne Scharp deth, agayne
ffor þi luf take.
þi saule forsake,
On cros with payne Scharp deth, agayne
ffor þi luf take.
ffor whilk I aske None oþer taske,
Bot luf agayne.
Me þan to luf, Al thyng a-bofe,
þow aght be fayne.
Bot luf agayne.
Me þan to luf, Al thyng a-bofe,
þow aght be fayne.
Responsio humana
O lord, right dere, Þi wordes I here
with hert ful sore;
Þerfore fro synne I hope to blynne,
And grefe no more.
with hert ful sore;
Þerfore fro synne I hope to blynne,
And grefe no more.
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Bot in þis case Now helpe, þi grace,
My frelnes;
Þat I may euer Do þi pleser,
With lastyngnes.
My frelnes;
Þat I may euer Do þi pleser,
With lastyngnes.
Þis grace to gytt, Þi moder eeke
Euer be prone,
Þat we may alle In-to þi halle,
With ioy, cum sone.
Euer be prone,
Þat we may alle In-to þi halle,
With ioy, cum sone.
Amen.
109. Brother, Abide
Here begynnyth a lamentable complaynt of our saviour cryst
kyng eternall to sinfull mane his brother naturall.
Brother, a-byde, I the desire and pray;
A-byde, a-byde and here thy brother speke.
Be-holde my body in this blody aray,
Broysed & betyne wyth whippis that wold not breke.
This ferefull force, this wo, this wrongfull wreke,
ffor the I sufferd, what canst thou do, then, lesse agayne,
But stonde a while and harke how I complayne?
A-byde, a-byde and here thy brother speke.
Be-holde my body in this blody aray,
Broysed & betyne wyth whippis that wold not breke.
This ferefull force, this wo, this wrongfull wreke,
ffor the I sufferd, what canst thou do, then, lesse agayne,
But stonde a while and harke how I complayne?
A-bove the sterrys, in hevyne emperiall,
Crouned, I satte, thi lorde and thi soverayne,
Servide wyth bodies of nature ymmortall,
In Ioyes that euer shall endure & remayn.
hevyn, erth, & hell, and all thei contayne,
To me dyde owe dewe obedyence,
As to theyr prynce, most hygh in excellence.
Crouned, I satte, thi lorde and thi soverayne,
Servide wyth bodies of nature ymmortall,
In Ioyes that euer shall endure & remayn.
hevyn, erth, & hell, and all thei contayne,
To me dyde owe dewe obedyence,
As to theyr prynce, most hygh in excellence.
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I raynyng thus in full felicite,
Thou lyveddyst in erth, subiecte to the fende,
Wrappyd in wo & grett aduersite,
Woyde of socoure, woyde of comforde for any ffrende.
And worst of all, thou knewest no tyme nor ende
Off thy distresse; thou knewest no remedy
A-gaynst thy greffe and mortall mysery.
Thou lyveddyst in erth, subiecte to the fende,
Wrappyd in wo & grett aduersite,
Woyde of socoure, woyde of comforde for any ffrende.
And worst of all, thou knewest no tyme nor ende
Off thy distresse; thou knewest no remedy
A-gaynst thy greffe and mortall mysery.
Pety I hade, beholdyng the this wise
Be thin enmy oppresside, in distresse;
And, of grett love, a-noone, I dyd devise
The to delyuer out of this wrechidnese.
And by and by, with-out longe procese,
I lefte my trone and regall mageste
And hither I came, a maydyns childe to be.
Be thin enmy oppresside, in distresse;
And, of grett love, a-noone, I dyd devise
The to delyuer out of this wrechidnese.
And by and by, with-out longe procese,
I lefte my trone and regall mageste
And hither I came, a maydyns childe to be.
Borne in bedlem, lappyd and laide in strawe
Ine a powur howse wher bestys ete ther mete,
Brought to the temple after the Iues lawe
And circumcysed—this ys not to forgette,—
I lede my yought wyth children in the strette,
Poorly a-rayed in clothes bare and thyne,
Suche as my mother for me dyde make & spyne.
Ine a powur howse wher bestys ete ther mete,
Brought to the temple after the Iues lawe
And circumcysed—this ys not to forgette,—
I lede my yought wyth children in the strette,
Poorly a-rayed in clothes bare and thyne,
Suche as my mother for me dyde make & spyne.
Myn age encresed, & then a-bought I wentt,
Prechinge scripture; & wher-sumeuer I came
I movyd the people for to be penitent,
And that I saied, was in my fathers name.
Some praysed my preching, some said I was to blame,
Some toke my techyng, sum wold nott of my scole,
Sum held me wyse, some said I was a fole.
Prechinge scripture; & wher-sumeuer I came
I movyd the people for to be penitent,
And that I saied, was in my fathers name.
Some praysed my preching, some said I was to blame,
Some toke my techyng, sum wold nott of my scole,
Sum held me wyse, some said I was a fole.
Thus longe I lyvid, passyng frome place to place,
Bare-fotyd, caplese, wythout syluer or gold.
Payne of my traveylle a-pered in my face;
Men myght perceyve yf thei listed to be-hold.
Watch & grett labur, sharpe honger, thurst & cold
ffull ofte me brought so feble & so lowe,
That myne owne mother sum tyme dyd me not knowe.
Bare-fotyd, caplese, wythout syluer or gold.
Payne of my traveylle a-pered in my face;
Men myght perceyve yf thei listed to be-hold.
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ffull ofte me brought so feble & so lowe,
That myne owne mother sum tyme dyd me not knowe.
Thus, & mych more, for the endured I.
Therfor, brother, make thou no hast to starte
Nother of my speche be thou no-thing wery,
ffor yf thou be, to blame thou arte.
To whom shuld I disclose or brek myne harte,
To whom shulde I complayne my greffe mortall,
but to the, my brother most naturall?
Therfor, brother, make thou no hast to starte
Nother of my speche be thou no-thing wery,
ffor yf thou be, to blame thou arte.
To whom shuld I disclose or brek myne harte,
To whom shulde I complayne my greffe mortall,
but to the, my brother most naturall?
Harke now therfor! hark now, & take goode hede,
And of my troble a-noone thou shalt here more
To shewe my-self as god & mane in deede,
lasar I raysed, buried fowre dayes be-fore.
The people I cured of euery maner sore—
Some deffe, some dome, sum full of dropsy,
And some sore enhawnted wyth ferefull frensy,
And of my troble a-noone thou shalt here more
To shewe my-self as god & mane in deede,
lasar I raysed, buried fowre dayes be-fore.
The people I cured of euery maner sore—
Some deffe, some dome, sum full of dropsy,
And some sore enhawnted wyth ferefull frensy,
And some-lame, of lidernes þat myght not goo nor crepe,
And sum blynde borne, by ympedyment of nature,
And some vexed, they cowde nevyr reste ne slepe,
And sum that fell dede by sodene adventure.
Bothe powur & ryche I holpe & toke to cure,
Vsyng to them noone other medycyne
But my holy worde, full of vertue divyne.
And sum blynde borne, by ympedyment of nature,
And some vexed, they cowde nevyr reste ne slepe,
And sum that fell dede by sodene adventure.
Bothe powur & ryche I holpe & toke to cure,
Vsyng to them noone other medycyne
But my holy worde, full of vertue divyne.
Then myn enmys begane to rage & rayle,
And said I hade the devyll at my demayne;
Some said I vsed arte magike wythought fayle,
And some said I coude not longe contynew ne rayne.
Al this I hard and litle I said a-gayne;
All that myne ennymes dyd I sufferd paciently,
And to ther wordis no countraury speche hade I.
And said I hade the devyll at my demayne;
Some said I vsed arte magike wythought fayle,
And some said I coude not longe contynew ne rayne.
Al this I hard and litle I said a-gayne;
All that myne ennymes dyd I sufferd paciently,
And to ther wordis no countraury speche hade I.
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Then they came to me, flamed wyth Ire fervent,
And said the people by me deceyvid were.
Many blynd reasons & miche froward argument
To me they made, and bade I shuld answere.
Answere I dyde, wher-to they leyed good ere,
And specyally thei gave sure attendance,
To take me wyth some fawlte in vtturaunce.
And said the people by me deceyvid were.
Many blynd reasons & miche froward argument
To me they made, and bade I shuld answere.
Answere I dyde, wher-to they leyed good ere,
And specyally thei gave sure attendance,
To take me wyth some fawlte in vtturaunce.
But to my saying they cowde no-thyng replye;
My resouns wer so playne and apparentte.
Never-the-lesse, so miche was ther envy,
That styll they murmorde & wold not be contente.
Cownsell they toke and, by secrett assentte,
They were a-greed to dethe me for to bete,
Wyth cloddys of erthe & stone hard & grette.
My resouns wer so playne and apparentte.
Never-the-lesse, so miche was ther envy,
That styll they murmorde & wold not be contente.
Cownsell they toke and, by secrett assentte,
They were a-greed to dethe me for to bete,
Wyth cloddys of erthe & stone hard & grette.
I me wyth-drewe & dyde lette theire fury passe
And, for a seasone, fro them I dyd me hyde.
Neuerthelese, a-gayn a-brode I wase,
All there malys redy for to abyde.
And by this tyme thei had gotene them a gyde—
One that I trustyd, & Iudas was his name—
Which me betrayed & hynge hyme-self for shame.
And, for a seasone, fro them I dyd me hyde.
Neuerthelese, a-gayn a-brode I wase,
All there malys redy for to abyde.
And by this tyme thei had gotene them a gyde—
One that I trustyd, & Iudas was his name—
Which me betrayed & hynge hyme-self for shame.
Then, to conclude ther cruell appetyght,
Thei gatherd them in a great companye,
Wyth byllys & battys, wyth torch & lanterne lyght,
me to dystresse; and so takyne was I,
And leede to prysoun wyth clamor & ought-cry,
ffast bownde in roppys, & left my-self alone—
ffor all my frendis were fro me flede & goone.
Thei gatherd them in a great companye,
Wyth byllys & battys, wyth torch & lanterne lyght,
me to dystresse; and so takyne was I,
And leede to prysoun wyth clamor & ought-cry,
ffast bownde in roppys, & left my-self alone—
ffor all my frendis were fro me flede & goone.
Petur, my frend, that said wyth wordis bolde
In my quarell he wolde bothe lyve & dye,
Stode by the fyere to warme hyme-self for colde,
And for his master thrise he dyde me di-nye.
Thus was I lefte no frende to stande me by,
Thus was I lefte in fere and grett danger,
A-monge myn enymys a wofull prisoner.
In my quarell he wolde bothe lyve & dye,
Stode by the fyere to warme hyme-self for colde,
And for his master thrise he dyde me di-nye.
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Thus was I lefte in fere and grett danger,
A-monge myn enymys a wofull prisoner.
Be-fore pylate erly they dyd me brynge,
He as a Iuge, to here what shuld be sayde.
And too stode forth, a-gaynst me witnessyng,
And a fals mattur vnto my charge they layde.
‘Speke, manne,’ qd pylate, ‘how ys thy lyf convayed?’
And wyth that worde, wattur to whasche he callde,
And I stode styll, seke and sore appalled.
He as a Iuge, to here what shuld be sayde.
And too stode forth, a-gaynst me witnessyng,
And a fals mattur vnto my charge they layde.
‘Speke, manne,’ qd pylate, ‘how ys thy lyf convayed?’
And wyth that worde, wattur to whasche he callde,
And I stode styll, seke and sore appalled.
Then sodenly the folke feelle in roure,
And wyth one voyce they cryed, ‘hang vp this theff!’
Pylate stode forth & openly he swoure
He cowde lay no-thyng to my repreff.
Neuer-the-lesse, fering his propur greeff,
And wyllyng also noyse to a-pease & stylle,
He badde them take & do wyth me ther wyll.
And wyth one voyce they cryed, ‘hang vp this theff!’
Pylate stode forth & openly he swoure
He cowde lay no-thyng to my repreff.
Neuer-the-lesse, fering his propur greeff,
And wyllyng also noyse to a-pease & stylle,
He badde them take & do wyth me ther wyll.
Then they layde hande & lede me forth that day,
Wyth shotyng & crying, wyth mokry & mych dysdayne;
Some pulled me forwarde & tare my powur a-ray,
And by the here some plukkyd me bake a-gayne.
Often I stomelled & felle to the grounde for payne
And, wythout pyte of my grevance or hurte,
They spornned me vp, all betrodene in durte.
Wyth shotyng & crying, wyth mokry & mych dysdayne;
Some pulled me forwarde & tare my powur a-ray,
And by the here some plukkyd me bake a-gayne.
Often I stomelled & felle to the grounde for payne
And, wythout pyte of my grevance or hurte,
They spornned me vp, all betrodene in durte.
And, as people most cruell & vnkynde,
When I for woo blode & water swette,
Vnto a pylar nakyd thei dyde me bynde
And wyth sharpe scorgis thei dyde my body bette
Vnto the bonnes—the synues dyd freete—
And on my heode sharpe thorns thei dyd dystayne
Thorowgh skyne & skulle, that rane vnto my brayne.
When I for woo blode & water swette,
Vnto a pylar nakyd thei dyde me bynde
And wyth sharpe scorgis thei dyde my body bette
Vnto the bonnes—the synues dyd freete—
And on my heode sharpe thorns thei dyd dystayne
Thorowgh skyne & skulle, that rane vnto my brayne.
174
Thus bete, thus rentte, and all to-tore,
Wyth a great crose thei dyd me charge & lade,
Which on my shuldure vp to an hill I bore,
In steppys of blode as depe as I cowde wade.
A-bowt me rennyng, myche tyrany thei made,
And as wood men thei dyde me dryve & chace,
Wyth mobbys & knockys & spettyng in my face.
Wyth a great crose thei dyd me charge & lade,
Which on my shuldure vp to an hill I bore,
In steppys of blode as depe as I cowde wade.
A-bowt me rennyng, myche tyrany thei made,
And as wood men thei dyde me dryve & chace,
Wyth mobbys & knockys & spettyng in my face.
This crosse soo sade a-pone my shulder ley
That bake & bone it made to bowe & bende.
Often I stomeled, & fell downe by the way
As I labored the mounteyn to ascende;
When I came vp my breth was at an ende,
I cowde not speke, in me no powur ther was,
But as in a mane redy for to passe.
That bake & bone it made to bowe & bende.
Often I stomeled, & fell downe by the way
As I labored the mounteyn to ascende;
When I came vp my breth was at an ende,
I cowde not speke, in me no powur ther was,
But as in a mane redy for to passe.
Then one this crosse thei dyde me strecch & strayn,
And nayled me faste wyth naylles gret & longe,
And hyng me vppe betwene false thevis twayne,
Most shamefully, wyth moche rebuke & wronge.
I called for drynke, my thurst was grevous strong;
Thei gave me aysell, tempred wyth bitter galle,
Which I did taste & dranke therof but smalle.
And nayled me faste wyth naylles gret & longe,
And hyng me vppe betwene false thevis twayne,
Most shamefully, wyth moche rebuke & wronge.
I called for drynke, my thurst was grevous strong;
Thei gave me aysell, tempred wyth bitter galle,
Which I did taste & dranke therof but smalle.
My visage changed to pale & blew as byse,
My fleshe be-ganne to styff & waxid drye,
My hart lokyd lyke a plomett of Ise,
My lyff was spent, myne owre was come to dye.
Vnto my father I cryed, ‘heli, heli!’
And wyth that worde, I layde myne hede a-syde,
And dolfully gave vp the spret & dyed.
My fleshe be-ganne to styff & waxid drye,
My hart lokyd lyke a plomett of Ise,
My lyff was spent, myne owre was come to dye.
Vnto my father I cryed, ‘heli, heli!’
And wyth that worde, I layde myne hede a-syde,
And dolfully gave vp the spret & dyed.
Ther honge I dede, a pytefull fygure,
And mene in harnesse were sette the place to kepe,
And, by-cawse of me thei wold be sure,
Wyth a sharpe spere my hart thei lawnsed depe.
My mother stode, but what cowde she doo but weepe?
And weepe she dyde, terrys both whight & rede,
Wrynging her handys, & fill downe by me deede.
And mene in harnesse were sette the place to kepe,
And, by-cawse of me thei wold be sure,
Wyth a sharpe spere my hart thei lawnsed depe.
175
And weepe she dyde, terrys both whight & rede,
Wrynging her handys, & fill downe by me deede.
Now, gentyll brother, be-holde this matur welle,
And myndfully make this rufull reknynge,
Loke one this processe, consider it euery delle
fro the furst to the laste, consider euery thynge:
ffurst, consider I raynyd as a kynge;
Seconde, considere, as a frend moost fre
To make the ryche, I died in pouerte.
And myndfully make this rufull reknynge,
Loke one this processe, consider it euery delle
fro the furst to the laste, consider euery thynge:
ffurst, consider I raynyd as a kynge;
Seconde, considere, as a frend moost fre
To make the ryche, I died in pouerte.
What cowde one brother more for a-nother doo
Then my complaynte presently dothe a-pere & expresse?
What canst thou adde, or putte eny thyng þer-too,
That myght be done by brotherly kyndnesse?
Se what I suffred, thy grevanse to reddresse!
What canst thou aske or more desire of me,
Thy feythfull brother, dyeng in pouerte?
Then my complaynte presently dothe a-pere & expresse?
What canst thou adde, or putte eny thyng þer-too,
That myght be done by brotherly kyndnesse?
Se what I suffred, thy grevanse to reddresse!
What canst thou aske or more desire of me,
Thy feythfull brother, dyeng in pouerte?
Off tendure love, all this I dyd endure;
Love dyde me lede, love dyde me thus constrayne;
And, for my dede & grevouse adventure,
More aske I nott but love for love a-gayne.
Brother, be kynde, & for a good certayne,
by-side all this, rewardede shalt thou be
in the blysse of hevyne, where ther ys no pouerte.
Love dyde me lede, love dyde me thus constrayne;
And, for my dede & grevouse adventure,
More aske I nott but love for love a-gayne.
Brother, be kynde, & for a good certayne,
by-side all this, rewardede shalt thou be
in the blysse of hevyne, where ther ys no pouerte.
110. ‘Have All My Heart and Be in Peace’
Querimonia Xi languentis pro amore.
Trewloue trewe, on you I truste,
Euermore to fynde you perseuerawnt,
Ellys wolde my herte yn sondir brest,
Bot I cowde love yn expyrant.
Euermore to fynde you perseuerawnt,
Ellys wolde my herte yn sondir brest,
Bot I cowde love yn expyrant.
176
Loke þat youre chere change for no chaunce,
Ne kepe noman youre sorow see;
If I may not do you plesance,
Myne herte hath holly noone but ye.
Ne kepe noman youre sorow see;
If I may not do you plesance,
Myne herte hath holly noone but ye.
Therfor, haue alle myne herte & beon yn pees,
& þynke I love you soueranly—
ffor þat I say hit is no lese—
Wolde god ye wyste as wele as I.
& þynke I love you soueranly—
ffor þat I say hit is no lese—
Wolde god ye wyste as wele as I.
ffor wele I se, bothe day & nygth
That trew loue wyle me neuer cese.
Haue mercy on me, worthly wiyght,
Haue all my herte & be yn pese.
That trew loue wyle me neuer cese.
Haue mercy on me, worthly wiyght,
Haue all my herte & be yn pese.
Ye haue all myne herte where-euer ye go,
Herte, body & all my richez;
I am bot dede & ye go me fro,
There was neuer þynge I louyd so moche.
Herte, body & all my richez;
I am bot dede & ye go me fro,
There was neuer þynge I louyd so moche.
Therfor, dere herte, loke ye be trewe,
& loue me wele withouten lese;
I wyll neuer change you for no newe,
Haue all myne herte & be yn pees.
& loue me wele withouten lese;
I wyll neuer change you for no newe,
Haue all myne herte & be yn pees.
ffor where I love I kan not leve,
Ofte tymes hit doeth myn herte gret wo;
A preuey peyne hit is to preue
To loue & be rygth longe þer-fro.
Ofte tymes hit doeth myn herte gret wo;
A preuey peyne hit is to preue
To loue & be rygth longe þer-fro.
ffor—& ye wyste ye wolde say so—
A lovere wolde his love ay se.
Therfore, I morne ryght ofte I-wys,
& so doeth oþer loveris mo.
A lovere wolde his love ay se.
Therfore, I morne ryght ofte I-wys,
& so doeth oþer loveris mo.
177
My herte hath noone but ye yn folde;
A! dere herte, whan dyde I ylle,
But euer wrougth rygth as ye wolde,
Or euer was vntrewe you tylle?
A! dere herte, whan dyde I ylle,
But euer wrougth rygth as ye wolde,
Or euer was vntrewe you tylle?
| Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century | |