 | Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century |  |
SONGS OF OLD AGE.
147. The Day of Life—Night Comes Soon!
As I went one my playing,
Vndure an holt vppone an hylle,
I sawe an ovld mane hovre make mornyng,—
Witt sykyng sovre he sayd me tylle:
‘Sum tyme þis worde was at my wylle,
Witt reches and witt ryallte,
And now hit [is] layd doun ful styll;
This word ys but a wannyte.
Vndure an holt vppone an hylle,
I sawe an ovld mane hovre make mornyng,—
Witt sykyng sovre he sayd me tylle:
‘Sum tyme þis worde was at my wylle,
Witt reches and witt ryallte,
And now hit [is] layd doun ful styll;
This word ys but a wannyte.
231
‘That one þe morrov when hit [is] fayre & clere,
After none hit wendys awaye,
And commyth to the nyȝt as hit was ere:
This word ys but a daye:
Soo for ryȝt all owre lewyng heyre;
ffrow chyldwood vnto mannys degre,
Owre enddyng drawyt nere and nere,—
This word ys but a wannyte.
After none hit wendys awaye,
And commyth to the nyȝt as hit was ere:
This word ys but a daye:
Soo for ryȝt all owre lewyng heyre;
ffrow chyldwood vnto mannys degre,
Owre enddyng drawyt nere and nere,—
This word ys but a wannyte.
‘I leccone my lyfe vnto the morrow-tyde;
When I was chyld so bare I-bore,
ffor me my modyr soffyrd gret sovre,
Witt gronttyng and weppyng was I bore;
But þow one me was wem ne hore;
Sethe in sin I have I-be,
Now I am olde, I may no more,—
This word is but a wannyte.
When I was chyld so bare I-bore,
ffor me my modyr soffyrd gret sovre,
Witt gronttyng and weppyng was I bore;
But þow one me was wem ne hore;
Sethe in sin I have I-be,
Now I am olde, I may no more,—
This word is but a wannyte.
‘At myde-morroo-daye I lernnyd to goo,
And play as chyldorne done in strete;
As chyldwood me thoȝt & tavȝt I dyde þoo,
Witt my fellous to fyȝt and beyt.
What I dede me þoȝt hit swete,
Ryȝt as chyldhod taȝt hit me;
Now may I say witt terrus weete,
This word is but a wannyte.
And play as chyldorne done in strete;
As chyldwood me thoȝt & tavȝt I dyde þoo,
Witt my fellous to fyȝt and beyt.
What I dede me þoȝt hit swete,
Ryȝt as chyldhod taȝt hit me;
Now may I say witt terrus weete,
This word is but a wannyte.
‘At vnder-day to skole I was I-sete,
To lerne good as chyldern dothe,
But when my master woold me bete,
I wold hym cowrs & wax folle rowthe:
To lerne good I was full lovthe,
I þoȝt one play and gollytte;
Now for to say þe sothe,
This world is but a wannyte.
To lerne good as chyldern dothe,
But when my master woold me bete,
I wold hym cowrs & wax folle rowthe:
To lerne good I was full lovthe,
I þoȝt one play and gollytte;
Now for to say þe sothe,
This world is but a wannyte.
232
‘At mydday I was dobbyt a knyȝte,
In trvthe I lernnyd for to ryed;
There was none soo bold a wyȝte,
That in battayll durst me abyde.
Where be-commyȝt all owre pryd,
Owre Iollytte and fayre bovtte,
ffrow dethe I may not me here hyd,—
This word ys but a wannyte.
In trvthe I lernnyd for to ryed;
There was none soo bold a wyȝte,
That in battayll durst me abyde.
Where be-commyȝt all owre pryd,
Owre Iollytte and fayre bovtte,
ffrow dethe I may not me here hyd,—
This word ys but a wannyte.
‘At nonne I was crounyd a kynge,
All þis world was at my wylle;
Euer to lyvfe here was my lykynge,
And alle my lust I wold fulfyll:
Now age is croppyn one me ful styll,
He makyt me hore, blake, and bowe;
I goo all dounward witt þe hylle,—
This world ys but a wannyte.
All þis world was at my wylle;
Euer to lyvfe here was my lykynge,
And alle my lust I wold fulfyll:
Now age is croppyn one me ful styll,
He makyt me hore, blake, and bowe;
I goo all dounward witt þe hylle,—
This world ys but a wannyte.
‘At myd-vndure-none wondorly I waxe,
My lust and lykyng hit went away,
ffrom þe world my chere ys goone,
ffrom ryalte and ryche a-raye:
Owre lewyng ys but one daye,
Aȝeynst þe world þat euyre schal be;
Be þis matter I dare well saye,
This word ys but a wannyte.
My lust and lykyng hit went away,
ffrom þe world my chere ys goone,
ffrom ryalte and ryche a-raye:
Owre lewyng ys but one daye,
Aȝeynst þe world þat euyre schal be;
Be þis matter I dare well saye,
This word ys but a wannyte.
‘At ewynsong tyme I was so cold,
That now I goo all by a stafe,
There-fore is dethe one me so bold,
And for his hyre he dothe me crawfe:
When I am dede and layd in grawe,
Then no þing schall save me,
But well and woo þat I done havfe,—
This word ys but a wannyte.
That now I goo all by a stafe,
There-fore is dethe one me so bold,
And for his hyre he dothe me crawfe:
When I am dede and layd in grawe,
Then no þing schall save me,
But well and woo þat I done havfe,—
This word ys but a wannyte.
233
‘Now ys þis day commyn to þe nyȝt;
I hawe lost my lewyng;
A dredefull payne ys for me dyȝt,
In cold claye þere-in to clynge.’
As I went on my playing,
Vndure an holt by a tre,
This hard I an old man mak mournyng,—
This world ys but a wannyte!
I hawe lost my lewyng;
A dredefull payne ys for me dyȝt,
In cold claye þere-in to clynge.’
As I went on my playing,
Vndure an holt by a tre,
This hard I an old man mak mournyng,—
This world ys but a wannyte!
In domino confydo. Amen, Dico vobis.
148. God Send Us Patience in Our Old Age
From þe tyme þat we were bore
Oure ȝouþe passeþ fro day to day,
And age encreseþ more and more;
And so doþ yt nowe, þe soþ to say.
At euery oure a poynte ys lore,
So fast goþ owre ȝouþ a-weye,
And ȝouþ wylle come aȝen no more,
But age wylle make vs boþ blake and graye.
þerfor takeþ hede, boþ nyȝte and day,
howe faste oure ȝouþ doþ aswage;
And, boþ ȝounge and olde, lete vs praye
þat god send pacyence in oure olde age.
Oure ȝouþe passeþ fro day to day,
And age encreseþ more and more;
And so doþ yt nowe, þe soþ to say.
At euery oure a poynte ys lore,
So fast goþ owre ȝouþ a-weye,
And ȝouþ wylle come aȝen no more,
But age wylle make vs boþ blake and graye.
þerfor takeþ hede, boþ nyȝte and day,
howe faste oure ȝouþ doþ aswage;
And, boþ ȝounge and olde, lete vs praye
þat god send pacyence in oure olde age.
Age wylle take from vs oure myȝte,
þat in oure ȝouþ to vs was lente,
And eke þe clernes of oure syȝte,
And oure herynge schal be feynte.
þan schul we be heuy, þat ere were lyȝte,
By-cause þat ȝoungþe ys from vs wente;
And þan wol men do vs no ryȝte,
But al contrarye to oure entente;
And sykenes wol do vs grete turment,
Whom deeþ wol send on hys message—
fforsoþ þe beste amendement
Is pacyence þan in oure olde age.
þat in oure ȝouþ to vs was lente,
And eke þe clernes of oure syȝte,
And oure herynge schal be feynte.
þan schul we be heuy, þat ere were lyȝte,
By-cause þat ȝoungþe ys from vs wente;
And þan wol men do vs no ryȝte,
But al contrarye to oure entente;
234
Whom deeþ wol send on hys message—
fforsoþ þe beste amendement
Is pacyence þan in oure olde age.
Oure body wol yche, oure bonys wol ake,
Owre owne flesshe wol be oure foo,
Oure hede, oure handys, þan wol schake
Owre legges wol trymble whan we goo,
Oure bonys wol drye as doþ a stake,
And in oure body we schulle be woo,
Oure nose, oure chekes, wol wex al blake,
And oure glad chere wol vade vs fro;
And whan oure teeþ ben goon also,
Oure tunge schalle lese hys fayre langage.
Prey we for vs selfe and oþer moo,
þat god send vs pacyence in oure old age.
Owre owne flesshe wol be oure foo,
Oure hede, oure handys, þan wol schake
Owre legges wol trymble whan we goo,
Oure bonys wol drye as doþ a stake,
And in oure body we schulle be woo,
Oure nose, oure chekes, wol wex al blake,
And oure glad chere wol vade vs fro;
And whan oure teeþ ben goon also,
Oure tunge schalle lese hys fayre langage.
Prey we for vs selfe and oþer moo,
þat god send vs pacyence in oure old age.
Oure frendys þat schul loue vs beste,
Þan wol þei haue vs but in hate;
In frendschipes is noon oþer truste,
And þerfor ben we y-ware to late—
þan may we synge of had-y-wyste—
Oure feynte frendes han vs for-sake.
And also we schullen goo vnkyste,
Boþ at þe dore and at þe gate,
ffor al þe chere þat we can make.
þan ys no ioye of oure vysage,
Whanne oure bewte schal a-slake—
God send vs pes in oure old age!
Þan wol þei haue vs but in hate;
In frendschipes is noon oþer truste,
And þerfor ben we y-ware to late—
þan may we synge of had-y-wyste—
Oure feynte frendes han vs for-sake.
And also we schullen goo vnkyste,
Boþ at þe dore and at þe gate,
ffor al þe chere þat we can make.
þan ys no ioye of oure vysage,
Whanne oure bewte schal a-slake—
God send vs pes in oure old age!
We schullen be so angrye, euermore
We wold be a-wreke of euery wronge;
þan sume wold scorne vs þerfore,
And sume wold sey we lyue to longe.
Oure sorowe wol sytte vs þan so sore,
Oure stomake wol no mete fonge.
And euery day, more and more,
Of sorowe and care schal be oure songe.
But whan we were boþ hole and stronge
We were to wylde and wold outerage.
And þerfor lete vs pray a-monge,
þat god send vs pacyence in oure old age.
We wold be a-wreke of euery wronge;
þan sume wold scorne vs þerfore,
And sume wold sey we lyue to longe.
235
Oure stomake wol no mete fonge.
And euery day, more and more,
Of sorowe and care schal be oure songe.
But whan we were boþ hole and stronge
We were to wylde and wold outerage.
And þerfor lete vs pray a-monge,
þat god send vs pacyence in oure old age.
[For þan wole no þing us availe
but oure bedis and oure crucche,
for wordli welþe wole fade & faile,
And þerfore truste we it not to myche;
& þan wole sijknes us assaile
Til it haþ made us lijk a wrecche,
& þan may we do no greet traueile
But summtyme grone, & sumtyme grucche,
And sumtyme clawe for scabbe & icche
Whanne age haþ us at his auauntage:
Who-so lyueþ long schal be such;
God sende us paciens in oure olde age!]
but oure bedis and oure crucche,
for wordli welþe wole fade & faile,
And þerfore truste we it not to myche;
& þan wole sijknes us assaile
Til it haþ made us lijk a wrecche,
& þan may we do no greet traueile
But summtyme grone, & sumtyme grucche,
And sumtyme clawe for scabbe & icche
Whanne age haþ us at his auauntage:
Who-so lyueþ long schal be such;
God sende us paciens in oure olde age!]
Al þat we haue lyued here
It ys but a dreme y-mete,
ffor nowe yt ys, as yt neuer were.
And so ys yt þat ys to comynge ȝit—
And faste we drawen to oure beere—
In sorowe and drede we schullen be sette.
Of olde men þe ȝounge may leere,
And ȝit fewe þer ben þat don bet,
ffor þe fende haþ cauȝte hem in hys nette,
And hold hem faste in hys bondage
ffor þei schulden not dyspyse her wytte,
To haue pacyence in her old age.
It ys but a dreme y-mete,
ffor nowe yt ys, as yt neuer were.
And so ys yt þat ys to comynge ȝit—
And faste we drawen to oure beere—
In sorowe and drede we schullen be sette.
Of olde men þe ȝounge may leere,
And ȝit fewe þer ben þat don bet,
ffor þe fende haþ cauȝte hem in hys nette,
And hold hem faste in hys bondage
ffor þei schulden not dyspyse her wytte,
To haue pacyence in her old age.
236
þan schul we se þat wordly blysse
Is but þinge of vanyte,
And yt makeþ men to do a-mys
þat ben in welþe and grete bewte;
And þerfor, lord, good ryȝt yt ys
Wiþ oure owne stafe chastysed to be.
Lord, ȝeue vs grace to þenke on þis,
As þou bouȝtteste vs alle vppon a tree;
And þat we may in charyte
Welle passe, ouer þis passage,
In-to the blysse þat euer schal be
Whan we ben passed oure old age.
Is but þinge of vanyte,
And yt makeþ men to do a-mys
þat ben in welþe and grete bewte;
And þerfor, lord, good ryȝt yt ys
Wiþ oure owne stafe chastysed to be.
Lord, ȝeue vs grace to þenke on þis,
As þou bouȝtteste vs alle vppon a tree;
And þat we may in charyte
Welle passe, ouer þis passage,
In-to the blysse þat euer schal be
Whan we ben passed oure old age.
A-m-e-n.
| Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century | |