 | Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century |  |
SONGS OF MORTALITY.
149. Farewell, this World is but a Cherry Fair
Ffare well, this world! I take my leve for euere,
I am arested to apere at goddes face.
O myghtyfull god, þu knowest that I had leuere
Than all this world, to haue oone houre space
To make a-sythe for all my grete trespace.
My hert, alas! is brokyne for that sorowe,
[Som be this day that shall not be to-morow]
I am arested to apere at goddes face.
O myghtyfull god, þu knowest that I had leuere
Than all this world, to haue oone houre space
To make a-sythe for all my grete trespace.
My hert, alas! is brokyne for that sorowe,
[Som be this day that shall not be to-morow]
This lyfe, I see, is but a cheyre feyre;
All thyngis passene and so most I algate.
To-day I sat full ryall in a cheyere,
Tyll sotell deth knokyd at my gate,
And on-avysed he seyd to me, chek-mate!
lo! how sotell he maketh a devors—
and wormys to fede, he hath here leyd my cors.
All thyngis passene and so most I algate.
To-day I sat full ryall in a cheyere,
Tyll sotell deth knokyd at my gate,
And on-avysed he seyd to me, chek-mate!
lo! how sotell he maketh a devors—
and wormys to fede, he hath here leyd my cors.
Speke softe, ye folk, for I am leyd aslepe!
I haue my dreme, in trust is moche treson.
ffram dethes hold feyne wold I make a lepe,
But my wysdom is turnyd into feble resoun:
[I see this worldis joye lastith but a season].
Wold to god, I had remembyrd me be-forne!
I sey no more but be ware of ane horne!
I haue my dreme, in trust is moche treson.
ffram dethes hold feyne wold I make a lepe,
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[I see this worldis joye lastith but a season].
Wold to god, I had remembyrd me be-forne!
I sey no more but be ware of ane horne!
This febyll world, so fals and so vnstable,
Promoteth his louers for a lytell while,
But at the last he yeveth hem a bable
Whene his peynted [trowth is torned in-to gile].
Experyence cawsith me þe trowth to compile,
Thynkyng this, to late alas! that I began,
For foly & hope disseyveth many a man.
Promoteth his louers for a lytell while,
But at the last he yeveth hem a bable
Whene his peynted [trowth is torned in-to gile].
Experyence cawsith me þe trowth to compile,
Thynkyng this, to late alas! that I began,
For foly & hope disseyveth many a man.
[Farewell, my frendis! the tide abidith no man:
I moste departe hens & so shall ye,
But in this passage the beste song þat I can
Is Requiem Eternam—I pray God grant it me!
Whan I haue endid all myn aduersite,
Graunte me in paradise to haue a mancyon,
That shede his blode for my redempcion.
I moste departe hens & so shall ye,
But in this passage the beste song þat I can
Is Requiem Eternam—I pray God grant it me!
Whan I haue endid all myn aduersite,
Graunte me in paradise to haue a mancyon,
That shede his blode for my redempcion.
Beati mortui qui in domino morivntur
Humiliatus sum vermis.]
Humiliatus sum vermis.]
150. Man Begins and Ends in Wretchedness
Thy begyning is barane brutelnes,
With wrechitnes wofull away thou w[endis]
The deth certane, the houre vnseker[nes],
The lyf so schort approching euer th[e end is]
Quho hiest clymbis most sud[danly descendis].
Quhat is her-of bot cast in god [thy cure]
And stand content of any avent[ure].
With wrechitnes wofull away thou w[endis]
The deth certane, the houre vnseker[nes],
The lyf so schort approching euer th[e end is]
Quho hiest clymbis most sud[danly descendis].
Quhat is her-of bot cast in god [thy cure]
And stand content of any avent[ure].
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Quho will aduert the grete [OMITTED]
Off this fals warld and won [OMITTED]
The grete vn-es Ingent aduersite
ffulfild of flatery and fals disse [OMITTED]
And man no wicht content is [OMITTED]
And thus but contrair thaim [OMITTED]
Quho leste here traistis I [OMITTED]
Off this fals warld and won [OMITTED]
The grete vn-es Ingent aduersite
ffulfild of flatery and fals disse [OMITTED]
And man no wicht content is [OMITTED]
And thus but contrair thaim [OMITTED]
Quho leste here traistis I [OMITTED]
151. Vanitas Vanitatum
Vanyte.
O vanyte off vanytes & all is vanite!
lo! how þis werld is turnyd vp & downe,
Now wele, now wo, now tranquilyte,
Now werre, now pese, & now rebilyoun.
Iff þu wole daly labour fore renowne,
ffore profete, plesure, astate, ore grete degre,
The best þer-of schall ende in vanyte.
lo! how þis werld is turnyd vp & downe,
Now wele, now wo, now tranquilyte,
Now werre, now pese, & now rebilyoun.
Iff þu wole daly labour fore renowne,
ffore profete, plesure, astate, ore grete degre,
The best þer-of schall ende in vanyte.
Ȝit beldis þu castellus, haulys, townys & towris,
Sytis & bourȝes, with wallis stoute & stronge,
With plesand herbours, of chambours & of bouris,
Hangyd with Arras stoutly depe & longe,
With rych presyus stones sete A-monge,
Ennewyd with gold, rych as it may be—
ȝit schall all waste & turne to vanyte.
Sytis & bourȝes, with wallis stoute & stronge,
With plesand herbours, of chambours & of bouris,
Hangyd with Arras stoutly depe & longe,
With rych presyus stones sete A-monge,
Ennewyd with gold, rych as it may be—
ȝit schall all waste & turne to vanyte.
Iff þu seke worschipe all þe werld a-boute,
ffore dede of Armys to Avaunse þi name,
So þat þer is not none fond so stoute,
Off ȝonge ne olde, þu toke neuer schame—
In euery place þu beris awey þe fame,
At euery Iustis þu berys awey þe gre,
Ȝit schall þi werke all end in vanyte.
ffore dede of Armys to Avaunse þi name,
So þat þer is not none fond so stoute,
Off ȝonge ne olde, þu toke neuer schame—
In euery place þu beris awey þe fame,
At euery Iustis þu berys awey þe gre,
Ȝit schall þi werke all end in vanyte.
239
Ȝe feyre ladis, apareld with plesance
To ȝo, both ȝouth & bewty ben Appendyng,
And many low labours doth ȝour obseruans,
And in ȝour courte deyly bene Atendyng.
They spare noþer fore labour ne fore spendyng,
To do ȝour plesure wer-so-euer ȝe be,
Ȝit schall þat myrthe All end in vanyte.
To ȝo, both ȝouth & bewty ben Appendyng,
And many low labours doth ȝour obseruans,
And in ȝour courte deyly bene Atendyng.
They spare noþer fore labour ne fore spendyng,
To do ȝour plesure wer-so-euer ȝe be,
Ȝit schall þat myrthe All end in vanyte.
Ȝiff þu off byrth here was þe worthyest,
And one þe erth was gretyst off astate,
Kyngis & popys so rych wer, At þe laste
Off þem Aȝene, þu durst do debate
Ȝit in a whyle þu schall be cheke-mate;
When deth wyll come & take hys propour fe,
Than schall þu knaw þi pride was vanyte.
And one þe erth was gretyst off astate,
Kyngis & popys so rych wer, At þe laste
Off þem Aȝene, þu durst do debate
Ȝit in a whyle þu schall be cheke-mate;
When deth wyll come & take hys propour fe,
Than schall þu knaw þi pride was vanyte.
Ȝiff þu be wedyde to thyne intente,
And haue a wyff full plesant & feyre,
Well borne & also obedyente,
And Also haue chylde forto be þin eyere,
Ȝit in a whyle þis plesans schall Apare;
When Age schall come, croke both hand & kne,
Than schall þu knaw þat was bot vanyte.
And haue a wyff full plesant & feyre,
Well borne & also obedyente,
And Also haue chylde forto be þin eyere,
Ȝit in a whyle þis plesans schall Apare;
When Age schall come, croke both hand & kne,
Than schall þu knaw þat was bot vanyte.
Ȝiff þu be stronge & ȝonge & fayre of face,
Als sembly of schap as any creatour,
louyd of pepull & gouernyd be grace,
lernyd in wysdom be wyse scryptour,
Preuyd in manhed passyd many a wynter,
And euer in wourschype, both be lond & se,
Ȝit schall [all pas] & end in vanyte.
Als sembly of schap as any creatour,
louyd of pepull & gouernyd be grace,
lernyd in wysdom be wyse scryptour,
Preuyd in manhed passyd many a wynter,
And euer in wourschype, both be lond & se,
Ȝit schall [all pas] & end in vanyte.
240
The well of fortone is so changeabull,
And deyly tournys vpon so slyper a pyne—
And ȝit some tyme it makis men abull
To cruell to ryne aȝen All þer ryall kyne—
Onone be vnfortone, þe state þat þei wer In
Oþer men happis, & þus ȝe may well se
That state ne reule is not bot vanyte.
And deyly tournys vpon so slyper a pyne—
And ȝit some tyme it makis men abull
To cruell to ryne aȝen All þer ryall kyne—
Onone be vnfortone, þe state þat þei wer In
Oþer men happis, & þus ȝe may well se
That state ne reule is not bot vanyte.
In ȝouth now styres mekyll wantonys,
And oft intendyth to lustys & pley,
And lytell remembyrs his awne febulnys;
ho ȝouth schall pas & departe a-wey,
And deth schall come, þat is none ney.
Thou blynd ȝouth, loke vp & se
Thy pride, þi pley—all is bot vanyte.
And oft intendyth to lustys & pley,
And lytell remembyrs his awne febulnys;
ho ȝouth schall pas & departe a-wey,
And deth schall come, þat is none ney.
Thou blynd ȝouth, loke vp & se
Thy pride, þi pley—all is bot vanyte.
lo! here comys ȝouth with myrth & plays Ioly,
With-outen thouȝt ore care, fader & moderles,
Bot medyll Age thinkis þat it was foly
And ner peynes hym-selue with werldly besynes,
Bot all his labour is to grete ryches—
Than commys Age & seys þat he must dyȝe,
Than he knaw ȝought & all was vanyte.
With-outen thouȝt ore care, fader & moderles,
Bot medyll Age thinkis þat it was foly
And ner peynes hym-selue with werldly besynes,
Bot all his labour is to grete ryches—
Than commys Age & seys þat he must dyȝe,
Than he knaw ȝought & all was vanyte.
We tyll þe erth, we tourne it to & fro,
We labour ryȝht deuly with grete besynes,
We dyge, we delue, we saw, we schere also,
We geder þe corne home fore oþer mens ryches,
We haue full seldome any restfull gladnes,
Bot labour in pouerte to þe tyme þat we dyȝe—
Ȝit is oure labour not bot vanyte.
We labour ryȝht deuly with grete besynes,
We dyge, we delue, we saw, we schere also,
We geder þe corne home fore oþer mens ryches,
We haue full seldome any restfull gladnes,
Bot labour in pouerte to þe tyme þat we dyȝe—
Ȝit is oure labour not bot vanyte.
Amen qd Rate.
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152. A Mirror for Young Ladies at Their Toilet
Cest le myrroure pur lez Iofenes Dames a regardir
aud maytyne pur lour testes bealment adressere.
Maist thou now be glade, with all thi fresshe aray,
One me to loke that wyll dystene thi face.
Rew one thy-self and all thi synne vprace!
Sone shalte þu flytte and seche anoþer place,
Shorte is thy sesoun here, thogh thou go gay.
One me to loke that wyll dystene thi face.
Rew one thy-self and all thi synne vprace!
Sone shalte þu flytte and seche anoþer place,
Shorte is thy sesoun here, thogh thou go gay.
O maset wriche, I marke the with my mace.
Lyfte vp thy ieye, be-holde now, and assay!
Yche loke one me aught to put þe in affray;
I wyll not spare the, for thou arte my pray.
Take hede, and turne fro synne while þu hast space.
Lyfte vp thy ieye, be-holde now, and assay!
Yche loke one me aught to put þe in affray;
I wyll not spare the, for thou arte my pray.
Take hede, and turne fro synne while þu hast space.
O þoughte, welthe heele to this, thaught ȝe say nay.
My tyme muste nedis comme as I manace;
Be lenghte one lyfe may lepe oute of my lace.
I smyte, I sle, I woll graunte no mane grace.
A-ryse! a-wake! amend here while thou may.
My tyme muste nedis comme as I manace;
Be lenghte one lyfe may lepe oute of my lace.
I smyte, I sle, I woll graunte no mane grace.
A-ryse! a-wake! amend here while thou may.
Explicit.
153. On the Untimely Death of a Fair Lady
Ha! cruell deeth, contrarious to creatures in kynde.
Ha! deeth dispitous, who may aduertise
Thi mourther, thi malice who may haue in mende?
The myschief that to mankynde þu dost excercise,
Thi rigour, þi rancour, who may deuyse?
The matyng of þi miserie no man may endure,
ffor thi chekkes conclude eueri creature.
Ha! deeth dispitous, who may aduertise
Thi mourther, thi malice who may haue in mende?
The myschief that to mankynde þu dost excercise,
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The matyng of þi miserie no man may endure,
ffor thi chekkes conclude eueri creature.
Thu art to alle creatures hidous to be-holde,
Thu pyllour, thu pirate, cesse of þi prise!
Thi felonye ys multiplied in so many folde
That al the wordle generally of the deþ agrise.
Stynt of þi malice, for, wyth thy malgyse,
Loueris ful lykyng and lusty in game
Thu marrest wyth myschief and makest hem lame.
Thu pyllour, thu pirate, cesse of þi prise!
Thi felonye ys multiplied in so many folde
That al the wordle generally of the deþ agrise.
Stynt of þi malice, for, wyth thy malgyse,
Loueris ful lykyng and lusty in game
Thu marrest wyth myschief and makest hem lame.
Thu tyraunt vntemperat, wyth thi tene & treson,
The solas of soueraignes þu dost siluestrise;
And ladies likyng thu sleest out of seson,
And reuest hem here ryalte wyth þi reprise.
Thyn insaciable malice who may a-complise?
When þat loueli ladies thu leyest so lowe,
And here bright beaute þu blemshest in a throwe.
The solas of soueraignes þu dost siluestrise;
And ladies likyng thu sleest out of seson,
And reuest hem here ryalte wyth þi reprise.
Thyn insaciable malice who may a-complise?
When þat loueli ladies thu leyest so lowe,
And here bright beaute þu blemshest in a throwe.
ffor þi malice, me semeth reames sholde arise
To destruye cruell deeth and do hym of dawe.
But oon wynked on me then: ‘war’, quod þe wyse,
‘And cesse of þi sentence for symple is þi sawe,
ffor deeth vniuerselly the wordle schal vengyse.
So ys the tyraunt tytled to that victorie
By adam, the alderman of old auncetrie.’
To destruye cruell deeth and do hym of dawe.
But oon wynked on me then: ‘war’, quod þe wyse,
‘And cesse of þi sentence for symple is þi sawe,
ffor deeth vniuerselly the wordle schal vengyse.
So ys the tyraunt tytled to that victorie
By adam, the alderman of old auncetrie.’
Then sorwed I, that sentence recouered by assyse,
And mourned for my maystresse, here marred in molde.
There ys countour ne clerk bounte can decyse,
In vertu here wommanhed was volupid many folde—
Discreet, devoute, diligent. deeth, thu mayst agrise
To represse so noble so gentill a creature
In tendir age vntymely, agayn the ordre of nature.
And mourned for my maystresse, here marred in molde.
There ys countour ne clerk bounte can decyse,
In vertu here wommanhed was volupid many folde—
Discreet, devoute, diligent. deeth, thu mayst agrise
To represse so noble so gentill a creature
In tendir age vntymely, agayn the ordre of nature.
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O myghty lord, wos goodnesse neuer schal fynyse,
Haue mercy on the soule of my dere maistresse!
The fendis power fro that soule chare & chastise!
Deliuere here, gracious lord, fro peyne and distresse!
Endowe here in thi place of plesaunt paradise,
And receyue here, blyssed lord, vpon thi right side,
In thy blysse eternally whyt the to a-byde.
Haue mercy on the soule of my dere maistresse!
The fendis power fro that soule chare & chastise!
Deliuere here, gracious lord, fro peyne and distresse!
Endowe here in thi place of plesaunt paradise,
And receyue here, blyssed lord, vpon thi right side,
In thy blysse eternally whyt the to a-byde.
Of lordis lyne & lynage sche was, here sche lyse!
Bounteuus, benigne, enbleshed wyth beaute,
Sage, softe and sobre an gentyll in al wyse,
fflorishyng ant fecunde, wyth femenyn beaute,
Meke, mylde and merciful, of pite sche bar þe prise.
Comely, kynde and curteis, in nobleye of nurture,
Vernant in alle vertu, plesaunt and demure.
Bounteuus, benigne, enbleshed wyth beaute,
Sage, softe and sobre an gentyll in al wyse,
fflorishyng ant fecunde, wyth femenyn beaute,
Meke, mylde and merciful, of pite sche bar þe prise.
Comely, kynde and curteis, in nobleye of nurture,
Vernant in alle vertu, plesaunt and demure.
154. The Mirror of Mortality
O mors, quam amara est memoria tua.
O deth, hough better ys the mynde of the!
That mover arte of moornynge & of moone.
Thou myndly myrrour, in whome all olde may see
The ways of youthe, in which thai haue mysgone,
Thou arte the same Remembrance allone,
Whome all astates and euery lawe degre,
With daily diligence owe to awaite vpone,
ffor whome thou clepiste, all muste go with the.
That mover arte of moornynge & of moone.
Thou myndly myrrour, in whome all olde may see
The ways of youthe, in which thai haue mysgone,
Thou arte the same Remembrance allone,
Whome all astates and euery lawe degre,
With daily diligence owe to awaite vpone,
ffor whome thou clepiste, all muste go with the.
Nought may preuaile—pompous prosperite,
Honoure ne heele, gemme ne precious stone,
Renoun, Riches, rent ne rialte—
ffor all that euer haue be of fleshe & bone
Thou hast and wolt consume, not levyng oon.
Who is alyve that cane Remembre thre
That are preserued? y finde two allone,
Ennok and Ely—yit shall thai go with the.
Honoure ne heele, gemme ne precious stone,
Renoun, Riches, rent ne rialte—
ffor all that euer haue be of fleshe & bone
Thou hast and wolt consume, not levyng oon.
Who is alyve that cane Remembre thre
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Ennok and Ely—yit shall thai go with the.
ffor in the houre of oure natiuite
Thi subtile entre vs preseth euerychone,
With clene continuell chalenginge thi fe;
And euery day we muste waite here vpone,
And while we lyve yit haue we odire foone:
The feende, the flesh, and worldly vanite,
Cotidiane corasy continvinge euire in oone,
Oure cely soule vnceesingly to sle.
Thi subtile entre vs preseth euerychone,
With clene continuell chalenginge thi fe;
And euery day we muste waite here vpone,
And while we lyve yit haue we odire foone:
The feende, the flesh, and worldly vanite,
Cotidiane corasy continvinge euire in oone,
Oure cely soule vnceesingly to sle.
Popes and prelates stand in perplexite,
and envyus clarkis forth with the thai gone,
Crowned conquerours and odire of law degre,
Knyghtly an hir tymes, thou sparith noone.
Marchauntes, men of law, all vndir oone,
Leches, laborers, fayne wolde fro the fle.
ffull wyse is he that cane thinke her vpone
And for hime-selfe provide, who-so he be.
and envyus clarkis forth with the thai gone,
Crowned conquerours and odire of law degre,
Knyghtly an hir tymes, thou sparith noone.
Marchauntes, men of law, all vndir oone,
Leches, laborers, fayne wolde fro the fle.
ffull wyse is he that cane thinke her vpone
And for hime-selfe provide, who-so he be.
Be-holde this myrroure in thy mynde, & se
This worldis transsitorie Ioy that sone is gone,
Which in effecte is but aduersite,
And of twey weys thou nedis must take oone.
Thenk of fre choise god hath the lent allone,
With witte and Resoun to reule thi liberte;
yif thou go mys, odire blame thou noone—
Thi-selfe arte cause of all that grevith the.
This worldis transsitorie Ioy that sone is gone,
Which in effecte is but aduersite,
And of twey weys thou nedis must take oone.
Thenk of fre choise god hath the lent allone,
With witte and Resoun to reule thi liberte;
yif thou go mys, odire blame thou noone—
Thi-selfe arte cause of all that grevith the.
O ye that floure in hie felicite,
ffor crystes sake remembreth here vpone!
Thenke that as fresh and lusty as ye be,
Er thei wer war, full sodanly haue gone;
ffor odire warnynge in this world ys none
But mynde of Deth or sore infirmite.
Whene thou lest wenest thou shalt be calde vpone,
ffor of thine houre thou woste no certeinte.
ffor crystes sake remembreth here vpone!
Thenke that as fresh and lusty as ye be,
Er thei wer war, full sodanly haue gone;
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But mynde of Deth or sore infirmite.
Whene thou lest wenest thou shalt be calde vpone,
ffor of thine houre thou woste no certeinte.
This worthi lorde of veray polyce,
Ser Raufe lorde Cromwell, Remembringe here vpone
ffor alle his lordshipp and gret stately fe,
Knowinge by resoun of oder Rescous none,
ffor all his castelles & toures hie of stone,
ffor hime and for my lady, like as ye se,
This towmebe prouyded, ayene that thei shall gone.
In gracius houre gode graunte hir passage be!
Ser Raufe lorde Cromwell, Remembringe here vpone
ffor alle his lordshipp and gret stately fe,
Knowinge by resoun of oder Rescous none,
ffor all his castelles & toures hie of stone,
ffor hime and for my lady, like as ye se,
This towmebe prouyded, ayene that thei shall gone.
In gracius houre gode graunte hir passage be!
Muse in this mirrour of mortalite,
Bothe olde and yonge that lokene here opone,
Lyfte vp your hertly eie, be-holde and se
These same right worthi, restinge vndire the stone.
Deuoutly pray for heme to criste allone,
That gyltles for hire gylte sterfe one a tre,
heme to preserue frome all hire gostely foone,
And send heme pees in perpetuite.
Bothe olde and yonge that lokene here opone,
Lyfte vp your hertly eie, be-holde and se
These same right worthi, restinge vndire the stone.
Deuoutly pray for heme to criste allone,
That gyltles for hire gylte sterfe one a tre,
heme to preserue frome all hire gostely foone,
And send heme pees in perpetuite.
Amen.
155. Three Lessons to Make Ready for Death
In my bed liyng on cristis day, half slepyng,
Sighhis wondrous hevyng, A voice I hard thus spekyng:
Sighhis wondrous hevyng, A voice I hard thus spekyng:
Wake, man, slepe not, rise vp and thynk þat erth thou art;
And that erth thou shal be, whan the hath cayht deth smart.
Com to churche, & serve thy maker with dredefull hart,
lest that thou repent the when thou art owte of quart.
And that erth thou shal be, whan the hath cayht deth smart.
Com to churche, & serve thy maker with dredefull hart,
lest that thou repent the when thou art owte of quart.
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Remember that thou shall dye,
ffor this world yn certentee
Hath nothyng save deth truele.
Therfore yn thy mynde vse this lessone:
Liffe so that deth take the yn sesone.
ffor this world yn certentee
Hath nothyng save deth truele.
Therfore yn thy mynde vse this lessone:
Liffe so that deth take the yn sesone.
ffor deth to make the ripe, I shal teche the thynges three,
Which and thou vse, owte of sesone thou can not dye.
The furst is a knowlage of the vij synnes dedlye
hoole with other to make to thy ffader gostlye.
Which and thou vse, owte of sesone thou can not dye.
The furst is a knowlage of the vij synnes dedlye
hoole with other to make to thy ffader gostlye.
Secoundly, that thy conscience dayly be well soght
Of wronges to thy neighbor done both in dede and thoght,
And that therof satisfaccioun hastly be broght;
ffor ellis thou shal leese that which, bledyng, thy lord boght.
Of wronges to thy neighbor done both in dede and thoght,
And that therof satisfaccioun hastly be broght;
ffor ellis thou shal leese that which, bledyng, thy lord boght.
The third lessone vse til thy mouth stopp the cold clay:
ffor thy synnes both wepe & weyle—bere this well away!
In harte be meke and contrite, and than thou shall play
In Blys with hym that of A mayde was borne this Day.
ffor thy synnes both wepe & weyle—bere this well away!
In harte be meke and contrite, and than thou shall play
In Blys with hym that of A mayde was borne this Day.
156. Against Death Is no Defence
Man, hef in mynd & mend þi mys,
quhill þow art heir in lyf lyffand;
and think apone þis warldis blys,
sa oft-syis is variand.
for fortonis quheill is ay turnand,
quhil to weil and quhil to wa,
quhill owp, quhil downe, I onderstand.
Memor esto nouissima.
quhill þow art heir in lyf lyffand;
and think apone þis warldis blys,
sa oft-syis is variand.
for fortonis quheill is ay turnand,
quhil to weil and quhil to wa,
quhill owp, quhil downe, I onderstand.
Memor esto nouissima.
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Thow seis þi sampil eueril[k] day,
and þov tak heid withoutyn les,
quhow sone þat yowt may pas away,
for bald hector and achilles
and alexr, þe prowd in pres,
hes tane þare leif & mony ma,
þat ded hes drawyne one-til his des.
memor esto nouissima.
and þov tak heid withoutyn les,
quhow sone þat yowt may pas away,
for bald hector and achilles
and alexr, þe prowd in pres,
hes tane þare leif & mony ma,
þat ded hes drawyne one-til his des.
memor esto nouissima.
Þidder þow com nakit and bayr,
as bannyst man of kyth & kyne;
so þe behuffis hyne to fayr,
for al þe ryches þow ma wyne
is na defens, be craft na gyne,
þat ma defend þe fra þi fa,
bot cherite be þe within.
memor esto nouissima.
as bannyst man of kyth & kyne;
so þe behuffis hyne to fayr,
for al þe ryches þow ma wyne
is na defens, be craft na gyne,
þat ma defend þe fra þi fa,
bot cherite be þe within.
memor esto nouissima.
Þis day thocht þow were hail & feyr,
as bern baldast, ore kyng with crowne,
Þe morne þow may be brocht one beyr
for al þi castalis, towre & towne.
Þai may nocht al mak þi ransone
fra ded becumin þat is so thra—
Þow art his pra, but radempsione.
memor esto nouissima.
as bern baldast, ore kyng with crowne,
Þe morne þow may be brocht one beyr
for al þi castalis, towre & towne.
Þai may nocht al mak þi ransone
fra ded becumin þat is so thra—
Þow art his pra, but radempsione.
memor esto nouissima.
Quhen þow art ded & laid in layme,
and þi ribbis ar þi ruf tre,
þow art þan brocht to þi lang hayme—
adew al warldis dignite!
than is to lait forswcht, think me,
quhen wormys g[n]awys þe to & fra,
now mynd þi mys in al degre.
memor esto nouissima.
and þi ribbis ar þi ruf tre,
þow art þan brocht to þi lang hayme—
adew al warldis dignite!
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quhen wormys g[n]awys þe to & fra,
now mynd þi mys in al degre.
memor esto nouissima.
Sen it is sa þat þow man fair,
and knawys nocht þe wayis rycht
Owt of þis warld withoutyn mare,
quheþer to hel or hewyne so brycht,
þow pray to hyme most is of mycht
þat he þe fra þe dewillis ta,
and schild þe fra þe fendis plycht.
memor esto nouissima.
and knawys nocht þe wayis rycht
Owt of þis warld withoutyn mare,
quheþer to hel or hewyne so brycht,
þow pray to hyme most is of mycht
þat he þe fra þe dewillis ta,
and schild þe fra þe fendis plycht.
memor esto nouissima.
157. Devouring Death Makes All Unbold
O mors mordens aspere, yn gyle þou haste noo pere,Nam sanos in prospere, Thow bryngyst to the bere,
Et tua sentencia, ffallyt bothe yonge and oolde,
Et fallax potencia, Thow makyst all vnboolde.
158. Knight, King, Clerk Wend to Death
I wende to dede, knight stithe in stoure,
thurghe fyght in felde i wane þe flour;
Na fightis me taght þe dede to quell—
weend to dede, soth i ȝow tell.
thurghe fyght in felde i wane þe flour;
Na fightis me taght þe dede to quell—
weend to dede, soth i ȝow tell.
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I weende [to dede], a kynge I-wisse;
What helpis honor or werldis blysse?
Dede is to mane þe kynde wai—
i wende to be clade in clay.
What helpis honor or werldis blysse?
Dede is to mane þe kynde wai—
i wende to be clade in clay.
I wende to dede, clerk ful of skill,
þat couth with worde men mare & dill.
Sone has me made þe dede ane ende—
beese ware with me! to dede i wende.
þat couth with worde men mare & dill.
Sone has me made þe dede ane ende—
beese ware with me! to dede i wende.
I wende to dede, a kyng y-wys;
What helps honour or warldis blys?
Ded is to man þe kynde way—
I wende to be cled in claye.
What helps honour or warldis blys?
Ded is to man þe kynde way—
I wende to be cled in claye.
I wende to dede, clerk ful of skill,
þat cowthe with wordes men mate & stylle.
So Sone has þe dede me made ane ende—
Bes war with me! to dede I wende.
þat cowthe with wordes men mate & stylle.
So Sone has þe dede me made ane ende—
Bes war with me! to dede I wende.
I wende to dede, knyght styf in stowre,
þorow fyght in felde I wan þe flowre;
No fyghts me taght þe ded to qwell—
[[OMITTED]] telle.
þorow fyght in felde I wan þe flowre;
No fyghts me taght þe ded to qwell—
[[OMITTED]] telle.
I wende to ded, clerk full of skill,
þat couth with word mate men at will;
Sone has me made þe ded an ende—
Be war with me! to ded I wende.
þat couth with word mate men at will;
Sone has me made þe ded an ende—
Be war with me! to ded I wende.
I wende to ded, a kyng I-wys;
What helpes here honur or worldis blys?
I wende to ded, knyght styffe in stoure,
Thurgh fight in felde I wane þe floure;
No feghtis me taght þe ded to qwell—
I wende to ded, soth I ȝow tell.
What helpes here honur or worldis blys?
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Thurgh fight in felde I wane þe floure;
No feghtis me taght þe ded to qwell—
I wende to ded, soth I ȝow tell.
Be ȝe wele now warre with me!
My name þen is ded;
May þer none fro me fle,
þat any lyfe gun led,
kynge, kasere, þeȝn, no knyght,
Ne clerke þat cane on boke rede,
Beest, ne foghel, ne oþer wyght,
Bot I sal make þam dedde.
My name þen is ded;
May þer none fro me fle,
þat any lyfe gun led,
kynge, kasere, þeȝn, no knyght,
Ne clerke þat cane on boke rede,
Beest, ne foghel, ne oþer wyght,
Bot I sal make þam dedde.
159. The Lament of the Soul of Edward IV
Miseremini mei, ye that ben my ffryndys,
This world hath enformyd me fforto falle.
How myȝte I endure when euery thinge endes;
What creature ys made to be eternall?
Now ys there no help butt pray ffore my sowll!
Thus Edward seyth, for latt I was kyng;
xxiijti yeres I reynyd this ymperiall,
Som men to plesoure, and som men nott to lykyng.
fforgefnes I aske fore my nyse doyng,
What A-vaylyþe it yov to be my foo?
I may nott Resiste nor Amend your compleynynge,
Quia ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
This world hath enformyd me fforto falle.
How myȝte I endure when euery thinge endes;
What creature ys made to be eternall?
Now ys there no help butt pray ffore my sowll!
Thus Edward seyth, for latt I was kyng;
xxiijti yeres I reynyd this ymperiall,
Som men to plesoure, and som men nott to lykyng.
fforgefnes I aske fore my nyse doyng,
What A-vaylyþe it yov to be my foo?
I may nott Resiste nor Amend your compleynynge,
Quia ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
I ly now in mowlde as it ys naturall,
ffore erthe vnto erthe hath his Reuerture;
What ordeyned god to be terrestyall
Wyth Recourse off erthly nature.
Euyre ffor-to lyve who may be swre?
What is hit to trust the mutabilite
Off this world whan no thyng may endure?
I am now gon wych latt was in prosperite,
To presumen there vpon hit ys butt vanite—
No sertayne butt a chery fere full of woo—
Reynyd I nott latt in greet feli[ci]te?
Et ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
ffore erthe vnto erthe hath his Reuerture;
What ordeyned god to be terrestyall
Wyth Recourse off erthly nature.
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What is hit to trust the mutabilite
Off this world whan no thyng may endure?
I am now gon wych latt was in prosperite,
To presumen there vpon hit ys butt vanite—
No sertayne butt a chery fere full of woo—
Reynyd I nott latt in greet feli[ci]te?
Et ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
Where was in my lyff such one as I
Whiles my fortune had here continuaunce?
Grauntyd nott sho to me the vyctorie,
In ynglond to Reygne and to contrybute fraunce?
Sho tok me by the hond and led me the daunce,
And with hure sewger lyppus on me she smylyd;
And for here dyssemblande countenaunce
I cowd nott be ware tyll I was begylyd.
Owtt off this lond sho hath [me] exylyd,
Whan I was lothest hens for to goo
And I in age, as who seyth, butt a child,
Ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
Whiles my fortune had here continuaunce?
Grauntyd nott sho to me the vyctorie,
In ynglond to Reygne and to contrybute fraunce?
Sho tok me by the hond and led me the daunce,
And with hure sewger lyppus on me she smylyd;
And for here dyssemblande countenaunce
I cowd nott be ware tyll I was begylyd.
Owtt off this lond sho hath [me] exylyd,
Whan I was lothest hens for to goo
And I in age, as who seyth, butt a child,
Ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
I se well they lyve that dowbyll my yerys;
Thus this world delyth with me as hit lyst,
And hath me made, to yov that byn my perys,
Example to take euyre off had-I-wyst.
I stored hucches, cofers and chyst
With tresore takyng off my commynalte—
ffore there tresore that I toke there prayers I myst—
Now whom I be-sech with pore humylyte
Off forgefnesse, off me to haue pite.
I was youre kyng and kepte yow from youre foo;
I wold a-mend, butt now hit woll nott bee,
Quia ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
Thus this world delyth with me as hit lyst,
And hath me made, to yov that byn my perys,
Example to take euyre off had-I-wyst.
I stored hucches, cofers and chyst
With tresore takyng off my commynalte—
ffore there tresore that I toke there prayers I myst—
Now whom I be-sech with pore humylyte
Off forgefnesse, off me to haue pite.
I was youre kyng and kepte yow from youre foo;
I wold a-mend, butt now hit woll nott bee,
Quia ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
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I had Inogthe, I hyld nott me content,
With-outt Remembraunce that I schuld dy,
More to encresse was myne entent.
Beyng nott warre who schuld occupy,
I mad the towre strong, butt I wyst nott why,
Nore to whom I purchased tatersall;
I amendyd dovere one the mowntayne hy,
And provokyd london to fortefye þer wall,
I made notynghame a place Ryall,
Wynsore and etton & many odur moo,
Westmynster & eltham—yit went I from all,
Quia ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
With-outt Remembraunce that I schuld dy,
More to encresse was myne entent.
Beyng nott warre who schuld occupy,
I mad the towre strong, butt I wyst nott why,
Nore to whom I purchased tatersall;
I amendyd dovere one the mowntayne hy,
And provokyd london to fortefye þer wall,
I made notynghame a place Ryall,
Wynsore and etton & many odur moo,
Westmynster & eltham—yit went I from all,
Quia ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
Where is my gret conquest & vy[c]tory?
Where be my Rentis & my Ryall aray?
Where be my coursors & my horsys so hy?
Where is my grett plesure, solas & play?
As vanite to nouȝte all ys gon away.
Lidy besse, for me long may ye call,
Whe be departyd vntyll domus day!
I lovyd you, lady, my souerayne ouerall.
Where be my byldyngis & my castellis Ryall?
Butt Wynsore off them I haue noo moo
And off etton ther prayers perpetuall,
Quia ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
Where be my Rentis & my Ryall aray?
Where be my coursors & my horsys so hy?
Where is my grett plesure, solas & play?
As vanite to nouȝte all ys gon away.
Lidy besse, for me long may ye call,
Whe be departyd vntyll domus day!
I lovyd you, lady, my souerayne ouerall.
Where be my byldyngis & my castellis Ryall?
Butt Wynsore off them I haue noo moo
And off etton ther prayers perpetuall,
Quia ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
Whi schuld ye be prowde & presume so hy?
Sent Barnard doth þer-off nobly trete,
Seyng a man ys butt a sake of stercory
And schall Retorne to wormys mette.
What cam off Alysaunder the grett?
And off strong samson who can tell?
Were nott wormys ordeynyd þer fleshe for to frett?
And Salamon, that off wytt was the well,
And absolon, proferyd his here forto sell—
ffor all his beavtes wormys hym ette also.
And I, latte Edward, that dyd excelle,
Ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
Sent Barnard doth þer-off nobly trete,
Seyng a man ys butt a sake of stercory
And schall Retorne to wormys mette.
What cam off Alysaunder the grett?
And off strong samson who can tell?
Were nott wormys ordeynyd þer fleshe for to frett?
And Salamon, that off wytt was the well,
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ffor all his beavtes wormys hym ette also.
And I, latte Edward, that dyd excelle,
Ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
I haue pleyd my pagent & now am I past,
I wyll þat ye wytt I was off no grett elde.
Butt all thing consumeth att the last,
Whan deth apperith lost ys the feld.
Sith this world no lenger vp-held
Mo, conservyd to me my place.
In manus tuas, domine, my spryte vp I yeld;
Humbley I be-sech the off thy grace!
And ye, corteys commyners, with your hert vnbrace
Benyngly to pray for me also,
As I forsayd, your kyng I was,
Et ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
I wyll þat ye wytt I was off no grett elde.
Butt all thing consumeth att the last,
Whan deth apperith lost ys the feld.
Sith this world no lenger vp-held
Mo, conservyd to me my place.
In manus tuas, domine, my spryte vp I yeld;
Humbley I be-sech the off thy grace!
And ye, corteys commyners, with your hert vnbrace
Benyngly to pray for me also,
As I forsayd, your kyng I was,
Et ecce nunc in puluere dormio.
160. The Rich Man's Farewell to the World
Worldys blys, haue good day!No lengur habbe ych þe ne may,
Þe more for þe lasse y haue for-lore;
y-cursyd be þe tyme þat ych was bore!
y haue lore for-euer heuun blys,
and go now þeras euer sorow & car ys.
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161. Beware the Pains of Purgatory
Peas I hier a voyce saith man thou shalt dye
Remembre the paynes of Purgatorie.
Remembre the paynes of Purgatorie.
Why sittist thou so syngyng, þenkyst þou nothyng,
Þat who-so best hoppith at laste shal haue the ryng?
Remembre thy maker and pray to that kyng,
To that blisse that he bought þe vnto, þe bryng.
Thou shalt aby, this worlde defygh. Pes, I hier a voice.
Þat who-so best hoppith at laste shal haue the ryng?
Remembre thy maker and pray to that kyng,
To that blisse that he bought þe vnto, þe bryng.
Thou shalt aby, this worlde defygh. Pes, I hier a voice.
I prove þe by Reason that thou art vnkynde,
He that deid afore þe is clene oute of thy mynde.
Thy frendis afore the—why art þou so blynde?—
In purgatory paynyng, there shalt thow them fynde.
With doolefull cry, þou shalt aby, þis world defygh. Peas.
He that deid afore þe is clene oute of thy mynde.
Thy frendis afore the—why art þou so blynde?—
In purgatory paynyng, there shalt thow them fynde.
With doolefull cry, þou shalt aby, þis world defygh. Peas.
Man, compasse in saying, in mynde Every delle,
And pray for the soules so grete paynes fele,
In purgatory paynyng their sorowys to keele,
Thy-self in no wors cas and þis it is weele,
This worlde defygh, thou shalt abye. Peas, I hier a.
And pray for the soules so grete paynes fele,
In purgatory paynyng their sorowys to keele,
Thy-self in no wors cas and þis it is weele,
This worlde defygh, thou shalt abye. Peas, I hier a.
I haue herd this voice wele, mary, fulle of grace,
Spekith it to me, þo I will high me A-paas
To the Chirche, me to amende, lady, pray for space.
Lorde, leste I come to late ye alas, alas! I fere me I,
With doulfull cry, I shall aby. This worlde despygh. Pees.
Spekith it to me, þo I will high me A-paas
To the Chirche, me to amende, lady, pray for space.
Lorde, leste I come to late ye alas, alas! I fere me I,
With doulfull cry, I shall aby. This worlde despygh. Pees.
A! now am I thorugh þat dey shall I thanne,
But yit, gentil neyghbere, tell me where or whane.
Or where shall I become? why spekist þou not, man?
Is there no Creature þat answere me cane?
Now god me guy, I fere me I, with dulfull cry, I shal aby, þis world defygh.
But yit, gentil neyghbere, tell me where or whane.
Or where shall I become? why spekist þou not, man?
Is there no Creature þat answere me cane?
Now god me guy, I fere me I, with dulfull cry, I shal aby, þis world defygh.
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Than see I right wele ther is no way butt oone,
Now helpe me, deere lady, Kateryn, and John,
Cristofer & George, myne avowries, echone!
Of the nombre dampned see that I be noone.
Pray for me high. Now god me guy, I fere me I,
With dulfull cry, I shall aby. This world defygh, Pies, I hier.
Now helpe me, deere lady, Kateryn, and John,
Cristofer & George, myne avowries, echone!
Of the nombre dampned see that I be noone.
Pray for me high. Now god me guy, I fere me I,
With dulfull cry, I shall aby. This world defygh, Pies, I hier.
162. The Testament of a Christian
Terram terra tegat, demon peccata resumat,
Mundus res habeat, spiritus alta petat.
Mundus res habeat, spiritus alta petat.
Terram terra tegat
Ffour poyntis, my will or I hence departe,Reason me moveth to make as I maye:
ffirst, to the erthe I bequeth his parte—
My wretched careyn, is but fowle claye.
Like than to like, erthe in erthe to laye,
Sith it is according, by it I woll abide,
As for the first parte of my will, that erthe erth hide.
Demon peccata resumat
Myne orrible synnes that so sore me bynde,With weight me oppresse, that lyen so many fold,
So many in numbre, soo sondry in kynde.
The ffeende by his instaunce to theym made me bold—
ffrom hym they come, to hym I yelde wolde.
Wherfore, the second parte of my will is thus,
That the fende receyue all my synnes as his.
Mundus res habeat
Whate availeth goodys, am I ones dede and roten?Them all and some I leve, peny and povnde,
Truely or vntruely, some I trowe mys-goten—
Though I wot not of whome, howe, nor in whate grovnde.
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And therfore the thirde parte is of my wille,
All my worldly goodis Let the worlde haue still.
Spiritus alta petat
Nowe for the fourth poynte, and than haue I doo.Nedefull for the soule me thinketh to provide;
Hence muste I nedes, but whother shall I goo?
I dowte my demeryttys, which weyen on euery side,
but goddys mercy shall I truste to be my guyde,
Vnder whoes liecens, yet while I maye breth,
Vnto heven on high my Soule I bequeth.
163. Death, the Soul's Friend
Thynk, man, qware-off thou art wrought,
Þat art so wlonk in wede;
Thynk hou þou art hedyr brought,
& of thyn end take hede.
Thynk hou dere god has þe bought,
With blysful blode to blede;
Thynk for his gylt was it noght,
bot, man, for þi mys-dede.
With an .O. & and .I., thynk on hym, .I. rede,
Þat wroght þis werld to þi be-howe, & heuen to þi mede.
Þat art so wlonk in wede;
Thynk hou þou art hedyr brought,
& of thyn end take hede.
Thynk hou dere god has þe bought,
With blysful blode to blede;
Thynk for his gylt was it noght,
bot, man, for þi mys-dede.
With an .O. & and .I., thynk on hym, .I. rede,
Þat wroght þis werld to þi be-howe, & heuen to þi mede.
Thynk, man, inwardly on þis,
& be þou noght vn-kynde;
Thynk & forfet noght þat blys,
þat made es ffor man-kynde;
Thynk qwat þou has don a-myss
Syn þou hadyst mannys mynde;
Thynk þis werld þat wryched es
will wan o-way als wynde.
With an .O. & an .I., thynk & þou sall ffynde,
Iff þou rekenes ridily, þou ert fful ferre be-hynde.
& be þou noght vn-kynde;
Thynk & forfet noght þat blys,
þat made es ffor man-kynde;
257
Syn þou hadyst mannys mynde;
Thynk þis werld þat wryched es
will wan o-way als wynde.
With an .O. & an .I., thynk & þou sall ffynde,
Iff þou rekenes ridily, þou ert fful ferre be-hynde.
Thynk we wrichid wormys ar,
& lette no syn þe schend;
Thynk þat þou was born ful bare,
so sal þou hen wend;
Thynk to be ar þat þou fare,
þi selff þi soule frend;
Thynk & trayst off na man mare
þan of þi oughen hend.
With an .O. & an .I., do so or þou wend,
Þat þou may fynd it efftirward, qware þou sal longest lend.
& lette no syn þe schend;
Thynk þat þou was born ful bare,
so sal þou hen wend;
Thynk to be ar þat þou fare,
þi selff þi soule frend;
Thynk & trayst off na man mare
þan of þi oughen hend.
With an .O. & an .I., do so or þou wend,
Þat þou may fynd it efftirward, qware þou sal longest lend.
T[h]ynk how dede cummys sudanly,
als þou may se all-day;
Thynk & be noght ferd for-thy,
bot be wel war all-way;
Thynk & rewyl þe rythwysly,
or þat þou clyng in clay;
Thynk on crist & cry mercy,
amend þe qwyle þou may.
With an .o. & an .I., thynk qwat .I. þe say,
thynk þis lyf is lyghly lost, þe tothir lastys ay.
als þou may se all-day;
Thynk & be noght ferd for-thy,
bot be wel war all-way;
Thynk & rewyl þe rythwysly,
or þat þou clyng in clay;
Thynk on crist & cry mercy,
amend þe qwyle þou may.
With an .o. & an .I., thynk qwat .I. þe say,
thynk þis lyf is lyghly lost, þe tothir lastys ay.
Thy[n]k þis werld is wondirfful,
& þat is gret Meruayll;
Thy[n]k þou may noght stand a pull,
qwen dede þe wil asayll;
Thynk þi mekyl muk & mull
þen may þe noght a-wayll;
Thynk þou wendys qwedyr god wull,
to rist or to trauayll.
With an .o. & an I., þer may na-thyng a-wayle,
Þat here has wroght wrangwysly, him-self to wrathir-hayle.
& þat is gret Meruayll;
Thy[n]k þou may noght stand a pull,
qwen dede þe wil asayll;
258
þen may þe noght a-wayll;
Thynk þou wendys qwedyr god wull,
to rist or to trauayll.
With an .o. & an I., þer may na-thyng a-wayle,
Þat here has wroght wrangwysly, him-self to wrathir-hayle.
Thynk & dred noght for to dy,
syn þou sall nedis þer-to;
Thynk þat ded is opynly
ende off werdes wo;
Thynk als so, bot if þou dy,
to god may þou noght go;
Thynk & hald þe payed þer-by,
þou may noght ffle þer-fro.
With an .O. & an .I., þan thynk me it is so,
Þat ded sal be þi sawl frend, & erthly lyff þi ffo.
syn þou sall nedis þer-to;
Thynk þat ded is opynly
ende off werdes wo;
Thynk als so, bot if þou dy,
to god may þou noght go;
Thynk & hald þe payed þer-by,
þou may noght ffle þer-fro.
With an .O. & an .I., þan thynk me it is so,
Þat ded sal be þi sawl frend, & erthly lyff þi ffo.
Thynk þat þou ert ded alway,
qwyllis þat þou dwellis here;
Thynk þi lyff be-gynnis ay,
qwen þou ert layd apon a bere;
Thynk & serue þat prince to pay,
þe kyng of kyng, þat hass na pere;
Thynk I rede, bothe nyth & day,
on hym þat boght þe so dere.
With an .O. and an .I., thynk qwat I þe lere,
Iff þou wil þat solace se þer seyntis syttes sere.
qwyllis þat þou dwellis here;
Thynk þi lyff be-gynnis ay,
qwen þou ert layd apon a bere;
Thynk & serue þat prince to pay,
þe kyng of kyng, þat hass na pere;
Thynk I rede, bothe nyth & day,
on hym þat boght þe so dere.
With an .O. and an .I., thynk qwat I þe lere,
Iff þou wil þat solace se þer seyntis syttes sere.
Amen.
259
164. Death, the Port of Peace
Howe cometh al ye That ben y-broughtIn bondes,—full of bitter besynesse
of erthly luste, abydynge in your thought?
Here ys the reste of all your besynesse,
Here ys the porte of peese, & resstfulnes
to them that stondeth In stormes of dys[e]se,
only refuge to wreches In dystrese,
and all comforte of myschefe & mys[e]se.
| Religious Lyrics of the XVth Century | |