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DIALOGUES BETWEEN THE BLESSED VIRGIN AND CHILD.
1

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Corrections to obvious scribal errors have been retained. Square brackets denote editorial insertions or emendations.

1. Dear Son, Leave Thy Weeping

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Porkington MS. 10

A baby ys borne vs blys to bryng;
A mayddyn I hard loullay synge:
‘Dyre son, now leyfe thi weppng,
Thy fadyre ys þe kyng of blys.’
‘Nay, dere modyre, for yow weppe I noȝt,
But for þingis þat schall be wroȝt
Or þat I have mankynd I-boȝt;
Was þer neuer payn lyke yt I-wys.’
‘Pes, dyre sone, say þou me not soo!
Thow art my chyld, I have noo moo.
Alas! þat I schwld see þis woo,
Hyt were to me gret heyuenys.’
‘My hondys, modyre, þat ȝe now see,
Thay schall be nayllyd one a tre;
My feyt all-soo fastnyd schal be—
fful monny schall wepe þat hit schall see.’
2

‘Alas! dyre son, sowerov now ys my happe;
To see my chyld þat sovkys my pappe
So rwthfully takyn ovt of my lape,
Hyt wer to me gret heyuenys.’
‘Alsoo, modyre, þer schall a speyre
My tendure hert all to-teyre;
The blud schall keuyre my body þer—
Gret rwthe yt schall be to see.’
‘A! dere sone, þat is a heyvy cas;
When gabrell cnellyd before my face,
And sayd “heylle lady full of grace”,
He neuer told me nooþing of þis.’
‘Dere modyre, peys, nowe I yow pray,
And take noo sorrow for þat I say;
But synnge þis song “by by lowllay”,
To dryfe away all heyuenys.’

2. Here I Sit Alone, Alas! Alone

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B.M. Addit. MS. 5465

Alone, alone, alone, alone, alone;
Here I sitt alone, alas! alone.
As I walked me this endurs day
to þe grene wode for to play
& all heuyness to put away
my-self alone.
3

As I walkyd vndir þe grene wode bowe
I sawe a maide fayre I-now;
a child she happid, she song, she lough—
þat child wepid alone.
‘Son,’ she sayd, ‘I have þe borne
to saue mankynd þat was forlorne;
therfor I pray the, son, ne morne,
but be still alone.’
‘Moder, me thynkith it is ryȝt ill
that men [me] sekyth for to spill.
for them to saue it is my will;
therfor I cam hither alone.’
‘Sone,’ she sayd, ‘let it be In þi thought,
for mannys gilt is not with-sought;
for þu art he þat hath all wrought,
& I þi moder alone.’

3. It is my Father's Will

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Bodleian MS. Add. A. 106 (Sum. Catal. No. 29003)

Lullay, lullay, my lityl chyld, slepe & be now styll;
If þu be a lytill chyld ȝitt may þu haue þi wyll.
‘How suld I now, þu fayre may, fall apone a slepe?
better me thynke þat I may fall apone & wepe
Fore he þat mad both nyght & day, cold & also hette,
now layde I ame in a wispe of hay I cane noder go nore crepe
Bot wel I wate as well I may—slepe & be now styll—
Suffre þe paynes þat I may; it is my fader wyll.
4

Seys þu noȝte, þu fayr may, & heris þu noȝte also
How kynge herod, þat keyne knyght, & of his peres mo
þat be a-bowte nyght & day my body fore to slo?
þai seke me both nyght & day at werke me mekyll wo,
bot well I wate as well I may—slepe & be now styll—
Suffre þe paynes þat I may; it is my fader wyll.
How suld I now, þu fayre may, how suld I now myrth make?
My songe is mad of walaway; fore dred I begyne to whake,
Fore drede of þat ilk day at I my deth sall take
& suffre þe paynes þat I may fore synfull man sake.
Fore well I wate as well I may—slepe & be now styll—
Suffre þe paynes þat I may; it is my fader wyll.
bot ȝitt me thynk it well besett If man haue of me mynd,
& al my paynes well besett If man to me be kynd.
þare is no deth at sall me let, & I hym trew fynd,
One þe rode fore to sytt, my handis for to bynd.
bot well I wat as well I may—slepe & be now styll—
Suffre þe paynes þat I may; it is my fader wyll.’

4. He said Ba-Bay, she said Lullay

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Harley MS. 2380

Þis endres nyght A-bout mydnyght
As I me lay for to sclepe,
I hard a may syng lullay
for powaret sor sco wepe.
He sayd Ba-Bay;
sco sayd lullay,
þe virgine fresch as ròs in may.
5

Sare sco soght Bot fand sco nought
To hap hyre sone Ihū fro cold.
Iosef sayd belif, ‘scuet wyfe,
Tell me wat ȝe wald,
Hartly I ȝou pray.’
He sayd ba-bay;
Scho sayd lullay,
þe virgine fresch as ros in may.
Scho sayde, ‘scueit spows, Me thynk greuus
Myn child sud lig In hay,
Sene he is kyng And mayd al thyng,
And now Is powrest In aray.’
He sayd bay-bay;
Scho sayd lullay,
þe virgine fresch as ros In may.
‘Hire he Is þat bers þe prys
In all thyng þat he as wrowght;
To hap my Barne Som clas I ȝarne,
Bot wat It I ne rowght,
þis yoles day.’
He sayd Ba-Bay;
Sco sayd lullay,
þe virgine fresche as ros In may.
‘Modere dere, amend ȝoure chere’—
þus says hire sone Ihū hir till—
‘Al-of I be In poure degre,
It is my ffadris wyll
And sud be obay.’
[He sayd ba-bay;]
sco sayd lullay,
þe virgyne fresche as ros In may.
6

‘A crown o thorne for sawll-is lorne
Opone my hed me most ned were,
And till a tre So nayled be;
þare payns þay wyl me dere
þoron a-say.’
He sayd ba-bay;
Scho sayd lullay,
þe virgin fresch as ros In may.
‘Þe trewght sal fal hout of þe postill hall
vnto ȝou, modere, all-oon to duell;
Wyll I call fro þe fends thrall
Adam out of hel
to py verray.’
he sayd ba-bay;
sco sayd lullay,
þe virgin fresch as ros In may.
Sco sayd, ‘sweit sone, wen sal þis be [don],
þat ȝe sal suffir al þis vo?’
‘Moder fre, al sal ȝe se
With xxx ȝer & thrio—
It is no nay.’
He sayd ba-bay;
sco sayd lullay,
þe virgin fresch as ros In may.
‘Sone, I yow ix qwen sal þu ris?’
‘Moder, verray apone þe thyrd day
þat Iudas has me sald t'outray.’
He sayd ba-bay;
Sco sayd lullay,
þe virgin fresch as ros In may.
‘I sall vp steiien þat ȝe ma se,
Apon my fader ryght hand,
7

In blis to Be, and so sal ȝe
To were A croune garland
In blis for hay.’
He sayd ba-bay;
Sco sayd lullay,
þe virgin fresch as ros In [may].
‘Syng me ere, My moder dere.’
‘Wet souet vois I ȝou pray,
Wep no more, ȝe gref me sor,
ȝour morninge put a-way—
Sing and say lullay.’
He sayd ba-bay;
Sco sayd lullay,
þe virgin fresch as ros Ine [may].

5. She Sang, Dear Son, Lullay

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MS. Ashmole 189 (Sum. Catal. No. 6777)

Thys yonder nyȝth y sawe A syȝte,
A sterre As bryȝth As ony daye
& euer A-monge A maydene songe,
‘by by, lully, lullaye.’
Thys mayden hyȝth mary, she was full mylde,
she knelyde by-fore here oune dere chylde.
She lullyde, She lappyde,
she rullyde, she wrapped,
She wepped wyth-owtyne nay;
She rullyde hym, she dressyde hym,
she lyssyd hym, she blessyd hym,
She sange ‘dere sone, lullay’.
She sayde, ‘dere sone, ly styll & slepe.
What cause hast þu so sore to wepe,
8

Wyth syȝhyng, wyth snobbynge,
wyth crying & wyth scrycchynge
All þis londe daye;
And þus wakynge wyth sore wepynge
Wyth many salt terys droppynge?
ly stylle, dere sone, I þe pray.’
‘Moder,’ he sayde, ‘for mane I wepe so sore
& for hys loue I shall be tore
Wyth scorgyng, wyth thretnyng,
wyth bobbyng, wyth betyng
for sothe, moder, I saye;
And one A crosse full hy hanggyng,
And to my herte foll sore styckynge
A spere on good frydaye.’
Thys maydene Aunswerde wyth heuy chere,
‘Shalt þu thus sovere, my swete sone dere?
Now y morne, now y muse,
I All gladnes refuse;
I, euer fro thys day.
My dere sone, y þe pray,
thys payne þu put Away,
and yf hyt possybyll be may.’
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