 | The Childe of Bristowe |  |
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10. The Child of Bristowe
He that made bothe helle & heuene,
Man & womman, in dayes VII,
And alle shal fede and fille,
He graunte vs alle his blessynge,
More & lasse, bothe olde & yonge,
That herkeneth & hold hem stille.
The beste song that euer was made
Ys not worth a lekys blade,
But men wol tende þer-tille.
Therfor y pray yow in þis place,
Of your talkynge þat ye be pes,
Yf it be youre wille.
Man & womman, in dayes VII,
And alle shal fede and fille,
He graunte vs alle his blessynge,
More & lasse, bothe olde & yonge,
That herkeneth & hold hem stille.
The beste song that euer was made
Ys not worth a lekys blade,
But men wol tende þer-tille.
Therfor y pray yow in þis place,
Of your talkynge þat ye be pes,
Yf it be youre wille.
I found it writen in olde hand
That som-tyme dwellid in Englond
A squyer mykel of myght;
He had castels, tounes & toures,
Feyre forestis & feldes with floures,
Beestis wilde and wight.
To lawe he went a gret while,
Pore men he lerned to begile
Alle agayns the right;
Mykel good he gadred to-gedir
Alle with treson & dedis lither;
He drad not god almyght.
That som-tyme dwellid in Englond
A squyer mykel of myght;
He had castels, tounes & toures,
Feyre forestis & feldes with floures,
Beestis wilde and wight.
To lawe he went a gret while,
Pore men he lerned to begile
Alle agayns the right;
Mykel good he gadred to-gedir
Alle with treson & dedis lither;
He drad not god almyght.
The good he gadred to-geder than,
He had it of many a pore man,
The most partye with wronge.
He had a sone, shuld be his heyre,
Of shap he was semely & feyre,
Of lymes large & longe.
So moche his mynde was on þat childe:
He rought not whom (he) begiled
Worly good to fonge,
And al to make his sone so riche
That none other myght hym be liche—
So ment he euer amonge.
He had it of many a pore man,
The most partye with wronge.
He had a sone, shuld be his heyre,
Of shap he was semely & feyre,
Of lymes large & longe.
So moche his mynde was on þat childe:
He rought not whom (he) begiled
Worly good to fonge,
And al to make his sone so riche
That none other myght hym be liche—
So ment he euer amonge.
When the child was XII yere & more,
His fader put hym vnto lore,
To lerne to be a clerke.
So longe he lernyd in clergie
Til he was wise and wittye,
And drad al dedis derke.
The fader seid to his sone dere:
“To lawe thu shalt go a yere,
And coste me XX marke;
For euer the better thu shalt be:
Ther shal no-man begile the,
Neyther in word ne werke”
His fader put hym vnto lore,
To lerne to be a clerke.
So longe he lernyd in clergie
Til he was wise and wittye,
And drad al dedis derke.
The fader seid to his sone dere:
“To lawe thu shalt go a yere,
And coste me XX marke;
For euer the better thu shalt be:
Ther shal no-man begile the,
Neyther in word ne werke”
The child answerd with a softe sawe:
“They fare ful wel þat lerne no lawe,
And so y hope to do;
That lyue wiI y neuer lede
To put my soule in so gret drede
To make god my foo.
To sle my soule, it were routhe.
Any science that is trouthe
Y shal amytte me ther-to;
For to forsake my soule helthe,
For any wynnyng of worldes welthe,
That wille y neuer do.
“They fare ful wel þat lerne no lawe,
And so y hope to do;
That lyue wiI y neuer lede
To put my soule in so gret drede
To make god my foo.
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Any science that is trouthe
Y shal amytte me ther-to;
For to forsake my soule helthe,
For any wynnyng of worldes welthe,
That wille y neuer do.
Hit hath euer be myn avise
To lede my lyf by marchandise,
To lerne to bye and selle;
That good getyne by marchancye
It is trouthe, as thenketh me;
Ther-with wille y melle.
Here at Bristow dwellith on,
Is hold right a iuste, trew man,
As y here now telle:
His prentys wille y be VII yere,
His science truly for to lere,
And with hym wille y dwelle.”
To lede my lyf by marchandise,
To lerne to bye and selle;
That good getyne by marchancye
It is trouthe, as thenketh me;
Ther-with wille y melle.
Here at Bristow dwellith on,
Is hold right a iuste, trew man,
As y here now telle:
His prentys wille y be VII yere,
His science truly for to lere,
And with hym wille y dwelle.”
The squyer vnto Bristow rode
And with the marchand cownant made
VII yere to haue his sone;
He gaf hym gold gret plente,
The child his prentys shuld be
His science for to conne.
The child toke ful wel to lore;
His loue was in god euer-more,
As it was his wone.
He wax so curteise & bolde:
Al merrchauntȝ loued hym, yong & olde,
Þat in þat contre gan wone.—
And with the marchand cownant made
VII yere to haue his sone;
He gaf hym gold gret plente,
The child his prentys shuld be
His science for to conne.
The child toke ful wel to lore;
His loue was in god euer-more,
As it was his wone.
He wax so curteise & bolde:
Al merrchauntȝ loued hym, yong & olde,
Þat in þat contre gan wone.—
Leue we now that child thore,
And of his fader speke we more,
That was so stoute & bolde.
He was avaunced so hye:
Ther was no-man in þat contre
Durst done but as he wolde.
And euer he vsid vsery,
He wold not lene but he wyst why
Avauntage dobelle tolde;
Tethynges he liste neuer to pay;
Yf parsones & vicares wold oght say,
He newid hem cares colde.
And of his fader speke we more,
That was so stoute & bolde.
He was avaunced so hye:
Ther was no-man in þat contre
Durst done but as he wolde.
And euer he vsid vsery,
He wold not lene but he wyst why
Avauntage dobelle tolde;
Tethynges he liste neuer to pay;
Yf parsones & vicares wold oght say,
He newid hem cares colde.
Alle thyng wol ende atte last.
God on hym soche sekenes cast:
He myght no lenger abide,
But on his ded-bed he lay
And drow toward his endyng day,
For al his power & pride.
Then he sent for knyghtes & squyers,
Whiche were his comperys,
In that contre besyde.
He seid emonges hem euerychon:
“Sires, my lyf is nere gone,
Hit may not be denyede.”
God on hym soche sekenes cast:
He myght no lenger abide,
But on his ded-bed he lay
And drow toward his endyng day,
For al his power & pride.
Then he sent for knyghtes & squyers,
Whiche were his comperys,
In that contre besyde.
He seid emonges hem euerychon:
“Sires, my lyf is nere gone,
Hit may not be denyede.”
Ther was no-man in þat contre
That his excutour wold be,
Nor for no good ne ille;
They seid his good was geten so:
They wold not haue þer-with to do,
For drede of god in heuen.
He prayed hem, & they seid nay.
Allas he seid and welaway,
With a rufulle stevyne.
After his sone son he sent
Evyn to Bristow verrament—
Was thens but myles VII.
That his excutour wold be,
Nor for no good ne ille;
They seid his good was geten so:
They wold not haue þer-with to do,
For drede of god in heuen.
He prayed hem, & they seid nay.
Allas he seid and welaway,
With a rufulle stevyne.
After his sone son he sent
Evyn to Bristow verrament—
Was thens but myles VII.
The child to chamber toke his way
There his fader on ded-bed lay,
And asked hym of his chere.
“Sone, he seid, wel-come to me!
Y ly here now as þu may se,
My endyng day negheth nere.
But, sone, thu most be myn heyre
Of al my londes, good & faire,
And my lordschips fere & nere.
Therfor, sone, now y pray the
Myn attourney that thu be,
When y am broght to bere.”
There his fader on ded-bed lay,
And asked hym of his chere.
“Sone, he seid, wel-come to me!
Y ly here now as þu may se,
My endyng day negheth nere.
But, sone, thu most be myn heyre
Of al my londes, good & faire,
And my lordschips fere & nere.
Therfor, sone, now y pray the
Myn attourney that thu be,
When y am broght to bere.”
The child answerd with wordes mylde:
“Ye se, fader, y am but a childe,
Discrecion haue y none;
To take soche a charge on me,
By my faith! that shal not be,
Y can no skyle ther-on.
Here ben knyghtes & squyers
Whiche were your compers,
And many a worthy man;
Yf y shuld soche on me take
That alle thes worthi men forsake,
A fole then were y one!”
“Ye se, fader, y am but a childe,
Discrecion haue y none;
To take soche a charge on me,
By my faith! that shal not be,
Y can no skyle ther-on.
Here ben knyghtes & squyers
Whiche were your compers,
And many a worthy man;
Yf y shuld soche on me take
That alle thes worthi men forsake,
A fole then were y one!”
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He seid: “y haue no sone but the,
And myn heire þu most nedis be—
Ther may no-man sey nay.
Moche good haue I gadred to-geder
With extorcion & dedis lither—
Alas and welaway!
Alle this, sone, y gadred for the:
And thu so sone failest me
At my nedeful day!
Frendship, sone, is ylle to triste,
Eche man be ware of “had y wiste”,
God wote, so may y say.
And myn heire þu most nedis be—
Ther may no-man sey nay.
Moche good haue I gadred to-geder
With extorcion & dedis lither—
Alas and welaway!
Alle this, sone, y gadred for the:
And thu so sone failest me
At my nedeful day!
Frendship, sone, is ylle to triste,
Eche man be ware of “had y wiste”,
God wote, so may y say.
Sone, he seid, thu scapest not so—
That shalt þu weten, or thu go—
Hethen charge y the:
To-fore god thu mothe answere,
And as thu wilt my blessyng bere,
Myn attourney that thu be.”
“A, fader, ye bynde me with a charge,
And y shal bynde yow with as large
As ye bynde now me:
The same day fortenyght þat ye passe
Y charge yow appere in this place,
Your spiret lat me se!
That shalt þu weten, or thu go—
Hethen charge y the:
To-fore god thu mothe answere,
And as thu wilt my blessyng bere,
Myn attourney that thu be.”
“A, fader, ye bynde me with a charge,
And y shal bynde yow with as large
As ye bynde now me:
The same day fortenyght þat ye passe
Y charge yow appere in this place,
Your spiret lat me se!
For ye haue bound me so sare,
Now y most nedis, how-euer y fare,
Do youre commaundement.
Therfor y charge yow þat ye appere,
That y may se your soule here,
Whethir it be saued or shent,—
And that ye do no scathe to me,
Ne none that shal come with the!”
“Sone, he seid, y assent.
But allas that y was borne,
Þat man is soule shuld be lorne
For my golde or rent.”
Now y most nedis, how-euer y fare,
Do youre commaundement.
Therfor y charge yow þat ye appere,
That y may se your soule here,
Whethir it be saued or shent,—
And that ye do no scathe to me,
Ne none that shal come with the!”
“Sone, he seid, y assent.
But allas that y was borne,
Þat man is soule shuld be lorne
For my golde or rent.”
Al thyng most ende atte last.
God soche sekenys on hym cast,
That he most nedis go.
The parishe prest vp was soght,
The glorioste sacrament with hym he broght
That dyed for mannys woo;
There he shrowe hym with hert sore,
And cryed god mercy euer-more,
As it was tyme to do.
When god wold, he went his way.
His sones song was welaway,
Fo(r) hym his hert was wo.
God soche sekenys on hym cast,
That he most nedis go.
The parishe prest vp was soght,
The glorioste sacrament with hym he broght
That dyed for mannys woo;
There he shrowe hym with hert sore,
And cryed god mercy euer-more,
As it was tyme to do.
When god wold, he went his way.
His sones song was welaway,
Fo(r) hym his hert was wo.
His sone sought fro toune to toune
For prestis & men of religione,
The dirige for to say.
An C prestis he had & mo;
Gret yeftys he gaf hem tho,
Chargyng hem for his fader to pray.
Yonge children had gret hole
And pore wymmen had gret dole—
That holpe hym not a day.
And sitthe broght hym in his pytt—
As al men muste, thei may not flyt,
Whethir thei be wel or nay.
For prestis & men of religione,
The dirige for to say.
An C prestis he had & mo;
Gret yeftys he gaf hem tho,
Chargyng hem for his fader to pray.
Yonge children had gret hole
And pore wymmen had gret dole—
That holpe hym not a day.
And sitthe broght hym in his pytt—
As al men muste, thei may not flyt,
Whethir thei be wel or nay.
When thei had broght hym in his graue,
His sone, þat thoght his soule to saue
Yf god wold gef hym leue,
Al the catel his fader hade
He sold it vp & money made,
And labored morow & eve:
He sought aboute in þat contre tho
Where any almes myght be do,
And largely he dud hem yeue,
Wayes & brugges for to make,
And pore men for goddis sake
He yeaf them gret releve.
His sone, þat thoght his soule to saue
Yf god wold gef hym leue,
Al the catel his fader hade
He sold it vp & money made,
And labored morow & eve:
He sought aboute in þat contre tho
Where any almes myght be do,
And largely he dud hem yeue,
Wayes & brugges for to make,
And pore men for goddis sake
He yeaf them gret releve.
Who-so axed oght, he made here pay,
And XXXti trental of masses he let say
For his fadres sake.
He let neuer til he had bewared
Alle the tresour his fader spared,
Aseth to god forto make.
By þat day fortenyghtis ende was come,
His gold was gone, alle & some—
Many one of hym spake;
And al thynges that were meuable
He gaf aboute with-outen fable
To pore men that wold take.
And XXXti trental of masses he let say
For his fadres sake.
He let neuer til he had bewared
Alle the tresour his fader spared,
Aseth to god forto make.
By þat day fortenyghtis ende was come,
His gold was gone, alle & some—
Many one of hym spake;
And al thynges that were meuable
He gaf aboute with-outen fable
To pore men that wold take.
By than þe fourtenyght was broght to ende,
The child to the chamber gan wende
Where his fader dyed.
Adoune he knelid half a day,
Al the good prayers þat he couthe say (!)
His fader forto abide.
Betwene mydday and vnder
Þer cam a blast of lightnynge & dunder
Thurgh the walles wide,
As al þe place on fire had be.
The child seid benedicite
And fast on god he cryde.
The child to the chamber gan wende
Where his fader dyed.
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Al the good prayers þat he couthe say (!)
His fader forto abide.
Betwene mydday and vnder
Þer cam a blast of lightnynge & dunder
Thurgh the walles wide,
As al þe place on fire had be.
The child seid benedicite
And fast on god he cryde.
And as he sate on his prayere,
Sone before hym gan appere
Foule tydynges betwene:
His faders soule brennynge as glede,
The deuel bi þe nekke gan hym lede
In a brennynge cheyne.
This child seid: “y coniure the,
What-so-euer þu be, speke to me!”
That other answerd ageyne:
“Y am thi fader that þe begate.
Now thu may se of myn astate:
Lo, how y dwelle in peyne.”
Sone before hym gan appere
Foule tydynges betwene:
His faders soule brennynge as glede,
The deuel bi þe nekke gan hym lede
In a brennynge cheyne.
This child seid: “y coniure the,
What-so-euer þu be, speke to me!”
That other answerd ageyne:
“Y am thi fader that þe begate.
Now thu may se of myn astate:
Lo, how y dwelle in peyne.”
The child seid: “ful woo is me
In this plite that (y) yow se;
Hit persheth myn hert sore.”
“Sone, he seid, thus amy led,
For be-cause of my falshed
That y vsed euer-more,
Mi good was getyn wrongfully.
But it myght restored be
And aseth be made ther-fore,
An C yere thus shal y do.
Gef me my trouthe y were ago!
For til than my soule is lore.”
In this plite that (y) yow se;
Hit persheth myn hert sore.”
“Sone, he seid, thus amy led,
For be-cause of my falshed
That y vsed euer-more,
Mi good was getyn wrongfully.
But it myght restored be
And aseth be made ther-fore,
An C yere thus shal y do.
Gef me my trouthe y were ago!
For til than my soule is lore.”
“Nay, fader, that shal not be,
In better plite y wol yow be,
Yf god wol gef me grace.
But ye shal me your trouthe plighte:
This same day fourtenyght
Ye shal appere in this place.
And y shal laboure, yf y may,
To bryng your soule in better way,
Yf y haue lyf and space.”
He graunted hym in gret hast.
With that ther cam a donder-blast,
And bothe ther way gan passe.
In better plite y wol yow be,
Yf god wol gef me grace.
But ye shal me your trouthe plighte:
This same day fourtenyght
Ye shal appere in this place.
And y shal laboure, yf y may,
To bryng your soule in better way,
Yf y haue lyf and space.”
He graunted hym in gret hast.
With that ther cam a donder-blast,
And bothe ther way gan passe.
The child had neuer so gret sorwe.
He rose vp apone the morwe,
To Bristow gan he wende.
To his mayster he gan say:
“Y haue serued yow many a day:
For goddis loue be my frend!
My fader out of this world is past.
Y am come to yow in hast,
Y haue euer founde yow kynde:
Me nedith a litel somme of gold:
Myn heritage shal be sold,
Croppe, rote and rynde.”
He rose vp apone the morwe,
To Bristow gan he wende.
To his mayster he gan say:
“Y haue serued yow many a day:
For goddis loue be my frend!
My fader out of this world is past.
Y am come to yow in hast,
Y haue euer founde yow kynde:
Me nedith a litel somme of gold:
Myn heritage shal be sold,
Croppe, rote and rynde.”
His maister seid: “what nede were the
To selle thi thrift so hastely?
It were not for thy prow.
Yf thu any bargeyn haue boght,
For gold ne siluer care þu noght:
Y shal lene the right ynow.
An C mark yf thu wilt haue,
This VII yere I wil none craue.
Wherfor avise the now!
For yf thu selle thyn heritage
That shuld þe helpe in thi yonge age,
An vnwise man art thow.”
To selle thi thrift so hastely?
It were not for thy prow.
Yf thu any bargeyn haue boght,
For gold ne siluer care þu noght:
Y shal lene the right ynow.
An C mark yf thu wilt haue,
This VII yere I wil none craue.
Wherfor avise the now!
For yf thu selle thyn heritage
That shuld þe helpe in thi yonge age,
An vnwise man art thow.”
“Gramercy, he seid, mayster hende,
This was a proffer of a frende.
But truly, it shal be sold.
Better chepe ye shal it haue
Then any man, so god me saue!
For nedys y must haue gold.”
He seid: “what is it worth by yere?”
“An C marke of money clere:
The stuward this me tolde”.
“Then shal y gef the III C pound,
Euery peny hole and round”.
The yonge seid: “y holde.
This was a proffer of a frende.
But truly, it shal be sold.
Better chepe ye shal it haue
Then any man, so god me saue!
For nedys y must haue gold.”
He seid: “what is it worth by yere?”
“An C marke of money clere:
The stuward this me tolde”.
“Then shal y gef the III C pound,
Euery peny hole and round”.
The yonge seid: “y holde.
Dere mayster, y yow pray,
Haue here dedis, sech me my pay!
For y most home agayne.
Y haue to do in soundre place,
Y pray yow of fourtenyght space,
Y shal yow quytte, certayne”.
His mayster loued hym so welle:
He fette hym gold euery delle.
Than was þe child ful fayne,
He toke his good & gan to go—
& for his fader his hert was woo
That bode in so mykel payne.
Haue here dedis, sech me my pay!
For y most home agayne.
Y haue to do in soundre place,
Y pray yow of fourtenyght space,
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His mayster loued hym so welle:
He fette hym gold euery delle.
Than was þe child ful fayne,
He toke his good & gan to go—
& for his fader his hert was woo
That bode in so mykel payne.
His sone lete crie alaboute
In churches & markettis with-oute doute
Wher his fader dud wone,
Where his fader dud destritione
To man or womman in any toune,
They shuld come to his sone,
“And he shal make aseth þer-fore
And his good ayen restore,
Eche man his porcione”.
Euer as they come, he made here pay,
And charged hem for his fader pray
In blisse that he myght wone.
In churches & markettis with-oute doute
Wher his fader dud wone,
Where his fader dud destritione
To man or womman in any toune,
They shuld come to his sone,
“And he shal make aseth þer-fore
And his good ayen restore,
Eche man his porcione”.
Euer as they come, he made here pay,
And charged hem for his fader pray
In blisse that he myght wone.
By that the fourtenyght was come,
His gold was gon, al & some,
Then had he no more.
In-to the chamber he went þat tide,
The same that his fader in dyde,
And knelid as he dud ore.
And as he sate in his prayere,
The spiret before hym gan appere,
Right as he dud before,
Saue þe cheyn away was caught;
Blak he was, but he brent noght;
But yet he was in care.
His gold was gon, al & some,
Then had he no more.
In-to the chamber he went þat tide,
The same that his fader in dyde,
And knelid as he dud ore.
And as he sate in his prayere,
The spiret before hym gan appere,
Right as he dud before,
Saue þe cheyn away was caught;
Blak he was, but he brent noght;
But yet he was in care.
“Welcome, fader! seid the childe,
Y pray yow with wordes mylde,
Tel me of youre astate!”
“Sone, he seid, the better for the.
Y-blessid mote the tyme be
That euer y the begate!
Thou hast releuyd me of moche wo,
My bitter chayne is fal me fro
And the fire so hote.
But yet dwel y stille in peyn,
And euer must, in certeyne,
Til y haue fulfilled my day”.
Y pray yow with wordes mylde,
Tel me of youre astate!”
“Sone, he seid, the better for the.
Y-blessid mote the tyme be
That euer y the begate!
Thou hast releuyd me of moche wo,
My bitter chayne is fal me fro
And the fire so hote.
But yet dwel y stille in peyn,
And euer must, in certeyne,
Til y haue fulfilled my day”.
“Fader, he seid, y charge yow tel me:
What is moste ayens the
And doth yow most disese?”
“Tethynges & offrynges, sone, he sayd,
For y them neuer truly payd.
Wherfor my peynes may not cesse
But it be restored agayne
To as many churches, in certayne,
And also mykel encresse.
Alle that for me thu dos pray,
Helpeth me not to the vttermost day
The valure of a pese.
What is moste ayens the
And doth yow most disese?”
“Tethynges & offrynges, sone, he sayd,
For y them neuer truly payd.
Wherfor my peynes may not cesse
But it be restored agayne
To as many churches, in certayne,
And also mykel encresse.
Alle that for me thu dos pray,
Helpeth me not to the vttermost day
The valure of a pese.
Therfor, sone, y pray the,
Gef me my trouthe y left with the,
And let me wynde my way!”
“Nay, fader, he seid, ye gete it noght.
Another craft ther shal be soght,
Yet efte y wille assay.
But your trouthe ye shal me plight:
This same day a fourtenyght
Ye shal come ageyn to your day,
Ye shalle appere here in this place;
And y shal loke with goddis grace
To amende yow, yf y may”.
Gef me my trouthe y left with the,
And let me wynde my way!”
“Nay, fader, he seid, ye gete it noght.
Another craft ther shal be soght,
Yet efte y wille assay.
But your trouthe ye shal me plight:
This same day a fourtenyght
Ye shal come ageyn to your day,
Ye shalle appere here in this place;
And y shal loke with goddis grace
To amende yow, yf y may”.
The spiret went forth in his way.
The childe rose vp that other day,
For no-thynge wold he lette,
Even to Bristow gan he wynde.
There he mette with his maister hynde,
Wel goodly he hym grette.
“When y haue nede, y come to yow.
Maister, but ye help me now,
In sorwe my herte is sette;
Me nedith a litel summe of gold,
Another bargeyn make y wold”
And with that word he wepte.
The childe rose vp that other day,
For no-thynge wold he lette,
Even to Bristow gan he wynde.
There he mette with his maister hynde,
Wel goodly he hym grette.
“When y haue nede, y come to yow.
Maister, but ye help me now,
In sorwe my herte is sette;
Me nedith a litel summe of gold,
Another bargeyn make y wold”
And with that word he wepte.
Hys maister seid: “þu art a fole,
Thu has bene at som bad scole;
By my feith! y hold the mad.
For thu has played atte dice
Or at som other games nyce
And lost vp sone þat thu had.
Thu hast right noght þat þu may selle:
Alle is gone, as y here telle.
Thi gouernaunce, sone, is bad”.
Then he seid vntil his maister fre:
“Myn owne body y wil selle to the,
For euer to be thy lad.
Thu has bene at som bad scole;
By my feith! y hold the mad.
For thu has played atte dice
Or at som other games nyce
And lost vp sone þat thu had.
Thu hast right noght þat þu may selle:
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Thi gouernaunce, sone, is bad”.
Then he seid vntil his maister fre:
“Myn owne body y wil selle to the,
For euer to be thy lad.
Bonde to the y wille me bynde,
Me & alle myne to þe worldis ende,
To helpe me in this nede”.
He seid: “how mykel woldest þu haue?”
“XL mark, and ye wold foche-saue,
For that shuld do my dede.
I hope that shal my cares kele”.
The burges louyd þe child so wele,
That to his chamber he yede;
XL pound he gan hym brynge:
“Sone, here is more than thyn askynge.
Almyghti god the spede!”
Me & alle myne to þe worldis ende,
To helpe me in this nede”.
He seid: “how mykel woldest þu haue?”
“XL mark, and ye wold foche-saue,
For that shuld do my dede.
I hope that shal my cares kele”.
The burges louyd þe child so wele,
That to his chamber he yede;
XL pound he gan hym brynge:
“Sone, here is more than thyn askynge.
Almyghti god the spede!”
“Gramercy, sire! gan he say,
God yow quytte, that best may!
And trewe ye shal me fynde.
Y haue to do a thynge or two,
A fourtenyght gef me lef to go!
Y haue euer founde yow kynde”.
He gaf hym leue. he went his way,
But on his fader he thoght ay—
He goth not out of mynde.
He sought alle þe churches in þat contre
Where his fader had dwellid by,
He left not one behynde.
God yow quytte, that best may!
And trewe ye shal me fynde.
Y haue to do a thynge or two,
A fourtenyght gef me lef to go!
Y haue euer founde yow kynde”.
He gaf hym leue. he went his way,
But on his fader he thoght ay—
He goth not out of mynde.
He sought alle þe churches in þat contre
Where his fader had dwellid by,
He left not one behynde.
He made aseth with hem echon.
By þat tyme his gold was gone,
They couthe aske hym no mare.
Saue as he went by þe strete,
With a pore man gan he mete,
Almost naked and bare.
“Your fader oweth me for a ȝeme of corn”—
Done he knelid hym beforne—
“And y hym drad ful sare.
For your fader soules sake,
Som amendes to me ye make,
For hym that Marie bare!”
By þat tyme his gold was gone,
They couthe aske hym no mare.
Saue as he went by þe strete,
With a pore man gan he mete,
Almost naked and bare.
“Your fader oweth me for a ȝeme of corn”—
Done he knelid hym beforne—
“And y hym drad ful sare.
For your fader soules sake,
Som amendes to me ye make,
For hym that Marie bare!”
“Welaway, seid þe yonge man,
For my gold & siluer is gan;
Y haue not for to pay”.
Of his clothes he gan take
And put hem on þe poreman is bake,
Chargynge for his fader to pray;
Hosen & shon he gaue hym tho,
In sherte and breche he gan go,
He had no clothes gay.
In-to the chamber he went þat tide,
The same þat his fader on dyde,
And knelid half a day.
For my gold & siluer is gan;
Y haue not for to pay”.
Of his clothes he gan take
And put hem on þe poreman is bake,
Chargynge for his fader to pray;
Hosen & shon he gaue hym tho,
In sherte and breche he gan go,
He had no clothes gay.
In-to the chamber he went þat tide,
The same þat his fader on dyde,
And knelid half a day.
When he had knelid & prayed longe,
Hym thoght he herd þe myriest songe
Þat any erthely man myght here.
After the song he saw a light,
As thow a thousant torches bright:
It shone so faire and clere.
In that light so faire lemand
A naked child in angelis hand
Before hym dud appere
And seid: “sone, blessid thu be,
And alle þat euer shalle come of the,
That euer thu goten were!”
Hym thoght he herd þe myriest songe
Þat any erthely man myght here.
After the song he saw a light,
As thow a thousant torches bright:
It shone so faire and clere.
In that light so faire lemand
A naked child in angelis hand
Before hym dud appere
And seid: “sone, blessid thu be,
And alle þat euer shalle come of the,
That euer thu goten were!”
“Fader, he seid, ful wel is me,
In that plite that y yow se!
Y houe that ye be saue”.
“Sone, he seid, y go to blisse.
God almyghti quyte the this
Thi good ageyn to haue.
Thu has made the ful bare,
To aqueynche me of mykel care.
My trouthe, good sone, y craue”.
“Haue your trouthe, he seid, fre,
And of thi blessynge y pray the,
Yf that ye wold foche-saue”.
In that plite that y yow se!
Y houe that ye be saue”.
“Sone, he seid, y go to blisse.
God almyghti quyte the this
Thi good ageyn to haue.
Thu has made the ful bare,
To aqueynche me of mykel care.
My trouthe, good sone, y craue”.
“Haue your trouthe, he seid, fre,
And of thi blessynge y pray the,
Yf that ye wold foche-saue”.
“In that blessynge mote þu wone
That oure lady gaf here sone,
And myn on the y lay”.
Now that soule is gon to blisse,
With moche ioye and angelis,
More then y can say.
This child thanked god almyght
And his moder, Marye bright,
When he sey that aray.
Even to Bristow gan he gon,
In his sherte & breche allone—
Had he no clothes gay.
That oure lady gaf here sone,
And myn on the y lay”.
Now that soule is gon to blisse,
With moche ioye and angelis,
More then y can say.
This child thanked god almyght
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When he sey that aray.
Even to Bristow gan he gon,
In his sherte & breche allone—
Had he no clothes gay.
When þis burges þe child gan se,
He seid then “benedicite!
Sone, what araye is this?”
“Truly, maister, seid þe childe,
Y am come me to yelde
As youre bonde-man”.
The burges seid anone right:
“Me mervayleth mykel of þis sight.
Tel me now, how it ys?”
“What-som-euer ye put me to,
After my power it shal be do,
While my lyf wil laste”.
He seid then “benedicite!
Sone, what araye is this?”
“Truly, maister, seid þe childe,
Y am come me to yelde
As youre bonde-man”.
The burges seid anone right:
“Me mervayleth mykel of þis sight.
Tel me now, how it ys?”
“What-som-euer ye put me to,
After my power it shal be do,
While my lyf wil laste”.
“For þe loue be-twene vs hath be,
Telle me, sone, how it stant with the,
Why thu gos in this aray?”
“Sir, al my good y haue sold, ywys,
To gete my fader to heuene blys,
For-sothe, as y yow say.
For ther was no-man but y
That wold be his attourny
At his endynge day”.
Tho he told hym furthere
How ofte he dud his fader appere
And eke in what aray.
Telle me, sone, how it stant with the,
Why thu gos in this aray?”
“Sir, al my good y haue sold, ywys,
To gete my fader to heuene blys,
For-sothe, as y yow say.
For ther was no-man but y
That wold be his attourny
At his endynge day”.
Tho he told hym furthere
How ofte he dud his fader appere
And eke in what aray.
“And now his soule into blisse
Y sey hym led with angelis.
Al-myghti god the yelde!
For thurf youre good he is saue.
And his dere blessyng y haue,
And al my cares be kelde”.
“Sone, he seid, blessid mote þu be
That so pore woldest make the,
Thi faders soule to saue!
To speke þe honour may almankynde:
Thu art a tristy, siker frende—
Soche fynde y but sildene.
Y sey hym led with angelis.
Al-myghti god the yelde!
For thurf youre good he is saue.
And his dere blessyng y haue,
And al my cares be kelde”.
“Sone, he seid, blessid mote þu be
That so pore woldest make the,
Thi faders soule to saue!
To speke þe honour may almankynde:
Thu art a tristy, siker frende—
Soche fynde y but sildene.
But fewe sones ben of tho
That wol serue here fader so,
When he is hens gone.
Sectours fynd y many on,
But none soche as þu art on,
By my feith! y leve not on”.
That wol serue here fader so,
When he is hens gone.
Sectours fynd y many on,
But none soche as þu art on,
By my feith! y leve not on”.
Hys maister seid: “y shal þe telle:
Thu canst bothe bye & selle:
Here now make y the
Myn owne felow in al wise
Of worldly good & marchandise,
For thy trouthe so fre.
Al-so, sone, y haue no childe,
Myn heritage for to wilde,
Goten of my body:
Here y make the now myn heyre
Of alle my landes, good & faire—
And myn attorney that þu be”!
Thu canst bothe bye & selle:
Here now make y the
Myn owne felow in al wise
Of worldly good & marchandise,
For thy trouthe so fre.
Al-so, sone, y haue no childe,
Myn heritage for to wilde,
Goten of my body:
Here y make the now myn heyre
Of alle my landes, good & faire—
And myn attorney that þu be”!
His maister dud hym weddid be
To a worthy man is doghter of þat contre,
With ioye and grete solace.
And when his mayster was ded,
In-to alle his good he entred,
Londes, catelle and place.
Thus hath þis yonge man keuered care,
First was riche & sitthen bare,
And sitthen riccher then euer he was.
Now he þat made bothe helle & heuene
And alle the worlde in dayes seuene,
Graunte vs alle his grace! Amen.
To a worthy man is doghter of þat contre,
With ioye and grete solace.
And when his mayster was ded,
In-to alle his good he entred,
Londes, catelle and place.
Thus hath þis yonge man keuered care,
First was riche & sitthen bare,
And sitthen riccher then euer he was.
Now he þat made bothe helle & heuene
And alle the worlde in dayes seuene,
Graunte vs alle his grace! Amen.
Explicit the Tale of the Childe of Bristow.
| The Childe of Bristowe | |