I
[AN ORISON ON THE PASSION]
1
Ihesu þat haste me dere bought,
Write now gostely in my thought,
That I may with deuocion
Thynk apon thy passion.
2
For, if my hert be hard as stoon,
Yhit may thow goostely write þeroon
With nayles and with speer[e] kene,
And so shul the letters wele be sene.
3
Write in my hert thy speches swete
Whan Iudas þe traytour can þe mete;
That traytour was ful of þe feende,
And ȝit thow callyd hym thy freende.
4
Swete Ihesu, how myght thow soo
Calle thi freende so felle a fo?
Bot, sithen þou spaak so louely
To hym þat was þine enemy,
5
How swete shal þi speche be
To them þat hertly louen the
Whan they in heuene with þe shul duelle
Forsothe þer may no tonge telle.
6
Write how þow were bounden sore
And drawen forth Pylat byfore,
How swetely þou answerde þoo
To hym þat was thi felle foo.
7
Write how þat fals enquest
Cried ay with-outen rest:
“Hong hym on the roode tree,
For he wil kyng of Iewes be.”
8
Write vpon myne hert[e] booke
Thy fayre and thi rewely looke,
For schame of ther hydouse crye
Þat walden of þe haue no mercy.
9
Write, whanne þe crosse was forth broght,
And þe nayles of yren wroght,
How þow began to chyuer and quake,
Thi hert was woo if þou noght spaak.
10
Write how douneward þou can loke
Whan Iewes to þe þe crosse betook;
Thow bare it forth with rewly chere,
The teres ran doune by thy lere.
11
Ihesu, write in my hert depe
How þat þow began to wepe
Whan þi baak to þe rode was [b]ent,
With rugged nayles thi handes rent.
12
Write þe strokes of hameres stoute,
With þe bloode rennyng al aboute,
How the nayles stynten at the boone
Whan thow were ful woo-bygone.
13
Ihesu, write ȝit in myne hert
How bloode oute of þi woundes stert;
And with þi blood write thow so oft
In myne hert to hit be soft.
14
Ihesu, þat art so mykel of myght,
Write in myne hert þat rewful syght,
To loke on thi moder fre
Whan þou were honged on roode tre.
15
Write thi swete modres woo
Whan sche sawe [the] to deeth[e] goo;
I-wys if I write al my lyue
I schuld neuer here woo dyscryue;
In myne hert ay mote hit be,
That harde knotty roode tre,—
16
The nayles and the spere also
That thow were with to deth[e] doo,
The croune and þe scourges grete
That thow was with so sore bete,
17
Thi wepyng and thi woundes wyde,
The bloode þat ran doun by þi syde,
The schame and scorne and grete dispite,
The spatil þat foulid þi face white,
18
The eysell and þe bettir galle,
And other of thi peynes alle;
For, whiles I haue them in my thought,
The deuyl, I hope, sal dere me nought.
19
Ihesu, write þus, þat I may knowe
How mykel loue to the I owe,
For, if þat I wil from the fle,
Thow folowest ay to saue me.
20
Ihesu, whan I thenk on the,
How þou was bounden for loue of me,
Wele ought I to wepe þat stounde
Þat þow so sore for me was bounde.
21
Bot thow þat bare vpon thin handes
For my synnes so bytter bandes,
With loue bondes bynde thow so me
Þat I neuer depart from the.
22
Ihesu, þat was with loue so bounde,
Þat suffred for me dedes wounde,
At my dying visite me,
And make the feend away to fle.
23
Ihesu, make me glad to be
Symple and poure for loue of the,
And lat me neuer for more ne lasse
Loue good to mykil þat sone sal passe.
24
Ihesu, þat art kyng of lyfe,
Teche my soule, þat is thi wyfe,
To loue best no thing in londe
Bot the, Ihesu, here dere housebonde.
25
For othir joye and othir blys,
Wo and sorow forsothe it is,
And lastis but a litil while,
Mannes soule for to bygyle.
26
Lat me fele what ioye it be
To suffre woo for loue of the,
How myry it is for the to wepe,
How soft in harde clothes to slepe.
27
Lat now loue his bowe bende
And loue-arowes to my hert sende,
That they peers[e] to the rote,
For swilk woundes schuld be my bote.
28
When I am lowe for thi loue,
Than am I moost at myne aboue,
Fastyng is feest, mornyng is blys,
For thi loue pouert is ryches;
29
The hard heyre schuld be more of pryse
Þanne soft sylk or pelour or byse,
Defaute for thy loue is plente,
And fleschely lust ful loth schuld be.
30
Whanne I am with woo bystad,
For thi loue thanne am I glad;
To suffre scornes and greet dispite
For loue of the is my delyte.
31
Ihesu, make me on nyght to wake
And in my thought thi name to take,
And, whethir the nyght be schort or longe,
Of the, Ihesu, ay be my song,
32
And this preyer a cheyn[e] be
To drawe the doun of thi see,
That thow may make þe a duellyng
At myn hert at thi lykyng.
33
Ihesu, I pray, forsake nought me
Gyf I of synne gylty be,
For to þat theef þat honge the by
Redily þow gaue hym þi mercy.
34
Ihesu, þat greet curtasye
Maketh me bolde on the to crye,
For wele I woot with-outen drede
Thi mercy is more þanne my mysdede.
35
Ihesu, þat art soo leue and dere,
Here and spede this poure preyer;
For Paule, tha[t] was so fell and woode
To spille Cristen mennes blode,
To the wolde he no preyer make,
And ȝit thow wolde hym nought forsake.
36
Thanne may þow noght forsake me,
Sithen þat I preye thus to the;
At my dying I hoope i-wys
Of thy presence shal I not mys.
37
Ihesu, make me thanne to ryse
Fro deeth to lyue on swiche wyse
Os thow roos on Estre Day,
In joye and blys to lyue for ay.
Amen.
