 | Handlyng Synne |  |
The syxte poynt of shryfte.
Þe syxte poynt ys, sorowe of herte;
Þat oght to be bytter and smerte
whan þou þenkest on þe gode dedes,
þat, God haþ do for þy nedes,
And þou hast do, as þou weyl wost,
Þyng, þat, he hateþ moste.
Þat oght to be bytter and smerte
whan þou þenkest on þe gode dedes,
þat, God haþ do for þy nedes,
And þou hast do, as þou weyl wost,
Þyng, þat, he hateþ moste.
No creatures ne hateþ he noȝt,
But synnë þat ys do or wroȝt;
Ne he hateþ nat þe fende of helle,
Þe crëature of hym y telle,
But þe wykkednes, pryde and synne
Þat yn hym ys, and wyl nat blynne;
Ne was þyr neuer aungel so bryȝt,
Ne man so weyl with God almyȝt,
Þat, ȝyf he had synned dedly,
To hellë pyne he was wurþy;
Þat oght þey boþe to sorowe and kare,
Þat yn dedly synnë are.
But synnë þat ys do or wroȝt;
Ne he hateþ nat þe fende of helle,
Þe crëature of hym y telle,
But þe wykkednes, pryde and synne
Þat yn hym ys, and wyl nat blynne;
Ne was þyr neuer aungel so bryȝt,
Ne man so weyl with God almyȝt,
Þat, ȝyf he had synned dedly,
To hellë pyne he was wurþy;
Þat oght þey boþe to sorowe and kare,
Þat yn dedly synnë are.
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God hym self, of mageste,
Vnto hys lykenes he formed þe;
he made þy soule boþe fayre and clene,
And to hys ownë godhede sene;
And whan þou synnest, þou turnest wyk,
And makest þy soulë black as pyk;
Þát God had made to hym so weyl,
Þou makest hyt lyke þe fende echedeyl.
Sorowe oghte þan, þyn hertë bynde,
Þat þou art tó hym so vnkynde;
Þou dysonourest hym yn þat outrage,
And reuylyst hys feyre ymage.
Vnto hys lykenes he formed þe;
he made þy soule boþe fayre and clene,
And to hys ownë godhede sene;
And whan þou synnest, þou turnest wyk,
And makest þy soulë black as pyk;
Þát God had made to hym so weyl,
Þou makest hyt lyke þe fende echedeyl.
Sorowe oghte þan, þyn hertë bynde,
Þat þou art tó hym so vnkynde;
Þou dysonourest hym yn þat outrage,
And reuylyst hys feyre ymage.
Of þys þyng þan ȝyuest þou leste,
whan þou cumst laghyng to þe prest;
Euyl oghtest þou laghe, coudest þou se
How þou bryngest þy dome with þe;
Aboute þy nekke, hanggeþ a wyþþe,
Þat haþ þe departed fro Goddys gryþþe:
Þy self beryst þan, on þy bak,
Þy vylë synne þat makeþ þe blak;
May nonë fro þat dome þe borowe,
But ȝyf hyt be with byttyr sorowe.
whan þou cumst laghyng to þe prest;
Euyl oghtest þou laghe, coudest þou se
How þou bryngest þy dome with þe;
Aboute þy nekke, hanggeþ a wyþþe,
Þat haþ þe departed fro Goddys gryþþe:
Þy self beryst þan, on þy bak,
Þy vylë synne þat makeþ þe blak;
May nonë fro þat dome þe borowe,
But ȝyf hyt be with byttyr sorowe.
Goddys treytour, and ryȝt vyleyn!
Hast þou no mynde of Marye Maudeleyn,
How she soȝt oure lorde Ihesus
Yn Symundës hous leprous?
Opone þyn herte, þy gostly eres,
And þenke on herë byttyr teres!
She cam nat laghyng to þe feste,
Noþer for game, noþer for geste;
She com wepyng with here yne,
Of Ihesu to haue medycyne;
She broȝt a smel of grete sauour,
Þat tokeneþ loue and grete onour;
with here terës þat she lete,
þarwyþ she wyssh Ihesu fete:
So behoueþ vs with here to grete,
Ȝyf we, oure synne, wyl truly lete;
And, but we haue sorowe for oure synne,
Þe mercy of God mow we nat wynne.
Hast þou no mynde of Marye Maudeleyn,
How she soȝt oure lorde Ihesus
Yn Symundës hous leprous?
Opone þyn herte, þy gostly eres,
And þenke on herë byttyr teres!
She cam nat laghyng to þe feste,
Noþer for game, noþer for geste;
She com wepyng with here yne,
Of Ihesu to haue medycyne;
She broȝt a smel of grete sauour,
Þat tokeneþ loue and grete onour;
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þarwyþ she wyssh Ihesu fete:
So behoueþ vs with here to grete,
Ȝyf we, oure synne, wyl truly lete;
And, but we haue sorowe for oure synne,
Þe mercy of God mow we nat wynne.
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