University of Virginia Library

Now of þe soper of oure lorde Ihesu.

Comyng þe tyme of grete mercy,
Whan god sent hys sone down fro hy,
Of a mayden he wulde be bore,
To saue mankynde þat was forlore.
But noþer with corupt syluer ne golde;
But wyþ hys blode, by vs he wulde.
Whan tyme was come to suffre þys
A soper he made to hys dycyplys;
Are he were ded and shuld fro hem wende,
A memorand þyng to haue yn mynde.
Þys soper was real as þou mayst here,
Foure real þynges cryst made þere.
Ȝyf þou þenke weyl on þys fedyng,
God wyl nat late þe passe fastyng.
Foure þynges þou most haue yn þy þoȝt,
Þat yn þys soper cryst haþ wroȝt:
Þe fyrst ys a bodly fedyng,
Þe secunde ys hys dycyples fete wasshyng,
Þe þred yn brede hym self takyng,
Þe fourþe a sermoun of feyre makyng.

The fyrst poynt of þe soper.

Now to þe fyrst:—take gode entent
How petyr and iohne from hym he sent,
Yn to þe mounte of syon,
To greyþe hys paske aȝens ne com.
And on a þursday þedyr he lyȝt
Wyþ hys dycyplys aȝens nyȝt.
Þe soper was dyȝt, as y herd sey,
By dyscyplys seuenty and twey;
Seynt Martyals legende wytnesseþ ryȝt,
With hem he was þe soper to dyȝt.
Whan þe soper was made redy,
Cryst sette hym down, and þey hym by;
Iohne þe euangelyst sate hym nexte,
Al þogh he were of age ȝungeste;
To hym was none of hem echone
So trusty and so trewe as was Iohne:
For fere wulde he nat fle hym fro,
Tyl he was ded and byryed also.
Byholde now, man, and þou shalt se
How euery man sate yn hys degre.
Here table was brode and foure square,
The maner of þat cuntre was swych þare;
On euery syde sate of hem þre,
And cryst yn a corner mekely to se:
So þat here by þou mayst lere
Þat of o dysshe þey etyn yn fere,
Þarfore þe myȝt nat vndyrstonde
Whan cryst seyd, “he þat hys honde
Yn my dysshe putteþ furþ ryȝt,
He shal betraye me þys nyȝt.”
Thys table at rome men haue seyn,
Yn seynt Iohne chyrche þe latereyn.
A nouþer maner mayst þou vndyrstande,
Þat þey stonde with staues yn honde,
Etyng faste, and stondyng stylle,
Moyses lawe to fulfylle.
Cryst lete hem sytte, so semeþ best,
For elles ne had Ione slept one hys brest.
When graces were seyd, and alle men sette,
Here paske lombe rosted furþe was fette.
Thys lomb toke vp cryst Ihesus,
A verry lombe slayn for vs,
Alle yn smale gobettes he hyt kytte;
For vs as a seruaunt wyþ hem he sytte,
With hem he ete ryȝt with glad chere,
And cunforted hem to ete yn fere,
But euer þey dredde to ete gladlygh,
For sum sorowe semed hem nygh.
Whyles þey ete on þys manere,
Cryst seyd þese wurdes dere:—
“Long haue y desyred with ȝow, y seye,
Þys paske to ete ar þat y deye:
Forsoþe, þe soþe to ȝow y seye,
One of ȝow shal me betraye.”
Byholde now, man, what sorowe and wo
Þe dycyplys toke to hem þo;
Þys voys as a swerd here hertes persed,
And to ete anone þey seced.
Eche loked on ouþer with grysly ye,
And seyd, “lorde wheþer hyt be y?”
Þe treytur ete faste, and wulde nat blyn,
As þogh þe tresun come nat by hym.
Pryuyly þan Ion to cryst gan prey,
And seyd, “lorde, who shal þe betrey?”
For specyal loue cryst hyt hym tolde,
“Iudas skaryot,” he seyd, “beholde.”
Þan Iohne þoȝte hys herte wulde breste,
And leyd hys hede on crystys breste.
Ful mekely cryste lete hym lye stylle,
And suffred hym do alle hys wylle.
Why cryst wulde nat to petyr telle,
Yn austyns sermoun þou mayst hyt spelle;
Ȝyf cryst þys treytur hym had tolde,
With nayles and teþ rent hym þey wulde.
Byholde what mekenes yn hym reste,
To holde hys dycyple so on hys brest.
A! how tendyrly þey loued yn fere,
Y wys to loue, here mayst þou lere.
Þenk, man, also a ruly þoȝt,
What s[orow]e hys dyscyplys ben yn broȝt.
At cry[stys] wurde, beholde, a none
Þey etyn no more but madyn here mone;
Eche of hem loked vp-on ouþer,
But cunseyl coude none take of ouþer.
Beþenke, and holde þys weyl yn þy mende,
How þys soper ys broȝt now to an ende.

The secunde poynt of the soper.

The secunde poynt, beþenke þe weyl,
For grete mekenes hyt wyl þe spelle.
Whan þe soper was do, cryst ros anone,
And with hym þey ryse vp euerychone;
To a logher place þey gunne þan to go,
Þey þat þe hous haue sey seyn ryȝt so.
He made hem sytte downe yn þat stede;
Beholde, and þenke weyl on crystys dede;
Hys cloþes he cast of swyþe sone,
Hys dycyplys wundred what he wulde done;
With a towel hym self he gert,
Watyr he badde brynge furþe smert,
He hyt yn a stonen bacyn put,
To wasshe here fete greued hym nat.
Petyr refused al þat seruyse;
Cryst bad hym suffre on alle wyse.
Beholde now, man, eche doyng,
And þenke þys mekenes with grete wundryng,
That þe hygh mageste and myȝtyest eke,
Boweþ hym downe to a fysshers fete.
He stode krokyng, on knees knelyng,
Afore hys cretures fete syttyng.
Wyþ hys handys hys fete he wassheþ,
He wypeþ he cleppeþ, and swetly kysseþ.
Of a more mekenes ȝyt mayst þou gryse,
Þat he to hys treytur dyd þe same wyse.
O Iudas, sore a shamed þou be may,
So meke and so myþe a mayster to tray;
Þyn herte ys harder þan any hardnesse,
Aȝens swyche mekenes deþ for to dresse.
Whan cryst þys seruyse had alle ydone,
To þe sopyng place aȝen þan þey come.
By þys ensample, and many ouþer,
He conforted hem to do to here broþer.
Man, here beþenke, yn eche degre,
How feyre ensample cryst shewed to þe;
Ensample of mekenes to þe he lete,
Whan he wysshe hys dyscyplys fete;
A grete ensample of mekenes loke,
Whan he hys flesshe to þy fode toke.
A feyre monasshyng hys sermoun shewed,
Þat þe lered men shulde teche þe lewed.
Pacyens he suffred, hys treytur suffryng
So shamely to þe deþ, as a þef hym bryng;
Yn goyng to þe deþ, he shewed obedyens
Yn fulfyllyng hys faders comoundemens.
Stedfastly for to prey here mayst þou lere,
For he preyd fyrst þryys ar hys fadyr wulde here.
By þese vertues folue hym, y rede,
And yn to hys blys þey wyl þe lede.

The þrydde poynt of þe soper.

The þryd poynt, man, haue yn mynde,
How derwurly, afore hys ende,
A derwurþ ȝyfte he wulde with þe lete,
Hym self al hole vn to þy mete.
Whan he hadde wasshe here al þer fete,
And seten aȝen þere as þey ete,
A newe testament he gan sone,
Þe olde sacryfyce to fordone;
A new sacryfyce hym self he fonde,
And toke vp brede yn hys holy honde,
And to hys fadyr lyfte vpp hys ye,
He blessed and made hys precyus body;
To hys dycyplys he hyt ȝaue, and seyd,
“Þys ys my body for ȝow betrayed.”
Also of the chalys drynke he hem bad,
“Þys ys my blode þat shal be shad.”
Yn a memorand of hym with outyn ende,
He seyd, “makeþ þys yn my mende.”
Beholde, how trewly and how deuoutly
He comunde and conforted þat blessed meyny.
Þys mete shulde, most of any þyng,
Glade þy soule yn euery werchyng;
Þyn herte shulde brenne for grete loue,
Whan þou hyt takest to þy behoue;
No þyng more profytable, ne more chere,
Þan hym self ne myȝt he leue here.
Þat sacrament, þat þou seest þe before,
Wundyrfully of a mayden was bore,
Fro heuene he lyȝte for þe to deye,
He ros fro deþ to heuene to stye;
On goddys ryȝt honde he ys syttyng;
He made heuene and erthe and alle þyng;
He gouerneþ alle þyng swetly and best,
He þat þou seest yn þe prestes fest,
Yn whos powere onely hyt ys
To ȝyue þe blys, or endeles blys;
He þat þou seest, yn forme of brede,
Hyt ys goddys sone, quyk and dede.
With clene herte þou hym receyue,
For elles þy soule þou wylt deceyue.

The fourþe poynt of þe soper.