Meditations on the Supper of our Lord and the Hours of the Passion, by Cardinal John Bonaventura the Seraphic Doctor. Drawn into English verse by Robert Manning of Brunne. (About 1315-1330.) Edited ... with introduction and glossary by J. Meadows Cowper |
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The fyrst poynt of þe soper.
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 | Meditations on the Supper of our Lord |  |
The fyrst poynt of þe soper.
Now to þe fyrst:—take gode ententHow 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,
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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,
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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.
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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.
| Meditations on the Supper of our Lord | |