University of Virginia Library

I.

Pacience is a poynt, þaȝ hit displease ofte,
When heuy herttes ben hurt wyth heþyng oþer elles,
Suffraunce may aswagen hem & þe swelme leþe,
For ho quelles vche a qued, & quenches malyce;
For quo-so suffer cowþe syt, sele wolde folȝe,
& quo for þro may noȝt þole, þe þikker he sufferes;
Þen is better ot abyde þe bur vmbe-stoundes,
Þen ay þrow forth my þro, þaȝ me þynk ylle.
I herde on a halyday at a hyȝe masse,
Howw mathew melede, þat hiw mayster his meyny con teche,
Aȝt happes he hem hyȝt & vche on a mede,
Sunderlupes for hit dissert vpon a ser wyse:
Thay arn hapen þat han in hert pouerté,
For hores is þe heuen-ryche to holde for euer;
Þay ar happen also þat haunte mekenesse,
For þay schal welde þis worlde & alle her wylle haue;
Thay ar happen also þat for her harme wepes,
For þay schal comfort encroche in kythes ful mony;
Þay ar happen also þat hungeres after ryȝt,
For þay schal frely be refete ful of alle gode;
Thay ar happen also þat han in hert rauþe,
For mercy in alle maneres her mede schal worþe;
Þay ar happen also þat arn of hert clene,
For þay her sauyour in sete schal se with her yȝen;
Thay ar happen also þat halden her pese,
For þay þe gracious godes sunes schal godly be called;
Þay ar happen also þat con her hert stere,
For hores is þe heuen-ryche, as I er sayde.
These arn þe happes alle aȝt þat vus bihyȝt weren,
If we þyse ladyes wolde lof in lyknyng of þewes;
Dame pouert, Dame pitee, Dame penaunce þe þrydde,
Dame Mekenesse, Dame mercy & Miry clanesse,
& þenne Dame þes & pacyance prt in þer-after.
He were happen þat hade one, alle were þe better,
Bot syn I am put to a poynt þat pouerte hatte,
I schal me poruay pacyence, & play me with boþe;
For in þe tyxte, þere þyse two arn in teme layde,
Hit arn fettled in on forme, þe forme & þe laste,
& by quest of her quoyntyse enquylen on mede,
& als in myn vpnyoun hit arn of on kynde;
For þer as pouert hir proferes ho nyl be put vtter,
Bot lenge where-so-euer hir lyst oþer greme,
& þere as pouert enpresses, þaȝ mon pyne þynk,
Much maugre his mun, he mot nede suffer,
Thus pouerte & pacyence arn nedes play-feres.
Syþhen I am sette with hem samen, suffer me by-houes,
Þenne is me lyȝtloker hit lyke & her lotes prayse,
Þenne wyþer wyth & be wroth & þe wers haue.
Ȝif me be dyȝt a destyne due to haue,
What dowes me þe dedayn, oþer dispit make?
Oþer ȝif my lege lorde lyst on lyue me to bidde,
Oþer to ryde, oþer ot renne, to rome in his ernde,
What grayþed me þe grychchyng bot grame more seche?
Much ȝif he me ne made, maugref my chekes,
& þenne þrat moste I þole, & vnþonk to mede,
Þe[t] had bowed to his bode, bongre my hyure.
Did not Ionas in Iude suche Iape sum-whyle,
To sette hym to sewrte, vnsounde he hym feches?
Wyl ȝe tary a lyttel tyme & tent me a whyle,
I schal wysse yow þer-wyth as holy wryt telles.

II.

Hit bi-tydde sum-tyme in þe termes of Iude,
Ionas ioyned watȝ þer-inne ientyle prophete;
Goddes glam to hym glod, þat hym vnglad made,
With a roghlych rurd rowned in his ere;
“Rys radly,” he says,“& rayke forth euen,
Nym þe way to nynyue, wyth-outen oþer speche,
& in þat cete my saȝes soghe alle aboute,
Þat, in þat place at þe poynt, I put in þi hert;
For I wysse hit arn so wykke þat in þat won dowelleȝ,
& her malys is so much I may not abide,
Bot venge me on her vilanye & venym bilyue;
Now sweȝe me þider swyftly & say me þis arende.”
When þat steuen watȝ stynt, þat stowned his mynde,
Al he wrathed in his wyt & wyperly he þoȝt,
If I bowe to his bode & bryng hem þis tale,
& I be Nummen in Nuniue, my nyes begynes;
He telles me þose traytoures arn typped schrewes,
I com wyth þose tyþynges, þay ta me bylyue,
Pyneȝ me in a prysoun, put me in stokkes,
Wryþe me in a warlok, wrast out myn yȝen.
Þis is a meruayl message a man for to preche,
Amonge enmyes so mony & mansed fendes;
Bot if my gaynlych god such gref to me wolde,
For desert of sum sake þat I slayn were,
At alle peryles, quod þe prophete, I aproche hit no nerre,
I wyl me sum oþer waye, þat he ne wayte after;
I schal tee in-to taree, & tary þere a whyle,
& lyȝtly, when I am lest, he letes me alone.
Þenne he ryses radly, & raykes bilyue
Ionas toward port Iaph, ay Ianglande for tene,
Þat he nolde þole, for no-þyng, non of þose pynes,
Þaȝ þe fader þat hym formed were fale of his hele.
“Ouro syro syttes,” he says, “on sege so hyȝe
In his g[l]wande glorye, & gloumbes ful lyttel,
Þaȝ I be nummen in nuniue & naked dispoyled,
On rode rwyly to-rent, with rybaudes mony.”
Þus he passes to þat port, his passage to seche,
Fyndes he a fayr schyp to þe fare redy;
Maches hym with þe maryneres, makes her paye,
For to towe hym in-to tarce, as tyd as þay myȝt.
Then he tron on þo tres & þay her tramme ruchen,
Cachen vp þe crossayl, cables þay fasten,
Wiȝt at þe wyndas weȝen her ankres,
Sprude spak to þe sprete þe spare bawe-lyne
Gederen to þe gyde ropes, þe grete cloþ falles;
Þay layden in on ladde-borde & þe lofe wynnes.
Þe blyþe breþe at her bak þe bosum he fyndes,
He swenges me þys swete schip swefte fro þe hauen.
Watȝ neuer so Ioyful a Iue, as Ionas watȝ þenne,
Þat þe daunger of dryȝtyn so derfly ascaped;
He wende wel þat þat wyȝ þat al þe world planted,
Hade no maȝt in þat mere no man forto greue.
Lo! þe wytles wrechche, for he wolde noȝt suffer,
Now hatȝ he put hym in plyt of peril wel more;
Hit watȝ a wenyng vn-war þat welt in his mynde,
Þaȝ he were soȝt fro samarye þat god seȝ no fyrre,
Ȝise he blusched ful brode, þat burde hym by sure,
Þat ofte kyd hym þe carpe þat kyng sayde,
Dynge dauid on des, þat demed þis speche,
In a psalme þat he set þe sauter with-inne;
O Foleȝ in folk fereȝ oþer whyle,
& vndersondes vmbe-stounde, þaȝ he be stape fole,
Hope ȝe þat he heres not þat eres alle made?
Hit may not be þat he is blynde þat bigged vche yȝe.
Bot he dredes no dynt þat dotes for elde,
For he watȝ fer in þe flod foundande to tarce;
Bot, I trow, ful tyd, ouer-tan þat he were,
So þat schomely to schort he schote of his ame.
For þe welder of wyt, þat wot alle þynges,
Þat ay wakes & waytes, at wylle hatȝ he slyȝtes;
He calde on þat ilk crafte he carf with his hondes,
Þay wakened wel þe wroþeloker, for wroþely he cleped:
“Erwus & aquiloun, þat on est sittes,
Blowes boþe at my bode vpon blo watteres.”
Þenne watȝ no tom þer bytwene his tale & her dede,
So bayn wer þay boþe two, his bone for to wyrk.
An-on out of þe norþ est þe noys bigynes,
When boþe breþes con blowe vpon blo watteres;
Roȝ rakkes þer ros with rudnyng an-vnder,
Þe see souȝed ful sore, gret selly to here;
Þe wyndes on þe wonne water so wrastel to-geder,
Þat þe wawes ful wode waltered so hiȝe,
& efte busched to þe abyme þat breed fysches;
Durst nowhere for roȝ arest at þe bothem.
When þe breth & þe brok & þe bote metten,
Hit watȝ a ioyles gyn þat Ionas watȝ inne,
For hit reled on roun[d] vpon þe roȝe yþes.
Þe bur ber to hit baft þat braste alle her gere,
Þen hurled on a hepe þe helme & þe sterne,
Furst to murte mony rop & þe mast after.
Þe sayl sweyed on þe see, þenne suppe bihoued
Þe coge of þe colde water, & þenne þe cry ryses;
Ȝet coruen þay þe cordes & kest al þer-oute.
Mony ladde þer forth-lep to laue & kest,
Scopen out þe scalpel water, þat fayn scape wolde;
For be monnes lode neuer so luþer, þe lyf is ay swete.
Þer watȝ busy ouer-borde bale to kest
Her bagges, & her feþer beddes, & bryst wedes,
Her kysttes, & her coferes, here caraldes alle,
& al to lyȝten þat lome, ȝif leþe wolde schape;
Bot eyer watȝ ilyche loud þe lot of þe wyndes,
& euer wroþer þe water, & wodder þe stremes.
Þen þo wery for-wroȝt wyst no bote,
Bot vehon glewed on his god þat gayned hym beste;
Summe to vernagu þer vouched a-vowes solemne,
Summe to diana deuout, & derf nepturne,
To mahoun & to mergot, þe mone & þe sunne,
& vehe lede as he loued & layde had his hert.
Þenne bispeke þe spakest dispayred wil nere:
I leue here be sum losynger, sum lawles wrech,
Þat hatȝ greued his god & gotȝ here amonge vus;
Lo al synkes in his synne & for his sake marres!
I lovne þat we lay lotes on ledes vchone,
& who-so lympes þe losse, lay hym þer-oute;
& quen þe gulty is gon what may gome trawe,
Bot he þat rules þe rak may rwe on þose oþer?
Þis watȝ sette in asent, & sembled þay were,
Herȝed out of vche hyrne to hent þat falles.
A lodes-mon lyȝtly lep vnder hachches,
For to layte mogledes & hem to lote bryng,
Bot hym fayled no freke þat he fynde myȝt,
Saf Ionas þe Iwe þat Iowked in derne.
He watȝ flowen for ferde of þe flode lotes
In-to þe boþem of þe bot, & on a brede lyggede,
On helde by þe hurrok, for þe heuen wrache,
Slypped vpon a sloumbe, selepe, & sloberande he routes.
Þe freke hym frunt with his fot & bede hym ferk vp,
Þer ragnel in his rakentes hym rere of his dremes;
Bi þe haspede he hentes hym þenne,
& broȝt hym vp by þe brest & vpon borde sette,
Arayned hym ful runyschly what raysoun he hade
In such slaȝtes of sorȝe to slepe so faste;
Sone haf þay her sortes sette & serelych deled,
& ay þe lote, vpon laste, lymped on Ionas.
Þenne ascryed þay hym sekete, & asked ful loude,
“What þe deuel hatȝ þou don, doted wrech?
What seches þoue on see, synful schrewe,
With þy lastes so luþer to lose vus vchone?
Hatȝ þou, gome, no gouernour ne god on to calle,
Þat þou þus slydes on slepe when þou slayn worþes?
Of what londe art þou lent, what laytes þou here
Whyder in worlde þat þou wylt, & what is þyn arnde?
Lo þy dom is dyȝt, for þy dedes ille!
Do gyf glory to þy godde, er þou glyde hens.”
“I am an Ebru,” quod he, “of Israyl borne;
Þat wyȝe I worchyp, I wysse, þat wroȝt alle þynges,
Alle þe worlde with þe welkyn, þe wynde & þe sternes,
& alle þat woneȝ þer with-inne, at a worde one.
Alle þis meschef for me is made at þys tyme,
For I haf greued my god & gulty am founden;
For-þy bereȝ me to þe borde, & baþeþes me þer-oute,
Er gete ȝe no happe, I hope forsoþe.”
He ossed hym by vnnynges þat þay vnder-nomen,
Þat he watȝ flawen fro þe face of frelych dryȝtyn;
Þenne such a ferde on hem fel & flayed hem with-inne,
Þat þay ruyt hym to rowwe & letten þe rynk one.
Haþeles hyȝed in haste with ores ful longe,
Syn her sayl watȝ hem aslypped on sydeȝ to rowe;
Hef & hale vpon hyȝt to helpen hym seluen,
Bot al watȝ nedles note, þat nolde not bityde:
In bluber of þe blo flod bursten her ores,
Þenne hade þay noȝt in her honde þat hem help myȝt;
Þenne nas no coumfort to keuer, ne counsel non oþer,
Bot ionas in-to his Iuis Iugge bylyue.
Fyrst þay prayen to þe prynce þat prophetes seruen,
Þat he gef hem þe grace to greuen hym neuer,
Þat þay in baleleȝ blod þer blenden her handeȝ,
Þaȝ þat haþel wer his, þat þay here quelled.
Tyd by top & bi to þay token hym synne,
In-to þat lodlych loȝe þay luche hym sone;
He watȝ no tytter out-tulde þat tempest ne sessed,
Þe se saȝtled þer-with,as sone as ho moȝt.
Þenne þaȝ her takel were torne, þat totered on yþeȝ,
Styffe stremes & streȝt hem strayned a whyle,
Þat drof hem dryȝlych adoun þe depe to serue,
Tyl a swetter ful swyþe hem sweȝed to bonk.
Þer watȝ louyng on lofte, when þay þe londe wonnen,
To oure mereyable god, on moyses wyse,
With sacrafyse vp-set, & solempne vowes,
& graunted hym vn-to be god & graythly non oþer;
Þaȝ þay be Iolef for Ioye, Ionas ȝet dredes,
Þaȝ he nolde suffer no sore, his seele is on anter;
For what-so worþed ofþat wyȝe, fro he in water dipped,
Hit were a wonder to wene, ȝif holy wryt nere,

III.

Now is ionas þe Iwe Iugged to drowne;
Of þat schended schyp men schowued hym sone.
A wylde walterande whal, as wyrde þen schaped,
Þat watȝ beten of þat wyȝe þat þe water soȝte,
& watȝ war of þat wyȝe þat þe water soȝte,
& swyftely swenged hym to swepe & his swolȝ opened;
Þe folk ȝet haldande his fete þe fysch hym tyd hentes,
With-outen towche of any tothe he tuly in his þrote.
Thenne he swengeȝ & swayues to þe se boȝem,
Bi mony rokkeȝ ful roȝe & rydelande strondes,
Wyth þe mon in his mawe, malskred in drede.
As lyttel wonder hit watȝ ȝif he wo dreȝed,
For nade þe hyȝe heuen kyng, þurȝ his honde myȝt,
Warded þis wrech man in warlowes gutteȝ,
What lede moȝt lyue bi lawe of any kynde,
Þat any lyf myȝt be lint so longe hym with-inne?
Bot he watȝ sokored by þat syre þat syttes so hiȝe,
Þaȝ were wauleȝ of wele, in wombe of þat fissche,
& also dryuen þurȝ þe depe, & in derk waltereȝ.
Lorde! colde watȝ his cumfort & his care huge,
For he knew vehe a cace & kark þat hym lymped;
How fro þe bot in-to þe blober watȝ with a best lachched,
& þrwe in at hit þrote, with-outen þret more,
As mote in at a munster dor, so mukel wern his chawleȝ,
He glydes in by þe giles, þurȝ glaymande glette,
Relande in by a rop, a rode þat hym þoȝt,
Ay hele ouer hed, hourlande aboute,
Til he blunt in a blok as brod as a halle;
& þer he festnes þe fete & fathmeȝ aboute,
& stod vp in his stomak, þat stank as þe deuel;
Þer in saym & in sorȝe þat sauoured as helle,
Þer watȝ bylded his bour, þat wyl no bale suffer;
& þenne he lurkkes & laytes where watȝ le best,
In vehe a nok of his nauel, bot nowhere he fyndeȝ
No rest ne recouerer, bot ramelande myre,
In wych gut so euer he gotȝ; bot euer is god swete;
& þer he lenged at þe last & to þe lede called.
“Now prynce, of þy prophete pité þou haue!
Þaȝ I be fol, & fykel, & falce of my hert,
De-woyde now þy vengaunce, þurȝ vertu of rauthe;
Thaȝ I be gulty of gyle as gaule of prophetes,
Þou art god, & alle gowdeȝ ar grayþely þyn owen;
Haf now mercy of þy man & his mys-dedes,
& preue þe lyȝtly a lorde, in londe & in water.”
With þat he hitte to a hyrne & helde hym þer-inne,
Þer no de-foule of no fylþe watȝ fest hym abute;
Þer he sete also sounde, saf for merk one,
As in þe bulk of þe bote, þer he by-fore sleped.
So in a bouel of þat best he bideȝ on lyue,
Þre dayes & þ[r]e nyȝt ay þenkande on dryȝtyn,
His myȝt & his merci, his mesure þenne;
Now he knaweȝ hym in care þat couþe not in sele.
Ande euer walteres þis whal bi wyldren depe,
Þurȝ mony a regioun ful roȝe, þurȝ ronk of his wylle,
For þat mote in his mawe mad hym, I trowe,
Þaȝ hit lyttel were, hym wyth to wamel at his hert,
Ande assayled þe segge; ay sykerly he herde
Þe bygge borne on his bak & bete on his sydes;
Þen a prater ful prest þe prophete þer maked
On þis wyse, as I wene, his wordeȝ were mony:

IV.

“Lorde to þe haf I eleped, in careȝ ful stronge,
Out of þe hole þou me herde, of hellen wombe
I calde, & þou knew myn vncler steuen;
Þou dipteȝ me of þe depe se, in-to þe dymme hert,
Þe grete flem of þy flod folded me vmbe;
Alle þe goteȝ of þy guferes, & groundeleȝ powleȝ,
& þy stryuande stremeȝ of stryndeȝ so mony,
In on daschande dam, dryueȝ me ouer;
& ȝet I say, as I seet in þe se boþem,
‘Care-ful am I kest out fro þy cler yȝen
& deseuered fro þy syȝt; ȝet surely I hope,
Efte to trede on þy temple & teme to þy seluen.
I am wrapped in water to my wo stoundeȝ,
Þe abyme byndes þe body þat I byde inne;
Þe pure poplande hourle playes on my heued,
To laste mere of Vche a mount man am I fallen;
Þe barreȝ of vche a bonk ful bigly me haldes,
Þat I may lachche no lont & þou my lyf weldes;
Þou schal releue me renk, whil þy ryȝt slepeȝ,
Þurȝ myȝt of þy mercy þat mukel is to tryste.
For when pacces of anguych watȝ hid in my sawle,
Þenne I remembred me ryȝt of my rych lorde,
Prayande him for petè his prophete to here,
Þat in-to his holy hous myn orisoun moȝt entre.
I haf meled with þy maystres mony longe day,
Bot now I wot wyterly, þat þose vnwyse ledes
Þat affyen hym in vanyté & in vayne þynges,
For þink þat mountes to noȝt, her mercy forsaken;
Bot I dewoutly awowe þat verray betȝ halden,
Soberly to do þe sacrafyse when I schal saue worþe,
& offer þe for my hele a ful hol gyfte,
& halde goud þat þou me hetes; haf here my trauthe.”
Thenne oure fader to þe fysch ferslych biddeȝ,
Þat he hym sput spakly vpon spare drye;
Þe whal wendeȝ at his wylle & warþe fyndeȝ,
& þer he brakeȝ vp þe buryne, as bede hym oure lorde.
Þenne he swepe to þe sonde in sluchched cloþes,
Hit may wel be þat mester were his mantyle to wasche;
Þe bonk þat he blosched to & bode hym bisyde,
Wern of þe regiounes ryȝt þat he renayed hade;
Þenne a wynde of goddeȝ worde efte þe wyȝe bruxleȝ,
“Nylt þou neuer to nuniue bi no-kynneȝ wayeȝ?”
“Ȝisse lorde,” quod þe lede, “lene me þy grace
For to go at þi gre, me gayneȝ non oþer.”
“Ris, aproche þen to prech, lo þe place here!
Lo! my lore is in þe loke, lance hit þer-inne.”
Þenne þe renk radly ros as he myȝt,
& to niniue þat maȝt he neȝed ful euen;
Hit watȝ a ceté ful syde & selly of brede,
On to þrenge þer-þurze watȝ þre dayes dede.
Þat on Iournay ful Ioynt Ionas hym ȝede,
Er euer he warpped any worde to wyȝe þat he mette,
& þenne he cryed so cler, þat kenne myȝt alle;
Þe trwe tenor of his teme he tolde on þis wyse:
“Ȝet schal forty dayeȝ fully fare to an ende,
& þenne schal Niniue be nomen & to noȝt worþe;
Truly þis ilk toun schal tylte to grounde,
Vp-so-doun schal ȝe dumpe depe to þe abyme,
To be swolȝed swyftly wyth þe swart erþe,
& alle þat lyuyes here-inne lose þe swete.”
Þis speche sprang in þat space & spradde alle aboute,
To borges & to bacheleres, þat in þat burȝ lenged;
Such a hidor hem hent & hatel drede,
Þat al chaunged her chere & chylled at þe hert.
Þe segge sesed not ȝet, bot sayde euer ilyche
“Þe verray vengaunce of god schal voyde þis place.”
Þenne þe peple pitosly pleyned ful stylle,
& for þe drede of dryȝtyn doured in hert;
Heter hayreȝ þay hent þat asperly bited,
& þose þay bounden to her bak & to her bare sydeȝ,
Dropped dust on her hede & dymly bisoȝten,
Þat þat penaunce plesed him þat playneȝ on her wronge.
& ay he cryes in þat kyth tyl þe kyng herde;
& he radly vp-ros & ran fro his chayer,
His ryche robe he to-rof of his rigge naked,
& of a hep of askes he hitte in þe myddeȝ;
He askeȝ heterly a hayre & hasped hym vmbe,
Sewed a sekke þer abof, & syked ful colde;
Þer he dased in þat duste, with droppande teres,
Wepande ful wonderly alle his wrange dedes.
Þenne sayde he to his seriauntes, “samnes yow bilyue,
Do dryue out a decre demed of my seluen,
Þat alle þe bodyes þat ben with-inne þis borȝ quyk,
Boþe burnes & bestes, burdeȝ & childer,
Vch prynce, vche prest & prelates alle,
Alle faste frely for her falce werkes;
Seseȝ childer of her sok, soghe hem so neuer,
Ne best bite on no brom, ne no bent nauþer,
Passe to no pasture, ne pike non erbes,
Ne non oxe to no hay, ne no horse to water;
Al schal crye for-clemmed, with alle oure clere strenþe,
Þe rurd schal ryse to hym þat rawþe schal haue;
What wote oþer wyte may ȝif þe wyȝe lykes,
Þat is hende in þe hyȝt of his gentryse?
I wot his myȝt is so much, þaȝ he be mysse-payed,
Þat in his mylde amesyng he mercy may fynde;
& if we leuen þe layk of oure layth synnes,
& stylle steppen in þe styȝe he styȝtleȝ hym seluen,
He wyl wende of his wodschip, & his wrath leue,
& for-gif vus þis gult ȝif we hym god leuen.”
Þenne al leued on his lawe & laften her synnes,
Par-formed alle þe penaunce þat þe prynce radde;
& god þurȝ his godnesse forgef as he sayde,
Þaȝ he oþer bihyȝt, [&] with-helde his vengaunce.