[Poems from the Vernon MS]

[section]

PART I.

I. La estorie del Euangelie.

VII. A preyer at þe leuacioun.

VIII. A preyer at þe leuacioun.

IX. Þe fyue Ioyes of vr ladi.

X. An orisoun to god.

XI. An orisoun to vr lord Ihesu.

[XIII. A confessioun of wyrschip in orysoun.]

[XIV.] [Another Prayer to the Uirgin Mary.]

[XV. Prayer for the Seven Gifts of the Holy Ghost.]

[XVI. A Confessioun for necligence of þe dedes of mercy.]

[XVII. An orysoun for sauynge of þe fyue wyttes.]

[XVIII. An orisoun for negligens of þe X Comaundemens.]

[XIX. Patris Sapiencia, sive Horae de Cruce.]

[XX. Ueni Creator Spiritus, englisht.]

[XXIII. Psalterium b. Mariae. BY ALBERTUS MAGNUS]

[XXIV. Psalterium b. Mariae, ascribed to Thomas Aquinas, comprising the 50 first psalms.]

[XXV. A salutacioun to vre lady.]

[XXVI. An orisoun to þe fyue woundes of ihesus cristus.]

[XXVIII. A salutacioun to vre lady.]

[XXIX. Miracles of oure lady.]

I. [hou þe cite off croteye was delyuered of þeir enemys by vre lady coote.]

II.

II. [hou þe Iewes, in despit of vre lady, þrewe a chyld in a gonge.]

III.

III. [hou an holy hermyt prayde a synful womman pray god for hym.]

IV.

IV. [hou a Iew putte his sone in a brennyngge ouene, for he was communed wit oþur cristene children on þe pask-day.]

V. [hou a man, for ache, cut of his foot, and was heled aȝeyn by vre lady.]

VI.

VI. [hou a iew lente a cristenemon moneye, and took vre lady to borow.]

VII.

VII. [Of a prest þat lay by a nonne.]

VIII.

VIII. [hou vre lady ȝaf mylk off heore pappes to a man þat hadde þe squynacye.]

IX.

IX. [Of an incontinent monk, þat was drouned, and rered aȝeyn by vre lady to lyf.]

XXX. De festo corporis cristi.

[section]

Uidemus in altari formam panis, non carnis, & quare.

De manu sacerdotis per hostiam penetrata.

XXXI. Septem miracula de corpore cristi.

[section]

1. Narracio cuiusdam religiosi.

2. Narracio presbiteri parochialis.

(3.) Narracio felicis presbiteri.

(4.) hou a man of Souþfolk was saued þorou a masse.

(5.) Narracio Bede.

(6.) Of a man þat was closed in a myne.

XXXII. Hou a man schal lyue parfytly.

[section]

Off þe seuen dedly synnes.

Seuen blessynges of god.

Seuen medicines for þe seuen dedly synnes.

Þe ten comaundemens of god.

Þe seuen vertues of god.

Þe twolue articles of þe fey.

Þe Seuen sacromens of holy churche.

Þe seuen principal vertues.

Seuen werkes of mercy.

[XXXIII.] þe visions of seynt poul wan he was rapt in to paradys.

XXXIV. þe Pope trental.

Trentale sancti gregorij.

[XXXV. þe Spore of Loue.]

[prologue]

[section]

Of Meditacion of þi-self knowyng.

Meditacion of þe Soule.

Of Contemplacion in creature.

Þe secunde contemplacion In holy writ.

Of þe Seuene blessynges of þe gospel, Seuene dedli Synnes remedie.

Of þe Seuen ȝiftes of þe holigost.

Of þe Seuene vertues.

Of þe ten Comaundemens.

Of twelue articles of vre be-leue.

Of þe seuene Sacramens.

Of þe seuene dedes of Merci.

Of þe seuene druweries of Monnus bodi.

Of þe doweres of þe soule.

Of þe peynes of helle, & amonesting.

Of þe þridde Manere of contemplacion in god him-self.

Contemplacion at Matines tyme.

Of contemplacion at prime: of þe passion, and of þe Resureccion.

Of þe Resurexion.

Biforen vndurne: Of þe passion, and of Witsuntyd.

Bifore vndurne of þe holigost.

At Midday: of þe anunciacion, And of þe passion.

Also of þe passion.

At Noon: of þe passion, and of þe Assencion.

At Non of þe Assencion.

At euensong-tyme: of þe passion, and of þe Maunde.

Now of þe Maunde of Ihesu crist.

At cumplin-tyme: of his passion, and of his buriinge.

Of þe buryinge of Ihesu crist.

Of Contemplacion of god in his owne kynde.

[XXXVI. Þe Lamentacioun þat was bytwene vre lady and seynt Bernard.]

XXXVII. A dispitison bitwene a god man and þe deuel.

II.

PART II

[XXXIX. Of þre messagers of deeth.]

[XL. Two Songs of Love-longing.]

[I.]

II.

[II.]

XLI. A luytel tretys of Loue. Of godes passyon.

XLIII. A Mournyng Song of the loue of God.

XLIV. Her is a luytel Sarmoun, þat is of good edificacioun.

[XLVII. How to hear Mass.]

[XLVIII. Sayings of St. Bernard: Man's three Foes.]

[XLIX. Prouerbes of diuerse profetes and of poetes and of oþur seyntes.]

22. Try to say the best. Control your Tongue.

27. A Prayer to the Virgin Mary.

28. A Prayer to the Trinity.

30. A Morning Thanksgiving and Prayer to God.

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

II. PART II

443

[XXXIX. Of þre messagers of deeth.]

Her biginneþ a tretis
Of þreo Messagers of deþ, I-wis.

Þe Mon þat is of wommon I-bore,
His lyf nis heere but a þrowe—
So seiþ Iob vs heer-bi-fore
Al in a Bok þat I wel knowe.

He hedde is Muynde al of his deþ,
Wel sore he con grone and grunte,
And seide his lyf nas bote a Breþ,
Heer mou we none stounde stunte.

ffrom deþ may no mon be fre,
ffor his riȝte wol he not lete.
Now beoþ þer Messagers þre
A-Mong Monkuynde for to meete:

Auentures, Seeknesse, and Elde—
Þeos beoþ Messagers of deþ;
To hem we moten vs alle ȝelde
And louten þer vr Maystres geþ.

Whon Deth comeþ þat is so derk,
Þer May no Mon him wiþ-stonde;
I take witnesse on a noble Clerk
Þat wrot þeos vers wiþ his honde:

Mors necat athletas,
Ego mortis nescio metas,
I[n]ter Res letas,
Caueat sibi quelibet etas—

“Deþ, he sleth þis kempes kene,
And kynges in heore worþly won,
Riche & pore alle bi-dene,
Ȝong ne Old spareþ he non.”

444

Þer is on of þis Messagers
Þat of no mon wol take mede;
He is so hardi and so fers
Þat alle Men of him haue drede:

Þe Messager hette Auentours;
Aȝeynes him may beo no strif;
Whon he comeþ to a Monnes hous,
He takeþ boþe hosebonde & þe wyf.

He takeþ þe child In his Cradel,
Þeih he beo bot o niht old;
Þe kniht and horse in his sadel
I-a[r]med, beo he neuer so bold.

Of him beo vche Mon I-war
And mak him clene, ar he beo hent;
ffor þer nis no ȝeyn-char,
Whon Auentures comeþ to turnement.

Mony mon lihþ in dedly synne
And weneþ þat he beo not veyȝe,
And Auentures comeþ wiþ his ginne
And hontuþ til he haue his preye.

In dedly sunne ho is I-founde
Wiþ-outen schrift and repentaunce,
He geþ in to helle-grounde,
Þer to suffre his penaunce.

Seint Poul bit we schulden awake—
Þis Clerkes witen as wel as I—
Þat we schulden vs clene make
And of vr sinnes ben sori;

And bote we ben, we schulen abugge;
Þer schal no pledur plede þat;
Þer God vs fynt, he wol vs Iugge—
Nou vche Mon be war bi þat.

ffor Auentures wol come as a þef
Be nihte, whon men ben aslepe,
And taken awey þat him is leef—
Nou awakeþ, þat ȝe mowe him kepe.

Anoþer Messager þer is
Of Deþ, whon crist wol him sende:
Seknesse, Ichaue I-herd ar þis,
Þe Messager is swiþe hende.

445

Whon seeknesse comeþ to a mon,
He may be war ȝif he is sleih,
And greiþen his In, ȝif þat he con,
And þenken þat deþ is swiþe neih.

ffor seknesse comeþ apertely,
He ne dareþ not in his den;
Hit is vre lordes Cortesy
Wiþ seknesse for to warne men.

Mony Men, whon þat heo beoþ seke,
To Ihesu Crist a clepen and criȝe
And to his Mylde Mooder eke
And sigge: “now þou help, Marie!

Ȝif þat we mowe be sound and saue
And keuere, þat we mowen habben vr hele,
Al þe good þat we haue
ffor Godes loue we wolen hit dele.”

We loue wel God in al vr þouȝt
While we beo seeke & sore smerte;
Whon we beoþ hol, we louen him nouȝt,
He nis no lengor in vre herte—

Cum fero langorem,
ffero Religionis amorem;
Expers langoris
Non sum memor huius amoris.

Of crist ne takeþ he non hede,
He naþ no more wiþ him to donne;
To þonken him for his goode dede,
He þenkeþ no more þer-vpponne.

Suche men ben ofte al-one I-let
To pleye as þe foul in þe lift,
Til Auentures haue wiþ hem met,
Be-Reueþ hem boþe hosel and schrift.

Men ouȝten holden vp boþe heore honden
To God, while heo ben hol and feere,
To sende, whon he wol hem fonden,
Seeknesse to ben heore Messagere.

Seynt poul seiþ, vre lordes kniht,
In a pistel þat he wrot,
Þat he was strengest & most of miht
Whon god him wiþ seknesse smot.

446

Now ichulle siggen ou of Elde,
Of Messagers he is þe þridde.
Whon Monnes hed biginneþ to elde,
He may not do but beodes bidde.

And he leoneþ vppon his Crucche,
Whon deþ him bekneþ, comen he mot;
Hit helpeþ nouȝt þauh he grucche,
He schal wiþ-stonde neuer a fot.

Also fareþ Elde as doþ a sweyn
Þat stondeþ at his lordes ȝate
And mot not wenden in aȝeyn,
ffor þe po[r]ter þat is þer-ate;

ffor no ȝiftes þat he may ȝiuen,
Ne feire wordes þat he mai speken;
He worþ out atte ȝate I-driuen,
Anon þe ȝate for him is steken.

Ȝif a Mon may libben heer
And ben of pouwer for to go
Þe Elde of ffoure-score ȝer,
Þat oþer del is serwe and wo.

ffor hose wole his lyf be-holde
ffrom biginnynge to þe ende,
Wel ofte may his herte colde
Þat not what wey he schal wende;

Wel we witen we schule be ded,
Vr dwellyng her nis bote a while—
Ihesu crist vs wisse and rede,
Þat neuer þe ffend ne do vs gyle.—

Nou is deþ a wonder þing
And grislich for to þenken on;
He ne spareþ Emperour ne kyng,
Ne Pope for al þe good þat he con.

Wher ben heo þat biforen vs weoren,
Þat weore so mihti in heore deden,
Houndes ladden and haukes beeren
An hontyng heiȝe vppon heore steeden?

Deþ hit haþ hem al by-raft,
Wiþ hem þer nis no more pley.
And al þat bereþ monnes schaft,
Schal go þat ilke selue wey.

447

Vche Mon may be sore aferd
Þat haþ a soule for to saue,
Whon he geþ bi a Chirche-ȝerd
And seoþ wher dede men beþ I-graue.

Riche men habbeþ riche stones,
Þat alle men mouwe biholde:
Þer-vnder liggeþ foule bones,
I-beddet al in Cloþ of colde.

Wel pore halle þer is I-maked,
Wiþ-outen eny worldes winne;
Saue a Clout, men beoþ al naked,
Whon deþ is comen I-cast þer-Inne.

Þe halle-Roof is cast ful lowe,
Þer beoþ none Chaumbres wyde;
Me may reche þe helewowe
And þe wal on vche a syde.

Heore bodies þat weoren so softe I-baþen
And I-brouȝt forþ wiþ Mete and drynk,
Þer hit schal crepe ful of Maþen—
In al þis world nis foulore stynk.

A Mon þat such a bodi seȝe
Whon wormes hit haþ þorw-souht,
He ouȝte wepe wiþ his eȝe
And euere haue him in his þouht.

Þer nis non so luyte ne so muche
Þat is of fflesch, blod and bon,
Þat we ne schule ben alle suche,
Whon we ben huled vnder a ston.

Hou may eny mon be proud
ffor eny þing þat he may gete,
Whon he is huled vnder a schroud,
Þat þing þat is wormes mete?

Þat þing þat is vr moste fo,
Þerfore we don a gret folye
To loue þat þing þat doþ vs wo,
And eke vr dedliche enemye.

Ȝif a Mon may libben heer
As longe as dude Matussale—
Niȝene hundred & nyne & sixti ȝer
So longe on eorþe liuede he—

448

Þat nis not also muche tyme
Aȝeynes þe tyme þat comeþ afterward
As fro þe sonne-rysing to prime—
To sunfol men þat is ful hard.

Þat I schal seye nou takeþ kepe,
I drawe to witnesse seynt Austyn:
Þat a Mon schal more wepe
Þat dampned is to helle-pyn,

Þen is water vnder þe sonne,
And he wepe vche day a ter.
Auiseþ ow now, ȝif þat ȝe cunne,
And doþ þat ȝe ne come not þer!

A Mon þat dampned is to helle,
His peyne may not ben for-bouȝt,
Ac endeles he schal þer dwelle;
Almes-dede helpeþ him nouht.

Þei alle men þat libbeþ nouþe
Weore prestes Masses to synge,
And duden al þat þei euer couþe,
Ne scholden him of pyne bringe.

Þat ilke soule þat is dryuen
Wiþ fendes in atte helle-ȝate,
And his Iuggement be him ȝiuen,
To bidde Merci hit is to late.

Heuene hit is vre heritage,
To vre bihoue hit is diht,
[Ȝif] we han do feute and homage
To vre lord, as hit is riht.

Synful mon, ȝif þat he falleþ,
A-Rys vp and mak þi pees,
And cum to crist, whon þat he calleþ
To Ioye þat is endeles.

He þat is al-mihti kyng,
Þat heiȝe sitteþ In Trinite,
Graunt vs alle his blessyng,
AMEN AMEN par charite.

449

[XL. Two Songs of Love-longing.]

[I.]

[Swete Ihesu, now wol I synge]

Swete Ihesu, now wol I synge
To þe a song of loue longinge:
Do in myn herte a welle springe
Þe to louen ouer alle þinge.

Swete Ihesu, kyng of blisse,
Min herte loue, Min herte lisse:
In loue, lord, þou me wisse,
And let me neuere þi loue misse.

Swete Ihesu, myn herte liht,
Þow art day wiþ-oute niht:
Ȝiue me boþe Grace and miht
ffor to loue þe ariht.

Swete Ihesu, my soule bote,
In myn herte þou sette a Roote
Of þi loue þat is so swote,
And weete hit þat hit springe mote!

Swete Ihesu, myn herte gleem,
Brihtore þen þe sonne Beem:
As þou weore boren In Bethleem,
Þou make in me þi loue-dreem.

Swete Ihesu, þi loue is swete—
Wo is him þat hit schal leete!
Ȝif me grace for to wepe
ffor my synnes teres wete.

450

Swete Ihesu, kyng of londe,
Mak þou me to vnderstonde,
Þat I may In myn herte fonde
Hou swete is þi loue-bonde.

Swete Ihesu, me reweþ sore
Of my misdedes I haue don ȝore:
ffor-ȝif me, lord, I wol no more,
But I þe aske Milce and ore.

Swete Ihesu, Lord myn,
Mi lyf, my soule is al þin:
Vndo myn herte and liȝte þerin,
And saue me from wikked engyn.

Swete Ihesu, lord good,
ffor me þou scheddest þi blessed blod—
Out of þin herte hit com þe flod—
Þi Moder hit sauȝ wiþ druyri mod:

Swete Ihesu, Briht and Schene,
Heere me, lord, for I me mene,
Þorw preyere of Marie, Milde qweene,
Þat þi loue on me be sene.

Swete Ihesu, Mi soule foode,
Alle werkes of þe ben goode;
Þou bouȝtest me vppon þe Rode
And scheddest þeron þi swete blode.

Swete Ihesu, Barn Best,
Þi loue þou in myn herte fest;
Whon I go North, Souþ, Est or West,
In þe al-one fynde I rest.

Swete Ihesu, wel may him be
Þat þe schal in þi blisse se!
Wiþ loue-cordes drauȝ þou me,
Þat I may comen and wone wiþ þe.

451

Swete Ihesu, heuene-kyng,
ffeir and best ouer alle þing:
Bring me in to þat loue-longyng
To come to þe at myn endyng.

[II.]

[Marie Moder, Mylde Qween]

Marie Moder, Mylde Qween,
Send vs grace synne to flen,
Þat we mowe þi sone i-sen
And euere wiþ hym in Blisse ben.

Ihesu, swete is þe loue of þe;
Ne may no þing so swete be,
Nouȝt þat mon may þenke or se,
Ne haue swetnesse aȝeynes þe.

Ihesu, no song mai be swettore,
Ne þouȝt in herte Blisfollere,
Nouȝt may be feeled lihtsomere
Þen þou, so swete a louyere!

Ihesu, þi loue was vs so fre
Þat hit from heuene brouȝte þe,
ffor loue ful deore bouȝtest þou me,
ffor loue þow henge on Roode-tre.

Ihesu, to þi disciples dere
Þou seydest wiþ ful dreri chere
As þei seeten alle I-feere
A luytel ar þou taken were—

Ihesu, þou seydest þat þou wore
fful of serwe and herte-sore,
And beed hem dwellen a while þore
While þou beo-souȝtest þi ffader ore;

Ihesu, þou eodest on þi feete
To þe Mount of Olyuete,

452

And to þi ffader, er þou leete,
Þow madest a boone wiþ herte swete:

To him þou seidest: “ȝif hit may be,
Deore ffader, I preye þe,
Þis peyne passe a-wey from me;
As þow wolt so moot hit be!”

Ihesu, þou tornedest to hem þan:
And founde hem slepen vch a man;
Þow beede hem waken, &, er þou blan,
A-non aȝeyn þe wey þou nam.

Ihesu, þus eft þe selue boone
Þat þou beo-fore bi-gonne to done,
And eke þe þridde tyme sone
Þow madest, wiþ a Milde mone.

Ihesu, wiþ þat þou preye gon,
Þe swot of blood from þe ron.
ffrom heuene an Angel lihte þon
And þe cumfortede, God and Mon.

Marie Mylde, freo and gent,
Preye for me—þou art present—
Whon my soule is from me went,
Þat hit haue good Iuggement.

Ihesu, for loue þou soffredest wrong,
Woundes sore and peynes strong;
Þi peynes reuþful weore and long,
Ne may me hit telle in spel ne song.

Ihesu, for loue þou suffredest so wo
Þat bloodi stremes Ronne þe fro;
Þi white bodi was bleyk and blo—
Vre sunnes hit made, weylawo!

Ihesu, þi Coroune sat þe sore,
Þe scourgyng whon þow scourget wore;
Hit was for me—Ihesu, þin ore!—
Þe peynes þat þow þoledest þore.

Ihesu swete, þow heng on tre
Not for þi gult, but al for me,

453

ffor sunnes and gult aȝeynes þe—
Swete Ihesu, for-ȝif hem me.

Ihesu, whon þow streyned wore,
Þi peynes woxen more and more.
Þi Mooder euer wiþ þe was þore,
Wiþ serweful sikynges and wiþ sore.

Ihesu, whi weore þou pyned so
Þat neuer wrouȝtest wrong ne wo?
Hit was for me, and moni mo,
Þat þou so harde were bi-go.

Ihesu, what sauh þow on me
Of ouȝt þat neodful was to þe,
Þat þou so harde on Roode-tre
ffor me woldest pyned be?

Ihesu, whi weore þou so gelous,
So feruent and so disirrous
To buggen wiþ pris so precious
Wrecche Mon so vicious?

Ihesu, for vs þou henge on Rode,
ffor loue þou ȝeeue þin herte-blode;
Loue þe made vre soule foode,
Þi loue vs brouhte to alle goode.

Ihesu my lemmon, þou art so fre,
Þat al þou dedest for loue of me:
What schal I for þat ȝeelde þe?
Þow kepest not but þe loue of me.

Ihesu my god, my lord, my kyng,
Þou askest me non oþer þyng
But trewe loue and herte longyng
And loue-teres and stille mournyng.

Ihesu my deore, my loue, my liht,
I wol þe louen, and þat is riht.
Do me þe louen wiþ al my miht,
And after þe Mourne dai & niht!

Ihesu, do me so loue þe
Þat my þouht ay on þe be;

454

Wiþ þin eȝen lok on me,
And Myldeliche my nede se!

Marie ladi, Mooder briht,—
Þou darst, þou wolt, þou art of miht,—
Myn herte loue, my lyf, my liht,
Þou prey for me boþe day & niht.

Ihesu, þi loue is al my þouht,
Of oþer þing ne recche I nouht,
But þat I haue a-ȝeyn þe wrouht
And þou hast me so deore a-bouht.

Ihesu, al-þauȝ I synful be,
fful longe hastou spared me;
Þe more owe I to loue þe
Þat þou wiþ me hast ben so fre.

Ihesu, forsoþe now nis no þing
In al þis world of such lykyng,
Þat con so muche of loue-longyng,
As þou Ihesu, my deore swetyng.

Ihesu, wel ouȝt I loue þe,
ffor þou me schewest þi Rode-tre,
Þi Coroune of þornes, and nayles þre,
Þe scharpe spere þat þorw-stong þe.

Ihesu, of loue I seo tokenyng:
Þin Armes spradde to loue-cluppyng,
Þin hed bouwede to swete cussyng,
Þi syde al opene to loue-schewyng.

Ihesu, whon I þenke on þe
And loke vppon þe Roode-tre,
Þi swete bodi bi-bled I se:
Lord, do þat siht to wounde me!

Ihesu, þi Moder þat bi þe stood,
Of loue-teres heo wepte a flood;
Þy woundes and þyn holy blood
Heo maden hire haue a dreri mood.

455

Ihesu, loue þe dude to wepen,
Loue þe dude þi blod to sweten,
ffor loue þou were sore beten,
Loue þe dude þi lyf to leten.

Marie, I prei þe, as þou art fre,
Of þi serwe parte wiþ me,
Þat I mowe serwe here wiþ þe
And partiner of þi blisse be.

Ihesu, þi loue þou tauhtest me
Wiþ swete wordes of herte fre
Þat þou speek on Roode-tre—
So ful of loue ne mihte non be.

Ihesu, þe furste word was, as I rede,
Þat þou þi deore ffader beede
Þat he forȝaf hem heore misdede,
Alle þat duden þe to dede.

Ihesu, þat oþer was I-wis
Þat þou seidest, as writen is:
Þat þe þeef schulde haue blis
Wiþ þe þat day in paradis.

Ihesu, þe þridde was of Mon:
Whon þi Mooder þe schulde forgon,
A Sone þou hire be-tauhtest on,
And seidest: “wommon, tak heer Ion!”

Ihesu, as þou weore pyned more,
Þe ffeorþe word þou seydest þore:
“A,” seydest þow, “me þursteþ sore”—
Hit was for hem þat dampned wore.

Ihesu, þe ffyfþe word Reweþ me
Þat þow seidest on Roode-tre:
“Mi God, Mi God, hou may þis be
Þat þou hast al forsake me?”

Ihesu, þe Sixte word hit was
Whon þou seidest “In manus tuas,”
Be-tauhtest þi ffader in þat plas
Þi soule, as his wille was.

Ihesu, In al þi peyne mest
Neuere was so meke best—

456

Þou seydest “Consummatum est,”
Þyn hed fel doun, þou ȝelde þe gost.

Ihesu, þou seidest; “alle ȝe
Þat passen be þe wey bi me,
A while a-bydeþ, comeþ and se
Ȝif eny serwe is lyk to me.”

Ihesu, þou seidest: “tel þow me,
Mi deore folk, what hit may be,
What haue I gult aȝeynes þe
Þat þou so bitter art to me?”

Ihesu, þou seydest þenne more:
“Mi deore folk, ȝe tel me ȝore,
Haue I wiþ myn holi lore
And gode dedes I-hurt so sore?”

Ihesu, þou seidest after ȝet:
“Mi deore wynȝard, ne haue I þe set,
Mi ffader blisse þe bi-het,
Wiþ al my-self—what woldest þou bet?”

Ihesu, þou seidest: “hou is þis,
Mi Swete, what haue I do mis
Þat þou wiþ-outen eny lis
Me ȝeldest schome aȝeyn Mi blis?”

Marie, þat slakest alle wo,
Helle-peynes schild me fro,
And ȝif me grace her do so
Þat I from henne to heuene go.

Ihesu, ffyue welles I fynde in þe,
Þat loue spring to drawe me;
Of Rede blod þe stremes be,
Mi soule of synnes wasschen heo.

Ihesu, my soule drauȝ þe to,
And mak myn herte wyde vndo;
Ȝif hit þi loue to drynke so,
Þat flessches lustes ben fordo!

Ihesu, Muchel Ich owe þe:
Who schal hit al ȝelde þe?

457

Me bi-houeþ þi-self hit be,
As þou pyne suffredest for me.

Ihesu, þi loue ȝef me follyke,
In myn herte þat hit stike,
Mi soule hit þurle Inwardliche,
Þat hit be þyn enteerliche.

Ihesu, do me loue þe so
Þat, wher I beo or what I do,
Þat I for weole ne for wo
Ne let myn herte torne þe fro.

Ihesu lord, Mi swetyng,
Hold me euere in þy kepyng,
Mak of me þi derlyng,
Þat I þe loue ouer alle þing.

Ihesu, my weole and al my wynne,
Al my Ioye is þe wiþ-Inne:
Now and euere kep me from synne,
To do þi wille let me not blynne!

Ihesu, mihtful Heuene-kyng,
Þi loue beo al my lykyng,
Mi mournyng and my longyng,
Wiþ swete teres wepyng.

Ihesu, ȝif me for þi name
Pacience In peyne and schame,
Þat to my soule is note and frame;
And mak myn herte Mylde & tame.

Ihesu, Al þat is feir to se,
Þat to þe fflessches lykyng may be,
Al worldes blisse do me fle
And al my tent ȝiue to þe.

Marie, Swete Mayden fre,
ffor Ihesu [crist] be-seche I þe:
Þi swete sone do loue me,
And mak me worþi þat hit so be.

Ihesu, in þe beo al my þouȝt—

458

Of oþer þyng ne recche I nouȝt;
Whon I of þe may felen ouȝt,
Þen is my soule wel of þouȝt.

Ihesu, ȝif þou for-lete me,
What may me lyken of þat I se?
Blisse may non wiþ me be,
Til þat þou come aȝeyn to me.

Ihesu, þat me hast deore abouht,
Al þat to synne draweþ ouht
Holliche puyt out of my þouȝt,
So þat I ne wraþþe þe nouȝt.

Ihesu, my soule is weddet to þe—
Wiþ rihte hit ouhte þin owne to be;
Þauȝ I haue synget aȝeynes þe,
Þi Merci is euere redi to me.

Ihesu þi Merci, bi-leue I craue—
Me bihoueþ þat I hit haue;
Þe deuh of grace vppon me laue,
And worþi me make þi loue to haue.

Ihesu, þou be al my ȝernyng,
In þe be, lord, al my lykyng,
Mi þouȝt, my dede, and my Mournyng
To haue þe Euere in loue-longyng.

Ihesu, my leof, Mylde of mood,
Mi soule haþ neode of þi good:
Mak hit clene and þolemood,
And ful hit of þi loue-flod.

Ihesu, my soule preyeþ þe,
Let hit nouȝt vncloþed be;
Cloþe hit wiþ þi loue fre,
Wiþ goode werkes þat lyken þe.

Ihesu, Beute ne aske I þe nouȝt,
Ne proude cloþes nobli wrouȝt,

459

Londes ne Rentes, deore bouȝt,
But hertly loue and clene þouȝt.

Ihesu, whonne so hit lykeþ þe,
Loue-sparkes send þou me;
Mak myn herte al hot to be,
Brennynde in þe loue of þe.

Marie, þi sone preye hertely
ffor me, wrecche vnworþy,
Þat he wole enterly
Graunte me his Merci.

Ihesu almihti, heuene-kyng,
Þi loue is a ful derne þing;
May no mon hit witen þorw knowyng,
But he hit feele þorw herte þenkyng.

Ihesu, ȝif me þat I may see
Þe Muchele good þou hast do me.
And I vnkynde aȝeyn haue be,
ffor-ȝif me, lord, þat art so fre.

Ihesu, þi loue and fleschly þouȝt
Wonen to-gedre ne mouwe þ[e]i nouȝt,
As Hony & galle to-gedre brouȝt;
Swete and Bitter a-cordeþ nouȝt.

Ihesu, wiþ herte I þonke þe.
Þouȝ I wrecche and sunfol be,
In trewe hope I preye þe,
Þi Blisse & Merci graunte þou me.

Ihesu, þauh I be vnworþi
To loue þe, lord Almihti,
Þi godnesse me makeþ hardi
Mi soule to don in þi Merci.

Ihesu, þi Merci cumforteþ me:
ffor no mon may so synful be,
Þat synne wol leue and to þe fle,
Þat Merci ful redi fyndeþ he.

Ihesu, for synful, as writen is,
Þou lihtest from þin heiȝe blis

460

In to Marie wombe, I-wis,
To ȝiuen vs alle reste and lis.

Ihesu, þauȝ I synful be,
I haue euere trust hope in þe;
Þerfore, lord, I preye þe
Þat of my synnes amende þou me.

Ihesu, þou art so good a mon,
Þi loue desyre I as I con;
Me to lette suffre þing non,
Swete Ihesu, my deore lemmon.

Ihesu, euere beo-seche I þe,
Þin Inward loue þou graunte me;
Þouȝ I þerto vnworþi be,
Þou mak me worþi, þat art so fre.

Marie Milde, ful of pite,
Prey þi deore Sone for me
Þat he graunte me to be
Euere in blisse wiþ him and þe.

Ihesu al swete, þat art al good,
Do þi loue drynke myn herte-blod.
Þi loue me makeþ so swete-wod
Þat wonder blisful is my mood.

Ihesu, do me do þi wille,
Nou and euere, loud and stille;
Wiþ þi loue my soule fulfille
And soffre neuere þat I do ille.

Ihesu, þi loue is swete and strong,
Mi lyf is al þer-on I-long:
Tech me, lord, þi loue-song,
Wiþ swete teres euer a-mong.

Ihesu, ȝif þou be from me go,
Min herte is ful of serwe & wo;
What may I sey but weylawo,
Whon þou, my swete, art went me fro?

461

Ihesu þin ore, þou rewe on me!
Whon schal my soule come to þe?
Hou longe schal hit here be,
Þer I ne may þe, my lemmon, se?

Ihesu, þi lore techeþ me
Wiþ al myn herte to loue þe:
Þorw þi miht mak hit so be,
Þat þerto, lord, constreyne me.

Ihesu my lef, my lord, my kyng,
To þe my soule haþ gret longyng,
Þou hast hit weddet wiþ þi Ryng:
Whon þi wille is, to þe hit bring.

Ihesu, þat deore bouȝtest me,
Mak me worþi to come to þe;
Alle my sunnes forȝif þou me,
Þat I may comen & wone wiþ þe.

Ihesu al feir, my lemmon briht,
I þe be-seche wiþ al my miht:
Bring my soule in to þi liht,
Þer is day and neuer niht.

Ihesu, þin help at myn endyng,
Tac my soule at my diȝyng,
Seende hit socour & cumfortyng,
Þat hit ne drede no wikked þing.

Ihesu, ffor þi Merci fre
In siker hope do þou me
To scapen peyne & come to þe
And euere in blisse wiþ þe be.

Ihesu, Ihesu, Blessed ben heo
Þat in þi blisse mowe þe se
And haue folliche þe loue of þe:
Swete Ihesu, þou graunte hit me.

Ihesu, þi Blisse haþ non endynge;
Þer nis no serwe ne no wepynge,

462

But pees & Ioye wiþ gret lykynge:
Swete Ihesu, þerto vs bringe. Amen.—

Hose ofte seiþ þis wiþ good wille,
Schal fynde grace his loue to fille;
Holygost his herte schal tille,
ffrom synne him bringe & ffendes ille.

XLI. A luytel tretys of Loue. Of godes passyon.

Ihesu Crist, þat is so fre,
To Monnes soule spekeþ he:
“Ichaue,” he seiþ, “I-weddet þe,
And in myn honden I-writen þe.

“Al þat in þis world is ouȝt,
ffor þi loue I-chaue hit wrouȝt;
And siþen after so deore þe bouȝt
Þat of my lyf ne rouȝte I nouȝt.

“What miht I more don þen þis:
Þen comen out of my ffader blis
And suffren mony a schome, I-wis,
ffor to brïnge þe to blis?

“Þritti wynter on eorþe I ȝode,
In pyne & penaunce, for þi gode;
Atte laste I dyȝede on Roode
And ȝaf for þe myn herte-blode.

“Al my bodi was riuen and rent,
Mi face was al bi-spit and schent,
To saue þe, Mon, þer þou were dempt—
ffor al þat was myn entent.

“ffrom myn herte þorw my syde
Blod and water gon þorw glyde
And clanse þe of fulþe and pride—
So wolde non don In world so wyde!

“In al þis world nis no mon
So muche loueþ his lemmon,
Þat wolde suffre pyne on
Þat I for þe þolede mony on!

463

“Myn herte forsoþe clef in-two
ffor muche pyne and muche wo—
Al for þe I þolede so,
Þat þou ne scholdest to helle go.

“Mi soule, þat was wiþ-outen synne,
Ede for þe to helle-pynne
And leesede þe out, þat was þer-inne
In serwe & care þat neuer schulde blinne.

“Whon I was sprad on þe Rode-tre,
Muche was þe loue Ich hedde to þe,
Elles hed ich I-leten al be;
Bote loue wolde not suffre me.

“ffor loue me brouȝte out of my rest,
ffor loue I restede In Marie brest;
ffor loue I þolede pynes werst,
ffor loue made myn herte berst.

“Whon Ich heyng vppon þe Roode,
ffor loue I schedde al my blode—
Þenk þeron, synful, In þi mode,
Lef þi sunne and do sum goode!

“Loue made me al forȝete
Harde pynes and duntes grete,
Whon I was for þi loue I-bete
And as a þef bounden lad in þe strete.

“Loue made me bere þe Rode-tre
On my bare scholde[r] for þe.
Þe blod doun stremede bi bac & þe,
Whon I dude hongen vppon þe Rode-tre.

“Mon, Mon, for þe loue of þe
Mi peynes dude queme me,
Þat for delyt hit þouȝte me.
Do nou kuyndeliche & quit hit me!

“More for þe I-chaue don ȝete:
I-chaue I-mad me þi mete
And ȝiue þe my-self at ete,
ffrom helle-pyne þe to gete.

“Loke what wolt þou ȝelde me
ffor al þat Ichaue don for þe!
Non oþer þing kep I of þe
But onliche þat þou loue me.

464

“Cum to me and haue my blis,
And I þe wole cluppe and cus.
Ich ȝiue þe al my-self, I-wis,
To do wiþ what þi wille is.

“Ȝif þou hast ben fouled wiþ synne,
Torn aȝeyn to me and blynne:
And I þe ȝiue heuene-wynne—
So loþ me is þat we a-twynne.”

Now and nomeliche at myn endyng,
Swete Ihesu, heuene-kyng,
In þi wille ȝif me lykyng,
Wiþ studefast hope & hol louyng.

Ihesu, þat art of gode forȝelde,
fforȝite me nouȝt in myn elde;
Ȝif me studefast hope and belde
To haue þe, lord, euer in my welde.

Swete Ihesu, Lyon strong,
Þow þat neuere louedest wrong,
Chastise me wiþ myn owne wande
And let me neuere to helle gande.

Swete Ihesu, loþles lombe,
Þat swettor is þen hony-Combe,
And was boren of Marie wombe:
Þou bring vs to heuene on þi riȝt honde.

Swete Ihesu, þe feireste wiht,
As þou art Rihtwysnesse and riht,
Ȝiue vs for þin holy miht
Alle comen to heuene briht.

Amen.

469

XLIII. A Mournyng Song of the loue of God.

1

To loue I-chulle beginne
Ihesu boþe day and niht;
Of ffleschlich loue to blynne
I-chul don al my miht.
Ihesu wiþ-outen synne
In a Mayden he liht;
Mi loue al for to wynne,
Ihesu bi-com my kniht.

2

He fauȝt a-ȝeyn my fo,
A-wey he haþ me led
Þat me wrouȝte ful wo
In care þer I was sted;
Þorw ferly fiht and þro
Þe ffeloun is from me fled,
Mi lemmon let him slo,
In loue to make my bed.

3

Mi lemmon is ful trewe
Of loue, and ful studefast,
Alle dayes I-liche newe
He loueþ al on a þrast.
I wolde þat alle him knewe
And on him loue cast—
Scholde non of hem alle rewe,
Nouþer furst no last.

4

Mi lemmon is so meke,
So hende, so swete, so stille;
fful Mylde he is in speche,
Wiþ-outen wordes grille;
Þe gode he wole al eche,
fforȝeten he wole al ille.

470

Ȝif I fleo, he wol me seche,
And wiþ loue he wole me tille.

5

Þeroute al-þauh he stonde
Callynge at my ȝate
Til him frese fot and honde,
ffaste vn-to a stake,
He ne takeþ staf ne wonde
Wiþ wraþþe me for to wake;
Mi loue him byndeþ as bonde,
Ȝif I him murþes make.

6

He wol me loueliche a-byde
Al-þauh I dwelle ful longe,
He wol me no-þing be-chide
Al-þauȝ I-chaue þe wronge;
He seiþ: “bi-hold my syde,
And whi on Rode Ich honge.
ffor my loue lef þi pride,
And I þe wole vnderfonge.”

7

Ihesu, þat art so hende,
So swete and so þolemood
ffrom þe whon so we weende:
Allas, þat we hit vnder-stod,
And to þe couþe leende
And loue wiþ miht and mood,
To haue wiþ-outen ende
Heuene, þat is so good!

8

Ihesu for me is herte
Let þurle þorw-out his syde,
And duntes þolede smerte
And woundes deope and wyde;
Wo and al vnquerte
He þolede, to fordo pride,
Þe foule synne þat me gerte
In helle from him me hyde.

471

9

Ihesu, my lemmon swete:
Of loue þat þou art trewe,
Þat is seene in hondes and fete,
In heued, in huyde and hewe,
Þi bodi of blod al wete,
Whon þou gon on me rewe
And me brouȝtest from grete
And from my foule loue vntrewe.

10

So deore hastou me bouht
To bringe me out of pyne,
Þer I was Inne I-brouht,
I and mo of myne.
Ihesu, so fer þou me souȝt,
Me and mo of þyne,
Þat of þi lyf was þe nouht—
So loþ þe was vs tyne.

11

Mi lemmon let him take,
Putte & Bete and Bynde,
So sore as him mihte ake,
His hondes him behynde:
And al was for my sake,
Mi loue so he heold In mynde.
Ich ouȝte euere serwe make,
Vn-trewe ȝif he me fynde.

12

Wiþ pyne vppon þe Rode
Me bouȝte my deore lemmon,
Swete Ihesu þe goode,
So muchel of loue he con!
Þe teres he lette of blode
ffor me whon he bi-gon.
Madde þei aren and woode
To leuen him for Sathan!

13

On Roode he wolde abyde,—
He wolde nouȝwher fer fle,

472

Nouþer go ne Ryde,
ffor nayled he is to þe tre.
He spredeþ his Armes wyde,
ffor loue as we mowe se;
His herte þoruȝ-out his syde
He ȝiueþ vs, he is so fre!

14

Mi lemmon haþ so sprad
His Armes þat beþ so longe:
ffor-þi am I nouȝt dred,
He wol me vnderfonge.
Whon I was from hym fled,
On hym he tok þe wronge;
To deþe til he was bled,
ffor my loue wolde he honge.

15

He bekeneþ vs to blisse
Wiþ louynde chere so swete,
His Mouþ he beodeþ to cusse;
ffor vs his lyf he leete
To lere vs and to wisse,
And nayled þorw-out his feete,
Of Mede þat we ne misse
His hondes beoþ þorw weete.

16

Swete Ihesu, þi ore!
Þat al hast in þi miht,
What mihtest þow do more
ffor me, þi wrecched wiht?
Of loue þou art my lore,
To come to heuene briht.
Þat herte may be ful sore
To loue þe þat is not diht!

17

Now wol I crie and grete—
ffor serwe hit is neiȝ þat I berste,
Min herte-blod to blede
ffor my lef þat is þus feste.

473

Ihesu, ȝif þat I schal spede,
Þi-self þenne is bote beste.
ffor grymly grete I drede,
Wiþ þi bodi ȝif I reste.

18

How mihti but I grete
Til I eode out of my wit?
I seo my lemmon blede
To deþe, to liggen in put;
His syde is schoren as schrede,
His herte a spere haþ hut—
And al for my misde[de]
Was he so felli smit!

19

Now wot I me no won,
Lemmon, what I do miht.
I seo Marie and Ion,
Þi Mooder and þy kniht,
fful druri is hire mon
ffor þe þat weore so briht—
Nou is þer deolfolore non
Ne vnlikkore in siht.

20

Þyn eȝen briht as Sonne,
Mone and Sterres alle,
Þei woxe deske and dimme,
Þi feire Rode dude falle;
Þi blod was al out Runne.
To drinke whon þou gonne calle,
Þe wikked men beoden þe Eysel & atter,
Bitterore þen þe galle.

21

Wiþ spittyng and wiþ fen
And blod out-beten sore
Þow weore al out of ken,
A Laȝer as þow wore.
Þei beote þe, þi foo-men,
Of loue to lere vs lore—

474

Þou be blessed, amen,
Now and euer-more!

22

Sore I seo þe buye
Al my loue-plawe—
Al is for my folye
Þat þou driȝest heer a þrawe.
Allas þen may I crie,
And her and huyde to-drawe,
I seo my lemmon dyȝe
On Roode wiþ-outen lawe!

23

Allas, Allas, out ay,
Þat euer was I boren!
His deþ is Iewes play,
His Coroune is of þorn.
Mi lemmon, weylaway!
ffor me is lyf haþ lorn,
His bodi is al blodi
Be-hynden and bi-foren.

24

I seo in eorþe synke,
Lemmon, þin herte-blode,
Þat þow wiþ pyne and swynke
ffor me scheddest on þe Roode.
Þerof whi ne moste I drynke,
Þat is so swete and goode,
On þe þat I mihte þinke
ffor loue ay til I eode wode?

25

Allas, þat I ne couþe,
Lemmon, don al þi wille
Wiþ werk, and word of mouþe,
Boþe loude and stille!
Almihti god hit ouþe
I mihte þe to me tille,
So briht so sonne in Souþe,
Of þe þat I mihte haue my wille.

475

26

Marie Mooder Milde,
Mi lemmon is þi sone—
Wiþ him þou eodest wiþ childe,
ffor me wiþ him to wone.
I haue ben wood and wylde:
Þou preye him þat I cone
Loue him, & þat he me schilde,
Or eny oþer to mone.

27

Alle oþere I-chulle forsake
And don out of my þouȝt,
To þe, Ihesu, I me take—
So deore þou hast me bouht!
Al oþer loue wol make
Endynge and waxe to nouȝt:
Þi loue nul I forsake,
ffor þat bringeþ vs alle o-loft.

28

To wone wiþ þe, bi-leue
Lemon, vnder þi tre—
May no pyne me greue
Ne do me fro þe fle.
I wol in at þi sleue,
Al in þin herte to be,
Myn herte schal berste and cleue,
Vn-trewe ar þou me se.

29

fful hard hit is, þi bed:
A treo þat stondeþ stille,
In wo and weder sted;
Þeroute he hongeþ on hille,
ffor-beten and for-bled
Wiþ Men þat wolden hem spille.
Al þus haþ loue þe led,
Þi lemmon for to tille.

30

Þi-self þou maiȝt not schelde,
Ne torne, so art þou fest;

476

Þou hast nout on to helde
Þin hed, on for to rest,
Almihti kyng to welde
Al þat is worst and best.
Hou miht I euer þe ȝelde
Þe loue þat þus wol lest?

31

Cloþing hast þou non—
ffor scorn men makeþ þe bare;
Þi ffrendes aren from þe gon,
And flowen þat wiþ þe ware,
Alle bote Marie and Ion,
fful of serwe and care—
fful dreri is here mon,
Þi pyne is al þe mare!

32

Ihesu Crist, my lemmon swete,
Þat dyȝedest on þe Rode-tre,
Wiþ al my miht I þe bi-seche
ffor þyne woundes two and þre,
Þat as depe in to myn herte
Mot þi loue I-stiked be
As was þe spere in to þyn herte,
Whon þou suffredest deþ for me.

XLIV. Her is a luytel Sarmoun, þat is of good edificacioun.

At a Sarmoun þer I seet
A comely clerk Ich herde crauen,
Wyse wordes he þer speek
Þe Mon þat wolde in herte hauen;
Ich herde ffrere Henri spellen:
“Lete no sunnes in ow dwellen;
Þe Mon þat is taken in dedly synne,
He may wel witen In wo to wellen.

477

“A þing hit is þat we schul do,
Þe Mon þat þenkeþ to liuen in le:
Schrift to taken, and þat be tyme—
We haue no Borwes heer to be;
Whon we hauen, to holde faste,
We ne mowe raples þorw þo þre
To Bere þe croune to-fore þe kyng
Þat for vs þolede deþ on tre.

“He þat for vs þolede deþ on tre,
Þou Rihtwys lord, þou deme so:
Wis vs to þat ilke stude
Þat euere is wele and neuer wo.
God, lete neuere vr wille vr wit be-swiken,
ffor whi, vr soule for to slo.
Ihesu crist, þou mihtful kyng,
Þou haue merci on me and mo.

“Mon on Molde, þou mak þe ȝare
A-ȝeyn þi deþ on domes-day;
Þenk vppon þi muchele neode,
Wher þi soule resten may—
Heuene or helle wher hit be-tydeþ,
Þou maiȝt wel witen þou liuest þer ay.
Crist schild vs from þat ilke stude,
Þer no mon oþer ne mene ne may.

“Mai no mon oþer hem bi-menen,
ffor sek and sori heo þer se;
Þer is hot and cold and hunger wiþ
And þretes—þo beoþ vuele þre,
ffurst and hunger and þesternesse,
Þat euere schal lyue wiþ-outen lee.
Crist schild vs from þat ilke stude,
ffrom Bale þer neuere no bote ne be.

“Ne miht þou seo, synful Mon,
So doþ þe ffisschere wiþ his hok:
Hou he teseþ on þe Banke
A brodly breyd I þe Brok;
Comeþ þe ffisch and fongeþ hit,
So wroþly wrieþ on þe Crok,
Þe ffisch is be-wyled þorw þe worm—
So wo is þe ffisch þat he hit tok.

478

“Hok bi-tokeneþ helle-pyne—
What helpeþ hit to hele wiþ þe?
Wommon is worm, þer heo is wikke—
May no mon þorw his sunnes se.
Þe Mon is ffisch and fongeþ hire—
Him weore wel betere to leten hire be,
To huyden his hed and hiȝen a-wey,
ffrom dedly synne þer-with fle.

“Þis prechours þat bi-foren vs speken,
Wel liht a Beren heore tonge in wold
To wissen vs to þat ilke stude,
So holy writ hit haþ hem told.
Ȝif we wol lusten to heore lore,
We ouȝten be fayn, and ful bold
To wonen in þat ilke stude
Þer Ihesu crist þe Iudas solde.

“Þer Ihesu crist þe Iudas solde
He lene vs lust in lawe to lyuen,
Wit and wisdam to vnderstonden,
Wiþ schrift al for to schruden vs here.
Ȝif we haue wille to wikkedlek,
God lete vs þere stunte and stere;
He deme so lord at domes-day
Þat we mote, lord, in þi wey fere.

“In þi wey fere, lord, I wolde ben,
To wonen in þat worþli won.
Heo þat on þi lift hond leuen,
Wel grislych hit is whon þou art gon:
A ben I-haried in to helle-pyne,
To Bale þer neuer ne bote nis non.
He þat al þis world schal demen,
Þou Rihtwys lord, þou rewe on Mon.

Amen.”

493

[XLVII. How to hear Mass.]

Her techeþ þys tretys þenne
Hou mon scholde here hys masse;
Hit is ful nedful to alle menne,
To more and eke to lasse.

Ȝong & olde, More and lasse,
fful god hit is to here a Masse,
Þat Cristendam haþ tan.
Hit was mad for soule-hele,
Þe Pater noster wiþ bedes fele,
And de profundis Is on.
Þe Pater noster Is pris preyere,
Wiþ oþer orisons mony and sere.
Holdeþ ow stille as ston:
And ȝe schul here þe beste þing
Þat euer ȝe herde of Olde or ȝyng
As wyde as mon haþ gon.

494

Lustneþ here, & ȝe wol lyþe:
Of a talkyng I wol ȝou kiþe,
Cumfort to al Mon-kynde:
Þat is þe Meedes of þe Masse.
Eueri mon boþe more and lasse
Schulde haue hit in his mynde,
Hou þat ȝe scholde ȝor seruise seye
And priueliche ȝor preyers preye
To him þat may vn-bynde,
In saluyng of ȝor synnes seuene,
To þe mihtful kyng of heuene,
Vr ffader þat we schal fynde.

And hou vr ffader schal be founde
To vche a mon þat is I-bounde
In sunne, as I ow say.
His suffrance we may se,
Hou þat he suffreþ þe and me
Wiþ miht al þat he may,
And euere is redi vr bales to bete,
To loke what tyme þat we wol leete,
In-to vr laste day;
Ȝif we ben in wille to leue vr synne,
He techeþ vs wel hou we schal wynne
To heuene þe heiȝe way.

What mon wolde now suffre so
His sone I-slayen, and hedde no mo,
But ȝif he miȝte lyue a-ȝeyn;
Ȝif he for traytrie weore take,
Sone he schulde be forsake
Or elles soþli slayn.
Whon þou dost a dedly synne,
Al þe while þat þou dwellest þer-Inne
Þou puttest to his payn;
Þe same he suffred for vr sake,
Þen most merci a-mendes make
Boþe wiþ miht and mayn.

Þorw his Merci and his miht
He reweþ of vs, a-ȝeynes þe riht,
As Rihtwysnes wol rede.

495

Rihtwysnes wolde, assone
As we dedly synne haue done,
To dampne vs to þe dede:
Þen most Merci be Mayster most
Þorw þe miht of þe holy gost,
And stonde wiþ vs in stede;
And lenge wiþ vs in leo and lede,
Til we beo don out of þat dede
Þorw bone of holy bede.

Wiþ ȝor leue, I wol be-gynne
Of a Mater for to mynne,
A good þing for to make,
On þe hexte þing hit is
Þat euer was mad: þat is þe Mes,
Monnes sunnes to slake.
Eueri day þou maiȝt se
Þe same bodi þat diȝed for þe,
Tent ȝif þou wolt take,
In figure and in fourme of Bred,
Þat Ihesu dalte, er he weore ded,
ffor his disciples sake.

On þe hexte þing to here,
And þe lihtest for to lere,
ffor lewed men In lare,
Hou þat ȝe schul ȝor seruise say,
And priueliche ȝor preyers pray,
In churche whon þat ȝe are.
I do ow wel to witen wiþ-outen drede,
Þe Masse was mad for monnes nede,
ffor al folk lasse and mare.
As þe prest seiþ his preyere,
So schulde vche mon þat him gon here,
And þei wuste what hit ware.

Ȝif I seide þis word wiþ my wit,
Wiþ-outen witnesse of holi writ
Wisdam weore hit non;
Þerfore I wole þat ȝe hit witen,
Hou þat we fynde hit writen
Wiþ Auctours mony on.

496

Of Austin, Ambrose, Bernard, and Bede,
Ȝit heore Resons wol I rede
A-Mong ȝow euerichon.
Þei make muynde of mony a mede
Þat we schul haue for vre good dede,
To churche whon þat we gon.

What tyme þat þow biginnest to go
Ouþer to þe churche or fro,
To here a Masse ȝif þou may,
Eueri fote þat þou gas,
Þyn Angel poynteþ hit vch a pas,
Þe Prince of heuene to pay.
Þat day schalt þou elde nouȝt,
Ȝif þou beo studefast in þi þouht
On God þat is verray;
Not Blynt þat day schalt þou not be
Þat þou þi sauiour hast se,
Þorw him þat mihtes may.

A ffair grace God haþ þe ȝiuen,
Of þi sunnes and þou be schriuen
Þat day þou hast god se:
Ȝif þou be ded þe same day,
Þou schalt be founden I þe fay,
Hoseled as þou hed be.
Baldely maiȝt þou swete and swynke
ffor to wynne þe Mete and drinke
Wiþ-outen tray or tene;
And ȝif þou be in eny drede,
Al þe better schalt þou spede
To keuere of cares kene.

Ȝif þou haue eny wey to wende,
I rede þou here a masse to ende
In þe Morennynge ȝif þow may;
And ȝif þou may not do so,
I rede, beo vnderne ar þou go,
Or elles be heiȝ midday.
Serteynliche wiþ-outen fayle
Þou schalt not leose of þi trauayle
Not half a foote of way;

497

O þi bodi þou schalt be lihtore,
And þi weyes wende þe Rihtore,
Þorwh him þat mihtes may.

Þouh he be nouȝt at þi lykynge,
Þe prest þat schal þy masse synge,
Þerfore lette þou nouht:
His Masse schal be as good to heere
As Monk, Chanoun, Hermyte or ffrere,—
Þus þenk hit in þy þouht,—
Þauȝ his preyere and his bone
Bi-fore God come not so sone
As he þat neuer synne wrouȝt:
Ihesu crist, souereyn of al,
He may deeme boþe gret and smal,
Þus Doctours han I-souht.

Seynt Ambrose seiþ, hose redeþ riht:
Þe Masse Is of so muche miht,
Þer nys no mon þat May,
Wheþer þat he be old or ȝonge,
Þe tenþe part telle wiþ tonge,
Þeiȝ he schulde liue for ay.
Þe Exposission is so expres,
Wiþ al þe priuete of þe Mes,
Serteyn wiþ-oute delay,
Þat, couþe a mon neuere so muche of art,
He mihte not telle þe tenþe part,
Þauȝ he hedde þouȝt to say.

Seynt Ierom seiþ: for soules sere,
Þauh a Mon wolde a þousent ȝere
Do a Masse for to synge,
Hit is nouþer more ne las
But vch a soule schal haue a mas—
Hit is so heiȝ a þinge.
Ȝit I Rede ow go to chirche,
Godes werkes for to worche,
In-to vr laste endynge:
Haue we no doute of vr dole,
Vch soule schal haue a masse al hole,
Þorw help of heuene-kynge.

498

fful hard hit were to vre bi-houe
Vch a prouerbe for to proue
Of þeos Auctours alle;
Serteynliche wiþ-outen lees
Of sum of hem þen wol I sees
ffor þing þat may be-falle;
Ȝif I drouȝ hem on lengþe,
I trou no mon schulde haue þe strengþe
To stonde and heere hem alle.
Lewed men, and ȝe wol list,
fful fayn I wolde þat ȝe hit wist
On Crist whon ȝe schulde calle.

To calle on Crist wiþ mylde chere,
Lewed Men, I schal ȝou lere.
Whon þat þe prest bi-ginnes,
Whon he seiþ his Confiteore,
ffeire he louteþ þe Auter bi-fore,
To schriue him of his synnes.
Serteynly, wiþ-oute delay
And ȝe for þe prest pray,
And he atte Masse ȝou mynne,
Sikerli I dar wel say,
Þer nis no tonge þat telle may
What Mede þat ȝe may wynne.

But ȝit I telle ȝou, sikerly:
And ȝe preye but only
ffor ȝor owne hele,
I do ȝow to witen wiþ-outen drede
Ȝe beo not worþ so muche meede,
Not be þe haluendele,
As þi kuynde puttes þe to
To don vuele he biddes þe do.
Ȝif þou wol wone in weole,
Prey for þe prest, and he for þe:
Þat Is a preyere of charite,
Þen maiȝt þou synge of loue lele.

Loue is trewe in vche a leede;
Ȝif þou do ille, vuel schalt þou spede
ffor al þe craftes þat þou con.

499

Whon þat þou comest þe chirche with-Inne
And þou sest þe prest bi-gynne,
Take his vestimens on:
Loke þou do as I sey þe,
Knele a-doun vppon þi kne,
Noyse þat þow make non;
Seþþe stond vp at þi seruise,
And serue god on þis wyse,
Al folk euerichon:

Þou schalt say: “þi drihten
And deore god almihten,
And In Marie I me a-seure,
Þat heo saue vs alle,
Boþe grete and smalle,
Of sunnes we beþ vn-pure;
And þat I may me schriue
Of al my wikked lyue
To Prest þat bereþ þe cure,
Þat I haue I-wrouȝt
And in herte I-þouȝt
As vnkuynde creature.

“I was vn-kuynde,
And was þenne blynde,
To worche a-ȝeynes his wille
Þat fust me wrouȝt,
And seþþe me bouȝt
ffro peynes he was put to ille.
Þer-fore we pray
To þe to-day,
Þat knowes boþe good and ille:
Graunt vs lyue,
We may vs schriue,
Vr penaunce to folfille.”

We schal preyȝe Ihesus
Þat he forȝiue vs
Vr sunnes, þat we may synge,
Þat we may pray
Þe Prince to-day,
Schop eorþe and alle þinge,

500

Þat in Clannesse
We may þe Messe
Þorw miht of heuene-kynge,
So deorliche to do,
To torne þe to
Vs alle to good endynge.

Certes, sires, ful good hit is
To stonde stille at þe Mes,
Sum good word for to say;
Whuche þat ȝe wole preye fore,
Þauh ȝe do for mony a score,
At a Masse ȝe may;
Alle þo þat ȝe nempne nouȝt,
But only þenke in ȝor þouȝt
Þat ȝe wolde fore pray,
I do ow to wite wiþ-outen doute,
Þer nis no soule a Masse wiþ-oute,
But he haue helle for ay.

Wust I my ffader in flesch and felle
Weore holliche I-holden in helle,
Þer weore non hope of hele,
To preye for him I couþe no Red,
No more þen for a Dogge were ded,
But let hem wiþ him dele.
Ȝit I rede we go to chirche,
Godes werkes for to worche,
Ȝif we wole wone in wele;
Seþþe hit is vnknowe to vs,
We schul preye for alle ffidelibus
To Rewe soules þat beþ lele.

Ȝit I bidde ȝou takeþ good tent
Þat ȝe holde no parlyment
Wiþ no cristen mon,
Whon ȝe come þe Churche with-Inne,
And ȝe seo þe prest bi-ginne
Take þe vestimens on:
Þe foule fend so fel is,
He writ ȝor wordes I-wis
On a Rolle euerichon.

501

Also witnesseþ seynt Austine,
Þat furst wit in Engelond gan lene,
And preche þe treuþe bi-gon.

Ar seynt Austin In Engelond come,
Wiþ pope Gregori of Rome
fful long tyme gon he dwelle.
Vppon a day for worschupefulnesse
Þe Pope wolde synge a Messe
As him ful fayre bi-felle:
He made a signe to seynt Austyne,
ffor he schulde ben his dekne digne
To Rede þe gospelle.
And as he radde, þen sauh he þen
Two wyues, as ȝe may witen,
Tales þen gonne þei telle.

Seynt Austin herde þis wordes alle;
In A wyndow on þe walle
Þer bi-fore his face
A foul fend he sauȝ þer-In,
Wiþ penne & enke & parchemin,
As God ȝaf him þe grace;
He wrot so faste til þat he want,
ffor his parchemyn-skin was so scant,
To speken þei hedde such space;
Wiþ his teeþ he gon hit togge,
And so radli he gon hit Rogge
Þat al þe Rolle gon race.

So harde raced he þat Rolle,
Þat he chopped his Cholle
Aȝeyn þe Marbel-ston.
Al þe folk I þe chirche About
Was a-stoneid of þat clout
And herden hit euerichone.
Seynt Austin seiȝ hou faste he drouh:
He barst on lauhtre, and loude louh.
Þe Pope ful sore gon grone,
ffor serwe neiȝ þe Pope wept.
After masse, Austyn he met,
And Mekely made his mone.

502

He made his mone wiþ mylde mod:
“Whi weore þou so wikked and wod
ffor to do þat dede?
A worse dede miht þou neuer done.”
Austin onswerde him ful sone—
Þerof he hedde gret drede:
“Lord, greue ȝe nouȝt til þat ȝe wite.
A foul fend I say site—
Serwe mot ben his mede!—
Two wyues sat ȝonder langare,
Alle heore wordes wrot he þare
Vppon a Rolle to rede.

“Þei tok no tent til heore Mas:
Al heore wordes more and las,
He wrot hem euerichon;
ffor to speke þei hedde such space,
Þe fend wrot wiþ a foul face
Til his Parchemyn was al gon.
Whon his parchemyn was al spende,
He rauhte þe Rolle bi þe ende,
Wiþ his teth a-non
He logged, þat al in-synder gon lasch,
And wiþ his hed he ȝaf a dasch
Aȝeyn þe Marbel-ston.

“Lord, greue ȝe not for þat dunt!
He stoneyd me, and made me stunt
Stille out of my steuene.
I wol sigge as I seȝe,
ffor a word wol I not lyȝe,
Be Mihtful kyng of heuene.”
He ladde him forþ, as I trowe,
Til he com to þe wynt-douwe
Þat I be-fore gon nemene:
ffoul þei fond þer I-sched,
As blac as pich was I-spred
Vppon þe Aschelers euene.

Þis is wonder þing wiþ-outen drede;
Þer was neuer fend blod mihte blede,
He haþ nouþer flesch ne bon;

503

But god wolde þat hit were so,
To chastise hem and oþer mo
Þat to churche gun gon.
Til a Masse was seid to ende,
A Mon schulde talke with fo nor frende,
But holde him stille as ston;
Þat hous was mad for preyere
To Ihesu and to his Moder dere,
To þonke hem al heore lon.

At þe wyues gon þei witen
What þei seiden whon þei siten
Seynt Austyn hem bi-syde,
Bi heore onswere þei wuste ful wel
Þat þei hedde spoken muchel vncel,
And in heore hertes gun hyde.
Þerfore, sires, I rede ȝe loke,
God tent I wolde ȝe toke,
ffor þing þat may bi-tyde,
Þat ȝe mesure ȝou þe mare,
Of speche þat ȝe ow spare,
At Masse whon þat ȝe byde.

Þe Pope greued him wel þe lasse;
He let comaunden at þe Masse
Of þat Miracle to mynne,
And also bad wiþ ful good wille
Þat eueri Mon schulde stonde stille
Whon he comeþ þe churche with-Inne;
And þenke hou wel þat god may wreke
Euerich a word þat we speke;
We do ful muche synne:
A Prest miȝt be let of his mes,
Al þis world miȝt fare þe wers,
Vs alle to wo to wynne.—

“Vr ffader vre al-weldyng is,
God let vs neuere his murþes mis.
Lord, halwed be þi name.
In heuene and eorþe þi wille
Be don, and þat is skille,
Or elles we ben to blame.

504

Vr vche-dayes bred ȝif vs to-day.
Þat we may trustily whon we schul away
To come to þi kyndame.
God kepe vs to vre laste endynge,
Let neuer þe fend wiþ fals fondynge
Cumbre vs in no schame.”

Þis pater noster schulde ben vsed
And for non orison beo refused,
I schal ȝow telle for whi:
Of his Mouþ hit was maad,
Þat al þis world long and braad
Out of Bale gan buyȝe.
Leeue hit wel, and not wene hit,
Þe pater noster contened
Alle þing hollye
Þat vs neodeþ, and non oþer,
Boþe for þis world and þat oþer,
Quik whon we schal dye.

At þe gospel, were ful good
Studefastliche þat ȝe stod,
ffor no þing þat ȝe stured hit;
Al ȝor lykyng þer-on leiþ
To wite what þe prest seiþ,
Holliche þat ȝe here hit.
Þauȝ ȝe vnderstonde hit nouȝt,
Ȝe may wel wite þat god hit wrouȝt,
And þerfore wisdam were hit
ffor to worschupe al godes werkes,
To lewed men þat ben none clerkes.
Þis lesson, now go lere it.

And whi ȝe schulde þis lessun lere,
Herkneþ alle and ȝe may here.
Þer a Neddre hauntes,
Ȝe may wel fynde, and ȝe wol seche,
He vnderstond noþing þi speche
Whon þou hire enchauntes,
Neuerþeles heo wot ful wel
What is þi menynge eueri-del
Whon þat þou hire endauntes.

505

So fareþ þer vnderstondyng fayles,
Þe verrey vertu ȝow alle a-vayles
Þorw grace þat god ȝow grauntes.

Whon þe gospel is I-don,
Ȝit wolde I, gode men euerichon,
Þat ȝe couþe ȝor crede;
What tyme þat þe prest say
Þat ȝe miȝte ȝor-self pray,
fforsoþe hit were gret nede;
And seþþe trewely trouwe þer-Inne,
And fulliche out of ȝor mouþ hit mynne,
Þer-to liht muche mede.
And ȝif ȝe trowe and wol not telle,
So dude þe fend þat from heuene felle,
And doþ hit nouht in dede,

Þouȝ þou neuere so trewely trowe,
Wiþ-oute dede ful luytel hit douwe,
So doþ þe deuel þat dredes.
But seynt Iacob, Iosepes broþer,
Seiþ þat we schal don non oþer,
In his pistel whose redes.
Such þing as þou seyst and doos,
Þi Neiȝebor wol þerof make Roos
What lyf þat þow lede.
Wiþ-In a storie in þat stede
He seiþ þat trouþe is but dede
But hit be don in dede.

Ȝit beo þer mo men lyuing in lede
Þat I wolde couþe heore crede,
And whon þei couþe ken hit.
I haue I-seid as I con:
Ȝif þer beo euer eny mon
Þat seiþ he con a-mende hit,
ffaute þer-Inne ȝif þat he fynde,
Mak no scornynge me be-hynde
But aȝeyn to me he sende hit,
Or elles help þat I may here hit.
Þus an Englisch as I lernde hit
I haue I-þouht to ende hit. . . .

506

A Resun I schal reden ow riht
Whi þe day bi-fore þe niht
Was ordeynt for to be.
ffor Adam of þe Appel eete,
Ihesu Crist vr bales con beete,
Þat dyed vppon þe Tre;
Out of liht þat he was Inne,
In-to helle for his sinne,
Holliche þer was he;
He was banischt out of blis
In-to helle, boþe he and his,
Bi-foren þat was so fre.

Ȝit a Resun I schal ȝou say:
Whi þe niht bi-fore þe day
Was ordeynt, I schal ȝou telle:
ffor Ihesus suffred woundes fyue,
And siþþe a-Ros fro deþ to lyue,
And after herwede helle;
Out of þesternes þorw his miht
Aȝeyn he put him to þe liht
Whuch þat he fro felle,
And dude him aȝeyn in paradis
Þat he hedde lost boþe he & his,
Wiþ speche as I ow spelle.

A luytel bi-fore þe prest wasch
Let him not his offryng asch
Ȝif þou þenke for to offre;
Whon he torneþ a-non þe tille,
Go vp to him with ful good wille
And þi peny him profre.
Þauȝ þou be not þer-to in dette,
Þou schalt þinke hit ful wel bi-set,
I swere bi seynt Cristofre;
Of sinnes hit wol make þe to sese,
And þi catel also encrese
Of seluer in þi Cofre.

But fayn I wolde þat þou þus seide
Whon þou in his hond hit leide,
Or þenk hit in þi þouht:

507

“God, þat was In Bethleem bore,
Þreo kynges kneled þe beo-fore,
And heore offryng brouȝt;
Þou tok heore offryng of alle þre:
So receyue þis of me,
And forȝete me nouȝt,
Þat I may euere wiþ þe wone,
And kuyndelich clepe þe godes sone,
On þe Roode as þou me bouȝt.”

Whon he haþ waschen, þen he walkes,
Priueliche and stille he stalkes
To his Auter aȝeyn.
Þe furste þing he doþ, wiþ-oute doute,
To his weuede þen wol he loute,
Þe soþe is nouȝt to leyn;
Seþþe he stondeþ vp-riht,
His hondes heueþ vppon hiht
Him-self for to sayn,
Þenne he torneþ him to ȝow.
Cristene men, herkeneþ now
And preyeþ wiþ al ȝor mayn . . .

Þen he biginnes his secre;
Adoun þenne knele ȝe
A luyte while way,
Til þat he seþ per omnia,
And seþþe Sursum corda.
What is þat to say?
Hit is a nedful note to nemen:
“Hef vp ȝor hertes in to heuen
To him þat al mihtes may.”
Seþþe schul ȝe þonke him þus
Of bodi and soule has ȝiuen vs,
And þus-maner schul ȝe pray . . .

Lustneþ alle to þis þing.
Bi-twene þe sanctus and þe sakeryng
Ȝe schal preye stondynge—
Hit semes wel in þat whyle
Þat god in his Exyle
In þis world was wonynge.

508

Seþþe schul ȝe knele a-doun
And þenke vppon his passioun
Þat he hedde heer suffrande,
Hou þat he suffrede woundes fyue,
And seþþe he ros from deþe to lyue
And nou has heuene in hande.

Ȝit schul ȝe preye for eny þing
Bi-twene þe sanctus and þe sakeryng
Til þat þe belle knelle.
Ȝif eny mon haþ scorn to here hit,
Be my trouþe, wisdam weore hit
Þat he heolde him stille;
Þe same mon ȝe lauȝwhe to scorn
Was of a Mayden in Bethleem born,
Me þinke ȝe don ful ille.
Whose has hoker gas hame;
To telle hit ȝou me þinkes no schame,
I preue hit bi a Bille.

Godes fflesch he reiseth o lofte
And his blod feir and softe
In þe chalis wiþ-Inne:
Þen schul ȝe knele a-doun
And sey a luyte orisoun,
ffor no þing þat ȝe blynne.
God þat on þe Rode was slon,
Þo two and he beoþ boþe on,
Þat dyed for al monnes synne.
After þe prest his Armes spredeþ he,
In toknynge he dyed vppon þe tre
ffor me and al mon-kunne.

Whon þe pater noster is don,
To þe Agnus dei he goþ ful son—
Herkneþ hende in halle—
“Godes lomb” hit is to sei,
“Þis worldes sinne to don a-wey
And haue merci on vs alle.
Þe same lomb hit is to minne,
To don a-wei þis worldes synne,
To þe we crie and calle,

509

Ihesu, for þi miht and grace
A-bate vr synnes In vch a place,
Þi pes mot on vs falle.”

Whon he haþ vsed, he walkeþ riht
To Lauatorie þer hit is diht,
ffor to wassche his hende.
So gostly he comes a-geyn,
Vn-to god for to preyen
Sum special grace hym sende,
ffor al þe folk þat þer wore
Whuch þat he haþ preyed fore
Þat a Masse may mende.
Þen to knele hit is best,
Til hit cum to Ite Missa est
Be seid in to þe ende.

Þenne schul ȝe knele a-doun
And sei a luytel Orisoun
Riht on þis Maneere—
Þe Orisoun is of seynt Ambrose,
Þat he properly in prose
Made in his preyere;
Þen to preye is ful good tyme.
I con not wonder wel ryme
On latin ȝou to lere,
But noþeles I wol assay
As neiȝ þe text as euer I may—
Herkne and ȝe may heere.

“God þat diȝed vppon þe tre,
Þat þe prest receyuede bodile
Vppon þe Auter-ston,
Graunt vs grace, whon we hennes go,
Þat we may worþily don al so,
In vre concience al-on.
After vr dedes & we be demed,
ffrom his blisse we schal be flemed,
Out of þat worþli won.
God graunt vs grace In wille & word
We may be worþi to his bord,
Vr lord leue vs þat lon.”

510

Ȝit prei vr ladi, as I ow telle,
Þat ȝe forȝete not þe god-spelle,
ffor no þing þat may bi-falle;
Tac a good entent þer-to:
Hit is þe In principio
On latin þat men calle.
A ȝer and fourti dayes atte lest
ffor verbum caro factum est
To pardoun haue ȝe schalle;
Mon or wommon schul haue þis
Þat kneles doun þe eorþe to kis—
ffor-þi þenk on hit alle!

Now haue I endet so as is
Þe Maner and þe Mede of þe Mes,
Þerof I am ful bliþe,
Ne more þerof to mele wiþ mouþe,
I haue seid as I couþe,
I þonke god fele siþe.
Of my trauayle is me nouȝt;
Wolde ȝe þenke hit in ȝor þouȝt
And in þe chirche hit kiþe,
Þen were hit lykynge of ȝor mynde,
And gret cumfort to al Monkynde,
Hose wol lusten and lyþe.

Ȝit is þer þreo þinges on þe Bok,
Sikerly þat I out tok
And neuer dar make in Mynde;
Hit was wel þouȝt at my likynge
I ches hit out bi heuene-kynge,
Þe toþer is ȝit bi-hynde.
But better þing þen I haue told,
Herde ȝe neuere of ȝong ne old,
On ground þat men may fynde;
Saue fyue wordes, wiþ-outen drede,
Þat no mon but a prest schulde rede
Is comen of cristen kynde.

God þat dyȝed vppon þe Roode,
Þat bouȝt vs wiþ his blessed blode
Vp-on þe harde tre,

511

Ȝiue vs grace, boþe more and lasse,
Þorw þe vertu of þe Masse
Vr soules mai saued be.
ffader & Sone and Holigost,
As þou art lord of mihtes most
And sittes In Trinite,
Whon we schal dye, no lengor dwelle,
Kep vs from þe pyne of helle,
AMEN ffor charite.

[XLVIII. Sayings of St. Bernard: Man's three Foes.]

Her telleȝ seynt Bernard
Mon haþ þreo enemys hard.

Seint Bernard seiþ in his Bok
Þat Mon is worm & wormes Cok,
And wormes he schal feden;
Whon his lyf is him bi-reued,
In his Rug and in his heued
Wol foule wormes breden.

512

Þe fflesch schal melten from þe bon,
Þe Senewes sundren euerichon,
Þe Bodi schal de-fyen;
And ȝe þat wolen þe soþe sen,
Vnder þe graues þer þey ben,
And lokeþ hou þei lyȝen.

Þi fflesch fiȝteþ aȝeyn þi gost.
Whon þou schalt dyen þou hit nost,
Wheþer day or niht;
Woltou niltou, þou schalt dyȝen,
Ne may no Raunsoun þe for-buyȝen—
Þou greiþ þe whil þou miht!

Mon, þou art of feble fom,
Þow ne hast her no siker hom,
Ȝif þow bi-seo þe ariht;
Vre riht wonynge were elles-where.
Lord let vs comen þere
ffor his muchele miht.

513

Of feble froþ, Mon, is þi lyf,
Whon deþ draweþ his kene knyf,
I rede þat þou þe schryue;
ffor ȝif þou be-seo þi-self a-riht,
ffinstou not her but flit & fiht,
Whiles þou art in þis lyue.

Vnstable is þi lyf I-diht,
Nou art þou heuy, nou artou liht,
Sturtynde as a Ro;
Nou þou richest, & now þou porest,
Nou art þou sek, now þou rekeuerest,
In wandreþ and In wo.

Þi fflesch seiþ Niht and day
“I wole haue ese while I may,”
Þi soule seiþ “nay,
Ac ȝif þou bere hit to muchel meþ,
Hit wol þe worchen soule deþ
And wo þat la[s]teþ ay.”

514

Þus striueþ euer more þei two,
Þat on eggeþ to, þat oþur fro,
Ne conne þei neuer blynne;
Ac, wel we mowen vs-seluen i-sen,
Þe soule ouȝte Maister ben
Al þe pris for to wynne.

Mon, I rede þat þou be wys,
And ȝif þou falle, sone arys,
Ne ligge þou none stounde.
ffor ȝif þou worche wel wiþ þis,
Þe godspel seiþ, and soþ hit is,
Þat þou hast blisse I-founde.

Mon, beo nouȝt þi-self vn-couþ,
Ac loke what comeþ out at þi Mouþ
And elles-wher a-bouten;
And ȝif þou nyme rihtliche keep,
ffyndest þou non so vyl donge-hep,
Wiþ-Innen no wiþ-owten.

Ac þou hast in þat vyle hous
A þing þat is ful precious,
And dere it was I-bouht;

515

Ac I þe holde for wylde and wood,
Ȝif þou ȝiue so muchel good
To þe ffeond for nouht.

Mon, þou hast þreo luþer fon,
Heore nomes con I wel vchon
Ȝif I schal touchen alle:
Þyn oune flesch, þe world, þe fend.
Ac he þat schulde best be þi frend
Doþ þe raþest to falle,

And þat is þi flesch, þi furste fo,
Þat þou pamprest and seruest so,
Ȝif ich hit dorste seyen.
Þou dost þi soule muche wrong,
Whon þou makest his fo so strong
To fihten him aȝeyn.

516

Of þe furste fo so fel
Muche wonder hit is to tel,
Hose schulde riht be-gynne:
Þat such a foul stinkynde sek
Haþ such a burþen in his nek
Of serwe and of synne.

Þis Careyn þat þou berest a-bouten,
So vyl wiþ-Innen and wiþ-outen,
A luytel wormes mete;
Euer þe bet þat þou him do,
Siker be þou, euer-mo
Þe worse he wol þe gete.

And ȝif þou þenke her-vppon
Hou vyl a vessel hit is on,
ffor al þe metes and drynkes,
Hou hit schal foulore smelle & smake
Þen eny careyne þat is forsake
Of best þat breþe stinkes.

ffor hose bi-heolde þi bodi ariht
After þi deþ a fourtene niht,
Neore he þi frend neuer so good,
Þat he nolde hiȝen him away
And þynken seuen ȝer of a day
Þat he bi þe stod.—

Þyn oþer fo Is a wonder þing,
Þis world, wiþ diuerse fondyng
Tempteþ þe more & more;

517

ffals hit is and feir hit semeþ,
And whon hit aller best þe qwemeþ,
Hit greueþ þe ful sore.
Þis ffo haþ so ablendet þe
Þat þou miȝt nouȝt bi-fore þe se
How vyl þou art and pore,
Hou bare in to þis world þou come,
Ne hou bare þou wendest home
In to þi puttes ore.

He scheweþ þe wele & worldes wynne
And dilyces so mony kinne,
And eggeþ þe þer-to;
He reueþ þe mony a nihtes rest.
fforsake schuldestou such a gest
Þat þe con seruen so.
ffor whon þou hast gedred al þi pride,
Comeþ deþ on þat oþer syde
And reueþ þe al I-feere.
And whon he haþ þe doun I-cast,
He wol deceyuen þe atte last,
As hit þin neuer nere.

Ac to þi put he wol þe leden,
And leue þe þere wormes to feden—
Loke whuch a seruise!
He serueþ þe of & of no more;
Þat al þi lyue lustnest his lore,
He quyteþ þe on þis wyse.
And riȝt so schaltou go þi wey
Naked and bare—weylawey!
Wrecche, hou hastou sped!

518

And ȝif þou haue eny good wrouȝt
In word, in werk or in þouȝt,
Þat berest þou to þi bed.

Þe þridde fo, I may þe telle,
Þat is þe foule fend of helle,
Þe worste fo of alle.
Vnderstonde, he loueþ þe nouȝt,
He wol chaungen al þi þouȝt
And maken þe foule to falle.

Vnderstonde, he nolde þe no good,
He wolde marren al þi mood—
Þow war þe from his hok!
And ȝif þou do as I þe seye,
Al his wrenches miht þou leye
Al mid his oune crok.

520

Ȝif þe fend þorw his fondyng
Or for defaute of wiþ-stondyng
In eny synne haþ þe cast,
A-Rys vp as a Champioun,
Stond stif and fal no more a-doun
ffor such a wyndes blast.

Þow go In to þe feire feld
And tak vr lord to þi scheld,
Þin hond þou strecche and fonde,
And þenk vppon him wiþ mylde mod
Þat for þe ȝaf his herte-blod
And get þat lyflich londe.

Þow take þe crois to þi staf
And þenk on him þat þeron ȝaf
His lyf þat was so lef;
Wite wel þi fot wiþ staues ord
And mak þe traytur speke þe word
And wrek þe on þat þef.

ffiht faste for þyn owne riht
And get þe heuene-blisse briht,
While þou hast tyme þer-to;
Þin owne heritage hit is,
And þerof schaltou neuer mis
But ȝif þou hit fordo.

521

Ac ȝif þow haue wel in muynde
Hou feble þat þou art of kuynde,
And hou þou gost to nouȝt,
Hit mihte wel þin herte whetten
And of fflesches lustes letten,
Weore þou wel bi-þouȝt.

Where ben heo þat bi-foren vs weren,
Þat houndes ladden & haukes beeren
And hedden feld and wode;
Þis Riche ladys in heore bour,
Þat wereden gold in heore tressour,
Wiþ heore brihte rode?

Þei eeten and dronken & maden hem glad,
In Ioye was al heore lyf I-lad,
Men knelede hem bi-foren:
Þei beren hem here so stout and hiȝe,
Ac in twynklyng of an eiȝe
Heore soules were for-loren.

Wher is þat gomen and þat song,
Þat traylyng & þat comelich ȝong,
Þo haukes and þe houndes?
Al þat Ioye is went a-wey,
Heore weole is comen to weilawei,
To monye harde stoundes.

Heore paradys þei hedden hyr,
And now þei liggen in helle-fyr,
Þer pit and peyne is euere;
Strong is þere in peyne and wo,
Ac hopen þar hem neuer-mo,
ffor out ne comen þei neuere.

Allas, þat þei euere were boren or bred
Þat heer on eorþe such lyf han led
And deserued such meedes,
To brennen in þe fuir of helle,
Euer-more þer-Inne to dwelle
And glowen in þo gledes!

522

Ac Moder & Mayden, heuene-Qween,
As we hopen þat þou wol ben
Vr warant from þe fende:
Þou help vs dedly synne to fleen,
And þat we mote þi sone seen
World wiþ-outen ende.

AMEN.

[XLIX. Prouerbes of diuerse profetes and of poetes and of oþur seyntes.]

Cher amys, receuez de moy
Vn ben present ke vous enuoy,
Nunpas de or ne de Argent,
Mes de bon enseignement;
Ki en escripture ai troue
E de latin translate
En comun langage pur amis
Ke de clergie ne ount a-pris.
Trestut est sen e verite
Ke issi trouereȝ en Romaunce.

523

Ki ben len entent e souent list,
Prou en auera e delist;
Dount cely seit de dieu benet
Ki sa entente bien i mest.

Dauid.

Þe wyse mon in his bok haþ þis seying
Þat þe biginnyng of good liuyng
Ouer alle þing is God to drede
And him to worschupe wiþ al vr spede.

Salomon.

Þis Auctor seiþ verreyment
Þat in þi ȝouþe þou schalt do þin entent
To wiþ-drawe þe fro sinnes euer-mo,
And goode werkes vse and do.

Þe lattor þou art of good worching
Þe more feruol þou schalt be of bi-ginnyng;
ffor þorw bi-ginnyng vertu encresceþ,
And þorw latschipe hit is wiþ-drawe & ceseþ.

Isayas.

524

In trauayle set bodi and herte i-fere
Godes word ay wel to here;
ffor þorw word lernen wit men,
And be wit Men kepen hem þen.

Salamon.

Ȝif þou hate to be repreyuet auht,
Schalt þou neuer be wel I-tauht;
Bettre is chidyng of a soþ seyere
Þen deceyuyng of a losyngere.

Ieremias.

Ȝif þou hast don aȝeyn god auis
And after defendest hit I-wis,
God is more greuet of þat defendyng
Þen of þe furste sungyng.

Iacob.

Ofte to churche loke þow sterte
And prei þer to god wiþ al þin herte;
Þe ȝate of heuene I haue herd hit cald,
Be þe wȝuche in to heuene entre þou schalt.

Salamon.

525

Ȝif þou desyre gretliche honour,
I schal þe make an Emperour;
An Emperour I schal him calle
Þat con him-self Iustifie (!) ouer alle.

Ȝif þou desyre of god to haue grace,
ffrom no pore mon turne þi face,
Leste god turne his face from þe—
Þe wise mon techeþ alle þus, parde.

Tobias.

Ȝif þou haue luytel, luitel ȝiue and do;
Ȝif þou haue muchel, muche ȝiue also;
Ȝif þou haue nouȝt, muche þou schalt ȝiue
And þi wille be to ȝiue ȝif þou were I-þriue.

Raphael.

Hit is good to don almes-dede,
ffor twei godes ben ordeynt to þi mede:
On is of þi sunnes remission,
Þat toþur euer-lastinge lyf to þi gerdon.

Seneca.

526

Hit is euel to ben auerous,
Tweyn euel þingus þerfore ben ordeynt to vs:
Long record of þat malice,
And horible peyne for suche vice.

Seneca.

Loke þou doute more þi concience
Þen oþer mennes presence;
Þin oune concience maiȝt þou not skap,
Oþur mennes presence þou maiȝt in hap.

Seneca.

Vse þe to do priueliche
As þou wolt do to-fore men openliche,
Or elles paraunter þe may askap
Word or dede or sum mis hap.

Seneca.

Put þe not to ferforþ, I rede now,
To greue him þat is mihtyore þen þow;
Hit nis not worþ an old Botoun
An eorþene pot to fihte wiþ a Caudroun.

527

Serafyn.

Drauȝ vppon þe no specialte
Of Mon þat is of gret dignite;
Þi feire presentes he wole receue,
Ȝif þou ȝiue nouȝt he wole þe greue,
Ȝif þou waxe pore he wol skorne þe—
Wayte of him neuere oþer bounte.

Salomon.

Of þi neiȝebor þat neiȝ is to þe
Be þou tendre and haue him in cherte;
ffor bettre is a neiȝebore neiȝe
Þen a broþur fer fro þin eiȝe.

Seneca.

ffor-ȝete þou neuere out of þi mynde
A benfet don of þi frende;
In herte loke þou holde stedefast
Þe benfet þat þou ones hast.

Serafyn.

528

Ȝif in þin herte falle a þouȝt,
To hasti loke þat þou be nouȝt
To do oþer speke þin entent,
Til þou haue take good auysement.

Seneca.

Prei not þi frend to bisilye
Of þing þat þou woldes him denye;
Ne denye þou not þat is asked þe,
Ȝif hit be couenable asked to be.

Seneca.

Hose haþ muche and nul not ȝiue,
Ouȝt to aske he nis not þriue;
In his askyng he geteþ hountage
Þat to non oþur wole do auauntage.

Seneca.

ffreo he is to do men riht
Þat ȝift ne present takeþ of no wiht;
He þat ȝiftes [takeþ] wiþ-outen decert,
His freodam he sulleþ & leoseþ apert.

529

Salomon.

Whon þou lenest þi þing, tak hede of þis
To whom þou lenest and what he is;
Such mon to-fore scheweþ him þi frende,
Þat schal be þin enemy at þe ende;
Whon he receyueþ he wol cusse þin honde,
Whon he schulde paie he wol cal þe cherl bonde;
He wol þe ȝelde for þi gode dede
ffoul repreyuynge to þi mede.

Seneca.

Such a frend þou miht haue sikerli
Þat þou were bettre haue an enemy;
Þat on of þi moneye haþ hede ne cure,
Þat oþur naþ wiþ hym no mesure
To Borwe of þe ne of ofte comyng
Ne to soiourne at his likyng.
Such frendschupe þe greue schal more parde
Þen þat oþeres enemiȝte.

530

Samuel.

He is vuel worþi Cloþ or bord
Þat may not suffre a luytel word
Of his lord þat he serueþ to,
Whon for such a word leoseþ neuur þe mo.

Serafyn.

Schewe not þin herte outerliche
To þi seruaunt. for-whi lihtliche
To-day he is wiþ þe, to-morwe he flit;
Þat tofore wuste but on, þen moni schul wit.

Seneca.

Ȝif þou blame luitel or muche
ffor þi counseil is outet openliche,
Blame þou maiȝt þin oune herte wel,
Þat couþe not hele þin oune counseil.

531

Salomon.

An arwe in an houndes buttoke
And counseil in a foles herte istoke
A-cordeþ wel, for nouþur makeþ soiourning;
Þorw mouþ þei passen wiþ-outen restreyning.

Iob.

Ȝif þou here eni accusacioun
Of eni of þy peple in feld or toun,
Enquere furst þerof þe verite
Or þou þerfore in herte greue þe.

Augustinu[s].

Ofte hit falleþ þat mony good ded
Wiþ euel-siggers is ouer-torned;
Hose leeueþ vche monnes seying,
Whon oþur lauȝwhen, he schal make murning.

Ieremias.

532

Ȝif þou lese curtesye and bounte
To falle in foul schame hit bi-houeþ þe;
Good schame, holynesse, & curtesye
As Breþuren ben sworen, witterlye.

Seneca.

In foul maner he askeþ a louwaunce
Þat of his ȝifte makeþ bobaunce;
Hose ȝiueþ a ȝift to a good man,
I-nouh he takeþ wiþ-oute reward þan.

Ipocras.

A wrecche forsoþe me may hym cal
Þat pleyneþ him and haþ i-nouȝ at al;
ffor þouȝ al þe world were only his,
He wolde seie he hedde nouȝt, i-wis.

Serafyn.

Leef neuer þin enemi, ho-so hit be,
Of no þing þat he spekeþ to þe;
Whon he þe makeþ fe[i]rest spekyng
Þen drede þou most his dedes suwyng.

533

Seneca.

Ȝif þou caste þe good mon to be,
ffrom euel custom euer drawe þe;
ffor bi wone of vuel doyng
Vuel tecches turneþ in to plesyng;
And whon þing pleseþ þe þat þou scholdest hat,
Better þe hedde ben to-fore forsaken þat.

Salomon.

Hit is a wel honeste vileynye
In chydyng to be ouercomen, sikerlye,
But hit is a vileyn curtesye
Þerof to bere a-wey þe maystrie.

Seneca.

Ȝif þat þou chyde þi soget,
Hit is to þe vileynye gret;
Wiþ þi felawe ȝif þou chyde,
Discencion þou schalt make þat tyde;
And ȝif þou chyde þi souereyn,
Men mow seye þou art wod, certeyn.

534

Serafyn.

Loke þou euere be of feir chere,
Lauhwe not to muche as nyce of geere;
Þe fol is knowen bi his lauhwhing,
And þe wyse bi his sad beryng.

Seneca.

Ȝif a fol speke to þe vilenye,
Þen is þe beste remedye
ffor to forȝete alle-maner wreche
Of þe folyes of his speche;
ffor ȝif þou woldest hit putte to soþing
Þat he seyde ouur niȝt vppon þe morwening,
Þou miȝtest procure wiþ such prouyng
To þi-self newe schamyng.

Ecclesiastes.

Better is a quik and an hol hounde
Þen a ded lyon liggyng on grounde,
And better is pouert wiþ godnes
Þen richesse wiþ wikkednes.

535

Salomon.

Bettre is potage wiþ-outen oþur mes
Wiþ charite and good[e] pes,
Þen mony delyces wiþ chydyng—
Þis is þe wyse monnes seying.

Ecclesiastes.

Bettre hit were a ded mon to se
Þen a feste of gret noblete;
Þat on presenteþ þi laste dawe,
Þat oþer þe makeþ to folye drawe.

Seneca.

Hit is wisdam to putte in forȝetyng
Þing þat is lost wiþ-outen rekeueryng,
And to suffre not grucchinde
Þing þat þou maiȝt not amende.

Ruben.

536

ffoles playnen hem of here astat,
Þat þei ben greuet and al mat;
Hit to chaunge þei wene be wel,
After is a-nuy eueridel.

Ecclesiastes.

Þat in him-self haþ eny chalaunge,
Hit nul not profyte ofte to chaunge;
Amende þi lyf & profyte hit wole wel,
ffor in eueri place þen þou mayȝt dwel.

Serafyn.

As longe as þou mayȝt holde in honde,
Dismette þe nouȝt of þi londe
To ben oþur mennes vnderlyng;
Hit is better hit be in þin owne kepyng
Þen to ben in his daunger
Whom þou were wont bidde go fer or ner.

Seneca.

537

ffor loue ne nouþer for honour
Mak not þin heir þin executour,
Ne mak þin heir no ficiscian,
In hope to liue euer hol man.

Sampson.

Ȝif þow þenke a wyf to take,
Of ferre cuntre wommon forsake;
An vnknowen to take anon-riht
Is nouȝt to Aferme at þe furste siht.

Salomon.

Ȝif þou haue a feir wyf
And wolt þat heo be trewe of lyf,
Repreue hire for no Cumpaygnye
Of no mon for gelesye;
Him to loue so þou maiȝt make hire bolde
On whom to-fore heo nolde be-holde.

Syrac.

Ȝif þi child be not a-fert,
Ȝif him i-nouh of þe ȝerd;

538

Þou schalt him so make a good mon
Wiþ-outen brekynge of eny bon.

Syrak.

Schewh þou nouȝt to muchel specialte
To þi douȝter, ȝif heo vn-maried be,
Leste heo waxe to bold of face
Vuel to do in hope of grace.

Salomon.

Ȝif þi douhter falle in mis-doyng,
Þen holdest þou lost al þi spendyng;
A good dede þerfore hit were
Be tyme for to marie hire.

Seneca.

Ȝif þou be wont drynke muche wiþ-alle,
In to gret seknesse þou maiȝt falle;
Þou maiȝt wyte þin oune hond þen
Þe hardnesse of þi ficiscien.

Syrac.

539

Ȝif þat neihȝebors to-gedere chyde
And þat þing touche not þe þat tyde,
Loke þou make þe no partye
Wiþ on ne oþur for heore folye;
ffor cuntek comeþ to acord,
And þenne scholdestou be at discord
Wiþ on or oþur and haue repreue
Of him par cas þat mihte þe greue.

Syrac.

Loke þou haue nouȝt to gret affyaunce
In feire wordes and in cuntinaunce;
Such mon parauntre profreþ þe to kis
Þat in herte ha[te]þe þe, I-wis.

Seneca.

Ȝif þou falle in aduersite,
Þou schal fynde and wite, parde,
Of whom þou wendest a frend haue had,
Þen wole to þe be enemy sad.

Salomo

Hard hit were to mon him kepe or asterte
ffrom al þing þat is aȝeynes his herte;

540

Be þou nouȝt þerfore to redy
Þi counseyl to schewe openly.

Syrac.

Mony mon falleþ in gret damage
ffor of his speche he is outrage,
His owne tonge he may hit wyte
Þat driueþ him to such dispyte.

Iacobus.

Þe tonge is noryce of alle blame
And mony mon putteþ in vuel fame;
Of al eueles hit is queene & ladi
And fordoþ boþe soule and bodi.

Seneca.

Ȝif twey wordes neuer hedde be mad,
Eueri mon good pes miȝt ha had;
Myn and þyn, heore eiþer word
Bi-twene mony men makeþ discord.

Azaryas.

541

Ȝif þou be in cumpaignye
Wher vche mon haþ his baylye,
Maugre of hem be not so nyce
To entremete þe of heore offyce.

Ieronimus.

To gete þe maugre wiþ-outen prou,
A wood mon I-holde be schaltou;
Ȝif þou maiȝt not geten boþe at on res,
Þe wyse mon biddeþ þe holde þi pes.

Ihesus cristus.

Ȝif eny mon haþ þe misdo,
And a-noþur haue greued him also:
Þerof ȝif þou be proud and fayn,
God wol þe meke, in certayn.

Saulus.

Þenk euere, god cleymeþ þe his to be,
And þat for loue he visyteþ þe,
Whon he þe seendeþ eny greuaunce,
Elleswher hit is to haue alleggaunce.

542

Ihesus cristus.

Eueriday ha þou in herte dredyng
Leste god þe dampne at þe endyng
Ȝif þow haue al þe world at wille
Wiþ-oute wiþ-stondyng loud or stille.

Iudyth.

Siþen þeos seyntes ben passed euerichon
Out of þis world wiþ tribulacion,
Þou, þat art a sinful man,
Wenest þow wiþ-outen to passen þan?

Nabugodonosor.

Þe more þou peynest þe wel to do,
Þe strengor werre þe fend meueþ þe to;
But in a-saut men wite not wel-neih
Ho falleþ doun, ho clymbeþ an heih.

Laban.

543

Whose him wiþ-draweþ from vanite
And ȝiueþ him-self to bounte,
Euel men him wole edwyt,
But to god he schal be þe more parfyt.

Seneca.

In good tyme he was boren, I-wis,
Þat preisable is and not preised is;
Þe lasse he takeþ her of honour,
Þe more parfyt is at þe chef doctour.

Ihesus.

He is called corsed verreyliche
Þat euel is and preised is muche;
Of such worschupe comeþ hountage,
And also spekyng of gret damage.

Olyua.

Þe mon þat haþ i-nouh to his liuyng
And delyuered is of gret chargyng,
Wonder hit is he wole forsake
His rest, & to monnes seruyse him take.

Ficus.

544

Hit is merueyle of þe cloysterer,
Þat so gret swetnesse may fynde þer,
Þat desyreþ outward prelacye
Þe whuche his swete lyf mai distruye.
He þat is lest worþ most wole desyre
Of prelacye, to ben a syre;
No þing he þenkeþ to good profyt,
But honour of þe world is his delyt.

Amalek.

Be þe ledyng a mon may knowe, i-wis,
Of what tecches his leder is;
Þe wyse mon draweþ to him þe wyse,
And þe wilful mon to mon of his gyse.

Seneca.

He þat pleyeþ best at þe des,
Preyseþ faste þe hondes of hasarderes;
Þe more sotil he is of þat art,
Þe more he stont on euel part.

Seneca.

545

He þat saueþ a schrewe from schame,
To gode men he scheweþ blame;
Whon þe þef passeþ quyt a-way,
Þe trewe mon haþ schome, what-euer men sai.

Seneca.

He may saue moneye and gete
Þat wol be curteys of his mete;
After gret spendyng he may wayt
Þat of mete & drink is to strayt.

Ionas.

Hose ledeþ his lyf in sinne
And of euel dedes wol not blinne,
Godes merci he askeþ in veyn,
But he forsake his synne, certeyn.

Syrak.

Loke to visyte þat þou be smert
Þe seke folk wiþ gode hert;
Þerfore þou maiȝt be þe more parfyt
In þe loue of Ihesu crist.

546

Salomon.

Wiþ-outen counseil do no gret þing;
Aftur þat dede þou schal haue good knowing
Þat gode counseyl dude þe profyte,
Wiþ-outen whuche þou scholdest had lyte.

Ecclesiastes.

Ȝif þou herest speke a bacbitour,
Contenaunce to him mak of irrour;
Whon he seoþ hit likeþ not þe,
Cece of his speche anon wol he.

Seneca.

To þi frendes tak þou credence,
Do vche mon riht be concience,
Be meke to hym þat aboue þe is set,
And haue mesure to þi soget.

Seneca.

547

Or þou bi-hote enydel,
Wher þou wolt do so, bi-þenk þe wel;
ffor muche to bi-hote & ȝiue but softe,
Makeþ mon to be chalanged ofte.

Seneca.

Mon holdeþ a luite ȝift more dere
Wiþ-outen be-heste wiþ gode chere,
Þen he wolde of a gret þinge
Of bi-heste wiþ long tariinge.

Salomon.

Muche speche nis not wiþ-outen strif;
Hose kepeþ his tonge kepeþ his lyf;
He þat his tonge con not holde,
In cumpaygnye a schrewe is tolde.

Gregorius.

Large table and plentyuouse
Makeþ men of Ianglyng surfetouse;
Whon þe bodi I-fuld is,
Þe tonge is redi to speke amis.

Salomon.

548

A fol ȝif he speke no þing,
Men wene he beo wys in doyng;
Whon he bi-gynneþ to Iangle fast,
Þen men knowen wel his cast.

Seneca.

An old wommon þat takeþ hosebonde,
Heo worcheþ hir-self schome and schonde
To hire a-stat, & hire bodi bounde is wiþ-Inne
A present for to bere to synne.

Syrak.

Þe herre of stat þat þou be
Þe more meke haue þou þe;
Þe more þou hast of mekenesse
Þe fastore þou encresest of goodnesse.

Seneca.

A Caytif forsoþe he i-called may be
Þat neuer soffred caytyfte;
Good los neuer þou gest
But ȝif þou leose oftesyþe þi rest.

549

Saulus.

Gret los & reste, me þinkeþ wel,
A-corden to-gedere neuer a del;
Oþur þou most þi loos lese
Or ofte-tymen for-go þyn ese.

Ioseph.

Entre þou neuere wiþ-outen conpaygnie
Þer wommon al-one is of vilenye;
ffor ȝif þow parfourne not lecherye,
On þe heo wol þenne sette a crie.

Seneca.

Envye good lyf wol distruye,
And loos is lost þorw lecherye;
Lecherye and good loos
Ne mowe not euere to-geder be clos.

Seneca.

550

Harde chaunce is hym be-fal
Þat haþ non enemy at al;
ffor ȝif grace of good lyf hedde he,
He nere not dilyuered of enemyte.

Seneca.

Þe cause of acord is, god hit wot,
Whon vche mon is payed of his lot;
But of discord þe cause nou is
Whon mon wol make comun þing his.

Salomon.

He is more worþ þat con distresse
Him-self, and refreyne in hastinesse,
Þen he þat may fulli conquerre
Al a cuntre bi strengþe of werre.

Constantinus.

He þat bi werre takeþ lond or cite,
Be strengþe of his peple þat doþ he;

551

But he þat haþ maystred his owne herte clos,
He haþ onliche a souereyn los.
He þat con euel is holde wys and worþ,
Symplesse & wit ne mowe not forþ;
Þe lufthalf is put vppon þe riht,
And wrong for wynnyng ouur riȝt haþ miht.

Syrac.

Better is folye þat falleþ of symplesse,
Þer as cautel in soule nis more ne lesse,
Þen of þis world al þe wit,
ffor ofte-tyme þe lawe of god distruieþ hit.

Salomon.

Hose doþ to pore duresse or peyne,
To encrese his richesse, certeyne,
An herre mon schal parte wiþ his riches,
And of alle godes he schal haue þe les.

Salomon.

Trouwe þou neuere þat þing be þin
Þat oþur mon seiþ ‘þis is myn;’
Þyn is þyn euel oþur good doyng
Þat þou hast wrouȝt, wiþ-outen oþur monnus þing.

552

Seneca.

Ȝif þou haue lond, hous or yle,
Þelke nul dure but a while;
Wiþ þe schal go þi gode dede,
Þin hous abit, wiþ-oute drede.

Ecclesiastes.

Muche to write & no þing rede,
Luitel is worth, wiþ-outen drede;
Orisouns helpen soules of men
Þat wiþ delyt conseyued hem.

Cato.

Lettres þou schalt rede on such manere
Þat þou vnderstonde þe sentence clere;
Muche to rede wiþ-outen vnderstonding,
Caton seiþ hit is a dispysyng.
Þerfore I wole after þis resoun
Of þes prouerbes cesse of þe translacioun;
ffor he þat wol rede þis wrytyng,
In schorte wordes may haue lykyng.

553

Augustinus.

Nou preyeþ alle wiþ deuocion
ffor hym þat made þis lesson,
Þat he þorw ȝoure orisoun
Mouwe come to sauacion.
And god, þat made alle þing,
Ȝif vs alle good endyng.

A. M. E. N. Amen.

723

22. Try to say the best. Control your Tongue.

1

Qween of heuene, Moder and may,
Saue hem alle nou þat ben here.

724

A noble word haue I herd say,
fful profytable þat is to lere,
Bi-twene God and Mon In fere
To wynne worschupe hose euer lust:
Now þenk vpon þis word so dere
And fond euermore to seye þe best.

2

Spek non euel in no place,
But kepe þi tonge and get þe a frend;
Þat wikked word from þe nou pace,
Hit is but tysyng of þe fend.
Ȝif þou beo in eny euel tent
And k[n]owe hit for an euel geste,
Keep þi tonge curteys and gent,
And fond euermore to sey þe beste.

3

Now, for his loue þat bouȝte þe dere,
Let not þi tonge haue al þe wil!
What artou þe bettre or þe more nere,
Wiþ a wikked word þi neiȝebor to spil?
ffor Mari loue, tak tente þer-tille,
Wheþer þou gost bi Est oþur Weste,
Euur to kepe þi tonge stille
Oþur elles to fonde to sey þe beste.

4

Ȝif þou sey þe beste wiþ al þi miht,
Men wol esschewe by-fore þe
To speke evel bi eny wiht,
ffor þou wolt not heore felawe be;
Þer þou spekest, þou maiȝt se
Wordes þat ben wikked and preste.
Nou, for his loue þat dyed on tre,
ffonde euermore to sey þe beste!

5

In halle oþur in chaumbre wher þow gos,
What þou here and what þou se,
Euure þou kepe þi tonge clos,
Þat men frayne nouȝt at þe.

725

Ȝif þou heere faute oþer eny fole,
As þou may here bi mony a geste,
Nou, for his loue þat dyed on tre,
ffonde euer more to sey þe beste!

6

Wiþ eny mon ȝif þou haue ben eke
In his seruyse bi niht oþer day,
Alle þe good þat þou may, speke,
Whon þat þou art went a-way:
Þenne wol men bi þe say,
Þat þou art curteys and wel I-bleste.
Ȝif þou knowe ouȝt þat disese may,
ffonde euur more to sey þe beste!

7

Ȝif þou beo riche mon of mony a beeste,
And stifli þou may stonde in stede,
Pore men disese nouȝt bi doing ne cheste;
Nouþer for word ne for dede,
But help hem wel in alle heore nede,
So crist þi soule bringe to reste.
Nou to þis word ȝe take good hede:
ffor Marie loue to seye þe beste.

735

27. A Prayer to the Virgin Mary.

1

Heil, sterre of þe Séé so briht!
Þow graunt vs to ben vr gyde;
Godes holi Moder riht,
Þi worschipe walkeþ wyde;
Al-wey Mayden þorw his miht,
Þow sittest bi his syde;
Blesset ȝate of heuene liht,
Þow rede vs riht to ryde!
Ladi, we ben maked al glad:
ffor þou weore meoke I-founde,

736

Godes Moder weore þou mad,
I-Blesset beo þat stounde!

2

Liknet artou to sterre of séé,
To lihten vs, grete and smale;
Godes Moder ay to be,
ffor vs þou telle vr tale;
ffor þi Maydenhod so fre,
Þou bring vs out of bale;
Help us in-to heuene fle
Out of þis wopes dale.
Ladi, bring vs out of wo!
ffrom Bales þou vs borwe!
Godes Moder and Mayden also,
Þou saue vs out of sorwe!

3

Takyng þat word Aue—
Þat sonde sat þe seete—
Of Gabriels mouþ so fre,
Þorw God he gon þe grete.
Prei for us in pes to be,
Wiþ murþes mo to meete;
Eues name i-tornd for þe
Þat sit us softe and swete.
Ladi blisful, Meoke and Mylde,
Þat word in Ioye us pultus;
Godes Moder, prei þi childe
Þat he for-ȝiue vr gultus.

4

Aue worþily þe fel,
Þat was þe ȝarked ȝore
Of þat Angel Gabriel,
Þorw ȝift of Godes lore.
Prey us pes, þer to be snel,
Þou salue us of vr sore;
Siþ þat Eue is tornd so wel,
vr blisse is wel þe more.

737

Ladi, qween of paradys,
To þe we schullen calle,
Godes Moder, wommon wys,
And Mekest most of alle.

5

Gulti bondes here vnbynd,
Vr gultes ben to fele;
Seend hem siht þat here aren blynd,
Þou bring vs to þi wele;
Put a-wey vr wikked wynt,
Vr synful lyf þou heele;
Alle goodes aske and grynt,
And sent vs of þat Meole.
Ladi, nou þat hit is þus,
Help we weore vnbounde;
Godes Moder, prei for vs
To him wiþ blodi wounde!

6

We han agult, vnbynd us here,
Wiþ Merci fond vs fede;
Send þe blynde, lokyng clere,
To hele us here tak hede;
Put a-wei vr wik in weere,
Þat doþ us driȝe and drede;
Aske us God wiþ-outen peere,
Þat holliche heuene meede.
Laydi, nou þin help a-non,
Þer of þat we ne fayle;
Godes Moder, a-ȝein vr fon
Þou most be Countur tayle.

7

Scheuh þat Moder art, enclyn
To him þat dyȝed on Roode;
He, þorwȝ þe, tak preyer myn,
Þat bouȝt us wiþ his bloode;

738

Boren for us was he so fyn,
Hit com al vs to goode;
He bi-com heere sone þyn,
Þi Milk þen was his foode.
Godus Modur, þou him beere,
Þi Milk nas non Ilyche,
Ladi, him to fostren heere;
Þat Burþe was ful riche.

8

Modur, scheuh þat þou art fre;
Þe may no murþe misse;
Do þat we ben herd þorw þe,
Þou bring us to þi blisse.
I-boren for us forsoþe was he,
Þe synful men to wisse,
He þat tok þi child to be,
Þi Mouþ wiþ his to kisse.
Ladi briht, wiþ eiȝen gray,
Such cos þou geete with winne;
Godus Modur, Niht and day
Þou help vs out of sinne.

9

One, peereles Maide now,
Þin help adoun þou seende;
A-mong vchone, Meoke artou,
Aȝeyn þe we ben vn-heende;
Sinne bond vs, þow wost hou,
Þis world vs wol a-bleende;
Make vs meoke, cast in a vou
In-to vr lyues ende.
Ladi, bring vs out of strif,
Vs geyneþ nouht to ȝelpe;
Godus Modur, al vr lyf
We spillen, bote þou helpe.

10

Mayden al-one, buyrde briht,
Wel brihtor þen þe Sonne;

739

Mekest Mayden, most of miht,
Vr gatus þou bi-gonne;
Sinne bond vs day and niht,
We spillen þat we sponne:
Mak vs meke and clene in siht,
Þen is vr game I-wonne.
Ladi, lene vs of þi liht,
ffor ȝit we ben to blynde;
Godes modur, send vs miht,
Þe rihte wei to wende.

11

And leen vs clene lyf also,
Þis lyf is serwe and sake;
Diht vs siker wei to go,
Þis sunful lyf þou slake;
Get vs Ihesus to seo þer-to,
Þorw siht of him to a-wake,
vs to gladschupe euer-mo,
Þin help vs þou by-take.
Ladi louelich, feir and fre,
Þou lilye whyt of face,
Godus Moder briht of ble,
We tristen to þi grace.

12

Clene lyf ȝif vs to-day
And forþward euer-more,
Greiþ vs here a syker way;
We stomble ofte and sore;
Siht of Ihesu, wel þou may,
Ȝif hit þi wille wore,
Þorw þat siht to glade vs ay,
So lyking is þi lore.
Ladi al in liht I-schrud,
Þeos wordes ben ful soþe;
Godus Modur, Qween I-kud,
Tak þi seruauns to þe.

740

28. A Prayer to the Trinity.

1

In God ffader heryng sit,
Þer aftur schul we calle;
To þe Sone al ful of wit
On kneo we schullen falle;
Þe Holigost, to vs þou flit
In graces for to walle;
Wit and Grace and strengþe hit,
We schul hem herie alle.
On is God of mihtes most
ffeiþ fully for to fonde,
ffader and Sone and Holigost
Al on is vnderstonde.

2

Þe ffader was, and ay schal be,
And is wiþ-outen ende;
Þe Sone dyede vppon þe tre,
Vr falce foon to schende;
Þe holygost, þat makeþ þre,
Þat may vs grace seende:
Al is on In Trinite,
What wey þou turne or weende.
I may sei wiþ-outen bost
Þe holy Book leyh neuere.
ffader and Sone and holygost
Beo wiþ us nou and euere! amen.

744

30. A Morning Thanksgiving and Prayer to God.

1

I þonke þe, lord god, ful of miht,
Wiþ al þat euer I con & may,
Þat hast me sauet þis ilke niht
And suffret me forto abyde þis day.
I-blesset be þou euer & ay,
And halewed be þin hyȝe name;
And worschypet be þou, lord, al-way,
Wiþ hyȝe & lowe, wylde & tame.

2

In þe name of god þat al þing wrouȝth,
Heuen & erþe and vche creature;
In þe name of ihesu þat me dere bouȝth,
Þat is god, godus sone so pure;
Þe holygost, god in o figure,
To þe, o god in persones þre,
I be-take þis day of me cure,
And wiþ þi tokene I marke me:

3

Lord god, þat þis day woldust make,
And schope me to lyue þer-ynne,
My body & soule I þe be-take.
Þis day, lord, kep me out of synne,
Wiþ trouþe þis day my lyflode to wynne,
So þat I do þe non offens,
ffrom þi lawe þat I ne twynne,
Ne breke þi ten commaundementes.

4

Lord god Ihesu, as þou were boren in a dawynge,
Of a virgyne pure & clene,
Kepe me, lord, þis morewenynge,
Þis day in dedly synne þat I not byn lene,
ffor wyninge of erþelyche godus:
ffrom flessch[ly] lustus & lykynge,

745

Kepe me, lord, wiþ þi pressyos blod,
ffrom temptacions of þe fende.

5

And as þou were turmentud sore
In þat selue tyde of niht,
Wiþ bobbyng, scorny[n]ge & wel more,
ffort hit were dayes light
[[OMITTED]ight]
Sende me þis day do sum good dede
In lettyng wrong & doyng riht,
Þat þou, lord, mouwe quyte me my mede.

6

As þou were lord, when hit was day,
Ofte examnet wiþ wordus grete,
Wiþ bysschopes of ful gret aray,
Wiþ proude prynces þat þe con þrete,
Sende me þis day drynk & mete,
And susteyne me in þi seruise;
Ȝif I be mys-hap, lord, þe fo[r]ȝete,
Þorw þe, lord, let me aryse!

7

Lord I be-take þe my fiue wyttes;
Myn yȝen, þat I synge not in syȝth.
Lord, my mouth open hit in þi werkes,
Þer-wiþ þat I may speke truþe & riȝth.
Myn heryng, lord god, dele & dyȝh
To here noþing aȝeyn þi wille;
My nese, lord ihesu ful of myȝth,
Kepe hit þat I non vuel smel.

8

Lord, kep & lede my feet also
Þat heo don þi seruyse,
Þat with hem I not mys go.
Myn honden, lord, kep on alle wyse,
And set hem, lord, in such asyse
Þat I, [o] lord, with hem not synne.
And ȝif I do, lord, let me aryse,
And let me not longe lygge þerynne.

746

9

Þeyȝ I haue syngut her-be-fore,
Let me not for-garte þi grace.
I crye þe mercy, lord, euer more;
Of amendement, lord, sende sum space,
And sende my soule for my trespace.
Þenke, lord, I am þi creature,
And sende me, lord, help now in þis cas
Þi mercy out ouer al mesure.

10

Lord, wharto woldust vengaunce take
On me þat ȝelde me þus gulty?
I may not amendus make,
But put me holly in þi mercy,
And for my synne I am sorye:
Þenk, of my self no myȝth I haue;
But þou me help, in synne I dye:
Þi grace, mercy, lord, may me saue.

11

My soule, my body, lord god ihesu,
I now by-take in þi kepynge;
Kepe me, lord, in þi vertu,
In al my werk & al my worchynge.
In þi nome be al my doynge!
In þe nome of Ihesu I be gynne:
Lord god ihesu al weldynge,
Þis day kepe me out of synne!

Amen!

University of Virginia Library

II. PART II

[XXXIX. Of þre messagers of deeth.]

[XL. Two Songs of Love-longing.]

[I.]

[Swete Ihesu, now wol I synge]

[II.]

[Marie Moder, Mylde Qween]

XLI. A luytel tretys of Loue. Of godes passyon.

XLIII. A Mournyng Song of the loue of God.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

XLIV. Her is a luytel Sarmoun, þat is of good edificacioun.

[XLVII. How to hear Mass.]

[XLVIII. Sayings of St. Bernard: Man's three Foes.]

[XLIX. Prouerbes of diuerse profetes and of poetes and of oþur seyntes.]

Dauid.

Salomon.

Isayas.

Salamon.

Ieremias.

Iacob.

Salamon.

Tobias.

Raphael.

Seneca.

Seneca.

Seneca.

Seneca.

Serafyn.

Salomon.

Seneca.

Serafyn.

Seneca.

Seneca.

Seneca.

Salomon.

Seneca.

Samuel.

Serafyn.

Seneca.

Salomon.

Iob.

Augustinu[s].

Ieremias.

Seneca.

Ipocras.

Serafyn.

Seneca.

Salomon.